Chapter 9
The Dark Lord was seated in a red winged armchair as his Death Eaters entered the room. They were escorting a peculiar man dressed in a black tailored coat with gold embroidery and matching black pants. He had long blond hair and iridescent gold eyes. He was a man in his prime, tall and well-built. The man was ethereally beautiful… and cold-bloodedly dangerous. He held himself with arrogance and confidence, unafraid that he was surrounded by Death Eaters who could kill him with a flick of their wands.
He bowed to the Dark Lord with an air of respect and mockery. The Death Eaters hesitated, unsure if they should act at this subtle insult. But the Dark Lord waved them off and motioned for the man to sit in the armchair across from him.
The man took his seat and the Dark Lord spoke in a soft hiss. "What is your name, stranger? What purpose do you have here?"
The man leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands over one knee. He seemed relax as he smiled and spoke in a very cultured voice. "Call me Redia. And I have taken an interest in your work. It seems quite amusing."
"Amusing, you say. You enjoy killing muggles and Mudbloods?"
"Their lives are worthless so I see no reason for weaklings to exist," he said simply. "I suppose you can call me a free agent of sorts. I work for the highest bidder. But I've taken a special interest in you and your Death Eaters."
"I see. And what could you offer me?" asked the Dark Lord softly.
"You must have heard of the bridge that collapsed earlier this week, correct? A certain train heading for a certain castle usually traverses that bridge this time of year."
"So that was you, Redia. Interesting…" The Dark Lord stroked his giant female snake as he pondered over this news. "So you wish to join my Death Eaters and work for me?"
"No," Redia replied with a smile.
The Dark Lord arched a thin eyebrow. "No? Than what use are you to me?"
"I am offering my service as I am now, a free agent."
"Tell me, Redia. What good will a free agent do me when I will soon have an army of Death Eaters to command?"
"Ah, but that is the catch, isn't it? Until you have assembled your army, your men are few and limited in their movements, correct? Many of your Death Eaters are still behind bars so for the moment this," he waved his hand, "is all you have."
"Are you mocking me, Redia?" asked the Dark Lord in a cold, dangerous voice.
"Of course not, I am merely pointing out your current situation. Now what I am offering is the chance you need to assemble your forces without interference." Redia smiled.
"Continue."
"Well, I'm sure your enemies have already realized that it wasn't your Death Eaters that attacked the bridge. They must be scratching their heads, wondering who did it. Now consider what I offer as a free agent. I have already established myself as a separate entity from you and your Death Eaters. I now have their attention as a second enemy, with unknown motives and no identity. They'll be chasing a phantom enemy and their focus will be divided. I could be the distraction whilst you carry out your plans, undisturbed."
The Dark Lord laughed, amused. "An interesting idea, Redia. And naturally, you must keep your freedom and not wear my Dark Mark, least you be discovered, correct?"
Redia nodded his head courteously. "Naturally."
"Well, I must say this is a highly amusing proposition. You must either be a fool or very brave to come before me and tell me what I should do."
"I have no patience for fools and I consider bravery merely another name for fools with no sense of self-preservation. I came because I thought I could be useful to someone, like yourself, who understands when a world needs purging of the vermin that's infested it," said Redia casually. "So do we have a deal?"
The Dark Lord smiled. "I believe I've taken a liking to you, Redia. You are a sensible man and you know how to make a deal. I must say your offer is quite tempting. I will have to think over this. Wormtail," a small man with mousy features appeared from the shadows, "show our guest to a proper room and accommodate his needs. I will have your answer tomorrow, Redia."
Redia stood and bowed. "Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord."
The Dark Lord waved him off, returning his attention back to the fireplace. Redia could hear soft hissing emitting from the armchair as the Dark Lord spoke with his snake. Redia smiled to himself as he followed the man called Wormtail out of the room. The bait had been taken. The trap was set. Now all he had to do was wait…
Harry flinched and yanked his arm away from Umbridge. He had finally finished his last detention with the horrible woman and was showing her the cuts on the back of his hand when suddenly his scar seared with pain. It was fleeting, followed by a slight fluttering in his stomach.
