Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "Lovegood, Boobs Gooder" by nonjon.
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Question of the Week: Where's the Beef?
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Chapter 20 – A Series of Unfortunate Events
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We're in the stickiest situation since Sticky the stick insect got stuck on a sticky bun.
– Edmund Blackadder
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"Ugg," Harry groaned, pushing aside his latest tome. "When this war is over, I'm not going to so much as think about a book for at least a year."
"What was that, Peter?" Lily's head poked around the veritable Great Wall of China of books that comprised her end of the table.
"Oh nothing, just muttering to myself," he replied hastily.
"So what was it you just said?" his study partner asked innocently.
"Just thinking about what we should look into today," he lied effortlessly.
"Oh? So it wasn't something about not studying after we've managed to find a way to kill You-Know-Who?" she persisted.
"Of course not, Lils," he said quickly. "You know I'd never say something like that." Aloud where you could hear me.
"Okay," she chirped. "I'd planned to let you slack off a bit after we'd vanquished the You-Know-Who, but you're right, it would be a bad idea wouldn't it? Not only might there still be Death Eaters and blood purists around but maybe even a new Dark Lord in the works." She nodded, not a trace of guile on her face. "Brilliant deduction, Pettigrew."
"Perhaps it would be okay to slack off for just a little while?" he suggested, recognizing the corner he'd painted himself into.
"No, you were right the first time," Lily said, twisting the knife. "In fact, maybe we should study extra hard because –"
"Enough, you win," Harry sighed. He really hated his life sometimes.
"Of course I do, Peter," Lily purred. "It serves you right for lying to me like that."
Sssservesss you right for not learning to keep your doltissssh thoughtssss inside your bloody head, Nagini giggled.
"So what do you think we should study today?" his study partner asked, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction.
"Nothing from reference books," he said firmly, pushing them aside. "All the text is starting to run together. How about anatomy?" he suggested.
"You want to help me improve my knowledge of anatomy?" Lily said flatly. "Is that Peter-ese for 'what's your sign'?"
"I'm seri– I'm being straight with you," Harry insisted. "I learned heaps of anatomy from Nurse Joy and the Butchers' Guild over the summer."
"You want me to study under the apprentice of a small-time clinic nurse and a bunch of local butchers?" Her tone was still worryingly calm. Harry could tell he wasn't selling it.
"But it'll be a huge help with your research into illegal blood magic," he wheedled.
"I'm not getting involved in blood magic!" she shrieked.
"Well, what about sex magic then?" Mary offered hopefully, sitting down next to them. "Anatomy's dead useful for that field too."
"I think ye're good for the wee lassie," Mary whispered to Harry conspiratorially, after Lily had stormed off. "I havenna seen her unwind this much since we were thirdies."
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MERCENARIES BATTLE! AURORS HEPLESS!
Recent Wiz Ban on Mercenaries and Hitwizards Ineffective! Gangs of Hired Wands Battle It Out in Wales! Rival Mercenary Companies Compete to Collect Gigantic Bounties on Members of McNair and Yaxley Families! Can The Aurors Do Anything About It?!
By Rita Skeeter and Irma Stoopidmoronwithanuglyfaceandabigbuttandmybuttsmellsandiliketokissmyownbutt
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Harry and Pandora sat at the table opposite the mysterious Durmstranger. He eyed her curiously. Xiomara Lucrezia Zabini, reclining in all her courtly dignity, did not appear as terrifying as her school's reputation would lead one to believe. Tall, lithe, with long ebony locks that fell to her mid-back. Slender aristocratic features. High, delicate cheekbones, aquiline nose, olive skin. Piercingly bright turquoise eyes. In posture and voice she was demure, but gave the subtle impression of being coiled to spring. She hadn't involved herself in the Gryffindor-Slytherin cold war, barely spoke to anyone outside of class, and wasn't in league with the Dark Tosser, else she would right now be a tenant of the Chamber with the rest of her fellow Durmstrang alumni. The only thing that prevented Harry from dismissing her as harmless was what he remembered about the reputation of the one who would/may sire Blaise Zabini.
