Potter's Resistance 1: Breaking Ties
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter.
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Chapter 6: Serpents' place in the
world
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Harry stood leaned against the wall of his Potions lab, staring blankly at the trio of cauldrons with completed potions needed for the 'Cerebrum trafero' ritual. It was strongly advised to test the purity of the potions, less the ritual backfire on its performer, but Harry could tell outright that the brews would pass - not with flying colours by a long shot, but they'd certainly end up within the minimal quality limits. Harry actually didn't know whether to be happy or sad by this development. Sure, his academic side was overjoyed with his success, but his stomach still clenched at the thought of what he knew would be the next step in the process.
For the hundredth time that morning, Harry glanced at his wristwatch. He had more than half an hour to get ready for his meeting with Macmillan, which was scheduled for 11:30. Harry sighed and started casting preservation and testing charms on the potions. There was no use in procrastinating any longer - he knew this day would come. Hell, it might even turn out to be fun taking some action back to the Death Eaters.
Having finished with the preservative spell-work, Harry strolled out of the lab and went to get ready for the meeting. It was time for some information gathering.
"Lucas," Joseph Macmillan nodded respectfully from the other side of a table, in one of the private booth at Matt's Place. "You look good. Your new book serves you well?"
"Yes, it's great," replied Harry and then licked his lips thoughtfully. "Just out of curiosity, did you ever figure out the true identity behind some of Anarchia nicknames?"
Joseph shrugged. "I've had a theory or two."
"So, what did you do about it? I mean, if it's a prominent member of society and such?"
"What did I do?" Josh chuckled. "The same thing you'll do. Nothing. Remember Lucas, what's learned from Anarchia, stays within its members. So, unless you can confirm that knowledge from an outside source, you'd better keep any theories you may have to yourself."
Harry sighed. "I figured as much."
"Besides, it's not like there aren't ways to mess with the society nicknames. It'll cost you an article or two, but I'm certain you can arrange with Anarchia to change your posting name or even gang up with a few other members and post under the same name. If I were you, I'd triple-check that theory of yours, before confronting anyone about anything you might think you know. You don't wanna shoot and miss on this one kid, trust me."
"You're right. I'd rather not lose my membership over some foolish desire to appease my curiosity," Harry agreed, deciding to drop the subject. Even though Joseph's theory about several people posting under 'one flag' was interesting, Harry remained convinced he had truly ferreted out Dumbledore's underground identity, largely thanks to his unique point of view.
"Right you are," nodded Josh. "After all, you did pay good money for the damn book. Speaking of which, how's the third instalment of the initiation fee coming along?"
Harry shifted in his seat. "Fine. No problem there. The plan's coming along nicely, it'll sure make a bang," he said brightly, while nodding enthusiastically.
"You forgot, didn't you?" asked Josh, seeing right through his playful act.
"Yep, slipped my mind completely," Harry chuckled, still nodding brightly.
"You really shouldn't joke about it, Lucas. You've had a lot of luck getting accepted to Anarchia. You shouldn't throw that away just because you 'forgot' about your obligations," admonished Joseph sternly.
"I know, I know," sighed Harry seriously. "I was just so caught up with some other schemes, that playing some silly prank on Fudge completely slipped my mind."
"And I suppose this information you've requested has something to do with these grand 'schemes' of yours?" asked Josh, probing the ground gently.
"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I just like prying into other people's business, like a certain someone I know," said Harry evasively, looking pointedly at his semi-friend.
"Alright, alright, I get the hint," said Joseph, raising his hands defensively. "I can't help but feel curious, Lucas, but as long it's just my own personal curiosity, your secrets are safe. Of course, if someone else were to hire me to dig a little deeper, then..." Joseph shrugged apologetically.
"You are free to try, my friend," Harry smiled, indicating that he understood that everyone was a fair game in Josh's line of business. "So, about those files..."
"Right. Well, the easy one first. Auror Gudmund Pederson, Hogwarts generation 1992, Hufflepuff. Both parents deceased, no regular contacts with any other closer relations. Barely scraped through the Auror training... But I'm sure you've already found his grades in Anarchia. Hired directly to Fudge's personal bodyguards, which is... highly irregular."
Harry tried to say something, but Joseph interrupted him. "Yes, of course I checked it out. It seems that his father, a director of the Goblin Liaison Office at the time, did some favour for Fudge when he was only a young upstart in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. Fudge, in his infinite wisdom, declared formally that he owed the Pederson family a favour and pledged that he will repay it someday. A few years later, the old Pederson unexpectedly died. Fudge moved on, eventually becoming the Minister of Magic. Young Gudmund had probably found mentions of that pledge in his deceased father's documents, and decided to call upon the favour. Of course, since the promise hadn't been blood bonded or written down in a contract, Fudge could have just as easily refused. However, it seems that Pederson played his cards right and managed to swindle the idiot into letting him into his elite unit. Fudge's probably regretting it now, since the klutz is nowhere near the level needed for that unit. They'll probably flunk him out at his next review."
Harry sat there in complete silence, mulling over the information he had just heard. It all seemed to fit perfectly with his plan. "You have that in a written form?"
"Yes, here it is. Just... don't let it circulate around," said Josh and handed him a rather thin file.
"Right, no worries. So, about that other thing..."
"Now Joseph, unlike this Pederson fellow, which was a rather routine job, this other gig was anything but. You do understand that Augustus Rookwood is the Dark Lord's top agent, not to mention he's on every Ministry's 'most wanted' list. Furthermore, he is currently working on a secret research project under the direct command of the Dark Lord himself. I had to gather an entire bundle of snoops and informants to help me look into it. Let me tell you, it took us more than two weeks just to pinpoint Rookwood's hiding place, and I won't even mention the resources we've spent on digging in deeper..."
"Ok, ok, stop," said Harry raising his hand. "I told you to spare no expenses and I meant it. I'll gladly pay up all the bills, as long as the info you've gained is good."
"Very well. 500 galleons. And trust me, that's just to cover our basic..." started Joseph uncomfortably, but was once again interrupted by Harry, who wordlessly counted five banknotes and handed them over to his informant.
"OK, now spill it," he said after Josh had packed the money.
"Augustus Rookwood, Ravenclaw alumni, graduated from Hogwarts in 1962, Head Boy, the best student of generation, yada, yada, yada. You probably know all that. Now, for the fun part. After escaping capture in the Department Of Mysteries, back in June, he was assigned a new task. It's all very hush-hush, but from what little the Inner Circle knows, it's some sort of a research project under direct supervision of the Dark Lord himself. Now, as I've told you, it took my guys a while, but in the end, they've managed to pinpoint Rookwood's exact location."
At Joseph's pause, Harry raised an eyebrow and then snorted. "Who's a showman now?"
"Now Lucas, if someone asks you where you got this information..."
"...I'll tell them I researched the Death Eaters' activities myself, until I figured it out."
Joseph sighed, leaned forward and whispered. "No. 13 Blackmore road, Knockturn Alley."
"What? That's not five minutes away from here!" Harry hissed back.
Josh snorted and nodded. "My own reaction was about the same. My men had been tracking Death Eater movements and rumours all over the Britain, only to end up where they'd first started, in our own back yard. It seems that life truly has a sense of irony."
"Yeah, tell me about it," mumbled Harry. "So, what do you know of this place?"
"It's a rundown, two story house, nothing too eye-catchy but sturdy nonetheless. Rookwood left the house only four times while we've been watching it. Each time he was only gone for about an hour or so, presumably submitting reports on his progress to the Dark Lord. Before you ask, we couldn't follow him since he was using public apparation zones. There're just too many different traces to follow there, not to mention it's kinda hard to cast illegal tracers with several Aurors guarding the zone. Anyway, no one else had visited the house, suggesting that Rookwood is truly working directly under the Dark Lord's orders."
"What about security?" interjected Harry.
"Yes, I was just getting to that. The good news first. There are no heavy concealment or displacement wards around the premises. Understandable, if you think about it; the amount of ambient magic in the Alleys would tear something like Fidelius to shreds. As for the bad news... well, pretty much everything else is on it - shields, barriers, wall fortifications, automated defences, sensors; Not to mention some of the best magical filters my guys had ever seen. I'm telling you, that place is a blasted fortress - no living thing goes in and no magic leaks out. Rookwood must be doing some serious spell-work in there, if he needs such strong barriers to keep it hidden from the Ministry."
Harry set pensively, nodding in understanding. "Have you tried to infiltrate the house?"
"Yeah, we've tried alright. The key word being 'tried'. That damn place is locked up so tightly that we haven't even managed to take a peek inside, not to mention actually enter the house. Hell, we've even tried with possessing insects and sneaking them in with Rookwood, but those bloody blocking wards would immediately cut off the mind-links with our thralls. I'm telling you straight out, there's absolutely no way to get in there unnoticed. The only way I can think off would be amassing an army and outright blowing through the wards... That is, if you don't mind the Dark Lord dropping in to investigate."
Harry sat there, mulling through this information. He was well aware that he had no chance of slipping past the wards, if Joseph and his men couldn't do it after weeks of trying. The only way to catch Rookwood would be during one of his forays outside the house, but that could easily turn into a boring week staking out. Not to mention he would rather take Rookwood on the home ground, instead of chasing him down some alley. Harry had no illusion that he could easily defeat a senior Unspeakable in a fair duel, at least with his current magical skills. What he needed to do was trap the man or take him by surprise. And he could hardly do it the middle of Knockturn Alley, with a window of opportunity of only a couple of minutes.
Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. He was certain that he was missing something. There had to be a better way to do this... Like somehow luring Rookwood out of the house and then jumping him. But how to do that? He could almost imagine himself knocking on the door and yelling "Pizza delivery!" No, he doubted Rookwood would even hear him though all those barriers... Suddenly, he had an epiphany.
"Josh, what are the intervals between Rookwood's appearances?"
"Well, we've found the house after we followed Rookwood during one of his forays. The next time we saw him was 7 days later, then 5 days later and finally 8 days after that. That was two days ago. So, there's no pattern, if that's what you're looking for."
Harry nodded, pleased with this. "Tell me, Josh, was there something else interesting your men saw there?"
Joseph looked rather confused by this. "Well, I don't know... What exactly are you expecting to hear?"
"Snakes. Has someone reported seeing snakes around the house?" Harry asked hopefully.
