Chapter 11: Trial by Error

Partly as penance and partly in fun, Meli went to the next Order meeting as Alicia. Since Rasa was the only Order member to use appearance charms and the one metamorphmagus on their roster had a day job, the teachers present knew her immediately, and everyone else saw quite the variety of reactions to Alicia's entrance. Sprout turned a very unattractive shade of purple and had to sit on her hands, probably to keep herself from beating Rasa senseless; McGonagall, by contrast, smiled thinly and looked only slightly disapproving—she had trouble condemning someone who had so thoroughly wrong-footed Trelawney. Flitwick looked torn for a moment or so, then let out a low chuckle, and Lupin, who already knew, merely nodded in greeting and smiled mildly.

"So you must be the one everyone keeps mistaking for me," someone near at-hand commented, and Meli turned to find a young woman with impish features and short lavendar hair smiling at her. "Call me Tonks."

"Rasa," Meli replied, shaking hands. "How do they keep mistaking me for you?"

Tonks shrugged. "Other way 'round, actually," she amended. "Word's out in the Order that I'm a metamorphmagus, but there are still people who don't know there's a glamourie expert on the loose. I hear Sibyl Trelawney's got a Wanted poster with my name on it hanging in her classroom." She smirked. "Whatever you did to earn that, I hope it was a humdinger."

Her last remark was greeted by a chorus of snickers from several of the teachers assembled, in the midst of which Dumbledore's voice could be heard calling the meeting to order.

It was a rather long meeting, for there were a number of detailed reports due in the wake of Azkaban's fall; Rasa wasn't the only one who had been out spying. Since the attack on the prison and the Dementors' escape, Voldemort's eerie silence had ended. Death Eater activity had been ramped up nearly to the level at which it had been at the end of the Dark Lord's last Rise, and the Ministry, which had taken heavy losses at Azkaban, was responding sluggishly; the blitzkrieg had begun.

The meeting was at last beginning to wind down when a coded rap at the door brought it immediately to a halt. Basil Holmes, who had been on duty at the Ministry and had not, therefore, been supposed to come to the meeting, stepped hastily in as soon as the door was opened to admit him. Rather than making a blanket announcement, though, he hurried to Dumbledore's side and whispered a rather lengthy message in the headmaster's ear. Dumbledore heard him out, then, his poker face betraying nothing at all, nodded, thanked Holmes, and motioned for the meeting to resume. Holmes, meanwhile, made a discreet exit.

The Order finished its business in another ten minutes' time, at the end of which Dumbledore stood. "Unless you hear otherwise," he said calmly, "we meet again next Tuesday. Rasa, Daryl, and Rosemary, I need to speak with you for a few minutes. The rest of you have a pleasant evening."

While Meli appreciated the sentiment behind that last statement, she thought it was a bit like telling an atheist to go with God. There wasn't a person in the room who didn't have a death sentence hanging over them if Voldemort caught them, and the certainty of a prison sentence if the Ministry caught them instead. One side considered them mortal enemies; the other, insurgents and vigilantes. With that knowledge always in the back of their minds, pleasantness wasn't generally an accepted fact of life.

Shaking her head, Meli walked over to Dumbledore as the room emptied out. Daryl and Rosemary Llewellyn, who were actually social people, were a little longer in joining them, and when it became clear that Dumbledore wasn't going to say anything until they were all assembled, Meli made good use of the time to change appearance charms. Whatever was going on, she gathered that Alicia was probably not suited to handle it.

The Llewellyns at last arrived, looking quite unconcerned, and Meli felt the distinct urge to grind her teeth. They were around her age, intelligent, and way too bloody cocky for her taste. They were of use to the Order in the generic sense that they added to its numbers, but, though both were Aurors, neither contributed much more to the cause than did the unreliable but well-intentioned Mundungus Fletcher.

In Meli's disgruntled opinion, the two of them wanted taking down a notch, and it would take a horrific tragedy to accomplish even that much.

Once the room had emptied of everyone else, Dumbledore's poker face crumbled, and the other three were confronted with his gravest countenance. "I hope you will forgive my not telling you at once," he said, his eyes fixed on the Llewellyns, "but I thought you would prefer to be the first to know and to have no audience."

Rosemary's smile slipped, and Meli's stomach tightened. Oh, God, she thought. I didn't mean it!

"Your house has been attacked," Dumbledore said slowly, watching the Llewellyns closely. "And burned."

The news sucked the air from both the Llewellyns' lungs, and Meli swayed slightly. She had heard Rosemary commenting to someone that she'd hired her cousin for the evening to baby-sit the little ones; the Llewellyns had children, and those children, as well as their cousin, had been at the house.

They used to have children, she corrected herself sorrowfully. And they would have been small children—like Meli Golden.

She furrowed her brow and screwed her eyes shut as the image of her quasi-niece's terrified face entered her mind unbidden. It was a memory she would never have knowingly wished on anyone else, and yet she had practically done so mere moments before. What could be more horrific, after all, than having your children killed and burned by Death Eaters?

