1,489Familia Omega Est III
Politely, someone knocked on the door.
This was an unheard-of occurrence in the very special case of this very special door. Firstly, it was so far off the beaten track that it was a toss-up whether Magical Maintenance didn't bother inspecting the corridor or whether they were altogether unaware of its existence. It wasn't a very striking door. From the outside, nothing special could be detected about the worn double-leaf portal. If anything, it looked remarkably like any of the dozen abandoned courtrooms that dotted the narrow corridor. The corridor this specific door was in led to yet another disused corridor full of dusty courtrooms in disrepair and ransacked offices, and that corridor opened out into a little door among fifty other doors deep within the ninth level of the British Ministry of Magic, a floor that Magical Maintenance did check up on, albeit reluctantly. The only other people one might expect to meet on the ninth level were the Unspeakables, for whom mysteries and machinations behind ancient doors in discarded corridors were just another Tuesday afternoon. And they had plenty of work as it stood, thank you very much.
Secondly, not many people knew of this door's existence – and even if they did, they usually didn't know where to look. The very special people working behind this very special door were protected by vaguely similar vows and privileges as the Unspeakables. As such, only the heads of the various departments, certain senior Ministry officials, Wizengamot members, and the Minister's aides were officially privy to the mere existence of this door and what lay beyond.
Of course, there were a vast number of other people who – through sundry connections, favours, and other more illicit acts – had acquired knowledge of this door and its contents, but what thirdly made this door so extremely special was that the mere mention of its existence constituted a crime. It was for this reason that, over the years, a handful of sobriquets had sprung up to avoid self-incrimination. One might think that with the numerous people working behind that special door, rumours and leaks would spell the end for the shroud of mystery veiling what lurked beyond sooner rather than later. But another quirk of those who worked at this place was that, much more than any other department of the Ministry – save perhaps Internal Affairs – it was an extremely homogenous group of carefully selected and screened employees who were not only exceedingly competent but scrupulously loyal. And since they weren't allowed to talk to their families or other employees of the Ministry about their purview, they formed a tight-knit group suspicious of outsiders.
Fourthly and lastly, what was so very uncommon about the sound of rapping on this door was that not only was it supposed to be permanently silenced but also so richly steeped in defensive magic that the mere approach of strangers should have triggered several Anti-Intruder Jinxes to raise living hell.
But they hadn't. The polite yet persistent knocking on the wooden wings was all there was to hear, ringing through the rooms beyond.
Eventually, an emaciated middle-aged man with giant glasses that might have been in fashion with the Muggles twenty years ago opened the door.
'Yes?' said Dirk Creswell.
'I'm dreadfully sorry to distract you, sir,' said a young man with neatly parted ginger hair and equally large glasses, bowing deferentially. 'But I'm afraid I'll have to request your cooperation. I would like to have a look at some of your department's documents.'
Laughter echoed from behind Dirk Creswell. A lot of the strange people working behind those doors had stopped by to satisfy their curiosity about the extremely uncommon event taking place that day.
'And who are you?' asked Dirk neutrally. He hadn't left his office much in the last four years, but he was certain he hadn't met this rigid young man with the comically straight back.
'Percy Ignatius Weasley, sir. Junior Assistant to the Minister. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask everyone to step away from their desks and cooperate.'
'You and what army, boy?' hooted someone to ubiquitous sniggering.
A scarred, leathery hand pushed Percy Weasley aside. Through grey, grizzled hair, the emerging apparition stared down at Dirk Creswell, who instinctively took two steps back.
'That would be me,' growled Alastor Moody, glowering at the assembled men and women, whose laughter got stuck in their throats. 'I'm afraid we'll have to insist!'
Memory Lane
'Are you sure you shouldn't be lying down?'
Sirius scowled, looking down at the tattered remains of his robes, covered in ash, soot, blood, and the remnants of the repeated attacks on his life by the daughter of his first cousin.
'You don't look so well,' said Alice with a glance at the heavy bandages covering almost the entirety of Sirius' face.
'Couldn't sleep anyway,' muttered Sirius. 'Wouldn't lie down if you put me in chains.'
'But the curse … your face–'
'Can it! It won't ever heal, what good will a few charms do now? I recognised the curse even back in the Shrieking Shack: good old Immolation Curse. Bellatrix dug it up in the library when she was twelve. And her daughter's cut from the same cloth.'
'I'm really sorry. Perhaps a specialist Healer could–'
'Give it a rest already. Right now, I couldn't care less about my face. At least I've still got my wand.'
Alice's hand unconsciously patted her wand holster. 'Thank you for reminding me. I never really thought I'd ever lose my first wand. But the backlash cracked its core, blew it to bits. I'm lucky I didn't lose my hand.'
'Impressive spell, I thought.'
'Yes,' muttered Alice, lost in thought. 'Yes, it was.'
Sirius, from the corner of his eye, watched Alice Longbottom with some care, but her face was blank.
'What about him?' Sirius pointed towards Rendall Prewett, who lay tightly wrapped in a cocoon of rune-covered sheets in the centre of the ICU. More than a dozen potions already stood lined up orderly for the next dose. In the four corners of the room, incense or something more arcane that went beyond Sirius' understanding of healing magic billowed away. 'Did he wake up already?'
Alice sighed. 'Twice according to the Healers but never fully lucid. They say it was a miracle they got him here in one piece. Six cracked ribs with one piercing his organs, both eardrums ruptured, heavy concussion, burns all over his body, one lung completely collapsed, smoke poisoning, severe trauma all over his body, critical loss of blood … and his leg. They weren't sure if–'
'Don't be daft,' said Sirius. 'At most, they weren't sure how to break it to him. That leg's gone. The curse took it off for good, even I can tell at a glance.'
'How?'
'Let's just say this,' he pointed towards the left side of his face, 'was child's play in comparison.'
'You know the curse?'
'No.' Sirius shook his head. 'But can't you tell? Can't you feel it still?' He squinted his eyes, approaching Prewett's stump warily with an outstretched hand. Then he stopped, wincing, withdrawing his arm. 'This is dark stuff. And not the crude experiments of an overeager idiotic teenager either.'
'I never really studied the Dark Arts,' said Alice ruminatively. 'Are you saying this isn't a very well-known bit of magic?'
Sirius shrugged. 'Who's to say? You know how spells come and go out of fashion like anything. Maybe not this one though. An obscure spell that is almost a guaranteed kill has value. You wouldn't want it outlawed. This kind of magic is only known to people with rich knowledge and a vested interest in the Dark Arts.'
'Hmm …' Alice looked thoughtfully towards where the Healers had amputated the festering stump. 'I'll be interested in Frank's report. As far as I could tell, there were at least two other splashes from the same spell scattered over Hogsmeade. Another Auror was hit, but he's still somehow holding on – just barely.'
'The same spell? Are you sure?!' Sirius looked up, agitated. 'Where?!'
Alice glanced towards the door. 'This is … just a hypothesis. It's conjecture at this point.'
'Out with it!'
'Well, we found all three marks of this curse precisely where Harry and … Miss Greengrass must have passed through on their way from the western plaza to the Eagle Emporium and back again.'
The words hung heavily in the air. Finally, Sirius snapped his mouth shut. 'That's impossible! You mean someone followed them around? In that mess?!'
'I'm not saying anything of the sort!' said Alice carefully. 'I'm just stating my perfunctory observations. I told you I only left just now. The place is a mess. No time to process it all yet.'
