Helen Potter and the War Child *YEAR FOUR*

Helen Potter and the War Child

Smoke wafted down the streets as the steady western wind pushed it onward. Pushed it away. They had gathered and the result was as it always was, what they had been made, it was this. Burned houses, lifeless eyes, death. It was the fifth raid in the last month, and it was likely not to be the last. The masked figures in the obsidian robes looked around at their work and were satisfied. The message had been sent. You can’t hide, not even among the muggles. No one is safe from the dark hand of Lord Voldemort.

Suddenly there were several large cracks and the figures were gone. Only the orange glow of the flames remained as their calling card. The flames and the sickly skull floating overhead. The wait was over; war had come again. The announcement had been made only a few short weeks ago and now all would know it would carry on. This world of peace and love would be turned on its ear. The light of peace would once again be darkened by the shadows of the Dark Lord and his army. Once more death and destruction would reign over their world and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Lucius looked around the rubble with a blank expression. It was a well-practiced look he had honed over the years. A look that kept him safe, kept his family safe, but most of all kept his mind occupied. His layers had to stay in place, no one could know. But deep in the recesses of his mind, he was sickened. Deep in the place the Dark Lord could not find, he wept. This war would destroy what was left of his retched soul. The dark one would see to that. This was not the time to gather his thoughts though. Suspicion was a dangerous thing. Turning on the spot he disappeared into the night. Disappeared into hell. He didn’t care which anymore. So long as he could see his family safe it didn’t matter.

He appeared in a dale where what remained of the Dark Lord sat waiting. What he called a body was a rotted husk and he could no longer take over others. He was weak and pathetic, but Lucius locked that thought even deeper than the others. Flesh was missing from his boney hands, and his face had gaping holes in the cheeks. The two glowing points were centered in milky white orbs, and they burned with malevolence. Lucius tried not to let his fear show.

“Is it done?” the Dark Lord’s voice hissed out, all gravel filled sibilance.

“Yes, my lord. Fudge is dead.”

His eyes locked with Lucius’s, and he felt the pressure of the Dark Lord’s mind bearing down on his. There was no request in the force and intensity. Nothing gentle about the assault. The Dark Lord cared nothing for his followers. Only what they could do for him. So, raping open their minds was nothing to him. He did at least command, “Let me see.”

He couldn’t keep the man out, no matter how hard he tried. But that wasn’t the job. No, the job was to collect intelligence and feed this rotted human piece of… Lucius shunted that thought away from the images he needed to see. Anything too strong, too pure, the Dark Lord would see. He had to be submissive, he had to be the servant. Severus had taught him. Taught him to layer the mundane with stories, with lies, with half-truths, and with fantasies. He could release the thoughts he wished to surface beyond the layers, but the trick was not to let it surface too fast. Like a diver in the deeps the memory had to take its time so that it wasn’t full of bubbles of the truth.

The man in the lime green suit coward at his feet begging, pleading, for his life. There would be no mercy. Lucius had two jobs to do and neither of them involved showing pity for the man who pilfered his vaults to run his campaigns, who used the status of others to bolster his own, and who dared to work for the odious one. But all Voldemort saw was a loyal Death Eater. He saw Lucius Malfoy pass his test. Two words, a green flash of light, and death. The Dark Lord had ordered it done, Severus had ordered it done, and so the man had outlived his usefulness to both sides in a war he had tried to profit by. That was why the odious one felt his gratification at a job well done. The man he had killed was scum. Worse than those he feigned to call friends.

“Good my son, good. Now, rest easy. Your task is done. Go now, we will summon you again when it is time.”

“Time, my Lord?” He pushed out thoughts of curiosity, joy at his master’s power, “Do you mean your return? Is the hour finally at hand?”

“Not yet, my son. But soon. Now go, I require rest.”

Lucius bowed, “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Helen,” Severus called, “We are already running behind. What are you doing?”

They were strewn over her bed. Copies of the Daily Profit with their dark photos. Pictures taken in the aftermath of the horror that had been unleashed. The first was on the last day of school. The Leaky Cauldron that they all knew so well. Charred black like the bodies of those who patronized the inn. The moving picture showed ministry workers, unnoticed by the muggles on the street, working to clear the rubble. The second was a family, still perfect, looking so alive. She knew the boy, only a few days ago she had sicced bats on him. Marcus Flint and his entire family had been branded with the dark mark and left tied to the front of their own home. Their eyes stared, forever unseeing, into nothingness. Looks of terror etched on their faces.

But the one that had been the most upsetting for their entire household was the pictures of Malfoy Manor with flames leaping from the windows. The peacocks had been butchered, and the gardens and grounds ripped apart in a fit of fury. The hardest blow was the headless dog. Draco had spent the night in her room in tears and Narcissa was withdrawn the rest of the week. Had they not joined them here they very well could have been in the house when it burned. But she was thankful they were here.

