Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Harry Potter and the Endwar Project
Independent Variables
9 reviewsHarry and Christine do their first mission together, for all the good it does.
5Exciting
Well, I hope everybody had a good Christmas, and are looking forward to 2009.
I don't own Harry Potter, just any original characters that pop up in this story.
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Chapter 4 - Independent Variables
"Where are we going?" Christine asked as she inspected the various devices on her person.
"We've got a couple of stops tonight," Harry said as he tied his shoe laces, "one in Surrey, and one in Wiltshire; we're going to a Muggle neighborhood in Surrey, so I called us a car." His shoes tied, Harry walked over to his briefcase and undid the latches.
"What are we doing in two counties, on opposite ends of us fo--whoa," she gasped, her question faltering when she saw the money in Harry's briefcase. "Shouldn't that be in a vault somewhere?"
"I don't trust the goblins," Harry said simply as he pulled out a small carrying case and opened it. Inside was a silver syringe as long as his hand. Instead of a needle, however, there was a wide suction cup on the end.
"Why not?" Christine asked as Harry pocketed the strange device and closed his briefcase.
"Think about it," Harry said. "The goblins control this country's gold, am I right?" Christine nodded in agreement. "History has proven that the goblins and the wizards don't get along; in fact, I can recall off the top of my head at least six wars between the goblins and wizards," he continued. Christine winced as she recalled the numerous hours wasted on listening to Professor Binns drone on about just such a subject when she was at Hogwarts. "They are an independent nation to us; they control all our money and give nothing that can't afford to be lost back. If the goblins decide to declare war on us again, they are perfectly capable of seizing the gold of every witch and wizard in this country to finance their campaign. With the wizards economically crippled, we would be crushed in an instant." Harry carefully omitted the fact that just such an event happened in his timeline. While it had struck a major economic blow to Voldemort on the British front, it was soon rendered moot by nuclear annihilation.
"I see," Christine said. "So what should I do with my gold then?" she asked.
"I would suggest melting it down and selling it," Harry said as they walked to the door. "In the Muggle market, gold is selling for about four hundred pounds an ounce." Harry opened the door and allowed Christine out before exiting himself. They stepped outside the building to see the ministry-assigned black 1983 Ford Crown Victoria waiting for them by the curb. After they climbed in, Harry turned the ignition and they drove off. For several long, tense minutes, neither of them spoke. "Listen, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about getting you kicked out of your flat," he eventually said. "I can talk to Hawthorne tomorrow to see if you can get it back."
"No, that's okay," Christine sighed as she looked out the window, watching the buildings fly past. "Once Hawthorne puts his mind to something, he doesn't change it easily." Harry chuckled at the statement. "And I guess I should apologize for my being a bitch earlier today."
"You were upset," Harry dismissed.
"Perhaps, but that doesn't excuse my immature and unprofessional behavior," she persisted. "Hell, Hawthorne's probably going to demote me when this is all over for that scene I made in his office."
"Nah, I don't think so," Harry said consolingly. "Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be stuck together for a while."
"That's comforting," Christine deadpanned.
"That was mean," Harry pouted, and she could not help but smirk slightly. "So, you got any family?" he asked, deciding to change the subject.
"My parents," Christine replied. "My dad was something of a conspiracy theorist, always going on about how the government was trying to manipulate the population via mind control and other crap like that."
"Reminds me of a girl I used to know," Harry chuckled, thinking back to Luna Lovegood and her outlandish ideas.
"I guess you could say that's why I became an Unspeakable," she continued, "to show to him that he was wrong. Obviously, he wasn't too thrilled about my decision to become 'one of them,'" she said bitterly. "So, what about you?" Harry did not immediately respond as he thought back to the Dursleys, and how they would be at his first destination.
"None that I'm willing to acknowledge," he said simply. Christine took the hint and did not question him further. They continued to ride in silence until they reached their destination: Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Harry shut off the car and quietly exited the car, being careful not to close his door too loudly.
"What are we doing here?" Christine asked in a stage whisper.
"You'll see in a minute," Harry said cryptically as he drew the silver syringe from his pocket. He placed the suction cup on the deadbolt, over the keyhole and pressed down on the plunger. He then twisted the device, and the lock opened with a soft click. Harry pulled the plunger back and repeated the action on the knob lock. Stowing the syringe away, Harry slowly opened the door and snuck inside, Christine following him. Thankfully, the light from the street was bright enough for them to maneuver without bumping into anything. Harry's expression grew dark when he laid eyes on the cupboard under the stairs, but swiftly unlocked the padlock sealing it shut and opened the door, Christine gasping softly at the sight inside.
