Harry (And others)
Harry was all alone when the old man came for him. He was on the porch of the treehouse, sitting in a hand-crafted rocking chair with his name carved into it and arranging his baseball cards in his special binder. Molly was inside the tree house, experimenting with some of their mother's makeup that she didn't want to use anymore. He heard a strange Pop! noise and looked up to see an old man in long robes staring at the house, a concentrated expression on his face.
Harry quickly jumped up from his rocking chair and hissed to his sister, "Sis, someone just appeared in front of the house, out of nowhere! We gotta get inside, now!"
Molly looked up and swore under her breath, some choice phrases that would get her killed if her mother was here to listen. She leaped up, though, and began to slide down the ladder with him. Once his feet hit solid ground, he ran the short distance to the large shed in the back of the yard, where he could hear the whirring of heavy machinery coming from inside. This was his Dad's workshop, where he made customized furniture and other carpenter repair jobs for clients when he wasn't out on a mission. Banging on the door, he burst in as his dad was putting down the handsaw, and he turned in surprise to look at him. The scruffy brown beard that he hadn't shaved this morning was covered in sawdust and he absently brushed some down the front of his shirt as he removed his goggles. "Son, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked, instantly reading the urgency on Harry's face.
Stammering, Harry said, "A man just appeared out of nowhere in front of the house. He's dressed in robes and doesn't seem to be very friendly."
Instantly his posture switched from relaxed parental concern to tenseness. He grabbed his duffel bag from the wall where it was hanging and slung it over his shoulder, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and guiding him to the back door, walking across the grass while his eyes constantly shifted, watching for potential danger. The few yards from the shed to the door seemed to last forever as they walked the grass, but finally, they were on the porch. Harry opened the back door, careful not to knock over the spider plant hanging from it. It wasn't just there for decoration but had metal hidden on the bottom of it. If someone were to try and force the door open, the plant would drop 10 pounds onto its head. As he stepped inside the kitchen, Mom was already waiting for Dad because Molly had run ahead and alerted her also. She had been preparing dinner on the counter, judging by her stained apron around her, but now she stood holding a wicked-looking meat tenderizer in her off-hand. As Dad stepped in and closed the door behind him, Mom met his eyes and they had one of those conversations with just their eyes that grownups sometimes did, that he could never follow. Something seemed to have been decided, and they broke eye contact after a few moments when the doorbell rang, and all 4 pairs of eyes swung to the front door.
They could see the faint silhouette of a man standing there. As his parents began to walk towards the door, Mom turned to them. "You two, go upstairs and play in your bedroom together. Your Dad and I won't be long."
Harry pressed his lips together, frustrated. He hated always having to be sent away during these types of discussions. He opened his mouth to argue with Mom, but then he caught the look in her eyes and thought better of it. When she got that stillness to her, that hardness in her eyes, it was best not to argue with her. It was just courting death. So even though he wanted to argue, he recognized it was better not to. His sister, however, had no such reservations.
"Mom, that's not fair! We are totally old enough to be allowed to stick around! We won't even say anything!" Molly said, sticking her bottom lip out and pouting.
Mom took a step forward and jabbed her hand angrily at the stairwell. "Young lady, you take your brother and get up those stairs this instant. I do not need you getting hurt because you think you are old enough to handle it. Now!" Her voice was hard and biting.
Molly glared at Mom, holding her eyes for a few seconds before dropping them to the ground. Stomping, she snatched Harry's hand and dragged him towards the stairwell, blonde hair bouncing with every stomp of her feet. Harry followed behind, glancing behind to see Dad readying his duffel bag and marching towards the door, as Mom stood behind with the meat tenderizer behind her back.
Molly took the steps 3 at a time, bouncing up them while tugging Harry along. But as soon as they were around the landing and out of sight from his parents, she suddenly stopped and turned, putting a finger to her lips to shush his questions. "We can watch from here, Mom and Dad would never know!" she whispered hurriedly to him, the words all coming out in a rush as her eyes blazed with excitement.
Harry bit his lip and considered. On one hand, he didn't want to incite Mom's anger by eavesdropping. On the other hand… he did want to know why this man was there. They weren't children, they shouldn't have to be sent away every time something important happened. Also, when he looked at that man, standing on the sidewalk, something tickled the back, deep corners of his brain. Some sense of knowing this person, even though he was sure he had never seen this man before. So yes, he did want to know more.
Releasing his lip, he met her startlingly blue eyes and nodded. He crouched beside Molly and peered around the corner of the stairwell, through the banister. He could see the door opening slowly, as Dad stood in front of it, his broad frame filling the door. He couldn't see Mom, but he assumed she was off to the side, blocked by the wall and behind Dad. Reaching forward, Dad slowly grasped the doorknob and turned it, keeping one hand near the duffel bag at all times. The door slowly creaked open, making more noise than it should have because it was rusty. Dad liked to keep his hinges rusty for safety reasons, but in this instance, it just added to the dramatics of the situation. Harry held his breath as the old man came into full, close-up view. He had a long white beard tied with a small chain that reached down to his stomach. His white hair was just as long, cascading down his shoulders in a wave, and tied at the end with a hair tie. He was wearing Grey robes, and half-moon spectacles were perched on the end of his long, hawkish nose. He blinked lazily above them, and even from his position on the stairs he could tell that the apparent sleepiness of the old man was just a facade, and those eyes revealed a sharp intellect. His face was lined with numerous wrinkles, and yet he carried himself tall and straight, with great posture, his shoulders set back and not a hint of a stoop. And when he reached out his hand for an offered handshake, he did it with purpose and power. This was a man used to authority, Harry thought as he watched him.
Michael reached out his hand and shook it firmly. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, his voice friendly, if brusque and professional, not warm and welcoming.
The old man smiled and adjusted his spectacles, with the air of a friendly old man. "Hello. You must be Michael Carpenter. And you, of course, the lovely Charity Carpenter I trust? My name is Albus Dumbl-"
He was suddenly cut off by a hiss of rage from Mom, who stepped forward in anger, moving the tenderizer out from behind her back. "You! You dare show your face to this household?!"
