Title: Takes One to Know One
Author: Cassandra Riley
Pairing: Harry/Voldemort
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies. I did not create the Harry Potter universe.
Chapter One
Harry landed with a bump.
“Ouch,” he muttered, rubbing his elbow and discarding the broken mirror which had served as his Portkey. He stood up, wincing, and observed his surroundings with minimal interest.
They were as unremarkable as could be. A narrow cul-de-sac wound out of sight behind him, edged with neatly trimmed verges. Plain, semi-detached brick houses lined either side of the close, and Harry could hear ahead of him the faint sound of traffic where it obviously met a main road. It reminded Harry irrevocably of
The street was practically deserted, Harry thought indifferently as he began to wander along. He wondered briefly where he was and how long the journey was going to take him. Merlin knew why on earth Dumbledore couldn’t have let him arrive closer. Or at least have let him bring his broom.
He felt in the pocket of his jacket to check his wand was still there. It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help but take it out every few minutes at the moment, just to feel secure. Hermione often complained that he was making her nervous, and couldn’t he just sit still for a change? It was like expected an attack any second! The truth was, Harry almost felt like he did. He could almost swear there was someone watching his every move.
Voldemort had been oddly quiet recently, after all.
Harry reached the end of the small cul-de-sac and immediately noticed two things. One, he was extremely hungry, and two, passers-by kept… staring at him. There was no other way to describe it. It was like they had seen a ghost.
Unfazed, Harry approached a young woman pushing a pram.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, “but could you tell me the quickest way to
It really did look as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, Harry thought suspiciously, as the woman gave him directions. It surely wasn’t possible that the first person he spoke to in Muggle London was a witch, and recognised him. Was it?
“Thank you,” he said, and she nodded and hurried off, looking relieved to be out of his way.
Harry disregarded this and resumed his journey, confident now that he should be at
He stopped at a roadside kiosk, bought a ham and cheese sandwich, and continued along, munching happily. A young boy holding his father’s hand walked past him, then turned, stopped and stared.
“Look, Dad! It’s Harry Potter!” the boy cried gleefully, jumping and pointing. His father pulled him away, murmuring at him not to be ridiculous.
Harry dropped his sandwich in astonishment and self-consciously flattened his fringe over his scar. For a Muggle community, there seemed to be an awful lot of wizards about.
The dubious staring continued as Harry trekked through
But, eventually, Harry arrived at
He cautiously approached the friendlier-looking of the two policemen (after extensive deliberation, the moustached one). “Er, excuse me?” he greeted. “I’m here to see the Prime Minister.”
The policeman raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, lad. Off you go.”
Harry frowned confusedly. “You don’t understand. He’s expecting me.” He leaned closer. “I’m Harry Potter,” he whispered.
The policeman laughed derisively. “Yeah, and I’m Queen
“Look,” Harry began to get frustrated. “I’ve been corresponding with the Prime Minister. I’ve even got an invitation.” He rummaged in his pockets. “Oh, bugger.”
The policeman was beginning to get angry as Harry searched his pockets, going ‘bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger’. He glared at him. “I’ve had enough of your games. Do I have to take you down the station, boy?”
Harry immediately stopped his exploration and retreated. “No,” he muttered, “sorry.” He hurried back down the road wondering what the hell had just happened.
Maybe he’d given up too easily. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the policeman speaking into his radio, still staring suspiciously at him. He gulped, and hurried round the corner out of sight. Maybe not.
What to do, what to do. Ducking out of sigh into an alleyway, Harry pulled out his two-way mirror; the one Sirius had given him, at the same time surreptitiously feeling for his wand. At least that was still there.
“Professor Dumbledore?” he called uncertainly, gazing into the mirror.
Seconds later, the Headmaster’s countenance swam into view, smiling congenially.
“Good afternoon, Harry. And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Er.” Harry felt stupid now, having to say ‘they won’t let me in’ like a petulant child. “Well, something’s gone wrong, Sir. It was like – well, like they had no idea who I was. No,” Harry thought again. “It was like they did know who I was, but they didn’t believe I was me.” He looked at Dumbledore guiltily. “I’m sorry, Sir,”
“You’re sure about this, Harry?”
Harry felt an unwarranted surge of annoyance. “Quite, quite sure.”
“H’mm.” Harry watched as the bespectacled old man unwrapped a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth with much crinkling of a paper wrapper, and had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “And what do you think, Miss Granger?”