"Thankyou for agreeing to this conference, Lord and Lady Malfoy," Xiomara began. She had a slight accent that Harry found impossible to place. "And for allowing me to meet your retainers," indicating Ron, Xeno and Apolline (the latter had somehow joined the group at some point without anyone realising it). The unused seventh-floor classroom they inhabited was deemed the most remote and most secure in this wing of Hogwarts, and thus the most appropriate for a discreet rendezvous.
"My parents have requested me to make overtures to the new Lord and Lady Malfoy. There are a number of outstanding issues that need to be resolved. I was given to understand that you may not yet be familiar with the history of dealings between the Malfoys and Zabinis?" Harry and Pandora nodded. "Then I shall do my best to enlighten you. Succinctly, the Zabini family is ancient. We have records of pureblood ancestry going back all the way to the Roman Empire, and networks of contacts across the Mediterranean. What we lack is wealth. Here in Britain, we are both poor and foreign, the worst of all worlds. So we have no gold, our name means nothing, we do not have the generations of history required to build up reliable local contacts, and worst of all, we're not even the somewhat acceptable type of foreign," she nodded towards Apolline. "Namely French, or from one of the British Colonies. No, who cares about a bunch of olive-farming wogs from faraway wog countries like us?" she snorted sarcastically.
"Is that why you attend Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts?" asked Pandora shrewdly.
Xiomara nodded gracefully. "It was felt by certain powerful parties that Hogwarts already had too many children of so-called 'dark families', and why would they wish to import more? Import! Ha! We have been living in this country for over 50 years." The faintest hint of irritation flitted across her flawless face for an instant. "Needless to say, these parties were successful in blocking my entry. Beauxbatons does not accept anyone who is not a French, Belgian, Andorran, Luxembourgian, Italian, Spanish or Portuguese citizen. We deemed Durmstrang the best alternative."
"Oh." Harry had no idea what to say to that. "Um, so how is it at Durmstrang?"
"Extremely cold. Extremely dark. It is mandatory to speak and write in German at all times. Except for spellcasting, which is in Old Norse, rather than Latin."
"I see …"
"In light of the situation our branch of the family faces, my father worked hard to establish a connection to the oldest and richest British House possible, as a foot in the door. Through cunning and perseverance, we eventually managed to forge an alliance with House Malfoy, to act as their trade representatives abroad, in exchange for their patronage. An agreement sealed through a betrothal contract between yours truly and an upstanding young scion of the House. I'm sure I don't have to say that the fact I'm the most beautiful witch of our generation" Apolline snorted disdainfully at this "was a large motivating factor for the Malfoys."
Folding her hands delicately, Xiomara said, "I was scheduled to marry Romulus Malfoy next spring; in the event that we could not get along with each other, the fallback option was his cousin Tiberius Malfoy. Sure, they were a few years older than me, but it was close enough and the best matches our family was likely to get given the circumstances. It was hoped that of our children, one or more would be given the name Zabini, to continue the family name, and would have the status necessary to be admitted into Hogwarts, and into British magical society generally."
Ron and Harry shared a glance.
"Sadly, however, it seems that poor Romulus accidentally brutally cut his own head off with an overpowered shaving charm during his morning ablutions. Terribly maladroit of him, if you ask me. And not a week later, poor Tiberius viciously stabbed himself in the stomach with the shaft of his croquet mallet in the middle of a friendly game with the Minister. Expired right there on the court before she could summon aid, I'm told. Such a tragedy. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?" She eyed Harry shrewdly.
Ron whispered, "So much for being subtle, eh mate?" Harry elbowed him in the ribs and hissed for him to shut up.
"Uh, you ah, don't seem terribly broken up by the unfortunate demise of your fiancé(s)," Harry offered, not answering Zabini's question.
