Harry Potter and the Chamber of Commerce: Chapters 14-15 (Patreon)

Book One: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Butterfly 

Book Two:

Chapters 1-7 

Chapters 8-13 

Chapter Fourteen

Obstrepan Nott chanted as he carried the ritual goblet to the homunculus laid out on his ritual table. His most powerful Abraxan had carried the infant homunculus and then the body had grown in the ritual space below the Nott castle.

“Take us to the body,” the Dark Lord ordered. Obstrepan averted his gaze to avoid seeing the Dark Lord’s wraith form attached to the back of Quirrell’s head. It was obscene. However, Obstrepan kept his mind focused on his task. He had been charged with returning his Lord to a body, and the magic was difficult enough that he could not allow himself any distractions.

As the clock slid toward midnight, Obstrepan spelled the Elixir of Life into the hormunculus’s stomach and the wraith slid free of Quirrell, the dark smoke of his form settling around the lifeless body. Quirrell fainted, his limbs sprawled at awkward angles, as Obstrepan completed the ceremony.

For years Obstrepan had studied the old family lines in order to track the loss of magic for his lord, and he had used blood from his lord’s first body to make this new one, so he hoped to return his lord to his original form. By the end of the war, whatever magic had stolen his lord’s sanity had also taken his looks.

As long as the Dark Lord looked monstrous, he would never attract new followers. Of course Obstrepan had already committed Theo to their Lord’s service, and others would follow: Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, Selwyn, Warrington. However, new people would not follow someone they found physically unattractive, no matter how much they believed in the Dark Lord’s position. At best, those people would be silent supporters, and after their losses in the last war, they needed more active support.

After a time, the darkness sank into the body, and it glowed. As the clock slipped over to one minute after midnight, the Lord gasped, his body arching up off the table before he sat up, his dark curls matted with sweat.

Obstrepan clutched his left arm as a stabbing pain in his mark settled into a dull throbbing pain. As the Dark Lord sat up, Obstrepan felt the fealty bond settle again. When they’d both been young men and Tom had first put his mark on the Knights, it had felt very different. Part of Obstrepan had hoped that with his lord reborn, the mark would return to that original feeling of security. True, even in the beginning it had been confining and had inspired some claustrophobia, but now there was an almost oily feeling of corruption in the mark. But he cleared his mind and bowed to his lord.

“Welcome back, my lord.”

The Dark Lord swung his legs off the table and ran fingers through his hair. “This body feels strong.”

“I am glad, my lord. I recommend you continue to take Elixir of Life for a full year to establish your spirit in the new body.”

“Now I will have my wand returned to me,” he said.

Obstrepan kept his head down in a bow. “I am unaware of where to find your wand, my lord. I bribed officials at the Ministry, and no one knows where your wand went.”

“Give me your wand.”

Obstrepan drew his wand and offered it. The Dark Lord’s fingers were as long as ever, and he claimed the wand, twirling it between his fingers. Then his voice snapped out, “Crucio!”

Pain coursed through Obstrepan, setting his nerves on fire and sending him crashing to the floor. In his flailing, he kicked the antique chalice, and it skittered across the hard floor. He trembled as the after effects of the Cruicious curse coursed through his veins. As soon as the pain eased, he gasped out, “I apologize, my lord.”

The Dark Lord fingered Obstrepan’s wand. “This is a poor substitute for my wand. You will find Wormtail. If the Ministry does not have my wand, he does.”

Obstrepan got on his knees. “He is dead, my Lord. I will search any property he had access to until I find it.” Obstrepan screamed as the hated curse turned his nerves to fire once again. He writhed helplessly until the Dark Lord finally ended the spell. Obstrepan breathed heavily, struggling until he could—once again—kneel at his Lord’s feet.

“If the rat were dead, I would know. However, he is currently in his Animagus form, making it impossible for me to summon him.” The Dark Lord’s anger filled the space with wild magic. Obstrepan swallowed as the feeling of such power surrounded him.

“I was unaware, my lord. Everyone believes him dead, killed by Sirius Black.”

The Dark Lord chuckled, his voice making the hairs on the back of Obstrepan’s stand on end. When the Dark Lord released his full power, that turned into a full body shiver. This was the man with the power to stand against Dumbledore and his machinations. Obstrepan buried his regret that his Lord was no longer as sane as he had been as a young man. Just as his physical appearance had deteriorated, so had his sanity. His magic, however, was untouched.

