Chapter Sixteen
Memories are all that Remain
The foyer of St.Mungo's was busier than usual, not because of any disaster though since Voldemort's reappearance there had been enough of those, but because the holiday period naturally generated the little incidents that often ended up with one family member or another visiting the wizard hospital.
There were a plethora of minor injuries waiting to be seen by the healers and the throng of people gave Malkanor Nott the anonymity he wanted as he headed to his meeting with the healer Artermetrius Bass.
Malkanor avoided the lift and took to the stairs, they were deserted, and he quickly made his way to the fourth floor. He climbed up the last few steps and found himself in a long corridor, to his right were a set of double doors with opaque glass windows in them, and off to his left the corridor stretched into the distance with offices spaced evenly down its length. It was to his left that he turned and as he passed each door he scrutinised the nameplate fixed to it. The senior healers were given offices closest to the ward, and as he expected that the one occupied by Healer Bass was right down at the far end. Malkanor approached the last door and was about to knock when a voice issued from the nameplate attached to it.
"Healer Bass is not in his office at the moment, please state your name." The sound was tinny and not very distinct, but once Malkanor had got over his surprise he reluctantly replied.
"Malkanor Nott." he felt extremely silly talking to a door, but as long as no one overheard him he could pretend he did it every day.
"You are expected," the metallic voice announced. "Please enter, you will not be kept waiting long." The door lock clicked and the door swung open, to reveal a small office so full of books and loose sheets of parchment, that Malkanor Nott doubted he would be able to find anywhere to sit and sincerely hoped his wait would not be prolonged.
In the ten minutes he was forced to wait Malkanor studied the office and decided that this Artermetrius Bass was young and eager probably delving into areas of his craft that should be best left alone, at odds with the older members of his department, and without the experience to advance on his own. This picture suited the dark wizard someone ripe for taking and moulding to the ways of the Dark Lord, or at least to the ways of Malkanor Nott, he was bitterly disappointed when the office door was opened revealing a fat bald man of middle years, and judging by the state of his healers coat, a notable habit of messy eating.
"Art Bass," the healer said by way of introduction holding out his hand, "Mr Nott?"
"Yes," said Malkanor slowly, ignoring the proffered limb.
"Ahh, …good," Bass laughed nervously and the hand was hastily withdrawn. The fat man levered himself around the desk to the chair set behind it, and with some difficulty squeezed his considerable bulk into it. He then looked expectantly at Malkanor who returned his look with a steely gaze, the he shrugged his shoulders and slowly drew a small bag from his coat pocket, which he placed on the desk, it jingled as he let it go.
Bass leaned forward and placed his hand over the bag and was about to draw it to him when with a 'smack' Malkanor brought his wand down trapping the fat Man's hand between it and the desk.
The healer jumped in surprise, "Let's leave the gold where we can both see it shall we?" said Malkanor not expecting an argument.
"Of course,… of course," Bass massaged the back of his hand and examined the red welt that the stroke of the wand had raised. "You will be interested in how I reached these memories Mr. Nott."
"I am more interested in what they are, but if it pleases you to tell me, then be quick."
"Yes …yes, I will. It's quite complex," Malkanor made an impatient sound, "But I will simplify it for you." Bass leaned back in his chair. "The brain is, how can I put it? Like a piece of parchment that is marked by the best quality inks, no matter how you try to clean it, whatever cleansing spells you use, once the inks have dried the marks are always there, very faint, but they are still there. If the marks happen to be numbers or words then with careful examination they can be revealed again and the sense of them discovered …so it is with the brain. Thoughts can be erased but they leave shadows behind them, and by careful application of certain spells these thoughts can be seen again."
The fat man turned his chair with some difficulty in the cramped surroundings and reached to open a cupboard. From its interior he produced a flattish bowl made of a grey coloured stone set on a squat pedestal. He took the Pensive for that is what it was and placed it on the desk between himself and his guest, and then from his coat pocket he took a small bottle undid the stopper and poured the contents into the shallow bowl.
Malkanor looked suspiciously at the object. "You mean you are using a Pensive, but the spells for using one of these are well known, surely this must have been tried before?"