She shrugged. "It was arranged on my behalf, I never even met them. The first time we were due to see each other was scheduled to be on our wedding day. Naturally, that will no longer take place. Their deaths however, are of no matter in themselves, as my betrothal contract anticipated such a possibility."
Ron snorted. "Your contract anticipated the possibility of fatal shaving accidents?" he asked sarcastically.
She ignored him. "In the event of death or permanent disability, I would simply be required to marry another eligible young man of House Malfoy. Except they are now in short supply as well, victims of a series of unfortunate events. In fact, the only males of suitable age and lineage are in this room – yourself and Mr Fitzhallibut-Malfoy."
"So you're asking for my permission to marry Xenophilius?" he asked slowly. "Well, I have no objection, provided Pandora and Odd are willing." He glanced over at the pair in question, who had lost interest in the conversation some time ago. They were now at the far end of the room, busily casting measuring charms at a red piece of string and arguing quietly over how long it was.
"I'm afraid that's unacceptable," Xiomara said firmly.
"Why?" he asked in surprise.
"The terms of the betrothal are for an 'upstanding young scion of the House'. The Fitzhallibut-Malfoys are NOT considered a desirable clan, nor have they been for many generations. For obvious reasons," she sniffed. "And if you wish to cancel the outstanding contract, you are obliged, as the withdrawing party, to arrange an alternative marriage for me with a person of equal or higher social pedigree than Romulus and Tiberius."
"What are the terms?" asked Harry in defeat.
"The party must be from a pureblood House of good standing, who can trace their descent back at least seven generations, and whose families have sufficient business assets that are congruent with our own. Synergies, you know," she smirked. "Unfortunately, in an serious of even more unfortunate events, every pureblooded young man who fits that criteria at Hogwarts was a student of Durmstrang, Koldovstoretz or Slytherin – and you managed to dispatch every single one of them, in one night no less!" Xiomara eyed Harry speculatively. "You've certainly racked up an impressive body count in less than six months."
"Oi!" Ron shot to his feet. "Potter– I mean Peter, had nothing to do with any of that! The Aurors checked everything out, even put him under Veritaserum. You have no proof!"
Zabini favoured him with a scornful sneer. "Of course it was him, you simpering jester, everyone in school knows his Marauder friends were behind it! Just like they know that Lord Malfoy here is the one who pulls all the Marauders' strings. And he would be a right pathetic Lord if he left any evidence of his assassinations behind, wouldn't he? Now sit down and leave the talking to your betters."
"I don't have to put with this from a filthy dark Durmstranger!" Ron snarled – Zabini went for her wand – but was hit with a Silencio from Harry, who was keen on moving things along before another Battle of Hogwarts could erupt. With a sharp jerk of his head, Harry indicated that Ron should go cool off somewhere else. After a moment of indecision, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off to see what Pandora and Odd were up to, leaving Apolline and Harry alone with the girl. A situation Apolline promptly took advantage of by plopping herself down on his lap and pulling his arms around her possessively.
"Um, yes. I'd like to apologise for my friend's behaviour; he's had a, uh, stressful few weeks," Harry tried to placate her, and to ignore the gorgeous blonde squirming in his lap. "I want you to know I have nothing against Durmstrang students per se, only some of the people who happened to have attended. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, you know." Xiomara relaxed and her wand vanished back into her sleeve.
Zabini nodded. "Not surprising. Perhaps you should have taken it up on its offer. 'Tis pity you didn't come to Durmstrang, it would've given me someone to talk to besides all the inbred invertebrates I was forced to reside with." Apolline giggled in approval but did not otherwise interrupt. "Though since you cleared away the dregs, life here has become most pleasant."
Harry shook his head. "Nah, far too obvious," he remarked, responding to the first part of her statement. "The best place for a true Slytherin is anywhere but Slytherin. People are so blinded by House colours and school reputations these days that they'd never expect a meathead Gryffindor to be cunning or ambitious. You know," he mused, "I've come to think that Hufflepuff'd be the best House to join if one wanted to take over the wizarding world." He noted the looks of incredulous disbelief.
