Ollie Krepps hated Christmas. For thirty years he had been a postal carrier in Little Whinging and every year it was the same. He hated the oversized parcels, the ill-wrapped packages, the idiots who insisted on sending fragile items normal freight and without insurance so they could shave a few pence, and the residents went out of town without filling out a hold form and then later had the nerve to stop by the depot to complain about not being able to open their door. He hated how his back twinged as he carried the stacks and how his knee ached from too many last minute saves from icy pavements.
But it was the last delivery of the day and he finished relatively early. It was 4 pm and the sun had started to set; the few rays of light trickling through dark clouds. It threatened to snow - a fairly good pack, he thought as he inspected the horizon. Not normal in these parts to get much snow, but then again, things haven't been quite normal for awhile.
There was talk of odd folks about. Capes and odd hats, dark black garb and old-fashioned scarves. He heard many stories during his route and he assured each of his deliveries that it was probably some sort of Victorian Christmas revival – he was pretty sure he had read about it in the paper or the evening news.
Opening the back of the truck, he climbed inside and did a quick reorganization of undeliverable packages – bad addresses, signature required and the like that simply had to wait until after Christmas. As he lifted a particularly heavy package onto a small shelf and secured it in place, he heard a few soft pops.
"Damn," he cursed as he winced. Although he felt no pain, he instinctively reached for his back and rubbed it. A few sharp knocks on the side of the truck immediately gained his attention and he turned around. There were three people, one a dark-eyed woman with a thin-gaunt face, a man with graying bushy brown hair and a skeletal appearance, and another man with slightly dirty long blonde hair and piercing water-blue eyes. Ollie looked at the three and nodded and then turned back to his work. "Sorry, I can't make deliveries from the truck... regulations and all..." he said as he worked sorting the remaining mail. Hearing an uneasy silence, he stopped and turned back to the strangers and studied the clothing carefully. Not from the Victorian revival, but definitely unusual. It reminded him of old photos of his grandfather and father. Well tailored and of excellent quality but about forty or so years out of place.
"Do you know this man?" the blonde handed him a photo. "Vernon Dursley. The boy you might recognize as well. A Harry Potter..." The woman let out a hiss but was quickly silenced by the blonde man's icy glare.
"Might," Ollie said truthfully. He looked at the people in turn. "I sometimes substitute for other routes – when someone is ill and there's not enough normal subs the regular carries would split the route. Vaguely familiar, probably does live around here."
"We know that he lives around here, we need to know where!" the blonde said with clenched teeth.
"Well then," Ollie responded, handing back the photo. He was tempted to tell them to bugger off but something in his gut told him better. He rolled the name in his head and then recalled that 'ole Jack Samuels was sobbing last week about delivering a whole truck of packages to one location. Dursley, yes, the name was Dursley.
"Well then what?" the blonde demanded. "Or are you going to continue your mouth breathing?"
"Southwest side of the village," he replied. "However, why bother the postals? You can probably find the name in the phone book."
"What?" the dark-eyed woman bellowed. "How dare you waste our time! Do you know him...?"
"No I don't know him, but I am giving a suggestion," Ollie threw his hands up into the air. "Damn tourists..." he said just under his breath. "Look him up in the phone book already. Has his number and address..." He looked at the group and then jumped out of the truck, wincing as his back twinged. "Over there," he pointed at a small coffee shop down the street. "They're open for another hour or so, I am sure that they have a phone book there..."
The blonde gave a brusque nod and motioned for the others to proceed down the street. Ollie looked on as the blonde took up the rear, taking measured, deliberate paces. Then, the tall man turned and looked at him. A shiver passed up his spine; somewhere lurking in a shadowed, cold part of his brain sat a hooded, dark thought that sharing that little bit of information had just saved his life.
"Get up!"
