The Hogsmeade Incident
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
Chapter One – Meetings
Hogsmeade village basked in the warmth of an unseasonably balmy autumn afternoon. Shoppers and casual pedestrians strolled along the narrow streets, glancing in windows, chatting, or just enjoying the temperate air and clear skies.
The general bustle of the throng was evident inside of the Three Broomsticks pub. The cheery fire, the bar with its well-polished wood and brass, and the glowing torches all contributed to the calm, soothing atmosphere. The usual collection of lovebirds, tired bargain hunters, and other assorted Hogwarts students on respite packed the public tables and the bar.
Off in one corner, seated next to a window commanding a view of the street and allowing the first golden rays of sunset to filter in, a tall, lean, red-headed seventh-year was sipping a bottle of butter beer, thoroughly engrossed in the textbook before him. Anyone paying him any heed would have thought he was accompanied by an invisible friend, as he kept up a non-stop monologue of muttered thoughts and comments.
"Well, now, isn't that clever?...Most remarkable! …I never would have thought of that…Oh, well done!"
A shrill shout from across the aisle penetrated both the general din and the young man's reverie.
"Arthur! There you are! I've been all over town looking for you." The exasperated author of this salutation was a young, pretty and bubbly red-haired girl of approximately Arthur's age. Though short and tending toward plumpness, she exuded an energy and sparkle that many would (and did) find utterly irresistible.
"Oh. Hello, Molly. I just popped in for a bit of refreshment and must have lost track of time" Arthur shrugged sheepishly as he rose and pulled out a chair.
Molly dropped into the offered chair with an annoyed snort. "Lost track of the time? Lost yourself in that dratted book again, don't you mean? I swear, Arthur. Once you're immersed in your Muggle Studies text, you wouldn't notice if an avalanche carried away half the village." She looked at him with a mixture of affection and impatience.
"Ah, but, Molly, it's so fascinating. Did you know that Muggles have actually developed a machine to extract the milk from cows? How on earth do they come up with such inspired ideas?"
"Arthur, of course, they use machines for everything! They have no magic! Extract milk from a cow? Why, when, with a flick of your wand, you can conjure all the milk you want."
"But, Molly, that's the point, exactly! We have it so easy! When I think of the lengths Muggles must go to overcome the handicap of no magic, I just get filled with admiration."
Molly sighed wearily and shook her head. "Oh, Arthur, you'll never change. But, enough of that, I didn't ask you to meet me to debate Muggles. I've just received an owl from the Ministry of Magic. It's unconfirmed, but, they suspect Death-Eaters may be on their way to Hogsmeade. They may be the very ones who murdered the Woodham family"
Arthur rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as though searching for extra patience in the air over his head. "Molly, how often must we go over this? The Ministry probably has some of their finest aurors on their trail, they'll leave no stone unturned, and they want to catch them worse than you do."
His voice had risen in volume with each word, but, now, he clamped his jaws tightly shut. Molly sat quietly staring at him; however, her eyes were doing a remarkable impression of twin volcanoes about to explode. When she finally spoke, it was in a subdued hiss.
"How dare you, Arthur Weasley? How dare you suggest that anyone wants those vicious killers punished more than I? They come into my hometown and savagely slay a charming family not three doors from my own house! I will not take that kind of intrusion lying down! And, if you can't see how much that means to me, I see no point in our ever having another conversation!"
Without another word, she exploded out of her chair, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the Three Broomsticks with no acknowledgement of Arthur's attempts to call her back.
Arthur slumped back into his chair, a picture of depression and frustration. He knew Molly's temper and should have stated his position more tactfully, perhaps, but, how could he make her understand what she refused to see?
This was a job for the professionals and two students mucking about in the business were bound to wind up, at least, seriously injured. And just the idea of any harm coming to Molly was excruciating to him.
He'd been able to dissuade her initial impulse of going to London to look for Dark wizards or questioning the authorities at the Ministry, but, with a chance of taking some action right here in Hogsmeade, he knew he'd be hard-pressed to check Molly now.
"Ah, well," Arthur muttered aloud, as he slowly gathered his belongings. "Perhaps, I can catch her in the common room and talk some sense into her. After she's calmed down a bit, of course."
"Now then, Weasley, what are you doing in the Three Broomsticks? I'd have thought Madame Puddifoot's more your line of country."
That patronizing, sneering voice was the one thing guaranteed to make Arthur's day worse. With another deep sigh, Arthur straightened, turned, and looked directly into the smirking face of Roger Bancroft, seventh year Slytherin.
Bancroft had been in school every year with Arthur and their relationship had blossomed from mutual dislike to full blown hatred as they'd gotten to know each other.
Bancroft was handsome, pure-blood and proud of it, Prefect, Quiddich captain, tops academically, well thought of by the teachers, and champion of the now-defunct Dueling Club. He was also self-centered, condescending, prone to make insulting remarks at the expense of others, and considered Muggles lower than something he'd scraped off his shoe. He didn't think Arthur rated much higher than that and said so frequently.
"Hello, Bancroft. I see you've brought your hangers-on with you. Did you fancy a drink or just want to ruin everyone else's day by showing up?"
