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Chapter 18: The Prosecutor
A fleeting shadow rippled in and out of sight. Each row of buildings it passed plunged it further into darkness as its owner distanced himself from the wash of lights coming from Diagon Alley.
The shadow knew the path into Knockturn much better than Harry. There was a time when he might have strode these steps with his eyes closed, but it had been many long years since he had visited and the alleys here were not the ones from which he had once bought his school supplies.
Harry paused midstep, silenced and disillusioned, and grit his teeth as he cast a wordless charm.
A discomforted hiss wrenched its way out of him despite his best efforts to brace himself. The sea of lights coming from the alley behind them now stabbed at his mind. The night was all but windless, yet the mild mid-winter air now felt colder than the Black Lake's depths.
He was grateful that the only sound was Macnair's footsteps up ahead. Sound was the worst part of heightening one's senses. Even quiet noises could overwhelm an unprepared mind and ignite the sort of migraine capable of crippling a hardened man for days.
Harry closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. It was like settling into ice cold water — unbearable at first, but as the rush of stimuli persisted, a degree of ease crept in and the knots of pain and discontentment impeding simple thoughts and motions unwound themselves.
Dumbledore had been right in questioning his capacity when discussing animation. Voldemort had wielded this spell often and without blinking. I'll have to find a way to learn more occlumency. He needed to close the gap before returning home.
Hot yearning welled up inside him, fierce and tireless as an irksome itch. Harry set his jaw. There was no time for that.
Macnair's outline now stood stark against the falling snow and his hurried footsteps resounded in Harry's ears like a herd of pounding hooves. Each breath the Death Eater took was audible and the sour stench of sweat and whiskey clung to him.
Harry blocked out the stench the best he could and followed his quarry down the winding road and into Knockturn Alley. His grip tightened around the Elder Wand when the pair passed by Borgin and Burke's. Through its grime-coated window, his enhanced eyes glimpsed fine lines of gold around the border of an over-large black cabinet that filled him with a leaden sort of dread. Destroying it was another favour he would do the future students before he found a way back home.
But not tonight.
Macnair stepped through a rotted doorway and into what appeared to be a rundown apothecary. Harry remained outside and watched through the window as a shrivelled old man wearing fine silk robes limped out from behind the counter and presented Macnair with a vial filled with crystal-coloured liquid. "The same price as always, m'lord," Harry's enhanced ears picked out.
Macnair grunted and stepped forward, looming above the hunched old man. "Have you fixed the problem I ran into with your last batch?"
The shopkeep gave a clumsy half bow that nearly buckled his knobbly knees. "Yes, m'lord. This'll blend in real nice with an axe blade or anythin' else you fancy puttin' it on."
"You said that last time," Macnair growled in a voice like cold iron.
Harry actually heard the shopkeeper's knees click halfway through the next attempted bow. "I swear, m'lord, that'll never happen again. This'll eat through anythin' it's put into, like termites swarmin' over old wood, m'lord. I swear it."
"And it will do so slowly?" Macnair asked, drawing out each word.
The shopkeep shuffled back and forth on slippered feet. "Course, m'lord. I'll never make that mistake again. You have my word."
Dawning comprehension closed a cold fist inside Harry's stomach and almost made him sick. He would have bet anything that Waldon Macnair Sr. — every bit as cruel as his like-named son — had just purchased slow-acting poison. Poison that would blend into any axe blade. Such a shame the bastard won't ever get to use it.
"You better not." Macnair pocketed the vial and passed back a handful of aurums in exchange. "You know when I'll be back."
Harry let the hateful rage build as Macnair stepped back out into the street and strode down a narrow gap between two buildings which stank of rot and mould. Littering the cracked cobblestones across which Macnair tread was an assortment of ruined wands and rusted blades surrounded by telltale stains that still reeked of copper to Harry and his enhanced senses. "Imperio."
Macnair froze with one foot off the ground, then slowly turned to face him.
Still sheltered in his concealment, Harry shoved down the part of his consciousness now connected to Macnair as he appeared at the mouth of the cave whose cliffside overlooked the sprawl of Hogsmeade.
Pain must have bit into his palm when he laid it flat against the hungry stones, but it never registered.
Stalking, blood magic, the Unforgivable Curses — it had been quite some time since Harry had employed such tactics. That time had not made their usage easier; it gnawed at him now like it had not gnawed at him in years.
Harry hardened his heart with the imagined sight of Ron's corpse swaying headless from an apple tree, the faces of too many good men lost, and Hermione's tear-filled eyes bright against the darkness of her final moments. The things we do in war.
"I would not expect you to understand… these are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken…"
The words were Scrimgeour's, spoken outside the Burrow years back in a vain attempt at explaining what it was really like. If only I had listened. Not even Dumbledore had been successful in getting the point across.
Yet it was his mentor's words which harassed his dreams, his mentor's words which harried him as he rose that next morning.
"You will learn sooner than I would like that war is not so simple as what is right and what is wrong. This fight against Voldemort may seem nothing more than a prolonged prosecution fraught with needless violence, but it is less simple."
Harry had meant to strike out that day as he had the one before, but a snow storm raging outside Hogwarts delayed an owl for Marlene that would have given him his next objective.
Restless frustration plagued his every step. It was a Saturday and his schedule was empty, but there was little hope in accomplishing anything in the midst of that blizzard. No point in tailing anyone I think might be one of Riddle's. They were likely all shut up indoors and Riddle himself was still allegedly off continent.
It was a relief when he rose early Sunday morning and discovered that the winter storm had broken and left the sky calmer than it had been in days.
