Blood Magic

The class of '77

Once Malfoy was gone, Hermione went to speak to Madam Pince. She asked if there was a way to find information on students of a particular year.

"Every fifty years," the librarian said precisely, "the Hogwarts class lists are collected, together with some notes and pictures. Did the person you are looking for attend Hogwarts before 1949?"

"No," Hermione answered. "He'd be class of seventy-seven."

"You'd have to speak to Professor McGonagall, then." Madam Pince waved impatiently to the side. "Or you could try the news archives. We also have --" her mouth scrunched in distaste -- "surplus photographs in the archive room. They are boxed by decade, and shelved above bound periodicals."

Hermione relayed this news to Ron, and they immediately went to the archive room, to check photographs from the seventies. It took them a while to find the boxes, which were hidden behind bound years of Changes in Transfiguration, and almost as long to find the one labeled "Photos -- 1970-1979". Hermione got if off the shelf with Leviosa, and moved it over to the archive room table. A fine mist of dust fell slowly in its wake.

Within the box, the photographs were not in any order, and only a few were labeled with either a date or names. They also came in several different sizes, making them difficult to organize. Hermione finally took out an inch-high stack for herself, and another for Ron.

"We're just going to have to slog through them," she said. She pointed to her first photograph. "Titilio," she commanded. A label appeared briefly at the bottom of the photo, listing two names. Ron peered over her shoulder to look at it.

"Fitzy and Grace?"

"The Label Charm is vaguer than a true Identification Charm, but it's easier. Those names are how those people thought of themselves when this was taken."

"Should I do that to all of them?"

"Just the ones that have an older, male student you haven't seen yet."

They spent a long time searching through photographs. After about half an hour, Ron exclaimed:

"Look -- doesn't he look like Harry?"

He showed Hermione a picture of a third or fourth-year boy with messy dark hair and dark eyes. As they watched, the boy ruffled up his hair, then took a snitch from his pocket and began playing with it. A larger boy moved into place at his right shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. Another, smaller boy mimicked the motion to the boy's left. A fourth boy shifted restlessly as he spoke to the first one.

"Titilio," Hermione commanded, with an absent flick of her wand. A label appeared.

Padfoot -- Remus -- James Potter -- Pettigrew

Ron chuckled. "I think this may be better than the Identification Charm."

"James Potter," Hermione said out loud. She frowned as he backed up a step to speak over his shoulder to Sirius. She snorted "And doesn't he think he's king of the world?" she said sarcastically. The arrogant look on James's face bothered her, not just because of what it revealed about him, but because it did not match Harry's arrogant look. After a minute of observing James Potter, she decided it was a different sort of arrogance. James Potter had total confidence in his importance and always had. He expected to be deferred to. She frowned. Like Malfoy, in a way.

Remus shifted over beside Sirius and looked forward, smiling now, but with eager excitement rather than good humor. Hermione realized she had been looking at the picture for long enough that her label had vanished. She recast the spell. A different label appeared:

The Marauders

They found a picture of a Professor McGonagall (looking much younger) and Professor Dumbledore (looking about the same) pelting each other with snowballs. Occasionally, they showed each other pictures of James Potter or Lily Evans. Temporarily empty photos, they piled to the side.

"Ew!" Ron said suddenly. "Two blokes kissing!" He put the picture aside quickly.

"Let me see!" Hermione said, reaching across him.

"Hermione!" Ron put his hand over the picture, although he'd put it face-down on the table. "Why would you want to see that?"

Hermione thought. "Well, what would you say if I said 'oh -- two girls kissing!'"

"Er... 'Let me see?'" Ron admitted, reddening.

"Well, there you go. Now let me see, okay?"

When they turned over the picture, however, it was empty.

"Uh... They probably wanted some privacy," Ron muttered. Hermione rolled her eyes and set the photo to one side.

"I'm bored already," Harry said dully. His mouth felt too thick and unwieldy to continue, though he wanted to say that the cauldron side he had been staring at was not interesting, merely in front of his eyes.

"I'm not surprised. It's been three hours."

"What? Ah, fuck."

"Language, Potter." Severus's dry laugh came from a distance. "But under the circumstances, I won't take points."

It was purely Ron's Quidditch obsession that prompted him to cast the label spell on the Gryffindor Quidditch team picture, but he could not have missed the Beater who thought of himself by his full name: Augustus Maitland.

"Hermione?"

"Not Quidditch!"

