Chapter Sixteen
"AAAAAA-chooo!"
The bookcase blew apart as the sneeze rocketed out from the figure in the chair. A negligent wave of a hand repaired it and the books within the wooden confines stitched themselves together. The other hand picked up a warm mug of chicken noodle soup and sipped it down. The wizard set the empty mug down and glared at it as it refilled itself. The mug was uncaring of the glare.
He hated chicken noodle soup, since that was all there was in the orphanage some days. He'd never forgotten that and every time it was served at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had shunned it. Strangely though, it helped him in his current affliction.
Voldemort sniffled, feeling the frustration of having caught a cold somehow. It was an indignity, but at least it wouldn't last long. The Death Eater that had the most experience in healing had looked him over and took a few readings, then told him that it was most likely a side effect of some ritual or so it appeared to him. It was something that he'd seen before when he worked at St. Mungo's before he was dismissed for fooling around with the patients. What ritual, he didn't know and didn't care what, but it was something that happened sometimes especially with the older types of rituals. Feedback from the magical energy merges that came with those would sometimes temporarily knock a magical core off balance and let a wizard get sick. The more recent rituals had been designed to filter out that feedback and prevent sickness.
Voldemort had raised an eyebrow. The man wasn't afraid to tell him things like that, even if he got crucioed and the Dark Lord was impressed with that. A few more questions and he was told that magical interventions like potions would just make things worse for him, but luckily it would pass in a night or two when his magical core settled down. In the meantime, rest and eat soup and crackers. Stay hydrated. Don't over-exert himself. If he got constipated, let him know and he would see what he could do. That happened sometimes, too. The man had looked him straight in the eye without flinching as he spoke with the authority of his previous posting, too.
The man had left and Voldemort was surprised, but it really was sound advice. Maybe it was time to advance that one in the organization. There never was enough good help, he'd found.
So with that in mind, Voldemort was looking over some of his plans since he had to follow Healer's orders. He snorted. The most powerful Dark Lord in history, laid low because of sniffles and constant mucus. Lovely.
There was no one to disturb him by his order and that allowed him to get work done. There was a great deal of parchmentwork to deal with. He'd never thought that being a Dark Lord mean he'd have to do that, but sure enough there was. Since he couldn't go out and risk getting himself sicker, he resigned himself to his work. He wondered how much of this Dumbledore had to put up with.
He sneezed again. From somewhere in the building, there was the sound of breaking glass, a heavy thump and rumble and a scream. He heard someone yell, "Tim! Oh shit. Somebody help me here!"
Wondering what happened to whoever this Tim was, he listened. Anything other than this desk work. Other voices responded soon along with several pairs of boots.
"What happened?"
"He tripped over something and knocked over the display table with those knives on it!"
"What? Not the cursed blades? Damn it. We worked all night on those fucking things. Did he cut himself? I hope not since he's already lost whatever got cut."
There was a sudden caterwauling noise, presumably from this Tim. It cut off after a moment. Somebody must have cast a Silencio at him.
"Oh. Oh damn. I can't blame him for screaming his head off."
"What? I can't see. You're in the way."
"Poor bastard won't need a wife now."
Silence. Voldemort grinned. That'll teach him not to be so clumsy. The voices went on.
"Well, what about that hand?"
"What about it? It's not like he can rub one out with it now?"
"No I meant, how's he going to pick up his wand with just that pinkie finger?"
There was a moment of silence as whoever was speaking apparently was thinking about his answer. Voldemort wondered if this Tim was listening, too.
"He'll figure it out, then he can worry about his wooden wand. Look there. It's laying right there, all shriveled up."
"Wooden wand… oh, I see. Wood doesn't shrivel like that. Poor bastard."
Voldemort heard a crunching noise next.
"Hey watch out!"
Another voice broke in.
"What?"
"Watch where you're putting those clodhoppers! Oh, never mind. It's not like we'll be able to reattach that anyway, even if you did just scrape that glass all over it. That's all sliced up like Penny's carrots."
"Ugh. Yuck. Thanks, I was hungry until you said that."
"Oh, sorry. Well, what do we do about Tim? He's out like a light."
