Harry Potter
and the Death Eater Menace
Harry Potter and all associate characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 28: Dreamscapes, Memories, and Nightmares (finale)
18 December 1993
Longbottom Manor
4:15 p.m.
By this point, Sirius Black had been essentially trapped in Augusta Longbottom's parlor for nearly two hours with only taxidermied animals for company, and he'd nearly made himself sick on watercress sandwiches and petits fours. He was quite annoyed with Hoskins, but also with himself, as he'd gradually come to realize how the elf had manipulated him into remaining in this room. Sirius was amazed – first Dobby and now Hoskins. He would need to seriously reassess his views on house elves at this rate.
The door out of the parlor remained stubbornly closed despite all the lock-picking Charms he knew, but it turned out that even returning to Grimmauld Place was no option either. The box next to the fireplace that held the Floo powder was also spelled shut, and it, like the door exiting the parlor, was warded against him. But perhaps the most disturbing moment was when he tried looking through the keyhole to the corridor beyond and saw Hoskins just standing there watching the door with uncanny focus. Sirius didn't know if Hoskins could see through the door to watch him directly, but at this point, anything seemed possible. He was just about to admit defeat and simply call for Hoskins to ask for Floo powder so he could return home when, suddenly, there was a loud pop from the other side of the door. Sirius bent down to look through the keyhole again and confirmed that the elf had apparated away, no doubt after being summoned by Regulus or one of the others.
Then, Sirius's eyes widened, and he slapped his hand against his head.
"Merlin, Sirius, what an idiot you are!" he said to himself. "You've got a wand now! You can apparate!"
He pulled his wand out and focused his mind on the place in the manor he knew the best: the room he'd stayed in for several weeks right after his liberation from Azkaban.
"Destination, Determination and Deliberation," he muttered softly while clenching his wand tightly. Then, there was the all-too-familiar sensation of being crushed from all sides, and at once, Sirius realized what a terrible mistake he'd made. This was the first time he'd attempted apparition since his incarceration twelve years before. Which meant it was the first time he'd experienced the intensely claustrophobic sensation of apparition since he'd begun his long imprisonment in a tiny miserable cell in the worst prison in the world.
Barely a second later, he rematerialized in his former bedroom only to fall to the ground in an absolute panic and terror. He looked wildly around the room, but his resurgent trauma colored his perceptions. One second, he was in an empty yet familiar bedroom, but one seen reflected in a funhouse mirror, constantly twisting and moving. In the next second, everything around him darkened to the color of grey stone, and he was back in his cell waiting for the Dementors to return. Desperately, he crawled over to the door (whenever he was able to perceive a door rather than metal bars), and with a supreme effort, he pulled it open and fell outside … only to find himself in one of Azkaban's labyrinthine corridors. Slowly, he pulled himself up off the floor to stagger down the hall, shaking in his delirium.
"Focus, Black! Gotta … gotta keep movin'! Or the D…dementors'll get ya! ... HARRY!" He picked up speed as he staggered almost drunkenly down the hallway, occasionally stumbling and bouncing off the walls and furniture. From somewhere behind, he thought he heard movement approaching. Terrified, he held up his wand.
"EX… EXPECTO … PAT…PATRONUM!" he cried out, but no Patronus appeared. The cold chill of a Dementor washed over him. Not a real Dementor, for there were none nearby, but the sense memory of one (not that Sirius could possibly tell the difference at this point). He picked up his pace, desperate to flee the tormentors that existed only in his mind. Soon, the sensation of the Dementor chill was joined by voices drawn from Sirius's twelve years of nightmares.
"I'll kill you for what you've done, Traitor!" screamed James from inside a painting on the wall of Longbottom Manor.
"You were never my friend, were you, Black?!" growled a suit of armor that Sirius saw as Remus in mid-transformation.
"What a fool you were to never see the truth about me, Sirius!" giggled a floral arrangement on a nearby side table that Sirius perceived as a certain Norwegian brown rat.
Desperate and delirious, Sirius Black made his way through the dark sinister corridors of his own mind.
Just a few minutes earlier …
Carefully, Regulus and Lucius maneuvered the semi-conscious Snape up out of the dungeon, after locking up the unconscious Bellatrix in her cell, gagged and bound with a straitjacket. Once back on the main floor of Longbottom Manor, Regulus called out for Hoskins.
"Hoskins is here, Mr. Regulus, and reports that your brother remains trapped in the parlor for the nonce." Then, the elf noticed the injuries to Snape. "Blimey!" he exclaimed.
"Hoskins, please fetch us any medicinal potions in the house. Mr. Snape will need them."
Hoskins stiffened his back with military precision at the order. "It will be done, Mr. Regulus." But then, just as the elf was about to pop away, he suddenly flinched and gave an annoyed grimace. "Grrr. Hoskins regrets that he spoke prematurely, Mr. Regulus. Hoskins perceives that Mr. Sirius has apparated out of the parlor where Hoskins had detained him and into the residential wing."
Regulus sighed. "Never mind him for now, Hoskins. We'll deal with him if it becomes an issue."
Hoskins bowed and popped away, as Lucius and Regulus continued to levitate the semi-conscious Snape across the room. But the "issue" arose sooner than Regulus anticipated, for at that moment, Sirius came barreling around the corner. He skidded to a stop and stared at the trio in mindless terror. The Slytherins could not have known it, but from Sirius's perspective, it wasn't three wizards before him, but rather two Dementors … Dementors that were somehow under the command of a healthy twenty-year-old Severus Snape who sneered hatefully at him as he urged the Dementors to move in for the kill.
"Of course," Sirius thought through his mental fog. "That bastard has wanted me dead since we were kids! And now he's brought DEMENTORS to do the job for him!"
"SNIVELLUS!" screamed Sirius Black in a rage as he fired a Cutting Curse towards the trio. Luckily it went wide, but it did manage to slice through the rope that held up an expensive chandelier. It promptly fell to the floor with a resounding crash. Regulus threw up a protective shield which Snape and Lucius hid behind.
"Was that another priceless antique?" Regulus asked, more afraid of Lady Augusta's ire now than his brother's curses.
