Consciousness came back in dribs and drabs; he released the breath he dimly realized he had been holding, and inhaled seawater.
That forced him into the here and now, gagging and choking. He was lying face down on a pebbled beach, the frigid surf washing over him as the tide came in.
Had it worked? Had the risks been worth it? A tiny hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Dobby was worried!" the bedraggled elf said with an undying devotion in his voice.
Sitting up in the surf, he took inventory. The ring was on his right hand, the wand clenched in his fist, and his body was still wrapped in the cloak. He focused.
"I didn't expect you to be caught up in this, Dobby," he said. "Did it work? Have we made it? Can everything be made better?"
"Dobby does not know," the elf said with a shake of his head. "But Dobby will always help as he can."
Nodding his understanding the Wizard rose to his feet and stumbled toward the lights in the distance, a large cluster of them, probably a small town. Was he still in Britain?
More importantly, what was he going to do now?
Even as he made his arrangements for any of the several attempts, he never really believed that it was going to work. The idea had been what Hermione used to call 'blindingly stupid', and consequently, he had never really thought that there was a single chance in hell that it was going to work. Each attempted ended with him waking up in the rubble of the ritual room.
For the sixth attempt to drop him onto a beach with electric lights in the distance had been quite unexpected.
Now that he was here, he had a basic idea about what he needed to do, but he was going to need to find out just where he was… and possibly more important, when he was.
He trudged away from the sea in the darkness, after a few dozen yards coming to a concrete seawall. The wall rose higher than he could reach, though his eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that he could make out white painted railings at the top. Another good sign.
One direction was as good as the other, so he decided to head toward the lights. As he made his way along the seawall, occasionally a flare of light and the sound of a motor sounded above before fading into the distance.
Cars. This was wonderful. He actually had a chance to make a difference if there were still cars in Britain, assuming he was in Britain anyway.
"Muggles," Dobby said as the elf nodded toward the railing above them. Suddenly a light long dimmed sparkled in the small being's eyes. "Elves!" he said, hugging himself. "Dobby can feel other elves, like before the evil happened."
The Wizard ran a hand through his hair. Electric lights, Muggles out and about, and now Dobby was sensing elves. If this was Britain, there was a chance. A slim chance, but a chance.
This is where everything could fall apart. Never really believing that his mad plan would work, he had never planned out exactly what he was going to try to do. If he was in Britain, if he was when he was supposed to be, he would need a plan to move forward. If he was going to make difference, he could not be himself. That much was certain. Just appearing would bring far too many questions, and attract far too much attention. He was going to need a new name.
Maybe George's joke from when he had learned languages when trying to take Weasley's Wizarding Weezes international would be a good choice.
Maybe.
He had come to a set of concrete stairs leading up to the street above, one painted with picture signs signaling for caution on the steps. Then he saw it and smiled.
The signs were in English.
He was home.
-oooOOOooo-
19 September 1990.
Al Granger stood in the doorway of his home and watched the odd little woman walk away. At the end of the walkway, she turned back and offered him a small nod. He blinked and she was gone.
Seeing a woman vanish from the face of the Earth was the sort of very odd event that would have shocked him to the depths of his soul only a few hours earlier. Now it was just the latest of a series of odd events he had witnessed today. He carefully closed the door and returned to his sitting room to find it empty. He followed the sounds of cleaning in the kitchen to find his wife and daughter.
"Oh, Daddy, isn't it exciting?" Hermione asked as she carried the plates from the family meal to her mother who was washing up at the sink. "I'm a witch! I can do magic! I will be going to Hogwarts won't I Daddy?"
"That is something we are going to need to discuss Hermione," Al said as he lifted a dishtowel from the where it hung on the cooker's handle and started to dry the dishes in the drainer.
"Professor McGonagall certainly made attending Hogwarts sound attractive, but I couldn't help but notice that outside of the courses on magic, the curriculum the school offers appear to be substandard."
"Quite," Peggy Granger agreed. "No maths until your third year, and then it's that oddly named 'Arithmancy' which sounded more like numerology than any real math. No English, no science classes, no real-world history. This 'Hogwarts' might be a famous school of magic, but it doesn't seem to be much of a school."
"Mum!" Hermione protested just as the doorbell rang.
"We're popular tonight," Al said with a grin, "this time it's probably some little green men here to tell us that Hermione is their long-lost crown princess."
"Funny Daddy, really funny," Hermione called after her father
Chuckling as he wiped his hands on the dishtowel the dentist opened his front door to find a young man dressed all in black.
Good Evening Mr. Granger," the man said quietly. "You've just had a visit from Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts, and she told you all about the wonders of the magical world."
"And who are you?" Al asked.
"My Name is Pilosus Töpfer, and I'm a wizard," the man gestured and a ball of blue flame appeared in his hand. "I'm here to offer you an opposing view."
-oooOOOooo-
The Granger's second guest of the evening stayed for an hour before Al led him once more to the door. "Thank you for telling us that."
The younger man shrugged. "You needed to know."
"There is no way I am subjecting Hermione to that school," Al said. "She'll be disappointed, but I know she'll do well anywhere she goes."
Töpfer hesitated for a moment and then reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "I think I'd best show you something," he said holding out a brass sphere the size of a small orange. The shining surface inscribed with row after row of arcane characters.
"What is it?"
"It's a special memory device. I think you need to see this." Töpfer explained.
Al Granger took the small sphere in his hand, moderately surprised by the weight of the device. "What do I do?"
"Just hold it to your forehead and squeeze it."
The dentist raised the heavy sphere to his forehead as directed. As soon as he began squeezing the device, his eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream.
One minute and seventeen seconds later Al Granger slumped against the doorframe and the brass sphere fell from his fingers. Töpfer caught it in a lightning fast grab and returned the device to the pocket it had come from.
"Why... why did you show me that? Why?"
"On the off chance our insane plan worked, you asked me to show it to you the day we buried them. You said that if you were going to believe me and do what needed to be done, you would need to know." Töpfer answered. "It was far worse than I dared let either Mrs. Granger or Hermione know."
"That was real? That was me? Where were you?"
"I don't look like I did then, and yes, it was you, and all of that was real and it all happened. It will happen again if things aren't changed. It has to be changed, everything has to be changed." Töpfer looked into the dentist's eyes. "Everything. That's why I'm here."
"No bloody worry there. I will get them both so far away from this place that no one could ever find us."
"Good."
"But what about... What about… him?"
"He and I… We must stay. We may not win, but we have to stay," the younger man said.
"And because I know, because of what I must do, they... Hermione and... he won't have what they did." Al's tone made it clear that this was a statement, not a question.
Töpfer shrugged again. "The high points of his life may not be nearly as happy, but the low points of her life won't be nearly as horrifying."
The dentist nodded. He needed to protect his family. Already plans were flashing through his mind. "What will you do now?"
"There are a few more people I need to see, others that received a visit from Professor McGonagall. Then I need to see a woman about a dog, and finally, there's a certain young man who needs some help."
Granger took the younger man's hand in both of his and held tight. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Töpfer offered a wry grin. "Take care of them. There are other schools of magic, in places that don't care that much about who your grandparents are. They tend to fight about other things."
The wizard twisted in place and vanished. Al swallowed and steeled himself for what was coming.
