Chapter Text
The signing of the magical contract between Harry Potter, William Laurence, and the British Ministry of Magic, it turned out, wasn't as simple as Mrs. Watkins had made it seem.
"The Minister wants to make a thing out of it. As public a thing as he can manage," the woman explained with a grumble, speaking through the fireplace. "They're willing to sign it – without many changes either – and it's not just him, but also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. But they want to do it in front of cameras, with you there."
"Of course," Harry sighed, and thought about it. He didn't much like the notion – he hadn't forgotten the ways of this world so badly that he couldn't see what it was for, publicity and public support and whatnot. They wanted the people to know in as much detail as possible that they had Harry Potter on their side. Which put him in a rather awkward position.
Naturally, by now everyone interested knew he was back – he had only glanced at a Daily Prophet that day before setting it down in disgust, but it had been enough for him to see his own story on the front page. So, it wasn't like he had that big of an element of surprise in this war, not with publicity like that. However, he had hoped to keep his face, as it was now, out of the papers and maybe that way win himself some time at least.
And, if the reporters of the Wizarding world were anything like Rita Skeeter, well. He had a feeling that they'd ask some pointed questions, and then write their own versions of his answers.
"Well, I will not do it," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Either they sign the thing without this hassle, or they agree to additional conditions."
"Such as?" Watkins asked eagerly.
"Hm… Ministry sponsored pay for me and my people. Much higher than whatever they're planning to pay now. If I'm working for them on two different things, they might as well pay accordingly," Harry said slowly. "And full authority over the Ministry's security if it comes to that." It had been one of the things he had talked about with Amelia Bones – how very unlikely the Ministry was to adopt extra security measures even in a time of war, not if it inconvenienced people and cost money.
"Hm. I think I can wing it," Watkins said. "I would also wring out full pardons for you and all your people," she added. "That way they won't be able to try you or your people later on for whatever you do during this mess."
"If you can, go ahead," Harry agreed, and she nodded before withdrawing.
It was the next morning before she called back – after another fairly boring night spent as Horntail, which had only been saved from being an utter waste of time by the fact that the ground crew had noticed that she had become nocturnal and had arranged her food accordingly. Waiting for word of Harry's non-capture to come in was getting really tiresome in the other world, but at least it was a breather in a rather fast paced chain of events.
Harry was thankfully washed, dressed, and had recently eaten when Watkins called again to tell him that the Ministry had agreed to the terms. "They really want the publicity," she said, rather amused. "I think Minister Fudge has had something of a nose-dive in his support and popularity since the Dark Lord's return. And if he can't get it back by the time Hogwarts' term ends, he'll lose his throne to someone else. So he's throwing everything at you, hoping it'll stick."
Harry smiled faintly. "When will the signing happen?" he asked.
"I pushed them so that it'll be this afternoon. They wanted to wait a few days, but I understand that you're in something of a hurry," she said. "So, twelve o'clock at the Ministry's public auditorium. There will be about twenty reporters, plus Auror guards and whatnot, and of course Minister Fudge and Chief Warlock Beddington."
Harry frowned. "I thought Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock?" he said slowly.
"He lost the position when he proclaimed that Voldemort had returned, when the Ministry didn't yet want to hear it," Watkins said with a grimace. "It was almost half a year of bad publicity for Dumbledore, up until Azkaban was cracked open. That's why Fudge is in such trouble now – he spent all that time ridiculing Dumbledore and telling people that of course Voldemort could never be back and then wham. And here we are."
"Ah. I suppose that does explain it," the aviator murmured. "So, twelve o'clock," he said.
"Better come half an hour earlier. And I will be there as well," Watkins added and glanced around – probably for Laurence, who was reading in his room. "Are you going to bring that handsome Lieutenant of yours? His signature is already on the contract."
"Handsome?" Harry asked with a blink and then shook his head. "No, I think not. If I have to make a spectacle about myself and have my face in every paper, then fine, but I'll be damned if I drag him into this as well," he said and stood up. "Any way to keep the Minister from making any mention of Laurence?"
"I don't think we have to worry about that. He's a muggle, so the Ministry won't say a word. Bad publicity, that, having a muggle working to do something that they themselves can't do," the solicitor snorted. "I'll see you half past eleven in the Ministry, then. How are you going to get there, however?"
"I'll floo in through Chief Bones' office, unless she minds. There are some things I want to talk about with her, at any rate," Harry shrugged.
"Alright. I shall be waiting by the elevators then."
With that said, the woman withdrew, and Harry left the room to inform Laurence and the Order that he'd be heading out later. None of them liked it much, of course, but they seemed aware that the handling of Harry's affairs wasn't in their hands because their objections lacked strength and conviction.
"Should I come, sir?" Laurence asked later, when Harry was going through some of the closets in the house, trying to find suitable robes to wear – he had no intention of showing his uniform to the public, and letting them draw conclusions about that.
"No, it isn't necessary, and I want to keep your existence out of print," Harry said, eyeing a set of dark burgundy robes and then discarding them. "Being shown at my side, you'd become a target. For the press and for Voldemort, if he's watching."
"Ah," the lieutenant said, watching him silently for a moment as Harry eyed and discarded some five sets of robes before pausing to look at a handsome set of dark green robes with a suit jacket's collar. They were a bit long, and moths had eaten holes in the shoulder and at the hem, but Mrs. Weasley could probably fix them nicely.
"Captain Potter? What will happen after the contract is signed?" Laurence asked after a moment. "I understand that we are to train a group of law enforcement officers in military tactics, at the school Hogwarts, but…"
"For now, that is it," Harry said. "You and I cannot do much by ourselves, as neither of us have magic nor a full understanding of this war, so we will train those who do and in the mean while we will learn more. I will however try and get us some weaponry. Muggle firearms and explosives are far more advanced here than they are back home, and I intend to take full advantage of them. Also, the Order of the Phoenix has a spy among Voldemort's ranks, who resides at Hogwarts and hopefully, unless the bastard decides to be difficult, I can make use of that."
