Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 57
Infiltration
With renewed confidence, Harry and company turned their attention to the destruction of the locket. Clearly, the sinuous, incised “S” marked it as the property of Salazar Slytherin, but they were unlikely to find any other possessions of his. Nor were they certain of whose death had been crucial to its creation, so that avenue was a dead end as well. Instead, they explored associations with the sterling silver from which it had been cast, but the locket was not yet ready to reveal its secrets.
Hermione suggested that it might respond to some of the jewelry fragments that had cushioned its hiding place. A broken hat pin as long as a porcupine quill seemed ideal, yet its fearsome appearance belied the fact that it was totally unresponsive. Temporarily stymied, Harry concentrated on more immediate concerns, hoping that illumination would strike in due time.
Not long after finding the decoy Horcrux in Dumbledore’s lifeless hand, the three of them had come to the consensus that R.A.B. was likely Regulus Arcturus Black, none other than Sirius’ younger brother who had been a Death Eater according to rumor. Their suspicions were strengthened by the discovery of the other, more likely, locket during their aborted reconnaissance of Grimmauld Place.
Despite Hermione’s subsequent research in the library, Harry regretted not having had enough time to review the Black family tapestry that hung in the townhouse’s main parlor. Ideally, he would have preferred to engage Sirius himself in a discussion of the family tree, providing reassurance in return that Regulus had redeemed himself in the end. But Voldemort and his minions had robbed him of any guidance his godfather could have provided. Could he truly have been so naïve to think that the communication mirrors might have provided a viable conduit to the land of death? Perhaps if he had been able to locate the mirror’s twin and somehow managed to send it through the tattered veil in the Department of Mysteries. Even in a world where magic was an everyday event, such a solution seemed far-fetched. He shook his head ruefully as he recalled his mother’s advice about maintaining his focus on the land of the living.
Thus, when Thursday morning arrived once more, Harry was anxious to discuss a number of different things with Snape. But thirty minutes past the predetermined time, there was nothing but silence.
Taking matters into his own hands, Harry allowed his reflection to fill the mirror and then whispered urgently, “Please, I need to speak with you!”
No image appeared, but Snape’s voice hissed softly, “Twenty minutes.”
Harry occupied himself with other matters in his bed chamber while keeping a close eye on his watch. Before the allotted time was up, the mirror’s silvery surface was displaced by Snape’s face.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Potter,” he urged. “I’m being watched more closely than ever.”
In an instant, Harry dropped his book on the desktop and had the mirror in hand. Unsure how to begin, he settled for saying, “Thanks for the invaluable assistance in locating the technical journals. They were very…enlightening.”
“Sobering would be a more accurate assessment, don’t you think?”
Harry nodded grimly. “The potion makers recognized that they were out of their depth.”
“I could have told you that!” Snape spat, then reined himself back before adding, “If you’d accepted the truth of my earlier estimation, that is.”
“I stand corrected then.”
Snape’s eyes flashed momentarily; then he nodded in silent acknowledgement of Harry’s attempt at an apology.
“I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate your --” Harry amended lamely.
“Save me the interpretive dance, Potter,” Snape sneered. “I’ve only just had my breakfast.”
Harry kept his anger in check by virtue of sheer willpower. Instead, he remarked coldly, “Do you go out of your way to be disagreeable?”
“It’s a natural talent; surely you must have realized that by now. No thanks are necessary in this instance. I was repaying a life debt that was still outstanding from your meddlesome father.”
Harry chose to ignore the insulting tone. “When he prevented you from entering the Whomping Willow during a full moon?”
“None other. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better for him if he hadn’t interfered…”
“You would have been torn to pieces!” Harry gasped involuntarily. And Lupin would be serving a life sentence in Azkaban for murder -- or worse, he thought darkly.
“Or just bitten and turned,” supplied Snape. “It’s impossible to know the outcome. Only one thing is certain: I would not have been in a position to overhear Trelawney’s prophecy.”
