Bottle Fame and Brew Glory: Relics of the Founders

Friday, February 13, 1998

The first questions for Fortescue were about his health and his treatment. He had little to say, and it appeared that for much of his time with the Death Eaters, he was kept isolated and alone, and he could remember few specifics about his time with the giants other than fear, cold, and hunger. Much of the time he'd spent in a semiconscious state. Seeing Dumbledore helped convince him that those evil times were past, and Fortescue even wrinkled his brow at the sight of Snape.

"You're the tutor, aren't you? You used to meet pupils at the tables in front of my shop all the time."

Snape nodded, surprised and strangely gratified that Fortescue would remember something so small from nearly twenty years in the past, although at the time Snape had been following the Dark Lord's instructions and recruiting more Death Eaters, so he wasn't anxious to discuss that period.

"Do you remember what happened the day you were kidnapped, Florean?" asked Dumbledore.

"Do I! I've had months to think of nothing else. They came in the evening, after I closed up and was counting receipts. I… Oh, Merlin! Did they get Ollivander, too? I tried to warn him but… Do you know where Ollivander is?"

"Easy, easy…" Dumbledore murmured, taking Fortescue's hand. "We do not know where Ollivander is, but our information indicates he escaped." After a pause to allow Fortescue to digest this news and calm down, Dumbledore continued. "Why did you think to warn him?"

"We're just about the two oldest merchants in Diagon Alley. Been there for ages. He got worried about thirty years ago when someone left a wand with him on condition he never sell it. He told me it'd had a famous owner and nothing more, but he clearly knew more. Having it made him nervous. About fifteen years ago he told me someone had done something to alter the wand in the past. Not what they did, but just that it wasn't what it was when it was made. Then, about a year before they came for me, he got nervous again and we exchanged mirrors. Like a cat on a hot plate he was. When they broke in, I smashed the mirror to warn him. I only hope he got away in time."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No, but there are certain days when I could contact him. Not know where he is, not reach him, but contact him."

Snape asked quickly, "Did you tell the Dark Lord this?"

Fortescue gave him a strange look. "Dark Lord? Who…?" but Dumbledore reassured him. "It is all right, Florean. I can vouch that he is trustworthy. He merely has an odd way of expressing himself from time to time. Did you tell You-Know-Who about Ollivander?"

"No one asked me about Ollivander. They wanted to know about a lot of other things, old things, but not about Ollivander. I don't think they even suspected I'd warned him."

"You said there were some days you could contact him," Dumbledore continued. "What days are those?"

"Just a couple of times a year," Fortescue replied. "Solstices, equinoxes, the great feasts, and Fridays the thirteenth…"

Snape was on his feet at once, and he and Dumbledore stared at each other in surprise. "Florean," said Dumbledore quietly, "today is Friday the thirteenth. Friday, February 13, 1998."

"What time is it? What time is it?" Fortescue's agitation was frightening. He started trying to clamber out of the bed and they had to restrain him. But when Snape said, "Twelve thirty-five," Fortescue suddenly collapsed back against his pillows. "Too late," he moaned. "Too late."

"Why?" Snape asked. "What time were you supposed to contact him on those days?"

"At noon exactly. That's when, as close as humanly possible, it's Friday the thirteenth everywhere. But now it's too late. Now we have to wait."

"A month," Dumbledore sighed. "We are fortunate that it is not a leap year, and March will have a Friday the thirteenth, too."

"Maybe," said Snape quietly, "we don't have to wait that long. We're in France. France is an hour ahead of Britain. It isn't noon in Britain yet."

They moved fast. A hearth and floo powder were what they needed, and both were quickly provided. They got Fortescue into a chair next to the fireplace and waited as the clock ticked toward one o'clock. One o'clock at Troyes, and noon in Greenwich.

At the stroke of the hour, Fortescue flung a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and cried, "Wandmaker!"

They waited. After several minutes, just as they were certain nothing would happen, a soft voice came through, a voice that might have been Ollivander's – or not.

"Who is with you?"

"Friends," Fortescue said at once. "From Hogwarts."

There was no response.

"It is Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, his own voice unique in the wizarding world – unique and unmistakable. "I am with Professor Severus Snape."

That brought a reaction, "Ask Professor Snape to describe the wand I sold him."

They all turned to Snape, who first looked puzzled, then paled a little, then said, "I can't do that."

"Why not?" came the voice from the fireplace.

"You never sold me a wand. I use my grandfather's."

"Good," said the voice, and Ollivander's ancient face with its round, washed-out eyes appeared in the green flames. "It has been so long, Fortescue. Are you all right? I thought you had been taken."

"I was. They held me for more than a year and a half. The two with me rescued me two days ago."

"Merlin! Are you well? I have been worried about you."

"I'd lost hope, but then they came. I'm… recovering. The healers here are good. So 's the food. I think I'm in France."

Ollivander chuckled. "Take advantage of it while you can. French food is wonderful in terms of healing. And comfort. Let us not forget comfort. Take care of yourself. What do you want with me?" This last was not addressed to Fortescue.

