Chapter 20
You Don't Know Who I Am Anymore
While Harry Potter passed a pleasant afternoon with his friends and loved ones at the Burrow, Minister of Magic Scrimgeour hunkered down in his office, trying to decide how next to proceed. Decisiveness marked his tenure at Minister, and rarely did he require more than a few minutes to make a decision. Some found this an admirable quality; others argued that he failed to consider his decisions adequately.
This decision, however, required all of his concentration, and he simply could not reach a conclusion. His heart desired nothing more than to proceed with his plans immediately, taking control of the press, declaring Martial Law, and commencing with the transfer of his constituents to Hogwarts Castle and other similar locations. His political instincts, however, fell against such rapid action, and as his advisors argued time and again, the Ministry could not carry out such orders so quickly.
Yet he could not wait long, that much became clear. Leaks to the media occurred on a daily basis, and though the most sensitive parts of the "New Direction" had yet to be revealed, inevitably they would if he waited too long. The whole Harry Potter fiasco simply complicated an already hugely complicated scenario. For the moment, the public had turned against the Ministry, and the cooperation of wizards and witches to his orders, already a questionable assumption, could not be counted upon.
Fortunately, Scrimgeour knew that the magical population had a short memory. If he waited a few days and let Potter off the hook, the whole debacle would pass over as the next attacks by death eaters reached the headlines. Finally the Minister decided, splitting the difference between his heart and his instincts. He would wait two or three days, but after that, the first steps would be taken, beginning with the declaration of Martial Law and the closure of all media outlets.
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"YES!"
Ron exulted over another save, easily blocking Harry's attempted goal in the left hoop. Harry tried to feint to the right, but Ron read his friend's eyes, held his position, and flicked the quaffle away with his left hand, just diverting it around the goal.
"Brilliant save, Ron," Harry shouted behind him, having zoomed by the keeper, and now banking to return to the pitch, "but I'm just a seeker. Ginny would have beaten you with that one."
"Just give me the ten points, then," Ginny agreed with a laugh. An hour in the air on her broom improved her mood, allowing her to repress the emotions of the past days. Harry and she played chasers, whipping the quaffle back and forth before trying to whiz it past Ron. Not a fair match, they all agreed, but Ron did not mind having a few goals scored on him. He simply enjoyed spending time with his best mate.
Hermione left the Burrow earlier in the afternoon to spend one more evening with her parents, and for the first time in weeks, Harry could have fun. Plain, simple fun. The three players by now had worked up a sweat.
"Let's go down and have some of those olives," Ginny suggested, "I'm becoming addicted to them."
A few minutes later, they sat under the shade of a tree near the edge of the forest, each with a handful of olives and a bottle of water.
"It's nice to see you have fun, Harry," Ginny noted as she pinned her wind-blown red hair back into place, "You look five years younger when you're on your broom." Harry smiled.
"Well, it's nice to be up in the air again. I'll miss not playing Quidditch this term"
Ron gulped some water and wondered out loud, "Maybe we'll be able to go back. Everything is happening so fast." He immediately wished he had remained silent, for suddenly the enormous task ahead of them seemed more foreboding than ever. Both Harry and Ginny's faces turned serious.
"You're right," Harry noted softly, "I thought I had months at least. Maybe years. Now I wonder if I have a week. I keep thinking that I should go to Hogwarts right now instead of waiting here."
"One day won't change anything, Harry," Ron opined, "We'll have to figure out how to destroy the trophy anyway. Do you think the hammer will work on it too?" Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"We'll see. Probably not. That would be too easy." He moved over a couple of feet to lie back on the cool grass under the huge Sycamore tree, staring up at the light flickering through the quaking leaves. The two Weasleys looked up as well, following Harry's eyes, and the three enjoyed an extended silence.
Out of the blue, Harry remarked in a soft monotone, "Earth is a beautiful place. Leaves on a tree. Snow-covered mountains. Sandy beaches. Pastures for sheep and cattle. It's all beautiful. Even the run-down areas of some of the cities I saw from the train have their beauty. When I was on the run, I realized how little of the world I've seen. I never went anywhere with my aunt and uncle, only to my Aunt Marge's house, which doesn't count for anything. It's almost like I've just discovered where I live. Now that I've found out, it may all end before I know it. I've been so focused on my destiny that I don't think I ever really knew what I'll miss when I'm gone."