Harry was taken aback by Snape’s speculative mood. “You think my parents wouldn’t have become Voldemort’s victims, then? Again, just conjecture. Life debt or not, I would be a cad if I didn’t offer you my appreciation.”
Snape curled his lip to indicate that he was quickly losing patience. In the next breath, he changed the subject, “Have you had any luck finding compatible objects?”
“In some cases,” Harry replied, choosing his words with care. “It wasn’t as complicated as I originally feared.”
“So you’ve destroyed some of the items?” Snape demanded eagerly.
Harry was unsure what to say. After a rather long pause, he made a stammering attempt, “I don’t think I can….not in good conscience.” Giving it up, he simply concluded, “I’m sorry.”
Snape’s hooded eyes appraised him carefully. “Understood,” was his succinct response.
Harry guided the conversation in a safer direction as he volunteered, “I’m having trouble locating a compatible item in one case. Various things we tried have shown no reaction.”
“What can you tell me about the Horcrux in question?”
“Slow down….your phraseology needs a bit of fine tuning,” Harry cautioned with a mirthless smile. “I need something that belonged to a member of the Black family. None of us can just pop into Grimmauld Place anymore.”
“My leash doesn’t extend that far, either.” Snape laughed hollowly. “Forget Grimmauld Place, it’s a trap.”
“Like Godric’s Hollow?” Harry dared, holding his breath in anticipation of the possible reply.
“Also a trap,” Snape replied with typical disdain. “Both places are being watched. They think it likely that, sooner or later, you will show up at one or the other.”
Harry filed that tidbit away for later, then pressed, “Still need an item that belonged to the Blacks. It wouldn’t have to be very large to do the trick.”
“You seek to destroy a Black family heirloom?” Snape ventured.
“No, but the object that was used as a decoy was.”
“That may not be a strong enough tie. What can you tell me about the object’s construction?”
“It’s made of silver, but we’ve already gone down that route to no -- ”
“Indulge me,” Snape impatiently cut across. “I assume you’ve tried the Hogwarts silverware; not the everyday stuff, but the sterling pieces that are kept for special occasions.”
“Yes -- and we’ve concluded that Wormtail’s silver hand would be ideal, but just can’t figure out how to get a hold of it!”
Snape laughed with uncommon relish. “Admittedly, disconnecting it from Wormtail’s arm could prove a difficult undertaking. Might be fun, though,” he added with a disconcerting smirk.
“Not unless I want to alert every Death Eater within a thousand mile radius!” rejoined Harry. “I should also mention that the object in question was hidden at the Black residence for a number of years.”
With a lift of an eyebrow to indicate renewed interest, Snape inquired, “Was it ‘liberated’ from its original hiding place by a member of the Black family?”
“Yes, Regulus Black.”
“That would certainly strengthen the tie,” Snape conceded. “As for Regulus, he was a member of my own House while I was at school…. Let me think... None of his belongings would still be around unless they had been confiscated by Filch.”
“You tell me. I have enough trouble keeping my own things out of that man’s greedy hands.”
“So many vendettas throughout the years that it’s hard to keep track of all the themes,” Snape commiserated wryly.
“Something from Zonko’s Joke Shop…”
But Snape was of a different opinion. “Not if it belonged to Regulus, it wouldn’t have been! A regular little uppity prat he was, thought he was better than everyone else. If it wasn’t his toujours pur blood, it was his fancy, foppish clothing or overwrought family heirlooms…. That’s it! Would a throwing dart serve your purposes? It has a nice sharp point.”
“That would work, but I still don’t understand…”
“Regulus had his own little dart game going, used to fleece the younger ones mercilessly,” Snape elaborated. “Had his own personal set of sterling silver darts emblazoned with the family crest. Said they’d been handed down from a relative who was a great champion. Blah, blah. The darts ended up in Filch’s office waiting to be properly calibrated before they skewed another game in his favor.”
