(A/N: Sorry I was a bit late! As fate would have it, the very chapter after I list the errors I have made in this fic is the chapter where I have to add yet another one. I overlooked the D.D.'s office access/password issue, which some of you reported. I am kicking myself for overlooking it, but let's hope that's the last of the inconsistencies!
Summary of chp 22: Harry's detention with Whams became a little bizarre with his uncovering of a few odd files in the professor's desk; during his first session of 'controlling the Dark Mark' Harry has a strange vision, and apparently sense a Death Eater in Hogwarts; Snape intrudes on Harry's training with Gates; Dumbledore organizes a way for Harry to get away from Gates for awhile.)
As the end of December approached, Harry became increasingly anxious. Not only was Gates nastier than ever from Snape's new involvement in the training, but there were also reports of skirmishes between Aurors and Death Eaters in London. The war was slowly rising, and, under increased pressure, Fudge's trial was moving to a close. The verdict was expected to be delivered in January, and Harry thought that it was not a day too soon.
Rita, on the other hand, had become strangely scarce. Harry only managed to catch her once flying through the stone corridors by the kitchens, when Hermione held her S.P.E.W. meeting down there to show the club the sheer amount of food the house elves needed to prepare for each meal. Most students looked impressed, while a few others appeared bored. Regardless, Hermione deemed it a success and planned to hold another one after the holidays.
Occlumency lessons with Snape turned into a rather monotonous string of events. When he entered, Snape would merely point his wand at Harry and begin the lesson, without so much as a greeting. After several practice rounds, he would then move on to 'controlling the Dark Mark', which, to Snape's surprise, Harry was beginning to excel at, apparently with only a little help from Pseudo-Snape. After that, Snape would dismiss him with a single question: "Did you inform the headmaster yet?"
"No," Harry would respond, and would leave as Snape gave him a customary glare.
The Dueling Club had continued with several more rounds, all of which Hermione and Harry beat their competitors in. To their dismay, Malfoy also cruised through his opponents, hesitating against no one, even members of his own house. His desire to eventually duel Harry in front of the entire school became more and more evident with every sly smirk and narrow sneer he threw Harry in the halls.
At last, when the Christmas holidays finally came, Harry felt rather reluctant to leave Hogwarts. While Ron and Hermione assured him that they would at least spend part of the holidays together at Pivet Drive, he could not help but feel depressed. In addition to Sirius' absence, he would be spending time away from the only place he could call home: Hogwarts.
So when he reported to Dumbledore's office when it was time to leave, he did so with heavy and slow footsteps. Hermione and Ron accompanied him, but regretfully told him that the earliest they could come was tomorrow. The headmaster insisted, as, apparently, the Dursley's were not leaving on their vacation until tomorrow morning, and they were not aware that Harry would be having visitors. Dumbledore had left out that little detail when he convinced Aunt Petunia to allow Harry to stay over Christmas.
"This will be the portkey," Dumbledore said, holding up a silver cube. It was completely unadorned, and was little more than a geometric figure. "In case of emergencies, use it. It will take you directly into my office. Hopefully it will prove unnecessary, but I believe we should take every precaution."
"When will it activate?" Harry asked.
"When it senses danger," explained Dumbledore. "It will self-activate. Lupin will come by tomorrow afternoon with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. Professor Snape will come at the end of the week for Occlumency. As it would be unwise to come via floo powder or portkey due to security reasons, they will arrive in muggle fashion. Anti-apparation wards have also been installed."
"I also must impress upon you the importance of not leaving your home," continued Dumbledore. "There will be no Order members watching, as most of them are now preoccupied with tracking Death Eater movements. Do-not-leave."
Harry nodded.
Dumbledore visibly relaxed. "Then you may leave when you are ready."
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand. "We'll be there soon, I promise."
Ron nodded in agreement. "Real soon mate."
"Then let's go," Gates said, taking the silver cube and holding it in his palm. "Take hold of it, Potter."
Harry regarded him suspiciously. "You're going too?"
"Of course," said Gates impatiently. "I plan on inspecting the premises to ensure that the protection is adequate." His eyes narrowed. "Did you expect me to simply allow you to be spirited off to some crooked slum?"
"Can't imagine it happening any other way," Harry muttered, and, with one last look at Hermione, he touched the silver cube and felt a tug behind his naval. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he found himself standing in the Dursleys' living room, Gates standing beside him.
"Well, it appears we have arrived," Gates said absently, then thrust the silver cube into Harry's hand. "Keep this. In the case of an emergency, it will take you back to Hogwarts."
The Hit Wizard made his way around the room slowly, eyes inspecting the walls, sometimes pausing as if to listen. When he came to Aunt Petunia's collection of vases, he merely glanced up and down at then, looking supremely unimpressed. While most muggles would consider the Dursley's affluent and well-to-do, Gates barely acknowledged even the more valuable ornaments throughout the room, focusing instead on windows, entryways, and various glass cases, sometimes tapping the said case with his wand. Apparently satisfied, he turned to Harry and nodded.
"I see no flaws in the wards in this room," Gates said. "But I intend on checking every last inch of this house. All it takes in one misspoken incantation for the wards to be rendered useless."
"INCANTATA-WHAT?" blustered Uncle Vernon, blundering in from the kitchen, his face a deep shade of puce. He was dressed in his very best suit and tie, and, from what little he could see of Dudley and Aunt Petunia from behind his bulk, they were similarly clothed. "WHO- WHAT-" His eyes fell down to the diamond necklace on Gates' chest, and his eyes grew wide.
"You must be young Potter's guardian," said Gates guardedly.
"What?" Uncle Vernon stammered, his eyes still fixed on the necklace. His voice became suddenly polite and his posture relaxed, and a broad smile spread across his face. Obviously Gates' apparent wealth overrode any predetermined impressions Uncle Vernon had on the man he would usually term a 'freak'. "Oh, yes, I give the boy food, clothes, shelter. Petunia and I are sympathetic to the handicapped." He shot a subtle, nasty glance at Harry that Gates most certainly did not miss.
"I had no idea his relatives were so…charitable," said Gates silkily, wearing an expression of hinted pleasure. He slowly looked Uncle Vernon up and down appraisingly.
Uncle Vernon nodded his head, then brought his hands up to his beefy chest. "Dudley, go mix a drink for Mr-" He hesitated. "I don't believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Vernon Dursley." He puffed up proudly and extended his hand.
Gates' grin became more pronounced. "Alexander Vladimir Black Gates," he replied, but did not accept Uncle Vernon's hand.
Uncle Vernon withdrew, looking somewhat disappointed, but quickly regained his composure. "So, you seem like the respectable sort," he said in his most diplomatic voice. "I've never met another one of the boy's…kind…of your-" Uncle Vernon's eyes lingered on the necklace. "-stature before." His face lit up as though he had just delivered an enormous compliment.
"Kind…" Gates echoed darkly. "I question your use of terms, and would prefer if you did not affiliate me with…Potter in that way ever again."
For the first time during this exchange, apprehension crossed Uncle Vernon's face, but, with one short glance of the diamond necklace, it disappeared. "You can't stand the boy either?" he chortled. "Well, no surprise there. He's an absolute menace."
"Yes, he's quite the danger," agreed Gates, giving Harry a furtive look. "Always finding ways to bring about destruction."
