The Kemmynadow Betrayal
by Jardyn39
Chapter 2 - Dreams
MESSAGE TO SUITE 3245 MERCHANT SHIP DREAMER
MESSAGE FROM ROONIL WAZLIB
MESSAGE BEGINS URGENT STOP EXPECT WARM RECEPTION AT DESTINATION STOP RECOMMEND DEPART SHIP AT NEW YORK STOP FUNDS AND TICKETS DEPOSITED FOR COLLECTION STOP SAFE JOURNEY MESSAGE ENDS
*
A few days earlier …
Harry Potter woke with a start, wrestling to become free from his bed sheets that were fighting to strangle him.
In the darkness, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, panting and rubbing his scar. The pain was easing now, but he knew Voldemort had lost control again tonight. Something had upset him so much that his Occlumency, so fastidiously applied for so long, had completely failed.
Harry rubbed his eyes trying to remember.
It was a letter that had provoked Voldemort. There was something small and golden too. Voldemort had thrown it against a wall; but what was it?
Harry relaxed and allowed his mind to go back into the memory.
Voldemort had thrown a screwed up piece of parchment onto the floor. He had then screamed with rage and grabbed something. The thing was shiny and fitted easily in his hand but was strangely warm to the touch.
He had almost dropped it when it reacted to his touch. Was Voldemort afraid of this thing? Voldemort had thrown it at a stone wall, expecting it to shatter. Except it hadn't; it had just vanished.
Harry thought hard.
It was then that the Death Eaters had come running in, obviously wondering what the problem with their Dark Lord had been. Harry tried to remember, but Voldemort had barely looked at them. He guessed there were six of them.
Harry took a long, deep breath.
That was the moment when Voldemort had killed them all. He had killed them simply because they had seen Voldemort scared by something. Well, if not scared, then certainly unnerved. But, by what?
Voldemort had then picked up the screwed up parchment and unfolded it to read it again, this time more slowly.
Dear Tom,
First of all, may I add my belated congratulations upon my recent demise and offer my condolences upon your forthcoming fate.
As much as I would have enjoyed witnessing your final destruction at first hand, that will no longer be possible. I have better things to do.
As something of a traditionalist, I have decided that my Last Will and Testament should be in the style of the Kemmynadow.
I would therefore cordially insist that you relinquish the enclosed item to my beneficiary Harry Potter, who in turn, must accept it under the customary terms.
Of course, you may decide to keep the item as a memento. I appreciate it may take you a while to fully comprehend the full implications of this.
You have my pity, Tom. In truth, that is the only thing you have won from me. In hindsight, not such a great prize.
Albus Dumbledore
*
The next night, Harry once again woke with a start in the middle of the night. The difference was that this time, his scar wasn't hurting at all.
He had just had the most peculiar dream and it took him a moment to remember all the details.
It had begun when he had started seeing images swirling around. It was as if he was sitting on a playground merry-go-round.
Gradually, things stopped spinning enough for Harry to look around, although in the dream he couldn't move any part of his body other than his eyes.
It looked like he was lying under an unfamiliar wooden table, although at that moment he didn't appear to have a body to lie down with.
That was the moment he just accepted he was having a weird dream and relaxed to enjoy it.
He realised he could see the hems of robes and feet from under the table.
Harry vaguely became aware that there was talking. Then he heard a particularly chilling voice that caught his complete attention.
"So, you are ready?"
"Yes, my Lord," said an unfamiliar voice.
"I want no mistakes this time. Do not expect Lord Voldemort's forgiveness again. When I instruct you to kill one family and threaten another, I do not expect you to kill the wrong family."
"No, my Lord. It will not happen again."
"You do know why I have allowed you to live?"
"Not really, my Lord. After you killed Winthrop, I was too afraid to ask."
"Understandable, but I must insist that you learn by his mistake."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Tell me your orders," demanded Voldemort crisply.
"Um, kill the Gabbles in Bedfordshire and the Hardcastles in Lincolnshire and then join up with the party to kidnap one of the Ferryman children in Derby."
