Chapter Twenty-Three: Magic Always Leaves Traces

Kreacher had outdone himself, Harry admitted as he sat down at the kitchen table that groaned under the ornate Goblin-made porcelain plates laden with every familiar choice: roast beef, sausages, steak and kidney pie, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, heaps of every vegetable, and a flagon of pumpkin juice. Arthur had elected to stop by after work so the three of them invited him for dinner.

"Was there any trouble at the station, dad," asked Ron as loaded his plate with one of everything.

"Nothing out of the ordinary these days," said Arthur. "They're watching us—closely—but so far they've stayed their hand. You-Know-Who wants a smooth transition and he knows we're not much of a threat at the moment. He believes without Dumbledore leading the Order and with you effectively gone underground, we can't give much resistance. Of course, they're keeping your break-in at the Ministry quiet. On the one hand, Umbridge wanted to further the Ministry's smear campaign against you, but Thicknese overruled her; they don't want the public to know you're actively fighting against the Ministry."

"But we're not fighting the Ministry," protested Harry.

"Of course not," said Arthur quickly. "But you have to think how it looks to everybody else. Remember, Scrimgeour's death hasn't been reported; most think he left into a quiet retirement. They don't know You-Know-Who effectively runs the Ministry."

"But you're telling people the truth, right, dad," asked Ron.

"When we can," said Arthur taking a drink. "But it's risky and it's getting harder to do so every day. The Ministry has repelling wards against silencing spells of any kind, so we can't simply hole up in a room and hope no one's listening because they are. I hate admitting it, but You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters have us effectively grounded. We might have lost our advantage within the Ministry but there is plenty to do outside it. We haven't given up yet." He looked at Harry as he said this, giving a full-hearted smile.

Harry nodded to Mr. Weasley and proceeded to pick at his plate, the steak and kidney pie no longer appealing to his appetite. Not for the first time that day did his mind turn to Horcruxes. They were the only keys to victory they had. And yet, despite finally laying hands upon one of them, they still had no means of destroying it. Most frustrating of all however, was the lack of leads to finding the next one. And so here was Harry's first test as he listened to Arthur relay the Order's limited effectiveness; they were losing the war and he, Harry—the Chosen One—was sitting at a bountiful table of food and in the company of friends while Muggleborns were escorted to Azkaban and Lord Voldemort expanded his influence over Magical Britain.

And then he was angry; angry that Dumbledore had not given more and angry that Dumbledore had blindly trusted Snape. He was angry that Dumbledore had left nothing but a dysfunctional Snitch, a Deluminator, an old book of children's tales and a promised sword hidden away in some unknown location. He was angry that he could do nothing but patiently wait as Hermione scoured a multitude of historical books, searching for any clue that nudged them forward. And he hated this house.

Then his anger gave way to a sharp stabbing pain in his forehead. Harry had little warning as he reached up unconsciously to brace his splitting forehead in his hands. He was no longer safely inside Grimmuald Place but instead soaring over the Black Lake. Hogwarts castle loomed in the distance, its silhouette strangely dark as only the windows of the Great Hall were illuminated by the flickering candlelight inside. But his destination was not the castle. He landed softly on the shore, his back to the castle overlooking the tiny island on the lake. There, alone on the uninhabited island was the pristine white tomb of his enemy, blindingly bright beneath the reflection of the moon. He felt a slim smile spread across his face. A victory long denied him. But he had not come to gloat over the grave of the Muggle-loving fool; he would do so only when he accomplished destroying the very person the old fool had put before victory—Harry Potter. Not that the fool would have won had he sacrificed the boy, he thought to himself. He was immortal after all. No, that happy day would wait. He had waited several decades already. He could wait a few more months. His query stood at the edge of the Black Lake only meters away.

"Felling sentimental, Severus," he asked, stepping beside his faithful servant.

"Milord," said Snape, bowing. "What service can I be to you this evening?"

