False Starts

Disclaimer: The Potterverse is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am not making any money from this.

Chapter 13: False Starts

Two weeks after Hermione's Herbology 'final,' Lestrange arrived at the cottage in a highly agitated state. "Severus, he's been spotted!" he blurted out as soon as he cleared the door. "Pettigrew's been seen in Bristol!"

Snape rose abruptly. "When?" he asked urgently.

"Last night. Two of the youngsters, scouting out some Muggle targets, reported seeing a man matching his description." Lestrange's usual easygoing, smooth mannerisms were gone; his hands clenched and unclenched as he shifted nervously from one foot to another. "The Dark Lord viewed their memories and confirmed that it was him. He sent half a dozen agents to comb the area and pinpoint the traitor's location."

"Wormtail is mine!" Snape spat, meeting Lestrange's eyes. "I intend to make that little vermin squeal before I kill him," he declared in a deadly-cold voice.

"Yes, Severus," Lestrange agreed with a feral grin, "Wormtail is yours. The Dark Lord has ordered you, Avery and I to off the little bastard."

"Avery is an incompetent fool!" Snape sneered.

"Nevertheless, we three were at school with the rat. Any of us would recognize him instantly!"

Snape's lip curled in disdain, but he refrained from further argument. He began to prowl back and forth across the sitting room, a scowl drawing his brows together in thought. Suddenly, he stopped and clapped his hands sharply, twice. An elf appeared at once, silently awaiting orders. "Granger, take your books upstairs and stay there," Snape directed. "I may need to leave suddenly." To the elf he said only, "Stay in the room with her." Wheeling on his heel, he stalked toward the library, motioning for Lestrange to follow.

Hermione watched the library door shut before she gathered her books and led the elf to her bedroom.

She was still awake, seated in front of the hearth when Snape entered the room nearly three hours later. As far as she could tell, the men had not left the cottage all evening. "No word of him?" she asked tentatively. Snape shook his head, sinking gracefully into the other chair with a resigned sigh. "Pettigrew..." she said, "he's not what he seems, you know."

"If you're going to inform me that he's an Animagus, I have known that for more than two years!" he sneered deprecatingly.

"No. That's not what I meant. Listen," she implored earnestly, "the first time I ever heard of Peter Pettigrew, some of the professors were talking about him and his old school friends. Professor McGonagall said that Pettigrew hero-worshiped Harry's father and Sirius Black, but that he wasn't in their league, talent-wise."

An ugly look passed over Snape's features at the mention of his former adversaries, but rather than the scathing comments he (no doubt) was thinking, he only confirmed McGonagall's opinion of Pettigrew. "He wasn't 'in their league' as Minerva put it," he scoffed. "He was a paragon of mediocrity at the best of times."

"And yet," Hermione pressed, "he managed to perform the Animagus transformation – while still in school. Professor McGonagall herself said it's an extraordinarily difficult feat. And she would know, wouldn't she?"

He narrowed his eyes, shooting her a calculating look, but said nothing. She had his attention now.

"The second time I heard about him was on the night you followed us to the Shrieking Shack, the year Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. Sirius told us that he had suggested using Pettigrew as the Potters' Secret Keeper because it was the perfect bluff. Sirius said no one would believe they would pick a weak, talentless wizard like him. But," she continued relentlessly, "when Sirius confronted Pettigrew after the Potters were killed, Pettigrew not only managed to escape, he very neatly framed Sirius for betraying the Potters and for murdering all those Muggles! Even his so-called friends never saw Pettigrew for what he truly is!"

"Fascinating," Snape said softly. "And what do you think he truly is?"

"Deceptive," she answered promptly. He sniffed at her for stating such an obvious point, but before he could reply, she was talking again. "Did you know that it was Pettigrew that restored Vo... the Dark Lord to his physical body? The spell may have been created by the Dark Lord, but Pettigrew performed the magic. Harry was there; he told Ron and me every detail. Pettigrew not only brewed the base that the bone, flesh and blood were added to, he recited the incantation. His wand focused the energy to accomplish the charm. If that spell's not a bit of powerful Dark Magic, then I don't know what is!"

