I Have a Rendezvous with Death

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Paracelsus

Chapter IV: The Old Alma Mater

The corridors of Hogwarts were again empty when Harry descended from Dumbledore's office - evidently, their tea had lasted through the lunch hour into the afternoon classes. That suited him fine: he had places to go, people to see. He strode confidently down the hallway, armed with directions from Dumbledore... and a permission slip.

He found the library without undue incident. There were several small groups of students huddled together at the tables, or among the shelves of books; they were too busy with their studying (or their socializing) to pay heed as he entered. He walked up to the librarian and said in a low 'library' voice, "Hello, Madam Pince. It's good to see you again."

"Well, hello, Mr. Potter," she replied, equally quietly. "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?" A few of the students looked up when they heard adult voices, started to return to their work, did rather obvious double-takes, and stared in awe at Harry when they thought he wasn't looking. He did his best to ignore them.

"A house destroyed last night in Hogsmeade," he said. He felt sure the news of the Death Eater attack would already be common knowledge at Hogwarts. He added lightly, "I came to investigate, and stayed for tea."

"And a spot of reading? I didn't think you had leisure for it, these days."

"Tell me about it." Harry held up his permission slip from Dumbledore. "Actually, I was wondering if I could explore the Restricted Section for a bit?"

"This seems to be in order," said Madam Pince after reading the slip. "Just let me know if any of the books start to bother you... some of the older books get set in their ways, don't like to be disturbed."

"You mean they might start screaming?" Harry smiled.

Madam Pince shot him a suspicious glance, as though Harry weren't supposed to be that familiar with the Restricted Section. Harry did his best to look angelic. "Some of them might," she sniffed, and left it at that.

The books in the Restricted Section were there for good reason: either they contained spells or information that could prove dangerous in inexperienced hands, or the books themselves were dangerous... protected by hexes, for instance. Harry wandered the shelves (smiling fondly at Hogwarts's copy of Moste Potente Potions), pulling an occasional volume off the shelf and flipping through it.

Finally he spotted the book he sought: Rituels Magyques des Keltes Aunciennes. He took the book to one of the library tables and started leafing through its pages. The book was centuries old, with clumsy typesetting and crude woodcuts; he turned the brittle pages carefully, looking for one particular chapter.

When he found it, he reviewed it quickly to make sure he'd remembered it accurately. Harry's knowledge of la langue Française was far from fluent, but he'd read enough reports from French Aurors to be able to follow the text. Yes, he decided, a little work and this would do nicely...

Satisfied, he slipped his wand into the book as though to mark is place, and shut the book on it. He retrieved his satchel, opened it, and took out several sheets of blank parchment. Opening the book again, he removed his wand (suppressing a smile) and placed a blank sheet on the first page of the chapter. He smoothed the parchment with his wand as he murmured, "Pinxio." Gradually, an image of the book's page appeared on the parchment.

He repeated the spell on the remaining pages of the chapter, until he'd copied them all onto sheets of parchment. He closed the book and slipped the sheets back into his satchel. Nodding farewell to Madam Pince, Harry left the library, leaving Rituels Magyques on the table.

*

His next stop was the first floor girl's bathroom. True to her promise, Laurel Wooton had hidden one of the school's Quidditch brooms (an old Cleansweep Seven) behind the door. Harry left it in place for the moment. "Myrtle?" he called softly.

There was no reply. "Myrtle?" he called again, louder. Still no response; Harry supposed the ghost was haunting the prefects' bathroom at the moment. Well, on to other matters...

With the Quidditch broom in one hand, satchel in the other, he approached the row of sinks - one sink in particular, which Harry remembered all too well: the one with a tiny snake engraved on one of its taps. He cleared his throat, a bit nervous... he hadn't done this in a while...

"Open up," he said in Parseltongue.

The tap immediately began to glow and spin. The sink slid down and disappeared, revealing a large hole: the pipe that led to the Chamber of Secrets. It hadn't been opened for nine years, now - which was no surprise, really, reflected Harry. As far as he knew, Harry and Voldemort were the only living Parseltongues, and Voldemort could hardly have gotten into Hogwarts.

The last time Harry had gone down that pipe, he'd had no choice but to simply slide down. This time, he mounted the broom and, jumping into the hole, descended at a controlled pace.

He emerged from the pipe into a large cavernous tunnel: the antechamber to the Chamber, as it were. Here he removed his Auror's cloak and hung it on an outcrop of rock. He set the broom nearby and, opening his satchel, brought out an auto mechanic's coveralls, which he put on over his clothes.