Josh looked startled. "Now that I think about it, one of the snoops complained how he almost got bitten by a small snake. He was just about to curse it, when it slithered away and slipped through some sort of porthole into the house. He's been joking ever since then that Rookwood is spending so much time around the Dark Lord, that he even started adopting His habits..." Joseph saw Harry's smug expression and narrowed his eyes. "Lucas, what do you know?"
"Think about it, Josh," said Harry knowingly. "You said it yourself that the wards around the perimeter are blocking any magic from entering or leaving the place. Considering the strength of the wards and the facts that conjured animals couldn't be controlled inside the house, it's safe to assume that no magical link to the outside could operate through the wards."
Joseph nodded, still eyeing him confusedly.
Harry raised an eyebrow and leaned in significantly. "Even one very specific link, which Rookwood and his buddies use to seek out their master."
"The Dark Mark!" Joseph gasped in realization.
"Exactly. Seeing as how Rookwood is leaving the house at irregular intervals, the Dark Lord must be in contact with him somehow, telling him times and places of their next meetings. Since the Dark Mark doesn't work inside the wards, the Dark Lord had to find some other way of keeping in touch with Rookwood, while still leaving no doubt of his identity."
"Thus, the snakes. Only a Parselmouth could command the snakes into the house and only the Dark Lord knows where the house is. The perfect communication system," finished Joseph.
Not so perfect, after all, Harry smirked mentally. Now that he figured out a weakness in Rookwood's defences, his capture seemed much more real and doable than moments ago. And even though there was still a lot to be done and even more that could go wrong, Harry felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. This morning, he had a vague notion of what needed to be done and not a lot more. Now, he at least had an actual plan to follow.
"Too bad Potter's gone missing. You could have used him to contact Rookwood, him being Parselmouth and all... if that's what you're planning to do, of course," said Joseph, rousing Harry from his scheming.
"Oh, I'll figure something else out. I might try to capture Dark Lord's messenger snake and swap the message without it noticing." Joseph was about to say that the Dark Lord had surely protected his snakes against something like that, but Harry spoke right on.
"Anyway, speaking of the Boy-Who-Lived, I have an update on Potter-hunting, if you're interested," he said, trying to move the conversation away from his plans about Rookwood.
"Ah, the Australian rainforests. Not exactly my area of expertise, but my colleague of sorts Feroll Bold gave me a rundown of what had happened out there."
"Oh? Friendly competition?" asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.
"Not exactly. Bold is more into the... eh, practical side of the tracking business. But he has a nice information network outside the islands. We often work together... cultural exchange and all that rot," clarified Joseph.
"I'm sure. Anyway, I see that you already know the basics, but I can give you a complete rundown of the Order's unsuccessful retrieval operation. It's an interesting story, if nothing else."
"Very well. I'm all ears," said Joseph and lolled back in his chair.
And even as Harry started retelling his latest adventure - from an outsider's point of view, of course - deep down, he was already solidifying his plans for the rest of the day. He was certain that, by nightfall, he would have his final ingredient safely tucked away in his warehouse.
Half an hour later found Harry inside Magical Menagerie, the 'official' pet-shop of the Diagon Alley. Of course, it was far from the only one; Many scoundrels traded with rare and dangerous animals, but they all dealt directly with customers, not having enough traffic to open up their own dedicated stores. Magical Menagerie was practically the only true shop of this kind in the whole England.
Harry was surprised by the new look of the shop's interior. Gone were the fuzzy white rabbits, furry cats or children's favourite puffskeins. In their place were now cages with guard dogs, poisonous scorpions, bugs with huge pincers, nasty looking vultures and other dangerous animals that could be used for personal protection in this time of instability. A special place in the store was reserved for snakes, which were placed in a huge glass casing, along the entire far wall of the room.
Harry approached the glass wall and saw that various eco-systems were being magically simulated in different parts of the huge showcase. Many different types of snakes took their residence inside artificial forests, deserts and grasslands, freely moving through the huge area, but generally resting within their chosen climates. The place looked truly luxurious and comfortable, which Harry found rather strange. He clearly remembered his visit to this shop prior to his third year. Back then, all the snakes where crammed inside small glass casings, hidden from view in a far corner of the shop.
I guess snakes are back in fashion, with the Dark Lord's return and all, Harry thought as he observed the dozing reptiles.
He was interrupted by the arrival of a young male worker. "Feeding time," he explained to Harry, as he opened up the lid and started throwing all sorts of small animals into the tank.
"This case looks awfully... opulent," commented Harry.
The youth snorted. "Tell me about it. With the way Mrs. Sheridan has me treating them, sometimes I wish I was a snake."
"But how does it pay off, investing all this effort just to keep the snakes happy?"
"You're kidding, right? We're selling reptiles so fast, we can hardly keep up with demands."
Harry had some idea what the man was talking about, but he still raised a questioning eyebrow. You never know when you might hear something you didn't know before.
Seeing Harry's questioning look, the young man elaborated. "There's a word on the street that You-Know-Who might spare your life if he sees you having a snake for a pet and treating it nicely. People are practically competing who would buy the biggest, meanest snake and set it up inside the greatest, most opulent environment. It's the latest trend, mate." He leaned in closer and whispered. "It's rather silly if you ask me. I mean, with You-Know-Who being Parselmouth and all, your pet will more likely end up strangling you than saving your life... But hey, the business is booming, and a pet snake is at least a little bit better than all those fake protection amulets that are overflowing the streets. Who am I to complain?"
At this point, the snakes sensed a prey in the vicinity and started rousing up, getting ready for a hunt. Thus, Harry was once again reminded why he had decided against buying a snake for company and protection after learning he was a Parselmouth in his second year.
»Food.«
»Mouse.«
»Hungry.«
»Mine.«
»Tasty.«
Yep, eloquent as ever, Harry mused. Being a Parselmouth was good for having snakes carry out simple orders in exchange for food, but anyone expecting mind-boggling philosophical debates would be sorely disappointed. Snakes simply didn't have the necessity to evolve their brains enough for chatting about weather or discussing each other's feelings. That was why Harry was extremely surprised when he heard hiss from the other end of the cage.
»Hey, big guy!«
Harry whipped his head around and saw that the noise was coming from a small adder, hidden beneath the roots of an artificial tree. He was less than two feet long, black with silver patterns on his back; In fact, he was rather unremarkable, save for a nasty scar going straight through his missing left eye. Strangely, he was holding a still living green frog in his mouth. Harry was just about to answer, when another voice beat him to it.
»Mine redhop!« hissed an ominous looking cobra, staring down at the adder. Harry was confused for a moment, but then he saw an exotic-looking shinny red frog, inching away from the cobra, who had been eyeing it a moment before. With a quick glance around the habitat, Harry noticed that most of the poisonous snakes were praying upon this type of frogs specifically, momentarily ignoring all the other species. They must be some sort of a special treat for the snakes, Harry mused, as he observed the conversation.
The small adder didn't seem afraid at all. Actually, he started dancing seductively in front of the cobra, dangling the struggling green frog just inches away from the other snake's head.
»Come on, dumbass, you know you want it,« he hissed softly.
At sight of a food so near, the cobra's instinct kicked in, making it forget all about its previous, much tastier prey. It started dancing in the adder's rhythm, hungrily eyeing the frog in his mouth.
»Give me greenhop!« it hissed to the smaller snake.
»Ah, you want the greenhop, don't you? It's so slick and tasty, mmm... Well, it's all yours, big guy, just come and get it,« the adder hissed seductively, while slowly inching away from the cobra.
»Give me! I'm stronger! It's mine!« the cobra hissed fiercely, poising for an attack on the smaller snake.
»Yes, you are so strong and big and fast,« the adder hissed soothingly, still dangling the frog in his mouth. »Don't have much of an attention span, though,« he snickered under his breath.
Snickered? Harry mused, enthralled by the performance.
»Give me! Give! Give greenhop or I attack! Give now!« the cobra hissed, totally paralyzed by its raging instincts.
»You want it, dumbfuck? You really want it? Then, have it!« hissed the adder and threw the frog against the nearby tree. The cobra sprung after its prey, totally forgetting about the other snake or that fancy red frog, which was still standing by the glass wall, looking around confusedly.
»Sucker,« snickered the adder, as he slithered away to hunt down the real treat.
"I see you've found Pirate Dick," said a voice from behind Harry's back. He turned around and saw the same attendant that was feeding the snakes earlier. "Completely ordinary domestic adder, found in abundance all over the English countryside, with a missing left eye to boot. Nothing remarkable in any way, you'd say. So, why do you think it's here?"
Harry already had a pretty good idea, but he asked anyway. "Why?"
"Well, old Dick here is sort of a shop legend, or... a mascot, if you will. No. Not a mascot, since we aren't exactly showing him around, or anything... Err..." the young man stuttered, thinking how exactly to phrase the explanation of the adder's presence in the shop.
»I prefer the term 'splendidly delicious part of décor', but it's your call really,« threw in Dick, while encircling the red frog and waiting for it to die from his poisonous bite. Harry had to fight hard to remain impassive.
"Let's just say that he's Mrs. Sheridan's unofficial pet of sorts... And he really doesn't eat that much, so it's not a big bother keeping him around."
»Gee thanks, you make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,« said the adder sarcastically, while eying the still struggling frog, pondering from which side to swallow it.
"Anyway, this old guy's been here since long before my time. Almost fifteen years, I've been told-"
»Merlin, don't remind me,« sighed Dick.
"-and during that time, he'd tried to escape Lord knows how many times, at least twenty since I started working here. He was rather unsuccessful, as you can see-"
»Just had to rub it in.«
"-but still, his plans were truly remarkable, for a snake of course. Although, he did try playing dead at least dozen times already. These days, we just zap him awake and move on."
»Hey, it's a damn good plan! It's not my fault that old bat Sheridan isn't as gullible as she used to be,« yelled Dick indignantly, at the moment more interested in conversation then food.
"And of course, there are his other antics, like the one you've just witnessed. I actually don't remember the last time we had to feed Dick separately. He usually just tricks the other snakes into giving him their own food. That's why we've started calling him 'pirate' in the first place. Well, that and the missing eye, of course."
»They've even tried making me wear an eye patch, would you believe that? Too bad that bloke had an antidote ready on hand,« hissed Dick more to himself. It seemed like he was simply daydreaming on having an intelligent conversation, not really expecting any answers. Harry found the little snake more and more interesting by the minute.