In silence, they looked at one another.
'Do you think,' said Alice, lowering her voice, 'do you think one of them could have–'
'Where?!' A sudden, rattling breath, a deep rumbling from the corner in which the incense was being burned, and a low hum from the runes covering the sheets alerted both Alice and Sirius to the room's only official occupant.
'Rendall?!' Alice jumped up and walked around the bed to better look at him.
'Where … where is she?'
Sirius stood up, exchanging another glance with Alice. 'You need to rest, Rendall. You're lucky to be here.'
'Where is she?! Where?!'
'Rendall, you need to calm dow–'
'WHERE IS SHE?!' Rendall's eyes were almost popping as he, unseeingly, stared spasmodically at the ceiling, spittle flying everywhere. 'WHERE?! WHERE?! WHERE?!'
A wizard in the traditional lime green robes of the Healer profession rushed through the door, shoving Sirius roughly out of the way. 'What did you do to him?! I told you to keep it down! This man needs rest!'
'Nothing,' said Sirius indignantly. 'We did nothing! He just started going off on his own!'
Alice and Sirius took a step back and watched silently as the Healer wrestled with his frothing patient and his screams of 'WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE IS SHE?!'
In the end, the Healer whipped out his wand, paralysed Rendall, tapping a few of the runes on his blanket in a seemingly random order, and forced a tablespoon of a potion in his robes down the man's throat.
Slowly, the glimmer of madness faded from Rendall Prewett's eyes.
'Right,' said the Healer. 'I want the two of you out of here right this instant.'
'No,' said Alice calmly. 'We truly need to speak with the patient for a second. We are–'
'From the Ministry, yes, yes. Some most important codswallop.' He drew himself up to his full height, glaring at them with steely determination. 'If I see you anywhere near my patient when I'm on my next round in five minutes, I'll call security. I don't care who you are! This is my ward – and not the Minister's!'
'Of course,' said Alice politely. 'We won't be troubling you or the patient any longer than strictly necessary.'
The Healer harrumphed at their Ministry robes one last time and walked out without another comment. As soon as he'd gone around the corner, Sirius gently tapped Rendall's shoulder with his wand to lift the body-bind.
'Where …' said Rendall weakly, his eyes unfocused. 'Where is she?'
'She isn't here, Rendall,' said Alice kindly, patting the man's shoulder softly. 'I'm sorry, but it … didn't work out that way.'
'Didn't work out? Didn't work out?!' Rendall's eyes widened again. 'Didn't work out?! Why didn't you bring her?! You just had to bring her in!'
'She's dead, Rendall.'
For a few seconds, the manically wide eyes watched on unseeingly. 'What?'
'Daphne Greengrass is dead.'
'No …'
'She was killed in Hogsmeade. We don't know yet by whom.'
'No …!'
'We're … still looking into it, to tell you the truth. The same curse that knocked you out seems to have mortally wounded Miss Greengrass. She passed away after you fell unconscious.'
'No!'
'I'm sorry, Rendall,' said Alice.
Sirius' head snapped towards her, and, for just one second, his eyes glinted furiously.
'She was our best lead,' murmured Rendall. 'She was our only lead. We could have used her. We could have proven for all the world to see–'
'She is dead, Rendall,' repeated Alice matter-of-factly. 'She can't help any longer.'
'You … you just let her die?! One year … countless concessions … hundreds of little favours … Frank turning a blind eye … all of this … wasted?! Just because that little whore skipped out?!'
Alice couldn't even blink before it happened. The hint of rustling fabric, a growl of fury, the merest suggestion of an airflow – and Sirius Black's fist slammed with a vengeance against the side of Rendall Prewett's skull.
'She was my niece, you bastard!' snarled Sirius, grinding his teeth.
Alice cleared her throat, checking from the corner of her eye to make sure nobody stood in the doorway. 'I … don't think he can hear you any more.'
Sirius snorted dismissively, rubbing his knuckles.
'Was that necessary, Sirius?'
'She was my niece! My only brother's daughter! I didn't want her dead. Damn it all, I didn't even want it to come to blows!'
Alice patted him absent-mindedly on the back. 'Yes, I know. Still … I think this is our cue to leave. I can't imagine Healer Roguethistle will be terribly pleased to learn that you've knocked out a patient in intensive care.'
Sirius grunted angrily but didn't fight her nudging.
Healer Roguethistle, it turned out, was just around the corner. 'What was that just now?!'
Sirius just glared at the man.
But Alice was all smiles, polite and deferring. 'Whatever do you mean? Still, you might want to test Mr Prewett for mind-altering effects. That outburst from earlier … well, it didn't seem entirely normal.'
'Trauma can do that to a man,' said the Healer sceptically, eyeing Sirius irately. 'In any case, we already did test Mr Prewett when he was first delivered into our care and tried to bite my colleague's finger off. But except one extremely mild compulsion which we've already cleansed, there was nothing more sinister. And now,' he made a shooing gesture with his hands, 'please let me treat my patients without any more unnecessary interruptions. I'll have news sent to you as soon as there is any.'
'Of course. Thank you, Healer Roguethistle.'
The man nodded jerkily and walked towards Rendall's cubicle.
'Extremely mild compulsion, ey?' muttered Sirius as they strategically fled towards the nearest fireplace. 'Does that mean not very potent or very subtle?'
'It might not have had anything at all to do with this,' said Alice. She sighed, hastening her stride as a roar of righteous fury echoed from down the ICU. 'Still, looking back, I do admit I find his … single-mindedness and insistence in the entire matter slightly … off. He's always been a hothead but this …'
'Try petty-minded,' mumbled Sirius.
'Speaking of which,' said Alice with half a smile as two similarly official-looking envelopes emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Minister's office raced through the corridor towards them. 'I believe these will be our summons.'
'Hands up if you think the lowly Auror is going to take the blame,' said Sirius.
'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' said Alice. 'Rendall's been a nuisance to Gideon and Fabian. I could see them spinning it to Rendall masterminding it all.'
'Well, he did – if you make him a master of bugger-all.' Sirius took his envelope with a sigh, staring coolly at the ornate writing. 'Anyway, see you on the other side. Or maybe not.'
Alice nodded. 'Good luck.'
She had just about vanished around a corner when Sirius called out. 'Hey, Alice!'
'What?'
'That spell, the one that locked your and Harry's wands. Pretty advanced barrier, wasn't it?'
'Ward,' said Alice, her eyes not quite meeting Sirius' gaze. 'Not a barrier.'
'Right. Ward. Never seen it before though. But you knew it. Struck me as a rare piece of magic. Not something you'd just stumble upon.'
'No, you wouldn't. It's rare all right. It's …' she hastily looked around to make sure they were alone, 'a recent invention. And never publicised.'
'Recent? How recent?'
'Seventy years or so.'
'By whom?'
Alice hesitated, shot another look down the corridor, and turned around.
'Allie!'
Alice Longbottom took a hesitant step forward before stopping again. Looking over her shoulder, she said, 'It's Dumbledore's, Sirius. Dumbledore invented it.'
Memory Lane
'I am displeased,' said Arcturus Black, as he – somewhat uncharacteristically – prowled up and down the carpet in front of the fireplace, his back turned to several partially veiled figures who sat rigidly like choirboys on uncomfortable-looking chairs, wearing torn, muddy robes that were dotted with blood. 'Very displeased.'
