Author's Notes: Well, despite (and, party due to) exams, I've managed to write – gasp! – two chapters. That's right, two new chapters! And the beginnings of a third! You see, I sit here and study an hour for exams, and then come down and work on this fic for half an hour as a break. Hour for exams, half hour for fic…a little bit of sauce, a little bit of cheese. And so on, and so forth. But no one really cares about my life story, so let's just get on with it.
OK, let me just say that Ivy Moss is my favourite person in the world right now – she drew an amazingly amazing picture for me of Diana Drago in Bury the Hatchet! Though this isn't Bury the Hatchet, it is its sequel, and Diana will make an appearance very soon, so I figured I'd mention the picture here.
You may view it at: Props to you, Ivy Moss! Props – to – you. ^_^
Note: The first section of this chapter was divinely inspired by "When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down. Rock on.
Now without further ado, I bring you Chapter 7, which is probably the longest chapter I've ever written in my life.
***
Ron Weasley had long ago mastered the art of stealth. It was essential for an Auror.
And so he found himself silently creeping into Hermione's bedroom, his large feet padding on the wooden floor soundlessly. He closed the heavy, oak door to her bedroom softly, and then silently moved towards her bed.
The piece of parchment in his trouser pocket felt as heavy as lead, the two words written on it echoing over and over again in Ron's head. Surreptitus Scriptay. It had been the only thing he'd agreed to, in case of a real emergency, when he had permanently decided to leave the Ministry and stay in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts.
It had been decided well before Ron's time that Owl Post was not a reliable means of communication between the Aurors. So the codes had been developed – only two or three words scribbled on a piece of parchment could communicate loads of information to those who knew the Aurors' secret language. Surreptitus Scriptay was one of the most important, and, coincidentally, one of the direst codes.
It meant leave. Immediately. Without telling anyone (or anything – who could forget the infamous story of Melvin Magistry, who, out of loneliness, told his talking toilet about his confidential missions and caused the Ministry a hell of a lot of trouble) where you were going, or even that you were leaving. It meant an urgent situation was at hand, and that the Auror who had received the message was to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic at once.
Ron, however, had no way of getting there from Hogwarts. He'd need to get permission from Dumbledore – whom he didn't feel like looking for at two o'clock in the morning - ahead of time to use Floo Powder. And he wasn't entirely sure that he still had his Auror's privileges, which had allowed him to Apparate into and out of Hogwarts. He wasn't too eager to find out and end up getting splinched.
Ron understood the rules, and he had agreed to them. But he wasn't an Auror any more, and he had stressed that he was only to be called upon in an extreme emergency. He silently stood next to Hermione's bed, watching her sleep. The former Auror paused, hesitating; Surreptitus Scriptay strictly forbade telling anyone where he was going. Plus, if he of all people had been summoned, it meant something was seriously wrong; the Aurors must have needed all the help they could possibly get. Fearing the worst after his revelation in the hospital wing, Ron stood there by Hermione's bed, debating with himself. Suddenly a small sigh broke through his thoughts.
Hermione rolled over, still sleeping peacefully, her hair dishevelled and wild. She clutched her pillow with one arm; the other was resting by her side, clutching her blankets tightly. Ron smiled despite himself; even in sleep Hermione was restless. She always slept in a twisted mess, rolling and turning every three seconds until she was completely tangled in her sheets and both her hair and nightdress were a mess.
She murmured something under her breath and, to Ron's surprise, reached out towards him. Then she seemed to change her mind, muttered something else, and rolled over onto her back, her lips forming a small smile as she slept. Ron absently reached out a hand to fix her blankets, and then suddenly drew it away as if it had been burned. His stomach seemed to disappear and was filled with a gnawing, cold sensation as something occurred to him.
Hermione was a Muggle-born.
Ron felt his heart quicken as he took a step backward; suddenly the situation seemed even more desperate, even more urgent. He couldn't let Hermione get sick. He couldn't let Hermione get hurt. Those were the only thoughts in his mind as he backed out of the room, suddenly dazed with the seriousness of the situation.