"If he's so smart, then how come he's still here? Someone should have bought him off years ago," asked Harry.
"Well, first off, Dick is actually rarely seen at all, except on a feeding day, like today, or during one of his insane escape schemes."
»I hate attention. Fans can be quite bothersome.«
"Then, there's his whole appearance. Let's face it, when people come here looking to buy a snake, then don't actually seek out an old, scared specimen of a species that can probably be found in their own backyard."
»With the way I'm being treated here, I sometimes wonder why I even bother sticking around... Oh, right, must be the whole 'imprisonment in a cage' thing. Wow, who would have thought?« grumbled Dick sarcastically to himself.
"And of course, just to make sure, Mrs. Sheridan had overpriced him to a level that no one would even bother giving him a second look. So, I'm quite certain that old Dick would stay here for a long, long time."
With each word, the little snake seemed more and more depressed. »I wish I was dead...« he deadpanned. »Hey! If they thought I was dead, then... Oh, never mind.«
Harry's lips twitched, but he managed to stifle a laughter. "Well, as luck would have it, I'm very interested in purchasing this... Pirate Dick of yours." Three eyes snapped at Harry, one pair confused and the third one hopeful but apprehensive.
"You are? Well, I'm not sure he's for sale at all. I mean... he is the store's mascot... sort of..." blurted the attendant.
"Be that as it may, you said it yourself that the snake is overpriced, indicating that it is indeed available for sale," was Harry's smooth reply.
"Err, I'm afraid I'll have to bring this to Mrs. Sheridan. Would you please excuse me for a moment?" said the young man and then hurried away to the other end of the store. He was back a minute later, dragging along a short, older witch with thick glasses. She seemed like a sweet old lady, what with that good-natured smile on her kind, grandmotherly face and overall kind appearance.
Maybe even too kind for the biggest pet-merchant in England, mused Harry, subconsciously lifting his guard. After years of dealing with the Headmaster, Harry knew that type of mask well. There could easily be a shark hidden underneath her innocent demeanour.
"My name is Selma Sheridan and I am the owner of this store, dear. I've been told you're looking to purchase our dear old Pirate Dick, this shop's beloved mascot," said the old lady sweetly.
Harry smiled back even sweeter. He knew that she was pumping up the price and he would have none of it. "Mascot?" he asked in mock confusion. "I wasn't aware that Dick here is your mascot. I was actually under impression he has been spending most of his days forgotten in the back of his tank, fighting for survival on his own."
»Take that, you old bat!« hissed said snake from behind Harry's back. »Cursed gargoyle is spending more time looking after those experimental monsters she keeps in her basement, than us, proper house pets,« he seethed, making Harry's eyes light up with understanding.
So, I WAS right! It seems there's a lot more to the sweet old grandma Selma than meets the eye, he mused thoughtfully.
In the meantime, Sheridan threw an annoyed glare at her young worker, who had obviously revealed too much for her liking, but then she quickly reverted to her sweet old self. "Oh, don't you worry about him, young man. Old Dick here is one smart and crafty fellow, a true Slytherin if there ever was one." She tried to chuckle good-naturedly, but to Harry, it sounded like an old hag's evil laughter at seeing babies boiled in hot oil. "Actually, him being so smart and self-sufficient is a big part of his whole charm and appeal." She then sighed theatrically and shook her head sadly. "Without him around, this store simply wouldn't be the same."
"I see," said Harry while planning how to proceed with the next part. "Well, if this snake is truly so precious to you ma'am, then I wouldn't dream of robbing you of its presence." Harry noticed slightly panicked expression on the woman's face with silent satisfaction. "Of course, my friend from the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures would still need his birthday present. Hmm... Maybe a specimen from that special stock you keep in your basement would do the trick," Harry mused aloud, while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The woman's face exploded with panic for a moment, before reverting to a blank mask. Only her narrowed eyes revealed her anger.
"100 galleons," she said sharply, her mask completely off.
"For an ordinary, domestic adder? You should be happy with 10," replied Harry coldly.
"You saw what he can do, young man. 80!" she snapped with a nasty glare directed at Harry.
"That scar and the missing eye don't make him look any prettier. 25."
"65, you're not buying him for his looks."
"65 galleons for the last few months of the old fellow's life? It's hardly worth 35!"
"His very unique and one-of-a-kind life, you mean? 55, and no lower!"
"Oh, but you have a lot more unique entities in your possession, don't you, my dear Mrs. Sheridan?" hissed Harry snidely.
At this point, both bidders were leaning forward, noses almost touching, trying to outglare each other. Sheridan was looking particularly nasty after that last comment, her body shaking in anger, looking like it might explode any second. "45 galleons, and that's my final offer!" screeched the old lady in rage, spraying saliva all over Harry's face.
"Taken!," snarled Harry back, retaliating with the same measure. Both bidders kept their places in the ensued silence, still trying to murder each other with imaginary death rays from their eyes.
»Oh, it's so nice to see my fate being discussed in such a caring and spiritualized manner. Would you like me to wrap myself up? I hope that me still breathing wouldn't be too much of a bother for you,« hissed sarcastically Dick, who had been completely silent during the bidding process. He seemed royally pissed now, and maybe even a bit afraid. For all his complaints and escape attempts, Magical Menagerie has still been his home for the past 15 years or so. Unlike his safe and secure cage, his new owner was very much an unknown quantity.
On the other side of the glass wall, his hissing had broken the silence between Sheridan and Harry.
"Well, we're all settled then!" chirped the old lady, somehow managing to regain her previous façade. "Would you prefer a metallic cage or a glass case, dear?"
"Glass case, ma'am," replied Harry equally sweetly.
"You, boy! Stop gawking and see that it's all taken care of! And charge the customer," snapped the storeowner at the young attendant, who was still standing beside them, glaring stupidly.
"Yes Mrs. Sheridan! Right away, ma'am," he stumbled and hurried off to bring a small glass case for the snake.
"Well, if that's all, I should probably leave you in the capable hands of our young attendants. You know how it is dear, there is always more work to be done," she tried to chuckle kindly, but her flashing eyes somehow ruined the effect.
"Of course, ma'am. Thank you for your assistance and have a nice day," said Harry politely.
"You too dear, you too," smiled the sweet old lady, before turning around and stalking to the opposite corner of the shop in a huff. As soon as her back was turned, Harry's kind smile faltered, his face reverting to a blank expression. "Ugly bitch," he mumbled at Sheridan's retreating back, at the same time as she murmured "Obnoxious brat,"
With one last parting sneer, Harry turned around to take another look at his new snake. He couldn't help but conclude that this shopping trip has turned out to be much more interesting than he expected.
Twenty minutes later Harry was sitting on a couch in his tent, looking at a glass case, placed on top of a coffee table in front of him. His green eyes were locked with the single blue eye of his new snake, both intelligent entities trying to figure each other out. Slowly, a devious smirk stretched across Harry's lips.
He stood up and retrieved a large tome on intermediate-level potions from a nearby bookcase. He threw himself back on the couch and started turning pages, pretending not to notice his new snake's curious stare. "Aha," he said after few seconds of searching. "Cortex venomous solution," he murmured, inventing a name on the fly.
"Let's see now..." he murmured, "Armadillo bile, got it... knotgrass, already have it... wormwood petals, yes... the main ingredient - a magical serpent's body parts..." Harry briefly glanced at Dick, who leaned backwards in surprise, his single eye widening slightly, his mouth hanging open. Harry nodded to himself and chirped "Yup!" before returning to his 'instructions'.
"Before starting with ingredient processing, it's recommended to boil the snake in hot water for several minutes, until its skin softens, for the sake of easier separation later on," muttered Harry. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Dick shifting nervously in his tank, looking all around him for a way out.
"Start the process by removing the snake's fangs. Regular muggle pincers have proven to be the most suitable tool for this task." At hearing this, Dick immediately clamped his mouth closed, hiding his fangs protectively. He then started hitting the top of the box nervously, vainly trying to lift the lid up.
"Skin the snake by making long, gentle cuts along the length of its body. The serpent's boiled skin should make the knife glide smoother through the scales. The potion will be more potent if you manage to keep the snake alive as long as possible." Harry had to lift the book to hide his smile, when Dick started slamming the glass walls with his head, trying to break them.
"After separating the skin, cut off the snake's head, and then chop the body on even pieces. For the brewing process, keep fangs, skin, blood and some of the muscles. The rest can be thrown away or used as food for other animals," Harry closed the book with a self-satisfied nod and stood up, directing his attention to the snake in front of him. Poor Dick seemed to be in a full-blown panic attack. He kept glancing around him panicky, desperately looking for a way out.
"Well, I guess I should get started," mused Harry as he pulled out one of the switchblades he had confiscated several days ago.
At seeing the knife, Dick froze for a split second, his eye budged out in complete horror. Then, he promptly fell down, and started trashing around the tank, in apparent pain. After a few seconds, his twitches became weaker and further between, while the small snake let go some painful hisses and whimpers. At last, with a few final convulsions, Dick's eye glazed over and his forked tongue rolled out, leaving the perfect impression of a dead snake.
Not being able to hold it any longer, Harry let go of a booming laugh. He's well rehearsed, I'll give him that, he thought, while holding his stomach and trying to stop his snickers. »It's all right Dick, you can stop pretending now,« Harry hissed to the little snake in Parseltongue.
At hearing this, Dick's head snapped up, his eye looking at Harry incredulously. »You... you... speak? You... are Parselmouth? And you've been pretending...« Then his eye narrowed in annoyance. »Hey! You pranked me!«
Harry smiled and replied, »Yes, sorry about that. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.«
Dick grumbled a little but then tensed again and gave Harry a suspicious look. »You really aren't gonna kill me? You aren't working for... him?«
Harry gave the snake a confused look. »Him? You mean... Voldemort?«
»Yes, Tom.«
»No, I'm most definitely not working for...« Harry started but then tensed, throwing the snake a suspicious stare. »How did you know Voldemort's real name?«
The snake cringed, realizing his mistake. »Err... Are you sure you're not working for... Voldemort?«
»No, I don't think you'll be seeing your master anytime soon,« replied Harry coldly, already regretting the decision to purchase this snake. He had obviously been in contact with Voldemort. Who knows what secrets he might snitch out to him if he's ever allowed to see him again?
