Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Wand

Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Wand

The little brass bell rang brightly as the great wooden door of the pub creaked open, kicking up small curls of dust that drifted lazily through the dim lamplight coming from overhead. Ron and Hermione looked up hopefully from their dingy table at the back of the common room, only to sigh with resignation a moment later, their faces returning to their beers.

"Where the hell is he?" Ron groused. "He was supposed to meet us two hours ago!"

"He'll come darling," Hermione replied calmly. "If he says he will be here, he will."

"I guess it's not enough that we have to meet him at some Muggle pub instead of the Leaky Cauldron, but we have to wait here all night for him, too, then?"

"And what's wrong with Muggles, dear?" Hermione inquired dangerously.

"Nothing. Nothing. It's just I wish he had picked a place that had something better than chilled Muggle piss on tap."

"What is that you're drinking, anyway?"

Ron grimaced as he took another sip.

"It's called Budweiser. That must be German for 'tastes like gorilla spunk'. King of Beers my sorcerous arse."

"Well if it's so bad, why do you keep drinking it?"

Ron smiled at her lovingly.

"Because, sugar pie," he cooed, "I don't have anything better to do."

He chugged the last few inches of the pale yellow liquid, grimacing, and banged his glass down onto the table, stroking his thin, red goatee sagely. It was a mannerism that drove Hermione almost as crazy as the goatee itself, which was positively horrid-looking. She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"You do know you will be shaving that thing off before the wedding, don't you?"

"It would certainly be silly for me to shave it off during."

"What in the world do I see in you, Weasley?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something witty, but was interrupted by a stranger plopping down into the seat beside him. He turned, several nasty names ready on the tip of his tongue, but Hermione beat him to the punch with one he hadn't thought of.

"Harry?" she breathed.

Ron's jaw hit the floor. Had Hermione not said something, he never would have recognized his old friend, schoolmate, and (just once, when they were really drunk) lover. Sure, he had expected a change. They all changed. He himself was quite a bit more muscular, and his fire-red hair had begun to thin at the crown of his head just as his beard had grown in. Hermione also look quite different after getting her nose and breasts done, and she had bulked up quite a bit now that her bulimia was finally under control. But the creature in front of him bore almost no resemblance to the boy he had last seen at their graduation from Hogwarts five years earlier. His signature messy black hair was now blond, cut close and spiked in the front, Muggle style. His owlish glasses had been replaced by a pair of sleek, thin lenses on a golden frame, and his robes had given way to threadbare blue jeans and a crudely stenciled T-shirt that proclaimed 'Manchester U 4ever!' in fire engine red letters. As far as Ron could see, all that remained of the previous Harry Potter were the giant green eyes and the jagged little scar on his forehead.

"Flying fucking flobberworms, Harry! It's actually you!"

"Yes, Ron," Harry answered quietly. "And it's nice to see you, too."

"What in the world are you wearing, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Ah. This is my disguise. To mix in with the Muggles. What do you think?"

"It's damned silly-looking," Ron chuckled.

"Ron, I suspect the locals would say the same of your own kit," Harry replied smugly.

"What do you mean? My dad says this is exactly what Muggle men wear."

"Well, yes, they do wear both Hawaiian shirts and kilts. Just not at the same time."

Ron's ears flushed, as Hermione mouthed the words 'I told you' across the table. Harry smirked. Realizing she had been caught, Hermione's face turned bright red. Harry blushed, too, out of a sense of completeness.

"So what's going on, Harry?" Ron asked. "No owls for almost five years, no word of where you are or how you're doing, not a single thing for five years, and then suddenly you absolutely have to see us this very fucking night in this very fucking pub? What gives? Where in the hell have you been? What in the world is with you, mate?"

"Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Terrible news in fact."

"What is it?" Hermione asked calmly.

Harry looked around furtively before leaning over the table, his face grave.

"Voldemort is back," he whispered.

Hermione sighed. "Oh Christ," she muttered.

"See?" Ron said, shaking his head. "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell you that's what this was about?"

He began massaging his temples, trying to in vain to prevent the headache he could feel coming on.

"Harry, Voldemort's dead," Hermione said simply.

" You're wrong Ron. He's alive."

"No, Harry, he's dead," Hermione insisted. "We killed him, remember? We fought him in the forest just after we took our NEWT 's."

"Yes, but he must have survived somehow."

"He didn't survive!" Ron snapped. "You were there, Harry! He was just about to kill Ginny, but you hit him over the Head with the Sorcerer's Shovel, I stabbed him in the gut with the Box Cutter Excalibur, and then Hermione dropped the 1600 lb. Lead Weight of Wonder on him, remember? We killed him!"

"But his body . . ."

"His body was destroyed, Harry," Hermione interjected. "We chopped it up and fed it to a herd of goats and then killed and burned the goats."

"And then we threw the ashes of the goats into the Death Chamber," Ron added.

"And then we demolished the Death Chamber, burnt the debris, and fed it to some more goats, which were also killed and burnt," Hermione finished.