The vision in Harry’s mirror blurred momentarily before Hermione’s worried face appeared in it. “Harry. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I’m just… confused.” Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. “What the hell d’you reckon’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Harry. What you said… it just doesn’t make sense.” Hermione looked tired too, Harry noticed. “You don’t think maybe You-Know– maybe V-Voldemort – oh shush Ron – has got to the Muggle Prime Minister, do you?”
“I doubt it.” Harry considered. “The policeman would have arrested me on the spot. In fact, they wouldn’t have bothered with the nicety of arresting me – he probably would have Avada-ed me where I stood.”
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione looked wretched, and Harry immediately felt sorry for making jokes – he knew how worried she was at the moment. “Oh, you’re probably right. But now what?”
Harry shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest.”
There was another blur, and Dumbledore’s face re-materialised, now looking concerned. “Harry, I suggest you return to Hogwarts immediately. According to the Minister for Magic, the Muggle Prime Minister has been observing the front of
“I – what?” Harry was completely baffled. “But – I mean, that’s not possible! I was there!”
“Yes.” Dumbledore looked troubled. “As I said, I advise you return immediately. Something is not right.”
“But, Sir,” Harry protested, feeling rebellious, “surely coming back would –”
“No, Harry,” Dumbledore cut across, his tone stern. “Do not forget that it is most likely Voldemort we are now dealing with here. We must not underestimate him. You will return at once. You remember the spell, I trust.”
“Yes,” Harry said, doing his best not to sound sullen. “Yes, Sir. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Harry.” And with that, Dumbledore disappeared.
Harry tucked the mirror back into his jacket sulkily. Why Dumbledore always thought he knew best was beyond him. He pulled a quill with the end snapped off out of his pocket and extracted his wand.
“Portus,” he commanded the quill, which obediently glowed blue. Harry placed his wand back in his jacket pocket and checked his watch.
“Five,” he counted, “four, three, two, one –”
He gripped the quill resolutely and waited with tightly shut eyes for the familiar and discomforting jerk behind his navel that was connected to travelling by Portkey.
Nothing happened.
Harry opened his eyes and glanced down at the Portkey, confused. Why on earth hadn’t he gone anywhere? He looked around him guardedly – yes, he was definitely still in the same place. But, more to the point – why was he? He knew he had cast the spell correctly; the quill had glowed blue and everything. Harry wrinkled his nose. This was ridiculous. He dug out his wand again.
“Portus!” he said, in a much more stubborn manner.
There was a faint glimmer of blue around the noncompliant Portkey, as before. Harry bit his lip, and watched the seconds ticking on his watch.
“…two, one…”
And still nothing happened.
Harry frowned. This was absurd. He held his wand up and inspected it closely, then did the same with the broken quill. Both appeared to be in order. So what in Merlin’s name was the problem?
He pointed his wand at a nearby pebble. “Accio.”
The pebble zoomed towards him. So, he deducted carefully, it was merely the Portkey spell that was refusing to work. Therefore… Harry shook his head. There was just no logical conclusion to come to. It was clear he was never going to figure this out.
However, before Harry had a chance to reach this deduction there was a faint yell that seemed to come from nowhere. Bemused, he turned all around him before realising that it was actually coming from his jacket. That, Harry thought, made no sense. His jacket could not talk.
“Mmmph!”
Ah, Harry remembered. But his mirror could. He poked around in his pocket and found the mirror, out of which Hermione was yelling rather loudly.
“Alright, alright!” he protested. “What’s the matter?”
Hermione lowered her voice. “I’ve been calling for five whole minutes. Ron and I thought something had happened to you.”
“Oh.” Harry bit his lip guiltily. “Sorry. I didn’t hear. What’s the matter?”
“You should be back by now,” Hermione pointed out. “Is something wrong?”
“Well…” Harry glanced at the quill. “Yes, actually. The Portkey isn’t working,”
“Not working?” Hermione repeated. “But that’s not possible.”
“No,” Harry agreed. “But it’s true all the same.”
“But…” Hermione seemed to be, for a change, at a loss for words. “Harry, has something happened to your wand?”
“No; I tested it with another spell.” Harry demonstrated by levitating the mirror and making it fly around him.
“Stop that. You’re making me dizzy,” Hermione commanded. “Professor Dumbledore wants to know if you’ve tried Apparating.”
