Chapter 6 – False Flags

This is NOT FAIR! First, I didn't know that Hogwarts was playing host to a legendary artifact. Second, I found out that my mark has a top-of-the-line disillusioning cloak! What is this? Bring Your Priceless Treasure To Hogwarts Day?

- Will

Sounds like someone needs to up their game.

- William

William was… mulling.

Things just weren't making sense to him. The Philosopher's Stone was moved from the vault on the orders of Dumbledore. The part that didn't make sense was how Dumbledore moved it.

From what William could tell, he had Rubeus Hagrid take the trip to Gringotts on his behalf and move it then. That simply wasn't rational. Hagrid wasn't exactly the most inconspicuous person around, and he certainly didn't have the best judgment or discretion. It was almost as if Dumbledore wanted people to know he moved it. And more than that, that he'd moved it to Hogwarts itself. After all, what else could Hagrid do with it? He not only worked there, he lived there.

Under most circumstances, that would've almost certainly meant the stone was not at Hogwarts – a False Flag for Voldemort or any potential thieves.

Making things stranger, he'd had Hagrid do it at the same time he was escorting Harry Potter to Gringotts. So… the first question was, did Dumbledore want Harry to know about the stone, or did he want everyone to know about it? Next: did he want people to know the stone was at Hogwarts, or just think that it was?

Fortunately, Will's letters had enough clues for him to figure it out. Dumbledore did have the stone at Hogwarts, but it was guarded well enough that Quirrell wasn't able to retrieve it. And if the protections were strong enough that a rat like Quirrell couldn't work through them, they were probably intended to be powerful enough that Voldemort himself would fail as well.

The only logical conclusion? Dumbledore was using the stone as bait for Harry! He wanted to see what the "Chosen One" would do in the face of that much money and power. The traps would safely keep out everyone else, and let the headmaster pose an ethical test for the young 11-year old.

To be honest, he was about ready to write the whole thing off. There was no way they were going to get the thing from Dumbledore. So why not try something else?

Unicorn blood would send almost as strong of a message. And it had the extremely nice bonus that they wouldn't have to fool Dumbledore, but Hagrid. Sure enough, all it took was splashing some silvery goo around the forest. For nearly a month, Hagrid was fretting about something "Untin the H'unicorns"

Magician's Lesson Number Three: If you're going to do something, do it with style. Sure, they already had Hagrid (and presumably Dumbledore) believing that Voldemort was out in the forest killing unicorns. But why not do a finale performance to really drive it home?

He shouldn't be out here.

Why was his master so brave? Why so insistent on venturing into this horrible place?

He whimpered; he couldn't help it.

"Beshula emga Fang."

And why couldn't he at least remain with his master? Instead, he was stuck being led around by some silver-haired youngling that reeked of shampoo and a pudgy boy that stank almost as badly from sweat. They were not very good temporary-masters – he already missed his real master.

His ears perked up; his head cocked to the side.

Rooooooooooooooooowwwwwww

An intense low pitched noise was coming from ahead. Strange noises made him nervous. But part of him was curious. This noise was so low that… he wasn't sure if his temporary-masters could even hear it. He looked up at them; the pair apparently couldn't, at least not consciously… though for some reason it was putting them on edge.

"Naldan Harilan, Fang?"

He whimpered in response.

What happened next was a blur. It started out with the shampoo-master waving his not-toy-stick in the air, causing a shocking surprise, and the sweat-master was waving his not-toy-stick as well. And all of a sudden, they were attacked by a brilliant red light.

He yowled in cowardly surprise, running as fast as he could. Only his real master could save him!

After a terrifying retreat, he finally found safety. And even better, his master wasn't mad at him and was chewing out someone else (he always felt really guilty when the master was angry with him.)

A new temporary master began leading him (though the shampoo-boy was still following.)

Roooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Roooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww

… more sounds. He swallowed, a fleck of drool dropping to the forest floor. Once again, his temporary-masters didn't seem to really hear it, so much as feel it within their bones. He saw both of their arms prickle with goosebumps, fear creeping into their spines from a sound they couldn't even discern.

Masters are afraid… it must be bad…

He whimpered again.

"Gerta, Fang!"

A rustling of leaves made his head jerk to the right; another rustling on the other side made him panic and swivel his head again. After a few seconds, he calmed down. Nothing was there – he couldn't smell anything. He hated when older students did that, waved their not-toy-sticks and made sounds come from where nothing was at. It was mean!

But… where were the older students doing their nasty prank? Neither of the temporary-masters were waving their not-toy-sticks, so they couldn't have been the ones being mean.

He was suddenly scared again.

"Gerta, Fang!"

Had he whimpered again? He was trying so hard not to! At least the temporary-masters were scared, too – they seemed to be chilled, thinking they weren't alone, that something was stalking them.

As they continued onward, they arrived at what looked like a low carpet of fog on the forest floor, nearly a foot thick in height.

Fang took a frightened sniff. This wasn't fog. Fog smelled nice – like damp earth and dew and soggy wetness. This was dry and smokey. He whimpered again; he hated strange things, he didn't know why there was a fake not-fog, and he'd rather not walk through it.

"Mah, elle gerist hilog, Fang."

… okay, so it looked like the temporary-masters wanted to keep going. They were going to end up getting him eaten!

And then he smelled it. Finally! He could smell someone new in the forest… no! Two of them! He panted in relief. They smelled similar, and he already knew one of them: ghost-master (he smelled like he hung around a ghost a lot of the time.)

While the temporary masters were fascinated by some silverish goo (they had to be able to tell it wasn't blood, right? The scent wasn't right!), he was too busy trying to figure out what was creating a strange gleam in the clearing. It looked like moonlight, highlighting the area... except it wasn't the moon, it just looked kind of like it. Why would someone make a fake moonlight?

The next thing he knew, him and the two temporary-masters were staring at a cloaked figure hunched over some sort of... well, he wasn't sure what it was. It certainly looked like a unicorn, except the blood was the same fake silvery gloop the boys were so interested in.

"PRRAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Fang didn't know what shampoo-boy was screaming, but he agreed with his idea of getting the heck out of there.

Running was the only safe option. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed ghost-master's companion waving his not-toy-stick – obviously trying to fight the cloaked figure, who was already flying forward to attack the other temporary-master! He sadly wished the man luck, fleeing as quickly as he could.

If only his master could understand him when he talked...

Author's Note: You wouldn't believe how many times I've rewritten this chapter. I wanted to have a "behind the scenes" scene with how the Cartwrights pulled off the forest drama... but nothing seemed to click. And then I had the idea of doing something I've never seen in fanfiction: writing something from Fang's perspective. I think it worked out pretty well.

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