SHAMELESS PLUG!
My first original novel, Strangers In Boston, is now available on Amazon under my pen name, T.S. Mann (get it?). It's free to Kindle Prime members and $4.99 to people who want to download the Ebook. Paperback copies are available for $12.99. Check it out, and if you like it, please leave a review. Basically, it's American Harry Potter. Except there's no school, no wands, and if you use magic improperly, it can drive you insane and possibly destroy the world. No pressure or anything.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic.
Harry Potter
and the Death Eater Menace
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
Chapter 38: Conspiracies in Action
It was a dark and stormy night when the Death Eaters met in a dingy shack to make their plans and plot their crimes against the innocent wizards and witches of Britain. A dirty calendar on the wall indicated that it was in May of 1979, though the exact day was unmarked. In attendance were the three Lestranges, Lucius Malfoy (who was gagged and tied to a chair), and a hooded figure whose identity was as yet unrevealed.
"Are we ready to begin, Mr. Proteus?" sneered Bellatrix who looked young and vital, much different than the hollowed-out form that more than a decade in Azkaban would later inflict upon her. "We don't have much time if we're to get this fool back before he's missed!"
The concealed figure threw back his hood to reveal himself as Sirius Black. "Patience, Miss Demeanor. I'm quite good at what I do. I'll have poor little Luci bound to the Dark Lord's will in no time. IMPERIO!"
The spell enveloped Malfoy, who fought valiantly but was unable to resist the Unforgiveable. His face went slack and his eyes glassy.
"You will return to your father, Abraxas Malfoy," Sirius intoned. "You will apologize to him for your earlier defiance and refusal to take the Dark Mark. You will beg for the chance to join the Death Eaters. You will also agree with his demand that you marry Narcissa Black despite your disgust over her own loyalty to the Dark Lord."
Lucius nodded dumbly and then rose and left the shack.
"Well done … Sirius Black!" Bellatrix said sarcastically. "Or should I say, Marcellus Frump!"
Sirius shook his head wildly, and in a blur, his entire face changed to that of a nondescript man with brown hair and eyes. "You're too kind, Bellatrix."
"But why the deception, Marcellus?" Rodolphus said slowly. "Why disguise yourself as Sirius Black!"
"Abraxas warned that his son has some degree of Occlumency training," Marcellus explained. "As do several others among the list of individuals our Lord has charged me with convert. It is possible that one of them might be able to break through my Imperius Curse. In which case, he would remember only that the blood traitor Sirius Black was the one who cursed him. Even a failed effort will spread dissension and misinformation among our enemies if someone so strongly opposed to the Dark Lord could become a Death Eater."
The other three laughed cruelly at his words.
"So, who's next on our list?" Bellatrix said with a laugh. "Who is the next person for my dear cousin Sirius to claim as a new Death Eater."
There was a pause. Then, after a few seconds, Bellatrix and "Marcellus" looked at Rabastan expectantly.
"Huh?" he said with a start. "Oh, it's … um, Gregory Goyle!"
""CUT!" Rufus Scrimgeour bellowed angrily from a few feet away. There was a shimmer as his array of Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment Charms evaporated to reveal the leonine wizard. He was sitting behind a small table upon which sat a script book containing all the dialogue that had just been recited. "For Merlin's sake, keep your head in the game, Lucius!'
At that, Lucius reentered the shack, the Charm that caused him to appear as young as he did in 1979 fading away with a flick of his wand. At the same time, the three Lestranges also returned to their 1994 appearances.
"Don't lecture me, old man!" Lucius said angrily. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain two Imperius curses and four Youth-Reviving Charms while also acting?!"
"Please," Rufus sneered. "You were acting like an Imperius victim. You barely had any lines!"
Realizing that there would be a break while Rufus and Lucius argued, Marcellus Frump sighed loudly and shook his head again. Instantly, his features shifted and blurred once more until he resumed the true visage of Regulus Black.
"That is hardly the point!" Malfoy snarled. "You drafted me into this absurd bit of thespianism, Rufus, because of your blithe insistence that I was the only member of our conspiracy who could maintain control over the Lestrange imbeciles. Do not dismiss the difficulties I face in using the Imperius under these circumstances!"
"I wouldn't dream of it, Lucius," Rufus drawled with exaggerated disinterest. "I would never presume to be as knowledgeable about the Unforgiveable Curses as you. I've only used the Killing Curse three times, after all."
At that, Lucius audibly growled, and his hand tightened on his wand. Startled, Reg noticed for the first time how haggard Malfoy looked, and he stepped between the two wizards with his hands raised to placate them.
"Enough! We're all on the same team! Lucius, put away your wand. Rufus, stop being a prat. Let's just all take a little break to clear our heads."
Lucius nodded slowly without taking his eyes off Scrimgeour who merely crooked an eyebrow at him. Off to the side, there was a nervous cough followed by a hesitant question.
"Um, sorry to interrupt," said the man who had been Rabastan Lestrange, "but … who are all you people?"
"As the man said," Lucius spat, "take five – STUPEFY!" There was a flash of red from Malfoy's wand and both Rabastan and Rodolphus fell to the floor. Lucius then stormed out the door, followed by Reg, Bella, and Rufus.
"Out," in this case, was perhaps an inaccurate way of putting it, for the dingy old shack where the scene had been staged was actually situated in the grand ballroom of Longbottom Manor. About twenty feet away from the shack was another table, both larger and more formal, where Hoskins was setting up afternoon tea. Augusta Longbottom was already seated as the group approached.
"Well?" the Longbottom Regent inquired. "How is our little foray into the dramatic arts progressing? Is this mad scheme going to work?"
"To soon to tell," Rufus answered while pouring himself a cup of tea (to which he added a shot of whiskey from a flask in his pocket). "We've already accumulated an hour or so of useful memories, but that's only been the easy part. We have our 'Marcellus Frump' cast." He paused. "By the way, Regulus, just to set my mind at ease – whose face are you using for Frump? Please tell me it's not another poxied Muggle film star that any Muggleborn would recognize in an instant."