"Correct. Remember, I want old Ferryman scared but co-operative. If I am forced to change my plans again because of your blunder, you will learn a new definition for pain and suffering."
Harry thought he heard a gulp.
Just then a stray foot came swinging at him and span violently off again before he woke.
Harry staggered to the fireplace and started a fire with his wand. He was about to throw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames when he hesitated. Had he just been dreaming?
Realising that he couldn't really afford to take a chance, he threw the powder.
He stuck his head into the dancing green flames and said clearly, "Kingsley Shacklebolt!"
Harry had no idea where Kingsley was, of course, but the Auror Department had secure intercepts on the entire Floo Network now. Wherever Kinsgley was, this was the quickest way to reach him.
*
"Hermione, I'm sorry, but there's no way that he would have made a mistake like that," insisted Harry, carefully returning the silvery mist-like liquid into the crystal phial once more.
"But, Harry, how many more times to we have to watch the memory?"
"Look," said Harry once he had secured the phial back on the shelf, "he didn't directly tell them, did he?"
Hermione appeared to be calming herself, and sat down at the table, staring into the now empty stone pensieve. Harry sat next to her, and waited for her to begin again.
Harry had been showing Hermione how Dumbledore's Pensieve worked, but he hadn't yet fully mastered the art of using it. He was now becoming quite skilled in depositing his memories into the bowl. In the beginning, they quickly evaporated. He was rather glad that these deposits were only copies. He knew that Snape had removed certain memories to ensure that he had not seen them while they practiced Occlumency in his Fifth Year. Of course, now he was quite convinced that the memories in the Pensive were Snape's contacts with Voldemort.
Only very recently had he been able to create memories that could be stored, although the length of the memories was still rather short by Dumbledore's standards.
Still, Harry was rather pleased with his self-taught progress, and he was only too pleased to have an opportunity to show off a little for Hermione.
Harry was still having some difficulty selecting strong enough memories, and it was with a mixture of relief that Hermione had asked to see a memory that was quite vivid in his mind and trepidation of her actually seeing how the Dursleys treated him.
Hermione had wanted to see the moment Dumbledore came to collect him from the Dursleys last year.
He thought that he shouldn't have been too surprised at this. He'd enjoyed telling both her and Ron how much Dumbledore had appeared to enjoy himself that evening.
The first time they had watched the scene together, Harry had become quite lost in the moment. Every time he saw the headmaster in one of Dumbledore's stored memories, it brought a lump to Harry's throat. When Dumbledore appeared in Harry's memories, his image appeared to radiate all the things Harry associated with Dumbledore. Hermione had held Harry's hand as they listened in silence.
As soon as they had emerged from the memory, though, Harry knew there had been something troubling Hermione. She had insisted that they revisit the same scene straight away.
Harry had yet to discover how to freeze the moment and replay a memory from within the Pensieve. He had no idea if that was even possible. As a result, they had come out and gone back into the memory several times.
Hermione sighed deeply.
"Let's go through this again. Dumbledore told you in front of the Dursleys that you had inherited a house and he named Number Twelve Grimmauld Place specifically."
"Yes, but," began Harry, but Hermione held up her hand and he stopped.
"Dumbledore summoned Kreacher and reminded you that he had spent the entire year at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."
Harry nodded silently, still eager to have his say.
"Professor Dumbledore was the Order's secret keeper, so the Fidelius Charm secret would not be withheld from anyone he told," Hermione continued slowly. "Unfortunately, I think that someone overhearing something from the lips of the secret keeper counts as being told.
"Now, I think that any of the three Dursleys could now find Grimmauld Place. They know that was the property you inherited."
It was Harry's turn to sigh now.
"Does it really matter, Hermione? I mean, are they really likely to remember the exact address?"
"Well, your Uncle seemed awfully interested in your inheritance."
"Yeah, I bet he'd love to get his hands on the place," said Harry bitterly. "Even if Wizards once lived there. He'd just want the cash he could make."
