In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 112: Prey
Hoot!
Wednesday morning, Gia woke to the wide eyes on her, the wings that stretched, the beak above her, as Hedwig was on the pillow. Gia reached up, stroked a couple of the feathers, the wings that stretched again. Fur of a tail brushed to her side, the cat that occupied the damp spot where Harry had been sleeping. Ron and Hermione still asleep beyond. A tiny flutter, Pigwidgeon that hovered in the room.
Hoot!
Gia stroked more of Hedwig's feathers.
"I need to…no I don't," Gia said, "Nothing I have to do."
Gia moved, her legs over the edge, her edge to the bed, and stood. Ron got up, went into the shower. Gia followed him into the lavatory.
"I know it's not Harry's fault," Gia said, "Got nothing else in my life except this house, and I'm trapped inside it."
After Ron finished, Gia followed him down the stairs. Gia grabbed at the papers, brought them over to the dining table, while Ron went into the kitchen.
"You—at least you folks get to leave," Gia said, "I'd love to walk to school again."
"If Harry could give you some of his power, he would," Ron said, "It's—"
"I know, I know," Gia grumbled.
"Bring us to practice?" asked Hermione as she crossed the living room.
"Thought you were playing with your toys," Ron said.
"Only so many things to go boom," Hermione said as she opened The Daily Prophet, "Oh."
Gia glanced over, the Potter Mark over a swimming pool, the blood stain to one side, read off the place.
"Gaborone, Botswana?" Gia asked.
"Africa," Hermione said, "Why strike there?"
"Why anywhere?" Ron asked.
"Suppose we bury this one too," Hermione said.
"Yes we do," Ron said as he came over to the table. "That paper's filled with hatrid for him."
"Sorry, didn't mean—" Hermione started.
"Realize we're still fighting the battle," Ron said.
Ron went back to the stove, the spatula that flipped the eggs. Gia read into the more boring The Daily Telegraph.
"Miss anything?" asked Harry as he apparated in.
"No," Hermione said, "Everything's fine."
Harry came over, the smell of forest freshness as he kissed Gia. Harry spun, sat at the table, and swallowed his pills; he waited. Gia's left hand reached, felt into his shorts, and she watched the grin to his face. Ron brought the tray of bacon, eggs over.
"Ta," Harry said as he took strips of streaky bacon, the fried eggs.
Gia felt the penetrative stare of those bottle green eyes beneath the familiar scar to the forehead, the black hair over the top as he also ate.
"Ta," Harry repeated as he brought his fork to the eggs.
Ron brought over the beans and toast. Harry took a slice, piled on the beans. Ron went, returned with the orange juice.
"Our resident chef," Hermione said.
"You're welcome to cook," Ron said as he sat.
"Let's not," Harry said.
Harry took more bacon, more eggs, and ate into a third slice of toast. Gia definitely felt better with Harry eating.
Albus Dumbledore's fingers went over the proceedings of the 1637 Wizengamot, the search for anything of value, the windows only beginning to illuminate with the Thursday morning. An owl entered, the two copies of The Daily Prophet in its talons, one that dropped into the cauldron, the other onto the desk.
"First one to get that right," Albus said to the owl, "A treat."
Albus took out an owl treat from his desk, unwrapped it, and fed it to the bird. Brown wings that flapped as it vanished. A knock at the door.
"Enter!" Albus exclaimed.
More ambulatory on his feet, Aberforth entered.
"Dear brother," Aberforth said, "Did you forget to pack?"
Albus trained his eyes up on him.
"Don't tell me you're going to work another holiday?" Aberforth said.
"I don't have the time to spare," Albus said.
"I'd like a brother…Egypt," Aberforth said, "Tour the library of Alexandria, the dig going on to excavate the rest of it. Don't tell me you're not interested."
Minerva McGonagall entered, her emerald green robes, the square glasses. Albus knew who set Aberforth up to this.
"Hogwarts will be here on Monday," Minerva said, "Even with time short, you need the break, you need a holiday. Dare I get Poppy involved?"
Albus studied the witch.
"Alright, alright, you win," Minerva said, "I'll let the Minister know you're available for an immediate four day conference to discuss the current Harry Potter situation."
Albus stood, the hand trembled on his cane.
"Excavation?" Albus said, "Are they…accessible?"
"Beaches are," Aberforth said, "If you'd rather do that."
"Library it is," Albus said.
Albus went with Aberforth.
"Mind the castle," Albus said to Minerva.
Albus left the office.
Hermione opened The Daily Prophet as she sat Thursday morning at the dining table.
