FicWad

Chapter 26 – Allies and Enemies

A heavy silence followed Dumbledore's declaration, as the existing distrust amongst the occupants of the room sharpened and took on implications not felt or voiced in nearly thirteen years. The fact that more Death Eaters had walked free in the aftermath of the war than had been sentenced to Azkaban wasn't news, but the notion that these free Death Eaters had a master to rally behind once more had an unsettling quality the likes of which left old suspicions of one's fellows' true allegiance to manifest poignantly in a gut wrenching, fear encompassing manner.

Harry could feel the accusations directed at him, his father, and his godfather and at his mother, Mayra, and Remus by association. While the Daily Prophet hadn't embellished the reports of what had happened at Neville's Birthday Ball, they had reported the events of the evening most accurately. It was no secret that he, his father, his mother, Bethany, and Sirius had been detained by the DMLE under suspicion of having had a hand in organizing and/or of having preexisting knowledge of the attack. The very public criminal cases that his father and godfather had faced six years ago had also resurfaced in the Prophet under the guise of providing foundation for the DMLE's actions, along with a report of his, his father, and his godfather's 'trip to the continent' at the beginning of the month.

James exhaled audibly, earning his son's attention. Harry took in the resigned, determined look on his father's face and understood what the man was about to do, before his father even pushed away from the table and made to stand.

“James?” Dumbledore inquired.

“I want the record set straight, here and now,” James said, standing tall and proud. His gaze met Dumbledore's questioning one, his hazel eyes hard and resolute. With deft fingers, he slipped the button of his left cuff free and began rolling back the light cotton sleeve, revealing smooth, lightly tanned skin with each fold of the fabric.

With baited breath, eyes were glue to James's forearm, as more and more skin was reveal – even those who his father had maintained a friendly relationship with, Harry noted with a touch of disappointment and a whole lot of frustration on his father's behalf. The intensity of his glare made Kingsley look down at the table with a trace of shame and an apology showing on the man's face.

Once his forearm was completely bare for all to see and the Dark Mark was no where to be found, James raised his arm up, as if presenting if for display, and stepped around his chair. Steady, confident movements carried him to the head of the table. When he presented his forearm for Dumbledore's examination, the ancient wizard looked up at James with remorse coupled with understanding.

“You've nothing to prove,” Dumbledore said softly.

“I do.” James's determination remained steadfast.

Dumbledore regarded James for a moment longer, before taking his wand from the breast pocket of his robes. In a show that was clearly meant for the attentive audience rather than seeking confirmation of James's allegiance for himself, he began with finite incantatem and progressed to more powerful and lesser known revealing and detection spells. The last three spells he cast, Harry didn't recognized, but judging from his father's pain filled grimace, they were far from pleasant.

“Interesting,”Dumbledore murmured, as his last spell finished and revealed nothing more than unmarked flesh. He looked up at James briefly, before his gaze drifted down the table and locked on Harry. The curiosity in his eyes was naked, almost radiant. “Interesting, indeed.”

“Your verdict, Albus?” James asked gruffly, drawing Dumbledore's attention back to him.

“You, James Potter, do not bear, neither have you ever bore Voldemort's mark,” Dumbledore declared assuredly, as he pocketed his wand.

Mad-Eye grunted with distaste from his place at Dumbledore's right, looking far from placated. “It's been long assumed that he doesn't mark them all.” With both his magical eye and his nonmagical eye, he surveyed James suspiciously. His wand hand twitched, as if he wished to draw on the man before him. “Your not being marked, Potter, means nothing as far as I'm concerned. You, Black, and that boy of yours would already have Veritaserum down your throats, if I had my way about it – Lupin, as well, for good measure.”

“Alastor.”Dumbledore frowned reprovingly at his colleague, the silver whiskers of his beard crinkling just noticeably with the down turn of his lips and his eyes narrowing behind his half-moon spectacles.

