Prongs Rides Again

IX.

"I can't believe July's almost over," Sirius marveled as the three men climbed the staircase which would lead them to the corridor which lead to Dumbledore's office. "Feels like the summer was just beginning."

"Time flies when you're having fun," Remus replied ruefully, with a small ironic smile playing about his lips.

James was silent. He was wondering what he should do for Harry's birthday, if anything.

"I just hope we've been on the right track with all this stuff," Sirius continued. "If Dumbledore tells us it was all for nothing, I may just start screaming. And I've got quite a scream, you know."

Remus rolled his eyes and sighed. The trio kept on trudging upwards.

Should I send him anything at all? James thought distractedly. Sirius said he'd slip something in with his present -- that if I sent him something big, with a card, he-- it wouldn't be good for him. He raised his eyes and watched the ceiling of the darkened stairwell. Hard to believe it's been fifteen years...

"Ow! Cripes, there's a wall here!"

"Lumos," came Remus's voice, and the small light from his wand revealed Sirius, hunched over and clutching his nose. "Do you remember the password?" he asked.

"Nimbeth, I think," Sirius answered thickly.

Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Nimbus?"

Sirius shrugged, and continued massaging his face.

Remus pursed his lips, frowned a little, and then said, "Mole pox."

Sirius scoffed. "Oh yeah, like that'th going to--" He was cut off by the disappearance of the wall. James chuckled softly, and followed Remus into the hallway.

The gargoyle looked just the same as he remembered: stumpy and stubborn. Remus approached it, and said clearly, "Cauldron cakes." The gargoyle sprang to life, and leapt aside. Sirius shook his head, laughing silently to himself. The three men filed into the door and climbed onto the moving staircase.

Sirius knocked when they reached the door to Dumbledore's office. Immediately it swung inward, and the old, eccentric headmaster stood beaming in front of them. "Hello, my friends! Come in, come in! Please, have a seat. I am sure we have much to talk about."

James was just behind Sirius when a large red shape swooped down from the ceiling and landed on Sirius's head. Everyone but Dumbledore jumped in surprise: the old wizard simply stood by and laughed. "My! Fawkes certainly seems glad to see you as well."

The phoenix let out a soft trill and bobbed its head. Sirius exhaled, and Remus began to chuckle. Fawkes rustled his feathers a little and settled down. Sirius stood stock still. "Well... what am I supposed to do?" he asked, a hint of bemusement in his voice.

Dumbledore shrugged merrily. "Wait for him to change his mind, I suppose. Now, as for the rest of us--"

James was as surprised as anyone to find himself holding a single red feather in one hand. Fawkes made a low, throaty noise and left Sirius's head in favor of perching near the window. The group was silent for a moment. Then Dumbledore commented, "It seems his shedding period is beginning. That was his first feather, James. I should keep it if I were you."

"If you catch a phoenix feather before it hits the ground, it's almost as good as a wand, you know," Remus said, sounding acutely like a professor.

The headmaster nodded. "Remus is right. That is the only method the Ollivanders use to collect theirs."

"Well, I'd like to see someone try and pluck a tailfeather from that bird," Sirius grumbled, rubbing his scalp where Fawkes's claws must have dug in. "He'd probably spear the nutters."

Dumbledore only smiled, and then announced, "To business, then, gentlemen. What have you learned?"

The four men sat down. Sirius and Remus exchanged looks; James sat staring at the phoenix feather. There was something very odd about the way it felt... almost like it was vibrating... but it was too slow to be a vibration... and it seemed familiar...

"Remus has a theory," Sirius said hesitantly.

"About...?"

"Stopping Voldemort," Remus stated.

All traces of amusement in Dumbledore's blue eyes vanished. They were now serious and thoughtful. The headmaster leaned forward on his desk. "Tell me about it."

"Well..." he began, almost unsure of how to proceed. "I've put this together from what people have been telling me recently, namely James and Harry. Well, Harry by was of Sirius, but anyway..." He cleared his throat. "I researched that spell Voldemort used to regain his powers. It's an ancient one, first documented in Gaul about seven thousand years ago. Several of the elements are extremely Celtic -- the use of blood, particularly from an enemy, is especially characteristic.

