The Hallows Questers by sapphire200182
Summary: ** Winner of Best Adventure in The Deathly Hallows Challenge **
The Royal Academy of Magic's sudden interest in the Deathly Hallows and the Ministry's completion of the investigation into the Battle of Hogwarts sparks off yet another mysterious adventure that once more plunges Harry into conspiracies, Dark Wizards and the Ministry of Magic's many secrets. Entry for Deathly Hallows Challenge 2009.
Rating: PG
Categories: Post-Hogwarts, Deathly Hallows Challenge (2009-1)
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2009.02.22
Updated: 2009.03.01
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Letters
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Pauline, Clarke and Stone
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Traps
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 - Endgame
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Letters
Author's Notes: My entry for the Deathly Hallows Challenge. Please read and review!
TO: Ohm Phlegmpot, Battle of Hogwarts Investigation Committee
FROM: Caractacus Croaker, Department of Mysteries
RE: Further Information, Battle of Hogwarts Report
Dear Ohm,
My thanks for the copy of your report. It is very informative indeed, and I congratulate you and your team for finally making sense of the whole affair.
A matter of mild curiosity to the Department of Mysteries still remains, however. I would like to know more about Mr Dennis Creevey whom you personally interviewed, specifically his comments on Harry James Potter’s ‘new wand’. Also, I would like more clarification on a comment of his, reproduced here below:
“…Harry discussed something about wand ownership with Voldemort, and fought Voldemort for his rightful wand…”
Yours sincerely,
Croaker
Dear Mr Potter,
The Faculty of Modern Magic from the Royal Academy of Magic would like to interview you on the Second Wizarding War and the Battle of Hogwarts, specifically the points outlined below:
a) spells and jinxes of particular interest, e.g. the ‘Bat-Bogey’ Hex
b) certain enchantments and wards used to protect Hogwarts castle
c) the ‘Room of Requiring’
Also, reports from certain quarters have been received about your possession of certain ancient magical artifacts, not the least interesting of which is a diadem reputed to have belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. We beg your leave, in the interest of science, to examine such magical artifacts as you have in your possession, if indeed you do possess them.
We would also like to invite you to speak at the Academy during its 600th anniversary dinner, to be held on the 12th of June of this year. Several of our faculty members and most of our students are anxious to hear your words on the subject of modern magic and its role and continued development throughout the First and Second Wizarding Wars.
Yours sincerely,
Pauline W. Adler
Dean of the Faculty of Modern Magic
Royal Academy of Magic
Dearest,
Just a brief reminder not to forget our date this weekend, I know you’ll have forgotten (don’t lie, Potter!). I know you’re very busy with your important work in the Auror Department, and Ron tells me you haven’t been taking lunch breaks (again), but you do need to take some time off to relax.
I’ve just heard from Hermione. Lavender has set up shop in Diagon Alley; a charming little café called the ‘Tea Witches’. Perhaps one of these days we can stop by and say hi?
It’s hardly all fun and games down here. Gwenog pushes us hard, and even today I am playing (and playing against) moves and formations I have never seen before. Some of these are one-shot wonders which are easily surmounted with a bit of post-game analysis, but some of the maneouvres the Tornadoes are throwing out can really upset the league tables!
I have to stop writing now; can’t sit up long as I’ve a fantastic bruise in the small of my back that won’t go away, thanks to a Bludger from behind during practice. It’ll be okay by tomorrow, though the mark will be around for a week or so. Perhaps I’ll let you see it, if you’re good…
Eagerly awaiting this Sunday.
Gin
Gin,
I could never have forgotten, Gin, though you’d never believe it. You’ll like the British Museum, I promise. There’ll be so much to see there we’ll hardly cover it all in a week of visiting!
Reading your writings of Quidditch really makes me wish I could change jobs with you, if only for a day. Imagine being paid to play in the League! Why, I’d even do it for free! Also, I can’t say I’m sorry you got Bludgered; maybe I’ll kiss the bruise well?
Have you heard of the ‘Royal Academy of Magic’? Someone from there wants to interview me about some spells and such used in the last battle, your favourite Hex among them (you know which one I mean!). I don’t see why not, but I think I’ll have to draw the line at letting them see the diadem of Ravenclaw and the other Hs, if you know what I mean.
Yes, I know about Lavender’s teashop, she sent me an invite. I don’t know if I can visit though, I’ll have to check my schedule. Should we bring Ron and Hermione along and watch the sparks fly?
Harry
Harry,
The Royal Academy of Magic is a very prestigious institution, very very old and famous. They’re celebrating their 600th anniversary this year, I believe. Hermione is seriously considering furthering her magical studies there and has asked me to go along and ‘improve my education’, but I don’t think much of that idea. Spending all day cooped up in a classroom with some stodgy, boring old professors…
If you’re so busy, why don’t you invite this Pauline to the Tea Witches this Sunday? We could always come out of the British Museum at four and go then. That way, you’ll settle Pauline and Lavender at the same time, not to mention having me around to watch over you and ensure you don’t stray!
Love,
Ginny
Harry,
Me? Stray?
I’ll dash off a reply to Pauline and Lavender then; this Sunday, four, at the Tea Witches with my girlfriend.
Harry
Dear Ms Adler,
I shall be having tea with a good friend and fellow participant in the Hogwarts battle at the ‘Tea Witches’ in Diagon Alley this Sunday at four p.m. If you are able to make the time, I daresay you will have many of your questions answered.
Harry
Dear Mr Potter,
I shall look forward to meeting you and your friend, Mr Potter. I and my associate will be at the Tea Witches at four sharp.
Yours sincerely,
Pauline W. Adler
C,
Secured interview with YKW Sunday, 4pm at Tea Witch, Diagon Alley. N tracing route YKW took during late unpleasantness.
P
Sunday.
The British Museum.
As Harry exited the museum, he exhaled deeply as the first rays of sunshine hit him. After what seemed like ages in the artificial light of the British Museum’s deepest, most obscure galleries, even the somewhat smoggy London outdoors was a breath of fresh air.
He glanced down to his left, at the red-topped head that turned to look up at him with twinkling brown eyes peeping out from under the last of a smattering of faded brown freckles.
“Well?” he said to Ginny, as they strolled out of the building. “How was that?”
“Fascinating,” said Ginny. “I had no idea you Muggles were so advanced. That fax machine… and the funny box that looks like a television…”
“A computer,” said Harry. He had shown Ginny one of those in an Internet kiosk in the museum, and Ginny had been absolutely wowed by the machine, spending ages just pointing and clicking randomly at the screen with her ‘rat’ (“It’s a mouse!” and giggling when a window popped up.
“Yes, that. Just brilliant. There are so many things you could do with that, it’s like a Muggle wand.” Ginny stopped. “Though I suppose to you, these are all just household appliances. You were more interested in the other stuff.”
“I preferred the historical galleries myself,” confessed Harry. “Those dealing with peoples’ lifestyles; the Indians, Africans, Egyptians…”
“Not the Mummy Room, though,” Ginny shuddered. “Some of those items are very badly cursed, steeped in the Dark Arts. That King Tuthankhamun was one of the most powerful Dark wizards of that time. And he had his own group of followers, like the Death Eaters.”
Harry frowned. Ginny had not been exaggerating; the Mummy Room had been soaked in Dark magic and the very instant the two had stepped in, their magical intuition had gone crazy, screaming in no uncertain terms that they were in danger. Neither of them had backed down from the challenge, although throughout all of the five tense minutes they had spent inside the room their hands were gripping the handles of their wands tightly. What was worse, their presence seemed to stimulate some of the magical booby traps on the mummies, making them more malevolent than ever.
“I think I ought to report this to your dad,” said Harry thoughtfully. “Maybe one of these nights, Perkins, he and I can sneak in and get rid of the worst of the spells and traps. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”
“It’s twenty past three,” said Ginny, checking her watch. “We’re early. The Tea Witches? Lavender?”
Harry groaned. “Here we go, then.”
They ducked into a side alley. Looking around and seeing no one watching, Harry took out his wand and held out a hand to Ginny to hold on to while they Apparated. Ginny ignored it and put her arms around his waist instead, as Harry raised his wand. He looked down at her.
She gave him a fast peck on the cheek. “What?” said Ginny, smiling innocently.
“Nothing,” grinned Harry, thoroughly enjoying Ginny’s embrace and the tingling warmth on his cheek where her lips had touched.
CRACK!
Diagon Alley.
Harry pocketed his wand and held out his hand for Ginny to hold. She took it and they began walking down the busy street to the venue of the newest café to open along Diagon Alley - the Tea Witches.