Outwardly, at least, she recovered quickly, if only because she must, and she soberly met Dumbledore's eye. There was work to be done, and it had to be set into motion immediately, but it was wrong, to say nothing of impossible, to rush grief.

The Llewellyns did, however, appear to be made of somewhat stronger stuff than she had assumed, for Daryl cleared his throat and looked now to her.

"You'll be Rasa, then," he said quietly. "We need to be disappeared."

Meli nodded slowly. "As quickly as possible," she affirmed. "I'm sorry for your loss and for the shortness of time at the moment."

Rosemary shook her head. "It can't be helped," she replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked to her husband then and, with a single question, reestablished Meli's opinion of her: "Why would they do this to us?"

Meli closed her eyes to keep from rolling them and set her jaw. Obviously because you're more important than any of us believed, she sniped silently. Including you, apparently, which may be the first prescient thing I've heard from either you in the entirety of your pointless lives.

Once the urge to voice her opinion aloud had passed, she reopened her eyes and turned to Dumbledore. "I think it might be wise to continue our meeting in your office, Headmaster," she told him. "It's best to keep them out of sight until arrangements are made."

Dumbledore nodded, a flicker in his eyes telling her that he was well aware of her other thoughts in the matter. "I quite agree," he answered. "Daryl, Rosemary, will you accompany us?"

The Llewellyns complied without a peep of argument, and the four of them progressed through the school in the direction of the headmaster's office.

They were nearly to their destination when a quiet, though not light, tread reached Meli's ear. She, Dumbledore, and the Llewellyns halted and turned to find Snape approaching their group. He looked, she thought, a touch worried, but he gave no indication of what might be passing through his mind. Instead, he looked to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, have you seen Zarekael?"

Some subtlety in his tone told Meli the full story, and she had no doubt that Dumbledore was likewise informed. The Potions apprentice had likely been involved in some way in the evening's events, and to Snape's knowledge, anyway, he had not yet come back.

Not good, she thought. Very not good.

If Zarekael was still at large and chose a poor time to return, or if he had already returned and was waiting in the headmaster's office to give his report, it was possible that the Llewellyns would come face to face with a Death Eater. In that event, it was highly likely, especially in light of their sudden, horrific loss, that one or both of the Aurors would come unhinged and say or do something stupid, which would in turn lead to other, worse problems all around.

Now would be a great time for Murphy's Law to fall flat on its face, she reflected. Please, God, just this once.

"Not lately," Dumbledore replied calmly. "He asked to speak with me after the meeting tonight, so it's possible that he's waiting in my office. We're going there now—will you join us?"

Snape hesitated briefly, ostensibly not wanting to intrude, but Meli saw clearly that he had gauged the situation as she had done. He nodded, however, perhaps concluding that he would be able to help if things got out of hand.

Please let him still be out, Meli prayed. Reporting to Voldemort, delayed on the way home—hell, out drinking with Malfoy—something! Anything to keep him from being there now or dropping in before the Llewellyns are out of the way.

But, as had happened so often before, the chances of something happening in the way she wished it to happen were inversely proportional to the amount of fervency with which she wished it, and her first hint that that was the case came in the form of a song.

The five of them were still in the stairwell leading to the headmaster's office when a tune at once strange and familiar came faintly down to meet them. It was a long moment before she could place it, and when she did, it was far too late to do anything about it.

The singer this time was male, but it was the fey-sounding song Zarekael had played for her a year before—a song that only he would know, though why he would be singing it here and now, she had no way of guessing.

They had all heard it, but there was no going back. The headmaster had been filling Snape in on what had happened to the Llewellyns' home, and Zarekael's voice did nothing to hinder his narrative. He finished what he was saying, then turned to the bereaved parents as they came to the top of the stairs. "I'm sorry, Daryl and Rosemary," he said as he opened the door and ushered them inside. Meli followed them, knowing without seeing that Dumbledore and Snape were close behind.

The scene that opened up before them was no less odd for Meli than it was for the Llewellyns. There, near the center of the office, stood a man, seven feet tall, wearing Death Eater robes. Both his shoulder-length hair and his Mephistophelean beard were black, contrasting sharply with his pale skin, which contrasted further with disturbingly blue eyes. There was no hardness to his features, though, and to top the whole of the tableau, he held in his arms a child who looked to be about four or five, to whom he was singing in a peculiar, lyrical language.

Zarekael was indeed back, but he hadn't come alone.

This has to be one of the little ones, Meli thought, cold shock breaking through her surprised numbness. Somehow he managed to save one, he brought him here, and he's…singing to him…to comfort him.

Clear as it might be to her that such was the case, it was entirely lost on the child's parents. She saw both Daryl and Rosemary stiffen in what was unmistakably horror and fear, and before she, Snape, or Dumbledore could do anything, the worst of Meli's own fears of the moment became terrible reality.

Both parents drew their wands, and Daryl leveled a hateful glare at the Potions apprentice. "I'll kill you!" he snarled.