"Indeed," Snape agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

"He has consistently given everyone around him the impression that he's weak, while managing quite a few advanced feats of magic. I believe he deliberately leads others to discount him, then takes advantage of their low estimation of his abilities," she concluded.

Snape was utterly still for a few moments. The rat's duplicity is incredible! Even the Dark Lord believes Wormtail to be a truly poor wizard – magically weak. The tricky vermin even took me by surprise during our duel at Spinner's End. I will not underestimate him again, he resolved. "Beautifully deduced," he whispered, eyeing Hermione through the curtain of hair that partially obscured his face. "I see your eidetic memory is useful for more than regurgitation of facts after all." He smirked.

After a contemplative silence, he turned to meet her eyes. "Granger, why did you tell me this? Wormtail's actions almost led to your rescue a few months ago. I should think you would want him to escape."

She shook her head vigorously. "No! I hate him! He's creepy, sleazy, and a traitor to everyone!" she declared ardently. "From my perspective, he's the cause of a lot of the Wizarding world's troubles." She ticked the points off on her fingers. "First, it was his betrayal that deprived Harry of his parents and sent an innocent man to Azkaban."

Snape's lip curled. "Black was never innocent!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of betraying the Potters, he was," she reiterated. "Anyway, this war is due largely to Pettigrew's actions. He went to find his old master in Albania. He brought him back to Britain and helped restore his body. He tried to kill both of us! Who knows what else he could screw-up if he's not stopped?"

Snape's eyebrows twitched in amusement at her wording. "When I find him, I will endeavor to insure that his ability to 'screw-up' the Wizarding world is terminated – permanently," he assured her. His voice was calm and cold, but his eyes burned with intensity.

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

"Sure, I'll be happy to go with you," Bill declared heartily. "I can't do it tomorrow though. There's a special inventory going on at the bank. I'll be at work until pretty late," he explained. "How about the day after that?"

"I'm good with that," Ron said. "Harry?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll owl Borgin to expect us," Harry agreed.

*****

On the designated afternoon, the trio of disguised wizards entered the dark little shop in Knockturn Alley. Mr. Borgin, apparently on the lookout for them, appeared immediately, an oily smile pasted across his features. "Mr. Electis," he said smoothly, "how good to see you again."

Harry inclined his head fractionally in response. "Mr. Borgin," he acknowledged.

The shopkeeper, forgoing his usual caution, ignored his customer's 'bodyguards' and launched into an effusive (for him) speech. "I have been hoping you would stop by for some weeks now, sir. I have received information regarding an artifact that I believe you will be particularly interested in."

Harry raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "What would that item be?" Harry asked, feigning only a moderate interest.

"My sources tell me," Borgin related in a somewhat lowered voice, "it is an object that once belonged to the great Helga Hufflepuff."

Harry fought to keep his face impassive as excitement caused his heart to speed up. He took a long slow breath to counteract his rising agitation. "So," he enunciated slowly, "what else do you know about the artifact?"

"Very little, unfortunately," Borgin said with genuine regret. "But I can put you in touch with an associate of mine who has been intimately connected with it. If you wish, I can tell you how to find him. That is," he said hesitantly, "assuming he will see you."

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired sharply.

"He is rather shy of seeing people these days. But with the proper introduction from myself, it is possible. We have been acquainted for a great many years," Borgin explained.

"Who is this person?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I am not at liberty to say, sir. If he agrees to meet you, then you will learn his identity."

Harry scowled uncertainly. He didn't like this – it sounded like a trap. Then again, Harry thought, Borgin must be telling the truth. Otherwise my ring would have warned me. "Tell me," he said aloud, "will it be dangerous to meet with your contact?"