A quiet guilt in Harry stirred. While Harry should have been used to it by now, Gates' repeated prods at his insecurities were becoming no less injurious. The debacle at the Department of Mysteries vividly replayed itself in his mind, and he bowed his head slightly. He did not need Gates' sly remarks to know how insufferably (Insufferable! echoed Pseudo-Snape. Now there's a word you learned from me!) foolish he had been to ignore Hermione's logic and charge off to the Ministry of Magic.
Uncle Vernon, of course, missed the insult. Instead he laughed heartily, patting his bulging belly. "Well, we do our best to teach the boy proper manners."
"I can understand your difficulty. Potter seems most resistant to instruction, and coercion is a tactic I oftentimes have to use."
For the tenth time, Uncle Vernon's eyes flitted down to the diamond necklace. Harry fleetingly wondered what his uncle would say if he knew the necklace's true nature.
"Perhaps you would be interested in staying for dinner," Uncle Vernon proposed pleasantly. "I'm sure we can discuss the boy some more, and possibly some other things…"
Gates seemed to carefully consider the offer. "Discussing Potter would be most interesting," said the Hit Wizard slowly. "I delightfully accept your invitation, Mr. Dursley." His tone could be described as many things, but 'delightful' would not be one of them.
"By all means call me Vernon," said Uncle Vernon courteously. He turned to Harry, his one eye twitching warningly. "Boy!" He clapped his hands as if addressing a servant. "Fetch an extra chair. Mr. Gates will be joining us. And that's us, not you." he added threateningly.
"No," Harry said simply. He did not feel like participating in Uncle Vernon's attempted display of power. He turned to leave.
Uncle Vernon bristled. "You listen here boy," he said angrily, his voice matching his purple face. "You will fetch-"
But before Uncle Vernon could finish his sentence, Harry was already up the stairs and heading into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He went to his bed, threw his wand and the portkey into the corner and opened Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures, smiling as he remembered that Hermione and Ron would be there tomorrow. He could last through a single evening of the Dursley's, right?
Don't count on it Potter.
***
That evening Harry cracked open his door to hear the conversation downstairs. The smell of roasted pork wafted up the stairs and his stomach rumbled hungrily. The slices of bread Aunt Petunia brought up ten minutes ago were barely sufficient. When he told people that he lived off of bread and water, he was not kidding.
The exchange between Uncle Vernon and Gates was frequently punctuated by his uncle's repeated, blunt attempts to interest the Hit Wizard in his drills. From the sounds of it, Gates neither rejected nor accepted Uncle Vernon's offers, and instead resigned himself to responding with ambiguous answers such as 'That is most interesting', though Harry had no idea of what use the Hit Wizard could have for drills.
"So, what do you do? What's your occupation?" Uncle Vernon asked charitably. There was a clatter of silverware. "A managerial position?"
To those unfamiliar with Gates, the Hit Wizard's tone would be described as civil, but Harry could tell that it was laced with dislike. "No, I'm afraid I've been reduced to watching over the boy - Potter - during his school year."
"Ah, most unfortunate," said Uncle Vernon. He sounded positively delighted at the fact of being able to complain about Harry to someone else. "The boy is enough of a nuisance over the summer. Does it pay well?"
There was a momentary silence before Gates answered. "I suppose it does, in a manner of speaking." There was a hidden meaning in his sentence that Harry did not catch. "If I may be so bold, may I ask you why, when you obviously cannot stand Potter, you keep him in your home?"
"We are a generous family," said Uncle Vernon with false sincerity. "Petunia could not bear to let a relative of hers to go to the orphanage, though we now regret our decision."
"I see. That was very admirable," Gates said almost off-handedly.
"So you've been in his school, have you? Do they use the stick there?"
"Excuse me?"
"The stick," Uncle Vernon explained hesitantly. He obviously picked up a dangerous tone in Gates' voice. "The beating stick to use when students get out of line. They used the stick in Smeltings."
"I fear that they don't. Such punishments have been deemed unnecessary by the current administration."
"Pity. I never liked how they were phasing those punishments out," Uncle Vernon said. "It's only healthy for boys of his…kind…to be beaten regularly."
The sound of Gates' glass being set down carried the entire way upstairs. "Kind? I am unsure of what you are implying. Are you calling those with the gift of magic animals?"
A deathly silence fell over the house. "Not you, of course," said Aunt Petunia nervously. "Vernon was referring to Harry's gross lack of discipline and courtesy."
Uncle Vernon caught on instantly. "Yes, the boy is almost a different species, if you will." he said in a tone that suggested he thought himself clever.
Gates' voice took on a stiff tone. "I see."
There was the shuffle of chairs and Harry could here Aunt Petunia's high-heeled shoes clicking on the ceramic kitchen floor. "Would you care for some wine?" she offered.
Gates accepted and soon the conversation turned lighter as the alcohol took effect. While there were no signs of any of them being blatantly drunk, Uncle Vernon steered the discussion towards drills repeatedly, oftentimes mentioning the same details over and over, though it possibly could have been from design.
Harry was beginning to tire of listening to them when Gates' deep, resonating voice broke through the incoherent babble of the Dursley's.
"So," Gates said loudly, the edge no longer on his voice. "What other nonsense has Potter been up to in your care? I suspect the brat can't go through a single week without blundering over something."
"You're quite right, it's always something," Uncle Vernon said. The alcohol's effect on him was more perceptible. "More wine, Mr. Gates?"
"Yes, that sounds delicious," said Gates almost absently. His words were becoming slurred. "My mother - Cassiopeia Black - was always rather fond of wine. Especially merlot. Merlot and tea." He paused, as if immersed in deep thought. "I suppose that's another thing that estranged her from the main line of Blacks. They always considered merlot to be a peasant's wine."
Uncle Vernon grunted. "They must have had poor taste."
"Because you are a muggle and therefore defenseless I will permit you certain allowances," said Gates in a distant voice that did not become him. Whether it was the wine or the sudden turn in conversation, Harry did not know. "But in this I will warn you once: don't insult my blood again."
"Vernon forgets himself at times," said Aunt Petunia in a placating tone.
"I always found her name ironic," continued Gates as if he had not been interrupted. He was still using the same far-away voice. "It's Black tradition to name their sons and daughters after constellations, and, despite her severance from the main line, her great grandmother continued that tradition. How very strange."
An eerie silence fell over the house, and for a few tense minutes all that could be heard was the splashing of poured wine. At length Gates spoke again.
"I admit I accepted your dinner invitation with the intent of learning more about Potter's summer habits," said the Hit Wizard in a more official tone. "Any information you can give me - even that which you might deem trivial or irrelevant - would be most helpful."
The chair groaned and squeaked as Uncle Vernon leaned back into it. "I don't know where to begin," he said heartily. "The boy has been acting strange all summer, even by his standards."
"What do you mean?" drawled Gates unconcernedly. "You don't suppose it was over his poor dead godfather, was it?" He spoke those last words loudly, as though to ensure Harry heard them.
"Dead godfather?" Uncle Vernon said blankly. Aunt Petunia audibly cleared her throat. "He was asking to see the newspaper nearly every day, and he started getting up early. I had to order the boy to keep down the racket so the rest of us could get a decent amount of sleep!"
"The newspaper," Gates murmured so quietly that Harry barely heard him.
"What's so special about that?" grumbled Uncle Vernon. "It's freakish if nothing else."
"Clearly he was looking for information regarding the activities of the Dark Lord."
"The Dark who?"
"The Dark Lord," Gates repeated stiffly, as though he was becoming annoyed. "The master of the Death Eaters." His voice took on a darker tone. "The killer of purebloods and muggles alike."
