Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.
I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.
Chapter 7
With the start of the new term imminent, lunch on New Year's day was a quiet affair as people contemplated their last few moments of freedom. All except one; Albus Dumbledore was a very concerned man. Severus Snape had left the school grounds to attend a New Year's party and failed to return, behaviour which was highly unusual for the normally punctual man.
Dumbledore had checked Snape's quarters, office and classroom. He'd even checked the library, the kitchens, and as a last resort, the Infirmary...and still Severus was nowhere to be found. All Dumbledore knew was that Allesandor Carrow was the host of the party Snape had gone to, and frankly, that was worrying in itself.
The tired shuffling of someone entering the Hall caught the diners' attention. Looking up, Dumbledore did a double-take.
"Severus," he gasped, appalled by the man's appearance, "are you all right?"
The once smart and expensive dress-robes looked as if they had been mauled by ferocious beasts; ragged and torn, with the left sleeve hanging off at the shoulder, revealing Snape's skin, the garments were a complete write-off. Splashed liberally in blood, gore, and other noxious substances, the Potions Master smelt as if he had taken up wrestling in a particularly grubby abattoir. The suspicious (and leaking) doggy bag Snape was clutching didn't help...but why the dusting of gold flakes on his shoulders and in his hair? And most disturbing of all was the huge grin the normally dour man was sporting.
"Good afternoon," Snape cheerfully announced to the stunned diners, as he plonked himself down in a chair, and reached for the toast rack.
"A good party, then?" Dumbledore enquired eyeing Snape carefully for any possible injuries, though those he could see appeared to have already been treated.
Snape's smile grew to manic proportions. "Oh, yes," he exclaimed enthusiastically, "without a doubt that was probably the best party I've ever been to." He proceeded to stack his plate with eggs, bacon, toast, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, and anything else within his reach, before tucking into the food with a gusto normally only seen in Ronald Weasley after a morning of brutal three-a-side Quidditch.
The collected diners watched Snape wolfing down his lunch, and then reaching for seconds, with an air of fascinated horror. What sort of party gave out doggy bags of (possibly) body parts? And did that sort of damage? And did they really want to know?
A gusty sigh broke the silence. "I wish I could have gone to Mr Carrow's party," Hermione said wistfully.
Snape smiled at her indulgently. "Patience, Miss Granger, patience," he waved a fork at his young student, "it will only be a couple more years before you are of an age to appreciate the finer points of one of Mr Carrow's parties."
OOOOOO
"So how was everybody's Christmas?" Wulfric asked cheerfully. "I spent mine camping on the moors, contemplating my spiritual connection with the Moon, and then communed with my inner wolf, with some very therapeutic Moon-howling sessions and guided meditations. I feel refreshed, and ready for anything," he finished with an expectant grin.
Faulks and Carrow gave him odd looks, before turning back to watch the frantic maintenance staff erect hoarding around the Fountain of Magical Brethren, hindered by the crowds of Ministry workers arriving for the first shift of the new year. Many recoiled in horror from the creatively cursed piece of municipal sculpture, whose alterations, despite the best efforts of the maintenance staff, appeared to be permanent. In fact, every cancelling spell and charm they tried seemed to be making matters worse.
Adding to the trauma of this very worst Monday of the year to the average Ministry worker, was the loitering presence of the Dark Horse of the Wizengamot, his intense and intimidating secretary, the man everyone suspected was a werewolf, the rescue tiger who was now the size of a Newfoundland and just as affectionate, and the strange pet vampire who stood slightly apart, always silent, her eyes red and fangs prominent, staring at the necks of passersby. Why the DMLE were yet to have a stern talk with Mr Carrow was a subject of much debate among the Ministry gossips.
One of the clerks from the Department of Magical Transport who had strayed too close to the mutilated statue barged into Faulks, eyes glazed, muttering "the teeth, the teeth..." The man leapt away with a girlish scream at Faulks's terrifying snarl.
Faulks brushed himself down, glaring after the stunned man who was staggering off to the lifts. Personally, he thought Carrow was behind this latest happening at the Ministry, though of course the overly large man wasn't admitting to anything.
He looked up to find Wulfric grinning at him expectantly. "Errr...sorry, I wasn't listening," he muttered evasively. Wulfric huffed at him in amused annoyance.
"I visited my auntie and uncle." Carrow's deep and gravelly voice boomed over their heads. "Auntie Petunia was delighted with the perfume you recommended, Timothy, and Uncle Vernon wept with joy when I told him of the purchase of my new business. He actually tried hugging me, and declared how proud he was, and how I was his favourite nephew." He smiled down at his employees.
Wulfric and Carrow turned to Timothy expectantly.
"So, how did yours go then?" Wulfric finally asked.
"It went." Timothy said reluctantly. "My brother was there too. Haven't seen him in a while, forgotten how he can be, to be honest."
"The soldier?" Carrow interrupted.
Timothy nodded. "He talked me into going paintballing with him and his friends. It was...an interesting experience" he finished lamely, as they headed towards the lifts on their way to the office, Artemis ranging ahead, trying to make friends with the skittish clerks and secretaries.
As always they had the lift to themselves, not many people wanting to occupy the same small space as a looming, grinning Carrow.
"Paintballing, huh?" Wulfric said. "Sounds like fun. So, are you going to tell us all the juicy details?" He rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation.
"Well," Timothy said reluctantly, "I got to implement all the techniques you've been teaching us with regards to battlefield combat, sir." He nodded respectfully to Carrow, before breaking into a rare grin. "Actually, it was brilliant fun. An indoor, industrial style landscape, multilevel, lots of hiding places, ambush zones, vantage points...it was terrific."
His smile slowly faded, "It went...well ...my brother's friends, I don't think they appreciated my presence...so when I stole the flag to get them started...I think I may have seriously annoyed them...and I admit I did get rather carried away." He shot the other two men a slightly embarrassed look as the lift doors opened on yet another floor and several Ministry denizens decided that, actually, they were going to take the stairs this morning, for the good of their health of course.
Timothy shifted nervously; he had indeed got rather carried away, but in the end, he had only been implementing everything that Carrow had taught him.
He done his best to get up high and snipe down at them, jumping from gantry to gantry and climbing among the pipe work, doing his best not to stay in one place too long, carefully hugging the shadows. He'd nearly come a cropper at one point, as he misjudged a jump and ended up hanging by his finger tips fifteen feet above the floor, the pale upturned faces of his opponents clearly visible beneath. Grimly hanging on by one hand, he had sprayed the unfortunates with paintballs, pulling himself to safety as they dived for cover.
He'd taken the ammo of those he'd "killed" to use himself as he slowly ran out; it would have been stupid to leave such a valuable resource lying around. Possibly he'd got a little too physical with one or two of them in his enthusiasm. And then there was his brother, who had got angrier and angrier, refusing to play by the rules, no matter how many times he'd shot him in the forehead.
