The Interlude

Chapter 7: We All Fall Down

Harry woke up much later than he'd intended the next morning, although once he thought about it he wasn't exactly very surprised. He'd had a horrible nightmare about Lupin's death which woke him up close to midnight and he'd spent the rest of the night trying not to fall back asleep. It must have been about four in the morning when he finally surrendered to his weariness and drifted off.

Supposing that it couldn't have been much later than ten o'clock, Harry got dressed and slipped downstairs. A glance at Mrs. Weasley's clock informed him that none of the Weasleys were at home and Harry hazarded a guess that Hermione had gone with them. His suspicions were confirmed when he found a note next to a warm plate of food in the kitchen. It was fortunate that the note began by saying that everything was alright, because Harry nearly Apparated on the spot when he read that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley had gone to Saint Mungo's. This left Harry feeling a bit confused because it was usually only Mrs. Weasley and Hermione who accompanied Ron to Saint Mungo's, and hurt that they hadn't invited him along. However, by the time he finished reading the note he'd decided that he might as well remain behind: they said they'd only be gone an hour, so they could be back any minute, and he didn't much fancy finding out whether or not there was still a crowd of people camped out in Saint Mungo's lobby waiting for him.

Feeling a bit lonely and out of place, Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, removed the warming charm from the plate of food Mrs. Weasley had left for him, and took both to the table to eat. With nothing else to occupy his attention, he pulled out the day's Daily Prophet toward him and almost choked on the piece of toast he'd been trying to eat when he read the headline: "Draco Malfoy walks free with 200,000 Galleon fine."

Harry forced himself to swallow and read on, hoping there was some mistake.

"In a controversial decision, late last night the Wizengamot ruled that seventeen year old Draco Malfoy has renounced the Death Eaters and is not responsible for any dark activity previous to and including the battle in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on June 21^st that culminated in You-Know-Who's defeat at the hands of Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy is the son of the notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, who is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban.

"Many believe that Draco Malfoy was the student who helped a group of Death Eaters gain entrance to Hogwarts castle in June of 1997 and himself attempted to murder Headmaster Albus Dumbledore on that night, but according to Chief Witch Dolores Umbridge, "No hard evidence has been found linking Mr. Malfoy to either of these events. Furthermore," she added, "Mr. Malfoy pleaded with the Wizengamot to understand that he was forced to join the Death Eaters by his father. I was inclined to believe him."

"However, not all of the Wizengamot is so confident in Malfoy's reformation. "He has the Dark Mark," said Griselda Marchbanks, an elder of the Wizengamot. "History has proven that no one can stop being a Death Eater."

"Despite these doubts, the Wizengamot voted by a slim majority that Malfoy is guilty of suspicious and dangerous activity but innocent of any dark activity. He was released with a 200,000 Galleon fine, which he paid without complaint.

"The Wizengamot deliberates today on the case of Peter Pettigrew, who is likely to receive a life sentence in Azkaban for his unregistered animagus abilities alone."

As soon as he finished reading, Harry threw the newspaper across the table and stood up so forcefully that he that he knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice. Without bothering to clean up the juice or straighten the crumpled newspaper, Harry raced upstairs, supposing that if he was going to start throwing and breaking things then they might as well be his own.

When Harry threw open the door to Ron's room he still felt ready to breathe fire and picked up his pillow and threw it into the far wall. The Quidditch players on the poster there broke formation to avoid it.

"Damn you, Malfoy!" Harry shouted for everyone within fifty kilometers to hear. "Damn you, Umbridge!" he added, throwing his bedding after the pillow. "Damn, damn, you, Voldemort!"

After unleashing a general cry of frustration, Harry tossed himself down on his stripped bed. On the way, his foot collided with his trunk, which obligingly clicked open. Taking that as an invitation, Harry reached into his trunk, rummaged around a bit, and came up with The Monster Book of Monsters. A moment later he'd removed the belt that was keeping it shut and was drawing a great deal of satisfaction from ripping apart a book that was trying its level best to bite his fingers off.

Some ten minutes later Harry's rage was finally exhausted and he released what was left of the book, which scuttled off to hide under Ron's bed.

