A/N. Quick update to make up for that last one.
Jean Peverell is mentioned here so we must be close to the end of the past.
We find out more about Gaunt and The Hag makes a cameo.
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Chapter 35 - Saint Petersburg
The next day Dean was back at work, still a bit sore from Gates' curse but quite pleased that she had avenged his suffering. John had given her clearance to tell her partner about the Hallows after reassurance from her that Dean could be trusted. Since Harry had meetings with Harpies and Flamers managements today and was busy planning for security at the game she needed Dean's help with the Gaunt case.
"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed and got excited the first time he came across the symbol for the Hallows, "I've seen this before. Luna's Dad had robes with this symbol on them."
"Luna never mentioned the Hallows to you?"
"No," he replied somberly then immersed himself back into the thick of the Canadian reference file marked 'Deathly Hallows 101'.
Hermione knew which robe Dean was referring to. Mr. Lovegood had worn one to Bill and Fleur's wedding and had offended the Bulgarian Quidditch star Victor Krum who mistakenly associated the Hallows symbol as evil because Grindelwald used it. It was this same association that Mr. Lovegood's fellow quester Daniels made to conclude that Grindelwald must have been using the unbeatable wand at the height of his power.
Dean reacted with the same worship-like awe about the possibilities of an Unbeatable wand as Kingsley, John, Humptail and the Unspeakables did last night and she decided it, like Ron's reaction years ago, was the normal response. At first she thought the Elder wand was evil; fitting for something Death supposedly carved himself as a ruse to get its owner killed. But if that were true then the stone and the cloak too were evil and she couldn't think that the cloak they had used throughout Hogwarts was. She guessed the perception stemmed from the fact that of the three it was the wand that seemed to bring out the worst in those who came in contact with it. Many evil things were performed with it or because of it.
In truth she found it hard to believe that the magical objects really came from 'Death'. 'Death' to her was merely the fictional character Beedle the Bard used to make the fable more educational. The Peverells or some other skillful witch or wizard must have created them. And that Hallows quester Holy Grail about uniting them and being Master of Death had no basis whatsoever.
She and Dean spent most of the morning perusing and sorting the documents sent over by the Canadians. The sheer bulk of it and lack of useful content made Dean grumble with distrust. While she for the most part agreed with Dean, some of the files did give her a better idea of who Gaunt was and how much Gaunt knew about the Hallows.
The tragedy in all of this was that Morpheus Gaunt's real parents were good folk who met an untimely death, a car accident. His father, Philip Park was a Canadian Muggle, a struggling singer-songwriter who made an honest living playing small local bars. Not much was known about his mother, Leanne, except that she was born in London and that her mother had been in a home for the invalid and died shortly after she did. Since neither parent had suitable next of kin Thomas Park ended up in a Muggle orphanage.
The similarities with Voldemort started there. Gaunt was strange, misunderstood and used his magical ability in unacceptable ways. But unlike Voldemort there was no Hogwarts or Albus Dumbledore to save him from the orphanage. He was a runaway at fifteen, re-emerging a few years later with formidable magical skills despite the lack of formal training. How he was found legally insane was unclear to her, the Canadian processes much different from British ones. However, knowing that the Canadian Unspeakables and Healers were very interested in his mind reading and mind control skills, she thought it possible that someone high up in their Ministry decided this. Declaring Gaunt legally insane stripped him of most rights, including the ability to refuse `treatment'. It was the only way the Canadians could study his talents further.
Dean was attempting to piece things together.
"I still can't figure this out. The last time Gaunt came here he was after the Resurrection stone so he could raise his parents from the dead, right? How did he find out about it?"
"Theodorphus Daniels. In the course of his search Park came across an article Daniels wrote for an occult magical periodical which delved into known artefacts that could bring people back from the dead. The Peverell stone was one of many mentioned and actually seventh on a list of thirteen."
"How did he get from that to thinking he was Voldemort's nephew?" Dean followed up.
She shrugged, "That's unclear. From what the Canadians know after he escaped the first time he went to Moscow to find the Death Portal that Daniels had written about. There the MLE closed in on him and he had them kill each other off. Oddly he seemed to have skipped items two through six and picked to check out the Peverell stone next. Then all of a sudden he was killing as Morpheus Gaunt. That bugged me. Why Morpheus Gaunt? Why would he ditch the Park identity for an equally notorious one?"
"You don't think he was trying to elude extradition as what the Canadians theorized?"
