Chapter 23: Dangerous Research
Most British wizards and witches only knew rumors about the Department of Mysteries. Wild rumors. Vaults full of ancient, dangerous artifacts. Unethical experiments in pursuit of knowledge wizards were not meant to know. Rituals even Dark Lords shied away from. Many were convinced that the Unspeakables, the members of that department, always wore hoods because they were not human anymore, but something else.
Albus Dumbledore, currently standing in the elevator descending to that department, knew more than most about it. He also knew that the rumors were mostly, although not entirely, wrong. There were vaults with dangerous artifacts and many of the experiments and rituals done there were at least questionable. And the less said about the department's past, the better.
And yet, the department was likely to be crucial in the fight against Voldemort. For all their eccentricities and sometimes questionable morals, the Unspeakables were among the foremost experts of magic in Britain. Experts better kept an eye on, though - Rookwood had been an Unspeakable and a Death Eater, after all.
Of course, Saul Croaker claimed that he had been the only traitor among his co-workers, and that his former colleague had never had access to the truly dangerous knowledge the Unspeakables guarded. But even if Albus would have been inclined to give Saul the benefit of the doubt, he was quite certain that a few of Saul's co-workers could do with a bit more supervision, lest they lose sight of the lines one should not cross. Albus knew better than anyone else how easily one could start to justify the worst horrors with the best goals.
Sighing at the memory of his greatest mistake, and greatest regret, the old wizard entered the Department of Mysteries. The entrance looked deceptively ordinary, a bland room with grey walls and a polished black marble floor, and a single door across from the elevator. But Albus was aware of the enchantments lining the walls and the floor of the room he was in - he had put a number of them there himself, after he had been chosen as Chief Warlock. Without his seal, or the badge of an Unspeakable, he'd not be able to go on. Not without quite the effort, at least.
Saul Croaker was waiting for him. It looked like Albus wouldn't be able to look into a few other offices 'looking for Saul', and claiming to be lost after the Room of Doors. He'd have to check on other Unspeakables during his next visit then. Smiling, he nodded at his old friend. "Good morning, Saul."
"Good morning, Albus." Saul didn't sound as if he actually thought it was a good morning, but that was probably caused by him staying up too late - like most of the Unspeakables, he tended to get lost in his work. According to another rumor, the youngest Unspeakable had the sole but vital duty to make sure that everyone else didn't forget to eat. It was wrong of course - there had once been an enchantment that allowed the head of the department to remind his colleagues to eat and sleep, until the Unspeakables had gotten rid of it because it tended to disturb their experiments. Once with disastrous results.
"You have sent me a note that you finished the other project we were talking about. I am impressed - first the polyjuice detection method, then this." Provided it stood up to inspection.
Saul nodded, but made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "It was a bit of a challenge to find something original, but nothing more than that."
The two stepped through the door into the Room of Doors, a circular room whose 'walls' were made up of doors. As soon as the two were inside, the door behind them closed and the room spun around rapidly. It was a clever and entertaining bit of magic. The spinning doors would confuse an intruder and prevent them from reaching what they sought. The doors were just a smokescreen though - even if one tracked the door one had come through, the enchantment that linked them to the correct office or room would be changing in other ways. The actual door that opened was picked at random, on a verbal command.
"Hall of Prophecies." Saul spoke up, not bothering to hide his impatience. Albus didn't doubt that his friend considered the inspection a waste of his time. So confident - though with good reasons.
A door to their right opened, revealing the marble hallway leading to the vault where the prophecies were stored. Albus tapped his glasses, activating one of the enchantments on them, and checked the spells on the door, and the hall behind it. Spotting several new ones, he grinned.
Saul glanced at him. "That's just to make sure we don't waste the real thing on someone else. We don't expect the Dark Lord to be stopped by this."
"I did not think you would." Albus answered while he scanned the hallway. The spells checking for intruders were protected by cascading enchantments, and either could trigger more violent spells, with more spells triggered by other spells ending. All the curses in the world wouldn't be of any use if the detection spells could be fooled of course - and Albus had a few ideas about how to do that.
As they walked through the hallway to the vault door, Saul commented. "I used to say that only those who could both see all the spells and traps in the department, and who would still walk in without flinching were Unspeakable material."
"Oh?" Albus had heard that anecdote before, but it would have been impolite to point that out.
"Yes. But the trap we have out on the door, that made a few of my people flinch. I probably should lower my standards. Merlin knows, we get too few new Unspeakables as it is." He glanced at Albus and frowned.
Albus smiled back at the implied complaint about his school - Saul was not happy with the curriculum of Hogwarts. "In my opinion, those students who possess both the curiosity to research what we do not teach and the moral fortitude to not succumb to the Dark Arts' lure are future Unspeakables."
His friend snorted. "And how many of those students exist? We need people who do not shy away from a subject just because some idiot in the Ministry had it labeled 'dark', Albus, or we won't have the staff to do our duty."
"Rest assured that I am keeping an eye out for such students." Albus made a placatory gesture. He'd be testing any such student, of course - there would be no second Voldemort on his watch, least of all an Unspeakable. Tom would have been recruited in a heartbeat, had he not been a muggleborn at the time.
"Too bad Potter's girlfriend is a muggleborn. She would be perfect for us." Saul commented, as if he had read Albus's thoughts.
