Harry Potter, & The Flume of The Agathos Daimon

By Annette Siketa

Chapter 1 - The Heir Apparent

The locals still called it Black Death Lane, even though every map and guide of the area, stated that it was Black Heath Lane. Years earlier, the H had been replaced with a D, because of all the strange sightings near the manor house in the Lane, sightings that included, 'shadowy figures wearing cloaks'. In addition, many residents had reported feeling a 'sinister chill' whenever they'd walked past the manor.

At the local pub, The Cock & Wheel, a new sighting was always cause for much speculation, for nobody had ever seen who lived in the manor. Some claimed it was the home of a dishonoured Duke, though there was no proof of this, while others said it was home to an eccentric millionaire. The latter had more plausibility, for although the manor was surrounded by a ten foot high stone wall, a pure white peacock had been seen perched on top. None of this gossip however, had yet reached the ears of a new local resident, Mrs Elspeth Twickenham, a recently retired headmistress, whose garden and kitchen window, though separated by several hedges and a small scrubby field, directly overlooked the manor in the lane.

Dusk was falling when Mrs Twickenham stood in her kitchen and opened a tin of cat food. She was a stout, brusque, no nonsense woman, who wore 'tweedy' skirts and sensible shoes. "Brutus! Brutus! Tea time," she called to her cat, and tipped the tuna chunks into a bowl, which made a soft squishing noise as they fell out of the can.

The cat did not appear. This was highly unusual, for Brutus, a tortoise shell moggy of dubious parentage, loved his food, as his fat hairy belly could attest.

"Brutus!" Mrs Twickenham peered through the window into the garden. The neat flower beds and perfectly manicured lawn, were resplendent in the gathering twilight, and although she scanned every inch meticulously, there was still no sign of the cat. Her gaze wandered past the hedge at the bottom of her garden, the scrubby field that lay beyond, the low bramble thicket that separated the field from the lane, and came to rest on the heavily fortified manor.

The manor was easily the grandest house in the area. However, because of the surrounding high stone wall, only the chimneys and roof were visible. Moreover, the only access to the manor, or so it seemed, was via a set of intricately patterned wrought iron gates, which were always closed and locked.

Her gaze still fixed on the manor, Mrs Twickenham shuddered. "Don't be silly," she muttered, "it's just a house," and donning a pair of walking shoes, went in search of the cat.

She slipped through a gap in the hedge and marched across the field. She had just reached the bramble thicket, when two movements caught her attention. The first was a quick glimpse of tortoise shell. Brutus was hiding in the long reedy grass. The second movement, was that a small hooded figure wearing a long green cloak, was striding purposefully towards the manor.

Several things happened in quick succession. Brutus suddenly darted across the lane. The figure jumped as though startled, and in one swift movement, reached beneath the cloak and produced a long thin stick. There was a blinding flash of bright green light, and the cat moved no more. The figure waved the stick a second time and another cat appeared. This animal however, bore absolutely no resemblance to the first. Pearly white and almost translucent, the long-haired cat made no sound as it ran down the lane to the manor. Then, as though the metal was nothing more than smoke, it passed straight through the gates. Mrs Twickenham screamed. There was a second flash of bright green light, and like her cat, she moved no more.

The figure kicked the dead cat aside and continued along the lane. Upon reaching the gates, it made no attempt to make itself known, but rather, like the silver cat, the figure simply passed straight through.

The figure was so slight, that its footsteps barely registered. Indeed, it seemed to be gliding up the long gravel driveway, which was lined with a trimmed ewe hedge. There was a sudden rustling noise over to the right, and the figure stopped dead. It stood quite still for a moment, listening, turning its head from side-to-side with quick jerky movements. Then, unlike a few moment's earlier, it slowly reached beneath the cloak and produced the wand again.

"Lumos," it whispered. The tip of the wand instantly ignited, illuminating a pair of small pink eyes. The albino peacock ruffled its feathers and casually strutted away.

The figure seemed to relax as it hurried towards the house. Somewhere nearby, a fountain tinkled in the darkness. Light poured from the diamond-paned downstairs windows, reflecting off the serpent-shaped knocker attached to the door. As the figure raised the knocker and then let it fall, under the hood, there was a smile of supreme satisfaction on her squat, almost reptilian, face.

But nobody was smiling inside the manor. The roaring fire in the opulent drawing room, did nothing to lighten the atmosphere of gloom. It was as if a very close friend had suddenly died, leaving those behind stunned and confused. Of the three occupants, only Narcissa Malfoy sat unnaturally still. Her face was so pale, that she looked near to death herself. But it was not bereavement that was causing her to tremble, it was fear.