But she couldn’t get over the pain. So many were suffering, and for what? The vanity of a madman. The slights felt by a pathetic boy who knew not parent or friend. But most of all, because some people were just blind. She tried not to hate them. It was a useless feeling. An empty feeling. She was, mostly, successful. She loathed them, she despised them. But no, she did not hate them.

She tried in vain to dry the tears that wouldn’t stop. Because this time, this time she had caused this. She had ordered word spread of Fudge’s duplicity. She had emptied the files on the man so that all would know who he really was. And in so doing she had destroyed his usefulness to Tom. Now he was dead. Moldering in a grave of his making and her filling.

“This isn’t your fault,” Severus told her softly. His black eyes were filled with kindness as he stood leaning against the door frame. A man who was famed for his snarky demeanor made all the bad things seem small. But this wasn’t small, he knew that, “Fudge made his choices, and none of them were good.”

“I shouldn’t have had you leak all of his information. He was a player that we knew, he had use.”

“He was a player that I sacrificed. Lucius was sent to kill him, as a test. I ordered him to pass. So, you are not responsible.”

“You ordered it?” she asked shocked.

“Lucius, or Fudge. The equation was simple. Lucius is my best agent; Fudge was someone I could watch. I also won’t lose sleep over it. He tried for too long to make Voldemort’s dreams a legal reality.”

“But I destroyed his usefulness to Tom.”

Laughing, Severus sat, “No, he did that himself. He lost the election. Nothing I released would do what you think you did. All you did was embarrass him. Now, come, we must collect Miss Granger. We have an airship to catch.”

“What about Draco and Narcissa?”

“They are quite ready. We are just waiting on you. So, are you coming?”

She put her trunk in her pocket and slipped her feet into her shoes, “I had better, or Draco will get his panties in a twist. Let’s go dad. Before we get too busy.”

It was a suburb like many others. Neatly tended gardens with cookie cutter houses. Each house had a sensible car in the drive, and they paid their taxes on time. Most of the homes held a husband, a wife, and the requisite two and a half children. The half was usually a yappy little dog that was trendy when it was purchased, or a cat that was pampered to plumpness. Like all suburbs it hid truth behind the perfect gardens and identical houses.

For the Grangers it hid a uniqueness. While the other children went off to the local school, the Grangers only daughter went to a school for witches. She was learning to use magic, and it was a secret the Grangers had to protect. Others of their kind would never understand. Theirs was a harmless secret. Or so they thought.

The door to their sensible home burst open, a bright orange light continuing past them. And people; men, women, they were unsure, entered their home. Mister Granger rushed toward them, but a flash of green left him laying staring at the ceiling. His lifeless eyes and beloved face would never shine a smile at her again. The scream that rang out caught everyone by surprise. The daughter pulled her wand but was struck and the shaft of wood went flying. She saw her most valuable tool clatter to the floor out of reach. She wasn’t done. Her fist erupted in fire, but before she could do anything with it a red light slammed into her. The world tilted and she felt herself flying through the air, and then darkness.

When Hermione came to, she was bound, and her mother was weeping. Not over her father, but under the wands of the sadist who had entered their home. She tried to free herself so she could fight back, but the ropes were too tight. She tried to look away, but a fist in her hair forced her head back to the sight of her mother as the wands left slash after slash over her skin. They asked one quest, what is the spell. They asked over and over again, but they had been careful. They had taken the memory of the spell and locked it away in her pensive at Hogwarts. She could do nothing.

Slices and crucio and kicks and punches and all she could do was cry as they tormented her mother. Then all hell broke loose. Multiple loud bangs filled the house and aurors threw spells at their targets. The Death Eaters deflected them away. Pictures shattered, walls blew apart, and furniture was smashed. The quiet of the suburbs was shattered by raised voices and flashing lights. But it wasn’t the police. The lights were to many different colors. Then there were a few quick bangs and the danger was past. Hermione could finally go to her parents.

Her dad was gone. The man who had sat her upon his knee and taught her to read. What was left of her mum just rocked back and forth with blank eyes. Hermione understood. Her life had just changed forever. Her life as she knew it was over. Like her friend the future she had with her parents had just been killed. Her dad was gone and her mother was as good as. The tears came then.

When they arrived to collect Hermione, they were greeted with the sight of the Dark Mark high overhead and a group of aurors keeping all away. But the sight of Helen Potter moved them out of their path. Helen ran as fast as her legs could carry her up the street and into her friend’s home. Magic had restored it; Helen could feel the tingle in the air from the spells. She could feel the sickly remains of the killing curse and something else. Something just as foul. It had been cast over and over again. Held for long duration on whoever it was aimed at. Her eyes frantically searched. She hadn’t walked through time to save Hermione Granger only to lose her now. Then, she heard the sound. The soft sobs from upstairs. She ran up the steps and burst into her friend’s bedroom and finally breathed. There she was, on her bed wracked with sobs. Helen gathered her into her arms and held her tightly.