"Take him to the ward. Everything got cauterized by those cursed blades. Well, except for that nub there. I didn't know that cauterization did all that green color. Who put them there, anyway?"
"Will did. Why?"
There was another pause.
"Will Forman?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, nothing."
"What?"
There was another pause. Voldemort could hear another shuffle and some scraping as the poor bastard was dragged off. The other voices continued.
"Hey, don't leave me in suspense. What about Will?"
"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but he said that Tim's wife put the word out that she was putting out for whoever cut Tim's shady dick off."
There was an audible cringe, and Voldemort idly debated if this wife would be willing to enforce discipline for him. Tim apparently was no problem for her anymore. He made a mental note to find out as the voices faded away. He sneezed again, heard a pained yelp from somewhere, and wondered who suffered a misfortune this time. In the meantime, he had some letters to write and nothing else to do other than get over this damned cold.
He sneezed again and coughed for good measure before taking another sip of chicken noodle soup.
"Gah! I hate chicken noodle soup with a passion!"
-===(| - |)===-
Ron Weasley was wondering what was going on. He hadn't seen Harry or Hermione for more than a few minutes over the last few days and was starting to wonder. Of course, the coursework that they had to deal with this year explained some of the absences but it was still odd.
Maybe they had stopped dancing around each other and admitted to each other what everyone else knew. Since he was part of the Golden Trio, or whatever everyone else called it now, he could see it. Hermione wasn't really his type since they fought like cats and dogs and she wasn't too crazy about most of the things he liked. Okay, he admitted to himself that he instigated the fights they had for pure entertainment value, but Ron knew he had to be careful about it. She knew some absolutely vicious curses and wouldn't be adverse to teaching them to Ginny for payback.
He shuddered at the memory of the one that adhered an unmelting pouch-shaped block of ice around his testicles. That had been bad. What was worse when she intimated that he needed to look up the process of making steers. Hermione had mentioned that transfiguring the ice pouch into a tiny rubber band after an hour would be simplicity itself.
After reading about steers, he decided to leave her alone for a week. Instead, he had somebody give the book to Malfoy. The results of that was truly heartwarming, if not ball warming. He'd never seen Malfoy actually squeak like that before. Maybe he should rile Hermione up more and point her at the blond Slytherin. Then again, riling Hermione up might not be the safest thing for him. He grimaced at thoughts of other things he'd seen her do.
Still, this reminiscing wasn't answering the question of where the pair were. He decided that there was really only one thing to when in doubt. Ron got up and headed for the library. It had worked before, since everyone knew that anyplace where books were kept would be were Hermione Granger would be.
It made sense to him and he congratulated himself for that insight. It wouldn't take but a moment once he got there to find her. There was only one place in the library that she sat, as he and possibly everyone else in the castle but for most of the first-years knew. The table in the back with the waiting chair that looked like it had held centuries of rear ends. It apparently was quite comfortable, but no one else had the opportunity to try it if she was here. He turned the corner.
"Oi! Hermione! I've been looking for you all… Hermione?" He looked at the chair.
Oddly, she wasn't there. Ron stopped, nonplussed. This was a first.
"Okay. This is strange."
"What's strange?" It was one of the Gryffindor fourth years.
Ron turned to face her. She was peering at him with a frown on her face, probably wondering what possessed him to willingly go anywhere but the Quidditch pitch or the Great Hall for food.
"I was looking for Hermione, but she's not here."
The fourth year pondered for a moment. He was starting to get impatient with her regard of his face.
"I think she was in the Great Hall when I passed by twenty minutes ago."
What? It's not meal time yet, or did I miss it? Why would she be in the Great Hall of all places, when she could be in the library?
He squinted at the younger girl.
"What about Harry? Did you see him?"
"No. I haven't seen him for a few hours."
Nodding at the girl, he took off for the Great Hall. She watched him go, wondering what was going on. She decided she would find out later through the grapevine. He didn't seem to be in the know about his two friends any more than she did, which made her think there was something juicy going on with the Golden Trio. The fourth year thought about that for a moment. Maybe she could shake some bushes and see what fell out. Homework could wait for another time as she turned around to sneak after him down the corridor.
