DISCLAIMER
Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, and Harry Potter to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this story which is purely written for mine, and others, entertainment.
1 October
"Ah, Dumblydore, welcome," Madame Maxine greeted the well-reputed wizard.
"The pleasure is all mine, Olympe. You're looking lovely, as always," Dumbledore said with blue eyes twinkling mischievously at the Beauxbaton Headmistress.
"Oh, you," Madame Maxine huffed, but the half-giantess was blushing.
Growing serious, Dumbledore looked up at Olympe over his half-moon spectacles. "Have you alerted the student of my arrival?"
Madame Maxine shook her head. "Non. I am afraid Mademoiselle Eliza has not bin very receptive to speaking at all since de term began. She 'ad a minor breakdown on de carriage 'ere. I did not want to upset 'er furzer by mentioning your veeseet. She 'as bin getting better lately, though."
Dumbledore frowned. "I see."
"What did zee French Meeneestry and Philippe say about zee attack on Madame de Mort?"
"That is between us only, Madame. But what I heard has me further convinced it was indeed Death Eaters. I am hoping Miss de Mort will make things even clearer."
"Does Philippe know you are looking to speak with 'is childe?" Olympe asked.
"He knows, but he was not very happy about it," Dumbledore answered. "He wanted to deny me this visit, in fact. But since Eliza is of age, it is her decision whether to see me or not. I am hoping she will be more receptive to the idea."
Madame Maxine nodded, and was about to suggest they go find Eliza – most probably, she was in her rooms – when the French girl in question appeared from behind the corner. The dark haired young woman wore an almost eager look on her face – the most expressive the Beauxbatons Headmistress had seen her for quite a long time – and now she approached the two with determined steps.
"Excusez-moi, Madame Maxine," Eliza said, "I was wondering if I could speak to Professeur Dumbledore for a moment? If that is alright with you, Monsieur?" She added, turning to Dumbledore who was staring at her with amused eyes.
Madame Maxine's eyebrows rose in utter surprise, a bemused expression on her face. "That ees not a problem at all, Eliza. In fact, 'eadmaster Dumblydore wants to see you as well."
It was Eliza's turn to look surprised. "He does?"
"Oui. I will leave you to talk." Madame Maxine said, giving Eliza a comforting pat on the shoulder as she left her and Dumbledore standing alone in the beautiful corridor.
Dumbledore smiled widely at Eliza. "Well, Eliza," he said. "Shall we find someplace a little more comfortable for our conversation?"
"Yes..." Eliza was feeling a little overwhelmed by how easy it had been to get Dumbledore's attention and also quite confused: Why did he want to see her? "There is an abandoned office further down the corridor, if that will suffice?"
"That will be perfect," Dumbledore assured her.
"Have a nice day!" Peter said, smiling brightly at the muggle exiting Mystical Records. The moment he was out the door, Peter's smile fell into a sour grimace. He hated the customers. He hated the music. He hated the store. And he hated Samantha for talking him into running it for the day:
"It will be fun, Peter, you'll see! I know you haven't been all that enthusiastic, but maybe a day in charge will change your mind!" Peter shuddered as his girlfriend's words ran through his head. He was grateful to her for letting him co-own the store, he supposed, since he hadn't had that many other plans (alright, none). But he was regretting it now, when he realised how much work it entailed. And where did she get off, ordering him around?
He sighed, slipping into a daydream of a world where the Dark Lord was in charge, something he found himself doing a lot more lately. Muggleborns and Half-Bloods all in menial positions, while purebloods like him reaped the benefits, and enjoyed well paid jobs high up in the Ministry, delegating all the actual hard work...
He wished he could tell his friends about his dreams, but Peter knew they wouldn't understand, if they decided to listen in the first place. They were too different, Peter realised, to ever be equals. He had ambitions, they didn't. He understood the world needed to change, they didn't. He was better than them, but they didn't acknowledge that. They constantly pushed him down – and it was only now Peter saw he deserved better. He would have better.