“Do you think they might still be there? It’s been a long time.” Harry hardly dared to hope.
“Maybe not the complete set, but you only need one. They were in a little wooden box inlaid with ivory, about the size of a deck of cards.”
“A promising lead.” Harry smiled in thanks.
“Do not thank me unless you find them,” Snape cautioned with pointed sarcasm. “I’ve had a surfeit of gratitude for the day.”
“How about a tidbit in recompense, then?” Harry offered magnanimously. “Are you familiar with an individual referred to as ‘Fudge’s Handmaiden’?”
Snape’s ebony eyes immediately lit up with zest. “I’ve overheard references to an operative called ‘the handmaiden’. I suppose it could be the same person now that Fudge has been deposed.”
“No other details?” Harry urged, trying not to sound overzealous.
“Only that this person is Voldemort’s mole within the Ministry.”
Snape’s forthrightness was so unusual that Harry hesitated momentarily before supplying, “I have reason to believe that dubious honor belongs to none other than Dolores Umbridge.”
Snape swore vehemently under his breath. “I was aware that the Ministry was honeycombed with closeted Death Eaters, but I never suspected the corruption went so far. That woman is practically second-in-command under the new administration as well! To think I could have strangled her with my bare hands when she had the temerity to inspect my classes….”
“You weren’t alone. As to the present situation, what’s uncertain is whether she wields as much influence with Scrimgeour as she did with Fudge.”
“Fudge was nothing more than a hollow suit filled with ego and helium. Scrimgeour is--”
“”infinitely more dangerous,” Harry finished. “Especially not knowing where his true loyalties lie.”
“For now, I will have to give this more thought,” Snape announced curtly before signing off.
Harry was relieved he had not been barraged with questions concerning the source of his information. With a guilty jolt, he considered that perhaps Snape had already deduced that such secrets could only have come from one of Voldemort’s cursed little packages. A mantle of doubt settled over him as he wondered whether he had inadvertently revealed too much.
Ron’s eyes fairly danced when Harry announced that they would need to break into Filch’s office.
“It’s not my birthday, again, is it?” He smirked gleefully. “Filch’s repository is the mother lode, mate!”
Harry found himself smiling in spite of the serious nature of the task before them.
Hermione sighed in defeat. “Since we seem to have exhausted all other options, I agree we shouldn’t let such a clue slip through our fingers. I’ll accompany Ron so that he doesn’t turn a simple surgical strike into a shopping expedition.”
“Marathon, more likely! I could get one-of-a-kind Christmas gifts for years to come.” Ron scowled good-naturedly at Hermione as Harry looked on in amusement.
Eager to complete Dumbledore’s assignment now that the finish line was in sight, they agreed to make an attempt that very night. They waited until the sounds of Neville’s heavy breathing indicated that he was sound asleep before creeping down the darkened stairs. Harry was in the lead, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, guiding them with whispered instructions.
“The timing is ideal,” he breathed after consulting the Marauder’s Map. “Peeves is loitering outside the Headmistress’ office and Filch is on the far side of the courtyard. Looks like he’s just beginning his rounds of the other side of the castle; Mrs. Norris is tagging along.”
Encountering no obstacles on their approach to the ground floor, Harry took one last look at the Map before giving them the go ahead.
“Remember, I’ll position myself at the end of the corridor. If he turns this way or anything else happens, I’ll tap on the door with my wand three times to alert you.”
“You have a supply of decoy detonators just in case?” Ron triple-checked.
“Yes,” Harry whispered as he realized they could not see him nodding from underneath the Cloak.
“Just keep your mind on our objective,” Hermione cautioned in an undertone. “The last thing I want to encounter is Filch’s wrath. I couldn’t bear the look of grim satisfaction on his face.”
From a short distance away, Harry watched Hermione noiselessly command the lock to open before her. Within seconds, she and Ron were inside and had closed the office door silently behind them.