"I mean, they were professional soldiers," Timothy tried to explain, "but they wouldn't really tell me what they thought about my performance...and it would have been so nice to have a different opinion...you know."
"Looks to me like they couldn't appreciate you the way they should have," Wulfric said with a reassuring smile.
Carrow gazed down at his secretary, his expression unreadable. "You should insist on a rematch. It would be very interesting indeed to see how you compare to a Dark Ages soldier, interesting indeed."
He knew they were trying to reassure him, but Timothy still couldn't help feel that maybe he'd underperformed in some way and let his brother down. Maybe if he'd been just that bit faster, that bit more efficient in his kills...he sighed heavily.
The lift doors opened, and they cautiously exited on their floor on the lookout for any potential traps. On being given the all clear by Carrow, they preceded down the corridor, whereupon Natasha and Artemis raced ahead, both determined to be first at the office door. As they rounded the corner, piercing screams signalled the presence of a hysterical junior clerk, who had the misfortune of nearly being bowled over by the overenthusiastic pair.
They paused by the office door, as Carrow checked the wards and other protections, before calling Artemis away from a cornered and gibbering Ministry drone.
OOOOOO
Carrow's outer office had been expanded yet again. Timothy's desk now occupied the opposite side of the room to the typing pool, which had increased in size again to encompass several more desks and even separate cubicles. An ever increasing cat's cradle of cabling ran everywhere, carefully taped to the floor. Behind Timothy's desk was now an archway leading into what had been an unused office next door, but had now been commandeered for use as office space for Wulfric, as well as storage for the numerous documents Carrow was insistent were necessary for the smooth running of his office. The visitor's settee, currently occupied by a smug Natasha who had won the fight for it with Artemis, was now flanked by large pot plants in fancy urns. The kitchenette had even acquired a small fridge complete with humorous fridge-magnets, and a postcard of the cutest, scowliest puppy ever with the caption "This is Fluffy, destroyer of worlds. Tremble before his mighty deeds".
There was even a tiny shrine by Carrow's office door, a small gilded image of the God-Emperor smiting with extreme prejudice some hideous monster, a candle and incense always burning before it.
And there was more room to expand into, in this unpopular and low status area of the Ministry building. Timothy was very much of the opinion that Cornelius Fudge was a fool for giving Carrow such a golden opportunity to plot and expand his tentacles completely unchecked. Personally, if he'd been the Minister, he'd have given Carrow an office as close to his as he could, just so he could keep an eye on the giant menace to society. As it was, it was only a matter of time before Carrow took over the entire floor, turning it into an effective Shadow Ministry. Faulks was becoming resigned to Carrow's megalomaniac tendencies, and had started laying bets with Wulfric on how soon anyone else would notice what the man was up to.
Settled behind his desk with his first cup of coffee of the day, Wulfric grumbling behind him, he pulled the first of many reports towards him trying to ignore his very exposed feeling back. The first chance he got he was definitely moving his desk...the corner beside Carrow's office door was a possibility especially if he put it at an angle, and then he'd be able to watch the entrance and Carrow's office without worrying about Wulfric trying to stuff bits of paper down his neck for a laugh...not that he'd done it yet, but give him time. Timothy shifted uncomfortably and tried to go back to his report...
...only to be interrupted by Carrow pacing around, checking for spy charms and the like before raising the security wards, Wulfric breaking into a cacophony of sneezes as the strong magic upset his delicate nose.
Carrow swung round, smirking viciously. "Just before the typing ladies arrive and Morning Prayer, I think we should...catch up quickly on certain events, just so that we're singing from the same hymnal, as it were."
Timothy narrowed his eyes suspiciously; Carrow was practically vibrating with excitement, a danger signal if ever he'd seen one.
"Well, fire away then," Wulfric said cheerfully from where he had perched himself on the edge of Timothy's desk. Timothy scowled at the intrusion into his space.
"So how did the party go?" Wulfric asked Carrow with a grin, oblivious to the murderous looks his behind was receiving.
"Most satisfactory," Carrow purred as he peeled a reluctant Natasha from the visitor's sofa, sitting down himself, and dumping her in his lap. The sofa protested under the sheer weight it was never designed to carry, making pitiful creaks and groans every time Carrow shifted.
"Yes, the party went very well indeed." Carrow smiled like a shark. "We procured an excellent range of creatures, and the Coven's buffet turned into a wonderful excuse to get rid of some more of Crabbe's contacts..."
"In fact, the last of the ones we know about." Timothy added.
"Which means the search for the ones we don't know about must now begin." Carrow's expression was serious but his eyes gleamed with anticipation for the hunt. He frowned thoughtfully, before breaking into an almost excited grin. "And then among the low-lives we scooped, we struck gold." He paused dramatically.
Wulfric glared at him in exasperation. "Well?" he asked.
"Sirius Black," Carrow's grinned broadened, "delivered to my feet, a most excellent New Year's gift...and now, of course, acting as Dementor bait." He leaned back, eyes half closed with smug satisfaction, stroking Natasha's hair as she lay curled up on his lap. The little vampire didn't quite purr but it was close. He lapsed into silence, his best I-know-something-you-don't smirk plastered on his face.
Wulfric and Timothy exchanged exasperated looks, before staring expectantly at the annoying lump that was their employer.
"Would you please grace us lesser beings with the superiority of your vast knowledge?" Timothy ground out, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Carrow's smirk broadened as he managed to look even smugger. "Our...little escapee from the Romanian Cultist incident has resurfaced in, according to my sources, Yugoslavia."
"Which is currently in a state of civil war," Timothy said thoughtfully, eyes narrowed, "the perfect place for someone like that to hide."
"And of course it will make it considerably easier for us to slip in unnoticed and track the heretic scum. I understand their Magical Ministry is in just as much disarray as their mundane governing body," Carrow agreed with an approving smile. "It may lead us to..."
Artemis pounced, jealous of her daddy showering affection on the funny smelling two-legger. She leapt up, swatting at her annoying rival with her large and heavy paws, snarling and growling her anger. Natasha hissed in surprise at the sudden violence being directed at her and lashed out, her hands clawed. The two batted at one another furiously as they fought for supremacy of Carrow's lap, the owner of said lap watching the tussle with mild surprise and puzzlement.
As Artemis finally managed to grab Natasha's leg and pull the little vampire off his lap Carrow's mind whirled with all the possible reasons for this confrontation. Could it be power? Influence?...He shook his head at the sheer ridiculousness of his train of thought. These weren't aristos clawing their way up the social hierarchy...he could detect a certain amount of jealousy, a certain level of resentment...his mind searched desperately for comparisons, unused and rusty mental cogs grinding and meshing, shedding rust...could this be...sibling rivalry? he thought, as he watched the two combatants roll and snap and snarl at one another on the floor.
