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.
AN 0: This chapter was finally updated on November 14, 2020 to correct formatting issues caused by a glitch in ff.n. No real substantive changes, but a few lines of dialogue were tweaked. Only one of them was plot relevant and that's really just to set up something in a chapter that's likely several years in the future.
CHAPTER 48: Goodbyes
13 May 1993
The Great Hall
8:00 a.m.
On Thursday, it was the Slytherins' turn to applaud (though far more politely than the rambunctious Gryffs had for Jim Potter the previous Monday) as Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He glanced over at the Hufflepuff table and nodded almost imperceptibly at Justin, who nodded back with the same level of discretion. Then, the Malfoy Heir made his way to the middle of the Slytherin table where he took a seat by himself. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other in surprise at their mutual snubbing, at which point they both noticed that Pansy Parkinson had not come down for breakfast yet.
"Draco," said Harry evenly from a few feet away. "Welcome back."
"Thank you," the boy said. "My father sends his regards." At that, several nearby Slytherins looked at one another sharply.
"Please tell him I return them," Harry replied.
"Are you free this afternoon after lunch?" Draco asked as he started loading his plate. "There are some matters I wish to discuss with you."
"Of course. We, um, don't actually have a DADA class anymore - it's been cancelled for the remainder of the year - so that hour's free."
Draco nodded and ate quietly by himself.
The sight of the boy who had once been such a social animal now sitting alone caused a quiet buzz among the Slytherins which only ended when something even more unusual happened. An enormous horned owl with black and gold plumage of a breed none of the students had ever seen before swooped through the window and down towards the Gryffindor table to land in front of Jim Potter. The boy s surprise was exceeded only by that of his housemate, Parvati Patil.
"That s my Uncle Gupta's owl, Indra!" she exclaimed. "Why is my uncle sending you owls all the way from India?!"
Jim ignored the girl while taking the message from the owl's talon. After tossing the great raptor a slice of bacon, he watched it fly off and then opened the letter. He read over it carefully twice before turning to look up at his mother who was sitting at the faculty table staring at him in surprise.
Twenty minutes later in Lily Potter s Office
"You want to go to India!" Lily said in shock.
"Yes, Mum, I want to go to India," he replied almost placidly. "Gupta Baskar is the uncle of two of my classmates. He's also one of the most respected healers in the world and someone who taught himself how to speak Parseltongue. And he's invited me to India for a month this summer to study with him."
"Study what, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.
"Parseltongue, for a start. He wants to spend time talking with a natural Parselmouth to see if there's any differences that might change how Parselmagic might work for us."
"Parsel-magic?"
"Yeah, apparently there are some spells you can say in Parseltongue. Mainly healing spells, but also a few combat spells. Actually, pretty much any spell that has a lot of S's in the incantation."
"I don t know about this, Jim. After everything that's happened, do you really want to ... flaunt your Parseltongue like this?"
"I'm not flaunting it, Mum! I'm just ... refusing to live in fear of it." The boy looked away for a few seconds. "There's another reason I want to go. Actually, two reasons. Gupta Baskar isn't just a celebrated healer. He's also a celebrated mind healer. I ... need to see one, I think. And if I can go to one who lives on the other side of the world instead of somebody here that just sees me as the Boy-Who-Lived, that's ... that's better right?"
Lily was silent for a moment. "And what's the other reason?"
"You can't tell anyone about this, okay? Please?"
Lily nodded.
"It's about Ron."
The Prince s Lair
1:30 p.m.
Harry and Draco sat across from one another in the Lair. The Hydra was quiet at the moment, though Harry knew it was observing. He was more concerned with the mood of his rival and "frenemy" Malfoy. In addition to the trauma of his recent petrification, Harry was aware that the boy was also faced with two parents in the midst of what would surely be an acrimonious divorce (which was itself an extremely rare event in wizarding culture). However, he elected to let the other boy speak first, though he was bursting with curiosity. Draco had been avoiding Crabbe and Goyle all day, and Pansy had apparently spent a lot of time crying piteously in her dormitory.
"Well," said Draco finally. "How much do you already know?"
Harry coughed. "Very little."
"Mother and Father are divorcing," he said in a tone suggesting the word was something vulgar. "The first morning in the Manor, they let me sleep in and then 'explained' things over brunch. Father was keeping the Manor and all of its moveables since it was entailed, but Mother was entitled to seventy-five percent of the assets in his vaults. I was given a choice - live with Mother elsewhere 'in the lifestyle to which I'd become accustomed' or stay with Father in 'reduced circumstances.' Father made it clear that whatever I decided, I would still be his son and I would always have a place at Malfoy Manor." He paused. "Mother ... just looked at me."
He paused and looked away for a moment. "I chose Father. Mother didn't take it well."
"Had you chosen me, Draco Heir to the House of Malfoy," Narcissa said in a chilling voice, "I would have destroyed any rival, smashed any barrier, even defied the Dark Lord himself, whatever it took to assure your greatness. But you have chosen mediocrity."
She turned to sneer at her now-ex-husband at that last word. Lucius simply smiled at her almost genially. Then, she rose from her chair and headed for the door, stopping to turn back one last time.
"Still, it is best that we clarify things now," she said to her only son. "I am still young, after all. I have plenty of time to have more children."
And with that, Narcissa Black cut Draco loose and walked away.
"Ouch," Harry said with a wince. "Draco, I'm very sorry, especially if you feel that this was in any way my fault."
"Oh, shut up, Potter!" Draco said acidly. "Not everything is about you. I made my decision - lots of decisions, actually - and I'll live with the consequences. Right now, all I care about is winning the Quidditch Cup, since I don't know if I'll get to play Seeker again next year."
Harry blinked in confusion. "Why would you not be our Seeker next year?"
Draco hesitated thereby indicating that the news was unpleasant. "Because I won't be here next year. I'm transferring to Durmstrang in the fall."
"Durmstrang!?"
"Oh, calm down. It won't be that bad. From what Father says, the British seriously overplay how, um, evil Durmstrang is. They're quite a bit more aggressive when it comes to introducing potentially dangerous spells, and they offer a lot of classes that might make Dumbledore recoil in horror, but believe it or not, they have a Muggle Studies program that puts ours to shame."
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of how to respond to that.
"More importantly," Draco continued, "the Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, owes Father a life debt which presents some, shall we say, opportunities for advancement."
"I'm sure." Harry paused again, still somewhat speechless. "Is it true they don't allow Muggleborns at Durmstrang?"
Draco shrugged. "It's a bit more complicated than that. They don't really have Muggleborns over in that part of Europe, at least as we understand it. It's been government policy for centuries in most of the Eastern European nations that when Muggleborns first show magic, they get taken from their families who are all Obliviated into thinking that their children died. The Muggleborn child, who is usually very young, gets Obliviated of all memories of growing up among Muggles and then fostered out to a good wizarding home and raised just like any other wizarding child. Somewhat ironically, it's called the Slytherin Solution."
"That's ... kind of horrible," said Harry. Draco crooked an eye at him.
"Says the guy who, if the rumors are true, spent years locked in a boot cupboard by his magic-fearing Muggle guardians."
Harry grimaced. "That's not fair. I'm ... not a typical case."
Draco laughed at that. "No, Harry, I don't suppose you are."
The other boy shook his head. "So why does your Father want you to start over again in a new school somewhere hidden in the trackless wastes of Eastern Europe?"
"Well, for one thing, Father thinks I should avoid Britain for a while. He has concerns about how Mother may respond to my decision." He smiled to Harry's amazement. "It's funny. All these years, and I never really grasped how unstable she was. That she'd be capable of ... turning like that."
Draco took a deep breath. "But ultimately the decision was mine, and I decided ... that you were right."
"I was? What about?"
