Escape to Darkness: Chapter Two

Revenge both swift and sweet…

Friday, September 13, 1996.

“Ladies and gentle-wizards,” the overcoat and top-hat-wearing little man announced to the crowd gathered in front of Madam Malkin’s Diagon store, “Your new Minister of Magic, Mr. Reginald Yaxley!”

The crowd erupted in cheers which turned into a surprised applause moments later for the display of fireworks spelling out Yaxley’s name, a prominent Minister before it, and confetti exploding in a myriad of colors and shapes.

“Thank you,” Yaxley called out with a wave as he stepped up to the podium set up on the temporary stage. Naturally, Madam Malkin had not been happy with her storefront being blocked; Twillfit and Tatting’s, however, a major campaign contributor to Yaxley, were quite pleased with the burst of business. The new minister was resplendent in rich velvet robes of midnight blue, with burgundy trim that was reminiscent of his former position in the DMLE. Golden twinkles adorned the robe, and a peacock feather cloak was worn over his shoulders.

“Thank you, wizards and witches of Britain!” He called again; the crowd quieted slightly in anticipation of his speech.

“Good people, we are at war.” His voice was firm, and his eyes gazed over the crowd as though he was searching for offenders even at that very minute minute. He continued, his brown orbs connecting with the crowd as he sought out well-placed friends and political allies.

“The former administration was reticent to acknowledge it, but I do so freely and can tell you this - you have been deceived!” The hecklers placed in the crowd sighed dramatically, inciting others, and Yaxley noticed Lucius Malfoy in the front smirking at his success.

“Rumors have been started by a vigilante group that a dark wizard is on the loose; they have been propagating it so that they might have martial law, taking away your rights and privileges as they see fit!” His voice rose at this, just as he had rehearsed. “These vigilante terrorists, members of the so-called Order of the Phoenix led by the late Albus Dumbledore, have been seeking to usurp the Ministry’s power for years, oppressing the rights of good, upstanding citizens. Many have been deceived, and many prominent members of our society – even my own close friend Lucius Malfoy, one of the finest wizards I know – have been targeted.” As far as most knew, Lucius was a kind and generous wizard, and so these words resonated with many in the crowd.

“But I promise you this – such terrorists stand no chance against my leadership team in the Ministry! Together with key advisors, I have developed several strategies on how to root out them out; we won’t rest until our goal is accomplished.” He paused dramatically for the crowd to applaud and smiled back at them jovially, seeing several camera flashes go off. Throughout his speech, he had been captured motioning dramatically; one of the reasons Yaxley had been chosen as a candidate was his natural charisma and skill at public speaking.

“We need to revitalize the administration of the Ministry and root out sympathizers of this ‘Order of the Phoenix’. I’ve worked tirelessly in the Wizengamot to reinvent education domestically – Hogwarts’ new Headmaster and professors have turned out one class already, and the dramatically improved O.W.L and N.E.W.T scores speak for themselves!” Yaxley did not mention that his fellow Death Eaters had killed and replaced several testers with Polyjuiced doubles who had padded the scores to make up for the rather abysmal instruction.

“And I tell you, I’ll continue this work in other fields across the Ministry. Witches and Wizards, it’s time for a change!” His speech built up in fervor as he crescendoed into his campaign slogan – “Wizards for Wizards!”

“Wizards for Wizards! Wizards for Wizards!” The crowd cried in response, once more initiated by the paid hecklers.

As the chant continued, Yaxley calmly took his seat as his new staff was announced – Stephen Avery Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Stephen Avery Jr., Special Assistant to the Minister; Marcus Flint, head of the Department of Magical Games; Walden Macnair, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; Antonin Dolohov (recently exonerated with a full pardon), Head of the Department of Internal Affairs, a new appointment.

To those few in the crowd who knew – Alastor Moody polyjuiced as a buxom young twenty-something and Bill Weasley wearing a hood to cover his distinctive hair – the list read like a “Who’s Who Amongst the Death Eaters”. Moody was copiously taking notes, ostensibly acting as a reporter. Others, too, were named and recognized – some known to the Order and some not – Travers, Crouch Jr., Rookwood, Mulciber (all also exonerated like Dolohov, along with the Lestranges), Rowle, Booth, Gibbon.

