Arthur woke to a tapping on his door frame and a bladder that was threatening to explode and kill him.
"Uuuggh," he groaned into his pillow.
"Ah, you're awake," Eames said cheerily from the doorway. "Pancake?"
"Yes," Arthur insisted from the pillow because he was going to get up, he was, in just a-
"Good, because I made you some. Didn't you say you had a work thing today? Did you still want me there?"
Arthur's head popped up as anxiety flooded his previously blissed out limbs. "Oh Merlin's shorts, I'd almost managed to forget." He dragged himself out of bed and through the bathroom, summoning his dressing gown and plopping himself at the table. He only started to perk up when he got some food in him.
"Seriously, Eames, these pan cakes are really good. You should show the house elves how to make them."
Eames looked amused but took another bite. "So," he said, wiping his lips. "What's on the docket for today?"
Arthur sighed, setting down his fork. "I suppose I should have told you sooner. It's about Mal." At Eames's curious head tilt, Arthur swallowed and forged ahead. "She left a letter. It was hidden, something she knew only I would find. Expect she sent a copy to the Prophet too. In it…" Arthur fussed with his fork, looking at Eames again. "Look, this is kind of sensitive. So I need you to be… discrete."
To Arthur's surprise, Eames looked a bit disturbed. "Ah, if this has to do with Mal and Dom, I don't know if I really want to-"
"What?" Arthur grimaced. "No. No, Merlin, no."
"Ah," Eames said, "well in that case…" Eames made an 'X' over his heart and gave Arthur a 'go on' motion.
Arthur chewed his lip. "You saw the fit she had." Eames nodded. "Well, she had them sometimes when she was using Legilimency beyond her considerable abilities. And she'd started having them… frequently."
Eames was done eating, but Arthur had lost his appetite. He pushed the cake around the plate. "She was extracting thoughts from prominent wizards and storing them as Pensieve memories," he said, a single sentence that sounded so much more sinister now that it wasn't connected to Mal's familiar and lovely face. When he took away everything he knew about Mal, her kind heart and loud laugh, her love for her students and family and Arthur, her actions were terrifying. And not strictly legal. And had implications that anyone could see could be used with criminal intent.
Eames sat back, crossing his not insignificant arms. "What kind of thoughts?"
Arthur checked his watch. "Give me a few to get ready and I'll show you."
Eames nodded and that was how 20 minutes later, after Eames had spelled the dishes clean and Arthur had selected his no-bullshit robes, they stood outside Mal's office staring her down.
"Mal, you can't change the password," Arthur protested hotly.
She sneered at him and floated a few inches off the ground, just enough to be taller than Arthur so he had to look up to see her. "And why not, Arthur? Is it not my office? Am I not the Headmistress of this school?"
"I don't know, Mal, okay?!" Arthur exploded. The beat of silence that followed was deafening and Arthur drew in a breath and let it out. "I don't know. It's unprecedented. A ghost has never been Headmistress of this school before."
"You said yourself I haven't been replaced," she pointed out, her hands on her hips. "I am fully capable of running this school, and I don't need you-"
"The Board of Governors gets to decide that, Mal," Arthur cut her off before her words could sting him any deeper. This wasn't really her. This wasn't his Mal, challenging him and cutting him down. "You know how this works.'
"You keep telling yourself what you know," she said, looking down her nose at him. "But what do you believe? What do you feel?"
Arthur felt Eames behind him shift just slightly closer and he lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "I feel like you're not the real Mal. You're not her, you're not the same. You're a shade of my former friend."
She bristled, floating away from him. "I am still me. I can still do this work. I have unfinished business!"
"No, you don't!" Arthur's fists started to ache where he had them clenched by his sides. "Mal, if you had unfinished business, it would be with your children, not this school. And not," he headed her off before she could say it, "with those thoughts you've been extracting, either."
She opened her mouth to protest when there was a loud *crack*, and a voice sounded from the area around Arthur's knee.
"Pardon me, Professor," a house elf squeaked, "a visitor is here."
Arthur clenched his jaw, nodding at him. He looked back to where Mal had been floating moments before, but she was gone. "Show him to the Great Hall," Arthur instructed. "No, wait," he changed his mind, remembering the remaining students who stayed at Hogwarts over break. "My classroom. I'll be there momentarily. Thank you."