Aunt Petunia gasped, but she was the only one who was audibly shocked. Uncle Vernon and Dudley, from what Harry could tell, were confused.
"Death Eaters?" stammered Uncle Vernon. "Why would the boy be involved in any of that." His voice became angry, and Harry could practically feel his uncle's face turning red. "I see what this is! Last year when we received those bloody owls! I bet that's what those things were about!"
"Vernon-"
"I've had enough of that boy's nonsense!" spat Uncle Vernon. The alcohol was now fully taking its effect on his mind. "Now I'm going to get to the bottom of this business-"
"Completely unnecessary," said Gates softly, silencing Uncle Vernon easily. "The boy won't be
anywhere near the Dark Lord, if I have anything to do with it."
"What do you mean?" asked Aunt Petunia timidly.
Gates did not speak for a long while, and when he finally did, his words came out in a slow, deliberate, and dark fashion. "Because when I find where the Dark Lord is hiding, I will tear him apart and smash the bones until the marrow runs out. I will bolt his skull to a stone wall, and have him as a trophy. And when I am through with him, I will track down every last one of the Death Eaters and destroy their souls."
Uncle Vernon was the first who mustered enough courage to speak after that little speech. "What do you have against what's-his-name?" he stuttered.
"Everything," Gates said simply. Harry heard him stand up from the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"
"Do stay for dessert," Uncle Vernon insisted. "Petunia makes an excellent peach cobbler-"
"I'm honored by your hospitality but I must leave," said Gates formally. "I bid you a farewell, but before I go, I request that you do not harm the boy during his stay here. I am his guardian, and it would look terrible for me if he came upon any…misfortune."
"Of course," said Uncle Vernon instantly. "BOY! COME DOWN HERE NOW AND TAKE AWAY THESE DISHES!"
Sighing, Harry climbed down the stairs, figuring that it might be worth seeing the physical interaction between the two men, and went into the kitchen. Both Gates and Uncle Vernon looked rather flushed, and it was apparent the alcohol was taking its toll.
"Clean and stack," Uncle Vernon ordered, pointing a pudgy finger at the messy table. Harry apathetically went to work, the entire time keeping one eye on Gates.
"Have you thought any more on those drills?" Uncle Vernon asked, obviously straining to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.
Gates did not respond for a moment. "Why yes, I suppose they can be most useful in my line of work."
Uncle Vernon's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He fumbled for some paper. "And what classes of drills do you want? Grunnings produces everything from-"
"I will have five of everything," Gates said with a wave of a hand. His words were slightly slurred. "Send them to-" He paused blankly. "I will inform you later of where to distribute them."
"Very well," Uncle Vernon said excitedly. It looked like he forgot about Harry's presence in the room. "What will be your method of payment?"
"I hope gold is acceptable," Gates said, reaching into his pockets and tossing a handful of gold galleons onto the table. Uncle Vernon practically drooled at the sight. Harry regarded the galleons suspiciously. He had never known Gates to carry money around, and he strongly suspected that Uncle Vernon was just given worthless Leprechaun gold.
I would bet my cauldron on that, Pseudo-Snape concurred.
"Oh yes, very acceptable," stammered Uncle Vernon, eyes fixed on the small pile of coins on the table. Granted, the galleons were useless to Uncle Vernon for their true, wizarding value, but as they were apparently cast from solid gold, he found them valuable all the same. Dudley and Aunt Petunia matched Uncle Vernon's transfixed gaze.
"Then that's in order…" said Gates, and, gathering himself up once more, he made for the front door. "I will take my leave of you now, Vernon. Once I am outside of the wards that surround your home, I shall apparate away. I will contact you soon." With a faint, barely perceptible smirk, he swept out of the door. Uncle Vernon made no sign that he had even heard Gates speak, as his eyes had never left the gold on the table.
"If there's one thing your kind is good for," Uncle Vernon muttered to Harry as he gathered up the coins. "It's knowing how to spend money."
Harry inwardly grinned and said nothing. He was not about to tell Uncle Vernon that Gates had just cheated him out of a business deal with a pile of Leprechaun gold.
**
That same evening Harry sat down in his bed, propping The Pravus Necklace: Confessions of a Dark Wizard against a pillow. The text was wiry and faint, and he absently scanned the pages, looking for anything of interest. Parts of it almost seemed like a diary, where the said wizard wrote out the day's events. From what Harry could discern, the wizard was apparently an Alchemist who used to live in northern France. The book itself began at the time where the wizard created the necklace (approximately 1342) and extended to a last entry at 1400.
He couldn't have been more than ninety when he died, Pseudo-Snape remarked. Whether madness took him or another wizard finished the job is irrelevant. Few wizards die so early. Alex is a relatively young bearer of the necklace, but regardless, he will be lucky to live to be eighty.
Some pages were nothing but pointless and confused ramblings with vague mentions of 'voices' and terror, while others were deliberate and carefully written. Explanations were sometimes made concerning the spouts of madness, where the author wrote:
The fits have only begun a few months ago, but they are increasing in intensity. Sometimes, during the night, I wake up, groping for my wand, my mind frayed. Energy sparks from the tip of the wand, and I am subject to causing catastrophic accidents with my surplus of power. The elves are terrified. I am uneasy. This journal provides little solace.
I can only presume that the necklace has been focusing so much energy into my body for such a long time that it is overloading my brain, causing these fits. I remember only flashes of these hour-long rampages, but what I see disturbs me greatly. What if I destroy the entire tower? With the amount of power I have attained, it's not out of the question.
Upon further introspection I have come to the conclusion that the nightmares are the root cause. The necklace has been conjuring terrible memories from my dynamic adolescent life. Memories that were at one time repressed. Originally, I ignored them, but now they are becoming stronger and more poignant. I must brew a Potion for sleeplessness. Insomnia will cure these fits.
Harry turned the page, unsettled. He vaguely remembered Gates telling him once that he only slept ten minutes every night.
I've been experimenting further with other Pravus necklaces, hoping to uncover more secrets within this bizarre enchantment.
I have found, after extensive experimenting, that the necklaces are almost indestructible. On a few occasions, I have found that if a subject's wand core encounters its source, it will inadvertently cause an energy surge which will result in the necklace's destruction. One fellow with Unicorn hair as his core touched the Unicorn that I keep in a pen. The resulting surge caused the necklace to shatter and put him into a coma. He is on the brink of death, and it seems unlikely that he will return from it. I tested several others with the same result. This will require further studying.
No other experiments yielded the desired effect. I hypothesize that the only way to destroy a Pravus necklace would be to channel the energy it produces back into itself. This, of course, requires further experimentation before it can be law.
Harry, on a whim, flipped to the last page, and scrunched his eyes as he tried to read. It was written in a hasty scrawl, as if the author was trying to share some massive revelation in the last few seconds of his life. Harry could tell that this Dark Wizard, whoever he was, was slowly losing his mind.
My rages have lengthened and become more violent. I found the bodies of two elves in the second floor bedroom. I am unsure as to when I killed them, but that is not surprising. My memory is fading. I am having trouble remembering latin, greek, and the various other languages that I had learned long ago. All that remains are the nightmares. I am only well enough to write these entries perhaps once every two weeks, and even then it requires great effort.
I no longer believe I can die. The amount of power that has been channeled into my body is incalculable, and surpasses that of even death himself. I fear I am losing my mind, if I have not already lost it. I believe that I have been insane for some time now.
