12 November, 1978—The Daily Prophet reports: In a shocking statement this morning from the Minister of Magic Lorcan McLaird, it has been revealed that Priya Padhi, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has not been seen since 3 November. She was last observed leaving her son Rani's Croydon home after a visit with her grandchild. In his statement, Minister McLaird insisted that top Law Enforcement officials would be dispatched to attend to the case. When asked if he would also send Aurors to investigate, McLaird had no comment. As the search proceeds, Padhi will be succeeded by current Deputy Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, and Wizengamot Secretary Enoch Rosier will fill the Deputy spot vacated by Dumbledore.

An emergency meeting was called after the Daily Prophet reported the disappearance of Priya Padhi. Rain poured, mirroring the heavy greyness that had settled in the minds of the public.

While readying the parlor for the meeting, Peter glimpsed Dumbledore in Mr. Potter's old study, looking gravely at a piece of owl post and sitting down at the antique secretary to draft a reply. After a few seconds, Dumbledore lifted his head and met Peter's gaze unsmilingly. "Yes, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter started and backed away. "Sorry, sir." He turned and walked straight into a small man wearing a lavender fez with a tassel that matched his silvery hair. "Beg your pardon, sir!"

The man smiled kindly and patted Peter's shoulder. "Not at all, my son. Carry on! I'm just looking for Albus. I can spy him jotting down something right through there! If you'll excuse me." Peter watched the man cross into the study, and heard him address Dumbledore in the same breathy, squeaking voice. Peter wavered uncertainly in the doorway, straining to listen and trying not to at the same time.

"Peter?"

He started again and whacked his hand on one of the brass gryphons flanking the fireplace. He bit his other hand to suppress a yelp and turned to face a very preoccupied-looking Lily. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" She was holding a sheaf of fliers. Peter could see a photograph of a woman's face blinking up from the stack.

"Er, yeah." He rubbed his hand and cursed under his breath. "What do you need?"

"Can you put one of these on all of the chairs before people start arriving?" She passed him the pile and turned away without another word.

"Yeah, sure," he said to her retreating back. He looked at the photo again. It was the missing lady: a square-faced Indian woman with graying hair and the plum-colored robes that signaled a member of the Wizengamot. A thick wrought-silver chain around her neck indicated she had been the Chief Warlock.

Still is Chief Warlock, Peter reminded himself. Once you started thinking of people who were not confirmed to be dead in the past tense, it was all downhill from there.

He set a piece of parchment on each seat—two on each of the gilded loveseats, three on each sofa. Chief Warlock Padhi stared up at him all the while. She had been liked well enough, as far as Peter could tell—not that he paid much attention to politics—and had started to come down harder on crime, particularly the crime of using magic on and against muggles. These infractions were usually harmless—but annoying—pranks rather than any kind of harm. These tricks were common, and Padhi's statement against them had gotten pushback from adolescent witches and wizards who enjoyed the joke. But surely that wasn't enough to kidnap a person, was it?

The Order members arrived in small groups, huddling together at the front door as the rain poured around them and hurriedly performing drying spells as they stepped into the warm hall. They trickled into the parlor, studying the flyers with determined expressions.

Frank and Alice arrived last, a copy of the Daily Prophet tucked tightly under Frank's arm. His eyes darted around the parlor as he unfurled the paper. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"I am here, Mr. Longbottom."

Dumbledore and his small friend had emerged from the study. Dumbledore was still stony-faced as he took the paper Frank offered.

"Albus, did you see who they're replacing you with?" Frank's voice sounded strained and panicked. Alice's eyes darted between her husband's face and the headmaster's.

But Dumbledore said nothing; he stared levelly at the page and, after a few moments, handed it back to Frank. "Thank you."

Frank looked like he wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Please, be seated," Dumbledore began, more loudly, to the people who had gathered in the parlor. A few were still applying drying charms to their soaked hair. Lark's dark locks were hanging in ropes around her face; she sat next to Fabian Prewett, smiled up at him, and shot a glare at Sirius. He looked momentarily wounded, then got very interested in his folded hands.

"I'm sorry to call all of you here in such a hurry, for such a solemn occasion," Dumbledore continued, seating himself in the carved chair that had come to be known as his. "Chief Warlock Padhi is a very excellent witch, and a remarkable woman. Her absence is distressing for many reasons.

"As some of you have already realized," he inclined his head to Frank and Alice. "Ms. Padhi's disappearance has left an opening in the Wizengamot. I have accepted the chief Warlock position, and Mr. Rosier has moved up to fill my vacancy as Deputy Chief Warlock. I have suspected Rosier of being a supporter of Voldemort from the start, before many of you were born."

