A Promise Worth Keeping

Chapter 16

To say that Lucius Malfoy was displeased at the news that Harry Potter had been found was something of an understatement. He was bloody furious. Not that he allowed Avery to see this, of course. He stared at the other man, tapping his desk with one finger. "They've found the Potter boy?" he asked in as calm a voice as he could muster. "You're sure?"

"Oh, yes," Avery assured him. "I heard it from one of Milton's crew in the canteen at tea break. Dumbledore notified Fudge first thing this morning. They've got Sirius Black as well."

Malfoy sniffed. "Dear me, Avery listening to canteen gossip," he remarked, while he quickly tried to process this information.

Avery looked stung. "Don't know what you're complaining about. You've been on at me to listen to canteen gossip for weeks now."

Malfoy dismissed this comment with a wave of one hand, as something occurred to him. "Dumbledore notified Fudge? Who found the brat then?"

Shrugging, Avery responded, "Dunno, they didn't say. Dumbledore's people, I assume. It certainly wasn't the MLES, that's for sure."

"Gossip didn't enlighten you as to where the boy currently is, I suppose?" Malfoy sneered.

"Oh, lemme see; if Dumbledore notified Fudge, then I expect he's at Hogwarts, wouldn't you?" Even Avery could do sarcasm when he really tried.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "I'd be very careful if I were you, Avery," he remarked, then continued, "If you do hear any more, I would appreciate being kept up to date, now get out."

Avery fled.

As soon as the other man had left, Malfoy stood up and stalked over to the fireplace. He stared at an ugly Sèvres vase that he had always hated. It was worth a lot of money, but he picked it up and smashed it on the floor. However it didn't make him feel any better about having just wasted twelve thousand galleons. He'd already given Borgin six but knew cancelling the order was out of the question. He looked at the shards of porcelain lying on the hearth, gave a sigh and muttered, "Reparo," and Disapparated, thinking it was always possible Avery had made a mistake or had been imagining things.

A few minutes later, he strode into Fudge's secretariat as if he owned the place. Fudge's secretary was sitting reading a magazine, Witches' Weekly - Exclusive Lockhart Interview, he noticed with disdain. She looked up as he came in and hurriedly stuffed the magazine into a drawer.

"Mr Malfoy! What can I do for you?" She smiled brightly, but her eyes flickered nervously at him.

Malfoy stared at her for a moment and wondered why he didn't just put her out of her misery. "I'd like to see the Minister," he told her, slowly so she would understand.

The woman, what was her name, Dolly? Daisy? Something like that, looked flustered. "Oh I'm terribly sorry, Mr Malfoy, but he's not here. He got called away urgently, first thing."

"Really?"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, he had to go to Hogwarts."

Ah, so Avery might not have been imagining things after all. Bugger. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

There was a muffled, stumbling sound from inside Fudge's office. "That sounds like him now, sir. He always Floos from Hogsmeade. Shall I tell him you're here?"

Malfoy smiled. "Please do."

Five minutes later he stepped into the office to see Fudge, for the first time in weeks looking positively jovial. "Lucius! Have you heard the news?"

"News, Minister?"

Fudge smiled broadly. "Harry Potter's been found at last. And not only that, but Sirius Black's been recaptured."

"How… wonderful, Minister, you must be so relieved. Dare I ask what happened?"

Fudge sat down at his desk. "Two chaps of Dumbledore's brought them in."

Malfoy looked surprised and sat down in the leather chair on the other side of the desk. "Together?"

Looking serious for a moment, Fudge replied, "Oh I was as concerned as you must be, Lucius, but it would seem that the boy's not been harmed."

"I suppose only time will tell with that, Minister." Malfoy did so enjoy planting those little poisoned ideas. He continued, "When you say 'brought them in' where were you talking about?"

"Didn't I say? They're at Hogwarts."

Before Malfoy could respond, there was a knock and Dolly or Daisy stuck her head round the door. "You asked me to remind you that you're seeing Mr Crouch at eleven, Minister. And I wondered if you and Mr Malfoy would like some tea?"

Fudge glanced at the clock. It was just leaving ten forty. "By Jove, Iris I didn't realise that was the time. Yes, of course, we'll have some tea."

Iris came into the room, although Malfoy thought she really looked like a Dolly or a Daisy, and walked over to an ornate Victorian sideboard that stood against one wall. It was underneath a portrait of Fortescue Grubb, Minister of Magic in the 1880s. He was asleep. There was a tray on the sideboard, with a large china teapot and several cups and saucers on it. Turning to Malfoy, Iris asked, "English Breakfast or Earl Grey, Mr Malfoy?"

