CHAPTER 15
NOTHING THAT CANNOT WAIT
"As you are all aware," Dumbledore opened the Order meeting in a tone graver than Sirius was comfortable with, "there was an attempt by the forces of Lord Voldemort to capture Sirius in Longmoon Forest. With great fortune and outstanding effort, Sirius has escaped with his life."
The announcement, however somberly spoken, hardly left anyone in any kind of awe. Upon his return from Longmoon, Sirius had contacted Dumbledore, who had promptly informed Molly, and from there on the news had spread like wildfire.
Despite the concern for Sirius' wellbeing, rather unfounded since he was sitting at the table obviously well, there were other questions, more pressing, that had not yet been worded…
"How did—" Arthur pushed his tea to the side and leaned forward over the table. "How did You-Know-Who learn of Longmoon?"
…such as this one.
On impulse, Sirius looked at Snape, sitting across him: dark garb, dark hair, gaunt face — inscrutable as always.
Snape, not giving a hoot about Sirius' staring — as always — was sitting straight in his chair, gaze darting between the occupants of the table who, much like Sirius, were now eyeing him. Arthur, though having asked the question, was one of the few courteously not doing so.
"By all means," Snape said, his conversational tone in stern contrast to his expression, "if anyone at this table has something to say to me, please do so. Don't hold back on account of courtesy; it hardly suits the group's dynamics."
Moody shuffled in his chair, magical eye scrupulously pinned to Snape, natural eye glancing at Dumbledore, but Snape denied him the time to make up his mind.
"Good. It's good we swept that out of the way, because I would like to speak," Snape continued, his voice still dangerously low, "and there are people here who will not like what I have to say."
If stares worked like wands, the Order members would have holes in their chests. Snape, probably, would have one the size of a fist, or a cannonball.
"Go ahead, let's all hear what a—" Moody paused, picking the right word: traitor, Death Eater , "close confidant of You-Know-Who has to say."
Snape scowled, preparing to speak, but it was Dumbledore who answered instead.
"Alastor. Severus… surely you both know this particular discussion is not leading anywhere," he said in a tone so rational he could be speaking before a class of students. "And knowing this, I ask of you both that you do not carry it further."
Moody frowned, Snape didn't, and they both resigned themselves to silence and to shooting murderous glares.
Sighing with an air of tired solemnity, Dumbledore folded his hands on the table, glancing between Snape, Moody, everyone else. It was strange to see, but tonight, Dumbledore looked almost as old as his actual age.
"I believe," Dumbledore said, "we can all agree that there are matters that will not find answers here and now. As such, they will not be discussed tonight."
"You mean—?"
"I mean, Sirius," Dumbledore replied very gently.
Sirius must have misunderstood. Surely, he had. Information had leaked to Voldemort — it couldn't remain undiscussed.
"It can't remain…" Sirius trailed off, taking in the stiff silence around the table.
For a long moment, the room was still, absorbing Dumbledore and his words, letting their thinly veiled meaning settle and sink in.
It could remain undiscussed.
And it did.
And that was that.
And the elephant in the room got a blanket laid upon it, one imbued with Dumbledore's irrevocable veto, and the problem of the traitor in their midst remained untouched.
Sirius found himself twitching.
He tried, and he couldn't shake off the deja-vu. If things had been different fifteen years ago, James and Lily would now be sitting with them at the table.
"How did you escape?" Bill asked at one point.
For a moment, Sirius tried to arrange his thoughts only to realise: there were no thoughts to be arranged, not really.
"By fluke," Sirius said quietly, honestly. "Nothing but fluke."
He caught Snape's gaze, expecting it to beam malicious delight at his humble confession. Surprisingly, it didn't, and Sirius' next words spilt out before he could credit.
"It was as if someone had my back."
"That's rubbish!" Moody bellowed. "He held his ground before four Death Eaters — four of them! Alone! Sent them crawling back to their little lord empty-handed. Put humility back on the shelf, Sirius — you've no use for that!"
He slammed a hand, in appreciation, on Sirius' wounded shoulder, and Sirius clenched his jaw to keep a straight face. For someone with an eye that could see through everything, Moody was doing a lousy job detecting injuries.
"Better tell us about the fight?" said Moody. "It's been a while since we heard real tales of war."
Sirius rubbed his brow, wondering what the hell to make of that. Moody expected anyone to be a war hero, just like him — scarred face, missing eye, chopped-off leg, back in the first line of war.
Well, he was barking up the wrong tree tonight.
"They attacked; I got out," Sirius said. "That's all there is to it. No war stories for tonight, I'm afraid."
"You've no reason to be humble, Sirius." Moody turned in his chair, and Sirius felt his glare boring into the side of his face. "It's your first victory in this war. Our first victory. One against four! Trust me — few can pride themselves with such a win."
"Alastor it's—"
"Sirius fought valiantly." Dumbledore spoke. "And for the night, he had fortune on his side — fortune forged at high risk. I am infinitely grateful for every ounce of effort that saved his life. Had the circumstances been any different, the night would have been most bleak for many of us."
Sirius nodded silently.
Unlike everyone else in the room, he understood Dumbledore's words entirely.
By his side, Moody's marred face scrunched in a scowl.
"Didn't you know of the attack, Snape?" Moody wasn't even looking at Snape but at Dumbledore, and his tone was steadily rising. "It's uncanny that, for all the time he spends on their side, he wouldn't know. Did Snape know of the attack? Did he warn you about it?"
