Tragedy avoided

After Viktor and Fleur had finished the books, they were given the rest of that day to give their new guest a break to take everything in and process it since Fleur and Viktor had read almost nonstop for the past week. The following day Harri found herself seated between Ron and Hermione. Dennis Creevey had offered to read, and the fourth book appeared in his lap.

The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there.

“I don’t like where this is going,” Cho frowned. After learning Riddle was You-Know-You’s real last name, she doubted this ended well.

“Anything to do with Voldemort never goes anywhere good,” Harri agreed, a grimace in place. She personally didn’t want to know any more about the man than she already did.

“Didn’t the diary say he was an orphanage, though? Why would he have a family house?” Ernie questioned.

“Guess we’re going to find out.”

Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.

Good, Harri thought to herself. If anyone deserved to be without a family, with a rotting house left to decay into nothingness, it was Voldemort. Harri hoped the man never accomplished any of his goals.

Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.

“Wait, that would mean the Riddles were alive when You-Know-Who was a teenager,” Colin pointed out.

“Then why was he at an orphanage?” Cedric asked, head tilted to the side. They had learned You-Know-Who’s father was a muggle. Did learning of magic set the man off? He had heard stories like that from his parents.

Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Riddle had been rich, snobbish, and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been, if anything, worse.

“At least we know where he got it from,” Harri snarked. It didn’t surprise her that Voldemort’s family was unlikeable.

All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer - for plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night.

Moody’s brows furrowed together. That sounded like the killing curse. Had Voldemort killed his family for abandoning him?

Frank Bryce was the Riddles' gardener. He lived alone in a run-down cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since.

Several pairs of eyes found Moody, who stared back unapologetically. He had lived through the war because he was constantly on alert.

"Who else had a key to the back door, then?" barked the cook. "There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we was all sleeping..."

“People will twist anything,” Harri huffed as her heart went out to this man. She knew what it was like to be blamed for something you didn’t do. She very much doubted this man killed the Riddles. No, her bet was on Voldemort. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had killed his muggle family. He had killed Mrtyle around that time too.

"I always thought that he had a nasty look about him, right enough," grunted a man at the bar.

"War turned him funny, if you ask me," said the landlord.

"Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?" said an excited woman in the corner.

"Horrible temper," said Dot, nodding fervently. "I remember, when he was a kid..."

Several students looked down as they compared how they treated Harri during her second year and how the villagers treated Frank. They couldn’t help but think of every nasty thing they had said to her or about her.

By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles.

“I wonder what that’s like,” Sirius said sarcastically.

But over in the neighbouring town of Great Hangleton, in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddles' deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale.

Dumbledore cast his eyes down to the ground. He had failed to keep an eye on young Tom Riddle. The Riddle's death lay partly on his shoulders. Many deaths laid on his shoulders, and he feared more would follow.

The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health - apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death?

“Definitely the Killing Curse,” Tonks murmured. She couldn’t imagine ever killing her parents, she would like to say family in general, but with aunts like hers, it was always on the table.

"As far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say," said Dot in the Hanged Man. "And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we know he did it."

Harri bared her teeth at the book. Her anger rose on Frank’s behalf. She was glad the man had not been falsely imprisoned like Sirius or Hagrid, but his life in that town was over. He would never be able to prove he had not done it. Would her classmates still speak about her that way if she had not gone down and killed the Basilisks to save Ginny?

Weeds were not the only things Frank had to contend with either. Boys from the village made a habit of throwing stones through the windows of the Riddle House. They rode their bicycles over the lawns Frank worked so hard to keep smooth. Once or twice, they broke into the old house for a dare. They knew that old Frank's devotion to the house and the grounds amounted almost to an obsession, and it amused them to see him limping across the garden, brandishing his stick and yelling croakily at them.

Harri’s eyes shifted over to Sirius. Would he have found it fun to torment an old man like this when he was a child? Would her father? Would they have done exactly what those horrible boys had done to a defenceless old man for their own personal amusement?

