Harry stood in his mind, alongside Merlin as they looked at the ball of pain and grief formed after the battle at Hogwarts.
"Does it seem smaller to you?" Harry asked, studying it carefully, but not getting too close, remembering what happened the one and only time he'd touched it.
"It does," Merlin agreed.
"How did I do it?" Harry asked, remembering the explosive power he felt when he tapped into it during the battle at the Ministry.
"Magic and emotions are closely linked," Merlin replied, continuing to study the sphere. "And in moments of extreme stress and desperation we are capable of incredible things — powering spells well beyond normal, acts of physical strength, utilizing magic in ways we never did before, but I'm not sure that's exactly what's happening here," he said thoughtfully.
"It wasn't like when I fought Morgan," Harry said, thinking out loud. "I was stronger then. The magic just flowed out of me, doing exactly what I wanted it to. With this… it's explosive, faster, but much harder to control."
Merlin nodded. "I felt that too."
"I think I can learn to use it," Harry said thoughtfully. "The first time it caught me by surprise. But with some practice, it could be useful."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harry," Merlin replied, unsure of how to counsel Harry. "Using this… it's not without consequence. It knocked you out," he said, reminding him of how he lost consciousness as soon as he returned to the Burrow.
"I know," Harry replied, understanding Merlin's concerns. "It's dangerous, I get that, but look, the sphere is getting smaller. Maybe if I use it enough times, it will just disappear on its own."
"Harry," Merlin replied. "I know what you're thinking, but it doesn't work that way, not with us. You can't just burn away the emotions tied to your memories. We're not built that way. We remember everything we've seen, done, and felt, always."
"I know," Harry replied, some of his frustration seeping through. "That's the problem. How am I supposed to deal with that?" he said, waving his hand at the sphere. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces, I watch them die, and remembering it all with perfect clarity, and the only reason I'm holding it all together is because I don't have to feel the pain, and the grief. Wouldn't you do the same in my place?"
"I know it's difficult," Merlin admitted. "There are many things in my life I wish I could just forget, but that pain, that grief, it makes us who we are."
"I remember what happened," Harry argued, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Can't that be enough, just this once?"
"Harry," Merlin replied, understanding exactly where Harry was coming from, and the temptation he felt. "This isn't as simple as that. What you did — weaponizing your pain — I've never seen it done before, and neither have any of our past incarnations I've communed with."
"That doesn't mean that it's bad. It's getting smaller," Harry replied. "You can see that just as well as I can."
"Is it?" Merlin questioned. "Or is your pain and grief just getting more concentrated? What if it gets harder to control, not easier? What if you make a mistake? What if you hurt someone?"
"I'll be careful," Harry replied.
"Careful?" Merlin asked, tapping down his frustration, knowing that it would only make things worse. "You can't be careful with something you can't control."
"I won't use it every day," Harry argued, "just when I have to."
"…Alright," Merlin relented, seeing there was no convincing Harry otherwise, and continuing their arguments was only making things worse. "But just remember, short-term solutions lead to long-term problems. This is not the silver bullet you think it is; it's a crutch."
"After I deal with Greyback," Harry relented. "I promise. I'll talk to Daniela, get help."
Merlin nodded, hoping Harry would keep his word.
"He isn't done yet," Harry said, thinking about what Greyback said.
"No, he isn't," Merlin agreed. "That was his proclamation to the world, and it didn't go the way he wanted. You forced him to retreat, made him look weak. It's only a matter of time before he attacks again to reclaim what he lost."
"Something's changed with the curse," Harry added. "Not just how he transformed in broad daylight either. He could talk, think, reason."
"The ritual," Merlin said, stating what they were both thinking. "We knew there were going to be consequences with all that magic entering the world. It's changed the curse, or more closely aligned it with what it was always meant to be."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.
"The werewolf curse came from the Darkhold," Merlin replied. "Every spell, every ritual in it requires a tremendous amount of magic."
"And it was created by Chthon," Harry added, catching on to what Merlin was saying. "An elder god so powerful that even our strongest spells are child's play compared to what he can do."
Merlin nodded in agreement. "It's likely the same thing that happened with the first Dementors. They thought they were ascending, becoming higher beings, but our world doesn't have the level magic to support their existence, so they became a shadow of what they thought they would become."
Harry's eyes widened as he had another chilling thought. "If this happened to the werewolves, did something similar happen to the Dementors too?"
