Harry Potter and the Secret of Gairech

13. The Top Secret House of Signora Pereira da Conceicao

The first Quidditch match took place the next week. Hufflepuff played Slytherin. Harry and Ron paid close attention to the strategies of both teams. Slytherin seemed to be playing a dirtier game than ever before. The new Quidditch commentator, Roald Saint-Paul, couldn't resist pointing this out, and Professor McGonagall didn't prevent him.

"Well, that wasn't such a bad foul," Professor Leroux said lightly. She had somehow managed to squeeze in between Snape and Sprout. But the Head of Slytherin did not reply and continued staring at the pitch.

Hermione watched the scene, grinning, and gave Harry a dig in the ribs. He followed her gaze to Snape and Leroux. Améthyste was loosening the cloak that she was wearing over her gown, despite the fact that it was very cold.

Harry had trouble suppressing a laugh. "She's pulling out all the stops now."

Slytherin beat Hufflepuff, although very unfairly. Harry had hardly been able to keep track of the number of fouls they had committed. However, the fouls had only come from three players. The other four, Violetta Ziob among them, had played very fairly.

Ron was annoyed. "They ought to have been disqualified," he complained, watching the disheartened Ernie leave the stadium with his team. "They played such a dirty game..."

But Harry was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The team is split... they didn't work together. And if Malfoy hadn't caught the Snitch, they wouldn't have won."

Ron gave a bitter smile. "Then you'd better make damned sure you catch it before that little blond rat gets there first!"

***

The Halloween celebrations took place on Saturday. That evening the Great Hall was decorated as it was every year. Harry, Hermione and Ron ate and drank with the others, but kept an eye on the clock. Shortly after 11 o'clock they slipped out of the hall as inconspicuously as they could. As everyone else was celebrating loudly, nobody noticed.

They had more than enough time, but wanted to give themselves a head start in case the moving staircases didn't go their way. They reached the third floor without much problem, but Filch was prowling around there. Peeves was in the trophy room, or at least they could hear loud crashes and clatters coming from that direction. Cursing with rage, Filch shot along the corridor and the trio hastily climbed the next staircase. It was twenty-five to twelve by the time they reached the sixth floor. Here the corridor was very wide - it almost seemed like a small hall. On their left they could see the so-called Column of Twins. Harry remembered a comment on the Marauders' Map, according to which a secret room would appear between those two columns on certain days.

They reached a fork in the corridor and turned right into the East Wing. None of the three knew this floor very well. They only knew that the private quarters of the staff were to be found there.

After a few minutes they reached the end of the corridor. It seemed like a dead end. Nothing but bare walls... and a gigantic mirror which stretched from floor to ceiling.

Harry looked at his watch. "Eleven forty-three".

Ron examined the mirror and laid his hand on the glass. "How are we supposed to get through that?"

"If Lupin says we should go through it, it must work," Hermione mused.

"Another minute," said Harry.

Ron felt the mirror again. "But it won't work. It's a normal mirror. You can't go through mirrors."

"There must be a way," Hermione answered, annoyed. "Just think about it."

"Why me?" Ron growled at her. "I'm not the brainbox here."

Harry looked at them both with a frown. "Uh... do you think this is really the right moment to argue? - Ten seconds to go."

"I'm not arguing," Ron grumbled. "I'm just stating a fact: it's impossible to get through this stu..." And he stumbled forwards through the mirror, which had suddenly become a doorway.

Harry shrugged his shoulders with a grin and took Hermione's hand, pulling her through the glass. "Well, Remus did say that we should be punctual..."

"When I find him he'll wish he'd explained things a bit better," Ron said sullenly. He had only just been able to keep his balance.

The trio found themselves in a long, narrow room. It was completely empty, apart from a cupboard, out of which walked Dumbledore, followed by Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.

"I see you've found the room. Excellent." Dumbledore smiled at them. Minerva and Hagrid did the same, but Snape frowned disapprovingly.