He skipped the next entry.
Cort formen. I speak in tongues I do not understand. Lors- What am I?
Harry scanned down to the last entry.
Begh la dan. I no longer care. Peghlan al seron. What is life? Orlon prot. An escape from death. Loftor pro Dementia. Sweep me into the arms of the Dementor.
-Warlock Marco of the Badlands (1400)
A deep chill circulated through Harry's body. Something about the dead wizard's words unnerved him to the core. The author spoke of madness and violence so casually that it stabbed at some purely moral part of his being, giving him the urge to wretch.
Deciding that that was enough for one night, Harry carefully set the tome down and rolled into bed. He heard an owl screech from outside. Despite his lack of glasses, he thought he could see a faint silhouette by his bedside. He innately knew it to be nonsense, for Gates had left hours ago, but that did not stop a seated fear from moving inside of him. He remembered Gates' words from dinner.
"Because when I find where the Dark Lord is hiding, I will tear him apart and smash the bones until the marrow runs out. I will bolt his skull to a stone wall, and have him as a trophy. And when I am through with him, I will track down every last one of the Death Eaters and destroy their souls."
Gates' words had been spoken with such venom and conviction that Harry, for one, fleeting moment, felt connected
with the Hit Wizard. Harry, like Gates, hated Voldemort, and perhaps that is why he felt the strange sense of
kinship. It was as if Gates was an almost-defeater-of-Voldemort, and through some cruel twist of fate was left
crippled. With those thoughts in mind, Harry fell into a restless sleep.
***
The next morning Harry came downstairs to find that the house was abandoned and that Uncle Vernon had left him a single note on the kitchen table.
You're not here.
-Vernon
Predictably, the refrigerator was empty and Harry decided to simply wait for Lupin to arrive. Surely the headmaster would have foreseen the Dursleys' actions, and would have sent some provisions with Lupin. A little uncertain, Harry resigned himself to watching television, vaguely wondering if he would see anything that could hint towards Voldemort's actions over the holidays.
It was twelve o' clock sharp when there was a knock on the front door. Harry peered through the side window before opening it, cautiously ensuring that he was not receiving any unwanted visitors. As he expected, Lupin stood on the front doorstep with an unwieldy stack of boxes in his hands.
Harry swung open the door and immediately took the top half of the stack and set it down inside. Lupin looked down on him and smiled warmly. "Merlin, you're looking more like your father every time I see you."
Harry's neck heated slightly. "Thanks, you're looking good, yourself," he said, meaning it. Lupin's robes, which were once old and worn, appeared to be freshly bought. His heart lowered in memory when he realized where Lupin had probably received the money. He made to close the door, but Lupin stopped him.
"Not yet," Lupin said with a small smile. "I believe Ron and Hermione want in too."
Sure enough, Ron and Hermione were now coming from the sidewalk, Hermione's cheeks and Ron's ears pink from the cold. Harry greeted them warmly, his eyes resting on Hermione for an instant longer than usual. She was bundled up in a winter jacket, scarf, and a wooly hat that Harry suspected she knitted herself. It took a moment for him to register how truly cold it was outside, and he hurriedly closed the door once they were inside.
"Hey mate," Ron said. "How's it been going?"
Before Harry could answer Hermione had already enveloped him in a hug. "The muggles didn't give you a hard time did they Harry?" Hermione asked quickly. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Lupin looked very awkward. At length she released him, and Remus, gazing at them curiously, waited for a response.
"No, they were fine about it," he said. He neglected to mention Gates' extended stay for the evening.
"Dad was practically begging to come along," said Ron. "I reckon being in a house with all these muggle artifacts would be like a dream come true for him. He was going on about how Lupin would need help in carrying all those supplies." He paused, his gaze falling onto Aunt Petunia's prized vases. "Those look expensive," he remarked.
"They are," Harry replied. "Uncle Vernon keeps reminding me of their great value." Harry let out a short laugh, though it died instantly when he saw the slightly tragic look he was getting from Lupin. An awkward silence fell over the room, and Harry mentally kicked himself for causing it.
"Erm," Lupin began, trying to break through the muck that was the silence. "So how about we unpack this food? Dumbledore said that we couldn't expect to receive anything from your relatives."
"They didn't leave anything," confirmed Ron, who was already in the kitchen. "Not even a slice of bread. They're stingy gits, aren't they?"
As they began to put away the boxes of food, Lupin took Harry aside and looked at him sincerely. His expression was pained and he could not meet Harry's eyes.
"Harry-" he began, but the words caught in his throat. "I'm- I'm sorry for not-" His eyes fell to the ground. "I haven't been around when I should have been, especially with Sirius- well-" He inhaled deeply. "I can't replace Sirius." he said quietly.
From the look in Lupin's eyes, Harry could tell that this had been bothering the werewolf for some time. "You have Order business," Harry said tentatively.
"That's not an excuse," said Lupin softly. "I haven't sent you a single owl besides the one. This year has been terrible for all of us, and I've-" His voice trailed off, as though lost.
"You've been staying away from everyone," said Harry. It was unsettling that something could break through Lupin's rational demeanor, his normally logical personality akin to Hermione's. However, it seemed that Sirius' death had hit him harder than it should have. He was now the last of the Marauders. The real ones, anyway.
"When I met with you in the Burrow," continued Lupin. "I- it caused pain. I've been burying myself in work. I'm not sure- I've been unfair to you, and I'm sorry. You should have a guardian."
Harry could not quite find a way to respond to that, so for a minute he remained silent. "So what have you been doing in the meanwhile?"
Lupin's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "I've been searching for Kreacher." Harry's eyes widened. He had never known Remus to be a violent man, but Kreacher seemed to have created a wound in his normally patient personality. "And he's nowhere to be found. But I have a few guesses…"
"Lup- Remus," Harry said carefully. "I don't think Sirius would have wanted you to do this to yourself."
"Would he?" asked Lupin rhetorically. "It's just-" Flames flared in his eyes. "-Kreacher killed Sirius!"
Ha! And at one time I thought the werewolf was the sensible one! said Pseudo-Snape with a laugh.
Inwardly, Harry agreed with Lupin's assessment. Kreacher deserved to die, of that he had no doubt. However, he did not want his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to waste his life away in an impossible quest.
"Remus…"
Lupin suddenly looked older than ever, and, solemnly, he lowered his head, as if remembering something. "And what am I doing?" he said quietly to himself. "I haven't been here. I left his godson for vengeance." His hair caught a few rays of light, highlighting the gray streaks. "I left him."
He turned to Harry. "I left you with Alexander Gates!" Lupin said in a restrained shout. "And Dumbledore refuses to let me near that debauched monster. Merlin help the both of us if I see Gates on a full moon." He visibly calmed down. "I left."
"You didn't leave. You were still there when I sent you an owl."
Lupin gave him a faint smile. "Just like your father," he said. "He lessened the evils of others too. It doesn't change the truth, however. I've been neglecting you, and I will work to remedy that, starting today." Lupin took a brief pause, reviewing the young man before him. "Sirius- James- they would both be proud of you Harry. Never forget that." He shook his head. "My words towards Alex were harsh. He's a demon, of that I have no doubt, but he saved your life when I was not there. For that I owe him at least something."
Harry was on the verge of telling Lupin about the album, but hesitated at the last moment. Remus put an arm over Harry's shoulders and together they went back to the kitchen.