"Is he gone?" Peggy asked when he returned to the sitting room.
"Yes," the Dentist nodded.
"You don't believe him do you Daddy?" his little genius asked, her eyes huge.
"He gave us some things to think about, Hermione," Al noted, not wanting to answer her question truthfully. "Your mum and I will have to discuss it."
Hermione's lower lip pushed out into a pout, "Daddy!"
"Your father and I will talk about it, Hermione," Peggy said in a tone that did not invite argument. "Head up to your room and get ready for bed, young lady."
"Yes, Mum," Hermione said, her pout still firmly in place.
"She does that to manipulate you, you know."
"I know," Al admitted, "and I'm ashamed to admit that it works."
"So, what did he tell you?"
"What makes you think he told me anything?" Al hedged.
"Aloysius Hercules Granger, I've shared your life and your bed for twenty-three years," Peggy said as she lowered herself onto his lap. "You are an open book to me. He told you something that terrified you. Now, you are going to tell me what he told you," she slipped her hand into his shirt and grasped his chest hairs, "or I am going to hurt you."
"He had some kind of memory device, Peg, he showed me the future."
"The future?" Peggy asked incredulously.
"Hermione looked to be eighteen or nineteen," the dentist continued. "He showed me memories of us, three young boys and myself, burying you, Hermione and a blonde girl."
"No," Peggy said shaking her head. "It had to be some kind of trick."
"The device showed me crying over your body, calling you pet names that only you and I would know. There is no way he could have known that I've never used them in front of anyone."
"He's a time traveler? How is that possible?"
"He's a wizard, luv," Al pointed out. "Before today, was that possible?"
"We need to leave," Peggy concluded.
"We do," Al agreed. "I'll contact the solicitor in the morning. We'll put the practice up for sale, and find someplace far away from here and far away from the wizards."
-oooOOOooo-
1 October 1990.
The door opened before he could knock. Töpfer paused for a moment and considered what he was doing. Steeling his resolve, he stepped across the threshold and made his way into the entryway.
The entry was a long hallway, one that Töpfer rather doubted was really the entry to the house, given the amount of magic that permeated the walls, and it was likely that this passage was not actually part of the house, it had probably been created specifically for his visit.
Given that he was here unannounced and uninvited, Töpfer did not know if that was a good sign or not.
Resisting the urge to draw the wand he made his way down the hall to the open doorway.
The door, despite being open was totally occluded. He could not see or hear anything beyond the door. Again, he paused to focus himself and swallowed. This was a risk. A serious risk.
Nevertheless, it had to be done.
Stepping through the doorway he found himself in a well-lighted potions lab. At least a dozen cauldrons bubbled over flames and an old man stooped over the center vessel intent on his stirring.
"You are English, yes?"
"I am," Töpfer admitted, wondering how the old man knew.
"Your clothes, the way you stand, the way you hesitated before entering my sanctum, that is how I knew you were English," the old man explained answering the unasked question.
"I see," Töpfer nodded.
"When you live for 600 years, you learn to notice things," the old man continued.
"You are Nicolas Flamel, then?"
The old man looked up from his potions incredulously. "Why would you come here if you didn't already know the answer to that?"
"Be careful around this one, Old Man," an old woman said when she entered the room behind Töpfer, causing him to jump. The woman crossed the room to where the old man stood and placed a plate with a sandwich and a goblet of some frothing liquid before him. "He has the stench of time travel about him."
"I'm not blind, old woman," Flamel snapped as she made her way out of the room the way she had entered.
"That is my wife, Perenelle," Flamel said as he stirred one of his cauldrons with one hand and took up the sandwich with the other. "Not much to look at now, but when we met she would have dropped your jaw, boy. We were the same year at Beauxbatons you know, I would always look forward to Astronomy class, so that I could follow behind her and gaze at her legs as she climbed the stairs." The old man seemed lost in thought for a moment, before sighing and taking a bite of his sandwich.
"You can't have the Stone, by the way," he said while chewing. "You can't borrow it, you can't sample it, you can't buy it, and even though you've got Dumbledore's little trick wand, somehow, you haven't got what it takes to take it from me."
"I don't want the Philosopher's Stone, Mr. Flamel," Töpfer said.
"You don't?" the old man asked, a bushy eyebrow raising to his hairline as if he had become unused to being surprised. "Then why are you here, boy?"
"I'm here to ask you not to lend it to Dumbledore."
"I see," Flamel said, for the first time giving Töpfer his full attention. "I told young Albus that if he wanted a Stone, he should make one himself. However, I'm curious how you know what we spoke of… Ah yes, time traveler."
"Yes sir," Töpfer admitted. "So, he asked, and you told him no?"
"Of course, I did," Flamel laughed. "The Stone is as much a curse as it is a blessing. No one gets the stone but me and my wife."
"Dumbledore said that you had given it to him to protect it from Voldemort," Töpfer explained.
"That upstart?" Flamel laughed again. "He's been here twice, and I spanked him soundly before sending him away."
"Dumbledore lied," Töpfer breathed, suddenly relaxing.
"Of course, he lied," Flamel said as he returned to his cauldrons. "His lips were moving. Is that all you wanted?"
"Yes, sir," Töpfer said quietly.
"Good, what's your name boy?"
"Pilosus Töpfer."
"Pilosus…?" the old man looked back at him and smiled. "Cute. Very Cute. We're done here."
Töpfer found himself standing on the house's porch, facing the now closed door. He had not seen the old man move. Suddenly, he had no problem believing that Flamel had indeed 'spanked' Voldemort.
-oooOOOooo-
7 October 1990.
Molly Weasley was in her kitchen reflecting on how lucky she was. Oh, there were moments, she thought as she kneaded the bread for the night's dinner. For example, the blowout with Charlie over his applying for that silly job working with dragons.
However, families fought, and families made up. That was the way of the world.
With Bill in Egypt, and Charlie, Percy and the Twins away at Hogwarts, Molly treasured the time she had left with her two youngest. Nine-year-old Ginny was playing with her dolls, conducting her latest marriage to Harry Potter under the shade of the old oak next to the Weasley vegetable garden. Ron was supposed to be de-gnoming the lawn, but she could clearly see the ten-year-old running through the high weeds at the tree line pretending to be flying in a championship Quidditch game, no doubt playing for his favorite team, the Cannons.
Humming her favorite Celestina Warbeck song, Molly slid her dough onto a shelf in the pantry to allow it to rise and then stiffened in fear.
The Wards. Someone had crossed the wards from the woods! In an instant, her wand was in her hand and she was out the door. Whoever had crossed the wards was in the same area Ron was playing in. As she passed her daughter, she barked "Inside! Now!"
Ginny was shocked to see the look of fear on Molly's face and obeyed without questioning her.
The wards spoke to her again, telling her that the wards had been crossed again, this time signaling that the mysterious person had left Weasley lands and Molly used that knowledge to head directly to the point of exit.
She found Ron just inside the tree line, perhaps fifty feet from the edge of the wards. His unmoving form seemed to reflect her worst fears until she got closer. He clearly showed signs of having been stunned. Fear battled with relief as she pointed her wand at her youngest son.
"Ennervate!"
"What? Mum?" Ron said as he was suddenly forced into alertness. "What happened?"