The house elf cracked away and Arthur turned to Eames. His robes caught the light let in by the arched windows and Arthur felt a little better and the sight of the standard black robes with subtle gray pinstriping. Because of course the pinstriping was actually marching ants if you looked closely. And Arthur did, because he turned and pressed his face into Eames's shoulder. Eames didn't react right away, hesitantly gripping Arthur's arms as he leaned into Eames's strength, needing him and taking it, trying not to overthink it. When Arthur had calmed, he stepped out of Eames's space, sliding his cool aloofness on and his standard Occlumency shields. Eames watched him, and Arthur cleared his throat.
"The visitor is Steven Nash, editor of The Daily Prophet. Mal sent him a copy of the letter telling him about thoughts she's extracting," he spoke quickly. "He's been badgering me to see them since she died, and I didn't know what to do."
Eames's eyebrows lifted. "Ah," he said. "That explains the headlines the last few days."
Arthur's mouth twisted into a scowl. "Yes. He's good at being passive aggressive." He pushed the thought aside and met Eames's eyes. "He will have to report something, but if I can get out of showing him any of the thoughts, I think we should try. I've only looked at two, but Eames… the stuff in there…"
"What, darling? What's in there?" Eames prompted when Arthur closed his eyes.
Arthur frowned. "Secrets. Secrets from the top wizarding families, people in positions of power in the Ministry, famous witches and wizards… Merlin's balls, I don't even know if they're true, and the information she has stored could change lives for centuries to come."
If Eames's eyebrows had been raised before, they were in his hairline now, the forehead crinkles Arthur adored showing his surprise. "Oh, my," he murmured. "That's… hm."
Arthur snorted. "Yeah. It is."
"Can we run with that, then?" Eames asked. "You can't publish this for the sake of the community at large?"
"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "Nash is kind of an ass, but it is actually his job, to tell the truth. Mal may have actually bought us some time with her password change. If I can't get in, I can't show him."
"Hm, yes, but once the Board assigns a new Headmaster, it'll override and you'll be back at square one."
Arthur squared his jaw. "I'll figure something out," he said, a fire of determination lit in his belly.
Eames gave him a look he wasn't quite sure how to interpret, but said, "Alright, let's go tell him the bad news."
Arthur nodded and they walked the distance to his classroom. Arthur paused with his hand on the doorknob, not looking at Eames. "Also, he's my ex," he said, then pushed open the door, striding into the room with a defiant stare.
Nash had already set himself up at Arthur's desk at the front of the room, notebook and Quick Quotes quill ready. He stood as Arthur entered the room, wearing a confident smirk Arthur wanted to obliterate off his face. Behind him, Eames entered quietly, a few steps behind.
"Ah, Arthur. So good of you to join me." He waved his hand graciously towards the seat in front of Arthur's desk, but Arthur would be damned if he'd sit in it.
"Mr. Nash," Arthur greeted him, his stance and voice stiff. "My apologies, I seem to have double booked some appointments this morning. Perhaps we could-"
"Not on your life," Nash cut him off, and Arthur frowned in acquiescence. Worth a shot.
"Very well. I'm sure you know Professor Eames?" He gestured to Eames and Nash glared at Arthur before glancing over.
"Of him," Nash said, not acknowledging the introduction. Eames raised one eyebrow but didn't seem offended at the rude brush off.
"Arthur, you know why I'm here. I want to see the…" he checked his notes spread out on Arthur's desk, "... 'collective thoughts of the prominent witches and wizards' that Mal promised. I have written proof that I would be able to inquire for them at the Headmaster's office, so why, pray tell, am I standing in your grubby classroom?"
Arthur bristled at that but gritted his teeth. "Because I was hoping to talk some sense into you," Arthur forced out. Nash didn't look impressed. However, the quill hovering in midair behind him was still writing rapidly, and Arthur took it as a sign that Nash was at least listening, even though it was writing for far longer than he'd talked.
He took in a deep breath through his nose. "Look. I know what Mal said in the letter. And I know you want access to them, but I think they're potentially impossible to corroborate for truths, and I think they could be dangerous."
"Why? Have you seen any of these thoughts?"
Arthur shifted. "Yes."
"Whose did you see?"
"My own."
Nash smirked at him. "Anyone else's?"
Arthur flashed a glance at Eames. "No comment."
Nash fixed him with a look. "Arthur."
"Steven," Arthur retorted mockingly. He saw Eames's jaw clench and mentally kicked himself.