"You would have thought so," Bass agreed, "but the general understanding that a mind wiped by the obliviate spell, is completely clean would predicate that the use of a Pensive would be a waste of time, and so as far as I am aware it has never been tried before." He tapped his own wand on the side of the bowl. "Until now of course," he added.
The contents of the bowl began to swirl and a young man dressed in the robe of a Slytherin student from Hogwarts rose from the surface of the silver fluid and slowly revolved at its centre. Theodore Nott stood very still and there was a look of intense concentration on the small face of the apparition. As he turned slowly round and round a small voice could be heard it was quite quiet but very distinct, and Malkanor knew that the voice was not Theodore's.
"They wanted to know where Harry was Professor," the voice was saying. "They tortured Ginny to make me tell. Do you think they wanted the information for Voldemort?"
"It is very possible Ron," that was a second voice laced with an unmistakeable Scots accent. "But there are others closer to home that are most keen to get an idea of that young man's whereabouts. So we must not jump to conclusions on that score."
"I'm not sure the Shrieking Shack is going to be safe for them anymore." said the first voice.
The small figure turned in silence for a few seconds then the voice began again.
"They wanted to know where Harry was Professor,"………….. Bass tapped the side of the bowl again and the voice stopped and the image of Theodore Nott sank once more into the swirling fluid.
"Interesting," Malkanor Nott rubbed his chin in thought, "You have more memories like this, and they can be used to restore an obliviated mind to normal?"
"Oh yes I have many more, collected since I discovered the method," Bass replied indicating a rack containing twenty or thirty small bottles of the same design to the one into which he was draining the contents of the Pensive. "Unfortunately there is no way they can be used to rebuild a witch or wizards original consciousness, I am afraid your nephew is gone forever."
Malkanor Nott looked intently at the row of bottles and the labels that indicated their source. Artermetrius Bass in turn watched the dark wizard with interest if he was correct then there could be a considerable amount of money made from the sale of these captured memories, he just had to find the right buyer. ….perhaps this was the man he sought?
"Err… I am not sure how to approach the subject Mr Nott but there are other references to Harry Potter in those bottles, I wondered if you would be interested in them or I should get in touch with a Bella Lestrange, she appears to be the person these other thoughts were directed to."
Malkanor turned sharply to the fat healer, "What makes you think the Harry my nephew was talking about is Harry Potter?"
"Come now Mr Nott, I am not stupid, dark wizard like yourself, your nephew with information important enough to survive the obliviate spell, information that is about someone at Hogwarts with the first name of Harry; even I recognised Minerva McGonagall's voice,." He spread his arms inviting a better explanation. "It has to be Harry Potter." Then Art Bass, healer second class, revealed how stupid he really was. "If you, or this Lestrange woman, are not interested, Mr. Nott then I am sure the Ministry will be."
That changed everything. If the healer missed the narrowing of Malkanor's eyes, at the not so veiled threat to run to the other side, he could not miss the menace in his voice. "You would pass this information on to the Ministry? You realise that there could be serious repercussions if you did."
Bass was aware of the displeasure but he chose to ignore it. "Of course I understand that you would be upset but I need the money, whoever pays gets the information." He had made a fatal error.
Malkanor smiled, "My dear Healer Bass, I am sure we can avoid any unpleasantness, I think I can make an offer that even you would find difficult to refuse."
The smile remained but there was no warmth in it, and there was no indication of what was to happen next. The green flash and the short scream the curse made as it sped the three feet that separated the end of Malkanor's wand from the chest of Artermetrius Bass was over in an instant and without him knowing that he was a victim of the killing curse the life was driven from the body of the healer.
Malkanor stared at the lifeless man, wedged in his chair, his eyes still open and an expression of slight surprise on his face, for a moment there was silence then somewhere in the building and alarm began to toll. Set to activate at the use of any of the unforgivable curses within the confines of the hospital its shrill ringing tone eventually speared Malkanor into action. Grabbing the healer's bag he stuffed the bowl of the Pensive and the collection of bottles containing the retrieved memories into its capacious interior, and giving the body of Artermetrius Bass a mocking bow turned to the door. As he pulled it open he was aware of the tinny voice issuing from the nameplate.