His friend was acting a bit too nonchalantly, in the Headmaster's opinion. Miss Granger had the markings of an Unspeakable - an intellect with few equals, a curiosity to match, and enough determination and ambition for two others. But Albus wasn't sure if the young witch had the correct character - he had seen signs of a ruthless pragmatism, a willingness to go to any length if Harry needed her to. Or if she thought he needed her to. He was not certain it was as unfortunate as Saul made it out to be that muggleborns, beholden to their Patrons, were banned from being Unspeakables to avoid a conflict of loyalties. "She is certainly one of the brightest witches of her age," he answered, noncommittally. Theoretically, she could earn an Order of Merlin, First Class, which would grant her pureblood status, but practically, anything noteworthy a muggleborn did would be attributed, at least partially, to their Patron.
"I've seen some of her work at the tournament. Maybe it'll turn out that she's been adopted, and actually was a pureblood war orphan who somehow ended up in the muggle world. Stranger things have been known to happen." Saul wasn't looking at Albus while he said that, but the Headmaster didn't miss the faint smile on his friend's face.
"I am quite certain that Miss Granger was not adopted, but I will of course look into the matter, if you suspect that her obvious talent is due to being a pureblood. But given our current troubles, I will be unable to dedicate much time to that." Albus kept looking at Saul, to make sure his friend had understood what he was saying.
Saul laughed. "Did you ever think that we'd not have our current troubles if we had taught people all along that magic doesn't care about blood? Not counting blood sacrifices, of course."
"If there were no muggleborn the Dark Lord would have found something else to rally his followers against." Albus answered.
"Someone else, you mean. Magical creatures, most likely, in my opinion." Saul stated.
"Did you actually research it?" Albus asked, with honest curiosity.
"While 'The sociological dynamics behind the rise of Dark Lords' would be a fascinating research topic, it's not magical enough for my department. I have read up on a few muggle Dark Lords though." Saul snorted again. "There's not much of a difference, in my opinion."
Albus had known his friend was interested in muggle sciences, but hadn't known it went beyond their application for or duplication with magic research, like the polyjuice detection method. "I do not suppose the muggles found ways to prevent their next Dark Lord from rising." Albus was not an expert, but he knew there were a lot of muggle tyrants. Or had been in the recent past, at least.
"It's not foolproof, but they have had some successes." Saul answered.
"Oh?" Albus perked up. If he could make sure there would never be another Voldemort, even after Albus's own death…. It wouldn't make up for his many sins and mistakes, though it would be a legacy he could be proud of.
"It depends on what you consider a 'Dark Lord'. Many countries seem to be remarkably stable, and very unlikely to be taken over by a muggle Dark Lord. But that does not mean that no tyrants try to take over, violently. Just because it won't work doesn't mean they won't cause death and destruction." Saul smiled cynically.
"I see." So the muggle Dark Lords were simply less successful. Still…
"Most authors I've read claim that this is due to democracy, governments with checks and balances, and social security and mobility," Saul went on. "But scale also matters. Muggles lack magic, and are far more numerous. A single Dark Lord and his band of followers won't be nearly as powerful, relatively, as they are among wizards."
"Implementing such sweeping reforms would destabilize our country." Albus knew that only too well. Grindelwald had tried it, after all. Small steps, slow changes, were the key.
"Maybe. A crisis is an opportunity too." Saul stated.
Albus simply nodded. Such thoughts were true, but dangerous. The kind of opportunities a crisis like the current one brought usually came at a heavy price. He turned his attention to the vault door, and his eyes widened. "I believe you've outdone yourself, Saul. I am truly impressed."
Saul smiled. "Let's hope the Dark Lord will be more than simply impressed. If he ever reaches this door."
*****
Hogwarts had gone mad after the Star Wars Movie Night, in Hermione Granger's opinion. Too many students asking for the "choke hold spell" in Charms or Defense, too many asking how best to create such a spell in Arithmancy. As a purely intellectual exercise, of course, Hermione had actually thought about that. A combination of the Levitation Charm with the Strangulation Curse would have the desired effect. Fortunately, the calculations for such a spell were beyond a student - even herself. That is, if she hadn't her electronic calculator. With it she actually could create the spell, and in a reasonable amount of time too. But she had better, more important spells to research. Although the tactical uses of a choke hold spell were interesting. Forcing the enemy's allies to deal with it, possibly opening them up to a follow-up attack. Or if one created it as a trap, so those trying to finite it would be subject to the same spell…
The young witch shook her head. She had to crack the Dark Mark, she couldn't waste her time on those kind of spells, even though she could think of a few very fitting targets for them. Like Malfoy. The bigot really had broken up with Parkinson, after more than four years, over Star Wars. It was incredibly petty, although Parkinson was now better off. The stupid witch might even learn not to pick her boyfriends according to their father's wealth, though Hermione wasn't holding her breath. It wasn't as if Parkinson had suddenly become less of a bigot - she still sneered at every muggleborn, or anyone she considered below her station and not properly subservient, which was a lot of people.
More important was that Parkinson choosing Star Wars over Malfoy had caused a surge in interest in the movie, so they had been all but forced to show it again a week after the first time. Harry had been almost impossibly smug about his movie pick, until Luna had speculated that Parkinson might now lust after him since he was the Star Wars expert at Hogwarts, and probably in all of Wizarding Britain. That had caused Harry to shut up quite quickly, to Hermione's relief and amusement.
Fortunately, the chances of anyone creating a real lightsaber were almost non-existent - at least if they wanted to be able to parry spells with it. A simple cutting weapon though… a cutting curse, matched with a colored light blade to see where it was would be all that was needed. It was more difficult to create than a standard knife with an enhanced edge, but it shouldn't be that much more difficult. Fortunately, it wouldn't be that much more powerful either, as far as Hermione could tell. She hadn't run those numbers though.
