Training and Confrontations

'

Chapter XLVI

Harry, Hermione, and Luna were somewhat confused after their first ten days in Rushak. They had quickly learned all that Dumbledore and the Sibyl had told them they needed they learn.

"You have learned the basics quickly," the Sibyl had confirmed. "Knowing the basic spells is just the start, however. You must be able to entrap this Tom Riddle quickly. You cannot trap him like a fly in amber, even if that is the final effect we hope for. He likely must be hit and hit hard and fast, entrapped before he can react. You have the basics. Now, each action must become instinct. Only then will you have the speed to win."

Sunday, July 13, 1997 Early in the Morning

THE SUNDAY PROPHET
SCANDALS IN THE POTTER CROWD

by Rita Skeeter

While the Wizarding World has been celebrating the partial defeat of the Dark Wizard we can now call safely Voldemort, we have discovered the while the 'Boy-Who-Lived' is a hero, he and his friends do not lead heroic personal lives.

Rumours have circulated for over two years about the relationships between Harry Potter and his two best friends, Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger and the Pure-Blooded Ronald Weasley (son of high Ministry of Magic official Arthur Weasley and youngest brother of frequent Ministry Spokesman Percy Weasley). The rumours usually had Miss Granger paired off between her two friends, and strife between the two friends. The reality is much more surprising.

It turns out that Ronald Weasley (age 17 1/2) has a son who is over three years old. While the mother is identified as one Rora D. Rushak, The Prophet has been unable to identify who this woman might be, other than the mother of Sirius Arthur Weasley. Ministry (and family?) Spokesman Percy Weasley refused to comment or to give any further information. It is possible that it was the disclosure of this child that caused the breakup of the relationship between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger last July, who had been linked with famed Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum as well as Harry Potter.

Young Sirius Weasley has been under the care of Weasley's parents since this last Christmas. Arthur and Molly Weasley have also been taking care of a young witch named Rose Evans since about that same time. No information is available on Miss Evans' background, but it must be pointed out that 'Evans' is the family name of Harry Potter's mother. Since the girl has just turned 8, the most obvious relationships between the girl and Potter are unlikely unless there has been seriously illegal time-altering magic used somewhere along the line.

As for Sirius Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood (daughter of scandal sheet Quibbler publisher Daniel Lovegood) became his godparents last December. While this may indicate a reconciliation between Granger and Ronald Weasley, it also points out an unusual relationship. It appears that 'heroic' Harry Potter has a serious relationship with both girls, the exact nature of which can only be speculated upon.

It seems that these two witches were the winners of some sort of competition within a cult that Potter cultivated this last autumn. Dozens of Hogwarts witches were competing for Potter's attention last autumn. For months, this crowd of witches, with witches from every House and at least one as young as eleven! took turns embracing and kissing Potter every day, until he chose the finalists. Potter apparently has a breast milk fetish (perhaps as a result of his mother being killed and then being brought up in a loveless Muggle household?), and had his finalists 'supply' him with breast milk over the course of a month. Despite their comparatively undeveloped figures, Granger and Lovegood seem to have the ones who suited Potter's tastes.

Harry Potter has helped to partially save the Wizarding World. We must beware that he does not take advantage of this for his personal pleasures.

***

"Oh, dear," McGonagall said as she read the newspaper.

"I believe it shall be rather . . . loud at the Burrow this morning," Flitwick said.

"I do not like Potter, nor do I approve of his relationships," Snape stated. "However, since the breast milk was harvested as part of a medical potion prepared under my supervision, I shall write them a letter today." He looked up from the paper with distaste. "I shall also be writing the head of the Apothecaries and Potion Makers Guild, and she will ensure that my letter is as prominently displayed as this garbage."

"I am also a member," Dumbledore reminded Snape, "and I can reach Poppy this morning. We shall also sign it. It is the least we can do."

"And just about the most we can explain," McGonagall added grimly.

"No," Dumbledore said, "there is one other thing which must be done. Miss Skeeter has gone over the line for the last time. Severus, please prepare the letter as soon as possible. I must go have a word with the Minister."