Ginny giggled.
“What?” said Harry, slightly more irritatedly than intended.
“Your face. You look just like you did before facing the first Triwizard Task,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” said Harry, pasting a reluctant grimace on his face. “I’m fine.”
“Mmmm. Very unconvincing,” said Ginny. “You don’t want to visit Lavender, do you?”
“I’m just hoping it’s nothing like dear Madam Puddifoot’s,” confessed Harry. “Anything but that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Lavender assured me it’s quite chic, the last thing she wants is a Knight Busload of Hogwarts students in her place having a mass snog,” said Ginny. “She knows how you boys are so squeamish about such things.”
“Very considerate of her,” muttered Harry.
“No, just bad for business,” said Ginny brightly. “Here we are.”
The café wasn’t that bad, decided Harry. It was very European, he thought; chairs set around open air tables on the sidewalk covered with checkered red tablecloths, with china teapots, teacups and saucers ruling the tabletops. Sandwiches and tea or pumpkin juice seemed to be the main attraction here, judging by what the other customers had ordered. Overall, thought Harry, a very nice place to sit in the sunshine and enjoy a nice cup of tea, but the mood would be somewhat spoilt by a bout of bad weather.
Harry and Ginny sat down at a table. A slightly panting witch came over and with a quick “Good afternoon” set down two menus on the table before dashing off to tend to another customer.
Harry opened his to find himself confronted with a bewildering array of sandwiches and tea, ranging from Muggle favourites like watercress and camomile to some rather more eclectic Wizarding flavours like pumpkin jam and Flitterbloom tea.
“Pumpkin jam?” he exclaimed. He glanced at Ginny, who smirked and said, “Don’t worry, it’s actually quite nice, Harry.”
They ordered and in the space of two minutes, another harried-looking waitress dropped off a platter of sandwiches and tea, artfully arranged in a mouth-watering way. The first thing Harry did was to try the pumpkin jam sandwiches, which although strange in taste he conceded to be quite delicious in fact. The other selections they had made were also at the very least equal in taste and preparation to Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.
“Harry, Ginny!” cried a nearby voice. The two turned to see Lavender gliding towards them.
“Hi Lavender,” said Ginny. “This is a very nice place, Lavender, you’ve done a great job.”
“Business looks booming,” said Harry. “We never heard much from you since about a year ago. How did you get the idea to set up a café?”
“Well,” began Lavender, taking a deep breath, “it all started like this…”
By the time it was five to four, Lavender had very thoroughly talked the two through the entire sequence of events starting nine months ago that had led to the opening of the Tea Witches. Harry was beginning to feel just a little more bored than he could comfortably stand, and was more than glad to spot a very businesslike witch stop in front of the café. Surprisingly, she had a rather elderly wizard with her. The witch caught his eye, and nodded.
“Excuse me, Lavender,” said Harry, making as if to get up. “I invited a lady to discuss some matters with me, and she’s here.”
“Oh, that’s alright, I’ve stayed far too long already. Don’t bother about the bill, I’ve got it,” said Lavender. “Ta ta, lovebirds.”
As the witch Harry assumed was Pauline Adler picked her way through the tables towards him, Harry had time to catch Ginny’s eye and sigh theatrically as Lavender left. Then the witch was upon them.
“Mr. Potter?” she said formally. “Pauline Adler from the Royal Academy of Magic, and this is my head professor, Clarke.”
Harry looked up. At first glance, Pauline Adler appeared to resemble Professor McGonagall, though he could see that she was in fact quite young, probably in her late twenties, certainly no older than thirty. Her blonde hair was tied back professionally at the back of her head, and the grey eyes that took him in and flicked just briefly to the faint lightning-shaped scar on his forehead were coolly professional.
The wizard with her - Clarke, was it? - was like Horace Slughorn in shape but reminded Harry of Dumbledore; he was rotund, somewhat elderly and smiled pleasantly as Harry nodded at him. However, when Harry met his brown eyes, there was no friendliness in them.
A frantically desperate man hidden behind a mask of congeniality stared back at him from the two panicked brown orbs that bored into Harry with an unmistaken plea for help.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Pauline, Clarke and Stone
Author's Notes: Sorry about being this late, but I've had a busy week. The fic will be finished by contest deadline, I hope ; ) Otherwise, I'll just repost it, 'cause I think it's not bad.
The Tea Witches,
Diagon Alley.
“Do sit down, Professor Adler, Professor Clarke,” said Ginny. “Flitterbloom tea?”
“Thank you, and please; it’s Pauline,” said the professor, pulling over two chairs for herself and Clarke. “I have invited another professor to join us, but I’m afraid he was held up. I’m unsure if he can make it to this meeting.”
Harry stared as Professor Clarke sat down. There was nothing but friendliness in those eyes of his, now, but when Harry glanced at Pauline Adler he could see she was watching him intently. He returned her gaze coolly, and her pupils flicked upwards once more to his scar.
Harry self-consciously brushed his hair down over his forehead. He did not like people staring at his scar.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” said Pauline genially, “but I confess your scar is one of your trademarks, so to speak.”
“Yes, well, he’s never felt comfortable with people staring at it,” said Ginny.
Just then, the waitresswitch arrived. As Pauline ordered egg sandwiches and more Flitterbloom tea, Harry shot a quick look at Professor Clarke. The man’s eyes once more turned into a silent plea for help, and his lips mouthed ‘Help’.
Harry slowly began to reach for his wand, but then the old man shook his head almost imperceptibly. Harry frowned and began to form a questioning look on his face, but then Pauline turned back to him and the moment was lost.
“Now then, Mr. Potter, to business,” said Pauline. She extracted a pair of reading glasses and roll of parchment on which she had written a list of some sort, in a neat cursive in green ink. Putting on her spectacles, she said “I’d like to ask you about some of the enchantments used in the fight at the Battle of Hogwarts. At the Faculty of Modern Magic in the Royal Academy of Magic, we are always very interested in the latest magical developments and have always pioneered in the field of progressive magical research.”
Harry glanced at Clarke, who was sipping at his Flitterbloom tea. Play along, mouthed the old man. Then he set down his teacup and said, “Mr. Potter, since you were the one who defeated the Dark Lord, we thought you would be the best candidate to answer our questions.”
Feeling very confused but , Harry said weakly, “I’ll try my best.”
“That’s fine,” said Pauline brusquely. “Now, we are especially interested in the defence of the castle. For example, were you aware that the castle’s statues, suits of armour, gargoyles and even some arches and staircases were actively trying to protect Hogwarts?”
Harry thought back to his memory of a disheveled McGonagall in her nightgown and a tartan robe, raising her wand and commanding imperiously, “Piertotum Locomotor!” With a slight grin, he said, “Yes. I remember the spell Professor McGonagall - that was the assistant Head, the current Headmistress - used. I thought it was a basic animation spell?”
Pauline smiled tightly. “No. No one has ever seen such a powerful locomotion spell before. It was almost as if the castle was acting on its own accord. Do you by any chance remember the professor’s hand movements, or the immediate effect the spell had on the statues?”
Harry shook his head. “I only remember Professor McGonagall raising her wand and uttering the incantation, and the statues and suits of armour subsequently leapt from their plinths and stands. However, I do know that Hogwarts has many ancient spells and charms placed on it, and the suits were sort of semi-sentient anyway.”
Pauline proceeded to quiz Harry on the enchantments on the castle and some curses used by the Death Eaters. Harry was feeling just a bit irritable and fed up with the interview, which was forcing him to relive how many of his peers and acquaintances had died. He held on, however. Something was up with that Professor Clarke. Something was definitely wrong. It seemed that once more, they had stumbled into another adventure.
Other than the protective spells and wards placed on Hogwarts, there had also been an instance in which Pauline asked Ginny about her Bat Bogey Hex. Ginny had refused outright to reveal the hex’s incantation, but revealed that she was now a master at non-verbal casting and that the key to the spell lay in the study of spellwork, not transfiguration.
Pauline had listened attentively throughout and had taken copious amounts of notes, something which Professor Clarke had not done. Now, she took off her spectacles and leaned forwards ever so slightly. “Mr. Potter, I would like to ask you one last thing.”
Steepling her fingers, Pauline said clearly, “What do you know of the Elder Wand?”
29 Delaney Way,
Manchester.