Sighing, the young witch forced her attention back to the book about tracking charms. She already had found a charm she could work with, but that was a classic tracking charm, essentially a more powerful and more complicated version of the Point Me Spell. She was wondering if there were tracking charms that worked differently. For what she had in mind, she could not use the classic tracking charm. She needed something that affected the target like a normal spell.
"Hermione?"
At hearing her name, she looked up. Fay Dunbar was standing at her table in the library. Thanks to the enchantments in the room Hermione hadn't heard the other witch coming. If that had been someone who meant her harm… she resolved to find a way to be alerted earlier. "Yes Fay?"
"Are you trying to create a choke spell too?" Her dormmate's tone showed that she expected that to be the case. Hermione felt irritated at that - it wasn't as if she was a Darth Vader wannabe.
"No. I am checking tracking charms." She held up the book to show the cover to Fay.
"Ah. Do you think such a spell is possible?" Fay leaned against Hermione's table, but didn't touch any of her books or - worse - notes.
"Theoretically, yes. Both effects are known, and neither effect is that complicated. Combining them into one spell, and one powerful enough to actually kill a human… the complexity would shoot through the roof." Smiling - did Fay worry about such spells cast in Hogwarts? - she added: "Calculations for the spell formula would take far too long for anyone at school."
Fay nodded, but didn't seem to be relieved or reassured.
"Why do you ask? Are you planning to research such a spell?"
Fay shook her head. "No. I was just wondering if such a spell exists, but hasn't been discovered yet."
Hermione blinked. "Do you think someone already created the spell, but it was lost, or remained unknown?"
The other witch shook her head. "I believe you cannot create a spell, you can only discover how to cast a spell."
"Is that a Purist belief?" Hermione didn't know too much about the small sect Fay's family was part of. The Purists held the belief that Magic should not be used 'frivolously', which meant it should be reserved for important tasks and situations, not used for mere convenience. It wasn't a very popular belief, especially since most of Wizarding Britain's economy ran on providing and maintaining such 'frivolous spells'.
"Not as such. It's more of a philosophical question." Fay smiled.
"But does it matter if we create new magic or discover magic that we didn't know yet when we work out new spells? The end result is the same. We learned how to cast a spell we didn't know. And would it matter if someone already found a way, but we didn't know?" There was no such thing as copyright, which meant many spells were jealously guarded by families or even individuals. An utterly wrong state of affairs, in Hermione's opinion.
"It matters if you think that magic has a will of its own. If we can create new spells, does that affect magic itself? Can we change its nature by creating new spells? Or do we simply discover new facets that were already part of magic?" Fay looked at Hermione with a serious expression.
"I am not sure if either can be proven. But it's an interesting question." Hermione answered. She didn't see how magic could have a will of its own. Although… there was accidental magic. While one could explain a child summoning a plush toy that was out of her reach - or a book, in her own case - with magic as the young witch willing magic to happen, what about accidental magic that reacted to a danger a child wasn't aware of? Were there any documented cases of such an incident?
"Indeed. If you manage to answer it, please tell me." Fay smiled.
"I will. But I've got one question for you: Is researching spells considered a frivolous use by Purists?"
"Gaining new knowledge about magic is never frivolous. No matter how frivolous the knowledge itself is." Fay stated, as if she was quoting a book. She probably was.
"So… if I use a spell to wash the dishes, but at the same time I am trying to produce a better dish washing spell, that's important?" Hermione could think of a dozen spells one could cast that way, under the guise of "experimenting".
"What matters is why you do it. And that is a question only yourself can answer." Fay smiled faintly.
"Unless we use veritaserum." Or legilimency, or compulsion charms.
"The use of veritaserum to answer whether or not a dish washing spell was cast frivolously would certainly be frivolous itself." Fay grinned now.
Hermione chuckled. Her dormmate had more humor than most other strongly religious people she knew. "You could also regularly cast spells so you are certain you can cast them perfectly, in case you need them to save someone."
Fay held up her hands, laughing. "Hermione, it doesn't matter what others are thinking about your reasons. Excuses won't work on yourself."
"Somehow I don't think many Purists are spell researchers."
"There are not many Purists at all. In the last war some claimed we were blood-traitors for living like muggles." Fay sighed.
Hermione didn't pry, but she could imagine that they hadn't fared well. And they had been few to begin with. Far fewer than muggleborns. "I'd think only a fool would argue that self-defense was not important."
"We're reinforcing the wards at home. Just in case." Fay said, her lips forming a thin line.
Hermione nodded. There wasn't much she could say - not many wards would stand up to a strong Death Eater assault long enough for help to arrive. If things went as bad as they were in the last war, Fay's family wouldn't be the only one in such danger. One thing she could ask though. "Do you really think things would improve if we'd cast more spells to help people? Would the unforgivables grow weaker?"
"I don't know. But the world would be a better place if people helped each other more."
There was nothing Hermione could say against that.
*****
Sitting in the common room of House Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson had to fight not to smile too openly. She was supposed to still be hurt by the break-up, after all.
Her plan had worked perfectly. Almost perfectly. She was no longer Draco's girlfriend, and the idiot thought it had been all his decision. A number of her housemates thought she was an idiot for breaking up with Draco over a muggle movie, but they didn't matter. As if anyone of consequence would have really thought she'd marry Draco and give up her chance to become head of her family! No, things in Slytherin had gone about as she had expected.
