Harry let out a satisfied chuckle. Mulciber was unarmed; Green was in
her element now.
"You think I have the advantage." Professor Green's voice came from
somewhere to his right, but Harry continued to watch the combatants in
the clearing.
"He's unarmed," Neville observed.
"You don't need a wand to read somebody's mind. Look at his face. All
I'm reading is his hostility. He's reading my every intention."
Harry surveyed Mulciber's face, or what he could see of it in the
moonlight. Mulciber frowned with concentration, and his eyes were
unmoving, fixed on the younger Green's face. They glittered with a sort of
intelligent malice.
"Fletcher belongs to us. Give him back, you Mudblood-loving--" He
called Green a very impolite name.
"Er, sorry." Professor Green whispered, grimacing. "Forgot about
that."
The younger Green smiled and raised an eyebrow. "You might want to
watch that language," she said to Mulciber. "Your life's in my hands now."
"The hell it is." Mulciber turned and bolted toward the edge of the
woods, but before he got there, Green had grabbed him from behind by the
collar of his robes.
She tripped him so that he fell facedown in the grass, and pushed his
face into the ground with her left hand. As he struggled, she knelt down
on his back, pushing her left knee hard into the back of his neck. "Now,"
she said to herself without the slightest hint of agitation, as though she
were trying to remember where she had set her quill, "where is that
Achilles tendon?"
Still holding Mulciber's struggling head to the ground with her left
hand, she reached over his leg with her right hand--the hand holding the
dagger. Just as she was about to slash at the back of his calf, Mulciber
reached back with all his might and elbowed her in the ribs.
Green was stunned just long enough for Mulciber to roll over and push
her off him. And at once he was on her, his hands around her neck. She
jabbed at him several times with the dagger, but he anticipated the jabs,
and dodged her every move. He began to laugh.
"Classic rookie mistake," Professor Green commented. "Thinking too
hard, when I should have been acting on instinct. That's what throws them
off."
But the younger Green clearly lacked the benefit of this understanding. She continued to jab and kick at Mulciber, and he continued to dodge every
blow. Finally, he reached back and punched her across her face, as hard as
he could.
Harry winced; beside him, he saw Neville do the same. He even thought
he heard Snape make an odd gasping noise.
The hand holding the golden dagger went limp. Quickly, ruthlessly,
Mulciber grabbed the dagger out of Green's hand and cut savagely at her
throat.
This time Harry, Neville, and Snape all winced in unison. Blood was
pouring freely from a deep gash running from just below Green's left ear
to the middle of her throat. But she was still conscious--she reached
weakly out toward Mulciber, and made a sickening gurgling sound that
Harry supposed must have been an attempt at speech.
But now Mulciber ignored her. He stood up and dashed over to Fletcher,
who was still on his hands and knees in the Summoning Circle, dazed and
oblivious to the fight. Mulciber knelt down next to him.
"They'll be coming soon," he muttered. "And when they do, they can't
find you alive. If I had time to do a Memory Charm, you would have lived." He shrugged. "Ah, well."
Just then the forest, the clearing, and the figures within it--the entire
memory--began to fade from view. "Yes, this is where it gets a bit hazy,"
Professor Green explained. "On account of all the blood leaving my brain. But we should still be able to make out what happens next."
Harry could dimly see Mulciber reach back, preparing to plunge the
dagger into Fletcher's side. But before he could finish the motion, a man's
voice called out from the forest, to Harry's right.
"Stupefy!"
An incredibly well-aimed Stunning spell shot out from behind a tree
and dropped Mulciber where he knelt. A man ran into the circle, wearing a
black cloak and boots identical to the ones Fisher and Green wore. He
glanced down at the dazed Fletcher and the unconscious Mulciber, and saw
the golden dagger in Mulciber's hand. He reached down, grabbed it, and
held it up in the moonlight. The luminous blade was obscured by what
could only be blood.
"My God."
Because Green had gone quiet, he had to look around for a second before
spotting her on the edge of the clearing opposite the one he'd just come
from. He ran over to her.
"You'll be alright, Persephone," he murmured as he placed the edge of
the blade to the gash in her neck. Quickly but carefully, very carefully, he
ran the blade through the cut, from her throat to her ear. His motion was
the same as the one Mulciber had used to cut her, but in reverse. As he
drew the dagger through the gash, Harry could see that it healed Green's
flesh, just as it had bound the parchment that night in her office. The man
stuck the dagger into the ground. At once, Green sat up and drew a long,
rattling breath. She turned over on her side and coughed loudly, spewing
blood onto the grass.