“The Black idiot deserves his fate. He would have supported the old fool until his dying breath. He never bent his knee to me because he never realized how the fool used him as a pawn in his own games. I delight in the idea that the fool cast away such a valuable piece. I must know of every member of the fool’s Order, and I will know the fate of each Death Eater.” He paused. “I will call them when I have a suitable wand.”

He still suffered paranoia, then.

“Yes, my lord. If I may take my wand to Gringotts, I will retrieve my family’s collection of wands. I own sixteen generations of wands going back to the earliest days of the art. I hope you will find a less offensive wand in that collection.”

“You only hope to save your wand for yourself,” the Dark Lord accused him.

Obstrepan lowered his head until his forehead touched the ground. When the Dark Lord had started his movement, he had not required such obsequious displays, but he had the power to enforce his will. Obstrepan would perform whatever rituals were required to show his respect because his trusted the Dark Lord to save the Wizarding world from Dumbledore and his minions.

“No, my Lord. I will place my own wand among those I offer. If my wand is best for you, I would rather you claim it. My own magic is less powerful and so it will be easier for me to perform with a less ideal match. But many know of my allegiances, and I cannot go to Diagon Alley unarmed without risking my life. And if I die, I cannot serve you.”

The Lord ran his fingers down Obstrepan’s spine, his fingers performing a delicate dance across the vulnerable skin. “Are you still so loyal?”

“Of course,” Obstrepan said. “You are the one best able to challenge the fool. I see what my Theo learns at school, and I know how our community is being systematically neutered. In your absence, we have suffered loss after loss in the Wizengamot and with our best duelers condemned to Azkaban, we cannot openly strike at the enemy.”

“And what of Harry Potter?” The Dark Lord’s voice was low and thrummed with power.

Obstrepan cursed the madness that still held the Dark Lord in its thrall. The boy was no threat to someone as powerful as him. However, Obstrepan knew the folly of saying such a thing. “He is at Hogwarts. My son watches him. The youngest Malfoy has befriended him.” The Dark Lord’s fingernails dug into Obstrepan’s flank, and Obstrepan hurried to provide some useful information that would save him from more pain, something his lord wouldn’t have learned from haunting Quirrell as he taught. “The Malfoys have uncovered certain evidence of neglect and abuse, although the Ministry—at the fool’s direction—have blocked his attempts to intervene.”

“Abuse? Why would the old fool allow his prophesy-child to suffer?” Shocked colored his voice.

“I do not know, but it is muggles who have misused him and the child has reached out to Slytherins to explain the magical world to him.” Obstrepan held his breath. Either the Lord would demand that the Potter child die immediately or he would see an opportunity to subvert Dumbledore’s plan. Obstrepan knew what the young Riddle would have done, but it was harder to predict this version of his lord. The strategy and subtle manipulation that had once characterized the man had vanished under demands for immediate results.

“Interesting.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I must see the full prophesy before I know how to handle young Potter.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“If Lucius has involved himself, have him take the child to the Department of Mysteries and claim the orb.’

“Yes, my Lord.”

Obstrepan hoped Lucius was still loyal. The man had always been more devoted to his family than he was to the Dark cause or the Dark Lord. Many escaped punishment by claiming a Death Eater had used the Imperious curse. However, Lucius had condemned the cause with a fervor that left many believing his tale.

“Now!” The Dark Lord demanded with a sharp hex to Obstrepan’s backside. He scrambled to get out of his Lord’s sight.

Obstrepan scrambled away, eager to send Lucius an owl. Or not. The fact that the Dark Lord had returned was not something to trust to an owl. While spells to corrupt or divert owls were rare and difficult, Dumbledore was a formidable enemy and Obstrepan a common target for those in the Light party. The Muggle Protection Act that had just failed had been a clear attack on Lucius and himself. Ironically, it had been Harry Potter’s political influence and Lucius’s connections in the press that had derailed that attempt. He could only hope their lord saw the value in corrupting the child rather than killing him.