Dennis Creevey answered the doorbell on the second ring. Dressed in cloaks over dark black robes, despite the sunny weather, were two men he had never seen before. One, young, olive-skinned and fit, looked to be just a few years older than Dennis. The other man was grim-faced, in his sixties and sporting a rather long beard that clued Dennis in immediately that his visitors were from that other world that he had almost sworn off entirely.
“Mr. Creevey?” said the young one. “I am Mr. Finch. This is Mr. Croaker. May we enter?”
Dennis frowned. He casually put a hand in his pocket, feeling the reassurance of the hilt of his wand. Silently, he thanked Merlin for those extra lessons he’d taken with Harry Potter and his friends, and for the ingrained habit learned throughout his horrific Hogwarts experiences in the Second Wizarding War that made him carry his wand about him at all times, even when he didn’t expect a jinx to come hurtling his way. “Who are you?”
The young man, Finch, smiled mirthlessly while Croaker made no movement at all, his aged, liver-spotted face impassive and unchanging, as if the conversation didn’t concern him in the least. “I am from the other Ministry, if you catch my drift. We would like to speak with you.”
Dennis shook his head. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m a bit busy right now. I’m leaving for work soon; I work the night shift at a convenience store nearby.”
“Oh, we know that. We’ve been watching you at your work in that Muggle store. Now, for the last time, do be a good chap and inviste us in,” said Finch, showing just a hint of steel in his voice, “and don’t think that a Hogwarts dropout can successfully take on an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries. I’ll have a Stunner in you before your wand can clear your pocket.”
Oh yeah? thought Dennis, though the first twinges of fear were coursing through him now. “What do you want with me? I’ve left your world, Finch. I don’t want anything more to do with the wizarding world… not after what happened last time.”
Not after Colin, said Dennis to himself silently.
For the first time Croaker stirred, opened his grey, papery lips to speak. “We wish to talk to you about a wand.”
The Tea Witches,
Diagon Alley.
“No!” said Harry vehemently, bringing his hand down on the table with a thump. “I will not discuss the Elder Wand!”
Too late, he realised the smarter thing to do would have been to keep quiet and pretend he knew nothing about the Hallows. A quick glance at Pauline showed that he was right; the self-satisfied smirk on her face revealed that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Harry berated himself silently for having let the proverbial cat out of the bag so easily.
“You are of course aware of the significance of the artifacts - or Hallows, as I should call them - in your possession?” said Pauline. “Some people call them the Deathly Hallows.”
Seeing no point in denying their existence, Harry reluctantly said, “Yes.”
“We want to study them.”
“No. They are too powerful,” said Harry. “I myself don’t know the full extent of their powers and abilities. I will not entrust that kind of knowledge to anybody, not even myself.”
“Mr. Potter,” said Pauline, “you are sitting on top of a very important breakthrough in modern magic. Do you know how old the knowledge used to create the wand you have in your pocket is? These artifacts - the Hallows, all three of them - we need to study them, Harry.”
“No,” said Harry resolutely. His eyes met Ginny’s; she too was firm and her jaw was set. This is what Pauline wants, thought Harry; she wants to steal the Elder Wand.
“We need to, Harry. The Royal Academy of Magic needs to. This is what modern magic research and development is about, Harry,” said Pauline.
“The Hallows are far too powerful,” argued Harry. “That kind of power isn’t meant to be wielded by just anybody.”
“Back when the first wands were invented, those big hulking shepherd’s crook magic staffs, that’s what they said about the walking-stick type wands,” shot back Pauline. “And now look where we are; ten-inch long twigs we can stow in our robe pockets.”
“No means no,” said Harry firmly. He stood up, about to announce that he was leaving. Just then, however, he caught Clarke’s eye.
The professor mouthed the word ‘washroom’.
“I… May I excuse myself?” Harry said. “I need to use the washroom.”
“Certainly,” said Pauline. “While you’re in there, could you please reconsider?”
“Me too,” said Clarke, catching Pauline by surprise.
Harry watched the professor’s reaction carefully. Pauline opened her mouth as if to say something, then nodded. A muscle twitched in her jaw.
As soon as they were in the gents’, Harry rounded on Professor Clarke.
“Just what the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“Mr. Potter! I am being held by those two!” exclaimed the old man, clutching Harry by the forearms. “You must help me!”
“Which two?” said Harry, bewildered. “How do you wish me to help? I’m currently working as a junior Auror, I can…”
“No! It’s imperative you don’t involve the Ministry,” said Clarke. “They have spies amongst the highest echelons of our government.”
Harry forced himself to calm down, breathing deeply. “Sir, I know who I can trust. You must have heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”
“Play along,” begged Clarke. “For pity’s sake, play along with the devils!”
Suddenly he clammed up, straightened and rushed to the basin to wash his hands. As he did, another wizard stepped into the washroom.
Harry sized up the newcomer. Tall, dark-haired and somewhat muscular, the man wore a long dark cloak that concealed a physique that reminded Harry of some of the professional Quidditch players he had seen - lean, angular and tough-looking. He glanced at Harry for the briefest moment before making his way over.
“Mr. Potter,” said the man. “My name is Professor Stone.”
He held out a hand, which Harry took suspiciously. Harry could hardly believe that this man was a professor at the Royal Academy of Magic. He resembled a thug more than anything else. “Professor… Stone?” he said.
Professor Clarke stammered just slightly as he turned to greet the newcomer. “Good afternoon, Stone. Glad you could join us.” To Harry, he said, “This is Professor Stone, Mr. Potter. He teaches Transfiguration and has written several research papers on the subject.”
“Professor Adler invited me to meet you here, Mr. Potter,” said Stone. “I am most interested in your experiences with magic, Mr. Potter.”
“I see,” said Harry, not really seeing at all. This was getting stranger and stranger by the second, not to mention very suspicious. Still, he played the situation by ear and decided to trust Clarke’s words and just play along.
When he and Professor Clarke returned from the washroom - accompanied by ‘Professor’ Stone - they found Pauline standing talking to Ginny, clearly preparing to leave.
“Well, Mr. Potter, please give a thought to our proposal,” said Pauline. “We can meet at a time and place of your own choosing, under the control of whatever security you wish to mount, and we’ll spend just a few minutes studying the Hallows. Any one of them, but preferably the Elder Wand.”
“I don’t know…” lied Harry, pretending to be considering her words. “I’ll write you a letter with my answer in the next few days.”
“Thank you for your time,” said Pauline.
As they left, Ginny turned to Harry. “What in Merlin’s name was that all about?” she demanded.
“I wish I knew, Gin,” said Harry, pulling her close. “Come on, we need to find Hermione and Ron, because I need to tell them what happened in the washroom just now.”
The Burrow.
“Impostors?”
They sat around the kitchen of the Burrow, steaming bowls of Mrs. Weasley’s wild mushroom soup in front of them. As the Weasley matriarch finished ladling soup into Ron’s bowl - much to Ron’s delight, who immediately picked up his spoon and a piece of buttered toast from the pile on the platter in the middle of the table - Harry repeated, “Yes, impostors. Or impostor, at least.”
Harry took out a letter, express-delivered by Grey Gray owl. He passed it to Hermione saying, “That’s the Royal Academy’s letter. In short, they don’t know any Pauline Adler, but Professor Clarke is the Dean of their Faculty of Modern Magic. He’s on sabbatical, though, and they have no idea where he is. Well,” said Harry, “they might not, but we do.”
Harry proceeded to tell Ron, Hermione and Ginny about the signals Clarke had tried to give him, as well as what had taken place in the gents. When he finished, the others were staring at him, their soups ignored.
“Blimey,” said Ron. “Blimey.”
“So what do you think, Hermione?” asked Harry.
“I think this Pauline Adler is definitely a fraud,” said Hermione. “It seems the most likely conclusion is that they are pretending to be from the Royal Academy of Magic in order to steal the Elder Wand.”
“Where does Professor Clarke fit in, though?” said Ron.
“They’re probably small-time crooks,” said Ginny. “Waylaid Professor Clarke, discovered this Elder Wand business and then they think they’re going to steal the wand, maybe sell it to the highest bidder.”
“Except they’re not going to,” said Harry firmly. “We’re going to make sure of that. We’ll use the promise of a look at the Elder Wand to trap them, but first we have to set the bait.”
“Must it be the Elder Wand, Harry?” said Ron. “Couldn’t we give them the Stone instead? Seemed pretty useless to me?”
“I don’t have the Resurrection Stone,” said Harry. “It’s not in my possession. I’m going to have to go back to the Forest to find it. The Elder Wand, I do have it. I never really did put it back in Dumbledore’s tomb. As for my Invisibility Cloak,” he paused, “well, for starters, it was my dad’s. It’s seen us through many a dangerous time, and if you ask me, I think it’ll be the best Hallow to hang on to if anything goes wrong.”
