Chapter 25
Don't Change Anything
"I believe that you are correct, Harry," Albus Dumbledore stated after listening to Harry's tale of the encounter with Nagini and the horcrux, "I believe that Voldemort miscalculated severely."
"Exactly, Professor," Harry agreed, sipping on pumpkin juice provided by Winky, "The horcrux basically just died on its own. I didn't have to do anything to it, or hardly anything. He never should have used a living creature as a horcrux."
Winky had provided the two wizards a simple but tasty lunch, and now busied herself in the kitchen and elsewhere in the small flat before returning to Hogwarts in a few minutes. Dumbledore insisted that her time in the flat be as limited as possible in order not to cause questions at the castle. Harry noted that Winky appeared to be a different elf to the butterbeer-dependent wreck that she had become following the grant of her freedom by Mr. Crouch. As much as he hated to admit it (and he had no intention of ever mentioning it to Hermione), slavery agreed with her.
Two days had passed since the events at the Ministry, and Harry finally convinced himself that the horcrux truly had been destroyed. Or perhaps self-destructed. He recalled his conversations with Ron and Hermione, her shoulder now healed, where they painstakingly reviewed every detail. Ron thought that Harry must have subconsciously attacked the horcrux while he slept, but Harry could not be sure. He recalled the conversation with Voldemort, but for reasons he could not explain, he decided not to inform his friends. That was personal, something between Voldemort and him, and Harry wanted no interference. Finally, the three friends convinced themselves that one way or the other, the horcrux no longer existed.
"Voldemort made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first time. Making a living creature a horcrux was stupid, plain and simple," he concluded. Somehow knowing that Voldemort could commit such a basic blunder gave the three hope. A chink in the armor.
"Yes," the Professor hummed in his leather armchair, deep in thought as he stroked his snow-white goatee. Winky provided her master with a mug of what Harry thought must be mead. "Arrogance, Harry. Pure arrogance. That has always been one of Tom's greatest weaknesses. We must keep that in mind; it may be of great use to you in the future."
Harry did inform his mentor about the conversation with Voldemort, for he knew that Dumbledore would not repeat it to anyone. He was a dead man, after all, to everyone but Harry. Dumbledore smiled his approval at the repartee between the two, Harry giving as good as he got.
"I can assure you, Harry, that Voldemort is more worried now than he has ever felt. You have taken one of his most precious possessions by killing the serpent. You have shown that he can no longer enter your mind at will. But you now must take special care, for Voldemort may soon become desperate. Do not underestimate his power or his willingness to cause unlimited damage in his quest for ultimate power. We have already seen evidence of that these past days."
Indeed, Harry and the others soon learned why Voldemort and many of his death eaters had been absent when Harry killed Nagini. The Daily Prophet managed to print an edition, which lately occurred erratically three or four times per week, detailing at least some of the horrors caused by Voldemort and his followers. More than a dozen targets had been struck throughout the country, an offer of proof by the dark lord of his ability to strike anywhere at any time. The locations of the attacks had been well planned, spread out more or less evenly so that the dark mark could be viewed by at least three-fourths of the wizarding population. Most distressingly, more than a dozen people died, including a ten year old girl, who would have entered Hogwarts next year.
Harry refused to allow his spirits to sink too much at the news.. Remus Lupin gave a pep talk to Harry and the others after the news came out.
"There are losses in every war, and this is no exception. We must also focus on the positive. The Order is reforming. It prevented attacks on three locations. A pair of death eaters was killed and three captured. They are being interrogated right now, though I doubt they have any important information. Harry has also indicated that he has made progress in his task. We must not lose our nerve!"
Dumbledore nodded in agreement as Harry recounted the werewolf's words.
"I am glad the Order is having some effect, but it is far too little, and there are far too few to serve as a true opposition. You are the key, Harry; let us be plain about it. In the past I have tried to deflect the burden that is upon you, but we are late in the game now." The old man stared intently at the young wizard and moved on, "What is your next plan?"
"We have eliminated five horcruxes, sir: The diary, the ring, the cup, the locket, and Nagini. If we are right, there should be one more. My only thought is to try to retrieve the memory from Voldemort himself, through this." Harry pointed at his zigzag scar. "I'd rather not, to tell the truth, but I don't know what else we can do."
Professor Dumbledore gripped his cane and began pacing the living room of his small flat, slowly shaking his head. Winky shot out of the kitchen, worry etched on her face, but the old man waved his hand at the elf, wordlessly instructing her to return to her tasks.