"Malkanor Nott was the last visitor to this office, …….. Malkanor Nott was the last visitor to this office………." it repeated the message over and over again.
Showing the first signs of disquiet Malkanor gripped the nameplate and wrenched it from the door he jammed it into his pocket muffing the sound it was making and headed towards the stairs.
There was the sound of running feet coming up from the floors below and also down from the floors above, there was no easy way out, he was trapped and needed a diversion. He looked about and saw the nondescript doorway guarded by the pair of glass screened doors; he retrieved a small square box from the inside of his robes, tapped it with his wand and the box began to smoke. Hurrying as fast as he could he reached the door, and not knowing or caring what was behind it smashed the glass screen with his elbow, he then threw the box through the broken pane and scurried over to a shadowy alcove by the doors to the lifts. Healers, nurses and security wizards piled up the stairs and down converging on the fourth floor, a small crowd had gathered where the stairs met when with a flash and a very loud bang Malkanor's box detonated.
The doors to the closed ward flew of their hinges, bits of glass and wood scattered in all directions followed by a ball of bright red flame and a cloud of black smoke. The whole building shook to the sound of the explosion and everyone gathered by the stairs was flung of their feet. In the confusion that followed as people picked themselves up, stared in horror at the smoke and flame pouring out of the closed ward and dealt with those injured by flying glass, Malkanor Nott slipped out of his hiding place and joined the throng. In the guise of helping take some of the injured down the stairs to the safety of the floors below he made good his escape, and never once did he worry himself with the damage he had caused to lives, families or property, but then if he had he would not have been worthy of the title dark wizard.
On the fourth floor the security wizards had managed to put out the flames and had all the smoke contained in a large bubble held aloft by two of their number on the points of their wands. As they struggled to pull the bubble out through the doors and up to the roof where they could release the smoke, healers and nurses searched the ward for those unfortunate enough to be inside.
Malkanor's box had gone off about a third of the way down the ward from the doors, the damage was worse closest to the explosion, but the whole ward was wrecked. Its once neat and clean white walls were blackened and in places the ceiling was beginning to come down. Some of the beds that had lined the walls were twisted into almost unrecognisable shapes, all were overturned, and some of the bed linen was still smoking. The bodies thrown so violently out of their beds and about the ward lay on the floor and remained ominously still. In fact the only source of movement that the healers could see was from the far end of the ward where someone was trying to free themselves from the curtains that had been drawn around the last two beds closest to the windows.
A healer reached the wreckage of the beds to help the survivor disentangle themselves from the scorched material. The dark haired head of a young man was eventually revealed; he looked about him in shock not really able to understand what had happened to him. Then in despair he turned to the tangle of metal and bed clothes he had just struggled from and began to pull it apart. As he searched the healer standing helplessly behind him could hear his plaintive cry.
"Mum, Dad, I'm here, I'm coming, please be alright," but as Neville Longbottom pulled back the twisted metal bedstead, his plea went unanswered. Lying close together arms protectively about each other shoulders were Frank and Alice Longbottom, his mother and father, and they were both dead.
"Neville!...Neville!..." There was the sound of heavy heeled shoes and the bustling of a matronly figure, as the elder Mrs Longbottom forced her way down the carnage in the ward to her grandson's side. She gripped him fiercely murmuring her thanks at his survival, then she saw the bodies on the floor, and her hand shot to cover her mouth and stifle the small scream that threatened to escape.
The healers took over at this point and Neville and his grandmother were ushered away and they were led down the destroyed ward Mrs Longbottom could be heard explaining to the escorting medics.
"I was only away a few minutes. Just to give Neville and his parents a little time together. I was having a cup of tea. I…." the old witch broke off as the enormity of what had happened to her family finally sank in. She made to turn and re-enter the ward stretching out her hands looking for something to hold on to. "Frank!...." she called his name loudly, then with full realisation that he could no longer hear her, murmured quietly, "my son."
