A chilly mist drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up, shadowy and ominous. There was no sound apart from the whisper of the black water and no sign of life apart from a scrawny fox that had slunk down the bank to nose hopefully at some old fish-and-chip wrappings in the tall grass.
But then, with a very faint pop, a slim, hooded figure appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The fox froze, wary eyes fixed upon this strange new phenomenon. The figure seemed to take its bearings for a few moments, then set off with light, quick strides, its long cloak rustling over the grass.
With a second and louder pop, another hooded figure materialized.
"Wait!"
The harsh cry startled the fox, now crouching almost flat in the undergrowth. It leapt from its hiding place and up the bank. There was a flash of green light, a yelp, and the fox fell back to the ground, dead.
The second figure turned over the animal with its toe.
"Just a fox." said a woman's voice dismissively from under the hood. "I thought perhaps an Auror...Cissy, wait!"
But her quarry, who had paused and looked back at the flash of light, was already scrambling up the bank the fox had just fallen down.
"Cissy...Narcissa...listen to me..."
The second woman caught the first and seized her arm, but the other wrenched it away.
"Go back, Bella!"
"You must listen to me!"
"I've listened already. I've made my decision. Leave me alone!"
The woman named Narcissa gained the top of the bank, where a line of old railings separated the river from a narrow, cobbled street. The other woman, Bella, followed at once. Side by side they stood looking across the road at the rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness.
"He lives here?" asked Bella in a voice of contempt. "Here? In this Muggle dunghill? We must be the first of our kind ever to set foot..."
But Narcissa was not listening, she had slipped through a gap in the rusty railings and was already hurrying across the road.
"Cissy, wait!"
Bella followed, her cloak streaming behind, and saw Narcissa darting through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street. Some of the streetlamps were broken, the two women were running between patches of light and deep darkness. The pursuer caught up with her prey just as she turned another corner, this time succeeding in catching hold of her arm and swinging her around so that they faced each other.
"Cissy, you must not do this, you can't trust him..."
"The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn't he?"
"The Dark Lord is...I believe...mistaken." Bella panted, and her eyes gleamed momentarily under her hood as she looked around to check that they were indeed alone. "In any case, we were told not to speak of the plan to anyone. This is a betrayal of the Dark Lord's..."
"Let go, Bella!" snarled Narcissa, and she drew a wand from beneath her cloak, holding it threateningly in the other's face. Bella merely laughed.
"Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn't..."
"There is nothing I wouldn't do anymore!" Narcissa breathed, a note of hysteria in her voice, and as she brought down the wand like a knife, there was another flash of light. Bella let go of her sister's arm as though burned.
"Narcissa!"
But Narcissa had rushed ahead. Rubbing her hand, her pursuer followed again, keeping her distance now, as they moved deeper into the deserted labyrinth of brick houses. At last, Narcissa hurried up a street named Spinner's End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she passed boarded and broken windows, until she reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room.
She had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.
Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.
"Narcissa!" said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Severus." she said in a strained whisper. "May I speak to you? It's urgent. "
"But of course."
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
"Snape." she said curtly as she passed him.
"Bellatrix." he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.
They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather, a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
"So, what can I do for you?" Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
"We...we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly.
"Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?"
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.
"As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests." said Snape lazily.
The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove.
"Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming..."
"Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them." said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom."
Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him.
"I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eye.
"Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me."
"To assist, yes...but not to make you drinks and...and clean your house!"
"I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments." said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged, I shall speak to the Dark Lord..."
"I can speak to him myself if I want to!"
"Of course you can." said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him.
Snape poured out three glasses of blood-red wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him, on the contrary, he looked rather amused.
"The Dark Lord." he said, raising his glass and draining it.
The sisters copied him. Snape refilled their glasses.
As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush. "Severus, I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me..."
Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.
"My apologies." said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it...you were saying, Narcissa?"
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again.
"Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but..."
"Then you ought to hold your tongue!" snarled Bellatrix. "Particularly in present company!"
"'Present company'?" repeated Snape sardonically. "And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?"
"That I don't trust you, Snape, as you very well know!"
Narcissa let out a noise that might have been a dry sob and covered her face with her hands. Snape set his glass down upon the table and sat back again, his hands upon the arms of his chair, smiling into Bellatrix's glowering face.
"Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say, it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix." said Snape. "Why is it that you do not trust me?"
"A hundred reasons!" she said loudly, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass upon the table. "Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Sorcerer's Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?"
She paused, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the color high in her cheeks. Behind her, Narcissa sat motionless, her face still hidden in her hands.
Snape smiled.
"Before I answer you...oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer! You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked me each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?"
She hesitated.
"I know he believes you, but..."
"You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?"
Bellatrix said nothing, but looked, for the first time, a little discomfited. Snape did not press the point. He picked up his drink again, sipped it, and continued, "You ask where I was when the Dark Lord fell. I was where he had ordered me to be, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because he wished me to spy upon Albus Dumbledore. You know, I presume, that it was on the Dark Lord's orders that I took up the post?"
She nodded almost imperceptibly and then opened her mouth, but Snape forestalled her.
"You ask why I did not attempt to find him when he vanished. For the same reason that Avery, Yaxley, the Carrows, Greyback, Lucius." he inclined his head slightly to Narcissa. "And many others did not attempt to find him. I believed him finished. I am not proud of it, I was wrong, but there it is... if he had not forgiven we who lost faith at that time, he would have very few followers left."
"He'd have me!" said Bellatrix passionately. "I, who spent many years in Azkaban for him!"
"Yes, indeed, most admirable." said Snape in a bored voice. "Of course, you weren't a lot of use to him in prison, but the gesture was undoubtedly fine..."
"Gesture!" she shrieked, in her fury she looked slightly mad. "While I endured the dementors, you remained at Hogwarts, comfortably playing Dumbledore's pet!"
"Not quite." said Snape calmly. "He wouldn't give me the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, you know. Seemed to think it might, ah, bring about a relapse...tempt me into my old ways."
"This was your sacrifice for the Dark Lord, not to teach your favorite subject?" she jeered. "Why did you stay there all that time, Snape? Still spying on Dumbledore for a master you believed dead?"
"Hardly." said Snape." Although the Dark Lord is pleased that I never deserted my post, I had sixteen years of information on Dumbledore to give him when he returned, a rather more useful welcome-back present than endless reminiscences of how unpleasant Azkaban is..."
"But you stayed..."
"Yes, Bellatrix, I stayed." said Snape, betraying a hint of impatience for the first time. "I had a comfortable job that I preferred to a stint in Azkaban. They were rounding up the Death Eaters, you know. Dumbledore's protection kept me out of jail, it was most convenient and I used it. I repeat, The Dark Lord does not complain that I stayed, so I do not see why you do."
"I think you next wanted to know" he pressed on, a little more loudly, for Bellatrix showed every sign of interrupting. "Why I stood between the Dark Lord and the Sorcerer's Stone. That is easily answered. He did not know whether he could trust me. He thought, like you, that I had turned from faithful Death Eater to Dumbledore's stooge. He was in a pitiable condition, very weak, sharing the body of a mediocre wizard. He did not dare reveal himself to a former ally if that ally might turn him over to Dumbledore or the Ministry. I deeply regret that he did not trust me. He would have returned to power three years sooner. As it was, I saw only greedy and unworthy Quirrell attempting to steal the stone and, I admit, I did all I could to thwart him."
Bellatrix's mouth twisted as though she had taken an unpleasant dose of medicine.
"But you didn't return when he came back, you didn't fly back to him at once when you felt the Dark Mark burn..."
"Correct. I returned two hours later. I returned on Dumbledore's orders. "
"On Dumbledore's..." she began, in tones of outrage.
"Think!" said Snape, impatient again. "Think! By waiting two hours, just two hours, I ensured that I could remain at Hogwarts as a spy! By allowing Dumbledore to think that I was only returning to the Dark Lord's side because I was ordered to, I have been able to pass information on Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix ever since! Consider, Bellatrix, the Dark Mark had been growing stronger for months. I knew he must be about to return, all the Death Eaters knew! I had plenty of time to think about what I wanted to do, to plan my next move, to escape like Karkaroff, didn't I?"
"The Dark Lord's initial displeasure at my lateness vanished entirely, I assure you, when I explained that I remained faithful, although Dumbledore thought I was his man. Yes, the Dark Lord thought that I had left him forever, but he was wrong."
"But what use have you been?" sneered Bellatrix. "What useful information have we had from you?"
