Chapter 7

I Will Not Waver

For the first time in nearly a week, Evan Harrington relaxed on the sofa of his own home, an old farm house that he converted into a comfortable residence for a bachelor. Of course, as his status grew, his assignments took him away from home more and more, and he now almost considered the house a vacation home.

He spent the past week apparating around the United Kingdom following up on leads to the current whereabouts of Harry Potter. Each lead led nowhere, and quite clearly Potter took much greater care in his disappearance this time around. No doubt he would have traveled by train to a number of different cities, zig zagging around the country in no particular pattern. Perhaps the boy would even think to change his appearance in some way.

At this point, Harrington could not think of anything further to do. He determined that Potter apparated from Liverpool shortly after stunning him for the second time, and Harrington noted that an apparation registered at King's Cross in London at virtually the same time. Though the Ministry could not track apparations down to a particular person nor the path of the wizard, it could determine where an apparation occurred, and Harrington assumed that the boy wisely transported himself to one of the largest train stations in Britain. Trying to track down his travel after that proved impossible.

Sooner or later, Harrington knew, Potter would either make a mistake or try to contact a friend. Already the Ministry was keeping tabs on the Weasleys, the Granger girl, the werewolf Lupin (though he proved difficult to track), the Longbottom boy, and other of Harry's friends. So far nothing.

This did not disappoint Harrington in the least, but he certainly did not appreciate the pressure on him from his superiors, and indirectly from the Minister of Magic himself. The more Evan considered it, the more the whole mess made less sense. What did it matter that the Daily Prophet referred to the boy as "The Chosen One?" What danger did Potter pose to Scrimgeour personally? What did the boy mean when he said, "I have a job to do too. I can't let Scrimgeour or anyone else stop me."?

The auror sipped on a beer, a muggle practice he learned to enjoy from his muggle cousins, and flipped the Daily Prophet onto the table in front of him. The Prophet had not reported it, but Evan heard the rumor that Scrimgeour ordered the execution of three death eaters held in Azkaban, possibly including Lucius Malfoy. If true, this constituted an extra-legal act whose only justification could be as an exercise of emergency war-time powers. A flimsy legal argument, Evan knew, and if proved true, it could cost Scrimgeour his job. Or it could make him a hero to a public eager for vengeance.

Either way, Evan knew that he better enjoy the calm while he could, because the storm would arrive soon. He wanted to find Potter, not to "bring him in," but to learn more. The boy impressed him, both in their one meeting and in his presumed actions in avoiding detection. He had that most precious ability - survival.

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"Your orders have been carried out, Minister. Lucius Malfoy and two others."

Scrimgeour nodded his grey-streaked head but otherwise did not display any emotion. His Minister of Defense awaited further instructions.

"Put the word out on Knockturn Alley. As a rumor only; I don't want them to know for sure. Let's plant an element of uncertainty in them. They won't know whether to believe it or not. If we bounce it around Knockturn, the news will make its way to You Know Who." Scrimgeour swivelled his chair around and stared out the enchanted window, not acknowledging the man standing on the other side of his ornately carved desk.

"Yes, Minister. I'll take care of it." He turned around to leave, when Scrimgeour interrupted him.

"Any word on Potter?"

"None, Minister."

Scrimgeour did not reply, and the Defense Minister departed.

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Harry and Hermione arranged to meet again the following evening, the night before Harry's birthday. They decided that since the Ministry did not know Harry's current location, Harry could give the invisibility cloak to Hermione, who could then leave her house unseen by her Ministry escort. Still under the invisibility cloak, she softly knocked on the door of Harry's room in the small hotel where he stayed.

The door opened and closed within a second, and Hermione whipped off the cloak with a smile on her face. They briefly embraced, and Harry again appreciated the sight of a familiar face.

Prior to her arrival, Harry bought a pizza, and the two happily consumed it, and Harry commented that he had not shared a meal with anyone since his ill-fated date with Melissa Montgomery.

"Well, that was probably more enjoyable than sharing pizza with me in an hotel room," Hermione responded, "but I'll just have to do. I'm sure she was much prettier than I am."