"That doesn't make sense. The Canadian prison for the insane is a spa compared to Azkaban," she opined, "I think he switched identities then because he was set in his belief that he was a 'Gaunt'."
"The question is what triggered that switch?"
"Or who?"
Her phone rang.
"Hey," she greeted.
"Hey," Harry replied, "Made a dent at that mountain of parchment yet?"
"We're down to a hill," she estimated, "How's it going with you?"
"I can't understand why they won't agree to my recommendation," he complained, "You thought it was brilliant, right?"
He wanted to have some fun with the stiffs he had been meeting with so he was going to suggest something totally ridiculous.
She played along, "Announcing to the public that Ginny is injured and won't play? Ingenious. So what if less people come to watch? What's a few thousand galleons of lost revenue?"
"They don't have their priorites straight," he commented.
"Ginny will be much more reasonable."
He chuckled, "I'm sure. Has Warren showed up yet?"
"No sign of the royal pain," just the mention of his name made her tense up. She enquired, "I had been meaning to ask you. Why do you think Gaunt chose to be Gaunt?"
"He's just another Voldemort wannabe," he quickly answered. They had seen so many of them since the Dark Wizard's biography was published they didn't even question that anymore, "Does it matter?"
"Not sure," she thought about his question, "It probably doesn't. Do you know anyone at the Russian MLE who I could talk with about what happened in Moscow?"
She was hoping Harry had a good contact. Calling through the formal channels was a pain and wasn't an option for their off the record investigation.
"Boris Dovalov," he quickly answered, "I'm sending you his contact info right now. He's the veteran Auror who was part of the investigation after the Moscow incident."
Someone interrupted him. He told her he had to go back to the meeting. She thanked him and rang Dovalov. After ten rings a coarse voice answered with a grunt.
"Are you Auror Dovalov?" she had to ask.
"You get this number how?" he demanded in broken English.
"Harry Potter."
She introduced herself as a fellow Auror.
"What do you want?"
"I'm calling about a sensitive matter."
"Talk," he confirmed that the line was secure.
"It's about Thomas Park. Before the attempt to arrest him in Moscow..."
She couldn't continue. Dovalov interrupted her mid question.
"I reach you back."
Dovalov hung up. Okay...
She waited a minute, then two, staring at her phone, tapping her fingers on the table in front of her, wondering if she should actually do something else until he called back At exactly three minutes her phone rang. Dovalov was giving instructions
"36 Dvortsovaia Naberezhnaia, Saint Petersburg, exactly one hour, bring partner."
"What about Moscow?"
Dovalov said to her impatiently, "Moscow no good for Gaunt and no good for you. Moscow for Canadians, get Canadians thinking Moscow is important. Not Moscow but Saint Petersburg. You are tourist. Gaunt was tourist many many times. Long live the Queen."
He hung up abruptly again before she could speak. Long live the Queen?
She looked at Dean with a frown on her face.
"What did he say?" her partner asked.
Hermione wasn't sure.
"How's our Russian?"
Dean replied, "The Russian translator devices are still prototypes but much better since the last time we used it. Why?"
"We're going to Saint Petersburg."
"I've always wanted to see Saint Petersburg," he replied cheerfully, probably just happy to avoid the parchments they still had to go through.
While the Russian's unorthodox reply made alarms go off in her head, it validated her concern that something about Moscow, well Saint Petersburg, was a missing puzzle piece. Dean dug up what the Ministry knew of the Russian Auror and the address he had given them.
"The Winter Palace and State Hermitage Museum," she read over Dean's shoulder.
"I am in the mood for some darn fine art work."
They got to Saint Petersburg just as the doors to the State Hermitage Museum, Russia's largest art gallery and a world reknowned museum with one of the best collections of paintings and sculptures, opened to the public. They each took Muggle audio guides and put them on, trying not to be awed too much by the oppulent magnificence and beautiful masterpieces surrounding them.
They were in the Winter Palace. The green and white 3-storey historic edifice, now part of the Hermitage, was once home to the tsars of Russia. It took some time for that to sink in.
Not long into the tour the voice on the tape changed and started giving her different instructions than the couple they had been walking with. Dean looked like he was hearing what she was hearing. Continuing down the corridor they were told to take, it was clear that they were going where no tourists were allowed. The amazing artwork diminished in number and the windows gradually disappeared. After a while the passageway became narrower, darker and more damp and it felt like they were going underground.