Ginny and Ron glanced at each other with a "Where did that come from" expression, but Ron again directed his eyes upwards and decided to join Harry's reflections.
"I know what you mean, though we've been to a few places. Even though we've always been poor, being wizards we could always travel a little. Egypt is beautiful. Wouldn't it be fun just to take a year and wander around the whole world, just going wherever you felt."
Harry nodded his head, but he had closed his eyes, seemingly in deep meditation. With both her brother and Harry not paying attention to her, Ginny took the opportunity to examine Harry's face closely. He had aged. In June at Dumbledore's funeral, he appeared his age. Not enough time had elapsed for him to have aged so much, she mused. It had to be the pressure of the past weeks. Despite his huge appetite lately, as they joked about at lunch earlier, his face seemed thinner than ever, almost gaunt. He shaved every day, she knew, but before the skin on his face had been smooth when she ran her hand across his cheeks. No longer. Now his skin seemed taut and inelastic.
Suddenly Harry opened his eyes and stared directly at her, and Ginny screamed for a brief second before gathering herself.
"What happened?" Ron asked while jumping to his feet, but he only saw Ginny calming herself with her hand over her chest, inhaling deeply. Harry continue to look at her, and then Ron saw his mate's eyes fade back to their normal vibrant green. They had been glowing before.
"Nothing," Ginny gasped, not wanting Harry to know what truly startled her, "Harry just surprised me. I wasn't expecting him to open his eyes." But she had seen the eyes glow again, even brighter than at Grimmauld Place. Try as she might, she could not hide her fear.
"You're scared of me, aren't you?" Harry asked, still staring at the witch, "You don't know who I am anymore. You don't know what I'll become. Right?"
Ginny tried to deny it, but her mouth would not open, and Harry's probing eyes seemed to force her to tell the truth. She nodded her head. Harry lay his head back on the grass and again closed his eyes.
"Neither do I."
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Back in his office at the Ministry, Arthur Weasley mindlessly completed paperwork, rapidly folding the completed sheets of parchment into airplanes, tapping them with his wand, and sending them off to other offices. All the while, his mind considered the possibilities that now existed with the "recruitment" of Evan Harrington.
Recruitment, he chuckled to himself, More like falling in my lap. Though a product of luck, Harrington's appearance counted as the first piece of good luck since Arthur took charge of the Order of the Phoenix.
Suddenly a clearly excited Kingsley Shacklebolt towered over him, his bald black head reflecting the light. Though the auror attempted to maintain a passive expression, Arthur could see the excitement in his eyes.
"How are you doing, Arthur," Kingsley asked loudly, "I'm just passing by on the way to Muggle Artifacts." He glanced out the door and almost imperceptibly placed an envelope in front of Arthur. Arthur quickly read the words on the front: Read and destroy.
"Just fine, Kingsley. Keeping busy as you can see."
"That's quite a mountain on your desk. Well, I need to be off, so I'll leave you to it."
"Thanks, Kingsley. Maybe we can have lunch later in the week."
The tall auror left and Arthur opened the envelope while grabbing more of his work papers. He placed the note over a form and leaned back so that an onlooker would only see the reverse side of a typical form. He read the brief note twice and then tapped it with his wand to make it disappear in a puff of smoke. He did the same with the envelope.
Word from the Hogshead. Young wizard has been eating there. Nervous and out of place. Aberforth thinks we should look into it.
Arthur leaned back and closed his eyes for a brief moment of thought. They did not have the resources to follow every lead, and this note did not offer much. Nevertheless, Aberforth Dumbledore often had a sixth sense about these matters. It should not take much effort to check out the young wizard. I'll talk to Remus. He can probably handle it tomorrow morning.
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"Why don't you tell us the real reason why you are returning to Hogwarts early."
