Every once in awhile, I get a review on this story that hasn't been updated in so long, and I'm overwhelmed by the kind words, and the fact that people find some joy out of this. I think, more than ever, we could all really use some joy. Even if I've struggled to write something that I feel is adequate, I just miss the distraction writing provides. I miss spending all day thinking about my stories and what I'm going to write when I get home. It's much more preferable to the constant anxiety I've had (New Yorker here).
Although I don't have as much spare time (I'm an eSsieNTiAl EmpLOyEE) to write, I'd like to fill that time with something that, even if it isn't my best, at least provides some nice escapism. There's only so much bread I can make, and I already finished Tiger King.
Hope you all enjoy, and a not nearly enough thank you to everyone who still continues to review and provide the inspiration and fire under my ass.
Chapter Nine: A Chat, a Visit and the Diary
Harry shuffled slowly forward, stepping carefully on each crooked and oddly shaped stone that marked the path between the school and the gardens and the river that ran beneath it. It was quiet, this early in the morning when most of the students were still eating breakfast and preparing for their first day of classes, the excitement of the tournament replaced with the tedium of daily life. Quiet enough that he could hear the water as it rushed over the riverbed, leaves rustling from the nearby trees. The footsteps beside him and the cane a short distance back as it clanged noisily on the path.
Just as Payette had promised, Madam Maxime had whisked him away from the courtyard to bring him to her office where he was met by two familiar men. Moody, the surly Auror with a fake eye, and the same sandy haired man from King's Cross whose face was marred by thin slivers. Lupin, he had introduced himself, a kind smile gracing his lips as he extended his hand for Harry to shake and suggested a walk. "Nothing more suffocating than being in an office with Mad-Eye," he had joked, nodding his head in the direction of Moody.
And now they were walking and it was admittedly less dreadful and daunting than the idea of sitting before three imposing figures, shifting in his seat as they interrogated him. The air was crisp and fresh and the grass still wet with the dew that clung to each blade, dampening the soles of his shoes and Moody's long cloak as it dragged behind him.
"It's a beautiful school," Lupin said wistfully, sighing as he looked at the scenery around them. "Are you enjoying it?"
"It's fine. Not Hogwarts," he mumbled in response, shrugging his shoulders. He knew what Lupin was doing, and he didn't care for it much. Talking to him politely, congenially even, to lay a foundation of trust and kindness before the real demanding began. Before the real questions that would make his eye burn with white hot pain and his anger flare. Maybe Moody would take over then, instead of walking behind him, performing the second half of their good cop- bad cop routine.
The waiting for this performance made his stomach flutter with nerves. He wanted it over with, done and buried so he could move forward.
"No, it certainly isn't. Nothing could come close to Hogwarts, though, it's really an unfair standard," Lupin agreed. "But I heard about the Tournament. That should be exciting. Though I would be on the look out if I were you, Molly told me that the twins were devastated to learn they could not participate and may attempt to sneak in."
Harry nodded, only half listening to the words. He had talked to Tom about the tournament after retiring to his bed, the newly gifted journal propped open on his lap. Like an addict returning to the drug that would ruin them, he had been shaking with anticipation to ask Tom if he knew anything about the mysterious competition. They had spent hours into the night, Harry hungrily eating up everything Tom could divulge to him. Learning everything he could about the tournament.
Learning that it came to an end after too many fatalities.
Learning that muggleborns were being used as a political prop.
It dulled the excitement.
Still. "I guess it will be kind of cool, seeing other schools and the tasks they get. Hopefully no one gets hurt though." Tom had explained that each tournament was comprised of three tasks, each designed to test a different facet of magic and technique. He wondered how different magic might be coming from a different part of the world, or if it was inherently universal.
Would Indian witches and wizards have their own spells, entirely separate from the ones he knew and studied? It would make sense- after all, why would a culture from a different continent, with hundreds of different dialects, come to the same language for the same spells? But how different could magic be? Magic was a language all on its own.
"It can be dangerous, but that's what the Goblet is for. It will pick the best, most equipped champion. Plus they've changed the rules a bit to make it safer," Lupin contended. "If nothing else, it will be something fun to focus on outside of schoolwork, yeah? How has school been going? I know Madame Maxime has expressed concern that your grades haven't carried over well from Hogwarts. Have you been struggling at all?"
Harry shrugged, purposefully staring down at his feet as he toed across the stones before him. "Just having a hard time focusing," he answered, knowing it was the only answer that wouldn't make his eye flare in pain. Just close enough to the truth to not sting.
"When would you say the problems with focusing began?"
Harry came to an abrupt halt then, Lupin pausing mid step and turning to look at the boy- closer to being a man, now- with an arched brow. He sighed, rough and exasperated, as he said, "I really don't want to spend the next hour waiting for you to build up to it, so can we just get it over with? You know I can't tell you anything even if I wanted to so I'm not really sure what's expected of me."
