The next day students awoke to the news that all classes had been cancelled. The Ministry's people had begun their investigations and had had closed off the Headmaster's office. To the Slytherins it seemed like it was too good to be true; that annoying Muggle-loving Headmaster had died, and a whole day off?
Theodore put on his dressing-gown and slippers and slumped down in the sofa in the Common Room. He'd not gotten much sleep last night, but that was only because they'd stayed awake so long, drinking firewhiskey and butterbeer till the early hours, celebrating the death of Dumbledore.
Tired and bored he watched the darkened loch through the window, silently pondering his next step. He wasn't at all sure what to do about the "Boy Who Lived" or his annoying friends. Without the Dark Lord or Dumbledore around they posed to threat. Of course the Weasleys would have to be punished for their treason, that was beyond doubt, but it would take some time to come up with a fitting punishment. There was no need to wipe out entire magical families. That would only lead to their own ultimate extinction down the road, and Theodore was in it for the long game.
Arthur Weasley was an insufferable disgrace, however, and the magical world would be a far better place without his presence. Theodore wanted to test the limits of the Death Note's power, and the Weasley patriarch was a good test subject. A disgraceful public death ought to get a mention in the news, even after Dumbledore's death had completely taken over the headlines. Perhaps he'd have Arthur Weasley throw himself from the top floor of the Ministry after penning a suicide letter where he admits he is tired of being a disgrace of a wizard? If his demise was so pathetic and shameful even the lurid press would think twice before eventually printing it, maybe the Weasleys would rethink their life choices and avoid drawing attention to themselves?
He ignored Morgo who appeared from the dormitory. Apparently shinigami were not immune to drink, and Morgo had emptied all the bottles he'd found around the Common Room. The death god let out a tired groan and squinted his eyes against the lamp light. "My head," he moaned, perched ontop of the chimney piece. "Serves you right," Theodore thought, though he too was feeling the effects of last night's drunken celebrations and debaucheries.
In addition to testing the Death Note's limits, he thought of something useful he might need. Whilst buying school supplies he and Draco had made a slight detour to Knockturn Alley to purvey some wares being auctioned off after the death of a Death Eater. He had died without any heirs, and thus his entire estate had been put up for sale. The rumours had indeed been true, and one artefact had been a hand of glory. At the time he had had no use for it, but now it might come in handy, so to speak, allowing him to write in complete darkness.
Theodore got up and sat down by the writing desk to write a letter to the shopkeeper about wanting to buy the ghastly artefact and have it sent to Hogsmeade so he could pick it up. With the letter signed and sealed he went to get dressed. He'd have enough time to get the letter owled and to enter Arthur Easley's name in the Death Note before breakfast.
"At eight o'clock Arthur Weasley writes a suicide letter hinting at his shameful exploits at a gay brothel in Knockturn Alley, his failed attempts corruption, and feeling of overwhelming shame and self-loathing before tearing off his clothes and running naked up to the top floor of the Ministry whilst screaming about the goblin control of the banks and throws himself headfirst down the stairwell."
Theodore gave the Death Note entry a once over before closing it and putting it back in its hiding-place. It would be interesting to see if all the details leading up to the death would come true. What would happen if someone tried, and succeeded, to intervene at some point?
He motioned for Morgo to follow him as he re-entered the Common Room with the letter in hand. Morgo groaned, squinting his dead staring eyes, but dropped from the chimney piece and glided silently behind him. He noticed that there was a curious atmosphere after the death of Dumbledore. People seemed nervous and on edge as well as heartbroken. Without Dumbledore there to keep the Dark Lord in check, who knew what that power-hungry madman and his followers would do? If they only knew that the Dark Lord had perished at the same time they would no doubt have relaxed and felt conflicted about the whole affair – not sure if they could allow themselves to celebrate the death of the Dark Lord when they should be mourning the death of their beloved Headmaster.
Breakfast in the Great Hall was a sombre, if not all out funerary affair. The magical ceiling was dark and stormy with rain that (thankfully) disappeared halfway down. Instead of the House colours, everything was black and dreary. No one smiled or laughed, and everyone was on their best behaviour, speaking in whispered tones. Theodore caught Draco's roll of the eyes and disguised a laugh with a cough. It was all so ridiculous it was bordering on parody.
