Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Unlikely
April 30th, 1997
All without a hitch, as far as she could tell.
Home sweet home, and the Hogwarts and the world that she was familiar with.
The Headmaster had greeted her with a “Welcome back.”
Tonks, in the middle of crushing her ribcage, claimed this was a piss poor way of throwing a homecoming party (“I do not recall claiming we would ever hold a party, Nymphadora”) and made some obscene gesture that Harry couldn’t quite see all of.
“We missed you,” Tonks said. “No small bit.”
“I’ll miss the other you, too,” she also said, with a smile that made Harry suddenly wonder, for just a moment, if she should have been worried by what had gone on in her absence.
But Tonks was just Tonks. And that was just fantastic.
And the Headmaster… was the Headmaster.
She took her hot chocolate in both hands. It spoke “Home” in a way that that nothing else did.
Hogwarts was Hogwarts, and its four walls were the same in the world she had left. Diagon Alley was there, if the shops were different. The grass was still green.
But it did not have this hot chocolate.
This hot chocolate, which the Headmaster himself created. There was no other cup like it, because this was his recipe.
“That other world is so deprived,” she murmured then.
She spent hours telling the Headmaster about the other world. Even so, she knew she wasn’t done. She had been there for a month. There was so much to know, even accidental details that she hadn’t consciously picked up. After the first round they would move on to the pensieve, and then legilimency.
It might be months before the Headmaster felt that they had found everything. In the meantime, though, she had a prophecy to think about.
The last hope of the sea
To reunite the brothers three
And there rule long and justly reign,
A Gilead ‘gainst the dawn’s mean wane.
“And you’re sure that it’s me, of course,” she said, half to herself. “You wouldn’t tell me on the basis of a pretty good hunch. So what do you think it means?”
“You are Grindelwald’s heir.”
“P-pardon?”
“Not by blood, of course. But if fate has conspired to set you as the first to rule the whole extent of the Empire since Grindelwald himself, what can you be but his heir? That pissant at Milan is hardly fit to keep your seat warm, and Vincenzo was no better.”
“Vincenzo… is dead then?”
Riddle nodded.
“Did you kill him?”
Riddle nodded again.
“Why?”
“Because it was expedient.”
Harry stared into her hot chocolate.
This was her headmaster.
It could not be said that he was untruthful. Or rather it could, but not with her. They had long ago reached the point where he could simply say “That will wait, Harry.”
He did not lie to her. Not anymore.
And he had told her what he had done. Frankly. Without elaboration. Expecting that she would trust in his judgment.
It was a hard thing, perhaps. It was also a little treasure.
“Then I will be Empress-at-Milan,” she said, returning her gaze to him.
“Indeed. And not only— for you will be the Empress, Harry. No qualifiers. Equal only to Grindelwald himself, and who is equaled by the dead? No, but you’ll call him up yourself to be interrogated, with the Stone that is your birthright. Once the Eternal Kaiser is gotten rid of.”
Riddle scowled. “Nevertheless, Osvaldo keeps the Cloak safe for us for the time being, not even knowing for whom he serves as custodian, or even that he serves so. And with your counterpart’s help we have secured the second Hallow.”
He flicked his wrist, and in his hand was the Elder Wand.
Harry leaned forward, staring with open eyes. Riddle drew back, smiling.
“I’m afraid that you can’t wield it, Harry. You are not its master. Nor is any other person in this world.”
“So the cycle of ownership has been broken.”
She sighed. She… wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But if the Headmaster thought it was the best course then she would trust his judgment.
“Hm… It would appear so, wouldn’t it? And we should certainly arrange for you to be defeated in some manner that will assure other Seekers that the mastery has passed on to another.” Riddle put a hand down on a few of the papers scattered on his desk and made a point of looking at them. When Harry followed his gaze she saw, half-buried beneath another sheet, diagrams much like those she had seen in the other Harry’s journal.
“I think that we can reverse the process again, and reliably. Don’t you?”
Harry nodded.
“Then the cycle is not broken, only on hiatus. And it will be resumed as soon as its current master, safe in another world, is brought back for a very, very short conversation.”
Riddle smiled.
“All glory be to Grindelwald’s Heir,” he said.
And there rule long and justly reign, she thought.
Would her rule be just?