"No -- I think I found him."

"Do me a favor?" Harry managed, some unknown time after thinking he should ask.

"If you want the lights off, no. I'm working."

"Floo Remus and tell him I'll be ... late?"

"So he was a Gryffindor." Hermione frowned at the picture. "Do you suppose he was a friend of Professor Snape's? I mean, when Snape was a student?"

"I can't image anyone being friends with Snape. Certainly not a Gryffindor."

"But that's what he said -- 'Gryffindor friends.'" Hermione brought the picture closer and peered at the label. "It has a silent 't?' No wonder I couldn't find him!"

"I want this to be over, now." There was a long pause. "I really want this to be over, now."

"I would guess you have another hour, at least. But it gets pleasanter after that -- as long as you don't need magic."

"Avery was insane, wasn't he?"

Now that Ron and Hermione knew what Augustus Maitland looked like, they set to scanning quickly through the pictures, looking for more photographs of him. Hermione had gone through three inches of the photographs before she looked over and noticed the male couple was back in the photograph that had disturbed Ron.

"They're back!" she exclaimed, and picked up the photo. Two slender boys, one with light brown hair, one with black, were whispering and kissing. The activity was effectively hiding their features. Finally, the smaller, brown-haired boy turned his back to the other, and leaned rapturously into a hug from behind. Hermione gasped.

"Take it back to your room, then," Ron hissed.

"No, look! It's Professor Lupin!"

Ron looked, then hid his eyes. He looked again. "Blimey!" The dark-haired boy was kissing a young Remus Lupin's neck, and Lupin, his head tilted back, was alternately gasping and giggling. Finally he pushed the other boy's face away from him and said something, smiling. For a bare second, the black-haired boy was looking out at them, a sly smile on his face, then took his companion's hand and tugged him gently out of the photograph.

"He looked familiar, too," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I should have cast the charm."

"Did you see what house he was in?"

"No -- Lupin was always blocking it the crest." she sighed. "Oh well -- he'll come back. Should we check the news archives, now that we now how the name is spelled? We probably have time before dinner." She sighed. "After that, I need to get back to my school work."

Hermione suggested they start with the Daily Prophet issues from 1977, when Augustus would have graduated. It was more tedious than either of them expected. The old Daily Prophets were bound by month, and each month had many occurrences of "Maitland." Augustus, it seemed, was from a large family, with at least two members in the Ministry of Magic, and more mentioned on the society pages. They found one picture from a charity dinner for "Unplottable Ever," a land preservation society, which showed Augustus, a handsome, broad-shouldered young man with golden blond hair, standing next to wiry, dark-haired James Potter. The two had their hands on each other's near shoulders, but the pose seemed artificial -- they never looked at each other or bent towards each other, but looked straight forward, or off to the side. The caption read, "Eligible bachelors Augustus Maitland and James Potter study and play Quidditch together at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Looks like somebody paired an Abraxan and a Granian, doesn't it?" Ron asked.

"I was thinking a tiger and a cheetah," Hermione answered. "But yes. Don't they get tired of smiling like that?"

Dinner time came before they had made it to September.

"We're going about this wrong," Ron said, as they headed down to the Great Hall.

"Oh?"

"We should look for his obituary, shouldn't we? We know about when he died. That should give us an idea if and when he did thing anything else that would have made the paper."

At the Gryffindor table, they saw Harry. Hermione was uneasy about the fight that morning, but Harry just looked up at them and smiled absently. He apparently hadn't gone to Madam Pomfrey, and now had a black eye and some visible bruising. Ron squeezed in next to him, leaving Hermione to sit across the table.

"Look, Harry," Ron said, nudging Harry to try to get his friend to look at him. "I'm sorry about this morning."

"Hm?" Harry responded. He looked at Ron and blinked, then smiled warmly. "Er ... not to worry. I was worse, wasn't I?"

"You all right, mate?"

Hermione wasn't surprised Ron had asked. She would have expected Harry to be angry or apologetic, but he just sounded preoccupied.

Harry shrugged. "I just need a good night's sleep." His voice strengthened as he turned the smile on her. It was disturbingly bland. His voice had no hidden nuances as he asked sincerely "How about you? Did you two have a good day?"

"Oh, loads of fun," Ron said sarcastically. "She's kept me in the library running books for hours."

"We found Augustus Maitland!" Hermione announced triumphantly.

"Congratulations." Harry's smile grew a little broader as he inclined his head. "Did someone tell you how to spell it?" he asked.