"Oh," Hermione muttered.
"What?" Ron asked.
Front page, the picture, the motion in a conversion from a CCTV recording. Padma walking on the sidewalk. In the distance a raven haired boy threw a gray frisbee, one that hit Padma and she vanished.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Thursday 3 April 1997
Potter Kidnaps Padma Patil
In a bold move, Potter kidnapped Padma Patil on Tuesday. Padma Patil, a sixth year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the twin to Parvati Patil, the girl Potter raped in January. Clarence Patil vowed to take all measures to hunt down Potter, and the editors wish him the best of luck. Muggle authorities are cooperating with the Ministry for Magic in the search for this bright witch.
"Bounties are going up," Ron said.
"London's not the only place they've been busy," Hermione said.
"Where else?" Ron asked.
"They struck a girls lavatory in Canada," Hermione said, "Five dead."
"And?" Ron asked, seeing it in her eyes.
"Don't need the pictures," Hermione said, opening to page four, the meat in the mouths of lions. "Melbourne, report is Harry and you used the Imperius curse to get a church group of a dozen to enter the lion pen. Three dead, two maimed."
"Hide the paper," Ron said.
"Ernie Macmillan was also reported missing," Hermione said.
…
Hermione watched as the three boys vanished, still at the table. Gia leaned back and crashed backward on to the carpet.
"I'm…" Gia started.
Hermione knew neither had to finish the sentence. Her essays and homework caught up, the mines had ceased to have appeal, they'd been disassembled and reassembled. She needed Harry and Ron to focus further on the Occlumency or Legilimens. Anything more interesting required leaving the house, which'd solve her boredom, but not Gia's. Even the light chores for a small house, taken care of by Dobby and Winky.
"We could try…" Hermione stopped, they'd already done that.
Hoot!
Hedwig stretched her wings, the fur of Crookshanks to her feet.
"Apparate me somewhere," Gia said, "Keep an eye out."
"I'm not practicing that on you," Hermione said.
Hermione went, laid down on the carpet, next to Gia.
"We'll double down on them," Hermione said, "We need something, something productive."
"Even their practices would be something," Gia said.
Hermione didn't finish the conversation they'd had plenty of times already. Hermione hoped Harry and Ron would understand.
Hoot!
Hermione woke Friday as Harry got off the bed, and Hedwig stretched her wings.
"Where are you two running?" Hermione asked.
"Dunno," Harry said as he aimed for the doorway, "Somewhere."
"We do have the room," Hermione said.
"Come," Harry said to her.
Hermione climbed off the bed, followed him into the room of requirement.
"WHERE?" Harry asked, turned around several times, the fingers that pointed at her inventory of mines and other devices that lined the brick walls, from floor to ceiling. "You didn't like me using them as a jungle gym."
"I…" Hermione started.
"Stack them in the living room if you have to," Harry said, his bottle green eyes to her, "Do that and I can bring Richard here to run—very safe."
Harry stood there, the stare to her, his black haired eyebrows twitched beneath the lightning bolt scar.
"Please," Harry said, "Dumbledore lent us the room, he may want it back—what then?"
"Get your point," Hermione said.
"Be back in a bit," Harry said.
A pop, Harry disapparated.
"Harry—" Ron started.
"Wants you to move these things downstairs," Hermione said.
"Oh?" Ron asked.
"Decor, I think," Hermione lied.
"Sure," Ron said, "Grand exhibition to the death and dismemberment of our pending executions."
"Ron!" Hermione snapped.
"Mind helping?" Ron asked.
Ron put on the gloves, carried two down the steps. Hermione grabbed two, carried them down.
"Need tables down here," Ron said.
Ron and Hermione set the devices down against the wall diving the living room off from the stairs.
"We'll have to bring those down," Hermione said.
Ron and Hermione went back up.
"Industrious," Gia said at the top, "Breakfast?"
"Um…helping her relocate these downstairs," Ron said.
"Fine," Gia said, "At least it's something to do."
Gia went down the stairs. Ron and Hermione entered the Room of Requirement. Tables, the devices went down the stairs in multiple trips. Hermione transfigured the tables into shelves, as the walls of the living room, the pantry, were now decorated in these messengers of death. They finished about the same time as Harry apparated back in.
"Busy," Harry said.
"Now it's clear," Hermione said.
"Meant you could do some stuff," Harry said, "In the middle, so…a track around the edge."
Hermione glared at Harry.
"Sorry," Harry said, "Magical geometry can't go forever, can it?"
Hermione shook her head.
