Raylynx's POV
I woke up the next morning in a good mood. I made my way to the kitchen, thinking of preparing breakfast. Remus was likely on his way home from his shift at Flourish and Blotts. Sirius was sleeping on the living room floor again, though he'd finally upgraded to having a rolled-up shirt as a pillow.
Two owls tapped lightly on my window. One was bearing the Daily Prophet, and the other a note from Jamie.
I read the note from Jamie first. It said simply: I was at the Quidditch World Cup, but I'm all right. Don't worry about me!
I frowned. What did I miss? I wondered, as I took a gulp of water. I absent-mindedly unfurled the Daily Prophet. Its headlines screamed: "SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!" I spat water all over the front page as I stared in complete shock at the front-page photograph. It showed the Dark Mark unfurling in the sky over the treetops of the World Cup encampments. I hastily wrote a note, scribbling over my lesson plans in large handwriting:
Sirius, Remus –
Gone to check in on Harry at Burrow.
Stay safe. Don't be rash.
R
I dashed back to my room, snatched up my wand, and then raced outside and Disapparated.
When I pounded my fist on the Weasleys' door, it opened almost immediately. Bill was standing on the other side of the open door. Seeing my face, he said quickly, "We're all right, Professor. Everyone's back. Harry's safe."
I let out a breath of relief and put my hand on Bill's arm as the sudden alleviation flooded through me. "Thank Merlin," I sighed. "I was so worried." I frowned as I felt a bandage wrapped around his arm under his shirt. "Were you hurt, Bill?"
Bill shook his head. "Nothing to worry about." He looked at me and said, "How did you find out? The Daily Prophet?"
"Yes, I saw the headlines. But truth be told, I didn't know what to believe. The news doesn't always report the truth when it comes to things like this," I replied. "So, what really happened? Did someone actually cast the Dark Mark last night?"
He nodded. "At first, some of the old Death Eaters decided to have their fun and they levitated Muggles into the air…"
I grimaced, feeling sick.
"But then, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, and everyone lost it," Bill said. "The Death Eaters scattered, but of course, everyone else was terrified too."
"Of course," I said knowingly. "It's been thirteen years since we saw that Mark, and only Death Eaters ever knew how to cast it…"
"Who was it?" I asked Bill, though I didn't expect an answer. "Did you capture the person who conjured it?"
Bill slowly shook his head. "Dad said that Crouch's elf was found holding the wand, but that she clearly didn't cast it."
"Crouch?" I said, my nose wrinkling in distaste. "Bartemius Crouch? The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"
Seeing my expression, Bill smiled. "Don't let Perce see you reacting like that. He's basically in love with Crouch at the moment, since he's working for him now."
"Oh, right, your brother works at the Ministry now, doesn't he?" I remembered.
"Works there, lives there, prays there," Bill replied. "Anyways, everyone's having breakfast. Come join us," he said, kindly leading me forward before shutting the door behind us.
When I approached the crowded kitchen table, Harry stood up. I went over to him and pulled him into an embrace. "You're not hurt?" I asked him, looking down at him.
He shook his head. "I'm fine, Professor."
I still checked him over, taking his face in my hands and looking at his eyes. He seemed more tired than normal, but that was only to be expected, given how little sleep he and the Weasleys must have had last night.
"I'm really fine," he insisted, a bit embarrassed.
"All right," I said, dropping my hands. I patted his head a bit awkwardly, just to reassure myself that he really was all right.
Bill waved his wand and another chair from the living room came zooming in between Harry and Hermione for me.
"Arthur?" I said, looking over at Mr. Weasley as I took my seat. "How about you? Are you all right?"
Mr. Weasley nodded. "Everyone's fine. You don't have to be so worried, Raylynx. I'm sure we've all got some scrapes and bruises, but nothing severe."
"Of course, the ones who were really affected were the Robertses, the Muggles," Charlie said solemnly.
"Yes, but they've had their memories modified and they're all right now," Mr. Weasley assured him.
As Molly put down a plate of food in front of me, Ron asked his father, "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing? It wasn't hurting anyone… Why's it such a big deal?"
"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," Hermione replied. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."
"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr. Weasley explained. "Of course people panicked. It was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."
"I don't get it," Ron said bluntly. He frowned as he said, "I mean, it's still only a shape in the sky…"
"Ron," I said, "Voldemort (- everybody winced when I said the name -) and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed. The terror it inspired . . . you have no idea. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside… It was everyone's worst fear... the very worst..." My eyes met with Molly's, who's eyes were also damp. I knew that she was thinking about her brothers – Fabian and Gideon, both of whom had died fighting Death Eaters. She'd come home that day to find the Dark Mark still hovering above her childhood house.
The entire table faded away into silence. "Sorry," I said meekly, realizing I'd brought the atmosphere to a very grim level.
Bill spoke up. "Well, it didn't help us at all last night, whoever conjured it. We were trying to catch the Death Eaters, but seeing the Dark Mark scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Muggles that they were Levitating, the Robertses, before they hit the ground, though."
"Death Eaters…" Harry said thoughtfully. "You said that last night, too. What are Death Eaters?"
"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them last night — the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."
