I apologize for the long wait, but real life invaded my writing time throughout most of spring.
Disclaimer: Writing in this world has not made me any money, nor will it ever.
The Portkey stopped on top of a white tile floor. Fred looked around the furnitureless room. In a corner stood Minister Scridgemour, ex-Minister of Magic Fudge, and an irate-looking blond woman in a long Muggle coat of black leather.
Percy lifted Fred up into his arms, jarring the painful wounds. He dashed past the other occupants as the woman addressed Percy. Ignoring her, Percy passed through a doorway into an infirmary. "MARC!" he called sharply. "HEALER JONES!" A dark haired man stood up from the corner of the room and ran over to him. About the same age as Percy, Fred felt he had seen the broad-shouldered man before. His robes had the emblem of a wand and bone crossed, but were a darker shade of green then the healers at Saint Mungo's Hospital wore. A gray haired man stood and walked over calmly. He wore normal healer's robes.
The woman stormed into the infirmary after them. "Explain yourself, Weasley."
"He got hit with a potion, Marc," Percy said, gesturing to the woman to wait. The blonde did not look pleased. The younger healer conjured a stretcher and waved an aide over. "I hope it's that new poison you're working on," Percy continued as he set Fred face-up on the stretcher.
What? Fred stared at his older brother, jaw dropping.
Percy flushed. "I mean, I hope it's something you can cure instead of a similar-- You did tell me you found the cure?"
"I said that we'd formulated a potential counter," the brunette replied calmly as he scanned Fred's leg. "It's untested." The scan finished and Marc turned to the other healer. "The potion's actions are consistent with the compound we recovered." He cast a spell that removed the remains of Fred's clothes, and scanned the rest of the wounds, including fresh ones on Fred's arm.
A second later he cursed. "The potion has seeped to critical organs. Not enough concentration for disintegration yet, but if the counteragent doesn't work..." He abruptly turned to the aide. "Page Ptolema. We need stock PAP-07-28-7a. Now."
He levitated the stretcher toward an empty bed; Percy moved to follow, but the blonde grabbed his arm.
"We'll take care of him, Fi," Marc called over his shoulder. He set the entire stretcher onto the bed. "Accio gentilius analgesic. Accio syringe and needle.
"Weasley," Marc turned to him as he caught a couple packages. "We've studied a sample of this stuff. It's fatal unchecked, but we may have a cure." He opened the packages and screwed a tube onto a thick-based needle inside a long, narrow, translucent thimble.
Off to the side, Fred could hear the woman lecturing Percy. She said something about his running off without authorization.
"Unfortunately," Marc said, "one of the ingredients interact with most pain potions, so I'd like to administer a Muggle drug."
"Muggle?" Fred asked dubiously as a glass vial with a metal stopper floated into the room and gently set itself on the shelf next to Marc.
Marc dethimbled the needle and inverted the vial. It's stopper had a rubber center through which he thrust the needle. "It will not remove all your pain, but it should keep you out of agony while the counteragent neutralizes the poison and clears your system. Then--if you survive--we can dose you with a more wizard-effective potion while we work on reversing the tissue damage." He slowly pulled a rod out of the tube, causing liquid from the vial to rush into the tube.
"My dad tried stitches once. Th--"
"MY FAMILY!" Percy yelled.
Fred looked at his brother. As he started to walk past the blonde, the woman turned and swung her leg into the back of Percy's knees. He landed flat on his back. "You can read the Aurors' report with the rest of us," her cool voice carried through the now-silent infirmary. "But the only place you're going is a safety shower. Preferably before the slop transferred from your brother eats through your armor."
"Tend to your patient, Healer Flint," the gray haired healer said.
"I am." The dark haired man replied, pulling the needle out of the vial. He pushed the rod back up and expelled a few drops of liquid into the air. He loosely rethimbled the needle and set it on the shelf by the vial. "Give me your left arm."
"Marcus Flint?" Fred blurted, suddenly recognizing the former Slytherin Quidditch team captain.
"Yes," the man replied, grabbing Fred's wrist from off the gurney, and extending the arm towards him. He cast a sanitizing spell over Fred's inner arm. Marc picked up the tube and needle, angling the needle to the flesh.
"You're not sticking me with that!" Fred pulled his arm free. What, he wondered, is Percy thinking?
