Chapter 9: The Bitter Truth
London, England
All Harry wanted for Christmas was to brood at Godric's Hollow. However, that seemed to be too much for Hermione and she had been such a good friend lately, that he had decided to make an exception to his self-imposed No Weasley ban and join her.
Besides, it was Christmas and while the Rumple part of him was more than content to mope and sit at Bae's gravesite, Harry wanted to be with some friends.
Though, Ron Weasley wasn't much of a friend if the last few months had been any indicator, but Hermione had begged him to give Ron another chance.
And again, it was Christmas.
Harry shook his head, thinking he got too soft. Seventeen years ago he would've told Hermione to take her Christmas dinner and stuff it up Ron's arse—well, he still sort of wanted to tell her that but he couldn't blame her.
He had freely decided to come with her, leaving Bae to spend another Christmas alone.
And yeah, he knew his son was dead. And he practically visited him every day, but the mopey broody part of him wanted to stay there—despite it being undeniably unhealthy
He had become an insalubrious mess in the past four months. Really, the only time he felt remotely alive was when he was collecting horcruxes and killing death eaters.
Not that Hermione knew about those things, though he knew she suspected something about the bank. Though, that had been child's play at best.
Sneaking in as the Dark One had been ridiculously easy, and while he did run into some dragons turning them into iguanas really did the trick.
He knew Hermione suspected something, he saw the way she'd been eying him lately and a part of him thought about telling her.
She was his best friend after all, really, his only friend these days. And she'd probably take it okay—at least that's what he told himself. Some days, he didn't take it well, especially since the truth about Bae had been revealed and Emma had left.
Those two things had torn him up inside and out. The only thing keep him from burning the wizarding world to bits right now with reckless disregard, was that there was a chance he could find Emma and maybe he could get his happily ever after.
Happily ever after, who was he kidding?
Seriously, seventeen years as Harry Potter was making him way too soft. Happily ever afters were for people like the Charmings—not that they were really living a happily ever after right now. Hermione had told him she'd help him find Emma, but a part of Harry wasn't sure about what he would tell his wife when he found her.
Emma had ran away and knocked out his best friend. The behavior wasn't like Emma, but she had did it. He saw the scrapes and bumps on Hermione's head, and he didn't think Hermione would lie about what happened.
Besides, the wards hadn't come down.
And this wouldn't have been the first time he had a wife leave him.
He frowned thinking of Milah, and what Dumbledore had told him on the cliff that day—was it possible there was magic in her family?
He doubted it, surely if there was she would've married someone else. It would've made her much more eligible, that's for sure. The only reason she was allowed to marry Rumple was because she had no prospects—Milah was viewed as a bit of a loose woman in the village, which even made Rumple look more like a village idiot. And apparently, she came from a long line of loose women who saddled village idiots into marrying them.
God, why did Malcom have to leave him with a self-esteem complex when he abandoned him?
To be fair, it was probably his mother's fault too: whoever she was. Malcolm hadn't told him much, just that she had left them a long time ago and wasn't coming back.
Harry brushed off these thoughts. He had thought he changed in the three hundred years since Milah had abandoned him, enough to where a woman wouldn't have left him, but that's what Emma did.
Hermione tried to rationalize it by stating that maybe the magic was a little too much for Emma. And maybe it was, it had been a lot to process. Let alone, he told her he was trying to find his long lost child. A child that he knew now, by uncertain doubt was dead.
He shook his head pouring a glass of fire whisky. He needed something strong, thinking of all of this, plus the fact he had just punched Ron in the nose signaled he needed a drink before he did something he really regretted.
Rumple still didn't believe that he had punched his best friend in the nose—well, not Rumple's best friend, Harry's.
Big difference there.
The point was he still hit him in the nose, and Harry thought he broke something. It was the first time he had ever punched anyone and ever did damage. He should be glad that Emma thought it was time he learned how to punch when they were in New York. This was, of course, before he remembered his true self.
"Are you kidding me, you don't know how to punch someone?" She asked when he was griping about his so-called Batman suicide mission. "And they expect you to capture an insane serial killer. Jesus, you can't be Batman if you don't know how to punch someone."
"And I suppose you do, Diana?" He asked not believing that Diana could hit something—she looked so delicate like a fairytale princess.
"I might've picked up a thing or two," She said. "Foster homes, you keep getting hit until you learn to punch back."
He nodded, thinking that this was something he should've picked up. After all, he had been Dudley's favorite punching bag for the first eleven years of his life. He guessed having magic, kept him from learning a decent punch. At least until now.
And he supposed those lessons did the trick, since Ron's face had turned into a bloody mess. He knew that his mother or Hermione would be able to quickly fix him up. It was just his nose. He had seen plenty of broken noses during his quidditch days, it really was just a flesh wound.
