Chapter 53: Skirting the Edge of Safety
Dumbledore rubbed his face with his hands and called for his personal House Elf to bring him some of Severus's coffee. It was a sign of just how worn out he was that he was willing to ingest a substance he suspected was actually more amphetamine than caffeine. When the mug arrived (specially reinforced) Fawkes let a few tears fall into it, just in case.
For the last forty-eight hours, Dumbledore had been working out the logistics of trying to get Sirius Black cleared of charges. Despite his considerable influence, he had been unable to manage it. There were too many people who would be hurt too badly by that revelation for them to willingly reopen the matter. On the upside, he had also sent a pair of letters to the Queen; one was by owl (the other he had decided he preferred to remain ignorant on the details of, since Hari had offered to ensure delivery). The reply he had received had mostly been heartening (although the questions about why he was leaving letters on her pillow and how he had done it were not letting him sleep more soundly). From what he understood—mostly through his spies in the Ministry—Madam Bones had been quietly contacted by her pen pal and was beginning to quietly launch an investigation.
Dumbldore was aware that he had quite possibly set in motion a massive series of dominoes, that he might have begun a chaotic shakeup of the Ministry that could have devastating unforeseen consequences. He also didn't care. If he had been able to foresee some objective that might be obtained by the continuation of Sirius Black as a fugitive (although that was a serious stretching of the term), he would have done so without hesitation, innocent or not. But without a good reason, the potential damage of freeing the man was not a valid reason to leave him thought a criminal (although given a few incidents in his Hogwarts years, a convincing argument could be made on that point . . .) and so damn them to hell, he would do what he could to ensure that the man was freed.
It was his current estimation that the end result of Madam Bones's investigation would be the reversing of charges against one Sirius Black and a warrant issued for Peter Pettigrew for what good it would do. That would probably be done by the end of the school year, possibly sooner if Madam Bones was particularly interested in the task. Maybe not, though. If she were cautious and careful—everything he knew about her said she was—then it might well be more than a year to sort it out. Whose head would end up on the chopping block for the cock up would be a more interesting matter. If Madam Bones did things the way he expected, it would come as something of an unpleasant shock when she convened the tribunal, so the ass-covering would be somewhat limited by the inability to further fabricate evidence.
The question became one of personalities. Those who were paranoid or long-term thinkers would probably have already taken steps over the years to distance themselves from anything that might be questionable. Whether they had realized that the Black arrest was one of them was, again, another matter. He would assume that after Barty Crouch's fall, the man had used whatever clout he had left to destroy anything potentially incriminating, but the Black arrest had looked pretty solid until two days ago. Fudge wouldn't be worried since this had all happened under his predecessor and he had been a minor functionary at the time. It could be assumed that at least one of the Aurors on the ground at the scene would get the ax, just so someone could be blamed for not following procedure. After that . . . Dumbledore had resolved to sit this one out if he could help it. He wanted to have nothing seem tainted by his involvement and very few of his people could get touched by this mess anyway. He'd like to think they would have sorted this out better, but he knew that in those hectic days after the death of Voldemort, things were too chaotic to think that anyone would have looked deeper into things when it had looked so good.
His eyes bugged out as the coffee hit his system. Well, he definitely felt awake now. That was something, anyways. He blinked a few times and realized that it happened so fast that he didn't actually see the darkness behind his eyelids. That was less good.
With his new energy, he attacked the paperwork that had accrued over the last few days.
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Remus Lupin walked into the classroom and found that his least favorite class was present. The Third Years with Hari Potter were definitely tied with the NEWT students for most terrible, but they edged it out by virtue of being so much younger. And having the son of his dear friend being a murderous little hellion.
He grinned anyway, knowing that at this moment, Sirius was probably on his way back out of Gringotts' and would be heading straight to the nearest brothel. Actually, no, first he'd hit an apothecary.
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Sirius Black blinked. "Nymphadora?"
The woman scowled at him and her wand began to glow green. "You're still technically a wanted criminal."
"I am?" Sirius asked. "Based on my experience in the bank just now, I think that I am the head of the Black family—your family, incidentally—and am in no way connected to the arch-criminal Sirius Black, since he's safely in Azkaban. Nymphadora." He grinned when her wand twitched.
"I really hate you, cousin."
"No you don't."
She sighed. "You're right. Mom was devastated when you turned out to be evil." When he opened his mouth she went on, "more evil than she'd thought." His mouth shut. "It will be good to have you back so I can properly hex away your ability to enjoy procreation."
"On that cheerful note," Sirius hefted his package of potions. "I have places to be, so . . ."
"Yes," Tonks said cheerfully. "Madam Bones's not-office, I know."
"No that's not . . ." Sirius blinked. "You're taking me to see Madam Bones?"
"Yes."
"Madam Amelia Bones?"
"That would be the one, yes."
"And you waited until after I had been through the apothecary's?"
"No, that's just when I caught up with you."
"HOT DAMN!" Sirius crowed. "I knew Amelia was just playing hard to get!"
Tonks blinked slowly. She should probably correct him in order to avoid any mistakes. On the other hand, the man had used her given name, so she didn't really care right now. "I bow before your superior knowledge of the female mind," she said drily.
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Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks listened to the loud bangs from inside the theoretically silenced office with interest as she read a copy of the Daily Profit. She had apparently impressed the boss enough that she was trusted with a mission that was so secret that it was not, technically, a mission at all. It was more like she had been asked to go out to Diagon and if she happened to bump into a given person, to please direct that someone to a small office that had no official value whatsoever and then, if she had some spare time, sit around outside and discourage anyone who might decide to take an interest. This was her day off, in fact.