His musings were interrupted when the snake spoke in apparent relief. »Good. Thank Merlin for that. I'm not going anywhere near that traitor ever again if I can help it,« Dick grumbled.
»Traitor?« asked surprised Harry, before his eyes narrowed again. »Just what kind of relationship do you have with Voldemort?«
Dick seemed very nervous and reluctant to answer that question. »Err... you see, I've met him a few weeks... years back and... and he kinda...«
Harry rolled his eyes at Dick's obvious attempt at inventing a lie. Well, what else to expect from someone who'd spent the last fifteen years surrounded by, for all intents and purposes, a bunch of morons, he mused.
»Look, I'm not one of your little idiot palls back from the shop. You either tell me the whole truth or you're back to the ingredients bin,« snapped Harry, glaring at the snake coldly.
»Alright, alright no more bullshit. Just promise me you'll hear me out, alright?« said Dick.
»I'm listening« said Harry impassively.
»Well... you see... I'm kinda... Tom's familiar,« said Dick carefully.
Harry snorted and shook his head. »Yeah, right. Why don't you try again? Everyone knows that Nagini is Voldemort's familiar.«
»Fucking usurper whore! I'm sure that bitch would like nothing better than to grab Tom for herself, but I've gotten better of her. I may have lost my eye, but I survived! And she'll never become Tom's familiar as long as I live!«
Harry just blinked confusedly at the little snake's angry rant. Relaxing a little after deciding that Dick is definitely against Voldemort, Harry lolled back in the couch and said, »Why don't you start from the beginning?«
Dick's earliest memories were of an orphanage and a young human boy named Tom Riddle. Tom often spoke to him and other snakes in the wilderness surrounding the Stockwell Orphanage. Eventually, a sort of a pact had been formed between the two parties. The snakes would provide protection for Tom and generally freak the other children out. In return, Tom would use his newfound social position to acquire enough food for himself and what was practically his first group of followers. Back then, Dick was just an ordinary snake, no brighter than any other, and this deal was good enough for him.
However, everything changed once Tom received a strange letter, with an invitation to a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, somewhere in Scotland highlands. After talking to a funny old man in rainbow-coloured dress, Tom had informed his followers that he would be able to take only one of them with him. After some deliberation and a few fights breaking out amongst the snakes, Dick was the one chosen for this holy task, primarily because of his small size for an adder, which was in contrast with his lethal poison.
Thus, Dick found himself in a new, strange environment, filled with talking paintings, moving staircases and floating ghosts. At first, he was spending most of his time coiled around Tom's arm, ready to strike at whoever tried to bully his human for his worn-out clothes and half-blood status. Still, Tom himself was a far cry from some whiny pushover. In the next few years, he completely turned the tables on his would-be tormentors, becoming the unofficial leader of the Slytherin house.
Alongside his normal studies, Tom soon started experimenting with various forbidden magics, and especially some basic dark rituals. At the time, Dick naturally knew nothing about it. He only noticed that his human started throwing strange colourful lights at him and making him drink foul-tasting liquids. He even did some strange thing with smearing foul paste all over the floor and than cutting some Hufflepuff pet kneazle's throat. In wake of that incident, Dick's intelligence and memory had experienced steady growth. Coupled with his growing understanding of the English language, Dick started to realize that Tom was using some very forbidden and dark spells and potions to slowly infuse him with magic, basically turning him into a magical creature. He didn't mind that at all.
The biggest challenge for the pair came in Tom's fifth year. At the beginning of that year, Tom and Dick have finally discovered the entrance to what Tom had called 'The Chamber of Secrets'. In there, Tom had unwittingly released Slytherin's pet basilisk from his enchanted slumber. The beast immediately requested to be released upon what it called the unworthy students, namely the Muggleborn children. Of course, Tom would have had none of it, if there weren't for a catch. Behind basilisk's chamber lay Slytherin's personal library. Hundred of dark tomes, many of which written by the founder himself, were just sitting there, begging to be read. Unfortunately, the cunning founder had protected his collection well. The books, most of which were written in Parseltongue, could not be taken away from the library. Furthermore, the entrance to the chamber could be gained only with the help of the chamber's basilisk guardian; the beast that had a nasty habit of spending its free time by slithering through the castle and wrecking havoc amongst the 'filthy Mudblood traitors'. Needless to say, these restrictions were a big obstacle for Tom, who was at the time desperately trying to keep up a low profile and stay away from Dumbledore's clutches.
Thus, began the painstaking process of steering the basilisk away from creating too much of a ruckus amongst the students. At the same time, Tom was browsing through the library, desperately trying to memorize as much information as humanly possible. A few messages written in blood and some Gryffindors freaked out by strange noises were usually enough to appease the basilisk for a week or two. But every now and then, the beast would request for some more direct measures to be taken against its old master's enemies. At times like this, Tom would select a target and then carefully arrange the attack so that unfortunate student would only see a reflection of the basilisk's eyes. The last thing Tom needed was for the school to shut down due to some stupid Mudblood's untimely demise. The other students would find private tutors, or transfer to the other schools, but Tom would only get kicked right back to the orphanage.
Still, despite Tom's best efforts, the panic had spread through the wizarding world. The old headmaster was having harder and harder time keeping the parents from pulling their children away from school. Only the fact that World War II was in full swing above Britain made them keep the kids safely inside Hogwarts' wards.
And then, the inevitable happened. That whiny dolt, Myrtle, managed to stumble upon the basilisk during one of Tom's bogus missions, and get her stupid self killed. Tom knew he was in trouble now - the school was bound to get closed down and all the students sent home. Thankfully, Dick came out to his rescue. He told Tom of the time he had stumbled upon a large Gryffindor student and his dangerous Acromantula pet. Tom immediately acted upon the information, and the disaster has been averted. Still, under the transfiguration teacher's scrutiny, Tom was forced to place the basilisk back under the enchanted sleep spell and close the Chamber of Secrets down. He decided that he had gathered enough knowledge for the moment and that the rest could wait for his glorious return as the next world leader.
The biggest consequence of that whole year for Dick came after performing a ritual that Slytherin had initially designed and Tom managed to reproduce from one of the founder's diaries. After sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest and sacrificing a Demiguise that one of Tom's rich Slytherin 'friends' had donated, Dick had gained very useful ability to become disillusioned at will. Unfortunately, that upgrade, coupled with some of the Tom's previous experiments, made him completely unsuitable for any further rituals. But Dick didn't mind at all - he had come a long way from just another stupid snake living under a rock in some overgrown back yard.
The last two Hogwarts years were quite uneventful for the little snake. Tom was lying low, solidifying his alliances amongst the Slytherin students and building up his plans for the future. Dick was spending most of his time disillusioned, spying upon other students and passing information back to his human friend. The biggest event during that period came in Tom's seventh year. At the Halloween, he performed an ancient bonding ritual, making Dick into his official familiar. Later that year, Tom had graduated with highest distinctions, as the first student in his class. While receiving his diploma, Dick was firmly curled around his arm.
Following years were a blur for the little snake. Constant travels around the world, training under various masters, seeking out rare volumes, gathering finances and allies and of course, performing highly dangerous, experimental rituals. Dick was there all the way, witnessing every step of his bonded transformation from an ambitious little boy, into a ruthless Dark Lord. Dick also noticed that his aging was unnaturally prolonged, but he attributed that to various rituals that were performed upon him in his youth.
Finally, the time had come for Tom to return to England and put his plans into motion. That moment also signalled the breaking of paths between the Dark Lord and his long-time companion. The first indication that something was seriously wrong was Tom's request that none of his new followers were to see the two of them together. Alarm bells started ringing in Dick's head when Tom acquired a young Amazonian anaconda named Nagini and started carrying her around at all times. Dick was just about to confront his bonded about his plans, when he was hit by a stunner. He woke up inside a cage, Lord Voldemort looking at him sadly from the other side of the bars.
Tom immediately started apologizing for what he was about to do. He explained that, as a Dark Lord, he had a certain reputation to uphold. A two-foot snake, however magical or faithful it was, just wasn't awe-inspiring enough to be recognized as the Dark Lord's official familiar. Furthermore, a peaceful parting of ways wasn't possible because of the familiarity bond between them. He explained that this bond occupied specific part of person's 'soul', called the Anima Animantis. Unfortunately, this special place could be used only for a single purpose, be it Animagus transformation, werewolf curse or a single 'familiarity' bond with a certain magical animal. Tom sheepishly explained that this bond would have to be severed forcefully, before the new one could be formed between himself and Nagini. He then added that Dick would be used in a ritual that would transfer all of his memories to Nagini, who was gleefully watching the proceedings from above Tom's shoulder.
Dick was, to say mildly, appalled by this treachery. He briefly considered pleading for his life and calling on his life-long friendship with Tom, but he immediately realized the futileness of that act. Dick had always known that Tom strived for absolute power, and used concepts like loyalty, tradition, love and friendship only as tools on this quest. Dick just never imagined that he would ever be the one to end up on the receiving end of this philosophy.
After a few more apologies and some parting words, Tom and Nagini had left the room. That was the last time Dick had seen his bonded in person. His subsequent years were heavily marked by the shadow of his former friend, but some final words are yet to be exchanged.
Several minutes later, another man entered the room. With a pang of dread, Dick recognized Voldemort's main potion master. His job was to prepare Dick for the ritual, by 'harvesting' a few body parts needed as a blood-base for the ritual's potions. He put Dick under the Impedimenta curse and released him from the cage. The man then started preparing his tools at a leisurely rate, while Dick was helplessly watching him, lying immobilized on the desktop. And that was the biggest and last mistake the potion master had ever made.
Tom's need-to-know policy was very useful for an illegal organization, such as his little circle of conspirators, but in this case, it had spectacularly backfired upon its creator. The potion master had no idea that his master had performed a number of rituals on Dick, imparting him with a fair dose of magic. For him, Dick was just an ordinary adder that should have stayed under the curse for at least an hour.
Still, it was a very close call. Only with the adrenaline shock he had received when the man started cutting his eye out did Dick manage to shake off the curse and bite the potion master's hand. Still hurting from the cut and betrayal, Dick viciously bit a few more times, letting all of his frustration and anger spill out. The old man quickly fell down convulsing on the floor, poison from the bite on his neck quickly reaching his central nervous system. From then on, it was ridiculously easy for Dick to disillusion himself, slip through the halls of Voldemort's base of operation and sneak out with some Death Eaters, using the secure floo connection.