"Why didn't they ask me?" Harry desolately asked no one in particular. "I would have told them I heard Malfoy admit to letting in those Death Eaters sixth year. I would have told them he tried to kill Dumbledore and was the reason why Snape did. He'd never be free now."

However, a moment later Harry realized why the Wizengamot hadn't asked him to testify and he jumped to his feet and started pacing.

"Because no one knew I was there, because I spent the entire time frozen under that stupid cloak!" Harry aimed another kick at his trunk as he said this. "I couldn't save Dumbledore, I couldn't make sure Malfoy rots in Azkaban like he deserves, I...I couldn't save Lupin, I couldn't even save Ron. What am I good for? It's not fair, never was, I suppose. So many things went wrong at once. Damn you, Malfoy. Second chances aren't supposed to work like that."

It sounded like a funny thing to say, so he laughed at it.

"Chances, chances," he babbled, "so many, not enough, and I ignored them all. Too many choices. Great and terrible, terrible and great, doesn't matter, no differences, all the same. Live or die, fight and die, die and fight, no end in sight. Dead, dying, gone away, won't come back, doesn't matter, no difference, all the same."

Harry laughed again, impressed with himself for happening upon such a revelation.

"How long have you been doing this?"

The voice was familiar but Harry didn't bother to place it and continued on as though it were his own.

"Long? Time! Long time! Wise, no wisdom, not in fighting, never in war. No point, no sense, no use, no fun, no end, no stop. Stop? Stop! Stop, stop," he giggled, testing the word. "Should've tried, might've worked, can't have known, didn't have to, not my choice, not my decision, shouldn't have been. Over, over, no more, make it stop, didn't have to, leave me alone!"

"You're not making any sense, Harry."

"Happy, not happy, not supposed to be, not right, can't be happy, not fair. Doesn't mean anything. Two people, two words, one person, no more, not a person. Fix it, have to fix it, make it better, won't work, never does, can't change it, can't be done."

"Harry, you're scaring us."

"Can't help it, always scary. Shouldn't be here...should've left while you had the chance, not fair, no end, won't stop, can't stop, have to, choices, choices! Abilities. Always choices, too many, can't decide, can't think, decided wrong, bad, bad me, not choice, my friend."

Harry stopped abruptly when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, spun him around, and held him there. He blinked three times before realizing that he was looking up at Ron.

"How long were you standing there?" Harry asked, only then realizing how crazy he must have sounded.

"Long enough," Ron replied. "Are you alright?"

From beside Ron, Hermione clicked her tongue at the question, and Harry answered it with a dutiful, "Of course."

"Well you don't look it," Ron pointed out. "And you didn't sound it. Was it your..." Ron lifted a hand to his own forehead.

"No," Harry sighed. "That hasn't been bothering me at all."

"Well, maybe you were thinking out loud," Ron sighed, "but if that's the way your brain works-"

If Ron had intended to continue that sentence he never got the chance, for at that moment Harry realized that Ron had his right hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You arm's fixed?" Harry demanded, seizing Ron's wrist and pulling his hand off his shoulder so he could inspect it. Thin, pale scars crisscrossed Ron's hand, but it was in one piece.

"Oh, yeah," Ron replied with a shrug that was no longer lopsided. He wiggled his fingers to prove it.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Harry exclaimed, pulling Ron into a hug.

"You seemed to have other things on your mind," Ron replied seriously, stepping away.

"Listen, don't worry about that," Harry sighed. "I don't know what it was."

As he was speaking, Harry managed to catch Hermione's attention and flicked his eyes in a way that she correctly interpreted as a request to look at his hand. When she did, Harry mimed the wand movement for Wingardium Leviosa. Her eyes narrowed with a lack of comprehension, then widened when she intuited what he was asking. She looked back up and shook her head sadly. Harry had to stifle a sigh: Ron still couldn't do magic.

In the meanwhile, having caught on to only half of the side conversation, Ron was looking at Harry as thought he had gone crazy all over again. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked skeptically.

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "I just read that article about Malfoy in the Prophet and it got me angry and made me think, and I guess everything just spilled out at once."

"I can tell," Ron replied, surveying the damage to the room.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "I think my Monster Book of Monsters is afraid of me. Last I saw it was hiding under your bed."

