"Blimey, you really are full of yourself, aren't you?"
"It's better than not being completely confident, with nothing to do but complain and be shy and annoying; what good would I be then?"
"Well it's not like a small shred of humility would hurt," Albus replied with a roll of his eyes, thinking to himself, What good are you now, even?
"Probably not, with this face- but life's simply better when you know you're brilliant."
"Enough."
This last word that was spoken was more like a ceramic katana with a diamond sharp edge than an actual word. Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy lowered their heads. Even after graduating from Hogwarts four years ago, whenever they were in Minerva McGonagall's presence, they were unable to shake the feeling of being first year students, despite the fact that she was always very nice to them- strict, but nice enough. And they were far from first year students, one being a potions savant at nineteen years and the other a fairly celebrated auror for his twenty years, especially when taking his lineage into account. After all, society had not taken well to the Malfoy name after the defeat of Voldemort.
And that's why they were here today, back in 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort twenty-seven years ago, and for those years, everything had slowly returned to a state of freedom and happiness and normalcy, something which ended with the James and Lily Potter years and hadn't been seen by Harry Potter's generation. Life became good, full of picnics, birthday parties, and schoolwork, rather than funerals, defense classes, and growing up too fast.
However, Grimmauld Place had its distinct part in history as a convening place for the Order of the Phoenix, and it seemed as though history was about to repeat itself. Starting from a year and a half ago, there had been whispers among former followers of Voldemort that a new force was rising, gaining power day by day. Calling himself the Black Priest, he was preaching Voldemort's old message of pureblood over mudblood, a pagan god as he descended from night to sacrifice those he prescribed as unworthy to wield a wand. One and a half years later, the Black Priest seemed to be Voldemort's reincarnation and Neo-Death Eaters were becoming terrorists in their own right. One and a half years later, and a Malfoy was attending a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.
"The last murder that I heard of was Emerence Vane's death," Ron Weasley stated.
Scorpius looked up, bringing his attention back to the meeting. Emerence Vane? He knew her back in his Hogwarts years. She was a Ravenclaw, not a very close friend, more like an acquaintance, and she was their team's seeker- a brilliant one at that. Scorpius frowned slightly; so much was changing, "going back to the way things were during the Dark Lord's reign" his father had described it.
"Emerence Vane?" Harry Potter asked, now a middle-aged man, "Do we know her?"
"That was Romilda Vane's daughter, Harry," Hermione replied, "You remember Romilda- the one who tried to slip you a love potion during sixth year."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I thought we had put them in a safe house after their protest in front of Knockturn Alley?"
"That's part of the problem- we did," Hermione said slowly.
"The other part of the problem is this," George said, "Emerence's murder happened two weeks ago. There have been no other deaths since then."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Albus asked.
"Do you think that being naïve is still cute at your age, or are you honestly just stupid?" Scorpius shot coldly. For some reason, he felt a great surge of emotion and felt like pointing a few good hexes in the Potter's direction. He could feel the slight glares he was getting from nearly everyone in the room. After all, he was the son of Draco Malfoy, and the hypocrisy here was astounding. Let's not treat Scorpius Malfoy fairly because his lineage had close ties to Voldemort, which means he's also a bad apple. No, he's not allowed to say slightly mean but completely honest things- especially not to a Potter.
"Scorpius," Harry said slowly, in an effort to control his anger, "That-"
His son cut him off, speaking quickly, "Please do explain, Malfoy, because I don't see what you mean. Is it not a good thing that someone else hasn't died yet? Am I really that 'naïve' or 'stupid' for trying to see the gold bit of this black mass that's approaching us?"
"You want an answer? Alright, fine. Do you think that looking at that 'gold bit' will change anything? No one else has died yet, but someone will eventually. And the fact that a murder hasn't happened in two weeks means one of three things: a) they're planning an enormous massacre to spring on muggles and muggleborns alike so that we won't have enough forces to stop them, b) they're initiating more into the Neo-Death Eater clan, so we won't have the forces to stop them, or c) they're recruiting and initiating more as Neo-Death Eaters in order to put a massive massacre into action, so that we won't have the forces to stop them."