Well too bad, because he wasn't tolerating this. Striding in, he quickly separated the argumentative pair, grabbing them by the scruffs of their necks.
"Disgraceful!" Carrow growled in disgust at the two sorry looking creatures. "You will stay here," he plonked Natasha down by Timothy's chair, "and you will stay here." Artemis slunk into the knee hole of Wulfric's desk. "Please keep an eye on them," he said to the two silent men, before turning on his heel and striding into his personal office, leather robes swirling dramatically around him.
Timothy and Wulfric eyed one another for a moment. "Well, it looks like this pair are on the naughty chair, for the time being." Wulfric murmured with more than a little amusement to his colleague. Timothy heaved a sigh, as he eyed the little vampire who was curled up by his desk, listlessly picking at the carpet and rubbed at his forehead, the beginnings of a headache pulsing gently above his right eye. "Indeed," he muttered pulling out his small prayer book in preparation as the cheery typing ladies started to arrive, calling out greetings as they went past.
OOOOOO
In a flat in a comfortable suburb of Geneva, a Christmas tree still sat in a window, cheerfully decorated with tinsel and a multitude of multi-coloured baubles. Sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, its owner was reluctant to take down the decorations of his favourite time of year.
Sitting back with a satisfied sigh, the God-Emperor of Mankind admired his handiwork. He could quite happily say that Transfiguration was fast becoming his favourite branch of "Magic"; for there, sitting on his coffee table, was the largest niobium-titanium magnet he'd seen outside of a heavily funded lab. Some of the people he had worked with in the past would probably sell small children, or maybe even their own bodily organs to get their hands on something like this. It was, in his opinion, an excellent use for a particularly ugly vase a colleague had insisted on giving him for Christmas one year; honestly, the hideous thing had looked like it was man eating. Now all he needed to do was activate the runes which he had carefully inscribed across the magnet's surface. All his books insisted that he needed a wand for this bit, but that was something he hadn't quite got round to yet, mainly due to the irresistible lure of the book shop.
He looked around for a suitable substitute, before spying an abandoned pencil, dumped with the newspaper on the sofa for the day's crossword; the rather battered object with its chewed end had a very similar construction to a "magic" wand with its outer wooden jacket and inner core. It was certainly worth a try, and so he waved it at a cushion with a swish and flick and a "wingardium leviosa" and watched in satisfaction as the piece of soft furnishing levitated a clear foot off the settee, before settling back as he released the spell. He grinned to himself.
Perfect.
Carefully pointing at the first rune with the sharpened point, the God-Emperor ran the pencil along the runes, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, as he concentrated on carefully channelling just the right amount of "magic" into each symbol, leaving a glowing trail behind. Satisfied with the results, he tucked his wand substitute behind his ear, as he carefully watched the magnet for any change.
Slowly but steadily, the block of rare metals developed a frosty coating as it rose above the scarred surface of the coffee table. At six inches, the cylindrical block halted, hovering and slowly spinning in the warm air of the God-Emperor's flat. Delighted, he flung his arms up with a whoop of joy. It had worked, so now he could concentrate on back engineering it, and working out a more mechanical way of producing the same results. This "magic"...this wonderful tool that he could so easily have completely missed was likely to push forward his research by hundreds of years. Even Widow Weber banging on the flat ceiling below him, yelling "put a sock in it you noisy bugger" couldn't put a dent in his good cheer. He pulled his plans for a pocket sized fusion reactor towards him, completely ignoring the rhythmic banging coming from beneath him, happily humming to himself as he worked on a possible home energy revolution.
OOOOOO
Snape narrowed his eyes grumpily at the twin menaces as they took their places at the Gryffindor house table, his mood already frayed by the ominous letter he had received yesterday. The return of the Dreadful Duo was doing nothing to help, as he glared at them just knowing they were about to pull of some outrageous stunt. Their body language just screamed TROUBLE, the shifty looking around, the way they whispered to one another, the way they seemed to be passing something back and forth underneath the table...he tried telling the Headmaster, only to be brushed off with a "boys will be boys" and an indulgent smile. He sent a sullen glare down the table at the man in question who was, typically, excited to see the little hellions back as they poured through the doors, the noise sharply rising as the little brats exchanged inane chatter about their Christmases, and shouted to friends across the hall.
Snape ground his teeth in irritation, and picked up his fork, thinking of all the murderous things he could do with the innocent piece of cutlery. His expression apparently reflected his inner thoughts too well, as several students looked at him with wide eyed horror, before diving for their seats...one of them even screamed. Feeling a little bit better, Snape went back to keeping an eye on the Dreadful Duo...who seemed to be suddenly having difficulties again with overly friendly plates. One even leapt up, smacking Fred...or was it George... square in the face. Snape had to hastily smother his sniggers, as Dumbledore manfully waded through his welcoming speech, ignoring the distractions. He really needed to collar Miss Granger or even Mr Weasley-most-junior and ask them how they had worked this one; a week old and it was still going strong. As the feast got going to the delighted squeals of many of the hell-spawn, Dumbledore sent a reproving look down the table. "Really Severus," he murmured.
Snape scowled back, before stabbing his steak savagely; ruddy old codger ruining his fun. His angry muttering were broken by the change in tone of the student generated noise, from happy raucous chatter and clattering of cutlery on crockery, to hysterical shrieks and screams...and a zoo's worth of angry animal noises. Snape looked incredulously towards the Gryffindor table...what in Merlin's name?
The students of Gryffindor had been replaced by a multitude of furious animals, baying and barking and chattering, many still semi-clothed in their school robes. In among the varied creatures, sat a pair of Red Setters with identical doggy grins, tongues lolling out of their mouths, taking in the chaos around them with a great deal of glee.
Barely had they sat down, than Ron and Hermione found themselves fighting an intense wave of pain, which left them gasping for breath, bewildered and disoriented at their now radically altered view of the world.
Shaking himself, Ron looked around, his new black and white vision oddly stunted...but his sense of smell...he would ever after struggle to describe that first experience; the closest he would get would be that it was as if he was smelling in time and space for the very first time. Sure, he knew it was something he'd got from one of Hermione's stranger muggle books, but it was the closest he could get. Everything smelt weird, semi familiar odours, people he knew, Hermione next to him overlaid with something almost bird like, her robes shifting and she squawking indignantly as she freed herself form the encumbering fabric, the twins down the table, familiar dog scents screaming pack to his sensitive nose, and then further down the table a dark coloured ram with the beginnings of a magnificent pair of horns, bleating in outrage at the red-setter twins. Ron laughed in surprise; Percy was now literally the black sheep of the family.
