Chapter 6
Harry's Fury
Ron woke up from another restless nights sleep in his room at Grimmould Place in London. It had been home for almost five years with his best mate, Harry Potter. It took him a few months to get used to not living in either The Borrow or at Hogwart's. In time, the place felt like home as Harry and he made it a little more their own.
Harry's house elf Kreacher was still around and he was getting very old. Hermione insisted Harry decrease the elf's workload to compensate for his age, to which Harry agreed but Kreacher did not.
Harry had won over Kreacher before the battle of Hogwart's, but there was still much left to do with Kreacher once they moved in. For one, Kreacher needed to learn not to call Hermione a "mud-blood." Ron often referred to "training" Kreacher, which infuriated Hermione. Kreacher had been possessed by Regulus's locket and it took time for his mind to settle down after the locket was destroyed. Kreacher rarely talked to himself anymore, and slowly began to accept his new master. They learned to ignore him, when he went off on those sorts of fits. Kreacher no longer slept in the broom cupboard in the kitchen; he now occupied the room with the entire Black family tree. Harry took the master bedroom on the top floor for his own, which had most recently been occupied by Sirius and Buckbeak. Ron took the second largest room, located on the second floor, the one which once held a Bogart.
Grimmould place was Ron and Harry's now. They loved it, and it was the castle of their Kingdom thought the girls still found it a tad ghastly. For the past three months, Ron had spent all of his free time there, and it'd been a horrible three months for him, dealing with leaving Hermione. It wasn't getting any better; he was still not getting over the loss.
Ron lay in bed on his stomach with his hand over his eyes trying to block out some light leaking in through the windows. He was so tired inside, but his body refused to calm down his mind enough to allow him peaceful sleep. It was well past ten on Sunday morning, yet he still was not awake.
Ron lay there thinking about Hermione, remembering another frustrating conversation from about a year before. Back then Ron came stumbling down the stairs of Hermione's flat calling her name. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading of all things, the London Times and not the Daily Prophet. Ron came bursting up, and tossed a piece of parchment at Hermione. She grabbed it, gave him a cross look and read it. Written in Latin were several letters forming a word, underneath in Ron's handwriting was the word "Vaksai" in English.
"What's this?" she asked annoyed.
"It's a jinx we got from Neville, supposed to help make plants grow. We're working on finding counter-curses and counter-jinks to block spells in mid-flight. The curse we are working on responds slightly to other spells in this family, but we can't seem to make it work, Harry and me."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "What does it do?" she asked hoping they weren't using the Cruciatus Curse again.
"It makes things grow, it's the biggest spell in the Zynjan family of growth charms," he responded, ignoring her disdain. "Can you check my translation please, when you have time?"
"Fine, whatever, I'll look it up when I can," she conceded.
"Thanks love, you're the best," Ron said, kissing her on the cheek and running back upstairs. Hermione never did get back to him on whether or not it was correct. If she'd have known they wanted to test it against the killing curse she surely would have killed him right there on the spot.
In and out of consciousness, Ron thought he heard to door to his room creek open. Soft footsteps of padded feet seemed to be echoing in his mind, yet he did not move. When he heard the deep rasp of Kreacher's voice at the foot of his bed, but was not startled.
"Master Weasley," Kreacher grunted, his head bowed.
"What is it noble house-elf of the Black family?" Ron said through the muffle of his pillow. Kreacher's ego required compliments after so many years of condescending treatment; this was Hermione's idea, and it made Kreacher so much more manageable.
"Master is too kind," Kreacher's head was still in a bow, as Ron pulled his face off his pillow and sat up facing Kreacher. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned.
"Master, the portrait of the honorable Phineas Nigellus Black demands either you or Master Harry Potter make contact with him immediately. Master must forgive this intrusion, as Kreacher felt it was urgent." Ron looked at Kreacher, whose head was bowed and where he still wore the locket Harry gave him that once belonged to Regulus Black, Sirius's brother.
"It's okay Kreacher, you are permitted to interrupt me on matter's your wisdom deems appropriate," Ron said again, with extra compliment to keep Kreacher happy.
Phineas's portrait was now up on the third floor, which is where Hermione placed it after she took it for their horcrux quest. Ron stumbled up the stairs and entered the small storage room where Black's picture hung. Ron plopped himself down on a few stacked crates in front of the portrait, and with one last yawn addressed it.
