Chapter Text
1941
There was much for Harry to think about.
Granted, not all of it was bad: the plans he was forming with Madeleine, the way Tom was growing up, the people he had befriended during his time here, even his work and the financial security it gave him was something he would sometimes marvel at with contentment. He had gotten lucky in so many ways, and he didn’t want to lose sight of that.
And yet, there was plenty that brought tendrils of anxiety into his life: Arcturus, Grindelwald, the way Tom was growing up, the expected longevity of his career considering that there had been no Witnesses in the future, the Witness killings that were taking place, the war, and who knew what else would eventually pop up.
Even now, on his way to yet another mission assigned to him by Cassandra, his thoughts were weighed by the question: when would whoever was targeting Witnesses turn to him? Was there an order in which the killings were being carried out?
It didn’t sit quite right with him that the others were now convinced that it was Grindelwald who was killing Witnesses. It had been an easy excuse to give after the assassination attempt, but it worried Harry that the excuse has now made it practically impossible to justify any suspicions he had regarding the Ministry’s involvement. And Harry knew – he was certain – that the Witness murders were somehow facilitated by someone who held political power in Britain: the level of erasure he had come to realize existed in the future wasn’t achievable by Grindelwald, who hadn’t even won his war.
‘I wonder what kind of protective measures other Witnesses have taken,’ Harry thought as he observed his location for the upcoming mission: the far end of a field of some sort, with what looked like a farm nearby. There were no trees for him to hide behind but hiding himself from muggles wouldn’t be an issue even with their absence. It was hiding from other wizards or witches that Harry was slightly concerned about.
‘So far everyone has been killed on a mission,’ Harry realized – or, at least, he hadn’t heard of any Witnesses killed when not working. ‘But how do they know where to a Witness is being sent? Unless the Seer sends the mission assignment to the ministry as well. I should tell Cassandra about this, maybe she knows who could have access to such records.’
And that is exactly what Harry did: after returning home, even before he sent the pensieve off to the Ministry, he sent an owl to Cassandra to share his thoughts. Perhaps she had already considered something similar, but it didn’t hurt to let her know.
That wasn’t the only owl Harry ended up sending on that day: he had arrived to find a message from Arcturus, suggesting a dinner meeting. The man’s message was short, yet there was little that could fill Harry with more dread than an invitation to meet. Partly the dread was also due to how little he has been able to do for Melania’s children.
‘I’m going to let Madeleine know about this before I reply to him,’ Harry decided. He would also need to seriously consider what he ought to do for Orion and Lucretia. As far as he knew, Orion was going to graduate soon – perhaps that was the best time for Harry to help him? How, he didn’t know yet. But he couldn’t just forget about it.
With Arcturus showing his capability for murdering someone he had – at least in public – claimed to be a friend, he had proven to be a risky man for Harry to associate with. Risky, that is, by the definition of anyone who hadn’t lived the life that Harry has.
Harry had always taken quiet pride in how he did his best to avoid causing harm to others. Even the troubles he had gotten into in the past had been due to actions that needed to be taken. He had kept a low profile to the point where no one around him even knew how well he could hold his own. He didn’t feel the need to show off, he was fine being just… who he was, living his life peacefully.
It wasn’t as if Harry had hidden anything intentionally – he just had Tom to think of, and so didn’t want to risk bringing undue violence near the boy. And so he had avoided solving problems with duels, even when perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps in an effort to convince himself that a peaceful life was something he could achieve and be happy with, and that the events that had taken place at Hogwarts and at the Dursleys – and beyond both, really – hadn’t screwed him up so thoroughly as to render him incapable of a regular life.
‘Live like normal people do,’ a thought that sounded much like Aunt Petunia flashed in his mind, causing Harry to grimace and stand up. He didn’t want to think about them, and about all the characteristics and habits they had etched into him that he hadn’t been able to shake off.
He switched the radio on, its voice drowning out Petunia’s echo in his head.
“I’m going to cook,” Harry declared aloud, as the news of the capture of Rudolf Hess filtered in.
Harry would never manage to explain even to himself what about that moment – those news – made him realize that protecting Tom from the presence of violence was futile. Perhaps it was the time in history that Hess’s capture marked, and the knowledge that peace negotiations were well and truly over already… The inevitability of war was one thing, but knowing that as bad as it had been, it was about to get even worse – and fast – was still difficult to stomach. His boy was going to witness the world descend into blood and chaos, soon, and all Harry could do was hope that his presence in Tom’s life would somehow prevent the inspiration Voldemort had drawn from this war. That Tom wouldn’t grow to equate genocide with power.