Now if only Greengrass would become Draco's new girlfriend… Pansy had spread the rumor that Potter was interested in the airhead, and that should send Draco running to upstage his rival and get her for himself.
Right on cue, she saw her ex-boyfriend enter and walk towards the couch the blonde dimwit and her friend Davis were sitting on. Draco was strutting like a peacock, though Pansy had to admit that he cut a fine figure in his expensive and extremely fashionable robes. He could be charming too, and he had impeccable manners - though he didn't always show them, especially when talking to those he didn't consider his equal. Or when he lost his temper. Or in private, sometimes.
She couldn't hear what he was saying - Davis had cast a privacy spell - but she saw Draco smile widely, Greengrass smile back, and Davis roll her eyes. Soon though Draco's face changed from charming smile to strained smile, his eyes were twitching just a little, to shock, followed by anger - no, rage. At that point he stalked off with a sneer on his face. Crashed and broke his broom, as the saying went.
Draco left the common room, probably going to his own room to sulk. Pansy had joined him there often enough to console him after similar incidents. Not as much in the last year, though - Draco had started to hold his own more often. Well, she didn't need to repair his fragile ego anymore, someone else could do it. Instead she could… well, she shouldn't, but she could. And she wanted to know what Draco had said, and heard.
Standing up, she walked over to Greengrass and Davis. The blonde started pouting even before Pansy got close enough to talk inside the privacy spell's effect, not that Pansy cared about the dimwit. But Davis had her wand out.
"Greengrass, Davis." Pansy nodded at the two witches.
"Parkinson." Davis nodded back.
Greengrass glared at her. "Just because I didn't want to become Malfoy's new girlfriend doesn't mean I want to become yours, Parkinson!"
"What?" Pansy stared at the twit. Did she actually believe… "Why would you think I was about to ask you out? Have I ever given any indication that I consider you attractive?"
The blonde idiot sniffed. "It doesn't matter if you find me attractive. Malfoy just wanted to court me to upstage Potter, so it's logical that you'd want to court me to upstage the boy who broke up with you."
Pansy wrenched her gaze away from the bubblehead and stared at Davis. Couldn't she handle her friend better? Pansy had handled Draco at his worst with less embarrassment, after all! Or… did Davis actually want Greengrass to embarrass herself? Was she playing the same game Pansy had been playing? "Did you tell her that?"
"I explained why Malfoy was coming on to her. She deduced the rest." Davis smirked while Greengrass nodded.
Pansy narrowed her eyes at the brown-haired witch. "Very amusing. What did you say, by the way? He was absolutely livid when he stormed off."
"If I wanted everyone to know what we said, I wouldn't have cast a privacy spell." Davis responded, her smirk growing wider. Next to her the twit nodded, as if she had thought the same and was not simply going along with her smarter friend.
"I am not everyone. And as Draco's ex-girlfriend, I might offer you some insight, just in case you misestimate his reaction." Pansy stated. It was even true - these days, who knew what Draco might do if he was angry?
Greengrass was blinking, looking confused - a look her friends had to be very familiar with - but Davis nodded. "We basically told him that Daphne is no trophy to be taken to spite Potter. Or to make his ex-girlfriend jealous."
"And that he doesn't measure up to Harry!" Greengrass added, nodding several times. "Not in looks, nor character, nor money, nor Quidditch, nor friends."
Pansy almost whistled. That would have done it, yes. Dravo would be livid indeed. "Harsh, but true, though only if you count Potter's godfather's money - Potter by himself certainly has not much gold." By any civilized standard, of course. It was a good thing he already had a mistress who did not need much upkeep.
"Of course you'd care about that!" Greengrass huffed.
Pansy shrugged. Of course she'd care to know how much gold people had - one had to know who mattered. Potter was a special case anyway, as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Slayer of Slytherin's Monster, and the winner of the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year. "I'd give it even odds for Draco to either avenge this 'slight on his honor', as he might call it, or attempt to beat Potter again, to prove you wrong."
"What's he likely to do to achieve that? Challenge Potter to a beauty contest?" Davis joked, but Pansy could see that she seemed to understand that Draco was not to be taken that lightly.
"Don't give him ideas. But he'll try to beat him in Quidditch, again, and maybe try for a duel." Pansy added. A duel between those two… the teachers would likely step in. The last time they had done that, in DADA class, had been a disaster.
"He'll lose! As he always does!" Greengrass exclaimed. A Potter fangirl indeed. Draco had had some successes, Pansy knew that well, even if others tended to mostly remember the more spectacular missteps and defeats against Potter. And Quidditch, of course.
She shrugged. "Well, we'll see. Just watch your back for a bit." She nodded at Davis. "Might share a room for a bit. Or a bed." According to some rumors, the two did that often enough, if probably not for the reasons the wizards of their year assumed. Again Pansy wondered what Davis's game was. Unless the witch was in love with Greengrass - but if so, the twit was unaware of it. In any case, sixth year should shed more light on that.
"Good evening, Davis, Greengrass."
"Good evening, Parkinson."
"May the force be with you!"
That line made Pansy almost stumble when she walked away. If Greengrass was that much a fan, and thought Pansy was the same, since she had apparently picked Star Wars over her boyfriend… Merlin help her if the twit tried to bond with her!
