Ch. 7 — Soul Man
That morning he woke up to a horrific howl of despair. It echoed through the building as the house-elf of Grimmauld Place completely lost his mind. Sirius immediately responded and shouted at Kreacher to shut the bloody hell up. Kreacher would not have it. Their voices shook the whole house, and woke everyone. Harry could only listen and wince as he and Ron dressed. Harry thought the incredible charms and spells the Black's had placed on their home over the centuries were the only reason the muggles to either side never complained or noticed the noise.
They went downstairs and discovered that the yelling came from the kitchen. Harry and the Weasleys had all gathered at the kitchen door, none wanted to brave going any farther, when the yelling suddenly cut off. They looked at each other. Tonks and Lupin then went down to the basement to see if the two had killed each other.
The room was a disaster area. Knives and forks stuck into counters, walls, ceiling, and table, some buried point-first almost to the handles. Pantry doors were shattered, splintered, or plain just not there anymore. Dented and crushed pots and pans littered the floor. And everything was coated in a layer of shattered and broken glass.
It was quite impressive, really.
The rest had followed the first two to the bottom of the stairs, and they all just stood there, slack-jawed in shock. " 'Cor," said Ron. His brothers echoed his sentiments. Molly only said, "My word!"
Sirius sat at the table, arms crossed, his expression a combination of grim fury and satisfaction. All he said was, "Kreacher won't be a problem anymore."
After a few more moments, Lupin cleared his throat, pulled his wand, and started repairing things. The shattered glassware resolved to butterbeer bottles, plates, mugs, glasses, and tea cups from the previous night. The knives returned to the drawers as the drawers and pantries slowly reassembled themselves from their scattered spots. There were still a few pieces with holes and incomplete glassware, parts that had been subjected to permanent vanishing charms.
Once the room no longer resembled a battlefield, Molly set about morosely making breakfast. Most of the cooking supplies had survived the mêlée, except for a few eggs. They ate breakfast in silence.
They planned to visit Mr. Weasley in St. Mungo's, the magical hospital, and the atmosphere was distinctly gloomy as the Weasleys thought about their injured father and friend.
The Weasley siblings had managed to listen in to what had happened to the poor man. The details had been lacking, and exactly what transpired hadn't been discussed. However, it seemed that Mr. Weasley had been attacked by a snake while in the Ministry. He had been guarding . . . something . . . for the Order of the Phoenix. He'd very nearly died before anyone had found him — and the prognosis for recovery was slim. The snake hadn't been just venomous, but magical as well. Plus, something about the venom made it very hard to counter — the wounds were resisting all attempts to heal them. It seemed as if the venom had been designed to maximize suffering while prolonging the victim's death. None of the solutions or potions St. Mungo's had tried had worked very well.
Mr. Weasley wasn't actually in a coma. He was in stasis — completely frozen. Nothing was working; from breathing to heart beat. It was all they could do to keep him alive long enough as they tried to cure him. They only brought him out of the stasis to try a new treatment, and then immediately put him back into it.
There really wasn't anything any of the siblings could say to what they had learned, except rage at the unfairness of it. They were finally able to lift themselves from near poverty, and then this happens. They could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel — and then the tunnel collapsed.
Harry was sure that Sirius and Lupin suspected that the Weasleys had somehow listened in to the meeting, but kept quiet to spare Molly's additional angst. The dismal morning dragged on for what felt like forever. That it was a nice and sunny day outside merely emphasized the unfairness of life.
But, then again, Harry had learned long, long ago, that life wasn't just unfair. At times, he knew from experience, life could be a down-right vindictive little bitch who seemed to delight in others suffering for no apparent reason.
"Well then," Mrs. Weasley said, after cleaning up from lunch, with cheer that echoed hollow and tired. "Let's get going then." The Weasleys glumly assembled in front of the drawing room floo.
Mad-Eye and Tonks had shown up to escort them across London to the hospital. Disguised as a department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd., the windows had large signs that read CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT. The muggles around them ignored the building. Tonks whispered something about Arthur Weasley at a dummy behind a floor-length window. Moments later, they were crowded into the waiting room.