By the time Madeleine’s response came – an invitation for a brunch that Harry was much more delighted to accept than that of Arcturus – he had made his decision: while he wouldn’t necessarily draw attention to himself, he wasn’t going to shy away from being more open regarding what he could do with a wand.
It would, if nothing else, at least make Tom feel a bit safer.
‘I can teach him ways to defend himself,’ Harry thought, reaching for a new piece of parchment to write his response to Madeleine. ‘And hopefully that will keep him from seeking other spells for now.’
*
The Unforgivables.
Tom had heard about the term – the term kept popping up in conversations here and there, and he could gather from the conversations that they were curses. Curiosity, however, was a trait Tom valued in himself, and had early on decided to look up the Unforgivables in the library, and read about them properly.
It took some time - and effort - to find books discussing the Unforgivables, but eventually he did manage to find what the library at Hogwarts had. Nothing was instructive, but he hadn’t expected it to be. And even though the books were theoretically educational in nature, he didn’t want people wondering why he was checking out and reading books on such Dark curses. Which led to Tom utilizing his study sessions with his friends in the library to read the books without anyone being notified of it, and a fake cover to keep his reading habits protected from his classmates’ prying eyes. His little system, much to his delight, worked, and he could do his readings in peace even with the others around him.
“I’m so tired,” Pucey was saying, sighing as she leaned against Prince’s shoulder. A few books were scattered on the table in front of her, a half-written essay on top of it all. “I wish I could just leave everything and sleep for a week.”
“The difference between you and I is that while you hope for it, I go for it and do sleep for a week,” Mulciber said proudly. “I’m a go-getter, one could say.”
“No one is saying that,” Prince replied.
“It’s funny because her meanness is so unintentional,” Avery observed. “I respect that.”
“What are you losing sleep over,” Prince then asked. “It’s not like you’re studying. If you were Tom, that’s what I’d assume. But what’s keeping you up, because I know it’s not homework.”
“I have never stayed up for homework,” Tom interjected, feeling mildly insulted by the suggestion of him needing to put effort into finishing his homework. Extra reading? Sure. Homework? Hardly! The indignation wasn’t enough to make him pause his reading, however, and he was glad when the others didn’t attempt engaging him in their conversation.
Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus. He couldn’t help but feel a splash of reverence towards such spells - spells that were so powerful that they had been given a category of their own. The Unforgivables.
‘I’m going to learn all of them,’ Tom decided, feeling excited. And even though the book continued to explain that using any of the curses against another human being was enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban, Tom knew that with magic he could surely get away with doing things that he wanted. If he were to work in the Ministry, he’d authorize the Unforgivables for use in some circumstances at least. It was such a waste not to.
He would open the door, in a way, and invite the three back into the lives of the wizards and witches who had a need for them.
‘Unless I want to keep them for myself only,’ Tom then thought. ‘Better if few people know these spells, and better yet if I am one of the few. Ah… I wonder if Harry will let me get my own copy of this book.’ Perhaps he could try and pass Sinister Spells And How To Resist Them as required reading for class, but would Harry believe him?
Out of the three, Tom himself was most concerned by the Imperius curse. If he were to die - a thought so utterly repulsive to him that he didn’t want to consider it for long - at least it would be then over and there was nothing to do about it. Pain he could withstand, surely, but someone else controlling him as totally as the Imperius curse could? No.
Luckily, the book did hint that there was a way to resist the Imperius curse, but much to Tom’s disappointment didn’t elaborate on how that resistance could be achieved. All the author had written on the subject was a paragraph discussing willpower, as if that could ever be more powerful than a spell.
Tom’s focus was shifted from the book and back to the conversation of his peers when he heard the Malfoys being mentioned.
“—even Gryffindors are avoiding him,” Avery said. “He’s never been a social butterfly, I’ve heard, but now really he just doesn’t seem to want anyone around him.”
‘Are they talking about Abraxas?’ Tom thought, thinking of the younger Slytherin. “Why’s that?”
“I think it’s because, well… it was easy for some people to dislike him because he’s a Malfoy and a Slytherin,” Mulciber pointed out, “but now his family has been killed by Grindelwald, who people assumed would value people like the Malfoys. And that’s making people confused, because if they both hate muggles and muggle-borns, why are they killing each other?”