"Explain, mon amour!" Apolline ordered, frowning cutely.
"There's an old saying I heard a long time ago," he obliged. "'One Chinese person is a dragon, two are a bear and three are a mouse. Whereas one Japanese person is a mouse, two are a bear and three are a dragon.' Meaning that individually, each Chinese person is formidable, but the more of them that gather the more they'll disagree and fight with each other, so the larger the group the less of a threat they are. The Japanese on the other hand, being the complete opposite: one alone isn't a threat, but the more that accumulate the more they'll work together to achieve common objectives, so the larger the group the more formidable they become. I have no idea whether or not it's true about Chinese and Japanese people, but I think it applies pretty well to Hufflepuff vs the rest. If you're looking for an army of followers, would you want them to prioritise hard work, cooperation and loyalty to the group's goals, or would you prefer a bunch of people who, while brilliant or energetic or cunning, would all go their own ways and seek personal aggrandisement instead of supporting the group?" He smiled ruefully. "Not to mention that Puffs are often overlooked, so they'd make good spies; they're underestimated, so they can get away with far more without punishment; and that aforementioned loyalty means that even if they're caught, they'd be far less likely to rat out their friends or their cause."
"You are sure of zis?" Apolline demanded.
"I've been watching people in the different Houses for years. I'm sure," he said with certainty. The girls shared a glance and a silent discussion.
"I zink," Apolline said carefully, "zat you make some good points, Pierre. Per'aps Amélie and I will begin to pay regular visits to our colleagues in 'Ufflepuff. In ze name of inter-school cooperation of course."
"And the Durmstrang section of the dinner table is so empty and lonely these days," Xiomara added. "Hardly surprisingly that I would seek comfort and companionship from the friendliest and most welcoming House. Not like any other House would accept a 'filthy dark Durmstranger'. And I don't like to associate with the Gryffindor or Koldovstoretz students. Always undressing me with their eyes."
Apolline nodded in approval.
"Now that that is settled, can we get back to the business at hand?" Zabini said. "Pettigrew, whether you like it or not, you're the new Lord Malfoy, the Zabinis are still allied with your House, and we'd prefer to keep it that way. To continue our mutually profitable alliance, I need a Malfoy husband. And there is only one acceptable candidate."
Harry could feel a cold lump developing in the pit of his stomach. "Wait … you can't possibly mean …"
"Or would you rather we break off our alliance and join another dark family, throw the weight of all the Zabinis of the world behind a follower of the Dark Lord, supplementing his forces?" Xiomara continued remorselessly. "The title of Lady Malfoy is already taken, we can accept that," she gestured to Pandora, who was now measuring Gilderoy's skull with callipers, "but we do ask that I become Lady Potter or Lady Black."
"Ah, you should know that as soon as James and Sirius turn 17, I'll be renouncing Headship of their Houses and passing the Lordships on to them as my successors."
The olive-skinned girl looked nonplussed. "Why in Merlin's name would you do that?" she demanded hotly. "I thought you at least had more than a few brain cells to rub together!"
Harry opened his mouth, but was beaten to the punch. "Zat is private family business you are not yet privy to, mademoiselle Zabini. We zank you for your candour and will take your desires into consideration. However, Lord Malfoy will not be making any such momentous decisions in 'aste. And any major changes to 'is 'ouse'old must first be discussed and agreed between myself, Lady Malfoy and ze 'Ead Girl. Eez zat not right, mon chévalier?" She twisted around to an impossible angle to search his eyes. Harry sighed in relief and agreed.
Zabini and Delacour shared another quick, silent discussion with their remarkable eyes. Xiomara reluctantly said, "That is … acceptable. But we will need a response fairly soon; within the next fortnight if possible, so the appropriate arrangements can be made. And in the meantime, I implore you, my Lord, not to do anything rash."
"When have I ever done anything rash?" Harry protested. The others did not bother to dignify that with a response.