"You may relax, Severus," he said lazily, looking over the lake. "However, you did not answer my question."

"Apologies, milord," said Snape, his eyes darting from the tomb to his master. "I was merely recalling the many missed opportunities I had to end his life this past year. I regret that I didn't do it sooner."

"Everything comes in time, Severus," he said. "You have done well and Lord Voldemort will continue to reward his faithful servant. Let thoughts of the old fool linger no more; you have pleased Lord Voldemort in your actions. Besides, I wanted Draco to have his chance to prove his worth to me. He is every bit his father—an imbecile—but at least a capable one. He did manage to thwart the Muggle-loving fool's protection around the castle."

"Forgive me, Milord," said Snape, his tiny black eyes not quite meeting his Master's, "You praise Draco for his ingenuity, yet he remains punished with his father? Surely, Milord, Draco has proven he is more valuable than Lucius?"

"You are concerned for the boy, Severus," he asked silkily. "I have given him his just reward; I have spared his family. That is what he wanted and Lord Voldemort did not disappoint."

"Of course, Milord," said Snape quickly. "I did not mean to imply you were unfair to him, Milord, but that perhaps he can be of further use to you. It seems a waste to have him locked away at the manor like his father."

"Perhaps," he said with a new quietness in his voice. "But Draco has not yet committed in his heart, Severus. He joined out of spite and a desire to save his parent's worthless lives. I have no need for yet another Wormtail in my Death Eaters. Do not worry yourself over him, Severus, for Lord Voldemort has a plan to prove his loyalty. The boy will have nothing to fear as long as he abides in my wishes."

"Milord is merciful," said Snape with another bow.

"And how does Hogwarts fare, Severus?"

"The Sorting is finished," said Snape. "Ravenclaw and Slytherin's ranks swelled the most. Few were admitted to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

"That is not unexpected," he said, but in truth, he was still disappointed. "I long for the day when there are no houses but that of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. We shall take only the worthy. Patience, my friend, and Hogwarts will soon be the bastion of purity and strength it was meant to be."

"I eagerly await the day, Milord."

"And what of Dumbledore's remaining faithful," he asked.

"They say little, Milord," replied Snape. "They have not openly resisted. I will not lie, however; my appointment to Headmaster has given them new reason to hate me."

"Ah, yes," he said with a satisfied smile. "Irony of ironies, is it not, Severus? You who murdered their beloved headmaster now preside over the office he never should have held. But you must persevere, my faithful servant. I do not wish to remove them from the castle unless I have no other alternative. They will learn their place."

"Yes, Milord."

"No sign of Potter," he asked.

"None, Milord," said Snape quickly. "Nor his two friends."

"Disappointing," he said with a soft hiss, "though not unexpected. I had briefly hoped he would be arrogant enough to believe he was yet safe inside these castle walls. Perhaps he has realized precious few remain that are willing to stand between him and Lord Voldemort."

"Potter is arrogant," agreed Snape, "however, it is possible he read about my appointment. He knows what I am. He would not willingly submit to my authority."

"That is also true," he agreed. "Still, it is possible he may try to reach those sympathetic to his cause; do not let your guard down."

"Never, Milord," said Snape. The potion's master opened his mouth to speak but immediately decided against it.

"You may speak freely, Severus," he said.

"Thank you, Milord," said Snape. "I wonder if the rumors are true; that Potter snuck into the Ministry and helped one of the Muggleborns escape her punishment?"

"A feat he did not accomplish without help," he sneered. He hated any idea that Potter was capable of doing anything single-handedly. That wasn't Potter. Potter was mediocre at best, hiding behind men and women far greater than himself. Only he knew Potter's true nature. Coward.

"Of course not, Milord," said Snape. "Potter is talentless."

"Naturally," he said, regaining his composure. "But his purpose still confuses me, Severus."

"In what way, Milord?"