'My lord,' muttered a voice from a stool deferentially, 'there were only low-ranking Hit Wizards and patrols at first, sure enough, but by the end, we were facing three platoons of Aurors. We kept them busy, but it's a miracle only Rodolphus got seriously injured. Except, well … ' The voice trailed off awkwardly.
A gut-wrenching sob came from the ancient desk, behind which a woman sat, clutching a bit of parchment in one hand and what looked like a family portrait in the other. That woman, starkly contrasting the Black patriarch, remained unnaturally still – except for her hands; they shook with tension, every vein and every flexor muscle standing out starkly against her skin.
'Yes, I took notice that in your effort to "keep them busy" you managed to reduce half the village to rubble. But therein lies not the root of my dissatisfaction. Remind me, what was your objective again?'
The man whom Arcturus Black had been speaking with cleared his throat nervously. 'To … protect our interest. To keep the children from getting swept up by the Last Department.'
'No,' said Arcturus Black, coming to a stop in front of the man, looking down with narrowed eyes.
'But, my lord,' protested the man, 'you said that we needed to do all it would take to–'
Arcturus Black slapped the man. It wasn't a powerful strike, and the man looked more surprised than anything. But the room fell almost unnaturally silent. 'No,' continued Lord Black. 'I said to keep them safe from Alice. And yet …'
The woman behind the desk gave another pained, dry sob. Just then, the fire in the majestic soapstone fireplace roared, spitting emerald green flames that soon revealed one last black-clad person. The new arrival was tall and gaunt, and a mop of fair hair seemed to creep out from under his hood.
'Welcome back,' said Arcturus Black, not turning towards the new arrival. His eyes were still fixed on the man in front of him, who was avoiding his stare. 'What news?'
'I confirmed the Auror involved in the Last Department's operation was Sirius. He's officially been on leave for seven months now. But Frank kept that paperwork and Sirius' entire file in his desk drawer, that's why his name never came up. And also … Daphne has been declared deceased by the Ministry.'
The person sitting behind the desk wailed in anguish, clutching the armrest with fingers as white as chalk. The expressions and bearing of the others didn't visibly shift. This was unwelcome news – but news thoroughly expected.
Anger swirled behind the cool grey eyes of Arcturus. He was about to snap something when he faltered, turning towards the woman behind the desk. 'You may leave if you wish, Ophala. I'll be with you shortly.'
'No …'
'I will tell you whatever you wish to know, I assure you.'
'No …'
Arcturus watched her for a second, and his expression settled into something unreadable again. 'They won't be able to hide. No matter what they do and no matter where they go, I will find them.'
'It won't bring her back,' whispered Ophala croakily. She was about to say something, but then she bit her lip, looking away. 'I want Astoria out of Britain.'
The others watched the exchange apprehensively, looking from Arcturus to Ophala and back again.
'Astoria will have to finish her year at Hogwarts,' said Arcturus after a second of thought.
'I want her out!' said Ophala shrilly, looking up through red eyes that gleamed like fire. Her face was waxen, and with the dark rings under her eyes and the somewhat dishevelled look of her hair, it couldn't have been clearer that she not only hadn't got an ounce of sleep but that she felt positively demented.
Arcturus' voice took on a calmer, more empathic tone. 'She will be. But what do you think they'll do if we take Daphne's sister out of Hogwarts – now?'
'I don't care–'
'Do it for her! What sort of life will she lead if the entirety of Britain is convinced she fled for sharing in the same crime as her sister?'
'Daphne committed no crime!' yelled Ophala, shaking with grief and rage.
'She did not. But that's what they'll say, and you know that they will. Do you want to condemn Astoria to this when the only price to pay is a few short weeks of peace of mind? Albus will make sure nothing happens to her – as will I. You have my word.'
Ophala looked ready to explode but – instead – she deflated. With each passing second, it looked more like she didn't have any bones left in her body. She nodded meekly.
The gaunt man cleared his throat. 'Rodolphus is seriously injured. I took him back to the forest behind our mansion, but I can't keep him there.'
'Obviously,' said Arcturus curtly. 'Is his life in jeopardy?'
'At the moment?' The man shrugged, revealing a lithe and youthful collarbone. 'No, my lord. But he's in a world of hurt. Shacklebolt could've killed him but tried to bring him in instead. I had to forcefully transfigure Rodolphus to get him out of there. Summoned him and stuffed him in my pocket. Being shaken, tumbling around in there, that all won't have improved his broken bones – or his temper.'
'If his life is not in danger, we will revisit the situation in a few moments. This,' he finished, raising a finger as one of the people on their chairs was about to protest, 'is more important than the shame of defeat or a few broken bones, Bellatrix.'
The figure lowered its head. 'Of course, my lord.' After a second, she added, 'What about the girl? The Mudblood? She did this! She's the one who set this all up! It's all her fault for meddling in affairs beyond her understanding!'
Silence swept through the room like a stray pull of air.
'As we understand it, she did not reveal what she knew about Daphne willingly – despite not being aware of what her observations might mean to someone like Alice Longbottom. In addition to not being privy to her teachers' real identity, she also readily shared her experience with us when she realised Alice and Sirius had betrayed her. Do you object to this summary, Ophala?'
Ophala looked up through red eyes. 'What? No … no, I suppose not.'
'But she knows too much!' insisted Bellatrix.
'She's a friend of D-daphne's,' sobbed Ophala, stumbling over the name of her daughter. 'Just … don't hurt anyone you don't need to. Too much … misery and pain for one day already. Just let her be.'
Arcturus watched her for a second, ignoring the impatient clicking of Bellatrix's tongue. 'She will not be allowed to leave Hogwarts, and all the family members will keep an eye on her in the meantime. Personal access of people related to the Ministry is to be prohibited at all costs. She is an associate of Harry's as well, so I will leave the decision to him … at such a time that he is ready to make it.'
'Harry should never have befriended the Mudblood,' said the gaunt man coldly. 'Nothing good ever comes of associating with their sort.'
'And there's also the apprenticeship to that wretched wench,' growled Bellatrix.
'Both of which,' said Arcturus with the air of putting a nail in the coffin of the argument, 'are not subject to tonight's proceedings. While Miss Granger's host debriefs her, I would like to take the occasion to make one thing utterly, unmistakably clear.' Arcturus turned towards the battle-worn assembly sitting near the wall, lowering his voice – and the room temperature seemed to follow suit. 'Sirius' betrayal will have real consequences – it already did. He will face our wrath from this moment forward. As far as I'm concerned, he is kin of ours no longer. But it wasn't Sirius who wounded Daphne – by intent or happenstance. And I doubt that – even in the unlikely event that any Auror secretly and illegally meddled in Dark Magic – a person employed by the Ministry, out in the open with co-workers, civilians, and all manner of witnesses potentially lurking about, would use the kind of magic that has been used this evening. Then again, maybe that is why it was deliberately done. Maybe it was someone from another family. Maybe it was a villager. Maybe it was someone we couldn't even think of. These are all possibilities.'
He took a deep breath, and his sharp eyes seemed to glow with intensity. 'No matter who … if ever it emerges that someone attacked my heir or another member of the family, regardless of the circumstances or their intentions…' He paused, and his eyes swirled with cold fury. 'That person and any person involved will learn the full extent, every nuance – the full meaning of regret and misery. They will pay with toil and blood, manifold and … continuously until such a time that the remainder of their traitorous, miserable existence is so utterly bereft of any possible value and purpose to the family. Their death will not even be the final, merciful release from suffering. It will merely be the end of their utility as a mindless husk of flesh. Whoever is responsible for this will not be forgiven – no matter who and no matter the reason!'
