Disclaimer: After learning at the end of book 5 that Dumbledore had knowingly sent him to an abusive home and had withheld vital information for at best a pitiful reason, was Harry still proud to be considered "Dumbledore's man" in book 6? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 9
Honored Guests
No one looked askew at Tracey when she dropped onto one of the benches running down the length of the Ravenclaw table during the breakfast hour. Once, that would have earned her a curious glance or two at the least, or maybe even a polite demand to go back to the Slytherin table; now, however, her presence was completely unremarkable. She did not know if that was the result of her spending so many meals sitting there with her friends and allies, the majority of whom were Ravenclaws themselves, or if Jen had said something to someone to get them all to back off. Maybe they were just happy to have another body to fill up the empty seats at the table.
However it had happened, she was thankful. There was a reason she preferred not to hang around with her housemates: being the lone Halfblood in the house known for its support of blood purity was far from the most enjoyable experience in the world.
Morag and Padma – and when had she started thinking of them by their first names? – gave her brief waves before returning their attention back to their plates. Luna, however, fixed her with a curious expression. "Is something the matter?"
"What?" she asked dumbly. "Why would you ask that?"
The blonde just smiled mysteriously, and it was Jen who finally said, "Are we supposed to take from your non-answer that there is something wrong?"
"Not wrong, really. Weird, but not wrong." All four Ravenclaws gave her their undivided attention. "It's Malfoy. I've been watching him, and—"
"If you say that you're starting to fancy him, I will slap you until you regain your senses."
"No, I'm not interested in your cousin," she told the Black heiress with a roll of her eyes. "He's been acting oddly ever since we came back. Keeping to himself, brushing off Parkinson; just a couple of months ago, he enjoyed her fawning over him, even if he wasn't actually interested in her. Now he goes out of his way to avoid her. He's even taken to ignoring Crabbe and Goyle. They're pulling muscle duty for Nott now," she added to her best friend's raised eyebrow.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Morag pointed out the obvious. "So? It's not like it matters what Malfoy does. If he wants to run off to the corner to mope, that's not our problem."
"Does he do anything when he's by himself?" Jen asked in a thoughtful tone. "Writing things down, reading books he doesn't want anyone else looking at? Anything?"
"He writes some stuff down in a little book he keeps in his pocket, but most of his time he spends staring into the fire," admitted Tracey.
"Morag's probably right, then. After—" Cutting herself off, Jen narrowed her eyes for a moment before she leaned a little closer to the brunette and spoke softly. "After he relayed a message to me from You-Know-Who, I'm willing to think he might have some plot he's acting on. But," she continued at a normal volume, "if all he has done is sit and stare into the fire, then there's likely little to be concerned about. Who knows?" She smiled cruelly. "Maybe he's brooding over the three Death Eaters who died in the raid last week."
That was a possibility she had not considered. For a small group of Death Eaters to go on a raid and burn down three Muggleborns' houses was no great shock. That's what they did. The Aurors arriving on site and not even pretending to capture them but instead going straight for the kill? That was a little more surprising. The Daily Prophet had been quick to trumpet the victory and publish the names of the deceased, though it had given her little comfort when she realized she recognized all three of them as older Snakes who had still been students when she entered Hogwarts. Even though she had not liked them in the slightest, to find out that people she knew personally had gone on to become murderers was disturbing.
Anti-Slytherin sentiment inside the castle had never been higher, and if she were honest with herself, that was yet another reason to hide herself amongst the Ravens. Here, she was familiar enough that she could just blend in with the rest of Jen's retinue.
"I'm still going to keep an eye on him," she insisted. "There's something off about the way he's acting besides the fact that it's different from what he normally does. I can't put my finger on it, but I can still see it."
"It's your time. You can spend it however you like," Jen said with a shrug. "Come on and finish up. We don't have a first-period class today, and I have yet to read the chapter Williamson wanted us to go through before this afternoon."
Tracey nodded, suspicions about the former prince of Slytherin placed on the back burner. For now.
