Chapter 28. The Gift for a Squib

When Harry looked up, Ron and Hermione were lying on the carpet in the headmistress's office, just like him. He knew he had to get up and do something, but he wanted to stay lying down. Edmund had died because of him. Had he just gotten rid of his prejudice against Slytherin, had he stopped Edmund at the last minute. . . .

"I'm sorry about that Auror, Harry," Hermione said as she held out her hand. "But we have to keep fighting if we don't want his death to be in vain."

"It's true." Taking her hand, Harry felt a hidden strength rise from deep within his heart. "I need to contact Faraday first. Eisenbein used a very strange potion. . . . Let's find out what it was."

The phone beeped twice before Faraday answered. "Harry, I hear things are getting serious — are you okay?"

"So far, Faraday," said Harry. "I've just discovered that Eisenbein was the one who took Flamel's books. . . . It seems he found a recipe in the library for a potion that gives Muggles magical abilities by using the blood of wizards."

"Wait a minute . . . you mentioned blood, didn't you? All the contents of those books are stored in my database — I'll find anything about blood quickly." It was several minutes before Faraday was back on the phone. "Yes, it's true that Nicolas Flamel once claimed that the Vampire Squib was not a real vampire, but an expert potioneer who stole the blood of wizards for magic."

"I read that part too!"

Hermione clapped her hands and took a book from her beaded bag. On the page she opened was an illustration of a crystal bottle filled with blood and decorated with opals. The image triggered Harry's memory of the opal-encrusted crystal bottle he had kept in the storeroom at Grimmauld Place. He was certain that the bottle contained a blood-based potion, a trophy passed down from generation to generation among the Blacks.

"There's a bottle like that in my house! Among the Black family's ancestors was a famous vampire hunter: This man must've killed the so-called Vampire Squib and taken one of his potions as a prize."

"Do you all agree that Eisenbein is a Muggle?" Ron said, his eyes widening. "Does he really intend to steal our magical abilities by draining our blood?"

"The problem is that there are a lot of things that can't be explained if he is indeed a Muggle," Hermione said, frowning in confusion. "In particular, he knows Grindelwald and Voldemort very well. . . . Those two Dark wizards saw Muggles as nothing more than vermin — how could one be their henchman?"

"Perhaps he was secretly following them without their knowledge," said Harry. He remembered that once the Invisibility Cloak had been removed, Eisenbein's face had become completely transparent. "Eisenbein must have gained followers from the information he gained through that process."

"I feel the same way," said Ron. "Then why would an ordinary Muggle suffer such a terrible curse? By Professor Dumbledore, that is, according to his claims."

Harry jerked his head back at the blank wall behind the headmistress's desk with a sudden realization. There was no portrait of Albus Dumbledore hanging there now, but it strangely reminded him of an oil painting of a blonde girl. The girl had a kind but blank look on her face. . . .

"We should go down, I have a question for Aberforth," Harry told his friends, and said on the phone, "Faraday, I appreciate your help. I'll get in touch with you later."

"All right, I'm here if you need me."

Harry slipped out of the headmistress's office and down the descending stairs, Ron and Hermione running right behind him, not knowing why. He stepped through an open wall into the corridor and Aberforth and McGonagall approached him.

"Did you see the memory, Harry?" asked Aberforth.

"That's right. I think I know who Eisenbein is," breathed Harry. "The day before your father carried out Ariana's revenge, did he by any chance enter the study?"

Hearing the name of his late sister, Aberforth raised his eyebrows. "Yes, that's how I remember it. He spent most of the day in his study. . . . The strange thing is, he must've been alone, but I heard voices coming from that room."

"To get revenge on the Muggle boys, he probably used one of his speaking books to find out about the Fourth Curse," said Harry darkly.

"But Harry, didn't the Ministry of Magic confiscate and destroy the book shortly thereafter?" said Hermione. "How would Professor Dumbledore know about the curse —"

"It's a trick!" shouted Harry. "Eisenbein claimed Dumbledore made him that way, but he never revealed his full name. So we just assumed it was Albus Dumbledore. But Aberforth, here with us, is also a Dumbledore, like his father!"