Lupin seemed nonplussed by the sudden, irritable outburst. "Do you want to?"
He blinked. "Want to what?"
"Want to tell me? Or tell anyone, not me in particular."
He hesitated for an answer, feeling all at once vulnerable at having the security ripped from him. The ability to hide behind the curse and be nothing but a poor, blameless victim absolved before him, leaving his nerves exposed and sensitive to the world.
But, more than that, he didn't know.
He wanted to tell someone- wanted so desperately to tell someone he nearly drove himself blind the summer after his second year. But that want had faded, dulled the past year. He had grown accustomed to the burden of not having to share the secret that he had buried himself deeper into sin, so much deeper that the guilt was now his own and he wanted to hold it tight.
Sensing the turmoil within Harry, Lupin stepped forward, closing the gap between them so that he could lower his voice so only Harry would hear him. "Nobody is looking to put you on trial here, Harry. And I'm sure that you would rather have us all forget this and move on. But we can't- because we need to know you're safe. You know more than anyone the dangers that exist out there- the reality of the matter is that there are countless witches and wizards who would like to see you dead."
The bluntness startled Harry, only for a moment. It was the truth though, nonetheless. Harry knew this- had known it since his first year when he watched Quirrell's turban fall to the ground at his feet. But no one had bothered to say the words to him, as if speaking them would make it real- not realizing that their existence did not depend on words alone.
"People want you dead, Harry, for no reason other than the belief that you stand in the way of something they want. And when you disappear after all this...this chaos in the news- unexplained deaths and convicts escaping prison- you understand we can't just brush it off. I know you can't answer direct questions, but can you at least tell me that you felt safe? If you left willingly, if you trusted you were safe, no one will hold that against you. You should never apologize for how you feel. The only question I need you to answer for me is whether or not you ever felt like you were in danger. We'll figure out how to move forward from there, we just want to know you were safe. Not make you feel bad or guilty for enjoying your summer- I met your aunt and uncle and I don't think anyone with sense could hold that against you." His words were kind, though not soft. They were firm in a manner that suggested he would not let Harry dismiss him, that no amount of tantrums or loss of control would let Harry storm out of the moment.
But his words were placating enough, quelling all the fears and anxieties that had filled Harry's head. And so, he nodded, licking his lips as he said, "Yeah, I...I went willingly." His eye twinged, a mild discomfort.
"Did you feel safe?"
The discomfort turned to a dull, slight pain- slight enough that he could ignore it. "Not at first. I thought I made a mistake but I started to feel safer. I felt safe, yeah."
"Was there any point at all that you felt you were in a dangerous situation?" the voice that spoke was gruff, startling Harry as he turned to find that Moody had moved closer to the two of them when they stopped along the path, his glass eye starring at Harry with disconcerting clarity.
He opened his mouth, but stuttered it closed as a memory came to him. "Well...yeah, but not...it wasn't because of-"
"What happened?" Moody demanded, making Harry bristle.
"I..sometimes I have these...dreams," he started, his skin getting hot with remembered fear. The terrifying sight of watching a snake sink teeth into flesh and muscle. "It's like I...can see things from his point of view. V-Voldemort's. They happen randomly and he's not normally alone. There's someone there with him."
Moody scoffed. "You didn't think that was worth mentioning? Wh-"
Lupin interrupted the callous Auror, tilting his head curiously as he asked, "Do you know who's with him?"
"He calls him Wormtail," Harry answered with a solemn shake of his head, sorry he couldn't offer up more.
Lupin blinked owlishly, leaning back suddenly as he turned his gaze to Moody, the anger from seconds earlier forgotten as Moody inclined his chin.
"Wormtail?"
Harry nodded, recalling how Tom, too, had responded to that name with surprise. "Is he...should I know who he is?"
But his question was ignored as Moody said, "You told us you felt you were in a dangerous situation at one point. Was that in reference to your dreams?"
"No. There was...one dream where Voldemort was mad. Mad because of me- because I was lost. And then not too long after it I was...outside and I...I saw him. Wormtail. Wandering around. Looking for me." His sentence turned to a hiss as the pain in his eye gradually grew greater and greater despite his careful attempts to keep Tom from the narrative. He reached a hand out, cupping it beneath his glasses so that they were knocked askew from his face. Still, he choked out, "Wards, though. Couldn't see me."
"You're certain it was the same...Wormtail from your dreams?"
Harry nodded. He had been so close to him, close enough to smell the musk of dirty clothes- close enough to see the thread pulling from the worn out seams of his robes. The sharp stubble along his rounded jaw. Close enough to see-
"He held his wand funny," he added through the searing pain in his eyes, needing to be believed. Now that he was offering the information- what little he could give before the pain became debilitating- he needed desperately for it to be believable. Every little detail mattered. The beady eyes, the shoes that pulled away from the soles. The stump of his finger that made him hold the weight of his wand with his thumb and middle finger instead of properly, with the index resting along it.