"I don't blame it," Ron said, bending down to have a look. "Yep, it's still under there."

He extended a hand to try and coax the book out but pulled it back a split second before a loud snapping sound emanated from under the bed.

"I think it's alright down there for now," Ron said shakily, standing up and dusting off his robes.

"So, about Malfoy," Harry prompted.

"That scumbag," Ron sighed. He continued to interject similar sentiments at strategic intervals throughout Hermione's speech about the wizarding legal system, and by the time she got finished Harry remembered far more of Ron's colorful names for Malfoy than reasons why there wasn't enough evidence to convict him.

"Who made Umbridge Chief Witch?" Harry demanded.

"Scrimgeour appointed her a little after Dumbledore died," Hermione explained.

"And what will it take to fire her?" Harry continued.

"An order from the Minister or a unanimous vote from the rest of the Wizengamot after reviewing a list of her infractions," Hermione replied.

"And how long of a list does it take?" Harry asked.

It was several moments before Hermione realized that he was actually serious in his desire to depose the Chief Witch. When she did, she smiled and said, "I think we'd have enough."

"Excellent," Harry breathed.

They spent a happy hour compiling a rather embellished list of Umbridge's infractions and reminiscing about the rebellion against her until Ginny came along and said that lunch was ready. They came downstairs to a rather larger meal than they'd expected, but a tearful Mrs. Weasley shrugged and said it was in celebration of Ron getting his bandages off and none of them were about to argue with that.

The very first thing Ron did upon sitting down was absently pick up his fork with his left hand, something which Harry, Hermione, and Ginny called him on almost simultaneously. Mrs. Weasley scolded them gently for teasing, but it was obvious that Ron didn't mind, so they continued anyway. The game culminated over the roast turkey, when Ginny matter of factly informed Ron that he was eating backwards again and he wordlessly slipped his fork back into his left hand. It took a minor miracle and several stealthy kicks under the table for them to maintain their composure until Ron realized he was right handed about five minutes later. The resulting hysteria would have resulted in a food fight if Mrs. Weasley hadn't been there to stop it.

They all settled back to their food and Harry picked up his napkin to wipe the tears from his eyes. "That's the one kind of fight I don't mind having," he sighed, then cringed.

Harry had meant for his comment to be a rather underhanded way of letting Ron and Hermione know that he really was alright despite his behavior that morning, but one glance at them informed him that he should've kept quiet. The meal was much more subdued after that, much to Mrs. Weasley's confusion and Ginny's chagrin.

Midway through the pudding, a sharp rap came at the front door. Mrs. Weasley stood up to answer it and the rest of them dropped their forks to eavesdrop. Ginny nearly fell out of her chair trying to get a look at the visitor and when she righted herself she reported that she'd never seen him before, which, along with a foreign voice's muffled question about whether this was the Weasley residence, made it unlikely that he was there on personal business. After that, Hermione cast a clever amplifying charm that allowed them to listen in more easily.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Weasley asked politely.

"Yes, you can," the man replied. He seemed rather cheered by the fact that he hadn't needed to ask. "I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley replied. She sounded a bit wary, which set Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny on edge as well. It slowly dawned on Harry that, as far as he knew, this man had yet to even say if he was a wizard.

"Would you say that the world will benefit from the defeat of You-know-who?"

"Yes, of course. Harry did a great thing for us, putting a stop to him.

"And do you think that it will also put an end to social strife, between magical folk of different blood statuses, for example."

"I'd say it helped, but I doubt those problems will be solved any time soon. To continue your example, there are some pureblooded Wizards who hold Muggle-borns in very low regard even though they didn't join the Death Eaters."

"My thoughts exactly."

There was a grand pause in which those still at the table exchanged looks of fear and anger.

"Just what are you insinuating, sir," Mrs. Weasley said in a low hiss.

"That you and your family, like so many of your pureblooded relatives, are doing all you can to ensure that Muggle-born witches and wizards remain second-class citizens," the man replied menacingly.

"That's absurd," Mrs. Weasley laughed. "We've been ostracized by the families that consider themselves above Muggle-borns. We're considered blood traitors for supporting the light side in the war against You-know-who."

