[Living for Tomorrow] Chapter 12 - Aftermath

An old woman lay on a hospital bed, sleeping. A purplish bruise covered half her face, and the white bandages wrapped around her head were soaked with blood. The bed next to hers held a man of a similar age, but, unlike her, he appeared to be unharmed.

They were Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.

Sitting on a stool at the side of Mrs Potter’s bed was a 15-year-old boy with vivid green eyes and messy hair. Though he was watching over his grandmother quietly, his inner state was anything but that.

Due to the nurses’ nagging, he had changed his shoes and clothes since they were stained with Goblin blood, but they had not been able to remove him from the hospital room and send him home.

Two hours had passed since the battle against the Goblins, and Harry was still watching over his grandparents with his right hand clenched around the handle of his wand.

The door opened, and a short little being walked into the hospital room.

“Master Harry?” the House Elf called out to him hesitantly when the boy’s hand twitched and a feeling of danger washed over him.

“Oh, it’s you, Remy,” Harry said, relaxing his stance, unknowingly making the elf let out a breath of relief.

Remy walked next to Harry and glanced at his mistress’ sleeping form quietly for a while.

“Thank you for calling me,” said Harry in a whisper. “Truly, thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, Gran would’ve-”

He couldn’t continue speaking.

“Remy only did his duty. Remy is sad he couldn’t do more to protect them,” the elf said in a downcast voice.

“You brought me over to save them. And you even defeated one of the Goblins on your own, didn’t you? You did more than enough, Remy. Thank you. Thank you for protecting our family.”

The Potters had always treated Remy kindly; he had never been mistreated by any of them, so it was not as though any little word of recognition was enough to bring him to tears. But the tone of Harry’s voice made him emotional.

“Remy is honoured,” he said in a quivering voice. “Remy will always protect the Potter family.”

After that, the boy and the elf became quiet, each of them deep in their own thoughts. Half an hour later, Harry asked:

“I’ve always wondered, but I never really got the chance to ask: how do you House Elves bypass the Anti-Disapparition spells? How were you able to get inside of Hogwarts and even take me out of there?”

“House Elf magic is different from the magic that wizards and witches do,” said Remy.

“Would it be possible for me to learn your brand of magic?”

Remy’s large ears flapped as he shook his head.

“Remy does not know,” he said. “But he is more than willing to help Master Harry.”

By midnight, as much as he would have liked to stay awake, the House Elf succumbed to his tiredness and fell asleep on his stool. Harry carried and laid Remy on the bed next to his grandfather before returning to his chair and continuing to watch over them.



⁂



As morning came, many people started visiting the Potters in the hospital. Friends, old acquaintances, and even important people such as Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

Leaving his grandparents in Sirius’ care, Harry was forced to step outside and answer the questions of the Aurors who had come to investigate last night’s incident.

The two Aurors asked him several questions about his method of arrival at Pitt-Upon-Ford, what he saw when he arrived, and the battle against the Goblins.

“Is that all, sir?” Harry asked in surprise when he was done answering their questions.

Truthfully, he had expected them to detain him. Self-defence or not, he had cast the Killing Curse multiple times last night.

‘I didn’t say anything about the Killing Curses myself, but there’s no way they didn’t investigate the corpses and the way they died.’

Dark magic left traces, especially powerful curses such as the Killing Curse. No Auror worth their salt would miss such obvious clues.

“We will need to come to the Ministry and give us your written statement tomorrow."

As though they knew what he was worried about, the Auror continued in a lowered voice so that other people nearby wouldn’t hear him:

"If you’re worrying about getting sent to Azkaban, don’t. In the first place, it was self-defence. Second, you are underage. Third, it is true that casting one of the Unforgivables on a human being is a one-way ticket to Azkaban. . . but the key point is ‘human being’. Those coin rats dropping dead after attacking your grandparents? Good riddance.”

If that wasn’t enough to leave Harry gobsmacked, the other Auror also patted him on the shoulder and said:

“Keep your head raised, buddy. If it weren’t for you, your grandparents would be dead now. I don’t know if most grown-up wizards and witches would have fared half as well as you did. Those beasts were armed to the teeth. You did a mighty fine job.”

