Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Nine - Last Train Home

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All warfare is based on deception.

    -- Sun-Tzu, "The Art of War"

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Within minutes of the attack, a swarm of officials from the Ministry of Magic had arrived at King's Cross Station. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal...even the Department of Magical Transportation sent workers to the scene. They all wore Muggle business clothing, and could have passed for a large group of office workers were it not for the fact that they had all appeared out of nowhere. Apparition in the presence of Muggles was unthinkable--but then again, so was an incident of this calibre.

Immediately upon arrival, the officials separated to take care of the most important matter--namely, erasing all knowledge of the attack from Muggle memory. While that business was being taken care of, two mediwitches and a mediwizard fanned out among the crowd, examining the people for injuries. Still others pulled out quills and parchment and began to pen detailed reports on the entire incident.

Once all of the Muggle bystanders had been sent blissfully on their way, and a special crack squad of Obliviators delegated to round up any who might have slipped past, the Ministry workers escorted the shaken children onto the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Quickly and efficiently, they loaded them onto the Hogwarts Express and sent them on their way. The train left only ten minutes behind schedule, and the students were assured that they were not to worry. Everything would be taken care of.

Even with the reassurance, it was a much different ride to school. Instead of the usual excited chatter, there were only whispered, terse conversations and the occasional sounds of scattered weeping.

The quick-thinking Ministry officials had segregated the students by their houses, placing them in separate cars. The unsorted first years rode in three special cars well toward the back. Gryffindors and Slytherins were at opposite ends of the train, in case the tense situation caused the well-known house rivalry to spill over. Students were forbidden to travel between the cars, and even the sweet, friendly witch who pushed the snack trolley had an unfriendly-looking wizard with her, escorting her as she went around offering free Chocolate Frogs to the shaken students.

Hermione was lying down across a row of seats in the makeshift infirmary that had been set up in first car. She had regained consciousness as she was being loaded onto the train, but the mediwizard who had been hastily recruited to attend the injured on the way to school feared that she had suffered a concussion. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had been recruited to keep her awake and talking, and to alert him if she showed signs of drifting off.

The Weasley siblings sat side by side, not talking, simply taking comfort in the fact that the other was there. Harry sat opposite them, dying to scratch an itch that had developed under the thick bandage on his ankle. The mediwizard had said that it was just strained, not sprained or broken, but he had wrapped it up so tightly that Harry couldn't even slip a finger underneath the bandage. The itching was driving him mad.

Two second-year Ravenclaws, a young-looking boy and a girl, had also been hurt in the incident and were under the mediwizard's care. For the moment, they were sleeping soundly. Colin Creevey was under heavy sedation at the far end of the car, closest to the front, but no one went up there unless they absolutely had to. Even the mediwizard avoided looking in that direction, and if there was no avoiding it he hurriedly averted his eyes.

"And you're sure you're all right?" Ginny asked for the fifth time, holding Hermione's hand tightly.

"Just bruised, that's all." Hermione sat up a little and gingerly rubbed the back of her head. "That's what I get for trying to be heroic."

"Good thing your hair's so frizzy," said Ron. "It probably saved your life, you know. Cushioned the blow." He tried to make it a joke, but there was a husky note in his voice that took all the humour out of his statement. He looked away, staring fixedly out of the window.

Hermione didn't bother to yell at him. She leaned back, closing her eyes.

"Don't go to sleep!" Ginny shouted, grabbing her by the arm.

Hermione opened her eyes and gave the younger girl a withering look. "I wasn't going to sleep, silly. I have to blink sometime."

Ginny's face twisted pitifully . "I was just worried. The mediwizard said you could go into a comma if you fell asleep."

"That's 'coma', Ginny," Hermione corrected, more gently. "And I think I'll be okay."

"If you say so." Ginny didn't sound convinced.

