Posted 11/2/2015

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Seventy-Six - Unforeseen

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With a lazy wave, Harry put the notes on Portkeys aside and leaned back on his chair. He knew they had missed the solution; there had to be a way to create living Portkeys that lasted longer than a few minutes. The magic that animated the conjured birds shouldn't even create any conflicts, yet each time Hermione and Harry had tried the magic, something had gone wrong. They had figured out why the magic of the Portkey didn't stick to the mice they had used for the initial tests and had managed to come up with a runic layout that would accomplish the same to avoid two spells interfering with each other. But once they had gotten that far, the mice had taken to exploding at random.

Why? Harry couldn't think of a reason. Living beings could be enchanted. Living beings could have runes put on them – the Dark Mark was a prime example, but Harry could also think of at least a dozen other cases, from uses in healing to people incapable of true wandless casting using runes for highly specialized magic for their jobs. If the human body could be used, why shouldn't animals work as well?

Maybe, Harry mused, glancing at his notes on the theory of conjuring, it was less about the body and more about the origin? One of the principles of Alchemy was the importance of origins and properties, so maybe that was the reason. Some potions and experiments required a specific source for one or more ingredients – natural water instead of conjured one or the process of actually heating the cauldron instead of spelling the contents hot.

Harry made a quick note on a spare piece of parchment. Conjuration=explosion? He wondered how he would get Hermione to agree testing their Portkey and magic on a real animal instead of a magically created one. She probably wouldn't like risking lives for their research – she'd finally come around and accepted that some deaths were inevitable, that lethal force was one of the most reliable ways of taking enemies out. This was especially true in the world of magic where healing was sometimes little more than a wave of a wand. However, she had been opposed to killing their captured Snatchers, calling it unnecessary, and Harry suspected she would fret over the mice's lives as well.

Of course, Harry mused, it would probably take a few dozen mice before they'd have solved the random, messy explosions. He snorted and couldn't shake the feeling he'd find it twice as funny to watch real mice explode in a shower of guts, in part because of the absurdity.

"What's so funny?" Daphne murmured on the bed behind him.

He turned to look at her and found her lying on her side and staring at him with sleepy eyes.

"Sorry," he told her with an apologetic smile, "I didn't want to wake you."

"Eh, it's – what time is it?" she replied, curling up a bit to face him more.

"Early," Harry gave back. "You've got at least an hour or two until breakfast."

"Breakfast is whenever," she gave back, huffing. "Kreacher makes sure of it. I can stay in bed as long as I want."

"An hour or two until I'll drag you out of bed, then," Harry chuckled.

"An hour or two to drag you back into bed with me," she told him, propping herself up on her elbow.

"Ah, tempting," Harry sighed dramatically. He meant it, and snogging his girlfriend was a very nice way to start the day, but it was also very easy to lose track of time. Considering they had arranged another training session with their friends at Hogwarts at ten, Hermione would likely come looking for Harry if he didn't show up for breakfast and last-minute preparations at eight at the latest.

"I know it is," she agreed with a grin. "That was the plan."

"Should I really reward such cheekiness?" he asked, throwing her a challenging look.

When neither gave in, she changed the subject. "You still haven't answered me – what was so funny?"

Harry glanced at the parchment strewn across the table. "Exploding mice," he explained. "I'm suspecting it might have something to do with the magic of conjuring and not the part that is Portkey. If so, it'd mean we'd have to turn real birds into Portkeys, which would complicate our plans. Conjuring dozens of birds is one thing; collecting them in the wild is something else entirely. But first, we'd have to test the theory on live animals."

"Mice, in this case, which might explode as well," Daphne finished for him, wrapping the blanket around her as she got up. "You'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"Likely, yes," Harry agreed, watching her as she walked over to join him. He caught a glimpse of her nightdress and focused on looking at her face and not her swaying hips.

"Between Hermione and you," Daphne teased, "there should be enough brains to find a solution." Her eyes took in his various notes. "I mean, haven't you already made good progress?"

