2 Who Stayed Faithful?

Want to see extended chapters or just support the author?

buymeacoffee.com/fanfictionforge. 

Enjoy reading.

------------------------------------------

Same day.

 As I approached, Vernon's face changed from displeasure to the usual grimace of hatred, sweat glistening on his face, flushed with emotion and excess weight.

 - Here you are, you bum," a thick hand reached for my ear.

 My uncle's words broke through the barrier inside me. My eyes flashed with rage at the betrayal of my loved ones, at Cedric's death, at the Dark Lord's torture. The fat man turned pale as he looked at me, the magic that I had little control over surrounding us both with an invisible but palpable wall.

 - You wouldn't dare! - He muttered it, wiping the sweat from his forehead. - You'll be expelled for magic!

 - I'm not home yet, Uncle, and there are too many wizards here for anyone to suspect just me. - Despite my rage, I was still trying to bluff.

 - When you come back, you will surrender your wand and owl to me. - The fat man turned black.

 - 'No, Uncle. If I don't write to my godfather every day," I slowly squeezed the rage and pain that was seeping out of my insides like pus, but the remnants of the spewed magic still hovered around us, making the fat man cringe, "then he'll come to your house to find out how I'm doing.

 It was as if air had been let out of the fat man; the godfather, whom Dursle thought was a murderer, he feared.

 - Ungrateful boy, we spend our money and energy on you, and you threaten me with your godfather?!

 - If you want me to, Uncle, I can... make it up to you," I thought of a good idea.

 - What do you mean, boy? - There was greed in Vernon's eyes.

 - You don't look well, Uncle. - I interrupted him, gradually calming down. - If you want, I can brew you a potion that will improve your health.

 Vernon's swollen eyes popped out of his orbits, but, unlike his behemoth son, he wasn't an idiot, or he wouldn't have been vice-director of the Grannings firm.

 - Do you expect me to believe you, boy? - Though it seemed impossible, he blushed even more, snorting angrily like a seal out of the water. - You want to poison me!

 - If I poison you, the wizards watching the house might find out. Make up your mind, the potion will help you lose weight and strengthen your heart. - My gaze was firmly met by a pair of swollen eyes that tried to drill through me.

 - Well, all right, bad boy, but don't expect me to treat you any better. - The fat man turned around and walked towards the car parked in the car park outside the station. Suddenly, as if he had caught a thought, he turned to me again.

 - Why did you decide to pay us back?

 - Unlike the others, you and your aunt are at least honest about hating me. - I answered bluntly. Such an answer made Vernon choke on his words, and no more objections were heard.

* * *

 Petunia opened her mouth as soon as we were in the living room to say something nasty about me, but stopped by Vernon's warning glance and waved her hand toward the stairs. Dudleychuck didn't show up, apparently drinking beer with his friends again and making fun of the little ones while the loving parents thought their baby was sitting drinking tea at the Polkisses'.

 Once I was in my room, I buried my face in my pillow and groaned - the effects of the Hogwarts spell had finally worn off, and the pain of betraying my best friends, the people I'd treated like family, flooded over me. My head felt like a hot hoop, tears streamed from my eyes, but I lay silent so as not to draw attention to my room. After a few hours I finally woke up from my half delirious state and tried to figure out what to do, who to turn to for help. As I rushed to the desk to write a letter to my godfather first, I stopped as if struck by lightning - how would I know if Sirius knew what my 'best friends' and Molly Weasley were doing under the headmaster's direction? And who does my godfather really believe?

 "If Sirius is now in his ancestral home, where the Ministry has no access to," I pondered, "then why hasn't he taken me? He may be a wanted criminal, but I wouldn't have been found in the Bleck house."

 A tear rolled down my cheek. The only close relative left, having listened to Dumbledore's arguments, had done nothing to protect me.

 If he was aware of their betrayal - then I was in for a Petrificus Totalus from Sirius and a spell of oblivion from Dumbledore as soon as my godfather ferried me to Hogwarts.

 Remus? Just like that, it's unknown which side the former professor is on now. In all my time with the Muggles, Remus had never once sent word to me, and I couldn't believe that a werewolf, for all the dodgy nature of that tribe, had no way of finding out where I was. If he'd asked the Headmaster where I was, and he'd covered himself with words about the common good, then Remus had turned his back on me, too, believing the old man.

 How strange to feel all alone, not daring to ask anyone for help and trusting no one. I needed someone who was nice enough to relate to me, but who wasn't connected to Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Finally, I thought of someone who met both requirements, and who owed me a debt of some sort.