"Harry, you mean . . ." Having finally come to terms with what Harry had said, Aberforth stared at Harry with piercing blue eyes. "Eisenbein is, in fact —"

"Yes, he's one of the three Muggle boys who attacked Ariana! More than a century ago, your father struck him with the Fourth Curse, causing him to wander around undead until now, when he finally revealed himself!"

He told them what he had learned from Edmund's last memory and about the crimson potion that allows Muggles and Squibs to use magic. Aberforth clenched his fists in a fit of rage and McGonagall's face turned completely pale while they listened to his words.

"Then Harry — Slytherin students —"

"I'm sure they didn't kill the children," said Harry immediately. He did not want to consider that as a possibility. "Eisenbein only purged his pureblood followers who would rebel against his true plans. They would have left the children unharmed if they had had to take blood from someone all the time."

"Does that mean Muggles are the only ones left under him? Who can now use magic with blood-based potions?" asked Aberforth.

"Most, but not all. At least one Muggle-born witch works for him," said Hermione. "Her name is Robby Reach, granddaughter of the former Minister of Magic."

"Keep an eye on the Squibs too," said Ron bluntly. "It's no secret that many of them are desperate for magic. . . . The Dawn Breakers must've at least a few of them. Eisenbein's potion would make them willing to give up their lives."

It was as if Harry had been hit with a hammer when he heard those words; he suddenly had a flashback. He had found a Kwikspell letter, a wand, and a vial full of red liquid on Argus Filch's desk when he had visited his office. . . .

"Filch," Harry muttered, his mouth dry.

"Yes, mate. Filch is a Squib. We all know —"

"No, Filch was the double-crosser!" cried Harry. "I saw he had some red potion before . . . in return, he has been working for Eisenbein!"

At that moment, a small presence at the end of the corridor caught Harry's attention, and he turned to see a dust-colored cat disappearing down the stairs.

"Mr. Norris! It's going to Filch!" In an instant, Harry drew his wand and began running down the corridor. "Stupefy!"

Harry's wand shot a flash of red light at the cat galloping down the stairs, but Mr. Norris jumped just in time to avoid it. Stimulated by the spell, the stairs moved sideways before Harry could step on them, hindering his pursuit. Remembering his school days, he turned and entered a passage hidden behind a tapestry and descended the narrow staircase. Mr. Norris was still nowhere to be seen when Harry came out near the Charms classroom. Out of breath, he ran down several flights of stairs, almost falling. When he finally reached the entrance hall, he banged the door open and burst into Filch's office.

The smell of fried fish instantly filled Harry's nostrils. The room was a mess, with all the drawers open and half-packed luggage scattered all over the floor. Filch pointed his wand at Harry from behind his desk, an empty syringe dangling from his arm. Mr. Norris sat on the desk with his claws raised and his sharp teeth exposed. In short order, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall and Aberforth joined Harry in drawing their wands. Despite being heavily outnumbered, Filch maintained a straight face.

"Listen to me, Argus. I am well aware of what he has suggested," said McGonagall calmly. "But —"

"Too late, McGonagall," Filch growled in a hoarse voice. "Do not waste your time begging me. . . . There could be no greater gift than Eisenbein has offered me."

"How long have you been with him?" asked Harry. A sudden realization struck him as he looked into Mr. Norris's sunken, lantern-like eyes. "So you were the culprit. . . . I assume you used your cat to gain access to the headmistress's office and then used Instant Darkness Powder to obscure the view to damage Dumbledore's portrait."

"Yes, I took the powder from a naughty brat. . . . Ha! Ronald Weasley — who would've thought that any of the rubbish your ruddy shop sells would ever come in handy? And as for Dumbledore's portrait — my spell tore it to shreds. . . . A mere Squib has destroyed the greatest wizard in history for good!" Filch giggled madly, but his wand still remained pointed at Harry. "Still looking down on me, Potter? Still wanna hurt my cat, 'cause I'm a worthless Squib?"

"Mrs. Norris wasn't petrified because of Harry!" cried Hermione. "It was Voldemort who did it!"