Neville had tears in his eyes as he calmly but forcefully put his arm around his grandmother's shoulders, and turned her away from the ward again. She suddenly seemed so old and frail to him, he had always been a little scared of the matriarch of the Longbottom family, but now he was having to be the strong one not just for her but for himself as well.
"Come on Gran, we must let the healers do their job now," he said gently, "I think I could do with a cup of tea, how about you?" And although his question went unanswered the old lady allowed her grandson to lead her away from the place where her family had been torn apart.
The dark wizard who had caused all the commotion slipped unnoticed out of the hospital and made his way through the streets of London. He walked, rather than apparate, and took his own route that would lead him eventually to the dark haven of Knockturn Alley. As he reached the Thames an idea came to him, deep in the folds of his robes the metal nameplate was still shouting out its tinny message to anyone who would have cared to listen, and Malkanor needed to get rid of it. He crossed the river at Westminster Bridge and as he reached the centre furtively glanced about him for any evidence that his actions were being watched. The few muggles using the footpath were far to concerned with the sights of London town to pay any attention to the strangely dressed man standing close to the edge of the bridge, and the traffic was rushing passed at what to the wizard appeared an alarming rate. As two of the large red buses the muggles used thundered by him Malkanor pulled the talking nameplate from his pocket and flung it over the wall. He watched its flight as it fell towards the water, and the small splash it made was lost in the wind riven waves that marched their way down towards the sea.
His last connection to the disaster at St.Mungo's gone Nott hurried on satisfied that he was safe, he might have worried more if he had known that as the nameplate span its way to the darkness and mud at the bottom of the Thames a small webbed hand reached out, grabbed it. The creature in the water drew the nameplate to the side of its head as if it was listening to the sounds it was making. Distorted by the water the tinny voice captivated the creature and it floated there rocking its head from side to side, then with a flick of its tail it darted away was lost in the murk.
Seven were killed that day in the closed ward, Frank and Alice Longbottom, the nurse on duty, and four other patients. The identities of two of these patients were unknown. They had arrived mysteriously some time before with a third, who had only recently been identified by the Aurors at the Ministry as Neb Covey. The final victim was the youngest to die and because his bed was closest to the blast Theodore Nott hadn't stood a chance.
The death of Artermetrius Bass was only discovered later when the janitor sweeping up the glass that had found its way right down to the end of the corridor happened to glance through the late healer's partly open office door. He gave the portly man sitting behind his desk a friendly salutation and received only a blank stare in return. This was unusual and on further examination the janitor found that the healer was in no condition to enter into a conversation at all, because he was stiff and cold, it was obvious that he hadn't talked to anyone for quite a while.
* * *
There is a well known saying that news travels fast, but bad news even faster. So by the time Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny returned to the warmth of the Gryffindor common room at the start of the next term they knew as much about what had happened to Neville as anyone apart from the lad himself.
It was a small group of just the five of them, Neville sitting between Hermione and Ginny flanked on either side by Ron and Harry. The fire in front of them crackled merrily and threw dancing shadows into the common room, now quiet and empty of other students. Neville stared into the flames, seated about him were his best friends and if there was a time to unburden all his feelings this was it, but the words wouldn't come. In the flickering of the fire he saw it all happen again, but the flames he imagined were much deadlier than the ones he was looking at. The fire popped and Neville heard the explosion again and the stifling heat washed over him, the blast never touched him but suddenly there was no air to breathe, and he shuddered trying to fight off the suffocation that threatened to pull him down. Only now did he become aware of the arms wrapped around him and the presence of the two girls by his side. Neville raised his head and gazed from face to face, finally to fix on Harry who returned a look full of understanding, and finally for Neville the dam broke and the tears were allowed to fall.
"Both orphans, now Harry," he managed to say between sniffs. "You must be very brave, I never realised it hurt so much."
"I never really knew what I had missed out on, until recently," said Harry trying to make light of it, "so for me it was not so bad, but you have a lot of memories to cope with as well."
"And not goods ones either," Neville said ruefully.
"Sorry Nev' didn't mean…."
