Later
Midnight
All was now quiet in Salem Village. In one of the nearby houses a clock chimed twelve: midnight. No one would be awake at this time… midnight was the hour of witches, warlocks and Satan himself. Everyone would be safe and warm in their beds, sleeping soundly.
Crack!
A man appeared in the middle of Salem Village as if out of thin air. He stumbled slightly, and the light of a lantern hanging from a nail above a shop door fell on his face. At second glance it became clear that the man was in fact too young to be a man but too old to be a boy. His jet-black hair was mussed and looked dirty. His clothes were ripped and torn. He looked like a vagabond.
Eight days roaming the half-wilderness called New England with little food and less sleep had taken its toll on Harry. As he Apparated into Salem Village, his heart filled with a new determination, his eyes strayed to the many shops and houses that dotted the plains around him. Every single house and most of the shops would have some sort of food stuff in them. It would be so easy to just Apparate inside one of those shops and take some food, maybe grab a blanket, wash his face… he was so hungry…
His stomach rumbled in agreement, but these hunger pangs weren’t normal. They were severe and painful and they made Harry want to lean over and vomit. His legs were weak and shaky and his heart thumped eagerly at the thought of a warm meal. He could feel himself wavering… after all it would take only a few seconds to eat something… he needed to eat…
No.
He hadn’t returned to Salem to steal some food, no matter how tempting the thought of doing so was. Harry tried to concentrate. He was just turning away from a shop brimming with strips of dried venison and bacon when something caught his eyes. Harry moved forward, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Hanging on a shop door, suspended by a rope tied to its neck was a small, emaciated dog. Its tongue flopped out of its mouth; its eyes were wide and staring. As Harry gazed at it, a feeling of nausea rising is his throat, he realized that this dog hadn’t been hanged to death. Magic had killed it. After days and days of being away from the magical world, Harry’s senses pricked at the sight of the dog and he found that he could actually feel the magic that had murdered it. It was a chilling feeling. A shiver slithered up Harry’s spine. At least his suspicion had been confirmed: there were magical folk in Salem.
The only question left to answer now was where these witches and wizards were and why they were wreaking havoc in Salem. Harry reached forward and pulled the rope off the dog’s neck. He had no idea why anyone would do this to a helpless animal. What kind of sick person would just kill a dog who looked half dead anyway? Harry took the dog around the back of the shop and left it there, covering it up with a bit of snow.
As he stood up and dusted his hands off, he sensed something. More magic.
He moved away from the shop, snow and dead grass crunching under his worn out shoes. He was hardly breathing, trying as hard as possible to sense where the magical residue was emanating from. His eyes locked on anything that moved, whether it was a leafless tree swaying in the breeze, a fly whizzing past or a bird stirring in its nest. His ears pricked at every sound. He could feel the magic, he knew he could, but where was it coming from?
And then he fell.
It was a short fall but Harry’s legs still gave out and he fell to his knees with a painful thud. But the pain hardly registered with him as he gasped in amazement. Harry had fallen straight through solid earth. There was no gaping hole above him, no place he could have slipped through. There was nothing but dirt and mud and rock all jammed together.
Harry stared at his surroundings. He had not fallen into darkness as would be expected. Instead he stood in what was obviously someone’s living quarters. Harry knew this was where the magic-feeling had been coming from. There were clear signs in the spherical room that a wizard or a witch lived in it. First the hole he had fallen through… or the solid ground he had fallen through had to have been magically made. Perhaps only witches or wizards could get through the “hole”. Besides that, the only way this shelter could exist was if the walls and ceiling had been strengthened by magic. Harry touched the wall closest to him and he found that he could easily push his finger through. Even his feet were sinking into the floor. It was moist, soft dirt. Not strong enough to hold the shelter up.
Harry’s heart raced as he gazed around the room. A table stood in the center with four chairs around it. On the table was a dirty gray mug. The room was lit by three lanterns that cast shadows of the chairs and tables and now Harry, across the floor and walls. A wardrobe stood against one curved wall and Harry walked over to it slowly and yanked the door open. Inside was a dark colored robe. More proof. This had to be home to a wizard or a witch.
Just then Harry heard something. In the thick silence, he could here footsteps nearing the “hole” he had fallen through. Harry’s heart jumped into his throat and he leapt into the wardrobe, quickly pulling the door until only a chink of light shone through into the closet. He had a clear view of the table now.
