Chapter Forty-eight.
Visitations.
I had just spent two more fruitless weeks in London before returning with nothing, and I mean NOTHING. But my pockets were certainly lighter in terms of money. Apparently, it was an open secret that I was in town looking for something…
Of course, they didn't get very far (which tied up my time significantly) and neither did I because of it.
Bone wasn't much help with the Ministry. They, in the current light, were undergoing a "Massive Internal Transformation" geared towards restoring honor and trust to the flagging institution. Trust me; snowballs stand a better chance of staying snowballs in Hell than the Ministry had of ever coming out of its transformation with any ounce of respect. But that's my opinion. And during the course of this magical version of purging, almost all of the information concerning what was taken from Borgin and Burks, along with Mr. Borgin himself, was missing.
Yes, missing…
How this was achieved nobody could figure out, because nobody had the time to work on it. And meanwhile a whole load of stuff infused with nasty magic was simply sitting 'somewhere', and the person it was taken from was possibly starving to death in a cell that somebody forgot he was in. 'Total Bureaucracy' was what Bone called it while in a total state of incredulousness. Even he couldn't believe that such an organization managed to even exist for this long without some sort of internal structure to give it order. But it was an excellent opportunity for corruption to breed, and breed it did for a very long time.
"This mess goes back centuries." He told me. "Longer than the New York Scandal of 1697. Ripping through all of it is taking up all our energies to deal with."
Somehow I feel that Arthur Weasley wouldn't be at all surprised by it. I managed to speak with him briefly after he arrived at Hogwarts with his wife, his vivid recollection of trying to search for 'illegal' objects at the Malfoy Mansion (based off of information gleamed by his son Ron and Harry) and how it turned into an exercise in utter frustration because members of the Office of Magical Legality kept interfering; first in stalling while getting the warrant to search, then second in trying to talk him out of searching the Malfoy residence because it could easily make him look like a fool, and the Ministry as well, for harassing such a prominent person.
It was often said that Lucius Malfoy always walked the hall of the Ministry with plenty of gold in his pockets.Given how much the lowly office worker is paid there, Malfoy was the 'Money Fairy' just handing it all out…for favor.
"I never got with in a League of that place." Arthur angrily spat in the living room of their Hogwarts' apartment, while his wife rested in a near-by bedroom. "My Aurors and Assistants were suddenly reassigned to other areas of the country on wild goose chases, my authority to conduct such a search was heavily questioned by people who hadn't the authority even to do so, and when the Office of Magical Law Enforcement sent their people over to search they all came back stating that they had found nothing out of the ordinary in the possession of such a noteworthy individual. Probably fed them tea and cakes while playing the perfect host by telling stories of youthful exploits…"
To call his attitude foul at that point would amount to a very gross understatement. Considering what he was going through, especially with Fred all bashed up as he was, it was a wonder he wasn't throwing things across the room out of pure blind frustration at not being able to do a damn thing about anything.
I've been there too. And I don't want to go back.
But there I was, flat with nothing to show for it.
So I took the chance to pick Harry's brain. Longshot without compare, but I was at the end of my rope with nowhere to go but down.
The results even surprised me. Harry suddenly became as one insane from an ideal only he knew, and wouldn't say. All I did was follow him, though I nearly took him off the stairs by stumbling down them. Somehow, I doubt he would have felt anything. He would have simply picked himself off the floor, run as best he could to the Common Room's door and start shouting at it.
"Get me Ravenclaw! Rowea Ravenclaw! I'll meet her at her portrait!"
Then run off in the direction of Ravenclaw House. Well, he did exactly that much to the astonishment of all those in earshot—even me—and well rushing down the corridor by the time I entered it.
"Of course!" a voice suddenly gasped beside me. "Even I should have guessed it!"
It was Dumbledore, in the portrait. He was rushing out of frame when I turned, and gone when I started to speak. When they started ganging up on me, I started after Harry who now I could just see the top of his head way far down the corridor managing to catch up with him clear over on the west side of the Castle—after numerous battering incidents with people in the corridors. He was there standing before the large portrait door featuring Dumbledore speaking with a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with long brown hair wearing very formal looking robes and very little jewelry, while Harry was simply going nuts waiting before the portrait itself.
Rowea Ravenclaw was one of the four founders of Hogwarts, a witch who prided wisdom and wit over power, and very skillful with spoken riddles. A very tricky person to sort out. Yet Harry hit something squarely, after I had spoken to him about…
Ah Damn! Of course, Horcurxes! The very personal items of the school's founders…What was it of hers that was used? Harry had to have come up with the ideal as I picked his mind, and Dumbledore realized what he was getting at…But he and the co-founder didn't appear to be connecting. She was shaking her head in a baulking way while crying, and Dumbledore was doing his civilized best to speak with her. Not particular pleasant to see, especially with a crowd gathering around demanding to know what was going on. I ran block for Harry, hoping for a quick solution to the dilemma occurring in the portrait…
I should have wanted a more 'favorable' solution. Ravenclaw stormed off and out of the portrait as I got between an official and Harry. Dumbledore paused only so long to give a quick indication that he'll keep trying, and quickly left himself.
I wished he'd stayed just a little longer, it would have been a big help in dealing with the calamity that quickly followed outside that portrait.