Marlene was stabbing at her scrambled eggs as if they had done her a great insult when Harry took his usual seat among his friends. "You all right?" he asked her.
Marlene's head jerked up. "Fine," she snapped.
Harry held up his hands. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to poke at anything. I just wanted to check in."
"It's fine." She exhaled and her expression softened some. "I just had something planned for today that fell through. That's all."
Harry could not help but notice the subtle widening of Lily's eyes from his place beside her. There had been odd tension between the two of them over the past month or so, but its source eluded him. "Hopefully it wasn't anything that can't be rescheduled," he broached.
"I don't think so, but it's still annoying," Marlene grumbled. Then her forlorn expression slipped. "Oh, right." She plunged a hand into the pocket of her robes and withdrew an envelope. "This came in before you showed up."
Harry smiled for the first time in days. "Cheers." He snatched the letter from between Marlene's fingers and swiftly sliced the seal.
Dear Marlene,
We had that dress altered by a newer enchantress, as we discussed back in December. Her business was small back then, but it's growing fast. If you want something else done, I would ask soon. I don't think it will be long before her prices rise too high.
I've left a copy of her business card in the envelope.
I hope your classes are going well. You really need to write more often.
Love you loads and can't wait to see you for spring break in a couple months!
Love,
Mum
"I hope it wasn't too much a pain to get a hold of this," Harry said, extracting the business card with an impatient flourish.
Marlene combed a hand through her black hair and tucked several strands back behind her ear. "Not really. I just owled Mum. She always keeps the cards of businesses she's used and liked."
"Pass along my thanks," Harry muttered, turning the business card over.
La Piscine à Reflets
A grimace writhed up onto his lips as he remembered a hundred of his uncle's tirades. "I've never understood why people name their businesses in French when they're set up in England." It was among the few gripes he and Vernon could agree upon.
Marlene waved a hand. "Most of the best enchanters come from France and everyone knows it. Using French is just good business."
Harry sighed. "I still have no idea what it means, but I'll take your word for it."
Lily leant over his shoulder. "The Reflecting Pool," she translated with a sly smile. "I like it."
Harry shrugged. "A bit pretentious, but I see what it's going for."
He paid no mind to Marlene's insistence that enchanting was inherently pretentious and let her chastise him for expecting something different. Such outbursts had not been uncommon as of late.
"What's up with her?" he asked Lily when the pair of them began up towards the owlery alone.
The redhead winced. "She's been a bit off since the party."
That, still? Was this normal for teenagers? Had he forgotten just how petty they could be? Or was it somehow Riddle's fault? Was he corrupting her from afar? He did ask Lily about Africa and Marlene brought up the topic first. His heart sank. That all but confirmed it.
"Are you okay?" Lily asked. "You look tense."
"I just wish she'd get over herself is all." And I wish I could get rid of Riddle faster. How long did he have before his own friends fell too far under the bastard's charm?
Lily laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sure she'll come around." Just like how Riddle must be sure you'll come around. How deep had his claws sunk in? Was it already too late?
No! They were good people — they would see the light when Riddle was exposed.
Harry paused mid-turning of a page as his head jerked up, almost against his will. He probed for the part of his mind connected with another as he stared out the window. It had been hours since his chat with Lily and the sky outside was dark and moonless.
He was through the winged gates and off the grounds in a span of several short minutes that felt like long, intensive hours.
Forests that would be dense in summer closed ranks around a fair-sized home built from smooth logs when he appeared at the edge of a man-made clearing. The nearest town was not far, but this place felt secluded in a way that would have been peaceful under different circumstances.
The Elder Wand sang sweet symphonies as it was raised and urged to cast out probes. There was no sign of wards around the home of House Macnair and no trace of any soul inside the modest homestead.
But this was the place where it had happened. Harry had felt their link severed suddenly enough to imply the worst and there was no doubt now that his assumptions had been right. The malignant air of magic meant to kill was as much a component of that forest's frigid air as the plumes of smoke still rising from the house's chimney.
So Riddle has already developed the Dark Mark. No one branded was resistant, but plans involving bewitchment had always failed and the magic's target seldom lived long after.
Harry clutched the Elder Wand tight enough to cramp his wrist and blinked back imagined emerald light. There was no doubt which curse had slain Macnair. Which means Riddle's back, or else he never really left.
Harry almost missed the shadow providing him his answer when he reappeared just outside the Hogwarts grounds.
Fuck! He pressed himself flat against a yew and hoped his concealment would be sound enough.
Riddle paused and looked around. Harry was sure a duel was afoot as dark eyes lingered on the tree he lurked beneath, but Riddle turned away from him and began his trek up towards the castle.
Only when the headmaster's outline grew distant did Harry ease the grip he held around his wand. Riddle knows someone was here, but he can't know who. He would have tried killing him if he had. Riddle was always suspicious in the extreme and no one would have questioned Harry's disappearance.
Harry turned things over in his mind. I wonder if that means he doesn't suspect me. There were too many ifs. If I'm not suspected, if his horcruxes are the same, if my friends can hold out long enough…
There would be no use in following around suspected Death Eaters or in spending months searching out the bastard's horcruxes. I don't have that much time. That left him little choice in choosing his next steps. I have to take a risk. It's the only way.
"Press forward at all times, climbing forward toward that higher ground of the harmonious society that shapes the laws of man to the laws of God."
— Adam Clayton Powell, Jr.
Thanksgiving swallowed my the entirety of last week for me, so the audio version of this chapter will not be on YouTube until tomorrow (Tuesday) afternoon PST.
A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.
PS: The next chapter will be out in one week. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord, YouTube, and P.A.T.R.E.O.N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.