Into the Wild: Karkaroff's Story

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Chapter 3: Prophecy

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He stealthed around the police station for the next few weeks, hoping to catch wind of Lucius' plan to kill him. He trusted no one, and jumped at small noises around him. Most of these were snide whispers directed at Karkaroff, but they knew nothing. They would never know what was at stake for him.

His vigilance paid off, however, when, on his way back from the loo, he collided with his chief and a thin, horsy-looking woman in the hallway. The woman looked disgusted with Karkaroff's insolence and strange appearance, and with the preposterous situation she found herself in.

"I'll have you - all of you - brought to justice! This is an outrage! If my neighbors see me..." Her shrieks died down as the chief steered her down the hallway, towards the interrogation rooms.

"Now, now, Petunia, this won't take but a moment. If you'll just cooperate..."

"Cooperate?! COOPERATE!?..."

But Karkaroff did not hear the rest of her tirade; alarm bells, no, alarm sirens were going off in his brain too loudly to hear anything else.

When the door to the interrogation room clicked, locking in his chief and the petunia, Karkaroff pulled a 180, and, closing the door to the adjoining room behind him, he tore off the grill to the ventilation duct, shoved his small frame into it, and slithered through the narrow passage until he could hear their voices, loud and clear.

From their conversation, Karkaroff knew that the Chief was nervous about something; he was not eager to start the interrogation; he was stalling. The petunia, on the other hand, was outraged at being so humiliated - in front of the entire population of Privet Drive, no less! - and was impatient to get the interrogation done with, get out, and call her lawyer.

It became apparent what the Chief was waiting for when Karkaroff heard the door open and close again. He knew who it was immediately.

"Ah, there you are. We're ready."

Karkaroff had a nearly insuppressible urge to vomit when Lucius began to speak.

"Well, well... Petunia Dursley. It's been long, hasn't it?"

The vomit quickly changed to an audible snort of incredulity. How in Beelzebub's name did the great xenophobe and muggle-hunter Lucius have acquaintances with muggles? What was he playing at? His nervous fingers found their way to his goatee, twirling, waiting.

"Lucius." She spat out his name, contempt written in every syllable. She was no longer hysterical; her voice had become less horsy. "You...you...you spawn of the devil! I never thought that I would have to see your greasy face ever again, after you..."

She stopped dead. He heard Lucius' shoes tapping across the floor, the slight squeak of a metal chair, already occupied, being leaned upon. Then he heard the unmistakable, joyous sound of someone's face being spat in. After a yelp of disgust, he heard the slightly less joyous sound of a woman's face being slapped.

"And now that we've got that out of our system, Petunia, you're going to tell me something."

"Like hell I will, Lucius."

"Oh, you will. Tea?"

An incredulous silence from Petunia was followed by a stubborn silence; this was followed by the sounds of tea being prepared. Liquid being poured into a glass, then a quiet, almost inaudible uncorking, and two singular droplets falling into the cup. Karkaroff heard more nondescript scraping and clinking, then the sounds of some serious non-consensual tea drinking.

"I know your game," she hissed. "I heard what you put into that tea. You can go to hell, you can. I won't drink it."

Karkaroff was taken aback. How would this muggle know, this dirty, filthy muggle - how would she know about Veritaserum?

Lucius sighed. "I shan't; you shall." He turned away, talking to the rapt wall of concrete. "Petunia, I want to be here as much as you do. I'm not too keen on these old Hogwarts reunions - I had my fill of you people during those seven years. Now, when you've drunk your tea, things will go much more smoothly, and I can get out of here. Imperio."

She drank, and he turned back towards her. "Tell me what protections Dumbledore has put in place for Harry Potter - tell me what protection he has at Privet Drive."

The ventilation duct gasped quietly. There was a pop, and both Lucius' and Petunia's faces shot towards the vent in the wall. They both knew the sound of a Disapparation, having learned the difference from Severus' father in second year. That was the year that the Headmaster had sent her home. The year that she had to watch her sister, the beauty who everyone noticed, who overshadowed Petunia, who always got higher marks and cuter boys, she had to watch her get back on the Hogwart's Express after the winter holidays, leaving Petunia standing alone, ragingly jealous, on Platform 9¾.

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Karkaroff's knuckles were white and blood was dripping from where his fingernails were digging into his fists. He was furiously pacing his cubicle, the top of his head poking out above the cushioned walls.

'Petunia Dursley? Harry Potter? And not a word, not one single word about the great, elusive Igor Karkaroff? How could this be? How could the Dark Lord be so negligent? Not that he wanted to be found out, of course - but even so... He was a Death Eater on the run - he deserted the Dark Lord! Was he so insignificant?' His enraged mutterings filld the air with ozone, the taste of magic, and the tip of his wand crackled and sparked angrily.

His mutterings grew steadily quieter and less vehement until finally he had dug his head far enough out of his swamp of self-pity to realize that he was missing the best part of this little interview. He forced himself to slither back into the duct with ears pricked.

It sounded as if Petunia had been talking for some time. Her voice was monotonic. She had drunk her tea.

"And that's why we have to endure the arrogant, insufferable, magical little brat every single summer without relief. Because his sister's blood, the blood that protects him, runs in my veins. That's why summer is the very very worst time of year."

"Petunia, you haven't told me anything the Dark Lord hadn't already guessed. So far, you've been a useless, rambling, horse-faced mudblood, and now I will get something useful from you, even if it destroys you!" No audible reaction from Petunia. "Now - before the Dark Lord's...before the slight hitch in the Dark Lord's plan 15 years ago, there was a prophecy made about our dear Harry. Tell me what it said."

