Chapter Text
"Are you sure about this?" Hermione worried for the millionth time. Harry heard Ron snort exasperatedly.
"Hermione, it's fine . Harry knows what he's doing. You do know what you're doing, right?" Ron added, a hint of anxiety entering his voice as well. Harry sighed.
"I'll go over the plan again, just in case you've forgotten. We're going to Apparate directly into the Ministry, into the Auror's office, underneath the Cloak. That Barnes bloke that Dumbledore told me about is working here. That's what you found out, right, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded, her bushy hair bouncing around her face. Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. "We'll use this once we get there, just to be extra cautious we're not seen by anybody. And then we'll ask Barnes whatever he knows about Voldemort."
Ron flinched. Harry chose to ignore this. Hermione wrung her hands nervously.
"Oh, but what if he doesn't want to talk, Harry? What if he sends us away? And alerts the Ministry?"
" Obliviate is a thing that exists, Hermione," said Ron irritably, and Hermione lowered her hands. "If it turns out he's some nutter, we'll just make sure he never knew we were there. Simple."
"But what if we're seen ?" Hermione persisted. "What if he's secretly a Death Eater? We know he was involved with You-Know-Who, we know they went to school together. What if —"
"Hermione," Harry said firmly, and she stopped talking. "It'll be fine. And if it's not, Ron's right, we can just erase his memory. We didn't learn nothing from Lockhart."
Ron sniggered as Harry spread the invisibility cloak over them and pulled out his wand.
"Right. On the count of three, then? One . . . two . . . three!"
There was a loud crack as they all spun on the spot and Disapparated.
They appeared a moment later inside the Ministry of Magic, in a deserted corner where they weren't likely to be discovered.
"Are we all here? Nobody Splinched?" Harry whispered, and both Ron and Hermione nodded.
"I'm alright. Might have lost a few eyelashes, though," Ron said, and Harry grinned before they walked as one towards the direction of the Auror's office.
As they got closer, Ron looked around at all the offices, each with a plaque bearing a name outside every door. Odd bangs and crashes came from a few, and blue sparks shot from underneath the doorframe of another.
"What's this bloke's name again?"
"William Barnes," Hermione answered automatically. "He became an Auror in 1981. Apparently he's quite revered."
"Look, that's his office," Harry said, pointing at a door at the very end of the hallway. It was quite shabby, with some questionable markings: long claw marks scarred the wood, and there were a few odd holes here and there that looked suspiciously as though they had been made by Muggle bullets. A small placard next to the door read "William Barnes, Senior Auror, Order of Merlin, First Class."
"Well, now or never," Ron said with slight apprehension as they slid the Invisibility Cloak off of themselves.
Harry raised his hand and rapped smartly on the door. They all waited with bated breath for at least thirty sec onds before Hermione sighed.
"Perhaps he's not in," she said dejectedly, and Ron groaned.
"We came all this way and he's not in? That git —"
"Well, it isn't as though he expected us, Ron," Hermione said irritably. "You can't really blame him."
Just as Harry began to scent an argument on the horizon, the door opened abruptly and silenced them.
A tall, handsome man stood in the doorway, looking at them with a slight frown. He looked to be in his early-to-mid forties, with graying, unruly auburn hair pulled back into a loop at the base of his neck. He wore a battered fur-lined jean jacket laden with patches, some of which Harry noticed were of Muggle bands. He wore a fingerless, dragon-hide glove on his right hand and a single earring dangled from his left ear. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized it was a skull and crossbones. All in all, the man reminded him somewhat of Bill Weasley.
As the man looked at them, Harry saw his bright hazel eyes dart up to the scar on Harry's forehead. His gaze slowly shifted to Ron and then Hermione, and understanding dawned on his slightly weathered face.
"So," he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, which was a bit stubbly. "It's you."
"A-are you William Barnes?" Hermione asked timidly, and the man looked over at her.
"That I am. I assume you're Hermione Granger?"
She nodded nervously as Barnes glanced over at Ron. "And you're Arthur's boy. Ron, is it? Should've figured you lot’d be coming by soon, what with all the . . . happenings."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared a glance before looking back up at the man, who was taller even than Ron by a good two inches.
