HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 9 – The Birthday Party (Pt. 2)
"Would you excuse me for a minute, Hermione," he said. "Blaise is over there pretending he doesn't want to speak to me. I better go see what he doesn't want me for."
Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Slytherins," she said.
Ignoring Hermione's jibe, Harry made his way towards the house. When he got within twenty feet of Blaise, the other boy turned and walked through the front door into Potter Manor without giving any sign he'd even see Harry. With an annoyed sigh, Harry followed. Once inside, he found Blaise nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to the door leading to the billiard room.
"What?" said Harry irritably. "You're being all cloak-and-daggery. What gives?"
"First of all, daggery isn't a word. Second, my mom wants to speak with you. She's waiting in there." He nodded towards the door.
"Yeah, well, daggery should be a word in any world that has you in it. And why are you both being so mysterious? She's had two hours to come and speak to me and hasn't bothered. I did notice, however, that she found time to meet every eligible bachelor here, plus half the prominent married men, and to show each of them just enough interest to make all their girlfriends and wives jealous."
Blaise shrugged. "Everyone needs a hobby. Anyway, she planned on meeting with you later after the crowd thinned, but something happened that made her decide that we need to leave. Like, soon."
"What?" asked Harry, now concerned.
Blaise looked around conspiratorially. "She had a cup of tea," he whispered.
Harry stared at Blaise with narrowed eyes. "Oh no. You're not doing that to me, Blaise Zabini. Confusing people with sudden non sequiturs is my gimmick. Your thing is floating around at the edge of everyone's awareness until you nail someone with a sarcastic remark."
Blaise snorted in amusement. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? But anyway, I'm quite serious. Mom's had Divination training. Real training, not that crap they offer at Hogwarts. And she says she saw a sign of impending danger in the leaves from the bottom of her teacup, so we're leaving early. But before we go, she wants to meet with you, so go in and talk to her. And be respectful. She's my mom and she's foreign nobility, so be at least as polite to her as you are to Molly Weasley."
Harry sniffed. "I am always respectful to elders not named Potter, Blaise, even the parents of people as annoying as you." And with that, Harry swept imperiously past his snickering friend into the billiard room. Inside, Serena Zabini sat in an overstuffed chair next to the window as she delicately sipped from a tea cup engraved with a golden "Z" crest.
"Countess Zabini, I presume. Or should I say Contessa Zabini?"
"Either is acceptable, Signor Potter," she said in a cultured Italian accent. "Or even Comtesse, I suppose. I am of Sicilian descent with dual Italian and British citizenship and am heiress by marriage to a landed estate in France. To be honest, I never truly know where I am until I hear myself being formally introduced. So let us simplify things. You may address me as Lady Serena."
Harry sat down in a matching chair across from the Countess. Between them was a coffee table which held a tea tray, complete with service for two. The tray, cups and teapot all bore the Zabini family crest: a stylized golden "Z" pierced vertically with a stiletto. He thought it somewhat odd that the Countess would have summoned her own personal tea set for this meeting but did not comment on it. She was a Pureblood, after all.
"As you wish, Lady Serena. Blaise said you wished to speak with me. Also something about tea leaves that I didn't quite follow."
"Ah yes. My Blaise. Il mio Passerotto bello. He has told me so much of you, Harry Potter. You have made quite an impression on him and on many others. I expect great things from you, Signor Potter. But – first and foremost, I am Blaise's mother, and I worry about him. Great people, often with only the best of intentions, frequently leave chaos and destruction in their wake, chaos and destruction that rain down upon those around them even as it leaves them largely unscathed. I worry, Signor Potter. I worry about the cost Blaise may pay in the future for your friendship. Le streghe siciliani have a saying: Il destino è pagato nel sangue. Destiny is paid for in blood."
As she spoke, the Countess poured a second cup of tea. "One lump or two," she said with a charming smile, as if she had not just been talking about chaos, destruction, and blood-soaked destinies.
Harry opened his mouth to respond with something sarcastic but caught himself. Then, he mentally rejected the next three progressively less sarcastic responses that quickly popped into his mind before finally settling for something boring but safe.
"One lump with lemon, please. Since you wished to meet with me but have not already forbidden Blaise from continuing our friendship, Lady Serena, there is obviously some way for me to reassure you that I will not bring any harm to your son. What would you ask of me?"