***
They finished putting away the last of the provisions and were now sitting at the kitchen table, munching on fish sandwiches. Ron, fascinated with the concept of electricity, seemed to be restraining himself from toying with the light by flicking it off and then on again every minute. Harry, amused, had let him have a run with all the electronic devices in the house, provided he did not take anything part. Ron was particularly interested in the television, and asked: "How can they live in a box?"
"It's sort of like with the portraits, except with real people," Harry explained. Ron looked confused, but did not ask anything more.
Strange how the muggle lifestyle is like 'magic' to wizards, Pseudo-Snape observed. Both worlds are veiled with superstition.
Ron was the first to finish his meal and contently leaned back in his chair. His gaze fell onto the microwave and his brow furrowed. "What does that do?" he asked.
Hermione set down her sandwich and went into scientific-mode. "It uses waves to-"
"It's used for heating and cooking food, Ron," Lupin interjected gently. To Hermione's slightly put out expression he added, "I'm afraid the mechanical details would be a bit overwhelming."
Ron shrugged indifferently. "How long are you going to be able to stay Professor Lupin?"
"I'm no longer a professor, Ron," said Lupin, smiling. "But I'll be leaving at four o'clock, and I'll be taking you with me back to the Order, where we'll meet with Arthur." He turned to Hermione. "When Mister and Misses Granger arrive home from their business trip, the Order will send someone to take you home, Hermione. They said they would be back at any time between five and six o' clock."
Hermione smiled, and slowly, the implications sunk into Harry's brain. For one to two hours, Hermione and him would be alone.
"So," Lupin continued, clearing his throat. His voice took on a responsible tone. "How have your Occlumency lessons been going, Harry?"
"Err, they've been fine," Harry said truthfully. Snape and him have not had a major row for at least five weeks, which must be some sort of record. "Snape has been all right this year."
Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Has he?"
"Yeah, I think so," Harry said, becoming rather reflective. "I'm not so sure its on his part though. He really hates Gates, and maybe he's just going easy on me because I have to put up with Gates everyday."
"That doesn't sound much like Severus," said Lupin.
"That's what I've been saying!" added Ron, who suddenly jumped into the conversation. "Personally I think Snape is just trying to get back at Gates through Harry."
Lupin frowned. "That's possible, but not probable. Whatever other faults Severus may have, he would never put one of his students in danger."
"And what's more," Harry said. "Snape has been watching my training sessions with Gates."
"Did Dumbledore ask him to?"
"No," Harry said instantly. "That's the weird part. I never asked Snape about it, but its like he's there on his own initiative. And he's done loads of other stuff to." Harry went on to explain his previous experiences with the Potions master. "It doesn't make any sense."
Lupin's face took on that same troubled look that Dumbledore's had. "No, it doesn't," he whispered. "Unless…"
"Unless what?" Hermione probed.
Remus shook himself out of his reverie. "Listen, Harry,' he leaned forward. "I believe Severus is trying to payback something that he owed- no, that's not right. Something that he believed in."
"Dumbledore told me about my dad saving Snape's life," said Harry. "So wouldn't he have fulfilled it in my first year?"
"This is not about that," said Lupin. "Its about something else. Regardless, I believe he is genuinely trying to help you, Harry. He's being irrational, something I never would have thought Severus could be. He's playing a very dangerous game by toying with Alexander Gates."
"What do you mean?"
"Harry, Severus has been giving you tools," said Lupin quietly. "He's being subtle about it, of that there is no doubt, but he's doing it. Telling you the history of Alex's family, going out of his way to ensure you remain unharmed during the training sessions. Both of these instances are signs that he wants you to fight Alex yourself. He expects you to duel Alex yourself."
"Those fumes in the dungeons must have muddled with his brain," said Ron disbelievingly.
"He thinks he's doing you a favor, Harry," said Lupin solemnly.
"What for?" Harry asked sharply. "I never wanted anything from him. I never asked for anything, least of all pity from him. If he wants to help-" He remembered Snape's concession in keeping Harry's album memory a secret, and he suddenly felt ashamed.
"No matter what Severus is doing," continued Lupin as if Harry had not briefly lost his temper. "Do not duel Alexander Gates." Harry nodded absently, still dwelling on his abrupt recollection.
"What he's doing for Harry makes sense, I guess," said Ron uneasily. "But there's still one thing I'm confused with. Why did Snape give detention to Malfoy for saying m-" he hesitated. "-you know the word."
To their surprise, Lupin put his head in his hands and murmured, "Merlin's beard, Severus, what are you doing?"
It took Harry a moment to realize that, throughout the conversation, Pseudo-Snape had not made a single remark.
***
Lupin refused to elaborate further on Snape's actions, and instead took on a somber expression and shook his sadly. Whatever Lupin knew, he was not going to share it with Harry, and that made Harry more than a little annoyed. Later, when he was about to join Hermione and Ron in the family room, he heard Lupin mutter "Severus never lets anything go" under his breath. Remus had then sat down at the table to prepare various Order reports.
Meanwhile, Ron was having a great time playing on Dudley's new Playstation, which proved to be luckier than its predecessor in that it had so far avoided being flung out the window. Admittedly, he was not too good at it, but he seemed more interested in the fireworks of gunfire and explosions that played out across the screen. Hermione watched him from the couch, a slightly amused expression on her face.
"Blimey," Ron murmured when a sound like a bomb going off erupted from the television's speakers. The screen went black. "This is better than anything at the Burrow."
"The grass is always greener on the other side," said Hermione.
"What level have you made it up to Ron?" Harry had watched Dudley play long enough to have a vague idea of the game.
"Whatdoyamean?" asked Ron. He had already restarted the game.
Rather than give a detailed, Hermione-like explanation, Harry said simply, "Nevermind."
"Oh, okay then," replied Ron absently, now fully engaged in a firefight. From what Harry saw on the screen, he was quickly annihilated by a wall of turrets. Ron frowned. "This muggle stuff isn't easy." He carefully set down the controller. "You know, you don't have to be scared of me anymore," he said offhandedly. "I haven't had a fit for a month now. I think that's a record."
"Ron!" Hermione said. "We have never been afraid of you."
Ron shrugged. "It's okay," he said shakily. "You must think I'm a nut." He laughed with forced enthusiasm.
Hermione's mouth gaped open. "Ron, you're not crazy!"
"If I'm not crazy then I don't know what crazy is!" said Ron sharply, then he breathed deeply. "Who am I kidding. The only people that know for sure are the Unspeakables, and they aren't talking." He laughed again, bitterly this time. "No, I'm wrong. They talk, but it's just lies."
"Calm down Ron," said Harry slowly. "You're working yourself up again."
"That's what he said," Ron retorted. "Practice Occlumency he says. Protect your friends from the monster in your head, he says." Ron snorted. "Fat lot of good that stuff does. I still have the nightmares." Smoke black clouds began to gather at the fringes of his eyes, beginning near the eyelashes. Something menacing filled the air. Harry was suddenly aware that he did not have his wand, and that Hermione did not bring hers.
"Ron," said Hermione in a quiet voice. "They're trying to help you."
Harry realized how very close Ron was to succumbing to the personality in his head. Ron had not yet raised his voice, so Lupin was unaware of the unfolding tension. "Clear your mind Ron. We're your friends-"
"Friends," Ron snorted, casting an unreadable glance back at Hermione. Harry carefully stepped in front of her, intensely aware of Ron's meaning.