 I drew up my quill and parchment and wrote on the sheet, "Hello, Fleur. At the first sentence the thought stalled, and it took me a long time to choose the words, but after a while the letter was ready.

 "Hello, Fleur. How was your trip home? How is Gabrielle feeling? You said I could write to you if I needed your help, Fleur. Tell me, what would you do if you found out your best friends had betrayed you? A proven betrayal, at that. Harry P."

 Putting the scroll with the letter into the case, I quietly peeked out of the window, plucking one of the flowers growing in a vase attached to the wall and, trimming it to the right size with a knife, placed it inside the scroll. The boucla grunted, pecked my palm in farewell, and flew out of the window. Somewhat relieved that I could talk to someone who might understand me, I went downstairs to my uncle's house - I had to fulfil my promise about the potion quickly, before Vernon, who hated everything magical, changed his mind.

 Vernon and Petunia stared at me in surprise as I sat by the television - in their memory, I had almost never entered a room on my own until I was called.

 - 'Uncle, can I go away for a few hours to get the ingredients for the medicine? - Petunia looked at me as if I had grown horns and hooves.

 - W-w-vernon, what is that rascal boy saying to you? - With each word, her voice got higher and higher.

 - Petunia, he promised to brew me a potion that would restore my health. - Vernon apparently decided to believe my words about the magic oath for a change. The businessman saw an unexpected benefit where he'd never seen it before, and that made him calm his temper for a while. And the threat to write to his godfather also had a very strong effect on the fat man who hated magic.

 - What do you need for this? - Surprisingly, he left out "naughty boy" and other insulting nicknames in his speech.

 - I need someone to leave the back door open in the car before I go shopping with my aunt in London today. I'll get in there with my invisibility cloak on. And then from London I will return on my own.

 Vernon looked at Petunia, who was in complete prostration, but nodded his head in agreement. 

* * *

 All the way to London my aunt fidgeted nervously in the back seat of the car, trying to get a good look at me, while Vernon spun the steering wheel without turning round or engaging in conversation. I said quietly:

 - Auntie, I'm here, but if I take off my robe - I'll be spotted by those assigned to guard me and they'll try to bring me back to your house.

 My aunt's trembling hand reached for the void that anyone who didn't have the magic eye of a paranoid Moody or read a special spell could see in my place. As I'd learned from experience, even a wizard with Dumbledore's powers couldn't just see me through the door of his own study - the magic contained in the thin fabric hanging from my shoulders was almost insurmountable. My aunt's finger poked me gently in the shoulder and I jerked away sharply, while Petunia herself turned even paler and moved as far away as possible.

 Finally, as we made our way through the evening traffic into a respectable area of London, my uncle parked the car in front of the shop, and he and Petunia stood next to the open door, pretending to be absorbed in conversation. I marvelled at how well these people were able to pretend when they felt threatened or favoured. Squeezing my uncle's shoulder quietly, I indicated that I was leaving.

 Still safely concealed by my cloak, I followed to the entrance to Diagon Ally and then to Dark Alley. Although I'd only been there once myself, a conversation I'd overheard the twins talking once had led me to believe that potion ingredients were best bought there, and I had a rough idea of where the shop I needed was located.

 The Dark Alley, or Lute Alley as it was known to "light wizards" like Dumbledore, welcomed me with an invigorating coolness that cooled my head after the scorching heat of the outside world. The few people wrapped in robes, many of them hiding their faces under hoods, were similarly oblivious to my presence as I glided carefully along the row of shops, avoiding accidental collisions. At last I came to a shop with a cauldron and potion vials on its sign, swaying slightly in the breeze of the alleyway. The creaking oak planking looked as if it hadn't been changed since the founding of London. After making sure through the window that only the owner was in the shop, I pulled out my wand and opened the door carefully, stepping away from the opening at once. It was a good decision, for a half-grey-haired man with a long scar along his left cheek and several burns on his hands immediately produced a wand, which he aimed at the door.

 - Master, I come in peace," I said without taking off my robe or putting away my wand. - I need ingredients for potions, and I'm willing to pay.

 When he heard gold, the man lowered his wand slightly, looking suspiciously at the void where my voice had come from.

 - You are the first customer to come to me under such disguise. I thought it was the Aurors. - The man's voice, hoarse from the long silence, broke the silence that had fallen in the room.

 - I have nothing to do with the Aurorate of the Ministry, Master, but I wouldn't want anyone to see my face.

