Hope of the Phoenix (19/21)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Remus Lupin/ Petunia Dursley
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all its characters. I'm just borrowing them for no profit – no copyright infringement intended.
Warning: This chapter contains scenes of tortue, as well as information gained without consent. This may be disturbing and/or offensive to some readers, so be warned; feel free to skip to the important info at the end of the chapter
A/N: Thanks once again for all the great reviews to chapter 18! Here is another chapter! Only two more after this one till the end of Hope of the Phoenix...but Redemption of the Phoenix will be coming soon! That will be part two of the Phoenix Quartet! Oh, and does anyone know what Mrs. Black's first name is? I couldn't find it, so I named her Atossa – a truly horrible name (no offense to anyone named Atossa), but I am willing to change it if anyone knows her real name! As well, the story of the Goblin's Mirror is stolen from Hans Christian Anderson's "The Snow Queen" – I just adapted it to fit the Harry Potter Universe; so if you recognize it, its because you have read that story/ seen the movie!
But here's chapter 19!
Chapter 19: I remember it well...
Petunia carefully removed the mask from the Death Eater's face – hands shaking with nerves, all the time aware of Harry and his friends, of Dumbledore, waiting to see whom they'd managed to capture. Would this woman be high enough up in Voldemort's group that she'd know his plan – would she tell them?
There were gasps from behind her as she finally pulled back the mask to reveal a thick-set, heavy-lidded woman that she, at least, had never met, but it was clear she was quite well-known to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville. Petunia turned, with her mouth half open, to ask them who this woman was, but she stopped, shocked by the strength of their reaction. Harry was nearly shaking with rage; his eyes pinpricks of green fire. Neville was as white as a sheet, and was half-hidden behind Harry.
"Is she high up in Voldemort's plans?" Petunia asked Dumbledore. She wanted to ask more – how the children knew her, who this woman was, but this didn't seem the proper time or place.
"She is indeed, Mrs. Dursley, well done." Dumbledore spoke warmly. He was shepherding the children out of the room. Neville was still visibly shaken, and Petunia could hear her nephew insisting that they be allowed to stay, his voice carrying all the way down the hall.
Dumbledore had only just returned to the kitchen when they were joined by Snape. He had abandoned his disguise, and his hook nose and severe expression were as forbidding as ever. He reported that they had managed to apprehend at least a dozen Death Eaters, several of whom were high up; all of whom were being escorted to Azkaban by most of the Order and Ministry officials. The rest of the Order had gone to St. Mungo's with Professor McGonagall.
It was now, Dumbledore informed both of them, the time to discover the nature of Voldemort's plan.
Petunia watched curiously as Dumbledore removed from his cloak a strange bowl, covered all over with curious markings. Dumbledore smiled at her, and, recognizing her confusion, remarked
"This, my dear Mrs. Dursley, is called a Penseive. We shall be using it to sift through Mrs. Lestrange's memories till we find the one that contains the necessary record of Voldemort's plan."
Mrs. Lestrange. The Death Eater in front of them was Bellatrix Lestrange. Petunia felt sick. This was the woman who had killed Sirius, who had hurt Harry. She should have whacked her a few more times with that cast iron frying pan.
Something, however, was niggling at her mind. The plan seemed awfully inefficient. Wasn't there an easier way to find out what the woman knew than riffling through her mind until they found the requisite memory? There it was, something that Lily had once said, or in some Potions paper she'd had Petunia proofread.
"Professor," she asked politely, "isn't there some sort of Potion that makes her tell the truth? I seem to recall Lily writing an essay at school about truth potions. Wouldn't that be much faster?"
Her comment seemed to annoy Snape, at any rate. Dumbledore had just opened his mouth to respond, when Snape snapped a reply at her,
"Veritaserum doesn't work any more, you stupid woman, so stop talking about things you can't understand! Really, Dumbledore, do you think it wise to even have the Muggle present for this? She won't understand anything!"
"Nevertheless, Severus," came Dumbledore's smooth reply, "she has earned the right to be present. And her question about Veritaserum was a very good one." He faced Petunia again, his face both kindly and serious. "You see, Mrs. Dursley, after I was able to learn considerable information about Voldemort's plans through the use of Veritaserum, Voldemort had Severus make a potion that would kill any Death Eater who came in contact with Veritaserum, before they could give any information. So, we are left with using the Pensieve - inefficient, yes, but unfortunately necessary."