“Plus, old Xeno Lovegood said it was the most powerful Hallow,” said Hermione.
“And the Elder Wand is the least of them all,” said Ginny.
“So the Elder Wand gets to be the bait,” nodded Harry.
29 Delaney Way,
Manchester.
Dennis sat by the fire, brooding.
When everything had been wrapped up - the Battle of Hogwarts investigation, Colin’s funeral, the Death Eaters’ trials - he’d said goodbye to his wizard and witch friends and left Hogwarts without looking back once. Dennis had tried going back to the Muggle - the non-magical lifestyle, but it hadn’t really worked out. Despite his parents being behind him every step of the way, he hadn’t done well in school.
He had invested too many years of his life in magic. Dennis could tell you all about Fanged Geraniums and Bowtruckles and the definition of a Switching Spell, enough for an Exceeds Expectations or at least a Pass in his magical studies, but he couldn’t tell you the capital of Argentina or the history of Mesopotamia or who Robert the Bruce was. And in the non-magical world, that was what counted.
Which was how he had ended up working the night shift in a 7-Eleven and trying his best to forget about magic, Hogwarts and Colin’s death, spending his nights alone and brooding… up until Finch and Croaker called at his door.
What did they want with Harry and Ron and the rest? he wondered. Why were they so interested in those magical objects Harry went around collecting? Why did they keep asking me about the Wand, the Stone and the Cloak? Why did I tell them everything I knew? And why, he asked himself, why did I hold back what I know about the Stone?
He got to his feet, moving across the room to the stand where his cloak and hat hung.
Why am I doing this? Why am I getting my cloak, checking I have my wand, moving to the fireplace? Why am I going to the hidden box behind the coal bag and removing the last bits of Floo powder I have with me, the Floo powder I forgot about up until just now?
Why am I steeling myself to do something I swore I would never do?
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Traps
Saturday.
Night.
42 Sheltie Way,
London.
Harry knocked on the door of the Ministry safe house they were using as an exhibition room, and held still as a warm, tingling sensation swept through his body from tip to toe - twice. The door was then opened by a female Ministry Auror Harry knew named Harriet Dawkins, but her wand was still trained on him. As Harry smiled and stepped in, Harriet put away her long, cane-like wand.
“Sorry, Potter,” said Harriet. “Orders is orders. Not even you are going to get past ol’ Harriet Dawkins.” She glanced at his scar. “Especially you being the Chosen One and all. Dozens of Potter-impersonators every day.”
“And I feel sure you’ll execute your job fairly and without prejudice,” said Harry, smirking. Harriet - tall, grey-haired, forty-something ex-Hufflepuff with a husband in the Obliviator Squad and two kids in Hogwarts - was a martinet, that was for sure, and Harry could imagine her as an exceptionally-strict professor in Hogwarts, but he knew that she was loyal to her friends right down to the very core… which unfortunately was more than could be said of many other witches and wizards. Harriet Dawkins was also one of the few Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt trusted implicitly.
Harry entered the house and saw that the living room had been turned into something like a high security art exhibit that wouldn’t look out of place in the British Museum. It had been tiled over and rewallpapered to look exactly like an exhibition hall, and six security trolls wearing what looked like goblin armour breasplate with clubs over their shoulders lined the sides of the room going “Grunt grunt gargle grunt” and “grunt snort grunt” (probably Troll for “Mine is longer than yours!” and “Yeah, but mine is thicker!”).
Harry could also see some modifications had been made to the doorway, ceiling and walls. The door jamb looked thicker than normal and the lintel was definitely hiding something, probably a couple each of Caterwauling Charms, Probity Probes, Dark Detectors and Sneakoscopes; not the kind Ron had once purchased for Harry but a real, fine-tuned professional Sneakoscope.
In the center of the room stood a pedestal, with a velvet cushion on top. Someone had drawn a magic circle around it, and Harry stopped. He knew from past experience that one never fooled around with a magic circle.
“It’s okay,” said Harriet from behind him. “Mr. Shacklebolt drew that one himself. The circle will admit you, me, Mr. Shacklebolt and Fenton only.”
“Fenton’s here too?” said Harry. Fenton was Shacklebolt’s aide; the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was technically misusing Ministry assets for what amounted to Harry’s private affairs, and so was being very careful in his choice of Ministry Aurors to guard the Wand. Both Fenton and Harriet were completely loyal to Shacklebolt and would take his side against the Ministry’s in the face of an investigative committee.
“Oh yes, he’s patrolling somewhere upstairs. You won’t see him much, though,” Harriet said. Shielding her mouth and speaking in a whisper, she said, “He hates trolls. Bad experience with an amazon troll doing Stealth and Tracking in Auror training. Fairly goes to pieces near them, poor bloke; never did figure out how he redid the Stealth component.”
Harry nodded sympathetically. Checking his watch, he said, “Almost time.” He took a deep breath, stepped into the magic circle - wincing slightly as he felt the magic pass over him and admit him - then he took the Elder Wand out of his pocket and laid it on the cushion.
Harry went out of the exhibition room and into the passageway that lead to the dining room. Opening the dining room door, he stuck his head into the darkened room and said softly, “The Wand is planted. Are you all ready?” He could just barely make out the shapes of Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore and Ginny in the darkness.
“At the signal, wands out and surround them. Hex them if necessary, but nothing more. We want them to talk fast,” said Harry.
“We know,” hissed Ginny.
Harry eased the door shut. As he reentered the exhibition room, he heard Kingsley’s voice coming in from the doorstep. “…and here we are,” he announced, rapping on the door.
Harry took a deep breath as Harriet nodded at him and opened the door.
Pauline and Clarke strode into the room, prim and proper in navy blue robes emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Royal Academy of Magic - Pauline’s had been copied from Clarke’s robes of course, thought Harry. They stopped at the doorway, and Harry held his breath and waited for the alarms to sound. The Sneakoscopes didn’t stir.
It wasn’t that much of a surprise, really. Sneakoscopes weren’t infallible and a quick Confounding Charm would have sorted them out easily. Harry hadn’t seen Pauline do it, however, and he marvelled at her sleight of hand. Clearly she was a thief of no small accomplishment. She stood there taking in the security precautions, wrinkling her nose slightly at the security trolls.
“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” said Pauline, extending her hand. Harry shook it, then did the same to Clarke.
Clarke said nothing and his eyes remained neutral, but meeting Pauline’s eyes, Harry was hardly surprised to see that they were focused behind him on the cushion and its burden. For the first time, a strange glint entered her eyes, a glimmering of emotion Harry recognised - greed.
“This is the Elder Wand?” said Pauline, gesturing at the pedestal. Harry nodded. Her smile, the smile that followed, confirmed all Harry’s suspicions. She was rotten, and rotten through to the core. Not for the first time since he set up the plan, a twinge of regret entered his heart as he observed her. He only hoped that Azkaban would not be too hard on her admittedly attractive looks.
Sheltie Way.
Underneath one of the Order’s spare Demiguise-hair Invisibility Cloaks, Ron stamped his feet and blew on his fingers, watching his breath steam in the cold air. It was an unusually chilly night, and he longed to be back in the Burrow with Harry, Ginny and Hermione - oh, especially Hermione - as well as a few of their old schoolmates, sipping hot chocolate and reminiscing about the good times… perhaps followed by a walk in the back of the house alone with Hermione in the chilly night and a warm, illicit snog against a tree…
Ron shook his head. He had to focus. He played an important role tonight, and Harry had just shown him the extent of his trust in him. Harry had given him the Resurrection Stone. Retrieved from the Forbidden Forest, the Stone was now in his pocket, and Ron was to guard it for Harry. He knew the importance of this task.
Ron thought back to when they had been bringing the Stone back from the Forbidden Forest. After Harry had led him to a clearing and informed him that this was where Voldemort had held court and tried to kill him - Ron couldn’t help shuddering at that - Harry had crossed over to a grassy hillock. Prising back a tree root and clearing away several spadefuls of earth, Harry had revealed the Resurrection Stone.
“How in Merlin’s name did you know it was there?” asked Ron.
“It called me,” said Harry simply.
“It… it called you?” said Ron, hardly believing his ears.
Harry nodded and said nothing more, biting his lip as they walked back to the castle. Ron watched him carefully, and knew from his expression that he was debating something with himself. He kept silent and let his friend think.