Hermione stared. He couldn't have known... "You knew," she accused.

Harry nodded. "Silent 'T.'" He yawned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "You didn't ask." He smiled again, engagingly.

"I asked you to help! We've spent hours on this!"

"Sorry, Hermione. I did tell you I wasn't helping."

Hermione got up and walked to the other end of the table. Harry did not follow her. Ron, though he looked at her often, remained with Harry.

Harry was still feeling slightly disconnected when he left dinner. He still needed to talk to Professor Lupin. Severus had rescheduled the meeting to evening for him. Harry wished it had been changed to the next day. He had stayed with his father until the magic came back, and he felt perfectly capable of thinking and talking, but he knew he was not really feeling correctly. Hermione's anger and Ron's contrition both seemed equally unimportant. Intellectually, he realized that his indifference would have consequences, later.

He checked the time and discovered he had half an hour before meeting Remus. He decided he would go outside for a walk, then, if he still felt this unsure of himself when he returned, he would tell Remus the truth -- or, at least, part of it.

It was a crisp, pleasant evening. Harry found himself by the lake, looking at the water. He levitated a dead branch over the water, skimming its shriveled leaves across the surface, here and there, until a tentacle reached up and snatched it in a contracting coil. The little twigs broke in a rapid series of crunches. Harry smiled.

"I could never, ever, give this up."

He sighed. "I think I can play normal for Remus," he said quietly, then evaluated the statement. Yes. I'm close enough. He headed back inside.

At the door of Lupin's office, he paused, then knocked.

"Come in," Lupin called.

Harry pushed the door open. He bit back Remus's first name -- that was part of how he had got in trouble in class. "Hello, Professor Lupin," he said politely.

"Hello Mr. Potter. Sit down, please."

Harry sat down. Lupin was sitting behind his desk, his hands clasped before him. He surveyed Harry unhappily. "You've been fighting."

Harry looked down and nodded.

"Is that why you couldn't come this afternoon?"

Harry thought. "No. I ... I was working with F- Severus, and I had a lab accident. I wasn't in any shape to --"

"Harry," Lupin warned. Harry stopped, puzzled.

Lupin unclasped his hands. He lifted in his fingers a small orb that swirled with black and grey, and he looked past it into Harry's eyes.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"A simple Verifier. It turns black when the person touching it, or someone speaking to them, lies." As Lupin spoke, the swirls of black lightened to grey, and the grey to white.

"That's not fair!" Harry burst out.

Lupin looked startled. "That you not be able to lie to me?"

"Yes!"

"I hadn't realized it was a necessary part of surviving our conversations," Lupin said coldly.

"Well, it's not usually, but.... Look, it's not your business. You can't give me veritaserum --"

"Veritaserum compels you to tell the truth. This does not. You can still look at me and say 'I won't tell you that.'"

"How reassuring." Harry sat back sullenly. The orb was white, now. "Why did you decide you needed this for our conference?"

"I hadn't thought I did." Remus shook his head slightly. "I have it for next week's lessons, and was just running some tests on it when you came in."

The orb stayed white. That was reassuring. Harry considered it thoughtfully. "Leave it out where I can see it," he said.

"Oh?"

"If I can't lie to you, you can't lie to me. Fair?"

Remus nodded. "Fair." He let his hand rest on the desk, but continued to hold the Verifier. He looked very tired.

"How's the map coming?" he asked lightly.

"The what?"

"The --" Remus looked up at Harry. He seemed startled. A wisp of grey shot through the verifier. "Never mind. Er... How are things with Ron and Hermione?"

"Lousy."

They both, Harry noticed, glanced at the Verifier, which stayed white.

"All right," Professor Lupin straightened. "Why didn't you come this afternoon?"

"None of your business."

"You disrupted my schedule. That is my business."

The Verifier accepted both this statements. Harry nodded at it. "It evaluates honesty," he noted, "not truth."

"Yes. Now don't change the subject."

"I stand by my original answer."

"And I by mine." Lupin leaned forward threateningly. "If you won't answer me, I will give you detention and speak to your father."

Harry burst out laughing.

"What?" Lupin demanded.

"I've never had someone threaten to speak to my father, before." Harry smirked. "Considering he was involved, I think it unlikely he will give you any satisfaction."

Remus shook his head and sighed. "Harry... Is there some portion of an answer you could give me?"

