The Outsider
Chapter 5: Minor Setback II

The door swung open. A troop of red-robed figures were outside, behind a tall man wearing silver and black.

Harry stood in front of them, his arms folded. The bald leader smiled at him, showing blood red lips and sharp teeth.

"Mr. Reinseld," the leader said, in his sugary deprecating voice. "Thank you…for your hospitality." He glanced around at the bare walls. "I am Commander Prouden, of the 2nd Division, Auror Office. It is quite a pleasure to meet you, I assure you." His voice said anything but.

"A pleasure to meet you as well," Harry said cordially, no hint of emotion leaving his voice. Of course, if he hadn't been impersonating Reinseld, he'd have already whacked the daylights out of Prouden. It was really too bad that he couldn't; for he had to show no suspicious behavior. At least Reinseld was easy to impersonate. This was exactly how Harry acted when he spotted a single flash of a long, white beard. "Perhaps you'd like to come in, to the living room? I would be a fool to leave you out in the cold, honorable Aurors that you are."

Prouden gave him another red-lipped smile, taking his cotton gloves off and tucking them into his pocket. "Certainly," said Prouden. "These sensitive matters should not be discussed out in the open, after all." Harry stepped away from the door to let the Aurors through, closing it behind them. He followed them to the living room, where Prouden signaled and they stepped outside the room, their backs stiff and their postures as wary as a cat.

"Still, there are some things that need to be hidden away from prying ears, isn't that right, Mr. Reinseld?" the Commander said, shutting the door. Taking out his wand, he moved it in precise movements, putting up silencing wards around the room. Harry picked up a muggle thermos from Reinseld's desk, prepared beforehand, and then turned to the busy Commander.

"Tea?" he proposed.

Tucking his wand in his pocket after he was done, Prouden turned around, spotting the thermos and giving it a look of distaste. "Perhaps another day," answered Prouden. Harry raised an eyebrow, shrugged and poured himself some tea. He kept the cup on the table as he gestured for Prouden to sit down on the armchair he had conjured before his arrival, in front of the now fixed television. The Commander sat himself in the seat, observing Reinseld carefully.

Taking a seat on the couch directly opposite Prouden, he sipped at his tea, returning Prouden's piercing gaze.

"I have to admit, when I received the message that Aurors would come knocking my door, I certainly didn't expect a Commander to show up," Harry said, returning his cup to the table. "Of course, I do feel honored that you decided to come here yourself."

"Curiosity, Mr. Reinseld," Prouden said. "And in this case there are many things to be curious about."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "I do have to wonder how curious these things are to bring a Commander to my humble abode."

"Then perhaps I need to explain them," Prouden said. "The two Aurors that were supposed to be guarding you. They were drawn into unconsciousness during the attack, by some darts, coated with Dreamless-Sleep Potion."

"Crafty," acknowledged Harry.

"Indeed," Prouden said, narrowing his eyes. "But what the perpetrator seemed ignorant about was the mixture of this Potion with another particular spell."

His heart started beating fast in his chest. Surely he didn't mean what he thought he meant?

"Another spell?" Harry asked, swallowing discreetly through his anxiety. "What could that be?"

Prouden looked at Reinseld appraisingly. "Did the man, at any point before the Aurors were brought down, cast a…Memory-Modifying Charm?" he said, wording his phrases carefully. A flicker of emotion disrupted Harry's cold mask, something that Prouden certainly did not miss. Prouden leaned in, his pointed teeth flickering in and out of sight as he spoke, "Well…? Did you?" His suspicious eyes glinted maliciously.

What happened when you mixed Dreamless-Sleep Potion with a Memory-Modifying Charm? Harry cursed himself for not realizing another mysterious property of magic. Magic was hazardous at times, like this one.

"I don't particularly remember him casting something like that," answered Harry, his voice nearly breaking. "Though it may perhaps be that I missed it, what with the confusion of the battle. Although I wonder how you found out about the Memory-Modifying Charm."