"Unlike Healer Smythewick," the older healer suddenly spoke up, "I have a trainee that knows what he's doing."
Fred snorted. "Didn't he repeat his last year of Hogwarts?"
"Not my fault they cancelled all year-end exams," Flint retorted.
"Couldn't make the grade without them?"
"The St. Mungo's certification board only considers training candidates who have Ministry standardized NEWT results," the other healer said calmly. "His Hogwarts' estimated NEWT-values were quite respectable."
Fred looked at him skeptically.
"Look, Weasley," Flint said bluntly. "I know we didn't like each other much in school. I'm sure we still don't. But you are looking at the only two healers of any training level to work on this poison after its discovery. We're your only chance of living, or at least dying in less misery. So grow up and give me your bloody arm!"
A young woman with short, auburn hair walked over. She held a clear amber bottle with an opaque liquid inside. Fred recognized her immediately. The only prefect to rival Percy as an impediment to the twins' pranks, Prewett had spent nearly as many hours in detention with Snape as they did. The miserable traitor had objected to her 'flaunting her unsuitability for Slytherin'. Aside from taking her prefect duties too seriously, Fred reckoned she was okay. Not as awful as Flint, anyway. And if she's part of this cure--Anyone who'd stencil 'Mudblood & Proud' on her weekend robes wouldn't join You-Know-Who. As the woman handed the bottle off to Smith, Fred felt a hand grab his arm. He turned to Flint in time to see Flint pierce Fred's skin with the needle. Flint held the arm still, slowly pushing the cool liquid into Fred.
"Do we expect anymore casualties?" the woman asked as Flint withdrew the needle and dumped the whole contraption into a red bin, then propped Fred into a half-sitting pose.
"I hope not," the healer trainee said as he took a cup from Smith. "Drink this," he instructed.
Fred grimaced at the milky, green-tan liquid. He had no idea if the color had a name, but if asked to suggest one, he would choose puke. "What's this antidote taste like?"
"No idea," Flint responded, meeting Fred's mouth with the cup.
The redhead braced himself and started to drink. The stuff didn't taste nearly as bad as some medical potions he had taken, but it left an unpleasant, cinnamon-like aftertaste.
"The antidote should start spreading through your system soon," Flint said. "As it spreads out, it will meet the poison spreading in. We'll apply the counteragent to your wounds, and attack the poison on all fronts."
Fred nodded absently after he finished guzzling the potion. As Flint shifted Fred onto his uninjured side, Fred glanced over to where had seen Percy hit the floor. His brother had vanished.
Ash continued to blow off of the burned-out orchard and across the rest of the Burrow. Molly blotted tears away from her eyes, and turned away from the kitchen window. Her eyes quickly found the family clock. All hands remained where they sat thirty seconds ago: Fred on 'unknown', Ron, Ginny, and Charlie on 'hospital', Bill, Arthur, and George on 'searching'--
And Percy on 'work'.
Maybe the kids were right about him, she thought, reflecting on the day's events...
As the Aurors cleared away the bodies and prisoners, the chaos around the Burrow had begun to calm. That budding sense of relief crumbled once no one could account for Fred. They scurried around--double checking who had gone to St. Mungo's, seeing if Fred had all ready gone to the Ministry to give a formal statement, and searching the grounds for him.
Fleur surprised them all when she asked about the family clock. "Aren't the locations adjustable?" Molly was about to snap at the girl when Fleur continued, her French accent stronger than normal. "Well, why not remove the 'mortal peril' spot and see where he is in 'mortal peril'?"
They removed the label. It took the hands a minute to adjust and relocate. Fred's hand slowly circled the clock until it returned to the undesignated slot. The label, 'unknown' appeared...
Bill and George had not been pleased that their brother had gone to work as usual after running away from battle. She had never seen Arthur more furious. Less than twenty-four hours after he finally admitted he missed Percy, her husband had looked ready to hurt--maybe kill--his third-born.
Can't say I'm happy with Percy either. I raised him to be more sensible than his foolhardy brothers, but not a coward. It does explain why he left us in the first place, if he's that determined to avoid fighting...
Two hands switched from 'hospital' to traveling. Molly expectantly looked to the kitchen door. A minute later, the hands moved home. As the two redheads strode up to the Burrow, Molly opened the door. She rushed out, past the remaining Auror--who leaned against the wall next to the back door--and gave them tearful hugs. "Why isn't Ron with you?" she demanded. "I thought all your injuries were minor."