"Come on, you're alright."
To Harry's right, Neville whispered in amazement. "Wow--Dad."
Suddenly the memory swung back into vivid focus. Frank Longbottom
stood up, and the moon illuminated his features as he faced the watchers,
unaware of their existence. Harry was very surprised to note that he was
tall and thin, not stocky like Neville, though he did have Neville's brown
eyes. At the moment (and curiously, to Harry), he was smiling.
"What's happened here?" A scarred face framed by black hair poked
out from the trees on the right. There was no mistaking that face, or that
voice. They belonged to Mad-Eye Moody.
"Looks like Green was right about Fletcher," Longbottom said,
gesturing toward the two figures on the ground inside the circle of now
cold phoenix ash. He didn't try to hide the smile in his voice.
"What the hell happened to her?" Moody asked, walking over to the spot
where Longbottom stood. At his feet, Green was on her hands and knees,
still sputtering.
"Mulciber got the dagger away from her. Cut her pretty badly, but she's
alright. Did you find Fisher?"
Moody regarded Green, then looked up at Longbottom and nodded. "He's
alright, just Stunned. Lucky. Could have killed him just as easily." He
looked back down at Green, then knelt beside her.
"What were you thinking?" he barked suddenly. His tone was
mercilessly harsh. Now I know where she learned it, Harry thought,
remembering the way Professor Green had yelled at him during their five
mile runs.
Green couldn't speak. She just breathed heavily, still woozy from loss
of blood, and stared at the grass.
"I hope you have a good explanation for this, Green. Otherwise Johnson
will have your hide."
"Alastor," Longbottom said softly. "Come on. Not now."
Moody stood up. "Alright, let's get them out of here. You take her, I'll
get these two. We'll have to use the Portkey."
Longbottom put his arm around Green and helped her up. She stood
unsteadily. He guided her toward the circle, where Moody was conjuring a
stretcher for Mulciber. Suddenly, Longbottom lost his hold and Green
collapsed to the ground again.
There she found herself face-to-face with Mundungus Fletcher, who
was still on his hands and knees. He looked up and saw her face, dazed and
covered with drying blood. A flash of recognition passed between them. They both smiled. Longbottom knelt to pick Green up again, but hesitated.
Very, very quietly, Fletcher whispered something to her. If it hadn't
been Professor Green's memory, and Harry had really been standing in the
clearing, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to hear it. But in fact the
words were eerily audible to the watchers, though just barely. Harry
heard them as though Fletcher were whispering right in his ear.
"Thank you."
The clearing receded from view completely and darkness once again
enveloped the four watchers. But only for a second. Then a room appeared
around them.
The room was lit. Not brightly, but its brightness was a stark enough
contrast from the preceding darkness that it was a moment before Harry
could see properly. Once his eyes had adjusted, he saw that they were
standing in a room not unlike the courtoom he remembered from the
Pensieve. There were no windows, the walls and floor were made of gray
stone, and torches in brackets lined the walls--Harry turned around--all
four of them. But this room was smaller than the courtroom, and there
were no benches where an audience could sit.
The watchers stood with their backs to one of the walls, facing a very
large fireplace on the opposite side of the room. Just before them stood a
single long, wooden table surrounded by chairs. Above the table a few
candles hovered in midair.
Two of the chairs on the watchers' side and at the right end of the
table were occupied. Harry could see that the figure sitting farthest from
him was Fisher, the young man from the clearing, and the nearer figure
was the younger Professor Green. Her hair was matted with dirt, leaves,
and blades of grass, and her black cloak was covered in something dark--it
was difficult to tell what, but Harry figured it must be dried blood. Her
face and hands were clean, as if she had just washed them, but the livid
scar on her neck, having just scabbed over, was brutally conspicuous. Harry remembered the seamless mending of the parchment.
"They do that--scar, I mean--when anyone other than the person who
created the wound closes it," Professor Green explained.
But that wasn't the only question on Harry's mind. "The Summoning,"
he began, "what h--"
"Shhh," she forestalled him. "Just wait a bit. After I've shown you
these memories I'll answer all your questions about the Summoning. Right
now I've got to concentrate on exactly what happened."