*****
Inside his new mansion - purchased under an alias from a blood traitor who was leaving Britain in a panic - the Dark Lord Voldemort watched as Steinberg fit Bellatrix with a new wand. One could easily see that his new wandmaker had been working under Grindelwald - he didn't flinch at all at working with the most feared dark witch of Britain.
"Dragon heartstring and oak."
Bellatrix flicked the wand, but no more than a few sparks appeared.
"Dragon teeth and yew."
Voldemort's most loyal, and most beautiful and brave, follower produced more sparks this time, but still not perfect.
"Dragon's blood and yew."
Bella's next swish filled the room with colors and flashing lights. With a delighted squeal she turned to the Dark Lord. "Master! It fits even better than my original wand."
"That's entirely logical, Miss," Steinberg cut in while he was stashing the other wands in his chest. "People change as they grow older, and what fit a girl of eleven years might not fit the woman she has become."
"You have done well, wandmaker." Voldemort nodded at the older wizard. "Though I wonder why your selection seemed so … conventional. According to rumors, you had some rather unusual designs as well."
"I did, and I still have them. But I'd rather not give them out without further testing. There were some issues with the last models, before I had to stop my research." Steinberg smiled ruefully at the memory of what most of Magical Europe considered a day of celebration, Grindelwald's defeat. "I am optimistic that given the opportunity, I can perfect my designs."
"You will have it, though at the moment we still have to proceed with caution and stealth." He wrapped an arm around his Bella and planted a kiss on the top of her head before addressing her. "Which is why you cannot demonstrate your loyalty and love by slaying my enemies. Yet. They still assume you are dead, and this ignorance benefits us." And sending a few imperiused mudbloods to cause mayhem helped his recruiting efforts as well.
"But soon, Master. They suspect your return already, even in the newspaper." Bella licked her lips and drew a shuddering breath.
"Soon." He looked at the wandmaker again. "I am quite curious to see how your inventions perform, Steinberg. Especially when put against Ollivander's best work."
The German scoffed. "Ollivander is overrated. He has forgotten the roots of our art. The first wands were not crafted from unicorn or dragon parts, but from the blood and bones of wizards, and they craved more blood in battle."
Voldemort thought that the official lore, staves turning into wands as runes small enough to handle the strain of magic were developed, sounded more plausible, but as long as the designs worked, Steinberg could think what he liked. And while the Dark Lord was no expert in wandmaking, he had mastered the Dark Arts like no one else - and the German's designs were steeped in their lore. Should his followers wield such things, the aurors would not know what hit them.
But of course extensive testing would be required before Voldemort would allow anyone from his marked followers to wield such a wand. The reports he had seen, decades ago, painted a rather grim picture of what had happened to those who had used Steinberg's earliest designs.
Bella was breathing heavily, and Voldemort felt a familiar stirring. "I am sure you can fit the rest of my followers now, Steinberg. I will retire to my study."
The wandmaker nodded, seemingly unconcerned. He might be one of those people who truly only cared about their art. Not the most loyal followers one could find, but as long as they had the freedom to practise their craft, they'd never stab you in the back. Especially if there was no one else for them to turn to.
Voldemort nodded at the man and left, Bellatrix never leaving his side.
*****
"Why don't you arrest all those mudbloods before they kill everyone of us!?"
Kenneth Fenbrick struggled to resist the urge to hex the idiot shouting at him and his partner, Bertha Limmington, while they were trying to investigate yet another disappearance, this time in Hogsmeade. It wouldn't do any favors to his career. Though maybe he could arrest the moron as a sympathizer of … whoever was behind those kidnappings and attacks. He could hex the guy then for resisting…
"Ignore him." Bertha didn't even look up from the patch of torn up cobblestone - whoever had been taken here hadn't gone quietly.
"He's too loud to be ignored. He is so loud, actually, he's interfering with our investigation!" Kenneth answered, glaring at the man while he raised his voice. The idiot seemed to realize, finally, just how close he was to spending a few hours in the custody of aurors - overworked, testy and frustrated aurors - and made a hasty retreat. "I really wonder if he's not working for the kidnappers, trying to stir up trouble against muggleborns."
"It's unlikely they'd bother with such a small profile. Given the scope of their attacks, they'd focus on the press, and on more influential members of society." The witch was being too reasonable again.
"Maybe that's what they want us to think." Kenneth wasn't being contradictory, not really. As a good auror, he simply couldn't dismiss a possible lead without evidence to the contrary.
"Or whoever is behind this wants us to arrest innocent, scared people in order to drive a wedge between the Ministry and the population." Neither Bertha nor Kenneth were saying who they strongly suspected was behind all this. Even though both aurors were certain who that was, after the report from the Department of Mysteries had confirmed that a dozen corpses of Death Eaters found on Azkaban had been polyjuiced kidnapping victims. Muggleborns at that.
"Then he'd have stayed around to actually get arrested!" Kenneth refuted that argument.
"Which would strongly hint at him not being an agent for those criminals." Bertha still had not looked up; the witch's ability to keep working while carrying on a conversation with Kenneth was impressive and would have made a lesser wizard jealous.
"Or they didn't think of your plan. They are not perfect, after all." Kenneth sighed. "Let's wrap this up. Three different wands used. One by the victim, presumably, two by the attackers. No witnesses, other than those who heard the explosion - which was half the village." And hadn't been collecting those statements a pain! Fortunately, that was why junior aurors existed, as far as Kenneth was concerned. "We won't find the victim until he surfaces later." Polyjuiced into someone else, or sacrificed, or imperiused, Kenneth thought, but did not say.
