Chapter 37: Storm Clouds

The sunlight filtering through the gauze curtains was the pale pink he normally associated with Tayce's room. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how he'd gotten here. The last few days - or was it weeks? - were foggy. He vaguely remembered having a conversation with Neville about identities and dark lords, but he couldn't currently imagine a situation in which he would feel compelled to confide that deeply in the quiet Gryffindor. He hoped his imagination was just making it up; a dream remembered as reality, perhaps. That would be a lot easier to deal with than a 16 year old who knew what Harry Potter really looked like.

Brie opened his eyes again to squint at the sparkly butterfly canopy. He was definitely in Tayce's room, so something must have gone rather desperately wrong at Hogwarts. Searching his memory did not immediately yield the answers he sought. He was just starting to cultivate a headache from the attempt when the door opened and Audric poked his head around the doorframe. He smiled when he noticed Brie was awake.

"Oh good," he said, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. "We were getting worried about you. Genevieve said it might take you a few days to sleep off the potion, but we were expecting you to wake up once or twice to eat and drink. Do you think you'll be able to eat something now?"

Brie evaluated himself and decided yes, he was starving. "I think so," he said. "What happened? Why aren't I at Hogwarts?"

Audric frowned down at him and Brie considered sitting up so they would be at eye level, but decided it would take way too much effort. He let his eyes drift back to the canopy rather than face Audric's obvious concern.

"What do you remember?"

"Not much. I remember that it got really hard to think after I drank Aunt Geni's potions. I remember feeling a little bit like I was under the Imperious Curse, except instead of being content I felt nervous and stressed." He decided not to mention the weird conversation with Neville that may or may not have happened.

"Ah." Brie was pretty sure he could hear Audric's frown getting deeper. "Well, you were definitely under mental siege from the Dark Lord, though you probably remember that part."

Yes, he definitely hadn't forgotten that. It was the whole reason he'd taken those damn potions in the first place.

"We're not entirely sure what happened in the next few days, though Levi reports that you were pretty out of it. We pulled you out because of the whole Potter situation, though."

Brie choked. His mind spun into overdrive, trying to remember. Had his glamours broken? Had someone seen the scar and recognized it? He thought he'd layered the spells on strongly enough that even the Killing Curse couldn't break them, but he'd never actually tested that…

Perhaps seeing his distress, Audric hurried on: "You weren't exposed, exactly. At least, we don't think so."

Brie scowled at this non-information and glanced over at his brother-in-law. Audric was fiddling with one of the canopy drapes, apparently trying to catch a particularly enthusiastic blue butterfly.

"Long story short," said Audric, dropping the curtain and turning his full concern back on Brie, "we know that the Rousseau girl found a bottle of Polyjuice lying around that was already primed with your genetic material. We're positive that she doesn't know who made it or whose hair was in it. She tricked a kid into drinking it and was as surprised as anyone when Harry Potter - looking, apparently, exactly like his father except with a lot more scarring - walked into the Great Hall. The Headmaster later claimed it was a prank, but we're not entirely sure what he actually knows. The biggest loose end is who primed the Polyjuice and left it out. Uncle Shay is going nuts because he can't figure out a discrete way to investigate other than telling Levi to keep his ear to the ground. It's also possible," Audric mused with an abstracted look on his face, "that Our Lord Uncle is going nuts for another reason. Honestly, I've tried to stay out of his way."

Brie tuned out as Audric began to share some most likely amusing anecdotes about Shay's recent exploits. He was too caught up in trying to remember what had happened at Hogwarts. He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly who had prepared the Polyjuice, but he wasn't sure he wanted Shay to know. He was probably going to face a difficult choice soon; Shay would be sure to ask him what he remembered, and he would need to choose whether to betray his minion-cum-friend or to lie to his uncle, his superior officer.

By the time the soup came, he wasn't feeling all that hungry anymore.

Hermione carefully duplicated her notes from the day's classes. Not for the first time, she wished the wizarding world would bother to invent staplers, or at least paper clips. She missed lined paper and ballpoint pens. She hadn't gotten the opportunity to get really familiar with computers, but she was sure she missed those too. It would be way easier to just email Brie his notes rather than owl them halfway around the world. Maybe she should just save them for when he got back...