"No, no," the Metamorphmagus reassured everyone. "It's a complete nobody. I took a weekend trip to the south of France, found a Muggle factory worker who looked the part, got him intoxicated, and then shaved his head – which he thinks he did voluntarily after losing a drunken bar bet on the Juventus-Real Madrid match."
The assembled Purebloods just stared at him.
"They're Muggle football clubs … it's a sporting … you know what, never mind. The point is, I have roughly a thousand hairs from this bloke if we need to use Polyjuice for someone to pose as him and pretend to be the Death Eater Mr. Proteus aka Marcellus Frump."
"Alright, Regulus," Rufus declared. "We'll trust to your competencies. But the next phase will be far more complicated. Where are we on getting hairs from the various Death Eaters that Sirius Black was supposed to have suborned." He looked around. "For that matter, where is Sirius?"
"At Grimmauld Place," Bellatrix said while buttering a scone. "Resting. His health is still an issue. He needs more advanced healing than any of us can provide."
"As for the hairs," Lucius added, "I have reservations about that aspect of the plan. The loyalty that Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson have for me is … dubious at the moment, and I am at a loss as to how to secure hair from any of them in a way that will not draw unhealthy attention to our scheme. And my influence over the other pardoned Death Eaters is nonexistent. Too many of them have fallen under the sway of either Tiberius Nott or House Selwyn."
"Well then, I suppose someone will have to Polyjuice himself to look like Frump while Regulus assumes the form of the targeted Death Eater."
"That may cause problems later, Rufus," Regulus said. "If there are inconsistences in the performances of different people playing Frump, are there any DMLE investigators who might spot them?"
"We'll just have to risk it," Rufus said testily. "Fate has blessed us by giving our conspiracy one Metamorphmagus. It's not like we can go out shopping for a second one!"
A brief silence descended on the group before Augusta spoke.
"Well, actually …."
20 February 1994
Longbottom Manor
Nymphadora Tonks tried in vain to keep an expression of awe off her face as she sat between her mother and father on a couch that probably cost more than she'd make in a year as a rookie Auror. Assuming, of course, that the girl would ever actually become an Auror in light of her family's present circumstances. Her parents were less awestruck by Longbottom Manor. Ted's family had been rather well-off Muggles, and he'd been to the homes of the upper-class before. Andromeda, on the other hand, had been a Black and was raised in a home every bit as opulent as this one.
They'd received the invitation to visit Lady Augusta Longbottom the day before, and at the time, it had been a godsend. As Andromeda had feared, concerns about the Tonkses' connections to both the escaped Death Eaters and to the Outcast Theo No-Name had made getting work for any of them impossible, and the family's savings had been nearly exhausted when they received Augusta's owl. The precise nature of the "job opportunity" Augusta wished to propose was vague to an extent that Andromeda found troubling. But now that the younger Tonks knew about "the Black Madness," her mother's tendency towards paranoia made more sense.
Of course, just because one is paranoid doesn't mean one shouldn't be wary, but under the circumstances, the family was willing to ignore that sentiment.
Lady Augusta was perfectly welcoming and amiable throughout their luncheon. She did not turn to matters of business until after everyone had eaten.
"I have asked you here for an offer of employment," she began, "on account of a very dear friend who requires ongoing medical treatment. Unfortunately, however, St. Mungo's is not an option as my friend's condition … well, let's just say it would cause considerable family embarrassment and leave it at that. During his treatment and convalescence, your family would be provided with generous pay and benefits, including lodgings for the duration."
She then quoted a payment figure that all three initially thought was a bit low until Augusta clarified that it was a weekly salary rather than a monthly one, at which point Ted nearly choked on his tea.
"Unfortunately, due to the extremely sensitive nature of my friend's situation, I cannot reveal anything more until you have sworn an Unbreakable Vow never to reveal anything about your work for us should you accept the position or anything about this conversation if you decline once you have heard all the details."
Nymphadora raised her hand. "Um, Lady Augusta, I'm not a healer. Why did you ask me to come along for this?"
Augusta took a sip of tea before answering delicately. "Well, my dear. My understanding is that your Ministry career is … stalled shall we say, due to the present political situation. However, you have done good work in the past when you briefly tutored my grandson the summer before last. And both Harry Potter and Alastor Moody gave you the highest recommendations."
The old woman batted her eyes innocently. "I'm sure we can come up with something for you to do," she said sweetly.
After a brief family discussion, all three of the Tonkses swore the requested oath, at which point Augusta summoned her house elf. "Show them in, Hoskins."
The elf popped away, and seconds later, the doors to the parlor slide open … and Regulus, Bellatrix, and Sirius entered the room. Sirius was in a wheelchair at Reg's insistence and much to his own chagrin. All of the Tonkses reacted with predictable outrage, and Nymphadora actually produced a wand and was about to open fire on the three newcomers when Andromeda pulled her arm aside.
"No, Dora! Remember your Vow! Strike at them now and you risk losing your magic!"
Nevertheless, all three of them had pulled their wands out and assumed a defensive position while Augusta continued to sip her tea as if disinterested in the potential for violence. Sirius spoke up.
"I'm sorry that an Unbreakable Vow was needed, Andi, but I'm sure you understand why. Perhaps we should start things off with either your or your husband examining our arms … to confirm that none of us carry the Dark Mark."
It was at that point that Nymphadora finally noticed that Bellatrix had worn a dress that exposed her arms, while both Sirius and Regulus (who she knew only from old pictures) had entered the room with their sleeves already rolled up.
"Impossible!" Ted exclaimed. "It's some kind of trick!"
Then, Augusta noticed that only three of her conspirators had entered the parlor. "Hold on, Healer Tonks. Sirius, where is Rufus? I expect he can provide our new friends with some reassurances."
"Sorry, sorry," Rufus said slightly out of breath as he entered behind the three Blacks. "Your introductory meeting was taking forever, and I had to go to the loo. I'm an old man, after all."
He turned his attention to Nymphadora. "Ah! Auror-Trainee Tonks! So nice to see you again. I hope you still recognize the man who swore you in on your first day at the Academy."
Nymphadora was too shocked at Rufus Scrimgeour's presence next to a pair of convicted Death Eaters (or at the very least, a pair of people convicted of being Death Eaters).