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"I've said it before mate, but you truly have the worst luck. I don't think Ulcibert Edgarton the Egregiously Unlucky had anything on you." Ron muttered as they strolled toward the Great Hall. "Not only are you sporting the ugly mug of a Rat Bastard Traitor, not only are you entangled with a temperamental redhead, a crazy scientist and a crazy temperamental fire-spewing bird, but now you're attracting the dregs of Durmstrang too."
"Don't call her 'dregs'," Harry responded sharply. "The Zabinis are my allies, for better or worse. And I'd rather they stay my allies than become Voldemort's. In any case, I doubt she'll be a Durmstranger for much longer."
"Fine. But you can still be allies without having to shack up with that 'Hufflepuff'. Send 'er packing. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Hmmm let me think: she could take offense and poison me to death! Remember, she's Blaise Zabini's Mum! Have you forgotten what they said about her? A famous beauty, seven or eight husbands, became obscenely rich due to said husbands dying in a variety of unexpected ways ..."
Ron gulped. "Point. But hey, what do you have to worry about? That ritual whatchamacallit you did made you resistant to poison, dinnit? Sure took care of Bellatrix."
"It's not foolproof, 'Roy! And I've no doubt that Zabini's of the 'if at first you don't succeed, try, try again' school of thought. Even if one poison didn't work, she'd likely just keep on trying another after another until she hit upon one that actually worked."
"Blimey Pettigrew, how do you keep ending up in these situations?"
Ron's prognostications on the luck of one Harry Potter aka Peter Pettigrew aka Lord Potter-Black-Malfoy turned out to be sadly accurate once more, as worse was indeed to come. For as they passed through an open courtyard, they felt a tingle and chill in their bones which long familiarity had taught them to associate with only one thing.
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"Dirk, I need your help!" Harry shouted as he stormed into 'Ghostbusters.'
"Greetings my young apprentice, I've been expecting you," came a sinister voice.
"You have?" Harry asked his mentor in puzzlement. "How did you know I was coming? Is it some sort of bizarre and secret necromantic technique?"
Dirk sighed. Obviously his young apprentice had missed out on essential components of a proper muggleborn education. "Never mind, what's going on?" The kid dragged in another kid behind him. Taller and blonder.
"The Ministry has – wait a minute, I thought you said you didn't have any Proton Packs?!" Harry demanded.
Dirk hastily stowed the large metal-and-wired device he was tinkering with under the counter. "That's not what you think. It's just a bit of muggle garbage I'm disassembling. Looking to add a few charms to it and such. Not strictly legal, you understand, so I'll expect you to keep it under your hat. Okay? Now what was it that's got you so het up today that you came all the way from Hogwarts to see me?"
Harry eyed him suspiciously but continued. "I was going to say, the Ministry in all it's wisdom has decided it's a great idea to post tons of Dementors around Hogwarts. Frelling Dementors!"
Dirk almost fell out of his chair. "You're not serious?" he gasped.
Harry nodded seriously, too agitated to make the obvious pun. "The two of us were strolling through an open courtyard and the bloody things jumped us!"
"Sweet Morgana! How many of them were there?"
"At least half a dozen."
Dirk stared at him. "How are you still alive?"
"Eh?" Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, that's not the problem; five or six Dementors are nothing. That's not what I'm upset about. It's the principle of the thing!"
Dirk looked torn between skepticism, awe and disbelief.
"He's right, 100 Dementors'd be no problem for our boy here!" the other kid stated proudly.
"I asked around. The official reason is they're there 'coz of so many students vanishing, the Malfoy massacre, the mercenaries running around all over the place, and the Death Easters. The DMLE felt it needed to beef up security at Hogwarts. Lots of Aurors, and lots of Dementors. They're going to be patrolling the castle and grounds for at least the rest of the year!"
"Guess we know where the precedent for our third year came from," the blond kid remarked. "Good ideas never die, eh mate?"