Bancroft scowled momentarily, then, quickly returned to sneering at Arthur, as three younger Slytherins moved up close behind him. "Now, now, manners, Weasley" he replied scornfully. "It'd be a shame if I had to toss you out of here and disturb the peace."
Arthur continued to glare back at Bancroft, ignoring his hovering lackeys. "The only shame is what you bring to the repute of wizards, Bancroft."
Bancroft took a step forward, snarling through gritted teeth "Too bad Dumbledore disbanded the Dueling Club. I'd have loved to get you on the mat, Artie!"
"As I recall, Roger, the club was disbanded because too many of your opponents wound up in hospital. Dumbledore must have considered it excessively wasteful and that could have something to do with your not making Head Boy this year."
"Dumbledore's a Muggle-loving fool like you, Weasley, and I don't think you want to continue this line of conversation!"
"Now, there's something we do agree on, Bancroft. You don't think!"
Bancroft's hand flew inside his jacket, Arthur stood up even straighter, the surrounding students nervously looked for cover, when, suddenly, a loud shout broke the silence and the tension.
"Oho, Roger. I was hoping that was you I saw across the room." The vast bulk of Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions Master and head of Slytherin house, came into view, breeching the crowd as an ocean liner parts the sea. He halted at Bancroft's side, looking at both young wizards and his smile dissolved into an expression of anxiety and puzzlement.
"What's all this, then?" he rumbled. "No trouble, I hope, - Roger, - er -Wellesley?"
"No, Professor" replied Arthur, with barely concealed distaste. "No trouble at all. I was just leaving." Arthur gathered his belongings, flashed one stony glance at Bancroft, and headed for the door.
"Splendid, splendid" Slughorn chimed expansively, throwing his arm about Bancroft and steering him towards the bar. "Come on, then, Roger, there's some people I'd like you to meet. Ah, should've asked young Wellesley if that charming Miss Prewett is about, these folk would like her, too."
Bancroft looked at Slughorn, then, glanced thoughtfully at the door. "I believe she's gone back to the castle, Professor, but, I'm sure she could be persuaded to come back down and join us."
"Excellent "exclaimed Slughorn. Bancroft put on his finest politician's smile and
let himself be steered to the waiting guests.
The Hogsmeade Incident
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
Chapter Two – The Auror
Arthur paced up High Street oblivious to the golden rays of sunset, head down, clutching his books, totally absorbed by his conflicted thoughts.
The unpleasantness with Bancroft was only the newest in a long series of episodes that dated back to first year. He had long ago developed the ability to dismiss Bancroft and his cronies from his mind without much effort. Molly, however, was another issue.
He had been attracted to spirited Molly Prewett since his third year at Hogwarts and had worked up his courage to ask her out by his fifth year. She was every thing he'd ever dreamed of in a girl and it seemed that the attraction and affection was mutual.
But, she did have that Prewett penchant of going off half-cocked, especially when her temper was aroused. He, of course, had the unfortunate tendency to arouse that temper quite easily, as he had at the pub.
"I'll just have to catch her up in the common room. She's got to see reason. I can't allow her to take dangerous risks. I can't!"
"These aren't the times to be wandering about unawares, lad."
The deep, snarling voice brought Arthur's head up with a snap. Looking about franticly, he noticed he had wandered down near the outskirts of the town, but, all his attention was focused on the fantastic figure seated on a rock and studying him with a mixture of interest and amusement.
He was the most incredible-looking person Arthur had ever encountered. He was tall, several inches more than Arthur, and heavily-built, perhaps 16 or 17 stone. Yet, as he rose and walked closer, Arthur saw he moved with a grace and agility that spoke of unbelievable quickness and speed. He was clothed in black, from his heavy boots to his leather jacket and wrapped in a long traveling cloak. But, it was his face that held Arthur's attention. The face was battered and worn, making it difficult to guess his age. His nose appeared to have been broken at least once and his mouth was a lopsided gash underneath. Several long scars marred his visage, but did not diminish the intensity of his dark, beady, piercing eyes. A shoulder-length mane of reddish-gold hair framed his features. But, there was something else.
Arthur had been in the presence of Headmaster Dumbledore on many occasions and had sensed his aura of calm, tranquil power, rather like standing near a dozing elephant.
This stranger exuded a similar feeling of power, but there was nothing calm about him. Arthur felt as if he'd turned the corner and come face-to-face with an uncaged tiger.
The outsider stopped several paces away, eyed Arthur up-and-down once, then, broke into a grin that, if anything, made his face even more feral-looking than it did in repose.
"Hogwarts, aren't yeh? Sixth or seventh year, I'd say." The voice, a low, rumbling growl, suited the man perfectly.
Arthur shook himself back to reality, embarrassed that he'd been staring, and replied, shakily, "Yes, . . Yes, I go to Hogwarts. I'm seventh year Gryffindor, as a matter of fact."
The stranger threw back his head and laughed once, a sound like crossing a firecracker explosion with the bark of an angry mastiff.
"First-rate! Good old Gryffindor! If you're headed back to the castle, I'll walk with you a bit. Things have changed some since I was here last and you could, maybe, fill me in."