Dora had to dance back when the door she was about to pass in front of was thrown open, and the knob still nearly caught her in the gut. "—and tell them to keep the pressure on him," Scrimgeour said while he and Robards stepped out, though only the former spotted her. Inwardly, she wiped her brow and thanked her lucky stars; she could handle a variety of embarrassments, but being found knocked over on her rear by both the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Chief Auror? Not one of them. Her clumsiness might be infamous, but there was no reason to go reminding her boss and her boss's boss about it. "Someone like him? He'll crack sooner or later, and I want to be there once he does. If he knows anything at all, we're going to squeeze it out of him."
Robards nodded and ducked back into the room, and Scrimgeour turned away to walk to his office. "Director?" she said, calling his attention back to her. "Was that Shunpike you were talking about, sir?"
"Yes, it was." He looked her up and down for a moment before his scowl relaxed. "You were part of the group that brought him in, weren't you? Last minute substitution for Etheridge."
"Yes, sir. Has he started talking yet?" Her eyes flickered to the now-closed door for just a second before returning to him. This really was not her area – Aurors were involved in arresting and investigating suspected dark wizards, including basic questioning, but the full interrogations necessitated by severe crimes like terrorism and high treason were handled by a completely different office within the department – and technically, any right to information she had ended as soon as Shunpike was taken through that door. Still, maybe if he was in a good mood, he'd share what they had found out so far in this stage of the investigation.
Apparently he was because he shook his head, the motion setting his shaggy mane of brown hair flying. "No, he's kept silent so far. There's been plenty of time since you arrested him, though, so we can safely assume he doesn't have a solicitor coming, and after eight hours, the interrogators start getting a little more confrontational. If he has anything to say, they'll get it out of him sooner or later."
"What do you think?" she finally asked. "Do you think he really is a Death Eater?"
That was the question that had been bothering her ever since she had put him in a Full Body-Bind. When one of their Floos flared late the night before, every Auror present had rejoiced upon learning that Stan Shunpike, the conductor for the Knight Bus, had been overheard at a pub discussing the Death Eaters' upcoming raids. Finally, they had a lucky break, a chance to apprehend a spectacularly loose-lipped member of the terrorists they had been hunting down ever since Jen was kidnapped by Voldemort just over a year previously. That excitement had lasted until the group of six Aurors barged into his tiny house and tore the place apart while he lay immobilized on the ground.
They did not find a single piece of concrete evidence. No Death Eater regalia, no maps or letters detailing future plans, no poisons, no books of curses. Neither did the man have a Dark Mark on his arm, though that by itself meant nothing; toward the end of the war the last time, the Aurors had learned that the Marks had to be earned and that new recruits would not carry one until they had proven themselves to be capable and conscienceless killers. Still, it did not paint a promising picture, and a few of them had wondered if Shunpike might have been misheard or even framed, which meant they had just arrested someone who had done nothing wrong. The criticism and distrust she knew they would suffer in the short term if that proved to be the case were going to be terrible.
What were they supposed to do, though? If they learned that someone had claimed to be a Death Eater, were they supposed to blow the information off and potentially let an amoral monster go around torturing and murdering people with impunity? They had to take all reports like this seriously if they to do their job and keep Britain safe.
Scrimgeour's lips narrowed into a thin line. "I don't know. My head tells me he's probably not. Maybe he was set up. Maybe it was someone near him and the woman who called it in got him mixed up with the other guy. Maybe he really did say those things but it was because he wanted to look big and bad for his mates. Boasting about being a terrorist of all things is beyond stupid, but throw alcohol in the mix and it's possible." Huffing, he shook his head. "My gut, on the other hand? My gut says he's hiding something, and I want to know what it is."
A purple paper airplane picked that moment to soar toward them. It hung in the air for just a moment before dropping into Scrimgeour's waiting hands, and he sighed as soon as he unfolded it. "Auror Tonks, what is your opinion on Dumbledore?"
"He altered kids' minds, he's done nothing of worth to help in the war despite his claims to the contrary, and he messed with my cousin. I'd love to shove him in a cell and throw away the key, but if you need me to work with him, I'll do my best to put it aside," she answered honestly.
"Good. Come with me."
