Chapter Text
“Remus, please. Just-just let me come to his tutoring sessions. O-or one – one tutoring session. I’ll stay quiet, I promise. Or I could help!”
“Sirius, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Okay, maybe not help. But he’s my godson, for Merlin’s sake. I-I deserve the right to see him!”
“It’s really not up to me. John Henry and Michael are the people you should be asking – not me.”
“’John Henry’.” Disgust coloured his voice. “Harry will like me just fine as soon as we get him away from Snivellus.”
Tawny gold eyes rolled. “His name is John Henry. It’s the only name he knows and it’s the one he prefers. And we are decades out of school, Sirius. It’s time for you to grow up and move on from school-boy grudges.”
“What, like a reasonable adult? Absolutely not.”
Dear John Henry,
Things are not looking good here. Dumbledore finding and destroying that thing we spoke of really set some thing major in motion. We’re not sure exactly, but we think someone on the School Board is putting pressure on him to allow You Know Who’s people on the staff next year. Professor McGonagall’s said a few things to me and Neville’s heard Professor Sprout grumbling under her breath about how new faculty members should at least be qualified to work with children. Professor Rowle looks particularly smug lately, which never bodes well for us. So the pressure to get our hands on the rest of those you know whats is on.
Luna had a particularly interesting idea regarding what to do with them after we have them. Seeing as we’re not sure how to destroy them exactly, hiding them seems the next best option. The question then is how. Her idea is a warding of some sort, like the way no one can find you unless they’re looking for you, John Henry Stevens, and how even then a locator spell gives a very broad area you might be in. And a person who apparates lands five kilometres outside of town. Ron thinks we should just have you keep the you know whats, but I worry that if someone does a locator spell on them exactly, that they’ll find you by accident. However, if we can get the same type of warding magic on those pieces, we could potentially hide them anywhere. How are those wards in place, anyway? In theory, they seem pretty complex for a household of very minimal magic.
In addition to all that, you know how Pansy Parkinson has been acting weird all year? I don’t know what Draco’s written to you about, but I think something is seriously wrong. Draco knows, too. He keeps telling us to let him handle it, but I'm not sure. Ron wants to corner her, but you know what he's like. And it's driving Ginny absolutely batty.
Anyway, let me know what you think.
Hermione
“Dad,” John Henry began one evening, “can you tell me why no one was able to find me? I mean, if you don’t have your wand and haven’t done any magic for the last fifteen or sixteen years, how come everyone thinks you put wards up?”
Michael frowned and finished the bite of roast in his mouth as he thought. “The only explanation I’ve been able to come up with is that when we moved here… I was so set on hiding you, John Henry. Protecting the both of us from any one who might harm us consumed me. I suppose I set up a sort of… force field, subconsciously, around the town.”
“A massive Notice Me Not spell,” John Henry reasoned. “By accident?”
A thin shoulder lifted and fell. “Not as simple as Notice Me Not seeing as the town still shows up on maps. And Professor Sprout was able to find you when you were eleven, after all. I wish I could dictate the specifics of it, but I didn’t want anyone to find us so they haven’t.”
John Henry twirled his fork in his salad for a moment. “Malfoy told me when he and his mum came by last summer, it felt like you’d warded the shop so no one would want to come in. He said even approaching the shop gave him the willies.”
Michael gave his son a look. “I highly doubt Draco Malfoy would have used the term ‘willies.’”
“You know what I mean, dad. What I want to know is how did you ward the shop if you don’t do magic? And how come everyone who tries to apparate into town only gets as close as five kilometres away? Can you teach me how you did that?”
Michael frowned. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure. This is a very pointed line of questioning, son. Why are you asking?”
John Henry took a deep breath and studied his father. Things were getting better between them, but he still didn’t feel like he could be as free as he had been with the man.
“I can’t tell you,” he decided. Michael’s lips folded in.
“Can’t, or don’t want to?” John Henry remained silent, and Michael had his answer. The man sighed. “John Henry, you know I’ll figure it out eventually anyway. Are you sure you don’t want to just tell me?”