Harry moaned and pulled the pillow over his head. It was the fifth night back at the Dursleys and the first night that he managed to find enough space around all the neatly wrapped packages to put his lanky body in a comfortable enough position to get some real sleep. The first night they insisted that he sleep back under the stairs as the second bedroom was under lock and key – the sole repository of Dudley's Christmas gifts. After seeing that the boy simply could not fit under the cupboard, let alone sleep in there, Aunt Petunia finally relented. Sending Dudley on an errand, she had Harry carry a few packages down the stairs and into the cupboard, giving the Harry a little bit of space on the bed.
"Get up!" He heard it again. Slowly he got up and carefully walked around the packages. Opening the door, he saw Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
"It's..." Harry looked over to the alarm clock. "It's five am."
"Well had you been able to fit under the cupboard we wouldn't be bothering you – except to make breakfast," Aunt Petunia informed him. "We need to get the packages under the tree so our Dudleykins can think that Father Christmas..."
"He's sixteen," Uncle Vernon interrupted with a gruff. "He has long since stopped believing. Now let's get the bloody packages under the tree and get back to sleep."
After a dozen or so trips up and down the stairs, a careful and conscious effort made to not step on the exceptionally squeaky stair, they finally had the last of the gifts down by the tree. Harry stood by the arch joining the dining and sitting area that housed an enormous tree – not huge like at Hogwarts, but large enough that some of the furniture had to be moved to make room.
"I bet you're dying to know what we got you," Uncle Vernon said poisonously.
"Just time with my family is all I need, Uncle Vernon," Harry said sweetly, not taking the bait.
"Just fetch some cookies, will you?" Vernon said with some disgust, too tired to pick apart the statement with his usual relish.
Harry walked into the spotless kitchen remembering Tonks' remark over a year ago that the place seemed to be too clean. And, as he carefully put some cookies on a plate and poured some milk for his Aunt and Uncle, he couldn't help but notice that it was just a wee bit too clean. He was always used to clean homes, between his Aunt and the dormitory. Even the Weasley's house was clean – at least in its own way – and Sirius' house in Hogsmeade was clean and the dorms last year were clean. But never as clean as this or when an army of house elves were in charge.
He put away the milk and closed the refrigerator with his hip, cringing as it closed with a thump. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he brought in the tray.
"You have better not wake..." Aunt Petunia began but was interrupted by lumbering footsteps overhead.
Harry set down the tray and started to back away as the thundering footsteps rammed down the stairs. He turned to run from Uncle Vernon, whose face was a deep crimson and his fingers grasped at Harry's throat. Before Harry could run, Dursley grabbed him by the sweater. He closed his eyes, waiting for the slap but it never came.
"Father Christmas! Father Christmas!" Dudley pushed Harry as he entered the sitting room, causing Harry to fall over and land squarely in Vernon's lap. The oversized teen yelped and pranced around the room. "I knew it! I heard him on the roof. His footsteps and..." Dudley grabbed a package and not bothering to see to whom it was labeled, ripped it open. "And the reindeer too. All them – they're on the roof!"
"I took every effort to check and double-check. Multiple cross references and researching the most archaic of meanings..." Ruedella Lestrange wore a black robe and knelt before the Dark Lord.
"Where is he? He was summoned along with you..." Voldemort responded bluntly while lazily looking over the report.
"He is still most loyal, I do assure you," Ruedella said nervously. She quickly looked around and noticed that no one, aside from whom she suspected to be Pettigrew, was present. "May I ask, My Lord, where is..."
The Dark Lord abruptly pushed up off the chair and walked over to the witch. Grabbing her chin, he forced her head up. She looked into his red eyes, which glittered with an entrancing glow. "Where is he...?"
"I..." Ruedella began, focusing her thoughts. She had learned that blocking everything was not always feasible and would reveal that she could evade questioning. Select truths, Severus had counseled, strategically offered, kept up the illusion of loyalty. "We had a bit of a disagreement. I was careless and he's well... not quite himself."