"We are missing something, Harry," he muttered, "I am sure of it."
Harry searched his memory, looking for any loose end, any overlooked tidbit. Suddenly, he recalled something that had gnawed at him off and on for months.
"Professor, remember your memory of Tom Riddle on Knockturn Alley?"
"Yes, vividly. There is something about that incident that has bothered me since I first relived it in the pensieve a few years ago. I had not shown it to you before, as I thought it would only confuse you, but you are right to focus on it."
"It seemed to me that it happened not long after the memory at the old lady's house. What was her name? Hipsabah?"
"Hepzibah Smith. Yes, I determined as best I could, though I was unable to determine the date of the Hepzibah Smith memory exactly, that the incident recounted by my memory must have occurred within two months, no more than three."
"He had murdered again during that time. In fact, I think that he had just committed murder again," Harry declared, startling himself, for he had not completely understood his unease before. He hopped to his feet and continued, excitement in his voice, "I think he had just committed the murder, Professor. I can't explain why. Somehow I just know. He had something in his hand, do you remember? Could that have been a horcrux?" Dumbledore closed his eyes, trying to review his memory the old-fashioned way.
"Logic would say that the probability that Tom Riddle had just created a horcrux moments before I happened to bump into him is extremely low. However, logic does not control all aspects of life. I am convinced that there are times when we are meant to know something. The chance I would run into Tom at all that day was extremely low, for as I recall, I had no intention to visit Knockturn Alley. Professor Rumpole planned to go, but he took ill; I agreed to perform the task in his stead. Yes, Harry, I do have the feeling that I was meant to meet Tom Riddle that day. That is why I have puzzled over that memory more than all the others combined."
"And the vampire," Harry recalled, running his fingers through his hair, "I forgot his name, but he had a terribly guilty look on his face. Of course vampires always sort of look like that, but he acted extremely nervous . . . kept looking back."
"Correct. His name was Cassius Mortenson, a particularly unpleasant man, even before becoming a vampire. Yes, I also puzzled over his demeanor that day." Dumbledore wished he had the pensieve at hand. Harry wished he had brought it with him, and considered going back to Grimmauld Place to retrieve it. After all it would only take a few minutes. But a thought occurred to him for the first time.
"This Cassius would still be alive, right. I mean, he's a vampire. They live practically forever, unless they are killed in the correct way."
Dumbledore searched his memory, "As far as I know he is living and is somewhere in Britain. You are thinking of questioning him, correct?"
"Sure," replied Harry, looking almost eye to eye with the taller man, hunched-over by his infirmities, "If he was involved in the murder, and something tells me he was, his information could be exactly what we need. Then I wouldn't have to try digging it out of Voldemort's head."
"I think I am feeling well enough for a bit of adventure," Dumbledore remarked with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. The cogs in his brain turned at full speed. "Yes, I think a bit of adventure may be just what we need. In fact, I think it would be best if you accompanied me, Harry. About time you experienced some of the darker side of the wizarding world."
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Arrangements had been made. Harry returned to his home that afternoon and sat down in his bedroom with Ron and Hermione. Passing by the room Hermione shared with Ginny, he realized that he had barely seen or spoken to Ginny since the Weasleys had arrived. Instantly he felt a wave of guilt pass through him. He had not been a good host to the Weasleys and to Ginny in particular. She must really hate him now.
The nearly omniscient Hermione sensed Harry's discomfort.
"She's been OK, Harry. We've been talking quite a lot. She doesn't want you to worry about her."
"I haven't seen her around much," Harry commented, thankful that Hermione knew how to broach the subject, "What has she been doing?"
"Well, you haven't been around much yourself, you know. She's been here part of the time, and part of the time she's been in the shop with Fred and George." She saw worry line Harry's face at the thought of Ginny spending time in such a dangerous public area, so she tried to assure him, "The twins say they have placed special wards of their own making on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and that she's as safe there as anywhere. She's doing work in the back workshop where it's completely protected, according to them."
"Hermione's right. Ginny's been fine, mate. No worries there," Ron interjected, standing close to Hermione. His arm left his side for a moment as if about to seek her hand, but immediately he retracted it.
Harry felt only slightly better about Ginny, but he could not afford to be distracted. He had promised Dumbledore that he would return by 9:00 pm.
"Thanks for letting me know, Hermione. Please apologize for me. I'll try to find time to talk to her, but not now. You need to help me. We may have a lead for the last horcrux, and I'm going with the person that I've been seeing to try to find someone. It would be best if I disguise myself, just in case somebody might notice me. Remember we talked about it after that mess at Diagon Alley back in August. I especially need to cover my scar."