And all this was layered, as scent replaced scent over time in a rich and intricate olfactory tapestry.
Raven Hermione freed herself form the confinement of her school robes, cawing in outrage at the predicament she found herself in, fluttering up to the edge of the table and glaring viciously at the cause of all the trouble; but before she could do anything, the very surprised Grizzly bear opposite lunged with extraordinary speed, snapping and growling its displeasure. Ron stared in surprise, tongue hanging out. Wasn't that Neville? It certainly smelt like it. Way to go, Nev!
His brothers, sensing the danger they were in, leapt over the table, the bear doing his best to follow. Hermione launched herself into the air with an enraged cackle, following closely behind. Ron shook himself and leapt after her barking furiously. If you can't beat 'em, he thought, you might as well join them.
OOOOOO
The rest of the school looked on in stunned disbelief, as the juvenile Grizzly Bear seemed to gather its wits and lunge for the now canine menaces, who both darted over the table in a shower of cutlery, crockery and spilt food, before diving underneath the Hufflepuff table to squeals and shrieks of shock from the students, who then ran for safety as the bear tried to follow, knocking the bench over and cracking the long plank that formed its seat. The Hufflepuff table heaved momentarily, before the beast managed to crawl through and barrel towards the Ravenclaws, many of whom had drawn their wands, the Slytherins rising in anticipation of the cavalcade coming towards them, as many of the other animals that were Gryffindor house were even now racing over, under and round the table in an effort to get to the likely cause of their current situation.
Snape watched the unfolding events in fascination. Should he do anything?
He looked down the table towards the other staff, who were watching the unfolding events in thinly disguised horror, many beginning to rise from their seats intent on intervening before things got really out of hand. No...he thought, going back to his steak, ignoring the hippo wearing a tutu and ballet shoes as it cantered past him. If it got really bad he would assist, but he was confident in his esteemed colleagues' ability to cope with the odd rampaging animal.
OOOOOO
Sometime later, Snape sighed listlessly as he poked his steak; seeing Lupin wrestle with an angry and murderous penguin was amusing in its way, but it was only going to temporarily lift his mood, especially with that letter hanging over him.
It seemed that the DMLE were trying to be as thorough as possible with the highly explosive Crabbe case, and were pulling in for questioning anybody who had even the slightest acquaintance with the man, hence the letter.
It wasn't that Snape was reluctant to help the DMLE with their enquiries, it was just he was concerned. His own record wasn't exactly sparkling clean, and he knew Crabbe at a time when he was heavily mixed up in things no sane person should ever go near. A past he was very keen on leaving alone if at all possible.
He had done things...been involved in things he was not at all proud of. Some of it still gave him nightmares, even after a decade's distance...
...and then Dumbledore had cornered him at lunch to tell him that he would come and vouch for his good character to Madam Bones herself. He had expected that, the old man had previously done so on several other occasions. He could even say he'd expected the letter from Carrow that evening also agreeing to vouch for him. The man was, after all, and much to his continued shock, a sort of friend.
It was the letters this morning that had really left him off kilter. Dumbledore must have told Arthur Weasley of his "appointment", and Arthur in turn had told select members of his family. Dumped on his breakfast plate that very morning had been three, three, letters offering to give evidence of his upstanding character and all round decency in court if he ever needed it. Arthur and his eldest sons had obviously got together and plotted the protection of one of their own...
...which left Snape feeling as if he'd just received a bludger to the gut. He'd always been alone. His mother had been loving but ineffectual, and had increasingly over time retreated within herself, becoming little more than a shell. His father had been a weak man, a bully prone to bouts of drunkenness. His school days had been marked by a general lack of close friends, Lily being the exception, though he had had many acquaintances of varying qualities...and now here he was, Severus Snape, dungeon bat extraordinaire, all round anti-social person and miserable git, with a queue of people determined to...to stand by him in a time of difficulty, to, dare he say it, stand up and protect him. It was such an alien feeling, that he was truly, honestly having difficulties trying to understand it, work out how it could possibly have come to be.
So lost in his thoughts was Snape, that he never noticed when an exasperated Minerva stood in front of him shouting "Severus! Engage!" before giving up on him with an exasperated huff. It was only when Pomona dragged an unconscious student to the relative safety behind the Staff table that Snape started to take notice of his surroundings again. Staring at the injured student, Snape knew he could no longer sit this out, not with Poppy stuck on the other side of the scrum of brawling students, and since he was the closest one by with the most medical knowledge...sighing to himself, he abandoned his dinner and called for a House-elf to fetch his travelling potions kit. The small, wide-eyed creature stared at the mess of seething, shouting, screaming students in apprehension, clutching the sturdy leather bag to its thin chest.
"Don't worry about that lot," Snape gave the fighting brats a dark glare, "the Headmaster will soon sort them out." He smirked nastily at the still worried elf. "They'll wish they'd never got up this morning, after he's finished with them."
The House-elf nodded nervously, ears flapping, before popping way and leaving the Potions master to his task.
Sighing to himself, Snape popped open his bag and eyed the contents speculatively. At least he'd had the forethought to brew plenty of bruise balm, calming draught and skelegrow. He had a feeling they were all going to be in demand very shortly.
Pulling out his wand, he set to work casting the basic diagnostic charms he knew on the worryingly still girl.
OOOOOO
"ENOUGH!" The Headmaster's amplified voice was like a crack of thunder, echoing in the space of the hall, cutting through the noise of the battling students.
Everyone froze as if in a particularly warped game of charades.
"To your house tables NOW!" the command cracked through the air like a whip sending the students scurrying to their places, a quick bit of wand-work from a grim and glowering Professor Sprout mending and righting the Hufflepuff table.
Ron jumped painfully onto to the Gryffindor bench, ribs aching where he'd been kicked a second time. Looking towards the Headmaster standing in front of the High Table, he could understand all of his parents' stories of He-who-must-not-be-named being scared of the man. Gone was the slightly dotty, benevolent and friendly air the Headmaster normally carried; his blue eyes, now hard and cold, surveyed the cowering students, the air around him rippling as if from heat, as the magic poured off him. Albus Dumbledore was a powerful man it was highly unwise to cross.
"Absolutely disgraceful!" the Headmaster thundered, causing Ron to jerk out of his contemplation. "Never in all my years of teaching have I seen such a disgusting display. You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"
His chilly glare swept across the unusually quiet students. "We, all of us, have an incredible gift...to do magic...to use our will to shape and change the world around us. Unfortunately, some among us have decided to abuse this gift." He narrowed his eyes, glaring fiercely at the student body before beginning to pace.
"Magic, wonderful and wondrous though it is, is not a toy or a game. It can be unpredictable, produce strange results, have unforeseen consequences, many of which are highly unpleasant, fatal even."
