Chapter 23: Three Stops
The next Hogsmeade weekend happened to land right on Valentine's Day. It didn't mean anything for Harry, so he wasn't too upset about missing heading into the village other than not being able to stock up on his sweets supply.
He saw Ron and Hermione to the Entrance Hall, where he handed a few galleons over to Ron.
"Don't worry mate, we'll set you up nicely with this," Ron said with a grin. "I'll set a little aside for Zonko's too."
"Thanks, I'm nearly out of stink pellets."
He and Ron laughed while Hermione shook her head with a roll of the eyes. Her gaze headed in direction of the nearest dungeon exit at the sound of familiar laughter, Harry's following. Malfoy had appeared along with his friends.
"Huh," Ron commented on the sight of Zabini and Parasca holding hands. "I guess that's true, then."
The size of their grins were only matched by the rest of their company. Even Bulstrode, the odd woman out amongst the other three couples, looked eager to get out of the castle for a while.
Harry just shrugged. "I'll let you know what happens with Dumbledore, anyway."
"Right." Hermione nodded. "See you later!"
Harry headed for the staircase, passing Malfoy's gang of Slytherins along the way. They were all so preoccupied with each other that they didn't notice him. Parasca was the closest of them all, who Harry took a long look at.
Parasca had initially arrived at Hogwarts as a strong contender for the centre of Harry's radar. As time wore on, nothing about him seemed odd other than his likeness to Tom Riddle and chosen affiliation with Malfoy's gang. Considering Parasca had no context other than hearsay to know what that gang's reputation had been prior to September, Harry couldn't fault him that.
As time wore on, Harry looked at Parasca more as his own person. Harry revisited that with the prospect of going to the Riddle house today. Parasca's appearance could very well be a coincidence, but Harry was keeping his mind open in case something at the Riddle house subverted that.
"Stringmints," Harry spoke the password at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyles jumped aside for him and a moment later he was being invited inside at the top of the staircase.
"Good, you received my note about dressing warmly," Dumbledore greeted Harry with. "I have another stop I'd like to make after we leave Little Hangleton."
"Okay."
If Harry's eagerness wasn't already as high as it could go, it would've grown with that. They headed through the fireplace. Harry wasn't sure where they wound up on the other end—some dingy little pub—but it didn't matter. Dumbledore held out his forearm to Harry and soon they were apparating. They stood outside a dilapidated gate at the bottom of a snow-laden driveway, leading up to an equally unkempt house.
Dumbledore led the way, clearing them a path while Harry disappeared it behind them. The front steps barely looked safe enough to walk on. Dumbledore tested them regardless. The porch creaked threateningly underneath both of them.
Alohomora let them easily in. The smell of dust hit Harry right away regardless of how cold the house was. Somehow it was even colder than outside. His breath hung in the air in front of him. Shutting the door plunged them into relative darkness.
"Up here," Dumbledore said with a gesture at the grand staircase.
Harry's heart rate picked up in anticipation that they'd been put on the right track with that house in Ramstad's mind. He could already tell though that the architecture was wrong. That house had been older and darker. Sure enough, there was no angle he could look from in the Riddle house upstairs that matched his Legilimency vision.
"There were skylights," Harry recalled, of which the Riddle house had none. "When I stood by the staircase heading down—" Harry gestured to the right, "—there were doors along the left-hand side. Three of them, and then one at the other end behind the railing."
"Hm," Dumbledore replied. "That's unfortunate."
Harry couldn't agree more. He'd started to wonder if there was a stronger connection between Voldemort and Ramstad than the Order was currently able to explicitly see. Harry hadn't told anyone his sneaking suspicion because of how far-fetched it was. Hildegard and Dagmar Ramstad hadn't appeared anywhere until 1985, and even if Dagmar's exact birthdate was up for question, she was more than likely a 1980 baby like Harry. Back then, although Tom Riddle's prime obsessions were supremacy and the dark arts, was it completely out there that he might have once been human enough to produce a child?
Ramstad didn't look anything like him, though. She looked like her mum, and Erik Ramstad too had blond hair and blue eyes. There wasn't much of a variety of physical traits between them as a familial unit. Yet—Harry kept the idea tucked deep in the back of his mind for when evidence might one day come to light that supported it. He wanted to be taken seriously by the Order and especially by Kingsley as an Auror. Harry admitted fully he couldn't come up with a reason why Voldemort would want a child. It did nothing to further his plans for domination. Sure, children were a way to pass on genes, essentially making yourself immortal in a way, but not in the way that Voldemort sought.
