4. Groom
He'd done the right thing.
Solan Montague snorted at the thought, finishing another glass of Firewhiskey, dated 1858. It was an old vintage that tasted like vinegar. It burned all the way down and made him hyperaware of his surroundings. He'd wanted to drown in an alcohol induced delirium but instead found himself noticing the different shades of colour in the fire and reliving his memories with a clarity he'd never experienced before. The memories were bitter potions, and yet he kept on drinking.
It had been four days since that awful day, his almost wedding day. He'd woken up in the morning a little hung-over from the Groom's Feast, but grinning stupidly, anticipating the day to come. He and Cassius had breakfasted before Apparating to the castle where they were met by the Ministry liaison, Auror Shacklebolt, and the wedding coordinator. There'd been a long debriefing. To everything that was said Montague nodded absently while imaging Angelina walking down the aisle.
She'd look more beautiful than she had at the Quidditch Ball all those years ago, most likely. That night, while everyone else danced and chatted up each other, Solan hung back, situating himself against the wall. He'd watched Angelina all night, admiring her. The years since Hogwarts had given Angelina beauty she'd never possessed at Hogwarts. She'd walked with confidence and daring, unconcerned about her height, uncaring of what anyone might think of her, good or ill. Like so many modern women she'd become less modest and embraced Muggle fashion. She'd worn a simple white Grecian-style gown, showing off her arms and cleavage. Most had looked at her with a mixture of lust, envy, and admiration, but there were also those from the Ministry who stared at her calculatingly. Here is our model for the new era, they must have thought. A pureblood witch willing to wear Muggle fashion. Ten years earlier it would have caused a stir, but now it was just the thing.
Solan didn't think he would be caught in the Ministry's machinations then. He'd had one objective in mind: attain what he'd desired and loved for years. Despite what Angelina would sometimes tell him, Solan didn't think himself a romantic. When he'd first realized he was in love with her, he'd been shocked, horrified, and tried to find a cure. He doubted his love, as it could hardly be real when he'd spoken only a few words to her and on those occasions he'd insulted her in such a way that sent her friends rushing to her defence. In those instances, she would skip her eyes over him, as if he were something insignificant, smile and walk away. It had the uncanny result of making him respect her even more.
There weren't many people Solan respected. He liked, admired, and felt a fondness for many people, but rarely were those feelings accompanied by respect. With that as the starting emotion it was no wonder he fell in love with her. When he'd returned to Hogwarts from Christmas hols in seventh year, Solan noticed that his eyes lingered on Angelina longer than usual and that he could pick out her laugh or the sound of her voice in a crowd. She seemed prettier to him, even when she was screaming at everyone.
A simple crush, he reasoned. He believed so until the incident with the Weasley Twins. At times unable to make complete thoughts and unable to articulate himself, Solan was prone to his emotions during the year of his recovery. He felt too much. When Angelina came to his mind, the feeling of longing and wonder were intense. He prayed for numbness, uncomfortable with the realization that he felt deeply and strongly like everyone else. He hated his love for her. It was too much, too obscene, too prone to turn into obsession. Solan railed against himself for months and then finally woke up one morning and decided to give in. He was tired. Doing anything else was pointless. Solan decided to pursue Angelina when they met again and let his feelings run their course.
A part of him believed their relationship would come to nothing. Angelina would not live up the image he'd created in his mind and if she even deigned to think of him as anything more than a dirty Slytherin, she would never consent to a relationship. She surprised him, as she always did, when she agreed to a date. She surprised him even more when she agreed to marry him.
The months after the proposal had been some of the happiest of his life. He'd let down his guard, smiled a little more and repeatedly made a fool of himself with public displays of sentiment. All because he was so sure of the future. He should've remembered that every bout of happiness in his life had been fleeting, always tainted by the end.
The thought had come to him when he'd come into the anteroom of his suite at the castle and found Terrence Higgs smirking at him. He hadn't seen his old schoolmate in a year. Before the war began, Terrence had been one of the first to mutter "mudblood" under his breath. He found the entire episode with the Heir of Slytherin quite funny. While most had joined the Inquisitorial Squad for reasons to do with House pride and ambition, Terrence had joined because of his heritage. He was as much preoccupied with bringing down Harry Potter as Draco Malfoy. However, as soon as the war began Terrence disappeared, too much of a coward to fight. When the dust settled, Terrence reappeared, visiting his old friends with pamphlets and manifestos, begging for money to begin an organization "for the continued betterment and success of the original bloodlines." Terrence garnered some support, but Solan doubted if a revolution was to come that Terrence would be its instigator.
