Chapter 19 part 2
Canadian High Commission
MacDonald House, London
When Hector Gutierrez walked into Billy Bucktooth's office, he found his friend sitting behind his desk, reading a letter while nursing a glass of whisky. He smiled, and asked, "So is that a one-shot letter, or two?"
The wizard who ran NAC security operations in Britain looked up and shook his head.
"More like a 'leave the bottle' letter," he whined. He shook the printed letter and added, "Latest bullshit from the ward contractor's legal department."
"Still ducking liability for the house elf breach?"
"Yeah...I just hope this loaner house elf we're getting tonight will prove useful."
Hector chuckled. "Are you going to put them right to work, or at least try to get a few hours of sleep?"
Billy shrugged. "Got some higher-ups who are following this fairly closely...might try to do a quick interrogation and send them something tonight."
The NAC spymaster shook his head. "I'm in the same canoe...wish they'd remember once and a while that we aren't in the same time zone."
"So your home office honchos are yanking your chain as well?"
Hector nodded. "Just got off the phone...they're eager to press our advantage."
"Anything you can share?"
The spymaster shrugged. "A house elf that can help you fix your wards might be able to help me test wards laid down by others."
Billy nodded in agreement. "Oooh, I like it. We've still got first dibs, right?"
Hector rolled his eyes and asked, "So what else you got going?"
Billy shrugged. "Wards are on top of a to-do list that's one task long. I did hear an interesting rumor earlier today, though."
"Do tell."
"Head office is quietly lining up support for an emergency ICW session. We want to elect a new Supreme Mugwump."
"Really?" asked Hector. "I thought a weak ICW better served our interests?"
"It did," Bill agreed. "But that was before you gave us a leg up on controlling its leadership."
"I gave us a leg up? How?"
Billy smiled. "We're getting more tonight than a loaner elf and breathing space for Harry Potter, right?"
Hector thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Okay with me, so long as I don't get dragged into diplomatic service."
"Aren't you already a diplomat?"
"In name only, my friend. In name only."
Hector looked at his watch and nodded.
"We've still got a few minutes...can you put that letter down long enough to help me properly prep our prisoner?"
Billy smiled as he crumbled the lawyer's letter into a ball.
"I'd rather take this letter with me, and stuff it up Snape's ass."
"Why? So it would feel more at home with the other shit?"
The NAC security chief laughed in agreement as he refilled his whisky glass, then poured a takeaway drink for his good friend.
oo00OO00oo
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts
There weren't many witches or wizards in the world who could place enchanted writing upon an object that could only be read when a specific witch or wizard touched it with their mouth. And only two or three within that small group of magic wielders were powerful enough and talented enough to fashion a hidden door within that enchanted object that would only open when that specific witch or wizard accepted the fact that they needed to sacrifice themselves in order to defeat a dark lord.
None within that handful of elite enchanters were all that good when it came to writing elegiac prose. But that didn't stop Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (O.M. (First Class), Grand Sorc., D. Wiz. (sorc.), S. of Mag.Q.) from trying.
"Use me when it's time to go?" he asked himself.
The frustrated wizard added the phrase to the bottom of a long handwritten list, and stared at the words for a few seconds. Then he shook his head and muttered, "Sounds like I'm enchanting bog paper."
The words were crossed out, just like all of the other discarded phrases that he'd come up with over the past few hours...
"Reach for me when it's time to preach to him..."
"Great, but only after you've accepted your fate..."
"Your hallowed ticket to the next great adventure..."
Dumbledore glanced over at the golden snitch and sighed. If only he had a muse!
The headmaster dropped his quill, grabbed the Elder Wand, and gracefully and efficiently dispelled the ethereal feces that had been aimed towards his head. He glanced towards the source of that scintillating scat and scowled.
"You've delivered your messages...now begone!"
The two baboon patronuses, who had somehow managed to deliver their messages using twin-speak, howled and laughed like, well...baboons. When Dumbledore tried to banish them as well, they ducked, then scampered off in search of Peeves, who was (quite literally) a kindred spirit.
At least the messages that those baboons had delivered had been comforting...he had finally gotten a response from his expeditionary force, and learned that everyone on Guernsey had made their way back to magical Britain. So as long as Harry Potter was still outside of the country, he was relatively safe.
The thought caused Dumbledore to glance up towards his pube-tracking world map. The tracking charm that had seemed to be swimming across the channel at great speed earlier in the day was now in the city of Wellington, and the second marker that had been hovering over Hogwarts was still at Hogwarts. It would be easy enough to warn the Order off from visiting Somerset. And if Harry Potter actually was hiding within Hogwarts (in spite of the Headmaster's extensive monitoring network of portraits, elves, and eavesdropping charms)? Well, then...a vow not to encourage the boy to return to Hogwarts couldn't be broken if the boy already was in Hogwarts, right?
Thinking about that vow, and the reason for it, jolted Dumbledore's memory. He cast a quick Tempus charm...then spat out a string of Mermish curse words that would have made a crustacean blush.
There was no time to come up with the perfect catchphrase for the golden snitch, much less update his animated portrait.
In a rush, Dumbledore took out a delicate silver chisel, and carved "I won your first and last" onto the golden snitch. It wasn't good, but it was good enough for now.
"Canipsy!" the headmaster shouted.
The house elf immediately responded to the call and announced, "There be no change in the addressing of the letters, Headmaster, Sir!"
"And did you find out why there was a charmed pubic hair stuck the back of my shorts today?"
"Canipsy be searching for an answer in between addressing all the letters, but not be finding one yet."
"Very well," the headmaster declared. "I am travelling to Regents Park in London. You will answer my call once I arrive!"
"Yes, Headmaster," the house elf timidly replied.
Dumbledore glared towards the barely reborn chick that was sleeping on Fawkes' perch and shook his head.
"Everyone against me!" he muttered to himself, as he walked towards the fireplace, and made do with a transit option far below his station.
Canipsy shrugged as he watched the headmaster throw floo powder into the fire and disappear into the flames. Why the master of Hogwarts' house elves didn't ask for their help traveling from one place to another was a great mystery, and a frequent topic of conversation within the kitchens.
But Canipsy was a good elf, even when his master wasn't always a good master. So rather than waste time over those thoughts, the house elf popped back to the tower that housed the Quill of Addressing, and fed two more envelopes into the black box.
oo00OO00oo
Changi Airport, Singapore
6:30am local time (GMT+8)
The thirteen hour direct flight from London to Singapore was long enough to drain the energy and enthusiasm of the most ardent air passenger. But Arthur Weasley wasn't your typical air passenger.
Everything about the trip had been completely captivating…from the seatbelts, to the meals, to the headphones that were necessary to listen to the in-flight movies (all three of them!). He might have broken the Statute of Secrecy several times over had it not been for two fortunate circumstances. The other person sitting in his row was from Myanmar and didn't speak English, which limited conversational slipups. And the flight attendants had pegged him as a "special needs" passenger who deserved simple, honest answers to all of his questions, delivered with smiles and an abundance of patience. They even got one of their off-duty colleagues flying jump seat to sit with him for a few hours mid-flight, and provide a much-appreciated tutorial on how jumbo jets managed to fly.
Over the last hour of the flight, Arthur's nose had been glued to the window, especially once they broke through the clouds. It was before the dawn, so he couldn't see all that much, but just knowing that every light represented a muggle community or dwelling or road made the sheer number of lights even more wondrous.
The landing was so smooth that he wouldn't have believed they had touched ground, had he not seen that ground for himself. The captain then announced their arrival, and reported the local time. Having witnessed day turn into night turn into morning dusk from his window seat helped Arthur do the math without too much disbelief. Half six in the morning in southeast Asia was still half ten the night before back home in Britain.
Having just a small rucksack as a carry-on made it easy for Arthur to express his appreciation and shake hands with every single member of the flight crew as he left the plane. One of the flight attendants had arranged for someone from the airline's special assistance program to help Arthur safely get to the gate of his connecting flight. The escort had a cart parked just outside the arrival gate, helped the red-haired wizard buckle up in the passenger seat for the short trip. But someone approached the escort before he could drive off, and presented some identification. Some words were exchanged in a language that Arthur didn't understand. The airline employee gave the other man a short bow, and gestured towards the cart's driver seat, offering its use. The first man then informed Arthur (in English) that the second man would take him to his departure gate.
They drove down the length of the concourse without interference or need to apply the horn to warn off other travelers. Arthur watched the gate numbers pass, and pointed towards one as they drove by.
"I think we may have gone past where I need to be," he stated.
The driver nodded. "You have a three-hour wait before boarding that flight."
Arthur frowned. "Where are we going then?"
The driver smiled. "If you could hold your questions...we will soon be somewhere where we can speak without concerns over any statutes or secrecy."
The red-haired wizard, having picked up on the emphasized words, replied, "Of course."
The cart traveled for another thirty seconds, before the driver turned into a dead-end corridor marked "Employees Only." They drove past several doors on either side before coming to a stop ten meters in front the wall that marked the corridor's end. When Arthur reached down to undo his seat belt, the driver reached out and stopped him.
"Please wait until we've reached our destination, Sir."
Arthur looked around, and asked, "Which door then?"
