For disclaimer please see prologue.
Individual `Thank you's´ for my kind reviewers can be found at the bottom of the chapter.
~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER 04 ~*~*~*~*~
Despite serving as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix for nearly two years now, Grimmauld Place # 12 had kept its own, unique charm. That meant, of course, that visitors were still graciously greeted by the portrait of the late Mrs. Black (despite the Order's most desperate tries to get to keep quiet) with charming cries of "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half- breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place!"(1)
Once that obstacle was passed, leaving the visitor half-deaf in most occasions, the way would lead up a wooden staircase, along a tranquil hallway decorated with plates which held the heads of the beheaded House-Elves of the Black household, until one finally reached the drawing room. This room, after months of careful cleaning, had become the headquarter within the headquarter so to speak. The now Doxy-free curtains were clean and of a rich emerald colour. Chairs and tables from other rooms had been carried into the drawing room, as well as several well-warded bookcases containing more ancient tomes about the dark arts than the restricted section in Hogwarts' library did.
And in the midst of it all, nestled into a fluffy armchair next to a crackling fire, sat Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. It was like this, that Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks found him, after they had finally managed to slip away from their jobs at the Ministry of Magic.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Kingsley addressed the unofficial leader of the Order, "You wanted to talk to us?"
The old man's bushy brows furrowed in confusion for a short moment, then smiled at the Aurors. "Why, yes," he answered, "It's about the case you're currently working on. I fear you have stumbled onto something more complicated than your usual work this time." Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a look. Even more complicated? Their usual work held enough excitement already!
Dumbledore sighed heavily as he conjured two armchairs for the Aurors. "Sit down," he said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "This may take a while."
Shrugging, Tonks and Kingsley did as they were told and almost immediately a shaky little table with two cups of hot, steaming cocoa materialized between them.
"Would you like some sherbet lemons as well?" Dumbledore offered, a hint of the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. After his two visitors declined, the headmaster returned to the problem at hand. "That man, who was found in the refrigerator. I knew him."
Tonks' head flew up immediately. "Then why didn't you say-?"
Kingsley held up a restraining hand. "Professor Dumbledore must have a good reason."
"That I have, indeed. Mr. Pickle - for that is his name, Mortimer Pickle - worked for the Order of the Phoenix!"
Tonks gasped but any comment she would have made was drowned out by Kingsley's slow, deep voice. "How come we have never met him? We didn't even know about his existence."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That is the point, Kingsley. You have surely noticed how the numbers of Death Eaters are growing steadily? And how there is apparently nobody to recruit them?"
Tonks and Kingsley nodded. It was downright maddening to chase down low- ranking Death Eaters, only to find that with each apprehended one two new ones seemed to appear. Nobody knew how or where they were recruited. It was absolutely impossible to gain access to You-Know-Who's circle, especially after Snape's cover had been blown.
"Well," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Pickle posed as a possible recruit and, after a year of hard work, was approached by the Death Eaters. Before he was murdered," the headmaster leaned forward to emphasize his next words, "before he was murdered he managed to send me a message. He was supposed to meet me and tell me the name of a high-ranking Death Eater, who is in charge of recruiting new members. However, all he was able to tell me before he died was that this person, whose name sadly remains a mystery to me at this point, is involved in Quidditch. He is somehow connected with Puddlemere United."
"Wood!" Kingsley rose in a fluid motion as the familiar feeling of hunting a suspect rushed through his veins. "I knew there was something off about him! The evidence suggests that -"
"In case that you're talking about Oliver Wood, Kingsley," Tonks interrupted, "then the evidence suggests merely that he's obsessed with Quidditch. I can hardly believe that the boy even notices anything else."
"There is more to him, Tonks! He's a pure-blood. Who would suspect a Quidditch- obessed kid to work for You-Know-Who? He's perfect! And he's an eidetic!"
