The Potter Conspiracy
A/N: Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed. Feedback is greatly appreciated!
A quick note about Sirius, to avoid further confusion: he is, in fact, dead in this story, as I mentioned in the first A/N. Dumbledore and Snape captured him in Harry’s third year and made certain he was kissed immediately. Harry is not aware that he lost his godfather, nor is he aware of Pettigrew’s existence. This has only been hinted at so far. Eventually he will become aware of Sirius’ innocence, and of just how much Dumbledore messed with his life.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. JKR and her partners do.
Chapter Four – Come and Go
August 24th, 1995 – Hogwarts, Room of Requirement
“EXPULSO!”
Harry Potter stared at the rectangle of granite that the room had provided as a target. There was barely a scratch on it.
What the hell is wrong with me? he thought miserably.
He had just used an advanced blasting curse on the thing, and it had failed to budge. It should have been blown to smithereens.
Harry was breathing heavily despite his excellent conditioning, and sweat was pouring down his face. It felt to him like he was approaching magical exhaustion.
For the past hour he had been using the room to practice some of the advanced curses he had studied over the summer. He had been repeating this ritual every day for the past week, and every day he grew more and more frustrated at his inability to master these new spells. He had felt stronger than this while training for the Tri-Wizard tasks, for Merlin’s sake.
A week ago Harry had been bored beyond belief, sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room listlessly flipping through yet another book. He had been splitting most of his time between the library and the common room, and was starting to get cabin fever again. He wasn’t allowed to leave the castle, so flying wasn’t an option. He desperately wanted a place to practice the new spells in his repertoire, but he didn’t think the Headmaster would take kindly to him blasting apart desks in one of the classrooms. He had voiced his frustrations to Dobby, and, as Harry should have expected by now, Dobby had a solution.
The Come-and-Go Room. An absolutely brilliant feat of magic. Harry had shaken his head in wonder at the place. If only he had known about it as a first year…
And so Harry had taken to using the room with a fervor born of desperation. But he quickly discovered how useless his new knowledge of advanced offensive spells seemed to be. And it wasn’t just the new spells that were giving him difficulty. Since the disaster with his patronus charm in Surrey, Harry had practiced it every day. He now heard Dudley’s panicked screams in his nightmares, and wondered if he would ever stop feeling guilty at his failure. Those unholy things, Harry had vowed, are never going to get near me again.
He couldn’t imagine how Vernon and Petunia had taken the news of Dudley’s “condition,” and wondered if Vernon was trying to hire a hit man in the muggle world. At least this meant he would never have to return to Privet Drive. Not that he could, anyway; Professor Dumbledore had told him a few days after the incident that Harry wouldn’t be welcome at the funeral and that the Dursleys were moving out of the country.
He had finally, after several frustrating days, gotten the ghostly stag to form, but it looked nothing like the corporeal marvel he had produced during third year. This stag was faint and wispy looking, and only lasted for a few seconds. Surely I can’t be that far out of practice, Harry had thought. Is there something wrong with my magic?
After several days of increasing annoyance, Harry had finally broken down and approached his magical guardian with his problem. He hadn’t spoken to Dumbledore for three days after their confrontation in his office. It simply beggared belief that this old man had been his guardian all along, and yet hadn’t lifted a finger to protect him from the Dursleys. Why hadn’t he told Harry about their “relationship?”
Initially Harry had resolved never to speak with the man again, but after careful consideration of his situation, he realized this was impossible. He was isolated from the rest of the wizarding world, he had a Dark Lord after him, and he had no friends who weren’t connected to Dumbledore somehow. Plus the old man was in control of Harry’s finances; Harry had no access to money without his vault key.
In short, he was trapped; he had no choice but to grit his teeth and swallow his resentment of the incompetent fool until he turned 17. Then all bets were off.
So Harry had taken a deep, calming breath and walked to the Headmaster’s office. Once there, he had stayed carefully on topic, pretending that their earlier conversation had not happened. Dumbledore, too, had seemed eager to let sleeping dogs lie.
