Chapter Thirty Eight: Changing The Plans

Harry lay under the heavy blankets as he listened to the voices around him. He did not understand a single word of Arabic and had no idea what was happening.

"What was that?" A guard yelled as he and several others came out of their barracks.

The Gypsy began to cry loudly and pointed at the bodies of the two guards. Meanwhile, the three men kept telling her to get in the cart, to let the men take care of it, to look away because such a sight was not for a delicate woman.

The Captain of the Guard came out and recognized the woman, despite her veil. She was the General's friend who visited frequently and made him happy. The men were her brothers. There was no argument or questioning of these facts. Especially since she would sometimes bring one of her many sisters to visit the Captain and make him happy.

The Captain ordered his men to force the four visitors into their cart and make them leave the fortress. Once they were safely no longer there, the dead guards could be discovered by himself. The gate was closed and barred behind the cart, and the Captain ordered the men to prepare their weapons. From the noise, the prisoners had not yet made their escape. There would be many empty cells in the morning.


Robert's habit was to wear his hair loosely when he was off duty. On duty, he would tie it back in a horse's tail to keep it out of his way. Harry used to comment that his hair never grew, but that seemed to change after he came to this world. Harry's hair was now as long as Roberts, hanging past his shoulders, and Harry had taken to following Robert's habits.

Robert tried to think of what Harry's habits were.

"He does not swagger," Farley said. "He looks around him more as he walks. And he is humble."

"Humble? Harry is many things but he is not humble."

Ben Farley laughed. "You are Harry. Robert asks people, 'What is it you want?' You ask people, 'How may I help you?' Do you understand the difference?"

Robert shook his head. "Harry the Humble? And I never noticed."

"That is part of being humble. You do not let everyone know. They might think you are bragging."

Both laughed at the jest, then Robert became serious. "Ben, you know Harry best at sea . . . ,"

"You are mistaken on that point. Commodore Carlisle, at Forth, spent more time with him than I have. I will teach you what I know. Then he will tell you how to act."

"Scotland in September is a wonderful idea," Robert said as he sat down. "Now, could you explain to me exactly what humility is?"


Professor Quirrell sat in the room preparing his spells. Professor Dumbledore had explained to him about the Goblet of Fire and he was eager to examine it. He waited until the students had gone to their beds then began to set his equipment up in the small room near where the Goblet was on display. He was preparing his instruments when he reached the point where he needed to charm one of his wands so that it was sympathetic to the Goblet.

The Law of Sympathy was the most misunderstood law of science, in Quirrell's opinion. He had heard Master Sorcerers make mistakes in explaining it. Most people assumed that the law of Sympathy was similar to the Law of Association, except that you were making an Association through the use of magic. The Law of Sympathy was, in fact, the making of a likeness.

He loved the way that Master Sean O'Lochlainn explained it to his DADA class.

"Think of language," Master Sean said. "You have Simile and Metaphor. Simile is the Law of Association. Something is like something else. A smile is like a ray of hope. Her eyes shined like diamonds. And my favorite, a day without sunshine is like night. An Associative Object is like another object but it is not that object. A bullet is like a gun. That is because a bullet Associates with a gun. A button is like a coat because a button has an Association with the coat. And there are others. A pipe and a hat, because the man wears the hat every time he smokes the pipe. These are all Associations, and they may be weak or strong, depending on the circumstances.

"Sympathy is like Metaphor. I once heard an irate Goodwoman curse her husband and call him a dog. That is Metaphor. The man is not like the dog. The man is the dog. That is what the Law of Sympathy is. Through the use of magic, we make one object sympathetic to another object. The one object Sympathizes with the other. We make a glass sympathetic to a rock and what happens? The glass is not like the rock. The glass is the rock. If we throw the glass down it will not break, because the rock does not break. It will weigh heavier, because the density of the rock is heavier than that of the glass.

"I know what you are thinking, but the law of Sympathy does have one drawback. It is not a natural law. Sympathy, except in rare case, such as some identical twins, does not exist in nature. Each leaf on a tree is not any other leaf on that tree, or any other tree. As a consequence, the Sympathy of one object to another will only last so long as the spell lasts."

Master Sean went on to give examples of how the Law of Sympathy could be used, but he never thought of this one. Professor Quirrell wanted to see how he could unravel the spell on the Goblet, to see if he could use reverse engineering to determine how the spell was made. But he could not do that with the actual Goblet of Fire. Therefore he would use the Law of Sympathy and make his brass wand a Goblet of Fire and then disassemble the spell.