But Dick's problems were far from over. He knew that Tom would soon learn of his escape and activate his spying network to search for him. Besides Tom, Dick was the only one who knew about this network, and that was only because he had helped create it.
Everyone knew that, after his return to Britain, Tom had made it his business to create a vast network of allies and associates all over the country. But what no one except Dick knew was that this network included snakes as well as people. Tom and Dick had spent one whole year doing nothing but travelling around the country and speaking with wild snakes. Actually, Tom had made quite a name for himself amongst the British serpent population. Man-speaker, they called him, spreading the word of this strange man-serpent over the grapevine.
During his quest, Tom had selected more than three hundred snakes evenly spread out across Britain and altered them into beacons of a sort he could use to spread out his orders. A few simple rituals were all it took for Tom to enchant the serpents' intelligence, add a mild suggestive aura around them, link their minds to several nexus objects in his possession and generally make them into his zealous followers.
If Tom ever needed to locate a person, all he had to do was find an item carrying said person's scent and then perform a few spells of his own design on one of his nexus objects. Information about the target's scent would immediately travel to the minds of hundreds of his snake acolytes all over the country. They would then spread the word of the man-speaker's target to any snake they could find in their immediate vicinity, with instructions to spread on. The mild suggestive aura his acolytes were radiating made sure that memory of the great man-speaker's request, along with promises of rich rewards for the finder, stayed permanently etched in the dim-witted snakes' minds.
Thus, Tom had achieved with British snakes what was his ultimate ambition with humans all over the world - he became their God, with his modified zealots acting like organized religion and manipulating general populace into doing his bidding. Many light wizards who tried to hide themselves in huts and cabins of the British countryside were mightily surprised when Death Eaters knocked on their door, after one of Tom's zealots sent off mind-signal, snitching out their location.
Thus, Dick knew that it was only a matter of time before he was found out and captured. Tom's serpentine network was slow to activate, but once the word has spread, there was no place in Britain safe for the target. Thankfully, Dick came up with a brilliant idea on how to hide himself. The best way to hide is in plain view, he thought, as he found his way into Diagon Alley public floo and then slithered to Magical Menagerie. He allowed himself to get captured and put up in a cage with other snakes. Inside, he was finally safe from his ex-friend's intelligence network. Snakes inside the cage were freshly bred and had no idea of the outside world. And even if some zealot happened to pass nearby, the smell of the other snakes in the cage would easily hide Dick's own scent, protecting him from the pursuit.
Dick had spent next several years in that cage, lying low and generally trying to stay out of sight. His injury proved to be a blessing here, making sure that he was not sold out as someone's cute little pet. He was also displaying just enough of his unique abilities to keep the owner, Sheridan, interested in him, but still didn't make himself look important enough for her to blab around much.
Then, several years later, Dick had sensed a giant impact coming through his familiarity bond. Tom's treachery had somewhat weakened the link, but it was still strong enough for Dick to sense that Tom was hurt really badly and hiding somewhere far away. This was confirmed by listening in to the people visiting the shop, before all the snakes were removed from the honorary place up in the front, and dumped in a dusty corner, far away from the public view.
Dick knew that Tom's entire organization was probably in disarray and that he would have a good chance of slipping through the countryside and out of Britain. But then, what used to be his salvation, turned into a prison. His initial display of power and intelligence was now working against him, making sure that his every escape attempt was eventually discovered and prevented. After some time, it all turned into a game, a pastime to make Dick's prison life more interesting and his place in the shop secured.
Tom's return two years ago hadn't changed much at all, save for better living conditions. Dick had already resigned himself to spending the rest of his life in captivity.
»And then I came into the picture,« finished Harry Dick's life story.
»Yes... I'm grateful for you buying me off and all, but don't think that I'm not mad anymore for that prank you've pulled,« warned Dick.
Harry just nodded numbly, still trying to process all that he had heard from his new pet. Then he started snickering and shaking his head.
»What?« asked Dick.
»It's funny. You've just told me all this stuff, about Slytherin's personal library and Voldemort's top-secret intelligence network and the way Snape had gotten his ticket to the Inner Circle, but all I can think of is... Why in the world would Dark Lord Voldemort name his familiar 'Dick?',« Harry snorted and shook his head again.
»Don't be ridiculous!,« snapped the snake peevishly. »I was named Dick in the pet-shop. Tom had actually called me...« But then he stopped in mid-sentence.
»What? Come on, you can tell me,«
Dick murmured something under his breath, looking very embarrassed all of a sudden.
»What?« Harry asked.
»It was Baron Gottschalk Ophiuchus Goebbels the Second, OK?« snapped Dick irritably. »As a kid, Tom has had this fascination with a guy named Hitler and the muggle country he'd been lording over at the time. He used to go on for hours at end, yapping about this bloke's charisma and discipline and ruthlessness, yada, yada, yada. Boy, that kid could talk. If you think my name was bad, you should hear some of the other names he gave to his snakes,« explained Dick, trying to overpower Harry's snickering.
»'Goebbels the Second?' What the hell happened with the first one?« Harry managed to stutter through his laughter.
»Was a small fellow, got eaten by one of the orphans' pet cats,« Dick mumbled embarrassedly, starting a new bout of laughter from Harry. »Ok, ok, enough about names. God knows I've had enough bad luck with them!« snapped Dick just when Harry was about to ask another question.
»Enough bad luck?« asked sobered Harry. »Why, what's wrong with Dick? Actually, now that I think about it, who in the world would name a snake 'Dick,' anyway?«
»Nobody, it's just... it doesn't matter, really...« murmured Dick embarrassedly.
»Oh come on, do tell. I won't laugh... much,« Harry said eagerly.
»Well, at first, everyone just kept calling me 'one-eyed snake'. And then, someone just blurted out 'dick'. They played for a while with 'prick' and 'cock' as well, but in the end, 'Dick' kinda stuck around...« The little snake gave Harry an annoyed look, his words lost in a new bout of laughter. »Yes, yes laugh it out. I should have just stayed in my bush and told Riddle to go screw himself and his human customs,« the little snake muttered irritably.
Harry's laughter was rudely interrupted when 'his' phoenix suddenly flew in into the tent and settled down on top of the nearby bookshelf. He was obviously back from another one of his daily excursions to Lord knows where. Harry suspected that these disappearances were nothing more sinister than simple hunting trips, seeing how the bird stubbornly refused any kind of food Harry had offered him. Still, there was always a pang of fear that the bird would one day return bringing his true master along with him; Or that he wouldn't return at all. In this past week and a half, Harry has actually gotten quite used to the phoenix's silent companionship. It felt nice to have someone looking after him, ready to help out in case of emergency, but otherwise staying out of his way.
As soon as he settled down, the phoenix whipped his head around and gave Dick a penetrating look. For a moment there, something akin to recognition shone in the bird's huge eyes, before he turned back to observing the room in general, seemingly forgetting all about the snake.
At the same time, Dick was franticly flicking his tongue in the air, tasting the new scent in the room. All the while, he was watching the bird intently, unreadable glint in his eye.
»Is that truly a phoenix?« he asked Harry, almost incredulously.
»Yes, I believe he is,« he answered, ignoring a dirty look he had received from the said bird.
Dick said nothing, but just kept staring at the bird, as if afraid he would disappear if he looked away.
»Err, Dick? Are you OK there?« Harry interrupted the ensued silence.
»Eh? Oh, I'm fine, never mind... Err, it won't try to eat me, right?« he asked, glancing back at the pompous looking bird.
"Hey, Blue! You be a good boy and stay away from Dick here, OK?" said Harry to the phoenix. The bird gave Harry another angry glare, and then huffed and straightened himself up imperiously, as if Harry's concerns were too much below his level to even earn his attention.
»Err, I think that means 'no',« said Harry to Dick unsurely.
»Good. But just so you know, if that damn featherhead go out and eats me, I won't speak to you ever again,« said the snake back with some conviction.
Harry nodded back, deciding to hold back a sarcastic comment and get their conversation back on track. Dick was fun to talk with, but he had a job to do.
»Ok, Dick, I'll keep that in mind. Now, would you like to know why I bought you in the first place? And no, it's not for the potion ingredients,« he added as he saw Dick's eyes dart to the discarded potions book.
»Why?« Dick asked apprehensively.
»I need a snake to help me fight Tom, your old master.«
Dick's eye's narrowed in suspicion. »Are you sure you know what are you doing? Tom is a backstabbing bastard alright, but he's good. Very good. Actually, he's probably the most dangerous human I've ever met.«
»I won't lie to you. Even thought our magical powers should be about the same, I'm nowhere near his skill level and knowledge. That's where you come in. I have a few plans that should help me reach his level faster, but I need your help to make them work.«
»Hmm... And you need me as a partner in crime, so to speak? Not a pet, or a tool to throw away once you're done with it?«
Harry gave Dick a penetrating look. »I won't deny that your knowledge would be a great asset in the fight against Voldemort. But the truth is... in a way... I really need some companionship.« Harry shifted nervously but kept his eyes trailed on Dick. He was never before this direct with his feelings, but he figured that little fellow deserved his complete honesty, after all he's been through. »You see, there's no way I could command any kind of respect from other people, least of all Aurors, with my current skills and general magical knowledge. So, I'll have to be in this thing alone for a very long time to come. I guess what I'm saying is... I really could use someone to talk to every once in a while; You know, bounce ideas, talk about weather, anything to keep me sane.« finished Harry, his eyes locked with Dick's, trying to relay sincerity.
After a few seconds, Dick was the one to break the silence. »I'm out of cages for good.«
»Done.«
»And you are not my master, but partner. I'm doing this on my own free will.«
»Understandable.«
»And... And I get to kill that bitch Nagini.«
»She's all yours,« reassured Harry, not exactly sure how was his new friend intending to deal with that monstrosity.
»Deal!«
»Shake hands for it?«
»Sur... Hey!«
Harry just snickered as he removed Dick from the tank and banished it to his storage room. He then lolled back comfortably, letting Dick slither over his stomach.
»Well now,« hissed Dick from Harry's chest, »why don't we start by you giving me your life story, since I've already given you mine? And then we can discuss finer points of this big plan of yours.«
»Hey, since when are you the one calling the shots around here?« replied Harry indignantly.