Harry laughed and retorted, "Beggars can't be choosers." Hermione tried her best to appear offended, but they both ended up laughing again. After a few moments, they calmed down, and Harry replied more seriously, "The truth is that I really missed you. And Ron and Ginny and everyone. I know what it's like to feel lonely, but I never felt more lonely than last week. I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare. Oh, and you're just as pretty as Melissa." Hermione chuckled at Harry's last remark, which she did not believe for a moment, but she appreciated his good manners.

"I missed you too, Harry. It's such a relief to know you're OK," Hermione admitted, "But we need to decide what you're going to do next. Have you thought about what I told you yesterday, about the Order."

The young wizard nodded. Hermione informed him that she could fax Arthur Weasley so that the Order would arrange a safe house for him. Harry wavered back and forth as he considered the matter during the day.

"I'm not sure about it. Maybe that would be the best, but I'm not going to submit to the Order's control. I'm seventeen tomorrow, so nobody can tell me what to do anymore, and I have to be able to move about freely. But if they have a place where I can be safe, like Grimmauld Place was, that would be helpful." The two friends each took another bite of their pizza and considered their dilemma.

"We don't have to agree to anything yet," Hermione commented, "We can put some conditions, set our own ground rules. I know that Mr. Weasley is really worried about the Ministry finding you first. I think they'll have to agree to just about any conditions we put." Harry nodded again.

"Anyway, I can't do anything until after tomorrow. I have to go back to Little Whinging."

"Why?" Hermione asked with a start. She assumed that Harry would never return to Little Whinging for as long as he lived. Harry informed her about having to receive the item that Dumbledore left.

"Won't it be dangerous? Won't they see you?"

"I doubt anybody is watching the house, but I'm not going to meet her there anyway. I'll call her from the train station. There's a little restaurant a block from there where she can meet me. As soon as I have it, I'll take the next train back here. Come back tomorrow, and we can see what it is."

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"Do you think this rumor is true, My Lord?" asked Severus Snape coldly. His fellow death eaters elected him to inform the dark lord of the news from the gutters of Knockturn Alley alleging that Lucius Malfoy and two other unnamed death eaters had been executed in the prison on Azkaban island.

Lord Voldemort showed no outward reaction to the news, but he failed to respond to Snape for an abnormally long time. Snape, however, long before had become accustomed to the dark lord's unusual concept of time, and the death eater stood motionless for several minutes.

"Scrimgeour is capable of such an act," Voldemort finally opined, "but whether he actually ordered the executions is impossible to determine. He wants to shake me, to create confusion, to cause me to waver. But I will not waver, Severus; you may inform my servants as much. As you know I hope to free my servants from Azkaban, but we are not yet in a position to accomplish this. Despite the absence of dementors, Dumbledore assisted with the placement of powerful protective spells, as you are well aware. To overcome these spells would require the sacrifice of a large portion of my forces, and given their small numbers, I cannot afford such a loss."

Voldemort pulled his cape around his shoulders and remained silent for a short time, but Snape did not sense that the dark lord sought his counsel. He stood impassively and motionless. Peter Pettigrew stood silently in the corner, completely ignored.

"If Scrimgeour kills all of them in Azkaban, so be it. I shall not waver from my plans. Our next attacks shall commence tomorrow as I have already ordered. Let them know, Severus. You may leave."

Snape inclined his head forward a few inches and silently exited. Despite the outward bluster of the dark lord's words, he sensed a hint of uncertainty and surprise in the master's voice. Arching an eyebrow, he left to inform his fellow death eaters of their leader's reaction to the rumor.

As he left the room, he heard the dark lord lash out at Pettigrew, "I'm cold, Wormtail, you worthless rat. Why can you not keep this room warm." Snape arched his eyebrow again.

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Petunia Dursley jumped when she heard the phone ring shortly after noon on July 31st. Her nerves had been on edge all week, wondering if her nephew would in fact return on his birthday to collect the parchment envelope given to her by Albus Dumbledore some fifteen years earlier. Why should I care? she asked herself, It's not my problem if Harry doesn't show up. But she did care, feeling that her ties to the boy would not end until she handed over that envelope. Then she would be free.