"The witch who developed it was called Uathach. The tale goes that Uathach had just taken a new lover, a Muggle warrior named Conall who often didn't know his own strength. Accounts differ. Some say he crushed her fingers while accepting a tray or a drink. Others..." Here he blushed slightly. "Others say that while the two were, um, making love, he... well, you can guess the rest." He cast an apologetic glance at his audience: apparently, sex wasn't something one talked about in front of Albus Dumbledore. But he remained unfazed, so Remus continued. "Any which way it goes, Uathach cried out. An old lover, another wizard called Maighread, heard her, and rushed in; and for all appearances, killed Conall."

James looked up, startled, at the storyteller. "Without asking any questions?"

Remus shrugged. "People were like that then.

"Anyway, Uathach had been extremely fond of Conall. The curse that had done away with him wasn't Avada Kedavra: that wasn't known in Britain until the first century B.C." Sirius rolled his eyes and mouthed "Professor!" at James, who smirked a little, but then ignored him. "This curse, which has since been lost to us, somehow severed the ties between the body and the spirit, much like what had happened to Voldemort." James expected himself to flinch, but surprisingly, he didn't.

"Uathach... for lack of a better word, bottled Conall's spirit in a cauldron, and set about trying to devise a way for his rebirth. No one knows how she did it -- there are no records of course; but she discovered a means of renewing the corporeal state with a transfer of blood via a specific medium of potions. She needed the remains of someone who didn't need a body anymore, so she included ‘bone of the father'; she needed to prove her attachment to the person was real, so she sacrificed her right hand, and cut it off; and finally, she needed to give the spirit reason to come back. That's where the blood of the enemy comes in.

"Muggle stories about her -- and they do exist, in Ireland -- say that ‘she turned her affections to the victor of the fight' because Maighread was more impressive than Conall. But that's simply not true: it was to get his blood. One night, she bled him, and then her potion was complete."

Here Remus leaned forward, and began tapping his splayed fingers together. "The interesting thing about this is, while it does give the spirit a body, this spell violates the most elemental nature of magic, and being human. Nothing is supposed to replace what you were born with, in that respect. What it does is create a being who supersedes humanity, who renounces it, and becomes something unnatural."

"That's not very reassuring," Sirius mumbled.

But the gleam had returned to Dumbledore's eyes. "So what you're saying is... Voldemort has effectively released himself from being human?"

Cautiously, Remus bent his head. "I'm theorizing. It would mean that we've been going about this in totally the wrong way. If this is correct, we have to treat Voldemort not so much as a living creature but as a force."

Sirius sprang to his feet. "And this is supposed to make us feel better?" he asked, anxiety knitting his brow. He began to pace. "What's so great about Voldemort being superhuman? Wouldn't it stand to reason that it makes him just a little more invincible?! Would someone please care to tell me?"

"It's a chink in the armor," Dumbledore explained excitedly. "It's very tight, but you can still get a knife under it..."

"Forces have laws, and constrictions," Remus elaborated. "Like with waves."

"With what?"

"Muggle physics. If two waves with the same wavelengths line up their crests and troughs, they'll cancel each other out. It's a law. That's the way nature works." He smiled a little. "The Muggles know more than we give them credit for."

"So if we just... found out what Voldemort was, we could apply the antithesis and he'd just... disappear?" James said slowly.

"That's altogether too simple," Sirius fumed. "There's no way it could be so uncomplicated."

"Occam's Razor," Remus disagreed, shaking his head. "The simplest answer is usually the right one."

Sirius snorted. "Maybe in the Muggle world... but it isn't often like that with us."

* * *

The man -- if he could be called that -- narrowed his serpentine eyes, displeased. "I am sure things are not very easy for you, in these present conditions. You have a very shady track record, Severus -- and that goes for both parties."

Severus Snape remained eerily still. "I am sure you understand, my Lord, that even as such, I am in a valuable position to serve you -- more than if I were dead or otherwise incapacitated."