"They were," Charlie assured her. "He and Harry are staying with Hermione until the end of visiting hours."
"Where is everybody?" Ginny asking.
Molly went from blinking back tears to outright sobbing. "We can't account for Fred," she choked out. "Somebody needed to stay if he shows--" Molly quit trying to talk as Ginny wrapped her arm around her mother's shoulders.
Charlie strode past them, into the kitchen. "I'll go help. Where--"
A loud crash came from the kitchen. Molly rushed inside, Ginny on her heels. Charlie stood glaring at the clock. At his feet lay the scattered remains of a stack of dishes.
Charlie blinked. He pulled his wand and silently repaired them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I brushed the edge of the counter."
The preparations for Bill's aborted wedding seemed years away, but Molly remembered where she had set the stack. She could not find the strength to say anything though. First Percy ran off, and then Charlie reverted to childhood temper tantrums. Where had she failed her boys?
Charlie left the room without another word. Four cracks of apparition filled the air. Molly opened the door as Arthur rushed up to the house. "Where are the other Aurors?" he demanded.
"They aren't needed," the burly wizard replied flatly, not looking up from polishing his wand.
"My family was just targeted by Death Eaters!" Arthur growled. "They need protection!"
"You had the Minister of Magic here," the tawny haired man replied. "Given You-Know-Who's recent threats, you can't honestly believe they targeted you."
"THEN WHY TAKE FRED!?" Molly's heart fell at George's words. The younger twin ran over and threw a punch at the Auror's face. The Auror stepped to the right. George's fist smashed into the stone wall with a loud crack.
The Auror kicked his left foot forward and wrapped his leg behind George's right. A second later, George slammed onto his back. Molly rushed to his side. "I can't say what happened to him, kid," he said, still polishing his wand, "but there's no evidence this was anything other than a random attack." As Molly scanned George for injuries, Bill started for the Auror, but Fleur grabbed her fiancé's arm and whispered in his ear. "Even if it wasn't," the tawny-haired wizard continued, "a dead or captured Minister would serve their goals more than anyone else here today."
"Harry Potter is staying here, Flanders," Arthur said. "We both know You-Know-Who's position on him."
"Oh? Which memo covered that?" Flanders slid his wand into a holster at his side. He folded the polishing cloth and stuck it in a pocket. "For what it's worth," Flanders finally looked up, revealing cold purple eyes, "I hope your son returns safely. But even if he has targeted your family, the Death Eaters will not return tonight. They'll expect us to be on guard."
"Everybody, inside," Arthur growled.
"George needs to go to the hospital," Molly argued. "His fingers are broken beyond what I can mend."
"Bill, take him. The rest of you get inside."
Bill went to George and hoisted him up. They slowly walked to the edge of the Apparition boundary. Ginny stepped back from the door, and Fleur and Molly walked inside. Arthur spoke to Flanders a few more minutes before stamping into the kitchen. "Pack up. We're moving to headquarters."
"Snape knows--"
"The fidelius still holds," Arthur curtly cut off Molly. "He can't tell anyone where it is. We're warding the place against unauthorized portkeys. And if Snape tries coming alone--Well, we're setting a surprise for that too."
"It'll be more secure than here," Ginny muttered. "What about Fred? Is there any chance--"
Tears welled in Molly's eyes as she thought about George's words. "Is he really taken?" she blurted.
Arthur nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. He's not in the hospital. We checked everywhere around here. And in town, the joke shop, Hogsmeade--anywhere familiar he may have gone if disoriented."
"And the unfamiliar?" she asked.
"None of the locating spells we tried worked. George--He's rather distraught. Apparently those two have some way of sensing each other, but it's not working right."
Arthur walked over and squeezed her shoulders. "It's not hopeless yet," he said. "Minerva has some ideas. She and Remus are researching them now. As long as we know he's alive, we won't quit."
"Just what is this place?" Fred demanded.
Half-sitting in the bed next to his, Percy set the sheet of parchment in his lap and leaned back into the pillows. Percy's hair hung unstyled around his face, wavy red bangs resting above closed eyes--where the top of his spectacles should be. He wore gray pinstriped robes, against which his face no longer looked Snape-pale. Guess the blood-replenisher's working.