Some gave speeches supporting the ideals presented by Yaxley while others kept silent. Dolohov, usually silent and dour, delivered a suprisingly rousing speech concerning national unity and identity, while Avery Sr. detailed his plan for a complete renovation of his department.

It was several hours later when Yaxley and his new staff were finally able to depart from the stage, Apparating to a conference room deep within the Ministry.

At the head of the venerable table stood a figure, cloaked in black robes, his pallid skin pulled unnaturally tight across his face as he smirked with the arrival of his loyal followers. Others were present already and milled about the room, an excited energy in the air.

“Yaxley,” Voldemort addressed the Death Eater in barely more than a whisper - nonetheless, his voice was heard clearly by all. “Those robes suit you quite nicely…were they from the Gilderoy Lockhart collection?” The listeners chuckled appreciatively at their Master’s jibe –some were toasting in celebration. At Voldemort’s right stood a stately-looking Bellatrix Lestrange together with others of her ilk who specialized in torture and curses, while most of the recent arrivals sat on the left side – Lucius was closest to Voldemort, followed by Nott Sr. and Yaxley.

“Our plan went off without a hitch, milord,” Yaxley said smoothly as he grinned in success. “Even now, the fools are cursing the Order of the Phoenix as a terrorist group. We’ve effectively isolated them, and our reports indicate that they lack the real resources to operate much longer from the shadows. When they’re drawn out, it will be a slaughter.”

“You aren’t listening to the right reports, you fool,” Bellatrix spat from her side of the table. Expensive rehabilitation may have returned her looks, but her manners still suffered from her maddening imprisonment – even her eye still twitched somewhat crazily when her temper rose.

“Ever since you cleared that traitor Black they have much more money than you think!” Yaxley watched her disdainfully before replying:

“We had no idea Black was innocent when that law was pushed through. I don’t seem to recall you lodging a complaint when you were removed from your cell! In fact,” he adopted a taunting smirk to accompany his drawl, “I don’t believe you said much at all. You were busy drooling and muttering incoherently.”

“You self-righteous bastard! Crucio! I’ll tear you apart!” Rodolphus Lestrange had to physically restrain his wife as she cursed and flung spittle across the stately table. Yaxley had nimbly dodged her curse which flew past him to ignite a painting in a burst of angry red flames. Avery put out the fire with a quick burst of water from his wand.

“Ah, and there’s the fine reason why some of us still don’t spend time in public,” Avery said to the distraught Lestrange.

“As amusing as this is,” Voldemort interrupted with a hiss, his crimson eyes blazing, “kindly cease interrupting my celebration!” His artificially high voice put a stop to the commotion – both Avery and Yaxley apologized profusely.

“Now, Avery,” the Dark Lord continued, settling down. “You’ve already given notice to the remaining Aurors and Hit-Wizards of their imminent reassessment.” The old noble nodded as his fingers idly stroked his silver goatee, so Voldemort added, “And how is the new recruitment being handled?”

“Excellently, milord. We’ve already sent out feelers to…the appropriate candidates. Most of them are only too-happy to receive the kind of compensation offered and are jumping at the chance to become the kind of enforcers we need. In addition, a group at Hogwarts is being led by the young Malfoy to sort out the proper kind still in school. Snape is organizing everything, and I believe Amycus and Barty are providing additional instruction to the students. They should be well-versed in the mindset we require by the time we get the first class in two years.”

“Well done, Avery. Dolohov, your extra staff starts tomorrow, I believe, with the interviewing and cleansing of the current Ministry.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the burly Ukrainian wizard replied with a slight lilting accent. “I have estimated it will take three days to clean out the upper echelons, and approximately six months on a more relaxed schedule to finish the entire cleaning of the Ministry. After that, I should be able to free up my best staff for other positions and retain the Department Head position merely to keep everyone properly in line.”

“I’ll be able to use them when you can spare them, Antonin – I know anyone you pick will be at least a fully qualified Hit-Wizard,” Avery Sr. replied; Dolohov nodded in response.

“Excellent. Let us finish our feast then, unless any more pressing business is at hand?” There was none, of course, for these meetings were a formality at best, the information being known to most long before it was ‘presented’, so the rest of the evening was enjoyed with a champagne fountain and a spread paid for by the recent Muggle-born Registration Tax.

June 28, 2005.