"We want first," said Dumbledore, "to know that you are safe. We have that, and if you want to vanish now, that is all right." Ollivander didn't vanish, so Dumbledore continued. "Next, we wish to know about the wand. There is a wand. We think you have it, and we think You-Know-Who wants it. We want to know that it, too, is still safe."

"It is still safe."

"Good. I wish to remain here to see to Florean, but can Severus talk to you? Also Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt? Not here, like this, but face to face? On your terms."

When Ollivander was silent, Fortescue added, "Moody was one of those that rescued me. I think we can trust them."

That brought another long wait while Ollivander's face disappeared from the hearth. Then he came back. "Heathrow," he said, "no magic," and disappeared.

Dumbledore and Snape got Fortescue back into bed and in nurses' care, then Snape left for England.

"Well Heathrow's a blessing," sighed Moody after Snape filled him and Shacklebolt in on what had happened. "At least it's someplace I know."

"When were you ever at Heathrow?" Shacklebolt asked. "I can't imagine any wizard having to go to Heathrow."

"Long story," Moody replied. "I'll tell you sometime. How do we get there? I presume we can't apparate in."

"Underground," Snape replied. "Piccadilly Line."

"And how do you know about the London underground?"

Snape glared at Shacklebolt. "I used to live in London. I'm sure you read about it in my file. You remember my file – the trial transcripts and everything."

"Oh, right," said Shacklebolt. "So what do you suggest?"

"I assume he's picked Heathrow precisely because wizards aren't likely to go there and he'd notice anyone apparating in. Under normal circumstances, I'd apparate to Diagon Alley and take the Tube from Leicester Square, but I still can't be seen by other wizards, and I don't want to take a Polyjuice pill right before seeing Ollivander. Are you familiar with Kensington? The Natural History Museum or the Victoria and Albert? South Kensington Station's on the Piccadilly Line. There's a Tube subway passage under Cromwell Road, and no one would see us once we were there."

The other two nodded and prepared to apparate to Kensington. Just before leaving, Moody whispered to Snape, "Are you going to tell Ollivander you nicked a wand from his shop?" Then he grinned and was gone, an exasperated Snape following shortly behind.

The journey to Heathrow would have been easy had it not been for the need to explain every step to Shacklebolt and Moody: how to purchase tickets (for which Snape had to provide the money), how to insert them into the stiles, how to find the platform… It was like dealing with children, for although Shacklebolt was more accomplished than Moody at blending in, he had never before been on the underground.

Then they complained about the length of time the trip took. At every station the same question – are we there yet? This, thought Snape, is why I am blessed never to have married or had children. I'd have defenestrated them long ago.

At Heathrow, they weren't sure where to get off the car, so they chose the very first stop. It was where they were expected, for a young boy almost immediately came over and asked, "Mr. Shacklebolt?" all the while staring at Moody. When Shacklebolt identified himself, the boy said, "Would you sign this, please, sir?" and then handed Shacklebolt an envelope and ran off.

The envelope contained a brief note: 'Mezzanine level, restaurant, buy something and sit down.' Shacklebolt showed it to Snape, who said only, "You're lucky I have money," and led them to the eating area. It was a self-serve place where Snape had considerable trouble restricting the other two to something light, their appetites being somewhat larger than his pocketbook. After they were seated, Moody said, "Careful. He's coming over." Sure enough, Ollivander came up from behind Moody and joined them, carrying a small cup of coffee, his large, pale eyes shifting nervously to every corner of the restaurant.

"Why could Fortescue not come with you?" he asked quietly. "Why must Dumbledore 'see to' him?"

"He's been the guest of giants at the orders of You-Know-Who. We got him out on Wednesday, but his health is very fragile," Shacklebolt replied. There was a tacit understanding that Ollivander needed to ask the first questions, and so neither of the other two said anything.

Ollivander sipped his coffee and glanced over at Snape. "There was a rumor that you had murdered Professor Dumbledore," he said at last.

"There're lots of rumors," Snape responded coldly. "Some of them are about you."

Shacklebolt and Moody both glared at Snape, but Ollivander seemed pleased at Snape's irritation. "Never trust anyone who is too nice," he said. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about? It has been such a long time since I have been in the company of other wizards, I doubt there is anything I can tell you."

"We're interested," said Moody, "in Rowena Ravenclaw's wand."

"Such a lovely wand. So well made. I am afraid I cannot help you. I do not know where it is."

"You told me it was safe," Shacklebolt said with some exasperation.

"And I have no doubt that it is," replied Ollivander. "Just not with me. Surely you gentlemen do not think that I would run with a wand belonging to such a powerful wizard? I am not so foolish. If I had taken that wand with me, I would have been hunted to my death. No, no. Let the wand go to its master."

"Do you know what that wand is?" Moody insisted.

"It is more than it was. Further I cannot say. Perhaps you know, perhaps you do not. It is of no importance."

"Could you duplicate it?" Snape asked suddenly. "Are you good enough to make a replica of it that would fool almost everyone?"