Blood.
Fred's eyes drifted down to the tube and needle coming out of his left arm. After his father's foolish attempt at trying stitches, Fred had heard his mother rant about how grisly, barbaric, and ineffective Muggle medicine was. When he first heard Flint's latest brainstorm, Fred felt inclined to agree...
Time dragged on forever until Flint determined that the antidote had started working. Unfortunately, as an untested potion, they could not foresee all possible complications--such as its interference with the anti-blood loss charms Flint had cast. Fred's flesh and blood no longer turned to sand, but he had wounds deep enough to bleed to death before they could be healed.
Fred did not worry at first. "I hate blood-replenishing potions," he complained, grimacing.
"You're in luck," Flint replied darkly. "I can't give you one while the counteragent's in your system."
Fred paled. "But..."
"We have two options. The first--which I do not recommend--is a charm that stimulates your bone marrow to produce more blood."
"Sounds good," Fred responded.
Flint shook his head. "Exposure to the charm sometimes causes blood cancers to develop. From what I know of your family's medical history, I believe that risk is elevated.
"What I'd recommend," Flint continued as Percy walked into the infirmary, "is what Muggles call a transfusion--taking blood from someone else and transferring it to you."
"But that's not possible," Fred protested. He and George had researched the blood-replenishing potion when developing their Nosebleed Nougats. They did not find anything about a charm, but... "'Due to the inamicability of two people's blood, mediwizard research into blood replacement focused on stimulating production.'"
Flint raised an eyebrow. "You've read Longbottom's." The Slytherin healer sounded impressed. "As medical texts go, it's not bad. But it tends to oversimplify things. The problem with early transfusions was that sometimes they worked, and sometimes they killed. Wizard kind had other means to combat blood loss, so they abandoned the practice. Muggles didn't, so they solved the problem."
"How? And whose blood?" Fred demanded.
"Mine," Percy said firmly. He turned to Flint. "We're brothers--shouldn't our blood be similar?"
"Not necessarily," Flint answered. "But I'll check him against you--and Ptolema if she agrees--first."
"Why would our blood be different?" Fred asked. He started feeling dizzy.
Flint then gave Fred a mini lecture about genetic shuffling, blood cell proteins, and immune system reactions while pricking Percy's finger and summoning sterile items to transfigure. The speech was nearly Percy-wordy. Fred only cared about two points: both brothers had type B blood, and Percy lacked some other factor Fred had.
"So Perce is good for me, but I'm bad for him?"
Flint had the nerve to laugh. "You said it, not me. Fortunately, you're the brother who needs blood. I'll just scan Percy for blood-born diseases--I know you don't have any, Fi, but if we're going to do this, it should be done properly."
"Of course," Percy replied.
"Once he scans clean, we can tap him for the blood you'll need."
The blood I'll need... "But I'm to lose more then enough to die!" Fred protested. "What about Percy?"
"He's safe to give a replenishing potion to," Flint replied dryly.
Fred flushed. Right. "But Muggles don't have replenishers," he said quickly to cover his embarrassment. "How do they...?" Merlin! he thought. Do their hospitals keep stocks of prisoners for emergencies? It would make a more redemptive end then the Kiss or that veil, but...
"They bank it," Percy answered, causing Fred to blink. "Donors give a small amount of blood each, and it is stored under refrigeration until used or too old. Penny makes a point of giving each month. Or did. I expect she's kept it up."
"Oh." Fred watched Flint transform his sterile plasters into approximations of the Muggle items.
A minute later, Flint had stuck Percy's arm, and the blood flowed into the first of the clear sacks.
Flint came over and sanitized Fred's arm. "Your brother's charmed to lose blood faster than during a normal donation, but I'd like to go ahead and connect your line now. You're getting rather pale..."
Fred nodded barely hearing Flint's words as he spotted the frighteningly large needle. Soon a charm had some blood slowly climbing out of the bag, through the tube, and into Fred. Flint went back to Percy's side for the remainder of the bloodletting. The chaser wrapped a burly hand around Percy's slender fingers until Flint stopped the donation. He removed the needle from Percy's arm and grabbed a vial of the blood-replenisher off the shelf.
It was only when Flint slid an arm under Percy and lifted his head up that Fred realized that his brother had passed out. "You took too much!"