He paused for a moment, lowering the robes he had been examining and turning to Laurence. "Eventually – and I hope that eventually will be very soon – we will defend the Ministry, magical alleys, and whatever other place might be Voldemort's target and, if we can, we will bring the war to him. We will find his hideouts and headquarters and we will destroy or capture them. And we will either kill or capture all his followers."
Laurence swallowed and nodded. "And Voldemort himself, sir?"
"Hm. I will first need to figure out how he achieved his brand of immortality – be so kind as to remind me about it later, whenever we might see Dumbledore, since he might know," Harry added, turning to the robes. "Then, whatever it is, we will neutralise it however we can. And then… why, I imagine I will put a bullet between his eyes."
The lieutenant said nothing for a moment. When he did, his voice was oddly subdued. "You make it sound quite easy, sir."
"Yes. I know," the aviator agreed with a sigh. "I am rushing things a bit, but I really want this done as soon as possible. I don't want to dawdle. But you're right, it won't be so easy. Nothing ever is. Now, what do you think?" he added, turning to the man and holding the robes against himself. "Will these do?"
"Aside from the holes, they're very fine," Laurence said, though with a sort of wry tilt to his smile that made Harry doubt his approval very much.
"Well, I think they're the best that I can manage in the time given," the aviator mused. "Hopefully, our batch of clothing will come from Madam Malkin's soon. But for now, this will have to do."
Mrs. Weasley did manage to fix the robes a bit, and even cleaned them of dust and got rid of the smell of having been hung in a closet for the better part of a decade. The size took a bit more work. But in the end, the robes came out well enough, fitting Harry as well as could be managed on such short notice.
"I do wish they could've done something about your cheek in St. Mungo's," the woman fussed while arranging Harry's collar and plucking at the neckcloth Harry had tied, which worked just as well as a proper tie would've.
"My cheek is fine," Harry said, pushing her hands away and rearranging the neckcloth before she could tug it out of order.
"Are you sure about this?" Remus asked, from where he was watching. "About giving the Ministry your public support?"
"I'm not. I'm publicly forming a contract with the Ministry," the aviator answered and decided that his clothing was fine enough and that it was time to go. "And one way or the other, it will get Voldemort's attention. And I have to admit, I am not exactly against that. If I can make him worry about me, he hopefully won't start attacking just now."
There were a few more objections, but the matter was already decided upon and eventually Harry managed to detach himself from the overly concerned Order on the account of being late if he didn't. Amelia Bones was waiting for him in her office when he came through, looking grim.
"No uniform this time," she noted, glancing down along his robes.
"I'm not quite ready to publicly announce everything," Harry shrugged. "It's bad enough that the Ministry wants me to make so much noise, so I will try and keep everything else as secret as I can. Will you be there?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Bones said with a grin. "I have to warn you, though. I think they've readied a speech for you."
"Indeed?" Harry asked, and then followed her out of the office, where, surprisingly, Percy Weasley was waiting for him.
"There you are, Mr. Potter," the wizard said, with an odd tone and an even odder expression as he pushed forward and shook Harry's hand, like they had never met before – all the while making it seem like they were the best of friends. "So good of you to come, though it would've been better if you used the public entrance, or the Minister's entrance. Now, here's your speech and what you're to answer to the Minister's and the reporters' questions," he added, "You have only so much time to study them, so be quick."
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked down at the parchments, reading through the short speech which was mostly about how happy he'd be to help the Minister fight the threat of darkness and whatnot, and then the dialogue which was pretty much the same.
"Right," he said, glancing around until he found a garbage bin and dropping the parchments into it. "Chief Bones?" he asked the highly amused woman.
"The elevators are that way. I believe your lawyer will be waiting for you there," she said, smirking.
"Thank you. And, if possible, I would like to have a moment in private with you later. Once the contract is signed," Harry added.
"My door will always be open for you, of course," the woman said.
With a nod at both her and Percy – who stared after him with an outraged expression – Harry turned and walked through the corridor, which was flanked by the offices of some very curious Aurors, all of whom poked their heads out at the sight of him, and whispered. Harry ignored them, however. His attention was concentrated on Alberta Watkins, who was waiting by the open doors of an elevator, holding said doors open.
"No uniforms?" she asked in almost the exact same tone as Bones had.
"I opted for strategic camouflage," the aviator said, as they stepped into the elevator together. "Do you know what I'm to expect?"
"More or less," she said, taking out a slip of parchment and looking over it. "The Minister will give a speech, then sign the contract with flourish, followed by Warlock Beddington, and then you shake hands with them both. Then you're expected to give a speech and both you and the Minister will answer questions."
"Well, I dropped the speech in a bin, so that won't be happening," Harry answered, folding his arms.
"They're bound to take that nicely," the woman laughed. "Have you planned on saying anything?"
"Not really. I just want the Minister's and the Warlock's signatures and then I will be satisfied," the aviator said. "Afterwards, they can all do whatever they damn well like."
There was a huge crowd of people on the level where the Ministry's public auditorium was – reporters, whose cameras began flashing away the moment they caught sight of him, all rushing forward to press microphones as closely as possible, their questions instantly flying. "Mr. Potter, how does it feel to be back?" and "Mr. Potter, what is in the contract you are signing, have you read it?", "Mr. Potter, what was the other world like?" and "Mr Potter, what do you think of the Ministry's policy?" and so on. One of them, however, was pushier than most and came forth with a gratingly familiar, "Harry, darling, how about a few words for your public?"
