The Potter Conspiracy

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Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.  JKR and her partners do.

Chapter Ten – Rolling the Dice

October 4th, 1995 – Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office

“Headmaster,” Severus Snape spoke into the uncomfortable silence, “that won’t work for very long, and it’s, well, a little disturbing.”

“Well what else would you suggest, Severus?  We are running out of options here, and Miss Tonks has other duties,” said Dumbledore in irritation.

It had been just under 24 hours since Harry Potter’s escape from Hogwarts, and Dumbledore’s “inner circle”—Moody, Snape, and Shacklebolt—were discussing how to deal with his disappearance.  It was imperative that his flight not become public knowledge.  The 27 members of the Order of the Phoenix were discreetly searching for any sign of his whereabouts, but so far they had discovered nothing.  Harry had not used his wand since leaving Hogwarts, and, without Fawkes’ cooperation, there was no other way to track him.

Ironically, it was Moody who had recommended polyjuicing someone to temporarily replace him.  Since Dumbledore possessed a small lock of Harry’s hair, this was a potentially viable solution.

The group was shocked because Dumbledore had just proposed that Molly Weasley be the one to masquerade as Harry Potter.  The chief problem was that they had only 47 hairs, which would allow for just several days worth of impersonation, even if “Harry” didn’t sleep in the dorms.  But it was the thought of Molly Weasley, a frumpy, middle-aged woman, inhabiting Harry Potter’s adolescent male body that brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.  She would be eating, sleeping, and studying with other teenaged boys, including her own son.

“I see no other options, Severus.  Everyone else would be missed, and we can’t use another student.  Harry must show up for classes tomorrow or Umbridge will grow suspicious.  If the Prophet learns of his disappearance, we are in trouble.”

Shacklebolt, who had been listening to the exchange in silence, spoke up.  “Even with polyjuice, Headmaster, we can only keep up the charade for a few days, and I agree with Snape that Molly Weasley is a terrible idea.  She won’t be able to mimic Potter’s voice, and it is a little…creepy,” he shuddered.  

Moody took over from Shacklebolt, clomping his wooden leg in impatience.  “Well, it will have to be the contagious disease ploy then, even if it’s flimsy.  That should keep Umbridge away from Potter for at least a few days while we sort him out.  I still don’t understand how the boy managed to get out of this castle, Albus.  I thought you had him warded in.”

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “As I said, Alastor, there was a very strong suppression ward in place.  It should have pushed him back if he tried to leave the castle wards, but I hadn’t expected him to be flying full speed on his blasted broom.”

But Moody wouldn’t let the point go, eager to lay the blame for this disaster at Dumbledore’s feet.  “So you created a ward that would snap like a rubber band when tested?  That’s how you keep safe our most important commodity in the whole damned war?”

Dumbledore’s temper flared at this accusation.  “There was no indication that he was suspicious of anything, Alastor.  You know we couldn’t just lock him in a room, and if I had made that ward any stronger it would have been lethal.  It shouldn’t have been necessary with all of the tracking charms, anyway,” he grumbled into his beard.

“Gentlemen, it’s pointless to worry about this now,” Snape snapped irritably, for once in his life the voice of reason.  “We have to find Potter immediately, and our best hope is that the imbecile uses his wand for something.  I’d say there’s a strong possibility of that,” he sneered.

When no one else spoke up, Snape continued.  “Headmaster, I can delay no longer.  I must inform the Dark Lord of this; if he learns of it from elsewhere, he’ll kill me himself.”

Dumbledore sighed again and clenched his jaw.  “Very well, Severus.  Perhaps it is for the best that he is looking for Harry as well.  If Voldemort finds him first, at least the prophecy will finally be fulfilled.  If we find him first, we may still be able to follow our original plan.”

Dumbledore rose from his desk, indicating that he no longer wished to continue this meeting.  “Very well, gentlemen, I shall inform Poppy that Harry Potter has a contagious case of something or other and has been quarantined in St. Mungo’s.”  Hearing no objections, he concluded with steel in his voice.  “We all know our tasks, so let’s be about them.  Be ready to move the moment that your charmed galleon vibrates.”