"Will someone tell me WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS GOING ON?!" Andromeda finally yelled in frustration.
Sirius wheeled his chair forward. "We'd be happy to, Andi. Believe me, it's one hell of a story!"
22 February 1994
2:00 a.m.
A private room in The Boar's Tusk
Knockturn Alley
Lucius Malfoy fought down a sneer as the man across the table dumped 200 galleons out of a coin purse and began to count them. Few people would dare to insult House Malfoy by actually counting money in front of its Lord, but this was Knockturn Alley. There was little honor to be found here, and so he could not begrudge the sweaty seedy little man before him his distrust.
After a few moments, Mundungus Fletcher looked up from his counting and offered a toothy grin (well, fairly toothy – the reprobate was missing a few).
"All seems to be here, guv'nor," he said. "So what d'ye want ole Dung to do for ya that costs this much gold?"
"First things, first, Fletcher," Lucius answered silkily. "You will swear an oath of secrecy not to reveal anything about our discussions? And you will agree to accept a Memory Lock upon completion of your task?"
"Well, o'course!" Mundungus said amiably.
Whatever Malfoy wanted, it was no doubt highly illegal, so Dung was happy to know nothing about it after the deed was done. He'd been surprised when Lucius contacted him out of the blue. The Pureblood had made use of Mundungus Fletcher's peculiar skill set often in the past, but he usually handled all their dealings through intermediaries. He and Malfoy hadn't met face to face since before You-Know-Who fell, when Malfoy had used the criminal as a conduit for anonymously sending information to the Order of the Phoenix. And wouldn't those stuck up wankers have a fit if they'd known the source of Fletcher's juiciest insider knowledge.
Fletcher took the oath. Satisfied, Malfoy reached into a bag and withdrew a brown file folder and a scrap of paper, both of which he handed over.
"Your task should not be difficult given your admirable skills as a forger, Mr. Fletcher. You are being paid at a higher rate for speed, discretion, and perfection. Within a week, I require that folder returned to me with the name on that paper inscribed on it using the proper format for DMLE case files. The folder should be aged to approximately thirteen years and five months, though a leeway of one month either way is acceptable."
Dung glanced at the name on the paper. "Marcellus Frump. Anyone I should know?"
"Would it matter if it was?"
The criminal shrugged. "Not really. Discretion and perfection, after all. What sorta documents do you want me to fiddle up to put in the folder?"
"None," Lucius answered. "I only require the folder properly labeled and aged. But it must survive any doubts as to the folder's age and provenance."
Fletcher blinked. "You … are payin' me 200 galleons for an empty file folder that will appear to be thirteen years or so older than it actually is? And then, you want to Obliviate me afterwards?" He shook his head. "You rich toffs is weird."
"My dear Mr. Fletcher," Lucius replied languidly. "You have no idea."
3 March 1994
The private Wizengamot chamber of Cassilda Selwyn
Seneschal and Proxy for the House of Selwyn
"Thank you for meeting with me, Seneschal," said Dolores Umbridge cautiously. True, she'd been a Slytherin back in the day, but intrigue had never been her strong suit.
"Not at all, Madam Umbridge," Cassilda answered. "House Selwyn is always eager to aid the Fudge Administration in its pursuits. How may I assist the Ministry today?"
"Well, the thing of it is," Dolores continued while trying not to stammer, "I'm not actually here on Ministry business. It's more of a personal matter."
"Oh? Do go on."
Dolores took a deep breath. "My father, Orford Umbridge, passed away a few months ago – the result of long-term spell damage he suffered before I was born. While going through his effects, I found some letters and diary notes that spoke of the … deep affection between him and a member of your family: Ardella Selwyn. Of course, she died some time before you were born, so perhaps you're not familiar with the name."
"I am," replied Cassilda with a silky voice that carried only barest hint of steel. "All Selwyn children are schooled in our genealogy. But please, continue."
"Well, from these documents, it seems that my father and the late Ardella had spoken of marriage, though, of course, the class division that separated a daughter of House Selwyn from an untitled name such as Umbridge must have seemed insurmountable. I imagine that's why they broke up upon graduating Hogwarts. Still, out of respect for my father's feelings … as recorded in the documents I spoke of … I should like to visit Ardella Selwyn's final resting place and, on behalf of my father, pay my respects."
"How oddly romantic, Madam Umbridge. However, I must regretfully inform you that Ardella Selwyn was cremated and her ashes spread across the grounds of our ancestral home as per our family traditions."
Dolores was visibly disappointed by the news, a fact Cassilda noticed and almost smiled over.
"But I do find this information intriguing, Madam Umbridge, and would know more about these star-crossed lovers. Perchance do you have these letters with you?"
"I'm afraid not," Dolores answered. "To be honest, I've been wavering on whether or not to simply burn them. That seems as though it should be the proper thing to do with personal effects of such a nature, but I thought it would be best to wait until I knew more. That was such an important time in my father's life, after all."
She paused before continuing. "Tell me, Seneschal, if it's not impertinent of me to ask – How did Ardella Selwyn die?"
"Oh, I'm sure I've no idea, Madam Umbridge. As you noted, it was quite a bit before my time. Who knows – perhaps it was of a broken heart?"
Dolores was silent for several seconds. "Perhaps. Oh well, I suppose this has been a bit of a dead end in … settling accounts for my father. But I thank you anyway for the information you've provided."
She rose and bowed respectfully before leaving the office. As she passed out the door, Cassilda's charming smile twisted into a smirk.
"Oh Madam Umbridge," she thought to herself. "I wonder if you have any idea of what kind of fire you're playing with."
Once outside, Dolores leaned against a wall while her heart rate slowed back to normal. Truthfully, she'd not known what information might be obtained from Cassilda Selwyn. Nor what sort of horrible vengeance she might have stupidly brought down on herself by meeting with such a formidable woman for a fishing expedition. There were, of course, no love letters among Orford's effects that would prove or even suggest that Dolores was a daughter of House Selwyn. Her hope had been arranging a visit to Ardella's gravesite, as she'd found a spell that could confirm familial connections from nearby human remains even if decades old and six-feet-under. She'd purchased the slightly illegal spell from Gringotts – the goblin bank had been unable to trace Dolores's maternity since her birth had apparently taken place in a Muggle hospital and not recorded magically. If Ardella's body had truly been cremated, there was no way now to establish Dolores's relationship with House Selwyn.
