The Kemmynadow Betrayal by jardyn39

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 01/10/2005
Last Updated: 19/10/2005
Status: Completed

“He was a great wizard, Harry. I’ve always said so. The Kemmynadow curse is an ancient magic.
There is no way I could defend myself against it and keep the bequest from you,” said Voldemort
lightly, “unless,” he added in barely a whisper, “I somehow got you to betray it first. Oh, but
Harry,” he added with mock concern, “I’m keeping you from your friends.” Sequel/Continuation of The
Deceiver’s Distillation.




1. Introduction and Character Profiles
--------------------------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


Chapter 1 – Introduction and Character Profiles**


Summary


“He was a great wizard, Harry. I’ve always said so. The Kemmynadow curse is an ancient magic.
There is no way I could defend myself against it and keep the bequest from you,” said Voldemort
lightly, “unless,” he added in barely a whisper, “I somehow got you to betray it first. Oh, but
Harry,” he added with mock concern, “I’m keeping you from your friends.”


*This quote was abridged to make the Summary work!*


Introduction


*This is a new story continuing after the events in The Deceiver’s Distillation
that began a few days after Dumbledore’s funeral.*


**It is not at all necessary to have read that story first***, but a summary of the major
events is given below. There are unfortunately a few spoilers below.*


*Readers may find the brief character profiles in this Chapter a little more helpful than the
summary that follows.*


*These are all events occurring before Harry sets out in his hunt for the remaining
Horcruxes.*


Character Profiles


Knowing the story so far probably isn’t as important as knowing a little of the new characters
that were introduced in The Deceiver’s Distillation.


More or less in order of importance:-

Sergeant John Bateman*.* Nicknamed “Bear,” he
is the leader of the Muggle Special Forces team assigned to Harry. He is physically imposing, fit,
strong and quite a bit older than his charges. He was attacked by Hagrid when he failed to heed his
warnings concerning Hermione’s treatment. His best friend, also a veteran solder, died shortly
after being rescued from the Arena. Trusted and respected by Harry, Bateman is experienced, clever
and very skilled at what he does.

Bateman leads his usual team consisting of Duke, Carlyle, Hagland and Smith. Hope and Careem are
recent additions from other duties.

Duke*.* Second in command. Likes to tell jokes and
show off. Loves being in a fight and appears to have caught Bateman’s enthusiasm for teaching those
under his command. Scornful of Officers, he has been known to speak out of turn occasionally.
Assigned to Harry for close personal protection.
Careem*.* Weapons and explosives specialist.
Clever but physically slight compared to the others. Assigned to Harry for close personal
protection. Was the first to (jokingly) suggest they bayonet Ron.
Terri Hope*.* Only female member of the team.
Assigned to Hermione for close personal protection. Disobeyed direct order to follow Hermione into
the camp when she gave them the slip.
Carlyle*.* Assigned to Hermione for close
personal protection.
Hagland*.* Recognised the Prime Minister from
the television but thought he was a football manager. Assigned to Ron for close personal
protection. Suspected to have knocked Ron out on their way to attacking the Arena
camp.
Smith*.* Still thinks a football manager gave them
their mission orders. Assigned to Ron for close personal protection.

*Jack Gurnet.* Died shortly after Arena rescue. Soldier.
Best friend of John Bateman. Captured and tortured in the false belief that he had Bateman’s
mission to protect Harry. Suffered mutilating surgery at the hands of the Healer along with Alison
Weston. Made to fight in the Arena.


*Alison Weston.* Civilian casualty nurse. Died shortly
after Arena rescue.

The Healer*.* Harry and Hermione saw Ollivander
kill the Healer’s nurse during the battle. Just before she died, Alison Weston appeared to identify
Ollivander as the surgeon who mutilated them. Harry was the only witness to this and only he saw
Ollivander grab Hermione. It is not known whether Ollivander was falsely identified as the Healer
or if he was acting under another’s influence. Harry is convinced that Ollivander is indeed the
Healer.

The Deceiver’s Distillation


The Deceiver’s Distillation is a potion believed to be impossible to make in modern times. It
has a number of properties, including the ability to force any person in disguise to revert to
their original form.


Harry, Ron and Hermione were each tested and cleared.


During the testing, Harry had to decide whether or not he really trusted his friends. He had
concerns about both of them, but particularly needed to hear Hermione confess about something that
happened during their last year at school.


Harry reviewed a collection of memories left by Dumbledore. He did not find anything useful but
several memory phials had been broken.


Hermione’s parents went into hiding but were concerned enough to relate their suspicions about
Hermione’s unusual behaviour directly to Harry. She admits to being able to “read” Harry’s emotions
and claims Dumbledore knew she could do this. He is sceptical.


Hermione ended things with Ron, although he is still hopeful that they will get back
together.


During the final stages of testing, Harry exhibited an alarming reaction. On just one occasion,
Voldemort became so distracted that he dropped his Occlumency mask. This gave Harry a direct view
of his Death Eaters celebrating.


The Prime Minister has insisted upon joining the fight against Voldemort and began by sending a
team of Special Forces to protect Harry and his friends. Together they attacked and took one of
Voldemort’s encampments where an Arena had been erected. Few survived the gladiatorial combats, but
some had been horribly disfigured by the experimentation done by The Healer.


Fred and George’s inventions were much appreciated.


The wand maker Ollivander was rescued from the camp but appeared to be confused and befuddled by
his experiences. Later, he was identified to Harry as the Healer and kidnapped Hermione as he
escaped. Harry got to her just in time to be Disapparated away.


Harry and Hermione woke as captives in a tower but escaped just in time to avoid providing an
entertainment in a new, smaller Arena. They arrived back at the Burrow but soon departed again in
order to resolve a few things in private. They are slowly growing closer but Harry, certainly, is
becoming more aware of his feelings.


Harry punched Ron but later apologised when they thought Hermione wasn’t listening.


A side effect of the Deceiver’s Distillation potion is that any person attempting to impersonate
them will be mentally impaired. The impostor Hermione could only say, “I like homework,” over and
over.


The events that happened at the Arena were publicised, but there is no proof that Ollivander
really was The Healer.


The Room of Requirement has been sealed to everybody except Harry, Ron and Hermione. They alone
can now enter Hogwarts through the Floo network. Harry can restrict Ron and Hermione’s access as
well as enter through the Hogwarts grounds if he needs to.


Professor McGonagall was confirmed by the Hogwarts Governors as the new Headmistress, but the
start of term is still to come and Voldemort is still expected to want his own candidate
installed.


The celebration that followed marked the end of the initial association between Bateman’s team
and Harry and his friends.


*The Kemmynadow Betrayal story begins immediately after. It is not yet September….*




2. Dreams
---------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


Chapter 2 – Dreams**


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*


*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.




3. House Guests
---------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 3 – House Guests**


A troubled Harry sat at the Grimmauld Place kitchen table staring into the dregs of his now cold
coffee. Although there was a good swallow of coffee left in the cup, Harry had taken recently to
leaving just enough to stop Dobby from hovering with a fresh pot and eager for him to have a
refill.


He had just returned from the Burrow, where Ron and Hermione were staying.


Although he had gone there on the pretext of returning a number of minor items that been left by
the Weasleys at one time or another, his real reason had been to speak to Hermione.


Over the course of Harry’s self-imposed exile while he ensured that nothing of any use remained
at Grimmauld Place, he had come aware of certain uncomfortable realisations. He was quite sure he
was imagining things; Hermione was bound to pour scorn on these particular thoughts.


Well, he had been sure until his visit earlier in the day.


“*Oh, Harry Dear,*” Mrs Weasley had exclaimed as she spotted him approaching the kitchen
door carrying a large packing crate. He put the almost empty crate down hurriedly to greet her.


“Hi, Mrs Weasley,” he replied warmly as she hugged him.


For some time now, Mrs Weasley had greeted him in this fashion every time she saw him. As usual
when they broke apart, she was close to tears. Harry knew that the tears would come later, when
they parted.


He guided her back into the kitchen and by the time the tea he’d made had finished brewing, she
was ready to speak again.


“I just brought a few things back, you know, before we leave Sirius’s.”


“Oh, you really needn’t have bothered,” she replied, dabbing her eyes for the last time and
putting away her handkerchief.


“Where are Ron and Hermione?”


“Oh, they went for a walk earlier. Hermione was a bit down after her parents left this morning.
We got a message to say they’d arrived safely, but of course we’ve no idea where they’ll be.”


Harry nodded. None of them knew where Mr and Mrs Granger had been in hiding before being called
back a few days ago when Hermione had been kidnapped with Harry from the hospital camp.


“Ginny’s in the orchard,” she added hopefully. “She’s thinning the fruit out.”


Harry gave an embarrassed nod. He hadn’t spoken to her at all about himself and Ginny, and he
had no intention of ever doing so if he could help it.


“Mrs Weasley,” he said gently. “I really hate to say this, but Ginny and I are not-.” He paused
awkwardly before saying, “What I’m trying to say is that any kind of speculation about who I may or
may not be going out with could be very dangerous.”


She nodded, but Harry was sure that wouldn’t make her give up. He wondered how much she knew, or
even thought she knew.


“You’ll come and stay with us at the Burrow, of course, while you can’t go back to Grimmauld
Place?” she asked warmly.


Harry smiled and said, “I’m not sure yet, but thanks for the offer.”


She smiled back and placed a hand on his forearm.


“Oh, but you’ll stay for dinner?”


“Actually, I need to get back before Kreacher decides to pick a fight with Dobby again.”


“Why don’t you just forbid them from fighting?”


“Well, obviously I have. The problem is Kreacher keeps finding new ways to get around my orders.
I forbade him from fighting ages ago, but he still pushed Dobby down the stairs. When I ordered him
not to that, he tripped him down the stairs.”


“Goodness!”


“Dobby refuses to allow me to send him away, of course,” Harry said smiling. “Still, it’s a lot
better than it was.”


“Hi, Harry,” said Ginny entering the kitchen from the garden.


“Hi, Ginny,” he replied warmly. “Have you seen Ron and Hermione?”


“Yes, they’re in the orchard,” she replied. “I think they are having a competition to shoot
fruit off the trees.”


Harry nodded and quickly drained his cup.


“Good,” he said placing his cup on the draining board and heading for the door. “I’ll see you
before I leave.”


Harry smiled hearing Hermione’s loud laughter as he crossed the lawn towards the small orchard.
It certainly sounded like she was cheering up.


As Harry entered the small orchard, he realised that they had abandoned thinning out the fruit
by magical means.


A grin spread across his face as he first glimpsed Hermione, struggling with the long pole that
presumably Ginny had been using to cut the smaller fruit off the high branches. Harry was sure that
Hermione would, as usual, have thrashed Ron in any competition to shoot fruit using their wands. He
was equally sure that Ron had challenged Hermione to thin the trees using non-magical means,
knowing full well that she would struggle to beat him that way.


Hermione was having some difficult holding the pole steady enough. Several feet long, there was
a secateur at the high end controlled by a wire actioned by a lever down the bottom. The fact that
Hermione was laughing hysterically wasn’t helping.


Ron came into view as Harry threaded his way through the fruit trees. He was almost doubled up
from laughing.


As Harry approached, he didn’t call out, not wishing to spoil the moment.


Ron appeared to take pity on Hermione and reached over to take the pole.


“Honestly, Hermione,” he said laughing. “No one can be this bad!”


Then to Harry’s growing unease, he continued, “Look, you do it like this.”


Ron quickly placed his left hand over Hermione’s and lifted the pole upright. He moved around
her back to take the bottom of the pole in his other hand, again over hers. He pulled the pole
towards them both and it became steady.


“See?” Ron said, raising the pole up expertly. “If you take the weight with your left hand, it
leaves your right hand to point the pole and do the cutting.”


As the sound of a falling apple reached his ears, Harry’s thoughts were fixed on the gap, or
rather the complete lack of any gap, between Hermione’s back and Ron’s front. He was suddenly very
uncomfortable about their physical proximity, especially considering that they thought they were
unobserved.


Harry thought he should make his presence known. He skirted around the nearest apple tree and
called out, “Ron? Hermione?” so it seemed that he hadn’t seen them.


By the time they were back in view, Ron was holding the pole alone. Harry was sure he hadn’t
moved, but Hermione was a few feet away now and looking a little flustered.


Harry had quickly told them about the locket, and asked Hermione to think about how they might
destroy it when they got the chance. He then made his excuses hand left, abandoning his intention
of speaking to Hermione alone.


Hermione had speculated animatedly about where they might find the information they would need.
The spell would need to be a powerful one, and Harry was keen to avoid the kind of injuries that
Dumbledore’s withered and blackened hand had sustained when he had destroyed the ring Horcrux.


Throughout, Ron had listened to them in silence, propping himself up casually using the fruit
picking pole. Unlike Hermione, he didn’t appear at all excited or concerned at the prospect of
destroying a genuine Horcrux.


Harry had left them feeling uncomfortable, but that feeling worsened later as he realised that
throughout, Ron hadn’t taken his eyes off him once. It seemed to Harry that Ron was giving him a
coldly appraising look. A smile had played on Ron’s lips that, by the time Harry had got back to
Grimmauld Place, looked more like a sneer worthy of Draco Malfoy.


He shouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, Harry had effectively stolen Hermione away from
Ron. All of Ron’s suspicions had turned out to be true, despite both his and Hermione’s protests.
At the time, their assertions had been true, but he knew that from Ron’s perspective, this would
have been hard to believe.


As much as he felt like going right back to the Burrow and punching Ron again, he knew this
would hardly endear Hermione to him. He also knew that if it was okay for Harry to usurp Ron in
Hermione’s affections; it was also okay for Ron to do the same.


Harry shook his head.


He had no business having such suspicions about either of them. Harry also had to remind himself
that Hermione had insisted that Ron needed to get used to the idea that they were over before
Hermione’s relationship with Harry was pushed in his face.


At the time, Harry had agreed this was the best thing to do; although he hadn’t anticipated that
Ron wouldn’t give up on Hermione quite so easily.


A loud doorbell broke Harry from his reverie.


Harry climbed the stairs from the basement two at a time. He stumbled slightly over the worn
carpet and reached the front door slightly out of breath.


He took a deep breath and began opening the door locks with his wand.


*


“Welcome to Grimmauld Place,” Harry said a little awkwardly, closing the front door and quickly
re-locking it.


He turned back to face his guests.


Uncle Vernon was looking too outraged to speak, Aunt Petunia was clutching her handbag to
herself as if it were a shield and Dudley, who was clutching two large suitcases, was looking
around fearfully.


“I’m sorry to do magic in front of you,” he said putting his wand away. “It’s just that I
thought it would be safer this way. You’re all looking very well,” he added with a smile.
“Obviously ocean cruises agree with you.”


“Some cruise!” boomed Uncle Vernon. “I thought we were going to the Caribbean! What do you mean
by sending us a cable telling us to get off at New York and come straight back?”


“I’m sorry, but it seemed for the best. I did suggest that you fly to New York and sail from
there, remember? That way you’d have had a few days in the sun at least.”


Uncle Vernon bristled with indignation.


“Look,” said Harry quickly before he got back to full volume again, “why don’t we go down to the
kitchen and have some tea. I expect you’d like to know why I called you back.”


Vernon’s small eyes narrowed but as he didn’t actually object verbally, Harry led them down the
stairs to the basement.


*


Harry was relieved to find that Dobby had left a large teapot brewing on a tea tray that also
held four cups and saucers, a small milk jug and a sugar bowl. As planned, neither Dobby nor
Kreacher were in attendance.


“Please, take a seat,” said Harry, nervously indicating the chairs around the large table.


Harry busied himself making them teas before sitting down himself. He took a sip of tea and
noticed that just as Dudley absently brought his cup to his lips a warning look from his father
stopped him from drinking.


Harry sighed with disappointment. If they wouldn’t even drink here, he would need to think of
something else.


Then Aunt Petunia lifted her cup and sipped her drink through pursed lips. As she lowered her
hand, both Uncle Vernon and Dudley were looking at her in shock. Then, rather tentatively, they
both drank a little.


Harry smiled at her. Aunt Petunia looked back at him as stonily as ever, so he cleared his
throat to begin.


“I’m sorry I interrupted your trip. A few days ago we discovered something that meant there was
a chance that Voldemort could gain access to this place. He would have used you to do it, and since
the protections that Dumbledore placed on privet Drive have now gone, it would have been a simple
matter for his Death Eaters to track you down.


“You were relatively safe while you were at sea. Wizards have problems Apparating to a moving
target in the middle of the Atlantic, you see?


“Anyway, I’m glad you made it safely back. What we need to decide now is where the best place
for you to stay is.”


Just then there was a flapping sound and Hedwig flew expertly into the kitchen from the stairs.
Harry realised that Dobby must have let her in through an upstairs window.


Hedwig dropped a scroll in front of Harry, circled the room and headed back up the stairs.


Puzzled, Harry said, “Excuse me,” and then opened the unsealed scroll.


*Harry,*


*I’m outside trying to get in but there’s a problem. The door doesn’t appear when I think of
the address as usual. Please lift the Apparition wards a moment so I can come in.*


*Hurry up, it’s starting to rain!*


*Love from,*


*Hermione*


Harry frowned. This was written in Hermione’s handwriting, but he had no idea why she couldn’t
get the door to appear to her. Feeling a little suspicious, he got absently to his feet. He
certainly wasn’t about to lift the Apparition wards and he was surprised she would even ask him
to.


He hurried up to the entrance hall, where he found Dobby.


“I’ve looked, Sir,” he said quietly. “It certainly looks like Miss Hermione outside. She’s
standing alone in the square. Shall I go and get her?”


“No, Dobby.” said Harry. “I’ll go. It may be a trick.”


He quickly undid the locks but didn’t open the door. Putting his invisibility cloak on, he
opened the door a crack and looked outside. Hermione was standing alone, looking frustrated and
very wet. Her gaze was following the houses along the square, but she kept appearing to skip over
Number Twelve entirely.


Harry readied himself. He would need to be quick.


He checked up and down the street once more, then Apparated to right next to her. He grabbed her
arm tightly and Disapparated them both back to the lobby.


Harry slammed the door closed again before Hermione could object.


He pulled off his invisibility cloak and pointed his wand at her.


“Hello, Hermione,” he said pleasantly. “What’s the password?”


“*I like homework*,” she replied sarcastically. Harry’s eyes widened for a moment as he
remembered that was the phrase the impostor Hermione was supposed to have said.


“Harry, be serious!” she exclaimed, taking the warm towel being offered by Dobby. “Thank you,
Dobby, and since when have we had a password?”


Harry allowed himself a roll of his eyes before locking the door again and pocketing his
wand.


“Hermione, why did you want me to lift the wards?”


“Well, I thought that was better than you coming outside into the square, but I forgot you were
free to Apparate in and out of here.”


Hermione emerged from the towel and then pointed her wand at herself. A few flicks later, and
Harry might never have guessed she had just been out in the rain. Another flick later and the towel
flew back up to the linen basket, folded and dry.


“Um, Hermione, is this important? It’s just that they have just arrived.”


“Oh, right,” she said heading immediately down the stairs. Harry followed with a feeling of
trepidation. Just like Mrs Weasley, Hermione’s barely concealed feelings towards the Dursleys could
hardly help matters right then.


“Professor McGonagall left a message for you,” Hermione said over her shoulder as she descended.
“She assumed you were at the Burrow.”


“What did she want?” he asked but Hermione had already entered the kitchen.


The Dursleys were still sitting at the kitchen table, each looking apprehensively towards the
door, perhaps wondering exactly what was coming down the steps to greet them.


As Hermione stood imperiously before them, wand held loosely at her side, Harry could almost
feel the enmity radiating from her.


“Um,” Harry said nervously, “Hermione, this is my Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and their son
Dudley.” Turning to the Dursleys, Harry said, “This is Hermione Granger. You probably remember her
from when you’ve picked me up from Kings Cross.”


None of them even acknowledged each other.


“Right,” said Harry uncertainly. “Would you like some tea, Hermione? Or, perhaps you don’t have
time?” he added hopefully.


“Tea would be lovely, Harry,” she replied at once, taking a seat at the table and placing her
wand on the table.


Harry quickly poured her tea and then sat back down again.


“What was Professor McGonagall’s message?”


“Oh, she wanted to see you. She didn’t go into details but she hinted the wards on this place
may have been affected. She asked you to meet her in her office at eight o’clock tonight.”


“Okay, thanks,” said Harry.


“So,” Hermione continued, addressing the Dursleys, “you managed to find this place?”


They nodded in unison.


“It was Hermione that figured out that you’d be able to find us, even if no one else could,”
said Harry. “You see, this property is protected. It is *unplottable*, which means that it
cannot be located on any map or by any directions. It was also protected by a *Fidelius
Charm*, which means that no one can reveal its location unless personally told where it is by
the secret keeper.


“Professor Dumbledore spoke about Grimmauld Place to me in front of you when he came to pick me
up last year. Because he was the secret keeper, you were able to find the front door.”


“I suppose that explains why the taxi driver was unable to drive us any closer,” said Aunt
Petunia.


“Yes,” agreed Harry.


“But why was it so important that we come directly here, boy?” asked Uncle Vernon aggressively.
“It’s bad enough that I had to take the time off that I have, but now I’m back I need to get back
to work!”


“You know full well that your firm was perfectly happy for you to take an extended break,”
answered Harry firmly. “You were due to remain on that cruise for a few more weeks. Actually,
they’ll probably tell you to stay on leave given the number of orders that have come through.”


“Ah, well,” Uncle Vernon said sheepishly. “I met a lot of influential people on the ship and
they expressed some interest.”


“Well, I’m glad the first class tickets came in handy,” continued Harry, “even if you did manage
to advertise where you were. Anyway, as I explained in my letter, it would be best if you didn’t go
home for a while longer.”


“This is intolerable!”


“You aren’t the only ones affected, you know?” Hermione said angrily. “I had to say goodbye to
my parents again this morning. They’re in hiding now, but we didn’t hear them complain!”


Harry sat down and wiped his eyes as the argument ensued. They were still arguing heatedly when
he left for his appointment with Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts.




4. Friction
-----------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 4 – Friction**


Harry stepped out of the fireplace into the Room of Requirement. It looked quite different now
that it was his portal to gain entry to Hogwarts. Thanks to Professor McGonagall, the Room of
Requirement now only admitted three people; himself, Ron and Hermione.


He fleetingly wondered where Professor Trelawney would be hiding her sherry bottles now she
could not use the room.


The large circular room had seven large ornate fireplaces, all burning fiercely and looking
large enough to allow three people to Floo at the same time. In the centre of the room stood a
wooden table with a circular top with three plain chairs.


Between the fireplaces were rows upon rows of mostly empty shelves.


Seeing that there were a few books on one of the shelves, curiosity got the better of him and he
went over to have a quick look.


Harry grinned as he reached out for a book he recognised. It was one of his favourites from the
library and he realised he had been thinking about looking up the chapter on secrecy charm
detection if he had time after seeing Professor McGonagall.


If the Room would provide anything they were thinking about as they Flooed in, he realised, this
room would become a very useful resource.


He snorted to himself as he placed the heavy book back on its shelf. He’d have to warn Hermione
of there’d be no room to step out into the room if the room provided all the books she happened to
be thinking about.


Harry walked around the room looking at the fireplaces. Each was different but there was no
indication that a fireplace could only be used to reach a specific destination.


Taking a small pinch from the generous supply in a pot that was next to an ornate white marble
fireplace, Harry threw the powder into the flames.


Bright green flames roared up the flue as Harry stepped in and said loudly, “Professor
McGonagall’s office.”


*


Harry stepped out of the fire into the large circular office that he had always known as
Dumbledore’s office.


The office was empty and checking his watch, Harry realised he was a few minutes early.


Not wishing to disturb the slumbering portraits, Harry moved quietly over to the window and
looked out into the darkening sky.


“Albus?” said a gentle whisper.


Harry turned and saw that Dilys Derwent, who had been both a former Hogwarts Headmistress and a
renowned Healer at St Mungos, kneeling next to the slumbering Dumbledore in his portrait.


“Don’t disturb him,” said Harry, seeing that Dumbledore was sleeping soundly.


Dilys turned and smiled at Harry.


“I tend to agree that we should let him rest,” she said turning back, “but he was most insistent
that I wake him when you arrived.


“I should warn you,” she said, gently stroking Dumbledore’s arm, “that it usually takes some
time before we portraits can recall very much from our real lives. It is not at all unusual for a
new portrait to sleep for months.”


“Then let him sleep,” pleaded Harry, approaching the portrait.


“Oh, there’ll be trouble if I did that. All I wanted to warn you was that he won’t remember much
yet, and certainly he won’t remember his passing. None of us can remember that.”


Harry nodded as Dumbledore began to stir.


At last, Dumbledore opened his eyes slowly and looked around. He fixed his eyes on Harry and
smiled warmly.


“Now, Albus, I’ve woken you as promised,” said Dilys. “You are not to tire yourself out too
much, and I would remind you that you agreed to behave and do as you’re told from now on.”


Dilys stood and winked at Harry before leaving Dumbledore’s portrait.


Dumbledore drew his robes around him as if he felt the cold and said, “Cheer up, Harry. It
really isn’t so bad, you know?”


Harry tried to answer, but found his throat becoming constricted. He blinked back tears.


“I haven’t felt so relaxed in years. As I cannot remember very much, there isn’t anything to
worry about,” he added with a small chuckle.


Harry nodded and smiled as Dumbledore’s eyelids began to droop.


Up close, Harry marvelled at the detail of Dumbledore’s portrait. He supposed it was a
reflection of how powerful he had been in life. Even the ghastly lifelike portrait of Sirius’
mother was crude by comparison.


As Dumbledore fell once more into a deep sleep, it occurred to Harry that it had been years
since he had seen him looking so well. The portrait didn’t show him any younger, it was just that
the lines of worry seemed to have eased.


Satisfied that Dumbledore was resting peacefully, Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall
standing behind him.


“Will you join me for a walk, Harry?”


Harry smiled and nodded as they headed for the door.


*


Professor McGonagall opened the door to her old first floor office and beckoned Harry
inside.


“I’ve been in the process of moving some things upstairs, but right now I find myself caught
between two offices,” she explained sitting down behind her desk. “Please, Harry, take a seat.”


Harry nodded and sat opposite.


“As you have seen, Albus’ portrait is making good progress, although it may be years before he
recalls very much.”


“I’m glad,” said Harry at once. “He deserves a break.”


“I tend to agree, but his memories would be very useful to us. Mind you, Dumbledore in life
never set much store by following the example of others; so we may yet have him back sooner than we
expect.”


“I half expected Fawkes to be in the portrait with him,” said Harry with half a laugh.


Professor McGonagall frowned and said, “Actually, so did I. Fawkes was just was one of the many
things I didn’t like to ask him about.”


Harry smiled and said, “That’s all I’ve been thinking about lately too. Well, I mean, what I
wished I had asked him when I had the chance.”


“Unfortunately, Harry, I fear your answers will come sooner than mine.”


Harry frowned, wondering what Professor McGonagall meant by that.


“I wanted to see you for two reasons. The first concerns Professor Dumbledore’s Last Will and
Testament. The second concerns the wards on Grimmauld Place.”


Harry sat up. He really wasn’t interested in Dumbledore’s Will, but he was very interested in
the wards on Grimmauld Place.


“Hermione had trouble getting into Grimmauld Place this afternoon,” said Harry. “I had to bring
her inside using side-along Apparition.”


“I didn’t realise you had passed your test?”


“Um, I haven’t yet, Professor,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s just that it wasn’t very
convenient and then I heard that Rufus Scrimgeour had got upset about my not taking the test.”


Professor McGonagall just rolled her eyes and Harry grinned at her.


“Anyway,” she continued, “firstly I’d like to tell you about Albus’ Will. He left most of his
possessions and all of his property, money and investments to Hogwarts, to be used to assist pupils
from poorer families. He himself was from such a background, you know? I believe the only
non-second hand item he owned for his entire seven years here was his wand.”


Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.


“Albus owned very few possessions, but a small number of items have been gifted to you. His
collection of dark detectors was given to Hogwarts, but you are to have full use of them through
the Room of Requirement.


“Of course,” she added with a smile, “I’d be surprised if you ever figure out how to use some of
them. I’m sure most of them only produce amusing musical ditties anyway.”


Harry snorted and nodded, remembering the strange silver contraptions that littered Dumbledore’s
office.


“Getting back to the items he left you, he left all of them with trusted acquaintances with
instructions that they should deliver them to you. I suppose he didn’t want to chance your not
receiving them in the event that his Will was challenged.”


“Was that likely?” Harry asked.


“It shouldn’t have been, but we live in very uncertain times.”


Harry nodded.


“Albus left one item with me. Knowing me as well as he did, he also left me a note reminding me
of my promise to deliver it. You see, I was most reluctant to allow something so dangerous to pass
into the possession of anyone so young.”


Harry frowned, wondering what on earth it could be.


“When I became Deputy Headmistress,” she continued a little shakily, “there was a little
friction between us. It was nothing serious,” she added quickly seeing Harry’s surprised
expression, “but I felt the timetables should be more fixed. Albus felt at the time that the
curriculum was more important, and if a lesson wasn’t at the same time and day each week then that
really didn’t matter.”


“Wasn’t that a bit confusing, though?” asked Harry.


“Well, of course it was. Hardly any of the students or staff knew where they were supposed to be
half the time.”


Harry laughed and McGonagall smiled.


“Yes,” she agreed, “Dumbledore rather enjoyed the chaos that ensued. For a long time I was sure
he was just winding me up. The problem with my objections was that the students were undoubtedly
learning. They would find themselves in the most extraordinary situations. On more than one
occasion, I had to go looking for my Transfiguration class in the Forbidden Forest. Those were less
dangerous times, of course.


“Things came to a head when I insisted that I wanted complete control over timetables. As soon
as Albus relented, everything was much more ordered and we got along much better.”


Professor McGonagall took out a lace handkerchief and dabbed her nose with it.


“I regret to say that just recently, we began to argue once more.”


“Was it about the amount of time he was spending away from here?”


“Oh no,” she said taking a deep breath. “I fully understood that his priority was the defeat of
Voldemort. That was in everybody’s interest.”


Harry nodded.


“No, we only argued about two things. One was Severus Snape, and the other was *you*,
Harry.”


“Me?”


“I was quite delighted when Albus told me that he was, at last, going to give you personal
lessons last year. He wouldn’t tell me exactly what you would be doing, but I accepted his
assurances that they would greatly assist you.


“However, it became quite apparent to me as the year progressed that you were not, as I had
assumed, learning advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.”


“No,” said Harry gently, “the lessons weren’t about that. I was sceptical at first, but he was
convinced that he could help me. I think he was right, although I must admit some advanced DADA
would have been welcome too.”


“In my own mind, I believe that Dumbledore was convinced that Snape was indeed teaching you to
the best of your abilities. Snape kept telling him that you were barely able to keep up with
classwork and that there was little point in attempting to teach you anything more advanced until
you got the basics sorted.”


Harry bristled with anger and indignation.


“Dumbledore knew you weren’t *that* bad, Harry,” she added quickly, “despite the low marks
Snape was giving you. He didn’t push Snape because he knew the enmity between you would just make
things worse.


“I kept pointing out that Snape always managed to give you lower marks that you deserved for the
entire time you studied Potions under him. That was obvious from the high marks that Professor
Slughorn was giving you. It seemed to be clear evidence, if any were needed, that Snape was
exaggerating how poor you were.”


Professor McGonagall blew her nose softly and said thickly, “I feel I’ve let you down
Harry.”


“What?” Harry said in surprise. “No, of course you haven’t!” he said a little more forcefully
than he intended.


“Not only did I not persuade Albus that Snape had no grounds not to teach you more advanced
Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I also failed to step in and teach you myself. I threatened to
do so several times, but Snape insisted that his authority would become undermined, even if it was
only to satisfy myself that you were barely able to hold a wand properly.”


Harry laughed and said, “You know, it does take me a while to learn how to do some things,
Professor. Just ask Hermione!”


“Harry, this is serious.”


“I’m sorry, Professor, but what’s done is done. I’m really flattered that you should have argued
for me, but you have nothing to blame yourself for, honestly. I didn’t bother to learn any advanced
Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, although I now feel I should have, obviously.


“You know?” Harry continued with half a frown, “it’s actually quite interesting if Snape
actually tried to block me having proper lessons. I wonder if he was ordered to do that or it was
just his usual vindictiveness towards me?”


“I assumed that he had to have been ordered, actually. He was taking quite a risk defying
Dumbledore like that.”


Harry nodded slowly, considering this.


“Um, Professor?” Harry asked slowly. “What was it that Dumbledore wanted me to have?”


“Ah, yes,” she said awkwardly. “I have been avoiding that, haven’t I?”


Harry smiled at her warmly.


“Well, just to avoid it a little longer, I would like to offer you some additional tuition
during the coming school year. I’m sure we can take your already considerable Defence Against the
Dark Arts skills well beyond NEWT level with a little application.”


Harry’s face dropped.


“Actually, Professor,” he began.


“You’ve decided not to return?” she finished with a smile.


Harry nodded.


“Yes, I suspected as much. Actually, it wouldn’t be safe for you in regular lessons anyway. Just
promise me you’ll not completely forget that you still have a way to go. I would very much like to
see you at a Graduation Ceremony, even if it cannot be with your peers.”


“I’ll remember,” he promised quietly.


“Good. See that you do,” she added shortly. “Now, my offer still stands. I will be pleased to
teach you, although it will probably have to be restricted to evenings and weekends.”


“Thank you, Professor. I’ll let you know.”


“Now, the reason why I believe your continued education is so important, is linked to the item I
promised to give to you.”


She picked up her wand and tapped one of the drawers of her desk. The drawer slid open
noiselessly, and Professor McGonagall looked down apprehensively into the drawer as she placed her
wand back down on the desk.


Harry had almost expected whatever was inside the drawer to jump out at her.


As the moment lengthened, Harry strained to see what was in the drawer. Of course, he didn’t
want to seem over eager, and that kept him from jumping up and having a decent look.


Just when he thought he couldn’t bear the tension any more, Professor McGonagall reached into
the drawer and took out a small, book shaped object and placed it between them on her desk.


In the better light that the desk lanterns provided, Harry could see that it was actually a
carved piece of wood, stained almost black. He guessed it was about eight inches by five and about
two inches thick. There was a recessed carving on the front that he couldn’t see properly but there
were runic symbols all around the sides.


“Have you seen one of these before, Harry?”


“No, I’ve no idea what it is,” he admitted. “When you first brought it out I thought it was a
book.”


Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows and said, “That is exactly what it is.”


“Sorry?”


She smiled and said, “Paper books are relatively recent in wizarding terms, and are generally
quite excellent for recording and transmitting knowledge and information. In older times, though,
wizards needed something a little more durable and also something that was less easy for an
unauthorised person to read. This was long before vanishing and concealment charms were
perfected.”


Harry nodded, staring down at the strange piece of timber, noting the deep splits in the
grain.


“In my hands, this is little more than a block of solid wood,” she said picking it up and
showing him that it was indeed a single piece of timber. “However, in your hands, it will
open.”


Harry held out his hands in anticipation.


“Harry, may I ask you not to open this yet? I know this must be frustrating, to say the least,
but I feel I should explain something about it first.”


She handed it to Harry and as soon as her fingers left the surface, the end grains split
silently and Harry felt the two halves ready to open, just like a book. He placed it down on the
desk and as soon as his fingers left the surface, it again rejoined to form one piece of wood.


When she had his attention again, Professor McGonagall continued.


“All those years go, when Voldemort appeared to have been defeated, you really can’t imagine the
celebrations that took place. Gradually, the celebrations were replaced by a new sense of purpose.
Almost everybody, myself included, was quite determined to make the most of the life that you
granted us.


“Even Professor Dumbledore began his great work. He began to write a series of books on his
favourite subjects that were sure to become the standard texts for decades to come.


“In the beginning, he worked tirelessly. Of course, after only a few months he began to receive
reports about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Knowing the threat continued, he all but abandoned
what should have been the very pinnacle of his life’s work.


“I do not know what became of his drafts, but in front of you is a volume in which he recorded
some things that he was determined should never be published in any form.”


Harry stared down at the carved object before him.


“Dark magic,” Harry said simply.


“The very darkest. Dumbledore stopped contributing to this volume many years ago. Even so, the
book before you is a reference to rival even the darkest library. You see, Dumbledore investigated
and catalogued every single instance of dark magic used against him. Unfortunately, that list was
somewhat extensive.


“Dumbledore perfected many of the counter hexes and magical defences in common use today,
although he rarely took credit for them. He was rather good at refining defences. Most other
wizards were dead before they got it right.”


Harry sighed.


“What are your main concerns with my having access to this book, Professor?” he asked.


“Where to begin?” she asked. “I suppose my main concern, when Dumbledore handed that book to me,
was that you are rather good at picking up Defensive spells. You have an aptitude, Harry, there’s
no point in being modest,” she added in response to his shaking head.


“There were the most extraordinary rumours about you being a new Dark Lord going around a few
years ago. I must admit, it occurred to me that a Dark Lord equipped with this book would be very
dark indeed.


“However,” she added forcefully, “I have since modified my opinion. I do not believe you will
become a new Dark Lord, Harry.”


“Thanks,” he said in a hoarse whisper.


“No, I fear that you might well kill and maim far more people by accident when learning to use
these spells; perhaps even while learning not to use them.”


Harry was about to protest when he remembered that he had used the *Sectumsempra* spell on
Draco Malfoy without knowing what it did. He’d also hoisted Ron using the *Levicorpus* spell
with no idea what it would do.


He nodded slowly.


“Harry, who do you know that is closest to you in defensive ability?”


“Hermione,” Harry said at once. “She knows just as many defensive spells as me, but I’m usually
a bit quicker, that’s all.”


“You need a practice partner that you can trust and can rival your skills as well as keep pace
with you.”


“Hermione might not want to learn Dark Magic, Professor.”


“She might like to learn the defences that this book can provide; well, until you learn some
restraint, at least.”


“I’ll ask her, Professor.”


“I’d recommend that Mr Weasley also learns some of these defences, but he should not learn
directly from this book. Teach him yourself but don’t be too hard on him when he struggles with
some of the more advanced work. It will be slower but much safer for him.”


“I will, Professor.”


“Good. Oh yes, Alastor Moody also offered to assist with you with your defensive training. He
has a vast amount of experience, as you know. However, he isn’t as fast as he was. I wondered
privately whether he would be better placed to assess your progress rather than train you
personally.”


“I’ll consider that. Please thank him for his offer, though.”


“Now,” she continued, “there are undoubtedly some minor but still rather nasty little hexes in
there, as well. You must remember that the more you use them, the more likely it will become that
less able wizards and witches will pick them up.”


“Wizards and witches still at school, you mean?” Harry asked and failed entirely in his attempt
to stop himself grinning.


“Indeed.”


“Professor, weren’t you tempted just to forget to give me this?” suggested Harry, “Or even just
destroy it?”


“I might have been tempted,” she admitted with a small smile, “but I happen to know that one of
the unique effects of the Kemmynadow is that such objects cannot be destroyed until handed to the
benefactor. It isn’t possible to lose it, as it would simply come back. If I were to give it to
someone to take away, it would vanish and reappear before me.”


Harry frowned. He vaguely remembered something about the word “*Kemmynadow*.” He couldn’t
quite recall where from, though.


“That object before you,” she said, “is actually the Kemmynadow, to use the ancient name for it.
It is magically linked to the other items in your bequest and the trustees who currently hold the
items. This is where Dumbledore placed his curses designed to attack those that attempt to betray
the terms he set down.


