Can I Come In?
1 Part Two
Breakfast in Hogwarts that Wednesday morning was as noisy as ever with the murmur of talk between the students. High above them the dining hall's ceiling displayed a gloomy and over cast sky, which showed a definite inclination towards a thunderstorm later. Everyone was certainly glad to be indoors at this time, although some were commiserating each other on having a Care of Magical Creatures lesson in the afternoon. After the spectacle of the blast ended Skrewts the previous year, there was a certain consensus that the students would be very happy if they never saw a magical animal again, excepting those few who shared Hagrid's insane delight for the dangerous. These people were easily distinguished by the fact Madame Pomfrey knew them on sight, a privilege shared also by Harry Potter and his friends.
The teachers ate rather more quietly, and Professor McGonagall was whispering to Dumbledore.
'No-one's seen Albus Filch, not since last evening when everyone went to bed. Now I'm not saying the poor man doesn't need to rest occasionally, goodness knows I have enough late nights, but he always makes himself seen. Maybe I'm just over-reacting, it's not been long, but after that business with poor Cedric Diggory-' McGonagall couldn't say anymore, and seemed to be struggling to hold back tears.
'I do see what you mean,' said Dumbledore softly, 'but I'm not entirely sure that this is surprising. The poor man is somewhat over-worked running around after Peeves. I shall send someone to enquire upon his health…I think some time off may be in order.' Dumbledore looked rather old and tired himself. 'Still…if there is cause for fear, you are right to bring this to my attention. With Voldemort's return, it is entirely possible there are Death Eaters among us even now.'
A few other teachers who heard this shivered.
Professor McGonagall spoke again. 'Is there anything we should do…in case?'
Dumbledore thought for a moment, while absent mindedly eating some toast spread with orange and sun fruit marmalade. 'I think there will be no immediate need to cause concern. Perhaps one of the teachers will volunteer to teach dueling to the children?'
McGonagall replied, 'Didn't Lockhart teach- sorry, pardon me, I think I'd forgotten what a buffoon that man was.'
The teachers remained in conversation, except for Professor Snape, who was pushing the food around on his plate while looking deep in concentration, as if he was hoping to find a nugget of gold amongst the eggs and bacon.
***
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were also eating, although they were talking very animatedly.
'Did you hear that no-one's seen Filch since yesterday?' asked Ron, looking at Harry. Hermione was sitting next to Ron, which meant that Harry had to lean behind Ron if he wanted to talk to her.
'Good.' Muttered Harry between mouthfuls of egg. 'Maybe we won't get yelled at just because we get mud on our shoes.'
Ron thought for a moment and said, 'Do you think he's been sacked by Dumbledore for being such a complete c-'
Hermione leaned in front of Ron and interrupted him, perhaps fortunately for those first years who had not yet expanded their vocabulary in certain directions. 'What if he hasn't left though? Have you thought that maybe it's something to do with Voldemort? He has come back in case you've forgotten.'
Harry looked back at her, as though he really wished he hadn't been reminded. Which was in fact the case, because he was very much trying not to remember what Cedric had looked like, lying there in the grave yard with his eyes wide and staring. Cho Chang wasn't doing too well either, she'd really liked Cedric. Harry felt guilty about having a crush on her given the events of last year.
He looked at Hermione with more than a hint of distress on his face. 'It can't be Voldemort can it? He wouldn't dare, not with Dumbledore around, would he? Besides, why would he kill Filch?'
Ron muttered loudly, 'Strategic corridor mess purposes?'
A few Gryffindor students looked rather amused at this, and some laughed a bit too loudly, attracting attention from further down the table. Hermione didn't look entirely convinced, but conceded that Filch was an unlikely target. Apart from the students, who did he really make an enemy of?
***
'You know Petunia love, you could do with moving your elbow a bit,' Spike said, with a certain tone to his voice, and a vicious glare on his face that succeeded well despite not showing his vampiric nature.
The four vampires were crammed into a broom cupboard, along with Filch's dead body, which they hadn't had time to dispose of properly. They'd barely got inside and locked the door before the sun rose, by the time they had found a good hiding spot for the day. Drusilla and Petunia were on either side of Spike, but also facing each other because of the tight space. Timothy was crouched on the floor, with the corpse leaning heavily upon him. Spike had briefly considered staking him to get a bit more room in the cupboard, but decided he would need all the cannon fodder he could get before the plan went ahead.