Peter wondered when it all had gone so wrong. Maybe things had gone wrong from the moment the marauders met, and Peter accepted his rank at the lowest spot in the pecking order. Maybe if he'd been more confident, more forward, things would be different and he wouldn't feel so out of place now. Maybe he would have had Remus' place, or even a place as a leader, rather than James or Sirius.
In the Dark Lord's ranks, things would be different, he decided. He would make sure to place himself high in the ranks, to gain the Dark Lord's confidence, his ear. He would be the one closest to him, the one he listened to. And when the Dark Lord won, Peter would be the one who got rewarded for his unfaltering loyalty.
And if his friends survived – Peter could be merciful and make sure they weren't killed – he would give them a place in the new world, unless they rebelled, of course. Peter wasn't stupid enough to think they would be content with the Dark Lord's rule – his friends were naive, after all, and it was doubtful they would realise it was all for the best. But with him in charge, he would make them understand, to accept their new class.
Samantha could keep her stupid store, but it would only sell wizarding music. Mandy could do the crossword puzzles for the Daily Prophet, Lily would be a secretary somewhere, and Buffy could work as a barmaid in Hogsmeade. Yes, Peter thought, those were fine occupations for the four girls that fit them perfectly.
Sirius and James could be Aurors, as they wanted, but Peter would make sure they never advanced in the ranks – for once, they could be the followers. And Remus could be the Animal caretaker at a Magical Zoo or something. He would enjoy that, right? Let no one say Peter wouldn't take care of his friends, even if they had grown apart now.
He and Samantha were also a thing of the past. It was only a matter of time before he broke up with her. Peter needed a girlfriend who actually cared about him, who put his needs first. He hadn't seen it before, desperate as he was for a girlfriend, but Samantha could be quite boring - too unassuming. And she was not a pureblood, either. His mother would never stand for it, nor would the Dark Lord. He could do so much better. As a Death Eater, he did not doubt he could have anyone he wanted – the Dark Lord would make sure of that.
The bell jingled and Peter looked up, his welcome greeting dying on his tongue as he recognised the two people entering the store, looking around with expressions of distaste. "You own this place, Peter, really?" Rosier drawled. "You could do so much better."
"I-I know," Peter said, nervously walking out from behind the counter.
Avery let an eyebrow rise. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Maybe you've begun to understand, at last?"
"Yes," Peter said. "Y-you were right. About muggles, about the state of the Wizarding World...about everything."
"Excellent!" Rosier grinned broadly. "You have decided to join the Dark Lord, then?"
"I-I think so," Peter said.
"There can be no doubt," Avery said, eyes stern and voice cold. "The Dark Lord does not need hesitant fools in his ranks. He needs people he can trust and count on."
Peter straightened. "I am not in doubt," he sniffed, trying to make himself sound disdainful and more confident than he felt. "But I want to meet the Dark Lord before making a final decision."
Rosier and Avery exchanged looks, and then, they began to laugh. For the first time, Peter felt some reservation in what he was about to do. "Peter, Peter..." Rosier chuckled. "You think you can make demands of the Dark Lord? You may want to see him – that does not mean he wants to see you."
Peter gulped. "I-I wasn't making demands," he quickly said. "All I'm saying is that i-if the Dark Lord would be as kind as to m-meet with me before I decide, I-I would be honoured."
Avery stared at him with an inscrutable expression. "Better," he finally said. "At least you sound properly in awe. That's good. The grovelling could use some work, though."
Peter gulped again, wondering for the first time if he knew what he was getting himself into. It was beginning to sound as though he would be regarded as even lower on the status scale than with his friends. And he wanted to join the Dark Lord to get away from that!
"He'll learn," Rosier said dismissively. "They all do, sooner or later."
"And if you want to be of any use to the Dark Lord, you better learn it sooner," Avery added, in what Peter supposed was to be a helpful tone, but came out a lot more threatening.