"We did," he confirmed. "If you count reinventing Portkeys, that is."

"And you think it's the conjuring?" she asked, leaning forward to pull a piece of parchment closer.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "It's possible. Sometimes, magic requires a specific property to work, which is why some potions require heating water over a fire instead of spelling it hot."

"Arithmancy, yes," Daphne agreed with a nod. "Not my strongest suit, but that does sound familiar."

"Well, yes. It does come up every once in a while. Kind of makes me wish I'd taken it at Hogwarts, but –" He broke off when she sat down in his lap and leaned into him.

"Daphne –"

"We've still got an hour or two before someone'll miss us." She turned around. "An hour for us?" Her hand crept out of her cocoon of blanket and came to rest on his shirt.

Harry didn't need more convincing – he leaned closer, and they kissed briefly. It took a bit to settle in with her movement limited by the blankets, but it was an entertaining bit. In fact, Harry found the mishaps of their time as a couple quite enjoyable and usually a good source for a chuckle. They'd be laughing anyway, but the occasional tangle of limbs or accident provided a decent excuse and a breather.

Before long, his hand had slipped into the folds of her blanket and was finding its way up her thigh. Her breath was hot on his neck, her hand crawling down his spine, when the quiet chime signalling someone coming up the stairs echoed in the room, followed by noise from the corridor.

Daphne breathed something between an annoyed groan and a longing moan.

Voices and noise grew louder in the corridor.

"Too early," Daphne hissed, pressing herself against Harry. "'s not us."

"– damn-well please, you –" Ron shouted outside.

It was like a cold shower – Daphne and Harry were thrown back into reality and broke apart. Ron wasn't always the most tactful, and while Hermione had the decency to knock before entering Harry's bedroom, Ron didn't always bother with that, however, especially when he was agitated – he had shared a dorm with Harry for years, and they had very little secrets from each other. In fact, it had been luck Daphne had been to the bathroom the last time Ron had barged in to rant about the latest injustice of Voldemort's Ministry.

Daphne's eyes bulged, jumping to the nightgown she wore and the her robes lying where she had put them the previous evening. She shot to her feet, trying in vain to hide her panic.

Harry couldn't fault her. Kreacher seemed to have accepted her as his mistress. Hermione had warmed up to Daphne. Ron was still a touchy subject, though – he had stopped showing his distrust and had begun making an effort to get over his deeply ingrained prejudices, but still didn't seem comfortable around Daphne. It was an uneasy peace, with Ron not knowing how to act around her.

Hermione's voice joined the fray, but what she said, Harry couldn't tell. She seemed near, though, likely standing on the other side of the door.

As Daphne scrambled to collect the more obvious signs of her overnight stays in Harry's bedroom, he stood up, battling with his bad mood. Why had his friends decided to interrupt what had been a very pleasant morning? He only hoped it was something important and not just Hermione and Ron bickering over nothing. In the back of his mind, he already thought of the revenge he'd have during their training session later if whatever was going on didn't justify ruining his fun. He'd have Ron and Hermione dodging his spells until they could do little more than crawl. Or maybe he'd find some spell to have them crawl for real; surely someone had come up with something like that?

He tore the door open just as Hermione, wearing a dressing gown and looking a bit tired, was about to knock.

"What?" he pressed out between his teeth, glowering at her. "This better be –"

"Harry," Ron announced from where he stood halfway to the stairs facing off against Kreacher. "You won't believe it! You–you gotta –"

"Master is awake," the elf interrupted, bowing.

"Yeah, Master's awake, Master's awake," Ron growled, giving an accurate, but rather more mean-spirited imitation of the elf than Harry would have expected. "Now stop being in the way, Kreacher –"

"Don't be mean to him, Ron," Hermione chided with a glance over her shoulder, "just because he's doing his job."

