What's this, an update? Why yes, I believe it is! Where on earth have I been?
Well, I've been right here. But there's been such a lot to do as of late, and so I've been writing on this chapter (along with the next part of Hermione Granger's Guide To Gender-Flip Fanfiction) on and off when I had the time. It wasn't particularly effective, especially since this was yet another of those chapters that needed lots or rewriting before it was anything like decent enough to post.
WEASLEY GIRL: SECRETS OF THE PAST
Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Past Repeats Itself — Or Does It?
"Remus Lupin, eh?" Hagrid mused as he poured out tea for Harry and Ronnie in the customary enormous mugs. "Glad yeh're writin' to him, Harry. Nice bloke, Lupin, but a bit reserved. Doesn't get out much. Never really got over losin' his three bes' friends. Y'know, I really should try ter write him more. Invite 'im over for a chat some time, maybe."
Harry and Ronnie accepted the mugs. They had managed to politely decline the stoat sandwiches Hagrid had offered, saying they had eaten not too long ago, but Hagrid's tea was harmless enough.
Beside Ronnie, Fang the enormous boar-hound was trying to put his head in her lap so that she would scratch behind his ears. (She had wondered a little whether the smell of Crookshanks on her would annoy the dog, but no — he was as affectionate as ever.)
"Anyway, yeh don' have ter worry 'bout Sirius Black," Hagrid continued. "That man's in Azkaban. Nobody ever escaped from that place." He made a slight grimace, as if recalling something unpleasant. "Horrible place, Azkaban — sucks the joy right outta yeh..."
"I know," said Ronnie. "Dad had to go there on Ministry business once. He was all shaky when he got back home. Reckon they make it so horrible just to scare us all into behaving."
"In that case, I don't think it works," said Harry somewhat dryly. "Didn't scare people like Quirrell, or Sirius Black, or Voldemort — sorry," he added when Hagrid winced.
"Would yeh please not say the name?" the huge man begged.
"He says it all the time," said Ronnie. "Him and Hermione, because Hermione keeps lecturing about how fear of You-Know-Who's name only increases the fear of You-Know-Who himself. I barely even notice it anymore, when they say V- Vuh..." The word stuck in her throat.
"Are you all right?" said Harry, eyes concerned behind his glasses.
"Vuh," said Ronnie, trying to force the dreaded name out. "Vuh-voool... ngh!" Her throat seemed like it was going to close up, and her heart pounded in her chest.
It was stupid; it was just a name. Three syllables, took exactly the same amount of time and effort to say as 'You-Know-Who.' Harry never had any problems saying the name; Hermione had easily taught herself to. There was no logical reason why Ronnie shouldn't be able to say it, no reason why the word should scare her so much that it got stuck in her throat and make her feel like she was choking and couldn't breathe...
"Woof!" said Fang, startling her out of it by pressing his nose against her belly.
Ronnie's hands shook as she began scratching his ears again, trying to get her breath back under control. "I can't say it," she breathed, disappointed at herself. "Just can't. I can hear it just fine, but trying to say it...!"
"Well, yeh got no business goin' around sayin' things like that anyway," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don't worry about it, Ronnie. Have some more tea."
Ronnie gratefully took the mug and swallowed a big gulp, feeling the warmth spread through her body and calming her a little.
One day, she thought to herself, one day I'm going to be able to say it. But clearly, that day is not today.
"Anyway, yeh didn' come here to talk about that, now did yeh?" said Hagrid.
"That's right, we didn't," said Harry — and Ronnie thought he'd finally get to taking out the picture of the Marauders to show the huge man, but he surprised her by instead saying: "Hagrid, last Christmas you said that some day you'd tell me the story of what happened with my father's friends."
"What?" Hagrid blinked. "Er... I did?"
"You did, Hagrid."
Hagrid paused. "Yeh got a good memory," he murmured, before adding, just slightly reproachfully: "Bit too good if y'ask me."
Harry looked pleadingly at him. "Please, Hagrid. Can't you tell? We've already found out some of it, but we don't have the details, and — I need to know..."
Hagrid didn't answer at first. Meticulously, he poured himself a cup of tea. Without letting go of the tea pot, he fished a small bottle out of his coat and poured a generous amount of a liquid Ronnie didn't want to speculate too much about into his tea. Then, letting the bottle vanish back into his coat, he lifted the steaming mug and drained it all in one enormous gulp.
"All right," he said at last, and without even looking at the now-empty mug or the teapot, he filled the mug back up and drank down almost half of it in another large gulp. "I s'ppose I yeh hafta know sooner or later. An' better I tell yeh than have poor Lupin do it."
Harry and Ronnie leaned forward, listening intently, all thoughts of You-Know-Who and his name momentarily gone. Ronnie stroked Fang's ears almost automatically.
"Keep in mind," said Hagrid. "It's not a happy story. And I can't tell yeh all of it, there's parts I don' really know — but I s'ppose it all started with the Marauders." He lifted the mug to his lips and drank down the rest of his tea. "Thanks fer tellin' me the name, by the way. Bin wonderin' about it, couldn' remember the word for the life of me. Knew it began with an M..."
"You're welcome," said Harry, clearly trying not to look too impatient.
