Aurors Part One: The Beginning
Remus Lupin had been paying particular attention to the papers lately. For one thing, they were full of Harry, who had somehow become involved with the Triwizard Tournament. The way it seemed to have happened had never been spelled out; Remus supposed Harry must have found some way to enter, regardless of the contest rules, but it surprised him, a bit. Somehow he'd never thought that Harry would go against Dumbledore's orders for something like that.
It sounded like something Sirius would have done, he thought, surveying the latest article, which seemed to say that Harry was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He doubted that; the article was by Rita Skeeter. Remus had a low opinion of the woman – something that much of the wizarding world had in common with him.
But strange things had been happening; Ministry workers vanishing, and the Death Eaters on the move. At least there had been no news of Sirius –apart from his occasional owls. Remus gathered that he was in communication with Harry and Dumbledore as well. Just as long as he didn't do something stupid…
A rap on the window signaled an owl. Remus opened it and paid for his paper. Unfolding it, he stared at the headline. Mysterious Death at Hogwarts, it read. For one dreadful moment, he was afraid that Harry-
But no. it was an older boy, a Hufflepuff named Cedric Diggory. Remus recalled him from last year; he had been handsome and an excellent Quidditch player, but more importantly, to Remus, he had been a considerate person. Cedric had been one of the fifty or so students who had written to say they'd miss him.
He read the article; it sounded as if the boy had been killed during the Triwizard Tournament, which, it appeared, Harry had won. If, of course, anything this paper reports can be considered trustworthy, he thought wryly. But reading between the liens – there was something very wrong. He considered going up to Hogwarts… No. I'm not welcome there. Snape, and others, would make sure of that. And if it's swarming with Ministry people – I'd like to avoid them -
Knock.
He turned, surprised, to see who was at his door this early in the morning.
"Sirius!"
"Moony! How are you?"
"Come inside, Sirius," Remus said quickly, checking around to make sure no one was outside – instinctive habit, since he was a mile from the village. "Why are you here?"
"Long story, Moony. Dumbledore sent me, I'll explain everything." He looked around, hopeful. "Could I get something to eat? I'm starving." Remus thought he looked it; he wasn't quite so thin as the last time they'd met, in the Shrieking Shack, but that meant very little.
"I was just about to fix breakfast. Eggs sound good?"
"Anything sounds fine." Sirius sat down, exhausted. "I've been traveling all night." He picked up the Prophet. "So, what garbage is being printed this morning?" He looked at the paper. "Oh." He sounded sobered. "Diggory. That's right, they would have that."
"Do you know what really happened?" Remus asked, beginning to scramble eggs and fry bacon.
"Voldemort, of course." Sirius sighed. "That's why I'm here. Voldemort's back, Remus."
"How do you mean, back?" Remus felt a shiver of cold down his spine. Back? Like the way it had been fourteen years ago?
"Back in power, back in a body, back at the head of the Death Eaters." Sirius grimaced. "And our rat friend helped him, as I feared."
As Remus finished cooking, Sirius launched on an incredible tale. He didn't stop to eat, nor did his table manners get in the way of the story.
"So Dumbledore sent me to you," he concluded. "We're supposed to round up the old group; Arabelle, Flescher…."
"I'll get on that right away," Remus said, nodding. "You said that Dumbledore told Snape you're all right?"
"Yeah." Sirius wiped his mouth. "Couple of Weasleys, too, and I think he's going to tell Minerva."
"Arthur Weasley is a good man," Remus said thoughtfully. "And his children are, too – the ones I've taught, anyway." He smiled. "There's a pair of twins who cause almost as much trouble as we did."
"And I'm pretty sure I know what Snape's up to," Sirius said slowly. "I don't like him at all – you know that, Moony – but I'll admit he's got courage. Not every man would do what he's doing."
"I'm going to get started, going and talking to people, then," Remus said. "I'll explain everything, don't worry. You can sleep upstairs – I'm sure you're tired."
"You'll see – everyone?" Sirius asked slowly.
"Yes, Sirius." Remus put a hand on his shoulder.
"Her, too?"
"I'll go there," Remus said softly. "I'll make her believe me."
"I thought about – writing," Sirius said.
"I tried." Remus grimaced. "She doesn't read letters, they come back unopened. She won't talk to any of us, she's pretending to be a Muggle." Sirius' face fell. "I'll make her listen, though."
"Thanks." Sirius seemed to be trying to find another topic now. "What about the others?"
"Most of them will listen – I'll have them write to Dumbledore if they don't believe me." A shadow fell across his face. "I was just thinking how many aren't going to be here."
"James and Lily," Sirius stated softly.
"Frank and Anne Longbottom, the McKinnon sisters, Arnold DeColk, Laura Fudge…" He smiled sadly. "Perhaps it's just as well Laura isn't here to see how badly her husband is doing."
"Dunno, she might have talked sense into him." Sirius grimaced. "How did he ever become Minister? Oh, I know," he continued, cutting Remus off, "they couldn't let Crouch have the job – but still."