"None of them."
When an inconspicuous light in a corner of the hallway turned from red to green, the driver instructed Arthur to hold on, and pressed the acceleration pedal to the floor. They hit the corridor's end at ramming speed, but didn't ram anything.
It wasn't until he was on the other side that Arthur made the connection between that "solid" wall and the entrance to Platform 9 3/4, back in London.
The cart had delivered Arthur Weasley to Singapore's magical multimodal transit center. Instead of train tracks and a locomotive, the large, brightly lit room had apparation circles along one wall, and controlled areas for inbound and outbound portkey travel along another. The cart driver explained that this was a secured area where witches and wizards could use safely use magic and shop in magic-friendly stores while they either waited for connecting flights, or waited for inbound friends and loved ones who were arriving by magical means.
Arthur thanked the driver for the trip, and asked where he lavatories were located. The transit hub wasn't very busy that morning, so when he entered the magical men's room he was the only one there. And since Arthur hadn't been alone over the past several hours, it was there that Dumbledore's long-delayed patronus message was finally delivered.
Bill's father mulled over his options as he used the loo and washed his hands. When he returned to the main area, he asked someone for help and was guided to a desk staffed by someone who helped with muggle travel plans. Arthur explained that he needed to return to England as soon as possible, and asked whether the date of his return flight from Australia to London could be changed. The person looked at Arthur's airline ticket, and entered a few things into a couple of different screens on a muggle computer. The travel agent then explained to Arthur that he could return to London from Singapore, without needing to carry on to Australia. Unfortunately, the fee to change his flight schedule was slightly more money than he had with him, and of course there weren't any credit cards in his wallet.
Dejected, Arthur thanked the agent, found an empty seat in front of a television monitor, and started to watch an all-news network broadcast.
A few minutes later, a man wearing a tailored three-piece suit appeared within the international portkey arrival area. A wave of his diplomatic passport got him past customs and immigration officials and in to the center of the room. It didn't take the man long to find what he was looking for.
"Mr. Weasley?"
Arthur reluctantly pulled his attention away from a fascinating television advertisement for home fitness equipment, and looked up at the man who had addressed him with the slightest of French accents.
"How could you tell?"
"I am afraid that your hair color sticks out in this part of the world," the man replied. He offered Arthur a business card that identified him as a cultural attaché assigned to a French embassy in Thailand.
"Is there is anything that I can do to make your short stay here in Singapore more comfortable?"
"Why are you offering to help, if I might ask?"
"Your son is a very important person in the life of the daughter of a very important wizard back in France," the man explained.
Arthur was far too proud a man to reveal any financial difficulties, so he politely declined the offer of assistance.
The French diplomat nodded in response, then pulled out a mobile phone, and asked Arthur if he would like to talk to his son William.
Arthur did want to talk to his eldest son, and he was desperately interested in seeing how a nubile fellytone worked, so he accepted the offer.
The diplomat dialed a very long distance number, introduced himself to Emily Granger, then offered the phone to Bill's father.
Arthur only needed a bit of help figuring out what end of the mobile he should talk in to, and then began talking to his eldest son with an amazingly appropriate voice level.
The diplomat took a few steps away to give Arthur the kind of private space that he didn't know he might expect.
Arthur did far more listening than talking, and after only a few minutes returned the mobile phone to the French diplomat.
"Thank you," he said. "My son has convinced me to ask for your assistance. I need to cut my trip short and return to England as soon as possible."
The diplomat nodded, asked for Arthur's plane tickets, then walked over to the travel agent's desk. A few minutes later, he walked back to Arthur and handed him a first-class ticket to London via Paris, on a flight that left that evening. He then asked Arthur if he wanted to eat some breakfast. The British wizard accepted the offer, and within minutes the two were in a muggle taxi, heading towards the diplomat's favorite Hawker Centre.
oo00OO00oo
Cork Fort, France
It had been a long day for everyone, and Bill and Fleur thought it best that they say their goodbyes a few minutes before midnight (which was 11pm London time), just in case the vow considered time zones. There had been time enough after Bill's return to brief the others on what had been discussed in Guernsey, and for Bill to take his father's call from Singapore. They were all amused by the fact that Bill was effectively the new leader of the Order.
Pebbles had popped up once Bill and Fleur left, and offered to transport Harry and the three Grangers to their respective rooms for the night. Hermione's father preferred to walk, just so he would know where his daughter's bedroom was located relative to her boyfriend's bedroom (not that he was willing to admit the fact). So after hugs and kisses and their good nights, they retreated to their separate rooms, and Hermione was finally able to call for some house elf help to slip into something more comfortable.
A sigh of relief escaped from Hermione's lips as she was liberated from the very pretty, but somewhat restrictive outfit.
"This corkie place be needing a proper dressing room for Miss Hermione Miss," Pebbles declared, as she banished the teen's underthings to a hamper. The house elf offered the teen a red silk dressing gown, and asked, "Can we be moving away the bed that you not be using tonight and make this a proper dressing room?"
Hermione shook her head as she slipped on the thin gown and loosely tied it.
"We need to provide my father some plausible deniability," the teen witch decided. "Maybe you could convert one of the other unused bedrooms?"
"Yes, Miss Hermione Miss, I supposes the one next to the Master is the most appropriate."
There was a knock on the bedroom door, causing Hermione to reflexively reach up and gather the robe fabric that had only been marginally covering her breasts.
"Honey? It's me," her mum called out. "Can we talk for a bit?"
Hermione glanced around the room, searching for anything that her mum shouldn't see. She pulled the covers over the racy lingerie options that Pebbles had set out on the bed, then called out, "Coming, Mum."
"Pebbles be waiting to bring Miss Hermione Miss to her ravishment," the house elf declared, just before popping out of the room.
"Why not announce that to the world?" Hermione muttered under her breath. Then she sucked in that breath and called out, "Please don't actually announce that, Pebbles...that wasn't a request!"
"What wasn't a request, Dear?" Emily asked, as her daughter let her into the room.
"Oh nothing...just have to watch what I say, and remember that we always have hyper-eager house elves listening in."
"Ah," said Emily. She reached out and touch the sleeve of Hermione's dressing gown. "Ready for bed, I see?"
"What? Oh...no," said Hermione. "Just wearing this until I pick something to sleep in." The teenaged witched nodded towards the jeweled headdress that her mum was still wearing and asked, "Planning on wearing your tiara to bed?"
Emily chuckled. "Don't imagine I'll sleep with it, but your father asked me to keep it on until we..."
"Roleplay the naughty version of Sleeping Beauty?" Hermione quipped.
"Something like that," her mum admitted with a smile. Spotting a bit of lace sticking out from the bed linens, she walked over and flipped the duvet up, exposing the lingerie that was underneath.
Emily picked a sheer feathered chemise up from the bed and asked, "Need help picking out something that Harry would like?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What wouldn't he like? Honestly, Mum...it was Pebbles that laid out those options, not me...and who is to say that Harry will see me wearing any of them tonight?"
"Anyone with a lick of common sense and an inkling of what can be done with magic?"
"Mum!" Hermione whined. "I thought we covered the traditional mother-daughter interrogation yesterday!"
"Yes, yes...I suppose we did," admitted Emily.
"Then you won't be getting daily explicit updates on my love life," Hermione firmly stated. "And as for the clothes...you do recall that Harry and I left ours back at the Burrow, right?"
"Yes, Dear, I remember," Emily replied. "We were instructed to do the same, and just have the clothing that Gringotts provided us at Fleur's parents'."
Hermione's mum dropped the sexy chemise and picked up a black silk slip. "Oh, I like this one...any chance that I could borrow a few things from the grand-auntie's closet?"
The teenage witch shrugged. "Interested?"
Emily slipped her hand behind the intricate black lace that covered the top half of the slip.
"It is rather pretty...but no tags?" asked Emily. "Bespoke lingerie?"
Hermione shrugged. "Why don't you try it on?"
The teenaged witch held her tongue when her mum slipped off her dressing gown and revealed nothing but skin underneath. That restraint was tested when some of the slip material got caught on the tiara as Emily slipped it over her head.
"Very nice," Hermione commented, once Emily pulled the slip free from the tiara and let it drop down her body.
As she adjusted the lace and judged cleavage exposure, Hermione's mum asked, "Think your father would find it sexy?"
Hermione let out a sigh.
"Mum, I'm not going to offer opinions on what my father might find sexy!"
"Fleur doesn't seem mind talking about these things with her mum."
"Yes, well...Fleur is older, and they're both Veela, so I imagine it comes naturally for them."
"Yes, Dear."
Hermione sighed. "So was there some other reason you wanted to chat tonight?"
"Oh yes, actually...there is!" said Emily, as she slipped her dressing gown back on, over the borrowed slip. After tying the gown shut, she reached into the gown's pockets and pulled out two glass dropper vials.
"I found these sitting on the nightstand next to my side of the bed...any idea what they are?"
Hermione tilted her head a bit and asked, "What made you think it was your side of the bed?"
"Because there was a full bottle of stamina potion on the other side?"
"And how would you know it was stamina...wait, don't tell me."
"If you insist, Dear."
