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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Officer and Gentleman, Part 1
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
Chapters 27 - 28
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 27 - Pensieved Longings and Plugged-up Loos
Saturday , July 7, 6:00am
Queen’s Wizard’s Quarters
Buckingham Palace, London
Harry Potter’s internal alarm clock ignored the previous night’s decision to turn off its electronic counterpart and pulled the Queen’s Wizard into consciousness a good three hours before he wanted. Harry sighed as he glanced at the electronic alarm, careful not to disturb Hermione from her present position (head on his chest, arm and leg draped over his torso). He smiled as she snuggled against him, and pulled the covers up just enough to make the warm cocoon complete.
The Queen's Wizard knew that he ought to try to go back to sleep; they had pulled an all-nighter preparing for Malfoy’s capture and relied too much on caffeine and pepper-up the day before. But with Hermione cuddled up against him in their warm safe bed, he found it impossible to push away all of the memories, thoughts and fears that came with having her as his girlfriend/consort. Most of those thoughts were the type that old men cling to and cherish as they look back upon their lives…their first “more-than-just-friends” kiss, their first shared bath, their first snag…
Harry chuckled at the term he had invented. It was wonderfully ambiguous term that aptly described their current physical relationship. Hermione and he still joked about the “three date rule,” but neither of them had felt ready to take that final step. At least not just yet. They had tried to talk about “it” and when “it” should occur, but never really reached any conclusions. While neither had any serious moral objections to premarital shagging, they both thought there was something romantic and special about saving that act for a wedding night. Which brought out thoughts of weddings and engagements, and whether they were too young and had been a couple for too short a time to be even thinking about it. That was a related, and no less important, can of worms.
And then there were the Grangers. Living under the same roof as your girlfriend’s parents could have been very intimidating, but they had been amazingly supportive and trusting, right from the start. Almost too trusting, Harry thought…her dad had essentially given him permission to share a bed with his daughter on Privet Drive (almost asked Harry to, if you interpreted that conversation a certain way). And once they moved to the Round Tower and stayed either there or at Buckingham? Complete acceptance.
Last night had been a good example. The four of them had ridden in the van that had dumped Malfoy in front of the Rookery just before midnight. After hanging around for an hour to make sure Lucius did not do something unexpected, they called it a night. Rather than drive back to Windsor, or wake Sir Evan for a badge-jump, Hermione’s parents asked if they could crash at “his” place at the Palace. It was taken “as read” that the Granger’s would stay in the guest bedroom while Hermione and he shared the master. Mrs. Granger even gave them a goodnight kiss and orders to “sleep tight” before they turned in for the night.
Harry sighed, realizing that with Mr. And Mrs. Granger sleeping next door that Hermione would want to be cautious that morning, which was too bad, since he was definitely in the mood for some fun. Not fair really, since her parents didn’t seem to always share that concern. He smiled as he recalled the “bedroom wall” incident, and that got him thinking about silencing spells, and their walk-in closet, and Hermione’s knickers, and the time she left them behind…
He snorted at the thought of what Ron and his friends would think if he were the type to kiss and tell (or given that he was a teen-aged male, “shag and brag”). Harry doubted that anyone would be surprised that Hermione was still a virgin, but if they knew just how comfortable she’d become around him without clothing, or how randily she romped within her comfort zone, their toes would probably curl.
The day she went commando was a prime example. First day on the job working for the Prime Minister at 10 Downing Street and she does that? Worse still, she let Harry know she was doing it? It was all he could do not to jump her as soon as she got back from work. But she resisted, and told him that he needed to wait until after they watched a memory of her first day.
Since that was the day she had arranged for the Death Eater bank accounts to be frozen, Harry had expected that she’d be showing him the pensieved memory of her meeting with the Chief Cashier of the Bank of England. But instead, she surprised him with a string of seemingly random events (for example, her introduction to another staff member, a walk up the stairs, her first sit behind her new desk, and a shared lunch with the Chief-of-Staff). Harry wasn’t able to piece together the puzzle once they’d been pulled out of the pensieve, so it was up to Hermione to explain.
Each of the scenes were situations where visual proof of her commando status was available, if only somebody had been properly positioned and had known to look. She then gave Harry a wide smile and asked if he wanted to review the memory again.
Harry never would have thought that almost-shagging could be so much fun. And hot. And satisfying.
The memory of reviewing that memory was enough to distract his full bladder and give him a different reason to be aroused. It was while he was trying to quietly take care of this “problem” that Hermione woke up.
“What are you doing, Harry?” she asked, using her very best sleepy-sexy-coy voice.
He froze.
“Erm…thinking of you,” Harry replied with embarrassment. He then recovered quickly enough to ask, “Want to help?”
Hermione groaned. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry, but now’s not…I’m feeling a bit off.”
Harry thought for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry, I should have remembered that it wasn’t a good time of the month.”
That comment caused Hermione to wake up in a hurry. “What?” she asked. “How did you know…I mean…we weren’t that intimate a month ago, were we?”
Harry chuckled. “No we weren’t.”
“Then how?”
“Well, I could say it was the only logical reason why you wore a nightgown and the most conservative pair of knickers in your dresser to bed last night.”
“You could, but that’s not it, huh?”
Harry shook his head. “The fact is, I’ve, erm…I’ve known the timing of your monthly cycles for a couple of years now.”
“What?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Looking somewhat aghast, the bushy-haired witch replied, “What reason would you have had for knowing that sort of thing about me…before now?”