"I don't think so," Borgin said smoothly.

At his words, Harry's ring sent an odd twitch through his hand, totally unlike the burning sensation he experienced when someone was intentionally lying to him. Hmm, he reflected, Borgin isn't lying outright, but something isn't right. "If you would excuse us," he told the elderly shopkeeper, "I need to speak with my associates for a moment." Motioning to Ron and Bill, Harry retreated to a point near the door of the shop. "I'd like to follow this lead," Harry informed them, "but it may be dangerous."

"Do you trust him?" Bill asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the oily little man.

"Not entirely. But he's not lying either," Harry added, holding up his ring with a significant glance. "There's something odd going on though. We should all be on the alert."

Returning to Borgin, Harry informed him that they were prepared to contact his mysterious acquaintance immediately. Borgin, ever eager to help (for a price), wrote a note of introduction for them. He sealed it with a peculiar-looking wax seal and a quick spell that they didn't quite catch. Throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, he muttered an address and ushered them through hurriedly.

They arrived in a small room that apparently served as an entry hall. A darkened doorway, presumably leading into the rest of the house, was just discernable across from the hearth. The tingle of confinement wards activating was all the warning they needed. Three wands whipped forward as the wizards fairly leaped to form a defensive triangle.

"Well, well. This is a surprise, Mr. Potter," a voice sounded from beyond the doorway.

Harry glanced quickly at Ron and Bill; they were still disguised. How had they been discovered? he wondered.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Bill demanded.

"Now, now. Patience, Mr. Weasley," the disembodied voice counseled.

It was vaguely familiar, and Harry wracked his brain trying to make a connection.

"Whoever it is," Ron whispered, "he's not a young wizard." Harry nodded, acknowledging Ron's conclusion.

"Very astute, young Mr. Weasley. I'm pleased that you are as sharp as I predicted you would be," the voice continued. "I would be better pleased however, if you would lower your wands."

"Not until we know who you are!" Harry declared. "And how you discovered our identities."

"Ahh. That is quite simple, really. You see, I remember every wand I've ever sold. Every single wand. You can hide your faces, my boys, but your wands tell me precisely who has come to call." With those words a tall, slender figure stepped into the doorway.

"Mr. Ollivander!" Ron gasped. "We thought you were dead!"

"Not yet," he answered sardonically. "Well, come along in, my boys. Come along!" he said impatiently, gesturing for them to accompany him further into the house. "And do put away your wands." He led them into a tiny parlor. As they were now useless, Harry dropped his Appearance Charms. His companions followed suit. When all were seated, Ollivander directed his odd, silvery gaze at Harry. "So, you lead here, do you not, Mr. Potter?" Harry nodded. "What can I do for you?" the wily, old wand maker asked.

Harry held out the letter Mr. Borgin had given him. Ollivander scanned it quickly, pursing his lips as he read. When he finished, he handed back the missive with a heavy sigh. "I regret that I no longer have the item Ebenezer Borgin refers to."

Harry felt his stomach drop, disappointment conspicuous on his face. A dead end, he thought morosely.

"Sir," Ron interjected, "do you by chance know where it is?"

Ollivander fixed him with a penetrating stare. "I may," he said slowly. "Let us first insure that we are talking about the same item." He transferred his gaze to Harry. "Tell me exactly what you are trying to locate."

Harry hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. Ollivander's eyes narrowed as he took in the younger man's reluctance; his face acquired a closed look. It was plain to Harry that the wand maker would not reveal anything until he received the information he had asked for. "It's a magical artifact," Harry finally explained, "a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff."

Mr. Ollivander dipped his head affirmatively. "Why do you want to find it?"

"I can't say, sir. Trust me, you're safer not knowing," he assured the older wizard. "I can tell you that it has to do with the fight against Voldemort, and it's very important." Harry noted Ollivander's wince as he named the Dark wizard. "Any information you can give us would be helpful."