The boy swallowed. Michael would figure it out, especially when Malfoy arrived for the summer. And in all honesty, John Henry’s dad would probably be a lot more accepting of what they were trying to do than the Order members Ron and Ginny had tried to talk to. But… but John Henry didn’t even know what his own face was supposed to look like. And the man who raised him was responsible for that.
“Are you stealing something?” Michael continued to question after his son's silence, his voice pointed and hard. “Are you doing something that will lead people here?”
“Dad-“
“Sixteen years I’ve kept you safe. Like hell would I let you jeopardize that, not for anything.”
“Fifteen years, dad – I had a different father for the first one. And what if I want to keep myself safe, huh?” John Henry demanded. The situation was slipping but he didn't know what to do except argue – it was a very reasonable request to know how Michael had hidden the pair of them so specifically and so well for so long. Severus, feeling like he’d been given a cold slap in the face, did not see it that way.
“Well, I am your father now so whatever it is you’re planning, you’ll have to try again. I refuse – absolutely refuse – to help you endanger your life or those of your friends. I’m the adult and it’s my job to keep you safe.” He shoved away from the table and stalked outside, disappearing to the workspace in shop below.
John Henry propped his elbows on the table and shoved his fingers into his hair. Well, there was that blown to hell. Maybe Hermione would have an idea of how to hide the horcruxes.
Aunt Andromeda,
I know we haven’t spoken in some time, but I have need of your assistance regarding a rather pressing matter. Enclosed with this letter is a copy of the key to Aunt Bellatrix’s vault at Gringotts. Please don’t ask me how I got it, but I need you to retrieve something out of there for me. …
“Mr Lupin,” John Henry started one afternoon. “What was my… what was James like? Mr Weasley was able to tell me some, but you knew him better didn’t you?”
Remus straightened in his seat and brushed a hand through his hair. Wondering what this moment would be like had done nothing to actually help him figure out how to navigate it.
“Uh… yeah, I did. We met when we were eleven, so we had about ten years with each other. When we were young he was… Oh god,” the truth slipped out unvarnished, “James what such a spoiled shitter when he was eleven. I mean, he wasn’t bad at his core, but his parents were older and didn’t even think they were going to have children by the time he was born. They gave him everything he’d ever wanted. And they were pretty well off, so they could afford to.” Remus gave a rueful shake of his head, smiling at the memories.
“There was something about him, though – everyone wanted to be his friend. It had nothing to do with how much money he had, either. He could just… he made everyone laugh. Merlin, the things he’d think up. You remember the map you had in third year?” He waited for John Henry to nod before continuing. “I was Moony, for obvious reasons. James was Prongs, and it was his idea to make that map to begin with. I might have gotten better grades in schoolwork, but not because James wasn’t smart. He just didn’t study; of the four of us, he was the creative genius behind most of our… shenanigans. People usually mistake Sirius for the brains of our little operation, but he was just the heavy, an instigator more than anything else. And he liked getting into trouble ‘cause it made his parents nutty, so if we ever got caught he’d take the detention for us. I kept us looking respectable and was a useful extra set of hands; Peter was our trusty lookout. But James was the one with the bright ideas.
“He was the one who wanted to become an animagus. Peter had figured out I was a werewolf and Sirius wanted to see. James figured out a way for them to do it safely – in animal form, I was far less of a risk to them. And we could all… hang out.” It was easier now to get lost in memories, and John Henry watched Mr Lupin’s eyes drift off into the middle distance. “James was very athletic, like you, though he was a bit more competitive. He played quidditch for Gryffindor – he was a Chaser starting his second year. He’d’ve been very proud of you – youngest Seeker, practically ever in Hogwarts history. And he would have learned all about football just to cheer you on.
"James was always climbing something, though – a tree, a wall…. Once, oh god – once, we must’ve been thirteen, we were in the library and your father climbed up one of the stacks. Went right up like a chimp, and started walking across them, hopping from one to another over the aisles. Your mother’s face went white as a sheet when she caught a glimpse of him up there – if Mr Larroquette saw him, he’d’ve lost a crapton of points for Gryffindor. This was back before Madam Pince came to the school, and a man named Clyde Larroquette worked the library. Severus saw us, too, and I thought we were done for, but Lily jumped on him before he could do anything. Your father also tried climbing the Whomping Willow when we were in our sixth year – that didn’t end well.”
