Chapter 48: Into each life, some rain must fall!

For disclaimer and author notes please see chapter 1. AN: I'm not sure if I should call some of this "adult language" or "juvenile language", though, within the story line, it is not actually meant to be either. You'll see... :)

1991-09-01 18:30 UTC, the Great Hall, Hogwarts

Harry and Hermione, who had already heard the entire story from Hobby, turned to each other in shock. The consensus among the adults had been that he would not try this in this timeline, and if he so much as hinted to the Flamels that he wanted to borrow their stone, both Harry and Hermione would be pulled out of Hogwarts immediately. Sirius had no qualms about putting them into Beauxbatons. Learning a second language was supposed to be good for the brain anyway so that would be an opportunity, not a problem.

"What's happening, do you think?" asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged. "We don't know enough to guess. Hobby will figure it out and come and tell us anyway, so until then we just sit tight, I guess".

"True. Still, I wonder what he placed there?"

However, they were unable to keep up their quiet discussion, since the people next to them, on either side, also seemed to want their attention.

"Are you really the Boy-Who-Lived?" said a male voice with a distinctly Irish accent from the other side of Harry. Harry turned to answer the question.

"Yes, though I don't like the title at all", said Harry.

"Why not? You're famous!" said Ron, sitting across the table from Hermione. He had just nodded politely at them when he had come to the table after being sorted - after all he had been their guest for one evening - but on the whole he seemed a lot more stand-offish than either Harry or Hermione would have predicted, given what Hobby told them of their relationship in his timeline.

Harry waited a few beats. Slowly, people realised something was going to happen and conversations died down around the table.

"Why don't I like the title of Boy-Who-Lived?" asked Harry, mostly for the benefit of those who had not heard Ron's question, and were only just now "tuning in", so to speak.

"Well, every time someone says Boy-Who-Lived, I hear it as Boy-Whose-Parents-Were-Murdered. I assume you're not trying to remind me of that event."

Several gasps, of varying levels of shock, were heard around the table. Hermione wrapped her arm around Harry's upper arm in a show of support, but she was wondering where this was coming from - Harry had come to terms with the death of his parents long ago. She gave him a concerned look.

Harry bent low to her ear and whispered, "I need to nip this in the bud. Just ignore what I am saying; I'll explain later."

"I know a lot of you think I did something amazing, but - now that all the books lying about my life have been off the shelves for a few years - let me tell you I did nothing. Whatever it was, my mum and dad must have done it."

He caught and held the gaze of several people - each for a second or two - then looked back to Ron. "Let's not talk about this, if you don't mind. And just call me Harry - I have no other titles and don't need any right now."

1991-09-01 21:30 UTC, location unknown

As Hobby heard Dumbledore give the dire warning to the students that he was never expecting to hear again, he decided this needed to be investigated.

He knew for a fact - indeed, they had discussed it only the previous night - that Nick and Penny had not given, and would never give, the old bastard their stone. The Flamels were in fact planning what to say and how to couch what they actually wished to say, if Dumbledore came by to ask. It didn't help that Hobby had no insights into how they had been convinced to give up the stone in his timeline - had Dumbledore tricked it out of them somehow?

In any case, possibly as a fallout of the confrontation at the Lovegoods' place, Dumbledore appeared to have decided not to contact them, so that was that.

So, once the kids had finished their dinners, been escorted to the Gryffindor common room, and had settled down for the night in their own dormitories, Hobby popped over to the Flamels.

"Guess what?"

Nick grimaced.

"Whatever it is, it's not the stone", he said. "I just checked it. Even tested it to make sure it's the original - although after so many years I could probably tell even without testing it".

"Well, either he put up a fake stone there, or he is using some other artifact that we have not thought of. What else could it be, Hobby?" asked Penny.

"Offhand, I can't think of anything. If we had not already destroyed all the horcruxes, I would have considered one of them - assuming he could have found one - to be a possibility. A remote one, though. No, my money is on a fake stone. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Well he was your student. Do you think he may have managed to create one for himself?"

Penny laughed. "What I know of him, he would never sacrifice his own things, so even if he did create one, I doubt he would use it. But honestly, I don't think he made one. He's aging normally, and it's not just a glamour. I am positive".

"Is Quirrellmort there?" asked Nick.

"Yes, both Quirrell and Mort", laughed Hobby. "I was very tempted to do something to him, but there's no telling how he'll react, and I don't want the students at risk. I'll confront him in a day or two, and meanwhile, I'll get the fake stone out".

1991-09-01 21:30 UTC, Hogwarts

Voldemort was happy. Even gleeful. Which, on the whole, was a relief for Quirrell.

He thoroughly regretted his misguided attempt to find Voldemort now, of course, but he dare not think too much on that. The Dark Lord was, it seemed, quite capable of legilimencing him while possessing him, though it seemed to take some effort and he did not do it often.

The spirit had latched on to him in Albania sometime toward the end of his year off, and ever since then, his life had not been the same.