"Last year on the train when we were on our way to Hogwarts. I did make a poor first impression, one that lasted for most of last year. I want to start over. Someplace where I have a prestigious name and, let's face it, incredible hair, but where I don't have the Black baggage hanging over me. I want to try actually being a Malfoy for a change."
Harry nodded at that. "So how does this affect Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy? You seemed to be avoiding them at breakfast, and I haven't even seen Pansy today."
"Well, in light of Father's 'reduced circumstances,' he's informed those families that he will reevaluate whether to continue holding them as vassals when the oaths have to be reaffirmed next January. I think he wants to see how they react if it appears he won't be able to afford their Wizengamot fees. Which, just between us, he can - our 'circumstances' aren't nearly as 'reduced' as Mother thinks they are - but I think he wants to see if there's any actual loyalty there or just money-grubbing. We're both pretty sure that the Parkinsons will want out of the marriage contract I have with Pansy, which is why she's been wailing all morning. So ... there's that at least."
The other boy absorbed that while considering the implications. If Malfoy couldn't continue to maintain the fealty agreement with the Goyles (or if the Goyles just believed that to be the case), it might accelerate Lord Goyle's plan to sell Amy Wilkes off in marriage to Tiberius Nott, which meant that Harry might need a more permanent solution to that problem sooner than he'd thought. He filed that away for later consideration.
"So when are you leaving?" he asked.
"August," Draco replied. "About two weeks before you board the Hogwarts Express, I'll be boarding the Occidental Express to Vienna and then take a connecting train to Durmstrang. But don't worry though. Theo will still be spending the summer with us."
"Thank you." The boy hesitated, unsure of what to say. "I'm ... sorry that your Mum is ... you know."
Draco smirked as he rose to head for the door. "I'm sorry that pretty much your entire family is ... you know."
Harry snorted softly. "Fair enough, Draco."
"Please, Harry ... call me Drake."
14 May 1993
The Second Year Slytherin Dorms
3:00 a.m.
While the other five boys in the dorm room slept peacefully, Harry had his bed curtains drawn with a Muffliato preventing his whispers from being heard and a soft Lumos illuminating the Marauders Map as he perused it. He'd spent the last two hours studying the Map's features and making notes of the many secret passages that he'd never known about before, while also pumping the four personalities within the Map for information. He'd deduced that the Marauders were actually James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, and that they'd copied an imprint of their respective personalities onto the thing.
The parallels between the Map and the Diary were slightly alarming, but after a while, he was able to get the quartet to reveal the Charms used for copying a simplified version of one's personality into an inanimate object. The most important one was the Homunculus Charm, which wasn't even a restricted spell. It was actually one of the primary Charms used in creating moving portraits, and while it was a very difficult Charm to master, it was also widely practiced, albeit not often by students. In other words, Riddle's basic trick of copying his personality into the Diary wasn't actually that impressive beyond how young he was when he pulled it off successfully. His real feat had been expanding the Charm's effects so that the Diary could organize the information written within for him. The Diary's more dangerous and insidious powers only came later after the horcrux was inserted.
This suggested to Harry that not all of the horcruxes might be sentient or at least not imbued with an actual personality based on Riddle's own, since the Homunculus Charm apparently allowed for only one imprinted object to exist per person at any given time. Arguably, the Marauders were actually somewhat foolish for having created the Map at a young age and then losing it - so long as the Map existed, neither James Potter nor any of his friends could ever have a moving portrait of themselves commissioned.
Harry had also learned the four Marauders nicknames - Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Moony - though they wouldn't explain to him the origins of the nicknames, saying that it was something for Son of Prongs to learn on his own. The Marauders still believed that Harry was James's only son and a Gryffindor to boot, which in Harry's mind was simply a matter of dumbing down his vocabulary and pretending to be awestruck by his father's cleverness. And to be fair, the Map was a remarkable piece of enchantment, especially for one created by such young wizards. He'd been unable to get Prongs to say anything more about why a Slytherin Sorting would be such a "disaster," so he'd spent the rest of the time asking questions about what things were like back during their school days. It was clear all four Marauders disliked Severus Snape with varying degrees of intensity: seething hatred on the part of Padfoot, strong dislike and contempt from Prongs, mere disdain from Wormtail, and apparent disinterest from Moony. "Apparent" disinterest because Harry felt quite certain that Moony simply did not want to talk about Snape for some reason and was uncomfortable when his three friends persisted in doing so.
Finally, Harry yawned loudly and decided that was enough for one night, so he said his good nights to the Marauders. Tomorrow, he would meet with the Weasley Twins and make his offer. He'd considered simply keeping the Map and pretending he didn't know what had happened to it, but he found that unfeasible for two reasons. First, Ron probably remembered stealing the thing and keeping it in the same bag where Harry had found the Potter Cloak (which he had already returned to Jim). Second, every time he thought about doing so, he suddenly had a vivid mental image of George Weasley's earnest trusting face as he was getting ready to cast the Protego Orbis that saved them both from certain death in Greenhouse #3.
"Stupid life debt!" Harry muttered to himself. Not that it mattered too much. He'd already done everything he needed with the Map for the remainder of the year, as the set of poisonous Basilisk fangs deposited in a locked box within the Prince s Lair attested. Harry started to deactivate the Map but then froze in surprise at an unexpected sight - two pairs of feet standing very close together in a broom closet on the Fourth Floor. According to the Map, they belonged to Emily Rossum and Marcus Flint! Harry barked out a laugh and then looked around in sudden embarrassment before he remembered the Muffliato. Smiling, he touched his wand to the parchment.
Mischief managed.
15 May 1993
An empty classroom
1:30 p.m.
Fred and George Weasley entered the room together to find Harry waiting for them sitting behind a desk. He'd had to rush to make this meeting, as the package from Artie had only arrived via owl ten minutes earlier.
"Blimey," said George. "I feel like we've been called in to the Headmaster s Office."
"So what's up, our ickle snakey friend?" said Fred.
Harry directed them to two chair set on the other side of the desk. "I asked you here, gentlemen, because I have a business proposal for you two."
"Go on," they said in perfect unison.
Harry reached into the left inside pocket of his robe and pulled out an official-looking envelope. "This envelope contains a Gringotts bank draft made out in the amount of 200 galleons and payable to Fred and George Weasley."
The Twins laughed. "Pull the other one, Harry." "It plays the accordion."
Harry just smiled. "Open it." George did so and immediately his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
"Blimey," he muttered in a dazed voice. Then, he looked up at Harry almost fearfully. "You're not gonna ask us to ... kill somebody or something like that, are you?"
Harry laughed and shook his head no. "So that s Option #1. Option # 2 is you forego the bank draft and instead reclaim this completely different piece of paper which I'm sure you recognize." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the Map before placing it on the table.
"Where did you get that?" Fred said, his face darkening.
"From Ron's book-bag. He was the one, after all, who stole it from you under cover of a Slytherin prank while under the control of the cursed diary. I've had it since Sunday night. It's a really nice bit of spellwork. May I ask how you acquired it?"
Fred made a face. "We made it!"
Harry shook his head again. "Fred, let's all keep things above-board, okay? I know the Map was created by the Marauders, a quartet of Gryffindor pranksters from the mid-1970 s who went by the names of Prongs, Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail. I also know that Prongs was actually James Potter, which means that as his Heir, I actually have a legal claim to this as a family heirloom, but you two have had possession for a while, so I'm willing to pay, well, let's call it ... a recovery fee. I merely wanted to know how it came into your possession."
Fred started to say something rude when George interrupted. "We found it in a drawer in Filch's office when we had detention there one night. Are you really offering us 200 galleons for it?"
"Yep. So what will it be, the Map or the Money?"
"The Map!" "The Money!" The Twins looked at each other in shock. It was the first time they could remember in which their twin-speak had failed them and led each of them to say the exact opposite of what the other wanted.