About a month after Harry first arrived on her doorstep, Dumbledore briefly and secretly met with her, and insisted that she promise to give Harry the brown envelope made of parchment on his seventeenth birthday, and not a day before. Petunia wished to complete this final promise, after which she could permanently wash her hands of her sister's son. She had fulfilled her duty to raise Harry, yet despite her best efforts, she could never warm to the boy. During those first years, she reflected, she tried to treat him as her own, but something about the boy always irritated her.

He was thin, Dudley was not. He was fairly handsome, Dudley was not. He was intelligent, Dudley was not. He was so much that Dudley was not, and Petunia did not allow herself to believe that the son of her wayward sister and that no-good husband of hers would ultimately turn out more successfully than her own son. Yet even she could deny it no longer. Dudley's clashes with the law had increased, and twice that summer Vernon had to bail him out of the local jail. Petunia knew that her beloved son smoked, drank and liked to raise hell, though she would never dream of admitting it out loud, and she could only imagine how else Dudley and his worthless friends amused themselves during his many hours away from home. His delinquency strained her already unhappy marriage and turned her life into a grueling marathon. She felt trapped.

Despite all of the love and excessive attention she showered on her son, Dudley turned out to be a ruffian with few redeeming qualities. Harry, on the other hand, had become a responsible young man, respectful to adults not named Vernon Dursley, and apparently successful in that deviant school of his. Dudley had been expelled from his school for his many misbehaviors, and would now attend the local secondary school until he managed to wear out his welcome there.

She hated Harry even more for turning out well despite their neglect, thereby exposing her failure with her own son. Now she desired closure, to be rid of her nephew once and for all, and in a way, to be rid of Lily once and for all. She could finally close an especially long and tragic chapter of her life. The phone continued to ring until Petunia finally forced herself to answer it.

"Hello."

"It's Harry. Do you have the thing you need to give me?" He spoke with a gruffness that Petunia had never heard before, and she blanched.

"Yes. Come to the house to collect it," she instructed him, trying to sound just as unpleasant.

"I can't come to the house, Aunt Petunia. I can't explain. Too complicated, but it's for your own good that I don't show up at the house. Bring it to me. I'm at the train station right now. Meet me at Tony's. It should only take a minute, then I have to take the next train out."

Petunia could not see why she should have to leave the comfort of her home, but she wanted to finish her ordeal.

"OK, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Harry hung up the receiver on the phone and warily surveyed the rustic Little Whinging train depot again. He had no reason to believe that anyone from the Ministry would be watching him, yet his nerves flared the moment he set foot in his home town. Though he only left about two weeks earlier, he felt as if he had not returned home for years.

More than that, however, he woke up in a terrible mood that morning, the morning of his seventeenth birthday. All day little things irritated him that normally mattered little. At the train station in Essex, he shifted angrily while waiting in a lengthy line to purchase his ticket. He had to calm himself on the train when a couple of attention-seeking teenaged boys harassed passengers, and Harry had an almost irresistible urge to perform a little wand-work on the two punks. Must just be the stress of the past weeks, he rationalized, plus irritation at the need to return to Little Whinging at all when his aunt could have handed the item to him two weeks ago. The whole day seemed a monumental waste of time.

Great way to spend my seventeenth birthday!

He walked up to Tony's, an Italian deli a block from the station, and ordered a sandwich and a drink. Tony's made delicious sandwiches, which occasionally Harry would eat during his summer meanderings. Since he realized that this may be the last time he would have the opportunity to eat one, he did not pass up the chance. A small birthday present, he thought, perhaps his only one. His aunt arrived just as he finished off the last bite of his pastrami on wheat. Harry saw her step through the door but noted her confusion when she saw him. He took off his hat to reveal his scar, and Petunia recognized him despite his short blond hair.

"Why did you dye your hair, Harry?" she asked accusatorially, as if he should have asked her for permission. She wore a typical blue and white summer dress with a floppy white hat. Harry thought she looked utterly ridiculous, and he worked hard to suppress a few biting remarks.

