Ifs and Buts
Updated 6/15/15
One hundred and Four. One Hundred and Five. One hundred and …One hundred and - Harry sighed, exasperated, as he lost count of the dull grey bricks once again. It was the only entertainment his small prison had to offer, but he found he was growing rather bored of it. One can only count bricks for so long before went mad. Harry thought that was one of Voldemort's tactics. It wouldn't surprise him.
Harry gazed at the wall beside him. Upon it were four miniscule scratches that looked extraordinarily ordinary, as if they might have been from an angry rat and not a form of counting the days. Four days he had been here. It seemed a hell of a lot longer than that. His bones were weary and his tongue felt five sizes to big for his mouth. He grimaced when he heard the heavy door creak open, slamming harshly against the stone wall. He looked up at the black shadow that blocked the light from the doorway.
"Up." It snarled.
"Good evening to you too, Mcnair," Harry deadpanned.
"Don't play smart with me boy -" Mcnair stopped abruptly when Harry stood and wobbled towards him.
"Where to today?"
Mcnair sneered. "I see what you're trying to do," he said, shaking a gnarled finger in Harry's face, "and don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes."
Mcnair stood aside and allowed Harry to cross the threshold, "You won't be so chipper when the Dark Lord gets done with you today." Mcnair grinned wickedly.
Harry suddenly felt sicker. The walk to the great hall felt much longer than actually it was.
The fire in Harry's veins ended as abruptly as it had started. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. For a brief moment Harry wondered if the Longbottoms had felt this way when they were tortured…
"My patience is wearing thin! I'll ask you one more time boy – who are you?"
Harry gasped for breath. His mind was clouded. "What are you getting at? Y-You already know!"
Voldemort snarled as he brought his wand slashing downward. Harry felt the sting of the curse as it cut his cheek.
"There is no use lying brat," Voldemort said lazily. Bellatrix cackled somewhere in the background.
Harry could feel the warm flow of blood on his cheek. He felt lightheaded. Dizzy.
"I told you -"
Voldemort's face was engulfed by fury. "There is no Harry Potter!"
Voldemort watched as Rosier escorted the boy out of the hall. He sneered. For causing such an uproar and chaos the boy was hardly anything other than crazy. Sometimes crazy was good though, he reasoned. Bellatrix was crazy. Her whole existence had become consumed with pleasing him. Fighting tooth and nail to gain his approval. She had no fear in battle and gave him no reason to teach her a lesson. She was a valuable asset to his cause.
His mind wandered from Bellatrix to the boy who had just left the room. He admitted that the boy's refusal to give up information, to stick to a story, even under the Cruciatus Curse day after day, was admirable. More so when considering that the boy was still healing from the deep gouge in his stomach that threatened to expose his intestines. That was the sort of follower he needed. An average, unremarkable, stupid wizard with a disregard for rules of war. Merlin knew how cowardly and weak most of his followers were. How they broke so easily. How they would abandon him at the first sign of trouble. No loyalty at all.
He felt the anger rising.
According to Regulus, who gave the most reliable intelligence, the boy knew Alastor Moody and Sirius Black fairly well and was an orphan. In fact, the boy had been residing in the very orphanage that he had once lived in. He doubted Regulus knew this fact, a dark mark tarnishing his legacy.
Harry Potter. The boy who'd been causing so much trouble. Of course! Voldemort slumped into his straight-backed chair, looking rather undignified. Potter. If he hadn't known better he'd have thought the boy was mocking him, using that vile name.
The Potters were, for a short time, the bane of his existence. The taunted him, placed his loyal followers behind bars. Then there was that dratted prophecy. And who exactly had it pertained to? Why, the Potters of course! That Mudblood woman, the one Severus – the treacherous bastard - had practically drooled over, carried within her the sole being that would cause his downfall.
He had thought over several strategies, attempting to come up with the best way to fool fate. He thought of killing the Potters in a tragic car accident. He thought of luring them into a false sense of security, only to strike in the dead of night and kill the perfect little baby. The little baby they were to name Harry. In the end he decided to get rid of the precious Potter before it even entered the world. He did the job with his own wand. Read the reports from Cygnus afterwards. Ickle baby Harry was no more.
That was how he knew there was no such person as Harry Potter.
Evan Rosier looked at the back of the prisoner's head. He was bringing the boy back to his damp cell.
Now, Evan Rosier was a clever man. He was fifth in his graduating Hogwarts class. He had been a shoe in for the Unspeakable position at the Ministry. He was crafty and clever enough to rise to one of the top positions in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. Track, stalk, negotiate, intimidate; he could do it all, easily. And yet, a single little boy sent his mind reeling.