"Oi, what do you need Headmaster?" Ron yawned, his eyes still not completely open.
"The painting of Albus is requesting contact with Hermione Granger immediately," Phineas said dryly. This perked up Ron to wide awake.
"What? Hermione? Are you sure?"
"Yes, Hermione Granger, Dumbledore instructs her to come to Hogwart's to contact him as his other frames are not accessible at the moment."
"What does he want, perhaps I can help?" Ron offered, but Phineas merely shook his head. Phineas stood up with an arrogant bow and exited the frame, most likely returning to his seat in the Headmistress's office at Hogwart's.
Ron was getting a bit angry, but he knew Harry was gonna fall off his rocker at the news Dumbledore contacted Hermione and not Harry.
After giving the news to the still sleeping Harry, Ron realized he miss-appreciated how much the news would upset him. His best friend dressed faster than he had ever seen, and headed off to the girls flat. For obvious reasons Ron stayed behind.
Harry arrived on the roof of Ginny and Hermione's flat about ten minutes after he sent a Patronis to warn them of his arrival. Ginny was waiting for him on the roof, wearing her house coat and slippers. She looked sleepy and annoyed. He walked up and gave her a warming hug and a kiss.
Harry moved Ginny inside, and as they descended the stairs, he could see Hermione sitting in the brown stuffed chair staring into the fireplace. She was sipping a steaming cup of either tea or cocoa, Harry couldn't be sure.
"So what's up?" Ginny asked making an exhausted plop onto the red couch.
"It's Hermione actually, why I am here," he said looking at her. "Care to tell me why the Painting of Professor Dumbledore wants you to get in touch with him?"
Hermione took a moment to respond, as if searching for what to say. "I contacted him about three weeks ago, on Minister Shacklebolt's order," Hermione said quite diplomatically. "He's still an excellent source of intelligence."
"Someone you are tracking?" he asked. "I am the wizard hunter, if you are chasing someone down, I need to know, that's my job!"
"I'm aware of that Harry, and trust me when I tell you this doesn't involve you at all. It's about me, and my work, not yours." She could tell Harry was furious.
Hermione chose not to engage Harry and excused herself to get dressed. When she came out of her room and grabbed her briefcase in an attempt to leave, Harry was blocking her path. "I am coming with you, Hermione."
"No, Harry this is private Ministry business, you cannot come." Hermione side stepped Harry to get past him at the stairs leading to the roof, but Harry quickly moved to counter. Their argument went on for a few more seconds before Ginny spoke up instructing Harry to let her pass. Reluctantly he did.
After arriving in the snow covered Hogs Meade, Hermione made her way up to the main campus of Hogwart's. There were a few students, mostly latter years, out enjoying the snow, but most seemed inside keeping warm. It was the time of year when everyone was just returning from the holiday break, which meant fifth years were in the crunch for OWL's, sixth years their NEWT's and the seventh years were cramming for exiting exams, preparing resumes and taking job interviews.
She entered the tall double wooden doors that lead to the main hall. She passed by the jars indicating the status of the houses. Hermione turned past the house jar's towards the Great Hall, making a deliberate attempt to avoid looking direct eye contact with a large marble plague. The one dedicated to those who died in the hall five years ago.
The Great Hall doors were open, and inside she could hear voices of students studying, overruled by one voice over all the rest. She turned the corner to see Hagrid sitting there laughing with some first years at the Ravenclaw table. She walked towards him and before she realized it, she embraced him with a massive hug that caused her eyes to tear up a bit.
"Bloody hell," Hagrid gasped at being hugged so fiercely from behind. "Who the, uh, HERMIONE!" Hagrid stood up quickly from the table and took Hermione with him off her feet. He too was a little teary, and pulled a giant spotted handkerchief from his pocket at batted his eyes.
"You look fantastic Hermione," Hagrid beamed pulling her into another hug.
"Thanks, Hagrid," she blushed. "I'd love to visit, but I'm looking for Professor McGonagall, have you seen her?"