"Ah, yes . . . he and his thugs trampled on us every chance they got. But you must know, there are limits to what we can tolerate —"

"We're not like the Death Eaters," said Ron defiantly. "We treat Muggle-borns and Squibs equally —"

"Is that so?" Filch chuckled, showing his blackened teeth. His popping eyes flashed dangerously and foam dribbled from his mouth. "It would take all night to list all the abuses I've suffered at the hands of your twin brothers. . . . Would they have done the same if I were a wizard? I DON'T THINK SO!"

"Argus, it's not because you're a Squib!" said McGonagall loudly. "That's just how kids are at that age — they don't listen and they always cause trouble!"

"Oh, are you sure? What about that great oaf, then? Whenever he could, he openly called me a Squib in front of your students, and you and Dumbledore always turned a deaf ear to my protests. . . . You two just let that half-giant put me down!"

The moment Harry realized he was talking about Hagrid, his heart sank. Then again, Filch had volunteered to go to the cabin with Hagrid, only to return alone. . . .

"Tell me, Mr. Filch. Where is Hagrid?" said Harry, his voice shaking. "Did you hurt him in any way?"

"Ah, it seems the mighty Harry Potter has finally caught on to what's going on!" A broad smile spread across Filch's mad face, revealing black teeth and swollen gums in his mouth. "That fool had to go to his rightful place. . . . Eisenbein assured me of that."

"WHERE IS HAGRID?" bellowed Harry, "TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" He took a step forward, pointing the wand straight at Filch's face.

"You heard me, he's back where he belongs," Filch laughed, a manic gleam in his eyes. A tremor ran through Harry's wand arm. The only thing that mattered to him now was finding Hagrid. He would torture Filch if he had to. . . . Then Hermione took his shoulder with a gentle hand and stepped forward.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Filch. If you surrender to us now and help us find Hagrid, I will use my power as Minister of Magic to pardon all your crimes up to this point."

"Ha! You call that an offer?" laughed Filch. "And what happens next — come back here? Back to the days when I served your wicked children? Back to the days when I scrubbed filth and grime in cold hallways? There's no way I can accept that, missy. . . . There's no way I'm going back . . ."

"Then there is only one way. Stupe —"

The spell Harry was casting was interrupted when Mr. Norris pounced on him. In an attempt to bite Harry's neck, the cat sank its claws into his shoulders. Harry struggled to pull Mr. Norris off his body, dropping him to the ground. When Harry regained his senses and looked ahead, Filch was pointing the wand at the side of his own head.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Filch grinned broadly as he shouted. A burst of intense green light blinded Harry and he heard the rapid whoosh of the air as it vibrated.

Filch was gone when Harry opened his eyes: his body lay stiffly on the floor behind the desk when he walked around it. His bright smile was still on his lips, just as it had been just before he died. Mr. Norris approached his late master and gave a sad meow.

"D-did he just kill himself? I mean — with a Killing Curse?" Hermione covered her mouth with her hand in disbelief. "But that curse only works if —"

"- you have a strong desire to kill your target," said Aberforth. "Filch seemed to dislike himself quite a bit. . . . He chose to die as a wizard rather than live on as a Squib."

Even in death, Filch's mouth still had a twisted grin on it, as if he were taunting Harry. The sight made him realize once again how dangerous Eisenbein was: Unlike Voldemort, he hadn't used threats or the Imperius Curse to force a man to serve him at the cost of his life. . . .

"We've got to find Hagrid," Harry said as he turned and headed for the door. "Someone's going to get hurt tonight, but it shouldn't be Hagrid. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"We'll come with you," said Ron firmly.

"Me too," said Hermione. "He's a dear friend of ours, too."

Harry nodded silently to them before turning to the other two. "Minerva, Aberforth, stay at school just in case — we'll check out Hagrid's cabin."

Despite their hesitation, McGonagall and Aberforth slowly nodded.

"Take care, Harry," said Aberforth quietly. "After what Eisenbein did to my sister, I cannot bear the thought of him harming you as well."

"I'll keep that in mind, Aberforth," Harry said, staring into his bright blue eyes. The cool, refreshing air blew in when he stepped out of the office, but he did not feel any better.