Finally, as they were passing the Quidditch stadium on the way up to the castle, Harry said, “Ron, I’m going to let you in on a secret that I haven’t told anyone else yet. I knew I’d eventually tell you, Ginny and Hermione, but only now have I ever found the necessity to.”
Ron nodded. “Go on.”
Harry hesitated, then plunged in. “The morning after the battle, I was struggling with myself over the Hallows. Part of me wanted to keep them, another part of me wanted to do as I had told Dumbledore’s portrait and dispose of them all except for the Invisibility Cloak. I was afraid of this bit of me that wanted to keep them, and I wondered if a fragment of Voldemort was still in me. That’s why I kept away from you guys after the party had gone on a while.”
Harry stopped, looking out over the fields unseeingly to where the setting sun made a spectacular backdrop against the upright goal poles of the Quidditch pitch.
“It wasn’t Voldemort, though. It was the Hallows. I dreamed - and I’m not lying, Ron,” said Harry quickly, “I dreamed that I was once more at King’s Cross. Then a voice said to me… well, in short it said to me that I was the chosen guardian of the Hallows. Always, it said, always there would be others questing for the Hallows, seeking to harness their powers for themselves. I was to stop them.”
Harry looked Ron earnestly in the eye.
“I didn’t believe the voice, Ron, I didn’t believe them until Pauline and Clarke showed up. Then I knew. I knew that it was true, the Hallows themselves had chosen me for their guardian. That’s why we came here today to get the Stone. That’s how I knew where the Stone was.”
Harry pressed the Resurrection Stone into Ron’s palm. “The Elder Wand will be placed in the exhibition hall. I’ll be having the Cloak with me. In case anything happens to me, guardianship of the Stone falls to you,” he said. “I don’t want all our eggs in one basket. You won’t be in the house at all, you’ll be outside, but I don’t want you rushing in to back us up. Your job is to keep the Stone safe, but close by. I trust you, Ron.”
“Blimey, Harry,” was all Ron could find words to say. He glanced down at the Stone in his hand.
“And if anything happens to me,” said Harry, “you have to tell Ginny I love her. And don’t let her try to contact me using the Stone.”
Now, Ron took the Resurrection Stone in his pocket. Harry had told him how it worked. Since then, he’d stared at it often. Three turns, he reminded himself, and Fred will be with us again…
It was so tempting…
But Ron could never betray Harry that way. He could never drag Fred back from wherever he was.
But it was so tempting, to have Fred again, to hear him laugh again, to see the light in George’s eyes the return of his long-lost twin would certainly bring…the Weasley family could say goodbye for real; Fred had been taken from them so fast they’d never had the opportunity for any last words… no closure…
“Damn it!” Angrily, Ron thrust the Stone back into his pocket.
Then he put his fists into his pockets. Ron told himself it was to keep his hands warm, but as he did so, his right fist slowly unclenched… and the tip of his finger stroked the warm Resurrection Stone, tracing the jagged edges of the crack down the middle that marred its surface…
42 Sheltie Way,
London.
“When I was using this wand, I performed some charms with it that could not possibly have been done by other wands,” said Harry. He held up his own phoenix feather wand. “I repaired my wand which had snapped in half with it. Mr. Ollivander had told me it was irrepairably destroyed, but the Elder Wand repaired it.”
“Very interesting. May I see it closer?” said Pauline. “I’ll probably also wish to do some tests on it.”
I’ll bet you do, thought Harry to himself as he moved into the magic circle to take the Wand. But you won’t. He noted that Fenton, Kingsley’s assigned aide, had come downstairs, presumably to help apprehend Pauline now that they had arrived.
But where was ‘Professor’ Stone?
At that moment, a series of knocks on the door made Harry start. He stayed in the circle, one hand on his wand, staring at the door. The six security trolls grunted collectively, and one - whether he was more intelligent than his comrades or less, Harry didn’t know - mumbled something and moved as if to open the door.
“I’ll get it,” said Fenton loudly. The young man strode across the room, wand out and at the ready. He never gave the trolls a second glance as he went to the door.
Ron swore. There was a man at the door he hadn’t seen before; bearded, somewhat stoop-shouldered with a ratty old cloak around his shoulders and clutching a cane.
He almost got to his feet from where he sat next to a trio of dustbins in the shadows of an alley opposite the house. Then he remembered; Harry wanted him to guard the Stone and not intervene if possible.
Moments later, a young man opened the door and the old man quickly entered. Ron knew the young man. He was Kingsley Shacklebolt’s aide, what was his name? Oh yes, Fenton.
Fenton Finch.
“Who are you?” said Harriet Dawkins. “Are you a Ministry employee?”
“It’s okay, Harriet,” said Fenton. “He’s one of us.”
“Did Mr. Shacklebolt bring him here?” said Harriet, a frown creasing her face. “I’ve never seen him before.” Eyes narrowing, she said, “What department are you in?”
From behind her, Kingsley Shacklebolt muttered an imprecation, then exclaimed, “You! What are you doing here?!”
The old man shrugged. To Harriet, he said, “My name is Croaker, and I am an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.” He stabbed a finger at Harry. “That is Harry Potter who is a Ministry Auror, a Ministry employee, and I demand he hands over that wand now!”
“Oh no you don’t,” said Harry. “This wand is my personal property.” He said this coolly, calmly, though inside he was seething with anger. This was not supposed to happen!
At that moment, Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore, Hermione and Ginny burst into the room, wands out. They stopped short when they saw Croaker, their eyes going wide. No, this was not supposed to happen at all!
“That is a highly dangerous magical artifact that the Department of Mysteries believes was involved in the murder of several wizards and witches while in the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” said Croaker. “Also, as Head Unspeakable, I have the authority to override both you and Shacklebolt. Hand it over now!”
“What’s going on?” said Pauline, bewildered. Harry admired her acting skills. She was really a very accomplished thief.
“You shut up, Miss Adler,” said Croaker. “We in the Department of Mysteries know who you are.”
At this, Clarke scrambled over to Harry’s side from Pauline’s, leaving her alone in the middle between Fenton, Croaker and Harriet and Harry, Kingsley and the rest.
“Fenton, throw him out,” ordered Kingsley. “We can deal with this later, but he doesn’t get the wand. The Minister will understand.”
“Sorry boss,” said Fenton. “I’m afraid I obey higher orders.”
“What?” exclaimed Harriet.
Fenton raised his wand. “You’ll find I’m also on the Department of Mystery’s payroll as an Unspeakable, Mr. Shacklebolt. Please, sir, hand over the wand.”
“Fenton?” said Shacklebolt, bewildered.
“Fenton Finch has been working undercover in the the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for quite a while. The Department of Mysteries keeps checks on the wizarding world, even amongst the rest of the Ministry of Magic,” said Croaker. “And a good thing too, if this is the kind of thing the Head of Magical Law Enforcement is hiding!” he said angrily. Then Croaker’s face softened, turning back to neutral. “Incidentally, he Confunded your detectors and disabled the wards, else I would never have got in.”
“You traitor!” screamed Harriet. She whipped up her wand. “You lousy, stinking bloody little turncoat!”
But then Fenton was too fast. A flash of light and Harriet shot across the room to crash into the pedestal. The pedestal went over, but Harry, still holding the wand, caught her as she hit the floor. Harriet was knocked unconscious.
The thought process that went through the most intelligent security troll (whose name was Bogroll) out of the six went like this; Kingsley Shacklebolt (the black guy) had hired them to guard this thin little club, which he really didn’t know what all the fuss was about, since it was so much thinner than his own. Mr. Shacklebolt had made it quite clear that no one other than himself, the two young guys and the lady was to enter the circle. But now, the young guy over there who was supposed to be on their side had no doubt attacked one of their own and had actually thrown her across the room. Bogroll felt certain he was to do something, and that something was attack.
But who to attack?
No matter, thought Bogroll. Mr. Shacklebolt had decided it for him; his own thin club was out and pointed at this young man. Bogroll decided he too ought to take out his own club and wave it around to assert his male dominance.
Fenton saw the closest troll brandish his club. Instantly he fired another spell that struck the troll in the face. The troll grunted and fell, crashing down at Fenton’s feet. The other five trolls started forward with a roar, but Fenton waved his wand in a swooping motion and lengths of chain appeared out of thin air to bind the trolls hand and foot, who fell to the floor in five big crashes and five small crashes (their clubs fell too, without their hands to hold them up). Great big rags shot from the tip of his wand to effectively gag the trolls.