Hagrid didn't speak but pointed towards the Gryffindor table, where she could see the Professor helping students. Hermione paid Hagrid her parting respects and waved to a few of the students near by. She had been gone so long; it wasn't likely she knew any of the students currently in attendance. Professor McGonagall spotted her as she approached and moved to close the distance between then.
"Hello, Hermione," McGonagall said with a surprising hug catching Hermione off guard.
"Hi, Headmistress." Hermione replied causing McGonagall to snort in laughter.
"I think you've earned the right to call me Minerva, Hermione."
"Yes, Headmistress, whatever you say." She smiled back.
"I am afraid I have previous commitments with my sixth years today, so I'll leave to my office alone. The password is the animal, on my desk your first day ever in my class, do you remember?"
"How can I forget, Headmistress?"
"I trust you remember the way?"
"Yes, Headmistress, I do," and with that Hermione excused herself and made her way to the Headmistresses office. Upon seeing the gargoyle, she spoke the words "Tabby Cat" and it opened for her. Hermione reached the outer door and let herself in. She looked around and saw all the portraits of past head masters. The office was newly decorated, much more to the style of McGonagall. As headmistress she was forced to be decidedly neutral pertaining to the houses, but there were unquestionably more items pertaining to Gryffindor than any other house. Hermione moved through the office to behind to the desk to find the picture of Professor Dumbledore, only when she arrived his portrait was not there.
She was surprised to see Severus Snape's portrait residing where she remembered Professor Dubledore's painting before. She hadn't realized the spot behind the desk was for the most recent headmaster. She looked up at Professor Snape, whose snake like eyes peered down at her.
Hermione turned and addressed a painting of Professor Dumbledore for the first time in a month, though this was the first time she spoke to him at Howart's. Seeing the man who was so instrumental in their successes was always hard, but she hoped he would be able to help her answer some burning questions.
"Hello, Hermione!" he bellowed with a laugh. "How have you been?"
"I've had better days, Professor." Hermione looked away quickly and changed the subject. "Have you been able to find out anything I asked you about last time?"
Dumbledore smiled and her abrupt, but polite subject change. "Yes, I have. It appears you were looking in the wrong direction, reference missing Death Eaters. Toya Tukston is believed to have been killed shortly after Voldermort killed Harry's parents."
"But the Auror department has no record of ever detaining him, or ever finding his wand. I'm certain he's still alive. He has to be the wizard who has been threatening the Muggle Prime Minister."
"No I don't think that's the case, Hermione. Phineas?" Dumbledore looked over to the painting on Phineas Nigellus Black, who perked up in his chair.
"My esteemed and noble relative Bellatrix Lestrange swears to have first hand knowledge of his death sometime after the Potter boy survived the Dark Lords first attack. She will not be more specific because she knows I will tell you, and she is especially tight lipped about the whereabouts of his wand."
Hermione gasped, "You are in contact with a portrait of Bellatrix?"
"Yes, we both are displayed with honor in the Malfoy Manor, though it took some time after Bellatrix was murdered, before a suitable portrait could be displayed."
Hermione let the murder comment slide about Bellatrix, instead looking to back to Dumbledore.
"Professor, I;m sure these threats are coming from a wizard. If not Tukston, than whom else could it be? All of Voldemort's second round of Death Eaters are in Azkaban with the exceptions of Luscious Malfoy who allegedly now a drunk, and Draco Malfoy who was given released for being barely of age. Everyone is accounted for."
"If everyone is accounted for, then I'm sure you have an alternate theory. Am I right in my assumption?" Dumbledore asked.
"The intelligence makes no sense. Trails appear and then go cold just as fast. On three separate occasions, magic was used as a small part in major heinous Muggle crimes. I can prove this, yet, as always the Ministry feels it's a Muggle affair and drops the issue. Now that so much time has passed since the investigation was dropped the magical trail is completely cold."
"How does that make you feel, being Muggleborn?"
"It's infuriating, Professor. I love both sides, and the thought that someone is playing on the textbook ignorance of Muggles and the deliberate and elitist ignorance of wizards drives me insane. Not to mention, it's really a scary thought."
"That, is a very plausible theory, Headmaster," said the portrait of Professor Snape, obviously eavesdropping."
"Indeed it is Severus. Indeed." Dumbledore smiled at Hermione. "Perhaps it would be wisest to eliminate all potential magical suspects. This course of action could produce your culprit, or prove your other theory. Most likely the former, seeing as to accomplish what you are suggesting would take significant dark magic."