The wand maker bowed his grey head in thought for a minute before he acquiesced. "I will tell you what I know, and give you some good advice – but I shall want a reward," he said with a strange gleam in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked sharply.

"Just this. The cup was stolen from me nearly eighteen months ago, along with several other valuable items from my Hufflepuff collection." At their surprised look, he chuckled. "I was a member of Hufflepuff House during my days at Hogwarts, you see; I collect famous House memorabilia. Along with the cup, there were two Quidditch trophies, as well as an exquisite necklace of yellow diamonds that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff's favorite granddaughter. All three items were stolen at the same time as the cup. The reward I ask is this: if you find any one of those items, you will return it to me. If you learn anything about their whereabouts, you will pass that information to me."

"Of course, sir. But we can't guarantee the return of Hufflepuff's cup," Harry cautioned.

"Will you tell us how your collection was stolen?" Ron queried.

"Yes," Ollivander confirmed. "That incident is the reason I went into hiding. You see," he explained, "the theft of my collection seems to have been collateral damage." He sighed again. "If you wish, I will tell you the details of what happened that night, as the incident is connected to your search – at least tangentially." All three of his guests nodded enthusiastically.

He made himself comfortable, leaning back into the padded armchair and crossing his legs. "It was during the first week of July, the summer before last – 1996, to be precise. The beginning of summer is usually a slow time for me, business-wise, so I had taken a few days off to visit an old friend," he recalled. "I was returning home late in the evening, when I saw a number of individuals in the process of breaking into my shop. I live in a flat above the store, you see," he clarified.

"Do you know who they were?" Ron inquired.

"I could identify two of them by their wands. But I recognized them all, in a manner of speaking." At their puzzled looks, he elaborated. "By their cloaks and masks, I knew at once they were Death Eaters! Well, I..."

"Who were the two you could positively identify?" Harry interrupted.

"Walden Macnair and Edmund Crabbe," he snapped, shooting Harry a brief look of annoyance. "As I was saying, I then Disillusioned myself and stayed hidden in the doorway across from my own, but I could neither interfere nor flee without being seen and captured." His lips twisted wryly at his remembered impotence. "There were seven of them: two kept guard near the door, and five ransacked my shop."

"Ransacked it? For what?" Bill interposed.

"For wands, my boy. What else!" Ollivander answered, an impatient bite in his voice. "It seems likely that at least five of them were escapees from Azkaban. Their wands would have been confiscated when they were first captured. I suppose the wands they were using up to that point were stolen from the unfortunate victims of previous Death Eater attacks. But as you know, another wizard's or witch's wand will never give optimal results." Ron, who had experienced this principle first-hand while using Charlie's old wand, made a noise of assent. "From the condition of the room, I presume that the thieves simply pulled armfuls of wands down until they found one that suited." He grimaced in disgust as he remembered the wreckage the thieves had left behind.

"Well, eventually one of them found a good match and joined Macnair and Crabbe, the two who were guarding the door. Macnair told off the third fellow to take his spot – said he wanted to search my flat. The bastard must have known about my collection," he growled angrily. "It took a good hour for the filthy thieves to finish their business and Disapparate. The shop was a mess, and my flat wasn't much better. My entire Hufflepuff collection was gone – undoubtedly stolen by Macnair!" he stressed bitterly. "It's probably too late to trace the items at this point, but that's the only lead I have for you. My advice would be to start by searching Macnair's family home. It might be useful to interrogate everyone who was known to reside there as well," he added thoughtfully.

"Macnair has a family?" Bill asked incredulously. "Who in their right mind would marry him?"

"No one," Ollivander returned dryly, "but his parents are still alive. And I believe he has two sisters. I remember the younger one particularly well. She was a lovely girl. Cherry wood and phoenix feather, ten and a half inches – a powerful wand for such a petite little imp." He smiled fondly, seemingly immersed in memory.