"My information has been conveyed directly to the Dark Lord," said Snape. "If he chooses not to share it with you..."
"He shares everything with me!" said Bellatrix, firing up at once. "He calls me his most loyal, his most faithful..."
"Does he?" said Snape, his voice delicately inflected to suggest his disbelief. "Does he still, after the fiasco at the Ministry?"
"That was not my fault!" said Bellatrix, flushing. "The Dark Lord has, in the past, entrusted me with his most precious...if Lucius hadn't..."
"Don't you dare...don't you dare blame my husband!" said Narcissa, in a low and deadly voice, looking up at her sister.
"There is no point apportioning blame." said Snape smoothly. "What is done, is done."
"But not by you!" said Bellatrix furiously. "No, you were once again absent while the rest of us ran dangers, were you not, Snape?"
"My orders were to remain behind." said Snape. "Perhaps you disagree with the Dark Lord, perhaps you think that Dumbledore would not have noticed if I had joined forces with the Death Eaters to fight the Order of the Phoenix? And...forgive me...you speak of dangers... you were facing seven teenagers, were you not?"
"They were joined, as you very well know, by half of the Order before long!" snarled Bellatrix. "And, while we are on the subject of the Order, you still claim you cannot reveal the whereabouts of their headquarters, don't you?"
"I am not the Secret-Keeper, I cannot speak the name of the place. You understand how the enchantment works, I think? The Dark Lord is satisfied with the information I have passed him on the Order. It led, as perhaps you have guessed, to the recent capture and murder of Emmeline Vance, and it certainly helped dispose of Sirius Black, though I give you full credit for finishing him off."
He inclined his head and toasted her. Her expression did not soften.
"It also allowed the Grindelwalds to remove their last living parent and reclaim Atticus as their son did it not?"
"You are avoiding my last question, Snape. Harry Potter. You could have killed him at any point in the past five years. You have not done it. Why?"
"Have you discussed this matter with the Dark Lord?" asked Snape.
"He...lately, we...I am asking you, Snape!"
"If I had murdered Harry Potter, the Dark Lord could not have used his blood to regenerate, making him invincible..."
"You claim you foresaw his use of the boy!" she jeered.
"I do not claim it, I had no idea of his plans. I have already confessed that I thought the Dark Lord dead. I am merely trying to explain why the Dark Lord is not sorry that Potter survived, at least until a year ago..."
"But why did you keep him alive?"
"Have you not understood me? It was only Dumbledore's protection that was keeping me out of Azkaban! Do you disagree that murdering his favorite student might have turned him against me? But there was more to it than that. I should remind you that when Potter first arrived at Hogwarts there were still many stories circulating about him, rumors that he himself was a great Dark wizard, which was how he had survived the Dark Lord's attack. Indeed, many of the Dark Lord's old followers thought Potter might be a standard around which we could all rally once more. I was curious, I admit it, and not at all inclined to murder him the moment he set foot in the castle."
"Of course, it became apparent to me very quickly that he had no extraordinary talent at all. He has fought his way out of a number of tight corners by a simple combination of sheer luck and more talented friends like the second Grindelwald for example. Potter is mediocre to the last degree, though as obnoxious and self-satisfied as was his father before him. I have done my utmost to have him thrown out of Hogwarts, where I believe he scarcely belongs, but kill him, or allow him to be killed in front of me? I would have been a fool to risk it with Dumbledore close at hand."
"And through all this we are supposed to believe Dumbledore has never suspected you?" asked Bellatrix. "He has no idea of your true allegiance, he trusts you implicitly still?"
"I have played my part well." said Snape. "And you overlook Dumbledore's greatest weakness, he has to believe the best of people. I spun him a tale of deepest remorse when I joined his staff, fresh from my Death Eater days, and he embraced me with open arms...though, as I say, never allowing me nearer the Dark Arts than he could help. Dumbledore has been a great wizard...oh yes, he has." He quickly said for Bellatrix had made a scathing noise. "The Dark Lord acknowledges it. I am pleased to say, however, that Dumbledore is growing old. The duel with the Dark Lord last month shook him. He has since sustained a serious injury because his reactions are slower than they once were. But through all these years, he has never stopped trusting Severus Snape, and therein lies my great value to the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix still looked unhappy, though she appeared unsure how best to attack Snape next. Taking advantage of her silence, Snape turned to her sister.
