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Harry Evans Chapter 131: Information Batch
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 18:44:21 +0000 UTCCharon sat in his adult form, clad in black rags, in an environment that starkly contrasted with his appearance. A luxurious mansion reminiscent of Versailles with ceilings as high as some buildings and full of white marble and golden inlays.
Malfoy Manor, an opulent place, but a fallen family.
A twitch of his finger and the elaborate porcelain teacup on the table in front of him flew up for him to take a sip.
“I’m quite pleased at your progress, Draco,” Charon said to the platinum-haired boy.
The boy proudly tilted up his head. His progress had surprised Harry; after all, it had been six months since their last session, and he knew that the boy didn’t have a practice partner.
This meant that he’d progressed to this point simply through reflection, meditation and the study of theory.
“Thank you, master,” Draco said. His mother, sitting next to him in a lush purple armchair, extended a hand to stroke his head.
“The security rating?” Narcissa asked curiously.
“It would be hard to stand against a full-on assault by a competent legilimens,” Charon muttered. “But he’s at the level where he can at least notice a probe and break eye contact against anyone but the best.” Thankfully, his own legilimency was improving at a faster pace than Draco’s occlumency, so he could continue with his bluff that he was simply attacking crudely for the sake of practice. “The only people who he might not be able to detect are…” he hummed. “Me, of course,” he lied, like a liar, “and Dumbledore, he's one of the most subtle legilimens I know.”
“Nothing you can’t deal with, master,” Draco said, sucking up to the perceived powerful wizard.
“In the arena of the mind arts, the headmaster is not my equal, but one should never be arrogant,” he cautioned. “How have your studies been going?”
Harry knew, of course, but asked for the sake of his persona. Draco flushed angrily at the mention of Hogwarts.
“Not now, Draco,” his mother hissed.
The boy reluctantly nodded. “I had high marks in all the core subjects. Only Astronomy and History weren’t to my tastes.”
Harry knew that the boy had placed second to Hermione Granger in most subjects, likely the reason he was angry. Of course, there was another.
“Beauxbatons will have a better history teacher,” Charon remarked idly. “It’s most important to learn about the past. The subject being taught by a ghost is a political crime, quite frankly.” He switched to French. “How are your language skills going? The classes will be in French after all.”
Draco blinked in surprise before replying in the same. “I’ve been speaking it since childhood, the Malfoys were originally a French family.”
It wasn’t that impressive considering that even Muggles often achieved bilinguality without the help of language tonics, but it was nice to see that Draco had prepared.
“We will be staying at our properties in France starting this summer. Will it be a problem?” Narcissa asked, joining the conversation. She’d gotten to know the truth about the diary having been important to Voldemort and the fact that the man wasn’t quite as dead as everyone hoped. She’d made, quite frankly, the smartest decision Harry had seen anyone make after learning that information. Draco was switching schools, and the Malfoys would spend the next few years on the continent until Draco was an adult, at which point they could return, perhaps with some new allies.
Charon shook his head. “Britain or France, it’s the same for me. Quite frankly, I prefer the latter.” He paused. “The food is better.”
Narcissa laughed before patting her son on the head. “Go fly, you deserve it,” she told her son. “There’s a new broom waiting for you in the shed.” She winked.
Draco didn’t need any more prompting and scampered off.
“Nimbus 2001?” Harry asked curiously.
“Of course,” Narcissa replied, as if it was normal to give the equivalent of a racing car to a twelve-year-old.
Well, for families as rich as the Malfoys…
“Do you think that-” Narcissa started before suddenly being interrupted by a house elf popping into existence next to her.
It was a small pathetic thing dressed in a filthy tea towel. “La-Lady, Fudgeys is at the floo call again,” the female creature said pathetically.
Narcissa sighed in a very unladylike manner before pulling out a wand and sending a stinging hex at her servant. “Go tell him I’m busy,” she said harshly.
The house-elf popped away.
“I’m leaving soon regardless,” Charon said, “there’s no need to deny the minister for my sake.”
Narcissa sniffed contemptuously. “The buffon has been seeking me out for the last months after I donated to his campaign. His wife died in that horrible werewolf attack. I’m quite certain he’s courting me, although I can’t tell through all his blubbering.”
Fudge had stolen Harry’s cred for killing Greyback for his political campaign. Perhaps he’d even won the election off his supposed ability to resolve a case James Potter had been struggling with.
“He doesn’t seem all too incompetent,” Harry said. “Although he’s most certainly a vulture. He has a political career, but not the legitimacy and the money.”
“He keeps wanting to meet me at the manor rather than outside it; it’s incredibly crude,” Narcissa said with a sigh.