The Countess smiled approvingly at Harry's mannered response, as she handed him the cup of tea. Then, she opened an expensive-looking clutch purse and pulled out a deck of cards which she placed on the table between the two of them. "Shuffle the cards until you feel comfortable with them. Then, place them back on the table and cut them once." Harry looked down at the cards which appeared to be a rather worn Tarot deck.
"Is the deck magical, Lady Serena?" he asked cautiously.
"No more so than any other deck of cards in the proper hands, Signor Potter," she replied.
Harry took a sip of tea while he considered that cryptic response. Then, he put the cup and saucer on the table before gingerly reaching out for the deck to shuffle it. "Blaise never mentioned any particular interest in Divination as a course of study. I do seem to recall he had little respect for our Divination professor at Hogwarts."
"Ahh, Professoressa Trelawney. An interesting woman. I consider her to be one of the most gifted seers of the current age. I also believe that she is a delusional and dangerously incompetent fraud. You may find, if you undertake a study of Divination, that the two descriptions are not mutually exclusive."
"How so?" Harry asked as he put the deck back on the table and cut the cards.
"Le persone ignorante believe that 'seers predict the future.' Sciocchezza! A true seer is but a conduit. Magic itself predicts. Or more precisely, Magic declares an event that it wishes to see come to pass and then chooses a vessel through whom it shares that declaration with the world. Such a prophecy is not a mere prediction but a congeries of Fate and Magic. A True Prophecy wants to come true, much as a river wants to flow downhill. And just as the river wears away at any obstructions to smooth its path downstream, so too does a True Prophecy shape a thousand tiny random events to inexorably ensure its own resolution. Magic itself speaks through Professoressa Trelawney, as it has through others of her line, but the woman herself likely never even remembers any True Prophecies she utters. Instead, she relies upon divinatory tools for her deliberate attempts at scrying the future, like a child playing in a puddle who is oblivious to the raging sea behind her."
The Countess reached out and took the cards. Harry took another sip of tea as he considered the woman's words. "You make True Prophecies seem almost ... sentient. And very powerful. Does free will truly exist for those caught up in such Prophecies?"
"You and I are as free as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Harry Potter. But if you read Genesis closely, you will note that it never says how much time passed between the moment God forbade them from eating the fruit of the Forbidden Tree and the moment they defied that commandment. Was it a day? A month? A hundred years? However long it was, the Forbidden Tree was always there, waiting for them patiently. So it is with True Prophecies. You are free to choose, but the Prophecy itself has the power to shape the world around you so that your 'choice' is inevitably influenced to comport with its terms. And even if you finally escape the Prophecy yourself, the Prophecy still endures, waiting for the next person who can satisfy its requirements. True prophecies are wild magic – 'la Magia Caotica' as le streghe siciliani called it in the days before my ancestors were driven from Sicily. Indeed, outside of house elves and their kin, True Prophecies are the most powerful manifestations of wild magic tolerated in the Wizarding world."
Harry thought back to what Iris, Ted Tonks' house elf, had said about the Time Before when magic was not yet bound by wizards and witches. "Forgive my ignorance, Lady Serena, but ... what is 'wild magic'?"
She took a long sip of tea before replying. "Something I will not discuss further here in the House of Potter," she said with a grave expression. "The British wizarding government sends murderers, terrorists, rapists and thieves to Azkaban to be tormented for years by Dementors. I Maghi Selvaggi – the Wild Magicians who wish to summon la Magia Caotica? And sometimes those merely suspected of doing so? They are all quietly flung through the Veil of Death without the public ever learning their names. Be careful who you speak to and what you ask in reference to ancient forbidden magic, Signor Potter."
Then, she smiled once more. "Happily, these cards are not so controversial. Through the act of wishing to know more of the future while working with divinatory tools, we invoke Magic within the boundaries set for it by our ancient forebears. In return, Magic shapes the cards or tea leaves or whichever tools we use in order to give us hints about the future rather than to outright shape that future for us. To modern wizards, such tools are no more frightening than wands or potions."
With that, she dealt nine cards off the top of the deck in a 3-by-3 pattern. Harry frowned. He didn't know anything about Tarot reading and had no idea what the various cards symbolized, but he assumed the "The Devil" in the bottom row was probably bad.