"You look very nice," he told Solan, who now wore his wedding clothes. "Very respectable."
"How did you get in here?" Solan made no secret that he was reaching for his wand. He did so slowly, making sure Terrence was watching him.
"I'm not here to hurt you," Terrence said. "I'm only here to talk, to share some information."
"About?"
"Your wedding. It can't happen."
"Why not?" Solan took up a duelling stance.
"It's clear what the Ministry is trying to do, trying to repair everything with this farce."
"If it's such a farce then why are you here?"
Terrence's expression hardened. "The public is notoriously stupid and believing. They want this to happen. They think it's right."
"It is from where I'm standing. Everyone's tired. Some of us didn't have the privilege of running to an estate in the tropics to have our every whim catered to during the war."
"I had no choice!" Terrence shouted, baring his teeth. It was a sore subject. For years now he had to continually defend himself against the accusations of cowardice. "My parents forced me to go."
Solan snorted. "You could've found your way back. There was nothing keeping you there." Solan folded his arms, sure Terrence was no physical threat to him.
"You didn't fight either if I recall correctly."
"Of course, I didn't. I didn't believe in the Dark Lord's ramblings. I couldn't become an Auror because I was ill, and the militias didn't want a Slytherin joining their ranks. I stayed, though, which is more than I can say for you. I'm doing my part now. Making up for lost time, you might say."
Terrence shook his head angrily. "This wedding is not going to happen."
"How do you propose to stop me?"
Terrence smirked. "Johnson. She'll be killed if you don't walk away."
Aware of the Aurors outside the room and all over the castle grounds, Solan's fear was delayed. "She'd probably kill you first. They didn't give her a Guild of Morgana because she sat on her arse during the war."
"I didn't say I was going to kill her. You don't really think I'm in this alone, do you? I have allies, powerful people who want the same things I do. I didn't get in here by myself." Terrence was smiling now as Solan's face showed signs of discomfort.
"You're lying."
"Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing to risk her life? On second thought, I rather you did take the chance. I wouldn't mind seeing the bitch dead."
"Still fuming over the Quidditch Cup?"
"I guess fucking her was all it took for you to put it behind you."
Solan pointed his wand at Terrence, gripping it tightly. "One more word and you won't like what I do to you."
Terrence laughed, throwing his head back. "Don't make threats, Montague. I'm the only one in this room with the power and the right to do that." His features contorted, becoming savage. "Now listen. If you don't walk away right now I'll make sure her death is long and drawn out. I'll make it as painful as possible. You won't even recognize her when you get her body back. She won't look like the same woman who likes to dance for you."
"What do you know of that?" Solan berated himself for asking. Now Terrence knew he was becoming fearful.
Lowering his eyes, Terrence smirked once more. "Her favourite colour is purple, not red or gold like everyone thinks. She has these beautiful lace underthings. She dances for you in them. I bet you feel like the luckiest man on earth when she does that. How many men would kill to be in your position? Thousands I'd say." Seeing Solan's perplexed and angry face, Terrence laughed. "You want to know how I know these things? It's not for me to tell. It's only important that you know I can get within a hair's breath of her and there's nothing you can do about it. If you don't want me anywhere near Johnson you'll do as I say."
"I'll become the most hated man in Britain," Solan realized aloud. "Just another dirty Slytherin who goes back on his word. Things won't get any better for us if I do what you want."
"I'm counting on that. There are those of us who would rather stick their heads in the sand and hope for the best. You'll show them how wrong they are." Terrence started walking towards the door. With one hand on the knob he turned to Solan. "I don't have to tell you that if you breathe a word of this to anyone Johnson will be found with all her limbs missing." He gave a little chuckle before leaving.
Infinitely numb, Solan waited a few minutes before leaving the castle, careful to avoid anyone seeing him, and Apparated home. He'd stayed for a few minutes before deciding to portkey to his villa in Genoa, Italy. There, he immediately went to the cellar and brought up the finest wines, whiskies and vodka. His life was ending, a drink seemed appropriate.
The sun had risen twice since Solan had come to Genoa. Anytime he got close to sobriety he quickly refilled his glass and tried to fall asleep. He didn't like wondering if Angelina was okay, if she hated him. Knowing Angelina she was screaming and throwing things in between bouts of crying. She likely wanted him dead. She probably would kill him if she got the chance. Hunt him down like a Death Eater and make him wish she was still that girl at Hogwarts who knew nothing more than what they taught in textbooks.