"Oh, Lucius, what are we going to do? The Dark Lord has gone and…oh, I don't like this, she'll be here in less than a minute." Her voice became slightly hysterical as she added, "Perhaps it would be safer if we apparated out of here."

"Get a grip, Narcissa," said Lucius Malfoy tersely, his grey eyes hard and cold. "The Dark Lord has been dead over a week, and as yet, nobody has pointed a finger at us."

"Personally," said a drawling voice from the depths of a wing-back chair, "I can't wait to hear what she has to say." Draco Malfoy was the image of his father – a pale pointed face under white-blonde hair. Unlike his parents however, who were both looking anxious and a little scared, he did not appear the least concerned. "Perhaps she's come up with a fool proof plan to finally get rid of Potter. I don't know about you, but I could do with a laugh."

"But Draco," said Narcissa, fretfully wringing her hands, "what if she's coming to arrest us?"

"Don't be silly, mother. If the Ministry had concrete proof of our allegiance to the Dark Lord, they'd have whisked us off to Azkaban the moment he fell. No, they're after something else."

"Or she is," said Lucius Malfoy in a slow, thoughtful voice. There was a momentary pause, in which all three Malfoys exchanged significant looks. Clearly the idea that their pending visitor was not acting in an official capacity, had not occurred to any of them. "I don't particularly like her methods," he went on, "even if her plan to capture and discredit Potter several years ago, only failed by a bats whisker. I have to admit, albeit reluctantly, that sending Dementors to Potter's home, was quite ingenious. Pity he squirmed his way out of it, and the subsequent hearing."

"Potter seems cursed with good luck," said Draco bitterly. "If that interfering half-breed, Remus Lupin, hadn't taught him how to cast a Patronus, Potter wouldn't have escaped on either occasion. He's nothing but a pretentious show-off."

Lucius Malfoy rounded on his son, his voice curt and reproachful. "And you think your tomfoolery during that quidditch match was any less pathetic? What were you, Crabbe, and Goyle, thinking of? The only thing dressing up as a Dementor achieved, was to expose your stupidity. You are nearly 18 years of age, it's about time you grew up. You might have reached your majority, but you certainly don't act like it. Right now, our main concern, our only concern, is self-preservation." Lucius waved a hand around the room. "Do you want to lose all this? Do you want to live in a two room shack at the back of The Three Broomsticks? No? Then you'd better listen to me. We have more important things to worry about than petty revenge on Harry Potter."

Draco jumped to his feet, his hands balled into white knuckled fists. "Petty revenge? Vincent Crabbe is dead because of Harry Potter, as are many of our other friends." He paused, took a deep breath, and in a rare display of affection, looked at his father and softened his voice. "And I will never forgive him for sending you to Azkaban." Narcissa let out an anguished cry and buried her face in her hands. Draco drew himself up to full height and said fiercely, "Believe me, father, if I ever get the chance, I will kill Harry Potter with my bare hands."

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Lucius's angry voice bounced off the walls. He strode across the room and none too gently, shook his son by the shoulders. "Don't you understand? It's that kind of childish mentality that will put us in Azkaban. We got away with it last time, but if we are to survive uncertainty and suspicion, then we must proceed cautiously, and the sudden demise of Harry Potter is not likely to go unnoticed. He can wait, we cannot."

There was a tap on the door. A tall, thickset man, entered the room and announced, "She's here."

"Show her in, Yaxley." The moment the door was closed, Lucius quickly whispered, "Let her do all the talking. I will answer for us unless she asks you a question directly. In that case, try to avoid any mention of the Dark Lord…" he shot a warning look at Draco, "…or Harry Potter."

The door opened again, and the small cloaked figure entered the room. Then, as the hood was slowly pulled back, the toad-like features of Dolores Umbridge, came into view. Broad faced with a wide slack mouth, her eyes were slightly protuberant, and sitting on top of her short grey hair, was a lurid pink Alice band. It matched the fluffy pink cardigan she was wearing under her cloak.

"Good evening Lucius," she said in her girlish high-pitched voice. "I trust you received my Patronus."

"Obviously," he replied tonelessly. "You would not have been permitted through the gate otherwise."