"There are limits," Hermione said, "I'd expect the room to already be able to expand to it."
"Much bigger than it is?" Harry asked.
"A bit, maybe," Hermione said, "Never good to go too much further."
Hermione and Harry took the left, down the steps, to the bottom. Hermione reached for The Daily Prophet, thought better of it.
"Um…" Harry muttered as he spun in the living room, the bottle green eyes that surveyed it.
Hermione understood, the floor to ceiling, double deep on some of the shelving, only a small tunnel that seemed to exist forking off to the sofa, the right one to the kitchen and dining area, both of which had collections along the walls.
"Planning on collecting more?" Harry asked as he popped his pills, "Don't think you've got enough."
Harry went for the bacon first, along with a couple of fried eggs.
"Ron cleared that room like you wanted," Gia said.
Harry's green eyes to Hermione.
"I outsourced," Hermione said.
"What?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head, went for the biscuits and gravy.
"Out did yourselves," Harry said.
"Like there's much to do around here," Gia said, "Mind if we came to the stadium?"
"There's a match tomorrow," Ron said, "We should be able to score seats."
Hermione sighed, unsure if the boys understood the severity.
"What about Moody?" Hermione asked.
"Not around here," Harry said, "He's patrolling the stadium."
"So we'd be safe there," Gia said.
"One reporter's already given the slip to get in," Harry said.
Ron and Harry stood, held hands, and vanished.
"They did it again!" Gia stammered.
Hermione went back to the mail cauldron, carried the paper up the stairs, took the right into the room of requirement. Gia followed, the empty room, that turned into a small beach around a pond. Hermione sat.
"Room's empty," Hermione said, "So, you can have a jungle gym, if you want, or a stage."
"Without an audience," Gia said.
Hermione read The Daily Prophet.
"How bad?" Gia asked.
"Six dead in Russia," Hermione said, "Three in a bathtub in Japan."
However, her eyes to the front page article, the picture of Seamus Finnigan decked out in all canary yellow.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Friday 4 April 1997
Eximo Macula Call to Arms
Seamus Finnigan, the president of Eximo Macula, has issued a call to arms after recent kidnappings of two fellow students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dissatisfied by the lackluster response from the Ministry for Magic, that Aurors are giving the same care they had to Justin Finch–Fletchley last winter, Finnigan will be gathering today at Wimbourne Wasp Stadium to express confidence that Eximo Macula can expel Harry Potter from the British Isles, and hopefully the entire wizarding world.
"Ironic they wouldn't let him drop out," Gia said.
Hermione continued.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Padma Patil, a sixth year Ravenclaw and twin to Parvati Patil (the victim to Potter's horrible rape in January), was last seen Tuesday in the family's London apartment. Her father, Clarence Patil, is understandably upset, and intends to once again hold Potter responsible for his evil action.
Ernie Macmillan, a sixth year Hufflepuff, was last seen Wednesday. Ernie, was an outspoken critic of Potter, and is therefore being silenced.
Unverified rumors state that Seamus Finnigan has knowledge to possible locations of the kidnapped victims, and this call to arms will lead to the rescue of these students.
"That's…" Hermione muttered, "How'd Finnigan know where they are unless he's in on it?"
"Didn't seem the sort to kidnap," Gia said.
Hermione shook her head.
"And we sit here, again," Gia said, "Care to move the mines so we can paint?"
Hermione sighed, realized she'd have to be more stern with Harry and Ron when they returned.
Minerva sat at the table in her office, Nymphadora to the other side. Belgian waffles to three plates, syrup and butter to the side.
"Real reason for these holidays," Minerva said, "Gives me a chance to catch up."
"Need a deputy for the deputy," Nymphadora said, hand into her pink hair.
"Why thank you for volunteering," Minerva said.
Minerva grabbed The Daily Prophet.
"Souring the atmosphere," Nymphadora said, "Can't stomach that thing with breakfast."
Minerva set it aside.
"I didn't think Pomona canceled," Minerva said.
"I should…smell that?" Nymphadora said.
A putrid rotting smell filled the air, one that wilted the plant on the cabinet, Minerva's stomach no longer remotely interested in the food on the table. Office door opened, the vines that crept in across the floor, searching, hugging the wall, tangling her feet. Minerva stood, the plant respected her shoes. Nymphadora followed into the corridor.
"All the way up here?" stammered Pomona Sprout, "I don't know how the Insta–Grow got into the Corpse Ivy, but it has, or was it the other way around?"
"How much?" Minerva asked.
"Both barrels," Pomona said.
"How much ivy?" Nymphadora asked.