"We haven't talked to the guests in the 'Hog's Head Inn' yet," his pretty but far too duty-conscious partner pointed out.
"Auror Black-Tonks did talk to a few regulars living in Hogsmeade. They haven't seen anything, and half of them mistook the explosion for a prank or a flashback 'to the war'." Kenneth shook his head. "You know the crowd that frequents that inn, Bertha. They'd not have seen or heard anything even if it had happened on their doorstep, or right inside!"
"That's one more reason for us to talk to them." Bertha was undeterred. She stood up and set out for the disreputable inn.
And no auror would let their partner enter such a location without backup. Sighing, Kenneth followed her, sneaking a peek at her rump until he caught up with her. That early in the morning, the inn wouldn't even have the sort of entertainment rumors claimed it sported in the evening. But hopefully the more rowdy and belligerent guests would not be present either. "Most of the guests won't be there now anyway, and we already got the list of the names of those who were around last evening from Black-Tonks."
"But Dumbledore will be there, as will those who are staying at the inn." Bertha answered primly. Unless they had bailed out already - something Kenneth wouldn't put past them, given the inn's reputation.
"Aberforth Dumbledore. The Goat Wizard." Kenneth didn't groan, but felt like it. The black sheep of the Dumbledore family. To think such a great man could have such a disappointing, shady brother…
They knocked but then had to wait a bit until finally the door was opened, and the two aurors came face to face with Aberforth Dumbledore.
"What do you want again?" the old wizard asked without bothering to hide his annoyance.
"Mister Dumbledore? I am Bertha Limmington and this is my partner, Kenneth Fenbrick. We're aurors investigating the disappearance of Hugh Welles last night, not too far from your inn. May we come inside?"
The old wizard made some noise that could have meant anything, but stepped aside, letting them enter. The 'Hog's Head Inn' didn't seem to have changed since Kenneth's last visit there, or since his first visit as a student even. Well-maintained, though, despite its reputation.
"I already told the girl you sent that we didn't see anything, and only heard an explosion." Dumbledore summoned a bottle of ale for himself, but didn't offer the two aurors anything.
"Yes, sir. But we were wondering if you or one of your guests might have seen something before that incident. Anything suspicious, or strange." Bertha didn't let the abrasive attitude of the innkeeper faze her.
"There was nothing of that sort inside my inn," Dumbledore stated. Before Kenneth could cut in, he added: "And we don't care much about what goes on outside." He took a swill from his bottle.
"Until someone sets it on fire." Kenneth bit out. "Ignoring what's going on won't help anyone."
The wizard shrugged. "So? Ignoring us worked well so far for everyone else."
"'Us', Sir?" Bertha asked, lightly stepping on Kenneth's foot.
"Me and my regulars and guests." The innkeeper explained.
Kenneth didn't feel like asking how they were supposedly ignored. That was what this type wanted, to air their grievances and list the ways they were hurt by Wizarding Britain, to excuse how they were hurting society in turn.
Fortunately, Bertha didn't ask either, but simply nodded. "Should you or anyone else recall anything, please inform the DMLE. Lives could be depending on it."
The Headmaster's brother scoffed, and took another gulp from his bottle. Kenneth took that as their cue to leave. Theoretically they could wake up the guests in the inn, but Kenneth doubted that would lead to anything but more claims of ignorance. And something - his experience with overprotective fathers or heads of families, to be exact - told him that the innkeeper wouldn't like it if Kenneth tried to chat up the prettier guests while they were still half-asleep.
The two aurors stepped over to the floo, Kenneth grabbing some powder and stating their destination: "Transit Station!"
*****
"That was a waste of time!"
Kenneth didn't like stepping through the Thief's Downfall in the Transit Station. The way water ran down all over his robe, suppressing all the charms on it, soaking him and his hair… he was sure the goblins had made certain it would be as annoying and uncomfortable as possible. Nasty little buggers.
He waited until the hitwizard on duty nodded to him before using his wand to dry himself off. Being too hasty with his wand could lead to dangerous misunderstandings here - hitwizards were, after all, no aurors. Only trained for battle, they were far too quick to hex and curse, and lacked the training in investigation to tell them when they should stay their wands and watch and listen first.
Kenneth and Bertha quickly stepped away from the floo they had arrived through, barely in time for the next arrival to come through, that one cursing loudly at getting soaked. The auror thought he saw one hitwizard grin at that. He couldn't blame the man - if he had to do duty there, complete with mandatory legilimency checks to ensure his loyalty, he'd take his entertainment where he could as well. But as an auror, he was much too valuable to be sent on guard duty.
Unlike most others, the two aurors went through the door leading to the Ministry, instead of taking one of the normal floos on the other side of the room, where privacy charms had been placed on the chimneys, for those travelers who liked their destination to remain discreet. At least from other travelers - the Ministry could check the floo records if it was needed.
More work awaited the two in their office. There were forms and reports to fill out, notes from other cases to check and revise if needed. Without duplication charms Britain's livestock would have become extinct long ago just to handle the DMLE's need for parchment, or at least Kenneth thought so. He sighed upon spotting a small fleet of paper planes circling his desk. "Why do I always have to deal with all the stupid requests from other departments?"
"Because your idea of a report gives the boss fits." Bertha dead-panned.
Kenneth pouted at her. "It was a rhetorical question." He thought he had caught her grinning before she sat down and started writing.
