CHAPTER 83: Checkmate (Part 3)

Parkinson Palace

April 13th, 1996

10:50 p.m.

"Harry," Bedivere greeted him as the grand oak doors of Parkinson Palace opened for him. "Thank you for coming on such a short timetable."

Harry smiled, maybe a bit too eagerly, and greeted him back. The truth was that after a week stuck in the abandoned muggle home, he'd so grown to hate, he was just glad to be out of there. Sitting about, hiding, waiting… those were so very Slytherin things to do in the face of danger, and yet they were the exact opposite of who he was. If he had spent one more day cooped up inside that wretched place, he may have blown it to bits - or at least tried to. Thankfully, he had a short reprieve.

"What was so urgent?" He asked as the two began walking deeper into the manor. "Is it Regulus?"

"Not quite, though I have managed to remove Montague's curses on the portrait." He said idly, an afterthought. "You should be able to take it home once we're done here."

"Then what is it? Horcruxes? Voldemort? Montague?"

Bedivere didn't answer, and as Harry kept prodding and receiving no answer, he began to get annoyed. He'd found out well into his relationship with the man that Bedivere was just that type of person. He never spared a word if he didn't have to. If he could somehow answer your question through any means other than opening his mouth, he would. Harry was honestly amazed that the man didn't communicate solely through writing. Then again, that would be rather inefficient. And that didn't seem to be Bedivere at all.

The two walked a little bit further before heading down into the manor's basement - though dungeon would be a much more apt word given how it actually had a cell in it. The bars gave him bad memories, and he would have hesitated in following Bedivere if not for the large hole in the wall that lead to what Harry assumed usually was a hidden room. Kieran was waiting for them inside, along with Yaxley and a shivering corpse sitting in a stool inside another cell. His hair was so long, it covered his entire face and nearly reached his knees. He was covered in filth and muttering a million alien words a minute, but Harry couldn't help but focus on just how thin the man was. If it hadn't been for the ragged clothes he was wearing, Harry was sure he would have been able to see his ribs.

"What… Who is that?"

"Harry, you remember Rookwood, right?" Yaxley called out without looking back at him. He was slashing his wand in the air at the light blue words that were floating right above the man's - Rookwood - head.

Harry's head snapped to Bedivere. "This is Rookwood? The Unspeakable Rookwood? The powerful, should-be-feared Rookwood?"

"You should show more respect," Bedivere told him easily. "Back during the first war, he was admired by even the Dark Lord himself. Brilliant, powerful, and capable of fooling the Dark Lord… very few wizards are capable of all three."

"That's just what happens when you spend nearly fifteen years as an all-you-can-eat buffet for nearly every dementor on earth," Yaxley said, just a bit too amused at the thought for Harry's liking.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Harry walked forward and inspected the man clearer. After his third year, Harry knew perfectly well just how much dementors could fuck you up. Most of his memories of that year were a blur, a nightmare he remembered seeing but not living. More than memories it was the feeling he could remember. The lack of any joy or peace or love. Of anything good. It was a simple concept to understand… the dementors took the good feelings away from you because they thrived on your negative emotions. But it was a whole different thing to actually live through feeling nothing but fear and hatred and pain. Regret. Envy.

A single year had felt like three lifetimes… Harry didn't want to think about how fifteen years felt. And seeing the man in front of him, knowing this was him after going through nearly two full weeks of the dementor treatment, Harry couldn't help but wonder how Sirius appeared much more… whole than the broken man in front of him. Rabid and insane… and yet unbroken. He couldn't help but grudgingly respect that.

"Give it fifteen years, and you might come to relate to him," Kieran told him.

"Not quite, what with us taking Azkaban from the Ministry and all. He'll just be left to rot in some holding cell at the DMLE, but no dementors for him." Yaxley smiled. "I'd say you owe the Dark Lord a thank-you note, Potter."

"If they catch me… I'll even consider sending him a gift," Harry said dryly.

"You're free to do so in your own time," Bedivere said as he stepped past Harry and stared at the shaking form of Rookwood. "We have little time to waste. Corban…"

"His vitals are perfect - or as perfect as they can be for someone in recovery from dementor exposure. Physically, he's regained his strength and his connection to his magic. And we know he can speak… we'll just have to see if he makes any sense with his words."

