They Must be Fed
Only the sound of three sets of footsteps thudding against a hollow, wooden floor was what broke the silence, and perhaps Mundungus’ breathing was a little louder than usual, but his captors said nothing, not even when he was forced into an uncomfortable chair.
He grimaced as his hands were tightly bound, and still, nothing was said.
The slamming of a door nearby caused him to jump, and then he was left in silence. For how long, he did not know, but eventually, he heard more footsteps, just a single pair this time, and he whimpered unwittingly as the door opened once more.
He could feel someone staring at him, his senses on high alert, yet, as his blindfold was removed, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Potter?” he choked. “Bloody hell, why didn’t you just say it was you? Why was I kidnapped like that? You just had to get a message to me!”
“Would you have come?”
Mundungus wasn’t certain he would, and the shrug he received in response to his silence explained exactly why Potter had done what he had.
“Fine, well, I’m here now, ain’t I? You can untie me.”
“That depends on you,” Potter replied. “I’m not Dumbledore, Fletcher. I’m not just going to blindly trust you. If you tell me what I want to hear without lying or keeping things from me, I’ll let you go without any problems. If you do lie to me, Mundungus…”
He let the threat hang, and Mundungus swallowed deeply.
“Bleeding hell, what do you want to know? I haven’t done nothing wrong.”
“I want to know where the Death Eaters spend time in Knockturn Alley, where they do their recruitment, and any other places of interest.”
Mundungus shook his head.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Potter shook his head disappointedly, and for the first, Mundungus realised that this was not the same meek boy that had arrived at Grimmauld place more than two years prior.
No, Potter was a man now and was much more similar to Black than he was Dumbledore.
“Potter, I don’t know!” he protested. “I don’t know anything for certain.”
“What do you know?”
It was difficult to meet his gaze, and when he did, Mundungus could feel a pressure in his mind, a headache forming, and he winced from the discomfort.
“Look, all I know is that if you go into certain pubs and shops, some of them have extra rooms out of the public eye. Not even the aurors could ever get to them. If there is anywhere the Death Eaters are using, it will be in one of them.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know, maybe five or six.”
Reaching into his robes, potter removed a quill and some parchment before untying Mundungus’s hands.
“Write down everything you know, Fletcher,” he instructed, ‘and I mean everything. I want names, places, and times.”
“Potter, they will kill me…”
“And you think that I won’t?” Potter snorted. “I’m not playing games, Fletcher. Write everything down, and no one will ever know it was you. If you fuck me about, I will make sure that every last scumbag in Knockturn Alley knows who it was that caused the destruction of their favourite places. Believe me, I will level the entire place if that is what it takes. Every last little hovel and shithole will be gone, and there will be nowhere left for you and your dodgy dealings. I’m even willing to forgive you for the things you stole from Grimmauld Place after Sirius was killed.”
Mundungus felt his heart sink into his stomach, and dared not meet the gaze of the young man who was glaring at him once more.
He couldn’t even deny that he’d taken a few things to sell on, to give himself a little nest egg to see him through the war.
Reluctantly, he began writing, he is hand shaking from the nervousness that had gripped him.
Although he was still somewhat relieved that it was Potter who’d captured him and not the Dark Lord, that relief was beginning to fade. Potter was equally as terrifying, and it seemed that he had an axe to grind with Mundungus, who gave all the information he could, for what good it would do.
When he was done, Potter snatched the piece of parchment away before reading through it, nodding to himself as he headed towards the door.
“Aren’t you going to let me go?” Mundungus asked.
“Not until I know whether this is any good or not. Don’t worry, Fletcher, you’ll be safe here, unless you’ve lied to me.”
The door slammed, and Mundungus flinched.
Potter meant it, and though he had complied as best he could, he could not ignore the nervousness that continued become more and more prominent.
If what he’d given wasn’t enough, what would Potter do to him?
Mundungus cursed under his breath.
He should’ve stayed in hiding.
If he had, he wouldn’t be where he was now dreading whether or not it would be Potter or the Death Eaters that would eventually kill him. Of course, neither was preferable, and Mundungus cursed once more, rubbing his throbbing temples as an unpleasant headache began to set in.