Harry chuckled. “Hermione, it wasn’t information that I went out searching for, it’s just something I came to know over time.” He pulled her into a hug, kissed her temple, and added, “Might have something to do with the fact that for the past six years I’ve shared most of my classes, all of my meals and most of my free time with you.”
“And just what did you do with this knowledge, Mr. Potter?”
“Besides knowing when to make extra efforts to keep Ron from annoying you?”
Hermione scowled playfully as she pushed his shoulder away. “Yes, you git.”
Harry shook his head and smiled. “Dunno…don’t think I ever made a point of it…maybe gave you a bit more room, and bit my tongue a bit more…”
With her face covered with her hands, she sighed, “Merlin, Harry…we are such the old couple.”
“Don’t say that, Hermione,” Harry asked. “It’ll mean we can’t enjoy our youthful wild sides.”
“Why?” his girlfriend asked. “Can’t you have wild sides when you get older?”
Harry snickered. “Well I suppose so, if we use your parents as examples.” He then made it a point to look towards the guest bedroom. “Which reminds me, did you cast a silencing spell on their walls last night?”
Hermione threw her pillow at Harry’s head. “Oh, you are terrible.” She then grabbed her wand from the nightstand, threw off the covers and said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
The Queen's Wizard gave her a pained look. “What, and leave me here all excited?”
“I thought you were supposed to be the understanding boyfriend sensitive to his girlfriend’s condition?”
“I am,” Harry protested. “But as you can see, my, erm…“condition” here…”
Hermione laughed …he really was cute, and thoughtful, and amazing. But that didn’t change just how icky she felt right then.
An idea sprung to mind.
“Hold that thought, but don’t hold anything else just yet,” she ordered.
Not waiting for a response, she left the bedroom, only to return a half-minute later with the pensieve.
“I’ve got another memory for you,” she coyly said, as she set the rune-covered bowl onto the bed.
Harry gave her a confused look.
Hermione smiled and explained, “It’s something I didn’t show you from commando day.”
“Really?” Harry said with interest. “And just what will I see?”
She smiled. “Me, alone in my new office, while I…what were you doing just now, when I woke up?”
“Erm… thinking of you?”
“Ah, yes. I was in my office...thinking of you.”
Harry’s eyes lit up as he rushed to the bathroom for some necessary business. He returned with a rather wanton look of anticipation on his face as Hermione placed the memory thread into the bowl.
Harry was about to dive in when he reached over and grabbed her hand.
“Would you like to join me?”
Hermione tilted her head in thought. “You want me to watch myself?”
Harry shrugged. “You could always watch me while I watch the memory of you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And just what will I see while I watch you?”
Harry grinned. “More thinking, I imagine.”
Hermione frowned a bit. “I’m still feeling off, though.”
“I know, but maybe…maybe when you leave your body behind and mentally jump into the pensieve, you might not feel so bad?”
The bushy-haired witch furrowed her eyebrows. “I’ve never thought about that before…are you suggesting that I could project an avatar that would feel different from how I’m feeling right now?”
“One way to find out…why don’t you idealize how you would like to be feeling right before you jump?”
“Okay,” Hermione replied.
“Oh, and maybe your avatar wouldn’t have to be wearing the same clothes?”
Hermione smiled as she raised her night-gown high enough to expose her knickers. “What, you don’t like my mollypants?”
Harry’s face pruned up and he shivered. “Oi, Hermione, that’s not an image I want in my head right now.”
“Well, then,” she replied. “we best be making sure something better is in its place.” And after a clearly formed thought was in her head, she dived into the pensieve.
They emerged fifteen minutes later with proof that avatars didn’t need clothing and didn’t get cramps.
oo00OO00oo
Saturday, July 7, 7:30am
Somewhere Hidden in Wiltshire
Voldemort thought that the goblin council’s latest demands were outrageous, but realized that they could have been worse:
“For failure to properly restrain your minions, and to provide us with Lucius Malfoy’s head, the Grand Goblin Council has served notice to the leaders of every non-human sentient species that any assistance they or their own provide you and your Death Eaters will be considered an act of war against the Goblin Nation. In addition, with this message we serve notice that you and your minions are prohibited from use of the Morsmorde spell, or the casting of the Dark Mark, within the visible range of Muggles. Should you ignore this edict, the Goblin Nation will openly declare war against you.”
Attached to this notice was a second note, informing Voldemort that Malfoy’s head might cause the council to rethink their decisions. The goblins were then kind enough to provide Voldemort with the most likely location of Malfoy’s head.
The crystal that had encased the holographic goblin edict disintegrated before Voldemort had the opportunity to show it to anyone else. He was therefore forced to give a summary when he called in a few of his inner circle for their opinions on the matter.
The Death Eaters had been much more willing to offer candid assessments now that their Master couldn’t hurl unforgivables willy-nilly. Rookwood started by giving the goblins credit for their cunning, noting their actions could be considered justifiable by those worried about preserving the secrets of the wizarding world. Bellatrix disagreed, arguing that the Morsmorde spell was the only way that the Ministry idiots knew they had a mess to clean up after some Muggle hunting. Rookwood then suggested that was the whole point, and that the goblins wanted to halt all wizard attacks against Muggles. When Wormtail asked why goblins would want to protect Muggles, the elder Nott explained that goblins were barred from investing in the wizarding world, so they had to invest in Muggle banks and businesses. Unexplained magical attacks on Muggles provoked panic, and panic was bad for business.