Then a dead end. The voice stopped talking and they were left with this eerie, spinetingling silence.
She and Dean exchanged cautionary glances. They took the headphones off, drew out their wands and as she lit hers, it shone on the stone wall before them. There was a symbol on it, triangular, cut in identical halves by a straight line and punctuated by a circular figure; the symbol of the Hallows.
"What now?" Dean whispered, his eyes darting above, to the sides and behind them as hers did.
She thought for a moment then said, "Long live the Queen."
Nothing happened.
"The translator," she said to her partner.
Dean handed her the language translator device. She spoke through the microphone like contraption and out came a phrase in Russian. The one word she recognized in it was `Tsaritsa'.
The Hallows symbol sunk into itself and the rest of the walls surrounding them began to shake, receeding away. They shuffled back and closer, hanging on to each other as the floor suddenly dropped twenty feet and stopped abruptly the same time the ceiling above them converged from two sides and reformed the floor on the level above. They were plunged into complete darkness. Dean hissed a swear as they both lit their spare wands and held weapons at the ready in the other. Her partner was as wide eyed as she was.
After quickly determining that they were the only humans in it, she conjured a bluebell flame and exposed where they were. They were in somebody's living quarters.
From first glance the most apparent was that the somebody who lived in it was from a different period in time. Really old black and white pictures of a family hung on the wall near the entrance, the first things one would see coming in. Off to the left was a library, beside it a small kitchen and then a simple bedroom with a bathroom. It was as plain as any living quarters would be and quite surprising to find under all the grandeur above.
"Who do you think lived here?" Dean asked in a quiet voice as she gravitated to the library, seemingly the largest and most used room in the abode.
On the desk was a brown leather bound book engraved with the name of its owner, Grigori Efimovich Rasputin.
"Rasputin?" Dean exclaimed, "My Muggle history is rusty but wasn't he the Romanov family healer and adviser who many blame for the fall of the Russian monarchy?"
"Among many other things," she replied.
It made sense that he would have quarters in the palace but why underground and why in secret? She pointed to the first page on the journal that had the Hallows symbol, aimed her wand at the book and magically translated the Russian writings into English.
Midway down the page, in big bold letters, Rasputin wrote, "At last, I am Master of the Peverell wand."
"This keeps getting complicated," Dean commented. "I didn't even know he was magical."
"Neither did I."
Trying not to disturb the remaining items on the desk too much, she sat on his chair and continued to read Rasputin's journal beyond the first page as Dean scoured the quarters for more clues. It seemed that while someone had been there recently, much like them, whoever came spent a majority of their time in the library.
She read an important passage out loud for Dean who was going through the shelves of dusty books looking for ones that had been recently taken out, "July 25th, 1914. Today I summoned Death. It was not as scary as I thought it would be. I found it pleasant despite complaining about being taken away from its duties. I asked to see my brother and sister and it replied that for that I would need the Peverell stone.
"I told it I tried the Resurrection stone a few times. Just like the Cloak, it was easy enough to find its current possessor using common books on Britain's wizarding ancestry. I borrowed the black rock from the hapless Gaunts of Little Hangleton during my last visit in the area but found it a great disappointment, repulsive even that I had little doubt it was as cursed as the family that owned it. I put it back in its rightful place. Death has given me other ideas."
"It's not everyday that one can speak with Death and tell the story," Dean commented jokingly.
She remembered reading that Rasputin had excesses, and despite being spiritual succumbed to the temptation of sex and alcohol. He may have hallucinated the conversation with `Death' but she couldn't think he was delusional and hallucinating while he was writing the journal. It was very difficult imagining Death actually talking with Rasputin (or anyone for that matter) but still, imagined or not, she wondered what it was that Death suggested.
Dean sat beside her with three books from the shelves, "Someone's been through these recently."
She quickly scanned the book titles.
Where are the Purebloods?
The Wizard Families of Great Britain
Nature's Nobility : A Wizarding Genealogy
The last one was the book from the old Black house where she first read about the Peverells. Dean flipped through the pages of the second book and stopped as something jumped out of the page.
Potters of Godric's Hollow
Pieces of the wrong puzzle were falling into place for Dean, "It says here that the Potters of Godric's Hollow are descended from Ignotus Peverell. Harry has an invisibility cloak."
Dean saw the blood drain from her face before she could mask her reaction.
"Harry owns the Peverell Cloak and you've known all along!"
"You can't tell anyone!" she sternly said to him, "Not even Luna."