The other wizard allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Ah yes, since we have lost our other servant within Hogwarts... Most unfortunate you are not so useful now, eh Wormtail?"

The man he'd addressed quivered in a dark corner. "M-most, my Lord."

"Perhaps Nagini will prove me wrong sometime soon," the wizard continued lazily. He turned his ruthless gaze back onto Snape. "I do hope you will prove me wrong, as to the doubts I harbored about you, Severus. You did not answer my call this past month."

"My Lord, surely you understand that I had to keep up appearances, and that I could not Apparate off school grounds." He ventured a darting look upward. "I endured great pain to keep your secret safe, my Lord, that you did have a servant within Hogwarts still."

The wizard stroked his chin pensively. "You are feeding me very viable reasons to explain your absence from my side. Now, do I have any proof of your continued loyalty? Why should I trust you? For was it not the best friend of the Potters who lead them to their ultimate downfall?" In the corner, Wormtail winced, and began to whimper.

A muscle in Snape's face twitched. "Funny you should mention the Potters," he said. "My Lord, I have information regarding one."

* * *

Snape was still quaking and dry-heaving when Dumbledore arrived at his dungeon office. "Severus," he said, concerned, "what happened?"

"Cruciatus," he replied weakly. "I'll be fine in a few minutes. Please, will you get me an Ebbing Solution?"

Dumbledore did not ask where the pain killer was: he moved along the shelf on the wall quickly and expertly, and drew the small vial from among a collection of bottles near the top. Snape sat gasping on a stool, not even watching the Headmaster, just trying to make himself breathe normally again. "It's just as bad as I remember it," he croaked as Dumbledore tipped the vial and let some drops spill into a goblet of water.

"I am sorry you were subjected to that on my account," he said softly.

Snape shook his head. "I am in for much more pain than that; but I have much to atone for. I thank you for your sympathies, though."

Dumbledore presented him the goblet. "Speak only when you are ready. I am patient."

Gratefully, Snape downed the potion, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Then: "He wants to start his new campaign with Potter."

"With James? You didn't--"

Snape shook his head. "No, no. He still doesn't know. His rise. He wants to begin his next reign with the killing of Harry. It would be symbolic." He spat the last word.

Dumbledore nodded, thinking. "Yes, start where he couldn't at the Third Task..."

"I suspect..." the younger wizard began, then stopped. He tried again. "Voldemort is much more... attentive to irony now. Which I suppose is saying something. If we can plan on luring him out into the open at Halloween... we may have a chance."

"That doesn't give us much time... Remus, Sirius, and James are no further..." Snape made a brief expression of disgust, but quickly hid it.

"I saw the... the other one tonight. He seems to think that silver hand gives him power. It was quite pitiful to watch, really."

"If it is to be Halloween, we shall have to be careful," Dumbledore said. "It is the day before the full moon, and Remus may not be able to help."

Snape was silent.

Dumbledore stood up with a sigh. "Ah well... I shall leave you to recover, my friend. Get some sleep. We will speak more in the morning."

After the old wizard left, Snape slumped, and let his head hang between his knees. The potion had been a good one -- well, all of his were -- but the vestiges of the curse still swam through his body, burning. After ages of staring at the floor, listening to his head pound, Snape raised his eyes and studied his office through his hair. The soothing sound of boiling cauldrons coupled with the vapors penetrating his lungs did much to slow his heart down. He took a long, deep breath and sat up, and leaned his head back.

This was much harder than last time. Last time he had had debts. James had saved him from the monster when they were sixteen; when they were twenty-four, Severus had told the Potters they were the Dark Lord's next target. He had thought he was even; he thought he'd be free of James at last, even if his heart would always belong to Lily. But the Potters weren't the only ones betrayed by Wormtail, and Severus, as far as he was concerned, was only further entangled by obligation when they'd died. So he'd done his best by the boy, insufferable as he was. But that wasn't enough. Because James was still here -- no, here again to collect his dues.