"Healers said that they just don't particularly work together, Dreamless-Sleep Potion and Memory-Modifying Charms," answered Prouden. "The Charm was attempted but the fact that the Potion shuts down the mind conflicted with its full potential. You can therefore expect that the Memory-Modifying Charm became quite obvious as a result of the Potion. But then again, the two Aurors' constant, indecipherable babble when they woke up was quite enough for us to realize that their minds were tampered with."

"I see."

"But if the man didn't cast it, then who did?" said Prouden. "There were only four people here, as far as your testimony reveals. There aren't a lot of suspects in this case, don't you think?" His soft voice did not evoke another reaction from Harry, who had been sitting, looking languidly and thoughtfully at the roof. In truth he was doing a lot of quick thinking, though Prouden did not need to know that.

"I do remember some strange spell he cast after the men were brought down," Harry said slowly, the idea forming in his head as he spoke. He did not fall into Prouden's trap. If the Healers knew it had been cast, they certainly would know that it was cast after unconsciousness. "Nonverbally, he performed it. It didn't have an effect, actually, nothing that I was aware of. Perhaps he cast it at that point."

"A plausible explanation," Prouden said, thought it was apparent that his suspicion was still not assuaged. "But there still remains the motive behind such an act. Why did he modify their memories?" He raised an eyebrow at Harry. Well, apparently his beating heart had only just gone through a warm-up. Now it had transformed into a full-blown, sweat-inducing exercise. Harry certainly hoped that Prouden couldn't hear the drum-like sounds, drawn from his chest. He was back to thinking quickly, although this time he didn't have much time.

"I'm not particularly sure…" Harry murmured, with a pondering frown on his face, his heart beating faster and faster as he tried to reach a conclusion quickly. "He'd certainly have to have some motive behind this…" He tapped a finger on his chin, his face screwed up in thought. His real motivation for modifying the Aurors' memories was to make it more plausible, 'Reinseld''s testimony that he kicked his attacker out. He twisted the memory so that the Aurors would believe that Harry was losing before they were knocked unconscious.

By Merlin, Prouden's glittering eyes were distracting him. They looked at him with far too much scrutiny for his taste and there was far more suspicion there than Harry exactly needed at the moment. He was waiting patiently for Harry to slip and give him sort of confession, although for exactly what Harry knew not.

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly, surprising Prouden. "I remember now!"

"What is it exactly do you remember, Mr. Reinseld?" asked Prouden, his eyes narrowing again. "What 'slipped your notice'?"

Harry tried not to let on how that comment increased his anxiety. He took a few seconds to fix the fissures in his mask and then said calmly, "I do think that his hood fell off his face at some part of the duel…"

"And did you see who it was?" Prouden said. "I do have to wonder why you didn't tell who it was that attacked you to the Aurors who came for backup."

"No, I didn't see who it was, though I think the two Aurors found out," Harry said. "He blinded all of us before I could get a good look at his face. Next thing I knew, the two Aurors were unconscious and he had his hood back up."

The suspicion that Harry expected to disappear did not dim, but seemed to grow. Prouden leaned back in his armchair, observing Harry piercingly again. A fake smile was placed on his blood-red lips again, showing his sharp teeth again. "I suppose that is a good motive," Prouden said. "But it is a bit convenient, you, the one who drove him out, would be the only one who didn't see who it was. And our… unfortunate … Aurors would most certainly have no recollection of what happened here, after they are healed of this delirium."

Harry could have sighed in relief, hearing that the Aurors would not remember what actually happened. He didn't though, because he knew exactly how it would look like to this observant man. He did make a show of appearing mildly interested, though. "A rotten piece of luck, I'd say," he said. "It's certainly not going to help us find out who attacked my house."

Prouden narrowed his eyes yet again. "It certainly wouldn't," the Commander murmured. Harry, his mask still on, went for his tea, draining the now cool liquid to assuage his nerves, while Prouden looked at him unblinkingly.

Prouden suddenly rose from his seat, brushing his impeccable silver-and-black cloak. A smile returning to his lips again, he waved his wand and the silencing wards came down, there being absolutely no need for them at the moment.

"My job is done here, at the moment," he said, his voice showing its sugary tones yet again. "My men," he added, waving to the passage outside, "will discuss security for you. I will have more Aurors around here.