Rows of witches and wizards sat on rickety wooden chairs, some looked normal and others sported bizarre disfiguring conditions, such as an elephant trunk instead of a nose or an arm coming out of their chest. A wizard in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved, and a witch had steam constantly whistling out of her nose.
The witch behind the counter appeared instantly to know who the large group of apparently heathy red-headed people were there for. As they approached it, Harry noticed two posters behind her: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS one said, and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER said the other, both with gruesome images decorating them.
She quickly pointed them to the sixth floor. That was where the Critical Magical Treatments ward was, a ward usually out-of-bounds for visitors. As were the floors above, which were for patients with highly contagious illnesses.
Harry took out the box of plushies from his pocket and unshrunk it. He gave it to the nurse with the instructions to give the plushies out to the smaller patients. Then he hurried after the others.
They could only see Mr. Weasley through a window. His room was magically and physically sealed off, and the healer in with him even had a bubble-head charm that they could see. They discovered that the room didn't really have a normally breathable atmosphere. Instead, the air was filled with a cocktail of potentially hazardous potion fumes that assisted in the conditions demanded by the stasis spell. And by their father whenever he was awake.
No one had anything to say at the sight of Mr. Weasley, except exclamations of horror. He lay pale and deathly still on the bed inside the room, blood-stained bandages all over him. Apparently, the snake hadn't bitten him just once.
"I-is he going to die?" Ginny asked in choked whisper.
Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth with a smile, obviously intending to reassure her. But she said nothing and her smile faded. After a moment, she whispered, "I don't know," and bleakly stared at her husband of twenty-five years. There was really nothing more she could say that wouldn't obviously be just blind hope. And her children were well over the age where they would believe what she said just because she said it, true or not.
Mr. Weasley was literally on the brink of death, and, despite Mrs. Weasley's and the Order's attempts to conceal it, everyone who saw him knew it.
Harry looked at his friends . . . and crew, he realized . . . for several moments. After a resting hand on each shoulder in commiseration, he slipped away quietly. Outside the ward, in the corridor to the lift, he took a couple of deep breaths. He took out the command stone in his pocket and looked at it. He tapped it once for general communication and waited a moment for the others to dig out their stones or move to somewhere where they wouldn't be noticed, or both.
"Have we found anything medical related on the ship?" he said with a shuddering breath.
There was a moment of silence. "We haven't really looked," Angelina answered. She said she got away with wearing it all the time at home by claiming it was a Star Trek-like toy walkie-talkie, and the voices were other friends of hers who had similar toys.
"Is Mr. Weasley that bad?" Hermione asked quietly.
"He's worse. Much, much worse than we were told," Harry said, as he glanced at the closed ward door. He gave them a description of what he had seen, and what they had just been told. There were a lot of gasps and exclamations of shock and horror. "Can we put medicine research somewhere in our agenda?" he said hopefully. "Just . . . just, you know, in case there's something there?"
"You got it, Captain," Angelina promptly and firmly said. "We'll start look into it, first thing when we get back to school. As advanced as they were, I can't imagine they don't have something we can use."
"Thank you," he said gratefully.
Then a tentative voice cleared his throat. "You're in St. Mungo's, Captain?" It was Neville Longbottom.
"Yeah," Harry quietly answered.
"I'm . . . on the fourth floor. Long term resident's ward."
Harry hesitated and then nodded to himself. "I'm on my way. Harry out." He dropped the stone back into his pocket.
He found Neville sitting between a pair of beds. One was occupied by a sleeping, wispy haired woman. The other held a man who stared, wide eyed and blank-faced, at the ceiling. Neville was holding both their hands. The woman's hand was limp in his gently grip. The man was squeezing back so hard his knuckles were white. It must've hurt.
"Hi, Neville," Harry said.
"Captain," Neville said with a smile forced smile that was more of a grimace. He nodded at the man and the woman. "My parents. Alice and Frank Longbottom."
"It's an honour," Harry said honestly, albeit quietly.
"You knew?" Neville said nervously, surprised at the discovery that his secret, wasn't.