"An eidetic?" Dumbledore murmured quietly in his seat, "That explains some things." The old wizard cleared his throat loudly then gestured towards Kingsley's abandoned seat. "Sit down. There is no need for such agitation. While I personally cannot believe that Oliver would work for Voldemort, I have to admit that he is in a highly suspicious position. However, having an eidetic on our side - in Oliver's position at that! - would be a great bonus for the Order."
"Are you implying that we should introduce Wood to the Order?" Tonks asked with narrowed eyes. Although she had always liked Wood in the past, several years of working as an Auror had taught her to treasure caution. "I can't imagine him as a Death Eater either, but being likeable doesn't automatically qualify him to join."
Dumbledore nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is why we need to find out if he's trustworthy enough to join."
"And how do you suggest we do that?" Kingsley raised a sceptical eyebrow, making Dumbledore smile even broader for some unfathomable reason.
"I believe Miss Granger could help us with that." The headmaster finally supplied, looking very pleased with himself.
If possible, Kingsley's eyebrow rose even higher. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew about that," the tall man murmured before taking another sip from his cocoa.
Dumbledore merely smiled and vowed to get Crookshanks an extra-tasty piece of fish. He was really an exceptionally clever cat.
~*~*~*~
"I'm still convinced that "The three Broomsticks" is the place where you get the best butterbeer. It has a more appealing name, too." Oliver Wood flashed his companion what he thought was his most charming smile. However, the bushy- haired young woman in front of him seemed oblivious to his charms.
"Oliver," Hermione admonished him as if he were a stubborn child, "Don't try to change the subject."
"I'm not!" The young Keeper assured her with innocent wide eyes and a small smile.
Hermione sighed in defeat. This was worse than dealing with Ron! "Oliver," she began anew.
"Did I ever mention that I like the way you say my name? The way it rolls off your tongue."
Hermione felt her blood rising into her cheeks and quickly hid behind her mass of brown hair. "You're really trying everything to get out of this, don't you?"
He beamed at her. "Does it work?"
"No!" Hermione replied, a bit too forceful for her taste. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. "Anyway, I've been researching the phenomenon of `eidetics´. The first recorded case of an `eidetic´ can be found in 1762, Mr. Gulliver Waffling. The first manifestation of his ability was somewhere around his fourteenth birthday. People didn't really know how to act around him, so eventually Waffling went into isolation after some.incidents."
Interested despite his resolution to deny the whole `eidetic-issue´ Oliver leaned forward. "What kind of incidents?"
Hermione rummaged around in her back and produced what looked like a giant compilation of random notes, held together by a golden-red band. "I've made some notes," she explained, then added upon receiving Oliver's questioning glance, "I've also colour-coded them."
"Ah," Oliver said intelligently. As far as he could recall Quidditch- strategies were the only thing in his life he had ever colour-coded. "Well, what incidents?"
"I couldn't find anything exact about it. Some mention self-inflicted wounds, random screaming. Madness. He went mad before his twentieth birthday." Hermione sighed. "Later on, people began to believe that `eidetics´ could be healed by lack of stimulation. There is the case of Miranda Bunbury from the late 1860'ies who was held in a dark room, devoid of any visual stimulation."
"What happened to her?"
Hermione gulped. "She went mad with fifteen and committed suicide only a short while later."
Oliver snorted. "Wonderful. I feel so much better knowing this. Aren't there any happy `eidetics´?"
"From what my research revealed," Hermione hesitated, "no."
"Brilliant," Wood commented sarcastically. "But I'm happy. As far as I can tell I haven't gone mad either."
"Not yet. For causes unknown your talent seems to have manifested itself only very late in life." "That it has," he agreed calmly, "Why though?"
The question hung between them ominously and both pondered it silently. While thinking Oliver's eyes roamed through `The leaky Cauldron´. It had filled up considerable since their arrival. There was a small, black-haired wizard with a scarred face and empty blue eyes. Next to him sat a quirky witch with flyaway hair and a knobbly nose. Her robes were purple with tiny stars on them. 465 stars to be exact. There were a couple of wizards longing around a table, spilling their drinks and singing in hoarse voices. One of them had a patched hat with exactly ten wrinkles in it. His face was like parchment. Exactly fourteen bean-shaped birthmarks. There were three hairs on his nose, shaped like.but there! Opposite to the wizard Oliver could see some candles burning down, flames flickering, worn-out shoes in at least six different sizes, people holding glasses filled with butterbeer.foamy, yellowish.it was all so bright.so loud.no air.no.