She mused over the article accusing Lockhart of another kidnap, this time taking a woman from her fiancé amid much fanfare (and she was beginning to suspect that this was because the Prophet couldn't differentiate between fireworks and gunfire) and, also, a small armored vehicle made from a horse and buggy. Given her upbringing, she didn't really trust the reporting in the paper, but it was still the only magical news source, so she had to just try and work out what was really happening. In the case of the Lockhart stories, she was getting more and more confused as she tried to work out the facts.
The sounds eventually died down and whatever clandestine activities were intended began. Her eye was drawn to a boy in a black robe with red clouds wandering through the street across the way. It wasn't that he was taking an interest, he very much wasn't, it was just that she caught the flash of color. And something seemed very familiar about that cloak. The boy gave her a polite smile and small wave as he continued along into a shop that, had she been in her official capacity, she would probably have questioned him simply on the basis of entering.
Tonks was just beginning to wonder if she might want to go over there and check that he was okay when he emerged with a small smile, gave her another wave, and continued onwards towards Knockturn, with a quiet confidence she had seen veteran Aurors lack when going there. Was the kid a vampire? Nah, it wasn't even a little overcast. She chalked it up to what she'd been told by her trainers would be the answer sometimes: shit happens.
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"Pansy?"
The girl in question turned very, very slowly towards her friend and instructor in an ever increasing number of ways to maim and kill. "Yes, Hari?"
"Why aren't you wearing your gun?"
"I'm wearing a skirt."
"And?"
"Well, I tried, and I couldn't draw it, so . . ."
"I see." Hari nodded in a way that made Pansy very nervous.
Her anxiety only grew when there were no repercussions during her nightly shooting practice. Despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, he had insisted she continue using the large gun and kept drilling her on how to use it properly. They had yet to move on from a static stance, but she already knew from Defense that he demanded perfection.
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Pansy woke the next morning, sadly used to only getting two hours of sleep—something that Daphne and Hermione assured her was a habit that didn't get lost once Hari engrained it in one's head—and eventually managed to complete her morning ablutions. It was when she went to dress that she realized what was wrong.
"Hari!"
The entire Common Room looked up at Pansy, wearing her dressing gown. Hari was, surprisingly, present and making notes on his sprawling array-project that had begun to take over the entire south-eastern corner of the room (no one dared ask him to clean it up). "Yes?"
"Care to explain?" She held up a skirt. It had been a flared, black garment cut to the knees. It was still that, but it now had a slit all the way up the right side to the waist.
"Why do you think Hari did that?" asked Blaise, curiously.
"You refused the shoulder-holster," said Hari. "And you can't really wear a waist-holster with skirts, so you need to be able to draw from something on your thigh; now you can."
Pansy blinked. "You destroyed all my clothes!"
"To help keep you safe."
She gaped at him. "My parents will kill me if I come home wearing these!"
"Even more reason you need to reach your gun."
Pansy closed her eyes, muttering.
"Maybe you could try the shoulder-holster over the summer?" suggested Daphne, not entirely sure what that was, but hoping to defuse the situation.
"I don't think my parents would approve."
"Tell you what," said Tracy. "I'll talk to my mom, see what she suggests."
Pansy gave her a weak smile. "Thanks."
"Don't forget your holster," said Hari.
Blaise raised a finger. "Pansy?"
"Yes?"
"Just something to consider?"
"What?"
"You're a Pureblood, right?"
"Yes. I think that's well established. Why?"
"Um . . . I'm not sure how to put this. Er . . ." Blaise flushed for a moment. "You probably wear modest . . . underthings, right?" The look she gave him was scathing. "Well, with that cut to the skirt . . ."
Pansy went bright red.
The girls looked at each other. Hermione glanced over at Blaise, who gave her a sort of half-shrug. "If I had to suggest someone to talk to . . . you could try the Head Girl. She's a half-blood. Or one of the Seventh Year Hufflepuffs, two of the girls are Muggleborn. They can probably get you some catalogues."
"For that suggestion," hissed Pansy. "You get to do it. And make sure they get express delivery. Today is Saturday; I plan to be able to leave the Common Room for classes."
"Okay." Blaise rose and trotted out.
(A/N John)
I'm ba~ack!
(A/N 2 John)
So, it took a little longer than I wanted to get this one out because the next chapter I was typing turned out to be a big 'un. So I have to break that up into two. Joy.
(A/N 3 John)
This was definitely a fun chapter for me. Some bits and pieces of things just stared to happen and they were amusing. Pansy learning to shoot hadn't been in my original thought process, but once she was learning, it was inevitable that Hari would ensure she carried her weapon at all times.
(A/N 4 John)
And yes, things will still get crazier. Not necessarily more off-the-rails, but definitely a bit more along the new rails.
(A/N 5 John)
Also, enjoy the Outtake.
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==OUTTAKE==
Itachi looked at the letter in his hand. He had been in the middle of a meeting with the Akatsuki. The flame peacock had dropped it into his hands and he had decided to tune out Sasori's ramblings to find out what was happening with his son.
Pein didn't bother glaring until Itachi's eyes had widened in shock and he was not only staring at a letter instead of paying attention, but also open-mouthed. "Share with the class, Itachi?" he prompted.
Itachi looked at Tobi, Sasori, Kisame, Konan, and Pein. "Hari just sent me word of a new job he got."
"Yeah?"
"It's a protection detail."
Kisame's eyes nearly had Ryo-signs in them. "How much?"
"The better question is 'how long'," Itachi replied. "The answer is a minimum of three years."
Tobi fell out of his seat.
"How much," repeated Kisame. When Itachi handed him the letter he nearly dropped it. "Holy fuck."
"No," Itachi said slowly. "Look further down."
Kisame paled as much as a blue fish-man could. "That's his monthly rate?"
Itachi nodded. "We're never telling Kakuzu about this."