He put his hand on the doorknob, but stopped when he heard a noise. He did not want to interrupt a student out of bed. It would be more fun to wait until after the student tried to enter his name. He was waiting for the telltale noise of the age line casting out another sneak when a voice he did not recognize said, "Done."

Quirrell waited until the footsteps faded then slowly opened the door. He looked out and saw a vague shadow disappear around a far corner.

"What happened?" Gabriel thought to himself. "What was 'DONE'?" He walked over to the Goblet, ignoring the age line. He was obviously above the required age. He stopped and turned back to look at the line. HE was obviously ABOVE the required AGE. He looked at the Goblet. He walked up to the Goblet.

Gabriel Quirrell had a horrible thought. He took it upon himself to wake the Headmaster.

"I am not asleep yet, Professor Quirrell," Albus said as he let the sorcerer into his office.

"I need to ask a question, Professor Dumbledore. What exactly is a magical contract."

Albus gave him a bemused look "It is a binding agreement. Any individual bound by the contract must fulfill the terms or face the consequences."

Quirrell smiled but did not relax. "And what are the consequences? A fine, perhaps?"

Albus almost laughed. "Gabriel, a magical contract is a serious matter not to be entered into lightly. The consequences for failing to honor such a contract are also serious. May I ask why?"

"I am not sure," Quirrell said. "But I need to make some tests. I will let you know as soon as I do."

Gabriel Quirrell raced back to his makeshift laboratory and pulled out the tools he needed from his bag. He lit the charcoal in his brazier while reciting certain spells. He put a tin plate over it and began to sprinkle sulphur powder onto it. The powder began to burn, giving off its horrible smell. He did not even notice the stench as he watched the pattern form. The burning sulphur had etched a name into the plate. Harry Potter.


The white hot flames of the Goblet of Fire turned red a third time and for the third time a charred piece of parchment wafted above the flames. Albus Dumbledore took the parchment in hand. "The Champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory."

The Hufflepuff table went wild. The entire house were on their feet shouting and applauding the Quidditch Captain. Not one of them heard Dumbledore's congratulations. They continued to cheer as Cedric left the table to join the other two champions. Then their voices began to die one by one as they noticed what the others in the hall had already seen.

The Goblet flared red once again, and a fourth parchment was floating above the flames. Dumbledore reached for it and read it, letting a sense of confusion into his voice. "Harry Potter."

"But he isn't even here," a voice shouted in the silence. It was Ron Weasley.

Father Maurice Pannier, who had returned as the school counselor, stood up. In the glow of the pumpkin lamps that lit the hall, his angry face had a sinister look. "Headmaster Dumbledore, we assured you that the Lords Somerset would be made available if need be. This is not a necessity. Officially withdraw his name."

"He can't," Ludo Bagman said. "He's bound by a Magical Contract. He has to participate." He gave Father Maurice a shrug as though to say 'those are the rules'. They turned as someone gasped. The white flames had turned red a fifth time. As everyone watched a piece of parchment, noticeably larger than the others appeared. The hall was silent as Dumbledore took the parchment, unfolded it and read what was on it. Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

"By the Grace of God and of His Most Serene Majesty, John Plantagenet, Fourth of that name, the person of Lord Robert de Somerset, Scion of the House of London, Heir to the Duchy of Cambridge, and Officer with the rank of Full Lieutenant in His Royal Majesty's Navy, is hereby entered into this contest as the representative of choice for the Royal College of Sorcery, Kings College, Cambridge Town."

"Gabriel?" Father Maurice spoke with the surprise that everyone felt.

"A bit too obvious?" Quirrell asked loudly from his seat at the end of the table.

"You did this deliberately? In God's Holy Name, Why?"

Professor Quirrell spoke loudly so that everyone could hear, and he used his voice to amazing effect. With a smooth rhythm, it went from light amusement to barely suppressed anger. "To make it clear what I have done. No one doubts how Lord Robert's name came to appear. It makes you wonder which school Lord Henry represents." He made it obvious that he had entered Robert's name but not Harry's.

"Perhaps we should talk to the Champions," Dumbledore suggested.


Lord Bontriomphe glared at the nine-year-old boy who was standing in his study reading the document he had taken off the desk. "I know this is your house, My Lord Marquis, but this room is my private office. You should not be here. And you should not be here reading my papers."

"Lord Bontriomphe," Lord London asked, as though the man had never said anything. "Why is this so obtuse to Naval Intelligence? It seems obvious to me."