"Someone crossed the ward line and attacked you, Ron, back to the house now."
Ron climbed to his feet, then a panicked look hit his face and he began searching his pockets. "Scabbers?" he yelped looking around.
"What about Percy's rat?" Molly asked, keeping her eyes on the tree line.
"I sort of borrowed him to play with," Ron explained. "He's gone! Whoever hit me stole Scabbers! Percy's going to kill me!"
"Ronald, get back to the house now. As soon as I call the Aurors and your father, we can talk about your losing Percy's pet rat." Molly pushed her son in the direction of the house and maintained her guard. Arthur sometimes made enemies with his work, which had to be what this was all about. The idea of anyone stealing a rat...
A thunderous boom swept over them, knocking Molly and her son to the ground with the force of its passing. Before she could gather her wits enough to even try to stand again, Molly spotted a shaft of golden light that extended into the sky from the direction of the Lovegood home.
What was going on today?
-oooOOOooo-
If Kinglsey Shacklebolt was honest, apparation was the part of his job he disliked the most, even more than paperwork. There was just something wrong about suddenly appearing at a crime scene, especially when the disorientation inherent in suddenly being somewhere else was taken into account.
Still, it was part of the job. Therefore, he did it without complaint.
He stood, regaining his bearings as he stared at the oddly shaped house that was the source of the problem. A powerful surge of magic had been centered in this building that was shaped like a Rook chess piece for some reason, indeed, he could see what appeared to be an unplanned hole in the structure from which smoke still poured out.
The surge, the most powerful one recorded since that night in '81 when Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort, had burned out every magical detector under Ministry control. That merited investigation.
His composure restored, Shacklebolt nodded to the pair of Aurors accompanying him and the trio approached the house.
A harried woman answered the door at his knock.
"Thank Merlin you're here," she said breathlessly. "Something very odd has happened."
"Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Aurors office, Ma'am," the big Auror said, "and you are?"
The ethereal blonde woman blinked, "Sorry, Selene Lovegood. I'm a Ministry Licensed Spell Creator."
Shack nodded. "The Ministry detected a massive discharge from this residence."
"Please, come in, I'm still trying to clean up."
Shack nodded to his fellow Aurors who understood that he would go on alone.
"This way," she said as she led him through an unexpectedly lengthy hallway to the back of the house, what kind of expansion charms did this house use?
A young girl, clearly the woman's daughter as she appeared to be a 1/3 size duplicate was busy with a house broom in the room that was obviously the source of the magical surge, given the gaping hole in the ceiling, offering a view of the three floors above the ground floor and the sky beyond.
"This is my daughter Luna," the elder Lovegood said, "My husband is at work."
"I see, was anyone injured in the event?" Shack asked.
"No," Selene said with a shake of her head, "but I cannot explain just how we weren't hurt or killed."
"Could you tell me what happened?" Shack asked, producing his notepad.
"I was working on a new variation of the Unbreakable Charm," she explained.
"Why would anyone need a variation of the Unbreakable charm?" Shack asked.
"The current charm degrades over a matter of days, and is vulnerable to temperature variations," Selene clarified. "If you subject the current charm to a freezing charm followed immediately by a flame charm, the Unbreakable charm will fail to live up to its name. My department has been hired by Gringotts to improve the established charm, removing the temperature vulnerability and if possible extend the time between recastings."
"I see," Shack said as he scribbled in his notebook. He had been utterly unaware of the weaknesses of the Unbreakable charm. That bit of information might be of assistance in the future.
"I had the charm matrix open and exposed, which left a slug of raw magic hanging in the air in front of me. I've done this thousands of times, making changes to the matrix and seeing how the charm processes the changes. This time something went wrong. The raw magic flared into instability, and I had an uncontrolled matrix cascade taking place directly in front of my face."
"And what does that mean?" the Auror asked.
"It means I should be dead, and Luna who was reading in the corner opposite the door would have at very least been injured. I tried to stop it, but the cascade got away from me and was utterly unstoppable. At the last possible moment, a sort of shield sphere formed around the slug of raw magic, the shield was optically transparent, which was a lucky break for me, because it allowed me to examine the matrix cascade in detail. Once the cascade was completely unwound, the sphere ejected the magic upwards," she pointed unnecessarily at the hole punched through her home.
"Where did this shield come from?"
"I have no idea," Selene said. "I wish I did, such a tool would be of great use.
"It was the man at the window, Mummy," the young girl said.
"I didn't see any man, Luna."
"He was right there," she pointed to the open window. "He waited to see if you were going to fix what went wrong and then he cast something at your magic thingie to stop it from doing what it was doing."
Shack knelt so that he was on the girl's eye level. "Can you tell me what he looked like?" he asked.
"He was taller than Daddy," the girl said with confidence, "but not as tall as you. He had brown hair, but I don't think the color was real, I think it was magiced. I couldn't see his eyes, I was too far away."
Shacklebolt rose back to his feet and completed his interview for the incident report, his mind racing on the likelihood of a stranger just happening to come across a spell creator having a spell matrix cascade happening while having the skill and willingness to intervene.
That did not seem likely. Not likely at all.
-oooOOOooo-
13 October 1990.
Susan Bones dug another furrow in the ice cream, the vanilla this time and shoveled the spoon into her mouth. She smiled a gap-toothed grin at her best friend Hannah who had taken a spoonful of the strawberry for herself.
"I swear," Amelia Bones said trying very hard to appear to be stern, "you two must have a permanent vanishing charm installed in your stomachs."
The girls giggled and Amelia made sure not to notice the slight grins on the faces of her protective detail. Suddenly the charmed bracelets all four of the adult magic users started vibrating.
"Incoming portkey!" Amelia barked. "Protect the girls."
As was previously agreed, David Walthers, the physically largest of the protective detail scooped the two startled ten-year-olds up in his arms and sprinted for a corner. Amelia and the two other Aurors drew their wands and fell into a defensive formation.
A man appeared horizontally three feet above the table the party had just vacated and fell to the tabletop with a crash. After landing, he lay still. Amelia exchanged looks with her detail and then approached the fallen man her wand at the ready.
He was a very short man. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the wasted appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short period. His features were decidedly... rat-like, with a pointed nose and buckteeth to reinforce the resemblance. Stuck to his chest was a note. Amelia positioned herself to better read the words on it.
- Hello, my name is Peter Pettigrew, as you can see, I am not quite dead. If I were the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, I would be very interested in questioning someone like me under Veritaserum, not that I would presume to tell you your job, Madam Bones. Oh, by the way, I am also an unregistered rat animagus... You might want to keep me unconscious until you can get me behind Animagus Wards... but, again, I would never presume to tell you your job, Madam Bones.
"Bloody hell." Bones breathed.
"Pettigrew? But he's dead; Sirius Black is in Azkaban..."
"I'm aware of the history of this case, Jewkes," Amelia said. "Get him to holding and place yourself outside the door until I relieve you personally," She pulled a pocket watch from her robes and checked the time. "I need to get Susan and Hannah back home, and then I'll be in. We need to confirm who this man is. If he turns out to be Peter Pettigrew, that means that someone buggered up the Black investigation in '81, and we are going to dot every i and cross every t until I'm satisfied that I know what happened that night. And then," the witch paused to clean her monocle. "Then, we're going to find out who thought dropping a supposedly murdered man on my lunch table was superior to bringing him to the Department."
