A/N The disclaimer is in the usual spot, chapter one. Ye faithful should know that by now.
WRITE FOR YOUR LIFE
It was more than six days before Harry could share his news with the team in a formal meeting in Sam Vimes' private office. It wasn't that he had intentionally withheld the information; but he quite simply had had no time to discuss his findings. One of the unwritten rules of the police force (just under 'there is always too much paper work') is that 'there is never enough manpower.'
In this case, the lack of manpower meant that the Watch were busy watching many other problems. There were, apparently, some difficulties in delivering the mail, which entailed their efforts in that vein, and there were some challenges in working with Uberwald relations. Harry wasn't altogether clear on this point but apparently it had something to do with vampire rights.
When the specialists finally were able to return to the Watch house, Harry was nearly bursting to tell them his findings at UU. To his disappointment, his fellow Watch officers weren't nearly as excited about his findings.
"So, you're sure now, that it's a Death Eater," Vimes said, glassy-eyed, clearly bored with Harry's in-depth explanations of the thaumic chart.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, eagerly. "It's certainly a Death Eater."
"And how does that differ from your opinion of a week ago - sorry, of whenever our last meeting was?" Vimes said.
"Um … well, it's the same opinion … it's just that … I'm sure now," Harry said, a bit hurt. Now I know how Hermione's felt all these years, he thought. I owe her so much.
"Right. We were sure before, too. Ok, so now we know it. But if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and has webbed feet like a duck, it's probably one of Foul Ole Ron's friends, right? We don't need to scientifically prove things. We just need a reasonable doubt that we can make a case with," Vimes said. He looked at Harry, who seemed upset. "Well?"
"It's just that, well, Ron is one of my closest friends," Harry said. "There's no need to call him foul, although I know some people who would use harsher terms."
"I'm pretty sure Commander Vimes didn't just insult your friend, Harry," Angua said with a smirk.
"Huh?" Harry said.
"Ron is a member of our city's … vagrant population," Carrot explained.
"And he reminds you of a duck?" Harry said.
"Nah, it's his friend, the Duck Man," Vimes said, lighting a cheroot. "He has a duck on his head."
Suddenly, Harry's mind cast him back to his first day in Ankh-Morpork. "And he has a … dog," Harry said, neutrally.
"Ah, I see you've met Gaspode," Angua said. "He's a thinking-brain dog."
Merlin, this place is messed up, Harry thought.
"Right. What else? Cheery?"
"Well, not so much, sir," she said. "We haven't been able to find out what Igor was doing in the city. Igor thinks it had to do with some really serious Igorring, and the horses were test cases. But we still haven't found his lab, if he had one. Angua doesn't seem to think he did."
All eyes went to the Watchwolf. "Sir, I'd smell that fat and the horseflesh underwater. Even the Ankh. The only place it smells is near the track. I bet that they were bringing equipment from wherever the Grave Gourmand Local #102 is, experimenting, and disbanding, all within the same evening," Angua said. "It would mean that it took a lot longer, they couldn't control the conditions well enough, and they couldn't leave experiments out overnight. But it would be safer. There would be literally nothing to arrest. Or seize. So he didn't have a hideout per se. But that doesn't mean he wasn't making notes, reports, and there's no record. We have to find that."
"Any idea where the fat is now?" Vimes said.
"I'm almost sure it's left the city," Angua said. "I traced the smell out of the city's west gates. I think it went down the Lancre road, but I can't be as sure of that."
"There was a Lancre connection, wasn't there?" Vimes said. "The mangonel?"
"Yes, the mangonel was made of Lancre wood," Littlebottom replied. "Of course, it could have been cut down some time ago and re-assembled. So we can't be sure it was recent. But overall, I'd have to say the evidence points to some kind of Lancre connection."
"Yes, that was Albus' advice. Keep looking in Lancre," Vimes said impassively.
"Albus Dumbledore?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Vimes said quietly.
"I told you he was dead, didn't I?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Vimes said again, quietly.
"Then how did you possibly ask him?" Harry asked.
"It doesn't matter how, he's dead," Vimes said.
"Y e s, but you just said you spoke with him," Harry persisted.
