Chapter 12
“I’m asking but don’t answer
Cause I don’t want to know.”
-- Don’t Wanna Know, Bo Burnham
.XoX.
Harry is discharged reluctantly from the hospital wing. “Do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything,” Pomfrey tells him, face still painted with concern. She does not want him to leave. What is outside her hospital is outside her control -- and for people with eating disorders? Oh, control is a strong thing. “Anything at all, alright? Anything.”
“Okay,” Harry tells her. And because he never says it enough: “Thank you.”
She runs a hand through his hair, cupping his cheek with calloused hands. “It is my job,” she says. “Do one thing for me, though?”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to visit me again anytime soon.”
There is pain in her voice. It is familiar. Cedric Diggory comes to mind. The hurt of an eating disorder is all consuming, but he cannot imagine what he would do if someone he loved had one, too. There is hurt there, too.
And Pomfrey.
Pomfrey is hurting. Because of him. Because of people like him. He knows, of course he knows, that feeling bad for being bad does not stop the bad, but he sees her eyes and wonders how he could not feel guilty?
“I’ll try,” he says, voice breaking. It is a lie. Harry can only ever hurt the people that care for him. He knows this very well. And knows enough to change it.
He has Tom now. Tom, the asshole. Maybe, like Tom had said, they will change each other. For Pomfrey’s sake, he hopes so.
.xox.
“Think about what I said,” Luna had said. “And then send me a letter.” Harry does not send her a letter. Not within the day, or the week, or the one following it. But he does think about what she said.
He thinks a lot. Finds it hard, only at times, to think about anything else.
She is right. She’s right because the hard chunk of the sentiments she echos are not unique to her. They are thoughts Harry had shared when the champions were called and are thoughts he shared now.
This was rigged. He knows that, doesn’t he? Of course he knows that.
And he does not know Cedric all that well, but Cedric knows Julian well. Knows that Julian has no reason to lie. Knows that Julian doesn’t and, here, didn’t. And Harry knows, like he knows this was rigged, like Cedric knows Julian, that Cedric has no reason to lie to him.
He knows that. Of course he knows that.
Julian… took his name out of the running. Despite his drunken rantings, his hot, resentful anger, this is true. Harry cannot conjure a reason for it not to be. His absence from the party; his confession to Harry. However could Harry turn on someone so blatant in their intent? It is ridiculous. Harry is ridiculous. (This, too, Harry knows.)
And because Julian took his name out of the running… because it is not that he might’ve but that he must’ve; Luna Lovegood must have done the same. Maybe Harry knew this the moment he stood in that Great Hall on the day that should have been the best but did not even come close, feeling all the while like he did not stand freely. Like he was not a spider in this entwined web of coincidences.
He knew. And was angry regardless. Was vicious regardless. But his anger and hurt -- while valid -- were completely misguided. He was not and should not have been mad at her -- her, who was just as much as a victim as Harry in this situation, if not tenfold more so -- but the circumstances.
It… Harry realizes, it does not stop there. Harry is not mad at Luna Lovegood for their marriage; he is just mad at their marriage and those who made it possible. Luna did not consent to their situation, either, even if she went with it. She was a child. What else would she do?
Harry Potter is mad at Luna Lovegood for no good real reason and he almost always has been.
So, yes. Harry thinks about what she said. And he thinks and writes, and in two weeks’ time, he will break. He will break and tire of deserved silence and deal with the guilt in a way he is not used to; by doing something about it.
But that is in two weeks’ time. It is not now.
.xox.
Tom is returned to him via owl during fifth period. The Professor sours at the sight of it, telling his owl to adhere to the schedule like anyone else. “Being a champion does not exempt you from the rules,” she adds.
“Sure,” he says, not really caring. “My bad.” Tom’s bad, actually, and maybe Marvolo’s.
He unwraps carefully the packaging from the diary, holding the smooth leather in his hands. A sudden burst of fulfillment overcomes him, though Harry cannot tell why. He uncaps his ink pen, abandoning his sour attempts at paying attention to his schoolwork.
Tom, he writes. I didn’t expect you back so soon.
He’s not good company, writes Tom. (Like father, like son.) Harry can feel, like the diary is emitting it, his bitterness through the pages. And fear. There is so much fear.
Did you learn anything?
Tom wants to lie. He supposes his first instinct, always and forever (you cannot separate the chicken from the egg), is to give information at a price, and to give as little, and as vague, of it as possible.
But that’s not fair. That’s something you do to followers; to your armies, your generals; to people your head visualizes as pawns. It is not something you do to friends. And although Harry Potter is an ally, he is also more.
So Tom warns him with no notice later than literally necessary: Stay away from him. He’s like me. A horcrux. And he’s not rogue or self destructive -- and so what he is dangerous.
What -- are you serious? That’s…
He’s the locket.
