The Soul of Evil

Chapter Two: The Weakest Link

"The weakest link in a chain is the strongest because it can break it." -Stainslaw J. Lec

*

She was crouched in the tall grass and weeds outside of the Riddle House in Little Hangleton and she hated it. She should not be hiding here. She should not be doing this! What on earth was she doing, cowering in the yard of his house?!? His powers barely rivaled hers. Barely. How on earth had Snape coerced her into this?

Her mind flashed back to her cottage (which surely would soon be but a memory itself) and his face: "This is your chance to stop the wickedness, to stop the cycle. I know you want to."

Bastard.

She hated him.

Because she knew he was right but more infuriatingly, he knew he was right as well.

But all her life she had been his pawn, his plaything. She had followed his commands, made all his sodding potions and his bloody spells and charms and even gotten him into Harry's home. His home! Don't Muggles call that 'invasion of privacy' or something? She asked herself. Sally had studied a lot of Muggle history and methods. She had had a lot of spare time, in between missions, when he didn't need her, when he had been weak and near death, hiding in Albania and the like. When she had been biding her time in that wretched cottage (at this moment she felt a strange, joyful liberation instead of dismay at the thought of its destruction), seeing no one but Snape and sometimes not even him for days or even weeks. She had turned to other outlets for her energy upon finding that one will grow quite tired of watching the tide roll in and out, in and out, day in and day out, so often that after several months, she no longer found a need for clocks. She felt that same restlessness as she watched the evening shadows dart across the windows of the dilapidated old manor house, heard the soft hiss of what he called his "native tongue" float to her on the light breeze. There was a burning in her stomach. Harry was in there. She had never met Harry, but she knew he deserved better. Throughout the whole mess, he had been innocent and he was in there, dead, because of him. And as she thought of all he had done, all she had done and seen, all that could have been done and seen, just the thought of saying his name aloud felt like acid in her mouth. A sense of calmness overtook her. She was making the right decision.

A soft, muffled crash came from the direction of the house and Sally jumped, looking toward it. She was letting her guard down. She was losing it. She flattened herself closer to the ground and pricked her ears, listening. Cold laughter reached her ears and her face contorted into an angry scowl.

That was her cue.

It's now or never Sal. Now or never.

She Apparated into the house.

*

Professor Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his home in Hogsmeade village when the alarms went off.

Every summer, when Harry Potter went back to Privet Drive, unbeknownst to him, the wards and spells around his relatives' house were placed on active alert. Albus had, with the help of Filius Flitwick, the Charms teacher at Hogwarts, created a complicated system of charms to alert him when there was a disturbance of any kind at Number Four, Privet Drive: intruders, magical activity of any kind, and so on. On the occasion that Harry had set off one of the alarms with an accidental use of magic, Albus had jumped out of his seat immediately and gone into a sort of panic (as much of a panic as anyone had ever seen the poised old wizard experience) until he realized the young wizard had only lost his temper. But this was not one of those such times.

All of the alarms were blaring.

Without bothering to identify the cause of the warnings, Albus Apparated straight to Number Four, Privet Drive.

His eyes traveled immediately to the atmosphere above the house and the sight that greeted him there made the bottom drop out of his stomach. The Dark Mark.

Feeling too incensed and too apprehensive to actually enter the house, he observed the rest of the scene.

The outside appeared as it always did: exactly alike to all of the other houses on the street, quiet and dim in the evening dark. No noise reverberated from its walls and no movement could be seen within the windows. While this should have been a comfort to Albus, it only served to unease him more. What's more, no one seemed to have notice the huge green scar across the otherwise clear night sky. Albus found it impossible to believe that none of the Dursleys' neighbors had heard anything unusual or come out of their homes and seen the horrifying symbol etched against the sky.

But he shook these thoughts away; Muggles could be dealt with later. Harry was more important. If Harry was lost, all hope for the Muggles was lost; no one could help them now.