"He was missing this-" Harry said, raising a hand and wiggling the finger in question. The pain from his eye was begin to infect his head now, a domino effect as the pressure became too much and his head pulsed. As if his brain was swelling against the walls of his skull, trying to break free. His vision was blurred, colors and lights blending together until everything was a kaleidoscope of movement with no defined shape. "Can I go now? I need to go to the infirmary."
A large hand clapped over his shoulder, lowering him down. His knees buckled easily, and he allowed the hand to guide him into a seated position, slacks dampening from the grass. "The healer can't do anything for you. You're gonna just have to ride it out." It was Moody who spoke; Moody who awkwardly rubbed along his shoulders in what was meant to be a soothing a gesture.
The pain ebbed away, slowly- not entirely. But enough that he could open his eyes without the world assaulting him. That he could breathe deeply without the motion jostling his head too much. When he finally looked up, he saw that Moody had settled down beside him, but his gaze was focused to Harry's other side, where Lupin remained standing. His scarred face was pinched in an emotion he could not decipher but understood well, lips a thin line.
"Just one more question, Potter," Moody said, pulling his hand from his back and settling it on his shoulder in a firm grip. "Your friend Luna told us you had a dog you took care of. Did he spend the summer with you as well?"
He nodded, rubbing at his eye. "Argos. Yeah, but I promise he's not here now. I know dogs aren't approved pets. Can I go to the infirmary? Just to lie down."
"Yeah, come on," Moody answered, hoisting him up and turning him so that he was headed in the direction of the castle. He walked slow, one hand splayed over his eye in a protective gesture. He took several steps before glancing over his shoulder, watching as Lupin remained in the spot he had been, the same expression in place. Confusion and hurt all mingled into one, too distracted by his thoughts to follow after the two wizards.
"Who's Wormtail?" he asked before he could think better of it, his curiosity outweighing his desire to leave the conversation behind.
Moody glanced at him from the corner of his eye before focusing once more on the path ahead. "Not so certain of that anymore, if I'm being honest," he muttered. "But it's never good when the dead walk about."
X
The kitchen in the Burrow was cramped by bodies, cluttered by shouting. People talking over each other, riled and uncertain and manic with the information that Moody and Lupin had given them upon their return nearly half an hour earlier. The sound bubbled and pressed against the confines of their silencing charm, threatening to break through and the send the words and confusion upstairs where the Weasley children had been locked away against their want.
"So what I'm gathering from all of this, is nearly this entire situation could have been prevented if you lot hadn't broken the law and had properly registered your animagus status," Snape hissed, his voice low and acerbic as he leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Lupin.
The typically calm and restrained man scowled in response, a feral glint to his eyes. "Are you certain you're the one who should be condemning illegal actions? How's your arm, by the way? Holding it a little close to you-" the scathing words were cut short as Snape rose from his seat, his wand extended.
Lupin followed suit, his chair clattering noisily to the ground as reached to pull his own wand from within his breast pocket, but was stopped by a sharp, loud command.
"ENOUGH!" McGonagall shouted, slamming an open palm down against the table so that the cutlery trembled with the vibrations. "You are both grown men but I promise you I will punish each of you within an inch of your life and then I will make you both write a three foot long essay on how to dislodge your head from your arse! Now sit down and put those away!"
Lupin grumbled an apology, a baleful look pulling on his features, as Snape sneered though otherwise acquiesced, folding his arms across his chest as he sat back down, lips pinched so tightly they turned white.
Satisfied, McGonagall huffed, muttering below her breath something about over-sized children before raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and inhaling sharply. The rest of the room had settled down now, eyes flitting nervously between the two men and witch.
"Arthur, are you certain Molly won't wish to sit in?"
Arthur nodded glumly, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I'll tell her everything later. It will be a lot to take in- are you certain he...that Scabbers was…?"
"It fits almost too perfectly for it not to be. Percy got him shortly after Peter's death. He went missing not too long after Black came here. Hell, that was probably the reason Black came here," Moody answered, his voice weary and worn, as if he was growing tired from the search and the unanswered questions. Tired of the puzzle that they could not see in its entirety, only the few pieces they had they didn't quite fit together.
"So, let me get this straight," Tonks said, leaning forward and cradling her head in her hands, fingertips pressed into her temples. "Peter...faked his death to blame Black. Has been living as a rat until Black tried to get him. And now we think that Black isn't responsible for taking Harry but has been living as Harry's pet dog, unknown to him? And we still don't know who Harry spent the summer with?" She glanced up at the many faces around the table, huffing when each mirrored her frustration. "I need a drink. Got anything good, Arthur?"
She strode around the table, not waiting for a response before she began digging through cabinets, jars clanging together.
"What other Death Eaters do we know who aren't in prison? Should we look at them as suspects?"