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After the others had left his office, Dumbledore pounded his fist against his desk in aggravation.  So close, he thought bitterly.  So close, and now all may be lost.  Four days.  Four days away from the end, and the boy escapes.  Harry Potter has the most absurd luck of any child in the history of the wizarding world.

His plot to end the war with Voldemort forever had been simple but ingenious.  On the coming Hogsmeade weekend, he, Severus, and Kingsley had been planning to discreetly kidnap Harry and take him directly to Voldemort.  Snape’s dark mark could get them through the wards if they were in contact with him, and they were to be polyjuiced as Roland Avery and Andronicus Nott.  Severus would make certain that the other Death Eaters would be away from headquarters, and the trio would present Harry Potter to their “master” as a gift.

The largest risk was that Voldemort would call of his followers to witness the death of The-Boy-Who-Lived.  That would make the odds 33 against 3, terrible even without the presence of Voldemort.  But they would have the advantage of total surprise, and the Dark Lord’s most vicious fighters were still locked up in Azkaban.  Immediately after Voldemort killed Harry Potter, the trio had planned to hit him with three simultaneous killing curses, hopefully ending his reign of terror before it truly began.  Thereafter it would be a free-for-all, but their fighting skills were considerable, and Dumbledore gave them even odds of survival against the remaining Death Eaters.

If they needed to run, Severus had secured several different escape routes, and Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and others would be waiting just outside the Malfoy wards to help battle any pursuers.  The only question mark was the location of Nagini; if the snake was not in Voldemort’s presence and they had to leave in a hurry, the snake’s death would have to wait for another day, despite its likely status as a horcrux.

Now it looked as if all their careful planning had been for naught.

Everything had come undone because of the careless words of two teenagers.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had gone missing after Harry’s departure, and it had taken Dumbledore until late this morning to track them to a hidden room on the seventh floor.  The state he had found them in showed just how much Harry had discovered.

The Granger girl had been practically catatonic, and the Weasley boy in quite a state: broken nose, shattered leg, and barely able to breathe properly.  They had not broken their oaths, as Dumbledore could easily tell, but his search of their memories revealed their fateful late night argument.  Dumbledore was certain that this argument was the cause of their problem.  Someone, likely Harry under his cloak, had become suspicious of the pair and followed them, overhearing their damning conversation.

Now both children were in the hospital wing, Weasley recovering from his ordeal and Granger sedated.  His gamble of using Harry’s friends to keep him isolated had apparently backfired in truly disastrous fashion.  Now the duo was useless to him, and knew more about their plans than was prudent.  I can’t just obliviate two years of memories, Dumbledore mused.  Perhaps I can just force them to take a stronger oath, unable to speak of this even to each other?

More pressing at the moment was the question of Harry’s current whereabouts.  Where could he possibly be?  Dumbledore wondered.  And who is helping him?  The boy has no friends outside of Hogwarts.

As Dumbledore completed his thought, he could have sworn he heard Fawkes snort softly behind him.

The old man sighed and relaxed in his chair, closing his eyes in exhaustion.  This really was too much stress for a man of his age.  I wonder what dear Gellert is doing at the moment, he pondered.  Perhaps I shall pay him a little visit.

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Hogwarts, Hospital Wing

Hermione Granger lay in her hospital bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling, Harry Potter’s last words to her echoing in her mind.  You’re dead to me, Hermione, he had said.  You’re dead to me.

Harry’s words had struck her to the quick, and now she felt empty, lacking even the energy to move.  Despite the maneuvering she had done to isolate Harry from others, she still thought of him as her first and, really, only friend.  He thinks I’ve betrayed him, she thought bitterly to herself.  And maybe I have.

