Chapter 2 - What now?
The crackling fire in Albus Dumbledore's fireplace projected flesh licking siroccos throughout the room; the intensity of the heat somehow grew with the tension in the atmosphere. It was as if the fire became sentient and unconsciously emulated its surroundings.
Stray flecks of ash landed on Sirius Black's face; cigarette residue from his 16-year-old self. His foul disposition at the moment certainly mirrored how he felt prior to leaving his childhood home (or prison, as it were).
Where was a drag when you needed one?
Really, Sirius thought, this is my fault. I should have just disappeared with her at Halloween fourteen years ago. Adding abduction Rose Potter's list of misfortunes was inevitable, given her history. God had a sick sense of humor.
Among his list of Worst-Case Scenarios, this ranked third after Rose and Remus are dead and Voldemort has taken over the Wizarding World. Snape is Minister of Magic hovered somewhere around seventy-five. But that is neither here nor there: Sirius was angry, and who better to snap at than the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself?
"Dumbledore, how the hell does Rose get abducted from her bed? Hogwarts has more protections than the Ministry of Magic!"
The old man being addressed with such impertinence belied no desire to respond to the provocation. He had dealt with much worse as Headmaster. From in front of his desk, Dumbledore stood with his wand resting in his hands. "It seems that these walls aren't as loyal as we had hoped."
Ron Weasley did not make it a habit to question authority, but his natural tendency to hold grudges elicited a visceral snort from him. Upon finding ten pairs of eyes on him, he conjectured, "I'll bet my entire Chudley Cannons collection that both Umbridge and Malfoy were involved." At the appearance of a feral look on Severus Snape's face, Hermione clutched Ron's arm in reprimand.
Snape, in an effort to dispel the vitriol collecting in his sternum at the sight of two of his least favourite students, cut in coldly, "I would hold onto your trifles Mr. Weasley. You'll need them to sell when you get litigated for false accusation."
"Is that right Snivellus," Sirius snarled, figurative claws drawn, "or are you just covering for Lucius' boy?"
The potions professor curled his lip and sneered, "No. Collusion is more your style, Black."
It was a decades old dance they had perfected, a familiar bitterness clashing with practiced cruelty. And the end usually resulted in one of them hanging from the ceiling or immobilized in a full body-bind. With the authority that naturally emanated from him, Dumbledore immediately intervened to prevent a familiar type of brawl. "I'm afraid squabbling is not going to help rescue a child in need." Suddenly, both men were eleven years old and they immediately stopped talking.
Dumbledore then peered over his glasses keenly, exposing his sharp blue eyes to scrutinize Snape. "Has Voldemort informed you of his plans?"
In a clipped tone, Snape replied, "He's merely told me that he wished to extract the prophecy. I wasn't even made aware what the plan was, let alone that the plan was going to be executed last night." His vexation at being in the dark was palpable. The expressions on the occupants of the room was a palimpsest of all the negative emotions known to mankind. Dumbledore's taut lips indicated a sort of fury that had already overflown and was ready to explode.
Sirius was naturally the first to speak. His eyes spoke of ghosts from the time James told him that Voldemort was after his infant daughter. "Does he mean what I think he means by the word extract, Dumbledore? Because if I'm not mistaken, Rose hasn't even been told that there's a prophecy which has made her life a living hell, let alone what its contents are."
Gravely, the Headmaster answered. "I'm afraid your apprehensions may not be entirely unfounded, Sirius. However, I am highly skeptical of the suggestion that she would reveal the prophecy, even if she had knowledge of it."
Sirius closed his eyes, trying desperately to shake the image of Rose being in Voldemort's captivity. He thought instead of Rose's giggle when James made a funny face and Lily's camera flash that shone brilliantly with possibility of a brighter future: one where Rose kept giggling instead of scream-
No. He wasn't going there.
Minerva McGonagall interrupted his morbid rumination when she spoke up for the first time since the conversation began. "Potter is not going to be any safer with us dawdling about here. We need to take action." She was getting too old to continue pretending that she didn't mind being relegated to the sidelines.
"Indeed, Minerva. You are correct," Dumbledore concurred. He turned to face Snape, "Severus, I suppose you don't have any intel on her location?"
A contemplative look took over the potions professor's face. "I stopped by Malfoy's after the meeting yesterday evening. Narcissa informed me that he was at Bellatrix' mansion, but she was clearly prevaricating. I followed her to a cottage in Little Hangleton, where I saw some Death Eater movement, but no Potter. It would be prudent to begin our search there. We might find some clues of her location."
"Excellent," the Headmaster responded brusquely and straightened his posture, "Please take Sirius to that cottage and have Remus join you. I will owl Aurors Tonks and Shacklebolt to meet you there to provide further assistance." Sirius and Snape looked at each other with trepidation at the prospect of working together, but nonetheless went through the floo to Grimmauld place.