"That's where I'm stuck, Professor. I'm pretty sure I'm right, but that's mostly based on instinct. If I am proven right, I would have no idea how to track a wizard like this."
"One thing at a time then. Start with known associates of the Dark Arts, and criminals. Wizards and witches who have both the means the skill. To truly find a comprehensive list of who's been captured and who's at large or missing you will perhaps need to look up one of your old classmates. Only Draco Malfoy would have this information."
Hermione winced at his name. "I don't understand Professor, what can Malfoy offer?"
"His knowledge is combined with that of his father; perhaps in talking to him you may be able to find out more information. I would suggest you also look to gain information about more pure-bloods, a more comprehensive list of disownments and an accurate family tree. Pure-blooded families are not happy about the current Ministry administration or their equality legislation. Perhaps you can find a rogue by exploring that angle too."
"Yes, Professor," Hermione sighed at the thought of being around Draco again.
"There's one other thing. My life long friend, Jefferson Hornbuckle went missing about 12 years ago. I have spoken with his portrait, as he just recently passed, and he has very little memory of his life after Voldemort killed Harry's parents. His memoirs, which he left the Ministry to complete, stop suddenly in 1989. I'm not sure if this's connected, but in rare cases the Imperius curse used for long periods can cause permanent memory loss. If we have dark wizards no one is tracking and others under the Imperius Curse for years at a time, that means you potentially have a serious problem on your hands. You receive intelligence from the two ministers, where does that point?"
"On the Muggle side? At best, an American Muggle crime lord operating out of New York City in the states and out of half of Europe and the UK. His companies are involved, either directly or indirectly in most of the case-law I find questionable. Only, he's about as close to anything magical, as you are I are to professional Quittich."
"Granger," Professor Snape asked. "How's your Occlumency?"
"Um, fair to average, I guess." She answered, a little embarrassed.
"That's odd, Severus." Dumbledore said sarcastically to Professor Snape. "In six years of providing education to Miss Granger, did you ever see or hear of her doing anything that was fair to average?"
Snape shook his head. "If you're headed into the world of the Dark Arts, Occlumecy and Legilemens at an Outstanding NEWT level is commonplace. This includes Mr. Malfoy."
"Understood professor, I will begin immediately."
Dumbledore smiled at her. "Do me a favor and keep Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley out of the information loop until such time as it is life and death."
"No problems there?" Hermione snorted back.
"You two still aren't speaking?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows from inside his frame.
"One chance encounter in three months, and that was a disaster."
"Ah, pride is a tough thing to swallow Miss Granger. Harry Potter is no longer the boy who lived. Ronald Weasley is no longer just Harry Potter's friend, and you my dear are no longer their voice of caution and reason."
"Yes, well, he wants me to be something I am not."
"You're sure, have you asked him?"
"No, but what he asks, I'm not sure I can do."
Dumbledore smiled and nodded. "Perhaps he wants you to be who you were meant to be, not someone you are not."
"I'm not Molly Weasley, Professor."
"What is wrong with Molly Weasley, she is a fantastic witch."
"I am not as perfect as she, and my whole life does not center on creating and maintaining a family."
"Oh, is that all you think she is? You still have much to learn, Hermione."
Hermione smiled and took this point in the conversation as an excellent time to say her goodbyes and excuse herself. Pertaining to the threats on her boss, she knew what she needed to do now.
June 18, 1996
Serahn moved through his private marble office with squeaky shoes as another day of rain blanketed greater London. He walked through the giant double doors no key could open, past the black and white marble pillar that created a large circular meeting chamber. As he passed, torches lit themselves, casting a soft orange glow within the darkness. He enjoyed the lack of light in his private quarters, and savored the mood the dancing flames provided.
Crossing the circle of pillars, he reached four polished stone steps that led him up to his desk. Standing opposite to the side he would normally sit, he turned around files and paperwork so he could read them.
Reading nothing terribly interesting, he perused mostly business and stock reports of his various financial interests across the globe. He reached across the desk to turn the computer monitor around to face him; as the stock reports popped up his eyes drifted away slightly to his right causing him to smile. His instincts confirmed he was not alone.