"It's possible," Merlin agreed. "They're also several magnitudes higher magically than werewolves, so it would require more magic for their curse to change in any meaningful way, but thankfully our previous incarnation bound them to Azkaban."
Harry nodded. "That's a relief, but what about the portal? The one Greyback used to escape?"
"Another problem," Merlin agreed. "The Ministry is one of the most secure locations in the country. It's warded against apparition, portkeys, and many other things."
"But not portals," Harry added. "They looked almost the same as the one Morgan tried to use."
"They likely are the same," Merlin agreed. "I've been giving it some thought," he continued. "Greyback's portal most likely leads to somewhere close by," Merlin said. "The shorter the distance, the less magic it would use, negating the need for a ritual. The more pertinent question is how he managed it."
Harry nodded. "Someone must have shown him how to create them, but it doesn't make sense. The Unspeakables have the Darkhold. What reason would they have to work with Greyback?"
"There is also the possibility they could have learned about it another way," Merlin pointed out. "But we won't find those answers in here. It's time for you to wake up."
***
Harry blinked looking around. He was back in Ron's bedroom. The last thing he remembered was sitting down at the dinner table, and his eyes getting heavy before waking up in his mind.
He got up, still feeling exhausted, despite sleeping away most of the day, but knew he couldn't spend the rest of the afternoon napping. He had to find out what he'd missed.
He walked down the stairs, spotting Molly cleaning up the kitchen.
"Harry!" Molly exclaimed. "You had us all worried," she said, taking his arm and pulling him to the table. "Sit down. We just finished lunch, so there's still plenty left. Here," she said, setting down a sandwich in front of him. "You start on that. What else would you like to eat? You must be starving."
Harry looked down at the giant sandwich Molly set down in front of him. It was more than he normally ate in two meals. "Actually, Molly," he said, taking a bite out of the sandwich, pausing to appreciate how good it tasted. "…I'm not sure I'll even be able to finish this, not without my stomach bursting," he joked.
"Well… all right," Molly replied reluctantly, looking at the sandwich again and seeing Harry's point. "But you've been asleep since yesterday afternoon. If you get hungry later, you tell me," she said, leaving no room for argument.
"I will," Harry promised. "Where's everyone else?" he asked curiously.
"Bill and Arthur are at work," Molly explained as she continued to clean the kitchen. "George is having a session with Daniela, and everyone else is outside. Are you planning on joining them?" She asked, watching Harry carefully.
"No, not today at least," Harry shook his head. "I still need some time to recover."
"Good," Molly said, breathing a sigh of relief. "You're pushing yourself too hard. All this work you're doing, these exercises. Do you ever take any time for yourself?"
"No, not really," Harry admitted, shaking his head. "Something always seems to come up. That reminds me, actually. What happened after I—"
Molly gave him a stern look, cutting him off before he could finish now that she knew he was okay. "After you passed out? We nearly took you to St Mungo's if not for Daniela. She's the one who diagnosed you with a severe case of magical exhaustion. What were you thinking, Harry?" She admonished.
"How could you think it was a good idea to come all the way here without at least getting yourself checked out by the healers? They were right there at the Ministry checking on everyone else."
"I'm sorry I worried you," Harry replied contritely. "I wasn't thinking about that."
"Well, you should be," Molly replied, her cleaning forgotten. "What would have happened if you had passed out on the way here instead? Anything could have happened. You're lucky you're alive!" She snapped, letting out all her pent-up worry all at once.
Harry looked at Molly wide-eyed, having never heard her speak to him that way, but also touched that she cared enough to say what she did.
"Oh no," Molly said, shocked by her own outburst. "I didn't mean it that way, Harry," she said, rushing to give him a hug. "I just worry about you."
"I appreciate it," Harry said softly, hugging her back. "Did anything else happen while I was out?"
"Rita Skeeter wrote an article about what happened," Molly replied, breaking the hug. "A special addition no less."
"Do you still have it?" Harry asked. "Can I read it?"
Molly nodded. "Maybe you should wait a day or two. You just woke up," she explained, fearing that he would go right back to work, and forget all about resting.
"Is it bad?" Harry asked, already fearing the worst.
Molly sighed, but nodded.
"I need to see it, Molly, please," Harry replied.
Molly reached into the cabinet and pulled out the newspaper, silently handing it to him.
