Chapter 13
The office on the fifth floor is covered in light, soothing colours. The wallpaper is drawn in beige, matching the plush chairs that are lavishly planted behind a light brown desk, facing a number of paintings of landscapes; Harry is especially drawn to the one of the sun setting, the orb lowering to the sea over and over again. She would feel comfortable, she’d sink into the chair if it weren’t for the throbbing tension that has settled on her shoulders since she set foot into the ministry once again.
Besides, waiting is never a peaceful task, especially when there are…more enjoyable things to do. Harry brings some of her hair to her neck, covering a few pesky marks, seeing how she won’t risk using magic to hide anything. Not when her magic is acting like a rebellious teenager.
In hindsight, having a meeting the day after a party is a truly terrible arrangement. But staring at her wand in the morning, her rebellious wand, solidified her desperate urge to find out what in Merlin’s name is going on. That and Tony going out to see Rhodey, meant she had some free time.
Circe, she sounds like a housewife.
Fortunately, she doesn’t have to wait long: Harry hears the click of heels that quickly grow louder, the shoes stopping next to her and revealing someone Harry’s never met. When Harry tilts her head, she’s faced with a very tall, very pretty girl, who looks incredibly familiar and yet a stranger all at once.
“Diana Shacklebolt, Head of the Ministry’s PR,” the woman says, bringing her hand to meet Harry’s in a firm grip, which she shakes once and releases, moving to sit at her desk.
“Harry Potter,” she replies, more out of politeness than anything else. Harry is slightly thrown though, assessing Diana in a new light after the instant reveal of her surname. It’s easy to connect her to Kingsley in terms of appearance: they share the same nose, the same displeased down turn of lips. Even though she knows Kingsley doesn’t have a daughter, she’ll eat her right foot if she finds there’s no relation whatsoever.
“I know who you are,” Diana says bluntly, walking round with poise to sit in front of her desk. “I was told that the last time you came here, you caused quite a stir. It’s hence rather startling to see you back in the ministry. Especially considering you were supposed to return a few weeks ago to be questioned about your arrival with a muggle.”
Straight to the point, Harry’s liking her more by the minute. “I was surprised the ministry actually believed I’d return. It was a bit…gullible, no?”
Diana raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, seemingly nonplussed. “Many people after the Battle of Hogwarts decided to volunteer in helping the affairs the ministry has had to deal with for the last few months. We are currently…sussing out, those who are less than incompetent at their given roles. None are purposefully malicious, it will please you to note. Each employee has been doused with veritaserum during their applications here.”
“You also seem to have created new magical objects,” Harry says, abandoning all pretence of subtlety, and regretfully being a smidge unpleasant. “You can tell whose muggle just by looking at them, I noticed. And there’s a…what was it? A Prevention bracelet? That blocks people’s magic.”
Diana steeples her fingers together. “The Prevention is its given name. It was manufactured around the end of You-Know-Who’s control over the ministry. Supposedly, it was meant to be used as a torture tactic. Wizards do love to feel some connection with their magic, a source of comfort during the real torture, if you don’t mind my crass phrasing.”
Harry furrows her brows. “You’re not a wizard?”
“I’m a squib.” Diana says, the edge of her tone attached to something guarded, as if she is prepared to defend herself should the opportunity arise. “I was appointed two months ago, announced a trustworthy figure in ensuring the rehabilitation of both the Wizarding World and the Ministry itself.”
“By your…uncle?”
Diana nods firmly. “Indeed.”
There is a beat.
Harry decides to continue, “What of identifying muggles?”
“Ah. Well, that is a longer story.”
“I have time.” Harry’s not lying when she says that, but she really hopes this isn’t too long. There’s someone she would like to see, someone who just a few hours ago was all she could think about, all she could breathe in. All she wanted to breathe in.
Harry needs to get a hold of herself, honestly.
“After the Final Battle,” Diana starts, carefully eyeing Harry, “When the Ministry was essentially healing from its usurpation, the authorities found salient information. It was discovered that there was disunity within You-Know-Who’s ranks. Some wizards found that purifying the World was taking too long. The impatience led to a group banding together, deciding to alert outside forces in order for them to help eradicate muggle borns quicker. This included muggle organisations, to help find any so-called criminal in hiding.”
Harry stares at her incredulously. “You’re saying in order to completely dominate the Wizarding World they used muggle help? That’s ridiculous.”