"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. In a frustrated tone, he added, "Though it probably was…"
"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods last night, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"
"But what were Voldemort's supporters —" Harry began. Seeing everyone flinch again, Harry amended, "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"
"The point?" said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun."
"Half the Muggle killings back when Voldemort was in power were done for fun," I recalled darkly, thinking of the many missions I'd been on where the aim was to protect Muggle neighborhoods from Death Eater terrorism. It had been difficult to catch the Death Eaters, mostly because there was no rhyme or reason to the locations. All Muggles and Muggle neighborhoods were the same to the Death Eaters, which made it very hard to guess where the Death Eaters might strike next.
Mr. Weasley nodded. "Yes, I suppose the Death Eaters had a few drinks after the match last night and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them." He looked disgusted. "It's happened at a prior Quidditch match before, too, back when You-Know-Who was first rising, which made the terror last night all the more acute."
"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" asked Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"
"Use your brains, Ron," Bill replied. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives. . . I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"
"So . . . whoever conjured the Dark Mark . . ." Hermione thought aloud slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"
"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. The question loomed ominously over the table.
Harry and I Apparated home together. As we walked down the street, Harry looked at me and said, "Professor, I said that I was all right, and I am. Really. But there's something I wanted to tell you."
"What is it?"
"This summer, when I was still at the Dursleys, I had a dream..."
"A dream?" I said, surprised. Why would Harry bring up a dream as a concern? Was it a nightmare about Quirrell or the Chamber of Secrets or dementors? "You mean, about what you've experienced before? A nightmare?"
Harry shook his head. "No, it's not about something that happened to me."
"Tell me about it."
"There were two men in a dark room," Harry described. "They were talking to this… this thing in the chair. I can't remember what it looked like, but I think it was Voldemort." His voice suddenly seized up as his throat became dry.
I suddenly stopped walking and gently grabbing Harry's shoulders, I gave him my full attention as I encouraged him to continue telling me about his dream.
"I know it sounds mad," Harry started to say.
I shook my head quickly. "It's not. I'm taking you seriously, Harry. Do you know who the two men were?"
"One of the two men was Wormtail, I think. I don't know who the other man is."
Sehtzer's message flashed in my mind: I fear the rat is returning your way, and that it is carrying the dark shadow from the mountains with it.
"You said they were talking. Did you hear what they said?" I asked him.
"I think they were talking about… about killing me," Harry confessed.
My hands became vicelike on his shoulders.
We both stood there for a long moment, neither of us able to speak.
Finally, Harry said apprehensively, "But it was just a dream, right?" He didn't seem to believe his own words. After all, what was the likelihood of his having this dream and then the Dark Mark appearing in the sky only weeks later?
"Yes," I murmured, trying to reassure him. "It's just a dream…"
We were both quiet as we walked the rest of the way to the house.
Sirius and Remus welcomed Harry back as cheerfully as they could, but both of them were deeply disturbed by what had happened. How could we not be, given what we had lived through before this?
I stayed up late that night, sitting at my desk, hugging my legs, and thinking hard to myself.
"Can't sleep?"
I lifted my head from my knees to see Sirius standing at my doorway. I shook my head at him, answering his question.
"Me neither," he said, walking inside my room. He sat on the floor, leaning his back against my bed. "It felt like a nightmare," he said grimly. "Waking up to see that familiar symbol on the front page of the newspaper."
I repeated what I'd said at the Weasleys. "It was the worst fear…"
"Still is," Sirius said. "It must have been pandemonium at the World Cup that night. I remember something similar happened at the World Cup when we were still at Hogwarts. It's amazing how the Death Eaters always get away with this kind of terrorism. It makes me sick."
"It shouldn't be happening anymore," I said. "Not after Voldemort's downfall."
Sirius looked at me with a grim expression. "Lynx, there have always been those in society who will do anything in their power to ensure that inequality exists, just so they can stay at the top. That was true before Voldemort, and it's certainly true afterwards. When you have someone like Voldemort, it's highly dangerous because that type of dehumanization becomes legitimized, when it shouldn't be. But even without someone like Voldemort, people like the Malfoys, the Carrows, the Yaxleys, the Blacks... They will always exist. It doesn't take Voldemort to make such people torture Muggles. They do that on their own already. They're just pleased when someone in power says that that's somehow all right." He stared out in front of him with empty eyes as he murmured, "I wish it wasn't so. I wish that defeating Voldemort meant the demise of all this... this madness. But it's not."
"And it sounds as though Voldemort didn't exactly die, did he?" Sirius ruminated. "From what Harry's told us, it sounds like he's still out there somewhere..."
"Quirrell, The Chamber of Secrets, Pettigrew's escape, the Quidditch World Cup… All of this is making me feel so uneasy," I confessed.
"So, you think this is all connected to Peter too," Sirius said softly. He sighed heavily. "It wasn't anyone's fault, but we shouldn't have let him escape…"
"There's something else, too, that was in the news," Sirius told me. "I don't know if you caught it, but a Ministry worker has gone missing. Her name is Bertha Jorkins. Apparently, Crouch was trying to hush it all up for weeks now. She's been missing for a while."
"Crouch is as bad as the Death Eaters," I said, shaking my head. "I understand why the Ministry keeps some information from the public for security reasons, but how can they justify not alerting the public of a missing person? You'd want all eyes looking for her, wouldn't you? I just can't understand it."