Harry only glanced at Rita Skeeter before pushing past her, with Watkins following closely behind him. "There," the solicitor pointed, and Harry made his way quickly through the crowd, shouldering his way through with sheer physical force, before he made it into what he supposed was the back room of the auditorium.
"Mr. Potter!" Minister Fudge's voice greeted him eagerly, and the man rushed forward to shake his hand. "What a pleasure to see you up and about – you were in quite a state the last time we met. How is your wound? Perfectly healed, I suppose?"
"Perfectly," Harry answered, squeezing the man's rather clammy hand before withdrawing his own. He glanced quickly around the room, making a mental note of the tall, bushy bearded wizard who was probably Beddington, and of one Lucius Malfoy who lingered about a doorway, eyes nailed on Harry. "How are you, Minister?" the aviator then asked, turning his eyes away, ignoring the rest.
They chatted rather inanely for a moment, before the Minister asked him rather nervously. "And you have your speech, I hope?"
"It's somewhere, I'm sure," Harry said reassuringly. "I understand that the press conference is more or less scripted throughout."
"As much as it can be, yes," Fudge said glumly and then patted Harry's shoulder compassionately. "Just let me answer any questions put to us first and it will be perfectly alright."
The aviator said nothing to that, and very carefully avoided looking at Watkins who was perfectly blank faced, but with eyes full of mirth. Instead, Harry turned his attention to the door, waiting.
Then the whole ordeal started. The Minister led Harry to the auditorium, where they were welcomed with murmurs and small applause, before the reporters all sat down and then the Minister took the podium. Harry listened to his speech only with half an ear, since it was basically the same as the speech he had discarded but in reverse; the Ministry was very happy to proclaim that from this day on, they'd be working in very close co-operation with Harry Potter, the chosen of Prophesy, and that to that end a contact detailing their co-operation had been drawn up, which they'd be signing that day.
Harry looked instead at the reporters. There were surprisingly many of them – he hadn't even known there were that many papers in the wizarding world. But then, they all seemed to come in pairs, each reporter having their own cameraman and sometimes even another person carrying recording equipment. Rita Skeeter, of course, had a seat near the front, and her Quick Quotes Quill was writing almost fast enough to produce smoke.
Then the signing happened. Under Watkins's severe gaze and Harry's sidelong look, the Minister produced a black quill, similar to the one Harry and the others had used to sign the contract. Harry had to suppress momentary amusement at the sight of the Minister wincing as the quill carved the Minister's name into the back of his hand. It was quickly healed, of course, gone in an instant; but as Fudge stepped back, he rubbed at his hand, still wincing.
Then Beddington signed the scroll, he with better composure, before almost ceremonially handing it to Harry. There was applause while Harry looked at the scroll, to see that it was indeed the one he had signed, before handing it to Watkins who very professionally rolled it tight, and sealed it with dark blue wax and the signet ring of her company.
"Now, Mr. Potter would like to say a few words," Fudge said to the reporters and then stepped back, bowing and letting Harry take the podium.
"Thank you," Harry said, as civilly as he could, and then looked at the reporters, who were very nearly drooling over their pads in eagerness to write down whatever he would say. The aviator smiled at them. "I don't actually have anything to say, but I can take a few questions before I have to be elsewhere," he said.
There was a twenty seconds' worth of pandemonium as all the reporters nearly jumped to their feet, hands waving in the air with eagerness to be the first who got their question answered. Beside Harry, Fudge tried to push forward and stop the aviator from saying anything, but Watkins put herself very neatly in between, holding the contract up like a weapon – which it was. The non-interference clause was now signed, after all, and the Minister couldn't step forth without breaking the contract. Meanwhile, Harry eyed the reporters rather amusedly and then picked one who looked particularly boring – an elderly man with white at his temples and had a look about him that made him look rather like a librarian. "You sir, with the silver rimmed glasses."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," the man said, rising to his feet. "What is your plan concerning the Dark Lord and the rumours about him gathering an army? What sort of measures do you plan to take?"
"For security reasons, I cannot comment on that right now," the aviator answered calmly, and then picked another.
It was actually his answer to almost every question they put to him. Were the rumours about his co-operation with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement true? He couldn't comment. What about the rumours about him and the Department of Mysteries? He couldn't comment. What was his view of Ministry policies? He was quite sure he couldn't comment.
The only question he answered was a rather desperate attempt by Rita Skeeter, who, after figuring out that Harry wasn't answering any questions about the war, put forth, "How does it feel to be back?"
"So far it has very little to recommend itself," Harry said. "And that is all the time I have, I'm afraid. Thank you for your consideration."
With that, he stepped back and while ignoring both Fudge and Beddington, he and Watkins made their way to the backroom, where they passed a frowning Lucius Malfoy.
"How very interesting, that contract," the man noted, just as they were about to leave. "All those paragraphs and clauses. And to what end?"
Harry paused at that and glanced at the man. "You've seen it, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked bluntly.
"A copy of it," the man said, smiling slightly. "It is very neat legal footwork, Mrs. Watkins. My congratulations."
"Thank you," the woman said, bowing her head slightly.
"A copy of the contract," Harry murmured, his eyes narrowing as he considered the possible damage this knowledge in the wrong hands might have done. There were no actual details of what he intended to do in the contract, no specifics of his thoughts, just what he desired the Ministry agree with. The most damning point was, perhaps, about his and Laurence's return to the other world, but that only mattered once Voldemort was gone and the war ended.
It did have Laurence's name, however. And if Harry were Voldemort, he'd be mighty interested.
"Well. I hope you enjoyed the spectacle, Mr. Malfoy," he said, wondering, wondering. Malfoy could freely traverse the Ministry and had easy access to the Ministry's contracts and documents. What else did he have access to? And how many others were there, worming their way through the building? It was yet another thing to discuss with Chief Bones.