Bedivere tilted his head as if that single action would help him analyse the man even further, and after a few seconds, he gave Yaxley the command to bring down the privacy wards that had been set to ensure Rookwood couldn't hear them. Harry waited, almost expecting Rookwood to suddenly snap his head towards them before leaping against the bars and yelling to be freed. But the man didn't even seem to realise there had been any privacy wards, to begin with. He was still so focused on his own ramblings, he didn't even look up to face them.

"Should we… hit him?"

"Mister Rookwood," Bedivere spoke, ignoring his grandson's comment. "Mister Rookwood, can you understand me?"

"I think he's still a few clowns short of a full circus up there," Harry pointed out before snapping his fingers continually right in front of Rookwood's face.

"How is that going to help?" Kieran asked snobbishly.

"Much better than outright wacking him, I'd say."

"Maybe we should just imperio him and force him to talk," Yaxley said.

"You can't be serious?" Harry called out.

"Deadly, and I don't see why you'd care. It would be much more humane than, oh, I don't know, torturing someone for information."

"There will be no need for that," Bedivere said, a small smile spreading over his face. "Mister Rookwood can understand us quite well. Or am I wrong in my assessment, Augustus?"

Everyone turned between looking at Bedivere and Rookwood, waiting for something - anything - to actually happen. But if Bedivere was right and Rookwood's condition was a ploy, he still wasn't so willing to share.

"Are you sure, grandfather?" Harry was surprised by the doubt in Kieran's voice. When it came to Bedivere, Kieran was stuck to the old man's arse ready to eat whatever shit he dumped. He didn't think it possible for Kieran to doubt Bedivere if he told him he was actually a girl. "I hate agreeing with… Potter, but Rookwood doesn't exactly look well. I could hardly think of anyone who could brush off fifteen years of high dementor exposure in just a few weeks. Even with the treatment, and all."

"Mister Rookwood isn't just anyone here, grandson," Bedivere said calmly, walking forward. "I'm sure you'll meet very few men like him, even as you stay by my side. Which is why… we'll try this again, Augustus. I appreciate your distrust and understand your position, and fortunately for you, I'm here with an offer of friendship. This is your one chance to take it. Otherwise… I will hand you off to the many Unspeakables who would just salivate at the thought of being allowed to experiment on someone with as much dementor exposure as you have endured."

Harry had to blink a couple of times as he saw the blood literally drain from Rookwood's face. He went pale, his mutterings instantly stopped, and at that moment, Harry could have sworn that Rookwood actually feared the Unspeakables more than all the dementors at Azkaban. He finally looked up, and there was nothing but hatred in his eyes as he glared at Bedivere.

"Good evening, Augustus."

"Parkinson," Rookwood said, his voice so tight one might have thought it was the only thing holding the entire manor upward. "Planning on sending me back to Azkaban?"

Once again Bedivere took his time, the only sound in the room being Bedivere's steady breathing as he looked Rookwood over. "You knew the risks of your mission."

"The risks were dying. Getting caught by the Dark Lord. Being killed in action. But that wasn't what happened."

"Augustus-"

"I was an Unspeakable," he yelled out. "The war was over, and my people left me behind. Let me rot in Azkaban while actual Death Eaters walked. While you walked."

"I'm just as much a Death Eater as you were, Augustus. You weren't the only one sent to spy on the Dark Lord."

"That's a lie."

"Yeah, took me a while to buy it myself," Yaxley commented absentmindedly.

Rookwood actually laughed at that. "Is this your proof?" He asked Bedivere. "Out of all the members of the inner circle, you choose Apollo to attempt to trick me? Even now, I can tell he's just as vile and self-centred as he ever was."

"Still managed to evade Azkaban, didn't I?" Yaxley grinned at him. "I do hope your holiness was a fine companion while you were dementor chow."

"We know about the Horcruxes, Augustus," Bedivere said, gaining the man's attention. "We know what it means… the effect they have on the one who made them. Everyone in this room is far from righteous, however, we all know the consequences that would come from the Dark Lord winning this war."

Rookwood began eying everyone carefully. The mention of the Horcruxes had changed his entire demeanour, and if it hadn't been for him trying not to appear weak, Harry somehow knew the man would have huddled against the corner. He could speak and reason, but there was still that mad glint in his eye that he'd seen on Sirius over his stay at Grimmauld Place. It was still too early to try and reason with him.