"What is it that the Muggles say?" Prouden said lightly, as he was about to leave. "'I've got my eyes on you'? You can rest assured that I do."

As Prouden walked out of the door, barking orders to the Aurors, Harry couldn't help wondering exactly why the Commander was interested in him.

• • • • •

Harry passed by a pair of iron gates, through high railings. The house before him was one he had seen before.

He knocked on the door, waiting patiently until it was opened by a batty old woman. She frowned deeply at him, her eyes scrunching up.

"What do you want?" she barked at him.

"Sorry for any trouble, madam," Harry said charmingly. "Jeremy Albertson, Social Services. May I enter?"

She looked at him suspiciously, but opened the door for him anyway. "Come in then," she said, glancing at him in his polished suit unsavorily. "Wait for Ms. Bishop to come. And don't you go touching things, you hear, young man!" She turned around in the black-and-white checkered hallway, still as shabby as he remembered it. It didn't take much time for a dumpy woman to bustle in, her hands on her wide hips, and a frown on her face. The other, batty woman didn't return

"What's this about Social Services!" she bellowed. "All of a sudden? This is a government-funded orphanage, I'll have you know."

"We are sorry for any intrusion, Ma'am," Harry said, resisting the urge to say 'so, what?' He'd better just do this quick and be done with it. He snapped open his suitcase, withdrawing a blank piece of paper. "I am very sure this will explain everything." He handed it to the stern woman, whose eyes quickly went unfocused. She hobbled on her feet a little, her eyes looking over his shoulders, before handing the paper back to him.

"So you want to check the condition of the orphanage?" she said unsteadily, Confunded. "Exactly what for?"

"I thought the paper made everything very clear," replied Harry. "We would like to see the state of this orphanage, and how the children are doing."

"Where'd you like to start then?" she said, her eyes still bleary.

"How about we stop by your office?" Harry said. She reacted immediately, beckoning him to follow her as she led him unsteadily to a familiar office. She settled down behind the desk. While she stared unblinkingly over his shoulder, Harry locked the door behind him, glancing at the woman with narrowed eyes. He sat himself in front of his desk.

"So…" Harry said slowly. "Tell me everything about the history of this orphanage."

"Well, I'm not very new to this orphanage," she said, her clear voice contrasting with her dumbfounded expression. "Been here since the days of Mrs. Cole. Well, at that time, we weren't government funded and the bloke who founded this orphanage wasn't too rich. So we had to make do with whatever we had."

"Now that you're government-funded, is the condition of the orphanage better?" Harry questioned.

"Goodness, no!" she snorted, not quite realizing what she was saying. "Bloody waste of money on this dump. The children were just fine before government funded us."

Harry decided not to mention that they were obviously going to get caught. Inspectors simply had to take one look at this dump before concluding that the money had been going into the founder's pockets, as well as this matron.

"Anyway, the founder applied to the government and they funded our project," she said. "Been a lot better, living here. Mrs. Cole retired a few years back and I took over. Made a few changes around here too. Cole was always too soft on the children for her own good."

"I see," Harry said, raising an eyebrow in disgust at the woman before him. Contrary to popular belief, Harry did not have a hero-complex. He wasn't going to save the poor, poor children but he did hope that Social Services would discover this useless pig of a woman's crimes. Deciding that he wouldn't get any proper answer, he switched the direction of his questioning. "Now, do you take the children anywhere? A summer outing, perhaps?"

"Oh yes, we take 'em to the same bloody seaside every year," she grumbled. "Money we could save, but nothing I can do about it. The matrons would get even more suspicious and we have enough of that."

"Where exactly do you take them?" he said. He snapped open his suitcase again, withdrawing a blank parchment. He hovered his pen over the parchment, glancing at her.

In a droning voice, she gave him the instructions to the seaside immediately. Satisfied, Harry tucked the parchment into his suitcase. He turned his eyes to the now-catatonic Mrs. Bishop. That was technically what he had come for, but he hesitated now. Perhaps he needed to check something else.

"Perhaps you can lead me on a tour of this place?" he said. "To make sure that the children are properly cared for."