“They were thick as thieves back in the day, Albus.” Mad-Eye growled, as if that was all the evidence that he needed to ascertain his former allies' guilt. He looked to Dumbledore with his good eye, while his magical eye swept from James to Sirius and swiveled around to Remus.“We've already got proof that one of them serves the bastard, yet you invite the lot here, attempt to make nice with the scoundrels –”

“A single man's guilt does not condemn three others, neither does it reflect upon a young man who is only just beginning his journey in this world.” The look on Dumbledore's face – imperious and obdurate in every sense of the word – told Harry and everyone else in the room that the two men had already had this particular disagreement. Looking away from Mad-Eye, Dumbledore addressed the room as a whole. “Let there be no further misunderstanding.”

Dumbledore stood from his seat and rested a gnarled hand on James's shoulder, who did not shrug it off, yet stood rigid under its weight. “Many of you sit here wondering, if it was James, Lord Black, or perhaps even Remus who sold out Fabian and Gideon, gave Voldemort the McKinnons' location, or possibly lured Dorcas to her death.”

A pregnant pause followed these words. Harry could feel their truth in the way Diggle shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the other side of Sirius, the way Sturgis glared up at the confirming hand on his father's shoulder, and the way McGonagall sat stiff-back in her chair and refused to look at any of them.

“It was not,” Dumbledore said with self-possessed knowledge. As the finality of his ruling resonated throughout the room, he looked to James and then down the table to Sirius. He sighed with the weight of immense regret. “I have given hand to ruining the reputations of good men, while lofting the reputation of the one truly responsible. James, if you would please return to your seat, there is something that everyone needs to see.”

James stepped out from under Dumbledore's hand and made his way back down the table without a word. He rolled down his left sleeve and refastened the cuff as he did so. Upon resettling himself in his chair between Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry, he treated Dumbledore to a peculiar look, as if he wasn't certain about trusting the elder man's display of remorse.

“Elphias.” Dumbledore motioned to his old friend and resettled in own his chair.

“Oh, yes … right,” Elphias said and stood with a slight wheeze from his place beside Sturgis. He rummaged in the pockets of his robes for an extended moment, before making a sound of triumph and pulling a fist sized wooden cube free from the mass of adorned fabric. Upon setting the cube on the table, he resized it to be a foot wide by afoot tall by a foot in depth. Another flick of his wand and a stream of muttered words vanished the wood, leaving an odd brass and silver instrument where the cube had been.

It took Harry a moment to recognize the contraption for what it was. The protruding eye glass and brass cone that formed the projector head was a dead give away to its purpose. The memory crystal chamber –or rather memory orb chamber, if he had the era of the thing's inception calculated correctly – was a bit more difficult to discern, as it was an ancient construct of the modern and far more compact memory crystal chamber used by Omnioculars, magical cameras, and the newest monitoring devices employed by St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic.

Elphias searched his pockets once more. This time, when he voiced his success, he held a familiar glass crystal that was no bigger than the pad of his pinky finger and glowed with a soft silver hue. Without preamble, he dropped the crystal over the opening of the silver, spherical chamber that was rather crude in design in comparison to its modern counterpart.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and Elphias frowned. Then, a whizzing emitted from the chamber and the chamber began to spin and glow with the memory crystal's radiance.

Elphias looked upon the antique projector with absolute delight. Eagerly and with an almost childlike enthusiasm that Harry had never witnessed from the man, he tapped his wand to the projector head and murmured asimple “Project!” under his breath.

There was a heartbeat where the instrument only whizzed and its chamber spun with the silver light of the memory crystal. Then, in a flash of the eye glass and an outpouring of magic, the scene that had haunted Harry's morning materialized beyond the far end of the table, halfway between the oak surface and the close doors that led back to the entrance hall. For all appearances the lone window of Riddle Manor and what laid beyond, within the manor, was as real within the dining hall as the hall's occupants and the chairs they sat upon.