Behind them under a Notice-Me-Not spell, a pair of cold eyes watched the doors to the library close. A few moments passed before the watcher eased out of the chair and left the library as well. Had there been anyone to observe this, they would have seen an unsettling expression of overweening contempt follow the pair that had just left. The watcher sneered at the retreating back of the fourth-year, then turned and set off in the opposite direction.
-===(| - |)===-
The silence in the room after the Sorting Hat's announcement was broken after a moment by Dumbledore. He waved his wand around in a square pattern toward the floor.
"Malum est manifestum, malum umbra, malum est nidum revelatum!"
For a moment, there wasn't any reaction to the incantation that Dumbledore had uttered, but soon everyone else felt a prickling on their skin that turned into the feeling of tens of insects skittering everywhere. The tens turned into hundreds, which turned into thousands. Some of the insect-feelings were those of several varieties of ants, some were mosquitoes that started to collectively whine in their ears, and some had morphed into the feel of millipedes. Those had inexorably wended their way around ankles, thighs, trunks, arms, wrists, and necks – or so it felt.
The others started to slap at their skin, then scratch, then dig. There was no relieving what they felt and no idea why, other than whatever the old wizard was doing. The feeling persisted, and most looked up at Dumbledore. He didn't seem bothered by the same sensations of tens of thousands of tiny insectoid legs marching over every inch of skin regardless of clothing, or by the incessant sound of the mosquitoes singing in thousand-part disharmony. If anything, he looked to be worried.
"Whit in th' nam ay aw that's holy ur ye daein', ye bapit auld cheil?" McGonagall shrieked at the top of her lungs as she scratched at her neck and danced around in agony. The others were in no better shape. They did their own scratching and dancing, and while they heard her question, no one was in any shape to listen for the answer.
Dumbledore dropped the spell. It was so abrupt that the others kept scratching for a bit before they realized that the sensations they had been suffering had dropped from them like a stone into a quiet pond. They looked around to see him drop heavily into his seat. The whine of the seat cushions was easily heard now that the insect-derived whines had ceased.
McGonagall speared the old wizard with the most severe look any of them had ever seen her give to anyone, even James.
"Noo whit was 'at?"
They all could tell how mad she was from the Scots in her voice. Everyone kept their mouths shut while they waited for the answer. Dumbledore didn't say anything right away. He snatched the half-moon glasses off and scrubbed his pale face with his hands before answering. A twitch of his wand brought up a full tea service for everyone and surprisingly, a bottle of brandy on his desk.
Everyone eyed each other at the sight of the bottle. Without a word, Dumbledore tipped some of the brandy in everyone's cup – even Harry's and Hermione's. This made the looks everyone was giving each other increase.
"I'm not saying anything until everyone drinks," Dumbledore grunted. Everyone watched him quickly drink down the tea from his cup and refill it with more brandy-fortified tea. He drank that down, too and remained quiet.
Everyone shrugged, and drank. Harry winced at the feeling of getting slugged by the brandy, but seeing Hermione drink without reacting made him want to man up and not complain about it. There was silence in the room, broken only by the sounds of sips and slurps. The Sorting Hat grumbled to itself about not getting any brandy, but was ignored. After everyone else refilled their teacups with only tea, Dumbledore sighed.
"I do suppose I should start."
Silence greeted his statement and he grimaced, but continued on.
"I apologize for that unpleasantness, but it's been a very long time since I used that particular incantation and I forgot the side effects."
McGonagall speared him with a look in her eye that delivered a silent promise, and he shuddered inwardly. Gamely, he continued, hoping to lessen the punishment. She could be vicious, and from the look he was getting from Miss Granger, so could the younger girl. The look he was getting from Lily didn't help. Absently, he wondered how Harry was going to handle it when he invariably got into trouble now.
"The spell searches for and reveals the presence of what we define as mal-intent: the intention to harm someone or engage in wrongdoing. However, it ignores the low-level things like scuffles or bullying or petty theft, such as what we know to be here in any school full of children." He sighed. "No, this is intended to find the magical mental exertions behind evil acts beyond a certain level."
"Certain level?" This came from James, and Dumbledore raised a shaggy eyebrow at him.
"The majority of activities that groups like the infamous Weasley Twins – or the more infamous Marauders – don't apply."