Satchel in hand, Harry squeezed through the opening in the rockfall that blocked the cavern - funny, it hadn't seemed that tight the last time he'd crawled through - and soon faced the two carved serpents that guarded the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. They still seemed to Harry to be alive, or at least aware: their glittering emerald eyes watched him as he approached.

"Open," he hissed, and the serpents obediently slid aside to reveal the Chamber of Secrets. Only Slytherin's Heir was supposed to be able to enter this hidden room; Harry took a Gryffindor satisfaction in stepping inside and surveying the Chamber.

It was just as he'd left it, nine years ago. The tall, ancient statue of Salazar Slytherin dominated the far end of the Chamber. Just before it lay the body of a monstrous fifty-foot serpent: the basilisk. The floor around it was stained with blood, mostly the basilisk's, some of it Harry's.

Remarkably, the basilisk's body showed little signs of decomposition or decay. Harry had wondered if it could survive nine years in a dank, slimy cavern. Well, I suppose there's not much that can attack even a dead basilisk, he thought. It's so lethal, even bacteria couldn't live on it.

He stepped around the basilisk's body, and stood before the figure of Slytherin. He stared up into its wizened, monkeyish face. You, with your insistence on pure blood, he told it silently. You, with your purging and your 'noble work.' I could easily blame you for all our troubles... if you hadn't died a thousand years ago.

As it is, you may have inspired Voldemort and his Death Eaters - but I suspect that, even if you'd accepted Muggle-borns with open arms, they'd have found some other rationale for their atrocities. Hate needs no reason.

Ego te absolvo, Slytherin. Rest in peace.

Harry shook his head. Time's a-wasting, he told himself. Let's get started. Opening the satchel yet again, he took out a pair of dragon-hide gloves, put them on, and began to work.

*

Two hours later, Harry emerged from the Chamber of Secrets into the antechamber cavern, satchel again in hand. Thank goodness for the Carryall Charm, he thought. I could put an elephant in this bag if I had to. He removed his now filthy coveralls, which he left on the floor of the cavern, and put his Auror cloak back on.

As an experiment, he tried Disapparating to his home. Nothing happened. Evidently, the magic that prevented wizards from Apparating to or from Hogwarts also applied to the Chamber and cavern beneath the school. Harry was glad of it: he'd always feared Voldemort might be able to return to the Chamber and so enter Hogwarts - or worse, plant something dangerous beneath it.

Reaching once more into his satchel (he was starting to think of it as his 'bag of tricks'), he brought out a small glass bottle filled with fine powder. Opening the bottle, he carefully drew a circle of powder, about a foot in diameter, on the floor of the cavern. He resealed the bottle, stowed it in his satchel, and mounting the broom, began his ascent back up the pipe.

He arrived in the girl's bathroom to discover that its resident ghost, Moaning Myrtle, had noticed the open pipe and was waiting for him. "Hello, Harry," she said glumly. "You haven't come to see me in a long time."

"I'm sorry, Myrtle," said Harry as he replaced the broom behind the door "I haven't been able to visit as often. I did graduate, you know."

"Oh, yes, everybody gets to leave Hogwarts except Myrtle... poor Myrtle has to stay here in her bathroom forever..."

"Mmmm," said Harry noncommittally. He knew Myrtle had been magically bound to Hogwarts because she'd insisted on disrupting the lives of those who had ridiculed her in life. Still, that binding must be flexible: Myrtle did take occasional excursions to visit the merfolk in the lake. "Would you like to leave Hogwarts for a while, Myrtle? I could use your help..."

"Oh really?" For once, Moaning Myrtle looked almost happy - not only at the prospect of leaving her bathroom, but of helping Harry. Harry had long suspected that Myrtle was partial to him. Not that it'd ever work out. I mean, talk about irreconcilable differences...

"You told me once how you'd died," Harry began. "Remember?"

"Ohhh yes. That was when you were spending so much time in my stall - you and those other two. I told you all about seeing the big yellow eyes, and dying there on the spot! It was very tragic," she said dramatically.

"And there was a boy in the bathroom," Harry reminded her. "He's the one who actually summoned the monster with the big yellow eyes. He's the one who killed you, Myrtle."

Myrtle nodded mournfully. Behind her glasses, her eyes starting welling with tears.

"Suppose... suppose I could find a way for you to get back at him?" Harry suggested tentatively. He wasn't certain how Myrtle would take this.

He needn't have worried. Myrtle stopped crying at once. Her eyes lit with a martial gleam, and she declared, "Ooooh, I'd love to get back at that murderer! He stole my life... he's responsible for my being stuck in a U-bend for all these years! I'd like to stick him in a U-bend, and see how he likes it!"