Or simply justified?
All without a hitch, as far as she could tell.
Home sweet home, and the Hogwarts and the world that she was familiar with.
The Headmaster had greeted her with a “Welcome back.”
Tonks, in the middle of crushing her ribcage, claimed this was a piss poor way of throwing a homecoming party (“I do not recall claiming we would ever hold a party, Nymphadora”) and made some obscene gesture that Harry couldn’t quite see all of.
“We missed you,” Tonks said. “No small bit.”
“I’ll miss the other you, too,” she also said, with a smile that made Harry suddenly wonder, for just a moment, if she should have been worried by what had gone on in her absence.
But Tonks was just Tonks. And that was just fantastic.
And the Headmaster… was the Headmaster.
She took her hot chocolate in both hands. It spoke “Home” in a way that that nothing else did.
Hogwarts was Hogwarts, and its four walls were the same in the world she had left. Diagon Alley was there, if the shops were different. The grass was still green.
But it did not have this hot chocolate.
This hot chocolate, which the Headmaster himself created. There was no other cup like it, because this was his recipe.
“That other world is so deprived,” she murmured then.
She spent hours telling the Headmaster about the other world. Even so, she knew she wasn’t done. She had been there for a month. There was so much to know, even accidental details that she hadn’t consciously picked up. After the first round they would move on to the pensieve, and then legilimency.
It might be months before the Headmaster felt that they had found everything. In the meantime, though, she had a prophecy to think about.
The last hope of the sea
To reunite the brothers three
And there rule long and justly reign,
A Gilead ‘gainst the dawn’s mean wane.
“And you’re sure that it’s me, of course,” she said, half to herself. “You wouldn’t tell me on the basis of a pretty good hunch. So what do you think it means?”
“You are Grindelwald’s heir.”
“P-pardon?”
“Not by blood, of course. But if fate has conspired to set you as the first to rule the whole extent of the Empire since Grindelwald himself, what can you be but his heir? That pissant at Milan is hardly fit to keep your seat warm, and Vincenzo was no better.”
“Vincenzo… is dead then?”
Riddle nodded.
“Did you kill him?”
Riddle nodded again.
“Why?”
“Because it was expedient.”
Harry stared into her hot chocolate.
This was her headmaster.
It could not be said that he was untruthful. Or rather it could, but not with her. They had long ago reached the point where he could simply say “That will wait, Harry.”
He did not lie to her. Not anymore.
And he had told her what he had done. Frankly. Without elaboration. Expecting that she would trust in his judgment.
It was a hard thing, perhaps. It was also a little treasure.
“Then I will be Empress-at-Milan,” she said, returning her gaze to him.
“Indeed. And not only— for you will be the Empress, Harry. No qualifiers. Equal only to Grindelwald himself, and who is equaled by the dead? No, but you’ll call him up yourself to be interrogated, with the Stone that is your birthright. Once the Eternal Kaiser is gotten rid of.”
Riddle scowled. “Nevertheless, Osvaldo keeps the Cloak safe for us for the time being, not even knowing for whom he serves as custodian, or even that he serves so. And with your counterpart’s help we have secured the second Hallow.”
He flicked his wrist, and in his hand was the Elder Wand.
Harry leaned forward, staring with open eyes. Riddle drew back, smiling.
“I’m afraid that you can’t wield it, Harry. You are not its master. Nor is any other person in this world.”
“So the cycle of ownership has been broken.”
She sighed. She… wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But if the Headmaster thought it was the best course then she would trust his judgment.
“Hm… It would appear so, wouldn’t it? And we should certainly arrange for you to be defeated in some manner that will assure other Seekers that the mastery has passed on to another.” Riddle put a hand down on a few of the papers scattered on his desk and made a point of looking at them. When Harry followed his gaze she saw, half-buried beneath another sheet, diagrams much like those she had seen in the other Harry’s journal.
“I think that we can reverse the process again, and reliably. Don’t you?”
Harry nodded.
“Then the cycle is not broken, only on hiatus. And it will be resumed as soon as its current master, safe in another world, is brought back for a very, very short conversation.”
Riddle smiled.
“All glory be to Grindelwald’s Heir,” he said.
And there rule long and justly reign, she thought.
Would her rule be just?
Or simply justified?
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