John Henry twirled his pen between his fingers before asking his next question. “Were my dad and James Potter friends?”
Remus’ mouth dropped open to start to answer, but he caught himself. After a moment, he said: “The short answer is no. For a host of reasons that are absolutely meaningless now, but seemed very important back then.”
John Henry screwed his lips to the side. “If I asked for it, would you give me the long answer?”
Remus took a deep breath and looked the boy in the eye. “Yes.”
The dark haired boy – almost a man – dropped his eyes to his paper and nodded. “Am I like him at all?”
These answers came far quicker, far more joyfully. “Your laugh; you sound just like him when you laugh. And your smile is exactly the same. You’re athletic, as I mentioned. When you were a baby, you looked so much like him it was spooky, but you’re more like Lily now. And to be honest, you act more like Lily, which isn’t at all a bad thing.” Remus reached across the table and grabbed John Henry’s hand, bringing the boy’s startling green eyes back to his.
“James Potter would be so incredibly, obnoxiously, loudly proud of John Henry Stevens. You were his most favourite person in the whole world. He gave everything to protect you and your mum, and he would be very happy to know you had a loving childhood, that you had a protector in your life who would do anything just to keep you safe.”
“No one can seem to find the boy,” a voice growled in the Headmaster’s dim office. “The closest anyone’s Locator Spell can get is an abandoned bus station in Surrey.”
“Hmm…” Dumbledore stroked his beard and pondered this information. That hadn’t changed since Dumbledore himself had started looking six years ago. “And he’s having them look for Harry Potter? No one else?”
The man shook his head. “Just the Potter kid.”
“Ahh…Anything else?”
Great, brutish shoulders shrugged under dark teaching robes. “Yeah, he knew about the ring. He seemed real unhappy about that. He’s asked Lady Lestrange to get something from her vault for him. I’m not sure what it is – something he gave to her for safekeeping, though. Back during the first war.”
The old man nodded. “Thank you, Thorfinn,” he said after a moment. “This has been a very illuminating update. Oh, and your sister – how is she fairing?”
Thorfinn Rowle’s large feet shuffled against the carpet. “She’s doing real well. They changed her potion regime and its… it seems to help.”
“Very good. I’m quite glad to hear it, my boy. I believe that will be all then.”
“Yes, Headmaster.”
John Henry fell to the stiff grass on the side of the pitch, out of breath and reaching for his water bottle. It might’ve been January, but he’d sweat right through his gear. Coach Roberts had them running suicides until the end of practice, and the final whistle had just blown.
“M’legs‘re dead,” he mumbled as Alfie and Seamus followed him to the ground.
“If ya can git to Dylan’s car,” Seamus told him on a panting sigh, “we’ll lift ya home.”
“Ta much.”
“Make it two?” Alfie asked, raising one weak hand.
“In’eed.”
“Yer a gennalman, Griffiths.”
“I could drive you home,” Christopher said as he walked over, surprising the boys too tired to startle. John Henry turned his head.
“You got your D plates?”
The blonde boy nodded and stuffed gloved hands into the pockets of his parka. “Passed the test last weekend. Mum and dad took me to pick out my car a few days ago after class. Plates came in while we were in class so mum put them on for me.”
Alfie frowned. “Ya never said, ya berk.”
“I didn’t want to say something and then fail, or jinx getting the car I was looking at.”
“Wot’cha get?”
“VW Golf. Four doors. Pretty clean, too, for a few years used.”
Seamus tsk’d. “I keep forgetting your parents make money.”
Christopher shrugged. “I don’t mind so much. Got me Evie.”
“Evie?”
“She’s my car – Evie. Older, but fun and handles like a dream.”
“Only bit’o lush you’ll see for years,” Alfie grumbled. John Henry grabbed a sweaty towel and threw it at Alfie’s head.
“Ignore the bitter, Christopher,” he said, forcing himself to sit up. “I’ll happily take you up on a ride home.”
“Stink it up with all your sports stink,” Seamus ordered. “Since it’s so clean.”