The Countess studied the cards for a few seconds. "Interessante. Seven of the nine cards are Major Arcana. Highly auspicious. Fate swirls about you like a gathering storm, Signor Potter, much as I expected."
Harry considered asking why that was "expected" but decided against it. He'd talk to Blaise at school about it. Then, she began pointing out the cards and describing their significance.
"The top row represents your past. The Seven of Swords, the Wheel reversed, and Justice reversed. Betrayal and deception. A powerful but hidden negative force acting against you to prevent you from achieving happiness or gaining friends. A lack of accountability on the part of those charged with protecting you."
Harry straightened up in surprise. He wasn't much of a believer in Divination, but she'd pegged his childhood pretty well.
"The middle row represents your current aims and their likelihood of success: The Hanged Man, the King of Wands, and the Chariot. A decision point approaches - a moment of choice which will fix the course of your life irrevocably for good or ill. I see that you remain focused on the problems surrounding your family. Or perhaps your inheritance? Understandable, but see that those issues do not blind you to other, more pressing concerns. You are a natural leader and honorable too, after your own fashion, forging alliances through sheer charisma with those those who by rights should be your enemies. There is a position of power which you seek, and you believe that self-control, subtlety, charm and an indomitable willpower will enable you to obtain it. You are most likely correct, but the journey will be more circuitous and more hazardous than you realize though perhaps not as long as you expect."
"Finally, the bottom row represents your future: The Emperor, the Devil reversed, and the Tower. A mentor approaches, one who may provoke distrust and fear within you and those around you. Despite that, he is the key that will free you from the shackles that bind you, and he will help you to achieve your destiny. Others will oppose you in your journey and seek your ruin. If you are clever, you can turn their treachery to your own advantage. If not, they will destroy you, and your destiny will remain unfulfilled. And ultimately? That destiny is to bring destruction."
Harry's eyes flashed up at that in alarm. "Destruction?" he whispered.
"That is not necessarily a bad thing, Signor Potter, for the Tower can also represent creative destruction. You have the potential to become a powerful force for change, but for good or ill I cannot say. In retrospect, I should have done a larger card spread, but I thought our time might be too short. Still, I have enough for now. When the stars are once more in a propitious alignment, perhaps we may do this again and achieve a greater clarity." She scooped up the cards and put the deck back in her purse before looking up at Harry. "You have my permission to continue your friendship with il mio Passerotto, Harry Potter. Now, finish your tea, please."
Harry blinked in surprise at her abrupt conclusion. Then, he drained the cup before looking inside. The dregs were stuck to bottom of the cup in a vaguely spiral shape. He handed it back to the Countess who swirled the copy and then studied it carefully.
"Hmm, in light of other portents, there is definitely danger in the air. Il Serpente Insidioso.The Treacherous Serpent. The mark of the snake with its head pointed down. Perhaps someone of Slytherin House plots against you or your brother. Perhaps a literal snake or something merely suggestive of a snake. Beyond those clues, I see nothing except that the danger is imminent." She looked up at Harry. "This is why tasseomancy is such a poor tool. More often than not, the signs left in the tea leaves are perfectly clear but only when it is too late to be of use. Regardless, I think it best that Blaise and I depart immediately. As with your notorious brother, la fortza del destino will shield you from harm, but not necessarily those you call friend. You will see my darling Passarotto at Hogwarts, but not before."
"You mean Blaise won't be riding the Hogwarts Express with us?"
The Countess studied him and then glanced down at his teacup again as if looking for confirmation. "No, that is not what I mean. Until next time, Signor Potter." And with that, the Countess Zabini banished her tea set and then rose and left the room without another word, while Harry stared after her in befuddlement.
Minutes later, he was outside heading swiftly towards Hermione. From across the yard, Jim spoke to the assembled crowd, his voice magically amplified, as he opened each gift and described its contents for the public. "From the House of Longbottom – a Gringotts draft in the amount of 500 galleons." There was a smattering of polite applause, but Hermione's attention was fixed on Harry's intense expression.
"Oh dear," she said. "Something ... Slytherin has happened, hasn't it?"
Harry stopped, distracted by her question. "What exactly do you mean by 'something Slytherin'?"