"Darjeeling, with lemon."

"Oh, certainly, Mr Malfoy." The secretary looked flustered for a moment, then she tapped the teapot with her wand, waited a second or two and poured the tea. "Minister?"

"English Breakfast for me, Iris."

After the tea was handed out and the secretary had gone, Fudge continued the previous conversation, " You know, Lucius you could well have a point about time telling if the boy was all right."

Malfoy looked interested. "Has something happened already?"

Fudge screwed up his face in dissatisfaction and frowned. "Well, not exactly. It's just that Dumbledore wasn't especially taken with my suggestion that the boy should attend a formal reception I'd like to organise for the chaps that rescued him. Said something about him needing time to recover, whatever that meant."

Endeavouring to look concerned, Malfoy responded, "Oh dear. That doesn't sound so good."

"No it doesn't, does it." Fudge put his cup down and standing up, started to pace agitatedly around the room. "I mean, what if something really serious has happened to him?"

"What indeed. Perhaps he would be better off in St Mungos?"

"You know, that's a jolly good suggestion, Lucius. I'll speak to Dumbledore about it."

Something then occurred to Malfoy. "Just a minute, Minister. You said both of them are at Hogwarts? Why hasn't Sirius Black been returned to Azkaban?"

"Yes, that's another thing," Fudge complained. "Dumbledore's supposed to be running a damn school and he's spending his time filling the dungeons with dangerous Dark Wizards. I told him," he wagged a finger, "I thought the school Governors would take a pretty dim view of it."

Malfoy saw his opportunity. "Indeed we would, Cornelius, indeed we would."

Once he had returned to Malfoy Manor, Malfoy wasted no time. He immediately called an extraordinary meeting of the Hogwarts Governors. The question of Dumbledore's conduct really had to be examined, and the wizard asked to explain himself. After all, the safety of the children…." Malfoy smiled as he scratched the meeting invitation on parchment, and then with a flick of his wand, conjured sufficient copies for all of the board.

However, the meeting did not prove to be entirely satisfactory. Malfoy was unable to persuade the rest of the board that suspending Dumbledore was the appropriate course of action. They seemed to feel, on the contrary, that the Headmaster should be rewarded for locating Harry Potter when no one else had been able to. The fact that Sirius Black was being held in the dungeons was treated as a side issue.

"Really, Lucius it's not as if Dumbledore's proposing to keep him there permanently," one particularly assertive member told him. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and determined that it was high time that this member was replaced.

Neither did Dumbledore himself prove co-operative in describing exactly what had happened and had, in effect, told him to mind his own business. Needless to say, when he returned home, Malfoy was not in the best of tempers. If he had had a cat, he would have kicked it, but he didn't; he only had a house elf, so he took his feelings out on that creature.

He had retreated to his study and was contemplating with irritation, the charming picture presented by his son and friends playing some sort of chasing game on the croquet lawn. The wretched children were going to damage the grass. He stood up and knocked imperatively on the window, standing there until they had gone.

There was a discreet cough from the fireplace and he turned round. Avery's head was there. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Thought you would want to know this at once, Malfoy. Sirius Black's escaped from the Aurors who were taking him back to Azkaban, and he's kidnapped Harry Potter."

"What?"

Avery gulped. "Sorry."

Malfoy smiled. "Oh I'm not angry, Avery. This is excellent news. It means we have another chance."

Comprehension dawned on Avery's face. "Oh, I see."

"What happened, do you know?"

"Well, I just heard this from a bloke who was with Milton, when one of the Aurors reported in. Apparently, they were taking Black out of Hogwarts and he went completely berserk on them. Nearly killed the other one. The Potter boy just happened to be crossing the Entrance Hall at the time and Black grabbed him before making his escape. Well you know what Hogwarts is like, all those tunnels and secret passages. Wouldn't have been hard. They reckoned he'd got down one of the ones that went to Hogsmeade. Well I don't know about you, but I never knew about any tunnels going to Hogsmeade. Would have been bloody useful."

Malfoy impatiently waved a hand. "Never mind that now, Avery, have they any idea where Black went after that?"

Avery shook his head. As it was currently disembodied in the fire, this looked rather odd. "None at all. They're on the look out obviously, and a whole squad of Hit Wizards have been sent up there -" He broke off suddenly. "There's someone coming, I've got to go. I'll see what else I can find out." He disappeared.

As soon as Avery had gone, Malfoy smiled broadly. This changed everything again. He might not have wasted his money after all.