All of this, over five pieces of parchment, Ron thought, shaking as he backed towards Hermione's bedroom door. Those sick bastards. People could die…Hermione…could…
Whatever the sickening end to Ron's thought was, he never got to complete it; there was a loud clatter as he tripped over something heavy and solid - Hermione's old, wooden trunk, loaded with every book she'd ever owned. Ron tumbled to the ground, feeling incredibly unstealthy, tangled up in his own long limbs. He winced as Hermione made a sound, and then sat up in bed, eyes half shut. Ron quickly got up and crossed back over to her bed. He shivered at the contented sigh she let out as he bent down, brushing her chaotic hair out of her eyes and putting his face close to hers.
"Ron?" she murmured sleepily, fighting to keep her eyes open. She extended a hand towards his face. Her fingers left a trail of electricity where they touched his face. "What're you…"
"Shh," Ron whispered, feeling a large lump form in his throat as he realized what he had to do. "Go back to sleep, Hermione."
But Hermione was becoming more awake and more alert by the second, and now her eyes were fully open, looking puzzled. "What time is it? Oh no, did I sleep in?!" she made a move to get up, suddenly panicked, and Ron would have laughed if things had been different.
"No, no, you didn't sleep in," Ron murmured, still playing with her hair. He'd heard of men that had been called away by Surreptitus Scriptay and had been away for years. Ron's insides disappeared again, and he tried to shake the thought away.
"Hermione, I…I have to go away, just for a little bit."
Hermione looked alarmed by his tone. "Why? Where? Right now?"
Ron couldn't help the words from spilling out. "It's the Ministry. I agreed…to conditions. Certain emergencies…I told them they could call on me. It's the Muggles…they're after them…I think Harry needs my help, but I don't know, they just said to come…"
Hermione looked apprehensive. "Ron, you're not making any sense…"
Quite suddenly, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips to Hermione's, kissing her in the same desperate way he had last year, in the dungeons, for the first time in seven years. Her lips were warm and comforting as they moved against his own. His hands moved up the bare skin of her arm. He didn't want to let go.
They broke apart, and were both quite breathless. Hermione looked at him with apprehension in her eyes. "Ron," she repeated quietly, fear creeping into her voice as she searched his blue eyes. "What is it?"
Ron opened his mouth to tell her about the scrolls, about his fears, about the owl he'd sent to the Ministry, about Surreptitus Scriptay. But no sound came out, and he felt the weight of his duty and the oaths he'd taken years ago weigh on his shoulders. He should have never come there. His hand shaking, Ron closed his eyes and drew his wand. When he opened them again, Hermione was staring at him, curious and frightened. Feeling nauseous again, Ron raised his wand to point it at Hermione. Her eyes widened.
"Hermione…I'm so sorry…" he whispered, his voice cracking."I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have come. You can't know…I'm so sorry…it's for your own protection. I just don't want you to get hurt…"
"Ron – "
Ron looked away, trying to keep his wand steady. "Obliviate."
***
Ron crept around in the eerie darkness that was Hogwarts at night, feeling numb. He'd just performed a Memory Charm on his girlfriend. Hermione was going to murder him if she ever found out. But it was for her own protection, for her own good. There was a reason the Aurors were sworn to absolute secrecy, after all. After Voldemort's return, loved ones had at first been trusted with secrets, and had paid dearly. They'd had to bear the weight of those secrets, and some had even been tortured because of them. The Death Eaters had been merciless in their quest for information…
The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher suddenly stopped, realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was going. He quickly made up his mind to get off the castle grounds and then Apparate to the Ministry. Now filled with a purpose, Ron made his way past the suits of armour, glinting in the moonlight in the grand entrance hall. The light of the moon streamed in through the enormous skylight in the ceiling, making a circular pool of light on the tiled floor.
Ron abruptly stopped in the circle of light, drawing his wand, his eyes darting around the darkened hall. He heard a faint chuckle on his left, and whirled around to see none other than Albus Dumbledore standing there.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief and tucked his wand back up his sleep. To his surprise, Dumbledore was clothed in his regular robes, as if he had been expecting to meet Ron there. Ron attempted to imagine Dumbledore in pyjamas, and nearly snorted as he came up with an image of the bent old man wearing navy blue, silk pyjamas with stars and moons on them.
"Professor Weasley," Dumbledore greeted him casually, as if meeting in the entrance hall at two thirty in the morning was a common occurrence. "I thought you would have been gone by now."