"Something generally alarming but also so arcane and overcomplicated that we mere Gryffindors can hardly begin to fathom it."
He stared at the girl for several seconds before shrugging. "Yeah, that's fair, I suppose. Anyway, I just spoke with Blaise's mom..."
"The Black Widow?! You didn't propose marriage, did you?"
"From Zonko's Joke Shop – two dozen Fanged Frisbees," Jim announced to more applause.
"No, and stop that! She was very nice and gave no outward sign of being a serial killer. Anyway, she's apparently into Divination and read my tea leaves and did a Tarot reading for me. And her conclusion is that there's some sort of danger around here. By the way, what does the word 'congeries' mean?"
"A disorderly jumble. What sort of danger?"
"From cough the House of Malfoy – a Gringotts draft in the amount of 250 galleons," Jim announced. The applause was still polite but noticeably subdued.
"Well ... it gets kind of vague at that point. Something to do with a snake. Which could mean that a Slytherin will attack someone. Or a Slytherin will be attacked by someone. Or maybe just that an actual snake will attack someone."
"So, you want to ... what? Tell your parents to evacuate the party because the Countess Zabini says some snake-themed event might occur?"
"I don't know!" he snapped irritably. "You're the intelligent and responsible Gryffindor. My instinct is to either run away or figure out how I can profit off whatever happens."
"From the Right Honorable Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic – a 1000-piece moving jigsaw puzzle depicting Hogwarts Castle and a Gringotts bank draft in the sum of 100 galleons," Jim announced. More applause.
"Well, you know it's a danger but not what kind except that it's possibly Slytherin-related," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Have you considered the possibility that the prophecy is self-fulfilling and the danger is you causing a scene and making a fool of yourself in front of most of Wizarding high society and that awful gossip monger for the Daily Prophet?"
He opened his mouth to speak and then exhaled. "Well, I hadn't until now! How are you not a Slytherin yourself if you can think of that possibility on the fly?"
Hermione sniffed. "I won't dignify that with a response. Anyway, assuming the worst, who among the guests do you think is the person most likely to want to harm or kill someone?"
"From Peter Pettigrew, Esq., or as I like to call him, Uncle Pete – a handcrafted model of the Hogwarts Express," Jim announced as he pulled out the toy to show it to the crowd. It did indeed resemble the Hogwarts Express: a bright red train engine (though with a gleaming golden cattle-catcher mounted on the front which the real engine lacked) with six attached passenger cars and a black caboose at the end. There was a smattering of applause interrupted by an excited exclamation from Pettigrew himself as he pushed his way through the crowd in a panic.
"Toy Train?! It should be a new set of Quidditch gear! JIM! THAT'S NOT MY GIFT!"
At that, Harry and Hermione froze, looked at one another, and quickly started moving towards Jim. James Potter, who was standing nearby, immediately drew his wand and yelled for Jim to put the train back in the box. But before the Boy-Who-Lived react, the train let out an unearthly whistle that sounded almost like an animal cry and started to writhe under its own power. Immediately, Jim screamed and dropped the train. Even from where he was, Harry could see blood pouring from a thick gash on Jim's wand hand. The train landed on the table, and its engine and first two cars lifted up off the ground as it let out another eerie whistle. The blood of the Boy-Who-Lived dripped from the razor-sharp cattle-catcher, and with a sinking feeling, Harry noticed that in its current position, the toy train did indeed resemble a snake poised to strike. It reared up and prepared to attack Jim again, but before it could do so, James lashed out with a Knockback Jinx and hurled the train away while Pettigrew stepped in front of Jim protectively with his wand drawn. Unfortunately, the train landed in the middle of the crowd of guests, most of whom began screaming and panicking.