"Do you think the Minister will wish to get involved?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"Oh, yes," Professor Sprout stated firmly. "Remember, after Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, and Miss Bulstrode, Susan Bones was the most heavily involved of all the girls who worked on and contributed to the potion. And the Minister is quite protective of Susan." Professor Sprout stood. "Severus, do you have a complete list of those who worked on and contributed to the witch's brew?"

"Of course."

Sprout smiled a smile nastier than any had seen her smile in decades. "I believe I should make some fire calls."

"I believe Minerva and I should help," Flitwick said.

"I shall fire call the Slytherins after I do the letter," Snape added.

Breakfast ended quickly.

At the same moment Minerva McGonagall had opened the morning paper, Tom Riddle had been standing in the middle of an unplottable valley high in the Tibetan Plateau. He doubted that even a thousand beings outside of the valley knew of its existence.

He had first learned of the valley in Salazar Slytherin's last journal, which he had read at the end of his Fourth year at Hogwarts. Slytherin had written of the eleven Lords of Magic. Eleven immensely powerful beings, who had removed themselves from everyday life.

Powerful beings . . . who were immortal.

Riddle had determined that he would be the twelfth, and that he would then destroy the others as he took control of the world. He had tried to enter the valley in 1948 and again in 1953, and had been unable to do so.

By then, he had undergone the first of the many transfigurations that had turned his conception of Voldemort into at least partial reality. When he had tried again in 1956, he had been able to enter the valley.

He had quickly determined that the Lords of Magic (now numbering 14) were too powerful for him to consider taking out in any reasonable time-frame. He had also determined that they were no threat, for they had abjured the world. They had no interest in power. They merely sought knowledge.

He had used them. Riddle now knew that if he had any real chance at regaining what he had lost, only these powerful, mostly ancient beings (the youngest would now be 397, while the oldest was over 6,000 years old) held that chance.

Riddle looked up at the great bronze-encrusted wooden gates. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, request entrance!"

The gates silently opened just enough for Riddle to squeeze between them.

Then they shut, just as silently.

Early That Afternoon

Rita Skeeter sat in her stylish, angular flat, sipping a gillywater and gin, a smile on her face. She was back with a vengeance, and had scored against that snotty little bitch Granger. She had overheard Granger and Lovegood discussing being away in Diagon Alley the previous week, and knew this was her big chance. There were no libel laws in the magical Britain, and there would be little the teens could do when they returned. The timing had seemed hazy, but it had sounded like they might be gone for months, that is, until the start of the school year.

At that moment of satisfaction, twelve figures crashed through her flimsy personal wards. One, a tall, powerful-looking and handsome black man, said simply, "Rita Skeeter, you are under arrest for being an illegal animagus. Other charges are pending." Two figures grabbed her and activated a portkey, and within seconds, the apartment was empty.

Riddle had made his way through a maze of passages. Unlike his first trip, there were no traps, no hazards. Even the passageways seemed to have far fewer twists and turns. In less than half an hour, Riddle found himself in the Audience Chamber of the Lords of Magic.

The Chamber was a cavern. Its living rock floor was polished smooth, and extended in an oval, some ninety yards long, thirty wide, and sixty yards high. He had entered at the bottom of the oval, and had to walk the seventy-five yards to where a small stool sat.

Beyond the stool, there was a raised wooden dias, with an ancient wooden table. There were now fifteen thrones made of combinations of stone and wood behind the table, and thirteen of the thrones were occupied by heavily robed figures.

The only sound was Riddle's soft footsteps. He went and stood beside the stool.

"We are slightly surprised," one said in a flat, emotionless voice.

"Why?" Riddle asked. He held his temper. He remembered these beings seemed emotionless. He was surprised that they would even acknowledge their own surprise.

"We expected you some fifteen years ago," another said.

"Would you have re-embodied me?" Riddle demanded.

"No," the first speaker agreed tonelessly. "We would more likely have dispersed you, as a bad experiment."

"I thought so. That's why I didn't come then."

"And yet you come here now," stated a third voice, this one a woman's. "What makes you think we won't destroy you now?"

"You are the only hope I see in regaining what I lost," Riddle admitted angrily. Then he snapped, "And even if you do, then at least I would not have been totally defeated by that old fool and that stupid boy!"

"Temper, temper," the first Lord chided tonelessly. "Why should we help you, when you did not listen to us the last time?"

"What do you mean?"

