AN: 12/31/2016 (Happy Birthday Tom!) This is the updated version of Chapter 50. Many of you wrote me very polite, well-reasoned PMs and reviews about how I'd made a major mistake and basically done exactly opposite of what should have been done with the goggles. Those were lovely, and I want to take a moment to thank all of the professionals who spent their valuable time to help me with this fanfiction.
If your review was removed, it was because it was abusive. Please remember that disagreeing or correcting me is fine. Abuse will not be tolerated. And please, remember that when you review anyone's work! I've only had to remove three reviews the entire time I've been on this site, and I had to delete two in the last week.
I will try to post Chapter 51 Monday. Everyone have a safe and Happy New Year!
Jean Marie found himself outside Malfoy Manor the next day in a perfectly-cut afternoon ensemble with an all together too innocent-looking Hermione Granger inspecting him from head to toe. She nodded to herself as she pulled on a pair of kidskin gloves. "You'll do. Flirt just enough to distract Abraxas, and not enough to encourage Helga."
He snorted. "You do realize that to woman is…not actually attracted to me, or to any man really."
Hermione shrugged. "Not to 'men' certainly, but to you? Perhaps not sexually, but she enjoys your flirtation and attention."
Jean Marie felt his jaw drop open a bit. The girl looked so innocent…and here she was discussing issues so taboo that many grown witches were unaware of them.
She smirked as if she could tell exactly what he was thinking and then she started up the walkway.
The blond Malfoy lord met them at the door with a barely-repressed scowl. Hermione stood on tip-toe and pulled down his cheek to kiss.
"Abraxas, thank you for inviting us. I hear that Helga is still under the weather, poor thing!"
The man narrowed his eyes at Jean, still quite obviously suspicious, as he should be. Jean might very well be the only other man that Helga had ever seen naked, though he hadn't personally touched her. He'd seen her flushed from head to toe in the throes of passion and at the hands of a witch whose entire life had been spent pursuing physical pleasure…at least until she'd disappeared off the face of the Earth. When Jean Marie had finally found time to search for the woman, she was nowhere to be found.
He shook his head to remove the cobwebs from his mind. Time to stop ruminating and start being devilishly charming. He was here to do a job after all. He caught the cuckold's eye. "Indeed, I was quite distraught when I learned that Mademoiselle Malfoy had been ill during her pregnancy. She is generally such a lively creature." He couldn't resist the mild dig at the unwilling and inattentive husband in front of him. After all, sainthood was not an honor to which he had ever aspired.
The other man's blue eyes chilled, but he graciously allowed them into the home. "I'm afraid Helga will have to receive you both in her personal sitting room. Her condition, you understand."
They entered the maze-like halls of the manor and Jean tried to memorize the route, but he'd never been especially good at such things. It was just as well; he was, after all, there to do one job and one job only: pacify the current Mrs. Malfoy until her child could be born, and give Granger the opening to do something while Malfoy was distracted. His curiosity about exactly what that something might be was like an itch that one couldn't scratch in public.
Helga Malfoy nee Olivander looked like she was trying to hide a bludger under her dress and her ankles were swollen, but the pregnancy had not altered her looks negatively. In all honesty, the lovely glow from her skin made her more appealing that he'd seen her in ages.
He bowed low over her raised hand. "My dear, it's such a pleasure that you are feeling well enough for company."
Her cheeks colored. "I've been without for far too long Jean Marie." He eyes flicked to her husband and she pasted a wicked smile on her face. "You must tell me all the juiciest bits of gossip that I've missed."
Jean Marie's eyes flitted to Hermione, who nodded lightly as she edged toward the door. He gave Helga his most charming smirk. "All of them? My dear, this could take hours. To begin with though, you will never believe what Lady Goyle did less than a fortnight ago…."
HGHGHG
Tom was pacing when Hermione returned from Malfoy Manor. He pulled her into his arms. "How did it go?"
She shrugged. "Well enough. The child is due in April. I think she can be distracted until he is born, and after that she might just be a willing ally…don't get me wrong, her head is filled with candy floss and she has a disturbing lack of a moral compass, but she seems to have some feeling for the child she's carrying at least."
Tom frowned. That wasn't saying much. Hermione pulled him to the leather sofa. She held his hands and sat close, tucking herself into his side, right where she belonged.
"What did you do today?"
Tom blushed.
He'd never blushed in his life, and it wasn't a habit that he'd ever intended to pick up.
Damn and double damn.