He entered the house effortlessly, finding the door already unlocked. His heart gave a little patter in his chest and his anxious blue eyes quickly took in the front hall. Everything seemed to be in order. He walked through to the kitchen, forcing himself to stay calm. The setting also appeared completely normal, if a bit messy. Odd, he had always understood that Petunia Dursley was very particular about her clean house, as Harry was often forced to do the housework required of a spotless house. This was the second thing that made him uneasy. There were pots and pans that looked as if they had been used for culinary purposes recently. There was a large chocolate cake set out on the counter, a knife fallen on the surface next to, crumbs of cake collapsing around it.

Albus's eyes shifted slowly to the door leading into the dining room (he knew, though he had never been inside of Number Four, Privet Drive, before). He pushed the door open slowly and found he could not open it more then halfway, as it seemed to be hindered by a large lump...My! Thought Dumbledore, Surely that's not a person! But upon closer inspection, he found that it was Harry's cousin, Dudley Dursley. Squinting at the boy (who, thought Dumbledore wryly, could probably pass for one of Hagrid's breeding experiments between Blast-Ended Skrewts and dragons), Albus saw that he had been Stunned. Taking in the rest of the room, Albus caught sight of Petunia Dursley, presumably Stunned as well, and her husband, Vernon, sitting most clumsily in the far corner of the dining room. He muttered to himself softly, taking no notice of the white-haired old wizard in his home, an incidence he would quite surely have taken offense to had he been himself. His eyes were wide and unfocused and he clutched at his own fingers erratically. Albus was quite distraught to notice blood on his hands and clothing.

Leaving the Dursleys to be dealt with later, Albus hurriedly searched the rest of the house. He found no traces of Harry's existence at all besides the various magical paraphernalia (minus his wand, Albus noted with interest) locked underneath the cupboard under the stairs, some letters and unfinished summer assignments in the smallest bedroom upstairs as well as some personal effects and Hedwig, hooting resentfully in her cage. The feeling of uneasiness in Albus's stomach was physically affecting him. Something had taken place, yet the perpetrators had left no evidence and Albus had virtually no way of discovering the truth. His mind drifted back to the Dursleys downstairs and to the previous mentions Harry had made of them. Sighing heavily, Albus seated himself in the chair in front of Harry's desk. He noticed a piece of parchment on the desktop, obviously a letter Harry had begun. There were two words at the top: "Dear Sirius". Albus felt a lurch in his insides. Sirius. Sirius would be enraged. Harry was missing, his relatives Stunned and insane, the Dark Mark towering above his home. No doubt that Sirius, still wanted by the Ministry, would act. His godson's disappearance was not something he would take with finesse. Albus took up the quill that had been carelessly left upon the desk, ink trickling off of it. "Something has happened to Harry. Keep Hedwig and be in Hogsmeade at eleven this evening." There was no need to sign it.

Albus securely tied the note to Hedwig's leg and stroked her feathers softly as she hooted at him as if to say, "Who are you?"

"Take this to Sirius for me," he said, his calm but firm tone demanding obedience and respect. "And stay with him." The owl was silent, only turned and flew out of the window.

Though Albus had created a scene inside of his head by now of the events that had taken place at Number Four, Privet Drive earlier that evening, he knew he had to get the truth. He reached into the pocket of his dark, wine-colored robes and withdrew a small vial containing a clear liquid. Enough for one dose, he thought. The uncle. Vernon.

Back in the dining room, Albus tipped the contents of the vial down the burly man's throat without much trouble. Uneasily, he wondered what could make such a normally combative man so tranquil and compliant. To his dismay, he knew the answer. After a few moments had passed, Albus began to question the man.

"What is your name?"

"Vernon Leonard Dursley."

"Where do you live?"

"Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey, England."

"What is the date?"

"Sunday, July 30, 1997."

"What is your relation to Harry Potter?"

"He's my rotten, good-for-nothing nephew."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

Albus sighed. He knew the man was telling the truth--he was under the influence of Veritaserum--but Albus was at the end of his patience (something that didn't happen very often) and was ready for solid answers.

"When was the last time you saw or spoke to Harry Potter?"

"Earlier this evening. After dinner."

