Harry Potter - The Accidental Animagus

Chapter 42 - Plans Are Laid

Exactly what happened between Harry and Hermione and the late Professor Quirrell was supposed to be a complete secret, so naturally, everyone knew. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the rumours did slip past the castle walls, sneaking from one person to the next through whispers in dark alleys and shady pubs. People whispered that it wasn’t really a cerberus that had killed this year’s Defence Professor. The ones with the best connections to the underbelly of magical society started to put the pieces together: the Philosopher’s Stone, the break-in at Gringotts last summer, Potter’s involvement, his falling out with Dumbledore, and, most tellingly, the testimony of a seventh-year Slytherin who had snuck into the hospital wing and discovered that Quirrell’s body hadn’t been mauled, but had been burnt to a crisp. There was no concrete proof (Quirrell’s second face was no longer identifiable), but those who were willing to follow their noses smelled the involvement of the Dark Lord.

The overwhelming reaction to these rumours was denial—a denial borne out of fear. Those who had not served the Dark Lord naturally feared his return, and those who had served him knew that he would be displeased with everyone who had lied their way out of Azkaban. And even if he was back, it looked as if he was gone again, so it was far better to just let it lie.

But there were two people in magical Britain who did not think this way. To the eyes of the world, they were the wastrel brother and sister of a fairly prominent society figure, living together in a run-down house in the north, their fortunes having taken a mysterious turn for the worse after the fall of the Dark Lord. To those who knew the truth, though, they were two of the most sadistic and brutal Death Eaters alive, not on the level of the Lestranges, but still grade-A thugs. And they were not content to let things be.

“You really think he’s back, Amycus, after all these years?” the sister said to her brother.

“I’m telling you, Alecto, all the signs point to it,” snapped Amycus Carrow. “Who else could break into Gringotts? Who else would go to such lengths to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from under Dumbledope’s nose?”

“Well, excuse me for being thorough,” said Alecto. “You know what that means if he’s back, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! Anyone who disowned him after the war’s gonna be in it deep.”

Amycus and Alecto Carrow had definitely lost the genetic lottery: squat, lumpy, beady-eyed, and a bit pig-like, the both of them, not to mention none too bright, they were the complete opposite of their handsome and well-respected brother, Anteros. Throw in a pair of hotheaded and sadistic personalities, and they were the perfect candidates for joining the Death Eaters: ambitious, seeking shared glory, and thuggish, seeking more refined forms of cruelty.

“So what are we gonna do?” Amycus demanded.

“Keep your pants on—for both our sakes. I’ve got an idea.”

“What’s that?”

Alecto’s lopsided mouth twisted into an evil grin: “We’re going to help him.”

“What! Have you lost your head, woman?” He drew his wand on her.

But Alecto was faster, knocking him into a chair with a Stinging Jinx. “Use your brain for once. The Dark Lord’s coming back one way or another. He’s too powerful to be stopped forever. He calls us, we all go crawling back, and what does he do to us?”