"How did you figure that, Mr. Barnes?" Hermione asked, and Barnes gave them a tight smile.
"I think I have an idea of why you're here, but why don't you come inside and confirm my suspicions over biscuits and tea?" Barnes stepped back, holding the door open so they could enter.
Harry quickly stowed the Invisibility Cloak before sitting down in front of the small and rather shabby fireplace situated against the right wall of Barnes's office. Barnes pointed his wand at the empty fireplace, and immediately flames sprang from the hearth. Another wave of his wand, and he'd conjured four teacups and saucers, which floated gently into Harry, Ron, and Hermione's hands.
Harry looked around the (rather cramped) room and noticed a familiar stone dish sitting on a table on the far side of the room — a Pensieve. He was surprised; he'd thought Hogwarts was the only place that had one.
"Biscuits, anyone? They're a bit stale, sorry about that . . . ."
When Ron and Hermione refused quietly, Harry took one to be polite, although he nearly broke his tooth when he tried to bite into it. He was reminded forcibly of Hagrid's cooking.
"Right, then," Barnes said, leaning casually against the fireplace (Harry noticed he'd passed on the biscuits, instead pouring himself a glass of mulled mead). "Why don't you three tell me why you're here?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared a look before Hermione spoke up.
"Well, you see, sir . . . Harry here, um, knew Professor Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was, um . . . well, he was giving him, er, tips on how to stop You-Know-Who. And he showed him, er, memories, I think, and he told Harry that You-Know-Who was always hanging around with someone called William Barnes. Um, so we did some research and found you worked here, and . . . we were wondering if perhaps you could tell us . . . any information that might help us stop You-Know-Who." Hermione finished anxiously, pulling at a strand of bushy hair.
Barnes sighed deeply and nodded slowly. "Yes," he said soft ly, after a moment's silence. "Yes, I knew Tom."
"And if you — if you don't mind me asking, sir," Hermione interjected, and Barnes looked up again, a hollow look in his eyes, "if you knew You-Know-Who, then that would make you much older, right? So why, um . . . why do you look so . . . ."
Hermione trailed off, her face blazing, and Barnes actually smiled at this, showing dimples.
"So young?" Barnes supplied, and Harry saw Ron frown in confusion.
"No way," Ron blurted. "But that would make you . . . what, in your sixties?"
"Seventy, actually, this past January," Barnes said casually, and when Ron's mouth dropped open, Barnes held up a hand.
"Allow me to explain. As you may have noticed, I am an Auror. This is a very taxing job, both physically and mentally, and the Ministry usually forces those that have . . . ah, reached their limit into retirement. You saw how they reacted to Alastor Moody."
"Yeah, called him a nutter. Thought he'd lost it," Ron said, and Barnes nodded, swilling his glass of mead around.
"Exactly. I love my job, see. Didn't want to lose it — important work to be done, and all. So, you know, a few age and youth potions here, a couple of spells there . . . well. It worked out for the best, though, eh? My joints don't hurt anymore, anyway."
"Wait, so . . . what year did you start Hogwarts, then?" Ron asked with a frown, and Barnes gave him a tight smile.
"Well, that brings us back to our story, doesn't it?" Barnes said rhetorically, throwing back the last of his mead before setting his glass down on his desk and heaving a quiet sigh.
"I began attending Hogwarts in September of 1938. I was tremendously excited — my mother, a witch who had attended herself, had told me all about the castle. I couldn't wait to attend. I wasn't disappointed, of course," he added, "not at all. I became even more enthusiastic when I made a friend on the train. I suppose you can guess who that was."
Harry's eyes widened. "No way. You were on the train with Voldemort ?"
Barnes smiled, in a bittersweet sort of way.
"Well, Harry, this was decades before anyone knew what Tom was to become. But, to answer your question . . . yes, I met Tom on our first journey to Hogwarts. We were both first years, excited about the coming months at school, although in entirely different ways. Where I was bouncing up and down in my seat, Tom's eagerness was quietly simmering within him. He was never outward with his emotions.