Harry gravitated away from Dumbledore as they explored the upstairs. There was one part of the house Harry certainly recognized. He'd seen it through Nagini as she slithered her way to where Voldemort had regained his strength before getting his new body. Harry took a wide berth around the chair in front of the fireplace, opting instead to look out the window. He could see the graveyard from here.
He still couldn't think of a reason why Ramstad would ever be there. She'd been more open about things once they moved on to her parents. What had happened in the graveyard that was worse to admit or harder to discuss?
A light knock on the door announced Dumbledore's arrival. He folded his hands in front of him as he joined Harry at the window.
"I think Ramstad met Voldemort," Harry told him. "I don't think she joined him—we've established that—but maybe there was something else."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore sighed through his nose. "I don't think there's anything else to see here if this isn't the place you saw in Dagmar's mind."
"Yeah."
It pained Harry to admit, for nobody was able to say where else it might be. Snape had put forth that the mystery house might be the same one Ramstad saw in her recurring nightmares. Harry wanted it to be the Riddle house, for it would at least make some kind of circular sense.
Dumbledore held out his forearm. "We should carry on, then. We have a far journey north."
Harry prepared for a long ride through the tight-tube sensation. It ended much sooner than he expected. He'd arrived in another pub, or at least that was what it looked like through the doorway leading out from the backroom he stood in. There were several fireplaces here, some labelled with city names Harry didn't recognize, and a rather large barrel filled nearly to the brim with floo powder.
Dumbledore led Harry into the foyer. There was a fountain in the centre of it that had what looked like a little island. A full restaurant bustled with a loud din to the left. All the doors overlooking the lobby above suggested an inn rather than pub.
A witch perhaps in her early forties greeted both of them with a smile from behind the front counter. She had brown curly hair streaked grey. "Hallo, og velkommen til Bergen."
She spoke in the same lyrical way Ramstad did her native tongue. Harry's sense of place jarred with it, because he hadn't expected at all to leave Britain. He listened quietly as Dumbledore replied to her in Norwegian as well, perking when he recognized a name: Helga Westergaard.
"We need to go by floo further north to Tromsø, and then from there we'll be able to reach the wizarding village Trollby where Kapsferd is located," Dumbledore told Harry as they headed back toward the travel room. "Rektor Westergaard is awaiting us."
"Not Helga?"
"Rektor is her title. It's Norwegian for Headmaster or Headmistress."
"Ohh. Is that how I should address her, then?"
"If you should speak." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a new smile. "She was unable to send the documents I last requested her, but as a work-around she saw no problem in inviting me to visit. I had to be quite vague in our correspondence just in case it was intercepted. She's willing to hear me out and then oblige my requests if all's to her satisfaction."
"How come I'm coming?"
"No sense making several trips out of the castle when one will suffice." Dumbledore lit the fireplace with a wave of his hand. "Would you rather go back to Hogwarts?"
Harry smiled. "No."
"I didn't think so."
Dumbledore went first, requesting the Grand Floo Junction in Tromsø. Harry followed, slightly concerned he'd said the city name wrong until he saw Dumbledore. They hopped right back into the fireplace, jumping this time to Trollby. Harry stepped out into a stone building. A din of noise came from the other side of a wall.
"Ah, Kapsferd must have village visits as well," Dumbledore commented. "Helga asked that I send an owl ahead with the proprietor here so that she could know to expect us."
They left the back of the establishment. Sure enough, the little pub was crammed full with what Harry guessed were sixteen and seventeen year olds. He could see that Ramstad's affinity toward putting her hair into plaits was a cultural norm amongst Scandinavians their age. Even most of the boys had long hair worn somewhat the same way. Some had beards already.
The man at the bar nodded at Dumbledore before frowning at Harry. "ID, gutt?"
"Er—"
Dumbledore spoke again in Norwegian. The barman's brow relaxed with understanding. He headed off to the back and Dumbledore nudged Harry along toward the door.
