Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Ashes of Hope ❯ Chapter 11: Meeting 2 ( Chapter 11 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I hope you all know it, but here it is anyway I do not own Harry Potter and for the rest of the disclaimer please read Chapter 1

Chapter 11

Meeting two

Miles and miles away from London, near a little town in Scotland, beside a forest of trees and wildlife some would call enchanted, in a tower of a thousand-year-old stone castle, sat a most extraordinary office. In fact, with all of the shiny and colorful trinkets scattered about the room, one could only know it was an office by the presence of an ornate looking desk and the piles of papers that sat upon it.

Peering over paper after paper was a tall aged man with a cascading white beard and crescent shaped spectacles. This man, Albus Dumbledore, was as busy as one could be. He held the responsibility of simultaneously running one of the most prestigious Wizarding schools in Europe, acting as a personal advisor, albeit an often ignored one, to the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and leading the Order of the Phoenix, an opposition against Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore had caught the said potions master Snape had told him about three years ago on the anniversary of Harry's death and the man had confessed to the crimes he had committed.

Fudge after this revelation he had revealed about Harry's innocence had been ousted faster then you can see Voldemort.

After all he was the man who had killed all of humanity's last hope.

Yes, the papers nowadays covered all the deaths being attributed to not just `terrorists' per say in the muggle papers. But also covered the rise in deaths all over the world....

With nothing to live for, no one to give them hope. The light was steadily losing.

It was April 21, 2004, when suddenly the headmaster's hearth burst into emerald flames. One moment later did the head of an elderly woman appear in the fireplace. Her face was strained in barely restrained excitement and her eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Ah, Arabella! Good afternoon. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Albus! Harry Potter is alive!”

Suddenly, Dumbledore's pleasant smile dissipated, his eyes grew sad, and his posture drooped slightly. With a sigh, he remorsefully began, “Arabella, you must be mistaken. Harry died seven years ago.”

“No! I've never been more positive! I saw him with my own two eyes… he's alive and on the streets of London!” With that statement, some of Dumbledore's sorrow transformed into skepticism as he gave her a knowing look and adjusted his own glasses. “Albus! I know what I saw… I ran into him on the streets, and I didn't just recognize him… he recognized me, too!”

“Well, my dear, why don't you step through the floo and take a seat and tell me exactly what happened,” he responded kindly, motioning to a cushioned seat in front of his desk. A second later, the head of Mrs. Arabella Figg disappeared only to be replaced by her entire body as she carefully stepped through the fireplace. Once the squib was settled in the seat, Dumbledore motioned for her to continue and she began her account.

However, as soon as she mentioned the apparent age of Harry Potter, Dumbledore's aged eyes closed hopelessly. As hard as it was for him to believe that Harry Potter had survived both the Dementor's Kiss and his cremation, Dumbledore simply could not let himself believe that Harry was also de-aged.

“As wonderful as the prospect of Harry's return sounds, it's simply too improbable.”

“Improbable! Not impossible!”

“I'm sure this was just a case of mistaken identity, Arabella. I'm sorry you have gotten so worked up over it, but it's probably best if you just forget the incident and go home and have some rest. I'm sure Hestia Jones would be glad to come over sometime and give you company too.”

“Albus! Merlin's beard, just believe me this once. It was Harry! I should know, Merlin knows I've babysat him enough as a child… those Dursleys always abandoned him at my place.”

“Arabella-”

“He had the same messy black hair, the same bright green eyes, how could I mistake them? The same-”

“Arabella-”

“lanky build… and it sounded just like him, too, and-”

“Arabella!” At Dumbledore's outburst, the old squib's ramblings were stopped mid-sentence. Dumbledore had risen to his full height, and his eyes were shimmering beneath their spectacles as if they were moist. His face revealed a mix of sorrow, disappointment, and discomfort. When he finally regained his composure several minutes later, he sat back down behind his desk and dropped his aged head into his hands, his elbows sitting amidst the papers on his desk.

“Arabella, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my outburst, but I'm sorry for this misconception. In the midsummer of 1997, I saw Harry Potter fall to the ground soulless. I saw it Arabella, and I'll forever know my fault in his death. Alas, not even a miracle can undo the mistakes that have been made, and not even the boy-who-lived could return from the other world. I wish you were right, I truly wish it… but, it is simply impossible.”

Arabella sat motionless in her chair, her eyes downcast, seemingly contemplative of the past few minutes she had spent in the headmaster's office. Doubts were forming in her head when he finally resumed his speech.

“It was probably a trick of the light, or an effect of fatigue, or even a coincidental resemblance. I apologize for the consequence this must have had on your mood, but I think that a good night sleep may be in order.”

“Of course, Albus. You're probably right. It was just that… it really looked like him. I suppose I might have filled in the details, the resemblance I saw might have just been hopes… yes, yes, you're probably correct.”

Before the somber conversation could continue any further, a quick rap was heard on the door. In fact, the headmaster had been so consumed by the emotional exchange between himself and Arabella that he failed to even anticipate the visitors outside, as he usually could. After a quick glance at his desk, he announced, “Ah, come in Remus, Kingsley.”