"Regency era," Lucius said while bolstering their shield. "Expensive but reparable so long as the crystals are largely intact."
"INCENDIO!" Sirius bellowed, and in response a gout of fire shot out of his wand wildly around the room.
"… and not melted into slag," Lucius added ruefully.
"Dammit, Sirius!" Regulus snarled before leaping from behind the shield and rolling across the floor faster than his brother could follow. "EXPELLIARMUS!" And just like that, the battle was ended. Sirius's wand went flying, and the man himself got knocked back ten feet to land on the floor in a trembling heap.
Regulus moved in his brother's direction to check him out while Lucius attended to Severus. By the time he reached Sirius, the older Black was shaking violently.
"Please, b-b-believe me!" Sirius cried out through tears. "I'm innocent! I'm innocent! I'm innocent!"
"You should stun him," croaked the barely-conscious Snape. "He's in the midst of a stress-induced Dementor flashback. Stun him before he swallows his own tongue or something. Then feed him two Calming Draughts and a Draught of Peace. They're in my bag."
Regulus looked at Snape in surprise and then immediately stunned his brother into unconsciousness.
"And if I feed him those, that will fix him?" he asked.
Snape barked out a laugh. "Oh no, that will just get him through the night. But if his flashbacks to Azkaban are that severe, then the psychic and physical damage will likely grow worse and worse with each successive trigger event until he dies of an aneurysm or heart attack." He smiled cruelly. "That or kills himself in despair, I suppose."
Regulus looked horrified at Snape's callous remarks. "There … there must be something that can be done?!"
The Potions Master snorted. "You have no good options, Regulus. Even if he could be persuaded of your brother's innocence, Ted Tonks is still in recovery and cannot attend to him. You can hardly take him to St. Mungo's to see a Healer not a part of our little conspiracy. And before you even dare to ask – no, I will not lift a finger on his behalf. I recommend you take Sirius Black home, make him as comfortable as possible, and wait for the end."
Then Snape gave a cruel smile. "I for one know that I'm looking forward to a funeral."
Caretaker Sturgeon's Office
4:20 p.m.
"Open wide," said Remus Lupin with a cheery smile. Jim Potter grumbled and then opened his mouth as wide as he could before Lupin cast a low-level Scourgify inside. It wasn't painful, but it was profoundly unpleasant. Ron Weasley, who was watching the proceedings with a broad grin, had warned him that using the Charm in this manner was the magical equivalent of a Muggle parent washing out a child's mouth with soap as a punishment for naughty language, a punishment he'd suffered himself on occasion. Lily Potter was equally amused, as she recalled using the spell on the Marauders back in their school days to curb them of their tendency towards sexual innuendo after they finally developed an interest in girls.
Remus handed Jim a glass of water which the boy swished around in his mouth before spitting it out into a conjured bucket.
"Blech!" he said while making a face. "Is this really necessary?"
"It is if you don't want to spend the next two weeks with a Mandrake leaf stuck to the roof of your mouth for nothing," Lupin said authoritatively. "This approach cuts the amount of time you'll need to keep the leaf in your mouth in half, but it won't work if there's any particulate matter in your mouth when the leaf is affixed. And we all saw you take a second helping of treacle tart at lunch today."
"It wasn't my fault!" Jim said almost offendedly. "Hermione doesn't eat desserts any more, and it would have gone to waste if no one ate it."
Ron laughed. "Yeah, whereas every dessert Hermione turns down that isn't treacle tart usually gets eaten by me without a word of complaint from you."
Meanwhile, Remus turned to his desk and carefully levitated a Mandrake leaf from a small box with a gesture of his wand. At his direction, Jim opened his mouth once more, and Remus floated the small leaf inside before affixing it to the roof of his mouth with a Sticking Charm. Jim made another face as he adjusted to the leaf's presence. It didn't taste nearly as bad as the soapy Scourgify, but it tasted rather unpleasantly of sour apples. He remarked as such to Remus, who smiled once more at the boy's expression.
"Yes, I'm afraid that's just part of the process. I hope you don't mind the taste of sour apples too much, Jim, because for the next fortnight, everything you eat or drink will taste of it. It's tolerable with pork and citrus fruits. Less so with things like chocolate or other desserts, I'm afraid."
"So no more treacle tart until after Christmas!" Ron said with a laugh.
"How does this differ from the normal process?" asked the ever-curious Lily. Remus had finally come clean and revealed the Secret of his identity to her after the Hogsmeade attack. As Remus and Albus had anticipated, James had mentioned his suspicions about "Malachi Sturgeon" to her and asked her to keep an eye on the mysterious caretaker. Rather than put up with Lily spying on his every move, Remus elected to show the paper Dumbledore had created that conveyed the Secret to both her and to Ron. If for no other reason, her aid would be essential in diverting James so he didn't notice the tell-tale scent of Mandrake on his son's breath, a scent Prongs would remember all too well.
"The technique that James, Sirius, and Peter used requires the aspiring Animagus to keep a Mandrake leaf under his tongue for a full month. This frequently makes it difficult to talk and also increases the likelihood of the leaf being damaged inside the mouth. The technique Jim is using is the one practiced by the Animagi of the Uagadou School in Africa. It cuts the time needed for the Mandrake leaf in half … at the cost of giving the Animagus breath that suspiciously – and obnoxiously – smells of apples at all times. That's not a problem in Africa where Animagery is not only legal but commonplace. It's more of an issue here in Wizarding Britain, where unregistered Animagery is highly illegal. Especially when your father is both a secret Animagus and the chief law enforcement officer for the whole country. But the alternative was to do it during the school term, and there's no way Minerva McGonagall would have missed the scent of a Mandrake leaf. Unlike Prongs, McGonagall is blessed with a feline sense of smell."
"It's a wonder she never caught James and the other two when they were going through this,' Lily said. "I suppose they must have done it during the summer."
"Mmm," Lupin said while studying the Mandrake leaf now stuck inside Jim's mouth and thinking about how to change the subject.
Mad-Eye Moody's Room at the Three Broomsticks4:40 p.m.
"So that's it," Moody said to Harry Potter. "That completes my collection of memories of people who fought Voldemort and made it to the ten-second mark. Between now and our next get-together, I want three feet of parchment on what they all did right, what they could have done better, and what a Third Year student with your admittedly slightly-above-average skills could have done to escape in those situations."