They then spent a few minutes arguing over how the Ministry of Magic would respond if the goblins did attack them. The consensus was that the Ministry would reluctantly agree to a temporary truce with the Death Eaters, so that a united wizard front could be presented against the enemy. Nearly all of the Death Eaters had attended Hogwarts, and been taught History of Magic by Binns (in both living and ghostly forms). And if Binns taught you anything, he taught you about the Goblin Wars. There was ample historical precedent for warring wizard factions to cooperate just long enough to beat back assaults by other sentient species.
Finally, MacNair asked how the werewolves would react to the goblin council’s edict, and whether it would affect their plans for that night’s full moon. Voldemort expressed his confidence that the werewolves would be loyal to him, and would be furious at the thought of being ordered around by the goblins. The Death Eaters actually chuckled when their Master joked about needing to make sure that Greyback and his pack didn’t change their minds, and attack Gringott’s rather than their primary targets.
Voldemort then dismissed everyone but Rookwood with orders to proceed with their established plans for that night. The Dark Lord then told him what he had withheld from the others…that the goblins still wanted Malfoy dead, and had been kind enough to tell them where he was hiding.
The former Unspeakable wasn’t very surprised when his Master gave him the street address of the Rookery. He knew about the building, and knew the names of some of the Patriarchs who owned flats there. The Rookwood Patriarch was one of those owners, and the whispered stories about the games Grandfather played there were closely kept family secrets.
He already knew that Malfoy was a Rookery Patriarch. It also didn’t surprise him when his Master changed his assignment for the night’s attacks. There’d be one less wizard creating illegal portkeys while the diversions were taking place, but Voldemort had already made Karkaroff’s capture, torture, and death a warning to all - nobody can ignore their Master’s summons.
And with Malfoy dead….Rookwood pondered the new Inner Circle pecking order as he packed the boot of his Cooper. But as Legimens was one of the very few spells that could be cast without being detected, he waited until he was on the road and well away from his Master before daring to ponder far more dangerous thoughts…thoughts about surviving in a world without Voldemort.
9:30am, 19 Pennywell Road, Bristol
As he navigated a roundabout a few blocks away from the Bristol safe house, Augustus Rookwood let out a sigh of relief.. The fuel indicator needle had been hovering dangerously close to “E” for the past thirty kilometers, and he’d not had enough Muggle cash to stop for a refill. Now that he had made it that far, the Death Eaters at the safe house would have more than enough funds to fill his Cooper’s petrol tank (so long as they hadn’t wasted it on take-away meals and Muggle beer).
The thought of what he would find at the safe house on Pennywell Road was enough to raise his stress levels all on its own. The somewhat shabby row house was one of the four Death Eater hide-outs within the Muggle world that was under his control and command. While Rookwood would have liked to think that this responsibility was a reflection of the Dark Lord’s trust, he was smart enough to know that it had more to do with his automobile, and the fact that he understood the Muggle world better than any other Death Eater.
Few knew his dirty little secret, and fewer still could reconcile that knowledge with his pure-blooded bigotry and disdain for the Muggle world. As an Auror during the start of the First War, he had volunteered for “Muggle training” at his Master’s command, and quickly moved up the ranks within the Oblivator Squads responsible for mopping-up after Death Eater attacks. Rookwood’s cunning and expertise when it came to sanitizing Muggle incidents led to his recruitment by the Unspeakable Department. They had their own ideas on Muggle training, and it involved throwing its recruits off the deep end and seeing if they could swim.
For the first six months as an Unspeakable he lived without using his wand. He held a job as a low-level bureaucrat within the Muggle government, inhabited a Muggle flat, and lived as Muggles lived. It was horrible, but instructive, and good preparation for his Unspeakable Department assignment as an intelligence agent, responsible for following the actions of the Muggle government and its military. He held this post through the end of the First War, and even managed to hold on to it when it became necessary to use the Imperius Curse defense to keep him from Azkaban Prison.
Rookwood’s relative ease within the Muggle world had proven itself vital to Voldemort in the days immediately after their defeat at the Ministry of Magic. It was his knowledge that kept the four Muggle safe houses secret, and at least semi-inhabitable. This was no small feat, given that the thirty to forty Death Eaters that were hiding in these locations started with almost no clues on how Muggle things worked. He had been forced to become an instructor of “Remedial Muggle Studies,” with practical lessons on everything from train schedules to the proper use of soap. Learn quick or starve was proper motivation for most, and three of the four safe houses were now able to operate mostly on their own. But then there was Bristol…the house where all of the stupid ones stayed.
It seemed like he was there every other day fixing one crisis or another. And still they hadn’t learned. It was that very reason why he was driving there that day…while the other Death Eaters could be trusted to use Muggle trains and buses to get to their assigned posts by nightfall, Rookwood would be ferrying this crew to their spots by himself, traveling three at a time in his Cooper.
The former Unspeakable got his hopes up as he drove past the safe house, for its exterior displayed no obvious signs of something being off. But then he turned into the alleyway behind the house, and came upon a wizard in Death Eater robes who was relieving himself against the back of the building.
He swore, quickly parked the car, and looked up and down the street to see if there was any immediate threats. Seeing none, he leapt out and began to berate He-who-Had-no-Brains.
“Oy, Carrow, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?”
Amycus Carrow jerked his head in surprise, throwing his aim off enough to get his left shoe wet. “Sorry, guv’nor,” the Death Eater replied, “I’ll be right there.”
“Put it away, you idiot, and get inside!”
“Right, guv’nor, almost done, guv’nor.”