Assuming she even wanted to, given what she'd learned about her birth mother's family.
Officially, House Selwyn was beyond reproach. It was a benefactor to half the shops in Diagon Alley and was the largest single contributor to St. Mungo's. The only black mark against the house was a brief period in the 1970's when Berith Selwyn, Cassilda's older brother, had joined the Death Eaters in secret and then used the Imperius Curse to force several family members into joining as well. The main reason that someone as young as Cassilda could rise to the position of House Seneschal was that she had been educated abroad and was too young to have ever been under Berith's influence.
Unofficially, rumors had flown about the Selwyns for as long as Dolores had been alive. That Berith took the fall for family members who were perfectly willing to serve You Know Who. That the family was steeped in the darkest arts. That in centuries past, it had generated Dark Lords whose names the family had erased from the history books to preserve its reputation. Dolores didn't know how much of that was true, but she was now more certain than ever that House Selwyn played some role in her mother's death, her father's lifelong curse, and her own wretched childhood.
And somehow, she would make them pay.
4 March 1994
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Records Division
2:00 a.m.
Joseph Abbot whistled softly as he made his way through the DMLE. Everyone on the late shift knew the amiable old janitor, a squib from the line of Abbot. No one knew why the Abbots pulled strings to get the squib a menial job at the Ministry instead of banishing him like most families did with their squibs (or worse than banishment like a few families did). But he did his job well and without complaint, that job being serving as a house elf for those parts of the Ministry where house elves were not permitted to go.
While the DMLE had a "late shift," no one worked in Records after hours. Joseph dutifully made his way around the few late-nighters, emptying their garbage cans as needed and making idle chit-chat. Then, he casually entered the Closed File room. He took a moment to empty the two trash cans he found inside. With a furtive glance at the door, Joseph made his way swiftly into the stacks of closed files. After a quick search, he found what he was looking for. From inside his shirt, he produced a battered old (and empty) file folder bearing the name "Marcellus Frump" which he carefully placed on a shelf between the files for Leonidas Franklin and Hazel Fyfe.
His mission complete, Joseph exited the DMLE and returned to the custodian's closet where the real Joseph Abbot was waiting, unconscious and stripped to his underwear. With a quick full-body shudder, Regulus Black abandoned the squib's form for his own. Then, he redressed Joseph in his janitor's uniform and altered his memories to believe that he'd completed his rounds without incident before sneaking back here for a catnap.
After swapping out his normal face for a nondescript one, Regulus left the Ministry and apparated back home where he sent word of his success to the other members of his cabal. It had been a productive night.
7 March 1994
Excerpts from two letters both written by Eleanor Burke to different patrons …
Mr. Scrimgeour –
You asked me to discreetly make a copy of the 1981 Marcellus Frump file, but it was the oddest thing! The file was still on the shelf, but it was empty! I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance, but if you let me know some more about Frump's case, I'll see what I can dig up elsewhere.
Eleanor Burke
Rita dear,
What do you know about someone by the name of Marcellus Frump. A Death Eater, apparently, but I've never heard of him. All I know was that he was arrested right around the time that You-Know-Who fell, but his entire file was snatched out of its folder sometime in 1981! Granted, security was lax then, but still! Is this something you might wish for me to investigate? You know the usual rates.
Ellie
10 March 1994
The Potions Classroom
"LEGILIMENS"
Once more, Harry pushed his will against that of Severus Snape. With each new lesson since Harry began Legilimency training, Snape had continuously increased the strength of the traps present in the false memory palace he'd constructed for these lessons. The Potions Master had been complimentary (for him, anyway) of Harry's growing skills, but despite his best efforts, Harry had thus far been unable to remain inside Snape's mind for more than a few moments, let alone move beyond the false memory palace to the true one concealed elsewhere in the man's mindscape.
As he uttered the incantation, Harry focused on Snape's eyes and felt his own mind pass through them as he deftly bypassed the outer defenses. In an instant, he was in a familiar location – the bedroom of Hubert Turnipseed, a fictitious Hufflepuff Fifth Year that Snape had created as a false staging area for Legilimency training. Harry glanced around. There was a tabby cat lying on the bed that represented the first level of Snape's Occlumency defensive suite.
Swiftly, Harry whispered a spell. "MARIPOSA" In response, a butterfly materialized a few feet above the cat just out of its reach. The cat growled loudly but focused its attention on catching the butterfly instead of Harry, leaving the boy a few minutes to study the room more thoroughly. Everything in the room itself seemed prosaic and utterly appropriate for "a generic teenaged Hufflepuff," so Harry turned his attention to the two doors he'd not previously investigated. Picking the one to his right, he cautiously opened it. Inside was a collection of boys' clothing, most of it in Hufflepuff black-and-yellow. As he gently slid the hangers aside, he noticed something that did stick out. At the bottom of the closet's rear wall was a small door no more than six inches high.
Harry pondered the door's possible significance for several precious seconds. "What's the point of a door that's too small to fit through?" he thought to himself. But then, he smiled. "Who says it's too small to fit through when you can be as big or as small as you want!"
The Slytherin closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them again, he had a momentary bout of vertigo from the enormous size of the room. For his psychic body had been shrunk down to six inches, and so the ceiling now seemed a mile high.
"Get a move on, Harry! Or else you'll get eaten by the cat!"
Harry darted into the closet towards the door which opened with a whispered Alohomora. On the other side was a long corridor lit by flickering torches that illuminated stone walls and a floor covered by an inch or so of dust. Carefully, Harry stepped into the corridor. And then took another step. And a third.
On the fourth step, he screamed.
Then, suddenly, he was back in his own body, gasping desperately while clutching his aching head.
"Ah, such a pity," Snape drawled sarcastically. "And you were doing so well."
"What the hell was that?!" Harry spat angrily. "None of your prior mind-traps have actually been painful!"