"It's ok Harry, I know." Neville gave him a sad little smile. "But I do have a memory to be proud of and maybe if I hang on to that one it will help. I'll tell it to you."
"Only if you want to Neville," whispered Hermione.
Neville turned and smiled, a stronger smile now, "Yes," he said, "I believe I do, it's my last one of my parents, and it gives me hope." he stared back at the fire and the memory returned to him clear and bright.
"We were sitting as usual, Mum and Dad never said much when I visited. They seemed to know me but they always just sat there and smiled at me, as if only part of them was with me in the hospital…. as if their thoughts were somewhere else entirely different. Anyway, Gran had gone for a cup of tea; she's been finding the visits harder lately, when there was this sound of glass breaking. I think I pulled back the curtain that was around the beds, only a bit, but enough to see this small box sliding across the floor. It was bright red and smoking fit to burst. I'd never seen anything like it before, but Dad and Mum must have, and somewhere inside," Neville tapped the side of his head, "it made a connection. I could see it in their eyes, they were clear and alert, they've never been that way before, and they acted as if there was nothing wrong with them. Before I knew what was happening they grabbed me and covered me with a mattress…" Neville paused and took a deep breath. "There was so little time, I only heard two words, my Mum said "love" and I heard Dad say "live".…. I don't know if they said any more, and then the world fell apart. But I do have that memory of them as they were …healed and whole, even if it was only for a few seconds."
"And what better words could they leave you with," said Hermione drying her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, "Love and live," she looked pointedly at Harry who nodded silently in agreement.
Neville glanced around the small group of his friends, talking to them had lifted the burden, it would never go completely, but sharing the load made so much difference. "Thanks guys." he said, only two words but sincerely spoken.
Harry reached over and placed a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Always here Nev', always here."
High up in Gryffindor Tower the mirrors reflected the scene below, and the old man nodded gravely, raised the one glass of Ogden's Old Fire Whiskey he allowed himself each day to his lips and drank a silent toast "To Gryffindors."
* * *
Harry and Hermione left the school as usual once Ron, Ginny and Neville had gone up to the dormitories. They walked in silence, hand in hand, over the lawns toward the Whomping willow, and as before Harry stopped it's writhing with a well aimed stone. These evening departures were becoming a routine occurrence and to be honest they thought little of their daily commute to their home; it was no more difficult to them than climbing the stairs to the tower was for the others. Tonight was a first however, the first of the New Year, the first of the new term, and the first time that their evening sojourn was being watched by someone concealed amongst the trees of the forbidden forest, but of this last fact Harry and Hermione were totally unaware.
The dark wizard, hidden in the dark forest, watched the progress of the witch and wizard as they disappeared into the tunnel, he had known about the reason for the presence of the strange tree in the Hogwarts grounds for quite a while. Pettigrew had told the story of his escape from Lupin, Black and Harry Potter, along with how he had stayed so loyal to the Dark Lord, and why he was the one with the silver hand so many times, that now no one wanted to listen. Malkanor had forgotten most of the witterings of the small man but the fact that the Whomping willow guarded a tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack now had a whole new significance. He would need to watch them, to make sure, and then he would act. Malkanor Nott, like those that had tried before him, thought that the Dark Lord would praise him above all others as the one who killed Harry Potter.
"You ok Harry? You're very quiet." The silence between them as they walked together had never lasted so long and Hermione felt that she had to say something.
"Could say the same to you," Harry countered, as he gave her hand a little squeeze, "No I'm fine just thinking."
"Yeh, me too." the dampness of the tunnel made her give an involuntary shiver. "Do you think that in the end all we have are memories?"
Harry drew her in close, "In the end? I suppose we do, because nothing lasts forever, and when they end all you can have are memories." Harry quickened his pace anxious to be out of the dark tunnel, as the conversation was threatening to take a gloomy turn.They walked up the steps from the tunnel and into the upper room of the Shack that not so long ago was home and refuge. "But it's the things we do that make the memories." He looked around the room; although Dobby had returned the beds he had borrowed from the school the wall hangings and the large work table were still there, it perhaps now had the appearance of a slightly overdressed classroom. "Take this place," Harry said, "I used to think of it as a very depressing room, Ron with his broken leg, Snape catching Sirius, Lupin and Sirius revealing Wormtail."