"We will ask the Dark Lord if he wants to meet with you before the marking ceremony. He is a very busy man – I'm sure you understand," Rosier said after a long silence with an oily smile, during which Peter was trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back. "We'll get back to you with a response."
"Enjoy your day," Avery said pleasantly – a little too pleasantly, exiting the store with a mock-bow.
"L-likewise," Peter stammered out as Rosier, too, exited, giving the room a last scornful glance. Once they were gone, Peter sank down on the floor, for the second time that day wondering if he'd made the right decision. Rosier and Avery hadn't been half as pleasant today as during their last meeting, at the cinema. "Maybe they were just stressed," Peter told himself out loud. "Yes, I'm sure they were just stressed." He wasn't quite sure who he was trying to convince, but on a subconscious level, he knew it was far too late to back out now, even if he wanted to. The time for regrets had come and gone.
"Now, why did you want to see me, Eliza?" Dumbledore asked, once they were settled down comfortably in the vacant, but well-kept, office.
Eliza gave him a nervous look, her hands resting tensely in her lap. "If you don't mind, Monsieur, I would prefer if you would go first," she began carefully. "On Madame Maxine it seemed as if you were here specifically to see me?"
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "First, let me begin with offering my condolences for about what happened to your mother."
Eliza nodded stiffly. "Merci."
"I am certain you have heard about the situation in Britain?" At Eliza's affirmative nod, he continued. "I suspect your mother's death may be connected to Voldemort – the Dark Lord, and the reason our country is at war."
Eliza swallowed. "Pourquoi?" She wondered out loud, looking at Dumbledore warily. "Why do you think that? My mother had no connection to him. I don't even believe my father has one."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "You have suspected your father has been involved in dealings with Voldemort?"
Eliza quickly shook her head. "Non. Not as such. But he dabbles in the Dark Arts, sometimes... So, between my mother and father, my father would be more likely to do business with the Dark Lord."
"Call him Voldemort, child," Dumbledore prompted.
"Voldemort, then," Eliza corrected herself. "Still, I don't understand what Voldemort would want with my mother?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I was hoping you could tell me. Shed some light on the situation, so to speak."
"What makes you believe it was Death Eaters in the first place?" Eliza asked, frowning. "The investigators my father has spoken with said mother died in a physical struggle, and there were no signs of a Dark Mark anywhere on the property. I have read in the newspaper that Voldemort's followers leave that as a symbol on places they attack?"
"It is true there were no such markings on your home," Dumbledore agreed. "However, the French Aurors, as well as myself, when they asked for a second opinion, found residual energy from apparation. As I'm sure you are aware, apparation cannot be traced, but some magic from the action always remains behind: Not enough to identify the person, but sufficient to determine whether it was a male or female, and if he or she was wearing any other objects expelling further magical energy."
"And?" Eliza asked.
"The person who apparated away from your property that night was male, carrying a magical object of some kind, and branded with a Dark Mark."
"But...the Dark Mark is not an object, is it?" Eliza frowned, trying to recall what she'd read in the Daily Prophet (she had begun to read the British newspaper after she heard of Dumbledore's visit, hoping it would tell her more about the ongoing war) about the marking the Dark Lord used on his followers.
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "But it is extremely magical in origin, and as such expels a lot of energy – enough to be picked up on by magical scanners."
"Oh." Eliza bit her lip, more certain than ever she wanted to help in the war effort once she'd graduated. Now when she knew for certain the Dark Lord was behind her mother's death, she wanted revenge. "And what about the object he was carrying?"
"An inventory of the things in your mansion shows only one thing missing – a book. We believe that is the object."
"So the Death Eater stole it," Eliza concluded. "What would he want with it? And what book?"
"Your father says it is not a book from the mansion's own library – he said it belonged to your mother's private collection. He has no idea what the title is, or what it is about, only that your mother liked carrying it around, for some reason." Dumbledore gave her a scrutinizing look. "Do you?"