(Break)
“The place is looking well,” Remus commented as he walked around the shop.
James and Sirius would’ve been in their elements in a place like this, and he suspected that those they’d gone to Hogwarts with were lucky that it did not exist during their school years.
The werewolf could only imagine just how much more trouble the two of them would’ve caused had it been.
“We quite like it,” one of the twins commented. “We would rather there was more customers.”
“It was like this last time,” Remus informed them. “The entirety of Diagon Alley closed for almost four years. Everything had to be done via owl post.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” the other twin replied. “Did our Dad ask you to come here?”
Remus frowned as he shook his head.
“No, I’ve been giving your father some space. We’ve been writing, but he hasn’t asked me to check on you or anything like that. I just wanted to come here and see it for myself.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I always was,” Remus chuckled. “Honestly, I wanted to see how you are for myself, and if you’d seen Harry.”
“We’re doing as well as can be expected, and so is Ron. Harry has been around.”
“And he is helping you with something.”
“What makes you think that?”
Remus shrugged.
“I know the two of you from when you were students, and I know Harry. None of you would let what happened go, so, I figured you were doing something together.”
“Well, Fred, no one can accuse this one of being an idiot.”
“No, they cannot, George,” Fred agreed thoughtfully, “but do we tell him?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” Remus asked.
“On your stomach,” George answered darkly.
Remus immediately felt the mood change.
“My stomach?”
The twins nodded gravely.
“This is not about pranks anymore,” Fred broke in.
“This is about making them pay for what they did, and there is only one way that will happen, and if Harry doesn’t come good for us, we have other plans, don’t we, Fred?”
“We do, George. That we do.”
There was something rather terrifying about the two of them when vengeance was what they desired. It had been worrying enough when they’d decided to simply prank someone, or take out some petty revenge, but there was nothing petty about this.
Whatever the twins had planned would be like nothing else, and as they beckoned him forward and revealed a large map, it took a moment for Remus to piece it all together, and when he did, he couldn’t quite believe the grand scale on what it was they were trying to achieve.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
Were it anyone else other than the twins and Harry attempting something so ambitious, he would not believe it to be possible, but the Weasleys were not joking, and Remus had never seen Harry take anything so serious as he did putting an end to Voldemort.
(Break)
“If all of this turns out to be true, it won’t be easy getting to any of them. I have no idea how we will do it, Potter,” Dawlish murmured as he read through what Fletcher had written down.
“I know,” Harry comforted, “but we will find a way, Dawlish. Keep watching as you have been, just in case anything comes up.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll find a way to get us in,” Harry assured the auror, who scratched the scruff on his chin.
“I don’t doubt you, Harry,” he sighed. “Just, be careful. Knockturn Alley is much worse than you can imagine. You must keep your wits about you at all times.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
“I will.”
He stared at the wand he had purchased from Ollivander forlornly.
He felt nothing from it now except for rejection, a coldness that Fawkes undoubtedly felt towards him. He’d not seen or heard anything from the phoenix since he’d obtained the elder wand.
Where his first rejected him, the Deathstick did not.
He welcomed him, revelled in his magic, and everything he did with it was done with little more than a thought. Of course, he was not foolish enough to believe it to be infallible, but it truly was an incredible artefact, and one that had chosen to serve him.
Even so, there was a part of him that missed the warmth of the phoenix feather and holly wand but given all the changes he had gone through these past two years, Harry wasn’t truly surprised that it no longer chose him.
He was far from being the same eleven-year-old he’d been when he’d entered Ollivander’s shop; shaped by the many experiences of trial and tribulation he’d faced over the years.
“It truly is yours, Harry, even more than it was ever mine for how briefly I possessed it,” Antioch spoke from his place on the wall. “It served me well, better than my own, but there was always something of a resistance to it, almost as though Death had designed it to defy me just a little to remind me of how I had obtained it.”
“It isn’t like that for me.”
“Because you embody everything Death could want in a champion.”