It got worse when they came back to Britain, and Voldemort found out that Quirrell had neglected to even mention the sweeping changes that had happened in British wizarding society over the last few years. Even Malfoy's death had not been mentioned. (Voldemort would never realise that it was partly his fault - after all, when people get tortured for answering questions when he did not like the answer, why would someone volunteer information? Sure, they'd get punished harder when it finally came out, but, as someone said, hope springs eternal in the human breast, and postponing punishment will almost always seem like a good idea!)

He'd been in a terrible rage since then, and Quirrell suffered the torture at the "hands", such as they were, of his guest-turned-dictator for a few weeks.

It was only the temptation of getting close to Potter and killing the boy in some manner that made Voldemort back off; after all, a drooling wreck of a man would not be able to maintain his post as Defence professor at Hogwarts.

And then, last week - after the mandatory staff meeting preparatory to a new academic year - Dumbledore had asked Quirrell and Hagrid to stay behind.

He had explained that he had been asked by his old friend and mentor, Nicholas Flamel, that their philosopher's stone was in danger, and he would like to protect it by keeping it behind Hogwarts "formidable" (yes, that is the word Dumbledore used, and he appeared to be completely sincere) wards.

He had explained that it would be hidden behind some traps which led from an old, unused, room on the third floor. He asked Hagrid to supply a Cerberus (Hagrid did not even blink at the request - apparently being asked to procure a hellhound was nothing remarkable, to him).

He then asked Quirrell to find and capture a mountain troll.

With some prompting from his "master", Quirrell had asked what other protections had been there, assuming that the four heads of house must have already been contacted.

Dumbledore had demurred. "I would not want to burden you two with those details", he had said grandiosely, and side-stepped the question.

So, the old man was being cagey about the other protections. Still, this was a bonus. He may be able to get his revenge on the Potter boy, and simultaneously find an invaluable artifact that would allow him to get a new body. Without having to use the bone of his muggle father - something he was very happy to avoid, and had been keeping as a last resort.

In this euphoric mood, he decided to check up on one of his horcruxes, only to find no sign of it, and his euphoria came crashing down, giving way to a massive bout of anger.

For the second time in almost as many months, he nearly got Quirrell killed, and the whole "kill Potter and get the stone" scheme nearly came to a screeching halt. It was only when Quirrell's pathetic whimpering stopped, and he thought he saw a hint of drool, that Voldemort came to his senses and stopped.

But now he needed to check his other horcruxes, and he could not do that until at least the following weekend - during the week it would be really hard to get away from the school. Besides, he had gone a wee bit overboard in his punishment of Quirrell, for something that was - even without hindsight - not his fault in any way.

He decided to bide his time till the weekend. He also decided to advance the plan to create a diversion and get the stone. After all, if he got the stone, he wouldn't have to worry about the horcruxes anyway.

The contact of Quirrell's who had supplied the troll to satisfy Dumbledore's request, would probably have one more, but again, he could not contact him till the weekend.

Meanwhile, he had a leak to plug. Sure, some would say it was a little like closing the barn door after the horse had bolted, but information was not like a horse. There's always value in shutting down the source, even if the leak has already happened.

1991-09-02 23:30 UTC, Hogwarts, 3rd floor, west wing

Hobby popped straight into the room housing Fluffy, with a music box under his arm, already playing. Fluffy promptly fell asleep, but unfortunately was slap bang on top of the trapdoor.

Hobby considered what to do. He could probably try to magically lift the enormous hound, but it would take some doing. It would be best if the damn dog moved on its own.

He went and stood near the door, furthest away from the trapdoor, and shut off the music. As expected, the dog woke up. It smelt him, and lunged forward.

Hobby had seriously under-estimated how fast it would wake up and jump. He quickly turned on the music, but it was a very close call. The dog fell asleep with its slobbering snout barely two inches from where Hobby was standing, pressed up against the wall. Of course, he could have popped out, so he was not in real danger, but still, it was a close call.

Steadying himself, Hobby walked to the trapdoor, opened it, and shone some light in.

He knew that Minerva and Filius would probably have refused to help Dumbledore, but he was not sure about Sprout. (Slughorn was another matter. Dumbledore would not risk even hinting to him that Voldemort might enter the castle, so he was sure there would be no potions challenge either.)

There was no Devil's Snare. So much for that, thought Hobby. I wonder if it's just Hagrid and Quirrell then.

He jumped down, levitating himself lightly at the last moment to land reasonably softly. Walking to the door, he peered inside.

There was a troll in the moderately large room. The room was huge, with a pretty high ceiling - Hobby remembered flying up to catch a key here. The room was not correspondingly wide and long though, so the troll could reach any part of the room with one swing of his massive club.

Specifically, running across the room would not work - one would have to be incredibly fast (or lucky) to escape a clubbing.

Or, thought Hobby, one would have to be a house-elf, and just pop over to the door on the far side, grinning to himself.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the troll did not even realise what he had done. It had seen Hobby of course, but then he had just disappeared, and the troll just sat there, trying to work out where the too-small-to-make-a-decent-meal thing had gone.

Hobby moved on. He opened the door, and walked into a stunner at point blank range.

Dumbledore had felt the alarm go off in the room before the troll chamber - the room where he would have placed the Devil's Snare if Sprout had co-operated. Cursing Minerva once again, for he was sure she was the reason for Filius and Pomona refusing to help him, he "tuned in" to some of the sensory charms he had placed in the room.