Arthur felt his head nod involuntarily, although, the thought of walking anywhere with this grim figure was very intimidating.
"That's champion. But, first, I'll sneak a peek at yon" and he pointed directly at the small, abandoned house on the hill. "That building's been deserted since my time and I wonder why."
"Oh, well, you see, that's the home of a family that fled to the continent because of the current troubles! There were deaths reputed. Nobody goes there" Arthur stammered out.
"That so? Interesting" the stranger murmured. He reached into his cloak, whipped his hand out, and raised it to his face in one fluid, practiced motion. It took Arthur a moment to realize what the man held in his hand. Then, he gaped in astonishment.
In his hand, the fellow held an artificial eye, large as a Sickle and electric blue in color. He placed it in his left eye like it was a monocle or a jeweler's loop and it remained fastened there. It proceeded to whirl at great speed, stopping, shifting, and pausing at intervals. All the while, the big man hummed, grunted, and mumbled to himself reflectively.
Arthur realized that his mouth was hanging open, so, he closed it and swallowed several times, to regain his composure. "You," he gasped. "You're Mad-Eye Moody, the Auror!"
The big man glanced over his right shoulder at Arthur with an amused look on his face and let his magical eye drop into his outstretched palm. "Right the first time, boyo. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, scourge of Dark wizards and bureaucrats alike, at your service." He pocketed the eye, turned his back on the lonely, boarded-up house, and started stalking down the street towards Hogwarts. Arthur had to dash to catch up.
"What brings you to Hogsmeade, Mr. Moody? Surely, not the troubles."
Moody snorted dismissively. "That's what brings me anywhere, these days. And, Mister Moody was me da'."
Arthur flushed. "Sorry, - ah – Mad-Eye. But, you don't mean there are . . . Dark wizards in Hogsmeade?"
Moody dropped his voice to a whisper, which vaguely sounded like a bear snoring. "Aye, one of the darkest. Have you heard tell of Evan Rosier, who styles hisself 'the Kestrel'?"
Arthur felt his throat constrict. "The Kestrel? Are you sure?" he managed to rasp out.
"Clear as mountain air, the signs are. I picked up his trail in York back in late spring and I've been on their heels ever since. Rosier is part of the Inner Circle and he and his henchmen are the special assassination squad for You-Know-Who."
Arthur felt cold sweat break out on his forehead and neck. His stomach lurched horribly and a strangled whisper escaped his lips, "The Woodhams."
Like lightening, Moody stopped, wheeled and was staring into Arthur's eyes. It was not a friendly stare in the least. "And how is it you know about the Woodhams, Mr. . . Ah?"
"Oh, - sorry, - my name's Arthur Weasley."
Moody seemed to relax slightly, but, didn't blink. "Weasley, huh? Are you one of Septimus and Cedrella's boys?"
Arthur let his breath out in a gush. "Yes, I am."
Moody nodded his head and seemed less like a startled leopard. "I've met your folks. Good, solid people; true Gryffindors. Not like the pure-blood fanatics Slytherin attracts these days. But, how do you know about the Woodhams? I know the paper shufflers at the Ministry have kept that hushed up!"
"Why, Molly Prewett is my classmate. Her family's kept her informed and she's been telling me."
Moody continued to stroll down the road, head and eyes down in thought. "Yes, the Prewetts. That would explain it. The old man's sensible enough, but, the rest take after their mum, hot-heads all. I had a devil of a time investigating the scene. Those two young ones wouldn't stay away."
Arthur nodded, sympathetically. "Well, Molly is a true Prewett. We had a row this evening because I wouldn't help her turn Hogsmeade upside down to look for rumored Death Eaters in town."
They had reached the Hogwarts gate and Moody turned to face Arthur and fixed him in a penetrating stare.
"Well, you did exactly the right thing, lad. But, if you care for her, keep her out of this at all costs! This scum will stop at nothing and she'll wind up hurt or worse if she mucks with them! Mind what I say and keep her safe!"
Arthur felt an arctic chill in his stomach at the thought of Molly being harmed. "Don't worry, Mad-Eye. I'll keep her at the castle if I have to tie her to my leg to do it!"
Moody smiled his hungry-wolf smile again and smacked Arthur roughly on the shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground. "Good lad! That's how a man talks. Well, I must be off."
Arthur watched Moody stalk back towards Hogsmeade, then, turned wearily towards the castle. He looked back once, but the Auror had already vanished into the shadows and the road was deserted.
The Hogsmeade Incident
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
Chapter Three – Rescue Mission
Arthur trudged wearily up the last flight of stairs to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. In his mind, he continually rehearsed exactly how he would approach Molly.
First, he'll try reason: if you won't listen to me, listen to Moody. He says to stay out of it. Next, he'd be forceful: Molly, I forbid you to leave this castle! If all else failed, begging was an option, or alerting the headmaster.
He approached the portrait of the Fat Lady with trepidation, knowing full well that Molly was probably on the other side in the common room, roasting him to a turn with her friends. "Ah, well. Nothing for it now, but, go full speed ahead" he muttered.
He pulled himself erect, squared his shoulders, and stepped up to the portrait.
