CHAPTER 16

ROBERT MARCAN

"Bellatrix was with them, wasn't she?" asked Shacklebolt, straightening his already imposing posture in his chair.

In Dumbledore's absence, the Order meeting went on unhindered in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Yes, I could see her face," Sirius answered. "She was the only one not wearing a mask. Goyle was there too; someone called his name. And the third one could have been Corban Yaxley, from the Ministry, I think I recognised his voice—"

"Are you sure about that?" asked Shacklebolt.

"No — it was just a voice."

"Do you know, Snape? Was it Yaxley?"

Snape nodded once. "Yaxley."

"And the fourth one," Sirius continued, "I don't know who he was. I injured him, though — could have been fatally, probably was."

"Don't sing your own praises, Black," Snape said tepidly. "You killed no one last night."

It had been two nights ago…

"Who is it? Do you know, Snape?" Moody asked.

"No one important, a rookie recruit, Robert Marcan. The Dark Lord assigned the mission to him only to diss Bellatrix for — well, that's another story."

"Assigned the mission? You mean he" — Moody gestured to Sirius — "he got their leader?"

"In a manner of speaking," Snape answered.

"Is he still alive?" Sirius asked. "If he led the assault, I figure, if I didn't kill him, Voldemort must have."

"Contrary to popular beliefs, the Dark Lord doesn't terminate his followers as long as they are still loyal to him. It's counterproductive, don't you think?"

"But surely Voldemort didn't let him walk away with some scolding and a pat on the back." Sirius grinned unkindly. "Did he? What was his name again?"

Snape watched him silently for a few good seconds on end. His expression was unreadable and his gaze — shockingly intense.

Sirius' grin faded.

"Do you want to know what happened to him?"

Sirius, for some reason feeling only half-convinced, nodded. He held Snape's gaze and couldn't fathom why it felt unsettling.

"It's Robert Marcan," Snape said evenly. "By the time the Dark Lord was finished with him, he couldn't remember his own name."

"Serves him right." Moody chuckled. "Bloody Death Eater! Well done!" He gave a proud hearty pat on Sirius' injured shoulder, and Sirius did what he could to keep a straight face despite the surge of pain.

He found he wasn't sharing Moody's elation, and strangely enough, it wasn't the misplaced patting that kept him from it. The exchange with Snape, brief as it was, had struck him as strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Whatever it was about Robert Marcan, it seemed to have unnerved Snape. Maybe they were friends, or maybe watching someone being tortured wasn't Snape's thing.

More likely, Sirius inferred, it made Snape fear what awaited him if he loused up on his own dirty little missions. He couldn't crawl from one camp to the other endlessly and not expect repercussions, could he?

It seemed fair enough that cowardice came at a price.

"We should seize the chance to capture him!" Kingsley Shacklebolt said at one point. "Marcan you said his name was?"

"What do you have in mind?" asked Moody, stretching over the table to grab a piece of shortbread. His eyes glinted hungry, though probably not for Molly's snacks. "You have a plan already?"

"He has been injured," Kingsley explained, unperturbed by Moody's loud chewing. "Gravely so, from what both Snape and Sirius relayed. Correct? He needs medical care, so he will come to Saint Mungo's hospital, or more likely, is there already."

"He won't go there under his real name," said Emmeline.

"We don't need the name," Kingsley replied. "We only need the medical condition to pin down the accused. What curse was it?"

"Transpungo — somewhere in the stomach or the ribcage," Sirius said and saw Emmeline wince at that.

Moody, looking pleased, stuffed another piece of shortbread in his mouth.

"Transpungo, and from You-Know-Who…" Kingsley blinked at Snape, briefly. "We don't need any information on that. His work stands out on diagnostic scans as it is."

"That's brilliant! I'll contact —" Moody's magical eye turned to Snape, and he chose carefully his next words, "my relation there. We'll have the wretched thing in Azkaban by the end of the day. Say — what do we charge him with?"

Unsurprisingly, every stare in the room shifted to Sirius. Yes, the Ministry could hardly charge anyone with attempting to kill a fugitive mass murderer, secretly harboured by the Order, could it?

"We could say it was someone else," Kingsley proposed, his deep voice only in the slightest tentative, "in Sirius' place."

By Sirius' side, Remus was shifting uncomfortably in his chair; he folded his hands on the table and kept his silence.

"That's fabricating evidence," Tonks said.

She was met with a throaty chortle from Moody.

"You're young, Tonks. You still have much to learn."

"I'm certain I've learned the law and our Code rather well — by heart."

For someone her age, Tonks had some guts holding her ground before her ward.

"She's right, Alastor," Arthur interceded, but it only prompted more laughter from Moody.

"I used to be like you… look where it got me."

Toc. Toc. Moody stomped with his wooden leg under the table.