Sirius Black, former Azkaban inmate, released Death Eater, prominent pureblood socialite, three times winner of Witch Weekly’s annual Most Charming Smile award (the things one did in service to the Order), was having a very fine day. Dressed in his rather tight dragonhide pants – custom tailored by Doris Tatting – and maroon overcoat, strolling through Diagon Alley and wielding his ebony cane, he stopped only to greet a few fellow socialites – purely for appearances, of course – and flirt with precisely three girls, two of whom were young enough for him to have fathered. As he did a double-take in epiphany, that dark brunette had possessed the infamous Black cheekbones…

“Well bless me, what have we here? A lonely pureblood, lusting after my recent graduates?” Sirius barely resisted the urge to shoot an itching hex at the familiar voice; one he had known since his early childhood, in fact.

“Barty Crouch, what a surprise,” Sirius said before turning around, drawling in a manner that was probably eerily similar to his most-despised cousin by marriage, Lucius Malfoy. Naturally, Bellatrix took the spot of most-despised blood relative.

“Why Sirius, it’s been far too long. Four years, if I recall correctly, when you attended a graduation ceremony. You never even said hello!” The younger man, his blonde hair styled fashionably and his robes every galleon as expensive as Sirius’, adopted a childish pout on his face.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure how well you’d remember me. Who knew if you’d remember the times you came over to play with little Reggie?” Sirius drew up closer to the other wizard as he quietly added, “And as for our time together in Azkaban…well, you spent most of it in your cell crying like a bitch.”

Barty, however, had recuperated well in the decade since his imprisonment and merely smirked in response, shaking his head.

“Yes, quite so. You know, some mutual acquaintances of ours have been trying to have you over for dinner. Seems they think you might owe them something for having cleared your name. Bella, for one, has been insisting for years that she needs to see you,” Barty drawled, maintaining the cool façade of casual. Sirius grinned widely as he thought up a retort.

“Well, I was never in Slytherin, so I don’t follow that ‘better a cousin than a mudblood’ rule – sorry to disappoint the old girl. And you know, Barty, I’ve been hearing a few rumors about the ‘Head Girl’ having to own up to her title – between you and ol’ Snivvy, I’m just a bit worried that –”

His diatribe was interrupted when he landed flat on his back, bowled over by a smallish blur of orange robes and brown hair.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, you git!” He called loudly from his position on the ground. The other man, a bloke with a slight build, bottle-cap glasses and mousy brown hair holding a camera near as large as his head, excitedly snapped off a photo of the Black on his backside. Barty howled with laughter at the spectacle, but Sirius reddened in embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness! Sirius Black, isn’t it?” Sirius almost groaned audibly; the excitable little fellow had a high, almost squeaky voice. Getting up, he heard the camera click another photo and had to fight off an eye twitch of exasperation. With a mutter, Sirius snapped up his jaunty cane and glared at the nuisance.

“Wow, Mr. Black, sorry about knocking you down there! I just got a job as a photographer at the Daily Prophet you see, and I mean, it’s ever so exciting to get to meet one of the real celebrities around London, just walking around Diagon, just as you please!” Sirius gave him an indulgent smile and winced as a third photo was snapped off.

“Thanks, Mr. Black.” What he was being thanked for Sirius had no clue, but as long as it got him away from the crazy, he did not really care. “D’you think you might spare a few minutes for an interview? What do you think about the recent breakdown of communication between the British and Italian Ministries? Do you think Mr. Dolohov’s hard-handed tactics and brutish interrogation techniques were at fault or was it the Italian’s hard line against broom imports that mostly contributed?” The boy was beginning to sound like those two kids in the Order – Creevers? Maybe they had an extra-annoying cousin or something. And why was the Alley spinning?

Sirius stumbled again before falling, his head woozy and spinning. There were yells and screaming, then a whooshing of air before he vomited on the cold stone floor, his cheek resting in his sick.

“Sirius, wake up! Padfoot!” Someone was nudging him on the shoulder, awakening him from a lovely dream.

“Why no, Professor McGonagall, I don’t think that outfit’s at all appropriate to teach in!” Sirius said loudly, opening his eyes. Beside the king-sized circular bed stood Remus, a tired smile on his face, along with several others he recognized. Thankfully, Minerva was not among them.

“Still insisting on yelling things that had nothing to do with your dream every time you get woken up, Padfoot?” Remus said, miserably failing to hold back a wide grin. Sirius returned it – he had been pulling that ever since doing it once accidentally back in fourth year, but still thought it hilarious.