"Password?"
"Caveat Emptor."
The Fat Lady smiled (a bit condescendingly, he thought) and swung wide to admit him.
Arthur strode the short passageway to the common room, readying himself for the battle to come. He paused at the threshold and felt the slightest trace of annoyance that his heroic preparations had been wasted; the common room was spectacularly empty. The overstuffed armchairs and the homework tables reflected the last red-gold rays of the setting sun from the windows, the smoldering remains of the fire threw heat over the hearth, several flyers hung limply from the notice board, but there were no signs of life.
Arthur strode purposefully to the right-hand stairway and stopped at the foot, pushing open the door and carefully avoiding crossing the threshold. "Molly" he called. "Molly Prewett!"
"She's not here, Arthur" said a voice behind him.
Arthur spun, astonished he'd been taken unawares yet again, but releasing his quickly-inhaled breath as soon as he did. Floating effortlessly a foot above the floor was Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
"Not here, Nick!" Arthur exclaimed. "But, where is she? It's imperative that I speak with her!"
"Oh, yes, I understand" said Nick, loftily. "Oh, the tales I could tell you of unrequited love . . . of lovers' misunderstandings . . . of the passion . . ."
"NICK!!" bellowed Arthur. "Now is not the time! Where is she?"
"Well," Nick replied, with a most-offended look on his face. "She returned to the common room a little while ago, read a scroll she was carrying, then, hurried back out the passageway. I asked if I could be of any assistance, because, of course, chivalry is not dead . . ."
"Yes, but you are!" Arthur roared with the last of his patience. "Now, where's this scroll?"
"Oh, if you must know, she chucked it in the fire. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." with which, mustering his dignity, Nick slipped through the common room floor.
Racing to the fireplace, Arthur dropped to his hands and knees and scanned the ashes. He saw the remnants of a page of parchment lying across the embers. Pushing his face closer, ignoring the intensity of the heat on his cheeks, he could just discern some darker markings. Arthur pulled out his wand, pointed it at the fragment and muttered "Ostendio nuntius". Squinting against the high temperature, he slowly made out the words:
Have information on a group of strangers in Hogsmeade.
Meet me at the Hog's Head if you're interested.
Roger Bancroft
"Oh, gods!!" Arthur thought, scrambling frantically to his feet, "This cannot be happening!!"
Racing down the passageway, he shoved open the guardian portrait and flew down the stairs, paying no attention to the indignant squawks of the Fat Lady that followed in his wake.
Taking the stairs three at a time and maintaining his balance through a combination of luck and willpower, Arthur burst through the entranceway doors and dashed towards the gates. Climbing towards the dormitory, he had plodded along as though carrying an immense weight. Now, he was covering ground like a frightened antelope.
As Arthur sped past the gates and on towards Hogsmeade, he glanced at the scattered students straggling back to the castle. Several were small groups of girls, but, as he spied no redheads, he ran on.
The shadows of night were slowly unfolding and the streetlamps beginning to blossom as Arthur reached the first buildings on High Street. He slowed slightly to better observe any pedestrians he might chance upon and to relieve the knife-like pain in his side. He kept up a brisk walking pace, however, as he headed down towards the right-turn that would lead up to the Hogs Head tavern.
A chill breeze began to stir the fallen leaves, and, as Arthur headed down the dark street towards the Hogs Head, it cooled down his initial burst of panicky passion. He glanced to either side, but observed no other travelers on the street. He knew the pub by reputation and, considering the dodgy nature of the stories he'd heard, decided a cautious approach might be called for.
Arthur paused and considered the gloomy, foreboding exterior of the pub. He noticed, to his left, a dim pool of yellow light spilling from a grimy-looking window. "Let's go easy, Arthur" he muttered to himself. "A quick reconnoiter before you go busting in, that's the ticket". He softly slunk to the window, gripped the bottom of the sill with both hands, and, rising on tip-toe, peered in.
The interior of the Hogs Head did nothing to improve Arthur's opinion of the establishment. A grey-stone fireplace filled the wall opposite his window, seeming to absorb more of the heat from its reddish coals than it broadcast into the single room.
The source of the light was several half candle sticks sitting in the middle of the aged wooden tables on the dirty stone floor. To his right, the grungy bar with its tattered stools dominated and depressed the barroom. Flashes of candlelight from a door behind the bar told him the location of the barman. He saw no patrons.
As he glanced about the scene, Arthur heard, to his right, the sound of the door closing and soft footsteps approaching. He turned toward the sound, wand at ready in his hand.
As the approaching figure stepped into the light, Arthur saw instantly that it was neither Molly nor Bancroft. Too slight for the former and too short for the latter, the small, lean form was wrapped in a dark gray cloak that flapped in the wind, but left the head totally unconcealed. The boyish, open face with its swath of wheat-colored hair and sharp, blue eyes was looking at Arthur in an inquisitive manner. This youth seemed vaguely familiar to Arthur, though he was hard-pressed to put a name to it.
"If you're lost, sir, I can probably put you right". The soft, youthful tones conveyed courtesy with just a tinge of unease.