“I think there’s a bit more nuance there,” Prince added. “I mean, we all know that there is a divide between people: those who think that old and wealthy and pureblood wizarding families must be valued above all else—”
“That’s most of us,” Avery said. “No offense, but my family has contributed to the development of the Wizarding Britain much more than any muggleborn, and I don’t think it’s wrong to expect to reap some rewards from that.”
“—and that is the crowd that thinks muggleborns are lesser beings,” Prince continued, “and then those who think that blood has nothing to do with the value of a witch or a wizard. And since Grindelwald thinks we should go to war against muggles, those who value blood purity have found it easier to accept his ideologies than those who know that their muggle families will be killed if the Grindelwald gets his way.”
“And since Malfoys value blood purity, it has thrown people off that Grindelwald would have them killed,” Tom concluded, nodding. “That’s an interesting discussion - the one about blood purity.”
“It makes magic stronger,” Mulciber said. “Pureblood families tend to be wealthier and more powerful, and that isn’t just a coincidence.”
‘Is that really the case,’ Tom thought, remembering that Harry had quite strongly expressed his own dislike towards such thoughts. Tom himself wasn’t convinced, but didn’t dismiss the idea entirely either. It didn’t sound realistic, but he understood the logic behind the belief. He hated the waste of resources that senseless prejudice often led to, and without evidence supporting either perspective, he couldn’t quite settle on an opinion that he could defend. “I’ll look into this,” he then decided. “I suppose the presence of powerful half-bloods and muggleborn wizards and witches would debunk that belief.”
“How many such people in what kind of a sample size would be sufficient?” Prince then asked, perking up. “To not be dismissed as exceptions? Oh, Merlin, this is so exciting - we could make a whole project out of this! What metrics of power do we want to use? What can we use? Any ideas?”
“You know what, I’m going to join this research project,” Avery said, “and prove you wrong. I don’t know why you’ve become such a muggle advocate recently, but this needs to be properly sorted out.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Prince sneered. “But fine. Let’s do this.”
‘I wonder if Harry knows any powerful half-bloods,’ Tom thought. ‘I should ask. Maybe he’ll make this easier than either Prince or Avery thinks it will be.’
*
Harry had never thought that he would ever visit the Malfoy Manor much, but here he was again, at the front gates of the beautiful estate. Majestic and bright, its vast grounds were visibly well-kept. The plants were healthy and colourful, with groomed gardens and what looked like peacocks roaming in the distance. Harry was struck again by how much had changed by the time he had seen it first: during the war.
Everything had been well kept then too, but it was only now that Harry truly realized how much had fallen into ruin despite the apparent continuity of luxury. Would Lucius have turned out the way he did if Marchosias had survived?
‘I can’t believe he’s dead,’ Harry thought then as he was led to a glass-encased, flower-filled terrace with small fountains and beautiful furniture and tableware. There he saw Madeleine, by a round table full of food. The witch didn’t smile when she saw him, but looked pleased nonetheless when he sat down.
“Thank you for letting me know about Arcturus’s message to you,” Madeleine started, her hands on her lap while a cup of tea floated gently in front of her. The little green plants embroidered onto her pale yellow robes danced to faint music that came from the direction of one of the small fountains near them.
‘Are those water lilies?’ Harry thought, watching the wisps that made music from wind and nothing else. It was a pity that in a place this beautiful, they would have to discuss a man so vile. “Of course. I… I worry what his next steps could be, and I have been thinking more and more about his children. I should have done more for them—”
“No,” Madeleine interrupted. “I thought about them as well, after our previous conversation, and realized that we shouldn’t contact them quite yet. It is for the best if you do not reach out to them in any way until Orion Black graduates from Hogwarts and can not only move physically away from Grimmauld Place, but take his sister with him. If you had in any way let Arcturus realize that you thought about the wellbeing of his children, he would have used that to torment them and you. Now we can at least be assured that without you pointing him towards the two, he will likely simply not think of them at all.”
“I hadn’t thought of the circumstances like that,” Harry admitted, thinking of the two Black children, feeling hopeful that perhaps he could be of significant help to them after all. “I can ask Tom about Orion, as I do not know when he would be close to graduation. I think soon, but I’m not sure.”
“Wonderful,” Madeleine said. “And when you meet Arcturus, try and find out what he is actually up to right now. For a man who seems to appear everywhere, I never actually hear abought him doing anything.”
“Sure, I’ll… I’ll do that.”
“Good, that is one issue of concern then addressed,” Madeleine continued. “But what do we do about Arcturus in the long run, is the question that needs explicit answers. So long as he is free - free to use his fortune, his influence, and free to come and go as he wishes - he will cause nothing but harm.”