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other nervously but remained silent. Harry had been so focused on finding Cassius Mortenson and hopefully the final horcrux that it never occurred to him that he might meet resistance from his friends.
"This sounds dangerous, Harry," Hermione warned cautiously, "Have you really thought this through?"
"OF COURSE it's dangerous," Harry retorted incredulously, jaw dropping, "EVERYTHING is dangerous now. We can't go out the door without putting our lives at risk. But this isn't one fourth as dangerous as what we did the other day." He looked at his friends severely, and they looked at their feet, hurt by his chastisement. Harry did not feel especially sorry, but he tried to be conciliatory. "Look, I'm trying to do things as safely as I can. The alternative to what I'm going to do is to enter Voldemort's mind though this bloody scar of mine. I'm not especially anxious to do that, if you know what I mean. But we HAVE to find the final horcrux, and this just MIGHT work." The aura he emitted let his friends know that further discussion of the matter would not be welcomed.
"We're just worried, Harry," Hermione defended Ron and herself, "but we'll help you. You know we'll do whatever we can. Just be as careful as you can be." Ron nodded his agreement.
Harry thanked them, and Hermione ran off to find her makeup kit and rushed back to Harry's room in a minute.
"While we were at school, I had my mum send me some extra thick foundation creams. We need something really thick to cover your scar. It's so rough; regular make up won't do much." And thus Hermione went to work, lecturing the boys on the finer points of applying makeup, which the two young males found especially uninteresting. They knew better than to interrupt, however.
After nearly an hour of work, Harry inspected himself in the mirror. With her wand, Hermione had slightly shortened Harry's hair, and after initially turning it a bright pink, they settled on blond. She transfigured the wire rims to Harry's glasses to be darker and thicker. After carefully and lovingly applying the foundation and other touches that Harry did not understand, he almost did not recognize himself.
"That looks great, Hermione. Maybe I should keep it this way."
Hermione smiled proudly at the compliment. She had thoroughly enjoyed the process of applying the makeup, going out of her way to caress the skin on Harry's face often, as well as running her fingers through his hair when deciding how short to make it. Harry noticed that Ron looked more than a bit put out by the whole process, and Harry half wished that she would get it over with. The other half did not complain, however, especially given the form-fitting sweater and jeans his female friend displayed, of which Harry had a fabulous view.
As Harry prepared to leave, Ron and Hermione's jokes about Harry's "make-over" ceased, and a nervous tension resulted. Hermione especially fretted, biting her lip over and over again. She had a bad feeling.
"Are you really sure about this?" she asked hesitantly, staring deep into his green eyes, perhaps trying to glean information that her friend might be unwilling to disclose verbally.
More than ever, Harry wanted to tell them about the mysterious stranger that he met with so often. The words reached the tip of his tongue, Dumbledore is alive, but he did not speak them.
"I'm sure, Hermione. I'll be careful. Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow or the next day." The three friends embraced. Every time they parted, the thought inevitably surfaced in the back of their minds: Would this be the last time?
As Harry proceeded down the stairs and past the sitting room, he heard the crackling of the fire, indicating someone coming through the floo. Pausing to check, he jumped slightly as he saw Ginny step gracefully out of the fireplace. A gasp escaped Harry's lips. If Hermione's clothing had been form-fitting, Ginny's must have been applied with glue. How can they get into those clothes? Harry thought to himself, a question only, most certainly not a complaint. Ginny noticed Harry, so he stepped into the sitting room as he heard Ginny's gasp.
"Is that you, Harry?" she asked, "What have you done to yourself?" She recognized Harry's clothing, his best dark jeans and long-sleeve shirt, and his manner of walking, but otherwise would not have known him.
Harry smiled broadly at his former girlfriend's shock, and briefly explained, "I have to meet someone later, and I don't want to be recognized."
Ginny knew Harry too well to accept his statement at face value, and her expression turned from bemused shock to wary disbelief. Harry on the other hand could not stop staring at her. She surely did not dress like THAT at Hogwarts.
Why are these girls doing this to me? he wondered jokingly, don't they know I have enough on my mind?
"I'm sorry I haven't seen you lately, Ginny," Harry apologized, "I've been really busy."
"I know, Harry," the redhead responded, shaking her hair in that way of hers. Harry's stomach fluttered. "I've been busy too. Helping the twins in the back room, though there isn't as much to do now. Business is way down. Actually, there is no business. Nobody came in the shop today." Whether she meant to or not, every movement she made distracted Harry from her words, which he only half heard.