“Obviously, because I held the object where the actual Kemmynadow curse is held, there wasn’t
any point in giving it any additional protections. As the other items come to you, there will be
some form of charm that releases the holder from their obligation and places responsibility upon
you.


“I’ve never actually seen the Kemmynadow in use, however. Perhaps this book will help you, but I
must warn you that the curse could act against *you* in the event that you fail to honour
Dumbledore’s wishes yourself.


“I do know, however, that the effects of the Kemmynadow curse increase with time. If someone
were to hold onto an item for too long, the retribution that book would bring would be significant.
I cannot say whether it would be safer to accept or refuse an item then. Either way I suspect there
will be dangers.


“Now, open the book and I’ll show you how to peruse the contents.”




5. Breakfast
------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 5 – Breakfast**


Harry closed and locked the front door to Grimmauld Place as quietly as possible. It was now
around one o’clock in the morning and the house was very still.


He had remained at Hogwarts far longer than he anticipated, but the time had simply flown by.
After she had told him what she knew, and indeed what she suspected was happening to the wards at
Grimmauld Place, they had sat and shared fond reminiscences about Dumbledore. It was clear she
missed him just as much as Harry did.


Professor McGonagall had suggested that Dumbledore’s Fidelius Charm should be expected to fail
very shortly. Harry had asked why it was that instead of the house becoming visible to everyone,
those given the secret like Hermione could no longer find the property. She had smiled
enigmatically and said Dumbledore would have placed more than one charm to protect the property. In
effect, he had built in a fail-safe to protect them.


She also suspected that Dumbledore had placed additional protections on the house while it had
been vacated by the Order and once he knew that Sirius had wished Harry to inherit the
property.


Harry crept down into the basement with the intention of making himself a hot drink before
turning in. As he descended the stairs, he began to relax and realised how tired he was.
Remembering that he had to be out early the next morning, Harry almost turned about on the stairs
to go straight up to bed.


Harry entered the kitchen to find Hermione asleep at the table with her head resting on folded
arms. A single candle was still burning low next to her.


He went over and gently stroked her arm. Almost immediately her head shot up and Harry was a
little taken aback to find her wand being pointed at him.


“Oh, it’s you, Harry,” she said sleepily brushing back her hair.


“You needn’t have waited up, Hermione.”


She gave a small shrug followed by a wide yawn.


“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”


“Probably, but I wanted to know how you got on with Professor McGonagall.”


Harry snorted and said, “Perhaps both of us need to be more awake when I tell you properly.
Dumbledore’s Will has been published and he left me a couple of things. Actually, I only know what
one of them is because he entrusted them with other people. He left most of his things to
Hogwarts.”


“That was thoughtful. I suppose the one you know about was given to Professor McGonagall?”


“Yes. I was a,” he began before hesitating, “a kind of book.”


“A book?” she said interestedly. “Do you have it with you?”


“No, Professor McGonagall thought it was too dangerous to risk my losing it. I’ve left it in the
Room of Requirement for now.”


“Dangerous?”


“Yes. She wasn’t at all keen on my having it really. You see, it’s a collection of the Dark
Magic that Dumbledore encountered. There are instructions on both using and countering the spells,
as well as his thoughts on the Unforgivable Curses.”


“Goodness,” Hermione breathed.


“I’d like to show you the book, Hermione. It isn’t quite like any other book I’ve seen. Anyway,
I’d also like you to learn from the book at the same time as me. You are just as good at Defence
Against the Dark Arts as me, except perhaps you take too long deciding what spell is needed.”


“Of course, Harry, although you may regret that last remark,” she said with a smirk. “You’ll
need a sparing partner, won’t you?”


“Yes, but it’s more than that. I’ll explain when you see the book, but this is very dark magic.
I’m not sure that I can trust myself to *not* use some of it.”


Hermione frowned slightly, but nodded.


“Oh, yes,” Harry said brightly, “I just remembered. I spoke to Dumbledore’s portrait this
evening.”


“Already? I thought they slept for months!”


“Well, he was pretty sleepy. It was just nice to see him, you know? He’d forgotten almost
everything, so he didn’t have anything to worry about.”


Hermione returned his smile.


“They’ll miss his knowledge,” she said. “I wonder how long it will be before he remembers
everything?”


“Well, apparently the portraits never remember their own deaths, which is probably a good thing.
As far as his memories are concerned, he confided most things to the other portraits.”


The kitchen clock chimed loudly and Harry said simply, “Bed.”


Hermione nodded and walked to the door. Harry blew the candle out and followed.


As they climbed the stairs to their bedrooms, Harry asked, “Did they eat anything before turning
in?”


Hermione stopped abruptly and turned.


“Ah,” she said. “Well, yes they did eat a little, but I’m afraid we had another little argument
after you left this evening.”


“A *little* argument,” he repeated suspiciously. “Hang on. You didn’t do anything to them,
did you?”


“I had to prevent them from leaving, but I didn’t resort to transforming them or anything like
that.”


Harry yawned.


“Just tell me they will be fine until the morning,” he said yawning again. “I think I need some
sleep before I can cope with them anyway.”


“They will be fine until the morning,” she reassured him with a mischievous smile.


Harry nodded, reaching for his bedroom door handle.


Hermione reach up and kissed him gently before saying, “Goodnight, Harry.”


He was too slow to bring his arms together behind her and she was gone before he had hardly
uttered, “Goodnight, Hermione.”


Harry staggered into his room and collapsed, fully dressed, onto the bed.


*


Harry entered the kitchen the next morning knowing exactly what he was about to face. Vernon
Dursley’s shouting had reached him from the moment he had opened his bedroom door.


Uncle Vernon paused to draw breath upon seeing Harry.


“Good morning,” said Harry, skirting around him and sitting at the table.


“DON’T YOU DARE SAY GOOD MORNING TO ME IN THAT TONE, BOY!”


Harry, well used to Uncle Vernon’s volume, simply shrugged and reached for some toast.


“Sleep well?” he asked Aunt Petunia pleasantly, reaching for the butter.


“Vernon, come and sit down. You’ll wake Dudley.”


Uncle Vernon let go the great breath he’d just taken and sat down next to her. Harry looked up
to see a slightly unnerved but still defiant Hermione by the sink, wand in hand.


He smiled and rolled his eyes at her.


Clearly, Hermione wasn’t used to early morning rows as much as Harry. She pocketed her wand and
joined Harry at the table, pouring them two strong cups of tea before sitting down.


“Thanks,” said Harry, taking a sip.


“So, what’s the problem now?” he asked Uncle Vernon.


“The problem,” Vernon said through gritted teeth, “is that I object to being kept in this
mad-house against our will. This is nothing short of false imprisonment! What’s more, have you any
idea what this friend of yours did to us last night?”


Harry dropped his uneaten piece of toast and wiped his fingers.


“If you really want to go, you can,” he said evenly. “However there are a couple of things you
need to know. Firstly, although this house is unplottable, *you* can find it. That means that
if the Death Eaters find you, you could be forced into coming back here and endangering anyone
here. We have pretty much moved everything of value out of here now, but I would hate to abandon
this place to our enemies.


“This was Sirius’s house. You know, my godfather? He hated this place. It reminded him of the
family he tried so hard to get away from. The really weird thing is, this place is a reminder for
me, of him.”


Hermione reached over and took his hand.


“Once you step out of this place, my enemies can find you. The protections that Dumbledore
placed upon Privet Drive have long gone. They can find you now, wherever you go.


“I know this place isn’t ideal, but it is the best we have right now. So long as you don’t
venture outside, you’ll be safe.”


“I tried to explain this to you last night,” said Hermione. “If you decide to leave, Harry can
have a new Fidelius Charm placed upon the house. You’ll never be able to find the house again, nor
explain where it is, even though you’ll still be vulnerable from Death Eaters who think you can
identify where we are.”


Vernon gulped audibly.


“No, Hermione,” Harry said gently. “Even if we have to place a new *Fidelius Charm* on the
house, the Dursleys will be told where it is.”


“Why?” all three of them asked at the same time.


Harry looked up at Aunt Petunia.


“You didn’t want me in you house for all those years, but you took me. You kept me alive. I can
hardly not afford you the same degree protection if I’m able to provide it. Rest assured, even if
we have to abandon this place, I’ll find a way to keep you safe.


“All I ask in return is that you don’t take unnecessary risks, try to get used to the magic and
maybe keep the volume down a little at breakfast.”


Harry looked at his watch and said, “We should get moving.”


“Oh, yes,” Hermione said jumping up. “Ron will be waiting at the Leaky Cauldron for us.”


*


As usual these days, the Leaky Cauldron was almost entirely empty as they exited the
fireplace.


Ron was waiting for them, sitting at the bar and chatting to Tom the Innkeeper.


“Can I get you anything?” Tom asked hopefully.


Hermione looked doubtfully at Harry for a moment, but seeing that Ron hadn’t bought anything
either, he said, “Some coffee would be nice, please Tom. Will you join us?”


“Why thank you, Mr Potter, Sir,” he said disappearing into the back.


Harry knew he wouldn’t be gone long so he quickly handed Ron and Hermione a generous bag of gold
each.


“Put these away quickly,” he advised, “and come and sit down.”


They all sat at a table from where they could see both the front and rear entrances.


“Now remember, if you talk amongst yourselves, use the code words just in case you are being
overheard.”


“Will we really need this much gold, Harry?” asked Ron, clearly distracted by the amount Harry
had given him.


“I’d be prepared to bet that Flourish & Blotts won’t have what you’re looking for. I think
you’ll need to investigate Knockturn Alley as well.”


Hermione nodded.


“Just remember to be careful wherever you go,” warned Harry. “If one of you is looking through
the books, make sure the other is keeping a look out. Also buy some other books as well so it isn’t
so obvious what you’re looking for.”


Tom came back at that moment carrying a large silver tray of coffee and biscuits.


“So, how are things with you, Tom?” asked Harry as the Innkeeper poured the drinks from an
elaborate silver coffee pot.


“Oh, rather quiet, I’m afraid,” he said sitting down and handing Hermione a steaming cup.


“Thanks,” she said quietly.


“I was just telling young Mr Weasley here,” Tom continued. “We haven’t anyone staying at all for
the present. I can’t see that changing for a while.”


Tom handed Harry and Ron their drinks before pouring one for himself.


“Unfortunately, the Ministry pays me to maintain the entrance into Diagon Alley. Otherwise I’d
be tempted to close for a short while.”


“Only a short while?” Hermione asked.


Tom smiled at her and said, “Oh, yes, Miss. I remember the last time he tried to take power.
People were terrified of even venturing outside. Things are different this time. Sure, people don’t
want to take chances, but they still come through here and go to Diagon Alley.”


“What do you mean, Tom?” asked Harry.


“Well, I wouldn’t want it known that I’d been saying such things,” Ton began.


“We won’t say a word,” assured Harry as the other two nodded in agreement.


Tom paused before saying quietly, “*Last time*, everyone was certain it was only a matter
of time before he won and we all got killed. *This time*, most people are quietly optimistic
that he’ll be finished sooner or later. After all, a miracle happened last time, didn’t it? The
great hope is that it happens sooner rather than later, of course.”


Harry frowned and sat back. He opened his mouth to respond when Tom interrupted him.


“We get all sorts of riffraff through here, you know?” Tom continued conversationally.


“I’m sorry if I’ve brought down the tone of the place,” quipped Harry with a grin.


Tom chuckled and said, “The particular riffraff I’m thinking of haven’t troubled to buy me
coffee nor enquire about how I’m doing. But you know, it’s extraordinary what people say as they
come through.”


Harry raised his eyebrows interestedly.


“It appears that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn’t too pleased with more than a few of his
servants. He gave strict instructions that you were not to be touched for the present. I would
advise, though, that that does not also apply to your friends, Mr Potter,” Tom added with a
meaningful glance to Ron and Hermione.


“Indeed, it sounded like a few people would be more than willing to attack them just to upset
you.


“I’d advise that you do not go into Knockturn Alley today, and certainly not without
considerably better protection.”


Hermione blanched.


“Thanks, Tom. We appreciate your warning,” said Harry.


Someone came in at that moment and Ton jumped up to attend them. Harry dropped some coins onto
the coffee tray and said quietly, “Don’t take any chances, will you? Forget about Knockturn Alley
for today.”


Ron looked a little relieved as he nodded.


“We’ll see you later, Harry,” said Hermione. “We are going to pop in and see Fred and George
later as well.”




6. Smith’s Empire
-----------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


*AN: Have you skipped a chapter? Chapter 6 uploaded early because the last one was a bit
short.*


**Chapter 6 – Smith’s Empire**


Harry left the Leaky Cauldron and set out into Muggle London, frequently consulting the
photocopied street map he’d been given with his destination clearly marked.


Once he’d got his bearings, it only took him a twenty minute walk to get there. He hadn’t
expected to make such good progress, but once he had left the bustling shopping streets he was free
to stride out at a good pace.


He passed several low rise office blocks, all either faced in genuine Portland stone or rendered
and painted to blend in.


Most of these buildings appeared to be home to various obscure Government departments.
Occasionally a recently cleaned façade would stand out, and this was invariably occupied by some
wealthy corporate giant.


Harry had just passed a particularly grubby building when he realised that he had gone one
street on from his intended route. He doubled back and quickly realised the reason why he’d gone
straight on.


Instead of the proper street he’d been expecting, he was standing at the entrance to a small,
dark passage. The rusting street sign showed it was indeed the correct place.


Cautiously, he proceeded down the passage, his wand held ready inside a deep pocket.


He turned twice and approached the end of the passage. He was rather surprised to see a security
guard sitting in a faded yellow glass-fibre booth next to a plain looking roller shutter. As he
approached, the guard continued to ignore him, preferring instead to read the sports page on the
back of his newspaper.


Harry stopped right next to the booth.


Seeing that there was no alternative, he cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, but I have an
appointment.”


The guard looked at him with a long sceptical look that took in his tattered jeans and the over
large jacket that had once been Dudley’s.


“Name?” he asked eventually.


“Harry Potter.”


The guard didn’t appear to move at all, but instantly, the electric roller shutter began to
open. Harry looked up at it. It looked completely out of proportion to the tiny passageway he was
standing in. Harry was sure that the vehicles it was designed to allow entry for could never get
down the narrow passageway, let alone manoeuvre around the tight bends.


The roller shutter stopped just above his head height and Harry could see a large, empty area
inside. There was a single door on the far side.


He looked uncertainly back at the guard who had returned to his paper.


Harry walked forward towards the single door. At once the roller shutter came down and electric
lights flickered on to compensate for the loss of daylight.


He had got about half way to the door when the roller shutter finished closing. There was a loud
clunking sound and Harry felt a shudder through his feet. He withdrew his wand and prepared to run
for the door. He was feeling very exposed out in the open, although all he could see were plain
concrete block walls.


Suddenly the entire floor began to descend. Harry looked up in mild consternation as the door he
was headed for grew more and more out of his reach.


As the floor descended, what looked like mirrors were revealed in the walls. He guessed these
were actually one way windows. Harry continued to walk in a wide circle, waiting for the exit to
reveal itself. He decided there was little point in his putting his invisibility cloak on just now,
since he knew that he must be under observation.


Gradually, a large opening that matched the roller shutter was revealed on the opposite side. He
walked over, keen to see anyone waiting for him before they got too much of an advantage. He wasn’t
sure if he was glad that there was no one waiting, nor not.


He stepped off the descending floor. Once the hidden machinery stopped, Harry could here loud
footsteps coming from somewhere. Realising that they were coming from his right, Harry turned to
see another security guard march out of a small side door.


He really was marching too, as if to a military band that only he could hear. Harry resisted the
impulse to laugh as the man came to a sudden halt and clicked the heels of his brightly polished
boots together. His uniform was all black and absolutely immaculate, from his perfectly pressed
trousers to his peaked cap.


The man looked rather horrified at the notion that some scruffy youth like Harry should dare to
intrude upon his domain.


“Um, I have an appointment,” said Harry, as politely as possible.


The guard lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Do you have any identification, Mr Potter?”


“No, sorry,” Harry replied apologetically.


“No identification?” he asked as Harry shook his head. “No driving licence? No passport? No
credit cards? No video club membership?”


This continued for some time until the last resort, “A Gas Bill?” had been exhausted.


“Sorry,” said Harry once again. “But the person I’m meeting knows me. If you could call them,
I’m sure it will be alright.”


This notion appeared to cause the guard discomfort for a moment.


Without warning, though, he turned on his heels and said, “This way, Mr Potter.” A quick click
of his heels and he was off again, marching towards the side door he’d come out of.


This caught Harry by surprise, and he had to run to catch up. When he did so, he found himself
in what looked like a security office. There were rows of camera monitors filling one entire wall
in front of which was an impressive bank of switches, dials and joysticks.


Around the room was an assortment of strange looking equipment. Harry only recognised a couple
of things, including a camera.


A younger looking guard got up and handed him a plastic laminated visitor pass on a red loop of
material. It had his photograph printed on it with all his details and some kind of bar code.


“Wear this at all times while you are here. In the event of a fire alarm going off, it is
important to follow the directions given by your host. Remember we are underground, so it isn’t
easy to get to safety.”


Harry nodded and put the pass over his head.


“I’m required to check you for weapons,” he added, holding up a strange device that her swept
over Harry’s front and back before he realised what he was doing.


“That’s fine. Your escort will be here in a moment, Mr Potter. Please take a seat.”


“Thanks,” said Harry, sitting in the nearest chair next to the door. Once he’d sat down, he
wished he’d sat somewhere else, though, as he was directly in line of the other security guard’s
disapproving stare.


Harry did his best to ignore him, but was very pleased when a familiar voice called out,
“Alright, Harry?”


Coming into the security room was Careem. Harry jumped up at once and shook hands with the
grinning Special Forces weapons specialist that he’d first met only a short time ago.


Careem turned to the security guards and asked, “Do I need to sign anything?”


“No, you’re fine,” said the younger guard.


Harry followed Careem out and they headed for the lifts under the ever watchful eye of the elder
guard.


“I hope old Smithy didn’t give you too much of a hard time,” said Careem with a backwards look.
“He’s quite mad, you know? He’s convinced he’s the one in charge of this whole place. Hardly let’s
anyone in or out without aggravation.”


Harry smiled and nodded as all his apprehension evaporated.


“Yes, rumour is he tried to make the Nato delegation do push-ups last week because they didn’t
salute him properly,” Careem continued making Harry snort with laughter.


They stepped into the lift and Careem swiped his pass through some kind of electronic detector.
A panel lit up and he pressed a floor level button. Harry was surprised when the lift car lurched
downwards. He’d been expecting to go upwards.


“Sergeant Bateman has been delayed, but I’ve been detailed to escort you to somewhere you can
wait for him.”


“Is everyone okay?” Harry asked in a would-be casual tone.


“Oh, yes,” said Careem smiling. “Well, *our team* is okay. There have been casualties,
though. I expect you’ll be given a full briefing later.”


Harry nodded.


“I should warn you, that hardly anyone around here knows what anyone else is up to. Everything
is secret. It makes conversation in the canteen a little difficult, especially as a lot of people
have no idea what the weather is like outside.”


“How many people work here?” asked Harry interestedly.


“That’s classified,” replied Careem with a grin. “Actually, I’ve no idea. There are tunnels that
link some levels with other complexes under other buildings, so it’s probably impossible to say.
We’re only here because of the security level needed at the moment. After all,” he added
sarcastically, “no one could ever get past old Smithy, could they?”


Harry laughed and shook his head.


He looked up and the level indicator. They had been travelling down for quite some time now.


“These lifts were installed years ago to withstand direct bombing above us. Unfortunately, they
are painfully slow sometimes, especially when it stops at every floor.”


Harry realised that no one else had got onto the lift, even though there were only two lift
entrances at their starting level. Then he saw that a light was flashing, “Priority,” on the panel
and he guessed that other people waiting would be required to wait.


The indicator flashed, “Level Eight,” and the lift came to a painfully slow stop. The doors
opened silently and they stepped out into a large lobby. As the lift doors closed behind them, they
crossed over to a pair of doors opposite.


Careem swiped his pass through again and a panel beside the door flashed green and there was a
small click as the doors were unlocked. Careem pulled open one of the doors and ushered Harry
through to reveal a corridor.


A door ahead of them opened and out came a smart looking uniformed man. It was his swagger more
than the insignia on his shirt that told Harry that this was a man of some rank. Harry guessed he
was in his early thirties.


Harry sensed Careem tense up immediately.


“Mr Potter,” the officer said pleasantly, holding out his hand. “May I introduce myself? My name
is Brigadier Colonel Falcon, and I’m in charge of intelligence and military strategy concerning the
magical community.”


“I’m sorry, Sir,” began Careem, “but my orders are to take Potter directly to the briefing
room.”


“That won’t be necessary,” insisted Falcon, still giving Harry and appraising look.


“But, Sir,” insisted Careem.


Almost at once they were pounced upon by four men in fatigue uniforms. Each held a handgun
pointed directly at their heads. Quickly, Careem was disarmed and Harry’s wand was taken. Harry
realised that they must have been waiting for them, hidden in two small alcoves behind the
door.


Knowing he had nothing to lose, Harry shook Falcon’s hand and the guns at his head were
immediately pointed away from him and towards Careem.


Falcon took the wand that one of the soldiers offered him and gave a very self-satisfied smile.
He hesitated a moment before handing it back to Harry.


“I’d like a word with you, Mr Potter, if that’s alright,” said Falcon, walking towards the door
he had just come from.


Harry didn’t move. Although Falcon had shown a degree of trust in returning Harry's wand, he
was in half a mind to *stupify* the four soldiers. However, he was afraid one of them would
shoot at Careem before he got them all.


He looked back at Falcon who gave a curt nod. Harry felt himself being grabbed by two of the
soldiers and wrestled into the room. Behind him, Careem was becoming engaged in a noiseless scuffle
of his own.


Harry was thrown into a metal chair before his two escorts hurried off to help their
colleagues.


Falcon sat down opposite him and stroked the table top between them.


“Is it usual to have to hold people at gunpoint in order to talk to them around here?” asked
Harry.


“Not usually,” Falcon admitted, “but we live in unusual times, do we not?”


“It looks like rain later,” said Harry.


Falcon raised his eyebrows.


“I assume that’s what you wanted to ask me,” continued Harry casually. “After all, the weather
is the only thing we can talk about, isn’t it?”


“I tend not to think about the weather,” said Falcon pleasantly. “It reminds me too much of what
I’ve sacrificed in the national interest.”


Harry sat quietly, waiting for a question that he would refuse to answer. Falcon, for his part,
seemed in no hurry to continue.


Harry felt Falcon looked like someone who liked to be in control of things. His shirt was
perfectly pressed and his short haircut and precisely trimmed moustache shouted nothing else.


“May I call you Harry?” he asked politely.


Harry shrugged and asked, “What can I call you?”


“Oh, Brigadier Colonel, will do.”


Harry gave a derisory snort.


“Harry, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Falcon continued smoothly. “However, I can
assure you that I will have your co-operation, in the end.”


“That’s a pathetic threat,” countered Harry contemptuously, who felt oddly relaxed now that
Falcon was beginning to show his true colours. “I’ve been threatened by far more talented people,
you know?”


“How is your family, Harry?”


“Still dead, thanks. How are yours?”


“You know, there’s remarkably little information about you in the official record. Even your
primary school attendance records have vanished.”


“If it makes you feel any better, I can confirm that I didn’t take any time off due to illness
or anything else. There was one day when the boiler room flooded and we were all sent home, though.
I’m fairly sure it was a Wednesday. I remember because I got chased home by a dog.”


“Most interesting.”


“Shouldn’t you be writing this down?” asked Harry with a grin. “Otherwise, people might think
you’ve been wasting your time.”


Falcon leaned forward.


“How many of you are there?”


“Can you be more specific?”


“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. How many wizarding people are resident in this
country?”


“Wizards?” asked Harry incredulously.


Falcon slammed the palm of his hand down on the table, and Harry inwardly revelled in the
annoyance he was causing Falcon.


“How many of you are there?”


“If it’s that important to you, why don’t you nominate that as a question for the next census?
You could ask*, are you a wizard*?”


Falcon lifted his arm up quickly and was clearly about to strike out at Harry across the small
table, when the door opened.


Falcon slowly brought his hand back down to the table again.


Harry looked around to see the impressive and somewhat imposing form of Sergeant John Bateman.
He looked simply livid.


Bateman stepped into the room and came right up to the table. Harry looked back at Falcon.


“Sergeant Bateman,” said Falcon, not looking away from Harry, “you will wait outside until my
interview with this subject is concluded to my satisfaction.”


“This interview is terminated *now*, Sir.”


“I’ll be the judge of that, Sergeant,” Falcon responded menacingly.


“I don’t think you will be, Sir.”


“Sergeant Bateman, I can see that obeying simple orders is becoming a little too much for you.
You are still technically under my command, you know? I believe it is time we reviewed your future
with us.”


“Good luck with that, Sir.”


“Oh, luck won’t have anything to do with it. You are well past the mandatory retirement age for
your rank, aren’t you Sergeant? I know it is traditional for Special Forces to bend the rules a
little to keep the right kind of experience in the ranks, but you really are beginning to stretch
the point. No, I think it would be best if we allowed you to enjoy your retirement.”


“Thank you, Sir. Let’s go, Harry.”


Harry didn’t move and neither did Falcon as they continued to stare at each other. The staring
competition stretched on.


Bateman looked like he was about to drag Harry out of his chair when he started as the telephone
on the desk started to ring loudly.


The table began to shake slightly and Bateman looked between Harry and Falcon.


“Are you having a seizure, Sir?” Bateman asked, realising that the shaking was coming from
Falcon. “Only if you’re not, perhaps you should answer the telephone. It might be important.”


Harry smiled at Falcon and released him from the full body bind that he’d been fighting against
for the last couple of minutes.


As the spell was lifted, Falcon screamed and then collapsed, dislodging the telephone
handset.


Falcon was still panting hard as an uncertain Bateman picked the receiver up and said,
“Hello?”


Bateman listen for a moment and then offered the receiver to Falcon. “It’s for you, Sir,” he
said with a smile. “Someone wants to know what has held Mr Potter from attending his meeting.”


Harry stood and went through the door now being held open for him by Bateman. When the door was
firmly closed, Bateman grabbed Harry’s arm.


“That was unwise,” he said in a whisper. “I know he’s a prat, but he’s a prat with enough rank
to make trouble. He’s been left out of the loop, and he’s desperate for information. You just gave
him proof that he’s not been paranoid all these years.”


Harry felt slightly ashamed as Bateman marched towards the lift lobby door.


“Hang on,” said Harry. “What about Careem?”


“Oh, yes,” said Bateman, still obviously furious. He reached for a side door and threw it open.
Harry was amazed to see Careem standing in the centre of the room. His four assailants were spread
out on the floor around him amongst several items of smashed office furniture.


“GET TO YOUR FEET!” yelled Bateman.


The four men scrambled to obey and stood to attention. They looked enormous standing next to
Careem, who had presumably achieved his place on the Special Forces team by brains rather than
shear brawn.


Bateman stepped into the room, his fury emanating from him.


Unlike Careem, he was every bit as physically intimidating as the four men standing before
him.


“What are you four doing on duty, anyway?”


“Colonel Falcon reactivated us, Sergeant,” said one thickly, his broken nose still bleeding
badly.


“At ease,” said Bateman and they slumped on their feet.


Harry stepped beside him and looked enquiringly at him. Bateman considered for a moment and then
nodded.


Harry immediately pointed his want at the man who had answered Bateman and muttered,
“*Episkey*!”


He quickly attended to the others and was finished before the first had finished checking his
nose. He had become rather good at performing simple first aid since Bateman and his team had
joined him at Privet Drive earlier in the summer. Their training regime and spontaneous attacks had
led to a number of injuries.


“You four should still be on the sick list,” said Bateman, now sounding concerned rather than
angry. “It’s standard procedure. It takes time to recover when you lose members of your team. If
you come back too early, you become jumpy and your judgement becomes questionable.”


Harry watched as they bowed their heads.


“Judgement like obeying an order to drag off one of our own. May I remind you that just because
some pillock has some rank, that does not entitle him to set one member of our Regiment against
another. That’s what we have Military Police for, and we traditionally all fight them together, on
the same side.”


None of them protested that they were only following orders.


“I want all four of you to report to G117 for light duties and you are all to report for
examination by the medics. I’ll have you transferred out for training as soon as I can. In a few
weeks you’ll be fit to rejoin the fight.”


They nodded, still looking down but now somehow looking more determined.


“Go on,” finished Bateman, “clear off.”


They quickly headed for the door. The last one out pointed to his nose and said, “Thanks,” to
Harry.


Bateman turned to Careem looking none too pleased again.


“Hey,” objected Careem at once. “There were four of them!”


“Only four?”


“All with guns drawn, weren’t they Harry?”


*


The three of them reached a large office that had about six desks, one of which was
occupied.


Harry realised at once why Careem hadn’t let him ease any of his injuries. Clearly, he would
much rather be tended to by the attractive young lady who was shocked to see the state of him and
rushed over with a first aid box.


The far door opened and an austere looking woman stepped into the room. She was dressed entirely
in black.


Bateman smiled and said, “Ah, Miss Alice. I have the honour to introduce to you Harry Potter.
Harry, this is Miss Alice.”


Harry was somewhat surprised by her firm handshake, but somehow her genuine smile told him she
was someone they could trust. Her hair was short and greying slightly, and her face was thin and a
little lined. He didn’t immediately realise that she wore no makeup at all, and the only jewellery
she wore was a simple gold necklace and a single ring.


“How do you do?” asked Harry.


“Very well, thank you,” she replied. “Let’s go into the briefing room where we can talk
properly.”


She turned and headed for the door she had just come from and Harry and Bateman followed.




7. Miss Alice
-------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 7 – Miss Alice**


As the double padded sound proof doors closed shut, the lighting in the briefing room was turned
up to reveal a large circular table and walls covered with a wide assortment of maps and
charts.


Harry was a little shocked to see two familiar looking people sitting at the table.


“Ah, Harry! I was beginning to get worried about you.”


One of the men whom Harry knew from the television but had never met, nor ever thought he would
meet, jumped up and shook his hand.


“Forgive me,” the Prime Minister said smiling and introducing himself properly before guiding
Harry over to a chair. He then sat next to him and asked, “Coffee, Harry?”


“Um, thanks,” Harry managed to say.


“How you doing, Harry?” asked the second man in a deep familiar voice.


“Fine thanks, Kingsley,” said Harry returning his smile. Bateman sat opposite and Miss Alice
stood before them, waiting to begin.


“Let me first just say something for Harry’s benefit,” said the Prime Minister. “The only people
that I have confided everything to are those people in this room. Harry, Miss Alice is my authority
in this matter. I’m afraid Brigadier Colonel Falcon is just someone who *thinks* he should be
an authority.


“For *your* benefit, Miss Alice, I’m giving Harry Potter complete access to everything we
have at your discretion. Even the things we’ve withheld from the Other Minister.”


“Other Minister?” asked Harry.


“He means the Minister of Magic, Harry,” said Kingsley with a smile.


“Oh, sorry,” said Harry.


“Harry, as far as I’m concerned we are all working towards the same end. That is, the complete
destruction of Lord Voldemort and his supporters. When that is done, the magical community can go
back into obscurity. I’m really not interested in anything else.”


Harry smiled and nodded. He had the feeling that this was one Minister he was going to like.


“All I’d ask is that you maintain, shall we say, a degree of discretion in your dealings with
the Ministry of Magic?” asked the Prime Minister.


“I’m not their favourite person at the moment,” Harry admitted, “but I promise not to reveal
anything you don’t want them to know.”


“That’s all we can ask,” the Prime Minister responded. “Miss Alice, would you like to
begin?”


“Thank you, Prime Minister. I’d like to start with an update of our latest intelligence, and
then later I’d like to give a short history of our wider activities for Harry.


“Harry,” she continued, “these meetings are recorded and minuted, but we do not refer to our
real names for security. I’ve given everyone name signs so you can understand, but don’t worry too
about it for now. I’ll be transcribing this first meeting myself and the audio tapes will then be
destroyed.”


Harry nodded seeing everyone reach forward and hold up a place marker. Bateman’s had S396, Miss
Alice was M101, the Prime Minister was PM47 and Kingsley was U14. Harry took a look at his own
place marker. He was U15.


The Prime Minister nodded as she pushed a button on the table before her. A harsh buzzer
sounded.


“This is the Forty-third general briefing meeting for Project Resolve,” Miss Alice began before
listing the code names of the attendees as well as the date, time and place.


“In the period since our last meeting there have been five further attacks confirmed by the
Ministry of Magic. They also advised that the unconfirmed attack last week in Birmingham was indeed
Death Eater activity as we suspected. This means that we are now reconciled with the Ministry’s
statistics up to the previous period.


“For this period there are six potential attacks that we know about but the Ministry has not
confirmed yet. There were twelve fatalities associated with these attacks, four of whom were
children. U14, can you add anything to this?”


Kingsley nodded and said gravely, “Yes. Five of the attacks are almost certainly their work, but
the Ministry investigators are unconvinced about the fifth. It was a robbery and no one was killed
that time.”


“Yes,” said Miss Alice, looking down at a file in front of her. “It was the state of the
security guard and dogs that made Police suspicious, wasn’t it? I’m afraid I disagree with the
Ministry. I believe this does warrant further investigation, especially as we don’t yet know what
was stolen. I’ve instructed the Police to make additional investigations through the usual
channels.”


Miss Alice continued to give details about the confirmed attacks and the grim statistics of
Voldemort’s campaign of terror and intimidation so far.


“It is still my opinion,” she concluded some minutes later, “that the Ministry of Magic is not
making the best use of its knowledge and abilities. Voldemort is working with purpose, and we know
what that is. He wants power and he’s sifting through the magical community, killing obstructers
and collecting collaborators. I refuse to believe that the Ministry cannot anticipate his moves,
especially given the number of people is relatively small.”


Kingsley sighed deeply.


“The Ministry has never been a particularly efficient organisation,” he admitted. “Hardly any of
the best people are in the right jobs, and when you consider that he has his own sympathisers
throwing us off on wild goose chases, it’s a wonder we can get anything right. Dumbledore was the
only one who could anticipate clearly what his short term objectives might be.”


“Well,” interrupted the Prime Minister gently, “they are hardly going to let us tell them how to
organise themselves.”


“No,” agreed Miss Alice, “but we can help. If we had more information about the individuals, I’m
sure we could anticipate Voldemort.”


“The information you need,” responded Kingsley, “isn’t available. Not in written form,
anyway.”


Harry frowned to himself.


“Yes, U15?” the Prime Minister asked with a smile. “Don’t be afraid to jump in.”


“Well, I was just wondering. I imagine the information you need is what makes an individual
valuable.”


“And vulnerable,” added Miss Alice.


“Yes, I can understand that. My point is that if this information isn’t written down, can’t it
still be gathered. Either from the Ministry departments who do know part of it, or perhaps from the
individuals themselves?


“Miss A-, sorry I mean M101, how would you gather the information you need from non-magical
people?” asked Kingsley.


She dropped the place marker she had been waving at him and said, “Well, I would trawl through
every written piece of trivia I could find about them. Most people have a police record, usually
for some minor misdemeanour committed in their youth, but sometimes a pattern emerges.”


“Yes,” agreed Harry. “If they got convicted of using a particular curse, you’d know they had
that skill.”


“More to the point, the nature of the crime can often be a good indicator of their true
sympathies.”


Harry nodded.


“The Ministry writes everything down, doesn’t it?” he asked Kingsley. “If we got access to those
records, all of them, could they be analysed?”


“Harry, the Ministry generates tons of parchment every year. There is no way that could be
analysed, even if we were to get access.”


“I disagree,” interrupted Miss Alice. “Here in the United Kingdom, we have intelligence records
and risk assessments on every single individual. Of course, those records are incomplete, often
inaccurate and misleading sometimes. Well, quite a lot of the time, actually. The point is we have
the computing power that can sift through vast amounts of data looking for connections.


“I am sure we have the resources. We have equipment to cope with data on millions of people
tracking connections in minimal information. If we were to use our computers to analyse only a few
hundred thousand individuals, using detailed trivial information, we are bound to get results.”


“Where does the Ministry keep its records?” asked Harry.


“There is a magical link between the Ministry in London and a depository somewhere in Kent.
Everything goes there, but it’s very secure and there’s no way we could get permission to look at
those records. Actually, if we did gain access, how would you enter the information? I’ve seen you
typing at those consol things. It would take years.”


“Well, we have plenty of terminals and operators for data entry,” said the Prime Minister.
“Don’t we have document scanners too?”


“No, that would still take too long,” said Miss Alice. “I rather assumed there was a more
magical solution to our problem.”


“How?”


“Well, obviously I don’t know how, but you must have a way to copy documents. All we need to do
is find a way to copy the text onto a media our computers and read directly.”


Kingsley was looking at her blankly.


Then he said, “My world is turning upside down. I’ll see what I can find out, but don’t expect
too much progress any time soon.”


“I’m afraid there is some urgency,” said Miss Alice. “We must assume that Voldemort will
anticipate our attempt to do this. He will undoubtedly endeavour to take control of the records for
himself. Mind you, in his place, I would have done so already.”


“But that’s impossible,” Kingsley said automatically, but then he stopped and frowned to
himself. “You know? I called for a record a week ago on a suspect. I was sure the record was
incomplete, but I assumed I was mistaken. It had been years since I had looked at it, after
all.”


“Then we have to assume the Ministry records are compromised.”


“I could be mistaken. I should call for records of people I know better to check for any
inconsistencies before we jump to conclusions.”


“No, don’t do that. That will draw too much attention. Again, Voldemort would be most interested
in monitoring the records being called for and by whom.”


Kingsley nodded as the Prime Minister turned to Bateman.


“Well Sergeant, it looks like you have your new objective. Secure the Ministry archive for
us.”


Bateman looked up and smiled.


“Now, S396, will you report on your assessment of our current military activities?” asked Miss
Alice, sitting down.


“Thanks,” he responded. “Basically, things are not great. After our initial successes, we’ve had
a number of setbacks that culminated with almost a complete rout in our last action.


“Just as M101 anticipated, the enemy has increased their security. The last encampment we
attacked must have had lots of early warning detectors because by the time our people got there,
all the inexperienced combatants were gone leaving only a handful to fight on.


“Again, as anticipated, they were much more experienced fighters. Our weapons were next to
useless against them, although our forces did take the camp in the end. We paid a high price for
what they left behind, which was basically a few tents. Nothing of intelligence value was left
behind and we only got four confirmed kills. Our casualties were five killed, eight seriously
injured and four are missing, presumed captive.”


Harry gulped.


“It was a mistake not to have Auror cover,” said Kingsley.


“They were simply testing our strength,” said Miss Alice.


“Yes. As unfortunate as our casualties were, we learned quite a bit without revealing our true
strengths,” said Bateman. “Even experienced wizards have trouble fighting an opponent that is too
far away. Our snipers can get easy kills provided the wizards are unaware of the threat
direction.


“Short range, the Death Eaters were even more effective than Kingsley. No offence,” he added
with a smile.


“None taken,” said Kingsley at once.


“They do, however, exhibit characteristics we can use. They fight as individuals, not together.
I’m sure, from the video tapes, that once or twice one of them was more afraid of being hit in the
back by a fellow Death Eater. They don’t entirely trust each other.”


“With good reason,” said Kingsley.


“In addition, they don’t bother with First Aid in the field unless they can fix themselves up.
They will also kill a fallen comrade rather than allow them to fall into our hands.”


“You can use this kind of information?” asked the Prime Minister sceptically.