"I'm afraid I must be off, however. Good day to you," the aviator added. And under the man's thoughtful gaze, he and Watkins exited the room and made their way to the elevators.
x
By the time Harry returned to Grimmauld Place to find that Dumbledore was there to congratulate him on his success, he had spent nearly an hour with Amelia Bones discussing Death Eaters, the volunteers and their invitations to start their training at Hogwarts, the Ministry's defences and weaknesses, as well as escape routes and whatnot. They had decided that the Ministry had rather poor defences all together and wasn't making most of its resources by a long shot and perhaps it was time to start supplying all the Ministry workers with emergency Portkeys at the very least – among many other things.
"I see things went well," Dumbledore noted, holding the very quickly printed extra edition of the Prophet, rushed through just so that they could cover the press conference.
"Well enough," Harry agreed, quite satisfied. "I now have the Ministry's support, their vow of non-interference, and free hands with the management of this side's war efforts. Watkins is, as we speak, negotiating the funds and whatnot with the Ministry's treasurer, but she's already gotten pay for me and whoever works for me. So, I am quite ready to start."
"Well then. Do you wish to see Hogwarts today, or will you leave that until later?"
"Today would be the best – the volunteers will start arriving tomorrow," Harry said with a faint smile. "So we might as well get started. And I think it's best if we relocate there permanently, unless you have any objections?"
"None at all. I have quarters settled for you, the lieutenant, and enough space for up to fifty volunteers – we modified one of the disused towers for you," Dumbledore assured. "Also, in case you do not wish to share your dinners with the rest of the school, we turned one of the classrooms in that tower into a dining hall."
"Splendid, that will do quite nicely," Harry nodded. "Lieutenant?" he added, glancing at the man who was sitting with Sirius and Remus, notebook in his lap and quill in his hand. "Unless you have reservations, we will be relocating to Hogwarts and starting with the outlining of the training grounds and schedules."
"No reservations at all, sir," the man assured.
"I have one," Sirius said, holding up his hand. "Can I come?"
"You're a wanted fugitive, Sirius," Harry pointed out, making Laurence's eyebrows lift.
"I could come as Padfoot?" the man said hopefully. "I could be the company pet!"
Harry considered it, glancing between him and Remus, who too had a considering look about his face. Then he glanced at Dumbledore, who looked somewhat reluctant. "Alright," he said, before the headmaster could say anything. "As Padfoot."
"Yes!" Sirius cried, rather like a small boy who got his way after months of whining, and quickly stood up. "I'll just go get my things. I'll be right back!"
"Harry," Dumbledore said seriously. "Was that entirely wise?"
"Probably not, but I think he's been a prisoner for long enough. Would you like to join us as well, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked thoughtfully. He wasn't sure if he would need the man's council just yet, but he would probably need it later and it would be useful if Lupin was familiar with at least some of his plans when the time came.
"Well, I suppose if the headmaster doesn't mind," Remus said, smiling while looking between Dumbledore and Harry. "Don't you have some things here that you want to pack and bring along, though, Harry?"
"Ah, yes, the books. You're absolutely correct. And I need to change my clothing, I dare say. These robes feel… clumsy. Excuse me, gentlemen," the aviator said and went to pack as well. He exchanged the robes with his proper uniform, sighing a bit as he straightened the lapels and smoothed a hand over the sleeves. It had felt decisively strange to wear something with an ankle length hem.
Thankfully, he didn't have that many things – just his books, which he tied together with a string and then carried out of the room that had been his during his stay in Grimmauld Place. Sirius was likewise ready when he returned to the drawing room, carrying a sack of something with him, which he was handing over to an exasperated looking Remus.
"You know, as Padfoot you won't be needing clothing?" the werewolf asked.
"Well, I might change back behind closed doors," Sirius defended himself, grinning at Harry. Then, without further ado, Sirius crouched down and changed shape, causing Laurence to take two hasty steps backwards.
"He's an animagus," Harry explained. "It's a skill that wizards can learn, to change their shape into that of an animal."
"Ah yes… I believe it was mentioned in the introductory book," the Navy officer agreed, though he looked at the great black dog at their feet somewhat uneasily.
Harry patted his shoulder consolingly. "You will get used to it," he promised and then turned to Dumbledore. "Shall we go? Will we be flooing to your office, sir?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of the Three Broomsticks. The walk back to the castle will give you a chance to take a look at the grounds," the headmaster said.
"Yes, that would be most suitable. After you, sir."
The pub of the Three Broomsticks was as Harry remembered it, if a bit emptier. Homely, cosy, with several tables and an atmosphere of warmth and hospitality. He felt a momentary spike of something that was almost some sort of belated homesickness. Why hadn't he missed the place in the other world, its warmth and welcome? It felt now as if he should have.
"Madam Rosmerta, my dear," Dumbledore greeted the barkeeper as she came forward curiously. "I apologise for bumbling in as we did. I hope we're not any trouble."
"No, none at all, headmaster, of course not," she assured brightly, smiling. "Are you and your companions – good Merlin, that's a big dog," she added, as Sirius came through the fire, nearly knocking Harry over. "So," she recovered herself. "May I bring you anything?"
"No, I'm afraid we're only coming through on our way to the castle," Dumbledore apologised to her. "But perhaps a case of butterbeer to go?"
"I'll get you one," Rosmerta said but didn't move, eyeing Harry and Laurence in their uniforms curiously, before her eyes widened. "Good heaven – Harry Potter?" she asked, taking an involuntary step forward. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter!"
"Thank you," Harry said with a mild smile.
"Are you heading back to Hogwarts so late in the year? Well, of course you must be, having missed so much schooling. Might I expect to see you here one weekend or another?"