Harry wasn’t so certain that was true, or perhaps it was and he simply didn’t see himself the same way others saw him.
It wasn’t as it had once been any longer.
There were no looks of pity, empathy, or even so much curiosity as it was when he’d first entered the wizarding world. Of course, some of those he encountered undoubtedly loathed him, would stick a knife in his back in a heartbeat if given the chance, but in that, he liked to think there was something of a level of respect.
Regardless, none of that mattered to Death. It merely seemed that just as he was destined to face Riddle in what could be his final moments in life, he was destined to carry the elder wand.
“Any thoughts on where you might learn more about Grindelwald?” Cadmus broke in.
Harry released a deep breath of frustration.
“No, and I’ve not given it so much thought. I need to focus on what is happening here, but I know I need to come up with something. Against him, I’m blind, but there isn’t many people around who can or will tell me anything. Scamander is a possibility, I suppose, but from what I know, he’s a very private person, and won’t be easy to find. That’s even if he is willing to discuss what he knows. For now, I’m concentrating on Riddle. I still need to find a way into Gringotts, and there’s his damned snake. There’s Pettigrew, and Crouch, and more other Death Eaters than I can count that I need to deal with before I even think about Grindelwald.”
When he put everything yet to achieve into perspective, it all threatened to overwhelm him, and Harry knew he could not allow that to happen.
No, as much as he had awaiting him along the path he found himself on, he knew he could not allow himself to be caught up by the enormity of it collectively.
“One step at a time,” he murmured, echoing the advice he’d given to Ariana.
He idly wondered how she was doing, if she was any closer to achieving a corporeal patronus.
He truly hoped so.
He’d meant what he’d said shortly after he’d met her that the if and when she managed to cast one, he truly believed that she there was every chance she would not lose herself in her mind once more, though he was still not so sure that visiting her father in Azkaban would be a good thing.
Of course, he would see it done if he could somehow manage it for her, but that didn’t mean he thought it would be the correct decision.
It would be much better if there was indeed a way to see the man released, and perhaps his rather odd relationship with Orion Black could be used to see it so.
If the Lord Black of all people could be convinced to champion Percival Dumbledore’s release…
It was a longshot, but one that Harry had been pondering. Whether the man would be willing to help him was one thing, but he certainly would not do so for free.
No, the cost of such help would be high, and yet, Harry did not doubt it would prove to be worth it.
Still, that was a problem for another day, one that would come sooner rather than later, just not quite now.
No, for now, he was doing his utmost to hold everything together here, or more aptly, destroy everything Voldemort had managed to build, which meant, that was what he needed to focus on.
“You’re plotting something,” Ignotus spoke, breaking into his thoughts.
Harry consulted the piece of parchment Fletcher had written on as he nodded.
“I have a few ideas, but first, I need to establish just how much truth there is to this.”
“Do you think he is lying to you?”
Harry shook his head.
“Fletcher believes all of this is true and given how much of a little shit he is, I don’t doubt it either, but I need to know for certain.”
“And how do you plan on substantiating it?”
“By going in,” Harry chuckled humourlessly. “How else am I supposed to manage it?”
(Break)
“It is an increase of around a thousand new students in all, my lord,” Severus informed him.
The man looked tired, but no more so than the returning Lucius, who was waiting his turn to speak with the Dark Lord.
“And you will have the necessary funding, won’t he, Lucius?”
The ashen blond nodded. Not that he had a choice but to comply. He’d been absent for several months now, and given that he was here now, nervous and without either his wife or son, the Dark Lord could only conclude that he’d failed in his attempt to bring them back.
“Ah, Scabior, you have news,” he greeted the man as he entered the room sporting a victorious grin.
It was turning out to be a rather busy evening.
“Another thirty-one captures, my lord. They are being processed at the ministry as we speak before being transported to Azkaban to await trial. The Wizengamot will be busy when they start them.”
He frowned at the thought.
With Potter having arrived at the Ministry of Magic and making quite the nuisance of himself, the last thing he wanted was public trials that could be so easily disrupted.