Ron should just be glad he was being generous, but he was really getting tired of them trashing Emma. And the comments he made at dinner were inflammatory at best.
God, the whole Weasley family was annoying. Save for the twins, Bill and Charlie (who had not been there), and Mr. Weasley and Ginny for the most part—though they could do with standing up to Ron and Mrs. Weasley respectfully. Who while not bad people were really annoying with their constant Hinny shipping, and for that matter trashing Emma.
And yeah, and he might've shot a silencing spell at Molly Weasley. A Dark One silencing spell which wouldn't exactly be going away for a while, maybe when she could talk again she wouldn't be meddling in his business again and trying to force her youngest daughter on him.
Seriously, did she think he'd go for blonde Ginny?
He wasn't that shallow.
"Harry?"
It was Hermione and she looked upset.
"Please, tell me you're not going to lecture me about breaking Ron's nose. He had it coming; you heard what he said about Emma. What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost? Did I do more damage than a broken nose?"
"No," She said. "But I need to go to St. Mungo's and I need you to know why I'm going."
Harry looked at her, "Are you feeling ill?"
"Harry," Hermione said. "Just come with me, I need answers."
"Answers about what?"
"What really happened to me the night Emma supposedly knocked me out."
"What do you mean what really happened to you? I thought it was pretty obvious. You were found unconscious in my home, Hermione."
"I was knocked out," Hermione said. "But it wasn't in this house, and I don't think Emma knocked me out."
"What?"
She sighed heavily and told him how she had talked to a drunken Ron. How she had been hoping to get him to calm down and how he had blurted out that he found her on the street.
"Well, didn't you question him further?" Harry asked.
She rolled her eyes. "He had six glasses of that wine; he passed out soon after that and the responses he had were nonsensical at that. But he's lying. Something happened that night. Remember, I told you it didn't make sense."
"Didn't the healers tell you what happened?" He asked.
She shook her head. "Honestly, they could care less. There are a lot of people there that night, and I'm—well, a muggleborn. You know how they care for us."
"And how they care for muggles," Harry said. "If Emma was with you, God knows what they did. Do you really think it's good questioning them? I mean, I doubt they remember it's been over three months."
Three months, two weeks, eight hours, and thirty-six seconds to be precise but he didn't tell Hermione this.
Hermione sighed heavily, "I thought maybe there might be an incident report written or something. Or maybe I could talk to another healer about getting a memory potion, who knows it might work."
"You know those usually don't work. Though, I guess I could brew you one." Harry snapped.
Hermione shook her head, "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, your potions are awful. But you do have a point about their effectiveness. I have to try though, right?"
He wanted to laugh. Tell her that since finding out who he truly was, he found out that he was a master at potions. Really, no one came close to beating him when it came to brewing something.
Instead, he nodded. Besides, he doubted that they would get information at the hospital anyway. He had a feeling that he was going to have to talk to Ron that would be the only real way he was going to get answers.
And he was afraid that he wasn't going to be able to control his old self when he heard the truth.
Hermione sighed, "I know that you can't really be caught in a place like St. Mungo's, so I thought I'd go alone. Don't do anything crazy while I'm gone, okay?"
He nodded, even though it would've been easy enough to shift into his old form and visit the hospital. Rather, he planned on visiting Ron. Getting answers might be easier when the two of them could have a one on one chat.
"I'll let you know what I find." She said.
He nodded, as he started planning his confrontation.
He didn't wait for Hermione to come back, he thought about it. But in the end, he wasn't a patient Dark One.
Maybe it was the fact he had waited for hundreds of years for Bae, and for what—his son to sacrifice himself all for him.
He might've not vomited when he thought of that particular fact now, but every time he thought of it, it made his head spin. And it made him more intent to be more efficient in his plotting, which was why he poofed himself into Ronald's bedroom.
He inwardly grimaced at the makeshift bachelor pad. Odd, how just a few years ago he thought that the room was cool, now it gave him the creeps.
He could still see Ron living here at thirty-five as some overgrown man child, the room itself, changing very little. Rumple shook his head. Wondering how he should go about this. First, he raised silencing wards around the room and locked the place. He was sure there would be some screaming, especially with what he did next.
Which was pulling Ron's heart out of his chest.
Most people, even sleeping people, would notice when the organ was removed from their body, but Ron was still snoring and drooling.
Harry rolled his eyes as he looked at the organ in his hand. For the most part Ron's heart was light as he thought it would be there, but there were a few dark spots there.
He sighed heavily as hand shook for the first time—what was he doing?
Getting answers.
But this was Ron, his best friend. Maybe, he should put the heart back where it belonged. Try a couple of gentle curses first, he couldn't do this to his best mate.
Best mate.