A sharp pain in his cheek brought Oliver back to the present.
"Oliver!" a distant voice called. "Look at me!"
He tried. He really did, but the focus seemed to slip away from him. So many impressions, so many colours, textures, shadows.
"Oliver!" the voice insisted and something positioned his face in front of two imploring brown eyes. They had the colour of Oliver's morning coffee. Warm, rich.
"That's it," the voice floated back into his senses, "Look into my eyes. Shut out the rest. Narrow down the stimuli, Oliver."
He struggled to keep his focus on the eyes in front of him. There were tiny cream- coloured spots swimming in the sea of brown. Someone had obviously added some milk to the coffee. That's how he also drank it. Rich and sweet.
"Oliver?" the voice sounded a bit frantic. "Look at me! Don't slip away! Breathe."
He did that. Stubbornly he locked his gaze onto the brown eyes in front of him and breathed. Slowly. In and out. In and out.
Finally, finally the brightness receded, the onslaught of information ceased and the hurt in Oliver's cheek was more prominent then before. Breathing hard, as if he had just chased around the Hoops on the Quidditch field for the past few hours, Oliver Wood came back to the land of the living. And almost gasped. His face was cupped by both of Hermione's hands and their foreheads were touching. It was for some inexplicable reason .the most embarrassing moment ever since he had been caught by the Weasley twins kissing Katie Bell behind the locker rooms! He flushed bright red in an instant.
"Hermione?" he stammered. "What?"
Hermione, who had to shake herself out of her stupor as well, broke into a relieved smile. "I slapped you," she said.
"Huh?"
"Your cheek. You zoned out and I slapped you. I hoped it would snap you back to reality."
"Oh," Oliver breathed, then smiled, "For someone who looks so delicate you sure pack a punch," he chuckled.
Hermione returned the smile. "I guess Malfoy will agree with you."
"Malfoy? Did you-?" Oliver's smile broadened, "You slapped him, too? I always thought Ron was the hot-blooded one of the Trio!"
Now it was Hermione's turn to blush. However, she did look pleased with herself. Finally, she broke the companionable silence. "That's what happened in `The queasy Bludger´ before you fainted, isn't it? The frequency is increasing, Oliver and we need to do something about it before you go crazy!" She took his hands in a reassuring gesture. "There is NO way you can talk this away. You zoned out and it'll happen more often from now on. Will you let me help you?"
He bit his lip for a moment, then - upon reaching a decision - looked back at her. "Yes," Oliver agreed, "but do you have any idea how to get a grip on this? Or what you're getting yourself into? "
Neither had an answer to that.
~*~*~*~*~
Please let me know if I should mail you when I update. :)
COMMENTS: First of all, `Thank you´ for all the wonderful feedback. Tomorrow, school starts again and my time will be limited, so I decided to bring this chapter out as fast as possible before I get too side-tracked by real life. :-)
I'm especially curious what you think about this chapter, because here the story finally gains a little speed, in my opinion.
A/N:
MONKEYSTARZ: Thank you for your nice comments! They were really inspiring! :)
ELVEN WARRIOR1: Thank you. I'm giving my best. And I'm on your favourites list! Hugs! Schoogles! :D
MRSWILLTURNER: Thank you so much for putting me on your favourites list! I feel so special! Virtual hugs to you! :D
DEMETRE IRONHILT: I love Dumbledore, too, but he's so hard to write. I always feel that I'm writing him OC. Anyway, this must have been one of my fastest updates ever :)
ARUAL-CHAN: Hi! I'm still waiting for your H/O-fic, you know. Write! Now! ;)
L'EAU GODDESS: Yes, the two storylines are connected, as is proven with this chapter (I hope). Thank you so much for your kind review :)
(1) Quoted from OotP, page 74, British edition
Individual `Thank you's´ for my kind reviewers can be found at the bottom of the chapter.