---

The next few days brought no more news. Malfoy paid another visit to Borgin, but while the shopkeeper was appropriately obsequious, even nauseatingly so, he did not give out any hopes of being able to produce the Devil's Orb or whatever it was called, any more quickly than he had already said he would.

"You said it would take a week, Borgin," Malfoy reminded him. "That was a week ago today."

"I said it would take at least a week, Mr Malfoy, and was likely to take longer."

Malfoy drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter and asked, "Have you heard anything at all from your sources?"

Borgin eyed him as if making some sort of calculation and responded, "I've been told that the current owners of the Drac Ochi are, as I previously told you, extremely reluctant to part with it. My contact is trying to arrange for a slightly less… legitimate means of acquisition."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You mean they're going to steal it, as if I cared about that. What I do care about on the other hand, is that they acquire it, and acquire it soon." He ended on a definite note of threat, but he knew it was empty; there was nothing he could do. He didn't like feeling this way, and he found it unsettling.

Malfoy didn't bother going back to Borgin's after that. All he would succeed in doing would be to indicate how badly he wanted the bloody thing. Borgin's response to that would probably be to put his price up. Instead he returned to Malfoy Manor and continued researching the more esoteric uses the Potter brat's blood might have. That made him feel a lot better, for a while anyway.

He finally found something that sent shivers of excitement running up his spine. He was reading a discussion of the effects of moonlight in an obscure eighteenth century French text he had picked up in a second hand shop in Budapest once. It noted how the phases of the moon enhanced the impact of particular spells, spells involving blood magic for example.

He'd treated the fact that in finding the boy he was likely to find Black as a bonus. He'd be able to hand the man over to the Ministry and claim the reward. But now as he read, he realised there might be a role for Black in what he planned to do, a role that would stem directly from Black's relationship to the boy. It wasn't a blood relationship, of course, which was a pity, but a relationship nevertheless.

He then went on to read some very interesting material about location and the importance of geography in such matters. When he had finished, he knew exactly what he had to do. But of course, he couldn't do anything until he got his hands on the Potter brat. He put the book down in frustration.

Finally, the following Wednesday, he received an owl from Borgin. It simply said that the shopkeeper expected to have his order within the next few days. Malfoy didn't bother to reply.

In the meantime, Avery had been able to report that the Ministry had made little progress in locating the fugitives, which was a relief. In the process they had managed to cause a great deal of annoyance to the owners of any black dog they came across. It also seemed that their search had been hampered by a severe blizzard that had swept the Highlands the day after Black had made his escape. It was always possible both Black and the brat were dead, which while it would solve the problem of any future involvement of the boy in the resurrection of Voldemort, would in many ways, be a pity. Malfoy found he was rather looking forward to making good on his investment.

Of course he didn't neglect attempting to find out as much as possible about the Drac Ochi and how it functioned. He was interested to note that in everything he turned up, the references were always to a seeker and not the seeker, and he wondered if it particularly mattered who supplied the blood the object required to function.

At long last on the Friday he received the owl he had been waiting for. Borgin would be pleased if he would uplift his order at his earliest convenience. Malfoy snorted. He was damned if he was going to go near the man's shop again and he forced himself to wait for an hour before heading off for Knockturn Alley. He used the time to contact Avery and tell to make some sort of excuse and come to the Manor that afternoon.

Avery wasn't happy about it, but didn't argue.

When Malfoy walked into Borgin and Burkes at precisely ten past eleven, he suffered the usual wait until Borgin had shuffled through from wherever it was in the back of the shop that he lurked.

"You have the item?" Malfoy demanded without preamble.

Borgin smiled greasily. "Oh yes, Mr Malfoy, I would hardly have owled you otherwise. Unfortunately, this has proven to be a more costly endeavour than I had anticipated."

"You surprise me," Malfoy told him. "However, much though I sympathise with your predicament, we agreed a price did we not?"

Borgin stared thoughtfully at his customer for a moment, then clearly thought better of whatever extortion he had been going to attempt and simply said, "Yes, Mr Malfoy, so we did. One moment." He turned and shuffled away again, but wasn't away for long. When he returned he was carrying a small box in his hands. He carefully laid it on the counter and opened it.

Malfoy sucked in his breath. Inside the box, packed in what looked like hay, was a crystal globe slightly smaller than an ordinary Divination orb. "Do you mind if I test it?" he asked.

"Not at all," responded Borgin. "Remember though, not to let your bare skin touch it."