"I've heard about it, yeah," Harry said sympathetically. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."
Neville nodded, swallowing with difficulty. "I just . . . I wouldn't, I mean. I don't . . .." he stopped and frowned, and took a deep breath. "I don't want pity or anything, but . . . i-if we're looking into medicine, on the ship — it can do so many amazing things. I thought . . . Maybe we could . . ."
"Yes, of course," Harry said sternly. "Absolutely, we will look into this, too."
Neville nodded, relieved at not being dismissed out-of-hand. "N-not that I'm holding any hopes. Just . . . if there is anything . . ." he sighed and bowed his head.
Harry pulled a chair from an unoccupied bed and sat with Neville until his grandmother came. Neville nervously, and proudly, formally introduced Harry to the woman. Harry had seen her many times at the train station, dropping off and collecting Neville each year. Harry offered her his chair while he retrieved another.
After the obligatory comparison to his mother's eyes and his father's looks, she didn't ask any questions.
She sat stiffly. She had a pinched, wearily proud look on her face as she spoke of her son and his wife. She told him of their careers as Aurors, their brilliance. She talked about how proud she was of their accomplishments while they were still at Hogwarts. Then she talked about what they had done and what they had wanted to do. It was almost like she had rehearsed a retirement speech for them. The more she talked, the more Neville seemed to fold into himself, shrinking under the accomplishments of his parents. His eyes moved to watch his parents.
Apparently, the litany recited was nothing new to Neville. And he must have heard it many times before to get this reaction, Harry understood. No wonder he was shy, reserved, and lacked confidence.
As he listened and watched, Harry decided he needed to do something for Neville once they were back in Hogwarts, and he was out of his grandmother's depressing and oppressive presence. Right now, though, all he could do was offer his condolences, squeeze Neville's shoulder tightly, and wish him a merry Christmas.
It was around six o'clock that evening when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Black started screaming again. Harry assumed that Mundungus, or some other Order member, had come to call. Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak the hippogriff's room. He was hiding there to escape the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded his friends. There was only so much doom and gloom he could take in one day. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later.
"I know you're in there, Captain," came Hermione's voice. "Will you please come out?"
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked after opening the door, surprised to see her. "I thought you went skiing with your mum and dad."
Hermione smirked. "Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing," she said. "So, I've come for Christmas." There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. "But don't tell Ron that, I told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Anyway, Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who's serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway," she said briskly, "let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum's lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches."
When they entered his bedroom, all four of the Weasley siblings were waiting for them, sitting in a row on Ron's bed.
"I came on the Knight Bus," explained Hermione, airily, Harry had time to speak. "After last night and this afternoon, I thought it best." She looked at the Weasleys. "We're friends, and friends help friends when they need it. Especially if they are crew."
The Weasleys looked at each other and perked up a bit.
"You aren't in this alone," she continued. "Angelina told her parents she's spending a few days at Alicia's, and they're both on the ship combing through the systems. Hannah has joined them. She said she's always had an interest in healing, anyway. She talked with Susan, and Susan talked her mother into asking the Unspeakables to take a look at the case, simply on the grounds that the St. Mungo's healers are stumped. I don't know if we can get this sorted, but we're gonna try anyway."
Ginny started crying, and the Ron and the twins' eyes looked rather watery.
"Well," she said, primly, "Unfortunately, the adults would throw a wobbly if any of us tried to leave for the ship, and they'd notice almost immediately if we were mysteriously missing during the day. That means we can't do anything useful for your father." She shifted her attention. "So, Harry, show us that locket."
A few minutes explanation, and several very secure spells on the room and doors, and a check for portraits, and they were staring into the open silver box containing the locket. Harry moved over to the door and rubbed his scar. The pain and fierce headache had returned as soon as he had opened the box.
After only a few moments of looking, Ginny's pale face looked at Harry. "Harry," she in a sick voice, "it reminds me of the diary, at the end."
Harry didn't realize he had moved until he was beside the closed box as everyone stared at him, surprised.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly, and gave the girl a searching look.
