Disclaimer: Alas, only the things you do not recognize are mine. I do this for fun, not profit.
The Unspeakable Files: Godspell
An HP Fanfic
By AnotherSpoonyBard
Chapter 10: Gathering
Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Late summer transitioned into early autumn, and with the gradual change came more murders. They continued to dominate the headlines, pushing back just about any other kind of news. Wonky portkeys to France and Italy and celebrity gossip were simply unimportant when stacked against a growing threat to Britain's young witches. Luna Lovegood moved out of Malfoy Manor and into Spinner's End, and now simply made almost-daily visits to check on Draco, who was once again cleared for duty with the Department of Mysteries. Severus Snape took frequent trips to Alexandria, but discussed his apparent newfound fondness for the Egyptian sun with nobody. Harry had forced his department to slow down and start getting regular rest again—it was clear that whatever else might be the case, this was no short-term affair. The Aurors were going to be digging their heels in for the long haul, and they needed to remain at their best.
He was, admittedly, not terribly surprised when the Minister of Magic contacted him about it, but he certainly had not expected the level of confidentiality of the notice. His clearance level barely let him into the contents of his own mail, if the warding charms on this were anything to go by, and he had more than most cabinet members, less only than Shacklebolt's inner circle and the Unspeakables themselves. It was with a healthy dose of trepidation that Harry tore open the heavy, off-white envelope, scanning over the parchment before tossing it onto his desk and raking both hands through his dark hair, leaning back in his chair to stare at his ceiling tiles.
Shit. It wasn't really all that shocking that the Minister had decided to convene a task force, but that didn't mean it was good news, either. Someone, somewhere, had discovered something new, something that mandated a gathering of this kind, and he wasn't really all that certain he wanted to know what that something was. The same oppressive weight that he was used to settled even more solidly on his shoulders, but he ignored the feeling.
Buck up, Harry; you've dealt with worse. Nodding resolutely to himself, Harry stepped out of his office and went to find Ron. Shacklebolt had asked him to bring along one person he trusted for appointment to the task force, and there was nobody better to have at your side when jumping into the unknown than Ronald Weasley. Harry firmly and completely believed this, and the hypothesis had been field-tested more times than he cared to count.
Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries, Conference Room B
Snape glanced around the room. It was relatively large, dominated by a circular, polished walnut table with chairs arranged about it, many of which were presently filled by quite the assortment of people. At the front of the room sat the Minister of Magic himself, and next to him was his personal secretary and the only person he trusted to know what was going on, an elderly woman by the name of Janet Wiggins. She was meticulously keeping a coded dictation of the meeting, which would probably be destroyed shortly afterwards, but was necessary now all the same.
Severus himself was on the right side of the table, about ninety degrees from Shacklebolt. Beside him was Draco, currently occupied in some form of juvenile glaring contest with the younger of the room's two Weasleys. Ronald had been less-than-pleased to find out that the Malfoy heir was actually an Unspeakable, though he seemed a bit more reserved on the matter of Snape's own presence. The one time Severus had glanced over after the initial explaining had been done, Mister Weasley had looked guarded, wary, but not angry or hateful as he did when Draco drew his attention afterward. Severus cared not for the regard of others, but at the very least he hadn't had to go to the irritating length of explaining himself—Mister Potter had taken over that task with little hesitation.
Miss Granger was seated nearby them, alongside Miss Lovegood, who appeared to be counting… something on the ceiling. Severus knew better than to take the endeavor at face value, though he did not doubt that she was doing so. She'd be able to produce some sort of count if asked, but she did not set herself to such trivial tasks for their own sake. He understood Xenophilius enough to know this.
The elder Weasley brother—Bill, the one who'd gone into curse-breaking—and his apprentice and partner Blaise Zabini were closest to the Minister on the left side, as they'd required extra briefing and Unbreakable Vows before being brought up-to-date on the situation. Beside them was a man in what Severus guessed was his late twenties: Raphael Walsh, youngest member of Kingsley's cabinet and the Minister's personal agent. Snape understood the job to involve subterfuge, bodyguarding, and politics in equal measure. Mister Walsh certainly appeared suited for it—he observed the entire room with wary blue eyes, and stood almost as tall as Draco, as broad as either of the Weasleys, who were themselves a bit wider across the shoulders than anyone save Shacklebolt himself.