Ollivander was silent.

"I guess not, then," Snape said, and rose to leave.

"Sit down, Severus," Shacklebolt urged. "Don't be rude."

"Why not?" Snape challenged him. "He doesn't know where the wand is. He can't reproduce it. Heck, if I gave him two identical wands, he wouldn't know which was the real one and which was the…"

"I would know that," interjected Ollivander. "I would know which was the fake."

"But you couldn't make a duplicate."

"No? I think perhaps I could."

"Not if you didn't have the original right in front of you to copy from."

"I think I could still…" Ollivander stopped. "You are trying to trick me," he said at last.

"Not really," said Moody gently. "I think we're just trying to explore our options. You do want to go back to Diagon Alley again, don't you?"

"There is something in that," Ollivander sighed. "I do miss the business. And the company. How is my shop doing?"

"It's fine," Shacklebolt replied. "The Ministry sealed…"

"It's terrible," Snape interrupted. "They let your family go in and haul away a major part of the inventory to sell elsewhere, and I know for a fact that thieves have broken in…"

"That's not true," said Shacklebolt. "We've been very careful."

"Not careful enough. It's been what? A year and a half? A lot of damage can be done in dribs and drabs in a year and a half. When did you last check to be sure the place was intact?"

That silenced Shacklebolt, and now Ollivander was beginning to get nervous. Moody came in on the other side. "Who're you staying with, Ollivander? I hope they're powerful. If he ever starts looking for you, you'll need some powerful protection."

"Just with some… old friends."

"Excellent. Old friends are the first place anyone would start looking, when they start looking. And when we start looking, he's going to start looking, if you take my meaning."

"You are going to start?"

"Oh, yes. We want that wand. We were hoping you could help us get it quick and easy. Since you can't, we have to do it the hard way. Soon as he realizes it, he's going to think we were talking to you. That's going to upset him a mite. You ever see him when he's upset? It ain't pretty."

Ollivander's eyes narrowed. "Would you let me consider this for a time? Decisions made too quickly are often the wrong ones."

"And let you go running straight to You-Know-Who with tales about us?"

"I don't think he will," Snape said sweetly. "He fled instead of obeying. It would just be like Karkaroff all over again."

"What happened to Karkaroff?" Ollivander asked.

"Let's just say he's no longer with us," said Moody. "It was kind of ugly, and I'd rather not describe it while we're eating."

"I need to think about it," Ollivander insisted, and the other three agreed.

"Just make sure we don't have to wait a month before we can contact you," said Shacklebolt, and then Ollivander was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

"We need to talk to Fortescue," Snape sighed after they'd apparated back to France, "and find out everything the Dark Lord spoke to him about."

"You think there might be clues where he put the wand?" Moody was pouring a glass of firewhisky. Shacklebolt had returned to the Ministry.

"I hope so. The others say it isn't in headquarters, which means it could be anywhere. Well, not just anywhere. He doesn't think like that."

"What do you mean?"

"If I, for example, was trying to hide something, I'd chose a totally random place, something unconnected with the artifact or with me. I mean, let them waste their time hunting in every hole the length and breadth of Britain. I might even hide it in Tokyo, or Patagonia."

"What's Tokyo got to do with Ravenclaw's wand?"

"Nothing. That's the point. But the Dark Lord is always trying to find meaning in things. He wants to be clever and when he does things they have to have significance. He wouldn't hide the wand just anywhere. Maybe Fortescue knows where Ravenclaw lived. That would be a meaningful place to hide the wand. Then we have to know about Gryffindor artifacts."

"The last Horcrux?"

"We need to know that he at least tried to make it. Dumbledore said six. Two of significance to him personally – they're both destroyed – and four from the Founders. We have two of them. We're on the trail of the third. What about the last one?"

Moody handed Snape a glass, but said nothing, waiting.

"He would need a Gryffindor artifact, but the only two we know of are still safe at Hogwarts. Which could mean he hasn't yet tried to make the sixth, though personally I think he has, twice. But if there's another artifact and we could prove that he tried to make a Horcrux with it – then we would be sure where we stand."

xxxxxxxxxx

"They came in the evening, when he was closing up shop and Diagon Alley was pretty much empty. He knew immediately that they were Death Eaters, so he smashed the two-way mirror to try to warn Ollivander, and then attempted to get out the back way. There was a short fight in which tables and chairs got knocked over, and then they caught him and apparated to headquarters. He was blindfolded when they went in, so he probably doesn't have the secret."

Snape was reporting in the conference room at Mont-St.-Michel on his talk with Fortescue, and it was late, around eleven o'clock at night. Present were most of the Order of the Phoenix, including McGonagall. The meeting was being held late because of both the Hogwarts teachers, who could not leave until after curfew at the school, and the Ministry employees, who could not leave their jobs during the day.