Theodore had never before seen so many owls arrive with mail as that day. Letters and newspapers kept arriving all through breakfast. He listened in on Pansy reading from the newspaper, full of the latest rumours and interviews. It appeared they had found a way to fill an entire newspaper with the tripe. Only the last couple of pages were dedicated to actual news not about that damned geezer. "Anyone up for a trip to Hogsmeade?" he near-whispered so to keep up the façade that anyone in Slytherin cared. "Are you sure they aren't keeping us locked up here today?" Daphne spoke up, putting her letter down. "Why should they? Business as usual, right? It's not like the old codger was murdered," Blaise said with a shrug. "They haven't ruled that out yet," Pansy informed him, having just finished an article in the newspaper. "The guy was ancient and decrepit, what else could it be?" Blaise clearly didn't buy into the idea that the Headmaster's death had been anything but natural.
"They can't just shut everything down 'cause that old spastic keeled over," Blaise protested as he put jam on his toast. "They wouldn't close down when students were petrified, so I doubt they'll do anything now," he argued, and Theodore nodded in agreement. "That was different," Daphne countered, "no one cares about random people, but this is Dumbledore."
Theodore had to admit she did have a point there. To some the old geezer was a saint who could do no wrong and almost single-handedly kept the magical world safe. But he doubted they'd lock everything down just because he had finally exited the stage. Behind closed doors they were no doubt wetting themselves with fear, but publicly they wanted to keep up the charade and strong upper lip façade. To shut everything down would be to admit fear and defeat.
As it turned out the answer came soon thereafter by McGonagall, who informed them, in a very sombre tone, what would happen. Dumbledore would be buried on Sunday, and the whole school would be invited to partake in the ceremony. Reading between the lines Theodore, and most Slytherins, took that as code for mandatory participation. They were indeed free to roam about the grounds and visit Hogsmeade as per usual. Though no one actually cheered at that bit of information, it seemed like a few were excited at the prospect of a long weekend and being able to spend it doing whatever, even visiting Hogsmeade. To the vast majority of the student body Dumbledore had just been a distant figure they saw and heard at the gatherings in the Great Hall; they were told about how he was supposedly a great and brilliant wizard, but they had no real connection to him, so his death, while tragic, wasn't worth ruining an entire weekend over. They'd shed their tears over him, they'd attend the hours-long funeral ceremony, but that was that.
Despite the magical ceiling in the great Hall being dark and stormy, no doubt artificially manipulated by the staff, the weather outside was absolutely splendid. It was warm and sunny, and even the death of the Headmaster was pushed to the back of their minds as they basked in the sun and thought about what they'd do with their newfound free time. Of course there was a small clique of hardened Dumbledore fanatics who seemed to be on the verge of tears. The golden trio being its centre. Theodore watched them hang their heads and poke at their breakfast without really eating it.
Seeing the dejected look on their faces made him smile, and he had to remind himself that he was in public. He'd savour that look when he was finally alone. For so long he'd detested the smirk and cocky look of the golden trio and their friends – Dumbledore's Army. Now he'd found a way to permanently wipe that smirk off their face. None of them would ever have another reason to smile if he had his way. Feeling charitable he offered to buy them butterbeer at Hogsmeade under the guise of mourning the Headmaster's death. They'd all felt the Dark Lord's dominance for so long and there hadn't been much reason or occasion to celebrate anything lately, so it was a nice change to be able to just enjoy the moment and not have the shadow of the Dark Lord hanging over them.
Morgo seemed to be back to his old ways when they reached Hogsmeade, and he was all over the place taking in the sights and sounds. Theodore assumed it was his first exposure to the magical world, and wondered what his own realm was like if he found the mundane life of Hogsmeade to be so interesting.
At every shop selling newspapers they saw Dumbledore's face plastered on the front page, and his demise was the talk of the town. Theodore overheard grown men and women engaging in ludicrous theories to try and explain the death of the Headmaster. It was getting tiresome. He wondered how long they'd keep up the charade – at least another week. He doubted any of the Slytherins would bother with it after the funeral.
Rather than going to the obvious places oft frequented by Dumbledore sympathisers and other riffraff, the Slytherins headed for a pub off the main street. It had long been used as a gathering place for their kind; meetings to quell the gnome revolts had been held there back in the day, and one was less likely to run into bothersome individuals. He talked to the old bartender and ordered a round of butterbeers for his friends.