The two remaining people in the room were both more-or-less in their middle age: one, he recognized as Hilde Vanderpool, a well-respected member of the research branch in the Department of Mysteries. She seemed more at ease than most, her black robes neatly-pressed and her brown hair secured tidily into a bun at the nape of her neck. Severus respected her professionalism; she was one of the few people who, like him, held a full Mastery in the potions trade. The man seated beside her wore the white and light-blue robes of a staff member at St. Mungo's, and seemed to be rather nervous. Considering the combined fame of all the people in this room, Snape was hardly surprised. He kept polishing his horn-rimmed spectacles and replacing them over the bridge of his nose, looking out at the rest of them with doleful brown eyes. He must be the emergency medic Severus had suggested bringing on to the team, though he hadn't recommended anyone in particular.
Once everyone was fully settled, Shacklebolt cleared his throat for attention, and all eyes were immediately settled on the Minister. "Thank you all for coming," he said, taking a moment to make eye contact with each of them. "As some of you have doubtless discovered quite to your shock, there are more layers to this whole thing than I'm frankly sure I could unravel. But that's why we're holding this meeting, to get everyone on the same page. A few weeks ago, Mister Snape and I had a meeting about many of the things you're all about to hear, and decided that a team should be assembled to deal with certain events. Per his suggestions and with some last minute additions—" here he nodded to Bill, Blaise, and Raphael—"we're at last ready to begin. Miss Granger, if you would be so kind?"
The young woman in question stood, smoothing down her deep red robes rather unnecessarily. It did not hide the tremor in her hands from Severus, and he wondered why she might be having stage fright now. This was the kind of thing she'd reveled in at Hogwarts—flaunting her knowledge before others. She made eye contact with him, and he recognized her look as vaguely searching. Unsure what precisely she wanted from him, Severus simply inclined his head minutely. She knew the information—this anxiety was pointless.
She smiled then, and took a deep breath. "Right. I've been brought up to speed on everything we all need to know, and I'm going to run through it now, to make sure we're all in the same place." Waving her wand, she caused several images to appear on the blank wall behind her. "For those of you who don't know, the string of murders on young witches has been picking up in the last month or so, and there have been three new victims in that time. While the identities and locations of the bodies have been released to the public, many of the details of the cases haven't."
She paused; the images vanished and were replaced with several photos of the deceased women, all with bloody script cut into their backs. "These cuts seem to be more or less random, but Mister Weasley and Mister Zabini have confirmed that they're curse-marks, likely the result of very old curses no longer in the conventional literature on the subject. As the bodies grow more recent, the marks seem to change—the last few look almost as though they approximate words or images. My guess is that the killer is intentionally trying to do this, to write messages on the bodies, but the curse is either imperfectly reconstructed, or else it… gets away from him." There was a small pause as she allowed that to sink in. Severus understood what she was getting at, and from the looks on the faces around the table, so did nearly everyone else. Even if the curse were designed to imprint text, it would require quite a lot of concentration to keep it up, almost like holding two or three spells at once. In the case that the killings brought some particularly-strong emotion to the surface of the person's psyche, that would be impossible.
"Bloody hell, you're saying he gets off on this?" The younger Weasley's tone was filled with revulsion. Not unduly, Severus noted.
"That's… possible," Miss Granger replied, looking slightly ill. Her hands gripped the edge of the table until she was white-knuckled, but one of them was shortly covered by Miss Lovegood's, and the tension eased just slightly. "It's also possible that it just makes him very angry, perhaps, or reminds him of something he hates. Either way, it means he isn't succeeding in turning the curse-marks into anything legible."
"Which explains this," she continued, flicking her wand again until the image she'd originally shown him, the Ouroboros and text, replaced the others. "This was left alongside one of the bodies, found in Diagon Alley. I was first brought into this case to decipher the wording. I discovered that it's a line from the Bhagavad Gita, and occurs at a point in which Krishna, the main figure in the text, takes on the form of the Destroyer."