"We're trying to stop him," Kieran pipped in, somehow managing to sound as obnoxious as a wide-eyed firstie. "Destroy his Horcruxes. End this before it's too late."

"It won't matter," Rookwood said, his shaking becoming much more violent. "You can't find them. And even if you could, they'd kill you."

"We've already destroyed one," Harry spoke up, trying hard not to think it had been Longbottom who had actually done the destroying. "We have another one already and Yaxley's working on finding the rest."

"You don't understand. The Horcruxes they-"

"We know," Yaxley gave Rookwood a dirty look. "I've studied them for months, I understand how to destroy them. Allowing them to possess you won't be the most thrilling part of it, but we'll-"

"I'm not talking about the possession!" Rookwood's yell nearly shook the entire room. "I'm talking about the actual retrieval process. These… these things… they aren't just lying around, waiting for someone to come pick them up. They are a very literal part of the Dark Lord's soul, do you not think he would have not protected these with the most thorough, advanced, and precarious means? Every last one of you will die before you even get them all. And that's if the Dark Lord doesn't figure out your ruse well before that."

"What do you mean?" Kieran asked.

"Report JL1991," he said cryptically, staring right at Bedivere's eyes.

Harry had come to picture Bedivere as the eternally old man, one who had always had this omnipresent knowledge that had somehow taken away his emotions. The one time he had seen even a semblance of surprise on his face had been after his arrival at Parkinson Palace after his escape from Grimmauld. So the fact a little amount of blood drained from his face as his eyes lit up in recognition made Harry feel all sorts of wrong.

"The Crystal Cave…"

"What's the Crystal Cave?" Harry asked after a few moments of no one daring to even breathe.

"It's a bloody death trap, that's what it is!"

"The locket you found at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix didn't come to be there on its own, nor did the Dark Lord place it there."

"The Locket," Rookwood called out. "That's the Horcrux you have!"

Bedivere ignored him, continuing to speak as if he had said nothing. "The Dark Lord originally hid it at a location disclosed to the Unspeakables only as the Crystal Cave. In it, Augustus along with four other individuals he had managed to turn away from the Dark Lord entered this cave with the hope of retrieving a powerful dark artefact the Dark Lord had recently secured in this location."

"You knew that the Locket was a Horcrux from the start?" Harry asked.

"The nature of the artefact wasn't something that was unknown, even to us Unspeakables, at that time. It was only after you brought us the object in question that I knew the truth. Augustus realised it as well, or did you not, old friend? A live Horcrux, you couldn't trust us Unspeakables with the knowledge that there was one actually - currently - out there, could you?"

"These… these things," Rookwood spat, again unwilling to even speak their actual name. "They aren't meant to be studied or toyed with. Magic like that… it should only be destroyed. Especially concerning the Dark Lord."

"On that, I can't help but agree."

"What happened during this mission?" Kieran asked.

"Mister Rookwood would be a much better narrator, I'm afraid. The report we received had been vague, at best. Only three words, if I'm not mistaken."

"You should have listened to it," Rookwood commented darkly.

"I'm afraid that's not an option here," Bedivere replied calmly. "The Dark Lord must be stopped. Even in your state, I'm sure you understand the magnitude of that. We need to find those Horcruxes. Until each one of them has been dealt with, the Dark Lord is effectively untouchable. If we don't find them then you will have truly been right. All is lost without them."

"All is already lost," Rookwood said hollowly. "Fifteen years and you still don't get it. We're dead already."

With that happy note, the meeting effectively ended. Rookwood made no effort to speak again. And even after they stayed there for over twenty minutes trying to get anything out of him, it all proved futile. It was only once Bedivere had been truly convinced there was nothing else that could be done that they all left the dungeon and moved the conversation back up to Bedivere's study.

"That went just wonderfully," Yaxley said as he plopped down on one of the couches. "You can just tell he's the missing piece to our rag-tag team of delinquents against the Dark Lord. We have our very own underage serial killer, a literal grandpa who looks frailer by the day, his idiotically naive assistant-"

"Oi!"

"-myself, and now a shivering wreck of a wizard to tell us ghost stories about the brutal ways the Dark Lord will torture us once he finds out our plans."