He'd buy one for Morgo too, if he wanted one, or he could just snatch a bottle when no one was looking. Or maybe he'd had it with drinking after the celebrations in the Common Room? "Mr Nott, Sir?" the bartender spoke up, placing a wrapped parcel on the desk next to him. "This here packet arrived for you earlier," he said in a near-whisper. He paid for the parcel and gave the bartender something for his services too, quickly putting the item in his bookbag and returning to his friends.
They'd found themselves a nice corner towards the back of the room. From there they had a nice view of the entrance and the bar, without really being seen themselves. The furniture was old, dark wood – sturdy and antique-looking, with dark green leather. "To Dumbledore's death," Draco said, holding his glass of butterbeer. "Hear, hear!" Blaise agreed, clinking their glasses together. Everyone else drank to that as well now that they were in private setting. There was no need to pretend they gave a damn. "What a way too kick off the new school year," Blaise said, brushing away a butterbeer moustache from his upper lip. Theodore smiled and took another sip.
Looking around the dingy establishment it seemed like some of the other patron were also enjoying the moment, if not all-out celebrating. Crabbe & Goyle had already finished their first tankard and were eyeing their second. Theodore called for another round for them and wondered if there was any truth to the rumour that Goyle was descended from Rasputin. What could account for Crabbe's size and seemingly unquenchable thirst and appetite was another mystery however.
After the celebratory drink, or drinks in some cases, they agreed to meet up again later before trudging off in smaller groups to do whatever they pleased. Theodore and Draco teamed up without having to plan it it out loud. They were so well-acquainted with one another that they just naturally made a great team. They stopped by a bookstore and read the most recent headlines in the news on the papers plastered all around the entrance, each paper, each edition trying to outdo the others in attention-grabbing headlines and thickness and size of the font used. "Good grief," Draco groaned. "You'd think the guy was a damn saint! I doubt they'd dedicate this much to the Minister if the croaked on the job," he continued, eyeing the newspapers with disgust. There really was no use buying one since there were countless of papers around the Common Room that had been discarded after a once over. Theodore only bothered with the news to read obituaries for his genealogical researches, and to get the crossword puzzles.
It might be in his best interest to keep up with the Ministry and their investigation into the case, but his friends would do a better job of keeping him on track with that, and cut away all the nonsense the journalists padded their pieces with to fill up the required number of pages.
"What do you think He'll do now?" Draco asked casually as they loitered around the bookstore, just looking for anything to catch their interest. Theodore knew exactly who Draco was referring to, and it had been on his own mind as well. "He's a loose canon, I don't think even he knows what to do half the time," Theodore replied as he admired the gilded spine of a book. Draco was his closest confidante in Slytherin, and it was freeing and refreshing to be able to speak one's mind without fear of repercussions. They were in similar situations, both were the heirs of an ancient pure-blood family and had suffered greatly for their loyalty to the Dark Lord. That had formed their opinion of the once-great wizard, along with seeing the fear and misery in their family-members eyes. Theodore felt like Draco was closer than ever to agree with him that the Dark Lord was not the great wizard they had been led to believe. And he had not even told Draco what he had learned about the Dark Lord's ancestry.
He'd thought about how he would break it to him, let him see the genealogical data himself and allow him to draw his own conclusions. Depending on how things went with everything else, he'd show Draco during the Yuletide holiday.
Dumbledore had always been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side, and without his presence he might get reckless and overconfident, or he'd take his time and survey the situation. Perhaps he would end up on a sort of redemption arc without the threat and fear of Dumbledore hanging over him all the time. "You think he'll do anything dumb, or dumber than usual now?" Theodore asked, turning to look at his friend with a serious look. "I certainly wouldn't be surprised if he did," Draco admitted with a sigh.
How long would it take for the news about the Dark Lord's death to break? His followers might not want to admit it and try and keep it secret for as long as possible, but with their connections there was no way they wouldn't hear about it sooner than most. Perhaps an internal power struggle would break out amongst the Death Eaters' following the Dark Lord's death? That would weaken the movement, perhaps beyond repair, forcing Theodore do do a lot of work to try and salvage the remains with the Death Note, removing some of the more troublesome elements.
He hadn't even considered coming forward, or making his machinations known to anyone. Unlike the Dark Lord he was more than content remaining in the shadows, taking no praise or thanks for his work. He was acting out of altruism.