Harry had told him of his new difficulties with magic—carefully avoiding mention of the advanced spells he had been practicing—and solicited his advice. Dumbledore had nodded sagely in all the right parts, but had seemed unconcerned with Harry’s seeming lack of power. “I believe this shall pass, Harry,” he had counseled. “It is likely a consequence of having locked wands with Voldemort during your duel. He may be experiencing something similar, which would explain why there have been no attacks this summer.”
Harry had frowned at this explanation, but didn’t know what else to ask. The Headmaster had moved on by then anyway, delighted at having Harry’s apparent trust again. He had informed Harry about the Order of the Phoenix’s purpose, explained why they were unable to go public with Voldemort’s return, and promised to keep him notified about all things that might be related to him. Harry had just nodded throughout and eventually left the office, unsatisfied. Something just didn’t feel right about the Headmaster’s explanations.
So today Harry had continued his attempt to overcome his newfound weaknesses, and had failed yet again. He took one last look around the training area that this fantastic room had created, and then turned to go back to his dorm room. I have got to figure out what’s wrong with me, he thought. Voldemort could take me down with a tickling charm right now.
Harry exited the Come-and-Go Room and walked glumly toward Gryffindor Tower, in desperate need of a shower. All of the portraits he encountered along the way seemed to be watching him with interest, and Harry figured that his esteemed guardian had ordered them to keep an eye on him. Yet another thing to love about the old bastard, thought Harry bitterly.
As he approached the fat lady’s portrait, he saw Professor McGonagall walking toward him from the opposite direction.
“Mr. Potter. A word please,” she called out.
Harry slowed to a stop and waited on her. He was quite irritated with his Head of House at the moment. She had been in the castle for his entire tenure here, now approaching three weeks, and he had only seen her three times. All thoughts of confiding his troubles in her had fled after his first encounter with her. She had apparently heard about Harry’s one-sided shouting match with the Headmaster, and had rebuked him coldly for daring to raise his voice to Albus Dumbledore.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Let us go to the common room. I must speak with you about the coming year,” she said officiously.
The two Gryffindors entered through the portrait hole and took seats in front of the empty fireplace.
“Mr. Potter, as you may know, Hogwarts has had a hard time filling the Defense position in recent years…”
Harry almost snorted at her. Yeah, he laughed to himself. Three out of the four tried to kill me, and the fourth didn’t seem to like me very much.
“Well,” continued McGonagall, “this year, unfortunately, is no different. We were unable to locate a qualified candidate who was willing to take the position, so the Ministry has appointed one of its own people.”
Now Harry did groan out loud. Sweet Merlin, he thought, here it comes.
“Yes, quite,” McGonagall answered his groan. “The, erm, person they have assigned is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge. I wished to speak with you to warn you, Mr. Potter. She is an especially vocal critic of yours within the Ministry. She was even demanding you be expelled and tried for underage magic use after the unfortunate attack, but the Headmaster was able to provide sufficient evidence on your behalf.”
Harry could hardly believe this. “They wanted to put me on trial for casting a patronus charm against dementors?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, certain, um, elements within the Ministry didn’t want to believe your account of the attack. Dementors, after all, are supposed to be under Ministry control. But with your cousin kissed—and I am sorry for that, Harry—and Auror Tonks as a witness, they weren’t able to press charges.”
Harry thought this over briefly. “The Ministry didn’t know that anyone was guarding me over the summer. Do you think they could have sent the dementors to set me up for a trial? It’s common knowledge that I can cast a patronus.”
“Unfortunately it is a very real possibility, Mr. Potter. That is why I want you to be very careful around Dolores Umbridge this year. She is almost certainly reporting back to the Minister on what happens at Hogwarts. Be careful what you say around her, and for Merlin’s sake don’t let her goad you into doing something stupid,” McGonagall said, severely at the end.
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll do my best Professor, but if she attacks me I’m going to fight back. Every year the Defense Professor has it in for me, and now the stakes are just too high to let some Ministry idiot put my life in danger.”
McGonagall nodded. She knew this was the best she could expect from the angry new Harry Potter. “That is all that I ask, Mr. Potter. Just be on guard around her. I don’t think she’s a Death Eater, but both she and Minister Fudge are friendly with Lucius Malfoy.”