With his eyes transfixed on the face of the wiry framed, Drakeweed smoking man that he still did not have a name for, but had every intention of identifying, Harry barely registered the dining hall growing dark around him, as the teal and cream curtains blocked out the sunlight streaming in through the windows lining the hall and the gas lamps mounted along the walls lit with a dim glow of their own accord.

The recording played out in silence.

Harry observed the playback with scrutiny, taking in everything that he hadn't consciously acknowledged that morning. Following the succinct recording of the wiry framed, Drakeweed smoking man were the focused and purpose based recordings of the two men of similar appearances who his father had referenced as the Sokal brothers. The craggy looking witch had been last of the four he had recorded for later identification.

As the scene zoomed out to take in the entirety of the window, Harry took note of just how many chairs at the table had remained empty. Even with Lucius Malfoy's appearance, there had been over a half-dozen unoccupied seats. The implications, to him, were perfectly clear. Voldemort had been expecting a larger number than the one that they had witnessed.

With Pettigrew entering the scene, Harry could feel his father and godfather's lingering emotions at discovering the rat alive, as both went positively rigid beside him. The startled gasps and remarks of recognition from the rest of the Order cued him to give his own 'surprised' response, which he restrained to a mere widening of his eyes and a sharp intake of breath.

The recording froze with the final image of a twenty year old Tom Riddle standing framed in the window. The gold chain of the Locket of Salazar Slytherin peaking out from the collar of Voldemort's robes drew Harry's gaze just as it had that morning. Between the Chalice of Helga Hufflepuff and the Locket, he wasn't certain which horcrux existed to be a greater pain in his ass.

Curse it all, Harry growled mentally. His gut twisted, once more, with the same sickening feeling born of fear and anxiety that had tormented him most of the morning. He could feel his grasp on the situation slipping tenuously from his control, presently and persistently. Every alteration to events, every miscalculation he had already made, while working from incorrect assumptions, and every gain Voldemort had attained towards his goals in the last few years, while operating entirely unopposed, it had all added up and was quickly making his future knowledge from the other world all the more useless. The thought that he'd be able to nab an easy victory in this world had never crossed his mind, but now it seemed that the task he had set him self was becoming ever more insurmountable.

Preserve as much innocent life as is possible. That is all I can do, Harry consoled himself, while Occluding against his treacherous thoughts. Even if Britain suffered heavy losses, it would be a marked improvement over the entirety of Europe being bathed in blood.

“I am sure that many of you do not recognize him in this form,” Dumbledore's voice drifted down the table, capturing the group's attention. “The man you see before you is Tom Riddle, or Tom Riddle as I remember him 50 years ago. This was Voldemort in his infancy. I cannot speak with certainty, but I do not believe that he has managed anything greater than this physical manifestation to date. Observe that should you strike him, as he is, with a Cutting or Piercing Hex, he would not bleed a single drop of blood. This is no man of flesh that you see. He would have us all believe that he is something more. Yet, in his current state, he is weak and much of his energy is going into maintaining his manifestation, if I've assessed the situation correctly.”

“How, Albus?” Alice asked with unrestrained worry and fear in her voice. Upon looking to his friend's mother, who sat up and across the table from him, Harry saw the same emotions displayed plain on her round face. “How can he be doing it?”

Dumbledore steeped his fingers together and tapped them to his lips pensively. He sat back in his chair, looking old and as deeply disturbed as the circumstances called for. “I cannot say. As I said, I do not know the magics involved in something like this. I have study many magics in my life time, but the Dark Art of Necromancy I've dared not dabble in. There is too much temptation there, far too much for any man. I have only concluded as much as I have from the knowledge that his body had been wholly destroyed thirteen years ago and, though it is barely noticeable, his current form flickers and shifts with its instability – watch closely.”

Elphias backed up the play back to just before Voldemort entered the scene.