"Yeah. The Marauders," Hagrid repeated. "Back in the day, they were the closes' friends yeh could imagine. Always together, they were. Kinda like you and your friends, Harry. But, even if they were all bes' friends, there was always a special bond between James an' Sirius Black."
"You mean they were gay?" said Ronnie.
"What?" Hagrid blinked. "Er, no. Well, not that they ever tol' me, anyway."
"Why are you so obsessed with gay people?!" said Harry.
"I'm not obsessed," Ronnie protested, feeling herself turn pink. "Occasionally wondering if someone might be gay is not obsessed!"
Hagrid shook his head. "I jus' meant that they were, y'know, really close friends. Like brothers, yeh might say. Reckon Sirius was closer ter James than he was to his real brother." He stroked his beard and looked down at his empty tea mug before continuing: "Really, Sirius never got along with any of his family. Ran off from them in the end, when he was sixteen, I think it was. James's family pretty much took 'im in after that."
Like we took Harry in, Ronnie thought. She briefly wondered if Harry saw this odd connection between himself and Sirius Black, but it didn't seem the right time to ask.
"I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that Sirius's family weren't nice people," said Harry.
"Yeh could say that," Hagrid agreed, the hint of a growl in his voice. "Nasty folks. Muggle-haters and Pureblood fanatics, an' up ter their necks in the Dark Arts, almos' every las' one of them. Not actually Death Eaters, but they definitely thought You-Know-Who had the right idea. The few of members o' the family who didn' agree were disowned, an' the Blacks pretended they'd never been family at all."
"Charming people," said Ronnie.
"But Sirius," said Hagrid, "he was different from the start. Or at least, we all thought he was. Only Black ever ter be a Gryffindor. Loathed the Dark Arts, didn' mind Muggle-borns. Think his parents never forgave him that."
"But he changed his mind?" said Ronnie, trying to combine the Sirius Black Hagrid was telling her about (troubled kid with a nasty family) with the one who had formed in her head (traitor and murderer). "Family got to him in the end?"
Again, Hagrid stroked his shaggy beard. "Y'know, they might have," he said thoughtfully. "Would make sense. Yeah, maybe he jus' couldn't stand goin' against his family anymore." Then his face darkened. "Course, if it had only been that, if he'd just gone back to his family, broken all ties wit' James an' the rest — that I woulda understood. It woulda been sad, but... But no, what he went ahead an' did..."
"What? What did he do?" Harry demanded.
Hagrid opened his mouth, but then shook his head, looking even more uncomfortable than before. "Dunno if I should be tellin' yeh that part, really," he murmured.
"Hagrid, please!"
There was a long silence. Then, Hagrid sighed. "Y'ever hear tell of a charm called the Fidelius?"
"Fidelius?" Harry and Ronnie chorused, and then looked at one another. Ronnie shook her head, and Harry answered for them both: "I don't think so."
"Righ', well, don' ask me how it works," said Hagrid. "Really complicated bit o' magic. Yeh take a secret that yeh don' wan' anyone ter find out and yeh hide it inside a person, who's then called the Secret-Keeper."
Ronnie tried to imagine this. It sounded completely barmy to her. "How? Do they rip the bloke open or make him swallow a note with writing on it, or...?"
"No idea," Hagrid admitted. "On'y thing I know is, once the charm's made, nobody can find out the secret unless the Secret-Keeper, an' only the Secret-Keeper, tells 'em. Let's say — let's say I got a pet dragon," he added in a sudden flash of brilliance. "Always wanted a pet dragon."
"Er... pretty sure they're illegal to have as pets," said Ronnie, thinking of Charlie's stories of training dragons in Romania — he'd made it quite clear that even he, and probably not even Ronnie, could tame the savageness of your average dragon.
Hagrid nodded. "I know it's not exactly legal," he admitted. "So I wouldn' want anyone ter know that I got a dragon, would I? So what I do —" (he paused, and then corrected himself) "—what I woulda done if I had the faintest clue how, I perform the Fidelius Charm, an' make the dragon the secret."
"And that means nobody finds out about the dragon?" said Ronnie.
"Right! An' let's say that I decide ter make you my Secret-Keeper, Ronnie."
"Er, okay."
"So, now you an' me, we're the only ones who know abou' the dragon. An' the only way anyone else'll find out is if you tell 'em, of yer own free will. If I try ter tell someone, I won' be able to, 'cos I'm not the Secret-Keeper. Could say it's not my secret to tell. You're the only one who can reveal it."
"Isn't that a little complicated?" said Ronnie. "Couldn't you just, I dunno, be your own Secret-Keeper and keep the secret yourself?"
"S'possible to do that, too," Hagrid nodded. "Think that's called Self-Fidelius or summat. It works all right, but as I understand it, the charm's much stronger if the Secret-Keeper's someone else. Less chance of it accidentally breakin'."
"Oh."
"So, long as you, my Secret-Keeper, keep quiet, nobody else — human or animal or ghost or house-elf or centaur — can so much as see the dragon I got. Even if it flies right over their heads! Secret's absolute!"
"Even if the dragon sets fire to the entire Forbidden Forest?"
"Er." Hagrid blinked, a little uncertain. "Well... they'd notice the fire, I s'ppose, but not the dragon."
"That's a comfort."