Prior to Voldemort’s recent resurrection, Hermione had never thought of herself as ‘betraying’ Harry.  She was aware of his awful destiny, had been since the end of her second year, but she had never thought of herself as anything less than loyal to him.  Now she was consumed with self-loathing.

Her role had been easy enough in the two-and-a-half years following her oath.  The Headmaster had spoken to her almost immediately after she had been un-petrified, explaining that it would only get more dangerous to be around Harry Potter.  He had praised her loyalty to her best friend, and then he had played his trump card: he had a noble and important task for her to perform, one that would help save countless innocent lives.

He had asked her to protect Harry, both from himself and from the ‘influence’ of those who might not understand his destiny.  And then he had gently revealed that destiny to her.  She had been shocked and horrified, of course, but her 12-year-old ego was secretly proud that the Headmaster would call on her for such a weighty task.  

She had been dubious about the Headmaster’s revelation that Harry’s fate was decreed by prophecy, but he had asked her to think about the connection between Harry’s life and Voldemort’s.  They had met when he was a baby; they had met during Harry’s first year; and, most recently, Harry had done battle with the Dark Lord’s enchanted diary.  Voldemort would return one day soon, the Headmaster had told her, and Harry would be destined to face him again, to save the world again.  He would be a hero, Dumbledore had said, but his life was doomed to be a tragic one.

Hermione had considered his words carefully for the remainder of her stay in the hospital wing, and finally convinced herself that he must be right.  At the tender age of 12, she had no experience with manipulative adults, and she trusted the Headmaster implicitly.  If a great man such as he asked her to perform a service for the wizarding world, who was she to refuse?  Being part of such an important historical event appealed strongly to her growing ambition.

I can do this, Hermione had thought.  She could keep Harry focused on his school work and far from the corrupting influences of others.  She could protect him until it was time for him to do his duty.  She could be his friend and help him to be as happy as possible in his remaining time, however long that would be.

She had even understood, mostly, why Harry couldn’t be told.  It would be a terrible knowledge to live with, and likely make him miserable.  It would grate on her, she knew, to maintain such a deception, but she was prepared to make sacrifices for the good of the wizarding world.  Such were her self-righteous delusions at the age of 12.

And so she had sworn a binding oath of secrecy to the wise old Headmaster, promising not to speak of her new knowledge in the presence of others.  And for two years the burden of that knowledge had been bearable.

But after Voldemort’s resurrection and Harry’s near death, the bleak reality of his situation was brought home to her.  Harry was practically a brother to her at this point.  She didn’t think she could bear losing him, and yet there was no one she could talk to about it.  She had once begged Professor Dumbledore to try an alternative, any alternative, but he had delivered such a stern rebuke that she never tried again.  Her desperation and guilt began to eat her alive; soon she had been unable to eat or sleep properly, her mind unable to accept the awful truth that her best friend would soon become a sacrifice for the greater good.

Since term began those feelings of regret and despair had only gotten worse.  She had guessed at Ron’s plot to set Harry up with Ginny, but could not understand his motives.  She did not know of Harry’s family wealth, so it did not occur to her to think of greed.

She was certain that Ginny had no idea what has happening, but there was no way to warn her about what was to come.  Several times she had tried to think of a way to warn Harry, to make him run away, but each time she had forced herself to remember that things had to be this way.

Ron’s indifference to Harry’s plight and to his sister’s feelings was astonishing to her.  She now loathed being in the boy’s presence; the words he had spoken during their argument were unforgivable.  The callous bastard had tried to apologize the next morning, but she had refused to even hear him out.

And now everything had fallen apart; someone had apparently overheard her argument with Ron, and Harry had learned about their plot.  Now he was gone, and he blamed her for conspiring to kill him.  Is that truly what I’m doing?  she thought, for the first time seeing it fully from his point of view.

But the Headmaster swore that this had to happen, or the world would be doomed, she thought desperately, trying to justify it to herself.  But the look in Harry’s eyes yesterday—“I thought you were my friend, Hermione,” he had said—it was more than she could bear.