"We still haven't seen your own personal memory of fighting Voldemort, Mr. Moody," Harry said innocently.
"And we are not going to, Potter," the man replied gruffly. "I made that clear."
"I'm guessing it's because you have some incredibly awesome fighting technique that you don't want to share because you always like to have one trick no one else knows in your back pocket."
"You can make whatever guesses you like, Potter, but I'm still not sharing that memory. Now, I'm going out to use the loo. While I'm gone, start packing up your pensieve and thinking about what you've seen. If you have any final questions about anti-Voldemort tactics, you can ask 'em when I get back."
With that, Moody stumped out of his room and down the hall. Harry added to his notes and then moved to the table to shrink the pensieve down for travel. But as his wand rested above the bowl, he paused, his attention drawn to the vials neatly resting in a row along the side. He'd seen nine memories that day, but there were ten vials. And with his Occlumency-powered recall, he knew exactly which one he had not witnessed yet. Harry glanced over to the door. Based on experience with the man's bathroom habits gleaned over months of tutoring, he knew he had at least ten minutes before Moody returned. After a few seconds of contemplation, Harry reached for the tenth vial of memories and dumped them into the pensieve. Excited at the thought of seeing his mentor in action at the height of his power and skill, Harry leaned forward and passed into the memory.
1 January 1981
The Memory of Alastor Moody
The thing that most shocked Harry was how young Moody looked. Harry, of course, had researched Alastor Moody's life and career. And if this was a memory of his duel with Voldemort, then the man was only thirty-five and had been awarded an Order of Merlin just a few months earlier for his role in the siege of Wilkes Manor and the death of the Death Eater known as Mr. Toymaker. As the memory came fully into focus, Harry found himself in the man's bedroom just as he was waking up for the day. The boy wasn't sure, but he suspected Moody was hungover. More disturbingly, as far as Harry was concerned, Moody apparently slept in the nude, as the boy quickly deduced from the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed, clothes which included some old-fashioned men's underwear and what appeared to be a festive New Year's Eve Party hat. Embarrassed to have barged in on his mentor under these circumstances, Harry abashedly focused his gaze on everything else in the room as a healthy, young, and fully-naked Alastor Moody (who still had both legs and both eyes) sat up in bed to stretch his arms.
Aside from embarrassment, Harry's primary response to the scene was confusion. He had expected to be dumped into a pitched battle between Moody and the Dark Lord. Had Moody brought the wrong memory today? Shaking his head, Harry moved over to a nearby dresser while behind him, Moody reached down for the clothes on the floor. On the dresser were several moving pictures, only one of which included Alastor Moody, locked in the embrace of a lovely young woman. She was in several other pictures as well, along with what looked like family members. Suddenly, Harry realized the truth of the situation and blushed. This was not Moody's room or house. It belonged to a woman with whom Moody had come home after a New Year's Eve party. Now even more embarrassed, Harry prepared himself to exit the memory when a shirtless Moody opened the door and called out almost playfully.
"Vicki? Where's my shirt?"
After a few seconds, a woman's voice replied. "A…a…Alastor?" A chill ran down Harry's back. The woman's voice wasn't playful. It was terrified.
Moody must have reached the same conclusion, for with a silent twitch of his hand, the auror's wand flew to his grasp. He tapped his head with his wand to cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. To Harry's surprise, he could still see Moody (though he seemed slightly translucent) since this was Moody's own memory of these events. Then, the auror cast a Silencing Charm on himself before slipping out the door. Harry followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Halfway down, Moody froze, as did Harry behind him.
The stairs led down to an open living room. There was a woman (Vicki, presumably) wearing what Harry guessed was Moody's missing shirt. She was stuck to a wall with tears streaming down her face. And she wasn't alone, for Harry counted another four people also stuck to the walls of the living room: two men (one of whom was wearing a heavily-damaged Auror's coat), another woman, and a young boy perhaps no more than seven. All them appeared to be under a Silencing charm, and all of them seemed to be in mortal terror.
Understandably so, since Lord Voldemort himself was also in the room, calmly seated in an easy chair reading a Daily Prophet issue whose headline praised Moody for his handling of the Wilkes affair.
"Good morning, Auror Moody," Voldemort said without looking up. "I trust you slept well?"
For a full second, Moody stood paralyzed. And then, he pointed his wand towards Voldemort and screamed "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry was taken aback. Moody was legendary among the Aurors of the last war for having never used the Killing Curse. And it showed. Compared to all the Avada Kedavras that Harry had seen the Dark Lord cast in the prior memories, Moody's was painfully slow, and the color, while green, looked noticeably paler than usual.
Voldemort twitched his wand effortlessly, and the uniformed Auror who'd been stuck to the wall flew across the room into the path of the curse. The Auror didn't die because Moody's curse wasn't strong enough. But he screamed from the pain as blood shot from his mouth and green sparks danced across his body.
"MIKE!" Moody yelled in anguish. Then, he stabbed the banister with his wand, and it shattered and flew towards Voldemort in a hail of wooden stakes. The dark wizard shifted the position of his human shield, but then the stakes changed course to fly around him. Seemingly amused by Moody's ingenuity, Voldemort quickly whipped his wand in a complicated pattern before the stakes could strike, and instantly, they reversed themselves in mid-air and flew back towards Moody. With a grunt, he leaped to safety, but one of the stakes drove through his calf. He fell to the floor with another scream, this time of pain. Voldemort rose from the chair and glided over towards him, the auror falling to the ground behind him as a weeping wreck. Desperately, Moody tried to curse the Dark Lord, but with a silent flick of Voldemort's wand, Moody was disarmed.
"Tsk, tsk, Auror Moody," he said in a silky voice. "You have something lodged in your leg, it seems. Let me help you with that." Voldemort hissed a word that Harry didn't recognize, and in response, a heavy ax made of an emerald green magical force materialized out of thin air and sliced Moody's leg off just below the knee!
Harry staggered back in horror as Moody roared in pain and fury. He'd been expecting a duel for the ages because he knew Moody had survived an encounter with Voldemort. He'd never expected to learn that Moody only survived because Voldemort had been toying with him.