Hermione took the clear dropper bottle that held a blue solution and read the label. Then she opened the bottle, took a sniff, and used the dropper to place a drop of the solution on the back of her hand.
"This is murtlap essence," she stated. "It's used to soothe cuts and abrasions."
Emily asked, "Do I want to know what a murtlap is?"
Hermione giggled. "Definitely not. Useful stuff, though...did you cut your foot on the beach or something?"
Emily shook her head. "No...no cuts or skin abrasions that I know of."
Hermione considered the logical source of the potion, and where it was placed, and began to laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"It can be taken internally...it's useful for sore throats, and other sore...internal places."
"Ah, I see."
"Have a sore throat, Mum?"
"No I'm fine, just a little...well, hypothetically speaking, what would be the dosage for, say...erm...vaginal chafing?"
"It's applied topically until the pain goes away," Hermione said with a smirk. "Of course the trick for that kind of abrasion is getting it to the right spot."
"Yes, well...we'll figure that part out on our own, thanks."
"Sounds good to me."
Emily tried to control a blush as she handed the other vial to her daughter.
"What about this one, then?"
Hermione read the label on the other bottle, took a sniff, and shrugged.
"They don't teach us how to brew that one at school, for obvious reasons," she said with a smile. "But the smell and color are consistent with the label."
Emily sighed, then asked, "And how would you know what a lust potion smells and looks like?"
"I read a lot," Hermione quipped. "And because of that, I also know that you don't want to take more than one drop at a time."
"Is that so? Dare I ask where that drop has to be applied?"
Hermione laughed. "And I thought that I'd be the one embarrassed by this little chat!"
"Well if you don't want to tell me..."
"Any patch of moist mucus membrane will do," Hermione replied. "Given the goal, I imagine some patches are more popular than others."
Emily let out a deep breath as she pocketed the two dropper bottles.
"Why would your house elf think that I needed that kind of help?"
Hermione smiled. "Remember the trumpeters, and the house elf mechanic, and what I said earlier about house elves always listening in?"
"Yes, but I didn't..."
"Did you whine to dad about...oh, I don't know...being all shagged out after this afternoon?"
The way her mum blushed was clear indication of how close she'd come to the mark.
Hermione giggled, and said, "On a related note...Pebbles really wants to be a nanny elf. So don't..."
"Don't whine about our failed attempts over the years to give you a little brother or sister?"
Hermione nodded. "Unless you still want another child."
"Oh, well then...something to discuss with your father, obviously."
"Sounds good, Mum...anything else?"
"No, no...I probably should head back, just in case your father's already chugged the stamina potion."
"TMI, Mum," Hermione sing-songed. "Good night, Mum."
Emily hugged her daughter and replied, "Good night, Sweetie."
As Emily walked out of Hermione's bedroom-in-name-only, both mother and daughter chuckled at the realization that they'd just completed the kind of frank discussion that Hermione had claimed she was too young for. And Hermione decided that being away from her dear friend and confidant Fleur for the next month might not be so horrible.
The muggleborn witch decided to wait a few minutes before joining her boyfriend in his bed. She used the time to try on the different outfits that Pebbles had laid out for her use (and to also try to ignore the sounds coming through the wall). The black feathered chemise was over-the-top obvious, but it fit well and would certainly catch Harry's eye. And the fact that the front of the matching knickers proudly displayed the Potter crest?
It was just icing on her cake.
oo00OO00oo
The Japanese Island Garden
Regents Park, London
There were any number of places within Great Britain that Hector Gutierrez could have picked for the exchange. But as he was student of history and a fan of Cold War-era muggle spy stories, there just had to be a dimly lit bridge involved. And so it was that Albus Dumbledore apparated from Diagon Alley to Regent Parks' formal Japanese garden island, located within the Queen Mary's Gardens. Within that Japanese garden was a small wooden bridge that spanned a lily pad-covered pond. It was the perfect setting for a prisoner exchange, and the fact that this bridge was within the same park, and less than a mile from the zoo where Snape splinched his arse? Well, that was just icing on Hector's cake.
The moonlight was bright enough for Dumbledore to walk down the garden path without torch or lit wand tip. There were three robed figures with their hoods up standing on the far side of the bridge. He stopped on the near side of the bridge, and cast a Lumos spell to see them better. One of the robed figures stood behind a second, whose hands appeared to be tied behind his back.
The third figure pulled down his hood and turned on a battery-powered lantern that illuminated their side of the bridge.
"Odd-looking torch, Señor," he called out. "It's a good thing that we've laid down muggle repelling charms."
"Yes a good thing...what else have you done to prepare the field of battle, Hector?"
"I am sorry that you consider us combatants, Señor Dumbledore."
"What is the muggle saying about war being a form of diplomacy?"
"Sounds more like something a goblin would say."
"Perhaps."
When Hector nodded, his colleague pulled the hood back from the third, revealing a ill-looking potions master.
"So we have come prepared for the exchange," Hector noted. "Where's the house elf?"
Dumbledore tried to catch Snape's surface thoughts with a wordless Legilimens spell, but there was too much distance between them, and Snape's gaze was anything but steady. Giving up the attempt (for now), the Headmaster called out the name of his least favorite Hogwarts house elf.
Canipsy immediately popped to the headmaster's side.
"What can Canipsy be doing for the Headmaster?" he asked.
Dumbledore grabbed the house elf shoulder with one hand, and pointed across the bridge with the other.
"For the next three weeks, you will do what that wizard asks of you, within the bounds of your service to Hogwarts and its Headmaster."
"Canipsy will do as the Headmaster commands," the house elf replied.
"Now hold on," Hector called out. "What are these bounds?"
Dumbledore looked across the bridge and smiled.
"They are the basis of the house elf bond, Mr. Gutierrez," he replied. "A bound house elf must keep his master's secrets, and must never betray or harm his master's house."
"And those service oaths will apply to me over the next weeks, correct?" Hector asked.
Dumbledore shook his head. "A house elf can only serve one master at a time."
"So at the end of three weeks, you could command him to reveal everything we asked him to do for us? And tell you everything he saw or heard during that time?"
Dumbledore shrugged.
"That's unacceptable," Hector declared. "You will have to temporarily transfer ownership to me."
The Headmaster shook his head. "I am sorry, Sir, but the agreement was for me to loan you a house elf. I can't loan you something without retaining ownership."
"Then order the elf to never reveal to you or anyone else what he does, sees, or hears over the loan period."
"I think not," Dumbledore replied. "The deal was for the loan of a house elf. You should have been more specific if you wanted that loaned elf to keep your secrets."
A low-pitched growl rose up from Hector's gut as he pulled out a nasty-looking knife. He slapped the side of the blade against Snape's belly, with its tip pointing straight at the potion master's groin.
"You wish to go down that path?" Hector shouted. "My side of the deal was to deliver your boy to you alive and free from prosecution," the spymaster stated. "You should have been more specific if you wanted your boy returned intact."
"Surely the vow wouldn't..."
Hector dragged the knife's tip across the front of Snape's crotch. "Fair is fair. You neuter that house elf's functionality, and I'll neuter Snape."
Dumbledore's gaze narrowed. "Maiming a prisoner violates the Geneva conventions. I'm sure that the ICW will be very interested in a pensieve memory of this conversation."
Hector used his free hand to pull Snape's wand from a robe pocket. "You stupidly thought that I was being literal? The easiest way to neuter a wizard is to break his wand. And the return of this bastard's wand was definitely not part of the deal."
Albus Dumbledore weighed his strong desire not to be bested by another wizard against the odds that Snape could find an adequate replacement wand. Confident in his skills as a negotiator and loophole finder, he swallowed his pride and suggested they work on a last-second supplemental agreement. Hector agreed, and they quickly developed a functional compromise.
Dumbledore got Snape, Snape's wand, and stipulations that Canipsy would not enter Hogwarts, reveal Dumbledore's secrets, or do anything that overtly betrayed or harmed Hogwarts during the loan period.
Hector got Canipsy's services under those constraints and an oath-bound commitment that Canipsy would keep Hector's secrets and not reveal what he did, saw, or heard to anyone, even after the loan period ended.
And all Snape got was a swift kick to his reattached arse, once the compromise was enacted and Hector stuffed Snape's wand into his pocket
The potions master shook his head with disbelief as he crossed paths with Canipsy in the middle of the bridge. Once he was on the other side, he harshly hissed at the Headmaster.
"A loaned house elf? That's all they thought that I was worth?"
Dumbledore shook his head as he banished the muggle handcuffs that held Snape's hands behind his back. He pocketed his wand, then used his free hand to pat the potion master's shoulder.
"You are worth far more than that to me, Severus," he said. "And they knew it."
The greasy-haired wizard scowled. "So where can I get my hands on the Potter brat?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"For now," he said sadly, "Harry Potter is beyond our reach."