 - What do you wish to buy, mysterious stranger? - The shopkeeper didn't give any sign that the voice he was speaking to clearly belonged to a teenager.

 - I need ten times the doses of components for the Memory, Healing, and Healing potions, bezoars, six portions of reagents for the weight loss potion, and a dozen four potion vials. - The man's bushy eyebrows raised slightly as I dictated the list of items I needed.

 - That'll be forty-three galleons, stranger. - Wrinkled, burnt hands deftly sorted the various unpleasant-looking reagents into glass jars and bottles. Finally, after packing it all into a wooden box, he placed the finished order on the counter, where the coins I'd pulled out immediately fell with a clink.

 - Thank you, master. - Without taking my wand out of my hand, I stepped carefully back to the door, pushing it open with my shoulder and stepping out of the room into the street.

 As I passed Gorbin's unforgettable shop, I allowed myself to admire once more the dried dead man's hand in the window that had once caught the younger Malfoy's eye. Imagining the arrogant blond in the role of a commonplace thief, I blurted out a wry smile. "I wonder if he won't be disgusted to hold THIS in his hands?"

 However, the signage of the next shop gave me pause for thought. The magic wands crossed over the entrance said that something really interesting was waiting for me inside, and I repeated my manoeuvre with the entrance to the shop, the only difference being that the owner was calmer and didn't pull out his wand, though he was clearly tense.

 - Tell me, Master, are your wands, unlike Ollivander's, not monitored by the Ministry of Magic? - My question caused the shopkeeper to laugh in surprise.

 - Young man, I'm sorry, but most often the Ministry does not track a particular wand, but the place where the sorcery was performed," the man said, still smiling. - Although, I agree with you, there are times when Ollivander's wand is sold with tracking spells to know where the owner of a particular wand is and what he or she is conjuring.

 - But still, how are your wands different?

 - I can buy wands that contain materials not approved by the Ministry, and I certainly don't put tracking spells on my customers' wands," the wizard said with a chuckle.

 - In that case, I'd like to buy one of your wands, Master. - I threw off my cloak, remaining in a simple black hooded robe.

 - You have a rare robe, very rare," the old man said curiously, staring at the silvery fabric in my hands. - I think I've only seen something like it on the last Auror raid, but I've only seen it on Moody, who was mentioned out of the blue.

 - I think a lot of powerful aristocratic families have... interesting artefacts in their stock," I grinned, thanking the heavens that the hood was hiding my eyes and forehead.

 - You are right, you are right, young man. - Nodding his head, the old man struggled to rise from the leather chair, and it was clear that one of his legs had been replaced by a prosthetic with the same claws as Alastor's. - But let us return to our wands.

 - Often a wand is chosen by those who, for various reasons, can no longer use their old tool," the master looked at me carefully. - If you entrust me with your wand, I can check if it had tracking charms on it, and how well it fits you now.

 With some trepidation, I handed the wand to the master. The old man took a long look at the fibre patterns on the wooden cylinder, then took some glass out of his pocket and examined the handle. Finally, satisfied with his examination, he turned to me.

 - Generally speaking, the wand fits you quite well, despite the fact that your togetherness was perfect before. But... Your wand does have a tracking spell on it... It's very interestingly cast... Through the liquid you wipe your wand with. The shop couldn't have sold you something like that, obviously. Has anyone given you a wand care kit in recent years?

 I cursed the Weasley family in my head.

 - So they have. - The old man shook his head affirmatively. - Unfortunately, there's no quick fix for a spell that's been cast in this way; the spell is soaked into the wood too well.

 - What can I do?

 - You can wipe your wand daily with a special solution, I have it in my shop... And it will never be sold to you by Ollivander, the cunning old man. - The old man smiled to himself. - Then in a couple of months or so the spell will wear off.

 - Is there a quicker way?

 - Buy a new wand, young man, what else? I think you're more comfortable with the second option, don't you?

 Waiting for my nod, the wizard continued: - Ollivander, as far as I know, suggests to take wands in hands, so that "the right wand will choose the wizard itself". - He mimicked the exaggeratedly mysterious voice of his diagon ally colleague. - You, young man, just need to concentrate, and try to mentally call the right wand, so that your mind will find the closest to the magical core.

 Folding my arms across my chest, I stood in the centre of the dimly glowing pentagram painted on the floor, obeying the old man's gesture, and concentrated. As soon as I closed my eyes, dozens and hundreds of sounds burst into my mind, screams, squeaks, roars, scraping, rustling.