»Alright, oh wise one. Why don't you tell me what we should do?
»Well... It wouldn't be a bad idea for me to give you a general rundown of my history, since we'll be working together from now on...« Harry mussed. »And then, I guess I should explain to you what will your job be in the scheme I've planned for tonight.«
»Hey, that's what I said!«
»But I said it in generally bossier and less democratic way,« Harry explained patiently.
»Oh, whatever, why don't you just begin with that drivel of yours,« sighed Dick in annoyance.
»It's good to see such an eager audience,« Harry grumbled, before he started retelling Dick about his upbringing with the Dursleys.
Augustus Rookwood was utterly and completely bored. As much as he liked learning new things and researching, there was only so long a person could spend locked up in small space, before going stir-crazy. He was starting to get unpleasant flashbacks of his long stretch in Azkaban simply by looking at his current accommodations.
He was currently sitting on a cosy chair at his work-desk, surrounded by heaps and heaps of heavy books, ancient manuscripts and parchments with his own Arithmancy formulas and calculations. While the upper floor contained his bedroom, bathroom and storage for materials, the whole ground level was a single spacious room.
It was illuminated only by ominous floating candles, seeing as all the windows were barred and warded against intrusions. Except for his desk, a large bookcase and a single armchair facing a fireplace disconnected from the floo network, all of which were crammed along a single wall, the room was completely bare. The entire central clearing was filled with faded runes and ruined ritualistic implements, as well as pockmarked by scorch-marks - the results of Rookwood's failed experiments. After all, ritualistic magic was a very tricky subject, where even the smallest mistake could lead to disastrous consequences. Modifying rituals or inventing new ones was even more dangerous, not to mention highly illegal. If there weren't for the heavy wards around the house, the Unspeakables would have barged in a long time ago.
Rookwood's musings were interrupted by the familiar sound of a password being hissed in Parseltongue and then the clicking sound of a secret door being opened. He looked towards the snake portal, and indeed, there was a small black snake slithering through the circular hole into the room.
Strange, he thought, there was a meeting only a few days ago.
Rookwood carefully approached the snake, idly noticing that it was missing an eye. Why would master keep around a crippled servant, he wondered, while scanning the snake with a standardized set of detection spells. Having made sure that the messenger snake hadn't been conjured, coerced or in any way magically influenced, Rookwood carefully detached a letter from the snake's 'neck' and opened it.
• • • • •
Emergency meeting, our position has been compromised.
Midnight, the alley between numbers 47 and 49 of Harrington Street.
Bring complete documentation.
LV
• • • • •
Well, this is highly irregular, Rookwood frowned suspiciously, as he checked the parchment for his master's customized signature spell. His suspicions were confirmed when his scan returned negative. Also, the whole writing style and appearance of the letter was somehow wrong, while still carrying the undeniable traits of the Dark Lord's writing style. Rookwood went over the little inconsistencies he had noticed and quickly summarized that this was the form his Lord had been using during his first upraising.
But then again, he mused, if it was really written during some emergency, the Dark Lord could have been distracted by other concerns. In confusion, he could have reverted to his old habits and forgotten to cast his signature spell...
Still, even with all his self-reassurances, this whole business seemed highly suspicious to Rookwood. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was trying to set him up. He snickered and shook his head at that thought.
Who am I kidding? Even if the message had been written with a muggle ballpoint pen on a piece of toilet paper, I would have obeyed it, he thought dejectedly, as he started packing up his research papers and notes. He would rather risk meeting whoever was trying to set him up, than facing his Lord's wrath for standing him up.
Still, it would be foolish to go out there unprepared, he decided. Then, he retrieved a small golden locket from the desk drawer and started waving his wand over it.
Rookwood approached the entrance to a dingy, blocked-off alley specified in the letter exactly five minutes before midnight. He rechecked the pockets of his robes and found the shrunken package with his work in the left pocket and his wand in the right one. Squeezing his wand for reassurance, he brusquely walked down the alley, steering around mounds of trash. He felt a slight flicker of temporary wards, indicating that he was indeed in the right place. He walked all the way to the brick wall at the end of the alley, finding nothing but piles and piles of trash, scattered around overflowing trashcans. With a distasteful sneer, he turned around towards the entrance, wondering when his Lord would arrive. He never saw a wand appearing out of a thin air behind his back.
• • • • •
Harry watched from underneath his invisibility cloak as Rookwood approached him, looking around suspiciously, squeezing something in his pocket, presumably his wand. Harry flattened himself against the brick wall at the end of the alley, watching as Rookwood stopped a mere few feet away from him. He watched as the man threw another distasteful glance at the overflowing trashcans and then whirled back towards the entrance.
Now, Harry decided as he pushed his wand through the hem of the cloak and cast a silent "Stupefy."
Like a walk in a park, he thought gleefully, as he watched the red beam approaching the unsuspecting Rookwood's back. However, Harry's silent celebration turned into a shock when a bright light flared from his target's chest, forming a brilliant golden shield that easily absorbed the stunner.
Shield amulet, damn it! Harry mentally cursed, as he quietly sidestepped to the left just moments before Rookwood fired a bludgeoning curse at his previous position.
Harry cursed himself for forgetting about anti-assassination amulets, even though they were designed to prevent exactly the thing he had tried to pull tonight. They worked by detecting offensive spells or objects heading towards the wearer and flaring a very powerful shield to absorb the attack. Rookwood had obviously suspected something, so he charged his amulet before appearing here tonight. Fortunately, most amulets were designed to spend their entire stored energy in a single discharge. After all, they were intended to prevent assassinations, not to be used as regular shields during the battle, for which they couldn't store enough magic anyway. All Harry needed now to down Rookwood was another free shot.
Harry flicked his wand from underneath his cloak, pushing raw energy towards some trashcans on his right. Small magical burst rolled a few discarded soda cans over the pavement, making Rookwood whirl to his left and quickly fire several revealing spells. In the meantime, Harry took a few more quiet steps to the left and once again found himself behind Rookwood's back.
"Stupefy," Harry silently repeated his previous attack. Rookwood suddenly went deadly still, as if realizing something. Next moment, he gracefully whirled around, avoiding the stunner, and yelled out "Azureus pigmentum conjeci".
A huge blob of blue paint headed towards Harry, who was in middle of launching another stunner. Harry's spell burst through the blob, spraying some paint around, but the rest hit Harry dead on, painting his invisibility cloak, along with the wall behind him, in azure blue.
Cursing again his lack of foresight, Harry quickly tapped his head, disillusioning himself. He then magically launched his blue cloak to the right, while he himself ducked to the left, avoiding another one of Rookwood's spells. Even while he ran, he cast three more stunners in quick succession, cancelling his disillusionment spell in the process. He almost caught Rookwood off guard, but the man quickly abandoned his attempts at killing the empty cloak and slashed his glowing wand three times, bouncing the stunners like on a tennis match.
Next moment, both men were standing proudly in a proper duelling stance, trying to stare each other down.
I guess it's a regular duel for me, then, Harry sighed apprehensively. Well, duelling IS my forte, besides flying. How bad can it be? Harry tried to encourage himself, as he started the duel by fired a bludgeoning curse at his prey.
• • • • •
I am so screwed, Harry thought desperately, as he frantically tried to reverse his duck-like feet back to normal, while sidestepping another one of Rookwood's advanced spells.
It was only few minutes into the duel, but to Harry, it seemed like he had suffered through hours of torture. He was currently sporting a long, Dumbledore-like beard, horse's tail that was repeatedly whipping his arse and already mentioned duck feet, which made dodging the never-ending stream of curses extremely difficult. On the floor beneath him, there were a dozen or so circular booby-traps spread around his feet. He learned the hard way that they released a nasty electrical zapping effect if you stepped on them. Five or six animated mouldy chairs, broken brooms and trashcans were dancing around him, lunging on him every now and then. Walls enclosing the makeshift duelling arena were pockmarked by a variety of colourful lights, which were blinking and flashing, creating a nightclub-like atmosphere. Every now and then, their creator would flick his wand, making some of these lights transform into low-level hexes and hurl themselves at the victim in the centre of the 'dance floor'.
Yep, I'm in deep shit, Harry despaired as he quickly analyzed the situation.
Rookwood, on the other hand, was seemingly having a time of his life. He was effortlessly blocking Harry's spells, all the while firing a constant stream of obscure hexes and jinxes, mockingly explaining their effect to his would-be kidnapper and generally having a jolly good time.
"You like frogs? I hear they are popular amongst you Hufflepuffs!" he yelled through laughter, while directing a group of frog-like hopping curses towards his opponent. Harry had just managed to revert his feet back to normal, when a whole bunch of jinxes 'hopped' at him at once, each one painting him in a different colour and giving him a nasty itch. Harry quickly dispelled the tickling, but was immediately forced to step left, dodging a barrage of dark curses that snickering Rookwood had fired to his right. Unfortunately, he found himself stepping right onto one of the booby-trap, getting properly zapped and then tripped by one of the animated chairs. Harry stumbled, barely managing to block off a brick that the far wall had suddenly spit out at him, before ending sprawled out amongst the overturned trashcans, to Rookwood's never-ending amusement.
"And the amazing duck-man finally returns home!" Rookwood yelled mock-pompously, as he made the chair that had tripped Harry do a little victory dance.
Harry tried to quench his frustration and think of some way to get out of this alive. He recognized Rookwood's mannerisms well enough - only a month ago, he had watched his godfather act the same way during his duel with Lestrange.
The man had obviously been locked up far too long, Harry mused quickly while watching Rookwood laugh at him mockingly. He's using this opportunity to blow off some steam, while foolishly disregarding the first rule of combat - never underestimate or play with your opponent. Sirius had paid that mistake with his life. Could I use Rookwood's distraction to turn this disaster around?
Having decided on his course of action, Harry gathered his magic, using his limited knowledge of the techniques he had just began exploring. He then dizzily started standing up, only to intentionally trip over his own transfigured beard and fall back down into garbage, making Rookwood burst into another bout of laughter.
"Some assassin you ar-"
Rookwood never had a chance to finish his taunt, since Harry whipped his wand in a flash and yelled "Lumos!" pumping as much power as possible into the spell, while concentrating on his opponent's face. Rookwood stumbled backward, blinded by a powerful searchlight that had erupted from Harry's wand. Pressing his advantage, Harry angrily whipped his wand at a punctured tambour, part of a discarded drum-set lying nearby, and yelled "Expuo!"