"Why now," he asked. "There have been several Muggleborn hearings. Why Mary Cattermole? She has no relation to the boy. What purpose does he believe he accomplished in freeing a lowly thief?"

"I cannot say, Milord," said Severus. "Although it would not be above Potter to exact some small amount of revenge on Dolores Umbridge—she was the source of great discomfort for him during Fudge's last year in office."

"Perhaps," he said, waving the discussion aside. "It is pointless exercise to conjecture the thoughts of a child's mind." He did not intend to get angry. Oh, but the boy could make his blood boil. However, he could see that Severus still had something on his mind.

"Speak you mind, Severus," he said. "You have Lord Voldemort's ear. Do not take such privilege lightly."

"Thank you, Milord," said Snape. "One question remains on my mind, if you desire to hear it?"

"Ask your question, Severus."

"Were you successful in your latest endeavor, Milord?"

"Not particularly," he said, a hint of warning covering his words. "But fortune favors Lord Voldemort. I will not be so easily dissuaded in my task. My latest informant proved…useful. I know where to look. I shall have it before I confront Potter again."

"I do not doubt you, Milord," said Snape. "What bidding does Milord have for his servant?"

"You are to remain as you are," he said. "Hogwarts is a pivotal piece in my plan. It must be fully in my control. I am trusting you to ensure the necessary changes are made and without incident. I shall invite the best into our ranks and direct the rest into the places I feel they should go. This task I trust to no one else but you, Severus."

"Milord honors me."

"Very well, Severus, I shall take my leave of you," he said, looking back over the lake. He watched Snape grasp his right forearm and felt another smile rise to his lips. Yaxley.

"It appears Yaxley has news," he said.

"News you have been expecting, Milord?"

"Indeed Severus," he said. "Let us hope for Yaxley's sake it is news that favors Lord Voldemort."

"Harry, can you hear me?" Harry opened his eyes. He was leaning over in his chair, braced by the chair's arm. He felt weak and nauseous.

"You can't keep doing this, Harry," said Hermione. "You can't keep letting him in."

"I'm not," he said, looking to Ron and Arthur. "He…he doesn't know I'm watching him either."

"What do you mean," asked Arthur. "I thought Dumbledore didn't want you inside You-Know-Who's thoughts, Harry?"

"He didn't," said Harry. "But last year Dumbledore said that he was using Occlumency against me. He doesn't know I'm there."

"You mean he doesn't realize it yet," said Hermione.

"Maybe," said Harry, but he doubted Voldemort would realize he was there. Dumbledore has spent considerable time teaching Harry how Voldemort thought. He was arrogant enough to believe his Occlumency skills were far superior to anyone.

"What did you see, Harry," asked Ron.

"He was talking with Snape," said Harry. "They know we were at the Ministry, but they don't know why."

"Thank goodness," said Hermione.

"But he knows we weren't there for Muggleborns," said Harry. "He'll keep looking. Last thing he said was that Yaxley had news for him. Oh, and he warned Snape we might try to come to the castle."

"Fat chance of that happening with Snape as Headmaster," said Ron as he scooped a bowl of chocolate pudding. "I'd sooner share a stall with Moaning Myrtle."

"Yaxley," asked Arthur. "What news does Yaxley have for You-Know-Who?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "He didn't tell Snape." Just saying his name made Harry's stomach crawl. "Snape—he talked about missing chances at killing Dumbledore…he's not one bit remorseful…Dumbledore trusted him."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Harry," said Hermione. "You tried, remember? It's not your fault Dumbledore didn't listen."

"I know…I just—" but before he could say another word, they heard the yelling voice of Phineas Nigellus beckon from upstairs.

"Potter! Potter! Have you no ears on that small head of yours?"

They bolted up the stairs, thankful that Kreacher had relocated the portrait of Sirius' mother to Regulus' old room where the shouting could not stir her. They entered the room Harry and Ron had shared when Sirius still inhabited the house.

"Ah, you do have ears," said the sly wizard in the portrait, his pointed beard quivering slightly with each word. However, before Harry could respond, Hermione interjected.