It had become dark again. Solan's lids began to droop but he fought to stay awake. Just another drink to make sure he slept deeply to prevent any dreams. Vodka this time. It soothed him, clouded his mind and made his tongue heavy. Solan's head fell against the arm of his chair. He hadn't slept in a bed since he'd arrived. He hadn't left the sitting room, preferring the dark atmosphere rather than the warm, bright colours of the upstairs bedrooms.
"Tomorrow, I'll go back," Solan slurred aloud. "She'll probably kill me. Every right." He shut his eyes tightly, willing sleep. That was as far as he was willing to think about the whole thing.
When Solan opened his eyes the room was brighter, the flames from the fire were higher and the candles had been lit. Not the house elf, Solan thought. He'd banned Effy from the room and he hadn't seen the elf since he'd arrived. He was still slightly drunk. The effects of the liquor dampened his fear. Solan sat up, looking around the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt was seated in the sofa opposite him with an expression Solan couldn't see behind.
"So you've come out of your stupor," Shacklebolt said. "We've been searching for you days, believing you were evading us, but you've been here the whole time, drinking."
"I had time to fill."
Shacklebolt's stare was hard. "I'm here to take you into the Ministry's custody. Do you know why?"
Solan frowned. "You're taking me into custody because I didn't show up at my own wedding? I know the Ministry is thinking of bringing back some of the old laws, but this seems a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"
"According to the information we've gathered it looks like you did a little more than run out on your wedding."
Solan struggled to understand. He sat forward, concentrating on Shacklebolt's voice. "What does the Ministry think I did?"
"They think you're responsible for the death of about twenty people, including five Aurors. Everyone who isn't dead has been injured. There's also the fact that your fiancée is missing."
"I don't understand." It was too far from what he'd imagined in the sober minutes. It didn't make sense.
"Are you going to come quietly or is something unfortunate going to happen? I doubt you could do much harm the state you're in."
"I also don't have my wand."
"Where is it?" Shacklebolt asked, rising.
Solan shrugged. "I lost sight of it around the Polish vodka blend."
Shacklebolt Acciod the wand and tucked it in his coat pocket. "It's best we get to the Ministry as quickly as possible. Every second we delay the worse it looks for you."
"You sound like you believe I'm innocent."
Shacklebolt smiled uneasily. "I've been an Auror long enough to know that rarely is something what it looks like. The question is whether or not we choose to believe in the appearance."
-&-
The interrogation room was small, four times the size of the average cabinet. Now sober, Solan stared at the grey stone walls feeling a multitude of eyes on him. They were watching him, trying to look for signs of guilt. They wouldn't believe him innocent until there was unequivocal proof, and even then they'd still be suspicious. The joy of being a Slytherin.
He was going to go mad. Shacklebolt had said nothing more after they'd left the house. Solan had been left to wonder about the small bits of information he'd been given. Something had happened at the castle. Something Terrence had to have known about. His mission must have been to get Solan to leave, therefore leading everyone to suspect him of wrongdoing. He'd been set up. The Ministry would crucify him and more than likely he'd become a martyr for the people who had Terrence's sympathy. Terrence or whoever he was working with must've known the fallout would be catastrophic. Being blamed for walking out on his wedding was one thing, being accused of terrorism was another. It wouldn't take long for Marshall Law to be declared and every Slytherin, anyone with ties to them or Death Eaters to be rounded up and taken to Azkaban. A cleansing.
Where did Angelina being missing fit into all of it? It would have been better for them to kill her, create a symbol out of her so the Ministry would have no qualms about viciously persecuting him. The only logical explanation was that she'd been kidnapped. They wouldn't ransom her. They'd give her body back when it was most opportune.
Bile rose in Solan's throat and he struggled to control himself. He was glad when the door opened and Shacklebolt, as well as the Minister for Magic and a man he didn't recognize entered the room. He had no choice but to keep it together.
Scrimgeour remained by the now closed door. Shacklebolt stood beside him, watching the third man intently. It was clear Shacklebolt felt no amicable feelings for him.
The man was short and plump. His face was round and there were dark circles around his brown eyes even though he looked well-rested. He sat at the small table in the middle of the room, licking his thin lips every now and then. He placed a stack of parchment in front of him as well as a Quick Quill.
"Mr. Montague, would you please have a seat." The man's voice was low and uneven and sounded as if he was attempting to speak while underwater.
Solan did as he was told. He had no advantage and wouldn't until he had more information.