"That's all well and good," Hilde broke in, her tone calm but not rude, "but it doesn't explain why the Aurors' Office and a few consultants couldn't manage the case without assistance from so many quarters?" It was inflected more as a question than anything, and she tilted her head sideways at Miss Granger.
"You're right," the younger witch agreed readily. "But there's more to it than that. Several months ago, on what was supposed to be a routine favor for the Aurors' Office, two Unspeakables were attacked by a cluster of wizards working for person or persons unknown. The attackers were put on the defensive, and made to retreat, but at that point, one of them used a previously-unknown spell. It broke through a multipurpose shield charm without difficulty. The parties involved were Mister Malfoy and Prof- Mister Snape, and until very recently, Malfoy was still suffering the effects of the hex."
"He still is," Miss Lovegood broke in softly. "The curse appears to have altered the way his body produces magic. The negative side-effects have been dealt with for the most part, and Draco is quite capable of using magic, but not in the same way." She glanced to Draco, who appeared angry that his condition had just been disclosed to a room full of people. The only evidence of this was a tightening of the muscles in his jaw, but the look she was giving him in return indicated that Snape was not the only one who had detected it.
"Fascinating," the male healer murmured. He looked like he was about to launch into a series of medical questions, but a warning look from Hilde stopped the tide before it had a chance to start, something that Severus was inwardly grateful for.
"At any rate, the hex wasn't in the Arcanum Latin that most of our spells are," Miss Granger pointed out. "After some consideration, Mister Snape and I were able to determine that it was in fact Old Norse, and the fragment of it that I was given contained a word for 'renewal' that is commonly part of the word for 'apocalypse.'"
"Ragnarök," Bill Weasley muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "That fits with the Ouroboros, now doesn't it?"
"That was my thought precisely, yes," the witch replied evenly. Severus didn't have to be a master of observation to note that the revelation had thrilled her, in a way. If he had his guess, chances were good that Miss Granger took quite a bit of satisfaction from an intellectual challenge like this one. He was much the same in this. "The fact that two of the last crime scenes contain Biblical references from the Book of Revelations is only making the connection stronger. My guess is, the killer is quite aware that he's mixing his mythologies, but the larger, connecting point is the one that he wants to push."
"But why hex Malfoy?" Harry asked. "That doesn't fit the pattern at all. And why leave all these cryptic clues? Horrible as it is, it's not like a serial killer can actually bring about the end of the world or anything."
"Those questions, Chief Auror Potter, are exactly what this task force was assembled to answer." Kingsley Shacklebolt broke into the conversation again for the first time since it had started. "As I mentioned, Severus came to me with a proposal for this group some weeks ago, but I've only just now been able to get the details worked out. Per his suggestions, we're prepared for several eventualities. For those of you who don't know each other: Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are from the Aurors' Office, Mister Snape and Mister Malfoy are from the Department of Mysteries Field Division, Ms. Vanderpool is from the Research Division with a specialization in potions and… less-than-light magics. Healer Thompson is one of St. Mungo's best trauma-care healers, and Healer Lovegood is, in addition to being a budding authority on experimental medicine and Old Magic, Mister Malfoy's attending physician. Mister Walsh is part of my personal security detail, and an excellent combatant and bodyguard. The elder Mister Weasley and Mister Zabini are both leading cursebreakers, but that's not the reason why they're presently here. Gentlemen?"
The two professionals now had everyone's curiosity, and it was Weasley who spoke. "Right, about that. We specialize in tomb curses these days, and we've been working on a very important recent discovery, disarming traps and curses on the way underground into this tomb. I won't bore you with the archaeological minutiae, but you should all know that Norse symbolism doesn't usually show up on the walls of Egyptian tombs." Zabini waved his wand with a lazy gesture, and the image on the wall changed again. There was a gasp from a few of the parties in the room, and Severus noted that Draco's eyes had gone wide.
There, on what appeared to be the sandstone wall of a tomb, was an image of a man, chained to a rock, a serpent towering above him.
"Oh dear," Miss Lovegood put in, and there were several nods of agreement. The imagery was no doubt to most of them evocative of a very dark period in their lives, when that serpent had come to represent Voldemort.