"You're forgetting about the pervy, pretend teacher who died not even two months into our conspiracy," Harry commented dryly.

"I thought she was going to last a lot longer if I'm honest. My, what confidence this brings me."

"Rookwood is still being affected by the Dementors," Bedivere said as he took a seat on the large, leather armchair. "We'll have to continue treating him and hope he comes to see reason. However, his ramblings were not for naught. He'll be a crucial piece in giving us insight into what challenges the Dark Lord may have placed for us to face when seeking out his Horcruxes."

"He wasn't in a very willing mood to share," Yaxley said.

"He won't have an option the next time I ask."

"We still have to find them before we actually worry about that," Harry reminded the group.

"That is not a problem anymore, I'm happy to say," Yaxley smiled. "I've managed to find them. All seven of them!"

"I think your maths are a little off there," Harry said. "One was destroyed already, and you said that Vol- that the Dark Lord only split his soul seven times."

"Only?" Kieran scoffed.

"My maths aren't off-"

"Then your spell or ritual or whatever must have sensed the presence of the one Longbottom already destroyed. Or it's counting the piece that is in the Dark Lord's current body."

"It's sensing the piece in the Dark Lord's body, there's no doubt about that. I've seen it travel all throughout Europe over these past few weeks. But it's also sensing another one. I studied the diary, there is no remnant left of the Dark Lord's soul. It wouldn't be sensed even if it was a Horcrux in the past. Which means the Dark Lord must have made an eighth one we didn't know about."

"Perfect," Harry gave a bitter laugh. "As if this entire thing wasn't hard enough already."

"Are you certain, Corban?" Bedivere asked gravely.

"As certain as I'll ever be."

"And where are the Horcruxes?"

"I still don't have precise locations, not yet. That's still going to take a week, if not slightly longer. But I can give you their locations within a fifty-mile radius or so."

Bedivere conjured a large map of the country and set it on his desk, giving a silent command to Yaxley before the man stood up and began drawing circles all over the map. "There are two Horcruxes in the Scottish Highlands, though I doubt the Dark Lord would lump two together in such a way. If I were to guess, I'd say one is hidden somewhere inside Hogwarts while the other was stashed relatively nearby. There's one in South-East England, I think we should aim our search at London and the Home Counties. I've managed to confirm this circle as the Locket, given how it's moved with me from safe house to safe house. Leaving only three more soul fragments. There's the one inside the Dark Lord's - though that one is currently out of the country - another one somewhere in the Midlands - there are no major cities nearby, which means it will be nearly impossible to find before the ritual gives us its precise location."

"And the last one?" Kieran asked.

Yaxley gave the group an amused grin before he drew a circle on the North Sea.

"Azkaban," Bedivere said.

"It has to be."

"And it's recent too." Yaxley continued. "There's no way it could have been inside the prison before our siege. And with the Dark Lord out of the country as we speak… this will most likely be the most unprotected Horcrux we'll find at the moment. Between the two of us, Bedivere, we could probably scour the place and find it before the Dark Lord moves it to a more secure location."

"That would be a poor choice," Bedivere retorted emotionlessly. "There's already too much discord amongst the Death Eaters with this Montague situation. Taking the Horcrux now would make the Dark Lord much more reserved and guarded. It would also alert him of our plans. The best thing we can do is wait until after he's hidden it and put it behind its protections."

"That's too big of a risk. We already know that all the Horcruxes are connected, it's because of that that I'm able to track them all. And though there has been no concrete evidence that the Dark Lord is aware of his Horcruxes at any given time, it's highly likely. We can't hide the hunt from the Dark Lord for long, the best we can do is ensure we retrieve as many as we can and then hope for the best."

"We shouldn't precipitate a decision like this," Kieran said. "It's better to sleep on it. One wrong move, and we may not be able to get any of the Horcruxes at all."

"Two weeks," Bedivere eventually said. "After we find out what exactly this Horcrux is, we'll determine our course of action. For the moment, we must take advantage of the Dark Lord's absence and find the rest of the Horcruxes. I'll instruct Pansy and Theodore to start a search - privately - within Hogwarts and the surrounding villages if they can. Corban and I will take up the search in Azkaban. Kieran, you start looking in the Midlands. The Dark Lord would have not hidden his Horcruxes haphazardly. Go back to search through what we know of the Dark Lord's muggle past."