Rookwood grabbed Amycus by the hood (at least the fool had left his mask inside), and pulled him up the back stairs as he tried to fasten his fly. A slight, but noticeable odor of excrement greeted him as he crossed the threshold into the house’s kitchen. He slammed the younger Carrow down onto a kitchen chair and continued his dressing down.
“You sorry excuse for a wizard, what made you think it was okay to empty your bladder in a public alleyway?”
“I checked nobody was looking first,” Amycus explained.
“And the chance that somebody would come upon you with your wand out…somebody, like say, erm…me?”
“Didn’t have a choice, guv’nor,” the Death Eater explained. “That Muggle toilet isn’t working.”
Rookwood rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Two minutes and he already had a headache on his hands. Reflexively, he opened a kitchen cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. It was his own special stash, protected by the “childproof” cap that worked just as well against wizards. After popping a couple of pills into his hand, he pulled the least-dirty glass off of the shelf and filled it with water. The hand-written signs that he had posted on the sink and basin stood as silent testament to his plight…one sign distinguished between hot and cold faucets, a second sign gave instructions on how to turn each faucet on and off, and a third stated “To get water that is neither hot nor cold, open both faucets at the same time.”
Rookwood swallowed the Muggle medicine, turned back to Amycus Carrow, and asked, “So what is wrong with the toilet?”
“Dunno’, guv’nor,” the Death Eater replied. “We push the handle, just like you showed us, but the water just overflows and the turds don’t disappear.”
Augustus shook his head, and wondered whether there was time enough to hold a lesson on the proper use of a Muggle plunger.
“And just what did you try and flush down the toilet, then?”
“Dunno, guv’nor,” Carrow replied. “Nobody will admit to having stuffed it up.”
“Of course not,” Rookwood replied. He wondered whether this was the sort of thing that would justify a Cruciatus had they not been so easily tracked.
“And wearing your robes, what’s that about?”
“Erm…only thing I’ve got that has cleaning charms applied to ‘em. Me sis says me Muggle clothes are a bit too ripe to be worn in public.”
“So you figured that you’d draw less attention to yourself by wearing your Death Eater robes?” Rookwood shouted. “Didn’t I show you how to use the washing machine?”
“Erm, yeah, you did, gov’nor, but that stopped working a couple of days ago as well.”
The former Unspeakable rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing pain within his head. He then said (almost too quiet for Carrow’s liking), “Gather up the others, I’ve come to take you to your posts for tonight’s attacks.”
Amycus nodded. “Erm, any chance you can look to the toilet, guv’nor?”
Rookwood shook his head. “We’ll have to leave it. It’ll take me all morning to make the rounds, and then I have my own places to be.”
“Right, guv’nor.”
“Oh, and Amycus,” the former Unspeakable said, “Slight change of plans. You and your dear sister will be with me tonight.”
“Why’s that, guv’nor?” Carrow asked.
“Because,” Rookwood replied coldly, “we need to be making a social call in London.”
Chapter 28 - The Basilisk Harvest
Saturday , July 7, 10:00am
Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade
Ron’s anchor point caught Harry and Hermione by surprise. Hermione badge-called Remus to inform him that they had arrived safely while Harry caught his friend’s attention.
“Any particular reason why you picked this spot for our jump?”
“Oh, well…it was empty, and I, erm… I wanted to prank Hermione for anchoring that jump into the women’s lav at that Muggle restaurant a few weeks back.”
“Erm…okay,” Harry replied tentatively.
“Wouldn’t the prank have been more effective if this were the Wizard’s lav, rather than the Witch’s?”
“Well…sure...it’s just that the wizard’s loo was a little smelly, and so…”
“When have you ever worried about smells in a loo?”
A toilet flushed before Ron could reply. A stall door opened and Luna walked out with a smile on her face.
“Good morning, Harry, Hermione,” she said brightly. She then leaned over and gave Ron a peck on the cheek as she made her way to the wash basin.
“Thanks for waiting, Ronnikins,” she chirped. “Anyone else need to go?”
“Erm, I’m good,” Harry said with a smirk and a sidelong glance towards Ron.
“Me too,” added Hermione, with a shake of her head.
“Right, then…we’re off?” Ron asked, hoping to get out of this embarrassing situation as quickly as possible.
“Sure,” Harry said. “Oh…wait.” He reached into his knapsack and retrieved two packages. Handing them to Ron and Luna, he explained that they were the latest style of Clan Potter robes.
Luna smiled as she opened the package and held the dark maroon robe out in front of her. “They’re lovely,” she said, as she unfastened her old robes and let them drop to the ground. This left Luna clad in nothing more than sandals and a pair of bright red knickers that were emblazoned in the front with a gold crown, below which in big gold letters and all-caps was “WEASLEY.”
“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, as he stepped forward to cover his girlfriend in an embrace.
Harry dropped his eyes and began to inspect the lavatory floor. “Hey Ron, looks like you picked the right place to anchor our jump after all,” he snarked.
“Erm, Luna…you do know that you can apply cooling charms to your robes, right?” Hermione asked.
Luna shrugged her shoulders as she pushed Ron away and casually pulled the new robes over her head. “Of course,” she replied, as she ran her hands down the front of her new outfit. When her fingers got caught within a hidden seam Luna squealed in delight.
“You remembered!” she exclaimed. Luna ripped open the Velcro fastenings of a horizontal flap, exposing both her belly button and a fair bit of surrounding skin.
Harry looked up at the blonde-haired witch and smiled. “Well, we can’t allow for any nargle nesting within Clan Potter, can we?”