"Do you really think it's wise to take all three of them, Professor Dumbledore?" he murmured. "They already know too much."

Dumbledore raised his hand appeasingly and placed a small gargoyle on a stone pedestal in the middle of the room. "I don't want to leave them out, Severus. Least of all now. Are you ready?" He looked at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who nodded. "Good, then let's go."

They laid their hands on the gargoyle and Dumbledore quietly counted to three. Then they felt the unpleasant tugging in their navels and the Portkey did its work.

They found themselves in a small street. By the light of the lamps in the neighbouring road they could read the words "Water Street" on a faded sign close by. When they turned around they realised they were in a blind alley. It was dark, and there was not a soul to be seen.

Dumbledore approached a shabby house by the roadside. He had hardly had time to knock before the door opened, and Molly Weasley poked her head through the doorway. "Quick, come in," she commanded.

In single file they pushed their way past her into the house. Hagrid had to bend down and almost bumped his head. "Daft muggle houses," he growled. "Built for dwarfs."

The passage was long and narrow. On the right, an old wooden staircase led up to the top floor. On their left they saw two closed doors. A light was shining from the end of the corridor.

Mrs. Weasley looked grimly at Ron, but before she could say anything they were joined by Kingsley. "There you are! Welcome to the house of Pirella Pereira de Conceicao!" He spread his arms in a cheerful welcome. "Come on in. The others are already sitting at the table."

They followed Kingsley into the lighted room. It seemed to have been a living room, but besides the chimney there was nothing left inside it apart from a big, round table surrounded by twelve stools. Remus Lupin, Mad Eye Moody, Mundungus Fletcher and Arthur Weasley were already there.

As they sat down, Kingsley looked around questioningly. "Albus, where's...?"

"He couldn't come," Dumbledore interrupted. "It would create too much fuss if he took the risk."

Ron was looking for his older brothers. "Where are Bill and Charlie?" he asked, confused.

"In Diagon Alley with the twins," his father answered. "And Lee Jordan... And a few others. They already know everything. We've decided that the Order should meet in smaller groups. Because of...," he hesitated, but then finished the sentence, "for safety."

"An' what's this place?" Hagrid asked, his stool groaning beneath his weight.

"It belonged to my aunt," Kingsley explained. "She was a squib, and she preferred living with the muggles. Her house was the best we could find."

"It will be fine," Dumbledore nodded. "But let's waste no more time. Mundungus, do you have any news?"

Mundungus nodded, spreading out a map on the table. "Harpy sightings. A few of them, even. Witcombe, Gloucestershire. A few times over the Cotswold Hills. Eight days ago. And before that..." His ran his finger over the map, "Knighton, Shropshire, six days ago. And five days ago here in Rugeley, Staffordshire. Three days ago in Southport and Lanchester." His finger moved further northwards. "And yesterday here in Dunoon. North of Glasgow."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "He's on his way..."

"Leaving a trail of blood," Mundungus nodded. "They found bodies near each of these places. Former enemies of his, or former Death Eaters who deserted him. We've got a list of twenty-four names."

Harry frowned. He wondered why he hadn't felt any of this. Probably Voldemort hadn't been killing these people himself. One of his dark servants must have done the job...

"And this morning..." wearily Fletcher rolled up the map, "we had some news from Azkaban."

All eyes turned towards him. "The Dementors?" McGonagall asked apprehensively.

Mundungus nodded. "Yes... There's nobody there... Azkaban is empty... Only the recently captured Death Eaters have escaped. All the other occupants... are dead. There's no one left there apart from the Dementors. Soon there won't even be Dementors left on that island - they'll start looking for victims. And unless we can control them, that won't just be people from the magical world..."

"That would be a catastrophe!" Dumbledore cried. "They would create panic throughout the entire world!"

Kingsley looked grim. "I don't want to think about the consequences. Just imagine a group of Dementors eating its way through the night life in London..."