While he had no objection to killing those muggles that settled on land sacred to wixen or who expressed hateful religious beliefs, he had never cared for the indiscriminate killing the Death Eaters had relished by the end of the war and he loathed the idea of killing a child.

But he had given his loyalty and accepted his lord’s mark and he would follow where his lord led. That was the vow he had taken.

Rather than leave a floo trail another might trace, Obstrepan apparated to the edge of the Malfoy estate and began walking toward the front. He was unsurprised to see Lucius at the Manor’s door, waiting. All the marked Death Eaters would have felt the return of their lord.

Lucius had a wild expression, and he held his wand in hand as though expecting to be called on to raid the Ministry this very night. When he saw who had come to the property, he hurried over.

“Is it true?”

“You have seen the mark.”

“But have you seen him?” Lucius asked.

Obstrepan nodded. Lucius’s expression turned to sadistic glee. No doubt he was thinking of all the ways he could make the Light pay for their insults, but Obstrepan wasn’t sure he had considered that the Dark Lord might not approve of how Lucius had publicly denied him. “Our lord has a task for you.”

Lucius’s smile grew wider.

“You have access to the Potter child. You are to find a way to escort him to the Ministry and have him claim the prophesy.”

All the glee vanished from Lucius’s face. “If we touch it, the headmaster will know we claimed it for our lord.”

“Most likely,” Obstrepan agreed. “The alternative is to disappoint our lord.”

Lucius swallowed.

“He is as uncompromising as ever,” Obstrepan warned. That was the best warning he could offer Lucius.

After tucking his wand away, Lucius nodded slowly. “In six weeks the school will go on break. I can arrange for Potter to have a doctor’s appointment.”

“And would that give you access to the boy?”

Lucius nodded. “The headmaster expects heads of households to escort students off Hogwart’s grounds. Severus would give me access.”

Severus. For all Lucius’s faith in the potion master, and even their lord’s faith, Obstrepan did not trust that one. Even when the Dark Lord condemned mudbloods in their society, Severus had begged for the life of one—the very one who later helped set a trap that denied their lord a body for a decade. If any other Death Eater had made that request, they would have died screaming. But because Severus Snape shared so many similarities with young Tom Riddle, their lord never examined Snape’s motives properly.

However, Obstrepan’s duty was to deliver the task. The rest was up to Lucius.

“Do not fail him, Lucius. He has very little patience.”

Lucius’s smile had returned. “Of course. I will, and with the Dark Lord back to full power, we will return the Wizarding world to wizards.” He turned and strode back to the house where Lady Malfoy waited at the door.

Such blind prejudice Lucius indulged in, but Obstrepan would not argue against his lord’s position. With a quick turn on his heel, he apparated to Diagon Alley so he could collect the wands from his vault. The Dark party was back, and this time they would not be defeated by an infant in a crib.

Chapter Fifteen

Obstrepan had laid his family’s wands out on the sideboard according to core. His own wand was in the first collection with the other dragon heart-string cores. Then he had the phoenix feather cores. When the Dark Lord had claimed a wand using a feather from Dumbledore’s own phoenix, the Knights of Walpurgis had seen it as a sign that Tom Riddle was destined to rise from the ashes of Dumbledore. Perhaps another phoenix feather wand would serve. The third section was much smaller. Unicorn hair wands were not well suited to Dark magic, and Obstrepan did not expect the Dark Lord to choose one of those.

The older wands were at the end. Before Ollivander had decided to limit English wands to the three major cores, older wand makers had used many magical artifacts. The Nott family had been in England since their first Viking ancestors had claimed land from those too weak to protect it. The old wands had Veela hair and centaur hoof, threads from dementor cloak and basilisk venom, thestral hair and acromantula fangs. One of the oldest even had kraken skin. It had come from an ancestor who had vowed to never step foot on land after his brother betrayed him.

Obstrepan hoped his lord would find a reasonable match. There wasn’t a better collection of wands outside of a wandmaker’s.

Theo’s owl swooped over the table and dropped a letter, and Obstrepan untied it and began reading. The letter was a factual description of events, but he read carefully. Theo understood the position the family was in now that the Dark Lord had returned, so he trusted his son would not bother him with trivialities. He was almost to the end of the letter before Theo described, in the blandest terms possible, the threat that had been written in blood on the wall of Hogwarts.