Ron started; but then, of course, Dumbledore knew practically everything. He had contacts at the Ministry, and had probably found out about the emergency, whatever it was, before Ron had. Feeling slightly irritated at this, yet relieved that he wouldn't have to explain his absence to Dumbledore when he returned, Ron nodded stiffly.
"I…had some things to take care of first," he replied, shouldering the bag he'd brought along, containing some clothes and other essentials.
"Hm," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "In Professor Granger's bedroom?"
Ron felt his ears burn red, and Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled all the more. The man himself was hunched with age, yet he was still far healthier than he had been last year. And though he leaned heavily on a cane, the Headmaster's sense of humour never faltered. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Don't miss anything, do you?" Ron asked sarcastically, still amazed after a year and a half that he could now address his former Headmaster in that tone and get away with it.
"Ah, young love," Dumbledore sighed, a smile hidden by his long, white beard. "I once felt it myself," he admitted, straightening a bit. "Her name was Hippolyta, and she was the best toad a young wizard could have ever hoped for..."
Ron cleared his throat very loudly.
"…but, alas! She was doomed to be transfigured into a teacup, quite by accident. Alas, alas for Hippolyta – "
"Headmaster, do you know what this whole business is all about?" Ron interrupted impatiently. If Harry was the one who had sent the message, he was going to kill him. Precious minutes were slipping by, and Harry hated it when Ron showed up late, which he was notorious for doing.
Dumbledore turned grim, and shifted his weight to rest more heavily on his cane. "I believe you know the answer to that."
"The scrolls."
"Singular, Professor Weasley. There is only one scroll that the Ministry is concerned with, and it is the one that is currently missing."
"What about the others, though?" Ron demanded. "Harry told me that the Ministry has them, but where the hell are they? I mean, it's not just our Ministry that's concerned with the bloody things - are they even in the country? Because you can't trust those Bulgarians, you know - " Ron realized he was carrying on and abruptly stopped talking.
"The
other four Scrolls of Scuro are in excellent hands, I
assure you," Dumbledore replied evenly, and Ron could've sworn his eyes
twinkled again. "They're quite safe."
"They'd better be," Ron muttered fervently.
"Now, perhaps you should hurry; I'm sure Nicholas can explain these matters far better than I," Dumbledore urged gently. "I only came to bid you good luck, Professor."
Ron remembered with a jolt Rowan Richardson's words in the hospital wing. She'd been talking about this. Ron briefly wondered if the kid had the makings of a Seer after all. He nodded at the Headmaster; Dumbledore smiled and turned, disappearing back into the semi-darkness that was Hogwarts at night.
"By the way," Dumbledore's voice called mildly from somewhere on his far left. "I have been told that you may Apparate out of Hogwarts and into the Ministry with no trouble. But I suggest you do not go recommending it to the other professors. They could find themselves in a nasty situation if they did."
Ron nodded again to no one in particular, then briefly shut his eyes and concentrated. There was an empty black void for the briefest of seconds, and then with a small pop, Ron found himself inside the Ministry of Magic.
He was instantly jostled to the side as someone pushed by him, several files and documents in hand. Ron barely had time to wonder why the hell anyone was working at nearly three o'clock in the morning before he realized he'd been pushed right into a large, leafy plant that had been snoozing contently in its pot. The plant, which was now very much awake, snapped violently at him, irritable, and Ron quickly jumped away.
The person who had bumped into him turned around, arms laden with papers and red hair sticking up awkwardly. "Percy," Ron said in surprise as his brother pushed up his glasses, while attempting to balance his stack of papers with only one arm. "What are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same thing," Percy replied, looking confused but not surprised to see him. "I'm working a bit late. I'm a very busy man, you know. As for you, Mr. Foran from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement told me that, if I see you, to let you know that they're expecting you." He glanced at Ron suspiciously. "What's this all about?"
"Never mind, Percy," Ron snapped. "Get back to work. I'm sure a very busy man like yourself has things to do."
Percy let out a disdainful sniff. "Well then. Nice to see you as well, Ron," he rolled his eyes. "Do you happen to have the time?" he added, attempting to look at his watch under the stack of papers.
"It's nearly three in the morning," Ron returned, folding his arms. He watched Percy's eyes go wide.