"You might as well come forward," he said without looking up from the monitor. "I know you're there."
Who this mysterious person might be was a good question, but when he heard a deep cackle come from behind one of the marble pillars his heart froze inside his chest.
Drenched to the bone, covered in a tattered, hooded black cloak held in by arms tightly wrapping a slender frame, Bellatrix Lestrange walked into view.
Serahn's head snapped around to see her; his body following quickly. The index and middle finger of his right hand sliding up his cuffs to secure his wand. He smiled a look of pure shock and fear wondering if she was here to hug him or kill him. Bellatrix's eyes shifted slightly, noticing the movement. She continued to laugh.
"My lady Bellatrix," he forced from his lips with a gasp, bending slightly forward in a bow.
Bellatrix's eyes lit up slightly as she looked around the large room, admiring the accommodations. With careful steps she continued to advance on Serahn, who had worked his way down the steps to her level.
"Quite the lavish Muggle treasure's you have," she spoke coyly with a smile. "Though I think calling you a Muggle, now, is a bit of an insult. Don't you think? Doggie?"
Serahn did not answer.
"You are not a Muggle, like I once thought pretty-man. You are a half-blood; a mud-blood. A wizard some would say."
"Thank you, my lady," he replied respectfully.
"I hate mud-bloods!" she screamed, flipping off her saturated cloak to the floor and raising the wand she concealed beneath it.
Perhaps the smartest thing Serahn ever did in his entire life was not raise his wand when she raised hers. He stood still, holding his position of respect for his mistress. His master. The one who brought him everything he ever wanted.
Bellatrix loosened the arm holding her wand at him, standing just a few strides away from him. She began to laugh again, turning in circles to take in the wonder of Serahn's office.
"I received intelligence reports you had escaped the wizard prison, my lady. I am very happy to see you well."
"Yes, the Dark Lord rewards my loyalty as he always has," she snorted.
So it was true. Voldemort was alive! Serahn's reports were sketchy at best concerning the subject of Voldemort. Several wizards claimed he was back, but the magical newspaper The Daily Prophet denied it repeatedly.
"What brings you to me, my lady? I am, as always, your humble servant." Serahn knew how to warm someone up, and how to kiss the appropriate appendages when necessary.
Bellatrix smiled the same sickening smile Serahn remembered so vividly from the night in the alley so long ago. Aggressively she stepped forward, and raised her wand to his face.
"Wait!" he screamed before she could curse him.
Bellatrix halted he advance, obviously shocked by his tone.
"My lady, I serve you freely and willingly. The Imperius Curse you placed on me last time lifted the moment you were arrested," he negotiated minding carefully to not use the word 'captured.'
"I serve you still. If you need something from me, anything? You have but to command me, and I will make it so. Placing me under the Imperius curse greatly limits my effectiveness."
Bellatrix's eyes rolled slightly to the right as she contemplated his proposal.
"Very well," she said, lowering her wand. "The Dark Lord's plan's are in motion, and soon he will rule the entire wizarding world. All witches, wizards, magical creatures and Muggle's alike will bow to his power. I am here to ensure I am by his side when they do."
"What would you have me do, my lady?"
Bellatrix explained her paranoia and the upcoming war. She told Serahn about Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and several others she and her fellow Death Eaters planned to kill. Much of what she told him was cryptic and vague, other parts however were surprisingly detailed considering she had not seen or spoken to him in over a decade.
She talked at great length about her cousin Sirius Black, whom she had just recently killed. Serahn insisted she stay in his estate, as it was a Muggle's estate, until the smoke cleared from her attack at the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord Voldemort commanded all of his Death Eaters to remain out of sight until he called for their return.
Bellatrix demanded a broom since she was unable to Apparate without being detected. Serahn arranged immediate fresh clothing for her, and offered his wing of his estate for her usage. She did not hesitate in accepting, or thank him for that matter.
Several days passed and he could tell Bellatrix was becoming rather anxious to return to her master. All her years in Azkaban surely did not help her deal with being cooped up in another prison of sorts.
The majority of the time they spent together was used to teach Serahn Occlumency, the art of keeping straying eyes out of your mind. As with most things magical, Serahn was a quick study. Once she explained the concept, no matter how quickly she shot him with the Legilimens charm he could always stop her. This made her very happy. He needed to protect his mind from prying wizards; otherwise all her efforts to preserve herself would be fruitless.