Eliza shook her head. "Non. But I think I know what book you are speaking about. My mother brought it home from a visit in Germany. I never saw my mother reading it. But she was always carrying it around, someway. She was almost...obsessive about it."
Dumbledore jerked back, startled, something nagging in the back of his mind, triggered by that word – obsessive. "Surely not..." he muttered to himself, ignoring Eliza's look of confusion. "Tom couldn't possibly have...no, no. It can't be that book... It has been lost for so long...no more than a myth at this point..." He closed his eyes, suddenly looking extremely tired, with despair lining his face. "Oh, Tom, you fool..."
"Monsieur?" Eliza asked carefully.
"I am sorry, Eliza," Dumbledore said, opening his eyes again. "But I am afraid, if the book is the one I fear it is, things just became a lot more complicated."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Eliza asked, trying not to come across as too eager, but there was no disguising the fervent tone in her voice. "The reason I wanted to speak with you was because I know you are very well-known as Voldemort's main adversary. I want to assist you in the war! I know I'm young, but I can help! I know I can!"
"Oh, child," Dumbledore shook his head. "It is not your war. It is Britain's war."
Eliza's eyes flashed. "It became my war when my mother was murdered."
"You do not know what you are getting yourself into," Dumbledore said, almost sternly. "Revenge is not a good motive for involvement, Mademoiselle de Mort."
Eliza's shoulders slumped. "It's not just revenge," she mumbled. "It is part of it. But...more than that, it is the Dark Arts. It destroyed my family, and I'd rather it didn't rip someone else's apart. I want to help. I have to do something," she stressed. "I need to feel like I matter, like I can make a difference!"
Dumbledore gave her long a stare. "If you are certain you know what you are getting yourself into...if you are certain getting involved in the war is what you want...then, contact me after you have graduated and we will speak more about your options then."
Eliza nodded, reluctant to let things go, but also realizing this was the furthest she would get today. After all, she had been prepared for the fact that Dumbledore would find her too young, and was smart enough to understand that any involvement would have to wait until after graduation. Coming across as over-persistent was certainly not going to get her anywhere. "I understand."
"Now, I must be going," Dumbledore stood up. "It has been a delight to speak with you, Eliza."
"Likewise," Eliza said. "Thank you, Monsieur."
"I'm not quite sure what you're thanking me for, but you're welcome," Dumbledore said, winking at Eliza, who smiled.
"I will be counting the days until graduation, when I can contact you again."
Dumbledore chuckled, half-amused, half-sad. "Just promise me you will consider carefully what joining the war means. You understand you might be throwing your life away? You have several months to think it over – use them wisely."
8 October
"I heard you wished to see me?"
Peter's legs trembled as he approached the Dark Lord, sinking down into a hasty bow. He had gotten the letter a day ago – the Dark Lord had agreed to see him, and Peter was delighted. And also, terrified.
Now, standing here in his presence, he felt very small. The Dark Lord was awe-inspiring. Even with his head bowed he could sense the power and Peter felt it difficult to breathe. "Rise, Pettigrew," the Dark Lord said imperiously, and Peter shakily straightened up.
"I-I am grateful you decided to g-give me this o-opportunity, my Lord," he said, looking up into a pale face surrounded by long, dark hair. Two red slits for eyes stared into his own, and Peter quickly lowered his face, not wanting to seem disrespectful.
The Dark Lord chuckled and a shudder went through Peter's body. "Peter, Peter..." He hissed. "Are you afraid to look into my eyes? Or perhaps...you are afraid what I will find in your mind..."
Peter's head flew up, horrified. "N-no, my Lord! I am loyal to you!"
"And yet, you have not sworn so," Voldemort noted.
"I-I admit, I was hesitant," Peter said. "B-but now, seeing you...I am certain. I-I want to join you."
"Come," the Dark Lord said, and with legs that felt like spaghetti, Peter walked closer to the throne, kneeling by Voldemort's feet.