"Yes, well..." Harry had a sudden image of Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard in generations, trapped in a toilet. He smothered his smile and continued, "If everything goes as I expect it to, you'll be able to leave Hogwarts for a while and get back at that boy who killed you. And you'd be doing me a big favor, too."

"Anything I can do, Harry, anything!" sang Myrtle. She sailed around Harry so happily, it was as though she was dancing as she flew. Never, not even when Hermione had accidentally been changed to a cat-girl, had Harry seen her this cheerful.

"All right, then," said Harry, seating himself on one of the sinks. "Here's what I'd like you to do. You tell me if it's feasible..."

*

Harry looked both ways to be sure he was unobserved before leaving the girl's bathroom. No one was in sight; he stepped out into the hall and began to head for the main doors. He'd been lucky this trip, he reflected; the hallways had been nearly deserted. If his luck held, he just might escape from Hogwarts before...

Too late. Harry recognized Laurel Wooton near the entrance to the Great Hall; she was talking animatedly to a group of female students, all wearing prefect badges. She turned and saw him, waved and called out, "Harry!"

She doesn't have any problem with my name when her friends are around, Harry thought in amusement. "Hello, Laurel. Classes over for the day?"

"Uh huh. We just got back from Herbology. Did you enjoy your flying? Is it true you were Seeker for Gryffindor when you were a first-year? How did you learn...?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," said Harry with what he hoped was a sincere smile. He'd always hated the legends that tended to grow around him - as though the truth about The Boy Who Lived weren't sensational enough - but he wouldn't have dreamed of hurting the girl's feelings by saying so aloud.

He continued, "I enjoyed myself very much, thanks - oh, I left the broom where you'd left it, thanks again - and yes, I was Seeker in my first year here. I think it was mostly because Gryffindor was so desperate for a Seeker, they'd take anybody. Remember, I'd never flown a broom... I'd never even heard of Quidditch before I got my letter from Hogwarts." He gestured aimlessly. "I learned... I learned by doing."

"See, Laurel?" said one of the other girls, this one wearing a Ravenclaw crest on her robes. "He didn't have to take flying lessons, he was a natural, just like it says in Hogwarts, A History..."

"You're kidding!" Harry blurted in sudden dismay. "I'm in Hogwarts, A History?! When did that happen?"

"Oh, you were added to the latest edition, Mr. Potter," said the Ravenclaw prefect enthusiastically. "It just came out this year, you could look at my copy if you'd like, I have it here, would you autograph it for me...?"

"No," said Harry immediately and firmly. "Sorry," he added more kindly, "but I just don't think of myself as someone special... more like someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you'd been in my place, miss, I'm sure you'd have done as I did."

Harry had half-expected the girls to express some doubt at this sentiment. He didn't expect them all to smile and sigh dreamily, as though he'd just praised them highly. I could have said anything, he realized, any drivel at all, and it wouldn't have made a jot of difference.

The sheer intensity of the doe-eyed admiration from these girls was starting to be disconcerting. He found himself shifting from one foot to the other, and managed to stop himself before he starting tugging at the collar of his cloak. Trying to exit gracefully, he said, "Well, I've enjoyed talking to you all... good luck on your end-of-year exams... Laurel, thanks again for your help..."

"My pleasure, Harry," Laurel said with delight. "C'mon, I'll walk you out..." Harry suspected that, if he hadn't been wearing his Auror's cloak, she would have slipped her arm around his. He knew for a certainty what the main topic of conversation would be at the Hufflepuff table this evening.

As they headed for the main entrance, Laurel asked, "Harry, did they ever ask you to play Seeker for England? I asked everyone, even Professor McGonagall, but nobody seemed to know, and it seemed so natural, I mean you were the best Seeker in a century, everyone said so..."

Harry was tempted to ask who this person was, and what she'd done with the shy Laurel who'd met him when he'd arrived that morning. Do teenage girls take breaths? he wondered. He decided they must act differently when alone than in gaggles. "No, I wasn't asked to play for England. The Quidditch World Cup was the year after I graduated, as I recall. And by then, the Ministry of Magic had passed its Auror Emergency Requisition Act."

Once Minister Fudge had been forced to acknowledge Voldemort's return, he'd wasted no time in trying to show what a dynamic leader he was. Among other things, the powers of the Auror Corps were greatly increased, as they had been the last time Voldemort had threatened. However, remembering the potential for abuse back then, the standards for admission to Auror training had also been increased: only the most capable candidates, of the highest moral fiber, were accepted now.

And Fudge's Auror Emergency Requisition Act allowed the Auror Corps to "requisition" any materiel or personnel it needed to complete its mission. Including, unfortunately, a certain new Hogwarts graduate who would have preferred to be a professional Quidditch player.

In other words, Laurel, I was drafted.