He was not quite sure what to expect. He had detected Voldemort's taint on Quirrell as soon as Quirrell had entered the school a week before term started. He had, of course, expected it - with Harry Potter coming to school this year, the temptation was too much for Tom.

He decided to sweeten the pot somewhat by offering up a fake philosopher's stone. He fully intended to throw the boy into the deep end, as it were, and force him to confront Tom as soon as possible. Of course, if the boy had grown up as he had originally planned, he would have given him a whole year to get used to things, understand his place in the world, look at things like the Mirror of Erised to understand the futility of dreams, and so on.

In other words, prepare him, gradually, to meet Tom.

But now, that was impossible. Due to the accursed Phantom and Black, not to mention Lupin, the boy would have had God only knew how much special training - certainly far more than he would have had in his first year under his plan.

(Dumbledore would have been surprised to be told that other than muggle martial arts, and a small amount of awareness and rudimentary self-defence, Harry had not been taught anything special! His guardians were absolute clear that fighting a war was not the job of a child!)

Back to the present, Dumbledore looked closely at what his sensors were showing him. To his surprise, this was not a wizard - this was an elf!

He suddenly knew who it was. This was a golden opportunity to capture the troublesome elf that had broken his body bind in Little Hangleton, the one that belonged to the Phantom. I was just thinking of you - or rather, cursing you, my friend, he smirked to himself, making his way down the special set of stairs which led directly to the room in which the Mirror of Erised had been placed.

He waited calmly right in front of the door, his wand aimed low enough to make sure the spell would not go over the elf's head.

The elf walked in, and he hit him, point blank, with a stunner.

1991-09-02 23:45 UTC, Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office

Hobby found himself lying on the bare floor, in a corner of what appeared to be Dumbledore's private office, behind the one he used as the headmaster. He tried to pop out, but quickly found that it did not work. He appeared to have been trapped. Looking more carefully, he sensed he was in a virtual box of some kind, and four feet on each side.

"I admit that most families have forgotten how to fence in their elves, but back before we managed to subdue your kind to our will, old families used to cover the entire house in this kind of a ward to keep the elves in. Now, of course, no one even knows something like this ever existed. Too bad for you I read a lot, and I know a lot." Dumbledore's voice had just a hint of a sneer in it, the rest was quite the display of self-congratulation.

"Hmm, I'm sure you've read a lot. What do you have to do anyway? You're not married, you don't have a family, the one brother you have, hates you. At your age, you probably can't jerk off too, but even if you could, the thought that you put your lover in prison - man that's gotta be a damper on any such ideas. Sucks to be you, if you'll pardon the pun".

Once again, this elf managed to throw his entire world view out of whack. He had never, ever, remotely imagined an elf could even know such words, let alone speak them. He did not know what "jerk off" meant, but he could guess - he wasn't a headmaster of a school for nothing.

He quickly realised that the elf was trying to get him to lose his temper, for whatever reason only he knew. Calming himself down with a supreme effort, he managed to bring the conversation back to the important things.

"Where is your master?"

"No idea. He is the master, not I."

"Does he know you were coming here?"

Hobby put on a shame-faced expression. "No. I heard him talking about it with someone, and decided to investigate."

"Can an elf do that?"

"My master treats me like a member of his family. As much as a brother. I am bound to him magically but he does not enforce anything with it."

"Why?"

"He grew up muggle. He doesn't like slavery."

"So when will he miss you and start wondering where you are?"

"No idea. I often go away for days at a time. But within a day or two, he will start wondering. If you want him to come here earlier, you'd better inform Sirius - he knows how to get in touch with him." He paused and added, "or I could go and get him?"

Dumbledore gave him a look.

"Well it was worth a try. Say, what kind of ward is this? Will it prevent wizards from coming in?"

"No it won't; it only stops elves. Why? Are you expecting your master to come and rescue you? Don't worry, by tomorrow morning I'll have a few surprises for him. Surprises that will keep him occupied well before he gets this far into my office."

"Oh now I was not asking because of my master. I was only wondering if I have to worry about my pretty little self being violated in my sleep by the great Albus Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore lost control. He swept into the enclosed area, grabbed Hobby by the throat, and started squeezing...

..completely forgetting, in his anger, that the ward did not diminish the elf's powers. (How could it? A power-less elf was no good in the house - that ward was only created to keep them in, not keep them weak).

Hobby slammed his hard, bony, forehead against Dumbledore's, putting all his might into it so as to knock him out cold. He then turned into the Phantom and walked out, dragging Dumbledore behind him.

He considered for a moment what to do with him. There were several choices, the best one being to finish him off permanently, by imprisoning him in Grimmauld's dungeons. But that wouldn't do any good in the long run. Dumbledore had had a few years respite after the last bout of reputation-shredding, and any "finishing off" needed to be in that direction. He needed to be alive, and looked down upon by everyone.

He settled on a plan. It wasn't a particularly good plan for his long term goals, but it was good. Grinning gleefully, and making sure once again that he was properly stunned, he popped off with his prisoner.