The Heir of Slytherin.

He remembered too well when it had opened before. Tom had invited the basilisk into the school proper until Myrtle had seen it in the girl’s bathroom, dying instantly. None of them had mourned her death, but the headmaster had almost closed the school. Tom had been furious.

Obstrepan took the letter and hurried to the guest suite. He knocked and waited until he was invited in, falling to his knees just inside the door.

“My Lord.”

“What have you brought?”

He held out the scroll, waiting as his lord read. Dark magic lashed the room, and he swallowed as the raw power whipped through him, summoning his own magic to respond. Opstrepan held his magic close as the Dark Lord picked up a twelfth century vase and flung it into the wall.

“Bring me your wand,” he demanded.

Obstrepan returned as quickly as possible, offering first his wand and then his left hand to allow the Dark Lord to press the mark. A nearly orgasmic pleasure washed through him as he felt their lord’s magic interact with his own so intimately. A second later, a crack filled the air, and Lucius stood in the room, his robe open. He fell to his knees.

“My lord.” His voice was full of reverence.

“Lucius,” their lord said, his voice velvet and soft and exceptionally dangerous.

“Welcome back, my lord.”

Their lord stood, his dark robes swirling around him as he turned to face Lucius. “Where is my book, Lucius?”

Lucius looked at Obstrepan in confusion before looking back toward their lord. “Book, my lord?”

“My book, Lucius. Surely your father told you to keep it safe.”

Lucius lost most of his color and took on the appearance of a ghost. “My lord?”

“Crucio!”

Lucius fell to the ground writhing. A minute passed. Two. Four. Lucius urinated on himself and his screams grew weak and hoarse before their lord finally stopped. Lucius lay on the floor, twitching and moaning so piteously that Obstrepan felt sorry for him. He’d known Lucius since he’d been a spoiled two-year-old holding onto his father’s robes. He’d grown into a spoiled man with a talent for shaping the world to his whims, but their lord would not be shaped. It was best for Lucius to learn that now. Their lord was a wall—a stone wall that would not yield to the machinations of those like Lucius or Dumbledore.

Their lord looked down at Lucius with disgust. “Again, Lucius, where is my book?”

Lucius struggled to get to his knees, but failed as his legs twitched uncontrollably. “There was a book my father told me to keep safe, but he did not say it was yours, my lord. I would never betray you, my lord.”

“Crucio!”

His screams were weaker now, and Obstrepan feared the man would have permanent damage. Hopefully their lord would relent before Lucius joined the Longbottoms in St. Mungo’s. He stopped, and Lucius was too weak for anything more than a few whimpers. The smell of urine and fear was thick in the room, and his silk robes were forever ruined with the stench of it.

The Dark Lord smiled coldly and crouched down to stroke the side of Lucius’s sweat-stained faced. “I will not repeat the question,” he said in a deceptively kind voice. This was, no doubt, Lucius’s last chance.

“I gave it to a girl. It was so Dark that with the new Muggle Protection Act, I feared being caught with it, and I thought to humiliate Arthur Weasley by forcing him to either admit that he had somehow come into possession of a Dark artifact or by having him caught in the act of disposing of it. I had people watching him to see if he would perform some cleansing ritual. They were ready to call the Aurors. My people report that he has done nothing to suggest he is in possession of the most illegal of artifacts.”

Obstrepan immediately understood what Lucius had done. “You gave our lord’s book to Ginerva Weasley who is currently at Hogwarts.”

Lucius swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes.”

The Dark Lord stood and turned away, his robes swirling. “You will get that book back or you, your wife, and your son will all suffer unimaginable tortures at the end of my wand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord. I shall retrieve it, my lord. I will not fail.” Lucius babbled and again tried to climb to his knees. This time he managed it, and he knelt, twitching and jerking.

“You will not or every last Malfoy will beg for death before that mercy will be granted.”

“Yes, my lord. And I have the boy, my lord. Harry Potter. He trusts me. I can bring him to you.” Lucius rushed to offer up another child in place of his own who was now at risk. There was the Malfoy dedication to family. His lord could have found no other threat to motivate Lucius properly.

“I will deal with the boy. You will perform the tasks I have assigned you. Under no circumstances will you tell anyone that I have returned or that you have spoken to me. Not even other Death Eaters will hear of me through you, Lucius.”