"He couldn't, though, could he?"
"He would if he could, I'm sure."
"Harry, are you allowed to own property if you aren't of age?"
"I am of age; I'm seventeen aren't I?"
"Well, that's only in the Wizarding World. Couldn't he argue that you are still a minor in the Muggle courts and take control of the property on your behalf?"
Harry gave a hollow laugh and asked, "On my behalf?"
"Well, obviously that's what he would have to say to get control. Once he had the deeds, he could just dispose of the property. For all we know, he might already have the place."
Harry snorted and asked, "I wonder where they'll put the For Sale board?"
"Yes, I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. "The Estate Agent wouldn't be able to find the property, would they?"
"Well, actually neither would Uncle Vernon."
"Harry, we're getting side tracked again. Where was I?"
"I think you were remarking what a long time it has been since I got a kiss."
Hermione's look of concentration suddenly broke into a smile.
"I was saying," she continued as Harry gave made an exaggerated show of hanging his head and sagging his shoulders, "that they might well remember the address."
Hermione then relented and leaned forward to give him a peck on his cheek.
"Hermione! Come on, Ron's not here, is he?"
"Let's have one conversation at a time, shall we?" she said warningly.
Harry knew better than to argue, and nodded silently.
"Now, I believe that Dumbledore actually implied that Kreacher was living at Grimmauld Place."
"Yes, I can see that," agreed Harry, "but I can't see what the problem with that is. The Dursleys won't know anything about the Order of the Phoenix, will they?"
"But, you're forgetting, Harry. The charms that protected you at Privet Drive are no longer in effect. Ever since your birthday, the Death Eaters could find and attack you there."
"Okay, but the house has been empty ever since I left," argued Harry.
"Harry, the protections must have been far greater than just some invisible barrier at the front gate. Up until now, the Dursleys were not linked to you. I mean, otherwise someone could have performed an Imperious Curse on them and got them to attack you or take you to Voldemort. In fact, I suspect that no one has been able to associate you with Privet Drive at all. Otherwise, the Daily Prophet reporters would have sought you out long ago, wouldn't they?"
"Yes," he admitted, "I mean, I assumed there were more to the charms than just a simple barrier ward."
"So, to continue my train of thought, what if the Dursleys were captured by Voldemort now. Today. Couldn't he get them to reveal what they know?"
Harry considered this.
"Well, first of all, they couldn't reveal the secret Dumbledore gave them, intentionally or not."
"Agreed, but what was really the secret? I think that it was the address of the headquarters, not the address of Sirius' old house."
Harry remained silent for a moment before saying, "The Fidelius Charm wasn't the only protection on the property, was it? It was also made unplottable and there are wards to prevent Apparating from outside. Also, the fireplaces still aren't connected to the Floo network. The real risk isn't to me or the house; it's to the Dursleys."
Hermione frowned.
"What?" asked Harry.
"I just need a moment to compose myself. I'm not used to being out thought."
Harry laughed and said, "That'll never happen; at least, not by me!"
He straightened his face a moment and asked seriously, "So, you really think there's no problem?"
"I didn't say that, Harry. Do you think there's a problem?"
"Yes, I do. Well, there are two problems, actually. The first is that we need to find out whether the Fidelius Charm will hold now that our Secret Keeper is dead. Somehow, I'm sure the charm will fail eventually, as powerful as Dumbledore was."
"I'll look it up in the Library," said Hermione before adding, "Actually, it might be simpler to ask Professor Flitwick. I'm sure Professor McGonagall could contact him for us, assuming she doesn't know herself."
Harry nodded and said, "In the meantime, we ought to vacate the place again. Just in case."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"You haven't asked me about the second problem."
"I'd understand, Harry."
"No, you wouldn't," he said with a smile.
"Are you sure you want to?"
"Well, I think I'll regret it, sure, but that's got to be better than if something happened, isn't it."
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her.
"You seem tired, Harry."
"You haven't had much of a holiday this summer either, have you?" he said, kissing her neck. "Let's just sneak off for a few days, shall we? Ron won't mind looking after Crookshanks and Hedwig."
