Companions of the White Warlock

Smoke Year VII - Companions of the White Warlock Chapter VII

The teens had not realized how large the Order of the Phoenix had grown over the previous year. Over 70 people plus the entire staff of Hogwarts (other than Filch and Trelawney) were assembled in the great hall, and they stood and clapped as Harry has his paladins entered. When they saw Dobby, the clapping slowed and the whispering started.

Ginny Weasley put her hand on Dobby's shoulder. She was not entirely certain what Harry and her parents (well, her mother) had said to each other that afternoon, but Mrs. Weasley had been looking rather chastised ever since. As for Ginny, she was now considered a full member of the Order of the Phoenix.

She watched Harry proudly as he spoke to the Order of the Phoenix and won them over. The Order had been functioning without its true leader for some weeks now. By the end of the meeting, everyone had come to terms and agreed with the new order within the Order. McGonagall was in overall operational charge, with Remus both as her number two and as the liaison with Harry. Russell would continue to coordinate intelligence. Harry, of course, was now the ultimate leader.

Ginny was less enthusiastic about her own role, although not fully dissatisfied. In effect, she, Luna, and Neville were confined to the castle and grounds. Luna was taking over Hermione's role as full-time researcher, and Neville and Professor Sprout were going to clean up an old greenhouse used for storage and convert it to growing medicinal plants. Ginny would be aiding her brothers and Remus in their search for any further secret ways into the castle or onto the grounds that by-passed the wards and helping McGonagall keep track of Order assignments.

Hermione would be moving freely between Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, and the Cottage. Hermione understood (the others hoped) that she was to convey material from the latter two locations back to Hogwarts and go through it with Luna and the Prof. Harry arranged to hire Winky, and had her installed at Grimmauld Place full-time, while Dobby would be dropping in to supervise her and to keep an eye on Kreacher.

Tonks, aided by Remus, Russell, Moody, and Flitwick, would be teaching all the teens combat defense, but Harry and Ron would be concentrating on that. In addition, Luna and Harry would be going through Professor Dumbledore's notes. Harry would be mostly staying on at the castle at least through his birthday.

Harry also contributed his memories of what Dumbledore had showed him of the 'Saga of Tom Riddle' (as Luna called it) to a new pensieve. Harry had all of his paladins, plus McGonagall, Flitwick, and Moody see them as well. Other than Hermione and Dobby's anger at Riddle's framing of the old house elf of her mistress' murder, the stories did not seem to add anything to the immediate discussions. Still, Harry wanted the information out there in case anyone came up with any connections.

The leadership realized that now would come the long, slow slog until they had the next confrontations with the Death Eaters or some new lead came up in the search for Horcruxes. If there were no such interruptions, there would not be any break of any kind for them until Bill Weasley's wedding on the 26th.

Monday, July 14, 1997

"Come in, Harry."

Harry came into John Russell's private apartments. "How did you know it was me?"

"You have a characteristic knock . . . and my door is charmed to tell me," Russell responded with a smile.

"And you did say I should look you up today," Harry added.

"Exactly. I was wondering if you wanted any extra equipment, for yourself or the others."

Harry looked puzzled. "Like what?"

"Come into my den," Russell said. Harry followed Russell out of the sitting room, through a library and into another room.

In many ways, it was an armory. There were swords, knives, and other blades and assorted weapons on the walls. Russell took Harry over to a cabinet and opened it.

"Whoa," Harry said. There were sixty pistols in the cabinet.

"There are many who would say that any wizard using a Muggle weapon is a blood traitor," Russell said. "Since most of them are trying to kill us anyway, I really don't care."

"I'd like to learn how to handle one, but I don't know if I would normally carry it," Harry said. "In fact, we should all learn how to use one."

"I agree. If you can use it well, then you can decide if you will carry one. Tonks nearly shot her foot off once."

Harry shuddered, but then his eyes went wide and he made an abortive reach for the oldest pistol before withdrawing his hand.