“I agree,” Harry said. “Can we do anything to ensure that he will be brought to a trial and that justice will be served?” They had spoken of wanting to ensure that Arcturus would face the consequences of his actions, but without much specificity. Harry didn’t know much of how trials were carried out in the wizarding world, but knew that Madeleine, as a Malfoy, would likely know all that needed to be known.
A small smile appeared on the woman’s face, and she looked at Harry with consideration for a moment. Then she said: “You do know that to ensure the downfall of someone such as Arcturus Black, you and I both will have to take actions that are morally ambiguous.”
Harry nodded, thinking of all the things he had done to survive the war. He wasn’t proud of everything, but had grown out of the naivety he had had when he was younger: sometimes necessity warranted deviation from what he wanted to do, because what he needed to do weighed heavier.
“If we build a case against him, he may not be indicted if those in the Wizengamot choose to ally with him. If they do indict him, the judging body may be susceptible to bribery and blackmail. If they aren’t, and he is convicted, anything less than a life in Azkaban will not erase the problem, simply postpone it: he will return, more vengeful than ever before. If we somehow do manage to secure a life sentence in Azkaban for him, he may escape if he bribes the Prisoner Transportation Personnel, and if he doesn’t, he may bribe them anyway to ensure not only better conditions for himself, but also a reach from inside the prison that would continue as a destructive, disruptive force until the day he dies. To prevent that we would need to not only push for a life-sentence, but a stay on his assets so he would not be able to access them or any other resources in any way. The best case scenario would be for him to be given the Dementor’s Kiss. I do not think I need to point out how unlikely our success would be.”
Harry listened to Madeleine, his heart sinking further with each obstacle she mentioned. She was right: the Ministry was ripe ground for corruption, and for someone with Arcturus’s network and wealth, it was a given that he would take advantage of that.
“Does that mean that a lawsuit is a waste of effort?” Harry asked.
Much to his surprise, Madeleine shook her head. “I mentioned that I have a few friends at the Ministry,” she replied. “They will cooperate with us to ensure that Arcturus will be convicted. I… in the light of your duelling capabilities that you showed me, I did come up with an idea that would make the sentencing itself irrelevant. The purpose of the trial would be to simply thoroughly shame him, and ensure that no one looks too deep into… whatever happens to him after.”
“I assume that the morally grey part where I get involved is the what happens after,” Harry said dryly. He had a hunch - more than that, really, with all this build-up - on what Madeleine’s request would be, and he was conflicted. He was surprised by how little he opposed the idea, but… it just wasn’t something he approved of, either. How was he supposed to set an example for Tom, if he went ahead with this? What would Ron and Hermione say?
‘They would understand,’ Harry thought, remembering all the hard decisions they had had to make during the war. From that perspective, he could… consider it. For Tom’s safety. For everyone’s safety, really. He looked back at Madeleine, and said: “You want me to kill him.”
“Yes,” the witch replied. “I want you to kill Arcturus Black.”
*
Nothing - not a single bit of useful information - was to be found at the Hogwarts Library on how to resist the Imperius curse. Only useless rambles about willpower, most of which made no sense - not a single author had even hinted at a spell or a potion that would be the defence against the curse. It was infuriating, to say the least.
“Did the soup offend you somehow?” Pucey asked, interrupting Tom’s thoughts. He looked at her and sighed, before he noticed that Nott, quietly eating his dinner next to her, had a visible bruise on his face.
“What happened to you?”
“He got punched by some Gryffindork,” Lestrange said. “Someone in their Quidditch team, and the bruise isn’t bad enough to warrant intervention from the Hospital Wing. So here he is, with a bruise on his face. Looks hilarious.”
After their outing together, Nott and Lestrange - and by extension Rosier - had taken to joining Tom and his group every now and then. Tom didn’t know what to think of this, but tolerated it with caution. It was beneficial sometimes to have them around.
“Speaking of Quidditch,” Mulciber said. “How’s the bet going on? Have you been sabotaging Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff?”
“Been trying, but Ravenclaws are paranoid,” Avery huffed. “It’s as if they know that I’m up to no good every time they see me.”
“Same for Hufflepuff, but I suppose that’s normal,” Lestrange said, sounding much less bothered. Tom held back a satisfied smirk: it had been him, after all, who had alerted the captains of the two teams about the incoming sabotage attempts. His next step would be to help sabotage Gryffindor, which was easier said than done, but he did have Mulciber to help him.