"Lost a bet," he answered sharply, his irritation rising, "Do you have it?"

Petunia nodded, taken aback by Harry's tone of voice. She pulled the brown envelope from her large white handbag. At least her purse matches her hat. The keys to her car remained in her hand, and clearly she did not intend to stay long. She handed the envelope to her nephew. Harry examined it briefly, recognizing the small handwriting of Professor Dumbledore.

For Harry Potter. To be opened on his seventeenth birthday.

"Thank you," Harry muttered emotionlessly to his aunt, as he concentrated on the thin envelope. He would not open it at Tony's, but rather return to the hotel in Essex, to open it with Hermione. Harry looked up at his aunt and wondered if he would ever see her again. He hoped not.

"You're welcome," she replied automatically, and eyed the boy's ridiculous hair. She would not miss him for one second. "Your trunk is still in your room. Send someone for it soon. It takes up a lot of space." Harry nodded but scrunched his eyes at his aunt, clearly communicating his anger with her. Petunia flinched for a moment before twirling around and heading back to her car. He watched her for a few seconds before she passed out of sight.

Harry felt the envelope again, disappointed that he came all this way for something so thin. Finally he shrugged and made his way back to the station.

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From underneath his invisibility cloak, Evan Harrington watched the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, waiting for the appearance of their only daughter, Hermione. The young female auror who had been following the teenaged witch reported that Miss Granger had acted a bit strangely over the past couple of days, taking a taxi when she had not done so before and apparently not leaving her home the previous evening. According to the report, she generally went out every night, either with her parents or with her muggle friends. Since her friends could drive, often times one of them would swing by to pick her up, or she would walk the few blocks to one of her girlfriends. Perhaps it all meant nothing, but the report raised enough questions to cause Evan to make the trek to Essex. He had no other leads.

The various reports in the Potter file all agreed that Potter and Granger enjoyed an unusually close friendship, though the reports varied as to whether any romantic feelings between the two existed. Earlier published reports alleged as much, but clearly Potter and the Weasley girl openly linked up during the latter part of the previous term at Hogwarts, and as far as Evan knew, the two remained together. Nevertheless, some recent reports insisted that the relationship between Potter and Granger surpassed that of a mere friendship. When push came to shove, the analysts argued, Potter would seek out Granger rather than Weasley.

While much of this remained subject to interpretation, all of the analysts agreed that Granger was an extremely intelligent, talented witch, probably the brightest in Hogwarts and likely to be named as Head Girl if Hogwarts succeeded in opening its doors for the new term. Quite possibly Granger knew that she may be followed and managed to evade the inexperienced young auror tracking her. But why would she do such a thing?

Evan knew that he could not simply watch from afar. He needed to stay close to the girl to make sure that she did not have a secret means of leaving her home without being seen. The auror stealthily entered the back yard to the house and found a large sliding glass door which provided him with a view of the sitting room and dining room, as well as the landing of the stairs to the second floor. He sat on the ground, crossing his legs, making sure that the invisibility cloak covered him completely. Now he would wait. And think.

Thank Merlin that they don't have a dog.

He had not yet decided what he would do if he ever succeeded in finding Potter. Would his professional side ultimately prevail? Would he suppress his misgivings, perform his duty, and bring the boy in? Or would he do something else? Evan already had an idea what that "something else" might be, but he tried his best not to think about it. Did he really wish to give up all that he had worked for over the years? Would he risk everything? Would he throw it all away?

Movement inside the house rescued him from his musings, and he noticed a pretty teenaged girl with bushy, shoulder length brown hair emerge from the stairs, walk through the dining room, and then out of his view, probably into the kitchen. A minute later she returned to the dining room, taking a seat with a plate of food that Evan could not make out. Apparently she had not yet changed out of her bedclothes, loose grey shorts and an old white t-shirt, and Evan could not recall ever having seen hair more bushy than Miss Granger's. She spread out a newspaper in front of her; in fact, it appeared to be the latest Daily Prophet. Evan repositioned himself, and waited.