"What does any of this have to do with Sirius Black?" said Harry, once more showing his heroic struggle to appear less impatient than he was.
"Gettin' to it. Well, yeh remember I tol' yeh the story abou' how You-Know-Who came ter your house that Halloween, an' —" Hagrid had to pause here to wipe away a few tears with a large, rather grubby-looking handkerchief.
Harry and Ronnie waited. (Hagrid really had loved Harry's parents, Ronnie thought. Eleven years, and he still got teary-eyed thinking about their deaths.)
"Sorry 'bout that." Hagrid put the handkerchief back into the pocket he'd pulled it from. "Well... Thing is, I might not'a told yeh the entire story. S'ppose I thought it wasn't too important, Black was in Azkaban an' all, nothin' more ter be done..."
"Wait — Black killed my parents?!" Harry sounded completely overwhelmed. "But everyone says it was Voldemort who —"
Again Hagrid winced at the sound of the name, but this time he collected himself and held up an enormous hand. "It was! Black didn't kill yer parents!"
"But what happened?!" Harry's patience was clearly stretched to the breaking point. "What does Black have to do with this?"
"All right," Hagrid said, taking a deep breath. "Y'see, coupla weeks before that Halloween when You-Know-Who attacked, yer parents had found out he was after them. So they went inter hiding. Moved house, kept their new address a secret, an' made sure it stayed a secret by doin' the Fidelius charm. Unless the Secret-Keeper blabbed, You-Know-Who would never have foun' them, not if he looked fer a hundred years."
"But then —" Understanding dawned on Harry's face.
"Black was the Secret-Keeper," said Hagrid, and now a slight growl was sneaking into his voice. "James insisted on it. Trusted the ruddy sneak with his life. An' what happened? Not even a week after the Fidelius had been cast, You-Know-Who shows up right at James an' Lily' doorstep!"
Ronnie swallowed. Harry looked rather green.
"So Black told Voldemort where to find my parents," Harry finally managed to say. "He betrayed them. Why would he do that?"
"Why would anyone do that?" said Ronnie. "Wait — maybe he was Imperiused or —" She winced. Don't think about the Imperius!
But Hagrid shook his head grimly. "Imperius wouldn'ta worked against the Fidelius," he said. "The Secret-Keeper has ter tell of 'is own free will. Only way, see? Secret can't be forced out, it has ter be given freely. Everyone thought it was the safest Charm ever. But it turned out Black had bin spyin' for You-Know-Who all along!"
Ronnie and Harry looked at one another.
Hagrid, however, was getting rather worked up. "We knew there was a spy in our ranks," he said, "but never thought it'd be him! We all thought that if there was anyone loyal ter James an' Lily, it was Sirius Black! But he'd played us all fer fools, who knows how long! And yeh know what? I met him that night! Very same night he sold out his best friend! If I'd known..." Hagrid clenched his fists.
Harry swallowed. "What happened?"
"It was down in Godric's Hollow, just after the attack," said Hagrid. "I'd been sent by Dumbledore ter fetch you, Harry. Jus' got yeh outta the ruins of yer old house, alive but with that great big slash across yer forehead... An' there's Sirius Black, arrivin' on that motorbike o' his."
"Motorbike?" Harry got a strange expression on his face, as if remembering something half-forgotten.
"Yeah. Flyin' motorbike. Great big black one, sidecar an' everything."
"I think I remember it," said Harry. "Just vaguely. It was dream I used to have, back at the Dursleys, about a flying motorbike."
Hagrid looked at him, a look of surprise in his beetle-black eyes. "Yeh do have a good memory," he said, a little softer. "I took yeh on that bike, that same day. Sirius lent it ter me so's I could get yeh safely away."
"But —" said Ronnie.
"Yeah, 'course, he only did that 'cos I wouldn't give Harry to him," said Hagrid, going back to his rising indignation. "I didn' know he'd bin the Secret-Keeper, I thought he'd jus' heard about the attack an' showed up ter see if he could help! But he says, give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'll take care of 'im... Hah! He woulda taken care o' you, all right! Thrown yeh right into the sea, no doubt!"
Ronnie gulped. But no, she was being ridiculous. She knew Hagrid hadn't given Harry to Sirius Black to be 'taken care of.' After all, Harry was right here, beside her.
"Then, when he couldn't talk me into it, he said, okay, take my bike, I won't need it anymore anyway." Hagrid snorted. "Shoulda known somethin' was wrong then. He loved his bike, what's he givin' it ter me for? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace, everybody knew about Sirius Black an' his motorbike. His pride an' joy, that bike was."
Ronnie looked at Harry — and then jumped as Hagrid suddenly slammed his fist on the table.
"I shoulda stopped him!" he exclaimed. "He was right there, wouldn'ta stood a chance against me! But no, I don' have the brains of a beetle, I didn' suspect anything! I jus' thought he was upset about James an' Lily, I tried ter comfort him! An' I let him go! And because I was such an idiot, thirteen people died!"
(Fang pulled slightly away and hid behind Ronnie, clearly not comfortable with this display of anger.)
"He killed thirteen people with one curse," said Harry tonelessly, and Ronnie remembered that Neville had said something very much like that about Sirius Black, back at the Hogwarts Express. She'd found it a chilling thought then, but the context of the situation made it even worse.