Harry nodded silently. A door to the left opened, and in walked Mad-Eye
Moody--followed by Mrs. Figg.
"Who's she?" Neville asked.
"Mrs. Figg was my mentor. She was the retiring Summoner who
appointed me as her replacement."
"But I don't understand, I thought my father was your mentor."
"He was." She spoke gently but quickly, as though in a hurry to end the
explanations. "From the time I finished my training until Mrs. Figg
decided to retire."
"Mrs. Figg was a Summoner, then," Harry said, more to himself than to
anyone else.
Professor Green nodded. "For years and years. But about nine months
after I finished Auror training she decided she wanted to retire in a few
years--it takes years to train a replacement, you know--and she appointed
me as her protégé. There was a lot of talk about that, I can tell you: I was
only a rookie, and a Slytherin to boot! But quiet now! It's about to start."
Moody and Mrs. Figg had taken seats at the table opposite Green and
Fisher. The four of them smiled politely at each other in greeting, though
Harry noticed that Green's and Fisher's smiles seemed a bit forced, and
they kept looking down at their hands. Suddenly, with a loud crackling
noise, the flames in the fireplace surged and turned bright green. A
woman stepped out of the flames and into the room. The four Aurors at
the table stood.
"Glenda Johnson," Professor Green whispered. "She was Head Auror
then."
Glenda Johnson was a very short black woman with gray shoulder
length hair. She stood motionless as her quick brown eyes surveyed the
four others with a kind of military efficiency. After a moment, she barked
one word. An order.
"Sit."
The four took their seats again. Green and Fisher did not dare to look
away from her steely gaze, but Fisher's hands were shaking in his lap.
Johnson spoke slowly, and enunciated every syllable with an almost
painful precision. "Would anyone care to tell me what has just occurred?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.
Green cleared her throat. Her voice was hoarse and shaky, as though it
were being used for the first time, but she spoke with conviction. "Fisher
and I were watching Fletcher, just as we were ordered, and he attacked
us, then fled. We pursued him--"
"Kindly skip to the part," Johnson cut in, "where a Summoner not quite
two years out of Auror training, in an exposed environment and without
the guidance or CONSENT--" her voice was slowly gaining volume now "-
of her mentor proceeds to put her own life and that of her partner in
JEOPARDY by performing one of the most COMPLICATED CHARMS KNOWN--"
"Please, ma'am," Fisher's voice trembled. "But I'm partly to blame. I
let her do it."
"I WAS NOT ADDRESSING YOU, MISTER FISHER," the little witch
bellowed, causing everyone in the room to flinch, including the watchers,
"BUT I ASSURE YOU THAT YOU WILL HAVE YOUR CHANCE TO EXPLAIN!"
Fisher fell silent, cowed.
"Green," Johnson said in her former, quieter tone, "what were you
thinking?"
Green returned her gaze. "Ma'am, I thought it would be the safest way. I wanted to get Fletcher out from under Mulciber's Imperius Curse as soon
as possible."
"But why? You had him Stunned."
Green nodded. "Yes. But I didn't want to take any chances."
Johnson was shaking her head. "Green, you weren't thinking."
Surprisingly, Green seemed to be growing irritated at the line of
questioning. "You don't understand. You don't know how long Mulciber had
Fletcher under. I wanted to get him out. What if it were you? Wouldn't
you want to be liberated sooner rather than later? Look, Fisher and I took
all the precautions--"
"YOU DID NOT!" Johnson interrupted. "If you had, the Summoning
Charm would have been performed here--"
"--and we would not have Mulciber in custody!" Green's eyes flashed
with anger. "With all due respect, Mrs. Johnson, I don't see the problem. Fletcher's alright, Fisher's alright, I'm alright--"
Johnson's eyes widened in disbelief and then, quite unexpectedly, she
began to laugh. It was a cold laugh of surprise, not at all happy or pleased. "Green, you can't be serious. You don't see the problem, you say?" She
stopped laughing just as suddenly as she had started. "Have you looked in
a mirror lately? Green, you nearly lost your head."
Green clenched her fists at her sides, and the two women stared at
each other angrily. Just then they heard a knock. Johnson, perturbed at
the interruption, walked to the door and opened it.
She began conversing angrily with the person standing outside, who
Harry couldn't see, but her voice soon quieted. Back at the table, Moody
and Mrs. Figg exchanged surprised glances. Moody turned to Green.