"Still putting together Gabriel's homework?" asked Ginny, flopping down next to her on the couch. She seemed much more cheerful the last few days. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion where that the cheeriness came from, so she ignored it.

"How was Trelawney?" Hermione asked instead. Ginny obligingly picked up the thread of conversation and began her usual list of complaints. Hermione nodded at all the appropriate moments, but allowed her thoughts to drift.

Hr. Sinclaire had come to the school three days ago and quietly removed Brie from the hospital wing. Hermione wasn't entirely sure that anyone else knew he was gone. As far as she was concerned, that was probably a good thing. She hated seeing him like that: physically there but mentally absent. And however much she hated seeing it, she knew that it was much, much worse for him to experience.

She wondered if this had something to do with his past. She'd already figured out that he'd gone through some kind of illegal blood ritual - that much was quite obvious. What was less obvious was whether entering a fugue state was a normal delayed side effect of the adoption. She hadn't read that anywhere in their research, but most of their source texts were written in languages other than English. She couldn't exactly ask Zabini or Malfoy if they'd found anything. Even if she was willing to humble herself to ask for their help, and even if they were willing to provide it (and that was the bigger if), any questions she asked would be sure to lead them to the same conclusions she had drawn. They might be evil bastards, but they weren't stupid.

Hermione was distracted from her musings when Ginny began to ask questions about her day. She allowed herself to be drawn out of her musings. She would have time tonight to do some research after everyone else went to bed. With luck, she would have answers before the end of the week.

Brie paced along the back porch, ignoring the snow flurries eddying around him. He was feeling rested now. Twice he'd felt the faint probing of the Dark Lord's mind, but he was too far away to get anything more than the sense that the Dark Lord was angry at his disappearance. For a few days there, the Dark Lord had achieved partial access to "Harry Potter." He'd been able to browse memories and insert dreams in a mind that was mostly smoke and mirrors, though of course he didn't know that. The sudden loss of access was probably more than enough to tip him into one of his infamous rages.

Brie hated their connection with a passion that went far beyond his capacity for words. If only he could wash his hands of this mess… This should be his uncle's problem, not his. It was Shay who aspired to power. Brie just wanted to fly dangerously, explore the world, and spend time with his family. He couldn't care less about British Dark Lords, even if one had wiped out his birth parents and tried to kill him.

Grandmother and Mama had laid out his options, and he was honestly tempted to choose the one that involved staying on the other side of the world and going about his business with never another thought about Voldemort. But there were people he loved within the Dark Lord's sphere of influence, and he couldn't quite divest himself of the need to save them. After all, apparently he was the only one who could do it.

"Deep thoughts," said Grandmother from somewhere behind him. "I can see your anger steaming off of you."

He paused at the edge of the porch, fists clenched as he stared into the trees. He couldn't bring himself to ignore his grandmother, despite his pressing need to continue his furious pacing.

"Grandmother," he acknowledged, pushing away the anger. "I'll come inside in a few minutes. Please go back. You'll get cold."

She tsked under her breath, and he could hear the door shut gently. He sighed, thankful that she had listened. When he turned to resume pacing out his thoughts, however, there she stood with her arms crossed and a wry expression on her face. He ducked his head and gave up on the idea of walking out his frustration.

"You know," she said, moving out to join him in the snow, "I've always wondered if Sarai did the right thing when she gave you to Akshay. You were such a small, scared little boy. I love my son, but he is not a . . . nurturing person. Nor is he a particularly good man."

She stood next to Brie, her breath hanging as a cloud in the air. Brie looked down at her in shock. He had never heard his grandmother say anything negative about her oldest son; it was only the truth, of course, but somehow it carried more weight when she said it.

"I know she hoped that Akshay would make you strong, but I wonder. Somewhere inside of you is a terrified child who has been molded into a shape that doesn't quite fit. Don't you scowl at me, child," she added sharply, never turning away from the tree line.

Brie did his best to smooth his face and bite his tongue. It was never a good idea to cross Grandmother. Not to mention, something inside of him whispered, she almost always had a point.

"I am happy the way I am. I am good at what I do."

"Yes," agreed Grandmother. "You are good at what you do. But if you believe you are happy…" She reached out and gripped his elbow. "Gabriel, if you truly believe that you are happy, then Akshay did more damage than I ever imagined."