“Oh, yes,” said Bateman confidently. “I’ve already adapted our training regime. I can’t promise
we’ll have fewer casualties, but I am sure that we will become more effective.”


“I’m afraid this is the brutal reality of warfare,” said Miss Alice gently.


They were all quiet for a moment. Harry felt very uncomfortable at the prospect of so many
people becoming casualties of what was essentially his fight.


“What about our weapon development programme?” asked Miss Alice.


“Ah, well I’m hoping to meet with the Weasley twins this afternoon. Is that still going to
possible? If it is we may well get a boost with our efforts.”


“Oh, yes,” said Harry, smiling. “Although I’m not sure you know what you’re letting yourself in
for. You know their greatest ambition is to invent the biggest practical joke in history, don’t
you?”


Bateman laughed and nodded.


“I can cope with being the butt of their jokes provided they can help us with more of that
equipment we found so useful.”


“What about other things?”


“Our standard surveillance equipment just stops working when there’s too much magic around, as
you know. However, our boffins have managed to make prototype cameras and microphones that work
reasonably well. There is still too much interference, though.”


“Anything else?” asked Miss Alice, looking around.


The Prime Minister looked at his watch and swore, saying, “I’m late for the House.”


Miss Alice said something inaudible and then pressed another button. Harry guessed the recording
was over.


“Well, Harry, I’m very glad I made your acquaintance. I can’t always attend these meetings,
unfortunately, and I’m especially annoyed to not to hear Miss Alice’s account of the mad things
Brigadier Colonel Falcon has been up to,” the Prime Minister said smiling, shaking Harry’s hand
again.


Then his face grew serious and he did not release Harry’s hand.


“I know there are things you have got to do, and I know we will never know what they are. If you
need resources that we have, just ask for them. Realistically, we will never amount to much more
than a diversion or distraction against the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Just remember, if we use
what we have at the right time, we just might give you and the Aurors the edge.


“I especially encourage you to use Miss Alice’s knowledge and experience,” he added with a
glance across the room where she was chatting quietly with Kingsley. “She has an intellect that is
simply scary sometimes, but she’s always been a dozen steps ahead of any enemy she’s faced.”


“Harry,” said Bateman, who had been waiting for the Prime Minister to finish, “I want to ask you
to come with us when we raid the Ministry archive. We will go in with just a small team at
first.”


“Of course,” said Harry, surprised that Bateman would choose him ahead of the Aurors at his
disposal.


“It’ll be a while before we are ready, though.”


“Yes,” agreed Kingsley coming back over, “We don’t even know where in Kent it is.”


“Oh, we know where it is,” said Miss Alice with a sly smile. “We just don’t yet know how to get
in.”


The Prime Minister chuckled gently seeing Kingsley’s shocked expression.




8. Smoke and Mirrors
--------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 8 – Smoke and Mirrors**


“May I ask you something?” asked Harry.


Miss Alice smiled and said, “Of course, Harry.”


The two of them were alone in the briefing room now. The Prime Minister and Kingsley Shacklebolt
had departed for the House of Commons and Bateman was busy making arrangements for the four errant
soldiers he had met earlier.


“Have you already started analysing wizard information?”


She smiled and almost reluctantly said, “Yes, alright. Yes, we have.”


Laughing disarmingly she added, “We’ve been inputting everything we’ve been able to get our
hands on. Mostly, these have been old newspaper publications like the Daily Prophet. Once we got
over the moving images, it was fairly simple to scan and enter. We have entered editions that span
back almost twenty years, but we have a long way to go. You see, we don’t have every issue and it’s
very low grade information.”


“Where did you get the copies from?” asked Harry incredulously.


“Well, I have worked for the Ministry of Defence for a number of years, and I began as an
analyst. I always enjoyed making predictions based upon obscure data. I suppose I get it from my
mother. You see, she worked for the MOD too, as a computer.”


Harry frowned.


“Computers, Harry, before the advent of electronics, were *people* who did complex
calculations or, as in mine and my mother’s case, memorised vast amounts of information and
recalled connections.”


He raised his eyebrows interestedly.


“Few people realise their true mental potential, Harry. I myself am nowhere near as good as my
mother was. I suppose that having electronic computers at my disposal has disadvantaged me.
However, I did manage to spot one particular pattern that was rather relevant to us today.


“It probably won’t come as too much of a shock to you, but quite a lot goes on, in the various
Military Intelligence departments that few people, especially the elected Government, ever get to
hear about. Well, at least the truth about it, anyway.


“One such matter under investigation was a phenomenon where certain individuals were witnessed
that appeared to exhibit the ability to perform magic. This was and remains an absurd notion, but
there were too many unexplained occurrences for them not to be investigated.


“The thing that I spotted wasn’t anything to do with magic. No, what I realised was that the
investigators would suddenly, and without any good reason, decide to forget what they were doing
and all their records would vanish.”


Harry smiled, realising that the Ministry of Magic must have been taking an interest.


“So, I decided to set a trap. Fortunately, my assumption that they would sent a very junior
member of staff turned out to be correct. No only that, when the first one failed to return, they
sent another who was just as inept as the first.


“I released the least experienced wizard, and told them to return with someone I could talk
to.”


“But,” interrupted Harry, “how come the Ministry didn’t just send a more experienced wizard who
would just modify your memory?”


“I was rather lucky, actually. The scared youth decided not to go back to his superiors. He
evidently didn’t trust them not to get anybody hurt. No, he clearly wanted someone he could trust.
He returned a short while later with a man who introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore.”


“Dumbledore? You knew Dumbledore?” asked Harry laughing.


“Well, I cannot claim to have known him. I certainly met him, at least. I knew at once that he
was not someone to be trifled with. I released my captive unconditionally and invited them to have
some tea.”


“But how did you hold them captive, anyway?”


“I tricked them. I didn’t really have any power over them, but I fooled them. Smoke and mirrors,
Harry, can be very useful sometimes. Dumbledore saw right through it at once, of course, but I
think he was intrigued to know how it was done. I did rather enjoy teasing him about how it was
done.”


Harry smiled and looked down. He still felt a pang whenever he reflected upon Dumbledore.


“I was so very sorry to read that he had died,” said Miss Alice gently.


Harry nodded slowly.


“It was Dumbledore who arranged for me to have copies of old Daily Prophets. I began cataloguing
them as a hobby, actually. As I read I gradually began to learn more about your world. As I learned
about memory modifications, I too began to wonder about why I was being given access.


“After some time, Dumbledore contacted me again. Over tea, he quizzed me. I think he was trying
to satisfy himself on a point that centred upon his trust in me. Certainly, he knew that I had
never revealed any of the information that I had learned, nor had I sought to exploit the magical
community.


“He finished that interview by giving me various names and asking me to think of all the
connections between them that I had read. I’m pretty sure he already knew most of what I recalled,
but there were a couple that were new to him.


“After that he gave me a piece of parchment that I could write connections as they occurred to
me. When the writing vanished, I knew he had read my message. We corresponded for years like that,
with me analysing the Prophet and he analysing our Muggle papers.


“Anyway, when the Daily Prophet announced his death, I knew I had to act. I had read that the
Prime Minister of the day knew of the magical community, so I contacted his office. Thankfully,
Kingsley intercepted my request for an interview. You see, humble and lowly civil servants such as
myself never, ever, get to see the Great and the Good.”


“I can imagine,” said Harry. “So what is Brigadier Colonel Falcon’s involvement?”


“I’m afraid that I must take responsibility for his current state. Falcon comes from a long line
of rather distinguished military officers, although none reached his current rank. His family line
has earned an extraordinary number of medals for valour, but I personally feel they excelled best
in positions of planning and logistics.


“Of course, I may be biased, but defy anyone not to be moved by some of the accounts of the
actions of these dedicated career officers. Many more lives were saved as a direct result of their
endeavours. More than one railed against the senior echelons at the expense of their own personal
prospects to ensure worthwhile improvements were made.


“Regrettably, young Falcon showed few of the attributes of his famous forebears and may have
felt compelled to follow the family tradition with military service. Over the years, Falcon himself
appears to have been promoted away from responsibility, a reflection upon his abilities, I’m
sure.”


“Sorry?”


“Well, it sometimes occurs that someone is so bad at their present job that simplest way to be
rid of them is to promote them. Eventually Falcon got himself into a position where he was
hopelessly out of his depth, something that was only exposed when he planned and executed a minor
military action that resulted in some appalling casualties.”


“Why wasn’t he just sacked?”


“Perhaps he should have been, but the right thing rarely occurs in these circles. Simply, it
would have been an admission that he was promoted in error. In fact, he was again promoted but this
time given a joke desk job. Can you guess what the joke was?”


“To look for evidence of magic?”


“That’s right. It was clear to me immediately of the damage such a man could do to the magical
community. He had a powerful motive to succeed. If he did, his career might get back on track and
he knew this was his last chance.


“The one thing he got right was to protect himself against the Ministry of Magic. He’s lived
underground for years now.”


“That protected him?” asked Harry.


“Oh, no, but it lead the Ministry to consider him quite mad. His paranoia and insistence that
magic existed actually guaranteed that no one sensible would take him seriously.”


“So how could you be responsible?”


“I’m afraid I’ve been feeding him fake and doctored intelligence reports for years. I also
arranged for reports to be amended after he read them, although I didn’t use any magic. It became a
kind of game, and it was rather easy since he had reports of every single unexplained occurrence
that was reported.


“Problems began when genuine reports started to come in. This has happened over the last few
months, although he still has no proof. Several reports concerned you, of course.”


“Bateman said he had enough rank to cause problems,” said Harry, who was beginning to regret his
fun at Falcon’s expense earlier.


“Yes, Bear has always considered him more dangerous than I,” said Miss Alice. Harry smiled
hearing her use Bateman’s nickname. “Particularly since we found it convenient to assign him and
his men to Falcon’s staff, although he has no idea, of course.”


“Actually, I think he must have found out,” said Harry. “Miss Alice, Falcon said something about
forcing him into retirement. That couldn’t happen. Could it? I mean, not if he doesn’t want to
go?”


“Well, John is rather older than the usual profile,” she said quietly. “But you have to remember
that Special Forces have always kept experienced people on, usually for training purposes. That was
John’s main role before he met you. However, I felt that his worldly experience might be of
benefit.”


“*You* selected them?” he asked with a wide smile.


Bateman came back into the room and asked, “You talking about my favourite Officer?”


“Of course,” said Miss Alice smiling.


“I can’t tell you how often I’ve regretted not failing him from my survival course!”


“But, John, you *did* fail him, remember?” Miss Alice reminded him.


“Yes, but that was one Officer Candidate I should have left in the jungle.”


Both Harry and Miss Alice knew Bateman better than to believe him.


“Here, Harry, this is for you,” said Miss Alice holding out a scroll of parchment. “This was the
parchment that Dumbledore gave to me all those years ago. A while ago, in a message he asked me to
give you this should we ever meet. I assume it will reveal a message, but I suggest you wait until
you are in private before reading it.”


“Thank you,” said Harry.


She reached out to hold his forearm and said, “Do as he directs, Harry. Trust him one more
time.”


There was a loud buzzing noise and an amplified female voice rang out saying, “Brigadier Colonel
Falcon is trying to use his pass to get in here again.”


*


Bateman escorted Harry up to a room on another level. Harry was by now becoming quite
disorientated walking through identical looking corridors.


“You can wait in here for a few minutes while I go and change out of my uniform,” Bateman said
as he headed for the lifts.


Harry entered and found himself in a brightly lit waiting room. There was a single row of chairs
and a small table with a stack of well-read colour magazines. He was about to sit down when someone
shouted, “Harry!”


Almost at once he was being hugged.


“Mrs Granger, what on earth are you doing here?”


“We work here now. Well, we *did*. This is supposed to be our last day before we move on to
another establishment. I’m hoping for one above ground next time!”


“*This* is where you’ve been?”


“Well, we insisted that we had to go somewhere where we could keen working, or do something
useful. Apparently these kinds of establishments have all kinds of support staff like us. After
all, it’s important the people pressing the launch buttons aren’t distracted by toothache,” she
added sarcastically. Harry noted she was proudly wearing several anti-war badges.


“Yes, I suppose. So Mr Granger is here too?”


“He’s my assistant.”


The door off to the side opened and Mr Granger said, “Hello Harry. I hope my assistant isn’t
bothering you.”


“Hello, Mr Granger,” said Harry smiling and stretching to shake his hand.


“Come on, Harry. You’ve got time for a quick check-up.”


“No, honestly, I’m fine thanks,” said Harry as he was escorted to the dentist’s chair.




9. Murderous Tendencies
-----------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


*AN: Did you skip a chapter? Chapter 8 (Smoke and Mirrors) was a bit short, so here is the
next one as well.*


**Chapter 9 – Murderous Tendencies**


Harry and Bateman stepped out of the tiny lift into a small room. There was hardly any room,
especially with the large sports bag Bateman was carrying.


“Harry, this room leads to the changing rooms of a clothes shop which has a front in the next
street from where you came in. Apparate directly into this lobby and call the lift. Don’t attempt
to Apparate directly underground as you will just set of all the alarms.”


Harry nodded and Bateman led the way outside. When they got out into the street, Bateman warned,
“Don’t attempt to come in from the street this way, either. You’ll just be intercepted. Remember,
we are not the only secret project around here.”


After a short while, Harry said, “It was nice to see Hermione’s parents. I didn’t really get a
chance to say goodbye when they left.”


Bateman smiled and nodded.


“I’m not sure they entirely approve of the organisation they’re servicing, but they’ve stuck at
it. It’s good they have decided to keep busy.”


“They said they expected to move soon?”


“Yes, they leave this evening. If they weren’t, you wouldn’t have seen them at all.”


“I guessed as much.”


They walked on and Harry realised that felt a little awkward in Bateman’s company. He was sure
it was because he wasn’t in any kind of uniform. He was dressed perfectly in a non-descript way
with faded jeans, white polo shirt under a worn leather jacket. His trainers looked new but dirtied
up.


If Harry hadn’t seen Bateman conceal his automatic handgun and a lethal looking knife about
himself, he would never have guessed that he was armed.


“I always feel uncomfortable walking around out of uniform,” admitted Bateman quietly. “I’m not
sure what I miss most, my rifle or a few stripes on my arm.”


Harry snorted and glanced across to see Bateman grinning at him.


“I’d go with the stripes,” said Harry laughing. “They’d never dare do anything with those on
your arms.”


“I don’t know. They’ve never cut much ice with Miss Alice.”


After a while, Harry voiced something that had been troubling him.


“Bear, I’m sorry if I made trouble for you with Falcon. You were right. It was stupid of
me.”


“Don’t worry about it. Falcon won’t be the one who kicks me out; although I accept it will
happen sooner rather than later. Maybe I’ll find myself a nice retirement home.”


Harry suddenly had a vision of Bateman organising a geriatric assault course.


“Do you have any family?”


“No, not now. My second wife divorced me a few years ago. I’ve no idea what became of the first
one.”


Harry laughed despite himself, and asked, “How can you not know?”


“I came back from a tour in Germany and she was gone, that’s all. I didn’t blame her. It
couldn’t have been much to look forward to, knowing I was coming back off active service. It
affects you; although it was years before I admitted it affected me.”


“But how were you able to marry a second time without a divorce or something?”


“You sound like my lawyer,” Bateman quipped. “Actually, that was just one of the reasons she
thought my second marriage might not have been entirely above board.”


“You didn’t have any children?”


“No, not with either of my wives. It really didn’t seem fair, anyway. I wouldn’t have described
our relationships as stable, even at the best of times. I do have a daughter, though. I haven’t
spoken to her in years, though.”


“Maybe you should think about getting in touch.”


Bateman didn’t answer and they walked on in silence.


As they approached the crowded pavements where more shops were, Bateman directed Harry to walk
ahead. He would walk a couple of steps behind and to the side so he could protect his back. He also
gave Harry instructions about what he was to do in the event that they were attacked. Harry nodded,
but inwardly had no intention of running to leave Bateman to fend for himself.


Quite soon after that, they arrived at The Leaky Cauldron. Bateman kept going straight past the
entrance, but Harry grabbed him and pulled him inside.


The bar was empty when they came in, but Tom quickly appeared to welcome them. Harry introduced
Bateman to him and asked if they could book a private room for dinner later on.


*


As Harry held open the door into Fred and George’s shop, he muttered with a smile, “Don’t say I
didn’t warn you.”


Unlike the rest of Diagon Alley, this shop had several customers, a few of whom looked
scandalised that a Muggle should have entered at all.


The shop looked bigger than Harry remembered it. He assumed that they had expanded the sales
area to accommodate demand.


Harry looked around, but neither Fred nor George was in sight. Seeing Verity their assistant at
a counter at the back of the shop, Harry touched Bateman’s arm to signal for him to follow.


Bateman was looking around in wonder, but nodded and followed.


“Excuse me, but we have an appointment to see Fred and George,” said Harry when Verity had
finished serving a small boy who looked quite delighted with his small bag of exploding sherbet
sweets.


His mother grabbed the bag at once saying, “Not indoors, Jeremy, dear.”


“Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley are in their office, Sir. Who may I say is calling?”


There was what sounded like a small explosion just inside the main door. Obviously, Jeremy
couldn’t wait quite long enough.


“Harry Potter and John Bateman. We should be expected.”


Verity disappeared out into the back while Bateman examined a display of “Smart Alec Wrist
Bands.” The label read, “*The wearer is guaranteed(*) to respond with a quick witted insult to
any affront directed at them. *If the wearer is unable to speak, the insult may not come out of the
mouth in all cases*.”


“Harry!”


“Hello Fred,” said Harry. “May I introduce John Bateman? He insisted upon meeting you.”


Fred shook Bateman’s hand enthusiastically and said, “Come on through.”


Harry followed them through the stock room into a large office. George was already introducing
himself before Harry had the chance.


Harry was surprised to see that Hermione was there too, arms crossed and wand in hand.


“Is Ron here too?” asked Harry quietly, as George slid out a chair for Bateman.


“No, I sent him home. He was being a bit of a pain,” she muttered.


“Are you okay,” asked Harry. He thought she looked a little upset.


Bateman leapt up again seeing Hermione. She smiled warmly and kissed him on his cheek.


“Hello, Sergeant Bateman,” she said. “Is everybody well?”


“Oh, yes, thanks Hermione,” Bateman said, returning to his seat. The others drew up chairs and
George closed and sealed the office door. Fred waved his wand and a tray of teas appeared before
him.


“As Harry said, I particularly wanted to meet the both of you. Those robes we borrowed worked
wonders for us. Spells and curses just bounced off. I’m sure several of us owe you our lives.”


“Oh, they were nothing,” said George modestly.


“Unfortunately,” continued Bateman, “although they were very effective in our early engagements,
just recently our casualties have been rising.”


Fred nodded sadly and said, “They are no substitute for a conjured shield.”


“Have you developed them further?” asked Harry, hearing some faint popping noises in his
ears.


Fred, George and Hermione looked blankly at him for a moment before snorting with laughter.


“Alright, what did you do to me?” Harry asked disdainfully.


“Nothing, Harry, honestly,” said Fred, now laughing and wiping tears from his eyes.


Harry frowned but George continued, “Not really. You see the Ministry cancelled most of their
new orders and forbade us from selling to private individuals for fear of them getting into the
hands of Death Eaters.”


“Is that likely?” asked Bateman, still staring in wonder at Harry.


“It already has. They caught a Death Eater wearing a set of our robes. We suspect he nicked them
from one of his victims, but we couldn’t prove it.”


“I was going to ask if you would accept a commission from the British Government,” said Bateman,
unzipping his large sports bag and taking out a mottled dark green and black jacket.


“These are our latest combat clothes. These have bullet proof linings and a moderate degree of
infrared suppression. They are also vented to allow comfortable running. We usually wear additional
flack jacket protection and helmets, of course, but it would be a great help if we had your extra
protection built in.”


George took the jacket and examined the material carefully. Fred took the trousers Bateman
offered him and did the same.


“I suppose you don’t want them to be any heavier?”


“Well, another fabric layer would detract from the efficiency, but yes, I think we could cope
with that.”


Fred and George looked at each other and considered for a moment.


“There may be some limitations. What if the fabric could only withstand a single direct
hit?”


“Well, I suppose I’d have to accept that. Could some spare fabric be charmed to provide a patch
repair?”


“That’s a good idea,” said Fred.


“Okay, that’s settled,” said George. “So all we have to agree is the price.”


“Can’t you think of anything else but profit?” Hermione asked angrily.


“Hermione, these will be expensive to produce,” said Fred at once. “We assume that they will
need to have the strongest charms we can place on them and we need to find a way to bind them to
non-natural fabrics. I’m guessing, but I’ll bet that these fabrics will actually drain the magical
protection away.”


Hermione didn’t look at all convinced.


“Hermione,” said Bateman gently, “if they can make equipment and supplies that will save lives,
I see no objection to them making a little money out of this.”


“How about you produce a few prototypes at cost?” suggested Harry. “If they work you’ll be able
to negotiate a better price.”


“Very diplomatic, Harry,” said Fred with a grin. Harry could hear more popping as he said
it.


“How many will you need initially?” asked George above the sniggers.


“One each for Harry, Hermione and Ron. I’ll want fourteen sets for my team, with the idea that
we test one set each to destruction. If they are okay, we’ll take them with us.”


George nodded and asked, “When do you need them?”


“Within three weeks and they are to be made to measure. It’s important.”


“Are you planning for something?” asked Hermione.


“Yes, but we can’t talk about it here, Hermione,” said Bateman. “Guys, I need you to be honest
with me. If you can’t deliver, I need to make alternative arrangements.”


“Can we have a week to experiment?” asked Fred.


“Sure you can; but no more than that.”


“What else have you been up to?” asked Harry, knowing now that he would hear more popping
noises.


“We thought you’d never ask!” exclaimed Fred, who jumped up and dragged out a large cardboard
box. “For our first item,” he began dramatically, rummaging around in the box.


“George,” said Hermione, taking the opportunity to cut in, “can’t you do something?”


“I have no idea what you mean, Hermione,” said George, grinning widely.


“I can’t find it, George,” complained Fred from within the box. “Oh, here it is!”


He triumphantly held up what looked like a piece of string.


“What is it?” asked Hermione.


“It’s a piece of string!” cried Fred.


“Brilliant,” said Hermione sarcastically.


“No, Hermione, it just looks like a piece of string. If you look closer, you’ll see that it is
actually cloth piping that is designed to be sewn onto your robes.”


“What does it do?” asked Harry.


“Well, it was you and Hermione who gave us the idea, actually. If you are wearing this piping,
then you won’t be able to Disapparate, and neither will anyone else who is trying to use side along
Apparition.”


“That’s how we lost some of our men,” admitted Bateman.


“This piping should prevent that,” said George. “We are currently trying to change the colour so
it blends in.”


“You could sew it inside,” suggested Hermione.


“True, but then you’d miss the second benefit,” said Fred.


“If you tear off a piece of piping, and conceal it about the person of an enemy, then when they
Disapparate, they will splinch themselves. Effectively, they will be totally disarmed.”


“How much piping do you need?” asked Harry.


“It varies. We recon that less than six inches and the splinching isn’t effective enough. More
than a couple of feet just prevents them from Disapparating.”


Harry took the piping and said, “This stuff could be really useful.”


“It certainly could,” agreed Bateman. “Does it do any harm if you carry more than you need?”


“No, but obviously you’d be paying for more than you strictly need.”


“I want all the new clothing to have this,” said Bateman. “Sew some permanently inside for all
except those for Harry, Ron and Hermione. All of them are to have tear off strips of these,
including the trousers. The outside ones are to be black with Velcro type fastenings.”


“Velcro?”


“That’s a Muggle fastening,” said Hermione. “Actually, I wondered if Madam Malkin couldn’t come
up with something better.”


“Don’t tell her what you are making, though,” warned Harry, “and can’t you do something about
all this popping in my ears?”


Fred sniggered and disappeared into his box again. Bateman, Hermione and George managed not to
look at him. He assumed this was because they feared laughing at whatever Fred and George had done
to him.


“Sergeant Bateman, do you know how to use one of these?” asked Fred, holding up a throwing
knife.


“Please, call me John,” he insisted, taking the knife. “Yes, although throwing these things is
really just for the movies, you know?”


“We’d like you to demonstrate something,” said Fred, standing up and crossing the room away from
the others.


“John, throw the knife at Fred.”


“No,” said Bateman at once. “I’m not about to risk injuring you like that.”


“Its okay, Bear,” said Harry. “I’ve seen them do this trick before.”


Bateman looked like he felt he was making a mistake, but nevertheless held the knife up to
examine the blade. His arm movement was so quick, Harry was afraid he’d actually managed to hit
Fred with it.


The knife flew across the room. In the last instant there was a flash and a paper aeroplane hit
Fred harmlessly in the chest.


“That was closer than it should have been,” admitted Fred, sounding a little unnerved.


“I’ll say it was,” said George. “What we wanted to show was that wizards can quite easily defend
themselves from projectiles.”


“Yes, we’ve been learning the same thing,” agreed Bateman. “If a skilled wizard knows the threat
it is almost impossible to get them at close quarters.”


“So,” said George, reaching into the box and withdrawing another throwing knife, “we have
developed this.”


He handed the knife to Bateman.


“Don’t throw that one at me yet,” warned Fred, dragging over a dressmaker’s dummy. “I’ll stand
behind this and try to defend myself as before. Aim at the target on the dummy’s chest, but this
time give me clear warning. Don’t disguise your throw like last time.”


Bateman did as he was asked and said, “I’ll throw on three. One. Two. Three.”


He threw the knife and Harry could see Fred’s spell hit the knife about halfway between them.
This time, however, the knife embedded itself deep in the chest of the dummy with a thunk.


“Not bad,” said Bateman. “Can you make other projectiles that behave this way?”


“Oh, yes,” said Fred. “It works by placing a charm on the knife. I don’t see why we would have a
problem charming other kinds of knife.”


“Actually,” said Bateman, “I was thinking of bullets.” He drew out his handgun.


“Just a moment,” interrupted Hermione. “There are a couple of things to consider. Firstly, you
would need to test charmed bullets under more controlled conditions. It could be very dangerous
otherwise.”


“*Hermione*,” complained Fred.


“No, I agree with Hermione,” said Harry. “I’ve seen what automatic weapons can do. Let’s not
take *any* chances.”


Bateman nodded and that settled the matter.


“The second thing concerns the charm,” continued Hermione. “It’s my guess that there is a
defence that will work against your new charm. Once they know that, your advantage will be
neutralised.”


“Well, sure, *eventually*,” agreed George reluctantly.


“That is the normal pattern with all weapon development, Hermione,” said Bateman.


“Yes, but I suspect the advantage will be over almost as soon as you use it for the first time.
Fred, George, could you think of a counter-curse for these?”


“We already have,” admitted Fred. “We discovered it during testing. The thing is, it takes time
to perform. Neither of us could beat John’s speed.”


“How about if your lives depended upon it?” asked Harry before sticking his fingers in his ears.
The popping was getting louder and louder.


“Point taken,” said George.


“Look, this is all very amusing and everything,” said Hermione, pointing at Harry and not
sounding at all amused.


“We thought so,” said Fred with a laugh but then he faltered seeing George looking seriously at
a box laying on the desk. Fred cleared his throat and said, “Well, perhaps this isn’t the moment,”
pointing his wand at Harry.


“What was it?” asked Harry smiling, now that the popping noises had ceased.


“Well,” said Bateman. “As you spoke your words appeared over your head, just out of your
sight-line.”


“Yes,” added Hermione. “Sometimes they added additional comments too.”


Harry laughed and waited for Fred or George to announce the name they had given this new joke,
but they were looking uncharacteristically serious.


“What is it?” he asked.


“Harry, we can’t begin to tell you how bad we feel about our Peruvian Darkness Powder being used
by the Death Eaters in their attack on Hogwarts. We can’t help feeling responsible.”


“No,” said Harry. “They had already got into the castle. Even without the powder, they would
have found another way, I’m sure.”


“Well, we’ve created something that will counter the effects. It is an amulet. Wear it on your
wand arm and you will be able to produce a *lumos* spell that isn’t affected by the Darkness
Powder. We won’t be marketing this to anyone, but we’ll make as many as you need Harry. The only
people who get them will be those you give them to. We know it’s rather late in the day, but we
felt it was only right.”


Harry smiled sadly and nodded.


“We, er, do have a couple of other things in mind,” said George, “but they are still on the
drawing board. A couple of them will be rather expensive, but the Ministry made it clear that they
wouldn’t fund any research. We think Percy told them it was just for joke stuff.”


“How much do you need?” asked Harry.


“We could be talking Tens of Thousands of Galleons, but we’ll do what we can with the money
we’ve made so far.”


“Let me top your funds up,” said Harry.


“Harry, you’ve already been more than generous as it is. There’s no guarantee of success.”


“Oh, I think you’re worth the risk,” said Harry smiling.


“There is one other matter,” said George, reaching for the box on the desk. “Harry, shortly
after we set up shop here, we had a visit from Dumbledore. He was just making sure we had done the
right thing in leaving school early.”


“Yeah, be bought quite a few things too. He joked that he wanted to get in quick before Filch
banned them,” added Fred.


“But his main reason for coming was to leave this with us,” said George, lifting the lid off the
box and lifting out a large, handsomely bound book with two large brass buckles holding it closed.
“It is charmed, so we need to tell you about it first.”


“This book is Dumbledore’s original draft. This is just one of the volumes he wrote,” said
Fred.


“Professor McGonagall told me about them!” said Harry, quite delighted that he might have the
opportunity to read some of Dumbledore’s own writings.


“He said we had permission to read the book and use anything we needed. There’s loads of great
things in here, Harry, and almost none of it dangerous. It was originally destined to become a
standard text at Hogwarts, only he never bothered to complete it.”


“The really clever stuff,” said George, “is in the crossovers between subjects. This book is all
about combining Potions, Transfiguration and Charms.”


Harry smiled remembering Professor McGonagall’s objections to Dumbledore’s ad-hoc lesson plans.
Clearly, this book represented the potential Dumbledore envisioned.


“Can we see?” asked Hermione, who looked like she was bursting with curiosity. “I mean,
Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of his age. I expect his insight would be amazing.”


“Hang on, Hermione,” said Fred. “Dumbledore charmed it so only we could read it. He was
concerned that his writings might be used in Dark Magic.”


“Harry, this book is yours. I mean, Dumbledore bequeathed it to you under the terms of his Will.
We are obliged to give this to you and you are required to take it. He said it was important that
you understand this. We expect something will happen when we hand it over.”


“Yes,” agreed Fred, standing and holding the book with George. “We’ve been afraid that we might
forget what we learned from it.”


“Would you rather keep it?” asked Harry.


“No. He was quite clear on that point. If we fail to honour his trust, the charm will begin to
affect us in some way. He said the effect is not immediate, so we had a little time, but it might
be harsh.”


“As soon as he died, the book sealed itself shut. We know it won’t open for us again.”


“I see,” said Harry. “Is there anything else I should know?”


“Dumbledore made a joke that we didn’t really understand.”


“What was it?”


“He said we might want to kill you to get the book back again,” said George darkly.


“But that we would have to wait a few hours first,” finished Fred.


“Gosh,” said Hermione.


Harry frowned to himself and said, “I think that was a message for me. I’m sure he wasn’t
worried about you trying to kill me. Certainly, I’m not,” he added with a smile.


“Well, we wondered if that was the case.”


“Shall we do it now?” asked George hopefully.


“Sure, why not?” said Harry, stepping forward and holding out his hands.


As soon as his fingers got close to the leather binding of the book, blue sparks began to
scatter all over the cover.


“*Relinquo*!” said Fred and George together.


The book jumped into his hands and Harry felt a shock right through his body. An instant later,
Harry looked down to see the sparks forming a hand that gently pressed down upon his own. Harry
knew at once this was a memory of Dumbledore.


Energy surged through him as Dumbledore’s voice filled his head.


*“You need to accept this bequest properly, Harry. Repeat the works aloud after me. The words
simply mean that the bequest is completely offered and accepted. You will ensure they are protected
from the effects of the curse.”*


Harry took a deep breath and spoke.


“*Yrfelaf eall geoffrian ond clyppan!*”


He felt that his voice seemed somehow different. He spoke much deeper than his usual voice. It
was like the words themselves were evoking an older, wiser and more powerful wizard; a wizard that
he might one day become.


Magical energy seemed to dance through the air, making their robes fly about as if they were in
a high wind. Then it was calm again, and Harry knew that Dumbledore’s charm had done its work and
gone.


Harry turned the book over and lightly touched the buckles. Immediately, they sprang open and
the book opened with purpose revealing the first page. It flipped over too quickly for him to read
the dedication, but settled on the extensive contents page.


“Wow,” said Harry, looking up.


Fred and George were still standing there looking rather shocked.


“You guys okay?” asked Harry with concern, closing the book again. “Any murderous tendencies
yet?” he added with a grin.


They both shook their heads shakily.


“How about a drink in The Leaky Cauldron then? We’re a little early for dinner, but I’m sure Tom
won’t mind,” suggested Harry.


“I’d better warn your assistants that you’ll be, er, *recovering* out of the office for the
rest of the afternoon,” said Hermione with a smile.


Harry and Bateman approached to make sure they were really alright. After a few moments of mute
immobility, the twins were soon back to their normal selves.


“Listen,” said Harry quietly, “I need to ask a favour.”


“Sure, Harry. Anything,” said Fred at once.


“I want you to give Ron a job here. It will only be part time though.”


George suddenly looked rather less than keen.


“Look, I want him to have some money that he’s earned himself,” said Harry. “Most of the time
he’ll be off doing things for us, anyway. He’ll also have a good excuse to be hanging around Diagon
Alley. I’ll pay you for his wages, but don’t tell him or Hermione.”


Hermione came back into the room and Harry raised his eyebrows meaningfully out of her
sight.


“We were thinking about offering Ron a job here, Harry,” announced George. “Provided you can
spare him, that is. We know he’ll be off with you for much of the time.”


“Quite a lot of the time, we expect,” said Fred, pointedly.


“That’s a great idea,” said Harry, smiling. “You’ll pay him a decent wage, of course?”


“But he’s family,” objected Fred. “We didn’t pay ourselves for ages!”


“We’ll pay him what we think he’s worth,” said George, “but he won’t get a staff discount.”


“Why not?” asked Hermione, starting a good natured argument that didn’t end until they were sat
in the private room in The Leaky Cauldron where they all had dinner.


At around eleven o’clock that night, they all went outside to bid Bateman goodbye. Fortunately,
he managed to flag down a taxi cab almost at once.


Fred and George returned to the dining table to finish off the wine with Verity and another of
their assistants who had joined the party after the shop had closed for the evening.


Harry and Hermione bid them all goodnight before Flooing to the Room of Requirement.




10. Clever Isn’t She?
---------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 10 – Clever Isn’t She?**


“That was a nice evening,” said Hermione, stepping out of the fire. “It was quite like old
times, wasn’t it?”


“Yes,” agreed Harry, searching his pockets for the parchment Miss Alice had given him
earlier.


“I think Fred is rather keen on Verity,” she added, lighting the table lamp.


“Which one was Verity?” asked Harry absently.


Hermione snorted, amused that Harry had no difficulty in distinguishing identical twins and yet
could not distinguish two completely different looking girls. She sat down.


“What did you want to talk about?”


“Well, a few things actually,” said Harry sitting down with the blank parchment stretched out in
front of him. He pulled out his wand and touched it lightly.


Instantly, a message appeared.


“What is it, Harry?” asked Hermione, seeing his reaction.


Harry couldn’t speak. Instead, he just handed the message to Hermione for her to read.


*Dear Harry,*


*If you are reading this, it means we have both become a little distracted from our tasks,
haven’t we? Cheer up, Harry. It’s not so bad.*


*Clever isn’t she? It will be interesting to see what they can cook up when they meet.*


*I wish you well,*


*Yours truly,*


*Albus*


*PS When you destroy this parchment, all of the Prophets entrusted to Miss Alice will be
destroyed at the same time. Please do this now. I believe it will help them in the longer
term.*


*


Miles away, in an underground bunker in London, an explosion ripped through one of the lower
levels setting off alarms and sprinklers. Acrid smoke billowed through the air conditioning ducts
and out into the corridors as hundreds of staff made for their evacuation points.


Amongst the chaos, one person waited, hidden in a small cupboard.


Any moment now.


He opened the door a small amount, allowing smoke to enter. He rechecked his breathing
apparatus, still unsure if he had put it on properly. He had read the instructions over and over in
preparation for this night, but it was still all nonsense as far as he was concerned.


He listened intently. There had been no noise of running personnel for a while now.


Then he saw what he had been waiting for. The lights flickered and then went out. The emergency
floor lighting came on and colourless gas erupted from side vents.


This, he knew, was both a security and fire prevention measure.


He ventured out to inspect the damage done by the explosives he had placed earlier. He had to
stop himself chuckling aloud a couple of times. He still had to be careful. There were all kinds of
listening devices to detect exactly what he was attempting to do.


*


“Harry, who is Miss Alice?”


Harry smiled and took the parchment from Hermione’s fingers.


“She’s the clever one that Dumbledore thought it would be interesting when you met,” he
replied.


Touching his wand to the parchment again, it burst into flames. For an instant they clearly saw
the outline of a stylised Phoenix fly up into the air before vanishing.


They sat in silence for a long moment, Harry’s head filled with thoughts of Dumbledore.


“We’ve been lucky again, Hermione,” he said absently.


“How so?”


“Have you ever heard of a Kemmynadow?” he asked, coming back to himself but still thinking of
the flaming Phoenix.


“No.”


“Well, we saw part of it tonight when Fred and George handed me this book. If you have time, I’d
like you to do some research on the Kemmynadow. I’ll tell you what I know, but I’m especially
interested in how it is cast and what the effects are. I’d like to know what could happen if the
Kemmynadow was broken or delayed too long.”


“Of course, Harry, but I’m still unclear exactly what a Kemmynadow is.”


“As I understand it, a Kemmynadow is a magically enforced Last Will and Testament. Dumbledore
made certain bequests to me. Those bequests are items that he entrusted with various people. They
are required to give them to me and I have to accept them.


“When Miss Alice gave me that parchment earlier today, I assumed it was one of those items. I
think I was wrong, though. Nothing happened when she handed it to me.”


“I see,” said Hermione. “Is she pretty?”


Harry snorted and took her hand in his as he said, “I did rather like her, actually. She may be
almost as clever as you are, but probably a little too old for me.”


“Good.”


Harry smiled and said, “I’d like to tell you about the book. I mean, the book that Professor
McGonagall gave me.”


“Oh, yes!” she asked excitedly. “I’ve been dying to see it.”


“Well, it’s over there,” said Harry. “But you may not approve of it quite so much when I tell
you that it contains all the Dark Magic that Dumbledore ever faced. Unlike Fred and George’s book,
he never intended it for publication. He wrote it in a form that only I can now read or grant
access to.


“Hermione, Professor McGonagall suggested that I ask you to read the book with me. She didn’t
want me to have the book at all, I think. She might be right. I knew as soon as I opened it how
dangerous it would be.”


“How so? I mean, you kind of said this before, but I still don’t see why you are so
concerned.”


“Would you like to see? It is rather late, I know.”


“Where is it, Harry?”


Harry got up and went over to one of the many shelves and picked up the book, now once more a
single piece of wood.


“We have to sit opposite for this to work,” explained Harry coming back over to her. “Professor
McGonagall wouldn’t show me any more than the contents page.”


“Just how dark is this magic, Harry?”


Harry placed the book between them on the table.


“This is the darkest magic Dumbledore faced. I know I could be facing anything in here soon. I
need to know how to defend myself.”