The heat of the car was heavenly once it got running, though it really did nothing for John Henry’s sport sweat. The two boys joked about their day and what practice would be like for the rest of the week.
“To be completely honest,” John Henry started a few blocks from his house, “I am kind of jealous you got wheels now. I have to wait until November. Or… maybe July?”
Christopher downshifted as he approached a stop sign. “Why July?”
“Well, that’s my real birthday – July 31st. But I don’t know if it counts enough.”
The blonde boy braked at the sign, looked both ways, and eased into first gear (always the fucking hardest bit) before responding. “From what you said, your other birthday only counts to a small group of very specific people. I don’t think the DVLA care what your old headmaster thinks, John Henry. I mean,” his shoulders jerked a bit, “have two birthday cakes – definitely do that – but all your official paperwork says November.”
John Henry chewed that over. “Two birthdays means two sets of presents.”
“Uh,” Christopher choked out on a laugh, “no. I’ll eat two cakes, mate, but I’m not spending my hard-earned money on you twice.”
“’Hard-earned’!? Your dad gives you 50£ for breathing!”
“And I’m very careful to breathe every day, John Henry. You should be taking notes.”
Apparition lessons began on a frozen Saturday in February. Michael packed a hoola-hoop and few parking cones into the boot of his car, then shut it with a hard slam. Remus paused beside the front passenger side door, eyeing the other man as he rounded to the driver’s side. John Henry sat in the back, headphones over his ears.
“He can’t be old enough for this yet,” the werewolf complained under his breath. “Can he?”
“You’re asking the man who changed his nappies, Lupin.”
“Hey now,” Remus protested with a frown. “I changed a few in my day, when James and Sirius were busy for the Order and Lily needed a hand.”
Michael rolled his eyes and ducked into the car. “There’s some farm land outside of town where we should be able to do this without having to worry about being seen. Not even the sheep are out this time of year.”
Remus looked at the packet of teaching material in his lap, tugging a glove off one hand to flip through the pages easier.
“I barely remember learning this,” he grumbled as Michael guided the car out of town. “How the hell am I supposed to teach it?”
“The same as you teach the basics of anything, I imagine. I had to understand the theory before I could attempt the spell, and the visualisation stage took forever. Maybe John Henry will have more luck, though; Lily got everything pretty much on the first try.”
“Yeah,” Remus huffed as he remembered, “things were usually like that for her. Drove us up the wall, especially James.”
“He always was jealous of her natural talent,” Michael said, not being able to help his sneer. Remus made a face and thought a second before answering.
“Nah, I think he mainly wished he could show off to her more. He didn’t covet her brain – he just wished he could impress her with his. But he couldn’t since she kept out-doing him.”
Michael snorted and rolled his eyes. Eventually, he settled on a grudging: “He shouldn’t have gotten too upset by it. She out-did most of us.”
The last week of March, Malfoy came to stay with the Stevens’ for Easter Break. With him, buried well beneath his clothes and schoolbooks, was what to any casual observer would seem to be a piece of real junk: a dull gold cup that once might have been quiet splendid looking but was too tarnished to really tell. Small black gems lined the rim and filled in stripes on an animal that was engraved on one side. Using the sleeve of a robe as a glove, Draco placed it carefully on his bed.
“Hufflepuff’s cup,” he declared, feeling somewhat ominous. John Henry eyed it wearily.
“And your aunt just… gave it to you?”
“Yes she did."
“She won’t want it back?”
“Nope.” At least not the aunt who had gotten it for him, but John Henry didn't need to know that.
“Huh…. Well, I transformed a shoebox into a small lead-lined chest to put it in,” John Henry said, hefting the chest up next to the cup. “I was thinking we’d bury them on the sidelines of the football pitch near the park. I mean, it’s gonna have to be one-by-one as we find them, but that way they aren’t in the house and they’ll still be under the warding magic dad has up. Hopefully, no one will come looking for them before we can figure out the best way to destroy them all.” He reached out to grab the cup by one of the handles, but Draco caught his arm.
“This has a piece of Voldemort’s soul in it, Stevens. I’m really not sure you should be touching it, seeing as you have your weird mind-link with him and all.”