Flint glared at Fred as he set the empty vial on the shelf. "I'd never place his life in danger for anyone," he said coldly, "much less you."
"Marcus!" Smith snapped.
Fred started. The healer had remained silent since his 'my trainee knows what he's doing' speech, and Fred had forgotten about the observer. He must really agree with Flint's decisions, Fred reflected. "Mr. Weasley cares about Percy too. He's just anxious."
Flint moved the blood sacks from the frame of Percy's bed to a rack over Fred's head. "He'll be fine," he said. "Though he'd appreciate some concern under normal circumstances."
Eventually, Percy stirred. Flint reached up and brushed Percy's bangs back. "How are you feeling?"
"Dead tired," Percy mumbled. "Do I have to get up yet?" The older redhead turned to the left. "Infirmary...? Fred!" Percy sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Flint's head with his own. His hands flew to his head as he slumped forward.
"He's stable," Flint eased Percy back and propped pillows behind him. "You should stay put for the next few hours while you regenerate blood."
Percy turned to Fred and smiled weakly. "How're you feeling?"
Fred glanced down at himself. Flint had placed a banishment charm on the bed, so the blood that escaped the containment charm went--well wherever medical waste went. But Fred still lay on his uninjured side. Even without glasses, Percy should be able to see the rust colored stains. "Like a right bloody mess," Fred snapped sarcastically. "You?"
Percy chuckled, prompting a wave of anger. "Not so bloody or messy. I take it you're not in pain if you're joking, then?"
Joking? "Er... Not exactly. They itch." He still shouldn't have laughed, Fred thought.
The brothers fell into an awkward silence until a man Bill's age walked over to Percy and handed him a sheet of parchment. "The summary report of today's Auror action," he said. "Rodgers asked me to bring you a copy."
"Thank you," Percy replied absently as he read over the parchment.
"I thought you were in Azkaban," Fred said as Percy and the newcomer turned to him. Flint walked to the far end of the infirmary. "You are Stan Shunpike, right? The papers--"
"Are callin' me a filthy Death Eater," the dirty blonde scowled. "Serves me mates right."
"What do you mean?"
Shunpike snorted. "Me two best pals thought it'd be funny to trick me into thinkin' I'd been Imperioed into the You-Know-Who's ranks. Naturally, I was horrified, and before I sobered up enough to see through it all, rushed to get advice from a dear friend. One of her customers heard us, and turned us in for the reward money. By the time the Aurors cleared everything up, the Prophet had reported my arrest. I was given the option of stayin' here while the world thought I was in Azkaban."
"Don't you want your name cleared?"
"It will be. For now, thinkin' I'm in gaol reassures the people and I get to fight him."
Fred blinked at that. "Just what is this place?"
Percy set the sheet of parchment in his lap and leaned back into the pillows...
"He doesn't know?" Shunpike demanded. "But what--WHY'D YOU LET ME SAY ANYTHIN'?"
"He'd all ready recognized you," Percy said quietly, massaging his temples. "There was no point to keeping you from answering. This is my mess, and Josephine knows it. Just..." Percy looked Shunpike in the eye. "Go back to Processing, I'll handle this."
Shunpike left without another word.
"Perce?"
The older redhead held up a hand. "I know you have a lot of questions. I can't... Death Eaters read the Daily Prophet too. The Ministry has been less than upfront about the details of our efforts against them--to most Ministry employees as well. I am sworn to keep what I know of those matters confidential. Bringing you here--It was necessary. No one at St. Mungo's has seen the poison you were hit with--Smith's team should get notified immediately when anyone is admitted with symptoms matching any of the poisons they're working against, but things can go wrong, and time's critical--I'm not supposed to bring anyone here who isn't cleared. Mind, the circumstances… Until Shunpike walked in, all you knew about this place was that it did medical research. That is far easier to work around."
"Indeed. That is why I told Rodgers to bring you the report himself." The blonde woman from earlier emerged on the far side of Percy's bed. Flint stood just behind her.
Percy sat upright. "Josephine! I was just--"
"I heard," the woman replied flatly. "From 'Prophet, too' on. You might want to spend some time rereading that confidentiality agreement you signed."
"I didn't tell him anything he hadn't all ready heard."
"You confirmed it." The woman dropped a ledger onto Percy's lap. "I'm pulling you from Scridgemour. You have twenty-four hours to rewrite his security plan based on the enclosed profiles and the skill sets of your former teammates. First thing Monday, report to Flanders. He'll integrate you into his squad however he sees fit."