The drum was launched straight at the blinded Rookwood, like a cannonball. The ex-unspeakable instinctively managed to shield himself from this makeshift missile with his bare hands, but the impact pushed him backwards, pinning him against the opposite wall.
In the meantime, Harry had already sprung to his feet, a determined glint in his eyes. His initial intention was to capture Rookwood alive and then use him for the ritual. But all his plans went straight to hell when he overestimated his duelling skills by foolishly stepped into an open battle with a vastly superior opponent. All he could do now was try and save his own skin, prisoners and rituals be damned. There were more potential ingredients out there waiting to be harvested, but he only had one life available. There could be no more screw-ups this night.
Well, I'll have to kill sooner or later anyway. Why not tonight? Harry decided, as he pointed his wand at Rookwood and poured all his frustration and helplessness into a single incantation. "REDUCTO!"
Hearing his words, Rookwood quickly raised his wand and yelled "Exarmo" in return.
In a split second it took the two curses to pass the width of the street, Harry allowed himself a victorious smirk. He had recognized Rookwood's spell as a more powerful version of Expelliarmus and realized that this was that fatal mistake he'd been hoping for.
Checkmate, you conceited idiot. I'll just walk over your mangled corpse and take my wand back, he thought smugly. He never noticed the matching smirk appearing on his opponent's face.
Thus, for the second time that night, Harry was unpleasantly surprised by his own ignorance. His impressive ball of grey-violet chaotic energy smacked straight into Rookwood's chest, only to fizzle out like an expired candle, leaving the target completely unharmed. Harry had just enough time to form a shocked expression on his face, before his opponent's disarmer slammed straight into his chest, throwing him back against the wall, while his wand gently sailed into Rookwood's expecting hand.
Harry painfully stood up, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head, only to be met by a hysterical laughter and twin wands pointed at his chest.
"Such an idiot... the look on your face... it was priceless," Rookwood was snickering, unsuccessfully trying to compose himself.
Even through all the humiliation and defeat, Harry's couldn't help but feel curious about what just went down. "But... but... how?" was all he managed to stutter, gaping confusedly at his unharmed opponent.
"How? How!? What are you, a fucking schoolboy?" Rookwood stopped and then peered more closely at Harry, who was currently sporting brown hair, brown eyes and white beard, but otherwise looked like himself. "Sweet Merlin, you are a schoolboy! What the fuck were you thinking going after me of all people! Are you daft!?"
Harry was intentionally gaping stupidly at Rookwood, while desperately trying to find some way out. He cursed himself for not bringing along his new snake. You've already done your part Dick, you should leave duelling to me, he mentally repeated his earlier words in a mocking tone.
"Oh, don't answer that, I see that you are," snickered Rookwood. "Well, I'll humour you this time, seeing how you've brought me so much entertainment with your feebleminded attempt. I'll even explain it to you one baby step at the time, so even you could understand it." He snickered some more, before getting himself under control. "Alright now, you go to Hogwarts, don't you? Don't answer that, judging by your ignorance, you probably do. So, when was it that you learned how to cast the 'Reducto' curse?"
"My... My fourth year... sir," Harry said timidly, still trying to come up with some plan of action. Maybe I should try to lull him into a false sense of security... Damn it, that wouldn't work twice!
"Oh, good boy, bravo. And what was the effect you expected this spell to have on me?"
Having decided to keep acting as some misguided kid who had just wanted to pull up a prank, Harry replied timidly, letting himself blush a little. "Well, sir... err, I... I just wanted to blow some garbage up and create a distraction, so that..."
Harry's performance was interrupted when Rookwood slashed his wand angrily, wielding a whip of raw magic in a graceful arc, straight towards Harry's face. Harry reeled backwards from the invisible slap, holding his throbbing cheek painfully.
"Now, we won't have any of that, boy. Why don't you drop the act and start over?" said Rookwood patiently.
Harry spit mouthful of blood at his feet and then looked the other wizard straight into the eyes, angry sneer on his face. "Actually, I was planning on blowing you up into tiny pieces and then pissing all over your mangled remains, you conceited son of a bitch!"
"Now, isn't that better?" replied smiling Rookwood, completely unfazed by Harry's words. "So, here is the final question for tonight. Do you honestly believe that Hogwarts staff would teach 14-year-old children a curse that could blow up their classmates into... what was it you said? Tiny pieces? So you could take a piss on them? Which is very unhygienic, by the way, not to mention disgusting."
The only response Harry managed to produce was a blank stare. He had always thought of Reductor curse as a magical equivalent of bazooka, or at least a shotgun. Now that he thought about it more thoroughly, Rookwood's argument made perfect sense. His own idea of the curse's effect would have made it more dangerous than even Avada Kedavra, which was ludicrous.
"The answer is no," Rookwood interrupted his musing with some heat. "Each spell taught at those cesspools of public schools has Ministry-enforced safety measures against any kind of alternative usage or causing harm to other people. Do you know how much magic all that shit drains? Simply by using spells without that Ministry-regulated crap will get you at least 20 percent power increase! Just think about it! Layer upon layer of safety switches, security features, ever power reducers! Yes, they intentionally block off your full potential, so they can keep you sheep at check. 'To prevent accidents and misuse' my arse! You wouldn't believe the things I've seen while working for those bastards!"
Above Rookwood's shoulder, Harry spotted his phoenix standing on a rooftop, watching the scene with unreadable eyes. Thank god, the cavalry had arrived, he sighed in relief, as he gave the phoenix a significant look and nodded his head slightly. He prepared himself for action, expecting the bird to swoop down any moment now and take him away from danger.
"Generation upon generation of great wizards had dedicated their entire lives trying to create the foundations of modern magical theory and elevate wizardkind above the common stock living in the gutter. To give us the power and higher understanding of Gods themselves! And all the fruits of their labour are now being spit upon by these power-hungry bureaucratic simpletons, who care only about keeping their own petty political power, since they have no magical or intellectual to boot."
Harry was starting to get really aggravated. Come on, you stupid turkey, now is your chance. What the fuck are you waiting for? Move your feathery butt and do something useful for once, he mumbled in his mind, trying not to give himself away by glaring over Rookwood's shoulder. The phoenix however, stayed impassive, just staring at the scene with unreadable expression on his face.
"We wizards had a chance to heighten our understanding of the world around us to a higher spiritual level, to discover the true nature of universe and magic, to find the meaning of life itself! But no, thanks to power-hungry mediocrities, who thought that free flow of knowledge is too big of a threat for their precious swamp of mediocrity they call the state, the height of our advancement these days is rediscovery of lore that had been lost thousands of years ago! While muggles dwell into the nature of matter itself and travel to the Moon, the greatest achievement of our superior kind are new broom models and improved versions of fucking household charms!"
He's not coming, Harry suddenly realized, glancing at the stock-still bird with accusing eyes. This phoenix had been following him for more than ten days now, and during that time, he had never intervened with anything Harry had been doing. He didn't step up when I was practicing illegal magic, Harry thought with a sinking realization. Why would he do so now?
Once again, he wondered what his companion's motives truly were, but he quickly abandoned that line of thoughts. He had more important things to do now, like staying alive. He refocused his attention back at Rookwood, just in time to hear the end of his rant.
"Learning advanced spells? Suppressed! Individual magical research? Forbidden! Free exploration of special talents? Controlled! You can't do shit without seven Ministry forms in triplicate sticking from your arse! They are turning our chosen race destined for greatness into a herd of mindless sheep, content on living their puny little lives, listening to whatever corrupted half-squibs in power tells them to do! Well, no more! I'm not your fucking slave, you rotten bastards! Fuck you and your ministry and your fucking unspeakable rules! My Lord will purge your corruption and incompetence and steer our kind back towards the path to greatness! Nothing can stop us from fulfilling our destiny!" Rookwood finished his rant, panting heavily from all the yelling he had done. He visibly struggled to pull himself together and get his temper under control.
So that's why he had joined Voldemort, Harry mused, slightly taken back by the man's spiel. From Joseph's report, he already suspected that Rookwood wasn't your typical enforcer, relishing in torture of other human beings. Still, he never imagined him to be such an idealist.
"Hmm... Got a little carried away there," he muttered, trying to clear his throat. "You think I'm a fool, don't you kid? Filthy Death Eater? Traitor? Murderer?"
Harry just remained silent, still trying to come up with any feasible escape plan, since his phoenix 'friend' obviously wasn't coming to his rescue anytime soon.
"Won't answer me, eh? Never mind, then. Since you won't be getting out of here alive, it's not like your opinion matters anyway," Rookwood said calmly, his face struggling to form a blank mask.
Harry couldn't help but widen his eyes in fear. He glanced again at 'his' phoenix with a pleading look in his eyes. Come on, move your butt. You wouldn't want your favourite source of entertainment to bite the dust, would you?
The phoenix seemed unsettled for a moment there, but then he straightened himself up imperiously and stared down at Harry with exaggerated passivity. If there weren't for a soft breeze ruffling his feathers, he could as well been mistaken for a stone statue.
With a sinking feeling in his guts, Harry finally realized that the phoenix's mind was already set. The bird would keep standing there stock-still, and nothing Rookwood did to Harry would make him move away from his vantage point. Suddenly, an image of an old TV show flashed before Harry's eyes. Some naturalist guy was explaining the laws of nature, while in the background, a pack of lions was wearing down a mother buffalo protecting her foal. The reporter explained that he was only an observer and that he shouldn't interfere with the natural course of events. This had happened hundreds of times before and will happen hundreds of times again, he explained in monotone, as lions started tearing apart the foal, at its mother's distressed cries. Harry briefly wondered whether 'his' phoenix would do exactly that - watch him get executed by Rookwood and then find some other human fool to follow around.
For a moment there, Harry tried to blame the bird for 'betraying him' and 'abandoning him when things got rough'. However, the logical part of his brain quickly summarized that the phoenix was simply staying true to his initial 'no interference' policy. Harry realized that it was his own fault for attributing to his relationship with the bird more that it truly was. In retrospect, it was naïve of him to think of the bird as of 'his phoenix' and consider him for an ally and even a friend, even though the bird had done nothing to deserve such titles, nor did he indicate he even wanted them in the first place.