“Oh.” John Henry seemed stunned for a moment, but backed away all the same. “Y-yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
The next morning dawned with fog and rain. Draco and John Henry stole out of the house before the town woke up. They made good time to the park and were able to bury the chest without issue or being seen, but were waylaid on the return trip by Johnny Roberts, the eleven-year-old paperboy out on his morning route.
Johnny needed to talk to John Henry about his cousin who played for Newport County, and how John Henry’s practices were going, and who was his friend, and did his friend play football, and what team did his friend cheer for, and on and on for a good ten minutes. Which meant that by the time they’d arrived back home, Michael was already up starting breakfast.
“Fuck,” John Henry hissed under his breath when they finally made it back to the shop.
Draco frowned at looked at him. “What?”
The black haired boy gestured to the windows in the apartment above. “Dad’s up. He’s going to want to know why we were out so early.”
Draco considered this for a moment. “You know, I’ve thought for a while now we should tell him about all this. Out of all the adults we could involve, your father is the most…”
“Most likely to keep secrets?”
The blonde boy rolled his eyes. “Most likely to believe us and not, for lack of a better word, tattle to the Order.”
John Henry paused. “Actually, yeah, for the most part. I… I thought about telling him when we were trying to figure out how to hide the…” he flung a hand over his shoulder, “you know. But…”
“But what?”
The other boy flushed and dropped his gaze, a hand coming up to ruffle his hair. “Well… I didn’t know if I could trust him. After… after everything.”
Draco shook his head. “Good Merlin,” he grumbled, and started stomping up the steps to the Stevens’ apartment. “Fucking hopeless, you are.”
“Hey!”
Some time after, Michael sat across from the two boys. The remnants of omelettes and cheese scones sat on plates between them at the kitchen table. There was a grave look on his father’s face and John Henry wondered how much trouble he was about to be in.
“So what you’re telling me is that without any sort of guidance and based mostly on the fact that your friend has read every book in Hogwarts’ library, the five of you determined to destroy pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul on your own?”
John Henry drummed his thumbs against the kitchen table. “Yeah.”
“And, having figured out which pieces you can get your hands on, you have also decided to destroy them yourselves. With no adult having any knowledge of what you were doing or trying to do.”
John Henry’s lips popped. “Yeah.”
Michael took a deep breath. “Do you have any sort of idea what could have gone wrong?”
Draco simply couldn’t help himself. “At any point we could have been wrong, or caught by the wrong people, or caught by the right people, or these things could hurt us, or curse us, or-“
John Henry kicked Draco under the table. “Yeah, we know.”
“And you decided to undertake this anyway.” Michael’s voice now matched his Very Serious Face. John Henry was in a lot of trouble.
(To the tune of being grounded for the rest of the semester, and he had to inform his dad of any developments regarding the horcruxes he or his friends came up with. Which, the longer John Henry thought about it, wasn’t actually so bad. He wasn’t forbidden from doing anything and he could still play football, so it really could have been much worse.)
(Meanwhile, Michael would spend the next few months wracking his brain, trying to figure out how he had warded the whole town to begin with without a wand, and how he could increase the strength of those wards when he didn’t even know what it was he’d done in the first place.)
Narcissa tapped the letter from her sister against her desk blotter. A frantic, irate note from Bellatrix – one full of threats and violence – had arrived that afternoon. Garbled within the confused, scrawling script was the clear message that Bellatrix had somehow fallen out of favour with her Dark Lord. She had misplaced something precious and it really was up to Draco now to put the Black family back in Voldemort’s good graces, such as they were. If only Narcissa would bring her ickle Dwakiekins out from whatever hole she’d hidden him in, all could be set to rights.
(Another note lay hidden in a locked drawer – one amongst scant few others – praising Narcissa for raising such a clever, well spoken boy. Andromeda had been pleasantly surprised when he’d reached out to her, even with such a strange request, seeing as both of her sisters generally preferred to forget about her existence as a whole. She advised Narcissa to pass on a word of caution to their crazier sister, that she shouldn’t be leaving keys to her bank vault just lying around to be copied. She would write Bellatrix herself, but… well, there was a reason she called her the ‘crazier sister’, wasn’t there?)
