Author's Note: this all might seem a bit loose ended, but I hope I'll be able to explain in thoroughly. Please review!
~The Session~
Chapter 2: Loose Ends
"What do you mean The-Boy-Who-Lived disappeared?" Cornelius Fudge brought his fist down on the mahogany desk.
"That' right, Sir," stuttered a messenger from one of the lower offices, "We attempted to reach him by owl and… um… post mail as you requested, but we received no hint of a reply." The boy paused before saying post mail, a word unfamiliar to his tongue.
Fudge tried to hide his panic as he slowly articulated his word, "I want every man and woman here that knows common knowledge of muggles to FIND THAT BOY!" Spit was flying out of the respected man's mouth as he gone from red to purple. If it were not a situation involving him, the messenger would have laughed. However the situation was less than comical. He have been hearing whispers of an unspoken source of evil, people eyeing people suspiciously, mothers keeping their children inside their house at all times. The halls of the Ministry of Magic decked with complaints and situations to be properly taken care of.
"Yes, Sir," the boy quickly replied before being dismissed.
Almost as if you-know-who was back again, he joked, remembering the stories his granddad had told him when he was little.
* * * *
"You say the boy followed through," Lord Voldemort mused. He did not think the boy who defeated him, the most powerful man on Earth, would surrender to a bunch of mosh-poshs wearing white coats. Memory of bribing the meeklings flooded his photographic brain. He shuddered, thinking the crime he has committed to bribing muggles for assistance.
"Yesss, Master," hissed unhumanly the cloaked one. Voldemort waved his hand as if to swat an annoying gnat, a signal of command of exit.
See how much I gave up for you? I would give all my power to you, if only you would succeed me. Lord Voldemort whispered out loud ass the hooded creature left. See the lowness I have stooped to, bribing muggles… all to kill you. Because you're just too good for the poor old man you've defeated 3 times.
He laughed cruelly and shrewdly, his hallow voice echoing within the dim hallway to his throne.
Seventeen years I have waited. Seventeen years I have shamed. Seventeen years I have suffered.
You will pay, my nephew.
* * * *
Harry trusted everything she said. The woman in white always bore dark, murky blue fingernails. Her voice hypnotized him. Her smile mesmerized him.
He doesn't recall anymore the exact day he gave in to medical treatment. But everyday he waited for her to arrive. He believed every word that ever grazed upon her lips.
He did not ask for her name, neither did he utter a syllable to her. He would always look into her deep grey eyes and know that she was his savior. The only thing on the planet that he knew with a determination was real.
She spoke frequently, though. About the weather, what an awful day she had. But always, at the end, she would say something positive to him. And he would always listen. Always gaze into her eyes and trust her. She, he thought, would never betray me.
* * * *
Naomia Harrison sighed in relief as she carefully walked out of the room, strutting the same pace she have used for the past 13 days.
Damn the top authorities who assigned her to do this.
That man, or rather, boy, always haunted her. The way he never talked. Never conveyed any emotion. Just sat there.
And watched her.
That was the only time she sensed his deep feelings, locked in a door of broken memories. When he stared into her soul.
True. Many psychiatric patients showed the symptoms, but something about that boy…
She shivered and wondered who he was. Of course she have done some research of her own, but the only thing she got out of it was his name: Henry Fooper. Nothing more.
Naomia laughed trilly, thinking, I sound more like the raven more everyday I go to room 9.
130 miles east, the Lord's eyes flamed with desire to kill as he shrieked the words that would end the boy's life.
How he wished it were Him he was killing. But this will just have to do. Better one than nothing.
A sharp ray of green light split into the dark night. The man neither flinched nor blinked. But he did not feel the thrill he used to have. He knew why, and what he must do. And knew that he could not trust anyone with the plan. Not even himself. And must therefore not look into himself to discover his locked up secrets.
* * * *
"But Professor," protested Fudge as he stood pacing before Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Cornelius. Say no more," said Dumbledore quietly but with perhaps equal power as Lord Voldemort. "Sit down, and have a chocolate frog before you faint from anxiety."
Cornelius Fudge's jaw magically unhinged itself and took a plunge 2 feet towards the ground. He knew Dumbledore was a pacient and skilled wizard, but at a time like this? When You-Know-Who was spotted several times mingling with the muggles he hated most? When his personal messenger –he remember the boy fondly though he was hard on him- turn up dead 2 days after his mission was assigned? For a second, he doubted the respected man before him, wondering if he had cracked after all, but quickly dismissed it. He must remain loyal and true, for he knew, Dumbledore is the only wizard Lord Voldemort fears. Just like everyone said. If he wanted to survive, stick to Dumbledore. With that, he started dwindling his thumbs unconsciously, that way, he'll be on the good side and alive.
Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore stared silently at Cornelius Fudge, who seemed to be having an argument with himself. He sniffed softly with a hint of amusement as he continued watching Fudge debating.
* * * *
"Dracius Malfoy!" Lord Voldemort vacant voice rang out eerily down the corridor. It had been 1 month since he had done the energy-consuming act, proving to himself that he had truly came back to power. It was the Bounding of Lucius and Draco Malfoy. The Bounding potion took him many hours to brood and the words many days to memorize. But at last, he chose a half-moon night, and bounded the father and son into a single entity: his most trusted servant.
That is, until Cornelius Fudge stepped into the line.