"Sure but I don't know how long before someone else figures it out. Rasputin did and I'm guessing the Russian Auror knows. Gaunt was in here. He must have read these..."
She shook her head then redirected Dean to the book, "Look. There are several other families descended from Ignotus. Gaunt doesn't really know which one had it or if they still have it. Burkes and Dodgey are still looking for the stone and cloak, remember?"
"This means that the wand and the stone really do exist," Dean said excitedly, "Does Harry have them too."
"No."
"Please tell me the wand isn't really in Professor Dumbledore's tomb," and when she didn't answer his eyes widened with concern, "Where's the stone?"
"I don't know," she said, a half truth; she had an idea where it was but not exactly.
"What's that?" something caught her eye in the book Dean was brandishing, two pieces of folded paper were inserted between its pages in a spot that a previous reader had deemed mark-worthy.
Dean opened the book. It was on the page with an illustration of the Gaunt family tree. Someone had added Morfin and Merope to it and more. There was a broken line from Morfin to the name Nancy Bower and under them Leanne. Leanne Bower married a Philip Park and they had a son, Thomas Park who was now Morpheus Gaunt.
She unfolded the papers and found the proof. First, an orphanage document citing his next of kin, a grandmother named Nancy Bower who was an invalid in a retirement home in London. The second was an older document, a copy of a Muggle Police report, a record of complaint filed by one Ethan Bower of Little Hangleton on behalf of his teenage daughter Nancy who had allegedly been 'violated' and impregnated by one Morfin Gaunt.
"The charges were withdrawn. If I were the Dad I would rather raise the kid away from the Gaunts too," Dean said sensibly.
They put back the books where they found them but made copies of Rasputin's journal and the proof that Gaunt was a Gaunt before returning them in place.
"How do we get out of here?" Dean asked.
She shrugged, "We should be able to Disapparate."
And they did. Before they left St. Peterburg she got a message from Dovalov, a hope that they found everything they needed. They did but now she had a gazillion questions about Rasputin. She had to stop herself from calling the Russian Auror back. The fact that he wasn't there to give them a proper tour spoke loads about how off the record all this was. And besides, as much as Rasputin was instrumental in Gaunt's Peverell family education, the Mad Monk was not what this was about.
They were back in London within the hour. Knowing that Gaunt was truly a Gaunt and that he had Rasputin's ideas about where the cloak and the stone could be was quite disturbing. And adding to her apprehension was his knowledge from Daniels that the wand was likely in the Professor's tomb. At this point she was worried not about what Gaunt would do with the Hallows if he managed to acquire all three but what death and damage he would do to acquire them.
Her thoughts continued to race through the possibilities. What if Gaunt already suspected that Harry had the cloak? She came to an even more distressing thought. Gaunt would want the Elder wand first then use that to challenge Harry for his cloak. And while she didn't think Gaunt could get the wand and knew Harry would defeat Gaunt handily even if Gaunt did challenge Harry, if there was some other way to get Gaunt she would choose that than risk all the dire possibilities happening.
The key was the wand. They had to capture Gaunt before he could get his hands on the wand. Right now the wand in the tomb was bait and that was too risky. Surely, even Professor Dumbledore would understand the need to move the wand to a safer location. Convincing Harry, however, would be a different thing.
As that worry lingered in her mind Humptail bellowed from his office door, "Granger! Thomas!"
He motioned them towards the Auror conference room. Already she was resenting Humptail's authority. She was really having difficulty with the thought of working under him as the Head Auror. She just didn't respect him enough.
As soon as they stepped into the room she found John talking with Gates. They stopped their conversation and Gates rolled his eyes up.
"Please tell me there's someone else," Gates said the John.
"She's the best we have."
Thank you John.
"What is this about?" Dean asked the question for her.
"Then give me second best," Gates ignored Dean's question, "She can't do this."
"What can't I do?"
"Warren's got a brilliant idea about how to draw Morpheus Gaunt out," Humptail explained.
"Well, what is this brilliant idea?" she asked him.
Gates explained, "The last time Gaunt escaped Harry and I planted a few fictional Peverells and we forgot about them after the Bat Cave. To make a long story short one of our plants is getting massive pings from an interested party."
"Massive pings?" Dean asked.
"Someone's checking her back-story out from every angle and I think it's Gaunt," Gates answered, "We need a player to make the plant real."
Undercover work. This was interesting. It was a way to get Gaunt before he could violate the Professor's tomb.