Dumbledore then turned to Ron and Hermione, "Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, please attend your classes as normal. I understand that it will be difficult, but we need to present some sense of normalcy." Both students looked miserable, but understood their role. They left to attend their first class.
Finally alone with the Headmaster, Mcgonagall spoke up, voice dripping with a level of derision more suited for Severus Snape, "Albus, what of the Ministry? Surely it will not escape Umbridge that her favorite punching bag is missing."
Dumbledore mulled over this and acknowledged, "Indeed, if Fudge gets a wind of this he will accuse us of hiding her from the Ministry," A devious glint entered his now twinkling eyes, "Can you and Poppy concoct some highly contagious illness that Rose may have contracted?"
"I'm certain," the Transfiguration professor pursed her lips and assured him, "that it can be arranged."
"Thank you Minerva," he responded, "That way I will be able to attend to the enviable task of finding a substitute potions professor for today."
With a hint of amusement she asked, "On that note, was it wise to coerce Severus and Sirius into forming a team together?"
Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively as they both began walking towards the door, "Remus will mediate their squabbles. I have more pressing issues to worry about."
Interminable Agony
Rose Potter contemplated the practicality of suing Hogwarts for Quidditch injuries posthumously as she awoke with a migraine she suspected came from a bludger to the head. Rose opened her eyes and realized she was still very much in the mortal world. The events of last night came rushing back to her and she desperately desired to return to her previous state of indisposition. A bludger to the head would be a welcome alternative to the situation she was currently in, considering that she was chained to the wall behind her.
Rose surveyed her surroundings and noticed that she was no longer in Malfoy Manor. The room she was currently occupying was damp and dusty. It was devoid of any furniture besides a rickety chair and seemed quite mundane with the wooden floor and lilac wall, starkly contrasting the sinister nature of her presence.
Not unlike Privet Drive.
After taking a couple seconds to process this, she grimaced as her wounds advertised their presence. She mechanically cataloged the accolades earned from her first night in captivity. Two cracked ribs, a broken ankle and a pounding concussion. That was to say nothing of the cuts and welts littering her body.
Madam Pomfrey would have a fit. Rose's grim smile at this thought immediately dropped when she registered a man in dark robes sweeping in.
Gleefully he greeted her, "Finally awake are we Potter?"
"Yeah and you're not exactly who I want to wake up to," she rasped.
The Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, remarked while inspecting his nails, "You could easily go back to your friends."
"If I tell you how to get the prophecy," Rose supplemented flatly, "and we both know that's not happening."
"Not yet. But everybody breaks eventually."
At his condescension, Rose hardened her glare and retorted, "You can keep me here for the rest of eternity. I will never kiss your robes."
"If eternity is what you desire there are many ways to achieve it. That deluded old fool cannot keep up with your changing location forever."
Rose paled and Malfoy vaguely resembled a shark with his smirk. Steeling herself she parried, "My well-being is not the issue here," raising her chin, "As long as Voldemort is too afraid to fight a teenage girl you will be stuck lurking in the shadows."
The witch couldn't see his face as he he had turned to face the wall opposite her, but she felt the rage emanating off his form. With a bleak sort of amusement, Rose pondered the chances that he would forget his orders from Voldemort and kill her right there. After all, this was the same ill-tempered man that nearly murdered her for freeing his house elf. But she knew Malfoy wasn't foolish enough to risk Voldemort's wrath.
I want to see the light leave your eyes Rose Potter.
Instantaneously, the graveyard flashed before her eyes.
He simply clapped and a house elf appeared with a meager plate of food. She stuck her nose in the air with her intrinsic recalcitrance and looked away.
Malfoy began in his typical posh drawl, "I would not spurn the food given to you."Having arrived at the door, he swiveled his neck to face her, "It's all you'll be provided today and trust me when I say you'll need it."
Only years of living with the Dursleys made it possible for her to squash down her pride and gingerly nibble at the food. Ten minutes of contemplative solitude was enough for her to spiral into a litany of morose speculations.
Her brooding was interrupted by five unmasked Death Eaters donned in black robes, looking oddly like a colony of bats. Lucius Malfoy, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Walden Macnair and Corban Yaxley all stood in that order. Rose fought back a whimper at the implications of the Death Eaters loitering without disguise. Fudge would just vilify her further as an attention seeking whore, so they could entertain their most sadistic urges.
It wasn't the pain, it was being four and stuck in the cupboard and utterly helpless.
Rose was startled out of her thoughts when the leftover food was magically vanished. She stared Lucius in the grey orbs that were his pupils and raised her eyebrow in challenge. He swiftly glided up to her and leered when she flinched.
In an inexplicably amicable demeanor, he addressed her, "I know that this question is fruitless, but humor me. What is the full prophecy uttered by Sybil Trelawney and will you lead us to it?"
(as if he couldn't predict her reply a mile away)
Like witnessing the results of two owls careening into each other, Rose envisioned the consequences of her next answer, "I will never help you in your sick, crooked pursuits."
Crash. Thud. Scream.
"Crucio!"