She had held such high hopes for finding a place in the magical world, a place to call home.  And she had found a purpose here, one she now bitterly regretted.  That purpose would end in her only true friend’s death.  Now she felt utterly alone, and wished for nothing more than to just disappear, to forget she had ever heard of the magical world.

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24 Hours Earlier, Manchester

Merlin, Harry sighed.  I did it.  I got away.

Dinesh Patil let go of his arm and ended his disillusionment, giving Harry his first look at the man.  He looked to be in his late 40s, and bore little resemblance to Padma or Parvati.  His skin was slightly darker and pitted, unlike the smooth skin of his nieces.  He was of average height and weight, but had a paunch that hung over his midsection and was visible even beneath robes.  He gave off a faint air of dissipation, and his apartment reeked of tobacco and stale curry.

Harry took a moment to look around.  He was in a small, dingy room that would have made a respectable foyer had it been cleaned and decorated.  He saw several doors leading to other rooms, but surmised that the whole flat was very small.

“Thank you,” Harry said to Dinesh, who had stood back and was peering at The-Boy-Who-Lived in curiosity.  “I couldn’t have done that without your help.”

Dinesh merely nodded.  “Too right, you couldn’t.”

He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his robes and fished until he found a suitable one.  Lighting up and exhaling loudly, his gaze returned to Harry, eyes flicking up toward his scar.

Harry didn’t know how to respond to this scrutiny, so asked, “Er, where are we, then?”

“In a big muggle city,” replied Dinesh.  “And that’s all you need to know.  I don’t want to know why you’re running, and I don’t want you to know anything about me.  Safer that way.  Here are the rules, Harry Potter.  If you break them, you’re on your own.  So listen carefully.”

“One: you are never to leave this flat, not for any reason.  Two: you will place your wand on the mantle over the fireplace, and it will stay there unless there is an emergency.  Three: you have three days to figure out where to go and what to do.  After that, you’re not my responsibility.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, slightly cowed at the Indian man’s brusque demeanor and quick, clipped speech.  “But my wand is not leaving my holster, and I’m not debating it.”

“Fine,” replied Dinesh, eyeing him for a few more seconds.  “But if you cast a spell with it, you’ll bloody regret it.”

He turned and moved toward a door that appeared to enter his kitchen.  “You follow the other rules, and we’ll get along just fine.  Now, come sit down and we’ll discuss how much you’re going to pay me.”

Harry followed obligingly, seating himself in one of the metal chairs in a kitchen that was decorated just as sparsely as the living room.  He was a little irritated at the apparent venality of this man, but was in no position to bargain with his safety.

“I, er,” Harry began, “I don’t know what I can pay you.  Parvati just said that we could work something out.”

“Well, she was right,” responded Dinesh, smirking just a little.  “And you’re lucky she begged me to do this.  I wouldn’t have done it for any amount of money otherwise.”

Harry nodded.  “I do appreciate it, and I’m happy to pay you.  Did you have a price in mind?” he asked, fifteen years of naiveté shining through.

Now Dinesh gave him a full smile, his teeth straight and white like Parvati’s, despite his apparent cigarette habit.  “Well, how much do you have?”

Dinesh chuckled at the look of annoyance that washed over Harry’s face.

“I only have 75 galleons on me.  I can’t get more without going to the bank, and that’s a bad idea right now, obviously.”

“That it is, lad, that it is,” Dinesh agreed.  “So we can delay payment for awhile, since you have more important concerns at present.”

Here he paused, considering for a moment and taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

“10,000 galleons sounds about right, Harry Potter,” he exhaled, blowing smoke right in Harry’s face.  “Is your life worth that much?”

Harry coughed and goggled a little at the amount Dinesh mentioned.  He did some quick math in his head—he still thought like a muggle when it came to matters of money—and realized that Dinesh was asking for over 50,000 pounds.

“That’s a lot of money,” Harry replied, his eyes watering.  “But if I have it I’ll pay it.  I promise.”