"I'll join him," Harry said.

"Absolutely not," Kieran snapped. "I'm not babysitting you, especially not with the entire country aiming for your head."

"Montague's in the wind, and if I have to stay one more day inside that wretched house I might just burn it to the ground. You said it yourself, Bedivere, we need to take advantage of the fact that Vold- the Dark Lord is out of the country. For all we know, the next time he comes back he won't leave again. You're in no position to waste an asset like me by keeping me on house arrest."

Bedivere stared carefully at Harry for a couple of moments before he finally nodded. "Very well, then."

"You can't be serious, grandfather!"

"My decision is final. You'll coordinate with the Flint boy at the DMLE to make sure the area will be clear before you travel to your location. And if any trouble arises, it is your responsibility to ensure that Harry eludes any harm or capture. Do we understand each other?"

Kieran seemed to be the opposite of understanding at the moment but nodded anyway.

"We have very little time left," Bedivere said cryptically, and the distant look in his eyes almost made Harry think that Bedivere could actually see the future. "We won't get another chance to waste it."

The Three Broomsticks

April 14th, 1996

3:45 p.m.

Hermione could count the number of times she had gone down to Hogsmeade without either of her boys with one hand. Even after Umbridge had said "Let the rules burn!" and suddenly made every weekend a Hogsmeade weekend, she still never came down here alone. Mostly because the two of them were usually the ones most excited to escape the castle for the village and spend their money on stupid little pranks from Zonko's or sugar-coated candy that gave her cavities just from looking at them. But on the other hand, it was more to spend time with her friends rather than just wandering around the village looking for something to do.

Or at least it had been until this year.

She didn't know when it happened or even how it happened, but their little group that had been such a big part of her Hogwarts experience was crumbling - and fast. Hermione couldn't spend more than two minutes with Neville before he suddenly snapped something at her and rushed away, and though she spent more time with Ron, he was too focused on bringing them back together to actually do much during the time she was around him.

It was, in part, her fault. She had been pulling away more and more with how Neville was changing. She could still remember the sweet boy he used to be in their first year, but it was very hard to see that boy when she looked into his eyes nowadays. And the worst thing was that it wasn't his fault. He was hurting, his experience at the graveyard left him traumatized and it had just gotten worse. Hermione had tried to help, she'd offered to listen or to just be there for him. It didn't matter to her what she had to do, she just wanted to be there for her friend. But he just wouldn't let her. And the more she tried, the more harshly rejected she was.

In part, maybe that had been a reason why she'd pulled away this past term. It had just gotten so hard to handle. She could only be so understanding and so willing to bear Neville's insults and bad attitude. But at times, it was so bad she almost forgot what had made them friends in the beginning. She still cared about Neville. Deeply. For Ron too. The three of them had started out at Hogwarts alone and feeling like they didn't belong. The unbearable mudblood know-it-all, the Boy Who Lived who turned out to be a failure, and the umpteenth Weasley boy overshadowed in every way by the rest of his family. The three of them had made each other better, and there were very few memories at Hogwarts she thought of fondly without at least one of her boys with her.

Which made it all so difficult being around them when they felt like strangers. They rarely talked anymore and when they did, they fought. She missed them. Both of them. But there was nothing more she could do anymore. Nothing but wait until Neville finally came to her.

She didn't even want an apology… she just wanted her friends back.

School had been a decent enough distraction over these past few months back at the castle, but she was still just so antsy. And all the news that kept coming about Harry didn't help. She didn't know what to think about him anymore. Didn't know what she wanted to think about him. Didn't even know why she was still trying to make her mind up about him. With anybody else, Hermione would have just accepted the truth already. It wasn't like there was a lack of evidence. But she had come to know Harry, and though it was brief, their partnership in Dumbledore's Army had almost made her think he could be a friend. Not as good of a friend as Neville or Ron, perhaps, but a friend nonetheless.