It was snowing outside. Even through all the flakes and the clouds they fell from, the sun was noticeably lower in the sky than back at Hogwarts. The pub had been so lively and bright. The village tried to be. All its buildings were painted bright shades of red, blue, white and yellow. Even the castle beyond the end of the main street—Harry had to assume it was Kapsferd—was a pale burgundy with moss green turrets. It looked to Harry like everyone was trying to make up for the dreary world they currently lived in.
"It's so dark," Harry commented.
"We're far enough north now that for a few months the sun doesn't rise at all," Dumbledore replied. "This likely seems quite nice to them right now."
Harry shivered at the very thought. The shortest days of the year at Hogwarts went by quickly enough with the sun coming up around breakfast time and setting before dinner.
The castle at least was bright and inviting, even from outside. Whereas at Hogwarts it seemed like the dark stone walls absorbed most light, off-white ones here reflected it. Harry couldn't even see how dark it was outside once he stepped into the Entrance Hall. The large windows had the same charm on them as the Great Hall's ceiling at Hogwarts, or at least a similar one. Rather than snow, a bright blue sky was visible.
A thin, older woman stood at its centre beneath a massive, glittering chandelier. She wore a dress that looked vaguely religious to Harry. The top comprised of a red vest and white, puffy sleeves. The black skirt ended just above her ankles and was covered by a white apron. She wore a scarf around her white hair.
"Ah, Dumbledore," she warmly greeted him. When she smiled, her face wrinkled in a way that made it look like she had just finished laughing. "Welcome! Who's your guest? Kasper mentioned in his owl you had one."
"What a pleasure to finally meet." Dumbledore shook her hand. "This is one of my students, Harry Potter."
Rektor Westergaard lit up. "Of course, I know of you. Charmed."
Harry took her hand next. "Nice to meet you too."
Her pale blue eyes glinted as she smiled. "Come, to my office. Shall I request some coffee from the kitchens? Or would you prefer tea? We might have some Earl Grey hidden somewhere."
"Tea would be lovely," Dumbledore replied.
They headed down the long, wide corridor. Amongst other murmurings of the school, the clatter of dishes and din of foreign banter punctuated by laughs could be heard. Harry waited with Dumbledore while Rektor Westergaard poked her head into the kitchens with a cheery 'hallo!' All the kitchen workers—human, not house elves, Harry noted—fell silent to hear her request. They all carried on working when she left them.
Rektor Westergaard's office suite didn't have a secret passageway to it like Dumbledore's did. She invited them in before closing the anteroom door. Through one door Harry could see a desk. There was a second, closed door off the side wall.
"This is much better to speak in person," she said. "Please, take a seat. I'm very eager to hear what interest you have in students that left Kapsferd twenty years ago."
Harry sat down on the same couch as Dumbledore.
"You've of course heard of Voldemort, yes?" Dumbledore asked.
The smile on Rektor Westergaard's face flickered before disappearing. Rather than scared like Harry might expect to see anywhere in Britain, she merely looked disapproving in a way Professor McGonagall would respect.
"Ja, I have," she confirmed. "Still around, is he?"
"Unfortunately." Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. "Back in the seventies when all this began, I founded an organization dedicated to opposing him and his followers. We are active again as he has returned. While investigating his current plans, we came across the names of the students I'd inquired you about. I would appreciate the opportunity to look further into this mystery regarding Hildegard Ramstad."
"May I ask why?" Rektor Westergaard replied, crossing her legs. "Your mention of Voldemort isn't inspiring. I would hope they knew better than to get involved with him."
"I wish I was the bearer of better news. Erik and Hildegard have become Death Eaters, although we are unsure how exactly Magnus is involved. He seems to have crossed Voldemort in some way before going into hiding.
"Now, to Erik and Hildegard's credit—" Dumbledore said, since Rektor Westergaard looked like something rotten had been placed under her nose, "—evidence is strong that they are not serving Voldemort by their own volition. We believe that something to do with Magnus has bound them to him. There is some form of unfinished business. My organization would like to approach them and offer safety in exchange for information, but we need to narrow down the holes in our knowledge before this is feasible.
"When that comes to Hildegard, we can't find her prior to 1985. We believe she may have changed her name sometime between then and when she left Kapsferd," Dumbledore concluded.
"I see." Rektor Westergaard nodded thoughtfully. "If it is to help some of my old students, I would be more than happy to oblige. In anticipation for this, I pulled all the graduation photos from 1970 to 1980. If you would give me a moment. . ."