Luna shook her head and turned to her boyfriend, who had just pulled his new robe over his Muggle t-shirt and jeans.
“Oh, good, you did the same bit of tailoring for Ronald,” she observed. Luna then reached out and ripped open his robe’s stomach flap. Without warning she pulled out her wand and exposed his belly with a bit of magical cropping.
“What’cha do that for, Luna?” Ron asked.
Luna paid no mind as she bent down and stuck her tongue into Ron’s navel. She twirled it around for a few seconds (causing Ron to flinch and complain about being ticklish), then announced that she had completed her nargle inspection.
“Are we good to go, then?” Hermione asked.
Luna nodded. “Unless we have time for me to manually check for ants in his pants.”
“Erm, how about later, Luv?” Ron asked meekly.
His girlfriend looked up at him and smiled. “Okay, but only if you promise to inspect me as well.”
Ron’s face grew even redder as Harry declared, “To much information!” He then showed the couple how to activate the mild notice-me-not charms that had been applied to the new robes. This allowed Ron to exit the woman’s lavatory without becoming any more embarrassed than he already was.
Luna had expressed an interest in the basilisk harvest, so they had met at the Three Broomsticks so that she (and Ron) could use the floo connection. Harry and Hermione could have just jumped directly into Hogwarts using Remus as an anchor, but there was safety in numbers, and the fifteen minute walk gave the two couples time to catch up. Luna spent most of that time talking about her Ministry internship. Her reward for being Harry’s friend (and Slug Club party date) had been a menial posting within the centralized mailroom.
For ten hours a day, five days a week, Luna’s job was to date spell incoming mail and route it to the correct Ministry department. The only other spell she was permitted to use was the flying memo incantation. Over the past few days, she had been successfully exploring just how much intent could influence this charm. As a result, rather than sending out simple airplanes, Luna was now creating flying origami swans, owls, and hippogriffs. Harry cheekily suggested that she turn the messages into paper thestrals, which would only be visible if the recipient had seen someone using common sense.
They found Horace Slughorn waiting for them at the gates of Hogwarts, intent on maximizing opportunities for fawning and face time with the Queen’s Wizard and Potter Clan Chief. While Harry really wanted to turn the “notice-me-not” charm on high, he followed Hermione’s lead and deactivated his robe warding. The Potions professor greeted everyone warmly, then proceeded to virtually ignore the others as he bent Harry’s ear on the way to the second floor lavatory.
Remus was waiting for them with a small wooden cage in his hand and a large snake coiled at his feet.
“Good morning, Remus,” Harry said cheerfully as he shook the werewolf’s hand. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit wolfish around the edges,” Remus admitted.
“I take it that the potion will be ready by tonight?” Harry asked, as he turned an eye towards Slughorn.
“Oh, of course, Clan Chief Potter,” the potions master replied quickly. “I’ve got the cauldron on its final simmer.”
“Good,” Harry replied. He then squatted down and hissed a Parseltongue greeting towards the reptile.
While the two were conversing, Ron asked Hermione why there was a large snake in the lavatory.
“Harry got tired of jumping back and forth just to open the Chamber for them,” Hermione explained. “So he summoned the snake and struck a deal for its services.”
Harry looked back over his shoulders towards Ron. “Horace and his buddy on the other side of the entrance can use snake speak to open and close the Chamber when I’m not here.”
“How does the snake know when to open the door?”
Remus held up the small cage, displaying a unusually large rat inside the bars.
“The toll is one rodent per entrance.”
Ron frowned. “Isn’t that a bit too easy for just anyone who wants to go in?”
Harry chuckled. “It’s only easy if the bad guys know Horace’s unusual tastes.” He nodded towards the cage that Remus was holding and explained, “We imported prairie dogs from Latin America…turns out Horace and his mate have a thing for Mexican food.”
The snake bobbed its head up and down, flicked his forked tongue towards the cage and announced, “I’ssss likesss itsss sss-spicy.”
Harry laughed as he translated the snake’s comments to the others. He then politely asked Horace to open the Chamber entrance. The snake complied, then coiled under one of the adjacent wash basins with his early lunch.
The goblins had modified the sloped pipe that connected the lavatory to the Chamber with an eye towards comfort. The pipe interior was charmed to glow luminescent green, and alcoves had been dug into either side of the pipehead. Small carpets were piled on one side of the pipe, facing an ersatz toll booth from which a now sleeping snake could be enticed to open the entrance from the inside.
Remus showed the others how to lie down on one of the carpets and gave them the code phrase to start the ride. He said that the carpets were linked somehow, so as to avoid head-on collisions. Hermione smiled, and commented just how much it resembled a Muggle water park’s tube slide. Remus then excused himself, citing the need to rest before nightfall.
The trip down the pipe was uneventful, save for Luna’s impromptu decision to jump on top of her boyfriend and demonstrate that two could ride at the same time. The carpets took them well beyond the base of the pipe and ferried them laterally through the tunnels. They cruised past the cleared rock slide and stopped directly in front of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The head of the goblin engineering team was there, waiting to give them a tour.
“Irongrip,” Harry said, as he reached for the goblin’s hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us this morning.”
“No thanks are necessary, Clan Chief Potter,” the goblin replied, “as we have business to complete now that our exploration efforts are complete.”
Harry shook his head. “You know that I trust you to equitably divide the findings, Irongrip.”
The goblin smiled. “Yes, Clan Chief, yet we must still pay respect to certain protocols, true?”