The elderly mediwizard walked over to them, swaying slightly with the motion of the car. The cloying, heady smell of chocolate filled the air, wafting toward them as he approached. He had dispensed so much chocolate to the injured students that he smelled as though he'd been bathing in it.

"How's the headache, young lady?" he asked.

"It could be worse," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose at the almost overpowering aroma of chocolate.

"That's the spirit, missy," he said, his wrinkled old face creasing into hundreds of tiny smile lines. "Now you just let me know if you don't feel well. We wouldn't want you to go and have a funny turn on us, now would we?"

"We certainly wouldn't," Ron replied, very seriously.

Ginny had to fake a coughing fit to keep from bursting out laughing, and ended up giving herself the hiccoughs instead. Harry ducked his head to hide his own smile.

When the mediwizard had left them, Hermione released her tightly-held breath. "Phew...I like chocolate as much as the next person, but really! And what's this about 'funny turns? Do I look that much of an invalid?"

"You did have us worried for a moment there, you know," Harry said. "You hit the wall awfully hard."

Hermione coughed drily. "And this coming from the boy who's probably spent more time as Madam Pomfrey's special guest than the rest of us combined."

Harry opened his mouth to make an unflattering remark about a botched dosage of Polyjuice Potion, but before he could say anything, there was a fusilade of knocking on the door that connected the car to the rest of the train.

The sudden noise woke the Ravenclaws. The little girl, who had two long blonde plaits and an elbow in a sling, began to bawl. Ginny hurried over to comfort her. Harry and Ron drew closer to Hermione, who tried to sit up but was pushed back down by Ron.

The mediwizard straightened his robes, and strode toward the rear of the car with a confidence he almost certainly didn't possess. He stopped five feet away from the door and began to shout, trying to make his voice carry over the noise of the train:

"Excuse me! You can't come back here!"

The knocking started again.

The mediwizard blanched, but stood his ground. He tried a different turn of phrase. "This car is off limits to anyone but authorised person--"

He hadn't finished his sentence before the door flew open, hitting the facing wall with a crash.

The mediwizard leapt back, holding out his wand in a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. Ginny tried to shush the frightened Ravenclaw girl, only to have the little boy started howling as well.

Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to keep down, and looked over the top of the seat. He could see two figures, one tall and one short, standing in the doorway. They wore black and scarlet robes of a cut that Harry had never seen before.

The shorter one, a compact woman with dusty grey hair, stepped forward. She held out a roll of parchment stamped with an official-looking seal.

"We *are* authorised personnel, Mr. Evanston," she said in a gravelly voice. "The Ministry of Magic wants a full and complete report, and that means interviewing everyone on board. Everyone."

It was Mrs. Figg.

Harry's first thought was that she looked quite different in wizarding dress. He'd never seen her in anything but faded headscarves, old housedresses, and laddered tights, and he couldn't get used to the sight of her in formal robes.

His second thought was to wonder why he hadn't been more surprised to see her.

Mr. Evanston the mediwizard warily took the proffered document and read it through several times. He looked up when he had finished, and handed it back to her. She passed it to her partner, who rolled it up and deftly slipped it into his robes.

The initial fear had left Mr. Evanston's face, and had been replaced with sulkiness. "I was only doing my job," he said sourly.

The second person, a tall blond man with very unruly eyebrows, spoke for the first time. "Your job is tending to the wounded, and you've done admirably so far," he said placatingly. "Now please, stand aside and let us do ours."

The mediwizard gave them a glare that was as near to unfriendly as he dared to go. Without another word, he turned around and headed back to take care of the young Ravenclaws. They were still howling, but two large pieces of chocolate soon quieted their sobs.

Ginny's brief childcare experience had left her rather frazzled, and she looked only too glad to rejoin Harry, Hermione, and her brother.

Mrs. Figg and the blond man strode down the corridor. Harry stood up, overjoyed to speak with Mrs. Figg again, but his good mood faded when he saw that her face was a complete blank. She didn't act as though she knew who he was, let alone that he had spent the entire summer living with her.