Slowly and gravely, she nodded. Ron looked stunned, and Hermione had the fingers of both hands over her mouth in horror.
The twins were looking back and forth between them, alarmed and puzzled.
A half-hour's story telling later, the twins looked as sick as their sister.
"We need basilisk poison," Hermione said shakily.
"That's almost impossible to get," said Fred.
"It would cost more than dad makes in a decade, too," said George.
"Tossing it into the sun would be easier, I think."
"As hot as it's supposed to be, that should do it," George finished, nodding.
"But if it isn't," Hermione said, "We'd never be able to retrieve the locket."
They all shuddered at that thought — accidentally making the wizard immortal.
Harry slowly shook his head and swallowed. "Now we know Voldemort made two of these." He looked up from the box at his friends. "What if he made more?"
"There could be dozens of these things scattered around," Ginny said, her voice trembling.
"There must be a way to track them," Ron mused. He looked at the box. "If there's that much of his personality in them," he glanced at his sister, "then they have very unique qualities. And we have a sample right here."
"I'm sure he has them protected with spells," Harry said. "The simple ones, like point-me are probably blocked."
"But you detected it, Harry," Ginny said. "So, there must be some way to use this . . . this . . . thing as a detector."
Harry rubbed his forehead with his thumbs. "This is way out of our league guys," he said dejectedly. "Way, way out. We need help."
"But who?" said one twin.
"Not anyone in the order," the other said bitterly.
"They'd just take it and pat us on the head," the first said resentfully.
"And tell us not to worry about it because we're children."
They sat, thinking.
"The Goblins," Hermione abruptly said excitedly. "We send Hedwig tonight with a message. We say . . . we found something disturbing and we want to hire them. If they are amendable, we'll bring it in tomorrow. And we include one of these," she reached into her purse and took out a gold bar, "to show we're serious. And they get to keep it regardless of if they can or can't help us after we explain everything."
Harry stared at her. A grin slowly grew on his face. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed, "Absolutely brilliant!"
Hermione blushed and preened a bit.
"If there's one person we can trust to treat us just like everyone else, it's a Goblin! Plus, if we show them the gold, they'll do almost anything we ask. Plus, they know magic we haven't even dreamed of yet. And if it's sufficiently different magic, it might be able to do things wizarding magic can't." He rubbed his hands together elatedly.
Almost simultaneously, there was a peck at the window. The twins took down their spells and let the bird in. And, in short order, Hermione had drafted a letter and Hedwig was off with an order to wait for a response.
Now that the Weasleys had something other than their father to focus on, they demanded a complete re-telling of the Golden Trio's adventures. "Oh, and set this up as a general broadcast so the rest of the crew can hear. Yes, I know," Hermione said in response to Harry's less than enthusiastic response, "You'd rather not talk about it." She looked at him steadily. "I think it's only fair that they know the truth about what's been happening the last four years now that we've found that." She looked pointedly at the closed silver box. "And after what happened at the third task.
Most of the crew ended up listening in. Angelina came on only long enough to say she had the ship recording it so that those who couldn't make it tonight, such as her and her team, could listen to it later. "And," she added, "It's an important point of history and we should make sure the truth is out there."
So, Harry started talking. Every time he tried to lowball his involvement, Hermione or Ron would chime in with a correction, or three, until he gave up and just told the story. About an hour into the story, Hedwig made it back to them. They had a meeting tomorrow with the Goblins at ten in the morning.
By the time Harry had finished, it was midnight. It was a silent and contemplative bunch of Weasleys that headed to bed.
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"We need to go to Diagon Alley today," Hermione announced firmly at breakfast. "I have an appointment with the Goblins at ten, and we need to do our Christmas shopping. We haven't had much chance at Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade has such a limited selection."
Molly put up half-hearted objections, while Professor Lupin was a quite bit sterner. Still, after an hour of argument, they managed to convince the adults that they needed to get out of the house, and that Christmas shopping was as good an excuse as any. Plus, while Pink Toad might be after them, she was at Hogwarts. In addition, Voldemort couldn't take advantage without revealing he was back. And they really, really didn't want to know what the Goblins would do if they missed an appointment.