"You know where he is?"
"Not exactly," Ruedella said. "He... err... in his state he must have become..." She jumped as a loud crash echoed against the window. "... disoriented..."
The Dark Lord turned toward the window then to the hunched wizard who lurked in the corner. "Wormtail, will you dispose of that thing! It has come by here twice tonight..."
"It is just a night creature and nothing that should bother you, My Lord," Ruedella said quickly. "Perhaps after we are through, I can take care of the situation and not bother..."
The Dark Lord waved his hand at Wormtail to dismiss him. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, a lover's tiff and my key Death Eater is now wandering the wilds..."
"Well, perhaps not exactly..." Ruedella said. Clearing her throat she motioned to the report. "Do you have questions about the...?"
"You're changing the subject. But I gather my synopsis is more or less the gist of things. However, I sense that he is not dead – at least as far as you know - or at least you did not directly kill him."
"No, my Lord," the witch said quickly as she looked at the window. "For the moment..."
"The bloody bat will be taken care of!" Voldemort bellowed. "Unless you feel that it can outwit Wormtail..."
"Are you a betting wizard?" Ruedella asked under her breath and was rewarded with a choking hand around her throat. "I'll take care of it... him..." she said between gasps of air.
Voldemort let go of her and summoned over the report. "You have until New Years to straighten out your... mishap..."
"Thank you, my Lord," Ruedella groveled. "I shall devote..." She stopped as Voldemort waived an impatient hand to silence her.
"You were wondering where the others were?" he asked.
"I am curious," she said, quickly scanning the room as her head was still lowered.
"Let's say that a few are out 'shopping' for a Yule gift while some others are out creating a diversion," Voldemort answered, following with a cold, high-pitched laugh. "Now your reading is quite interesting..." the Dark Lord said, tapping his long bony finger on his chin. Grabbing the leather case that Ruedella had used to bring in the report, he opened it and then waved his hand over it. Reaching in, he produced another scroll. Holding it up, the Dark Lord displayed a toothy smirk. "And the one from Dumbledore, I presume?"
"Dumbledore?" Ruedella gasped. "Why would he...?"
"Really, your husband's idea actually," Voldemort said. "As much as I would like to take credit. He convinced Dumbledore to translate the runes as well. 'Their' plan was to take Dumbledore's translation and substitute it for yours – with some very advanced forging spells which either Dumbledore or one of Snape's ill-bred, thieving relatives could provide. The idea, of course, was that Dumbledore would have a less than exact translation, throwing me off, while you worked hard to provide me with a completely accurate translation. The key, however, was in Severus' years and years of being Dumbledore's pet redemption project – it was time to fully leverage that trust. Dumbledore let you do the translation, fully confident that it would never reach my hands."
It was perhaps the terrified, ashen expression on his mother's face that stopped Dudley's celebration in mid-package. His fat hand clenched a wad of red paper embossed with tiny Christmas trees and he held it steady, his lips tight as he listened to the creaking stairs and the swooshing cloaks that approached from inside the house. Vernon pushed Harry off his lap and then stood himself, standing behind the boy, as if he were using Harry as a shield. In a brilliant flash of green light, the room filled with cloaked wizards. The huge Christmas tree rocked back and forth, spilling ornaments all over the gifts. A black-clad Death Eater set it ablaze in a heatless blue flame that managed to reduce the tree, save for a scorched foot-high metal pole, and many of the surrounding presents into ash.
"Leave them alone!" Harry yelled out and stepped forward. He scanned the masked faces and spotted a set of pale blue-gray eyes. "Come now, Malfoy," he said, "there is no point in dragging this along and risk capture... again." Harry added the last with a brazen smirk.
"Really Potter," Lucius Malfoy, replied as he took off his hood and mask, "I understand that you might enjoy this as much as I. Pity we cannot allow you to have a wand and join us." He looked over to Petunia and nodded, "I do wonder if your Aunt has the same high-pitched scream as you mother?"