"Fred! We can use that money! We've been talking about a joke shop since the day we started school, and 200 galleons can get us started!"
"But ... it's the Map! I mean, we've had that for ages. We use it for every prank we pull!"
Harry coughed. "Far be it from me to interfere with your activities. As I've said many times, I'm a big fan of your work. I would be willing in the future to loan the Map out to you if you need it for any pranking for, say, five galleons a day?"
"That's an outrage!" exclaimed Fred. "The nerve! Charging us to use our own property!"
George gave a loud exasperated sigh. "Harry, would you excuse is for a moment while we have a quick discussion followed by me thumping my brother upside the head?"
Harry laughed. "Sure." The two Gryffindors rose and moved to the far side of the room where they began a heated but whispered argument. Harry leaned back in his chair. He could afford to be patient. After all, he had budgeted up to 500 galleons for this transaction.
30 May 1993
By the shore of Black Lake
4:45 p.m.
Drake Malfoy's last Quidditch match at Hogwarts turned out to be a bittersweet experience. Cedric Diggory caught the Snitch, depriving Malfoy of an undefeated season as Seeker, but it was a moot point as the Snitch didn't even appear until ninety minutes into the game. By that point, the Snakes had a more than 200-point lead over the Badgers whose hapless young Keeper was defenseless against the unstoppable Slytherin Chaser machine. Diggory was almost perfunctory about catching the Snitch, which was more an act of mercy for his team rather than the usual victory condition.
With that win, Slytherin had clinched the House Quidditch Cup, though they, like the Gryffindors, were far out of the running for the House Cup. To everyone's surprise, it seemed this year's House Cup was headed for the Hufflepuffs mainly due to a 100-point award to Bobby Lattimer for exhibiting "cool resolve under pressure" in following James Potter's instructions and keeping the majority of the student body sealed up in the Great Hall while the other prefects were busy leading an angry mob after Jim Potter. Harry should have felt badly about Slytherin's loss, but since the nail in their collective coffin came from the point loss that accompanied Miranda's expulsion and Cassius's suspension, he considered it to be a fair exchange.
Later that afternoon after Harry had changed, he met Neville and Theo out near the Lake by their usual tree. Harry was pensive. He'd been stewing over what Snape said to him about his natural Legilimency for weeks, and he felt he had to get it off his chest with the two boys who he now thought of as brothers. He set up a Muffliato, which showed that it was something Harry thought was serious, but they both knew to let him take his time in saying what it was. Finally, Harry revealed what Snape had said and reminded them of conversations back in First Year where, looking back, he felt that he might have unintentionally manipulated them in order to win their friendship. The two boys regarded him silently.
"Well," he said after a gulp. "Say something? Please?"
"Okay," said Theo. "You re an idiot." Harry looked shocked while Neville bit back a laugh. "First of all, I'm a better Occlumens than you could possibly be a Legilimens at this point, so I don't believe for a second you could have psychically manipulated me into something I didn't want. Second, what exactly do you think you did to me? You told me you were my friend which got me to loan you the magic ring that you didn't even know I had at the time, and you gave me moral support in front of the Mirror of Erised that helped me get past seeing my mother's murder. I don't care if you did it with some weird mind trickery as opposed to just being my friend as long as when it comes down to it, you really are my friend!"
Harry thought on that as he turned to Neville. The other boy said nothing at first, but he instead popped his wand out of his holster and pointed it at the ground nearby. "EXPECTO PATRONUM." There was a flash of silvery light which resolved itself into Neville's Patronus, a medium-sized silver bear which looked around almost angrily.
"It's okay, Elby. I'm not in danger. I just wanted to prove a point." He turned to the others.
"This is Elby, by the way," he said proudly. "I don't know if I ever told you his name."
The bear ambled over to the group. Theo, who hadn't seen the Patronus before, reached out to touch it in wonder. The spirit creature was so well-defined that he could run his fingers through its hair.
"I really want to learn that spell," Theo said. Neville smiled and then let the Patronus dissipate.
"Harry, you're worried that you might have influenced me to be your friend back during our first week at school. Do you remember what I was like back then? Timid, broken down, certain I was a squib, and afraid of my own shadow? Do you think that little boy could have ended up one of the top students in our class? That he'd someday have students who were years ahead coming to him with Herbology questions? That he'd one day become the youngest wizard in recorded history to have a Patronus?"
Neville shook his head. "Harry, I like me. Two years ago, I didn't think I'd ever be able to say that. Whether you did that to me with accidental Legilimency or just by deciding that I had something buried inside that you could drag to the surface doesn't matter to me. I'm grateful either way."
"And I'll bet we're not the only ones," Theo said. "Do you think Hermione would be angry if your suggestion that she learn about wizarding culture so she could fit in and make friends was reinforced with Legilimency? Do you think Marcus would be angry that you turned his life around for the better with magic instead of just a few words of encouragement and support?"
"Okay, okay," said Harry with a certain amount of relief. "But still, I'm worried that I could have used this power to hurt people." Theo rolled his eyes.
"Well even if you did - and I doubt it - you couldn't have known any better because you didn't know this was something you could do. If you're that worried about it, master this power so that it only works when you want it to. I mean, honestly! How can it be bad that you get people to do things that need doing by telling them how much faith you have in them and acting like a true friend?"
"Hear, hear," said Neville supportively.
Harry considered all that and relaxed.
"Mind you," Neville said. "If you ever use this power to influence me into doing something I shouldn't, Gran will beat you to death with a paper napkin."
Theo perked up. "Can you beat someone to death with a paper napkin?"
Harry smirked. "If I know Augusta Longbottom, she'll have fun trying," he said. The trio laughed at that as the sun slowly descended over Black Lake.
2 June 1993
DMLE Headquarters
9:00 a.m.
Mad-Eye Moody looked down at the picture accompanying the Daily Prophet article with an amused expression. Well, as amused as his scarred face could manage, anyway.
JAMES POTTER SWORN IN AS NEW CHIEF AUROR.
Potter's hair was as wild as usual for him, but his appearance was otherwise dignified and professional as he shook Minister Fudge's hand and smiled for the camera at his investiture the previous day. The Auror wadded up the paper and tossed it into the trash before returning to the job of packing up the personal possessions from his office into boxes. There was a soft knock on the frame of his open door. Naturally, it was James Potter himself, the Man of the Hour.
"What can I do for you, Chief Auror?" Moody said.
"For a start, Alastor, you could call me James since you're no longer a subordinate here in the office," Potter said. "That is, assuming you're really bent on leaving and there's nothing I can do to persuade you to stay."
"I'm really bent on leaving and there's nothing you can do to persuade me to stay ... Potter."
James sighed and entered the office, closing the door behind him. "Moody, if you're really going to do this, at least tell me one thing. What did I do?"
"Pardon?"
"When I was a trainee, you were hard on me, but you also praised me for my potential. When I was a rookie working beside you during the war, you were my mentor. Over the next ten years or so, you were a co-worker, and I like to think you also became a friend. It's only been the last few years that you've treated me like something that offends you by breathing. So please, tell me what I did to offend you, and I'll make it right."
Moody stared at the young man who had indeed become a friend and trusted coworker, as well as a damned fine Auror despite his privileged background. Potter's rise had been meteoric, just as Moody had predicted when he'd graduated from the Academy with stellar grades. It was hard for him to believe that once upon a time, he'd been looking forward to serving under Potter's command when he inevitably became Chief Auror. The room was silent save for the whirling of the grizzled warrior's magic eye.
"I had a sister once," he said without elaboration.
James was surprised. "I never knew that."
"Few people do. She was a squib, and when she turned eleven, my parents sent her away. I was six at the time. Aside from missing her to this very day, I spent every night from the age of six to eleven terrified that I wouldn't get a Hogwarts letter and I'd get thrown out too."