"That is a Walker Colt, from the 1850s," Russell said. "Only 1000 or so of them were made. It is one of the most powerful handguns ever made, even today. It's pre-self-contained cartridge, so it has to be loaded by hand, the only disadvantage. Still, a little magic guaranties that it will never misfire." He took it out and showed it to Harry. "It fires a ball instead of a pointed bullet, so it has tremendous stopping power, but not great penetration. It's the only pistol I would want to use on a fully-transformed werewolf."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Greyback and his band."

"Exactly."

"It isn't enough to stop Voldemort," Harry stated.

"No, it's not. However, I know you would agree that it's also time to clean out the underlying bigots, criminals, and monsters, if we can legitimately charge them."

"They wouldn't nail Malfoy last time," Harry pointed out.

"Scrimgeour has more guts. Old Barty Crouch Senior might have done the same, if his son hadn't gotten caught up in things. We'll have to see. And remember, it might be your duty to point the way, but you can't force people to be good."

Harry grimaced. "I know."

Russell opened a drawer in a chest under the cabinet, and Harry saw objects he could not begin to identify. "I'm going to teach you what all these are, Harry. I have a dream-learning program for you tonight, and by morning you'll have all the basics, although you'll need to practice to actually be able to use them. I should also teach you Latin the same way."

"Alright." Harry was still looking at the drawer of weapons.

"I also want you to know," Russell said in a bland tone, "if anything happens to me, everything in this room will be yours."

Harry looked up, startled. "What!"

"This is war, Harry. If more than eight of your paladins survive this war, we'll have been very lucky."

"Maybe we should track Voldemort down and kill his body and trap his remnant of soul," Harry said. "Then we find each Horcrux, destroy it and then kill what's left."

"It would not be easy to destroy that 'remnant', Harry," Russell said. "I've never heard of any way to contain it, but I do have some feelers out. We'll have to see if any good ideas, or solid facts, come back. We can't even start to plan for that until we know there is something worth planning."

Harry frowned. "I hope they come back soon. I want this over with as few casualties as possible, even if we don't get all the Death Eaters."

"We shall do our best."

"Is the Master available?"

Vincent Crabbe merely nodded. The teen had shown up looking for Malfoy and had just stayed. He did not know a lot, but he knew his place. He merely opened the door and allowed his superior entrance to the Master's private domain.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort hissed. "I was wondering who would bring me the news that has my oh so faithful followers in a nervous tizzy whenever they think they are out of my range. I should have known it would be you."

Snape merely bowed.

"Well?" Voldemort demanded, "what is it?"

Snape merely handed his Master a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet.

Voldemort scanned through the six pages of stories quickly, and then burned the paper with a flick of his wand. "Nonsense. 'White Warlock' and 'heir to Merlin' indeed." He glared at Snape. "You disagree?"

"You would know much better than I if there could be such a thing as a White Warlock, Master," Snape said frankly. "I do agree that if there were such a thing, it could NOT be Potter."

"I see," Voldemort said. "Tell me, what do you think about his speech in Hogsmeade?"

"Russell must have written it for him," Snape said dismissively, "Potter could never be that coherent, and Granger could never be that succinct."

"And the content?"

Even Snape had to think how he should answer that.

"Your hesitation gives me your answer," Voldemort hissed. "I must admit that there is a grain of truth in some of it. Why is it that I tend to attract those with superior bloodlines and inferior abilities and those with inferior bloodlines and superior abilities?"

"Because those with both are already in control," Snape answered simply. "In addition, it takes so long to get to the top. Scrimgeour is the first Minister we've had this century under a hundred, and he's the youngest Minister currently in Europe at eight-seven. Crouch might never had been made Minister in any case, considering he was only a few years older than you."

"Exactly." Voldemort shook his head, and then went on. "I have a plan in progress, but perhaps that is not enough. So, either you or dear Bella will have to make some individual strikes as well." He thought some more. "Bella, I think. You have greater uses at the moment, and should she fail, the others will know it was because of her lack of control."