As usual, the people entering the office were confused by Dumbledore's seeming all-knowingness. Shrugging it off, though, they entered the room. Upon seeing Mrs. Figg in the room, the two occupants stopped, wondering silently if they were interrupting.

“Good afternoon. Feel free to join us, we were simply enjoying a little discussion.” Despite the warm greeting, both Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin could tell the discussion must have been far from enjoyable simply by the subdued atmosphere of the room.

“Is everything alright?” Lupin questioned cautiously, wary of further upsetting the other two elderly occupants.

“Oh no, it's fine, I've calmed down, now. It's just that I thought I saw Harry Pot-”

“So how can I help you?” Dumbledore interrupted, watching Lupin's reaction closely. Shacklebolt, catching onto the name Arabella Figg had been about to say, and knowing how sensitive a topic this was for Lupin, quickly tried to change the subject by answering Dumbledore's question. However, Harry Potter was both a sensitive and important topic for Lupin, and so, not to be deterred, he interrupted his companion, barely allowing Shacklebolt to get a word in.

“What about Harry Potter, Arabella?” Lupin questioned sternly, completely turning his sight from Dumbledore's worried face.

Immediately realizing her mistake, the old squib tried to cover up her slip. “Oh it was nothing, forget about it.” Meanwhile, Dumbledore stood nervously, glancing between the occupants.

“No, you said you saw Harry Potter… what did you mean?”

“Remus! It was nothing, don't worry about it. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Where did you see him?”

“Remus, I think this is quite enough.” Dumbledore stood his full height once more, pressuring Lupin to back down. “Arabella came to me with private matters, and I would appreciate if you respected our privacy.”

Lupin's shoulders slumped and he looked downwards, quietly apologizing to the headmaster.

“It's quite alright, Remus. I apologize you had to overhear such a delicate subject. However, I believe you came to my office with a purpose, and at the moment, my attention is completely yours. I believe you have some news regarding your… assignment?”

“Ah yes,” Shacklebolt stepped in, relieving Remus of the unwanted attention. “At the moment, the ministry is tightening its regulations on werewolves. Because their allegiance is becoming so doubtful, and due to the general prejudice against them, Scrimgeour is feeling pressured into enacting more and more regulatory policies. I wouldn't be surprised if in another month or two, the government is reinstating the Werewolf Capture Act of 1978 and publishing the Werewolf Registry, as if it's not hard enough for a werewolf to find employment,” he continued, giving a sideways glance at Lupin who was looking distracted. He looked back at Dumbledore and continued.

“Unfortunately, I believe these actions are only making matters worse, as some pro-magical creature groups have suggested. The Coalition Against Inhumane Treatment of Non-Humans have proposed to the minister himself and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that isolating these groups, like the werewolves and vampires, only further encourages them to join Voldemort. From what Lupin has gathered, they have it mostly right. Lupin?”

Taking his cue, Lupin broke out of his memories and began explaining to Dumbledore the situation regarding the werewolves. Unfortunately, most of the news was bad. Fenrir Greyback was recruiting more followers than ever, especially considering the measures the government was taking against the entire werewolf population. As Lupin explained, it was getting so bad that even mothers and their children were siding with Greyback, and therefore Voldemort too, in order to receive protection from the Ministry of Magic. Lupin had been assigned to observe the werewolf community and offer Order of the Phoenix assistance to those still willing to oppose, or at least not side with, Voldemort, but his offers and pleas were reaching deaf ears; Voldemort's offers were simply too impressive.

After the brief report, Dumbledore's mood was more subdued than ever. By this point, his concern for the welfare of werewolves weighed more heavily on his mind than did the prospect of Harry Potter's unexpected survival. With a solemn nod of his head, he dismissed the two members of the Order of the Phoenix, leaving himself and Arabella alone. Before the old squib left his office too, Albus got one last comment in.

“Alas, Arabella, thank you for telling me what you believed to see, but please understand that there are more important matters than chasing improbable hopes and wishes. Hope is a delicate thing; it is a fire that can both guide and blind.” With that, Arabella Figg stepped into the fire.

Hours later, the old woman awoke to her doorbell ringing viciously. Pulling her old and worn-down body out of bed, she found her slippers and quickly glanced over at the clock. 12:56 AM.

Who in the world could be bothering her at this time, she wondered briefly. She slowly made her way through her bedroom, hallway, and parlor and soon found herself before the door. Her eyesight was too poor to distinguish the figure on the other side of the peephole and she hesitated to unlock the door.

What if there were Death Eaters, prepared to send a blunt message to all those who are willing to assist the Order of the Phoenix? Nevertheless, she was old, tired, and strong-willed. If by any chance death were to meet her at her own front door, she would give it a kind and proud reception. Gathering her courage, she opened the door, and her eyes befell an exhausted and gaunt face.

She stood at her threshold, baffled, as Remus Lupin questioned, “Wheredid you see Harry Potter?”