Chapter 6: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
Meli took her time setting up her quarters at Snape Manor, in part because she had inside information that her services would probably not be required until the end of the summer. Voldemort had at least one major operation in the works, but the preparation and timing required for it prevented him from acting until possibly September, or so Snape and Zarekael reported. The result was likely to be a long, quiet summer, which Voldemort probably hoped would either lull or discomfit his enemies, and which Meli considered a blessing in disguise because it gave her that much longer to settle in. Once the Dark Lord began his next offensive, there would be plenty of people in need of new homes and identities; there was no sense in wishing for it early.
Dumbledore called her in for a meeting near the end of June, and she arrived in his office to find that she was not the only one summoned. Snape and Zarekael were also there, standing at ease near Dumbledore's desk rather than sitting in any of the several chairs arranged nearby. Meli, taking her cue from them, also stood rather than sat, and looked expectantly to Dumbledore.
The headmaster gazed gravely at all three of them, but the matter couldn't be terribly serious or hopeless; his eyes were still twinkling. "Rasa," he began, "Severus and Zarekael have some good news for you."
Meli turned to the father and son and arched her eyebrow. "You've discovered a scientific way to turn straw into gold?" she suggested sardonically.
"It's rather more useful than that," Snape replied in a similar tone. "Zarekael and I have managed to create a prototype portkey that will make your job a bit simpler."
She raised her eyebrows. "I assume, based on what you've said, that it's more than a voice-activated paperweight," she hedged.
"Much more," Zarekael confirmed. "This is a ring that can only be removed by the wearer, that cannot be worn by a Death Eater, and that responds only to the voice of its owner. When activated, it takes the person wearing it to a predetermined refuge."
"To the Bat Cave?" Meli suggested, smirking slightly.
"To the Bat Cave," Snape affirmed, entirely missing the allusion.
"What keeps a Death Eater from wearing it?" Meli asked.
Father and son looked first at one another, then at the floor. "We've specifically designed it to detect the Dark Mark," Snape told her quietly. "No one with that type of Brand will be able to wear it."
"Including you."
Snape shrugged. "It's rather commonly known within the Order that I bear the Dark Mark, so I'll draw no attention to myself by not wearing one," he replied. "And Zarekael happens to be allergic to one of the potions with which the ring was treated."
Meli cleared her throat. "I see."
"Once a number of these rings have been made," Dumbledore interjected, "they will be issued to members of the Order and to certain other key people." He raised his eyebrows. "Everyone important to Harry Potter will receive one; we have reason to believe that Voldemort plans to target his friends…and his family."
Meli shook her head. "The Dursleys have already rejected protection," she reminded him. "No one from the Order is going to make it past the front door, and you know it."
"I'm quite sure that another visit from Clap and Trap would end in disaster," Dumbledore conceded. "Which is why the next visitors will be as conciliatory as the first two were objectionable."
She narrowed her eyes. "And why do I have the feeling I'm going to be one of those conciliatory visitors you're alluding to?"
"You won't be going alone," Zarekael told her softly. "I have volunteered to accompany you."
Meli closed her eyes and counted ten. When she was certain of keeping her baser feelings to herself, she looked again to the headmaster. "All right, then," she sighed. "When?"
"Not yet," Dumbledore assured her. "It will take time to manufacture the necessary rings. In the meantime, there is another event to plan for. The new Minister of Magic will be inaugurated in a week, and the Ministry has chosen to hold the ceremony and reception here at Hogwarts."
Meli swallowed. Between foreign dignitaries and any number of bureaucrats, not to mention the requisite honored guests and anyone else whose presence was deemed necessary, such an event promised to be a logistical and security nightmare. "And the three of us are to be somehow involved?" she asked with a sinking heart.
Dumbledore nodded. "Severus and Zarekael will be present as members of the faculty," he answered, "and you, Meli, will be there disguised as an Unspeakable."
"An Unspeakable." She was amused in spite of herself. "Don't Unspeakables generally disguise themselves as other sorts of people? An undisguised Unspeakable would be sure to draw attention."