He knew he was being shaken down by this unscrupulous man, but thought it unwise to bargain with him.  There was no use tempting him to sell Harry’s whereabouts to the highest bidder.

Dinesh considered him for a moment and then nodded.  “It’s settled then.  10,000 galleons, as soon as you can safely get it.”

He stood and ambled toward what Harry thought was a pantry.  “Are you hungry?  There’s not much to eat around here, but I thought maybe your elf could take care of that.”

“That’s alright,” said Harry.  “I’m sure Dobby will be happy to feed us while I’m here.  He can probably steal stuff from Hogwarts.”

Harry yawned widely.  Since he sat down, his adrenalin spike had worn off and he was now feeling the effects of the night’s excitement.  It was past 2AM, and he badly needed some sleep.

Dinesh noticed, and pointed back to the living room.  “That couch in there is yours.  I’ll find a blanket for you, but remember, no magic.”

Harry nodded, rising from his chair and stumbling toward the living room.  Suddenly all he wanted in the world was to close his eyes.

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Harry awoke seven hours later to the smell of something frying in the kitchen.  He stumbled to the loo to relieve himself, then made his way to the kitchen.  He discovered Dobby levitating a couple of plates toward the table, where Dinesh was already treating himself to a breakfast of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes.

“Harry Potter Sir!” Dobby exclaimed, “Breakfast is being ready.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said, seating himself at the table and piling up a huge plate of food.  He was absolutely starving after yesterday’s excitement.

“Dobby, when breakfast is over, would you please pop back to Hogwarts and let Parvati know that her uncle and I are safe, and that she and Padma have my eternal gratitude for helping?”  Harry asked.  “But be careful, Dobby, make sure no one else sees you.”

Dobby nodded happily.  “Dobby will do, Harry Potter Sir.”

“I’m going out for a few hours,” interjected Dinesh, between mouthfuls of food.  “Do NOT leave this flat for any reason while I’m gone.”

Harry nodded, but was suddenly wary.  Dinesh had basically strong-armed him into a 10,000 galleon payout last night; would he now go elsewhere and try to get more?  Harry’s paranoia had become a constant companion for the past three days, and it was telling him to tread carefully here.

“Where are you going?”  Harry asked.

“Didn’t say, did I?” replied Dinesh casually, regarding Harry with a slight smirk.  “I know what you’re thinking, lad.  I’m not going to hand you over to someone for more money.  I’ve got business; that’s all.”

“What is it you do, exactly?” Harry inquired; there was no indication in the flat that Dinesh was employed in any capacity.

“This and that,” Dinesh replied, his smirk growing wider.  “Nothing you need to know about, lad.  You just be thinking about where you’re going to go.  If I were you, I’d disappear in a big muggle city.”

Harry nodded, continuing his breakfast as Dinesh wiped his mouth and rose to go.

“Excellent meal, my little friend,” he said in Dobby’s direction on his way out.

Harry heard the door open and close, and was finally left alone with his thoughts.  Dobby stood anxiously by the sink, and looked like he might have a stroke if he weren’t allowed to clean the filthy flat.

“Harry Potter Sir, Dobby is having a favor to ask,” Dobby said meekly, his eyes on the floor.

Harry barely restrained a laugh at his little friend’s behavior.  “Go ahead, Dobby; I don’t think Dinesh will mind you cleaning up.  Just don’t move things around or touch anything that looks dangerous.”

“Oh,” Dobby exclaimed, slightly surprised.  “Dobby will be cleaning, but he has another thing he is wanting…”

“Sure, Dobby,” Harry said, noticing the elf’s discomfort.  “What is it you want?”

Dobby shuffled his feet, continuing to look at the ground.

“Dobby has been looking after Winky at Hogwarts; she was given clothes, and she is being very unhappy…”

“And what would you like me to do?”  Harry prompted him to continue.

“Dobby wants to bring Winky here so he can…so he can care for her,” Dobby said shyly.  “Winky is drinking too much butterbeer,” he added in an undertone.