'Yes, my lord,' said Bellatrix eagerly.
'Yes.'
'Yes, Lord Black.'
'Go now,' said Arcturus, watching them all. 'I dare say you need rest. Turmoil will spread in the coming days. Leave Bartemius to me.'
The others, except Ophala, all stood up, bowed to Arcturus, muttered a few words here and there, and – one after another – stepped through the emerald flames behind the desk, speaking words of comfort or putting a hand on Ophala's shoulder as they passed. Arcturus only spoke a few words to address the situation with Bellatrix's husband.
Yes, the odds of an Auror dabbling in the Dark Arts risking his cover to kill a student were slim at best. It was certainly possible that another family had been trying to prevent Daphne's rescue, but her arrest – surely – would have done even more damage. So why kill her? It also disturbed Arcturus greatly that the same curse that struck Daphne, according to Amaryllis, had been used on at least two other occasions near the children – possibly aimed at the children.
The thought of villagers, bystanders, or anyone affiliated with Hogwarts being culpable was almost laughable, and he had only included this most marginal of chances to keep up appearances. Because they all knew that family members couldn't actively harm family members – much less with deadly force.
Usually.
Memory Lane
Hermione turned a page in her magazine (The Blissful Bibliophile), shifted in her rocking chair, and took another sip from the straw of her magically refilling non-alcoholic cocktail, careful not to shake the sugary fruit salad balanced precariously on the rim of the glass. She furrowed her brow, glancing at her drink, her relaxed expression slowly turning tense.
'Hermione, I greatly appreciate you telling me this, believe me. But I've got to run. I'll just conjure some amenities to keep your mind occupied and make you comfortable.' Her captor had swished their wand, twirling it in a complicated fashion that seemed to cut on parts of the wand movement of the following spells, instantaneously igniting a burning curiosity in Hermione, who had never seen anyone chain spells so elegantly. True to their word, the comfortable rocking chair with thick velvety cushions and cheerful blankets that looked distinctively Muggle in nature, a stack of books and magazines, several snacks, and drinks were conjured or summoned – though from where Hermione could not tell. Already, her captor was sprinting off. 'Stay here. No harm will come to you, I swear. I'll be back,' they had called out.
It had been almost ten hours since then. Hermione didn't have a clock, nor did she feel sleepy in the least. The books and magazines were heaven-sent, and with them, Hermione was able to keep herself from thinking too hard about what had transpired, what had happened only a few hours ago, about the revolting feeling of being betrayed, of being imprisoned in her own body. Hermione just read. Reading dulled the thoughts. Drinking the words from the pages like a lost wanderer in the desert, she measured the time by how much reading she was getting done. Not that it mattered what she read. Not that she could remember what she'd read.
Still staring at her drink, her mind – unshackled at last – shifted into a higher gear. Not for the first time, she wondered what had caused her teacher to betray her in such a manner. What was so important about Hermione? And why did her captor positively fly from Hermione when she had recounted her memories – vague as they were – of what she had involuntarily divulged in the Three Broomsticks? It all seemed so … mundane.
Why were the family affairs of her friends any business of anyone? And what about Daphne had caused Mrs Monboglott to positively jump in jubilation? No matter how Hermione looked at it, it seemed there was some piece of the grander puzzle she wasn't privy to, some vital bit of information that connected the dots. Her teachers, the obliviations, Daphne. And not even the threat of the contract had been enough to keep any of this from happening. What was going to happen now…?
A sudden beam of light blue alerted Hermione to the return of her captor. Turning her head, she saw the same average-looking man with his goatee and brown eyes whom Hermione still strongly suspected to be wearing this appearance as a disguise. Physically they didn't look any different than before, perhaps a touch sweaty, but still the look on their face made them appear thirty years older.
Hermione immediately knew that something must have happened, something terrible.
'What's wrong?' asked Hermione with some trepidation. 'And, erm, welcome back, I guess.'
'Thank you.' Her captor leisurely conjured an armchair and slumped into it as if they never planned to resurface.
'What happened?' asked Hermione again.
The 'man' sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. 'A lot. Too much. But you'll be on your way in a couple of minutes.'
Hermione was taken aback at this. While her captor hadn't appeared very conniving – particularly for a pure-blood – she had nevertheless expected a more complicated turn of events, perhaps even a contract or, she felt a rush of revulsion, an Obliviation. 'Back to Hogwarts? Just like that?'
'Yes. Just like that. If you prefer to, we can leave momentarily.'
Hermione looked at her captor with a sense of commiseration she instinctively blamed on the Stockholm Syndrome. 'Are you all right?'
'I'm fine.' Taking another deep breath, Hermione's captor stood up, looking at her with a crooked smile. 'But thank you for asking.' They took a few steps in Hermione's direction, looking deadly serious. 'Before we leave …'
' Ah, here we go,' thought Hermione with grim satisfaction.
But to her complete and utter befuddlement, Hermione's captor put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her reassuringly. 'I really – deeply – appreciate you telling me everything earlier. I know you were in a sticky situation, but – no matter how suspect and conspiratorial it may seem to you right now – I want you to know that you did very well in an extremely hostile turn of events. Whatever thoughts you'll have on the matter later, if ever there comes a moment in which you doubt yourself or put blame on your actions, I want you to know that many wouldn't have coped as well as you have. And also …' They took a step back – and bowed deeply. 'I'm truly – deeply – sorry. We won't meet like this ever again, but … I'm in your debt. And my family doesn't take debts lightly.'
Hermione gaped at her bowing warden. 'Er … please raise your head, I … er … feel a bit uncomfortable being bowed to by a pure-blood to tell you the truth.'
Her captor looked up. 'You shouldn't. Lots of pure-bloods are self-absorbed bullies at best and vicious idiots at worst.'
Despite herself, Hermione laughed awkwardly. 'I wish someone had the gall to say that out loud though.'
'Even if someone did,' said her captor with a blank face, 'non-pure-bloods are hardly any better; despite the pomp and pathos, pure-bloods aren't a race apart. The source of that Icarian mania isn't familial upbringing but merely what might tentatively be called "the human condition".'
Hermione stared, nonplussed. 'What sort of a pure-blood are you?' she demanded with no small wonder in her voice.
Her captor snorted almost imperceptibly. 'Come, I'll apparate us to the outskirts of Hogsmeade and make sure you reach the castle safely.'
'Okay. Er … thanks. I guess?'
They pointed towards the spot where Hermione had seen them disapparate earlier. 'After you.'
Hermione was about to take their arm when she faltered. 'Won't you at least tell me what happened? Did anything happen to my friends?'
This time for sure, the person next to Hermione visibly flinched. 'I … can't.'
'Didn't you just say you owe me–?'
But before Hermione finished her request, her captor had grabbed her elbow and – with the familiar feeling of being sucked through a giant glass tube – they vanished from the spot.
The apparition was a marvel – unnaturally gentle with not a single wasted motion. They landed with the merest fraction of an inch of empty air underneath their feet, stepping out of empty air as gracefully as ballerinas about to enter the stage.
Despite the early hour, Hogwarts was wide awake, lights illuminating nearly half the windows of the entire castle. From afar it looked as busy as a nest of bees.