They stopped once they had reached the row of seats where Hermione lay. "Good afternoon," Mrs. Figg said briskly. "My name is Arabella Figg, and this is Edward Linchley."

She indicated her partner, who nodded briefly to them and stepped forward.

"We would like to ask you a few questions about the incident," he said, pulling out a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. "But before we begin--"

"May I see your identification, please?" said Hermione, holding out her hand.

"What?" Linchley blinked, looking very startled.

"Your identification," Hermione repeated slowly, spelling it out for him. "It's only proper. Constant vigilence, and all that."

Mrs. Figg smiled wryly, and prodded Linchley with a bony finger. "Go on, man. She's got you there. Trust a Muggle-born to know proper police procedure."

Linchley grudgingly handed the identification parchment to Hermione, who unrolled it and held it up for Harry, Ron, and Ginny to see.

Harry peered at it. The writing on the scroll, though tiny, ornate, and densely packed, was easy enough to decipher.

    Hereby let it be known, [it said,] that the bearer(s) of this

    document have the full authorisation of the Ministry of Magic

    and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to act within

    reason and due process of law.

    Arabella Figg, Auror

    Edward Linchley, Auror

    [signed]

    Cornelius Fudge

    Minister of Magic

Attached to the bottom of the document were two photographs, headshots of Mrs. Figg and Linchley that gazed placidly at the viewer. The pictures didn't move as much as those in normal wizarding photographs, but Harry assumed that was because they were deliberately sitting very still in order to appear more 'official'.

Hermione let go of the bottom of the parchment. It rolled up with a snap. She handed it back to Linchley, who took it from her and put it away again. He picked up the parchment and quill, and fixed them all with a very severe frown.

"Your names," he barked. "First and last. And your ages."

"Harry Potter, fifteen."

"Ronald Weasley, fifteen."

"Hermione Granger..." She trailed off, hesitating for a moment, then continued. "Fourteen. But I'll be fifteen in a fortnight," she added hastily, as if to remind them all that her age was of no consequence.

"Ginny Weasley, fourteen."

"Ginny?" Linchley repeated, disbelievingly.

"Yes, 'Ginny'." She sounded offended, very put out. "That is my name, you know."

"Fine, then." Linchley finished copying her name down and looked up, twiddling the quill in his hand. "Now, I would like to know your exact locations at the time of the incident."

The four of them exchanged glances.

Ron was the first to speak up. "Harry and I were standing outside the entrance to Platform Eight. Ginny was--"

"I can speak for myself, *dear* brother," Ginny interrupted, glaring at him. She addressed Mrs. Figg. "At the time, I was at a newspaper kiosk, buying a copy of 'The Independent'."

Linchley looked up sharply. "That's a Muggle paper, isn't it?"

Ginny returned his accusing stare. Her dislike of him, if it had not been apparent before, was now blatantly obvious. "Yes, it is. My father--Arthur Weasley, who works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department--wanted one. He asked me to get it for him." Her smile was syrupy sweet and not very nice. "Would you like to see it?"

Linchley had to good grace to appear embarrassed. "Ah...that won't be necessary, Miss Weasley." He turned to Hermione. "And you?"

"I was just entering the main terminus. My parents had dropped me off outside, and I had a hard time trying to load my trunk onto one of the trolleys. It was quarter to twelve. I was afraid that I would be late."

"'...would...be...late.'" He wrote the last word, crossing the 't' with a flourish. "All right. Now that we have established your whereabouts, I'd like you to describe what you saw. You first, Mr. Potter." He pointed to Harry.

"I...I didn't see anything," Harry said, stammering a little. "I just felt this pain in my head, and I knew that something was wrong. So I grabbed Ron and dove behind a row of trolleys."

"Why the violent reaction?"

Harry laughed softly, a laugh with absolutely no mirth in it. "When something goes wrong around me, it usually goes very wrong, very fast. Story of my life, really. I just didn't want to take the chance."