"I did, Mum," Hermione replied defensively, surprise in her voice. She enjoyed a wonderful supper of lamb and Yorkshire pudding with her parents, but afterwards they asked her to move to the sitting room, where her mother and father eyed her warily. She knew that an interrogation had just begun.
"Hermione, dear," her mother interrupted, "Let's end the charade now. We know you too well. You would have told us right away after you received your badge. Certainly your Hogwarts letter would have included such details. Combine that with the fact that you have been away from home almost all of the past few days, and that you have been nervous and excited, and we can both see that something more is happening. So first, are you truly going to Hogwarts?"
"Yes, mum, I am," she confirmed, but then she could not decide what more to say. She never could lie to her parents without them knowing, and obviously her behavior of the past few days would be noticed. Her parents patiently waited for her to explain further. "I am going to Hogwarts, but you're right, it has nothing to do with being Head Girl."
Again, her parents remained silent, which only made it more difficult for Hermione to decide what to say. Even if she tried to explain everything about Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter, they would never understand.
"I'm afraid I can't really explain," she finally answered honestly, "I can only say that it is extremely important that I go."
"We heard from Mrs. Gaines that a boy came by this morning, and then a young lady after that." Mrs. Granger looked kindly at her daughter but with a Let's get down to business expression. "I think we deserve an explanation, Hermione. If there's a boy that you like, there's no reason to hide it. You're almost eighteen now."
Hermione bit her bottom lip at the news that their neighbor witnessed Harry and Michelle's arrivals that morning. Why did she have Harry come to the house?!
"Yes, there is a boy in involved, but not in the way you think," she explained in an exasperated voice, "You've heard me talk about Harry. Harry Potter. He and Ron Weasley are my best friends at Hogwarts. Harry has some problems right now, and Ron and I are trying to help him."
"What kind of problems?" interjected Mr. Granger, speaking for the first time, "Is he in trouble with the authorities?"
"Not exactly," his daughter answered ambiguously, again biting her lip, "It's very complicated." She stopped for a moment only to see that her parents were willing to wait all night for an explanation. "Harry is an unusual person in the magical world. He's famous for something that happened when he was a baby, and because of that, a lot of strange things have happened to him." Her mind shifted into fifth gear, trying to invent a way out of this spot. "The Minister of Magic and Harry have had some disagreements, and the Minister has made life a little hard for Harry. More than a little hard. Finally, Harry gave an interview to the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper, and the public supported him. Minister Scrimgeour had to back off, but we're worried that he wants to harass Harry again, so Ron and I thought that Harry would be safest at Hogwarts. The headmistress has agreed that we can arrive early, because she is not a fan of the Minister either."
On the spur of the moment, Hermione decided that this made the most sense and at least contained a large element of the truth. She could not possibly mention Lord Voldemort or death eaters.
"But why do YOU need to go to Hogwarts?" asked Mrs. Granger, "Surely Harry can get by without you for a few weeks. We see you so rarely now, and soon you will be eighteen. This may be our last summer together." Hermione felt a lump in her throat and pangs of guilt in her stomach.
"I know, mum, but Harry needs us now. He's been through a terrible time lately. Professor Dumbledore's death hit him hard. He had become almost a father to him, the only father he ever knew. Harry's parents both died when he was a baby, and he was raised by a terrible aunt and uncle in Surrey who abused him horribly. For years, they made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs. Then out of the blue he discovered that not only is he a wizard, but he's extremely famous." She sighed deeply, exaggerating it for effect. "He's not doing well right now. Terribly depressed and agitated, and we're afraid to leave him alone. Harry and I are great friends, mum. No, he's not my boyfriend. Ron's sister, Ginny, was his girlfriend until all of this happened, and he broke it off. I'm sorry I have to go, but we can't let Harry down. If I can, I'll try to visit a few times. Now that I can apparate, it's a lot easier. Maybe I can bring Harry and Ron to meet you. I'm sure you'd like them both."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger finally relented in the face of Hermione's impassioned explanation, though they sensed that something more existed between this Harry and their daughter. Hermione felt even worse when she noticed the tears escaping from her mother's eyes.