"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Very next day, in fact." He was still clenching his fists, his voice quivering with emotion, but he was calming down slightly.
"What happened?" Harry repeated, still in that toneless voice.
"It was Peter Pettigrew who found 'im," said Hagrid. "Peter knew Black'd bin the Secret-Keeper. Never the brightest bloke, Peter, but he could put two an' two together. Somethin' musta broke inside 'im when he realised. He didn' tell anyone, he jus' went after Black himself. Tracked 'im down an' cornered him in..." He paused. "I forget where it was. Didn' see that part meself, jus' heard about it afterwards."
"Black killed him, didn't he?" said Ronnie. It was something she had suspected for a long time. Everyone talked about Peter being dead, and Black being a murderer.
"An' twelve Muggles who happened ter be in the area," said Hagrid. "Black was a top duellist an' knew all kindsa curses, but Peter.." Hagrid wiped his eyes again. "Nice boy, but useless in a fight. Bigges' part they found of 'im was his finger. Some sorta blastin' curse. Thirteen people, dead. They woulda lived, if I'd jus' bin less of an idiot... If I'd stopped ter think for five ruddy seconds!"
"But Hagrid," said Ronnie. "You can't blame yourself for that!"
"You couldn't have known what Black was about to do," Harry agreed. "Sounds to me like he fooled everyone."
Hagrid made a slight face, as if he wasn't quite ready to believe that he wasn't an idiot. "Know what the worst part is?" he sighed. "I really thought I knew the bloke. Thought he was a good sort. Bit of a troublemaker at Hogwarts, yeah, but turnin' out a traitor an' a murderer..."
Silence sank over the room. Even Fang looked sombre (though Ronnie doubted he knew what they were talking about).
"They caught 'im in the end," Hagrid finally said. "Said he'd gone mad by then, laughin' an' ramblin', didn' even try ter fight. He was sent off to Azkaban, an' there he still is."
Harry and Ronnie were silent for a moment longer. Then, Harry broke the silence. "Thanks for telling us, Hagrid."
"Dunno if I should have," said Hagrid gruffly. "Leastways, not yet. It's an awful story."
"Yes, it is," said Harry, his voice suddenly firm, "but I'm still glad you told it. When I was younger, my Aunt and Uncle always told me my parents died in a car crash."
"Ruddy Muggles," Hagrid began — but then seemed to remember that Harry's Aunt and Uncle were still missing. And apparently he didn't think it was fitting to talk badly about missing people, because he didn't say anything else on the subject.
"When you showed up and told me what had really happened, that my parents had been killed by an evil wizard," Harry continued, "well, it was awful to think about, but it was better to know the truth."
"I s'ppose," Hagrid admitted. Then he smiled. "That sounded like something yer Mum woulda said. Better ter know the truth, she woulda said... Brilliant woman, yer Mum. Glad ter know that yeh got more from her than just her eyes."
Harry made a grimace that could have been a smile, and for the first time, Ronnie wondered whether he liked being compared to his parents. Somehow it seemed too personal a question to ask.
"Y'know, I still have that motorbike," said Hagrid. "Decided ter keep it. Broomsticks don't hold me so good, see? An', well, James always liked that bike. If yeh like, you're welcome ter see it some time. Find out if your dreams remembered it right."
"I think I'd like that," Harry said after the briefest of pauses. Then, he seemed to remember something, and to Ronnie's relief he fished the picture of the Marauders out of his pocket. "We did want to show you this," he said, handing it over to Hagrid.
Hagrid took it carefully, and a small, wistful smile spread on his bearded face as he looked at the four boys in the picture — who were alternating between waving at him and making rude gestures. "Yeah," he said. "That's them, all righ'. Jus' like I remember 'em from their Hogwarts days. Lupin gave this ter yeh, did he?"
"Which one is which, Hagrid?" said Ronnie, scooting over to look closer, and feeling the solid weight of Fang against her as he followed. "We didn't find out."
"Well." Hagrid turned the picture to show her, and carefully pointed with a gigantic finger. "Yeh can see James here, o' course...the pale one's Lupin... That's Black there, makin' the gesture, an' the small one's Pettigrew."
"That's Pettigrew." Ronnie looked at the picture, then at Hagrid, then at Harry. "You're quite certain that's Peter Pettigrew."
"Course I am!" said Hagrid. "Don' ferget that face in a hurry, do yeh?"
"Well, in that case," said Ronnie, taking a deep breath, "there's something off about the entire thing. Because Peter Pettigrew isn't dead."
"What? 'Course he is!" said Hagrid. "Didn't yeh hear, the biggest part they found of 'im was his finger —"
"I don't care what they found," said Ronnie, giving Harry another meaningful look. "I've seen that bloke! He's not dead, he's Wormtail!"
"Wormtail?" said Hagrid, nonplussed. "Yeah, come ter think of it, I think I heard James an' Sirius called 'im that a few times. Could never figure out why... weird nickname, innit?"
Ronnie hoped this entire thing about feeling her jaw drop wasn't going to become a habit. "You never said you knew Wormtail!"
"Yeh never asked!" Hagrid looked more confused than ever. "Haven't thought about that nickname fer years, didn't even remember it 'til yeh mentioned it jus' now. What's this about?"
