Thanks for the reviews, all those who did so.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: LOST IN A MASQUERADE
In which Petunia tries applying logic to wizarding behaviour and comes a cropper as a result.
"Sirius," Petunia said, "I think it's better for you if you leave for Paris right now; I don't think you can risk returning to the Three Broomsticks. Moody might be waiting for you there. I'll get Madame Rosmerta to forward your luggage."
"Are you suggesting that I leave you to face the music all by yourself?" Sirius was indignant.
"Yes," said Petunia. "You can't afford any further trouble either with the Aurors or the authorities. And Moody's quite contemptuous of females; I noticed that when I first met him. I can use that. Let me deal with it alone, Sirius, please. I'm sure he won't hurt me; you I'm not at all certain about."
It took quite some time to convince him, however; he was as bad as the boys for thinking she needed protection. Well, they knew me when I did. Not so much anymore, I think. I hope.
Petunia fixed him a quick breakfast, and gave him the lowdown of what she intended to say to Moody; if the latter checked with Sirius, she wanted their stories to match. It was hugely embarrassing, of course, but at least it instantly restored Sirius to high good humour, so there was that.
Sirius had been gone for about two hours when, as Petunia expected, Moody showed up at the door of the Manor. She had taken the precaution of sending Algy back to Hagrid's, and had warned Mrs. Figg and the elves to lay low. Petunia deliberately had not changed her clothes, and now greeted her visitor still dressed in her crumpled dress robe, and yawning.
Moody's mismatched eyes took in the entire mise en scène, including the remains of a breakfast à deux on the table; just as Petunia intended he should. She gave him a sleepy smile.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Mrs. Dursley? We haven't met, haven't we?" Something in the way he said it told Petunia that he didn't really remember her. Good. She gave him the most brainless expression she could manage, and said: "Yes, don't you remember, I consulted you about my son?
Moody shrugged to show his opinion about consultations with the half-witted parents of half-witted parents, and got to his point: "I'm looking for an escaped Death Eater, an older man; have you seen him? I lost track of him just outside of Hogsmeade. Last night, in fact. You attended the Yule Ball last night, didn't you?"
Petunia managed a fatuous simper, and said: "Well, let's say I was supposed to. I was asked to be a chaperon, by Professor McGonagall, no less. But we took a bit of a detour, and as it turned out, we didn't get to Hogswarts at all last night. Arabella – Arabella Figg – she's visiting here for Christmas - wasn't feeling any too well and asked us to floo to her house in Surrey and feed her cats for her - she breeds them, and has quite a few - before we went to the Ball, you understand. Awful smelly beasts; but of course we did it. As a favour, you know. And well – nice quiet house and I hadn't seen my escort – he lives in Paris – for quite a long time –" She let her voice trail off and then giggled. Moody looked bored and impatient. Excellent. He's buying.
"Did you go out of the Manor at all?" he asked.
"Not that I remember – but then, we had a bottle of champagne between us, and I'm afraid I got just a little bit tiddly –" She managed a small hiccup. Oh, God. I hope I'm not overplaying this.
Luckily, Moody's expectations exactly matched her performance. She could see him mentally cross her off, the same way he had done in their first interview. He lets his prejudices rule him. Good thing to know, and remember.
Moody rose abruptly, and said: "Thank you for your time."
"Always eager to assist the law," Petunia said coquettishly.
Moody looked around the Manor hall, and said: "Now I remember you - Cressida Mayhew's niece, isn't that correct? This is Mayhew Manor."
"Yes," Petunia said, "I inherited it a few years ago." She fluttered her lashes at him and hoped that she wouldn't disgrace herself by laughing. I had no idea I was such a ham.
"The Mayhews had a lot of trouble with the Ministry," Moody observed.
What's he getting at? "I wouldn't know. We visited Cressida a few times when I was a small child, but I don't remember much about it."
"Old Cassius was up in front of the Wizenmagot several times."
Moody was looking at her as if he expected something from her, but Petunia couldn't imagine what it could be. He gave a crack of laughter at her puzzled stare, and departed. Petunia let out her breath; he hadn't even asked about Sirius, a much better result than she had ever hoped for. The name of her escort might have given even Moody pause.
She was still up when the boys arrived at noon, full of questions about where she had been last night and news about their experiences at the Yule Ball. Petunia wasn't prepared to tell them the truth, and pretended that she had been there, gambling that the Ball had been a vast crush, and that her complete absence might have passed unnoticed. Luckily, she was right.
"It's too bad we missed you," said Dudley. "I was planning to ask you to dance. Harry, too."
"What, in front of all your friends?" Petunia asked, astonished.
"Yes, why ever not?" Harry said. Petunia had noticed that both boys were not particularly concerned over the opinions of their peers, a function of their isolated upbringing, perhaps. Maybe she had been unfair to lecture Dudley over his potential treatment of Luna.