With his eyes trained intently on the projected window, Harry watched Voldemort come to stand in front of the window for a third time. This time, as he was specifically looking for it, he saw it. It was nothing more than a blink, but the flicker in Voldemort's manifestation couldn't be denied. For that almost indistinguishable moment, his form had shift back to the black, smoke-like wraith that Harry remembered confronting in his first year at Hogwarts in the other world.

He's manifesting his free essence, Harry realized with a jolt. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach jolt violently in a knee-jerk reaction, upon a second, far worse realization hitting him. If Voldemort wasn't possessing the Locket's manifestation, but was instead tapping into the Locket's soul piece to manifest independently – effectively using the horcrux as an anchor and power reserve to assist him in forming and maintaining a corporeal form – he would need to strengthen himself continually over time and with exertion with an outside source of life energy.

Harry felt indecision war within him. How many lives have already fed the monster and how many more will be consumed, before the end of next June?

As Harry looked to those around him, his eyes linger on the strained faces of his father, his mother, his godfather, Mayra, and Remus, on Frank and Alice, on Kingsley and McGonagall, before settling on Dumbledore. He could not help but wonder, if one or more of their number would meet the gruesome fate of having their life essence ripped from their body for the sole purpose of being absorbed and used by Voldemort to wreak havoc on their world, until they were spent to nothing and ceased to exist on both the mortal and immortal plains.

The thought tore at Harry to the depths of his own soul with just how wrong and twisted such a thing was. He felt bile attempt to climb its way up his throat. He shut his eyes to the queasy, head spinning sensation and sat straight in his chair, utilizing all of his will to abate the tide of disgust and latch onto the fury burning within him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself to be Dumbledore's focus with many other sets of eyes trained upon him.

Harry composed himself, bring forth an unperturbed look about his countenance the best he could, and held his silence.

Dumbledore surveyed him with calculating eyes in return, his gaze pressing upon and penetrating Harry with such intensity it very nearly stilled Harry's breaths.

“Who were the others present, outside of the obvious?” Remus asked, drawing a majority of the Order's attention to him, as he looked to Dumbledore. “Do you know?”

“Alas, I'm as woefully ignorant as you are on this as well,” Dumbledore said and scanned his gaze up and down the table, looking to each Order member for any signs of recognition.

Harry could feel his father's eyes upon him and gave the subtlest nodded.

James cleared his throat and the Order's attention pivoted upon him almost instantly. “I can't name them all, but I have a fairly good idea of who four of them are and can say with near certainty that all are foreign.”

“Make some friends while you were on the continent, eh, Potter?” Mad-Eye gritted his teeth with tell-tale restraint.

James scoffed. “Hardly, seeing as my son was my singular priority. No, my information comes straight from the Ministry. I had been contemplating a transfer to the Hit Wizards – for obvious reasons –and Arcadio allowed me to peruse a couple of their active investigation as incentive.”

Without giving time for anyone to comment, James motioned for Elphias to back-up the playback. “Both of the cases I looked were linked by the players involved, yet were entirely different in nature.” James indicated for Elphias to pause the playback and stood.

The scene, prior to Voldemort having stepped into the frame, hovered like a still framed photograph that was much more life-like than any Muggle could ever dream of.

“Meet Bazyli and Serafin Sokal,” James directed attention to the two gray eyed men who were clearly relation of some kind, “the eldest sons of Alexsy Sokal, the current Dark Arts Master at Durmstrang, and Jolanta Sokal, a Charms Master and Polish Certified Researcher of Experimental Spells. The brothers rap sheets read similar to the way the Lestranges and Dovoloh's do minus the accounts of treason and the convicted use of the Unforgivables: arson, assault, racketeering, smuggling, torture, vandalism, Muggle baiting, Muggle hunting, and they've been brought in for questioning concerning no less than a dozen murders, over half of which are confirmed assassination hits and three of which have involved prominent political figures on the international scene. Yet, for the many crimes that the brothers can be linked to, they've never been convicted, let alone tried in a court. All evidence has been circumstantial at best and they've a damn good solicitor, Tallak Wolff.”

