Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
The Dungeon Books
Chapter 8: Flower Blossoms Red
Remus Lupin heaved a great sigh. He stood reclined against a column in the Muggle side of King's Cross Station, waiting for his ride. The early morning bustle had ebbed already, a small mercy for the acute senses of a werewolf. Remus had much to meditate on. The past week and half had featured one too many wondrous events. Come to think of it, the entire past year had featured an overwhelming excess of bewildering events, all centered around the youth Harry Potter... no, Harry Potter Jones. For in that additional surname was contained the crux of this whole mystery—just who were these Muggles that had taken the Boy Who Lived, son of James and Lily, and forged a whole new creature? Well, he would find out soon enough. The Jones home was, after all, his destination today.
Meanwhile, the werewolf pondered how exactly he found himself bound for the current abode of the son of his late best friends. It all started with Severus, who came to his office bearing the proverbial olive branch. His saturnine colleague had returned the next day, bearing something else.
"It is imbued with a Locator Charm. Every month, at the precise date, it will warm up. You will have ten minutes to reach a reasonably secluded area. Make sure it rests on your hands, as after the ten minutes have elapsed, a goblet containing your scheduled dose of Wolfsbane Potion will be Portkeyed directly to its location. More precisely, the goblet itself shall be the Portkey. You will have another ten minutes to imbibe the contents before setting the goblet down at a reasonable distance from your person. Do you consider these instructions to be within the scope of your abilities, or shall I write them down for you?"
Snape's jibe was not entirely uncalled for. Remus was inspecting the object with undisguised awe in his hazel eyes, seemingly abstracted from anything else. It was a medallion, about the same size of a Galleon coin. On one side it featured the likeness of a large hunting cat; on the other, that of a wolf. He came out of his reverie with a jolt.
"Oh! No, Severus, I understand perfectly. It's just that... why?"
Snape quirked his lips, patently amused. He then drew a parchment from a pocket, and handed it to the werewolf.
"You shall find the answer here, or rather, there, for this is merely an invitation."
Remus's eyes grew wide. "Diane and Irwin Jones? Harry's foster parents?"
Snape's eyes glittered as he recalled memories of his own. "Indeed. You will find them quite interesting people, as well as worthy allies."
The Potions Master made to leave, but turned back at the door. "Oh, and, Lupin? If you value your pelt, do not dare to refuse anything the Joneses bestow... or require of you."
Remus did not know whether to take that piece of advise literally or not. Then again, that python of Harry's was formidable indeed. The werewolf would not soon forget how Tomoe had immobilized him—one second she was dozing on a bench, and the next he was struggling to breathe from beneath those sinewy coils. He shook his head.
Surely these Muggles would not set that reptile on a guest just for laughs?
Just then, Remus felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
"Would you be Professor Remus John Lupin, sir?"
Before him stood a man only less than an inch shorter, but large and muscular where Remus was wiry and lean. Like Remus, he was fair, but his hair was a darker shade of blond, and his eyes were more green than amber. His proud bearing marked him unmistakably as a warrior.
"Yes, and you must be Mr. Irwin Jones."
The handshake was firm and powerful. The two men walked toward the parking lot, and Irwin insisted on loading Remus's trunk. Then both men stood facing each other, studying and measuring. Then the werewolf experienced a very painful déjà vu.
Like Tomoe before him, Harry's father struck out of the blue, pose nor scent betraying his intention. The uppercut knocked Remus's breath out of him, and drove him to one knee on the pavement, clutching his stomach for the sharp pain. No more strikes came.
"That was for insinuating my son could have anything in common with his enemy besides magic, snake speech, and dormitory affiliation, Professor."
Irwin then shifted his stance to a non-threatening one and offered the dumbstruck werewolf a hand up.
Bloody hell! So this is what Severus meant! I wonder if he was ambushed too?
The ride to Surrey was uneventful after that. Remus extended Irwin his profuse apologies, and Harry's father accepted them gravely. Both men then exchanged histories and impressions of the situation facing Wizarding Britain. By the time they pulled over in front of Number Nine, Privet Drive, Remus completely agreed with Snape's assessment.
Interesting people and worthy allies indeed. As usual, Severus hits the nail on the head. No, I don't think James and Lily would have the slightest objection at all.
At the door, Diane gave Remus a shrewd look after introductions and smirked.
"Irwin expressed our opinion, didn't he?" She giggled. "Oh, don't look so wretched, Professor. Do come in; be welcome to our home. I'll get you something to soothe your stomach."
Remus found Diane's tea very soothing indeed, and strengthening also. Gathering his courage, he decided to be frank.