To Harry, he said, “Super Stunner. Department of Mysteries only. Part of the perks of working with us; I’d invite you to join but I’m afraid Mr. Croaker has declared you quite P. N. G., you see. Something about sneaking in and smashing up the place a few years back, as well as a bunch of Time-Turners and Prophecy Orbs.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said Pauline. “You know, this little internecine squabble has been highly amusing, but I think enough’s enough. You,” she said to Harry, “give me the Wand.”
“Oh please,” began Fenton. He raised his wand. “Stupefy!” he cried, and the lightning-like jet of sparks that flicked out of the tip lunged at Pauline and…
…never hit her. The witch twisted, her wand flicking in a backhand motion to repel the spell with a nonverbal Shield Charm. The Shield Charm held, sending the sparks back at Fenton, who, although surprised at this show of ability, dodged nimbly.
Flinging his staff aside, Croaker whipped out his own wand and straightened up. He bowed slightly from the waist to Pauline in mock respect, as if in a formal duel. Pauline smiled slightly and bowed too.
Harry whipped out his phoenix feather wand and held the Elder Wand in his left hand. Kingsley’s wand too, was out and at the ready. Behind him, Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore, Hermione and Ginny advanced until they were just behind him, wands out.
Clarke cowered behind the body of a troll, his face buried in his hands and his body curled up in a ball.
“Oh, it begins,” said Croaker, a thin smile on his face.
Ron’s ears, already alert after hearing the crashes of the trolls falling over, picked up the sounds of spellfire. Muggles would not be able to see the ‘extra’ house set in the street, but he could - and he could see the spell sparks lighting up the windows from within like an indoors fireworks display.
“Bloody hell!” he breathed. Stuffing the Demiguise-hair cloak into his pocket, he got to his feet, whipped out his wand and charged across the street. Just as he reached the door, another shadow loomed up from the bushes in front of the house.
“Where do you think you are going?” said the shadow. Ron backpedaled hurriedly.
“Who the hell are you?” he exclaimed, his wand out and quite sure this man was a wizard; Ron hadn’t seen him arrive, so he had probably been using an Invisibility Cloak… yes, he could now see his wand was out.
“My name is Stone,” said the man. “Now I want the Stone that’s in your pocket, or this Stone is going to break your head.”
A/N: Concluding soon! P.S. in this universe Kingsley is not the Minister of Magic, Fudge is (alas!).
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 - Endgame
42 Sheltie Way,
London.
Pauline flourished her wand and spun round, jabbing it in Harry’s direction. At the same time, Croaker waved his wand once. Twin jets of sparks reached out towards him.
“Protego!” he gasped, and the transparent hemisphere of the Shield Charm expanded in front of him just in time to receive the brunt of both spells. The powerful spells broke through and Harry grunted as what felt like a punch to the gut sent him flying backwards to crash down a few yards behind. The Elder Wand slipped from numb fingers to soar in the air.
Pauline darted forwards, hand outstretched to grab it.
“No you don’t!” screamed Ginny, stepping forward; from her wand and four others - Hermione’s, Kingsley’s, Hestia Jones’ and Sturgis Podmore’s - streaked a hail of spells directed at her.
She dodged or deflected them with ease, sending them crashing into the exhibition hall-like walls of the house’s enlarged living room. Then a silver spell broke through her defences, sending her spinning against the prostrate body of a large troll. The Elder Wand dropped at Fenton’s feet.
“Ha!” he crowed, as he bent down to pick it up and fired off another spell that broke past Sturgis’s defences and struck his wand arm. Sturgis dropped his wand with a gasp and gripped his paralysed fingers.
“Impedimenta!” yelled Hermione. Fenton slashed downwards with his wand; the jinx rebounded off his Shield Charm and hit the ceiling. He began to edge towards Croaker and the door, blocking spells each step of the way.
Stone struck so fast Ron hardly had time to think of a spell. Luckily, the magenta spell that streaked inches past his shoulder did nothing but raise the hair on his head as it passed, crackling with evil and malice.
Ron leapt off the doorstep of the house and rolled over, sending three Stunners Stone’s way. The wizard blocked two and dodged one, then with a wave of his wand sent a rope of purple fire hurtling at Ron, who raised up a Shield Charm and leapt aside. He sent a hex towards Stone that almost connected, but the man ducked the spell.
“Give… me… the… Resurrection… Stone!” shouted Stone, punctuating each of his words with a curse.
Ron blocked the first two, dodged the third but then had barely put up his defences before the fourth burst through his half-formed Shield Charm and struck him square in the chest. He fell backwards, landing with a thud on the pavement but with his wand still in hand.
As he lay there, another spell zipped through the air from the tip of Stone’s wand and struck the pavement beside Ron’s head.
“Stupefy!” shouted Hestia and Ginny together. Fenton blocked one but not the other; Ginny’s Stunner slipped past his Shield Charm and struck him a glancing blow in the left shoulder.
It was enough to send the Elder Wand flying upwards once more.
Croaker lunged for the wand with surprising agility for a man his age. Snatching it out of the air, he flourished it triumphantly.
“Stand aside!” he shouted. “You don’t know half the powers we Unspeakables can wield!”
Hestia, Kingsley, Hermione and Ginny each sent a number of spells at him, but the Unspeakable blocked them with ease. Croaker edged closer to the door, when suddenly his eyes crossed and he went down, tripping over his own feet as he went. His arms snapped to his sides in the characteristic air of someone who had just been Petrified. The Elder Wand flew into the air once more, and this time remained suspended in mid-air. Then a familiar face and shoulders appeared as Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, gripping the Elder Wand in his left hand.
“I believe this is mine,” he said.
“You believe wrong!” shouted Pauline, who had gotten up and was now leaning against a troll’s struggling body. She waved her wand; with some difficulty Harry blocked the spell and returned fire with a Stunner Pauline evaded. The witch blocked the Stunner but was then forced to dodge a number of spells fired by Hestia and Kingsley. She jabbed her wand at Kingsley.
A fiery spell streaked at the Auror. Kingsley threw up a shield with lightning quick reflexes, containing the spell for a moment; but then the powerful spell burst through and struck him. With a cry of pain Kingsley sank to the ground. Hestia and Hermione darted to Pauline’s left and right and kept up a steady stream of Stunners; Hestia even tore up chunks of floor and hurled them at Pauline but the witch was truly adept at dueling and evaded or deflected each spell or chunk of tile with ease.
Ginny ran over to Harry. “Harry, are you alright?”
“Ginny, listen carefully!” said Harry quickly. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and stuffed it into Ginny’s hands. “This is getting really dangerous. Get Clarke and get out of there. Ron’s outside. Get to him and then Apparate back to Headquarters.” Seeing she was about to protest, he said “No arguments please! And Ginny,” he said, pausing for a moment, “I love you.”
Ginny nodded and turned away.
Harry dove to the floor as a silver spell streaked overhead. The floor was torn up and strewn with rouble, so Harry had to be doubly sure of his footing; yet he kept sending Stunner after Stunner in Pauline’s direction and dodging the spells she sent his way.
“Give it up, Pauline!” he shouted over the din. “We suspected you from the start! You’re never getting the Elder Wand!”
“That’s what you think!” screamed Pauline. She spun on one leg, graceful as a ballet dancer; her wand inscribing intricate patterns in the air and her lips muttering words of power and magic.
“Harry!” shouted Sturgis Podmore, “get down!”
Too late, thought Harry, as Pauline ended the spell with a fluid swipe of her wand diagonally across her body. A rope formed from flames rippled into existence from the edge of her wand, and as she lashed it at him like a whip Harry reacted instinctively.
“Sectumsempra!” shouted Harry. “Stupefy!”
Pauline gasped even as she raised her defences; a gash appeared in her right arm, deep and ragged. She stared down at the wound in bewilderment, and never saw the Stunner that shattered her Shield Charm and struck her in the chest. She fell backwards, her wand slipping from her fingers to drop with a clatter to the floor.
They waited long seconds as she lay there. Finally, Harry straightened, peering over the rubble on the floor. Pauline’s body lay on the ground, Stunned.
Breathing heavily, Harry wiped his forehead and pocketed his wands, both his and the Elder Wand. His eyes met Hermione’s, which gazed back at him wearily. She made an attempt at a half-smile. Harry crossed over to where Pauline lay, and picked up her wand.
From behind him, he heard a calm, cold voice… a voice with death in it. “Mr. Potter, give me the Elder Wand.”
“Reducto!” yelled Ron. “Reducto!”
Two of the three rubbish bins soaring towards him shattered and burst, sending potato peelings and soiled baby diapers flying everywhere. Ron attempted to dodge the third bin, but it struck him in the chest. He gasped, dropping to the ground.