"Is there no way to destroy the Dementors before they join Voldemort?" Harry interjected.

Silence. Everybody stared at him, and Harry started to regret joining in the discussion. Moody cleared his throat.

"Destroying a Dementor is almost impossible, son," he growled. "You can control them with a few illegal spells, but kill them..."

"There's only one place where you can do that," said Dumbledore. "And it would require the force of many great witches and wizards to drive them there."

"Where?" Hermione asked.

"Ginnungagap," Moody rasped. "Their accursed homeland. The miserable place where they came from. The place that created them. And the place that can kill them again."

"What is this Gin.. that place?" Harry asked, looking at him questioningly, and the old man leant back in his chair.

"Total emptiness, Potter. The nothingness between fire and ice. The only place that's worse than Azkaban on a good day."

"Then we have to drive them there!" Harry said decisively. "As quickly as possible. If the Ministry can't control them and Voldemort is alive... Either he takes control of them or the Dementors will look for innocent souls to devour without anyone controlling them."

"You're right, Harry," sighed Lupin. "But it's not easy. We can't drive them back now. It's all a cunning game of chess."

The three students looked puzzled, and to their surprise Professor Snape explained. "The Dark Lord has put the magical world in an impossible situation. On the one hand he himself is a constant danger to many innocent people, in our world and among the muggles. We must protect them from him. But on the other hand there are the Dementors. No matter which problem we tackle first, the other will destroy us. And we can't deal with both problems at once.

Harry swallowed. "You mean...?"

"As Mr. Moody has already pointed out, you'd need a large group of powerful wizards to control the Dementors and drive them to Ginnungagap. And it's a long journey to get there... A journey during which none of the group could afford to lose control of the Dementors. What do you think would happen, Mr. Potter, if the greatest wizards of our time were to concentrate solely on rounding up this scum?"

"The way would be clear for Voldemort," Harry murmured, and his voice sounded strange even to him. "There would be nobody left who could stop him..."

Snape nodded. "That's right."

"So, what should we do?" sighed Mr. Weasley. "It won't be long before the first muggle becomes a victim."

Harry could feel desperation and intense anger building up inside him. "I have to find Voldemort."

Everyone apart from Dumbledore, Moody, and Hermione gave a start.

"You won't have to look for long," the headmaster said. He spoke calmly, but deep anxiety sounded in his voice. "He will come to you. Very soon..."

"Why?" asked Harry defiantly, although he already knew the answer to his question.

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Because he wants to kill you before you cause his death."

"Albus!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, springing up. "How could you..."

"Sit down, Molly," Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired. "It's no use. He already knows... He knows everything."

White as a sheet, Mrs. Weasley sank back down into her chair. "He knows? But...Albus, you didn't...?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I did."

She was on the point of exploding again, and the colour returned to her cheeks as she flushed with anger. "But he's too young! You can't burden him with something like that! All that could have waited a few more years and..."

"No, Molly!" Dumbledore brought his fist down on the table, and Mrs. Weasley fell silent. "You know full well that it can't wait any longer! I should have told him sooner. Maybe if I had, things would have been different."

No one in the room seemed comfortable at that moment, but it was worst for Harry, who now had to listen to other people arguing about him.

"Er... what are you all talking about, Mum?" Ron ventured.

His mother glared at him, not at all inclined to answer. "About me," Harry murmured, without daring to look anyone in the eyes. He felt Hermione's hand close around his under the table, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "And the fact that I've got to kill Voldemort."

Ron stared at him, open mouthed. "Why you? Someone else could do it instead..."

"No," Harry snapped, but regretted the next moment that he had been sharp with his friend. "No one but me can kill him. And no one but him can kill me. And neither of us can live while the other is alive. That's the way it is." Hermione's grip became tighter, and Harry continued with a steadier voice. "And I'm not going to die, you know. I don't want to. So I have to kill him. There's no other way."