"We agreed to grant the transformation which allowed your spirit such permanence, and told you where to seek the other three transformations you sought, which together put you on the road to the type of immortality you sought," the woman stated. "What was the last thing I said to you, right before we started the process?"

Riddle glowered, refusing to answer.

"What?" she mocked, "is that great mind you're so proud of failing you? I warned you, you had to give up acting on emotion to be truly immortal. If you did not, the balance of Magic itself would be thrown out of sync, and a force would be created to counterbalance you."

"I did give up emotion!"

The robed figures all shook their heads. "Idiot boy," a fourth Lord spoke. "We told you not to act on emotion. You gave up love. You gave up compassion. You kept your hate. You gave up, well, in short, you gave up your positive emotions -- to a more complete degree than any of us, I must in fairness add -- but you kept your negative and neutral ones. Therefore, a champion who inspired love and compassion, who felt these things for the world, was thrown up by Higher Magic to oppose you."

"You mean you threw up Potter!?"

"Not even we can exert any control over Higher Magic," the woman said.

"You influence it!" Riddle accused.

"Of course we do, idiot," the fourth voice said. The Lords' calm tones were grating on Riddle's nerves. "Every living thing on the planet, right down to the algae, does to some extent."

"What is it you want, Riddle?" the first voice demanded.

"Can you at least restore me to what I was when I left here the first time?"

"We could," the woman said. "You would be long-lived, at least a thousand years, and very difficult to kill."

"And I could try again. . . ."

"That would restore to Harry Potter powers greater than yours, and he would merely destroy you again. I am certain next time you will not get away so easily, and you will die."

"No," Riddle said, "this time, I would go into hiding. Potter would be powerful, but I would still outlive him."

The Lords looked at each other, each realizing that Higher Magic would throw up a new champion at that time. If Riddle did not realize that, they saw no reason to mention it.

"Why should we help you?" the second voice asked instead.

"If you can enjoy little else, you still enjoy a challenge. I would think this would be one."

"That is one reason," a fifth voice, also female, stated, "but it is not enough."

"What else would you want?"

"We will send you on a quest. Should you complete it, within the guidelines we set, we will strongly consider your request," the first voice said.

"Consider?"

"It's either that or be refused," the fourth voice stated simply.

Now Riddle considered. He had little choice, since the rest of the magical world was looking for him and as far as he could tell no one else had the power to help him. "Does Potter retain any link to me? I can't detect one."

"He does," the second woman said. "Even now, he is in another dimension learning how to track you."

"Will you at least tell me what you want before I decide?" Riddle demanded.

"Yes," the first voice said. "We want you to lead Harry Potter to us."

"What!"

"We want you to lead Harry Potter to us. Our valley cannot be easily found, even by most powerful wizards. We want you to lead Harry Potter to us."

"Why?"

"That is none of your concern," the fourth voice said.

"However, there are guidelines," the first woman's voice said. "You may not kill or torture any sentient being from the time you leave until the time you return. You may not injure any sentient being."

"Don't take that as a license to kill and torture other living creatures, sadist," the fourth voice said blandly. "Trust me when I say that we are barely tolerating the idea of allowing your conditions to be restored."

"Potter will be returning to our dimension in a few days," the first voice said. "We shall give you a piece of glass, which will glow red when he returns. It shall glow orange if he is within two hundred miles of you, blue if he is within fifty miles of you, green if he is within five, and violet if he is within a quarter mile. Remember, however, that he will be actively seeking you. He will be able to trace you, at least by direction."

"There is an old house in Ireland which your followers did not betray the location," the second voice said. "We are sending you there."

And instantly, Riddle found himself in the wrecked castle in Ireland.

"Master?"

Gregory Pother, minority owner, publisher, and chief editor of The Daily Prophet, looked up and scowled at his elf. "What is it, Posey? I thought I said I was not to be disturbed?"

The little elf banged her head noisily on the floor, and then said, slightly dizzily, "Mister Dawson demanded of Posey announcement." This was the general manager of the paper.

"Very well. Let him in."

Geoffrey Dawson hurried in a few seconds later.

"What is your problem?" Pother demanded.

"It's that Potter article," Dawson panted.

"Got a few howlers, huh?"

"A few? Try two hundred and counting! Not to mention the letters from Hogwarts. . . ."