At this point, Scorpius was standing up with his palms down on the table, staring down Albus's defiant eyes, "So, let's see, to answer your question, yes. Yes, you are an absolute ignoramus for thinking that the lack of a murder or two is a good thing, because it is a very, very bad thing. No murder means planning and/or the buildup of forces- in this case, I believe it's safe to say that the Black Priest is doing both." However, with all of this buildup of forces, he was wondering where the Black Priest could get all of the funding- but that was beside the point. He was breathing heavily after the long-winded rant. Everyone was silent, and he pushed back his chair, seeing red. The ignorance! Of all the idiots in the world, and it would have to be a son of Harry Potter! Scorpius was well on his way to storming out of the room when Kingsley Shacklebolt (who has been the Minister of Magic for the past twenty-seven years) announced his arrival by pushing the door to the meeting room open.
A black, tall man at nearly six feet and three inches, his intimidating presence had not dimmed at all since his prime.
"Mr. Malfoy," Minister Shacklebolt greeted him.
"Sir," he replied, with a stiff nod.
"Oh, Kingsley," Molly Weasley smiled, rising slowly from her chair, an old woman now, "I'm so glad you could make this meeting. We haven't seen you since Harry's birthday party two months ago."
"Molly," he said, dipping his head politely.
"Won't you have a seat? We can conjure up another chair. Arthur?"
"No, that's alright. I come bearing gifts," Kingsley said, grimacing, addressing the room at large. "Well, it's been years since I've seen a complete Order gathered together."
"Oh- oh no," Molly said, taking note of his solemn, urgent undertone.
Minister Shacklebolt took charge of the room. "I need an auror- preferably one that can go undercover as a Neo-Death Eater." He cast a pointed look towards Scorpius.
Oh, bloody hell. "Lovely, I guess I can volunteer," he replied with a hint of sarcasm.
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. Scorpius straightened his posture, slightly nervous, and gave him a smile. Kingsley cleared his throat, "I am very sad to report that Mrs. Arabella Doreen Figg has been murdered. I need two people to go and sweep the scene- Mr. Malfoy that means you and another- and it will most obviously be the doing of the Black Priest. However, there will be traces of magic there, and I need both the scene to be cleaned and the time of her death."
"The time of her death, Kingsley?" Tonks inquired.
There was a hard look on his face, "No one knows exactly what happened. We only came to find out about this development because Winky- the house elf who works in the Hogwarts kitchens, yes, we've recruited her- has been regularly checking up on her at my request. As an original member of the Order of the Phoenix, it was the only thing that I was able to do for her, the only way I could keep an eye on her. She was getting on in her years, you know. Anyhow, I can't divulge much information as of yet, but we need to find out when exactly she died; the Neo-Death Eaters are sending us a bit of a riddle. I suppose this time around they enjoy mixing mind games with blatant demonstrations."
"Mrs. Figg is…is dead?" Harry questioned in disbelief. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for the old woman ever since he found out that she had been watching over him in his childhood. James Sirius Potter placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "I want to-," Harry started.
"I'll go with Scorpius," James declared, then walked brusquely towards the door.
"Mr. Potter," Scorpius said very solemnly, "We will make sure to do the best job possible." James had stopped in his tracks from shock, listening to Malfoy speak so seriously.
"Thank you," Harry replied, as Scorpius passed James and walked out the door.
Once on the doorstep, Scorpius asked what time it was. "Nearly ten of eight," James replied, "Why?"
"Ugh, I had a date tonight."
And they proceeded to apparate immediately to Wisteria Walk in Little Whinging, Surrey.
"It's…quaint," the Malfoy drawled, then stuffing his hands in the pockets of his robes, "Quaint and freezing." James looked around, a bit stunned, "My father used to live around this area…"
"Bloody hell, Potter, we're not here so that you can get teary-eyed and reflect on the hard life your father led. We're here to find out when someone died. Get a hold of yourself." And with that, Scorpius entered Mrs. Figg's house. "Uh, by the way Potter, has your father taught you anything about finding the time of death for a body? I'm talking about without using your wand."