"We got to talking, and although Tom said much less than I, we had a mutual sort of respect for each other. Naive as I was, I thought we were friends. Looking back . . . I don't think he saw it that way."
"You mean he didn't like you?" Ron asked, and Barnes chuckled drily.
"Lord Voldemort is the type to have followers, Ron. Not friends. I am not sure he has ever had what he considers a friend in his entire life, although I tried very hard to be just that."
Ron flinched at Barnes's use of the name, but Barnes appeared not to notice.
"Looking back, I see that he acted like my friend. Or, at least, what he thought a friend should act like. At the time, I thought we were the best of friends. Real proud of that, I was. And why shouldn't I have been? Prefect, Head Boy, top of every class . . . people were queuing up to be mates with him. I spent much of my time at Hogwarts by his side, and he by mine."
"But if he acted like a friend to you, don't you think . . . well, do you think he actually felt like you were his friend? Just a little bit? I mean, he didn't hate you, did he?" Hermione asked, and Barnes shrugged before sticking his hands in his pockets.
"How should I know? Let me put it this way, Miss Granger. The moment I think I've figured out what's going through Lord Voldemort's head is the moment my goose is well and truly cooked. I certainly tried to be nothing but kind to him when I knew him, going so far as to offer him a place to stay during the summers — an offer he never took me up on, by the way. I knew he was a troubled boy. I think I sensed something was, indeed, deeply wrong with him, and as I am a very empathetic person, perhaps to a fault — I wanted to help him. To do anything I could to make him feel better. I cared for him."
"But it didn't work, did it? I mean, he still became Voldemort in the end, didn't he?" Harry asked bluntly, and Barnes sighed again.
"I don't know whether or not my kindness had any effect on what he was to become. However, as the years passed, we got to know each other better. We became the best of friends — or so I thought. I don't know how he viewed our relationship. I just know that it seemed to me as though we were very close. And, indeed," Barnes said, pausing for a moment, "he seemed to think so, too. For instance, he revealed much information to me, information he didn't tell his minions, the thugs who followed him around like lost puppies. I don't know if this was a manipulation tactic or if he just genuinely wanted me to know. Indeed, when we first met, he told me he could speak to snakes, and he ended up teaching me Parseltongue, in which I am still fluent."
Ron's jaw dropped, and Harry's eyes widened.
"You're — you're a Parselmouth?"
Barnes nodded. "Not born, but learned. Of course, I don't use it very much, but I still think it's a handy skill to have."
"Wicked," Ron breathed, and Barnes smiled.
"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Weasley. He taught me other such skills, too . . . things they wouldn't teach us in class — and for good reason. Many of those spells are outlawed today. Tom was the one who taught me the Cruciatus Curse, in our third year. He came up with a lot of his own jinxes and curses, the knowledge of which only I was privy to.”
"But — but why ?" Hermione blurted, and when Barnes looked over at her, she blushed. "Sorry, I just — if he saw you as his enemy, why would he teach you these things? Couldn't you use them against him?"
"Yeah, and he's the one who kept going on about blood purity in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry interjected. "So why would he teach one of Salazar Slytherin's famed skills to . . . ."
"To a common Half-Blood?" Barnes asked with a smirk, but before Harry could reply, he shrugged. "I've no idea. I — hang on. Chamber of Secrets?"
When they'd all explained the events of their second year at Hogwarts, Barnes leaned back with a grim look on his face.
"I'm not surprised. 'Course, I knew about the Horcruxes, too. Not in extent, but . . . he'd mentioned researching them. I remember when Tom went to go ask Slughorn about them, 'cause he told me about that. I told him not to trifle with Horcruxes. Said it would be too dangerous. Did he listen? Evidently not." Barnes sighed and poured himself some more mead.
"I just can't understand why he'd reveal all this information to you. It doesn't make sense. He's secretive and cunning, isn't he? So he must have had a reason for telling you all this, right?" Hermione asked, and Barnes shrugged.