"I am afraid I am going to be rather busy, my dear lady, but if occasion permits I would be delighted," Harry promised. "Right now, however, we must be off."
"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore added, glancing back as Remus, the last of their party, came through the fireplace. "So, if you kindly could get the butterbeer, I'd be most obliged…"
After Dumbledore paid for the drinks and promised Rosmerta that he'd be coming around the next Friday if his business permitted, they headed out. Hogsmeade hadn't changed any more than the Three Broomsticks had. It was the same charming little village it had been the last time, with its shops and signs and oddly dated outlook that would have belonged better three hundred years into the past.
As they walked through the place, Harry explained to Laurence what it was. Though the man had read about Hogsmeade in his book, the introduction was obviously necessary and welcome. Soon, the Navy man looked around with newfound curiosity, though rather cautiously, probably not wishing to cause offence by staring.
Then, soon after, they were out of the village and making their way towards Hogwarts. With Sirius running about, going ahead and coming back, tongue lolling cheerfully as he loped off, Harry took in the surroundings with that same belated nostalgia. He hadn't missed the place, not really, and once he returned to his new, real home, he would continue to not miss it. But it was… charming, to see the place again. The familiar grounds, the forbidden forest in the distance, the mountains looming about – he had many good and bad memories of the lot.
"There," he said then to Laurence, pointing ahead when Hogwarts came into view. "That is the school. That is where we will be living from here on."
Laurence peered ahead, his eyes a little wide. "When a castle was mentioned, I did not expect something quite like… that," he admitted. "It is enormous."
"It has been around some thousand years now, and has gone through several expansions and periods of remodelling," Dumbledore explained. "It used to have a wall and battlements and such, but I'm afraid they were sacrificed to expansion. Hm. What's this?" the old man wondered, trailing away while he shielded his eyes from the sunlight and peered ahead.
There was something white and swift coming forth. Harry narrowed his eyes to see better, and then his heart skipped a beat, as the white thing came close enough to be recognised. He managed to lift his arm only just in time, as Hedwig came swooping in – she probably would've landed on his head in her haste. And anger, he thought as she glared at him, clicking her beak and making disgruntled noises, shifting from one leg to the other in irritation.
"Good god," the aviator said, startled – and then felt guilty, very guilty. "Hedwig." He had forgotten all about her.
"She's been living in the owlery, I believe," Dumbledore said, looking a bit amused as Harry tried to lift a hand to stroke her, and she nearly bit his fingers.
"It's an… owl," Laurence said slowly, like he was trying to come to grips with it.
"She's my owl," Harry said, guilt vanishing to wonder. She was as beautiful as she had been the day Hagrid had given her to him – as neatly preened as ever, and as big. If not even more so. Hefting his arm up and down, Harry tried to measure her weight – she had put on some, that was for sure; but then she, like he, had always been in somewhat lean health, thanks to the Dursleys.
"I am sorry, my dear," Harry added, when the owl kept on glaring at him. "I would have brought you with me, if only I could have. Please do not be cross with me," he pleaded, and lifted his hand again. She glared at him, but allowed him to pet her and he felt an odd burst of warmth.
Was this something like what captains felt with their dragons? This, but magnified a hundredfold?
"Shall we continue?" Dumbledore asked after a moment, when Sirius barked at them impatiently from ahead.
"Yes. Yes, of course," Harry said, and lifted Hedwig to his shoulder instead. Her talons dug holes into his uniform – and into his skin – but right then he couldn't have minded her even if she had ripped his jacket to shreds. Well. Not much, at any rate.
Her weight on his shoulder was unfamiliar but oddly comforting, as they made the rest of the way up to the castle of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It too had not changed much, except for some minute things – the side effects of the Tri-wizard tournament were gone, as did the stadium where Harry had fought the Horntail. The ground was blooming with the spring, with flowers wherever Harry looked, and the trees were verdant in all directions – even the sullen Whomping Willow was showing to an advantage.
"I believe that if you are intending to do any expansive battle training, the Quidditch pitch will do quite nicely," Dumbledore said. "However, the rest of the grounds are at your disposal once the school is out, of course – except for the vegetable fields. I am afraid Hagrid would not forgive me otherwise, nor the house elves."
"The Quidditch pitch will do, for a start," Harry agreed, looking around. "It is solid ground, is it not? If everything goes according to plans, I will be having the volunteers learning some skills that use the terrain to their advantage, and some of those skills, if possible, will require digging."
"What sort of skills?" Dumbledore asked curiously, and Harry, Remus and Laurence detailed what they had been talking about the day before, about trenches and walls and such things. The headmaster listened and nodded. "I do believe I can help you there, as far as the formation of the walls goes, though you will have to ask Professor Flitwick about the trenches – I do not know the spells for that. But the Quidditch pitch will suit fine, I believe, so long as whatever terrain modifications are done can also be undone."
"Of course," Harry nodded.
"Now, the tower we set aside for you has its own separate exits and entrances, which I believe you will be mostly using," Dumbledore continued. "I suppose you would be interested in seeing them."
"After you, headmaster," Harry nodded, and the tour started.
The tower was surprisingly spacious, with more than enough room for several dozens of people. Dumbledore had taken his suggestions, and instead of following the dormitory style of five persons per room, with bunk beds and less room left unused, each room could accommodate about a dozen people. Harry and Laurence both had their own rooms, of course, and Hedwig was quick to take imperious residence in Harry's room. There was no sort of common room in the manner of the GryffindorTower, but there was the dining hall – where meals would be served according to the number of people at the same time as the rest of the castle – plus two separate classrooms, which could also work as meeting places.