The old man took a step back in shock, as Dad's hand came up behind Mom and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from pulling out the meat tenderizer. She glared at him still, fury radiating off her. Even though he didn't spit the words, Dad's voice took on a level of frostiness as he asked, "What do you want, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
The old man, still seemingly in surprise, smiled briefly when he heard his full title being used. "Ah, so you have heard of me? And if I have done anything to offend you, well, I would not know what that is. In fact, I came here to thank you!"
"Done something to offend us?" Dad said, his voice still low and dangerous. "Well, let me enlighten you." He stepped forward into the doorframe, getting in close to Dumbledore, who backed up rapidly, his hand slipping into a hidden pocket in his robes. "Let us start with the fact that you left a baby in the cold November night air, with only a tiny blanket for protection. Then, you abandoned him to cruel and self-centered people who never even knew he existed, nor cared to know. Then we can move on to the fact that that family decided to ignore the baby and leave him to die, truly great people you chose. Thank the Lord that I was compelled and found him when I did, or who knows what might have happened!" He said, his voice still tight with anger, his big frame seeming as sturdy as a rock in the doorway, firm and unyielding. "And that's not even to mention that you painted a target on their backs, and because of your negligence and lack of any background checks whatsoever, got them killed. Have I about summed it up, honey?" he finished, glancing at Mom. She nodded, a short, curt nod, and he turned back to Dumbledore, who had gone pale in the face, and his posture had stiffened even more. "So no, we don't accept your apology. Because we aren't the ones you need to apologize to. You need to apologize to that baby you left out in the cold, and those people you condemned to death. May the Lord watch over their souls."
Dumbledore took a step forward, anger now alights in his eyes. "You have hit on the exact reason I have come. I have come to speak with the boy, and I will be apologizing to him. And, dear sir, you may sit there in your cushy life and condemn me, but there are greater powers at work than you could know, and while it is indeed a shame that those people were killed, I did not have the luxury of time nor resources to protect them or to do adequate background checks. So if you please, do not speak of what you do not know. Now, may I please come in, and speak to the boy myself?"
Before he even finished asking the question, he stepped forward through the doorway. Or, he attempted to. Instead of stepping through the doorway, he stumbled back as if he hit a brick wall, and doubled over, clutching at his heart.
What the heck? Harry thought as he fought the impulse to jump up and run to the old man's aid.
After a few seconds, Dumbledore straightened up slightly, rubbing at his heart. "What happened?" he asked, bewildered and yet again shocked. Nothing seemed to be going his way, it seemed like, and he was encountering far more opposition than he thought he would. Even the door wasn't letting him in at this point.
Dad was the one to explain though. "How old are you? I'm guessing well over 100? Since you tried to rudely barge into our home, without our permission, the majority of your magic was left behind on the threshold, and you are old enough that your magic is the only thing keeping you alive. So your heart quite literally couldn't handle the stress, hence the barrier."
Dumbledore frowned, his bushy white eyebrows briefly obscuring his eyes as they crinkled up. "But, I haven't encountered a threshold that's had any effect on me for ages! Who exactly are you?"
Even though he couldn't see Dad's face, he could practically see him quirk an eyebrow up as he spoke, his voice taking on a wry tone. "Oh, so you go barging into other people's houses without permission and care? And yes, I suppose our foundations would be stronger than most. And as for who I am, well…" Harry watched with wide eyes as Dad reached a hand behind his back and slid the duffel bag off his shoulder, unzipping it. Grasping a hand inside, he pulled out his sword holding it aloft. It didn't glow, indicating that whatever he was, Dumbledore was at least human. "My name," he said, his voice imbued with new life and passion, "is Sir Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross. Fist of God and wielder of Amoracchius. And do not speak to me of higher plans and beings. I have fought the darkest this world has to offer, and I have fought on the behalf of the Almighty. He guided me to that place, and He is the highest of beings in this universe and I answer to Him. Not you, nor your plans. Now, I tire of this beating around the bush. Why are you here, and what do you want?"
Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes wide. "The Sword of Love," he said, awe in his tone. "It has been a long time since I have met a wielder of the Blades of God. I forgot how powerful they can be. This explains a lot." Nodding wisely to himself, he pulled a letter out from his pocket. "This paper explains why I am here. I have come to offer a scholarship to young Harry. As stated earlier, I am a Headmaster, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry to be exact." he extended the letter to Dad, which he took after he had slid the sword away and began to unfold them. "His parents went to school there, and on his father's side, it can be traced back several generations. Normally, only people in the United Kingdom are accepted to join, with the occasional foreign exchange student. But Harry is a legacy student of several generations and was always promised a place there, among our halls. Before he… disappeared, he had been eligible to join. I had to pull some strings, but I made a deal to allow him to come to Hogwarts instead. And with the target painted on his back, he will need the best magical training that can be offered. And Hogwarts is the best magical school in existence. I'm sure he has already displayed some signs of latent magic. It usually starts to manifest around this age, and you're familiar with magic, given your rather unique," he paused and gestured at the sword, "backgrounds."
As Harry crouched there, digesting that information, he thought back to the time when his Dad had told him about his magical heritage. It had been right after the explosion…
He didn't have time to ponder that, however, and quickly tuned back into the discussion happening in the doorway. But before Dad could reply, Molly leaped up and ran down the stairs. He tried to grab her, so she wouldn't give them away and therefore get them into trouble, but she was too quick and sped past him. She skidded to a stop in front of Dumbledore and glared up at him, hands on her hips. "If he is going to this super-nice school in the UK, I want to go too!"
Dumbledore looked down at her over his half-moon spectacles, a bemused expression on his face. "Now, young lady, I have a letter for you also. This is from the North American School for Magical Children, Ilvermorny. It is just as nice a school…" he trailed off as she began to shake her head, stomping her foot angrily.