“Easy, luv. Breathe. Just cry and breathe.”

Time kept moving, but not for the three people in this room. The dark shadow that had rescued Helen stood in the doorway, an unmoving sentry crushed under the weight of failure. The young redhead silently cried as she held her friend and the brunette with the riot of curls wept at the loss. The sun tracked across the sky as they sat there, moving into the noon hour, dusk, and finally night. The full moon rose and the silver light touched the dark room. No one made to light it. The darkness was a comfort.

The aurors didn’t leave. The minister had given them very clear orders; they were to protect Helen Potter and Hermione Granger. With their lives if necessary. So, while the two girls stood vigil for Hermione’s parents the aurors stood watch. This moment was not to be interrupted. A pyromancer was grieving.

When the sun returned the girl was finally ready to speak, “What happens to me now?”

Helen stroked her hair, “What were your parents’ wishes?”

“My grandparents, but they passed. I have no one.”

“Then you will come with us. We can work out the details later.”

“But you are going on holiday.”

Helen nodded, “Yes, we are. After we get your mum settled we will go. Get you out of England for a while.”

The shadow finally moved, “Helen is right, Hermione. You’ll come with us. I will personally see you want for nothing.”

Helen took her dad’s hand and gripped it tight, “We both will. Now come sister. We have to make arrangements.”

Saint Mungos was a wholly depressing place. From the fact that the entrance was a shuttered storefront, to the backroom feel, you never felt like you were in a reputable health facility. It was public healthcare at its best. Instead, Severus had recommended a facility in the states where she would receive better care. To that end they were at the New York Institute of Mediwizardry. Unlike the empty storefront of Saint Mungos, NYIM was a large marble complex that was hidden by its wards from non-mag eyes. The grey and white edifice sat on manicured lawns and inside it was bright with wide hallways and people. Actual people. They moved around, they spoke, they were alive. The psychiatric ward was a secure ward, but despite that it was comfortable and safe.

“I want her to have a private room,” Severus growled, “I don’t care about waiting lists or citizenship. She was tortured by dark wizards and requires safety and care.”

“Of course, Professor Snape. The Magical Congress has granted her emergency citizenship under the Emergency Guarded Citizens Act. We have a room on our long-term care ward ready for her and will transport her as soon as her next of kin signs the forms.”

He read through the contracts with Hermione and instructed her on where to sign when he was sure there were no surprises. Five minutes later a nurse came to show Hermione back to her mother’s room. Helen was distant now that Hermione was gone and she stared at the seascape across from the bench. It wasn’t a magical painting, but the longer she stared at it; at the brush strokes, the blended colors… she felt like she could see the waves rolling over the rocks. The spray of water as it rushed over stone. If she could see the motion that wasn’t there then maybe if she gazed at the canvas long enough she could banish the feeling inside her. The guilt, the pain, and most importantly the devastation.

“You are not at fault for what happened. I personally ordered protection for Hermione’s parents. Brondy was killed and Motz will be in Saint Mungos for at least a month.”

“Albus told me there would be a price. That to save Hermione it would cost a life.” She looked at him with empty eyes, “I saved Hermione knowing that it was going to be a life for a life. I had thought it would be mine.”

He looked startled, “You went ahead thinking it was going to cost you your life?”

“Yea, I did.” She patted his hand in an effort to calm him, “Not directly mine. I had honestly thought you would die or Sirius. I was counting on my ability to stop it should it come to that.”

Severus snorted, “So, you were willing to sacrifice me.”

“No,” she looked at her shoes, “I wanted to die in that moment. Hermione’s life was worth that sacrifice to me. I didn’t think it would be her dad. And her mum… gods, what they did to her mum.”

“And none of that was your fault. The Dark Lord ordered her taken. Through those actions he discovered she knew of a spell that he could quite possibly use to get a new body. Through that discovery he decided that the knowledge Hermione had was worth a raid. You made none of the choices involved.”

“You’re wrong, dad.” She met his eyes directly, “I chose to save Hermione. Had she died her parents would have been left unharmed.”

“In a second I would give my life without thought for yours. You would give your life for mine and Hermione’s. Do you think her parents would do any less?”

“It was still my choice.”

Hermione stepped into her eyeline, “No, it was mine. I chose to ask your dad to let me help him research. I took my notebook out of the library, knowing the danger inside. You just saved my life.”

“You don’t hate me?”

Hermione took her face in her hands, “No. You are my sister. And now you are the only family I have left. Your dad is helping me liquidate their assets, convert it all to wizarding funds, and get my mum taken care of. You are here for me, when I need you most. But I will tell you who I do hate. Tom fucking Riddle. You have your second. It is now my life’s mission to help you end Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”