“No. Have Umbridge put a panel of trusted associates together to process them. It can be spun as an act of convenience. I will instruct Thicknesse and Yaxley that these hearings are to be completed privately, and swiftly.”
Scabior nodded.
“And the punishment?”
“Prison, Scabior. I see no use in Azkaban being unused. The dementors must be fed.”
Scabior offered him a bow before leaving the room, and the Dark Lord shifted his attention back towards Severus.
“You will have your funding and anything else you need,” he assured him dismissively.
“Thank you, my lord,” Severus returned before he too left, leaving him with only Lucius to speak with. “You have failed me.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lucius said defeatedly.
The man was all but broken, his eyes devoid of life, and he remained only as a shadow of his former self. As he was, there was little use for the man, and in a rare show of mercy, the Dark Lord took pity on him.
“Rest, Lucius,” he urged. “I will have something for you to do soon enough. Worry not, your wife and son cannot avoid me forever.”
“T-thank you, my lord,” Lucius replied confusedly, not waiting around for him to change his mind.
There was little fun to be had in punishing someone already so pathetic. It would be more joyful to do so when Lucius was more himself.
That didn’t mean he would be forgiven for his failure. No, the Dark lord would not forget, but for now, he had much more important things to focus on.
Potter was finally active in this war, plotting and executing his own plans, and the boy needed to be stopped. The death of Travers was something of a wakeup call, but Potter had played his hand.
So long as his Death Eaters were cautious from now on, such a thing would not happen again, and the Dark Lord would be free to continue with his own efforts without his followers being set upon.
Even so, this certainly was not the last he’d heard from Potter.
No, he was undoubtedly up to something, and unlike Dumbledore, his efforts would not result in the capture of his followers. The consequences of anything the boy did would be much more permanent, deadly, and the Dark Lord would not tolerate it.
Stopping it, however, was another matter entirely, but he must.
Although he did not yet know what it was, he knew that Potter was up to something, something that would undoubtedly be troubling.
(Break)
“Hello, I’m here to see Gellert Grindelwald. He works in the Department of magical Law Enforcement,” Albus informed the lady at the front desk of the MACUSA building.
She offered him a smile before frowning.
“I’m sorry, but there is no Gellert Grindelwald listed here. Are you certain he works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?”
“I am,” Albus insisted. “He is an assistant.”
The woman hummed as she consulted another stack of parchment.
“No, no, I’m afraid no such man works here. He’s not even listed in the clerk files or contracted members of staff.”
Albus was thoroughly confused, and he offered the woman a tight, apologetic smile in response before bidding her farewell and taking his leave of the building.
He’d only intended on taking some lunch for Gellert, who’d left in rather a hurry before eating his breakfast, and now, he found himself sitting at their own table, wondering if the woman had made a mistake, or if Gellert had been lying to him all these months.
For how long he had been here lost in his own thoughts, Albus did not know, but as the door opened, and an exhausted Gellert entered their shared apartment, he felt an uncharacteristic irritation towards the man.
“What is it, Albie?” Gellert asked, evidently noticing his dour mood.
“What have you been doing?”
Gellert paused at the question, and Albus could see his mind working frantically to come up with a response.
What had he been doing?
Maybe Nicholas had sown the seeds of suspicion within Albus, or maybe he was just now seeing Gellert’s behaviour for himself, but something wasn’t right.
For months they had lived here now, and each day, Gellert had been going to the MACUSA building to work, or so Albus had believed.
“Working, Albus,” was the answer he received. “I have been working on bringing our vision to life.”
Albus shook his head.
“I came to bring you lunch today, and the lady at the front desk had never heard of you, and there is no record of you working there, so, I will ask you again, what have you been doing?”
Gellert rolled his eyes at him and shook his head.
“Albie, I’m hardly going to use my real identity, am I? What we are planning to do will not be taken well by many. I am ensuring there is no trail that can lead to us too soon. That is all.”
He seemed sincere, and Albus did not detect any lie from him. Maybe it was the hand resting on his shoulder that swayed him, or the expression of regret he was met with, but he felt his resolve beginning to waver.