One of the younger and less experienced aurors on guard rushed forward and fired a stunner at the train. Naturally, it had no effect as the train was not a living thing and stunners don't affect automata. Angered nonetheless, the train let out another ear-splitting whistle and then slithered towards the auror with incredible speed. At the last second, it leapt up into the air and impacted the auror in his left thigh. To the horror of everyone around, the unholy thing easily pierced both clothing and skin and then quickly wriggled inside the auror's leg, burrowing through his body as the man screamed in terror and agony. Instantly, he fell to the ground and started convulsing, his stomach bulging grotesquely as the train writhed around inside him. Over the panicked screams of the guests, Harry could hear James Potter yelling for everyone to get inside the manor house. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Lady Augusta and Neville calling his name but he couldn't see either of them. He also heard a few pops around him as those guests who brought their own portkeys fled to safety. While there were both anti-apparation wards and wards against unauthorized portkeys set up over the grounds, they did not block exit portkeys. Harry was relieved to see Daniel Greengrass summon his wife, his two daughters, and Tracey Davis to his side as he pulled out a three-foot long silken cord that served as a portkey big enough for five people. With a soft pop, they were safely away.
Then, Harry was distracted by a different sort of pop, a much louder and wetter one, as the stomach of the stricken auror expanded and then tore. Hermione screamed, as did several others closer to the auror who were spattered with blood, while Harry fought down the urge to vomit. Out of a rip in the dead man's stomach, the blood-soaked train rose up and gave another hideous whistle before leaping out in pursuit of more prey ... followed by two more identical trains.
"My God!" Hermione gasped out in horror. "That thing can replicate itself with each person it kills!"
Harry felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was Marcus who was dragging Harry with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. "Then let's make sure we're not next on the menu! INTO THE HOUSE, YOU TWO!" And just in the nick of time as one of the trains immediately started slithering in Harry's direction. The three students ran, but Harry's foot caught on something and he fell. He looked back towards the approaching train in terror. Then, a figure stepped into the train's path. It was Rufus Scrimgeour.
"PROTEGO!" the Chief Auror cried out, and a shimmering golden shield materialized in the train's path. The tiny gleaming cattle-catcher on the front of the train engine slammed into the base of the shield which immediately started showing signs of cracking. Scrimgeour's eyes widened. "Merlin preserve us! It's got an orichalcum tip!" Then, he yelled out hoping to be heard over the general cacophony. "EVERYONE! IT'S GOT AN ORICHALCUM TIP! IT CAN CUT THROUGH YOUR SHIELDS!" Before he could say any more, his own shield spell shattered, and the train lunged forward towards the still prone Harry. Then, thrown off balance by the collapse of his shield spell, Scrimgeour stumbled between the two just as the train leapt up and penetrated the man's right leg just above the ankle. He screamed and fell to the ground. As with the auror, the train started wriggling effortlessly up into the man's leg, but before it could get all the way in, Marcus darted forward holding his necktie in both hands like a garrote. Swiftly, he wrapped it twice around the train at the gap between the caboose and the last car and began pulling at the two ends of the tie with all his might.
"A necktie?" exclaimed Harry. "That thing can cut through bone like water! How will a necktie hold it?"
Marcus snarled through gritted teeth. "Acromantula silk! It's the only decent necktie I've ever owned that wasn't part of a damned school uniform! Now stop asking bloody fool questions, Potter, and come help me!"
Harry jumped up and grabbed the two ends of the ultra-durable neckwear just above where Flint was holding it. The two pulled and strained while Rufus Scrimgeour screamed in pain. Finally, the train came back out of the hole it had made. With a triumphant roar, Flint whirled around with the train still caught in his tie, and then he brought it down as hard as he could on a nearby table. The foul thing was still moving, so he jerked the train up and slammed it down again and again, cursing it in anger the whole time. A cry from Hermione pulled Harry's attention away from Flint's efforts to smash the infernal device.
"Harry! Give me your jacket!" Without even asking why, Harry pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the Gryffindor who immediately used it to plug the large hole in Scrimgeour's leg. The Chief Auror was already semiconscious and moaning in pain. Hermione's voice shook as she struggled to contain her own panic. "He's bleeding terribly. Understandable, seeing as how his fiit was nearly amputated. We've got to get him to St. Mungo's. Help me get him up and in to the Floo."
"We don't have time for that," said Harry as he plopped down onto the ground and quickly began to pull his left shoe off. Inwardly, he marveled at his friend who'd had no Occlumency training of her own but was still able to resist panicking and instead apply First Aid to a horribly injured man. He also bit back his own anger that someone would put her into a situation where such poise was needed. "We're kids," he thought bitterly. "We shouldn't be in this situation, but somehow, it just keeps happening."
"Why are you taking your shoes off?!" she exclaimed.