I thought once again of Sehtzer's letter. Hadn't he mentioned a missing tourist? What if... What if Bertha disappeared in Albania? "Did the Daily Prophet say anything else about Bertha?"
He shook his head. "No. Although, I remember her from Hogwarts. Don't you?"
Surprised, I admitted, "No."
"She was a little older than us, and truth be told, she was a bit annoying. She once caught me and Moony trying to set up a prank and she told everyone she knew about it. Couldn't help but blab to get the attention," Sirius recalled. "But I hope she's all right. I hope they find her soon."
"Me too," I agreed.
I slid down from my chair to the floor, sitting across from Sirius. I chewed on my question before I finally said, "Sirius, I talked about the TriWizard Tournament last night..."
He nodded, and then waited for me to continue speaking.
"Well, they haven't announced it yet, so don't tell Harry," I said, "but Dumbledore has arranged for Hogwarts to host another Tournament this year."
"Another TriWizard Tournament? This year?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I suspect to form an alliance with the Headmistress of Beauxbatons and to keep a watch on the Headmaster of Durmstrang, Karkaroff-"
"Karkaroff? Karkaroff is the Headmaster of Durmstrang?" Sirius said incredulously. "Wasn't he a -?"
"Death Eater, yes."
"And he's coming to Hogwarts?" Sirius said, disgusted.
I nodded.
"Well, as much as I hate the idea of Karkaroff coming to Hogwarts, I guess I can see Dumbledore's logic," Sirius admitted, after thinking for a moment. "By keeping an eye on Karkaroff, Dumbledore will be able to see if the Death Eaters are thinking of rising again."
"Yes, but it puts Karkaroff too close to Harry," I said, and exhaled heavily.
"Maybe I should come with you to Hogwarts, to protect Harry," Sirius suggested.
"I would love that, but given the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that Dumbledore hired this year, that would be suicide," I said grimly. "Mad-Eye's going to be there this year."
"The Auror?" When I nodded, Sirius cursed and said, "Bloody hell. Dumbledore's replacing Moony with Mad-Eye? Talk about a change in the staff…"
"But why has this got you worried?" Sirius asked me. "I mean, I see your point about Karkaroff, but there's only so much he can do. He's no match for Dumbledore. And I'm assuming they'll put up the Age Line again, as they did with us, so Harry won't be entered into the Tournament in the first place."
"I know. Everything you say makes sense," I acknowledged. "And yet, I can't shake this feeling…" I didn't know how to explain it to him, how the Tournament opened up Hogwarts to the rest of the world. In fact, the Death Eaters had managed to kidnap Lily last time and she hadn't been a competitor. And then, with Peter's escape, Sehtzer's letter, Harry's dream, and the Dark Mark showing up at the Quidditch World Cup…
"It just makes me anxious," I said finally, curling up tighter and hugging my knees to myself.
Sirius hesitated, and then he said gently, "Do you think maybe some of the anxiety is because of your own memories? I won't pretend that I know what the Tournament felt like for you, but it must have been tough. Maybe you instinctively don't want the Tournament to happen because of what you had to go through yourself."
"Maybe," I conceded, unable to articulate everything in my head and also not wanting to make Sirius anxious when he couldn't even come with me to Hogwarts.
He watched me hugging myself and said, "Come here, Lynx."
I scooted over to him, intending to gently press my side against his.
As soon as our shoulders touched, though, Sirius reached over and pulled me into his arms rather abruptly. He tucked me under his chin and between his legs, so that I was now curled up between his legs and arms, with my head against his shoulder.
"Better?" he asked me.
"Mmhm," I murmured quietly. He was so warm, as always. I looked up at him and asked sincerely, "How are you? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm all right," Sirius replied. "Seeing the Dark Mark in the news again was a bit of a shock. And knowing that you and Harry are leaving so soon for Hogwarts is putting a bit of a damper on my mood, but I suppose I knew that was coming."
"Remus told me today that he's moving out as well, when you and Harry leave," Sirius told me. "He's found a new place closer to Diagon Alley."
"I don't like the idea of you being here on your own," I said, frowning. "It's dangerous."
"It's safer than anywhere else," Sirius pointed out. "It's a Muggle neighborhood, so even the Ministry can't do whatever they want."
"That's true," I relented.
"And you've made that strange invisible bunker," Sirius said.
"Yes, I suppose so..."
"And most importantly," Sirius said, "you need to keep an eye on our godson."
I sighed. "You're right. But..."
"But what?"
"When do I get to just love you?" I murmured. I blushed slightly when the words left my mouth. That hadn't sounded so intense in my head.
"Look at you, having a go at me," Sirius teased, raising an eyebrow at me. "And you said you didn't like flirting."
"What?" I said, affronted. I lifted my head from his shoulder to glare at him. "I'm not flirting with you. I'm asking you a serious question."
"Tsk, tsk, no subtlety," Sirius said, throwing my words back at me. Seeing my stony face, he burst out laughing. "I'm just teasing you, love."
I leaned my head back on his shoulder as I stayed tucked against him. I gently traced his chest with my fingers.
"What are you doing?" he asked. He reached down and grasped my hand. "Are you trying to enchant me with another Rune?"