"What took place?" Albus watched the man's thick face intently. He held the answers.

"It was after dinner. I was going to speak to Potter about his insolence. He'd been rude during the meal and I wanted to make sure that this would be his last summer here. He never answered because some people broke into the house."

"Who were these people? Did you know them?"

"No. They were wearing funny clothes." Vernon regarded Albus with disgust for a moment. "Much like yours," he said, sneering. Albus ignored him.

"What did they say?"

"I told them to leave or I would call the police. They laughed. They said they wanted Potter. They called him 'the boy.' They heard my wife and son. Did something funny to them. They passed out."

"And then?" Albus prompted.

"One of the men said something funny to me. Then he told me to go into the dining room, where the others were."

"What did he do then?"

"Potter was trying to run away. The man told Potter he couldn't get out because all the doors were sealed securely or some rubbish like that. Took Potter's...took his...wand-," Vernon spat the word out, "and then he told me to hit him."

"Hit Harry?"

"Yes."

"And did you?"

"I had to." Albus set his jaw. His worst suspicions were being confirmed. His worst nightmares were coming true.

"What happened then?"

"He told me to keep hitting Potter. When Potter passed out, they told me to stop. Took him with them. Just disappeared into thin air, they did. I know this has to do with that boy's...his...abnormality. I won't have it! I won't have that rubbish in my house!" Vernon roared suddenly, trying to stand. Albus set him back on the ground with a wave of his wand and a loud 'thunk.' "They didn't even wake Petunia and Dudley," he said, his tone becoming forlorn. "I tried to call an ambulance but the phones don't work and the doors won't open." He looked up at Albus as if seeing him for the first time. "How did you get in here?"

Albus ignored the man's questions. It was true, then. Harry had been taken. Somehow, Voldemort had found a way. And he had taken Harry. The likelihood of Harry being alive now was slim, if even existent. Things were going to spiral out of control now. There was no one to save them. There was nothing to help any of them now. Albus considered how, in fact, Voldemort had gotten past the wards and charms protecting Harry at his aunt and uncle's house. He walked briskly out of the room, ignoring the babbling and mumbling noises Vernon was making and exited through the front door. He ran his fingers over the doorjamb and frame. A faint tingling reached his fingers and gave them a small shock. This is crude, he thought. Brilliant, but not a conventional spell. Most likely handmade by someone...someone with amazing talent...someone like...Sally. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. Of course. Sally. It was so simple, yet so brilliant. Sally could break the charm because she had Harry's blood. The flaws and holes in his plan glared angrily out at him for a moment from the garish face of the Dark Mark and Albus was disgusted with himself. How could he have thought that Sally would never have done something like this? No, it wasn't that. He had simply thought that Severus would have been able to spoil the plan. He had placed Harry's life in Severus's hands, and he had been wrong. But, he thought abruptly, if Sally can do this... A spark in his mind gave way to a blazing inferno and suddenly; he knew what must be done. He thought back to a conversation he'd had with Severus many years ago and knew what must happen. And soon.

Back in the house, he awakened Petunia and Dudley Dursley in a hurry and performed partial memory charms on each Dursley even more hurriedly, before they had time to discuss what they had witnessed. He sent them up to bed and when he was confident that they were all fast asleep, he placed Diversion Enchantments around the home, not bothering to restore the protective wards. They were no longer needed. As he was walking through the dining room once more, waving his wand to make the room appear tidy and normal, as he was sure it would after a tidy and normal meal, a flash of black and light caught his eyes. He crouched and picked up the glasses he recognized as Harry's. Rubbing his thumb over the edge of the smooth frames for a moment, he broke free of his reverie and pocketed the spectacles. Then he Apparated quickly back to his cottage to contact Severus Snape.

*

The inside of the house was damp and dank. It smelled of mildew. She wrinkled her nose and she landed with a nearly imperceptible 'pop' outside the drawing room door. She hated that smell.

Steadying herself and breathing in silently through her mouth, Sally listened to the conversation inside the next room.

"...you will be rewarded greatly for what you have done for me; I can assure you of that."