"I don't want to be separated from my brother! If he is going to the UK, I want to go also! Who knows what might happen there?"
Mom grabbed her arm and yanked her back. "Young lady, who said you could eavesdrop?! You are in some serious trouble! And Harry, you get your butt down here also, I know you're listening!"
Harry sighed and walked out from behind the corner, and down the rest of the stairs. He came to stand in front of her, shuffling his feet. "Mom, this is my future! I deserve the right to know what is going on!"
Dad whispered something in her ear, and she let go of Molly's arm, even though she did look down and glare at her. "We will be talking about this later, and don't you think otherwise!" she said with a scowl, before straightening back up and glaring at Dumbledore again. "And you, if Harry does go to your little magic club, and that's a mighty big IF, our daughter will be going also. We do not need our children separated."
Dad nodded his agreement. "I agree, we wish for our children to be in one place. And I have a question. Why have I never heard of Hogwarts OR the International Confederation of Wizards from any of the Wardens I've worked with? Even when I worked alongside Ebenezer McCoy on a job down in New Jersey he never mentioned you!"
Dumbledore looked confused. "I'm sorry, but who is Ebenezer McCoy?"
Dad raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't know Ebenezer McCoy? Senior wizard on the White Council? The Blackstaff himself?"
Dumbledore looked up in surprise, then understanding came over his face. "Yes, I guess if you did fight the supernatural creatures of this world, you would have run into the representatives of the White Council, wouldn't you? No matter. They are a completely separate entity of the Wizarding World. Now, I shall return this time tomorrow to hear your decision. If you decide to allow Harry to come, I shall see what I can do to allow young Molly to come also." With that, he turned with a flourish and stepped down the steps, striding to the gate and pushing it open. Once he was on the other side, he seemed to collapse in on himself and disappeared with a Pop! into thin air.
Dad closed the door and turned around, leaning against it and sighing. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired. He was not that old, but wrinkles were still appearing, slight as they were. This experience seemed to have added a few more worry lines around his eyes, and he absently rubbed the cross around his neck with his thumb, face tight in concentration and thought. "Let's… go into the living room and talk," he said finally, gesturing toward the door.
* * *
The living room was quiet. The whole house was. Which felt wrong somehow. As long as Harry could remember, their home had always been full of pleasant noise and activity, whether it was Mom preparing meals in the kitchen or cleaning the house, Dad working in his shed, his sister roping him into some scheme of hers, or even little Daniel crying in the background. But now it was filled with a tense silence that left Harry feeling distinctly uneasy.
As Dad was the one who had convened the meeting, they all looked to him to speak. But he was still stroking his crucifix, face set in contemplation. Mom was still looking riled up from their meeting with the old man, her arms crossed and lips pursed. Molly looked like she was bursting to speak but wisely kept silent under Mom's stare. And Harry… Well, Harry wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling.
There was excitement, of course. Magic! The very word was exciting. Oh, he knew magic existed, of course. It was hard not to with his Dad being a Knight and all. And he was also aware that he was, in some sense, magical. Mom and Dad had often told him about his biological parents and their sacrifice - something that could only make sense through magic. And then there was the weird stuff that sometimes happened around him and Molly. But to think that he was an actual wizard… And that he was going to study magic! A whole school full of magic. Full of people just like him. The thought warmed some deep part of Harry that he hadn't been aware existed until that moment.
At the same time, he couldn't help but feel anxious at the thought of leaving home. Their house, their school, their church… It was all he had known his whole life (hard to plan vacations when Dad could be called to save the day again at a moment's notice). He knew his sister sometimes yearned to move beyond the confines of Chicago and see what else there was to life, but its constancy, its familiarity, its sheer solidity, was deeply reassuring to him. As exciting as it sounded, Hogwarts was an airy abstraction in comparison.
And his friends... He was going to be leaving all of them. He could write to them, sure, but he knew it just wouldn't be the same. And for what? What was he going to tell them? What could he tell them? He frowned at the question. He didn't like lying, but it wasn't like he could tell them he was a wizard. Hey guys! Just found out I'm a damn wizard. What? No, I'm not crazy. Anyway, see you next fall! No, that wouldn't work at all. Because of Dad's work, he was already used to not talking about parts of his life to his friends but this was a whole different magnitude of secrecy and he wasn't sure how he was going to handle it.
And finally, if he was being honest with himself, he found a part of himself didn't want to go to England. At all. He knew he was being irrational, but his strongest association with England was the place his parents were murdered. The place where his uncle and aunt were later killed. Somehow, he knew that going there would force him to confront those facts, and all the feelings and thoughts he had worked so hard not to think about.
Harry was roused from his increasingly dark thoughts by a cough. It seemed Dad had completed his meditation.
"Well… I think we can all agree that this has been an eventful afternoon," Dad said, addressing the whole family with a smile. "I must confess, it is not how I thought the day would go when I woke up this morning. But as the Good Book says: 'We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.'"
"Yeah, well, it'd be nice if He gave us a heads-up once in a while. Pretty hard to match His speed sometimes," Molly grumbled, eliciting a chuckle from Harry and Dad.
"Now, some important decisions will have to be made." Dad turned and leaned towards him now, his expression more sober but still reassuring. "Harry, since this news concerns you the most, how do you feel about this?"
"I–I'm not sure," Harry replied. "Hogwarts sounds really interesting, but…"
"But what, son?" Dad softly prodded.
"Well… It's really far away, isn't it? Like, on another continent. And I've never even been to another city."
"But that is what's so great, Harry!" Molly interjected. "Think of all the cool things we could see together! All the things we could do!"
"Like what?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. While he could understand her excitement to go somewhere new, he had honestly never heard of anything exciting happening in England.
"Well, there's the Tower of London and… Well, I'm sure we'll figure out loads of stuff once we're there. And besides, we'll have magic, Harry. We'll be able to do anything we want with that."