"Don't say anything, Harry," she said. "How could we forget—he has a portrait in Dumbledore's office—where Snape is."

"Don't be silly, girl," said Phineas. "Though I must correct you; the office of the Headmaster is no longer Dumbledore's to claim. Severus Snape is the rightful Headmaster of Hogwarts. And I must say, he does these eyes proud. I was getting rather bored by that Muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh, and I suppose you enjoy hearing him lament over all the missed opportunities he had to kill Dumbledore," said Harry. Phineas gave him a strange look.

"I am not at the liberty to discuss the private thoughts or events that may occur within the office of the Headmaster," said Phineas, "but if you silent your tongue for one minute, I have news you might wish to hear."

"How do we know we can trust anything you say," asked Hermione.

"You know full well that you can't, clever girl," said Phineas. "However, you can take comfort in knowing that while I may be sympathetic to the pureblood cause, I am not sympathetic to Death Eaters or that self-inflated over-grown student Tom Riddle. I believe in the superiority of academic thought. That is where you must win the fight, not through the spilling of blood. But I digress. I'll not waste precious words on the ears of youth."

"Then get a move on already," said Ron. "What's so urgent, then?"

"Impertinent," snorted Phineas. "Not to be unexpected from a blood-traitor."

"Out with it," said Harry, pointing his wand at the portrait.

"Ah, yes, the Gryffindor solution at last," said Phineas. "Going to blast my portrait to pieces? Very brave. But then how will you prepare for what's coming?"

"What's coming," asked Harry.

"Death Eaters, of course," said Phineas. "Or is it the Ministry? So hard to tell them apart these days."

"Coming where," asked Arthur.

"Here you dolts," said Phineas dully, "haven't you been listening? I thought I was perfectly clear."

"But how," asked Harry as he shared a worried glance with Hermione. "We put this house under a new Fidelius Charm."

"A smart decision on the whole," acknowledged the sly headmaster, "but even that charm has its weakness. Magic always leaves traces. Surely all those hours with Dumbledore taught you that rudimentary truth, Potter?"

"But how," asked Harry again. "The only people who know are in this room, spare one—and he wouldn't tell a soul. In fact, he can't, because he's not the Secret Keeper."

"And that is your fatal flaw," said Phineas with a confident smile. "You assume the Fidelius is broken only by word of mouth, or the written instruction given solely by the Secret Keeper."

"Explain," demanded Harry.

"I don't have time for this pointless exercise," said Phineas, turning to leave. "Suffice it to say that Everard—that brown-nosed goody-goody—couldn't help himself and overheard Ministry officials preparing to arrive here within the half hour. And trust me; they know the location—precisely. I'd wish you a good day but that hardly seems appropriate." Phineas left and all that remained was the black felt background of the portrait.

"You need to go now," said Arthur. "We can't take chances. Quickly, gather what you need. I'll stand guard at the door. Hurry." Hermione took the empty portrait from the wall and they left the room and descended down the stairs. In less than five minutes, Hermione had returned all her books and the few strewn items about the living room table back into the confines of her magically extended handbag. A few minutes later they met Arthur in the narrow hallway at the front door.

"There's two of them waiting across the street," said Arthur, looking through the peep hole in the door. They're looking right at the door. Phineas was right—they know we're here. They're no doubt waiting for backup."

"How do we get out then," asked Harry.

"Kreacher can take Master and his friends from the house," said Kreacher. "Kreacher knows a place where Master and his friends can Disapparate away safely."

"That will work," said Arthur. "Are we all ready?" The three of them nodded. Harry hated Grimmauld Place, but he was sad to leave it. Not because it had ever been home, but because it had been the last tangible link to his Godfather. Before Harry had another thought, he was whisked away as the once unwelcoming hallway of Grimmauld Place blurred into darkness.