And if the two of them pulled this off successfully, not only would have Tom made allies out of numerous Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but he’d have shown both Avery and Lestrange that unlike them, he wasn’t intimidated by a difficult enemy.
“The Quidditch Cup will start in a few weeks,” Rosier said. “We definitely need to hurry things up. Their paranoia is bound to increase the closer we get to the start of the season.”
“Just keep a level head, please,” Pucey said. “What we ultimately want is for Slytherin to win. Any of you getting caught and losing us points can be disastrous for us.”
“It’s fine, Tom can just work overtime and keep picking up points by answering every question correctly in class,” Avery said dismissively.
“Have you considered answering a single question correctly in class?” Tom asked. “That would help, thanks.”
“Wait, sorry, I still haven’t heard an explanation to this,” Prince interrupted, gesturing at Nott’s face. “So, a Gryffindor punched you? Why? They should lose points and get a detention! And even if it’s not a terrible injury, you should still go to the Hospital Wing and get it treated - surely there are spells to healing bruises quickly. Tom, do you know any?”
“None come to mind.” And even if any did, he wasn’t about to fix Nott’s face. “Though I do agree - what exactly happened? Did they think you were sabotaging their Quidditch team?”
“Not quite,” Lestrange snickered. “Some mudblood bint said he’d been following her to places, and her boyfriend took an issue with that. As if anyone from a proper family would want to see her tits.”
“There’s a lot missing from that explanation,” Pucey said, her voice now taking a different tone. “Followed her? See her… chest? Eugene what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Nott snapped. “She accused me of having followed her into one of the Quidditch locker rooms, conveniently when no one else was around, as if I have time in the afternoons to follow some ugly mudblood.”
“She’s desperate for attention,” Lestrange decided, clearly amused and dismissive of the accusations. “Her boyfriend is probably cheating on her and she’s trying to get him back by pretending someone better wants her. Stupid.”
“That… that doesn’t make any sense,” Pucey snapped, he voice wavering. “Are you crazy? Eugene.”
“Oh come on, you don’t actually believe he did that,” Rosier pitched in, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, who cares. Can we talk about something else? Has anyone else finished their Potions essay yet? Because mine is taking a lifetime and I need help with it.”
Tom could see Pucey taking in a deep breath, her face red and hands shaking. She was clearly upset and on the verge of tears, and it wasn’t as if Tom felt bad for her - he didn’t really feel bad for people - but objectively speaking, knowing Nott, he didn’t think he was above doing what he was being accused of.
‘If I accuse him now and support Pucey, it can alienate Rosier and Lestrange again,’ Tom thought, before deciding that he wasn’t about to hold himself back just to keep people around him. He didn’t even want these people around him.
“If she’s lying, then surely that’s easy to prove,” he said. “Report the attack by her boyfriend, and request either veritaserum or the use of a pensieve. Easy as that. If she’s accusing you falsely, then surely you’d want to do something about it.”
“You actually believe her?” Lestrange asked, his voice louder in disbelief. “Are you delu—”
“It doesn’t matter lads, this isn’t worth it,” Avery interrupted. “Slytherin unity, keep that in mind!”
“Why would the truth threaten the Slytherin unity,” Tom asked mockingly. “And I haven’t said who I believe, Lestrange. If you believe that Nott didn’t do it, then what harm would providing proof then do? Surely it would only be beneficial. To clear his name.”
“You just hate me, don’t you,” Nott snapper, scowling at Tom. “You miserable little mud—”
“Someday,” Tom interrupted him quietly, head full of Unforgivables and body light with something that was joyous and powerful, “I will pluck your skeleton out of your body and leave you to rot, Eugene. You’re right - I don’t like you. The difference between you and I, however, is that I’m smarter, stronger, and capable of things not even your pesky little pureblood name can protect you from. Because, Eugene, you forget - you, and Dorian, and Chadwick, keep forgetting. You’re Slytherins, but I am Slytherin. And I’m done entertaining your bullshit.”
Nott’s face had lost all its colour, and Tom didn’t need to look at Lestrange to know that the other boy was equally alarmed. And while it would have felt natural to leave after delivering what was, essentially, a threat, Tom decided to push things even further and remain exactly where he was. He wasn’t going to move, he wasn’t going to be pushed out of any space that he wanted to occupy.
“Well,” Pucey said after a moment of silence. “The pastries are good. Would you like some, Tom?”
*
Madeleine hadn’t wanted an answer right away, which was something Harry was glad for.