Oh. That explained it. Petunia watched, both scared and fascinated, as Dumbledore restrained, then revived Mrs. Lestrange. She immediately began a long rant, about how Severus would be punished for his betrayal, how Voldemort would kill all the Muggleborns and Mudbloods and blood traitors, - really, it was almost as if Mrs. Black's picture had been taken down from the attic! Dumbledore cast a silencing charm on her, and taking his wand, began to draw long silvery threads from the Death Eater's head. The realization that she was seeing Mrs. Lestrange's thoughts and memories was rather unnerving, and made Petunia a bit uncomfortable – somehow, it seemed like rape. But Petunia remembered what this woman had done to Harry, and what she'd said about Dudley and Vernon, and hardened her heart. It might not be right, but it was necessary.
Once Dumbledore had assembled quite a few of the silver strands into the bowl, Mrs. Lestrange's mouth moving all the time in silent screams and shouts, he stirred them with his wand, and directed Snape and Petunia to put their hands onto the edge of the bowl – he would be staying with Mrs. Lestrange, he said, and monitoring their progress – why, were they going somewhere? Petunia wondered, - they were to observe, then, after they had witnessed the required memory, to clap their hands, and he would recall them.
Petunia, following Snape's lead, held onto the edge of the bowl, and looked into the swirling grey mass....
She found that she was still in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, but it was different. For one thing, she was no longer holding onto the Pensieve, she and Snape were standing in the corner, for another, Dumbledore and Bellatrix Lestange were gone – and they had been replaced by three children. A little girl, of about six, was standing in front of them – with thick dark hair, and what looked like very uncomfortable dress robes. She was complaining to the other two – one, a girl, who appeared about four years older, with blue eyes, mousy brown hair and an upturned nose, the second, a boy, also around six, with black hair and blue eyes.
"Andromeda," the younger girl was complaining, "Aunt Atossa says you and Sirius have to play with me too."
"Why would we want to play with you?" asked the boy, contemptuously, "You're a stuck-up suck up. GO play with Narcissa and Regulus."
"No, I want to play with you. Regulus is a cry-baby. And Aunt Atossa said I could play with you, she said you had to play with me."
"Sure, go crying to Mother, I don't care. It just shows you're a suck up. Stuck up suck up stuck up suck up!" Sirius began to chant, moving in a bad imitation of a tribal dance. Andromeda joined in, "Stuck up suck up, stuck up suck up!" The little girl, whom Petunia took to be a younger Bellatrix Lestrange, started to cry. This merely caused the others to add "crybaby" to the chant.
"What is going on?" demanded a terrifyingly familiar voice from behind, at the kitchen door. Petunia spun around, and there, looking furiously at the children, was Aunt Atossa herself, the nefarious Mrs. Black, glaring at Sirius and Andromeda with a glare that had the same lethal capacity as twenty atom bombs.
Suddenly, the room shifted, and she and Snape were in a basement room, of what appeared to be a stone house. It was a very large room, with all sorts of green furniture.
"The Slytherin Common room at Hogwart's." Snape supplied. Petunia looked around. In the corner, she found her gaze drawn to a group of several friends – mostly boys; there seemed to be only one girl in the group. A handsome girl of about sixteen, with thick black hair that went down to her waist, she was regaling the others with some story. Petunia crept forward, Snape behind her, to hear what the girl was saying.
"Then, when her back was turned, I shoved the firework into her Cauldron. Jumped up Mudblood. Nearly cried when Strickland gave her a detention for destroying her cauldron, the table, and landing Longbottom in the infirmary. I expect this'll be the last time he partners with Evans"
Evans - could it be? Could the "jumped up Mudblood" the young woman was laughing at be her sister? Petunia risked a glance at Snape, but he had both of his dark eyes firmly fixed on the group, and took no notice of her.
Suddenly, a door behind them opened, and the group was joined by a young man...dressed entirely in chicken feathers? A hook-nosed someone, with dark eyes, greasy hair and a furious expression. The group burst out laughing, only deepening the younger Snape's furious scowl.
In response to the girl's choked query as to what had happened, young Snape choked out that Potter and Black had decided to pay him back for what she had done to Evans. They'd transfigured all his robes into feathers in the middle of the Great Hall.
Petunia's laughter was cut short by a look of total loathing from Snape, senior. It seemed the adult Snape didn't appreciate the humour of the situation anymore than his younger self had.
But, all jokes aside, they were still no closer to finding out the nature of Voldemort's plan.
Soon, the scene shifted again, and Snape and Petunia found themselves in a dark room. Snape didn't know this building. A woman – Bellatrix Lestrange once more, still young, though older than either of the previous incarnations, was standing by the window, her body blocking any light that might have crept in through it. Her shoulders were tense, and her hands clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched, revealing anger ... or distress.