“Can’t kill a good joke while it’s funny, Moony! Besides, what’s fifty years once we’re out of school, right? I bet I could totally make Minnie my Mrs. Robinson if I wanted,” he exclaimed boisterously. “Now what happened? And why is a grey-haired werewolf nursing me back to health instead of a buxom young tart?”

“You woke up in a pile of your own vomit – unsurprising, really – in the middle of Diagon Alley – still unsurprising, I might add – having been one of two witnesses to the capture of Bartemius Crouch Jr. Damn it, Sirius, turn my clothes back!” Between Remus’ waspish comments, his robes had managed to turn into a tight white nurse’s outfit, complete with garish red lipstick and a hat. The skirt did not quite come down far enough to hide the top of the stockings and did nothing to cover the garter.

“Hehe,” Sirius cackled childishly, “Even when I’m sick I still rule, Moony. Remember that. Now what were you talking about? I remember running into a Creevey - at least, it might have been a Creevey - and him taking my picture… then not much.”

“Finite,” Remus said, waving his wand over the uniform. “Damn it, Sirius, change my clothes back!” The rest of the room was amused to varying degrees by their antics, but anxiously awaited Sirius’ answer. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the only Auror left in the Department remotely friendly to the Order, patiently waited for Sirius’ statement with a bemused grin on his face.

“Ah, I didn’t transfigure them, Moony. Switching charm, see? Your clothes are in the armoire on the left.” Sirius motioned casually to the furniture, which Moony quickly hustled over to. When Remus bent over, intentionally giving the room an eye-full, Sirius grimaced exaggeratedly.

“What the…why the hell did you have a nurse’s uniform in your armoire, anyway, Padfoot?” Remus asked as he quickly Switched his clothes with the charm. Never having had the skill that Sirius did at transfiguration, his robe was a bit more rumpled than it had been before.

“…Don’t judge me, werewolf,” Sirius countered with faux haughtiness. “Anyway, weren’t we talking about my narrow escape from death and all that?” Remus ignored the quick change of subject as Shacklebolt stepped forward. Shacklebolt had been a member of the Order since the first year of its existence, before Voldemort had all but taken over directly. Since then, he had remained on friendly terms and had not divulged their secrets, but he had not actively participated in meetings; with his position, it was far too dangerous. After a decade of losing, there were many in the same situation.

“Of course, Sirius. We have reports saying you were the last one to talk with Barty before he was abducted. Can you describe the events of the afternoon for us in your own words?” Shacklebolt's calm baritone voice was as smooth as molasses. He clicked an official recorder of some sort that he had removed from a pocket of his robe.

“You know, Shack, you could make a fortune on those sex phone lines that the Muggles have.” Shacklebolt blinked rapidly in succession before Sirius continued, “So, I was talking to Barty – he tried to invite me over to a family picnic or something, but naturally I refused. Too much time in the Sun is just dreadful to my complexion. Anyway, we were just exchanging farewells,” or farewell jibes, he corrected silently as he drawled his way through the official investigation, “When this bloke shows up and knocks me down. Small, mousy, had a big camera. Don’t remember his name, I might not have gotten it. So he’s apologizing and taking pictures of me. Hopefully not for Naughty Witch Weekly, but they’ve slipped a few photographers at me over the years, so you never know. Anyway, I must have hit my head when he knocked me over because I got a bit nauseous. I spew some chunks all over Diagon Alley, and when I do, I hear yelling and the sound of some wind, I think. I don’t know, kind of weird.” Shacklebolt nodded in understanding, as though none of this was a revelation.

“I see. Alright, Mr. Black, that’s fine. If you’re free, I’d like for you to come down to the office for a bit as part of the procedure.” Kingsley shut off the recording device and placed it back in his pocket.

“I’ve been ordered to bring you in, Sirius. Malfoy’s orders, the little upstart bastard. He wants to ream you, probably administer Veritaserum. Of course, being a Pureblood from such a well-established family as the Blacks,” here, Sirius snorted loudest of anyone in the room, “You have every right to refuse. Oh…Malfoy might have deliberately told me not to tell you that. How forgetful of me.”

“Like I didn’t know. That little ponce needs more spankings and Christmas coal. Alright, let’s go Kingsley. But wait, let me wash the vomit off my face real quick.” He Vanished it and Scourgified his face, leaving only a well-scrubbed cheek.