Since James, as a stag, had come by a completely new body, none of the charms or potions were in place to change him back when the time came. Neither Sirius nor Remus could have done it: Severus had volunteered. Actually volunteered. No one else could have made it on such short notice.

And perhaps he'd felt a little freer after that. But the freedom from debt isn't as good a feeling as you'd have thought, he thought bitterly as he ran a thick, heavy hand through his hair. I don't know what to do with myself. I couldn't truly go back to Voldemort if I wanted to -- not now. Not since Dumbledore trusts me so much. Still. He always trusted me.

He then remembered that wasn't the case. He tried to imagine spending thirteen years without a body, or without being human. He tried to imagine being ripped from himself, and he shuddered. Damn them. How could I ever top that? You're not in debt Severus, but you'll never be in more pain than they were.

And he thought about what he had told Voldemort, and what he had told Dumbledore. "Harry Potter will be vulnerable at Halloween," he'd said; "he always is."

And Voldemort had smiled, and Severus had never felt so cold before in his life.

X.

"...[A]ll things have conspired to your greatness. The rest is up to you."

Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

***

Lucius Malfoy was feeling irritable and tired. The Ministry -- no, not even them: Arthur Weasley was making trouble, and Lucius, from what he'd learned today, was going to have a bear of a time smoothing things over. Luckily Fudge still refused to hear mention of Voldemort's name, but that damned Muggle-lover had the ears of more people than the others might realize. The timeframe he was being forced to work with wasn't helping either: it was the end of August, and Voldemort wanted to have Harry Potter dead at Halloween. Much as he disliked to, Lucius would have to entrust some sensitive intelligence to Draco, a little earlier than he would have wanted to. After all, his son would be the best one to keep an eye on Potter for him.

He sighed, and leaned back in his chair, examining the plans of the Hogwarts grounds he still kept from his days as a school governor. The spells around the castle were always different, of course, but the grounds never changed too drastically. Lucius squinted as he poured over the periphery. It would be so convenient to just get a Portkey to the boy, like last time. But he'll be so much more suspicious if he has a head on his shoulders, and we don't have anyone he'd accept that from inside the castle. From what Draco said in his owls home, Potter and Snape got on almost as famously as Potter's father had. Lucius tried to imagine Draco somehow giving Potter the Portkey... but that would only incriminate his son. And the last thing he needed was trouble with Dumbledore.

Voldemort hadn't yet elaborated on when he'd like to take out Dumbledore and McGonagall. Lucius was a little surprised that he wouldn't be eager to have Snape run the school. He had received many assurances from Severus of his true feelings, as well as material confirmations. A turncoat would never have supplied me with those Untraceable Poisons, or the Desiccation Mixture, which sucked all the water from whoever ingested it.

A timid knock on his study door distracted him. "Come in," he drawled, quickly rolling up the map. A house-elf -- Taffy or Tubby or something -- entered, eyes averted. "Master Lucius sir, is man with funny metal hand wishing to speak with you, sir."

Lucius arose. "Where is he?"

The house-elf backed away. "He just come through the fireplace in the kitchens, master sir, but he is making his way to the main hall, sir."

He scowled. "Bring him to the North Wing. I'll be in the conservatory."

"Yessir, rights away sir!" the elf squeaked, and disappeared behind the door. Wormtail. With another message from Voldemort. Wonderful. As Lucius swept out of the room, locking the door with a quick spell, he gritted his teeth. Just what I need, on top of placating the Ministry, is placating Wormtail.

He Apparated mid-stride into the hallway outside the greenhouse. He pulled a heavy cloak from off a peg on the wall, wrapped it tightly around his shoulders, and Apparated inside. This particular greenhouse of Malfoy Manor was rare even among wizarding estates: it only housed plants which thrive in snow, darkness, and blizzard conditions. As soon as he was inside, Lucius relaxed a little as he felt the crunch of the snow beneath his boots, and the unnatural warmth rising from his face. With lazy, languid motions he patrolled the rows of plants on either side of him. His eyes began to adjust to the dimness. The Norwegian Seal Trap was doing well, although some of the spells on the artificial pond it inhabited were wearing off, and a scum of ice was crusting around the edges. The Fire Lichens were giving off a faint phosphoresce from the artful arrangement of rocks they clung to. Lucius secretly hoped Wormtail might appear on top of those, which injected minuscule needles into the skin which stung for hours afterward, until they dissolved.