"But he isn't!" Ron complained. "House elves aren't supposed to –"

"They aren't supposed to do a lot of things, Ronald," Hermione said in an even tone, yet giving him an unmistakable look to stop arguing the point. "Some of which because prejudiced purebloods can't stand the idea of house elves having any sense of self-worth, pride or independence."

"What's this ruckus about?" Harry asked, raising his voice to draw everyone's attention. He really hoped for his friends' sake that they hadn't come to him and disrupted an enjoyable snog over elf rights. "What's going on out here? In the middle of the night?"

"It's quarter to seven," Hermione pointed out immediately, only to blink when she realized she had spoken in the first place.

"Not the –" Ron began, but she cut him off with an annoyed look.

"I know – not the point," she told them. To Harry, she added, "Ron's just come back from –"

"You gotta see!" Ron shouted, waving a newspaper.

"I tried telling him that –" Hermione began.

"I know I'm right!" Ron interrupted. "I know it! A mug like that, hard to forget!"

"Ron –"

"Don't 'Ron' me!" he insisted with a glare of his own. "I know what I've seen."

"Who did die?" Harry spoke up, suddenly alert and brimming with energy instead of anger as the pieces fell into place. An agitated Ron returning with a newspaper could only mean bad news.

"He didn't!" Ron replied, waving the paper once more. "And we tried telling you, but Kreacher was blocking our way, and Hermione thinks –"

"I don't know, Ron," she hissed, and for a moment, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she'd bared her teeth like a snake. "I hardly knew him. It's not like we were ever introduced, you know?"

Ron wasn't discouraged, though – he pushed past a grumbling Kreacher and waved the paper, accidentally smacking Hermione's shoulder with it. Sparing her an apologetic glance, he pressed a Muggle newspaper in Harry's hands. "Look, Harry!"

Harry did, feeling strangely empty inside. "That's Dudley," he said, blinking as he looked at a drawing of his cousin. It did look remarkably like a thinner, rougher, meaner version of Dudley. It probably didn't help that the drawing depicted him with a shifty look in his eyes, but it was an expression Harry had seen his cousin use often enough to get out of trouble at school to recognize him by it.

"See?" Ron cheered, dancing in joy. "See? I told you it's him, I told you!"

"That's Dudley," Harry repeated, scanning the article.

Hermione stared from one friend to the other, gaping.

"Are you – ? Well, I mean –" she tried, scratching her head as she tried to make sense of what was happening. "Out of all of us, you know him best, so –"

"'Who's seen this man?'" Harry read from the article. "Dudley, a man. Huh. 'Late teens to young adult, travelling with two adults and a girl.'" He looked up, but neither of his friends seemed to have the answer he was looking for. "The others I don't recognize."

"What's going on?" Daphne asked, stepping out behind Harry. She seemed to have picked up on the strange mood. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed she had changed into her robes. "Who's that?"

"Greengrass," Ron spoke up, slightly out of breath at the unexpected company. "What're you –?"

"It's Dudley," Harry cut in, handing Daphne the newspaper. "My cousin." He took the moment to catch her eye, but she didn't reveal why she had decided to show herself. Maybe it had been curiosity.

After a quick glance at a slightly frowning Hermione – she always was quicker on the uptake and probably already coming to the right conclusions – and a baffled Ron, Harry added, "The one who... Well, he didn't die, apparently."

"The one you grew up with?" Daphne wondered, glancing at the drawing.

"Well, yes," Harry told her. "Although he was fatter back then."

"What's she doing here?" Ron interrupted, shaking his head in disbelief – Harry guessed it was more that he refused to accept the obvious explanation – just when Hermione greeted Daphne with a smile and a mumbled, "Morning."

Their eyes met for a second, Harry noticed, before Daphne busied herself with the paper.

"Right, well," Harry said, straightening up to draw the other's attention, "I'm pretty sure that's Dudley –"

"Seen 'im up close only once," Ron muttered more to himself than anyone else as he seemed to get used to a person he'd thought dead being alive and making headlines in the newspaper.