-oooOOOooo-
15 October 1990.
"Pettigrew was found."
"So, what?" Yaxley asked. "I'm amazed that the little coward managed to disappear for as long as he did."
"The fact that he's still alive raises questions about where he has been since the fall of the Dark Lord," Lucius explained as patiently as he could. "And it raises questions who it was that captured Pettigrew and delivered him to that bitch Bones."
"Someone found the little bastard; I'm still not seeing the problem. Even some of the darker elements of society were resistant to the Dark Lord's vision. Pettigrew was seen by the wrong person and has paid for it with his freedom," Greyback said dismissively. "I fail to see why any of this could possibly worry you."
"I agree, Lucius," Mulciber said quietly. "Pettigrew had no connections with any of us, nor have any of us been in contact with him. I, for one believed that he had died in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's fall. Why does this bother you so much?"
Lucius's mind raced. Things were happening that were outside his control, not that these idiots understood that. All of them had their freedom only because Lucius had been able to control the situation, and that control was slipping away. In his mind, he carefully chose the words he would use to convince them of the danger, and then a flash of light distracted him.
Greyback's head rolling into his lap further distracted Lucius Malfoy, especially given the way the Were's mouth moved as if trying to form words and the man's wild eyes blinked up at him in confusion.
Mulciber lunged to his feet and reached for his wand to deal with the wizard that had so suddenly appeared in this most secure of meeting places when the light of yet another spell flared in the room.
-oooOOOooo-
"What have you got Shack?"
"Evening Director," Shacklebolt said deferentially. "Four dead, massive spell damage. Purely from the appearance of the bodies, I would have suspected multiple assailants, but..."
"But what Shack?" Amelia snapped. She had already had a very long day from dealing with the whole Pettigrew thing, and now this.
"All the spell vectors appear to be coming from a single caster. These four," he gestured to the four bodies just then being examined by the duty Forensic Healer, got off two, maybe three spells off between them, but whoever attacked them... my most conservative count is twenty-three high powered spells in maybe two minutes."
Amelia's eyebrows went up. That was a lot of casting. The people who could do things like that were few and far in between... most of them were on the Professional Dueling circuit. "Walk me through it."
Shack nodded and took a position near the door. "It looks like it started with the assailant standing here. He cast toward the table where the four victims were seated. I believe that the first killed was Fenrir Greyback, from an insanely overpowered cutter that took the bastard's head clean off his shoulders."
"Completely severed?" Amelia asked. When Kingsley nodded, she continued. "I couldn't do that. Who could?"
"A single cutter at a distance of ten feet? I couldn't do it either. Dumbledore probably could," Shacklebolt theorized, "Maybe Flitwick, Possibly Moody... not too many others."
"I doubt Dumbledore did it, what is the time of death?"
"The first estimate puts it at about 3:30 this afternoon," Shacklebolt replied.
"Yeah, Dumbledore was in my office then. Ok, someone did a public service with Greyback first, then what happened?"
"My best guess is that Mulciber went next. His right hand is caught in the pocket his wand is in, and his ribcage is completely gone along with most of his spine and most of the bones in his right arm, a bone vanisher, again insanely overpowered. Given the average Death Eater's reaction time, the two spells had to come out one right after the other."
Shacklebolt moved three feet to his left. "There are scorch patterns where he was, and suddenly his spell vectors move here, so Malfoy and Yaxley got a spell off each. I think Yaxley cast some kind of flame curse and Malfoy used that dark cutter that the DEs started using the last few years of the war," he pointed at the multitude of marks on the far wall, "but the mystery man dodged to this side of the room while they were casting. When he got here, he summoned the counter from its mountings, and crushed Yaxley between it and the table."
"Again, as you put it, insanely overpowered," Amelia noted. That's three spells and three dead Death Eaters, what about the other twenty?"
Shacklebolt bent over to lift the sheet off one of the bodies. "Malfoy."
"Oh, Merlin!" Amelia exclaimed, "What did he do?"
"We haven't isolated all the patterns yet, but whoever this was, he really hated Malfoy and wanted to make sure the bastard suffered."
-oooOOOooo-
22 December 1990.
"Madam Malfoy, thank you for meeting me."
Narcissa Malfoy regarded the young Wizard with a jaundiced eye. "I'm not familiar with the Töpfer family, yet you appear to be British. What is your heritage?"
The man dressed in black smiled. "Really Madam Malfoy, I want to do business with you, what could you possibly care about me beyond the weight of my coin?"
"Despite the senseless murder of my husband two months ago, I do not make a habit of conducting business dealings with those outside my social circle," the aristocratic woman sniffed.
The wizard in black laughed causing the Widow Malfoy's anger to spike. "You find me amusing?" she demanded.
"You have no idea. To business then. I want Tom Riddle's diary, and I'll give you treasure beyond measure to get it," Töpfer reached into an inner pocket of his robes and tossed a leather money purse onto the woman's desk. "As well as two thousand galleons."
Narcissa Malfoy maintained an expression of annoyance, but inside her mind was churning. The diary? How did this boy know about the diary? Lucius had only told her about it a few months before his death. Moreover, what did this stranger mean by 'treasure beyond measure'? "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The younger man sighed, "Of course you do. Please, Madam Malfoy, I'm on a schedule and I really don't have time to play games with you. The life of your son is the 'treasure beyond measure' I mentioned. Sell me the diary or I will kill your son before he has a chance to grow up to be the bastard that Lucius was. Then, I will rip the diary out of the blood safe hidden under your desk. Either way, I get what I want."
Narcissa's wand was out instantly, "You think you can come into my home and threaten me?"
Töpfer's eyebrows arched in amusement for a moment, he then made a small gesture with his left hand and Narcissa found herself yanked upside down by her left ankle, thumping her head against the desktop hard enough that she dropped her wand and was seeing stars.
"For future reference Madam Malfoy," Töpfer said quietly. "When someone believes that they are powerful enough to destroy you, it is generally a bad plan to test their theory. They might well be correct in their beliefs."
Narcissa's head cleared to the point where she recognized the position she was in and that since she dressed in the manner of purebloods, this left her naked lower torso exposed to the room. She started desperately attempting to cover herself. "Please, don't. My son is in the next room, please?" she pleaded.
Töpfer's brow furrowed for a moment before understanding came to him. "Oh, please Madam Malfoy, don't flatter yourself. I have absolutely no desire to follow dear Lucius's path to that particular destination, Morgana only knows what interesting creatures he brought home with him from his adventures. All I want from you is the diary." With a gesture, he lowered the woman to the floor.
Narcissa dove under her desk and emerged seconds later with the diary, and a bleeding hand that she had not been able to heal, having not yet found her wand. "You have what you want, now leave."
Töpfer took the diary from her shaking hands and pocketed it. "Thank you, Madam Malfoy, it was a pleasure doing business with you..." Topher paused as if he suddenly remembered something. "You might want to enroll young Draco in a school other than Hogwarts. It is likely to be very dangerous to be a student there for the next few years."
"Is that another threat?" the woman huffed having regained some of her composure.