She trotted along behind him, not sure exactly why he wanted her around for this but more than willing to be part of it. While accolades and promotion in the Auror Corps were primarily based on merit and experience, there was still an element of politicking and networking in the mix. It might not be as prominent as it was in the rest of the Ministry's departments, but it was there. Bones had given her several words of praise following the Battle of Hogsmeade, and since the monocle-wearing witch was likely to retake the director's spot once the war was over, that was a great sign for her career, but it couldn't hurt to impress Scrimgeour, as well. Regardless of whether he would be sent back down to Chief Auror or would just leave a list of commendations for his successor to look through, any advantage she could get was worth it, especially since her and her mother's reinstatement into House Black back in 1994 had opened doors she had been sure were closed to her forever.
She wasn't the most politically minded person around, but it was hard to be in the same family as Sirius and Narcissa and Jen without picking up a few things here and there.
The reason Scrimgeour had asked her opinion about Dumbledore became clear as soon as they reached the front of the departmental office, for there the old man stood. And Danny Potter was there right next to him, because clearly this was just her lucky day. "Director Scrimgeour, good morning," Dumbledore said with only a tiny glance in her direction. Good, he was not going to make their relationship out to be more than it was. Not that there was much of one to begin with; after that first Order meeting she had attended, she had decided it really held little benefit for her. If any important information was discussed, she was sure Sirius and Narcissa would pass it along to her. "I hoped we could have a minute to talk about a few things."
"Your minute starts now," Scrimgeour told them, a scowl deepening on his leonine face. "I hope you haven't come here just to waste my time again."
Dumbledore harrumphed and tugged his robes straighter. "Very well. Is it true that you have taken a young man by the name of Stan Shunpike into custody on the accusation that he is a Death Eater?"
"The Daily Prophet got that one right, yes."
"That is a bit of a problem," Dumbledore said with a frown. "You see, Mr. Shunpike is not a Death Eater. You've arrested the wrong man."
"Not according to our witness," shot back Scrimgeour. For someone who a couple of minutes ago had listed all the ways that Shunpike might not be a terrorist, he was doing a remarkable job keeping his doubts hidden. He was not going to show any vulnerability here. "She was quite definite that Shunpike claimed that he was a Death Eater and that had detailed information of their plans. We're just taking him at his word."
"Surely it is obvious that was just baseless boasting. You were a young man at one time, too, Scrimgeour; you should remember what it was like to have that drive to show off." It was amazing how quickly Dumbledore could change tack, Dora had to admit to herself, even if it meant abandoning his previous position without a thought.
Her boss hummed thoughtfully, or at least it sounded that way. The truth was revealed when he replied, "Try as I might, I can't remember ever bragging about torturing people just because they didn't have magic or killing a bunch of kids while they were out enjoying a Hogsmeade weekend." The reference to that massacre did not go unnoticed, and Potter grimaced while Dumbledore's reaction was just a narrowing of the eyes. Scrimgeour smiled nastily. "Maybe it was different back when you were growing up, but my generation? We called actions like that evil, and the people who took part in them, too."
"And so it is, but the fact remains that Mr. Potter has proof that Mr. Shunpike is not part of the Death Eaters." Turning to the boy, the old wizard waved his hand as though ushering Potter onto a stage. "Please tell them what you told me."
Potter swallowed but took a step forward, standing beside Dumbledore now rather than a pace behind. "Stan likes to brag," he said in a tentative voice that soon grew stronger with anger. "But that's it. At the Quidditch World Cup, he was telling people that he was the youngest Minister of Magic in history. You can't take anything he says seriously. And you definitely can't go around arresting people just to make it look like you're doing something! That's the kind of thing Fudge did. Do you want to be compared to him?!"
Dora felt her face grow stiff at the accusation that she and her fellow Aurors were just acting out a show of some kind. They were the ones putting their lives on the line day after day to keep little shits like him safe from the monsters walking among the populace. She could not read Scrimgeour's expression beneath the blank mask he now wore, but from the set of the wizard's shoulders, she knew that he was no more amused at this nonsense than she was.
"Is that so?" he asked in a clipped voice. Anyone who had ever worked under the man knew that voice was a sign to find shelter and bunker down before he exploded, and right now she was glad to be on the other side of Mount Scrimgeour's eruption. To her surprise, he did something else. "You know Shunpike well enough to offer character evidence? Well enough that you are willing to be put under oath and have your testimony recorded and submitted to the court in case he is tried?"