"What seems obvious to you?"

"About my brother. The notes in the margin say that they do not understand the significance . . ."

"I have read it," Lord Bontriomphe said as he grabbed the documents out of the boy's hands. "They do understand. This is a first draft copy for me to review. Naval Intelligence has not revealed to me as general knowledge what they have determined from these facts."

Lord London brightened. "Then they do know that Harry escaped? Did they help him?"

Lord Bontriomphe sat down in his chair and pulled Lord London in front of him. "Tell me how you determined that?"

"My Lord, the pertinent facts were the initial statement and followup statement of the Sultan of Morocco, and the miscellaneous report of the execution of the Captain at one of their prisons for failing to prevent a prisoner uprising. The first statement suggested that they had a prisoner of importance in addition to the Admiral they had seized. The second statement denied that fact. The uprising that cost the Captain his life occurred between these two events. It occurred at the prison that My Lord Henry would most likely have been held."

Lord Bontriomphe nodded. "And how did you derive your conclusions."

Lord London smiled. "A Sultan does not lie. He may mislead, prevaricate, and feign forgetfulness but in any official statement what he says is true, even though a Sultan will usually say very little. Therefore, both statements are true. My Lord Henry was a prisoner when our government were first notified, but by the time our government responded My Lord Henry was no longer a prisoner. It is known that he was not freed, nor was he paroled. It is also known that he did not die. To hide his death would be irrational. His reputation would make his death a reason for the Empire to lose morale. Nor would his death be cause to execute the Captain of the Watch. The only reasonable explanation is that the Captain was executed because he failed to prevent the escape."

Lord Bontriomphe stared. This Boy had determined in the space of an hour what a half dozen trained men had spent most of a day to conclude. "Now, My Lord, I have a special reward for you."

Lord London cringed. It was going to be one of his guardian's famous scientific experiments. His favorite boots still smelled from the time he had to clean out the stalls. "I hope it is something wonderful," he said halfheartedly.

"It is." Lord Bontriomphe was smiling. "His Majesty has agreed that your skills need to be honed. A late entry has been arranged for you at Saint Cathel's Academy. "

"But I am only nine?"

"And you are more intelligent than people twice your age. You must learn how to nurture that intelligence so that it becomes wisdom."

"When do I leave?" Lord London asked in a defeated voice.

Lord Bontriomphe smiled, remembering when he watched the late Marquis give his eldest son this same news. Lord Robert, although admitted in the normal fashion and at the usual age, had the same look on his face.

"It is not the end of the world, you know."

Lord London did not believe him.


The train slowed as it entered the station at Edinburgh, and Robert waited patiently for the trip to continue. It would only be a half hour stop. He looked up a few minutes after the train stopped as the door to the compartment opened.

"Lord Somerset," the military courier asked as he entered.

"Lord Henry Somerset," Robert corrected.

"I fear not, My Lord," the courier stated. "There has been a change of circumstance. Your brother's escape has become common knowledge." The courier smiled as he saw Robert's reaction. "It seems that I have the pleasure of informing you. And to give you your new orders."

Robert thanked the courier, grateful for the news. When the courier left, he opened his orders and groaned. He was now 'invited' to London to discuss his experiences in the Gibralter Campaign. He was temporarily attached to the enlistment office.


"There he is," someone said to Ginny, and pointed across the huge crowd. "It's Lord Somerset. He's Lord Harry's brother."

Ginny smiled at the thought of being spotted at this range. She watched as he passed by and almost laughed. They were parading him around London to convince men to enlist. But the rumors were already circulating that they were recruiting for the press gangs as well, if the need became too great.

Ginny made her purchases and went back to her flat. She was becoming adept at shopping, and at cooking. She was also happy that the morning sickness had finally ended. Now she had new problems to deal with. Her stomach was beginning to swell. It wasn't noticeable yet, except to her, and she already began to feel slightly awkward as she walked. Goody Smith told her it would only get worse.

When the church bells rang at noon, Ginny grabbed her books as well as the slate and chalk she had bought. Goody Smith had her two children ready, and she gratefully handed Ginny two shillings. The five-year-old girl and the four-year-old boy would go with her to the park. She would babysit them for a few hours and also teach them how to read and write. She did this three times a week, weather permitting, and received a shilling for each child for each day.

The Church was willing to teach them, but the other parents had their prejudices. They did not like the idea of 'those children' being with their own. Everyone knew that Goody Smith made her living at the world's oldest profession. And she was honest about it. Circumstances also made her Ginny's best friend. After all, who else would want to associate with a pregnant thirteen-year-old girl who was living alone.