"You absolutely will not be doing 'anything you want,'" Mom suddenly interrupted. "Michael, listen to what they're already saying. You cannot allow this!"
"What?! Mom! That's not fair! I was just saying that we wouldn't be bored with magic. Tell her, Harry! Dad!" She turned to each of them to shore up support.
"Sweetheart," Dad said in a diplomatic tone. "Molly may not have used the best words but I think we can trust her not to abuse the gifts that God has granted her. We raised her better than that. Isn't that right, Molly?" He smiled at Molly who returned his smile with an eager nod.
Mom huffed but otherwise stayed silent.
"Harry, you were saying that you were concerned about Hogwarts' distance?"
Harry nodded with an apologetic glance at his sister. "Yeah, it's really far away. And what about my friends? I'll be leaving them all."
"Well, son… it's certainly true that this school will be the farthest you've ever been from home. But traveling to new places does not have to be a bad thing. As you and Molly are aware my calling frequently takes me away from home, and sometimes the call is very far away, indeed.
"And while I always miss all of you dearly during these missions, it has granted me the opportunity to meet all manner of wonderful people and cultures. People who I would probably not meet if it weren't for my work. Some of these people are my dear friends to this day, and for that, I am grateful to the Lord.
"And besides, wherever I am physically you — all of you — are always in my heart, and I know that I am always in yours. We will always be with you here," Dad said, touching his chest.
Harry felt his eyes tear up a bit but he felt a lot better after his Dad's words.
"As for your friends, well… I won't pretend it won't be difficult but, in my experience, true friendships can withstand the burden of distance. Many relationships come and pass. And you should always be thankful for them, no matter their length. But my strongest and most valued relationships have always been held strong through my callings. Your mother here is a shining example of that. And God willing, the same will be true for both of you."
"Now, I have said all this. But do not take this as me pushing you to go to Hogwarts. This is the general advice I am giving. You should never be afraid of going to new places. So, putting the distance aside, how do you feel about Hogwarts?"
Harry thought for a bit. He still wasn't totally psyched about the idea of visiting the country where his birth parents died. But after Dad's words, he felt a lot more confident and at ease. After all, he had already admitted it was irrational, and if the distance wasn't a good reason, then neither was this. And he didn't have a problem with Hogwarts itself, did he?
He looked at his Dad and said, "I think it's a good idea. And I think you're right about my friends. But still… what will I tell them?"
"Yes, Michael," his mother asked in agreement. "We can't just tell everyone we're sending them off to learn magic."
Dad leaned back and rubbed his beard. "Hmm, that is a good question." He paused for a few more moments, then smiled and turned to his sister. "Molly?"
Harry instantly got it — and by the smug smile on his sister's face, so did she. Molly was well-known for her 'inventive relationship with the truth' as one of her teachers had so kindly put it. That 'relationship' had gotten her in trouble loads of times, something she always claimed was 'totally unfair' since she rarely ever actually lied. But now it was going to help all of them.
"Well," Molly answered, stretching out the word and luxuriating in the positive attention. "That old guy—"
"Professor Dumbledore, Molly."
"Yeah, Dumbledore, sure. He said Hogwarts was where Harry's parents went, right? Where his whole family went, I think. So, we can just say that Harry got a scholarship to a private boarding school because of his family and whatnot. And that it's in Britain, but it is really fancy."
Harry really had to admire his sister's creativity. Looking back on Dumbledore's words, everything she said was true. And she had very neatly skirted the whole topic of magic that he had been fretting so much about.
Dad apparently shared his thoughts, for he clapped his hands in amusement and laughed. "Well done, Molly. Well done. And I guess I don't have to ask how you feel about joining your brother?"
"Of course not!" Molly replied immediately, sounding vaguely affronted. "We go everywhere together. We're a team!"
"So… the two of you want to go to Hogwarts, yes?" They both nodded in response.
"Yeah," Harry continued. "I think learning magic would be good for both of us. And if we're together, we could help each other." His sister beamed at him.
"Harry… Both of you… Are you sure about this?" Mom asked, and there was a note of worry in her voice that he had never heard before. "Magic can be very dangerous. Many of the creatures your father fights come from magic."
"Yeah, but I don't think that's the kind of magic we'll be learning," said Harry slowly, gathering his thoughts. "Magic can't be all bad. I mean, my parents — my biological parents — were wizards from Hogwarts, right? And you've told me how they saved me. That was using magic, wasn't it?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Mom nod with some reluctance, so he continued on, "So if not all magic is bad, then maybe I can use it for good things? Maybe I can use it to help people. To protect them… Like Dad does with his Sword?" He looked to his father and was heartened to see a hint of pride on his face.
But his Mom was not fully swayed. "Harry, I can understand wanting to help people. And I am so very proud of you for wanting that. But… there's a difference. The Swords, they come from God—"
"So does the magic!" interjected Molly.
"No, it—"
"Yes! You and Dad say everything comes from God, so why wouldn't magic? Isn't it part of everything?"
"Well, yes," responded Mom, looking a little flustered. "But there's a difference. The Sword was made to do good. It is incapable of harming people. Literally," she said while looking at Michael who nodded. "Magic isn't like that. Molly, the things it can do… They can twist you. Make you hurt—"
"Why do you keep doing that?" Molly asked, her voice laced with frustration.
"Doing what?" And Mom seemed genuinely confused at the question.
“Keep on talking about how bad we’re going to go if we use magic. It’s not like we haven’t done magic before. Remember when I used to make my veggies disappear? Or when Harry jumped over that car when we were playing? And we’ve never hurt anyone before, so why would we now?”
"Because—"
"You don't trust us," Molly said suddenly.
"What?"
"You don't trust us," she repeated and this time, there was a hint of anger in her voice. Harry felt the instinctive urge to defend their Mom, but after a moment of digesting what was said… he felt a bit of her hurt as well.
"Molly! I trust you more than anyone in the whole world. You know that."
"Then why won't you trust us to learn magic?!"