"Three – three in the morning?" he gulped. "I had no idea it was that late…oh, Penelope is going to kill me for staying this late again…" Without another word to his brother, Percy turned around and rushed down the corridor, a few papers flying out of his arms. Ron shook his head, picked a leaf out of his hair, and briefly looked around.
The hallway shone brightly from the many lamps lit along the corridor. Attractive marble walls on his right were completely covered by portraits of past Ministers for Magic, and those who had won the Order of Merlin. Ron caught a glimpse of Hebert Hedgeclip himself, dozing in his laboratory. Plants were strategically placed here and there for decoration, and, Ron supposed, for oxygen – it often got very crowded in the Ministry of Magic building. The wall on his left was broken by large windows, which faced out onto the courtyard in front of the building, where the Hogwarts professors had watched the Crump/Stark debate take place. The marble floors were polished so much that Ron could see his reflection in them, and he wryly thought of where he had spent most of his time in this building.
The various Ministry departments and their offices were all found on the many upper levels, which were always bright, polished, and clean. But all the dirty work went on in the lower levels of the building, which were dim, cold, and reminded Ron vaguely of Hogwarts in the winter. Down there you could find Mad-Eye Moody thumping about, or young Aurors in training working out in the gym, or the Unspeakables holding unspeakable meetings in hushed tones about their unspeakable work. Ron and Harry had had a makeshift office which was nothing more than an alcove carved out of the stone walls. Ron grimaced at the cheery, polished corridor around him.
The former Auror jolted back to reality. Lack of sleep caused his eyes to water, and nerves made him feel ill. Thinking of Hermione – both what he'd just had to do to her, and the prospect of her getting sick – Ron felt a fresh wave of energy, fuelled mostly by anger, jolt through him.
He purposefully started walking down the gleaming corridor. He'd come full circle in emotions in just one night – first he'd felt helpless and disappointed when he'd received the letter, anxious when he thought about what it might mean, and now he felt angry. He'd had to put a Memory Charm on his girlfriend, leave his home in the middle of the night, and had just been shoved into a man-eating plant. Ron's sleep-deprived mind cast about for someone to blame other than himself, and came up with the people who'd summoned him. His anxiousness disappeared with a new wave of annoyance, and Ron breathed again. Anger was an easier emotion to deal with than fear. He made a sharp left and entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Doors lined the corridor, which was very clean, but not quite as fancy as the main one Ron had just come from. There were several different signs hanging around in mid-air, pointing in the direction of corridors that branched off of this one, and also at certain doors. Ron passed under one that read Offices; Magical Law Enforcement Squad in shiny, emerald lettering with an arrow pointing left, and stopped before another sign pointing towards a closed door, which read Nicholas J. Foran; Department Head.
Ron heard muffled voices coming from the direction of the door, and stomped towards it. Just as he was reaching for the handle, there was a small pop. Ron jumped backwards, swearing, and glared at the tall, pimpled young man who had just Apparated in front of him. He was wearing a silver and gold uniform, the letters MoM emblazoned across a badge on his chest. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and looked at Ron apologetically.
"Sorry!" the kid said hastily. "I just…I can't let you in there…" he faltered.
Ron sighed heavily. "I'm an Auror."
The young man nervously eyed Ron's Hogwarts robes. "You don't…you don't look like one…"
"What is this, your first day on the job?" Ron said irritably. He reached out to shove the young security guard aside. "Move."
"No! I can't!" he squeaked, standing his ground though his knees shook. Quivering, he reached for his wand. "I-I was told not to let anyone in but an Agent Weasley!"
"That's…me…" Ron explained slowly, so that the kid would understand.
"But…"
"Oh, for the love of – " Ron impatiently grabbed his robe sleeve, and yanked it up. He thrust his wrist in the kid's face. "There."
The young guard leaned in closely, peering at the mark on Ron's wrist. It was small and subtle, and anyone else may have thought it to simply be a birthmark or a scar. But the tiny mark was neither. If one looked closely, they could see two small rings joined together; the mark of an Auror. The kid's face went red, and he immediately began stammering apologies.
"S-so sorry…they t-told me an Auror was coming…H-Hogwarts robes, I-I never…"
Ron took pity on the kid, feeling some of his annoyance ebb away. "We all make mistakes. What's your name kid?"