A few hours later - the auror was almost done with the request from the Magical Maintenance Department, who wanted to know when they could start fixing the road in Hogsmeade - an owl landed on Bertha's desk. He didn't pay much attention until he saw her cast a series of detection spells at it. Then he had his wand in hand at once. "Trouble?"
"Unknown sender," his partner answered. The owls had to pass through a few wards until they were allowed inside the Ministry, but that didn't make the system fool-proof. And a missing address for the sender rang some alarm bells. Bertha finished casting and, apparently satisfied with the results, opened the letter.
"Who's it from?" Kenneth asked. He wasn't that curious, but as long as it kept him from dealing with the cobblestone repair crew…
"It doesn't say."
"Another anonymous complaint?" They had gotten a few of those. Not many - most of them were handled by others in the Ministry.
"No. An anonymous report about the kidnapping. Apparently, someone saw the whole thing. Six attackers, faces masked - not the kind of masks we might have expected though. Two took the victim down, the rest stood guard. Or waited - the author of the note doesn't seem too impressed by the skill displayed, but mentioned the group seemed to have had some experience working together, probably as mercenaries. Plus there's a description of the wands." His partner was still reading while she listed the contents of the letter.
A description of the wands used? If it was no hoax, then someone either was a genius, or they had access to a pensieve. Neither fit with the reputation of the 'Hog's Head Inn'.
Bertha looked up at Kenneth with a smile. "Looks like someone saw something."
"Don't say it!" he growled.
She didn't, but her grin said enough.
*****
"And I had to ask every damn resident of Hogsmeade for a statement! It took me hours, and no one had seen anything!"
"The perils of working as an auror." Sirius Black didn't bother to hide his grin. Nymphadora complaining about her work was rather amusing, and in these times, any laugh was a good thing. Remus trying to hide his own grin was amusing as well. Not that his friend would admit to either having feelings for the young witch, or trying to get over her. But he was trying, at least. Which was a good thing as well - Nymphadora was head over heels in love with Viktor, and the Quidditch player returned the feeling. Remus would be only asking for grief if he tried anything.
Chantal, Eugénie, Laure and Valérie giggled. Nymphadora glared at them, which didn't seem to impress the four veela at all.
"Well, you're off work now, Nymphadora. Cheer up!" Remus, ever the peacemaker, tried to appease the young auror.
"Indeed. As the resident expert, you can now show us all the wonders of muggle-style clubbing." A bit belatedly, Sirius realized that teasing their guide to muggle London might not have been a smart idea. Not that Nymphadora would need much of a push to prank them - Sirius had fortunately been able to double-check her clothes advice thanks to his Playboy subscription. Really, a 'white polyester suit'? Even muggles had better taste than that!
Instead he and Remus were dressed in slacks, floaters and nice shirts - all expensive labels, of course. One had to show one's wealth, people were so much more tolerant of the rich. And Maybe Remus would be able to score with a muggle girl.
The wardrobe of his four French house guests had been easy to pick as well - he had asked Hermione's parents for a good tailor, had been told a few names of shops to visit, had called a cab and sent the girls off. It had been gold well spent - the veela were clad in very nice dresses. Not as revealing as they and Sirius himself were used to, alas. But they had to make some allowances if they wanted to go clubbing in a country that was not trembling with fear from Voldemort. No risk from attacks from imperiused muggleborns was worth more conservative clothes as well. And of course, once the Dark Lord had been dealt with, excursions such as this one would make great anecdotes to tell during dinner invitations.
The metamorphmagus looked them over. "Right. You lot look OK for Muggle London."
"We won't draw undue attention then?" Remus asked.
"Oh, you'll draw attention, alright. Just not the undue kind." Nymphadora grinned. Sirius had a sudden bad feeling.
*****
A few hours later, Sirius was all too aware of what Nymphadora had meant. The little minx had known the effect four veela, even dressed rather conservatively, would have on muggles. Judging by the amount of people bothering them, Sirius could almost believe the tales of veela auras bewitching wizards. Or witches.
"Hey there! Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Another brute was making a move, on Eugénie this time.
"Pardon? Parlez-vous francais?" The veela smiled innocently.
"Oh… you're French?" He gaped at her.
"Je ne comprends pas. Qu'est-ce que vous dites?" Eugénie kept smiling at the man as if she didn't understand a single word.
"Ah…" The man, barely 20 Sirius would guess, finally closed his mouth and looked at the rest of their group. Chantal, Laure and Valérie copied Euigénie and looked as if they had not understood a word either. Remus seemed to find the dance floor very interesting. Or he was actually keeping an eye out for Nymphadora, who had gone to the ladies' room. Sirius put on a blank look. He should be able to pass for French too.
"Hey, you look English. Can you translate for me? I want to hit on the bird here, and she doesn't speak English. Tell her I think she's very pretty. Sexy even."
Now it was Sirius's turn to gape. Had that jerk just asked for his help in seducing Sirius's own girlfriend?
"Oh, you're a slow one. No problem!" The young man pointed at Sirius, himself and Eugénie in an exaggerated manner while speaking very slowly, as if he was talking to an idiot. "You tell her, me think she pretty."
Sirius wanted to hex the guy badly. Where was their native guide when she was needed? She'd know how to tell this obnoxious guy to… wait a minute. He narrowed his eyes. The young brute letting out a girlish giggle clinched it. Nymphadora! "I should hex you for that!"
The metamorphmagus winked at him and left to change back while the rest of their group had a laugh at Sirius's reaction. Well, let no one say Sirius couldn't take a joke. His vengeance would be terrible, of course.