"Do you still have it?" I wondered. "The Protection Rune I drew on you."
Sirius shook his head. "Most of the marking faded away after Peter threw that Blasting Curse at me… And then it slowly disappeared as the days went by in Azkaban."
"Do you still have yours?" he asked me.
"I think so?" I replied, uncertain.
"I'll check for you," he said, and the corner of his mouth pulled up deviously as his hand slid down the back of my shirt.
"No, thank you," I said wryly.
He laughed lightly, and I smiled back at him.
Then, I shifted so that I was facing him. "Remember what we used to do?" I asked him. I put my hands up.
Sirius seemed confused.
"You don't remember?" I said, a little disappointed.
"Sorry, love, but I don't."
"Here. Put your hands up like mine," I told him.
He did. I pressed my hands to his and then slowly intertwined our fingers. "It used to be a little joke," I explained. "Like a dog putting up its paws. I guess it's downright silly for two people in their thirties to do it, though." I laughed, and started to pull my hands away.
However, his eyes abruptly lightened and he squeezed my hands in his. "That's why I knew," he murmured. "That's why I knew the length of your hands against mine so well."
"Hm?"
"In Azkaban, I lost a lot of my happy memories to the dementors," Sirius explained. "And I started to forget things about you. The color of your eyes, the length of your hands compared to mine... But I still knew that I should know these things, or that I once did. But it's because we did this. That's why I felt that I knew the shape of your hands so well."
"I'm sorry," I apologized. "Of course you wouldn't remember this after Azkaban. I'll be more mindful from now on."
"Don't be silly. I don't need you to baby me. I'll figure it out. It's coming back to me in bits and pieces now," Sirius replied.
"It must be strange," I remarked, watching Sirius as he kept his eyes on our hands. "To feel your memories and your magic coming back after years of deprivation."
"It's not strange in that I expect it to come back, now that I'm out of the dementors' reach. But it's strange in how it happens," Sirius explained. We dropped our hands as he continued speaking. "For one thing, I didn't expect to find my memories of James and Lily ever again, since they aren't with us anymore. But when I see Harry running around, it hits me how much he looks like Prongs, and I suddenly remember old memories with James and eventually, Lily. Sometimes, I see Remus do something out of habit, and it takes me back to a memory I'd lost. And then there's you, with your Runes for my wand and your little jokes, and it all starts to come alive in my mind again. How long it took me to come to terms with how I felt about you, how happy I was when I started thinking you might give me a chance, but how frightened I was when you left without warning, and yet, you always came back to me. A few hours in a year, but still, you came back to me."
"I lost all that in Azkaban. In Azkaban, you left me and I could only ever find you dead. Sometimes, it took several days for me to get to you. The dementors would feed on me multiple times, sensing my weakness, driving me to despair, to this illusion of your death. No hope or happiness for twelve long years..." Sirius murmured. "And then, I come back and... I look at you. Can you understand why it's overwhelming at times?"
I pointed to my long-sleeved black pajama jumper. "Because I remind you of a dementor in this?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "No," he said. "Because it tells me of what the dementors couldn't take away. After a while, I thought I would forget you entirely. But that didn't happen. And the things I did forget, like this-" He put his hands back up. "- You remind me, and it feels like I find that piece of myself all over again."
I put my hands back up to meet his too. But instead of intertwining them, my hands slipped over his and onto his shoulders. My arms slid around his shoulders and holding him tightly, I kissed him. Sirius' arms slipped just under mine to wrap around my chest, pushing me up slightly so that I was a little above him. In that moment, I promised to give him back every good memory he'd ever lost between us. I would be there for him as he slowly but surely found himself again.
A few hours later, Sirius and I were both on my bed. For once, Sirius was the one asleep in my arms. He was lying on top of me, keeping me warm. I could both hear and feel his gentle breathing. I lay there, thinking, as I gently stroked his hair. As I watched him sleeping soundly in my arms and the minutes ticked by until the darkness made it hard to see his face too clearly, it slowly dawned upon me that I had to move now.
Once I was back at Hogwarts, I couldn't move freely. First, Dumbledore was keeping a sharp eye on my movements. Second, with the Tournament this year, so many unknown people and factors would be at play in Hogwarts that I didn't feel like I could leave Harry unprotected at the castle.
Furthermore, it was best for me to make a move before Remus left for his own place. While Sirius was here, I knew Harry would be well-protected, but Sirius himself needed to be protected. If he was spotted, he'd be hard-pressed to make a getaway, and would in all likelihood have to leave the country. My arms tightened around him at the thought of having him so far away from me, and on the run again.
So, I now had this very short span of time – days – in which to make a move where Dumbledore would not be scrutinizing me and where Sirius was safe with Remus, and Harry with both Sirius and Remus.
It's time to pick up an old thread, an old hunt… I thought to myself. Because I had been searching for another Horcrux or at least another lead prior to the Chamber of Secrets opening. With the basilisk on the loose, my hands had been tied up at Hogwarts. And immediately after the Chamber of Secrets riddle was solved, Sirius had escaped Azkaban, and all of my thought and focus had been poured into finding him and making sure that he was safe. And he was safe, though not yet free. But he was here in my arms, and we would find a way forward together.