"Yes, Ma'am," Percy replied quietly.
"And as for you," Josephine walked over to Fred's bed. She looked him over with piercing blue-gray eyes. "Smith says you'll be here a week, so there's no point in having you obliviated before then. But do NOT go looking for more information about this place, or I'll keep you here." The woman turned and strode out of the infirmary without another word.
Percy turned to Flint. "Marc, could you give us a moment?"
"I need to check his vitals in ten minutes." He left the area.
Percy pulled the flattened role of parchment out from under the book. "She can," Percy said staring at the parchment. "Keep you here. If she determines that returning you threatens Ministry security, she has the authority to detain you until the war ends--be it thirty days or thirty years. I know you and George never held much for following rules or instructions, but please, listen for once."
"If I'm to be obliviated, what does it matter?"
"Memory charms can be broken. I'm sure they're arranging some story to keep the family from looking for them--I expect you'll turn up in some out-of-the-way clinic having recovered from temporary amnesia. Likely due to a head blow, or a botched confundus. But the more sensitive information you discover, the less those plans will weigh against the remote chance that the charm will be discovered--whether by You-Know-Who or the remains of Dumbledore's army."
"The DA was just a study group!" Fred protested. He ignored the all to real possibility of the Death Eaters capturing one of their family. "The name was a joke."
Percy stared at Fred. "Not that one. The Or--Never mind. Just remember, there is a point at which you'll be named a threat to this operation." He unfolded the parchment. "Let's see how everyone fared." Percy read through the parchment. Mumbling every now and then: "Aurors joined the fight just after we left… Death Eaters retreated within minutes… Some of the injured and unconscious were apprehended…"
Flint came over and started scanning Fred.
"Casualties--" Percy swallowed abruptly. "Cousins Randall and Marge are dead… Mr. and Mrs. Delacour… A friend of Bill's… A couple minor Order members… Loads of injuries… Looks like a burn curse grazed Ron's shoulder… Ginny broke a wrist… Charlie--" Percy cleared his throat. "Charlie strained what he called a recent Quidditch injury…"
Something about the way Percy said struck Fred as off. Flint apparently agreed. He had the oddest expression as he glanced from Fred's wounds to Percy.
"Hermione--" Percy swallowed hard. "Hermione blasted her left hand off."
"She's better duelist than that!" Fred protested.
"It was intentional. It looks like she got splashed by the same potion you were."
"What?" Flint turned and grabbed the parchment from Percy. "We're supposed to be notified if St. Mungo's admits anyone with matching symptoms!"
Percy snorted darkly. "By the time she was admitted her only symptom was a self-inflicted amputation. And from the timing, she likely wouldn't have lasted that long, even with just the hand hit."
"So she blew it off," Flint commented. "Too bad she used reducto. The healers won't be able to regrow the limb."
Flint bit his lip and scanned down the scroll. "Do you know a Muriel Bennett?"
"Our mum's great-great-aunt," Percy replied. "Why?"
"She's listed as missing, but the Auror who found her wand noted a strange pile of sand nearby. I'm sorry, Fi, Weasley." Flint looked over the rest of the parchment. "I don't see any other evidence of the poison being used."
Fred stared at the floor. He never much liked Great-Aunt Muriel. The withered old biddy dotted on Bill as the first-born and heir, and occasionally acknowledged Charlie as the 'spare'. Otherwise she preferred to hand-make lace than to spend time with the Weasley children. But she had never involved herself in either war against Voldemort--or the one against Grindelwald, for that matter.
So why did she die, while Fred, who enthusiastically jumped into the fray would live?
And Hermione, the better fighter, would be permanently maimed, while Fred could expect a full recovery.
None of the jokes he knew could make sense of it.
Author's note: I heard that Ms. Rowing has revised recent editions of Philosopher's Stone to "correct" Flint's year down to fifth, but I decided to go with the interview that said he repeated a year. The events of Chamber of Secrets just leave too much possibility not to address. Now, why he could not take the Ministry's exams elsewhere--I'll explain later.
Personally, I would love it if Shunpike turns out a real Death Eater in Deathly Hallows. But since Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley are not in the Ministry's inner circle, he works very nicely here in a different context.