Chương 6: Weaving a web
"Is it truly safe?"
"If you remain silent, Mr. Crouch," said Robert, frowning as he wove a luminous web about the prisoner's head. "I am endeavoring to mitigate the effects of the Unforgivable to the greatest extent possible, and your words are disrupting my concentration!"
Barty obeyed, closing his mouth, but Grimm's frown deepened.
"And your thoughts as well! Were it not for the peculiar nature of the spell, I would have rendered you unconscious long ago. Working with unconscious patients is much easier."
Despite Barty's best efforts, it proved far more difficult to still his thoughts than to silence his tongue. The return of his Lord filled him with joy, but he found his current captors vexing: one for having discovered his lord, and the other for their caustic remarks.
It was, of course, rude, but in the circumstances it was the best he could hope for. Let us see: Mr. Crouch, what is it that you desire?
Barty listened to his inner voice. The metallic hoop had vanished into thin air, and the haze had cleared from his mind, leaving only a slight buzz in his temples, which, compared to his usual state, was nothing but a minor nuisance.
He felt a sense of contentment as he realized that he no longer had to force himself to utter words that his father deemed forbidden. "I desire to continue serving the Lord with utmost devotion," he thought with joy.
"Excellent," Robert remarked. "You have overcome the effects of Imperius, although I must commend you. Had you not resisted for so long, you would not have built up a natural resistance. Your determination is commendable," he paused meaningfully, "if it were not for the fact that had you shown more cunning and adaptability from the beginning, you might have avoided this spell altogether. We do not need stupidity; we need sly foxes who can weave through the trees and leave no trace."
"What are you driving at?" Barty asked, perplexed.
Robert arose from his seat and made for the door. Barty was about to follow, but his legs felt rooted to the ground. He heard the door close behind him and the house returned to its normal state. Barty realised that there was no longer anything holding him back, and took a step forward, but then restrained himself.
My Lord. He was alive. And he had come for him. Barty did not want to disappoint him. With a heavy heart, he slumped back into his chair. A month. Such a brief and yet seemingly endless period of time. But he would survive. He would not fail his Lord's expectations. After all, that was necessary.
***
Robert lounged at the table with a slow sip of his beer, his eyes narrowed as he read a book in the dimly lit bar. The title of the book, "Fantastic Beasts: Their Habitats", was too intriguing to put down.
Grimm enjoyed reading the handbook, searching for parallels with his own world. As he studied information about the smerkut creature, he couldn't help but think of the Living Shroud from the film "Alive". Sharing his memories of the film with other wizards caused Quirrell to turn pale, then green, finally declaring that it was fortunate this was merely a Muggle creation, yet the Dark Lord had seriously considered creating such an entity.
"And what are we waiting for?" Robert asked, attempting to keep his companions engaged, although neither understood what they were doing in the Leaky Cauldron, despite Grimm's promise of a surprise. The Lord's patience began to wear thin.
"Oh, you shall see, you shall certainly not remain unmoved," he said with a mysterious smile. Then Grimm tensed up and turned his head towards the door, through which the colossal figure had passed. The newcomers smiled and some of them waved in greeting.
"How do you find it, Hagrid, as usual?"
"I cannot, Tom, I am here on Hogwarts' business," replied the forester, and with his large hand he slapped the small boy in loose-fitting clothing on the shoulder so hard that the child's knees buckled. The boy looked around in astonishment, resembling a frightened little owl.
The bartender exclaimed, "Merciful Merlin! This is... Is it really...?"
Silence ensued in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Bless my soul," whispered the elderly bartender. "Harry Potter... What an honour!" He hastily emerged from behind the bar, rushed up to Harry, and seized his arm. Tears filled the bartender's eyes. "Welcome home, Mr Potter. Welcome home."
The boy was at a loss for words. Everyone was staring at him. Hagrid beamed.
Suddenly, the chairs creaked as they were pushed back, and in the next instant, Harry was shaking hands with all the guests at the Leaky Cauldron.
A tempest raged in the mind of one wizard at this moment.
"You knew!" Voldemort roared. "You knew he was coming here."
"I suspected," replied Grimm calmly. "Considering what day it is, one might expect him to appear here today or tomorrow. Besides, it's better that we saw him now, not on the first of September. Look at him carefully, listen not to your emotions, but to reason and magic sensations, then think carefully about what you've seen."