Behind her, Lucius put a hand on her arm and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“She was desperate at the last meeting,” he murmured, having read Bellatrix’s note over his wife’s shoulder. “What it is she’s lost, it was incredibly important to the Dark Lord. You… would not have recognized her.”
Leaning back into her husband, Narcissa hummed. “Before or after he was done with her?”
A calloused thumb swept across the soft skin exposed by the neckline of her dress. “Either.”
“Do you know what it was she lost?”
Lucius hesitated. “I have an idea. And I’m also aware of what she wants to drag Draco into. As much as I fought you over it, placing our son with another family was the smartest decision.”
“It’s only a matter of time before Bellatrix shows up here with some of your… mutual associates and demands to take him on some hell mission on behalf of that creature you’ve bound yourself to. Our son is free, and he’ll remain that way.”
Lucius’ face tightened, though the hand on her arm remained gentle. “I’ve already apologized, Narcissa. For two and a half years, I’ve apologized. What more do you want?”
She turned to look up at her husband with cool grey eyes. “End this and soon, Lucius. Or it won’t only be Draco who is living elsewhere.”
Ginny,
We had to tell John Henry’s father. Mr Stevens caught us returning to the tenement they call a living space and was most irate. Apparently, we’ve endangered all our lives simply thinking up this plot of ours. How funny he should say that, when that is exactly what I said at the start of all this. However, you’ll be happy to note all is relatively well and the thing has been taken care of. We should have the rest of the school year to figure out what to do next.
Send fudge,
Draco.
Draco,
No fudge. Come get it yourself.
Also, I’m tempted to send Mr Stevens a note of my own. Convince me why I shouldn’t.
Gin
Ginny,
I really don’t think you need to. John Henry is the worst and left a few things out, but neither of us is stupid enough as to do so badly that we need you sweeping up after us. Plus, you’re too much of a harpy to keep a civil tone with Mr Stevens; you certainly don’t with me.
Speaking of notes to adults, I’ve sent one to your mother requesting fudge.
Game, set, match.
Draco
D,
I’ll get Hermione to help me.
John Henry might be the worst, but you’re a saltwater plimpy, Draco. Poo on you.
-G
Dear Mr Stevens,
It’s my understanding that John Henry and Draco have explained to the best of their questionable ability what they and our friends have decided to do regarding specific artefacts of some import. Since we can all agree they don’t have enough sense between them to rub two knuts together Please allow me to give further and hopefully a more clear explanation.
During the past year and a half, we have been working on how to defeat the Dark Lord. Headmaster Dumbledore has been pressuring spoke to John Henry over the summer about horcruxes, and how the Dark Lord is using them to live forever. Obviously, he cannot be allowed to continue. According to Hermione’s fantastic brain According to what we’ve looked up, there will be six items containing fragments of the Dark Lord’s soul. We believe we have identified them, two already having been destroyed. We were able to get our hands on another one recently, which was what Draco and John Henry were burying that morning you caught them.
Due to the protective wards already existing around the town where you live, we believe the safest place for them to be is in your general area until we can definitely destroy them. However, we didn’t want them to remain directly in your home on the off chance someone was to find them using a Locate Spell. Thus their burial away from your property.
We are working independently of any adult involvement for one very simple reason. They’re all sodding stupid When approached, every adult we spoke to encouraged us to wait seeing as ‘Harry’ was going to ‘come to his senses’ and work with the Headmaster ‘as planned.’ I’m sure you can see the same things wrong with that as we did. However, we should have known that coming to you would have been different. John Henry is a blasted idiot sometimes John Henry has his hang-ups, but the rest of us should have seen things with clearer heads. This being the case, we would welcome any additional warding protection you might be able to provide over these items. We’d also appreciate any assistance you might be able to give regarding the destruction of the items. We have an idea of what might work, but the execution is where things fall apart for us.
Enclosed with this letter is a note for you from my mum.