“There is a certain power in stringing along those of influence,” Harry said, remembering Queen Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen, who had allowed all to court her, but none to marry. They wanted the throne, but through their desires, they had allowed Elizabeth to keep it.
“Fudge is a tool, not a person,” Narcissa said harshly before shaking her head. “I imagine he’ll leave me alone once I leave the country. He can’t possibly have the time to bother me across an entire sea.”
“When are you leaving?” Charon asked.
Narcissa pursed her lips. “Next week, Draco is cross with me over my decision, but he’ll get over it. He enjoyed Hogwarts, to an extent. He doesn’t want to be perceived as running away.”
“It would have been smarter to have enrolled him at Beauxbatons already for his first year. Stage a return of the prince,” Charon muttered quietly. Some accomplishments here, some articles there and those who’d known Draco as a child in Britain would be imagining a larger-than-life ideal in the boy’s absence as he grew up.
Also, Britain was isolated because of their recent war, the foreign was once again being viewed with a certain interest, even if it was hidden beneath an English scowl at the difference.
“I couldn’t have imagined that…” Narcissa muttered angrily.
“Well, considering the meaning of Voldemort in French, it does seem a bit on the nose in hindsight, doesn’t it?” Harry snickered.
Narcissa sighed, likely cringing about what kind of idiot her husband had given his life for. “Don’t remind me. I used to interpret it as “Flight of Death,” rather than “Flight from Death.”
“Well, flight of death is the more immediate translation, although the double entendre is quite funny. A man scared of death inflicts on others while running from his fear.” Charon stood up. “Regardless, I will be taking my leave. I look forward to enjoying a cup of tea at your French property. Do have a grand week,” he said before twisting in on himself and disappearing.
Harry had recently learned to communicate with Dobby telepathically as their bond grew stronger, which eased teleportation. They popped across the English countryside for a few minutes before ending up in Harry’s little clearing near Surrey. Once there, he divested himself of his rags, drank the antidote to the ageing potion and stepped outside to eat an apple from the ever-full apple tree protecting his secret space.
“Dobby,” Harry started, causing the house-elf to materialise in all his butler-esque glory.
“Yes, Master?”
“Can you pop to Azkaban?” he asked, causing his employee to pause.
“Unfortunately not, master,” the small creature replied sadly.
“As expected, one of the few places where such a loophole would not be permitted, especially considering the clientele of the place,” Harry muttered. “Let’s go towards the discussed meeting point with our friendly neighbourhood reporter, then, shall we?” he asked.
It was time to meet Skeeter and figure out their next steps in this mess of an investigation.
-/-
Harry’s summer was very busy. He was still teaching Draco, a deal that was getting him quite a lot of money and access to rare books in the Malfoy personal library. In addition to this, he had promised to help Penny study for her advancement exam while also studying transfiguration on his own.
Harry was also restarting his efforts in enchantment because Dumbledore had promised to help him with the Pensieve if he presented a sufficiently complex enchanted object.
Nevertheless, despite all of this, the most important part of the summer was doubtlessly the following meeting.
There was a fire burning inside Harry’s veins. The fire of rage. It had only grown, rather than diminished, over the years. His mother’s diary, in particular, had been particularly inflammatory fuel.
A lot of stories dealt with the pointlessness of revenge, how, if one went on a journey of vengeance, one should dig two graves.
It was easy to nod along to these narratives, consider oneself enlightened, while those who lost themselves in anger were foolish.
But it was hard to maintain that attitude when it was one’s own mother who had been assaulted and killed before even becoming a fully-fledged adult.
This hatred, the hatred of revenge, was what had allowed him to so easily switch between the patronus and the killing curse against Voldemort at the end of last year.
It was this hate that drove him to uncover more and more about the tragedy, despite the fact that every new piece of information tore a fresh hole in his heart that wouldn’t close until the person responsible was a broken, whimpering mass of mutilated flesh beneath his steel-toed boots.
“I already inquired,” Skeeter muttered in the Muggle cafe. “But Rosier is in the maximum security wing. He’s not getting any visitors. His family’s all dead, and he never married and since only familial or spousal visits are allowed…”
“Fuck,” Harry cursed, angrily eating the honey cake in front of him. He finished chewing and pointed the small silver fork at the blonde woman sitting across from him. “If those fuckers were alive, I could have probably snuck in with polyjuice.” Barty Crouch Jr. had been sneaked out of Azkaban with polyjuice, so Harry was sure it was possible to sneak it.
What other options were available?
Neville’s invisibility cloak would likely work, but considering its status as a family heirloom, James Potter would probably never let Harry borrow it from his son without an explanation as to why.
Harry didn’t feel like explaining to an Auror that he would use it to sneak into Azkaban.