"Yes, I would," Potter said in a belligerent tone.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, blanched a bit when Scrimgeour's expression shifted into a sharklike grin. "Excellent," the director said. "Auror, escort Mr. Potter and Mr. Dumbledore to interview room 2. I will be there in a moment."
Ouch, she thought as she led the pair down the hallways to the interview rooms. While she did not know what Scrimgeour had seen that had turned his mood around so quickly, she doubted it was going to be good for Potter. She had never had the opportunity to watch him interview a suspect, but she had heard from Mad-Eye that he often possessed a carefree attitude like this right before he tore a suspect's alibi to shreds. Scrimgeour, she was told, did not just look like a lion; he could also smell the weakness in his prey and waited until the time was right to pounce and rip out their jugulars.
Once they were inside, Dumbledore turned to regard her for a silent moment. "I don't know if you realized this, but the Order has had several meetings since the one you attended. The invitation we extended you was not a one-time offer."
"I'm aware of that," she said with a nod, "just like I'm aware that you had other meetings."
"Perhaps if I speak with Kingsley, he could arrange to have himself placed as your partner so you could both make it—"
She shook her head. "I didn't miss your meetings because I couldn't get off work. I missed them because I have no interest in being part of your little club."
"These are dark times we live in, Nymphadora," he warned. "If we want the Light to survive, we need to stand together."
"Except for when it comes to standing together with the Ministry, which you clearly have a terrible time following through on. Kind of like you're doing right now." Dora scoffed. "If you were really serious about working together, you would let us do our job. All you're doing now is making the fight against the Death Eaters that much harder."
"Arresting someone for a crime he did not commit is not fighting the Death Eaters; it is just aiding their cause by painting the Ministry as an institution that deserves to be torn down. If you could give me the name of the Auror who arrested Mr. Shunpike," Dumbledore wheedled, "I would dearly love to explain to him just how counterproductive his actions this morning were. Perhaps it would be a chance to head off any further miscarriages of justice like this one, though with the general attitude of your coworkers, I don't know how much he would care."
"Well, congratulations. You're looking at her."
The door opened, and Scrimgeour walked in just in time to catch Dumbledore and Potter staring at her in a blend of disdain and shock. His eyebrows rose, but at the small shake of her head she gave him, he dismissed it and sat in the chair opposite Potter. The petite witch who had followed behind him stood to the left of his chair and set down on the table a roll of parchment and a DictaQuill that was quivering in anticipation. "7 September, 1996. This is the interview of Daniel Potter, who is here to present character evidence regarding one Stanley Shunpike, currently under arrest and investigation for ties to the terrorist–insurrection group known as the Death Eaters. Mr. Potter is a minor and is accompanied by Albus Dumbledore. Interviewer is Rufus Scrimgeour, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Also present are Nymphadora Tonks, Auror, and Michelle Kendrick, Ministry notary.
"Mr. Potter, do you swear on your honor, your family name, and your gift of magic to tell the truth as you know it during this interview?"
Potter blinked in confusion at the formal-sounding oath and glanced up at Dumbledore. Not that that was a surprise; the last part was one Dora had needed to discuss with any number of witness and explain to them that no, it was not a magical oath and would not turn them into Squibs or any such thing. It was just the customary vow anyone who was testifying in court would need to recite so that the Wizengamot members serving as magistrates could trust that what they were hearing was the truth. Upon getting a nod, Potter cleared his throat and answered, "Yes, I swear."
"Good. Before this interview started, you told me that you knew Mr. Shunpike could not be a Death Eater because he likes to brag about things he did not actually do and this is just another example of that habit. Is that correct?"
"Yes, but—"
Scrimgeour cut him off. "What other times has he made outrageous claims like this?"
"Well, I already told you about how he said he was going to be Minister. He was showing off for some Veela during the World Cup."
"For clarification, this was the Quidditch World Cup of 1994." Without waiting for confirmation, he prompted, "Tell me about other instances of this behavior."
"Er. Well. Um." Potter was sweating and going pale, and there was the sharp smile Scrimgeour had been wearing before he sent them here. "That's… That's the only one I know of, but I'm sure he's done stuff like this before. He's not—"
"So just to be clear, you know of only one time when Mr. Shunpike made up a tale for self-aggrandizement, specifically one when the presence of multiple Veela was a likely contributing factor. Would you say that is correct?"