"Oh," he muttered, trying to remember what she had just said. Something about bad business at the shop. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you OK? How've you been?"
"Yes, Harry, I'm fine. I know you have a lot to do right now. Don't worry about me, OK."
"I'll try," Harry asserted as he smiled. Ginny shook her head looking at the strange appearance of her friend. "What do you think?" Harry asked, raising his arms and giving a half turn, "Do you think I should keep it this way?" referring to his altered hair and appearance.
"Not a chance, Harry. I like you the way you really are. Don't change anything!"
They smiled at each other again, and Harry felt loath to leave, but he knew Dumbledore expected him soon.
"I have to go, Ginny. Maybe we can talk a bit in a day or two."
"I hope so, Harry. Good luck with whatever you're doing." She continued to smile, but could not hide the worry in her eyes.
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"My name is Alfred Woods, Harry. Understand?" Harry nodded his understanding to Professor Dumbledore's instructions. The old man stood straighter than he had since Harry first saw him in October, and he wore a fine muggle suit, grey pinstripes with a dark red tie.
Switching to an excellent American accent of the New England dialect, Dumbledore continued, "I am an elderly wizard from the Boston area here on business of a private nature. In the circles we will be traveling, they will not inquire further. If nothing else, they are discreet. As I am not familiar with Great Britain, and given the normal infirmities of old age, you are traveling with me as my guide and assistant. What name would you like to use?"
Harry considered his options. It would be nice to use "James," his father's name, or perhaps "Sirius" after his godfather, but of course the whole idea here was to disguise his identity. He had always been fond of the name "Daniel," the name of one of his few muggle friends as a young child, until his family moved away. Whatever happened to him? Harry wondered, not having thought of his long lost friend for many years.
"Daniel," he decided, and then settling on a surname added, "Wilson. Daniel Wilson. Am I supposed to be related to you?"
"The grandson of a friend, I believe. That should do for our purposes," Dumbledore stated as he held the door of his flat open for Harry to pass through. Harry however motioned the older man to proceed first, and reaching around, held the door open. Soon the two walked down the street outside Dumbledore's building.
"Why aren't we apparating, Professor?" Harry asked.
"Because our first stop is only a few blocks away." In fact barely a minute passed from that moment until the professor turned abruptly into a small Chinese restaurant, a confused young wizard on his heels. Only a few diners remained at the late hour, but Dumbledore showed no intention of claiming a table. Instead he walked straight to the kitchen and there acknowledged a man whom Harry assumed to be the owner. Harry would have expected a short Chinese man, but instead found a tall Englishman, perhaps sixty years of age, lean and with sandy hair slightly greying. He appeared to be a "hands-on" owner, as he wore a full-length white apron, stained by remnants of the evening's offerings.
The unnamed man tilted his head towards a side door. Harry determined that Dumbledore and the man had already spoken, for they appeared to have an understanding. The professor led the way, opening the door and entering a small, cluttered office. Another door appeared to the right.
Pulling his wand out of his coat pocket, Dumbledore softly spoke, "Alohomora." After the door clicked, they entered a storage room containing stacks of boxes and supplies. Harry felt thoroughly confused now, but he trusted that Dumbledore knew where to go. Moving through the aisle formed by the stacks of supplies, they suddenly emerged into an open area, in which he saw a cheap round plastic table with four white plastic chairs surrounding it. A man already sat in one of the chairs, clearly a vampire.
"You must be Alfred Woods," he droned while standing and bowing slightly.
"And you must be Zachary Thompson," Dumbledore responded in his New England accent. Though no expert on American accents, Dumbledore surely could have fooled Harry. Thompson again nodded and waved his hand at the flimsy chairs. The three sat down, Harry seated across from the vampire, as he felt it more proper that "Mr. Woods" should sit closer.
Dumbledore glanced at Harry and explained dismissively, "This is Daniel Wilson. He is helping an old man get around this unfamiliar country."
Harry had no idea how this meeting had been arranged by the professor, and he had no chance to ask. Thompson had the appearance of a man in his thirties, though Harry knew that he could be decades older, for vampires aged extremely slowly. He had closely cropped blond hair, neatly combed so that not a hair fell out of place. Harry self-consciously thought about his own messy hair until he realized that at its shorter length, it did not appear especially tussled. The vampire dressed impeccably, a typical trait of vampires, in a blue suit, deep red tie, and spit-polished black shoes. Given the formal dress of the two men, Harry felt woefully underdressed, though he had put on his best black jeans and dark blue long-sleeve shirt.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Thompson," Dumbledore continued, his accent not wavering, "I am pleased that my information was sufficiently satisfactory to convince you to meet with me."