Pausing in his pacing, the Headmaster turned to his audience. "As we wield magic, so we also bear a great responsibility. Each and every one of us needs to think carefully of the possible repercussions of each and every piece of magic we compose."
He paused to allow his words to sink in. "And so, I have decided to give a school wide detention." He glared icily at the students. "Next Saturday, the entire student body, without exception, will attend a special detention here in the Great Hall."
The students were too shaken and upset to protest what would normally have appeared to many of them, to be rather drastic action.
"All of you," the Headmaster continued, "will write an essay on the importance of personal responsibility. It will be held under exam conditions, so there will be no conferring and no debate."
He gave the students one last glare. "That is all. Those students who are able will now be escorted back to their dormitories."
And with that he turned his back on the collected students, too furious to look at them any longer.
OOOOOO
Snape was busily strapping up the probably broken wrist of a Hufflepuff third year, when Dumbledore came round the High Table taking in the sight of the makeshift infirmary that Snape and now Poppy had put together there. Looking every bit his age the Headmaster smiled warmly at Snape. "Thank you, Severus," he murmured before sinking into a nearby chair. "How goes it?"
Snape and Pomfrey exchanged looks.
"It's not quite as bad as it looks; there are only half a dozen or so who will need to stay overnight in the Infirmary, other than Miss Sharp." Pomfrey gestured towards the Ravenclaw who lay comatose on a transfigured cot, Snape's teaching robe draped over her. "If she doesn't wake up soon, we will have to start considering sending her to St Mungo's."
Poppy Pomfrey sighed heavily. "But then we haven't checked precisely what the terrible twins did to produce that yet." She scowled towards the Gryffindor table, surrounded as it was by a subdued menagerie of creatures.
A shout of horror came from across the hall, closely followed by loud and furious swearing in Gaelic.
"Those bloody idiots!" Professor Babbling roared her voice upset and furious. "What the hell were they thinking?"
The Red Setters in question hunkered down in their seats, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, as Snape and Dumbledore strode past, intent on founding out precisely what had upset McGonagall that much.
The bench had been tipped on its side revealing the underside of the oak plank of the seat. It was pale and rough in comparison to the seat, protected as it was from hundreds of years' worth of bottoms and school bags. But now it was adorned with a new addition, runic seals repeated over and over again, until they formed complex interlace that ran the length of the bench. Snape frowned, perplexed; runes had never really been his subject, but judging from the reactions around him these ones had garnered, this was not at all good. He glanced sideways as the Headmaster sucked in a breath sharply; not good at all.
"It's a wonder nobody died...or was at least horribly deformed," Babbling snarled, dragging a shaky hand through her hair.
"And that's the very least of it!" McGonagall growled. "There's a damn good reason why that method of divining your animal form is no longer used for the animagus transformation," she whirled on the shaking Red Setters, "and that's because there's a very real risk of people becoming permanently stuck in their animal forms from the shock of the transformation!"
"Oh you foolish, foolish boys," Dumbledore whispered, face crumpled in disappointment.
OOOOOO
Unable to sleep, Remus Lupin had decided to take a walk around the Castle to see if that would settle his shattered nerves. The quiet of the Castle in the wee hours of the morning was beginning to work its soothing magic, as he padded past snoozing portraits, and rode the stairs to the upper floors. He strolled past at least one suit of armour that was snoring, while admiring the clear moonless night through the many arched windows.
When he'd taken on this teaching post he'd wallowed in nostalgia, misty eyed about the familiar landscape of Hogwarts, quite happy to admit that for him his school days really had been the best years of his life. He had happily sat down and planned out lessons that he would have been excited by at that age, picked books that even the most study phobic Marauder would have pounced on with delight...and then he'd come to Hogwarts.
The previous Defence teacher, a temporary stand-in for Gilderoy Lockhart who had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, had left extensive and detailed notes of the classes he had held, and what he expected of his successor. Lupin had read them in increasing horror. What had Dumbledore been thinking when he hired this...Allesandor Carrow, who frankly seemed to be a deranged lunatic of the highest order...but then he'd shaken himself, and dismissed it all as delusional nonsense that this Carrow person was spouting. It wouldn't be the first time that a Defence teacher was all wind and no substance, and so he had set to, without another thought to his predecessor.
In hindsight, he shouldn't have dismissed the Boggart incident as just initial teething troubles. The awful apparitions so many of his students had produced seemed too...ludicrous to have any basis in reality, particularly the armoured monstrosity, and so he had ignored them.
Just a month later, and he had been heartily cursing Carrow's name. Half his students were very vocal in complaining at the lack of bloodshed in his lessons, and were very clear they thought his classes were wimpy in the extreme. The other half fainted at the sight of anything more dangerous than a Flobberworm. And then there was Su Li, the quiet and shy third year Ravenclaw, who could, with the slightest provocation, be driven into a crazed frenzy. When he'd complained to Albus, the Headmaster had listened to his concerns and complaints with a solemn expression, and then offered him a cup of tea.
Not at all helpful.
Lupin sighed heavily to himself, the weight of four months of difficult teaching pressing down on his shoulders. He was definitely looking forward to the day in June when he handed his notice in. There was not a chance he was letting Dumbledore sweet-talk him into teaching a second year.
Lupin froze, blinking in surprise. Slowly he turned and stared at the portrait of a snoozing man swathed in a huge fur robe and felt cap. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but he could have sworn he'd just seen a huge and grizzled man with bones braided into his beard staring out at him. Shaking his head at the oddness, even by Hogwarts standards, he continued on his way.
Taking his time he strolled up a hidden spiral staircase, along a landing that overlooked a little used back staircase, and then through a secret passage he and the other Marauders had delighted in jumping out from at some of the more nervy Ravenclaw members. Lupin's face twisted in a bittersweet smile. The memories this place brought to him were so happy, but at the same time...it was like being stabbed through the heart.
He was just about to brush aside the tapestry at the other end, when his sensitive hearing, one of the very few perks of being a werewolf, caught the sound of arguing voices. They were obviously trying to keep as quiet as possible, but the hissing whispers and shushing sounds carried rather well. Fred and George Weasley had, it seemed, managed to sneak out of their dormitory and were up to something. Grinding his teeth in frustration at the stupidity of youth, Lupin stalked quickly towards the bickering pair, his expression grim.
"Mr and Mr Weasley," he said coldly, "I hope you have a good explanation for your night time wanderings."
The two Weasleys, jumping with shock, whirled to face their professor looks of guilt and desperation crossing their faces. They shifted nervously under his furious glare furtively trying to hide...a rather familiar piece of parchment behind their backs. Lupin's heart skipped a beat; no wonder the enterprising pair of ruffians had managed to get up to so much trouble.
"And I will have that." He held his hand out, daring the dreadful duo to try anything. The two boys eyed each other nervously, before reluctantly handing over the precious piece of dog-eared parchment.