He stopped in front of his favorite plant, a windswept Taiga Sprite. Only a few others existed domestically, and most of them were at Durmstrang. The Taiga Sprite was one of the only non-aggressive plants in this greenhouse. It resembled a willow, only much smaller -- about four feet tall; and its branches were stiffer and a little thicker. It looked as though constantly beleaguered by a strong current of air, and its leaves always rustled as though from a breeze. Every five years or so, the trunk begins to swell: eventually these swellings start to glow; and finally, at one point, they all shoot through the branches and explode out the ends in a show of fireworks. This is the plant's only opportunity for growth: at the end of the display, there are new stalks and leaves on the tree.

The first time he'd ventured into this particular greenhouse, he'd been six years old, and alone at the time. After wandering through the maze of venomous vegetation, he'd come face to face with the Sprite, and almost on cue, it had exploded. It was one of the most vivid and beautiful memories of his childhood. Lucius bent closer to the plant, to see if perhaps it might be coming soon. Draco had been about ten at the time... so perhaps...

His thoughts were interrupted as Wormtail Apparated a few feet behind him. Lucius's mouth sloped downward in distaste, and he slowly turned on his heel to face the other wizard. "Good evening, Peter. I trust you are well?"

He could always tell that Wormtail was unused to being called his given name, and that it still discomfited him. A small spark of pleasure arose in Lucius's chest: anything to keep that pest from "asserting himself." Wormtail gulped, and his eyes darted around at their surroundings. He clutched his thin robes against his arms, and recoiled at the touch of his cold silver hand.

"Are you sure... do you think we could talk somewhere more... pleasant?"

"Surely whatever you have to say will not take long," Lucius replied maliciously.

Wormtail shifted his weight, a bit defeated. "V-very well."

Lucius cut to the chase. "What does my lord require of me?"

"He... he says to tell you that he is... m-most eager to hear of your progress in... in -- cornering Potter. He wishes to tell you he has his plans formulated for the killing, and the... the display of his body. But he needs someone to deliver the boy, and he isn't comfortable... not knowing how's that's going to happen," he finished miserably.

Lucius frowned. "I can tell him nothing until I know something, and Draco does not leave for Hogwarts for two more days. Beg our master to be patient."

"My master says he does not wish to be patient, he desires to be ready."

Lucius watched as Wormtail tried to rub him upper arms and warm up. The silver hand appeared to be failing in that task. "Miss your old appendage, eh, Peter?" he whispered sibilantly.

Wormtail glared briefly at him. "It was worth it," he muttered. "Our master is back among us because of it."

"Indeed he is," Lucius continued smoothly. "Some of us wonder what he does with all his newfound time, seeing as we have not had direct contact with him for several weeks."

"That's his business and not yours," Wormtail replied, glaring. After a momentary pause, he shivered, and this time from other things than the cold. "And besides, you wouldn't want to see him now. He wouldn't be terribly kind."

"It is his place to tell me that and not yours," Lucius said calmly. "Now if you will excuse me, please inform our master that he must wait. And," he added, "if you are feeling particularly brave, you might inform him that some Death Eaters grow restless even now. He might contact them and persuade a certain number that patience is a virtue, especially when some of us are carefully laying plans they might foil with their impetuousness." And give me some peace and quiet so I might get somewhere! he thought in exasperation, remembering last week's angry visit from Macnair.

Wormtail drew himself inward, in one last attempt to gather warmth. "Very well," he said, and with that disappeared. Lucius stood studying the space where the man had stood. He turned his attention to the hot breath rising from his mouth, watching the steam twist and writhe as it ascended roofward. After some moments' consideration, he headed back to the manor proper, to have words with his son.