Arthur sighed and replaced his wand inside his cloak. "No, no, I'm not lost, but thanks for the offer. Actually, I'm looking for someone."
"Oh, well, if it's a Hogwarts student you're looking for; I go to school there and know most of them".
"Ah, that's why you look familiar. I go there myself."
"Oh sure, I've seen you in the halls. You're in Gryffindor, aren't you?"
"That's right, and I'm looking for another Gryffindor right now. It's very important".
"Well, I saw lots of them in town today. Which one is he?"
"It's not a he. It's a she. Her name's Molly Prewett and she should have been around this pub in the last half hour."
The blond boy screwed up his features in concentration. "Hmmm . . . Prewett, Prewett . . ." Then, comprehension dawned on his face. "Is she the redhead that McGonagall tells off once a week for her temper?"
Arthur grew rigid with tension. "Yes! Yes! Have you seen her?"
"Oh, sure, she was here. She went off with that Slytherin prefect, Bancroft."
Arthur couldn't believe his good fortune. "Excellent! Did you happen to see which way they went?"
"Well . . . No, not really" the boy seemed slightly crestfallen as he passed along this intelligence.
Arthur practically tore his hair and stamped his foot in frustration. "Oh, bugger it!" he exclaimed. "I've got to find her."
The boy had watched Arthur with trepidation, and then brightened considerably.
"They was talking about that abandoned house on the edge of town. I heard 'em at the bar when I was buying my butterbeer.
Arthur fairly danced with delight. "Oh, that's capitol!! I've got to get over there before she gets too deep in."
Arthur immediately took off, jogging down the murky street the way he'd come. As he turned the corner onto High Street, he noticed his new acquaintance pacing him on his right. "Perhaps you'd best return to Hogwarts. This could get perilous."
The boy kept his gaze straight ahead and maintained the pace. "I'm not afraid. If it's dangerous, you might need my help. I can't do much with my wand, but I can keep a lookout and let you know if I see something."
"Alright, another pair of eyes might be advisable, but, at the first sign of trouble, clear out, all right?" The young fellow gave no answer, but continued on with determination.
They had reached the end of town and stopped to survey their objective. The derelict dwelling stood isolated on its lonely knoll, creaking in the breeze, skeletal branches from the few leafless trees on the property scraping the walls with a sinister caress.
Arthur carefully worked his way down into the gully, stepping lightly around large rocks and secluded, stagnant puddles, his young companion dogging his footsteps. They began their upward climb to the house slowly, cautiously, wands at the ready.
At last, they stood at the rusted iron fence surrounding the small manor. Arthur surveyed the home warily, trying to observe every detail, thankful for the dark, moonless night. Working his way warily around to the west, he came upon a gap where one rusted iron bar had been bent inward almost to the ground.
"Keep watch while I go first" he whispered at his comrade. The lad nodded his understanding and took a step back, looking left and right. Arthur extended his wand arm and head into the breach in the fence, turned his shoulders sideways, and pushed himself through. For one horrible second, he felt himself stick at the waist, but, by dint of some judicious wriggling, drew hips and legs into the yard. Hissing at the boy, Arthur took over the watch, while his smaller companion popped through with ease.
They slowly advanced to the side of the house, avoiding the loose pavement of the walk and staying alert for fallen branches. Arthur leaned over to murmur in the boy's ear, "You circle to the east. I'll go west. Look for signs of life, or some way inside, and meet me on the other side." The boy nodded understanding and began easing around the building. Arthur took one last look at the boy, and then began slowly creeping in the opposite direction.
Step by careful step, Arthur worked his way around the west end of the structure, eyes and ears on full alert. He was conscious of the sound of the wind, of his own muffled footfalls, and his anxious breathing. The creaking of branches and of the old house itself sang an eerie serenade as he scouted.
Rounding the corner, he was cognizant of the trunk of a large tree to his left and the weather-beaten wall on his right. As he stepped forward, he saw the dim silhouette of the boy approaching him from the opposite direction.
Suddenly, a flare of light blazed from the cracks of a boarded window on the second floor. Instinctively, Arthur looked up at the light. At that moment, he heard a heavy step behind him and the whoosh of something cutting through the air. There was a brief explosion of shock and pain at the base of his skull; then, he was aware of nothing at all.
The Hogsmeade Incident
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
Chapter Four – Hands of Death
The first sensation Arthur was aware of was a dull, throbbing ache in the back of his head and neck. There was a vague feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach. As he attempted to rub his neck, he realized his hands were bound behind him at the wrists. He felt similar bonds about his ankles. There was a distinct odor of dust and mildew in the air and he heard the subdued mutter of men's voices, along with a louder, higher-pitched sobbing.
Carefully cracking open his eyelid, Arthur was looking up at an elaborate, cobweb-decorated ceiling. He lay on his left side on a dust-covered wood floor next to a threadbare, dingy four-poster bed whose curtains were half undone. Craning his neck (and wincing at the pain), he saw Molly across from him, similarly trussed, huddled against an old wooden chest of drawers. It was she who was sobbing.
"Ah, decided to join us, have you, Weasley?" That scornful, derisive tone could only belong to one person.