“Oh Merlin,” he said with a groan, “Hey Moony, ten galleons says Witch Weekly runs an article on my bulimia!” Kingsley and Sirius Apparated away and emerged in the Auror Office a moment later.

“Auror Shacklebolt!” Draco Malfoy had not changed much in ten years. He wore his blonde hair long in a plait flowing down his back, just like his father; his pale blue eyes still glinted at cruel jokes and sarcastic barbs; he still looked down his nose at most everyone in society. Currently, he held up his wrist and pointed to his gold watch with diamond adornment; the timepiece was worth at least a year of Kingsley’s salary.

“Tut, tut, Kingsley old boy, you certainly took your sweet time getting here!” Draco drawled, absently rubbing his nails along the fine silk of his crimson Auror robes. The gold epaulets signified his position as Head Auror.

“I might have to demote you back to cadet if you keep giving me this kind of trouble, Junior Auror.” Shacklebolt’s recent demotion at the hands of Malfoy was an inexhaustible well of humor to the whole department – all of whom were Shacklebolt’s junior and supported the agenda of the new Ministry.

“I’m bored,” Sirius announced rudely. Malfoy turned a glare his way, but Sirius just smiled vacantly.

“Guess there’s little chance the curse addled your brain, Black, since you haven’t got one,” he declared hotly. Amicably, Sirius slung an arm over the young blonde’s shoulder.

“Aww, ickle Drakey-poo…it’s our inbreeding, you know, that causes it.” Draco sputtered indignantly, so Sirius clarified, “you know, my lack of brains that you just declared – yours for coming up with that horrid little jibe. Oh well, little cuz – we’d better stick together, right?”

“Get off me, Black! Now, where’s Barty Crouch?” The blonde growled.

“How should I know? I got knocked over by some photographer, hit my head, fell down again, there was yelling and a gust of wind, I wake up and Barty’s gone.” Sirius summarized quickly.

“Do you not know how a Portkey sounds, Black? Or did you just declare it ‘magic’ and leave it alone?” Sirius considered Draco as though he was a particularly offensive and annoying little puppy. Finally, he adopted a superior look and sniffed presumptuously.

“It’s not the prerogative of citizenry to presume such things, Mr. Malfoy.” Adopting his own attitude seemed to set off the short-tempered Head Auror, who flushed angrily.

“Black! That little photographer moron didn’t know a damn thing, so you’d better start talking! I know you had a hand in this!” Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. In a lower voice, he questioned, “How’d you even find out that Barty was the one to Portkey Potter away during the Tournament?”

The blood rushed from Sirius’ face as he was painfully reminded of his godson.

“Stop! Sirius, put him down! He can’t breathe!” Kingsley had an arm on his shoulder, urging him. Somehow, in a blur of motion, Sirius had managed to bat away a desk as he slammed his younger cousin against a wall by the neck, and was watching his face turn purple. As Sirius gained control of his actions once more, he noticed the spectacle he was making and absently released Malfoy. The blonde had run all the way to his office, warily glimpsing back at Sirius as he shut his door, still clutching his neck.

“I’m sorry, Sirius, I didn’t know,” Shacklebolt said gravely. Sirius turned to him, still thinking about what Barty had done to Harry so long ago.

“Ten years now, Shack. Ten years gone, and look at what’s happened. And now I find out Barty was responsible, Barty! I used to make fun of the snot when he clung to my little brother like a bad rash, and it turns out he’s the reason Harry died. Merlin!” Shacklebolt calmly returned to his desk and got out a small bottle of Ogden’s finest, taking a draw and handing the bottle to Sirius.

“Mr. Black! Mr. Black!” A familiar voice called.

“I can’t handle this right now,” Sirius said with a sigh, turning to Shacklebolt to hand the bottle back and escape quickly.

“Goodness, it’s like I’m destined to get an interview with you, Mr. Black! I’m sorry, I think in the excitement back in the Alley I completely forgot to introduce myself – Walter Coberly, amateur photographer and new employee of the Daily Prophet!” The excitable young boy, probably only a few years younger than Draco, proudly displayed his credentials and wielded his large camera expertly, flashing Kingsley and Sirius in two pictures they tried to avoid.