"And the three of us attacking Snape," put in Hermione
Harry laughed, "That really worried you didn't it?" Hermione nodded. "But now this creaky old building holds a completely different set of memories and they all revolve around you."
"What is your favourite?" she asked shyly.
"Oh that's easy, but I don't suppose you will believe me." Harry gazed down into her dark brown eyes and sighed.
"Well?" Hermione asked with faked exasperation when he remained silent.
"This," was all he replied and sliding his wand from his pocket he waved it toward the far end of the room and muttered "Anselmo" and as before the red and blue sparks from Harry's wand worked their magic and the man sitting at the piano appeared but this time he was already playing, the tune was slow and the words romantic. Harry gathered Hermione up in his arms looked into the eyes of the girl he loved the most and kissed her deeply.
As they danced in time with the music Harry held Hermione tight and whispered in her ear. "These are the memories that matter and whatever happens these are the memories that will keep us together forever."
Then she kissed him and murmured quietly "Oh Harry, Oh Harry, I love you," as the sound of the piano carried them on a dance that neither of them hoped would ever end.
Sadly all good things come to an end, and the best things hardly seem to last any time at all and so eventually the magic faded and with it the piano man, for some few minutes the couple danced on in the silence. Slowly they turned and turned moving across the floor to the mirror that was the back door to the Shrieking Shack then Harry stepped back and with a formal little bow invited his young lady to be the first to pass through. She demurely accepted and with a little smile that gave a promise of more delights to follow she vanished into the glass.
The following morning Harry and Hermione returned from Godrics Hollow and walked back through the Shrieking Shack and down the tunnel again with another set of memories to store away with the others. Malkanor Nott eased himself from the damp ground and watched. His only memories of the night were the cold, the dark and the awful noises that had sounded in the depths of the forest behind him. He had found the whole experience rather nerve wracking, and the blast of fire he had seen in the depths of the night, from the dragon perched on the top of the astronomy tower, had nearly made him give up. But he had stuck it out and his reward was there, walking back from the tunnel, across the lawns. So his information was right, they lived in the Shack. He knew it could be nowhere else because he had checked the building the day before and the anti- apparation wards were there for all to see, if you knew what you were looking for.
For the next few days Malkanor watched the movements of the two students, they were sadly predictable, these two had no grasp of the fundamental aspects of keeping your foe at a disadvantage. It didn't occur to him that camping out in the forbidden forest for three nights was not exactly exhibiting masterful stealth. By the second night his presence was known by the Centaurs and two of Aragog's children were eying up the dark wizard for a late night snack. Unfortunately his luck held, and on the third morning, after observing Harry and Hermione make their way back to the school as usual, he forced his way through the trees and out of the forest, and by a circuitous route to Hogsmead and the Hogshead Tavern. He sat in the dingy pub and ate the poor excuse for a meal the long faced barman had served him, and then he turned to his tankard and drank the sour tasting beer that appeared to be the best that was available.
There was in fact much better food and drink to be had at the tavern but Langdon Long was fastidiously fair with his clientele, the good people got the good stuff the bad the bad, and he knew that this wizard was a dark one indeed. It was a shame that Langdon was not blessed with the ability to read minds because he would certainly have found something to worry about in the thoughts of Malkanor Nott that day.
It would not take too long, five or six days, a week at the most to gather the things he needed, a day or so to set the trap, and then all that would remain of Harry Potter and his little friend would be memories.
The barman watched the dark wizard as he left the tavern and frowned at the sound of the satisfied laugh that reached his ears just as the door closed, that one was up to something, but then so were many who darkened the doorway of the Hogshead, hopefully, whatever plans the man was hatching, would not come to fruition.
Malkanor Nott continued laughing quietly to himself as he walked away, only if you were standing close to him would you have heard, "Soon Potter, soon I am going to turn you into a memory, and then you will bother no one."
* * *