“Well, yes,” admitted Hermione. “There’s nothing wrong in defending yourself.”


“There is a catch, though. Dumbledore held this back from me. He knew that thanks to Voldemort,
I would have a serious aptitude for this stuff.”


“Don’t say that, Harry. You’re not a dark wizard.”


“Hermione, there is a serious risk that I’ll come to rely on this magic, and I don’t mean just
to defend myself. What I want you to consider is learning these defences with me. I want you to be
there to remind me that there is always an alternative to the dark magic here.”


“Harry, I’m sure you are exaggerating,” said Hermione nervously.


“Let me show you,” he said, opening the book.


Hermione looked surprised not to see writing on the page. Instead there were two reversed hand
prints on each leaf. Harry held his left hand hovering over the left hand side of the book and held
his wand in his right hand.


“You need to do the same,” he said. “The book will allow you to touch the open page provided I
consent.”


Hermione copied him from opposite and held her hand over her side of the book.


Harry felt the book pull his hand down. He knew Hermione would be feeling the same. As their
palms touched the exposed timber, large brightly lit words and letters appeared and spun around
them in circles.


“This is the index, Hermione. Let’s try something simple.”


He pointed his wand at an entry. The words flashed bright and suddenly they were surrounded by
large diagrams and drawings, each showing the use and effects of the curse.


“This is amazing, Harry,” said Hermione looking at the rotating text.


“Look down, Hermione.”


She did so and gasped. Black symbols and words, as if freshly written in the back of his left
hand, were forming words and flowing effortlessly up his arms. Soon they appeared on his wand
hand.


The symbols and words themselves meant nothing at all to him, but he could hear the spell being
chanted hypnotically in his head.


Harry concentrated, and the writing vanished along with the chanting.


“To be honest,” he said, “it is quite an effort to stop the flow. The book keeps wanting to push
the knowledge into me. It’s like the book has footnotes referring to other spells and it tries to
get me to learn that too.”


“Harry, why doesn’t the book do the same for me?” she asked. Hermione’s hands were still quite
normal.


“Well, I assumed it is because you didn’t want to learn this particular curse. In fact, I would
not be surprised if you actually purposely wanted to avoid learning it.”


“That is true,” she admitted, looking at a particularly horrible depiction as it floated past.
“Why did you want to learn how to melt living bones anyway?”


“I didn’t particularly, but it is one of the milder ones on offer. How about we have a go at the
counter spell?"


This time, golden lettering flowed across both their hands and arms before vanishing.


“We’ll have to be so careful with this book, Harry. What did you mean when you said we have been
lucky again?”


Against a little resistance, Harry lifted his hand off the book. There was a brief flash and the
circular writing that had been surrounding them vanished.


He closed the book but as soon as it was shut, they heard, “Where the hell did you two come
from?”


They both jumped.


“Ron!” said Harry, lowering the wand that was now pointing at his friend. Ron was standing
beside one of the fireplaces looking quite startled.


“You couldn’t see us?” asked Harry.


“Not at all. Is that a new invisibility device? It worked great. I couldn’t see either of you or
the table!”


“Well, as an invisibility device, it isn’t much good,” said Harry.


“No,” agreed Hermione. “We had no idea you were there.”


“Well, I’d only just arrived. Mum got worried when Fred called and mentioned that you’d left
earlier.”


“No, we’re fine thanks. What did Fred want?”


“He’s offered me a job,” replied Ron brightly. “He even said I could work flexible hours.”


“Did you get a generous staff discount?” asked Hermione.


“Well, he said that depended on how much stock I broke.”


Harry laughed and said, “Congratulations, Ron. You wait; you’ll have your own branch in no
time.”


“I don’t know if I want to accept it,” said Ron. “It won’t be much fun working for Fred and
George. Besides, we’ll have other things to do, won’t we?”


“But it would be the perfect cover to watch the comings and goings in Diagon Alley,” suggested
Hermione.


“I suppose,” said Ron. “Look, Mum is getting really agitated. How about you spend the night at
the Burrow?”


Harry considered a moment but then nodded.


“Great,” said Ron, and followed Hermione as she Flooed to the Burrow.


Harry placed the Kemmynadow book back on its shelf and again charmed it so it could not be
removed. He was fairly sure that neither Hermione nor Ron could open the book on their own, but he
didn’t want to take any chances. For all he knew, the book might have defences of its own.


He was about to place Fred and George’s book on the same shelf, when he remembered that there
was a dedication that he hadn’t read.


Harry touched the buckles and the book opened effortlessly, again on the extensive contents
page. He turned back to the very front of the book, but the page was now blank.


He touched the page with his wand.


Still nothing. He wondered what he needed to do in order to read the message; for all he knew,
it might not even be for him.


Yawning widely, be closed the book and placed it upon the shelf. The clasps locked shut at once.
There would be no need to secure this one.


Then he threw a pinch of Floo powder into one of the fires and headed for the Burrow.


*


John Bateman pulled off his gas mask and then nodded to the others to do the same. Beside him,
Kingsley raised his wand and terminated his bubble head charm.


Bateman raised a radio to his mouth and said, “We’re going in now. The outer doors have been
breached. We have just found two sentries. Both dead and their bodies were hidden.”


There was a harsh crackle and they heard a broken response from Miss Alice.


“Very well. Proceed with caution. Assume that they have left booby traps.”


“It looks like there was a fire ahead,” commented Kingsley.


“That can’t be right,” said Duke. “The fire detectors didn’t go off and the gas suppression
system was in full operation. There’s no way a fire could have burned.”


“Of course it could,” said Careem from just behind him, “if there was a source of oxygen, or
something else to fuel the burn.”


“Don’t forget who we are dealing with,” warned Bateman shining his bright torchlight down the
corridor. “Magical fires don’t need fuel.”


Kingsley smiled and nodded before proceeding.


“Let me know as soon as you have cleared the area,” crackled Miss Alice from the radio speaker.
“I wish to get in there as soon as possible. It is imperative that we know exactly what they have
seen.”


“She sounds a little agitated,” commented Duke.


“Well, she didn’t think would happen yet.”


“Can we just get on with this?” barked Bateman.




11. Miss Teacher
----------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


*AN: Two Chapters posted at once. Did you skip Chapter 10? (Clever Isn’t She?)*


**Chapter 11 – Miss Teacher**


The next morning, Harry and Ron were sitting alone at the Burrow’s breakfast table; neither
quite awake yet.


“I should have stayed in bed,” said Ron weakly, fumbling for a piece of toast.


Harry snorted and opened his eyes.


“What time did you get up, anyway?” asked Ron.


“Around four.”


“Four! Are you mad?”


“Hermione is the mad one. She was rather keen that I unlock Dumbledore’s book for her.”


“Oh, right. She still there?”


“Yes. She packed me off back here. I think my snoring was annoying her.”


Ron laughed. Harry had told Ron about the book before they went to bed the night before. He had
also begun to tell him about the Kemmynadow, but both of them were too tired to finish their
conversation.


“I suppose I should go and check on the Dursleys this morning,” said Harry miserably. “Later,
though. I couldn’t cope with them just yet.”


“Harry, just leave them be. They have Dobby and Kreacher to look after them.”


“I’m responsible for them. All of them.”


The kitchen fire flared up and Hermione stepped out and brushed herself down.


“Good morning,” she said brightly.


“Morning, Hermione,” said Ron. “Can you please not sound so bright and breezy? Some of us
haven’t woken up yet.”


“Come and have some breakfast,” suggested Harry.


“No thanks,” she replied sitting down. “The Room of Requirement provided. Anyway, I’ve selected
five new defensive spells for us to learn today. Ron, have you got a chalkboard?”


“Hermione!” Ron cried. “We’re not at school now!”


“I just thought it would help, that’s all.”


“Well, *Miss Teacher*, should I find you a hand bell too?”


Harry snorted but Hermione just raised her eyebrows and said, “Actually, I thought Harry would
be teaching us. Well, if he wakes up, that is.”


Harry smiled as Hermione handed him her notes and poured them all some coffee.


“I already know three of these,” said Harry. “They were in the books Sirius and Lupin gave
me.”


“So, you have been doing some extra curricular defence practise?” she asked lightly as Ron
studied the list.


“Hardly any, really.”


“Harry said he was going to check on the Dursleys,” said Ron. “We can practise these after he
gets back.”


“No,” said Harry at once. “Let’s practise first. Any excuse not to go will do.”


*


Harry Apparated into the dark shadows under the largest tree in the square opposite Number
Twelve Grimmauld Place. He looked around carefully, concealed under his invisibility cloak.


Satisfied that there was no one watching, he walked towards the front door. They had practised
until well after lunchtime at the Burrow, so he was much later arriving than he had intended.


As usual as he approached, the house appeared out of thin air and pushed the neighbouring houses
apart to make room.


He was about halfway up the steps when with a thrill of horror, he realised that the front door
was ajar. As far as he was aware, only Hermione, Ron and he could now unlock the charms on the door
from the outside. If the door was open; if the door had been forced, then surely that could only
mean one thing.


Harry hurried up the steps and went inside.


He pushed the door closed and then silently relocked the door. If the intruders were still here,
he wasn’t going to make it easy for them to leave.


He listened intently.


There was no noise and no sign of a struggle.


Harry threw off his cloak and hastily stuffed it into a pocket.


He was about to venture downstairs when he heard laughter. He was sure that was Uncle
Vernon.


Harry walked towards the sitting room and paused before the closed door. He could here
indistinct voices from inside, but he was sure nothing threatening was being said.


Wand in hand, Harry opened the door.


He found Uncle Vernon looking at him furiously, having just had his Japanese Golfer story
interrupted. Harry just ignored him. He also ignored Dudley, who was sitting grinning stupidly.


Harry walked into the middle of the room, both angry and more than a little confused.


Aunt Petunia intercepted him, saying, “Please, Harry. Don’t be angry.”


Harry side stepped her and walked right up to the suited man sitting on his settee.


“May I ask who you are and what you think you are doing in my house?”


Up close, Harry could see that he wore expensive tailored clothes. A heavy gold bracelet was
glimpsed when he took off his gold framed reading glasses and looked up at him enquiringly. On his
lap was a notepad upon which he had been making extensive notes.


He looked enquiringly at Uncle Vernon.


“Mr Dursley, is this someone you’d like to introduce me to?”


“He’s nobody. Just ignore him.”


The man frowned slightly and clearly didn’t think this was the right thing to do. He stood and
held out his hand.


“My name is Gavin Taylor. I’m from Taylor and Gilbert. We have an office a couple of streets
away.”


Harry, having stuffed his wand in his back pocket, shook his hand and said, “Hello, Mr Taylor.
My name is Harry Potter. May I ask you what you are doing here?”


“Certainly,” Taylor replied smiling. “I was invited here by Mr Dursley. We are hoping that he
will agree to give us sole Agent rights.”


“Sole Agent rights for what?”


“Well, the sale of this property, of course.”


“Mr Taylor, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but this property is not for sale. You see, I am
the current owner.”


Before Taylor could argue, Harry pulled out his wand and hit him with a strong *confundus*
charm. He sat back onto the settee with a glazed but otherwise happy expression.


Harry grabbed the notebook and looked through it. All he could see were notes on room sizes and
finishings descriptions, but Harry was convinced.


“You are lucky,” he said, vanishing the notebook with a flick of his wand. “I think he is
genuine.”


“Well, of course he is genuine. What did you expect?” asked Uncle Vernon.


“I expected anyone getting into this house to have murderous intent. How on earth did you get
him in here?”


“With some difficulty,” Vernon admitted. “I had to drag him inside. He kept insisting there was
no Number Twelve. Ha! I showed him!”


“How did you even get the front door open?”


“Dudders worked it out,” he said proudly.


Harry looked over at Dudley. He wasn’t smiling now, presumably having seen Harry working with
his wand.


“You can show me how you did it later,” said Harry, reaching for Taylor’s case.


“Hey, you can’t go rifling through a chap’s briefcase!”


Harry ignored him. He pulled out Taylor’s diary and checked his appointments for that day.


The entry read, “*Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Dursley. He’s mad. Charge double.*”


Harry snorted before erasing the entry.


“Isn’t there a pub near here?” he asked absently. “Hang on while a dump our Mr Taylor in the
beer garden.”


He quickly grabbed hold of Taylor and his briefcase and Disapparated. He had to guess where he
was going, but was lucky enough to Apparate behind a stack of old crates. Only the Publican’s
enormous dog had seen them.


Harry didn’t think he needed to arrange for Taylor’s memory to be modified. He would remain in
his confused state for several hours, and even after he wouldn’t be able to find the house again.
No, the only risk was him recognising the Dursleys again.


He smiled remembering the astute, “He’s mad,” comment and Disapparated.


Uncle Vernon jumped almost a foot in the air when Harry Apparated right in front of him.


“Time for explanations,” said Harry angrily. “Now!”


*


Aunt Petunia looked close to tears and Dudley was looking shell-shocked. Only Uncle Vernon
managed to remain defiant as Harry raged.


“How could you?!” he shouted.


Behind him, most of the furniture had landed again after several laps around the room. Only a
single chair remained spinning in the air now, a fraught looking Dobby dancing under waiting to
catch it.


“It’s no use you shouting boy,” said Uncle Vernon, smiling. “As the law stands, you cannot own
property at your age. I am your legal guardian, and I’m legally entitled to do whatever I think is
for the best.”


“That’s not entirely true,” said Hermione, coming into the room, “is it, Mr Dursley?”


Harry turned to see Ron follow her into the room, immediately pointing his wand up at the chair
and bringing it down gently.


“How about some tea, Dobby,” asked Ron. “That might calm everyone down.”


“Oh, yes, Sir,” said Dobby with relief. “Dobby would like a little calm.”


Harry wasn’t quite ready to calm down yet though.


“I invited you here, to the only place you will be safe, and you try to sell my property from
under my nose?”


“I’m entitled,” repeated Uncle Vernon, apparently enjoying having managed to make Harry so
angry.


“Tell me why I shouldn’t just,” began Harry, levelling his wand directly at Uncle Vernon.
Hermione reached out and gently pushed Harry’s arm down again.


“Mr Dursley, as Harry’s Muggle Guardians, it is true that you are entitled to manage his
finances until he is of age,” said Hermione coolly. “However, that does not entitle you to squander
his inheritance, nor may you gain personally from anything that is Harry’s.”


“I don’t agree,” said Uncle Vernon. “We are legally entitled to claim against what he’s cost us
to house, clothe and feed him.”


“Yeah, and how much was that?” Harry asked derisively.


“*Vernon*,” said Aunt Petunia.


Harry looked at her and she looked back at him.


“This was actually all settled ages ago,” she said. “When Vernon found out about your
inheritance, he made enquiries with our Solicitor. He said exactly what your friend said, except he
did add that the reasonable cost of bringing you up could be deducted. However, he stressed that as
you were almost Eighteen, the courts wouldn’t allow your assets to be liquidated unless we could
prove you were currently costing us. Of course, we haven’t incurred any of your school fees and the
like, so it was rather difficult.


“However, Vernon thought it was worthwhile to pursue. You must understand, this was all long
before you paid for us to go away. By the time you came back, I’d almost forgotten about it.”


“So what was Mr Taylor doing here?”


“Well, I think the temptation was too much. We’ve been sneaking out for walks, and we often went
past their offices. The prices for properties in this area are rather high at the moment.”


Harry was about to interrupt when she added, “Harry, you won. We petitioned the court to clarify
the legal position, but they found in favour of you. They said you would be old enough to decide
for yourself in a few months anyway, so it would not be right.”


“Mrs Dursley, didn’t the courts want to know about Harry’s circumstances?”


“No, not at all. They weren’t being asked to judge if Harry was mentally incapable, or anything
like that. Not even his name appeared in any of the court papers.”


A burning smell appeared to distract Hermione and she noticed that Harry was burning the carpet
without realising it.


“Harry, watch what you’re doing,” she said.


Harry jumped and looked down before sheepishly repairing the carpet. This distraction appeared
to be enough to end his bad temper.


“Do you want to stay or not?” he asked, this time not shouting. “If you are going to stay I want
each of you to promise me that you will never again try to bring anyone inside the house.”


“We promise, Harry,” said Aunt Petunia, although the other two remained silent.


“As for going outside,” continued Harry. “I can’t say I entirely blame you for wanting to go
out. The thing is, you must understand how dangerous it is.”


“How about if we organised some protection for you?” suggested Hermione.


*


Harry was down in the kitchen late that evening. He didn’t particularly want to be down there,
but it was a Dursley free zone.


Having completed several laps of the kitchen table, he decided to make himself a hot drink. He
just got over to the stove when he realised with a start that Kreacher had been sitting under the
table watching him.


“Hello, Kreacher,” said Harry, as civilly as he could. “Would you like a drink? I’m making
myself something.”


“If Master wishes.”


“What would you like to drink?”


Harry waited while Kreacher did his customary gurgle and dance before answering honestly, “Hot
chocolate.”


Harry made two large mugs and carried them over to the table.


To his mild surprise, Kreacher sat down at the table without being ordered. They sat in silence
for a while, sipping their hot drinks.


“Dobby told Kreacher that the Muggles upstairs used to treat Master little better than a house
elf.”


Harry smiled and said, “No, they never treated me that badly. They did make me unhappy
sometimes, though.”


“Kreacher wonders why Master keeps them in his house.”


“I’m convinced they would never survive otherwise.”


“But they are a risk to Master. They brought a Muggle in who could have attacked Master.”


“True.”


“Most of the previous owners of Master’s house would just have killed them.”


“I couldn’t allow that.”


“Why doesn’t Master punish Kreacher? Kreacher has been forbidden from punishing himself.”


“What do you want to be punished for?”


“Kreacher knew the Dudley wanted to open the door. Kreacher lied to the Dudley, fooling him that
it was he who opened it. Kreacher wanted Master to be angry.”


“I know, Kreacher,” Harry said gently. “Thanks for telling me, though.”


“Kreacher should be punished.”


“No, not this time. So what did Dudley think he had to do to get the door open?”


Kreacher grinned.


“Kreacher told the Dudley he had to do a magical dance to appease the gods of the doorframe. It
took him a while to perfect the steps.”


Harry laughed and got Kreacher to tell him every detail of the elaborate dance.


AN:


*Sorry, but there may be a short delay with the next update as I’m planning on upgrading my
computer this evening. That couldn’t go wrong, could it? Mind you, I did spend twenty minutes this
morning trying to wedge a big square fan into a small round housing…*




12. Mission Plan
----------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


*AN: Sorry for the delay. Upgrade didn’t exactly go to plan, but at least I have internet
access again! Nice long chapter to continue with…*


**Chapter 12 – Mission Plan**


Harry felt a little guilty when he bid Kreacher goodnight that he was leaving him and Dobby in
the company of the Dursleys again.


In truth though, he couldn’t wait to get away from there. As late as the hour was, he was sure
he would not sleep a moment with them under the same roof.


Harry Apparated just outside the Burrow kitchen door to find all the lights still on inside but
the house was quiet.


He opened the door and stepped in. Only then did he remember the security Claxton that the
Ministry had just installed to detect intruders. Then he remembered that the Weasleys had added
himself and Hermione to the limited number of welcome guests exempted from the alarm.


Hearing voices, he closed the door and proceeded towards the living room. He didn’t wish to call
out at such a late hour.


He found Ron and Hermione sitting very close together on the settee having a quiet
conversation.


“Hi,” he said gently.


“Hi,” said Ron casually as Hermione jumped.


“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I decided that I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep there
after all.”


“Don’t blame you mate,” said Ron, now stretching and yawning. “Will you lock up? I’m going to
bed.”


“Sure,” said Harry. “Goodnight.”


Hermione was looking at her lap and brushing her hair back when Harry sat down in one of the
easy chairs across from her in the small but welcoming room.


“You, um, never got the chance to tell me more about the Kemmynadow,” said Hermione.


It was a moment before he answered. Half of him was busy reassuring himself that Hermione had
often sat that close to both himself and Ron, and it hadn’t meant anything. The other half was all
for practicing the bone melting curse on a few of Ron’s limbs.


Hermione’s words, however, reminded him immediately of Dumbledore. Such thoughts were hardly
worthy.


“I suppose,” he said slowly, “the thing that excited me most was what happened when Fred and
George handed me the book.”


“Yes, where did you learn those words from?” asked Hermione. “Did Professor McGonagall tell you
the chant when she told you about it?”


“No. Dumbledore’s memory spoke to me. The extraordinary thing was the feeling I had. I could he
his hand guiding mine. I felt part of his power. It was like at that moment nothing was
impossible.”


Hermione smiled seeing his expression.


“You always seem so alive when you speak about him,” she said. “It’s so nice to see a happy you
for a moment, even if it’s just for a moment.”


Harry blushed a little.


“Harry, you said that you thought Dumbledore gave something to Voldemort that was charmed as a
Kemmynadow bequest.”


“Yes. I remember the letter quite clearly now.”


“Yes, but Harry, how ever did Dumbledore do it?”


“I’m guessing that it was Dumbledore’s last task for Fawkes. I think he got him to deliver it to
Voldemort. I didn’t actually see Fawkes, but Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed anyone to risk their
lives delivering it.”


“Mm, I suppose that could be right. But how did Dumbledore bind Voldemort into carrying out his
wishes?”


“The only thing I can think of that might be similar is a binding magical contract. I was bound
to compete in the Tri Wizard Tournament because I was bound, and yet I didn’t put my name in the
cup.”


Hermione frowned, thinking for a long moment. Eventually she nodded slowly, but it was the kind
of nod Harry had seen before. Hermione was agreeing until she could think of something more
plausible.


“Have you any idea what the object is? I remember you said it was small and gold coloured.”


Harry smiled and nodded.


“It can only be one thing. I’m sure it is a Phoenix egg.”


“How did you know?”


“I realised it was singing to me. I could only hear it sometimes, and only then when nothing was
happening. I think I just fell asleep without realising what I was hearing.”


“Is it Fawkes?”


“No, I’m sure it isn’t. He’ll never be back. This is a *new* Phoenix; never been
hatched.”


“Will it be safe with Voldemort?”


“Phoenixes are immortal, aren’t they? It will keep coming back as an egg until it is
hatched.”


“Could Voldemort keep it as a pet?”


“I doubt that he could get it to hatch. Even if he did, would he really want such a reminder of
Dumbledore around?”


“I suppose not. But Harry, what lengths would Voldemort go to, to prevent *you* from
getting hold of it?”


*


Once again Harry found himself in his disembodied dream state and looking up at a plain stone
wall. Above him he could see a single wall lantern burning. He waited expectantly in the silence,
willing himself not to get bored and drift off to into actual sleep.


To his immediate right there was darkness and it was only after several minutes that he realised
that he was actually wedged in a narrow gap between some low piece of furniture and the wall.


“*Out of sight, out of mind*,” Harry thought to himself, hopeful of once again overhearing
some item of intelligence that he could tip Kingsley off about.


The amount of information he had gleaned was definitely reducing. Kingsley had told him straight
away last time that the name Harry had overheard was fictitious.


An unseen door opened and then closed again.


Harry strained to hear as another door opened.


“My Lord, I thought you’d like to know,” began an unfamiliar voice.


“*Silence, fool!*” hissed Voldemort.


“I’m sorry, my Lord,” stuttered the man. “I did ask you commanded, Sir. I threw it against the
wall while you were in the North Room.”


“Are you sure it was destroyed? That thing is more resilient that it looks.”


“Well, I threw it right against that wall. It has gone, as you can see. Every part of the floor
is visible in this room. I assumed it had reappeared by your Lordship as before. Shall I go and
find it? It may have just rolled under one of the chairs again.”


Harry felt a thrill of realisation. They thought the egg he was listening and seeing things
through was in another room, but he was actually jammed behind some piece of furniture.


“No, Penridge, don’t bother. It is too late now, anyway. What did you wish to inform me?”


“The Wintersby brothers have reported in,” said Penridge at once. “They overheard someone
booking a private room in the Three Broomsticks.”


“So?”


“It was one of the *three*. The Wintersbys are convinced that the meeting is tonight. I
told them to stay there just in case. Should I send additional support, my Lord?”


“I hardly think she would be foolish to meet them in such a public place. I mean, she hasn’t
stepped foot out of Hogwarts since those fools appointed her, has she?”


“We only need to be lucky once, my Lord.”


“You may be right. Wait for confirmation from the Wintersbys before sending anyone else. If
she’s outside the grounds it might be worth an attempt, even though she will undoubtedly be well
protected. Penridge, I’ve changed my mind. Go and fetch me that object. I’ve thought of another
*test* we might make.”


Penridge snorted and said, “Yes, my Lord.”


Harry forced himself to wake. He was sure they were planning to attack Professor McGonagall
tonight.


As usual he contacted Kingsley Shacklebolt through the Floo network and told him everything he
could remember, including the names of the Death Eaters he had overheard.


“Actually, Harry,” said Kingsley grinning at him when he had finished, “for once we are a step
ahead of you!”


“How come?”


“Well, we have arrested the Wintersby brothers. I just got the call before yours. The night
patrol caught them acting suspiciously.”


“That’s great! What about Professor McGonagall and the people she was meeting?”


“The meeting was actually just a regular get together with some old school friends of Minerva.
They were not meeting in Hogsmeade at all, actually. I’ve no idea why one of them booked a room,
but Minerva has assured me she won’t need to venture out of the school grounds tonight.”


“Good. I mean, thanks, Kingsley.”


“No, I’m just glad we’re all looking out for her. I don’t think the risk has reduced at all,
despite what Minerva says. She’s getting a bit tired of having to go around with protection.”


“Well, I suppose I can understand that. Still, she should be safer with her friends around.”


“I met those three once. I don’t think I’ll ever quite recover from being disapproved of wearing
a red cloak in February. It was like Minerva to the power of four.”


Harry laughed. Having been subjected to Professor McGonagall’s disapproving look on several
occasions, he dreaded the thought of three more at the same time.


“Harry, get some sleep,” said Kingsley. “I promise everything is fine. Check back again later if
you are worried. I’m on duty until four am, and we’re due to meet later anyway.”


“Okay. Thanks, Kingsley. Goodnight.”


*


Harry tried to get back to sleep again, but remained restless and in the end he dressed quietly
and made his way downstairs with half a mind to go for a walk. He knew he was worrying without good
reason.


He began to make himself a cup of tea, but abandoned this half way through and sat in the chair
by the fire. As he watched the dying embers in the grating, he finally dozed off again.


Unusually, he found himself in the middle of the floor, out in the open. For a moment he thought
the room looked empty, but then he saw that a figure was lumped in a chair just at the edge of his
vision.


Was this the Death Eater named Penridge, he wondered?


Harry supposed that Voldemort could have discovered the planned attack on McGonagall had failed
before it had started and killed him out of anger. On further considering this, Harry thought it
much more likely that Voldemort had discovered they had been overheard.


Suddenly, bright blue flames were dancing all around him.


The surprise of this woke Harry with a start. He was rather glad to be away from Voldemort’s
presence, especially while he was looking for new ways to destroy his bequest.


Harry frowned.


He couldn’t quite place what it was that troubled him. Something about the scene he’d just
witnessed just didn’t seem quite right. He had been in open view and Voldemort had apparently been
waiting for him to appear.


Harry ran towards the back door, grabbing his wand from the kitchen table. He had Disapparated
away before he reached the door.


*


Harry tripped and stumbled as soon as he Apparated. The ground was uneven but his faltering was
caused by the strange tearing sensation.


From his knees, he looked around desperately, knowing that he had almost splinched himself in
his haste. He would need to be more careful in future.


He had Apparated just opposite The Three Broomsticks, and was about to get up when he heard a
loud voice ring out.


“Bernard Laurie! What do you think you are doing? Tibbins, don’t think I can’t see you skulking
about in the shadows either! Come out at once.”


Professor McGonagall looked furious as two cloaked figured came reluctantly out of the shadows.
Only one street lamp appeared to be working and most of the street was shrouded in darkness.


“Honestly, I’m surprised at you,” she continued imperiously and obviously quite unafraid for her
own safety. “What would your mother say, Tibbins? And Laurie, did your parents bring you up to
behave like this?”


The two men were standing with their heads bowed, quite unable to look her in the eyes.


“And what did you hope to accomplish this evening?”


One of them mumbled, “We were ordered to, um, we were just ordered.”


“Well, you are certainly old enough to know better,” McGonagall continued. “You are also old
enough to be responsible for your own actions. I suggest you either do what you came to do or
withdraw. This is the last warning I shall give.”


They looked at each other, clearly neither of them sure what to do. The decision to either fight
McGonagall or face Voldemort’s wrath was clearly a dilemma for them.


Suddenly Harry saw movement in the corner of his eye.


“Look out, Professor!” Harry shouted, getting to his feet and running towards the third
accomplice.


Professor McGonagall stunned both her two hapless ex-pupils in an instant. At the same time
Harry fired a barrage of stunners into the shadows.


Someone cried out and fell, just as another stunner was fired at McGonagall from the shadows
Laurie had just come from. Professor McGonagall blocked the stunner easily and returned fire.


Not knowing how many there were, Harry ran back to her as fast as he could.


Cloaked figures were now emerging from the shadows all around them.


Harry fired, felling two at once. By the time he skidded to a halt next to Professor McGonagall,
five more had appeared. She blocked three stunners at once and then fired some kind of percussion
spell that knocked all three of the remaining attackers off their feet.


Two more stunners came out of the darkness from different directions, one narrowly missing
Harry. There were clearly several more out there.


“No!” came a shout from one of the fallen Death Eaters, who could see more clearly than the
others. “It’s Potter.”


After a volley of stunners that was clearly just intended to distract them, the remaining Death
Eaters Disapparated away.


McGonagall walked over to one of the attackers still writhing in pain and stunned him.


“Are you alright, Professor?”


“Naturally,” she replied, checking on their other captives. “I would take more than a couple of
Death Eaters to prevent me from enjoying the evening air.”


“There was more than a couple, Professor.”


“I’m more interested learn why you are alone out here.”


“I was worried about you,” he said a little sheepishly. “They went because of me, I think.
Voldemort has ordered them no to harm me.”


“So your plan is to jump between every Death Eater and their potential victim, is it? Quite
ingenious,” she added sarcastically.


Harry couldn’t believe he was actually being told off for coming to her assistance.


“I thought you told Kingsley that you wouldn’t go outside the school tonight?” he countered, a
little more aggressively than he intended.


“I made no such promise.”


“He was lying, was he?” he asked, feeling the anger rise up inside him.


“He may have been mistaken,” she admitted.


Harry sighed and said, “I was just worried. I’m sure Voldemort staged a couple of little scenes
this evening to make us believe the attack had been foiled.”


“Clearly.”


“But what are you doing out here alone, Professor?”


“I’m not,” she replied curtly. Then, looking over his shoulder, she said calmly, “No, it’s
alright Dotty.”


The stunner hit Harry square in his back and he fell at once.


*


“Well, how was I supposed to know?”


“Who did you say he was, Minerva, dear?”


“Potter. It’s Harry Potter.”


“Who?”


“He’s coming around, Minerva. Shall I stun him again?”


Harry opened his eyes in alarm to see a rather exasperated Professor McGonagall standing in
front of three rather formidable looking women.


She immediately placed her hand on his arm and asked, “Are you feeling better, Harry?”


He nodded uncertainly as the three women skirted around her to get a better look at him as he
lay on one of the bench seats in the bar of the Three Broomsticks. The large room was cold and
looked strange with no customers present.


Without waiting to be introduced, the three witches set upon him mercilessly. One produced a
brush from thin air and began combing through his hair. The second pointed a wand at his middle and
began prodding him while the third made for his feet.


“What on earth are these?”


“They are called, trainers, I believe,” said Professor McGonagall. “That kind of footwear is
rather fashionable with the younger generation at the moment.”


“But they’re so dirty,” the third witch complained. “And there are no bows! Don’t worry, I’ll
fix them up. No trouble at all.”


“He’s a bit thin,” complained the second witch. “Perhaps I should-.”


At this, Harry forced his way to his feet. As he did so, Kingsley Shacklebolt Apparated next to
Professor McGonagall.


“Evening ladies,” he said with a grin, taking in Harry still struggling with the first witch and
her hair brush.


All three paused to coo their hellos to Kingsley, giving Harry an opportunity to break free.


“You remember Kingsley, don’t you girls?” said Professor McGonagall, deftly stepping between
them and Harry. “No doubt he has come to arrest the Death Eaters.”


Harry mustered the strength not to utter, “*Yeah, and don’t forget these three too*,” out
loud.


“Of course we remember Kingsley!”


“Oh, yes! You had that nice cloak, didn’t you?”


“Didn’t you jump out of the window before we had a change to improve it like we suggested?”


Harry nodded to himself. Yes, jumping out a window would have been a welcome release.


Professor McGonagall drew Harry away and said quietly, “I’m sorry. They can get a little over
enthusiastic sometimes.”


Harry nodded blankly, marvelling that Kingsley hadn’t just turned and ran for the open door by
now.


“I appreciate you coming, Harry, but you should not have taken such a risk in coming alone.
Promise me you’ll not do it again.”


“Will you promise *me* that you won’t go wandering around outside the school?”


“Certainly not.”


“Well, it looks like I won’t be promising either because I’d do it all again.”


“I know you would, Harry,” she replied with the smallest of smiles. “I was pleased with your
spellwork this evening, by the way. Fast and accurate in general, but with room for a little
improvement.”


“Next time, just concentrate on defending yourself rather than giving me a critique.”


“I can assure you that it will take Death Eaters who are considerably more talented before I
shall feel threatened.”


“For all we know, those *considerably more talented* Death Eaters could have been here
tonight,” Harry retorted angrily. “If you won’t consider your own safety, then at least consider
the pupils you’ll leave unprotected by your absence. Of course, from my perspective it doesn’t look
like you’re planning on being around for the start of term, even. Very considerate, giving
Voldemort’s candidate a clear run from September the first. No point in upsetting the younger years
with another funeral, is there?”


Harry stormed outside, ignoring the scandalised faces of McGonagall’s school friends.


It took him a moment to compose himself before Disapparating. Just before he did so, he heard,
“Such a nice young man. Who did you say he was again?”


*


Harry let go of Hermione and Ron’s arms after they had Apparated directly into the dark passage
outside the entrance to the underground complex.


Harry hadn’t shared with them what had happened the previous evening. He would eventually, but
he was still feeling far too angry and ashamed to tell them just yet. He felt terrible at having
lost his temper with Professor McGonagall like that.


Of course, Hermione and Ron had known something was wrong since greeting him that morning. As
usual, Ron was content to let Harry tell them in his own time but Hermione had been bursting to
demand to know everything.


The really strange thing, thought Harry, was how lately Ron and Hermione no longer argued. Well,
at least in front of him, anyway. Somehow, Harry found this quite disconcerting.


Perhaps it was his dark mood, but Harry had by now convinced himself that Hermione would be
telling him something unwelcome very soon. He wouldn’t make things any more difficult than they
already were, he decided.


Bateman had told them that as Ron and Hermione were visiting for the first time, they needed to
go through security.


They walked along the passageway, but this time the great roller shutter door began to open
before they got as far as the sentry’s booth.


John Bateman was standing waiting for them, together with a familiar looking security guard who
looked none too pleased that more civilians were coming into his establishment.


Bateman smiled and greeted them.


“I thought I’d escort you down myself this time,” he said. “Harry has a habit of getting
distracted here,” he joked, knowing full well that Harry had only visited once before.


They were quickly processed and escorted down into the briefing room. Kingsley was sitting alone
in the room before they arrived and explained that the Prime Minister would be unable to attend
this time.


While the others helped themselves to coffee, Kingsley took Harry to one side.


“I had a quiet chat with Minerva last night,” he said, making sure they were not overheard.
“Actually, it wasn’t *that quiet* to be honest.”


Harry looked down and admitted, “I feel so ashamed for shouting at her like that.”


“Well, hopefully I’ve managed to get across to her how irresponsible she was. I called off our
patrols on the basis of her assurances, you know? She maintains, of course, that it was only a
half-hearted attack.”


“It was, actually,” agreed Harry.


“That is hardly the point. I reminded her that we’ve all been working hard to protect her, not
because she is Hogwarts’ new Headmistress but because we all care about her. I think you’ll find
yourself forgiven for your outburst, but you might want to make things up with her when you get the
chance. I think she was more upset with seeing you march out of there more than anything else.”


As Miss Alice swept into the room, Harry resolved to go and apologise to Professor McGonagall as
soon as he could. He barely had a chance to introduce Ron and Hermione before Miss Alice called the
meeting to order. It was clear that Harry wasn’t alone in having a bad mood that morning.


“S396, will you bring us up to date on the break in?”


They had been advised of the attempt to break into the underground facility, but knew none of
the details yet.


Bateman nodded and said, “The first explosion went off yesterday at just before Midnight. No one
was hurt in the blast but afterwards we discovered two security guards that had been killed and
concealed. The two victims were not authorised to enter the area, so we believe they were
investigating something when they disturbed the intruders.


“I still can’t work out why the intruders set the explosives to go off when they did. This is a
twenty-four hour facility, but the quietest time is always around four in the morning.”


“Could they have wanted to get out amongst a crowd of evacuating people?” asked Hermione.


“No, they would have needed time to find what they were after. All the affected levels were
evacuated within minutes,” advised Bateman.


Hermione nodded in understanding as Bateman smiled and gave a wink to Miss Alice. Harry was sure
she had suggested the very same thing as Hermione just had.


“Two adjacent storage areas were breached. These were secured with outer doors and additional
internal cages. The intruders used plastic explosives to blow the doors and a cutter top open the
cages. They were clearly going for speed rather than finesse.


“We’ve had the explosive traces analysed and we are hopeful of identifying the manufacture
details. There is usually a chemical fingerprint in the mix so we should get the original purchaser
and date, although the trail may well end there. The explosions were too precise for this to have
been home made.


“The cameras did not detect any unusual activity in the immediate hours before the explosion.
This is a little strange. At the moment we’re working on the principle that Miss Alice’s guess that
the explosive was placed some time ago but disguised to look like a part of the doors, is
correct.


“The intruders took advantage of the gas fire suppression system. It takes a few minutes before
it is safe to enter the area.


“Everything in the first storage area was destroyed by fire. Sensors show this happened after
they got in there. Nothing was left at all.”


Harry cleared his throat and asked, “Were they the Prophets?”


“Yes,” said Miss Alice, turning to him.


“In that case, it was me. I mean, I destroyed them when I burned Dumbledore’s parchment. His
note told me to do it at once.”


Miss Alice frowned to herself and then said, “So, it *was* a magical fire. It must have
gone off while they were still in there.”


“The cages were all intact on that side,” confirmed Bateman. “At least they didn’t get any of
that information.”


Miss Alice looked deep in thought.


“What was in the other storage area?” Ron asked Bateman quietly.


“Hardly anything of any importance,” said Miss Alice at once. “Just old requisitions and
personnel records. Nothing pertaining to our current endeavours was in there.”


“That isn’t entirely true, is it?” said Bateman, turning to Hermione. “Your parent’s relocation
records were in there. We moved them again as soon as we realised. They remain as safe as we can
make them.”


Hermione nodded shakily.


“This was an entirely non-magical break in,” continued Miss Alice slowly. “It was the fire that
was confusing me.”


Bateman nodded silently.


“We need to act quickly,” Miss Alice announced abruptly. “We have to get into the Ministry
Archive as soon as possible. We have no idea whether he was acting independently or under
Voldemort’s orders.”


Ron’s sprung seat squeaked as he flinched. For once, Hermione didn’t reprimand him.


Harry began to get a sinking feeling about who had been responsible for the break in.