Werewolf Attack at the Ministry
By Rita Skeeter
During a closed-door Wizengamot inquiry, the werewolf Greyback committed a heinous and brazen attack from within the walls of the Ministry itself, formerly thought to be one of the most secure locations in all of Britain.
There are still a great many questions about the attack we are still investigating, but what we know for certain is that it came on the heels of two werewolf attacks previously reported on where the victims were confirmed to be bitten, and turned.
The most troubling aspect of all these attacks was that none of them occurred during a full moon, and the latest attack at the Ministry happened in broad daylight.
At this time we have no confirmed details on the nature of the Wizengamot inquiry, but what we have ascertained is that it was important enough for all current members to attend, along with Harry Potter.
What I'm about to tell you next has not been independently verified, and is purely speculative, but we at the Quibbler believe the purpose of the inquiry was to discuss the battle of Hogwarts, and what the Ministry and Wizengamot planned to do going forward.
It was during this inquiry that Fenrir Greyback interrupted the proceedings. For those of you unaware, Greyback is a particularly vicious and savage werewolf, even amongst his kind.
He is known to deliberately target children, seeks to spread the lycanthropy curse as widely as possible, and cultivated a following of werewolves loyal to his brutal ideology.
He has multiple confirmed murders to his name in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds too long to list in this article, and notably joined he who must not be named in the last wizarding war.
The attack began with Greyback kicking open the doors to the Wizengamot chambers and declaring his intention to overthrow the Ministry and Wizengamot, and create a society ruled by werewolves.
This rhetoric is not new for Greyback, and is in fact something he has been declaring for decades, but what has changed is the probability of him carrying out his threats, threats we all need to take very seriously.
His transformation into a werewolf was not typical for those of his kind. He was noticeably larger, stronger, and faster than previously believed. He retained the ability to speak and seemed to be in full control of the transformation.
In his attack, he turned five Aurors, killing two, along with twelve Wizengamot members, and injuring countless others.
If not for the intervention of Harry Potter, it is believed the death toll would have been significantly higher.
It was Harry Potter who battled not just Greyback, but also a pack of his fellow werewolves, killing five of them.
The remaining Aurors and various witches and wizards within the Ministry did attempt to mount a counter attack, but it was ineffectual.
The werewolves were significantly faster, dodging most spells thrown at them, and the few spells that connected were not strong enough to penetrate the werewolves's hides.
To make matters worse, the werewolves also have a new form of transportation allowing them to bypass current ward schemes, which bears a remarkable resemblance to the one used by the entity during the battle of Hogwarts, which they then used to flee the Ministry.
At the moment we have no confirmation on if it is in fact the same method of transportation or something new entirely, but we will continue our investigation and report on any new developments when available.
In conclusion, I would also like to offer my thanks and heartfelt gratitude to Harry Potter. This is the second time in as many months that his actions have saved countless lives.
(See pages 2-4 for pictures taken from the memories of those within the Ministry at the time of the attack)
Harry sighed, putting down the newspaper, not bothering to look at the gruesome pictures.
The article didn't have the same deep insights he could usually count on Rita Skeeter for, but considering the article came out the day of the attack he understood why.
The goal was to warn the public, inform them of what really happened before the Prophet and the Wizengamot had a chance to put their own spin on what happened.
"Harry?" George called out, surprising him.
"George," Harry replied.
"Can we… can we talk?" He asked carefully.
Harry nodded. "Sure, whatever you need, George."
"Outside?" George asked.
"Sure," Harry agreed, following him outside, hoping this would the first step in repairing their strained friendship.
As they stepped outside, they could see Ron, Fred, Percy, and Ginny already in the front yard, but when they saw him standing with George, they backed off, giving them space.
"…How are you doing, George?" Harry asked carefully.
"Better," George said simply. "Not a lot better, but I'm learning to deal with it."
Harry nodded as they fell into an awkward silence.
"…I'm sorry, George," Harry finally said.
"Why?" George asked quietly.
"What?" Harry asked, confused by his question.
"Why are you sorry? I was out of control," he explained. "Everything you said, it was all true."
Harry sighed. "I wish it hadn't happened the way it did."
George nodded.
"Is there anything else I can do?" Harry offered. "Prosthetic eyes are pretty good now. They can give you your full vision back."
"Thank you, Harry," George replied stiffly, "but it's not something I'm ready for just yet."
Harry nodded. "…You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"
"I don't blame you for what you did," George replied. "I want you to know that. I didn't leave you any choice. I get that now."