"You'll be further disguised," the headmaster told her. "I need to speak with a contact in the Department about your possible further identity, but if anyone should for any reason demand identification, you'll have a badge identifying yourself as an Unspeakable. That ought to give you free run of the Great Hall and the grounds, and it will provide you with a plausible reason for being there." The twinkle in his eyes muted somewhat. "Your actual purpose will be to protect the new Minister of Magic."
"Somehow I doubt Minister Ghen will like being guarded by an Unspeakable he doesn't know," Meli pointed out.
"Which is why you will appear to be guarding me instead," Dumbledore countered. "Should anything happen, however, your first priority is to protect Ghen."
"And someone else will be protecting you?"
The headmaster smiled slightly. "I'll be adequately protected," he didn't quite answer.
Meli left the meeting in a darkly thoughtful mood. It made sense that the Ministry didn't trust the safety of its own facilities; after all, Fudge had been assassinated in his cabinet conference room, which was one of the most secure rooms in the Ministry. Hogwarts was out of the way and was widely known to be a fortress—it made perfect sense to have an important event in the safest possible place, especially with so many people of importance in attendance. Everything about the arrangement was logical.
What wasn't so logical, however, was the timing of it all. The inauguration would be the ideal time to strike, not only at the Minister of Magic but at anyone else of importance…and yet Inner Circle spies had indicated that the summer would be more or less uneventful. If Snape or Zarekael knew otherwise, they would surely have said something just now, and they had remained silent, which indicated that, if Voldemort was up to something, he was keeping it from them. And given that they weren't exactly low-ranking Death Eaters, and they weren't under suspicion (so far as she knew, anyway), if they hadn't been told that something would happen, the odds were better than even that nothing was going to happen.
So why did she sense that it would be otherwise?
It's just the snake in me, she thought. If it were me in command, I'd strike. Either I would assassinate someone I knew they weren't protecting as attentively, or I'd do something to throw it all into chaos—something along the lines of setting off a bomb. The object wouldn't be to kill a large number of people but to frighten them…to let them know that I wasn't sleeping, that I could lash out at them at any time.
That, of course, begged the question of opportunity. How would an agent sneak into the ceremony or the reception, do the deed, and escape without being caught? Of all possible weapons, only a wand would excite no suspicion at the agent's entrance, and a deadly curse could be traced back to a wand with ease—especially since the fleeing assassin or saboteur would be quickly caught.
The logistics involved make it too much of a hassle, then, she concluded uneasily. They're expecting Voldemort to strike, so they'll be on their guard…which is why he won't do anything. There's too much chance of his agent being caught, and the annoyance and risk would outweigh the benefit. She snorted. The one time bureaucracy actually proves to be a deterrent to crime, rather than a motivation for it.
It all made sense, in the end.
A little too much sense, as it turned out.
PRESENT: MID-JULY
The inauguration itself went off without a hitch, but that had never been in question. The prime timing for a murder would be during the reception, when hundreds of people were hobnobbing and milling about, providing ample cover for deadly deeds. So it was that Meli found herself relaxing during the time at which most of the people around her were tense and tensing up when the others were just beginning to relax.
It didn't help that she absolutely despised dress robes. The only advantage she could see to the despicable, heavy things was that they were voluminous enough to afford her plenty of concealment for her new wand, her shiny Unspeakable badge, and her fists should the need arise for her to use them.
Dumbledore, by contrast, seemed entirely at-ease, both in his dress robes and in the setting, and well he might be, she thought irritably. He had information that nothing was going to happen—or rather, he hadn't any information to the contrary. She wondered, as the caterers opened the buffet tables, if any of his spies had specifically told him that there were no plots afoot.
Why can't I let that go? she thought in annoyance. Why can't I just accept for once that things won't always happen when you expect them to? I need to calm down and trust what I know.
Unfortunately, what she knew was that there was absolutely no good reason for Voldemort not to have something in the works. He was a man who throve on terror, and it made no sense for him to pass up an opportunity to terrorize the entire magical community simply because something big was coming up in September.