Laying on what seemed to be an old, threadbare towel was a nearly three-year-old Harry Potter. The large castaway shirt that he was wearing made his already diminutive figure seem even smaller. The older Harry saw a bruise on his arm, and from the brown stain on the seat of the younger Harry's diaper, he had not been changed in days.
"Who could do such a thing?" Christine asked, shocked.
"People of the worst sort," Harry replied, unintentionally paraphrasing the words that Professor McGonnagal had used to describe the Dursleys two years prior. Harry bent down and carefully lifted up his younger self's sleeping form and placed him in Christine's arms. "You take him back to the car, I need to get a couple of other things from here," he said. Christine nodded and carried the child in her arms out of the house. Meanwhile, Harry had left for the kitchen and, after flicking a small light on, began rummaging through the drawers. He eventually found the two items he needed: a piece of paper containing his uncle's signature, and his checkbook, complete with account number. Grinning triumphantly, Harry shut off the light and left with his prize.
Outside, Christine looked down pitifully at the child before her. Carefully, she removed the filthy diaper, groaning in disgust at the human waste caked onto the diaper and the boy's body. Vanishing the diaper, she cleaned Harry up with a flick of her wand and transfigured a fresh diaper from a pebble. After thoroughly cleaning her hands, she brushed the hair away from his face, revealing the infamous lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, and began to seethe. While she despised child abuse in general, to find the savior (no matter how unintentional) of the wizarding world in this state made her blood boil. She wanted to hunt down the person responsible for putting Harry there and rip them apart, along with the...people inside the house. But as the older Harry walked out of the house, she suddenly realized that he seemed to know exactly where the Boy-Who-Lived was. Figuring that now would not be the best time to question him on such an oddity, she conjured a car seat and strapped the young Harry in before climbing into the passenger seat.
They drove in silence to the nearest hospital. When they arrived, Harry threw up a quick glamour charm to cover his scar and they entered the hospital, the young Harry in his older self's arms.
"Help us, someone please help us!" Harry gasped, as if panicked. Immediately, a nurse was at their side, asking what was wrong. "We found this boy lying in our yard. I think he might be hurt," Harry said. The nurse immediately called for a stretcher, and the young Harry was wheeled away, leaving the two adults standing in the lobby.
"May I ask what happened?" the nurse asked.
"We..." Christine began, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, "we were just coming home from dinner, when we saw something lying on the lawn. We thought it was a stray dog or something, so my boyfriend here went to chase it away. But when he saw that it was a boy, we panicked. He just looked so sick, that we didn't know what else to do." Christine sniffled and gasped, looking as if she were about to throw up. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling so good; could you tell me where the bathroom is?"
"Of course, follow me," the nurse said, leading them to the restrooms. Christine immediately bolted into the women's room and began making retching noises. "I'm going to go call the police, they'll want to ask you some questions," the nurse said to Harry.
"Of course, go ahead, we'll be back in a minute," Harry said. As the nurse turned away to leave, Harry drew his wand and flicked it at her, erasing their faces from her memory. A few seconds later, Christine poked her head out, her eyes red but otherwise composed.
"She's gone? Great, let's get out of here before the police show up," she said, retreating back into the restroom. A moment later, Harry heard the distinct crack of Apparation. Harry then went into the men's room and, after checking to make sure that no one else was around, Disapparated himself, reappearing next to their car, climbing into the car and driving away. However, as they rolled out of the parking lot and around the corner, another crack echoed in the parking lot, signaling yet another Apparation.
------
In the headmaster's office of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of many strange silver devices began to spin wildly, emitting a shrill noise that grated on the minds of all present to hear it. One of the portraits tolerated the sound for all of ten seconds before he left to occupy a vacant frame in the headmaster’s private chambers.
"Albus, wake up!" Phineas Nigellus shouted, rousing the elderly man from his sleep. "One of your toys is making an awful racket, and it's driving everyone insane." Albus Dumbledore eventually hauled himself out of bed and into his main office, gracing everyone present with the sight of his purple and green night robes. He tapped the shrieking device with his wand, mercifully silencing it, before he began to inspect it.