"…You don't sound like yourself," Harry observed.
"I feel numb," George admitted. "Like I'm not even me anymore. Daniela said it's normal.. It's my mind's way of protecting me…"
"You should listen to her," Harry replied gently, ignoring Merlin's calls for him to do the same as he focused on George. "She knows what she's talking about."
George nodded. "We have another session tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to know… how did you do it? You don't have the nightmares… and you nearly died too, but you're okay."
"I wish I could explain it," Harry sighed. "But I'm not okay," he confessed. "I'm getting through it just like you."
"Daniela said it was different for everybody," George agreed thoughtfully.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking off into the distance as they continued their walk, neither of them sure what else to say, or how to rebuild their friendship to what it once was.
***
Delores stepped out of St Mungo's still fuming over the news she had received about her father's condition.
Both his arms, his left leg, his back and half his ribs were broken. On top of that, he'd suffered a severe concussion, and was in and out of consciousness. So much so that the healers refused to administer the skelegrow potion, claiming it would only make his condition worse, and she knew exactly who to blame for all of it, Harry Potter.
She had never imagined the boy could be so petty, just because of their minor argument at the Ministry.
He had stood by and done nothing while that mongrel werewolf brutalized her father, only stepping in to help afterwards, branding himself as some kind of avenging angel. It was enough to make her sick.
'Ever since the boy came into the picture, the entire world has gone crazy,' she thought darkly. 'I wouldn't be surprised if he were behind the whole thing.'
She walked down the street, needing to clear her head, and figure out what to do. Scrimgeour was useless, and wholly unprepared to deal with the werewolves. No one had even seen him since the attack
'Cornelius would know what to do,' she thought fondly. 'By now he would have prepared at least half a dozen pieces of legislation and instructed the DMLE to hunt down every werewolf in the country.'
She spotted a group of children playing outside a shop and stopped to watch them for a moment. She could tell by their clothes and the high-end shop they were playing in front of that they were proper pureblood children, spotting their parents watching them indulgently.
Despite her bad mood, she couldn't help but smile. 'This is what life is truly about,' she thought wistfully. 'Pureblood children playing together, no half-bloods, or mudbloods to spoil everything.'
It was what she had always wanted, a couple of children, a husband — and she thought she had found that with Cornelius Fudge, only to feel like the rug had been pulled out from under her when she found out he was married.
At first she considered it a minor problem, having never seen his wife in the Ministry. She thought the woman had been taking Cornelius for granted, and had been fully prepared to step in, and show him what he had been missing, a proper pureblood wife that gave him the attention a man as important as him deserved.
She had imagined herself and Cornelius as the new power couple in the Ministry, even speaking to her father about getting him inducted into the Wizengamot, but it had all come crashing down when she found out the truth about his wife.
It would have been so much easier if she hadn't been in a coma. Even if there was no proof of an affair or some other scandal it could always be manufactured after the fact, but not in the case of Isabel Fudge.
She hated that woman with every fiber of her being for that. Even with one foot in the grave for the better part of a decade she monopolized all of Cornelius's time and affection, affection that should have rightly gone to her, but she could never blame Cornelius for that.
It was what attracted her to him in the first place — his intelligence, his skill, how clever he was. The only flaw she could see in the man was how easily he placed his loyalty in people that didn't deserve it.
She knew that with her by his side, she could correct that flaw, and there was no telling how far they would rise together.
She had tried over the years to seduce him, to win him over, but his stubborn loyalty to his half-dead wife always spoiled everything, but finally there was an opening.
Isabel Fudge was dead, 'and about time too,' she thought triumphantly. Now there was nothing standing in the way of her and Cornelius being together.
She even had the perfect opening, needing comfort, after her father's injuries. He would of course invite her in, and they would talk. She would confess her feelings for him, and he would tell her he felt the same way, had felt the same way for years, and that it was only his sense of duty that kept them apart.
She was brought out of her musing when she heard the children arguing. Smiling at them indulgently, she watched, thinking she would need to know how to handle such things when she and Cornelius had children of their own.
"NO! It's my turn now!" The girl shouted, stamping her foot.
Delores couldn't help but crack a smile, noting that the girl couldn't have been more than seven years old, but clearly knew what she wanted.
"You already had a turn!" another boy shouted. "I want a turn too!" And that was followed shortly by the other three children joining in on the argument as well.