James said nothing, and Moody returned to his packing, speaking over his shoulder as he did.
"You had an obligation as a father, Potter. You abandoned it for reasons I found inadequate. Do you think I need a stronger reason for my feelings about you?"
"No," James said quietly. "I don't. I'm sorry I let you down." He turned and put his hand on the door handle.
"I'm not the one you should apologize to," Moody said, still without looking at the man.
"I know." James left the office without another word.
6 June 1993
The Hogwarts Library
4:00 p.m.
"I can't believe you talked me into this," Harry snapped.
"Oh come on," whispered Neville. "You want to explore your Legilimency powers. Here's your chance."
Harry glared at his friend. He had wanted to explore and learn to master his powers, but in a controlled situation. Instead, Neville wanted him to mind-whammy (as the Gryffindor had started referring to it) a fellow student! Since the Chamber of Secrets incident was resolved, Ron Weasley had been in a state of severe depression. More recently, Jim had received an unprecedented invitation to spend the summer in India with Healer Gupta Baskar, and he apparently wanted Ron to accompany him, mainly because Baskar was a noted mind healer and Jim thought Ron needed that right now. The boy balked, however, certain his family couldn't afford for him to spend the summer in India and also far too proud to accept charity from the Boy-Who-Lived. Neville had come to Harry with a request that he talk to Ron and persuade his fellow Gryffindor to put away his pride and accept the chance to get healing.
And so it came to pass that Harry took a break from exam review to follow Neville to the Library and talk with Ron Weasley, a boy he'd never particularly cared for in the past and who rather recently had sought to kill him. Admittedly, it had been while he was possessed by Tom Riddle, but Harry still thought it was the sort of thing he was entitled to hold a grudge over. But it was Neville, and like Hermione and Theo, Harry generally found himself unable to deny his friend's sincere requests. Harry braced himself and walked across the Library to the table where Ron sat by himself while studying Potions notes with a somewhat morose expression.
"Hi, Ron. May I join you?"
Ron looked up in surprise. "Sure," he said after a moment's hesitation.
"Listen, I've been meaning to check in with you to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine," Ron said tersely.
"I'm sure you are, Ron, but it was still a traumatic event, and I just wanted to say..."
"Please don't apologize," Ron said interrupting.
Harry paused, his mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said 'please don't apologize.' I know that in the Chamber you were about to kill me. I don't remember much, but I do recall that pretty clearly. And I don't blame you for it. I had a piece of..."
Ron stopped and glanced around the Library. "Well, you know what was inside of me. If there was any chance you could kill him for good by killing me, it would have been completely right to do. I don't blame you at all. Now, was there anything else?"
Harry sat staring at the other boy for nearly five seconds as he processed what Ron had said and considered possible responses. He decided for the "brutally direct" approach.
"You want to die, don't you?"
"What?" Ron said in shock. "No, I ..."
"Yes. Yes, I really think you do. I think you were possessed by a monster and made to do things that you're now ashamed of and rather than face what you were forced to do, accept it, and move on, you'd rather just die. Which, to be fair, it's a free country, and it's no skin off my nose, but I'm pretty sure it would break Jim's heart. So for his sake, not to mention your family, of whom I am quite fond, might I humbly suggest that you suck it up, go to India with Jim, and get that mind healing you need."
"I don't need mind healing!" Ron exclaimed. Then, Madam Pince shushed him loudly from across the room, and Ron looked around the Library fearfully to see who had heard his outburst.
"Bullshit. That s pride talking, Weasley. And Gryffindor pride isn't nearly as attractive as Gryffindor courage. Yeah, you were victimized by an evil possessed diary for months. And I was locked in a cupboard for ten years and intermittently starved and beaten. Life is hard. Suck it up and deal."
Harry rose from the table as Ron stared at him slack-jawed in a mixture of shock and anger. "I mean seriously. Are you a Gryffindor or not?"
And with that, Harry left the furious boy behind and headed for the door. A perturbed Neville was waiting for him.
"That wasn't quite the interaction I was hoping for, Harry," he said somewhat crossly.
Harry shrugged. "Sometimes it's honey. Sometimes it's vinegar. Let's see how it goes."
5 June 1993
Outside the Great Hall
8:30 a.m.
The next morning, Harry was flummoxed when his brother Jim strode boldly up to him before breakfast and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Thank you!" Jim exclaimed. "I don't know what you said to Ron yesterday, but he's coming to India with me. Thank you! I don't know how I can repay you for this."
"For starters," Harry said through gritted teeth, "Never. Hug me. In public. Again."
17 June 1993
The Bloody Stump
(a small tavern in the magical community of Stebuklinga, Lithuania)
Peter Pettigrew sat at the bar and shook his head as he read the gossip page from the Daily Prophet. Apparently, James Potter had given his son permission to go halfway round the world on some foolish quest to learn more about Parseltongue. Peter had assumed that James's pathological fear of everything Slytherin would have made him refuse to even acknowledge that Jim was a Parselmouth, let alone get him instruction for it. The solicitor was quite pleased this outcome, as he was eager to see Jim develop a gift that tied him so closely with the Dark Lord.
He was also strangely relieved. After everything that had happened, he was still rather fond of James Potter for sentimentality's sake, but the man's rejection of Jim over the Parseltongue matter had become troubling, almost to the point of demanding action. It would have been regrettable if Peter had been forced to execute Contingency Plan G ("Codename: Little Orphan Boy") at this point, even if it would have greatly strengthened his influence over the Boy-Who-Lived.
As he continued reading the society news ("House of Greengrass Elevated to Ancient and Noble Status," he read silently. "Heh. I bet the Selwyns are having a cow!"), Peter delicately sniffed at the air, and then his nose twitched. He turned around on his barstool and was not particularly surprised to see two strapping Eastern European lads standing over him trying to be intimidating. Granted, a pair of partially transformed werewolves would have been intimidating to most people, but Peter Pettigrew had conquered that fear long ago. Nowadays, their dominance games were just amusing to him, like puppies growling at larger predators, ignorant of the scope of their power disparity and slightly adorable for it.
"You're not from round here," one of them said in a thick Lithuanian accent.
"Why no, my good man," Pettigrew said with exaggerated cheer. "I'm actually from Lincolnshire. Upper Appleby to be precise. Have you ever been to Lincolnshire? It's quite nice this time of year."
"You should buy us a round of drinks," the other werewolf said menacingly. "In fact, why don't you skip the middleman and give us all your galleons so we can buy drinks ourselves."
"Oh, I don't think so, my friend. I'm saving my coin to buy a round for your alpha. Is he around perchance?"
Both werewolves stiffened and looked at one another. "Who are you?" said the first one. "What do you want with him?"
"Oh, we're old friends. He and I go waaaay back, we do. Yessiree bob! Way, way back!" Then, Pettigrew snickered as if there had been a private joke in his words.
The one on the left snarled and grabbed Peter by the lapel of his jacket, practically jerking him off his barstool. Peter's smile faded, and he looked down at the werewolf's clawed hand and then back up at his attacker.
"Do you mind," he drawled in a bored voice. "You're wrinkling my suit."
The werewolf pulled Peter in close enough for him to smell the creature's fetid breath. "I don't like you," he snarled.
Peter snorted. "Well, get ready then. You're about to like me even less."
Then, with a blur of motion, the wizard lashed out with his right hand, raking his fingernails across the werewolf's cheek. The werewolf let out a hiss of pain and staggered back, letting Peter go in the process. The other one started forward angrily, but Peter held up both hands to show that his fingernails were now two-inches-long and razor sharp, though they were an oddly disturbing shade of pink instead of the black talons the partially-transformed werewolves bore. The second werewolf paused and then turned to his bleeding friend, who was now unsteady on his feet and seemed dazed and delirious.
"Janos! What's wrong?!"
"Stav...ros. Feel diz...zy."