Just “the” locket? Not all that descriptive, if you ask me. Do you have any idea of where it is?
Every horcrux, as far as Tom was told, had some sort of ancestral, if not personal, connection. The diary was one of his most prized possessions, even if it was hidden, cast away for fear of ridicule. Purebloods are not known for their kindness to anyone and children acting like children are not exceptions. The ring was his father’s -- a part of his legacy, frozen in time with him through shared blood and now soul.
Marvolo and his locket do not deviate from this rule. I don’t know, says Tom. But I have some ideas I will be looking into in the future.
Alright, writes Harry. For the most part, Voldemort and the atrocities he commits -- and the wizarding war that has been hanging steadily over their heads for over forty years that everyone refuses to actually call a war -- are far away. The joy of being a halfblood, at least where Voldemort is concerned. But that, by no means, means that Harry will not do something to stop it if he could. If you need anything from me, then ask away. I’m all ears. (Harry thinks of Julian Jackson and Cedric Diggory and believes, wholeheartedly, that that’s what friends are for.)
Actually, there are a few things he mentioned that I need modern word on.
Glad to be of service. What is it?
Mouton -- that Headmaster I was sent to; the CEO, I infer, of the Butterflies -- … what is her connection to Voldemort? She knows too many things she shouldn’t. Knew about me. What I am. And that should be impossible, writes Tom. So, tell me. What am I missing?
Mouton and Voldemort? It’s an easy question. I suppose her connection to Voldemort is her connection to Grindelwald. Given that the Dark Lord Gellert’s intentions are close to Voldemort’s--
Wait, wait. She is connected to Grindelwald? News to him. Everything is news to him. Voldemort would be angry. But Tom is just confused.
Oh, yeah, writes Harry, sheepishly. I forgot to mention. So, I looked into the companies funding the Butterflies, right? To find their pseudo CEO. And the company is Season’s Greetings. Alongside their donations to the Butterflies are donations to our main man, you guessed it, Gellert Grindelwald.
Fascinating. A fascinating answer that gives him more questions: Why would Grindelwald know about the horcruxes?
… Did Marvolo not explain? I mean, it’s pretty crucial to modern wizarding society across Europe, as well as Voldemort’s current self, so I had just assumed that he might have mentioned--
But information freely given is information lost. Marvolo knows this because Tom knows this. We’re not on the best of terms. They are hardly on any terms at all. Tom’s blood burns with anger. He told me little. And… And, Tom thinks, a lot of it will hurt you. I will tell you regardless because (that’s what friends are for) you deserve it. But, I will tell you more of it on a later date. But he had a sore spot. A few, really. One of them is Gellert. And now, Mouton is connected to him. The connection is… Curious, Tom thinks, young again. It is all so curious.
Tom has given Harry information before. It is time for him to return the favor.
Alright, says Harry, before breaking down the years long conflict of the three sided wizarding war.
.xox.
It’s 1966. Voldemort has long since graduated. He is more dangerous as an adult because there is no need for subtly; no such thing as the Trace for adults. And the Ministry is as fragile as it is afraid.
He has free reign and general psychopathy and generations of the bigoted on his side. He is not afraid to use it.
He’d swapped through names of his group for the years during and after Hogwarts, but the name he settles on and the name that sticks is the Weepers. “For the fall of society, the fall of proper men, women and children, we weep. For the death of our fallen, we weep. For the fall of tradition, we weep. We weep so others may not.”
And they say this to each other, this little group, like some sort of self soothing mantra. We are doing good things. We are repairing society. We are not evil; we are merely mourners, and how can you hate the grieving?
But people do. Hate the grieving, I mean. Because if your pain causes other people pain, suddenly, people stop caring.
Voldemort and the Weepers brand themselves and through slogans with one goal in mind. Voldemort is a politician at heart, so he never says it. The fun part is that they don’t have to; people know anyway. Really, it is a tough thing to hide.
Their goal is simple. Magical domination. Magical nationalism. He calls for the complete and total annihilation of Muggles. Muggleborns and halfbloods are fine. He has no business in ruining the magical world (but the two are conjoined at the hip; how can ruining one not ruin the other? Guns are just as equal opportunity killers as wands.)
After years of trying to push this ideology politically, and failing, continually, the Weepers do what Voldemort knows best. They start killing. Murder is how Voldemort knows to do things.
And this, he wants to do badly.
The next three years are the Dark Days. No wizard lives in fear -- except those pressured and scrutinized for not submitting to the cause; except those who know there are things far worse than death -- but Muggles die. And not just a few, just a handful, but almost four million of them.
Harry has looked through old newspaper clippings. He has seen the textbooks, learned about it through word of mouth and in class. It is horrifying. Harry has never felt more grateful for his privilege and guilty for having it.
Those three years are the Dark Days. Dark fucking red.