It turned out that Hagrid wasn't up-to-date with all the developments on the Wormtail front, though. He knew that Ronnie had seen someone in Lockhart's office while under the Invisibility Cloak, and he'd been among the people to check whether Lockhart's rats were real rats or Transfigured people, but apparently nobody had thought to mention the name "Wormtail" to him.
As Harry and Ronnie told him an abbreviated version of the story, his frown deepened. "Couldn'ta bin Pettigrew," he murmured. "He's dead, no matter what they say. Mighta been someone disguisin' themselves... Polyjuice potion? Nah, they'd need some bits of him for that, hair or fingernails or summat, wouldn'ta bin able ter get that after eleven years, even if there'd been a real body..."
"Wait... you said the biggest part of him they found was a finger," Harry suddenly said. "Ronnie — the man you saw, did he have all his fingers?"
Ronnie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She tried to remember the twitchy little man she'd seen. Had he had a full set of fingers, or hadn't he? She could have told Harry about his watery eyes, the jittery way he moved, his high-pitched voice, but fingers?
Aagh, why couldn't she have been more like Harry or Hermione? Hermione would have noticed, Harry would have remembered.
"I don't remember," she finally said. "Why, you think he faked his death by cutting off his own finger or something?"
"Maybe in order to fool Black into thinking he'd killed him, so he could escape..."
"Codswallop!" said Hagrid suddenly. "Even if he did, why'd he continue to play dead even after they caught Black? That doesn' make sense at all! Dunno what yeh saw, Ronnie, but it couldn'ta bin Pettigrew. Y'know, we really should tell Dumbledore about this," he said as the thought struck him. "Brilliant man, Dumbledore. If there's any way that someone's impersonatin' Peter Pettigrew, he'll know about it!"
Ronnie grimaced, and silently cursed her tendency to blush, because she was certain she'd just turned pinker than ever. "I know, it's just... I didn't want to tell him anything before I was sure. I felt stupid after the entire fiasco with the rats. You know, when I thought Lockhart's pet rats were... Harry's Aunt and Uncle, Transfigured into rats or something. It was stupid."
"It wasn't that stupid," said Harry comfortingly. "I probably would have thought the same."
"Well," said Hagrid nodded. "Don' blame yeh fer suspectin' Lockhart migh' be up ter summat dodgy, but the rats were legit. Checked 'em meself. Completely normal white rats, jus' like yeh migh' buy in any pet shop."
"Yeah, I suppose that —" Ronnie began, but then the realisation dawned on her, with a feeling not unlike having your blood suddenly and for no good reason replaced with ice water. "White rats?"
"Yeah. Normal white rats, like I said. Nothin' special about 'em at all."
"The rats I saw in Lockhart's office were grey!"
Ronnie was almost certain that nobody had ever got from Hagrid's hut to the Headmaster's office quite that fast before. Ten minutes later, she and Harry stood panting in front of the large, ugly stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
"Ah — Liquorice — Liquorice Wand," Ronnie managed to say in between her heavy breaths, trying to get her pounding heart to beat a little more slowly.
The gargoyle looked at her with an expression that could only be called stony. "The Headmaster's not in," it said.
"But —" Ronnie took a deep breath. "I gave you the password."
"No matter. The Headmaster's not in."
Harry, who seemed to have caught his breath now, stepped up to the gargoyle. "D'you know where he is, then? It's important we talk to him!"
"What do I look like, a message board?" the gargoyle answered, and that was the end of that.
In some ways it surprised Ronnie. Without really thinking about it, she'd more or less assumed that Dumbledore would always be in his office — when he wasn't in the Great Hall or at a Quidditch match or places like that. Just eating those Muggle sweets of his and waiting for a student or a teacher to come to him with a school-related problem, or possibly making complex plans about how to deal with You-Know-Who. But now that she thought about it, this seemed a little silly. Even Headmasters had lives, didn't they?
"What do we do now?" she said, looking at Harry.
"Go back to Hagrid's and apologise for storming out like that, maybe?" he said. "Or just wait for Dumbledore to show up. He can't be that far away."
"I suppose not," Ronnie murmured. "Hope we find him soon, though. This time Lockhart won't get away that easily." She snorted. "He swapped out the rats! I can't believe I didn't think of that! ...For that matter, I can't believe Lockhart thought of it!" She paused. "I can't believe he thought of it and then missed the fact that the new rats were a different colour."
"Maybe he was in a hurry and couldn't find any grey rats," said Harry, who was a lot more willing to believe Ronnie's theory than Hagrid had been.
"And he couldn't do a Colour-Change Charm on them?" said Ronnie, and then realised who she was talking about. "Actually, it's Lockhart. Never mind, it makes complete sense that he couldn't."
"The question is, what did he want with my Aunt and Uncle to begin with — and where did he take them after he'd swapped them out for normal rats?"
Ronnie shook her head. "D'you ever miss the days when the biggest mystery was where You-Know-Who and Snape had gone off to?"
What Harry thought on that particular subject, Ronnie never knew, because a new, and familiarly dreamy, voice suddenly broke into the conversation: "Hello, Veronica — Hello, Harry."
Ronnie and Harry turned to see Luna Lovegood was standing there, together with another Hufflepuff girl; Ronnie recognised Hannah Abbott, who was in their year and whom they had Herbology class with.