Ron looked miserable. "And everyone here knew that apart from me, right?" He took the silence as a 'yes' and sighed. "I feel sick..."

Harry tore at his hair. "And I don't know how I'm supposed to kill him. My wand doesn't work against his, and his doesn't work against mine. Not like it's supposed to work. I can't use the death curse, and..."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "You won't! You won't use any of the unforgivable curses!"

"It seems to meet that Mr. Potter doesn't agree with you there," said Snape in an oily voice. "At least, he..."

"Severus!" Dumbledore looked at him sternly. "That has nothing to do with this. He can't use the curses against Voldemort. That's the important thing."

"And how else could I beat him?" Harry asked dully.

Dumbledore leant towards him, and he had an almost fatherly look in his eyes as he spoke: "You're something special, Harry. As long as you're alive, you're a constant threat to Voldemort. And the older you get, the harder it becomes for him to kill you. Your powers are growing within you."

"Powers?" Harry sighed. "There are plenty of other students who are much better at magic than me. I'm nothing special..."

Snape gave a quiet snort of agreement.

"Powers, Harry," Dumbledore said deliberately, "do not come from school books. You can't measure them by your grades or gain them with exams. Powers..." he stretched out his hand and pointed to Harry's chest, "... are dormant within us. And they develop within us. You ought to know that by now. So hold your horses and think about it for a moment."

He winked at him, and Harry managed a small smile. No, up until a few days ago he would never have dreamt that the power of an Animagus was dormant within him. However, he did wonder what a black stallion could do against an evil wizard who had run amok and was capable of anything...

"You'll find a way," Dumbledore said, bringing the discussion to a close. "And I'm afraid that it will have to be very soon. The only thing we can do is stick beside you and support you as much as we can."

"Then sort out the Dementors," Harry begged them. "Before they attack the muggles. Your doing that won't make any difference. The only thing Voldemort wants is me."

"We'll do our very best to keep the situation under control," Dumbledore promised.

Rather dejected, the meeting split up. Mr. And Weasley wanted to go to Diagon Alley to check on their sons. Mundungus slipped away without any explanation. Mad Eye Moody disappeared, saying that he wanted to meet up with an old acquaintance. Snape and McGonagall didn't bother with the Portkey this time, and simply disapparated. And Hagrid also had some unfinished business to attend to.

Harry looked at the twelfth chair, which had been empty the whole time.

"Who was this place meant for?" he asked.

Dumbledore stood up. "For Pithormin. Where did I put that Portkey?"

"Sesachar?" Harry jumped up. "Sesachar is in the Order?"

The headmaster looked around for the gargoyle. "Yes, he is.. ah, there it is."

He put the Portkey on the table.

"But Professor Sesachar is a Death Eater!" Harry protested.

"He was," Kingsley corrected. "He deserted, like Professor Snape."

Harry screwed up his face in anger. "There can't be that many Death Eaters who deserted."

Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "In dark times it's often difficult to stay true to one's ideals, Harry," he said, seeming to choose his words with care. "The knowledge of the constant danger that you are in if you don't submit to the ruling power may make you do the wrong thing through fear... or love."

Harry looked at him in confusion. Ron and Hermione were frowning too.

"He had a wife and children," Dumbledore continued. "Yara was in the Order. And as more and more of us were found and killed, Pithormin joined the Death Eaters to divert suspicion from his wife and sons."

"And what happened?" Hermione asked.

Kingsley looked grim. "They died. Pit's pretended loyalty came to an end when they tried to force him to kill a small girl. He escaped from the Death Eaters, but before he could warn his family it was too late. When he returned home he found nothing but their bodies. From that moment on he hid, until that fateful day that Voldemort disappeared. And Voldemort must still believe that Pit is dead..."

Harry remained silent. Secretly he was glad that he had been wrong about Professor Sesachar.

Dumbledore pointed to the Portkey. "Are you ready? It's time to be getting back..."