"Curious," he muttered to himself. "I must look into this. Shame Fawkes has just had a burning day." Quickly changing into a Muggle business suit and casting a charm on himself to appear cleanly shaven with short hair, Dumbledore moved to the edge of the anti-apparation wards at Hogwarts with surprising speed for a man his age and Disapparated, reappearing in the parking lot of the hospital. Smoothing out his jacket, Dumbledore strode into the hospital and spoke to the nurse that Harry and Christine had spoken to earlier.
"Yes, can I help you?" the nurse asked. Dumbledore discreetly drew his wand and hid it up his sleeve.
"Yes, I understand that you have recently admitted a young boy with black hair and a scar on his forehead?" Dumbledore asked politely.
"Yes, we did, but how did you know that?" the nurse asked suspiciously. Dumbledore twitched his wand, and the nurse's eyes momentarily glazed over before returning to normal.
"That's not important," Dumbledore dismissed. "The boy is my grandson, who went missing a few days ago. I was wondering if I could take him now."
"I'm sorry sir, but he was pretty messed up when the people who found him arrived," the nurse said apologetically. "We're going to have to keep him here for a few days while he recovers." Dumbledore frowned at the news. Someone had found Harry? But the blood wards that he erected would have made that impossible.
"These people, what did they look like?" Dumbledore asked, flicking his wand again. The nurse frowned in concentration, trying to recall their faces.
"I'm sorry, I don't really remember," she said. Dumbledore did a quick sweep of her memory, and saw two figures walk into the hospital, Harry in the arms of one. However, their faces were completely obscured; Dumbledore could not even tell their hair color. While he might have been able to recover the lost information, it would take time, and could not be done in the public unnoticed, so he retreated from the nurse's mind.
"Could I see him then?" he asked. Nodding, the nurse led Dumbledore to Harry's bed, where he laid asleep, an intravenous tube inserted into his arm. "Could I have a moment alone, please?" he asked. As the nurse left the two alone, Dumbledore cast one final charm on her before closing the privacy curtain and casting temporary notice-me-not and silencing charms on it. He then began to deactivate the machinery monitoring Harry's vital signs, and carefully removed the IV tube, healing the wound. Transfiguring his hospital robe into tattered, oversized clothes, he Disapparated, and the time-delayed Obliviation activated, wiping all knowledge of Harry and Dumbledore from the nurse's mind.
Dumbledore reappeared in front of Number 4 Privet Drive and, entering the house, placed Harry back into the cupboard under the stairs and closed the door.
"I truly am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, "but this is for the greater good." With those words, he exited the house, relocked the door and disappeared.
A few minutes later, two police officers entered the hospital, heading towards the nurse.
"I'm Officer Monroe, this is my partner Officer Jenkins; I understand that you called about an injured child?" one of the officers said. The nurse furrowed her brow in confusion.
"I'm sorry, but I don't recall any injured child," the nurse said. "Nancy, did you call about an injured child?"
"No, ma'am, you did," the other woman, Nancy said, confused by her co-worker's behavior.
"But that's impossible," the nurse said incredulously, "I just got back from checking on the new accident victim." At her colleague's words, Nancy's expression changed from confusion to concern.
"That was fifteen minutes ago," she said.
"What?" the nurse said, checking her watch. Indeed, it was over fifteen minutes later than she thought it was. "But...that's not possible..." she gasped.
"Ma'am?" Officer Monroe asked in concern. The nurse's expression was a mixture of confusion and fright.
"I...don't remember."
------
Meanwhile, Harry and Christine were driving west to get to Wiltshire.
"How did you know he was there?" Christine asked. Harry was silent as he pondered his answer.
"I had a hunch," he finally said.
"A hunch? A hunch?" Christine repeated incredulously. "You know what, fuck it; I want answers Potter, if that even is your real name. How did you know where Harry Potter was when an auror team investigated for six months, and couldn't find him? And for that matter, where the hell did you come from, since I've never seen you before," she ranted. Harry sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I can't answer any of those," he replied.
"You can't, or you won't?" Christine asked.
"I can't," Harry said. "All I can say is that I promised not to talk about it except to those I trust, and no offense, but I don't trust you right now." They drove for several more minutes in tense silence until Christine spoke again.
"Do you at least know who put him in that hellhole?" she asked.