Hermione was eyeing him was unrestrained curiosity. "Tom?"
The tips of his ears were burning for Merlin's sake.
She cupped his face gently. "Whatever it is, just tell me. I love you, no matter what is wrong, and I'll help you fix anything you've broken." Her voice held a note of sorrow, and a hint of fear. He finally met her eyes.
"Look into my head, and I'll show you." His voice caught.
She nodded and he felt her enter his mind. He led her to what he'd heard earlier that day.
"Let me bite." Tom looked around, but he was the only one on the stairwell. He trained his wand at the open air but didn't flinch outwardly, though he was ready in case of an attack.
The voice didn't sound like a ghost, it didn't sound like a student…there was something off, something wrong.
"Who is there?"
The voice reacted to his words. "I can hear them, all of them, moving and wandering and they smell so delicious. I want them, I want them…hungry for so long…"
He let her mind go and saw her blink as she exited his mind. Tom was shaking, dreadfully afraid of what might be coming. He'd always feared…
"They thought I was mad, you know." The words tumbled out without permission, and for whatever reason, he couldn't stop them. "That's why Mrs. Cole was always arranging for the doctors to meet me. I wondered sometimes, when things happened that no one could explain." He looked up and met her beautiful eyes, desperate. "Tell me you heard that voice and it didn't sound like me."
She kissed him, long enough so that some of the strain left his body and a new, much more pleasurable tension replaced it. "Tom, I didn't hear a voice." He closed his eyes. He felt her warm little hand on his cheek . "I heard hissing."
His eyes popped open. "It's a snake."
She nodded. "Probably in the pipes if I had to guess."
He slumped into the leather and ran his fingers through his curls. "I thought…"
She kissed his cheek softly. "You thought you were going mad. That's a terrible question for anyone to have to ask themselves, and so much worse when you don't have a support system." She smiled admiringly at him. "Sometimes I have no idea how you survived that place at all, much less grew to be the man you are becoming."
Tom felt another slight blush. Damn it!
ADADAD
Meetings at the Ministry ought to be listed under restricted methods of torture. The sheer lack of spine in the average ministry official was more than a little unnerving. Edvard Olivander, head of the Auror department (and cousin to Garrick Olivander the wandmaker), was the single thinking ally in a sea of spineless politicians.
In this small, supposedly limited, meeting the Wizengamot was discussing the situation in Europe. Most of the fools seemed to be taking the 'sit on our arses and hope the big bad wizard doesn't invade' approach.
Albus was literally biting his tongue. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes was a herculean task.
Clementine Prewett bellowed over the general conversation as he held a four foot tall ear horn to his head. "I want to meet this so-called spy of Albus'."
Olivander pointedly did not sigh in disdain. If anything, his pale face became almost statue-like. "I'm afraid that the spy's identity will have to remain a mystery. The person who is doing this is taking enormous personal risk to go behind enemy lines…"
The old man spat in the floor, much to the disgust of his neighbor who tried to scoot as far away as possible. "False once will prove false once again. I've always said you can't trust a spy."
An unsurprising, but still unsettling, number of the members nodded or seemed to think that outing a spy during a meeting with over a score of participants was a fine idea.
Thankfully, it was Olivander that spoke before Albus had the chance. "If we speak the spy's name, I expect they will be dead in less than a week."
The old wizard sputtered. "You dare to imply that a member of this august body could be corrupted by that straw-haired popinjay?"
Olivander narrowed his colorless eyes. "Was I simply implying?" His voice was quiet, but it carried easily though the room and snapped like fire. "Forgive me. Let me be blunt: Every member of this august body is susceptible to corruption…or to torture, which would work just as well. The sad truth, gentlemen and ladies is this; everyone cracks under torture eventually. If I give this secret to twenty people, within a week Grindelwald will have tortured and bribed enough of you to be certain of his mark and the spy would be dead. The spy is a simple foot soldier in Grindelwald's ranks, and not even Albus or I have his true name or identity."
Albus gave them his best 'determined' look and carefully didn't let his face or body language give lie to Ollivander's little speech. If the twenty members were true as goblin-forged silver, then this information would not leak to Gellert. If there were spies or sympathizers within the Wizengamot itself, then Albus needed to know. This story was the juicy bait on a hook for a very large fish.
Ollivander's voice softened. "This is to protect all of you as much as it is to protect our single point of information within Gellert's ranks. You must not mention this to anyone lest you sign their death warrant."