Janos pulled his hand away from his bleeding face, and Stavros gasped in shock. The whole side of Janos's face around the four claw marks on his cheek were now covered with tiny white pustules. Janos's legs gave out and he fell to the floor.
"Janos!" The other werewolf snarled and turned towards Peter as if to attack.
"STAVROS!" came a loud guttural voice from across the room. The pack's alpha had arrived. "Stand down."
"But..." A low growl from the alpha caused Janos to shut his mouth. The alpha stalked over to the fallen werewolf.
"What did you do to him, Pettigrew?"
"A magical form of bubonic plague. Non-contagious but even deadlier than the original." Peter carefully walked around the fallen werewolf. "Did you know that the Muggles called bubonic plague the Black Death? It killed off half of Europe in the Middle Ages. It came here from the Far East."
He gave a toothy grin. "They say the rats brought it. Which is not entirely accurate, but sometimes myths are more important than truth where magic is concerned."
The alpha snorted contemptuously. "Will he die?"
Peter shrugged. "Probably not if you get him to a healer quickly. It's quite lethal to Muggles and wizards alike, but you lot are hardier than most. Perhaps if he's lucky he'll survive but gain a valuable life lesson from the experience."
The alpha sighed. "Take him, Stavros. Get him to a healer."
Without looking at Pettigrew, Stavros pulled the delirious Janos up off the floor and carried him from the room.
"What do you want, Pettigrew?"
"Your presence is needed in Britain, my old friend. I have a job for you."
"I haven't set foot on British soil since 1981. You know that."
Peter smiled. "You haven't had the right incentive. I'm here to provide it. I have need of services that only Fenrir Greyback, the most dangerous and feared werewolf in Europe, can provide."
He took a step towards the menacing figure completely without fear.
"What services?" Fenrir asked. "And what incentives?"
"Several services that call for your ... delicate touch. And as for incentives, well, how would you like to kill the son of James Potter? Or failing that, bring him into the pack like you tried to do with Remus Lupin?"
Fenrir smiled. He was always in favor of watching his pack grow.
19 June 1993
Hogwarts Castle
It was the end of term, and the exam results had shuffled the class rankings a bit. While Hermione was still in first place overall among the Second Years, Neville had topped her in Herbology, and Lavender had beaten her by the tiniest margin in Potions. Hermione took it in good humor and promised Lavender that she was going to study hard over the summer, just as Lavender had said to her the previous June. Harry and Hermione were both furious (as were quite a few other students) that, in light of Lockhart being evil, insane, and probably a Death Eater, his class would be treated as pass/fail with no actual grades given, which meant that neither of them would have the bragging rights of being first in the class despite being the only students who served on multiple research teams.
As the students were boarding the carriages for the ride to the train station, most of the teachers stood out on the front steps of the castle to wave goodbye, the Headmaster among them. Filch stood silently beside him with Mrs. Norris in his arms. As the carriages pulled out, the teachers headed back inside, but Filch stepped in front of Dumbledore and held out an envelope for him. After giving the Caretaker a quizzical look, Dumbledore tore it open and read the contents.
Dumbledore,
I quit.
signed Filch
Surprised, Dumbledore looked back towards the (former) Caretaker who was headed towards the castle.
"Mr. Filch," he called out. "Argus! What is the meaning of this?"
Filch turned back and studied the Headmaster with a look of contempt. "It means I'm done. I'm taking Mrs. Norris away from here. You can find some other sucker to clean up after these little monsters and make sure they don't all impregnate one another in the broom closets. I'm out!"
"But Argus! Where will you go?!"
"Hogsmeade. Aberforth hired me to tend bar and keep the place clean. I'm looking forward to it. I'd much rather clean up after drunken reprobates than a school full of snot-nosed brats."
And with that, Argus Filch stormed off, leaving an astonished Dumbledore behind him.
Just before stepping into the carriage, Harry paused and looked back towards the castle. For just a second, he had the odd feeling that he was being watched. Then, he shrugged and climbed up to join his friends, pausing just long enough to pat the thestral pulling the carriage on its flank.
Up at the top of the Astronomy Tower, two Hogwarts ghosts stood together watching as the students departed. The Fat Friar was a jovial rotund man who hardly looked the part of a ghost at all save for the fact of his translucency. The Bloody Baron, on the other hand, fit the appearance of the Restless Dead to a T with his jangling chains (though they made no sound at all unless he wished them to be heard) and the bloody wounds which covered his immaterial form. If the Friar had any apprehension about standing so close to Hogwarts most frightening ghost, he didn't show it in the slightest.
"When will you talk with him, old friend?" said the Friar as he took another drag from the mead-cup that never emptied yet never truly quenched his thirst. "I know you've been avoiding Potter almost entirely since his Sorting."
"I will meet with him when he is Prince and not before," said the Baron in his cold rasping voice. "That was Salazar's command, and I shall obey for as long as his House endures."
"Hmm. I had wondered if you might be... accelerating things a bit with this case. I don't recall you ever sending a prospect his questing letter as early as First Year."
"You pay too much attention to matters that do not concern your house, Friar," the Baron said dangerously.
"Yes," the Friar replied with a smirk. "That's one of the things my House is known for."
The Bloody Baron sighed loudly, remembering as he did that he had not need for breath and so the sigh was but an affectation. The Fat Friar was one of the few beings in Hogwarts who could annoy him. Perversely, that was also why he enjoyed the other ghost's company. Besides, of the other House ghosts, Nicholas was a ridiculous fop, and Helena was ... Helena. So who else would he talk to about matters not fit for the ears of either the Quick or the other Dead?
"Time grows short, Friar. Something is moving out there in the Wild. You know that as well as I. We who are Dead cannot yet see the shape of it, but we know that it is there, even if the Old Laws bar us from sharing freely what we do know with the Quick. Only a strong Prince can purge Slytherin House of the rot at its core, and only when Slytherin House is purified can all four Houses stand together to meet that which draws nigh."
"And you think Harry Potter's the one? Forgive me, Baron, but your track record of selecting Princes over the last hundred years is not the best."
The Bloody Baron turned back to watch the carriages as they pulled away.
"You are wrong. His three predecessors were each worthy Princes in their own fashion, but each in turn strayed from the path. Regulus was betrayed by his family. Lucius by his pride and greed. And Tom, ironically, by love. Harry Potter has many trials to overcome, but I believe that in time he will sit upon the Throne as Prince and, I hope, fare better than those who came before him."
The Fat Friar sniffed. "Honestly, I've never even understood the point of having a Prince of Slytherin. None of the other Houses need anything like that."
"Do not play the fool, monk. You above all others know perfectly well why a Prince of Slytherin is needed, even if Hufflepuff geniality forbids you from saying it aloud. The great virtue of Hufflepuff is Loyalty, while its great vice is Passivity, a refusal to act when doing so risks those you care about. The great virtues of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are Courage and Reason, but they share the vice of Arrogance, the belief that either courage or reason is all that matters. But in Slytherin, our virtue is Ambition, and our vice ... is also Ambition. Alone among the Houses of Hogwarts are we the ones most likely to be brought to ruin by our greatest strength. That is why a Prince is needed. Someone with the power and intellect and resourcefulness to rule the House, but also with the wisdom and cunning to do so only from the shadows and only for the greater good of both the House and the wizarding world at the expense of his own prestige."
He turned back to the Friar and looked down upon him imperiously. "I would think that the humility demanded by the role would appeal to a Hufflepuff."
The Friar laughed mirthfully at that and raised his tankard in salute. "Well then, here's to Harry Potter! May he find just enough Hufflepuff inside himself to do the job right!"
The Bloody Baron growled, but the Friar could tell that there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of the old ghost s lips.
As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, Harry's compartment was full of all his closest friends: Neville, Theo, Hermione, Blaise, Ginny, and Luna. The group had been discussing their various plans for the summer.