But now, with the Dark Mark appearing at the World Cup, Harry's dream, Sehtzer's letter, and the TriWizard Tournament (which I realized now was Dumbledore's method of creating alliances before a war began) reaffirmed the urgency of finding more leads to discover Voldemort's past, for uncovering Voldemort's history was the only viable way of finding his Horcruxes.
I once again felt terribly frustrated as I thought about the Horcruxes. I couldn't go to Slughorn for more information, in case Dumbledore discovered what I was doing. And it was imperative that Dumbledore did not find out what I was doing, at least, not too explicitly. Because I knew that Dumbledore would be willing to sacrifice Harry to defeat Voldemort, and I was not willing to do so. I also could no longer freely come and go at Grimmauld Place as I had before, because if Kreacher somehow ended up informing Sirius that I frequently went there to test the locket, it would expose Sirius to the information about Horcruxes. Not only had I given Dumbledore my word not to tell Sirius about the Horcruxes, but I also felt that I owed it to Harry not to tell Sirius about them. Despite my best intentions and efforts, whenever I looked at Harry, I thought about how a piece of Voldemort's soul was within him and inadvertently, that created a bit of distance between us. I knew it. I fought it, but it lay in the back of my mind all the time. That was partly why Harry was definitely closer to Sirius, even though he was both our godson. That wasn't to say that I wasn't close to Harry, and besides, Sirius had a much more likable personality regardless, but in my own mind, whenever I saw Harry, it wasn't just as a child anymore, but as someone who I had to protect from both Voldemort and Dumbledore. I felt guilty for thinking that way when Harry deserved someone who just loved him. So, it was my wish, and perhaps a terribly selfish wish, that Sirius, at least, saw him as a boy and nothing but.
As the sun began to rise and the light began to infiltrate my bedroom, I realized that my path was clear: I had a few days in which to try to gather information about the Horcrux and to investigate why the Dark Mark had appeared in the sky at the World Cup. In so doing, I could not visit Grimmauld Place or approach Professor Slughorn, thus leading me with only one lead – Little Hangleton. "Little Hangleton, Marvolo Gaunt" was the four-word clue that Borgin had let slip to me when I'd interrogated him while Regulus and I were hunting down Voldemort's locket.
When the sun slipped over the horizon, I ever so slowly slid myself away from Sirius. I had to be very patient and controlled not to wake him up, but I managed. I quickly replaced where I had been lying with my largest, firmest pillow. Then, I quietly left the house. I walked to the end of the street and checking that no one was around, I Disapparated to Little Hangleton.
The last time I had been here, just over a year or so ago, I had come to a dead end with my search for "Gaunt". However, I had picked up the locals' tales about the Riddle House, which was a very old mansion that overlooked the entire town. I went into the town again and slipped inside a local pub called The Hanged Man. I was able to strike up a casual conversation with some elderly gentlemen. When I mentioned the Riddle House, the gentleman sitting opposite me shook his head and said, "It's a pretty waste of space, that house."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Nobody uses that house. Nobody lives in it. There's a care-taker, Frank, but he lives in a shack near the house. The house has no master and no residents."
"Well, someone must own it," I replied. "Perhaps they use it as a vacation house."
"Yeah, somebody owns it all right. Some big-name city man that only owns it for tax purposes," somebody else chimed in. "But we've never seen his face."
"They really should re-purpose it," the first man muttered. "A shelter for the homeless, maybe…"
"No, best to leave it well alone, I say, after what happened to the Riddle family."
"After what happened…?" I repeated. "Didn't they just sell it to a wealthy man?"
"Good lord, no. Haven't you ever heard, miss? Mr. and Mrs. Riddle and their son, Tom Riddle, dropped dead all together one summer evening at their dinner table."
"What? On the same day?" I said, astonished.
"Oh yes, and here's the real clutch – nobody knows how or why they died. The report came out that they hadn't been poisoned, strangled, shot, stabbed, or anything of the sort. The report said that they were all totally healthy, except for the fact that they were dead. In fact, they were all still in their dinner things."
"Did they ever catch who did it?" I asked, already knowing my answer.
"No."
I walked out of the bar, frustrated beyond belief. Everything was a dead end. It seemed that there was nothing in this sleepy town that could tell me anything about Voldemort. I thought hard to myself, wondering if I could have missed something. When I looked up again, thinking that I should go home, I found myself staring up at the Riddle House.
"Nobody uses that house. Nobody lives in it."
My eyes stared up at the dark, slowly decaying mansion. Then, something caught my eye - a scarlet flicker behind dark glass. Is that a…? I stepped closer towards the fence surrounding the house. Yes, there it is – a light! There's a light on in that room.
I hesitated and looked around me before opening the latch on the fence and walking up towards the house.
As I approached it, an ominous feeling came over me. I'd misjudged the sheer scale of the mansion now looming over me. Now closer, I saw that many of its windows were boarded up, several tiles were missing from its large roof, and ivy was making quite a home of the walls. But my eyes were trained on that one room, high up in the house. I was nearly at the front door when I stopped and craned my head upwards to spot the room with the light on again.
At that moment, I heard a voice whisper sharply, "Petrificus Totalus!"