The members began to nod, and even old Prewett gave a harsh jerk of his head when Albus caught his eye.
Not that Albus thought the old windbag would aid Gellert. Not in this lifetime. Gellert was going to change things, and if there was anything Prewett couldn't stand, it was change.
The members of the council bantered needlessly for nearly two hours and finally settled on the only path forward, which was to do exactly what Albus had proposed.
Olivander gestured for Albus to follow him and led the other man to his office. They padded quietly through the dark halls of the ministry.
The pale man sank behind his perfectly organized desk with a sigh and reached into a drawer and pulled out two battered glasses and a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. He didn't ask, but he didn't pour more than two fingers. He handed the first glass to Albus with a small shrug. "If I need it after all that, I can only assume that you do as well."
Albus toasted him and took a healthy sip. "Hearing them bicker certainly makes the argument for a benign dictatorship all the more appealing."
Olivander sputtered slightly and then grinned. "I favor building imaginary monarchies in my head when they are particularly verbose."
Albus chortled as he sipped. "I suppose we'll simply have to wait and see if they sell out our 'spy'."
Edvard sighed. "I wish that our fictitious spy was real. We need hard intel about their numbers and abilities."
Albus shrugged, careful not to give anything away. He liked Olivander; the man was a brilliant duelist and his dry sense of humor offset Albus' whimsy nicely…but that didn't mean Albus trusted him. "Sorry. All I have are first-hand accounts from some of the refugees. We can extrapolate a bit from first person accounts, but it isn't enough."
Olivander hummed as her flipped through folders. "You went behind his lines two years ago."
Albus nodded slowly. "I did. I couldn't do it again. They very nearly caught me, and Gellert bears me a personal grudge."
The other man raised a pale eyebrow. "Oh?"
Albus took a deep breath, debating. He was half-tempted to tell Edvard the unvarnished truth, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so. It wasn't that much of the wizarding world didn't understand his preference for wizards, even if it was rarely spoken about in most circles. He simply couldn't bear to admit to Edvard that Gellert had ever held such a huge place in his esteem. Admitting it to others would make it real, and once they knew, they'd see him as perverse, because how else could one enjoy the attention of someone so depraved?
Realizing that the silence was stretching further than it should, Albus settled for the whitewashed half-truth that he'd always used. "We were, for lack of a better term, friends for a time in our youth. He tried to recruit me, I tried to sway him. It ended badly."
"So he'll be watching for you."
"I have reason to believe he keeps watch on me nearly constantly, with spies within Hogwarts and outside of it."
Ollivander's brows snapped together. "He considers you a threat."
Albus gave the other man an elegant shrug. "I am a threat."
The pale man didn't scoff, didn't make mention that Albus spent his time teaching at a school for youngsters. He simply cocked his head to the side and hummed under his breath lightly. "Fair enough. So Grindelwald is watching you, and those two brilliant young students you've taken under your wing…the ones my cousin is always going on about."
Albus nodded. "With good reason. Tom discovered a way to produce a viable shield cloak. The other Mr. Olivander is currently working under a limited patent to produce more for the Department of Mysteries, with an eye toward using them during the upcoming battles."
Edvard frowned. "He's only fifteen?"
Albus nodded. "And don't mention it outside this room, but Hermione Granger was the main force behind the cure for dragonpox." The other man's eyes widened. Albus nodded. "She did it over a single summer Edvard."
"Merlin."
"Exactly. Gellert undoubtedly wants both of them. I have sought to protect them."
The pale man poured himself another, larger tumbler of whiskey.
"How soon?"
Albus knew Edvard wasn't talking about the children anymore. "We expect him to be on our shores within two years." Albus dug out a neat little pad and parchment from his pocket. "What do you know about redirecting illegal portkeys?"
Olivander raised a brow. "I happen to know everything there is to know about British portkeys Albus…but I'm certain you knew that."
Albus grinned at the other man's total lack of modesty about his own accomplishments. "Quite right. So if Gellert were porting an army in, could we direct them somewhere else? Perhaps to Azkaban, or even into a nice, deadly peat bog?"
Edvard scratched his chin and absently sipped his whiskey as he pulled a quill and parchment from his desk and scratched out complicated formula.
"If we knew, exactly, when the portkeys were going to commence…"
Albus shrugged. "Just assume that we can find out, and we'll try to find a way."