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Peter Pettigrew checked himself in the mirror of his room at quarter to midnight, and try as he might, he could not mask the fear in his eyes. Lifting his real hand to the level of his chest, he saw it shake uncontrollably. Why him? Could not the dark lord take one of his other followers? Many of them would love to participate in his games.
With one last deep breath, he extinguished the lamps in his room and walked down the hall to the master chamber. Lord Voldemort paced slowly back and forth, paying no attention to Peter's arrival. Of course, the dark lord usually acted this way, not acknowledging the presence of others until it suited his purposes. In this case, only half a minute passed before he issued his first instruction.
"Dress me."
Peter knew without asking which garment the dark lord wished to wear, a battered old black robe which belonged to Tom Riddle while still at Hogwarts. His first murders occurred while wearing this robe, and he conserved it with special affection. Peter referred to it silently as "the killing robe."
At midnight, Voldemort dramatically grasped his wand and used it to push up the sleeve to his left arm, revealing a special dark mark, unique to him. Peter stood just a few feet away, hoping against hope that the master would allow him to stay behind. Voldemort delayed.
He did not wish to utilize this special magic. Only a few times in his life had he resorted to it, but that occurred decades earlier when he enjoyed better health and had not been sent into oblivion for a decade. Use of this magic would cost him dearly, and he knew it. But how dearly? Could there be another way?
"No," he answered himself, already having considered other options. Snape was not a normal death eater. He possessed a keenly deceptive mind, proved by his ability to hide his true loyalties for many years. If Voldemort waited and sent death eaters to attempt to locate the traitor, he would wait for years, and who knew what damage Snape could cause. No, other options did not exist. He would pay the price of vengeance.
"Hold on to my right arm, Wormtail, we have a journey ahead of us."
Peter reluctantly stepped forward and gently grasped Voldemort's upper right arm, for the dark lord had already bent the arm towards the mark on his left forearm, his wand hovering inches above it. Once he felt his servant's touch, Voldemort closed his eyes and visualized the face and body of Severus Snape. For several long seconds, Peter stood breathless, until suddenly Voldemort touched the wand to his own dark mark.
A howl of pain from the dark lord could be heard for just an instant before they disappeared. Peter of course had apparated thousands of times during his lifetime, and though he did not enjoy the process, it had become routine. But this "apparation," if it could be termed as such, horrified him.
He felt an unknown force pulling on his limbs and skin, as if attempting to dismember him, and the pain reached beyond anything short of the Cruciatus curse. All around him he saw blackness, but he felt flames lapping at his body. He wanted it to end, but on and on they hurtled through nothingness, a minute at least, and just when he felt that he could no longer tolerate the pressures tearing at him, they suddenly landed in a small room. Peter immediately collapsed to the hard wooded floor, writhing in pain.
Voldemort felt the same pain, but he knew that he needed to act instantly upon arrival. But even he could not remain on his feet on the landing. Severus Snape dropped the glass of wine which he had just lifted to his lips, and by the time the glass shattered on the floor, he already had grasped his wand.
"Avada Ke . . . " he yelled, but a quick flick of Voldemort's wand threw Snape against the wall, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. Both wizards took a moment to recover, but only a moment, for they both knew they needed to act before the other.
Snape knew that anything short of the killing curse would be useless against the dark lord. Even in his disabled condition, his magic remained unparalleled, only matched by Albus Dumbledore. A duel equated to suicide. His only hope would be to hit before the dark lord could recover from this unknown method of locating him. He again pointed his wand.
"Avada . . . ." This time he could not even start on the second word of the killing curse, and Snape knew that his end had arrived. From the floor, Voldemort silently delivered an almost instantaneous petrificus totalus, freezing the traitor in mid-spell. Voldemort lowered his head and finally allowed himself to feel the excruciating pain torturing every inch of his body.
Decades earlier, Voldemort devised this means of tracking his followers. He could summon his death eaters to him merely by touching the dark mark of any one of them, and this he did often over the years. However, he also could transport himself to the location of any death eater simply by touching his own dark mark while visualizing him or her. But for reasons he could never determine, excruciating pain resulted each time he attempted it. Ultimately he abandoned the practice, and his current crop of followers knew nothing about this power.