“But – I can’t,” Harry said, scared. “I mean, I haven’t passed my test.”
“I know,” Hermione allowed, “but you still know how to do it. It’s worth a try, Harry, if you can’t get back by Portkey.”
Harry was about to refuse, remembering that last time he had tried Apparating he’d left five fingernails behind (it was very painful), before realising that for Hermione to encourage him to break wizarding law, she must be very worried indeed.
“Well, alright,” he conceded. “I’ll try.”
“I know you can do it, Harry.”
“Thanks,” Harry muttered cynically, tucking the mirror away again. “Okay, you can do this,” he told himself. “Destination, determination, desperation. No, that’s not right. Destination, determination… deliberation.” He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth and twisted on the spot into nothingness.
But there was no horrible twisty tube thing, and when Harry opened his eyes, he realised he hadn’t moved an inch.
Harry cursed loudly, thanking Merlin that the alley he was in was fairly unnoticeable. He had done it right, he knew he had. Which led him to only one explanation – there was some sort of charm or enchantment that was simply not letting him leave.
Harry pulled his mirror back out. “Hermione!”
She appeared within seconds. “Harry, what are you still doing there?”
“It’s not bloody working!” he burst out. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this definitely has some sort of magic involved, and I can smell a red-eyed, snake-like rat!”
“You don’t think…?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice.
Harry hesitated. “It seems very likely.”
Hermione sighed heavily and vanished from view, being replaced by the face of Professor Dumbledore.
“Harry, this is important,” he said urgently. “I need you to tell me your exact whereabouts.”
Harry was slightly taken aback by the Headmaster’s abruptness, but he proceeded to describe the alley in great detail, down to the colour of the graffiti on the wall beside him.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Do not move from your location, Harry.”
“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, but Dumbledore had already gone. “Ron? Hermione?”
Ron’s face appeared, slightly pale. “Dumbledore’s just Apparated to where you are, mate. Is he there?”
Harry looked bewildered. “No, there’s no one here. No one’s even walked past.”
“I don’t get this, I really don’t,” Ron groaned. “Hang on.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry muttered. “What, do you think I’m just going to go for a walk around
“Harry? Did you say something?”
Harry snapped his mouth shut. “Um, no. Just talking to myself.”
Ron gave Harry a weird look and disappeared from view again. Harry tapped his foot impatiently, humming ‘God Save The Queen’ under his breath.
After a few minutes, Dumbledore reappeared in the mirror. “Harry,” he said, sounding anxious, “has anything happened? Have you noticed anything strange at your end?”
“I – no, sir,” Harry said, befuddled. “Don’t you – I mean, do you know what’s going on?”
“I have an idea,” Dumbledore admitted. “I believe you have been transported somehow into some sort of parallel universe, if you will – a universe where wizardkind does not exist.”
“What?” Harry could not believe his ears. “You mean, those sorts of things are actually real?”
“I personally was not sure, however… studies by alchemists and professors in recent years have shown that such a thing is not impossible…” Dumbledore did not sound convinced, however he continued. “Another feasible explanation does not present itself at this time, but I assure you we are still researching.”
“By ‘we’ you mean just you and Hermione, don’t you?” Harry said, torn between the urges to laugh and yell angrily.
“Well, yes,” Dumbledore conceded, smiling. “Mr Weasley finds my tin of sherbet lemons most intriguing.”
“So… I’m stuck here, sir?” Harry felt the first inklings of panic sink in.
“For the time being, it would appear so,” Dumbledore looked sober, “however, Miss Granger seems to have made it her personal priority to find a way for you to leave as soon as possible. In the meantime, I suggest you transfigure any Galleons you have into Muggle money and find a place in a hotel. I don’t wish to panic you, Harry,” he added, “but it does not seem likely that this is a coincidence. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Yes, Sir,” Harry said. “Thank you.”
Dumbledore smiled and disappeared from view. Harry shoved the mirror away and groaned, loudly. Now what?
“I think you’ll find, Potter, that you’re stuck here,” said a bored voice from behind him.
Harry froze, hoping that the voice did not belong to who he thought it did. “No I’m not,” he replied cautiously.
“Oh, yes, you are,” the voice drawled lazily.
Harry shut his eyes tightly and turned around. Tentatively, he opened one.
Voldemort smirked at him.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
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