"Well, did you dance with your dates?" Petunia asked them, pointedly.
"Yes, we did," Harry said, exchanging an exasperated look with Dudley. "As per your instructions."
"And did you have fun?" she inquired.
"Well - the World Cup was better; until Dudley started punching Ron, of course."
Dudley flushed and glared at his cousin. "No point looking daggers at me, Dud," Harry said, easily, "she's going to find out about it, sooner or later, and so the explanation had better come from you, and sooner."
"Yes, it had better, and not sooner; right now," Petunia said, sternly. "When do you ever start a fight? It's usually Harry."
It appeared that Ron Weasley had not politely resigned himself to Hermione Granger attending the Ball with Viktor Krum, and had said so: loudly and nastily, and in front of her, not to mention several other people. "He kept saying that Krum was taking her to the Ball because she could peach on Harry's plans and/or help Krum with his clues."
"Not very gallant," Petunia agreed, nodding.
"Well, she set him off, or so he felt," Harry said, shrugging.
"And how was that again?" Petunia asked.
"She looked nice," Harry said. "She'd done her hair, and it wasn't frizzy for once. And she had a nice robe on."
"Obvious provocation," said Petunia. Both boys snorted at her sarcastic tone.
"Anyway," Dudley muttered, "I thought he was out of line, so I belted him; he punched me back, at which point Harry joined in, on whose side I'm not exactly sure."
"Yours," said Harry. "Éirinn go Brách, or perhaps I should say 'Mayhews go Brách.''
"I'm touched," Dudley said sardonically, but Harry took absolutely no notice.
"No, you're not, but leave that. I was also on Hermione's side. Ron's a good mate of mine, but he certainly can be an ass, especially when he tries hard."
"No error there," Dudley said. "That he was trying hard, anyway."
"Did you abandon your dates for this donnybrook?" Petunia asked.
"Other way around," said Harry. "While we sorted it, Parvati was asked to dance ten times and accepted ten times. I didn't mind. Ron paid no damned attention to Padma whatsoever, and so by that time she was long gone, and small blame to her. Luna escorted us to Madame Pomfrey's office for the mopping up, and helped her with it. "
"Are you on the outs with Ron, now? Am I going to get the world's biggest Howler from Molly?"
"I doubt it," said Harry. "Ron cooled off and he and Dudley struck up a truce – of sorts. Hermione is still angry at him, and he ruddy well deserves it, but that's his problem. And if Mrs. Weasley sent a Howler to anyone, it would be Ron, not you; you can bet Ginny would tell her exactly what happened."
The boys then asked after Sirius, with whom they had planned a pick-up Quidditch game in the orchard. When informed that he had already left for Paris, they were thoroughly disappointed. By way of consoling them, Petunia agreed to let them go to Hagrid's hut to pick up Algy, but said: "Mind you, no fooling about in the Forbidden Forest, either one of you, and be back here in an hour!"
Once they had left, Petunia wondered if she had made a mistake. She had told Algy that it was extremely important that he not tell anyone about Crouch, but she had no faith at all in his discretion, given his inability to determine what should – and should not – be broadcast by him to a crowd of people on any given occasion. She was debating on whether she should follow them when Mrs. Figg finally emerged from her bedroom.
"Well," she said to Petunia, "how did it go?"
"Better than I hoped, Arabella. I don't think Moody suspects anything."
Mrs. Figg nodded. "That's good. Now what?"
"I'm going to ask you a sensitive question, and for your opinion: do you think Dumbledore's involved in this?"
Mrs. Figg was silent. "I don't think so, Petunia," she said, finally. "Crucios are not at all his style."
"No, but he might allow his minions to use them. I'm beginning to wonder. He brought Quirrell, Lockhart and Moody to Hogwarts, and they were all dangerous. Was that deliberate? I'll be frank with you, he's the one I can't really read."
"Well, he's a wizard. You do still have trouble with wizarding culture, even you admit that. You expect wizards to behave like Muggles, but with magic. And they don't. Or at least the ones who aren't Muggle-born don't."
"Point taken," said Petunia ruefully. "But I've complained to Dumbledore so very frequently, he simply doesn't take me seriously anymore, if he ever did. I need more evidence."
But how to get it? Petunia didn't know, but she was growing increasingly anxious about the boys attending a school at which the likes of Mad-Eye Moody taught Defense. And yet everyone she had asked about him, including Sirius - a person who had suffered at the hands of the Aurors - conceded that he was an eccentric but definitely a dedicated enemy of Voldemort. Had he become the thing he fought?
She was still considering the problem when the boys and Algy burst into the drawing room. Algy seemed to have forgotten his tantrums of the night before, and was in a state of high excitement. In a quiet moment some time later, though, he confided to Petunia that he had kept his promise to her and had not told the boys anything about last night.