"Just one shoe and one sock, actually. Obviously, I can't reach my toe ring while I've still got a shoe and sock covering it. Think it through!"
By that point, he'd pulled off his left sock and removed from his pinky toe the tiny gold ring that Hestia Jones had procured for him a few days after his last encounter with the Dursleys. Quickly, he ripped open Scrimgeour's shirt and placed the ring on the old man's bare skin. "Give me your hand!" he commanded. Surprised, Hermione did as he asked, and Harry put her hand over the ring and his hand over hers. "Emergency Code Crimson!" he exclaimed, and with a pop, Hermione and Scrimgeour disappeared leaving a somewhat surprised and annoyed Harry behind. He shook his head and went to check on Marcus, who had finally slammed the train into the table enough times for it to stop moving.
"Where did you send them?"
"The emergency room lobby of St. Mungo's."
Marcus frowned at him. "Pfft! Not very Slytherin that. You've got a portkey, and you give it away to two other people?"
"Well, in my defense, I apparently can't judge weight limits very well. I had expected to go with them!"
Marcus snorted and then bent over to examine the wreckage of the train. "Hmm. The old geezer was right. There's a sharp pointy bit on the front of the train that looks like it's made of orichalcum."
"Ori-what?" Harry asked.
"Orichalcum. An alchemically-produced alloy of gold and some other metal, usually copper or aluminium but sometimes silver or platinum. Really hard to make. It's magic resistant, and if it's refined pure enough, it can slice through shield spells of all kinds. There was a question about it on the DADA OWLS."
As Marcus spoke, he and Harry looked to see that the general level of chaos was winding down. There were six more of the snake-trains – Harry blanched because that implied that at least two more people had died from their attacks – but all of them appeared to be contained in a floating sphere created by Headmaster Dumbledore. There were injured and crying people all about - Harry noticed James Potter tightly hugging a distraught Lily - but Snape, the Tonkses, and various aurors were administering First Aid as needed. Peter Pettigrew was attending to Jim, who sat on a table apparently in a state of shock while "Uncle Pete" gently wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding hand and consoled him. Then, to his horror, Harry saw Hestia Jones staggering towards him, her dress covered in blood.
"Hestia! Come on, let's get you to a healer!"
"It's ... alright, Harry," she said in a dazed voice. "It's ... not my blood."
Harry froze. "What's happened, Hestia? Who got hurt?"
Hestia's face crumpled and she began to cry. "Those train things. They killed two aurors... and Elizabeth Podmore. Artie's wife is dead!"
Harry froze, horrified, as he recalled Lady Serena's warning about the price people might pay just for being his friend: Destiny is paid for in blood.
Soon, more aurors and healers arrived. The remaining toy trains were neutralized and collected by the aurors for investigation. Although there were three fatalities, the injuries were otherwise only minor and mainly from people knocked down as the crowd panicked, and the healers also passed out Calming Draughts to all the traumatized survivors. However, Jim Potter now had a brand new curse scar on his wand hand to go along with the "V" on the side of his head. Rufus Scrimgeour would spend the next three days in the St. Mungo's ICU but would ultimately recover, though his leg injury would never heal completely due to the cursed nature of his wounds. He might continue on with a desk job of some kind, but his days as Chief Auror were likely numbered. Despite that, several of the aurors at the scene congratulated Marcus Flint and Harry Potter for their quick thinking that almost certainly saved their boss's life, and both boys accepted the praise humbly. Even James Potter got into the act, and Marcus was shocked when the famous Slytherin-hating senior auror shook his hand.
An analysis of the package in which the cursed train arrived showed that it was indeed the package that Peter Pettigrew had ordered from Quality Quidditch Supplies. However, there were faint traces of house elf magic found on the box. While foreign house elves couldn't enter the grounds of Potter Manor, it was already clear that a house elf could interfere with owl posts, which was apparently how the switch was made. The detection spells used could not distinguish any one elf from any other of its kind, but the manager at QQS stated that the store didn't use house elves, so it was assumed that the same house elf who assaulted Harry Potter was probably the one responsible for substituting the cursed train for the gift Peter had originally sent. At the recommendation of Amelia Bones, however, all references to "house elves" were kept out of the press accounts, so that the mystery assailant hopefully would not learn that the authorities knew how the crime had been perpetrated. For similar reasons, Snape, Hestia and Harry privately agreed not to share the name "Dobby" with anyone they didn't implicitly trust, since a ham-fisted government inquiry would only get the poor creature killed before they could learn who its owner was.