Harry – as he said his name was - was a mystery. No paper trail. No family. No friends. He was nonexistent until December 17th – the infamous Hogsmeade Incident. But somehow he knew them. Wives and children, brothers and sister. A warning, mocking tone had laced his slightly hysterical voice. He seemed unhinged, confused even. He scared them. He was a loose canon. They had already heard about him threatening the old Black family.
This kid certainly had what it took to rise to the top. He had an attitude about him. Like he was out for revenge. A Gryffindor for sure – if he had even gone to Hogwarts – but the most Slytherin of Gryffindors. He would be a good addition to the roster, and already he had proved his worth. Rosier was startled out of his thoughts when he ran into the prisoner, smacking his chin against the boy's head. Rosier raised a hand to his face and opened his mouth to snarl at the boy.
"You."
Rosier looked dumbly down at the boy, confused by the sudden malice in his voice. "Keep moving," He said, annoyed.
"Not you, idiot," sighed Regulus. Rosier snapped his mouth shout as Regulus moved closer to him. "He's talking to me."
The boy bristled slightly, his body tensed, "You. Are. Despicable. HOW DARE YOU! RUINING SIRIUS'S NAME!"
"Don't talk to Regu-" began Rosier as he tightened his hold on the boy's arm.
"Shut up Evan. Let Harry here have his say about my dear brother. Carry on," Regulus gestured toward Harrywith his pale hands and smirked maliciously.
The boy seethed; his teeth clenched as he tried to pull away from Rosier. It was a futile effort. Regulus laughed loudly. It sounded hollow and strained to Rosier's ears.
The boy suddenly relaxed. He was afraid the boy would riggle out of his hands like a cat.
"I will kill you," he stated.
Regulus began to speak; both he and Rosier were taken aback when the boy suddenly lunged at Regulus, escaping, momentarily, Rosier's grip.
Rosier grabbed the boy harshly by his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him and lifting his feet off the ground. Regulus did not speak or laugh. The boy struggled against Rosier's grip, thrashing. Rosier glared at Regulus before he hauled the boy back to his cell.
Regulus exited the stone corridor, his cloak snapping at his ankles and the word despicable ringing in his ears. He knew he was despicable – a deceitful, manipulative, slimy little snake. He did not particularly care. At least, he knew he shouldn't care. And yet, when the boy said that, called him despicable, said he was ruining his brother's name, Regulus found it hard to fight off the scowl that had threatened to appear on his face. He had tried to laugh it off. But he saw the odd glance Rosier had given him and knew that he had not fooled anyone. At least not Rosier.
Regulus entered the dark kitchen. He shooed the house elves away; he was capable of retrieving his own food. He grabbed a mug from a cabinet and put a kettle of water on the lit stove. He leaned against some shiny apparatus he'd heard Travers refer to as a dishwasher. Briefly he wondered why someone bent on obliterating those who were not pure of blood would live in a home full of Muggle contraptions.
He pulled the boy's wand out of his pocket and inspected it lazily before throwing it onto the counter. It was nothing special.
Regulus's thoughts drifted back to the earlier confrontation. A frown marred his face. Harry Potter. Regulus didn't know if the boy was a raving lunatic or a genius. He wondered if the boy had purposely chosen the name in order to anger the Dark Lord, or if he truly thought he was Harry Potter. His actions made no sense. He could infiltrate a meeting and fight with the best of them, even taking down some of the ministry's best Aurors, but Regulus was able to track him easily and remove his wand without him noticing.
The kettle whistled. Regulus made himself a cup of hot chocolate. As he poured the steaming water into his mug he realized knew what he had to do.
"Regulus," stated a surprised voice. Regulus sloshed the water over the counter top. "Sorry – didn't mean to scare you."
"No matter Barty," With a flick of his wand the hot liquid disappeared. He wondered if he should tell Barty his plan. He knew Barty would ask why, though, and he didn't have a reason beyond a gut feeling.
"What on Merlin's green earth are you making?" Barty eyed Regulus's mug with a look of disgust.
Regulus stirred his cup. "Hot cocoa. Would you like a cup?"
"No. No, I'm good. I came for some of Narcissa's cookies," He popped a cookie into his mouth, "Delicious," crumbs sprayed from his mouth. Barty grimaced slightly and wiped them off his shirt. "Are you coming along tonight?"
"Unfortunately, no. I have other matters to attend to," He leaned against the marble counter and sipped his drink.
"Like what?" Barty pressed, looking suspiciously at Regulus. He picked through the cookies before picking one he liked. Must he touch all of them?