He had just broken Ron's nose, though it seemed to be healed perfectly. But regardless of broken nose or not, Ron had berated him about his marriage for months. Even after Emma left he kept getting notes, basically telling him that Ginny and the rest of the family were ready to open him with open arms anytime they wanted.
Gag him.
And then tonight when he insulted Emma even though she was not there, and the relationship they had—squeeze.
And then Ron's eyes snapped open and something gross happened that Harry had to zap a surgical mask on his face to keep from gagging—though honestly, a gas mask would've been better but that would've been a tad bit too much, he thought.
"Harry," Ron said. "Help me—my chest. Oh Merlin, it hurts. So bad."
"Does it, dearie," He snapped. "I think it's time we talk about Emma."
"Mate, we've been through this over and over again. I think you made your point perfectly clear when you broke my nose that you didn't want to hear my opinion about your wayward wife anymore. Hey, why are you in my bedroom in a what is that on your face?"
"It's a surgical mask and I'm wearing it because you defecated all over yourself, dearie." Rumple said as if it was the simplest explanation ever.
Ron raised an eyebrow and then noticed the mess he made in his pants. "Not funny, Harry. You did a shit-in-your-pants hex on me, seriously?"
"Oh, trust me I wouldn't use such a juvenile hex on you. Maybe this is what caused you to release your bowels."
He then held up Ron's heart.
"What's that?"
Of course, wizarding home school didn't show what an anatomical heart looked like—though to be fair the organ he pulled out of Ron's body didn't exactly look like a textbook heart. Sure, it shared a similar shape but they didn't exactly teach you that hearts would be glowing and have oozy black spots in them, should one commit grievous sins—but the shape was similar.
"Your heart," Harry said.
"No, it's not." Ron said, "You can't pull out hearts unless you're that wizard in the bedtime stories Mum used to tell me about. I can't remember his name."
"Maybe you should, names are important. But that doesn't matter now; I want to know what happened to my wife. Time is precious, Ron, I wouldn't want you doing anything you regret."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Really, man, you're being ridiculous. I've told you everything I know about Emma. Now please stop with the theatrics because I know that's not my heart."
Do it, the voice in the back of his head said. You're not going to get any answers if you go on like this. Interrogate him properly. You can get more answers.
Sad thing was, as much as Harry wanted to keep from torturing Ron; he let his inner Dark One win this battle for once. Plus, the Rumple part of him was tired of dealing with Ron, and quite frankly so was Harry. How many times did he warn Ron, and he did not listen so in the end he squeezed his best mate's heart and he hated to admit that it felt good.
He found himself laughing as Ron defecated over himself again—though the room was getting quite stinky, surgical mask or not.
Ron glared at him as he released him. "That's not funny. That's my heart."
"Obviously, dearie. Now, let's talk about Emma. You're going to tell me the truth, or I'll kill you. You understand?"
"Kill me?"
"Yes, kill you."
"I told you, Harry, I know nothing."
Ron fell to the floor and again relieved himself. "Dear, God, mate, I knew you stuffed your face tonight. But really, this much?"
Ron didn't say anything for a minute, but he finally managed to muster. "I'm not dead, it didn't work then?"
"It could've worked, and it will work, but because you were my first friend I thought I'd give you one more chance."
"You really did pull out my heart," Ron said. "You're like…like…what was his name?"
"The Dark One," Harry smirked. "That's because I am. And you're going to answer my questions if you want to live, Ron."
"You won't kill me?" Ron asked. Not even commenting on the fact that Harry stated he was the Dark One.
"I could, but I would more than be willing to negotiate your life for my wife's whereabouts."
"I don't know where she is," Ron said before he added. "But I don't want to die; I'll tell you what I know."
Rumple smirked, not mentioning to Ron that there were far worse things than death.
Rumple was furious after what Ron had told him. He might've made a deal not to kill him—and he kept that promise—but that didn't mean he wanted to kill him, and that he'd make sure the life that Ron lived was not worth living, since he was currently in a box that he had pilfered in Knockturn Ally.
A box that was much like the Pandora's Box that he had back in the Enchanted Forest that would make a nice eternal prison if that was what Rumple ultimately chose to do with him.
Of course, no one would notice that Ron was gone. He had him write quite the farewell letter, to everyone. No one would bother looking for him too, he thought as he entered St. Mungo's in his old form, determined to find some healer to give him his wife's file—if there was one—since he couldn't exactly walk around town as Harry Potter.
He shook his head remembering what Ron told him. He had found Emma and Hermione lying on the ground right outside the wards—they had willingly left—and based on what Ron had said, Harry knew why.
She was losing the baby.
Emma had been bleeding badly, according to the buffoon when he finally told Harry what really happened that night.