Thank you for your understanding,
Ginevra A Weasley (and Hermione Granger)
Michael dear,
I’m not sure what my daughter is doing writing to you, but both she and Ron have been very preoccupied lately. I’m worried they’re up to something stupid, bless the pair of them. I won’t ask what they’re up to – after the twins, I’ve learned it’s better to simply not sometimes – but please do keep an eye on them for me? Hermione is with them, which makes me feel marginally better, but only marginally.
Will we be seeing you and John Henry over the summer, then?
Molly
Molly,
The children are up to something stupid, but they’ve asked for my assistance. Don’t worry; I’ll keep them safe.
I’ll come by for tea after the children return to school. We have much to talk about.
Michael
Ginevra (and Hermione)
Thank you for your explanation of events. My son and Draco did their best to justify your ‘mission,’ and your account filled several gaps in their story. I will be working with both of them to strengthen protections as needed.
Thank you again,
M S Stevens
A white mist swirled to life in the open bathroom doorway as Michael was washing his face one night. Coalescing into the head of an elephant, Molly Weasley’s voice came out of its mouth.
‘Michael, something’s happening at the school. I’m sorry to ask but we need everyone who can to help.’
Michael stood still, water dripping from his face to the floor. His body went cold and his hands started to shake. John Henry peered out from his bedroom.
“Dad,” the boy started, “I think you should put a shirt on. Didn't you hear Mrs Weasley? We have to go.”
That startled the man out of his stupor. “Son-“
“If it’s the school, it’s my friends, dad.” John Henry shrugged. “If they need everyone, they’ll need me too.”
Five minutes and they were out the door, racing towards Remus’ small home. Sirius Black opened the door, sloppily put together and heavily distracted.
“Snape! What the fuck are you doing here?”
Michael rolled his eyes and pushed into the house. “We need your floo, Black.”
He stormed towards the living room, hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. Pausing in front of the fireplace, he considered the small jars lining the mantle before picking a green oval-shaped one near the middle.
“Wh-what the hell are you doing!?!” Black leaped in front of them, arms wide to block the fireplace. Frantic, confused eyes darted from John Henry to Michael. The boy drew himself up, shoulders thrown back and chin tilted stubbornly.
“We got a message from Mrs Weasley.” John Henry’s voice was a frighteningly close imitation of his father’s, blank and unyielding. “They need us at Hogwarts. Something-“
“Yeah, Remus got a message from Kingsley, ran out of here like he’d been set on fire.” His eyes cut back to John Henry, glittering dark brown bright with desperation. “Harry-“
“That’s not my name,” the boy corrected swiftly. “It might’ve been once, but it’s not anymore. I’m John Henry, and my dad and I need to get to Hogwarts. We’re going to use Mr Lupin’s floo, and you’re going to let us.”
Sirius gapped a few minutes more, but the look in John Henry’s green eyes had him stepping aside.
It was a quick trip from Dumbledore’s still and empty office to where they heard the most action. In the main entrance of the school, they were met with chaos. Spells and dust flew through the air, screams and commands making it hard to make out exactly what was going on.
John Henry drew his wand and leaped into the fray, moving too quick for his father to catch. Michael watched with horror as his son disappeared, hands flying out to grasp at air. The need to protect John Henry rose up in him like a tidal wave, cutting out everything else.
“No,” he gasped, sound lost in the cacophony, and dove in after his boy.
On the edges of his awareness, he could suddenly feel spells bump against something, trying to find their way through. But they all bounced off without any sort of effect. It certainly wasn’t any kind of force field around Michael – a stinging hex and a particularly nasty Conjunctivitus curse stopped him in his tracks at one point. It wasn’t until he saw John Henry through a patch of stone dust and witnessed a curse be deflected what was happening – the brushes against Michael’s mind were spells hitting the wards around his son. Later, he would wonder exactly how that was possible, seeing as he still didn’t have a wand and certainly didn’t know of any magic that could do such a thing.