No, Regulus decided. He could not share his plan with Barty. He took another gulp of the hot liquid. He could not hesitate in his answer. Barty was clever enough to catch a lie.
"I am not at liberty to say, dear Barty. But I can assure you that My Lord has a special task planned for me."
"Ah. I see," Barty paused and Regulus held his breath, "This task…the one involving a little visit to the Potters?"
This time Regulus smirked.
"Something like that."
"Lily? Lily – are you alright?" James asked as he touched his wife's shoulder. She snapped back to reality and shook her head, as if shaking away memories.
"Yes, I'm fine," she took the steaming mug from James' hand and leaned back into the couch, "Why?"
James propped his feet up onto the coffee table. He looked into the flames which licked the inside of the fireplace and gave the room a hearty glow. He sipped his tea.
"You looked a bit distant is all. I thought - I thought that with everything that has happened…" James trailed off as he saw Lily tighten her lips.
"It's getting late. I should put the kids to bed. Feet off of the table, James." Lily walked from the room, leaving a troubled James removing his feet from atop the coffee table.
James casually walked into the kitchen, casually checked to make sure his wife was still upstairs, and casually opened the fridge door. He looked for ingredients to make a sandwich. Once he was sure that Lily was still preoccupied, he took his two-way mirror out and whispered for Sirius.
He stiffened as he heard the couch squeak. James relaxed when he heard no other noise.
Sirius's face showed in the mirror, "What is it James?" he asked quietly.
"I've got a favor to ask you, Paddy."
"Alright, shoot."
James paused and glanced over the fridge door at Lily, who was now settled on the couch. He moved a jar of pickles.
"What are you doing Prongs?"
"Keeping up my disguise-"
"What?"
"Keeping up my disguise. I'm making the most amazing sandwich in the world. Anyway, I need you to dig up some info." James moved the stack of single wrapped cheese slices.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. "On what?"
"The Shadow." James rolled his eyes, he hated that ridiculous nickname.
"H? James…"
"Yes!" James quickly checked to make sure Lily had not heard his outburst, "Look, were never going to get to the bottom of this if people keep…keep manipulating the situation. I'm going to investigate him on my own – well, with your help too. You've got the means to do it Paddy."
"James, I really don't think-"
"Come on….You have more clearance, and you owe me Sirius, " James frowned as he moved a bottle of mustard behind the container of leftover tuna noodle casserole.
"I – alright James." Sirius sighed, defeated. "I'll see what I can do. Just remember – I don't like this one bit. That boy is dangerous no matter how you slice it – or how much anyone "manipulates" it."
"Thanks Padfoot. I knew I could count on you."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Bye."
"James? What are you doing in there?"
James stood quickly, shoving the mirror into his pocket. "Making a sandwich."
They milled around in the lavish foyer, murmuring amongst themselves. Rosier checked his watch. One minute to go.
"What say you, Cygnus?" asked a young, dirty-blond Death Eater as he fastened his cloak around his shoulders. Rosier searched his mind for the boy's name. He couldn't remember it. He knew the boy was a 7th year Ravenclaw.
"Well," Cygnus Black began, looking around, "I think I never want to hear about Bella and Lestrange's marital problems ever again. I'm sitting by you next meeting, Matthew."
Ah. Matthew Brown.
"No, you smart ass – about the boy. What's-his-name."
"Oh. Him. Harry, wasn't it? Anyway… I say. I say that the boy – whatever his name is – is a bit off."
"A bit off? You need to stop using that medical jargon around us paupers." Another man said jokingly, smiling slightly beneath his pristine mask. Morton shrugged unapologetically.
Rosier sneered under his own mask. How he hated Cygnus, the arrogant dunderhead.
"Fine then, MacDougal; the boy's obviously delusional. Deranged. Bonkers. Whatever you want to call it. Though, I don't think you needed me to tell you that."
"Yes, yes, we know. But, what's wrong with him? You're the healer. What's his diagnosis, then?" MacDougal pushed.
"You want me to diagnose him – of course you do, you want me to diagnose everyone. It's hard to say – I'd need one on one time to be able to tell..."
"Alright men – and Bella – Is everyone ready? Come get your Portkeys! We leave in one minute!" cried out Lucius as he brandished a handful of silver spoons in the air. Rosier hated Lucius too. In fact, he hated two-thirds of the Death Eaters.
"Is he dangerous?" asked Crouch as he grabbed a soup spoon and held it in front of him.
Cygnus paused, hand hovering next to the spoon, "Dangerous? What have you to be afraid of Barty? You've got a wand and he hasn't."
"What, not out attacking Muggles and Mudbloods tonight?" spat Harry as he struggled against his restraints. They tore into his flesh. Harry wanted nothing more than to kill the man.