"But his soul . . ."

"Was trapped in a Soul Bucket, right mate?" Ron reminded him. "Then my mum baked it into a pie . . ."

"Which we fed to some more goats . . ."

"Which were burnt and thrown into the Death Chamber with the first set of goats. The Ministry of Magic went through nearly 90 goats in all. They were terribly thorough."

"Well perhaps it wasn't really Voldemort."

"Well then who did I stab?" Ron inquired irately.

"Perhaps it was a robot."

Hermione snorted.

"Robots are made out of metal. If he was a robot, why did he bleed when we squashed him?"

"Well, perhaps this was a meat robot."

"Dammit Harry, you know bloody well that there's no such thing as a meat robot!"

"There wasn't before Voldemort figured out how to make one."

Ron gave a snort of frustration, his hands going back his temples, his headache having finally kicked in. Hermione picked up where he had left off.

"So first he invented meat robots, then he figured out how to give them souls, I suppose."

Harry shot her an irritated look.

"Come off it. If the man is powerful enough to build a meat robot, do you really think giving it a soul is going to be very difficult? Why, if we had a working meat robot right here, I could probably give it three souls without even using my wand!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron asked sadly. "Seriously, can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? You've gone completely boggart-shit, haven't you?"

A kick from Hermione shut him up, and he went back to massaging his temples.

Clearing her throat primly, she began again.

"Harry, what is it exactly that makes you so sure that Voldemort has come back?"

Harry looked around again, a bit more nervously than before.

"Promise not to tell?" he said quietly.

Hermione nodded vigorously, Ron less so.

Harry leaned forward, and the other two did the same.

"Dumbledore told me," he whispered.

Hermione gasped.

"Oh fuck," said Ron under his breath.

"Harry! You've been talking with Dumbledore?"

"Of course, Hermione."

"Recently?"

"Yes."

"But how could you after . . . after what happened?"

"What, you mean after he left Hogwarts?"

"Dumbledore didn't leave Hogwarts, Harry," Ron said pointedly. "He ran from Hogwarts. He was going to be sent to Azkaban for molesting all those students. Don't you remember?"

"I remember him being falsely accused by a bunch of Death Eater-sympathizers, if that's what you mean."

"Falsely accused, bollocks! The guy was a total perv! Christ on a Cleansweep, Harry! Don't you remember the time he substitute taught Care of Magical Creatures during second year?"

"Yes?"

"And he exposed himself to the whole class?"

"He didn't expose himself! He was just showing us how to care for a magic milkworm."

"Harry, that's a fucking euphemism! There's no such thing as a magic milkworm! "

"Then what was in those magic milkshakes he made us drink?"

"Oh God," Hermione moaned, "I'd completely blocked out the magic milkshakes. I think I'll be sick."

She doubled over, her hands going to her mouth, and Harry heard he make retching sounds that made his own stomach turn. In a trice, Ron's wand was on the table, and with a muttered "Peptus Bismollicus" the retching ended. Ron stroked Hermione's hair as she wiped her mouth with the hem of her dress, his eyes locked accusingly on Harry.

Harry cleared his throat, guiltily.

"Look Ron, I understand how you must feel. I didn't think that after all we've been through you two could actually believe those things about Dumbledore. But I must admit that I'd be furious too if I thought any of them were true. But the thing is, he told me from the very beginning that this was going to happen. Dumbledore told me time and time again that the day would come that he would be falsely accused of a great crime, and he would have leave Hogwarts to carry on the fight against Voldemort in secret. And that's exactly what has happened.. He predicted it exactly.."

"And when did he tell you this, Harry?" Ron asked.

"When we were at Hogwarts ..."

"Yes, but when and where? I wasn't alone in a room with him once in seven years, and yet apparently you and he met often enough for him to constantly make predictions. What were you and Dumbledore doing all that time, Harry?"

"I . . . uh . . ," Harry stammered. "I can't . . . well, it's . . ."

"It's a secret, right?"

Ron shook his head, looking at his old friend with an expression somewhere between pity and disgust.

"That's alright. I can fill in the blanks myself, mate. I should have guessed before, in fact. Dumbledore was giving you 'private lessons' right? He told you that you were too smart for normal classes, and that he was going to teach you a secret art one that only the most gifted wizards ever learn. Right? An art that was so secret that you could never tell anyone about it, not even Sirius, right? What did he call it, Harry? What super-powerful, super-forbidden type of magic did he say you were learning? Was it, by any chance, called Sodomancy?"

Harry was amazed, his eyes like dinner plates.

"How did you . . ."

"He did the same thing to Percy, mate. Except he told Percy it was called Buttstrology, whatever the fuck that is. Made him come up to his office every Thursday night for a session. That's why old Perce never sat down at breakfast on Friday mornings, if you remember."

"No. That can't be right. He said I was the only one!"

"Of course he did," Hermione said gently. "Just like he told Percy he was the only one. And Cho, and the Patil sisters, and before that Hagrid, and Snape. He's been doing it for years, Harry. Some people even think he did it to Voldemort back when he was still a student."

