~~ Chapter Twelve: Ultimatum ~~

            "I'm worried about them marks, Professor Dumbledore," Rubeus Hagrid said to Albus Dumbledore later that day as the two were leaving the hospital wing after checking on Alina Terringer and Draco Malfoy.  Both patients were in stable condition at the moment, leaning neither toward the better nor toward the worst.

            "Do you have any idea what could have left them?" Dumbledore asked.

            Hagrid shook his large head.  "At first I thought it was werewolves, but far as I know, werewolves don't go around sratchin' on doors."

            "No, they don't," Dumbledore agreed.  "How peculiar.  Describe the marks to me.  How wide?  How deep?  How many?"

            "It's four parallel gashes, about two inches apart and an inch deep," Hagrid said.  "Like I said, you'd think it was werewolf, but it's too big for werewolf.  Do you think we should put the school on alert, sir?"

            Dumbledore wasn't thinking about putting the school on alert.  It was a good idea, of course, but his mind was elsewhere.  "I wonder…"

            "Wonder what, sir?"

            "Malfoy," Dumbledore said.  "Whatever killed his family left slash marks on the body."

            Hagrid stopped walking.  The headmaster stopped as well.  "Do you think whatever tried to kill Malfoy there is going to try again here?"

            Dumbledore hadn't thought of that.  "I thought it might be the same type of creature, but no, that thought never occurred to me.  That is possible, although highly unlikely."  He cocked his head to the side in thought for a moment, then resumed walking.  Hagrid fell in stride beside him.  "I'll talk to Malfoy."

            Lucius Malfoy was in a daze.  Twenty-four hours ago, his son was inches from death, and now, a full recovery was almost ensured.  He didn't know what Professor Terringer had done, but he was eternally grateful.  If she survived, he made up his mind to thank her himself.  He was quickly learning his lesson about never knowing what you had until you lost it.  After the massacre at Malfoy Manor and Draco's near death, he was determined to never make the mistake of taking anyone for granted again.

            On Lucius's left was Draco's bed.  To his right sat Severus Snape.  The Potions Master was doing what he did best, and Lucius made an inquiry as to what sort of potion he was brewing up now.  "Deflating Draught," Snape answered.  "Surely you've noticed the swelling around Draco's rib cage."

            Lucius nodded.  "Yes, of course."

            Snape set the concoction down and looked at his friend.  "You don't seem like yourself lately, Lucius," he commented.

            "I haven't been myself ever since I got here," Lucius replied.

            "I noticed," Snape said.  "You can relax.  Draco will live, and you two will be safe here."

            "For now," came Lucius's response.  "But for how long, Severus?  When will it end?  How many more people will have to die before it stops?"

            Snape's dark eyes dropped down to the potion, and then to his right, where a bed holding the unconscious Alina Terringer was.  "I don't know," he finally said.

            Lucius noticed that Snape was looking at Alina, and a knot rose in his stomach.  He hoped with all his heart the Muggle-born Musical Enchantment professor would survive.  Never in his life had he heard of someone doing for a Malfoy what she did for his son.  He wasn't quite clear on what exactly happened, but from what he could deduce, she was inches away from giving her life to save Draco.  If she hadn't fainted when she did, she probably would be dead.

            Snape's gaze turned back to Lucius.  "You're concerned about her, aren't you?" he asked.

            Lucius bit the inside of his cheek.  "Somewhat," he said.  He hoped Snape wouldn't be able to tell that it was the understatement of the century.  "I would like to be able to thank her myself."

            "I'm sure you would," Snape replied, "but the question is, will you?"

            He was talking in riddles again.  Lucius hated that.  "Severus, what are you talking about?"

            "I think you know what I'm talking about."  Snape's eyes were locked with his as he spoke.  "I'm not going to play matchmaker for you, Lucius.  I can see that you're attracted to her, but you're not the only one.  If you don't make a move soon, someone else will."

            Lucius was taken aback.  He did think Alina was attractive, of course, but anyone could see that she was.  He never seriously entertained thoughts of pursuing a relationship with her that went beyond their forced acquaintanceship.  He shook his head in confusion.  "What do you mean by that?"

            "Half the student body already seems to believe you two are involved."

            "Don't tell me you believe the rumors of schoolchildren."

            "Of course not, but I am close with Professor Terringer.  She speaks of you often."

            Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Snape's words caught him off guard, and he lost his train of thought.  "She does?" he asked.

            "Yes, as if your head isn't big enough," Snape said, and that drew a smile out of both men.  "She doesn't like you much, but believe me, she's trying, and we all know she cares about Draco."

            "That much is obvious," Lucius said, looking at his sleeping son.  His grey eyes rested on Draco for a few moments, then turned back to Snape.  "You're 'close with Professor Terringer'?  How close is 'close'?"

            Snape shook his head.  "Wherever you're going with this, you're wrong.  We're friends, nothing more, nothing less."

            "Wonderful.  So she has charmed you as well."

            "Really, Lucius, you shouldn't jump to conclusions about people.  You've always had that problem, and where has it gotten you?

            "Have I?" Lucius asked.  "Name three people besides Alina Terringer that I've jumped to conclusions about."

            Snape almost laughed.  "That's easy.  Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Narcissa.  Do you want three more?  Potter, Weasley, and Draco."

            Lucius frowned.  Snape had him caught in his own web.  "All right, you win."

            Snape checked the Deflating Draught.  It was almost ready.  "Lucky me."

            One of the many things Lucius admired about Severus Snape was his ability to maintain a composed, albeit cynical attitude no matter what the situation.  His friend's words ran through his mind: "I can see that you're attracted to her, but you're not the only one.  If you don't make a move soon, someone else will."  Could Snape have possibly been hinting at a specific "someone else"?  It wasn't completely beyond comprehension.  "Severus," he said, "you said there are others waiting to make a move on Professor Terringer.  Might you, perhaps, be among those numbers?"