My entire body seized up and I fell over, frozen straight as a board. Though entirely numb and unable to move, I was still awake. A burst of fear exploded within the pit of my stomach as someone grabbed my arm and hastily yanked me into the house. Because my back was to that person's legs, I couldn't see who it was. I felt myself being crudely dragged across a stone floor. Then, the person stopped, turned around, and picked me up by my arms. I still couldn't see the person's face as he or she lifted me up a flight of wooden, creaking stairs.
I heard voices as we approached the room at the end of the hallway. One voice was high and thin and demanding and the other was whimpering and cowering. I was unceremoniously thrown into the room, landing face-down onto a dusty, worn rug. I tried to struggle, to get to my wand, but my body was still completely paralyzed.
"And what'sss thisss?" a voice slithered. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I heard that unearthly voice speaking.
"My Lord, I found her snooping around the House," a man's voice replied. I thought the voice was strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on who it was.
"Who – Who is she?" the third voice asked, frightened.
I felt a blunt kick to my stomach as I was forced to turn over.
Petrified, I stared with glassy eyes at the scene in front of me: I immediately recognized Peter, who was kneeling beside a chair. In the chair, there was a pile of cloth, and in that pile of cloth –
Horror broke through me: that pale face with the livid red eyes and the slits of a snake where a nose should be – it could only be Voldemort. And yet, he was so weak, so feeble, that he did not seem human. He was no bigger than a baby, curled up in that heavy cloak to keep himself warm.
"It's the Kingsley girl, my Lord." The third man, the man who had dragged me all the way up here, stepped over me and joined his master by kneeling beside the couch. I finally saw his face: Barty Crouch, Jr.
Confusion mixed in with the utter terror I was feeling. Barty Crouch Jr. is supposed to be in Azkaban! He was sentenced to life in Azkaban by his father. I saw him! I was there… that day Alice and Frank were found, and we went out to capture Bellatrix, Rodulphus, and Rabastan at the opera house. Barty was brought in separately.
"Is she, now?" the strange manifestation of Voldemort hissed. "Ah, yes, I remember now. The Mudblood Hogwarts Champion. And one of Dumbledore's faithful lapdogs. How you have survived, time after time again, despite the utter lack of magic in your filthy blood."
A cruel laugh filled the air. "Shall we see if your mind is any less worthless?"
"Drag her closer to me," Voldemort ordered.
I knew what was going to happen. He was going to try to look inside of my mind. As Barty grabbed me by the shoulder and roughly dragged me forward, fury and horror writhed inside of me. The fact that I was paralyzed made my head pound. My lungs were going to burst from the need to scream.
I didn't stand a chance against protecting myself from Voldemort's Legilimency. Even if he was in that strange, barely human form, his mind seemed to be mostly intact.
Barty had forced me to the very edge of the chair, and Voldemort's red eyes snaked open. I tried desperately to blink, but the Body-Bind Curse made it impossible. However, there were things that I had to protect – about the fact that I knew about Voldemort's Horcruxes, or that Harry was a Horcrux, and about Sirius' whereabouts – even if it cost me my own life. I knew I could not protect everything I knew about Harry and Sirius against Voldemort. But these limited things, I might have a chance against this severely weakened Voldemort, if I could just control my own fear…
Let go, I told myself. Let go. Let go of everything you love and everything you hate. Let it float away, and then no one can get to you.
In that split second before Voldemort delved into my mind, I tried to release all of my emotions and to be empty, just as Dumbledore had taught me all of those years ago. I also made the decision to protect only those three things and to let the rest go. I imagined traveling into my own brain and stitching up the parts of my memory associated with Horcruxes and with Sirius and throwing it into a deep ocean. It was no longer a part of me, and Voldemort could not access it, no matter how he tried. My focus there, however, meant that the rest of my mind was wide open to him.
Suddenly, I was subject to the horrible and nauseating feeling of a dark, heavy serpent slithering through my mind, forcing its way into my brain, pushing through the usual defense mechanisms that allow for the privacy of the mind.
Voldemort laughed thinly as he whispered, "I see the years of peace in my absence has made you weak. All your memories laid bare… Your filthy Mudblood parents dying in total ignorance of magic. They died like mindless cattle, didn't they? Not comprehending a single thing they were being subjected to."
A moment later, he'd found yet another weakness: Your emotions for Sirius Black are disgusting. And your care for that revolting, tamed werewolf is equally abhorrent. Pathetic.
Then, Voldemort hissed as he realized: So you and Black are the Potter boy's godparents, are you? That is useful, very useful indeed. How touching, that the bastard child of the Potters would have a felon and a Mudblood as godparents. He laughed cruelly, deeply amused. Rest assured, you will all be the death of each other.
And what's this? Oh, but this is interesting. You doubt Dumbledore, do you? Very interesting. So, you are not simply a faithful lapdog. You have sense, and as feeble as it is, you try to use it. You could be very useful to me, then. Shall we dig a little deeper?
Frighteningly, the deeper he delved into my mind, the more doorways were opening. My defenses were weakening, but I desperately tried to hide the fact that my distrust of Dumbledore included our strange alliance-rivalry over Harry as a Horcrux. Instead, I tried to lead Voldemort to the recent argument Dumbledore and I had had over the TriWizard Tournament.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice, and during your summer break," Dumbledore said. "The first piece of news I wish to share is that we have succeeded in procuring a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor – Alastor Moody."