• • • • •

Harry stared around the downtrodden room he was standing in. The occupant had just left, due to a few orders from Mrs. Bishop. He doubted that Voldemort would leave his precious artifacts in this old dump, but there was no harm in checking, really.

He'd been hit with a sense of déjà vu the moment he had entered the room and so knew it had been Voldemort's. He had sent Bishop out after the orphan, choosing not to have her around for this.

He peered under the bed, wand in hand. The spell he was about to perform would not affect the natural magicks around the room, and so would not be detected. The reason for this was that the spell searched formagic, and for that it needed to not evoke a change over the magic it was searching for. Perfect for keeping the Ministry out of the loop.

A narrow beam of red light extended from his wand tip, while he held it close to the ground. He scanned under the bed with this beam, running it over the small space below the bed. There was nothing out of place.

He rose from his position, moving to search every single corner and object for dark magic. Still he found nothing.

He looked to the wardrobe.

He frowned.

He still hadn't searched inside it.

Opening the wardrobe, he could see nothing out of the ordinary with his naked eye. But when he ran the beam of light across the exact place where Riddle used to hide his trophies, something happened.

A hole appeared, out of nowhere, and as if it had been there all along and he'd just never noticed it.

And it was right underneath him.

His eyes wide, he fell.

• • • • •

He fell flat on his back.

For two seconds, all he heard were the steady drops of moisture drip-dropping from the ceiling.

He didn't get to enjoy it very long, however.

It was like a monstrous beast had ripped through the floor he had been lying under. Flying debris spewed up a storm as something rose from the darkness, something slimy and green, with thorns along its sides. A roar registered in his blank mind and thus threw it into action.

The first thing he did was roll himself to his feet, his knees bent so that he could dodge whatever it was easily, and his wand at the ready so that he might blast whatever it was attacking him out of existence. He was lucky he had held on to his wand.

The second thing he did was register that he was feeling dizzy and nauseous, unsteady on his feet.

The third thing he did was analyze his surroundings. He had survived the fall due to a cushioning charm that had been layered on the floor. He had assessed that from the fact that he had not died when he landed. He was in a huge cavern, in which half of the ground had been turned into rubble and become a gaping hole. One which was filled with a gigantic plant-like thing. Its flower was a mouth – like much of the monster-plants he had seen in cartoons – the edges of its petals were teeth, and its thick vines were tentacles. Its stem was the largest he had ever seen, larger than the trunks of the largest trees.

He had barely understood the gravity of his situation before the vines surged forth, intent on wrapping themselves around him.

"Orbiso Flammum!"

A giant orb of searing flames blasted forth from his shaking wand, which was beating to the same rhythm as his arm. Despite the cushioning charms, the fall had jarred him.

He was blasted to his feet as the orb exploded into a storm of flames, flames that seemed to have no effect upon the monster. The vines were knocked back a little but they came back with a vengeance, grabbing him and bringing him to the plant itself. With that, it opened its maw and only then, with horrified realization, did he register what the plant was.

He had read about it… the Maggola, a plant with endurance like no other. There was almost no way to actually harm it, the only thing you could do is calm it. That wasn't just it, though. It fed on humans, which it swallowed whole and stored in its pseudo-stomach for days, its juices breaking down every cell of the victim to sustain its life.

Locked up here underground, there was no doubt … it was bloody hungry.

And unfortunately, he was not in a position to laugh about it.

He struggled in vain against the vice-like grip of the plant. All he knew was that he could not allow himself to enter the belly of the beast – for there was no way he could then get out of it.

The fingers holding tightly to his wand were slowly being crushed, and so he had to act quickly before he lost his only weapon. His mind immediately leaped back to fire, which he had already tried. It seemed to hold the plant back a little. Perhaps…

With great effort, he flicked his wand-wrist, and his wand along with it. Flames suddenly engulfed his entire body; they did not hurt him, but they certainly burned at the beast. It dropped him, its tentacles surprised by the sudden heat. He landed smoothly thanks to the cushioning charm, but he did not have much time before a shadow loomed over him and the plant's red flower darted forwards at him, its mouth open and ready to swallow him.