~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER 04 ~*~*~*~*~
Despite serving as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix for nearly two years now, Grimmauld Place # 12 had kept its own, unique charm. That meant, of course, that visitors were still graciously greeted by the portrait of the late Mrs. Black (despite the Order's most desperate tries to get to keep quiet) with charming cries of "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half- breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place!"(1)
Once that obstacle was passed, leaving the visitor half-deaf in most occasions, the way would lead up a wooden staircase, along a tranquil hallway decorated with plates which held the heads of the beheaded House-Elves of the Black household, until one finally reached the drawing room. This room, after months of careful cleaning, had become the headquarter within the headquarter so to speak. The now Doxy-free curtains were clean and of a rich emerald colour. Chairs and tables from other rooms had been carried into the drawing room, as well as several well-warded bookcases containing more ancient tomes about the dark arts than the restricted section in Hogwarts' library did.
And in the midst of it all, nestled into a fluffy armchair next to a crackling fire, sat Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. It was like this, that Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks found him, after they had finally managed to slip away from their jobs at the Ministry of Magic.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Kingsley addressed the unofficial leader of the Order, "You wanted to talk to us?"
The old man's bushy brows furrowed in confusion for a short moment, then smiled at the Aurors. "Why, yes," he answered, "It's about the case you're currently working on. I fear you have stumbled onto something more complicated than your usual work this time." Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a look. Even more complicated? Their usual work held enough excitement already!
Dumbledore sighed heavily as he conjured two armchairs for the Aurors. "Sit down," he said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "This may take a while."
Shrugging, Tonks and Kingsley did as they were told and almost immediately a shaky little table with two cups of hot, steaming cocoa materialized between them.
"Would you like some sherbet lemons as well?" Dumbledore offered, a hint of the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. After his two visitors declined, the headmaster returned to the problem at hand. "That man, who was found in the refrigerator. I knew him."
Tonks' head flew up immediately. "Then why didn't you say-?"
Kingsley held up a restraining hand. "Professor Dumbledore must have a good reason."
"That I have, indeed. Mr. Pickle - for that is his name, Mortimer Pickle - worked for the Order of the Phoenix!"
Tonks gasped but any comment she would have made was drowned out by Kingsley's slow, deep voice. "How come we have never met him? We didn't even know about his existence."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That is the point, Kingsley. You have surely noticed how the numbers of Death Eaters are growing steadily? And how there is apparently nobody to recruit them?"
Tonks and Kingsley nodded. It was downright maddening to chase down low- ranking Death Eaters, only to find that with each apprehended one two new ones seemed to appear. Nobody knew how or where they were recruited. It was absolutely impossible to gain access to You-Know-Who's circle, especially after Snape's cover had been blown.
"Well," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Pickle posed as a possible recruit and, after a year of hard work, was approached by the Death Eaters. Before he was murdered," the headmaster leaned forward to emphasize his next words, "before he was murdered he managed to send me a message. He was supposed to meet me and tell me the name of a high-ranking Death Eater, who is in charge of recruiting new members. However, all he was able to tell me before he died was that this person, whose name sadly remains a mystery to me at this point, is involved in Quidditch. He is somehow connected with Puddlemere United."
"Wood!" Kingsley rose in a fluid motion as the familiar feeling of hunting a suspect rushed through his veins. "I knew there was something off about him! The evidence suggests that -"
"In case that you're talking about Oliver Wood, Kingsley," Tonks interrupted, "then the evidence suggests merely that he's obsessed with Quidditch. I can hardly believe that the boy even notices anything else."
"There is more to him, Tonks! He's a pure-blood. Who would suspect a Quidditch- obessed kid to work for You-Know-Who? He's perfect! And he's an eidetic!"
"An eidetic?" Dumbledore murmured quietly in his seat, "That explains some things." The old wizard cleared his throat loudly then gestured towards Kingsley's abandoned seat. "Sit down. There is no need for such agitation. While I personally cannot believe that Oliver would work for Voldemort, I have to admit that he is in a highly suspicious position. However, having an eidetic on our side - in Oliver's position at that! - would be a great bonus for the Order."