"It's not a Death Eater," Dumbledore spoke, his first words beyond his initial greetings. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he stared hard at a spot on the table before him. He had been unusually quiet and introspective since meeting with Harry at King's Cross, an unshakable aura around him that seemed to warn against intrusion. He wore the look of someone becoming desperate and mad with a riddle they could not solve, eyes dark with an unfamiliar fervor to them. "If Peter was searching for Harry, than it wouldn't make sense that another Death Eater would hide him from Voldemort. This person has to be someone else entirely."
"Then where do we go from here? If it's not a Death Eater...who could it be? How do we even start to narrow it down?" Lupin asked, exasperation filling his voice. If Dumbledore was calm and reserved in his desperation, Lupin was the opposite, his nerves fraying. It had all been so much in such a short refrain- the relief of Harry's return, the guilt of having not been there for him when he was younger. Then with the knowledge that Harry had seen Peter- had called him Wormtail for Merlin's sake- came the avalanche of emotions.
How quickly he had turned on Sirius- but hatred and anger was easier than the grief that would have otherwise taken hold. His friend had sat in Azkaban, rotting away and labeled a murderer. A traitor. A monster.
And he had done nothing to intervene.
Dumbledore sighed, rising from his chair. "We don't narrow it down. Not yet at least. We observe Harry throughout the year- whoever took him thought it important he return for an education, so he will be safe while it's in session. He can't tell us who, but he doesn't have to speak to give us clues. It will be harder to understand what he can't say, but not impossible. We'll simply have to change our perception. He may have already given us enough clues- we just don't know it yet. Nothing is too insignificant.
"Moody and Tonks can volunteer to supervise the tasks for the Tournament, which will get them within close proximity of Harry, at least for part of the year. Better to keep an eye on him. Hopefully, Miss Granger will keep an eye out as well."
He pulled his outer cloak off of where it was draped over his chair, shrugging it on as he strode around the table. There was a hardness to his gaze, lips pulled into a tight grimace.
"That's all? Surely there must be something-" Arthur sputtered, standing from his chair and offering an imploring glance at the older wizard, until his words were cut short by Dumbledore, voice rising and stern.
"Severus, if you would please accompany me. I've some business at Hogwarts that I need your assistance with," he said. Snape narrowed his eyes, but rose to join him all the same. They left abruptly, ignoring the words that filled the air behind them, absorbed by the silencing charm and turning to vapors as the door closed behind them.
They walked down the path in silence, gravel crunching beneath their feet, air crisp and chill with the beginning of Autumn. Snape was the first to break the silence, voice low and deep.
"You know, don't you? Who did it?"
Dumbledore sighed, looking frail. Tired in a way that sleep could not fix.
"No, not for certain. It would be unwise to assume with so little information, especially given the circumstances that would be required for it to be true," he answered, letting long and knobby fingers run thoughtfully through his beard. "But there are some instances where instinct will not be silenced by logic."
Snape rose a brow, words drawling as he said, "And you don't think it worth mentioning to the others?"
"No. Best not to needlessly alert them. It could be nothing, mind you. I've no proof other than a gut that will not settle down." His words were low, thoughtful and grim as though he struggled to infuse them with his usual joy and whimsy.
To another man, it might have struck them as odd, as a harbinger of something dangerous, something unprecedented. But Snape had long since known of the Dumbledore that existed beneath the carefully maintained facade; the calculating warlord who thrummed his fingertips purposefully against a chessboard, decorated and strewn by those who followed him- those who looked to him to lead them. He was familiar with this Dumbledore, brusque and secretive, and there was comfort in the familiarity, even if he frowned at the riddles he spoke in.
"And if you're, against reason, correct?" Snape asked, words terse with the irritation that hadn't ceased all the summer. He felt on edge, a nerve frayed and raw and entirely too exposed.
Dumbledore paused, expression somber as he shook his head at the thought. His steps slowed, and he twisted to glance at the Burrow that sat behind them, crooked and shadowed by the sun that hung in the middle of the sky. It was small now as they stood at the end of the property, away from the Order that they had so abruptly left behind, questions unanswered and doubts looming. "Then we would need the Order more than ever."
Snape swallowed thickly, raising his chin as he allowed Dumbledore a moment of contemplation. They had known, of course, that it wasn't over. The war, the turmoil that had fueled it. He had known longer than the others, known the moment that he fell to his knees and pleaded and repented that it was not over- Dumbledore had told him so himself, had made it the condition and the promise of his safety.
They had all known, really. In the way that animals know when a storm is approaching, when the plates that move beneath them are about to collide, grind together in an earth-shattering quake. But knowing and ready are two very different things, and the tension was high among the Order, the air thick with frustration, hackles raised at an enemy they knew existed but could not see, could not protect against.
It was exhausting, living in preparation of that moment. The moment right before the first crack of thunder, the first rattle. The moment before the war, before the air smelled like blood and heat and the singe of magic.
"Tell me, Severus, in your previous employment, did you notice a possession or relic that Voldemort cherished? Perhaps seemed oddly protective of?" Dumbledore asked, startling Snape from his thoughts.