"Thank you very much for the refreshment, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones... if not for the blow." The werewolf smiled disarmingly. "May I ask to what do I owe the honor of your invitation?"
Diane smiled back. "You are welcome, Professor. And yes, you may ask. We have decided that a common friend deserves... intensive therapy after a long time under less than wholesome conditions. We wish you to accompany him."
Remus raised both brows. "Common friend? Therapy? I'm afraid I don't understand in the slightest."
Diane whistled. "Perhaps this will clarify the situation for you."
Down the stairs came a grinning Harry, followed by the glistening, sinuous form of Tomoe and...
"P-P-Padfoot?"
Sirius Black trotted up to the bemused werewolf and thoroughly licked his old friend's face before taking a few steps backward and resuming human form.
"Hi, Moony. Long time no see."
It was their cue. The Joneses and Tomoe exited their sitting room quietly and left the two men to their long embraces, floods of tears, and stammering confessions. They had already started lunch when the two wizards rejoined them. Both men were still shaken from the reunion, but they had renewed their friendship.
"I don't know how to thank you..." began Remus, but Diane halted him.
"There is no need, Professor. Though if you insist, it will suffice that you escort your dear friend on his holiday."
The Joneses called it, purposely, the Serious Holiday. What better way to heal the wounds inflicted by Azkaban and twelve years of estrangement than a year and a day away from the British Isles, all expenses paid? Diane, Irwin and Harry even took the two excited wizards shopping for proper attire and gear, before sending them off on a luxury cruise with leisurely interludes in all major European coastal cities from Scandinavia to the Balkans. Besides graciously providing Remus's Wolfsbane Potion, Snape handed in the werewolf's resignation to Headmaster Dumbledore. The Potions Master enjoyed letting the aged wizard believe Lupin's defection had been his doing.
Two days after Sirius and Remus departed, the Joneses did likewise. Snape saw them off at Heathrow Airport, wearing Tomoe's upper coils for a scarf and the rest of her length as an exotic stole. Now that the python's increase in size precluded comfortable air travel, she had chosen Snape as caretaker for the duration of the holidays. What better companion for a serpent, indeed, than the Head of Slytherin?
Bertha Jorkins was a compulsive snoop. This unfortunate habit had earned her enough Memory Modifications and Obliviations to render her unstable at best and a walking disaster waiting to happen at worst. Still she persisted. Perhaps this insatiable hunger for details from the lives of others had led the Ministry of Magic to retain her. Moreover, her superiors had sent her as ambassador to their counterparts in Bulgaria.
It was strictly a business trip, but Bertha couldn't help herself. As soon as she heard the rumors about strange happenings in a small rural town, she had to investigate. The locals spoke of angry ghosts ranging the neighboring forest, leaving a trail of dead wildlife in their wake. It would have deterred the staunchest sensationalist. Bertha was unhinged enough to brave the forest alone at night. She expected to find just a few angry poltergeists, easily scattered.
Instead, she found Lord Voldemort.
"Imperio."
Far away in a hut in a small African village close to the wild expanse of the Serengeti, one green-eyed youth roused violently from slumber. His yelp and the loud crash of his hammock against the dusty ground woke his parents in turn. Diane and Irwin Jones were shocked by their son's bleary eyes and haggard appearance.
"He's back..." whispered a trembling Harry. "Voldemort's back in Britain... made his first kill already..."
With heavy hearts, the Joneses bid farewell to the great African wilderness. Those among the local fauna that had struck friendships with Harry came to offer him their goodwill.
"Our favor goes with you, young Speaker." intoned a mamba. "Take our gifts, freely given, to aid you in your hunting."
Unimpeded by the underage restrictions of his British home, Harry conjured vials and flasks to receive the venoms and parts the envoys of the Peoples of the Grasslands willingly relinquished to him. Then he reluctantly turned away, grieving and irate at being snatched from a landscape that felt more like home than Privet Drive or Hogwarts ever could.
The very day of their return to Britain, Diane requested Snape's help. That evening, the Potions Master and Tomoe stepped through the threshold of Number Nine.
Harry described the eerie visions he'd experienced, featuring his scheming archenemy.
"He doesn't have a human body yet... it's more like a malformed embryo. He's being nursed by a giant cobra—he calls her Nagini. He Imperiused a woman from the Ministry and read her memories. There's a Death Eater being kept captive by the bloke's own family. They're going to free him and plant him at Hogwarts.
"Professor, I see everything Riddle does, like I'm standing right beside him! How can this be?"
Snape tapped a long forefinger against his chin, thinking hard.