James did his best to look angelic. Lily rolled her eyes at him while Dumbledore went on.
"No, things like the activities of the Death Eaters in their evil ways or their forerunners, the Knights of Walpurgis. That group has ties much farther back than Grindelwald, centuries even. I'll leave specifics to your own self-study, should you which to look into it. In this case, the spell revealed to me that there's something on the edges of the Grounds that has been used for a dark ritual."
"What? On the Grounds?" McGonagall's voice was shocked. "But the wards -"
"The wards should have snuffed it out, but there's a section of the wards that hid something that shouldn't be there. I just found it."
"What?"
Hermione spoke up.
"Headmaster, are you saying there was a 'backdoor' to the wards? Something put into place to keep everyone out except people who know about it, like computers with compromised security?"
Lily's eyes narrowed, following the younger witch's thoughts. "And something magicals would see similar to a Fidelius charm with Secret-keepers?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Just so, although what precisely a 'computer' is and how it applies here I really couldn't say."
There was a frisson of chills that ran through the room at the thought of Hogwarts' wards – some of the oldest and strongest in Magical Britain – being compromised.
Madame Pomfrey spoke up. "Albus, shouldn't there be a way to close that up? Suture it, so to speak?"
Dumbledore started to disagree, then stopped abruptly. His face wrinkled up with a new thought.
"Hmm. There may be a way. I will think about it."
Madam Pomfrey grimaced.
"I don't know that I'm comfortable with the possibility of such a weakness in the wards that would cause a breach. There are students to consider and I don't want to risk the possibility of injury to them from malicious unknowns."
Dumbledore frowned.
"Quite so. I have to agree. In the meantime we are here for another purpose."
He looked at James and Lily Potter, and the forgotten weapons in the hands of the younger members of their gathering. The Hat harrumphed.
"It's about time, Albus."
"Yes, yes. The older I get, the more senile I become," Dumbledore sighed.
"Among things, but who's counting?" The Hat's snickers was echoed around the room. The Headmaster sighed and stared up at the ceiling.
"So, what are your thoughts, Sorting Hat?"
Harry thought that the gouges that represented the Hat's eyes narrowed impressively. If he didn't know better, he'd think that this was an old game that Dumbledore and the Hat played with each other. It lead to another thought, wondering what went on in this office when no students were around. From the look on the faces of his parents, they was wondering the same thing.
The Hat harrumphed again.
"Are you getting more daft by the day from all those lemon drops? I'm a Hat! Put me on their heads!" The rest of the grumbles faded off, but the others thought they heard something about being long overdue for a vacation. The problem was that no one knew who or what was being referred to as needing one.
Dumbledore tried hard to repress another sigh, but it managed to slip out to the Hat's smug snickers. He looked at the elder Potters.
"Well, who would like to go first?"
Lily sat up.
"I will."
McGonagall nodded and gently picked up the Hat to place it on Lily's head. The moment that the Hat settled, there was a sound of surprise that caught everyone's attention. Lily looked up at the Hat's brim flopping over her flame-red fringe in a bit of awe.
Well, well! This is quite a shock for me. You're supposed to be dead, my dear.
Lily screwed up her face.
Don't remind me. I remember a lot of things from the other side and I never thought I would find myself here. Not after that night.
The Hat ruminated while everyone else waited to hear what the verdict was, not being able to hear the conversation between the two of them. All they had to rely on was the expression on Lily's face.
Hat? I'm worried about my son. He doesn't look like he should. He's… smaller… than I thought he'd be at this age.
There was a sigh from the Hat.
Yes. I don't yet know what you've seen from the other side, but give me a moment to look through your memories. As for young Mister Potter, during his time at school there have been a lot of adventures for him, you might say.
Another moment went by with another internal sigh from the Hat. Lily was wondering about the reference to 'adventures,' but before she could ask, the Hat spoke up.
I can see that you're Lily Potter, returned to us by some means of Magic that has something to do with Miss Granger and young Mister Potter. I'm still bound by my enchantments to keep the secrets of those placed on my head, but I will say this. That young lad needs his mother.
Lily's eyes filled with tears, and everyone sat up as they fell.
Hat? Who raised Harry?
There was a moment of silence from the Hat.