Harry had no idea why he was so nervous. The person or persons who lived here could be perfectly safe and kind. But Hermione’s voice kept ringing in his ears: People performing Dark Magic were attracted to torturing young girls and children. Followers of Dark Wizards didn’t hesitate to hurt young people. If that were true, then it might pay to be nervous. Salem Village could easily by a meeting place for dark wizards or witches. Harry found himself wondering why he was actually here. He was weak, hungry and wandless. If there really were dark witches or wizards here, then he didn’t have much chance. In fact, these could be the last few seconds of his life. Amazingly, the thought didn’t chill him as much as it would have a few hours ago. He was here to make a difference. To try and set things right. To clear Hermione’s name and the name of all the other people who had been hanged. And maybe that was worth giving his life for. Hermione had died in vain, and so had Ron. Harry wasn’t going to. He was going to make a difference in Salem even if it killed him. After all, he had changed history so much already without any Ministry interference… they wouldn’t do anything now… and maybe this was history and he was just following his destiny to the end.
Someone jumped down through the hole and Harry, so deep in his thoughts, almost cried out in shock. He muffled his gasp just in time. For a moment he forgot he was in Salem, year 1692 and not in Britain. The person (yes, person, for he couldn’t tell if they were male or female) was hooded and wore a mask over her face. A skull mask. They were dressed like a Death Eater. But no, Death Eaters couldn’t be here in Salem. It wasn’t possible. This was 1692. Voldemort wouldn’t even exist for more than a century!
The masked person moved forward towards the table and five more people entered the shelter one by one, all silent, all masked and robed. They all surrounded the table. Four sat down and the other two pulled out wands and drew up a chair, just as Harry had seen Dumbledore do a few times.
In the wardrobe Harry’s mind was buzzing. Well, they were wizards alright. Or witches. If only they would take off their masks… Harry tired to breathe as quietly as possible as he watched the masked people sit down.
After they were all seated there was a moment of silence. Uncomfortable silence, it seemed to Harry.
Finally someone spoke.
‘There’s another one tomorrow, ‘eh?’ said one of the masked figures, by the deepness of the voice, a man. Harry was surprised to hear the accent he spoke with was more American with a slight British lilt than fully British. He had, in fact, been suspecting these people to be Death Eaters. They were dressed for the part after all.
When no one answered the man, he spoke again. ‘Who’s the ailing this time?’
A woman answered, ‘Some child, of course.’ Her tone was scathing.
The man seemed to think he had made a mistake in speaking. ‘I “ well, I “ er “ just thought”’
‘Getting the jitters are we, Adams?’ the woman said, her voice dangerously quiet.
The man didn’t answer.
Despite the fact that the woman seemed to be doing most of the talking, Harry didn’t think she was the leader. He couldn’t see her masked face, only her back, but by the way she was shifting in her chair, it seemed that she was nervous, not as confident as she sounded. In fact five of the masked people were shifting and twitching in their seats. The only calm person seemed to the being who was sitting facing the closet, so his or her mask was clearly visible to Harry.
The group grew silent and the fidgeting grew worse. Harry wondered what was wrong. They were all acting like naughty children… like they had done something wrong and they were waiting to be scolded for it… had something gone wrong?
Finally, just as Harry was thinking that the group had lapsed into a permanent silence someone spoke and everyone stopped fidgeting.
‘Have you tracked him down?’ spoke the person sitting directly in Harry’s line of sight.
A shiver ran up Harry’s spine and his jaw dropped. He knew that voice. No, it wasn’t possible… it couldn’t be possible. Harry’s mind buzzed and he felt inexplicably cold. How? How could it be - ?
The other five witches and wizards had frozen at the sound of their leader’s voice. Of course, the voice did belong to the leader. Who else would speak so authoritatively? And as Harry squinted in the sliver of light entering the wardrobe, keeping an eye on what was happening, the cold feeling that had encase him began to disappear.
It was beginning to make sense.
And now Harry wondered how he could have missed it…
‘No, we have not,’ replied Adams, the man who had spoken earlier. Harry’s mind returned to the unfolding events.
There was silence again and then the leader spoke. ‘I am very disappointed. I give all that is need. I take care of the girl for you, the smartest of them. I give you the responsibility of removing the other two. And you fail.’
‘We did eradicate one threat… we will eradicate the other as well”’ began another masked wizard, but the leader cut him off.
‘I gave you the perfect opening. I made sure to lead them to you. I made sure that they walked straight into the trap. And still you manage to kill only one of them. The lesser of the two. He is wandless and helpless, out in the wilderness, and still you cannot kill him. The opportunity arose after you had gotten rid of the second and you did not take it. WHAT WENT WRONG!?’