As for the train itself, Albus Dumbledore and Amelia Bones both quickly identified it from bitter personal experience as the handiwork of the late Erasmus "Mr. Toymaker" Wilkes, a Death Eater who was killed in a firefight with aurors back in December of 1980, less than a year before the Boy-Who-Lived destroyed You-Know-Who. A master artificer and magical arms dealer, the Toymaker was believed to have been the chief weaponsmith for the Dark Lord. But even he had not been a Death Eater, Wilkes would still have faced a life sentence in Azkaban had he been taken alive due to innumerable counts of felony Muggle-baiting. A twisted sadist, Wilkes had lethally cursed scores of seemingly ordinary items and then reintroduced them to the Muggle world, apparently just out of a sick sense of humor. It was a young Ministry employee named Arthur Weasley who painstakingly tracked a dozen instances of Muggles dying under unusual circumstances back to Wilkes's handiwork, thereby paving the way for the raid on his home that eventually led to his death and the complete destruction of the venerable Wilkes Manor. For that, Arthur was awarded an Order of Merlin (Third Class) and promoted to head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Despite Weasley's best efforts, however, samples of the prolific Erasmus Wilkes's macabre handiwork still continued to show up from time to time more than ten years after his death.
Late that night, an exhausted Peter Pettigrew finally stepped out of the fireplace in his Diagon Alley townhouse and shook the ashes from his cloak before hanging it on a nearby hook. He took a moment to pour himself a glass of Firewhiskey and then made his way to a patch of wall opposite the fireplace. Hanging from it was a moving black-and-white photograph of four fifteen-year-old Hogwarts students laughing and rough-housing together. As he approached the picture, the four Marauders stopped what they were doing and looked out at him with mixed expressions of disdain, anger and sadness, even from the image of the much younger Peter Pettigrew. In particular, the image of young Sirius Black looked out at him with utter hatred and started shouting muted obscenities, for the wizarding photograph did not produce sound. Normally, Peter found the sight of the enraged adolescent Black hurling silent vulgarities at him to be amusing, but it had been a long day and he was too tired to sneer. Ignoring the young Marauders, he placed his free hand over the picture and spoke the pass phrase. "No good. No evil. Only power." Immediately, the picture and the patch of wall it rested on both slid away to reveal a hidden room, one which shouldn't have been there since the picture had been hanging on an exterior wall.
Peter took another sip from his Firewhiskey as he stepped inside. To his left were boxes and crates full of jewels and galleons, as well as some Muggle currency. Mounted on the wall above them was an ancient family crest weathered by the passage of centuries. To his right was a bookshelf holding a number of tomes a few of which were too dark to be allowed even in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. The least dusty of them was the original draft of Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide. The copy which Peter had provided Jim Potter earlier that day had been carefully edited to remove some of the more ... politically unacceptable sections contained in the original text, but if the boy applied himself, he would indeed learn the principles of Occlumency from it. Well, after a fashion. Pettigrew could only imagine the look on old Nemo's face if he ever learned that the Boy-Who-Lived was studying Occlumency from his little booklet.
Next to the bookshelf were several cabinets packed with scores of cursed objects, including two more models of the Hogwarts Express that were each as deadly as the one unleashed at Potter Manor. It was a ghoulish collection quietly accumulated over the past decade, much of it representative of the mad sadistic genius of the long-dead Erasmus Wilkes. Pettigrew was disappointed that the Toymaker's little trinket hadn't eliminated Harry Potter despite the Tripping Jinx he'd sent the boy's way, but he supposed crippling Rufus Scrimgeour was an acceptable alternative. With a little luck, he could maneuver James in as his replacement, and wouldn't that open up some possibilities down the line.