"No. I came to help you."
"You? Help me? How." Harry echoed in disbelief, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair. He didn't believe it.
"Yes," Regulus pulled a small key from his pocket and dangled it in front of Harry's face, "If you promise not to hex me, I'll let you go." Regulus smiled mockingly.
Harry kicked at Regulus's leg, but Regulus sidestepped it.
"Now, Now. That wasn't very nice. Here I am, trying to help you, and that is how you repay me!"
"I don't believe a word out of your filthy mouth."
Regulus looked at Harry with an eyebrow raised before crouching down beside him.
"What are you doing?" Harry tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but he didn't do a very good job.
"Letting you go," the key clicked softly in the metal rings, "I'll contact you when you're safe again."
Harry stood cautiously, his restraints clattering to the ground, and looked skeptically at Regulus, who remained crouched on the floor and maintained a cool expression. "How will you find me?" he asked, massaging his raw skin.
"You won't be able to stay out of trouble for long," Regulus answered in his flat, monotone voice.
Harry ran. He considered Flooing away but didn't know where the fireplaces were. There was one in the great hall, but he didn't want to risk Voldemort being there. He ran through the hallways, desperately lost. They all looked the same. He spun in circles trying to find his way. He breath was haggard. He reached for his wand, a simple Point Me would work. He cursed, remembering his wand had been taken. He narrowed his eyes. Regulus hadn't given it back. Probably to keep Harry from attacking him. His heart pumped faster. This had been a trick. Regulus had let him go, let him try to escape. He'd be captured soon and punished even worse for his escape attempt. He ran and ran, portraits watching him but offering no advice. He stepped on his shoelace and tripped forward onto the hard stone floor. His wrist twinged with pain. He scrambled to his feet, his desire to escape rising. Finally, he came upon a large stained glass window. He hesitated. He knew this would hurt. He launched himself forward, shattering the glass. He groaned, glass embedded in his skin. His body ached but he forced himself up, forced himself forward. Before him was a large field. It was rather pretty, he thought, if he wasn't running for his life. So he ran.
He watched the idiot run through the halls. The door to the outside world had not been very far away, it was just down the hall, but the boy decided to run in circles instead. He heard the shattering of glass. He ran towards it, confused. A large window now had a jagged gaping hole. Glass crunched beneath his boots. He could see the boy running across the field. The idiot was right out in the open. He silently willed the boy to run towards the woods on his left. But the boy ran straight and true. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. The boy was an idiot.
He waited until the boy was out of eyesight. And then he waited longer. It was best to give the boy a decent head start. He knew they would be combing the forest. Maybe it had been clever of the boy to run through the field. It was so incredibly stupid that no one would expect it. Perhaps that was the boy's secret to success.
Minutes passed. He prepped himself, bouncing up and down slightly, like the used to do before Quidditch matches. He sprinted down the hall. His feet threatening to slip from under him as he rounded corners.
He pushed the oak door door open. It slammed against the wall, shocking the patrons within the great room. They looked toward the cause of the loud noise. Regulus slid to a stop. He stood, panting, hand gripping the molding.
The Dark Lord looked at him, appraising, "Yes, Regulus?" The Dark Lord placed his goblet onto the long mahogany table. Regulus schooled his face into a look of wild panic. He figured his windswept hair intensified the effect. The Dark Lord's eyes swept over him again, taking in his hunched form, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"My Lord," he began as he dropped to his knees, "my lord – the prisoner; he has escaped."
Dumbledore sat at his cluttered desk and gazed into the golden puffs a few silver instruments released. Fawkes gnawed on a piece cuttlebone. The grandfather clock clicked merrily in the background. Dumbledore felt as if the clock was counting down to doomsday. Change was coming. He could feel it. A bigger change than the one that had occurred at the evening's meeting. After Lily and James walked out an uncomfortable silence had filled the circular room. Luckily, he was a gifted speaker, able to persuade nearly anyone. He convinced them that this was the best, the only option. What if the boy fell into the wrong hands? What if he really was the heir, or a secret weapon? There was no true way to tell. This war was no longer contained to their tiny island. It extended far beyond their borders, across oceans. This boy gave the Voldemort supporters hope. He was the every-wizard. And yet, look what he could do. He showed them that they, normal wizards, could achieve success. It had been an uphill battle, but he knew it would be for the greater good. It would save so many Muggleborns, so many innocent witches and wizards. Hadn't they lost enough already? Were they prepared to lose more? To devastate the wizarding population?
He grabbed his quill and began to pen a letter to the infamous "H".