The cocky woman who had been taunting Adams earlier spoke. Harry thought she was either very brave or very stupid to speak. ‘The ice break cut us off. We were pulled under as well. He got away before we could gather our bearings. We do not know where he is.’
It was the wrong thing to say.
‘You do not know where he is?’ asked the leader in a dangerous voice.
The woman answered again, ‘It was Adams’s fault.’
The leader did not answer but Adams stood up so quickly his chair fell over. He was pointing his wand at the woman who had blamed him. ‘Of course, Mary, everything is my fault ‘eh? While you were here with Hawthorn killing some dog I was searching for the boy. So upon whom does the blame lie?
Tensions were running high. The leader still did not speak, but Mary stood up, raising her wand as well. Before she could do anything someone else also rose, stepping in front of Mary. Harry supposed it was the “Hawthorn” Adams had spoken of. He wondered where he had heard that name before… it seemed familiar.
‘We did search for the boy,’ Hawthorn said quietly. ‘And when we did not find him we returned here to report to our leader.’
‘Oh, shut it Hawthorn,’ said Adams. ‘You and Mary, neither of you have helped us at all, always taking breaks for a “bit of fun”. Was that dead dog an outcome of another bit of fun? You and girlfriend are both traitors, shirking off work for nothing.’ He turned to the leader. ‘I should do away with both Hawthorn and Mary if I were you. They endanger our existence.’
Hawthorn was about to say something, but Mary gave a screech the likes of which Harry had never heard before, and flew at Adams. Her mask fell off as she leapt and her face was revealed. She was a fairly pretty woman, round about twenty five with shiny brown locks and dark eyes. Her face was contorted with anger. Mary grabbed Adams around the waist, causing both of them to topple to the floor. Hawthorn yelled out and jumped forward trying to pull Mary off of Adams. The two unknown members of the group also rose to stop the fighting.
Harry however did not give the fight his full attention. His eyes were on something else.
He was staring at a wand that lay just outside the wardrobe, a hand’s reach away. It had fallen out of Adams’s hand when Mary had leaped at him. Harry’s heart thumped rapidly in his ribcage. That wand could be his ticket out of the whole mess…
He knelt down, and making sure that everyone outside the clothes cupboard was busy, pushed the door open a bit wider and slowly reached out to grab the wand…
Slowly… slowly…
Harry didn’t want to draw attention to his hand as it moved stealthily towards the abandoned wand. He could still hear the sounds of the scuffling dark wizards and prayed that all of them were still busy.
Finally his hand made contact with the wood and Harry’s heart leaped. It was so comforting to be touching the thin piece of wood that made a wizard everything he was, that for a moment, Harry forgot that the dark wizards had been talking about himself and Ron and Hermione. He forgot that they had killed his best friends and were now focusing on killing him. He forgot all of it, because now, with his hands on a wand, some hope entered him and he felt that maybe, just maybe, he could get out of all of this A-Okay.
That moment lasted for less than a second.
Just as Harry grabbed the wand and pulled it into the closet, the closet’s door flew open.
Everything went still.
The fighting dark wizards stared, frozen in the middle of punching, defending or pulling someone off someone else, at Harry. The leader was standing, mask gone, staring at the intruder. Harry was crouching in the closet, his right hand on Adams’s wand. His mind was whirring, survival instincts kicking in: How was he going to get out of this mess?
Harry jumped to his feet, and pointed his newly acquired wand at the now unmasked leader. He knew that the others would do nothing unless given orders and if their leader was in danger of being killed, no orders would be issued.
‘My wand!’ shouted Adams, untangling himself from the others and standing up. ‘He’s got my wand!’ He began to jump forwards towards Harry, but Harry immediately pointed his wand at the man. Adams froze in mid-stride.
Now their leader stepped forward, and Harry’s wand went back to her, his face contorted with anger. He wanted to kill her right there and then. She deserved to die. The hatred rising in his stomach was almost uncontrollable. But it was she who made the first move.
‘Harry,’ she said, her voice kind, the way Harry remembered it being, the way it had been when she had spoken to him oh, so long ago. There was a lifetime between their first meeting and this one now. ‘Well, I won’t hesitate to say that I am very surprised to find you here again. I did not expect it. That just goes to show you even the best cannot predict everything.’
Harry was gripping his wand so tightly that it was in danger of breaking in two. ‘It was you all along. I can’t believe I missed it…’
She smiled and Harry hated her even more. To think, he had once thought her beautiful. ‘So you begin to understand? I could not let you stand in my way Harry, not now that we’ve come so far”’
Harry was confused. ‘Come so far? What are you talking about?’ he interrupted.