"Oh — hi, Luna," said Ronnie. "And, er, Hannah."
"What are you two talking about?" said Hannah, looking concerned. "Is there something wrong with Professor Lockhart?"
"Er." Ronnie blinked. "Actually —"
"How much did you hear?" said Harry hurriedly.
Hannah and Luna exchanged glances. "Something about Professor Lockhart and rats and Colour-Change-Charms," said Luna. She lowered her voice, taking on a conspirational tone. "I think he's a favourite target of the Wrackspurts."
"What?" said Ronnie.
"Oh, come on, Luna," said Hannah, "Professor Lockhart is not a target of Wrackspurts! I don't know what you have against him! He's so... he's so..." She sighed like the smitten twelve-year-old she all too obviously was.
"So confused," said Luna, apparently missing Hannah's real meaning. "Yes, I know. It's because the Wrackspurts like him so much. They enter his ears, and make his brain go all fuzzy, and they do it to him more than anyone else, and that's why he's not a very good teacher."
Ronnie looked at Luna in surprise. It was rare for other girls to say anything even mildly degrading about Lockhart; it was always about how handsome he was, how brave or intelligent. It had often felt to Ronnie that she was the only girl who saw him as the ponce he was — even Hermione kept defending him. But Luna... it really seemed that she too could see through Lockhart's act, even if she did it in her weird Luna-ish way.
Harry seemed to have thought somewhat of the same, because he looked at her with more interest than before. "You didn't happen to notice anything else about him?" he said.
Luna thought about it. "I'm pretty sure that's not his natural hair colour," she offered. "And sometimes he gets a strange look in his eyes."
"What d'you mean?" said Harry.
"Oh, haven't you heard how he constantly says that his secret ambition is to market his own hair-care potions?" said Luna. "He's clearly good with hair-care, so he'd be good at making himself look like a natural blond, but I think his complexion doesn't quite fit —"
"Not about the hair!" said Harry, clearly trying to be patient (and not managing much better than he had at Hagrid's). "I meant about the strange look!"
"Oh," said Luna, with no sign of embarrassment. "It looks like this." Her eyes glazed over for a moment and then returned to their normal expression of mad amazement. "Oh, and he's afraid of Professor Flamel."
"That's ridiculous!" said Hannah. "Why would Professor Lockhart be afraid of Professor Flamel?"
"I wouldn't know," said Luna, "but he is. Whenever Professor Flamel shows up, Lockhart can't leave fast enough. Usually he doesn't even have any good excuses."
"Well, maybe he just doesn't like Flamel!" said Hannah. "It doesn't mean he's afraid! You're just being mean!"
"I am?" Luna looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't think I was. Is it mean to say what you think when people ask?"
"Look," said Harry hurriedly. "Do either of you know where Dumbledore is? We really need to talk to him."
"No." Luna shook her head. "I do know where Professor Flamel is, though. Does that help?"
"Er, I don't think so —" Harry began.
"Actually, it does!" Ronnie grabbed Harry's arm. "Luna's right, Lockhart's afraid of Flamel! If Flamel's the one who investigates, maybe it'll scare Lockhart into confessing!"
"Er," said Harry, not looking completely convinced. "I suppose we could try. Could you go find Professor Flamel, Luna? And, er, ask him if he could meet Ronnie and me in the Defence classroom?"
"Yes, Harry," said Luna. "Come on, Hannah!" She turned on her heels and skipped off.
Hannah lingered. She looked from Harry to Ronnie. "What is this all about?" she said, halfway curious and halfway annoyed. Then, her eyes widened. "You don't think...!" she gasped. "You don't think Professor Lockhart has that... that diary?!"
"Er." Ronnie blinked. "Maybe?"
"Maybe he's locked in a heroic struggle against You-Know-Who!" Hannah gasped. "That's why he's so distracted, he needs to use every waking hour to fight against You-Know-Who!" Once more, she let out a small sigh of smitten admiration for someone so brave — but then she gathered herself. "We need to rescue him! Luna, wait!" And with that she turned on her heels and rushed off after the younger girl.
Ronnie stared. "Maybe Fred was right," she muttered. "Maybe the oddballs do end up in Hufflepuff."
Harry smacked his forehead. "Maybe the stupid ones end up in Gryffindor," he groaned. "Ronnie, we're idiots. We're walking around with a perfect way to check where Dumbledore is, and we don't even give that so much as a thought!"
"Oh — oh yeah!" said Ronnie, and felt herself turn pink again as Harry fished the Marauder's Map out of his robe pocket. "Of course! Didn't you say that it was hard to find people on the Map unless you knew where to look, though?"
"Well, we certainly won't find him if we don't even try to look." Harry pulled out his wand to tap the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
Ronnie got closer to him to once more see the Map proudly declare that it was presented by Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, and then display the now-familiar outline of the school grounds. "Hey," she said, "check Lockhart's office while you're at it! If we're going to go there with Flamel, it helps to know If Lockhart's actually there or not!"
"Right, good thinking," said Harry. His eyes scanned the map — and then widened behind his glasses. "What — again?"
"What do you mean, again?" Ronnie pushed herself against him to look.