“No, Gellert, that isn’t good enough,” he huffed as he stood. “You do not get to lie to me. Now, tell me the truth!”
His tone was much harsher than he’d intended, and Gellert visibly flinched at his anger.
“Albie, I haven’t lied to you,” he defended calmly. “I am doing exactly as I said, just not as myself. I promise, hand on heart, that is the truth.”
Albus wanted to believe him. More than anything he wanted to believe him, but he did not wish to be naïve to Gellert’s ways ay longer. Maybe he was overreacting, or perhaps he truly was angry with the man. Regardless, right now, he did not wish to be around him until his head was clear.
“I think I’m going to go home and visit my family,” he declared.
Gellert opened his mouth to speak before closing it and nodding his understanding.
“Okay,” he agreed. “I am sorry, Albie, for what it is worth. My intention was not to upset you in any way. That is the last thing I would ever want to do.”
Albus said nothing as he began packing his trunk, an unpleasant knot of sadness twisting his stomach.
“When will you be back?” Gellert asked sadly.
Albus released a deep breath.
He was angry, tired, and confused about so many things, and yet, he did not wish for them to part on bad terms.
“Soon,” he promised. “I just need a little time, and I think you do too. You must be honest with me, Gellert, in all things we do. If we are to succeed, there can be no secrets between us. You need to think about that and decide if that is something you can ensure.”
Gellert took his hand and nodded solemnly.
“No secrets, Albus. I promise, but I think you should visit your family. You miss them, and I hate to see it playing on your mind so much. Just, come back to me.”
He gave his hand a squeeze before leaving the apartment, and Albus immediately felt the sense of loss as he did so.
Maybe going home for a week or two would be good for him, after all.
He and his mother had not parted on the best of terms, and he did wish to see Ariana and Abe, who was not so pleased with him either. Undoubtedly, Albus had some bridges to rebuild, and maybe then, everything here would not seem so troubling.
Maybe he’d taken out his frustration on Gellert a little too readily.
Guilt.
He despised the feeling of guilt that plagued him, but he would make it up to the man when he was back. Firstly, however, he knew he needed to make things right with his family.
Maybe that would give him some needed clarity on what he was doing here, and what he wished to do whilst he and Gellert set the foundations of the world they hoped to live in and lead into the next great age of enlightenment.
(Break)
It was one thing to watch the several establishments operating in Knockturn Alley from afar and in relative safety, but to be inside them was another matter entirely.
Of course, Harry could not simply arrive as a regular paying customer. His presence alone would create quite the furore, and he did not doubt that it would become a rather ugly affair.
Instead, he had opted to wear a disguise, something he was getting good at with the practice he was having.
Still, he did not enjoy playing the part of a drunken man who’d fallen on hard times, but it allowed him to blend in whilst carrying out his investigation into the several places Fletcher had provided him with.
There was every chance that the man truly knew nothing of substance, but Harry did not believe that was so. No, Mundungus Fletcher had been around long enough, dealt with the most unpleasant of people, and he certainly had a tendency of learning things most others did not.
Harry’s first stop was in a bar called The Stuffed Pig, a modest bar the smelled of stale smoke, stale booze, and catered to a clientele who wanted cheap drinks, and somewhere they could conduct their business.
He could certainly see Fletcher frequenting the place, but his thoughts were far enough away from the deplorable little man.
Harry was seated at the bar, sipping a glass of mead as he watched the barman, one Casper Wilkins.
Some years prior, he’d been sent to Azkaban for several offences; extortion, theft, and intimidation to name just a few, and somehow, had managed to purchase the pub from its former owner when he’d been released.
Whether that transaction had been legit and without Wilkins’ usual tactics of getting what he wanted didn’t matter. No, what Harry was more interested in was whether or not he was hosting meetings between Death Eaters, recruits, or anyone else of note.
The pub itself was rather unassuming.
Despite the unpleasant aroma filling the air, it appeared to be much cleaner than harry would have expected, or maybe it just wasn’t quite as dank as Aberforth kept The Hog’s Head.
Nonetheless, there was an undercurrent of something here that Harry could not quite put his finger on, something hidden, and well-hidden at that.