Chill, she told herself firmly, borrowing one of Andrea's favorite pieces of advice. Just take it a minute at a time. Worrying won't do anything to prevent something from happening.
She tugged uncomfortably at the lacy fringe on her cuffs, then turned her gaze to Dumbledore, at whose side she stood.
"I don't believe you've met the new Minister of Magic?" he said conversationally.
"No, sir," she replied. "Have you?"
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. "A decent enough gentleman," he told her. "And single, as I understand it."
Meli gave him a withering look. "How nice for him."
"Would you like to be introduced?"
She arched an eyebrow. "As long as the topic of courtship never comes up," she answered darkly, "it would be an honor."
It wouldn't, really; she liked the new Minister's politics and attitude a bit more than she had liked Fudge's, but she had a deep-seeded distrust of authority in general and of the Ministry in particular, and she didn't see how any Minister of Magic could be at all trustworthy or honorable. Still, it fell to her to guard him tonight, and if it meant putting up with a bureaucrat and Dumbledore's supposed attempts to set her up with said bureaucrat, she would do it. The Ministry, and the Minister of Magic for that matter, served a purpose that was largely in the interest of the Order, and for that reason alone she would defend both.
Minister Ghen saw them coming, and he very obviously took pleasure in the sight, much to Meli's vexation. She hadn't been thinking of anything other than the character she was taking on when she'd settled on the look of her glamourie, but it seemed that she'd gone a little too far on the prettiness scale, at least where the Minister of Magic was concerned. He was looking a little too appreciatively at her coifed blonde hair, her Grecian features, and what little figure was visible beneath her offensive pale blue robes. Mindful of her role, however, Meli forced a smile and determined to ride it out.
"You could have warned me," she muttered under her breath to Dumbledore.
"Warned you?" he countered innocently. "I thought you realized that gentlemen prefer blondes."
She gritted her teeth but smiled all the wider as they came within earshot of their goal.
"Albert," Dumbledore said heartily. "How are you this evening?"
The Minister of Magic nodded politely in acknowledgment. "Quite well, thank you," he replied in a thin, reedy voice that was not at all made for public address. "And how are you, Albus?"
"Cheerful as always," Dumbledore returned. "There's nothing like a nice party to revive the spirits after the weather we've had lately."
It had rained for the entire previous week, which had suited Meli's mood just fine. She was predisposed by everything else in her immediate life to be irked that the sky had dared to clear and the weather to warm on the precise day that she was stuck in a claustrophobic mass of people, clad in a disgusting set of dress robes, and watching for an attack that she had been told would not come, but which every instinct in her screamed was imminent.
"Nothing like a party," the Minister of Magic agreed, "to say nothing of companionship."
Meli caught herself just in time to make it seem that she had closed her eyes demurely rather than long-sufferingly. When she opened them again, Ghen was still smiling that dreadful appreciative smile.
Dumbledore affected surprise at the comment, as if he had forgotten entirely that Meli was there. "Oh, yes," he said. "How silly of me. Blanche, may I present to you Albert Ghen, the British Minister of Magic."
Ghen's smile broadened, showing his thin, yellow teeth. "My friends call me A. Ghen," he told her, leaning a little too far forward for her liking. "Get it? A. Ghen? Again?"
Meli felt her own smile freeze in place and hoped she didn't look flirtatious as she blinked several times while she processed what had just been said and determined that yes, he had, in fact, just shamed—flagrantly—the sacred and beloved art of puns. While the Minister of Magic was still laughing at his own witlessness, she darted a dark glare at Dumbledore, who merely smiled in return.
"Charmed, I'm sure," Meli said when Minister A. Ghen was once more paying attention.
"Albert," Dumbledore continued, as if there had been no pause at all in his introduction, "this is Blanche Ingraham, one of the documentarians I told you about. She's researching systems of government in magical communities all over the world, and I thought it would be helpful for her to see an actual British inauguration. We don't have them very often, you know."