"Your powers of hearing are truly remarkable, Potter," Vimes said, in a manner that reminded Harry exactly of Severus Snape.
"So … how … did you do some kind of necromancy?" Harry asked, uncertain where he should be taking this. "Sir, he was my closest mentor, a vital friend … how did you talk to him!" Harry's voice ended in a shrill shout. Not what I should have said, Harry thought.
If Vimes was angered at Harry's tone, he gave no sign of it. "No, Potter, I do not do necromancy. Nor ouijia boards. Nor yet do I write letters to the temples. I asked him. We discussed the situation for some time, and Lancre seemed the most suitable avenue of investigation."
Harry was now beyond flummoxed, and also angry. "HOW?" he nearly shouted.
"How is none of your dam' business," Vimes said sharply. "The point is, that he suggested that we check out Lancre. I'm assigning you, Angua, and Carrot to go and check it out. I need Littlebottom here as my forensics expert, and Detritus will probably welcome the buttock-prodding possibilities that Carrot's absence will suggest. On our end, we will continue to a search-and-destroy mission for Grave Gourmand targets within the city."
There was a silence over the group. Harry knew that he shouldn't have shouted, and he regretted it, but he wasn't going to apologize just yet. He still had not yet forgiven people for keeping information from him. Loyalty, amongst all of the other virtues, was everything to Harry.
"Which leaves Carrot," Vimes said. "I haven't heard from you today. What do you have?"
"No traces of activity for the past few days," Carrot said. "The pamphlets keep showing up. First, they were just occasionally available after the temple attacks; now they seem to be spiraling out of control. It's like someone has set up a private challenge to people to write more about their mythology. Constable Visit says that it's interesting, and he doesn't think it's Omnian. There's an open encouragement for readers to write their own adventures and ideas for their god, if god we can call him. No Omnian leader would suggest that. It almost seems as though the common people are being asked to willfully contribute to the creation of a mythology."
"What is it, exactly, that is in these pamphlets?" Harry asked.
"Here, have one," said Carrot, handing him Lord Voldemort and the Super-Heated Beaker, by Rocky Silverarm.
Harry's eyes widened at the title, and turned the page.
"I was almost sure it was a dwarf at first, from the name 'Silverarm,'" Carrot said. "But I don't think so, now. The writing style seems too … off. And then I thought it might be a troll with cold-thinking availability attempting to pull off a dwarf writing style, but I don't think that's it, either."
"The name is probably just another alias," Vimes said.
Harry's eyes widened as he traced down the words. No, it can't be … he thought, but then he read further.
"Well, possibly," Carrot said. He had never liked it when people didn't use their own names.
By now, Harry was reading through at a pace which would have made Hermione Granger proud. Smoke was now openly billowing over his head and Angua was motioning at the rest of the room. Glass began to cascade as windows down the hall shattered.
Carrot carefully walked over to Harry and snatched the pamphlet out of his hands. Harry didn't need to look at it any more, but stared at Carrot in wild surprise.
"What is it, Harry?" the Captain asked in a tone that brooked no compromise.
"That (EXPLETIVE DELETED) son of a (EXPLETIVE DELETED) stupid (EXPLETIVE DELETED) (EXPLETIVE DELETED) whinging (EXPLETIVE DELETED) (EXPLETIVE DELETED) (EXPLETIVE DELETED)!" Harry screeched. The windows had stopped breaking, but clearly Harry was still throwing off dangerous magic vibes.
"Such language in a high-class establishment such as this one," Angua said quietly, much amused. "Please, not the Y-word or the K-word. Care to try that again?"
"That mother fu-" Harry began.
Commander Vimes held up his hand. Harry caught his eyes. "Calm down, lad. Take a deep breath, first."
Harry complied. The magic field seemed to lessen a bit. "Why didn't I see this earlier?" Harry demanded. "I now know exactly the one person who's responsible for all of this."
"Ok," Vimes said. "Think you can explain it without killing all of us?"
"Pettigrew," the word was ripped from Harry's throat as a guttural snarl.
"Petticoats?" asked Carrot, looking at Angua.
"Not discussing that here," she muttered under her breath.