“Azkaban is quite unpleasant. Are you sure you want to…” Skeeter interrupted his ranting with a concerned voice.
She was looking at him with the eyes of a concerned mother. The same eyes Petunia had sometimes. Harry clenched the fork in his hand tighter. He didn’t need pity.
“I know how to cast the patronus,” Harry replied. And my occlumency is good, he refrained from saying.
House-elves were out, visitations were out, the invisibility cloak was out of reach, not even considering how he would get to the island in the first place, he couldn’t very well swim in the thing.
His first guess was correct, as they often were. Animagus was the only way.
“Tell me again about the process to become an animagus,” Harry urged the woman sitting across from him.
They likely sounded insane to anyone listening in. That’s why they had a notice-me-not charm up over their table, alongside a muffling one just in case.
Skeeter crossed her arms over her toxic green dress. Her hair was not permed for once, resting stylishly in a pixie cut she’d definitely taken from the Muggle world. “It’s complicated, are you really sure?” she asked.
Harry shook his head. “They learn it at 14 at Uagadou,” he replied. “Also, it’s not like I have a choice. You refuse to go, for example.”
Skeeter scowled. “I learned the transformation to avoid danger, not to run into its grasp, thank you very much.”
“I don’t blame you,” Harry said reassuringly. “It’s my quest. It’s just annoying to think that I might get a form that’s useless for actually getting there.”
A shrug. “You’ll just have to get lucky, although I will once again caution. Since Rosier can’t receive visitors, we don’t know anything about his mental state. He might not be able to provide any answers.”
I don’t care about his mental state, Harry, though, I’ll be ripping my answers straight out of his mind.
He paused.
If he was already breaking in… Well, hopefully… Maybe he could?
Maybe.
“It’s worth a try,” he said again.
“I’m only telling you since you’re apparently good enough to get your transfiguration O.W.L two years early,” Skeeter said. “I only succeeded a year after Hogwarts.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t have anything new to say. It’s the same information that is in the books you received from McGonagall. Hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month, full moon to full moon. Spit it out into a small crystal vial that has received the moonlight. If it's a cloudy day, you’re out of luck.”
Harry might have to do the process in Barcelona. Smaller chance of clouds.
Skeeter continued. “Add one of your hairs, dew that has not seen sunlight in seven days, on a silver teaspoon and the chrysalis of a Death ’s-head Hawk Moth. Put the mixture in a quiet and dark place. Wait for an electrical storm, chant the incantation with the wand tip to your heart. Move to a large place. Take the potion, which should be the red one, cast the incantation one last time, and viola. Dangers include, but are not limited to, loss of self, loss of limbs, permanent mutation to half-animal half-human, things like that.”
Harry scowled. “A ritual, yes, yes.”
“One you shouldn’t attempt until you have the ability to untransfigure yourself if things go wrong.”
Rubbing at his temples, Harry considered. The chrysalis of the moth was obviously connected to metamorphosis, but the change could result in any animal. There wasn’t a single way that he saw that could help him get the form of a bird. Any mental contamination, such as meditating on a desired animal for months before the change was noted to create abominations, half-desired form and half actual form.
It was better not to mess with the result and simply do it honestly; smarter people had tried, and failed horribly.
One of the most important books, one that Skeeter hadn’t heard of, given to him by the transfiguration professor, included a list of experiments that had failed in this regard. The professor was warning him.
Don’t get smart.
“Alright, I’ll have to see how soon I can study the deeper theory, learn the necessary precautionary spells and just hope Rosier doesn’t croak until then,” Harry decided.
Skeeter nodded, happy to finally be done with the topic. She was quite a shitty adult for letting a fourteen-year-old take such risks, but he appreciated the autonomy at least.
“Good,” the woman said, pulling out parchment and a quill from her crocodile skin purse. “Let’s start with the interview. First question, how is it that you’re pursuing your transfiguration O.W.L.s this year? You could have tried to advance two years ago when you did so in Charms and Arithmancy.”
Harry put on a fake smile. “I guess I just love learning,” he said through gritted teeth.
Comments
bor902
Blessed
bor902
It is a distinct possibility that this might or might not be the case
bor902
Outside badass, inside sweaty spaghetti
carebear90
I hope it's an Owl... or a Raven/Crow. What was his Patronus again? A Racoon?
carebear90
I wonder if Locket-Fudge was looking for the Diary. Perhaps he already noticed that all the other Horcruxes are missing?
Kris
I'm loving the fake-persona more every time I see it. Charon is a certified badass
Alkole
A type of bird would be a cool ass animagus form
Jubex
What is this timing. I just opened 30 seconds ago wondering if we will get a chapter today and I go up and its here.