By a happy coincidence, Hermione and Blaise would both be in Tuscany for three weeks, and so the Countess Zabini had invited the Grangers to stay at her villa there. What the two did not share was that there was no coincidence - Blaise had arranged for Hermione to meet with his old Occlumency tutor to get some specialized training while her parents were taking in the sights of Old Italy.
Ginny would be spending the summer trying to break the news to Molly that she would be trying out for Draco's spot as Seeker in the fall, which meant that she would need practice time on a broom and preferably not in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep.
Harry and Neville would start summer tutoring almost immediately after getting back to Longbottom Manor. They didn't know who with yet, but Augusta had written to Neville to inform him that she'd found "someone who she thought could fill young Nymphadora's shoes quite admirably." The two were cautiously optimistic but also slightly worried.
Theo was the most relaxed of the group. He expected to spend the summer tooling around Malfoy Manor again, learning from Lucius whatever the man felt like teaching. Apparently, fencing was on the agenda for the summer, which Theo was quite excited about.
Luna would be working with her father at the Quibbler, which seemed less exciting than what her friends had planned, but she nevertheless seemed excited about it.
"Oh, by the way, Harry Potter," she said with her dreamy expression. "Thank you for doing that thing you did to Ronald. He seems much happier now, and his nargles aren't quite so blue and listless."
Harry made a face at the girl while everyone else looked back and forth between the two in confusion.
"Um, what?" said Blaise in confusion.
"Blue and listless nargles mean severe depression," said Hermione authoritatively, "which described Ron rather well. Apparently, he's doing better. Which simply leaves the question of what exactly Harry had to do with it."
"I just gave Ron some advice," Harry said casually. "I've no idea what Luna's talking about. No idea at all." He favored Luna with a genial smile which she returned.
"Okay, no offense, Luna," said Theo, "but I'm not getting into nargles on the ride home. It'll just give me a headache." He turned to Harry. "I am curious about one thing, Harry. Draco mentioned that Malfoy Manor was down to just two house elves. His mum took one when she left, but apparently, Lucius sold you the other one. What's that all about?"
"It was Dobby. He was the one who warned me last summer that someone was trying to kill me. And he later tried to save my life, albeit in the most roundabout, borderline insane way I could imagine. Malfoy didn't want a house elf of questionable loyalty, so he gave me the option to buy Dobby off of him for a nominal sum. The alternative was to kill him."
"That's horrible!" Ginny exclaimed. Harry just shrugged.
"I'm not entirely sure he'd have actually done it. I think in hindsight it was just an ethics test for me. I failed ... or passed, maybe. Honestly, I'm still not sure which."
"Well, since the topic's been raised," Hermione said, "can someone please explain to me exactly what house elves are? Preferably in a way that reassures me that the wizarding world doesn't tolerate slavery in 1993?"
"Well, to be honest," said Blaise, "we kinda do. It's just the slaves in question actively want to be slaves, get offended if not allowed to act as slaves, and will actually die if freed from slavery."
Hermione looked horrified. "So they're, what, symbiotes? They need to bond with wizards to survive?"
"Actually no," said Neville. "They don't need wizards to survive but rather wizard dwellings, places where wizards have lived for a long time. That's why for the most part only rich Purebloods have house elves. They're the only ones with houses that have been around long enough to support the bond. Even a Muggleborn could bond with a house elf if that Muggleborn lives in the right sort of home. Harry could bond with Dobby because he lives at Longbottom Manor and has an inheritance interest in Potter Manor, even though he's technically a guest with us and won't own his own ancestral seat for years to come. There are a few businesses that have house elves because they used to be manor homes before being converted into stores or factories. Quality Quidditch Supplies has house elves because their factory is in what used to be the old Gamp Castle before the Gamp's all died out."
"Are there any laws that protect them being abused?" Hermione asked.
"Not many," Neville admitted. "It is, however, very socially offensive to get caught abusing house elves in any way. It's considered a sign of insanity, actually, to abuse house elves because you're hurting something that by its very nature can never hurt you back so long as it stays in your employ."
"We've never had any house elves," Ginny said. "The Burrow's not nearly old enough to attract or support one, so I don't know much about them. Does anyone even know where they came from?"
"Oh, the usual answer," Blaise said. "A wizard did it. What's known is that house elves have been around for centuries if not millennia. We know they had house elves in Roman times for sure. My own pet theory is that some wizard thousands of years ago tried to enchant his home so that it would make his bed and cook his breakfast and mop its own floors and generally just look after itself without him needing to do anything, but he screwed up and accidentally created a sentient species obsessed with housekeeping. We can argue all day about the ethics of whether house elves should have been created, but the fact remains that they were created, and our options today are either set them free and risk genocide or keep using them as servants but try to make sure they aren't mistreated."
"Honestly," said Harry. "I think sometimes that 90% of the problems we have today all stem from stupid wizards from thousands of years ago who didn't give the tiniest thought to the future." Several of his friends agreed.
"Well," said Theo, "all I know is that I'm glad Mrs. Malfoy - or Madam Black now, I guess - took Mogli with her when she left. That was one creeeeepy elf, and with a little luck, we'll never encounter it again."
And with those words, Theo Nott challenged the gods of irony.
Even as Theo mentioned Mogli's name, the vicious little elf was perched on top of the roof of the Hogwarts Express engine car. About a mile ahead, the train would soon be passing over a bridge across a deep chasm. The bridge was strong but not strong enough to defy house elf magic. With a single snap of his fingers, Mogli would cause the train to jump the tracks and dive into the ravine below. Many of the children of Hogwarts would die in the disaster. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would definitely die in the disaster. Mogli would ensure it as Mistress had commanded.
Then, Mogli stiffened and turned around. Behind him on the small roof was Dobby, the treacherous little elf who had shielded the Potter brat from Narcissa Black's wrath all year long. Mogli had treasured his time spent torturing his fellow house elf for the Mistress's amusement in years past, but play time was past. It was time for Dobby to pay for his interference.
"Mogli shall not harm Harry Potter," Dobby said in a tremulous but determined voice.
Mogli sneered hatefully. "Dobby cannot not stop Mogli from harming Harry Potter."
The two house elves stood perfectly still and stared deep into one another's eyes.
Meanwhile...
Nine layers removed from Reality, a small pocket universe suddenly came into existence. It was quite small as universes go - no bigger than fifty light years across - but it was far enough removed from Reality that the two Lares could freely act without causing any disturbances to the Material World.
A good house elf leaves no sign of his passage.
Instantly after the battle space's formation, Lar Dobby and Lar Mogli transitioned into the tiny universe already at each other's metaphysical throats. Lar Dobby manifested as a titanic golden figure with two pairs of flaming wings, each spanning a thousand miles and covered with a sea of blinking eyes that were each the size of a small city. His body was humanoid, though his hands and feet were the talons of an enormous raptor, and his head morphed constantly between the shape of a man, an ox, a lion, and an eagle.
Lar Mogli manifested as an enormous cloud several thousand miles in diameter and comprised entirely of a seemingly infinite number of flesh-eating scarab beetles. The scarabs were of a now-extinct species once used in the funerary practices of Lost Kemet until it was undone by the Wild long before the first pharaohs came to rule, and their symbology spoke of Mogli's desire to bring death in the service of his Mistress's nihilism.
The great beetle storm lashed out at the winged figure, but Lar Dobby quickly wrapped his wings around his colossal mass to shield against the attack. He retaliated by unleashing a gamma ray burst that would have exterminated all life within this pocket universe had it been inhabited by anyone other than the two Lares.
Lar Mogli screamed in pain and anger, his voice echoing down the dimensional corridor so loudly that it would have caused permanent insanity to much of the human race had the two fought no more than three layers removed from Reality. In a fury, Lar Mogli willed the scarabs which comprised part of his vast bulk to solidify into an arm which ripped through a nearby gas giant, yanking out its hyperdense metallic hydrogen core and hurling it at Lar Dobby at nearly 10% of the speed of light.