"It's just a piece of scrap parchment, sir," one of the Twins said nervously, "nothing special, sir." He gulped reflexively at Lupin's withering glare.
Lupin carefully pocketed the precious reminder of happier carefree days, hands trembling, all the while glaring at the two miscreants.
"Precisely what are you trying to achieve here?" he asked coldly. "You are both so close to being expelled, that even a colour-changing charm could see you removed from the school...but here you are, oblivious to the warnings and admonishments of your teachers and parents. Do you just not care? Even after that talk with your father?"
The Twins stared at him utterly stricken, their faces pale and sickly.
"Sir...we...we weren't causing any trouble," one twin stuttered looking close to tears, "we...we needed to post a letter." The other twin nodded in agreement just as emotional as his brother, "we were only deciding whether we should use a school owl or...or borrow our brother's," he whispered, licking his lips nervously.
Lupin folded his arms, utterly unimpressed. "And this couldn't wait until the morning because...?" he snapped.
The Twins shuffled their feet, eyes down cast, embarrassed and shaken. "The Howler...need to apologise," one muttered, the other nodding frantically in agreement.
Lupin winced inwardly. The Howler that morning had to have been one of the most spectacular he'd witnessed. Delivered by a beautiful Snowy Owl, the red envelope had almost immediately burst into flames. The impossibly deep and gravelly voice had a threatening edge to it that had his inner wolf raising its hackles, and what it had ranted...well...it had started off with a long winded diatribe on the evils of the deliberate corruption of the sacred human form, before degenerating into a violent diatribe, in bad Latin, on what should happen to those who had committed such "heresy", before disintegrating into a eyebrow singing fire-ball. Lupin had fervently hoped that he would never meet the mystery ranter...ever.
"Professor Carrow was so disappointed with us," one twin said, tears actually beginning to fall, "so we...we wanted to apologise to...to him as quickly as possible."
Lupin blanched. "That was Allesandor Carrow?"
The Twins nodded.
Lupin stared at them for a moment; finally, he had a voice to put with the madness, and it was not at all comforting.
"Regardless, you are out of your dormitory past curfew," Lupin eyed the two boys severely, "and I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower, and that will be the end of this. You will just have to post your letter tomorrow morning."
The Twins' shoulders slumped, and they turned, shuffling back to Gryffindor House, the very picture of dejection.
OOOOOO
Sighing, Lupin plonked himself down at his desk, mug of Ovaltine in one hand. At least now he just felt tired, instead of stressed beyond words. The Weasley Twins, what a pair of trouble makers. He could just imagine James and Sirius getting on with them like a house on fire; panic, chaos, screaming people, ineffectual throwing of buckets of water, and massive property damage. Lupin winced at the vivid mental image; who was he kidding, at that age he'd have been joining in.
Sighing again, he pulled out the tattered piece of parchment, and reverently laid it out flat on his desk. A moment of uncertainty crossed his mind; was this what he thought it was? It was, after all, over a decade since he had last seen the object in question; a lot could have happened to it in that time...including its destruction. Well, there was only one way he was going to find out. Tentatively, he touched the tip of his wand to the parchment and murmured a phrase he never thought he would utter ever again. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
A network of fine lines began to appear around the tip of his wand, rapidly running across the surface of the parchment, criss-crossing and twining as they meshed together to make up one of the most comprehensive maps of the school ever made...and at the top was the legend,
Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP*
Lupin gulped back happy tears. Here it was...the map...the one they had laboured so hard over, had explored the Castle more thoroughly than any other student for...even tunnels leading out of the Castle...a magnificent achievement for four teenage boys, if he did say so himself. Contentedly sipping his Ovaltine, he pored over the familiar map, reminiscing over all the wonderful memories it brought forth, the secret passage they had used to escape when they had tried unsuccessfully to steal a pair of Professor McGonagall's knickers, the cupboard they'd managed to persuade Peeves to throw stink-bombs into, knowing that the seventh year Hufflepuff prefect was in residence with his current girlfriend, all the times they had sneaked to the kitchens in the wee hours of the night, the time the Headmaster had caught them planting water-bombs outside his office...he could go on and on...
And so he contented himself with watching the dots of the inhabitants of the Castle, which at this late hour were almost all stationary in dormitories and private quarters; even Snape seemed to be fast asleep. Lupin glared in annoyance at the stationary dot labelled Severus Snape cosily tucked up in the dungeons...the jammy git. Only the movements of those still up broke the quiet and stillness of the map; Dumbledore pacing his office, apparently having as many troubles sleeping as Lupin, several Ravenclaws in their common room, seventh years squeezing in extra NEWT study time no doubt, a lone Hufflepuff most likely labouring over some last minute homework, the ghosts drifting around on mysterious errands of their own, while Gregory Goyle crept carefully towards...Lupin leaned forward intently following the dot...ah, the kitchens. He smiled to himself; it looked like there was going to be a midnight feast in the Slytherin dorms tonight. If Snape found out, he'd be after their hides.
The quiet tranquillity the map radiated soothed and calmed Lupin as he watched the Castle slumber pondering the tiny little niggles that they'd always had with it. It would have been very useful if they could have managed to include the Castle's house-elves for instance; that would have kept them out of trouble a few times...or even all the familiars that roamed the place, there was a multitude of reasons why that would be useful. Maybe he should dig out his old notebooks and have another go at adding to the map. He just had that bit more experience and reading under his belt that he'd now be able to spot anything his younger self missed all those years ago.
A movement near the dungeons caught his eye and he idly read the tiny name, Peter Pet...Peter Pettigrew!
Lupin sprang from his seat in shock, nearly knocking over the remains of his Ovaltine. He stared at the tiny dot as it moved slowly and erratically, but always steadily, towards Gryffindor Tower and the third year dorms, where it soon joined a dot labelled...Lupin peered closer...Ronald Weasley.
Lupin sat down dazed, Peter Pettigrew alive. So what had happened then? The events of that awful night made less and less sense the more he thought about it...and the only other person who could shed any sought of light on the entire awful situation was Sirius Black...who was currently on the run form Azkaban...which was also making less and less sense.
So what did he do now?
Lupin slumped in his chair staring unseeing at the Marauder's Map, his thoughts scrambling like demented hamsters. He really didn't want to go to the Headmaster; it wasn't just that he was still angry with the man over the whole Carrow situation, but...what if the map had developed some sort of glitch...what if this just turned out to be a wild goose chase? But on the other hand the map could be working just fine, and if it was...well, he couldn't just leave this alone, it was just too big. But he definitely needed to tell someone on the permanent staff, otherwise it could look rather strange and not in a good way if he, a grown man, crept around a school full of children, looking furtive.