"Nothing that I can recall." Voldemort was possessive of everything and nothing, believing he was entitled to the world and everything within it while never wanting it enough to respect it, treat it with care or sentimentality. He gloated over witches and wizards that fell to his feet only to dispose of them for fun, murdering them simply as a warning. Simply because he could, knowing that the corpses would be pushed aside so other servants could shuffle forward, take their place in supplication.
Dumbledore hummed once, pinched the end of his beard between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I must call on you once more. I need you to visit some old friends and find out if they know of any object, or if Voldemort left something behind with instructions. It would be entrusted to someone close to him, Malfoy is the most obvious. Even before the incident at the Potter's he would have known Malfoy would be rich enough to avoid Azkaban. Though Pettigrew was clearly involved in some contingency plan as well, which isn't a surprise. Even at his most arrogant he would have been to wise to place his eggs in more than one basket, as the expression goes," Dumbledore rambled, to himself more than to his companion, his hand now running through his beard and sending it into disarray, creating an erratic appearance.
"Forgive me, but how exactly will this lead to Potter's newest guardian?" he drawled, his tone pointed and curling as though he were addressing a petulant Gryffindor and not the respected wizard before him.
Dumbledore frowned, eyes crinkling in a manner that Snape already knew to be disingenuous. "I must ask that you forgive me, Severus, as I cannot explain. Not yet, at least. In due time, should my suspicions prove to be correct. Until then..." he paused, letting his words die, evaporating into a fine mist. Unspoken and unsatisfying.
Snape huffed indignantly, though Dumbledore ignored it, turning away from the younger man and continuing once more to the gate. "Malfoy first, he's the most likely candidate. The most to lose, the one most likely to evade legal repercussions. Tell him that I believe Voldemort to be responsible for Harry's disappearance, and the Order is growing suspicious. Tell him that you're eager to serve your Lord and do your duties. Bait him if you must, hint at the dream Harry mentioned to Alastor. That will no doubt frighten Malfoy, he'll be desperate to prove he has not forsaken him."
He was talking quickly now, renewed and plotting and Snape was forced to trot awkwardly behind him, trying to hear each hushed whisper.
"Don't let him know anything else though. As far as anyone else is concerned, Black is still suspect one, but don't sell it too much that it can't be undone. When Voldemort returns, he'll be wary, and we mustn't give him any reason to suspect you."
Snape raised an eyebrow at the certainty of those words. When Voldemort returns. A promise, a threat. A predator lurking along the perimeter, waiting for the moment to attack.
There was little time to consider the words, however, as Dumbledore added, "When you're done, you'll find me at Hogwarts. I believe that much of our answers can be found there. As I said, Harry has given us all the clues we need, even if we don't realize it yet. Even if he hasn't realized it yet. Since his second year, we've had the pieces we need to solve this, they've just been misshapen, out of order. It's all there, right before us, we just need the thread to tie it all together."
"And you believe Malfoy has that thread?" Snape asked, his voice dubious.
Dumbledore smiled a tilted smile. "I'll see you soon, Severus." And then he vanished, with nothing but the boom and crack of his apparition, and the smell of magic burning the air.
X
Snape followed Lucius Malfoy as he entered the study, dutifully looking ahead and not at the sprawling staircase that dominated the foyer they passed through. Or the ornate, golden arches that were carved into the wall, turning something so simple as an entrance into a decadent piece of art. He had been to the Manor before, of course- had even lived in it for some time after he was recruited by Voldemort. But it had seemed so different then, even if nothing had changed- the same paintings decorated the same wall, the same over-the-top statues and delicately arched furniture sat in the same corners.
And yet, the Manor seemed lighter than it had been over a decade ago. Brighter, filled with air and life and a word that didn't quite come to mind. Hope, relief, freedom- there was none of the oppression, none of the hate or the fear that came with serving someone so powerful. Someone so cruel.
Snape frowned, trying not to think of such implications. It never did well to humanize others, especially the opposition.
"I must admit my surprise at your unannounced visit, Severus. It's been too long since we last met. Outside of Draco's performance in class, of course," Lucius said, sitting down in a gray wingback chair and waving his hand at a matching one. Snape followed the gesture, settling into the entirely uncomfortable seat, the heat from the nearby fire warming his skin. His collar itched, but he resisted the desire to scratch along it, focusing instead on the color that was thrown against Lucius's pale skin. Orange and yellow bursting along his cheek, the fire casting half his face in long, drawn out shadows the shifted, crawled over the curve of his brow, of his nose.
"How is Draco doing? Liking Durmstrang?" Snape asked conversationally.
Lucius smiled, chuckling tightly, as if the sound was squeezed through his throat. "Flourishing now that he's under proper tutelage. Nothing against you, of course. But Dumbledore's presence permeated the very halls of that school, infecting it with that..." he paused, searching for the word and, unable to find it, substituted it with a flick of his hand. "Far too forgiving. Focused on all the wrong things- the wrong people."
He sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "To be honest, I was relieved when I heard the school was closing. Long overdue, really. It's gone downhill since Dippet retired, and only got worse and more dangerous. Can't help but notice that it coincided with the loosening of their admission requirements. They were so eager to not make waves after Grindelwald that they let practically anyone in- hell, if it had been open for a year longer they probably would have started allowing muggles themselves in," he said, laughing as though he had made a very funny joke. Snape mirrored the wry grin, a second too slow, as he remembered he was supposed to be winning Lucius's favor.
Lucius hardly seemed to notice, turning away from Snape as he shouted out, "DOBBY!" The name was followed with a loud crack, feet shuffling along tile as the house elf nearly bent in half before his master, the dirty hem of his makeshift pillowcase outfit brushing over the floor. "Bring out some brandy for me and my guest. And let's not dawdle like last time, shall we?" he snarled, snapped his cane loudly against the marble beneath his feet for punctuation. Threatening. Dobby whimpered, jumping as the cane whipped through the air and nodded, ears flopping.
Lucius turned back to Snape before Dobby had even disappeared, his tone civil and congenial once more as he added, "Ah, though your unemployment is certainly nothing to celebrate. You were the only good teacher of the whole lot, and it's a shame to see that go to waste. I'm on good terms with Karkaroff, and his staff has been slightly overwhelmed with all the students they've received since Hogwarts closed and of course the upcoming Tournament. Perhaps I could suggest you joining the staff, taking over a few classes. Dark Arts, especially, could use some assistance."
It was astounding, how quick the switch was. The ease with which Lucius could switch between friend- or some facsimile of it- and master ordering around a creature much less powerful than him. There was hardly a crack in the facade, a blur between snarling and polite conversation.
Had it always been so animalistic? So stark? Snape struggled to recall, remembering only how covetous he had once been of Lucious and his command of the more subservient. It had seemed like power back then, when he was nineteen and angry and full of hate and blame that wanted so badly to burn the world down. It had been something he envied, being waited on, having others tremble and cower at every moment.
Now it seemed baseless- something one would expect of the very creatures they derided as being less than human, less deserving of rights.
He was growing soft.
"That would be most appreciated. Certainly Dumbledore would consider it an advantage," Snape answered, ignoring the crack as Dobby returned with a bronze tray and a large bottle of brandy, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides of the decanter as he settled the tray on the table between them. Lucius turned to the creature, lips curling as if to make good on his threat, but was interrupted as Snape added, "Dumbledore believes the Dark Lord will be making his return soon. He would appreciate the perspective I could gain."
Lucius looked away from Dobby, lips parted and eyes narrowed as he considered what Snape said before laughing, mouth twitching unattractively. The laugh was sparse, nervous at best as he shook his head. He cleared his throat before saying, "The old fool's finally lost it, has he?"
When Snape didn't return the laugh, instead purposefully fixing himself a glass of spirits, Lucius stilled, the only movement the light and shadows thrown across his face from the fire. Even his chest had fallen, unable to rise with a breath that stuck in his throat. He didn't even move as a crack once more snapped through the room, the poor house elf taking advantage of the inattention to make himself scarce.
Snape settled back into his chair, slowly sipping on his drink. He enjoyed it, the moment that stretched painfully around them as Lucius anxiously awaited for Snape to explain, for Snape to finally laugh along with him.
Instead, Snape lowered his glass, throat burning as he finally said, "Actually, I tend to agree with him. Potter's disappearance is most odd, and he's told an auror information that simply could not be fabricated. The boy is rather dense, you know, and not even he seems to understand the significance of it. But Dumbledore did, and he even felt the need to call upon the Order. They've all taken to the claims rather seriously."
"Well, that doesn't say much. Half of them are unemployed and bored. What else have they got to do but sit around and tell stories?" Lucius snorted derisively.
Snape raised a brow, feigning shock. He let his voice drop to a near whisper as he said, "You think our Dark Lord isn't capable of such a feat? That not even he could defeat certain death? That's rather...bold of you."
The bait worked, and Snape struggled to contain his smile as Lucius rose suddenly, standing before him as the fire framed him in light, a halo illuminating his silhouette. "No, of course I don't mean to imply...I simply..." he struggled for words, his chest rising and falling rapidly now. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing his iris in fear at the mere implication of it all. "Do you truly believe he'll return?"
Snape considered him for a moment.
"I believe he already has. That he colluded with Black and they're operating together. That he's waiting now, growing stronger and preparing. Testing us, waiting to see what we do for him. Anyone can bow to him when he's before us, but only the truly loyal will worship him even in absence."
Lucius raised his chin, muttering something to himself before saying, "I've done what he asked. I've proof of it. He'll see that, surely?"
Snape rose now too, placing his glass on the table as he met Lucius's gaze. "He gave you a task? Did you facilitate his return?" He said it with awe, as though he were impressed with the amount of power possibly bestowed on the man before him.