Remus adjusted his posture again, and for a moment, Sirius thought he was about to say something, but Moody beat him to it, albeit in a note less deranged than before.

"You'll learn the code of action in due time, Tonks. They follow no codes when they kill and mangle our men — or women. Why would we stumble on petty writing on a parchment?"

Neither Tonks nor Arthur found anything to reply to that, and Moody leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

At the other end of the table, Snape sat silently, watching the discussion spiral and the rope around his neck tighten. He looked mortified.

For now, the noose was still around the neck of a certain Robert Marcan. But, by the looks of it, Snape may have shaken Dumbledore's trust tonight — sure enough, the rope would be around his throat in due time.

"Who's to do it, then? "Moody asked. "Fletcher?"

Fletcher, taken aback for the moment, had to clarify. "You want me to say I was in Longmoon... instead of Black?"

Moody nodded.

After a moment of thought, Fletcher shrugged. "If it's Dumbledore's wish."

"Dumbledore isn't here to wish for anything," Moody replied.

"We can contact him," said Remus, "through the mirror in his office. You have access to his office, Severus, don't you?"

Snape regarded Remus for a moment, looking strangely pale like all blood had drained from his face.

"I don't," he answered quietly. "He locks the fireplace in his office for longer leaves."

"If we wait, we lose our chance," said Shacklebolt, a little too loudly, a little too eager, rather unlike his usual tactfulness. "We shouldn't let the chain of command get in our way of catching a Death Eater."

"And for any of you who think Dumbledore would frown upon this," Moody smirked, "you don't know him well enough. Will you do it then, Fletcher?"

Fletcher nodded.

"Thank you," said Shacklebolt while the grin on Moody's face spread wider.

"I oppose the decision," said Arthur and sat straighter in his chair. It surprised Sirius that he had never credited until now just how tall Arthur really was. "It violates medical neutrality in times of war. I oppose it."

"You have my support," said Molly. Remus and Tonks nodded to that.

Moody frowned, fidgeting with his fingers on the glass of water before him. "You're serious about this?"

"I am," Arthur replied.

Moody inclined his head, inviting an explanation.

"You're right in your reasoning, partly," clarified Arthur. "We're at war. We still have sacred rights. Anybody has access to medical care — No, Alastor. No, do hear me out — It has nothing to do with Marcan; I want him in Azkaban, too. But not at this cost. We're selling out our beliefs, and what for? Catching a petty pawn in the game? Death Eater, murderer, whatever he may be — he's not worth it. It's the first step to descending us all into chaos. I don't agree."

"You have children in this war."

"I know I have children, Alastor."

"Then maybe you want to consider them before any airy ideals. However noble they might be, they're only in your head."

Arthur was very calm, and he was unyielding.

"Take down Marcan in Mungo's," he said, "and they'll attack the hospital. As it stands, it's a safe haven for everyone, and that's the only thing keeping the hospital intact — for my children — and for everyone else."

Arthur glanced at Bill, and Bill, catching his father's gaze, let go of it a moment later; he looked away.

"I want this war over swiftly," said Bill. "No delays, no half-measures. Don't try."

Arthur didn't try.

"Sacrificing Mungo's for swift wins is not my call to make." Arthur wasn't addressing his son but Moody. "Nor is it yours, Alastor. Or maybe you disagree?"

Moody frowned, uneasy, picking up his glass of water only to set it back down on the table.

"They'll attack Mungo's sooner or later," he said, clutching his glass so tensely, Sirius thought it might shatter in his hand, "regardless of what we do. Let's make use of it while it's still in our hands."

For a while, Arthur was silent, glancing around the table, pondering Moody's words or maybe his own thoughts. In the end, he shook his head, silently resigned.

"That's not how you make use of a hospital," he said. "It's not."

Sirius' kitchen had seen merrier days. The fate of Robert Marcan, the rookie recruit, a noone, really, as Snape had put it, had the Order members divided like nothing else — driven apart by values and morals and insatiable desires to rid the world of evil.

Moody was glancing between the occupants of the table, weighing camps: he and Shacklebolt, Emmeline, Bill had been in favour. Arthur had the support of Molly and Tonks and Rem.

"Sirius," Moody said. "Do you agree?"

Sirius, needing a moment to figure things out, leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Do you agree that we capture the Death Eater in Saint Mungo's hospital?" Moody repeated the question; his voice was amiable.

"I agree," Sirius said, "if you agree — no, if you give me your word — that the Auror Office will press charges to put him in Azkaban, but not for the Kiss."

Moody's eyes widened with a start. He must have counted with another answer from Sirius because Sirius had never seen him taking as long to find his words.

"You're not making any sense."

"You might, under circumstances, consider Azkaban to be," Sirius said, "the humane middle ground. Besides, I'd rather have prisoners for exchange. You never know."