"Remember winning the Quidditch cup last year?" said Harry encouragingly. "Focus on that."
Ron blinked, then exhaled. The cloudy murkiness seemed to lighten, and the air softened. He brought his right hand up to his forehead and pressed it against his brow. Hermione tentatively got up from the couch and bent down next to Ron. Harry joined her, clasping his own hand down onto Ron's shoulder.
"My head is killing me," Ron muttered.
"Are you focusing on that memory?" asked Hermione gently.
"Yeah."
"Focus on nothing else," added Harry. "It's not as good as clearing your mind, but it'll work in a pinch."
"Right," Ron said, and for a moment the three of them were very still.
Harry looked up at the screen. It was frozen on a single frame, and, whatever game Ron had been playing, it was clearly violent. Severed body parts and gore were spread in grisly heaps. Was that what had set Ron off and had nearly given him one of his fits? The implications were disturbing.
"I think I'm all right now," Ron said quietly, and he slowly got to his feet. He refused to meet their eyes. "I dunno what happened. I can't believe I almost exploded like that…"
"Take it easy, mate," Harry said. "You're okay now."
I wonder what Gates would've done if he saw what just nearly happened, Harry said inwardly, unable to resist the thought.
Probably would have cursed the boy into oblivion, said Pseudo-Snape calmly. That's his style, after all. Destroy and pulverize into dust.
Ron looked up, and, to Harry's relief, there was no trace of blackness in his eyes.
***
At four o'clock, Lupin collected his various material and told Ron that it was about time for them to leave.
"Arthur is probably waiting for us at the Order," Lupin said. Harry noticed that he was very careful not to mention Grimmauld Place. "So we should probably get moving. The portkey will activate as soon as we get outside of the wards."
"Look," Ron said to Harry and Hermione in a lowered voice as Lupin retrieved his coat. "I'm sorry for- for- earlier." His ears were red and he looked ashamed.
"You don't have to be."
"I have to be," replied Ron softly. To Harry he added, "I'll see you again soon."
"I know mate," said Harry, smiling. When Lupin returned, they bid each other additional goodbyes and reluctantly Ron and Remus left, leaving Harry and Hermione behind.
"We have to tell him soon," said Harry quietly. He felt wretched for having deceived Ron for so long about himself and Hermione. Every time the three of them were together Harry could feel an intangible tension in the air, like a weight on their shoulders.
"I know," replied Hermione softly, her eyes downcast. "But we can't. Not yet. You saw how close he came to a fit. It would be bad for him and us."
Harry sighed. "We can't hide it forever."
For the first time ever, Hermione could not provide an answer. The silence was quickly broken when Harry spied a book resting on the kitchen table. "Is that yours?" he asked, gesturing to the table. Only Hermione would bring a book over the holidays.
She looked at him questioningly for a moment, then turned to where he was pointing. "Oh no," she whispered. "Professor Lupin must have forgotten it when he left."
Harry glanced out the window. "Well, it's too late to give it to him now. They're already gone. I suppose he'll be back for it, though."
"I should hope so," Hermione said uneasily. "It's rather rare."
Another awkward silence followed, and eventually Hermione said timidly, "What now?"
Harry shrugged, his mind blank.
Books, Potter. Library.
An idea suddenly struck him. "You want to read over that book on the Pravus necklace again? " Harry asked.
She smiled wryly at the suggestion. "Sure."
***
They both ended up in the couch, the book being so large that they had the cover resting on Hermione's lap with the back on Harry's. Hermione traced the text with her finger, sometimes pausing when the writing became smudged or illegible. Harry could tell that she was vastly enjoying herself. He suspected that having such an ancient and unique book in close proximity brought her nirvana. The side benefit, besides working with his girlfriend (he was not sure he could ever get used to that term), was, of course, understanding more about the diamond artifact that hung around Gates' neck like a ring of teeth.
"Enjoying yourself?" Harry asked with an amused expression.
"I don't see how I can't with you here," she said. Harry felt himself blush. "This book goes into just about everything, but there are parts missing, as well as entire sections."
"Like what?"
"Like on how it's created," Hermione said. "I can't imagine the process being simple by any means, and it certainly isn't something you can look up in a common library."
"You don't think-"
"Absolutely," said Hermione with a factual air. "I think the Gates family owns all, or most, of the chapter on creating the Pravus necklace. That would explain how Gates learned how to make the thing in the first place."
Harry nodded. "Makes sense."
"And I'm willing to bet that's not the only part the Gates family has," continued Hermione. "There are many, many pages missing. I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse." she added bemusedly.
"Definitely a blessing," Harry said instantly. "Having that much power in one book is dangerous. Just look at what happened to the author. He- He-"
"He went insane," Hermione finished for him. "The necklace turned on its owner. The language he was speaking at the end-" She flipped to the back page. "He was speaking Dark Magic incantations and didn't even know it. All power, no matter its source, is inherently corruptible. It brought out the worst in that man and destroyed him."
"You're saying that's what is going to happen to Gates," said Harry slowly.
"Yes, eventually," answered Hermione. "He only acquired it a relatively short while ago. It may be years before he goes completely mad. The energy from the necklace has to be dispersed somehow, after all. I have the feeling that we haven't seen the worst of Alexander Gates yet."
Harry was not sure whether he believed her last point, but as he was about to speak up, the front doorbell rang.
"Looks like Professor Lupin came back for his book," said Hermione.
"I thought it'd take him longer, to be honest," Harry said, looking at his watch. It was only twenty minutes after four.
He mechanically grabbed Lupin's book from the kitchen table and, accompanied by Hermione, walked up to answer the front door. Without thinking, he released the latch and swung open the door, and was greeted by a man he had never wanted to see again in his entire life.
"Errr, salutations Mister, uhhh, Potter," said Dr. Perry. Standing next to him was a massive bull of a man, with arms the size of Harry's neck. Muscles were wrapped around his shoulders like ropes, and were barely covered by a white buttoned shirt that look laughably small on his massive frame. His face was completely impassive, and his posture was reminiscent of a young cadet standing beside a Major.
Harry tried to slam the door but was stopped by a swift, deft move by the bigger man, whose thick arm snatched handle and pushed, knocking Harry backwards. "Hermione, run! The portkey is in my bedroom! Go!"
Hermione hesitated for an instant, reaching for her back pocket. Upon realizing that she had no wand, her eyes grew wide as Dr. Perry stepped through the door, the larger man standing behind him like a sentry.
"Hermione!" Harry hissed. He was back on his feet, deciding he was going to use his hands, his feet, or whatever he had to to get Hermione out safely. "GET HELP!"
Harry's raised voice snapped her out of her brief shock, and she dashed for the stairs.
"GET HER BRUTUS!" Dr. Perry shrieked, reaching down for his baton. The giant man, his name apparently Brutus, leapt out, his arm within grasping range of Hermione's bushy hair.
Harry dived at the man's feet, knocking him awry. Brutus made a guttural sound like a growl and grabbed him at the cuff his neck, lifting Harry up until they were at eye level. The man's face was contorted with rage, and Harry realized that he was waiting for some sort of signal from Dr. Perry.
"Brutus," said Dr. Perry in a deceptively calm and silky voice. Harry, however, detected an edge to it. "Please don't harm the, uhhh, patients. Set him down, we have too much, uhmmmmmm, work to do yet."
Grudgingly, Brutus set Harry down onto his feet, but kept a painful grip on his forearm.