“You got your OWLs this year, don’t you?” the first Auror asked him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Try to get some good marks, and, if you’re interested, DMLE would be more than happy to have you once you graduate.”

And with that, the two Aurors shook his hand and left.



⁂



Due to the Goblins’ attack happening late in the evening, the new edition of the Daily Prophet did not have any news about it.

However, the incident was too hot and too outrageous for the newspaper’s editors to wait until the following day. A second edition of the Daily Prophet was released at noon and delivered to all the witches and wizards who were subscribed to it.

It was not long after returning from his visit to St Mungo that the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, also received the second edition of the Daily Prophet. He was entirely unsurprised when he saw the huge title that covered half of the newspaper’s first page:

THE BOY-WHO-LIVED’S GRANDPARENTS IN CRITICAL CONDITION AT SAINT MUNGO

Yesterday night, around 9 o’clock in the evening, a group of six Goblins attacked [...]

The following four pages were all filled with articles speaking about the very same thing, just with different titles and slightly different focus.

MASSACRE IN PITT-UPON-FORD

THE BOY-WHO-LIVED’S OLDER BROTHER, A DARK LORD IN THE MAKING?

THE AURORS TURN A BLIND EYE TO THE KILLING CURSES CAST BY AN UNDERAGE WIZARD

‘Figures that Rita Skeeter would jump at the chance to throw mud on someone’s name,’ he thought when he saw the name in the last article’s byline.

The Minister was in the middle of skimming through the Daily Prophet when his personal secretary, a young and pretty woman in her mid-twenties knocked on the door of his office.

“Minister Fudge?”

“Yes, Mary, come in,” he said, momentarily putting the newspaper down on his desk.

“Undersecretary Umbridge requested an audience with you.”

“I was under the impression that I asked you to clear my schedule for today.”

“My apologies, Minister, but she was most insistent. She claimed that it is a matter of utmost urgency.”

Fudge couldn’t suppress a sigh of irritation. “Fine. Bring her in.”

No sooner than his words ended, an old, fat woman waddled through the door rudely, pushing the young secretary to the side.

Cornelius Fudge groaned audibly when he noticed the small, mean-looking creature stepping out from behind Umbridge’s wide body.

“What’s the meaning of this, Dolores?”

“My dearest friend, Krugluff the Pale, has something of utmost importance to tell us. You wouldn’t turn a deaf ear to your oldest friend, would you?” Umbridge said in a sickly sweet voice, her eyes narrowing into slits.

It wasn’t widely known, but Fudge and Umbridge had attended Hogwarts at the same time. Her rise to the position of Senior Undersecretary at the Ministry of Magic wasn’t due to her education or her skills in administration and law. Instead, it was her connection to Cornelius Fudge, her sly nature, and her willingness to do whatever was necessary to reach her goals that had propelled her to her current position.

It only took Fudge one look at the toad-like woman’s bloated face to understand what she wanted, but he asked the question nonetheless:

“If this is about what happened in Pitt-Upon-Ford, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Don’t be like that, Cornelius. You are the Minister. Surely there are a thing or two you could do. Mr Krugluff here only wants justice, nothing else, and he has been nothing if not accommodating.”

The Minister’s nostrils flared at the meaningful way Umbridge spoke that last word. But as quickly as the greed rose in him, it vanished, and he shook his head.

“As much as I wish I could help your goblin friend, I’m afraid that both the law and the public opinion are on the Potters’ side.”

Despite being turned down a second time, Umbridge was not easily dissuaded.

“Do it for old time’s sake, Cornelius,” she said, no longer smiling. “We’ve been through so much together, haven’t we? I’ve always stood by your side.”

Her words made him narrow his eyes at her. To an outsider, it might have sounded like she was trying to appeal to his emotions, but he knew better. That wasn’t a friend’s plea; that was a threat. Nobody had more dirt on Cornelius Fudge than Dolores Umbridge.

“I told you, it’s not possible,” Fudge said, irritation slipping into his voice.

The only reason why he had not raised his voice yet was that they weren’t alone; the goblin was still in the room, and his secretary was likely eavesdropping from the hallway since the door had been left open when Umbridge rudely barged in.

Before she could speak again, he flicked his wand at the Daily Prophet, making it float up in front of her face so she could see the headline on the front page.