Petunia shot him a glance back. 'If I move any more, I'm likely to get that dead guy's arse in my face when I trip over.'
Spike didn't comment. He was hoping that a bit of slapstick might amuse Drusilla, who was quieter than usual.
Tim's voice came up muffled from the floor. 'What's the plan anyway, boss?'
Spike replied immediately. 'Tonight we eat a few more people. We turn them into vampires. We make lots of lovely vampires. Then we all dance around a may-pole singing bloody Kumbaya. What the hell do you think we're here for?'
Drusilla saved him the trouble. 'We're going to blow out the candles. We're going to show them the true meaning of Christmas, with lots of ghosts and Dickens and snow.'
There was a pause. 'Err..pet. No we aren't. It's bonfire night in two nights, but not very near Christmas. We're here to kill people, and get the boy, right? Then we call in Mr Snow White. Well, there's such a thing as planning too much. We could just kill everyone.'
Drusilla looked hurt for a second. Then she brightened and smiled broadly. 'Do you think Santa will have a present for me?'
Spike sighed. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.
***
Harry Potter, the rest of the 5th year Gryffindors, as well as Hufflepuff (there was a general air of thanks that the Slytherins were not with them in this class for once) were having their first lesson that day. Defence against the Dark Arts. Once more there was a new Dark Arts teacher, and the poor woman would probably have a nervous breakdown if she was aware of the betting pool running on how long she would last. The previous teachers had been a servant of Voldemort, an incompetent, a werewolf, and a further servant of Voldemort (although this latter fact was known to only a very few, including Harry Potter) disguised as an Auror, a hunter of Dark wizards.
In any case, although the woman was clearly new to teaching, there was no doubt that Professor Melissa Aconite knew what she was talking about. It was just that she was rather nervous.
'So…um, if you'll open your books at chapter twenty, today we are looking at general techniques. For some reason Dumbledore wants me to teach you how to fend off Dementors, which is frightfully odd if you ask me. Still…err…yes, first important reminded: Dementors represent fear. Once you know that, you have a basis to go on. There is nothing to fear but fear itself.' She fiddled with the lining of her robes slightly, as if she wished she could feel certain about this knowledge.
The class gave her dubious looks. The general feeling was that there was plenty more to fear than fear itself, and painful lingering death was up there in the top five.
'Now, the Patronus is much more than any of you could be rightly expected to manage, so goodness knows why Dumbledore expects me to teach…but never mind. I hear that Mr Potter did some work with…Professor Loopy-'
'Lupin', the class responded as one.
'Oh, so sorry, my handwriting is a bit off today. So, if Mr Potter would like to come to the front of the class, while I get the Boggart from out back.'
Harry reluctantly shuffled to the front of the class, while Professor Aconite wandered into a back room, and started dragging out a metal cage, covered with hemp cloth. Harry was privately glad that Slytherin did not share this class, as Draco Malfoy would no doubt be publicly mocking him.
'Now class, I've put blinders on the Boggart so that he can only see Harry. That way he shouldn't wander between shapes. Now Harry, when I let him out, show them how to do the Patronus spell. Try to take slow steps so that they can see it clearly.'
Professor Aconite opened a small wire door, and out billowed a dark cloaked figure, which drew hideous breath in rattling gasps. Rotting cold hands reached out for Harry, and a feeling of despair washed across the class. Someone screamed.
***
'Well,' said Hermione, 'that was…an interesting lesson.' She coughed.
Ron was still shaking slightly.
Harry looked thoughtfully up at the sky image that played across the dining hall's ceiling. 'Who'd have thought that a boy could get a pitch that high?' mused a fellow Gryffindor from across the table.
'What kind of a teacher puts a Dementor in front of a class?' Ron had finally managed to say something, just about starting to leave his shell- shocked state.
'Well, technically it wasn't a De-' Hermione began, but she was drowned out by a chorus of assents.
'Personally I think she's the best teacher we have this year.' Said Dean Thomas boldly.