"Yes," Harry said, "but you're not going to believe me."
"Try me," Christine challenged. Harry sighed again.
"Alright, it's Dumbledore," he said. Christine's eyes widened at the statement.
"Dumbledore, as in the Dumbledore?" she asked, shocked. "The Hogwarts headmaster, not to mention holds top position on practically every major organization in Britain Dumbledore?" Christine leaned back into her seat while she processed the information. "You're right, I don't believe you." Harry shrugged his shoulders neutrally.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not, it's the truth," he said as he turned onto a side road. They continued down this way for several more minutes until Harry stopped abruptly. "We're going to have to walk from here," he said as he exited the car, Christine following suit. The two Unspeakables hiked up a hill and saw a manor in the distance, light glowing brightly from its windows. Harry pulled out a pair of pocket omninoculars from his pocket and zoomed in on the mansion. Peering through the windows, he saw several more figures than he expected, so he activated a feature that would allow him to see through the walls, and swore profusely at what he saw.
"What?" Christine asked, peering through her own omninoculars.
"There's a party there, we can't do this tonight," Harry grumbled as he began walking down the hill.
"Can't do what tonight?" Christine asked as she followed her partner.
"Rob Malfoy Manor," Harry said simply as he slid into the driver's seat.
"What?" Christine exclaimed. "Why would you want to rob Malfoy Manor?" Harry sighed deeply as he turned the car around and began to drive away.
"Because he has something that he shouldn't, something that I need," Harry explained cryptically. Christine glared at him for his vagueness.
"Could you be a little bit more specific than that?" she asked. Harry tried to think of a response without outright stating what he was looking for.
"Alright, I'll throw you a bone," he said. "Have you ever heard of Koschei the Deathless?" he asked.
"Yeah," Christine replied, "he was a Russian Dark Lord in the fifteenth century, what does that have to do with--oh," she said in realization as she remembered just what Koschei was infamous for, besides his reign of terror:
The creation of the first horcrux.
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For those who may not know, Koschei the Deathless is an evil figure in Russian folklore that hid his soul in several objects, which in turn were hidden in a remote location. He could not die until these objects were destroyed. Sound familiar?
I've got chapter 11 of Daddy Dearest in the works right now, so don't think I've abandoned my other stories.
Don't forget to review!
I don't own Harry Potter, just any original characters that pop up in this story.
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Chapter 4 - Independent Variables
"Where are we going?" Christine asked as she inspected the various devices on her person.
"We've got a couple of stops tonight," Harry said as he tied his shoe laces, "one in Surrey, and one in Wiltshire; we're going to a Muggle neighborhood in Surrey, so I called us a car." His shoes tied, Harry walked over to his briefcase and undid the latches.
"What are we doing in two counties, on opposite ends of us fo--whoa," she gasped, her question faltering when she saw the money in Harry's briefcase. "Shouldn't that be in a vault somewhere?"
"I don't trust the goblins," Harry said simply as he pulled out a small carrying case and opened it. Inside was a silver syringe as long as his hand. Instead of a needle, however, there was a wide suction cup on the end.
"Why not?" Christine asked as Harry pocketed the strange device and closed his briefcase.
"Think about it," Harry said. "The goblins control this country's gold, am I right?" Christine nodded in agreement. "History has proven that the goblins and the wizards don't get along; in fact, I can recall off the top of my head at least six wars between the goblins and wizards," he continued. Christine winced as she recalled the numerous hours wasted on listening to Professor Binns drone on about just such a subject when she was at Hogwarts. "They are an independent nation to us; they control all our money and give nothing that can't afford to be lost back. If the goblins decide to declare war on us again, they are perfectly capable of seizing the gold of every witch and wizard in this country to finance their campaign. With the wizards economically crippled, we would be crushed in an instant." Harry carefully omitted the fact that just such an event happened in his timeline. While it had struck a major economic blow to Voldemort on the British front, it was soon rendered moot by nuclear annihilation.
"I see," Christine said. "So what should I do with my gold then?" she asked.
"I would suggest melting it down and selling it," Harry said as they walked to the door. "In the Muggle market, gold is selling for about four hundred pounds an ounce." Harry opened the door and allowed Christine out before exiting himself. They stepped outside the building to see the ministry-assigned black 1983 Ford Crown Victoria waiting for them by the curb. After they climbed in, Harry turned the ignition and they drove off. For several long, tense minutes, neither of them spoke. "Listen, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about getting you kicked out of your flat," he eventually said. "I can talk to Hawthorne tomorrow to see if you can get it back."