"Not at all, it just occurs to me that if Draco is the type to run his mouth, like I suspect he is, without Lucius to protect him, his life will likely become... interesting at Hogwarts.
"Severus Snape will protect him." she scoffed. "And Severus has the protection of Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Töpfer."
"Of course, he does." Töpfer smiled as he apparated away, blowing through the Malfoy wards as if they did not exist.
Narcissa immediately began wondering if Draco might not be better served by attending Beaubatons.
-oooOOOooo-
Töpfer appeared in the sitting room of the Shrieking Shack with a soft crack, followed almost immediately by the pop of elfin apparation.
"Hello Dobby, how did it go?
"Not well, Dobby spoke with Dobby, but Dobby says that with the loss of his master, his mistress needs him, so Dobby doesn't think that Dobby will be leaving her." The elf sighed. "That's just the way Dobby is."
Töpfer paused to parse out what the elf had just told him, before deciding not to worry about it. "How are things at Privet Drive?"
"Bad. Harry Potter sir is most unhappy. Tubby cousin boy had an accident this morning. Ran full speed into a brick wall while shopping with his dam." The elf offered an evil grin. "Twice."
"As I recall, Dudley was always reported to be clumsy," Töpfer noted. "Make sure whatever accidents Dudley or any of the Dursleys have are painful but not fatal. We need them, at least for a while longer"
"Dobby will do it, and Dobby will help if Dobby needs help, even if Dobby will not leave Mistress and Young Master."
Töpfer nodded. "Before you return to guarding little Harry, I need your help with Winky."
The elf's ears drooped. "Winky will never forgive Dobby for this, but at least Dobby will not see Winky die like Dobby did."
"Right then," Töpfer said, again refusing to parse the elf's words. "Let's go."
With a crack and a pop, the pair was gone, and once again, the Shrieking Shack was empty.
-oooOOOooo-
Winky carefully filled the spoon with Young Master Barty's favorite jelly and guided it to the unresponsive wizard's mouth.
"Young Master must eat," she gently chided the man, "Master told Winky to keep Young Master well fed and healthy, so Young Master must eat."
The dull-eyed man opened his mouth and allowed the elf to feed him. Deep in his mind a spark of what had made Barty Crouch Junior willing to follow the Dark Lord flared, and then ebbed again as the Imperius took hold once again.
"Young Master always liked Lemon Jelly," the elf sang. "Young Master grows so big and strong..."
Her song was interrupted when another elf popped into the room behind her, clapped his left hand over her mouth and encircling her waist with his strong right arm before popped away again, carrying the now distraught nanny elf with him.
The Imperused Barty Crouch Junior barely registered that his constant companion of the last decade was gone before a wizard apparated into the room.
"Hello Barty," the man said. "We're going for a little trip you and I." The wizard patted Crouch's cheek before continuing. "The first thing we're going to do is break that nasty little Imperius you've got there, and then we're going to talk... You're going to tell me everything."
-oooOOOooo-
24 December 1990.
Amelia made her way through the busy warren that was the Duty Auror bullpen. She looked around the room in distaste; everything was so... beige and lifeless. Her predecessor in the position of Director of Magical Law Enforcement had taken to heart the Muggle concept of a 'Cube Farm', and had inflicted this sterile abomination upon the Auror corps.
"Looking for someone Director?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked.
"I've found him, Shack," Amelia responded. "I need you to head out to Azkaban to supervise a prisoner pickup and transport."
"Black?" The tall Auror asked.
"Yes. He was one of ours that was done to, royally. I want him treated with kid gloves, escort the man to St. Mungos and keep the press vultures away from him until he wants to talk to them."
"That will likely be the best Christmas gift Black ever got. It'll be done Boss," Shacklebolt said. "I'll need..."
Amelia had to wait to find out what the big Auror needed when the lights in the bullpen started flashing, signaling an alert.
"Intruder in the Ministry." the recorded voice of Amelia's predecessor echoed throughout the building. The man's colossal ego had led him to record the security system's announcements himself. "Apparation Denial Wards are no longer functional. Personnel detection indicates the presence of two intruders in the Offices of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement."
Without a word of direction, the entire on-duty Auror force moved to their assigned positions throughout the ministry. Shacklebolt ran for the stairways that lead to Amelia's outer office, with Amelia right behind him.
Janice Ordway, a former Auror retired from the force due to injuries gained in the line of duty had been Amelia's secretary for five years. She stood at the door to the Director's office with her wand drawn when Shacklebolt and Amelia led ten Aurors into the outer office.
"Your office door slammed shut and sealed itself, Director," she reported. "No one entered before that happened."
"Intruder in the Ministry," the recorded voice called out again, indicating a change of status. "Personnel detection indicates the presence of a single intruder in the Offices of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement."
"One of them left," Shacklebolt observed unnecessarily.
"How the hell did they get in?" Amelia asked the room.
The door opened and silence filled the outer office.
"I'm going in, cover me," Amelia whispered.
"The hell you are," Shacklebolt replied in the same low tone. "You're the Director, we aren't risking you. Ordway, you're the protective detail for the Director. Collins, Murphy, you're with me, you two go low, I'm taking high."
The three Aurors took up their positions on either side of the doorway and made their offensive entrance on Shacklebolt's signal.
-oooOOOooo-
Amelia waited for three agonizing seconds until the silence was broken.
"Clear!" Murphy called out.
"Clear!" Collins agreed.
"Director," Kingsley called. "I think you need to see this."
Amelia shook off her minder and made her way into her own office. A quick survey found no obvious damage to the room and an unconscious man bound to her chair. Stuck to the man's chest was a familiar looking sheet of parchment.
- Hello, my name is Bartemius Crouch Junior. As you may recall, I died in Azkaban Prison, but I'm feeling much better now.
If I were the sort of person who was comfortable telling the Director of Magical Law Enforcement her job, I would suggest that someone might want to question my father under Veritaserum. A less charitable soul might suggest that his wand might be tested for any of the Unforgivables that could possibly have left a trace on his wand from being cast daily for the last decade or so, but I'm not that sort of person at all, so don't worry about hearing that from me, Madam Bones.
At any rate, despite my resurrection, I have just had an exceptionally bad day and I would truly appreciate any consideration that you might extend me.
Amelia's mouth went dry. Whoever was behind this had access to her office... If he could get into her office, then he could get into her home.
"Auror Shacklebolt," she snapped. "Sound the All Clear, then report to Azkaban for the prisoner transfer. Someone get the shift supervisor in my office as soon as possible, and contact the Ministry Ward team. Obviously, someone hasn't been doing their ward maintenance if my office can be entered so easily."
Two inexplicably living dead men had been presented to Amelia all gift-wrapped in less than three months. Someone was doing this and that someone was making her department look bad. No one did that to the DMLE, no one.
Whoever this mysterious person was, he was going to be found, and he was going to explain his actions to her. If she did not like his explanation, the mystery man was in for a very bad day.
-oooOOOooo-
11 January 1991.
Harry huddled on his mattress in the darkness of his cupboard. It was all so unfair. He had been in class when Dudley had fallen down the stairs. How could it possibly have been his fault?