"Enough!" a voice belonging to a wizard second from Lucius' right called out. "We were instructed specifically to retrieve the boy. Other, 'extracurricular'," the wizard said sarcastically, "were expressly forbidden."
"Rabastan," Lucius said with a sneer, "you were always too soft."
"You were always unable to follow direction and your arrogance assured one too many failures," Rabastan replied. He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small compact silver mirror. He held it in his hand for a moment. "Shall I contact our Lord to have him remind you..." He trailed off as the mirror began to glow an eerie ghoulish green. With his free hand he ripped off his mask and lowered his hood, his uncombed, greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. Taking the mirror close, he opened it.
The other wizards turned to watch as Rabastan opened the mirror. Lowering his eyes for a moment, he address, "Yes My Lord..."
Harry took the opportunity to scan the room, searching for any promise of escape. If he could make it to the cupboard – which was still unlocked – he might be able to retrieve his wand. It was a long shot, but one he had to try. He looked between Malfoy and another Death Eater, judging the space sufficient for him to dash through and into the kitchen. Harry took a practiced breath and slowly moved his right foot forward so he could put all his energy into his thrust. As he calculated his strategy, he noticed a slight movement in the kitchen. He blinked and refocused his eyes and spotted a small head and large green eyes peering around the entryway.
"But My Lord!" the younger Lestrange wizard exclaimed incredulously, "You said bring the boy! Alive if possible, dead if necessary... I do not..." Harry turned towards Lestrange and darted his eyes between the Death Eater with the mirror and the house elf that hid behind the entryway. The creature took a step to the side, presenting itself in the doorway carrying Harry's wand. Harry quickly looked at the elf and then around the room. Everyone, including the Dursleys, was engrossed in Lestrange and the mirror and did not notice the additional visitor. Harry looked again at the elf. Not Dobby, he determined, but he nodded discreetly at it while it presented a bow in return. The creature winked at Harry and twirled his wand in between its long fingers.
"But My Lord... we have him here!" Lestrange bellowed, apparently confused. The other Death Eaters grumbled and then began to hiss as their marks burned with the summons. "My sister... she told you WHAT! Dumbledore was going to trick you, give you a false prophesy – one that would destroy you! But let us kill the boy for..." the wizard screamed and dropped the mirror as the mark burned in his arm.
"Now!" the elf squealed and snapped its fingers. A blinding bright light filled the room and sent everyone, except for Harry to the floor. Harry bounded forward and felt the wand enter his hands. He turned to see the Dursleys situated in a large heap and a few of the other Death Eaters apparated away, the sound of soft pops filling the room. Only Malfoy and Lestrange remained.
Lestrange leapt to his feet, tore his wand from his sleeve, and took a step towards Harry.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry called out. His spell hit the brown-haired Death Eater squarely in the chest. The wizard fell backwards and tripped over a present, landing backwards in the pile of rubbish that was once the Dursley Christmas tree; his wand rolling harmlessly near Aunt Petunia's feet. As the wizard fell, Harry could feel a boiling streak of light pass by his face, he fell back instinctively and then turned as he heard a high-pitched yelp as the spell caught the House Elf and threw it through the window, shattering the glass and bouncing off the snowy grass.
"A wise tactician takes out the strongest first," Malfoy said dangerously. "You are an apt wizard, Potter, but not yet fully trained. I have no idea why he has called us away, but that will not prevent any unfinished business you and I have." Lucius raised his wand and pointed it at Harry who was sprawled on the ground. "Ava..." Harry braced himself, but before the wizard could issue his curse, Harry heard a shout and a bright red light emit from behind Malfoy. The elder wizard screamed and fell to his knees, reaching behind his back to put out the flames as his wand rolled under a nearby chair.
Harry looked past the fallen wizard and to his Aunt, who held Lestrange's wand and the most surprised expression on her face.