The goblin engineer smiled, and then led the small group into the Chamber proper. The cavernous area looked the same to Harry as it had during his first trip, save for a ladder propped up against the statue’s opened mouth and the wire fencing that surrounded the basilisk carcass. Slughorn’s eyes fell immediately upon the dead basilisk, while the others took just a few moments to admire the architecture.
“Blimey, Harry,” Ron exclaimed, as he walked up towards the fence. “This is what I missed tangling with Second Year?”
Harry snorted. “Doesn’t look as big now that I’ve grown a bit myself.”
The others chided Harry for his modesty as they marveled at the size of the giant serpent. Hermione buried her face into her boyfriend’s chest, expressing words of wonder and regret that she hadn’t been by his side during that fight. He reassured her that he wouldn’t have had any idea what he was up against had it not been for the parchment message in her petrified hand.
When Ron commented that the basilisk didn’t smell, and was amazingly well-preserved given the amount of time since its death, Slughorn informed them that basilisk flesh was so poisonous that maggots and other microscopic carrion wouldn’t go near it. Hermione then noted that the basilisk flesh should have dried out even if nothing chose to eat it. When Slughorn nodded in agreement, the goblin jumped in and told Hermione that they had found some magic that might explain the preservation. They acknowledged Irongrip somewhat absently, their minds distracted by the potential price and horcrux-killing potency of fresh basilisk venom.
Harry suggested that they continue the tour and begin the harvest after lunch. The goblin engineer then led the group to one side of the statue, where a secret door had been discovered and unsealed. This doorway led into a small apartment that housed a small library filled with ancient works on Dark Magic. Hermione let out a predictable squee as she ran to the bookshelves and began reading the titles. When Harry warned her to be careful, Irongrip reassured them that each book had been checked for wards and curses. The only charm that they had found on the books was one that prevented them from being taken from the room. The goblin told Harry that there a chance that this charm could be removed, but at serious risk to destroying the books in the process. Hermione’s head jerked back towards Harry when she heard this, and gave him a look that reinforced his opinion that the books could be left well enough alone until she had taken a closer look.
Once the living area was fully explored the goblin took them up the ladder, through the statue’s mouth, and into the basilisk’s lair. The rough-hewn area was surprisingly clean and sparsely appointed. As the witches and wizards lit their wand tips they spied two large bowls…one filled with water, the other filled with bleached animal skeletons.
Hermione smiled. “I wondered how a forty-foot basilisk could survive for a thousand years with only a few mice to eat.” Irongrip nodded, not surprised that the Clan Chief’s Consort had identified the bowls’ purposes.
“These bowls have strong ever-full charms applied to them so that Slytherin’s pet would always have something to eat and drink."
Ron furrowed his eyebrows as he looked more closely at the skeletons. “What are those...dogs?”
“We believe that they are non-magical deer,” the goblin replied.
“So whenever the basilisk pulled some dinner out of this bowl another deer was magically summoned?”
“Would love to have a smaller one of these filled with mum’s cooking,” he replied with awe.
Slughorn asked about the ever-full bowl of water, speculating that it could have provided enough humidity within the Chamber to keep the basilisk carcass fresh. The goblin agreed with that idea.
At that point Ron took another look around the lair and asked, “So if the basilisk ate deer for dinner, where are all of the table scraps?”
The goblin gestured towards a small pit in a corner of the room. “That hole in the floor has a banishing charm applied to its base.”
“Really?” Ron asked. “I suppose that the basilisk was potty-trained as well, and used that pit as a loo?”
The goblin showed his teeth in a broad smile when Hermione snarked, “Ronald, not all sentients are slobs.”
Taking a glance down at his watch, Harry politely asked Irongrip if this was the extent of the tour. The goblin nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the gemstones that they had pried from the Chamber’s door.
“The two bowls and these stones are all of the treasure that we found, Clan Chief, unless you care to argue that the bowls are Slytherin relics.”
Harry snorted in response. “Unless they’re autographed by the wizard himself, their yours for the taking, Irongrip, and I’m sorry that your efforts failed to yield more than this.”
It was the goblin’s turn to snort. “Do not worry, Clan Chief…these bowls are rare, and more valuable than you might think.”
“What, somebody has another basilisk that they need to feed?” Ron asked.
The goblin shook his head. “No, but Gringott’s does employ protective devices with rather large appetites.”
“The dragons down in the caverns,” Harry concluded.
Irongrip nodded. “Right now they dine from ever-full bowls of beef and mutton…they will be very happy to have an expanded menu.”
After agreeing to a fair-market value to the gemstones and bowls for the purposes of Harry’s finder’s fee, the goblin led them back down to the hidden quarters where they ate a picnic lunch prepared by the Palace. Irongrip then gathered the bowls and left for Gringott’s while the others headed back towards the basilisk. After donning protective clothing from head to toe and getting a stern safety lecture from Slughorn, the five witches and wizards got on with the messy task at hand.
Augustus Rookwood turned onto Shaftesbury Avenue and smiled. He could finally give a different answer to the one of the two questions that had been asked a dozen different times from the back seat.
The former Unspeakable sighed. “Yes, Amycus, we are here.”
“No, business first,” the Death Eater said firmly.
“But there’s a pub right over there…take but a minute to pop in for a pint and some pie…”
“He said shut it!” Alecto screeched from the front passenger seat.
“Fine,” the younger Carrow sibling mumbled.
Rookwood slowed down just a bit as they passed the front entrance to The Rookery. There wasn’t anyone in front of the building. With the blare of a car horn from behind encouraging the Death Eater to move on, he then spent close to thirty minutes to find a parking space within a mile of their target.