            Snape knew he had been caught, but his cool exterior didn't show it.  "The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted, "but I don't know what good it would do.  She's in love with you, Lucius."

            An old castle along the banks of Loch Lomond was the meeting place designated in a strange message Cornelius Fudge received by owl two days ago.  Ordinarily, the Ministry of Magic would disregard anonymous letters with mysterious insinuations like the one in question, but there was something about it that set it apart from other letters.  Maybe it was because the paper felt as cold as ice in his hands.  Maybe it was because the dark red ink used to write it looked more like blood.  Maybe it was because the letter hinted at being able to answer what happened at Malfoy Manor.  Mostly, it was five words: "an offer you can't refuse."

            His instructions were to come alone, and alone he came.  It wasn't easy to convince the Ministry to let him do that, but Fudge pointed out that he was the Minister of Magic and that he could take care of himself on a quick trip to Scotland.  After all, his position was not exactly an easy one to get.  He had to prove himself time and time again, and even though he was only the Ministry's second choice behind Albus Dumbledore, he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the world.

            Fudge walked up to the castle's main door and knocked on it twice, as the letter instructed.  About ten seconds passed, and the huge door slowly creaked open.  He walked into the main courtyard of the castle.  It was quiet; so quiet it was almost eerie.  There were no birds chirping and no wind blowing.  The only thing he could hear was the beating of his own heart.

            Along one wall, Fudge spotted a door that was slightly ajar.  He walked over to it and was prepared to knock when a voice said, "Come inside, and shut the door."  Fudge was surprised, but he didn't show it.  He did as he was instructed.

            As soon as the door was shut, a candle ignited, providing just enough light for Fudge to see the outline of a dark-cloaked man sitting in a chair next to a massive table.  There was another chair a few feet in front of the man, one he presumed was meant for him.  This assumption was made correct when the man's hood nodded toward it and the sinister voice said, "Sit down."

            He did.  "Who are you?" he asked.

            "In time," the man replied.  "You recently refused help to Lucius Malfoy, didn't you?"

            "Not recently, recently," Fudge said.  "A little less than a month ago."

            "Why didn't you help Malfoy?"

            For a minute, Fudge entertained the thought that this was an attempt by Malfoy to make him pay for his refusal to assist them, but he quickly pushed it aside.  He knew Malfoy to sink to a lot of levels, but not low enough to assassinate the Minister of Magic and expect to get away with it.  Not even his sizeable fortune could get him out of trouble if that happened.  "The attack on Malfoy's family was not within our jurisdiction," Fudge answered.

            "Choose your words carefully, Fudge, for they could be your last," the mysterious stranger warned him.

            "There was nothing I could do," Fudge protested.  "As much as I admire Malfoy, this attack was not directed at the Ministry nor intended to reveal our world to the Muggle one.  We were unable to help."

            A soft chuckle escaped from the cloak.  "You are even more of a buffoon than I remember, Fudge," the man said.  "Congratulations."

            Fudge narrowed his eyes.  "Who are you?"

            "I will tell you when I am ready.  Now," said the man, "has Malfoy returned home at all since that most unfortunate attack, or has he remained at Hogwarts the entire time?"

            "To the best of my knowledge, he has stayed at Hogwarts," Fudge answered.

            "Perfect.  When you return to London, send an owl to Malfoy, telling him the Ministry has inspected Malfoy Manor and has determined it to be safe."

            "I will do no such thing!" Fudge said.  "I will not lie to one of the Ministry's biggest supporters when his life may be in danger!"

            "You wanted to know who I am, didn't you?" the man said.  He stood and pulled off his hood.  "Meet me now."

            Fudge's heart nearly stopped beating.  He didn't recognize the face, but he knew he had heard of this man somewhere.  The question was… where?

            "I didn't think you'd recognize me," he said, sitting down again.  "Most people wouldn't.  After all, it's been seventeen years."  He shrugged.  "I don't think you've seen me before, anyway.  You may recall my name, though."

            Fudge was quickly getting tired of this big-talking stranger.  "Then tell me."

            A smug smile crossed his face.  "No.  I'd rather let you guess."

            Fudge stood.  "I will not let you waste another second of my time.  Good-bye."

            The man cocked his head to the right and lifted his right index finger.  "Artawny?"

            A low growl filled Fudge's ears.  The outline of a large, cat-like head could be seen in the shadows.  Fudge, not daring to breath, sat down again.  "That's better," the man said.  "Now, let's try this again.  Think… seventies.  Think… Hogwarts."

            This had to be a former Hogwarts student.  "You can't be serious.  There were far too many Hogwarts students in the seventies to keep track of, and besides, I only know of a few."

            "Oh, please," the man said, annoyance prevalent in his tone.  "Nineteen seventy-six.  A promising young prefect vanishes without a trace and is never heard from again… until now, that is."

            Fudge gasped and gripped the edges of his chair.  His fingernails were digging into the aged wood, sending slivers into his skin, but he didn't care.  "You- you're Icarus Knight!"

            Knight's smile sent shivers down Fudge's spine.  "Good job.  Now, about Malfoy.  He is a problem, a problem that must be eliminated."

            "I'll have no part of this."

            "I don't think you heard me."  Knight lifted his right index finger again, and another growl was heard from the shadows.  "Now, let's discuss what we're going to do with Malfoy.  I would hate to do the world as big a favor as making them require a new Minister of Magic to replace the old one, Cornelius Fudge, whose body was found…"