"The tower is of course joined in with the rest of the castle," Dumbledore explained, as they finished the tour at the base level, where there was a sort of entrance hall with three doors, one leading into the dungeons, one to the first floor of the castle, and one being the door they had entered through. "But I rather assumed that you intend to keep your volunteers and the Hogwarts students separate."
"Yes. Or rather, I want to keep the Hogwarts students from getting under foot too much," Harry said, eyeing the door leading to the corridors of the castle proper. It wouldn't do to seal it, but securing it… "I don't suppose we could have a portrait to guard the door?"
"Of course, I'll arrange it," Dumbledore promised, while Sirius sniffed about the corners of the entrance hall, tail wagging curiously. The headmaster eyed the dog worriedly for a moment before shaking his head. "Some other security measures might be called for as well."
"I'm thinking of a collar for Sirius with a Notice-me-not charm," Remus said thoughtfully, making the large hound turn to him with a wounded look.
"Perhaps, perhaps," Dumbledore said somewhat dubiously and shook his head again. "Oh, and before I forget – Dobby, if you please?" he asked, speaking to the air.
There was a noise somewhere between a pop and a crack, and a house elf in a somewhat clean pillow case appeared. Harry blinked with surprise, recognising him at once. It was the elf he had released from the Malfoy family at the end of his second year. And yes, now he remembered – Dobby had been hired to work at Hogwarts sometime in his fourth year, hadn't he? It felt like it had happened ages ago.
"Harry Potter sir!" the elf gasped, eyeing him with shock. "Oh, sir, it is… Dobby is so happy… welcome home, sir!"
"Thank you, Dobby," the aviator answered somewhat awkwardly and then noticed what had appeared alongside the house elf. A trunk. Specifically, his own, long forgotten school trunk.
"I thought you might want to have it now," the headmaster explained, smiling, and turned to the elf. "Dobby," Dumbledore said kindly. "Take Captain Potter's trunk to the bigger of the private rooms on the upper floor of the tower."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir," the house elf said, bobbing his head, and then he and the trunk were gone again, vanished to the upper floors.
"Thank you," Harry said, wondering what was in the trunk. School books he wouldn't need, clothing that wouldn't fit anymore… "I am not sure what use it will be, but I will see."
"Well, your broom and the invisibility cloak are in it, you might think of one or two uses for those," the headmaster said, winking. "Now, I think I shall leave you to familiarize yourself to your new accommodations. Remus, perhaps you might join me? There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you," he added, turning to the werewolf who nodded. Nodding as well, Dumbledore looked back at Harry. "Should you need any assistance, my office is only a fire call away. And of course, letters and notes will find me quite quickly, I should say, while we're both in the castle."
"Thank you, I will keep that in mind," the aviator said and then bowed. "I thank you for your forbearance. I know you do not need to oblige with my plans and needs, and it is most appreciated."
"Oh, think nothing of it. If nothing else, it will give the castle something new and perhaps not as worrisome to talk about, than Voldemort and the war," Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Now I bid you good day, Captain, Lieutenant."
"Headmaster," Laurence nodded politely.
Soon after, Harry, Laurence, and Sirius in the shape of Padfoot were left alone in the entrance hall of the tower and there was a moment of silence as they all eyed their surroundings, taking in the carvings on the staircase baluster, and the stained glass of the windows. "It is a… very handsome tower," Laurence then noted, seeming at a loss of what else to say.
Harry chuckled, smiling at Sirius who had left the corner of the room in favour of jumping very nearly onto the window sill to peer outside. "I suppose it is," he said. "Do you wish to go outside, Sirius?" he asked. "We can leave the door open for you. So long as you are careful, of course."
The dog turned shining eyes to him and nodded eagerly, making Harry laugh and release him from the confinement of the tower, which left him and Laurence by themselves. With another chuckle, Harry turned to the stairs leading up. "It will become quite busy here, with us, Sirius, the volunteers and who knows what else. Busy and rather commonplace, I expect, and then we won't think twice about it."
"I rather doubt it, sir," the Navy officer murmured not quite under his breath, following. "Sir," he then raised his voice. "How many students are there in the castle, precisely?"
"Around two hundred, I think," the aviator answered thoughtfully. "They might become a bit of a problem, in the beginning. At Hogwarts, word travels fast, and I'd be surprised if the whole school didn't already know that we're here, and what we're on about. And young wizards and witches are a hopelessly curious lot." And there were his old classmates too, his housemates – Hermione, Ron, and the others…
"In case of interference, how are we to proceed?" Laurence asked cautiously.
"Hm. Well, there is no corporal punishment in Hogwarts, so there will be no violence towards the students," Harry answered firmly. "I suspect that Dumbledore will make sure that they don't get to be too much of a nuisance, and if not him then the heads of each houses. If not…" he trailed away, frowning. "It's probably for the best that we time the outdoor training of the volunteers to take place when as many students as possible are preoccupied with lessons of their own. And possibly some security measures will be necessary as well – magical shields between us and them to keep them away."
The lieutenant nodded, and they came to the dining hall – much smaller and infinitely less impressive than the Great Hall, with nothing like the charmed ceiling or the floating candles, but it had very wide, tall windows that lit up the room quite nicely.
"How long do you think training the volunteers will take?" Laurence asked, after they had eyed the silent, empty hall for a moment.
"Weeks, most likely. And if we are successful in our plans, there is every possibility that there will be more volunteers to come," Harry said rather grimly. "I am sorry, this will most likely take months."
"And before the deed is done and the war ended, there is no going home for us," Laurence said, with a surprising measure of casual conviction.
"No. We would need the aid of the Department of Mysteries for that, and they will not aid us until they have what they want," the aviator agreed and then sat down on the side of one of the long tables. They exchanged a grim look and then Harry smiled, shaking his head. "Well. It won't be all bad. It has been a very unique experience so far, you have to admit."