"Not as often as some might wish," the Minister of Magic chortled, and Meli, who was among those some, had the sudden desire to put a fist through his repulsive teeth. "So how is your research going, Miss Ingraham?"
"It's Mrs. Ingraham, actually," Meli told him smoothly and had the satisfaction of seeing his infuriating smile slip by just the smallest bit. Sorry, Headmaster, she thought unrepentantly, but there are certain levels to which I refuse to sink. I could never pretend affection for a man who butchers puns. "But to answer your question," she continued aloud, "quite well. I've just come from America, and I'm bound for Russia next week." She raised her eyebrows. "Do you know that a number of magical communities don't hold elections at all? They exist under a feudal system in which the most powerful families take political power and leadership is passed on to the eldest or most powerful child of each generation. It's rather fascinating to see where such a system has taken them."
Ghen frowned. "How do the ruling families handle the problem of Dark Lords?" he asked.
Meli regarded him coolly. "Many handle them in exactly the same way the British Ministry does," she replied. "They have security forces akin to Aurors who hunt down and destroy the threat." Her gaze turned hawkish. "But then, of course, there are those in which the ruling house are Dark Lords, and they fight in rather a different way, as you can imagine. Fortunately, those are few and far between, and the dynasties generally don't last as long as their founders might have wished."
"Fascinating," Ghen muttered, but he seemed to find it otherwise. "So where are you originally from, Mrs. Ingraham? Your accent is rather difficult to trace."
Meli smiled. "I'm told I was born in Germany," she answered. "But as I have no memory of the event, I shall have to take others' word for it. Since then, I've lived more or less everywhere. You will not go far amiss if you guess from my accent that I came from America, Scotland, Germany, Australia, Sweden, or Argentina. In truth, I've come from all, and a few besides."
Politeness, of course, then dictated that she inquire after his origins, and within ten minutes the conversation was off in the fairy-land of location, location, location. She was obliged to give her opinion of tourist spots the world over, and the Minister of Magic felt obliged to give his opinion on every single place he had ever visited, as well as a few dozen places he hadn't been but nevertheless had settled ideas about. Dumbledore offered his own commentary in a few spots, but for the most part he seemed content to stand there nodding while Meli was forced to carry on a conversation that bored her silly. The one good thing about the whole mess of it was that she was able for awhile to forget the niggling in the back of her mind that insisted she should be on her guard against something that she knew would not be coming.
That niggling never did quite return, but it was not on account of it not being justified. Meli was lost in the conversation until it was abruptly and finally interrupted by a tremendous commotion at the near end of the Great Hall.
Everyone turned with a single motion toward the ruckus, and Meli's breath caught sickeningly in her lungs when she saw what was happening. A nondescript man that she nonetheless recognized as the head of the Department of Mysteries, was convulsing and spewing blood and foam from his mouth. The people around him moved away to give him space as he seized, but more air did nothing for him. He clawed at the collar of his robes and fought for even a snatch of breath, then dropped suddenly to the floor, where his convulsions continued for the briefest of moments before cutting off with a finality that left no doubt as to his fate.
There was no time for a pause, however, for from the other end of the room now came a blood-curdling scream. Again the body of people whirled to find another man—the head of the Department of Aurors—falling to the ground with what looked like an arrow protruding from his chest.
Mother of God, Meli thought, even as her instincts took over. Before the Auror hit the floor, she had already tackled the Minister of Magic and wrestled him down, protecting him with her body from any potential threat. Dumbledore fell to the floor nearby, with an Auror offering him similar protection as chaos broke out around them.
The air exploded into numerous screams and cries, and the body of people dissolved into individuals, each out to save his own life or, in the case of the professional protectors among them, to save the lives of those nearest them. In the confusion, Meli thought she heard both Snape and Zarekael's voices calling out for Dumbledore, but she couldn't be sure; the only reality in her mind was the realization that somehow, impossibly, she had been right.
Always trust your instincts, Crimson had once chided. Logic will get you so far, but psychology isn't logical, and it's what the world turns on. Trust your read of people above your read of the facts, and you'll rarely find yourself in a bind.
