Chapter 26
Since his failure at Azkaban, Lord Voldemort had not risen from his bed except to occasionally sit on his throne in front of the fireplace. Since Bella had been captured and Nagini killed, he had no one to talk to. His Death Eaters had all been captured. There were still a few who remained loyal to his cause, but they were not Death Eaters—they were not fighters. Most of them were employees of the Ministry of Magic who occasionally slipped information to him through his servants, like that Edgecomb woman who had given him the list of names of those who were members of Dumbledore's Army. But, somehow, even she had been found out and was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for treason.
How had he done it? He knew that Potter was not working alone. He was sure that Dumbledore was involved, but what sort of magic were they using that he could not detect? How was Potter able to project his spirit from his body? He had only heard of one wizard who had that power, and that was the Great Merlin himself. Was Potter really that powerful? He was only a boy. Yes, the power was there, but the boy had not learned how to use it. He had not yet entered his 6th year at Hogwarts. Perhaps the old man had been training him all along. That didn't seem possible, though. The boy was practically inept at the Ministry, and yet he had escaped.
Harry Potter always escaped, though through nothing more than sheer luck, it seemed. He would be a powerful wizard some day, if he lived, but he could not allow the boy to do that. Potter had to die, and it had to be soon. The longer he waited, the more the boy would gain in knowledge, skill, and power.
What were the boy's weaknesses? Ah, yes. His friends. Potter would sacrifice himself for that mud-blood and son-of-a-blood-traitor he called friends. But it wasn't just them. The boy had a hero complex. He would sacrifice himself for anyone he thought of as innocent.
He needed a plan, and he needed it now. He would have to draw the boy out. He would have to set him up somehow, but it would have to involve very little danger to himself. A secure spot, perhaps, with a hostage. It would take some planning, but it could work. And if it didn't, he would try again. It's not like he could die, even though he did not wish to go through the hell he had been through as a disembodied spirit. He would need someone to perform the ritual immediately, should it come to that.
The Parkinson girl and the Nott boy. According to Bella, they were the only two to return home of the children he had summoned that day. He would use them and their mothers. The Parkinson woman was a potions master. And he would have her give him one of her house elves to wait on him.
Voldemort rose from his chair and put on his cloak, pulling the hood over his head so that he would not be recognized. He walked outside and down to the edge of the property and disapparated.
After a few seconds, he arrived at the door of the Parkinson's. He knocked and the door was answered by a house elf. When Voldemort lowered his hood, the elf became visibly frightened.
"Take me to see your mistress."
The quivering house elf bowed and led the Dark Lord into the front parlor.
"Z-Z-Zippy go get mistress now," the elf said, and popped out of the room.
Within moments, Mrs. Parkinson entered the room, eyes wide and face pale. She was trembling with fear. "Yes, my Lord," she asked, curtsying. "How can I be of service?"
"Please sit down, Mrs. Parkinson. This is, after all, your home. I am merely here for a visit and to ask of you a favor."
The frightened woman sat on a chair as far away from the Dark Lord as possible, and still be in the same room. "What is it you would ask of me?"
"I have need of your services as a potion mistress, but only in the event of an unfortunate accident. Otherwise, your services will not be needed. However, I also have need of your daughter."
"M-my daughter?"
"Yes. I have been told that she wishes to become a Death Eater."
"B-but she's only a child. Surely you wouldn't—"
"Mrs. Parkinson, I have become quite desperate, I'm afraid. I need your daughter and her friend, the Nott boy. Would you be so kind as to summon them, please? Also, if you would, summon the boy's mother."
The woman knew better than to disobey. She immediately went to the fireplace and called Mrs. Nott, asking her to bring Theodore to the house immediately. After ending the call, she summoned Zippy to tell Pansy that she had a guest in the front parlor.
When she was once again seated, Voldemort said, "I would also ask for the use of one of your house elves, Madam. I am in need of a servant."
"Zippy," she called, and when the elf appeared, she said, "Tea for five, please, and select our best house elf as a gift to our Lord."
Zippy snapped his fingers and a service for five appeared on the table. He bowed low and once again disappeared.
"May I pour for you, my Lord?"
"Yes, please."
"Milk or sugar?"
"Neither, thank you."
She poured the tea and handed him the cup, which rattled against the saucer. He suppressed a smile at her fear.
Mrs. Nott, accompanied by her son, appeared from the fire. When she saw the Dark Lord, she curtsied. "My Lord," she said.
Theodore went over to the Dark Lord, knelt, and kissed the hem of his robe as he had been trained to do by his father.
Voldemort smiled. "You may rise and be seated," he said.
Mrs. Nott and her son sat down and Pansy entered the room. Like Theodore before her, she knelt and kissed the hem of his robe. Before she could rise, however, Voldemort found himself alone in the room.
He stood up, the cup dropping to the floor, spilling its contents across the Persian rug. "Zippy!" he shouted, furiously, but no house elf appeared. He left the parlor and went to the kitchen. The room was abandoned. The house elves had disappeared also.
With a howl of rage, Voldemort stormed out of the house and disapparated.