"Of course not, Potter," Snape responded while handing over a pain-relieving potion. "The Hubert Turnipseed memory palace is for rank beginners. The doorway you passed through leads to the Mr. X memory palace. Congratulations, Potter. You have graduated from hopeless amateur to the level of stumbling mediocrity."
Harry grimaced at the backhanded compliment before chugging the potion. "So, what hit me at the end?"
"Before I answer, tell me what mistake you made and what you should have done differently?"
The boy thought for a moment. "There was some sort of mind-trap built into the floor that I triggered by stepping on it. Or, more accurately I suppose, imagining that I was stepping on it. I should have used Ventus to blow away the dust so I could see where I was walking."
"Indeed. Had you done so, you might have noticed that the passage floor consisted of interlocking stone tiles, several of which were marked with the runic representation of the Cruciatus Curse."
Harry did a double take. "You Crucio'd me?!"
Snape shrugged. "Surely you must have anticipated that progressing from the Turnipseed level to the Mr. X level would present a commensurate increase in the dangers presented. In any event, while that trap involved exposing you to one of my memories of being subjected to the Cruciatus by the Dark Lord, the intensity level had been reduced to only one-tenth of what the actual experience felt like."
The boy's eyebrows rose in surprise. "So … an actual Crucio would be ten times worse than that?!"
"Indeed. Hence the fact that you are not still writhing on the ground in the grip of an agonizing palsy."
"… thanks for small favors, I guess. Am I trying that again tonight?"
"No," said Snape. "One mini-Crucio per session is enough, I think. Let us return to the theoretical part of your training. Here is the essay you turned in last week about the various forms of Legilimency resistance that exist other than Occlumency. I have marked your errors and made note of additional research materials. I expect an updated essay by next week. Any questions?"
"I'm still unclear on how being an Animagus grants resistance to Legilimency."
"It has to do with the dual-souled nature of the Animagus. When attempting to penetrate such a mind, the Legilimens is confronted by two thought streams, one of which is that of an animal. Imagine that Hubert Turnipseed were a cat Animagus. In such a case, the cat you saw in his room would not simply be a mind-trap but rather a fully independent part of his psyche able to take direct and intelligent actions against you.."
"Is it the same for werewolves?"
"Yes. An untransformed werewolf reacts to Legilimency as if it were a wolf Animagus."
Harry nodded. "What about a transformed werewolf?"
Snape scoffed. "Sadly, research in that area is sparse, as anyone stupid enough to try Legilimizing a transformed werewolf would take whatever insights he acquired to his grave."
11 March 1994
From the Daily Prophet Classified Ad Section
REWARD!
The Daily Prophet offers a cash reward for any information pertaining to
a suspected Death Eater named Marcellus Frump, last seen in DMLE custody in 1981.
Current whereabouts unknown.
Please direct all inquiries to M. Scarabee, c/o Daily Prophet, London.
No time-wasters.
15 March 1994
A meeting room within the Department of Mysteries
Three people in dark robes sat around the circular table as they reviewed the report. The first was known only as Number 1, the Director of the Department of Mysteries and the only Unspeakable whose identity was unknown even to his (or her?) comrades in the Department. The second was known in the Department as Number 7. However, Number 7 served as the Voice of the Unspeakables, the only Unspeakable whose name (Saul Croaker) was widely known outside the Department. The final member present was Number 17, whose real name was known within the Department but not relevant to the current situation.
"Well," said Number 1, "you called this meeting, 17. Can I take it there's been some movement on the Cryptohedron?"
"Y-yes sir," 17 stammered. "Early this morning, the Cryptohedron initiated its sixth-stage unfurling. Based on the pattern of movement and the astrological associations of its current form, we have pinpointed the date and time of the final-stage unfurling. The Cryptohedron will be primed for activation at approximately 9:00 a.m. on March 28th."
"Do we think that … I mean … do we know what the cause is?" Number 7 asked nervously.
"No," 17 replied. "By its very nature, it is impossible for us to know why the Cryptohedron has activated itself until the triggering event has already come and gone. Only one person can safely use the Cryptohedron to avert imminent catastrophe."
Number 1 sighed impatiently. "And do we know who our wizarding savior is?"
Number 17 grimaced and the produced a file which he handed over to the Head Unspeakable. The older man (or woman) opened the file and immediately gaped in shock. Number 1 took a few minutes to read and reread the information before looking up at Number 17 incredulously.
"Do you mean to tell me, Number 17, that the fate of Wizarding Britain rests on the shoulder of a Hogwarts Third Year?!"
"Yes sir, all our astrological calculations and divinatory exercises confirm it. As incredible as it seems, that is the person who has been chosen by the Cryptohedron for … well, for whatever reason it has chosen."
Number 1 fumed and turned to Croaker. "You realize we'll have to involve Dumbledore in this!"
Croaker nodded. "Fortuitously, Albus has already contacted me to ask for a favor. I'm sure I can parlay it into a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Number 1 grunted but said nothing. At times like these, it was good to be an Unspeakable – it was the only thing that kept him (or her) from screaming.
16 March 1994
Somewhere in Albania
Just after midnight
Mr. January hissed in pain as Narcissa pulled the chain connecting his left arm to the bedpost taut.
"You don't have to make it so tight, Cissy," he growled. "I'm not going anywhere."
She smiled cruelly. "You are a powerful wizard, poppet. We don't want you getting loose through some wandless trickery, now do we?"
"Pfft. You just enjoy seeing your lovers in pain."
She chuckled but did not deny the accusation. And truth be told, the occasional love-making the couple had engaged in during their Albanian sojourn quite frequently incorporated pain along with pleasure for both wizard and witch. But this was not foreplay. Their Lord had a mission for Mr. January, one for which the couple's present bondage activities were a prerequisite.
Once Narcissa had all four of her captive's limbs tightly chained to the bed, she wrapped a thick black mask over his eyes to obscure all vision.
"Are you going to gag me too?" the man asked mildly.
"No, poppet," she replied. "I'd have to take it off to feed you eventually. And besides, you scream delightfully when sufficiently motivated."
He snorted. "Fine. Enjoy your games. I'll see you in two weeks. Try not to leave any permanent scars."
"I shall do my best, but I make no guarantees."