Alas, that's part of the enchantment… unless…
Lily's eyes went wide at a whisper from the Hat, and she leaned forward. She quickly motioned for Harry to take her hand. He jumped up, leaving the odd hammer with Hermione and crossed the floor to her. James scooted over to make room for Harry in between himself and Lily, and she took Harry's hand when he sat. James curled his arm behind them and held them close to him.
Minerva McGonagall wiped away the tears as quietly as she could at the sight. She heard a muffled sniffle beside her and turned to look at Madam Pomfrey. Neither said anything. They watched as James regarded Hermione and silently called her over too.
Lily smiled at the Hat's mental snort, waiting patiently. Hermione slowly got up, leaving the weapons behind and sat on the floor between Harry's legs, since there wasn't any room on the couch. Harry's free hand came to her shoulder, which she took and held before resting her cheek on it.
Ah, good. My dear, the presence of the three of you – four, with Miss Granger – allows your magics to mesh, for the want of another word. Young Mister Potter and Miss Granger make a cute couple, don't you think?
Lily smiled.
I do think so, and didn't think you was such a busybody in the romantic lives of teenagers, Hat?
A snort answered her.
Please. After a thousand plus years in this castle? Between my observations and the castle's, I could write a book. Besides, she's good for him because he hasn't had the best time with those Muggles and frankly he needs her, too. I can say that now, since the Parental link from your magic have established your identity and magical custody.
There was silence for a moment as the redhead thought about the Hat's words, and everyone watching Lily saw her eyes narrow and light up. The fire in her eyes promised payback to someone, and Dumbledore shifted uneasily. James felt her stiffen up, and the two teenagers between them were confused. James, with more experience with Lily, could tell something had pissed her off. He started to speak but was interrupted by the Hat's gruff voice.
"Switch me to the other one! Quick, before she blows!"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow but yanked the hat off Lily's head. Harry's confusion increased, and he'd felt Lily's outrage but had no clue what happened. He turned to look at her as the Hat was settled on James' head.
"Mum?"
She turned and hugged him to her as tightly as she could, her fit of pique shoved aside for the moment at Harry's call. She whispered into his ear.
"My baby boy. I love you so much. We need to talk, but know this. I love you so very much and I'm so sorry I had to leave you."
Tears fell from their eyes as the Hat and James Potter held their conversation. James was not sure what had happened with Lily, but now that it was his turn with the Hat he had to demonstrate a little Potter swagger. It was the least he could do to identify himself to the Hat.
Hello, Hat! Looong time, no see! Met any cute bonnets lately? Got any precious little berets running around yet?
The Sorting Hat would have facepalmed. Unfortunately, without actual hands that wasn't possible. At least now it was quite sure who this was. No doubt at all.
The Hat harrumphed while James grinned.
-===(| - |)===-
There was a quiet moment in the castle. A stocky young man walked into the castle, brushing dirt from his arms. It had been a very productive session in the greenhouses and he'd gotten quite a bit of work done for a thesis. Professor Sprout had mentioned something offhand in a class, and he wanted to do a little research on a thought that had struck him. It panned out and the thesis practically was done but for the actual writing. It meant getting dirty, but that was no big deal for him.
He paid no real attention to the alcoves to either side in the corridor, since after a few years they became part of the background. Granted, anytime someone was in one for whatever reason, it caught his attention – especially when it was an ambush of some kind. The Weasley Twins had rejoiced in setting up pranks in that manner before everyone caught on.
Then again, so did the bullies and their endeavors were not the same thing as the Twins' pranks. Those usually lead to time in the tender tortures of Madam Pomfrey.
He stopped for a moment, his senses caught by something that he didn't recognize. It seemed… well, it seemed odd, if only something he hadn't known before. Something in his head woke up and started to scream for attention. His brow furrowed and his wand came out in a flash.
"Who's there?"
His voice was harder than most people would have expected. He listened hard for a response. He started to repeat his demand when the faint answer came.
"N-Neville?" The tremulous sob of his name was filled with pain. Neville's eyes widened. That voice belonged to someone he knew well.
"Luna?"
The only answer to him was a weak, wavering moan and a slow, thin trail of blood appeared before his eyes.
"...help..."