Not that that particular logic made any difference to his Aunt and Uncle. A screaming Vernon had met Harry at the door when he arrived home; demanding to know why Harry's freakishness had dared to hurt poor Dudley and a huge hand had thrust Harry into his cupboard and locked him in before the fat man thundered off to join Petunia at the hospital where Dudley was being cared for.
Time stretches when you are alone in the dark, as Harry knew all too well. He tried to go to sleep so that the time would pass, but his hunger prevented that. There had been no breakfast that morning. Dudley had devoured the last of it before Harry had even had a chance to sit down. Then Dudley had taken Harry's lunch, delivering a punch to the stomach in way of payment, and now no dinner. Harry's stomach seemed to agree with his assessment of the situation because it decided to chime in with its own chorus of complaint.
"Are you hungry Harry Potter?"
Harry sat up at the sound of the unknown voice. "Who's there?"
The small cupboard filled with a soft glow. "Dobby is Dobby, Harry Potter. How can Dobby help you?"
Harry blinked at the sudden light, slowly the speaker took focus. It was an odd creature, no more than two feet tall with huge, green, tennis ball-sized eyes, large flappy ears and a long thin nose that tapered like a pencil.
Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. He must have managed to go to sleep. This was a very weird dream. "Your name is Dobby?"
"Dobby is Dobby," the miniature being assured him. "Would Harry Potter like some dinner?"
"Yes, I would." Harry had relatively little experience with good dreams, so he decided to play along.
The little being beamed with happiness and disappeared with a pop.
This was a very odd dream indeed. Still, this was the point in most of his dreams when he started to hear a woman screaming his name, or a flying Vernon came and snatched all the good things away and sent him back to his cupboard...
Of course, he was already in his cupboard, so who knew what was going to happen.
There was another pop and the little man thing was back with a large plate in each hand and another just hanging in the air in front of him. The flying plate moved to directly in front of Harry and settled to the floor in front of him.
Harry was struck by how good the food on the plate smelled.
"Eat Harry Potter," Dobby said as he laid the plates in his hands beside the one already in front of the boy. "Dobby knows your favorite foods, and prepared them for you."
Harry raised a fork full of mashed potatoes to his lips. The flavor was amazing. That is when it hit him. Never before, not once, had he ever been able to smell or taste in a dream, at least he could not remember any instances. He carefully placed the fork down and pinched himself.
That hurt! Was he awake? Then what was...
"Dobby?"
"Yes, Harry Potter?"
"Are you a Brownie?"
The little being cocked his head, his large eyes clear, taking in every aspect of Harry's face. "In the old times, before the belonging, some called Dobby's people that when they would help others for food or coins, or sometimes just for the joy of work. Dobby is a House Elf, we serve magical families. Dobby serves Harry Potter."
"You serve... me?" the boy asked incredulously.
Dobby's head bobbed energetically, pleased beyond reason that the boy understood him.
"But..." words seemed to fail the boy as he tried to understand what was happening. "You said that your people served magical families and that you serve me," again Dobby nodded his agreement. "But I'm not magical."
Dobby reached out and hesitantly took the child's hand. "Harry Potter is the most magical person in the world."
-oooOOOooo-
9 February 1991
The floorboards of the old shack lifted from the floor with casual ease. There it was. Töpfer shook his head. There was most definitely a compulsion tied to the ring, but the compulsion was so decayed from the decades it had lain untended and well away from any living source of magic that what little attraction it held was more of an annoyance than a true compulsion.
Dumbledore must have been either horribly distracted, or really did not care, in order to have been controlled so easily by this little charm. The Trap, on the other hand, was amazingly active for its age. Of course, the withering curse fed off the victim's own magic, so that wasn't really surprising.
Still, it made no sense to take any chances. Ignoring the trembling of the ring on his right hand, Töpfer carefully picked the ring hidden under the floorboards using a triple lined silk bag, thereby canceling out any of its magical properties. Silk was a wonderful fabric for dealing with, and insulating, cursed items, though even through the silk he could feel the ring calling to itself. He would have to be very careful.
Töpfer left the ramshackle shack to begin the long walk into town. Once he reached the country lane outside the property, he paused to nod to Frank Bryce as the Caretaker of the old Riddle house spotted him leaving the Gaunt property. If things went well the old man would die in his own bed rather than murdered by the last of the Riddles, Töpfer mused, before deciding he was going to have to do something about both of Riddle's ancestral homes... it was going to have an unfortunate fire the next time Bryce went to town for a pint...
Two down, Töpfer reflected. The cup was still safely in Bellatrix's vault, the diadem in Hogwarts, and the locket was at Grimmauld place. Now that he was free, Sirius would probably be able to help him with two of them once he was out of St. Mungos, and the other...
Töpfer was hesitant to try to approach Hogwarts stealthily... he still had no idea how the cloak would react to itself, much less the wand. He did know that the ring really hated being in proximity to itself. He was going to have to destroy that particular Horcrux as soon as possible so that balance could be achieved.
Perhaps the best way into Hogwarts was to be invited.
-oooOOOooo-
12 February 1991
Vernon Dursley was a large man. 'Big Boned' he had always told himself, and strong as an ox, just as an Englishman should be.
Which is only one of the reasons he could not quite wrap his mind around the way he was being held against the wall of his living room by a tiny creature perhaps two feet tall.
"You will not harm Harry Potter!" the beast said in a tone that did not brook any discussion. Unfortunately, the elf was being too subtle for Vernon.
"You can't do this you little freak," Vernon bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Not in my house. I will do with the boy what I will."
The creature gestured and a large butcher knife flew into the room from Petunia's kitchen. "If Stupid Fat Muggle man will not listen to reason, then Dobby will deal with Stupid Fat Muggle man. Harry Potter sir's safety only requires Harry Potter's squib Aunt, not the Stupid Fat Muggle man, not the Stupid Fat boy." The knife buried itself in the wall next to Vernon's throat. "Has Dobby made Dobby understood?"
Dobby took the way the Vernon soiled himself as an answer.
-oooOOOooo-
24 February 1991
"Who are you?" Sirius Black asked from his bed as he regarded the young man who had just entered his private room.
"Sirius," Töpfer said quietly. "You need to pull yourself together so that you can get out of here. Harry needs you."
"Harry?" the dog animagus asked sitting up in his bed. "You know where he is?"
"I do," Töpfer admitted. "And he needs you. Before we can make him safe, you need to get better and out of here."
With a speed that denied his apparent frailty, Sirius' hands flashed out to take hold of Töpfer's robes. "Who are you?"
The stranger smiled. "A friend."
"I don't like secrets," Sirius said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Secrets are what got me locked up for a decade in Azkaban."
"No, being a selfish fucking idiot is what got you locked up for a decade in Azkaban," the younger man disagreed. "If you had done your job and protected Harry instead of leaving him to Hagrid so that you could chase after Pettigrew you would never have gone to Azkaban."
"Who are you?" Black demanded again.
"Not here," the other said with a shake of his head. "It's taking most of my attention keeping my privacy wards up without disrupting the monitoring charms they have on you. Once you're out of here, I'll find you and tell you everything you want to know." He turned to leave but hesitated. "Oh, and Sirius? The next time you find yourself dueling with Bellatrix, don't play with her, don't grandstand, don't taunt her and don't be stupid. Just take the bitch out. Ok?"