Harry thought. Finally, he said, "I was incompetent due to a potion which I took intentionally, but not for fun. That's as much as I can tell you."

"Did you need to take it this afternoon?"

"No, but we hadn't realized how long it would incapacitate me. I'm apparently more sensitive to it than Severus expected. He said it was lack of previous exposure to some of the components."

Remus looked down at still-white globe and nodded slightly. "All right, then." He rolled the ball contemplatively over his fingers. "Has Severus been teaching you Dark Arts?"

Harry started to say "No," then caught himself, remembering his father explaining how he could cast the Cruciatus Curse. "He has not given me any practical lessons in Dark Arts," he said precisely.

Remus responded with an incredulous look. "But?" he asked weakly.

"He's let me read whatever I want of his books, provided I discuss them with him. Clarifying materials in those has included explaining some Dark Arts theory. He has been quite clear that I am not to try to do any of it." Harry hesitated. "I haven't wanted to do any of it, so far," he said. The Verifier accepted that, as well.

Remus nodded. He looked a bit happier. "Just Sev being Sev, then," he murmured. He looked at the orb, again. Harry had the sudden feeling he might be about to put it down.

"Why didn't you tell me about the werewolf?" he asked quickly.

"What?"

Wisps of grey. Remus understood, but was pretending to not to. Harry pushed. "Your werewolf friend."

"Because it wasn't your business."

Harry glared. Remus looked back at him nearly as angrily. He gripped the orb tightly, aware, Harry thought, of how it would look if he put it down, now.

"She hasn't done anything. She's not guilty just because she's a werewolf. You have no right to know who is and who isn't, just so you can distrust them, or treat them badly!"

"She's met with Voldemort."

Remus flinched, then glanced at the orb. He hadn't known -- or perhaps hadn't wanted to.

"She can speak to anyone she pleases. She hasn't done anything!"

"Yet."

The answering flash of pain on Remus's face told Harry more than enough. He pressed. "But you stand by your friends, don't you, Remus? Whatever they do." He sneered. "Loyal as a Hufflepuff."

Remus looked down. "She hasn't done anything," he repeated. "She could still get out."

Wisps of grey indicated his doubts. Harry pushed back a feeling of sympathy.

"How did you end up in Gryffindor?" he asked contemptuously.

Remus twitched. He looked nervously up at Harry. "Honestly?" he said bitterly. "I wouldn't let the hat put me in Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. Sirius had already been sorted into Gryffindor, and James was sure he would be. It said, 'Gryffindor, eh?'" Remus imitated the hat's odd tone rather well, Harry thought. "'Well, you have physical courage in plenty, and a strong sense of honor, though all turned in -- rather odd. You could do. I think you'd be happier in Hufflepuff, though, or even Ravenclaw. More people you'd like, there.' But I kept pleading 'Gryffindor, please!' and it relented."

"Ah." Harry smiled slightly at Remus's discomfort. He inclined his head toward the white orb. "It wanted Slytherin for me," he offered, in a subtle apology for pushing.

"What?" Remus said in astonishment.

"It said 'You could be great, you know' and 'Slytherin will help you achieve greatness,' and I said 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin,' until it relented and said 'well then -- better be Gryffindor,' and there I was." He looked pointedly at the orb in Remus's hand. "Dumbledore said it was because of my link to Voldemort, but I don't think so, anymore. I think it's that I'm kind of sneaky." He thought. "Also, I'd probably make a very powerful Dark wizard. I've got that horrible temper and flashes of ordering people around. Slytherin would have let me get away with that, more."

"Yes."

"Someday, I'd like to do a poll of the entire school -- anonymous of course -- and see how many members of each house are in the Hat's first choice of house. We place such importance on house, and it does indicate something, but not, I think, always the things we think it does."

Remus smiled at him, and put down the Verifier. "I suspect you're right." He sighed and looked down at his desk. Absently, he shifted some papers to the side. "How is Severus?"

Harry shrugged. "About the same. He was actually sort of cheerful, today -- until I showed up with a black eye and problems, anyway."

"He's been glaring at me at the staff table."

"Over the woman-werewolf he saw speak to Voldemort, I bet. That's why I have restrictions with you, again."

"You'd think he'd never known me."

"He said if you were ... being coerced, somehow, knowing you were under watch might give you an excuse. It's not completely distrust."

"So he's looking out for my interests, is he?" Remus looked bitter. "I don't believe him."

---

Chapter 42: Murders and Memories