Chapter 51
WHEELS
Still standing in the middle of the enchanted garden, something caught Harry's eye. His jaw dropped. To his left—as large as the entrance to Hogwarts—the door to the final chamber stood open. It had been there all along, but he'd been too dispirited to notice. On top of a tall pedestal, the Muggle girl stood tied to a stake. Against the base of the pedestal leaned a broom.
And Wilhelm was nowhere in sight.
You'll lose, Snape's voice whispered in his mind.
Have faith! Harry parroted back.
Eh? Hermione asked.
Not now, he answered as he splashed into the brook, sprinted across some pansies, and raced through the doorway. As he entered, Wilhelm appeared in the opposite doorway—a couple of yards closer than him to the broom.
Without slowing his pace, Harry reached into his Lockit Pocket and pulled out the Bogschwarz peanut tin. He unscrewed the lid, aimed the contents at Wilhelm, then let the spring-loaded, cloth snake fly. When the Muggle prank was midway to its mark, he pointed and shouted, "Serpenvertia!"
Just as Wilhelm's hand touched the broom, the boa hit his shoulder, then coiled around his arm. The broom fell over at his feet.
Too bad the snake's not a cobra, Harry thought, sucking on his inflamed finger.
Harry! I know we want to beat Slytherin, but don't you think a poisonous snake would have been going a bit too far?
Harry ignored Hermione's comment and dove for the broom.
As he did, Wilhelm pointed his wand with his free hand and screamed, "Tarantallegra!
Harry was seized with an uncontrollable urge to dance. From the disembodied laughter he heard wafting down from wherever the Death Eaters were watching, Harry figured the dancing spell didn't qualify as incapacitating according to Voldemort's interpretation of his rules.
If shimmying around like an idiot wasn't bad enough, Harry's head suddenly exploded with Hermione's words. What am I doing, Mummy? Oh, nothing. I—of course I'm coming down to say goodbye to Grandmother. I am too a good daughter. No. I don't love this blasted cat more than— Yes, I—yes. Straight away.
Abruptly, Hermione was gone from Harry's mind. He realized she must have stopped tickling Crookshanks. Buck up, he told himself. I'm nearly there.
Harry saw Wilhelm hurl the snake away and grab the broom. Using a dance move to twist his arm inside his robes, Harry finally managed to retrieve his last Muggle prank: simulated puke. Flinging it at Wilhelm, he improvised a spell: "Vomitvertia!"
Midair, the plastic transformed into a disgusting slop. It splattered across his opponent's face. In the next instant, Harry was free from the dancing spell.
Furiously, Wilhelm's right hand scraped puke out of his eyes—but his other held fast to the broom.
Harry hesitated, racking his mind for the best incantation to wrestle away the one and only means available for sailing up and rescuing the Muggle girl.
Then he remembered: I don't need a broom. I can fly without one!
"Cho, you're the best!" he said aloud.
Again, he wouldn't be going it alone. Breathe deeply, Cho's remembered words sang in his mind. Open your thoughts, and follow me.
He crouched like a runner, took three long, quick strides, then bounded clean over the top of Wilhelm's head. The gasps, groans, and howls from above let him know the Death Eaters were aghast at his unexpected triumph.
When he landed on the pedestal, the hostage shrieked. Grasping her shoulders, he looked straight into her terror-stricken eyes. "Remember me? I'm Harry. I'm here to save you."
But before he could start unraveling the magical knot that bound her, an Imperius Curse bound him. Not again. As the unseen force hoisted him, he whispered, "I'll be back." The Dark Lord might drag out his obligation to release the girl, but even he wouldn't renege on a wager. In the world of witchcraft and wizardry, that just wasn't done.
Swinging through the air like a fish on a hook, Harry caught sight of Wilhelm being hauled up from the bottom of the vat as well. Then the spell ended, dumping them both on the catwalk in front of the assembled Death Eaters and the captive Ariel Daine. Ouch. Despite the bump, he felt great. Whoever touches the Muggle first wins.
For the moment, Harry had the use of his arms and legs—though the odds against escaping the twelve Death Eaters and the wannabe kept him from trying to take advantage of it. Professor Daine remained in the stiff pose of someone under an Imperius Curse, but she managed to give him a wink.
Gazing down at his beaten acolyte, Voldemort began to tsk. "Wilhelm, Wilhelm, Wilhelm. I regret to say that your showing tonight has been a disappointment. If the new order were dependent on such performances to achieve its goals, its future would be sorry indeed."
"But, my Lord, my son was ahead of that disgusting hooligan most of the way. Only at the end, when that revolting—"
"Silence!"
Avery Senior bit his lip. Wilhelm hung his head.
"I badly need a thirteenth Death Eater, yet your failure raises qualms. If you can be bested by a dabbler in the wing-it-as-you-go-along school of magic, then I have to wonder whether you're truly worthy of representing the ideals of discipline and control that are the foundation of the Ceremony of the Dark Mark."
Voldemort spread out his hands, addressing all of his followers with his sermon. "That which is magical holds dominion over that which is not. This precept is the cornerstone of our Death Eater creed. The rite of blood is necessary to affirm it. Without a Muggle to offer a dying breath, the ceremony cannot take place. In our little contest tonight, Potter has won the creature's freedom fair and square."