Spiderlike fingers grasped Peter's face, forcing him to look into those bloody eyes. Memories from Peter's life flashed through his mind, faster than Peter could discern, but the Dark Lord seemed to be able to, as he let go of his face, leaning back against his backrest. "Your mind has pleased me," he said out loud, musingly and Peter almost sagged with relief.
"I am faithful, my Lord," he said, backing up a few steps.
"More faithful to me than to your friends?" Voldemort asked.
"Y-yes," Peter said. "I won't l-lie: They mean a lot to me. B-but...I am afraid I don't mean as much to them."
"You are a good friend, Peter," the Dark Lord praised. "Even when your friends don't deserve it. It is admirable. Such loyalty is difficult to find, these days. You will make a fine follower."
Peter almost glowed.
"Still, I must be certain: If it came down to them or me...who would you chose?"
"I have already chosen, my Lord," Peter boasted, more confident now. "You."
The Dark Lord let out a high-pitched laugh. "Excellent!"
"I-I do have some concerns, though," Peter said. "As I'm sure you know, I am a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix..."
Voldemort hissed at the mention of the Headmaster's name, red eyes flashing angrily. "Yes."
"I-if I take the mark...I am afraid I will be discovered. A-and while I am certain I want to follow you...I am not certain i-if the life of a Death Eater is the r-right one for me."
"Continue," the Dark Lord said coldly and Peter gulped.
"I-I suggest a trial run," he said boldly, trying to force some of that Gryffindor courage to the surface. "A year, as a Death Eater, without the mark, and if I-I change my mind, I won't be hurt."
Voldemort laughed again, then, a far more sinister laugh. "You think you can make demands of me?"
"N-no!" Peter hurriedly said. "My Lord. I just think – "
" – One thing you must learn, Pettigrew," Voldemort spat, and the air in the room grew noticeably colder. "You don't think. You don't question. You do as I say, when I say, no matter what I say. Understood?"
"Y-yes," Peter said meekly, afraid now. Maybe this had been a stupid idea. Why had he wanted to become a Death Eater again?
The Dark Lord smiled, though it came out more as an evil smirk, to Peter. "Still. Your bravery amuses me. I am willing to agree to your...request, with some additional terms of my own, of course."
"Y-yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," Peter bowed several times.
"A year, as a Death Eater, without my mark. Of course, for this freedom, you must give some things up in exchange. Without a mark, your position for spying will be a lot easier. I expect you to report what goes on in your Order meetings. And while I will let you escape with your life, I will still punish you, if you make mistakes. We can't afford them. If you change your mind about becoming a follower...I can't promise you will live. I hate to waste my time on something that doesn't pay off."
"I-I understand," Peter said. "And the rest s-sounds more than fair, my Lord," he agreed readily.
"Also, before next year, I expect you to participate in raids," the Dark Lord continued. "It is unfortunate we have to do violence, but no one will listen otherwise. I've tried the peaceful ways and they didn't work. The wizarding world is too set in its views. It's sad that only something drastic will change them and make the world a better place."
Peter nodded eagerly in agreement. It was true, after all. The Wizarding World was far too stagnant. And some raids didn't seem so bad a bargain. He had expected to do them anyway. "Just...p-please, don't hurt my friends?" He winced, expecting a burst of anger.
"You have made your devotion to them more than clear," the Dark Lord said, sounding almost bored. "You won't be expected to hurt your friends. But if they attack me and my side, we will have no choice but to defend ourselves, and...accidents happen."
"It is more than enough, my Lord. I appreciate your kindness," Peter breathed, the guilt over betraying his friends disappearing. After all, he was protecting them!
"Well, then..." Voldemort smiled again. "Welcome to my followers, Peter Pettigrew."
Peter bowed deeply.
"And for your cheek...as amusing as it was...CRUCIO!"