“Indeed. Objectively, it is understandable. Using outside help that can easily be overpowered. It was unsuccessful, however. The higher authorities under the Dark Lord’s regime found out soon enough, and the group was eliminated. And yet, the muggles they had used for aid were never revealed, the members of the group never telling even when, excuse my repetition, under extreme torture. Even now, we are still unaware of who has been told. It has become an issue of upmost importance to find out which muggle organisations know of magic. And considering the group were all horrendously murdered, it is a difficult task. Hence the creation of the necklace that identifies the muggles from the wizards, to see if any of them attempt to break into the Ministry.”
Harry firmly fits her hands into her lap, preventing her fingers from twitching manically.
She’ll let the Ministry deal with the Muggle Situation. It’s selfish yes, but Harry’s tired.
And she didn’t come here to deal with that. She’s sitting on this terrifically comfortable chair for a whole other matter entirely.
“I came here because of Patrick,” Harry says finally, trying her best not to tap her fingers on the arm rests of the seat. “But you knew that.”
“I did.” Diana puffs a small breath from her lips, the only real sign since they’ve met that Diana can be flustered. “The PR for that debacle was pure insanity. All witnesses seeing you and the muggle were sworn to secrecy. Not to mention the trial took much longer than it should have, if you ask me. Kidnapping the Girl-Who-Lived isn’t exactly information that can easily be buried; it took days on end to ensure the information was never released. Don’t get me started on the extra influx of journalists attempting to find out anything of your whereabouts these past few months.”
“Yeah.” Harry bashfully scratches her head, unsure what to do. “Sorry about that.”
If anything, this just makes Diana’s expression even more pinched.
“So, did you find anything out? About Patrick?” Harry asks, when the silence has stretched out long enough. A year ago, this woman would have scared the pants off of Harry. Maybe a little bit now.
Harry likes her.
Diana settles slightly back in her chair, probably her own form of a recline. “Veritaserum works wonders, Miss Potter. We found out everything we needed to.”
Harry sits up straighter, feeling hastily cautious. She knows what she’s going to hear won’t be pleasant, and yet she sits greedily, waiting to gobble up all the information that follows.
“His name was revealed as Patrick Travers,” Diana tells her, never losing eye contact. “His family was a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, incredibly prestigious pure-blooded family. Not all easy sailing for Mr Travers, however. He was thought to be a squib, something kept very hush hush until he miraculously received his Hogwarts letter at eleven. Unfortunately during his schooling he was very weak in witchcraft, becoming a topic of ridicule among his peers. Awarded an A in his OWLs, deemed average, especially considering his house sorting was Ravenclaw. Focused more on animals then education, seeming to not care much for the school if his teachers reports on him are anything to go by.”
The whole time Diana talks, Harry nods away, taking it all in. She ignores the pang of sympathy that swells in her gut, thinking instead of the fear she felt when she saw Tony lying there, motionless. Looking almost dea-
“After Hogwarts, Mr Travers toured the world, settling in America for a few years using his parents’ money, estranged as they were. Eventually, with his fathers’ connections, Mr Travers was able to obtain a job within the Ministry. Except, to everyone’s shock, including that of said fathers, he decided to become a low-end secretary within the low ranks of the Ministry. Worked there for a few years, until You-Know-Who seized power. He fell off the grid for a while, coming back shortly after the war, his family having all perished in unknown circumstances. And a few weeks ago he went missing, only to show up with one Harriet Potter, and a muggle whom he did not identify, having apparently kidnapped them both.”
Harry sits closer to the edge of her seat, something dangerous trying to seep through her. “Patrick knowing where to find me and working for the Ministry seem too intertwined to be a coincidence.”
Diana remains stone-faced. “You are correct in your deduction. Courtesy of Molly Weasley, a selected, trustworthy group was given a blood tracker for you. Not only have we known where you are since you were asked to leave the United Kingdom, but we have had volunteers, mostly squibs of course, to keep a look out for you. Unfortunately, Mr Travers managed to discover the data.”
Harry freezes in her seat. The cold, bitter feeling of betrayal washes over her in powerful waves.
“What?”
This time, Diana slightly squints instead of her usual closed off expressions beforehand, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Mrs Weasley had apparently thought it was the best decision for you. I also may have unintentionally embellished the facts; there were never people following you. The blood tracker told us you were travelling across the US, so we simply asked people you came into contact with to tell us if you were well, or in seeming danger. Action was only once almost taken to protect you; when you were seemingly…manhandled, at a festival off the coast of Montana you went to a few months back. And even then, you certainly took care of it, if what the reports say are valid.”
A couple of boys come running over, their mouths agape.
“That, and we were informed of a car breaking down, prior to your kidnapping. The Trell family that offered you shelter were not squibs, however. We were able to find out of your good health through…other measures,” she says, the words coming out cold and disassociated.