"'Wanted for manslaughter,'" Daphne quoted, "'armed, dangerous and deranged.'"

"So that's why the herd of hippogryphs," Harry spoke up, nodding. "Dudley's making headlines."

"Well, Ron thought – and I agree with him now – that this couldn't wait," Hermione said. "Although it doesn't really tell us much. They don't even know his name."

"They will soon enough," Harry argued, scratching his chin. "With his face in the papers and perhaps even on TV, someone will remember him. He went to school, he had friends, there were neighbours –"

"We get it," Hermione interrupted.

"He looks kind of thuggish," Daphne pointed out. "Where has he been all this time?"

"Around, most likely," Harry told her with a shrug. "Though I'm still curious what he's done. Manslaughter's a bit out of his league."

"And what's Greengrass doing here?" Ron wondered, confused, causing Hermione to suppress a smile as she shot Harry a look.

While he tried to ignore it, he didn't miss Hermione's eye jumping to Kreacher for a second. It was enough to remind Harry of the elf's still unexplained presence – surely Hermione and Ron hadn't dragged the elf along to deliver the news?

"And what are you doing here, Kreacher?"

"Blocking our way," Ron complained with a glower.

"Straightening Master Black's portrait," the elf replied with a bow, referring to Phineas Nigellus's portrait.

"At quarter to seven?" Harry wondered, raising an eyebrow.

A moment after Daphne froze next to Harry and blushed profusely, Harry realized that both answers were probably correct – straightening the portrait had meant blocking Ron and Hermione's path. House elves were shrewd sometimes.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," the elf said, bowing even lower.

Daphne's blush intensified, and Harry had a sudden hunch what had happened. From Hermione's quivering lips and silent giggles, she'd come to the same conclusion – Kreacher had attempted to protect Harry and Daphne's time together.

Harry could almost hear Sirius laughing himself silly at the old elf's shrewd plotting.


Years of training in Occlumency allowed Severus to hide his feelings behind a mask even the Dark Lord could not tear away or look behind. In a way, it had become second nature to show the world a face that wasn't Severus's.

Sometimes, he wondered whether he was punished for a crime he couldn't remember committing. Had the torment at the hands of Potter and his followers the pain paid in advance for Severus joining the Dark Lord as a young man? Had his childhood been a way for the universe to make sure Severus Snape couldn't escape the world without paying his debts?

But it didn't matter. Side-by-side, he marched with Alecto Carrow to the front doors of Malfoy Manor. They were expected; the doors flew open, and they walked past a huddle of Death Eaters. Some Severus recognized, most prominently the Lestrange brothers talking to a bunch of younger recruits. One of them, Pollock, sent Severus a shaky smile that cut deep. Pollock had been a student mere two years ago, and despite Snape's efforts to covertly steer the girl away from the Dark Arts, she had been ensnared by the power offered to her. Gone was the boisterous halfblood, and no matter what she looked like, Severus knew she had done her part in the war.

He allowed himself a last bit of regret – Pollock was now a Death Eater; she was now the enemy Severus had sworn to fight. He just hoped she wouldn't meet her end at his hands.

"Good girl," Alecto commented, glancing over her shoulder. "Promising, from what I heard. You taught her, right?"

Severus nodded curtly, but didn't have to hear Carrow complimenting his good work in recruiting the more talented witches and wizards for the cause. He had heard it often enough, but he could do without the reminder of his failures. For once, he was glad to reach the doors that led to the Dark Lord's audience room. The two harrowed-looking Death Eaters standing guard let the new arrivals in without a word.

The Dark Lord sat on his throne, looking like a marble statue. At his feet, five bodies lay, two of which belonging to Ministry workers, from the look of their robes. There was also Burbank, another of Severus's former students.

"Severus," the Dark Lord greeted them. "Alecto."

Both bowed obediently, waiting for orders.

"Tell me about Hogwarts," the Dark Lord continued.

