This is a short chapter from an OC POV; bit of a build up to the events of the next chapter.
Thank you to everyone keeping up with this story, it's much appreciated.
Enjoy :)
15. Paint It, Black
23rd March 2006
He knew his time was numbered, that his life would soon be drawing to a close, but he had to be patient. The cellar he was currently hunkered down in was damp and covered in a foul-smelling mould, but it was the best he could do for the time being. Another week or two and he would have no need for shelter at all. His work would be complete.
Rain splattered the pavement outside, splashing down and into the cellar through the broken window and collecting in a puddle on the floor. Gibbon huddled further under his cloak, cursing the footsteps and laughter he could hear coming from upstairs. The muggle family had no idea that they had been sharing their house with an uninvited lodger, nor that he had been helping himself to their food in the night. Gibbon could have found somewhere warmer to stay; he had plenty of loyal followers who would gladly sacrifice their own comfort for his, but this dank, miserable cellar had something that none of their warm, food-filled houses could offer; - Harry Potter.
Unlike the unsuspecting people upstairs, Gibbon could feel the subtle shifts in the house that alerted him to the presence of someone coming and going from the house that seemingly did not exist next door. Although he could not see the house, and every magical attempt to reveal it had failed, Gibbon knew without a doubt that it was there. He had spoken to the couple living in number 11, and he was currently enjoying the hospitality of those in number 13; yet he had seen Harry Potter and occasionally others appearing between the two houses on numerous occasions over the past five days, apparently out of thin air.
He peered cautiously out of the window, careful to remain in the shadows so as not to be seen. A pretty redhead stood on the pavement under a purple umbrella. Her face looked familiar to the wizard, but he could not recall where he had seen it before. She paused for only a few seconds before trotting lightly towards the steps that Gibbon knew were there but could not see. She disappeared in an instant and Gibbon felt the almost imperceptible movement of the house as it shifted back into the space where its invisible neighbour should have been.
Gibbon sank back into his filthy corner, disappointed that the unsuspecting visitor was not the one he had been waiting for; the one he wanted for his final preparations.
Gibbon Percival had been born to poor, pure-blood parents. He had spent the first eleven years of his life desperate to get to Hogwarts and find out what house he would be sorted into, and what subjects he would excel in. His brother, Claudius, had started the year before him and was constantly writing him with news so exciting and, at times, alarming, and young Gibbon was chomping at the bit to join him.
Gibbon was sorted into Ravenclaw, like his mother had been, whilst his brother was a proud Gryffindor, like Harry Potter. Claudius had bragged repeatedly that he was a friend of Potters, but Gibbon quickly realised that his brother was living in fantasyland. They may have shared a common room, but Gibbon would have been immensely surprised if Harry Potter had even known that his brother had existed. The supposed saviour of the wizarding world clearly had enough to be dealing with and no time for a young, introverted housemate.
Gibbon's first year at Hogwarts was more exciting than he could possibly have imagined; he made lots of friends, found himself top of most of his classes and, most exciting of all, Hogwarts hosted the TriWizard Tournament. Gibbon had been enthralled with the progress of the champions and, like his brother, he had been rooting exclusively for Harry Potter to win. But then the dreadful thing had happened, and Cedric Diggory had been killed. Gibbon had been horrified, his brother had cried relentlessly for two weeks (although Gibbon was sure that he had never actually known the older boy personally), and their parents had threatened (unsuccessfully) to remove them from Hogwarts for good.
From that moment on Gibbon had become increasingly obsessed with all things Harry Potter and, as he had delved deeper into the boy's past, he had found himself captivated by the story of his tormentor, Lord Voldemort. His studies had suffered slightly due to his obsession, but his natural intelligence had carried him comfortably through the following years. When he was in his fourth year his life had been turned upside down with the arrival of Death Eaters at the school. Under the headmaster, the former potions master Severus Snape, Death Eaters ruled the school and meted out severe punishments on a daily basis.
At first Gibbon had been alarmed at their arrival, but his natural curiosity had eventually won out and he had often found himself seeking out the Carrows to find out more about the Dark Arts and, more importantly, their powerful leader, Voldemort. Over the following few months Gibbon had found himself using his natural charisma to befriend unsuspecting students, learning their family secrets and passing any useful information on to the Carrows in return for private lessons in his favoured subject.
Gibbon rarely felt guilt over the fact that his imparted information often led to his 'friends' being tortured, or that sometimes it caused one of their family members to go into hiding or disappear. The only time Gibbon's conscious was ever truly rattled was when his brother, his sweet, quiet, compassionate brother, would get upset when he heard of the punishments or the missing relatives (even if he did not know the people involved). Gibbon did not like to see his brother upset and, at times, he had been moved to try and distance himself from the Death Eaters, but he never managed to fully extricate himself from their goings on.