The former Unspeakable sported a near-continuous scowl as they made their way back towards The Rookery by foot. The younger Carrow’s hunger complaints were building on what had already been a horrid day. It had taken all morning to shuttle the safe house’s other occupants to their assigned starting points for the night’s attack, followed by a long drive into London with the Carrows. The only stop they had made was at a discount clothing store to replace their Muggle clothing. The original mismatched outfits had reeked to the point of gagging (which was saying something given the noisome tortures that Rookwood had participated in over the years). Without sufficient time or funds to dress them properly, Rookwood had been forced to purchase brightly colored casual wear for the two. They were quite a contrast to Rookwood’s smartly tailored three-piece suit, but at least they were clean and internally consistent.
The senior Death Eater finally gave in to his companion’s badgering and found a place to eat lunch. He wasn’t surprised when the Carrows confidently stepped up to the counter and rattled off their orders; given the amount of fast-food wrappings that had littered the Bristol safe house it was clearly one part of the Muggle world that the two had embraced. The only hurdle to overcome was Amycus’s outrage at finding the same toy in his Happy Meal that he’d collected the week before.
The Rookery was only a few minutes walk from the restaurant. As soon as they were within sight of the building, Rookwood pulled the other two to the side of the walkway, surreptitiously removed a rune stone from his pocket, and traced the runic character with his wand tip. He gripped the stone tightly and whispered an incantation. A sharp pain erupted inside Rookwood’s head that spread out like twin daggers cutting out towards his eyes. He silently endured a few moments of excruciating torture before the pain subsided and he reopened his eyes.
The vision stone was one of the artifacts that Rookwood had managed to liberate from the Department of Mysteries before being outed as a Death Eater. It provided a limited form of mage sight that revealed and identified the more common types of protective wards. While Rookwood knew several diagnostic spells that could provide the same kind of information far less painfully, the stone’s magic didn’t trip the Ministry’s magical sensors, and was therefore much more useful when one wanted to do a bit of quiet surveillance.
With this rune sight active the former Unspeakable paid close notice as they walked towards the Rookery. The anti-apparition charm was slightly off color, indicating that it was the variant that allowed certain people keyed into the ward to bypass it. There was a portkey suppression ward in place that appeared to be similarly modified, as well as standard Muggle repelling charms. Within the repelling ward, though, was something that Rookwood had never seen before.
His curiosity piqued, he stopped a half-block short of the front entrance and ordered Amycus to walk inside. It took a bit of arm-twisting from his sister, but the Death Eater finally agreed and made his way up to the front steps of the building. With Rookwood’s rune sight active he watched as a separate repelling ward that he had earlier missed enveloped Amycus, only to magically push him away from the entrance. The Death Eater spun on his heals, and with a look of confusion on his face started to walk down the street away from the other two.
Rookwood swore quietly, then sent Carrow’s sister off to retrieve him. He followed behind at a slower pace. As he passed by a building that was under repair Rookwood stopped by a bin of construction debris and picked up a hand-sized fragment of brick. He held the stone close to his side, trying to draw as little attention as possible as he tossed it up the stairs and into Rookery’s front entrance.
The wards didn’t bother to spit the brick fragment back out.
With a nod of recognition and an idea formed in his head, the former Unspeakable continued his stroll down the street. While it wouldn’t have taken much effort to catch the Carrows, Rookwood maintained his rather sedate pace. So long as he could keep the other two Death Eaters within his sight, he was going to enjoy this bit of idiot-free solitude.
Harry Potter was busy magically scraping off bits of flesh from the underside of the basilisk hide when he felt his Art Club badge vibrate. Not wanting to say too much in front of Slughorn, he turned towards Hermione, who was elbow deep in basilisk gizzard, and gave her a questioning look with a finger pointed towards his chest. She shook her head, indicating that her badge hadn’t been activated. Harry nodded, and announced that he needed to take a break. It took a good five minutes for his protective clothing to be Scourgified and decontaminated to the point where he could strip down and gain access to his badge.
Making his way to the hidden living area, Harry took note that it was Mrs. Granger calling him.
“Harry,” she said after their greetings, “we’ve got something you should take a look at down here at the Rookery.”
“Lucius decide to go on a walk-about?” Harry asked.
“No, we had somebody trying to make an unauthorized entrance into the building, and then a minute later somebody decided to throw a brick up the stairs as they walked by.”
“Really?” Harry asked. “Were they glamoured?”
“No, but the first bloke was wearing a cap low on his face, and the second one was sporting a rather nasty hairpiece.”
“So maybe Muggle disguises…anything else you notice about them?”
“Just that a woman went chasing after the first guy once he left the front entrance, yelling out the name Amycus.”
Harry covered his badge so that his swearing wouldn’t reach Mrs. Granger’s ears. He then told Emily that he’d join her in a few minutes, and made his way back into the Chamber.
“Got some Queen’s Wizardry to attend to, I’m afraid,” he announced. Ron and Hermione looked up with alarm. “Nothing immediate…just checking up on a few new visitors on Shaftesbury.”
“Sure you don’t need our help?” Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head. “Not right now…how much longer before we’re done here?”
Slughorn looked up from his work and said that it would only be a few more hours. Harry nodded, and asked Hermione to ring him up once they were finished. Giving wide berth to the basilisk body hot zone, Harry made his way out of the Chamber and badge-jumped to London.