Rumple couldn't help but chastised himself, how he didn't see it sooner. Ron hated Emma; of course, he'd lie about what happened. But of course the memories he had as Harry were completely devastated with what his friend did, and couldn't believe it. Harry even felt justified in the deal the Dark One made with the redhead and the prison that Ron now resided in.
And to think, six months ago the Harry part of him would've been horrified in what he did.
But Ron had taken Emma away from him—God, knows where she was. Although, Harry didn't exactly keep up on current wizarding events—who knew enough about what they did to muggles who found out about magic and Ron admitted as much.
Emma had been obliviated.
And he had no idea where she was or if their child was even alive.
When he told this to Ron, the redhead shrugged. "I don't know why you care, mate. I doubt the baby was yours, you'll get over it. God knows, Emma probably has. She doesn't even remember losing the baby, so it's all good."
"You don't even know if she lost the baby," Rumple said—at that point, it was all he could do from squeezing the heart into nothing. Yet, he made a deal so he couldn't technically kill him. So he just gave it an extremely hard squeeze.
"There was so much blood," Ron said recovering after shitting over himself yet again. "And I thought; why not give a clean break for everyone."
"Isn't that generous," Harry said. "Didn't you think I'd want to be there for my wife, especially if she lost our child? Didn't it occur to her that it might've been beneficial for both of us to grieve together? For me to hold her hand, tell her that we'll get through this. No, you took away that opportunity away from us."
"I thought it would be easier," Ron said. "She could move on without even realizing she was in pain, and you could finally get your priorities straight. I knew you'd be hurt for a few months, but Merlin, I thought you'd recollect your senses by now and realize what's important."
"If you say Ginny, I think I'll puke on your heart." Rumple snarked.
"She was the best thing that happened to you."
"No," He said squeezing the heart as hard as he could without killing the boy. "She wasn't."
A part of him wondered why he was even trying to get information at St. Mungo's; he knew the place was more than a wash.
They could care less about muggles, he knew how Emma was probably treated when she was cared for here and it gave him the chills. He'd be lucky if they had a file on her, let alone remember her.
"Can I help you?" One of the healers said looking at him oddly.
"Yes, dearie," He said. "I'm looking for someone, and I'm afraid that she might've been obliviated by one of the healers here."
The woman gave him a weird look, "St. Mungo's doesn't usually do obliviations."
"I know," He said. "My wife is a muggle though, and with the war I know—"
"Oh," The healer said looking at the ground. "You know this isn't exactly my area of expertise I'll—"
"You'll get me someone else to take my rage out on." He finished for her, "So you do admit that you've been obliviating muggles."
"Of course," The healer said. "It's ministry policy. Of course, if you would've been here—"
"You're blaming me," Rumple hissed. "That's rich."
"Sir," The healer said. "I'm only following protocol, believe me if your wife was obliviated, which I doubt, we would've made sure she had no family or blood relatives."
"No you wouldn't have," Harry said.
He might've not been master mind reader like Dumbledore was, because really mind reading was overrated, but he knew enough from making deals and screwing over people for three hundred years to sense a lie.
And the healer was lying.
"They're just muggles, aren't they, dearie?"
"Sir, I understand that you're upset. But you don't even know if your muggle was obliviated."
"My muggle, that right there proves my point. You talk about her like she was a pet or something." He snapped. "Do you even keep files on muggles?"
The woman looked down.
"I thought so," He said, as he heard arguing down the hall he looked at the healer. "Seems I'm not the only unhappy patron at this not so fine establishment."
"Healer Goyle," A younger looking man said to the woman Harry had been talking to.
A Goyle, no wonder she seemed so dismissive of Emma.
"I'm in the middle of something, Greengrass." She said.
Bloody hell, the whole place seemed to be ran by Slytherins. Though to be fair, Daphne Greegrass hadn't exactly been the most offensive of snakes and her little sister, Astoria, wasn't that bad either—though she did look at Draco Malfoy a lot which was more than a little offensive.
"I'm sorry, but I have a mudblood here demanding to speak to management."
Okay, so maybe this Greengrass was as rotten as the rest.
And here Harry was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Harry as Rumple gave Healer Goyle a quizzical look. "Isn't that an inappropriate slur, Healer Goyle?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, as I told you I can't help you. We don't keep files on muggles here. Your wife should've known better than coming here."
And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.
It had been a long day. A very crappy Christmas indeed, and while he couldn't exactly kill Ron, he could have some fun with Healer Goyle which was why he waved a hand turning her into a snail.
Healer Greengrass looked at him horrified. "What—what—did you do?"
"What I'm about to do to you," He said before turning Greengrass into a snail as well.
Too bad he had left his table salt at home.
All kidding aside, it was a good thing it was the Christmas holiday, he probably would've turned everyone into a snail at that point. However, there was one more witness that he didn't count on.
"Holy—Harry, is that you?"
Hermione.