Harry felt jubilant. He had done it. Against all odds, he had saved the day. And hopefully he'd bought Snape and whatever wheels he'd set in motion the time they needed, too. Any minute now, help would arrive to save him and Professor Daine.
Then a smug smile spread across Voldemort's rosy-cheeked façade. With an air of benevolence, he leaned down and offered his hand. Harry frowned as the Dark Lord helped Wilhelm to his feet. The villain passed his fingers over his would-be disciple's head. When he lowered them again, the face was clean of vomit, and the brown hair was once again groomed.
"But there is one article of our doctrine, dear boy, that salvages your prospects of becoming the thirteenth member of our inner circle tonight—and it is an essential one to remember: when dealing with those outside our circle, Death Eaters do not have to play fair."
Harry sprang to his feet. "No! Everyone knows there's nothing lower than going back on a bet."
Voldemort didn't bother using magic. Instead, he smacked Harry's face so hard that he stumbled backwards and struck the catwalk's railing.
"I'm not everyone!"
As if on cue, disembodied chimes began tolling off the hours. Midnight. A sick feeling gripped Harry's stomach. His triumph over Wilhelm had not delayed the Ceremony of the Dark Mark at all.
Voldemort lifted his arms, spreading his black mantle like a crow's wings. When he did, the factory's lights winked out. The only light left was a spectral glow emanating from the faces of the twelve Death Eaters. With a snap of his wrist, the Dark Lord sent a spurt of the same unearthly green luminosity swirling over Harry's head. He shrank from the poisonous miasma.
"Imperio!" Voldemort shrieked, pointing his wand first at Harry, then at the vat behind him.
Locked once more by the Death Eater curse, Harry watched helplessly as the Muggle drifted over his head to alight on the catwalk at the center of the semi-circle of evil magicians.
"Cruciatus!"
This time Voldemort's spell centered on the girl alone, but the agony that started in her throat as a gurgle, then welled up into a heartrending scream, tortured Harry as well. Where was their rescue? Where were Snape and Dumbledore and whoever from the old crowd were best equipped to stop these vile rites?
In unison, the wicked coven and their eager apprentice began droning in a tongue Harry didn't understand. Their pounding words set up a vibration he could feel in the catwalk. With measured steps, Wilhelm started circling the writhing girl. Obviously, he'd been taught the ritual in advance and had full foreknowledge of the sacrifice to come. Once, twice, thrice he marched around her as the intoning rose to a crescendo.
Again, Voldemort raised his wand. He inscribed a circle in the air, and the unwholesome radiance coalesced into what looked like a giant green scimitar.
"Avada—" he began.
Then, out of nowhere, a bolt of electricity crackled over the Muggle's head. The ethereal blade was gone. Wilhelm stumbled from his course and into his father. Some of the Death Eaters stopped chanting abruptly. The rest trailed off into mumbling.
"I've come just in time." The familiar voice was soft and cool, as if Snape had intruded upon Voldemort's tea party, not his murder scene.
Hope leapt up in Harry at the sight of his uncle who had unexpectedly Apparated between Voldemort and the young girl. Then bewilderment dampened it. Why had Snape come alone? And why weren't the Death Eaters attacking him? Avery the Elder and Avery the Younger both glowered at his intrusion, but Malfoy nodded in greeting.
Voldemort sighed, then wiggled his wand, turning on the factory lights. "I've been looking forward to your arrival, Severus, but I do deplore your choice of entrance."
"On the contrary. A minute later, and you would have consigned yourself to an unfortunate mistake: patching the hole in your coven with a whelp instead of reinstating the wolf."
"Who said anything about you rejoining?" Willimar Avery snorted. "We've been meeting regularly for nearly a year, and now you show up? How come you never came before? Didn't get the call? Dark Mark on the fritz?"
Instead of snapping at his follower, Voldemort looked amused.
Willimar harrumphed. "The only reason you've come back now is that my Wilhelm snatched your bit of snatch! Right from under your big, fat, ludicrous nose."
Snape ignored his ex-chum's rant
Willimar jutted out his jaw. "Granted, you were a Death Eater. But now you're just a schoolmaster—useful to bang the drum for good old Slytherin, win the house cup, rah, rah, and all that, but otherwise, you're yesterday's Daily Prophet, fit for lining my owl's cage, nothing more. What can you possibly do for us now?"
Voldemort cocked his head. "A touch ungracious, but the question is apropos. "
The Potions master stared steadily into the Dark Lord's eyes. "I can do what Avery's spawn failed to do: kill Dumbledore. The wheels have been set in motion."
Wheels? Harry gasped as if the catwalk had vanished and he were plummeting back into the abyss. Kill Dumbledore? How could Professor Snape say such a thing? After all the clarifications and interpretations and illuminations Harry had gone through—after he'd been convinced beyond all shadow of a doubt that his bad tempered uncle was really a noble, misunderstood man—how could it come back to this?
No! he tried to shout, but the Imperius Curse strangled it in his throat.
Just when Harry thought his horror couldn't be any more complete, he caught sight of Ariel Daine.
She was smiling.