He eyed Umbridge wearily as she smiled. "It hurts doesn't it?" Harry wasn't sure if she meant his scar or his hand but he bolted out of there as fast as he could. He tried to calm himself down as he made his way back to the common room.
It can't be. It's not what you think… It just can't be –
The portrait door swung open and he collided with someone who had been standing at the entrance.
"Sorry," he muttered as he looked up and found Morgan staring at him in surprise.
"Are you okay?" she asked. She glanced down, noticing Harry's hand, which was wrapped up in a handkerchief with dots of red. "You're bleeding!"
"It's nothing," he said and glanced over her shoulder. There was an uproar as people were celebrating something. "What's going on?"
"You're friend Ron made the Quidditch team. Are you sure you're okay? Because I don't think you should brush off a bleeding hand. It could get infected," she said with worry in her eyes.
"Thanks for your concern but I'm fine." Harry brushed passed her and headed for Ron, who immediately grinned brightly at him.
"Did you hear, mate? I'm made it! I'm Keeper!" he exclaimed with excitement. He was practically jumping up and down with joy.
"That's brilliant, Ron!"
"Hey Ron, come over here and try on Wood's old robes," called Angelina, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Ron hurried over, still grinning, while Harry made his way to Hermione, who was sitting in the corner, knitting hats for the house elves.
"Hey, Harry. I suppose you heard the good news."
"Yeah. Hey listen, I need to tell you something." He quickly relayed everything that had happened tonight with Umbridge. He even showed her his hand, making her gasp in horror.
"That woman is evil!" she exclaimed as Harry hastily rewrapped his hand.
"Yeah , I know. But you don't think maybe Voldemort is possessing her like he did Quirrell, do you?"
"Hmm, but You Know Who only did that because he didn't have a body back then. Now that he has a body, I don't think he can possess anyone. Maybe he's using the Impervious Curse or some other method of controlling her…" Hermione continued her knitting as she pondered over this. "I think you should tell Dumbledore, Harry. He'd want to know."
"No."
"But – "
"Look he doesn't need to be bothered by this. My scar hurt all the time last year. I'll just write to Sirius and see what he thinks."
"You can't put that in writing!" hissed Hermione. "Didn't you hear Moody? We don't know who could be intercepting our mail!"
"I'll be careful. I'm not that thick."
"Harry –"
Suddenly a white box was slammed down on the table in front of them, making both of them jump. They looked up to see Morgan standing with her hands on her hips.
Hermione blinked in surprise. "Er… Hi Morgan –"
"Hand, Potter, now!" She barked and held out her hand for Harry's.
"What are you –?"
She impatiently grabbed Harry's wrist and shoved up the sleeves of his robes. His hand was poorly wrapped in the now blood-soaked handkerchief. Morgan tsked in disgust and quickly unwrapped his hand. Harry tried to pull his hand away to hide the cut but her grip on his wrist was iron-tight. She examined the cut on the back of his right hand. She didn't ask how he got the words 'I must not tell lies' carved into the back of his hand. She just examined the wound closely.
"You're lucky it isn't infected. That cloth is filthy from dried blood." She released his hand and opened the white box that Harry realized was a first-aid kit muggles used. She rummaged through the contents and pulled out two bottles and some bandages. "Give me your hand again, Potter," she ordered, kneeling down by his chair.
Harry reluctantly obeyed and flinched as she applied alcohol to the cut, disinfecting the wound. Then she opened the second bottle and applied an orange paste that smelled like a mixture of herbs and oranges. The paste was cool to the feel and soothed his hand. Finally, Morgan carefully wrapped his hand, asking every now and then if it was too tight or too loose.
"There, all done. You should keep that away from water for a day. And I suggest you don't overuse your hand tomorrow. The wound should close up by Sunday," said Morgan as she packed away her things.