On the 2nd May 1998 Gibbon had found himself caught up in the infamous Battle of Hogwarts. His brother, who had never so much as been in a fight before, threw himself into the battle with gusto. Gibbon was more cautious in his approach; whichever side he fought against would mark his betrayal and he was scared to face the potential consequences of being caught on the wrong side.
Early in the battle Gibbon had escaped the castle and hidden himself in the village of Hogsmeade. Half of the village had gone to help the school, whilst various pubs and shops were sheltering the younger children of Hogwarts who had not been allowed to fight. Gibbon did not want to be marked as a coward, so he had avoided those places and instead had secreted himself in the cellar of The Three Broomsticks. With such easy access to food and drink, and with not a single broken window in sight, Gibbon had had a fairly easy morning, even managing to nap for a short while. The sounds of the battle were too far away to cause any real disturbance to him, although powerful flashes of colour did light up the sky outside the window on occasion.
Gibbon had felt almost giddy with excitement when he thought about what was happening up at the castle, although his exhilaration was somewhat dampened by his inability to be involved. Gibbon did not know who he wanted to win the battle; he just knew that he needed to get back to the castle before it was over so that he could stand beside the winning side as a victor. Gibbon had deliberately ripped his clothing and caused minor injuries to his hands and face to imply that he had been a part of the fight all along; his clothes were already dirty from skulking in the cellar.
When Gibbon returned to Hogwarts the battle was over and he joined a small group of Hogwarts students who were scouring the grounds for fallen comrades. He had been only mildly disappointed when he had crossed the grounds and found that the Death Eaters were the ones who had been defeated. His disappointment had quickly turned to revulsion and guilt, however, when he had stumbled upon the body of a fifth-year student with scared, glassy eyes. There was not a mark on the boy, but his face was frozen in fear. Gibbon had felt as though he had been punched in the stomach and his mind began whirring uncontrollably. All the time he had been informing on students and delving deep into the exciting world of the Dark Arts he had never had to witness the realities of the horrors he was contributing to. Now, however, he could see what he had been supporting first-hand and the reality made him feel sick to his stomach. This was not a game, or an imaginary adventure; this was death.
Gibbon spent the afternoon and early evening helping move wounded students, teachers and allies into the castle for medical treatment. He could not face the task of moving the dead too, he left that to others. He found their glassy stares too accusing and he was unable to be in their presence for more than a few seconds at a time.
Late in the evening Gibbon had found himself in the presence of the great Harry Potter himself. The boy was tall and slim, but Gibbon could see the faint evidence of developing muscles as his top strained across his back when he was moving heavy bodies around the room. Gibbon was in awe of the wizarding saviour, despite having been working against him for some time. He was so engrossed with watching the messy-haired boy that it was a few moments before Gibbon's brain registered what he was really seeing.
Potter had just straightened up from depositing a body on a makeshift stretcher and was standing, shoulders slumped, with a blank expression on his face as he stared down at the boy laying out on the stretcher. Potter eventually turned away from the dead boy, glanced momentarily at the pale, stricken wizard standing behind him, before walking away. Gibbon was rooted to the spot, staring into the pale blue eyes of his brother. His sweet brother who had wanted nothing more than to be friends with Harry Potter, who had been so excited to be sorted into the same house as his hero, who had never managed to pluck up the courage to speak to the boy he worshipped, and who had now died for the boy who had just left him, discarded, on the cold floor in a random corridor.
Gibbon's anger had eclipsed all of his other emotions; it had fuelled him through the following years and driven him to some desperate acts. He had been planning, since the very moment his brother's dead eyes had met his own, his revenge. Everything he had learned, and everything he had done, had led to this moment; to him hunkering in this dank, dirty cellar, wanted by the whole Ministry of Magic, hunted by the man he most wanted to destroy.
Gibbon had lost all real fascination with Lord Voldemort and his band of followers; he now found them weak and pitiable, having been so easily defeated by a bunch of schoolkids. There were others, however, who still believed in the power of the Dark Lord and Gibbon had found it ridiculously easy to round these people up, convince them that they could be part of something great again, and use them to get on the Ministry's radar, all whilst befriending the bespectacled Auror he was set to bring down.
He had been careful with all the other disturbances to keep out of the picture, everything had to be planned to perfection and he could not risk being exposed before he was ready. The muggle girl had been chosen at random; it was no matter to him who she was, only that she would end up coming to the attention of the Ministry of Magic. Gibbon had had to reveal himself to her and ensure his face would be prominent in her fractured mind when the Ministry extracted her memories. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Harry Potter would be the one sent to track him down. He knew that the Minister for Magic would trust no one with this task other than the man who had mentored him and, therefore, knew him best of everyone in the Ministry. This is what Gibbon had wanted. This is what he had planned for.
The redhead was a complication. There was not supposed to be anyone else involved in this, but Gibbon was running out of time. He would wait another hour, give the woman a chance to leave, and then he would have to make his move.