Harry followed Filch’s desultory route through the far tower as he kept an eye on his watch at the same time. They had predetermined that they would allot themselves a maximum of thirty minutes to search the office. It was too big a risk to stay any longer. If necessary, they could make another attempt tomorrow night.
Hermione allowed a small smile to dance across her lips as she watched Ron direct a Muffliato charm towards the battered door. With bated breath, she turned her attention to the untidy office before her. The stale smell of fried foods was overpowering, but there was no window or skylight to allow for a stream of fresh air. A quick swish of her wand readily bathed the surroundings in amber tones from the single oil lamp that dangled from the high ceiling.
Ignoring filing cabinets that bulged with the paper trail of previous miscreants, she motioned Ron’s attention towards the cabinet labeled as “Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.” With a simple flourish, she released all the locks at once. Ron opened the doors to the top half of the cabinet with gusto while Hermione concentrated her efforts on the drawers below.
The magnitude of the task threatened to overwhelm her when she peered into the contents of the bottom-most drawer. It was filled to the brim with all manner of toys and joke objects, most no longer in working order. To make an orderly search would take hours. As she listened to Ron’s awed exclamations about the treasures he had unearthed, Hermione intoned a silent, Accio darts!, in order to facilitate her search. The sea of abandoned objects did not move. She amended her request to, Accio silver!, but there was still no response.
The sheer weight of its contents made it difficult to re-close the drawer, but Hermione succeeded after a few shaky attempts. She turned her attention to the next drawer but it did not yield anything of interest, either.
The third drawer from the bottom was much shallower that its brothers. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat when she immediately saw it in the corner: a dark wooden box, its lid intricately woven with ivory and silver tendrils. She started to place a hand on Ron’s arm to redirect his attention when she was caught short by three soft raps on the door.
“Don’t try to come out!” Harry hissed urgently. “Hide if possible. Make no attempt to respond.”
Hermione saw her own panic reflected in Ron’s eyes. What could have happened only ten minutes into their search? Filch couldn’t have had time to return from the far side of the castle even if it were possible to Apparate within the castle “ and the man was a bloody Squib!
Harry watched as the small dot marked “Argus Filch” stopped along a windowless expanse of wall in the fourth floor tower gallery. Filch must have called Mrs. Norris to him as the cat’s dot suddenly merged with his, making a jumble of the small identifying labels. Harry was familiar with the portrait gallery as it made for a pleasant walk en route to the Headmistress’ office, but he could not fathom what was causing Filch to linger there at midnight.
An empty bubble formed around the caretaker’s head to indicate he was speaking words, but for some inexplicable reason they did not register on the Map. Without any prior warning, the intermingled dots vanished from view. Harry stared dumbly at the Map. It had to be some sort of secret hiding room or passage the Marauders had not known about in their heyday. What’s more, had he just seen a Squib perform magic? No, he considered silently, if the painting was magical, it would open for anyone with the proper password. With a cold knot of dread, Harry realized that he had no idea where Filch would reappear!
His only thought was that he had to warn Ron and Hermione to abort the mission. But as he neared the closed office door, Harry saw Filch incomprehensibly step out from behind a life-sized painting at the far end of the corridor. If the others opened the door now, they would be caught directly in Filch’s sights! Relying on the Cloak to hide him, Harry abandoned all efforts at stealth as he flew towards the door and issued a terse warning to stay put. He didn’t dare elaborate lest he eat up the few precious seconds he still had to create a diversion.
Harry quickly ducked into a short side passage, his right hand already fumbling for a decoy detonator. That would never work, he concluded dismally after a moment’s thought. Somehow, he needed to divert Filch’s attention up the stairs into Gryffindor Tower. Only then could the three of them escape unseen in the other direction. To be sure, they would need to wait until Filch’s rounds took him away again before they could return to their rooms, but it was the only plan he could devise on such short notice.