"Because I'm trying to protect you! You don't understand! Magic is dangerous!"
"How would you know?! You can't even do magic! You can't do anything! All you do is stay at home and cook!"
"Molly?!" gasped Mom, and even Harry was dumbstruck by his sister's outburst.
Their father had been silent throughout this exchange, but now he spoke up. "Molly, apologize to your mother this instant. Your mother works very hard to care for you. This house wouldn't stand without her hard work."
Molly looked torn between guilt and stubborn defiance but mumbled out a "Sorry, Mother." Mom acknowledged it with a curt nod.
"Now, Charity," he said, placing a hand on their mother's own. His voice was incredibly tender. "I think our daughter has a point. It has not escaped my attention that you've been very bothered since Professor Dumbledore brought us this news." He paused for a moment. "It pains me to ask this, but does this have anything to do with… the way we met?"
Harry and his sister looked at each other in confusion, but it must have meant something to Mom because she stiffened.
"No," she bit out.
"Charity… are you certain?"
Her nose flared, and for a moment it looked like she was going to turn her rage on their father. But at her husband's still tender expression, she abruptly deflated. "Maybe… Okay, yes. Yes, it does. But that only proves my point, Michael! You saw what Gregor did."
Again, the kids looked at each other, the same question on their faces. Gregor?
"Charity, you can't believe that our children are anything like that madman."
"I don't!" Mom replied forcefully. "But you don't understand. It wasn't just him. It was the whole coven. It was all of—" She stopped suddenly and withdrew into herself. "You don't understand," she finally said quietly.
"Then help me understand, Charity," Dad said. "Help us understand." Mom looked up at that, finding the entire family watching her, their faces etched with concern. For Harry and his sister, this entire situation was especially unsettling; they had never seen their mother look so vulnerable before.
"Mom?" asked Molly in an unusually timid voice. "Who's Gregor?"
For a few moments, it looked like Mom was going to withdraw back into herself. But then Dad lightly squeezed her hand. She looked into his eyes and seemed to draw strength from whatever she found there. She turned to the two children.
"Gregor was… " she started, then paused for a few moments. "No, I suppose I should start from the beginning. Michael, some of this might be… new to you." He gave her a reassuring nod before she returned her attention to Harry and Molly.
She took a deep breath and continued, "It all started when I was around your age, shortly before my twelfth birthday. I discovered I had… talents, you could say. Unexplained stuff happened around me, I saw things that others didn't."
Harry's eyes were so wide he felt they might escape their sockets, and beside him, his sister's mouth was hanging open. Mom… a witch?! It felt… impossible. His Mom was amazing but she was also a no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Pretty much the opposite of what he associated with magic. He turned to Dad to gauge his reaction, but if he was as blown away as they were, he hid it well. His eyes were still on their mother, his expression calm and steady.
"My parents, they weren't like your father or me. They didn't know about magic or the supernatural. They didn't believe in magic or… well, anything really. All they wanted was for me to be 'normal.' And when I wasn't… They didn't know how to deal with me. Didn't want to deal with me, I think. They convinced themselves that I was 'troubled.' They sent me away to 'get help.' Various schools. Various hospitals.
"It was horrible. No friends. My own family didn't want me. My… 'condition' didn't mix well with my new surroundings. Everyone was nice and polite, of course. Very professional. But I could literally feel how much they didn't care about me. How strange and… unnecessary everyone thought I was. And every year, it got worse. I felt trapped; all I could think of was escape. And eventually, I did. I must have been 16 or 17 when I decided to leave it all.
"I went on the road for a few years. Eventually, I discovered other people like me. A group, or 'coven' as they were called. They were led by this young man, Gregor. He was like us, but more powerful. He told us how special we were. He made us feel special and wanted. Showed us how to use our 'gifts.' I didn't have a chance. I joined immediately. Things were good for a while…"
Mom stopped then and looked up. "Sorry, all this talking has worked up quite a thirst." She tried to play it off with a laugh but it was hollow, and the mood was too somber for anyone to do more than awkwardly smile or chuckle.
"Honey, could you get me some water? " she asked, addressing Dad. But Molly, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny, piped up with an "I'll get it!" and quickly scuttled to the kitchen. Sometime during Mom's recount, Dad had apparently moved closer to his Mom and was rhythmically rubbing her back. As they all waited for his sister, Harry thought over his Mom's story. He didn't think he had ever realized how lucky he was to have Mom and Dad as his parents until now. Mom may not have liked magic, but she had never made him feel weird or strange, or unwanted like her parents had. And he had to admire her strength as well. In a world where he was treated the same way she had, would he have had the strength to leave his home? Thinking back on how anxious he had been about moving to England, he wasn't so sure.
His reflections were halted as his sister returned with a glass. Mom muttered a thank you and took a few sips before continuing with her story.
"So, yes, Gregor. As I said, things were good for some time. I had friends. I had someone I thought I could believe in. I could use my powers, and understand them finally. I had what I considered a family. I was happy. Then the Wardens came."
"Wardens?" asked Harry and Molly together.
"Wardens are… policemen, in a way, as well as soldiers, for the White Council of Wizardry. You have met a few of them, even if you don't know it." their Dad answered. "They hunt those witches and wizards who have violated the Council's Laws. They take their work very seriously."
"Indeed," their Mom responded. "There were stories in our coven about the White Council. We were all terrified of them. But it was nothing compared to the reality of meeting them in person. The Wardens accused Gregor of trying to break the Laws. Told us all to stop if we wanted to keep living.
"Gregor resented them for this. He had always been what he called a 'free spirit.' He didn't like the rules. So he just pushed harder against those rules. He started practicing magic that was in clear violation of what the Wardens had told us. Made us all do it. And then the disappearances began. People began vanishing from our coven. Nobody knew where."
"Gregor," Harry whispered. "It was Gregor, wasn't it?" he asked a little louder.