Against the far wall sat a small table with an ornate sealed chest resting on it almost as if it were a shrine. Peter set the glass of Firewhiskey aside, pricked his thumb with his wand, and let a few drops fall on the chest. Then, he touched his wand to the bloodstains and said "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The lock clicked open. Inside the chest were a number of glass vials and jars. Some were empty but several of the smaller vials contained hairs kept in magical stasis, each vial carefully labeled with the name of each person from whom the hair had been stolen. Peter hadn't used Polyjuice Potion for anything in years, but one never knew what the future might require. There was also a wand in the chest – 13 and ½ inches, yew with a phoenix feather core. He reached down and stroked it gently, and a shudder ran down his back.
Shaking off the sensation, Pettigrew removed one of the larger empty jars from the chest and unscrewed the lid. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a once-white silk handkerchief, now red and still soaking wet with the blood of Jim Potter. A discreet stasis charm had ensured that the blood would stay fresh until he got home, and after he put the handkerchief in the enchanted jar and sealed it, the blood would continue to stay fresh until the day he had need of it. Finally, he pulled a small velvet box from inside the chest and opened it. Inside was a gold ring inset with a ruby gemstone embossed with the Potter crest – the long-lost Potter Heir's ring. Peter smiled maliciously as he held the ring up to the light.
"That's always been the secret of my success, hasn't it, Padfoot, old boy," he said mockingly to the memory of the friend he'd betrayed and ruined. "I always have a backup plan."
The next chapter will be posted on September 25, 2015. "On the Necessity of Emotions" - As the wizarding world reels from a shocking attack against the Boy-Who-Lived apparently sent by a long-dead servant of the Dark Lord, Rita Skeeter takes up her poison pen, and Harry makes an important decision.
AN 1: Special thanks to reader "outside the crayon box" for helping out with Countess Zabini's Italian.
AN 2: "Marcus Flint" is an awesome name. It just is. It's the name you use as the secret identity for a super hero. It's the name of the mercenary played by Jason Statham who takes on a whole terrorist cell by himself. It's the name of Agent 008, the guy you call in when James Bond is in the hospital. Or maybe it's the name of the SPECTRE agent who PUT James Bond in the hospital. It is NOT the name you waste on a complete dumbass who blatantly cheats at Quidditch, who flunks his senior year of high school, who comes back for a makeup year and briefly serves as Draco Malfoy's third-string henchman behind Crabbe and Goyle, and who then vanishes completely for the last four books in the series. ERGO, the Marcus Flint is this fic is, at a minimum, on his way to being awesome. If I ever get done with Prince of Slytherin, my next project may well be "The Adventures of Marcus Flint: Rookie Auror."
Well, that is, unless I kill the character off just as my readers all start to love him. Bwa-ha-ha.
AN 3: If it's not clear from the end of this chapter, I'll spell it out. Peter Pettigrew is hard-core. It always bugged me that canon-Peter wasn't used more effectively. He was always this cringing worthless lump that even the Death Eaters mocked and treated like crap even though he was the person most directly responsible for Voldemort's return. His reasons for betraying the Marauders were never made clear in canon. His reasons for following Voldie were never made clear in canon. Hell, the reason the other Marauders let him join was never made clear in canon, beyond the implication that James was once Gryffindor-Draco and Peter was his Crabbe/Goyle.
So, for purposes of this AU, assume that Peter was, in his own way, as smart and clever and as well-liked during his school days as the other three Marauders. Assume that the Peter you see here is what canon-Peter would have been if he hadn't spent 11 years as a rat for no plausible reason. Assume that Peter had very specific reasons for betraying his closest friends and becoming a Death Eater. Because he did, though you probably won't find out before Year 3. That said, while he is a secret enemy, he is not necessarily the Secret Enemy.
Oh, and if I haven't mentioned it, the part of Peter Pettigrew is not played by chunky 50-year-old Timothy Spall with ridiculous hair and teeth, but rather his smoking-hot 30-year-old son, Rafe Spall.
AN 4: Speaking of which...
1. The part of Daphne Greengrass will be played by Georgie Henley from "Prince Caspian" except that she's aloof, sarcastic and never smiles. Oh, and her hair is better styled.
2. The part of Astoria Greengrass will be played by Georgie Henley from "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" with the short bob-cut and relentless adorability (assuming that's a word).
3. The part of Countess Zabini will be played by a 40-year-old Sofia Loren. Miss Loren's costumes will be designed by Coco Chanel and Edith Head. There are no circumstances under which Countess Zabini will ever wear a pointy hat.