"Why can't we just use our wands?"
"Are you already forgetting all of your auror training, man? Neo-Death Eaters could still be tracking the house for any signs of wand magic, nitwit."
"Oh, shut up and tell me what time it is, and hand over that thermometer on the counter, Malfoy. Make yourself useful if you don't know how to do a simple math problem."
Scorpius glared at him while providing him with the time, which was 7:55pm, and the thermometer, which, after James used it on Mrs. Figg, read 75 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Go check the thermostat, Scorpius."
"The what?"
"Honestly, you pampered purebloods would not survive a day without your wands."
"Excuse-"
"It's 65 degrees Farenheit."
"Why Fahrenheit? It's not like we're American."
"Just go with it, Malfoy! Stop complaining- that's what her thermometer was reading in,
anyway."
"I'm not complaining. I'm simply inquiring."
"Well inquire less. It's annoying me, and I'm trying to remember how to do the math to figure out when she died."
Scorpius tilted his chin up, "Fine. While you're doing this, I'll be sweeping the house."
"Oh honestly," James sighed, frustrated, "I'll sweep the area outside the house, you can take the inside. When we're done I'll have to take her temperature again anyway. Alright?"
"That is perfectly fine with me," Scorpius replied.
"Stop pouting, man," James smiled, rolling his eyes, "We're no longer third years." Scorpius pretended to pout further, then knocked jokingly into James's shoulder as he made his way into the hallway.
The two aurors reconvened in the living room after an hour.
"Thermometer," James requested.
"Thermometer," Scorpius replied, putting said object into his hand.
"She's at about 72 degrees Fahrenheit. And the thermostat's still at 65 degrees Fahrenheit, right?"
"Correct."
"Well, then I believe our work here is done."
"Did you figure out when she died?"
"I'll do that when we apparate back. I need a calculator to do this."
"A what?"
"It's a machine that generates answers to mathematical problems."
"You need one?"
"I can't do it in my head."
"Shame."
"Shush."
It had been a long night. After Scorpius and James had apparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place, they were assigned to guard duty at the Ministry from nine at night to one in the morning. Nothing had happened, fortunately, and all the two did were play wizard's chess and chat with some of the Ministry officials still there. After their shift, Scorpius wanted nothing more than a bit of firewhiskey and his warm bed, but he wasn't able to return home until around two in the morning due to the fact that there was a cursed object (it was only a biting toilet) that apparently no one else knew how to fix. So, being the accommodating person that he was, he stayed for another hour to help, and ended up having to house James Potter for the night. Overall, it was a less-than-perfect evening. This was why, when the Weird Sisters' music began blasting throughout the house, Scorpius was not a happy camper.
He pulled a pillow over his head to muffle the noise, adding on a few layers of blankets when the pillow did nothing to help quiet the song. Grumbling, he stretched, then cringed when his feet touched the cold hardwood floor. Both the noise and the cold got worse as he headed toward the kitchen. A radio sitting on the counter by the stove was nearly quaking from the noise blasting from it. Scorpius was less than pleased. The kitchen's ceramic tiles did nothing to retain heat, so by the time he reached the table and sat beside James, his feet were icicles. Yawning, he asked, "Did you get that, what was it, calculator?"
"Shut up."
"What? I didn't even say anything offensive and/or pompous."
"Just- just shhh…I'm thinking…"
"What-"
Scorpius paused, expecting James to interrupt him, but nothing happened. Instead, James was staring down at the paper in front of him with a confused expression. Scorpius took a look for himself, and saw it written at the end of some calculations that, "Time of death- approximately 4:30pm". He thought about this for a moment, then started, "If Mrs. Figg had died at 4:30pm, then that-"
"Shut up!" James whispered.
"What is it this time?!" Scorpius retorted, annoyed.
"No, I mean shut up, Scorpius," said James, scanning the area, "Don't you hear that?"
Scorpius didn't hear anything, actually, "What? The silence? Yeah, now I can actually hear myself think, thank Merlin the song stopped."