 As if through a dream, the voice of an old man came to me:

 - Catch the sound you like best and tune in to it.

 A thin pure note, like the sound of a tense string and a flute singing at the same time, caught my attention. Holding my breath, I reached for that sound, letting the whole world drown in the beautiful melody. Something softly pressed into my right palm, and as I squeezed my fingers, I opened my eyes to find a short black wand with ultramarine blue Runes engraved on the smooth lacquered surface.

 - Good choice young man, a very interesting wand suited you. Ebony and a core of Veela and black unicorn hair. - Shaking his head, the old man watched the wand in my hands glow softly, throwing out bright sparks. - It's primarily suitable for combat and mental magic, as they'd tell you in Diagon Ally, though to me Ollivander's fiction about the wands best suited to a particular section of magic is nonsense. That'll be thirty-five galleons for the wand, young man, and as a gift for an unusual customer," the shopkeeper's hand waved and a leather scabbard attached to his forearm flew down from one of the shelves. - Take these scabbards. They are enchanted in such a way that it is impossible to dislodge a wand with an Expelliarmus spell, but only as long as the wand is in the sheath, of course. If you tense your arm muscles in a special way, the wand will slide out of the sheath into your palm... I took the liberty of borrowing some ideas from Muggles... Sometimes they come up with interesting things without any magic.

 - Thank you, honoured master. - I bowed, placing the gold on the table. I carefully slipped the scabbard back on my hand and checked its work, then slipped my invisibility cloak back on and headed back out of the shop, making my way through Dark Alley and Diagon Ally without incident, luckily without running into any passersby. I shook my purse and realised that I still had enough money left not to go to Gringotts today, so I took the train to Little Winning, still invisible.

 I stepped off the train at Little Winning and strolled leisurely towards the Dursleys' house, avoiding the attention of the few passengers in the daytime. The watcher in the garden was strangely absent. After waiting a while for my aunt to open the door so I could go out into the garden and see how her precious flowers were doing-as a zealous member of the Little Winning Garden Club, my aunt regularly checked her plantings-I quietly made my way into the house through the loose shutters. Climbing the stairs, it was only there that I allowed myself to shed my robe. Leaving the box of reagents on the floor of my room and changing into simple clothes, I got ready for work.

* * *

 The cauldrons and alchemical tools I had taken from my school trunk went on the table along with my third and fourth year potions textbooks, which contained the recipes I needed. With the recipe for a fat burning potion, or as it was called in the textbook, Slender Body Potion, I unpacked my purchases and got to work.

 Carefully chopping the leaves of the blue fern, I went to the bathroom to fetch water. I poured the purifying powder into a separate pot, which made the water sizzle and all the impurities in it fall out in grey flakes at the bottom. Carefully draining the water into another cauldron, I poured the sludge into the flowers.

 My first attempt at making a potion was a complete failure. No, the cauldron hadn't melted like Neville's, and it hadn't exploded, but the liquid splashing around in it bore little resemblance to the elixir I needed. Cursing the bastard Snape and my own potions skills, I quietly snuck into the bathroom and flushed the resulting poison down the toilet, only then thinking it might be dangerous.

 After rereading the recipe and having half-heartedly worked out where I had gone wrong the first time - as it turned out, I had forgotten to stir the potion at one stage - I got to work.

 Some time later, attracted by suspicious unfamiliar odours, my brother came into my room, and surprisingly remained silent, staring at the pot on the fire. I stirred the mixture slowly with a silver spoon, adding the next dusty ingredient in small batches, glad that Dudley had come in after the most disgusting-looking parts of the potion, like the fire crab liver and bear bones, had gone into the cauldron. In addition, the preparation of the potion, which required a lot of concentration from those who were not particularly skilled in potions, distracted them from unnecessary thoughts.

 The potion gradually took on the colour described in the recipe and smelled, surprisingly, quite decent. As far as I could remember, it was the most decent potion we'd learnt to brew in third year. At least it was something I could look at, and drink without nausea - it was unlikely I'd be able to get my uncle to drink something stinky like Polyjuice potion.

 I carefully poured the potion into flasks, corked them with glass stoppers, and placed them in the tripod. With a snap of my fingers, I put out the fire in the alchemical burner under the cauldron and sat down on the bed. Dudley was silent, staring at the test tubes. Eloquence had never been my bully brother's strong suit, but it was odd that he wasn't trying to insult me or hit me like he usually did. Apparently, Vernon had had a talk with him, and either through threats or the promise of gifts, he'd convinced him to stay away from the man who could cure the head of the family and get the fat man off his back.