The impact caught Lar Dobby by surprise, knocking him back and into the gravitational well of the blue supergiant at the center of this solar system. As Lar Dobby sought to reorient himself, Lar Mogli pressed his advantage by reconfiguring the shape of his scarab cluster into the Qlippothic symbol of Azariel the Binder. In response to the Kabbalistic attack, the supergiant instantly cooled while its gravitational field vastly increased, thus transforming the star into a hungry black hole which now threatened to consume Lar Dobby entirely.
But in this, Lar Mogli miscalculated, for just as Lar Dobby was about to cross the Event Horizon, he closed all of his thousand eyes in concentration and instantly calculated the value of pi to its last decimal point. As that was completely impossible, the calculation had the effect of destabilizing the laws of physics in Lar Dobby's vicinity, thereby inverting the emerging singularity. Matter became energy. Implosion became explosion. And the black hole became a supernova whose raging force annihilated the exterior of Lar Mogli s scarab storm manifestation and exposed his core.
Then, it was Lar Dobby's turn to press his advantage. He abandoned his cherubic form and assumed a three-layered manifestation. Simultaneously, he was a burning light of pure Justice that shot like a spear into Lar Mogli's core, an epic poem set to triumphant music that recounted the stirring tale of Lar Dobby's victory over his enemy, and a six-word mantra that struck at the fundamental essence of Lar Mogli's existence. This last aspect was the most devastating: six simple words repeated on an infinite loop which overwrote Lar Mogli's existence at every level of his being.
You shall not harm Harry Potter.
The two house elves stood perfectly still and stared deep into one another's eyes.
Then, after barely a second had passed, Mogli swayed and his knees buckled. The murderous house elf started to fall, but it was nothing but a pile of old dead leaves and broken twigs that hit the roof of the engine car before blowing away in the wind. Dobby crossed his arms and smiled in satisfaction before snapping his fingers and disappearing in a loud pop. He was glad to be done with Mogli so that now he could return to the more important job of getting young Master Harry's rooms at Longbottom Manor ready for his arrival, something the house elf thought was vastly more important and more interesting than striving against Mogli's foolishness.
Kings Cross Station
6:00 p.m.
As the students disembarked, Harry and Neville quickly found Lady Augusta. Neville gave the woman a hug while Harry bowed respectfully. They were both surprised to see Alastor Moody by her side.
"Auror Moody," said Harry. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
"Just Moody, lad," the older man replied. "I'm retired now from the Auror Corps."
"But luckily for you two, he won't be sitting around gardening or anything like that," said Augusta. "Alastor has agreed to serve as your tutor for the summer."
With that news, just as before, Harry and Neville were simultaneously excited and terrified. Once the introductions were over, the two boys said their final goodbyes to all their friends who each made their way off the Platform. The last two to say goodbye were Theo and Draco who came over just as Lucius showed up to take them home. To Harry s surprise, Lucius actually walked over to Augusta Longbottom and gave a deep and respectful bow.
"Lord Malfoy," she said coolly.
"My lady," he said. "Forgive my imposition and forwardness. But in light of our recent political alliance regarding the Greengrass ascension, to say nothing of my own change of circumstances, I had wondered if we might be able to find even more common ground. Would you do me the courtesy of allowing me to call on you at Longbottom Manor on a date of your choosing?"
Augusta gave the brother-in-law of the couple who shattered her family to pieces a look that suggested a strong desire to hex him into oblivion. But then, she contained her anger. As he'd said, the man had allied with them on a matter of serious importance to the House of Longbottom. And if the rumors of his divorce were true, he wouldn't actually be the brother-in-law of the Lestranges any longer.
"Owl me next week, Lord Malfoy," she finally said. "We can discuss a further dialogue about possible areas of agreement."
"You honor me, Madam. These are interesting times we live in. Change is in the air." He turned to Draco and Theo. "Come along, boys."
Then, he noticed that Theo was staring off into the distance and had gone completely pale. Harry noticed as well, and both he and Lucius turned as one to see what had shocked the boy so. It was a wizard with black and grey hair, a beard, and terrifyingly intense eyes. His clothes were Muggle-style, though anachronistic. They were also as black as the darkest night. Instantly, Lucius became as tense as Theo, and Harry himself tensed in response. His worst fears were confirmed with the next word out of Theo s mouth.
"Father," he said in a strangled voice.
"Tiberius," Lucius said calmly. "This is a surprise."
"You know me, Lucius," Lord Tiberius Nott said with a cruel smile. "I'm full of surprises. I couldn't help but overhear what you said just now, and I quite agree. Change is in the air. With that in mind, I have elected to change my mind about my son residing with you at Malfoy Manor this summer. I regret not spending more time with my darling boy who I have not seen face to face since he left home for his First Year. I think it's time I rectified that. To that end, Theodore will be coming home this summer. With me."
"Tiberius," Lucius began, but the other man interrupted instantly.
"Do give my regards to your lovely wife when you next see her, Lucius." He actually grinned at that comment. Then, he looked down at Harry. "And you must be Harry Potter, the first of your line to be Sorted into Slytherin in untold centuries. And a Halfblood to boot! I must confess I've heard a great many interesting things about you, young man."
Harry stared up at the former Death Eater. "Likewise," he finally said after a beat.
Lord Nott sniffed softly and then turned towards his younger son. "Come along, Theodore. It's time we were away."
"Theo," Neville began but the boy cut him off.
"Well, that's it until next fall I guess," Theo said suddenly with a frighteningly cheerful voice. "Lord Malfoy, I thank you and Draco for inviting me into your home last summer. Lady Augusta, I thank you for the kindnesses you and your grandson have showed me."
Harry stepped forward but for once was at a loss for what to say. He'd actually studied Lord Nott and tried to use his Legilimency to figure out what to do or say and, to his surprise, felt like he'd hit a brick wall. All of his instincts that had guided him for the last two years now bluntly told him that there was nothing he could say to Tiberius Nott that would free Theo from his clutches for the summer or even guarantee that he would not actively harm the boy.
Now that the initial shock was over, Theo seemed strangely resigned to whatever was going to happen. He pulled Harry into a hug and slapped him on the back. "It's alright," he whispered. "Whatever comes, I'll handle it. And I'll see you in September ... if not before."
With that, Theo released Harry and then walked over to his father, who put a disturbingly firm grip on the boy's shoulder and led him away. Theo gave one last look back at the group and waved with a smile. To Harry, it felt like someone trying to keep his friends' spirits up even as he was being led to the gallows.
The Law Office of Peter Pettigrew, Esq.
6:30 p.m.
Peter strode into his office after hours, exhausted from his International Portkey, and he was surprised to find his secretary Yvette still behind her desk.
"Yvette! Whatever are you doing here this late?" he said.
She glanced towards Pettigrew's conference room. "That wretched old woman is in there," she hissed in a whisper. Peter could tell his secretary was angry, as her French accent grew more pronounced. "Madam Toynbee! That miserable ancient spinster who only ever comes after regular business hours! She strode in as if she owned the place and said she would not leave until you arrived!"
Peter laughed. "I'll speak to her and make sure she never again insists on remaining if I'm not here. You know how our elderly Pureblood clients are, Yvette. They insist on everything being their way, which is fine because they're willing to pay for it. Now, you finish up and head on home. I won't need you for anything dealing with Madam Toynbee."
"Merci, Mr. Pettigrew," she replied, clearly so frazzled that she had actually slipped back into French. She began packing up her things as Peter walked into the conference room, discretely activating its privacy charms as he entered. He was not particularly surprised to find that it contained not an ancient client as Yvette believed, but someone far younger but who had a passion for anonymity.