"No, listen, Malfoy," James insisted, then he looked out the window. Suddenly Scorpius heard it too, the faint humming noise that was slowly getting louder. He too turned to look out the window. What looked like a large, wispy black mass was swarming above the house, looking like something akin to a cloud, only pitch-black. The two men looked at each other. This was most definitely not good.
In a matter of seconds it was ice cold in the house, and Scorpius's fears were confirmed- dementors were swirling above his house, a gigantic, literal cloud of doom. James's face visibly paled as they began stealing his happiness and replacing it with despair, closing in on the windows and doors. Scorpius felt himself become weaker before he was able to retrieve his wand in order to cast his Patronus and fend off the intruders. Then, however, the radio began its annoyingly loud tunes again, and James regained some of his energy. The dementors were actually retreating a bit, as if an invisible shield was surrounding the house, pushing them back about a foot.
"It's the music!" Scorpius yelled through Celestina Warbeck's "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love".
"Conjure more radios!" James called back.
"How many? You know we can only conjure up so many muggle objects!"
"Just conjure some!"
And so they did. After twenty radios and two personal sound muffling charms later, the dementors finally disappeared. Scorpius and James were on the floor by this time, panting heavily.
"New…discovery…today…" Scorpius got out.
"Dementors…versus…radios…" James wheezed, nodding in agreement.
"Use that calculator thing. We're going to have to document this."
"Right, find out how much noise is needed to fend them off, etc…"
"Wonderful! You understand what I'm talking about. I'll give you a biscuit after you're done."
"That's cute, Scorpius, really cute."
"Shut it and do your math, Potter! Get a move on!"
"How many decibels for the radio, Malfoy?"
"Honestly, Potter? How would I know- oh, wait, its highest is about 125 decibels. Don't ask me how I know that. I don't even know how I know that." And then conversation stopped for the moment as James did more figuring. "Note," James declared, "In order to fend off dementors without using a Patronus charm, simply create a noise level of approximately 138 decibels. The dementors will then disperse."
"Lovely. I think we should write a book."
"What will we call it, 'The Random Discoveries of James Potter and Scorpius Malfoy?"
"Of course not- I think 'The Brilliant Discoveries of Scorpius Malfoy' would suffice."
"Shut it."
That evening, Scorpius and James returned to 12 Grimmauld Place after a long and rather pointless argument over what to name their nonexistent book, which expanded into a twenty-seven-book series over the course of three hours. They were having a rather grand time bickering; but then, however, the atmosphere they apparated into was not a very pleasant one. Molly looked as though she had been crying, with Arthur's arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Ginny was crying, her face buried in Harry's chest. No, not a very cheery lot, and James and Scorpius were about to join their ranks. Kingsley was at the head of the table, a grave look on his face. He informed them that Lily Luna Potter, the youngest of the three Potter siblings at age eighteen, had been abducted.
"Murdered?" James whispered.
"No, James, no- we can't confirm anything as of yet," Kingsley replied solemnly.
"But since the Black Priest has her, she may as well be dead," he spat angrily.
"You passed the depression stage pretty fast there, biscuit," Scorpius said to James, in an attempt to lighten the mood. However, this was a failed attempt; his heart wasn't even in it, as he was hurting as well. Scorpius had always had a soft spot for Lily- she always had a good sense of who she was, and was always much smarter than her two older brothers. And dare he admit to it? He had always had a small bit of a crush on her- a tiny one- when he saw her hex the daylights out of a Neo-Death Eater that was attacking her. And so Scorpius, although a Malfoy and rather self-obsessed, was determined to do anything to get her back. He wanted to duel her sometime.
"In addition to this development," Kingsley continued, "the Black Priest has sent another hint as to what his plans may be-"
"We're not going to do what he says, are we? He's only mocking us!" James cried.
"Do you think I don't know that? We're at a dead end here, Potter. There's little to nothing else that we can do right at this moment in regards to your sister. He has her, and we all know how terrible that is, but I have my best trackers working on finding her. Now, in the mean time, would you like to question your boss again, or may I continue?" James stared into Kingsley's hard eyes.