Harry groaned. "It's going to be hard enough to sneak out to Diagon on weekends under the watchful eyes of the teachers and Aurors and paintings and ghosts and Hogwarts house elves. All of whom I've no doubt have been instructed to keep me and my friends under particularly strict surveillance. But now I have to deal with soul-sucking demons as well!"
"I don't know why you're so surprised about all this happening," the blond kid said. "Seeing as how you're the one that started this snowball rolling in the first place!"
Dirk raised his eyes at that. He had no idea how a 16 year old student could possibly be responsible for any of this.
"I didn't expect things to get this out of hand!" Harry said defensively. "I seem to be saying that a lot," he added ruefully. "I still keep thinking this is like the old days; I know I've got to stop that."
Ron said, "Remember what Mad-Eye said: 1970's magical Britain is a magical powder-keg."
"In any case, I need to know magic that helps with Dementors, Dirk. I already know the Patronus charm, but there's got to be other stuff that can affect the things. Otherwise how on earth can the Ministry order them around, and trap them like rats in Azkaban? I'm sure if they had their way they'd be floating around London eating all the souls they could right now."
Dirk slouched back into his easy chair. He pondered for a while, then got up to go into the back room. He emerged with a dusty tome which he passed to Harry, furtively rubbing off the mustard stains from the cover. "Not a lot around that can help you there, lad. The only other spell I've ever heard of that is effective against a Dementor is the Flown Charm, Sirallecta. Story says that it was specially crafted to destroy Dementors, by whom I've no idea. It can only be cast by great concentration and great amounts of magic. There've been many failed attempts to reproduce it. Only man I know who could probably teach you is Albus Dumbledore."
Harry sighed. "Great."
"I suggest you utilise your non-magical resources to do something about this," Dirk said, "And I'll do the same," before the Floo flared up and he had to take the call. Harry and Ron saw themselves out.
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Marximus McKinnon frowned when his daughters' owl flew through his office window to land on his desk. He'd just received a note from them yesterday. To get another one the next day, well that couldn't mean anything good. His expression darkened when he read the letter. "Mandy!"
"Sir?" the woman squeaked, hoping to all that was holy that she wasn't the reason for the expression on his face.
"Dementors have been placed around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. For the 'safety' of the children," he growled. "I'll be at the Ministry for the rest of the day explaining to our esteemed leaders how unhappy I am to hear that they're responsible for those soul sucking monsters being anywhere near my daughters and one of my most important clients."
"Yes, sir," she agreed, her expression mirroring his. "None of the children have been hurt, have they?"
"Alice says that she and Frank and Peter are fine along with all their friends," he stated, muzzling a bit of his fury. "For now, at any rate. Though a bunch of the creatures decided to try snacking on our young Lordly client. Luckily he knew the charm to drive them off." He threw on his robes and stormed out of the room, returning a moment later with a look of unholy glee on his face. "On second thought, I'm a tax attorney. Mandy, I need you to contact Attila, Kublai and Temujin. Tell Murdia what happened and that I would take it as a personal favour if she'd accompany me to my meeting with the DMLE."
"Yes, sir," Mandy agreed with a wide toothy grin. Like they said, you want to fuck someone you get a lawyer. You want to fuck someone to death, you get a lawyer like Murdia Temujin. He'd look forward to pissing on the grave of the men and women who'd allowed soul sucking monsters near his innocent baby girls and youngest client.
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CI Diggler frowned when he read the note from McKinnon describing what had happened to his Yuletide assistant, DCI Pettigrew. Dementors attacking an employee of the Ministry? Such things were just not done. The old man threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. "Union of Ministry Workers," he said calmly. Looked like it was time to remind the higher-ups of the sacristy of the bureaucracy.
Dozens of similar meetings were occurring throughout Diagon and its varied connected alleys as the common people heard what had happened and contacted their representatives to express their displeasure.
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DMLE Director Bartemius Crouch Sr looked up in annoyance when his aide burst in without knocking. This had better be good or he'd find himself a new aide and the unfortunate in front of him would learn just how unpleasant some Ministry jobs were. "What?" he barked.
