The Quetzal's Fire
Harry Potter
I'm trying to start a Harry Potter fanfiction message board. Email me or go to my homepage link and sign up for my totally subjective admittance process. As always: idiots need not apply. Fools, of course, are more than welcome.
A/N: Well, I got back from a vacation in the largely snowless land that is southwest Montana, i.e. the Big Sky resort. And you know what? The sky really is bigger there. It's good to be a Westerner, even if just in ancestry. I got this one done and some of what will be part-anywhere-from-16-to-21 done as well. AND SIGN UP FOR THE CAVE!
Part
Fourteen: Schemes
As the sinister Peruvian magicians plotted in their ancient city, more mundane vendettas played themselves out at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Draco Malfoy was beginning to shape his brilliant plans.
"What can we do to ruin the Gryffindor team?" he wondered aloud one night in the Slytherin Common Room. He was holding court over the rest of the assembled sixth years.
"Take their practices," suggested Pansy Parkinson.
"Too simple. Been done before."
"We, uh, could hit bludgers at them," proposed Vincent Crabbe.
"As always, Crabbe, your brilliance shines brighter than the North Star. No, we can do something better. I imagine even you lot have observed where broomsticks are kept? Before Potter's first match as captain…"
The entire Order of Phoenix convened for its weekly meeting on the third of October 1996 in the Headmaster's chambers.
"Good afternoon everyone." Dumbledore looked around the room soberly. "I believe I have told you all fragmentally about the vision Harry Potter had last week." Snape pursed his lips. "But this is the first time everyone has been together for some time, so I decided to wait until now to enlighten the whole of you.
"Voldemort was making a purchase of some time from the leader of Latin Dark Magic, Don Pacahuti Mirabál. I'm sure most of you know something about him and the way he has managed to take over most of the magical community in southeastern Peru and a good portion of Chilé. He has never been very involved in European or North American power struggle. I do not believe that he is changing any of that now. Kingsley and Nymphadora have said as much." Fred and George snorted, but Kingsley ignored it and stood up.
"Albus said that Voldemort exchanged a dementor for el inciendo involvidable, the nature of which I am not sure…" Kingsley looked hopefully at Abd and Dumbledore.
"That translates to 'the unforgettable fire', of which I have never heard," Abd said with a shrug.
"I am unsure myself," Dumbledore admitted. "I shall research it, however. The degree of importance seems fairly low, however, if Voldemort exchanged a mere dementor for it." Dumbledore looked at his potions- and spy- master expectantly.
"I have not heard the Dark Lord mention it," Snape remarked. "I do not believe it should be a priority of this organization."
"It will be attended to in the coming months. But what I think is more important is the results of the Kilburn raid…"
Pacahuti Alejandro Mirabál was deep in his compound, plotting casually. Of course, he was not actually plotting at present; he was on his cigarette break.
"See the match last night?" he inquired to his main subordinate, Rodrigo Santana. The two had forged an indelible bond after surviving a leftist, pro-muggle-unity insurgency in their remote hometown. Santana was intelligent, but admittedly uncreative beyond the details. Mirabál, on the other hand, had imagination for ten. The two worked together flawlessly: it was a relationship envied by Voldemort, who felt he had no reliable partisans—his main flaw. Mirabál knew most of his limitations, however, and leaned heavily on his people.
"Jimenez had the snitch right under his nose!" Santana cried angrily. "I suppose it is his muddy blood,"
Mirabál snorted. "Not that we'll have to worry about that much longer. Has the alchemical equipment come in?"
"Late, as usual. I think we may need to breed another specimen to proceed. If the formula is flawed…" Santana's voce trailed off. Mirabál nodded absently. He was accepting of criticism from all parties on his side, a rarity for Dark Lords.
"They do not mate, Rodrigo. How many times must I tell you?" Mirabál chided, not unkindly.
"Replicate one, then. We have transfigurators enough,"
"I suppose."
The two puffed in silence. Mirabál spoke next.
"Riddle will need you next month. I believe he is sending an emissary to assist us with the mutations. We have agreed to let your time and the envoy's overlap. The schedule must be met." Santana nodded.
"A patronus-proof dementor. Who would have thought?"
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