“Yes,” confirmed Bateman. “Brigadier Colonel Falcon has vanished and we don’t really know when
he went. He’s been down here for so long he didn’t appear on the evacuation rosters. He could have
still been down here all the while during the break in.”


“He could have acted on his own. He’s wanted access to our records for ages. He could have
gained access to check the other storage areas we have, but they only contain fake data,” said Miss
Alice.


“Surely, he must have been acting on his own?” said Hermione. “If Voldemort controlled him, he
would have got the locations and got a Death Eater to Apparate directly inside the storage
areas.”


“I doubt that Voldemort would be very concerned about what we are up to. Judged against our last
engagement, I imagine he’ll be feeling rather smug,” said Miss Alice.


“Suppose Voldemort *has* gained access to the Ministry Archive,” suggested Hermione. “If
that were true, he’d also have access to the Ministry reports on Falcon. He also knows that we are
collaborating, so he’d be bound to look up everything he could find. He would be expecting Falcon
to be intimately involved.”


“And he’d expect him to be competent and rational”, added Harry. “Perhaps he used the
*Imperious Curse* on him and just told him to get access, relying on Falcon not to mess it
up.”


Miss Alice considered this before nodding slowly.


“How close are you to operational readiness?” she asked Bateman.


“We can go within twenty-four hours notice,” replied Bateman, “but we won’t have the Weasley
equipment until the end of next week at the very earliest.”


Miss Alice pursed her lips. “You’d also like some time to familiarise yourselves with the
facility, wouldn’t you?”


“Yes,” he admitted, “and I’d like to get my team to spend a few more days doing mock raids based
upon the old reservoir plans. We’ve already been taking a small refresher course in potholing.”


“Well, there’s no point in sending you down there unprepared if we can help it. I’m also
conscious that we still don’t know how to intercept and read the record data into our computers.
That was our original objective.”


“It may be more important to establish whether or not Voldemort has infiltrated the
Archive.”


“No,” said Miss Alice firmly. “Let’s set a provisional operational start date of Saturday week.
I assume that is when the Archive will be quietest in terms of information requests?”


Kingsley nodded and said, “I’ll put in to take that weekend off.”


“Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all,” said Miss Alice. “If you were to be caught, you would be
punished as a Ministry Employee. We could not afford for you to be placed on other duties. In fact,
I’d be far happier if you didn’t even know the exact location of the Archive. Scrimgeour is already
complaining about the time you’ve spent with us to date. He mustn’t suspect you are working with us
behind his back.”


“But the Archive is bound to be powerfully protected,” complained Kingsley.


“Perhaps,” agreed Miss Alice, “but I doubt it.”


“Why would you say that?”


“Who maintains the Archive?”


“That’s a secret that few people know. I know it was once the responsibility of the Department
of Magical Maintenance, but that was years ago. I only know that because my grandfather’s barber
was a retired Ministry official who worked in that department. I remember him talking about how it
was his job to test it once every month by sending in a complex set of memos and retrieving them.
It used to take him a month to check that the memos were all coming back in good order.”


“The facility is entirely automated. I’ll bet that no one has visited there for years. There’d
be no need provided everything worked properly.”


“I can’t believe it never needs maintaining,” Kingsley replied. “My internal memos are always
going astray or getting delayed.”


“Don’t you suspect some of them have been intercepted?”


“No, not at all. I mean, I’ve often seen small groups of them stopping for a rest together on
shelves, just like the owls used to do.”


Miss Alice rolled her eyes.


“Do you really know where the Archive is?” asked Harry.


“Oh, yes, thanks to some detective work. The Archive used to be a natural cave at one time, but
in the Fifties the Ministry needed to expand so they took over an adjacent underground water
reservoir.


“Actually, we have no idea why the Water Authority built an underground facility when there
would have been no objection to a traditional above ground reservoir. Perhaps they were able to get
a better subsidy or something.


“We were able to find it simply because it vanished from maps and the memories of people in the
area. Fortunately, our own archives were secure. I’ve yet to discover why a simple reservoir should
have been classified information, but clearly it never occurred to the Ministry that we would keep
such details.


“We assume that the Ministry drained the reservoir. It may have since been expanded, of course,
but it originally covered several acres.”


“What about houses that were served by the reservoir?” asked Hermione.


“My guess is that at first they installed water generating pipes. However, eventually a new
above ground reservoir was constructed.”


“Imagine, all those houses being served by magical water!”


Bateman unrolled a large map.


Harry stood to get a better view. He guessed it was an underground map of the caves but could
make little sense of it otherwise.


“We believe we can find a way close to the old reservoir through this cave system. It will mean
a journey of almost two miles underground, but by doing so we are hoping to avoid the need to blast
our way inside.”


“Why can’t we just Apparate inside?” asked Ron.


“A number of reasons,” answered Kingsley. “Firstly, even experienced wizards would have trouble
getting through that rock strata. I imagine that is why the Ministry set the Archive up there in
the first place. In addition, there will be charms all over the surrounding area to prevent
break-ins.”


“Oh, right,” said Ron.


“But, won’t there also be charms to protect the area from Muggles too?” asked Hermione.


“We assume there will be, yes,” answered Miss Alice.


“That’s why I’ve invited Harry along,” said Bateman. “He was able to detect and disable the
alarms in that detention block come hospital at the camp,” he added, referring to the building that
they had rescued some prisoners from.


“We’re coming too, remember,” said Hermione.


“Are you an experienced potholer, then?” asked Bateman with an enquiring smile.


“Doesn’t matter,” said Ron, grinning. “This Archive sounds just like a giant library.”


“That’s right,” agreed Harry, laughing. “No library could ever keep Hermione out!”


Hermione seemed to realise that Bateman was just ribbing her but still only smiled rather than
laughed along with the others.


“We won’t all be meeting again before the operation begins,” said Kingsley seriously. “The Prime
Minister asked me to forward his best wishes for the success of this venture. He asks that you put
lives ahead of the mission objectives. Please withdraw rather than sustain heavy casualties. For my
part, I would again stress that this facility is supposed to have the highest levels of
security.”


Miss Alice looked rather uncomfortable.


Bateman smiled at her, knowing what she was about to say.


“I’m sorry, but we cannot afford to be sentimental about this. I am convinced that this will be
an essential aid in our fight against Voldemort and his supporters. Information is power.


“Your orders will be to achieve success irrespective of casualties. Your three young conscripts
here should be in no doubt that you and your men are not there to protect them. I suggest you agree
what you will do in the event of suffering casualties.”




13. High Stakes
---------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 13 – High Stakes**


“Harry?”


Harry turned around and was surprised to see Neville crossing the grass towards him.


“Hi, Neville. Is anything wrong?”


“Oh, no. Well, not really. I just wanted a word. I guessed Ron would know how to contact you,
but his Mum said you were here practising. I asked if I could Floo over to see you.”


“Right,” said Harry, walking over to extinguish the smouldering tree stump that he’d been firing
at.


“What was that spell, Harry?” asked Neville interestedly.


“I haven’t quite got it right yet,” Harry admitted. “It is supposed to be a stunner that flies
in a curve like a boomerang and bounces more than usual too. The idea is that you are supposed to
be able to fire around shields with it.”


“It still looks very powerful,” said Neville, admiring the remains of the stump. “I really wish
you were still teaching us defence, Harry.”


“Well,” Harry said awkwardly. “Um, what did you want to speak to me about?”


“What? Oh, that,” Neville said nervously. “The thing is, Harry, I’ve had a bit of a row with
Gran.”


“What about?”


“She’s mad, Harry. Ever since I got home for the holidays, she has insisted that I practise
Duelling with her almost every hour of the day.”


Harry tried not to laugh.


“It isn’t funny, Harry. She’s even got our old gardener to join in. Unfortunately, he’s about a
hundred years old and can’t see too well now. Yesterday I was doing some re-potting when he blasted
me without realising that only one of us was in the greenhouse. I swear he’s put some of that glass
into orbit.


“Mind you, he’s nothing compared to Great Uncle Algie. He’s taken to laying booby traps all over
the house.”


Harry grinned and said, “To be honest, Neville, it sounds like they have the right idea. You
aren’t going to ask me to help duel your Gran, are you?”


“That’s a good idea,” said Neville, smiling.


“So, how can I help then?”


“Well, I was sort of hoping you’d agree to help me again. If I could prove that I could defend
myself, just once, then I might get some peace at home.”


Harry considered this for a moment.


“The thing is, Neville, there are things I need to do. If I agreed, you’d have to understand
that I might have to put you off without any prior notice. We’d also have to practice at odd
hours.”


“That’d be fine, Harry,” Neville said enthusiastically. “If you can’t make it I could always
shoot at targets like you. I wish I’d thought of that, actually.”


Harry nodded.


“You can leave messages for me here for the moment,” he said, nodding towards the Burrow. “I’m
not always here, but I can always be reached.”


Neville nodded and said, “It’s nice here, isn’t it? I had no idea.”


Harry smiled and nodded.


“So, how about we make a start now?”


A pained expression appeared on Neville’s face and he said, “Sorry, Harry, I can’t. I have to go
to Diagon Alley.”


“Oh, that’s where Hermione and Ron are going this morning.”


“Yeah, I know. I just met Hermione when I arrived. She mentioned where they were going and I
volunteered to go with them.”


“Neville, are you sure?”


“No, but there’s no way I’m letting Hermione go down Knockturn Alley otherwise.”


“It’s okay, Neville. Hermione agreed she wouldn’t go there.”


“She has other ideas,” said Neville in an undertone. “She was telling Ron that some books she
needs will not be in Diagon Alley.”


“I’d better go too, in that case.”


“Harry, please listen,” said Neville, holding out a hand to stop him. “You can’t keep protecting
us like this. We shouldn’t need to rely on you to be there all the time. Trust us. Trust *me*.
I want to help.”


“If anything happened,” began Harry.


“We’ll handle it,” said Neville seriously. “Now, I think you’d better get some more practise in
before I get back. I expect to be taught how to do that thing properly, you know?”


It took a great deal of self control for Harry to stop himself marching into the house after
Neville.


He should have known better. Of course Hermione was planning on going into Knockturn Alley. She
had lied to stop him worrying and to stop him from risking himself.


He turned back to the old tree stump and raised his wand again, his mind not at all focussed on
the spell he was trying to master.


The most peculiar feeling then came over him.


Before he realised what he had done, the remains of the stump exploded into splinters.


Harry knew at once what had happened. He had just used a curse from Dumbledore’s dark book. It
had flowed so naturally; so easily. He had failed to check his dark mood. Fortunately it was only a
tree stump that took the brunt of his lapse.


But, he pondered at length, what if it had been someone standing there?


What if it had been Neville? Or Ron? Or Hermione?


*


Harry was on his way back to the lawn at the back of the Burrow, when the sound of a raised
voice reached him.


He was returning from the far side of the orchard, having been sent there earlier by Mrs
Weasley. Harry had sheepishly apologised for what he had done to the tree stump, explaining that he
had been quite unable to repair it.


Mrs Weasley had explained that she had wanted to be rid of it for ages, but that during a summer
party several years ago someone had drunkenly placed an Imperturbable Charm on the stump. She
immediately sent him off to clear the more stubborn weeds at the back of the orchard.


The weeds had actually proved to be far better targets than the tree stump had been, since they
kept moving and dodging away from his spells. He could quite understand why Ron and Ginny had been
barred from going into that area before attending Hogwarts.


Harry realised at once that it was Mrs Weasley doing the shouting from within the house.


“JUST WHAT WERE YOU THINKING OF?”


He quickened his pace until he heard, “BUT ONE OF YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN HURT!” Feeling relieved,
he slowed.


Harry was just considering if it might be best to delay his arrival in case Mrs Weasley got even
more upset, when Luna Lovegood stepped out of the back door.


“Hello, Harry,” she said lightly, showing no sign at all that she had just been yelled at by Mrs
Weasley.


“Hi, Luna.”


“We’ve just got back from Diagon Alley.”


“Oh, no,” said Harry. “You didn’t go as well as Neville?”


“Naturally, we did. You know how absorbed Hermione gets when she’s looking through books. This
way she had four people looking out for her and I had a good excuse not to pretend to be
enthusiastic about the so-called factual books she was looking through.”


“Has she brought back many books?”


“Well, she certainly bought plenty. Actually, I was expecting her and Ron to be here.”


“No, they probably wanted to store the books properly,” said Harry. “Hang on, if they went
ahead, that would have left you three waiting on your own.”


“No, Harry. Tom was there and so was George Weasley.”


“Oh.”


“Neville says you have agreed to give him defence lessons again.”


“Well, I will when I can.”


“Do you think you could teach me as well? I missed our DA meetings terribly, you know. Professor
Snape didn’t trouble himself to help me with the spells I struggled with. I was rather lucky with
what came up in the practical exam.”


“Well, you see the thing is,” he began, but faltered being the wide expectant smile on Luna’s
face begin to fall. “Of course I’ll help you, Luna. But as I said to Neville-”


“Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s agreed to let me share his time with you.”


“Oh, right.”


“Yes, and I should warn you, George was terribly keen on the idea of you teaching again. He said
they were considering selling private defence tuition through the shop.”


“Luna, there’s no way I would agree to that. Let’s just stick with you and Neville, okay?”


“What about me, then?” asked Ginny, grinning at him as she came outside.


“How’s your mum?” he asked quietly.


Ginny shrugged and said, “The usual.”


She looked around and frowned before making a *tutting* sound and marching back inside.
Almost immediately she came back outside again, except this time she was dragging along a rather
red faced Neville.


“Neville, she was telling me to peel the potatoes as punishment, not you!”


Harry smiled.


“So, can we do some practice now?” asked Luna.


“We’re all out of tree stumps, I’m afraid,” said Harry, raising up his wand and pointing it at a
point over the horizon towards the back of the garden.


Three large timber stakes appeared hovering in the air, right at the edge of the lawn. Harry
lowered his arm and the stakes shot down, the sharpened points burrowing down into the earth.


*


Harry Apparated back to the square in Grimmauld Place having just assigned homework to Ginny,
Luna and Neville. This homework was to completely destroy what remained of their target stake.


He had been surprised at how good all three of them were. At the beginning, Harry had asked them
to attack the targets using any spell they knew. Ginny was the best, but neither Luna nor Neville
was that far behind. He was a little flattered that their best spells were still the ones he had
taught them in the DA.


Harry realised that the last few hours were probably the longest he had been in Ginny’s company
since he had finished things with her.


She had been as friendly as ever and indeed he sensed that it was Neville who was the more
uneasy. Harry knew Neville was working hard not to mention anything in case he inadvertently caused
offence. Luna, of course, had no such qualms and, much to Neville’s consternation, made several
references to times when Harry and Ginny were together.


There was only one time when Ginny had reacted. That was while Harry was helping Neville with
his aim. Ginny was firing away and Luna was chatting to her idly.


Harry hadn’t caught exactly what Luna had said to make Ginny miss so badly, and with a
particularly powerful spell at that. They had all immediately run over to extinguish the flaming
roses, but he was sure he had heard Hermione’s name being mentioned.


He had no idea how much Hermione had told Ginny. They were close, Ginny being Hermione’s best
female friend that he knew of. But were they close enough for Hermione to confide in her,
particularly as Harry and Ginny had so recently parted.


Harry realised that he had been stood there reminiscing when he should have been looking around
for unusual signs outside Grimmauld Place. As there were none, he quickly crossed the road and
climbed the steps.


As he approached the door, it opened inwards.


At once Harry grabbed his wand and ran, barging the door open with his shoulder. Anyone on the
other side would be knocked flying.


Harry’s momentum carried him through. He landed on a rug and both slid a few feet on the
polished marble flooring inside the lobby.


Wand raised, he froze. Standing above him, umbrella raised and about to attack him, was Aunt
Petunia.


Hearing the door close, they both looked across the room to see Kreacher. Harry looked back and
lowered his wand. Aunt Petunia looked utterly distraught.


“What’s going on?” asked Harry. “Why was the door open again?”


As the umbrella began to shake, Aunt Petunia managed to say, “Dudley. Dudley’s gone out.”


Harry groaned and got to his feet.


“Where did this come from?” he asked, pointing to the back and white chequer pattern floor.


“Kreacher and Dobby found it under the carpets,” replied the elf. “Dobby is cleaning the carpets
but Master’s Aunt thought it looked nice and wanted to polish it up.”


“Dudley,” stressed Aunt Petunia.


“Oh, right, Sorry,” said Harry, turning to her again. “Where has he gone?”


“He did speak about wanting to go to the arcades. I think he misses the electronic games.”


“Are there any around here?”


“No, not that I know of, but he knew there is supposed to be a large one close to Piccadilly
Circus. That’s only a short tube trip from here.”


“What time did he plan to be back?”


“He didn’t really say.”


“Is Uncle Vernon still here?”


“Yes, I haven’t told him. I didn’t want him to go off as well.”


“That was sensible,” said Harry. “Okay, I’ll try to find him but I’ll have to lock this door. If
Dudley gets back before me, he mustn’t be allowed in. We need to be sure he isn’t under someone’s
influence. Do you have any money I could borrow for the tube? I’ve no idea where it would be safe
to Apparate to around there.”


Aunt Petunia fumbled for her purse and opened it, tipping the entire contents into Harry’s
hands.


“Thanks, this should be plenty. I’ll be as quick as I can,” he promised before leaving and
locking the door behind him.


Harry hesitated before adding a further locking charm. He had been reluctant to do this before,
and had allowed Dobby and Kreacher to open the door in case there was an emergency inside. If there
was a fire now, they would all be trapped inside.


*


Harry searched all of the arcades he could find with no success. The biggest occupied three
storeys and had been packed with tourists all eager to lose their money.


Becoming increasingly concerned, Harry tried to think where Dudley would want to go. There were
large theatre signs, but Harry thought in unlikely that Dudley would want to catch a musical.


He had been known to try and sneak into pubs and get a drink but he was still too young looking
to fool most Landlords. There were an awful lot of pubs around where Harry was right then, and he
didn’t at all fancy looking through them. He just hoped Dudley didn’t have enough money.


As Harry was just deciding his next course, he spied a bright neon sign in the shape of a
character that he was sure had been on one of Dudley’s many video games. He walked further along
the street and realised it was a superstore that sold electronic games, music records and
videos.


He entered the store past the group of ever watchful security guards. Ignoring the deafening
music blaring out at him, he began his search. A full half hour later he was about to give up when
he realised there was also a basement level. Resisting the temptation to head for the quiet of the
street outside, he stepped onto the downward escalator.


The basement sold videos, for the most part. There were several rows of displays rising above
head height, so Harry had to look down each aisle separately. Fortunately, there were less people
down there. He also thought the music had been turned down a little down there; either that or he
was going deaf.


Whilst in the second aisle from the back, Harry heard, “What do you want?”


He recognised Dudley at once and ran right to the end. He turned the corner just in time to
hear, “*Imperio!*”


Harry pulled out his wand.


Before him, a figure in the shadows was pointing a wand directly at Dudley who was looking back
vacantly.


Then Dudley frowned, stepped three paces forward and punched the wizard in the face. The wizard
fell at Harry’s feet, quite unconscious.


Harry reached down and took the wand from the man’s hand.


“Your Mum is worried about you,” said Harry, firing a stunner at the prone man for good measure.
“Ready to go home?”


“What was he doing?” asked Dudley aggressively.


“Let’s get out of here first?”


Dudley nodded. Harry walked forward and grabbed his arm firmly before Disapparating them both
away.




14. Privet Drive
----------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 14 – Privet Drive**


Dudley shrugged himself away from Harry’s grip as soon as he could.


“Where the hell are we?”


“Don’t you recognise the place?” asked Harry, lighting his wand and shining it around the dark
room.


“What happened?”


“Well, to be honest it wasn’t in great shape when I left here,” admitted Harry, looking at the
smashed windows and temporary plywood security boarding beyond. “But it looks like some uninvited
guests have been here too.”


He shone the wand light over the fireplace at the chimney breast.


Sure enough, there was a painted outline of a skull with a snake in its mouth.


“What is that?”


“That is Voldemort’s sign. They call it the *Dark Mark*. He just wanted us to know that he
knows where I lived and who you are.”


“So, you weren’t just making it up like Dad thought?”


“No, Dudley.”


“What was the one I hit trying to do?”


“Yes, I wanted to ask you about that,” said Harry, conjuring two tall candles which he placed on
the mantelpiece before lighting them.


The feeble candle light was enough to see by. All the furniture was in splinters and something
had been poured onto the carpet.


“Tell me exactly what you heard and felt,” said Harry.


“Well, everything began to go all misty,” began Dudley. “I suddenly felt really relaxed, like I
hadn’t a care in the world. Then he said something like *I’m your friend, I’m going to help
you*.”


“What else?”


“Well, I wasn’t about to let someone like you to tell me that he’s my friend. The mist went and
I could see him clearly. I stepped over and clocked ‘im one.”


“Yes, I saw that part. What I can’t figure out is how you managed to break the spell so easily.
It took me a few goes before I could do it.”


“But, it *is* possible?”


“Oh, yes. But not everyone can resist. That’s the reason why it’s important. If you were under
someone’s control, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from doing exactly whatever they told you
to. That could include killing me-”


“He should have just asked me then,” Dudley interrupted, laughing.


“Or even,” continued Harry seriously, “killing your parents.”


Dudley stopped laughing immediately.


“Is the rest of the house like this?” he asked.


“I imagine so,” said Harry, who had been watching Dudley’s eyes vary carefully. There was no
indication at all that he was under the influence of the Imperious Curse. He certainly doubted that
the wizard had ordered Dudley to step over and punch him.


Dudley turned to kick over a broken picture frame and shifted his left arm awkwardly. Harry
realised he was concealing something under his jacket and grabbed his arm. Several video cases fell
to the floor.


“Dudley, I didn’t get you away from there so you could steal those videos!”


“Hey, I might’ve been on my way to pay for them, for all you know.”


“How were you even going to play them?”


“Well, I know where I can get rid of bent gear for cash.”


“Most enterprising.”


“Yeah, I thought so,” said Dudley with a sneer. He bent down to pick them up again, but Harry
was too quick for him. The tapes burned quickly and melted into what remained of Aunt Petunia’s
precious living room carpet.


Furious, Dudley straightened up and drew his arm back ready to throw another punch. As he did so
his jacket opened, making Harry gasp.


“How long have you had that T shirt?”


“What?” said Dudley who was clearly distracted. “I found it. I assumed it was yours. One of the
elf things resized it for me.”


Emblazoned on the back was a large Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes logo and right underneath it were
the words, “*I’m shielded. Don’t you wish you were*?”


“Let’s go back,” suggested Harry, extinguishing the candles. “Come here, I need to grab you
again.”


“What’s that smell? I mean other than the melted plastic.”


“I’d rather not know,” said Harry, dowsing the remains of the tapes in water from his wand
tip.


There was a smashing sound from the back of the house. Harry didn’t hesitate. He grabbed
Dudley’s arm and Disapparated them away.


They Apparated onto the steps immediately outside the front door to Number Twelve. Harry
unlocked the door and pushed Dudley inside.


They were immediately grabbed by Aunt Petunia.


“Oh, I was so worried!” she said tearfully.


Dudley managed to shrug her off but her other arm held onto Harry. He realised she had
mistakenly thought she had only caught Dudley and waited for her to realise her mistake. Aunt
Petunia had never hugged him once; not in his entire life.


“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered hoarsely, bursting into tears.


*


“Well, at least we know that Fred and George’s shield clothes actually work,” said Hermione
smiling. She and Harry were waiting alone in the underground Briefing Room.


“True.”


“Harry, I’m really sorry. I had no idea he was even in the lobby. Still, I should have been more
careful.”


“Apparently he’d been hiding and waiting for someone to come in all day,” said Harry. “He
arranged for the Troll’s leg to fall over as the door opened to create a distraction so he could
get away un-noticed.”


“I was more worried about anyone getting in than getting out.”


“Well, I don’t think he’ll be wanting to go out again for a while. I took him back to Privet
Drive and it looks like you were right. Voldemort knows where I lived now.”


“If only your Aunt had been prepared to tell me the truth instead of waiting for you to get
back.”


“Well, I think it was a while before she realised he was missing herself. She persuaded Kreacher
to open the door for her. I think she was hoping he would come back before any of us knew anything
about it.”


"Perhaps you should have just forbade him, especially after he opened the door
before."


"No, I couldn't show him any less trust than I have with Dobby, especially given the
number of restrictions I've placed upon him as it is. Besides, what if they really did need to
get out in an emergency?"


Hermione looked at him wide eyed and said, "Do realise what you just said, Harry?"


"What if there was a fire or something?"


"No, Harry. You said you couldn't show Kreacher any less *trust*."


"So?"


Hermione smiled widely at him and said, "If you're not careful you'll get a
reputation for trusting people when others would not."


Harry shrugged and looked down, for some reason not entirely comfortable to accept the
compliment she was paying him.


“I do wish you could have come back to the Burrow last night, though,” she continued sadly.


“Aunt Petunia seemed keen for me to stay.” Harry smiled and asked, “How’s Mrs Weasley?”


“Still mad at me for leading everyone down Knockturn Alley,” Hermione admitted. “Ron wouldn’t
even dare to go home last night. He insisted upon staying in the Room of Requirement after we
dropped all the books off.”


Harry laughed.


“Still, at least Ginny let me finish off blasting her stake before dinner.”


“Hey, that was their homework!”


“Well, there was hardly any left. Luna had finished hers and Neville’s was almost down to the
ground.”


“Yes, I was thinking earlier how much better they have got,” said Harry. “Is Ron ever planning
to move out of the Room of Requirement?”


“I didn’t give him a choice,” said Hermione. “I told him I would hex him if he hadn’t gone home
to apologise before we got there tonight.”


“Thanks. The last thing we need is another family split.”


“Yes, the same thing occurred to me. But to be honest, I wanted us to have the Room alone
tonight. Harry, I really do need to bring you up to speed with the things I’ve found so far.”


Harry nodded as the door opened and in came a distracted looking Miss Alice.


“I also wanted,” began Hermione in an urgent whisper, but she trailed off seeing Miss Alice’s
expression.


She placed a large folder on the table and said solemnly, “I think I’m going to have to call the
Archive mission off.”


“Why?” demanded Harry. “Has anything happened?”


She looked up and said, “I can’t think of any way that we can read the Archive. Even if we got
in there, what would be the point?”


“Well,” said Hermione slowly, “I’ve been giving that some thought.”


Miss Alice perked up immediately as Hermione opened her bag and brought out several pieces of
parchment, an ink bottle and a quill.


“I’ve been doing as much reading as I can about magical methods of copying documents. I thought
you’d like to see a couple of small demonstrations?”


Miss Alice nodded enthusiastically, and dragged her chair closer.


“The wizarding world does not use paper made from timber pulp. Instead we use cotton and also
Papyrus occasionally.


“The interesting thing is, I always thought that the paper types were because of tradition.
However, it turns out that cellulose based paper is difficult to copy magically. The same is true
of writing other than in traditional ink.


“Now, copying individual pieces of paper can be done fairly simply, in a number of ways.”


Hermione wrote two simple sentences on a blank piece of parchment and then held up her wand.


“We can either transfer the writing to another piece of paper,” she said, placing one sheet
above another blank one and waving her wand over the first sentence. “As you can see, the
manuscript is duplicated quite easily. Even First Years can do this kind of copying with a little
practice.”


Harry mused, remembering how long it had taken her to teach him how to do it.


“The second simple method is a little more advanced,” said Hermione, waving her wand at the
parchment. There was a crack and a faint wisp of while smoke as the single sheet became two.
Hermione pulled the sheets apart and held up two identical looking pages.


“This method duplicates the paper as well as the text. Now, what I didn’t realise until recently
was that both these methods are almost impossible with cellulose based paper and ball point pen
ink.”


“I see,” said Miss Alice. “Kingsley told me about that kind of copying.”


Harry smiled. Of course she would have quizzed Kingsley endlessly on this.


“Did he also explain about mass duplication?”


“He knew there was a difference, but not much more than that.”


“Well, these methods of duplication are fine for small amounts of copying, but there are
situations when something more efficient is called for. For instance, if a book needs to be
duplicated.”


“Or the Daily Prophet?” said Miss Alice.


“Exactly. The Daily Prophet uses a system very similar to traditional newspaper printing, except
the paper is manufactured to allow moving images to be reproduced. The ink used is charmed to be
compatible with the paper. The really clever part is the engraving plates upon which the text and
pictures are formed in reverse.”


“Those are metal sheets, aren’t they?”


“You are thinking of Muggle presses, but actually yes, they are a kind of metal. The main
difference is that the surface isn't fixed. It is charmed to vary so moving images can be
reproduced. They need a new set of plates for every edition.”


“But that isn’t how the Archive would work, is it?”


“No. I managed to find a brief paragraph in one reference that made it clear that the Archive
does not store physical paper.”


“Oh, dear,” said Miss Alice. “I was afraid of something like this. So, there really is no chance
of us copying it.”


“Hang on,” said Hermione. “I didn’t say that. The Ministry sends paper and receives paper back.
There has to be a point where one format is converted to another.”


“And you think we can access that process?”


“Not really,” admitted Hermione. “You see, if the Archive is in Kent, it wouldn’t really make
much sense for the paper to be converted outside of the Ministry.”


“So, we should be planning to raid the Ministry?” asked Harry doubtfully.


“No,” they both answered at once.


Harry decided he should go back to listening in silence.


“I think there must be a form of control at the Archive; one that accepts instructions, telling
it either where to store a record or what record to retrieve. The instruction won’t be anything
physical, but from the descriptions I’ve found about an earlier reference library at the Ministry,
it sounds like something visual.”


“So, if we were able to install a video camera in the right place?” suggested Miss Alice.


“Yes, in theory we’d be able to read all incoming and outgoing records.”


“But, how could we recall records?”


“I wondered about a light projector? It would need to be controlled remotely, and would have to
close down as soon as a real message came in.”


“Yes, otherwise the Ministry would know,” agreed Miss Alice.


Their deliberations were interrupted by a very loud growl.


“Sorry,” said Harry, rubbing his stomach.


Miss Alice looked down at her watch and asked, “Have you two eaten yet? The canteen should still
be open, but there may not be much on offer.”


*


They entered the large white tiled dining room and walked up to the serving counter that
contained absolutely no food at all.


After a moment, a rotund fierce looking bearded man in a chef’s uniform came through the archway
leading to the cooking area. As wide as the arch was, he only just managed to clear the
opening.


A small smile appeared on his face as he shook his head in mock pity.


“You know this kitchen operates twenty three hours every day. We close for cleaning only one
hour, and you always manage to want feeding in that hour, don’t you?”


Miss Alice just crossed her arms and waited.


“Oh, alright. Come through and I’ll see if I can’t find you something.”


He exited through the archway and they rounded the end of the long counter and followed. Harry
was amazed to find the kitchen in full operation. There were rows of giant steaming kettles and he
could feel the heat on his face from the ovens as they passed. The smells reminded him strongly of
the school dinners at his old Primary school.


Miss Alice went straight through the kitchen and into a glass-partitioned area with a small
table and six chairs. There was benching around the edges and another door that was open. Harry
could see lockers beyond.


“You’ll eat in here,” said the Chef. “I don’t allow people in the Dining Area while we clean,”
he explained as they sat. “Now, what do you want? Chicken or lamb? You’ll have it as it comes. No
chips and the salad isn’t washed yet.”


They gave their selections and Harry watched interestedly through the partition as the Chef set
to work, leaving his dozen assistants to continue cooking the scheduled meals.


“He makes a fuss,” said Miss Alice quietly, “but he actually loves any excuse to cook
individually.”


This certainly appeared to be true. Within minutes their meals appeared and Harry couldn’t quite
believe that such a delicious meal could be prepared in a canteen kitchen.


“You were saying, Hermione?” said Miss Alice as they began to eat.


“Oh, yes. Are you sure it’s okay to talk here?”


A loud laugh came from the locker room and the Chef reappeared.


“You’d be amazed about the things that have been discussed at that table,” he said as he exited
into the cooking area. Harry noticed that the single door wasn’t quite wide enough so he had to do
a kind of sideways shuffle to get through. He closed the door behind him and shouted something
about carrots.


Hermione placed her fork down on her plate and continued.


“Even if we assume I’m correct, there are several problems that need to be considered. Foremost,
is the problem of finding a camera and projector that will work in a magical environment. As I
understand it, conventional electronic shielding is useless.”


“We think we have an answer to that," said Miss Alice. "We have a video camera that
works in the vicinity of magic. It doesn’t work very well, admittedly, but it does work.”


“Remember, we expect this place to be steeped in magic,” said Hermione. “Have you really tested
it in extreme conditions?”


“We have tried it at Hogwarts.”


“Everywhere in Hogwarts?”


“It worked in the grounds.”


“How about inside the castle?”


“It worked quite close to the castle, but not at all inside. The technicians suspect it was the
cables rather than the camera that needed additional shielding.”


“Well, I suspected there would be all kinds of problems,” said Hermione “I seriously doubt
whether any amount of shielding would work. I’ve had an idea, though.”


Miss Alice’s eyes lit up.


“What we need,” said Hermione carefully, “is a *magical* means to transfer the images to a
location where there is less magic and from where your camera might work.”


That is when it hit Harry.


“Mirrors,” he said simply. Hermione nodded and smiled at him.


“How?”


“Mirrors,” repeated Hermione, pulling a small cloth package out of her pocket. “I’d seen these
before, but I didn’t realise they were twinned until Dobby told me about them.”


Harry nodded as Hermione carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal two individually wrapped small
square mirrors. She proceeded to open each delicate package.


“Dobby found Sirius’ one only recently,” said Harry. “I repaired the other one then. I was
surprised I was still able to repair it, actually. It had lain broken in the bottom of my school
trunk for over a year.”


“I read what it said on the back, Harry,” said Hermione gently. “I’m so sorry.”


“I’m sorry, but how will these help?” asked Miss Alice, who had no idea of the personal
significance of the mirrors to Harry.


“These are twinned mirrors,” explained Hermione. “They are incredibly rare.”


Harry reached over and took one of the mirrors.


“Look into the other one,” he directed, standing up and holding the mirror up.


Miss Alice held the mirror up to her eye and gasped.


“If you could find a video camera and a projector around here, we could given them a try,”
suggested Hermione.




15. The Veil Lifted
-------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 15 – The Veil Lifted**


“Do you really think Sirius’ mirrors will work?” asked Harry as he stepped out of the fireplace
and almost immediately fell heavily into the large comfortable settee that almost filled the Room
of Requirement.


“What the?” he cried as he tried to stop himself from bouncing off again and straight back into
one of the fireplaces. The settee appeared to be curved to match the room and where he had emerged
there was no floor space at all.


“Sorry,” he said to Hermione, who was already seated. It took her a moment to stop bouncing from
the momentum of his fall, even though they were some way apart.


He struggled to right himself up from the rather undignified position he found himself in,
sprawled across the odd shaped settee.


“It is a little big, isn’t it?” admitted Hermione with a smile as Harry fought from sinking
completely into the plump cushions. “Actually, I do have several doubts. The camera and projector
worked only with a very narrow field of view and with everything very close together.”


“The mirrors got very hot as well when the projector was on,” said Harry, deciding he stood a
better chance to control himself if he stopped struggling.


“Yes, that is a worry. I just wish we had some idea what the conditions inside the Archive are
like.”


They sat quietly for a few moments; Harry wondering how cross Hermione would get if he practised
a few *reductor* curses on the settee she’d wished for.


“Harry, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before taking the mirrors.”


“No, I meant to tell you about them. Actually, I don’t know why I didn’t put them into the vault
with the other things.”


“Of course you do, Harry,” she said, rather insensitively. Hermione got up and carefully placed
the wrapped mirrors in a box on one of the shelves.


Harry looked around feeling a little miffed that he wasn’t as close to the nice stable floor and
realised that the shelves surrounding them were now populated by several new books.


“Hermione, why is this thing such a strange shape?” he asked, referring to the settee that
dominated most of the room. "And how come it has to be springy and soft at the same
time?"


“Oh, I suppose I wasn’t sure what fireplace I’d come out of. I just remember wanting to fall
into a large settee as soon as I got here. I wanted plush *and* bouncy.”


“Yes, I kind of gathered that, but surely the room knew what fireplace you would come out of?”
he said absently, kicking his shoes off so he could climb off.


Hermione returned and sat down, somehow managing to completely block his escape.


“I found out about the Fidelius Charm, Harry. Professor Flitwick knew a lot about it, but not
the actual charm. However, I found it in Dumbledore’s book.”


Harry nodded and, as one, the fires in all the grates died. The Room of Requirement was now
sealed.


“Yes, I found it too,” he said quietly.


“When did you perform it?”


“This afternoon, after I brought Dudley home.”


“Home?”


Harry shrugged and reached into his pocket. He offered the small folded piece of paper, but
Hermione didn’t take it.


“I realised there was something up when I was quite unable to tell Ginny where I thought you
were. I even tried to tell her without referring directly to the house with no success.”


“Yes, I’ll need to tell quite a few people now. The *secret* isn't quite the same as it
was before.”


“Harry, put that away a moment. I want to try and tell you something first.”


He felt a little surprised with this request, but did as she asked. With the paper out of sight,
Hermione appeared to relax a little.


She skirted over towards him, but instead of leaning back, he remaining sitting upright on the
edge of the absurdly big settee.


“I’m not prepared to continue like this, Harry.”


“*You’re* not?” said Harry derisively, turning to her.


“It’s okay, Harry. I don’t blame you. I understand.”


“I don’t think I do,” he replied, turning away to stare at the now cold ash at the bottom of the
nearest fireplace.


“You are regretting splitting up with Ginny, and you’re regretting-”


“No, Hermione, that’s not true.”


“Then why have you become so distant? It seems only days ago that I was fending you off because
Ron was around.”


“Yes, well. Every time I see you together lately, you and Ron are-,” he said, unable to
articulate to the end of his sentence.


“We’re what, Harry?”


“I saw you in the orchard,” he said flatly, "at the Burrow."


“Nothing happened, Harry,” she said calmly.


“No? What if I hadn’t let you know I was there?”


“Mm, I wondered why you called out from out of view. I can only tell you again that nothing
happened, Harry.”


“What if I hadn’t turned up at all?


“No, nothing would have happened then either. You have to remember that Ron is still hopeful of
us getting together. Not only that, he now knows that it is acceptable for him to steal his best
friend’s girlfriend, because that’s what you did.”


“No, I didn’t!” Harry began vehemently, "You'd already finished with Ron," he
continued but stopped when he caught Hermione’s small grin.


Absently, Harry rubbed his eyes. He really wasn’t in the mood to be ribbed by Hermione;
especially over something he’d felt so uncomfortable about.


“What’s wrong with your hand, Harry?” she asked sharply.


“Nothing, why?” he answered, a little taken aback.


“Hold your hand out,” she demanded.


He did so, but withdrew it as soon as he realised what she had seen.


“Well?”


“It’s nothing. I’m just tired and a little stressed, that’s all.”


“I’ve never seen your hands shake like that before, Harry. What are you feeling stressed
about?”


“Everything,” he replied miserably.


“Tell me,” she said gently.


At last he relaxed a little and began to lean back, stopping himself when he realised he would
be at the mercy of the settee if he leaned back too far.


Hermione jumped onto the settee, making Harry bounce up. When he landed she was behind him and
caught him in her arms, wrapping them both around his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder.
She pulled him tightly towards her.


“Tell me,” she said again.


Harry bowed his head.


“Ever since,” he began shakily. He swallowed and continued.


“Ever since I realised what it was, I’ve had this feeling of dread. You see, before I went back
to Privet Drive like Dumbledore wanted, I had kind of resolved to see this whole thing through to
the end. With Dumbledore gone, I knew it would soon be my turn to step up and face Voldemort on my
own.