His mother nodded. "He was sacrificing them. I was the only one who guessed the truth. I could see him growing in power. And somehow he knew when I knew. Could tell from my behavior, I think. Soon he came for me. I tried to fight, but he was too strong. He beat me and chained me to a post. I can't remember much after that. But I remember the dragon and your father—"
"Wait, dragon?!" Molly interrupted.
"Dad fought a dragon!" Harry exclaimed at the same time.
Their Dad nodded and said, "Yes, the monster was being fed children, young men and women, in exchange for giving power to their leader. Amorracchius led me to it just as it was about to do the same to your mother. I fought it, and killed it."
"Wow," Harry heard Molly whisper. And as he looked at her, he could see the awe that he was feeling mirrored in her eyes. He had always known his Dad was awesome – I mean, he fought monsters – but a dragon? That was something else.
"So, sweetheart, you were saying?"
"Yes, I remember you saving me from the dragon. And then I was safe. I promised myself I would never use magic after that. I kept that promise, and eventually, my magic faded away. Your father and I married soon afterward. And we built a life here. Everything I have here, all that I've been blessed with – your father, the two of you, this life – is because I kept that promise."
Her gaze suddenly sharpened on the two of them. "So do you understand now, children? Why I'd rather spare you from this? I don't want you to go through the same things I did. I understand the attraction, the… temptation. I understand more than anyone here. But magic… It's so corrupting. I don't want it to lead you astray like I was led astray. Please, tell me you understand."
They did understand. At least, Harry thought he did. He could understand now why his mom was so opposed to them learning magic. It had almost ruined her life. In a way, it had taken her parents away from her and left her alone, left her alone to be manipulated and nearly killed her. So he could definitely understand why she was against it. But still…
"Mom?" he heard his sister ask.
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Well… I understand why you don't like magic now. And you're right that it can be dangerous. I see that now. And I'm so, so sorry for yelling at you."
"That's okay, sweetie."
"But, um, it kind of sounds like a lot of your problems were maybe not so much because of magic, and more because of Gregor. And, um, your parents?"
Harry found himself nodding along with her. What she had just said mirrored exactly what he had been thinking.
Mom could not have looked more betrayed if she tried. Her eyes welled up with tears. "After–After all this… everything that I've said… you still…"
"No!" cried Molly. "Mom, I'm just saying that maybe it's not the magic that was wrong, it was the people!" She went to hug their mother then, with Harry following on her heels.
"Yeah," Harry added, desperate to stop both his mother and sister from descending into tears. "Your parents sound horrible. But Molly and I don't have to worry about that. You and Dad are nothing like that! Right, Molls?"
"Right! And Gregor sounds like a total asshole! He was sacrificing kids!"
"Thank you, Harry," said Mom, and to his relief, her voice sounded calmer. "And Molly, you too. But Gregor wouldn't have been what he was without magic. And my parents, if I never had magic, maybe… Maybe, they could have loved me. Maybe, we could have had a life together."
"Well, Mom, I don't know about Gregor. But I don't think that's true about your mom and dad. I mean, during your story, I was thinking. You don't like magic, but you still love me and Molly. And I could never imagine you sending us away as your parents did."
Molly nodded in support.
"The children are right, Charity. It pains me to say this, but I do not believe your parents ever truly loved you. No loving parent would do that to their child. Would let their child just run away."
Mom looked reflective for a moment. "Perhaps… But that's not what we're here to discuss. Michael, you heard my story as well. What do you think? You think we should just expose our kids to this danger?"
Dad withdrew his arm from around Mom's shoulder and leaned back in contemplation. "I think that you have suffered a great deal. And that you are right to stress the dangers of magic. Like all forms of power, magic has a great capacity for corruption when not handled with care."
"In my dealings with the White Council, I have heard them talk of warlocks. Wizards were seduced by the allure of power that magic grants and were corrupted in the process. I believe Gregor was, sadly, just one of many such a person. It is my understanding that this is a literal corruption, a corruption of the soul. Such things should not be dismissed lightly."
Mom looked victorious at his words while Harry felt dismayed, but their Dad lightly touched her arm. "At the same time, I think the choice you offer our children is too extreme. They are right to point out that their magic is a gift from God, and such gifts should not be denied lightly either. I am very proud that my children want to use their gifts for good in the same way that I have chosen to do so.
"However, they will need guidance. Not only so that they do not fall to the likes of Gregor, but because of the White Council, too. The White Council claims jurisdiction over all mortals with magic and I will not have them subject to the Wardens' judgment." His voice went hard on that last bit. "They will need teaching and counseling on how to use their gifts."
"But, Michael, can't we be the ones to do that? Why Hogwarts?"
"We can and will, of course, help them with that. But I think Hogwarts may help as well. As Harry rightly pointed out, his parents attended that school. And they gave their lives so that their child may live. What purer expression of love is there in this world?"
"But how do you know this Hogwarts is the right place for them? You told me how you found Harry. That Dumbledore man left a child in the freezing air. And he runs that place! How can we trust him? You say you don't want our children to fall to the likes of Gregor, but what if Dumbledore is that Gregor?"
Their father rubbed his beard. "You are right. I do not get that sense from the man. But you are right that I cannot know for sure I will make inquiries on Mr. Dumbledore. Will you trust me on this?"
Mom slowly nodded, and Dad turned to Harry and his sister. "So we are all agreed. I will do some research on Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore, you go to bed and rest. And if nothing comes up, your mother and I will agree for you to attend Hogwarts."
Harry smiled, while his sister pumped her fist in the air.
"Great, We should all have some supper, and then you two can head off to bed."
"I'll go and prepare something, " Mom said, rising from her chair.
"I'll come and help!" added Molly, getting up to join her.
Very soon, the smell of Mom's delicious cooking wafted from the dining room.