"He was taken to the Dark Lord and interrogated, but it seems to have been mostly open questioning and legilimency contact. He doesn't remember actual force. He was surprised that the questions were about things he considers trivial – the history of the Founders, in particular Gryffindor's sword, Ravenclaw's wand, Hufflepuff's cup, and Slytherin's locket. He knew the least about the locket, which seemed to please the Dark Lord. He did, however, wonder about whether or not Ollivander had gotten away, now that the wand was being discussed. And that did not please the Dark Lord at all when he saw it. There was another artifact that he was questioned about, but first I'll finish Fortescue's story.

"It isn't long in telling. He was kept locked up at headquarters for nearly a year and was becoming ill from lack of sunlight, exercise, and company. Then something happened that put all headquarters into an uproar – my guess is that it was the 'death' of Dumbledore and the subsequent disappearance of myself and Draco. Fortescue was packed off to a safe house that he thinks was around Ely."

"How did he learn that?" Vance asked.

"He caught glimpses out of windows from time to time. Said it looked like fen country. Anyway, he tried to escape. More than once. The strange thing, something we haven't resolved yet, is that the Dark Lord – not the guards, who would have been happy to be rid of him – the Dark Lord seemed reluctant to simply kill him. At the end of the summer he was taken to the giants together with a quantity of gifts for the Gurg as payment for watching over him, with promises of more gifts on a regular basis if it was well done."

"That would be how to do it," Hagrid commented to the room in general.

"That was all. Maybe by giant standards he was well treated, but I wonder if the Dark Lord was hoping he'd die in a way that the Dark Lord could claim it wasn't his doing. Fortescue has lost a lot of weight, and he's quite sick. The healers insist he wouldn't have made it to spring."

"But why would You-Know-Who be afraid to kill Fortescue?" McGonagall asked. "I've never heard before that he balked at killing someone inconvenient to him."

"Actually," Snape mused, "I've been puzzled for a long time about the lack of deaths."

"What are you talking about, boyo?" asked Moody. "There've been several."

"Nowhere near as many as twenty years ago, and no muggle riots. Well, after he first came back, it was understandable. The Ministry insisted he wasn't there and he needed time to rebuild his organization. It made sense to maintain a low profile, so as not to force the Ministry to take action. Then the fight in the Department of Mysteries changed all of that. Almost at once, things escalated horribly. There was that bridge that collapsed, the giant rampage in Cornwall, Amelia Bones murder, your murder…" Snape nodded to Vance, "and that was all in one week. Then the killings began to taper off. Few and far between, no mass deaths, and for the last year, almost nothing. Attacks, yes, especially dementor attacks. But almost no deaths. And definitely none attributed directly to the Dark Lord."

Moody looked grave. "You think he may be planning to make another one of those things and doesn't want to shred himself any more than he already has?"

"I don't know. I know Dumbledore says he planned six, but I don't know how many horcruxes it's physically possible for one person to make. Maybe he doesn't either."

"Okay, boyo. Tell us about this other artifact."

"It goes back to the very beginnings of Hogwarts, and by the way, Fortescue thinks a lot of the stories are… inaccurate, especially about how old the school is. Anyway, the village of Hogsmeade wasn't a village yet, more like a homestead owned by a poor wizard named Hoga, whose property the Founders purchased and then extended out to the lake. Once the castle started going up, new buildings were put in to house the stone workers and craftsmen. One of the buildings was a bit grander than the others because it was meant to house the Founders themselves, and this building became the first of several inns built on the same spot."

"Is that the Hog's Head or the Three Broomsticks?" asked Lupin.

"The Three Broomsticks, though it wasn't called that at the time. Any way, there are quite a few stories, many of them clearly later inventions, about the activities of the Founders during that time they spent in such close proximity. You know the ones – romances, duels. Fortescue says most of them can be discounted except… apparently both Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were compulsive gamblers. They were constantly making wagers with each other."

"I think I've heard some of those stories," laughed McGonagall, "such as the time Gryffindor bet he could throw a full-grown…"

"Yes, Minerva," said Moody, "we all have. We have to listen to Severus now, though."

"This one is more about the item they wagered than about the nature of the bet," Snape continued. "It had something to do with shooting arrows, Slytherin won, and Gryffindor gave him a little iron dagger that Slytherin prized greatly because it symbolized his victory over Gryffindor in a contest of martial skill. It was passed from generation to generation in the family."

"That must be it," said Lupin. "A dagger is a small sword, so it would fit the 'wand, cup, sword' pattern. And it once belonged to Gryffindor. Does Fortescue know what became of it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, though it isn't generally known. In the fourteenth century one of the descendants of Slytherin, a Peverell by this time, moved to Hogsmeade to rebuild and run the third of the inns on the same location. Though he was now nothing but an innkeeper, he was proud of the Peverell blood, and hung a sign with the Peverell arms over the door. The inn was locally called the Three Sheaves. He even displayed the dagger to customers, some of whom believed the story of its belonging to the Founders, and many of whom didn't."

"Hard to believe a Slytherin would keep an inn," said Molly Weasley. "I would have expected him to crawl into a hole and die first."