"Is this true, Mr. Weasley?" Linchley asked, turning to Ron.

Ron shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I just remember Harry shouting something and knocking me down, and then the next thing I knew Hermione was there and she wasn't moving and...and...."

He stopped short, unable to continue. Hermione reached over and patted his hand gently.

Rather than wait for Ron to regain his composure, Harry decided to change the subject. "After that, I looked over top of the trolleys and saw them," he said.

"Whom did you see?"

"The group of Death Eaters."

"How do you know they were Death Eaters?"

Harry pushed the hair away from his forehead in a gesture that was designed to 'accidentally' reveal his scar. "They're not something you forget very easily," he said.

Linchley shifted uncomfortably at this, but Mrs. Figg didn't seem to notice. "And what were they doing?" she asked.

"Casting spells, it looked like. I don't think they were going after anyone in--"

Mrs. Figg cut him off sternly. "We're not interested in what you *think*, Mr. Potter. We're interested in what you *saw*."

Harry's temper flared. He was sore, itchy, and sick and tired of dancing around the issue. He was also more than a little furious at Mrs. Figg for treating him like a complete stranger.

"You want to know what I saw?" he said coldly. "I *saw* a group of people dressed in black throwing hexes left and right, in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowded train station filled with Muggles. I saw Hermione crash into the wall right next to me, looking like she was dead. I saw...I saw Colin...."

His eyes flickered toward the front of the train, toward the curtained off area where Colin lay. The burst of anger left him, and he couldn't finish his statement.

Hermione reached over and took his hand, too, squeezing it. The pressure of her slim fingers was a sweet gesture, but it didn't make him feel any less choked up.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Linchley said, realising that it would be better not to press the subject. "Miss Weasley?"

Ginny's eyes grew vacant as she tried to remember. "I had just bought the paper and was waiting for my change when I heard the explosion. I didn't look to see what it was--I dove for the ground. I don't really remember anything else until Harry said my name."

"You didn't try to find out what was going on?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to look uncomfortable. "I...I didn't think about it. I just wanted to get away."

"Completely understandable," Linchley said with a sympathetic nod. "Miss Granger?"

"Well, I heard the explosion, too, but I didn't see what was going on at first. I ran over toward Platform Eight. I was hoping that Ron and Harry would be there. I must have been hit with a spell or something, because the next thing I knew I was flying through the air and then everything went black."

"According to the report made at the scene, you had your wand out. May I ask why?"

"I wanted to be prepared, that's all."

Linchley raised a bushy eyebrow. "So you pulled your wand out in the middle of a crowded train station? With Muggles all around you?"

"Some people didn't seem to care about things like that," Hermione said flatly.

"Yes...well, thank you, Miss Granger." He rolled up the parchment and put his quill away.

Mrs. Figg cleared her throat. "That will be all for now. I must ask all of you to stay here for the time being. We will return if we have any further questions for you."

Harry knew that he couldn't sit there and watch her walk away.

"Mrs. Figg?" he said quickly, catching hold of the edge of her sleeve.

She hesitated, but quickly nodded to him. "I'll be there in a few minutes, Linchley," she said over her shoulder. "See what you can get from them." She jerked her head toward the two Ravenclaws.

Linchley grimaced, as though she'd asked him to wrestle a Common Welsh Green, but he bowed slightly to his superior and walked over to the little boy and girl.

Mrs. Figg turned back to Harry. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "I can't talk long."

"Mrs. Figg, I knew that this would happen."

Her eyes went wide. "How did you know?" she hissed.

Harry took a very deep breath, and proceeded to describe his vision, including as much detail as he could remember. He knew that Mrs. Figg would probably want to flay him alive for not informing her of the close call he had had on the train to Exeter, so he played down that aspect of the story. He focused more on the 'change of plans' side--the actual threat from Voldemort.