The magnitude of Severus Snape's rage and frustration was far too high to adequately characterize with a handful of rhyming words.
oo00OO00oo
AN1: Why Dumbledore never travels with the help of house elves, and why those who own house elves rarely seem to use them to travel within canon is one of those odd questions that I used to ask at the start of each chapter to this story. While I suppose that DD could have just been accustomed to traveling via Fawkes, and didn't think of it, the easiest answer is that house elf travel is only used when it's a convenient plot device for the writer. I'm just as guilty as JKR here...it was far more fun to have HHr escape the Burrow in this story on broomstick (following behind Naked!Fleur), than simply asking Dobby to show up and bring them to France. Just like it was far more tense/movie-worthy/interesting for JKR to write out "The Battle of Seven Potters," than have just the one Harry escape Durzkaban with the help of his excitable friend Dobby. When I popped the question into a google search, the best on-line response I found was "They just didn't think of it at the time."
For the purposes of this story, I think I can get away with positing that house elves can only bring people from place to place over relatively short distances. So Harry and Bill could be popped from the doorstep of Chateau Delacour to their private beach, and Pebbles could pop Hermione from the beach on Hidden Island to the castle's master bedroom (and canon Kreacher could have dropped Dung on Grimmauld's doorsteps). But it'd be much more taxing and magically impossible for a house elf to carry someone across the Channel (or Atlantic Ocean, for that matter).
Chapter 20: Friends of the Flobberworms
Hogwarts
When Minerva McGonagall walked into the Great Hall on the morning after her day trip to Guernsey, she expected to have the Headmaster's ear, but not have an audience. While she and most of her colleagues preferred to eat breakfast in their private quarters when school wasn't in session, Dumbledore almost always took his meals in the Great Hall.
He would tell you that he enjoyed the expansive majesty of the space; others might suggest he liked sitting on his ornate head table perch just a little too much.
The assistant headmistress was not disappointed...she found Dumbledore alone, staring down at his half-eaten bowl of porridge with a cup of tea in hand. The echoes of her first steps into the Great Hall broke him out of his contemplations. He gestured towards McGonagall's normal seat at the head table, and smiled.
"A very good Saturday morning to you, Minerva...care to join me for breakfast?"
McGonagall let out a small sigh at the casual way in which Dumbledore asserted control over the scene (for why else would she have been there?). She was tempted to respond with a bit of the gin-fueled Highland dialect that she'd used at Fred and George's rooftop tea party. But she had a couple of jobs to do that required at least some cooperation from the headmaster, so she kept a civil, Queen's English-speaking tongue.
"Thank you for the offer, Headmaster, your company this morning would be most welcomed."
Dumbledore poured tea into a just-appeared teacup as his transfiguration professor took a seat at his right.
"I hope your visit to the Channel Islands wasn't too taxing?" he asked.
Minerva shook her head as the school's house elves remotely and silently filled her plate with breakfast foods.
"It was a bit...dynamic, but not too tiring, no."
Albus nodded. "Yes, yes...those uncertainties were unfortunate, but as the muggles say, no plan survives first contact with the enemy."
Minerva held off a biting inquiry on whom Dumbledore considered to be his enemies these days.
"Of course, Headmaster," she replied. "While perhaps unproductive, the shortened trip does, at least, allow me to attend to my normal duties."
"Yes, indeed."
McGonagall took a sip of tea as she waited for Albus to expand on his terse response. When he did not, she set down her teacup and deployed her own plan of attack.
"So, Albus...you may be interested to learn that I've already received an owl delivery this morning. Margaret Dunwood has accepted her offer to attend Hogwarts."
"Pomona will be pleased to hear that," Dumbledore replied. "I dare say there are enough badgers in the Dunwood family to form a sett."
"That is for certain," said Minerva. "I was a little surprised to have received a reply to an acceptance letter that I don't recall sending out."
"Ah, yes...about that," said Albus. "You see, I felt a bit guilty about sending you off to the continent yesterday. I therefore decided to see to the booklists and acceptance offers myself this year."
"That was kind of you, Headmaster," said Minerva. "So how many hand-deliveries will I be making this year?"
"I'm sorry?"
"The letters for first year muggleborn students?" asked Minerva. "Were you also able to hand-deliver them?"
"Ah, that," the Headmaster said. "There was, unfortunately, not enough time for me to complete that task."
"Quite alright, Albus...if you can give me those letters, I'll see to those visits over the weekend."
Albus sighed. "Alas, there were some issues with the house elf letter posting team. I am not certain that they were segregated."
"I see," said Minerva. "Perhaps we should ask...Canipsy?"
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose when McGonagall's call went unanswered.
"Canipsy will not be able to respond, Minerva," he stated. "I have assigned him duties that require his full-time attention outside of the castle."
Minerva pursed her lips. "Very well, then...Gambon?"
Another one of the house elves that typically helped McGonagall with book lists and letters popped to McGonagall's side.
"What can Gambon be doing for Assistant Headmissy?" the elf asked.
"Do you have the letters set aside for hand-delivery to our new muggleborn students?"
Gambon pulled on one ear. "Canipsy and Gambon be setting all the firsties letters aside for sorting, but no one be deciding on who be being muggleborn students."
"But at least one new first year got her acceptance letter yesterday," Minerva noted.
"Yes, Assistant Headmissy," the house elf replied.
"So, how do you explain that?"
Gambon glanced nervously towards the Headmaster as he twisted the hem of his tailored bed sheet.
"That was my decision," Dumbledore replied. "I was advised that all of the letters had to be sent at the same time, and I did not wish to add to our projected budget shortfall by holding the parliament of post owls past their standard hold time."
McGonagall gave the Headmaster a very stern look that was only partly for effect.
"There are some very good reasons, Albus, why we hand-deliver letters to muggleborn families who are not accustomed to owls delivering the post."
"Yes, I know."
"We will have to address new letters...or, at least, new envelopes, to determine where I must rush off to today."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "That does seem to be the most expeditious remedy."
McGonagall gave the Headmaster a stern gaze, then shook her head and rose from her seat.
"Gambon," she said, "please bring the Book of Admittance and a stack of empty envelopes straightaway to the Quill of Addressing. I will meet you there."
"Yes, Assistant Headmissy."
Dumbledore sighed. "Would you like some assistance, Minerva?"
"No thank you, Headmaster...you've done quite enough already."
oo00OO00oo
(flashback #1)
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Back in the Day
"Why Lucius, I dare say you've caught the snitch with your recent engagement to Narcissa!"
"More like his father arranged for that snitch to fall into his pants."
Lucius Malfoy's aristocratic upbringing prompted him to acknowledge the first comment with a polite head nod. The Dark Lord's dim view of dissention within the ranks kept Lucius from acknowledging the second with a not-so-polite hex. So he settled for a not-so-polite rejoinder.
"Your wit is as endearing as ever, Nott," he drawled. "Has a price been set for having something other than your right hand fall into your pants?"
The laughter and piling on by Lucius' friends echoed what had been heard within the Slytherin common room just a few months previous. But the laughter dimmed quickly when the sitting room's french doors opened, and the senior Malfoy entered the room.
"Come Lucius," Abraxas called out. "Our Lord has need of you."
The blonde-haired wizard immediately schooled his face and fell in step behind his father.
The Malfoy Manor's ballroom had been refitted into a throne room of sorts for the dark lord in residence. Lucius quickly scanned the oval-shaped room as he entered behind his father. Voldemort was at the far end sitting on a gold throne, with several members of his Inner Circle in attendance. Among them was his future sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange, who caught his eye with a dangerously saucy wink.
Father and son approached the throne at took a knee before Voldemort.
"Lucius Malfoy, it is time for you to demonstrate your worth," the Dark Lord declared.
"How might I prove myself worthy, milord?"
"Mulciber?"
Lucius and his father stood and turned towards the Death Eater who managed the organization's finances.
"Our Lord's magnificent plans require both a step-up in financial support and a more centralized disbursement scheme," he stated. "Our lord has developed a brilliant plan to address these needs as the patron of a new charitable organization."
"I am calling it the 'Friends of the Flobberworms'," Voldemort declared. "What do you think of the name, Lucius?"
It took every bit of the junior Malfoy's strength and etiquette training not to laugh out loud.
"It is a fine name, milord," he carefully replied. "The alliteration is spectacular."
"It is, isn't it?" Voldemort said with a smile. "Those poor, poor flobberworms...who will stand in their defense? I say that Lord Slytherin will. And who will stand with him?"
Not being stupid, everyone in the room declared their support.
Voldemort smiled. "And who will demonstrate that support with a tax-deductible contribution to this new charitable organization?"
Not being stupid, everyone in the room declared their intentions.
"Excellent," the Dark Lord purred. "I strongly suggest that each of you commit ten percent of your annual income to this new cause."
Peter Goyle was just stupid enough to ask for a clarification.
"Is that on top of what we already give you, milord?"
Not quite 100% certain that his insiders within the ministry's magical surveillance office could deflect attention away from a Cruciatus, Voldemort decided on hurting the minion financially.
"In your case Goyle, the answer is yes," Voldemort declared. "For everyone else, the tithe will replace their annual financial support to our organization."
"Yes, milord," Goyle replied. "But why would we give our money to the flobberworms, instead of to you?"
Voldemort let out a deep breath as he reassessed the minion's value.
"It's a money laundering scheme, you dolt," he hissed. "Once certain tax laws are in place, Lord Slytherin, as patron of the organization, will have sole control of its finances. He and he alone will determine how much is needed each year for flobberworm habitats. The rest can be spend as the patron sees fit."