Blood spurted wildly from Moody's leg stump until Voldemort cast another spell instantly cauterizing the wound. "There," he said almost mildly. "I've stopped the bleeding, though I fear that leg will never accept any sort of magical regeneration. Nor any sort of magical prosthesis that doesn't cause you intense pain. But you're a strong man, Auror Moody. I'm sure you can handle a little pain … for the rest of your life."
'You … bastard!" Moody spat. "Kill me and get it over with! I know that's why you're here! But leave the others out of it!"
"Ah, yes!" Voldemort exclaimed as he gestured towards the terrified figures on the wall. "Let us introduce our honored guests. Your lover, Victoria Manford. Your fellow Auror and partner of many years, Michael Proctor. And lastly, your younger brother, Aethon Moody; his wife, Adrienne Carlyle Moody; and their adorable moppet of a son, Nestor Moody. The very last of the Moody line, am I right?"
Voldemort sneered at the stricken man. "I'm told you have many friends, Auror Moody, but these, I believe, are the only people you love. Today's lesson, Auror Moody, will be to teach you the futility and pointlessness of that puerile emotion. I hope I prove a worthy instructor."
"Why, you bastard, why? I suppose you consider Mike an enemy soldier like me. But what's the point in killing a bunch of civilians?! Revenge for me killing Wilkes? Don't tell me you actually cared for that lunatic?!"
Voldemort laughed. "Cared? Of course not. No Dark Lord worthy of the name has friends worth caring about!" Then, he darted forward and knelt by Moody, his wand under the man's chin.
"But there are people we value, Moody. Men and women of true genius whose importance to the cause is inestimable. Erasmus Wilkes was such a genius."
"He was a bloody mass-murdering psychopath!"
Voldemort blinked in bemusement. "Your point? Whatever deficiencies you saw in his mental health do not change the fact that he was valuable to me! By killing him, you have set my plans back more than anyone else still alive, including Albus Dumbledore himself. I would congratulate you, but unfortunately, your actions compel me to deliver a harsher response."
"Killing my loved ones, you mean? And then what? After you've murdered the people I care about, are you gonna blind me like poor Nancy Kent?"
Voldemort sniffed. "I rarely repeat myself when I can avoid it, at least not with my grander gestures." He tilted his head as he studied Moody's face. "No, I think I'll just take one eye. That way, you'll still have another eye in whose reflection others will see how haunted you are by the memories of this day."
Then, the Dark Lord rose to survey the room. "And you're mistaken in my intentions, Auror Moody. I am not here to kill anyone. Or at least, not unless persuaded to do so."
"… what?" Moody said slowly. Nearby, Harry put his hands over his mouth. Somehow, his strange Legilimency powers had given him insight once more like a kaleidoscope clicking into place. But the image revealed this time was both horrific and sickening. Somehow, he knew what Voldemort was going to do next.
"I will not kill any of these people. Instead, I will drive them utterly mad with the Cruciatus Curse. But, I shall do so with such skill that they will live on, unaware of their surroundings and trapped in their own bodies, while still experiencing the effects of the Cruciatus for the rest of their lives!" Voldemort gave a sickening laugh while Moody gaped at the Dark Lord in horror and helpless fury.
"That will be the fate of all your loved ones unless … unless you can persuade me to grant them a more merciful fate, if no less a permanent one. The decision is yours, Auror Moody. Shall I curse these people to agonizing madness? Or will you beg me – truly beg me with absolute sincerity – to kill them instead? That is the choice I offer you. That is the price you shall pay for depriving me of one of my most valued servants. And when we are done, perhaps your fellow Aurors will learn from your mistakes. Mistakes for which these good people will pay the price."
By now, Moody was practically babbling as he begged Voldemort not to do this. Meanwhile, Harry Potter stood utterly transfixed, unable to move. Part of him desperately wanted to flee this memory. But another part – his Gryffindor part, he assumed – demanded that he stay and watch, because having intruded this far into a scene of such depravity, he felt a strange obligation to bear witness on behalf of these poor victims.
Voldemort looked around at his hostages before his gaze returned to Victoria Manford's tear-stained face. He tilted his head quizzically, and instinctively, Harry knew he was studying the woman with Legilimency. Then, he cast a wordless Charm on the woman that caused faint runes to appear in the air over her. He laughed viciously and turned back to Moody.
"What a delightful turn of events! Tell me, Auror Moody. Did you have any idea that your lover is pregnant!"
That finally broke Harry's paralysis. He choked out a sob of horror and took a step back with the intention of exiting the pensieve. But before he could, he jumped in surprise as a beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was bodily pulled out instead. After a moment's disorientation, Harry found himself back in Moody's room and staring up into the face of the man himself. For once, Moody's fake eye wasn't spinning wildly. It was focused on him with an exact and frightening precision.
"Well, Potter," Moody said in a bitterly cold voice. "Any questions?"
Harry's jaw moved but no coherent sounds emerged. His eyes were wet with tears. "I … I…."
Moody silently gestured with his wand, and the memory flowed out back into its container. Then, he tapped the bowl which shrank down to pocket-size.
"Get out," he said without looking at the boy.
Harry wiped his eyes and pocketed the pensieve. Then, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head and opened the door. He paused for a moment at the threshold and looked at Moody whose back was to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but still no words would come. Finally, he gave up and left the room.
After all, what could he possibly say.
Twenty minutes later …
Dejected and still shame-faced by what he'd done to his own mentor, Harry made his way down the tunnel that led from Honeydukes back into the castle only to be reminded that things could always get worse. On the secret doorway on the tunnel side he found, of all things, a scrap of parchment affixed to the door with Spello-tape. And to his amazement, there was a message scrawled on it for him.
Potter –
When you return, come see me about your detention.
Unless you return after curfew, in which case, see me about your suspension.
- Scrimgeour
Harry closed his eyes and shook his head as he wondered how this day that had started off so well had ended up such a disaster.
"Oh yeah," he thought to himself. "It was because I'm an arrogant git."