"Look — Right there, in Lockhart's office, with Lockhart!" Harry pointed at Lockhart's office on the Map.
Ronnie blinked. Right there, just by Harry's finger and next to the dot marked Gilderoy Lockhart was another dot clearly marked Vernon Dursley.
"This time!" said Harry, looking at Ronnie with determination. "This time we're not going to lose him! We're going down to Lockhart's office right now, and I'm keeping an eye on the Map to see if they ever leave it!"
They set off, hurrying down the corridors towards the Defence classroom and the entrance to Lockhart's office; Harry holding the Marauder's Map the entire time and making certain that neither Lockhart nor Vernon Dursley moved.
As they got closer to the Defence classroom, Ronnie couldn't help but feeling a little anxious about the whole thing; she recalled all too well the last time they had ran down to Lockhart's office to look for Harry's Uncle, and had found the Petrified form of Lavender Brown...
No, it was silly. What would the odds be that — "Ouch!" Ronnie's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pain on her chest. The Warning Fang around her neck was growing painfully hot.
"Oh, no," said Harry suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks. "The voice! That's the voice again!"
Trying not to wince at the uncomfortable heat against her chest, Ronnie strained herself to hear — clearly Fang was hearing or at least sensing something as well, but just like before she heard and saw nothing. "The Warning Fang's going nuts too, but I can't hear anything — the Map! Check the Map!"
They both looked down at the Map. And to their surprise, words were forming on the parchment:
Mr. Moony would strongly suggest that you run away right now, you idiots.
Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would add that in general, pranks are hard to pull off when you are dead.
Mr. Padfoot expresses his astonishment that you are still standing here reading this when fleeing for your life is such a great alternative.
Mr. Wormtail hopes that you would listen to Messrs. Moony, Prongs and Padfoot, and implores you not to blame him when ignoring their sound advice leads to your untimely death.
"What the hell?!" Ronnie could hear her own voice turn almost as shrill as Hermione's did whenever she was agitated.
"The voice... the voice is moving in that direction," said Harry, pointing in the opposite direction of which they were going. "It's saying something about..." He blinked. "Honourless scum?! But that's exactly what Luna —"
"Whatever that voice is, it's got both the Fang and the Map scared," Ronnie interrupted, ignoring the obvious question how a map could be scared in the first place, or why Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs have suddenly decided to get chatty. "It's got to be the same thing that Petrified Lavender and the ghosts!"
She could see that the same thought had struck Harry: They were both immune to potions, and Mandrake draught was the only safe way to un-Petrify someone. To them, Petrification might as well be death.
"Now it's talking about killing again! 'Should kill'!" Harry took a deep breath. "Wands out?" he suggested.
"Let's." Ronnie drew her wand from her pocket — not that it was likely to do much good against something powerful enough to Petrify a whole roomful of ghosts, but she felt a little better holding it.
And then, all of a sudden, the Warning Fang was cool against her skin again.
Harry blinked. "It vanished! Just like before!" He took the Map, which he was still holding in his left hand, and peered at it. A few seconds later, he looked up with a dumbfounded expression on his face. "And there's nothing on the Map about it!"
"Let me see that!" Ronnie snatched the Map from him. The text from before had vanished, and the Map spread out like before, completely unchanged. Dots indicating students wandering around in other parts of the castle, completely undisturbed by whatever had happened. A couple of moving dots signalled that Nicolas Flamel were making his way towards them at a leisurely pace, followed by Luna and Hannah, and apparently completely unaware of any voices that wanted to kill. There was no sign of anything dangerous as she could see — or if there was, she couldn't identify it.
She repressed the urge to throw the Map to the floor and stomp on it in frustration. "What is that voice?" she cried. "How does it keep getting around without anyone spotting it? Why is it I can't hear it? What the bloody hell is wrong with this Map?!"
Harry took the Map back from her. "I think," he said gravely, "that maybe we're too late."
Ronnie blinked. "What?"
"The voice," said Harry. "It wasn't going somewhere. It was coming back from somewhere."
"What?" Ronnie repeated.
"The last thing I heard it say was 'should have killed.' Almost as if it was complaining about something. Some 'honourless scum' that it 'should have killed'?" He looked at her as if this should tell her something.
"...So?" Ronnie said, before — all of a sudden — understanding dawned. "Oh. Bugger."
They reached the Defence classroom a couple of minutes before Flamel did — two minutes which they spent determining that there were no Petrified girls outside the office, and finding out that the basic Alohomora Charm did not work on Lockhart's door.
"Anti-Unlocking Charm," said Ronnie. "Mum and Dad sometimes put it on their bedroom door, when — er — yeah," she finished feebly, desperately hoping that the image that suddenly entered her head about what Lockhart and Vernon Dursley were up to behind the door wasn't true.
"Monsieur Potter, Mademoiselle Weasley," said Flamel as he stepped inside, elegantly attired as always in his bottle-green robes, and looking surprisingly calm for someone who must have had a rather confused summary of what was going on by two less-than-accurate Hufflepuff girls. "I would advise you to stand back."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then apparently remembered how it had gone the last time he'd stood in front of Flamel's office and claimed that his Uncle was in there. Instead he just stood back from the door and pulled Ronnie along with him.