"Let's just enjoy this bit of good news for a while," Theodore suggested. "Maybe you were right about the gods smiling on us," he added, catching Morgo's eye. The shinigami was listening in on various private conversations. For a death god he certainly seemed to take interest in the petty squabbles and rumours of mere mortals.
Come afternoon they had all joined up and were heading back to school. Because of the magnificent weather they all took their time strolling along the forest road back to the school, taking in the beautiful scenery without any worries in their mind. The fresh Scottish air and the lapping sounds of the nearby loch. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. Theodore watched Draco and Pansy who seemed to have found back together again. Draco had his arm over her shoulder, and her head rested against his. They made a cute couple, and they both deserved to be happy. And he didn't just think that because she was his first cousin and he was his best friend, though that may have had a part in it.
He met Daphne's gaze, and she playfully winked at him, he smiled at her antics. It was like everyone allowed their guards to be let down, and there was a sort of relaxed, playful atmosphere between them Theodore had missed terribly. Draco's owl appeared, carrying a letter. "What now?" he wondered aloud, catching the letter with his free hand. The owl sat down his shoulder and basked in the sun and attention it got from Pansy.
Draco removed his arm from Pansy's shoulder and tore open the letter, immediately recognising his mother's handwriting. In addition to to a short letter it contained a contained a newspaper clipping with a small note in green ink added to it; "Thought you might enjoy this," Draco read before noticing the headline of the article. He stopped in his track and let out an honest laugh. "This day just keeps getting better and better," he said between fits of laughter.
Theodore assumed that the news of Arthur Weasley's death had broken, and Pansy read aloud the article as Draco couldn't stop laughing long enough to get through it all. "Tʀᴀɢɪᴄ Dᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Mɪɴɪꜱᴛʀʏ!" she began, clearing her throat while Draco continued to snicker. "On this day another tragic event has cast its dark shadow upon the wizarding world. Long-time Ministry worker Arthur Weasley left this world early this morning. Shortly after arriving at his office co-workers heard loud shouts from Mr Wesley's office. Multiple witnesses describe Mr Wesley as stark naked and shouting obscene and unfounded conspiracy theories regarding the gnomes supposed dominance of our banking system. Two Ministry officials wrestled with Mr Wesley, but were unable to subdue him before he plummeted to his death. Another Ministry official we spoke to revealed that Mr Weasley had penned a suicide letter before storming out of his office. The details are currently not public, but the same source revealed that Mr Weasley was fed up and tired, burdened by his shameful visits to brothels in Knockturn Alley and attempted fraud of Ministry resources. To be continued."
By the time Pansy had finished reading the article they were all giggling and laughing like maniacs; even Theodore and Morgo were unable to hold back their laughter, imagining the absolute mayhem that must have taken place at the Ministry that morning. Theodore looked at Daphne and at that moment, with the sun and the loch, and her laughter he thought she looked absolutely adorable.
Before he could catch himself he noticed that she was smiling at him, and he saw her dimples as she laughed at the news, and even a staunch bachelor like Theodore felt something akin to romantic admiration at that moment. What was getting into him?
"What about the letter?" Blaise wondered, breaking Theodore's reverie. "Oh, yeah, I had forgotten about that," Draco admitted, quickly scanning the letter. "Something about Him being pleased by the news about Dumbledore and planning to hold a meeting," Draco summarised with a shrug. He did not want to think about whatever dark schemes the Dark Lord had in mind at the moment. Theodore, however, stopped dead in his tracks, nearly causing Morgo to bump into him from behind. Despite the warmth and the sun he felt an awful chill of fear grounding him.
Surely it must be some trick to keep the other followers in check? He should have been dead. He began walking again to keep up with the others, but kept silent, his mind racing with theories and fears. Without the threat of Dumbledore the Dark Lord could be reckless, even more reckless and dangerous than usual. It must be some trick. It had to.
As soon as they arrived at Hogwarts he excused himself to his friends and hastened off towards the closest restroom. After making sure they were alone he cast the locking spell on the door. "How could this happen? How can Voldemort be alive – I wrote his name in the Death Note," he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm and collected as possible. "I'm not sure," Morgo admitted, seemingly quite intrigued by the fact that some mortal hadn't been affected by the Death Note. "It shouldn't be possible…" Morgo continued, rubbing his chin in mock-wondering.
Theodore felt like venting, but he needed to be calm, to be collected and not act irrationally. "I read the rules – he should have died after forty seconds because I did not enter any further details," Theodore continued, going over the rules in his head.