Suddenly, from the darker recesses of the room, there was a loud "pop" and the darker shape of another figure. A man. "Her husband, Rodolphus" whispered Snape's silky voice, into Petunia's ear, and she shivered. Bellatrix didn't turn around at her husband's arrival, but stood, almost completely still. Only the constant clenching, unclenching showed that she was alive.
The man crossed over to her, till he was only a few feet behind her. He seemed to be waiting for something, some signal that his wife knew that he was in the room with her. He received none. The clenching and unclenching continued on, unabated.
Rodolphus Lestrange, if that indeed was who the man was, made a small sound in his throat, then said, almost tentatively – as if he were concerned for her feelings, or as if she was a bomb that might explode – "He's gone, Bella. The aurors are all over what's left of the house. The Potters are dead, but," he swallowed, "so is the Dark Lord. Defeated by a baby." A note of bitterness crept into his voice.
Petunia bit her lip. They had come to that night. That fateful night, when her sister and brother in law were murdered, when her nephew came to live with her – the day Mrs. Smith, next door, found out about her daughter's piercing and Dudley learned to say 'Shan't'. Somewhere, in Surrey, she was sleeping happily, snuggled beside her husband, while Dumbledore placed a lightning-scarred baby on her doorstep.
But here, wherever this was, Belletrix Lestrange had exploded into action at her husband's words, a hundred and forty pounds of furious womanhood. She rounded on her husband, black eyes sparking with black flame, her voice the hiss of the kettle,
"Vermin! He is not gone; this is merely a test of our faith, our loyalty. How could a baby defeat the greatest wizard of all time?" Her face grew rosy with her fury. "He will return, and then he shall learn who his true servants are. We shall not fail him, we shall not turn traitor, and go crawling to Crouch, pleading Imperious. With our help, he shall return to dominate all the world!"
She was nearly screaming, now. Her screams were still ringing in Petunia's ears when the room faded away, to be replaced by another room – an abandoned warehouse, perhaps, or an empty factory. The rant about Voldemort's return was gone, but Bellatrix's voice continued on, the same furious scream.
Held in the middle of the room, by Rodolphus Lestrange, and a young, sandy haired man Petunia didn't recognize, while another man stood guard at the door, were a handsome man, and a gentle, round-faced woman, who Petunia recognized in a sickening instant, as Neville Longbottom's mother. Both their faces were contorted in silent agony, the man's eyes fixed on his wife with an expression of undying love and support. Their bodies were shaking, vibrating as if charged with electricity.
Bellatrix Lestrange stood, not far from where Petunia and Snape were standing, holding out her wand at the two prone victims, screaming, between shouts of "Crucio" that they tell her the Dark Lord's whereabouts, that the pain would stop if only they would tell her. There was not a sound from the couple, who kept their eyes fixed upon each other.
Petunia felt as if her heart was breaking. Why wasn't anyone stopping her, why were these men going along with this? Why didn't somebody do something? With a furious cry she ran forward, manicured hand in a tight fist, ready to snatch the wand, to punch her face in, only to stumble when she ran through the woman as if there was no one there.
"This is a memory, you idiot," came Snape's sarcastic voice. "You aren't really here; when this happened, you were back in Surrey looking after babies and cooking for your fat husband, and keeping the house ever so clean in case an important client came by."
Petunia gave one look at the brave couple, and, with her eyes filled with tears, she didn't see that the scene had changed once more.
It was the screams that caught her attention. Quickly wiping her eyes, she looked around. They were in a dark, dank stone room, with mouldy straw on the ground. Huddled in a dark corner, her once shiny black hair dull and caked in dirt, clutching swath of dirty grey cloth around her arms, was Bellatrix Lestrange. The screams were coming from Elsewhere – inside this cell there was only a slight murmuring. Petunia tiptoed closer, hoping to hear what she was saying.
"The Dark Lord will return, greater than before, and will free his faithful servants; the Dark Lord will return greater than before, and will free his faithful servants; the Dark Lord will return..."
They were shifting again; away from what Petunia thought must be Azkaban prison, to someplace new. The images began to come faster: a shot of a pale, skeletal man, with red snake eyes. Sirius' terrified face as he was pushed behind the veil, screaming Muggles. In a terrifying moment, she saw Vernon's furious face as he threw china ornaments at Death Eaters. Petunia felt the tears flow down her face in earnest now. She was sobbing, and, despite the annoyed glares Snape was sending her way, and his frequent hisses to stop her infernal blubbering, was powerless to stop herself.