"I suggest you don't make any, uhmmm, unwise attempts at leaving," said Dr. Perry. He absently drummed his pale fingers on his now-drawn clipboard. "I would rather keep our meeting sufficiently, ummmm, civil." He turned to Brutus. "Brutus, please search the upstairs bedroom for the, uhh, girl. She most likely already escaped, but it is best to be, errrrr, thorough."
Brutus nodded and released Harry's arm, proceeding to obediently climb the steps before vanishing around a corner. His heavy footfalls could still be heard downstairs. A dull tingling sensation in his arm told Harry that he would most likely have a bruise from the man's tight grip.
"Brutus is a most, uhmmm, faithful associate," Dr. Perry said with false civility. Anyone who might have been looking in would not have realized that the two had even met before. "He's a mute, I'm afraid, but he is most effective at, err, dealing with my more resistant, uhh, subjects. Come, I am eager continued our conversations."
Harry did not budge. "What are you doing here?" The fact that there was no sound of struggling from upstairs implied that Hermione had safely escaped, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The doctor's eyes flashed. "Your uncle called earlier this morning, claiming he had an, uhh, emergency. Normally I would not take cases with such late notice, but I am willing to make exceptions for my more, uhhhhhh, desperate cases."
"Right," Harry said neutrally. His eyes scanned his surroundings for escape routes. He found none. Inwardly, he cursed himself for leaving his wand in his bedroom rather than keeping it in his back pocket like he usually did. It was in all likelihood sitting under his bed somewhere. Perhaps if Hermione had seen it…
She couldn't have hung around to ransack your bedroom for a misplaced wand, Pseudo-Snape said sharply.
"I believe the family room would provide a much better, uhhh, environment for our sessions," said Dr. Perry, leading Harry into the adjoining room. The dented trophy still sat forlornly over the fireplace, Harry noticed. "Take a seat on the couch, please."
Brutus had now returned, and from the scowl on his face, it was evident that he found nothing of import. Dr. Perry read this as well and motioned the orderly to stand behind the couch. Brutus' face returned to an expressionless, blank mold.
"Your uncle contacted me this, uhmm, morning, as I said earlier," continued Dr. Perry. "He mentioned something about 'fool's gold' and told me that he 'wouldn't be tricked at his own game'. I wouldn't suppose you know, errr, what that's about."
Harry knew exactly what Uncle Vernon was referring to, of course, but was not about to tell the doctor about Gates' offering of Leprechaun gold. Uncle Vernon, obviously, was likely not at all pleased by Gates' hoax, and was getting back at the Hit Wizard by going back on his own promise, that is, not to touch Harry.
"No, I don't," answered Harry simply.
The doctor's mouth twitched, but quickly morphed into a forced smile. "And the girl? Would she have anything to do with it?"
"Leave her out of this," Harry said warningly. "She had nothing to do with this."
Dr. Perry looked as though he did not believe him, but did not press the issue. "So," the doctor began, holding his clipboard in a classic psychiatrist pose. "Let us return to what I have, uhmmm, determined to be the root of your problem: your parents' deaths." He waited for a reaction.
"Forget it," Harry said flatly.
The doctor glowered. The faint rush of blood did not go well with his pale skin at all. He jotted down a short note, and then spoke again. "I desire only that we be, uhhh, open with each other, Mr. Potter. I can see your pain, so very near to the, ummm, surface."
Dr. Perry's words struck a personal cord, and Harry snapped, "No you can't."
The doctor's eyes flickered at his words, though in excitement or anger, Harry could not tell. He motions Brutus, who had stiffened at the words, to rest. "Explain what I, uhmmm, cannot see, Mr. Potter."
"Is this some sort of sick game?" Harry demanded. He felt his temperature rise and the surrounding air quickened. "Go to hell."
Stupid, Potter, Pseudo-Snape admonished. You're not in a position to curse anyone.
Dr. Perry's eyes narrowed. "I see," he said. Then, more calmly, he added, "Perhaps some, ummm, music will lighten your temper. I have found that among many, uhhmmm, cases that a simple song or two can help unlock the mind. Is one with a holiday theme to your, uhhh, taste?"
When Harry did not answer, he stood up and moved to Uncle Vernon's old record player. He drew a dusty cover and gingerly placed the record onto the phonograph. A scratchy but familiar Christmas melody played. He vaguely listened to a few snatches of the lyrics, the majority of his attention focused on the doctor before him.
"You better watch out
You better not cry"
"Ah, that's better," said Dr. Perry with a very satisfied tone. "Now," He took a seat on a nearby wicker chair and once again raised his clipboard. "Let's try again with your parents."
"Santa Clause is coming to town"
"They're dead," Harry said sharply.
"Mmm-hmm," said Dr. Perry. He feverishly began writing. "They died in a car crash."
Harry was on the verge of contradicting the doctor, but decided against it.
Dr. Perry looked up, his professionally fake smile made all the more disturbing by the background music. "Tell me, ummm, aloud that they died in a car crash. Admission is the, uhmmm, first step in healing." He looked ready to scrawl down another few lines of notes.
"He's making a list
He's checking it twice"
Harry's answer was devoid of any sort of emotion. "No."
"Excuse me?" Dr. Perry asked in an oily voice. He glanced up at Brutus, then back to Harry. "I wish for you to cooperate, Mr. Potter. Our relationship must be built on trust-"
"You're the sick one, not me."
Stupid, Potter, Pseudo-Snape admonished. You are in no position to curse anyone.
"He's gonna find out
Who's naughty or nice"
"You believe yourself to be, uhhmmm, natural?" Dr. Perry asked in a forcibly reasonable voice. He cleared his throat. "Brutus, if you please-" He made a furtive gesture with his hand.
With a speed that was surprising for such a large man, Brutus, in one, long stride, sidestepped and placed his calloused hands on Harry's shoulders, gripping them warningly. For a second, nothing happened, and then Brutus let out a gurgled grunt and recoiled as if Harry was on fire. Staggering backward, his mouth gaping open in shock, his face the picture of confusion, he stared at his hands.
"Brutus!" Dr. Perry said instantly, impatience bubbling up into his normally placid voice. "What is wrong? What did Mr. Potter do?"
Brutus mouthed soundless words. He was holding his hands close to his stomach, as if sheltering them from danger.
Suddenly, Harry remembered. The Gates family ring that the Sorting Hat gave me.
Dr. Perry was suddenly stern. "I will not tolerate, ahhh, violence during an appointment," he said, unable to keep the impediment out of his voice. "Your uncle, uhhh, informed me that such abnormalities might occur. He said you were most adept with tricks of light. Like, uhmmm, magic tricks, I suppose." His stance turned rigid. "You will cease this, uhmmm, nonsense this minute, Mr. Potter. My patience is finite."
Still, the cheery music continued.
"He sees when you are sleeping
He knows when you're awake"
When Harry did not move, Dr. Perry's expression darkened.
"I see," Dr. Perry said, carefully setting down his clipboard. He smoothed his impeccable uniform, steepled his pale fingers, then breathed deeply. Slowly, he reached down and grasped the handle of his baton with his white, almost skeletal, hand. "I give you one last chance to surrender your trick."
"He knows when you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!"
"There is no trick," Harry shot back.
"You take me for- for a fool?" Dr. Perry demanded, momentarily overcoming his oratory impediment. "There is no magic here, Mr. Potter!"
Harry's reason fled through the window. "You just saw for yourself that there is!"