"Edward…well, Eddie…Eddie Collins. It won't h-happen again, sir," Eddie said sheepishly, stepping aside. Ron nodded to him, and then entered the room.
Several pairs of eyes, most with bags under them, looked up at Ron expectantly. They were all seated around a square, wooden table in the middle of the large office, with the exception of Nicholas Foran, who was seated at his own desk further back. A thin brunette in the corner of the room gave him a severe look through square glasses which did not suit the very young woman.
"Agent Weasley, I presume?" she asked, looking annoyed. "You are…" she glanced at her watch, "twenty-four minutes late. I gave you an hour from the time that Mr. Moody sent out his owl. That should have been more than enough time for the owl to arrive, and then for you to quickly pack and Apparate here."
Ron gave the young brunette an irritated look, feeling anger begin to well up in him again. "I was delayed," he said, crossing his arms. "First by Dumbledore, then by the five-year-old kid you have guarding this place. And how fast would you be if you were woken up in the middle of the bloody night, whoever the hell you are - !"
"Alright, Weasley, alright," Mad-Eye Moody growled. He was the only person not seated in the spacious office, choosing instead to pace the room, his wooden leg thunking every step of the way. "Sit down."
"No, I won't sit down!" Ron was on a roll. "Whatever this is, Moody, it'd better bloody well be good, because I only agreed to this stupid thing in case of an emergency, and being woken up at – "
"Potter's missing," Moody said bluntly.
Ron stared, his mouth opening and closing. "Oh," he managed to say hoarsely, and sunk into a chair, a strange feeling overcoming him.
"And I think you know what's going on, according to this letter." Mad-Eye produced the very letter Ron had written in a nervous frenzy after visiting the hospital wing. Ron blinked; he'd nearly forgotten about it. The room fell silent, and the young woman cleared her throat loudly, glancing at the clipboard on her lap.
"Now that everyone," she looked pointedly at Ron, "is finally here, I think we'd all like to get this meeting underway. Roll call, please!"
"Merlin's beard, every damn time - " a Scottish voice began on Ron's right. He glanced over to see Owen Darnell, a fellow Auror. His fair blonde hair was wavy and long, though not quite as long as Bill's, and the scar on his chin was more prominent than ever. He gave Ron a grin and a nod, but his hazel eyes looked troubled. "Let's just skip the damn roll call and get to business Sophie, there's a good lass."
The girl with the clipboard ignored him. She couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen. "Sophia," she corrected in a bossy voice that reminded Ron of someone. "Roll call." When everyone remained silent, she looked to Nicholas Foran for help, who was seated at his desk. There was more white flecking his dark hair than when Ron had last seen him.
"Nicholas J. Foran, Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Head," he promptly announced in a monotonous voice, and then gave a stern look, not unlike Sophia's, to everyone else in the office.
Some muttering from Moody's side of the room punctured his leg's thumps. "Alastor Moody…Order of Aurors…Head. There."
"Bloody…argh. Owen Darnell, Auror."
"Bartholomew Bode, Unspeakable."
"Jonathan Ford, History of Magic Specialist," said an unfamiliar man with an American accent. Ron craned his neck to see an older man with spectacles, parted grey-black hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache shuffling a few papers.
Now feeling panic creeping on after Moody's abrupt words, Ron almost squirmed in his seat, eager to get on with it so that he could find out how to help Harry. He noticed with a start that Sophia was glaring at him again.
"Ron Weasley," he said impatiently. Ron suddenly hesitated, glancing at Mad-Eye. The look in Moody's one real eye answered his unspoken question. "Auror," Ron finished.
"Sophia Foran, Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Secretary," Sophia finished with relish, scribbling something on her clipboard. Ron furrowed his eyebrows, glancing back at Nick Foran. Sophia had the same steely grey eyes.
"Good. Now, Mr. Weasley…I have read your letter," Nicholas began, clasping his hands together on his desk and looking grave, "and it isn't anything we don't already know about."
Ron felt his heart sink. "So…it's been found?" he managed to say. "Someone's found the fourth scroll…and they've read it?"
"Yes," was Foran's short reply. "We'll return to that later. Right now, we should address the reason we brought you here…Mr. Potter."