Stone charged at him, spells firing from the tip of his wand. Ron leapt aside, dodging most of the spells and using his wand to deflect those that came too close or too fast for him to evade. He sent back a few jinxes of his own, but Stone was far too skilful for him to hit.
Then Stone stooped by the fallen rubbish bin, and picked up something from the ground there. At the same time, Ron realised that a familiar weight that had been in his pocket was suddenly no longer there.
Too late Ron realised he had dropped the Resurrection Stone.
Too late Ron realised that Stone had seen him drop it.
Too late Ron realised that Harry had been right; the Stone was far too dangerous to be in someone else’s employ.
All this Ron understood when Stone held up the Resurrection Stone in front of him and grinned. As he began backing away, seeking to put more space between him and Stone and trying to think of a strategy to defeat his superior opponent, Stone smiled.
“You’re in luck, boy,” he said.
“Why’s that?” replied Ron.
“Because you are going to be the first to see why the Knights of Walpurgis want the Deathly Hallows,” grinned Stone. He brought his wand up, pointing it straight at Ron. Ron’s eyes focused right on the Resurrection Stone, held up in Stone’s left hand. Slowly, Stone tapped it with his wand, then turned it over in his hand.
Once…
Twice…
“No!” screamed Ron.
Three times…
“MALEFICUS PARIO!” shouted Stone.
Nothing happened.
Ron kept his wand up and pointed at Stone, but his eyes searched his surroundings for signs of the spell’s effects, whatever the spell was, but found nothing. A heavy dread filled his heart, however, and he felt a sort of presence in the cool night air; it was as if an army of Dementors had surrounded them.
Then, from out of the shadows to his right pounced a dark, smoky shape. Ron swore and leapt aside, raising his wand and shouting “Expecto Patronum!” The anti-Dementor spell did nothing to harm the shape, but from its light he could see the shape clearly. Ron swore again.
The shape resembled one of the Hogwarts ghosts, but it was somewhat more corporeal and coloured smoky gray to black, with bright white eyes and no pupils. It appeared to resemble a werewolf, albeit a very thin and skeletal one.
“Blimey,” whispered Ron.
The werewolf sniffed, then barked once - a ghostly, there-but-not-really-there sound that made Ron’s hair stand on end. Then it charged. Ron leapt to the left, sending a Stunning spell at the werewolf. The spell passed right through it.
“Finite Incantato!” cried Ron, but nothing happened.
Harry turned around slowly, and his heart sank. From out of nowhere, Clarke and Ginny appeared, pulling off an Invisibility Cloak - Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. He had a wand in his hand, and it was pressed against Ginny’s neck. Ginny stared back at Harry with wide, horrified eyes, all colour drained from her white face.
“Ginny!” exclaimed Harry. He raised his wand, but at a threatening gesture from Clarke, lowered it.
“Give me the Elder Wand, Harry. It won’t mean anything to me to kill her, but she means everything to you,” said Clarke.
“Who are you, Clarke?” asked Harry. “I thought… I thought you were being held hostage…”
Clarke chuckled. “My dear boy, Pauline is my protégé. A very powerful protégé, as you saw, but not nearly skilful enough.” He sighed, looking past Harry to where Pauline still lay, unconscious.
“You tricked me,” said Harry.
“Yes, I did,” nodded Clarke. “You do have a bit of a saving people thing, Harry, it’s been well noted in the past, both by your friends and enemies. All I needed was to make a few absurd signals - plus that excellently pitiful performance in the washroom of that tea shop - and I had you hooked,” said Charles, smiling. “I was the bait in the trap, and you took it. That’s enough of that!” he snapped suddenly; Harry turned to his left and saw that Hermione had been trying to edge around to get a clear shot at him without hitting Ginny. Clarke made a sweeping motion with his wand and yelled, “Expelliarmus!”
“Protego!” cried Hestia, Kingsley, Hermione and Harry; but the spell burst through their Shield Charms and plucked their wands out of their hands.
“That’s better,” breathed Clarke. “Now, the Elder Wand, Harry. Take it carefully out of your pocket, and throw it here.”
Harry reluctantly pulled it out and threw it over. Inside, he was raging. Clarke had been He had lost, Ginny was in danger!
“Now, I have the Cloak, the Wand, and if I’m not mistaken, my compatriot Nick Stone will have retrieved the Stone by now. I bid you adieu,” said Clarke.
Then he made a mistake.
He turned his back confidently on them and began moving towards the door.
In that instant, Harry whipped out his wand - his phoenix feather wand - and yelled “STUPEFY!” putting all his power and determination into the spell. The jet of red streaked across the room and struck Clarke in the small of the back.
The wizard toppled and fell backwards. Before he hit the floor, Ginny had already wrenched herself free of his grasp.
Harry and Hermione rushed over. “Ginny!” shouted Harry. Then she was in his arms, and he was hugging her tightly, feeling an immense upsurge of relief as he realised she was with him again, safe and sound.
While Hestia leapt to Kingsley’s side, Hermione stooped over Clarke’s Stunned body, retrieving the Cloak, the Wand and Clarke’s wand too. Then she turned to Harry. “However did you do that?” she exclaimed.
“Simple,” grinned Harry. “Clarke made a bad mistake. I was holding Pauline’s wand when he Disarmed us. My own wand was in my pocket, along with the Elder Wand. When he asked me to give him the Elder Wand, well, that’s what I did. I hoped that he would turn his back on me, thinking none of us had any wands, and then he did.”
Ron darted to the right again as the werewolf attacked once more, but this time a clawed paw swiped over his left leg as he dove to the ground, drawing blood and a cry from his lips. Then the wolf was on him, hot and heavy and strong. Somehow, Ron found the strength and the wits to turn his wand end up, jab it into the wolf’s hide and yell “Levicorpus!”
There was a bang and then the wolf was lifted off him by the spell, suspended in mid air and snapping ferociously with its oversized jaws.
“You won’t escape so easily,” snarled Stone, who had been watching. “Maleficus Pario!”
Two more animal-ghosts erupted from the shadows. Ron recognised one as a hippogriff. The other was a smallish dragon; the two animals closed in on him, the hippogriff’s hooves cantering with a ghostly echo as it charged him down.
Ron directed his wand at the dragon. “Reducto!” he bellowed.
The spell shot through the dragon, being only partially solid, but then it had definitely hurt the spectre; the dragon squealed faintly and fired a stream of black, smoky fire from its gaping mouth. Ron blocked most of it with a Shield Charm, but the hippogriff was singed.
The hippogriff screamed, turning aside from its charge and slammed, kicking and clawing, into the dragon. Ron took this opportunity to fire another Reductor Curse; this one connected with the dragon high up on its shoulder. The dragon roared and tried to flee, bracing itself on all fours and coiling its powerful, muscular hind legs beneath it; then it launched itself in the opposite direction from Ron…
…colliding directly into Stone.
A thin scream and the wet ripping sound of claws slashing through meat, then the scream stopped.
Ron averted his eyes from the sight, only to find the werewolf - freed from its curse - and the hippogriff nearly on top of him.
“Bloody hell,” he swore, and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Then, just as they were almost upon him, first the werewolf and then the hippogriff burst into clouds of black smoke before him. Ron stared at the sight, then whirled around. Standing next to Stone’s body was a young man. He was holding the Resurrection Stone.
“Dennis Creevey?” exclaimed Ron.
When Croaker had gone to Number 42, Sheltie Way, Dennis had followed him, just as he had been doing for the past one week. At first he had told himself he wanted to know just what Croaker was plotting with the Hallows for altruistic reasons, but when Dennis discovered the connection between Fenton Finch and Caractacus Croaker and didn’t reveal this to Potter, he knew he could not lie to himself any longer.
He wanted the Hallows for himself, and wouldn’t mind seeing the others fight for it before swooping in himself to get it.
Dennis had first heard of the Resurrection Stone from gossip. Some of the older Gryffindors - Neville and Ginny - had talked about Harry and the artifacts that he had run around trying to recover. Dennis had overheard them, and was particularly intrigued by Ginny’s words.
Dennis went up to the Astronomy Tower, a favourite place for him recently to sit and brood alone about his brother Colin’s death. It was calm, quiet, serious and tranquil. The only problem was that others had also found the Tower platform a nice place to go to.
“He came to me crying on the third day after the battle. He’d seen his family, Sirius and Professor Lupin again. They accompanied him into the forest, when he went to find Voldemort and sacrifice himself.” There was a hitch in Ginny’s words when she had said that.