"Plus," she had said triumphantly, "All we have to do is use illusions on our hair and eyes, and people will never recognize any of us."
Tonks and Lupin were their reluctant minders at Diagon Alley.
As long as they were going to be there, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George decided to deposit their gold bars in Gringotts. They split up at the tellers as Tonks and Lupin wandered just outside. The Weasleys all used the excuse that they had made bargains at school with the muggle-borns and wanted to open vaults. Ginny claimed she had helped a few students with sewing repairs and studying, the twins unabashedly admitted they had won the bars in bets. Ron said he had earned it teaching some of the other students in the chess club how to improve their game.
From their expressions, Harry thought the Goblins didn't believe the stories, but the bars were real gold.
The siblings all exited the bank with slightly shocked expressions. They had known the bars were worth a lot of galleons, but they hadn't expected that many! They each had almost as many galleons as their father made in half-a-year at the Ministry.*
They quickly scattered across the Alley to cover the fact that not only Hermione, but Harry and Ginny planned to meet with the Goblins at her ten o'clock appointment.
At the appointed time, they snuck off from the others. At the bank, they were conducted to a small office. More of a closet, actually.
"So, what is this disturbing thing," the Goblin snidely said to them.
Hermione reached into her purse, a beaded bag, and took out the silver box. "We put it in this when we found it," she said, and set it on his desk. "It's something very evil, we can tell, and it has something to do with Voldemort. It isn't the first we've found, so we suspect that there might be more. They seem to have protective charms concealing them from easy discovery and recovery, so we cannot find them ourselves except by chance. We want to know if Gringotts can use this one to locate any others, and what Gringotts would charge to collect them for us to destroy. The first one was destroyed with basilisk poison two and a half years ago." She shifted on her chair and stared the Goblin in the eyes. "You have the gold bar we sent as earnest money, don't you?"
"Which we keep if we can't contract with you," he stated blandly.
"And is a down payment for Gringotts' services if you do," she concluded, nodding.
The Goblin sighed, took the box, and opened.
Harry frowned and rubbed at his scar as it began to throb with pain.
The Goblin stared inside the box for a long moment, then looked up at them blankly. He pulled out a dagger and used the tip to lift the locket gently by its chain. He set it on his desk. He stared at it a moment, frowning deeply. He held his fingers over it and muttered, then leaned back in surprise. He darted another look at them.
He licked his fingers and ran them over the cover of the locket, jerking his hand back as it sparked at him.
The pain in Harry's scar spiked. He wasn't able to hide his wince.
The Goblin noticed and stared at him steadily. Without taking his eyes off Harry, he again stroked the locket. This time he didn't react to the sparks, but Harry winced again. The fourth time he did it, Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Can you help us or not?" he growled.
The Goblin leaned back in his chair. "Tell me more about the first of these," he said blandly.
"Do you have something to view memories with?" Harry said quietly.
Half an hour later, the Goblin reeled back in his chair.
He studied Harry with a new respect. Abruptly, he said, "We require another gold bar as surety."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. She shrugged and reached into her purse again. She laid the bar gently on his desk. His eyes tracked its movement and his greed was clear.
"A gold bar for each verified item, as we present it."
Harry nodded.
"We have an accord," the Goblin said. "It will take a few moments to create a contract." He opened a drawer and removed a quill, inkpot, and parchment. Most of the contract must already have been written and it took less than five minutes for him to fill in the exact details on the parchment. He handed it to Harry, who handed it to Hermione. She spent ten minutes reading the entire contract, front and back.
"It looks complete," she said.
Harry nodded.
She handed to parchment back to the Goblin, Sharpnose. He took it and signed it, this time with a scarlet-coloured quill, then handed the quill and parchment to Harry. Harry started to sign, but the familiar twinge on the back of his hand made him stop and stare at the Goblin. The Goblin shrugged, "All major contracts require a blood-quill — the Ministry insists." Harry nodded and signed the contract.
Sharpnose's eyes lingered on the scar on Harry's hand, and he sneered.