He rolled his eyes beneath the heavy blindfold. Then, he closed his eyes and focused on finding the doorway hidden in the depths of his mind. Narcissa watched as his breathing slowed and he appeared to be drifting off to sleep. Then, she turned and left the sumptuous bedroom, locking the door behind her. Before she could take another step away, she heard a scream from inside.
"HEEELLLLP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE – HELP ME! FATHER! ARE YOU THERE?! PLEASE BELIEVE ME! I'M INNOCENT! HEEELLLLLLPPP!"
Narcissa closed her eyes and inhaled slowly and luxuriously, as if the man's hysterical screams were the sweetest perfume. Then, she walked away as Barty Crouch Jr. continued to beg for mercy that would never come.
From the desk of Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables.
Albus –
I know you're leaving in a few days for the ICW meeting in Paris about that sporting event or whatever it is, but I need to meet with you before you depart. You've been pestering me for weeks about getting a sample of Potion #23, but you've been cagey about whose memories you want to restore. I can get you a few samples, old friend, but I need a favor in return. It's about one of your students.
19 March 1994
Excerpt from a memory extract …
Two figures, a man and a woman, sat on one side of a table. On the other side sat two males staring across the table with vapid yet curious expressions. The man looked like Burt Kwouk. The woman looked like Elke Sommer. The other two men looked like – and were – Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange.
The first two took turns delivering a prepared and memorized speech for the benefit of the Lestange brothers … and the benefit of those who would soon see the memory of this presentation. The pair alternated; Burt Kwouk would speak first, Elke Sommer second.
"Our names are not important. All you need to know is that we are here to correct an injustice."
"We are the children of a man you may know as Marcellus Frump. That was not his true name, for he was a Metamorphmagus who concealed his status as such from the British government to avoid Conscription. He was from a Pureblood family, but not a Noble one, though he thought by serving You-Know-Who loyally, he could win such status for his family."
"To that end, he took the Dark Mark and became a secret Death Eater, using his powers to spy for You-Know-Who and to cause dissension and confusion. He served in a Death Eater cell along with Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange. Narcissa Malfoy was also a willing participant though she did not go on raids. While he committed many crimes as a Death Eater, including framing Sirius Black for his crimes so that he could flee the country, our father repented of his sins later as he was dying of an untreatable magical illness. His last request was that we somehow find a way to exonerate Sirius Black."
"To that end, we have engaged in a plan several years in the making. We discovered that Gilderoy Lockhart, who was set to become the new Hogwarts DADA instructor, was a criminal who had used Memory Charms to steal the achievements of genuine heroes in order to improve his own reputation. We blackmailed him into helping us, but when we learned he was responsible for the petrification attacks, we forced him to confess to his crimes and Obliviate himself with the Tabula Rasa curse. We learned the Tabula Rasa from an Australian wizard who supported our goals and who somehow mastered the curse without swearing any oaths not to share it."
"Afterwards, we made use of research performed by students – at Lockhart's direction but really for our benefit – to develop a plan to free Sirius Black from Azkaban and prove his innocence."
The two shook their heads violently, and their faces changed from those of Kwouk and Sommer to James Potter and Cornelius Fudge. Rather amusingly, Minister Fudge was still wearing the dress that Elke Sommer had worn.
"In these forms, we freed the Lestranges and Augustus Rookwood and then took them out of the country for interrogation. We extracted memories from the three Lestranges that will confirm Black's innocence. As you will see in one of the memory extracts, the Death Eaters had access to a potion Augustus Rookwood stole from the Unspeakables that conceals the effects of Memory Charms. This was used to make James and Lily Potter falsely believe that Sirius Black was their Secret Keeper when it was actually Peter Pettigrew. We confirmed this from the memories of the Lestranges. We were unable to break the will of Rookwood, so we kept him in a comatose state for the duration of our work."
"It is our hope that he is irreparably insane as a result of his captivity."
"We were aided in our effort by a third sibling who was also a Metamorphmagus and who impersonated Auror Michael Proudfoot at Azkaban. Sadly, there was a breach in our security. Bellatrix Lestrange briefly escaped and killed our brother before being slain herself. We have Bellatrix's body in stasis. You will find her corpse along with the two Lestrange Brothers and Rookwood and these memory vials."
"Sirius Black is in a safe location recovering from his ordeal. He will be released when the Ministry acknowledges the truth: that he never had a trial and was falsely imprisoned. The trial transcript that sent him to Azkaban was actually from the secret trial of our father, who was captured before the destruction of You-Know-Who and interrogated under Veritaserum. He was freed by unknown DMLE employees either bribed or Imperius'd to do so, and then Narcissa Black-Malfoy, under the name Ariana McFlossy, seduced Herbert Cattermole and persuaded him to falsify the trial records so as to convict Sirius Black instead. We do not know her reasons for framing Black, but we assume she wanted him dead in disgrace so that her newborn son Draco might someday inherit the Black estate. Narcissa later murdered Cattermole while they were on their 'honeymoon' on the island of St. Cyprian. A copy of the McFlossy-Cattermole wedding certificate carrying Narcissa Black's magical signature will be included with the memory extracts. What we have told you about the McFlossy-Narcissa Black connection can be confirmed by speaking with the Chief Auror on St Cyprian."
"Naturally, if the British Ministry refuses to give Black a new trial and a chance to clear his name, we will instead help him to escape to another nation that has no extradition treaty with wizarding Britain, but we hope that once you see the evidence collected, you will do the proper thing."
"ANNND CUT!" Rufus allowed the Charms that had concealed his presence to lapse, and he strode forward to collect memories from the befuddled Rodolphus and Rabastan before they had a chance to forget what they'd observed.
"Well done, both of you. You in particular, Miss Tonks. Should the Auror Corps not work out, you could have quite a career on the wizarding stage."
By that point, the two Metamorphmagi had resumed their true forms – Regulus Black and Nymphadora Tonks.
"Thanks … I guess," said the young woman cautiously. "To be honest, I'm still not entirely comfortable with all this."
"The Greater Good, my dear," Rufus said cheerfully. "Just remind yourself that it's all for the Greater Good. You can excuse anything if you do that long enough and loud enough."