Rektor Westergaard stood and headed for the closed door leading off from the room. She returned with a large stack of glossy sheets.
"I took the liberty of sorting out the male graduates spare Erik and Magnus." Rektor Westergaard set the pile down on the table in front of where Harry and Dumbledore sat. "Feel free to go through and see if you recognize anyone as Hildegard."
Dumbledore split the stack, although Harry was more keen to pick up the two pictures that Rektor Westergaard had separated. Erik had less facial hair back then and he looked so young. This was definitely a man that had the rest of his life to look forward to. What a shame.
Magnus too. He had dark, short hair and a clean face. When he smiled up at Harry, his eyes crinkled in a very kind way. Neither of them looked like anyone that Harry should've ever had to think about in regards to this.
"You had asked if they had anything to do with each other," Rektor Westergaard said as she resumed her previous seat. "I looked into it. As far as I can tell, they didn't have any common social circles. Magnus is three years older than Erik, which is a lot for teenagers. Their interests didn't really intersect. Magnus played Quidditch, Erik was in the chess and book clubs.
"I looked into whatever became of Magnus after he finished his education. There's nothing to be found after 1983. I asked his sister, his only living relative, but she never hears from him. They were never close to begin with, being ten years apart in age. She'd received a letter stating he wanted to travel, but never said where he was going."
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, and Rektor Westergaard looked equally disappointed she couldn't give anything there. She offered to help them look through the pictures and weed out any of the women that had anything other than blonde hair and blue eyes.
Since Hildegard would've probably looked then like Ramstad did now, she should've been easy to spot. However, after sifting through them all—and then again, just in case—Harry felt disheartened.
"That's so strange," Rektor Westergaard stated in a dreamy tone. "You're sure she was Scandinavian?"
"I don't know what else she'd be," Harry replied. "Her daughter is my age and Norwegian is her first language. She moved to Britain from Bergen. I guess that doesn't mean anything if she could've just moved to Norway when she was five. . ."
Kapsferd was another dead-end, Harry figured. Nothing at the Riddle house, nothing here. . .what was left?
Rektor Westergaard saw them back to the main entrance. Students were starting to file back from Trollby. They stared at Harry and Dumbledore, but Harry liked to think it was just because they were strangers and not because everyone knew who they were.
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. The sun was already setting. "So what now?"
"We can confirm Hildegard didn't attend Kapsferd," Dumbledore replied. "My next best guess would be Durmstrang."
"Will we go there too?"
"Perhaps." Dumbledore looked at him. "If I receive an invitation like this one, I'll extend it to you."
With Valentine's Day past, the Slytherin Quidditch team added an extra practice per week in anticipation of facing Ravenclaw on the twenty-eighth. The temperature stayed above freezing now more than it dropped below, and Dagmar couldn't be happier for it.
Dagmar headed to her dorm after seeing Draco to practice come the next Sunday, and stopped inside the door. The dorm was quiet and dark. Pansy's curtain was the only one shut. It didn't sound like she was asleep when Dagmar gathered up her Astronomy things to take back to the library.
"All right?" she tried.
Pansy rustled in her bed and sighed. "No. . .I've had this horrible headache for the past few weeks. I tried everything Madam Pomfrey offered, but nothing helps."
Her suffering finally hit a point of satisfaction with Dagmar. Pansy had probably paid the price by now for what she did to Heimdall. It was a shame that Pansy wouldn't be able to associate her current state with her bad behaviour. She might have learned a lesson from it.
Rather than go to the library, Dagmar headed for the students' lab instead. Her and Draco's initial attempt at the Polyjuice Potion had been a failure, but they had some Antidote to Common Poisons sitting in their private cupboard. They'd never ended up needed it. Dagmar slipped a vial of it into her pocket and headed for the Great Hall. The end of dinner was still going on, enough so at least that Dagmar could filch a tankard of pumpkin juice. She emptied the vial into the juice away from the view of any portraits or other students.
"Pansy?" she addressed her when she returned to the dorm.
"Mm?"
"I brought something that might help." Dagmar paused. "My mum used to get really bad headaches when I was a kid. I learned how to brew this for her so that she didn't have to when she felt really sick."
Pansy's curtain opened. She still laid in bed, eyes closed and face beyond pale. She looked like she hadn't seen the sun in about a year. With a small pang of regret, Dagmar realized she might have let this go on a little bit too long. She couldn't imagine it would feel good at all for fermented Shrinking Potion to slowly reduce the size of her skull.