Olivander cleared his throat and poured each of them another healthy measure out of the bottle. "Now, understand, a legal portkey is grounded in a way so that hijacking it would be nearly impossible. But that's the thing about illegal portkeys isn't it? They can't have the appropriate grounding measures because the grounding itself is what alerts the Ministry. So if we knew the exact times and the general locations, we bloody well could hijack them. And serve the bastards right."
Two spots of color had bloomed on Edvard's cheeks. He scratched out a couple of equations and squinted at the paper. "It could work."
Albus smiled to himself and accepted yet another refill for his cup. It was excellent whiskey after all.
TMRTMR
Tom sighed as he used the smallest screwdriver he'd ever seen to adjust an even smaller screw in a set of goggles.
"Are you sure this is really necessary?"
Hermione gave him a look. The one that reminded him that she was something more than his brilliant best friend. "Fine, just checking."
Hermione blew a wayward curl out of her face as she struggled with the mirrored lens of her own set of goggles. "Honestly, no. I don't know for certain. I do know that Salazar Slytherin left a giant, murderous snake inside a school, presumably to protect it in case muggles attacked…how it would avoid turning the student to stone in that event is something that wasn't mentioned."
Hermione adjusted her strap and pulled the goggles over her curls, which reacted by curling fiercely around the strap. "I'm fairly certain the snake in question is a basilisk. Which means the first hurdle is the stare that can kill you. I think these should protect us."
"I'm not certain I like the word 'should'."
She smiled. "Me either. There are a lot of uncertainties here. The snake might be able to control the killing glare. It also might defer to you because you are a powerful parselmouth. The goggles should protect us from being killed just by meeting the thrice-damned thing's eye. I have a rooster in my bag under a sleeping charm, just in case the basilisk can't be controlled. Barring that it takes a fairly powerful attack to kill it. Goblin wrought steel is the weapon of choice, but I have an entire vile of unicorn breath that Hagrid got for me for my birthday."
"I've never read…"
She shrugged. "Just trust me, it will put the snake into a stupor." She pulled of the goggles and polished the lenses absently. "I honestly have no idea how Hagrid got the breath in the first place. It only works if it is given willingly."
Tom shrugged. "Beasts of all kinds love him. You should have seen those werewolf pups he was hiding under his bed."
She rolled her eyes as they headed toward the bathroom. "Oh that reminds me….you haven't seen any evidence of a giant spider, have you?"
"A what?"
"An Acromantula to be precise. I think Hagrid is going to get an egg for one in the next year or so…I don't know how. The blasted thing takes up residence in the forest, finds a mate, and there is an entire colony of creepy crawlies the size of cows that end up inside the school, eating people."
Tom paled. He didn't care much for spiders. "Exactly why is Hagrid going to raise this man-eating spider?"
Hermione shrugged. "I'd say he was lonely. And Aragog will never kill a human personally…though his offspring make no such distinction. I think our best bet is to ship it back to Borneo when it shows up, while it's still the size of a Pekinese."
Tom muttered "Or we could swat it like an insect."
Hermione looked up. "They are extremely intelligent, fully able to learn English, and have reasonable discussions with humans…though most magical zoologists agree that this behavior is directly linked to hunting humans specifically, though a vocal minority claim it was part of the original experiment in 1640 when they were bred as treasure guardians."
"And swatting it is a bad idea because…?"
"Hagrid would never forgive us?"
Tom sighed. "What if we get it first?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know how he got it in the first place."
"Fine. We'll deal with the giant spider later. Right now we have a giant snake with a death glare and venom that can kill within moments."
She nodded as they approached the bathroom where Hermione had revealed the Chamber of Secrets was located. Hermione went in first (since it was a girl's loo) and waved him in once she'd checked the stalls. She took a deep breath and continued, "Try to talk to it first. It would be easier for everyone if it accepts you as Slytherin's heir."
Tom held the door for her and then adjusted his goggles. "Right. Sweet talk the snake. That shouldn't be any problem at all." He let the sarcasm drip from his voice.
She smirked as she pointed out the correct sink. "Tell it to open, in parseltongue."
He slipped into his second language without difficulty. "Open."
They watched as the sinks sunk into the floor and the entrance slid into place, revealing itself after a thousand years. The tunnel smelled of ancient decay and running water.
Tom wrinkled his nose. "We should have brought Lestrange."
Hermione's brows rose above her adorably dorky goggles.
Tom smirked. "Well, someone has to go first."
Hermione put her hand in his. "It will be like an extremely slimy, disgusting slide."
"Lovely."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Together then?"
Tom clutched her hand. "Always".