McGonagall rose and straightened her robes. “Do remember to finish your summer homework in the next few days, Mr. Potter. Thank you for listening to me.”
“You’re welcome, Professor.”
Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling as Professor McGonagall exited the room.
Merlin, he thought, this year is really going to suck.
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August 25th, 1995 – Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room
The next evening found Harry Potter sitting in a large chair in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Commons, staring listlessly into the fire. The fire was raging despite the temperature outside, as Harry had been feeling chilled and exhausted all day after his morning attempt at training. Like every other day, he had failed to make any progress with his increasingly “wonky magic,” as he had termed it. From his perspective, absolutely nothing was going right with his life.
His successes early in the summer were largely due to Dobby—better food, physical training, advanced books. Now that Harry had finally escaped his imprisonment at the Dursleys, those successes seemed worthless. He had the perfect training room available to him at Hogwarts—one that even Dumbledore seemed unaware of—and it wasn’t doing him any good.
He had asked Madam Pomfrey about fixing his eyes, but she had told him sadly that there was nothing she could do. There were potions to enhance visual acuity for short periods of time, but there was nothing that could permanently fix one’s eyesight. Either one’s personal magic was capable of “maintaining” one’s eyesight, or it wasn’t. Apparently Harry’s wasn’t. So Harry had read up on sticking charms and similar spells, concluding that he would have to find a way to keep his glasses safe in a fight.
He was also feeling increasingly irritated with his friends. Ron had finally written him after the dementor attack, expressing how glad Harry must be to be free of the muggles. The git hadn’t even mentioned that his freedom had come at the price of Dudley’s life. Hermione too had written, expressing her sorrow over Dudley’s death and her thankfulness for Tonks’ presence. She, of course, had admonished him to listen to Dumbledore’s advice and stay safe at Hogwarts until they could be together.
Dumbledore had allowed none of Harry’s friends to visit, as he didn’t want Harry’s stay in the school “to appear as special treatment” to others. Harry contemplated writing to Ginny, thinking that she might commiserate more easily with his situation, but he just felt too awkward when he tried to think of how to approach her. One thing Harry Potter was not was smooth with girls.
The only truly positive thing in Harry’s life right now was the absence of Severus Snape from it. The greasy git was apparently somewhere in Europe, doing whatever greasy gits do when they aren’t yelling at children and eschewing personal hygiene. The headmaster had informed Harry of Snape’s important new role in the coming war, and had beseeched him to avoid provoking the potions professor. It won’t be me doing the provoking, Harry had thought. Why do I always have to be the mature one?
So this evening found him sitting in his favorite chair and staring moodily into the fire, feeling boxed in on all sides.
“Oi, Harry Potter. Are you in here?”
Harry had been so deeply immersed in his self-pity that he had not heard the door to the common room opening. He peered around his chair to see the pink-haired witch who had saved his life a few weeks ago—Tonks, he thought her name was—walking in his direction.
“Hello. Tonks, right?”
“Right in one. McGonagall said you were in here brooding.”
“Well, she was right in one, then,” muttered Harry. He was still irritated with his Head of House for so blindly taking the Headmaster’s side in their recent conflict.
Tonks was beginning to wonder why this kid seemed perpetually pissed off. Perhaps she could get The-Boy-Who-Brooded to loosen up a little.
“I just thought I’d pay a visit to the new Dark Lord in training; you know, offer my services in exchange for a spot in the Inner Circle,” she smirked at him, offering just a hint of innuendo.
Harry groaned in response. A few days ago the Daily Prophet had run an article speculating on whether he had plans to become a new Dark Lord. It was laced with half-truths and lies, of course, but the truly infuriating aspect of the article was its coverage of the recent Dementor attack. It had, in fact, said nothing whatsoever about the presence of dementors. The article said only that Harry’s cousin had died under “mysterious circumstances,” and that Harry had been charged with several counts of underage magic use. It also hinted heavily that Dumbledore had bribed the Ministry to make the charges go away.