"Wait," Ron interrupted, feeling torn. He wanted to find out about Harry immediately, but he also needed to know about the scroll, for Hermione's sake. He looked again to Mad-Eye, and decided that if Harry was in any immediate danger, he needed to know about that. Now. "What's happened to Harry?" he demanded. There was an exchanging of glances around the room, and then Moody cleared his throat.
"Before we discovered the fourth scroll had been found, Potter and Drago were in Egypt to investigate some suspicious activity going on down there," Moody explained in his low, growling voice. "This was about a month ago. The last owl we received from him said that he and Drago were going to split up to follow two different leads, even though we told them that the missing scroll had been found, and that they were just on a wild goose chase. Drago seemed intent on busting some dark device dealers in Cairo, and we have no idea where Potter took off to. That was the last we heard of either of them. And that was a fortnight ago."
Ron inhaled sharply. "What kind of suspicious activity?"
"We've been followin' the activities of a group of British treasure-hunters who've been hangin' about in Egypt lately," Darnell supplied. "Been involved in illegal activity in the past, the dirty wankers – "
"Mr. Darnell!" Sophia Foran exclaimed, sounding scandalized. She gave him a disapproving look over her glasses. Ron thought this was very brave of her, since Darnell was about twice her age and twice her size.
Owen rolled his eyes, and then continued. "Anyway, they dig up dark devices and then hand them off to their partners to sell 'em on the black market. Those're the people Diana was after. And – "
" - Harry figured they wanted to find and sell the scroll we didn't have," Ron finished with a groan, "and went off and did something stupid."
"Actually, 'twas Diana who picked up a rumour about them bein' interested in the fourth scroll," Darnell admitted.
"Picked it up from where?" Ron said darkly, exchanging a suspicious look with Moody. Except the look Moody was giving him didn't exactly qualify as an exchange of suspiciousness. Ron bit his tongue and allowed them to continue.
"We apologize for having to contact you," Foran said in a very unapologetic voice. "But we have so far been unsuccessful in trying to locate Mr. Potter and Miss Drago, so…we had to call upon you." Nicholas' eyes strayed to Ron's wrist, and the young red-head gazed down at the faded mark.
"Ah," Ron said slowly. "I see."
"You've been separated from Potter for awhile now," Moody explained, "so we're not sure if it'll still work. But in the past we've had former Aurors come in and complain about aches and pains, only to find out that their old partners were in quite a mess."
"Only thing that damned spell is good for," Darnell piped up. He had chosen - Ron sometimes had thought wisely - not to take a partner.
The spell they were referring to was Vitae Junxtus – a complicated charm that was used to bind two people together emotionally, and physically. Ron and Harry had naturally decided during training to become partners in the Order, and thus had had to suffer through the painful spell. It left the mark of an Auror – the conjoined rings – on both their wrists.
But more important was the effect of the spell that could not be seen - the bonding of the two Aurors. Since Harry and Ron were already bonded by their strong friendship, after the spell was performed nothing had seemed amiss. That was, until Harry broke his leg after falling off his broom, during a nasty encounter with a renegade dragon. Ron remembered the string of curse words he'd let out as he had felt the agony in his own bones, miles away; though fortunately for Ron, his bones had remained intact.
The spell functioned sort of as an alarm; if one Auror was in trouble, the other would know it. Particularly strong emotions could be felt through the bond as well, which was why Ron had been so surprised to learn about Harry's feelings for Ginny. Then again, Harry was so emotionally screwed up that Ron had pretty much become numb to Harry's frequent emotional roller coaster rides.
The last function of the spell, and the one that was important to the people seated around Ron right now, was that it allowed one partner in the bond to Apparate instantly to the location of the other. This was the entire purpose of the spell; if one Auror was in serious danger, the other would feel either emotional or physical distress, and would Apparate instantly to help.
Ron stared at the tiny mark, wondering if the bond was still intact. The mark had faded somewhat, but his friendship with Harry hadn't, even if they saw each other less often. Ron lifted his head to look at Moody. "What did Sirius say?"
Moody immediately frowned, making his distorted face contort strangely, and Ron thought he saw Foran shift uncomfortably in his seat. Sophia's quill had stopped its incessant scribbling, and she was now looking at him with the air of one who wasn't trying to look excited.