"It appears your curse scar does more than just detect the Dark Lord's presence, Mr. Jones. You share a mind link with the Dark Lord. It is imperative that you master the art of Occlumency—shielding your mind from invasion—or he will use the link to possess you."
"You will teach him," observed Irwin.
"Certainly, Mr. Jones. Fortunately the Dark Lord is not yet aware of this mind link, or he wouldn't bother with planting a mole at Hogwarts."
"Shere Khan returns to the banks of the Waingunga River." Diane smiled at Snape. "Good thing we have Kaa and Bagheera here."
As was his wont, Harry applied himself sedulously to the new subject. Soon he could once again sleep soundly every night. A few days after Harry's fourteenth birthday, the Weasleys' aged owl came to him. Arthur Weasley had procured tickets to the Quidditch World Final, hosted by Britain that year. Harry politely declined. Such a multitudinous event was the perfect chance for Voldemort to wreak havoc. Indeed, the morning after the event, the Daily Prophet's front page featured the Dark Mark looming above the location of the Quidditch World Cup.
"This was not the Dark Lord's order." stated Snape, after explaining the workings of the repulsive Dark Mark tattooed on his left forearm. "Those at the World Cup acted on their own, and then scattered at the sight of the Mark. Unsurprisingly, no arrests were possible."
"Seems the unnamed supporter attended the match," said Irwin, scratching his chin. "Remarkably sloppy on the family's part. The curse of peacetime strikes back, Professor."
"Indeed, Mr. Jones. And the worst is yet to come. The Ministry of Magic has decided to host yet another grand event, and at Hogwarts no less: the Triwizard Tournament."
"Fools! Planting a mole will be literally child's play!" huffed Diane, who had read about the Tournament. "They should vote Mr. Riddle in as Minister and be done with it!"
Diane raised an eyebrow at Snape. "I wonder if Harry should attend school this term? He'll be wearing a bull's-eye for robes."
"The Dark Lord will come for him."
Diane's eyes flashed. "Then let him!"
"Our son's no longer a babe in arms, Di."
"Neither is he full-grown! Tell me, Professor, can Harry best Riddle in combat?"
The Potions Master met her gaze levelly. "I don't think so. Not yet."
"But all the craven pea brains who'd rather a savior fought their battles while they pursue their gentle entertainments have other ideas, don't they?" snarled the irate woman. "Forgive me if I don't feel particularly charitable." she sneered venomously.
The obsidian eyes of the Head of Slytherin glowed with open admiration.
In the end, it was decided that Harry return to Hogwarts for his fourth year. He would be better prepared for the inevitable that way.
The school was abuzz with excitement about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. However, the announcement that only students over seventeen could aspire to the position of Hogwarts Champion caused general dismay.
Remus's leave of absence had left the Defense post open once more. This time, the appointee was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody—an eccentric former Auror with a constantly gyrating magical eye.
Professor Moody's lessons were highly unorthodox, to say the least. During his very first lesson, Mad-Eye decided to demonstrate the Unforgivable Curses. Harry would not stand for it.
"That is completely unnecessary, not to mention unconscionable, sir!" thundered the green-eyed brunet as he levitated Moody's hapless experimental subjects out of reach.
Moody's magical eye fixed eerily on Harry, who met the unsettling gaze levelly. The Auror swiftly pointed his wand at Harry.
"Imperio. Stand upon your desk, Mr. Potter."
Harry felt a thick fog envelop his mind. The haze beckoned, offering comfort, warmth, bliss. But Harry could never believe such an offer from a source other than the wild. In this haze there was no flora or fauna, none of his brothers and sisters calling the hunt, no wind blowing in his face or rain drenching his skin, no rich smell of moist, fertile earth—no true warmth except the raging flame of Harry's wrath. Before he could take one unthinking step, the emerald orbs cleared and flashed, and a Quidditch-callused hand struck forth like lightning.
"Petrificus totalus! Incarcerous!" barked Harry. Panting heavily, he strode up to the immobilized Auror and sneered down at him.
"HOW DARE YOU! SHAME ON YOU, PROFESSOR!" he roared.
Harry then turned to his thunderstruck classmates. His eyes fell upon the Gryffindor section. Neville quaked violently, fists clenched so tightly his nails had pierced the skin. Hermione sat like a statue, all blood drained from her wide-eyed face.
"Hermione? Neville?" said Harry in calm, soothing tones. "Would you please fetch the Headmaster?"
The two students nodded jerkily as they helped each other to stand. At the door Harry's voice made them pause. "Our Heads of House also, if you don't mind? Thanks, guys."