"My Lord," Severus began, silencing Carrow with a glance, "the teachers are following orders now, and the students are doing their part. Hogwarts is firmly under our control; a year from now, I expect the last of Dumbledore to leave the school."

"We've finally managed to silence the last dissenters in school," Alecto spoke up, smiling nastily. "It has been weeks since anyone dared speak up. The seed has taken root, my Lord, and the training of your army has begun."

"You have served me well," the Dark Lord said, but Severus could hear the mocking in his tone. He suspected the Dark Lord wasn't impressed it had taken so long to secure the castle, especially considering it had been a handful of teenagers that had resisted that long and successfully.

"Fenrir Greyback is dead," the Dark Lord spoke.

Alecto twitched nervously next to Severus.

"You do not seem surprised, Severus," the Dark Lord pointed out.

"I am not," Severus replied, lifting his head to look at the Dark Lord. "Greyback's death was only a matter of time. He sought the risk; he loved the thrill and repeatedly put himself in danger to sate his desires. It was only a question of time until he met his end. He had made many enemies among wizards and beasts alike."

"He was to track down two schoolgirls," the Dark Lord said with a hint of a threat.

"Hannah Abbott," Alecto Carrow provided, quivering, "and Susan Bones who is Amelia Bones's niece."

"Those two tried bringing them in," the Dark Lord spoke in a calculating voice that made Severus feel uneasy. "They failed to capture two schoolgirls." The Dark Lord's anger was unmistakable, and behind his mask, Severus allowed himself to be impressed. Bones and Abbott had managed to get under the Dark Lord's skin and fight off two adult wizards.

"Greyback," the Dark Lord added, his face contorting in rage, "was killed by the other two who also managed to get away. He was brought down like a common beast. His wand was splintered; his head split by an axe. I cannot let that stand." The Dark Lord leaned back on his throne. "He was a servant of Lord Voldemort. Even the lowest of servants of Lord Voldemort are above blood traitors. The order must be preserved, and his killers must be brought to justice."

"My Lord," Severus began, forcing his nervousness down, "I will provide any information necessary to find the perpetrators –"

"No, Severus," the Dark Lord interrupted. "I did not call you here to provide information. I have called you here because you have proven yourself. I have called you because you are one of my most trusted and capable followers. You know how to move among wizards and filth. I want you to chase down the boy who killed Greyback. The entire Wizarding World will search for him, and he won't be safe among the filth either. Every man and woman will know his face, but I want you to hunt him down, Severus. I need your talents and your instincts."

"My Lord," Severus protested, "you have the entire Ministry at your command – hundreds of eyes, thousands of ears."

"The Ministry," the Dark Lord replied with a dismissive air, "is incapable. Years of work from Lucius has led to a staggering incompetence that has allowed our swift take-over, but the smart and strong have always come to me. The Ministry workers couldn't find my servants even when they were in their midst and meeting in plain sight. Those two," he pointed at the bodies of the Ministry workers, "were bested by children. You will not make the same mistake, Severus. You are better than that, and you will bring me the boy who killed Greyback. An example needs to be made – a show of strength so that everyone will know what happens to those that dare lay hands on one of mine. Greyback kept his kind in line, but now that he is gone, they will look for another leader. I need them to return to my side as soon as possible, not squabble over who will be the leader to follow and bow to me.

"Bring me the boy, Severus," the Dark Lord ordered. "The two girls are irrelevant. Find them if you want – they might know something. They are a start, the weakest link in the chain at the moment. Once you're done with them, you may kill or torture them any way you can think of. It is the boy and his companion that need to pay."

"Hogwarts –" Severus tried.

"Will have to do without you," the Dark Lord said. "I do not need you sitting around the school any more. You will not return until you have brought me Greyback's killers. Alecto, you will do your duty as Deputy Headmistress. I have a mission for you as well – a chance to prove yourself."

The witch grinned nastily, obviously feeling as if she had been rewarded somehow.

"Leave, Severus," the Dark Lord ordered.