Much to Abraxas Malfoy's dismay, his son couldn't resist a smile.
"Something amusing, Lucius?" asked Voldemort.
The younger Malfoy quickly shook his head.
"I was just admiring your genius, milord," he replied.
"Oh, do tell, Lucius."
The eighteen year-old wizard tried to ignore his father's concerned glare as he quickly formulated an injury-mitigating response.
"Flobberworms aren't exactly endangered...they can live in just about any environment," he stated. "Since little will be needed to support them, almost all of the annual donations will be at the disposal of the organization's patron. Making Lord Slytherin the patron is an inspired way to direct attention away from you, since few know the connection. It will also provide a generous tax write-off for your supporters that reduces the Ministry's revenue and makes it harder for them to do things like increase the MLE's budget."
Voldemort stared at Lucius Malfoy for a heart-racing moment, then turned to Lucius' father and smiled.
"You've raised an intelligent young wizard, Abraxas."
The elder Malfoy released his held breath and thanked the Dark Lord for the compliment.
But then Voldemort began to explain how he wanted Lucius to apply that intelligence to getting certain tax laws changed, and to getting certain bylaws filed at the Ministry, and Abraxas's heart began to race again.
oo00OO00oo
Hogwarts
(present day)
Once enchanted, the Book of Admittance had never been touched by human hands. To limit its potential misuse, the ancient arbiter was charmed to snap shut whenever a witch or wizard tried to touch it. But house elves weren't human, and this was one of the more important reasons why Hogwarts had them.
McGonagall fed a blank envelope into the Quill of Addressing's black box, then stepped in front of the mouthpiece and turned towards the house elf who was holding an opened book that was nearly as big as he was tall. Finding the last name on the list, she turned towards the mouthpiece, and called out, "Alexis Wainwright!"
A second house elf caught the addressed envelope when it was spat out of the far side of the box, and presented it to McGonagall.
"Alexis Wainwright from Argyll," she read.
"Yes, Assistant Headmissie," Gambon agreed. "Muggleborn pile?"
Minerva pursed her lips. "The name sounds familiar...I think there was a Wainwright at Hogwarts back when I was a student. Are you certain that I can't look back through the older years?"
"Yes, Assistant Headmissie," Gambon stated. "Once students be graduating their page be glued to all the others."
"A pity...put in my visit pile, then," said said.
The second house elf placed the envelope in the small pile addressed to likely muggleborns.
"That be last name for the firsties, Assistant Headmissie." Gambon announced.
"Thank you for your help," said Minerva. "The percentage of Scottish students seems to be on an upward trend."
"Yes, Assistant Headmissie."
"I am curious whether this trend will continue," said Minerva. "Can you turn the page to show me next year's incoming class?"
"Gambon be trying."
To Minerva's delight, Gambon was able to turn the page.
"Excellent," she said, as she read through the list of names. "It appears that Alba will be well-represented next year. Although...it wouldn't hurt to confirm this by linking addresses to these names."
McGonagall pushed a blank envelope into the black box, then walked to the mouthpiece and called out "Benjamin Anderson."
There was a three second pause, before the blank envelope shot back out the feed slot.
"Well that's not very helpful," McGonagall stated. "But not, perhaps, very surprising."
"Yes, Assistant Headmissie."
McGonagall produced a leather-bound journal and muggle pen from a robe pocket.
"But there's more than one way to please a cat," she declared, as she began to write down names.
oo00OO00oo
Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris
Arthur Weasley's flight from Singapore to Paris was a first class upgrade all around. Much better food, much nicer headphones to watch the muggle movies, and an amazingly comfortable seat that folded back into a bed! But the red-haired wizard wasn't really in a mood to enjoy these upgrades on his second-ever flight...in part because he was tired, in part because he had just seen it before, but mostly because of his short mobile phone conversation with his eldest son. He'd spent most of his on-board time recounting the summer's events, and re-evaluating his willingness to follow someone who would tell you that placing tracking charms on an adolescent's pubic hairs was all for the greater good.
There was someone with a cart waiting for the English wizard at the arrival gate in Paris, just like there was in Singapore. Arthur accepted the man's offer to bring him somewhere where he might better enjoy his layover, and jumped into the passenger seat. He was taken to a quieter part of the concourse, and dropped off in front of a closed door guarded by young, rather pretty airport employee armed with a clipboard. After providing his name and showing his ticket for the flight to London, the airport staffer checked his name off her clipboard list, then grabbed Arthur's shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks.
"Welcome to Magical France, Monsieur Weasley!"
The blushing wizard stammered out a thank you as the woman pressed her identification badge against a nondescript panel, and opened the door.
On the other side was a slightly smaller version of the magical transportation center in Singapore's airport. There was a guarded area for international portkeys and apparition arrivals, a small bank of fireplaces for floo transit along the Parisian network, and a few shops and cafes.
Quite unlike Singapore, there was a red-haired wizard with a dragon tooth earring and a gorgeous witch by his side waiting for Arthur's arrival.
"Hey, Dad," Bill said a little tentatively.
Arthur took in the Potter crest embroidered on his son's robes, and the very stylish tight-fitting robes that his fiancée would have never been allowed to wear at the Burrow, and the hopeful smiles on both of their faces...then pulled them both into a bear hug worthy of Rubeus Hagrid.
"I'm so happy to see you two!" he exclaimed.
oo00OO00oo
There were so many things that Arthur wanted to know...why Bill and Fleur left the Burrow, and what they were now doing in France, and what they might know about Harry Potter's location. But as they sipped their morning tea and ate pastries at a café table, Arthur put all that aside to focus on something far more important.
"You two...you look so alive!" he declared. "And so happy!"
Fleur offered a brilliant smile as she reached for Bill's hand and squeezed.
"Thank you, Father Weasley...we are indeed very happy."
"Father Weasley?" Arthur asked with some surprise. He arched an eyebrow, and asked, "Did you two elope?"
Bill and Fleur both laughed at the question.
"The temptation eez strong," said the French witch. "But we are not married yet."
"We have moved up our wedding date, though," Bill stated. "We are getting married in October."
"October, well, that's great news!" Arthur replied. "Not much time to get the yard in shape, but..."
"We are to be married, here, in France," said Fleur. "It is the tradition for the bride's family to host the event, no?"
"Oh, no...I mean yes, it is...I suppose," Arthur stammered. He smiled apologetically, and added, "It's just that Molly has been making plans for hosting Weasley family weddings for years now."
"Isn't it supposed to be the bride that plans her wedding?" Bill asked.
"Yes, but..." said Arthur. He thought for a few seconds on how best to complete his sentence, then gave up and started over.
"Bill, I know that your mum can be rather..."
"Domineering?" his son asked.
"I was going to say assertive, but...yes," said Arthur. "She loves all of you so much, though, and...it's just her way."
"That doesn't make her way right," Bill countered. "Between the howlers, and invasive clock tracking, and the potions..."
"Potions?"
Bill held his father's gaze for a few seconds, then shook his head.
"You really didn't know, did you?"
"Know what?"
"That mum's been brewing love potions this summer, to orchestrate the matches that she thinks are best for her children."
"What?"
"I am afraid that it's true," said Fleur.
"But if it was true, and if she wasn't happy with your engagement, then why are you two still together?"
"Because we've been matching mom's love potions with neutralizing potions."
"It's just so...I can't believe it."
"We don't have any red-handed proof," said Bill. "And we didn't force the issue at the Burrow, mainly because of Dumbledore's orders for us to stay there over the summer, and the mess it would have caused."
Arthur expelled a short breath. "Dumbledore's orders," he muttered. "I didn't want to ask, but while we're talking about it... do you two still have your magic?"
Fleur giggled. "Your son has been very magical these past few nights."
"Fleur!" Bill lightly scolded. Embarrassed, the curse breaker turned to his father and said, "Yes, Dad...we still have our magic, despite openly defying Dumbledore's commands as leader of the Order of the Phoenix."
"How could that be?" Arthur asked. "Your mum and I were the binders when you swore your magical vows!"
Bill shrugged. "Dumbledore set the protection of Harry Potter as the Order's primary purpose this summer...the easiest explanation is that the best way for us to help protect Harry was to openly defy Dumbledore."
"It eez either zhat, or Dumbledore's commands have lost the magic behind zhem," offered Fleur. "Because he himself has betrayed the Order."
Arthur seriously considered the possibility for a few moments, then shook his head. "Unless something just happened when I was in the airplane...Albus couldn't have sent the messenger patronus if he had lost his magic."
"We think the first explanation is the more likely one," said Bill.
"And you two really don't feel as if you are testing your vows by staying here in France, rather than return to Britain?"
"Not at all, Father Weasley," Fleur replied.
Arthur smiled at what Fleur had called him, but was a little reluctant to drift back to any talks about Mother Weasley.
"You know, when I got off the airplane in Singapore, and finally received the patronus message to return to Britain and not trying to contact Harry, I felt a little push to obey, and to try to find a way to cut my trip short."
"Do you think it was your Order vows?" asked Bill.
Arthur shrugged. "But it was the same order that you two are ignoring?"
Fleur thought for a moment, then said, "Perhaps, Father Weasley, the best way for you to protect Harry Potter is to return to Britain?"