Lucius pressed his forehead to the ground. “Of course, my lord. I will not say anything, my lord.”

“Get out of my sight,” their lord hissed in a tone that would have better matched his previous appearance. His handsome face with soft curls did not match the furious expression or the dark magic that filled the room.

Lucius struggled to his feet and stumbled out. No doubt he would have to find some corner in which to rest before he attempted to apparate. Otherwise he would splinch himself. The moment the door closed behind Lucius, the Dark Lord raged, his power lashing the room and smashing priceless heirlooms. A carved chair, a charmed tapestry, a silver dressing set—they all crumbled to ash as their lord released his true power. Obstrepan slipped back onto his knees and waited.

“He gave the book away. He gave away a piece of my soul—the largest piece of my soul. He will pay for such a betrayal!”

Obstrepan sucked in a breath. There was only one spell that would divide a person’s soul and empower an object to carry part of it. He had read of Horcruxes—a favorite spell of ancient Egyptian wizards. However, he had no idea that this lord had dabbled in such Dark magic. He reviewed his memories. Tom had changed after the Chamber of Secrets during their sixth year, and Myrtle had died. That could have been the first Horcrux.

He had been colder after that, but he had retained his sanity. However, after he had been denied the job at Hogwarts, he had become even colder and more ruthless. When Aurors had used the killing curse on Bartholomew Buckthorn, their lord had lost what sanity he retained. After that, his schemes had devolved into wanton violence and fury. He would dispense Crucios with abandon, and he flew into battles with no thought of strategy.

It had worked. For a while, it seemed that his aggressive approach had cowed the rest of the wizarding world into silence, and then Severus had brought the prophesy. All their lord’s attention had turned to the two Aurors expecting children—Longbottom and Potter. Their push to grab Wizengamot seats had languished. Their drive to reclaim wizarding holy grounds had stopped. Nothing else had mattered, and then their lord was gone. Banished—Dumbledore said—by an infant.

No doubt he concocted that story to make the Dark Lord appear impotent and ridiculous, but so many wizards believed it.

However, it made sense now. Their lord had made Horcruxes—perhaps even more than the three the books recommended. But he had not reabsorbing the larger pieces. Tom Riddle had lacked access to an ancient library, and if he had done what Obstrepan suspected, he did not understand the price this spell required—the price beyond the murder that allowed the soul to split. “My lord,” he whispered. “I have an ancient book.” Obstrepan hesitated. His Lord needed to read the text. “It could help you move such a powerful and precious force to a more secure location.”

The Dark Lord grew dangerously still. “You know what I have done.” The quiet in his voice warned him that his lord was on the verge of either torturing him to insanity or killing him; however, Obstrepan had an obligation to serve his lord and make sure he had the information required to use Dark magic correctly. The Egyptians understood that a person could not function with thirteen percent of their soul. The ritual required creating three Horcruxes and then reabsorbing the first two. That would leave the wizard with an almost whole soul and an artifact with twelve or thirteen percent of the soul to keep the soul anchored in the mortal plane until the wizard was ready to move on.

“I do, my Lord. The fool has banned even the mention of Horcruxes, but the Nott library has Egyptian texts that detail the spells.” He kept his gaze on the floor. The silence was terrifying. Then the Dark Lord began to laugh.

“The old fool thought he could hide such magics from me. He thought himself infallible. He thought that by controlling the library at Hogwarts he could control magic itself. But I found the ritual in a hidden corner of a forgotten text. For all his vigilance, he failed to control me. At sixteen years old, I outsmarted the old fool.”

Obstrepan feared his Lord had outsmarted himself as well. “Shall I get the text from my family library?”

“Go. Fetch this book.” Obstrepan rushed to obey. All he could do was provide the book and hope his Lord understood the danger in creating more than one—or rather the danger in creating more than one and not immediately reabsorbing the largest pieces. At one point, the Egyptians had used this spell with great success, but even the raw power of the Dark Lord could not overcome the side effects if the spell were misused.

And if Lucius could not retrieve the book with their lord’s soul, Obstrepan feared the repercussions, not just for the Malfoy family, but for their lord and for Dark wizards everywhere.