Chapter Text
Chapter 1 — The Tuesday
The heavy oak doors of Amelia Bones’s office clicked shut.
Harry stood in the green-tiled corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His hand was wrapped around Daphne’s. The air smelled of floor wax and stale tobacco. There was a blue umbrella leaning against the wall near the water cooler. It was missing its handle.
Down the hall, a Ministry clerk dropped a stack of purple interdepartmental memos. They fluttered to the ground in a disorganized heap. Letting out a long sigh, the clerk knelt to pick them up. He gathered the memos into a messy stack and went back to his desk.
Harry scratched at his neck. His collar was itching.
"Harry," Daphne whispered. Her fingernails dug into his palm.
"Did you feel it?" he asked.
Daphne pulled her coat tighter. "The Legilimency probe. It was blunt."
"It was him, I think."
"We have to move."
Harry let go of her hand. He pressed his palms against the wall, but it didn't help.
Pushing off the wall, they walked into the lift. A wizard in a lime green bowler hat nodded at them. Harry stared at the man's shoes. They were brown leather. The left lace was frayed.
Out through the phone box. A red double-decker bus splashed through a pothole and sent a wave of dirty street water over the pavement. The water soaked straight through his jeans and into his socks, making the denim heavy and cold against his skin.
His socks were wet.
Silver serpents. Tiny emerald eyes. Harry kept thinking about Lucius Malfoy’s cufflinks, the way they had caught the torchlight when he handed the heavy book to Moody two weeks ago. Harry couldn't remember a single word Moody had said in response. Couldn't even remember which hand.
With a sharp crack, they Apparated.
They appeared in the cramped living room of the Godric’s Hollow safe house.
Water from his jeans dripped onto the worn rug.
Daphne immediately shucked off her coat. She threw it over the back of an armchair. "We need to dry these," she said, looking at her boots. "If we have to run again tonight, I am not doing it with damp leather."
"Voldemort is real," Harry said to the room. "I saw Cedric die."
Struggling with a knotted shoelace, Daphne didn't look up. "We know he's real, Harry. Pass me my wand, it's in the coat pocket."
"They aren't faking him."
Leaving her boot half-unlaced, Daphne finally looked up. "They aren't faking the monster. They’re managing him. They point him at things."
"Dumbledore wouldn't."
Daphne let out a short, frustrated breath. "Harry, who tells the Order where to go?"
Harry didn't answer. He looked at the coffee table. Sitting next to a chipped teacup was an unopened letter from Hermione. It had arrived three days ago.
Picking up the letter, he shoved it into the drawer of the end table. He pushed the drawer shut, but it stuck halfway. He hit it with the heel of his hand. It rattled, but it closed.
"I keep thinking about first year," he said quietly. "The Mirror. The Stone. The way those obstacles were perfectly designed for three eleven-year-olds."
He stepped forward. His wet shoe caught the edge of the small wooden coffee table. He kicked it, hard. It clattered against the wall. The teacup shattered across the floorboards.
Harry stared at the broken porcelain. The jagged white shards lay scattered across the dull wood. He remembered Ron sitting at the Gryffindor table in second year, laughing so hard at a joke Fred had told that pumpkin juice shot violently out of his nose. It had pooled on the ancient wood of the Great Hall table in a sticky, bright orange puddle. Hermione had dropped her spoon in disgust.
"Harry, I am bare-footed," Daphne snapped, pulling her legs up onto the sofa.
He blinked, pulling his eyes away from the shards.
"Was Sirius in the ledger?" Harry asked.
"I don't know."
"I keep waiting for someone to walk in and tell me this is a practical exam."
"It's not." Leaning over, she picked up a shard of the teacup that had landed on the cushion and placed it on the side table.
"And that was the only clean mug," Daphne added.
"Did you lock the door?"
Harry blinked. "What?"
"The front door. Did you lock it?"
"The wards are up."
"Check the deadbolt anyway."
Walking over, he checked it. It was locked.
"What do we do?" he asked, returning to the center of the room.
There was a cracked electrical socket near the skirting board. It didn't look like it had been used in decades.
Daphne stared at her wet boots on the rug. "The Unspeakables' archives."
"Use it to expose them."
Daphne looked down at his wet shoes. "We could leverage it."
Harry looked at her.
"To survive," she said. "If we release it, the Ministry collapses. Voldemort slaughters everyone." She rubbed her arms. "My father used to say the Ministry was like a clock. If one gear breaks, the whole thing eats itself."
"I won't blackmail them."
"I'm just saying we have options."
"No, we don't." Harry stepped backward, avoiding the broken cup.
Reaching into her pocket, Daphne pulled out the crumpled Ministry visitor pass they had been issued an hour ago, and began folding it in half. Then in half again.
"Fine," she said. "I need to find my other shoes."