Nash sneered, his teeth flashing. "Fine. What makes you think they could be dangerous?"
Eames met his eyes and nodded. Arthur turned back to Nash. This was his chance to convince him. He could put a stopper in this whole mess right now if he did this right. "First of all, exposing that thoughts can be collected this way would cause a panic. Secondly, letting the public know that it's already been done, en masse, and that the thoughts are not under their own control would cause widespread chaos. Not to mention, the thoughts might not even be true and there's no way to prove if they are or aren't. It's all speculative and unfounded and could be extremely detrimental to the community at large. It puts Hogwarts in a bad light, it puts Mal in a bad light, and I can't let you do it, St-Nash."
Nash looked like he hadn't heard a word. He leaned forward. "But do you think they're true? The ones you saw?"
Arthur's fingers twitched toward his wand because he wanted to jinx Nash so badly his teeth ached. But that could also be from the way he was clenching his jaw.
"As I just said, I have no way of knowing that."
"But what do you believe? What do you feel?" Nash asked.
Arthur's eyebrows shot up at the wording. Mal had said that to them just minutes before. He was shocked, and stressed, and had obviously lost his fucking mind because he blurted out the stupidest thing he could have said.
"Have you been talking to Mal?"
As soon as the question left his lips and the quill froze in midair, Arthur let loose a mental string of cuss words even his students would blink at. He could feel Eames staring at him and his ears started to heat up.
Nash sat in front of him, blinking.
"I… what do you mean?" Nash asked. "Mal's dead, Arthur, how could I talk to her?"
Arthur said nothing, just switching to a scowl.
"She is dead, right Arthur?"
"Yes," Eames stepped in smoothly. "She is."
"Oh, the mountain speaks!" Nash snipped, sparing only a glance at Eames before glaring at Arthur like he wanted to shake him. "Arthur!"
Arthur sighed in resignation. "I can't believe I said that. Fuck. Fine. Mal is a ghost."
Eames's head swiveled to stare at him again, but Nash's face lit up with a paroxysm of glee. "Can I talk to her?" he asked, leaning even further forward into Arthur's space. "When did she come back? What has she said? Do the students know? How do the staff feel about this? How does Mal feel about the new Headmaster taking over her job?"
Arthur put on his most neutral expression, which was another mistake because he forgot how well Nash knew him.
"Arthur!" he practically squealed. "Does Mal know that there's a new Headmaster taking over her job?"
"Technically," Arthur gritted out, "there isn't a new Headmaster yet. The Board of Governors doesn't meet until the end of the month." Merlin's beard, why couldn't he stop talking?
Nash paused, his eyes wide. "Arthur," he asked, his voice hushed. "Is Mal still trying to run the school? Is she still running the school?"
Eames shifted his body weight closer to Nash. "Alright, I believe that's enough. This interview is over. I will walk you out now."
"But," Nash sputtered, "No, I haven't seen the thoughts yet. I was promised-"
"Well, you were promised by a dead woman, not me, and I say you can't!" Arthur shouted, his patience snapping as he stood with his hands curled into fists.
Nash stood, glaring Arthur down. "You can't stop me, Arthur. She obviously wanted me to see them or she wouldn't have sent the letter." Then he brightened, an oily smirk spreading over his face. "I know! Why don't we ask her what she wants?" Nash suggested.
Arthur sighed through his nose. "Look, Steven," he said, trying to get his temper under control. "Even if I wanted to, I can't let you in. And I think it's pretty damn obvious that she, in fact, didn't want you to see them, otherwise she wouldn't have changed the-" He stopped himself, but the damage was done.
"Changed the what?" Nash probed, practically salivating now. "The password? Did she change the password to the Headmaster's Tower? Oh, fucking hell, Arthur, what else has she done? Did she lock everyone else out? What about Dom, he's the Deputy Headmaster, can he get in? I need to talk to him. Now, Arthur."
Nash was standing in his face, using the Stern Voice he employed whenever he was trying to get Arthur to "see reason." It got under Arthur's skin every time. He could see Eames chomping at the bit to get in Nash's face.
"No," Arthur said, his voice firm. "This interview is over. I will walk you out now."
"Arthur," Nash said, but Arthur didn't let him get any further. His wand slipped from his sleeve into his waiting fingers and while he pointed it at the floor, the threat was clear. Nash knew better than anyone how much Arthur practiced, how well he could aim a spell, and how unforgiving he could be when he was pissed.