The magic seemed to become more elusive the more he tried to focus on it, which he assumed meant that there was a protection in place so that it was not so easily noticeable.
To most, it probably wasn’t.
Harry had developed a very keen sense for feeling magic, even the slightest of traces, and he was truly struggling with whatever was at play here.
It was no wonder that the aurors had no luck over the years.
Still, there was something here, something so close to him that he felt as though he could reach out and snatch it.
“Another one?” Wilkins asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
Harry nodded, and his glass was refilled, and for a moment he did not think about the magic he could feel, or in this case, no longer could. It was as though it had vanished, and yet, he found it once more.
Even so, it was an odd occurrence, and he bit lower lip thoughtfully before draining his glass, gesturing for another refill when he’d done so.
If what he’d suspected had indeed happened, it was quite the stroke of genius on whoever had come up with such an idea, and as he’d expected, the moment he took his first sip of the next refill, all thoughts of the magic he could feel was gone.
So, not only did it turn out that he was competing with finding the magic in the first place, but the moment also he took a drink, it was gone, and the process would begin again, only it became harder and harder to do so.
Ingenious indeed, and now, he found that with his third drink in front of him, he could not even feel a trace of the magic he had only a moment prior.
Cursing internally, he placed a coin on the bar before leaving, not having expected such a discovery.
Something, likely a potion of sorts, was likely being added to the liquor being brought into the pub to make any who consumed it not pay attention to any magic they became aware of.
With the magic itself being so subtle that so few would in the first place, whatever was being hidden was all but impossible to find, well, for most.
Reaching into his trunk, Harry removed a potion of his own, one that would cleanse him of any effects he was under and drank it, grimacing at the unpleasant taste that filled his mouth before looking back towards the pub.
If he hadn’t been suspicious that something was amiss before entering, that had changed in the passing moments he’d spent in there. Something was indeed happening within the unassuming establishment.
He just needed to find it.
Of course, he would be returning, but doing so now, even under a new disguise might just garner a little more attention than he’d like. No, he would be back soon, but until then, there were several other places on his list to investigate, and people too for that matter.
Still, it wasn’t as though his efforts had been wasted, and an anticipatory grin tugged at his lips as he realised that, soon enough, he would be able to truly begin unravelling the web that was Knockturn Alley and strike a significant blow against Riddle, with thanks in no small part to Fred and George, who’ prepared the perfect means of doing so.
(Break)
It was one thing to see what was happening within the Ministry of Magic on a daily basis and even hear the whispers of the workers who were happy to fuel the rumour mill, but witnessing dozens of men, women, and even children being escorted through the atrium by those garbed in dark cloaks somehow made it all real.
The Magical Registration Act.
For a while since it had been implemented, it had been something of a pantomime, a showing of the willing and not so arriving to declare themselves a member of the magical community in Britain.
Now, however, it had taken a rather sinister turn as the stragglers and those refusing to comply were rounded up and paraded through the Ministry of Magic.
Worse still was the fate that awaited them.
There was only one place that could hold so many at once and knowing that they would be placed among the dementors so callously was something that did not sit right with Nymphadora.
Maybe it was the thought that it could so easily be her parents left at the mercy of the monsters who’d seized control of the country that resonated with her so much, but she couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing about it.
Even so, she knew she could not do it alone, and given at just how well he’d been handling everything else recently, and had proven he could handle the dementors, there was only one person she knew she could rely on.
“They’re really just rounding people up?” Hermione asked.
Nymphadora nodded as she took a sip of her coffee.
“Like bloody cattle.”
Hermione released a deep breath.
She too was troubled by the latest development, as she should be, but neither seemed to have much else to say, not until Harry entered the kitchen several moments later, his gaze flitting between them.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“Azkaban,” Nymphadora sighed. “He’s taking those who did not register in time to Azkaban. He has Umbridge’s lot looking for them.”
His nostrils flared in irritation as he took a seat.
“It’s just like the bloody Inquisitorial Squad,” he murmured, eliciting a nod from Hermione.
“What’re you going to do, Harry?” she asked.