"Er, thanks, Morgan."
Morgan nodded. "Well, good night."
"Good night," chimed Harry and Hermione as she left, heading up the stairs to the girls dormitory.
Harry gazed at his neatly bandaged hand in slight wonder.
"That was really nice of her," commented Hermione as she continued knitting the elf hat.
"She seems to have a split personality," said Harry. "On the Hogwarts Express she was down-right cold to me and even yelled at me. But then she suddenly comes and treats my hand… I just don't get her."
"Maybe she was sincerely worried about you?" suggested Hermione. "She's actually quite nice, you know. She even helps Neville in Potions so Snape doesn't bully him as much. I think she's just quiet, that's all."
Harry shrugged. "I think I'll go to bed too. Good night, Hermione."
"Good night, Harry."
Morgan appeared out of the shadows in Dumbledore's office an hour past midnight, dressed in her blue night gown, matching bathrobe, and an irritated scowl on her face. She did not appreciate these late night meetings, especially after such a long, grueling week.
"Professor Dumbledore, there had better be a good reason I had to get out of bed to come here in the middle of the night," she grumbled.
"I am sorry, Morgan, for disturbing your sleep. I heard you were hard pressed this week with your studies," said Dumbledore gently, his eyes warm with sympathy. "I simply wished to hear what you have noted about Harry."
Morgan shrugged. "He has a temper and it's always close to exploding. He already landed himself in detention with that Umbridge woman."
"Professor Umbridge," corrected Dumbledore.
Morgan rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you know this, but today his scar hurt. It wasn't as intense as the one during the Welcoming Feast. Potter was worried it had something to do with Umbridge."
"He confided this to you?" asked Dumbledore.
"No, sir. I was listening in on his thoughts. We're not exactly on speaking terms."
"Hmm, it do doubt that Harry's scar hurting has anything to do with Dolores Umbridge. It is probably a coincidence. His scar is a link to the Dark Lord's emotions. When the Dark Lord feels a strong emotion, Harry's scar will start to hurt." Dumbledore paused and scratched his beard, thinking. "You said that you placed a wall on the link between Voldemort and Harry, correct?"
Morgan nodded. "I suspect my wall is dampening the effects of their link. I estimate it'll be another two days before the walls start deteriorating."
"If it is not too much trouble, could I ask you to continue renewing those walls?" asked Dumbledore, sounding weary with exhaustion for once. Morgan suspected the Order was already giving him enough stress so she might as well help relieve some of his worries.
"No problem."
"Thank you, Morgan. You are dismissed."
Morgan nodded and sank into the floor, returning to her room.
She climbed back into bed but soon sat up again. "Well, I might as well do it now when everyone's asleep," she muttered. Morgan phased into her shadow and reappeared at the foot of Harry's bed. She glanced at his bandaged arm, glad to see that it hadn't come undone.
She placed her hand gently on the boy's forehead and entered his mind. She checked her walls and reinforced them, but just as she was about to pull out, her mind fell into Harry's dream.
They were travelling down a long, dark corridor and they were running faster and faster as they approached the end. A door came into view and excitement drove them to reach out and open it. But just as their hand closed around the doorknob, the dream ended and Harry woke up.
They both gasped in unison and Morgan dived under Harry's bed as he quickly reached for his glasses. "Who's there?"
Morgan mentally cursed herself for accidentally falling into his dream. She must have spent half the night by his bed, dreaming alongside him. That was a very stupid mistake on her part, she mentally scolded herself. She heard Harry climb off the bed and she saw his knees appear by her head. Just before Harry's head appeared, Morgan phased into the shadows and reappeared back in her bed, panting.
Damn that was too close!
She was covered in cold sweat. She sat up and checked the clock at her bedside. It was almost six in the morning. Morgan groaned and pulled the covers over her. A perfectly good night of sleep… wasted! She rolled over and after a half hour of lying there, she finally fell asleep.