Mrs. Norris bounded out of Filch’s arms to go exploring in the opposite direction. At least she wouldn’t unnerve him again by sniffing too close to the hem of the Cloak even though her feline eyes could not penetrate the enchanted fabric. Unfortunately, Filch’s bobbing lantern indicated he was walking resolutely in Harry’s direction.
With a desperation born of sheer panic, Harry took the steps up the grand staircase two at a time. Soundlessly, he bypassed the jeweled hourglasses and wound his way further up the Tower. When he had positioned himself so that he had a clear shot of the Fat Lady’s portrait, he leaned over the railing to better gauge his chances. He would have to be very exact. By the increased brightness from the lantern, Harry estimated Filch was only twenty paces or so from his office door.
Taking a deep breath to still his rattling nerves, Harry began by placing an Imperturbable Charm on the Gryffindor portrait hole to keep from waking anyone. Next, he pointed his wand at the suit of armor on the lower landing. Accio armor! he intoned inwardly then watched the armor try to disengage itself from its marble pedestal. It succeeded only in capsizing into a heap, but the reverberating metallic clattering was ideal.
The shards of light on the corridor walls stopped jumping as Filch hesitated. Casting a finite incantatem in the direction of the first diversion, Harry set his sights on the next floor of the open gallery. Seeing that another coat of armor was standing directly on the polished floor, he mentally intoned tarantallegra so that its feet would begin their frenzied, cranking movements. The toe guard on one of the armored shoe covers came loose and rattled across the floor. Mesmerized, Harry watched as it slipped perfectly between the slats of the railing and tumbled ever so slowly towards the marble floor three stories below.
Hermione glanced around the crumbling office in momentary indecision. Not that she considered ignoring Harry’s warning, but there was simply no hiding places among the densely packed furniture. Ron had obviously come to a similar conclusion as his gaze slowly swept the circumference of the room, a look of utter dismay coloring his features.
“We’ll just have to improvise,” Hermione hissed, forgetting that she had spelled the door.
Grabbing Ron by his shirtsleeve, she pulled him into the small space beneath the faded desk. Displaced from its usual resting spot, Filch’s chair started to roll away towards the back wall. Hermione’s hand darted out to wrestle it into a more natural position.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” came Ron’s whisper. “Anyone who walks in can spot us immediately.”
“That puts them in our sights, too,” Hermione returned as a desperate plan began to form in her head. “We’ll just have to hit them before they hit us. You disarm them and I’ll get them with a confundus jinx!” She didn’t mention that her strategy was worthless if there was more than one person.
If Ron saw the holes in her plan, he was too generous to comment. “Perhaps if we dimmed the lights, it will take Filch a moment to peer through the darkness with his lantern,” he suggested.
Hermione nodded as she considered the few extra seconds that might buy them. Filch’s lantern would also halo his own face, making him a much easier target for them. Of course, it might be someone more dangerous than Filch…
As she eased out from underneath the desk to have a clear shot at the oil lamp above, she felt Ron tug the hem of her shirt. Noiselessly, he pointed to the far wall. Immediately beneath the spot where the wall joined the ceiling, Filch had draped a souvenir banner from Umbridge’s reign of terror. It was singed along the edges and practically torn in two, but its bold black letters still extolled that: Proper Behavior is the Key to Happiness.
Hermione was about to ask Ron what was so significant about Filch’s obvious bias when she noted that the weight of the banner required that it be attached to the wall by rather peculiar looking nails. Squinting at the irregular shadows they cast in the flickering light, it slowly dawned on her that they were darts!
“No time to explore that now, Ron,” she warned as her wordless command of nox plunged them into darkness. As she huddled up next to him under the desk, Hermione breathed encouragingly into his ear, “Nice call, though.”
He gave her hand a brief squeeze in reply as they heard distant clanging from high above. In the quiet void after the echo had died away, she distinguished the unmistakable sound of footsteps outside their door.