Flamel didn't ask questions. Whatever Hannah and Luna had told him, it was apparently enough for him to have decided action was called for. He climbed up the stairs to the office door while taking out his wand.
He didn't even speak any incantations, he just waved the wand at the door. There was a brief flash of light — and the door swung open, any and all protections broken. (Bill would have loved this, Ronnie vaguely thought; her oldest brother worked as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts and had to bypass protections and Anti-Unlocking Charms all the time.)
"Again, children, please stand back," he said again. "I do not know what I shall find in there."
"It could be Nargles," said Luna hopefully from the bottom of the stairs, losing a few of the points she'd recently gained with Ronnie for her insight about Lockhart. As a contrast to the nervous-looking Hannah, she was as calm as Flamel was; the only detectable emotion on her face was that of a mild curiosity.
Flamel didn't answer her remark about Nargles. He just peered inside the room with some caution — and when terrible monsters completely failed to jump out at him and bite his head off, he tentatively entered through the open door.
Ronnie tensed up, halfway expecting the horrible screams to start at any moment. But they never did. Instead, all she heard Flamel's surprised voice saying something in French.
After a few more moments, when the screams still didn't come, Harry nodded to her, and together they entered the room.
The sight that met them was far less gruesome and disgusting than the images Ronnie's imagination had provided her with, but it still wasn't very pleasant: Gilderoy Lockhart was lying on the floor in front of one of the mirrors, stiff as a statue, his face frozen in a look of dopey surprise.
"Petrified," said Flamel grimly. (From outside the room, they could head Hannah's horrified squeak, followed by footsteps hurrying up the stairs towards them.)
Ronnie felt her stomach twist itself. Whenever she thought she had an angle on where Lockhart fit into all this, something would happen that completely turned things around. And now the man was lying there, as still and glassy-eyed as Lavender had been when they found her... it would be impossible to ask him anything for the months it took for those damn Mandrakes to mature.
Crookshanks, she thought. Everything'll make sense if I just get to talk to Crookshanks. I'm learning that ruddy Animaloqui Charm, no matter what!
She registered, briefly, that Hannah was in the doorway, looking at the Petrified Lockhart with something approaching panic, but then Harry took up her attention instead: He'd let out a halfway-shocked cry and hurried over to Flamel — who was kneeling down by the other man who was lying on the floor, a few feet away.
"Uncle Vernon!" he cried.
Ronnie barely recognised Vernon Dursley as the same man who had bellowed and threatened her and Ginny that Summer. Then he had been large, beefy and red-faced; now he was pale, unshaven, hollow-cheeked, and had the sickly and shrunken appearance of a man who had lost a great deal of weight in a very short time.
He was lying so still that at first Ronnie thought he was Petrified as well — but then all of a sudden he heaved for his breath and twitched.
"Monsieur," said Flamel, trying to keep him from sitting up. "Please, lie still. Are you all right? Do you need medical attention?"
Vernon heaved for his breath again and let out a few hoarse sounds. Then, his head turned, and his eyes fell on Harry, who had stepped over Lockhart and was standing close by. "You!" he said, his voice a little clearer.
"Uncle Vernon," Harry repeated, and for a moment as their eyes met, it almost seemed like there was some concern between them — just as if his Uncle had never called him a freak and never locked him up in a room with bars in front of the window. "What happened to you?"
"Listen!" Vernon tried to sit up, but only managed to raise his head a few inches before falling back down. "You've got to — you've got —" He breathed heavily.
"Monsieur, lie still!" said Flamel. "Let me call for a house-elf, we can summon Madame Pomfrey —"
"No!" Vernon moaned making another feeble attempt at raising his head. "You don't understand! That bastard — that bastard's got Petunia."
"Where?" said Harry. "Where does he have her? Who has her?"
Vernon opened his mouth to answer. Then, all of a sudden, his expression froze and his eyes glazed over. When he finally spoke, it was in a cold, chilling voice that didn't even sound human: "Listen, Muggle filth. I would kill you here and now and spare the universe your existence, but I need you to deliver a message for me. Tell that fool Dumbledore that there is nothing he can do. The Dark Lord is rising, the Chamber of Secrets is open!"
"The Chamber of Secrets?" Harry mouthed, but Flamel shushed him.
Vernon had started laughing; a cruel and merciless laugh with no humour and very little sanity in it. "The days of traitors and Mudbloods are numbered! And let them know know that it was all due to a couple of Muggles!"
And then, he slumped, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, and he went completely limp.
Silence filled the room.
"Is he dead?" said Luna, who had arrived behind Hannah and was somewhat awkwardly petting the stricken-looking girl on the back, in a clear attempt to be comforting.
Flamel gingerly touched the man, who let out a slight 'whuff' sound and then lay still again. "Merely unconscious. We have to get him up to the hospital wing, and then find out what has happened to him."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Notes: Like I implied up top there, I had some problems with this chapter; among other reasons because so much of it turned out to go over information we as fans and readers already knew — and also we know where the misinformation comes in. But the entire Marauders story is too important to skip, and it's so much of an emotional crux for Harry that skimming over it wouldn't work. Hopefully it wasn't too much of a chore to sit through, and hopefully the new development at least partially makes up for it.
Well, off to write chapter fourteen, and hopefully this time you won't have to wait several months for the continuation!