Black was gaping, trying to think of something to say to that when his visitor disappeared with a soft crack.
-oooOOOooo-
15 April 1991
"Hello, Dursleys!" Töpfer called out as he entered #4, the door unlocking itself at his touch.
"Who are you?" Vernon asked as he struggled to his feet.
"Pilosus Töpfer, at your service," Töpfer said with a bow and a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Dobby, do you have a second?"
The Elf was suddenly in the room with them. "Harry Potter Sir will be ready in a few moments. Dobby has packed for him and will be returning the cupboard to how it was as soon as Harry Potter Sir has left."
"Good job Dobby. How's Harry?"
"Harry Potter Sir is happier than he has been for a long time. Stupid Fat Muggle man only needed a few lessons to learn his place," the Elf said happily. "Stupid Fat Squib boy needed several more lessons, but even Stupid Fat Squib boy can be trained."
"You're responsible for this beast?" Vernon thundered. "I'll have you know he hurt my boy and threatened me."
"Be glad you only had to deal with Dobby, Vernon," Töpfer laughed. "Me, I would have killed you, you fat waste of flesh. If I had more time, I'd torture you to death for what you've done to Harry."
"The boy was dropped off on our doorstep without as much as a by your leave," the fat man spat. "He's lucky we didn't drown him that first morning."
"Was someone at the door Vernon?" Petunia called as she entered the room, only to be horrified to discover the Elf and the strange man standing in her sitting room. "Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes Petunia," Töpfer smiled. "You've enough magic to recognize a wizard, don't you?" The man slowly drew his wand. "I've got a little gift, just for you. From this day forward, your family will only speak the truth. Not the lies you all tell yourselves to make you believe you are in anyway normal, just the truth."
"What are you doing?" the woman gasped.
"They say, the truth will set you free don't they Petunia?" Töpfer asked as he moved his wand in a most complicated, and entirely made up pattern. There was not a truth charm, obviously, but the weak minds were so easily influenced. "Well, as soon as Dobby and I leave with Harry, you won't remember a thing about the two of us, but you'll remember Harry. However, you'll not have any idea what happened to him. When people start investigating Harry's disappearance… well, I'm guessing you'll have to come up with something to tell them, won't you? Enjoy life, Dursleys."
-oooOOOooo-
22 April 1991
"Why are we here sir?" Harry asked quietly, expecting punishment to follow the question, but asking anyway. His life had changed so much the last few days that he dared to imagine that he was allowed to wonder.
Instead of anger, Harry's question caused his new 'Uncle Pil' to smile. "Today is a very important day Harry," the man reached down and ruffled his hair with a fond smile. Then he pointed at the large red and white airplane with a kangaroo painted on its tail beyond the plate glass windows. "Someone very important to me is going to leave on that plane. I needed to see her leave, and I thought you might enjoy seeing the airport."
"Are you sad she is leaving?" Harry asked, still trying to understand the man who had appeared announcing himself as an uncle that his relatives had never mentioned before, and seemed frightened of.
"A little," Uncle Pil answered with another smile, this one seemed to be more than a little sad. "At the same time, I'm thrilled that she's leaving. It will be good for her, and for her parents. I wish you could have met her; you would have liked her a lot."
Harry nodded as if he understood when in truth he did not. So much about everything that had happened in the months since Dobby first appeared in his cupboard did not make any sense. Dobby insisted that Harry was magical, though Harry did not feel magical. He had tried many times to duplicate some of the things that he had seen Dobby and then later Uncle Pil do, but had failed every time.
"I wish I could have met your friend," Harry said, "and I'm sorry you're going to miss her."
Töpfer smiled sadly. "I'll miss her for the rest of my life Harry, but it's necessary." The plane started to move away from the jetway, and Töpfer sighed. "Time to go. We need for you to meet a couple of very important people. They were two of your parents' closest friends and have been friends of mine forever."
"Who are they?" Harry wondered.
Töpfer ruffled Harry's hair again. "One of them is your godfather, and the other is a werewolf."
"A werewolf?" Harry squeaked. "Seriously? Do we need silver bullets?"
"Only if you want Remus to laugh at you," Töpfer grinned. "Come on mate, we've got places to be, people to meet, and things to do."
-oooOOOooo-
22 April 1991
"Be careful, Sirius" Remus said as he led his old friend down the stairs from St Mungos' entrance.
"I'm not a total invalid, Remus," Black grumbled good-naturedly. "You need to quit blaming yourself"
"I quite agree,"
Meeting Sirius
-oooOOOooo-
16 April 1991
Topher secures the locket
-oooOOOooo-
31 July 1991.
"Master? Please!" Quirinus Quirrell whimpered as he leaned against the brick wall of the alley behind Gringotts. "The vault was empty, how was I to know that?"
"You failed me Quirrel!" a high-pitched voice came from behind the man's head. "I find I must take personal control."
"Your problem Tom," another voice broke in, "is your penchant for selecting substandard help.
Quirrell spun to face the new speaker, his wand at the ready. "Who are you?"
The stranger stood his ground and smiled. "Do you really think I'm frightened of p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"
Quirrell blinked in confusion. Where had that come from? He had never seen the man before.
"I'm not here to speak to the help, Quirrell, turn around and let me see your Master."
The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him… face to face…"
"Master?" Quirrell asked. "Are you sure?"
"I have strength enough… for this…"
The stranger watched as Quirrell turned away and reached up to unwrap his turban until it fell away. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, a terrible face, chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the man who is going to kill your host," the other man said. "He, and by extension, you, are in my way."
"I cannot be killed," the face said, its eyes flaring with an internal light.
"Yeah, I know, but killing the host weakens you horribly, doesn't it?" The stranger asked as his wand appeared in his hand, a cutting curse removing Quirrell's head from his body. A black mist rose from the fallen head and moved purposefully toward the stranger.
A golden glow manifested in front of the man and the mist rebounded. "Not today Tom. Not today. See you in a few years."
-oooOOOooo-
5 August 1991
Albus frowned as he looked over the few CVs he had for the Defense position.
Four. How was he supposed to choose from these four unknowns?
Adam Crossling, retired Auror, was he really that old? Thinking back, Albus realized that Crossling actually was 149. He recalled Crossling being a Hufflepuff three years ahead of him. No, that wouldn't do at all.
He picked up the next CV and read the name. Belinda Kepler, disabled retired Auror, 92. Well, she was younger than Crossling, but since she was lacking her right eye, right arm and left leg at the knee, there was a question as to how much she would frighten the children. No.
Jason Croup, 36. Dumbledore dimly remembered the man from his time at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw whose grades were in the middle of the pack for the school at large. A Pureblood, who while not a Supremacist by any extent of the imagination, had expectations of privilege that his performance had never rated. The man's experience was exactly nil. He had not held a single job since leaving Hogwarts. No.
He reached for the final CV. Pilosus Töpfer?
-oooOOOooo-
7 August 1991
"Our first order of business should be the welcoming of our newest Professor to the staff," Minerva McGonagall said to her assembled staff. "Witches and Wizards of Hogwarts, may I present Pilosus Töpfer."
A short round of polite applause met this announcement. Pomona Sprout asked, "What is Pilosus going to be teaching?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Albus Dumbledore looked up from the letter on the table. "Thank you for coming in on such short notice Mr. Töpfer."