'Look after yourself, Hermione,' said her mysterious captor right next to her.
'I will.' Following a moment of hesitation, Hermione offered her hand. 'And thank you for treating me decently, too.'
Her captor looked at her hand in wonder. 'You really are kind, Hermione.' Slowly, as if reaching for a proffered stack of dynamite, they grasped Hermione's hand and shook it hesitantly. 'Remember, it wasn't your fault. Stay inside the castle until summer. Don't wander off, stick to the teachers.'
'Why?'
But this time, she got no answer, the figure opposite her nodded silently, let go and – as silently as a breeze – disapparated.
Hermione stared at the empty space with mild bemusement. Unclenching her hand, she revealed the little piece of parchment her captor had palmed her during the handshake. It contained what looked like detailed instructions regarding some concoction Hermione wasn't familiar with. Worse, she hadn't even heard of half of the ingredients yet, despite reading ahead two years.
Intrigued, she pocketed the little snippet and walked towards the eerily busy castle that stood out against the softly breaking dawn like a gigantic bastion of shadows sprinkled with desperate, transient lights.
In a hopeful mood, Hermione marched onwards, trying to ignore the squirming in her stomach. She'd be all right.
Memory Lane
'What is it?' The drawling voice was frigid and as unmoving as solid rock. Only the back of a head could be seen, the man occupied with matters at his desk he deemed more important than the visitor. 'I assume this is news of some urgency? I believe I told you only to contact me from Hogwarts in emergencies.'
'Yes, Father.' He bowed deeply – despite the man's dismissive attitude and refusal to turn around at the call of his only child. 'I have important … information you would want as soon as possible.'
'I hope so for your sake. I don't need to hear about your grades or some inane rumour about the low-life scum that befouls the castle. This wretched political situation is keeping me busy.'
'No, Father. It's … it's about the battle in Hogsmeade.'
His father put down the quill he had been writing with. 'Is it really?' He didn't sound pleased. 'And why, pray tell, did you only choose to inform me now of this urgent bit of information? And who was it that told you? It's hard to trust anyone these days …'
'Yes, Father. Nobody told me. I was there. I saw it for myself.'
The man cast one shrewd glare over his shoulder, his grey eyes piercing and narrow. 'Were you really? I have the reports right here. Nowhere does it mention your presence – neither as a witness nor victim.'
'No, Father. But I was there. When the Ministry arrived, I chose to … erm … create a bit of distance and observe from afar.'
The man raised an eyebrow. 'And why didn't you tell me this most important information earlier?'
'I'm sorry, Father. But the entire castle is in an uproar, and the teachers are keeping a very close lid on things. This is the first time I managed to steal away.'
'Very well. Tell me, what is so important that you risk breaking into a teacher's study?'
'It was one of them.'
The man cast another glance over his shoulder, this time full of bewilderment and irritation. 'Could you perhaps be more specific?'
'One of them. It was one of them that killed Daphne Greengrass. I saw it.'
A second of silence, and then the man finally stood up, eyes wide, and approached the fireplace. 'What did you say? Are you sure?!'
'Yes! I saw it with my own eyes. It was one of the Blacks that arrived with the Ministry personnel. They were fighting an Auror at the time, but the deadly curse wasn't even aimed at the Auror. It went wide by five yards or so. And they had a clear shot of Greengrass, Harry, and that Prewett buffoon. It was intentional. I'd take an oath to Morgana that it was.'
The older man looked flabbergasted, completely still as he listened. Then a smile slowly curled up his lips. 'Excellent.'
Memory Lane
'Come in.'
Aenor confidently opened the door. Behind his ancient walnut desk, sunken almost, sat Lord Black, writing some letter. His eyes darted towards her for just a moment, and he nodded towards the armchair directly in front of him.
'Sit.'
Arcturus Black's attention returned to his letter, and he didn't pay her any attention as he scribbled away for minutes. Aenor was quite accustomed to pure-bloods and their little games, so she leant back, tilting the chair back and forth, looking – for all the world to see – bored rather than tense. Several more minutes passed in which Aenor, still tilting her chair with loud thumping sounds on the carpet, inspected her wand with boredom or tapped the armrest of her chair with her nails.
Eventually, Lord Black put aside his writing and looked up. He didn't appear openly hostile, as difficult as gauging this particular wizard's expression was. If anything, he looked mildly irritated.
Aenor grinned smugly. 'Thank you for inviting me, Lord Black. I must say, I seem to be going places. Regular appointments with our esteemed headmaster, the government's flattering interest in my studies, and now this most exclusive of invitations.' She crossed her legs, and her smile turned just a touch belligerent. 'Why, I even tamed a real Black! Please forgive my lack of modesty, but I cannot help but wonder if I managed to snatch the first Black ever as an apprentice.'
Arcturus watched her impassively. 'I did not call for you to discuss your apprenticeship with my heir.'
'Oh, I forgot! I even managed to pinch the heir. But don't worry, I'll continue to look after Harry with due diligence – as is his master's duty.'
Arcturus Black simply looked at her.
When her vis-à-vis didn't take the bait, Aenor mockingly adumbrated another bow, her smile widening. 'How can I be of assistance, Lord Black?'
'I tolerate your inane displays of conceit, child, but I didn't summon you to waste my time. I suggest you remember your place in this … arrangement. I have been lenient in all matters related to your person, but I am by no means obligated to stay my course.'
Aenor's smile didn't break. 'I, too, have been lenient.'
'Oh, you have, haven't you?' asked Arcturus softly.
The smile slid off Aenor's face. 'I have been made to babysit pubescent misfits, break into the Ministry for their sake, battle with all manners of monsters on your behalf, and perform all the little tasks you saddled me with at Hogwarts. We are even. We are more than even. These wards in here might do the trick, for now, and I don't deny that it'd be a terrible shame for Harry to be nipped in the bud now that I've put so much effort into helping him grow. But there are others. So many Blacks. So, so very many. Albeit, come to think of it, one Black fewer now.'
Arcturus didn't so much as move a muscle. For several painful, silent seconds, he simply watched her, his gaze as unknowable as the depth of the universe. 'You will not,' said Arcturus eventually, his voice rolling in the silence, 'speak ill of the dead. Especially when your role – or lack thereof – in what transpired is still to be evaluated.'
'I've saved your heir's skin a couple times over, including his little entourage! We are even, I told you! I'm not one of your lackeys; I'm not someone you can boss around with your title; and I'm definitely not some watchdog to keep on a leash. I had nothing to do with what happened at Hogsmeade, and I will not sit here and take these insinuations that there was anything I could have done! I wasn't even there!'
'Where were you then?'
'That's none of your business! I will not be beholden to stand guard all day, every day of the week or explain myself or my personal affairs! You have the people, not me! You have all your thugs and lackeys and assets. Just a thought – maybe spend a few to prevent something like this from happening? It's you who should've done more! You should've looked after your people! The girl's blood isn't on my hands, but you as good as killed her!'
Aenor clenched her fist. She was standing, and her bellowing was still echoing in the corridor behind them. She hadn't even realised that she had stood up. She hesitated for a second, but then sat down neatly, refusing to acknowledge her outburst.
'Are you finished?' said Lord Black, watching her smooth down her robes.
Aenor nodded curtly, fighting the impression that she might've taken that one ultimate step off the plank.