"Now...you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?"
Narcissa looked up at him, her face eloquent with despair.
"Yes, Severus...I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is in jail and..."
She closed her eyes and two large tears seeped from beneath her eyelids.
"The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it." Narcissa continued, her eyes still closed. "He wishes none to know of the plan. It is...very secret. But..."
"If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak." said Snape at once. "The Dark Lord's word is law."
Narcissa gasped as though he had doused her with cold water. Bellatrix looked satisfied for the first time since she had entered the house.
"There!" she said triumphantly to her sister. "Even Snape says so, You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!"
But Snape had gotten to his feet and strode to the small window, peered through the curtains at the deserted street, then closed them again with a jerk. He turned around to face Narcissa, frowning.
"It so happens that I know of the plan." he said in a low voice. "I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told. Nevertheless, had I not been in on the secret, Narcissa, you would have been guilty of great treachery to the Dark Lord."
"I thought you must know about it!" said Narcissa, breathing more freely. "He trusts you so, Severus..."
"You know about the plan?" said Bellatrix, her fleeting expression of satisfaction replaced by a look of outrage. "You know?"
"Certainly." said Snape. "But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all."
"Severus." she whispered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "My son...my only son..."
"Draco should be proud." said Bellatrix indifferently. "The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco, he isn't shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect...The Grindelwald boy too has expressed his desire to be involved!"
Narcissa began to cry in earnest, gazing beseechingly all the while at Snape.
"That's because they are sixteen and have no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius's mistake, I know it!"
Snape said nothing. He looked away from the sight of her tears as though they were indecent, but he could not pretend not to hear her.
"That's why he's chosen Draco, isn't it?" she persisted. "To punish Lucius?"
"If Draco succeeds." said Snape, still looking away from her. "He will be honored above all others."
"But he won't succeed!" sobbed Narcissa. "How can he, when the Dark Lord himself..."
Bellatrix gasped, Narcissa seemed to lose her nerve.
"I only meant...that nobody has yet succeeded...Severus...please...you are, you have always been, Draco's favorite teacher...you are Lucius's old friend...I beg you...you are the Dark Lord's favorite, his most trusted advisor...will you speak to him, persuade him?"
"The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it." said Snape flatly. "I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed."
"Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge!" choked Narcissa. "He does not mean him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!"
When Snape said nothing, Narcissa seemed to lose what little self-restraint she still possessed. Standing up, she staggered to Snape and seized the front of his robes. Her face close to his, her tears falling onto his chest, she gasped. "You could do it. You could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us..."
Snape caught hold of her wrists and removed her clutching hands. Looking down into her tearstained face, he said slowly, "He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as spy."
"In other words, it doesn't matter to him if Draco is killed!"
"The Dark Lord is very angry." repeated Snape quietly. "He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily."
She crumpled, falling at his feet, sobbing and moaning on the floor. "My only son...my only son..."
"You should be proud!" said Bellatrix ruthlessly. "If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord! Ivan and Priscilla have already proudly entered their own son into the dark lord's service!"
Narcissa gave a little scream of despair and clutched at her long blonde hair. Snape stooped, seized her by the arms, lifted her up, and steered her back onto the sofa. He then poured her more wine and forced the glass into her hand.
"Narcissa, that's enough. Drink this. Listen to me."
She quieted a little, slopping wine down herself, she took a shaky sip.
"It might be possible...for me to help Draco."
She sat up, her face paper-white, her eyes huge.
"Severus...oh, Severus...you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?"
"I can try."
She flung away her glass; it skidded across the table as she slid off the sofa into a kneeling position at Snape's feet, seized his hand in both of hers, and pressed her lips to it.
"If you are there to protect him...Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?"
"The Unbreakable Vow?"
Snape's expression was blank, unreadable. Bellatrix, however, let out a cackle of triumphant laughter.
"Aren't you listening, Narcissa? Oh, he'll try, I'm sure...the usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action...oh, on the Dark Lord's orders, of course!"
Snape did not look at Bellatrix. His black eyes were fixed upon Narcissa's tear-filled blue ones as she continued to clutch his hand.
"Certainly, Narcissa, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow." he said quietly. "Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder."