At another instance, he saw a young girl dash through the crowd with a few dark-cloaked adults. One of them was a spindly, nasty looking woman Severus vaguely recognized as Bellatrix Lestrange. Her pale eyes were manic and over bright, the skin under them bruised as if she hadn't been sleeping. Her face was bright red, and as she passed him Severus noted it was due to a thousand tiny cuts littering her face, all of them a few weeks old and scabbed over. The glimpse of her he caught was far removed from the voluptuous vixen she had been, though – she seemed sunken and brittle now. One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was her partiality for the Cruciatis Curse. Hateful green light and painful screams were lift in her wake. The girl with her – near John Henry’s age – looked terrified but not unwilling to follow Bellatrix and her band out the door. With their exit, the fighting soon died down. The other Death Eaters either fled into the night, or were incapacitated in some manner.
John Henry – covered in stone dust, the tips of his hair singed on one side with an accompanying burn on his cheek, and a wicked sting slash across one arm – took stock of his friends. Neville lay off to one side, clutching a cut in his stomach. Ron hovered over him and waved McGonagall over to help. Bill Weasley was already being levitated by Mr Lupin to the Infirmary; the slashes Fenrir Greyback left across his face looked angry and deep. The blood dripping from them obscured any other injuries he might have had. Two Death Eaters had been taken prisoner – the large, burley one who had been with Pansy, and a thinner man with a sad looking moustache. Professor Rowle had also managed to kill one who had been attacking Tonks.
Across the hall, Ginny stood up from where she was guarding Luna’s prone body, wiping swiftly under her eyes.
“She got blasted into the wall,” she explained as he neared. The remaining tears glittered, but she refused to let them fall. “She’s alive, but uh… there’s-there’s blood. I, um, I need to go find Draco.”
John Henry reached out to the girl’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze. He had never known her to be anything but strong, so to see Ginny so shaken was troubling.
“Go find him,” he told her, doing his best not to sound too soft. That would only make her angry. “I’ll make sure she gets to the Infirmary. I think I heard someone say Draco had taken some of the younger students to the kitchens?”
“Y-yeah,” Ginny nodded and began backing away. “We weren’t sure when Parkinson was going to make her move, so we c-came up with a few different plans. We didn't want to lead them to the Room of Requirement, and the kitchens were the one other place we figured no one would really think to look for the younger kids.”
“You go get him.” John Henry turned and did his best to take stock of Luna’s injuries without moving her too much.
“Ah,” came a high, lilting voice from his shoulder. Professor Flitwick appeared a little worse for the wear, but pleased to see his old student just the same. “Mr Stevens. I’m sorry to see this is what it took for you to return to Hogwarts, but I must say we’re better for your being here. And who is this, then? Oh… poor Ms Lovegood.”
“She’s hit her head pretty badly,” John Henry explained. “I don’t know what the damage is, so I didn’t want to hazard moving her anywhere yet.”
"Hmmm, let me see what I can find.” The professor ran a few diagnostic spells over the girl. “She’s got quite a crack, I’d say, and some bruising on her spine. Nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle, however. Ms Lovegood will be good as new soon enough, don’t you worry. Wingardium Leviosa. Come along, Mr Stevens – she should have a look at that cheek for you as well.”
Hagrid was bringing a badly burnt Fang to the Infirmary when he found the body of Albus Dumbledore lying at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower.
No one would get any sleep that night.
Remus, Michael, and John Henry stumbled back through the floo well past 4am the next morning. Sirius slept in a recliner by the fireplace, his rest deep enough that he didn’t move at their entrance. Remus reached for a packet of cigarettes hidden behind one of the more colourful pots on the mantle and used his wand to light one.
“Will you lads be joining us for breakfast then, or are you wanting to get back to your own place?”
John Henry scratched the back of his neck and eyed his dad. “Uh… I could eat?”
Michael gave a heavy sigh and glowered at the sleeping man in the chair. “Only if you’re up to it, John Henry. And we can leave whenever you’re ready.”
The boy nodded and followed his tutor towards the kitchen. “Thank god it’s Saturday, at least. No classes.”
“You have a match this afternoon against Morriston.”
A black curly head dropped. “Fuck.”
His father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Eat now. You’ll nap when we get back to the apartment, and then you can eat again on the bus. I know where your kit is; it’ll be ready for you when it’s time to go.”
A smile – real and true, the first one Michael had seen in almost a year – was shot in his direction. “Thanks dad.”