"I wanted to thank you, Algy," Petunia said. "You were a great help to me last night, and you kept your head very well." I won't mention the matchmaking, because by now I hardly even notice it.
The little dragon preened, and gave her a pleased look. Maybe I should try praise with him more often; it seems to work better than shouting.
Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood all showed up for tea, and a game of Exploding Snap was soon started. Petunia begged off, pleading exhaustion, and went up to her bedroom. She was tired, but not sleepy, and sat for several minutes on the edge of her four-poster, considering. Then she knelt down, and withdrew a long, narrow lockbox from under the bed. Opening it, she hesitated, and then took an item out of it. It was James Potter's invisibility cloak.
Petunia considered it. It was really a beautiful cloak, she thought, the best one she had ever seen. And perhaps she could use it to find the answers she needed. She swung it up and wrapped it around herself, and looking in her mirror could see nothing; it was uncanny. I need to search Moody's office, and with this I could do it. I'd better refine my unlocking spells, too.
So Petunia spent the rest of the holidays locating Moody's digs within the Castle, and determining his teaching schedule in the New Year. I can't believe that I'm going to do something this damned lunatic, but then, perhaps I'm not a Gryffindor for nothing.
Speaking of lunatics, Petunia paid a discreet visit to St. Mungo's just before New Year's Day, to check up on her 'grandfather.' Marcella and Hector were not yet back from their Christmas holidays, but Titus had managed to stabilize Crouch considerably, both physically and mentally. "I think that he could recover, if given a period of absolute rest and quiet," he told her. "We've made some decent progress with it so far."
Certainly Crouch looked much better physically, and also seemed much quieter. He peered up at Petunia as she sat beside his bed: "I know you, don't I?" he asked her tentatively, with a nervous half-smile.
Petunia took his hand and smiled back at him: "Yes; we've met. I'm Petunia Dursley. I'm glad to hear that you're feeling better."
"Yes," he said softly "much better."
"Do you remember what happened on Christmas night?"
Crouch's face crumbled. "Please, please don't ask me!" he cried. He covered his face with his hands.
Titus shook his head at her. They left Crouch cowering in his bed, and consulted in Titus's office. "He simply won't talk about that," Titus said. "Not yet. I've sedated him a good bit, but I don't dare give him anything more."
"What happens when Marcella and Hector return?" Petunia asked.
"I'll have to tell them the truth, of course," Titus said. Petunia sighed. That meant time was tighter than she had anticipated. She couldn't see Marcella going along with the kidnapping of Mr. Crouch, even if it was for his own good. She knew there was no point arguing, nor did she intend to. Titus had risked a lot in the Sirius kerfuffle, and she felt that she had no right to demand more from him.
Petunia spent the rest of that afternoon going through back numbers of The Prophet at the Diagon Alley library. On detailed examination, her first impression of the wizarding newspaper had proved absolutely accurate: it was a rag. But it was an informative one, and she was able to use it to confirm details about Mr. Crouch's past. His son would now be in his late thirties, and photographs showed a sharp-faced young man with a shock of fair hair. There was no one at Hogwarts – at least no one that she knew of - that fit this description. But Moody obviously felt Mr. Crouch knew where his son and heir was, thus the Crucios. Did Moody know more than that? Petunia intended to find out.
Minerva McGonagall had told her that a planning session for the Second Task was scheduled to be held in Dumbledore's office that Saturday, with all the professors attending, so Petunia decided to seize the opportunity to search Moody's office. Her resolve failed her more than once during the days prior, but Saturday found her lurking outside his door, the invisibility cloak folded over her arm. And, for a wonder, she had brought Algy.
His presence had resulted from a process of elimination. Petunia felt that she needed to tell someone of her plans, as a back-up, but the other candidates – Pompey, Mrs. Figg and Aberforth – would, she felt, veto them, as would any of the professors. Titus would, too, she was sure. That left Algy.
Algy was chatty and indiscreet, but the ability to breathe fire, and even more importantly, not criticize her plans, weighed heavily in his favour, as far as Petunia was concerned. Sirius was the only other adult she knew that would try what she intended to do without a qualm, so she supposed it was good thing – for him – that he was in Paris. However, when she asked him for advanced unlocking spells by floo, he readily supplied a restricted one, reserare, from his own long-ago Auror training days, and after some persuasion, another one, datglo, which, he said, was much favoured by the Death Eaters. He warned her that the latter example was considered Dark Magic, and to be careful with its use. Petunia accepted the information gratefully.
She wrapped the cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head, and set Algy on guard. "Look like a gargoyle; I know you can. Perch up there in that niche in the wall and try not to attract any attention. Warn me if you hear anyone coming by upsetting a suit of armour, or something else that will make a lot of noise."