“And I mean, what a boost for my career, right? ‘The last shots of esteemed Hogwarts professor Bartemius Crouch as he’s whisked away to Merlin-knows-where!’ That’s what the caption’s going to be, they said at the Prophet. It’s ever so exciting.” The squeaky ring of the boy’s voice was so oddly reminiscent of the little Creevey kid that it was frightening to Sirius; both Colin and Dennis Creevey had immediately joined the Order of the Phoenix and were some of the few who had never lost their enthusiasm. Come to think of it, the only person Sirius remembered using the phrase ‘ever so exciting’ was Hermione (another who had joined the Order immediately upon reaching her majority). It was certainly in a different context, though.

Sirius batted his thoughts aside and merely grunted before handing Kingsley back his firewhiskey. He Apparated away with a loud ‘pop’ and without a word to the would-be reporter.

Kingsley offered the boy a sympathetic smile and ushered him away, Malfoy having already taken all of his statements. He left the boy in the Atrium and returned to his cubicle on Level 2.

“Walter?” Called a somewhat lilting accent – perhaps Italian or Spanish – from behind one of the many fireplaces that lined the atrium corridor. The mousy-haired early twenty-something went towards the stranger who immediately cast a Notice-Me Not Charm around them.

“You should just make the meeting with Dolohov if you turn this back three turns. Now I’ll make you look like me, and you make me look normal,” the other, a heavy-set Italian with dark hair and a tanned complexion from a lifetime on the Mediterranean said. Walter nodded and quickly the Italian’s features changed back – pale skin, thin but not quite gaunt, with raven hair and emerald eyes. Walter’s features became Italian, and Harry handed over the tiny golden hourglass.

“Ah, the comfortable form of Giacomo. Walter always felt kinda scrawny.”

“I know. What do you expect when we combine Colin Creevey and Hermione, though, eh?”

“Right. So a paperclip Portkey to the bottom of the North Sea after I snap his wand, right?” The Italian said smoothly, adopting the lilting accent the other had possessed just a moment prior.

“Yeah, he has a second wand in his boot, so snap that one too. Oh, and set off the Dark Mark right above it – makes for some crazy press.” Harry’s familiar features grinned harshly.

“I bet. So where did you get this Time-Turner, anyway?”

“Same way you did. Trust me, you’ll get a headache in a half-hour just thinking about it. You’d better be off now. Don’t want to cause another international scandal by pissing off Dolohov.”

The Italian disappeared as he twisted the Time-Turner. Without dropping his Notice-Me Not Charm, Harry Potter Disapparated from the Ministry of Magic.

***

A loud ‘CRACK’ resounded throughout the empty warehouse, and immediately there was a honey-colored wand against the back of the intruder’s neck.

“You’re late.” The voice was craggy and harsh, but the man from whom it echoed seemed to embody that description. The hair on his head flowed seamlessly into the rough stubble that lined his chin and mouth. All of it was the same length and same shock-white color that indicated great age, even if the lean and tone body belied such.

“I’m not finished for the day yet, and you still have to give me another Time-Turner so that I can give it to myself a few minutes ago.” Harry looked up oddly, then added, “I’m not sure if that sentence has ever been said before in the history of language.”

Grindelwald grunted in amusement, then carefully removed a tiny hourglass on a chain and handed it over to Harry who placed it in his pocket with its identical twin, handed by himself to himself several hours ago.

“There you go, freshly stolen from the British Department of Mysteries. If you can believe it, their security hasn’t changed in sixty years.” Cryptic comments like this were commonplace when dealing with an infamous dark wizard, so Harry did not bother to ask about the story.

“It was odd, having it handed to myself – after the first time, I gave myself a headache trying to figure out how I’d gotten it,” Harry admitted with a grin.

“In my experience,” Grindelwald said, “It’s better to just not think about what you do when you time travel. That way you screw things up just as you were supposed to, and don’t have to worry about it.” Harry agreed and glanced down at his watch before the other wizard interrupted him.

“Here’s the secret to our little hideout here. I’m not certain I ever told you about the Fidelius Charm, but it’s a good dark wizard’s best friend. Takes a certain craftiness to properly conceal a secret, but it’s very secure once hidden by the spell.” He handed Harry a piece of paper with one line of writing on it, in a practiced, loopy scrawl.

The safehouse of two dark wizards lies in what you currently believe to be an abandoned warehouse.