Harry had been livid after the article came out, but, as per usual, the Headmaster had counseled patience and told him he would take care of everything.
“Why are you really here?” Harry asked, annoyed that she was joking about the annihilation of his reputation.
“I come bearing a gift. When I was guarding you, I noticed you had an—ahem—unusual holster for your wand,” she said, grinning at him. “This is my old wand holster, from before I finished Auror training. It’s nothing much, but I thought you could use it.”
Harry picked up the old piece of leather that she tossed in his lap and examined it. It looked well-worn, but still very functional. Wow, he thought, I could have used something like this ages ago.
“Thanks,” Harry replied. “This is…well, this is fantastic. I really appreciate it. Er, did you say you were an Auror?” There was slight note of incredulity in Harry’s question, as the young woman in front of him looked nothing at all like his mental image of a dark wizard catcher.
Tonks, of course, heard it, and raised a single eyebrow at him. “I did say that, actually. What’s the matter, you don’t think girls are capable of taking down bad guys?”
“Er, no…my best friend is a girl, and she’s brilliant at magic. You just don’t seem the type, is all I’m saying,” Harry stuttered out quickly.
Tonks was now smirking at him. “Well, it takes all kinds, Harry. I can do one or two things that most people can’t.”
With that, she changed her features to include long, unruly black hair, a thinner nose, and striking green eyes. She looked like a female version of Harry Potter.
Gob-smacked is the only way to describe the effect of her transformation on Harry; his mouth was hanging open stupidly as he stared at his female counterpart.
Tonks burst out laughing at the look on his face. “I’m a metamorphmagus, Harry. I can alter my appearance to look like anyone I want….well, mostly. I can’t change my sex, and I can’t change my height and weight all that much.”
Harry had finally recovered his voice, and was looking at Tonks with newfound respect. “That’s bloody brilliant. How did you learn how to do that?”
“Sorry, kiddo, you have to be born with the ability. You’d know by now if you could do it.”
“I grew all my hair back overnight once,” Harry said quickly. No longer irritated with her, he now wanted to impress this young witch; she had already saved his life, and now it appeared that she was a talented Auror.
Tonks just shook her head. “Accidental magic, probably. If you were a morph, you would have been freaking people out left and right when you were younger.”
“Oh,” said Harry, his earlier elation now replaced with disappointment.
Tonks changed back to her “normal” appearance, and wondered at the quick mood swings that this teenager was capable of. He had seemed to ignore her teasing innuendo earlier. That just wouldn’t do.
“So I’ve been thinking of ways you can repay your debt, Harry…” she said silkily.
He looked at her, confused. “What debt?”
“Your life-debt, silly. I saved your life, so now I get to ask you to do anything I want. Within reason, of course,” Tonks smiled.
“Oh. Er, what did you have mind?” Harry asked, wondering just how serious she was about all this.
“Weeelllllll…..” Tonks started, taking a seat across from him, “First I thought about asking you to father my first-born child, but I don’t think I’m ready for a sprog just now.”
Harry was staring at her in horror, his face beginning to heat up. He had no idea how to deal with teasing girls.
“Then I thought you could just take me on a few dates; you know, “Beautiful Young Auror Bags Boy-Who-Lived” sort of coverage. But these days I’d just get tagged as your new Dark Lady,” she smirked.
“Or maybe I could just ask you to donate your house elf to me for a year or two. My flat is a bit of a wreck…any ideas on how you could repay me, Harry?” she asked, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.
Harry just shook his head at the relentlessly cheerful witch seated in front of him. “You were in Hufflepuff, weren’t you?”
“Um, yeah. How did you know?”
“Never mind, I could just tell,” he smiled at her. “How about you just hold on to your debt for now. If you end up being around me more, I can guarantee I’ll get a chance to repay it in kind.”
“Wow, look at the stones on this one,” she returned in mock-awe. “That much of a danger magnet are you, kiddo?”
“You have NO idea,” he smiled. “In fact, I have a proposition for you. You teach me Auror stuff in secret, and I’ll convince Dobby to make your flat shine. The stuff you teach me could help me repay that debt one day.”