Harry thought for a moment.  The last thing he needed right now was a drunken house elf stumbling about, but he owed Dobby a lot and wanted to keep him happy.

“Okay, Dobby,” said Harry.  “If you bring her here, you’ll have to make sure she behaves herself and stays out of the way.  Are you sure she can’t be tracked here?  Is she bound to Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby nodded eagerly.  “Winky will be behaving.  And she is not being bound to school; she can leave.”

“Alright, then,” Harry smiled.  “Bring her on over.”

Dobby returned a beaming smile and popped away.

Now that Harry was alone in the unfamiliar flat, that feeling of surreal weirdness returned to him.  Instead of eating breakfast in Hogwarts’ Great Hall and preparing for class, he was in a dingy urban flat owned by a total stranger.  None of this felt real to him yet.

Finishing his breakfast, he got up and paced anxiously around the small sitting room.  He had spent hours figuring out a way to get safely out of Hogwarts, but he had given little thought to where he would go next.  The immediate problem had been how to get out of Dumbledore’s clutches.  Now that he was free, where could he go?

Dinesh had suggested hiding in the muggle world, but Harry didn’t really want to do that.  For one thing, he wasn’t sure he had the resources to do so.  Plus he didn’t really like the idea of being alone in the muggle world, friendless and unable to use magic.  It appeared that both Dumbledore and Voldemort wanted him dead, and that meant he needed someone—anyone, really—on his side.

No, Harry decided, what he needed was an ally in the wizarding world, someone who wouldn’t turn him immediately over to Dumbledore.  Someone who could help him gather information.  Why did Dumbledore want him dead?  Why did he have to die to save the world?  And what the bloody hell had the old bastard done to his magic?  Harry had no idea what the long term solutions to his problems were—it wasn’t as if he could just talk Dumbledore out of sacrificing him—but he did know that the next step was to find help in the wizarding world.

The trouble was where to find that help.  Harry wracked his brain, trying to think of people in the wizarding world who might be trustworthy.  None of his ‘friends’ were viable options.  The Weasleys were out, for obvious reasons, as were the Hogwarts professors.  And there was no telling who had it in for him at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry shook his head in exasperation.  Everyone he knew was connected to Dumbledore somehow; the old man had done a thorough job of insulating him from the rest of the world, that was for certain.

He knew that Susan Bones’ aunt was head of the DMLE, but didn’t know anything else about the woman.  Was she connected to Fudge or Dumbledore?  Would she immediately take him into ‘protective custody?’  It was too big a risk to take, considering what was at stake.

Try as he might, Harry could think of only one possible solution to his dilemma:  that pink-haired Auror, ‘Nymphadora’ Tonks.

Harry considered what he knew about her as carefully as he could.  She was a member of Dumbledore’s Order, but she had saved his life this summer.  She technically took her marching orders from the old man, but Harry couldn’t envision the irrepressibly cheerful Auror participating in a conspiracy to murder anyone, let alone The-Boy-Who-Lived.  But you never dreamed that Hermione would be part of such a thing either, his inner critic chided.

Tonks was connected to the Ministry, but she was sworn to uphold the law.  If he could convince her to help him, she might know which of her superiors could help him.  And she could just as easily tell her bosses or Dumbledore and set a trap for me, he argued against himself.

What finally settled the matter in Harry’s mind was her gift to him.  Tonks had given him her old leather wand holster, something that would help him defend himself.  If she had wanted him to be defenseless and vulnerable, she would never have given him such a useful gift.

She must not know anything about my situation, thought Harry.  She knows she’s fighting Voldemort, but the Headmaster hasn’t told her what his plans for me are.  Harry wondered just how many members of the Order of the Phoenix were aware of their leader’s plan to sacrifice Harry to Voldemort.  It can’t be all of them, can it? he thought worriedly.

Seeing no other alternatives, Harry spent the next three hours carefully penning a letter to Tonks, hoping desperately that she would be willing to meet with him on his terms.