Harry shrugged, "The Ministry," he explained. "I am but a student," he said.
The Goblin stared at him. "You are a warrior who has bested a sixty-foot-long basilisk with nought but a sword. They shouldn't question your word."
Harry shrugged again.
He stared at Harry a bit longer, then said in plainly fake casual tone, "What has been done with the basilisk?"
"Nothing that I know of," Harry responded.
"Can you still get to this Chamber of Secrets?" The Goblin's quick question showed that his eagerness had leaked past his façade of casualness.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe. It is in Hogwarts, though, and the Ministry is keeping a close watch on me. They would interfere, I'm sure." He frowned in thought. "But I could probably get in, yes."
"If you can get a Gringotts team in to render the creature, assuming it is still there, Gringotts will credit the Potter Vaults with fifty-percent of the profits."
"Eighty-percent," interjected Hermione, "and ten percent of the renderings."
They settled on sixty-seven and three-quarters percent of the profits, and five and a third percent of the renderings. They would notify the Goblins if the snake was still there, and when they could schedule a convenient time — which Hermione said would be a time with the least likely amount of possible interference — to go in for it.
"You may go," Sharpnose said quietly after signing the second contract. "We are done." He could barely contain his glee.
As they left the bank, Hermione said, "They can apparate to Hogsmeade, in the Shrieking Shack, then come in through the tunnel. Once we're on the grounds, Dobby can pop them to the chamber. Or, the twins could side-along them into the Honeydukes tunnel and then lead them, disillusioned, from the one-eyed witch to Myrtle's toilets." She barely paused as she added. "We should do it late at night after Christmas Day before the students return. Less chance of interference."
Harry agreed. "Seems simple enough. Why the renderings, though?"
She shrugged. "We can replicate them on the ship and see just how much of their abilities are magical and how much mundane. Besides, they'll make good barter. And we could use the venom" She eyed him significantly.
She turned to Ginny. "And you, we need to see about getting you to see a qualified psychologist."
Ginny frowned at her. "A what?"
"Pyschologist. A mind healer. Having Riddle living in your mind for ten months can't have been without some side-effects. We need to make sure you're at one-hundred percent." She glanced at Harry. "While the Headmaster is without a doubt one of the most powerful and smartest wizards in England, he is not a professional healer. If he were, then he would have no need of Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing."
Ginny just stared at her.
"And you, too, Harry. We can't have a Captain with hidden mental problems, now can we?"
They both stopped and stared at her.
"In fact, a psychological check-up might be in order for everyone. It certainly couldn't hurt, now could it?"
Their eyes bugged out slightly. Harry had to close his open mouth.
She placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Well, it's not like we can't afford it, is it? It'll all have to be this summer, but I think we can easily manage it," she said firmly.
"Yes, Number One," Harry said weakly. "Make it so."
Ginny gave him a sharp look.
Hermione smothered a smirk at his answer and nodded happily. They resumed their search for the rest of the Weasleys. Which was rather difficult, actually, as they all, even Lupin and Tonks were wearing glamours.
Ginny, Hermione, and Harry eventually caught up with the Weasleys in Flourish & Blotts. After a brief lunch in one of the Alley cafes, they continued their aimless wandering . . . shopping . . . for another couple of hours.
Or, in Harry's case, as pack mule for the things they were buying. Truly not much of a chore, considering that Lupin reducioed the bags and featherlighted them. All Harry had to do was slip them into his pockets.
Her father, Hermione said, would have been soo jealous.
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A.N. * Galleons are traded at the rate of £5 at Gringotts. Gold, in the U.K. in December 1995, traded at ~£258 per ounce of Gold. Therefore, unless the Goblins wanted to go broke, the Galleons have to made of a gold-plated coin of some sort with a fixed value of 5:1.
The average wager earner in 1995 made £19,000-20,000 per year. Assuming the wizards were on par with that, it means that the average wage earner in Diagon Alley would be 4,000 galleons per year.
A kilogram of gold was worth ~£8,294 in December 1995. Which meant it was worth 1,658 Galleons.