James proceeded to draw attention to the dark haired, dark skinned aristocrat across the table from the brothers. “Nicolau Dantès is an entirely different type of criminal. He has never seen the inside of a cell as far as official channels can confirm. He does, however, have a long recorded history of being a person of interest in multiple confirmed assassination hits across Europe. In essence, wherever he goes, death follows. Unlike the Sokal Brothers, his style is subtle to the point that the cause of death is rarely apparent, upon the initial examination of the body. He works clean and has yet to leave even the barest of evidence proving his involvement in any sort of crime.”

“And this man,” James turned the Order's attention to the blond haired, middle aged father sitting opposite Kalinouski, “Olavi Lahti, serves as the strongest connection between the three. Lahti is a contract holder of various illicit business ventures and is suspected of having fielded numerous kill orders, all transactions of said nature he covers up scrupulously with a legal operation as a specialty herbologist. If rumors are to be believe, he is a master of espionage and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.”

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree,Harry thought darkly, his eyes finding Elina beside her father.

“Thank you, James,” Dumbledore said gravely, as James resumed his seat.“That was most informative. I suppose it is not too much of a stretch to assume that this Dantès might have very well had a hand in the late Lord Burke's death.”

“With all do respect, sir, I sincerely doubt it,” Harry said and met Dumbledore's inquiring gaze head on. “The late Lord Burke's death was high profile, yet the only one who has truly gained anything from it is the current Lord Burke. The Wizengamot was a little over a week from recess at the time, meaning that the Ministry budget for autumn was the main topic of discussion and all controversial topics had already been ruled upon or pushed to be discussed and voted upon in September. So there was little to no motive for disrupting the House of Burke's vote. Voldemort gains little from Lachlan taking over for Ainslie, as well, as the son retains the values of the father. And with the professional that Dantès for all appearances is, I sincerely doubt he would have considered the risks of the hit worth it, especial since the obvious motive behind the kill order would have been based on a family dispute. He would have had to pull off the hit in perhaps one of the most secure building in all of Britain right under your very own nose. It is more likely that the late Lord Burke's death was nothing more than a matter of happenstantial timing. Looking any further into it would be a waste of resources and end with a cold trail to nowhere, as all current investigations into the matter have proved.”

And there's the key facts that Voldemort and his cohorts only arrived in Britain a few weeks ago by my estimate and Burke Sr. bit it around the same time in the other world without Voldemort making it known to his followers that he was making a second play at power, Harry added mentally, while not breaking eye contact with Dumbledore. In the other world, the greatest waste of resources that the Order of the Phoenix had experienced had been their investing of manpower into chasing down pointless leads and executing ventures that were predestine to failure. Hagrid and Madam Maxime's trek to the giants the summer after Voldemort had returned had been just the beginning of a long series of blunders that had contributed absolutely nothing to the war, some of which had turned out to be quite costly. If he could put an end to the 'guarding the Prophecy' nonsense as well, he would.

“While I loath to agree with the boy, he makes an excellent argument.”Mad-Eye grumbled with dissatisfaction. “If this Dantès works as clean as Potter claims, the risks of the hit would have hardly appealed to a man of his caliber and propensity to act with discretion. Besides, I thought it was confirmed that Burke died from a standard heart attack with no poisons or cursed magic present in his system.”

“Upon the initial exam, but we weren't granted the right to do a full autopsy. I can run the theory through official channels, possibly pass our file on the late Lord Burke's death to Arcadio,” Kingsley offered, his dark gaze meeting Dumbledore's contemplative one, yet his position was clearly in support of the Order keeping clear of the investigation.

“Thank you, Kingsley.” Dumbledore nodded his assent to the Auror and acknowledged Mad-Eye's support of Harry's argument with the smallest of gestures that showed he recognized their opposition as being valid. He swept his eyes down the table. “Does anyone else have any insight to offer? Concerning the late Lord Burke's death or the yet to be identified persons?” He motioned to the hovering still-frame just beyond end of the table opposite him, drawing everyone's attention back to cause of their gathering.