"Are you implying that we should introduce Wood to the Order?" Tonks asked with narrowed eyes. Although she had always liked Wood in the past, several years of working as an Auror had taught her to treasure caution. "I can't imagine him as a Death Eater either, but being likeable doesn't automatically qualify him to join."
Dumbledore nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is why we need to find out if he's trustworthy enough to join."
"And how do you suggest we do that?" Kingsley raised a sceptical eyebrow, making Dumbledore smile even broader for some unfathomable reason.
"I believe Miss Granger could help us with that." The headmaster finally supplied, looking very pleased with himself.
If possible, Kingsley's eyebrow rose even higher. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew about that," the tall man murmured before taking another sip from his cocoa.
Dumbledore merely smiled and vowed to get Crookshanks an extra-tasty piece of fish. He was really an exceptionally clever cat.
~*~*~*~
"I'm still convinced that "The three Broomsticks" is the place where you get the best butterbeer. It has a more appealing name, too." Oliver Wood flashed his companion what he thought was his most charming smile. However, the bushy- haired young woman in front of him seemed oblivious to his charms.
"Oliver," Hermione admonished him as if he were a stubborn child, "Don't try to change the subject."
"I'm not!" The young Keeper assured her with innocent wide eyes and a small smile.
Hermione sighed in defeat. This was worse than dealing with Ron! "Oliver," she began anew.
"Did I ever mention that I like the way you say my name? The way it rolls off your tongue."
Hermione felt her blood rising into her cheeks and quickly hid behind her mass of brown hair. "You're really trying everything to get out of this, don't you?"
He beamed at her. "Does it work?"
"No!" Hermione replied, a bit too forceful for her taste. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. "Anyway, I've been researching the phenomenon of `eidetics´. The first recorded case of an `eidetic´ can be found in 1762, Mr. Gulliver Waffling. The first manifestation of his ability was somewhere around his fourteenth birthday. People didn't really know how to act around him, so eventually Waffling went into isolation after some.incidents."
Interested despite his resolution to deny the whole `eidetic-issue´ Oliver leaned forward. "What kind of incidents?"
Hermione rummaged around in her back and produced what looked like a giant compilation of random notes, held together by a golden-red band. "I've made some notes," she explained, then added upon receiving Oliver's questioning glance, "I've also colour-coded them."
"Ah," Oliver said intelligently. As far as he could recall Quidditch- strategies were the only thing in his life he had ever colour-coded. "Well, what incidents?"
"I couldn't find anything exact about it. Some mention self-inflicted wounds, random screaming. Madness. He went mad before his twentieth birthday." Hermione sighed. "Later on, people began to believe that `eidetics´ could be healed by lack of stimulation. There is the case of Miranda Bunbury from the late 1860'ies who was held in a dark room, devoid of any visual stimulation."
"What happened to her?"
Hermione gulped. "She went mad with fifteen and committed suicide only a short while later."
Oliver snorted. "Wonderful. I feel so much better knowing this. Aren't there any happy `eidetics´?"
"From what my research revealed," Hermione hesitated, "no."
"Brilliant," Wood commented sarcastically. "But I'm happy. As far as I can tell I haven't gone mad either."
"Not yet. For causes unknown your talent seems to have manifested itself only very late in life." "That it has," he agreed calmly, "Why though?"
The question hung between them ominously and both pondered it silently. While thinking Oliver's eyes roamed through `The leaky Cauldron´. It had filled up considerable since their arrival. There was a small, black-haired wizard with a scarred face and empty blue eyes. Next to him sat a quirky witch with flyaway hair and a knobbly nose. Her robes were purple with tiny stars on them. 465 stars to be exact. There were a couple of wizards longing around a table, spilling their drinks and singing in hoarse voices. One of them had a patched hat with exactly ten wrinkles in it. His face was like parchment. Exactly fourteen bean-shaped birthmarks. There were three hairs on his nose, shaped like.but there! Opposite to the wizard Oliver could see some candles burning down, flames flickering, worn-out shoes in at least six different sizes, people holding glasses filled with butterbeer.foamy, yellowish.it was all so bright.so loud.no air.no.