 After sitting for a few minutes and taking a break, I rose from the bed, taking one of the flasks with me. Dudley silently stood aside, letting me out of the room, and followed me into the living room.

 - Uncle, I've prepared what I promised. - I placed the potion flask on the table in front of him. The fat man looked carefully at the coffee-coloured liquid splashing there, and then turned his gaze to me.

 - So you're saying THIS will help me lose weight? - He grumbled suspiciously, surprisingly without rancour. - Petunia! - Suddenly he shouted at the whole house. Auntie came through the door and gave me a gloomy look. - If anything happens to me after taking this stuff, call the police and give them the bastard.

 Uncle opened the cork and poured the contents of the flask into himself. He sat in the chair for a while listening to his sensations and was about to reassure his wife, who was looking at him anxiously, when suddenly his eyes began to pop out of their orbits and he jumped out of the chair and ran with surprising speed for a man of his size to the bathroom, from where suspicious sounds were immediately heard.

 - He's fine," I gestured to my aunt, who opened her mouth to squeal. - The burning fat and other substances have to get out of his body somehow, and this is the most... painless option. He'll be fine in about two hours. -Dudley pressed curiously against the bathroom door, trying to hear what was going on in there, but the odour wafting from under the door quickly forced him upstairs and Petunia to open the windows. I smiled inwardly - despite the lousiness of the situation, this little unplanned revenge on Vernon was surprisingly pleasant - and went to my room to brew a healing potion to restore my heart muscle.

 However, my plans weren't destined to come to fruition right away. On the window sill sat Buklia, hunched over and grudgingly grinning after her long, swift flight to France and back. Once again I marvelled at the incredible stamina and speed of magical owls, capable of delivering mail over such a distance in less than a day.

 The leather scroll case attached to the owl's neck had to be opened with a long stick - I remembered well the words of the old wand master from Dark Alley about the methods of tracking the magic of minors living in Muggle neighbourhoods. I had to rely on luck - there was no way to check the tube for traps without earning a warning from the Control Department. Finally, on my third attempt, I managed to open the tube, and out of it fell Fleur's rolled-up letter. The graceful, thin handwriting, with its many curlicues, matched the image of a charming Veela from an old family surprisingly well.

"Harry, you amazed me with your letter! Honestly, I don't know what to answer you. If you don't mind, let's meet in London at the Muggle restaurant Diogenes on Saturday at two o'clock in the afternoon and talk. Gabrielle sends her regards to you.

Fleur.

P.S. Thanks for the flower, I'm sending you this in return."

There was a clearly outlined lip print at the bottom of the sheet, making me smile at the girl's sense of humour. Looking closer at the parchment, I realised that it was Fleur who had actually kissed the letter - the scent of lipstick still lingered.

Vernon, who came out of the bathroom a couple of hours later, showered, pale as death, and looked better than he'd been - he'd lost a dozen or two and a half pounds, and was now a fat man. Wrapped in a terry dressing gown, his uncle, who looked like an angry walrus, looked at himself incredulously in the big mirror in the hallway. When he saw me, he looked as if he wanted to say something, and I even thought he was going to thank me, but instead he mumbled something inaudible: "This is for your heart, uncle. - The next vial went into the man's hands. Having learnt by bitter experience, he went straight towards the toilet door, swallowing the bitter, wormwood-smelling tincture as he went, but the effect he had expected did not follow, and he wandered towards the drawing-room, where there was an immediate rattle of a vase falling out of the hands of Petunia, who had been struck by his new appearance.

 The night proved to be an even greater ordeal for me than usual. The mocking voices of former best friends were replaced by the twinkling eyes of Dumbledore, who pointed his wand at me. Ginny Weasley came up to me, laughingly holding out a glass containing - I knew it for a fact - a spell potion. Then I was running somewhere, ducking between the trees, dodging multicoloured beams from all directions, while I was being chased by three red-haired boys on broomsticks. One of my return spells, the only one that hit its target, knocked the pursuer to the ground, and blood splattered generously on the green foliage. And again it was replaced by the image of Ginny Weasley, like an osprey, wrapping her arms around me and laughing that I wasn't getting away from her. I suppose if the Dark Lord were to enter my dream now, he'd be gone in a heartbeat; even that half-reptile wouldn't like such a delirious vision. Needless to say, I woke up completely shattered, on a ruined bed, covered in cold sweat.