Malfoy smiled, "I am aware of that." He pulled on a pair of calfskin gloves he had brought for the purpose, and picked up the globe with one hand. It was heavier than it looked. "There should be a stand should there not?" He glanced at the shopkeeper.

Borgin gave a slight nod and, reaching under the counter, produced a carved wooden support. It had clearly been made for the Drac Ochi, although Malfoy noted that Borgin hadn't produced it until he had asked for it. He glanced round the shop. "Is there perhaps somewhere private I could do this? I'm sure you'd rather I wasn't standing here if the MLES decide to pay you a visit."

"Through here." Borgin pulled back a curtain hanging against one wall, which proved to be the entrance to a small room.

Malfoy replaced the globe in the box and picked it up along with the stand. There was a table in the room and he put them down on it, before pulling the curtain shut on Borgin's greasy face. He was quite sure the shopkeeper had ways of monitoring what he did anyway. From the pocket of his robes he produced a calfskin cloth that had, rolled up in it a small bronze knife. It was very old. Then he set the globe on its stand again.

As a test he had decided to seek someone he knew well, but whose exact current location was unknown to him. Accordingly, he pulled the glove off his left hand and picked up the knife, making a quick slash across the palm of his hand. He watched the blood well up, and then held his hand over the globe and let the blood slowly drip onto its surface.

He stared, as the hard crystal seemed to somehow absorb his blood, so that the cloth he had placed underneath the stand to catch any drips was unnecessary. He quickly pulled himself together and focussed on his target, visualising him as clearly as he could.

After a few seconds, he noticed the opaque crystal start to grow cloudy and seem to swirl, and then, just like clouds parting, a picture came into focus, of Avery, sitting at a desk, stuffing his face with a jam filled doughnut that had squirted down the front of his robes. Malfoy's lips curled in a sneer. How edifying, he thought. However, he did wonder just how he could tell this was a genuine view of Avery. After all, it was always possible the globe had simply dredged up some memory he had of seeing the man eat doughnuts. The figure in the globe finished its food and licked its fingers. And then very faintly, but perfectly distinctly he heard a voice say, "Come on Avery, aren't you coming down the pub with the rest of us?"

The figure of Avery responded. "Can't come. My Great Aunt Gertrude's decided to come and stay with me while she does her Christmas shopping. I've got to get the house in a fit state for her. She'll never let me hear the end of it if I don't."

The other man sniggered. "Well, have fun."

The picture faded, the crystal returning to its previous opaque state. Malfoy stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled broadly. The implications this thing had were stunning. The globe could see through all the protective wards the Ministry had. He wondered if it would get through those around Hogwarts.

Borgin was waiting outside. "Everything was satisfactory?" he asked.

"It would appear to be." Malfoy held out a slip of parchment. "Here is a draft on my Gringotts account, for the balance. I trust it is in order."

It was.

When Malfoy returned home, he didn't have long to wait until Avery arrived. He noted the red splodge on the front of the man's robes with interest. He really was a complete oik, Malfoy thought.

"You got this orb thing then?" Avery asked.

"Oh yes," responded Malfoy. "Would you like to try it?"

"Really? Can I?" Avery looked like an eager puppy and Malfoy reflected that sometimes, it was just too easy.

"Of course." Then to explain this lapse he added, "If it works for you, I know that it is genuine and not some sort of elaborate trick."

This clearly made sense to Avery.

They went down to one of the dungeons where Malfoy had set out everything needed. The crystal globe sat on its stand, gleaming in the torchlight. Malfoy didn't consider himself to be a particularly fanciful sort of person, but the object certainly managed to look faintly sinister.

"I don't see any point in wasting time," he remarked. "Why don't you focus on the brat?"

Avery grinned. "All right, if you like. What do I have to do?"

Malfoy told him, and soon Avery was standing, a doubtful expression on his face, as he watched the orb absorb the drops of blood that dripped onto its surface from the palm of his hand.

"Focus on the boy," Malfoy ordered.

Avery frowned in concentration and after a moment the globe grew cloudy, just as it had done earlier, for Malfoy. When it cleared, Malfoy could see, from his vantage point behind Avery that it showed a boy, building a snowman. He was on the small side for a ten year old, he thought, but he matched the description and the quick intake of breath from Avery said it was certainly the Potter brat.

Malfoy was about to peer closer when the picture faded and the orb reverted to its normal state. He frowned. That didn't last long. In fact the picture had been in focus for no more than ten seconds.

"What's wrong?" Avery asked, noticing.

"I'm not sure." Malfoy hated sounding uncertain. "When I tried it earlier, the image was clear for all of half a minute. We need to be able to see him for long enough so we can get some idea of where he is."