She dropped the wand as if it were feces and kicked it away. "I... I...," she began and looked at her husband who was now being helped into a chair by her son. She shook and led herself to another chair and fell into it, looking at the blonde wizard in disbelief as she wiped her hand against the chair, as if she were cleaning it.
"Nollo is here," a squeaky voice croaked. The elf climbed back into the house through the broken window and with a snap of its fingers repaired the glass. "Master is now safe as Nollo promised to keep Master safe." The elf walked over and stood by Harry. "This will take Nollo a long time, but Nollo will clean..."
"Aagghh," Harry jumped and turned from the elf as Dudley screamed, "He's dead! HE'S DEAD!" Dudley looked at Harry and pointed at Lestrange's body. "You killed him... with your wand you..."
"But..." Harry began to shake as he looked over to the corner. During his fall, Lestrange impaled himself on the short remnant of the metal pole that was once the Christmas tree. "He fell... and landed..."
"You killed my blood," Malfoy said, clenching his teeth in anger and pain. "But, all will be equal tonight. That little Mudblood will have a Christmas she'll never forget..."
Harry turned to Malfoy and put his wand under the man's chin. "What do you mean?"
"Wonder why no one is here? No Aurors despite the mess we've made?" Malfoy chuckled ominously. "A little diversion. Create some panic in Muggleland and every Auror and able-bodied Ministry official will have to be on call to fix things right. More memory charms tonight than Lockhart placed in a lifetime, I would wager. Of course, that little Mudblood and her family won't need fancy charms. Just three finely carved granite tombstones and the knowledge that you, Harry Potter, were – at least indirectly – responsible for her death."
"HERMIONE!" Harry bellowed. "Trying to level the playing field for your whining, inbred son?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "I should..."
"Crucio me like you tried with Bellatrix? That pathetic little attempt," Malfoy mocked. "You have to really want to..."
Harry's blood boiled and the boy took a step back. He leveled his wand directly at Lucius' head. He took a deep breath, his hand shaking and he before the killing curse could completely leave his lips, he heard a soft pop and a hand over his mouth. Harry pulled away but the person was quicker, grabbing his wand.
"Don't do it boy," Mad Eye put Harry's wand away. "This scum deserves it, believe me..."
"Hermione..." Harry began.
"Is fine. A tad hurt, but she is fine." Mad Eye turned to Malfoy and with a snap of his fingers, bound the wizard. "Don't try to apparate unless you want torn apart..." Turning back to Harry he added. "That cat of hers managed to get into her room and warn a photo of your friend. His photo then went back home to a photo his Mum had and I guess wrote some sort of message. She and her family are fine - nothing that even Muggle medicine can't handle. When we got word of other 'underage' activities around here, we figured that it must have been a diversion." Mad Eye inspected the room. "Looks like you handled yourself quite nicely."
"With a bit of help," Harry said, looking at the elf and then panning to his Aunt who was still silently shaking in her chair.
"I never knew about my parents until after Lily left for Hogwarts," Petunia sat at the table, rubbing her hands over her face. She kept her eyes down, apparently too terrified to look at Vernon, who was staring at her in shock. "I could never figure out why they were so proud until I learned that they were from... there..." She gulped and took a few measured breaths to calm herself. "They had no magical talent and since jobs were not plentiful or well-paying for squibs they decided to go into this world. Given everything with Grindelwald and You-Know-Who, I suppose that they felt it safer. I would have never known if it weren't for the fact I overheard conversations. For all we knew, Lily and I grew up in a normal suburban home. However, I still think they did the right thing." She looked at Harry and said, "The freak world isn't safe, it's dangerous. When you came here, I swore that I would keep you safe... like I wanted for Dudley..."
"What does Dudley have to do with this?" Vernon roared. "Why didn't you go... get a letter... whatever..."