Bellatrix's mouth fell open. Snape lowered himself so that he was kneeling opposite Narcissa. Beneath Bellatrix's astonished gaze, they grasped right hands.
"You will need your wand, Bellatrix." said Snape coldly.
She drew it, still looking astonished.
"And you will need to move a little closer." he said.
She stepped forward so that she stood over them, and placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands.
Narcissa spoke.
"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"
"I will." said Snape.
A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.
"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"
"I will." said Snape.
A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.
"And, should it prove necessary...if it seems Draco will fail..." whispered Narcissa and Snape's hand twitched within hers, but he did not draw away. "Will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"
There was a moment's silence. Bellatrix watched, her wand upon their clasped hands, her eyes wide.
"I will." said Snape.
Bellatrix's astounded face glowed red in the blaze of a third unique flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a fiery snake.
Just over a hundred miles away a mess of newspapers sat in a puddle of light on a desk. The first on the pile bore the headline.
HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?
Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.
'We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything.' said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.
Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.
Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call Potter. 'The Chosen One.' believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (cont. page 2, column 5)
The desk on which the paper sat belonged to Hermione. She was currently laid down in her bed reading a more current newspaper. Its Headline read as.
SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE
Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving, the man was waving at the ceiling.
Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.
Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (cont. page 3, column 2)
To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title MINISTRY GUARANTEES STUDENTS' SAFETY safety was visible.
Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.
'For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans.' said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of counter-curses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.
Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom. 'My grandson, Neville...good friend of Harry Potter's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and...'
The sound of someone stirring caught Hermione's attention and she lowered the newspaper in her hands.
"Are you awake Y/n?" She quietly asked looking down at his head that lay on her chest.
"Mmh..." Y/n just sounded out.
"You've only slept for a few hours, You really should try to get some more rest before we travel to the Burrow later." Hermione tried to suggest.
Y/n however just lifted his head and sat up. "I am not tired."
But anyone with eyes could see this was not true, over the past few weeks of Y/n's stay at the Grangers he had considerably lost weight while dark shadows made a permanent home under his eyes.
"Y/n, you really should..."
"I need to pack my trunk." Y/n cut Hermione off as he got up and out of her bed, heading back to the spare room.
Hermione could only look to the empty doorframe as she bit her lip worried, her boyfriend had not been the same since the murder of his grandmother. She wanted desperately to help him, but she wasn't sure what to do. No book she read gave a definitive answer on how to deal with grief. She was glad her parents were understanding and accommodating with Y/n, they had told her the best she could do for Y/n was to be there for him to help him through it.
Hermione could only hope that going to the Burrow would help him open back up.
Harry Potter was snoring loudly. He had been sitting in a chair beside his bedroom window for the best part of four hours, staring out at the darkening street, and had finally fallen asleep with one side of his face pressed against the cold windowpane, his glasses askew and his mouth wide open. The misty fug his breath had left on the window sparkled in the orange glare of the streetlamp outside, and the artificial light drained his face of all color, so that he looked ghostly beneath his shock of untidy black hair.
The room was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Owl feathers, apple cores, and sweet wrappers littered the floor, a number of spellbooks lay higgledy-piggledy among the tangled robes on his bed.
Harry grunted in his sleep and his face slid down the window an inch or so, making his glasses still more lopsided, but he did not wake up. An alarm clock, repaired by Harry several years ago, ticked loudly on the sill, showing one minute to eleven. Beside it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand, was a piece of parchment covered in thin, slanting writing. Harry had read this letter so often since its arrival three days ago that although it had been delivered in a tightly furled scroll, it now lay quite flat.
'Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p. m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.
If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.
Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,
I am yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore.'
Though he already knew it by heart, Harry had been stealing glances at this missive every few minutes since seven o'clock that evening, when he had first taken up his position beside his bedroom window, which had a reasonable view of both ends of Privet Drive. He knew it was pointless to keep rereading Dumbledore's words. Harry had sent back his 'yes' with the delivering owl, as requested, and all he could do now was wait: either Dumbledore was going to come, or he was not.