"In a way he did," said Snape. "He was a miserable failure as an innkeeper and died without heirs. The building was sold to a variety of different owners over the years. The sign had to be repainted several times, and after a few generations people forgot those were sheaves and thought they were broom heads. In one of the repaintings they became broom heads, and later broomsticks. The dagger, to the best of Fortescue's knowledge, remained somewhere in the inn."

"So where's the dagger now?" asked Tonks.

"Fortescue isn't sure. He thought it was still in the inn, but after being questioned by the Dark Lord, he isn't sure. Its location hadn't been something he'd thought about before."

"Maybe," Vance suggested, "Madame Rosmerta still has this dagger."

"Or can tell us where it is," said McGonagall.

It was agreed that the next morning Lupin and Tonks would go to the Three Broomsticks to ask Madame Rosmerta about the dagger. Meanwhile the others returned to their homes except for Snape and Moody who were lodged in the abbey undercroft.

The night was pleasant and quiet. The following morning, McGonagall contacted them by floo network to say that around ten o'clock, Lupin and Tonks would go to the Three Broomsticks for a tête-à-tête and a little morning coffee. While there they would inquire, as if casually, about the dagger.

The rest of the morning passed slowly as the members of the Order gradually gathered to wait for Lupin's and Tonks's return. Finally, just in time for lunch, the two appeared in person, having apparated to France.

"Well?" snapped Moody, as they came into the conference room where they all sat, whiling away the time with cards. "What did you find out?"

"It was there," said Lupin, "but it's been gone for a long time. Madame Rosmerta doesn't know exactly when it disappeared because she didn't look at it regularly. She noticed it was gone around 1982, but it had been as much as five years since she'd seen it, so it could have been taken any time during that interval."

"We did get something, though. We were lamenting that we could never know what it looked like, and she gave us this." Tonks held out a small piece of paper with the drawing of a simple dagger on it, one with a lion's head carved into the hilt.

"Disappeared sometime between 1977 and 1982," mused Moody after the whole Order had assembled again to learn of their progress. "That certainly sounds like it might be Voldemort. So now we have another Horcrux to worry about."

"Not necessarily," Snape said. "What if that was the Horcrux he was planning to make when he went to kill the Potters? He may not have succeeded."

"If he took that dagger to Godric's Hollow," said Hagrid, "it may still be there. Well, probably not after all this time."

"Why not?" said Lupin. "The house was protected by a Fidelius charm. The secret keeper is still alive. What if the whole place is still the way it was that night?"

"We sort of already thought of that," said Hagrid, looking uncomfortably at Snape, but not elaborating.

"If the Dark Lord tried to make a Horcrux there, I'm sure he went back. After all, the secret keeper works for him," said Snape. "It's been checked once."

"We could check again," argued Lupin. "Who knows what we might find?"

"We?" asked Snape. "Were you given the secret?"

"No," Lupin admitted. "Voldemort attacked too soon. They never had a chance to share it with me."

"So the only people left alive who know the secret are Pettigrew, the Dark Lord, and Hagrid."

"Hagrid!" exclaimed a chorus of voices.

Hagrid looked embarrassed. "I had to help them with some of the heavy stuff while they were getting settled in. They showed me a note, that's how I learned. I been down there already with Harry and… Russ, but I weren't looking for a dagger."

"I say we go there and let Hagrid look around again," said Vance. "Who knows? We may still find something. Especially since now we know what to look for."

"I'm sorry," said Snape. "I'd vote against that idea. If one of the rest of us goes out, it won't hurt anything, but if Hagrid goes again…"

"What would it hurt?" Moody asked cautiously.

"It may already have hurt. I hope not. Right now we know that there were meant to be six Horcruxes, two of them are destroyed, two of them are in our possession, and one is concealed by the Dark Lord. We're starting an operation to get that one away from him. We have people in headquarters who are investigating as we speak. We're worried that he may be contemplating making another. We don't want to do anything that will push him to guard the wand more carefully or to make the next Horcrux. If we haven't already done it by having Hagrid go to Godric's Hollow once, we may do it by having him go twice. I'd rather wait until after we know where the wand is."

There was general, reluctant agreement and a few minutes pause. Then Tonks spoke.

"Are Hogsmeade and Hogwarts both named after Hoga? I can't imagine someone naming their son Hog."

Snape smiled. "Be careful of false cognates. Just because an old word sounds the same as a modern one doesn't mean it is. Hoga is Old English for 'careful' or 'prudent.'* Hogu means 'care' or 'solicitude.'* A wort is a plant or an herb. A mead is a meadow. Hogwarts comes from the name of a certain kind of lily – the 'caring plant,' I suppose. Hogsmeade means 'Hoga's meadow.' It doesn't have anything to do with pigs at all."

Tonks nodded, satisfied.

"What do we do now," asked Arthur Weasley.

"We wait."

Only later, finally back in his room at Moody's house, did the ghost of an idea that had flickered in his mind while in France return to Snape.