Delores chuckled as she watched the argument escalate, their cute scrunched-up faces erasing her bad mood.
"I don't want to be a dumb old cultist anymore!" the girl shouted. "I want to be Harry!"
'Harry?' Delores thought, furrowing her brows, thinking she had misheard the girl.
"You can't be Harry!" the first boy shouted back. "He's a boy!"
"Can too!" the girl shouted back as the other children clamored for their turns too.
Delores's eyes widened in outrage as she finally understood what they were arguing about. They were taking turns pretending to be the Potter brat! 'How can their parents just allow this?' she thought, outraged.
"Excuse me!" Delores nearly shouted, marching over to the children's parents as all of them fell silent watching the red-faced woman storm over to them.
"Can I help you?" One mother asked, standing protectively in front of the children.
"Are any of these children yours?" She demanded shrilly, pointing angrily at the now silent children.
"What business is it of yours?" the woman asked, not wanting to give the obviously crazy woman any more information than she absolutely had to.
"I'll take that as a yes," Delores ground out. "Have you no decency? Allowing your children to play these vile games?"
"They're not hurting anyone," the woman glared back at Delores. "They're just kids playing a game."
"No!" Delores practically shouted. "They're glorifying the actions of a vile boy that barely qualifies as a pureblood."
"Are you talking about Harry Potter?" another parent asked, stepping forward, his eyes blazing with fury.
Delores faltered, taking a step back as she stared at the man, but quickly found her courage again. "Obviously!" she shouted. "All these terrible things started after that horrible boy came along. It's obviously connected! You would see that if you weren't all so foolish!"
The man was about to respond when another woman, the man's wife, put a hand on his shoulder, whispering to him. "John, she's crazy. I doubt she even knows what she's saying."
Delores's eyes widened in outrage, having heard every word. "I'm not crazy!" she growled. "It's because of that vile boy my father is in St. Mungo's!"
"See, I told you," the woman hissed to her husband. "Let's just go before she does something," she said, tugging on his sleeve.
"Fine," John relented as they walked around her, gathering their daughter and walking away, shortly followed by the other parents doing the same.
Delores watched them go, simmering with rage. They didn't understand. None of them did, all too caught up in the brat's public image to see him for what he truly was — an opportunistic brat that would ruin the country with his idiotic ideas.
"Whoever you are," the shopkeeper said, sticking her head out the door. "You need to leave before I call the Aurors."
Delores glared at the woman in outrage. "I was trying to—"
"I don't care what you think you were doing," the woman said, cutting her off. "You're scaring my customers, now leave!" She demanded, shutting the door in her face.
Delores glared, clenching and unclenching her fists as she stared back at the woman through the window, vowing never to come to this shop when she had children of her own before turning on her heel and storming away.
It was only when she passed by Cornelius's house that she calmed down, remembering what she had planned to do earlier. Turning around, she went back to his house, knocking on the front door.
Composing herself quickly, she smiled when he opened the door, faltering slightly when she saw the state he was in — disheveled, his eyes red.
"H-Hello Cornelius," she said. "It's good to see you again," she added. "I read about your wife… her obituary. I wanted to offer my condolences."
".. Yes, thank you," Cornelius said stiffly, surprised to even see Delores outside his door, genuinely believing that when he left office, it would be the last time he would see her.
"Cornelius," Delores said. "Look at yourself," she admonished, pushing past him into his house. "You can't come to the door looking like this. Let me make you a cup of tea. Have you had something to eat?"
"What?" Cornelius asked in surprise, watching as the woman barged past him into his home. "Delores," he said quickly, walking after her, trying to be polite. "That's really not necessary. I would just like to—"
"Nonsense," Delores said, cutting him off as she looked through his cabinets for cups and the kettle. "I'm happy to do it."
Cornelius could only watch in dismay as Delores eventually founds the cups and began brewing the tea.
"You just sit down over here," she said, taking his arm, and pulling him to the table, and before he could say anything else she had already marched across the kitchen, and returned with two cups of tea.
"Thank you," Cornelius said, hiding his frustration, reminding himself to remain polite.
"It's no trouble," Delores smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "You know, the Ministry is an absolute madhouse without you. Scrimgeour has no idea what he's doing, and no one respects him, not at all like when you were running things."
"…It's a big job," Cornelius said after a moment's pause. "I'm sure he's still just learning the ropes, and forgive me, Delores, I'm quite tired," he said, pretending to yawn, and hoping she would get the hint.