“How did that happen?” said Neville.
“It was that Resurrection Stone. He used it to summon their shades or something like that. They talked to him, told him how proud they were of him.” Ginny sighed. “It broke his heart to have to say goodbye to them again.”
“He’s been holding back his personal feelings for so long, fighting for the rest of us so we can live, being strong for us so we can go on,” said Neville wisely. “Now it’s all over and he can finally rest, but all the pressures and stress is catching up with him. Ginny,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “It’s up to you now to be strong for Harry. He’s relying on you.”
“I will,” promised Ginny. She smiled. “You’re a good friend, Neville. He’ll need you too. And so will the rest of us.”
And ever since then, Dennis had researched the Deathly Hallows, finding himself drawn towards the Resurrection Stone and eventually concocting a plan to steal it from Harry. But then he’d heard Harry had lost the Stone in the Forbidden Forest, and try as he might he had never been able to find it, despite numerous secret trips there.
Then Croaker had come to his house.
Dennis had followed Croaker here, Disillusioned himself and lain in wait. He’d nearly risen to help Ron when the strange man - Stone, was it? - had attacked him, and again when the man summoned spectral animals to attack Ron, but something in his heart had stopped him from doing so. Partially, he knew, it was guilt at not having told Harry sooner; it would have been hard to explain his presence here without giving his complicity away.
But in the more honest and cold-blooded part of himself he knew that he wanted the Hallows for himself.
When the dragon cannoned into Stone and tore him into half, the Resurrection Stone had slipped from his dying fingers and fell at Dennis’s feet. Hardly believing his eyes, Dennis reached out and picked up the Stone.
He straightened, not realising that Ron’s sweeping Finite Incantato had removed his Disillusion Charm. So when Ron called out to him in surprise, he gave a surprised start.
“What are you doing here?” said Ron incredulously. Then he saw the Stone in Dennis’s grasp. “Give me the Stone, Dennis,” he said, in a more serious tone.
At the same moment, Harry, Ginny and the others burst out of the house looking thoroughly bedraggled, robes holed, soot-blackened and singed in places where spells had struck. Sturgis cradled his arm, which seemed to have lost all feeling, and Kingsley rubbed at his chest which still hurt from where a powerful spell had struck him.
“Dennis?” said Harry.
Dennis stared from Ron to Harry, and then back at Ron. Ron took a step forward, and then somehow Dennis’s own wand was in his hand and pointed at him.
“Stay back!” he stammered. “I mean it!”
“Dennis, don’t do this,” said Harry quietly. “The Stone’s not worth it.”
“You don’t understand!” cried Dennis. “It’s definitely worth it! The Stone’s wortt it! Colin’s worth it!”
Realisation dawned on Harry. He shook his head sadly. “Dennis, Colin won’t come back. He can’t. He’s gone over.”
“The Resurrection Stone will bring him back!” said Dennis loudly.
“The Resurrection Stone doesn’t really resurrect anybody, Dennis,” said Hermione. “The laws of magic and nature are immutable; no dead person can come back to life. It’s impossible.”
“You summoned your parents!” said Dennis, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. “And Sirius Black! And Professor Lupin!”
At the mention of his parents, Ginny squeezed his hand reassuringly, forestalling the daily ache inside him that he felt whenever he thought of them. He squeezed back. “They were spectres,” shouted Harry. “Mere shadows of their selves.” He took a step forward, then two.
“I just want to see Colin again,” said Dennis brokenly, tears streaming from his eyes, “I just want to say goodbye.”
“Dennis,” said Harry, approaching him, “I grew up, never knewing my parents. It used to tear me apart inside, knowing I could never speak with them, never go to them for guidance, never have them around watching over me as I grew up. Then when I met them just before going into the Forest, my parents told me something, when I saw them for the last time. They told me they had been watching me, that they would watch over me for the rest of my life, until I could rejoin them again. Colin is doing the same for you, I’m sure. You won’t need the Stone to talk to him. He’s watching you all the time, and listening.”
He stepped in front of Dennis. “You need to live your own life, Dennis. Don’t dwell on the past. Don’t brood over Colin’s death. I’m very certain he wouldn’t want you to do that.”
Harry heldout his hand. “Give me the Stone.”
Dennis held it out, and Harry took it. Dennis looked away as his fingers unwillingly relinquished their grip on the Stone… his last hope of seeing Colin again.
“Do you see now, the false promise the Stone gives? It doesn’t bring Colin back,” said Harry. Remembering something Dumbledore had once said, he added, “It is not good to dwell on the past and forget to live the present.”
Dennis sagged against Harry and sobbed.
“I never got to tell Colin he was the best brother I could have ever had…”
Kingsley,
I have not been able to find either Pauline or Clarke, nor their real names. They seem to have simply vanished off the face of the earth. Currently, I’m pursuing my contacts in Cairo, but it is a very cold trail.
My dear brother tells me they claim to have been Knights of Walpurgis. Perhaps an investigation in that direction would prove rather more fruitful?
On a brighter note, I may have a wizard here who is willing to join the Order of the Phoenix. He’s a good chap and a former colleague of mind, although a bit antidisestablishmentarian and fond of a bit too much Firewhiskey. Keeps mum when he’s had a shot too much, though, so that’s okay. Knows the back alleys of Cairo like the back of his hand, and his contacts are innumerable; Mundungus will like him.
Bill Weasley
P.S. My Cairo contacts did give me some interesting information on some other persons of interest. Is either Croaker or Fenton giving you any trouble? Because if they are, the goblins here tell me they will not mind pulling strings amongst their London counterparts to freeze their Gringotts accounts… both the private and the secret ones.
Bill,
Yes, I’ve sent a crack team of Aurors to investigate that angle, headed up by none other than the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Your-Prospective-Brother-In-Law. You will be able to attend the wedding, right? It’s being held on the first of September.
Come back home to good old England, then. Let your Egyptian wizard handle the rest. Yes, I think we’ll seriously consider inducting him into our ranks.
Kingsley
Kingsley,
First of September, eh?The first day they met and the first day of term at Hogwarts, which means that future anniversaries will likely be celebrated a deux without the encumbrance of a pack of nosy kids. Not bad, I bet Harry thought that one up. I’m going to have to hex him for that.
Returning now, waiting for Long Distance Portkey tickets.
Bill
Master,
I accept full responsibility for not being able to retrieve either the Elder Wand or any of the other Hallows as well as wasting valuable time and resources. I submit myself to whatever punishment you see fit to impose on me.
C
Master,
By now C will have contacted you and once more grovelled and attempted to appease your anger by once more declaring his submission to whatever ‘punishment you see fit to impose’ on him.
However, acting on the secret orders you gave me to observe him carefully, I can reliably inform you that he harbours designs on you and that not all his motivations for obtaining the Hallows stemmed from a desire to serve your bidding, Master.
P
P,
I will act as I see fit. Consider yourself promoted to C’s post, effective immediately after he has been punished. Do not fail me in the undertaking of your responsibilities, unlike C.
C,
Return immediately. There are matters of pressing importance I must discuss with you in private.
Borgin and Burkes,
Knockturn Alley.
The bell suspended above the door tinkled as the door swung open. Borgin looked up from the accounts books he was doctoring. His customers today consisted of a beautiful young witch in very businesslike robes and with a supremely professional air about her. Behind her stood a man who evidently wished to be circumspect regarding his identity; a white expressionless mask covered his face.
Borgin sniffed, and smiled. He could smell the darkness emanating from both the man and the woman, and knew that here were real paying customers.
“Good afternoon,” began the young lady, placing a wooden chest on the table. “I’d like to offer you this on behalf of my client.” Borgin assumed she meant the man standing behind her.
Borgin flicked the clasps and pulled the lid of the box open. He regarded the contents with interest, mentally calculating the profits he would obtain simply by processing it and selling it to the brewers of illegal potions.
“Extra powerful, genuine Traitor’s Skull,” said Pauline. “Male, freshly processed and guaranteed one hundred percent powerful warlock. ”
Borgin nodded. “Name your fee.”
She named it. “This will fetch you a fortune amongst the dealers of potions and witch’s brew,” she said not unreasonably, “and my fee is merely a very small percentage of it. Traitors’ Skulls are a rare commodity, and that of a powerful warlock even more so.”
“Agreed,” said Borgin. “Cash, I suppose.”
When he had paid and they had left, he stroked the white bone of the skull’s cranium. He muttered to himself, “Now just a dash of lemon for extra zest.”
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