"Setting aside these ethical debates," Regulus interrupted, "when will we be able to finish all this? The Tonkses have helped Sirius greatly, but I want him exonerated so we can get him to St. Mungo's for proper treatment."
"Soon, soon," Rufus said. "I just want to make sure the editing is exactly right. Second week in April, I should think. I want to wait until Albus gets back from the ICW conference so he can add his imprimatur to the proceedings. And hopefully keep James Potter from making a hash of everything."
Reg nodded. "And what's the status with our Bellatrix Lestrange substitute?"
Scrimgeour's face became pensive. "Lucius is handling it," he said rather quietly, as if it was not a topic he wished to consider.
It may have been for the Greater Good, but that didn't stop the next part of the plan from feeling … sordid.
Later that evening in Longbottom Manor …
"Do we know his name?" Bellatrix said guardedly.
"I doubt even he knows it anymore," Lucius answered.
They were referring to the elderly and nearly-comatose man lying in the bed in front of them. Lucius had "acquired" the dying Muggle a week earlier from a less-than-reputable American nursing home for indigent dementia patients whose administrator was amenable to bribery. He was a John Doe, with no known friends or relatives.
"That still doesn't make it right," Ted Tonks said angrily even as he took the old man's pulse. "I took an oath to save lives, not hasten them!"
"Healer Tonks, we are doing nothing to hasten this man's demise," Lucius said in a tired voice. "Be honest with yourself. Is there anything at this point that either Muggle or magical healing can do to heal this man? Or to extend his life? Or give him anything more than the comfort we have already provided?"
"… no."
"Then console yourself that several lives might be saved through this Muggle's sacrifice, albeit an involuntary one."
Ted didn't respond. After a few moments, several of the crystals that had been suspended over the dying man's bed began to jangle.
"It's time," Ted said in a leaden voice. He reached for a vial on the nearby table, but Andromeda stepped forward and took it from his hand.
"I'll do it," she said.
"Andi …"
"Hush, husband. It's my sister we're doing this for." She stepped around her husband. "Besides, you're a Hufflepuff, and I don't want misplaced guilt to haunt you until the end of your days. This … this is Slytherin work."
With that, she removed the stopper and poured the Polyjuice Potion down the old man's throat. His whole body shuddered and rippled, and in the space of a few seconds, his aged body had been replaced with that of Bellatrix Black.
Even in the new and younger body, the old man's breathing grew more and more labored until finally he gasped loudly and then went still. The jangling crystal ceased all its noise. The anonymous old man was dead. And since he had died while under the effects of Polyjuice Potion, that potion's effects would never wear off.
Across the room, the real Bellatrix Black stared at a cooling body wearing her face and struggled to keep the emotions churning inside her from spilling forth.
25 March 1994
A Hogwarts corridor
Midnight
As Malachi Sturgeon carried out his rounds, his ears twitched slightly at the sound of a faint high-pitched giggling. The next full moon was only a few days away, and the werewolf's senses always became more acute this time of the month. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up … and he swiftly took two large steps to the left. The water balloon hit the floor where he'd just been standing and popped with a splat. Sturgeon shook his head and vanished the remains of the balloon and the water that had splashed all over the floor with a flick of his wand.
"Better luck next time, Peeves," he called out smugly.
"Awww!" cried the poltergeist. "Loopy Loony Lupin always spoils Peevesies fun!"
"So sorry," said the wizard while scanning the area for the elusive spirit. Then, his brow furrowed. "Hang on! How do you know that name?"
With that, Peeves, who had been invisible, shimmered into view. "What name does Peeves know? Loopy? Loony? Or Lupin? They all fits! HAHAHAHA!"
"Some better than others. Why do you call me Lupin?"
"Loony Lupin and Headmaster Bumblebee thinks they's so clever with the tricksy Fidelius!" Peeves said merrily. "But silly wizardses don't know Peeves! Peeves sees all! Hears all! KNOWS all! Including Loony Lupin's precious Secret!"
The werewolf nodded. "Ah, I see. You were observing invisibly at some point when the Secret was discussed and overheard it. Or perhaps was watching invisibly over someone's shoulder while they read the note! But no, I'd have heard you!"
The poltergeist threw its head back and laughed. "AHAHAHAHA! Silly Lupin! Peeves can be quiet … when it's important!"
"A frightening revelation," Remus quipped. "But not a great concern as you cannot share that Secret with anyone else."
Peeves didn't respond except to blow the caretaker a loud raspberry. Remus moved to continue his late-night rounds but then paused and looked back at the poltergeist speculatively. After months of searching the castle in his free time, the ex-Marauder was struck with inspiration.
"Say Peeves? Do you really know all, see all, etc. etc.?" he asked casually.
"Peeves does! Peeves does!"
"Well, if that's true, do you happen to know whatever became of that old Map the Marauders used to use back during my student days?"
"Hmmph! Of course, Peeves knows! But Peeves is no tattletale!"
Lupin smiled. "Not even if I arranged for a few Zonko's gift boxes to be left where my old friend Peeves can find them? Say, with a few dungbombs included?"
The poltergeist's luminous face glowed even brighter, and it clapped its hands merrily. "Ah, Peeves has missed the Marauders so much! That's why Peeves decided to steal the Marauders' Map out of Bumblebee's office when he wasn't looking and leave it for the Sons of the Marauders to find during a detention!"
"The … Sons of the Marauders?" Remus questioned. Months earlier, he'd mentioned the Map to Jim Potter, but the boy hadn't known anything about it. "Do you mean Jim, Harry, or both?"
"Neither! The Sneaky Snake and the Loudmouthed Lion are the sons of James Potter, but not the true heirs of the Marauders!"
Remus thought for a moment and his own face lit up in amused insight. "The Weasley Twins have the Map! That explains their illustrious pranking reputations!"
"Ah, but the Weasley Terrors only had the Map. It's been passed on!"
"To who?"
Peeves grinned maliciously. "How many dungbombs will Peevsie be getting?"
The next morning ...