'Isn't that because she's about twenty and wears tight fitting robes?' asked one of the sixth year Gryffindors.
Dean went an interesting colour of red.
Hermione defended Professor Aconite, which surprised even herself. 'Well, I heard that she has a lot of experience fighting the Dark Arts and monsters and stuff. She's probably the best one for the job at the moment.' Hermione's expression on her face indicated that she thought this was the last word.
'Lots of experience?' asked Ron incredulously, 'what kind of person has lots of experience fighting the Dark Arts at that age?'
There was a short pause, as Gryffindors stopped eating, and looked pointedly at Harry.
'Oops.' Said Ron.
***
Professor Mundanus was teaching a class of final year Ravenclaws, on a specialised course within Muggle Studies. He was considerably more cheerful in these lectures than in those he gave to the third and fourth years, where information could only be covered in basic terms. Also, the Ravenclaw students were also among the most intelligent students in the school, which made his job easier. Although an old wizard unlike the rest of the teaching staff he wore clothes much more suited to a Muggle university lecturer, although he wore thin robes over these.
There were only about fifteen students in this particular class, and they were all peering intently at the current topic of discussion. A group of ten Muggles, all looking slightly nervous, were lined up, standing behind a long table, facing towards the class. Professor Mundanus stood to one side of the table, and occasionally flashed the Muggles a reassuring smile.
'Now of course, we all know that the main, and indeed only, defining characteristic of a Muggle is that they cannot use magic. Now, there are many theories about why this is, but nothing has been proven, which is why with Dumbledore's permission, I have recruited these Muggles,' again he smiled at the Muggles, who looked slightly calmer than before, 'to examine any obvious differences. Between you and me, I'm rather hoping that I can find a way to turn a Muggle into a wizard or a witch. Think of how improved the world would be if everyone could use magic!'
And because none of the Ravenclaws in the class knew Neville Longbottom, the world they imagined was indeed quite a pleasant and wonderful place.
***
The tall figure was robed in deep black, that seemed to reflect the dark void of the universe. His voice was cold and full of disdain, as he spoke to the wretched servant at his side.
'My servant is in place, Wormtail. It is a simple task I ask of you, to go to Hogwarts, and tell that to the one I have sent on commission. That is all he needs to know, to begin his task. The only threat to you is if you…annoy him. I have told him that you are my servant, that should be enough.'
The balding man known as Wormtail whimpered. He had met the person before, that he was asked to carry a message to. He had hoped never to see the fiend again, never to see that vicious and hateful glare in his eyes.
The tall figure seemed displeased by Wormtail's reluctance. 'Your hand is a mark of my favour. Is that not enough? Or must I find another way to…encourage you?' Bone-white fingers lingered lazily across the length of a wand.
Wormtail grimaced. 'I leave at once, my Lord.'
'Good.'
***
Professor Melissa Aconite (who much preferred to be called Mel, and certainly not Aconite, which was not even her real surname) was tidying her drawers out in her office. She mused at how she had come to teach here. She was good at what she did, but she worked in the field. She had a natural flair for operating in the everyday situation. But teaching a room full of children who just stared, waiting for you to tell them what to think? That worried Mel much more than mere monsters, who could be disposed of quite easily. She hadn't even studied to become a professor. She'd been given the qualification by the Ministry of Magic discreetly when Dumbledore had requested that she teach at Hogwarts. Honestly. Still, she went where she was needed, and it seemed that she was needed here.
She opened up the locked drawer at the bottom of the left hand side. There were several items there that certainly no-one else would bother to keep. If any of the students knew her well enough to know that she was a devout atheist, they might have expressed wonder at why she kept quite so many wooden crosses.
***
It wasn't much later, thanks to the speed at which wizards could travel, that a rat was roaming the draughty corridors of Hogwarts. Rather curiously, one of its paws appeared to be made of gleaming silver. Keeping to the shadows, it darted across doorways and leaped over students feet, as they walked about their business without much concern.
Eventually it came to a door. Without a second glance at the rest of the corridor, it nipped underneath, squeezing in through the largest crack that it could find. It was rather surprised to find itself in darkness. Then it caught the scent that a human nose would not yet detect. The scent of death.