"Maybe you need some more time to consider," Moody said in a low voice. "I'd have believed, Sirius, twelve years in Azkaban would have steered you onto more… pragmatic paths."

"I ask for a sentence in prison, Alastor, and not an execution," Sirius replied. "Give me your word, and I will give you my consent."

For another lengthened second, Moody watched him in silence; eventually, he pursed his lips tight, jutted his chin about to nod but Tonks spoke before he could.

"He can't promise you that, Sirius," she said. "We press our charges, ask for the penalty, but from there on, it's out of our hands. The judges and the prosecutors can alter the charges as they see fit. If you expect anything else, you're only fooling yourself."

Sirius nodded, taking in her words.

"What do you say, Sirius?" asked Moody. "Let's capture the Death Eater who attacked you — who tried killing you. Let's do what it takes. Do you agree?"

Sirius had never deluded himself. It wasn't his first war. He knew things inside the Order of the Phoenix, the Force of The Light, wouldn't always be pretty. He had not expected them, though, to get as nasty as early on.

"No, I do not," Sirius answered in the end.

Moody said nothing; he didn't even scowl. He looked away from Sirius, and their gazes didn't meet again for the rest of the night.

Moody's magical eye was again assessing the people at the table, those who were not on his side: Arthur — Molly — Remus — Tonks — Snape. He lingered on Snape.

Snape arched his eyebrows at that.

"Seriously?"

"No," Moody admitted.

Moody's attention turned to his protégé: young and fearless and driven by ideals, sitting in her chair by his side.

"Tonks." Moody's voice was unusually cautious as he spoke. "I ask… you know what I must ask."

She stiffened in her chair.

"Alastor," Remus said. "It isn't—"

"Remus, please do not interfere," said Moody.

Remus caught Tonk's gaze; she nodded in silent agreement, and Remus, complying, withdrew from their internal affairs.

"Tonks…?"

She frowned at the sound of her name pronounced by Moody to coerce her into shifting her ground. Courtesy had never been Moody's lead trait, but to use his authority over Tonks in such a way — with an audience — was beyond anything Sirius had expected of him.

Face flushed in consternation, Tonks was staring Moody down furiously, and Moody, holding her gaze, had not a trace of authority in his expression, only… mildness, humble mildness.

He inclined his head an inch lower, a barely-bow before her. He wasn't coercing. He was pleading with her. Like a father who'd played out his last card, and having nothing left to give, lends himself to the discretion of his daughter's best judgment… and her goodwill.

Tonks shifted in her seat, shoulders tensed, posture stiff. She looked as if she was about to stand up and storm out, or reach for her wand — or screw all that and downright slap Moody in the face.

She did none of that, though.

She pressed her lips yet tighter, jutted her chin and swallowed — unspoken words, undoubtedly — and in the end, she nodded.

Her silent agreement was met by Moody with another slight bow of the head, his muted gesture of gratitude.

"We have reached a decision," concluded Shacklebolt solemnly. "Alastor, I trust you will make the arrangements at Saint Mungo's as soon as the meeting ends."

"Yes," Moody confirmed. "When that scum — what was his name again? When he sets foot in Mungo, he's up for the Kiss."

"Bravo!" Snape said, and Sirius half-expected him to start clapping his hands. "You've devised the perfect plan to consume time and resources and drag more than half the people here into deeper moral promiscuity than suits them — all to achieve precisely nothing. No one would dare go to Mungo after last night because they'd be expecting exactly, well, this."

Two nights ago. What was with the lapse in Snape's memory?

Moody was laughing. "It's ironic you'd be one to speak of moral promiscuity,"

"Ironic indeed," answered Snape, frowning annoyed by the volume of Moody's laughter. "Imagine what it means if the lecture is coming from me ."

"I'll give you that. It's nice that you're trying, Snape. As for that Death Eater," Moody replied, yellow teeth bared in a rusty grin. "We'll cut off all routes of escape. Hunt him down like the dog he is!"

Kingsley nodded, so did Emmeline and Bill; Tonks sat unmovingly. At least they weren't waving torches as they prepared for the hunt.

An unlikely thing though it was, Sirius was feeling reluctant about the whole scheme — partly because of Arthur's reasoning and partly because of something more. He couldn't figure out what it was.

He kept having the impression that Padfoot's sixth sense was running wild tonight.

It was Padfoot all right — Sirius surmised — inwardly growling at the dog analogy. It wasn't his favourite. In more ways than one, it felt unfair to the dog.

AUTHOR NOTEDon't think of me as some desperate fanfic author begging for reviews, more like your personal assistant discreetly squeezing another terribly annoying to-do on your agenda:Please review.' :)Did the Order Members and their debating turn out interesting or does it all feel like insipid supporting characters making "filler" conversation?