Maybe that's why she had felt so bad about herself after seeing the scar on his back. After remembering what she had said to him that day the Daily Prophet had come and shown her Graham Montague's barely recognisable face. Or maybe it was just easier to accept that Harry was a poor, misunderstood victim in the first place rather than letting in the possibility the contradiction of Harry's actions could mean for everyone else. Because even with the victim narrative she was trying so hard to believe, it still made the black and white moral compass she had based her entire life around obsolete. She knew it was stupid from a logical standpoint, that this was the very thing that would halt progress in any other scenario, but sometimes it was easier to believe that you're right than actually be right.

Hermione hadn't realised just how much this topic had become a sort of torture for her until she received the letter from Rita and immediately ran out of the castle. It was a Sunday, thank God, which meant she didn't have to wait the whole week to finally get her answers. And though she had felt slightly bad as she had made up some half-thought excuse as to where she was going when Neville and Ron caught her leaving the castle, she couldn't bring herself to start another argument between the three of them. She had almost run down the long road to Hogsmeade, only stopping to rest a few times here and there, before she quickly made her way inside the Three Broomsticks and immediately spotted her target.

Rita was sitting in the corner booth furthest away from the door, immediately noticing Hermione and giving her a predatory smile that she took as her invitation to sit down beside the peacock of a woman. Her face was covered in so much makeup she made a Barbie doll look more human than her. Her hair was covered in so many products it almost seemed stiff and every inch of her body was seemingly engulfed with the most potent perfume she could find, and Hermione couldn't help but cringe as the two looked at each other.

"Well?" She asked, eager to move this along, so she could get out as quickly as possible.

"No good afternoon? How've you been, Rita? I've missed you."

"We both know I haven't."

"True, but it wouldn't hurt to lie." She said flamboyantly. "Honestly. Nearly a grown woman and you still have no manners?"

"Just show me what you found already!" Hermione snapped, snatching the folder that Rita had set out in front of her.

"Feisty, aren't we?" Rita was entirely too amused for Hermione's comfort. But beyond a death-inducing glare, she couldn't do much about it. "And no wonder after everything that has come out about our young Mister Potter lately. I can see why you're trying to protect him now."

"I'm not trying to protect him," Hermione said, opening the folder and looking at the files inside. It was much more thorough than anything she could have imagined, with over thirty separate parchments, pictures, and full transcripts of interviews. The entire thing detailed a narrative of the life of Harry Potter, from his beginning as the children of two barely remembered war heroes to Britain's latest serial killer. "How did you get all this?"

"Just because I'm blond doesn't mean I can't do my job," she said suggestively.

"It isn't the blond thing," Hermione retorted absentmindedly, skimming through page after page as she tried reading everything as fast as possible. Dead parents. Abusive guardians. When she got to his first year she was about to continue rushing through before she read the title Rita had written above the parchment.

Dealings With Montague And Retribution

"A truly heartbreaking story," Rita said dryly. "It's all very… dramatic if you ask me. That Montague boy did have a knack for flair. I guess that's where our young Harry picked that up. Can't say I blame him after what I found out."

Suddenly, she was hesitant about reading this section. Or anything past it really. Already, it was all very tragic. Losing his parents at such an age only to be given to his muggle family who didn't care about him… Hermione hadn't been expecting Harry to have been living in luxury and glee before Hogwarts - he seemed to be anything other than your typical student - but imagining and actually knowing was completely different. Suddenly, she realised just how much of an invasion of privacy this actually had been. She'd effectively blackmailed a journalist to record every last detail about his life, and regardless of everything he may or may have not done, she now knew in her heart that it hadn't been right.

"Why the sudden stop?" Rita asked, her words dancing in Hermione's ears. "Who are you trying to fool here, Hermione? You've already asked me to snoop into this young man's life for your own personal amusement. Don't act like you're not going to read it the moment nobody's watching."

She still didn't continue. Didn't have the heart for it. But even as she tried to force herself to close the folder and promise herself to never open it again, Hermione couldn't bring herself to do that either.

"Miss Granger, is that you?" A sudden voice from right behind her made her nearly drop the folder as her eyes widened. She immediately tried to hide it, but the man had been too fast, pulling a chair from the table beside them and taking a seat. Hermione's heart stopped, and even Rita paled a little beside her, but Rufus Scrimgeour simply smiled as if he was meeting two old classmates from his day. "I think we're overdue a long chat, don't you?"

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter we get to see the aftermath of Rufus' discovery. Be excited!

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As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)