Arthur felt rough hands grab his shoulders and forcefully pull him around. As Bancroft leaned him back against the bed, Arthur saw him back away and sit on the edge of a grimy wooden desk. Glancing to his right, Arthur was able to see the rest of the room and its other occupants.
At the far end of the room, in front of a dilapidated fireplace dominated by a soiled, cracked mirror above its mantle, stood a round wooden table flanked by two chairs. A sooty, dented oil lamp, the only source of light in the room, illuminated the two figures seated in the chairs.
One was the angel-faced young student who had accompanied Arthur from the Hogs Head. He was sipping a bottle of butterbeer and staring at Arthur with wide-eyed interest. Opposite him sat a stranger who was a complete contrast. This man was a large, bulky brute dressed in dark, shabby robes. His long, greasy black hair framed a wide, slack face featuring two dull, muddy-looking eyes. The big man was pulling some sort of snack food out of a greasy brown bag, shoving it into his mouth, and chewing slowly. He glanced around the room, and at the two prisoners, with an air of total indifference. Arthur got the feeling of an ox chewing its cud. But it was the remaining resident in the room who commanded Arthur's attention.
A worn, dusty piano stood across the room, to Arthur's immediate right. Leaning against the piano was a smaller man who gave an appearance of quick, decisive energy. His green robes, though travel-worn and in need of cleaning, were immaculately tailored and of high quality. His delicate white hands, adorned with multiple gold rings, were nervously toying with a highly-polished redwood wand. He had white, close-cropped hair with a matching mustache; sharp, prominent brows and cheekbones; and a pair of dark, deep set eyes that were the most piercing Arthur had ever seen.
Bancroft was watching Arthur with a smirk on his face, now he turned and addressed the white-haired wizard. "As I told you, Kestrel; there was no need for unnecessary spell casting. My boy, Cyril, and I bagged both our birds as easy as pie."
The wizard slowly nodded his head, continuing to regard Arthur and Molly in his calculating manner. "I must admit, Roger" he relied in a soft, purring tenor, "I had my doubts . . . at least, about the effectiveness of the boy. But, there's no arguing with results."
Cyril took another nip of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and laughed. "I forgive your doubts. I've worked hard to perfect my 'innocent and harmless' look, so I'll wager there's few I can't gull if I wants to."
Evan Rosier looked once at Cyril and smiled. "Yes, Cyril. I'm a believer, now. No doubts, you'll be very useful in some of our future operations." He turned his attention back to Bancroft. "Now, perhaps, it's time to proceed."
This remark brought a grunt of agreement from the big man. "Aye, proceed and then, move on, I say, Evan. We've been hereabouts too long for my comfort." His voice was a harsh, gravelly baritone, tinged with a touch of anxiety.
"You'll have to be patient, Dan" Rosier purred soothingly. "I've not worked out all the details on how we'll use the girl."
Dan snorted. "There's other hidey-holes you can work that out in, Evan. I'll feel better to see the last of this one and put miles behind us. I don't see how you can be so relaxed, knowin' there's a human tiger trailin' us."
Rosier seemed to look inward a moment, then, came back to himself. "I don't underestimate him, Dan, but, neither do I fear him. This house is secure enough with the wards I've placed around it. We'll have plenty of warning if uninvited visitors approach."
At last, Arthur found his voice. "What are you planning on doing with us?" He felt a chill as Rosier looked directly at him, studying him like a subject in Transfiguration class.
"Well, young sir" he droned politely. "This young lady has some value to me. I recently executed a service for the Dark Lord in her family's home town, a very necessary service. However, her parents took exception to my activity and are stirring things up with their friends in the Ministry. I would prefer the hoopla die down and with her in tow, I can assure it."
"You, on the other hand, are nothing to me, except, Roger's price for delivering the girl." Rosier now smiled for the first time, a cool, evil smile that did not affect the expression in his eyes at all.
Arthur swiveled his eyes to Bancroft. "Are you mad, Bancroft? Consorting with murderers and Death Eaters just to satisfy some schoolyard grudge?"
Bancroft chuckled. "Don't overvalue yourself, Weasley. I didn't contact the Kestrel, he contacted me. He wanted Molly for leverage and I saw an opportunity to not only show that I can give good service, but, to rid myself of an irritant." He looked over at Rosier and smiled. "One thing I've learned from Slughorn, besides how to brew a proper potion, is the value of good contacts."
For the first time, Arthur heard Molly's tear-filled voice behind him. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry. I was such a fool."
"You've never been a fool, Molly. The only fools in this room are the ones who fraternize with the scum of the earth."
Rosier laughed heartily. "Bravely said, young man, but, I'm afraid, brave words will not improve your situation."
"No, but, Moody might."
The remnants of his smile were wiped from Rosier's face. He was instantaneously alert and fully focused on Arthur. Behind him, Dan had risen to his feet, both fists clenched. Bancroft and Cyril looked at their companions with confusion, edged with panic.
"What do you know about Moody?" Rosier demanded in a voice like an arctic breeze.
"He's here in Hogsmeade! I've seen him! I've spoken to him! And he knows you're here!" Arthur fired each word like a dagger.