He was still writing when Dinesh returned.

“Well,” he asked, “have you figured out what you’re going to do?”

Harry sighed and stretched.  “I hope so.  I can’t just go hide in the muggle world.  I’ve got too many people looking for me, and I need some protection.  I’m going to try to get in touch with an Auror I met this summer, and pray to Merlin that she doesn’t turn me in.”

Dinesh was silent for a moment, then said flatly.  “That’s a terrible plan.”

Harry flushed, trying to restrain himself from getting angry at the bluntness of his rescuer.  “Well, do you have a better solution?  Because I’d love to hear it.  I’m doing the best I can here.”

Dinesh just shook his head and moved toward his bedroom.  “Whatever you do, just don’t bring anybody here,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes behind the man’s back.  “I don’t even where ‘here’ is, and thanks for the advice,” he called out sarcastically.

Harry stared at his letter for a few seconds, and finally sighed in resignation.  There seemed to be no other options.

“Dobby?”

“Yes, Harry Potter Sir?” he asked, popping into the room.

“Dobby, do you remember that pink-haired Auror who saved me from the dementors this summer?”

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Dobby remembers.”

“Good.  I’ve got a letter for her that I want you to deliver.  Do you think you can find her?”

Dobby paused for a moment to think.  “House elves cannot be popping to Ministry, Harry Potter Sir.  But Dobby will find her.  Dobby promises,” he replied, taking the letter from Harry.

A second later he was gone, leaving Harry to wonder whether he’d just made a terrible mistake.

I wonder if that other elf is around here somewhere, he mused distractedly.

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Malfoy Manor, The Dungeons

Severus Snape gasped as the curse was finally released.  He was trying desperately not to cry out in pain, but thirty seconds of cruciatus was enough to make anyone whimper like a child.  This was the second time in three days that he had been punished brutally, and neither time had been his fault.

Though it was Pettigrew who discovered Ollivander’s body, it was Snape who took the brunt of the punishment for that failure.  The old man had destroyed a small fortune in rare wand cores and potions ingredients before he had killed himself.  Snape longed to tell the creature in front of him that it was his own fault, but he knew it would be the last thing he ever said.

Now he was being tortured for “allowing” Harry Potter to escape from Hogwarts.  Snape dearly wished that he had been at Hogwarts at the time, but he had been checking up on a series of long-brewing potions at Malfoy Manor when the alarm was sounded.  He and Dumbledore had decided it was necessary to tell the Dark Lord of Potter’s departure from Hogwarts, but Snape hadn’t expected to take so much of the blame.

“This smells like a trap to me, my dear Severus,” the Dark Lord intoned silkily.  “Why would the boy leave the safety of Hogwarts?”

“I do not know for certain, my Lord,” Snape replied, still trembling.  “But as I have told you, Dumbledore planned to use the boy as some sort of weapon against you.  I can only surmise that the brat wised up and decided to escape.”

“Perhaps…” Voldemort murmured, eyeing Snape critically.

“Rise, Severus, and approach,” he commanded.

Snape struggled to a standing position and moved slowly toward his Master.  He knew what was coming, and prayed that his skills would be up to the task.

Voldemort lifted his Potions Master’s chin and looked him directly in the eye.  “Legilimens,” he whispered, pointing his wand in the direction of his head.

Snape felt his memories assaulted with brutality for the next three minutes, until he was finally let go and dropped carelessly to the floor.  He was breathing heavily and would need a headache reliever and lots of sleep after this encounter.

“You speak the truth, Severus, luckily for you,” the Dark Lord stated, reseating himself in his throne.  “The boy is foolish.  Wormtail, find McNair and send him to me.  We will organize a search of our own.”

Peter Pettigrew stepped out of the shadows and bowed.  “Yes, my Lord; it will be done.”