"I am Lanthius Abbot. I'll be asking you a series of questions, just to get some things cleared up." In attempt to appear friendly Abbot smiled. Solan felt no warmth from him.
Abbot activated the Quick Quill and made a few documenting remarks. "Can you describe the day of July third, the intended day of your wedding, in detail, from beginning to end?" he asked.
Might as well tell the truth, Solan thought. I have nothing to lose now.
As he described the day he watched for Abbott's reaction. The man nodded once in a while and stared back at him with an executioner's smile. He gasped and gave a start when Solan mentioned Terrence's name.
"So you saw Mr. Higgs," he interrupted.
"He threatened to kill Angelina if I married her. He thought it was a farce. He told me enough to prove that wouldn't be a problem even with the measures the Ministry had in place."
"How so?"
"He claimed there are people in the Ministry who would help him."
"And you believed him?"
"He got into the castle, didn't he? Terrence is a second-rate wizard. He couldn't have got past the Aurors and the wards without inside help."
Abbot leaned back in his chair, staring at Solan speculatively.
"You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that, Mr. Montague."
"You didn't have to."
"What happened after Mr. Higgs threatened you?"
"I left the castle, Apparated home, then flooed to Genoa, where I nearly drank myself to death before Auror Shacklebolt found me."
"Why didn't you tell anyone about Mr. Higgs' threats?"
"I didn't want Angelina to die. Terrence said he'd kill her if the Ministry knew anything about his plans. I thought then that he was intent on everything going according to script he planned. I realize now that he had something bigger in mind."
"How so?"
"Well, right now you don't believe anything I say. You're likely thinking of throwing me in Azkaban right after you make huge event out of my trial and persecution, angering every Slytherin and their sympathizers. You now know that something is building and in your quest to find out what it is you'll go to every Slytherin's house, every person who had ties to a Death Eater, every Pureblood. You'll interrogate them, make them feel even more oppressed and they'll run to Terrence or whoever he's working with. Maybe they'll make a new Dark Lord, maybe they won't be as effective as the Death Eaters, but they will cause a lot of trouble for you."
"Sounds like a something from a novel," Abbot said.
"More like a perfect plan," Shacklebolt disagreed. "Higgs has wanted a war since he reappeared. He looks like he might get one the way things are going."
"What do you mean?" Solan asked.
"The Prophet is calling it the Whitmore Massacre, after the castle. The public is afraid and suspicious. You can't imagine what the professors at Hogwarts are going through. Separate classes are being held for the Slytherins. It won't be long before we have another civil war on our hands."
"This might be true, but it could be fancy as well," Scrimgeour finally spoke. "I need guarantees." From his coat pocket he took a vial containing a clear liquid and placed it on the table. Veritaserum.
"Are you willing?" Abbot asked Solan.
"Of course," he answered quickly.
Only a small dose was needed and was administered with an eyedropper. The liquid made Solan's tongue feel heavy. Instinctively he swallowed. He didn't expect the burning sensation in his throat.
"I'm going to ask some preliminary questions, just to make sure the potion is working," Abbott said.
Solan ignored him. He felt hot and his vision was blurring. The burning in his throat had increased. He felt his airway tighten. Solan tried to gasp for breath, holding his throat. Panicking he rose from his seat and staggered backwards, hitting the wall. Shacklebolt rushed to his side, while the Minister left the room to call for help.
He was dying, Solan realized. His laugh came out as a wheezing sound.
-&-
Solan hated hospitals. He was dismayed when he woke up in one. Not St. Mungo's by the look of the room. The year after he'd been locked in the Vanishing Cabinet he'd been in and out of St. Mungo's every week to see a new healer or specialist. Each room at St. Mungo's was painted a sterile white and all contained windows with a view of Muggle London. This room had no windows and was made even darker by the grey stone walls. He was still at the MLE headquarters, likely down in the cellars, where the armoury, archives and apparently an infirmary were kept.
He'd awakened to find that his arms were bound to the railings of the bed with Mortimer's Rope. It allowed him to move his arms freely, but kept him in the confines of the bed. One word and it could be used to pull him arms out of their sockets. The way his healer looked at him, he knew she was waiting for him to do something to make her utter it.
After three long bouts of sleep, Kingsley came to see him. Solan eyed him wearily as he took a seat beside the bed. It didn't look like he had good news.
"I really do hope you've brought me something to entertain myself with. I've been climbing up the walls in here. I'm not allowed any sort of contact with the outside world," he said petulantly, having nothing better to say.
