Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am not J.K. Rowling. 'Nuff said.
The man paced the room. Outside, the rain was relentless and the wind seemed to be moaning "Guilty, guilty."
"Haven't done anything yet," he muttered, but doubt was eating away at him. Was this the right thing to do? He jumped as a door creaked open.
"It's you, right?" the newcomer was tall, but in all other ways an average man. He was young, about the same age as the first man. His hair was dark and cut close to his scalp; his eyes were a warm, inviting shade of brown.
"Of course."
"Oh good," the newcomer laughed nervously, "Never can be sure with you, Te-"
"I thought we agreed that this would remain anonymous," the first man interjected.
"Of course, of course," the newcomer was laughing again, a nervous habit he had since their first year, the first man noted dryly. "Unless you change your mind…"
"I might eventually," the first man confessed. "If my conscience clears… I know this is the right thing to do, but, what you told me, that's all this is right? You don't have an ulterior motive, do you?"
"Merlin's beard, you worry too much. Don't fret; I don't have any other motives besides what we discussed. As for this remaining anonymous, we're the only ones here."
"The Ministry could be anywhere…"
"Oh I forgot, you grew up completely surrounded by Aurors. You were taught paranoia from the cradle," the second man smirked, "Alright, I'll humor you; let's have code names. I'll be Mr. Black and you'll be Mr. Yellow."
"I want to be Mr. Black," grinned Mr. Yellow.
"Not fair; I have more Black blood than you, if your theory is correct, which I doubt."
"Oh, alright," Mr. Yellow smiled; he was beginning to be reminded of Hogwarts, when this entire affair was just a childish fantasy the two of them had concocted and code names seemed, to their young minds, a necessity, "if only for the sake of my theory, which, by the way, is entirely correct."
Mr. Black allowed himself a smile, but then grew more serious.
"Do you have it?" his voice uncharacteristically low.
Mr. Yellow's grin also vanished, "Yes."
They stood there for a long moment, until Mr. Black said, impatiently, "Well, where is it?"
Mr. Yellow slowly reached for the parchment in his pocket, "Here," he said, his voice catching in his throat, becoming increasingly aware of the wind and its ominous message. Guilty, guilty. But he wasn't guilty, he reminded himself, this was for the greater good. But still, the feeling of culpability was working its way into his body, the feeling that this was wrong. He handed the parchment to Mr. Black.
"Finally." The look on Mr. Black's face was disturbing, possessive, as he muttered the incantation and thrust the parchment in Mr. Yellow's face. "Well, do you see it?"
He studied the parchment, and could hear the impatient tapping of his partner's feet, but his search was unyielding. "I-I can't find it; it really is just a myth," he stuttered, his face falling. They would have to find some other way to complete their mission, and after all those hours they had spent studying in the library, deciphering the legends. But Mr. Black didn't seem nearly as disappointed as Mr. Yellow would have expected; he had been, after all, the leader of their efforts. Instead, he seemed to be contemplating something, his brow furrowed in concentration. Finally he spoke.
"I was afraid of this," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You know the story, who is supposed to be able to see the Clue?"
"The Heir, but that's me, we've already established that."
"Unless…"
Mr. Yellow frowned, thinking, "Unless, unless… Unless there's only one Heir, not four. So that wouldn't be me, it would be the first child born."
"And that's-" Mr. Black began, but Mr. Yellow already knew the answer.
"Potter."