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The Notts and Parkinsons suddenly found themselves locked in a small, empty cell. Looking in at them were a tiny female house elf and a man they had never seen before.
"What is this?" Mrs. Parkinson asked. "How did we get here?"
"Mrs. Parkinson, my name is Charles Potter, and I brought you here. I saw that you were in quite a predicament, and I wanted to give you a choice."
Mrs. Parkinson looked at the others who were in the cell with her, then turned back to their abductor. "What choice?"
"A choice between serving Voldemort and your safety. I will provide a Safe Haven for you, or I will return you to serve Voldemort. It is your choice."
Mrs. Nott moved to the front of the cell. "Sir, I have two smaller children I left at home with the house elves. Would it be possible to bring them to the Safe Haven?"
"Yes. We'll get them imme—"
"No!" Nott said. "Mother, you can't! You can't betray the Dark Lord!"
Ignoring him, she said. "My children and I choose to go to the Safe Haven."
Nott huffed and sat down on the floor in the corner of the cell. Pansy looked up at her mother.
"Mum, please," she pleaded. "Father's in prison. We should avenge him!"
"Your father is there because of his own choices," Mrs. Parkinson told her daughter. "You are 16 years old, and I am your mother. While you are still underage, you will obey me." She turned to Charles. "We accept your offer, Sir. My daughter and I choose to go to the Safe Haven."
Charles looked at the children sulking in the corner of the cell. "If I have any trouble from you two," he said. "You will end up right back here until you learn to behave. Is that clear?"
They both nodded grudgingly.
"I didn't hear you," he said. "So I'll ask you again. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," they said.
He gave them each a stern look that promised retribution should they misbehave, and then transported the two families to the Safe Haven where Albus Dumbledore met them to show them to their tents. Within minutes, Charles entered the Nott tent holding the hands of two tear-streaked little boys, ages 3 and 5. "I believe we have found our lost mummy," he said to them.
They ran to their mother, who knelt down to wrap them both in her arms. She looked up at Charles. "Thank you," she said, her eyes glistening with tears.
Smiling, he gave her a polite nod and left the tent.
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Draco had just won his third paddleboat race of the day (against Crabbe and Goyle) when he saw Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott walking toward the lake. He steered his boat toward the shore and waited for them to arrive.
"Draco!" Pansy cried, running toward him. Nott followed slowly, hands in his pockets and a sulky look on his face.
"Pansy," he greeted. "Nott."
"Did they make you stay here, too?" she asked in a whinging tone.
"No. I'm here by choice. Did they force you to stay?"
"Our mums are here," she said. "They forced us to come with them."
"That black-haired bloke with glasses said he'd lock us up if we gave him any trouble," Nott said, still sulking.
Draco grinned. "Oh, you must mean Granddad Charley. Yeah, you'd better not cross him. He owns this place."
"It's great here!" Vincent Crabbe said, pulling his boat next to Draco's. "We play war games every day with wands that just shoot paint. We race paddleboats, have picnics at the beach, and sometimes fireworks displays. This is the best summer I've ever had."
"Have they forced you to join the light side?" Pansy asked.
"No, we're staying neutral. Nobody's forcing us to do anything. They're just protecting us," Draco said.
"From what?" Nott asked.
"The Dark Lord," Goyle said. "He threatened to kill us and our families because our fathers failed at the ministry and ended up in Azkaban."
"Yeah, so Granddad Charley moved our dads to a new prison where they're safe and we can visit them," Crabb added.
"I've seen it," Nott said. "That's where he said he'd lock us up if we didn't behave."
Draco snickered. "It's not much of a prison. They get house elf food, the same as we do here, and they get to go out in a park every day for exercise and sunshine. They get showers and books to read, and they have their own toilets right in their cells."
"Sounds like a prison to me," Nott said.
"Yeah? Well, you haven't seen what it's like in Azkaban, have you?"
Nott shook his head.
"There, they just have a filthy mattress thrown on the floor and no facilities. They live in the same cell with their own body wastes. They get one bowl of gruel a day, never take a shower, and dementors walk around 24 hours a day. I'd say Uncle Charley's jail is a big improvement, wouldn't you?"
"You think he'd move my dad here?" Pansy asked.
Draco shrugged. "If you asked him. But I wouldn't get on his bad side if I wanted him to do me a favor. Keep your noses clean and don't make any trouble. When summer's over, you'll be back at Hogwarts and you can do whatever you want."
Nott glared at him hatefully. "You're nothing but a traitor, Malfoy," he said.
Draco shook his head. "And you're just an idiot, Nott."
Nott turned and started back toward his tent when he ran into someone. He looked up, surprised to see his potion master standing in front of him.
"Mr. Nott," Snape said.
"Professor."
"Come with me."
Nott followed Snape into another tent. The professor had him sit down, and then placed a strange looking basin on the table in front of him.
"This, Mr. Nott, is a pensieve. Its function is to hold memories. I am going to extract my own memories and allow you to view them. Through them, I am going to show you the reality of being a Death Eater."