"Now, now, Lucius," she said cajolingly, "there is no need for resentment. I assure you, my visit is quite honourable." She turned to face Narcissa Malfoy, who was now standing behind her son, her long pale fingers gripping his shoulders. "Narcissa, my dear, I don't think we've met before. I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." She held out a hand. Her short fat fingers were bedecked in ugly rings. Narcissa barely touched the offered hand, as though afraid she might receive an electric shock. Umbridge seemed quite unaffected as she went on, "And Draco. What a pleasure to see you again. When I was High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts, you were my most…" she paused and giggled, "…my most loyal servant."

Narcissa let out a strangled gasp, but the sound of the door being opened, drowned her cry. Yaxley entered carrying a tray of coffee. He placed it on the long, highly polished dining table, but instead of leaving the room, he took up a position beside the door, arms crossed and wand at the ready.

Umbridge gave one of her nauseating coughs. "Hem, hem. Lucius, while I appreciate your hospitality, and dare I say it, cautiousness, what I have to say is highly confidential."

There was a tense pause in which Lucius seemed to procrastinate. He gave a single nod of his head and Yaxley exited the room. "What can I do for you, Dolores?" asked Lucius, as Narcissa tried to pour the coffee. Her hands were now trembling so badly, that Draco did it instead.

Umbridge sipped her cup of coffee, and then quietly set it down on the saucer. "Well," she began, curving her mouth into a sickly smile, "after the recent unfortunate events, I wanted to check that our leading family, is not being persecuted by what I will term, unwelcome forces, not to mention…" she gave a nasty little laugh, "dangerous and unnatural half-breeds."

"In that event," said Lucius, "I have every right to defend my family."

"Of course you do," said Umbridge in a honeyed tone. "As one of our greatest pure-blood families, you should take every opportunity to highlight your nobility." She slowly raised the cup to her lips, and looking directly at Lucius, added in a meaningful voice, "And your wizarding superiority."

"Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, but it seems wizarding superiority doesn't count for much these days. There was a time when only pure-bloods could hold positions of authority. Now however, it seems anyone can become Minister for Magic. Just look at that dolt, Shacklebolt."

Umbridge lowered her cup. "Or headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Have they appointed someone?" asked Draco. "I hope it's not that hag, McGonagall, or worse still, that traitorous, Slughorn. During the battle, he was more concerned with his stupid green pyjamas than defending the honour of Slythering."

"Well, actually," said Umbridge, "I believe Minister Shacklebolt, who as we know, is only acting in a temporary capacity, has been offered the post."

"No!" Draco stood up so suddenly, that his chair toppled over. "Kingsley Shacklebolt - headmaster of Hogwarts? Never! Father, you have to stop it. Talk to the governors, you still have influence, they'll listen to you," but Lucius was already shaking his head.

"Believe me, Draco, I wish I could. If…" Lucius broke off abruptly. He had almost said that if Lord Voldemort was still alive, there would be no problem in cancelling the appointment. "If the governors have already made their decision, there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Umbridge quietly, and there was something in her voice that caused all three Malfoys to react. Narcissa, who had been staring sightlessly into her cup, looked up sharply and frowned. Draco, having righted his chair, leaned forward with his arms on the table, his pale grey eyes glittering in anticipation. Lucius however, did the opposite. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, his own eyes shrewd and alert.

"Explain yourself, Dolores."

"It comes back to what we were discussing earlier. I am quite sure that not everyone is pleased with the outcome of recent events. In fact, I know they're not. Those who are disillusioned and aimless, are looking for someone to guide them, someone sympathetic to their cause, to provide stability and inspiration. You must admit, the Dark Lord was hardly a natural leader, more like, a hideous freak whose methods were sloppy and crude."

There was five seconds of ringing silence, then, Draco jumped to his feet and shouted, "You wouldn't dare say that if he was still alive!"

"Sit down!" bellowed Lucius, giving his son a hard, warning look.

Umbridge smiled at Draco indulgently, her wide toad-like mouth seeming to split her face. "I concede that his knowledge of the Dark Arts was quite extraordinary, but he was too obsessed with Harry Potter to use it wisely. In short, Voldemort was too clever for his own good. I, on the other hand, take a more methodical approach." She paused to draw in a long deep breath, and when she resumed, her tone was passionate and insistent. "If the superiority of pure-blood families is to be maintained, then the insidious rise of mudbloods and half-breeds to positions of respectability, must be stamped out. Before it was disbanded, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, was extremely effective in doing this. Now however, instead of weeding out undesirables, the Ministry seeks to embrace them. They have even gone so far as to offer rehabilitation to Voldemort's former followers. This must not be allowed to happen. If there is nobody to protect the integrity of our noble families, then make no mistake, their blood will be irrevocably tainted."