Valérie, sitting in Sirius's lap, turned towards him. "Let's dance some more!" The young veela hadn't been bothered by horny men nearly as much as the rest of her cousins since she had not left his side or lap at all. It was understandable - the sheer number of muggles they were surrounded by was more than a bit daunting. Sirius though didn't think the girl was quite as intimidated as she claimed to be, but he wasn't about to complain. Truth to be told, he was not as confident as he acted either, but on the whole, surrounded by so many people, so many lively, dancing, happy people, was about as big a contrast to Azkaban's isolation as one could get.
And the dance floor was the most crowded spot in the club. With the four veela pressed against him, dancing wildly to exotic music, Sirius didn't miss the magical world, or its problems.
*****
'Death Eaters on the loose!' 'Azkaban corpses polyjuiced kidnapping victims!' 'Is You-Know-Who back?'
Harry Potter would have thought that after the rumors and speculation of the weeks before, confirmation of Voldemort's return - or almost confirmation; who but the Dark Lord would free all his followers, and massacre everyone else? - wouldn't have that big of an impact. People had already feared his return, after all. And yet the latest Daily Prophet had caused a panic in the Great Hall in Hogwarts.
Students were trembling, many were crying, even the teachers were looking less than composed - with the exception of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick. And the new Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. The corpulent wizard seemed to have been made of sterner stuff than his jovial nature indicated. But then, he had been Snape's predecessor, so he must have had plenty of experience. Harry's friends had known about Voldemort already, and so were not affected either.
"At least with so many kidnapping victims being muggleborns, the rumors about this being a muggleborn ploy should abate somewhat." Hermione commented. His girlfriend seemed to be trying to ignore the spectacle around them.
"I wouldn't bet on that, Hermione." Aicha put in. "Logic has not much of a place when people are panicking."
"And the paranoid will think it's simply misdirection by muggleborns." Luna added, between scarfing down her porridge.
"It'll help some though. And now, with Death Eaters revealed, some at least should stop speaking out against muggleborns, even if only to avoid getting painted as sympathizers of Voldemort." Harry briefly squeezed Hermione's thigh under the table. "At least now the secret's out. People know they need to protect themselves."
Ron didn't share Harry's view. "People are panicking. Students here, their families at home, everyone is trembling with fear. Everyone but the Death Eaters and their friends," he added, with a glance towards Malfoy, who was looking almost smug.
Harry snorted. "If Voldemort recruited Malfoy, then his standards have sunk so low, he needs to dig a hole."
"Doesn't change the fact that Britain's going to be an ugly place for a while." Ron refilled his cup of pumpkin juice.
"Do you think the Ministry is prepared for this?"
"They should be. Dumbledore has known about it for some time, and he's the Chief Warlock." Neville nodded towards the staff table, where the teachers were conferring behind privacy spells.
"But the Dark Lord might be prepared as well." Ginny sounded scared, and inched closer to Neville.
"It depends on who leaked this to the press. If it was the Ministry, then they'll be prepared. If it was someone else…" Harry trailed off. The students were safe at Hogwarts, and his family was safe behind the wards of Grimmauld Place, and the blood protection of Privet Drive. But a lot of families couldn't afford those kind of protections.
"The article sounds too sure to be based on information from outside the Ministry. Unless of course the author is trusting Voldemort." Luna commented.
"There's not much we can do but wait and see." Hermione stated. Harry didn't like it, but his love was right. They couldn't do much right now but wait. Wait, train and research.
Further discussion and speculation was cut short by Dumbledore's amplified voice drowning out all talk. "Students, we all have heard this distressing news. There is no need to panic though - you all are safe at Hogwarts, and steps have been taken already at the Ministry to deal with this threat. Please return to your dorms. There will be no lessons today, but your heads of houses will address you later."
"No lessons. At least there is one good thing to come from this," Ron commented.
"No training opportunities either, if we're confined to the dorms." Hermione added, frowning at their friend.
"They can't keep us penned up all day, can they?" Ron looked at his brothers a bit down the table. "Some people will get very… bored."
"And we cannot meet our friends from other houses either." Nor, Harry realized, could they get some privacy. Hermione would have to act as his retainer all day long.
He squeezed her thigh again. It was all he could do right then.
*****
The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled at his Death Eaters, gathered in the hall in his new mansion. It wasn't a throne room, yet, but he had transfigured a chair into a seat fit for himself and placed it at the head of the massive table. Only those of his followers who had been incarcerated in Azkaban were present, to honor their sacrifice. And to keep the identities of his other agents secret. While his faithful would rather die than reveal anything, veritaserum and legilimency didn't care about a wizard's loyalty. To his right sat Bellatrix, his witch. To his left, Rookwood. The two most important members of his inner circle.
Voldemort was sure his Bellatrix would be fidgeting on her chair with anticipation, had her family not beaten impeccable manners into her. She knew what was coming. Steinberg had provided everyone at the table with a wand that fitted them. The Daily Prophet had revealed his deception with the polyjuiced mudbloods left at Azkaban, and the country was shaking with fear.
While no one was openly stating that the Dark Lord had returned, Dumbledore would know it now.
The Dark Lord stood up, and raised his glass. "My friends! Britain trembles at the mere rumors of our presence. The time to hide is over! Now is the time to finish what we started over twenty years ago!"
As his faithful rose and cheered, the Dark Lord smiled widely. Britain would pay for what it had done to him and his!
Chapter 24: War