The pain was excruciating. His nerves were on fire and his mind a mess. Peter screamed in utter agony, twisting and turning on the floor by the Dark Lord's feet. Through the haze of pain, doubt and blinding fear rose to the surface, but some part of him also thought the Dark Lord had a right to punish him. The pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Peter gasped in relief as he could think clearly again.
It was worth it, he decided, coughing. The pain was nothing against the future they could gain. He had made the right choice, he told himself, heart beating wildly against his ribcage as he struggled for breath. But, a small part of his conscience knew that, right choice or not – and this part of him wasn't so sure – it was far too late to go back.
He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.
14 October
"...We have managed to substitute about half of the recruits we lost in the attacks on Plymouth and London. Unfortunately, most of the replacements are applicants we rejected the first time around," Frank finished his report with a heavy sigh.
"Which means, the Auror force is a lot weaker than it could have been," Alice finished for her husband. "And the surviving Aurors have vowed revenge, and some of them are well on their way to becoming as ruthless as the Death Eaters themselves. We have Mind Healers who are speaking to them, but..." She gave Moody a helpless look.
"...Our efforts are useless since Barty Crouch is egging the Aurors on instead of calming them down," Mad-Eye finished gruffly. "He's really becoming a problem, Dumbledore. Several of the Aurors prefer to defer to him rather than Don, and he constantly undermines our authority. And unfortunately, as Department Head of the Magical Law Enforcement, he has the right to do it."
"Who's Don?" Buffy asked Sirius in a hushed whisper.
"Don Blake," Sirius answered. "Head of the Aurors."
"Unfortunately, Alastor, I am afraid we cannot do anything about Barty," Dumbledore said. "Only Minister Tool has that power, and I'm afraid demoting Barty would make Brutus Tool even more unpopular than he already is. Barty is very loved by the public, while the Minister is treading on dangerous grounds. The most widespread opinion seems to be he's not doing enough against Voldemort."
"Do you think Tool will be voted out of office?" Samantha wondered.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet. Though if things continue to go badly, and Barty rallies more support, we may very well see him as Minister of Magic, sooner, rather than later."
As one, the room shuddered: Barty Crouch was not very loved by the Order, as they thought his means in dealing with the Death Eaters were far too cruel and too alike to Voldemort's own methods for comfort. It was a fine line they all walked - when did justice become vengeance? When did the end stop justifying the means? And Barty Crouch was coming dangerously close to crossing it, if he hadn't already. The only question was how many 'good' people he would manage to bring with him over the line.
"Unless there is anything else on the agenda, I would like to add my own report," Dumbledore continued after a long moment of silence. "As you are aware, the reason I did not arrive to the scenes of battle, was a floo call from Madame Maxine, of Beauxbatons School of Witchracft and Wizardry."
In his corner, Moody grumbled slightly to himself, still not very pleased with the Headmaster for abandoning them when he was needed.
"Monique de Mort, wife of Philippe de Mort, a well-known French Ministry official, was murdered, and an item stolen from his manor: A book. A book I, to my dismay, believe is now in Voldemort's hands.
"What book?" Marlene McKinnon asked, leaning forward. "And why is it so bad if Voldemort has it?"
"The book has no name. But it is old, so old it is barely more than a myth at this point. But it does exist, of that I am now sure. The only reason knowledge about it has faded into obscurity is that the book seems to have a life of its own," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "People who come upon it become...obsessed by it, for lack of a better word. So obsessed they are willing to do anything to get their hands on it, including stealing, murder, and much else."
"What does it contain?" Caradoc Dearborn asked, eyes narrowed. "And is everyone affected by the book? Is there a pattern?"
"I suspect there is, but I have not managed to find out what. Weak minded people is a possibility. But then Voldemort would not be affected. Say what you want about Tom, but weak minded, he is not."
"That doesn't really mean anything," Remus cut in, "unless strong minded people are unable to hold the book. Just because Voldemort has it, doesn't mean he's affected by whatever makes people fanatical about."
"You are quite right, of course," Dumbledore agreed. "I never thought of it that way before."