"I have no problem with that," she couldn't contain her excitement.
"Well, I do," Gates replied, "I don't think you can play the part."
She took the file from the desk in front of her and flipped to the first page, "Jean Peverell, twenty-three year old primary school teacher from small town Newton, newly married, no kids, husband an assistant Professor of astrophysics at Oxford. It seems easy enough. I can do this."
Hermione continued reading through the made up character's profile silently at the same time she listened to the hogwash Gates was feeding John and Humptail.
"I can't work with her."
"There is no one else," John repeated.
"She's stubborn, opinionated, thinks she knows everything..."
"She knows a lot more than your average witch but she's amazing to work with," Dean defended her, "I can't see why anyone would have a problem working with her unless they're stupid and don't want to be exposed."
"What about Auror Uncewoth?" Humptail suggested.
John answered, "Mat leave."
Dean was surprised, "She gave birth already?"
The conversation went off tangent.
"Uh-huh."
"What did she have?"
"I dunno."
"She was expecting a boy."
"She had twin boys," Hermione tired of the exchange, replied without looking up.
"Anyone else," Gates redirected the men impatiently.
"There's Auror Esterbrook," Humptail said tentatively.
"Ew!" Dean couldn't help his reaction.
"What?!" Gates asked.
"She's just back from a bad case of dragon pox," John explained, "Unfortunately no amount of healing potion or transfiguration can cover the scars up. She's um... kind of hard on the eyes right now."
Men were horrible superficial beings.
"Someone from another quadrant?" Gates continued to undermine her capabilities.
"What is your problem with me?" she had enough, "I told you I could do this."
"I'm playing the husband," he said to her face, "You won't last twenty-four hours playing wife to me."
"I may loathe you but I can be professional about this," she felt insulted that he would even think she couldn't set aside personal differences to do a simple job.
"Really?" he challenged, walking up to where she was.
"Yes, really!" she answered emphatically.
"Let me disprove that."
"Be my gue...!"
Gates moved in quickly, too quickly she was unable to react in time. Before she knew it his hand was on the small of her back and was pulling her body flush against him. His mouth had caught hers perfectly in mid-sentence and was now kissing her passionately, like her lover would, like Harry would. Her eyes opened widely as the thought that Harry was the only one allowed clicked in. The fucking asshole!!!
"Ow!" Gates yelped, pushing away from her faster than he pulled her in. He doubled over and held on to his privates protectively amidst a collective sympathy groan from the men in the room. Still with a pained expression and in a pinched higher voice he said to the group, "I told you she couldn't do this."
Fuck! She was angry and embarrassed at the same time! She should have expected he would stoop this low! She rubbed her mouth roughly against the back of her wrist feeling as if she had been kissed by the plague itself.
"I can do this! Just not with him!" she proclaimed defensively.
While Dean was patting her on the back, to congratulate rather than console, and the other men were offering Gates help, the door to the conference room opened. Minister Shacklebolt walked in immediately followed by a witch she had hoped never to see ever again.
"Fuck..." she hissed under her breath.
What now?
"Waterloo!"
The Hag heard her and turned to face them.
"Hag," she greeted, trying to avert her eyes from focussing on the large wart on her crooked nose, which detracted from the rest of her ungainly features, "This is a surprise."
"A surprise for me too. I had thought you would have quit by now," the older woman pointed out.
"Well, I'm still here," she smiled, hoping that would force her to remain pleasant.
"I can see that," the Hag nodded her head, "Understandably so."
She was nudged from the side.
"This is my partner, Dean Thomas."
Dean extended his hand out which the Hag took.
"Pleased to finally meet you, Ma'am," Dean said to her, "I love your work."
The Hag laughed one of her ghastly laughs and thanked Dean for his compliment.
"Hag, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, "I thought your work here was done?"
She merely gave her that annoying grin of hers which meant she wouldn't answer.
The Minister explained, "As we have done in highly sensitive and important cases I've asked for the Hag's assistance to vet the undercover Aurors. Are you ready for her?"
"Not quite," it was John who answered unhappily.
He, Humptail and Gates all cast accusing glances at her, which made her think, why is this my fault?
Kingsley said something about that being unfortunate but he trusted that they would work things out. He excused himself and then stepped out to attend to more important matters. Hermione was hoping the Minister would stay so the Hag would behave herself but luck wasn't on her side.
"Waterloo," she hated the Hag's patronizing tone, "Are you being difficult again?"