"No, that's okay," Christine sighed as she looked out the window, watching the buildings fly past. "Once Hawthorne puts his mind to something, he doesn't change it easily." Harry chuckled at the statement. "And I guess I should apologize for my being a bitch earlier today."
"You were upset," Harry dismissed.
"Perhaps, but that doesn't excuse my immature and unprofessional behavior," she persisted. "Hell, Hawthorne's probably going to demote me when this is all over for that scene I made in his office."
"Nah, I don't think so," Harry said consolingly. "Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be stuck together for a while."
"That's comforting," Christine deadpanned.
"That was mean," Harry pouted, and she could not help but smirk slightly. "So, you got any family?" he asked, deciding to change the subject.
"My parents," Christine replied. "My dad was something of a conspiracy theorist, always going on about how the government was trying to manipulate the population via mind control and other crap like that."
"Reminds me of a girl I used to know," Harry chuckled, thinking back to Luna Lovegood and her outlandish ideas.
"I guess you could say that's why I became an Unspeakable," she continued, "to show to him that he was wrong. Obviously, he wasn't too thrilled about my decision to become 'one of them,'" she said bitterly. "So, what about you?" Harry did not immediately respond as he thought back to the Dursleys, and how they would be at his first destination.
"None that I'm willing to acknowledge," he said simply. Christine took the hint and did not question him further. They continued to ride in silence until they reached their destination: Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Harry shut off the car and quietly exited the car, being careful not to close his door too loudly.
"What are we doing here?" Christine asked in a stage whisper.
"You'll see in a minute," Harry said cryptically as he drew the silver syringe from his pocket. He placed the suction cup on the deadbolt, over the keyhole and pressed down on the plunger. He then twisted the device, and the lock opened with a soft click. Harry pulled the plunger back and repeated the action on the knob lock. Stowing the syringe away, Harry slowly opened the door and snuck inside, Christine following him. Thankfully, the light from the street was bright enough for them to maneuver without bumping into anything. Harry's expression grew dark when he laid eyes on the cupboard under the stairs, but swiftly unlocked the padlock sealing it shut and opened the door, Christine gasping softly at the sight inside.
Laying on what seemed to be an old, threadbare towel was a nearly three-year-old Harry Potter. The large castaway shirt that he was wearing made his already diminutive figure seem even smaller. The older Harry saw a bruise on his arm, and from the brown stain on the seat of the younger Harry's diaper, he had not been changed in days.
"Who could do such a thing?" Christine asked, shocked.
"People of the worst sort," Harry replied, unintentionally paraphrasing the words that Professor McGonnagal had used to describe the Dursleys two years prior. Harry bent down and carefully lifted up his younger self's sleeping form and placed him in Christine's arms. "You take him back to the car, I need to get a couple of other things from here," he said. Christine nodded and carried the child in her arms out of the house. Meanwhile, Harry had left for the kitchen and, after flicking a small light on, began rummaging through the drawers. He eventually found the two items he needed: a piece of paper containing his uncle's signature, and his checkbook, complete with account number. Grinning triumphantly, Harry shut off the light and left with his prize.
Outside, Christine looked down pitifully at the child before her. Carefully, she removed the filthy diaper, groaning in disgust at the human waste caked onto the diaper and the boy's body. Vanishing the diaper, she cleaned Harry up with a flick of her wand and transfigured a fresh diaper from a pebble. After thoroughly cleaning her hands, she brushed the hair away from his face, revealing the infamous lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, and began to seethe. While she despised child abuse in general, to find the savior (no matter how unintentional) of the wizarding world in this state made her blood boil. She wanted to hunt down the person responsible for putting Harry there and rip them apart, along with the...people inside the house. But as the older Harry walked out of the house, she suddenly realized that he seemed to know exactly where the Boy-Who-Lived was. Figuring that now would not be the best time to question him on such an oddity, she conjured a car seat and strapped the young Harry in before climbing into the passenger seat.
They drove in silence to the nearest hospital. When they arrived, Harry threw up a quick glamour charm to cover his scar and they entered the hospital, the young Harry in his older self's arms.