Arthur shook his head. "How could I help him there, if he's not there himself?"
Bill smiled, and said, "We know some people who might have some ideas for you. Would you like to meet them?"
Bill's father glanced over at a wall-mounted digital clock.
"I think that my flight leaves in an hour...would there be time?"
Bill shrugged. "I think so, but if the discussion went long?"
"There are many airplanes flying between Paris and London," Fleur noted. "You could have your ticket changed for a later flight."
"Or take a train, if you've tired of muggle airplanes," added Bill.
"How could a muggle train get me to London?" asked Arthur.
"There's a tunnel underneath the English Channel."
"I don't believe it!" said Arthur.
Bill laughed and said, "How do you think I got to France?"
There was enough time before the planned-for meeting between Arthur and certain members of the French magical government for Bill to provide a detailed recounting of his cross-channel trip on a cheese truck.
oo00OO00oo
Canadian High Commission, London
A few days later
Hector Gutierrez was reading a London tabloid, spot-checking whether the rookies in his research department had missed any suspicious content that might have been magic-related, when a house elf popped onto the chair in front of his desk and snapped off a salute.
"Canipsy be reporting for duty, Jefe Hector!"
The NAC spymaster looked up from the newspaper and raised his eyebrow.
"So Billy doesn't need your help?" he asked.
Canipsy shook his head. "Mister Bucky Tooth, Sir, be saying that his ward anorakies be needing some time to do their trainspotting."
Hector chuckled, wondering whether his card-carrying Iroquois friend had picked up British slang, or whether the British house elf was paraphrasing Billy's comments. He closed the tabloid newspaper, folded it in half, and set it within his in-basket.
"Very well, then. Canipsy...I am interested in learning how far you can...you call it "popping" when you travel from one place to another, correct?"
"Yes, that's what house elves be calling it, Jefe Hector."
"So how far can you pop on your own, and how far while carrying a passenger?"
Canipsy pulled on one of his ears. "Canipsy never be carrying wizard or witch with him popping from one place to another," he stated. "Canipsy be Hogwarts house elf all of his life, so all of his popping be being for Hogwarts or the Headmaster."
"Ah, I see," said Hector. "Well I wouldn't want you to say something that you shouldn't. Let's try a different question...would you be able to pop with a wizard, if asked?"
"Canipsy can be doing...Canipsy just not be asked."
"Good. And if I asked you to to pop over to Paris to bring me a baguette, could you do that?"
Canipsy shook his head. "Canipsy not be knowing where this Paris place is. House elves can only pop to where their master be being, or where they be being before."
"Like you popped to Regents Park when Dumbledore called you?"
"That be being Hogwarts business, Jefe Hector."
"Of course...well, then, if I went someplace else, and called for you, would you be able to come to my location?"
Canipsy vigorously shook his head in agreement.
"What if I went someplace far away...would that matter?"
Canipsy ambiguously rolled his head from side to side. "Canipsy only knows whether he cans, or whether he cans not go to where master calls him."
Hector considered the house elf's response for a few moments.
"Bueno, Canipsy," he finally said. "I would like to play a little game with you."
"Canipsy be loving games!"
"Excellent...this game is called 'Seguir al líder.' I will apparate to a location, and you try to follow me. If you can't, then I will return, and we'll try a different location. Do you understand?"
"Canipsy be understanding the rules explaining."
"And can you play the game with me?"
The house elf nodded in agreement.
Hector rose from his desk, and asked the house elf to walk with him to the operation center's secure apparition spot. As they walked, he began to compile a list of destinations that would test not only how far a house elf could "pop," but familiarize this one house elf with strategic locations that he could pop a passenger to in the future.
oo00OO00oo
(flashback #2)
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
One month after the Fall of Voldemort
Abraxas Malfoy found his son inside the Dark Lord's former throne room.
"Lucius, you do know that you can hire people to oversee this kind of work, don't you?"
Abraxas' son turned his focus away from the house elf-driven renovation project and gave his father a smile.
"It wouldn't be proper to host a charitable ball within anything less than a perfect ball room, don't you think?"
The elder Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I am still deciding whether a public celebration of the Dark Lord's defeat within our Lord's former throne room is genius or suicide."
Lucius shrugged. "I would think that the Dark Lord would have favored any event that helped keep any of his loyal followers out of Azkaban."
"I'm sure Bella and the others who now call Azkaban home would share that sentiment."
Lucius ignored the quip and transitioned to a more important question.
"So is there a collective decision on whether we'll make year-end contributions to the flobberworms?"
Abraxas nodded his head. "Mulciber has been making some discreet inquiries at Gringotts."
"You mean he has been discreetly greasing goblin palms at Gringotts?"
"Perhaps," Abraxas replied. "But it's paid off...he's learned that the Friends of the Flobberworms vault has been placed in caretaker status."
"Even though the Ministry still recognizes it as an official charity?"
Abraxas shrugged. "Doubt the goblins care what the Ministry thinks."
"What does caretaker status mean, then?"
"It means that for now, contributions can still be deposited into the account, but nothing can be withdrawn."
"Is that why Mulciber couldn't get the ledger book to work?"
Abraxas shook his head. "Mulciber could have never opened that book under the organization's bylaws. His interpretation is that Slytherin has an heir that hasn't stepped forward to claim their inheritance. Once they do, they will become the new patron."
"And be given their own ledger book to make withdrawals," Lucius concluded. "The Dark Lord never spoke of an heir...at least not in my presence."
"It would be foolish for anyone to think they knew all of the Dark Lord's secrets," Abraxas declared. "Especially anyone who had been under an Imperius curse."
"Of course, father," Lucius replied with a thin grin, as he imagined the Dark Lord siring a love child. "So is Mulciber going to give this year, or not?"
Abraxas shook his head. "No telling if or when the Heir of Slytherin steps forward. Or what they'd do with the money once they did."
Lucius let out a deep breath as he traced the hidden outline of his faded dark mark over his robe sleeve.
"So our charitable giving this year should be focused on more...public-facing organizations," he decided.
Abraxas glanced across the room towards the new gold-gilded moldings that their house elves were levitating into place. He sighed, then nodded in agreement.
"Let us pray that a new Lord Slytherin, should they ever be declared, agrees with you."
oo00OO00oo
John o' Groats, Scotland
(present day)
Hector had apparated to two dozen places and called for Canipsy to follow, including Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, major metropolitan centers, and three different NAC safe houses. Canipsy had popped to his side without fail. The house elf had been able to pop as far as Hector could apparate (roughly 300 miles), so Hector apparated to Land's End (the southwestern most tip of Great Britain) and called for Canipsy. He ordered the house elf to remain there until called again. Hector then traveled from Lands End to John o' Groats (the northeastern most tip of "mainland" Britain) in a series of apparation jumps and called for Canipsy. The house elf had no problems covering the 876 linear miles to join Hector on a quiet stretch of shoreline, just east of the tourist traps.
Hector knew that at least one house elf could pop across the Atlantic, so it was likely that Canipsy could pop further. But he didn't know if different house elves had different distance limitations, and couldn't expand the test too much further without crossing an international border. Which was certainly doable, but not that day.
Hector wondered whether he could get Harry Potter to loan out his house elf for a comparison, but the teenager was on holiday in Canada, and the spymaster's higher-ups had warned him off from any direct contact over the short-term.
The dreich had come early to northernmost Scotland, and left behind freezing rain that had driven all of the holiday tourists indoors. The dreary weather didn't sit well with the native of Monterrey, Mexico, and Hector was eager to start the next phase of his house elf trial someplace warmer. But there was supposed to be a selkie colony off the coast from John o' Groats, and he just happened to be the temporary owner of a house elf.
"Canipsy," he asked, "Can you pop down to my London flat and retrieve my rain gear?"
It only took seconds for the house elf to retrieve Hector's raincoat, bib overall pants, and boots. It took even less time for Canipsy to switch them out with what Hector had been wearing, and then charm everything to be warm and magically waterproof.
"A chico could get used to this," Hector thought. He squatted down to Canipsy's eye level, and asked, "Are you ready to try popping somewhere with a passenger?"
The house elf nodded his head vigorously.
Hector pointed towards a small island just a few hundred yards off the shore, and asked, "Vamos?"
Canipsy pulled on his ear, and asked, "What does Jefe be asking?"
"Ah, sorry...can you take me to that island?"
Canipsy smiled and nodded in agreement. He took Hector by the hand, and they popped off in search of some seal-skinned siren cousins.
oo00OO00oo
(flashback #3)
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
One week after Voldemort's return
Lucius Malfoy's walking stick had always been little more than a fashionable place to hide a second wand.
But then the Dark Lord was reborn, and returned to Malfoy Manor in a foul mood (having failed to kill off Harry Potter in the graveyard). And that mood had only grown more foul when Voldemort learned that Lucius had remodeled his former throne room. Lucius had paid for that ill-considered renovation with a leg bite from the Dark Lord's familiar. While Nagini hadn't released venom into the bite, the puncture wounds were resisting magical treatment, and generating a very painful limp...a limp that Lucius was still mitigating with his cane, one week later.