The Ministry is hesitant to act. Their fear is not the Muggle dying, but the magic. They are a small society, unable to withstand the same losses as Muggles do. They fear the outbreak of outright war. What fear is ever truly unfounded?
So they do nothing. They try, of course, to do damage control. It is minor and never sufficient; tiptoeing around and about the major factors and influences. Months upon months of back and forth and with the back and forth of equally stubborn, not even wrong politicians? It is hard for anything to get done.
There is argument that this is not a wizarding fight. This is not their war; their genocide. There is no need, no necessity, to sacrifice their small enough as it is population for a cause that has nothing with them.
There is argument that the Muggles are defenseless against so many forces with such overwhelming strength. With magic. This, they both can agree on, is a genocide. It has nothing to do with them. But that is why it’s so important to step in -- if they do not stand up for those incapable of standing up for themselves, then who will?
And the truth is, they are both wrong. They are both right. War is immoral and genocide is immoral and Harry cannot imagine the turmoil of having to choose between two evils.
Even now, when the days are not dark red but a light and faint pink, Harry is wracked with guilt because he is glad the Ministry refuses to do something. He is no soldier. Luna and the people around him are not soldiers. He turns his back because he knows it is his people or theirs. Us or them. And Harry knows which he’d choose.
For three years, the Ministry sends out Aurors sparingly. If wizards are hurt in the process of Muggle beings murdered, they will send them out. If magical property is damaged, if magical people are harassed by the Weepers. Magical, magical. As for the Muggles, they are left to their inferior devices. They are left for dead. The Ministry does this careful dance between inaction and just enough action to prevent war and although they receive a lot of scrutiny for this time period, Harry can hardly blame them.
It’s 1970. Ablus Dumbledore is not fragile or afraid. He does not care to avoid war. They call themselves the Order of the Pheonix and they fight like all lives matter -- they fight like they know every Muggle and are angry not just on their behalf but like they are them.
And Dumbledore is powerful. He’s powerful like Voldemort is powerful and he is much older, much more experienced. Dumbledore is a horse that people want to back.
They are good soldiers. Good people. They know which side is good and which side is bad and root for good; fight for it.
Harry thinks, despite his self preservation, despite his gut feelings about Albus, that they are heroes.
They are an equal or greater force and subdue the Weepers. Monthly Muggle death counts dwindle, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Voldemort’s forces are on the verge of submission, everyone can just tell, everyone just knows.
And then it is 1975. It’s 1975 and after five long years of constant clashing between two forces, someone steps up.
His Gellert Grindelwald. He is charismatic. Tells Purebloods lies they cannot help but agree with about what his cause is; what he and his people stand for.
He is similar to Voldemort. In a lot of ways that matter and some that don’t -- and some people say that they could be close enough to be lovers -- but the core of Gellert’s cause is altered. He calls not for magical domination, but magical/muggle segregation. Total and violent segregation; no halfbloods, no muggleborns. These are two entirely separate worlds -- hasn’t the government proven that for years now? -- and Gellert believes it is time to start treating them like it.
Muggles who know of the magical world are murdered. Muggles with magical relatives are murdered. When the Ministry shows up to alter the memory of those exposed to accidental magic, Grindelwald’s forces declare it is not that simple. It’s not enough.
And so they die. They die because Gellert doesn't dislike Muggles as long as they are Muggles over there. He fears their influence on Pureblood culture and that’s what these Dark Lords rattle on and on about, don’t they? About tradition. About how Muggles ruin it. Gellert tries his best to sell the lie that this is not a bloodthirsty, irrational campaign but what most Purebloods believe in anyway. That Muggles and their kind do not belong at Hogwarts. That they do not belong in the government.
It is a lie only somewhat well sold. Some people are fooled. But most people are just afraid.
It’s 1977. The Butterflies pop up. They are not feared because they are not known of. And they like it that way. Of course they do.
It’s 2004. Now, it’s 2004. The cycle started years ago has not changed much. Gellert and Voldemort almost get along. The Order fights because they think their cause is just. Because someone has to. There are attempts at claiming land; at overthrowing and taking over the government; all thwarted, each time, sooner or later.
And death. So much death -- from both sides, from all sides. Harry reads The Prophet every week and the headlines are all copies of each other. Muggles slaughtered. Halfbloods rounded up and killed. Every week, all week.
The Ministry sits back. Harry does, too. This is not his fight. But he hopes, still, that it is one his side wins.
.XoX.
“My no is never taken as a no because it is never said as it
Like how my yes’s are I’m sorry’s and my thank you’s are tearful
I yearn for acceptance you cannot give;
I hate outcomes already predicted
I am sorry and resentful and do not forget and never forgive
I am happy and sad and on top of the world
I want you to join me
I am happy that you can’t.
This is madness. Contradictory phrases spoken and yelled and whispered.
And I ask you though I already know,
If madness is human?”
-- Harry Potter, “Six of Cups.”