Sirius met her gaze and stated as he read the judgment in them, “We never went that far. Sni… Snape was an entirely different matter, but he was never defenceless. He always gave backand started just as many of the fights we had as me or your father did. We’d never torment the old and defenceless like that.”

Frank, for his part, believed the boys tormented him because they, like their parents and grandparents, thought him a murderer.

“Funny isn’t it, how your whole life can be ruined by the general public assuming you’re guilty without any real evidence,” Sirius commented, eyes hard.

Frank had no telephone, in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning about the Riddles' deaths. He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and removing a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night.

“I don’t think it’s a couple of teenagers this time,” Tonks voiced, frowning hard. There had to be a reason this was in the book. If they were learning about Voldemort, like Tonks thought they were, the old man needed to stay far away from that house.

The front door of the Riddle House bore no sign of being forced, nor did any of the windows. Frank limped around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock, and opened the door noiselessly.

“No,” Harri cried out, worry evident in her tone. “Turn around. Go back. It’s not safe.”

Her gut was screaming at her that something terrible would happen to Frank. She wanted to reach through to book and drag the older man back to his own home, far away from whoever was in that house.

"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."

"Later," said a second voice. This too belonged to a man - but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

The room went silent as Dennis paused to look at the book in horror. If Frank did not leave right now, chances were he would die. He was going to have to read out loud the murder of this man.

Unnoticed by everyone, Dumbledore leaned forward in interest. He hoped this would reveal something worthwhile that he could later use to assist in the war effort.

Lavender and Parvati sent Bill and Hermione smug looks. Hermione rolled her eyes in return. Harri had already said that Trelawney was capable of having true visions and her saying You-Know-Who would have a follower return, had been a true prediction of the future. None of this changed her mind on Trelawney as a teacher.

"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.

Moody stared at the book hard, making the boy reading squirm from his intensity. He ran through every Death Eater he knew and came up with a blank. Who was Nagini? How had they escaped their notice for so long? Were they a new follower? They needed to know more.

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."

“Milk her?” Harri asked, a confused eyebrow raised.

“I think it’s a snake,” Daphne threw out. “If it’s You-Know-Who, a snake would make the most sense. Milking a snake is where you have them bite a jar with a cloth instead of a lid. It exacts their venom. Since he can talk to snakes like you, it’d be much easier to get the snake to comply.”

Harri’s nose wrinkled up in disgust at being compared to Voldemort. She hated the reminder.

Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.

“No,” Tonks moaned. “Run. Run now.”

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Moody didn’t bother to stop his blood-thirsty grin. These books had told them exactly where Voldemort would be the week of the Quidditch World Cup. It was more than he could have hoped for. They could put an end to all of this. Potter would get the rest of her childhood, and they could finally avenge the fallen for real this time.

Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.

Katie had sent a Silencing Charm towards Oliver before the boy could go on another rant about how great Quidditch was and how it was a sin that not everyone knew what it was muggle or not.

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."

Kingsley frowned. He hated to admit it, but Voldemort had a point. They did go all out during the World Cup. It would be almost impossible to get away with much during the week leading up to the Cup or during the game itself. It was one of the few times the Ministry used its full might.

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.

"Certainly, I am determined, Wormtail." There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

“Obsessed more like,” Harri muttered bitterly. Whose life was Voldemort going to ruin next? She willed Frank to leave. She knew logically it had not happened yet, but hearing the fate that awaited this poor man, bothered her. She never wanted this to come to pass. She did not want to hear Voldemort or Wormtail take another life. Every life Wormtail stole would be her fault. She had stopped his death, and now he was out there helping the man who killed her parents.

A slight pause followed - and the Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.

"It could be done without Harriet Potter, My Lord."

“I don’t know what the other option is, but I choose the one I’m not involved in,” Harri shuddered. She mourned yet another year at Hogwarts spent trying not to die.

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the girl!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The girl is nothing to me, nothing at all!

“Good,” Harri stated firmly. She didn’t want to mean anything to that dirty traitor either.

It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -"

“I really don’t like that,” Harri shuddered.

“Agreed,” Cedric and Fred said together.