"Sir, the head of the Necromancers' Guild is here with their lawyer, the representative for the Union of Ministry workers is here with her lawyer, the head of the butcher's union is here with his lawyer, the head of the healers guild is here with her lawyer, the head of the Diagon Alley Merchant's association is here with his lawyer, and Solicitor Marximus McKinnon is here accompanied by his lawyer, Murdia Temujin." The aide gulped. "They're all demanding to see you and none of them are happy."
"What's this about?"
"That's ... Sir, they're very, very 'unhappy' that you ordered the posting of Dementors around a school full of children." Though the word the half formed angry mob in the waiting room had used was 'caused' along with other words like 'negligence' and 'attempted murder.'
Crouch growled in frustration. He did not have time for this lethifold-shite. "Show in McKinnon and Temujin first, then—"
"They want to see you together, sir," the aide interjected. "They're insisting upon it."
"Damn." He sighed in resignation. "Show them in."
"Yes, sir."
To the Director's intense and visible displeasure, the group had picked up another three members while his aide was briefing him. "Lady Potter, Lady Black, Lady Malfoy," he turned on his smoothest dealing-with-tiresome-politicians brogue. "I thought you would be enjoying the current Wizengamot recess to gain some much deserved relaxation?"
"We had intended to, Director Crouch," Dorea smiled wolfishly. "Yet imagine my surprise when I discovered that Dementors of all things had been removed from Azkaban and unleashed around schoolchildren, one of which happens to be my nephew, and another of which happens to be the Lord of my House."
"And I of course came back as soon as I could to assist my dear Aunty." Andromeda Tonks added coldly. "For the sake of the safety of two sisters, two cousins and the Lord of my House. And rest assured, I was glad to properly inform Lady Longbottom, Lord Bones, Lord Weasley, Lord Prewett, and other upstanding citizens who I'm sure will be quite interested in also voicing their concerns."
The newly-minted proxy of House Malfoy merely folded her arms and glared.
It was the first and the worst meeting Crouch had about the issue that day, it would not be the last.
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DEMENTORS SENT TO HOGWARTS TO PREY ON WIZARDING CHILDREN!
Inexplicable Decision by Minister Bagnold and DMLE Director Crouch Sends Soul-Sucking Demons to 'Guard' Your Children! Magical Britain's Magical Children Trapped Inside Hogwarts with 50 Dementors as Their Jailors! How Long Will It Be Until One of Them Is Kissed? Experts Debate!
By Rita Skeeter and Biggus Dicus
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The vast grey edifice of concrete and stone rose into the sky, dwarfing the surrounding peaks. Although no Dementors patrolled this gloomy prison, black clouds rolled around it and an icy chill hung in the air. The place was deserted, the nearest village 20 miles down the mountainside, except for a single, solitary figure that floated serenely over the battlements, and past the giant wrought-iron archway that dominated the vast entrance and inner courtyard, inscribed with the words: 'Für Das Allgemeinwohl.'
For The Greater Good.
Flying slowly to the uppermost terrace, the shadow slipped through the iron grate and made its way to the inner sanctum. Each barred gate and locked door swung open obligingly to grant passage, until the invader reached the final barrier. A swish and flick of a wand, and the thick steel door groaned and screamed in protest as it was warped beyond all recognition, folding in on itself until it was a twisted ball of metal, which was casually banished down the corridor.
An emaciated old man lay placidly on an equally old bed, the sole furniture in the cramped, mouldy cell, besides a single bookshelf holding five tattered tomes. He opened his rheumy eyes slowly, regarding his visitor with an indifferent gaze.
"So you have come, Voldemort," came the dry, raspy croak. "I thought you would, one day."
The dark figure removed its hood to reveal the long thin face, high cheekbones, smouldering red eyes and thick salt-and-pepper curls of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, self-styled Dark Lord of Britain. "You know why I'm here," the tall man hissed.