Narcissa. Narcissa visited me, and I took her to Nana for a potion to help her marry Lucius. Shortly after that, Nana died in a muggle riot set off by Death Eaters to recruit me. Then Lucius's father's death made the marriage possible. Was it Narcissa? I've thought before that she may have told the Dark Lord about Nana and where to find her. Did she also persuade the Dark Lord to kill old Mr. Malfoy?

It was a disturbing thought, and it kept Snape awake for the rest of the night.

The next step in the plan was to find and retrieve the wand, which Snape fervently hoped was still where the Dark Lord had placed it a year and a half earlier. Unable to do anything himself over the next days, fearful that the Dark Lord would learn that Fortescue was not dead but escaped, he became irritable and peevish, snapping at Moody over the least thing, not eating, and generally creating the impression that he was slipping with mad abandon into a nervous breakdown.

The simple truth of the matter was that at this moment he didn't care a thing about Shacklebolt, Lupin, Harry, Hermione, Moody, or even Dumbledore. He cared about Lucius and Yaxley, who even now might be drawing attention to themselves by asking the wrong person the wrong question.

It was as if he'd regressed eighteen years and was twenty years old again, newly returned to London headquarters from a desperate meeting with Dumbledore and Hagrid. Once again he felt the irresistible mix of terror and devotion that had sustained his transformation from a quiet little potions maker into an undercover agent. Discovery, torture, and death loomed on every side, and eighteen years earlier they'd spurred him to greater levels of daring, knowing that what he did, he did for Lily.

Now it was Lucius who flirted with death, Yaxley who risked betrayal every time he walked through the door of the brick building in Birmingham, Avery who might end his life broken and pleading for death on the floor of the interview chamber.

They were his colleagues, his comrades, and he shared their fear, their danger, and prayed for their success. Moody just didn't understand.

In the days that followed, Snape found himself thinking more and more about Regulus Black. Regulus hadn't flirted with death, he'd walked into it with eyes open and head high. That was the whole meaning behind those little vials of cloudy memory, and they haunted Snape with the reflection of his own fear.

The honest truth was, that Snape could not envision going to the Dark Lord without some plan of escape. Moody was right about that. Snape was the most survival oriented cove Snape had ever met, too, and plotting his own exit from a dangerous situation was the thing Snape knew he did best.

And key to that plotting and planning, the cornerstone of every scheme he'd ever devised to wiggle out of a tight spot, was the knowledge that he had reserved something that he could offer the Dark Lord, something that would mollify him.

When he'd returned from his first assignment to secure a job at Hogwarts, an assignment that ended in failure, he'd offered the prophecy to the Dark Lord. When the Dark Lord returned after all those years, he'd offered his own suffering and the violation of his mind so that the Dark Lord could savor the images of unhappy students and discord under Dumbledore's rule. He was already planning the elaborate scenario of what he could offer the next time he knelt in the circle of light. But to go there knowing that he had nothing to offer, nothing to appease the Dark Lord's vengeance and desire to punish, that was so far beyond the limit of what Snape knew himself capable of enduring that he couldn't even bear contemplating it.

Yet that was what Regulus had done. All the things he might have offered – the location of the Horcruxes, the names of those who did not turn away from the idea of desertion, the charms his father used to secure the Black family and home – all those offerings had been stripped away, poured into glass and placed even beyond the reach of Regulus himself, so that when he arrived at the breaking point, there would be no sacrifice he could make to save himself.

Snape had kept the first vial, the cracked one that Malfoy found in Slytherin house. He took it from his pocket from time to time over the slow days of waiting and thought what it was like to be Regulus, to sit and sift through all those memories, determine the ones most valuable in terms of life and freedom, and deliberately remove and renounce them.

What memories would I remove? What hope of salvation would I renounce? But Snape knew the question was without answer. If his only option was to kneel before the Dark Lord's wrath stripped of all defenses, he would not go. He would kill himself first.

Regulus had been given that option and he had embraced it with the zeal of an ancient martyr walking into the arena to face the lions. Not just walking, but singing. What did it matter if the body broke later? That moment of clear-eyed acceptance and understanding, that was where courage lay.

And so Snape endured through the rest of February, waiting, his nerves taut, his nights sleepless, his days without appetite or distraction, cursing himself and his cowardice, – his mind, his heart, his spirit with Lucius, Yaxley, Avery, Rookwood, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle.

And with the ghost of Regulus Black.

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And then it came, a crystal vial at a drop point in Manchester. Moody rushed it home and poured it into the pensieve, and together he and Snape watched as the image of Nott and Avery talking to one of Bella's operatives appeared before them. The conversation was long and circuitous, since ostensibly the two were trying to fill in the gaps of everything that had happened at headquarters since they'd been captured in the Department of Mysteries. The man had, however, been in the raid that captured Fortescue.

"I thought we'd bought it when old Ollivander got away. That was a tight moment, I can tell you. At least we had Fortescue and the wand, but Ollivander was the real prize, and we suffered for it. He treated the wand with respect, though. Wanted to honor Rowena Ravenclaw. He wasn't half angry when Fortescue said no one knew where she'd lived."