"It would sure explain why he was so terrified of the sick bastard," Ron chuckled.

"NO!"

Harry stood, his fist hitting the table with a loud whump, shocking his companions into silence. The off-duty dock workers at the next table, who had been arguing about an upcoming soccer game the moment before, had gone quiet as well. They were now staring at the three wizards, puzzling at their strange appearance and wondering how they had not noticed the idiot in the kilt before. Ron glanced nervously at the gawking Muggles, trying not to make eye contact.

"Keep it down, Harry!" he hissed.

"I won't be staying much longer anyway," Harry said calmly, sitting back down.

"I need to go report all this to Dumbledore. He'll be able to explain everything. There must be some kind of explanation for it all."

Hermione nearly wet herself.

"Harry, you aren't actually still MEETING with him, are you?"

Ron shot her a terse smile.

"Darling, that's what he's been doing all these years, don't you see? He's been on the lam with Dumbledore. Hiding out with him in some secluded place, probably on Muggle land, running errands for him so that he doesn't have to risk being recognized by someone. He's the reason Dumbledore hasn't been caught yet. Isn't that right Harry? "

Harry nodded.

"So the only question is, why did you call us here tonight, mate? What do you want from us that you haven't wanted in five years?"

"Money," Harry replied unblinkingly.

There was a dead silence as Hermione waited for Ron's head to explode. His face had gone deep purple and his knuckles were going white as his hands dug into the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sound like "nggh", as he was so apoplectic that he couldn't even form a proper vowel.

"But Harry, what happened to your massive inheritance?" Hermione protested.

"All gone."

"Gone where?"

"Dumbledore has expensive tastes."

"Naggh!" Ron grunted, massaging his temples thoroughly, his vowels slowly returning.

"Oh, you poor, poor idiot," Hermione sighed.

Harry bristled visibly, his ears turning a bright crimson, and he sat up straight in his chair, frowning at his old friends haughtily. The expression struck a chord in each of them. To Hermione it was the look Harry had always given her when she had tried to talk to him about his parents or Sirius, the look of pain that he was too proud to let out or even acknowledge. To Ron it was the face Harry made when one of Ron's jokes had hit a little to close to home, when it was time to apologize and change the subject, or just go practice Quidditch, which always made Harry feel better. To both, it was a cold, hard reminder of how well they knew the person in front of them, how good a friend he was, or had been. Seeing it now, after so much time and under such hard circumstances, was almost too much. For a moment, it was all that Hermione could do not to burst into tears.

"Listen," Harry said coldly, "you two have obviously made up your minds about Dumbledore. I can see you won't be any help to me. So I'm going to leave. But don't forget what I've said here. You may not believe Voldemort is back, but that doesn't make it untrue. And if he is back, I'm going to need your help, and Dumbledore's help, and every last scrap of help I can get. So call me stupid if you want, but at least keep your eyes and ears open, just in case."

"We will, Harry." Hermione promised, her voice wavering. "Of course we will."

"And you, mate. I know you're never going to turn Dumbledore in, and that's too bad because he really is a shit. But still, you can quit him any time you want. There will always be a place for you at our house. You can come and stay as long as it takes for you to get back on your feet. And hell, you may be broke, but you are still Harry Potter. I'm sure we could get you on Hollywood Squares or something. You're still young, Harry. You can still have a life."

Harry stood, head held high.

"Some things are more important than a life, Ron."

And a second later, pop, he was gone.

It was Ron who broke the silence he left behind.

"That poor, stupid, ignorant, paranoid, self-important, pompous, delusional motherfucker."

"Don't be too hard on him, Ron."

"Too hard? He's rich, famous, handsome, the most talented wizard of his generation, and still he's never going to be anything more than some geriatric pervert's personal ass-monkey. How could I possibly be too hard on him?"

"Because you miss it too."

Ron gave her a disbelieving look.

"Miss what exactly?"

"The whole thing, Ron! Being at Hogwarts. Taking classes. Chasing down mysteries. Dodging ghosts and curfew. Being at the center of the whole grand battle, facing down evil and always coming out on top. I know I miss it."

"OK. Yeah. I miss it too. But we're adults know. Voldemort's dead. It's time for us to get on with our lives. We have to let it go."

"It's easier for you and me, though. We were always sideshows. Harry was the main event. If you spent seven years as the most important person in the world, how could you just go back to being yourself? Could you really bring yourself to do that? I'm not sure I could. The fact is that Harry Potter's world is about hundred times better than the real world in every way that matters. If I was lucky enough to get to choose between them, I wouldn't even have to think about it. Would you? Would anybody?."

Ron drained his glass, grimacing at the taste.

"Let me answer that with a question. What say we have three or four more beers a piece, and then go home and fool around until we pass out?"

Hermione sighed, tired of thinking, sick and tired of it to her very bones.

"Fuck. Why not?"

And that's exactly what they did.