“You mean through legilimency,” Harry comments distantly, reeling at all of this.
How could Molly have done this?
How could legilimency have been done so casually?
Diana just stares at her, almost daringly.
Harry on the other hand, finds her voice. “The Ministry was fine with violating peoples minds like that?” Molly Trell, who had opened her home up to her and Tony, who had cooked her dinner.
“It was not me who performed the vile act, nor did I command it to happen. I am simply the messenger.”
Harry rubs a hand down her face, her attempts to reign in her rage becoming more difficult by the minute, the numbness rapidly dissipating. “Clearly the blood tracker was pointless, not to mention the reason I was kidnapped in the first place.”
Why Tony was in fucking danger.
“It was too short a time span for any worry to arise. There were also no witnesses to your capture. Had there been, I assure you, events would have played out very differently.”
“I want the tracker destroyed,” Harry snarls, the numbness having faded away into something that is foreign, something that is vicious. “It put me and To- my muggle friend in danger, it is a disgusting violation that has benefitted no one except a sociopath. If I find out it hasn’t been destroyed in the next week I will come back and destroy it for you. Is that understood?”
The woman opposite her nods once, resolute. “Very well. I should also warn you that since you have been travelling the United States, MACUSA have made it clear of their desire to contact you”-
“It was very nice meeting you,” Harry finishes, her frustration leaking out of her as if a festering pore; she stands and marches out the room, before one last idle thought that has rested on the tip of tongue finally makes way to her lips.
“One last thing,” Harry turns just as she’s about to fully step out of the light office, that damned puzzling thought still niggling at the back of her mind. Diana for her part looks rather frazzled at her sudden change in moods, if the slight widening of her eyes is any indication.
“I attempted to use a spell the other day, and a completely different one was cast. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“Should I?”
Harry shrugs, her anger from what she’s learned still prominent in her posture. “You seem to know a whole lot.”
Diana peers at her thoughtfully, brushing an imaginary curl behind her ear. “If I had to make an educated guess, I would say that your wand is rebelling against you, Miss Potter. Though I would ask a professional on the matter. After all, I’m no wizard.”
Harry leaves the office with the sensation of ice spilling over her body, too much thrown at her in the ten minutes she was there for her to focus on anything of individual substance.
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Harry buys an owl, attaching a letter and sending it to where she knows is a boy, a boy with bright red hair and an easy, warm grin. She forces herself to concentrate on that grin while writing, actively pulling back her fury like reins on a horse.
Mrs. Weasley.
Surprisingly, seeing the owl fly off into the distance doesn’t make her feel as if a weight has been taken along with the letter, too. Instead, it is as if the bird has taken nothing at all, the words on the letter an anchor that threatens to grab a hold of her and pull her down with it.
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It isn’t as if the news has completely dampened her mood; there’s been something resembling a spring in her step (for many reasons, she knows, as her finger idly traces a prominent mark on her neck) since last night, but Harry understands that her positivity has been significantly damaged by the end of the day.
Just when she thinks her life has stabilised somewhat, new questions have slammed into her. She has no one to blame for that but herself, a part of her whines in regret. Out of all the days to hear bad news, and she chose the one where her mood was at her brightest since…well, she has no idea.
(Her own wand is rejecting her. She has a few suspicions of what that might mean, but action brings about symptoms including eradicating any delusions present. And Harry is content to adopt an ignorant mindset.)
(Patrick. Knowing about him now makes him real, makes him less of the two-dimensional creep she preferred to see him as. And in all her reigned rage, she never asked what happened to him. If he is alive. She wonders what her reaction would be if he wasn’t.)
(Molly Weasley.)
It’s these haunting thoughts that make her know that she’ll have what Tony refers to as a ‘Moody Judy Complex’. Harry doesn’t want to be a Moody Judy, she’s been moody enough as it bloody well is.
Tomorrow then. Tomorrow she’ll be a…
Positive Patricia.
But tomorrow is a while away, and Harry knows once she reaches the hotel room her and Tony are occupying, her day will collide into her. Harry doesn’t want Tony to deal with the fallout, he’s dealt with enough.
So it is therefore a shock, when her rather downtrodden self opens the door to their hotel room and sees-
Roses. Red roses are scattered all over the floor and the bed. On it lies Tony, a stemmed flower in between his teeth. “Good evening, Miss Potter.”
“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, a small, uncontrollable smile settling on her face, her bad disposition rapidly moved to the side.
“I love it when you talk English. Say spiffing.”