"I warned you, Evan! I warned you!" Dan raged. "He'll never give up the hunt, not 'les we kill him!"
Rosier continued to stare holes in Arthur. Then, with a visible effort, he shook himself and regained his composure. "Calm yourself, Dan. All this changes nothing, save our choice of methods." He looked at Arthur, once more a serene smile on his face.
"I thank you for the information, young sir. I can see that lingering here could prove costly. However, I made a deal with young Roger and you wouldn't want me to break my word, would you?" He laughed softly.
"Moody will be alert for any curses strong enough to kill. Using one would serve as a beacon to him. Fortunately, we've got other methods at our disposal, don't we, Dan?"
For the first time, Dan's face showed something akin to joy.
Rosier laughed again. "Dan is a poor wizard. I doubt he could scrape an acceptable in any O.W.L. exam. But, fortunately, he has other talents. One of them is a propensity to snap necks, in Muggle fashion." Rosier turned to the big man. "Take him, Dan. Then, we'll leave this town."
Arthur cringed back against the bed frame. He heard Molly's strangled gasp behind him, but couldn't take his eyes off the hulking thug starting to approach him.
Dan flexed his massive shoulders, arms, and hands, all the while displaying an idiotic grin and eyes glowing with lust. He took two steps toward Arthur, then abruptly halted, his eyes snapping to the double doors to Arthur's right.
Rosier, Bancroft, and Cyril were all on their feet, eyes riveted on the door. Arthur strained his neck to the right, to see what held their attention.
Protruding from the doorway, level and gleaming, was a wand; a shiny, oaken wand about 12 inches long.
A wand held in the battle-scarred, rock-steady hand of Mad-Eye Moody.
The Hogsmeade Incident
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
Chapter Five – Showdown
"Wand down, Evan; you too, Roger Bancroft; don't move, Dan Bristol; nor you, chipmunk." Moody growled. "First one to stir a whisker winds up singing in hell's choir."
Rosier froze, but continued to glare at the Auror. "How did you find us, Moody? How did you pass my wards?" he snarled.
Moody kept his wand arm extended to cover the four and pointed with his left hand at his artificial eye. "I scanned this building earlier as I thought it a likely spot."
"Dan and I have been disillusioned all day. Even your eye should not have seen us."
"True enough, Kestrel. You can thank your piggish friend. A house that's been abandoned for months shouldn't have fresh food scraps and wrappers in an upper room. As for the wards, magic leaves traces, easily tracked and bypassed by those who know how."
Arthur felt the weight of the world slide off his back. "Moody! I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life! Did you know we were here?"
"Aye, lad" Mad-Eye rumbled. "I've been skulking in the streets in my invisibility cloak since we parted, waiting for nightfall. I saw you come charging down the street, watched you and that young weasel sneak up to this place, and followed. I was working on Rosier's wards when Dan stepped out from behind that tree and conked you. So, I saw the concealed door he carried you through and made my way here quietly."
"So, Evan, if you'll be so good as to drop your wand on the floor and back away from it, we can get this party started. I've got some co-workers to invite that will love to see you."
Rosier glanced about the room, shrugged his shoulders, and began to bend over to place his wand on the floor. Suddenly, quick as a panther, Moody dropped and rolled to his left, firing a flare of yellow light at young Cyril, who had attempted to pull his wand and aim it at the Auror.
The boy was blasted off his feet backward into the old fireplace, collapsing in a cloud of soot. Molly screamed. Dan dived under the piano, Bancroft jumped behind the desk, and Rosier raced to the old table, firing spells over his shoulder at Moody.
But, Moody was not there. He was a non-stop blur of motion: shifting, whirling, blocking spells, never in the same spot two seconds in a row. Abruptly, he threw his left hand in the air and the room was plunged into darkness.
Arthur was inching his way toward Molly, to shield her with his body, when two powerful hands grabbed him from behind. He began to struggle when Moody's voice growled in his ear "Easy, lad. I'll have these ropes off in a trice."
Arthur relaxed and felt his hands and feet freed of their bonds. Moody released him and Arthur began to rub life back into his abused appendages. He was suddenly hauled to his feet and felt something warm and yielding pushed against him. Then Moody's chainsaw whisper filled his ear.
"You hang on to the lassie, Weasley. The door's just to your right. At the bottom of the stairs, the boarded-up window swings out on hidden hinges. Here" and Arthur felt two wands thrust into his hand. "These were on the desk. Let's move."
A viselike hand closed on Arthur's elbow. He barely had time to throw his left arm about Molly's shoulders before he was irresistibly impelled toward the door. Just as they stepped out of the darkness on to the stairway, the hand was ripped off him. Arthur quickly spun toward the room, wand raised.
Moody had been jerked backward by two powerful arms that were thrust out of the gloom of the room. One had clamped an immense hand over his wand, knocking it to the floor; the other was wrapped around his throat. Leering over his right shoulder was the gloating face of Dan Bristol.
"I thought if I lay still long enough, I'd hear you and get my chance" Bristol hissed in Moody's ear. "I'll catch Evan up easy enough, but, first, I'll do for you."