His body quivered with tension as her words reverberated down his spine. He couldn't look at her. Her words were too confusing. What did she mean, damage? Why shouldn't he be happy with his life? He had a good life. It was a better life than he would've had if his mother hadn't rescued him from those Muggles, that was for sure. And Uncle Shay had always been there for him. He owed everything to his family, to Uncle Shay.

So maybe he didn't always like his uncle's politics – so what? Uncle Claudius didn't like Uncle Shay's politics, but they were still brothers-in-law who supported and defended each other. So maybe he wasn't always thrilled about the civilian targets Uncle Shay chose to attack; it was still crucial for him to obey his commanding officer. And maybe he sometimes wished that he could have friends who weren't related to him. Family loyalty had to come first – that wasn't his uncle's rule, that was a simple fact.

He turned to look at Grandmother just in time to see her disappear inside the house. He shivered, turning back to gaze out across the snow. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to think about what he wanted from life.

The fire exploded outward as the half full tumbler of whiskey shattered against the hearth. Voldemort hissed his fury, curling and uncurling his skeletal fingers, imagining the feel of the stupid Potter brat's neck. He had broken through! He'd been in the idiot's mind! He had seen the stupid little Muggle house with the stupid Muggle family and stupid Muggle life. He'd watched memories of the brat playing with his friends and going to school. He'd spent time fabricating believable nightmares to illicit information that would help him to destroy the boy. He'd reveled in the complete lack of magical defenses.

So how? HOW had the brat suddenly managed to close his mind so effectively that it was as though he were no longer even alive? He obviously hadn't had much magical training – his memories showed an awareness of magic but no skills or experience. Unless he was even better at mind magic than Voldemort himself… An impossibility, of course.

Lashing out with his magic, he felt minor satisfaction as every piece of glass in the room exploded. A cry of pain reminded him that he was not alone in the room, and he smiled slightly. If he couldn't get his hands on Potter at the moment, at least there were other ways to distract himself.

"Find the family," he told the sniveling Death Eater. "Bring them to me. I want to know more about these…people," his lip curled as he spat out the word, "that raised Potter."

He ignored the platitudes and assurances of his departing crony. All that mattered now was Potter, because until Potter was gone there was always the possibility that his enemies would find the boy first and use him as a weapon. And with the list of his enemies apparently growing…

Voldemort took a deep breath and turned away from the dying fire. He still wasn't entirely sure he believed the French whore. She had her own reasons for telling him about mal Théa's theoretical treachery. Until the French wizard actually made a move, Voldemort couldn't afford to eliminate him. Voldemort knew he could win a duel against mal Théa. Without a doubt he was the stronger wizard. But mal Théa had an army, and Voldemort… Voldemort knew all he had was a collection of enthusiastic amateurs. Mal Théa's soldiers bolstered Voldemort's raids. Without them the Death Eaters were little more than eager school boys. While Voldemort needed their enthusiasm, he knew that he needed the skills of the trained soldiers just as much. It galled him to admit it, but it was crucial to remain allied with mal Théa for as long as possible.

Lilith Rousseau watched the Dark Lord hold court. It was fascinating to be an observer during these gatherings. She had always been an apt scholar of manipulation, and it was clear that the Dark Lord was a master in the field. He had an innate understanding of when to push and punish and when to praise and coddle. His Death Eaters were fiercely loyal, a masterful mix of fear and belief in the cause fueling their devotion. Lilith's skills lay in the subtle, the one-on-one manipulations. Anything she wanted was hers for the asking.

And yet… She frowned. She had been working on the Dark Lord for a week, and while she obviously amused him and he obviously desired her company, his will did not belong to her. Despite her hints, her subtle remarks, even her blunt accusations – still he insisted that mal Théa was an ally. It infuriated her. There had to be some way she could turn the two against each other. She just needed to find leverage.

Brie stepped into the dining room and gazed around at the assortment of mal Théas crowded around the table. His heart tightened as he allowed himself to bask in the love of his family and to regret the decision he'd felt he had to make.

A sea of faces turned to him as he cleared his throat and jerked his chin up aggressively.

"Your glamours—" Aunt Geni began with a frown, but he shook his head and she fell silent.

"I need to get this over with," he announced, squaring his shoulders. "I need to kill the Dark Lord."