“Hmmm,” Tonks mused. “Quite a proposition, Harry. But why in secret?”
Now Harry’s aspect darkened, just as it had the day he met Tonks. “Because I think that’s the only way I’m getting to get it. Dumbledore hasn’t taught me anything this summer, and I don’t believe that he’ll really give me training when school starts. He doesn’t seem to bloody care that I’ve got a freak show Dark Lord trying to kill me.”
Tonks was frowning now. “I don’t know, Harry. I’m happy to show you some things, but I don’t want to go behind the Professor’s back. He’s running the show here. How about I talk to him and see if we can’t arrange some training sessions, okay?”
Harry breathed in and then exhaled deeply. “Alright, Tonks. See what you can do. But it will be like talking to a brick wall.”
Once again confused at Harry’s attitude toward the Headmaster, Tonks stood and prepared to leave.
“Right. Well, I’ll be off then. I’ll see if the Professor’s around on my way out. See you around, Dark Lord Potter,” she leered at him.
“Oh, you’re hilarious, Auror Tonks. And thanks again for the holster.”
“You’re welcome, Harry. Bye.”
Harry watched Tonks leave and shook his head at the goofball Auror who had managed to take him out of his funk for a little while. He simply couldn’t imagine someone like Tonks being deadly in a fight.
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August 25th, 1995 – Ottery St. Catchpole, The Burrow
“Ginny, I want you to come downstairs for a minute, luv,” Molly Weasley called to her only daughter. Ron and the twins were at the quidditch pitch with Hermione tagging along, and she needed a few moments alone with her bashful daughter.
Really, Molly thought, the girl is nothing like me or her brothers. I wonder how she turned out like this.
“Yes, mum?” asked the diminutive 14-year-old after she arrived a moment later.
“Have a seat, Ginny. I’ve got something very important to talk to you about.”
Now looking very serious, Ginny seated herself at the kitchen table and looked at her mother expectantly.
“I, um…I want to talk to you about Harry Potter, dear. He’s getting to that age where boys start to fancy girls, and he’s been writing to Ron this summer, asking questions about you. He…well, we think he might be developing some feelings for you, Ginny dear,” she smiled at her youngest.
Actually, it had rather shocked Molly that Harry wasn’t writing to Ginny already. She would have to contemplate providing Ron with a slightly more potent version of her homemade potion when he returned to Hogwarts.
Ginny had turned a deep, unbecoming scarlet as her mother talked, and was looking at her in disbelief.
“R-really?” she managed to stutter out. “But he’s never noticed me before…”
“Well, don’t you worry about that dear,” Molly remonstrated gently, “perhaps he just realized what he was missing.”
But Ginny was now shaking her head. She had had a crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived since she was four years old, but she never actually thought her fantasies could become reality.
“Listen, Ginny, the thing I want you to remember is this,” Molly said, taking Ginny’s hand and patting it like one would a small animal. “If Harry, er, approaches you at school this year, and I think he will, it’s okay to let him know how much you like him too. He might like to spend time alone with you, or hold your hand, or maybe even give you a little kiss,” her eyes sparkled as she spoke.
“It’s okay to…to return Harry’s feelings, dear, just remember what we talked about a few years ago. Nothing more than a few kisses.”
Ginny nodded, wide-eyed, but not one word of this conversation seemed real to her. She had always thought her mother a little strange when it came to the subject of Harry Potter, but today her cheese seemed to have slipped entirely from her cracker.
But what am I going to do if she’s right? worried Ginny.
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August 25th, 1995 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Peter Pettigrew breathed a deep sigh of relief as he sank into the padded leather chair in his private bedroom deep below Malfoy Manor. His entire body ached and there were very few pain relief potions on the premises. They had become more precious than gold since the return of his Master two months ago. His “colleagues” hoarded them like goblins, as it was only a matter of time before they would be needed for personal use.
Pettigrew reached a shaky hand toward the bottle of firewhiskey sitting next to his chair and wished desperately that he could go back in time and live his life over again. He should have taken Snape’s long ago offer of a killing curse rather than follow the path he had taken. Peter knew the saying about cowards dying a thousand deaths, but he thought that number was grossly understated.