A guttural snarl from below alerted Harry that Filch had already been bounding towards the first landing when the staircases decided to shift position. Without waiting for confirmation, he dove down the fifth floor corridor and around the far corner. Behind a moth eaten tapestry that portrayed fierce unicorns in battle, he found a hidden door that was masquerading as a wall. In his haste, he nearly overshot the top landing of a curving flight of stairs leading down.
Before emerging back on ground level, he lit his wand tip for a quick review of the Map. Filch seemed to be examining the gallery three floors above while Mrs. Norris was huddled near the door leading to the Owlery “ the loud noises must have spooked her. With perfect timing, Peeves was gliding down the fourth floor corridor towards the tower. Harry hadn’t anticipated finding a handy scapegoat in such short notice but luck was on his side for once.
Extinguishing his light and refolding the Map, he emerged at the end of a short corridor on the far side of Filch’s office. After a quick tug on the Cloak to keep it draped evenly, he crept out to the main hallway and noiselessly slipped inside the office.
After the dim lights in the corridor, the office interior was as black as a cave. Harry lit the tip of his wand silently, then eased it past the edge of his Cloak so that it would illuminate the surroundings. He spied Ron and Hermione instantly, huddled like two homeless urchins under Filch’s desk.
“Unless you’re imitating a fear of intimacy advert, no one is likely to believe you two ducked into this office for a quick snog!” he quipped as he tossed off the Invisibility Cloak. In the next instant, he heard the clatter of his wand against the filing cabinets as he was disarmed.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione gushed as she grabbed him in a quick hug. “I’m so glad it’s you! One more second and I would have confounded you.”
“Sorry about the wand, chum.” Ron grinned sheepishly as he handed Harry’s wand back. “Couldn’t hesitate.”
Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the small wooden box that Hermione was removing from her cloth satchel. “You found it!” he whispered in awe.
“Maybe not,” Hermione cautioned. “It doesn’t seem heavy enough. I didn’t have time to open it before lights out.”
The air hung motionless in the small room as she wiggled the top open. Other than a few bits of broken feathers, the box was empty.
Ron pointed to the banner on the far wall. “Look at what’s holding the banner up, though,” he offered with a satisfied grin.
Hermione lifted her wand in the direction of the banner, but Harry caught her arm. “I don’t want to have to re-hang that unless absolutely necessary,” he noted.
Heeding the advice, Hermione intoned verbally, “Accio sterling silver!”
The darts high on the wall did not move, but the wooden pencil cup on the desk next to Ron rattled ominously. Ron reached out a hand just in time to keep the contents from spilling out all over the floor.
“Sorry, must have jiggled the desk without realizing it,” he apologized.
“Not necessarily,” Harry remarked, turning his attention to the desktop. “Try in the other direction, Hermione. I’ll hold out the satchel to catch any objects.”
Ron backed out of the way as Hermione directed her spell towards the other side of the room. Almost immediately, they saw flashes of silver as a number of objects from the pencil cup as well as from underneath stacks of papers flew into the cloth sack.
“We’ll examine them later,” Harry urged. “Maybe something else will work as well.”
“Good idea, Harry,” Hermione agreed. “Any other type of silver object might turn out to be compatible anyway.”
A quick review of the Map showed that Filch and Peeves were still on the fourth floor, but Mrs. Norris had started to wander back in their direction. They could not risk hesitating any longer! As soon as he was certain that Hermione had relocked the cabinet, Harry dowsed the light. Covering himself with the Invisibility Cloak once more, he eased the door open.
It took only a few seconds for their eyes to accustom themselves to the patchy moonlight in the corridor. Harry could hear the distant gravelly grumbling from Filch as he attempted to right the coats of armor in the Gryffindor Tower gallery. He even thought he could hear Peeves’ demented giggling in the background, but wasn’t certain. Hermione turned briefly to relock the office door, then the trio took off at a quiet trot, taking the first corridor that led deeper into the heart of the castle.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: Determined to conquer the final Horcrux, the trio embark upon a daring mission that has them wandering the castle after curfew.