3:30pm, Smithfield Market, Central London
Severus Snape stepped onto the curb with a thin wallet and thick scowl. Hiring the taxi had been an expensive but necessary luxury, given the lack of meeting place directions and his unfamiliarity with the area. His Death Eater comrades hadn’t been any help, not that he was surprised…whether Light or Dark, wizards and witches had avoided this part of Central London for centuries. This was perhaps due to the fact that Smithfield had been, over the years, a favorite spot for Muggles to burn witches, behead heretics, and boil counterfeiters in oil.
The Potions Master looked up and down the street for before walking into the “Stake and Ale,” a working-man’s pub whose signage played up local history with an image of a pointy-hat witch within flames. The strong contrast between sunny street and darkened interior forced Snape to squint. As his eyes adjusted his nose took in strong scents of tobacco, beer, and raw meat, which he soon attributed to the burly patrons…meatpackers whose clothing still bore the stains and smells that came from working just down the street within the largest wholesale meat market in the world.
Snape scanned the room, then walked up to the bar in front of a portly, ham-fisted barmaid who was filling stout into a marginally clean glass.
“Right with you, Luv,” she said with a smile.
The barmaid dropped the full pint glass in front of a patron and deflected a ribald comment as she took a few coins from the pile in front of him. After ringing up the sale, she returned to the wizard and asked, “What can I get you?”
Calling upon the self-restraint typically reserved for Dark Lords and First Years, Severus grimaced as he stated the pre-arranged recognition code.
The request brought jeers from up and down the bar. The barmaid waited for the crowd to settle down before leaning over the bar towards Snape. Almost nose-to-nose with him she reached up and cupped her ample bosom with both hands.
“Aye, I do…will it be the left teat, or right?”
The approving roar of laughter from the other patrons drowned out Snape’s response, so that only the barmaid heard his reply.
“Madame,” he drawled, “won’t there be more of a selection tonight?”
The cheeky reply caught the barmaid by surprise. She couldn’t help but laugh as she nodded towards a small table at the back of the pub, then told her co-worker that she was going on break for a bit. There being little concern for hired help drinking on the job, the woman brought two pints of ale with her as she walked out from behind the bar and took a seat across from the Potions Master.
“Sorry for the bit of fun…this one’s on the house,” she said, placing the two glasses side-by-side in the center of the table. Snape looked at the glasses with suspicion, selected one, and placed his nose to the thin head.
“A bit cautious, eh wizard?” the woman asked, as she grabbed the other pint glass and brought it to her lips.
“Madame, it is the only way to live these days,” Snape replied, before taking a draw from his own glass.
“The name’s Maggie,” the woman replied. “Though most around here call me Mother.”
“I see little need for informality,” the Potions Master stated. He looked back towards the bar and asked, “Are you certain this is a secure location?”
“Of course,” the barmaid replied. “You’re likely the only wizard within a mile of this place, and a few of those blokes at the bar are my boys.”
Snape stared at the woman for a minute, before gazing back towards the bar. “Will they be in any condition to run with you tonight?”
Mother Maggie chuckled. “They’d need to be swimming in beer for them to notice once they transform. No worries, wizard…they’ll follow the Pack’s Alpha bitch.”
Severus frowned as he pulled a stoppered vial out from an inside coat pocket. “And with this wolfsbane, there’ll be no reason for you not to follow our Lord’s, lead, correct?”
The barmaid snorted as she pocketed the vial. “I’d follow my Pack-leader to my death, if he asked me. So long as Fenrir follows your wizard master, you can count on me.”
Snape sneered. “Were it my decision all of your Pack would be on wolfsbane and keeping their wits about them.”
“What makes you think they’d be so willing to kill were that the case?” Maggie asked. “Few within the Pack are as aggressive during the rest of the month.”
The Potions Master cast an appraising eye across the table. The woman before him struck him as closer in kind to Molly Weasley than Greyback. “I take it that you lack that…reticence?”
Maggie leered. “Wouldn’t be Fenrir’s Alpha if I didn’t.”
“And just how was it that Greyback chose a Muggle for his Alpha?”
The barmaid laughed. “Made the choice easy for him, wizard. I either killed or covered every other witch and bitch in the Pack.”
“Wasn’t all that hard,” Maggie said sarcastically. “Their magic’s no help when the moon is full…it’s the muscle that carries over into the night, and the lot of ‘em are weak-kneed daisies when their wolf isn’t with ‘em.”
Snape paused, then retorted, “Yes, well…just remember that others and I will be in the Alley as well...we won’t hesitate to cut you down if you or yours stray from your assigned tasks.”
The woman gave a Snape-worthy scowl as she rose from the table. “Don’t tempt me, wizard.”
Snape snarled. “You are certain of your target, then?”
Maggie snorted. “Yes, yes…look for the Diagon Alley shop with three big W’s over the entrance...”
“…and focus on anyone with red hair,” Snape added. “You have a secure entry point, I assume?”
Fenrir’s Alpha nodded. “We’ll be there,” she replied. “Did you drop enough breadcrumbs to ensure you’ll find the way back yourself, wizard?”
Snape nodded. Considering his mission accomplished, and the need to continue the banter diminished, he took a long sip from his glass. “The potion must be consumed no more than thirty minutes before tonight’s sunset.” He left before allowing the werewolf to reply.
It took a minute for his eyes to readjust to the daylight, and for him to get his bearings. Not that he really needed to…he’d be apparting into Diagon Alley that night. And if the werewolves did their jobs right, the Ministry would be too busy to care.