"I think it's time to eat, Harry," his dad said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
* * *
Michael walked down the old rickety stairs and slipped a small black obsidian stone into his pocket. The stone was smooth and polished, despite it being the first time he had ever felt the occasion to take it out of his toolbox in the shed. He pushed the door open to the room sunken into the ground and stepped inside. Instantly a wave of sound and smells washed over him. The loud chatter of a dozen conversations going at once, and the whirring of fans spinning lazily on the ceiling. There was also the smell of ale and grilled meat permeating the air, the aroma tantalizing. He felt his mouth water as the door swung behind him and he made his way to the bar, where a tall bald man stood, polishing an ale glass. As he approached, the man looked up and nodded at him, a small smile flashing on his lips before it was gone, so quick he wasn't even sure he had seen it.
"Hey, Mac," Michael said, sitting at one of the unoccupied barstools at the counter and leaning his elbows on it. "I'll take an ale and some steak, please. Also, I'm going to have some company pretty soon, so make that two cups of ale. Thank you, Mac."
Mac just nodded his head and grunted, turning away to go into the back and start preparing the steak. Michael got up and went to a table nearer the back, and sat down, fingering his cross idly as he waited. After a few minutes, Mac slammed a plate of steaming steak and two glass mugs full of ale on the counter and rang the little bell that always sat there. He got up and threaded his way around the other patrons and the 13 pillars at various points around the room, and reached over and grabbed his ale cups and plate from the counter. As he walked back, he could feel eyes on the back of his head and turned to find some of the people in the corner of the room eyeing his gleaming cross in the center of his chest, so he slipped it back into his shirt hurriedly. He knew that most of the people here were well-meaning folks, but there were some less-than-savory characters also. Judging by a quick glance, he determined that these people sitting in the dark corner were occult magic users, judging by the blackened irises. Pressing his lips firmly together, he sat down where he could see them out of the corner of his eye.
He put the second mug of ale across the table from him, picked up his fork and knife, and dived in. The steak was delicious, juicy, and dotted with little herbs and spices. He took a bite and felt the squish as he chewed, juices spurting out and soaking his mouth, satiating the watering that had started up again when he had looked at it.
He was halfway through his first slab when he heard the door to the pub swing open, accompanied by a blast of the humid summer night air, and all conversations in the room cut off suddenly, an air of tenseness growing around the place, of stiffening and muted gasps. He slowly raised his eyes, already knowing what he would find.
A short, stocky man stood at the door, grumbling to himself as he hung a straw hat on the coat hooks by the door, and he put his large brown and knotted staff into the umbrella holder sitting in the corner. He had a mostly bald head, with white hair around the sides of his head. He also had a trimmed beard, where currently the colors of Grey and white were battling away to see who would get possession of it. It seemed that white was currently winning, and the beard appeared unkempt and wild. His nose was swollen, bearing evidence of clearly having been broken a couple of times. His arms were large and well-muscled for a man who looked like he was in his 60s, and his eyes burned with a quiet intensity that bespoke of intelligence.
The man finally finished fussing over himself and his equipment and walked over to the table, sitting down and taking up the glass of ale thankfully. "Thanks for this, boy. Was hoping you would have some ready for me."
"Of course, Mr. McCoy. Who doesn't love Mac's ale?" replied Michael as he took another bite of his steak.
"I was surprised, to say the least, to get your call. Never thought you would use the rock. Took me forever to find the right damn one. I have dozens of them, and of course, yours was at the very bottom of the pile. Anyway, what did you want to speak about?"
Michael watched in amusement as people began to trickle out from the pub, leaving money on the table to pay their tabs. They all cast furtive glances at Ebenezer as they left, but he was completely oblivious to it. Mac cast him a scowl, for chasing out all of his customers, but Michael just shrugged apologetically and kept on eating.
Instead of answering McCoy's question directly, he wiped his hand on his napkin and reached into his pocket, pulling out the envelope and plopping it in front of him on the worn table. Ebenezer picked it up and his bushy white eyebrows raised as he read the scrawling script on the front of the paper. He raised his eyes to meet Michael's, remembering just in time not to look into them directly. "Ah, I see. Well, I should have realized this was coming. But why call me? I don't understand."
Michael put his steak down and leaned forward. "I want to know if he is legitimate or not. I know of you guys, the White Council. Heck, I've fought beside you before. But I've never heard of the organizations that he listed here. If I'm going to entrust my kids to this man I want to know about him. Background, magical prowess, what the heck the Wizengamot is, everything."
Ebenezar sighed, leaning back in his chair and cradling his hand over his belly. "You're asking a lot from me, boy. A lot more than you know. We are not supposed to talk about this with anyone, much less than with people who are not in the council."
"Please, Ebenezar," Michael implored, eyes focused on his nose, right below the eyes. He put as much emotion in his voice as he could, coming uncomfortably close to begging. "This is for my children. I need to know."
Ebenezar sighed and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna catch so much hell for this," he muttered and took a deep swig of his ale. "Fine. But you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone, got it? Give me your word."
Michael nodded. "I swear it upon the Lord."
Ebenezar nodded. "That will do," before continuing, he glanced around and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, even though they were the only two left in the pub at this point. "The White Council is technically a front. As far as most of the supernatural world is aware, including you and the other two Knights, we are the only wizards, mages, or whatever you want to call us. And that is the way it's meant to be. We protect the world from magical threats. But, there is also a greater wizarding world. There are thousands, no millions, of other wizards. They just make use of a… more watered-down version of magic. More delicate, you could say. At this point, it's practically two different magic systems. We use staffs because our magic is rawer and more intense, and they use wands because theirs is more delicate. Imagine… We channel the river. They channel one of the off-branching streams."
Michael cut in. "Then why the front? Why pretend? If there are so many more, couldn't the White Council use them? It would be a lot easier to stand against these threats with all those wizards backing you up."
"Yes and no. Yes, it might theoretically be easier to clue them all in, but it might also be easier to clue in all the humans on this planet also. It's our duty to protect them from those threats, to let them live a life of peace. We are like…Like the CIA, in a way. We deal with the threats no one else wants to. We are the secret branch of the International Confederation, and we would like to keep it that way. So don't go blabbing this around to everyone you see, got it?" he finished his speech with an edge to his tone, something very near, but not yet crossing the line, to a threat.