Finally, finally, he was out the great oak doors, bidding farewell to Laurel, and walking back to Hogsmeade... trying hard to maintain a dignified pace and not to break into a run. Given the choice between Death Eaters and teenaged girl fans... well, at least with Death Eaters I know how I should react!

*

There was, of course, no way he could visit Hogsmeade without dropping in on Ron and the Twins. Harry ducked into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and was immediately surrounded by a dozen tiny glowing fairies, each leaving a trail of colored light. They giggled as they flew around his head and torso, their trails weaving intricate patterns. Finally, someone whistled sharply and scattered them around the room. Harry looked around.

"Hullo, Harry," Fred Weasley greeted him. He had his arms full of small boxes, which gave occasional queeps and titters as he stacked them on the shelves.

"Hi, Fred," Harry returned.

"I'm George. Honestly, man, you've known us for how many years?"

Harry pretended to count on his fingers. "Ten years... Fred," he said in his driest, least impressed tone.

Fred laughed. "Well, it was worth a try. Crikey, Harry, but it's good to see you."

"You too. How was America?"

"Fantastic! I mean, their schools've got a long way to go before they can match Hogwarts... but the natural scenery is awesome!"

"Um, are we talking about forests and mountain ranges?" Harry smiled as Fred grinned wickedly. "No, I didn't think so..."

"Anyway, Salem was a dead bust... you may've thought the Puritans were history, but no-oo, they're alive and well, right there in Salem... we had better luck in San Francisco, I think we could franchise there. Expecting to hear back from them next week."

"Good luck to it." Harry looked around the shop. "So where's your alter ego? And Ron?"

"George'll be back soon. He's gone to talk to Lavender... you know?" Harry did know, and chided himself for not doing the same recently. He made a mental note to visit Lavender soon.

Fred continued, "As for Ron... say..." He put the last of the boxes on its shelf and sidled up to Harry. "Do you know what's up with Ron? All week he's been walking around half-asleep, mind's a million miles away... You know where he is now?"

"No, Fred," said Harry patiently. "I asked you, remember?"

"The git's over at Hogwarts. He said he had something he wanted to talk about with young Fenchurch - you remember him? He's Gryffindor's Quidditch captain now. This isn't something to do with that amateur league he started, is it?"

"I honestly can't say," Harry replied in literal truth. If Ron wanted his family to hear about the Chudley Cannons tryouts from him, Harry wasn't about to spoil the surprise. "S'funny, I just came back from Hogwarts... I didn't see him." Seeing the skeptical look growing on Fred's face, Harry added hastily, "It's a big place, Hogwarts. We probably just passed each other in the halls or something. Look, I'm seeing him in a few days, d'you want me to ask what's up?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks..." The tinkle of a silver bell announced the arrival of customers to the shop. Fred took a look, and muttered, "Oh no, not them again..."

Turning, Harry saw two young lads, obviously Hogsmeade locals, and obviously bent on mischief. From the furtive way they were edging down the aisle, Harry guessed they'd been warned to stay away from W-cubed, but the temptation must have been too great.

Harry suddenly remembered he was still wearing his Auror cloak and badge. Oh, this is too good to pass up... He turned back to Fred and assumed his sternest aspect. "Very well, then, sir," he barked in a gruff authoritarian tone. "We expect to hear no more complaints from your community. Remember, the law applies to everyone. If you persist in using children as ingredients in your candy..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the boys freeze in horror.

"... you will be ticketed and fined. Is that understood, sir?"

Fred seemed to think about it for a moment. "Uh, how much was that fine again?"

SLAM! The door closed violently behind the madly retreating boys. Fred exploded with laughter. "Man, Harry, that was great! I've had more trouble with those Rivers brats... but they won't be back for a while!"

"Go easy on them, Fred," smiled Harry. "Someday, they may grow up to be you."

Fred was horrified. "We were never as bad as those two! I mean, okay, we had our little scrapes, but at least we didn't try to burn down someone's shop!"

"Fred, Fred, Fred," said Harry in mock concern. "You're growing positively mature. You see what being a respectable member of the community has done to you?"

Fred regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment. "Have to do something about that, won't we? Any suggestions?"

"You could burn down Zonko's."

Fred brightened immediately. "Hey, there's an idea. Kill two birds with one stone." He burst out laughing again. "Or maybe we'll just send 'em the Rivers boys. Thanks, Harry, I needed that."

"Anytime, Fred," smiled Harry. "Give my best to George and Ron, will you?"

He gave a jaunty wave and left the shop. Behind him, his laughter now under control, Fred stared at the door where his friend had exited. Something was tickling at the back of his mind... something he'd expected to see, but hadn't... what was it?