"Help us, someone please help us!" Harry gasped, as if panicked. Immediately, a nurse was at their side, asking what was wrong. "We found this boy lying in our yard. I think he might be hurt," Harry said. The nurse immediately called for a stretcher, and the young Harry was wheeled away, leaving the two adults standing in the lobby.
"May I ask what happened?" the nurse asked.
"We..." Christine began, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, "we were just coming home from dinner, when we saw something lying on the lawn. We thought it was a stray dog or something, so my boyfriend here went to chase it away. But when he saw that it was a boy, we panicked. He just looked so sick, that we didn't know what else to do." Christine sniffled and gasped, looking as if she were about to throw up. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling so good; could you tell me where the bathroom is?"
"Of course, follow me," the nurse said, leading them to the restrooms. Christine immediately bolted into the women's room and began making retching noises. "I'm going to go call the police, they'll want to ask you some questions," the nurse said to Harry.
"Of course, go ahead, we'll be back in a minute," Harry said. As the nurse turned away to leave, Harry drew his wand and flicked it at her, erasing their faces from her memory. A few seconds later, Christine poked her head out, her eyes red but otherwise composed.
"She's gone? Great, let's get out of here before the police show up," she said, retreating back into the restroom. A moment later, Harry heard the distinct crack of Apparation. Harry then went into the men's room and, after checking to make sure that no one else was around, Disapparated himself, reappearing next to their car, climbing into the car and driving away. However, as they rolled out of the parking lot and around the corner, another crack echoed in the parking lot, signaling yet another Apparation.
------
In the headmaster's office of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of many strange silver devices began to spin wildly, emitting a shrill noise that grated on the minds of all present to hear it. One of the portraits tolerated the sound for all of ten seconds before he left to occupy a vacant frame in the headmaster’s private chambers.
"Albus, wake up!" Phineas Nigellus shouted, rousing the elderly man from his sleep. "One of your toys is making an awful racket, and it's driving everyone insane." Albus Dumbledore eventually hauled himself out of bed and into his main office, gracing everyone present with the sight of his purple and green night robes. He tapped the shrieking device with his wand, mercifully silencing it, before he began to inspect it.
"Curious," he muttered to himself. "I must look into this. Shame Fawkes has just had a burning day." Quickly changing into a Muggle business suit and casting a charm on himself to appear cleanly shaven with short hair, Dumbledore moved to the edge of the anti-apparation wards at Hogwarts with surprising speed for a man his age and Disapparated, reappearing in the parking lot of the hospital. Smoothing out his jacket, Dumbledore strode into the hospital and spoke to the nurse that Harry and Christine had spoken to earlier.
"Yes, can I help you?" the nurse asked. Dumbledore discreetly drew his wand and hid it up his sleeve.
"Yes, I understand that you have recently admitted a young boy with black hair and a scar on his forehead?" Dumbledore asked politely.
"Yes, we did, but how did you know that?" the nurse asked suspiciously. Dumbledore twitched his wand, and the nurse's eyes momentarily glazed over before returning to normal.
"That's not important," Dumbledore dismissed. "The boy is my grandson, who went missing a few days ago. I was wondering if I could take him now."
"I'm sorry sir, but he was pretty messed up when the people who found him arrived," the nurse said apologetically. "We're going to have to keep him here for a few days while he recovers." Dumbledore frowned at the news. Someone had found Harry? But the blood wards that he erected would have made that impossible.
"These people, what did they look like?" Dumbledore asked, flicking his wand again. The nurse frowned in concentration, trying to recall their faces.
"I'm sorry, I don't really remember," she said. Dumbledore did a quick sweep of her memory, and saw two figures walk into the hospital, Harry in the arms of one. However, their faces were completely obscured; Dumbledore could not even tell their hair color. While he might have been able to recover the lost information, it would take time, and could not be done in the public unnoticed, so he retreated from the nurse's mind.
"Could I see him then?" he asked. Nodding, the nurse led Dumbledore to Harry's bed, where he laid asleep, an intravenous tube inserted into his arm. "Could I have a moment alone, please?" he asked. As the nurse left the two alone, Dumbledore cast one final charm on her before closing the privacy curtain and casting temporary notice-me-not and silencing charms on it. He then began to deactivate the machinery monitoring Harry's vital signs, and carefully removed the IV tube, healing the wound. Transfiguring his hospital robe into tattered, oversized clothes, he Disapparated, and the time-delayed Obliviation activated, wiping all knowledge of Harry and Dumbledore from the nurse's mind.