"Dumbledore wouldn't take it," Remus added, carrying the empty plates out to the kitchen and setting them in the sink.
"And that's bad, now. Fudge won't move the Dementors, mark my word. He – well, he relies on them, he doesn't believe that they'll join Voldemort."
"They're sure to." Remus grimaced. "And he'll never send emissaries to the giants. I'm sure Dumbledore knows that."
"I think he's already taken care of that." Sirius grinned, tired. "He's playing things close to his chest, Dumbledore, but he's in control."
"Well, I'm off then," Remus said. "I'll be gone a while; help yourself to anything you like."
"Thanks, Moony," Sirius said, grinning. Remus nodded and left to grab his wand and Apparate off.
"Master," Wormtail said softly, "Master."
"What is it, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked coldly. He had been sleeping, sleeping for the first time in this new body of his, and he did not like to be awoken. Wormtail looked terrified.
"Master, there is another Death Eater here to see you."
"I sent them all away," Voldemort said. "Who has disobeyed me?"
"No," said a third voice, cold yet firm. "You haven't sent me away, for you have not yet seen me."
Severus Snape stood in the door of the room. "I beg forgiveness for failing to answer your summons, Master," he said, eyes on the ground. "I was being questioned by Albus Dumbledore and could not escape. I am very sorry."
"Dumbledore?" Voldemort looked up with some interest. "What does he know?"
"He knows you have returned, master," Snape. "He's setting his own plans into motion."
"What else?" Voldemort demanded. "Does he suspect that you are my servant?"
"No, master," Snape replied, bowing. "He believes I have rejoined his side. He trusts me." Snape curled his lip. "Dumbledore is a fool; he gives trust too easily."
"While I trust no one." Voldemort glanced at Wormtail. "What of my servant, Crouch?"
"I am sorry, master, but Crouch is – worse than dead." Snape sounded regretful. "He had been unmasked; the real Moody was found."
"A sad loss." Voldemort looked at Snape. "You, like my other servants, pretended not to know me," he said softly, in a dangerous tone – though, of course, Voldemort's tone was never not dangerous. "Do you expect me to forgive you easily?"
"No, master," Snape said. "But I can be of use to you. I do have Dumbledore's trust, and many others of us do not." He smiled cruelly. "I am of use to you."
"You are," Voldemort conceded. "And I never throw away a useful tool. Very well." He seemed to make up his mind. "You shall return to Hogwarts and continue to serve me. You will spy out the other side's plans. And, when the time is right, you shall deliver Harry Potter into my hands."
Many miles away, a young, not yet fifteen year old boy sat up in bed. His dark hair was wet with sweat; he had been having another nightmare, and then his scar had burned, waking him.
Harry knew what it meant when his scar burnt; it meant that either Voldemort was somewhere nearby, or that he was thinking of Harry with especial hate. Harry wondered which it was. He didn't think Voldemort was nearby; after all, the dark lord himself had said he could not touch Harry while he was at the Dursleys. And there was no doubt that he, Harry, had given Voldemort enough reasons to hate him in his short life.
Harry lay down and tried to sleep again, but his mind was racing. This morning he had left Hogwarts to return to the Dursleys. He hoped that his godfather, Sirius Black, was safe. He hoped that the Aurors might be even now cornering Voldemort or the Death Eaters. And he wished that someone would write a letter to him, or send him a newspaper. As long as Rita Skeeter kept her word and didn't write anything more about him!
He considered writing to Dumbledore or Sirius about his scar, but decided against it. After all, he knew why it had hurt. It really wasn't anything to worry too much about.
But as he fell back toward sleep, another thought occurred to him. He remembered, suddenly, the way Dumbledore had seemed- triumphant – when he had told how Voldemort had used his blood in the spell to restore the dark lord to a body. At the time, Harry had brushed it off, but now he was sure that it meant something very important. But what?
Well, look who's back? I had a nice little break –wrote only one thing in that time, which I am impressed with as I anticipated one or two things in GoF and which I'll publish when I rescue it from the other computer, which is acting odd.
Of course I loved GoF. Stayed up to midnight to get my copy, to 11 the next night to read it – I'm a fast reader but there were seven fans and one book. So we had to read it aloud. Wonderful, really really wonderful. Of course, I was wrong about most things, but right about a few others – and I think Blaise is psychic, read "Snake in the Grass" to see what I mean. Lots of questions to answer, lots of stories to write – I'm almost glad we've got a year to the next one!
This seems to be the beginning of yet another epic thingie from me. Perhaps it'll be even longer than the last one – I daresay I've lost most of my audience, except my friends who'll read it from loyalty. Which reminds me – kudos, Peeves, for figuring out that the Sorting Hat wouldn't always sing the same song!
As everyone in the civilized world should know by now, JK Rowling is amazing and writes this stuff out of her own head. I'm just trying to look into her Pensieve!
KB (who is miffed that her namesake was mentioned about twice in the 700+ pages)