The rat scrambled around in the darkness, and eventually found it's way to the top of Filch's body, where it perched on the area of robes that covered his stomach. It squeaked slightly, attracting the attention of the one it had been sent to.
'Ah.' Said Spike, 'a mouse. A fuzzy little mouse is the messenger? Of course, I wouldn't want to be working with anyone sane would I? Oh no, first it's Angelus and his bloody rock, and now…honestly.' Spike looked directly at the mouse, and said in loud slow words, the way you might speak to a rather slow-witted child, 'Minnie…mouse…is…not…here.'
The mouse did not look amused. Rather, it grew larger, and distorted into the shape of a rather plump and middle-aged wizard, balding extremely, and looking more or less terrified.
Of course, in his position, this caused him to fall backwards against the door, and then land heavily on Tim, who groaned loudly. Filch's corpse was thrown into Petunia, who stumbled somewhat, and had to grab Spike in order to prevent herself falling over.
Spike looked rather angry. Wormtail made a noise rather like a rabbit looking into headlights, and stammered nervously. 'Umm…m-m-m-my Lord bade me come, to t-t-t-tell y-you t-t-that h-h-his s-servant is h-here.'
Spike looked at Wormtail, his expression not changing remotely. 'Is that all?' he asked.
Wormtail looked unsure for a moment. 'Uh, I think so. Yes, that is a-a- all…Errr…I'll be leaving now, okay?'
Tim slowly staggered to his feet, standing behind Wormtail. The compressed space of the cupboard meant that Wormtail was pressed up against all four of the vampires.
'Oh, I don't think so.' said Spike softly, 'That is a very pretty little hand you have there. I was just thinking that it would be just the thing for Dru's room, put a little bit of shine into it you know?'
The vampires pressed even closer against Wormtail, and before he could scream, Petunia's hand was clamped over his mouth.
On the other side of the door, a group of fifth years headed noisily towards their Quidditch lesson. They didn't hear the faint thuds that emanated from the broom cupboard, or the frantic, but muffled, moans of fear and pain.
They didn't even hear the amused voice which said, 'Right, tonight it is then.'
1 Part Two
Breakfast in Hogwarts that Wednesday morning was as noisy as ever with the murmur of talk between the students. High above them the dining hall's ceiling displayed a gloomy and over cast sky, which showed a definite inclination towards a thunderstorm later. Everyone was certainly glad to be indoors at this time, although some were commiserating each other on having a Care of Magical Creatures lesson in the afternoon. After the spectacle of the blast ended Skrewts the previous year, there was a certain consensus that the students would be very happy if they never saw a magical animal again, excepting those few who shared Hagrid's insane delight for the dangerous. These people were easily distinguished by the fact Madame Pomfrey knew them on sight, a privilege shared also by Harry Potter and his friends.
The teachers ate rather more quietly, and Professor McGonagall was whispering to Dumbledore.
'No-one's seen Albus Filch, not since last evening when everyone went to bed. Now I'm not saying the poor man doesn't need to rest occasionally, goodness knows I have enough late nights, but he always makes himself seen. Maybe I'm just over-reacting, it's not been long, but after that business with poor Cedric Diggory-' McGonagall couldn't say anymore, and seemed to be struggling to hold back tears.
'I do see what you mean,' said Dumbledore softly, 'but I'm not entirely sure that this is surprising. The poor man is somewhat over-worked running around after Peeves. I shall send someone to enquire upon his health…I think some time off may be in order.' Dumbledore looked rather old and tired himself. 'Still…if there is cause for fear, you are right to bring this to my attention. With Voldemort's return, it is entirely possible there are Death Eaters among us even now.'
A few other teachers who heard this shivered.
Professor McGonagall spoke again. 'Is there anything we should do…in case?'
Dumbledore thought for a moment, while absent mindedly eating some toast spread with orange and sun fruit marmalade. 'I think there will be no immediate need to cause concern. Perhaps one of the teachers will volunteer to teach dueling to the children?'
McGonagall replied, 'Didn't Lockhart teach- sorry, pardon me, I think I'd forgotten what a buffoon that man was.'