"Alastor… Moody? Mad-Eye?" I repeated. "He's going to be a teacher?"
"Yes."
"The first-years will be scared out of their wits. No, strike that – the seventh-years will be scared out of their wits."
"I am sure they will be well-rewarded for their bravery in receiving Professor Moody's considerable knowledge in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore replied. "And now, I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts has been selected once again to compete in the legendary TriWizard Tournament."
Then, Voldemort took control of my mind and to my confusion, sought to discover more about my relationship with Moody. My memory path took me back to a rainy evening, when I was still an Auror. We'd just ambushed two Death Eaters and successfully captured them.
Savage and Shacklebolt dragged over an unconscious Death Eater. Moody ripped off his hood.
"Travers," Ahmed recognized.
We made our way to Dawlish, who was keeping the Death Eater on his knees, even as he tried to resist. His hood was thrown back.
"Karkaroff," I spat.
"Let's take them back to the Ministry," Dawlish suggested.
Moody nodded.
"Good job, you lot," Ahmed said to us.
Voldemort's red eyes flashed open. "At last – a way inside of Hogwarts?"
"My Lord?" Barty Crouch Jr. started. He knelt down and looked hungrily between Voldemort and me. His tongue flicked out in anticipation.
"Her memories confirm what we tortured out of Bertha Jorkins – that the TriWizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this year," Voldemort informed him. "What's more, it seems that Dumbledore has hired an old, trusted friend to resume the Defense Against the Dark Arts post this year – Alastor Moody. The Kingsley girl and Moody used to work together as Aurors."
Voldemort's unnatural voice began to take on an even more freakish tone as a high-pitched buzzing began to ring in my ears. I could hear my own breathing in my head.
Already straining from the effort it was taking me to block a very particular part of my memories from Voldemort, I was unable to take any more intrusion and I passed out without even realizing it. The Body-Bind Curse broke. My eyes rolled back in my head, and darkness took me.
Peter's POV
Voldemort sneered as Raylynx Kingsley's head dropped forward, limp. Barty roughly yanked Kingsley back to keep her from falling forward. I wrung my hands nervously, wondering if she was asleep or dead. She seemed to just be asleep, but it was impossible to tell. Sweat and tears were still pouring down her face as Voldemort had forced her to relive her worst memories in extracting information from her.
"Take a hair from her head. Approach Alastor Moody as Raylynx Kingsley and then kidnap him. You will transform into him and pose as Moody. That will be your way inside Hogwarts," Voldemort directed, his voice sharp and calculating. "Dumbledore trusts Moody, and Moody trusts Kingsley. And Kingsley has so graciously walked right into our hands."
"It will be done, my Lord," Barty promised, as he yanked a hair from her head.
"What if the Ministry investigates the ambush on Moody?" I asked fearfully. "Wouldn't that lead them straight to us?"
"No, Alastor Moody has quite the reputation for being paranoid. The Ministry won't look into it too closely, if at all. They'll just consider it a nuisance. Although, this time, he wouldn't just be paranoid. He'd be right," Voldemort said savagely.
"What should we do with the girl, my Lord?" Barty asked. "Should we dispose of her?"
So she's not dead yet, I thought to myself. But then, it occurred to me that if we were to kill Raylynx, there would be no need to go after Harry himself. I hesitated, unsure of whether I wanted to suggest it or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. I would rather live with the guilt of killing a former classmate than of having to go up against Dumbledore. "Why not use her, my Lord? She certainly qualifies as your enemy," I said, my voice trembling. I couldn't bring myself to look at Kingsley while I said this. But why should I feel any guilt? Raylynx Kingsley had never given me a second glance, never attempted to befriend me. She, like everyone else, had only ever cared about Sirius, Remus, and James. I had seen the way she pined over Sirius over the years, unable to tell anyone her feelings. She'd been miserable when Marlene and Sirius had dated, I remembered, but not brave enough to confess her feelings. She, like me, had always been a coward. But throughout all that, did it ever cross her mind that I could have been her friend? That I could read her far more easily than she could imagine? No. She wanted to be seen and understood, but not by the likes of me. She didn't care about me. So, what did it matter to me what Barty did with her, when she had never given me a second look?
"No. Not yet," Voldemort said sharply. "It would be suspicious if she were to die. I see from her memories that Dumbledore is keeping a close eye on her. If he were to trace her death to us, it might alert Dumbledore to the fact that you were an imposter, then revealing that Moody is an imposter. We must let her return to Hogwarts. And she will be a most useful ally to you, Crouch, as you attempt to help Harry to the Cup. Feed her information, and she will doubtlessly alert Potter in an effort to help him."
"Yes, my Lord," Barty replied.
"Yes, she will be our greatest asset this year. She will ensure that I return to my full human form," Voldemort said knowingly. "How ironic. She believes she has spent her entire life to thwart me, only to come to me at the most opportune moment."
And Voldemort could immediately see how she would come into play again and again. He could use her to lure the Potter boy as needed, and he was sure that he could turn her against Dumbledore when the time came – for there was doubt in her mind, so much of it. Not unlike Wormtail, Voldemort thought.