Harry could feel Frank boring holes in the side of his skull with the intensity that the man was staring at him, yet he refrained from adding his own knowledge to his father's already presented knowledge of the enemy. Unlike his father, he didn't have any way to explain away his knowledge that wouldn't be immediately suspicious and he'd rather save the cross-examination for a later date. It was more than apparent that he already had Dumbledore's interests.

As Dumbledore moved their meeting forward and the Order began making plans to investigate their unknown opposition and compile information on their known opposition, as well as to begin recruitment and spreading word on the streets, Harry settled back in his chair distinctly pleased. There was a brief mention of informing the Minister of Voldemort's impending return, but the skeptical comments from Elphias and Sirius concerning Fudge's trustworthiness and ability to handle such information without concrete proof that was blatant and could be shoved in the Minister's face put an immediate hold on said plans. If Harry wasn't mistaken, both men had been surprised to find common ground with one another and looked as if a reassessment of their current relationship was in order.

“Sir, our history with the giants is perfectly clear,” Harry cut in, when Dumbledore informed them that he planned to send Hagrid and avolunteer as an envoy to the clans, while in the same breath asking Remus if he would be willing to reach out to the werewolves.

“That may be, my lord,” Dumbledore said calmly and with a hint of dismissal, “There is, nonetheless, hope for an amiable future between our races. We must offer –”

“You mistake delusions for reality, sir,” Harry refuted harshly, leaning forward in his chair and narrowing his eyes at the headmaster. “World peace, equality between the races, love unmatched and all powerful; it's ideological and, therefore, infeasible. We are but mortal beings with our past informing our future and forming our present opinions in a continuous, unbreakable chain of events. Our base nature and the will of the gods guides us from the very depths of our subconscious. Our ability of independent complex thought predictably throws us into conflict. It is the way of life and history has proven time and again that there is no amiable future for us with the giants. We cannot give them what they want and Voldemort has no fear in promising that he will allow them the free reign they so desire, upon his victory. At best, you'll waste Hagrid and the volunteer's time with the expedition. At worst, you will get them killed.”

Dumbledore regarded Harry for a long moment with an indecipherable look.

Harry refrained from twitching under the man's focused gazed with ameasured amount of difficulty. He got the feeling that the way Dumbledore was looking at him was what Neville had meant about the man staring at him like he was a cross between a Venomous Tentacula and a Devil's Snare.

“Remus,” Dumbledore said without coming to any visible conclusion concerning his observations and turned to said werewolf. “I know I ask much, but are willing?”

“Of course, Albus.” Remus bowed his head resignedly. “We must help the ones we can. I know of five already who would be at least willing to leave the country in order to avoid the conflict, though I doubt they'd be willing to go further and take a side in the war.”

“Thank you, my boy,” Dumbledore said, sounding genuine in his gratitude. “You do us all a great service. Now, I do believe I'll hold off on sending an envoy to the giants for the time being. This meeting has ran much longer than I'm sure most of us like. We shall meet again in three days' time to further our discussion and report on any updates we may have.”

As people began to push away from the table and give their good-byes, Harry turned to his godfather and leaned in close to the man.

“Snape,” Harry instructed softly and to the point, before stepping around his godfather and making for the exit. He didn't doubt that Sirius would understand his meaning.

“Lord Peverell!” Harry heard Dumbledore call after him.

Harry paused and turned back to Dumbledore. “As enlightening as a private chat may be, sir, I have a friend to be checking up on at the current moment. As I understand it, my father has scheduled my third year exams for this coming Friday. Perhaps we could speak then?”

“Nothing would delight me more.” Dumbledore treated Harry to a genial smile. “If you would pass on my regards to Neville ...”

“I will tell him that you wish him well, sir.” Harry gave a respectful bow of farewell, before turning on his heal and resuming a direct route out to the Longbottom's greenhouse.