"You still haven't told us what the book says," James reminded the Headmaster, whose expression grew tired.
"I am not entirely certain," Dumbledore admitted. "But it is rumoured it holds knowledge of magic from the beginning of time, knowledge long forgotten."
"Merlin's beard..." Edgar Bones mumbled, eyes horrified. "To possess that...if You-Know-Who has it..."
"...We're doomed," Fabian Prewett finished grimly, the jokester for once serious as he exchanged looks with his twin, Gideon.
"This is exactly what we did not need," Gideon said. "An even more powerful You-Know-Who."
"I wish it was only the data itself that worried me," Dumbledore continued, voice grave, and the Order's eyes widened.
"There's more?" Lily blurted out.
"Much more. The information the book holds is not just knowledge about spells and magic. They are clues."
"Clues to what?" Marlene asked. "What could possibly be worse?"
"Clues to a source of power, hidden away somewhere, containing all secrets to life, to magic and to immortality. If Voldemort enters it..." Dumbledore closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. "If Voldemort obtains that power...he will become immortal, indestructible. Perhaps Master of Death itself. A near God."
Silence. Absolute silence fell over the room. Then, everyone seemed to stand up at once, arguing amongst themselves, panicking: "How can we stop him?"
"Is this it, then? Is there no hope?"
"We need a miracle!"
Dumbledore tried to calm the Order members down, but failing miserably, as no one seemed open to listening.
"SHUT UP!" Buffy finally yelled loudly over all the other shouting, and everyone seemed to freeze, turning to stare at the small Slayer. "Panicking is not going to help anyone. So Voldemort has the book. It's bad. I get it. It does not mean hope is lost. We need a plan." She turned to Dumbledore who was giving her an approving look. "How long do you think it will take for Voldemort to put the clues together?"
"I have no idea," Dumbledore confessed. "But I don't think it will be easy, even for someone of Tom's calibre."
"That means we have time," Buffy decided, nodding sharply. "Time to plan for all sorts of scenarios, to steal and destroy the book; whatever. I may not be as old as you lot," she said, looking at some of the older Order members, "or as experienced, or as good at magic. But I've been through my fair share of battles and apocalypses, and I do know giving up is not a way to avert what's coming."
"Buffy's right," James said. "We need a plan."
"Right...so...any suggestions?" Buffy asked. "Do we have any spies in Voldemort's ranks?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. We have some informants, but no one undercover."
"Okay. Well, do we know who stole the book?" Buffy asked. "He – or she – would probably be our best bet to find out where Voldemort keeps it, how far he's gotten and so on."
"Someone he trusted," Sirius mused out loud. "Someone from Voldemort's inner circle. He wouldn't entrust a mission like that to anyone. Bellatrix?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No. Whoever it was must be fairly unknown as a Death Eater: All signs points to that Monique de Mort let the assailant in willingly, and Bellatrix Lestrange is far from inconspicuous. Also, Monique was killed by muggle means, something Bellatrix would not do."
"An acquaintance, perhaps?" Lily suggested. "Someone Monique saw as a friend?"
"Possible, but not likely. Monique did not have that many friends – she rarely went anywhere without the company of her husband, who was the one with all connections. I doubt Monique was little more than a trophy wife."
"Figures," James snorted. "Some pureblood families..." He shook his head sadly.
"T-the husband?" Peter wondered. "Could he have done it?"
"Several witnesses saw him at work when the attack took place."
"Well, we should make a list of possible suspects; all members we know are in Voldemort's inner circle – every Death Eater overall, just in case," Buffy said. "We should also try and research the book a bit more – maybe try and track down previous owners? Find out what makes people obsess about it?"
"Excellent idea!" Dumbledore beamed. "I happen to know Monique came upon the book during a trip to Germany. Let me check with Philippe and see who he visited while there, and we will speak more of this during next meeting. I will also try and see if we can find a way to infiltrate Voldemort's ranks."