“Once I got there, however, I began to doubt myself. Bear helped, though. He, more than anyone,
showed me what shear determination against impossible odds can achieve. With his encouragement, I
began to remember all sorts things Dumbledore taught me, without my even knowing he was doing
so.


“Going through the memories I could find helped too,” he said before trailing off.


“So,” prompted Hermione gently, “where did this feeling of dread come from?”


“It’s a Phoenix egg, Hermione. A *Phoenix* egg.”


“Go on.”


“There is nothing I can think of that better symbolises Dumbledore’s goodness, strength and
compassion.”


“Well, yes, neither can I,” agreed Hermione.


“Don’t you see?” asked Harry in a quiet, strained voice. “He didn’t send it to Voldemort just to
taunt him.”


“But I don’t see-”


“It was a message to *me,* Hermione. Dumbledore is telling me what he expects of me, and he
*expects* me to go and get the egg. The catch is, I’ll have to go with all the attributes that
anyone would need to deserve such a prize.


“The problem is, I’m nowhere near ready to face Voldemort and I hardly think I’m worthy to
receive such a bequest.”


Hermione didn’t speak for a moment and she appeared to be choosing her next words very
carefully.


“You *aren’t* ready to face Voldemort yet, Harry. I agree with you there, except I think
you also know in your heart that you *will* be ready once we’ve evened things up a little.
Once we have found and destroyed the remaining Horcruxes, you’ll have a different outlook, I’m
sure.


“For now, Harry, you don’t really need concern yourself too much with that. The Kemmynadow curse
is supposed to protect you from Voldemort.”


“Hermione,” interrupted Harry. “There is no way Voldemort is going to just give me that
egg.”


“Then the curse will attack him, won’t it?”


“Actually, I think it will attack us both.”


“That may be true, but remember who started all this. Dumbledore wanted you to have the egg,
*okay*, but he must also have wanted something more. Some other motive. Why else would he use
Voldemort like that?”


“All I keep thinking,” said Harry hoarsely, “is that Dumbledore must have assumed he would be
around a lot longer. Long enough to complete our lessons, anyway.”


“You think he was planning to teach you more?”


“I assume so; or rather, I hoped so. He didn’t really say. I mean, I know he made sure he told
me the most important things first. I kept hoping we’d move on to some practical defence
training.”


“Well, those lessons won’t happen now. There’s no point in dwelling on what might have
been.”


“I know.”


“You know? I think Dumbledore knew *exactly* what you’d need to receive his bequest.”


He shook his head slowly.


“Of course, he probably assumed you’d just blunder along to collect it without all this thinking
and worrying about it first.”


Harry snorted.


“Trust Dumbledore, Harry,” Hermione whispered.


He nodded and gave a weak resigned looking smile.


“Your hands are cold,” he said, reaching up and gently rubbing them.


“Well, if you will insist on putting all the fires out.”


“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Not just for the fires, either.”


“I’m sorry too. I was sure it would have done more harm than good, but perhaps it was a mistake
to act as if we were nothing more than best friends around Ron.”


“I’m afraid that is exactly what we will continue to do," asserted Harry. "It isn’t
just Ron we need to consider. As far as the outside world is concerned, I need to remain alone now
and for as long as this continues.”


"That isn't the issue, though, is it?" she pressed. "Harry, I need you to
trust me to deal with Ron in my own way. I feel I've been walking a tightrope lately. I'm
afraid that if I treat Ron too harshly we'll lose him. I decided that you would trust me, but
if you have a problem with trusting me, I'd rather you told me now."


"I won't pretend not to be uncomfortable," said Harry, "but I do trust you,
Hermione."


"Then trust me when I tell you that Ron is feeling a little insecure just lately."


"He hasn't said anything to me."


"Well, perhaps if you weren't-" she began. Then Hermione paused said more gently,
"Just include him a little more in what you're up to."


Hermione sighed deeply and said, “I was looking forward to showing you how to perform the
Fidelius Charm properly.”


“You still can,” he said smiling.


“Didn’t it work properly?”


“I thought it did, but I can’t really say I know how to perform it yet. I just followed the
directions.”


“Which book did you use?” she asked suspiciously.


“The Kemmynadow one. I thought it would be easier. Actually, I’m sure that’s why he put it in
both books. He knew I might be in a hurry.”


“There wasn’t anything strange about the charm, was there? I mean, it isn’t a dark
variation?”


“I don’t think so. I checked it against the other book and it was identical as far as I could
see.”


“Oh, okay.”


“You don’t like the Kemmynadow book, do you?”


“No, not at all. Look at what it’s doing to you.”


“What do you mean by that?”


“How often have you used it, other than the few times we looked at it together?”


“A few times,” he said evasively.


“A few? And how long was each session?”


“Well, quite long, actually. It’s kind of addictive. I keep wanting to know more. You must know
what that’s like, Hermione.”


“Perhaps, but you are paying a high price, Harry.”


“What price?”


“You are becoming detached, Harry; emotionally cold.”


“That’s a little harsh, Hermione.”


“I hardly think so. You’ve been bottling up your concerns about Ron and me.”


“That’s hardly anything new,” he said absently.


“Ever since the funeral, any mention of Dumbledore around you and you clench inside. His loss
was almost like a physical pain to you, wasn’t it?” Then she added gently, “Even more than with
Sirius.”


“Well yes.”


“Yes! But that is changing, Harry. Now your feelings are becoming dulled.”


“Well, time does that.”


“Harry, it has only been *days*! Please believe me, Harry. If you lose your emotions,
you’ll hardly be better than Voldemort.”


“Apart from all the torture and killing, you mean?”


“I meant *emotionally*, obviously. Harry, please. Let’s destroy the book. It’s too dark;
too dangerous.”


“No, Hermione,” Harry replied gently. “The Kemmynadow curse would prevent that. Any interference
with the book or the bequests will be punished severely somehow. Look how Voldemort has ordered his
supporters to withdraw rather than risk attacking me.


“Besides, we are going to need the information in the book, I’m sure of it. I know you think I’m
becoming less emotional, but please believe me that inside, every mention of Dumbledore causes me
pain.”


“I wish I could believe that.”


“The book *has* affected me, Hermione. But my emotions haven’t gone, they’ve just
*moved* a little.”


“Where to?”


“It’s hard to describe. I’m sure it came from the book but there wasn’t any specific spell. It’s
like the dark magic has enabled me to put up a veil inside myself. My emotions and feelings can
retreat behind there sometimes, especially when I’m feeling vulnerable.”


“Prove it, Harry.”


“How?”


“Lift the veil, or whatever it is. You’re safe here with me, aren’t you?”


“I’m not sure,” he began uncertainly. “Look, it’s getting late. We should be going.”


Hermione released her arms and gave him a firm shove sideways, making him lie on his back. She
then climbed over and wedged herself between him and the back of the settee.


“I want you to feel again, Harry.”


“I can’t,” he said shakily. “I’m afraid.”


“Since when have you ever been really afraid before? That’s why you *must* face this. You
are afraid that if you allow yourself to feel again, you’ll be so overcome with the pain that
you’ll be unable to function. What’s more, you’ll never-”


Harry rotated his head away from her but said nothing.


Hermione grabbed his shirt roughly and pulled herself up to lie on top of him. She reached out
and forced him to turn his head back to her.


He looked up into her determined eyes for a long moment before finally relenting. The thing he’d
always imagined being like a veil inside him didn’t actually part or vanish. Instead, the force of
his emotions seemed to just blow the veil out of the way.


Tears were forming in his eyes as she gasped.


The full force of the pain that he’d been denying himself tore through him, leaving him wracked
with anguish once more.


She knew. He could see everything in her eyes.


Perhaps for the first time, Harry realised that Hermione really had told him the truth. He had
accepted what she told him, but probably more accepting that she believed what she said to be the
truth.


Hermione’s claim that she could read his emotional state seemed incredible and preposterous.


She kissed him and instantly all debate was swept from his mind as they lay together, crying and
hugging.


*


They spent most of the next week practising defensive spells at the Burrow in anticipation of
the call to join the Regiment ahead of the raid on the Archive.


Harry’s agonising self consciousness, after reaching new heights the morning they arrived, was
at last beginning to subside. He dreaded to think of what Professor McGonagall made of him that
morning. Hermione had ordered him out of the Room of Requirement to go and apologise almost as soon
as he’d confided to her what had happened.


They still hadn’t really talked properly since; but that no longer mattered to him much.


Hermione had been happy and relaxed the whole time, although Mrs Weasley had insisted that she
accompany her to the village that first morning. Hermione later admitted only that Mrs Weasley had
wanted, “*to have a chat*.”


The veil protecting his emotions wasn’t so much fluttering as much lying in tattered shreds
thanks to Hermione.


This, he knew, had both advantages and disadvantages.


Much to Hermione’s approval, he was now finding it much harder to learn dark magic from the
Kemmynadow book. He also found he had more control over the curses at his disposal, in that he had
not resorted to a dark curse without a conscious choice to do so. To his relief, learning counter
curses, particularly with Hermione there too was as easy as ever.


The main disadvantage, he knew, was the loss of the thing he wanted to gain from using the veil
to conceal his true emotions. This could be a major problem dealing with skilled Legilimens such as
Voldemort or Snape.


He was, though, much happier. Not least, because Hermione was much happier.


Neville, Luna and Ginny all joined the three them for practise most days. All of them dropped
heavy hints that they wanted to come with them, having worked out that something was about to
happen.


Their interest was piqued even more when Fred and George turned up with one of their assistants
to fit their brand new battle dress clothes. Rather handily, the assistant had previously been
employed by Madam Malkin, and so it was she who did the actual tailoring.


“George, these look nothing like the ones John Bateman left with you,” observed Harry.


“We’ve made a few improvements,” admitted George. “They are plain black so they don’t stand out
so much when you are not hiding in a field. The material is non reflective and will not show up on
heat sensors and the like.”


“In addition, the colour does vary slightly according to your background. If you stand in a
field, you’ll go green. It’s crude, but should do for now. We didn’t have time to get everything
right first time.”


“What are these things?” asked Ron, trying to pull out a pad from an inside pocket.


“Leave that alone, Ron,” warned Fred. “Those are part of the Muggle bullet proof defences. We’ve
left those intact other than reducing the gaps.”


While the others were fitted, Harry went for a short run. He returned feeling impressed. The
battle dress was comfortable and reasonably light.


“This is great!” he said, returning as Hermione emerged wearing hers.


“Well, it’s a start,” said Fred. “There are some things we need to address, particularly the
fading of our shield charms.”


“How about if we wore some of your charmed clothes underneath?” suggested Harry.


“Could work,” said George. “We’ll send you some.”


“Better make it soon,” said Harry quietly. “No later than tomorrow.”


“Oh, right,” said Fred. “We weren’t sure when you’d actually be using these.”


“We don’t have an actual time yet, but we know it will be soon.”


“Are you sure we can’t come too?” asked George, opening a polished hardwood box and offering it
to Harry.


Inside were three identical amulets with jade and gold inlays.


*


They spent Thursday in the garden at the Burrow practising. Even Mrs Weasley got Harry to show
her how to perform a stronger shield charm before insisting she had to go and make lunch.


Harry had brought back a floating iron target that the Room of Requirement had provided. The
target was a ball shape that was about a foot in diameter, secured to the ground by the long, heavy
chain. The ball and chain was rusting and ancient looking, but it served its purpose well.


The ball was solid metal, and this made it almost indestructible against the spells being aimed
against it. Because both the target and chain were weightless, every time spell hit the target, it
would fly off until the chain pulled it back.


The quicker the target was hit, the faster it bounced around. This made it extremely difficult
to hit after the first one.


The only real problem with this set up was that occasionally spells would ricochet off rather
than be absorbed by the target. Once, one of Harry’s own stunners actually bounced right back at
him, making him dive for cover.


Hermione and Ginny were actually rather good at hitting the target. Ginny relied upon quick
reflexes and Hermione seemed to anticipate and even plan the target’s location when she was ready
to fire.


Luna was good, but seemed reluctant to shoot as soon as she attributed the target’s attempts to
dodge out of the way not to be random results of the spells blasting it but rather that inside the
ball there lived a trapped spirit.


Ron was pretty good, Harry thought, but he might have been better if he hadn’t kept allowing
himself to become so distracted by Luna who was saying, “Sorry!” every time he hit the target.


Neville struggled a little at the beginning, but while the others got some drinks Harry hit the
target with a strong *impedimenta* spell. This slowed the target just enough for Neville to
get started. By the time others re-joined them, this time accompanied for the first time by
Neville’s Grandmother, he was hitting the target every time he fired. The *impedimenta* spell
had long since worn off and the target was moving as fast as Harry had seen it.


Just as the target flew low, one of Neville’s spells hit the ground where the chain was pinned
and the target flew off.


Everyone behind him cheered as he mouthed, “Oops.”


Harry brought the target back with a quick summoning charm and then realised that Neville was
standing there looking embarrassed as he realised his Grandmother had joined them. He looked down
as if expecting her rebuke for dislodging the target.


“I would never have believed it,” she said a little tearfully. “Neville, you can shoot every bit
as good as your father.”


Neville smiled as she continued, “Mind you, your mother was always much faster than Frank.
You’ll need to work hard to get as accurate as she was.”


Harry re-fixed the chain to the ground.


“Now,” said Mrs Longbottom withdrawing her wand, “when can I have a go?”




16. Flying Bears
----------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 16 – Flying Bears**


At last, Friday came. At four o’clock in the morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Burrow
and travelled by the Floo network to a deserted Ministry of Magic transport intersection in
Yorkshire. This actually consisted of a small hut next door to a Muggle bus terminus.


The local night watch wizard, who just happened to be old drinking friend of Moody, was
conveniently absent for their arrival as he was, at that moment, investigating a local failure in
the charms that recorded each traveller through the Floo system.


They caught the first bus of the day headed deep into the countryside.


The three disembarked at a stop at a lonely road intersection. The only sign of civilisation was
an ancient sign post, pointing to villages in three different directions. The bus roared off with
diesel fumes billowing out the back.


“Which way is it?” asked Ron as soon as the bus was out of sight.


“Up there,” said Harry, pointing up the hill. “It’s only a short walk according to the map. If
we get a move on, we should get there before the sun comes up properly.”


They set off and a few minutes later they came to a small dilapidated shack with odd sheets of
corrugated metal covering the walls and roof. Harry looked up and down the narrow winding road that
looked like it was the only access to the place.


Everything was absolutely quiet and there were no lights at all.


“This has to be the wrong place,” said Ron.


“Don’t be so sure,” said a familiar voice from nowhere.


The door opened and Bateman stepped outside.


“Come inside and warm up,” he suggested.


“Thanks, Sarge,” said the voice again. Harry looked around and saw the outline of Hagland’s head
pop above the ditch beside them.


“You can come in when you are relieved,” said Bateman. “Not before!”


Leaving Hagland to mutter and mumble curses, they climbed the short flight of irregular steps to
cross the threshold.


Once inside and with the door closed, electric lights flickered on to reveal the others.


Duke immediately stood and came over to greet them warmly before pulling them over to join them
around the small stove in the centre of the room. There they renewed their acquaintances with the
rest of Bateman’s team. They were all there, apart from Hagland and Smith who were outside on
lookout.


Careem interrupted his packing of some complicated looking timing devices to shake their hands,
saying, “All the running water around here is paying havoc with my explosives. If you hear your
rucksack ticking, shout out quick so the rest of us can run for cover.”


Ron gulped.


“He’s just kidding,” said Carlyle, continuing to wind rope.


“Yes, we use waterproof timers and explosives,” said Terri Hope, putting away the gun she’d been
cleaning.


“We don’t normally stray outside of the Regiment’s boundaries this close to a mission,”
explained Bateman. “This time we wanted to avoid any attention in case news got out. We also wanted
to show you some of the terrain we’ll encounter tomorrow. We are currently standing right over a
disused mine that has proved to be useful.


“There are a couple of things that you should be aware of. Firstly, the cave entrance in Kent is
currently under guard. We have no idea whether they are Ministry or Voldemort people. For all we
know they could be the Gas Board.


“Secondly, a number of people have picked up sprains and other minor injuries. We were rather
hoping you could do the business, Harry. If not, we’ll reconsider who goes. I’d rather not bring
anyone else in.”


Harry immediately dropped his bag and pulled out his wand.


Almost everyone had some form of injury, but the worst was Terri Hope’s ankle sprain.


“Thanks, Harry,” she said with a smile. “You’re getting better at that.”


“Well, you keep giving me plenty of practise,” he replied with a grin.


Bateman switched off the lights again, opened the outside door and said, “Alright you two.
Inside.” He sounded much happier now that his bruised ribs had been healed by Hermione.


Duke opened the rear door to reveal a rickety iron staircase. He flicked a switch and festoon
lighting extending far below lit up.


Bateman keyed in a number on an illuminated keypad adjacent to the entrance door.


"This is an intruder alarm," he explained. "We'll hear down below of someone
attempts to break in. We can remotely blow this place and escape through an alternate exit if we
need to. We also have several small arms caches in the area."


It took them some time to trudge all the way down carrying all their climbing equipment. They
left the weapons and timers up in the cabin. The actual explosives were stored in a chamber
somewhere deep in the mine system.


Eventually, they got to the bottom and travelled along a wide corridor carved into the rock.
Before they exited into an underground cavern, they all put their safety helmets on.


Bateman stood next to what looked like a shear rock face, holding a powerful torch which shone a
bright narrow beam.


“This,” he said patting the wet wall, “has been the cause of most of our injuries. Without
wishing to sound modest,” he said, pausing to allow Duke to mutter, “*as if*.”


“We are experienced rock climbers,” continued Bateman, “and yet we all struggled to get up
here.”


He shone his torch beam upwards. Harry couldn’t see the top of the rockface.


“Now, listen. This can be dangerous,” he stressed seriously. “When I shout at you, you have to
listen. I’m shouting today, because I won’t be able to do it later. If you fall on the mission, you
stay where you fall.”


They all nodded.


Hermione cleared her throat and said, “I’m afraid I haven’t done anything like this, but I have
read up about it.”


“Well, Hermione, you can’t really learn this stuff from books,” Bateman said apologetically,
clearly making an effort not to upset her.


“I didn’t really mean that,” she said smiling and pulling out her wand.


She walked over and stood on a large boulder close to the rock face. Pointing her wand at her
boots, she said, “*Lentescopedis!*”


She then did the same thing, but this time pointing at her left hand before finally pocketing
her wand.


“You won’t laugh too much at me, will you?” she asked, slapping her left hand high up on the
wall. She then lifted her right foot up to the wall before heaving herself up.


Harry thought she was doing the impossible. It was as if she had conjured hand and foot holds
for herself.


Looking rather ungainly, she went straight up for about twelve feet before moving across a
little and then coming back down. With a “*Finito!*” she jumped down onto the shale floor of
the cave.


Bateman and the others were looking at her incredulously.


“That was amazing, Hermione!” exclaimed Ron as Hermione grinned and rubbed her left hand. Harry
realised she had hurt herself. Waving his wand close to her palm, he closed her painful looking
cuts.


“You need gloves, Hermione,” said Terri, rummaging around in her kit bag for some.


“The trouble is, I can’t take my left hand off the surface or I’d fall,” explained Hermione.


“Why not use your right hand as well?” asked Harry.


“The sticky charm isn’t as good cast using my left hand,” she answered. “Besides, I can’t let go
of my wand then.”


Harry laughed and suggested, “Can’t we perform it on each other?”


“Good idea,” said Ron. “Come on, I want to try!”


Soon, they were all practically running up and down the rock face. The running water coming down
the wall made no difference at all to their ability to grip the smooth and slippery rock.


Harry was the first to discover why Hermione had stood on a boulder to begin. When Ron charmed
his boots while Harry was standing on the shale, he could hardly lift his feet due to the amount of
small stones that were sticking to his feet.


Against the rock face, however, the charm worked superbly. Harry could feel his feet and hands
being pulled against the rock.


Harry also found a way to charm his own wand hand. He simply charmed his glove before he put it
on.


Three hours later, Harry returned to the bottom of the wall again and joined Bateman as he
listened to the shouts and laughter of the others high up in the darkness.


Exhausted, Harry pulled off his gloves and wiped his sweating brow.


“You know, with Hermione’s trick we’ll be in and out of there much quicker,” said Bateman
thoughtfully. “I was afraid that your inexperience would hold us up too much.”


Harry nodded.


He was about to ask when they would start out when alarmed cries rang out from high above.
Bateman reacted instantly, his powerful torch beam picking out a figure falling out of the darkness
at an alarming rate.


Harry aimed carefully. He knew he only had one shot at this.


Thankfully, his cushioning spell caught Ron before he hit the jagged rocks. Harry released Ron
but caught him again with a *Levicorpus* spell. Ron made a safe, if rather undignified,
landing.


The others all hurried down expecting the worst.


“Are you okay, Ron?” shouted Hermione, still high up.


“I’m fine,” said Ron, grinning. “It was my own fault,” he said to Bateman. “I just got
overconfident trying to jump a gap, that’s all.”


“Let’s go back to wearing safety lines,” demanded Carlyle, going over to the climbing ropes they
hadn’t touched so far. “We should be using these anyway.”


Bateman nodded and they were soon practising again, all with a little more respect for
gravity.


*


Bateman insisted that everyone listen to every aspect of the plan once again, just in case
anyone became unable to continue. This meant that Hermione had to explain rather a lot about the
mirrors, several times.


Harry, spent most of this time pouring over Bateman’s maps of the cave systems while Ron
attempted to understand how the radios worked.


"This was a real stroke of luck," Bateman told him between explaining what all the
rock strata symbols meant. "Miss Alice managed to get us an unpublished geological survey done
by a University research team only about two miles from the archive. It showed us the true nature
of some of the rocks down there. Most of Kent is actually chalk, like the coastline."


"Oh, like the white cliffs of Dover?"


"Exactly. Have you been there?"


"No, never."


"Anyway, we're going to be quite a bit further inland, but we assumed from the records
that it was chalk too."


"So the Ministry must have amended quite a few records, then?"


"It certainly looks like it, but they don't even know the University survey
exists."


After bringing the explosives up to the surface they rested for a full six hours, all in their
complete battle dress.


Bateman and his team slept for almost the entire time, as did Ron. Neither Harry nor Hermione
could sleep at all though.


“Have you had any more dreams?” whispered Hermione as they sat huddled together, a little apart
from the others.


“No, not like the ones before. I think he knows something. Perhaps he’s found a way to stop me
hearing and seeing through it.”


“Maybe.”


"Did you find the *Lentescopedis* charm in Dumbledore's book?"


"No, Harry," she said uncertainly. "I sort of made it up."


Harry looked at her wide eyed for a moment, and then he looked down. He wanted to say how clever
she was, but somehow he just couldn't.


"Harry!" whispered Hermione sharply, interrupting his thoughts. "I know what
you're thinking, and you're wrong!"


"What am I thinking then?"


"You're thinking that Snape made up spells, as did Dumbledore. You're thinking that
if you haven't made up spells it somehow makes you inferior and-"


"Okay!" he whispered. "Give it a rest, will you?"


"All I'm trying to say is Voldemort isn't going to say, *Wow! Harry made up a
spell on his own so I'd better behave from now on!"*


Harry snorted and laughed.


"Shh!" she ordered, laughing as well. "Shut up or you'll wake the others and
I'd have to stop nagging you!"


*


Harry lifted a material flap on his sleeve to reveal two watches sewn onto the fabric. One was a
conventional watch but the other had several hands and symbols that meant nothing at all to him. He
made a mental note to ask Fred and George what that watch was for.


At exactly five seconds to the hour, Bateman stirred and rose silently to his feet. On the hour
he said quietly, “Time.”


Everyone apart from Ron got up and gathered their things ready to depart. Smith gave his boots a
firm kick and then both he and Hagland pulled him to his feet.


Bateman held up a child's plastic play hoop and they all grabbed hold, each carrying a heavy
rucksack.


At two minutes past the hour the unauthorised Portkey provided by Kingsley activated.


*


They landed on soft wet grass in complete darkness. By the time Hermione had vanished the
Portkey, Bateman had got his bearings.


They walked off in single file, each being careful not to make a noise.


Gradually, Harry’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness. They were moving cross-county, mostly
through grazing fields but sometimes through crop fields.


Harry realised that Bateman wasn’t leading them in a straight line. He was clearly avoiding
paths and roads, but he was also making it less obvious where their intended destination was.


After about half an hour, they gathered together beside a dry stone wall.


“Okay,” whispered Bateman, coming back from his viewpoint. “The cave entrance is about fifty
yards beyond this wall. The entrance is still guarded and I don’t think we can get past them
without them knowing.


“We are going to split into three groups as planned. Alpha will approach from the west, Beta
from the East. Gamma stay here. We attack on five.”


Harry changed his crouching position to a more comfortable kneeling position while they waited.
It felt wrong that he, Hermione and Ron, who were the Gamma party, to have to remain behind.


“This is what they do best, Harry,” whispered Hermione, as if reading his mind.


“I know,” he replied. “I’m just worried about what might happen. It could be a trap.”


“Shh,” said Ron. “Listen.”


They strained their ears to hear. Only one sound reached them. It sounded like something heavy
hitting the ground.


After a few more minutes of silence, two radio clicks were heard over their earpieces. That was
the signal to proceed.


The three of them got up and followed the stone wall to a wide gap. The iron gate was open and
they walked through and down into a hollow.


Harry felt his shoulder being grabbed from behind. It was Duke, and Harry knew that behind him,
Hermione and Ron were also now being guided towards the cave entrance.


He managed with difficulty to resist asking what had happened. He knew that now was not the time
to make any kind of noise.


Underfoot, the grass changed to mud and then coarse gravel. Then their footsteps began to
echo.


Harry couldn’t see a thing, but they were entering the mouth of a large cave. Almost the instant
he realised this, the smell of the air changed. It was now cold and damp.


They kept walking until Duke whispered, “It narrows ahead. Turn right as soon as you can.”


It did indeed narrow. Harry had to struggle to get his large rucksack through and he suspected
it was Duke who also gave him a generous shove from behind.


As soon as he was clear, Harry turned right and saw Bateman standing a few feet away, examining
his map with a dim torch.


“All okay?” asked Bateman, not looking up.


“Yes,” answered Harry, although he realised he was probably asking Duke. “What happened?”


“There were only eight. They were wizards, but we have no idea who they worked for. They were
pretending to be tourists.”


Harry didn’t ask what had happened to them.


“Right, let’s get going. Our first passage is actually an old mine working. Shame we haven’t
time to examine it more closely. Centuries old, probably. Watch for trip hazards.”


Bateman set off at a fast pace. They had torches and wands lit now, so it was a little easier to
keep up. Every now and again, Bateman would stop and so they could catch their breath.


After the third stop, he changed the order in which they walked in. Hermione, who was finding it
the most difficult to maintain the pace, would now follow Bateman. Harry and Ron followed her.


Half an hour later they stood before a large rusting iron gate. The padlock and chain had rusted
solid.


Harry tapped it with his wand and the padlock, and a fair amount of the gate, fell to the wet
ground. He tried the gate but it still didn’t move. Harry was about to raise his wand again when
Bateman put his shoulder to it. With a loud screech, the gate opened.


“Right,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “From now on it gets *interesting*. A
few feet inside, there is a shear drop. We will descend down on ropes for speed.”


The prospect of dropping into complete darkness from a great height didn’t appeal to Harry at
all, but with the encouragement of the others he allowed himself to be secured to the ropes and
dropped over the edge.


They had practised only one drop each like this the day before; but it hadn't been in pitch
darkness and not from this height.


He knew he was braking himself by pulling on the ropes far more than the others had done. His
problem was not knowing how fast he was descending with no visual reference. It was just pitch
black now.


Eventually, he was caught in Bateman’s strong torch beam from below. Be quickened his pace and
was relieved more than he could say upon hitting the floor of the cave.


He was quickly released and shouts went up for the next one to follow. Harry held his wand out
ready in case there was another accident.


Far quicker than he had anticipated, two figures were picked out in the light beam. It was Terri
and Hermione descending together, with Terri in control of the descent.


For a moment, he thought they were dropping way too fast, but Terri braked hard as they
approached the floor.


Hermione had her eyes shut tight the entire time and it was a moment before she opened them
again.


Next to descend was Ron, again accompanied by Smith. Hagland, the last, came down at an
incredible speed.


By the time they were all ready to proceed, Carlyle had found the best route for them. Clearly
the most experienced in cave climbing, even Bateman was happy to defer to his directions.


They made good progress until Carlyle halted them at the entrance to another cavern.


“Check the safety lines,” he ordered. “The next chamber has both an unstable roof and a shale
floor. We need to go straight across, but it is very unstable underfoot. If you feel yourself slip,
shout out immediately so we can all take the strain.”


He then proceeded to change the order they went in, making sure Harry, Hermione and Ron each had
experienced climbers on each side.


Harry was pleased to find himself behind Bateman. Carlyle took the lead again and Harry watched
as Bateman played out the rope as he set out across the cavern. The floor to the cavern had been
filled with small stones that had formed a small mountain inside. Carlyle was attempting to cross
following a line that formed a winding ridge.


Every cautious step he took created a mini land slide as the stones tumbled down into the dark
far edges of the cavern and possibly beyond.


Soon, though, Carlyle was out of view. Bateman continued to play out the rope until they heard
stones falling and the rope slid through his hands. Assuming Carlyle had slipped, Bateman and Harry
grabbed the rope.


“I’m okay!” came an echo out of the darkness. “Let out some more rope. I think I can make it to
the other side.”


“Okay!” shouted Bateman, playing out more rope slowly.


There was the sound of Carlyle swearing loudly and then he shouted, “I’m home. Give me a moment
to secure the rope.”


They waited a moment and then Carlyle shouted, “This is more unstable than I thought. Harry, you
come across next. You’re lighter, so it should be a little easier for you. Remember, stick to the
centre and follow the ridge line.”


Bateman had unclipped himself and pushed Harry to the edge before Carlyle had finished
talking.


“Remember, we’ll have hold of both ends this time,” said Bateman. "Shout out as soon as you
feel yourself slipping."


Harry was about to step out, when he unclipped his rucksack.


“I can summon these across after,” he explained.


The stones were incredibly slippery underfoot. The slightest movement sent them tumbling down
into the darkness. For a while, he seriously considered dropping on his hands and trying to crawl
across. He realised, though, that he would have little chance then to correct a slip. He had needed
to do that several times already.


He had got a few yards when the route he was following began to descend. This was the point that
Carlyle had gone out of view.


Carlyle flashed his torch so Harry could see where he was aiming for. Harry stepped forward, but
he soon felt himself accelerating under the assistance of gravity. Worse, he seemed to be falling
away from where Carlyle was.


Harry grabbed the safety line just in time. His feet gave way and he fell. Just as he thought he
would fall to the very centre of the earth, he felt himself slam hard into the rock face. He had
reached the other side of the cavern.


“Harry?” shouted Carlyle.


“I’m okay,” said Harry, winded and still seeing flashes before his eyes.


“Can you climb up?”


“Yes, I think so.”


With some difficulty, he managed to climb the safety rope. The ledge where Carlyle was waiting
was actually only a few feet up. Carlyle pulled him up the final bit and then allowed Harry to
collapse to get his breath back.


“Hey, what happened to you?” asked Harry seeing Carlyle looking very pale and nursing his left
arm.


“Broke it on my last jump,” he said between short pants of breath. “Misjudged in the darkness.
Only just made it. Lost my pack.” Harry was amazed that he had been able to pull him up to
safety.


Harry pulled out his wand and examined Carlyle’s forearm. It was twisted horribly and clearly
broken but the skin was intact.


“I think I can fix the break and make you a little more comfortable, but I’m afraid I’m not good
enough to fix you up entirely,” admitted Harry.


“What’s happening?” came Bateman’s shout from across the cavern.


“Harry’s fine,” Carlyle shouted back. “Give us a moment.”


Harry pointed his wand and performed the charm. The bone fused and the bruising eased a little
but it was still twisted and bent slightly.


“I’m sorry,” said Harry.


“Sorry?” said Carlyle incredulously. “You’re kidding right? This is good enough for me to climb
and fight with. I didn’t fancy just waiting down here to die. Now, let’s get the others across,
shall we? It’ll be much easier with both of us pulling. Hey, where’s your pack?”


Harry pointed his want into the darkness and shouted, “*Accio rucksack!*” A moment later he
caught it.


“I take it we’re ready to proceed?” shouted the unseen Bateman. “I’m coming now.”


Harry looked guiltily at Carlyle who laughed and said, “Go on! It’s got to be done!”


“Hey, what are you two plotting?”


Harry pointed his wand once more and shouted, “*Accio Bear!*”




17. Because Mrs Weasley Said So
-------------------------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 17 – Because Mrs Weasley Said So**


Carlyle didn’t allow his injured arm to slow him up at all, even though he was in considerable
pain. After the perils of the large cavern, the relatively narrow fissures that they needed to pass
through were welcome.


Hermione’s rock sticking charm was particularly useful and, instead of being the most difficult
part of the journey, this became the easiest.


Their good progress even improved Bateman’s bad mood.


He hadn’t at all liked being summoned by Harry. Harry felt it wasn’t so much the short flight or
the undignified landing that had annoyed him. It was the fact that Harry had done it without asking
permission or even warning him.


Worse, Bateman wasn’t at all receptive to Harry’s repeated apologies either. Thankfully, at
least the others had enjoyed their short flight through the cavern.


“We have a problem,” said Bateman seriously.


Ron stopped refilling Hagland’s water canteen with his wand and listened. They were all resting,
waiting for Carlyle to return having gone on to scout ahead with Bateman.


“There has been a cave in,” said Carlyle, sitting down heavily. They had been on the move for
hours now and they were all tiring. Carlyle looked especially exhausted, though.


“Was it blasted?” asked Careem.


“I can’t really tell. It might have been, but I’m sure the rock fall happened years ago.”


“Is there a way around?” asked Duke.


“Not to our original destination, no,” said Bateman, opening his maps of the cave system again.
“We were aiming for this end wall of the old reservoir,” he said pointing.


“There’s no way through to there,” confirmed Carlyle, flexing his fingers.


“Hermione, we think we might be able to get through to here, though,” said Bateman pointing down
at the map again.


“That’s where we assumed the original Archive was,” she confirmed.


“Yes. The question is, will the original archive be impossible to break in to? I mean, we were
not entirely confident about even getting into the old reservoir.”


Hermione thought for a moment and then said, “I think we should still try. It is true that the
Archive will be protected, but no less so than the reservoir might be. The only difference is that
we don’t have a convenient service access door to aim for. I never really believed it would be that
easy, anyway.”


Bateman snorted and said, “Okay. Let’s eat while we have the chance. This will probably be our
last rest break, so make the most of it.”


They immediately brought out ration packs but were distracted somewhat by the red and white
chequer pattern tablecloth that Ron produced.


The laughter continued as he threw it up into the air. Four legs appeared and a large table
landed with a thud. Ron opened a deep drawer on one side and immediately plates, cutlery and
napkins flew out and arranged themselves neatly on the tablecloth.


“Ron, what are you doing?”


“Mum said we had to have a proper meal if we were going to off with you lot again,” he answered,
opening the next drawer and pulling out a large earthenware pot. He placed it on the tablecloth and
lifted the lid to reveal steaming vegetables.


“She did plenty for everyone,” he said, continuing to put more hot food out as Hermione lit the
candles she’d found inside another drawer.


The ration packs were soon abandoned as they proceeded to enjoy the most unlikely buffet that
Harry could imagine. None of them ate very much, but it broke the mounting tension caused by the
knowledge that they would soon reach their objective.


“This is even more surreal than the other things you lot can do,” said Terri grinning.


“Yeah,” agreed Smith. “Caving and having hot roast chicken is just too impossible.”


“Well, maybe we should get used to doing impossible things,” said Duke.


When everyone had finished, Ron grasped hold of the tablecloth edge with both hands and tugged
quickly. The table and everything else vanished, leaving him to casually fold the cloth away.


“Dad bought this thing years ago,” Ron explained conversationally. “Waste of money really. We
hardly ever use it.”


*


An hour later they were crouched behind some large boulders, the entrance to their destination
only a few more feet away.


Bateman had stopped there to assess the situation. Ahead there was a dim, glowing light coming
from a passageway entrance. There was also a strange mist hanging around the entrance.


Bateman turned back.


“I think we should be the ones to go first,” said Hermione at once before he had a chance to
speak.


“Yes,” agreed Harry. “The first level of defences are bound to be simple repelling charms.
You’ll probably all suddenly remember that you have appointments elsewhere in a moment.”


Bateman nodded reluctantly and said, “Alright, but please be careful.”


“That mist looks familiar,” said Harry, looking at the entrance. “The trick is to remember that
it isn’t real.”


“I think we should avoid touching that mist, Harry,” said Hermione. “Let’s use
*Lentescopedis* to climb around it. That way the others won’t have to wait for us. They can
follow.”


When they were ready Harry led the way, followed by Hermione and then Ron. Bateman and the
others followed.


Climbing like a spider would a wall, he easily followed the wall around and entered the passage
right at the top of the arched ceiling cut into the rock. Once past the mist, he descended to the
floor and removed Hermione’s sticky feet charm.


He walked on a few feet and the roughly carved rock walls transformed into smooth marble. It was
the marble that was glowing, bathing them in an eerie golden light.


Hermione soon caught up, and they proceeded side by side. They turned a corner and were
confronted by the tunnel just ending. There was no end wall, but the darkness was complete. Not
even Fred and George’s amulets helped their wand lights penetrate the darkness.


Harry knelt down and felt the floor.


“The floor extends through the darkness,” he said as Hermione confirmed the same was true of the
walls.


“Here, hold my hand,” said Harry. “I’m going to stick my head inside.”


He did so and was immediately disoriented. Hermione pulled him back.


“That was strange,” he said, shaking his head. “I bet the tunnel splits up later so you can’t
tell which is the way in or out.”


“How much rope have we got?” asked Ron. “We can fix one end here so we can find the way out
again.”


“Good idea,” agreed Harry.


“Hang on a moment,” said Hermione. “Let me try something.”


She raised her wand and fired something flame-like into the darkness. Nothing happened. She
aimed slightly to the right, aiming at where the tunnel wall would be and fired again.


Her blue flame reappeared harmlessly on the other side where Harry was standing.


Hermione fired six more times and closely observed the angle and position where the flames
re-emerged.


“I’ve got it,” she said at last. “I know the way through. Well, at least the first part anyway.
If the entire Archive is like this we have no chance.”


“The first part will be fine,” said Harry confidently. “Ron, got that rope?” Harry tied the end
around his middle and then clipped Hermione on behind him. “Hermione, you guide me through. It it’s
clear, the others can follow the rope.”


“Watch out for floor traps,” warned Bateman, struggling to hold Smith still. “Quit it, will you?
For the last time, you don’t need to go back to set your video recorder! Since when did you watch
soap operas, anyway?”


Harry knew that he needed to get a move on. As disciplined as Bateman’s team were, they all
looked like they wanted nothing more than to get away from there.


“Ron, keep calling out us how much rope you are playing out, okay?” asked Hermione.


Hermione stood behind him and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Harry nodded, and they
walked together into the darkness. As soon as they were both inside, they could no longer hear Ron
counting.


Harry stretched his arms out and stepped forward, allowing Hermione to steer him. The darkness
pressed into his eyes.


Hermione made three turns and then suddenly, Harry could see again. Seeing movement, he
immediately pulled back.


“What is it?” whispered Hermione.