"Sirius? Black?" she breathed, looking very much like the young, wide-eyed girl she probably should have. Though Sirius' name had been cleared many years ago, it still caused recognition, respect, and even sometimes fear in those who heard it. The next moment Sophia had straightened, however, and was trying to look professional once more. "I…does he know about the situation, Mr. Foran?"
"Er…Mr. Black is unaware of the current situation," Nicholas said, clearing his throat. "We felt he would…do something foolish."
Ron silently agreed. Sirius would probably Apparate to Egypt and blast half the country to pieces in a frantic attempt to find his godson.
"We're attempting to keep this entire business as low-key as possible," Foran went on to explain. "The Scrolls of Scuro have always been a matter for the Departments of Mysteries and occasionally Law Enforcement in the past. We'd have brought in your father or someone else from Muggle Security, but they're still attempting to get that department established and running…"
"And we can't have those knuckle-heads in Muggle Relations finding out about this," Moody growled. "They'd all have anxiety attacks."
"But Black already knows about the scrolls," Darnell pointed out. He obviously didn't agree with keeping Sirius in the dark. Ron knew he had a young son of his own.
"All the same…" Nicholas cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. "Now, Mr. Weasley, if you think that the Binding Spell is still in effect, and you can find Mr. Potter, we'd like you to leave as soon as possible."
"We need Potter and Drago back. We're short on Aurors as it is," Moody muttered. Ron could have sworn he saw some worry in the old, grizzled face.
"I've brought in Mr. Ford here to give you an update," Foran explained, gesturing to the American man. "We've recently acquired him from the New York Institute of Magical History, and he's quite the expert on the Scrolls of Scuro and their origins. You are aware, of course, of the basics?"
"Five scrolls, each one designed to somehow screw the Muggles over," Ron said brusquely. "Developed in medieval times by some nutcase who wanted to take over the world. Hidden and then re-found a bunch of times by other nutcases throughout history."
Ron suddenly leaned forward, staring Mr. Ford down. "But what I want to know," he said in a low, serious voice, "is who's after them now? And what, exactly, are we going to do about the one that's already been found?"
"It's the Dark Hand, of course," a female voice said quite matter-of-factly. Ron slowly looked to Sophia Foran, still trying to place where he'd heard that know-it-all tone of voice before. Even the way she was trying to hide her delight at knowing the answer was strangely familiar. "Didn't you know?" she asked with an air of superiority.
"Obviously not," Ron snapped harshly, making Sophia jump and return to her notes, trying to look formal again, though her cheeks turned a bit pink. Ron turned his attention back to Jonathan Ford and fixed him with an intense stare.
Ford looked slightly intimidated by Ron, but quickly cleared his throat and glanced down at the notes lying in his lap. "Well…to answer your first question, we believe that a fanatical terrorist group, established in medieval times, are pursuing them again," he suddenly became very sombre, and glanced up from his notes.
"They call themselves the Dark Hand," Ford said in a quiet voice. "They picked up the name from early texts that alluded to and spoke about the scrolls. They believe…that Muggles took wizard-kind's freedom, that they forced us into hiding during the Disappearance. However, historical documents and artefacts prove that it was, in fact, our choice to go into hiding after the age of Merlin and the other great wizards. We felt that Muggles could not be trusted with the knowledge of the power of magic."
"Fanatical, anti-Muggle terrorist group," Ron said cynically. "Gee, now who does that sound like?" He managed to resist the urge to cough, "Dameon Stark!"
Ford glanced to Nicholas Foran, who had obviously understood the implications of Ron's comment, but nodded for Ford to continue without comment.
"The last time the scrolls were found and used was during one of the Muggle Great Wars, by the Dark Hand," Ford said grimly. "They'd managed to find four of them, which gave officials quite a scare – the Scrolls of Fear, Hate, Malady, and Death. The Scroll of Discord, thankfully, was not found, or else all of Muggle society would have fallen apart right then and there. After the First Great War - and the influenza pandemic - was over, most of the group's members were taken into custody and are either currently in Azkaban, or are deceased. It was thought that the Dark Hand was extinct…but recent evidence concludes otherwise."
"Alright, so these loonies are after the scrolls," Ron said, nodding. "Now what the hell do we do about the one that they've already used?"
"The Scroll of Malady is not the worst of the – " Ford began, but was promptly cut off.