Snape bowed.

"I shall consider her first target. As for you, you did well to bring this to my attention. I shall be generous and reward you. What would you have, Severus?"

Snape paused, and said, "If he is in usable condition, young Malfoy. He has some modest abilities in Potion Making."

"Why would he be unusable, Severus?" Voldemort asked. "True, he failed to kill Dumbledore, but I expected him to fail at that. It spurred him on to succeed in my major objective for him. Had I only demanded he find a way in for my Death Eaters, he would likely still be thinking about it. No, he is relatively unharmed. He is in room sixteen. You may enter with the password 'last chance'. He may walk out with the password, 'This is my last chance'."

"Thank you, Master," Snape said with a bow.

"He is a weakness, Severus," Voldemort warned. "I had not expected it of you."

"None of us can match your character, Master."

"True. Remember this, Severus," Voldemort warned in a voice that chilled even Severus Snape, "I meant it when I said the boy has one more chance. I expected him to fail, but his failure also caused you to be exposed. It would have been very useful to have you at Hogwarts right now."

Snape nearly spoke, but held his tongue.

"Yes, I am aware that this was caused more by Bella and his mother than by you. I was disappointed that you took it upon yourself to make that pledge. Bella is also on her last chance, and I do not want you, her, or the boy in contact with Lucius' wife again."

Snape bowed in agreement.

"Is there anything else you wish to report of my followers, Severus?"

"Greyback . . . I cannot say he is totally out of control, but it is clear that only you can control him," Snape said.

"True," Voldemort agreed. "You rightly prevented him from attacking the wrong targets, and his bloodlust has been aroused by his partial revenge on the curse breaker and his failure to get Russell." Voldemort frowned. "Russell was with Potter at Hogsmeade, and he also killed four of my followers that night. Tell me, Severus, is there any one of my followers who would stand a good chance of taking him out?"

"Only one? Truthfully, no, Master, unless Lestrange can surprise him. Perhaps Greyback and a pack if he's vulnerable during a full moon?"

"Perhaps. Not you?"

"I don't know," Snape admitted. "He is the only one of my former colleagues I would hesitate to attack other than by your express command."

"I see. Perhaps it is time to finish off a different old victim, after all then," Voldemort mused. He smiled horribly. "Perhaps the werewolf pack can lure Hagrid into the forest."

"That should affect Potter," Snape agreed. He thought about reminding Voldemort that the werewolf curse did not affect giants, and that their effectiveness in attacking Hagrid might be less than expected, but decided now was not the time to reflect badly on the Dark Lord's plans.

"Well, I shall think upon my options. Take your new apprentice, Severus, and make his position clear."

Snape bowed low. "As you command."

"You have the scent retarding potion ready?"

Snape shuddered slightly as he realized his Master's basic plan, but only said, "Yes, Master."

"I see you understand. If the boy obeys your commands, he will survive. If he does not, he will not. It is up to him. Use Wormtail as well. He is growing more annoying than usual."

"Yes, Master."

Friday, July 18, 1997

"Come in," Russell called. Harry staggered into the smoking room. "Tough day training, wasn't it?"

Harry sat stiffly in the other chair, "Yes," Harry said with a grunt.

"Well, we get tomorrow off, so enjoy it. I plan to."

"I take it you're planning on continuing in the field," Harry said.

"Unless you order otherwise," Russell answered. "I've lost two stone over the last year, and got some muscle back. I think I've regained a step, too."

"I'm not stopping you, that's for sure. I was just wondering."

"Was there something you wanted to talk about, or are you just checking on the old man?" Russell teased.

"There is something I'm wondering about."

"Killing?" They had all been practicing some very deadly hexes that day.

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "Dumbledore, and you for that matter, have said that when we kill we damage our soul."

"We do," Russell agreed. "If we ever kill with glee and sadistic satisfaction, as it must be done when using the Killing Curse, the damage is long-term, even permanent. When we do it in self-defense with regret, the effects are also long-term, although not as damaging."