The cloak was designed for an adult male, and was thus a little long. Petunia tripped over it in an undignified way a couple of times. I rather doubt that I would have a big career as a spy. She hoped using it was a good idea; for some reason, she was bothered about something the boys had said in passing about Moody and the cloak. She wished she could remember what it was.
Alohomora didn't work on Moody's office door, which didn't surprise Petunia at all. She tried the restricted spell provided by Sirius, and the door gave a distinct click, and opened a crack. She looked both ways down the corridor, and up at Algy, who was perched in an upper alcove, and silently watching, and then pushed it open.
Moody's office was large and spacious; Petunia remembered it from last year, when it had been occupied by Lupin. There was a bedsitter and en suite attached, which was the norm with the professors. Moody's desk was a large one, heavily decorated and elaborately carved, and locked. It was set against a trio of tall Gothic windows.
The restricted spell worked again; the locked desk drawers gave a click, and opened. There was a nest of papers, wrapped lozenges, rubber bands, pens, nibs and a bottle of ink inside, and in the larger desk drawer, a stack of student essays, as yet unmarked. But there was nothing of interest that Petunia could see.
There were bookcases, mostly empty, and a large wardrobe, also mostly empty. Petunia went over to the door leading to the bedroom, and used the restricted spell; and yet again it worked, and the door clicked open. Petunia pushed on it gingerly, and entered the room. It was cold and bleak, the bed unmade, and the only other major piece of furniture in it a large trunk, sitting in the middle of the room. Clothes were piled on the chairs. Why not put them in the trunk? That seems odd.
Petunia had been shown this type of trunk before, by Professor McGonagall and by Madame Pomfrey, both of whom owned one. She had asked them for assistance because Cressida Mayhew had also owned one, and Petunia had not been able to decipher how it should be used without help. There were usually a number of different keys, each of which would reveal different contents. No keys were visible anywhere in the rooms, and Petunia suspected Moody had them on his person. She tried the restricted spell, and for the first time that day it did not work.
Petunia hesitated, and then used the Death Eater spell that Sirius had warned her about. The trunk creaked open. It seemed to be filled with detritus of various types: spellbooks, another set of unmarked essays, and the like. She opened it again, and the results, if not exactly the same, were similar. Up until the seventh time she opened it; then she gave a gasp. A crater, nearly ten feet deep, was revealed, and on the floor of it lay what looked to be a body. Petunia raised her wand above her head to illuminate it. A man, unconscious, not dead; he was still breathing. Crouch's son? She jumped down to take a better look. She peered at his face, and saw that he was older man – not the younger Crouch, then. She gasped again as she looked closer. A replica of Mad-Eye Moody lay there, devoid of the wooden leg, and it appeared, the magical eye. His hair was raggedly cropped, and he looked bruised and battered.
"Enervate," Petunia muttered, and the good eye opened.
"Who are you?" the man said in Moody's raspy voice.
"What's your name?" Petunia whispered.
His hand grasped her wrist: "Alastor Moody," he said.
Petunia straightened suddenly as the implications of this discovery sank in. And thus she heard clearly the crash of something falling outside the office – a suit of armour? Algy was warning her. Someone was coming.
She knew a moment of sheer terror. The trunk had a warning spell on it; she should have guessed that it would. You stupid, stupid fool! The edge of the pit suddenly looked like it was miles above her. She pulled the cloak around her, but Moody said from the floor: "That won't work; my eye sees through invisibility cloaks. And he took it."
Petunia leapt for the edge of the pit, and missed. She fell heavily, and sprawled on the floor. More noise from above. Petunia panicked. She jumped again, and though it seemed hopelessly high, this time she managed to grasp the edge and pull herself up. The trunk lid slammed shut as she slid through it. The room seemed to be in the wrong proportion; surely it wasn't this big? She slithered quickly through the door, and it, too, clicked shut after her.
But she was not quite quick enough. Mad-Eye Moody - the other one - entered the room with a scowl on his face and a wand in his hand. He seemed preposterously tall.
"You here?" Moody said to her, almost absently. He didn't seem at all concerned. "You must have set off the alarm, I suppose." He looked about and listened. There was no other sound in the office. He went to the trunk and hesitated.
"Go find Filch," he said to Petunia. Filch? What does he mean? She found herself on the floor. What I am doing there? Why does he look like a giant?
He then kicked her in the side as she lay there, almost lazily. Some instinct told Petunia not to tense her body as the blow landed, and she relaxed. Even so, the impact caused her to roll over several times.
Moody opened the door. "Out you get," he said. Petunia could scarcely believe that he would just let her go, and wondered if he was inviting her to leave so that he could get a clear shot at an Aveda Kedavra. Yet that same instinct urged her to flee; and she did not need a second invitation. She skittered across the floor and ran for the door.