Mundungus Fletcher Saves the Day

Fletcher walked into Hogwarts, feeling very odd. He was rarely unsure of himself, but being back in Hogwarts made him feel very old (though he was in his early 20's) and detached. He quickly made his way along the familiar route to Professor Dumbledore's office. The thought of how many times he had been here during his years at Hogwarts brought a smile to his face. Just as he was wondering how he was going to get inside the office, Albus stepped out from behind the stone gargoyle that guarded his office's entrance.

"Mundungus," the older wizard said, shaking Fletcher's hand. Shaking his head at being addressed like this, (everyone else called him Fletcher, but he supposed Dumbledore thought this sounded like Fletcher was still a student) Fletcher returned the firm grip.

"Albus," he said seriously.

Albus said to the gargoyle, "Licorice wand," and it revealed a spiral staircase. "Please come into my office so that we can talk."

Fletcher strode confidently behind Albus into his office. It was filled with many of the magical objects that Fletcher remembered from his Hogwarts years, which, he reminded himself, weren't very long ago.

"I would like your help, Mundungus," Albus said, peering gravely over his half moon glasses. "Lord Voldemort may be after the Potters and I need someone to help me gather information on his current activities and plans."

Fletcher nodded curtly, wondering why Albus insisted on using You-Know- Who's name. "Of course, Albus." Albus had enlisted him in the fight against the Dark Lord some time ago, and Fletcher was honored to be sent on such an important mission.

"I know you have many friends who have rather, ahem, shady backgrounds," Albus continued. "If you could please get in touch with as many of them as possible and let me know if you find anything out."

Fletcher nodded and left the office, unable to hide his smirk. Yes, he had friends with rather shady backgrounds. He himself had had some close encounters with the Ministry, but when it came to the fight against You- Know-Who, Fletcher was on the front lines of Dumbledore's resistance.

He decided he would first try the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, a popular hangout for some of his acquaintances. Since he could not Disapparate from Hogwarts grounds, he decided it would be quicker to take one of the secret passages to the village. Luckily he had caught his Hogwarts roommates, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew sneaking out of the statue of the humped witch that lead to Hogsmeade during their last year at Hogwarts.

After checking the hallway for any wandering students or staff, Fletcher tapped the statue with his wand and whispered, "Dissendium." To his delight, the statue opened and Fletcher squeezed himself through the opening, glad for once that he was a small man.

The walk was a bit longer than Fletcher remembered it, but it gave him time to think about how he would approach his task. While none of his acquaintances were actually You-Know-Who supporters, they may have heard things from their friends that they would be reluctant to leak to one of Dumbledore's trusted comrades. Finally, Fletcher hit his head on the trapdoor leading to Honeyduke's and carefully made his way from the basement to the main floor of the store.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, the owner, Rosemerta, recognized Fletcher.

"It has been too long, Mr. Fletcher," she said with a pout. "Why have you not been in to see me?"

"I'm sorry, Rosemerta," Fletcher answered with a smile. "I have had some urgent business to attend to." After placing his order, he made his way to a table in the back of the bar where a cloaked figure was sitting. It tried hard to avoid Fletcher's gaze, but he finally addressed the creature, which he knew to be a hag named Gwenog.

"Gwenog," Fletcher began with a smile, "May I join you?"

He sat down without waiting for her reply.

"I knows what you're after," Gwenog hissed at Fletcher. "But I don't got no information for you."

"Are you sure about that?" Fletcher asked quietly. When the hag remained silent, he added, "My wand seems to think that you're lying to me, my dear, and I am afraid it has a mind of its own."

Gwenog saw Fletcher's wand pointed at her under the cover of the table and glared at him, her ugly face contorted into a look of rage.

"You wouldn't," she hissed.

"Try me," Fletcher replied casually.

Snarling, the hag spat at Fletcher, "What do you want to know, you rotten boy?"

"Is You-know-Who after the Potters?" he asked, fiddling with his wand to remind his companion of its presence.

Nodding from under her hood, she answered, "James and Harry, he is."

"Why?" Fletcher asked, though he suspected he knew the answer already.

"Wants to destroy the Heirs of Gryffindor, the Dark Lord does," the hag cackled softly.

"Thank you, Gwenog," Fletcher said. "Can I pay for your drink?" He dropped some coins on the table and left the bar, headed for the post office.