An extremely weary, tearful Albus Dumbledore hunched over his desk after Moody, Snape, McGonagall, Harry, Neville and Hermione vacated the Head Office. Alastor Moody had been Dumbledore's close friend for many years—his implicitly trusted comrade in arms during the First War against Voldemort. To have to reprimand Mad-Eye for terrorizing students—beyond anything even his controversial Potions Master had ever dared—did not sit well with the headmaster. That Mad-Eye's gaffe had incited Harry's rage and led the youth to seize control over the much feared and respected Moody disturbed Albus even more.
Tom will soon regain his body. There must not be such strife among us. And Harry... Severus is right to chastise me. But he doesn't know my reasons. The boy carries a fragment of Tom's soul! There is no better alternative, Harry must answer to us... like you answer to me, Severus. It may seem cruel, but it is needful—Tom has tainted you both, and he must not win. I'm sorry.
"I don't like it, sir." said Harry to Snape, in the privacy of the Guardian's Chamber. "It's like we're being herded."
Dark eyes locked with green. Snape unbuttoned his left sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. His Dark Mark pulsed—a truly nauseating sight.
"When the Dark Lord returns, Slytherin House will be expected to follow his call."
"Never." came the vehement answer, in mixed English and Parseltongue. From her perch on a nearby tree branch, Tomoe seconded the refusal.
Snape nodded, grimacing. "Many will see no alternative, especially those families with Marked members."
"What will you do, sir?" breathed Harry.
Silence permeated the Chamber. Every living thing waited. Snape lowered his eyes.
"Albus will send me back as a spy. I shall have to play the part."
Harry sighed wearily, a sound echoed by the breeze against rock and tree.
"And we shall be forced to watch and expected to do nothing."
Snape placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, and spoke to the attentive landscape.
"For now, we are all forced to wait."
Late October brought the guests from the other two European Wizarding schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. They arrived in style with stunning displays of magical prowess. At the end of the Feast in their honor, the Goblet of Fire was brought forward. The powerful magical object shocked the audience speechless when it selected not three, but four Champions.
The additional name was Harry Potter.
The youth scented the trap at once. Harry rose and took two steps forward toward the High Table. Then he drew breath, and his subsequent roar had the same effect of a Full Body Bind on all present.
"MY. NAME. IS. JONES!"
Pivoting smartly on his heel, Harry marched imposingly from the Great Hall. Once outside, he trotted to the Owlery, to send immediate word to his parents. Then he headed to the dungeons and barricaded himself in the Slytherin Common Room. Tomoe braced herself to repel any enemies.
"The agent is here, Tomoe. What do we look for?"
"Skill enough for such deceit. Camouflage. Implicit trust from those who lead."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Riddle once acted through Ginevra, but no mere student is powerful enough to fool the Goblet. The headmaster?"
"He would never jeopardize the rest of his younglings just to bring you down."
"True. It would be too easy to suspect the foreigners. The Ministry officers and the school staff, then. The only ones with the skill are Mr. Crouch and the Heads of House. The Heads would have resisted. Mr. Crouch?"
"Remember the all-seeing one."
"Indeed. Crouch or Moody. Double quarry this time. "
"Difficult hunting, the all-seeing one."
Suddenly, the door shook under the onslaught of multiple fists.
"Your sisters and brothers have come." said the python, moving to let them pass. The Slytherins filed in and arranged themselves in a circle around Harry and their adoptive brood-mother.
Harry surveyed the room, nodding briefly at each of his Housemates. Then he smirked mischievously.
"Raise your hand if you doubt Voldemort is behind this."
A collective flinch rippled throughout the packed Common Room. Scores of eyes found the dungeon floor intensely compelling. Harry burst out laughing.
Theodore Nott recovered first. "Is he here?"
"His Lordship in person? No, but one of his Death Eaters is." He surveyed the gathering once more. "Something tells me it's not anybody you know," he drawled.
After another collective flinch, Millicent Bulstrode spoke timidly. "Father was at the World Cup. No one from their crowd raised the Mark."
Many upper years nodded at those words. Blaise Zabini spoke next.
"My folks aren't Marked, but they're in the grapevine. All that's come through is that everyone's worried."
Harry turned to Draco. Everyone waited mutely.
"Father led the Cup crowd." Draco admitted stiffly. Nobody in their House was comfortable speaking of the elder Malfoy, who had greased enough palms at the Ministry to avoid Azkaban after the incident two years prior.
Draco then nodded at those who had volunteered information.
"They're all saying the truth."
The Malfoy Heir finally looked around the room, gathering their House's silent unanimous approval before standing tall and drawing a deep breath.
"What do you want us to do, Harry?"
Harry rose, the perfect image of his warrior parents.
"We support the Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory."