Reality of Harry's situation suddenly sunk in. There would be no miraculous rescue for him this time. No mother's protection being tested, no Fawkes appearing with the sorting hat, no mysterious clues being given a the right moment, no invisible wizard clearing away the traps in front of him, no cavalry arriving at the last moment. This was not a controlled environment, with an invisible headmaster watching from the sidelines, leading him by his nose towards his next test. There was no omnipotent puppeteer to stop the game when it gets too rough and make sure all his dolls survive for a new round next year. Harry was playing in the major league now, where his wit and skills were fairly matched against his opponent's. And the truth of the matter was, he lost. Rather spectacularly too. And in this sort of a game, one defeat was all it took to lose the war. And life.
"Surprised, boy? What, you didn't honestly expect me to simply let you walk out of here alive, no harm done?" said Rookwood, looking slightly nervous at his own words. "You walked into this yourself. You knew what was going to happen to you should you fail. You can't blame me for protecting myself against would be assassins. If you were in my place, you'd do the same thing... With weaker curses, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that..."
Harry tuned out Rookwood's self-motivational speech, stronger than ever hit with the hopelessness of his situation. Suddenly, showing his true form and requesting an audience with Voldemort became a viable solution for Harry. Of course, he was well aware that it would only extend his life for a little while longer, not save it. But maybe, there was a chance of Snape informing the headmaster of his position and then the old man mounting a rescue operation. Yes, I would be back in his clutches, but I would at least be alive, he thought rationally. Of course, there was still a small matter of holding some piece of information over Voldemort and then lasting through the torture long enough for the cavalry to arrive...
No, Harry decided with a newfound resolution, angry with himself for even thinking about giving up his freedom at the first sign of trouble. I started this fight on my own. I'm sure as hell gonna to finish it on my own, one way or the other. If I can't deal with fucking Rookwood, what's the point of going after Voldemort at all? I might as well kill myself now and spare everyone the trouble...
Shaking his head from these thoughts, he returned to his previous efforts of finding some way to escape relatively unharmed. There has to be a way, he repeated over and over again, while systematically analyzing his surrounding, intentionally avoiding the traitorous phoenix on the roof.
In the meantime, Rookwood had finished his babbling, almost choking himself in the process. He took a deep breath and sighed, almost mournfully, blank expression returning on his face. "You obviously have some sort of a feud with me. Whether it's because of someone I've killed or someone I've betrayed, it doesn't really matter. I'm sorry kid, but I simply can't let you go away scot free and then spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder," he finished emotionlessly, but the nervous twirling of Harry's wand in his left hand gave away his true state of mind. The man was obviously not used to killing people cold-bloodedly, which was probably why he was procrastinating by engaging himself in pointless explanations, excuses and small talk.
At this point, Harry was starting to get truly desperate. His eyes were darting around faster and faster, looking for any opportunity to escape. Suddenly, his attention was caught by his own wand that Rookwood was distractedly twirling like a propeller in front of his chest. He remembered a scene from exactly one year ago; Darkness surrounding him... Dudley crying... Him yelling "Lumos!" making his wand light up from a few feet away. He remembered researching this effect later on in the Hogwarts library. The book said that this was possible only with wands extremely compatible with their owners. He tried it out a few times then, but nothing came out of it. He was then dragged out of the library by the bored-looking Ron, making him forget all about his 'useless' project. Yes, he decided, this could actually work.
The problem was that his old wand was safely tucked away back in his tent. He had intentionally left it there, afraid that he could get captured by Death Eaters, arrested by Aurors or get hurt and end up in a hospital. That was why he had made sure there was nothing on him connecting him in any way with the name 'Harry Potter'. He even erased his father's name from the hem of his Invisibility cloak. But no use crying over spilled milk, he reprimanded himself, getting back to the problem at hand.
The big question now was whether he could pull off the same thing with his new wand as well as with the old one. Judging by the same amount of power generated by both wands, he concluded there was a solid chance for this to work. Furthermore, with his newfound basic understanding of direct power manipulation, he was certain he would be able to push his magic towards his wand, even without additional emotional backing caused by two Dementors chasing after him.
"So, any last words?" deadpanned Rookwood, pointing his wand at Harry's chest.
Harry concentrated harder than ever, gathering his magic inside him. He was pushing all his frustration, fear and anger into a tiny ball of magic in his palm, his eyes never leaving the wand in Rookwood's hand. The ball steadily grew stronger, itching to break through and spill over into a nonexistent wand. His eyes bore a hole into his own wand, trying to form a magical connection over the few feet of space separating them. Just a little longer... His right palm started tingling, as if begging to reconnect itself with a piece of wood that rightfully belonged in it. Almost there...
"No? Well then... It was a nice effort kid, but you shouldn't have messed with your betters. AVADA..."
Now! his instincts screamed.
"RICTUSEMPRA!" Harry yelled with all his might, his whole being concentrated on a piece of wood in Rookwood's hand. With a burst of sparks, a highly distorted tickling charm erupted from a wand Rookwood was foolishly pointing towards his own face. Rookwood stumbled backwards, somehow managing to avoid the weak spell, but he was distracted long enough for Harry to lunge forward, tackling the older man by his waist. They both flew several feet backwards, ending tangled up amongst the trashcans, both wands lost in the heaps of garbage around them.
What followed was a combination of wrestling match, mud fight and search operation. Both men were using any means available to interfere with each other, while desperately searching through piles of trash for their lost wands. Harry would kick Rookwood in the nuts, stopping the man from yanking his beard. Rookwood would then retaliate with an elbow to the boy's kidneys, only to shy away from Harry's fingers going for his eyes. Rookwood would retaliate by spitting straight into Harry's face, and then slapping him away. Harry would return by biting the man's ear, only to find himself getting strangled by his own tail. All the while, they were franticly digging through the trash, carelessly throwing discarded pieces of garbage at each other.
Nobody was quite sure how long this fight lasted. The only thing certain was that, at one point, Rookwood kicked Harry away to the other end of the garbage pit. They both spotted a wand, each at his own end of the 'playground'. Each of them went for his own find as fast as possible, stumbling through the garbage desperate to reach it. Rookwood got there first.
He pointed his newfound wand at Harry, victorious smirk on his face. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he yelled insanely, relishing his victory.
Few feet away, Harry froze in his track, 'deer in a headlight' expression etched on his face. He had just grabbed a wand he had been going for, but he knew it was already too late. Knowing there was nothing he could do, he squeezed his eyes shut, calmly accepting his fate. He watched his whole life flash before his eyes, as he waited for the familiar sound of approaching death to rush past him, taking his soul away.
But it never came.
Dead silence engulfed the dingy blocked-off alley, as two bruised, smelly man sat few feet away from each other, surrounded by piles of trash, staring dumbly at a piece of wood one of them was shakily holding. Slowly, Harry's brain started functioning again, gradually comprehending what had just happened. Judging by the shocked but fearful expression dawning on Rookwood's face, he was just coming up with the same conclusion.
Drumstick.
Rookwood was holding a wooden drumstick in his hand; probably a part of that discarded drum-set Harry had used as a projectile during the duel.
Both man looked at each other numbly for what seemed like an eternity. Then slowly, Harry averted his eyes and glanced at the stick he was desperately clutching in his own hand. His heart jumped when he realized it was his precious new wand. Sure, it was sticky and dirty and had pieces of rotten food smeared all over it, but to Harry, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.
Harry had just enough willpower left to lift his newly-recovered wand and fire a stunner point-blank at Rookwood's head, before collapsing back into piles of garbage and bursting out into a fit of hysterical laughter; Both from suffered stress of a near-death experience and blissful relief of another lucky victory under his belt.
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Author notes
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I would like to thank my beta, Jolly Rancher for fixing grammar and other errors in this chapters.
EDIT: This chapter had been edited after the posting of chapter 8. Grammar was fixed a bit and a few parts rewritten, but the plot remained the same.
o - About snakes
In many HP fan-fiction stories we see snakes frown, smile, look sad, sneer, laugh, scowl etc. None of this is possible though, seeing how snakes don't have the necessary facial muscles to form these expressions. Furthermore, they also tend to nod, shake head, or sometimes even shrug, which is even more impossible since they don't have a neck to separate their head from the body, not to mention shoulders.
In this story, I'll be "inserting" facial muscles around Dick's eyes, so he can "narrow his eyes" or "widen his eyes in surprise" or maybe even "frown". I know this is unrealistic but I'll need this for purposes of better characterization.
Also, snakes show two different levels of intelligence in canon. Boa constrictor in book 1 is very chatty and even uses some sort of Mexican/Californian slang when greeting Harry. However, that conjured snake and the Basilisk in book 2 are much more to my liking - only as smart as they need to be. Obviously, I'll be using that second theory in this story. Dick is the only exception from this rule, seeing how he'd been altered to act like a human.
And finally, I'm well aware that the part about Voldemort spreading the word about his targets using snake-acolytes is unrealistic, seeing how snakes don't interact with each other much outside the mating season (not to mention spend most of their time hidden in some hole or hibernating). Eh, just another thing you'll have to Oblivate yourself about. Hey, it's not my fault JKR had chosen snakes for the animal group Harry and Tom are able to interact with.
o - About shield amulets
I was always wondering why wouldn't Lord Voldemort just have one of his Slytherins curse Dumbledore in the back and be done with him. Or why couldn't someone just snipe Voldemort through the head during one of his meetings. Anti-assassination amulets are my answer to that problem. Sure, you can still kill a guy if you try hard enough - killing curse from the close range or extremely powerful explosion, but this at least this care of a part of the problem.
o - About the Reducto curse
Many stories use this curse as the main offensive spell for the "light" side. They practically turn magical skirmishes into classical gun fights, with DE's using Avada Kedavra-s and good guys using Reducto-s as their ammunition.
From the Rookwood's explanation in the story, you can guess what my opinion on this matter is. I'll just say this - Invent your own spells, people! Pig Latin isn't that hard to use!
o - Sources and additional disclaimers
Information about adders (Dick's species):
www-brantacan-org-uk/adders-htm
Some parts were inspired by one of the action scenes from the movie "Desperado".
The concept of remotely activated wands was used before in Draco664's story "Apprentice Potter" (draco664-fanficauthors-net).
The encyclopedias I've used for reference are Britannica 2005 and Wikipedia (www-wikipedia-org).
I don't own any intellectual property mentioned above.