"So it's still here somewhere, then," said Avery, acting slightly bored. "Now about that raid on the…"

"Naw. He found a place for it. Took it to London."

"How do you know that?" Nott asked. "You're not in his confidence."

"No, but having that thing around made us nervous, like a reminder of our failure. So we were happy it disappeared when he went to London"

"Lucky for you," Avery said. "Now about that raid on…"

"Would you believe that!" Moody exclaimed. "Just sitting there bold as brass discussing their Lord's business!"

"Oh, come now!" Snape shot back. "Don't tell me the aurors of your day didn't sit around discussing Fudge's business. Or Scrimgeour's. It's the nature of underlings to talk about their bosses. Think how much the servants at Buckingham Palace could tell you."

"Yeah, boyo, but this is Voldemort."

"Who led them to believe that the wand was of secondary importance. Besides, this was one minute in a half-hour conversation about operations. Hardly engaging in titillating gossip. And we don't know how many irrelevant conversations there were before we got this one minute. This could be one minute out of thousands."

"Well, if you look at it like that…"

"I suggest you start looking at it like that. Those few sentences represent days, weeks, of patient work, and don't you ever forget it!"

"All right, boyo. You don't have to take it so personal."

What followed were days of research into anything that could be connected to Rowena Ravenclaw. The amount that could be directly connected turned out to be almost nothing. Fortescue confirmed the stunning lack of information that had so frustrated Voldemort. Snape started on the more symbolic.

"Did you know that Hengist's daughter was named Rowena, and that she married Vortigern?" Snape asked Moody the next day.

"Who's Vortigern?"

"It's part of the history of Merlin. What marks did you get in History of Magic, anyway?"

Moody shrugged, and Snape let the subject drop. The next day he had his revelation.

"Ravenclaw!" he shouted at breakfast. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Glad you're getting inspired," said Moody, bending to pick his bacon up off the floor. "What's that about?"

"It's about ravens. Who are the most famous ravens in all of London?"

"You got me there."

"The ravens at the Tower of London. And what's more, it's a clue that's easy to follow up on. We just go to the Tower and ask a Beefeater. They know everything. Then if we don't find anything, we come back here and keep working."

"When can we go?"

"It's March. It's Tuesday. It opens at nine o'clock. I've been there before. As soon as it's nine we can apparate next to the Salt Tower. Then when there are more people, we can mingle."

"Just so long as you know your way around, boyo. Just so long as you know your way around."

"Where are the ravens?" Snape asked a Yeoman Warder near the site of the Wardrobe Tower. "I thought there were a bunch of ravens here."

"It's the middle of the breeding season, sir," the Beefeater replied. "We have to be careful during the breeding season because they're trying to extend their territory and they get into fights. So we have to keep the breeding pairs separate until at least April."

"How many breeding pairs do you have?"

"Three, sir. There's Hardey and Larry – Larry's the female – and Gwyllum and Hugine, and Thor and Munin. Pity you have to miss Thor. He's the talker. Surprised a lot of people, he has. Sounds just like a man. Sounds like Derrick Coyle, in fact. He's the ravenmaster. People watch movies and they think a bird squawks when it mimics a man, but that's not true. Sounds just like a person. Thor 'd give you something to listen to. Then, of course, there's our two bachelors, Cedric and Odin."

"You have a raven named Cedric?" Snape said, astonished, and even Moody grunted in surprise.

"That we do, sir. He came down from Lincolnshire about ten years ago. Usually he's out on the grass south of us where the Great Hall used to be, but with Hardey penned up you may find him on the other side of the White Tower, where the executions took place. You take care and don't get too close, now. Ravens can be dangerous. He's got a dark blue band on his leg, if you want to be sure it's Cedric."

"Thank you. We'll be careful."

As they passed the White Tower and crossed the area where the ruins of the Coldharbour Gate were, Moody asked Snape, "You don't think that a raven that reminds him of Cedric Diggory would influence Voldemort, do you?"

"I would never place bets on what will or will not be of significance to the Dark Lord," Snape replied. "He may never have known the raven's name. Take it as an omen for us."

There was an open, stone-paved area where the place of execution had formerly been, and it was patrolled by a large, grave raven with a dark blue leg band. Snape and Moody sat on a nearby bench ignoring the people around them. "Hullo, Cedric," Snape said to the raven. Cedric cocked his head to one side and stared at them.

"Hullo, Cedric," Snape repeated.

"Hullo," Cedric said, and his 'human' voice was a deep baritone. It was easy to believe that it might be the ravenmaster's voice.

Snape reached into a pocket and pulled out a little packet that contained the bacon Moody had knocked onto the floor that morning. Glancing around and seeing no Yeoman Warder, Snape tossed some of the bacon to the bird. "Hullo, Cedric," he repeated. "Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Hullo," said Cedric, and ate the bacon.

"Ravenclaw," Snape said.

"Hullo," Cedric replied, looking for more bacon. Snape obliged.

"Granted," Moody said, "this is a smart bird, but I don't think it has the answer to our problem."