Moody made no sound nor attempted to struggle. He reached his free left hand up to the arm tightening around his neck. For a brief second, Arthur heard a sound like dry sticks being stepped on, then, with a bellow of mixed rage and pain, Bristol pulled his hands away. Moody pivoted swiftly in place and, using shoulder, arm, and fist, sent a thunderous right cross to the big man's chin that dropped him in his tracks.
As Moody stood over his victim, Molly gave a gasp. "Merlin's beard, I thought you were a goner. How did you ever make that brute release you?"
Moody worked the kinks out of his neck and smiled wryly. "Not being particularly polite, I busted a couple of his fingers. I've found those that like to inflict pain usually can't handle much of it themselves. Besides, old Dan here is too used to folks that rely overmuch on magic. Me, I'm Muggle-born. I learned a few tricks before I knew which end of a wand to grab." Moody threw back his head in another explosive laugh.
Arthur mopped his brow with the back of his hand. "Where are Bancroft and Rosier? And, what caused the room to go dark, did you blast the lamp?"
Mad-Eye snorted "No, special darkness powder from Peru. I've traveled a lot and picked up some useful tricks over the years. As for Bancroft and the Kestrel, both disapparated as soon as I darkened the room. When they failed to catch me in their crossfire, they fled like rats." Moody quickly became all business. "You two skedaddle. I'll bind up these two, and then follow. The sooner you're back at the castle, the better."
Arthur nodded and wrapped both arms around Molly. "C'mon, Molly, we can apparate straight to the gates." Molly clung to Arthur as if she'd never let go and shook her head vigorously. "No, Arthur. My mind's all a jumble, I'll splinch for sure. Let's just walk back." Looking down into her tear-filled eyes, Arthur smiled and nodded.
As they walked down the stairs, behind them, they heard Moody growl "Encarcerous."
The wind had died, the air was cool and crisp, and a beautiful full moon lit up the road as Arthur and Molly strolled back to the school gates. Arthur was content to keep silent and let Molly talk herself out as he held her tight to his side. "Never should have trusted . . . how stupid . . . if not for Moody . . . I shudder to think" she rambled on, cleaning the worst of the experience out of her system. Arthur only smiled. He knew how brave and tough she really was, the core of steel in Molly would soon reassert itself. But, for now, this was quite blissful.
As they approached the pillars, topped by winged boars, their bliss was abruptly shattered. "EXPELLIARMUS!" shrieked a voice from the shadows. As both their wands flew out of reach, Molly and Arthur turned to the sound. Standing before them, wand pointing directly at them was the dust-covered figure of Roger Bancroft.
Roger stalked nearer, a nasty grin on his face and a wild light in his eyes. "Well, well, looks like I managed to salvage this night after all. You walked right to me and now, I'll settle both of you."
"For Merlin's sake, Bancroft, you're in deep enough as it is!" Arthur bawled. "Don't make it worse on yourself by being stupid."
"How worse can it be, Weasley? I can't return to the school, not after Dumbledore hears from Moody. The Ministry will want me in Azkaban after knowing I consorted with Rosier, and the Dark Forces will want to punish someone for this failure." Bancroft shuddered and then smiled again. "But, giving them Molly will put me back in their good graces. So, first, I get to deal with you."
The smile became a snarl; Bancroft drew back his arm for the killing stroke; and Arthur folded himself over Molly to act as a shield, turning his back on their assailant. The air erupted with bright light and a loud BANG! Feeling no pain or change, Arthur looked back at Bancroft.
Bancroft was scrambling franticly backwards, wide-eyed and panting, furiously warding off spells as Mad-Eye Moody bore down on him like a tidal wave. School dueling champion that he was, Bancroft was totally outclassed by the big Auror and both knew it. Moody continually pressed the attack, his wand dancing in his hand like a living thing. His feet shifted smoothly, he never presented a broad target to his opponent, and spells flew from his wand like a meteor shower. All Bancroft could do was block continuously and give ground, never attempting an attack of his own.
Suddenly, Moody roared "Enough o' this!!" Incredibly, his wand arm moved even faster and Bancroft's eyes widened in horror. A loud CRACK accompanied a flash of orange light and Bancroft lay spread-eagle on the ground, unblinking eyes staring at the moon.
Molly covered her mouth with both hands and whispered "What did you do to him?"
Moody looked at her and grunted. "I just used a little something of my own. I blasted his consciousness. He'll be all right after a week or so in hospital. He can even stand discipline for Dumbledore" and Moody laughed. "Right after he stops drooling on himself."
Molly and Arthur approached the forbidding warrior with a mixture of awe and terror. "How can we ever repay you?" Molly rasped.
Moody regarded the pair, smiled his grim smile, and gave Molly a rough chuck under the chin. "You're a brave lass with a good heart. I trust I don't need repayment for doin' what's right." He shifted his gaze to Arthur. "Tell Dumbledore what happened. He knows how to get hold of me if he needs me."
Moody turned and started down the road towards Hogsmeade. The young couple stood watching his departure. Suddenly, he stopped and faced them again.
"OH, WEASLEY," he bellowed. "MARRY THAT GIRL!!" He shot them one last grin, turned away, and was soon lost in the night.