"Alecto," Severus heard just as he closed the doors to the audience chamber, "let us talk about the mission the Dark Lord has for you."

On his way back to the front door, Severus could only think of the trouble they were in. With Alecto Carrow in the Headmaster's office, she would have control of the school. Carrow certainly wouldn't protect the teachers or students from persecution. More importantly, however, Severus's removal from the school meant he would no longer have the time to study the wards and prepare the school for Potter's attack and take-over. Without realizing it, the Dark Lord had severely hampered his enemies' battle plans. This meant that Severus had to inform Potter immediately.

Upon arrival at the former Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Black's run-down house in London, Severus found the inhabitants already awake and at breakfast. Potter talked to his wife in whispered tones, mimicking some kind of ape to her apparent amusement. His behaviour reminded Snape of James Potter's cocky attitude. The old house elf welcomed Severus with a toothy grimace vaguely resembling a smile; it was the happiest Severus had ever seen the creature. Weasley cast weird glances at the young Mistress of the house, Daphne Greengrass – glances that worsened Severus's mood. Granger busied herself with cross-checking three newspapers and making notes on a piece of parchment, a behaviour so in line with the girl that she stuck out as the odd one.

"Snape," Potter greeted his former teacher. "Have a seat! We were just exchanging stories –"

"The Dark Lord has given the school to Alecto Carrow," Severus announced. It had the expected consequence of dispelling any happiness from the room with the exception of a humming house elf dusting a cupboard.

Pleased with the result, Severus continued, "Fenrir Greyback was killed. I was given the task of tracking down his killers. The Dark Lord plans to make an example of them before the story gets out of control."

Potter said, "We can't let that happen," at the same time as Granger gasped, "Someone killed Fenrir Greyback?"

"I agree, and yes," Severus told them, "but until I have brought the killers in, I am to continue my search. The Dark Lord seemed determined to have his way, which means that for the time being, I am no longer in any position to further our goals at Hogwarts. Unless the Dark Lord has a change of heart, I will be unable to continue my work on the protections around the school."

"We'll deal with that in time," Potter reasoned. "Just one more problem we need to find a solution for. Now, Greyback. What happened?"

"I do not know the details," Severus replied, curling his lips in distaste. "Greyback assisted in the attempted capture of Misses Abbott and Bones –"

Granger's shrill shriek echoed through the room, forcing Severus to raise his hand to demand silence. "A failed attempt, from the looks of it, as Misses Bones and Abbott managed to stay free and defeat their assailants. The Dark Lord was enraged about the failure and has punished those responsible accordingly."

"Somehow, I'm not feeling particularly sorry," Potter commented. "So Susan and Hannah escaped?"

"Apparently. The Dark Lord has given me permission to do with them however I see fit –"

"Which means anything but complimenting them on their success or letting them go unharmed," Weasley guessed.

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "The Dark Lord has given me permission to kill or torture them any way I can think of once I have extracted any useful information from them."

"Something you will not actually do," Potter replied, addressing Severus.

"Not if I can avoid it," Severus said with the barest of an acknowledging nod. This one was still a Potter, but at least one that had begun using his head every-so-often. "I would also like to point out that Misses Bones and Abbott would be better served not getting noticed at all. They are culprits in Greyback's death, for one, and have managed to embarrass the Ministry. Misses Bones and Abbott are also the best lead both I and the Ministry have to find Greyback's killers."

"But it's also the first time we hear anything about them since they left Hogwarts," he said, turning to a nodding, grinning Granger. "Should have known they'd make it. Neville, Ginny, and Luna will be happy to hear that."

"The day's getting stranger and stranger, isn't it?" Weasley spoke up into the giddy silence. "I mean, first Dudley, now this... And Greyback's death, of course. What's next, You-Know-Who offing himself?"

"Unlikely," Severus gave back. "The Dark Lord believes himself to be on the winning side, even after the setbacks he had to suffer. On the whole, he is right in that assessment."