"Ravenclaw," Snape said, tossing more bacon and ignoring Moody.

"Hullo," said Cedric. He ate the bacon, then contemplated Snape again. "Grey," he said. "Lady."

Moody sat up straight, as did Snape. Snape tossed another piece of bacon. "Ravenclaw," he said again.

"Hullo," Cedric intoned, then ate the bacon. "Grey Lady. Lady Grey. Jane Lady Grey," he said, and waited.

"Thank you, Cedric," Snape said, and dumped the rest of the bacon in an inconspicuous pile next to the bench. "Thank you ever so much." He rose and pulled Moody with him. "You do know what this means?" he said.

"He knows the Ravenclaw ghost," said Moody. "The bloody bird knows the Ravenclaw ghost!"

"More even than that," Snape replied. "We're standing practically right next to the building where the Grey Lady – Lady Jane Grey – is buried. Right here in the Chapel Royal of the church of St. Peter ad Vincula."

"She's not the Grey Lady!"

"Of course she isn't. But think of the symbolism of the names!"

You cannot go into the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula unless you are a member of a Yeoman Warder's tour. Snape immediately booked both of them for a tour, and they waited patiently through information about the menagerie, the Bloody Tower, William the Conqueror and the Gunpowder Plot before they were admitted into the one place they were anxious to look at.

It was worth it. Snape, of course, couldn't see anything, but Moody could. There are times when enchanted eyes are valuable assets. "Under the floor," he whispered, and pointed out the place. The floor was a Victorian addition to the chapel that reproduced the coats of arms of all those buried there. The spot Moody indicated was under the arms of Lady Jane Grey.

They left the Tower and walked for a bit before they found a quiet spot to apparate to Moody's home. Shortly after their arrival, there was a message from Shacklebolt to go to France. Ollivander had come in out of the cold.

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"You can't go to Diagon Alley," Moody insisted for the thousandth time as they argued with the stubborn Ollivander. "Someone will see you and report to You-Know-Who. Just tell us where it is, and we'll get it." The object of the conversation was a replica of Ravenclaw's wand that already existed somewhere in Ollivander's shop. In the end, Ollivander gave in, and Snape took a Polyjuice pill.

Soon Russ was once again at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "I don't want anything of yours," he told the delighted twins. "I want to break into Ollivander's again."

"Payment?"

"Acrochorthonas."

"What does it do?"

"It grows a wart. You can determine the shape. You say, Acrochorthonas pyramid, and it's shaped like a pyramid. There's a special wand movement, though."

"You have a deal."

Leaving Fred to mind the shop, George and Russ apparated to the rear of Ollivander's and let themselves in. The shop was unchanged from August. Drawing out a piece of note paper, Russ read, 'Ten and five-eighths inches, holly, unicorn hair core, slightly flexible.' "It's supposed to be in the back in a special section. Luckily the boxes are marked with a description outside."

George opened one. "Just to be sure the outside description matches the wand inside," he grinned when Russ told him to put it back.

After a while, Russ began to wonder how Ollivander ever managed to do business. There was no apparent order to the wands. Wands of different woods, different lengths, different cores, and different flexibilities were all mixed together, and none of them, regardless of wood, was ten and five-eighths inches long.

Suddenly there was a howl of glee from George. "The old sharpster!" he cried, laughing. "Trust him to milk the trade!"

Russ joined George to look. There, in a corner near the back, hidden behind a chipped sink, was a larger box containing a group of identical wand boxes labeled 'Replica wands.' George had opened one. Inside was a beautiful holly wand, ten and five-eighths inches long, unicorn hair core, slightly flexible. It was a delicate wand, a relatively simple wand, as befitted an elegant witch of the eleventh century. One side of the grip was carved with fantastic eagles, their necks and feet intertwined in a latticework of impossible curves. Otherwise it was bare of decoration.

"Are they all the same?" asked Russ.

"Looks like it," George giggled. "What if old What's-His-Name has a replica instead of the real one?"

Russ glared at him. "My life isn't complicated enough already?"

"Okay, okay. What do we do?"

"Check them first to see if they're identical."

They were identical, and the wood had even been stressed to imitate the age of the original. Russ fingered the wand nervously. It was all too easy, and he mistrusted the ease. Then he saw the price. "Son of a witch!" he exclaimed. "Who do you have to be to buy one of these things, the Sultan of Brunei!"

George looked, too, and a low whistle escaped his lips. "I bet you have to swear to keep it hidden, too. Wouldn't look good, every blue-blood wizard in the world traipsing around with old Moldywart's wand."

Russ nodded in agreement. "Like stealing the 'Mona Lisa.' No one else can ever know, but you have the pleasure of owning it. But these aren't the real thing. They're fakes."

"Good fakes, though. Expensive fakes. And telling the buyer it's dangerous to have one makes them more expensive." Russ could practically see the gears turning in George's head.

"You figure out your business on your own time. We have to get out of here." Taking two of the replica wands, two that they hadn't touched, Russ apparated back to the Weasleys' shop and from there to France.

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