Just as it was read, the abandoned warehouse around him changed from barren and empty to containing a comfortable amount of furniture and having several walls that marked off different rooms. It was still a warehouse, but it was better than the cold concrete slab that had been present previously.

“Can you believe that I had two appointments made the very day I arranged for my first abduction?" Harry said, fingering the new Time-Turner. "Helena Gamp invited me over for tea with Lucius at the same time that I have a meeting with Dolohov.” Harry sighed and set about changing his face once more, this time turning into a blonde Frenchman with a thick but tone form; he had used the Weasley twins’ short but stocky bodies as the model for this persona.

“It is your own fault for failing to realize the purpose of an alias. You are not supposed to have a high profile. The Frenchman I can understand, since we need a member of the gentry in order to gain access to Malfoy, but I’ve been telling you for quite a while that you needed to drop the Italian.” This had the feeling of a long-standing debate between the two, and Harry obviously did not feel like defending himself. He ran his wand through his slightly lengthened hair and the formerly unruly mop was handsomely parted to the side; a slight twist at the end gave it the slightest hint of a boyish curl. Gilderoy Lockhart had been the model for Henri Desjardins’ face and hair. A quickly summoned mirror, a slight adjustment of the ears and Harry was satisfied with his disguise.

“I was a minor official in the ambassadorial office until the Minister decided to send me off to where I was most likely to be cursed. And as head diplomat, no less.” Harry dismissed the older man’s objections with a quick interjection of, “I know, I know. But she didn’t look like the Minister’s daughter, and who’d have thought she had a thing for heavy-set middle aged men?” Harry had adopted a rough French accent to his English. After all, Henri had no good reason to be as proficient in English as Giacomo the diplomat did.

“I’ve told you many times when teaching you that women of different nations find different things attractive. It’s a sign of wealth to them!” Harry merely gave a sarcastic wave before he turned one of the Time-Turners four times and quickly Apparated out of the empty warehouse.

“Henri?” The skeletal old crone crowed as Harry reappeared a heartbeat later in her foyer.

She pronounced it with a faux accent that was grating, even to a relatively inexperienced speaker such as Harry. It was clear that she had had little prior interaction with French men.

“Ah, Madame,” he said indulgently, kissing her white-gloved hand. “As always, it is such a pleasure to see you, and spend some time in this manor. C’est magnifique!”

The elderly woman giggled in a grating manner, just a bit too shrilly to seem natural. “Oh, Henri! You’re such a doll, my boy. This place is hardly anything – barely suitable for an old woman!” She dismissed his compliment unconvincingly. “Before you got here, I was just telling Lucius about how the manor used to look when I was a girl.” At this point, the mentioned aristocrat strode into the room. His pale blue robes swirled along with his immaculately groomed hair, his grey eyes immediately sizing up the new arrival. ‘Henri’ had not yet become acquainted with Lucius.

“There you are, Lucius! This is Henri, who I’ve been telling you about. He’s French, you know! Dear, but a witch just doesn’t get an opportunity to meet many Continentals these days.” Lucius ignored the blathering old woman as he attempted to read the Frenchman's face; Harry had pasted on a convincingly oblivious grin - a trait borrowed from Ron.

“Lucius Malfoy,” he finally said, carefully extending his arm. ‘Henri’, however, grabbed Lucius into a hug and kissed either cheek in a stereotypical fashion. “Monsieur Malfoy, eet is so good to finally meet you! Oh, ze stories I 'ave ‘eard! Oh! Excuse my manners! Henri Desjardins, Monsieur!”

Lucius pulled a sour face and quickly escaped from the man’s embrace, nearly scoffing at the hug and the overzealous handshake. “All good things, I’m sure,” he finally replied carefully.

“Oh, Oui! Noted philanthropist, generosity beyond imagination! A gentlemen and a chevalier wizout equal! Monsieur Malfoy, I cannot imagine you don’t know what praise 'as been 'eaped on you internationally! Oh! But of course, you were being modest! Let me add zat to ze list!” Malfoy stood just a bit straighter and his countenance grew smug as Henri laughed raucously at his own little joke.

“Yes, yes, Lucius is a dear, Henri, just a dear. Not quite the flirt you are, though!” Madam Gamp cut in and desperately clutched her hand at Henri’s arm, which he graciously took as he escorted her into the parlor where they always had tea. Official-looking parchments were strewn across the low cocktail table; Lucius sat behind them and gathered several up, placing them in front of Madam Gamp.