Narcissa Black-Malfoy. "Or just Narcissa Black now, I suppose," he thought to himself.
"I am relieved that the Polyjuice wore off, Narcissa. You are barely tolerable when you are beautiful. It's been a long couple of days, and I don't think I could face your tantrums coming out of the mouth of a nonagenarian. What do you want?"
"I have just learned that Lucius hid the bulk of his fortune from me! I want you to fix it!"
Peter snorted. "Honestly, I'd expected as much. I never thought Lucius would have surrendered that much money so easily if he didn't have more squirrelled away. Where did he hide it?"
"He invested it with Muggles!" she said, contempt dripping off the last word.
"Heh. Clever. Obviously, old Abraxus never counted on that. I'm sure it was unimaginable to him that Muggle investments might yield more than wizarding investments. It looks like your screwed then, Narcissa. The marriage contract says nothing about the profits of investment outside the wizarding world."
"Honestly, Pettigrew! What am I paying you for?!"
He laughed out loud at that. "You're not paying me at all, Narcissa. Any legal advice I give you is pro bono since I cannot be seen handling legal affairs for someone with so many Death Eater connections as you, no matter how pristine you've kept your lovely arms. But I sense there's more than money that troubles you. What else brings you here this late in the day?"
She sulked for several seconds. "I have lost Mogli."
"Eh? How do you lose a house elf?"
"I sent Mogli to kill Harry Potter today. He did not return."
Pettigrew grimaced. "I told you to leave that to me!"
"And what have your machinations gotten us. You haven't contributed anything since we had Mogli put Wilkes's train inside your present for your godson."
"As if Mogli's doxy swarm or that ridiculous nonsense with the cursed Bludger did any better. That train would have killed the little brat except for the fortuitous accident of Rufus Scrimgeour literally falling into its path. And even that redounded to our benefit since James Potter is now Scrimgeour's replacement. Already, I've managed to pull strings to send no-bid contracts from the DMLE to people who are sympathetic to our cause, not to mention the blood sample I got from Jim Potter. I think my successes speak for themselves, unlike your contributions to our alliance."
Narcissa laughed haughtily and then looked away. Peter thought for a moment and then scowled.
"By the way, how exactly was Mogli supposed to kill Harry?" Narcissa continued to avoid eye contact. "Narcissa! How. Was Mogli. Supposed to kill Harry."
She sighed loudly as if on the verge of a tantrum. "He was to make the Hogwarts Express jump its tracks and plunge over a cliff."
Peter stared at the Pureblood in shock.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DERANGED INBRED MIND?!"
"How DARE you?!" she spat back at him.
"Jim Potter was on that train! We need Jim. He's the sworn enemy! His blood must be forcibly taken during an exacting ritual to bring back our Lord not ... not scooped up out of mangled train wreckage with a sponge! Are you insane?!"
She jumped up out of her chair.
"I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO IN SUCH A MANNER! I AM NARCISSA BLACK OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!"
"I KNOW!" Peter yelled back. He also jumped up and stood to yell directly in the woman's face. "I know ALL ABOUT the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Cissy! You only remind me every single time you come here!"
Then, he let out a mean snicker. "Even though between the prison inmates, the disinherited, and the dead, you're really the only bit of Black left. How's that working out for you?"
"Damn you, Pettigrew!" She slapped the solicitor across the face, but he just turned back to grin at her with preternaturally sharp teeth.
"My place in Hell has been reserved for a long time, I think." He walked slowly around Narcissa, staying within her personal space the whole time, intentionally crowding her.
"But that's the thing, isn't it, Cissy?" He grabbed her and pulled her in close. "I know all about your precious lineage. And you know all about mine!"
He leaned in to sniff her perfume, softly nuzzling some of her hair out of place as he did. She sneered at him contemptuously.
"You disgust me, Pettigrew," she said in a low angry voice.
He chuckled once more as he leaned in again. "Yes," he whispered softly. "I do, don't I."
There was but a second of hesitation before animal passion trumped the witch's feelings of superiority, and then she threw herself into the man's arms and kissed him almost hatefully. After a few seconds of that, they broke apart just long enough for Peter to whirl around and cast his strongest locking charm on the conference room door while Narcissa reached down with her arm and swept everything that had been sitting on the conference table off onto the floor.
Out in the main office, Yvette had just finished packing up her things and was heading towards the door when she took one last look at the conference room door.
"Poor Mr. Pettigrew," she thought sadly. "He'll probably be stuck in there all night."
Longbottom Manor
7:00 p.m.
Neville Longbottom was as upset as Harry had ever seen him. Immediately after arriving at Longbottom Manor, Augusta had left the boys alone in the sitting room while she went to Floo call her own solicitors to see if anything could be done for Theo. Meanwhile, the boy who had been known across the school for his nearly unflappable calm was now nearly on the verge of tears. Harry wasn't even sure how to respond. He was unused to such emotionalism since he now only felt strong emotion when he chose to.
"Neville, it will be alright," he said. "We'll get him out of there ... somehow."
"But how long will that take?! One of our best friends has been sent off to live with a homicidal sadist and there's nothing we can do about it except hope for the best."
The boy sat down in one of the parlor chairs and put his head in his hands. "Honestly, I can't imagine how things could get any worse."
Harry winced at that. For a long time, he'd mocked Blaise Zabini for his superstitious fear of the gods of irony who would strike down foolish people who dared invoke ancient curse phrases such as "I don't know how things could get worse" or "what could possibly go wrong" or "this'll be the best Christmas Walford has ever had." But the last year had made Harry something of a believer, and Neville s earnest comment suddenly sent a chill down his back.
1 August 1993
From the front page of the Daily Prophet
DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!
SIRIUS BLACK! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE!
THE LESTRANGE BROTHERS! AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD!
YOU-KNOW-WHO S ENTIRE INNER CIRCLE!
WHO WILL SAVE US FROM THE DEATH EATER MENACE?
To be continued in
HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE
Commencing 1 September 2016
Sorry about the delay, but I hope the length makes up for it. Thanks to all my wonderful followers and reviewers! There will be some light posting between now and September 1. Extremely tentative titles may include the following (in no particular order, and not all may be used):
Theodore Nott and the House of Seven Gargoyles
Ron Weasley and the Secret of the Naga
Jim Potter and the Beast of Shamballa
Hermione Granger and the Revenge of the Black Hand
AN 1: For people who are squicked out by the end of the Peter-Narcissa scene, I remind you that POS-Peter is played not by Timothy Spall but by his younger hotter son, Rafe Spall. And while we're on the topic, POS-Narcissa is played by Charlize Theron at age 35. Also, the role of Tiberius Nott will be played by Ian McShane. The role of Fenrir Greyback will continue to be played by Dave Legeno who played him in the films (and who has recently passed away to my great surprise).
AN 2: Draco Malfoy is going to Durmstrang because in canon he does nothing of any importance in Year 3 except petulantly try to get Buckbeak killed, and I ain't a-wasting time on that stupid subplot. Also, I have too many characters and he'd have just ended up standing around making sarcastic comments, and I already have Blaise for that. Drake Malfoy will return in Year 4 as part of the Durmstrang contingent, though I'll tell you now that Victor will still be the Durmstrang champion.
AN 3: "Mind you," Neville said. "If you ever use this power to influence me into doing something I shouldn't, Gran will beat you to death with a paper napkin." Theo perked up. "Can you beat someone to death with a paper napkin?" Harry smirked. "If I know Augusta Longbottom, she'll have fun trying," he said.
All that was cribbed from "Oh God, Not Again" by the marvelous Sarah1281, one of my favorite HP fics of all time, though in the original version it was Crack-Harry threatening a bemused Lockhart. It's a marvelous parody crack-fic but please don't let that deter you. It's one of my favorite things on the Internet.