Hermione reached over and grabbed Harri’s hand as she said, voice full of conviction, “He’ll never get to you. Not while Ron and I still draw breath. We won't let him.”

“He won’t touch you,” Ron added with just as much heat.

“As much as that warms me,” Sirius cut in, “none of you are dying before me. Harri’s my responsibility now. I don’t plan on letting her come to any harm.”

Harri looked down at her hands, wanting to believe Sirius's words. She didn’t know if she was ready to blindly trust him just yet in that aspect. Ron and Hermione were different. She knew they would throw themselves into danger for her, just as she would for them. Even though everything, they all had always stuck together. It was always going to be the three of them against the world. Together they could face anything. As long as they stayed by her side, Harri knew she could accomplish everything she could ever dream of and then some.

"I could use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that is true..."

“We’re not going to let you use anyone,” Tonks snarled, hair turning bright red.

"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder...perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"

“If Voldemort needs to be nursed back to health, it wouldn’t surprise me that Peter is looking for an out,” Sirius spat. “He’s always hidden behind who he thought was the biggest kid in the sandbox.”

"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me..."

“Who would willing want to touch him?” Fred joked as a way to ease the tension. He really didn’t like that Harri would have been in danger next year, too, if someone had not pulled them from time to read these books. When was Harri ever going to get a break? Why couldn’t she just have one normal year, where she just got to be a regular Hogwarts student? What else would the student body expect her to do? What else would Dumbledore allow Harri to go through? How much more was Harri going to have to endure?

“Can confirm literally no one,” Harri grimaced as she saw flashes of Voldemort on Quirrell's head.

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"

“What kind of snake is Nagini?” Daphne wondered out loud. She had never heard of a snake whose venom one could drink straight for healing. Did being a Parsletongue also make snake venom react differently?

"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"

“Good,” Lee breathed. He never wanted to see You-Know-Who gain strength. Growing up while hearing the stories was enough for him.

"I have my reasons for using the girl, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference.

“He’s going to have to wait all of eternity,” Fred swore, eyes wild and several people agreed.

Harri couldn’t help but feel touched, a light blush on her face. Ron and Hermione pressed their shoulders against hers. 

As for the protection surrounding the girl, I believe my plan will be effective.

Did Voldemort know of the protection Lily had put around Harri, Dumbledore thought, brow furrowed? Was he planning on trying to get around it? Was there a way to negate Lily’s protection? Dumbledore would have to look into it during these breaks. He knew a fair bit of dark magic, but he did not know this, for it would have to be dark in order to break a spell created out of love.

All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldermort's wrath -" 

“The little rat doesn’t know what courage is,” Sirius hissed. “His only motivation is cowardice.”

"My Lord, I must speak!" said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey, I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -"

“Bertha?” Sirius said, eyebrows up to his hairline. “What does that nosy little witch have to do with this? Why would they want her?”

“The tournament,” Madam Bones gasped. Bertha was one of the few people who knew the entire layout of the Tri wizard tournament the Ministry and Hogwarts were planning. Herself, Dumbledore, and the Ministry were among those who knew every detail.

“What tournament?” Sirius demanded hotly.

“I’m sure this book shall reveal that,” Dumbledore interrupted cryptically. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise for the students until he had to. 

"If?" whispered the second voice. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition...Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harriet Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -" 

“More servants returning to him,” Kingsley frowned as he ran through his head every death eater still free. Who would be brave enough to leave their cushy lives to return to a weakened Lord? 

Ron narrowed his eyes at the book. There would be no clear path to Harri ever.

"I am a faithful servant," said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

“In what universe,” Fred scoffed. He would never get over the nasty little traitor living with them for years. They fed and housed the reason Harri was parentless. It made Fred feel sick. 

"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement."   

Sirius couldn’t stop himself from snorting at Voldemort's diss at Peter. He hated himself immediately. He never wanted to find anything that poor excuse for a human ever said funny.