As Avery cast a quick healing spell on his hand, Malfoy cleaned the knife and proceeded to go through the ritual himself. He carefully timed how long he held his hand above the globe before the image appeared, and then timed how long it lasted.

This time he got a glimpse of a cottage beside a clump of tall Scots Pine and a sunny snowscape with mountains in the background, but again it only lasted ten seconds, although he had had to hold his hand over the globe for fully half a minute.

"How well do you know the Scottish Highlands, Avery?" he asked.

"What, you mean apart from having gone to school there, like you?" Avery shrugged. "Not especially well. Mountains aren't really my thing, you know."

"Pity, as we'll find them by identifying one of those mountains," Malfoy told him.

That, however, proved to be easier said than done. The next time they tried the ritual, Avery taking his turn, Malfoy noticed it took longer before the image appeared, and then they might as well not have bothered, as the boy had gone inside and they could see nothing that identified where he was. Malfoy remembered that Borgin had said something about the amount of blood the orb required varying, but he hadn't thought much about it at the time. If every time they looked for the same individual the orb required an exponentially greater volume of blood, then they'd soon be dead, or at least Avery would be. They needed to find the brat fast.

He pulled out his watch. "Brat's probably having lunch," he remarked. "Try again in an hour or so." Avery nodded and cast a quick healing charm on his hand again.

That afternoon, Malfoy browbeat Avery to drip more and more of his life's blood into the orb, so much so that he began to look rather pale. When it grew dark, he allowed Avery to stop, and told him to go home and get some rest. Avery blinked and put out a hand to stop himself falling over.

"Better Floo," Malfoy advised. "Don't want to splinch yourself Apparating."

Avery gave a sickly smile, and Malfoy found he had to help the man upstairs so he could leave the house. Then he went back down to the dungeon and quickly put the orb away in its box. It was well named, he reflected. However, he now had several sketches of the hills surrounding the cottage the boy was staying in, and he knew he would recognise them when he saw them.

That evening he looked up Crabbe, Goyle and Macnair. He would need muscle as well as brainpower, if he were going to deal with Black. As he expected, they were keen to be involved, so he told them to meet him in Hogsmeade the following day and to bring their broomsticks.

It had occurred to him in considering the weather that Black and the boy couldn't have gone far from Hogwarts. That meant those hills had to be reasonably near to the castle and all they had to do was fly around until they saw them.

Well of course, it wasn't that simple, but, as the orb was now requiring a full five minutes worth of blood before the image appeared, it seemed slightly more attractive than bleeding to death over a piece of bloody crystal.

Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for him in the Three Broomsticks the following morning and Macnair showed up a few minutes later. "Where's Avery?" asked Crabbe. "I thought you said he was coming."

Malfoy snorted. "It would appear he has a severe case of anaemia. He'll be all right in a day or two, so I'm told." He showed them sketches of the hills they were looking for. "Do any of you recognise these hills?" he asked. "They are in the general area that Potter is in, I believe. "

Macnair and Crabbe shook their heads, but Goyle stood for a moment with a puzzled expression on his face, then said, running a finger over the skyline in the sketch, "You know, this looks awfully like the hills beyond the Mountain."

"The mountain behind Hogsmeade?" Malfoy prompted.

Goyle nodded. "Yeah. I'm almost sure of it."

That would certainly make sense, Malfoy reflected. "How convenient," he remarked. "It's in just the direction we'll be taking them."

"So where are we taking them, Malfoy?" Macnair asked.

"You'll find out when we get there," he snapped. "Now come on, we're looking for a cottage beside a clump of pine trees."

It did not take long. The cottage stood, as he had seen from the orb, beside a clump of Scots Pine. A thin trickle of smoke drifted up from the chimney, it's slight angle indicating the direction of the faintest of breezes.

Silently the four men swooped up to the building. Making sure they were all ready, Malfoy gave an imperative rap to the door.

There was a scuffling sound from inside, then silence. Suddenly the door was flung open and a tall, haggard looking man stood there. Malfoy smiled. "Merry Christmas, Mr Black," he said.

Just as Black was opening his mouth to curse him, Crabbe's voice said from behind, "Stupefy!"

Malfoy stepped over Black's body and into the house, leaving Crabbe to manacle him. Macnair walked through from the kitchen where he had Apparated, holding a struggling boy by the arms.

"Let me go!" the boy yelled.

Macnair let go and the boy fell forward onto his knees in front of Malfoy. Malfoy looked down at him and smiled. "Well, Potter I've been looking for you."