Draco's father was leaning on his cane, overseeing the conversion of his ballroom back into his master's throne room, when the Dark Lord strode into the room with Mulciber and Nagini close behind.
"Dismiss your elves, Lucius, and secure the room!"
"Yes, my lord," Lucius replied deferentially (trying not to react as Nagini slithered by and slapped his tail towards his bad leg).
Voldemort walked up to an even more ornate throne than he'd used previously and took a seat. The house elves popped away while Lucius raised the manor's localized wards and Mulciber offered a ledger book to his master.
"Come closer, Lucius, so that I don't need to shout."
"Yes, milord," the wizard replied, as he hobbled towards the throne. Voldemort appeared to find pleasure in Lucius' pain, while Mulciber looked like he feared he might be granted the same painful gait.
"You will not speak of this conversation to anyone," Voldemort hissed.
"Of course, milord," Lucius replied.
"There is a problem with this ledger book," the Dark Lord declared as he held the book up for view. "It will not allow me to check the account balances for the Friends of the Flobberworms, much less make remote disbursements."
Knowing the Dark Lord's legilimency skills, Lucius kept his gaze focused on the floor as he worried about the potential pain once the Dark Lord did get access to the accounts, and discovered that none of his Death Eaters were current on their charitable contributions.
"That is disturbing news, milord," Lucius cautiously replied.
"Yes, it is," Voldemort agreed. "Mulciber assures me that the goblins are to blame...that, since I've returned to bodily form far more powerful than before, the ledger simply does not recognize my enhanced magical signature as that of Lord Slytherin's."
"How could the ledger fail to see the magical boost that is so gloriously obvious to your loyal followers?"
"Nobody likes a suck-up, Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "Especially Nagini."
Lucius gripped his cane tip just a little tighter.
"Apologies, milord."
Hoping to deflect attention, Lucius then asked, "Has Mulciber fashioned a remedy?"
Voldemort pulled out his wand and stared at Lucius for a few seconds, then set the wand down in his lap.
"For now, as we marshal our forces and reconnect with our allies, we will work in the shadows and maintain a low profile," he stated. "Since I have no intention of interacting with the goblins at this point in time, Mulciber has generously offered the use of his dead mother's vault."
Mulciber explained that there was no link between the vault and any of their associates or activities, and it was previously used in support of a hobby business.
"It will meet our needs," Voldemort declared.
Lucius wondered whether anyone would notice a sudden increase in vault transactions involving large amounts of money, but was smart enough not to ask anything that might cast doubt upon the Dark Lord's statement of adequacy.
"A brilliant plan, milord," he stated. "If it pleases milord, I could advance my annual year-end contribution to the flobberworms, and have those funds available for deposit within a day or two."
"I'm glad to hear that, Lucius," Voldemort replied. "Mulciber will help you make that deposit tomorrow morning."
"Of course, milord."
"He will then be working with you and the others on a payment plan for the arrears."
Lucius bowed and stared at the ground, hoping that it would keep the Dark Lord from noticing his concern over how a repayment plan might impact his own balance sheet.
South Bridge Vaults, Edinburgh, Scotland
(present day)
Edinburgh's subterranean magical district was located beneath the stone arches that supported an eighteenth-century bridge that connected Edinburgh's Old Town to points south. Initially open to fresh air, the space beneath the stone arches had been quickly walled off by the multi-story foundations of muggle shops and tenements built along either side of the bridge. Floors and ceilings built beneath each closed-off arch created dark vaulted chambers that were used as functional storage and work areas for the shops...until the poorly constructed bridge began to leak from above and removed that functionality. When the shops abandoned the dark, fetid spaces, the poorest of Edinburgh's poor moved in...until conditions deteriorated so much that even they moved out. The lifeless spaces were filled with rubble to discourage squatting, and forgotten over time.
Forgotten by the muggles, that is. For witches and wizards, magic could turn just about any area deemed uninhabitable by muggles into functional space. Impervious charmed walls and ceilings held back water seepage, variants of the bubblehead charm brought fresh air underground, and magical indoor plumbing offered sanitary waste disposal at a time when muggles were still emptying chamber pots out onto the streets from upstairs bedroom windows.
So when the muggles moved out of the South Bridge Vaults, Scottish witches and wizards moved in. Edinburgh's small magical district within its Old Town was relocated in full to an area that was far easier to shield from muggle eyes and ears. And when the NAC foreign intelligence agency was looking for a safe house location in Scotland, the South Bridge Vaults were ideal. It was far more secluded than Hogsmeade, but had enough witches and wizards in residence to be deemed a magical area by the MoM's Department of Magical Surveillance and Security. This meant that routine magical activity within the vaults was written off as signal noise by the "Big Board" monitors that worked in that department.
Hector Gutierrez had introduced Canipsy to the NAC safe house earlier that afternoon. This allowed Canipsy to pop with Hector back to the safe house, after they had discovered (and interacted with) the selkie colony.
"That was fun!" Hector declared, as he let go of Canipsy's hand. "Thanks for the ride, maninho!"
"Canipsy be most happy to be serving Jefe Hector, and seeing so many different places today."
Hearing less than the normal amount of exuberance in the house elf's response, Hector looked down and asked, "Are you feeling okay, maninho?"
Canipsy nodded. "Canipsy feeling very happy to be serving Jefe Hector."
"You look a little fatigado," Hector noted. "Did the selkie's songs affect you?"
"No, Jefe Hector...the naked selkie singing not be affecting Canipsy. Neither did the naked selkie dancing, and naked selkie worshiping of Jefe's bits."
Hector chuckled as he removed his rain gear and draped them over the safe house's dining table.
"Yes, well...let's not discuss that last part with others, okay?"
"Canipsy be keeping Jefe Hector's secrets, Jefe."
"Excellente," Hector declared. "So if it wasn't the selkies...did all of today's popping finally tire you?"
"Canipsy be ready to go places and take Jefe Hector places where Jefe wants to be going."
Hector rolled his eyes. Figuring out how to get a straight answer out of the borrowed house elf was high on his "to-do" list.
"Canipsy, please answer yes or no to this question...are you feeling in top form right now?"
"No, Jefe Hector."
"Do you know why you aren't feeling in top form?"
"Yes, Jefe Hector."
The spymaster sighed.
"Canipsy, why aren't you feeling in top form?"
The house elf squirmed, and pulled on his ears, before finally answering the question.
"Canipsy be being a little hungry, Jefe Hector."
"Oh, sorry...I didn't think to ask if you'd eaten lunch before coming to my office."
Hector waited a bit for Canipsy's reply before figuring out that he hadn't actually asked a question.
"Did you eat lunch today, Canipsy?"
"No, Jefe Hector."
"Breakfast, then?"
"No, Jefe Hector."
"When was the last time you did have something to eat?"
"Canipsy be last eating at Hogwarts, Jefe Hector."
"Hogwarts?" Hector exclaimed. "So you haven't eaten in three days?"
"Yes, Jefe Hector."
The spymaster had interacted with Canipsy long enough to know that the house elf was agreeing that he hadn't eaten since he was loaned out.
"Why haven't you eaten in three days, Canipsy?"
"There not be being elf food at the knack, and Canipsy be forbidden to pop back to Hogwarts for his meals."
"Where's the knack?"
"That be being Mr. Bucky Tooth, Sir's offices, Jefe Hector."
"Oh...you mean N-A-C?"
"Yes, Jefe...the knack offices."
Hector let out an exasperated sigh.
"It not be being a problem, Jefe Hector," Canipsy insisted. "Some house elves not be eating on purpose, just so that the work they be doing is harder, and be making them happier."
"Yes, well...Canipsy, I want you to be in top form, so you need to tell me about things like not having food to eat."
"Yes, Jefe Hector."
"So, then...what would you like to eat?"
"Canipsy be happy to be eating whatever Jefe Hector be providing."
"Yes, but...let's try this. What do you normally eat?"
"Canipsy always be eating at Hogwarts, so Canipsy be thinking that be Hogwarts secret."
Hector cursed under his breath.
"Does Jefe Hector want me to be fucking him like the selkies did?" Canipsy asked.
"What?" Hector exclaimed.
"Jefe Hector just now be saying 'Fuck me'," Canipsy explained.
Hector cursed some more under his breath.
"Does Jefe Hector want me to be bringing milk for him to shit in?"
"What? No!" Hector shouted with exasperation. "Canipsy, when I say 'joderme,' or 'Me cago en la leche,' you shouldn't take it literally."
"I understand, Jefe Hector."
"How did you understand what I said in the first place?" Hector asked. "I thought that you didn't speak Spanish."
"Canipsy be learning lots of naughty Spanish words from Mr. Bucky Tooth's helper when I be popping through his wards."
"Was that Guillermo?"
"Yes, Jefe Hector."
"Wait, so...if you knew what those words meant in English...did Guillermo also tell you that they really meant?"
Canipsy picked at one of his ears with a long finger, in an attempt to draw attention away from the grin that was forming on his lips.
"Yes, Jefe Hector, Mr. Gilly-man be explaining these things."
"So why did you..."
Hector's question trailed off as Canipsy lost control of his straight face and a wide grin broke out on his face.
"Did Guillermo ask you to pull a prank on me if I said those words too?"