"We've tried the Healing Potion developed after the First Great War," Bode spoke up for the first time in the meeting. "But it seems to be ineffective. I've got a few of my people working on it." He left it at that, in classic Unspeakable fashion.
"You've got a few of your people working on it?!" Ron said incredulously. "Muggles could die!"
"Actually, the Scroll of Malady only causes illness," Ford jumped in promptly. "No one will actually die unless the Scroll of Death is used – "
"And that's in safekeeping, along with Discord, Fear, and Hate." Foran finished shortly. "Are all your questions answered, Mr. Weasley?"
As freakishly comforting as the fact that no one could die was, Ron still felt uncertain. "There's something else I don't understand," he said slowly. "Why don't we just burn the bloody scrolls and get it over with?"
"They can't be destroyed," Darnell said darkly. "Figures, eh?"
"So we keep hiding them, but they keep being found," Ron said in confusion. "How - ?"
"We don't know," Bode admitted. "It's powerful dark magic in those pieces of parchment. No one understands how they really work."
"But they're very safe right now, I assure you," Foran added.
"Sure, that's what Dumbledore said too," Ron muttered. Foran glanced up sharply at the mention of Dumbledore, and exchanged looks with Moody.
Ron still looked confused. "If these scrolls have been used before, then why haven't they served their purpose? Shouldn't the Muggles have all…" Ron trailed off. It was too horrible to even think about, much less say.
"Died off by now? Fallen apart?" Moody's laugh was cold, harsh, and grim. He looked to the history specialist. "Ford?"
"It is theorized that the scrolls' true power can only be harnessed if all five of them are used together," Ford explained. "They work together, you see, to destroy Muggles society. Thankfully, throughout history, all five of the scrolls have never been used at the same time. A solution is usually found, such as the 'vaccine', or their effects merely wear off in time."
There was a long silence, punctured by the scratching of Sophia Foran's quill. She finally finished writing and looked up, quill still poised.
"Are you ready then, Mr. Weasley?" Nicholas Foran asked.
Ron's head was spinning. Questions were still forming in his mind. But they'd already wasted enough time. "Yes," Ron finally said, his throat dry.
"Good," Nicholas replied briskly. "Then you're ready to Disapparate now?"
"I don't know…it's been awhile. I can't even feel Harry's pain anymore."
"Just don't think about it too much," Moody said, looking up at Ron and finally stopping his frantic pacing. "It's like second nature. It'll come to you."
Ron stood, and the rest of the room watched him expectantly. He felt his face flush. "Could I perhaps do this without an audience?" he demanded.
"Of course, lad," Mad-Eye said, his tone devoid of its usual gruffness. "Out in the hall then, there's no one there. I'll go with you."
Feeling many pairs of eyes on him again, Ron followed Moody out of the crowded office, feverish with worry and anxiety once more. The Ministry had just confirmed his worst fears. Harry was missing. Hermione and other Muggle-borns were in danger of becoming sick. And there were four scrolls lying around, supposedly in safe-keeping, with a habit of being found by anti-Muggle fanatics.
"Are you ready, Weasley?" Moody's voice broke through Ron's thoughts. They were in a cool hallway some distance away from Foran's office. The torches there had been extinguished, and it was dark and silent.
"No," Ron answered honestly.
"Good," said Moody, clapping him on the back. "You were one of our best, Weasley. I know you'll be fine. Now bring Potter back."
Ron nodded, taking a step backward from the old Auror. Brought out of retirement by the war against Voldemort, Moody hadn't had the heart to leave again. As Ron poured all of his willpower into concentrating on his former partner, heart thudding in his chest, he couldn't fathom why.
Feeling the mark on his wrist begin to burn, Ron Disapparated.
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Phew! I know that was a lot of information to absorb in one chapter. And still more shall be revealed about the scrolls. And yes, for those of you wondering, Hermione's dream at the end of Bury the Hatchet was about the scrolls talked about in this story.
So yep, I hope I made everything in this chapter clear, especially all the crazy new concepts, which I hope weren't too hokey. If everything wasn't clear, please let me know in – that's right, a review! I sure love reviews. All of your reviews. They're so nice, not to mention constructive, those reviews. Love those reviews. Review, review, review. Yep…
*Note: Silver Phoenix cannot be held responsible for subliminal messages in bold text which urge readers to review.*
…^_^