Lucius stared at her in disbelief. Whether knowingly or not, though how she knew was impossible to say, she had just echoed Lord Voldemort's own words some twelve months earlier. "Many of our family trees become a little diseased over time…We shall cut away the canker that infects us, until only those of the true blood remain."

"Are you claiming," said Lucius, "that you're more powerful than the Dark Lord?"

"No, not more powerful, just more intelligent. To achieve a goal, careful research and precise planning are more effective than rash behaviour."

"He did plan," said Draco loudly, his face flushing with angry colour. "The Dark Lord was a genius. He always thought carefully about what he was doing, it was the others who let him down."

"A genius?" repeated Umbridge in a horrible mocking tone, all pretence of amiability vanishing. There was a triumphant glint in her eye as she continued, "It didn't get him very far, did it? All those years planning his so-called return, and for what? Just so he could wreak havoc on one insignificant boy. And even on those occasions when he did have Potter at his mercy, instead of just killing him, Voldemort could not resist flaunting his own cleverness. So much so, that Potter was able to take advantage and escape every time. No, Draco, Voldemort's supporters might have been fooled by his aggrandisement, but I was not. Any wizard can cast an unforgivable curse, its effectiveness, is simply a matter of practise."

"If we can return to the point," said Lucius. "You are obviously here for another reason, Dolores, other than checking on our health. What is it?"

"You have access to…how shall I put it…certain irregular resources. It would be in all our interests if you consulted them as quickly as possible."

Lucius stroked his pointed chin. He seemed to be lost in thought. Why did Umbridge want to contact Death Eaters? Was she setting some kind of Ministerial trap? It would be a very cold day before a mediocre witch, full of her own self-importance, bested him. Still, prudence dictated that he proceed judiciously.

"Good in theory, Dolores, but you're forgetting one major point. The 'certain resources' you speak of, well half of them are in Azkaban, and the other half are scattered far and wide. I have no method of contacting them."

Umbridge looked pointedly at his hand, the one stroking the chin, the one where the 'dark mark' was burned into the flesh. "Oh, I'm sure you can devise a method," she said meaningfully. "When it comes to the dregs of wizarding society, I bow to your expertise."

This was too much for Narcissa. She made to rise, but Lucius quelled her with a look. "Dolores, insulting me, and in my own home, will not enlist my co-operation."

"Enlist your co-operation?" said Umbridge, girlishly fluttering her eyelashes. "Obviously, I have not made my meaning clear. I have the brains and you have the muscle, and together, we will restore the prestige of pure-blood families. The entire future of the wizarding world is at stake. Of course, if you prefer to live under the rule of mudbloods and half breeds, then I shall say no more."

Narcissa could not remain silent any longer. "If you're suggesting that Lucius continue the Dark Lord's work, then I can tell you now that we refuse. My god, Dolores, we barely escaped with our lives. Do you really think we'd willingly do it again?"

Umbridge slowly turned her head, her gaze hard and unyielding. "Narcissa, let me ask you a simple question. I have outlined the Ministry's new fraternal policy. Do you agree with it?"

Narcissa immediately recognised the danger and vigorously shook her head. "No, of course not." She tried to smile. "You must forgive me, Dolores. I'm still in shock after the battle at Hogwarts. Draco was almost burnt to death by Fiendfyre."

"Of course dear," said Umbridge silkily. "From what I understand, Draco fought most bravely. In fact, he's probably eligible for the Order of Merlin, first class."

Lucius snorted derisively. "What? Give Draco an award for trying to kill Harry Potter? Hardly."

"Well," said Umbridge slowly, "that rather depends on who the new Minister for Magic, is." She paused to let the word 'new', sink in. All three Malfoys exchanged puzzled looks.

"Go on," said Lucius, now sitting forward in his chair.

"Earlier today, in my capacity as Senior Undersecretary, I attended a meeting of the entire Wizengamot. At this meeting, amongst other ludicrous measures, it was decided that a public election will be held, to appoint a new Minister for Magic."

"Ahh," said Lucius comprehendingly. "So, that's what all this is about. You want the job and you need my help to get it."

Umbridge laughed so hard, that her hair band almost fell off. "Me? Minister for Magic? Oh, no, Lucius, that is your job." Narcissa gasped then clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Lucius and Draco both looked stunned, as though they'd just received a blow on the head.

Lucius was the first to recover. "My job?"

Umbridge smiled in satisfaction. "The Malfoy reputation is not so damaged as to be irreparable. When Shacklebolt resigns, the position will become vacant. All you will need to do, is nominate for the post. I will do the rest."