"Oh yes, I imagine so," Delores said, patting his hand affectionately before continuing. "I can't imagine you allowing this travesty to go on any longer than it already has. Have you spoken to anyone on the Wizengamot? They must be having second thoughts, especially now."
"What?" Cornelius blinked. "No," he shook his head, caught of guard by the sudden change of topics.
"Oh," Delores said, looking at Cornelius in genuine surprise, expecting him to have already been working behind the scenes to get himself reinstated. "I thought… well, never mind."
"…It has been nice catching up," Cornelius said as he stood up, trying again to get the woman out the door.
Delores groaned internally. She couldn't leave yet. She hadn't even got to the real reason she came, but she needed to say something to keep his attention, and before she knew it she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.
"Did you hear about the werewolf attack at the Ministry?" She asked.
Cornelius nodded slowly. "I heard it was bad."
"It was awful, Cornelius," Delores said with the presence of mind not to mention the Potter brat, knowing how sensitive Cornelius was about that. "Terrifying. My own father was one of the Wizengamot members injured in the attack. He's still at St. Mungo's now."
"Oh," Cornelius said, sitting back down. "I'm sorry to hear that. Will he be alright?"
"The healers don't know. It's still too early to say," Delores replied, stretching the truth. "But even then, they don't know if he'll ever make a full recovery."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cornelius replied carefully.
While he abhorred the man, his politics, and his views about those he thought of as inferior, he knew saying such things in front of his daughter, worried for his life, wasn't the right thing to do either.
"It's a good thing Harry was there," he added. "From what I've read, things would have been much worse without him."
"…Yes," Delores said, the smile freezing on her face as she fought to hide her anger.
"…Well," Cornelius said, now hoping that he could finally get the woman out the door.
"Cornelius," Delores said, seizing her moment, as she again interrupted him. 'Now or never,' she thought to herself, knowing that she would need to be the one to make the first move.
"Have you ever thought about us?" Delores said, placing her hand on his.
Cornelius's eyes widened slightly as he realized what this was really about. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said stiffly, hoping desperately the woman would lose her nerve and back off like she'd done in the past.
He wasn't oblivious to the fact that Delores had feelings for him. He didn't understand why. They had nothing in common, and privately he couldn't stand the vile woman, only putting up with her because it would have caused far too many problems to get rid of her, rather than put up with her.
"Come now, Cornelius," Delores smiled. "You must have at least suspected after all these years… I have feelings for you," she admitted. "I've always had feelings for you," she added before she lost her nerve. "And I think you feel the same way about me."
'And there it is,' Cornelius said with a mental sigh. Now that she'd said it out loud, there was no way to avoid it, and whatever repercussions would come from the vindictive woman, and most likely her father once he recovered.
Delores stared at Cornelius with a dreamy look in her eyes, already imagining him confessing his feelings for her, and sweeping her up in a passionate kiss, but as the silence dragged on, she knew something had gone horribly wrong.
"…D-did you hear me?" Delores asked, breaking the awkward silence.
"…I did," Cornelius replied quietly. "I'm sorry, Delores. I consider you a friend," he lied, seeing no reason to be cruel about it. "And I think it's best we keep it that way."
"W-what?" Delores asked, her lips trembling, praying that she had misheard him. She had just laid her heart bare to him. How could he just reject her? She thought, feeling a cold anger settle within her.
"Delores, my wife just passed," Cornelius said softly. "She was the woman I thought I would build a life with. I can never love someone the same way again," he explained, hoping his confession would spark some change in the woman.
"You deserve better than that," Cornelius continued. "You deserve someone who wants the same things as you, someone who can give you the life you want, someone who can make you happy. Someone who can be there for you. That… is not me."
"Cornelius," Delores breathed, her anger evaporating.
"I'm sorry, Delores, I truly am," he said, taking her by the arm as he led her to the door. "Goodbye, Delores," he said before closing the door.
Delores stared at the closed door, 'Oh Cornelius you poor noble fool,' she thought with a sigh, convinced that he said what he did for fear of hurting her, not because he still cared for a woman that spent the better part of a decade with one foot in the grave.
'I won't give up on you, I won't give up on us, Cornelius,' she thought with a smile on her face as she walked away, already planning what she would do next to win him over.