Dumbledore reappeared in front of Number 4 Privet Drive and, entering the house, placed Harry back into the cupboard under the stairs and closed the door.
"I truly am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, "but this is for the greater good." With those words, he exited the house, relocked the door and disappeared.
A few minutes later, two police officers entered the hospital, heading towards the nurse.
"I'm Officer Monroe, this is my partner Officer Jenkins; I understand that you called about an injured child?" one of the officers said. The nurse furrowed her brow in confusion.
"I'm sorry, but I don't recall any injured child," the nurse said. "Nancy, did you call about an injured child?"
"No, ma'am, you did," the other woman, Nancy said, confused by her co-worker's behavior.
"But that's impossible," the nurse said incredulously, "I just got back from checking on the new accident victim." At her colleague's words, Nancy's expression changed from confusion to concern.
"That was fifteen minutes ago," she said.
"What?" the nurse said, checking her watch. Indeed, it was over fifteen minutes later than she thought it was. "But...that's not possible..." she gasped.
"Ma'am?" Officer Monroe asked in concern. The nurse's expression was a mixture of confusion and fright.
"I...don't remember."
------
Meanwhile, Harry and Christine were driving west to get to Wiltshire.
"How did you know he was there?" Christine asked. Harry was silent as he pondered his answer.
"I had a hunch," he finally said.
"A hunch? A hunch?" Christine repeated incredulously. "You know what, fuck it; I want answers Potter, if that even is your real name. How did you know where Harry Potter was when an auror team investigated for six months, and couldn't find him? And for that matter, where the hell did you come from, since I've never seen you before," she ranted. Harry sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I can't answer any of those," he replied.
"You can't, or you won't?" Christine asked.
"I can't," Harry said. "All I can say is that I promised not to talk about it except to those I trust, and no offense, but I don't trust you right now." They drove for several more minutes in tense silence until Christine spoke again.
"Do you at least know who put him in that hellhole?" she asked.
"Yes," Harry said, "but you're not going to believe me."
"Try me," Christine challenged. Harry sighed again.
"Alright, it's Dumbledore," he said. Christine's eyes widened at the statement.
"Dumbledore, as in the Dumbledore?" she asked, shocked. "The Hogwarts headmaster, not to mention holds top position on practically every major organization in Britain Dumbledore?" Christine leaned back into her seat while she processed the information. "You're right, I don't believe you." Harry shrugged his shoulders neutrally.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not, it's the truth," he said as he turned onto a side road. They continued down this way for several more minutes until Harry stopped abruptly. "We're going to have to walk from here," he said as he exited the car, Christine following suit. The two Unspeakables hiked up a hill and saw a manor in the distance, light glowing brightly from its windows. Harry pulled out a pair of pocket omninoculars from his pocket and zoomed in on the mansion. Peering through the windows, he saw several more figures than he expected, so he activated a feature that would allow him to see through the walls, and swore profusely at what he saw.
"What?" Christine asked, peering through her own omninoculars.
"There's a party there, we can't do this tonight," Harry grumbled as he began walking down the hill.
"Can't do what tonight?" Christine asked as she followed her partner.
"Rob Malfoy Manor," Harry said simply as he slid into the driver's seat.
"What?" Christine exclaimed. "Why would you want to rob Malfoy Manor?" Harry sighed deeply as he turned the car around and began to drive away.
"Because he has something that he shouldn't, something that I need," Harry explained cryptically. Christine glared at him for his vagueness.
"Could you be a little bit more specific than that?" she asked. Harry tried to think of a response without outright stating what he was looking for.
"Alright, I'll throw you a bone," he said. "Have you ever heard of Koschei the Deathless?" he asked.
"Yeah," Christine replied, "he was a Russian Dark Lord in the fifteenth century, what does that have to do with--oh," she said in realization as she remembered just what Koschei was infamous for, besides his reign of terror:
The creation of the first horcrux.
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For those who may not know, Koschei the Deathless is an evil figure in Russian folklore that hid his soul in several objects, which in turn were hidden in a remote location. He could not die until these objects were destroyed. Sound familiar?
I've got chapter 11 of Daddy Dearest in the works right now, so don't think I've abandoned my other stories.
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