"What do you know? Looks like we're going tomb raiding," those words belonged to a flabbergasted Ronald Weasley, though they succeeded in little but wringing a few uncomfortable chuckles. Severus forced his face to remain impassive, but even he was feeling it—a cold tendril of anxiety at the pit of his stomach. This was showing hints of something far more complex than a mere killer on a self-indulgent tangent. It had 'conspiracy' written all over it, however juvenile the handwriting.
Hogsmeade, England, a Field
A day later, the same group of individuals had all had the opportunity, however short, to put their general affairs in order and prepare for departure to Egypt. As the tomb site had various protections around it to ward against apparation in and out of the premises (making matters fortunately more difficult for actual tomb robbers), they were going in by means of portkey.
Given the clandestine nature of their activities, all were instructed to meet in an unobtrusive location, not far outside of Hogsmeade village, though the location was hidden behind a ridge in the landscape, away from view of the small town.
The Monday morning dawned crisp and chill, and Draco resisted the urge to pull his cloak tighter about himself. He certainly wouldn't be needing it once they arrived in Egypt, but he didn't want to look suspiciously-underdressed in case he was somehow waylaid at any point along his journey. It was a subtle thing, and perhaps not one that everyone would notice or think twice about, but it was the bread and butter of his occupation, in a sense. Keeping secret things secret was a vital skill when one worked for a place called the Department of Mysteries.
They'd all been instructed to stagger their arrivals, and approach the spot from different directions. He was scheduled to approach first, and immediately after him came Vanderpool, then Potter and Walsh, Weasley, Lovegood, Thompson, and Severus. The other Weasley, Blaise, and Granger already lived in Egypt and were arranging alternate transportation to the site.
Once everyone had arrived, there was a heartbeat of silence, then Vanderpool nodded to Snape, and all the rest fell into line, taking hold of the portkey, which was in this case a old bicycle wheel, a common-enough sight in places like this one. The seconds slowly ticked by as they waited for it to trigger, and Draco glanced absently around. Apparently, it was too early in the morning for Weasley to commence glaring, but plenty early for Lovegood to be smiling like a fool. He didn't return it, but she seemed undaunted by this.
The portkey activated, and the world went spinning away from beneath them.
Egypt, Valley of the Kings, Site A3-002
"Ah, good, you're here." Bill clapped his hands together, rubbing the palms against each other as the portkeyers all materialized in front of him, the majority shedding cloaks and robes and putting them into an enchanted burlap sack. He and Blaise had instructed everyone to dress practically, and though Snape and Malfoy were still wearing mostly black, they'd had the good sense to make sure it was all durable. Luna, he was a little less sure of, but in the end, there wasn't really anything wrong with the fact that her shirt was lime-colored. In fact, it was the other healer who seemed to have the worst idea of what was meant by practical, as he had worn slacks with his dragonhide boots and a shirt that didn't look like it would stand up to much wear.
Bill sighed internally, but let it pass. "Okay. Given the nature of our endeavors, I think it would be best for us to split into two teams. One, led by myself and Blaise, will be heading down into the tomb. The other will be staying up on the surface, with one person at each of the two entrances, to keep a lookout."
"Wouldn't it be safer if we all stuck together?" Healer Thompson asked nervously, peering around him to the visible entrance. None of the usual excavation crew were around today, which was just as well.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Not if we all encounter the kind of danger you can't just barrel through," he pointed out. Turning to Bill, he continued. "I'll stay up here with him. There shouldn't be any curses down there you can't handle."
Bill chuckled. "I think that might be the closest thing to a compliment you've ever deigned to give me, Blaise." The Italian wizard just raised his eyebrow, but that was to be expected. "That sounds like a good plan to me. That way, we've split up our medics and our curse specialists. Now, we don't want to split up the rest of us, because frankly, I have no idea what's down there." He couldn't help the edge of glee that crept into his tone, and a long-suffering sigh behind him indicated that his apprentice had noticed.
"Right then, no time like the present! In we go, assuming nobody has any objections?" When there were none, his grin might well have split his face in half, and Bill led the way into the tomb. The panel of stone in front of it bore the depiction of the man chained, but Bill ignored it, uttering a word that caused the smooth stone to split in two, both sides receding until there stood a darkened entranceway, impossible to see much through at all. With a wave of his wand, he produced a rope, and another gave him a light to clamber down it by. Extenuating circumstances or not, this really was the kind of thing he lived for.