“Now, as I was saying, Madam Gamp, the papers have already been prepared –” Lucius began.

“You know, Lucius has been just boring me with all this talk, Henri.” The Lady Gamp cut in waspishly as she shot Lucius an irritated look. “He never is as much fun as you are. My great uncle Alphard Gamp - You've read his Principle Exceptions to Transfigurations, no doubt - always said it was the key to a happy life. And anyway, I already told the goblins how I want the money distributed, Lucius dear. It’s all taken care of, since I never had children of my own – didn’t want to spoil my girlish figure –” she noted to Henri with a particularly unattractive twist on her face. “And my poor nieces and nephews have already passed on.”

Lucius’ face instantly turned to stone and Harry could note the barely-concealed fury.

“What,” he began slowly, even compared to his usual drawl, “do you mean 'it has been taken care of'? We agreed years ago, Helena, that we needed to give the money to the children at St. Mungo’s. That I was the best person for the job, after you passed. What about our plans?”

Helena Gamp retained her bored look, innocent and rather vacant as she casually said, “Well, you haven’t been around much lately, Lucius. Henri and I have come up with new plans over this past year. We’ve talked them all through, and – well, you don’t seem to have the time, Lucius – so I think that he’s better suited to taking the money. So he’s getting all of it. This old manor, too.” Lucius’ mouth began to quiver as control over the third-largest Old Money family was snatched away from him.

“What?” He finally demanded petulantly. “What do you mean? You hardly know him, and even he admits what a sterling reputation I have – the money should be mine! And he’s bloody French!” A tone of hysteria entered his voice at this last accusation as the normally reserved Malfoy scion finally lost his composure. He glanced once more at the figures in the parchment on the desk and promptly sat down. His own fortunes had been taxed with the need for an appearance of infinite wealth by himself and others amongst the Dark Lord’s followers, and the Gamp money would have nearly doubled what he had remaining.

“Well, really! Lucius, a Lady such as I does not tolerate outbursts like that! Please see yourself out!” She raised her chin as though something smelly were under her nose. Lucius quickly regained his composure as he settled for a baleful glare at Henri, who was seated next to the old woman, her arm still in his as he patted it affectionately. One of his eyes narrowed dangerously as he continued:

“Of course, Madam Gamp. Forgive my outburst. You and…On-ree…” He managed to insert even more disdain into his voice as he mocked Harry's atrocious accent, “Enjoy the rest of the afternoon!” He scooped up the Gringotts documents quickly as he kept a stranglehold on his temper and Apparated out once he reached the foyer.

“Oh, Henri. All this talk with Lucius was quite tiresome, wasn’t it? Be a doll and help me up to my room, I think I’ll lay down for a nap.” Helena melodramatically placed the back of her hand on her head and sighed.

“Of course, Madame. It would be my pleasure!” As he helped her up and discretely cast a featherlight charm on her, she commented, “Oh, I can just see this house all filled with children again, Henri. You’ll find a nice family for it?”

The spinster was most concerned about this, in her will; she firmly believed that the bubbly atmosphere she had known as a child would be returned to the house when a new family moved in.

“Of course, 'Elena.” She giggled as she always did when he pronounced her name with an accent. “Ze very finest family, wiz immaculate blood.”

He carefully helped her into bed and then Switched a dressing robe from her closet onto her. “You’re getting much better at that spell, Henri.” Given that failure would result in an unpleasant sight, he had had ample motivation after the first time she requested it. “Good night.”

A silent spell later and she was in a deep, refreshing sleep.

One from which she would not awaken, now that she had signed over her fortune to Harry.

“Avada Kedavra,” he intoned firmly as he drew upon his hatred for Lucius, channeling it into the spell.

The old woman died peacefully during a sweet dream, not a mark on her; indiscernable from having died a natural death.

“Of course,” Harry added in his own normal voice as he turned around once more at the doorway, “I never did mention when I’d find the family.” From the foyer of the Gamp – no, the Desjardins – Manor, he Apparated to the Ministry to sort out the Time-Turner situation with the other two Harrys currently running around.

He was careful to avoid Diagon Alley, where at that very moment a Disillusioned Harry Potter had Banished a galleon Portkey onto Barty Crouch, taking him to the bottom of the North Sea.