'I will make this very clear, just so there won't be any more misunderstandings,' continued Lord Black. 'I am the head of my family, and my duty is only to them. Anything else,' he continued, his gaze drilling into Aenor, 'is either a tool to wield or an obstacle to clear. You, Miss "Rose" are not, as you put it yourself, someone I can direct as kin. You are therefore not family. Consequently, you are but a tool. A wilful tool that is difficult to handle but still a tool. Merely a tool.'
Lord Black looked at her and there was no empathy there in his gaze. Grey as they were, his eyes might as well have been steel.
For a second, Aenor's eyes flickered to where she suspected the man must have his wand, but Arcturus Black had both of his hands on his armrest, empty and relaxed.
'If you're worried,' said Arcturus Black with a nod, 'mayhap look behind you.'
Aenor could feel her heartbeat rising. She couldn't use magic to hurt any Black at this mansion. And she'd be lucky to escape with even half her body if she attempted to forcefully disapparate from within these wards. Feeling a bead of sweat run down her neck, she slowly turned her head.
But there was only the heavy wooden door she'd entered through.
Taking a calming breath, she looked at the aged Lord Black, who was still watching her every move.
'There's nothing!' she said.
'Of course, there isn't,' said Arcturus Black. And this time, she could see the shadow of a smile. 'Unless …?'
She was about to cast another quick look behind her as she felt herself get yanked from her chair by rough hands wrenching her upright by a fistful of her hair.
She threw her elbow upwards, but her assailant shoved it further up, pulling her arm until her entire back buckled under the tension and pain.
Murder in her eyes, Aenor twisted in the grip, oblivious to the stomach-turning snap of her broken bone. The man behind her cursed, roughly thrusting her head away from him, but Aenor pushed herself into the motion, winding like a snake in his hold, and she was just about to finally lock eyes with her attacker when her spin brought her face to face with a light wand of apple wood, its tip glowing eerily green.
'No.' The voice was calm, almost kind.
Daring to raise her head a couple of inches, she saw the outlines of a woman condense from the shadows from her outstretched arm outwards. Her hood was pulled up, her face obscured, but her wand arm didn't waver – didn't move an inch.
Aenor froze as she heard the rustling of robes all around her. In the blink of an eye, she felt two more wands being shoved very meaningfully into her side and neck.
'You are a tool, Miss Rose,' said Arcturus Black again behind her back. 'And tools can malfunction. Often enough, the tool isn't to blame but the man operating it. Then again, tools do break. And a defective tool,' her original assailant shoved her roughly to the floor until she was forced to assume a kneeling position, 'is just overly complicated junk – rubbish. Don't give me pause to reconsider your usefulness. I hope we understand one another.' Lord Black jerked his head towards the exit, dismissing her without another look.
Aenor, seething with wrath, picked herself up and – refusing to meet anyone's gaze – headed for the door.
Lord Black's voice stalked her from behind. 'This will remain your only warning.'
Memory Lane
As Aenor angrily stormed off, the rest of the occupants in the room remained behind, watching her retreat.
The woman with the soft voice eventually shut the door when the frothing woman turned around a corner, tipping the door with her wand.
A few moments later, an elf apparated next to Lord Black's desk. 'Miss Rose is being departed, Master.'
'Thank you, Kreacher. See to it that we aren't disturbed.'
The elf bowed and, with a soft pop, disapparated.
'She's nuts, that one,' growled the man who had gripped her from behind, caressing his wrist. 'Did you see that?! She snapped her own arm! And for what?!'
'To return the favour of your rude interruption, I imagine,' said the soft-spoken woman.
'She has a temper,' added Lord Black with a nod.
'What?! She knew she couldn't raise her wand against us here! She should remember the last time she tried.'
'I've seen what she can do with Legilimency,' said the woman. 'She killed several people in the Department without raising her wand.'
'She might not have struck to kill this time around,' said Lord Black. 'She knows now not to strike against those of the true blood within these wards. But you would surely have rued your … choice of introduction.'
'She is dangerous,' said another, older woman, speaking up for the first time. 'She will complicate matters.'
'That she will,' said Lord Black, nodding politely. 'But by fate and choice, she is tethered to our house. Whatever chaos that young lady is going to sow, it will affect us only peripherally. For now, at least.'
'Then why anger her?' asked the same elderly woman again.
'Because, as closely tied as she is to us as of this moment, I dare say there will come a time when that will no longer be the case. Until such a time, I would like to use this resource to its fullest.'
With the sound of a chime, a letter appeared from thin air on Lord Black's desk. He inspected it, his eyes lingering on the coat of arms it bore.
'It's from the Minister's office. There will be an emergency session within the hour.'
A young, lanky man who hadn't said anything until now snorted derisively.
'I understand your resentment. But even I dare not say what will come out of this meeting and his investigation of Alice's office. I, in his shoes, would have let sleeping dragons lie, as I refuse to believe someone as meticulous as Alice Longbottom could possibly be found guilty of misappropriation of funds.'
With a sigh, Lord Black got up, picking up his cane.
'A minister can't be allowed to look so weak as to accept open displays of corruption like that,' said the younger woman ruminatively. 'And he wouldn't want Madame Bones to investigate it either and lose the support of all the Pillars.'
'He would not,' agreed Lord Black, summoning a heavy travelling cloak. 'But then again, it might just as well be about the unpleasant events of Hogsmeade.'
'Either way,' mumbled the older woman, scanning the letter. She didn't move, hadn't moved her hand an inch, but when she'd apparently finished, the letter started to smoke as voracious green flames devoured the paper in the palm of her hand. 'At least Druella isn't here. She's losing her touch recently. That business with Selwyn was amateurish.'
'Her heir looks very promising, I always thought,' said the younger woman, watching the curse devour the paper. 'Maybe it's time for her involvement to be increased once she leaves Hogwarts this year?'
Lord Black nodded. 'We will discuss this later. But for now, I must make sure that no additional damage befalls the family.'
Into the ensuing silence, the younger woman spoke up hesitantly. 'How is Harry?'
Lord Black, who had been in the process of leaving, faltered for just a second. 'In pain.'
'I didn't know his injuries were that bad,' said the man in the back, eyebrow raised.
With a little sigh, Arcturus turned around. 'They weren't.' Nodding towards the group, he spun on the spot and vanished with a loud crack.
Memory Lane
Arcturus Black sat with increasing suspicion through the day's proceedings. In the immediate aftermath of tragedies, chaos tended to spread. And chaos was hard to steer. Nevertheless, after decades of activity in the Wizengamot, of being born into perhaps the third most controversial family of the British Isles, at a time when their family had been at de-facto war with its own government, it was political acumen that flowed through his veins at least as much as blood.
And his blood was telling him that someone was attempting to steer this chaos. He couldn't determine who. He certainly couldn't determine to what end. The emergency session had been called too soon. He had contacts almost everywhere, but someone had been clever enough to push the proceedings as fast as possible, to the obvious annoyance of Bartemius. Because idle people tended to talk – with one another and, eventually, with Lord Black, even if they remained unaware of the fact.
The first point of today's agenda had been the attack at Hogsmeade. Arcturus Black cared about the village of Hogsmeade in the same way one cared about the pavement at one's feet; obviously, it couldn't be allowed to fall into disrepair, but he was completely unable to produce genuine feelings of apprehension about it all. Cobbles broke. And when they did, you called for a man to see to it. There had been fatalities, of course. Pure-bloods too. It was a terrible waste. For Arcturus, it amounted to wilful destruction of property. Tools broke in the course of their work. You didn't break them prematurely out of carelessness. And, last of all, it was distasteful. People died, sure enough, and sometimes one had to help their mortality come along, but wanton butchery didn't even serve a purpose. Arcturus Black was of one mind with his mortal enemy at least regarding this issue.