He frowned thoughtfully, but before he could speak, the fireplace flared into life, and with a flick of a wand, the head of an elderly woman appeared.
She looked around the room almost forlornly, her penetrating stare pausing as she took in Harry sitting at the table.
“Potter, I have some information that may be of use to you.”
“What is it?”
“You could at least have the decency to speak with me in person,” the woman replied with a tut.
“Fine, give me a minute.”
Her head vanished, and Harry deflated.
“Who is that?” Hermione asked.
“Cassiopeia Black.”
Nymphadora scoffed at the revelation.
“Cassiopeia Black? The Cassiopeia Black?”
Evidently, Hermione had heard of the woman too if her paling skin was anything to go by, and Nymphadora could not say that what she’d heard of the woman was particularly flattering.
Her mother had made a point several times to mention that Cassiopeia was someone to be avoided, and that if Nymphadora ever found herself confronted by the woman, that she should run.
“I didn’t actually think you would meet with her,” Hermione whispered, taking hold of Harry’s wrist.
He shrugged in response.
“She’s not so bad, well, not to me, anyway,” he added, though Nymphadora did not miss that his hand did not stray far away from his wand as the fireplace flared into life once more, and the woman stepped through.
Taking in her appearance, Nymphadora would not believe that this somewhat frail woman had been among the most notorious witches in the magical world in the last few centuries.
Looks, however, were deceiving, and she did not miss the spark in her eyes.
Her body may now be failing her, but her mind was undoubtedly as sharp as ever.
“Oh, you have guests,” she commented airily. “Ah, yes, you would be the one who as here when I first arrived. So, you passed on my message.”
Hermione merely nodded in response, and Cassiopeia moved her focus to Nymphadora.
“Now, you, I do not know, but there is something familiar about you. Have we met?”
“No.”
Cassiopeia hummed.
“What do you have that you think will be of interest to me?”
“Azkaban. He is placing prisoners in Azkaban, but not normal prisoners. Women and children, Potter.”
“I know, but how do you know?”
Cassiopeia shrugged, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.
“I see things,” she said airily. “Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?”
“Why would you want me to?” Harry pressed suspiciously.
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at him briefly before she laughed.
“Well, what is it the media used to call me, no, that’s not it. Ah, yes, an anarchist. I seem to have a problem with the establishment, and since Voldemort is currently the establishment, I find I have rather taken a disliking to him. Make of that what you will, Potter. I have told you what I intended to. What you do with the information is up to you. I’ be sure to pass on anything else I know,” she finished, offering him what seemed to be a fond smile before she vanished into the flames once more.
“What the hell was that?” Hermione asked, speaking the very same question Nymphadora was asking herself aloud.
“I have no idea,” Harry huffed, shaking his head, “but she isn’t lying, is she?”
He seemed rather taken aback by the entire affair of Cassiopeia arriving, let alone her sharing something he would not know of unless Nymphadora had been within the Ministry of Magic when the prisoners had arrived.
“You have to be careful with her, Harry. My mother says that she is the very worst of the Blacks.”
“Oh, I know that,” Harry said dismissively. “We’re on good enough terms tha she won’t cause me any trouble.”
“How did you…?”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, evidently not wanting to discuss whatever it was that had led to Cassiopeia feeling comfortable enough to come here so brazenly.
“The question we should be asking is, what are we going to do?” Hermione mused aloud.
“Well, we all know what that is, don’t we?” Harry snarked. “I’ll have to bloody well break into Azkaban. First Knockturn Alley, and now this. Why can’t the bastard just drop dead! Is that really too much to ask for?”
He stomped from the room, and Nymphadora shared a look with Hermione.
“It would be stupid to ask if he is really going to break into Azkaban, wouldn’t it?”
“He’ll do it,” Hermione grumbled. “I know him to well to know that he cant ignore what is happening, even if that means doing something so monumentally stupid.”
Nymphadora shook her head.
“What do you think his chances are?”
“Oh, he’ll get in without any issues, but knowing Harry, he won’t be getting out of there without causing one hell of a mess.”