Well, aside from his wife and child, of course.
The Tomb, Antechamber
The inside of the crypt was predictably dark, though surprisingly chilly. Hermione supposed it must be because it was underground and thus not exposed to any of the blistering desert sun. Some sand had filtered in, but for the most part, the entire thing was made from stone, large blocks of pale, smooth rock set with painstaking precision into the ground. She wondered if that had been done magically or by hand.
The chamber they were in appeared to be a perfect square, of moderate size and largely plain, except for the sarcophagi lining the walls to the right and left. There were five on each side, also apparently made from light stone, largely unmarked. "Servants," Bill offered knowingly, "sacrificed upon the death of the official entombed here to serve him in the afterlife, most likely. What you need to see is here, though."
On cue, the ball of light suspended in the air moved forward, illuminating the far wall, and Hermione's eyes went wide. It certainly was the Ouroboros, and the specific design bore an uncanny resemblance to the one left at the majority of the crime scenes. "No writing this time," Hermione pointed out. Its presence, along with the pictograph of the chained man and the snake, made it almost impossible to doubt that the killer intentionally led them here.
"Which probably means that whatever he actually wants us to see is further inside," Ron guessed, looking around himself warily and not quite able to stop the dread from creeping into his tone. Hermione understood immediately—he was looking for spiders, and there were bound to be some down here. Hopefully, they'd all be the normal-sized ones, but there was really no telling, and it was with that in mind that she withdrew her wand, gripping it tightly. Bill was leading the rest through the sole doorway in the room, and she filed in behind Snape, already on the lookout for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. Granted, she wasn't sure she'd be able to recognize such a thing; though she made her home in Egypt and had learned hieroglyphic systems on her way to her degree, this was not usually the context in which she actually ran across them.
The antechamber they'd lowered themselves into led into a much larger, circular one, this one much richer in aspect. Chests with ivory inlay and gold lining stood undisturbed at regular intervals, along with more sarcophagi, these ones more ornate but still not like the images she'd seen of those belonging to pharaohs. "More servants?" she asked curiously, looking around. It was actually kind of awful, that the death of one important person had meant the inevitable sacrifice of so many others, just because of their lower birth, but Hermione figured that the point at which pity would have been useful to them was long past. They were here to save the living and bring justice for the dead.
"You've got it," Bill replied, glancing around keenly. He seemed a bit distracted by something, and from the way his wand was waving around, Hermione supposed he must be looking for traps and fell silent. His skill at this might well be the only thing that kept them alive. The others were looking around, a fair mixture of wonderment from most, airy curiosity from Luna, and stoic silence from Severus, Malfoy, and the imposing Raphael Walsh.
Bill had finished with the left side of the room and was moving to check the right when the silence was broken by a soft, scraping click. Everyone froze, glancing around to see who might be responsible for the sound, and eventually, all eyes found Ron, his own blue ones wide and more than a little frightened. Swallowing thickly, he spoke with a bit of a tremor. "Er… just put my foot down, and the stone kept going, yeah?"
"Don't move," Bill warned gravely, advancing towards his brother with purposeful strides.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Ron replied, having a go at humor. Though gamely, the attempt fell quite flat, all things considered, and Hermione grimaced.
Before anyone else could so much as think, though, there was another scraping sound, much larger this time, and several hairline cracks appeared around the circular chamber, sand slipping out of them as they gradually turned into panels set into the stone, and then receded slowly into the floor. In total, four passages were revealed, one at each of which Hermione supposed were the cardinal directions.
"Okay," said Bill, clearly not having expected this, "I think we should all head back up and regroup just as soon as we get Ron off this panel. This looked like a normal tomb from all our preliminary study, but that is clearly not the case." Hermione recognized the look on his face; it was the same one she got when she was trying to figure something out and had a really interesting theory. "Harry, levitate that vase over here and wait for my signal. As soon as we get Ron's foot out of the way, we're going to replace it with that, to keep the pressure plate weighted down."