"So that was your first Summoning, eh, Green?" He had difficulty
surpressing a smile. Mrs. Figg was more successful at hiding hers, though
it showed through her feigned solemnity for a split second.
Green nodded, smiling in return. Across the room, the door shut.
"Moody," Johnson said. Moody immediately stood up and walked over to
her. Mrs. Figg and Green were paying very close attention to Johnson now,
while Fisher continued to stare down at his trembling hands. Johnsoin
whispered something to Moody that Harry could not hear, though he thought
he discerned the words, "Get Longbottom." Moody left the room hurriedly.
Johnson made her way back to the others. "Fisher, you are dismissed,"
she told the young man tersely. He looked around as though convinced that
his ears were playing tricks on him.
"GO!"
Fisher stood up so suddenly his chair fell over backwards, and walked
out of the room as quickly as his legs would carry him. Green stood up as
well.
"Mrs. Johnson, what's wrong?"
"Sit down, Green."
She remained standing. "Something's wrong. Tell me what's
happened."
"Persephone," Johnson said very softly, with a warmth that Harry
would not have thought her capable of. "Sit down."
Apparently Green was surprised at Johnson's tone too, because she sat
very, very slowly, never taking her eyes off Johnson's face. Mrs. Figg
watched intently, but patiently.
For the first time since she had entered the little room, Johnson sat
down at the table, opposite Green. She took a deep breath and folded her
hands in front of her. It was a moment before she spoke.
"Persephone." There was that tone again. It's more frightening than
her shouting, Harry thought. Something's horribly wrong.
"It's Demetrius."
Mrs. Figg gasped and put her hand to her mouth. She reached out and
grabbed Green's hand across the table.
"What?" Green asked, puzzled.
Johnson paused, thinking, then said, "I don't know any way to tell you
this, other than to just say it. Persephone, he's gone. He's been killed."
Mrs. Figg looked down and tightened her grip on Green's hand. Green
didn't move, but simply peered at Johnson curiously, as though she were
speaking in a foreign language that Green didn't understand. Finally, she
shook her head.
"No. That's not possible."
"I'm sorry, Persephone, I'm afraid it's true. A couple of Death Eaters
found him at work. Half the department is there now."
"No." Green continued to shake her head, and a faraway smile settled
on her lips. Her eyes were glazed, unseeing. She spoke calmly, as though
she were correcting a child with a mistaken idea. "That can't be. There
have been threats, but... Envoys are well-protected, their identities are
kept secret. No Envoy has ever been attacked by a Death Eater. "
"Until now."
Green's expression did not change. "I just saw him this morning. Tomorrow's his birthday. We're having dinner with the Longbottoms
tonight," she said, as though these facts made Demetrius' death
impossible.
The door opened, and Frank Longbottom rushed into the room. He ran
over and embraced Green, who then surveyed him with calm curiosity.
"Oh God, Persephone, they've just told me. Are you alright? Is she
alright?" he asked, sitting back on his heels and looking from Green to
Johnson. Johnson just shook her head.
"Frank, tell them," Green said, still wearing the faraway smile and
glazed look. "It can't be. We're having dinner with you and Audrey tonight. Tell them." Longbottom just looked at her sadly. No one answered.
Finally, Johnson cleared her throat. "Have you notified her father?"
"I've sent him an owl, but he's out of the country on business for the
next few days," Longbottom replied. "I've also sent an owl to my wife, we
can look after her until he gets back."
Mrs. Figg wore a pained look. "I'm sorry that I can't be with you,
Persephone, but I have to go to Wales today." Green didn't answer. Mrs.
Figg walked around the table, bent over, and kissed Green's forehead. "I'm
so sorry," she whispered.
Johnson also stood. "I've got to get over there--you understand." She
gave Longbottom a knowing look, and everyone knew that she meant the
scene of the crime. "They'll be wondering why I'm not there already." She
looked at Green with sad compassion. "I'm sorry, Persephone."
But Green didn't answer. She didn't even look up as Johnson and Mrs.
Figg swept out of the room. She was staring distractedly into a far
corner.
"I didn't think you'd be able to Apparate or anything, so I've told Audrey
to come and get us. She's on her way." Longbottom looked at her with
concern, but Green didn't make any movement to show that she had heard
him.
She continued to stare into space. "Not possible," she whispered.