*
Harry sat heavily onto the kitchen chair, having hung the drawstring bag that contained the Gringotts deposit slips on a hook on the back of the door.
"Is Harry Potter ready for dinner?" asked Dobby expectantly.
"Um, yeah, Dobby. That'll be great. Thanks," he added with a wide yawn.
Before he knew it, Dobby had placed several steaming bowls on the table. Hot plates followed almost at once.
"This smells great, Dobby. Where's Kreacher?"
"Dobby has not seen him, Sir," said the elf with a glance to the boiler cupboard.
"Kreacher?" called Harry and instantly he appeared, looking murderous as usual.
"I've told you before, Kreacher. I'd like both you and Dobby to join us for meals. I know it's only me here now, but I'd still like your company."
"Kreacher doesn't want to. Kreacher isn't," he tried to say before reverting to saying, "Kreacher doesn't want to."
"Kreacher, are you hungry?" Harry asked with a smile, knowing the house elf couldn't lie to him.
Kreacher had another small tantrum, did a short dance and then finally answered, "Yes."
"Kreacher, please sit down and eat until you are no longer hungry."
Harry had found that he had to be very careful with the orders he gave to Kreacher these days. He delighted in trying to find a way of doing something, anything, that was different from what Harry had intended.
He wouldn't make the same mistake of just telling him to sit and eat in a hurry. Kreacher had stuffed himself to bursting before Harry realised what he had done.
The three of them sat and ate. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, but Harry was sure he had to persevere. Dobby wasn't anywhere near as bad as Kreacher, but even he was nervous about sitting at the same table as him. He often found any excuse to jump up and fetch something to the table.
Harry decided he just needed to be a little more patient.
He told himself this again as, true to form, Kreacher managed to accidentally throw his plate onto the floor, knowing that Harry had forbidden him from actually eating off the floor.
"I've almost finished tagging everything we need to store in Gringotts," Harry said conversationally as a generous amount of gravy dripped off Kreacher's nose. Dobby was off his chair in a flash and back to wipe the table almost before the first drip of gravy hit the table.
Harry had gone to Gringotts bank to open another vault where he intended to store everything from the house while they vacated it. He had discovered, though, that Sirius' old vault would do nicely.
Gringotts provided a deposit facility that consisted of a generous bundle of deposit slips. All he had to do was stick a deposit slip on the object he wanted to deposit. Exactly one hour later, the object and any contents, would be transferred directly into his vault.
For the last couple of days, Harry had been all over the house making sure that nothing that might be of interest to Voldemort was left.
It was true, that much of his deposits so far could not really be regarded as security risks to the Order, but he was quite determined that neither Bellatrix Lestrange nor Narcissa Malfoy would get their hands on anything that belonged to Sirius.
"Now, you know that I'm likely to have to forbid either of you from returning here until we know that it's safe?" he continued. "If there is anything that you want to deposit in Gringotts, now is the time to say."
"Dobby has nothing, Sir!" Dobby piped up.
"Kreacher, what about you?"
Kreacher was making furtive looks at his Boiler Room door.
Harry was about to ask again when Kreacher suddenly burst into tears and ran straight for his Boiler Room.
"Dobby, what's the matter with him?"
"Dobby thinks Kreacher has some things that he fears Harry Potter will take away from him," the house elf said sadly. "Of course, Sir is always welcome to anything that belongs to Dobby!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Dobby. I wouldn't steal anything that belonged to you!" said Harry getting up and crossing the kitchen. "I suppose it's that stuff he nicked trying to stop Sirius from throwing out."
Harry opened the door and immediately heard sobbing.
"Oh, Miss Bellatrix, whatever shall Kreacher do?"
Harry peered under the rusty boiler that he'd utterly failed to dissuade Kreacher from sleeping under. He was crouched awkwardly, clutching a number of items to himself and rocking desperately.
"Kreacher," Harry said gently, "come out here and bring those things with you."