After checking the Map to make sure no one was on the other side, Harry opened the passage door and entered Hogwarts. He took a brief side-trip to return Jim's cloak before heading up to the DADA classroom. Then, he paused to adjust his tie and primp his hair before rapping on the door three times.
"Enter," said Rufus Scrimgeour on the other side. As Harry entered, the man gave a curious smile. "Well, Slytherin Potter, I must say this is a surprise. My note did not specify, but I was expecting your brother to have been the one to read it. Sneaking off to Hogsmeade for candy and a look at the latest Quidditch paraphernalia seems more of a Gryffindor move."
Harry shrugged. "It wasn't for candy or Quidditch, sir. I had a previously-scheduled lesson with my tutor in Hogsmeade, and it would not have been possible to reschedule it during the holidays."
Scrimgeour's eyebrows shot up. "And who is your tutor, dare I ask?"
Harry hesitated but then decided it wasn't exactly a secret. "Alastor Moody."
"Is he really? How extraordinary. I must say that it wounds me to learn that my DADA classes are so unengaging that you feel the need to take extra tuition to compensate for it."
Harry winced. "Not at all, Professor. I've found all my teachers here at Hogwarts to be excellent instructors." The name Binns flashed across his mind, but he ignored it. "My lessons with Mr. Moody are merely on … specialized topics."
"With Alastor?" Scrimgeour laughed. "I imagine they would be. Still, that leaves me with a dilemma. The Headmaster has forbidden travel to Hogsmeade by those who lack the power to defend themselves from Dementors, which includes you. I can, of course, pass along my discovery of your transgression to the Deputy Headmistress or your Head of House and let them determine appropriate punishment. Or we keep it just between the two of us. What's your preference?"
The boy hesitated and actually dilated for a few seconds. He wondered what Scrimgeour's game was, because he was certain it was about more than disciplinary infractions. Then, he wondered if Scrimgeour could tell he was dilating, and he instantly let it lapse.
"What punishment would you propose, sir?"
Scrimgeour looked up at the ceiling as if he were just now considering the matter and had not already determined his proposed punishment hours earlier.
"One-hundred lines. 'I will not violate safety rules put into place for my own wellbeing.' After which, we will spend two hours in academic discussion about this."
As he spoke, he held up his personal copy of the Sirius Black trial transcript. Harry blinked. He'd spent weeks poring over the transcript to no end. Had he not heard Sirius's side of the story from his own mouth, he'd have found the document completely plausible. Of course, plausible was not the same as believable. Harry sensed there was something wrong with the transcript – and possibly something that Scrimgeour had also found suspicious – but he was unable to identify it himself.
"I would be happy to submit to that punishment, Professor Scrimgeour. After dinner?"
"Actually, I was going to propose having a house elf bring dinner for us so you could work through and finish early. I know you're leaving for the holidays tomorrow. Have you even started packing?"
Harry blushed. "Err, no actually. I suppose it would be fine to eat here so we could get done at a reasonable hour. One-hundred lines, you said?"
Scrimgeour nodded, and Harry set himself to the required work. To Harry's mild surprise, Scrimgeour summoned Tweak, the house elf charged with overseeing House Slytherin. Harry steadfastly ignored the elf and hoped Scrimgeour wouldn't notice that they'd interacted before. Tweak was no help in that regard, as he repeatedly glanced over at Harry with obvious disdain. After receiving Scrimgeour's instructions, the house elf popped away, and Scrimgeour sat down to review his own copy of the transcript and make some notes in the margins.
About an hour later, Tweak returned with a large wicker basket from which he produced several platters and bowls of food, along with plates, goblets, silverware, and a large pitcher of pumpkin juice.
"How are you coming along, Potter?" the professor asked.
"Almost done sir. About fifteen more lines."
"Hmm. Well, would you mind if I went ahead and ate? I skipped lunch today."
"Not at all, sir," Harry said courteously. "Please, don't wait on my account."
Scrimgeour limped over to the table where Tweak had left their repast and puttered about for a moment before preparing a plate and goblet for himself. About five minutes later, Harry placed his parchment on Scrimgeour's desk and then fixed a plate for himself. The two ate in companionable conversation for about twenty minutes. Scrimgeour asked how Moody was, and Harry gave an evasive response that the older man thankfully didn't press.
After they'd finished eating, Tweak returned to clear the table, though at Scrimgeour's insistence, he left the pitcher of pumpkin juice, for which Harry was grateful. He'd suddenly found himself unaccountably thirsty, most likely because Scrimgeour kept the DADA classroom on the warm side. Their bellies full, the two began a lively discussion of the Black transcript.
It was a rather long transcript considering it consisted almost entirely of a single witness under Veritaserum. At the start of trial, three sworn affidavits were introduced: one each from James and Lily Potter, and a third sealed affidavit from "Witness 3." All three affidavits confirmed that Sirius Black had been the Potters' Secret Keeper and that he'd revealed the Secret to "Dark Lord #1" which was how court proceedings of the day referred to You-Know-Who. Next came an expert's report submitted by an anonymous Unspeakable establishing to a legal certainty that it was impossible to compel a Secret Keeper to reveal the Secret they kept except voluntarily.
This was deemed sufficient to hold Sirius Black for questioning under Veritaserum. And under that potion's effects, Sirius admitted to having been a Death Eater for just over a year. He was not yet marked but would have been soon as reward for leading Voldemort to the Potters. The interrogation did not delve into why James Potter's longtime best friend had become a Death Eater and a traitor, but it did dig quite ferociously into what he'd done as a Death Eater. Among the individuals who he'd put under the Imperius Curse and compelled to serve Voldemort were Lucius Malfoy, Tiberius Nott, Andrew Parkinson, Gregory Goyle Sr., Wilbur Crabbe and dozens of other equally respectable wizards. His testimony also went into lurid detail about what crimes he'd compelled those respectable wizards to perform, crimes including felony Muggle-baiting, murder, arson, and rape. At one point, he alluded to a deep personal hatred of Slytherins as a motive for trying to destroy the reputations of so many upstanding graduates of that house.
"So," Scrimgeour asked. "What do you think about Black's confession? Seems rather thorough, does it not?"