Harry was quick to comply with a swish-and-flick, and the vase made its way slowly towards the Weasley brothers. Bill provided a count, and on 'three' Ron jerked his foot of the panel and Harry steered the vase to take the spot. For a tense moment, there was silence, and then, when nothing happened, the group seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
At least until the ground underneath them started shaking. With those great rumbles, several gaps opened in the ceiling above, and sand started to pour in on top of them, scattering onto the floors of the chamber with what was far too much speed for comfort. "Everyone, to the entrance, quickly!" Bill shouted, and none of them needed to be told twice. The group rushed for the exit, ready to climb up the rope and get out, but Malfoy, who had been in the lead, stopped short, and Harry quite nearly collided with him. "The hell, Malfoy?" he asked, though the question was more speculative than angry.
Illuminated by the blue glow of Bill's light spell, the blond wizard looked even paler than usual, his face grim as he extended one long digit upward. Hermione followed the motion and gasped.
The entrance above them had been shut, and was letting no light through at all. They were trapped.
Bill threw a string of spells at the entrance, cursing when each failed to open it. Why it was closed he had no idea: either Blaise or Healer Thompson was supposed to be guarding the entrance for exactly this contingency. There wasn't really a whole lot of time to think about it, though; there was sand pouring in here, too, and if they didn't find a way out quickly, they were in serious danger of being buried alive.
"Looks like the only way out is in," Hilde said, tones clipped, but not panicked. Bill nodded.
"True enough; let's go." There wasn't any other choice; they simply had to hope that one of the four doors in the other room led back out.
By the time the group had all made it to the center of the other chamber, the sand was already knee-deep, or would have been if they were still standing in it rather than on it. The open entranceways, each dark and seemingly featureless, yawned in front of his eyes, and he knew he was going to have to do something he really hadn't wanted to do. "We have to split up," he announced forlornly, looking around at the group. "There's no telling which of these doors leads back outside, and the only way we'll find it is if we try all of them. Whoever gets out, find Blaise. He'll have to call in the team for an extraction."
What he didn't say was obvious: even assuming that someone found the way out, there was no guarantee any of the rest would last that long. "We have to go at least in pairs, for safety. There's no telling what else is trapped. Be careful where you step, and don't touch anything unless you have to. I briefed you all on basic curse-detection the other day, but… there's no guarantee that will reveal everything." He didn't bother to dictate how they should all split. At this point, it hardly mattered. He was the only one with any amount of expertise in this, and though he was willing to wager Hermione could read hieroglyphics, he honestly didn't think it would help. It would be all about relying on their reflexes and seeing what happened.
Grimly, the group looked at each other, well aware that it might be the last chance they had to do so, but with no time for proper farewells before they all literally drowned in sand. Walsh was the first to peel off, heading south. Snape was right after him, selecting the North door and striding towards it with purpose. To the surprise of quite a few, Hermione shot the group a brave smile and shrugged, following him, stymieing Draco's halting step in the same direction. Predictably, Harry and Ron went together to the East, well enough given their friendship and how they worked together. Bill chose to follow his brother; it was what family did, after all.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Luna nod courteously to Vanderpool, then gently grasp Draco's arm and tug him to the West. The older Unspeakable shrugged and turned South, her choice easy now that everyone else had found the incentive to move.
Bill hoped he'd see them all again, but there was really no way to know. In all his years of tomb-diving, he'd run into magical traps, terrain hazards, and near-death experiences with greater frequency than he ever planned on admitting to Fleur, but he'd always had backup, someone outside to extract him if things got hairy. Without that, even his legendary Gryffindor courage was wavering a bit, and he could not deny the cold feeling settling at the pit of his stomach.
Bill Weasley, who had faced down death more times than he cared to count, was afraid.
Right, so the whole "booby-trapped dungeon" thing is a little cliche, I know, but I couldn't resist. I promise it actually does (a few) things for the plot, though, so bear with me. It also enables the "stuck together in a confined space" cliche, which happens to be a silly favorite of mine. Also, I swear 'stymieing' is actually a word. Maybe a weird, freakish word with no friends, but a word all the same.
I, like many authors, love reviews. Just a thought.