"What's in it?" Pansy asked.
"Mistletoe and unicorn horn, basically," Dagmar said. "It's a little bitter on its own so I mixed it into some pumpkin juice."
Pansy lurched as she sat up and looked for a few seconds like she might toss. She managed to gather herself and reached for the drink. "I'll try anything at this point."
Dagmar took a seat on her own bed. Pansy set the tankard on her bedside table when she was done and laid back down. "Any idea how long it takes to kick in?"
"Depends," Dagmar replied. "Even if your headache doesn't go right away, it should at least take the edge off."
"Thanks."
Dagmar's gaze darted a little with discomfort when Pansy sniffled. Pansy's eyes shone in the dim light provided by one torch next to the door. She wiped them.
"I have no idea why you'd want to help me," Pansy said. "I know I don't deserve it."
Dagmar just shrugged, not that Pansy was looking at her to see that. If Dagmar had let the potion run its course, the headache would've just tapered off.
"I don't think my headache has anything to do with an actual illness." Pansy sniffled. "I think they're what I got for cocking up really badly. I have to clear my conscience. It was me that put your cat in that cabinet.
"I didn't realize he was stuck in there the whole time." Pansy's breath caught and she covered her eyes. "I put him in there and it hit me how I've basically lost my mind and it's to the point I'm doing this to a cat, a creature that had nothing to do with anything between you and me. I came back later and he was gone. I thought someone else let him out. I'm so sorry."
Dagmar studied her. Maybe she actually was sorry. Pansy couldn't even bring herself to look at Dagmar from the weight of her shame. Regardless, Dagmar was getting mad all over again about it.
"He survived, but he's different," Dagmar quietly said. "He's more leery of people. He gets scared. I should poke your eye so you can know how it feels to be permanently damaged from something."
"I know." Pansy's face shone. "I haven't been sleeping. I can hardly eat. I took it too far and that's something I'm going to have to learn to live with."
"Ja, poor you," Dagmar replied. "You'll get over it. You don't have enough of a soul for this to bother you for long."
Dagmar regretted giving Pansy the antidote early. Once her headache cleared up now, Pansy would attribute it to admitting what she had done. If this no longer physically bothered her then why should she let it at all?
As if by their own accord, Dagmar's feet carried her back over to Pansy's bedside. Pansy averted her gaze again when Dagmar stood over her. She brought it back, confused, when Dagmar splayed a hand over Pansy's chest. Dagmar couldn't see the electricity building between them, but she could feel it. She pushed it all into Pansy. Pansy's eyes widened and one of her arms twitched before her entire body jolted straight.
"I ought to stop your heart," Dagmar said under her breath. "You're nothing but a waste of space. You've only ever hurt everyone around you and drug them down to your level. You're like a black hole. The world would be better off without you."
Tears leaked from Pansy's eyes, but Dagmar didn't even know if Pansy had control over that right now. Her mouth was open like a fish out of water since her diaphragm had seized like every other muscle. Her lips started to turn blue.
Dagmar pulled back on the energy she pushed into Pansy. Pansy's lips twitched first, and then she drew a slow, difficult breath. Eyes wide, Pansy grasped Dagmar's forearm. She trembled when Dagmar had reached enough of a stasis between them to remove her touch completely. Pansy gasped for air, still weak but trying to push herself away from Dagmar. She couldn't go much further than the edge of her bed.
"You're not worth the risk," Dagmar told her. "If I were you though, I wouldn't let there be a second time this happens."
Sweat seeped from each of Pansy's pores. Dagmar took the tankard from Pansy's bedside, picked up her bag, and left the dorm. She set the tankard down in the common room and vanished the dregs of its contents with a quick wave of her hand.
A strange calm came over Dagmar as she set up with her things in the library. In the back of her mind she was vaguely aware she could've just killed one of her peers, but she couldn't make it bother her. If Heimdall had ended up dying because of what Pansy did, Dagmar couldn't say with complete certainty that had she known who was responsible, she wouldn't have followed right through.
As far as Dagmar was concerned now, so long as Pansy left her alone until their education was concluded and they never had to see each other again, things were even. Dagmar felt as if she'd made up now for everything Pansy put her through ever since they had the displeasure of meeting. There was some peace to be felt in that, that it was over.