But that was only true for ordinary people. Family, of course, was another matter. Daphne was another matter entirely. In truth, he was still seething whenever his thoughts spiralled back to the matter. But despite it all, the longer the useless droning of the clerks continued, the more he was convinced that his focus was required on the Wizengamot.
Harry's group's presence had been a fleeting issue, and it had taken Arcturus but a minute to bring the matter to a close. The Elder Council wasn't popular, and he was wary of bringing too much attention to an unpopular cornerstone of Magical Britain, but his heir couldn't be tolerated to be harangued like a common criminal by the likes of Amelia Bones – particularly at this moment. The seneschal of the Lestranges invoked the same right for their heir, and the rest of the children weren't useful enough to hurt someone of political standing – or so people thought.
And so, to some grumbling all around, the matter had been closed, as Arcturus had known it would be.
The matter of the family members appearing later on had taken even less of an effort. Arcturus had watched coldly as Sirius had recounted his memories to the chamber. But what was one confused testimony of an injured – potentially delirious – man with sweaty skin and a fever? Arcturus hadn't even bothered to speak.
Lucius' seneschal raised the issue of the first detonation within the Three Broomsticks, to Arcturus' ire, but even if an illegal curse had been used, which wasn't quite true as Arcturus knew from Harry first-hand, there was no evidence left and neither Sirius nor Alice had fully comprehended what had happened.
Even as Bartemius had caught his eye, Arcturus hadn't spoken up when the time came to address Sirius' meddling. Arcturus simply listened on as other Aurors, Frank Longbottom, and Amelia Bones gave their testimony, as simpletons voiced their witless opinions, as sycophants loudly chorused agreement and as the vain listened to their own ramblings. He listened to the quiet muttering during the intermission, too.
'Votes in favour of a criminal prosecution of Auror Black?' said young Percy Weasley, sitting directly in front of the most senior Ministry officials.
Arcturus could feel a dozen surreptitious glances on him, but he remained calm, moving his head the tiniest fraction from the left to the right.
'Abstentions?' said Weasley, scribbling down as he counted hands. 'The nays have it.'
The idiot boy looked up with suspicious disbelief.
'We shall leave the matter of administrative punishment to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' said Bartemius, making a small check mark on his parchment.
'Thank you, Minister,' said Amelia Bones with a dangerous voice, glaring at Sirius with evident disappointment.
Sirius, hanging his head, left quietly.
There hadn't even been the question of why Sirius Black was still an Auror. This was a minor issue as far as Arcturus was concerned. He would find out, though. Later. Manifestly, Bartemius still had plans for the boy, to which Arcturus didn't object on principle. Sirius had been an outcast even before their big fallout, and Arcturus had always been aware of the boy's more radical leanings. He never even got to know more than was good for him. He was a failure as a Black, but maybe he might be just good enough to be the Minister's dog. And even as a stray, he might still have his use. Arcturus allowed himself a minuscule smile as he pondered whether Sirius was even aware that he wouldn't be able to refuse an order from him while he was still – technically – part of the family.
'Next item of the agenda: the involvement of the retired Deputy Auror Commander Rendall Prewett,' said Weasley, dutifully rustling his parchment.
'Amelia,' said Bartemius.
Amelia Bones looked grim as she stood up, reading from a file. 'Rendall Prewett has been gravely wounded, and St. Mungo's has only managed to stabilise him a few hours ago. I move to postpone the issue until such a time that the man can participate in these proceedings.'
'Any objections?' said Bartemius, glancing up. 'Mr Weasley, note for the record: the issue of Mr Rendall Prewett's involvement in the … events of yesterday is to be scrutinised at a point in time yet to be determined.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Proceed.'
'Yes, sir. Next point of order,' said Weasley, his nose almost touching the parchment, 'the testimony of Alice Longbottom-'
'Regarding?' said Amelia Bones, flipping through her stack of parchment. 'I thought we'd agreed to postpone the issue until the investigation has been completed.'
'Yes, Madam Bones,' said Bartemius Crouch. He nodded curtly towards his junior assistant.
'The testimony of Alice Longbottom,' finished Percy Weasley, 'regarding the alleged defalcation of Ministry funds assigned to the Department of Ethics to beneficiaries hitherto undiscovered.'
Several people rose to their feet. A few were shouting. Weasley angrily fought off an elderly, frothing witch who had jumped down the ranks to grab his parchment, shouting a string of extremely unladylike expletives that seemed to thoroughly unnerve the young man.
It was absolute chaos. Two warlocks in the third row had to be separated when, red in the face with indignation, one of them had decided to throw a punch.
'My lords!' yelled a secretary, rushing between the quarrelling wizards. 'My lords, please! This is just an inquiry! No charges are being pressed. Nor is the issue of … that department up for debate itself! Please, gentlemen, please calm yourselves!'
Several people had formed close circles around Dumbledore, Bartemius and Alice Longbottom. Mr Abbott was making calming gestures to several worried-looking members of the Wizengamot who had risen to whisper urgently to Alice.
'Look at them; scum frothing at the top,' said Cantakerus Nott XI. one aisle further down.
Wilkes, sitting next to him, chuckled darkly.
But Arcturus kept watching Bartemius and Alice. Bartemius seemed cool, gathered, even confident. That much Arcturus had expected. But, to his surprise, Alice Longbottom hadn't reacted to this seemingly unexpected accusation – at all. She sat in her seat, hands folded politely, a non-committal smile playing about her lips.
And Arcturus Black, with a sense of foreboding, understood that this was the part someone had moved along.
Alice Longbottom looked puzzled as Alastor Moody presented several files, she continued to look politely inquisitive as Percy Weasley handed out copies of Gringotts statements, and – if anything – she looked blithely confused when several clerks gave their testimony.
'And this is your signature, Mrs Longbottom?' asked Percy Weasley, lifting a piece of parchment with a very clear green signature.
'Oh. Yes,' said Alice Longbottom.
'And this,' continued Percy Weasley, taking a short note with his quill, 'is this also your signature?'
'Well, I believe so.'
'You believe so?' said Bartemius coolly.
'Yes!'
'Is it or isn't it your signature? Answer the question.'
'Well, I imagine it is. I can't read the parchment as fast as you keep waving them.'
'At this point, we are merely establishing whether you signed these documents,' said Bartemius. 'The details of the documents will be subject of a later assize.'
'Then, yes. That is my signature.'
'Very well. Carry on, Mr Weasley.'
'Yes, sir.'
And carry on he did. Document after document was presented. Dozens. More than sixty documents were waved in front of Alice Longbottom until she confirmed that the neat green signature at the bottom was indeed hers.
The spectacle went on for half an hour, and the murmur and rumbling in the chamber grew. People kept shooting glances at Dumbledore, Gideon Prewett, and – with some reluctance – Frank Longbottom, who sat stony-faced next to his boss. He hadn't moved a muscle. He looked like a man who had forgotten he had muscles.
Ten further ponderous minutes of discomfort later, Alice finally lost her cool.
'But I thought it was just a formality! I only signed where it said I should sign!'