He rolled to the side. While the brunt of the attack had been avoided, its pseudo-teeth had penetrated his side and drew blood. He winced in pain, but ignored it in favor of leveling his wand at the beast's head and barking out a spell. Countless crude blades appeared around him, their points aimed at the plant's flower. They darted forward, sinking into its mouth with a satisfying squelch. And more were still coming, he made sure of that.

He wasn't stupid; he knew there was no way that could have killed it, so he moved. With a wave of his wand over his feet and hands, he prepared himself for a climb. He jumped up and latched onto the wall with his left hand's palm, supporting it with his legs. He crawled up the wall, hoping that the plant was injured enough for him to escape. Harry could not help but look back and glance down at the plant, which had its tentacles groping away at its flowers, trying to take out the searing blades.

Satisfied, he climbed up the hole he had fallen through, hoping that he'd manage to get out of range from the plant before it recovered. He quickened his pace, climbing up the wall with record speed, growing surer of his feet as he got used to the strange feeling of crawling up a wall.

He was almost there now… quickly, he let his left palm off the wall, now simply standing on his two feet, horizontally to the wall. Gravity threatened to tilt him the wrong way, but he persisted. He practically ran up the wall, until finally.

He yelled in triumph, just before a tentacle grabbed at his left arm and pulled.

He was in quite a position, now; the tentacle was pulling at him, yet he remained stuck to the wall by his feet. The tentacle pulled and pulled, but it could not pry him up the wall. His arm was aching by then, its socket straining from the force. And with an expected crack, his arm broke. More tentacles followed the first, wrapping around his throat and attempting to choke him now that he was stopped in his tracks.

He did not attempt to cut the tentacles off with a spell, fearing that he might cut his throat by mistake. His throat was slowly tightening and air could no longer pass through it. His body was beginning to slowly weaken and his vision was slowly being marred by black spots, while it narrowed as unconsciousness threatened to take him.

In desperation he raised his wand upwards to the roof of the cavern that was not part of the hole he had fallen through. A red shimmering ray blasted off from his wand and struck it. It cracked, and then broke into a rain of large debris that fell upon the plant below. Its tentacles grew limp and released him, and so he took his chance.

He did not know from where he got the energy to continue, but he did. He ran further and further up the wall, meanwhile hearing rumbles beneath him as the plant attempted to throw the boulders off of it. It took little time for the tentacles to come after him; he could see in the corners of his eyes as the multitudes of tentacles groped after him, upwards. Faster he ran, upon seeing this. The tentacles were closing in on him and he was still so far.

Finally, he saw a glimpse of light, light from the room he had fallen down from. He could now see his destination. It was in the range of his wand!

And so, while he ran, he pointed his wand upward and barked out a spell. A thick rope with a giant harpoon at the end blasted off from the tip of his wand. The rope continued to stretch from his wand tip as the harpoon rose higher and higher, until finally it embedded itself within the roof above.

He removed his feet from the wall as he was quickly being propelled upwards by the shortening rope. Finally, sweaty and absolutely tired, he was launched back into the room, on his knees. The hole sealed behind him and he gasped in some much needed air.

It was only when he finally could even think properly did he figure out exactly what that was. It was a trap; designed by Riddle. Any wizard, who would come to his old orphanage, searching for dark magic, would most probably be searching for his Horcruxes. The plant was designed to trap the wizard until Voldemort could come and extract him from it so as to question him and then most likely kill him. Damned Riddle, Harry thought vehemently.

Suddenly, he widened his eyes. Riddle could be on his way right now; he was neither ready nor prepared to fight him, he knew that. His dread was only deepened when he remembered … the Ministry had most probably detected his underage magic. Goddamn it!

He had to get out of there fast!

It was with little elegance did he jump straight out of the window, muttering, "Arresto Momentum!" His fall was punctuated by the screams he suddenly noticed from the building. The harpoon he had used had most likely caused a ruckus. He landed smoothly on the floor in front of the orphanage. Quickly, he ran forward, spinning on his feet while doing so …

And he fell on his back, as his Apparation was stopped. By Anti-Apparation Wards, of course.

It didn't take very long for a platoon of red-robed Aurors to show up, by Portkey, no less.