"Quite unique, yes, sir," the navy man said with a snort, and then stiffened, giving Harry a glance, no doubt wondering if he had stepped out of line.
"At ease, lieutenant," the aviator said, with a crooked smile. "It is a bit ridiculous, anyway. You have, what, eight years of seniority on me as far as service goes? Four years more as an officer – and, on top of that, we're from vastly different services." He snorted himself and shook his head. "We're in this together, so we might as well start working together," he added, and then held out his hand – a move made rudely casual and borderline ridiculous by the fact that he was sitting at a table and they were already acquainted. "Harry Potter – Harry, if you will."
"Ah," the lieutenant said, blinking, and then taking the hand. "William Laurence – Will, I think, should suit."
"Excellent," the aviator said and stood. "Let's have another look around, shall we, Will? There might be secret passageways hereabout – and I'd rather know about them now, rather than when someone has already put them to use."
The first look around didn't produce all that many secret passages, but after Harry had the time to look into his trunk – from where he had found yet another thing he had forgotten all about – they had another look. The Marauder's Map was not only good for finding the two hidden passages into the tower, but also in warning Harry of the upcoming ruckus. Judging by the looks of it, the whole class of fifth year Gryffindors were making their way towards the tower – and the entrance had yet to be blocked.
"Oh dear. I was hoping I'd have more time," Harry murmured, looking at the approaching cluster of named dots on the parchment map, making Laurence glance up from the rather small and uncomfortable trap door he had been examining. "Some of my former classmates are on their way here. You might as well stay here," he added, folding the parchment. "I should be able to handle them."
"Are you quite sure? What if an attack comes upon you?" Laurence asked, frowning slightly. The only time he had left Harry's side was when Harry had someone to accompany him, Dumbledore or Watkins or someone else.
"Well…" Harry frowned. He hadn't had an attack that whole day, which was a bit of a surprise really, as it meant that Horntail had been left to sleep through the day in peace. But if she had been left in peace so far, then probably no one would bother her at this late hour either. "I will call for you if I feel an attack coming. I should have enough warning about them now," the aviator promised. "Hopefully this won't take but a moment."
By the time he made it to the entrance hall, it was already full of people – familiar, yet strange all at once. Curious, he looked from one face to another, noticing changes and remembering similarities. In the busy life of the other world, he had forgotten many faces here, but now that he looked upon them, they came to him. Hermione and Ron were at the head of the group. Then there were Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas, and near them were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and all the rest.
They had all grown, changed, and yet they were the same in a way. Same, only older, wearing the familiar sets of school robes he remembered them in, the school robes he had once worn. The most striking differences were in the way they had arranged their own appearances. Hermione's hair had been tied in a bun, Ron's hadn't changed, Neville's hair was shorter, Dean's had been tied into small braids, Dean had some badges attached to the front of his robes, Lavender's hair was in one thick braid, and Parvati's was in a high ponytail. Small, rather meaningless differences.
He didn't know whether to feel jealous or sympathetic.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, rushing forward and up the stairs to him, crashing into his chest – only his reflexes kept her from sending him crashing backwards into the stairs. "It's true, you are here! It's so good to see you. It's so good to have you back!"
"Hermione," the aviator said, gently detaching her while the others came forward as well, turning the staircase crowded – all except for Ron, who somewhat awkwardly stayed at the foot of the stairs. There was a general murmur of greetings, "Good to have you back, mate!" and, "Blimey, what are you wearing?" and "Is that a sword?" and "What was the other world like?". There were a few claps to his shoulders and a lot of staring, and he found that he didn't really have any idea how to handle this.
They had been friends once. And he… had not missed them all that much.
While he was wondering what to say, how to properly greet them without seeming too… stiff or cold, Hermione was peering at his features. "Your face really is scarred! I saw your picture in the Prophet, but I wasn't sure if it wasn't a printing error or something," she said, touching the burn scar. "What happened?"
"A dragon," Harry answered with an awkward smile.
"The Hungarian Horntail did that?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening.
"Never you mind that," Harry said and shook his head before looking at the others. What was he supposed to say to them? Give him a stranger any day and he could know how to handle it – but these people knew him, had known him, before. They remembered the way he had been. But Harry had changed since then, he knew he had; he had done everything in his power to change. The old Harry just had not fit in the other world and now… now he was different.
Hermione seemed to sense his discomfort because she spoke again while the others just looked at him expectantly. "I read the article of course and there are people talking about it. Some are saying it's all rubbish but… You didn't come back to Hogwarts as a student, did you?"
"Ah, no. Quite the opposite actually," Harry said, relaxing a bit. This he knew. This he could handle. "I am sorry; I can't say much about it, however. Word travels far too fast in Hogwarts and I need security more than anything."
"You're really going to fight the war, mate?" Dean asked, eyes wide and excited.
"That's why I am here, yes," Harry agreed with a smile.
"Do you think we could join?" Seamus asked, frowning a bit.
Harry hesitated a bit at that. It was their war and they were free to fight if they chose, of course, but… he certainly had no uses for them, not right now and hopefully not ever. "There is still time," he said instead and then glanced around them. They were still on the stairs. "How about we move to one of the classrooms here? There are some chairs there and it will be much more comfortable?"
They did, and while Harry led the crowd into the nearby classroom, he couldn't help but notice that while Hermione stuck to his side, Ron was lingering in the back uneasily. Smothering the urge to frown, Harry looked away, considering it. If his old friend was unhappy about his return, why come to see him at all? And Ron didn't seem unwilling or displeased, just awkward. Uncertain perhaps?
Well, they hadn't been on the best of terms when he had stumbled out of the world, so maybe that was it.