Lucius quirked a brow, preening under the praise. "Well, I don't know about that. But it certainly did something, whatever the intent was." When Snape said nothing, he continued, "Years ago, the night Narcissa and I married, he gifted me an old book of sorts. Told me the greatest gift I could receive was his trust and good graces, and that the book and its instructions were representative of that. It was a blank book, and I was instructed to not write in it- that doing so would awaken the spell within it. A dangerous spell. Only to use it should the worse happen."
Snape blinked, not needing to feign his interest as he asked, "What did you do with it?"
Lucious hesitated, unsure of whether or not Snape was deserving of the same trust bestowed upon him. He turned, walked around the study and came to a stop in front of the large, mahogany bookcase. He splayed his hand out, settling his palm over the spines of ancient tomes. Finally, he said, "Nothing, at first. He had given instructions but then...I had no reason to suspect- I mean-"
"He died," Snape supplied.
Lucius nodded. "I had, forgive me, forgotten about it. Let it sit on these very shelves. Then one evening, I retired to my study to see Draco there," he raised a finger, pointing at the spot in front of the fireplace. "He was writing, and at first I thought he was working on his summer studies until I got close enough to see it was the journal. The Dark Lord said it was dangerous, the spell, and that writing in it would awaken it. So dangerous that I was instructed to give it to someone disposable. Pure of blood but unworthy, someone who could be easily seduced."
He choked, swallowed harshly as if struggling around a sob. He pinched his lips, color draining from them as he shook with the words, "My son was not disposable. I couldn't...I couldn't let...Not even for him-"
"Surely, the Dark Lord would not have intended for your son to be sacrificial. Honorable pure-blooded wizards are so rare, he would have preferred you took it from him," Snape supplied, a form of comfort. An assurance that the secret was safe. "What did you do, after?"
He inhaled, nostrils flaring. "I wasn't sure what sort of spell, how active it was or if it would need time to...to feed. So I got rid of it as soon as I could. We went to Diagon Alley the next day. It was fate, almost. The moment I saw them, I knew...they were the ones. They were disposable, they were pure of blood but unworthy just like our Lord had instructed."
"Who? Who did you give it to?" Snape prompted.
"The Weasley girl," he answered simply, exhaling in relief, the secret unburdened from him. "She was dead not even nine months later."
X
"Hurry, hurry! Down here!" a voice shouted, rising above the frenzied excitement as students ran down the sloping hills, careful not to slip or trample any plants as they cut through the gardens, rounding down to the where the ground plateaued, leveling off at the small river that cut underneath the castle.
Hermione was ahead of Harry, Luna gripping onto his shoulder and trying not to be lost among the students that swarmed around them, a flutter of powder blue robes and flailing limbs. Hermione came to an abrupt stop, raising on her toes and excitedly turning back to them as she shouted, "I can see it! There, in the river!" She gestured, turning away once more as she craned to get a better look, the younger students trying to push through, their small stature limiting their gaze.
Harry grabbed Luna's wrist, tugging her to the side where the crowd was thin, skirting around the edge just in time to see bubbles foaming rapidly across the surface of the water, the tension breaking as the pole- now nearly four feet tall- continued to burst through.
"Is that...a ship?" she asked.
Harry licked his lips, watching as more of the vessel was unveiled, a mast appearing as it continued to rise, water seeping from the deck as the ship bobbed from side to side, tossed about by the gushing water of the river. It seemed massive, dwarfing the substantial river and Harry's jaw slacked open at the sheer size of it, at the charms and spells that had allowed for it travel through the river, beneath the water. Oars jutted out from the sides, moving in a rhythmic, almost mechanical motion as it continued to move, traveling pass the students like a parade.
"Durmstrang," Hermione said as she approached, winded from jogging to meet them, cheeks pinched pink from the cold of a September evening, curls tussled. "Fascinating, isn't it? I wonder what spells they use. I read about them, after Hogwarts closed down, but the focus was on...the theology of the school more than anything."
Harry nodded- of course, Tom had told him about the school and its sordid history. That the Headmaster himself was accused of serving Voldemort. It left a sour taste in his mouth, and he grimaced, watching as the ship sailed to the stables that housed the pegasuses Beauxbatons used for their own travel. A dock had been crafted, one that had not been there the night before and figures were waiting in the distance, ready to assist Durmstrang with settling in.
Luna gasped beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder as she pressed against him, extending her arm out before him to point in the opposite direction, just beyond the castle, where something was crawling above the horizon. "What's that?" she asked, close enough now that her breath warmed his cheek, curled around his ear.
They were barely visible from a distance, the brilliant blue and silver vanishing in the fading light of day, wrapped within the colors of the sky. There were two in total, long serpentine bodies with a delicate crown of feathers rising from their heads. They had the face of a bird, with a long silver and gold beak that hooked at the end, wide eyes set on either side of their head. Wings rose from their sides, flapping slowly, creating magnificent gusts of wind that they rode upon, violet feathers spreading as if they were fingers, reaching outward. Their bodies were bright, a brilliant turquoise that made the scales coating their body shine, seeming to bend the sky around them.