"Pettigrew. Peter F-ing Pettigrew," Harry snarled. "Also known as Wormtail. He's an animagus, a rare kind of wizard on my world who can change into the form of an animal. In Pettigrew's case, his form is very appropriately a rat."
"And you're sure it's him?" Vimes asked.
"Damn sure," Harry said. "Several reasons. One, the name on the pamphlet. Rocky Silverarm. Rocky is another word for Peter in my world," he began. Thank heavens for those Biblical Latin classes Aunt Petunia forced me to take. "Secondly. Pettigrew's hand was severed in … an accident," he said. "It was replaced with one of silver, so that if he happened to encounter one of his mortal enemies, who is a werewolf," and here he glanced at Angua, "that is to say, my uncle, then he would have a line of defence."
Harry took another long, calming breath. "Pettigrew was one of Voldemort - who is also known as Tom Riddle - one of his closest followers. After I defeated Voldemort, Pettigrew escaped. He's been wanted but at large for more than five years. We've come close a few times, but never caught him. Now I see why."
"So this Pettigrew is here, now," Vimes said. "And the stories about Voldemort? This ties into what you were dealing with earlier?"
"I think so," Harry said quietly. "I suspect that by generating stories about Voldemort, Wormtail is attempting to develop belief in him here on the Discworld. But this seems a completely new talent. I don't think Pettigrew could have done the story-writing alone."
"Hired a ghost, you think?" Vimes asked.
"I'm sure he didn't, sir," Carrot said. "Their ectoplasmic fingers would drift right through the quills."
Vimes looked at his senior Watchman sharply then back at Harry. "Where would you get stories from, then?" he asked.
Harry flipped open his PDA. "Rincewind," he said tersely. The imp took one look at his eyes and knew it wasn't a good time for a snappy comeback, not if he wanted to stay in one piece.
Seconds later came the disembodied voice. "Harry? Is that you?" asked the assistant librarian.
"Rincewind, I need you to check on the library and all surrounding literature sources for any increase in writing on Lord Voldemort over the past five years," Harry said. "If you don't know how our library works, I strongly encourage you to ask Hermione, as I think she can find anything in there in less than one minute."
"Right, anything on Voldemort," Rincewind said. "And that has some relevance your end? Hex has been feeding me some of the information on the belief patterns, and I think I can map the glamour here soon and decipher the thaumic sig-"
"That's irrelevant now," Harry said. "We know who we're dealing with, just not what. Find out about the stories. That's got to become top priority. Let Hermione know it's Peter Pettigrew that's made his way to the Disc."
"Pettigrew on the Disc, stories about Voldemort, got it," Rincewind said. "If you don't mind, I'll ring off now."
"Potter out," Harry said, closing the PDA so fast that the imp inside muttered out curses at him.
The rest of the room had been observing the conversation in disbelief. Public conversations using PDAs was not normal practice.
"Er, sorry," Harry said.
"What was that?" Vimes demanded.
"Um … it's … uh … a PDA," he said lamely. Uh-oh, I'm in for it now, he thought. I shouldn't have let them see advanced wizarding technology.
"How does it work?" Carrot asked. "It seems faster than a clacks!"
"A clacks … right … what's a clacks?" Harry asked.
"This is going to take a little while," Littlebottom said.
"Time … is not currently one of my problems," Harry said, easing back in his chair.
…
Three hours had gone by on Roundworld before Hermione Granger could take off enough time to get to Hogwarts. She stepped through the floo, and seeing that the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was empty, she stepped quickly through McGonagall's office to head to the library.
A few seconds on either side, she would have managed not to get intercepted.
"Ms. … Hermione … Granger," came a well-remembered voice.
"Er, yes, Professor Vector," she called out, and turned around.
"Where is this wizard from Discworld?" Vector demanded. "I have gone to such links in attempting to draw him into conversation that I went to the lengths of wearing a strapless dress to dinner twice in a row and placing myself directly in his field of vision. The man disappears after every meal and is unfindable. I trust you however know where he is."
The thought of her former Arithmancy professor in a strapless dress was more powerful than virtually any of the Unforgivable spells Hermione had been subject to during the capture of Voldemort. "Ah-" she began.
"I know you're going to see him," Vector continued. "I insist upon accompanying you."
"Professor Vector, this really isn't the best time," Hermione began.