Harry took another sip of juice to stall while he tried to come up with an answer. "Thorough, yes. But isn't it unusual for someone to be sent to Azkaban just for their own testimony under Veritaserum? What about memory alterations?"
"The witness's chair in the Wizengamot courtroom has the same properties as a Remembrall. It will instantly reveal whether the witness has been subjected to any memory-altering spells. Likewise, both your parents would have been asked to handle Remembrall's before signing a magical affidavit."
"True. Still there must be ... something …." Harry finished rather lamely.
"Must there? Most people would think this testimony remarkably straight forward." Scrimgeour leaned forward. "Tell me, Slytherin Potter. You obviously have doubts about Black's conviction. Why?"
Harry visibly struggled with the question. He wished he could simply say "Well, I've met, Black and I believe his story." He took another slow sip and licked his lips cautiously.
"What do you know about the events from my First Year involving Professor Quirrell and the Mirror of Erised?"
Scrimgeour leaned back slowly in his chair. "A provocative change of topic. I know the basics, I think. Quirrel was, in some capacity, an agent of You-Know-Who, and Albus arranged for him to come to Hogwarts as DADA professor in order to lure You-Know-Who into a trap of some kind."
Harry frowned. "If I may ask, sir, why do you call him You-Know-Who? I know Professor Dumbledore encourages people to use his real name."
"Yes, except it's not his real name, is it. And due to the political situation and the limitations imposed by the Fidelius, we can't exactly call him Tom. Anyway, I generally call him You-Know-Who for two reasons. One is that there were several relatively plausible rumors during the last war indicating that he had some sort of sensory powers pertaining to the unauthorized use of the name Voldemort. The exact scope of that power is nebulous – it seems absurd that he should instantly know whenever someone says his name in a derogatory way and be instantly able to apparate himself there and revenge himself, but there were enough people who believed such twaddle to make it socially unacceptable to say Voldemort in public."
Harry nodded. "And the other reason?"
"I got tired of cowardly cretins shrieking in terror every time I said the name in front of them."
"Fair enough. Anyway, You-Know-Who currently exists in some kind of spirit form, and he was physically possessing Professor Quirrell. On the last night he was here … I sort of got into a conversation with him. I was stalling for time to keep him from killing me and some of my friends, and while I was, he said something about the person who betrayed my family that didn't make sense, so I asked him when Sirius Black entered his service. He had no idea what I was talking about."
"My word, Slytherin Potter. You do lead an interesting life. And from that brief exchange, you conclude that this official document of the Wizengamot, signed by three esteemed if anonymous judges and countersigned by the official Scribe of the Wizengamot, is fake?"
Harry opened his mouth to respond but then got sidetracked. "How can the judges be esteemed if they're also anonymous?"
Scrimgeour smirked. "The Death Eater Laws. The Wizengamot got tired of its judges being assassinated every time they publicly ruled against Death Eaters. So, it established the Blind Panel, a group of twelve highly-esteemed wizards and witches who would agree to serve as judges in all Death Eater-related trials. The Wizengamot picked them in a closed session with every Lord and Lady in attendance swearing a rather stringent secrecy oath to never reveal who served on the panel. Until You-Know-Who's defeat was confirmed, every single trial involving an accused Death Eater was heard by three of those judges, randomly chosen, in a closed courtroom with Dementors serving as unofficial bailiffs. Witnesses for and against the defendant would be subject to perception-filtering spells that prevented them from recognizing any of the judges."
Scrimgeour paused. "Mind you, that didn't stop some of them from getting murdered anyway. Everyone in the Wizengamot who wasn't a collaborator or worse was treated as a target by the Death Eaters."
"And even after all these years, no one knows the names of any of the judges?!" Harry asked.
"Well, we know one of them was Albus Dumbledore. He publicly revealed himself as one of the judges and also vouched for the other eleven, despite his own personal misgivings about the Death Eater Laws, in order to reassure the public that the Blind Panel would be neither a rubber stamp for Barty Crouch nor a corrupted body that would let Death Eaters escape justice." He gestured at the top of the front page of the transcript. "These four sigils here are actually the occluded names of the three judges who heard Black's case along with the official seal of the Scribe testifying that the transcript is a true-and-accurate copy of what was actually said."
He leaned back in his chair again. "So, I ask you once more – do you have any reason to doubt the authenticity of this document?"
Harry grimaced. "Only a gut feeling, sir … though one I suspect you share, perhaps?"
Scrimgeour smiled at the boy. "Tell me, Slytherin Potter. I gather you were raised – poorly, I'm told – by Muggles. Are you familiar with the Muggle fictional character known as Sherlock Holmes?"
Harry ignored the dig at the Dursleys, though he did wonder how much Scrimgeour really knew about his upbringing. "I'm … familiar with Sherlock Holmes, but I never had chance to read any of the books."
"I highly recommend them. A Halfblood friend introduced me to them when I was your age. It was a life-changing event."
Harry perked up at Scrimgeour's heartfelt recommendation of Muggle literature. "Life-changing, sir?"
"Oh yes! You see, Potter, like you, I am a natural Legilimens. Like you, my Legilimency manifests as a preternatural deductive genius. But when I was a lowly Third Year, I honestly didn't know what I was. I had not heard the terms 'Legilimency' or 'deductive genius.' I didn't understand that I had a special ability, and more importantly, I didn't appreciate what it meant that others did not have that ability. That people might think it strange or off-putting or even infuriating when I would blurt out things that others meant to keep secret but which were perfectly obvious to me. And then, I discovered that the Muggles had a fictional character – an internationally famous and greatly admired fictional character – who could do the things I did. It was … astonishing."
Scrimgeour shook his head.
"But I digress. The point about Sherlock Holmes I wanted to make actually refers to one specific story which I found quite instructive when I read it. The Adventure of Silver Blaze, in which the Great Detective must solve a robbery and an apparent murder, and he constantly baffles those around him by continually suggesting that the most interesting facet of the case was 'the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.' I find that story to be quite relevant to the issue of the Black transcript."
Harry absorbed that and hoped his expression wasn't as clueless as he felt. "So … what was the dog doing in the night-time?" he finally asked.
"Nothing," Scrimgeour. "The dog did nothing during the night."
Harry stared at the man. "… okay?"