“You see that?” Fudge asked. “The goblins attacked the Potters right in front of their home. The Aurors found multiple witches and wizards from Pitt-Upon-Ford willing to testify in their favour. And it’s the family of Matthew Potter! You want me to prosecute them? For what? For defending themselves from a group of murderous robbers? Have you gone mad? If I did that, I’d be sacked and out of the office before the end of the month!”

The Goblin, who had been silent until then, suddenly roared.

“To hell with your politics! MY SON WAS KILLED! I want justice!”

At his scream, two Aurors suddenly Apparated in the minister's office, and the Goblin immediately found two wands pointed at his face.

"Back off, Goblin," the female Auror sneered at him.

With the arrival of the two Aurors, Cornelius Fudge adopted an impassive expression and spoke in a disinterested voice:

"I understand you're grieving, Mr Krugluff. What happened to your son is regrettable, but this isn't a matter I can involve myself in. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already concluded the investigation, and the Goblins were found guilty of vandalism, blackmail, robbery, aggravated assault, torture, and attempted murder."

"My son was killed with the Killing Curse!" the Goblin shouted as though he hadn't heard any of the words that the Minister had spoken to him. "My son-"

"-Would have likely gotten a life sentence in Azkaban or even the Kiss for his crimes if he had survived," Fudge cut him off coldly.

Living up to his nickname, Krugluff the Pale's face became deathly white. Quivering in rage, he looked like he was seconds away from violently charging at Fudge. The two Aurors at the Minister's side, and the wands in their hands, however, quickly made him change his mind. 

Instead, the goblin turned on his heels and headed to the door. Just before leaving the office, he glanced back over his shoulder and said in a voice filled with vitriol:

“History tends to remember moments like this… whether kindly or not, that remains to be seen.”



⁂



Unaware of what had transpired in the Common Room, Fleur waited for Harry to return for hours, but he never came back. In the end, too exhausted from everything she had been through, she fell asleep thinking about him.

Normally, she would have closed the curtains around her bed and cast both a Locking Charm and a Caterwauling Charm to protect her privacy, but that night, for the first time since she started sharing a room with Harry, she had forgotten to do it. When she woke up in the morning, it was as if her body remembered before her mind did. She sat up abruptly, looking at Harry’s bed in a panic, expecting the worst.

‘He’s not here?’ she wondered, letting out a breath of relief.

But when she looked at the clock on her nightstand and saw how early it was, her relief turned into confusion. Harry always went to bed late and never woke up this early. What could have happened for him to be gone already?

“Did he, perhaps, not return at all last night?” she muttered to herself in French.

She swung her legs off the bed and braced her hands on the mattress to push herself up. Her body still felt weak from the aftereffects of the Love Potion. But when she tried to stand up, she let out a sharp yelp of pain as her hand tugged at something unexpectedly.

“Wait, what?!”

She looked down in shock. When she went to sleep, her hair had been very short, styled in a boyish haircut, but now, long tresses spilt over her shoulders and down her back, glittering like silver in the morning sunlight.

“How can this be?” she whispered, stunned.

Because of how deeply Veela’s magic was connected to their hair, it was impossible for Fleur to grow her hair back quickly, even with potions. It should have taken her months, maybe longer.

She rushed to the mirror as fast as her weakened body allowed her to.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, staring at her reflection.

She wasn’t being intentionally vain. After spending such a long time bearing the appearance of a boy, she had nearly forgotten how long and pretty her silvery hair used to be.

But all of a sudden, panic returned.

“What am I doing?” she muttered, scolding herself as she backed away from the mirror.

If Harry were to walk in right then, everything she had worked so hard to hide would be revealed in an instant. There would be no way to explain this. He would find out her secret right away. She didn’t even want to imagine the disaster that would follow.

‘I wonder, what would his reaction be if he were to see me like this?’ she thought, giggling softly at the mental image of it.

Leaving the mirror, she climbed back into her bed and pulled the curtains. Not knowing when he would come back, she could not risk letting him see her in her current state.

Her heart broke anew as she aimed her ivory wand at her hair, casting a specialised Hair Cutting Charm. She would normally trim her own hair every two weeks, not allowing it to grow too long so that her Veela Charm would not bare its fangs. But this time it was different from usual. When she was finished cutting, Fleur almost teared up at the sight of her long tresses left on the bed.