Harry cleared his throat, rousing the old wand maker from his reverie. "Oh, and don't forget to talk to the Macnair's house-elf," Ollivander reminded them. "Those creatures know everything that goes on in their masters' houses."

"If you can get them to talk," Harry said ruefully, recalling Winky's reticence when speaking of her former master, Mr. Crouch.

"At least it's a place to start," Ron said, somewhat unenthusiastically. His face took on a meditative look. "Sir," he voiced, turning to Ollivander, "would you tell me why you went into hiding after the break-in?"

"Think, my boy! If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were to capture me, he would force me to craft wands for his followers. I also fear," he continued, dropping his voice, "that he may desire a second wand – one that can successfully battle against yours, Mr. Potter. I won't allow my skill to be used by him."

"Right," Harry answered solemnly. He stood. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Ollivander. We'll keep your secret and let you know if we find anything." He replaced his Appearance Charms and left with a final nod to Mr. Ollivander. As they took the Floo back to Knockturn Alley, Harry reflected that although they had not found the cup, they were no worse off than when they started.

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

A storm of knocking sounded at the cottage door. Snape yanked it open, revealing Lestrange and another man. They wore Death Eater robes, and each had a mask dangling from one hand. "Severus, the scouts have cornered the traitor! We're to go in and take him out." Snape stepped back wordlessly, allowing them entry, then whirled around and headed up the steps.

Hermione followed him, halting a few steps behind him in the bedroom, a pensive expression on her face. "What is it you want?" he snapped, not looking at the young woman as he fastened his cloak. "I'm in rather a hurry!"

"You're going after Wormtail? To kill him?" she asked, although there really was no question in her mind. He merely nodded, watching her appraisingly. She pressed her lips together in a grim line for a second, then whispered, "Be careful."

He held her gaze a few moments more, then nodded sharply, once. "I will remember your observations about Wormtail," he assured her.

"Good! Because I'd hate to be left to the tender mercy of the Malfoys and Dolohov," she retorted sharply. But the expression on her face was incongruously soft as she took a hesitant step closer, eyes locked to his. The moment stretched.

"Severus!" Lestrange called stridently from below, breaking the tableau.

"I must go," Snape stated brusquely. He started past her, then paused, grasping her upper arm for a moment. A light squeeze – then he was gone. Seconds later, an elf arrived with a loud crack; the door slammed below.

*****

An hour later, Hermione was reading in front of the bedroom hearth while the elf pretended to clean the already tidy room. Over the past few months, she had become so used to them doing this sort of thing that she barely registered the creature's presence, much less realized that it was only doing make-work. Thus, the sudden 'Crack!' of Disapparation made her jump, twisting in her seat to look for the source of the sound. The elf was nowhere in sight – but there, in the doorway, stood Snape. He had entered so silently that she hadn't noticed, although the elf, apparently, had seen him and taken it as his cue to depart. She bit her lower lip as she gazed at the dark man in the doorway. He was expressionless, as usual, but his rigidity spoke of his anger quite clearly.

"He slipped away, before we even arrived!" he hissed vehemently. "The damned green scouts never thought to ward against rats leaving the building!" Throwing his mask to the floor in disgust, he stormed into the loo.

As the sound of the shower filtered out to where Hermione sat, she closed her eyes, breathing an unconscious sigh of relief.

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*Thanks to Larilee for betaing this story with patience and an ever-ready mental red pen.

Author's Notes:

1. Another Lord Of The Rings quote: Ollivander's line, "I will tell you what I know, and give you some good advice – but I shall want a reward," is from The Fellowship of the Ring (from the chapter entitled Strider). Aragorn says this to Frodo shortly after they meet at the inn, The Prancing Pony.

2. Edmund Crabbe: The father of Vincent Crabbe, Harry's classmate. His first name is not given in canon, so I chose one (more or less at random).

3. Ebenezer Borgin: I also chose a first name for Borgin, because JKR never gave us one.