"Yes, but—"
"I'm curious, Mr. Potter. When did you first meet Mr. Shunpike?"
The boy blinked, apparently caught off-guard by Scrimgeour's relentless questioning and the sudden change of topic. "I needed to catch the Knight Bus to get back home after visiting my friend Ron. There was a problem with the Floo, and Mrs. Weasley had a bunch of other things to do, so she couldn't Apparate me. Stan was working as the conductor."
"And this was when?"
"Summer '93. It was right after Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban."
The director nodded in understanding. "And how long did you and Mr. Shunpike speak with each other on that occasion?"
"I don't really know. Maybe five minutes."
Dumbledore was now staring at the boy as though he had never seen such a thing before and was not quite sure what to make of this new creature he had stumbled upon. Scrimgeour, however, just continued on. "And how often did you and he converse following that meeting?"
"Uh…" Potter winced as he realized where this was going. "Well, that was the only time he and I really talked, but—"
"Let me make sure I have this straight, Mr. Potter," asked Scrimgeour in a voice of blatantly fake astonishment. Dora shook her head; it was a good thing tones were not recorded by the DictaQuill. "You came here to protest Mr. Shunpike's innocence based on your knowledge of his character, but now you are saying that your total interaction with him consisted of a single conversation lasting perhaps five minutes. Would you say that is an accurate summary?"
"I guess…"
Dora and Kendrick could only watch as he went in for the kill. "Please explain something to me, if you would be so helpful. Do you honestly believe that a five-minute conversation is enough to determine the details of someone's character to the point that you can state with any conviction whatsoever whether Mr. Shunpike was or was not capable of the crimes for which he has been accused?"
"Look, just because you've made up your mind about him doesn't mean he did it," Potter protested hotly. Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder in a silent demand to be silent before he did any more damage, but the teenager just kept going. "It's obvious that he isn't a Death Eater. You arrested him to make yourselves look good instead of going after actual Death Eaters, and all you're doing is patting yourselves on the back and letting the real bad guys get away!"
With a satisfied smile, Scrimgeour turned to the quill. "Interview was terminated at this point as it was obvious the presumed character witness had nothing of substance to offer." Plucking the bronze feather off the parchment, he took the regular quill Kendrick offered him and signed his name underneath the transcript with a flourish. "Auror Tonks, would you be willing to sign as a witness? Thank you."
Potter had fallen silent during this, and a glance at his betrayed face and glare at Dumbledore proved that it was due to a Silencing Charm being cast on him rather than him running out of things to say. Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "While Danny's testimony is perhaps less than convincing, the fact still remains that there is no evidence that young Shunpike had any dealings with—"
"Oh, please," Scrimgeour said in the most dismissive tone Dora had ever heard from him. "You don't have a shred of proof one way or another about Shunpike. Your 'witness' doesn't know a thing about him, and I doubt you know much more. This whole thing was yet another waste of time. I hope you're proud of yourself."
"How low the defenders of the law have fallen if this is what you consider just," Dumbledore pronounced ominously.
The DMLE director laughed at that, the sound derisive in the extreme. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't think much of your opinion of right and wrong. If it weren't for Minister Bones taking pity on you, you wouldn't have been able to walk in here without getting tackled and collared. I have little patience for criminals, and that's all you are. Now, if you would be so kind," he said while brushing off the front of his robes, "take your little mouthpiece and get out of my department before I start thinking you're trying to impede an official investigation. That'll see you stuck inside a cell, you know, and I'm sure I can find someone who could be convinced to drag you there." He did not look at Dora, but she would not have minded if he had. For all that she had once almost worshipped the ground he walked on, Dumbledore had shown the world his true colors as far as she was concerned.
"You would let a minor incident like this destroy the working relationship you have with the Order of the Phoenix?" Dumbledore said, crossing his arms as he played what he must have thought was his trump card. "After all the good we've done—"
"The vast majority of which is only in your own mind," taunted Scrimgeour with a near-sneer of disgust. "I was serious, Dumbledore. Go way, take the boy, and leave this fight to people who actually know what they're doing. Interfere with us again"—here he tapped the transcript and curled the corners of his mouth into a mocking smirk—"and I'll just have to ask Minister Bones for forgiveness for overstepping her orders when I see you in Azkaban. I expect she won't mind that much."