"What do I need to do?"
This ended up being a double auror mission, Scorpius and James keeping each other company. They kept silent as they made their way towards Gringotts. This was an odd mission, and Kingsley refused to give any more information away. Scorpius and James suspected that he didn't know what the Black Priest had up his sleeve either. They were only told that they needed to find the last time that Arabella Figg had made a deposit in her account; if this order wasn't odd, it was also unusual that Kingsley had the key to her account (apparently Winky had gotten it for him). The two men were absorbed in their own thoughts of murders, kidnappings, bank accounts, Neo-Death Eaters, and evening-time deaths, and how they could possibly all be connected. Neither came to a satisfactory conclusion by the time they walked into Gringotts.
"We're here on official business, to collect Arabella Doreen Figg's holdings," James said as greeting to the goblin banker. The goblin peered down at the pair through his half-moon spectacles, apparently contemplating their character. "Identification," he drawled, and James and Scorpius handed their wands over to him.
"Well, it seems that Arabella Doreen Figg's account has already been cleared."
"What?!" James exclaimed.
"Smooth," Scorpius muttered under his breath, then to the goblin, "Could we request to see the record of her savings?"
The goblin gave him a suspicious look, but then Scorpius flashed the key to the account in his face, which convinced him. "She had only one account- she was investing in an IRA. Here's her plan, and the total amount in her account is at the bottom of the page."
"Thank you very much," Scorpius said, dragging James quickly away. Once outside, he said, "Okay, Biscuit Boy, work your calculating magic. How long has she invested in her IRA?"
James glared at him. "Biscuit Boy?"
"Just do the math."
"I've told you before, I need a calculator."
"Honestly? And you say that purebloods are pampered. You can't even do a math problem without needing the help of a muggle machine."
"Don't even go there, Malfoy. You don't even know how to do this."
"Hop to, James dear, hop to."
"Read off the information to me- tell me what the total was, what the APR was- that's the percentage thing, tell me how many times she deposited, and how much she deposited."
"I'm not your lackey."
"Just do it! You're the one who wanted me to do it right now, anyway."
"Fine. What was that? You needed a percentage thing? Well in the end she had about 64,169 galleons in total, there's something that says '8.65%', and I think she put in 175 galleons every month. Need anything else?"
"A butterbeer would be nice."
"So?"
"Go fetch me some."
"Do the bloody math, Potter, stop getting on my nerves."
"I'm going to go and visit Dobby's grave," Harry declared. It was actually an extended invitation to the whole of the Order. Scorpius, assuming that he wasn't invited, stayed sitting at the table, sipping tea. James patted his father's shoulder and apparated immediately to Shell Cottage.
"Would you like to come along, Scorpius?" Harry asked in a low voice. The young Malfoy looked up, surprised, then slowly nodded his head in affirmation. They appeared on the beach by Shell Cottage less than a millisecond later.
As the Potters and Weasleys paid their respects to the courageous house-elf, Scorpius moved on to the cottage. It had fallen into disrepair after Bill and Fleur had moved closer to London. He walked in to what seemed as though it used to be a quaint kitchen, perfect for a small family of three or four. James came in behind him, commenting, "This would've looked nice if it wasn't, well, dead-looking."
It was then, walking down the hallway, that Scorpius heard a buzzing noise. He sniffed the air. "Do you smell that, Biscuit Boy?" he asked.
James, glaring at him, replied loudly, "No, I don't. And I don't appreciate that nickname eith-"
"James, smell! There! Don't you smell it?"
"Oh…" James replied, scrunching up his nose, "Oh, there it is."
They were standing outside the door of a room. Upon opening said door, they found a corpse that resembled a skeleton.
"Can you use your calculator to find out when this biscuit died?"
"Actually, I could, you know."
"I was being sarcastic."
"Right, well, I wasn't."
"Then work your magic. How are you going to do this?"
"Honestly, Malfoy? Honestly? Potions. Think."
"Oh, are you going to try to use the half-life of Everine?"