The Muggle newspapers continued to report ghastly crimes occurring all around the United Kingdom. Bellatrix seemed convinced they were Death Eaters acting on the will of her master. She grew increasingly agitated and ready to return to her world, and Serahn heard her many a night screaming from her room for Voldemort to contact her.
On what would later be seen a her last day with him, she demonstrated some of the darkest magic his eyes would ever see.
"Come here!" she demanded, holding out a flat palm expecting him to give her something. "Your wand! Now!"
Without question he handed over his twisted black oak and goblin blood-core wand. It may have once belonged to the Death Eater Toya Tukston, but it was his now. It was a part of him.
Bellatrix took it from him and turned her back walking a few steps away.
"Yes, yes. This will do. This will do, nicely," she laughed speaking to herself.
Serahn heard her mumble to herself, and when the torches in his private office began to flicker and dim he realized she was chanting some sort of spell.
The room went completely dark save a single light emanating from each of Bellatrix's eyes. Red plumes of illuminated smokes seeped from under her dress and swirled around her.
She began to yell her chant, in a language Serahn did not know. Turning around to face him, or perhaps he moved to see her face he watched as she touched the tip of his wand to the breast over her heart.
The ground began to shake in a low rumble at first before shattering the glass of every picture frame on the wall. Bellatrix let out a scream of pure pain as if every bone in her body was being crushed by a vice, one turn at a time.
She inched the wand slowly away from her chest, pulling with it a smudge of blackness casting it own light into the dim room. Her wand hand trembled, struggling to pull free causing her to heave with her other hand to. The struggle was immense; whatever she was pulling out of herself did not want to be freed.
Bellatrix's screams became deafening and with one final burst of effort and scream his wand snapped free from her chest giving birth to a misshapen sphere of total blackness.
She fell to her knees gasping for air. Serahn stepped forward in a panic to assist her only to be halted by a hand she held up in defiance. The blob she pulled from her chest lowered itself in a hover to the crouched beauty.
The light it cast pulsated in front of her face causing her to smile in victory. She whispered a few words directly to the blackness commanding it to move. Its size and mass fluctuated before oozing towards Serahn's wand Bellatrix held out in an open palm.
His wand absorbed every last drop it, and with a pop the blackness was gone. Bellatrix dropped the wand, doubling forward onto her hands and knees and vomited.
She heaved a few times before spitting the last of her sick from her mouth. Her cackles and laughter surprised Serahn who wasn't really sure what he just witnessed. He moved in closer to her as she looked up at him with a smile.
Her face was different now, her eyes sunken more into her skull, the circles around her eyes somehow darker. The pain she had just endured caused tears of bright red blood to streak her milky white cheeks. He noticed blood spilling from her ears.
She laughed louder at the look on his face as he knelt down beside her completely bewildered. Bellatrix ran her fingers through her own vomit, playing with it momentarily before smearing a good amount of her sick on Serahn's face with a laugh.
"Remember my portrait!" she commanded with a convulsion in her gut. "You will receive The Prophet by owl every day now. You will know if I die."
"Yes, my lady," he replied.
"You have to get the original! That's imperative doggie. I have shown you Diagon Alley, you may go anywhere in there but Olivander's shop. He recognizes every wand he has ever made. Do not go in there or you will be discovered."
Serahn bowed his mousey brown and gray streaked head acknowledging her orders.
"Get the portrait, I will do the rest. Do you understand? Mudblood! If I die, you must get it before my sister does."
"Yes, my lady, I will. I promise you."
Bellatrix was not herself for the remainder of her time in his home. Something had changed inside her, something darker; something more evil was now on her surface.
Holding the broom he bought her, she stood on a covered patio attached to Serahn's master bedroom. There were no good-byes, or anything resembling affection. She showed him a blackened tattoo on her forearm, which now throbbed calling her to return to her master.
She handed him his wand, which once it touched his palm, shot a cold jolt on anger through his entire body. Bellatrix looked at him with lust filled eyes, smiling as the effect of her essence in his wand consumed him. With a cackle of victory she laughed, mounted her broom, and vanished into the night.