Finally seeing that he would not find a sympathetic ear anywhere in the building – Kingsley was out on an investigation and Mad-Eye was retired, though how sympathetic the old Auror would really be after hearing about this was up for debate – Dumbledore hauled Potter to his feet and all but dragged him out the door. Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds before Dora asked, "Director? How did you know Potter's testimony was going to be worthless?"
"I didn't know, exactly, but I did read your team's after-action reports," he said with a shrug. "From your description of his house and his job, he didn't sound like someone the elder Potters would be close to. They walk in entirely different social circles. And the age gap was too wide for him and Shunpike to be friends without some really weird circumstances coming into play. And, if it turned out Potter really did know him well, that would be one fewer witness we would need to go looking for to determine his guilt or innocence."
"So why not talk to him at the front or in your office? Putting him under oath if you expected it to be worthless just seems a bit… excessive."
Scrimgeour eyed her for a moment before he turned to the notary. "That's all we needed, Mrs. Kendrick. Thank you very much for your assistance on such short notice." Once the other witch was gone, he looked into Dora's eyes. "What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, understood?"
She nodded.
"Ever since Bones gave him a provisional pass on his crimes, Dumbledore has been trying to slip in and change the way the DMLE approaches this war. He hasn't done anything illegal, but a couple of times his actions could be interpreted as skirting that line. It's gotten to the point that Robards, the other sub-department heads, and I can't use the intelligence his Order is passing along to us because it's likely as not, possibly even more likely, that the information has been sanitized or otherwise falsified in an attempt to make us respond a certain way." He shook his head. "I don't know if Dumbledore is doing it because he wants to fight this war like it's a game or he's trying to make us look bad and himself look good in comparison or what, but whatever his reason, he is knowingly and intentionally hindering our operations.
"But this?" He picked up the roll of parchment. "This could be his undoing if he keeps pushing. Even he didn't know how baseless Potter's protests were, but that doesn't matter. His name is now officially linked with this testimony, and if I catch him doing something shady, this transcript will establish that whatever he does is part of a larger pattern. It probably won't be enough to charge him with anything, but it might be enough to convince Bones to let us bring him in on the previous charges of unauthorized Memory Charms and illegal mental tampering. Anything we can do to get him off the streets would be a benefit," he spat.
Dora could not argue with the latter part, but the first half troubled her. "Do you really think the Order is giving us bad intel?"
"I don't know. But is trusting it a chance we can really take? I'm not going to send you and the other Aurors to your deaths because Dumbledore is pursuing his own agenda and thinks we are acceptable losses. Now, if we had someone who could bring us their information directly, someone we could trust not to use that as an opportunity to manipulate us…"
"Are… Are you asking me to go undercover inside the Order?" she asked in astonishment. "Because I think I've already burnt that bridge beyond any hopes of repair."
Thankfully, he shook his head. "No, I'm not. You would be far more effective doing your work than going off to gallivant with Dumbledore's cadre. I do, however, know that you have family in the Order – your Head of House admitted it to me when I asked him about it, along with his reasoning for rejoining – and Mad-Eye never kept his membership a secret. If you hear anything you can pass on, put it down as intel from an anonymous source. That should provide a little bit of cover from any eyes they have in the department, and hopefully it will help us determine how much we can really trust them."
She nodded, but then she had to swallow. If the relationship between the Order and the Ministry was that bad, there was one bit of information she knew that she might need to reveal. And if the Order was actively trying to deceive them, there was no 'might' about it. "Er, sir? If you're worried that the Order plans to stab us in the back"—she took a deep breath and forced herself to keep going, though she dropped her eyes to keep from seeing Scrimgeour's reaction—"you need to give Auror Shacklebolt's reports more scrutiny. He's a member, too, and he isn't even willing to admit that Dumbledore might have used Memory Charms while he was headmaster. If he had to choose between us and the Order, I don't know where he would stand."
There. It was done. She had never, not once, thought that she would sell out another Auror, but in this situation she had no choice. If Scrimgeour was wrong, making Kingsley out to be a potential traitor was a professional embarrassment and would make her the pariah of the Corps; it might even cost her her job. If he was right, holding her tongue would cost her brothers- and sisters-in-arms their lives. It was a risk, but one she had to take. The alternative was unacceptable.