Nevertheless, after finishing her morning rituals and meeting with her friends in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Fleur’s regret over cutting her hair slipped from her mind when they told her what had happened the previous night. They explained how Harry’s house-elf had shouted that Harry’s grandparents were attacked by goblins before whisking him away.



⁂


It was the 18th of February, on a Thursday, that Harry returned to Hogwarts. By the time he arrived, there was nobody in the castle who didn't know about the Goblins' attack on the Potters in Pitt-Upon-Ford and what Harry had done to stop them.

This time, it was not only his fellow students and housemates who were giving him a wide berth, but even some of the teachers appeared to be uncomfortable when interacting with him.

Not only had Harry cast the Dark Beheading Curse to decapitate a Goblin, but he had even cast four Killing Curses. He had done it for the sake of protecting his grandparents - everyone knew that - but they still could not help being afraid of him; even his close friends, Simon, Elora, and Elspeth, looked like they were walking on eggshells around him.

'If there's one good thing in this whole mess, it's that we finally got a proper DADA teacher,' Harry thought as he stepped in front of the class and demonstrated the proper way to cast the Reductor Curse.

It wasn't a new teacher, per se, but Albus Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class until he found a replacement for Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Impressive spellwork, Mr. Potter. Five points to Ravenclaw,” Dumbledore said with a smile as the dummy exploded into countless wooden splinters.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Unlike Harry, who found the fifth-year DADA curriculum to be a breeze, the rest of his classmates were struggling. That was largely due to how incompetent Quirrell and Lockhart had been as teachers.

One by one, students stepped in front of the class, and Dumbledore paid close attention to them, correcting their wand movements or the pronunciation of the incantation and helping them get into the right mindset in order to succeed in casting the spell.

“Good aim and decent destructive power. That was a well-cast Reductor Curse, Mr. Delacour. Five points to Ravenclaw!” Dumbledore said, offering a smile to Florent, who had successfully cast the spell after only two tries.

Since she was from Beauxbatons, Fleur had an advantage over most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs when it came to the class of Defense Against Dark Arts. She had received a much better education at the French school of magic.

Eventually, the class came to an end, and the students’ excited chatter filled the air as they gathered their things and prepared to leave.

“Mr Potter, may I have a word with you?” the Headmaster called out his name.

Elora and Elspeth waved their hands and told him that they were going ahead. As for Florent, he glanced back at Harry for a few seconds before leaving, too.

Now that it was only the two of them, Dumbledore closed the door of the classroom with a swish of his wand and also cast a nonverbal Silencing Charm so that others would not be able to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“I wanted to inform you that the Fidelius Charm had officially been cast over your grandparents’ home. Read this note and burn it right after.”

“Thank you for helping us, Professor,” the boy said sincerely.

The number of people in Great Britain who could cast a spell as complex and as powerful as the Fidelius Charm could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The fact that the Headmaster offered to help before they even asked meant the world to Harry.

“I will do whatever I can to keep your family safe, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently, his bright blue eyes peering into his over his half-moon spectacles. “Please have a seat. Do not worry about getting detention for being late to your next class. I will send Professor Sprout a note to inform her about it.”

Harry wasn’t keen on having a longer conversation with Dumbledore because it was clear to him what the old man wanted to talk about. But it wasn’t like he could refuse either. He had no choice but to do it.

As he sat on the chair that Dumbledore had summoned next to his desk, the old wizard spoke:

“I am not going to blame you for your actions or your choice of spells,” he began, making the boy’s eyes widen in surprise. “You showed great courage that day. Thanks to your intervention, your grandparents lived to see another day. Rather than judge you and point fingers at you, I would like to give you a piece of advice, to remind you that for all our actions, there are consequences.”

At Harry’s nod of approval, he continued:

“You may already know this, but Dark Magic leaves its mark on everything it touches. It is not just objects or the environment that become tainted. Dark Magic marks those who use it too. . . The magic that you used. . . the Killing Curse takes a considerable amount of hatred in order to be cast successfully. Frankly speaking, it is a spell that I abhor, one that I would never voluntarily use. It is a spell that I strongly advise you against using.”