The house elf's grin grew wider.
"Jefe Hector told Canipsy to do what Mr. Bucky Tooth tells him to do, and Mr. Bucky Tooth says to obey Mr. Gilly-man's orders. Canipsy always be trying to do what his masters ask him to do."
A smile formed on Hector's own lips as he said, "Hijo de puta!" (and then reviewed that invective to make sure it couldn't be interpreted as an order).
He then reached down and gave Canipsy's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Nice joke, maninho!"
Canipsy smiled with happiness.
"But you still haven't told me what you'd like to eat."
Canipsy once again nodded in agreement.
"If you worked at another wizard's home, instead of Hogwarts, what would you normally eat?"
"House elves normally be eating nuts and berries, Jefe Hector."
"Finally!" Hector declared. "Are there special nuts or berries that house elves eat?"
"No, Jefe Hector, house elves just be gathering what they find in the forests and fields."
"Then why didn't you just...oh, let me guess," said Hector. "You didn't go out and find your own nuts and berries to eat because that's not your job at Hogwarts, so you wouldn't know where to look for nuts and berries on your own."
Canipsy's figure-eight gesture with his head suggested that Hector had hit the mark with a Hogwarts-related question that the house elf couldn't directly answer.
"Alright, let me see what I can do. You sit on that couch, and rest," Hector declared, as he walked towards the safe house's kitchen area.
The kitchen had a charmed cool box that functioned like a muggle refrigerator. When Hector opened the lid, he discovered it to be both empty and foul-smelling. So he quickly closed the cool box and started rummaging through the cabinets. All he came up with was a half-empty bag of nuts that had probably been left behind by the last agent to use the safe house.
Hector brought the opened bag back to Canipsy and offered it.
"I'm sure these are stale, but if they look like something that you'd like to eat, I could run out to a shop and buy some fresh ones for you."
Canipsy took the bag and looked at the labelling.
"Piss tacos, Jefe Hector?"
Hector laughed. "It's pronounced pistachios."
"Oh," Canipsy replied, as he tilted the bag and let one of the shell-covered nuts drop into his hand.
The house elf rolled the nut around on the palm of his little hand, then popped it into his little mouth.
"Oh, sorry," said Hector. "You're suppose to take the shell off first."
Canipsy was too busy savoring the almost-orgasmic eruption inside his mouth.
"These are...amazing!" the house elf whispered. "Canipsy not be eating anything so delicious in his entire life!"
"That's great to hear," said Hector.
"Where can Canipsy be finding these kind of nuts?"
"At a convenience store," Hector quipped. "Or in a grove...I think they only grow in warmer climates."
Canipsy nodded in agreement. "If they be growing at Hogwarts, house elves not be eating anything else!"
"Does that mean that you'd like me to fetch some fresh ones?"
Canipsy popped a second whole nut into his mouth, and wiggled his toes in delight as he chewed. After swallowing, the house elf poured the remaining three nuts into his hand.
"Canipsy be happy to be eating whatever Jefe Hector be providing," he announced, as he put the opening of the empty bag up to his eye.
Hector chuckled, took the hint, and told the house elf that was going to run to the store.
When he apparated back to the safe house a few minutes later, he found Canipsy asleep on the couch, wearing a wide smile on his face and the empty pistachio bag on his head. Hector smiled as he tucked a big bag of fresh pistachios under the house elf's arm, then tucked both beneath a blanket.
The NAC spymaster could have apparated in stages back to his London office and completed his work day. But he had called the office when he ran to the store, and he really did want his "little brother" to be in top form. Hector also feared that if he put distance between themselves that Canipsy might wake, just so that he would be ready for Hector's call.
Wanting Canipsy to get the rest he probably wouldn't ask for, Hector pulled out his notebook and map of the British Isles, sat down at the safe house's dining table, and began a review of their logged destinations and distances.
oo00OO00oo
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
(present day)
The Dark Lord was well on his way to afternoon inebriation. Again.
Had he been asked, Voldemort might have blamed it on Lucius Malfoy's well-stocked wine cellar and the celebratory mood after his successful attacks on Bones Manor and the Brockdale Bridge. But he didn't need to justify his actions to anyone, and didn't care to admit a rather mundane truth.
Voldemort was bored.
Pieces had been set in motion, but were not yet in place. Draco Malfoy had been given a year to end Dumbledore's life. His witches and wizards inside the ministry were advancing into positions of authority through retirements and selective assassinations. Greyback was bolstering his pack, and the giants were being trained to operate more cohesively than they had in the West Country. And his curse breakers and ward masters were still assessing the enhanced wards at Azkaban, installed after he had liberated ten of his most loyal followers at the start of the year.
With all these pieces in play, the Dark Lord's best guess was that his next grand attack within the wizarding world was still months away. But that was fine, because he was in no rush.
Nobody was fighting back...even after the truth of his return was revealed at the Ministry of Magic earlier that summer. Dumbledore and his so-called Order of the Phoenix were nowhere to be seen, and Ministry aurors and obliviators were spending far more time covering up Death Eater attacks than they were searching for Death Eaters. It was such an effective distraction that Voldemort had created a small task force for attacks within the muggle world that would maximize the amount of time, talent, and treasure necessary for the Ministry to keep magic a secret from the muggles.
Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy had a very impressive wine collection, and Lucius Malfoy had failed him. Empty racks of Chateau Lafitte would be the least of the silver-haired wizard's problems once Voldemort got around to rescuing his arse from Azkaban.
The Dark Lord's thoughts drifted from Lucius to Lucius' son, and that son's occlumency training. Deciding to check in on Draco's progress, Voldemort refilled his wine glass and headed down to Bellatrix's favored classroom setting...the cellar.
Bella's classroom was anything but boring.
In the center of the dimly lit room, Draco was bent over a bondage horse with his robes pinned up and pants pulled down. Angry-looking welts criss-crossed his bare arse and thighs...welts delivered by the cat o tails held by Draco's instructor.
"Is Little Drakey-poo clearing his mind?" the instructor asked.
"Yes, Auntie."
Crack!
Draco whimpered in pain as a fresh set of welts rose from his bare skin.
Voldemort had walked in on the lesson from behind, giving him a good view of Bella's behind. It was almost as bare as Draco's...she was dressed in thigh-high black leather boots, a black leather thong, and a black leather bustier. When she heard the Dark Lord's approach she turned towards him and immediately dropped to a knee.
"My Lord!" she purred.
Voldemort smiled...Bellatrix's tits had either slipped out of her bustier during her exertions, or been intentionally exposed from the start. Either way, she had made no effort to cover her dangling breasts when she bowed low before him.
"Is this part of Draco's occlumency training?" he asked with amusement.
"Yes, My Lord."
Voldemort smiled as he approached his most loyal follower. He took a healthy sip of wine, then squatted down and pinched an exposed nipple.
"An interesting teaching method," he declared, as he twisted that nipple.
"Yes-s-s-s...my lord!" Bella hissed with pleasure.
The Dark Lord used his nipple grip to pull his follower back to her feet. That follower moaned in pleasure along the way.
"Quite the distraction," Voldemort stated.
Bella blushed, and said, "Should I cover my baps, my lord?"
"I was talking about your teaching methods."
Bellatrix dropped her gaze, apologized for her confusion then turned and added a new set of welts to Draco's arse.
"Ahh!" he cried out.
"Focus!" she cried. Bellatrix turned back to her master and explained, "Anyone can clear their thoughts when they are alone in their room, staring at a lit candle."
The Dark Lord chuckled, then drained his wine glass and pulled Bella by the nipple a few steps, so that he could set the glass down on a side table.
"And how has Draco progressed under your tutelage?" he asked, as he took the whip from Bella's hand.
"Surprisingly well," Bella purred. "His occlumency shields are developing nicely."
Voldemort smiled as he brushed the thin leather "tails" of the whip across Bellatrix's chest.
"Shall we test them, then?"
"Your every wish is my command, my lord," Bellatrix replied breathlessly.
"I am so glad to hear that, Bella," said Voldemort. "Lose the knickers. Leave on the boots."
With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand the bondage horse was doubled in width. His faithful follower eagerly stripped off her bustier and thong, then bent over the expanded horse alongside Draco. Voldemort walked to the other side and whispered into the teenager's ear.
"Draco, I'm going to warm your Auntie's arse with this whip," he quietly declared. "And once her arse is warmed, I'm going to bugger it. Do you understand?"
Keeping his eyes forward (and away from the Dark Lord's gaze), Draco nodded.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Use this time well, Little Draco," Voldemort hissed. "We will be testing your occlumency barriers afterwards."
"I understand, my Lord," the teenager tried to bravely reply.
"It will be important for you to hold tight to the memory of what's about to happen," Voldemort advised. "Because if you can't protect it when we test your shields? Then for the next lesson...it will be your mother that is bent over and bare arsed alongside you."
Draco gulped in fear as he nodded in understanding.
Voldemort rose, and used the whip handle to encourage Bellatrix to spread her legs. He grinned when the leather handle came back slickened.
Bellatrix's husband was imprisoned in Azkaban, and the preparations for a second mass escape might take months.
The Dark Lord was in no rush.