With Snape frozen against the wall, Voldemort took his time in gathering his strength, or what was left of it. Instantly he realized the terrible price he would pay. He could barely stand, and Peter, able to function again despite residual pain, helped the master to his feet. Neither spoke a word.
Finally after another minute, Voldemort whispered a strained order, "Bring me his wand, Wormtail." While Peter stepped towards Snape, Voldemort silently placed an antiapparation ward and silencing spell on the small cabin. Now he could take his time.
"Finite," he whispered, unfreezing Snape, who almost fell. He then stood with his back against the wall, quickly trying to devise a way to kill himself quickly before the dark lord could have his way with him.
"Punch him, Wormtail, in the stomach."
Voldemort knew that Peter hated taking part in torture, a characteristic that Voldemort found both silly and repugnant. He enjoyed forcing Peter to participate.
"Again!" he hissed after Peter's first half-hearted blow to the victim's stomach. Peter punched him harder three more times, and even though he did not pack much of a punch, they did enough damage to cause Snape to bend over in pain.
"How is your Cruciatus Curse, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked with a sneer, anger oozing out of him, "Let's see it."
Peter's arms shook uncontrollably but he dared not disobey lest he be on the receiving end of the curse.
"Cr..., Cr..., CRUCIO," he finally yelled with a cry, and Snape fell to the floor screaming in agony. Peter lifted the curse after five seconds and fell to his knees. Voldemort appeared to be satisfied by this. Snape lay on the wooden floor motionless, breathing in deeply as he tried to recover his senses.
"You are aware of the fate of those who betray me, Severus. Lord Voldemort does not show mercy to traitors. We have many hours ahead of us, and tonight you shall feel my full wrath."
"You are doomed to lose, Tom Riddle," Snape finally spoke with a pained grimace, "Your vengeance will gain you nothing. Dumbledore has outfoxed you again." Severus Snape would never speak another word.
"Sectumsempra," Voldemort said quietly, using Snape's own creation against him. Snape's body and clothes immediately suffered gashes over almost every inch of his body, and his screams forced Peter Pettigrew to cover his ears with his hands. But the screams were music to Voldemort's ears.
"A lovely invention of your, Severus," he finally sneered after lifting the curse, "I am thankful that you taught it to me. Of course, I am partial to some of my own inventions. CLAVITUS!"
Snape lay semi-conscious on the hard floor but with the second spell, he felt like ten-inch spikes were being driven into him, and the screams began again. Just when he appeared to be on the verge of unconsciousness, Voldemort lifted the spell. From years of practice, he knew just how long he could apply a curse.
For three excruciatingly long hours, Peter Pettigrew witnessed the most gruesome torture that Lord Voldemort had ever delivered, causing Peter to vomit more than once. Voldemort appeared to be on the verge of collapse himself, only pure rage allowing him to continue. Finally, after three in the morning, Snape's body could bear the abuse no longer, and he breathed his last.
Voldemort summoned the energy to stand over the corpse while Peter stood off to the side, breathing in deeply and thankful that Snape's suffering had ended. Though he never liked the man, he would not wish what he had just observed on anyone.
"Wormtail," Voldemort finally whispered painfully, "Take his body back and lay it in the sitting room. Let all see what happens to those who betray me."
"Yes, Master," Peter whispered in return. He paced towards the body which no longer bore any resemblance to Severus Snape, disfigured from head to toe by cuts and bruises. Peter did not wish to touch the body anywhere, but finally he lifted Snape's left hand and apparated back to their current hideout, directly into the sitting room.
Several death eaters occupied the room at the time, despite the late hour, and even they felt nauseous at the sight. Peter immediately left the body where it lay and rushed away to his room.
Lord Voldemort remained for another hour in the Swiss cabin, barely able to move. He realized that the price he paid may be much higher than what he first imagined. Already seriously disabled, he knew that he would barely be able to function now. How would he be able to retain the loyalty of his followers? How would he be able to control them with fear if he could barely walk or talk?
This called for drastic action, an action that he feared may be necessary. Now he knew.