"How did Greyback die?" Daphne Greengrass asked, looking uncomfortable.

"With a split head," Severus told her with an acknowledging nod. "I do not assume you know anything about that?"

"Not my handiwork, no," Potter admitted, but Granger's eyes bulged, and she began checking her notes. "Although I'd love to shake whoever did it," Potter added with a grin. "They've done us a great service. How did the werewolves react? Anything from them?"

Severus pursed his lips. "The Dark Lord fears the werewolves will fight for leadership. While they do, the werewolves will no longer be a reliable part of the Dark Lord's forces. I will not deny it has worked out in our favour – Greyback has been the undisputed leader of the werewolves in Britain for many years. His death has effectively created a power vacuum and severed the Dark Lord's ties to his kind. Depending how it will work out in the end, it's entirely possible the werewolves will fall on either side or none at all. I cannot claim to understand the finer details of their kind, though."

"Professor Snape? A split head, you said?" Granger spoke up in a quivering voice. "That must be quite bloody, right? Like, splattered walls and large puddles of blood? And, considering this is Greyback, lots of damage?"

Severus suppressed the urge to insult her. It wouldn't help him any, and he couldn't fail to notice Granger's nervousness.

"Likely yes, Granger," he replied with enough of an edge to urge her to get to the point.

"Well, that can't be happening that often," she said, smoothing out the newspaper on the table. "'Murder of one; group of four suspects on the run,'" she quoted while turning another paper around so that Severus could see the unmoving drawings of four people. "'The room was covered in blood, one eyewitness said, and they made a mess and a racket. Sources support these claims with one investigator declaring it the worst she has seen to this day, putting the slaughter in manslaughter. Details about the gruesome crime are expected to come to light at a press conference later today, but evidence points to a drug deal gone bad. Police urges everyone to stay safe and not engage the group.'"

Looking around at the astounded faces, she tapped the four pictures Severus had been looking at. "Two females," she declared, pointing at at an older, fretful woman and a girl, "claiming to be mother and girlfriend of," Granger continued, "this grim-looking thug we believe to be Dudley Dursley – Harry's cousin." When she noticed Severus's surprised look, she added, pointing at each of the three pictures in turn, "Susan, Hannah, Dudley. All that's missing is the fourth one."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Dudley Dursley? Potter's supposedly deceased cousin returned from the dead?"

Potter shrugged. "Riddle did it; so did Crouch Junior. Why not Dudley?"

After a moment of stunned silence, Granger shook her head. "Well, normally, I'd say no way, but whenever you're involved –"

"Yeah," Weasley agreed, "you do kind of attract the weird."

Potter shrugged. "Fair enough, but not important right now. If Hermione's correct – and it does make sense the way she explained it – then before long, Dudley will be hunted in both the Muggle and the Magical World."

Weasley snorted. "Yeah, he offed Greyback and took away You-Know-Who's werewolves."

"Which means he and everyone he's travelling with is in grave danger," Potter concluded his thought. It was a strange sight to see Potter or Weasley with a serious look on their faces. "We'll have to find a way to help them, ideally protecting them from Riddle and the Ministry."

"And how are we supposed to find them?" Weasley asked uncertainly. "Not like we have much to go on here."

"You might not be able to conduct a search unhindered," Severus spoke up, "but I can. Be aware that you may not have much time to act once I send you a message. I cannot idle once I'll have found Mr. Dursley or his companions, which means you will have to get to them before I or anyone else can."


The number of times I had to fix the proper address Severus would use... Why, oh why didn't I write it from someone else's perspective? Oh well. I originally considered having Snape mention the hatchet (which I'm assuming someone reported as an axe along the way - people do get things mixed up), but decided against it. The reveal was absurd enough as it is.

As I'm writing this, I can almost imagine Riddle going to a Villain's Pub after work and complain about his buffoonish followers who fail at the simplest of tasks like capturing two surprised schoolgirls. Maybe he'd strike up a friendship with Gargamel. They even have the same fashion sense.