"Because we still feel some guilt."

"Exactly," Russell agreed. "The damage that killing as Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters do it, is that it either slowly erodes what makes us fully human, or it slowly splits us into two different people. Do you know anything about what the German Muggles did to millions of ethnic and political prisoners during their Second World War?"

"The Concentration and Death Camps? A little," Harry said.

"Exactly," Russell agreed. "Some of the guards and others went into the camps sadists and monsters, but not really all that many. A few of the ones who weren't sadists or evil from the start broke down, but most didn't. The others separated themselves by trying to see the people they were working to death and murdering as something other than human. Some became evil monsters, others became almost two different people -- one for work and one for their time off. But the underlying indifference to suffering that they created inside themselves can never go away, no matter how well they manage to disguise it to others and especially to themselves. I don't want to see that indifference building inside of you."

"Is it building in you?" Harry asked.

Russell nodded his head. "It is. I am not proud of it. It allows me to do what I think may be necessary, but I swear I curse the necessity." He smiled grimly. "I try to reassure myself that I at least don't cause unnecessary pain, that I've never tortured anyone. That even though I've killed, I'm still morally better than someone like Umbridge, who hasn't actually killed so far as I know. I also often think that maybe I'm just fooling myself, and that I've divided by soul just as much as any Nazi concentration camp guard, just as much as the average Death Eater."

"Do you think many Death Eaters regret killing people who weren't trying to hurt them?" Harry asked.

"No, not many, if any," Russell agreed. "I'd like to think it makes me less reprehensible, but if I am, it's a matter of degree, not of substance."

"But you'd still kill to protect an ten-year-old Muggle-born and her parents, if there wasn't a better way, wouldn't you."

"I would," Russell agreed. "I just wish there was always a better way."

"I agree," Harry said.

"I was going to seek you out tonight," Russell said. "I thought you'd be with your friends a bit longer."

"They're all even more tired than I am," Harry said. "What's up?"

"I got a message today, written by a person of interest."

Harry thought he detected something in Russell's tone. "Snape?"

Russell shook his head. "Pettigrew. He's offered to tell us when the next attack that he's going to be involved in will be, for a price."

"When and where?"

"Sunday morning," Russell answered. "He obviously won't say where unless we meet his price."

Harry realized that the full moon would be early Sunday morning, just before dawn. "So it's a werewolf attack?"

Russell nodded. "A big one."

"Can we give Pettigrew what he wants and live with it?" Harry asked.

"Amazing enough, I think we can. He also said he will be giving you a present if we agree, and from the hints, I'd say it was the knife."

Harry thought about that. "Does that mean that Snape told Voldemort what we know about the Horcruxes, or that Pettigrew somehow figured things out?"

"It could be either," Russell said. "Dumbledore and Snape both agreed that Pettigrew was the one Death Eater likely to figure things out."

"What does he want?" Harry asked.

"He wants the reward money for himself and anyone else captured Sunday, he wants to be exempt from the death penalty, the Kiss, and any similar punishment, and while he acknowledges he will have to be imprisoned, he wants it in South America, North America, or at worst Australia. He wants a comfortable confinement, where he can use the reward money to buy himself little luxuries."

"A coward to end?" Harry suggested.

"Or it could be baiting a trap," Russell agreed. "If so, it was done by Snape, not Voldemort, and certainly not by anyone else that I know of."

"And?"

"And if it works out, I believe I can get him imprisoned in the wizarding prison in Bolivia after we fully debrief him. It will not be nearly as bad as he deserves, but not as nice as he probably hopes."

Harry shrugged. "He lived for over twelve years as a rat and since then for four years as Voldemort's servant. I'm sure, at least at first, any place you can get him sent to will seem better than those. He betrayed my parents, killed my father, and killed Cedric and those Muggles. Still. . . ." Harry shrugged. "I guess we live with it."

"Good point," Russell agreed.