"Perhaps." The skeletal figure slowly sat up, ancient feet shifting to plant themselves on the hard stone floor. "You have travelled a long distance to visit me, Englishman, and good manners dictate a host provide proper satisfaction to his guest. Welcome to Nurmengard. I'm afraid I cannot offer you any refreshments except for rainwater." He nodded towards a rusty tap and wooden bucket on the far side of the room.
"Tell me what I wish to know," Voldemort ordered coldly.
The old man chuckled, a dusty, crinkled sort of sound. "Ah, the young. Always so very impatient. But let me see if I can divine your intentions. Even though I am so very far away, I still hear whispers and rumours of the outside world. A little bird tells me that your war in Britain is not going according to plan. The tide has turned against you."
Ignoring the Dark Lord's twitch of anger, the prisoner continued in his calm, measured rhythm. "I hear that your Death Eaters have large prices on their heads, and every hitwizard in Europe fills Britain from end to end to collect. I hear that House Malfoy has vanished from the face of the earth, removing their gold from your reach. I hear Octavius Nott and his family were decapitated, heads left on pikes in front of their own Manor. I hear that half of Fenrir Greyback's pack has been hunted down and cut to pieces. I hear that Crouch's footsoldiers have taken to using lethal force in the first instance, and the Wizengamot looks the other way. I hear that the newspapers tell all of Europe about your history and your heritage, encouraging your unmarked followers to distance themselves from you and your cause. I hear that the next generation of your disciples have been massacred to a man. It is unsurprising that given such a situation, a Dark Lord would look for other options."
The emaciated man slowly stood and walked towards the small, barred window in the corner, and looked out over the valley, unconcerned to turn his back on the menacing figure. "The obvious answer is to seek new allies. Natural choices would be the vampires, the Dementors and the giants. No doubt you are assiduously courting their favour as we speak. I have no contacts with these groups any more, and you have others who are better suited to the task, so that is not why you are here. A second obvious answer is to seek new magics, new weapons of devastating effect to force circumstances back in your favour." He gave a hacking laugh. "I too did the same thing when the tide turned against me. I searched the world for secret weapons, put whole cities of magical and muggle researchers to work."
"And what did you discover?"
"All their research is still being held in the Unaussprechlich files of the German Ministry of Magic. If you desire that knowledge, you will find it there."
"Yet it did not help you conquer."
"Ha! No, it did not help me conquer. None of my wonderful weapons of magic and steel and oil and atom were sufficient. And so I ended up here. My St Helena."
"Completely alone, trapped like a rat within your own prison's walls," Voldemort sneered.
"Not completely," the old crone corrected. "They are keeping one of my pet muggles in one of the basements. As far as I know he's still there, I haven't seen him in decades. I wonder what little Rudy Hess is up to these days," he mused.
Hobbling back to his bed, the skeletal wizard lowered his tired bones to the hard mattress, as if merely walking and talking had drained his strength. "No, there is but one reason I can think of that would motivate a personal visit, one object that you would desire out of all the artefacts in my treasure-vaults."
"The wand."
"The wand. I'm afraid your journey was pointless. I never had it."
"You lie!" spat the Dark Lord.
The wizened old man shrugged. "You may believe whatever you wish. Gregorovich's skills in wandlore were unsurpassed. Skills sufficient to fool even I. Even a Dark Lord is not infallible."
"You are trying to hide the truth from me! You desire to deny me and possess it for yourself once again!"
"Kill me then, Voldemort, if you truly believe that!" demanded the old man. "You will not win, you cannot win! The Elder Wand of Death will never, ever be yours! It's power is beyond the reach of mortals such as you and I!"
And Voldemort's fury broke: a burst of red light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed, frozen in its expression of shock. The Dark Lord Voldemort returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable. The body of the Dark Lord Grindelwald floating in tow.
"We shall see, old bag of bones," Voldemort hissed, "just who will win and who will possess the treasures of Death."
And in an instant the two of them were outside in the howling gale, flying through the tenebrous clouds back to Britain.
.