Scrimgeour sighed as if disappointed in his student's reasoning abilities. "The dog was a guard dog, Potter, and the fact that it did not bark during the night meant that the criminal was someone known to it – the dog's owner, in fact – rather than an intruder. I learned an important criminological lesson from that story. Namely, sometimes, the glaring absence of a clue is itself a clue." He leaned forward to stare intently into Harry's eyes. "So, with that in mind, I ask you: What should be in Sirius Black's confession that isn't there?"
Harry blinked a few times and then closed his eyes in concentration. After a few seconds, he took another swig of pumpkin juice with his brow still furrowed in thought. It took him nearly a minute until his eyes shot open wide and he gasped out the answer.
"The trial court asked Sirius broadly to describe every crime he performed on Voldemort's behalf, and he listed a bunch of influential accused Death Eaters who he claimed to have put under the Imperius. But he was an Auror by this point with access to the whole Ministry, and yet he never tried to Imperius any fellow Aurors or other government officials. And until Halloween of 1981, he never took the opportunity to kill my father, even though James Potter was a public symbol of opposition to Voldemort."
"Well done, Potter, though the gap in testimony is wider than you know. Are you familiar with the Order of the Phoenix?"
"Vaguely. Wasn't it some anti-Voldemort group put together by the Headmaster during the War?"
"It was, indeed. And Black, along with your father, were important members of it. And he never tried to subvert it either. He didn't even try to spy on it or the Ministry. But he did find time to engage in incredibly complicated schemes to get close to Wizengamot members who normally did not travel in his social circle at all."
Harry leaned back in his chair excitedly. "It's fake. It has to be. But how could someone have done this given your description of how the judging panels work? And why Sirius?"
"Who says its just Black? There were four other people liberated from Azkaban along with him. Could any of them also be innocent?"
"I seriously doubt it, from what I've heard," Harry scoffed.
"Well, then, why were those other four taken from Azkaban?" Scrimgeour asked in apparent bafflement. "What other purpose incidental to freeing the innocent Sirius Black could have justified liberating those four?"
Harry nodded excitedly. "It was because they were Voldemort's true inner circle. They were the only ones who might have known any useful details about Voldemort's Horcruxes…."
Harry stopped suddenly in mid-sentence and looked directly into Scrimgeour's eyes. The man smirked at him in victory. Then, he looked down at the goblet of pumpkin juice still in his hand, the one he'd been drinking from all night but which somehow never quenched his thirst.
"You put Veritaserum in my juice," he said simply.
"Yes," Scrimgeour answered calmly.
Harry nodded. "And you never thought it was Jim who sneaked into Hogsmeade. You arranged for this detention specifically for me tonight, and you assigned me lines so I'd be distracted while you put Veritaserum in my juice."
"Yes on all counts," the older man said once more. "It was most convenient of you to commit a disciplinary infraction today worthy of detention. You have remarkable self-discipline and poise for a son of James Potter. My fallback plan was to manipulate one of your peers into picking a fistfight with you after the Christmas Break."
"Well, I guess it's good it didn't come to that," Harry said sarcastically. "Isn't it, I dunno, dangerous to use Veritaserum like this? And especially on a minor?"
The man scoffed. "Please, Harry, I am quite experienced with this. It was only one drop, diluted by a whole pitcher of juice. Enough to loosen your tongue without presenting any health risks."
A beat passed. "WHY DID YOU PUT VERITASERUM IN MY JUICE?!" Harry asked in utter consternation.
Scrimgeour laughed at the outburst. "Well, I suppose you can really blame Albus for it. He made me promise not to use Legilimency on my students, so this was really the only way."
Harry looked around the room in dismay. First, he'd ruined his relationship with Mad-Eye Moody. And now, he'd exposed Regulus's conspiracy to a former Chief Auror. At least he hadn't exposed Regulus himself – the conspirators had all sworn secrecy oaths, and the watered down Veritaserum wasn't strong enough to overcome them regarding anything specifically included in the oath (which unfortunately did not include the Horcruxes). Harry wondered suddenly if thirteen was too young to be sent to Azkaban.
"What happens now?" he asked sullenly.
"That rather depends on how you answer my next few questions. What is your agenda towards Voldemort?"
Harry looked up at the man almost defiantly. "We want to utterly destroy him. In addition to Tom Riddle's diary, we've already destroyed another Horcrux and have leads for a third."
Scrimgeour nodded, apparently pleased with the response. "Is Sirius Black innocent?"
"Yes. The Potters' real Secret Keeper was Peter Pettigrew. He memory-charmed my parents into believing it was Sirius. Pettigrew was a Death Eater. And still is."
The man paused as he absorbed that. "Your parents both submitted magical affidavits swearing that Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper. Such affidavits cannot be fooled by a Memory Charm."
"Well Pettigrew found a way!" Harry said angrily.
Scrimgeour shrugged at the exclamation. "Who else is in your conspiracy?"
Harry shook his head. "No. We've got oaths for that."
"Good," he said almost cheerfully. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd bothered to put anything under a secrecy oath. Are the Death Eaters who are not Sirius Black firmly secured?"
"Yes. They're not going anywhere until we're done with them."
"And then?" Scrimgeour asked.
Harry hesitated again, this time because he honestly didn't know the answer. "That … is not something I've been allowed to be a part of." He swallowed. "I assume they'll all be killed, and then their bodies delivered to the Ministry somehow."
"Except for Sirius Black's, of course."
"I … don't know. I mean, I know he won't be killed. But I hadn't really thought about how to handle him not being returned along with the others."
"Well, you're thirteen. I wouldn't expect you to have to think of everything." Scrimgeour paused. "Well, unless your co-conspirators were twelve and under, but that seems a bit precocious even for you."
He sat back and looked up at the ceiling while idly tapping his finger on his desk. "Has your conspiracy at least put some thought into resolving the fundamental problem with proving Sirius Black's innocence?"
Harry did a double-take. "Honestly, we've mainly been focused on finding and destroying Horcruxes. So, um, what is the fundamental problem that obviously I've never considered?"