But Harry had not packed. It just seemed too good to be true that he was going to be rescued from the Dursleys after a mere fortnight of their company. He could not shrug off the feeling that something was going to go wrong...his reply to Dumbledore's letter might have gone astray, Dumbledore could be prevented from collecting him, the letter might turn out not to be from Dumbledore at all, but a trick or joke or trap. Harry had not been able to face packing and then being let down and having to unpack again. The only gesture he had made to the possibility of a journey was to shut his snowy owl, Hedwig, safely in her cage.
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out.
Harry awoke as though the sudden darkness were an alarm. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.
Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair, and started snatching anything and everything within reach from the floor and throwing it into the trunk. Then as he lobbed a set of robes, two spellbooks, and a packet of clasps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the blazes is calling at this lime of night?"
Harry froze with a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Dumbledore might be coming. Feeling both panicky mid close to laughter, he clambered over the trunk and wrenched open his bedroom door in time to hear a deep voice say, "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"
Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black traveling cloak and pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose mustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming." said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."
He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.
"It is a long time since my last visit." said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him, and soon the vein pulsing in his uncle's temple was reaching danger point, but something about Dumbledore seemed to have robbed him temporarily of breath. It might have been the blatant wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully.
"Ah, good evening Harry." said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. "Excellent, excellent."
These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say 'excellent' was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.
"I don't mean to be rude..." he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.
"...yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often." Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."
The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock.
"Albus Dumbledore." said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course. " Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"
Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door, his large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled.
"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"
Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of benign interest. He looked quite extraordinarily out of place.
"Aren't...aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first." said Dumbledore. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."
"You will, will you?" Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley skulking behind them both.
"Yes." said Dumbledore simply. "I shall."
He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it and with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursley's so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.
"We may as well be comfortable." said Dumbledore pleasantly.
As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that his hand was blackened and shriveled, it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.
"Sir...what happened to your..."
"Later, Harry." said Dumbledore. "Please sit down."
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursley's, who seemed stunned into silence.
"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment." Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon. "But the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."
A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.
"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead." said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.
"Well, Harry." said Dumbledore, turning toward him. "A difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."
Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernons head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he think of anything to say except, "Oh. Right."
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward." Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy..."
"His godfather's dead?" said Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon's head, he attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"
"Yes." said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. "Our problem." he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption. "Is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.
"You can keep using it as headquarters." said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." Harry never wanted to set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted forever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave.
"That is generous." said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily. "
"Why?"
"Well." said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pure-blood."
A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind. "I bet there has." he said.
"Quite." said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet, the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherit his house?
"No." he said.
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either." said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"
"Fortunately." said Dumbledore. "There is a simple test."
He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted. "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"
Harry looked around, all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."
It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.
"You see." Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not uttered. "If you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited..."
He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursley's shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek, nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pajama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed. "What the hell is that?"
"Kreacher." finished Dumbledore.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't..."
"As you can see, Harry." said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of 'wont, won't, won't.' "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care." said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't..."
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
"Won't, won't, won't, won't..."
Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.
"Give him an order." said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."
"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except. "Kreacher, shut up!"
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet as Aunt Petunia whimpered and Kreacher beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters." said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."
"Do I...do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to." said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
"Yeah." said Harry in relief. "Yeah, I'll do that. Er...Kreacher...I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."
Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.
"Good." said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements..."
"No." said Harry at once. "He can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."
"Hagrid will be delighted." said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"
"Erm..."
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.
"I'll just go and...er...finish off." said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers.
It took him a little over ten minutes to track down everything he needed, at last he had managed to extract his Invisibility Cloak from under the bed, screwed the top back on his jar of color-change ink, and forced the lid of his trunk shut on his cauldron. Then, heaving his trunk in one hand and holding Hedwig's cage in the other, he made his way back downstairs.
He was disappointed to discover that Dumbledore was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room.
Nobody was talking. Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said. "Professor...I'm ready now."
"Good." said Dumbledore. "One last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more.
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time..."
"No." said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.
"I'm sorry?" said Dumbledore politely.
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah." said Dumbledore pleasantly. "But in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."
"Preposterous." Uncle Vernon muttered but Dumbledore ignored him.
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."
Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.
"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."
Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.
"Us...mistreat Dudders? What d'you...?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his ringer for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen, in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this, that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat, Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.
"Well, Harry... time for us to be off." said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again." he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.
"Bye." said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.
"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak...just in case."
Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Dumbledore the mess within. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.
"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."