She did not answer his question. Instead she went on as if she had never been interrupted. ‘In fact when you and your friends first arrived, I thought you were allies, sent to help us! Salem is not well known for being a populated wizarding town. It is as it seems: a muggle village. So why, I asked myself, would three young people arrive in Salem Village, two wizards and a witch, all of them ostensibly very able, if not to help us out? So I restored you back to health, gave you a potion that could heal you faster than any muggle medicines. Had I known then what I know now, I would not have bothered. You and your friends were not made to use the amulet that brought you to us. It was made for a much more powerful person that much was clear. Its effects on you three were so devastating that you all were already on the edge of death. Had it not been for me, then we would not be speaking now, child. I saved your life.’
‘We didn’t come to help you out! And you needn’t have saved us!’ shouted Harry angrily, but the leader strode on, ignoring him.
‘It soon became clear though, that you three were just ignorant, stupid, folly children who had no idea what they had fallen into. As soon as I saw the amulet you had arrived with, I knew. I told you the signs and markings had something to do with occult. I was amazed you never questioned me. How could any muggle, even one living in Salem Village 1692, possibly know that the amulet had magical markings? Why, even you three hadn’t the faintest idea that the markings around the rim of the pendant were more than mere scribbles. So how on God’s green earth could a muggle know?’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ yelled Harry, his wand hand shaking now.
‘It was then,’ said the leader, barging on, ‘that I began to formulate the beginnings of a plan that would mean your end. As stupid you all seemed I knew that sooner or later you would get wind of what was happening to Salem and try to change it. I could see the imbecilic goodness that flowed through you and your two friends. I knew that, children though you may be, you would try to stop us.’
Harry had no idea what she was talking about, what she could mean. It all sounded much more ominous than a few hangings. It sounded like a preplanned chain of events.
The leader was still talking. ‘There are potions that can give the drinker… selective amnesia. It proves very handy when you want someone to forgot something temporarily… something that could hinder plans. So we decided we would make you forget… forget who you are. Not completely of course. You three still knew you were witch and wizards, but the usefulness of magic left your mind. So when it became clear that you three were in danger you did not think of Apparating at all. It did not even occur to you that the girl could have left her prison in a snap, that even when she was in chains, at Gallows Hill, she could have Apparated away. So one small potion, a potion which looked like maple syrup, a potion you three willingly poured over your breakfast one day became the beginning of your end.’
‘You only managed to kill Hermione!’ snarled Harry. He wanted to find a mistake in her ramblings, wipe that confident smirk off her hideous face. ‘You weren’t successful!’
Harry’s words did not have the desired effect. The leader continued to speak, ‘Our plan was to kill the girl first. She was the smartest, the brightest of you three. I could see that she would be the first to become suspicious, especially if you three sat down to recount the events that had occurred since you had arrived in Salem. I watched you from the window after I had told you to take your amulet to the magistrate. I could see then that the girl was unready to leave. You aroused her curiosity by telling her that I informed you that the amulet had something to do with witchcraft. She caught what you two did not. I appeared to be a muggle. No muggle can read Runes. But by then my potion had begun to take effect and she thought of it only momentarily. I have to say we were lucky that the amulet was taken for you three immediately after you arrived in Salem. Otherwise the girl may have examined the Runes more closely earlier and understood. The potion cannot erase what you already know. It can only make it seem unimportant. So had Hermione examined the markings at an earlier time, she would have already told you their meaning, She would have said that it had almost nothing to do with witchcraft and that had a muggle been able to read it, it would not have seemed out of the ordinary to them.’
Hatred was boiling in the pit of Harry’s stomach. A chill spread over his body from his toes to his brain. What was she talking about? Where was this going? Was she right? Had Hermione known? Had she suspected that something was wrong in Salem? Harry swallowed hard and then asked, ‘What did the runes say?’
The leader smiled. A smug smile. A smile of someone for whom everything has gone right. Harry wanted to curse her into oblivion; he wanted her to feel the pain, to die like Hermione had died, like Ron had died. He wanted her to feel the fear of death. Harry’s wand shook in his hands. How he hated her now… and still it was befuddling. Things were beginning to make sense but still… how could it be her?
‘Well, I don’t know if that is really important… I don’t think you need to know.’ And even before she had finished her sentence, Harry realized that the other five were leaving as fast as they could. They were Apparating. Harry’s heart jumped into his throat but before he could even react the leader snapped and vanished and the underground shelter fell. Mounds of dirt and rock crumbled, all onto Harry who had not even been given the time to take a final breath.
His last thought before darkness was: Samantha Becker has control of wandless magic.