But who would be happy to conspire with him? Most of the staff would want Dumbledore involved straight away; Minerva and Filius, for instance, definitely would, so they were out. The others, he either didn't know very well, or he didn't really get on with them so...but...what about Snape? They didn't get on, but the man loved a good mystery, was also trusted implicitly by Dumbledore, and was also more than capable of keeping things to himself, or he certainly had been when they were at school together. It was long shot, but potentially worth it, even if Snape had taken to giving him creepy grins whenever their paths crossed in the corridors.
He was going to have to do a considerable amount of grovelling, but this was far too important to save his pride over.
So that was it, tomorrow morning he would go and talk to Snape.
OOOOOO
It was a grey and overcast morning, the low clouds promising drizzle that would go on for days. Thought the weather wasn't cold, the miserable damp which clung and penetrated and let the cold into your very bones caused everybody to huddle down inside their winter cloaks and walk that bit faster. Even the birds were huddling down in nooks and crannies, looking fed-up and miserable.
In contrast, Dumbledore was feeling quite cheerful and optimistic this morning, as he walked down Diagon Alley, humming softly to himself. It was, after all, another month closer to spring and nicer weather (maybe), some routine financial business had turned into a wonderful excuse for a trip to Diagon Alley, and just that morning he'd bumped into a young and rather guilty looking Grizzly Bear on his way out of the Castle. It was so nice to see something good come out of that awful mess at the start of the term, though he did wish that Mr Longbottom had gone to Minerva for assistance with his animagus transformation.
It always cheered Dumbledore seeing people going about their daily business, (best watched from a cafe with a nice cup of tea and a cake in his opinion) as he walked along, smiling and nodding in greeting to passing acquaintances, occasionally stopping to have a chat. It was just as he was approaching Gringotts that he saw the first signs of something strange. A crowd, large by Diagon Alley standards, had gathered in the open space before the bank. Holding banners and placards, and wearing t-shirts and even robes proclaiming "Free the Azkaban Eight!", the protest was hard to miss. Dumbledore recognised several recent graduates, but there were older ex-students and even some families, one dad with his little girl on his shoulder enthusiastically waving a no-heat sparkler. The crowds' unifying feature was its generally down-at-heel appearance, the slight shabbiness of its members, the glint of quiet desperation in their eyes.
The currently cheerful crowd was giving a spirited but amateurish rendition of a new song by the Rockin' Rogues; the chorus "set the innocent free" sung particularly loudly.
Dumbledore sighed heavily, some of his good cheer evaporating as he read the placards. "Muggleborns are magical too!", "Stop the Abuse", and "Rights for Muggleborns Now" some of them read. Dumbledore agreed whole heartedly with their sentiments, and he did what he could from within the system, but he was fighting centuries of tradition and bigotry, and the actions of those like Tom Riddle and Augustus Crabbe had not helped matters. Though things were getting interesting, and dangerous, with Carrow on the scene breathing down peoples' necks and looming menacingly all over the place.
Now if only people could be a little more patient, he was certain the next decade was going to see many exciting opportunities open up for muggleborns. But most people only seemed to think in the short-term. Dumbledore sighed heavily to himself; they never quite seemed to grasp the larger picture.
OOOOOO
Timothy and Wulfric carefully kept a wary eye on the large cardboard box, as it very slowly jittered across the office floor, propelled by the frantic escape attempts of its occupants.
Carrow had been avoiding the topic of the box for the last hour, as he carefully went through the plans for the upcoming Yugoslavia Mission, resulting in a very unsettling briefing for the two men.
Timothy glared at his short-hand pad, trying hard to ignore the shuddering box. "That's a lot of resources that we'll be pouring into this," he said, frowning with concern. "Even the Coven are going to be involved in their entirety, making fifteen of us all together...three teams of five," he thought aloud, "...so who's going to babysit Artemis?"
Carrow waved a hand dismissively. "I've already made arrangements," he said, ruffling the lady in question's ears, trying to distract her from the shivering box. "As for our latest...errand, the location given is a semi-ruined castle, but I understand that part of Terra harbours a number of extensive cave systems. I have a feeling we're going to end up in one."
The large man shifted in his chair, trying to get himself more comfortable; space marines were not designed for sitting down for any length of time, one of the very few downsides in Carrow's opinion.
"The last time we cleansed a cave system, we were part of a large team numbering nearly fifty, if I remember correctly, and our target was well known and at least documented. There were limited access points and the tunnels themselves only extended so far." He gazed up at the picture of Brother Chaplin Tiberius as his skin was yet again slowly peeled off by shadowy figures.
"This time we will be on our own," he addressed the two men, "on unknown ground against unknown odds. I would prefer to be prepared, which is why some of the golems are coming with us...and also..." he turned to the now jolting box, "I've been working on a little something to assist with our communication problem." And with that, he flipped open the box.
The contents shot out like a rocket, flying round the room, chittering madly as they expressed their objections to their confinement. Faulks half-rose out of his seat, wand instinctively drawn, but Artemis got there first, leaping into the air and managing to grab onto one of the flying objects, her teeth grating over its surface with a truly eye-watering sound.
Faulks stared in disbelief as the flying object was forced down several feet by Artemis's considerable weight, but still managed to keep moving, dragging her along with it.
"New toys for Artemis?" Wulfric cheerfully asked.
Carrow huffed in annoyance. "No, they're the closest approximation to a servo-skull I've been able to make."
Faulks eyed the flying crania in fascinated horror. They were still very obviously skulls, but in place of lower jaws, they had a mess of clockwork, brass armatures, flexes and other things he couldn't even fathom the use of, though several of the flying skulls seemed to be sporting jaunty rolls of paper and quill wielding armatures.
The general appearance was a particularly revolting cross between a squid's tentacles and a spider's mandibles. Timothy closed his eyes, shuddering slightly. He had a horrible suspicion there were going to be a lot of these...servo-skulls in his future.
"I've not been able to test them as thoroughly as I'd have liked," Carrow frowned slightly, "but they should be able to send and receive messages, and a number are equipped to make visual recordings, which will be useful for our little errand." He eyed his handiwork speculatively as they meandered round the ceiling, well out of Artemis's reach. "Of course, as we field test them, I'll be able to improve and upgrade them..."
"Wonderful," Timothy said sarcastically, "and are you planning on putting these...delightful objects into production?"
Timothy could just imagine the reaction of the now rather hysterical R&D department of the rechristened Aquila Industries. After only a day to get settled with their new building and staff, Carrow had gone ahead and revealed the existence of magic, before inundating his stunned employees with highly detailed demands, plans and drawings for various projects. These ranged from energy-weapons technology to the evil twin of the Space Shuttle. To say the response had not been positive was putting it mildly; flying cranial automata with limited AI would be just the icing on the cake.