Michael nodded. "Then how does Dumbledore know about you? And who is he? You told me about the distinction between you guys but you did not truly explain who he is."
"Well, I don't know much about him. Arthur deals with him more than me. He is the head of the Wizengamot, which is their high judge. He is one of the most gifted wizards of our time, getting his claim to fame when he defeated the previous Dark Lord in a duel. He is about 200 years old, last I checked. He has been the headmaster for the last 50 years. Dumbledore is a politician to the core, as much as he would like to pretend he isn't. In my opinion, he holds way too much power. He is the head judge and the head of the United Nations and the head of the best magical school for wizards in the entire world."
"So it's true? Hogwarts is the best?"
"Best and oldest. Over a thousand years of history behind it, and is still one of the most prestigious. Has raised some of the best and some of the worst wizards to ever curse this world. Voldemort, Vortigern, they all went there and learned their trade."
"So… is he trustworthy?" asked Michael, watching Ebenezar's face closely to see if he was lying.
Ebenezer looked troubled. "Well, trustworthy is a hard word to define. He hates Voldemort with a passion and often stands on the side of good. Word is, he is the only wizard Voldemort ever truly feared. So if young Harry is being pursued by Voldemort, then yes, Hogwarts would be the best place to get his training and be protected as well. But he is a ruthless man. He will do anything he needs to do if he perceives the end goal as worth it. He has been around and in power so long that he practically defines himself as what good is, and the rest of the country follows suit. And he claims he does not want the power of Minister of Magic, but he had Fudge by the ear and he was practically Dumbledore’s puppet. Until he was killed of course. Dumbledore is finding it much harder to control Amelia Bones now.” He grinned and took a sip of his drink before continuing. “But no one stays this long on top of politics without being a little bit cutthroat. But in the end? Yeah, kid, I trust him. He’ll protect Harry, even if it's just to make sure he makes himself look good in the end.”
"Thanks, Ebenezar. The kids already made their decision, but I had to check with you to make sure everything is legitimate. It's… A big decision, sending kids off to boarding school in another country." Michael said hesitantly, still not sure if he was doing the right thing.
Ebenezer's eyebrows rose once again. "Kids? Are both of them magical?"
"Yeah," Michael said, once again as he composed himself and took the last bite of his steak. "Apparently magic runs on Charity's side of the family. How is your Harry? My Harry asks about him sometimes. I never told him where he went obviously, but I'm sure he'll be glad if I bring some news of him with me."
For the first time since he entered the pub, a genuine smile played across the old man's face, and pride filled his eyes. "He is doing good. Responding well to his training. His old master did a lot of damage and I'm working hard to undo as much as I can. But the kid is a gifted natural. I can't thank you enough for pulling his ass out of that fire. Give it a few more years and he will be a full wizard of the Council. You never did tell me how you found him, but now knowing about your kid I can guess."
"Yeah, it was Harry. I guess there's no point hiding it from you now," Michael said with a wry smile. "Here's how it happened. I was working in the shed and he was playing out in the yard by himself. Then suddenly he collapsed to the ground, screaming and clutching his head. I dropped my tools and rushed out there, and he managed to gasp out his head was pounding and something was really, really wrong. I gathered him in my arms and brought him inside, where Charity was tending to Molly. She had been helping with dishes when she too had collapsed suddenly, immediately falling unconscious. We gave Harry some sleeping pills and thank God he passed right out. After that, we just tended to them, until outside the window we could see a massive explosion and a fireball rising into the air. Immediately after, the children's moaning and whimpers stopped and they slept peacefully, or I have to assume they did. I went and grabbed my sword and rushed out into the city. I almost hit Dresden in the pitch black, he was stumbling and his clothes were singed. I immediately let him into my car, and thankfully he recognized me from when I and Justin consulted each other, and I let him stay the night. The next morning, I gave him breakfast, said he had to go to report to you guys and was gone. He never did tell me exactly what happened that night though. Always wondered what could have caused such a visceral reaction to both my children from so far away."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised the kid didn't tell you. I barely pried it out of him myself, and only because he had to testify in front of the whole Senior Council. Apparently, Justin went rogue," he pressed his lips together in anger. "He tried to use Dresden in some sort of blood sacrifice, and his fellow student Elaine, who he had feelings for, also turned on him. Really messed the kid up."
"A blood sacrifice?" Michael said, shock in his voice. "What the heck was he trying to accomplish?"
"Apparently," Ebenezar said, fists clenching in anger. "He was trying to summon a Walker. No idea what for."
"Jesus protect me. A Walker?!," swore Michael as he clutched his cross in one fist, fear filling him. "Was he insane? Why would anyone want to let that… That beast out into the world?"
Ebenezar nodded in agreement. "We must conclude that he was very insane. So he sent the Walker after Dresden. He managed to outsmart him and blew up a gas station, killing his temporary body. After that, he went back to save Elaine but burned down the house in a fight with his master. Been wrestling with the guilt ever since."
Michael sat back hard in his chair. "Wow. I had no clue. A Walker? And he managed to defeat it at 16 only? And duel a full wizard of the White Council and win? I am impressed, to say the least."
Ebenezar smiled once again. "Yeah, the kid is something all right. Just don't let him know that I said it. Don't need him getting a bigger head than he already has." He let out a low chuckle and stood up to go. "Well, if that's all, I gotta get back. I left him some chores to do and I need to see if he completed them." He winked and started striding towards the door. "Hey, where did everyone go?" he asked in bewilderment as he put his hat back on and picked up his staff from the umbrella stand. Behind the counter, Mac scowled again as he rubbed his ale mugs clean. "Also, the tab is on him, Mac." And with a wink and a flourish of his coat, he swung the door behind him and disappeared into the night, the tip of his staff already glowing with power.