“What is this?”
Tony smirks, muttering a slight curse when a thorn noticeably pokes his cheek. “I’m romancing you babe. Wooing, if you will. It’s working isn’t it? It’s totally working.”
“You’re absolutely mental.”
“I sense resentment, it’s understandable. Some people just hate being inferior to their partner.”
Harry comes forward to the bed, taking the flower from his mouth. “You cut yourself.” She softly inspects the cut with her thumb, pleased when she sees that it’ll heal quickly.
“You into that sort of thing? Kinky.”
Harry flicks his nose. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she leans in to kiss him; allowing herself to immerse herself in all and everything that is so Tony. She has to lean back away from it though, her guilt stirring at not informing Tony of her...day.
“Don’t you want to hear about my meeting?”
He grabs her flicking fingers and starts fiddling with them intently. It’s more endearing then it should be.
“Do you honestly want to talk about it right now?"
Harry shakes her head, beginning to feel the slithering of foggy, untameable drowsiness entering her mind. Tony squeezes her fingers firmly.
“Neither do I, seriously. Had a long day myself: Rhodey went all A Few Good Men on my slowly dying soul. Do you know how hard it was to pretend I had spent the whole time at my party in my own body? Do you know I never thought I’d say a sentence like that ever? Plus I went to a florist and made the magic happen in here, but oh no- It didn’t even end there, I had to go out and buy Rhodey the right pair of latex gloves- inside joke right there, sorry Hot Stuff, I’ll explain later.”
Harry chuckles under her breath; even to her it comes across as exhausted.
“Blimey, it’s been a day.”
Tony’s whole attention lands on Harry at that; she feels the brunt of his intensity like an electric shock.
“You okay?”
Harry reclines backwards on the bed, letting out a surprised laugh when she feels a thorn jab into her side. “I’m fine. I reckon tomorrow it’ll all sort of, I don’t know- catch up?”
Tony plops himself next to her, tapping her lightly on the cheek. He sighs loudly.
“Tomorrow, I guess I can wait until then. If only there was some way to pass the time.” He gives her a mockingly innocent expression. “I guess we could…play charades?”
“Interesting idea,” Harry comments, deciding that she’s going to be a nasty bint because…well, it’s rather fun.
Nasty bint, yeah.
“It’s your birthday in a week, yeah? You can wait that long for a game of charades. Patience is a virtue,” she sings, adoring the way Tony’s mouth drops to the floor and stays there. His eyes begin to twinkle, something daring flashing in his guise.
“You’re on, Potter. I always win.”
She smiles at him challengingly, a cruel plan swirling in her mind. Harry gets up from her position, lifts her shirt up over her head and unbuckles her belt, letting her trousers crumple to the floor.
“Ha-wha- whatcha doing?” Tony breathes out, and Harry revels in the way his voice has gone an octave higher. His eyes are practically popping out- for a split-second Harry is actually scared he’s physically hurt. When he eyes her body, she has never seen him so bright red.
“Is that”-
“Do you like it? I’d vaguely heard of Superman before, so when I saw a comic book shop I couldn’t resist peeking- and well, I know you’re a comic book fanatic.” Surprisingly, he has nothing to say to that. He just sits there.
Perhaps buying Superman boxer shorts was maybe too bold a decision? The matching bra was simply too enticing not to get.
“I like,” he gestures to where his eyes are glued to, “the boxers.”
“It’s adorable, I agree. Much comfier then regular underwear as well.” She leans into him, only snapping her head away when his lips attempt to snatch hers. “Anyways, good night.”
She turns the lamp next to her off, the room fully immersed in darkness. Harry hasn’t taken her shoes off yet, nor has she settled under the covers, but she doesn’t dare. It would ruin the moment.
“I hate you.” Tony rasps out in the silence that follows, lying down to where Harry is; she has to bite a grin when her body is pulled against his, his lips pressing down against a spot on her neck that she knows from last night is quickly becoming one of his favourite past times. “I also have a cucumber in my pocket. In case I get hungry, you know me, always got a trick up my sleeve. Or up my pocket, whatever.”
It’s becoming…rather terrifying. How much she relies on him to smile.
It is certainly worrying. Yet Harry has so much to stress about; Tony will never be one of them.
Her eyes flutter from the heavy breathing in her ear, turning around and pressing her lips to Tony’s freely, relentlessly, uncontrollably. Throughout she feels the rake of his fingernails over her head and gains goosebumps at the gentle circling Tony’s fingers are drawing on her arm, her arm where only she knows lies an ugly, thick scar.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, there will be some things to think about.