"Hermione! The man has been here for nearly two weeks, and we have barely spoken a word! There is so much for us to … discuss!" Vector pressed. Hermione's fingers itched slowly down towards her wand, which she had carried in a concealed side holster for six years. Harry had bought them, custom-made, for her Ron as they had helped him - such as they could - with the little matter of Voldemort's horcruxes.
"Oh, well," Hermione stammered, buying a few precious seconds.
"Good. Where is he," Vector said, tapping her foot, triumphantly.
"I really had thought these days were over," Hermione said to herself. The wand snapped into position so fast Vector never saw it. "Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell hit the arithmancy professor squarely between the eyes. She became as merely a block of stone, foot pausing in mid-tap.
"Oh, oh oh … Professor Vector, I am so sorry. I'm sure this would be worth a month's worth of detention, if not more, probation, certainly, though not necessarily expulsion," Hermione said. "But, er, I am no longer a student here, so I suppose that won't matter so much. I apologize again, and I will tell him to talk with you some, but right now, I have to help Harry," Hermione finished.
She used a quick Disillusionment charm on herself, and then dashed to the library unimpeded. Making her way to the charmed door, she quickly opened with no difficulty, now knowing it was there. "Professor Rincewind?"
He slowly looked up from under the table. "Hermione?"
"Yes, what are you doing under the table?" she asked.
"I, er, dropped my quill just now," Rincewind said. He stood up, and picked it up off the table. "Here it is, silly me."
"Yes, fine, there's no time for that now, Professor," Hermione said. "We have to help Harry. Tell me again about what he said."
"Certain stories have turned up on Discworld, in pamphlet form, that appear to have been privately printed using a stolen printing press," Rincewind said. "Harry said he thought Peter Pettigrew was responsible, and that the stories concern one Lord Voldemort."
"Voldemort," Hermione whispered.
"I take it you know him," Rincewind said.
"He's Harry's arch-enemy … he killed Harry's parents when Harry was still a baby. Later, he killed Harry's stepfather, his friends … everyone Harry knew. He was one of the most powerful wizards of the last 100 years," Hermione said.
"And I am helping you with this?" Rincewind said. "I think not. I can get Hex to get me on a beach in Australia 190 years ago in less than 10 seconds. So, it's been a pleasure," he began.
Hermione's fingers were on the wizzard's throat before he could even blink. "We will not abandon Harry," she said in a voice that left no uncertainty about how the universe was going to exist hereafter. "Er … right," Rincewind said. "Would you let me breathe at least?" The grip loosened imperceptibly.
"So what are we going to do?" Rincewind managed when he figured that he could speak again.
"You tell me," Hermione said evenly. "You called me, remember."
"Harry said that we should check for any stories concerning Lord Volemort," Rincewind minced out.
"Sit up. Slowly. If you try to move too quickly, I'm going to have Dobby put an anti-disapparation charm on your leg that will splinch you in half if you try to leave," Hermione said.
Rincewind didn't know what splinch meant, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't pleasant. He took a deep sigh. "I can get the Librarian to use L-Space to search for works on this Voldemort," he said.
"Right. Do it," Hermione said, flatly. Mentally, she began to compose a fairly intricate search-and-replace sell, based on a bubble-sort algorithm.
Rincewind sighed and looked at the crystal ball. "Well?" he said.
There was a pause.
After a few seconds, the sound "Ook?" came through.
"We need to check L-space for stories on a … Lord Voldemort," Rincewind said, looking at Hermione sadly.
"Ook?"
"It might mean the end of both Roundworld and Discworld," Rincewind said.
"Ook!"
"Yes, well, we can wait," Rincewind said calmly.
"Your librarian is … not very verbal?" Hermione said.
"He's an orangutan," Rincewind said, calmly. He hoped he projected some menace, but in his heart knew he projected only spinelessness. "Excellent librarian."
"I … see," Hermione said, quietly. She completed the spell in her mind. Quietly drawing her wand, she uttered verbosity maxima actua.
Books slowly filed through the doorway onto the table. After a few seconds, they glowed brightly and then sat. Hermione looked carefully. There were a total of five tomes.