"It pales in comparison to what you have done for us, Master."

"Yes, My Lord. It is nothing to what you have given us. We were honored to do it."

There was no answer and Sally could picture him waving an arrogant hand, smug smile in place on his lips.

"He is dead, Master?" The first voice spoke again.

"Yes, Lucius. I killed him with his own wand." There was a laugh: harsh, cold, high and Sally felt a thrill in her heart. Harry's wand? He had killed Harry with Harry's wand? It was too good to be true. He couldn't be that foolish. Well, well, well, Sally felt an arrogant smile of her own coming to her face. This would be easy. "As our wands are practically identical anyway, it seemed fitting."

"What do you need of us now, Master?" Malfoy again.

"Nothing, nothing for now. Go home to your families and celebrate this great day. For this is a great day. Yes, this is surely a great and wonderful day." She could hear the malevolent smirk in his voice. As she heard footsteps come her way, she performed a quick Invisibility Charm on herself. As the two men passed, whispering amongst themselves, she undid the Charm. Think, Sally. Think. How do you get him out of that room? The answer came quickly.

She heard a voice from the next room: "My Lord, Dumbledore has discovered our success." Peter. He must have his head in the fireplace if he was at the surveillance point.

"Ah, has he?" There was a chuckle. Voldemort was in good spirits. He was even showing his cheery mood. He was letting his guard down. He thought he had won, but he hadn't counted on her. Sally squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he would be dumb enough to leave Harry--because she knew he was there--alone in the room. "You know, I think I'd like to witness that show, Wormtail." There was a 'pop'. He had done it. He had left.

Sally crept into the room stealthily, just in case. He may let his guard down, but she had learned never to. Harry was there, his body splayed out in the center of the room. His face was bruised and battered and there was dried blood around his mouth and nose. He wasn't breathing.

Drawing a sharp breath, Sally crossed the floor and kneeled next to him hastily. She didn't need to check to know there was no pulse. And besides, she needed to get out of here. Fast. She grasped his thin wrist and to her disgust, felt the bone cracked beneath the skin. She pushed other thoughts out of her mind, however, and tried to recall the procedure for group Apparition. The incantation reached her brain eventually and she muttered the Latin words softly, concentrating hard on her destination: the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. She had never been there, but those had been her instructions from Severus: "Get Potter, take him to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. You can do that, can you?"

"What, you mean Apparate somewhere I've never been before?" He nodded.

"You underestimate me, Severus. Dead or alive?"

"What?" It wasn't the first time he'd been taken aback by her bluntness.

"You want Harry, dead or alive?"

"Yes, Sally, dead or alive."

That had been the last time she'd spoken to him before she had wiped out his memory of all the previous events: speaking with Albus Dumbledore about the evening's events, informing her of the plan's success and giving her instructions on what to do when she had retrieved Harry...or his body. She hadn't told him at the time (she had little doubt however, that he wasn't thinking the same), but she had always been quite sure Harry was dead. Voldemort might relish torturing his captives, yes, but he would take no chances that the one person he wanted most would escape once he was in his hands. Harry had had no chance. Because of her. Because she had let them into his house.

Her eyes focused across the room in thought and concentration, Sally noticed a wand lying abandoned on an end table near his favorite armchair. "Accio," she murmured. The wand flew easily across the room and into her free hand. She twisted it between her fingers for a few moments and then placed it in her pocket next to her own wand. She couldn't remember if it was needed for the spell but Harry would want his wand back, of course.

With a solid 'thud', Sally found her feet on the floor of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, her hand still clutching Harry, who had landed in a neat pile on the bed next to her. She looked up to meet the curious, anxious faces staring back at her.

Back in the house in Little Hangleton, the man who had once been called Tom Riddle wandered lazily back into his drawing room. His eyes alighted immediately the spot on the floor where his archenemy should have lain, dead. His blood red eyes blazed and he pinched his hands into fists at the absence of this sight. An uncontrollable rage exploded within him and his scream pierced the peaceful night:

"SAL-AZAR!"