"I said," Arthur glared, "I'll walk you out. Now."
Nash's wand slipped into his own and. "Try it. I would love to see this in print."
Eames stepped forward. "Alright, mate, have it your way. Let's go to the Tower."
Both Arthur and Nash turned to gape at him. Arthur bristled internally at the implication that he can't take care of himself, but Nash just snapped his jaw shut and nodded in triumph. Eames gestured for Nash to lead the way and he swept by them in a swirl of robes. Arthur said nothing, just moved to follow them, anger radiating off him in waves.
Behind Nash's back, Arthur shot Eames an exaggerated what the fuck are you doing? look.
Eames mouthed It's locked! miming turning a key.
Oh. Arthur blinked and followed the two of them down the hall. They almost made it to the Tower.
"Mal!" Nash yelled. The silvery figure floated at the end of the hall, glaring down at him as Arthur and Eames trailed behind.
She looked down her nose at Nash. "It's Professor Cobb," she clipped.
"Mal, what's been going on at Hogwarts?" Nash hollered at her like she hadn't spoken. "Who is making the decisions now? Are the parents and students aware?" His voice got louder and more panicked as she floated away, deep disgust and disinterest mixing on her face. "What about the staff?"
But Mal was gone, floating through the ceiling, and Arthur had never been more relieved to see her go.
"Merlin's bloody beard," Nash whispered. "I mean, I always knew you were an unimaginative prick, but I never thought that dragon dung ghost story was true." He looked at Arthur, his eyes sharp. "I'm going to the Tower with or without you."
Arthur gave him a rueful smile and part of him hoped Mal would be there waiting so she could answer Nash's damnable questions. But when they got to the gargoyle, Mal was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Old Mal would have handled him with grace and aplomb. Ghost Mal… he wouldn't hold his breath.
"You're waiting for a train…" the gargoyle intoned.
"Because we'll be together," Arthur interrupted, hoping to speed this along as much as possible. His speech about Nash needing to leave since the password wouldn't work died on his tongue as the gargoyle swept aside and Arthur and Eames shared a panic-stricken gaze.
Nash made a move to start up the stairs and Arthur darted in front of him. "Wait," he pleaded, but faltered at how to persuade him.
Nash glowered at Arthur. "Get out of my way." He pushed past, and Arthur scrambled up the steps after him, Eames on his heels.
"Nash. Nash! Just stop, okay?" Nash was in the middle of the office before Arthur grabbed him by the arm. "Steven! Listen to me, alright?"
He caught the sharp intake of breath from Eames behind him, but Arthur focused on Nash, trying to make him see reason, trying not to shake him.
"I know it's your job," Arthur placated Nash, and it worked. Nash stopped and looked at Arthur, though his nostrils were still flaring. "I know you want what's best for everyone, but I need you to understand that sharing this information might not be what's best for everyone."
"How very condescendingly benevolent of you, Arthur. I dearly love how you've decided what's best for everyone."
"Nash-"
"He's right," Eames interrupted. Arthur turned to Eames, seething, but Eames just shrugged. "He is. You shouldn't get to decide that. Show him."
"But-"
"Show him his own," Eames suggested, calm. "Then he'll get to see how dangerous they might actually be."
Arthur clicked his jaw shut, scowl flitting between the two men in front of him. "Fine," he said through pinched lips and turned to the cupboard. When he swung the doors open, the stunned silence behind him told him that neither of them understood fully what Mal had done until that moment.
Arthur slid out a shelf, scanning furiously for Nash's vial before he could get a good look at the names in front of him. "Fuck," he whispered and grabbed his wand. "Accio," he said and a vial flew off the shelf and landed in his hand. Eames stepped up beside him, helping him slide shelves closed.
"Nash," Arthur turned. "Look, just don't…"
"Arthur, for fuck's sake," Nash said, stepping forward and grabbing the vial. He emptied the contents into the Pensive and pushed his face in without waiting for a reply.
Arthur and Eames traded glances.
"Did you look at his?" Eames asked, his voice low.
Arthur stared at him in mute horror. "What? No! I don't want to know that shit about him," Arthur said.
"Then… whose, if I may ask?"
Eames wasn't teasing. Arthur swallowed. "Cornelius Fudge," he admitted. "But!" he spoke into Eames's telling silence, "I didn't look at all of it. It was one scene, er, memory, I think. But it was like a bad dream or something."