Meli shook her head grimly. She had trusted her instincts, after a fashion, had even made known her concerns to Dumbledore when she, Snape, and Zarekael had been making security arrangements for the Great Hall. But both of them had allowed themselves to be lulled by the spies' reports—
Did Severus or Zarekael know? she suddenly wondered. And if so, when? And if sooner than today, why didn't they say anything?
A green wall of fire exploded into existence around Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic then, and she found that she had more pressing issues to deal with. The fire was, so far as she could tell, ordinary flame apart from its color, but she wasn't willing to toss a hex at it to find out. Even if it was normal fire, however, it stood between her and the outside world, and to her way of thinking, it offered more danger than protection to everyone inside of it. If something should happen, there was no available escape route, and if the fire was truly real, it would be looking for fuel and might very well spread inward. The roar of the flames was subdued, and she could hear noises both inside the circle and outside. Beside her, Dumbledore was struggling to his feet, and beyond the green wall she heard Zarekael arguing with what sounded like at least half a dozen extremely angry Aurors.
"It's all right, Zarekael!" Dumbledore called out. "I'm fine. You can recall the fire now."
There was a breath of wind, and the green flames disappeared. Meli waited to be sure that there was no immediate apparent danger to Ghen, then slowly climbed to her feet and helped him to stand, as well.
Snape and Zarekael stood almost side by side, glaring venomously at the Aurors standing between them and Dumbledore. The Aurors, who had possessed little sense of humor before the disaster of the evening, had lost all trace of it in the wake of their chief's death, and they were not in the mood to stand for walls of fire appearing out of nowhere in close proximity to the Minister of Magic. Dumbledore, fortunately, intervened in their behalf, and the Aurors gave way, but not before one that Meli recognized as the infamous Scatcherd ordered them to stay close by for questioning.
Dumbledore, once assured of his teachers' safety, stepped purposefully toward the body closest at hand, and Meli, mindful of annoying the Aurors further, went with him, entrusting Ghen to his own security.
The dead Minister of Mysteries lay almost exactly as he had probably fallen, miraculously unscathed by the pandemonium that had ensued in the wake of his death. His body was undesecrated by any weapon's marks, and on the surface, at least, it appeared that he could well have died from a medical cause.
"This wasn't epileptic," Meli murmured, just loudly enough for Dumbledore to hear. Her own "seizures" weren't epileptic, of course, but she had made a thorough study of true epilepsy in order to be able to discuss her supposed condition in an educated manner. Based upon both the Unspeakable's symptoms and the context surrounding his death, the odds were high that he had died not from a freak medical condition but from a particularly nasty poison.
Dumbledore set his jaw grimly but nodded and led the way to the other body. He passed Snape and Zarekael on the way, and Meli noticed uncomfortably that he neither looked at nor spoke to them.
He's sure they know something about this, she thought. It makes sense, I suppose; they're both Potions experts, so it stands to reason that any poison Voldemort used might have been brewed by one or both of them.
The Auror's body, in contrast with that of his counterpart, showed no signs of a painful death, nor was there any way that anyone could mistake it for accident. Meli had caught a brief glance of a bolt in his chest, but now on examination, she found that two bolts had been fired at him—one centered in his heart and the other centered in his eye.
She swallowed. This had been the work of a well-practiced assassin. The shooter was a marksman who knew enough to be certain of his mark by firing a second sure shot, and, moreover, who had been smart enough to sneak a compact bolt-firing weapon, probably a crossbow, into the Great Hall in spite of all of the security arrangements made.
And to be doubly certain, I'd be willing to wager that he tipped the bolts with poison.
She felt suddenly very ill, and her condition wasn't at all helped by the look on Dumbledore's face when he straightened again to face her. Something dangerous and deadly had supplanted the twinkle in his eyes, and she suspected, without knowing quite why, that he knew how security had been so completely thwarted.
"Stay at my side, Rasa," he told her softly. "This is not over yet."