“We’re at the edge, but I saw something,” explained Harry. “I’m fine here. Follow the rope back
and get the others to follow.”


“Right,” she said, releasing him.


Very slowly, Harry leaned forward so that hopefully only his face would emerge on the other
side.


In front of him was a wide stone bridge. Opposite, the path appeared to split into two. It was
on the far side that Harry had thought he had seen something. There was nothing there now,
though.


He stepped forward, out of the darkness. Hermione and the others quickly followed, Ron bringing
up the rear.


“Let go, will you,” whispered Smith angrily. Seeing that he was no longer fighting the effects
of the repelling charms, Bateman released him.


“I’m sure I saw movement on the other side of this bridge,” said Harry.


Bateman nodded and unclipped the holster that held his hand gun.


They crossed the bridge but found that it didn’t quite reach to the other side. Several stepping
stones were provided to complete the passage over the strangely still water lake.


“Whatever happens,” Harry found himself saying, “don’t touch the water.”


He stepped across to the other side.


“Left or right?” asked Ron.


“Right,” said Harry at once, walking ahead. “This is the side I saw the movement.”


They entered a wide corridor with a high curved ceiling. There were no lanterns but everything
gave off the same glow to see by. Along the corridor every few feet there were small alcoves. As
they walked on, Harry wondered if that was where they kept the records originally.


Then echoing voices could be heard.


“Take cover!” whispered Bateman from behind.


Harry rushed forward and into an alcove a few feet ahead. The voices were coming closer but he
couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from.


Out of sight, Harry heard another noise. It was another voice and was definitely coming from
ahead of them, further down the corridor.


“Oh, my,” said the quiet mournful voice.


Harry stuck his head out to look and saw a fleeting movement again. Something had gone into
another alcove further ahead. He looked the other way. The corridor was darker the way he’d just
come.


Trusting that the others would be alright for a moment, he crept out and along the corridor
until he reached the alcove. Once he was level with it, however, he realised it was actually
another smaller passage.


Hearing raised voices echo behind him, followed by a scuffle, he ran back to the others.


He had gone ahead further than he’d realised. In the short time it took him to run back, the
others had all gone.


He turned seeing something in one of the alcoves.


Looking closer, he realised it was a legless and headless torso. Harry smiled seeing a familiar
short length of cloth piping stuck to their robes, and realised that they had been splinched. He
reached out and pulled the wand out from the stricken wizard’s hand. The torso immediately
writhed.


Harry stood, snapped the wand in two and stunned the torso so it wouldn’t make any more noise.
He wondered where the head had got to, and whether it was able to give any form of warning.


He listened for any sign of the others, but there was only silence now.


As there was no sign of the others, Harry decided to continue his pursuit of the person ahead.
They had passed several other corridors and they could have gone down any one of them.


As he ran, Harry thought. There were wizards in the Archive. Although the splinched man wasn’t
wearing Death Eater robes, they would have to assume Voldemort’s men were here.


Perhaps that is why it had been so easy to enter. Certainly, Hermione was expecting much
worse.


*


Harry tore up and down every corridor and passage he could find until he was quite lost. There
was no sign of anybody at all.


Stopping to catch his breath, he was alarmed to hear a softly spoken voice say, “Hello, are you
from the Ministry?”


Harry started, pointing his wand towards the voice.


“Hello?” said Harry.


A ghost floated out from the wall. He looked rather elderly and was dressed like a monk. Several
quills stuck out of his various pockets at odd angles.


“I can see you are not one of them,” said the man in a feeble voice. “I just wondered if you
were from the Ministry.”


Harry recovered enough to say, “Who did you mean by *them*?”


“The people who broke in.”


“When was that?” asked Harry uncertainly.


“About a month ago. I’ve been so worried.”


“Ah, well in that case, no I’m not one of them,” said Harry. “I came in with a different group.
Have you seen anyone new around here?”


“Goodness, no! I’ve been hiding. I think I’m the last ghost left here.”


“There were other ghosts here?”


“Certainly. We maintain the library for the Ministry, or rather we did.”


“Did?”


“For some time, the ancient streams in the rock strata through which the information flowed back
and forth from London have been closed off. Then, just over a month ago, the last one failed.”


“Didn’t you warn the Ministry that there were problems?”


“Nobody answered us, and all the while since, my colleagues have been vanishing.”


Harry sighed deeply.


“Listen, we came here partly because we were afraid that Lord Voldemort might gain access here.
It looks like he has succeeded, unfortunately.”


“Voldemort? A lot of reports have been coming in about his activities.”


“Yes.”


“May I ask what other reason you had to come here?”


Harry hesitated before answering.


“We wanted to use the Archive to predict Voldemort’s next moves. The information you have here
could be used both to identify and locate his allies as well as his next victims.”


“You have a particular interest in Voldemort then?”


“Well, we *all* do, don’t we? Actually, yes I do have a particular interest.”


“May I ask you name?”


“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. My name is Harry Potter.”


“Ah, indeed. My name is Scenariste.”


“Hello, Scenariste. I’m glad you say Voldemort’s name, by the way.”


“I’m a librarian, Harry Potter. It’s bad enough that we had to re-index all his Riddle entries
to the V section. I’ll never forgive him for that.”


Harry grinned and said, “Scenariste, I need to find my friends and we also need to decide what
we’re going to do next.”


“I wondered what you were doing in the labyrinth,” said Scenariste. “This was originally
designed as part of the defence system, you know. There are several interesting books on this part
alone.”


“Labyrinth? No wonder I got so lost! Could you show me out?”


“Yes, alright. Can you see me well enough to follow?”


On the way out, Harry confided the rest of their plan to Scenariste.


“Your friends are Muggles?”


“Yes. What do you think of our plan?”


“Ingenious, audacious even, but flawed. The twinned mirrors won’t work in the Archive, I’m
afraid. We chose this location precisely because the rocks give magical protection against such
devices. Please don’t think that wizards in the past have been above attempting exactly what you
are.”


“Were you involved in building this place too?”


“In life, I was a junior assistant to the Department Head responsible for constructing the
original library. In those days, we were a Ministry Department in our own right, of course. It was
a stunning success, if I say so myself.”


“You should get together with my friend Hermione. She’s mad about libraries too!”


“She sounds like an excellent person. A pity she didn’t dissuade you from the dangers awaiting
you down here.”


“I’m afraid Hermione is here too. I just wish I knew that she was safe.”


“Nowhere is entirely safe down here, Harry Potter. Let us proceed with haste.”


“Yes, let’s,” agreed Harry. “Have you any idea how many men Voldemort has down here?”


“No, not really. Few venture into the old library. I have not been able to enter the reservoir
for some time now. Something is clearly going on in there.”


“Is that where the main Archive is kept?”


“Oh no. You see the documents are actually stored inside the rocks. That is why we ghosts are
ideal to maintain the library.”


“So, what is the underground reservoir used for?”


“Simply for the storage of physical things. At one time we held fabulous art treasures, but
lately we have become something of a scrap heap for all the Ministry’s rubbish that it cannot be
seen to throw away.”


“Um, Scenariste, if the mirrors had worked, could we have tapped into the archive?”


Scenariste chuckled and said, “You are not very subtle, Harry Potter.”


“Sorry,” Harry said smiling.


“When do you plan to tell me that we have to destroy my beautiful library?”


“Well, we can’t really leave it in Voldemort’s hands, can we?”


“Not even if I told you that he does not yet have true access?”


“What do you mean?”


“Well, he only has limited access in that so far he has only been able to read incoming and
outgoing messages. He has, however, been able to disrupt our outgoings but he can only remove
entire pages and scrolls. He cannot actually amend or rewrite the text, something that would be far
more useful to him.


“I believe that is why we ghosts have become rather rare down here. He’s trying to force us to
help him.”


“But what could he do to force a ghost to do anything?”


“Harry Potter, have you not heard how ghosts are created? I feared death too much to go on. We
are all afraid of something.”


“I’m sorry; yes, I was told something similar by another ghost. Is there no way you could get
out of here and raise the alarm at the Ministry?”


“I am unable to leave here. None of us has been able to leave, ever since the problems began.
Come, let us hurry to your friends.”




18. Fire
--------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 18 – Fire**


At long last, Harry reached the entrance from where he’d unwittingly begun his tour of the
labyrinth. It felt like ages had past since he had become parted from the others.


He walked along the corridor, back towards the bridge. It was slightly lighter here, but Harry
could still see Scenariste clearly floating beside him close to the wall.


From ahead there came a stifled cry and then a loud scream of agony.


Harry, knowing at once that someone was being tortured using a Cruciatus Curse, ran forward.
Scenariste dashed fearfully into the adjacent rock wall.


He could just make out the outline of a figure, their wand pointing down into an alcove.


Harry fired before the attacker had the chance to repeat the curse or do something worse. He had
been several yards away and running, but Harry’s curse hit them. Sprawling backwards, the figure
fell hard onto the stone floor.


He reached the alcove and saw the victim.


Anger surged through him as Harry raised his wand again. The Death Eater’s eyes widened behind
their black mask.


The screams of the Death Eater echoed around the corridor as Harry turned his attention entirely
back to the alcove.


“Are you okay?” he asked, watching the flames licking the writhing Death Eater reflected in two
enormous watery eyes.


Harry ripped his short cloak from his back and wrapped it around the trembling house elf.


“What are you doing here?” he asked gently.


“Dobby wanted to help Harry Potter.”


“Yes, but I forbade him to come.”


“That is why Kreacher came instead. Master did not forbid Kreacher from coming.”


“I didn’t think I needed to, actually.”


Kreacher suddenly looked up at Harry in alarm.


“What is it?” asked Harry as Kreacher shrugged off the cloak.


“Master must be careful not to give Kreacher clothes.”


“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re freezing. Put this on.”


“No! NO! *NO!*”


Harry wrapped Kreacher in the cloak and picked the whole struggling bundle up.


Ignoring the kicking and screaming, Harry shouted, “Scenariste? Come on!”


Kreacher continued to protest loudly, shouting. “No! No! No! Master needs Kreacher. Kreacher
wants.”


Now well past the bridge, Harry set Kreacher down and asked, “What did you say?”


“Master needs Kreacher.”


“No, the other bit. What does Kreacher want?”


Kreacher stamped his feet, trying not to answer.


“Alright, Kreacher, you don’t have to answer that. This place has been breached by Voldemort and
I’ve lost the others. Now is really not the time or place to have a tantrum, so let’s agree to
settle this some other time. Agreed?”


Kreacher became still and nodded.


Harry looked around for Scenariste but there was still no sign of him.


“How did you get down here, anyway? Can you Apparate down here?”


“No, but Kreacher is sneaky,” he replied with a smile. “Kreacher came down the staircase that
led to the great chamber. There were many men there, but Kreacher wasn’t seen.”


“Great chamber? I suppose that could be the reservoir.”


“Yes, Kreacher saw a water level gauge.”


“There were no staircases that led to the surface on the plans. I wonder if we could get out
that way? Kreacher, you haven’t seen Hermione or Ron have you?”


“Kreacher has not.”


“Climb up on my back and I’ll carry you. We need to hurry and find the others.”


Kreacher looked up at him most indignantly.


*


Harry peered cautiously around the corner. They were at the end of a passage that led into a
large lantern lit chamber, the far end wall of which was entirely covered in black curtains. Four
Death Eaters were standing guard and three of them were engaged in conversation.


He had no idea *how* he knew, but he was sure Voldemort was here in person tonight.


More than that, he was sure the Voldemort was waiting for him somewhere behind that very
curtain.


“Kreacher, you are to go another way around,” Harry whispered. “Don’t follow me. Try to find
your way out of here to safety. Try to help the others if you get the chance. Okay?”


The house elf nodded reluctantly as the Death Eaters’ laughter reached them.


Harry turned and made to walk out into the open when he felt Kreacher’s hand grab his arm.


“I’ll be fine,” whispered Harry. “Get yourself to safety.”


Kreacher looked quite distraught, but Harry knew he had no time to find out what his problem
was. Harry made no attempt to shake Kreacher off him and waited in silence for what seemed an age
for the house elf to let go.


Harry smiled and stepped out of the passageway. Casually he strolled towards the four Death
Eaters, who looked a little unsure what to do.


Harry decided to help them make up their mind. He fired quickly and confidently. Stepping
between the unconscious guards, he approached the curtain with growing apprehension.


He hesitated, suddenly uncertain why he was going in there to face Voldemort.


Instantly, the image of Dumbledore came into his mind bringing with it a feeling of renewed
purpose.


“*All of this has been planned by Dumbledore*,” he thought to himself. “*Dumbledore*
intended *for this to happen*.”


What was more, for one last time Dumbledore’s protection was extended to him. Dumbledore’s
Kemmynadow curse protected him against attack from Voldemort, or at least it would today. Unless,
of course, it had already been too long.


*“No. Trust Dumbledore.”*


Even so, Harry knew there was still an element of risk.


“*I mustn’t allow myself to be goaded or provoked. I must not attack him.*”


He needed to remember that Dumbledore thought the risk was worth it. Harry knew he was intended
to gain something from this encounter that had nothing to do with the Phoenix egg.


*“Whatever the real bequest was, it certainly isn’t the egg. Let the egg go if you need to.
There’ll be another time.”*


As Harry reached out to open the curtain, it occurred to him that both he and Voldemort had been
manipulated as easily as chess pieces across a board.


“*Dumbledore’s moves aren’t over yet*,” he mused to himself.


Harry stepped confidently into the darkened chamber beyond.


*


“Harry,” said a cold cruel voice from the shadows. “How nice of you to come.”


Harry spun around as lanterns on golden standards lit all around him to reveal Voldemort
standing in a heavy black robe before a small pedestal. No one else appeared to be there.


“How are you, Harry? It’s been *ages*.”


Harry walked towards the pedestal and Voldemort followed.


Something unseen appeared to sweep around the room as they got closer. The black and red
tapestries covering all the walls moved slightly as if a light breeze had passed through.


Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but there appeared to be a presence in the room with
them. He realised it must be an effect of the Kemmynadow curse.


They both looked down at the small golden egg. Harry hadn’t seen it clearly before, and he
couldn’t remember seeing any object that was quite so beautiful. The surface was covered with
swirling lines that formed patterns within patterns.


“He was a great wizard, Harry. I’ve always said so.”


“The greatest,” said Harry firmly, not troubling to look up at the sneer he knew would be on
Voldemort’s face.


“Tell me, Harry, do you know anything about the Kemmynadow?”


“I know a little.”


“Hmm,” said Voldemort thoughtfully, still gazing down. “Well, I suppose you had better just take
it.”


“It doesn’t work that way. You have to give it and I have to receive it. If I just took it the
Kemmynadow would attack me.”


Voldemort’s lipless mouth stretched into a wide smile.


“Oh, that’s right,” he said laughing softly. “So, you *do* know a little about it. How
interesting. I must admit, I’ve been trying to think of a way *not* to give this to you for
some time now. You see my dilemma?”


“Yes. Anything Dumbledore wanted me to have must be bad from your point of view.”


“Absolutely! Giving you this egg is entirely out of the question.”


“Won’t you have to? I mean, unless you’ve figured out a way around the Kemmynadow.”


“Well, I’ve been giving the matter some thought,” said Voldemort conversationally as they both
began slowly circling the pedestal. “If I keep it, then the Kemmynadow would indeed attack me.
Strong as I am, I would be foolish to allow that. In addition, the egg has its own inherent
dangers.”


Harry smiled.


“Ah,” said Voldemort softly, “I thought you’d have some connection. I suppose you can hear
things in the egg’s vicinity?”


“I can see things too,” admitted Harry. “But only sometimes.”


“Oh, shame. I suppose you know I’ve been feeding you false information about my intended
targets.”


“Not at first, you weren’t.”


“True. How does the connection work?”


“I’d rather not say. You might decide to begin a new campaign against the egg.”


Voldemort chuckled and said, “I might at that.”


“So, are you going to give it to me?”


“I thought I was clear on that point. No, Harry, I will not give you anything Dumbledore wanted
you to have. He had fun, taunting me with an object that is both immortal and charmed never to
leave me. I admit, he was clever. He knew I would be distracted by this thing. He was right, and,”
he added menacingly, “he has already given you something you needed so badly.”


“What was that?”


“Time, Harry. You need *time*.”


“Well, thanks to the Kemmynadow I can admit that,” said Harry with a cold smile.


Voldemort laughed a high unnatural laugh and Harry waited calmly, watching him closely all the
while.


“Yes!” cried Voldemort, clapping his hands with glee. “We won’t be able to kill each other
today. Perhaps another?”


“I look forward to it.”


“You know what the terrible irony of all this is?” asked Voldemort with a mischievous glint in
his red eyes. “I had no intention of duelling with you yet. Dumbledore has wasted both his and your
time; certainly not mine. We *will* fight, Harry, but not until Lord Voldemort is ready. The
preparations must be perfect.”


“Whatever,” replied Harry, in an indifferent and very annoying tone.


Irritation flashed across Voldemort’s features for a moment to Harry’s immense pleasure.


In that instant, Harry *knew*. He knew what Dumbledore had intended by arranging this
meeting. As the immensity of it threatened to overwhelm him, Harry fought to keep himself calm and
focussed.


Voldemort closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he was calm and back in
control of himself.


“Harry, don’t you want to know *how* I’m going to get around the Kemmynadow?”


“I don’t think you are, actually.”


Voldemort picked up the egg and held it in the palm of his hand.


“I can’t tell you how much I’ve grown to hate this thing.”


“No, it isn’t hatred you’re feeling; it’s fear,” said Harry calmly, knowing that this was one
time when Voldemort couldn’t attack him and risk the wrath of the Kemmynadow curse. “You’re
*afraid*.”


“Afraid? Lord Voldemort is afraid of nothing.”


“Really?” said Harry derisively. “Then why did you kill all those loyal servants the night it
was delivered to you?”


Voldemort snarled.


“You *are* afraid,” pressed Harry. “You’re afraid of *death*, you’re afraid of
*me*, you’re afraid of that *egg* and you’re *absolutely terrified* of what will
happen when it comes to me!”


“What do you imagine will happen, boy?” Voldemort span angrily. “Do you imagine powers to rival
Dumbledore?”


“No, I already have everything Dumbledore intended me to have.”


“Then why do you want it so badly?”


Harry laughed loudly and said, “Because it was a gift from Dumbledore. *That’s all*. It’s
just an egg. It is only of sentimental value to me and a continuing danger to you. Even so, I would
still accept it, even if it meant I would have to save you from the Kemmynadow.”


Harry had spoken the entire truth just then and Voldemort knew it.


Voldemort looked down at the egg, and for the briefest moment, Harry thought he might actually
hand it to him.


Voldemort pocketed the egg.


Harry sighed and said, “It’s a good job Dumbledore isn’t here. He’d probably die laughing. He
always rather enjoyed your bigger mistakes.”


“The Kemmynadow curse is an ancient magic, Harry. There is no way I could defend myself against
it *and* keep the bequest from you,” said Voldemort lightly, “unless,” he added in barely a
whisper, “I somehow got *you* to betray it first.”


Harry’s face dropped as Voldemort smiled widely.


“Oh, but Harry,” he added with mock concern, “I’m keeping you from your friends.”


A red satin curtain swept back to reveal a large stone arch leading to a short tunnel where
there was bright light. There was a sudden roar that sounded like a hundred thousand people
cheering.


Harry looked back. Voldemort and the egg had gone. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and ran
out into the Arena.


*


As Harry hurried down the tiers of stone steps that had been provided for seating all around the
Arena, he took a little encouragement from the fact that he had vastly over estimated the number of
cheering Death Eaters. He supposed that the enclosed space of the old reservoir caused them to
become amplified.


This was, however, probably the only good news.


Harry vaulted the low stone balustrade and dropped the six foot or so directly into the centre
of the Arena where his friends were fighting. All around the Arena were black banners emblazoned
with gold runic lettering.


The fighting area was simply vast in size and brightly lit from an unseen light source. He ran
full tilt towards the very centre, passing the bloody remains of one full size Giant. Half his head
had been blown off.


Unfortunately, there were three more Giants now attacking the group.


Seeing the others concentrating their fire towards the largest, Harry joined in as well.
Peppered with bullet wounds, the Giant was screaming with fury. Bateman ran up and threw a grenade
up towards the Giant’s head and Harry guessed that was the way they had killed the other one.


This Giant either knew better or had faster reflexes, though. He instinctively batted the
grenade away with his arm. The grenade flew off and exploded high over the crowd, killing and
injuring several.


Harry ran behind and pointed his wand at an area of bare skin behind the Giant’s knee. It was
one of the few parts of his body not protected by armour. At first, Harry thought his bone melting
curse hadn’t worked at all.


Then, with a pitiable scream, the Giant collapsed in a heap.


The remaining two Giants howled with rage and advanced at once to renew their attack.


Harry looked around desperately.


“Where’s Hermione?” he shouted.


“Got separated,” Bateman shouted back. “Hope went with her to find the Archive.”


Harry looked down. Smith was lying still on the ground, covered in blood. He couldn’t see
Carlyle anywhere, but the others were all on their feet and fighting. Ron was also doing his best
to patch up injuries between shots. Most of the injuries appeared to be caused by the Giants
throwing things; their favourite thing being stone blocks pulled out of the Arena wall.


“I’m almost out!” shouted Careem.


“I’m out!” shouted Duke throwing down his machine gun.


Bateman swore loudly as Voldemort stepped out onto the low balcony covered with a black silk
shade.


“Impeccable timing,” muttered Bateman through gritted teeth as he ejected an empty clip and
patted down his pockets.


The Death Eaters cheered madly as Voldemort and several Death Eaters made their way past the
seats to a clear area at the very edge of the Arena. Then he held up his hands for silence.


“Harry, can you get him from here?” asked Bateman.


“No, I can’t attack him and he can’t attack me. If either of us tries, the Kemmynadow Curse will
attack us.”


“My friends,” began Voldemort’s amplified voice, but he was interrupted by one of the Giants who
yelled out, clearly hadn’t realised that he was required to be quiet. There was a flash of green
light from the balcony and the Giant fell dead. The remaining Giantess then decided to withdraw and
keep quiet.


“That’s better,” said Voldemort silkily, lowering his wand again. “I do hope you’ve enjoyed the
entertainment so far. As you can see, my special guest Harry Potter has joined us for what will
hopefully be a memorable main event.


“First of all, let’s acknowledge the efforts of Harry’s Muggle friends. Unfortunately, their
ammunition, as I understand it’s called, is almost exhausted.”


As the polite applause mocked them, Bateman raised his riffle and fired his last full clip
directly at Voldemort.


Voldemort flicked his wand and three members of his audience flew out of their seats and into
the path of the bullets.


As their bodies fell to the ground, Careem fired an anti-tank missile directly at Voldemort. At
the last moment the missile veered off course and exploded in the middle of the crowd on the other
side of the Arena.


Debris from the explosion rained down on them as Bateman threw down his gun.


“I believe that was your last?”


As one, they all withdrew commando knives.


“Excellent!” said Voldemort. “We’ll get to you in a moment. Please, catch your breaths while
Harry and I resolve a small personal matter.”


Voldemort turned and made a beckoning signal to someone behind him.


“What is this about?” asked Bateman quickly.


“It’s a trick. He’s going to try and trick me into making the Kemmynadow Curse attack me.”


“How?”


“I don’t kn-,” began Harry. His final word caught in his throat as Hermione was led out beside
Voldemort.


On the ground, Smith stirred. Ron rushed over with Hagland to try and help him.


Up on the balcony, Hermione’s hand bindings were freed. She immediately removed her gag, looking
terrified but resolute.


Voldemort smiled and withdrew the golden egg from his pocket. Everyone was watching as, looking
directly at Harry, he played with it in his fingers for a long moment before lazily allowing it to
topple out of his hand.


Harry shouted, “No!” as soon as he realised what was happening. Hermione had instinctively
dropped down and had caught the egg just before it hit the ground.


Two Death Eaters next to her reacted quickly and pointed their wands directly at her, presumably
fearing she had lunged to attack Voldemort.


Anger flashed across Voldemort’s face.


“What did I tell you about not interfering?” he spat.


Instantly both of them fell forward, limply falling off the balcony.


Voldemort’s smile reappeared as he turned to face Harry.


Hermione was now crouched, holding the egg in both her hands. Tears were forming as she realised
what she had just done. She had taken the egg. The Curse would never allow that.


Without realising it, Harry had begun to walk forward from the moment he saw Hermione being
brought out.


He stopped a few feet away from the low balcony and felt the unseen presence of the curse brush
past him. The silk canopy began to ripple and the banners were being blown about.


Hermione slowly stood upright as her robes began to billow.


“Harry,” she said shakily. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t do anything. I know you’ll win in the
end; it’s just that I won’t be there with you to see it.”


Voldemort moved slightly, making sure that Hermione could see clearly as he ever so slowly
raised his wand.


“Remember, Harry. He *wants* you to attack him. He *wants* you to intervene.”


“Hermione,” said Harry, raising his wand.


“No, Harry,” she pleaded, clutching the egg to her heart. “I love you.”


As Voldemort began to say, “*Avada*,” they heard a strange sound.


“I love you,” gasped Harry as Voldemort paused, frowning now as someone behind him asked,
“*What was that*?”


“Oh, my,” exclaimed Hermione, her hands flying apart.


Just as Voldemort quickly uttered, “*Avada Kedavra!*” a green flash emanated from his wand.
In the same instant there was the briefest flash of golden light.


Hermione was utterly still. It was as if time has stopped. Harry was frozen with terror and
grief; any moment now she would fall down dead.


Voldemort was looking intently at Harry. He was clearly waiting and allowing Harry to soak up
every part of the terrible moment.


To Harry’s amazement though, Hermione looked around, stooped down to scoop something up at her
feet and then jumped down from the low balcony before anyone realised that she wasn’t actually
dead.


Hermione had to shake Harry to get him to move.


“You’re not dead,” he said blankly.


“Well, obviously. Harry, please can we go now?”


The crowd of Death Eaters appeared to notice that things were not quite going to plan before
Voldemort did.


“*Kill them! Kill them all!*”


Dragging Smith along, they all ran to the far side of the Arena.


Harry, though, stood his ground.


“Remember, the Kemmynadow is still in effect, Potter,” growled Voldemort.


As the remaining Giantess advanced towards him, Harry fired a well aimed Conjunctivitis Curse
directly at the Giant’s eyes. Howling with pain, she turned and continued to trample several Death
Eaters who had ventured down into the Arena.


Harry felt he was standing in a gale that only he and Voldemort could feel. Their robes alone
now were being pulled and blown by the invisible presence. Voldemort looked concerned but
defiant.


“You’re the only threat to me here,” shouted Harry. “I still want that egg, but this is your
last chance. After this, you’ll have to take your chances with the Kemmynadow. If you ever hope to
face me, you’ll need to give up the bequest.”


As Voldemort considered, Harry struggled to remain on his feet. He was now quite convinced that
something malevolent was passing close to his skin. He could something that felt like talons or
claws being drawn across his skin as it passed.


The moment lengthened and Harry began to feel cuts being made all over his body. His only
comfort was that Voldemort was feeling the same thing. As the pain increased, Harry felt a trickle
of blood fall down his arm.


Then Harry realised something. The Kemmynadow wouldn’t kill either of them, but it would induce
increasing amounts of pain and suffering. Voldemort had no fear of death, but might be less keen on
spending his remaining life in constant agony.


Voldemort picked up the delicate golden eggshell and muttered, “*Relinquo*!”


The remains of the egg flew out and landed in Harry’s outstretched left hand.


Harry took a deep breath and said, “*Yrfelaf eall geoffrian ond clyppan!*” before placing
the delicate eggshell fragments carefully in his pocket.


The presence seemed to vanish at once, leaving Harry to wish the pain he was in had vanished as
well.


Suddenly a shot rang out and Voldemort recoiled back. He looked around in shock as two more
shots were fired in quick succession.


At least one of the bullets fired by Terri Hope from high up in the stone tiers had struck him.
It was almost deserted up there with most of the crowd surging forward to see better. Voldemort
hadn’t been seriously hurt, and had been dragged away to safety before he could be hit again.


Harry looked around as the sight of mere Muggles wounding their invincible leader began to sink
in with the Death Eaters.


The balcony was deserted now; all save for a lone figure that now lifted his hood. Harry was
curious to know who this was who remained; and who wasn’t at all dressed like the other Death
Eaters.


Ollivander was grinning down at him. Harry raised his wand to fire but Ollivander didn’t flinch
at all. All he did was wink and nod once to draw Harry’s attention to something behind him.


Harry turned just in time to see a side door slide open on the far side of the Arena. He turned
back at once but OIlivander had now gone.


He ran back to join the others. They too were clearly aware that something very nasty was about
to come out of the door into the Arena. Bateman had them formed in a defensive circle a few yards
from the opening.


Terri stood to the fore, aiming directly into the wide open doorway. She was the only one with
any ammunition left.


There was movement in the shadows and suddenly Carlyle came running towards them from the
doorway. Terri jerked her rifle upwards, cursing that she’d almost shot at him.


“Where have you been?” demanded Bateman.


“You are not going to *believe* what they’ve got in there!” shouted Carlyle. “I’m clean out
of ammo. Who’s going to lend me some?”




19. Too Skinny
--------------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 19 – Too Skinny**


Harry hurried over to Ron who was having his head quickly bandaged by Hermione. It could only be
moments before whatever was about to be released into the Arena made its appearance.


“You okay?” he asked both of them.


“Yeah, I just forgot to duck,” said Ron.


“Has either of you seen Kreacher?”


“Kreacher?”


“Yes, he was here,” explained Harry.


“No, we didn’t see him.”


“He said there was a staircase that lead up to the outside. That’s how he got down here. He
mentioned seeing a water level gauge too.”


“There’s a staircase?” asked Ron incredulously.


“Hey, I’ve seen some kind of gauge,” said Carlyle. “It was through there,” he added, pointing
back towards the darkened opening from where he’d just escaped.


“Just exactly what is in there, anyway?” asked Bateman.


Harry stepped outside the circle, placing himself between the opening and his friends. With his
free hand, he felt inside his pocket hoping to feel the broken fragments of the Phoenix shell that
Dumbledore had bequeathed him. He knew he only had fragments, but even these were a comfort.


For a moment he wondered if he was looking in the wrong pocket.


Distracted, he looked down and hardly noticed the creature that had just entered the Arena.


Hermione stepped beside him and said, “Er, Harry? You still with us? Only there’s something
coming into the Arena.”


Hermione froze, having just seen what Harry was now holding in the palm of his hand.


“Goodness, Harry,” said Hermione, now just as distracted as he was.


Neither of them noticed as everyone else advanced in front of them towards the emerging
threat.


Harry held up his hand and Hermione took one of the two tiny golden eggs.


“*How do we kill it, Ron?*” Bateman was asking from somewhere out in front.


Harry glanced up, but couldn’t see what they were talking about with everyone standing in the
way. He looked down again.


“What does this mean, Hermione?”


“*Ron, I think that just made it angrier*,” said Bateman. “*Oh, great, now there are
three more coming out*.”


“Well,” answered Hermione, who wasn’t paying any more attention than Harry was, “the short
version would be that you now have two more reasons to live. You’ll have to wait for the long
version. Um, shall we help Ron?”


Harry pocketed the tiny egg and once more walked in front of his friends. The closest of the
giant scorpions that had been advancing on Ron turned to face him, sting arched menacingly over its
back.


Harry raised his wand, feeling the dark magic boil up inside him. He hesitated, though. The
thought of Hagrid’s reaction to the creatures occurred to him. Hagrid would have loved these
creatures; eight feet long with claws and stings!


Absently his fingertips found the tiny egg inside his pocket again and that was the moment that
he knew.


He couldn’t kill these creatures. They had been driven out into the Arena and were acting upon
instinct only.


It was time that *he* acted upon instinct too. With a wave of his wand he hoisted the
scorpion high into the air and tossed it lightly right into the middle of the remaining crowd who
scattered in blind panic.


He turned back to the remaining scorpions. Three had retreated back into the darkness and one
was in the process of also being hoisted up onto the stone seating tiers by Hermione. The final
scorpion hesitated before quickly turning and scurrying back through the doorway. Alarmed cries
came from inside the doorway at this.


“Hermione, did you find the Archive?” asked Bateman. “Did you install the mirror?”


“Well, I think I did find it,” she replied, “but the mirror didn’t work at all.”


“Oh, well. At least we tried. Let’s get out of here and warn the Ministry,” suggested
Bateman.


“Hermione, could you find the Archive again?” asked Harry.


“Yes, but why?”


“Can you take me there?” he asked. “This place is in chaos now, so the rest of you should be
able to get out without too much trouble.”


“No way, Harry. If you need to go to the Archive, we *all* go.”


Harry looked around in surprise to hear Smith say these words. He was leaning heavily against
Hagland now and still covered in blood.


“Lead the way, Hermione,” said Bateman.


*


The Archive was actually only a short walk from the Arena, once they had re-entered the old cave
system. Harry and Hermione entered while the others waited and stood guard at the entrance.


As soon as they entered, Harry shouted, “Scenariste, come out here!”


Harry looked up into the cathedral like space. Every inch of wall and column was covered in
elaborately carved marble.


Light streamed in through high windows. As the light was clearly coming from several different
directions at once they knew it was artificial sunlight.


On either side of the wide central aisle along which they walked, there were hundreds of reading
desks.


“Scenariste!” Harry shouted again, his voice echoing freely.


“I’m here,” replied Scenariste timidly.


“Show yourself,” demanded Harry. “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”


Scenariste appeared from within a circular column.


“This is Hermione Granger,” said Harry. “Hermione, this is Scenariste, one of the librarians
here who maintain the Archive for the Ministry.”


“You were here before,” said Scenariste. “I guessed you were the one who likes libraries when I
saw you.”


Hermione smiled and nodded.


“Scenariste, Voldemort and his followers will be leaving here shortly, mainly because the
Ministry should be here in force any moment now hopefully. In time, they should be able to restore
your links with London.”


“That would be pleasing, but without any staff the library cannot continue to function.”


“Well, perhaps you’ll need to do some recruiting. After all, you are Head Librarian now, aren’t
you?”


“I am?”


“Look, I really wanted to ask you something. We came here hoping to access the Archive. I know
we cannot gain access without your approval, but we still want access.”


“Muggle technology can be used to analyse the information,” said Hermione. “Trivial links can be
used to identify Voldemort’s allies and his potential victims. The Ministry is so disorganised,
Voldemort will always have the upper hand. We need to redress the balance.”


“It comes down to this,” Harry pressed. “Whose side are you on, Scenariste?”


“You know?” said Scenariste. “Just because the Ministry has not asked us to look for links and
patterns in our Archive, it does not mean that we cannot find them.”


“Really?” asked Hermione. “I just assumed you were as hopeless as the Ministry when it came to
organisation.”


“An understandable assumption. I do have some reservations about granting access to anyone
outside the wizarding community. Would it not be in all our best interests if the information
continued to be divested through the Ministry?”


“Not really, Scenariste.” said Harry. “Remember that your pleas for help were ignored by the
Ministry. I think that Voldemort has people working for him at the Ministry. If they could
intercept and block your messages, then they could also do the same for any other kind of
report.”


“I suppose that’s true,” admitted Scenariste, looking troubled.


Harry sighed and said, “Well, at least think about it, will you?”


“Um,” said Hermione. “Scenariste? Do you think we could see the Library? I mean, see it in
operation?”


Scenariste appeared to brighten up at once.


“Oh, yes indeed! I was just cataloguing and re-indexing the statistics on average rainfall for
1467 before all this nastiness began. Would you like to see?”


Harry was about to say, “*No!*” when Hermione nudged him and said enthusiastically, “Oh,
yes!”


Hermione followed Scenariste as he floated off over to one of the reading desks.


Harry was about to follow when he heard his name being called.


“Harry?”


Kingsley Shacklebolt was hurrying towards him.


“Thank goodness you’re all alive!”


“Um, are you here on Ministry business or Order business?” asked Harry with a smile.


“Strictly Ministry today, Harry.”


“How did you find us?”


“Well, your house elf managed to get out and raised the alarm.”


“Is Kreacher okay?”


“Yes, he’s safe. He said a ghost helped him and guided him out. By the time we arrived, most of
the Death Eaters had gone. We’re taking care of the remainder now.”


“Voldemort didn’t gain access to the Archive, but he did wipe out most of the ghost staff. He
also somehow closed down the links between here and the Ministry.”


“Ghosts?”


“Yes. They’ve been sending messages asking for help for ages. Someone at the Ministry has to
have intercepted those messages.”


“There can’t be many people who could be in a position to do that. I suppose it could be more
than one person too. Did you gain access to the Archive?”


“No, and I’m not sure we will yet,” admitted Harry. “By the way, the librarian over there told
us that they can actually do the same kind of analysis that Miss Alice was planning. It’s just that
no one ever asked.”


“Harry, I should really escort you and our friends out of here before someone decide to arrest
you for trespassing.”


“Okay, but let’s at least wait until Hermione’s tour is over. You never know, her charm
offensive might actually work.”


*


An hour later, the group was escorted back down to the Arena. High up on the tiers, a solitary
scorpion held a very wary group of Ministry wizards at bay. Several other giant scorpions had been
caged and were arranged neatly in the centre.


A large opening had been cut into the grassed over concrete roof of the old reservoir and bright
sunlight was now streaming inside.


The surviving Giantess had been manacled and was now moaning softly and stoking the head of her
fallen friend, the one that had been killed by Voldemort.


Harry stopped, moved by the creature’s grief.


Kingsley put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said gently, “Now isn’t the time, Harry.”


“What will happen to her?” asked Harry.


“I imagine that eventually she’ll be deported back East to the Urals.”


“I don’t think so,” said Harry seriously, striding over.


Kingsley made to grab Harry but he was blocked firmly by both Bateman and Duke.


Harry stood quietly for a moment. After a while the giant looked up at him and a hint of faint
recognition appeared in her eyes. Harry remembered that unlike her fallen friend, this Giantess
could think for herself.


As far as he could see, she was uninjured. He was pleased that his Conjunctivitis Curse hadn’t
had any lasting effect. He suspected her battle helmet had protected her from the worst of it.


Harry couldn’t tell if the battle marks on her armour had been sustained recently or not. Her
enormous helmet lay discarded at her side.


The Giantess suddenly raised her arms, her chains flailing wildly.


“Do you understand me?” Harry asked carefully.


The Giantess nodded, lowering her arms slightly.


“Voldemort killed your friend here. I am fighting Voldemort and anyone who fights for him. Will
you fight Voldemort or will you fight me?”


The Giantess shook her chains aggressively.


“I’m going to release you. If you choose to fight against Voldemort, there must be no more
fighting. No more killing. You will travel north to the mountains where you will wait until I call
you.


“If you choose to fight against me, I will not spare you. If you fight me and I win, *I will
kill you*.”


Harry took out his wand and with a slow and deliberate arm movement, severed one of the charmed
links in the chain which fell heavily to the floor. He was about to release her ankles when she
reached down and grabbed her leg chains. With a great heave the chain gave way. Clearly the extra
movement she had without her arms being bound made all the difference.


She stood and roared with anger. Everyone in the Arena was looking transfixed at the scene
before them.


She stopped and looked down. Pointing to the dead Giant between them, she said in a booming
voice, “*Bruder*”.


“T- That’s German for brother, Harry,” said Hermione timidly from just behind him. “I think he
was her brother.”


Harry nodded and realised he could see a vague family resemblance. She suddenly dropped to her
knees and brought her head down very close to Harry. Even on her knees she was very much taller
than Harry standing and she obviously wanted to take a very good look at him.


The Giantess pointed to herself and shouted, “Herita!”