"I know of no prophecy, Lucius." Truly not knowing the answer to his question relieved for the briefest moment the effects of the truth serum, and she spat out, "Fuck you."

"Hmm...while we're on the subject, Petunia, did you ever want to?"

Willing with all her body to keep her mouth shut, to say nothing, her mouth resolutely disobeyed her. "Yes."

"Disgusting, Petunia - you know I would have never touched a dirty mudblood like you." Lucius gathered up his cloak and empty vial, from the rustling and clinking that Igor heard, and said, "I'm not sorry to say that our interview is at an end, and less sorry still to inform you that the Veritaserum will not wear off until the next morning. Enjoy it."

***

Karkaroff was not shocked. He was done with being shocked. He lay in the cool duct, his chin in hand, twirling his goatee, and began to scheme. He, like the Dark Lord, had assumed that Dumbledore would put the necessary measures of protection in place for our dear Harry Potter - this was not news to him. However, his curiosity was thrown into gear by the mention of a prophecy. He wondered what was contained in it - he had an inkling as to how it related to the Dark Lord. Yes, that information could be very interesting to know, very... powerful. If it fell into the hands of a former Death Eater...

He was outside his interrogation room before Lucius Malfoy had finished talking with the Chief at the end of the hallway. He ducked into Petunia's room quickly - she was sitting in a cold, metal chair, eyes glazed, not moving. Perfect - vulnerable, ignorant - he could use her as Lucius failed to use her. If a letter showed up in Dumbledore's office asking for the specifics of the prophecy, who would Dumbledore expect was behind all of it? Petunia, of her own initiative and sleuthing? Ridiculous. Not even as likely as an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters. Karkaroff? No, because wasn't he dead? But the Dark Lord? Yes, the suspicion would be placed on the Dark Lord and his cronies, and Karkaroff would be scot-free from suspicion and blame. That was why Lucius couldn't use Petunia to get information, and that was exactly why Karkaroff could.

As he raised his wand to bring her weak mind under his control, he realized that the combination of Veritaserum, Imperio, and a letter to Dumbledore could lead to a very, very bad situation:

Dear Dumbledore,

I would never write to you, except for that this desperate Rasputin-type character (he says his name is Igor Karkaroff) is here telling me to ask you about this thing - Lucius Malfoy mentioned it as well - some prophecy? Please reply quickly, because I'm kind of under both of their controls right now, and, well...I find it rather inconvenient.

Thanks heaps,

Petunia Dursley

P.S. I really want to snog Lucius. Still.

Hmm...maybe not just yet. He had time.

He was just as jumpy after he had uncovered the conspiracy as he was before. Slyly, he hinted at his chief about Petunia, and soon gathered that the chief had no recollection of anything to do with anyone named Petunia or anyone named Lucius. No surprise there, but it was still a good thing: less awkward questions about how he knew about this woman, why he wanted her back into the office... He silently thanked Lucius for doing him a big favor.

Three days later, he stood on the roof of the London Police Headquarters, watching the owl fly away north, bearing the one thing that Lucius could not get: the means to obtaining the Prophecy - whatever that was, Igor snorted. He lifted up his chin, threw his fists into the air, and, loosing all of the composure that Durmstrang had spent eight years drilling into his head, screamed, "I fucking RULE!!!"

Dumbledore, the wrinkly old mudblood-lover, looked up from his parchment to see an unfamiliar owl strutting about his office, importance oozing from his feathers.

"Alright, come here then. Let's see what you have.

"Hmm...Dear Dumbledore...thanks for you kind letter..." he smiled to himself, remembering the Howler he had sent her, "Hope Harry's doing well at Hogwarts...before he left...mentioned...silly, really...prophecy?" He abruptly stopped skimming the letter, went back, and read it properly. When he was done, he sat back in his chair, fingers absently playing at his beard. He went to his Pensieve, added a strand, swirled it, and was not entirely surprised when he saw a face smiling up at him, the smile only a thin veil for the whisper of a smirk beneath it. "Hello again, Tom."

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The owl returned to Karkaroff with the letter quickly, under threat of plucking. Greedily, he tore through the elaborate and rather girly seal that Dumbledore had put on it, and his eyes feasted on the letter. His vanity, his ego, and his pride all soared, knowing that the Dark Lord would give almost anything to read what he read in that moment.

Dear Petunia,

It's interesting you write me now about the prophecy - I was just studying over it. I understand that you are curious about it; however, I was unaware that Harry knew of its existence. In any case, here it is:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...but if, on their first meeting, neither is victorious, then his chance has passed, and hope is in vain...but there will rise another...born to a Death Eater, servant of two masters...it is in this wizard that resides the power to vanquish the Dark Lord...the power taken from the blood of the first boy...he is our only hope to vanquish the Dark Lord, for neither can live while the other survives..."

Harry is doing well this year, hope the weather isn't treating you too terribly down there in London.

All the best,

Albus Dumbledore

Igor Karkaroff, dressed in his blue uniform, sitting in a cubicle in the middle of the muggle world, could not breathe. His body had gone numb and his vision had filled with black. The hands that held the letter began to shake, and he slid off his chair and onto the ground under his desk. The information he was holding had completely immobilized and incapacitated him. It could not be true. It could not be true! After so many years, so many hard years of pain and submission - why had nobody, not one person ever told him? Karkaroff's mother was a Death Eater...had been killed for her disloyalty...Harry Potter's one, single chance had withered, leaving...leaving...

Alone, on the floor in an unremarkable office building, Igor cradled his head in his hands and began to cry.