"No idea, darling." He took a large swig off his mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe it was because he didn't have anyone else to talk to about it. I always thought he just wanted someone to vent to, in which case I was happy to listen. Didn't think much of myself in those days, I can tell you that. My main focus was him. But when he asked me to join him and his friends, who would later become Death Eaters . . . I had to draw the line."
"Wait, he wanted you to become a Death Eater?! Really ?" Ron exclaimed loudly, and Barnes shushed him with a frantic look at the entrance to his office. He waved his wand hastily at the door and a couple of corks flew out from the rubbish bin to plug up the apparent bullet holes in the door.
" Sshh , can't go shouting that around, Weasley . . . but, yes, he did. I reckon he thought we were so close at that point, I'd do anything he wanted me to. See, I wasn't an idiot, and I wasn't half-bad at magic, either. Tom may have gotten all the recognition, being Head Boy and whatnot, but our grades were on par with each other. Besides, I figure he thought he’d have more sway over me, since at that point in time, our relationship was . . . well, a bit different, I suppose," Barnes added in a mutter, going a bit red in the face as he sipped his mead.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean different , Mr. Barnes?"
"Ah, well," Barnes said with a hiccup, his tone now a bit uncomfortable. "In our third year and onwards, we, ehm . . . got a bit involved , one might say. Probably just another manipulation tactic, looking back, that's probably what it was — but at the time, I was quite taken with him."
There was a beat of silence before Ron spluttered, "Wh — wait a second, you don't mean — you were snogging that nutter ?"
Harry rose up out of his chair angrily, fury coursing through his veins. This man in front of them — if Ron's interpretation was correct —
"You've been fraternizing with the enemy ?!" Harry exploded, pulling out his wand. "You've been — you — he killed my parents ! He killed Cedric! He killed countless people — and you snogged him ?!"
Now looking quite alarmed, Barnes stood up, wand in hand. "Mr. Potter —"
"But that's impossible!" Hermione said shrilly, sitting up straighter. "You-Know-Who doesn't have the capacity for love! That's why Harry is alive right now!"
Three pairs of eyes turned to Harry, who gripped his wand so tightly several red sparks shot out of it. Barnes sighed.
"Please calm down, all of you, and allow me to explain." Barnes said firmly, and Harry slowly sat back down, trying to control the fury that had been building up ever since Barnes had said he and Voldemort had been close.
"Firstly, I assure you that I am not fraternizing with the enemy, and I certainly am no Death Eater. The last time I saw Tom Riddle was the day we parted ways, on our last day of Hogwarts in 1945. I have not seen him since."
"Oh, come on," Ron protested loudly. "How is that possible? He was at large seventeen years ago! It's impossible not to have seen him —"
"His Death Eaters did most of the dirty work for him, Ron. Them I saw copious amounts of. I have countless scars from dueling them . However . . . I admit that I avoided any direct contact with Voldemort. I feared I would react badly. I feared that if it came down to me to curse him into oblivion, I would not be able to. And," Barnes added, sliding his wand back into his pocket, "I also feared that I would become too emotional if I saw . . . whatever Tom has become. As I said, I have not seen him since he was eighteen, just leaving Hogwarts, and leaving behind a gleaming reputation. I worried that seeing him now would tarnish my golden memory of him. It was foolhardy and cowardly, I know this. I just . . . ."
Barnes trailed off, and Hermione frowned.
"But of course he was using you, right? I mean, clearly he had a lasting impact on you. It even sort of . . . it sort of sounds like you still love him. So don't you think he'd use that?" She asked, and Barnes nodded.
"He did use me, Hermione. He tried to manipulate me into becoming one of his followers. I don't think he ever truly loved me as I loved him. If he did, I would be very surprised. That's what I'm saying. Our whole relationship was a sham. But I knew him best, however ironic that may be. And . . . I do not think that I still love him. I love . . . I love the memory of him. Of the witty, intelligent, handsome, charming boy he used to be."
Barnes's tone had turned slightly bitter, and Hermione fell silent. After a moment, Barnes looked up at them all, and Harry saw his gaze flit over to the Pensieve.
"I know this all must be incredibly confusing and upsetting for you to hear. Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you."