"I can definitely understand the appeal of ending your enemies with one spell. . . but there is a good reason why we teach Defence Against Dark Arts at Hogwarts rather than the Dark Arts themselves. Dark magic corrupts. On some people, the effect is immediate; on others, it could take years before any significant changes occur. But, sooner or later, they do occur. It is only a matter of time."

“You are a good person, Harry. More mature and far more dedicated to your family than I was at your age. . . Do not let the darkness cloud your mind and the temptation of power change your heart. Never forget what you are fighting for. And just as important, never forget that you are not alone. Talk to your godfather about your problems, about your inner fears and aspirations for the future. Spend time with your friends and with your little brother. Seek other people’s companionship. Do not isolate yourself from your family and friends, for they are the source of your strength.”

“I will end my little monologue by saying that you do not have to shoulder the burden of protecting your younger brother alone. If you ever feel lost or uncertain, if you ever have a worry too heavy to bear, you can always come to me. I am here for you, no matter what. All you have to do is ask."

He grabbed his quill and a piece of parchment, and scribbled a few lines on it before handing it to Harry.

“Now, off you go. Take Mr Delacour with you and head towards the Greenhouse. You should not keep Professor Sprout waiting any longer than necessary.”

“Is Florent waiting for me outside?” Harry asked in surprise.

Dumbledore chuckled merrily at the complex look that flashed on the boy’s face.



⁂



Coming out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, it was just as Dumbledore had said: the French boy had been waiting for him outside the entire time.

“Florent? You didn’t have to wait for me. What if you got in trouble for it?”

“Nonsense. ‘Ow could I leave you behind?” Fleur said, the bright smile on her face making Harry involuntarily avert his eyes. “Besides, we never got the chance to talk since you left. I wanted to thank you for ‘elping me out when I got sick.”

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Harry said with a small grin. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Is your family alright?” Fleur asked.

“Yes, they’ve been discharged from the hospital,” he said. “My grandma should make a full recovery in two weeks or so. And now that Dumbledore cast a strong protective spell over our homes, I don’t need to worry about them anymore. Gran will have to close down our little apothecary from now on, but it can’t be helped.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to ‘ear that. Will your family be alright financially?”

Harry actually laughed.

“Now ‘ere I am, worrying about you, and you’re laughing,” Fleur said, crossing her arms at her chest.

Still smiling in amusement, he said, “We’ll be alright. More than alright. My family is one of the wealthiest in Great Britain, and that’s not even counting my godfather, who is even wealthier. He even owns a professional Quidditch club.”

Fleur was genuinely surprised to hear that.

“If you ‘ad not told me, I would ‘ave never taken you for someone who was born with a gold spoon in ‘is mouth.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Harry chuckled. “But I have to say, I didn’t notice how much better your English has gotten lately.”

“That’s because you never spend time with us. Hmpf!” Fleur made a noise.

“Pouting is cute only when a girl does it. You’re a bloke. Quit doing that shite,” Harry said flatly, making Fleur start giggling.

The two of them took their sweet time getting to Herbology, having fun chatting along the way. It was as though the terrible awkwardness from before the Christmas holiday had vanished from their memories.

Unknowingly, they spent nearly fifteen minutes on the way as Harry told Florent what he had gone through: the Goblins' attack, the Aurors’ questioning, and the mass media hounding him and his grandparents for interviews.

“I really loved our chat, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, unknowingly trying to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, forgetting that her short haircut didn’t allow that. “We should do it more often. It can’t be good to spend so much time all alone. Simon, Elora, and Lizzie would be ‘appy to see you around more often too."

Florent’s words made Harry think of what Dumbledore had told him just a few minutes earlier.

“Maybe I will,” he said after a brief moment of hesitation. “It wouldn’t hurt to have some fun once in a while.”

“Of course it wouldn’t! And even if you don’t ‘ave time during the day, you can still talk to me when we’re alone in our bedroom,” Fleur said, though her voice grew quieter toward the end and she looked away, embarrassed.

Her reaction flustered Harry too, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Okay..."

“Um, just remember that we're friends. If you need to talk to someone, I’m always available for you,” Fleur said quickly.

Not waiting for his reply, she opened the door of the Greenhouse and rushed inside, the tips of her ears beet red.