Breath in, breath out.
"I can work with bastards, just not that particular bastard," she said unemotionally.
"The Chameleon Lover!" the Hag called out, causing Dean to snort involuntarily.
John and Humptail were more professional and were trying their best to keep a straight face.
"Hag," Gates walked gingerly over to her and gave her a peck on the cheek, "It's good to see you again."
"For a moment I didn't recognize that it was you writhing in pain in the corner," she said with concern, "Can I offer you a blast of healing ice?"
Dean was shaking, tears in his eyes while John and Humptail burst out in muffled chuckles.
"No thanks, I'm fine."
"I told you before. You must protect the family jewels," she scolded, "You will need each and every one of them to fulfill your destiny of procreation and seeding of the world."
"The family jewels are just fine," Gates reassured her, blushing at the amusement the exchange was providing the audience, "Thank you for your concern."
Hermione scoffed, the thought of him 'seeding the world' was nauseating. Maybe she should have kicked him harder to do the world a favour.
The Hag was back on her case, "What seems to be the problem here?"
"She can't hack the job," Gates said coolly.
"Find me another Auror to play my husband, John," she said to her boss, "I'll work with anyone other than that clown."
"Can you?" The Hag interceded, "So if I ask you to pretend to be wife to anyone in this room you can do it convincingly? Pick one."
If looks could kill the Hag would be dead and had her boss not been in the room with them she would have given her a piece of her mind already. She had a choice between doing it or walking out. She was not a quitter.
She studied the candidates. John was fidgetting, Humptail looked confident, maybe even fucking hopeful and Dean was ashen with a greenish tinge. His eyes begged her not to pick him. If she was going to do this with anyone in the room it might as well be Gates.
"She doesn't need to prove anything," a familiar and welcome voice came out of thin air and until she saw him by the door thought she was imagining him, "We've posed as a couple before, twice before in fact. I can vouch for her. She's pretty convincing."
The manner Harry said that last line made her face warm up somewhat.
"Is that you, Heartbreak?"
"Hag," he acknowledged, then greeted the witch with a smooch on the cheek just as Gates had.
"I see you're still playing hero."
Relief washed over her. My hero.
Harry seemed to know just how to handle the Hag, "And you're still stripping dignity for sport."
"I'm just having some fun," the Hag laughed carelessly, "You have always been such a spoilsport, too serious for your own good. Now, where were we?"
"Another Auror to play my husband," Hermione reminded them, looking over hopefully at John for his answer.
"Gaunt is no walk in the park," John explained to her, "It has to be someone with good instincts and skills and since Harry is tied up until next week, it'll have to be Warren. Make it work."
It was an order.
"Good. That's settled. Everybody, leave us," the Hag ordered, "Not to worry, John. By the end of the day I'll have the two of them acting like husband and wife better than real ones."
"Yeah, we can be the always bickering type," Warren suggested sarcastically.
Hermione chimed in, "That's the best idea you've ever had."
The Hag clasped her hands together and exuberantly pointed out, "You just had your first agreement! This is a great beginning!"
That did not improve the seething dislike Hermione had for both her and the 'Chameleon Lover'. John and Humptail left and so did Dean. Harry too was gone and he seemed to have left before the others. It would have been perfect had Harry not been busy with Ginny's case but instead she would be working with the prick. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.
"Now, what to do next?"
The Hag gave her and Gates a glance and pursed her lips. She waved her wand with a flourish and the room filled with images of Gaunt's every victim, each of them coming up front and centre and introducing themselves, reminding them of who they were and who they were in someone's life. She had tears in her eyes not even halfway through, tears of sorrow for the victims and those they left behind and tears of anger for the heartless wizard who was responsible for all this pain and suffering. When the last ghostly image disappeared into thin air the Hag spoke.
"We are relying on you to stop him, to prevent him from killing more and he will kill more if you fail. If you do not work together you will fail, you will fail not only yourself but also those his victims left behind and those who will be left behind. Do we have your commitment?"
Their answers were obvious.
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A/N. Hope not too many get hung up on the Rasputin angle. I've always wanted to use a non-fictional character in a fictional way.
The Chameleon Lover - the Hag does come up with the cheesiest names for her students :lol: I would hate her too but she does know how to get the job done.
Harry is obviously not happy that Warren will be working with Hermione.
Up next a full plate…Harry's thoughts on that, Ginny in London and if we have time, the `ring'.
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