***
James sat in his study, staring out of the window aimlessly, a letter sitting unopened on his desk in front of him. He glanced at it again, trying to work up the nerve to open it.
It was from his father, written just before he passed, and considering the last words they'd spoken to each other had been in anger, he had no idea what to expect.
The goblins were slowly returning access to his family vault, far too slowly in his opinion, but for once it wasn't the fault of the goblins, but Dumbledore himself.
The headmaster hadn't simply taken the profits generated by his vault, but combined them across multiple vaults with the other families he'd stolen from, moving them back and forth multiple times.
The goblins were in the middle of an audit, trying to make sense of what belonged to whom, but it could take months before it was all sorted out.
The only exceptions were personal items, ones that could be directly and easily traced back to the correct owners, which included personal letters, or other family heirlooms that clearly indicated which family they belonged to.
He stared at the envelope, seeing the familiar scrawl of his late father's handwriting he remembered well from his youth, and knew the letter was genuine, and not just one last attempt by Dumbledore to manipulate him.
He sighed deeply, knowing he couldn't put this off any longer than he already had. With shaking hands, he picked up his letter opener and tore open the envelope.
Hello James,
If you are reading this letter, then it means I am dead, and we did not get the chance to reconcile before my passing.
Of course, there is the possibility that we did, and we are reading this letter over a nice tumbler of brandy, talking about the disaster we just averted, but the more practical side of me doubts that.
When we last spoke, it was in anger, something I deeply regret now. I wish we could have sat down like men, and discussed it rationally, but you were too stubborn to see my perspective, and I too stubborn to listen to yours.
You wanted to commit our family fortune to the war effort, under the purview of Albus Dumbledore, and I was against it, and as I write the letter, that has not changed, but I wish I hadn't been so quick to anger, then perhaps I could have shared my concerns with you before you left, so I do so now, in hopes that you will listen now.
James let out a long sigh, seeing his father's wisdom now more than ever. "You were right, father… about everything," he admitted quietly. "I wish I had listened to you when I had the chance."
A man like Dumbledore doesn't rise to power as quickly as he did without compromises, without cutting corners, without making deals he should no better than to ever make.
I discussed it with some of my allies on the Wizengamot. You were not the only heir that Dumbledore made that 'request' of, and the amount of galleons he wanted went well beyond arming a few dozen wizards and training up a militia.
That was where my suspicions coalesced, that Dumbledore is not, nor has he ever been, the wizard he presents himself to be.
His own father died in Azkaban, his sister dead under mysterious circumstances, and in his Hogwarts years he was close friends with Gellert Grindelwald.
I know that individually each of these things can be overlooked, even excused, but together they paint a very different picture of the man.
You are too close to the man to see it. I understand that, and with this Voldemort on the loose I know you feel pressured to do something, as would I in your place, that is why the decision I make now is so difficult, and I hope someday you understand why I did what I did.
The 100,000 galleons I moved into the secondary vault under your name is all you will receive for the next five years, upon which you will gain access to the full Potter fortune.
I hope that in that time you will mature, that you will understand the Potter fortune is not yours. It is your children's birthright, and their children's birthright after them.
You are a steward, just as I have been, duty bound to safeguard our family, and ensure the next generation has what it needs to succeed and thrive.
Also, keep your friends close. I was wrong about them, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black in particular. It was wrong of me to judge them the way I did.
You need friends like them, ones who are unafraid to tell you the truth, ones who will tell you when you are making a mistake, and most of all, have your best interests at heart.
Your father,
Charlus Potter
James frowned as he re-read the letter, in particular the 100,000 galleons, money that he had no knowledge of, but his father seemed to think that he did, and then there was his comment about Lupin and Black.
He hadn't thought about either of his childhood friends in years, nor did he remember either of them having a discussion with his father long enough to change his mind about anything.
They had simply drifted apart, going their own way without the halls of Hogwarts to bind them together.
***
Hi! Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. What did you think about the scene with James at the end? In this book I'm planning on expanding the Potter's characters and motivations. Admittedly they were one of the weaker aspects of the previous book so I hope you enjoy what I have planned for them.
Please take the time to review and let me know what you think of the story.
If you would like to support me and my writing, please consider visiting https://taplink.cc/jumpin for all the stories I'm currently working on and early access to chapters 7, 8, 9, and 10 of Legacy of Shadows along with some character portraits for Merlin, Morgan and Nimue, and an audio versions of the chapters.