"We know," he told her gently. Her eyes shot up to stare at him. "We've been watching him for a while. He has yet to step out of line, and I hope he never does, but it's a warranted precaution. The information about his doubts is new, though." He took a step closer and laid one hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you were willing to trust me with that. Reporting a fellow Auror for possible misconduct is never easy.
"Now, we both need to get back to work," he said, moving away again. "Leave this messiness with the Order to me. You just focus on the Death Eaters."
"Yes, sir."
Jen yawned and took one last sip of the coffee she had picked up half an hour before before at a small stand, one of the only places that were still open inside Heathrow Airport at this unconscionable hour, not even bothering to cover her scowl. There was no reason she would be standing around waiting for the arrival of the 2:35 flight from Stuttgart unless it were important. Unfortunately, the Baron's commands were definitely important.
It was actually rather interesting how she knew to be here, or it was if she ignored that it was even more disturbing at the same time. Earlier in the evening, shortly after dinner, she had an idle thought about the airport. It was nothing of any importance, just a momentary musing, but then it popped up in her head again. And again. The fourth or fifth time it did that, she finally realized what it meant: the six weeks of waiting between her previous meeting with Death and the arrival of Tiamat's avatar were over.
Once she understood what it was, the thoughts had become a steady pressure in the back of her head, one that grew ever stronger as the hours passed without her leaving Hogwarts. She had pleaded a headache and headed up to her dorm, but just when she was about to leap out the window and fly beyond the castle's wards, the push became actual pain that stopped only when she stepped away. It was not time for her to leave right then. Instead, she had to wait until the rest of the Ravenclaws had likewise gone to their own beds and the pressure had become all but intolerable before she could approach the window. A quick charm on Luna to make sure her girlfriend did not wake up and ask where she had gone at such an early hour, and she was off.
That had been an hour ago, and her patience was rapidly dwindling down to nothing. It was a good thing for everyone that an aeroplane had touched down and been announced as the flight she was waiting for a few minutes earlier, and now the passengers were streaming out.
Raising her right hand, she looked down at the ring adorning her fourth finger. The ring itself was nothing special, just a tin band and a piece of pretty colored glass, but what was special was the spellwork she had laid upon it. She had no clue if it would work or not, but if she had done it right, the ring would pull her toward a black mage's core. She, wonderfully, was immune from such a spell, and while the spell's range wasn't great – only a few dozen feet – it should still be enough to find the black witch or wizard who was here to hunt down the white wizard.
Without warning, the ring gave her hand a hard yank, and she looked over in that direction. Or maybe black witch and wizard, she decided. There were two people walking together, and while they were positioned closely enough that they obviously knew and trusted each other, they could not be more different. The man in front, tall and broad-shouldered, had black skin only a shade or two lighter than the business suit he wore. His outfit was better than some of the attempts she had heard about or seen where wizards tried to look like Muggles, but there was no way the creases of his clothes could be that sharp after a long flight without the use of magic. His companion, on the other hand, looked like she was after all the attention she could possibly get: long pink hair on one side of her head was flipped over to cover the side that had almost certainly been shaved, and every centimeter of olive-toned skin that was not obscured by her too-small t-shirt and ripped jeans was instead covered by tattoos depicting birds and beasts of all types, all drawn in a style reminiscent of ancient Greek pottery. Only her face was clear of ink, showing her to be no more than fifteen years older than Jen. To the Muggles, who were not used to magicals' slower rate of aging, she would appear to be a young twenty-something holding on too tightly to the last vestiges of teenage rebellion.
Jen dearly hoped he was the avatar and she was just the spunky protégé.
No reason to delay, though. She quickly walked up behind them and fell into step, close enough to feel the icy magical cores both possessed, and it took only a second for the witch to glare at her and spit out, "Can we help you?"
"Considering you're after the Stormrider, I certainly hope so."
The wizard led them to a nearby column and turned to give her a small, polite smile. "You are the one we were told to expect, then. I must admit, I did not expect to see anyone bearing the Gatekeeper's mark so boldly." There was an accent to his words, but she could not place it. It was too muddled, just a trace of his native speech that had been long ago cast aside.