Ginny learned to respect Sarah, and at times to rely on her. Sarah taught her that reality was hard. You made your happiness. In a quiet moment, Sarah confided in her. "That's why I kept my children. They are my happiness. And with your help, dearie, they'll make something of themselves, and rot all them decent folk."

Ginny had other friends as well. Goody Corman, the midwife. She was always friendly to potential customers. And there was Commander Potts. He was an elderly man who was forced to retire young when he came too close to an exploding cannon. A metal sliver pierced his skull and left him blind. His wife had died years before, and he lived alone on his pension. Sarah introduced them. The Commander was delighted to find out that 'Jenny' was a navy wife.

And then there were the children. They could never decide if she was one of them, or one of the adults. They decided that she was midway between both groups, and she could give them insights to the things they heard.

"Jenny!" a young boy called, and waved as he ran by. A pair of women smiled politely at her then began whispering as she went past. She turned into the building she lived and the concierge was there, looking for the month's rent. She grinned at Ginny, who always payed promptly, and waited for the deadbeats who lived on the third floor.

Ginny knew that grin, and walked briskly up the stairs. She opened the floor to her flat, and smiled. It was Henry, home from the sea. He looked at her and grinned back.

"We had to make a run to Gibralter and come straight back. I didn't know until we left. I could have warned you."

Ginny wrapped her arms around him. "I'm happy you're here."

"I will be leaving again in the morning," Henry warned his wife, as they ate their supper.

"Then we should go to bed early," Ginny suggested.

"I will be gone for a good while, Angel. You know that."

"You told me. An escort to New England, and then to New France."

"Write to me?"

"I will."

"I will miss you dearly," Henry said and pulled Ginny into an embrace.

"To bed," Ginny suggested. "I know you want to."

Henry knew what his wife was offering to do and tried to dissuade her. "I will not make any demands on you. I told you."

"You are my husband. I've decided that if we are to be married, it should be a complete marriage. And I'm curious about the things Goody Smith has been telling me."

"Jenny," Henry said with a laugh and a frown. "You should not take advice from that woman." He paused as he saw the humor in Ginny's eyes. "What has she been telling you?"

"That we make our own happiness. I've fallen in love with you and I want to make you happy that you married me."

Henry tried to say something but Ginny kissed him, and the words were lost.

When he left in the morning to return to his ship, Henry felt regret that he had to go. As he crossed the street he looked up and saw the young woman that was his wife throw him a kiss. It made his heart lighter, knowing she would be there for him.

The young woman watched her husband until he disappeared from sight. It could be months before he would return this time. But she knew he loved her, and she felt for the first time since she had come to this world that she had a life to look forward to. She was Goodwoman Jenny Planck, and she had a husband who cared for her. She smiled at her memories of the night before. She had done her wifely duties and she knew it made him happy. But then they lie there, talking. She revealed that she had a family (past tense) and he revealed that he never had one, until now. More then anything, that sharing of truth made being with him worthwhile.

When she went out later that day, someone called her Jenny, and she knew that was her name. A new name for a new life.


Robert was delighted when he was relived of his duties. He was tired of being paraded around London. Who else could explain to both bankers and factory workers that they needed to risk their lives for little pay. 'Anybody,' Robert thought in bitter humour, but they said he was needed. And so he thought.

Lord Bontriomphe was beaming when Robert returned to London House. He had good news. Harry was definitely alive. His escape had been confirmed and he was 'somewhere'. Robert then learned that Lord London was going to school, and would accompany him to Cambridge.

"And why am I going to Cambridge?"

"You are returning to school as well."

Robert was startled. "But it is already November?"

"Then you are already late."

"Lord Bontriomphe, what has happened?"

"You will find out when you arrive at King's College."


"Your running around has helped," Lord London told his brother as they rode in the coach, the countryside passing around them. "Lord Bontriomphe told me that there will be no need for the press gangs this year, at least not in London."

"He told you?" Robert asked.

"He knew I was listening." Lord London's face admitted the lie.

"And that is why he is ridding himself of you, dear brother."

"It is not. I am precocious. I need a challenge to my intellect."

"And a paddling to your posterior," Robert smirked.


The coach pulled up to the Royal Thaumaturgical Institute. Professor Quirrell was there to met Robert and ushered him inside the building, as the Journeyman Sorcerer carried his trunk. Lord London gave a quick goodbye, and watched as his own trunk was lowered from the coach.