Most of the Order members were under thirty, with few exceptions. Why hadn't older witches and wizards joined? Had they been asked? Had Dumbledore had recognized that idealistic young people were usually far more eager to risk their lives to be part of something "noble" and "historic"? In his first few years at Hogwarts, Peter recalled hearing about the anti-war protests among muggles on both sides of the Atlantic that turned violent, and even deadly. But the war had gone on despite them.

"It is not difficult to see why Ms. Padhi's disappearance and Rosier's ascent in the Ministry are beneficial to Lord Voldemort. This means Rosier can position himself very closely to both the new Chief Warlock—that is to say, myself—" Dumbledore folded his hands. "And to the Minister. In one way, we are very lucky, because I am a rather difficult obstacle to overcome, and I do not intend to let the control of the Wizengamot fall to one of Voldemort's cronies. However, I cannot be everywhere, and I cannot ensure that Rosier will not compromise my fellow Wizengamot members or Minister McLaird himself. Thus, I will be appointing one of you as a shadow to Minister McLaird, and my good friend Elphias Doge—"

The small man next to Dumbledore gave a jaunty wave.

"—who is the special advisor to the Wizengamot—will keep an eye on our friend and advise him on his new role. In the meantime, Alastor ensured that Frank was placed as an advisor to the team of Magical Law Enforcement officers attending to Ms. Padhi's case, and will surely keep us abreast of all developments."

"Sir," James stood. "I'd like to volunteer to shadow McLaird."

Lily did a double-take at her fiancé. The Prewetts exchanged identically disappointed expressions—clearly they had wanted to volunteer for the job themselves. Peter felt the usual twin pinches of admiration and jealousy, which gave way to complacency. It was second nature for him to let James take the lead; volunteering for a dangerous mission seemed a matter of course.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Perhaps…I suppose it would not be disrupting your occupation to devote your attention to this task, full-time."

"No, sir." It was well known that James' inheritance meant he would never have to work if he didn't want to.

"Very well. Coordinate the details with Alastor." Dumbledore shot Moody a look that plainly said, And report those details directly to me.


"Feel free to ask me next time before you volunteer to be a bodyguard for the most powerful man in Wizarding Britain," Lily said sourly, sliding onto the kitchen bench.

"What d'you mean?" James said, not meeting Lily's eyes as he uncorked a large jug of beer and began to pour. "I'll be fine—I've got precautions. You know that." Once they were filled, he handed the large, mismatched steins around to Lily, Sirius, and Peter.

The four of them had settled in their usual spots at the kitchen table after the meeting. Dorcas had bowed out: she had agreed to go out for coffee with the Prewetts and Emmeline Vance. Sirius was trying very hard to distract himself with the subject of James' new assignment.

"It'll be bloody brilliant," Sirius grinned, foam dangling from his top lip. "D'you think Moody would find out if I came along with you one day—"

"I'm not sure that would be the best idea," Peter broke in, glancing sideways at Lily; she was peering sternly into her stein. "The whole business sounds very…dodgy. I'm sure the Ministry has ways of knowing who should and shouldn't be there. Especially in the Minister's office."

"Not to worry, Pete," Sirius said casually, pausing to take a deep draught from his mug. "Our escapades at school prepared us for exactly this sort of thing. He is well-equipped." He winked, and Peter smiled tightly.

The cloak, of course. Surely that was a big reason why James had been so willing to volunteer. Not even Dumbledore knew about the cloak after seven years of capers and mischief. None of Hogwarts' ancient magic had ever detected them either—it was unlikely that ministry security would present any major problem.

It wasn't that James couldn't do it—with the cloak involved, it was easily managed—but was it wise? Better him than me.

"Don't think James'll have a pleasant evening." Peter shook his head as they left the house. "Lily didn't look too pleased."

Sirius shrugged. "Bah, when does she ever?" He considered for a moment, and added soberly, "Well, I suppose once you get married you start thinking for both of you. Still—she'll be fine. You know James isn't in any real danger."

Peter nodded. Somehow, I don't think that's what she's upset about.

He supposed James wasn't very used to asking permission; his parents had been very accommodating and other than them, the only people whose opinion James had cared about had been that of Sirius and pretty girls.

Lily was indeed a pretty girl, but she had always challenged James instead of fawning over him. It might have been a novelty to him in school, but surely battling it out all the time really got in the way of being able to do whatever you want.

Instead, Peter said, "You're right."