1996
The dark cloaked figure apparated into the men's bathroom in the muggle part of the train station. He looked around at the cramped, graffiti filled stall, then stepped out, wrinkling his nose at the sour smell of urine and sweat. He took out his wand, muttered a spell, and a wheeled dolly stacked with cardboard boxes materialized next to him, apparated from where he had so carefully prepared it.
Stepping up to the mirror, the man took a small vial of polyjuice potion out of his pocket, braced himself, and swallowed the foul tasting concoction. He hissed in pain as his bones and muscles shifted into a new form. Who it was, he didn't know. Some muggle, he supposed. He had gotten hair clippings from the trash of a barber shop a few blocks away. His current form was unimportant, but even this far from home, there were those in the wizarding community who might recognize him, should he venture among them undisguised.
A muggle came into the bathroom now, prepared to use one of the foul smelling urinals, then looked at him in concern as he endured the last of the changes the polyjuice wrought in his flesh.
"You alright, man?" the muggle asked.
"I'm fine." He said curtly. Straightening up, he took the dolly and wheeled it out of the bathroom. He had little time to waste, polyjuice lasted less than an hour. He strode with the dolly over to some coin lockers in one corner of the muggle's train station, fed a cheap peice of debased muggle currency into it, and stripped off his dark grey trench coat, and fedora. Underneath he wore a clean white uniform with an embroidered tag that red 'Bernie Botts Candy Company'. He removed the key from the locker, stuffed his coat and hat into it, then slammed it shut.
Turning back to the dolly, he walked swiftly along the train station, not even bothering to pause at the invisible barrier between the muggle and wizarding worlds, but simply entering unhesitatingly onto platform 9 3/4. There were numerous students already gathered there with their luggage. Some with parents, and some without. He ignored them, those still attending Hogwarts as students were far too young to concern his particular interest. Farther down he saw a row of snack carts near the front of the train, waiting to be loaded onto it, to feed the sweet tooth of the travelling young wizards.
That was what he had been looking for. Spinning the dolly around rapidly, he headed for the rows of candy laden carts. Suddenly he froze in place, an odd glint catching his eye. Odd, and yet all too familiar. He stopped in midstride and looked around slowly.
Where was it? A discordant note jangled his senses, like a file being scaped across a violin string. A note felt, rather than heard, as he sensed the foul intrusion into the higher dimensions that had so nearly become home to him these past many years. Shifting his awareness with practiced ease, he saw the glint of a foul, pulsing dark green thread, so dark it was nearly black.
There... that man. The Dark Mark. Blood rushed in his ears and stained his vision red as he struggled for self control. His heard his heart thundering, beating in time to the pulsing ichor of the etheric connection of the Dark Mark. He could not always sense the other-dimensional intrusion that accompanied the presence of it, but today his senses seemed particularily acute. His hands gripping the dolly, he stared at the man, who was talking with several other adult wizards. He breathed slowly, almost sensing rather than feeling the dark mark twisting through the wizard before him, not only on the surface of the skin, but delving like a foul worm all the way to the wizard's heart, to his very soul. And thence on it's way through the other dimensions, connecting the wizard to his master, Lord Voldemort. Connecting him... and draining him, like the vein of a vampire.
One hand, coated with furious sweat, twisted off of the dolly, and unbidden, found the handle to one of his twin wands. It was only through a furious effort of will that he forced himself to release the wand, and turn away from the Death Eater before him. Odds were this was not the one he was looking for. Nevertheless, as his normal senses returned, he marked his face carefully, for it was always possible that this WAS the one.
Turning away, he took the dolly in hand again, and finished his journey to the candy carts. The conductor and a few of the staff of platform 9 3/4 were there.
"Morning." He said cheerfully to the conductor.
"'Ello there." The conductor said. "What's all this?"
"Candy for the kiddies." The diguised wizard smiled crookedly. "Chocolate frogs, fresh from Bernie Bott's."
"Ah, good." The conductor said. "The children love them, and I was afraid we wouldn't have any. I thought we did, but when we went to check the supply room this morning we were out. We owled for more immediately, of course, but I didn't know if they'd get here on time for the journey to Hogwarts."
"I know. They sent me out first thing this morning to make sure you'd get them on time." The man said casually. Naturally the train station had been out of chocolate frogs, he'd removed them himself two nights ago. Nor had the owl in question ever reached Bernie Bott's factory. It had been... sidetracked, in order to make sure that he could replace the missing cases of chocolate frogs with his own special creations.
"Where shall I put them then?" He asked the conductor.
"Oh, just stack them next to that cart in front there." The conductor waved at it. "We'll open 'em and put a box or two in each cart ourselves."
"Capitol." He gave a little nod and took the boxes of chocolate frogs off the dolly. "I'll be off then. Got a bunch more deliveries before lunch."
The conductor nodded and asked some question about the coal on the train to one of the other employees. The man took the dolly, spun it around, and headed back towards the other end of the platform, back out through the wall, and into the Muggle's world again.
Thrusting
the dolly away from him as soon as he was out of the wizards
platform, the man leaned against the wall and breathed deeply
several times. Seeing someone with the dark mark made him feel
polluted, as if he had bathed in a septic tank.
Bastards. Stinking bastards, all of them. Someday he would find what he was looking for and then... well never mind. Best to concentrate on the task at hand.
He left the dolly. No doubt some muggle would find a use for it. Returning to the coin lockers, he fished the key out of his pocket and put his dark grey trench coat and fedora back on. Just then a sudden twinge informed him that the polyjuice was wearing off. He gripped the frame of the lockers, steadying himself, until his own features had returned. Then he gazed one last time at the invisible entrance to platform 9 3/4.
Let
the students buy their chocolate frogs, as they most certainly would.
Let them enjoy their sweets, for the frogs themselves were
innocent,
the genuine Bott's product. Regardless of what else he might have
done in his life, he would not stoop to poisoning children. And then
let them enjoy their wizarding trading cards, for it was the cards
that were important, oh yes. Some of them no doubt would carelessly
let them fall to the floor of the train, to be swept up and discarded
in the trash, and some would toss them out the window of the train,
for the simple pleasure of watching them flutter across the
countryside in the wind, like autumn leaves.
But most would keep them, bring them to Hogwarts with them, adding them to their collection, trading them, and having them confiscated by the occasional irate professor. And all that time, the cards would be nearly indistinguishable from the ordinary ones, save by very close magical examination by someone as skilled as he was in certain arts, who knew precisely what they were looking for. And eventually, inevitably, the cards would find their way into every corner of Hogwarts. Awaiting only his spell, his command, to activate whichever of them suited him.
He took out his wand and spoke the words that would apparate him away, with only the slightest sigh of regret. A pity he had to use children in this way, even if he wasn't harming them. But he was desperate in his purpose, and did what had to be done.
A slight puff of wind, a draft blew away a few scraps of old newspaper where the man had been standing a second earlier. His game had now begun.
Let the cards fall where they may.