Before he rose, Pettigrew held a quick debate within himself and decided to bolster his courage for a chance at freedom.  “My Lord…” he began hesitantly.  “May I have the honor of searching for Potter as well?  I know the boy’s scent, and my animagus form could be useful…”

Pettigrew waited in silence, expecting a crucio for his trouble.

“Very well,” the Dark Lord answered after a few seconds.  “You shall search during the day and attend me at night.”

Pettigrew groaned internally.  This was not what he had asked for.  Had he just sacrificed every last ounce of sleep?  There was nothing to be done for it now.

“As you wish, my Lord,” he replied, rising with Snape to exit the presence of their Master.  If only I can find that damned boy, thought Pettigrew, then maybe I will be treated with some bloody respect.  Were it not for the example of Igor Karkaroff, Peter would have fled from his torment at Malfoy Manor long ago.

“Severus,” Voldemort said, his attention returning to the panting man at his feet, “you are to tell me every last detail about the Headmaster’s search for Potter.  I want to know where he’s looking and why.  If we can kill the boy before we reveal ourselves, it will destroy the hopes of the mudblood fools.”

“And Severus,” he continued menacingly, “I want to know the rest of that prophecy immediately.  Do what you must, but find out what the old man knows.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” whispered Snape, mentally cursing Harry Potter for having the temerity to remain among the living.

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Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks sat at her small, disorganized desk and stared in bewilderment at the parchment in her hand.  She always walked away confused from her encounters with The-Boy-Who-Lived, and it appeared as though that streak was going to continue.

Twenty minutes ago, just as she was returning to the Ministry building from an assignment in Derby, a house elf had popped right in front of her, surprising her enough that she drew her wand on him.  She thought she recognized him as the elf who had wailed frantically over Harry Potter in Little Whinging.  When the elf stopped shaking in fright, he had given her a letter—which he claimed was from ‘Harry Potter Sir’—and begged her not to read it until she was alone.  She had complied warily, and wondered just what was going on.

Yesterday Alastor Moody had contacted her and told her that Harry Potter was missing.  Someone, probably a Slytherin, had concocted a story about Dumbledore that somehow frightened him enough to flee Hogwarts.  She and the other Aurors in the Order were to keep an ear to the ground within the Ministry, and to be prepared for a rescue operation at a moment’s notice.  Moody had given her a charmed galleon that would vibrate in an emergency.

Now Harry Potter himself had made contact with her, and, just as Mad-Eye had said, the boy believed that the Headmaster was conspiring against him.  She looked at the letter a fourth time, trying to discern if it was legitimate.

Has Potter been kidnapped? she wondered. Has he been imperioused to flee the Headmaster’s protection?  Is this some kind of trap for me?  Her instincts were warning her to surrender this letter to Professor Dumbledore immediately, but there was something about its tone that gave her pause.  He was clearly desperate, and had even asked her to bring veritaserum to a secret meeting.

Tonks’ Hufflepuff loyalty was being pulled in several different directions by this letter.  On the one hand she was dedicated to stopping You-Know-Who, and the Headmaster was the leader in that fight.  On the other hand, she had grown somewhat fond of Harry Potter during her summer guard duty, and he was making some truly disturbing claims against Albus Dumbledore.  Could there be any truth to them?

Complicating matters further, she was duty-bound to uphold the law, and holding a secret meeting with a missing fugitive was a breach of Auror protocol.  Didn’t Director Bones need to know about this?  The biggest thing about the Order of the Phoenix that she didn’t understand was the Headmaster’s insistence that Amelia Bones could not be told about the Dark Lord’s return.

One thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t go into an unknown situation such as this one without backup.

Frowning as she made her decision, Tonks penned a quick reply to Harry’s letter and set off toward the exit.  She needed to call that crazy elf.

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A/N: Next chapter, a fateful meeting.  But will Harry be walking into a trap?

Also, I’ve decided to drop the extra s’s from Voldemort’s speech, both in this chapter and the earlier one.  They were annoying to write, and, I’m sure, annoying to read.  Thanks for reading!