Fletcher had always suspected that the Potters were descended from Godric Gryffindor, but it wasn't something that James had bragged about at all. There were just certain signs that had caught Fletcher's eye and had always caused him to wonder. But now everything made sense. He decided to send Albus an owl confirming He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's plans for the Potters, then move across the country, talking to other acquaintances about the Dark Lord's plans.

He wrote:

Albus,

You-Know-Who is after James and Harry, as Heirs of Gryffindor. I am off to see if I can find out more. I trust that you will warn James as soon as this owl reaches you.

Fletcher

Though Fletcher and James Potter had had their differences at school (especially the year Fletcher's twin sister had been expelled for doing dark magic), being roommates had made them quite close friends. Fletcher hoped that James would be able to get his family to safety in time. But there wasn't time to worry too much about it after paying for the owl and watching it set out for the castle on the horizon.

In the next several days, Fletcher traveled all over England, visiting pubs and abandoned buildings, consorting with the types of wizards and creatures that most law-abiding wizards would have avoided like the plague. But let's face it, Fletcher thought to himself, I am not exactly law-abiding myself. Halloween found him at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, interrogating a vampire about You-Know-Who's plans.

The vampire, who Fletcher knew only as Vlad, kept insisting that he knew nothing, even after being hit with a Babbling Curse. Fletcher cursed under his breath at the lack of useful information he had mined (though he now knew a lot about Vlad's nanny and his teenage exploits). Without bothering to remove the curse, Fletcher simply left the bar and opened the door to room 11, where he would be staying for the night.

Fletcher slept restlessly, tossing and turning all night. He had finally fallen into a deep sleep when the noise of fireworks outside his room awakened him. Angrily, he went to the window to tell whoever was causing the ruckus to knock it off, but as he opened the window, an owl dropped something into it and flew away, hooting happily. Amazed by this behavior, Fletcher looked out onto the street and saw more owls than he ever had before dropping newspapers up and down the street.

Then he noticed the headline:

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated by Baby Potter: His parents are killed, but the boy lives!"

He let out a Whoop of joy, completely forgetting that he had been rudely awoken. He skimmed through the article while pulling on some robes, then ran down to the pub, knocking on every door he passed, yelling, "You-Know- Who has been defeated!"

The street was now crowded with wizards rather than owls. Everyone buzzed with excitement, feeling better than they had in years. Every few minutes, someone's joy overflowed and their wand let out a series of fireworks, or multi-colored sparks, or loud bangs. Fletcher was right in the thick of things, drinking out of a large tankard of butterbeer that had been passed to him. He pulled several passing witches into bone crushing hugs as they passed him in the crowd. No one minded; each of them was too delirious with happiness to care. Fletcher found himself being jostled towards Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor as he heard a voice yell, "Ice cream is on the house today, folks, in honor of little Harry Potter!"

A cheer rose up from the crowd, but Fletcher felt his heart sink and he searched through the throngs of wizards for a place to sit down. Though he had read the article in the Daily Prophet, and knew what had happened to the Potters, it hadn't sunk in until Mr. Fortescue had yelled Harry's name like that. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone, but so were James and Lily Potter. The wizarding world's victory had come at a personal cost to Fletcher and all of Dumbledore's supporters. Trying to clear his thoughts, Fletcher shook his head. He had known there would be sacrifices in this war; he should really be grateful for a victory of any sort.

As he sat outside of the crowd, another owl swooped down with a letter for Fletcher. He recognized the handwriting as that of Albus Dumbledore.

Mundungus, Though this news of Voldemort's (*Fletcher shuddered at the name*) defeat is wonderful, please do not let your guard down. You are free to spend today as you see fit, but I will still be in need of your help after today. I know James was your friend, believe me when I say I feel the loss as keenly as anyone does. Albus

Fletcher folded up the letter and stuffed it inside his robes. Tomorrow he would be back to work, and would be able to start sorting through the Potters' deaths. Today was a day to celebrate, as there had been little reason to celebrate for quite some time. It was a day to celebrate You- Know-Who's downfall, the success of Lily and James' sacrifices, and Harry Potter's amazing survival, Fletcher thought, as another round from the Leaky Cauldron was passed around and Tom the innkeeper led them in a toast, "To harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!"