Harry Potter's eyes shot open and he sat up in bed. He'd had a strange unsettling dream that he could not recall any of upon awakening. Not exactly a nightmare, just … weird. A dream he couldn't recall at all yet somehow knew he'd had before. Déjà vu of the unconscious, as it were. His watch said that it was quarter to 6, so he wasn't up much earlier than usual. The Slytherin gathered his toiletries and with a loud yawn left his private room for a shower. To his surprise, he almost bumped into Blaise in the hallway.
"What's got you up so early?" said Zabini.
Harry shrugged. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Might as well get an early start to the day."
"Excited for the Easter Break?" the other boy asked.
"You could say that," Harry said somewhat evasively. From his mirror-conversation with Regulus the night before, the "Azkabal" would be delivering the Lestranges and Augustus Rookwood to the Ministry sometime during the Easter Break, along with evidence to exonerate Sirius … and a fake dead Bellatrix. Reg didn't offer any explanation of where they'd secured such a convenient corpse, and Harry asked no questions.
An hour later, he and Blaise were just about to enter the Great Hall for breakfast when he heard someone calling his name.
"Mr. Potter!" It was Malachi Sturgeon aka Remus Lupin aka Moony the Second. The Caretaker swiftly strode up to him.
"Yes, Mr. … Sturgeon?"
"Come with me, young man," Sturgeon said with what Harry had come to recognize as fake gruffness. He still didn't understand why the otherwise amiable young wizard insisted on acting surly and mean when performing his official caretaker functions. "Tradition," apparently.
Nonplussed, Harry shrugged to Blaise and then left the boy to follow Sturgeon to his office. Once inside, Remus Lupin dropped the grumpy caretaker act and could hardly contain his enthusiasm.
"Harry, I know this may seem like a strange request, but I must ask you to turn out your pockets and allow me to look through your bag."
Harry looked at the man suspiciously. "Um … why?"
Remus sighed. "Because I believe you have something in your possession that you should not. Now let me rephrase that as an order from a Hogwarts staff member. Hand over your bag and turn out your pockets."
Harry glowered at the man but sullenly complied. As he emptied his pockets of their meager contents, he had no idea what this encounter was about. But he quickly guessed when Remus gave a cry as he pulled a particular old parchment out of the bottom of his book bag.
"Eureka!" Remus exclaimed.
"What?" Harry asked cautiously.
"It's Greek for this bath is too hot!" the man said with a laugh. Harry rolled his eyes. The joke hadn't been that funny when Sirius had made it months earlier and was less so now. Then again, with all the Sirius/Serious puns, it wasn't surprising that the Marauders were prone to reusing each other's material. Remus noticed Harry's expression and – unlike Sirius – at least had the decently to look abashed over the inappropriate humor.
"Sorry, got a little excited. Do you fully understand what this is, Harry?"
"Um, yeah. It's the Marauders' Map. You, my father, and two of your friends made it when you were students."
"Indeed. And I searched diligently for it once I arrived, but when no trace of it was found, I assumed it had been destroyed or lost forever. I only learned that you had it last night. Peeves told me."
"Did he now?" said Harry, who was suddenly very interested in how to go about exorcising poltergeists.
"Yes. And I must say, I do wish you'd turned this into a teacher rather than use it for … well, whatever you've been using it for. Pranks, perhaps?"
"I'm not really a prankster," Harry replied in a cool tone. "But I am a Slytherin, and we make use of our advantages."
Remus coughed delicately but chose not to delve further into what a Slytherin might have used the Map for that a Gryffindor would not have considered. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I must deprive you of your advantage."
"Remus!" Harry exclaimed, but the man held up a placating hand.
"It's alright, Harry. I'll get it back to you when I'm done." Then, he winced. "Well, unless the Headmaster confiscates it again. He rather thought it a breach of privacy when he first became aware of it. Still, if I can, I'll get this back to you. Unless I accidentally destroy it, in which case I'll make you a new one, a better one! But right now, I must have the Marauder's Map!"
"… why?" the boy asked suspiciously.
"Because … I believe with this Map we can end it!"
Harry blinked. "End what?"
"End the Death Eater Menace!" Remus exclaimed triumphantly as he grasped the boy firmly by the shoulders in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture but failed utterly at that purpose. "End it and put Sirius Black and those other bastards back in Azkaban where they belong!"
Harry plastered on his best fake smile to conceal the horror he felt.
"That's ... great, Remus. Absolutely ... great."
And the last dominoes are nearly in place.
AN1: HAPPY NEW YEAR!
AN2: Check out the Sinister Man's web presence on the POS wiki, the POS TV Tropes page, and my Discord server (through which you can see advance previews of this story as it is begin written). Also, the Sinister Man would be profoundly grateful if you checked out my P*****n page and supported my original fiction. Patronage is not necessary to get the free POS previews via Discord.
AN3 (What the Sinister Man is reading):
(1)"Who Dares Wins" byOlegGunnarsson. Another WBWL tale, though very different from POS, with possibly the most absurdly overcomplicated Manipulative!Dumbledore plot I've seen in a while. Warning: The James and Dumbledore bashing is somewhat intense. There's also an OC in the form of a retired SAS officer who at some point moved next door to the Dursleys and semi-adopted Harry. IOW, Action!Military!Harry.
(2) "All In The Family" by bookhater. One of those stories where characters from the books end up reading those same books. What makes this one interesting is that it's the Marauders, Lily, Reg, Alice and Frank from the Marauders era not only reading the HP book (due to a contrived "potions accident") but being physically transported into the setting of each chapter for as long as it takes one of them to read the chapter in question out of a magical book that follows them around. Which is frequently problematic, such as when they get to the Shrieking Shack chapter and Remus immediately transforms. I am intrigued by the story's take on Peter who is still young and innocent and absolutely traumatized by seeing what sort of man he grows up into.
AN4: Special thanks to my Discord editors: Adam Sitrich, darkphoenix31, EssayOfThoughts (Aich), large wooden badger, Sielk, Vin5
AN5: Statistics: Over 12,000 reviews (top 15). Over 13,500 favorites (top 30). Approaching 13,000 followers (top 11).
AN6: Updated 2/13 to correct a date stamp issue. Remus talked to Peeves on 3/25 and to Harry on 3/26.