"I usually don't. This just seemed like the proper occasion," she answered while she raised her hand to touch the choker wrapped around her throat. Normally she kept the accessory turned around with a small pendant hanging off it – if only because it was a Dark Treasure and could not be damaged, which in this case also meant it could not be removed – but for tonight she had spun it so as to reveal the triangle and line and circle decorating the Resurrection Stone. That he would refer to Death by title rather than name was odd, but she supposed there was a reason for it. If nothing else, it would make it more difficult for any eavesdroppers to understand whom they were talking about. "I look forward to working with you. I have never had an opportunity to see the gifts of the Grand Wyrm at work."
"Ah, I am not the Wyrm's servant," he said with a short laugh. "That honor is held by Menagerie. I belong to the Sleeper."
Her eyes widened. Did he mean the Sleeper in the Desert? Not just an avatar of Tiamat, then, but also one of Sutekh's. Three black mages against a single white wizard, and even if none of them possessed black magic that was easily wielded in a fight, their combined skills were certainly broad and esoteric enough to handle whatever Marduk's champion threw at them.
"My name, such as you may know it, is Priest, and as I said, this is Menagerie," he continued. "How should we address you?"
Needing an alias was unexpected, and she went with the first thing to pop into her head. "Call me Queen."
"Queen, huh?" Menagerie repeated with a sneer. "Pretentious little thing, aren't you? We've dealt with brats like you before; I bet you think this is all one big game. Isn't that right?"
A flick of her wrist conjured a screen of silence around them. Priest's eyebrows rose in surprise, though he said nothing about it. "A game? Games are meant to be fun. There's a white wizard running around in my country whose goal is to kill me, and he's skilled enough that the Gatekeeper thought it best to arrange for the two of you to come here and participate in the hunt. Now you can call me crazy if you want, but I don't consider that much fun."
"Good," rumbled Priest before Menagerie could voice another retort. "Taking this seriously is the first step in surviving the battle ahead. I have fought white wizards for nearly thirty years, and even now I do not assume it will be a simple task."
The punk witch scoffed. "You're giving her far too much credit. You ever fought the whites before, Queenie?"
"No. This is a new one for me."
"And you think you can help us? Until you've ripped out a white wizard's heart, felt his blood running down your arms, tasted his flesh, you're just playing at being a black witch. You'd do better to go back home and play tea party with your dolls."
Jen quirked one eyebrow dismissively at the other witch's condescension. She had actually hoped they would be able to get along, if for no other reason than division would make it that much harder to eliminate their mutual enemy, but it seemed like that was a fool's dream. "That had better not be your best attempt to make me squeamish. If it were, I will have to wonder if your skills at killing are any less pathetic than your taunts."
"You've got a mouth on you, but brats with a mouth don't have anything else to fall back on. Leave this to us, and maybe we'll let you know where to go so you can see us take off the head of your big, bad white wizard." Spinning around, Tiamat's avatar stormed away.
Priest, on the other hand, tilted his head in a brief, shallow bow. "I apologize for her behavior. Menagerie does not play well with others until she feels they have proven themselves to her. For now, it is best that we work alone. I will keep you informed on our progress."
"Very well," she said. If the white wizard was as skilled as the Baron had made him out to be, she expected these two would be spinning their wheels for a while, but then again, she did not know how they were at their jobs. Maybe they really were that good, or maybe they'd get lucky. "You can send the letters to Gringotts' Post Service, box 17238. Let me know when you need my help."
"Should that come to pass, I will tell you immediately." He did not sound like he expected that to happen, and with their conversation at a close, he left to catch up with his partner.
Jen let the privacy charm fall and sighed. That could have gone better.
If you've read my one-shot "A Lion's Pride" or remember the last chapter of Ascendant, you already know that I'm actually a fan of Scrimgeour and consider him a bit of an unsung hero. For all that Rowling tried to make him a minor antagonist in book 6 and the first part of book 7, I had a hard time accepting her reasoning for it, probably because the circumstances that make him out to be a 'bad guy' are so vague that it's obvious there was vital information missing or alternative explanations that would be far easier to swallow.
I'm not bashing; I'm just examining a canon event from a logical perspective. Also, Danny? Congratulations on killing any chance you had of getting into the Aurors, even if you could pass the Potions NEWT after self-study.
Silently Watches out.