Voldemort hissed, "Wormtail."
"Y-Yes, my Lord?" I said, trying to ignore the fear that rose within me whenever he referred to me.
"Where is Nagini?"
"I — I don't know, My Lord," I replied nervously, wracking my brains to try to think of where she might be. "She set out to explore the house, I think…"
"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," Voldemort ordered. "I will need feeding in the night."
"Yes…" I said and then slid away from the chair, not wanting to be near that thing – no, not that thing, but my master Voldemort, I reminded myself – for any longer than necessary.
"My Lord," Barty interrupted, "if I may – as long as I do not kill the girl, you will let me have my way with her?"
"I care not what you do with that Mudblood filth," Voldemort replied harshly. "Just see to it that she does not remember any of this and that she returns to Hogwarts in time to help carry out our plan of bringing the Potter boy to me."
"Of course, my Lord," Barty promised, and a savage grin split his face. I frowned, uneasy. That look on his face never boded well.
Barty began to drag Kingsley's body out of the room. I followed, as I was supposed to go and collect Nagini. At the doorway of the room, I couldn't help but to ask worriedly, "What are you going to do to her?"
"Rough her up a bit," Crouch answered, and laughed.
Still, I found myself saying, "It'll be safer if we just let her go." It was true. Voldemort's murder of Bertha was sure to cause suspicions soon enough, if they hadn't already, and the last thing we needed was for Crouch to leave a mark on Kingsley. Crouch knew I was right, too, and he visibly bristled, not liking that I was challenging his decision or interrupting his "sport" of taking advantage of Muggle and Muggle-born women. The very thought of it made me sick. I could understand doing what was necessary to save your skin, but harming others beyond that just didn't make any sense to me. Why risk it? And what pleasure could be derived from it, anyways?
Crouch frowned and stepping forward, he roughly grasped me by the throat. "What's it to you?"
"N-Nothing. I just don't see why it's necessary," I replied honestly, though the anger in Crouch's unsteady eyes made me quite nervous.
At that moment, Nagini appeared, gliding through the doorway. Crouch let me go to make way for the giant serpent, who slid up the chair to Voldemort.
The strange, uncanny slithering rang out between Voldemort and Nagini. Voldemort hissed and then called sharply, "Wormtail. Crouch. Nagini has interesting news. According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."
Crouch immediately threw Kingsley's body down on the floor and then kicked open the door to reveal the old Muggle caretaker, Frank Bryce. My mouth dropped open, stunned.
Before I could do anything, Voldemort said from behind me, "Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"
I knew immediately what was going to happen. But I still hoped beyond hope that Voldemort would spare this old Muggle man. I beckoned to the man and then stood aside to let him in.
"You heard everything, Muggle?" Voldemort asked coldly.
"What's that you're calling me?" the Muggle said. His voice was strong and defiant for a man his age. No, it wasn't just about age. His voice was more strong and defiant than mine had ever been.
"I am calling you a Muggle," Voldemort replied coldly. "It means that you are not a wizard."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said the old man stoutly. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too, my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back —"
"You have no wife," Voldemort said thinly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows… he always knows…"
"Is that right?" Far from being taken aback for having been called out on his lie, the old Muggle man seemed to be even more resolute in his anger. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"
No, I thought, no, no. You're going to anger him. And he'll make you pay. Get out of here. Get out of here now.
"But I am not a man, Muggle," Voldemort whispered, amused. "I am much, much more than a man. However… why not? I will face you…"
"Wormtail, come turn my chair around," Voldemort ordered.
I whimpered. Not only did I not want to go anywhere near Voldemort, but I knew that this spelled certain death for the Muggle man.
"You heard me, Wormtail," Voldemort hissed at me threateningly.
I swallowed hard and then moved over to the chair. I began to turn the chair. Nagini, who was resting on the rug besides the chair, lifted her head and hissed as the rug began to move with the feet of the chair.
I saw the Muggle man's face open in a scream as he saw what was in the chair. I shut my eyes, but even with my eyes shut, the flash of bright green light invaded my senses. When I opened my eyes, the Muggle man had crumpled on the ground – dead, dead, dead.
"Dinner, Nagini," Voldemort hissed, satisfied with his work.
I was trembling from head to foot, though trying desperately not to show it.
"Crouch," Voldemort said suddenly.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Get rid of the girl immediately. Modify her memory and dump her in a public place. Though it will take a long time before anyone comes looking for this Muggle man, we cannot risk Kingsley's simultaneous disappearance any longer."
"Yes, my Lord," Barty replied.
As Barty dragged Kingsley out of the room, I gave one last try. In a very feeble voice, I said, "And you're sure she will not suffice as-?"
"Wormtail, do not question me again, unless you wish to feel the extent of my wrath-"
"No, my Lord! I- I apologize, I did not mean-"
"It will be the Potter boy who dies by the end of this Tournament. As for the Kingsley girl, we will keep her around," Voldemort said, and his voice was heavily amused. "For she is the weak point. You see, she is Potter's, Black's, and Dumbledore's greatest vulnerability. With her under my control, she will bring about the death of every single one of them without even being aware of it." Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. "Foolish girl. I almost feel pity for her, except she is a Mudblood and her kind deserves every tragedy possible for trying to force their way in the magical world."