The teachers remained in conversation, except for Professor Snape, who was pushing the food around on his plate while looking deep in concentration, as if he was hoping to find a nugget of gold amongst the eggs and bacon.
***
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were also eating, although they were talking very animatedly.
'Did you hear that no-one's seen Filch since yesterday?' asked Ron, looking at Harry. Hermione was sitting next to Ron, which meant that Harry had to lean behind Ron if he wanted to talk to her.
'Good.' Muttered Harry between mouthfuls of egg. 'Maybe we won't get yelled at just because we get mud on our shoes.'
Ron thought for a moment and said, 'Do you think he's been sacked by Dumbledore for being such a complete c-'
Hermione leaned in front of Ron and interrupted him, perhaps fortunately for those first years who had not yet expanded their vocabulary in certain directions. 'What if he hasn't left though? Have you thought that maybe it's something to do with Voldemort? He has come back in case you've forgotten.'
Harry looked back at her, as though he really wished he hadn't been reminded. Which was in fact the case, because he was very much trying not to remember what Cedric had looked like, lying there in the grave yard with his eyes wide and staring. Cho Chang wasn't doing too well either, she'd really liked Cedric. Harry felt guilty about having a crush on her given the events of last year.
He looked at Hermione with more than a hint of distress on his face. 'It can't be Voldemort can it? He wouldn't dare, not with Dumbledore around, would he? Besides, why would he kill Filch?'
Ron muttered loudly, 'Strategic corridor mess purposes?'
A few Gryffindor students looked rather amused at this, and some laughed a bit too loudly, attracting attention from further down the table. Hermione didn't look entirely convinced, but conceded that Filch was an unlikely target. Apart from the students, who did he really make an enemy of?
***
'You know Petunia love, you could do with moving your elbow a bit,' Spike said, with a certain tone to his voice, and a vicious glare on his face that succeeded well despite not showing his vampiric nature.
The four vampires were crammed into a broom cupboard, along with Filch's dead body, which they hadn't had time to dispose of properly. They'd barely got inside and locked the door before the sun rose, by the time they had found a good hiding spot for the day. Drusilla and Petunia were on either side of Spike, but also facing each other because of the tight space. Timothy was crouched on the floor, with the corpse leaning heavily upon him. Spike had briefly considered staking him to get a bit more room in the cupboard, but decided he would need all the cannon fodder he could get before the plan went ahead.
Petunia shot him a glance back. 'If I move any more, I'm likely to get that dead guy's arse in my face when I trip over.'
Spike didn't comment. He was hoping that a bit of slapstick might amuse Drusilla, who was quieter than usual.
Tim's voice came up muffled from the floor. 'What's the plan anyway, boss?'
Spike replied immediately. 'Tonight we eat a few more people. We turn them into vampires. We make lots of lovely vampires. Then we all dance around a may-pole singing bloody Kumbaya. What the hell do you think we're here for?'
Drusilla saved him the trouble. 'We're going to blow out the candles. We're going to show them the true meaning of Christmas, with lots of ghosts and Dickens and snow.'
There was a pause. 'Err..pet. No we aren't. It's bonfire night in two nights, but not very near Christmas. We're here to kill people, and get the boy, right? Then we call in Mr Snow White. Well, there's such a thing as planning too much. We could just kill everyone.'
Drusilla looked hurt for a second. Then she brightened and smiled broadly. 'Do you think Santa will have a present for me?'
Spike sighed. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.
***
Harry Potter, the rest of the 5th year Gryffindors, as well as Hufflepuff (there was a general air of thanks that the Slytherins were not with them in this class for once) were having their first lesson that day. Defence against the Dark Arts. Once more there was a new Dark Arts teacher, and the poor woman would probably have a nervous breakdown if she was aware of the betting pool running on how long she would last. The previous teachers had been a servant of Voldemort, an incompetent, a werewolf, and a further servant of Voldemort (although this latter fact was known to only a very few, including Harry Potter) disguised as an Auror, a hunter of Dark wizards.
In any case, although the woman was clearly new to teaching, there was no doubt that Professor Melissa Aconite knew what she was talking about. It was just that she was rather nervous.