"That is true," said the second man, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"

“Sounds about right,” Remus muttered bitterly. Most of Peter’s brilliance came from him trying to save his own skin. All his best ideas were had while trying to keep from being caught.

"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice silkily, "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless.

The adults in the room looked down in horror as Dennis stumbled over this sentence. They could only imagine what he had done to the poor woman before finally killing her and ending her suffering.

 In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns..."

Moody’s eyes narrowed. They needed to know where Bertha was going for her vacation. They could find Voldemort far sooner. Maybe before he had gained any of what little strength he had back.

"We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail."

“Who put a Memory Charm on her in the first place and why?” Tonks questioned. This didn’t make any sense. Why had no one caught on? How long had Bertha’s memory been altered?

Moody frowned to himself. He never really paid too much attention to the airhead that worked under Crouch. Was the witch's lack of attention due to this memory Charm? Had she always been that forgetful? He would have to pay Crouch a visit.

Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse - with amusement. He was dangerous - a madman. And he was planning more murders - this girl, Harriet Potter, whoever she was - was in danger -

Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police.

Harri felt her chest warm at this stranger’s concern for her. She willed Frank to get out of there safely before Voldemort knew he was there. She did not want this man to die. She did not want his blood on her hands. She already had caused Bertha Jones's death. She could not bear to be responsible for another.

He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village...but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might.

“Run,” Harri cried desperately. “Don’t stay any longer. Get out of there while you still can!”

Hermione reached over, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it with all her might. Frank was going to die; she just knew it.

And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure.

“Definitely a snake then,” Daphne nodded. The muggles description was much like how Harri sounded when she spoke to her pet.

"Indeed, yes," said the voice, "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."

Harri squeezed her eyes shut as her heart dropped. This was it. Frank would die soon.

"What's that you're calling me?" said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.

“How very Gryffindor,” Blaise sniffed. If he had been that muggle, he would have left the second he learned they were plotting murder. It was none of his business. Blaise would likely never have entered the house to begin with.

“Damn straight he is,” Oliver said proudly.

“We’ll gladly take him,” Harri strongly agreed.

The rest of the Gryffindors readily voiced their agreement, and with a vote, Frank was made an honorary Gryffindor. No one could make any of the Gryffindors in the room change their minds on this. Muggle or not, they would honour him as one of their own.

"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said Frank, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added, on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

“A valiant effort,” Dumbledore sighed sadly, “but I’m afraid it shall not work.”

Harri nodded solemnly. He had known she was lying about the stone too.

"Is that right?" said Frank roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"

“Frank just keeps getting better and better,” Sirius laughed hollowly. He was really starting to like this muggle. If he could, he would be getting Frank far from that house before this ever occurred. The world needed more people like Frank in it. Anyone willing to stand their ground like that was okay in his book.

“He reminds me of you,” Ron said just soft enough for Harri to hear. “You and Dumbledore are the only people I know willing to talk to You-Know-Who that way. The muggle knew they were planning to murder you and had already killed one other person. I don’t think it would have mattered to him if he did know who You-Know-Who actually was. I don’t see him backing down.”

Harri’s mouth twitched upwards. She would take that as a compliment. She would rather be compared to Frank than Voldemort any day.

"But I am not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However...why not? I will face you...Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

Harri rolled her eyes at how arrogant Voldemort was. That arrogance had allowed her to escape him three times now. She was sure it would be why she beat him again in this book.

There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Harri covered her mouth with her hands in horror. Frank didn’t deserve to die. She would stop Voldemort if it was the last thing she did. He would never take another life again. She would listen to every word these books had to offer as if they were Merlin and learn how to take him down.

Two hundred miles away, the girl called Harriet Potter woke with a start.

“That’s the end,” Dennis announced, his hands shaking as he looked desperately around to give anyone else the book. He desperately regretted his offer to read first.

“I’ll take it,” Viktor offered.

Fudge let out a sigh of relief, the girl had just been dreaming. You-Know-Who wasn’t really back. Potter had already admitted to having strange dreams and they had also heard some of them through the books. The girl was obviously projecting her guilt over Peter escaping into her dreams.