Settling into the classroom, Harry leaned on the teacher's desk while his old classmates took seats near him, on the desks and chairs, a few dragging theirs closer. "So, what was the other world like? And why are you dressed like that?" Lavender asked excitedly, Parvati grinning at her side as the two girls looked him up and down.
"This? This is just something I picked up, it’s fairly common wear in the other world," Harry said as nonchalantly as he could while Hermione blinked and then frowned at him. "As for the other world," the aviator continued, before she could interject, "it is much like this one. The time is different, however. It was a little like travelling back in time, in a way…"
In the next ten minutes or so, he satisfied their little questions with snippets of information. No, there hadn't been any magic at all, and yes he did realise how awful that might be to some. And yes, it was a sword at his side, a cutlass to be precise, Spanish make; and yes, he knew how to use it. What he had been doing, oh, this and that, whatever he had to, trying to blend in…
"You know, that get up looks a bit like one of those old uniforms," Seamus said thoughtfully, looking at his green coat. "Muggle military, you know."
"It was just the style," Harry assured him. "I grew used to wearing it. It is easier than robes, at times."
He couldn't satisfy all their questions and a good four fifths of his answers were lies, and the rest of the time he had to plea being unable to comment due to the war, and so on. In the end, his old classmates got enough gossip material to satisfy their curiosity and those who didn't, grew bored hearing him telling them he couldn't tell them anything. When someone noted that it'd be time for dinner soon, they began getting up, preparing to leave.
All but Hermione, who threw a look at Ron who lingered back as well, awkward but determined. The rest of the students seemed to realise what they intended, because they made their exit even faster, bidding Harry welcome home once more and telling him they'd see him around.
Then it was Harry alone with Hermione and Ron, and after the door closed behind the other students, the atmosphere grew decisively awkward. Harry looked between his two old friends, and then forced the tension out of his shoulders. "Has the Order informed you of my plans?" he asked.
"Not really. Mrs. Weasley and Sirius told us some, in letters, but nothing really clear. They can't, really, not through owl post. There is this absolutely horrible teacher here and…" Hermione shrugged uneasily and looked at him, up and down, taking in the lapels of his suit, the wear of his sword hilt. "It's not just a style, is it? That's way too neat, too well made, too worn, too… It's not just a style. It is a uniform."
"Yes, it is. I am in the military service in the other world. That is why I am here now, at Hogwarts, to put my experiences to use. I am going to be training some people to work as a military force in this war," Harry agreed and straightened a bit. "But that is not what I meant. My plans for this war aside, it is the plans I have for after it that matter," he added and looked at his two old friends. "Once this war is over, I will go back to the other world."
Ron's eyes widened a bit at that while Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Go back?" she whispered.
"Yes. I made my home there," the aviator said and smiled sadly at her. "I'm not saying this to be unkind. I just want you to understand that however things will go, my time here will be limited. Either this war will kill me, or I will win it and then leave. Either way, I will not be here for long, certainly not indefinitely," he added, and while Hermione stared at him with a dumbstruck expression, he turned to Ron. "So I do not have time for hesitation."
The redhead flushed a bit at that, looking away and scowling at the tables for a moment before lifting his head again. "Mate –" he started awkwardly. "About… about the things I said, back then, back before –"
"Were said then," Harry supplied, looking at him closely, wondering. They had been fighting when he and Horntail had crashed, and never gotten the chance to make up. Harry hadn't had the time to think about it too much, but Ron… had he been fretting over it since? "Don't worry about it," the aviator added. "It was long ago."
Ron relaxed a bit, still looking uneasy, but relieved.
"You're really going to go back? Why?" Hermione asked again, stepping closer to Harry. "But you said that there isn't any magic there."
"I don't need magic to live. If anything, I lived better without it. I liked my life better. I'm sorry," he answered. "But I am either going back or dying in the attempt."
She frowned, looking at his face closely before sighing, still looking troubled but seeming to figure out that arguing wouldn't get her anywhere. "And you're going to be busy with this war too," she murmured. "I guess we won't have much time to catch up."
"Hopefully at some point. Right now, this will demand my full attention," Harry admitted and looked from one to the other. Hermione and Ron were looking at each other, and he would have to be blind not to see how dissatisfied they were. By what? His disinclination to include them, his manners, his secrecy?
"I am sorry," he said again, not sure what else to say. They were starting to see that he wasn't the same person he had been, and they didn't know how to take it. And he couldn't soften the blow because he needed them, and everyone else, to see it. It was the only way he'd ever be taken seriously. "It has been a while. Things have… changed."
"Yeah," Ron murmured and then smiled. "But it's good to see you, mate. Mum's been fretting like mad and it's nice to know that you didn't die in a ditch."
"You've grown," Hermione added, reaching to touch Harry's shoulders. "And you've been working out too," she added in awe, trailing her hands down his shoulders and squeezing the biceps, as much as she could anyway. "Not much like the beanpole from before."
Harry smiled, a little sadly, taking her hands and squeezing them. "I have missed you," he admitted softly. Not much, not all the time, and eventually he had just forgotten, but… he had.
They parted soon after, all the things they could comfortably say having been said, and the rest being too awkward to tackle on the first meeting. And even to them Harry didn't dare to tell much, not about his plans, nor about the war. Though he knew he couldn't keep things secret for long, he wanted to keep them secret for as long as he could. The element of surprise was very slight, thanks to the Ministry's insistence on publicity, but he would hold onto what little of it he could.
So, putting aside the thoughts of what his friends had been doing in his absence, he headed out of the classroom and back up the stairs, where Laurence was waiting for him, looking nervous. "My apologies, Will," the aviator said. "It took a while longer than I expected."
"None are required, sir," the man assured, but he seemed a bit more at ease, finding that he hadn't had an attack.
"Harry," the aviator corrected. "Now, come. We have a schedule to plan for tomorrow."