Kingsley produced four shrunken books from his pocket and spelled them to normal size.
"Thank you," Solan replied, grateful. "I guess I'm going to be spending enough time in here to read all of these."
Kingsley nodded. "That may well be the case. It's almost been a week since the Massacre. Ms. Johnson hasn't been found and things are still not as clear as they should be."
"How so? Wait, before you answer that question, what exactly happened to me? I tried asking that cow of a healer, but she's refused to speak to me."
"You're in a very bad way, Mr. Montague," Shacklebolt replied. "It seems you've ingested Averitaserum." Seeing Solan's questioning look he went on to explain. "There's no known counter-serum or spell for Veritaserum, nothing that can prevent the potion from working. However, some very clever hags in Knockturn Alley developed a potion during the trials after the war. A potion that creates a mild poison when it comes in contact with Veritaserum. The person gets sick and falls unconscious. By the time they wake up the Veritaserum has been digested and has lost its potency. By the time the Ministry found out about the potion they'd had to release about a hundred suspects for lack of evidence."
"I've never heard of this Averitaserum. The last time I was in Knockturn Alley my parents took me to some unregistered healer to try and speed my recovery from my accident."
"You don't have to go to Knockturn Alley to get it if you have the proper connections."
"Which I don't," Solan said snidely.
Shacklebolt was looking at him with an intense surveying stare. "From what the healers say it's most likely you ingested the potion on the day of the wedding. Either you took it knowing what was to come or you were given it. Did you eat or drink anything that was prepared by someone else?"
"My breakfast was prepared by my house elves and I was brought tea by a Ministry aide in my room at the castle."
Shacklebolt nodded. "What did the aide look like?"
Solan gave a description, watching the Auror intently. He wasn't sure if he was being humoured or if Shacklebolt was taking him seriously. Solan chose to believe the latter. Shacklebolt seemed the type to check all angles, just in case.
"Is someone going to come to interrogate me again?" Solan asked, breaking the silence they'd lapsed into.
Shacklebolt shook his head. "It's doubtful. If someone else comes to see you it will be either to try or release you. Don't count on the former."
"I'm sure the Averitaserum is out of my system. Couldn't we try Veritaserum again?"
"It doesn't work like that. Averitaserum becomes a part of your body's chemistry after ingested. Apparently it has the ability to continually replicate itself. Another dose of Veritaserum and you'd be poisoned again."
Solan slammed his fists into the bed. "I know you all think that I'm trying to keep something from you, but I assure you that's not what's happening. Somebody's trying to keep you from verifying what I've told you. They want to make sure I go to Azkaban and have my soul and sanity sucked out of me. Have you interrogated Terrence? I doubt you'd need Veritaserum to make him confess. That one's a coward."
"Higgs is dead," Shacklebolt replied casually, watching Solan. "He was the one that perpetrated the Massacre. Apparently it was a suicide mission."
"That's impossible. Higgs is a coward. He can't do anything unless…." Solan trailed off, realization dawning.
"Unless what?"
"Unless someone tells him to," he finished. "You learn a lot about someone when you're on a Quidditch team with them. Higgs was a good player but he never deviated from the plays. He always did what I told him to do. Angelina noticed that. When he was setting up for a particular play she'd do something to throw him off because she knew he'd couldn't recover fast enough." He smiled remembering when Angelina had told him that. She'd been so smug about it.
A knife was cutting into his chest. When he'd woken up he'd been disappointed to find himself alive. He didn't want to go through the grief of losing Angelina. He would've preferred oblivion or whatever the afterlife offered rather than to be alive and vulnerable.
"You still believe Higgs had to be working with someone?"
Solan nodded. "Even though Terrence needs someone to direct him, when it comes to actually doing things instead of speaking rhetoric, I doubt he'd go so far as to go on a suicide mission. Terrence is a true Slytherin. He'd abandon any belief if it meant his life would no longer be in danger. After the incident with Umbridge at Hogwarts he tried to ingratiate himself with the other Houses. He was very aware of the position he was in. He never made his views public out of fear. Terrence doesn't have the heart to follow through no matter how much be believes. I do think whoever he's working with does."
Shacklebolt nodded, rising. "I'll take what you've told me into consideration, but I can't promise anything. We'll see what I can prove."
Solan nodded, watching the man leave. His whole life and the future state of the Wizarding World were dependent on what Shacklebolt could prove. From the echoes of the man's heavy steps behind door, Shacklebolt had to know that as well.