"I'd be surprised if there's a bare spot in the castle," Pomona said.
"So much for breakfast," Minerva said.
Ron leaned back against the wall in the examination room at Puddlemere United while Harry stepped up onto the scale. Notley not yet in, Ron checked out his friend. Harry's black hair as full and wild as usual. Nipples to the chest, the belly, Ron unsure.
"Need to take pictures," Ron said.
Harry glared.
"Seriously," Ron said, "Maybe see the difference."
Notley entered, chuckled. He opened up the manilla folder, thumbed through the contents. Ron spotted it, the clippings from The Daily Prophet, leaned over, pulled one out. Ron ran his finger on the creases up around the naval. Ron handed the clipping back to Notley.
"Think he's doing better?" Ron asked.
Notley jotted numbers down on his paper in the folder, pen in his left hand.
"It's a problem fifteen years in the making," Notley said, "Magic can cover it up, create an illusion, but that doesn't solve the fundamental deficit. Eating properly does, and I'm thrilled you're taking that step, Harry."
"You keep dancing around…something," Harry said.
"It's going to take time for your body to repair itself," Notley said, "It's like a rogue Bludger's after you. Do you stop to watch it hit you?"
Harry shook his head.
"You focus on the eating part," Notley said, "I'll worry about the rest. Deal?"
"Guess so," Harry said.
"Bang you out there?" Ron asked.
A glare, Harry stepped off the scale. A left, they went to the box, grabbed their brooms, and went out onto the grass.
It was in the afternoon when Harry felt the twisting, the contorsion, as he forced the apparation into the green living room, Crookshanks on the sofa.
"That's fucking correct?" Ron asked.
"Supposedly came from Finnigan's rally," Harry said.
Harry held the note with its single line, 66 Pickering Place, Noigate.
"DOBBY! WINKY!" Harry shouted.
Pops, as the two House–Elfs showed.
"Hogwarts now," Harry said.
"Dobby bad house elf?" Dobby asked.
"Harry?" asked Hermione as she and Gia came down the steps.
"We're under attack in minutes at most," Harry said, handed the parchment over to her.
Harry spun, understood the danger of Hermione's collection.
"Everybody out of the house—LEAVE NOW!" Harry said, "Hedwig."
Harry bolted up the stairs, into the bedroom, where the snowy white owl was on the perch. He went to open a window, it wouldn't budge. An aim of his wand.
"REDUCTO!" Harry shouted, the window remained, except it bounced to blast the interior wall.
"What the hell?" Ron asked.
Harry focused, the will to be outside, if only to see, and his head remained while the rest of him splinched. Another focus, the charm, he returned together. Gia and Hermione out at the top of the stairs.
"Room's gone," Hermione said.
Harry pulled out his Puddlemere United Portkey, activated it. Gia, Hermione, and Ron held on, but Hedwig flew away as it jerked, only to return them there. Harry put it back into his holster.
"Thought you owned the house," Ron said.
"They're here," Hermione said, "Turned the wards against the owner—there's a jinx."
"Enough people from the sound of it," Harry said.
Harry went to the landing, the door to the room of requirement was indeed gone.
"It's a smart room," Harry said.
Curses struck at the door, a barrage, the only view out, ones that started to penetrate, smashed the stairs apart. Feet were beyond that door, the canary yellow, as his scar flared. Harry knew the expert within the crowd, the one laughing at the plight about to befall them.
"I have to destroy the house," Harry said.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"They want us gone—we'll deliver," Harry said, "Hold on!"
Harry's left hand held Gia tight, right aimed the wand down the stairs. A fireball emerged, one that ricocheted into the living room. Another curse, the floor and wall that moved, turned to a metal barrel with them on a platform, one that encased the four of them; Ron, Hermione, Gia, and himself, it moved downward as ropes bound the four together.
Boom!
…
The Seeker watched Finnigan, the open mouth, as the wands pushed curses against what ought to be an ordinary muggle house. Number 66 Pickering Place, in this muggle town.
"Best keep your distance," the Seeker advised.
Curses against every wall, every corner, the exterior began to glow, the windows opaque, when one person shot up a Potter Mark into the sky at the same time the deafening noise swept, pushed them from their feet. A house that was torn apart amidst screams from within, into a pile of wood confetti and the hail of debris, several of their group were bloodied messes to the grass around it.
"YES!" came the shout.
Finnigan pumped his fist into the air as the severed head of a House Elf hit the pavement. The Seeker happy his work was succeeding, the sixth year Gryffindor inflicted this damage to Potter, though there was much more to be done.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024