In other circumstances, this would have been an easy thing for him to decline. Harry had never been one to prefer killing, even in battle: he’d always much rather disarm someone and let them be taken into custody, rather than end a life. Voldemort had been an exception, but even for him, well… Harry had travelled back in time to undo that particular death.
With Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry had wanted to avenge Sirius, but even then he had wanted to cause her pain, not kill her. Murder just wasn’t… it wasn’t something Harry had thought about as a viable option, really. Not to mention how utterly hypocritical he would feel if he reprimanded Tom for any questionable acts, with something like this hanging over his head.
And yet… Arcturus Black needed to be neutralized, there was no denying that.
Harry knew that Ron and Hermione would have understood his decision, no matter what he decided to do: they both knew that sometimes tough decisions needed to be made, and this was one hell of a tough decision.
And yet…
‘This is not the time to think about that,’ Harry decided when he arrived to the restaurant. It was, unsurprisingly, another upscale place that Harry would rather avoid. When Arcturus had given him the time and the place, Harry hadn’t wanted to risk an invitation to Grimmauld Place instead, and had simply accepted to come here.
“Good evening,” Harry said, sitting down, and accepting the menu that the server handed him. Arcturus smiled, and raised his glass of wine in what was some sort of a greeting gesture.
“Evening,” he said. “You look wonderful. How have you been?”
“Quite well,” Harry replied, mind already working a mile a minute to figure out how to insert the Malfoys into the conversation. “And you?”
“Much better now that you’re here,” Arcturus said.
“Oh, I’m sure that you haven’t had it easy,” Harry then continued. “I know that you and Lord Malfoy were friends. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Arcturus appeared visibly confused for a few heartbeats, before his expression melted into a sad smile: “Marchosias was… a man of character, but not one without flaws. I’m… I can only imagine the things he was involved in, and it seems that one of those things turned against him in the end. But, let us not discuss him, darling. How have you—”
“You mean there’s a chance that Lord Malfoy worked for Grindelwald?” Harry asked, as if he hadn’t noticed Arcturus’s attempt at changing the direction of the conversation. “I mean, ideologically I can see why he would, but he didn’t strike me as someone quite that… daring.”
Pleased for a reason Harry couldn’t figure out, Arcturus leaned back on his chair, his glass of wine refilling itself. “Well, yes, he had always been a coward, bless his soul. One who basks in the shadow of greater men. I used to mentor him, back in the day. But I’m sure you’d rather not discuss Grindelwald of all people—”
“I just wonder how many others agree with him,” Harry cut in again. “Aren’t you curious about it? Like I said, the ideology seems fairly straightforward. I suppose people could take issue with his methods…”
“He does divide opinions,” Arcturus said, side-stepping the trap to definitively express his opinions regarding Grindelwald’s actions. Yet he somehow didn’t seem to realize that his easy acceptance of what had been done to the Malfoys - even if Harry didn’t know for sure if he was to blame for it - was a red flag of its own.
A momentary silence took over the two when food was served, allowing Harry a moment to think of his next move. The moment the waiter left, he said: “Do you think there’s a risk that something like this will happen again? I mean… I just don’t know who else to ask about this, and it worries me. I know you are very knowledgeable, and probably have great insights on the possibilities of what could happen.”
“Grindelwald may continue to target high-profile families,” Arcturus said, once again visibly delighted by what he perceived as Harry’s high regard towards his opinions, “but he may also have had something specific against Marchosias. As I told you, they did work together, and I wouldn’t put it past the realm of possibilities that the assassination was targeted and deliberate.”
‘You’d know,’ Harry thought, munching on his roasted carrots. Merlin, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to exit the conversation for at least an hour and a half, and dodging Arcturus’s attempts at talk about the two of them on a personal level was going to be difficult. Which meant that his best chance at managing this meeting successfully was keep the focus on Arcturus’s favourite subject: the man himself.
“Well, I’m glad that you and others at the Ministry will keep us safe just fine,” Harry said, nodding. “What is it like, working there? I’m rarely in the building itself, so I know no one, and am just barely aware of elections when they pop up. Are there any prospects I should keep an eye on?”
“You know, that is a wonderful question,” Arcturus said, his smile now becoming wider. Harry knew that whoever the man named in a positive light now would be someone he ought to warn Madeleine about, which was why when he began talking, Harry listened.
It was all he could do, and though sometimes the steps forward were so little that they were hard to see, Harry had to keep believing that all this would lead to something good, eventually. And perhaps if he kept track of all these little steps, seeing them all come together would be easier.
It was all he could do, for now.
But only for now.