There weren't many people who could nearly bellow at Dumbledore when addressing him. Moody was one of them. And Dumbledore, for now, seemed untroubled by the lack of etiquette, absorbed instead in his own thoughts, weighing options, calculating outcomes.
He turned his gaze to Snape, who held it fiercely.
An aching glint was burning in Snape's dark eyes fixing Dumbledore. He could be pleading with Dumbledore, or he could be planning his murder. Sirius couldn't tell which one. He had never quite figured Snape out.
Whatever it was, it took a while for Dumbledore to tear his gaze away from Snape, and when he finally did, he bore the air of someone who had lost a great battle.
"No," Dumbledore said quietly. "Severus had no knowledge of the attack. There was no way he could have known... He could not warn me."
"Hah!" Moody exclaimed. "I knew—"
"Alastor!" Dumbledore said.
"Don't tell me you're—"
"Alastor." Dumbledore's voice was very low; his chin was raised an inch higher, and the glint in his gaze blazed almighty.
That was all he did, and it was all he said.
It was enough to make Alastor Moody swallow anything he hadn't worded already and everyone else in the room to silence with him.
Dumbledore, it would appear, having vouched for Snape's loyalty countless times, was not taking the cowardly blow with ease. That Snape had failed to warn him seemed to be to Dumbledore a personal loss, an open wound that no one in the room dared press on any further.
It was Emmeline who broke the silence, in a voice slightly uncertain.
"What will we do from here on? Are we pursuing the Pearl Beak, still?"
"We are, we will." Dumbledore's tone was again gentle. "It will be difficult, though. The Northern part of Longmoon Forest is averse to magic. To travel it by foot takes long and is treacherous to any human. That's why I asked Sirius to do it. But that is no longer an option."
"I can return," Sirius said.
"That's excluded."
"I can! Dumbledore, it was an accident. It won't happen a second time; I can still go. I'll take another route."
Dumbledore regarded him for a moment, pale blue eyes understanding, and unyielding. He shook his head.
"Too much was risked already," Dumbledore said, his glance drifting to Snape, so briefly it seemed involuntary. "I cannot stress enough how thin a line was walked in Longmoon Forest."
"I can take the risk!" Sirius said. He was raising his voice, desperate for Dumbledore to understand, to let him make up for his failure. "Let me do this. It's no risk at all. And if there is, I'll gladly take it."
"I know," Dumbledore said with a kind smile. "I never doubted that, Sirius. You would walk into certain death without hesitation if it won us a better chance in this war. However, I have no intention of letting you do so. As it stands," he said, straightening in his chair, "we don't have many options for retrieving the Pearl Beak. Remus, would you…?"
Sirius looked at Remus — hazel eyes flickering surprised — then at Dumbledore. And disbelief sank in, cold and sobering.
No!
Remus, having composed himself, nodded. "I will."
"No," Sirius said loudly. "It's too dangerous for me, so you're sending Remus instead? How's that—?"
Dumbledore smiled placidly, and Sirius felt taken for a fool. Bloody hell!
"It's not as dangerous for the werewolf," Dumbledore said, his wrinkled smile not fading and his eyes almost twinkling.
For the werewolf. Oh.
"But — Longmoon Forest takes longer than one night to traverse, even for a werewolf — he can't —"
"He can, with the right potion... and Bill will retrieve just that," Dumbledore said, "unless you keep Bill in this meeting long enough to miss his ferry."
"You're all fabulous company," Bill laughed, leaning back on the rear chair legs. "But I do hope we won't be here 'til five in the morning." He blew a strand of ginger hair out of his eyes and added, "Joke aside, I'm sleeping in the port. There's no way on earth I'm missing that boat."
"And we're going with him to the port," Molly said.
Bill's chair fell oton all four legs with a bang. "You are?"
"To make sure you don't oversleep," Molly explained. "Right, Arthur?"
"Yes, yes, to make sure…" Arthur fought to keep a straight face. He couldn't. He smiled heartily. "And to go fishing."
"Very well then," Dumbledore said, standing up from his chair. "We will speak more when I am back from my journey."
"You are leaving as well?" asked Kingsley.
"Yes. Now, in fact. And, upon my return, if all goes right, we may have reasons to celebrate."
"You aren't telling us where?"
"You will all know more in due time. Now, I must leave. I have a long journey ahead, and I am very late already — very late, indeed," Dumbledore mused, looking at the clock on the wall across the door: quarter to ten.
"Dumbledore," said Snape, "if I may speak to you in private."
The request was met with a long appraising look from Dumbledore. He didn't have a magical eye, but his glare prodded just as deeply as Moody's had upon inspecting Sirius. In the end, however inscrutable Snape was, Dumbledore must have seen something, because the creases on his brow eased, and he smiled.
"It was good seeing you tonight, Severus. The time since we last spoke seemed to pass slower than ages." Dumbledore's tone held an affectionate note, and Sirius found himself tripping, trying to keep up with the mixed messages. "I can stay no longer. But worry not, we will speak in a few days. As long as everybody in this room is safe and unharmed… and I see you all are—" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly "—there is nothing that cannot wait."
Snape opened his mouth, about to say something. He did not agree with the knowing twinkle. But then he glanced around the room — all eyes on him. His gaze rested for a long second on Fletcher, for an even longer second on Shacklebolt, then Snape pressed his mouth shut to a terse line, and that was that.
With another nod to no one in particular, Dumbledore spun round, grey robes swivelling heavily behind him, and left the room.
Across from Sirius, at the other end of the table, sitting straight and stiff in his chair, Snape was left looking dumbstruck and almost… a bit alarmed, was he?