17 October
"Yeouch!" Belinda yelped as Madame Pomfrey applied a healing balm to her shoulder. "Careful!"
"I am being very gentle, Miss Greengrass," Madame Pomfrey huffed. "What curse was it again?"
"Not a curse," Belinda lied. "I tripped and scratched myself on a suit of armour."
"A highly unlikely story, considering your entire back is one giant sore, no skin to speak of," Madame Pomfrey frowned. "Who did it?"
"Kirk and his pals," Belinda muttered. "Don't say anything, please. It will just make things worse."
The door to the hospital wing flew open and Lucan entered, followed by a worried looking Mandy. Belinda groaned. "Mandy told me," Lucan said, eyes flashing. "It was Kirk wasn't it? I'll rip him apart – "
"Mr. Davis!" Madame Pomfrey scolded. "Mind your language!"
"Why did you tell him?" Belinda asked Mandy. "I specifically asked you not to."
Mandy gave the Slytherin an apologetic look. "Well, he's my best friend. He could see I was holding something back."
"Great..." Belinda muttered as Lucan grabbed her hand, being all fussy, muttering under his breath about what he'd like to do to the Slytherin scum that did this.
"You were a witness to the curse that caused this atrocious injury?" Madame Pomfrey asked Mandy sharply.
"I'm sort of the reason it happened," Mandy admitted. "Barret Kirk and some of the other Slytherin Quidditch team members were mouthing off; insulting me about not having Sirius to protect me anymore, and that I better watch my back and stuff. It was no big deal, really, but Belinda heard and got all huffy about it."
"I did not get all huffy!" Belinda protested. "I just wanted to make them stop!"
"And expose yourself to their ire instead, you mean?" Mandy said dryly. "You know they have it out for you, because of Lucan."
"Well, it's not my fault they have a problem with who I'm dating," Belinda muttered sulkily. "And before you say anything, I'm not going to pretend to break up with you," she warned Lucan who had opened his mouth.
"It's not just mashed potatoes anymore, Bel," Lucan tried. "It was a really bad curse this time!"
"I can handle it," Belinda said stubbornly. "I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me fold."
"It's about pride?" Lucan gaped, incredulous.
"More about the politics of Slytherin house," Belinda corrected. "Breaking up with you won't stop them, Luke. It will just make them smug and conceited on top of everything else. They won't seriously harm me."
"And what do you call that?" Lucan gestured towards Belinda's back.
"Not permanent," Belinda said calmly. "Hurts like hell, but it will heal overnight. No permanent scarring. Right?" She asked Madame Pomfrey, suddenly worried. So, yes, she was slightly shallow, but who could blame her, with her looks?
"No permanent scarring," Madame Pomfrey assured her, rolling her eyes. Teenagers these days...no sense of self-preservation - as long as they looked good, everything was fine and dandy...
Mandy sniggered. "Happy to know you have your priorities straight."
"Well, I'm not planning on letting you – either of you – out of my sight," Lucan told Mandy and Belinda sternly.
"Oh, my knight in shining armour...will you accompany me to the loo as well?" Mandy quipped and Lucan reddened.
"I'm glad I have such a chivalrous boyfriend," Belinda said. "But you can't follow us night and day. You – Ravenclaw. Me – Slytherin," she said, pointing between Lucan and herself. "I have my own common room, and my own sleeping quarters."
"Oh, now I get it!" Mandy sniggered. "This is all an excuse to get in between Belinda's sheets!" As one, the two girls burst out laughing, while Madame Pomfrey let out a disapproving sound as she finished applying the balm, though even her lips were twitching.
"Oh, shut up," Lucan muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
French translations
Non – No.
Excusez-moi – Excuse me.
Oui – Yes.
Merci – Thanks.
Pourquoi? – Why?
Published: 30/06 -10
Trivia
- In Harry Potter canon, Barty Crouch Senior was a serious contender for the Ministry post until the truth about his son's Death Eater status leaked out.