"Suffice it to say that I owed Albus Dumbledore a debt. If he provided you with my name, then I must assume that he wished for me to meet with you and to be of assistance to the extent of my abilities," Thompson replied in the typically silky voice of vampires. It made Harry's skin crawl.
"Yes, well I last spoke with Dumbledore, a close friend of mine for more than one hundred years, several months prior to his unfortunate passing, and I was unsure whether his name would still exert the same attraction as in years past." Harry enjoyed the elegant wordplay of the two well-educated men.
Thompson's face remained impassive, another trait of his species, as he concluded, "Dead or alive, a debt must be repaid, Mr. Woods."
"Well stated. I will come straight to the point. As you can see, my days on this earth are numbered, and there are certain, shall we say, loose ends which I desire to tie prior to my departure. These matters are and shall remain private; however, I can assure you that they in no way involve any manner of retribution or physical violence. In short, I need information in order to be able to right certain wrongs."
"My dealings with Dumbledore occurred many years ago, Mr. Woods, so I do not know if I can be of assistance to you, but I will most certainly provide you with whatever information I may possess."
Harry had little first-hand knowledge of vampires, though he did briefly meet one at one of Professor Slughorn's parties. From his classes, he knew vampires tended towards vanity, lacked emotional range, and were considered dark in nature. But as Professor Lupin taught them in third year, this told only part of the story. Just as with humans, vampires could be good or bad, and wizards had simple-mindedly labeled vampires as "dark." While they could be deceptive, in Lupin's opinion they were probably less so than humans. In reality, they tended to be direct and honest, but oftentimes wizards did not welcome their honestly.
Harry admired Dumbledore's acting skills, as the old man remained "in character" as Mr. Woods.
In his perfect New England accent, he explained, "I do not expect you to have any direct information of interest to me, Mr. Thompson. My only request is that you arrange for a meeting between a person of your nature and me." Harry knew that vampires disliked being called vampires, and polite wizards used euphemisms in referring to the species.
"Who is this person?"
"His name is Cassius. Cassius Mortenson. Albus assured me that you would know his whereabouts." The vampire's dark eyes betrayed his surprise for an instant, but then returned to their laconic nature.
"In fact I do know Mr. Mortenson, though I most certainly would not include him in a list of my friends. He is not the kind of individual that most wizards desire to meet."
"I am well aware of his nature, Mr. Thompson, and I thank you for your concern. However, I am quite able to defend myself, and in any event, I doubt that Mr. Mortenson would desire to harm me."
The vampire felt wary and displeased, of that Harry could be sure. Nevertheless, he agreed to contact Cassius immediately to see if a meeting could be arranged that evening. Apparently Thompson knew Cassius' location, for he did not indicate any anticipated difficulty in locating him. The vampire stood and briefly nodded at the seated pair, and in a moment he walked out the door.
"Well, Daniel," opined Dumbledore, still in character in case Thompson may unexpectedly return, "that went about as well as could be hoped. The question now is whether Cassius will agree to see us, and where."
"Prof. . . , uh, Mr. Woods, what did Professor Dumbledore do that Mr. Thompson seems to feel such a debt. I don't see where it is doing him any good trying to help us."
"That is a long story for another day, but from what I know, which is quite a lot, (Dumbledore winked at Harry), Dumbledore helped Thompson out of a bit of a jam many years ago, and in return extracted certain promises from him. Those promises hopefully will serve our benefit today."
Harry nervously stood and paced around the open area of the storage room. Taking a look around, he saw a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, and a coffee maker. This must be the break area, he thought. What would it be like to have a normal job, he wondered, working eight hours per day, two ten minute breaks and half an hour for lunch? Somehow he knew that never would he live such a life.
Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, Harry asked, "Do you think Cassius could be dangerous, sir?"
"Is he dangerous? Without a doubt. However, I do not believe that we have anything to fear from him. My concern lies with the surroundings of our visit, for I do believe that he will agree to see us but at a place of his choosing. We have no option but to agree."
In fact, the professor's prediction was right on the money, as Mr. Thompson returned within half an hour with the news.
"Mr. Mortenson has informed me that he can see you tonight, but as he has a number of other pressing engagements, the meeting must be held at his business establishment, The Blood Pub. I can provide you with directions if that should be necessary."