'So…um, if you'll open your books at chapter twenty, today we are looking at general techniques. For some reason Dumbledore wants me to teach you how to fend off Dementors, which is frightfully odd if you ask me. Still…err…yes, first important reminded: Dementors represent fear. Once you know that, you have a basis to go on. There is nothing to fear but fear itself.' She fiddled with the lining of her robes slightly, as if she wished she could feel certain about this knowledge.
The class gave her dubious looks. The general feeling was that there was plenty more to fear than fear itself, and painful lingering death was up there in the top five.
'Now, the Patronus is much more than any of you could be rightly expected to manage, so goodness knows why Dumbledore expects me to teach…but never mind. I hear that Mr Potter did some work with…Professor Loopy-'
'Lupin', the class responded as one.
'Oh, so sorry, my handwriting is a bit off today. So, if Mr Potter would like to come to the front of the class, while I get the Boggart from out back.'
Harry reluctantly shuffled to the front of the class, while Professor Aconite wandered into a back room, and started dragging out a metal cage, covered with hemp cloth. Harry was privately glad that Slytherin did not share this class, as Draco Malfoy would no doubt be publicly mocking him.
'Now class, I've put blinders on the Boggart so that he can only see Harry. That way he shouldn't wander between shapes. Now Harry, when I let him out, show them how to do the Patronus spell. Try to take slow steps so that they can see it clearly.'
Professor Aconite opened a small wire door, and out billowed a dark cloaked figure, which drew hideous breath in rattling gasps. Rotting cold hands reached out for Harry, and a feeling of despair washed across the class. Someone screamed.
***
'Well,' said Hermione, 'that was…an interesting lesson.' She coughed.
Ron was still shaking slightly.
Harry looked thoughtfully up at the sky image that played across the dining hall's ceiling. 'Who'd have thought that a boy could get a pitch that high?' mused a fellow Gryffindor from across the table.
'What kind of a teacher puts a Dementor in front of a class?' Ron had finally managed to say something, just about starting to leave his shell- shocked state.
'Well, technically it wasn't a De-' Hermione began, but she was drowned out by a chorus of assents.
'Personally I think she's the best teacher we have this year.' Said Dean Thomas boldly.
'Isn't that because she's about twenty and wears tight fitting robes?' asked one of the sixth year Gryffindors.
Dean went an interesting colour of red.
Hermione defended Professor Aconite, which surprised even herself. 'Well, I heard that she has a lot of experience fighting the Dark Arts and monsters and stuff. She's probably the best one for the job at the moment.' Hermione's expression on her face indicated that she thought this was the last word.
'Lots of experience?' asked Ron incredulously, 'what kind of person has lots of experience fighting the Dark Arts at that age?'
There was a short pause, as Gryffindors stopped eating, and looked pointedly at Harry.
'Oops.' Said Ron.
***
Professor Mundanus was teaching a class of final year Ravenclaws, on a specialised course within Muggle Studies. He was considerably more cheerful in these lectures than in those he gave to the third and fourth years, where information could only be covered in basic terms. Also, the Ravenclaw students were also among the most intelligent students in the school, which made his job easier. Although an old wizard unlike the rest of the teaching staff he wore clothes much more suited to a Muggle university lecturer, although he wore thin robes over these.
There were only about fifteen students in this particular class, and they were all peering intently at the current topic of discussion. A group of ten Muggles, all looking slightly nervous, were lined up, standing behind a long table, facing towards the class. Professor Mundanus stood to one side of the table, and occasionally flashed the Muggles a reassuring smile.
'Now of course, we all know that the main, and indeed only, defining characteristic of a Muggle is that they cannot use magic. Now, there are many theories about why this is, but nothing has been proven, which is why with Dumbledore's permission, I have recruited these Muggles,' again he smiled at the Muggles, who looked slightly calmer than before, 'to examine any obvious differences. Between you and me, I'm rather hoping that I can find a way to turn a Muggle into a wizard or a witch. Think of how improved the world would be if everyone could use magic!'
And because none of the Ravenclaws in the class knew Neville Longbottom, the world they imagined was indeed quite a pleasant and wonderful place.
***
The tall figure was robed in deep black, that seemed to reflect the dark void of the universe. His voice was cold and full of disdain, as he spoke to the wretched servant at his side.