"The indignities begin," he said as the coachman climbed back to his perch and drove away. Apparently no one had mentioned that he needed to make TWO stops at King's College. The Journeyman Sorcerer looked back as though to say something, but Lord London waved him away.

"I will take care of it, Journeyman. I am here to learn to fend for myself." His attitude made the Journeyman smirk, but Lord London ignored him. Picking up his heavy trunk, he carried it and disappeared around the side of the building, heading toward Saint Cathal's Academy.


It was with some confusion that Robert accompanied Professor Quirrell on a trip to the country estate of the Duke of Cambridge.

"Professor, why am I being sent back, and after the start of the term?"

Quirrell looked across his desk at the young man, who was still dressed in full uniform. "There have been complications."

"Has there been a third prophecy?"

The Professor arched an eyebrow. "You know about the second one?"

"Harry told me." Robert paused. "I have heard nothing more about him. Have you any news?"

"His Majesty's office informed me that Lord Henry has not been heard from and that it should be considered a good omen. You will return to Hogwarts, however . . ."

Robert steeled himself. In the past five months he has several adventures. In one day alone he helped repel an enemy dreadnaught, had his ship blown out from under him, and then helped seize another enemy dreadnaught. He did nothing at all for four weeks then participated in another sea battle. This one, in the Straights, forced the Caliph's Mediterranean Fleet to remain in the Atlantic. While his ship had little damage, a sister ship, the Victorious, was sunk with a major loss of her crew. Barely one hundred were saved. These events made Quirrell's 'however' seem trivial and frightening at the same time.

". . . however, as strange as it may sound, you may have to be both you and your brother at the same time."

"It is a poor jest you make, Professor."

"It is a Tri-Wizard Tournament, Lord Robert. His Majesty himself thought it best to complicate the situation least whomever has plans on your brother's life find the task too easy. I will give you the details as I know them. But if you should have any questions you may approach Albus Dumbledore or his new Defense Professor, Goodman Alastor Moody. They will help you with any problems you may have."

Robert spent the next hour listening to the details of the tournament and of what had happened. When they were finished, Professor Quirrell produced the control stone, and brought Robert over to the other world.

"Was this necessary?" Robert had to ask at one point. "If you had left my name out, I could have doubled for my brother."

Professor Quirrell nodded. "That was my idea as well, My Lord, but someone understood that whomever was behind this might notice the ruse. Despite the fact that the two of you are identical, you are still two different people. You should know that. You had to learn how to act like Lord Henry, I understand, when we thought to hide the news of his capture."

Robert frowned, but listened carefully to everything. Things were different for him now. In his home world he was considered an adult. Fourteen was the age when an apprentice in a guild would become a journeyman. Returning to Hogwarts was no longer a choice. He would return because he was ordered to. But he had one more question to ask.

"Professor, I need to know. Is my brother that important?"

"To the Empire, the answer is no. He is useful, but he is not important. His popularity among the common people was helpful in inciting enlistments, but that is a minor thing when one looks at the grand picture. But to the other world the answer is a resounding yes. Even if most of those wizards and witches do not know it. The nature and use of magic in their world has made Lord Henry the focal point of their future history. I know that you were told about the first Prophecy."

"I remember, Professor, but I must ask why we continue to go to such efforts if it is not necessary to us. I am grateful, of course, but I know that I am also not important on the larger scale."

Quirrell paused. "Albus Dumbledore has been more than helpful to us in our research of his world. Has it ever occurred to you that this was part of a bargain?"

"Your answer begs another question, Professor. Why is that world so important?"

"Because of you, Lord Robert de Somerset. When you unwittingly used the control stone for the first time, you went to that world. You told us that your last thoughts were to be as far away as possible, some place that had never heard of His Slavonic Majesty. In that world we have only found one person who also exists in our world. That person is your brother. Lord Henry is not the cause for all of this. You are. We have done everything we could for him because of you. Lord Robert, you claim that you are not important, but you are. You are the heir to the Duchy of Cambridge and as such you will become the Royal Guardian of the Traveler Stone, the greatest evil the Dark Lord has ever wrought."

Robert was stunned. "What did I do that was so important?"

"You found a safe world, and your actions paved the way for the people there to accept us. Know this, Lord Somerset, because of you we have the chance to analyze the Traveler Stone in two worlds, and that may give us the key so that we may finally destroy it."

Upon their arrival, Robert spent an hour with his uncle, while Professor Quirrell waited. When he returned to the coach, he had no need to ask any more questions.