Draco tilted his head to the side and looked at Umbridge curiously. "Surely there will be other candidates."

"Of course there will, but so long as your father follows my instructions, I can guarantee that before too long, he will be the Minister for Magic. My carefully crafted public campaign of impeccable respectability, along with other key strategies, will not fail to get him elected."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Does this mean we have to befriend the likes of the Weasleys'? How nauseating. And what of the mudblood, Granger, and Potter?"

Umbridge looked at him sharply, and for the second time that evening, Draco Malfoy received a dressing down. "I had hoped recent events had given you wisdom, but I see maturity has not fully blossomed yet. Do you really think I would abandon the plan, just because it offends your sensibilities?" She banged a podgy fist on the table. "Wake up, Draco! The wizarding world is heading in the wrong direction, and unless we steer its course, then every pure-blood family will be lost. As for Potter, I have my own plans for him." She paused for a moment and smacked her lips, as though savouring his demise. Then, seeing Draco's look of disappointment, her mouth split into a sinister smile. "I know you want Harry Potter as much as I do, but as I am more valuable and important than you, my revenge will take precedence. But don't be discouraged, I also have plans for you, and if Weasley or Miss Know-it-all Granger happen to get in the way, then when the time is right, and only with my permission, you may dispose of them."

"No!" Narcissa Malfoy, her face stricken with terror, jumped to her feet. "I will not allow you to turn my son into a murderer. Besides, the Weasleys are a pure blood family. Surely killing one of them would defeat the purpose?"

Umbridge gave her a penetrating look, and then seemed to relent. "Narcissa," she patiently began, "no good cause is without sacrifice. In the immortal words of my esteemed ancestor, Salazar Slythering, 'I came, I saw, I conquered'."

"That was Julius Caesar," said Lucius, "not Slythering."

"I beg your pardon?"

"According to muggle history, it was Julius Caesar who coined the phrase."

"Muggle history?" Umbridge spat out the words as though they were something disgusting.

Lucius Malfoy sighed. "Dolores, whether you like it or not, the muggle world does exist. I'm no fan of it either, and although I hate to admit it, from a philanthropic standpoint, there have been some interesting muggles."

Umbridge raised a questioning eyebrow. "Really? I didn't know you were an expert on muggle relations."

"Far from it. It's just that in my line of work, certain names keep cropping up. It's quite miraculous how they evolved without the use of magic."

"And what was so special about this Caesar fellow?"

Lucius Malfoy inwardly smiled. The supposed all-knowing Dolores Umbridge, was showing her ignorance. "Well, if you discount the fact that he ruled half the known world with an iron fist, nothing much. He, along with a plethora of warlords, dictators, and kings, were interested in only one thing – conquest."

Umbridge looked scandalise, her slack mouth tightening in disgust. "Are you seriously saying that a muggle once ruled half the world? Utter nonsense."

"Oh, he didn't do it alone," said Lucius in an off-hand manner, still enjoying his superiority over Umbridge. "He did have a little magical help, a man so utterly ruthless, so brilliant a strategist, that he makes Lord Voldemort look like a mountain troll."

Umbridge's chair creaked in protest as she suddenly leaned forward. "Who?" she demanded, her bulging eyes alive with interest.

"Pykel Hardhardt."

Narcissa and Draco exchanged puzzled looks. Umbridge however, gazed at the ceiling, her grotesque eyes rolling from side to side. "Pykel Hardhardt. Yes, I believe the name rings a distant bell." It could not have been clearer that the name meant nothing to her. "You say he was a brilliant strategist?"

Lucius Malfoy smiled. Plans for when he was Minister for Magic, were already formulating in his mind, and they did not include Dolores Umbridge. "None better. Without his help, a simple-minded muggle like Caesar, could not have been successful." He sat back and crossed his arms. He had saved the best till last. "Did you never wonder as to the origins of…Salazar Slythering?"

Umbridge's already bulging eyes, seemed to inflate even more. "I think this warrants further investigation," she said quickly, her chest heaving with excitement. "Narcissa, my dear, Lucius and I have much to discuss, so you and Draco may leave."

For the first time since Lord Voldemort's death, Narcissa Malfoy's pale ghostly features, vanished. Humiliated at being dismissed from her own drawing room, her face was flushed as she propelled Draco towards the door. Umbridge paid not the slightest heed.

"Narcissa, my dear, as you no longer have a house-elf, would you bring us some sandwiches in about an hour."

Narcissa gave a single nod of her head. Her mouth was clenched so tightly, that she might have been suffering from the langlocker curse.