"And yet, as we speak, your husband is at the Ministry of Magic, trying to put an end to our group, which is fighting for the rights of Muggle-born citizens. He's wrong to try and stop us."

"You seem to think that violence is the only option."

"There are some who would argue that."

"And I'm sure it will be if you listen to them."

"Well, this is a lovely chat we've been having, but I'm sorry to say that if you're not with us you're against us."

Harry and Hermione leapt to their feet and darted to the door, ignoring Ron and Ginny's hisses that it wasn't necessary. By the time they got there, the visitor was staring down Mrs. Weasley's wand, his hand only half way to his pocket. His jaw dropped and he stared openly as soon as he noticed Harry.

"You're..."

"Harry Potter? Yeah," Harry muttered.

"But why-?"

"Am I staying with people who, according to you, must be racist? Because they're not, but they are the closest thing I have to a family."

"Mrs. Weasley already told you that they don't care about blood status and they fought against Voldemort," Hermione chimed in. "What more do you need?"

"I also have a score to settle," the man continued.

"With whom?" Harry growled.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

Aside from remembering Mad-Eye Moody once telling him that Gideon and Fabian Prewett had been killed in the first war against Voldemort, the names didn't mean anything to Harry, but next to him Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth and he thought he heard a stifled yell from Ron or Ginny at the table.

"What quarrel do you have with them?" Mrs. Weasley asked quietly. "My brothers have been dead nearly twenty years."

Harry had to concentrate to keep his jaw from dropping. He'd had no idea that Molly Weasley had once been Molly Prewett.

"You don't remember me, do you," the man said, smirking as though he'd suspected as much.

Mrs. Weasley stared at him for a moment, then, with a sudden jolt of recognition she exclaimed, "Albert Morro!"

He looked quite put out that she'd remembered him.

"Then I suppose you recall what your brothers did to me while we were at Hogwarts," Morro continued, recovering quickly.

"They'd tease you whenever you couldn't get a spell right," Mrs. Weasley replied after a moment of thoughtful introspection. "But they'd do that to everyone, even each other. They said it was their way of encouraging people to try harder, and that was thirty years ago, why is it so important to you now?"

"Because now there are thousands like me who have come to realize that behavior like your brothers' is exactly why we Muggle-borns have never been accepted in your magical society."

"Thousands?" Harry breathed.

"And more every day," Morro replied. "We will not go ignored for long."

"And you intend to make sure of that by threatening purebloods," Hermione said.

"We will do what we must to put an end to this oppression," Morro said.

Hermione crossed her arms. "And you really think-"

She was cut off by a pop when Mr. Weasley appeared in the front yard. He immediately turned around to grab the elbow of a chastised looking Ginny who Apparated a moment later. From the look of it, she'd just Apparated without a license straight into and out of the Ministry of Magic, an impressively bold move.

Mr. Weasley gave Ginny a look that clearly said she'd get a reprieve until this situation was dealt with, but after that she wouldn't soon hear the end of it.

"What is your business here, sir?" Mr. Weasley asked as he approached the door.

"Mr. Weasley, I presume," Morro replied. "Finished plotting ways to end our rebellion for the day, have you?"

"My daughter says you've been threatening my wife and our family," Mr. Weasley spat.

"I don't think I've gotten there yet," Morro said airily. "But when I do I'm certain I will be justified."

"We just fought a war against Death Eaters," Mr. Weasley replied. "We didn't fold to them and we won't fold to you."

"As you wish," Morro sighed, "but, as I was telling your wife, if you're not with us, you're against us, and those who are against us will soon find themselves wishing they'd given up their old ways."

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all decided that they'd had enough simultaneously and Ron came up a moment later to join them as they yelled at Morro.

"You pompous..."

"Didn't the last war prove that there's no such thing as black and white?"

"If you knew anything about war..."

"You could probably get the Weasleys to help you if you didn't go around threatening people."

Morro didn't even bother trying to defend himself under their onslaught; he just smirked like he'd been expecting that sort of reaction and Disapparated.

Ginny took a deep breath and screamed at the place where Morro had been standing while Ron stood there looking livid, Hermione perked up like she'd just thought up another brilliant argument, and Harry punched the nearest wall with all his might.