Carrow pondered the question for a moment. "No...not yet anyway. I think it best to keep these to ourselves for the time being. Now..."
Only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
Timothy went to open it, wand held discretely by his side, just in case. Audrey the typing pool supervisor stood nervously on the other side.
"I'm sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but this just arrived." She held out a flying memo. "It's a code red."
Timothy thanked her with a small smile, before closing the door, only to find Carrow standing almost directly behind him, eyeing the piece of folded paper with much interest. Hiding his shock and annoyance behind his carefully controlled mask, Timothy handed the memo over.
Large hands delicately unfolded the paper, and as he read its contents Carrow began to smile, a cruel predatory grin full of teeth.
"Gentlemen, Diagon Alley is in major uproar. It appears that events are starting to avalanche out of the Ministry's control; time we took advantage."
OOOOOO
The roar of noise could be heard quite clearly in the foyer of Gringotts, and it sounded angry. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise; was the crowd still there? He'd been several hours meeting various account managers on behalf of Hogwarts, and surely by now such a gathering would have broken up and gone home, particularly with the encouragement of the Aurors.
Armed teams of goblins were making their way to the main doors as Dumbledore approached.
"We're sealing the exit," a nearby Goblin snapped at him, "in or out, make your mind up."
Dumbledore nodded politely to the creature, and stepped through into Diagon Alley, only to be brought up short by what he saw, the doors of the bank shutting behind him with a very ominous thud. The friendly cheerful protest had disappeared, its ranks greatly swollen, until there was close on a couple of hundred people crushed tightly into the confines of Diagon Alley...and these people were angry...very angry.
"WHAT DO WE WANT?" the crowd roared
"RIGHTS!" came the bellowed reply.
"WHEN DO WE WANT THEM?"
"NOW!"
Dumbledore's good mood evaporated completely. He could understand their anger, but surely there must be more effective ways of expressing their displeasure than this. So what did he do? He was sure Hogwarts was safe and sound in Minerva's capable hands for the rest of the day...but should he stay here and try and help calm the crowd, or did he go to the Ministry and help there?
The Aurors were appearing in ever increasing numbers, and though he doubted they'd ever had to deal with this large a crowd of disgruntled people before, he knew they regularly and effectively broke up brawls in the Knockturn Alley area, and that must count for something, mustn't it? The Ministry on the other hand...Cornelius, never very good in stressful situations, was bound to start panicking if this situation went south, and when Cornelius panicked that was when he tended to do things of almost mind boggling stupidity.
In a delicate situation like this the wrong move could potentially turn into a catastrophe of epic proportions. And there was always Carrow to consider too, a particularly annoying part of his mind whispered. Dumbledore frowned in worry; Carrow was in his odd way rather honourable and moral...to a point. It was just the man was so unpredictable. Could he risk that Carrow would do the right thing?
He didn't like it but he had to go. Heart heavy, Dumbledore started to make his way to the nearest apparition point, his progress slow through the abnormally large crowd.
It was as he just got past Madam Malkin's that all hell broke loose. The angry chanting became discordant, joined by screams and shouts, indecipherable at this distance. Dumbledore turned in alarm, peering over the heads of the milling crowd. To his horror, he saw the distinctive flash of spell-casting.
Looking around he saw families, some with very young children, still trying to go about their business, a young man with a crup on a lead looking back towards Gringotts expression nervous, wary, a group of people faces masked with neckerchiefs, their expressions grim, and a very bundled up individual whose face was completely obscured by a deep hood, possibly a vampire venturing out into Diagon on this dark and overcast winter day.
To hell with Fudge! Stuff the blasted man in a cardboard box, and float him down the nearest river! Dumbledore pulled out his wand, heart and mind lighter. Even if Fudge did mess things up at the Ministry, even if Carrow ran amok, he, Albus Dumbledore was going to do the right thing. Filled with resolve, he made his way towards the first people with children he spied, determined to get them out of the alley before anything awful could happen.
OOOOOO
Swallowing dryly, Minister Fudge furtively looked around his office, trying not to betray just how nervous he truly was. He had a feeling he didn't pull it off very well. Oh, how he wished poor dear Lucius hadn't died in such a tragic way, and so young too. How he could have done with his level headedness and good advice just now; the man's generosity was just the gilding on the cake.
And now the rest of the old crowd had disappeared too, either dead or just simply vanished, and no matter how much he ranted at Bones, she never seemed to put quite as much effort into catching the murdering scum who had perpetrated such heinous crimes as he really expected...and Crabbe. Augustus Crabbe was such a family man who had doted on his little boy. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe that somebody he'd know so closely, for so long, could have committed such acts, regardless of the evidence. He really didn't want to think about it.
And now here he was stuck in his office, with two elderly friends of his father he'd know for donkeys years, who had a tendency to forget that he wasn't eight anymore, his undersecretary who seemed very distracted and wasn't being any help at all...and Allesandor Carrow...and his pet tiger...and Carrow's new revolting flying whatever-they-were.
As long as they stayed far away from him Fudge would be content.
But he so longed for Lucius's advice. He'd know what to do in a situation like this, with a horde of angry muggleborns tearing up Diagon Alley like a pack of wild animals...and blast Dumbledore...he'd tried to find the man, but he was off somewhere on school business. Professor McGonagall had been distinctly unhelpful.
He was now stuck with completely relying for advice and assistance from his father's old friends...and Carrow. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Why, oh why did Lucius have to pass away like that?
"Minister," Delores Umbridge's sickly twittering cut through Fudge's introspection, "I really must get back to my desk; I've got so much paperwork to do."
Fudge snapped back to reality at the horrible realisation that the one person who he had hoped would form a good solid shield between him and Carrow, particularly if he hunkered down a bit, was rapidly heading towards the door.
"Delores, I'm sure it can wait." He tried to keep the pleading tone in his voice to a minimum; "I'll need you to...erm, take notes, erm...minutes...for our meeting."
But it was to no avail, as Delores hastily twittered more excuses and whirled out of the office, her robes flapping around her. Fudge winced. For some reason, Delores had started wearing variations on a particularly nasty shade of bile green; it was all rather odd for such a staunchly pink lady, but no matter.
The door shut with a thud which seemingly echoed around the room. Fudge tried to smile reassuringly at the remaining occupants of his office, though he had a feeling it feel rather flat. His father's old friends looked at him with thinly veiled disappointment, causing him to shift uncomfortably, clearing his suddenly dry throat...but Carrow...Carrow was sitting there, delicately stroking that blasted tiger, staring at him with inhuman intensity, his green eyes almost glowing in the gloom of the office, his smile like that of a shark in a fish farm.
A bead of cold sweat made its way down Fudge's spine. This was going to be a very long meeting, he just knew it.
OOOOOO
*quoted from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling, page 144. (In my 1st edition hard-back any way.)