"Ah-ha! So I have found the foundation for your dellusions!" declared Dr. Perry. "There is no magic, Mr. Potter. Magic lived in the minds of, uhmmmm, barbarian tribes and celtic druids, not, ahhh, modern man." He paused in revelation. "Is believing in magic your, uhh, outlet for your parents' deaths? Yes, I see now-"
"Of course not."
Dr. Perry's mouth twitched. "Do not lie to me. There is no use, uhhhh, denying it Mr. Potter," he said quickly, fervently. His manic grin grew wide. "Magic is fake!"
"I've been studying it for six years," Harry shot back, heedless of the multiple ministry regulations that he was breaking.
Dr. Perry's grin faltered. "What did I say about lies?" he said angrily. "Your uncle has, uhhh, informed me of your yearly, errrr, schedule, and it most certainly doesn't involve magic. They are of the respectable sort, not into dealing with, uhhh, chicanery and other nonsense."
"You're a complete madman!"
Dr. Perry's eyes widened. "Am I now?" he snarled. His benign façade had long ago fallen into shambles, and a wicked sort of evil was replacing it. "You will tell me this instant, Mr. Potter, how your parents died. CONFESS THAT THEY DIED IN A CAR CRASH!"
"THEY DIDN'T!" Harry bellowed back. He suddenly realized that he was on his feet and was now staring eyeball to eyeball at Dr. Perry, who was practically fuming from the ears.
"You better watch out-"
Something in Harry's brain surged and the old record exploded into a thousand tiny black fragments.
"YOU WILL NOT TELL LIES!" Dr. Perry shrieked, his eyes bulging madly. "YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW? I KNOW WHO THAT GIRL WAS! PART OF THE SATANIC CULT THAT GATHERS IN THIS HOME! I SHALL PERSONALLY SEARCH HER OUT AND REPORT HER TO THE AUTHORITIES!" His hand went up sharply in some sort of signal. "BRUTUS!"
Another flare fired up in Harry's head, and a muffled yelp and oomph! told him that Brutus had just fell to the floor. Dr. Perry went slack-jawed. Energy and power flowed like blood through Harry's body, tingling at his fingertips. His hands trembled with rage. Sirens screamed off in his skull, so loud that he though he might burst. The air around him began to turn hot from the excess energy.
Dr. Perry took one look at Brutus' unconscious body and stepped back, terror evident in his eyes. "DEMON! SATAN INCARNATE!" he shouted, making the sign of the cross. "STAY AWAY YOU FIEND FROM HELL! YOU KILLER OF SOULS!"
At the words 'killer' another pulse clicked in Harry's brain. A boom resounded throughout the room, and Dr. Perry was thrown backwards, slamming heavily into the wall. Harry collapsed to the floor, a sharp pain shooting through him, his hands clutching his temples.
Suddenly, the front door swung open, bashing through the door stopper and smashing into the wall, the knob burying itself into the plaster. Gates swept through, his face contorted with rage. He took one look at the room before him, and drew his wand, wildly whirling it in the air. Dr. Perry, again on his feet, stared at Gates disbelievingly. As though sensing the Hit Wizard's menace, the doctor backed away.
Gates either guessed or understood what had happened, because he turned onto Dr. Perry with a glare that could probably kill weaker muggles. "I should've known," he snarled. He strode towards the doctor, slashing his wand through the air as he did so, and muttered an incantation. Dr. Perry was lifted up and slammed against the wall, his shoulders and knees pinned against it at uncomfortable angles.
Dr. Perry let out a strangled squawk. "It's not magic!" he managed through labored gasps of breath.
"It'll be much worse than magic," said Gates venomously. Harry had seen that look before. It was the look of reckless abandon. Sirius' bond was having its full effect on Gates' mind.
Dr. Perry could scarcely speak. "Uhhhhhmmmmmmmmmerrrrrrrrruhhhhhhhhaauuuummmm."
"Obliviate! Obliviate! Obliviate!" Gates roared in quick succession. The pain in Harry's head subsided, and he managed to look up long enough to see the result of the Hit Wizard's curses.
The curses hit Dr. Perry with the strength of independent, nonfatal killing curses. With each impact the doctor recoiled as if struck in the gut with a baseball bat. They left Dr. Perry as an unconscious, sagging man on the wall, strung up with invisible strings. His normally neat and crisp white St. Brutus uniform was rumpled and torn. A faint sound like a chuckle rattled from him.
Gates freshly examined the room, as if searching for something. His expression became puzzled and he looked down at Harry. "You performed wandless magic, didn't you?"
Harry grunted an affirmative, and found himself roughly picked up by Gates' hand. Dr. Perry's chuckling increased into full-fledged laughter, and Harry thought for sure that Perry was cracking up. His voice was completely red and he was shrieking "Magic!" between bouts.
"What were you feeling?" Gates asked intensely, locking his eyes with Harry's.
"Anger," Harry coughed. "Lots of anger."
Gates' eyes narrowed. "I understand that Dumbledore explained to you the concept of governing emotions, yes? The magic you performed here was wild. Uncontrolled. That is what happens when you allow emotions to go haywire. The magic gained by feeling the governing emotion is easily bridled and harnessed. This type-" he gestured to the shattered record. "-was obviously nongoverning. Reign your emotions in, Potter. Any fool can be roused. Only the brilliant can master themselves."
Gates let Harry go and approached the fireplace. With another wave of his wand, the fireplace burst into flame, and he grinned. Unless Harry was greatly mistaken, Gates had just connected the fireplace to the floo network.
"You cannot stay here," Gates said bitterly. "Albus was grossly mistaken. Gather your wand and the essentials; we will be leaving."
Harry quickly ran upstairs and snatched his wand and gathered a bag of clothes, his books, and the other essentials that Lupin had brought over. When he came back downstairs, Gates had already thrown a pinch of floor powder into the flames.
Dr. Perry continued to laugh from his place on the wall. "I can perform magic!" he squawked. "See?" He grew still for a moment, then burst out with another shaking string of laughs.
"Which part of Hogwarts will we be coming out at?"
Gates grinned. "We won't be going to Hogwarts," he said, and then, before Harry could say another word, he was involuntarily urged into the fireplace. The Hit Wizard shouted, "Gates Manor!"
(A/N: I hope you enjoyed Perry's comeuppance. That was deliciously fun to write. God, that guy deserved it. You'll be hearing a little more about Perry in chapter 26, but that's not for awhile.
Is Lupin seeming to be a little OOC? Yeah, I can't argue with that. You saw a little of his enmity towards Kreacher in chapter 3, but here you see a lot of it. I see Sirius as being Lupin's last true childhood friend; who came back from the grave for a few years before dying again. I can't really imagine Lupin being 'normal', so to speak.
Anyway, more bad news. My workload has really been picking up as of late and from now on I am not going to make any promises of when these chapters come out. Chapter 24 will be released when I have chapter 26 completed, and so on. I prefer to stay one chapter ahead because if I don't errors will be strung abound.
Hope no one hates me too much!
And I am going to respond to this right now: No, Harry was not kidnapped. This would go against Sirius' will.
Next Chapter: Another very fun, very long chapter that I wrote. It's a good mix of action, adventure, drama, and loads of other stuff. Harry explores the mysterious, winding corridors that is Gates manor. Features an unprecedented look into Gates' history and psychology, and, to the keen-eyed, answers some important questions. But is Gates manor really safe from the Dark Lord? You bet not.