The wizards surrounded the legendary Boy-Who-Lived tightly, and Robert could only look out from behind others' backs and shoulders to continue watching. Eventually, the Dark Lord grew tired of it.
"I want to get a better look at him," Grimm thought to himself and began to weave his way through the crowd. Once standing in front of his adversary, he gave a cool smile and nodded in greeting to Hagrid. The half-giant's grin broadened even further.
"Professor Quirrell," Rubeus introduced the man to Harry. "Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers in the future."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, young man," said Robert, extending his hand. Harry shook it gingerly. Grimm tuned into his senses.
When he first ventured into the Potterverse, he pondered why Harry's mother's protection did not incinerate Quirrell upon their initial encounter, but instead claimed his life in the pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. At present, there were no agonizing sensations, suggesting that the spell responded to emotions or moods, or operated on the principle of reflection: it mirrored everything directed towards it. As none of their intentions were to harm Harry, the defense remained dormant, for such a spell, in its active state, could sap a wizard's vital essence.
"What branch of magic do you specialize in, Professor Quirrell?" inquired Potter with curiosity.
— I teach protection against the Dark Arts, for a wizard's life is not always serene and untroubled. Are you and Hagrid off to procure supplies for school? Receiving a curt affirmation, he chuckled, "Well, we mustn't keep you any longer. It's delightful to see you once more."
He gave a nod to the diminutive hero, clapped Hagrid on the shoulder, and departed. Having observed their departure through the rear door, Robert retraced his steps to his desk, quaffed his ale in a single draught, and, promptly settling the bill, made his way towards the entrance of Diagon Alley.
"Grimm, might you elucidate your intentions? What has been bestowed upon Hagrid and Potter?" inquired Voldemort with a chilly demeanor.
"The egg of an informant spider, my lord. This enchanted creature will enable us to remain apprised of all the activities of the Boy Who Lived and Dumbledore's confidante, and the cocoon of the spider shields against external influences, thus…"
"What makes you presume that this foolish giant is Dumbledore's confide?" the incomprehensible lord interrupted.
"Well, whom would you dispatch if you were in Dumbledore's shoes?" Grimm responded to Voldemort's question. "Personally, I would not reveal myself, it's too tempting to eliminate them in a single stroke. Thus, it must be someone else, someone Dumbledore did not confide in Potter. Otherwise, there is doubt regarding the value of the protagonist. Though," he paused meaningfully, "I still question its significance. Have you observed his attire? As if he were not the scion of one of England's wealthiest families, but… some sort of pauper, would you not agree?"
The wizards pondered the matter.
"But truly, Potter does not appear to be in good health," opined Quirinus, who, unlike his superior, had had ample opportunity to observe children over the years. "He is pallid, and those spectacles are chipped. Were I not aware of his identity, I would say he was a Muggles' oddity."
Robert suppressed a dull irritation with great difficulty. His companions had little contact with the non-magical world, so they did not even realize how despicable the protagonist's situation was. Nor did Grimm himself realize it until recently.
It's one thing to read about a young wizard's fate in a seemingly childish book, and quite another to witness it with one's own eyes. Although films visualized the story, they were softened and embellished in some places, smoothed out the sharp edges. When Grimm first read the legend of Magic Britain, he wanted to go to the Dursleys himself and beat them up. Dumbledore wanted to torture them with the Cruciatus curse, but Robert was not accustomed to acting impulsively. Perhaps the headmaster meant well by sending Potter to his aunt and uncle, because muggles would not look for him there. This is the conservatism of English wizards towards non-magic people.. Were this to occur in the United States, all parties involved would conduct a thorough investigation of everyone without exception, irrespective of their magical abilities. Or perhaps Albus indeed had a scheme to create a self-sacrificing hero…
Grimm shook his head, dismissing the thought. Let not one's mind dwell too long on such matters. Another's soul may be shrouded in darkness, yet Dumbledore would not allow them to gain entry into his thoughts. Furthermore, each person may interpret the situation differently, for truth is subjective and elusive.
Upon reaching Quirrell's apartment, Robert swiftly cleared the table of all objects, placing a dark sphere upon it. With his hands, he performed mysterious gestures. Moments later, the sphere trembled and began to rotate, revealing itself to be a spider that had been slumbering until then, with an eye-like pattern on its polished back. Grimm delicately picked it up, bringing it close to his face.
"And now, miss Astraea," he intoned, his breath like a caress of flame upon the ethereal creature, "do you enlighten me with what your offspring perceive and hear."
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