The scene of Vernon falling, falling, as the green blast took him, was replaced by another image. In what appeared to be the hall of a ruined castle, were gathered a handful of robed figures, and, seated on a throne at the end of the hall, was the same snake-faced man they had just witnessed. On his right was Bellatrix, Petunia could make out her voice as she spoke to the Dark Lord, and on his left must have been Peter, Petunia could see the glint of a silver hand. Petunia shivered, and found herself wishing with all her might, that she was back at Grimmauld Place – or a young girl, worrying about whether her clothes were the latest fashion.
The high, cold voice of Voldemort jerked her from her pleasant memories into the cruel world of Bellatrix's memories. He was calling all of the assembled Death Eaters to order. Perhaps, Petunia hoped, this would be the necessary memory; they would be able to get out of this pensieve, back to the familiar.
"My Faithful followers," called out that cold voice, the sound echoing off the crumbling columns only to be deadened by the ivy covered walls. "My friends. Today, I have called you, my most faithful servants, here to give you your tasks, to give you your part in what will be the fruition of our cherished goals."
Voldemort rose now from his chair, in one fluid, graceful movement, and stepped down from the dais to walk among his guests. Petunia found herself drawn by his words. There was power here – terrible, terrifying, awe-inspiring power, yes, but somehow compelling. This was a man who could, through sheer force of personality, do almost anything. If one was not on their guard, Petunia thought, and tended to hate normal people, and wizards born into normal families, it would be easy enough to fall into the wake of his thought.
"My friends," he said again, quietly, focusing all the attention of the room on his every breath. "The seeds, which will, in time, and with our care, grow into the harvest of our goals, are already planted. It is only for us to wait, carefully poised, to pluck the produce when the time is ripe. Even now, as we are gathered here, the seeds have begun to grow. Within a year, if the weather permits, they will be fully grown. I speak," he paused, and Petunia could feel the tension in the room thicken, 'like a pudding on the stove,' she thought; then, with a calculating grin, Voldemort continued, "I speak of the Goblin's Mirror."
"What," thought Petunia, "on earth is the Goblin's mirror?" Most of the Death Eaters were giving appreciative murmurs, but a few sounded as confused as Petunia felt. One, bravely, called out, "What's the Goblin's Mirror?"
"Please," thought Petunia, "let him answer the question, rather than just killing the questioner." She desperately wanted to know the nature of this Goblin's Mirror.
Voldemort's red eyes narrowed, but he continued with his speech. "Goyle," he addressed the Death Eater who had asked the question, but made sure his voice carried to the rest of the group. "The Goblin's mirror was an item of great, great power, made so long ago that its secrets were nearly lost to the mists of time. It had an enchantment on it so that whoever looked into it saw only despair – their greatest fears amplified. Salazar Slytherin, my noble ancestor," cheers "found this mirror after a lifetime of searching, but his one-time friend, Godric Gryffindor," here Voldemort's voice turned bitter, "took the mirror, and, believing it to be evil, smashed the mirror, and banished the pieces around the world. It has taken me many, many years, but I have at last found all the pieces, and, before he was captured, Malfoy, and some of his contacts, placed the pieces in such places as to serve my plan."
Staring around at the assembled Death Eaters, Voldemort raised his voice slightly, drawing them in further. They waited, with bated breath for his next words. "For these pieces," he continued, "when implanted in the eye, or in the heart, amplify the bearers own fears and paranoia. And so, the Muggle leaders are too busy fighting among themselves about oil, and nuclear capability, and religion, to notice that my agents are even now moving among them. Minister Fudge, though forced to acknowledge my return, is so paranoid about Dumbledore raising an army against him, and taking away his position, that the Ministry will be unable to resist me. The centaurs, goblins and giants are reminded of their ancient hatred of wizards. There is no unity, and, despite Dumbledore's best efforts, none will be achieved. The wizarding world will fall to chaos and civil war – and I shall be the one to pick up the pieces. And then, who in the Muggle world will be able to stop me?"
There were resounding cheers, stomping and howling Death Eaters. Petunia felt tears in her own eyes once more; it seemed that the fate of the world was already decided. She was still crying when Snape clapped his hands, and the grey swirl returned them to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
Petunia collapsed to the floor, and, too miserable to ask how he had arrived, fell into Remus' waiting arms.
TBC
A/N: Whew! That was a long chapter! That's all for me for the time being; hopefully it won't take me as long to get chapter 20 done. Rushes off to arrange schedule to allow for writing time! In the meantime, please review!