He wondered if he could possibly debase himself further. He had long ago sold his soul, and his body would soon be a worthless wreck if things continued like this. Maybe I should just go ahead and reserve a bed next to the Longbottoms, he thought bitterly.
Pettigrew was not like most Death Eaters. The original followers of the charismatic Dark Lord were pureblood bigots, criminals, and sadists. Peter was none of those; he was simply a coward. When forced to choose between death and betraying his friends, he had chosen betrayal. He had made a similar choice, or so he had thought, over a year ago when he set out to look for his former Master.
When Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, Pettigrew knew his days were numbered. He had thought it was only a matter of time before the entire wizarding world was baying for his blood. He knew nothing of Dumbledore’s plot to keep Harry Potter away from Sirius, so he had expected Sirius to be exonerated and himself to be hunted like an animal.
The day after Sirius had broken into Hogwarts for the first time, Pettigrew had left and gone into hiding. After several days of considering his options, he felt that seeking the protection of his fallen Lord was the only thing that would keep him safe from the retribution of the wizarding world and Sirius Black.
But Black had not been exonerated, and Peter had not been exposed as a traitor. Sirius had apparently been kissed by a dementor before he could tell anyone the truth. This had baffled Peter, but by then it was too late to change his mind about seeking out the Dark Lord. He had teamed up with Barty Crouch, Jr., and they had somehow pulled off their Master’s utterly ridiculous plot to kidnap Harry Potter during that damned tournament.
And now he was a virtual slave.
He thought he had proven himself loyal to his master by “donating” his hand to the cause, but he was treated contemptuously by both the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had basically made him his personal valet, insisting that Pettigrew be available to him at all hours of the day and night. And that thing in the next room over seemed never to sleep at all.
Peter was truly terrified of the monster that had arisen from the cauldron. Once tall, handsome, and gaunt, the Dark Lord now looked nothing like the charismatic leader who had rallied the pureblood supremacists to his side. He was a grotesque humanoid with glowing red eyes and frighteningly serpentine characteristics.
Even worse, he appeared to be insane. He spent hours muttering to himself about some prophecy, and would fly into unpredictable rages that usually ended in some poor soul being tortured into agony. He had very little regard for his followers, and Peter wondered how they could possibly recruit new blood to this monster’s cause.
Thank Merlin for Lucius Malfoy, thought Pettigrew. The Dark Lord had cursed Malfoy mercilessly for an entire week, just because he had lost some book he had been entrusted with. But now Malfoy seemed to be the only person the Dark Lord would listen to.
Their Master had wanted to raid Azkaban immediately. Once his most faithful were back at his side, he had wanted to unleash a torrent of bloodshed the likes of which the world had never seen. But somehow Lucius had shown him the wisdom of waiting. He could hide his return and gather a stronger base of power in the Ministry. Then, when the time was right, he would be able to strike a surprise blow that would bring the wizarding world to its knees.
Pettigrew wasn’t sure he would live to see that day. He had been tortured every single day for the last three weeks. He would have to convince the Dark Lord that his animagus form made him a valuable spy somewhere out in the field. Anywhere, really. As long as it far away from his Master.
Closing his eyes from the effects of the whiskey, Peter Pettigrew drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
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Meanwhile, a hundred or so miles to the east, an elderly wand-maker exited his shop in Diagon Alley and prepared to apparate home. He never saw the stunner that hit him in the back or felt the forced apparition that took him forever away from his beloved shop.
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A/N: There you go. Next chapter, school is finally in session, Parvati makes a brief appearance, and our favorite Defense Professor waddles her way into the story.
Chapter 6 is where we will go well and truly AU. I think you’ll enjoy it. And by AU, I don’t mean “absurdly unrealistic new kinds of magic will be introduced.” In this fic there will be no elementals, no ninjas, no time-turner training, no super-wands, no phoenix!Harry, no founders, no Merlin, and DEFINITELY no Severitus. Is it just me, or does that sound like some sort of nasty magical STD?