'We are talking about Ministry funds, between 40,000 and 90,000 Galleons a year. Funds you were responsible for. Funds which cannot be fully traced. That can't, in fact, be fully traced for even a single year since you took office.'
Alice smiled nervously. 'I think this must be some misunderstanding, Minister. If we could just talk in confidence, I-'
A man sitting in front of Arcturus stood up jerkily. 'I move to strip Mrs Longbottom of her immunity and proceed with an immediate investigation, taking place during this emergency session. This is shameful! Imagine what the press will write if we can't even tell whether anything is missing!'
'Hear, hear!'
'Boo!'
'BUT THIS IS A NONSENSE!'
The outbreak of tumult was only quelled by the Minister's vehement calls to order. 'I WILL HAVE ORDER! ORDER! The court is in intermission for ten minutes!'
Arcturus waved the seneschal of the Lestranges, some younger cousin from overseas, away with a flick of his hand and watched the Ministry scramble to quell the more angry-looking witches and wizards around the room. Clearly, a lot of diplomacy was in the process of taking place. People stood in groups, muttering furiously. Some hats were tipped. Heads were nodding. Elphias Doge actually shook hands with Amelia.
When Bartemius hammered his gavel fifteen minutes later, a strenuous consensus seemed to have been made. People looked angry, verging on mutinous. There was still a lot of muttering in the quiet. And yet, Alice Longbottom didn't seem particularly rattled. Politely confused, maybe, like an old lady presented with dozens of confusing, overly complicated bills.
'Regarding the move of the honourable Mr Travers to proceed with a precursory investigation, we come to the votes.'
'All against the motion?' asked Percy Weasly, scribbling furiously.
Alice Longbottom raised her hand. So did the Abbott woman right next to her as well as a couple of people across the chamber. Frank Longbottom, lips thin and white as chalk, didn't.
'Abstentions?'
Arcturus raised his hand, and the Lestrange's seneschal followed suit immediately. So did Frank Longbottom and a few others. Dumbledore hadn't.
There was a hush in the room.
'The ayes have it,' said Weasley hoarsely, taking a note.
'Mrs Longbottom,' said the Minister gravely, 'you are hereby stripped of your immunity for the duration of today's proceedings. As the spouse married to the current head of House Longbottom, do you invoke protection under the Elder Council?'
Alice smiled a little. 'No, of course not. If you have any questions, I'll be glad to answer them right here right now, Minister.'
'Very well. Let me ask you directly then. And remember, as you vowed when you took up office, to only tell the truth and nothing but the truth as an agent of this most honourable court. Did you or did you not misappropriate funds meant for official Ministry purposes?'
Alice Longbottom looked shocked. 'What?! Oh, no. Of course, I didn't!'
'Then how do you explain how several thousand Galleons have gone missing from your area of accountability in recent years?'
'They have?'
'Yes!'
'Are you sure?'
'Of course, I am sure,' snapped Bartemius, losing his cool for a second, his eyes wide with fury. 'My office has investigated the matter very carefully! I vouch for their work. I personally vouch for their investigation!'
'Excuse me. Excuse me, Minister!' A thin man with thick glasses, waving a few sheets of parchment, rushed to the top. 'Minister!'
'The chair recognises Dirk Cresswell.'
'Is this about the off-shore investments? I mean, it can't be, right? This is just some silly mix-up, right?'
'This is not a silly mix-up! We don't do mix-ups at the Minister's office!' snapped Bartemius Crouch.
'W-well,' said Dirk Cresswell, nervously adjusting his glasses, 'I mean I only saw your documents across the room. But I do believe the figures match. Would this be any help?' He waved with the official-looking stack of parchment.
The noise grew steadily in the room. People began to whisper. And they all looked at the Minister with no small amount of schadenfreude.
Alastor Moody shoved himself bodily through the seats and grabbed the parchment, slamming it down at the nearest table, and digging wildly into the pages. Even from where Arcturus sat, he thought he could see the man grow paler by the second.
'We diversified,' said Dirk Cresswell calmly. 'When we noticed the irregularities in the exchange rates, we started opening other Gringotts accounts across the continent.'
'You mean the gold is there?!' asked Percy, looking puzzled as to what to write down.
'I mean, yes! Of course, it is. It's not a huge sum, of course, but I think we actually increased our portfolio by about 10% against inflation…?'
'You increased the amount in question?' asked Percy, looking from Dirk Cresswell to Bartemius Crouch, who had gone an ugly shade of orange. 'Did I get that right?'
'Why, yes. I believe we did …'
A few people began to laugh in the back of the courtroom.
'Alastor?!' snapped Crouch.
'This wasn't the documentation I was shown downstairs!' growled Moody, glaring at Alice Longbottom. 'This isn't what's in the files!'
'Those are copies of the official files we submitted to the Minister's office,' said Creswell helpfully.
'They aren't, laddie,' said Moody dangerously, seizing up the small man with the plain white shirt, suspender and slacks. Dirk Cresswell looked like the least dangerous man on earth, he was wearing neither wand nor holster, his sleeves neatly rolled up. But Moody glared at him as if he wanted nothing better than to slog him one. 'Are you saying ten people just happened to miss a few columns?!'
'I'm saying no such thing, Mr Moody. But you got the official documents during your, ah, raid on our offices, didn't you? Why don't you consult them again – just to be sure.'
Dirk Cresswell smiled politely in the way a lawyer might. Moody's face twitched, but he didn't take the bait.
'Alastor!' hissed the Minister, ignoring the jeering and laughter around the ranks. There was nothing quite like laughter for destroying one's authority.
'Yes, sir.'
'I want these documents – now!'
'Obviously they have been tamper–'
'Right this instant, Alastor!'
Moody growled. 'Right you are, Minister.'
'In the meanwhile, I declare this court–'
'I apologise, Minister. But we still have one last item on the agenda.'
Minister Crouch narrowed his eyes. 'By whom?!' he asked quietly, his voice low and dangerous.
'Me,' said Alice Longbottom with a wide smile. 'I'm sorry, Minister, this will take but a moment.'
'And what do you want?' snapped Crouch furiously.
Shining like dew on a fine spring morning, Alice stood up. 'Today is not the first time we have witnessed an ancient, honourable council misused to cover up petty crime. The Elder Council was originally established to protect the families of members of this council from political attacks on their person – often in the form of duels. Honour duels, my lords and ladies, have been banned for more than twenty years now. Instead of enabling the esteemed body of this council to conduct their business unimpeded, the Elder Council has de facto been corrupted into a second tier of criminal prosecution. A body that, some of you might be surprised to learn, has a criminal conviction rate of less than ten per cent. A body that, we all know, is exclusive to certain members of our society, with no stipulations in place to open it up to the broader public. But we all are accountable to the magical citizens of Britain. And a significant part of our citizens finds the very idea of a private criminal system unconscionable – if not perverse, perhaps abominable. I grew up having these privileges. And yet I've come to realise that, to quell any lingering rumours of political bigotry, we must take this step forward into a new age of transparency, honesty, and equality, irrespective of the biological lottery of one's birth.'
For the first time that entire evening, Alice Longbottom looked up, straight into the uppermost ranks, straight at Arcturus Black. Behind her, Bartemius had gone pale with cold fury. Alice was grinning.
Arcturus wasn't.
'Hereby,' said Alice Longbottom, 'I move to permanently dissolve the Elder Council.'
Next chapter: Inauguration revoked!