They pulled and twisted, carrying with them a carriage, gilded in gold and silvers. The ceiling was a deep red, domed with pitched gables setting just above the windows. The light of the sun, even as it sunk deeper and deeper into the valley, glistened against jewels fitted across the body of the carriage. Emeralds, rubies and sapphires. They were placed strategically, the emeralds like crawling vines, the sapphires and rubies blossoming flowers that sprouted from them.
The creatures became larger and larger as they approached, their slim bodies like the winding river below. It flew above them, a deep groan filling the air and booming around them as heads craned to watch as it passed, following the path the ship had made. The carriage slowed, mounting downwards until it landed, coming to a stop, wheels rolling in the grass until they were alongside the ship that had docked.
"Are those-?" Hermione began, only to be interrupted by Luna.
"Occamies! I've never seen them in person- aren't they so beautiful?" She was bouncing in her excitement, pushing her long blonde hair behind her ears as it fluttered around her face, cast about by the wind. "Do you think we could get a closer look?"
She didn't wait for an answer, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him towards the stable and the dock and the carriage.
"Luna, wait! They're very aggressive!" Hermione shouted, following behind them.
Luna shook her head. "It isn't laying season for them. That's when they're most aggressive- father has a piece of a shell from one of their eggs, Harry. They're so beautiful. Oh, I do hope they let us see them during Magical Creatures class. What a wonderful opportunity!"
She came to a sudden stop, heels digging into the ground as she tried and failed to keep her footing, falling with an oomph and solid-sounding thud. Harry fell with her, pulled by the tug of her hand, and groaned with the contact, his glasses knocked askew.
He sat up and rubbed at his face, fixing his glasses so that the world steadied, became clear shapes and colors cut from the blur.
Payette was standing before them, grinning a wide-mouthed, toothy grin. "I'm afraid that's the end of the show for now, Miss Lovegood. Mr. Potter. The Opening Ceremony will be beginning soon- you wouldn't want to miss it, would you?"
"Of course not, Professor," Luna agreed, taking the hand that Payette offered to her as he pulled her to her feet. Her skirt was stained green, blades of grass clinging to the soft blue fabric. She brushed herself off, stepping aside to glance over Payette's shoulder, where the carriage had settled, the serpentine like creatures no longer in sight. She huffed.
Harry pulled himself up, ignoring the stains and dirt mottling his own slacks. Hermione tutted behind him, a chiding sound she often made when he and Ron had gotten themselves in trouble for something she had explicitly warned them against doing. It made his chest clench, a spasm that ached and pulsed within him. Would that ache ever go away- the guilt?
"Come along then. We could always use extra hands to help set up- Madame Maxime is a firm believer in unifying work," Payette said, making a swooping motion that beckoned them to follow him to the castle.
They turned their backs on the arriving schools, walking up the hill they had moments earlier ran down, Hermione leaning over to tell Luna that perhaps she could use her good graces with the Professors to get a better look at the occamies. Luna glowed at that, blue eyes widening almost cartoonishly as she smiled, thanking Hermione several times over.
"How did your chat go the other morning?" Payette asked, his voice a low whisper as he walked beside Harry, a few feet behind Luna and Hermione.
He shrugged, hold the strap of his rucksack tighter, nervously wringing his hand around it. He was suddenly hyper aware of the journal that sat within the bag, neatly hidden away on a pocket sewn within the lining. It felt scandalous, carrying it with him. A token of a crime that burdened him. "Fine. Unless someone forgot to tell me, I wasn't murdered or anything, so they were satisfied," he answered, surly with the anxiety and the questions he couldn't answer. It was getting tiresome.
Payette nodded, smiling oddly. "No, you haven't been murdered. No good to anyone dead."
Harry bit down on the words, wanting to say that he was, in face, good to many people dead. A fact that seemed to define his life, frame it neatly as the single most extraordinary fact about him. How disheartening it was, to have the most interesting thing about you be your inconvenient persistence to exist.
He winced, eyes twinging as his scar flared, the pain radiating down the white slivers that segmented his forehead, the bridge of his nose. His eye twitched, and with a hiss he whipped around, feeling the undeniable sensation of eyes on his back.
'You're getting paranoid,' he thought to himself, eyes flitting among the crowd that still gathered around the river, the distant forms of bodies leaving the ship, the carriage. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps prickling his skin. He thought of the new students from a school that celebrated the Dark Arts- of their Headmaster, a former Death Eater. He thought of the nightmares, the disembodied soul of the man many had once worshipped, had killed for. He thought of the man named Wormtail, who was supposed to be dead. Just like Voldemort, two dead men wandering the world.
He missed the safety and the security of the farmhouse, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.
After all, too many people wanted him dead.
At least Tom wasn't one of them.