"Nothing new has been written in the last year," she said. "We'd have it. Here's the revised edition of Hogwarts: A History, which includes a full chapter on Harry and Voldemort. This is Dark Wizards Discovered, published two years ago. Has a few things on Voldemort, Grindelwald, Azarath, and a few other naughty boys. The other three … they're all pretty old," she said.
"Ook!"
"Indeed?" asked Rincewind.
"Ook!"
"Oh, very well. I'll deal with it. Thanks so much," Rincewind said.
Hermione looked at him expectantly.
"He's says there's something called … the internet?"
…
Floo travel was new to Rincewind, but that didn't mean he was adding it to the means that he enjoyed traveling. In fact, truth be told, Rincewind hated all forms of travel. Travel meant you were going places, and if there was any wizzard who wanted nothing more than to be hidden under thick blankets as the world passed him by, it was Rincewind.
"Can I get you something?" Hermione asked. "I think I'll open a bottle of wine, if it's all the same to you."
Rincewind decided not to prod Fate. Too often, Fate prodded back. With a sharper stick. "Whatever you decide," he said.
They were in the apartment she shared with Harry in the Docklands. The computer was booting up. Hex had seemed extremely interested in the process.
"Right, this our PC," Hermione said. "It seems to work sort of like Hex works. The internet … is sort of like a way to connect every person who has a computer. You can share whatever information you want."
Rincewind was concentrating on what Harry had told him.
"Like stories," he said.
"Right," Hermione said. "There are several sites on the web … sorry, there are several sort of virtual libraries where people can simply write and store stories. Anyone who wants can write them and read them."
Rincewind's mind boggled. "You mean … anyone can do this?" He was truly scared. Good thing their universe doesn't have Deitygen, he decided.
"Pretty much," Hermione said. "Now, there aren't many wizards who have computers. Very few. Most of them ignore muggle - that's what they call non-wizards - technology. But some have them. They often try to integrate the two, often with pretty disastrous results. And Harry or I end up putting out the fire."
She didn't elaborate. At least Fred and George had finally figured out how to use computers, and kept the secret well-hidden from their father. Merlin knows what he would do with them, Hermione mused.
"Right, so these people that write the stories, they know about Voldemort?" Rincewind asked.
"Well, very few do, actually," Hermione said. "Harry tends to be the more popular character. There's a few thousand stories out there. Maybe a few more. I tend to … skip … the ones that have Harry … um …"
Rincewind didn't need Hermione to elaborate; he had been to Fourecks, after all.
"Completely understood," he said. "How many are there involving Harry and Voldemort, or just Voldemort?"
"Well, I check every six months or so," Hermione said. "Harry refuses to look at it or see any of it. I think he's a bit embarrassed or angered by it all. But last I checked, you see here, there's a little counter, there were about 1,000 stories in total. So I'll just update real quick …"
Hermione's fingers clicked things that went click. The screen changed. Rincewind noted the changes. He also noted that Hermione had gasped and was as white as the screen.
"I take it that was not what you expected?"
Hermione did not answer. She was nearly catatonic.
Rincewind tapped his crystal ball. "Hex?"
"Yes?"
He read the screen carefully. "Please inform Mr. Potter that, in the past six months, there have been … 415,463 stories written about Voldemort and himself on the Internet. At least some of them have appear to have been ported to Discworld."
There was a pause.
"I will relay the message at a period of convenience," Hex replied. "Mr. Potter is on the move."
"On the move? Where to?" Rincewind said.
"The General Pull-thaumic Signals tracking device built into his PDA indicates that he is on the road to Lancre," Hex said. "He is almost certainly with other members of the Watch. It would not do for the Watch to discover the existence of a GPS-coded Potter Discworld Adjustator."
"Very well," Rincewind sighed. He looked at Hermione, whose eyes were still the size of dinner plates from staring at the screen.
"I'm returning to Hogwarts," he said. "If I require Ms. Granger, we'll contact her at that time. I think she might need some time … alone."
Rincewind had been instructed on the workings of floo by Hermione, and he seized some powder sitting on the mantle and flooed himself out.
Hermione sat, her mind trying to comprehend what was happening. No … no, we defeated you, you spooky bastard. I will not … not … NOT let you hurt Harry, ever again …