Arthur felt the warmth spread up his neck and knew his ears were flaming. He tugged on one self-consciously. "Look, I didn't know what it was, really, I should have just done mine, but-"
Before Eames could respond, Nash reeled backward, gasping, and landed hard on the stone floor.
"Nash?" Arthur asked, moving to his side. "You okay?"
Nash sat up and turned to Arthur, his eyes wide. He was panting slightly, but Arthur was holding his breath. Please, please... Merlin save us if he decides he wants to publish something anyway…
But Nash didn't need to speak for Arthur to know his decision. He should have had little dollar signs in his eyes the way they did on Muggle cartoons. Arthur felt every shield he owned slide into place and he put his wand in his hand almost without thinking.
"No," he said preemptively. "Nash, no. This is not a good idea."
"More," Nash said, getting to his feet. "I want to see more."
"No!" Arthur exclaims. "Don't you get it? You can't write about any of this! If people knew-"
"This is information, Arthur!" Nash countered, chest puffed out. "This should be free reign of the people! I mean, sharing information brings only good."
"But some of those witches and wizards are these kids' parents!" Arthur sputtered. "They shouldn't be subjected to that!"
Nash glared at Arthur. "And what would you do with these if not give them to the public? Hmm? Turn them over to the Ministry?!" he sneered. "Don't you want to be informed and be your own rulers? Or would you rather be ignorant and have someone else rule over you?"
"Alright, that's enough," Arthur said coldly. "Silencio."
Nash glared and railed against Arthur, his face going red and his finger pointing, but no sound escaped his lips. Arthur let him go for a few more seconds before he grabbed Nash by the front of his robes and brought his wand to Nash's throat.
"Nash," Arthur whispered, and Nash stopped his silent shouting. "I'm going to tell you this one time, and one time only." His voice dropped even lower. "Get. Out." He let go of Nash abruptly and he stumbled backward. "You are going to walk down those steps and out the front door, and once you do the spell will drop. You are going to stay the hell away from my students and my school. And you are going to be responsible about what you print. Do you understand me." Arthur's cold, controlled voice left no room for arguments, not that Nash had a choice.
He glared at Arthur as if he was trying to set him on fire, but Arthur wasn't the DADA professor for nothing. Nash wouldn't be slinging any spells, verbal or nonverbal, until he crossed the threshold. And if Nash wasn't on his way out the front door in the next few minutes, he would find himself wishing he was, with feelings of dread, nausea, and hallucinations the least of his worries.
However, with the way Eames was glaring at Nash like he wanted him to start something, he might not need any additional motivation to leave.
The front door closed behind Nash with a heavy sound, a final sound, but Arthur knew it wasn't the end. He checked his watch. They had 10 hours, give or take, before the first owls would hit the air with their copies of The Daily Prophet, and Arthur had a pretty good idea what the front page would be.
Arthur turned to Eames, a harsh frown on his mouth and his wand in his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud *crack* filled the air.
"Professor," the old house elf said, bowing low, "there is a visitor."
"Another one?" Arthur blurted. "Who?"
"A Miss Ariadne Parker, from America," the elf sniffed, "apparently."
"Ah, shit," Arthur groaned. "I can't do this right now, I can't. I've got to deal with-"
"What do you need, Arthur?" Eames asked, gently.
His soothing voice grounded Arthur and he took a breath. "An office. And someone to conduct an interview. She's supposed to be the new Occlumency professor, provided she's as good in person as she is on paper. And she could possibly help with some of the Deputy Headmaster duties until…"
Arthur trailed off, but Eames knew what he was trying to say. "Don't worry about it, darling. I can take care of that."
"Does it-" Arthur panicked but clamped his mouth shut. He didn't need Eames by his side at all times. He'd managed without him all this time, it shouldn't feel like a physical loss when he wasn't standing next to him at all times. It wasn't a missing limb, it was Eames.
"Does it? What, darling?"
Arthur shook his head fiercely. He was done. He was so sick of doing things for the sake of someone else. "I'm asking Cobb. It's his damn job, he can deal with one damn thing."
He turned, addressing the elf. "Please show her to Professor Cobb's office. I'll have him meet her there. Thank you." The *crack* of the elf disapparating echoed in the empty room and Arthur gritted his teeth and focused. It took a second, but he finally produced a Patronus and sent the silvery owl down the hall to Dom's residence.
"Come with me," Arthur said, shoulders back. "We have some calls to make."