Harry smiled and said, “Hello Herita, my name is Harry.”


She leaned even closer and sniffed deeply before straightening up and considering him again.
Harry assumed she was memorizing his features, and was a little surprised when Hermione looped her
arm through his.


Herita turned to look at Hermione.


“I think he’s a little too skinny for you, anyway,” said Hermione smiling nervously.


Herita got to her feet and in one fast movement ripped off her brother’s battered chest armour
and threw it aside. She grabbed his shirt and heaved him up over her shoulder. His back armour
clattered to the floor.


“She’s going to bury him,” Hermione said sadly.


Harry nodded as Herita walked under the roof opening and began to climb up the rope and netting.
Harry could only marvel at her strength as she carried her considerably bigger brother up into the
daylight.


“I suppose you expect me to assign a team to escort her up to Hogwarts for you?” said Kingsley
from just behind them.


“No,” said Harry at once. “I’d prefer it if Hagrid and Grawp come down to meet her first. That
way I know she won’t be mistreated. You might want to have a team trail them along the journey
north, though. There are bound to be some repairs and memory modifications to perform.”


“Have you any idea how much trouble there’s going to be when Scrimgeour finds out about
this?”


Harry turned to Kingsley ready to argue, but saw that he was grinning back at him. He winked at
Hermione and went off to find some wizards to watch over Herita.


*


They exited the Arena through the scorpion door, walking past large empty cages on either side.
The stench was appalling.


They were heading towards the staircase when Bateman opened a side door that lead into a
brightly lit white tiled lobby.


“Look familiar?” he asked, throwing the door open.


Harry realised with a shock of horror that it looked very familiar indeed. Harry led the others
as they followed Bateman inside.


Hanging up on a row of hooks were various surgical gowns and laboratory coats. There was a
strong smell of disinfectant.


There was a short passage that led to a surgical theatre and another corridor. The theatre
looked like it had not been used very recently, although glass fronted cupboards all around
contained gleaming surgical instruments.


“It looks like *The Healer* has been operating again,” Bateman said dryly.


“Ollivander was here,” said Harry, staring at the operating table in the centre of the room. “He
was on the balcony where Voldemort was.”


Duke, who had been exploring the other areas, appeared at the door looking white with shock.


Harry took one look at him and knew that he’d made a similar discovery to that when Harry and
Bateman had found Jack Gurnet and Alison Weston while they were attempting to rescue prisoners.


They all followed Duke in silence.


Instead of the bars on the caged rooms, the Healer had installed large glass windows. This was
presumably to better see the inmates, but mostly the insides of the glass had been smeared with
blood.


The first room was filled with brown coloured water. Several bloated bodies were floating face
down in the water.


The next room was empty save for the signs of a violent struggle. It wasn’t at all clear how
many people had left body parts behind in this room.


When Ron looked into the third room, he immediately backed away from the window. Turning to
leave, he got only four paces before he threw up.


With a shaking hand, Harry attempted to vanish the glass.


“Maybe the glass has something like an unbreakable charm,” said Hermione, making her own
attempt. Harry looked up and realised that far from being unaffected, she was simply not able to
look into the room. She wasn’t alone either.


Bateman was the only one other than Harry who refused to look away.


Harry looked around the window. The twelve foot wide continuous sheet of glass probably was
charmed, as Hermione had said. The glass was set into a concrete surround that Harry guessed would
not be charmed.


Harry traced the outline of the window with his wand and vanished the concrete. The glass fell
to the floor and Harry levitated it off to one side in one piece.


Bateman stepped inside. With the glass safely propped, Harry followed.




20. Traitor
-----------


**The Kemmynadow Betrayal**


*by Jardyn39*


**Chapter 20 – Traitor**


Bateman grabbed a green surgical robe from a bench and covered the lower part of the body lying
on the table in the middle of the room. From the other side, Harry reached out and pulled a flap of
the material so that it better covered the naked torso.


Immediately, blood began soaking through the thin material.


Even the robe could do little to hide what had been done to the Healer’s latest
"patient". Both legs had been crudely removed leaving the stump wounds open. Most of the
bleeding had been stemmed with tight metal bands that had cut into the flesh.


The body was propped up on some kind of iron cradle that tilted so that the head was facing
forwards towards the window. This cradle appeared to both restrain the victim from moving as well
as support body parts no longer entirely attached.


Harry assumed that some additional grafting had been planned, but he had no idea why the Healer
had cut away at the chest like that. The flesh had been pulled away and the rig cage must have been
removed because Harry had a clear view of the quivering heart as well as the lungs which were
inflating and deflating with shallow breaths.


“How can he still be breathing?” whispered Bateman. “You need chest muscles and a diaphragm in
order to breath.”


Harry had no idea how his lungs actually worked but managed to say, “They must have been
charmed.”


“So he might not be alive then,” Bateman suggested hopefully, lifting an eyelid to check if
there was any eye movement.


As Bateman touched the victim’s forehead, the figure lurched suddenly. The cradle creaked under
the strain as Falcon fought against it.


Falcon opened his eyes and looked around desperately. He was prevented from moving his head
properly by the cradle, and both Bateman and Harry instinctively moved to they were in his field of
vision.


Harry felt rather than saw Bateman take out his knife. This would be a mercy killing.


Falcon opened his mouth to reveal broken teeth and a badly lacerated tongue. He looked like he
was struggling to articulate something. As he strained, fresh blood trickled freely from his ear
and nose.


“What are you trying to say?” asked Bateman, watching Falcon mouth words.


Falcon took a deep breath and tried again.


“Traitor?” said Harry. “He’s saying *Traitor*!”


“Is he confessing?”

Harry shook his head. Falcon had a wild fearful look in his
eye.

Falcon was now mouthing different words.


“*Hidden journal*,” said Harry. “You’ve written a journal?”


“*Yes*,” mouthed Falcon, staring intently at Harry now.


“Did you break into the Secure Stores?” asked Harry clearly.


Falcon appeared to go into some kind of fit but appeared to relax as his eyes became unfocussed.
Harry knew he would not speak again. Eventually, Bateman checked his eyes and confirmed that he was
dead.


Harry nodded and pointed his wand at the still beating heart and uttered, “*Finite.*”


*


Bateman pulled Harry to one side while the others bid each other goodbye in the warm late August
sun. Around them, Ministry wizards were Apparating and then hurrying down into the staircase which
had been cunningly disguised as a giant pumpkin. Fortunately, either its remote location or the
repelling charms had prevented this unusual sight being noticed.


“Harry, until we find out who Falcon was talking about, I don’t want you to pay any more visits
to the London facility.”


“Okay, I understand.”


“I’m also going to ask Kingsley to modify our memories.”


“What?” asked Harry incredulously.


“Not everything, but I want to be sure we can’t disclose anything that could be used against you
personally.”


“There must be another way. Besides, if there is a traitor won't they already know
everything about me?”


"Actually, no. We've been very careful with what we recorded with regards to you. Don’t
worry, we’ll continue the fight against Voldemort.”


“I was more sorry that I might lose your friendship.”


“I’d rather lose your friendship than become the cause of your downfall.”


“Memory modifications can be broken,” said Harry.


“Only by wizards,” said Bateman reminded him gently. “Falcon said there was a traitor. That can
only mean he suspected someone non-magical.”


“I wonder where his journal is?”


“Well, that will be our first priority.”


“Maybe Miss Alice can think of something.”


“Harry, at this moment in time, *nobody* is above suspicion. We have the advantage in that
hopefully we are the only ones to know about it at present.”


“Is it possible he has already given that information up to the Death Eaters?”


“Yes, but he didn’t look like he was being tortured for information.”


Harry sighed deeply and Bateman gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze.


“Look at what we’ve achieved, Harry. Two worlds have fought as allies. We’ve given the enemy a
scare and seriously disrupted their plans. What’s more,” he added quietly, “we almost got him,
didn’t we?”


Harry nodded and remembering something, reached into a shoulder pocket.


“I want you to take this,” he said, handing Bateman a large gold coin. “It is important that you
remember to keep this. Messages will appear on the blank side, although you probably won’t remember
who is sending them. The messages will have to be quite short, but I’ll be able to at least contact
you if I need to.”


Bateman examined the coin carefully.


“What’s this on the other side?”


“That’s a Phoenix motif. Hermione made these coins especially so we can communicate, but
obviously you’ll only be able to read yours. The coin will glow hot when a message appears.”


Harry waved his wand over the coin.


“Messages can only show themselves while you are holding the coin. If you lose that hand,
there’ll be no more messages.”


“Thanks, Harry. I’ll make an effort to make sure I lose my other hand first.”


Harry snorted.


“These must be pretty useful, especially if they work around places with magic.”


“Well, it would have been useful, if I had remembered I was carrying it,” admitted Harry
sheepishly.


*


They returned to the Burrow later that afternoon. Harry stayed only long enough for a change of
clothes and to assure Mrs Weasley that they were fine.


Harry Apparated straight into the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He tapped on the boiler
room door and said quietly, “Kreacher?”


There was no response.


Harry opened the door slowly, wondering if the house elf was asleep, but found his nest under
the boiler empty.


He closed the door again and turned to look upstairs, when something caught his eye. He reached
into the bin and pulled out a twisted silver picture frame. Still in the bin was the backing, bent
in two and the torn up remains of the photograph was in there too.


“Pardon Dobby, Sir, but will Harry Potter be requiring anything?”


“Hello Dobby,” said Harry. “What happened to Kreacher’s photograph?”


“Kreacher did it, Harry Potter,” said Dobby sadly. “He seemed upset.”


“Where is he?”


“Upstairs, Sir, in the attic. Shall I fetch him?”


“No, I’ll go and find him.”


“I hope Harry Potter isn’t annoyed with Dobby, Sir. Dobby didn’t want to stay behind.”


“No, Dobby. You did exactly what I wanted.”


Harry climbed the staircase right to the very top of the house until he found the entrance to
the attic. He opened the narrow door and entered.


It took a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Closing the door behind him,
he walked slowly across the bare floorboards.


Kreacher was lying curled up in an old dog basket, apparently fast asleep.


Harry sat down on the floor and leaned back against a large tea crate. Judging by the little he
could see of Kreacher, the house elf appeared to be unhurt.


Content, Harry sat in silence; watching over Kreacher and thinking about recent events.


*


Harry found the stillness and quiet in the attic to be rather comforting. He didn’t feel
inclined to move at all for several minutes. Finally, the hard floor and his tired muscles prompted
him to stretch out a little.


“How long have you been awake?” he asked, seeing Kreacher watching him carefully.


Kreacher sat up and said, “Kreacher does not have a watch.”


“You okay?” asked Harry. “Hey, what happened to you arm?” he added, seeing Kreacher’s
bandages.


“Kreacher was hurt at the top of the staircase but managed to raise the alarm.”


“Yes, I heard. Thanks for that.”


“Did Master find his friends?”


“Yes. They’re all okay. Kreacher, what happened to your photograph? I saw what was left in the
bin downstairs.”


“Master does not like Miss Bellatrix.”


“No, I don’t much. I wouldn’t want you to throw something you liked away just because of
that.”


The elf did not answer at once.


“Kreacher,” he said slowly, “does not like Miss Bellatrix much either now.”


“What happened?”


“Kreacher is afraid.”


“What, of Bellatrix? I don’t think she’ll find you here.”


“Kreacher is afraid of something Miss Bellatrix said. Miss Bellatrix said Kreacher is cursed;
that the Kemmynadow will get Kreacher.”


“What?” Harry exclaimed. “First of all, tell me when she said this.”


“It was Miss Bellatrix who injured Kreacher. She caught Kreacher at the top of the reservoir
stairs. Kreacher was kicked right down to the bottom again. Kreacher only got away because the
ghost distracted Miss Bellatrix. It sounded like the Dark Lord wanted all the ghosts captured and
they chased it.”


Harry took a moment to calm himself.


“Kreacher, why would you think you could be affected by the Kemmynadow curse? That would only
happen if Dumbledore gave you something that he intended to bequest to me.”


Kreacher looked up at Harry fearfully.


“He *did* give you something?” said Harry getting to his knees.


Kreacher began to tremble.


“Listen,” Harry said gently. “All you have to do is give whatever it is to me. You’d be safe
then. Once the Kemmynadow curse is lifted, I promise I’ll give whatever it is straight back.”


“Miss Bellatrix told Kreacher that he was doomed. It has been too long. Miss Bellatrix laughed,
saying the curse would now kill us both if Kreacher gave it up.”


“How did she know you had anything to give me?”


“She said the Dark Lord knows everything.”


“Rubbish,” Harry said at once. “If Voldemort knew everything he’d have ducked instead of getting
shot today.”


“Why did Master promise to give the item back to Kreacher?”


“I just assumed it was something you wanted to keep.”


“Kreacher only kept it to annoy Master.”


“Can I see it?” asked Harry, adding with a smile, “I can’t really be annoyed unless I know what
it is I’m missing.”


“Kreacher lost it,” the elf said timidly. “Kreacher didn’t know about the curse. Kreacher threw
it away.”


“What was it?”


“Something Master would have treasured. It was a letter from Dumbledore.”


Harry looked down. Yes, he would have treasured a letter from Dumbledore.


“Listen. The letter *wasn’t* cursed. Dumbledore asked someone else to give a piece of
parchment to me, and that wasn’t cursed. Besides, it isn’t possible to lose any Kemmynadow object.
It would have kept coming back to you.


“More than that though, there is no way that Dumbledore would have allowed a curse to harm you.
He knew how much you’ve suffered at the hands of your Masters. There is no way he would add to
that.


“You know what? I bet he even knew you’d lose it. It probably just said, *Dear Harry, Just
wanted to try out my nice new quill. Please throw this away will you*?”


“Master is lying to Kreacher.”


“Why would I do that?”


“Kreacher read Master’s letter. Dumbledore told Kreacher what was in the letter, but Kreacher
did not believe him. Kreacher was sure the letter told lies about him. Dumbledore wrote about
Kreacher and Dursleys.”


“What did he say?”


“Kreacher is too ashamed to tell. Dumbledore told the truth about Kreacher, but by then Kreacher
had opened the envelope and broken the seal.”


“What did he say about the Dursleys?”


“Master is angry with Kreacher.”


“No, not angry. I won’t pretend that I’m not very disappointed not to have Dumbledore’s letter.
I don’t blame you for wanting to annoy me, though. I wasn’t exactly pleased to have you, and I know
I should have treated you better in the beginning.”


“Does Master want Kreacher to punish himself?”


“I thought we were clear on the whole self punishment thing? Living in the same house as the
Dursleys is punishment enough for anybody.”


Kreacher looked almost disappointed.


“Is it me or does this attic seem *over clean* to you? I must tell Dobby to go easier on
all the house cleaning.”


“Dobby didn’t clean up here. Master’s Aunt has been house cleaning. Kreacher just stays out of
her way.”


“I don’t blame you. So, you ready for dinner?”


“Kreacher will eat when Master orders it,” the house elf said with the merest hint of a
smile.


Harry rolled his eyes and followed Kreacher downstairs.


“Kreacher, you remember when I gave you my cloak?”


“No! Harry Potter is mistaken. Master did not give Kreacher anything! Nothing at all, and
especially not clothes!”


“Okay,” said Harry, completely taken aback at how upset the elf suddenly appeared to be. “Okay,
I didn’t give you anything,” he agreed.


*


That evening, the Weasleys, Hermione and her parents jointed Harry and the Dursleys at Grimmauld
Place for a celebration dinner. It took Harry quite a while to collect them all since none of them
knew how to find the building now that the new Fidelius Charm was in effect.


Guest of honour, of course, was Kreacher who was required to give several blow-by-blow accounts
of his adventure.


Out of respect for Harry’s wishes, no magic at all was performed in front of the Dursleys. Even
Fred and George managed to behave themselves, for the most part.


Late that evening, Harry found himself thumbing uninterestedly through the latest edition of the
Evening Prophet.


-


**YOU-KNOW-WHO FORCED OUT OF SECRET MINISTRY ARCHIVE**


*Several low ranking Death Eaters captured.*


*Minister Scrimgeour assures public that Kent Archive remains secure and no information
lost.*


*Rumours persist that Muggles evicted He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before Aurors arrived at scene.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named possibly wounded by charmed Muggle projectile. Alarm raised by Harry
Potter’s house elf. Potter unavailable for comment.*


*Latest: New Giant sighting in Midlands.*


-


Harry threw the paper into the bin as Aunt Petunia entered the kitchen.


“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she began uncertainly. “It concerns
Dumbledore.”


“Yes?”


“You may recall that he stayed downstairs with us while you packed your things last summer.”


Harry nodded.


“Well, he told us something. He asked if we were at all curious about this house. He said that
by using the information he had mentioned, and would mention, in front of us he had effectively
compromised your security.”


Harry frowned and said, “He actually said that?”


“He even wrote the address down for us to read, just so we wouldn’t forget.”


“Did he say *why*?”


“Yes. He said that by doing so, he was placing *our* lives in *your* care in the event
that anything happened to him. Of course, I thought for a long time that he’d done exactly the
opposite.”


Harry nodded slowly.


“He was right though, Harry. Our lives have been in your care for some time now, even though I
can’t imagine how we’ve come to deserve it.”


Harry didn’t answer. He no longer felt the need to.


*


A few days later, Harry sat alone in the living room at the Burrow trying to decide what his
first message to Bateman should be. Beside him was the second gold coin that Hermione had made for
him.


Although Harry had been expecting the news that confirmed that their memories had been modified,
he was still saddened to think that he had been erased from John Bateman’s memory. He was sorry
that all of his team would no longer know him, but he would especially miss Bateman’s friendship
and good advice.


As if seeking some inspiration, Harry took out the small golden egg that he now carried around
with him constantly. Every time he looked at it he was sure the intricate patterns in the surface
had changed. It was unusually heavy too, feeling like it was made from solid gold.


Hermione came into the room and immediately sat down close to him on the settee.


She reached into her pocket and took out her own Phoenix egg.


“Mine’s bigger than yours,” boasted Harry with a grin.


Hermione snorted and held them up together. Harry’s egg was indeed very slightly bigger, being
almost an inch at its greatest length.


“So, are you going to explain all this to me yet?” he asked.


“I half hoped you would work it out for yourself, actually.”


“Not a clue, Hermione.”


Hermione gave a little involuntary squeak. She pulled the neck of her oversized jumper out and
peered down inside.


“Hey, behave you! That scratched.”


“You shouldn’t encourage it, Hermione.”


“Well, she likes the warmth.”


“It is definitely a *she* then?”


“I’m not entirely sure, but when I read out the names I’d short-listed for her, she only
responded to Phryne and that is traditionally a female name.”


“You let it name itself?”


“Of course. How would you like to be practically immortal and be called by a name you didn’t
like?”


Hermione was fumbling around inside her jumper as she spoke. Eventually, she brought out a tiny
chick that was incredibly ugly.


“Poor, Phryne,” cooed Hermione as she stroked the bird. “Fancy being all burned up the very
second you hatched from your egg.”


In truth, Harry was a little miffed that the new-born Phoenix that Dumbledore had bequeathed to
him, presently preferred the company of Hermione. Of course, if the bird continued to protect her
against killing curses, he wouldn’t remain too unhappy.


Besides, Crookshanks, who had taken only mild interest in the new arrival, had recently taken to
following Harry around in preference to Hermione.


“Phryne?”


“Yes, after the Greek courtesan not the place, obviously.”


“Er,” said Harry, wondering how obvious this really was but deciding the sensible thing to do
would be just to say, “Fair enough. *Phryne* it is, then. So where did these eggs come
from?”


“I’m not entirely clear on why there were *two* eggs, to be honest. The standard texts
always describe the Phoenix as an immortal creature that is re-born out of fire. Phoenix eggs are
incredibly rare and were assumed to hatch in fire as well, but we now know that isn’t correct. Or
at least, not correct for our Phryne.”


She turned to look up directly at him.


“Phryne was hatched out of *love*, Harry. In Voldemort’s hands, she could never have been
born.”


“But the eggs?”


“I think that when Fawkes was born, another tiny egg was also created. Dumbledore kept it and
nurtured it until it grew to the size it was when it was bequeathed to you.”


“So, when Phryne hatched, her shell did the same thing as Fawkes’ shell?”


“Absolutely. With love, the eggs will grow until, hopefully, they will be ready to hatch. That’s
why yours is bigger than mine is. You showed caring and compassion to Herita and Kreacher. Don’t
worry though, I’ll soon catch you up.”


“So could the eggs get smaller again?”


“Without love? Yes, I see what you mean. I don’t really know.”


“Don’t worry, Hermione. As long as they stay anywhere near you, they’ll never stop growing.”


Hermione blushed and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.


It occurred to Harry that if she was right about how Phryne hatched, then it actually made sense
that there would be two eggs rather than one. Just at the moment before Voldemort performed the
killing curse, Harry had felt Hermione’s feelings and she had felt his. Perhaps the strength of
feeling made the difference.


“Dumbledore was taking an awful risk, wasn’t he?” said Hermione. “I mean, having Voldemort give
you his bequest.”


“Well, not entirely. The Kemmynadow curse protected me, probably even more than we still know. I
don’t think Voldemort could even take a chance of ordering my death while the Kemmynadow was in
effect. Dumbledore gave me a little more time to prepare as well as face Voldemort without fear for
myself.”


“Was it really worth the risk?”


“Definitely. I’ve seen how afraid Voldemort is for myself now.”


“I’m glad you think so, Harry. He didn’t seem very afraid to me.”


Hermione sighed and said, “Dumbledore might at least have told you about what he had done.”


“I think he might have tried,” said Harry, thinking about Kreacher’s letter.


They were quiet a moment.


Seeing the gold coin still resting on the arm of the settee, she said, “You’ll miss him, won’t
you?”


“I do already.”


“You don’t need to decide upon a message today, Harry.”


“I have decided, I think.”


He picked up the coin and etched his short message using his wand.


“What is that number?”


“It’s his daughter’s telephone number. Kingsley got hold of it for me.”


Harry looked up to see Hermione looking a little misty eyed. He raised up his arms and pulled
her towards him. As they kissed, both ignoring the protests from Phryne for more attention, their
two Phoenix eggs began to sing.


THE END


*AN:*


*Well, that’s (almost) it for this part. Thanks for reading and for your kind reviews. I am
planning a third part which will introduce a new perspective to the struggle.*


Update: Part Three of this story is called
The Final Lesson.

**Summary for The Final Lesson:-**


While Ron’s recent associations become of increasing concern to his friends and family, Harry
becomes embroiled in an investigation to identify the traitor responsible for Voldemort’s recent
successes. Soon Harry and his Muggle friends cross paths again and together they try to solve the
mystery before the Ministry becomes overrun by Voldemort’s supporters. Harry comes to suspect there
is more going on than he’s been told. Continuation of The Kemmynadow Betrayal.


The
Introduction and Character Profiles are
here and the first Chapter is here.



21. The Armourer's Lament
-------------------------


**Part Three**


*by Jardyn39*


UPDATE*: Please note update at foot of this Chapter.*


**Introduction**


*I propose to continue this story into a third part. As it will take me some time to complete
this one (I haven't even decided on the title yet), but I thought you might like a little
taster in the form of the opening to the first chapter:-*


**Chapter 1 - The Armourer's Lament**


*Almost three months have passed since the raid on the Archive ...*


Mary
Happell climbed the steps up towards the open air from the
ticket hall of the underground tube station. She wasn't at all comfortable travelling by tube,
especially at this time of the early evening when commuters were hurrying to get home on the
overcrowded London Underground.

As much as she hated being jostled, she felt much safer just recently as an anonymous traveller
amongst many.


She paused a moment, waiting for the people in front to push their way forward through the
throngs of people trying to move down the steps at the same time.


Being fairly petite and generally polite in public, Mary never did any pushing herself, of
course. However she willingly followed close behind any impatient commuter that was prepared to
barge their way through.


This evening, she was following two male students who sounded like they were meeting some
friends in a bar at street level.


Looking down, Mary noticed the dirty white floor tiles were dry. *At least it wasn't
raining this evening*, she mused.


Then, as expected, one of the students ahead of her lost his patience and ended the impasse with
an aggressive shove, ably assisted by his friend. Mary hurried up the steps behind them before the
space they created was filled by more irritated travellers.


The welcome smell of fresh cool air was the first sign that they were nearing the top of the
steps.


She followed the two students through the slightly less packed crowd of people waiting to
descend, but unfortunately they went straight into the first Public Bar door they came to. Picking
her way more slowly through the remainder of people, she was soon walking along a busy high street
at a comfortable pace.


A red double decker bus passed her at speed, its diesel engine straining under acceleration and
drawing Mary's attention. The internal lights on the packed bus were blazing.


It was getting dark, something that wasn't immediately obvious under the glare of the
floodlighting around the station entrances. She checked her watch to confirm that it was later than
she thought.


She quickened her pace for a few yards but gradually slowed again while she decided what to do.
She had remembered that she had virtually nothing to eat in her flat. Mary decided to take a slight
detour to a delicatessen two streets away. If she hurried she would get there just before it
closed.


*


Mary climbed the short flight of smooth stone steps to her apartment building close to the
highly polished brass handrail and entered the lobby through the glazed hardwood doors.


As usual she scowled down at the nylon entrance matting that had replaced the traditional coir
mat, much to her disapproval.


She was about to say good evening to the Night Porter when he looked up from his desk.


"Where is Charles?" she asked at once.


"Charles, Ma'am?" he asked with a slightly confused look on his face. "Oh,
sorry, you mean Charlie?"


"Indeed," agreed Mary. She was perhaps the only person to call the affable regular
Night Porter by that name. She couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been on duty.


"Charlie had a dental appointment this afternoon. I'm staying on for a couple of hours
until he gets in. Is there anything I can do for you, Ma'am?"


Mary took in the photocard security identification badge he wore and said, "No, thank you.
Please tell Charles that I hope his dental appointment went well. Good evening to you."


"I'll do that, Ma'am. Good evening."


Mary opened the glazed door that led to the lift lobby and stepped inside, fumbling through her
handbag for her pager. The badge on the new Porter looked genuine, but she should have received a
message from the building security manager of any change to the usual staffing.


Out of view from the reception desk, she pulled out the pager and glanced at the fire exit that
would be her means of escape if there were no confirmation message.


She absently pushed the lift call button as she tried to remember the buttons on the pager she
needed to press to review her messages.


Her new pager was much smaller than her previous one but also much heavier. It also went through
batteries at an extraordinary rate.


The messages scrolled slowly across the single line display. Every time she pressed the pager
button to hurry it along it reset and began to display the first message over again.


Just as the lift pinged to announce its arrival, she found the message. It had been sent earlier
that morning and had been hidden behind the four pointless meeting reminders that had irritated her
so much earlier. *Since when had she ever been late for a meeting*? To make matters worse, she
had no idea how to erase the offending messages.


She read the text as it scrolled across the small readout. The clearance code for the
replacement Porter had her prefix. She must have personally vetted his security application to work
in the building, although she didn't recognise his face at all.


She entered the lift and pressed the button for the third floor before standing with her back to
the concealed video camera at cornice level.


As the lift began to rise, Mary looked into the large bronzed mirror above the handrail.


Even though the warm lighting gave her reflection a flattering appearance, she still looked
tired and careworn.


Just lately, when she looked at her reflection, she wondered who she really was these days.


Was she really the same woman who, with boundless energy, used to arrive for work two hours
early just so she could have the choice of the analyses that the night-long computer runs
produced.


She smiled sadly to herself. She hadn't done that in a very long time. Of course, these days
she could pick and choose her own assignments.


Mary found herself frowning, annoyed with herself. The days of choosing her own areas of study
and endeavour were over for the foreseeable future, anyway.


The lift came to a gentle stop and the doors opened silently.


With one final look back at the persona she no longer felt she was, Mary exited and walked the
short distance along the corridor to her flat door.


She unlocked the heavy metal faced front door and entered quickly in order to tap in her
ten-digit pass code into the beeping pad next to the door. The beeping stopped and a green light
came on above the pad.


Mary dropped her things to take off her coat and hang it up in the small closet before heading
for the kitchen.


As soon as she entered the kitchen, she felt something wasn't quite right.


She didn't know what it was exactly. Everything looked in its place, although there was
actually very little evidence that anyone actually lived in the small flat.


Mary pushed open the door leading into the dining and living room area and made to switch on the
lights.


Before her fingers found the switch, however, there was a small click and a table lamp was
switched on.


"Good evening, Miss Alice."


Mary froze. Being called by that name outside of work was almost as shocking as discovering
someone inside her flat.


Mary's pseudonym of Miss Alice had been given to her by the senior administrator of the
first high security complex she ever worked in. He had compared her to Alice, such was the wonder
she had with everything that went on there.


Somehow the name stuck, and now probably only a handful of people at her workplace knew her real
name.


Inwardly furious with herself that she hadn't been more vigilant, she stepped towards the
seated man who was entirely too big to be sitting in her favourite high backed reading chair. Lying
next to the lamp on the side table next to him was an automatic handgun.


"Well, this is a surprise, Bear," she replied, mustering her self control and casually
opening her handbag. "I quite thought you had vanished from the face of the planet."


"Really?"


"By the way, you know you have less than ten minutes, don't you? If I don't check
in soon an alarm will be raised."


"I estimated five minutes, but that will be from when you get home."


Mary looked in her handbag again.


"Missing something?"


"You know I am," spat Mary, thinking furiously what had happened to her tracer. She
stopped looking, seeing the smile that crossed Bateman's face.


"It was lifted from you on the tube. I imagine that anyone taking an interest in your
movements will realise that you are now doing some evening shopping."


"Dare I ask what you did with Charles?"


"I promise you he's fine. He genuinely had a training day today."


"*I'm sorry I got you killed Charles*," she thought unsteadily. "*I
hope it was quick*."


She crossed the room and sat in the matching chair opposite Bateman, thinking through her
options.


The small tracer was an electronic radio device that could detect her progress along certain
pre-defined routes. So long as she kept moving and within expected areas, like her normal route to
and from her place of work, no alarm would be raised.


Few people knew she carried it, though. But then, Bateman was very well informed having somehow
gained access to the most secret information. Compared to the other information that had been
obtained, her personal security arrangements were hardly a challenge.


"I suppose you disconnected the alarm pad as well?" she asked.


"Naturally. The newer ones are harder to crack, but with yours we just had to make the
little green light come on."


"May I get you a drink?" she asked.


Bateman laughed and shook his head.


Miss Alice couldn't stop herself from smiling guiltily back at him. She was teetotal
herself, but had always kept a generous supply of alcohol on display in all her residences. The
drinks were all spiked, of course. She had caught no less than three intruders in her unsecured
bed-sit a few years back.


"So, how did you enjoy *The Willow*?" he asked conversationally.


Mary reeled inwardly. Even the name of the Willow was a closely guarded secret. Hardly any of
the staff working there knew its code name, even.


*The Willow* was an exclusive safe house where selected national security suspects were
detained under round the clock guard. The house and grounds were luxurious and staff were in
attendance to cater for the residents' every whim.


A particular branch of the secret services ran four such residences, only three of which were in
the United Kingdom. The Willow was situated in the county of Suffolk and was the only one they
denied existed even to other branches.


Mary had been very surprised that she rated such an exclusive interrogation in a place normally
reserved for *the great and the good* that were suspected to have strayed.


As pleasant as the grounds and cuisine had been, Mary had hated every minute of the six weeks
she had been trapped there. She had been apprehended quietly and with a minimum of fuss early on
the Monday morning immediately after the raid on the Archive.


She guessed at once that the raid had not gone to plan, but being isolated from any news or
contact with the outside world she had been left to fret about what had actually happened.


One of the things that annoyed her intensely was the soft approach her interrogators took. She
had been there almost four weeks before they even bothered to talk to her at all. When they did,
they seemed almost disinterested in anything she had to say.


The thing that really concerned her was that as Miss Alice, she hadn't given a very good
account of herself. She had decided not to volunteer any information and would instead answer
questions honestly but succinctly. The problem was, their questions never gave any hint at all that
her interrogators knew anything at all about neither the magical community nor her work for the
Prime Minister.


Mary knew she had to at least try and keep the dialog with Bateman going.


"The Willow? Well, the grounds were very pleasant."


She had spent as much time as possible out walking during her spell there. Most of the day she
could hear unseen tanks trundling around the surrounding firing range and occasionally loud bangs
of shells being fired could be heard.


"I understand the Chef there is quite excellent. Apparently he could have got a television
series on the strength of his Salmon Linguine alone."


"Really? I found him rather tiresome myself. Still, I did rather enjoy pretending to be
indifferent to the meals Robert prepared."


"Robert?" asked Bateman. "I thought his name was Bobby?" he added, knowing
she was testing just how much he really knew.


"Still, I shan't miss the place," said Mary truthfully, adding, "not when I
can have microwave meals from the corner shop instead."


Bateman smiled pleasantly and nodded.


All she could think was, "*Why hasn't this traitor killed me yet*?"


"I suppose you know what I've been up to?" she asked conversationally.


"Not really. I know they let you return to some analytical task, but that's
all."


"Well, I would hardly call it a task. I'm sure they destroy my reports before reading
them."


"While you remain under suspicion, it's inevitable that people are going to be over
cautious."


They were quiet a moment. All the while Mary calculated. Bateman's gun had no silencer. How
quickly could he grab the gun and shoot her? *Very quickly*, was her immediate conclusion. He
was a soldier, first and foremost. He'd killed many times before, a few were even on her
orders, although he hadn't known it at the time.


*He's a soldier, not a spy*, she told herself. Bateman had never been a cold blooded
killer, even before he'd become a traitor. *But when was that exactly? And what now*?


She shifted slightly and spoke to distract him from her arm movement.


"They didn't tell me anything that happened at the Archive. Were there any
casualties?"


"We sustained a couple of injuries. The worst was Carlyle's broken arm. He fell in the
cave system on the way there."


"I see. Well, I'm glad that you all made it out of there. You went back for him after,
did you?"


"No, he came with us."


Mary frowned and asked, "But how did you get him through the caves? He must have been quite
a burden for the rest of you. He was your most experienced climber, wasn't he?"


"I don't remember how he did it. He just did, that's all."


"And the others?"


"Others?"


"Yes, Harry, Ron and Hermione?"


"We went in alone," said Bateman firmly.


"So, you really don't remember?" said Mary to herself.


"Were you able to tap into the Archive?" she continued.


"Unfortunately not. Voldemort had breached the place before us and we had to fight our way
out."


"Really? How interesting."


Bateman looked completely relaxed but was watching her very closely. She shivered thinking how,
only a few short months ago she considered him to be one of her best friends. Certainly, he was one
of the most trusted.


The question why he had turned traitor had obsessed her ever since her detention.


It was an absurd notion. Bateman a traitor? *Impossible, but who else could it be*?


"I must say just this," she said at last.


Bateman raised his eyebrows enquiringly.


"I just wanted to say, how much I admired the way you did it. Not *what* you did,
obviously. You managed to obtain the most secret information we had from right under my nose and
then you got clean away to leave me implicated as the main suspect. Quite exceptional."


Bateman didn't react at all, but listened in silence.


"But, you know? The best thing, no, the *brilliant* thing, was having them modify your
memory like that. You had erased all the physical evidence and then you had them erase your own
memory evidence. Right now even *you* believe *I'm* the one who betrayed us,
isn't that right? You'd pass a lie detector test with flying colours, I'd
expect."


Bateman frowned slightly and in the instant that he hesitated Mary threw open the hidden
compartment under the padded arm rest and grabbed the handgun concealed there.


He reacted quicker than she thought possible, and then they were sitting a few feet apart, each
aiming a gun to the other's head.


Mary's hand shook slightly, unlike Bateman's. She knew she couldn't miss at this
range, but if she fired he would react out of instinct. His trigger finger would shoot the gun as
soon as he heard her shot. He wouldn't miss.


The question was, *could she do the same*? She might not even fire the gun.


Mary remembered the first time she had ventured down to the firing range. The armourer had been
furious when, out of shear shock when the adjacent person had fired, she had just dropped the
gun.


She had received her first and only reprimand for using her parity rank to get herself some time
on the firing range. Analysts never had any need to handle or use guns, after all. Miss Alice,
though, had disagreed and just turned up to have a go. It had looked *easy*, after all.


Fortunately, the armourer took pity on her and decided it would be safer if he taught her at
least the rudiments of using handguns. They had mutually agreed not to continue with this tuition
when it became clear she would never actually hit any of the targets she was aiming at. What she
did take away with her, though, was a new respect for the people she sent out to face such
weapons.


As the length of time the stand-off grew longer, Mary began to get concerned that any sudden
noise might provoke either or both of them to fire. *What if the phone rang or something*?


Her gun also began to grow heavy in her hand and she began to shake even more.


*


Bateman looked on as Miss Alice sat there shaking a gun at him. It never even occurred to him
that she would have firearms concealed about her flat.


"*She is an analyst*," he told himself. "*Analysts don't use
guns*."


Of course this somewhat confirmed the widely held suspicion that she was an analyst who had
decided to switch sides.


He wasn't too worried about her actually managing to hit him with it, even at this close
range. He had actually been in similar situations before, and a cool head had kept him safe from
harm up to now.


He thought back to the three other people that had pointed guns at him. Two of them had been too
nervous to fire at all. The third hadn't cared whether he lived or died, but even he
couldn't hide when he was about to pull the trigger.


Bateman chided himself.


If Miss Alice had been anything other than a scared analyst, he would be dead by now. These
moments of lapses in concentration were so often the difference between life and death.


He *was* troubled, though. He had been waiting for her for almost four hours now.


Even Miss Alice had hinted about what had been bothering him.


*Could it be true*? Was *he* really the traitor?


Bateman knew that it was true that his memory had been modified. He didn't know exactly what
memories had been changed, but Kingsley Shacklebolt had assured him that he had asked for it to be
done in order to protect certain individuals, and one individual in particular. He even wrote
himself a short note confirming this.


His instinct told him, with every fibre of his belief, that it would be impossible for him to
willingly betray his country and his comrades in arms.


All of the official inquiries had cleared him entirely. He had even taken and passed a polygraph
test.


Nothing had actually been proved against Miss Alice either, but the number of suspects was
extraordinarily short. *If not her, who else could it be*?


The idea that Miss Alice was the traitor seemed actually even more preposterous. She had worked
tirelessly for the public good.


He decided to trust his instincts and Miss Alice's logic one more time.


He would lower his gun and trust her to do the same so they could at least talk. Of course, she
might just shoot him anyway once he moved his aim. If she really was the traitor, her shaking hand
routine was probably just an act. If that were true, a traitor Miss Alice would want to talk some
more as well.


"I'm going to-" he began to say.


Miss Alice jerked in shock and pulled the trigger.


The shot was deafening in the enclosed space of the living room.


Crying out in anguish she dropped the gun and collapsed to the floor, shaking violently.


"Oh my," she cried, too terrified to open her eyes and see what she had just done.


-


*AN:*


*I'm afraid it is going to be a while before I'm ready to post the remainder.
You're probably wishing I'd waited, aren't you?*


UPDATE Jan 2006:


This story is now called
The Final Lesson.

**Summary for The Final Lesson:-**


While Ron’s recent associations become of increasing concern to his friends and family, Harry
becomes embroiled in an investigation to identify the traitor responsible for Voldemort’s recent
successes. Soon Harry and his Muggle friends cross paths again and together they try to solve the
mystery before the Ministry becomes overrun by Voldemort’s supporters. Harry comes to suspect there
is more going on than he’s been told. Continuation of The Kemmynadow Betrayal.


The
Introduction and Character Profiles are
here and this Chapter is here. If you could like to continue straight to
the next chapter, you’ll find it here.