A sharp pain in his cheek brought Oliver back to the present.
"Oliver!" a distant voice called. "Look at me!"
He tried. He really did, but the focus seemed to slip away from him. So many impressions, so many colours, textures, shadows.
"Oliver!" the voice insisted and something positioned his face in front of two imploring brown eyes. They had the colour of Oliver's morning coffee. Warm, rich.
"That's it," the voice floated back into his senses, "Look into my eyes. Shut out the rest. Narrow down the stimuli, Oliver."
He struggled to keep his focus on the eyes in front of him. There were tiny cream- coloured spots swimming in the sea of brown. Someone had obviously added some milk to the coffee. That's how he also drank it. Rich and sweet.
"Oliver?" the voice sounded a bit frantic. "Look at me! Don't slip away! Breathe."
He did that. Stubbornly he locked his gaze onto the brown eyes in front of him and breathed. Slowly. In and out. In and out.
Finally, finally the brightness receded, the onslaught of information ceased and the hurt in Oliver's cheek was more prominent then before. Breathing hard, as if he had just chased around the Hoops on the Quidditch field for the past few hours, Oliver Wood came back to the land of the living. And almost gasped. His face was cupped by both of Hermione's hands and their foreheads were touching. It was for some inexplicable reason .the most embarrassing moment ever since he had been caught by the Weasley twins kissing Katie Bell behind the locker rooms! He flushed bright red in an instant.
"Hermione?" he stammered. "What?"
Hermione, who had to shake herself out of her stupor as well, broke into a relieved smile. "I slapped you," she said.
"Huh?"
"Your cheek. You zoned out and I slapped you. I hoped it would snap you back to reality."
"Oh," Oliver breathed, then smiled, "For someone who looks so delicate you sure pack a punch," he chuckled.
Hermione returned the smile. "I guess Malfoy will agree with you."
"Malfoy? Did you-?" Oliver's smile broadened, "You slapped him, too? I always thought Ron was the hot-blooded one of the Trio!"
Now it was Hermione's turn to blush. However, she did look pleased with herself. Finally, she broke the companionable silence. "That's what happened in `The queasy Bludger´ before you fainted, isn't it? The frequency is increasing, Oliver and we need to do something about it before you go crazy!" She took his hands in a reassuring gesture. "There is NO way you can talk this away. You zoned out and it'll happen more often from now on. Will you let me help you?"
He bit his lip for a moment, then - upon reaching a decision - looked back at her. "Yes," Oliver agreed, "but do you have any idea how to get a grip on this? Or what you're getting yourself into? "
Neither had an answer to that.
~*~*~*~*~
Please let me know if I should mail you when I update. :)
COMMENTS: First of all, `Thank you´ for all the wonderful feedback. Tomorrow, school starts again and my time will be limited, so I decided to bring this chapter out as fast as possible before I get too side-tracked by real life. :-)
I'm especially curious what you think about this chapter, because here the story finally gains a little speed, in my opinion.
A/N:
MONKEYSTARZ: Thank you for your nice comments! They were really inspiring! :)
ELVEN WARRIOR1: Thank you. I'm giving my best. And I'm on your favourites list! Hugs! Schoogles! :D
MRSWILLTURNER: Thank you so much for putting me on your favourites list! I feel so special! Virtual hugs to you! :D
DEMETRE IRONHILT: I love Dumbledore, too, but he's so hard to write. I always feel that I'm writing him OC. Anyway, this must have been one of my fastest updates ever :)
ARUAL-CHAN: Hi! I'm still waiting for your H/O-fic, you know. Write! Now! ;)
L'EAU GODDESS: Yes, the two storylines are connected, as is proven with this chapter (I hope). Thank you so much for your kind review :)
(1) Quoted from OotP, page 74, British edition