() () ()

"They've left, Heamaster," said Phineas. "Though if they'd argued any longer they would no doubt be less fortunate."

"Potter is fortunate indeed," said Snape, pacing between the sleeping portraits. He showed no emotion other than deep thought. Only two portraits were awake.

"It really is a shame that my great-great-grandson did not have the foresight to not write down the address in his will to Potter."

"What other choice did he have, Phineas," asked Dumbledore. "Had he not designated a successor for the house, even the Fidelius would not have prevented Bellatrix from inheriting it, thus voiding the charm. I suppose with the Ministry takeover, Dolores found the task of locating the will simple enough. Even if a new Fidelius was performed, it would not override an already written document containing the address."

"Loathed as I am to admit it, this was not Potter's blunder," said Snape. "I am equally loathed to admit Black cannot be faulted for his hand either. There is a risk in every magic; no spell is flawless or without consequence."

"Where are they now, Severus," asked Dumbledore.

"I do not know," admitted Snape. He looked to Phineas.

"Don't look at me," he said with an upturned lip. "Though that Mudblood Granger is clever—she had the foresight to take my portrait from the wall."

"Do not use that offensive term in my presence, Phineas," said Snape murderously. "You've been warned. I'm not as tolerant as Dumbledore." Dumbledore chuckled mirthfully in his portrait. Professor Black huffed indignantly and left his frame, leaving Snape and Dumbledore alone.

"Potter has contacted Minerva," said Snape after a minute or two of silence.

"How do you know this?"

"I was in her office, concealed of course," said Snape. "I saw that wretched house-elf of Black's. He delivered a letter. I read it over her shoulder. Potter knows, Dumbledore." There was a pause, but Dumbledore did not respond. Snape continued. "He gave instructions to Minerva to carry out his last requests. She did not read them. I couldn't be bothered. I don't need to read it to know he left everything to Granger."

"I am confident he would not have left the Weasleys with nothing," said Dumbledore finally.

"Trivial," said Snape. "My point is that he knows, Dumbledore. I was under the impression it was my unfortunate duty to tell him the truth. I am half of mind to believe you changed your mind."

"I did," admitted Dumbledore. "It should never have been your responsibility, Severus. And from what you told me, it seems Harry has made his choice."

"It was my understanding he didn't have one—that he was to die at the right time."

"That was the conclusion you made," said Dumbledore pointedly, "though not an inaccurate one. I wanted him to have the choice, Severus, so I told him everything."

"You wouldn't have happened to tell him your death was pre-arranged?"

"I do not know," he said. "That depends on Harry entirely."

"What do you mean," asked Snape. "You just said you told him everything—how can you have no recollection of telling him the truth about me, Dumbledore?"

"Since when did you care what Harry thought of you?"

"Never," said Snape. "But I care about my innocence."

"Naturally," acknowledged Dumbledore. "The truth is I left a memory for him to view. Quiet ingenious, really. It exists temporarily, expiring once its contents are poured into a Pensieve. Unfortunately, the memory would only last for a limited time once activated. This is why I do not know if Harry is aware of your innocence or not. I certainly had that knowledge in the memory, but if the conversation did not go in that direction…"

"Then he will be none the wiser," said Severus quietly. "Yes, a brilliant plan, Dumbledore. Give Potter a memory and hope he will know the questions to ask. You put too much faith in him."

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore with a broad smile. "But I think it more likely you put too little of faith in him."

"News from the Ministry," said Everard, appearing in his portrait.

"Proceed," said Snape.

"They were furious," said Everard. "They brought the hole place down. It's gone."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. "Poor Phineas. He'll be devastated."

Author's Notes: Hope you all liked the twist on the Fidelius. When I first read Hallows, I thought for sure this was going to be the loop hole. I don't think re-performing the charm over the same house would over-ride an already written and preserved document that contained the address. Maybe it's a bit of a stretch, but at least it's far more interesting than Yaxley simply clinging to Hermione's ankle. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it.