Kreacher obeyed but attempted to hide everything behind his back. Everything, that is, apart from a silver framed photograph that he knew was of Bellatrix. This he clutched protectively to his chest.
"Kreacher, I'm not going to take any of those things from you and I'm not going to order you to throw them away. But the thing is, we may not be able to return here for a while, so if you want to keep them safe, you will have to take them with you or you are welcome to use the space in my vault."
"Ha! The brat Master wants Kreacher's precious things! He knows that once they are in his vault, Kreacher will lose them forever!"
Harry sighed and shook his head. Then he caught sight of a long gold chain.
"Kreacher, can I please see that gold chain?"
Kreacher looked even more fearful at that. Harry was about to order him to show him, when Kreacher retrieved the chain and offered it to him.
Harry held the chain up to the light, and watched as the heavy locket twisted around.
Then it hit him. Regulus Black. R. A. B.
It had been here all the time. He had seen it in the Pensieve. There was no mistake. This was Slytherin's locket, complete with motif. He shuddered remembering how they had all tried to open it.
Harry felt a strange calmness, quite different from the feelings he thought he'd be having with a genuine piece of Voldemort in his hands.
He returned the locket to Kreacher, who grabbed it before Harry changed his mind.
"Kreacher, I want you to listen very carefully. That locket and chain is very old and very valuable."
Kreacher looked at him in undisguised horror, obviously fearing he was about to lose it after all.
"Kreacher, I forbid you to lose that locket and chain. You may not sell it nor give it away and you must ensure that it remains safe at all times. I also forbid you from allowing anybody to know that you are in possession of the locket. Dobby, that goes for you too.
"Kreacher, I promise that you will keep it. It is yours, but I will ask to borrow it at some time in the future. There is something dangerous inside there that I will need to dispose of properly once we've figured out how to do it safely. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "I also forbid you from trying to open it or allowing it to be opened by someone else until I give permission."
Kreacher immediately relented from trying to open the locket.
Harry smiled and grabbed an empty cardboard box from the pantry.
"So what do you want to deposit in the vault?"
*
Harry opened his eyes, wondering if he was going mad. He had just woken from another strange dream.
He was now becoming quite used to appearing, disembodied but trapped within some small object that would invariably start somewhere very close to Voldemort.
Tonight, he had been on top of a table when he was suddenly grabbed and put inside someone's deep robe pocket.
He then listened to a long conversation. He soon got bored in this as it was mainly about how Diagon Alley wasn't as much fun as it was. Harry was incredulous that a Death Eater could even contemplate such things.
After about half an hour, Harry was fished out of the pocket and thrown unceremoniously over a cliff.
He had winced waiting for a painful landing on the rocks below, but to his amazement there was a brief flash and he reappeared back on the table again. He hadn't been hurt at all.
There was a loud groan from someone he took to be Voldemort and then he was thrown against the wall again. He bounced off and landed under a chair.
As it was quiet after that, Harry must have lost interest and woke up.
He was fairly sure now, that whatever he was experiencing, these weren't truly dreams and they weren't exactly visions either.
For one thing, he was no longer seeing things through Voldemort's eyes. For another, his tip-offs to Kingsley Shacklebolt concerning the names he'd remembered had turned out to be very useful so far. The Ministry had caught quite a few Death Eaters over the last few days, and Harry was sure that Voldemort was beginning to suspect something.
This was somewhat confirmed by the attempt to throw him off a cliff. In Harry's mind, this smacked of desperation. So far Voldemort had personally attempted to vanish him, burn him, crush him, have him locked in a dark place and throw him against various walls. He didn't mind, really. Indeed, it was rather amusing to see Voldemort's frustration at being completely unable to prevent Harry, or whatever the thing was, from reappearing.
His only growing frustration was that he did not really know what the object was. He could sometimes see Death Eaters looking at it fearfully, but they were clearly terrified of Voldemort hearing them mention it by name. As a result, he got no more clues through his dreams.
Most of all, though, Harry just wished he understood what was going on.