"In rare cases," Moody interjected, "someone with slight latent magical talents can, in extreme circumstances, perform magic. It's not unheard of for squibs to do some very, very basic magic. Quickspell makes a fortune selling short courses. The results are usually not encouraging though." Moody looked at Petunia. "I'll assume the stress and adrenaline... however I am curious on how you knew that particular curse?"
Petunia continued, "I owled Dumbledore and agreed to continue Harry's care if he promised not to send a... letter... to Dudley." Petunia looked at her son who was wide-eyed in surprise. "I have no idea if he has any...err...abilities and given that Harry was here it was easy enough to put everything on him."
The woman took a deep breath and a sip of water and looked at the table. After a few long moments she finally had the courage to look up and meet Vernon's gaze. "I did not want part of... them... all freaks and just so... abnormal. Of course, when I was younger, I was curious. The more I learned, the more I was convinced. I would be forced to join my parents when they dropped off or picked up Lily at King's Cross. I would make it a point to..." She jumped as another wizard, one with brown hair and amber eyes suddenly appeared in the room. She paused and watched as the man nodded and then took a seat next to Harry, deciding not to make an issue of it. "I would make it a point to hide among the pillars and listen. I heard about the lessons and tidbits that my parents did not talk about. I came to recognize one in particular -- a sickly, greasy dark haired boy who knew all sorts of dark things. He would sit against a pillar, mainly alone, and recite various spells out loud as he committed them to memory." She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "I often wondered if he knew if I was there... odd boy... the biggest freak of them all."
"Well..." Vernon cleared his throat. "That does not explain – THAT!" He pointed his sausage-like finger to the living room where a gray house elf was busy cleaning. "What the bloody hell is that and why can't we just get rid of it?"
"It is a House Elf," Petunia started to explain. "It came with...err...him." She pointed at Harry. "A few days after Harry arrived, the elf showed up at the door while you were at work. Apparently he was not at the house when it was destroyed... Potter had sent him on an errand. I've tried to get rid of it..."
"You mean it has been living HERE all these years!" Vernon roared. His face turned from a sickly green to a more familiar crimson-purple.
"Well, did you ever wonder how the dinner dishes got done when we retired early or how I could cook your favorite pot roast in under an hour!" Petunia replied.
"Or how the house is unnaturally clean?" Harry muttered to himself.
"Petunia! GET IT OUT OF HERE!" Vernon screamed so hard that Harry swore that the room was shaking.
"She can't," Moody said lazily. "And watch your temper. I've put up with the 'freaks' comments long enough and it's early enough in the morning without my tea and I am a tad edgy."
"Guests wish tea?" Nollo quipped as it skipped out of the living room and fetched a kettle from the cupboard, happily filling it.
"I thought those things were supposed to be neither seen or heard?" Vernon said watching the odd little creature bouncing around the kitchen. He turned to Moody, "What's this about she can't get rid of it...?"
"The elf is Harry's," Moody explained. "Bound to the Potters I suppose and is obliged to serve and protect Harry. I wondered why Albus was so confident. The protection from his mother's sacrifice was one area, but I suppose he knew about this and the added protection. Elves have powerful magic – a secret weapon, I suppose. It never came out until it perceived a real threat."
"So when Harry leaves – as in the next few minutes," Vernon said, his voice shaking and deliberately pronouncing each word, "it will go with him?"
"It can't go to Hogwarts," Moody said. "Students are not allowed personal elves. We could have Harry store it elsewhere, but if the Death Eaters return and look for him, you might want it around." Moody leaned over the table. "Without a wand your little wifey couldn't produce a spell to save your skin and even with one, what you saw earlier was a... if you excuse the expression..." He sneered at Petunia. "A freak accident..." He sat up in the chair and smoothed out his shirt, "Even a Muggle as dense as you might see the benefit of some free services and a compact body guard. Just tell it to go back into its shell and you won't know its here, just like the past fifteen years."
[END OF CHAPTER]
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