"What I reasoned, Professor, was that Rowea Ravenclaw would have an ideal what of hers Voldermort made into a Horcrux." Harry later explained to McGonagall in her office. "Since it is possible to converse with the portraits of those who've passed on, I wondered—"
"That particular portrait was created just before her death, Mr. Potter." McGonagall stated from behind her desk. "While I understand what you were doing, unfortunately you wouldn't have gained much information. From what legends tell, she wasn't one allowed people into her life--especially if it was a personal matter."
Harry did his best not to let the pain show, but little bits of frustration did bubble up to his face standing before McGonagall and her desk.
"Have you herd anything from Dumbledore?" I had to ask. It kept my mind off the shiner I was nursing with my hanky. Luckily the wizard who threw that punch wasn't fond of ornate rings.
"He's about, Mr. Day." McGonagall indicated to the now empty portrait on the wall just over her right shoulder. "When he gets back, I'll call you both."
Harry was defeated and deflated as we walked down the corridor. I had to admit, it was a good ideal—an excellent ideal…
At least it was much more than what I had going for me.
"This is becoming insane." Harry exclaimed as we neared the portrait door to Gryffindor. "We don't know where the bastard is anymore than we know what he's used for his Horcurxes. And on top of that—"
"Harry calm down for a moment."
"Calm down!" He suddenly turned on me. "How can I calm down when this is driving utterly mad!"
He had a point. I mean the pressure on him had to be murderous. But I looked right into that contorted face and told him in my most direct tone of voice, "Harry, remember about keeping a cool head in a bad situation?"
"Well, yes...but—"
"This is one of those times." I told him. "Come on, let's go for a walk."
Night had yet to fall when we started our little stroll. And the Aurors out and about as well didn't grant us much privacy, but then neither of us were speaking anyway.
Harry was just stewing with the world right on his shoulders, while I was simply enjoying a cigerrette. Actually, it's how I relax. Not an easy thing to do to put what troubles you the most aside while formulating a plan to deal with it. But the time-out for the mind does do wonders, especially to think from a fresh perspective. By the time we were nearing Hagrid's hut, Harry seemed a little lighter in attitude.
"Sorry." He said.
"About what?"
He hesitated for a few, then added, "For yelling…at you…back there."
I slowly blew some smoke out through my lips. "Not a problem, Harry…Not a problem."
He sighed a tired sigh. "It just this damned mess I'm in…Frustrating…"
"At least they're not peeling you off the ceiling."
He turned to look at me as if my joke hit a raw nerve. And right about then, Hagrid stepped out of his hut.
I'll admit to being intimidated by him. It's the wild appearance, the overall size, and past experience with those who used such beings as personal enforcers and 'collectors'. Honestly, there's noting more frightening than one at your doorstep demanding payment on a debt—as many have discovered. Their resistance to all minor and major forms of magic is well documented, as their ability to take massive amounts of physical punishment of all kinds. And those wearing enchanted body armor, from head to toe, can handle everything up to a nuclear bomb. But for Harry's sake, I played considerate. He and Hagrid go all the way back to the beginning, where I only stepped in recently.
"Hey Harry," He greeted Harry with a broad smile, "got time fer a cuppa?"
All I got was a nod with a slightly cold look after Harry agreed, and "Yer too, Mister Day."
I'll admit, I've been in worse situations. Harry could tell Hagrid didn't at all care or appreciate my company, but like the half-giant kept his feelings from showing while serving coffee in gigantic stone mugs and cakes roughly the same size. And to keep things from being negative, I said my 'thank you's' when served.
Hagrid's response was a cordial but curt nod of his big bushy head towards me.
"Sorry I haven't been around to visit much, Hagrid." Harry started off. "Classes are—"
"I know, I know Harry." Hagrid knowingly replied. "They got me goin' over some of der more dangerous beasts yer and yours may encounter, though some of em' ar' a waist of time if yer asked me."
He then quoted out a lengthy list of some of the largest creatures of our secretive world: Dragons, Wyrms, Boar-Tigers, Great Spiders—stuff that was both nasty and completely ridiculous for Voldermort' to employ, unless he went public. The smaller stuff Hagrid also added was pretty much what would be expected, and was eager to teach…Unfortunately…
"I can't git started ona it until that lot decides wot I should be teachin' on." Hagrid nearly raged before us. "They're spendin' too much time arguein' and figurein', and not a thing ona actual teachin! Hell, I could show em' a thing or tew by taken' the blood lot out inter the Forest. I could show em' a good many things."
"Total Bureaucracy here as well." I let out with a sigh. "It's just as bad at the Ministry."
"Oh?" Hagrid coolly responded, looking critically at me.
When my attention shifted to him, I was met with a cold look of mild irritation—the sort of face supposedly worn by a person who politely doesn't like you. But I had opened my mouth, so out it all came; especially the frustrations in locating the Horcurxes. Harry even chimed in about his attempt at speaking with the Ravenclaw portrait and the frustrations encountered there.
"She wouldn't speak with yer at all, Harry?" Hagrid incredibly asked him.
"She became upset and ran away, even as Dumbledore was speaking with her. Professor McGonagall will tell us if anything was discovered, but in the meantime—"
Harry stopped because he smelled something a moment before either Hagrid or I did. It was god-awful. The pungent odor of poorly processed tobacco that was sold cheaply at many a convenience shop, the very kind that would give the smoker a pleasurable high while rotting their lungs out.
"Dungus!" Hagrid growled.
I was lost at that. But Harry nicely filled in the details for me. "Fletcher? But he's dead!"
"E' is." Hagrid growled again. "But es' ghost has been commin' around here…"
And sure enough, he arrived.
9