Scrimgeour glowered at him. "Merely the fact that overturning his conviction necessarily means disqualifying the evidence that cleared a half-dozen people who currently sit on the Wizengamot of being Death Eaters, as well as dozens of family members of other seat holders. A sizeable percentage of our government is implicated if Black's confession is thrown out. And none of them are going to simply sit back and let that happen. Not when it would be so much easier for Sirius Black to simply disappear in the night before his claims of innocence can be addressed."
He shook his head. "I mean honestly, Potter! I'm assuming Lucius Malfoy is involved in this business somehow, and I know he's realized that clearing Black put his neck back on the block for being a willing Death Eater! Have you at least set aside a cache of blackmail evidence against him in preparation for that day he decides to murder you?"
"… um," said Harry slowly.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Potter! I know you're young, but you shouldn't be that naïve at thirteen! When I was a Third Year, my blackmail folder filled two banker's boxes! And that was just fellow students!"
Both the Slytherins were silent for a moment. Harry actually had to stop himself from drinking another sip of the tainted pumpkin juice. Finally, Scrimgeour spoke again.
"Over the Christmas break, you will meet with your conspiracy and tell them what I have learned. Whoever you designate as spokesman for your group will contact me. We will meet at a mutually agreeable location and discuss … well, everything. If we can come to terms, then I will swear appropriate oaths to join with your conspiracy. If we cannot, then I will expose you all. Please advise your allies that, of course, I will keep certified memory copies of this conversation in safe locations and ensure that they will be delivered to the authorities if I am betrayed."
"You … want to join us?" Harry asked in amazement,
"I want to destroy You-Know-Who before he returns to full power," said Scrimgeour. Then, after a beat, he added: "I also want to be the Director of the DMLE. Do mention that to Lucius … or whoever is filling the "Lucius niche" in the unlikely event I've guessed wrong about his involvement."
He smiled almost warmly. "It's good to have multiple goals, especially when they are congruent."
A mostly one-sided conversation between Harry and Scrimgeour continued for another half-hour before the boy was sent on his way. He went straight to the Prince's Lair to ask the Hydra a question that was suddenly of burning importance.
"How is it possible that Rufus Scrimgeour was never a Prince?!" he nearly spluttered.
There was a brief susurration from all nine heads before Ka finally spoke.
"There was great interest in him from his earliest days at Hogwarts," said the mighty cobra. "But the Exemplars of Subtlety and Ambition exercised their vetoes. Delilah found him charmless and abrasive, which, to be fair, he was in his youth."
Delilah hissed disdainfully to Harry's surprise. It put lie to Lucius's earlier comment that the boomslang "liked everybody."
"And you, Rajah?" Harry asked respectfully.
"He lacked ambition," the silver basilisk said without elaboration.
"Lacked… ambition?! Until he was forced into retirement with a crippling injury, he was the third most powerful person in the British wizarding government."
"True," said Rajah, "but never by design or choice. Rufus Scrimgeour rose to such heights by dint of brilliant and overwhelming competence. He was continually promoted into higher-ranking positions he did not want simply because no one else was remotely as qualified. But if he'd had any choice in the matter, he would have never risen above the rank of low-level field investigator. Never has he had any ambition beyond solving crimes and other puzzles."
Harry considered that and asked a few more questions before returning to his room to pack for the next day's journey. It would be a long day. As the boy laid down to bed, he consoled himself with the hope that Regulus, Lucius, and Snape would have some sort of plan for dealing with Scrimgeour. He also took comfort in the fact that this wretched day was over. He truly felt as though he couldn't cope if something else went wrong.
19 December 1993
Longbottom Manor
Bellatrix's Cell in the Dungeon
7:30 a.m.
Early the next morning, the woman awoke in her cell, sat up, and looked around. She was not sure if she was Bellatrix Lestrange or Miss Demeanor at the moment. All she knew for sure was that she was an unarmed witch in a dank cell somewhere, gagged and straitjacketed. Her two selves had a brief nonverbal argument over the question who should be in charge before they agreed that Miss Demeanor had the requisite skills for their current situation and thus should take point. Bellatrix Lestrange would withdraw until they encountered someone whose brutal murder would not draw attention to their activities.
Miss Demeanor laid back on the floor and then kicked up with her legs, gracefully jumping up from the ground to land on her feet. Then, she spent several minutes carefully studying her surroundings. She may have been bound, gagged, and locked away in some dungeon cell, but the fools had not bothered to restrict her movements. More fool them.
Her study of the cell complete, Miss Demeanor moved very close to one of the walls, close enough to rest her left shoulder against it. Then, she bit down hard on the gag, pulled her shoulder back, and slammed it into the wall hard enough to produce an audible pop as her shoulder dislocated. After taking a second to catch her breath, she did the same thing for her right shoulder. She never once screamed though the pain was intense. Phase one of her escape completed, she set to work on wriggling free of the straitjacket.
And while Miss Demeanor worked in total silence, Bellatrix Lestrange laughed and giggled and sang terrifying nursery rhymes as she patiently waited her turn.
AN 1: Thanks to the following eagle-eyed Discord members for help in editing this chapter: darkphoenix31, FeatheryMinx, Emily, LordBritish, Scrubbius, patronus, Wonder Momoko, MihelRika, nispeed, VSPV, Kardenal13, RB13, TrendyTreky, feauxen, and of course, the implacable Ozzie.
AN 2: VERY Tentative release schedule.
2/11/19 – The next (and possibly penultimate) chapter of Strangers In Boston, available on my website to my patrons.
2/18/19 – Chapter 112 of POS available early on my website to Discord followers.
2/21/19 – Chapter 112 of POS posted here and on AO3.
NOTE HOWEVER that Ch 112 will be one of those annoying chapters to write because things are happening in different locations simultaneously, so it's entirely possible I'll blow through these dates.
AN 3: Huzzahs! The Sinister Man's Discord server has broken 1100 members! If you want to see future chapters a few days early and also discuss POS or Harry Potter in general with like-minded fans, check it out. Also, we are closing in on the elusive 10,000 Favs on . We currently stand at 9898.
AN 4: As noted above, the Sinister Man's first original novel, Strangers In Boston, is nearly complete. During the month of March, I'll hopefully complete the process of getting it published on Amazon for Kindle users. More info to come soon.