"Not at all, Headmaster, I'd like to thank you for the opportunity."
"The unfortunate murder of Quirinus Quirrell necessitates we find a replacement before school starts on the first of September. You, of course, know Minerva to my left. She is my deputy and head of Gryffindor House, to my right is Severus Snape, the head of Slytherin House, Pomona Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff House and Filius Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw House. The rest of the staff you will be meeting between now and the start of school."
Töpfer nodded to the assembled professors and seemed to be waiting for questions.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Pilosus," Filius Flitwick said. "Where were you trained? I know you didn't attend Hogwarts, as I remember all of my students, so I was wondering where you were educated."
"I was homeschooled," Töpfer explained. "My father came away from the Grindelwald war somewhat damaged and he isolated himself away from the world. My mother was a girl from the village where he settled and father taught me himself."
"And somehow that qualifies you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Snape asked incredulously. "Headmaster I must protest this waste of all of our time. Send this dunderhead away and I will fill the position myself."
"Actually, Severus," Töpfer interjected before Dumbledore could say anything, "I was simply explaining my education. My principle tuition in the Defense Against the Dark Arts was the time I spent fighting Death Eaters."
"Excuse me?" The potions master asked icily.
"My mother and father were killed during a Death Eater raid in 1979 when I was away in Germany on business. I came home and started returning the favor."
"You expect us to believe a child like you fought Death Eaters?" Snape sneered.
"Well, you and I are roughly the same age Severus," Töpfer pointed out. "And you were old enough to actually BE a Death Eater, I can't imagine why you would have problems imagining someone our age fighting against you."
"I would ask just where you learned of Severus's youthful mistakes Mr. Topher," Dumbledore asked.
"I'm not sure if I would call associating with murderers to be a 'youthful mistake' Headmaster, but for how I learned of Severus's associations was from your declarations in open court. Unlike many of our fellow magicals, I actually pay attention to what is happening in the world around me. It is all part of the situation awareness that I learned in dealing with Severus' former associates."
"How dare you?" Snape snapped rising from his seat, only to settle back into his chair after a withering look from the Headmaster.
"This is all very interesting Mr. Topher," Filius broke in, enjoying the fact that this newcomer was pointing out certain details of Severus Snape's life that the unpleasant man might not want to be public knowledge. "Perhaps you could expand on this situational awareness you spoke of."
"Certainly. Situational Awareness is the condition of being aware of what is going on around you. For example, in this room the Headmaster is the most powerful by quite a margin, followed by yourself Professor, of course, both of you have far-flung reputations, so knowing that is not much of a surprise. Then I would place Professor McGonagall, as a transfiguration mistress, she might well be the most dangerous person in the room."
Töpfer paused and smiled at the nod he received from the Deputy Headmistress, then he resumed, "I personally have been working freelance assignments from various law enforcement agencies around the world. Then Professor Sprout. While she has gone out of her way to carefully cultivate the image of a harmless woman besotted by her plants, I recall what happened when a team of Death Eaters attacked her home village in Devon, when pressed I suspect the good professor is quite dangerous."
"You've covered three of the four Heads of House, what of Severus?" Flitwick asked.
Töpfer hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure I should…"
"Oh, yes," Snape drawled dangerously, "Tell us what your vaunted situational awareness tells you about me…"
"Well, if you insist Severus," Töpfer said with a smile. "Taking the Headmaster at his word that you never participated in any attacks during your time with Voldemort's followers, and the acknowledging testimony by the various convicted Death Eaters that Voldemort sent every capable wand out on raids, that would suggest that while you are undoubtedly a Master Brewer, your wand skills must leave much to be desired."
"How dare you!" Snape bellowed rising from his chair again.
"Severus!" Dumbledore thundered. "You asked the question."
-oooOOOooo-
13 August 1991
"A moment of your time, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore did his best to not display the annoyance he felt when his evening walk of the school grounds was interrupted. "What can I do for you, Töpfer?
"Classes start in less than three weeks," the younger man said, matching his gait. "And I find myself concerned about our Potions Master."
"Concerned?" Dumbledore asked, "how so?"
"Over lunch, someone made mention of Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts this term," Töpfer explained. "His reaction was both unexpected and vile."
"Severus has a history with Harry's father, James," Dumbledore offered. "It is not terribly unexpected that some of that history might color his views on Harry."
"Really, Headmaster?" Töpfer asked incredulously. "Because Severus had problems with a man dead for a decade, you find it acceptable that he is likely to be abusive to a child?"
"I hardly think…"
"Headmaster," Töpfer sighed, "we discussed my adventures in ridding the world of Death Eaters during my interview."
"We did," Dumbledore admitted.
"I ended up having to interrogate many of those I found after I defeated them. They told me many things over the years. Where to find their fellows, where their money came from, and other things."
"Yes?"
Töpfer seemed to consider his words for a moment before continuing. "Quite possibly the most disturbing information I obtained in my interrogations is that Voldemort specifically targeted the Potter and the Longbottom families because of information brought to him by Severus Snape."
Dumbledore paused for a moment. "And you believe that?"
"That a Hogwarts professor, you personally vouched for had set the madman on the Potter and Longbottom families? Not at first, no." Töpfer paused for a moment before continuing. "Then a second Death Eater told me the same story. And a third. And a fourth," Töpfer explained. "And then I met Severus. The mere mention of young Harry drives the man into a fury. I don't know if it is because the man feels guilt over what he did, or if he's just an evil bastard. Regardless, he is personally responsible for those two boys being orphaned. Severus should never have any contact with either of them."
"And you base this upon your new standing as a very junior professor at this school?" the old man asked.
"I base that upon being a decent human being," Töpfer responded. "And the fact that the man's first and only reaction to being challenged in any way is to draw his wand. He's done so three times so far with me, only the timely interventions of Minerva and yourself have prevented me from teaching him the lesson he so dearly needs to learn."
"Headmaster," Töpfer sighed as he matched the older man's pace through the halls of Hogwarts. "I can't be the only one who has figured out his secret. Severus has gone out of his ways to make enemies. Sooner or later someone will tell Augusta Longbottom or Sirius Black what they know, and then they do, if Severus has been abusive to either of the boys, you won't be able to protect him."
-oooOOOooo-
15 August 1991
The door shimmered into existence. It had taken some time for him to be able to get away to the Room of Requirement. Avoiding the rest of the staff long enough to make it to the Room had been a challenge.
Töpfer entered the room in its Room of Hidden things configuration and began his search for the diadem. A quick search of the area it had been in before he realized that the room appeared to reconfigure itself each time it came into being.
Since his memories would be of no use, Töpfer started a search pattern with a sigh. He should have brought a broom.
Was there a broom in the room? He looked around at the towering piles of things. Summoning a broom would likely be a mistake, risking a chance of an avalanche. He smiled to himself for a moment; something like that happening would just be his luck.
The search took two full hours, even knowing exactly what he was looking for. Three down, he reflected as he captured the diadem in its own silk pouch. Two to go. The cup was in Gringotts and Nagini had yet to be… well, possessed.
That only left Harry, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow anyone to hit little Harry with a killing curse.
There had to be something he could do. Something else.