"That's the plan. Now, you work your magic and find out who this guy was."
"Are we being cooperative and nice to each other now?"
"Shut up."
"Thank you."
"Wait…what is the half-life of Everine?"
"Honestly, Potter? Honestly?"
"Malfoy!"
"It's forty-five years."
"Was that so hard?"
"Shut up. Work."
"While you have your wand out, you want to tell me how much Everine is left in this 'biscuit', as you so called him?"
"He is at…around 79% right now."
"Then he can't have been dead for too long."
"Do you understand the concept of 'shut it'?"
That night, Scorpius and James convened at Scorpius's house once more. As aurors, they both had an inexplicable need to overcome every obstacle that stood in their way. And this mystery of the Black Priest's was driving both of them nuts. So, over some firewhiskey and a warm fire they discussed, like mature adults, what could possibly be going on.
"Well, what do we know?" Scorpius inquired.
James, ticking off on his fingers, replied, "Mrs. Figg died at 4:30pm. This was odd timing, but for the life of me I can't remember why. Secondly, we know that she's been investing her money for fifteen years, with just over sixty-four thousand galleons to show for it, but this money has disappeared. And that body at Shell Cottage died just around fifteen years ago, as well. By the way, who was it?"
For the first time, James realized that Scorpius was nervous. "I did the spell correctly and everything. I even checked it twenty times."
"Get on with it, Scorpius!"
"It…it was Kingsley Shacklebolt."
James's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kingsley? Our Kingsley? Minister of Magic Kingsley? Head of the Order of the Phoenix Kingsley Shacklebolt? Are you sure?"
Scorpius looked James square in the eye, "Dead sure, James. I'm positive."
"But…that doesn't make any sense…" James was having trouble grasping the situation. Scorpius had had suspicions since this morning when they found the skeleton. Something was off with Kingsley, had been for awhile, but he had simply brushed it off as older age and Minister of Magic stress.
"Listen here, James," Scorpius said in a low voice, "I know how strange and ridiculous this might sound, but I have a theory, and it all pretty much makes sense." The look in his eyes was so serious that James could do nothing but nod.
"Fifteen years ago, we were only five, but I remember my father told me about how Kingsley Shacklebolt was going on a mission to the place where the old Malfoy family house-elf was buried. I just thought he was making up a little story to tell me, but I think this was real. Anyhow, the ending of the story is this- Shacklebolt is trapped on that beach with no where to go, no way to get out. He couldn't apparate, he didn't even know where he was, because he was becoming delusional. Then he died there. Our trip to Shell Cottage this morning seems like a confirmation. Don't interrupt. Now, as a child, we had lived next to a nice old lady, and she was the only other company I had when my parents were working, so when my father ended the story with Shacklebolt being dead, I would always disagree with him. The ending to my story was that a nice old lady would one day save him because she would have lots and lots of money. Do you see where I'm going with this? I know it sounds ridiculous so far, but it's too similar to be a coincidence."
"I'm not exactly sure what your final conclusion is going to be…" James replied, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Well, get this- the nice neighbor lady that I lived next to died due to a heart attack at 4:30pm. My first point is this- I think I've made up history. And no, this is not me trying to compare myself to God, this is what I'm honestly thinking, and it's even scaring me a bit. From Shacklebolt to Shell Cottage, to the massive amount of galleons and Mrs. Figg's time of death…it's scaring me."
"But Kingsley Shacklebolt is still alive, Scorpius," James said slowly. Scorpius was afraid of this. He wasn't sure how James would take it.
"No, James. I don't believe that that's the real Kingsley Shacklebolt. Do you know another story that my father told me? This was when I was eleven or so, and he finally told me about Voldemort. Well, you know what happened with that. And that night, I had a dream that people weren't fighting Voldemort anymore. People were fighting someone called the 'Black Priest'. And James, the Black Priest's soul lived on the opposite end of the island that Shell Cottage was on. You know souls can take over human bodies right? And if it's a dead body, they can take the shape of that corpse. So what I'm trying to say, James, is that I think Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Black Priest."