"Finally stirred that old bastard up, did we?" Pother said with a sly smile. "That'll teach him to deny our people access to sources!" He smiled nastily. "Stick 'em in the back of Tuesday's morning edition, all together. No one can say we didn't run 'em, and almost no one will read even a quarter of them."

"The Minister. . . ."

"I couldn't care less!"

"Skeeter is under arrest. They're charging her with being an illegal animagus, and probably more."

Pother shrugged. "Never liked her much."

"And the advertisers are threatening to pull out."

"Nonsense. They're empty threats."

Dawson looked doubtful. "They claim if we don't fully retract the story, they'll pull all their ads. Permanently."

"Nonsense, I said!" Then, seeing the really worried look on the normally staid Dawson's face, Pother reluctantly asked, "Who?"

"Every business in Hogsmeade, every business in Diagon Alley, including Gringotts. . . ."

"What?" Pother frowned. "Gringotts advertizes?"

"Of course, although I admit they're little adverts. The Macmillans and Browns, and even the butterbeer and the other big co-ops are threatening, too."

The two men were startled when an eagle owl banged against the study window. When Pother opened the window, six owls actually flew in. Each refused a treat and left as soon as their letter was taken, signs that their owners were not happy with Pother. The publisher was glad he had paid a small fortune to have his home warded against howlers.

Seeing his superior pale as he read each note, Dawson asked, "What are they?"

"They're from some of the other owners."

"I thought you were the only owner."

Pother shook his head. "Technically, I'm the only individual owner, with thirty-four percent. The rest is owned by various trusts."

"And these are from the trust officers or controllers?"

Pother nodded. "The Potter and Black Trusts, with one and six percent. That's hardly surprising. The Brown Trust, with two percent. The Dumbledore and the Greengrass Trusts, each with about one percent. The Ollivander Trust with five percent." He sighed. "Even the Malfoy Trust, with seventeen percent. These are all the large Trust owners. Fifteen percent is in the hands of a large number of small holders. The other eighteen percent is in the hands of three retirement funds. Normally, they try to stay neutral, but I've never seen any sort of response this well-organized or this quickly organized."

P>The pair sat in silence for some minutes. Finally, Dawson said, "There's really nothing we can do for the morning edition, and the evening edition only has half the run. Still, we could put a front page notice in that about Skeeter's arrest and note that we're investigating her story on Potter and Hogwarts."

"Excellent idea! Then we can really slam Skeeter Tuesday in both editions." Pother shook his head. "I have to admit, I'm really surprised by the reaction."

"I know," Dawson agreed. "I would think people would be worried about Potter's power and appalled by teenage girls being milked for his benefit, especially because it was so out in the open!"

Pother shrugged. "Maybe that's why they weren't so upset. Dumbledore's version of the story was too well-known within Hogwarts."

"They think it's true, that's obvious."

Pother sneered. "There is no such thing as knowable truth, there is only what you believe. And, once the public believes something, it can be difficult to change their little minds."

"Obviously, we'll have to be totally pro-Potter for a while," Dawson said.

"Nonsense! We just have to be much more subtle, but we'll be pro-Potter until he goes back to Hogwarts. And unless someone explains the little boy and girl, or anything else, remind our readers of that."

"Right."

Wednesday, July 16, 1997

Tom Riddle stood in deep shadows, waiting. There were many ways he could lure Harry Potter to the Lords of Magic, but most involved much more violence and pain than the Lords were willing to allow him to inflict.

Riddle knew (or at least thought he knew) Harry Potter at least moderately well. There was a chance that Potter would follow him no matter what he did or what clues he laid down. The Lords of Magic could easily insure that none save Potter followed him to their hidden valley.

On the other hand, the Lords would not like their existence to be common knowledge. Having Potter's merry band camped on or even near their borders, with a posse of reporters close behind, would not enhance his chances of getting what he wanted back.

In short, he was in something of a tight squeeze.

A more sympathetic person might have realized that Riddle was in the same position he had put dozens of his Death Eaters in scores of time, ie having a mission almost impossible to accomplish. The thought did not occur to him.

Riddle watched the house through the trees. His quarry had to appear sometime. It was a beautiful day, and sooner or later, they had to come out. He could only hope she would take a walk in the woods.