'My servant is in place, Wormtail. It is a simple task I ask of you, to go to Hogwarts, and tell that to the one I have sent on commission. That is all he needs to know, to begin his task. The only threat to you is if you…annoy him. I have told him that you are my servant, that should be enough.'
The balding man known as Wormtail whimpered. He had met the person before, that he was asked to carry a message to. He had hoped never to see the fiend again, never to see that vicious and hateful glare in his eyes.
The tall figure seemed displeased by Wormtail's reluctance. 'Your hand is a mark of my favour. Is that not enough? Or must I find another way to…encourage you?' Bone-white fingers lingered lazily across the length of a wand.
Wormtail grimaced. 'I leave at once, my Lord.'
'Good.'
***
Professor Melissa Aconite (who much preferred to be called Mel, and certainly not Aconite, which was not even her real surname) was tidying her drawers out in her office. She mused at how she had come to teach here. She was good at what she did, but she worked in the field. She had a natural flair for operating in the everyday situation. But teaching a room full of children who just stared, waiting for you to tell them what to think? That worried Mel much more than mere monsters, who could be disposed of quite easily. She hadn't even studied to become a professor. She'd been given the qualification by the Ministry of Magic discreetly when Dumbledore had requested that she teach at Hogwarts. Honestly. Still, she went where she was needed, and it seemed that she was needed here.
She opened up the locked drawer at the bottom of the left hand side. There were several items there that certainly no-one else would bother to keep. If any of the students knew her well enough to know that she was a devout atheist, they might have expressed wonder at why she kept quite so many wooden crosses.
***
It wasn't much later, thanks to the speed at which wizards could travel, that a rat was roaming the draughty corridors of Hogwarts. Rather curiously, one of its paws appeared to be made of gleaming silver. Keeping to the shadows, it darted across doorways and leaped over students feet, as they walked about their business without much concern.
Eventually it came to a door. Without a second glance at the rest of the corridor, it nipped underneath, squeezing in through the largest crack that it could find. It was rather surprised to find itself in darkness. Then it caught the scent that a human nose would not yet detect. The scent of death.
The rat scrambled around in the darkness, and eventually found it's way to the top of Filch's body, where it perched on the area of robes that covered his stomach. It squeaked slightly, attracting the attention of the one it had been sent to.
'Ah.' Said Spike, 'a mouse. A fuzzy little mouse is the messenger? Of course, I wouldn't want to be working with anyone sane would I? Oh no, first it's Angelus and his bloody rock, and now…honestly.' Spike looked directly at the mouse, and said in loud slow words, the way you might speak to a rather slow-witted child, 'Minnie…mouse…is…not…here.'
The mouse did not look amused. Rather, it grew larger, and distorted into the shape of a rather plump and middle-aged wizard, balding extremely, and looking more or less terrified.
Of course, in his position, this caused him to fall backwards against the door, and then land heavily on Tim, who groaned loudly. Filch's corpse was thrown into Petunia, who stumbled somewhat, and had to grab Spike in order to prevent herself falling over.
Spike looked rather angry. Wormtail made a noise rather like a rabbit looking into headlights, and stammered nervously. 'Umm…m-m-m-my Lord bade me come, to t-t-t-tell y-you t-t-that h-h-his s-servant is h-here.'
Spike looked at Wormtail, his expression not changing remotely. 'Is that all?' he asked.
Wormtail looked unsure for a moment. 'Uh, I think so. Yes, that is a-a- all…Errr…I'll be leaving now, okay?'
Tim slowly staggered to his feet, standing behind Wormtail. The compressed space of the cupboard meant that Wormtail was pressed up against all four of the vampires.
'Oh, I don't think so.' said Spike softly, 'That is a very pretty little hand you have there. I was just thinking that it would be just the thing for Dru's room, put a little bit of shine into it you know?'
The vampires pressed even closer against Wormtail, and before he could scream, Petunia's hand was clamped over his mouth.
On the other side of the door, a group of fifth years headed noisily towards their Quidditch lesson. They didn't hear the faint thuds that emanated from the broom cupboard, or the frantic, but muffled, moans of fear and pain.
They didn't even hear the amused voice which said, 'Right, tonight it is then.'