A tiny muscle had started to twitch in Mrs. Figg's jaw. Her normally twinkling eyes smouldered with an intense light. He couldn't tell whether it was directed at him or at Voldemort...but he hoped to blazes it was intended for Voldemort.

"No names?" she asked, the strain of speaking in quiet tones showing through.

Harry thought very carefully, racking his memory. He wanted to be certain. "No," he said finally. "But it was definitely two men and a woman. And I didn't recognise their voices...it wasn't Wormtail or Lucius Malfoy or anyone like that."

"And you said this was just last night? You didn't tell anyone else about this?"

He could feel Ron's eyes boring into his back, and deliberately avoided looking at his best friend. "By the time it was over, I couldn't do much of anything about it. I was going to go tell Dumbledore when I got to school, but now...."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Ginny asked Mrs. Figg, interrupting him.

"Any Muggles?" Hermione added, very worried.

A little of the anger left Mrs. Figg's face. "We have five confirmed casualties. Two were Muggles. The others...the other three were Hogwarts students." She looked tired, more like an old woman and less like an Auror with the authority of the Ministry of Magic behind her. "I shouldn't even be telling you this much...you'll find out more at the Sorting Ceremony."

"But I won't--" Harry began, then snapped his mouth shut.

"Won't what?" The steel came back into her eyes.

"Never mind. It's nothing." He gave her a smile that he hoped would be chipper enough to calm her fears. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."

She returned his smile thinly. Her eyes were still hard. "Chin up, Harry. I'll be seeing you soon."

Before he could figure out whether that was a threat or a promise, she had left.

Ron propped his chin on his hands, watching her head over toward Linchley, who was having a good deal of trouble interrogating the teary-eyed and sticky-faced Ravenclaws.

"Wow...THAT was Mrs. Figg?" he said. "I know that the Dursleys were pretty bad, but having to live with *her* for a summer...." He shook his head in wonder. "You always do get the worst breaks, Harry."

Harry wasn't listening. He was too busy calculating exactly how much time he had before the Sorting Ceremony--he had to put his trunk and other belongings away, slip past all the teachers who would be keeping an especially strict watch on them all, get through the corridors without being seen by Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris, and somehow find his way to Dumbledore's office.

He'd have under a half-hour...if that much.

A finger poked him sharply in the ribs, snapping him out of his string of troubled thoughts.

"Harry, are you listening? What's wrong?" asked Hermione, poking him again.

"I'm not going to the Sorting Ceremony," he said slowly. "I'm going to see Dumbledore as soon as we get to school."

"But won't he be at the Sorting Ceremony, too?" Ginny said, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Not if I can corner him before it starts. This is too important to wait--I waited too long, and look what happened. I...I don't want anything else to go wrong."

"I'll come with you," Ron said firmly.

Hermione sat up carefully. "Me, too."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to be left behind!" piped Ginny.

"No. It'd be too conspicuous." He held up a hand to stop them before they could protest. "What I need you to do is to make up some excuse in case anyone asks where I am. And," he said, as an idea struck him, "I need someone to take my things--I can get to Dumbledore faster if I don't have to worry about my luggage."

Hermione scowled. "So while you go off traipsing through the school, being all heroic and noble and secretive, we're stuck behind as your alibi and your porters?"

Harry opened his mouth, then quickly shut it.

Hermione laughed at his funny expression. "All right, all right. I suppose I could always fake an attack." She composed her face into a tragic contortion of exaggerated suffering. "'Oh...oh, my...Professor McGonagall, I think I'm having another funny turn. Could Harry please escort me to the infirmary? I don't mean to be such a terrible bother, but....'" She placed a hand against her forehead and moaned softly, fluttering her eyelashes.

Harry grinned broadly, and Ginny giggled at Hermione's playacting. Even Ron looked a little less dour, some his normal cheerfulness returning.

The Hogwarts Express sped northward, carrying its precious cargo to their home from home.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ February 28th, 2002