He would have leapt forward, intent on doing precisely that, had not Dumbledore caught him by the arm to prevent it. Meli, sensing that the best place for her to be was away from the two unhinged Aurors, sidestepped them and came fully into Zarekael's view. He, of course, had no idea who she was, but he showed some sign of recognition when she offered him a strained smile that she hoped looked encouraging.

"Calm yourself, Daryl," Dumbledore ordered. "All is not as it seems."

"Damn right, it's not!" Daryl snapped back. "That man was with the bastards who killed Jerrin and Amanda. He kidnapped Jerreth and is bewitching him as we speak!"

Jerrin and Jerreth, Meli thought in disgust. How insipidly cute. She had to admire Zarekael's fortitude, even as she worried about the direction things were headed; he, unlike the Llewellyns, had kept his composure and, without missing a beat, continued singing to the child. It was admirable, to be sure…but it did nothing to allay Daryl's irrational fear that the song was some sort of spellcraft.

Rosemary, meanwhile, was focused on another detail. "How did he get into your office, Albus?" she demanded.

At the sound of his mother's voice, Jerreth, who had had his head buried in Zarekael's shoulder, looked up.

"Mummy!" he cried, innocent childish delight clashing sharply with the tension of the adults.

Only then did Zarekael stop singing, and he knelt to set Jerreth down. The child ran toward his mother, then paused, turned back briefly, and gave his rescuer a hug. "Tank you," he said sincerely, then turned again and crossed the distance between himself and his parents, leaving Zarekael to get shakily back to his feet.

"You see, Albus?" Daryl growled, misinterpreting this latest display, as well. "He did bewitch him!" He made a futile attempt to push past Dumbledore to get at Zarekael, but the headmaster again restrained him.

"No, he did not, Daryl," Dumbledore countered, the first tinges of anger curling at the edges of his tone. "Just stop and listen." When the Auror gave him a quizzical, though hostile, look, he continued. "The song you heard was not a siren song. It was a lullaby about fairies and the magic of the night. Zarekael was only trying to calm him."

Rosemary shot a look at him. "Zarekael?" she asked sharply. "Severus Snape's son?"

"Indeed," Snape said coldly, stepping around Dumbledore. Meli started slightly, and she thought the Llewellyns might also have done, had they not been so focused on other issues; they had all forgotten about his presence in the group. Snape, for his part, ignored all of them and went directly to Zarekael, whom he began looking over for evidence of battle damage.

"As you can see," Dumbledore told the Llewellyns coolly, "this is far more complicated than you know. I trust him implicitly."

"You may trust him," Rosemary hissed. "You may trust both of them, Albus, but I don't!"

The two spies turned away, leaving Dumbledore and Meli to deal with the Llewellyns. The headmaster permitted the two of them to converse, and, in truth, he had little choice in the matter—the Aurors were restless.

"You don't understand the situation," Meli stated calmly, nearly shaking with the effort it took to keep her tone reasonable. "You've come to logical conclusions based on the information you have, but the simple fact here is that you don't have all of the information."

"And why not?" Daryl demanded.

Jerreth, who had taken up residence in his mother's arms, let out a contented sigh, drawing all eyes to his now-sleeping form.

"I think we would be more comfortable if we sat down," Dumbledore said mildly.

Rosemary took the first steps in that direction and carefully deposited her son on a couch near the fireplace. Her husband was not appeased in the least, but he grudgingly followed, and somehow both of them were coaxed into sitting down in armchairs flanking the couch.

"I want to know why we weren't told about this," Daryl insisted stubbornly once he was seated.

Bloody Hufflepuffs, Meli raged inwardly. You never understand when to just leave bloody well alone!

"Nearly no one knows," Dumbledore told him patiently. "The fewer people who know about Zarekael, the safer he is to infiltrate Voldemort's ranks and sabotage his plans."

"Albus," Rosemary growled, "he's a rogue Death Eater at Hogwarts. I don't care if you trust him! He killed my son and my cousin. The Ministry must be alerted!"

"That would cause more damage than you know, Rosemary," Dumbledore countered quickly. "Neither Severus nor Zarekael can function efficiently—"

"At the very least, they need to know about him," Daryl interrupted coldly, "so that they may keep an eye on him, and they especially need to know that Snape isn't being entirely forthcoming." He glared from Dumbledore to Snape, who, Meli now noticed, had turned to listen to the argument. "What other secrets does he carry?" he asked nastily, now staring squarely at the Potions master.

Meli saw Zarekael's hand move subtly, barely heard him murmur, "Obliviate," and swallowed hard when she saw both of the Llewellyns' faces suddenly go slack. The apprentice neither paused nor hesitated, but worked quickly to transfigure his Death Eater regalia into ordinary potions work robes. She saw a brief flicker of white and realized that he had hidden his mask somewhere in the folds of the altered garment.

Once finished, Zarekael looked apologetically to Dumbledore. "I'm afraid I don't have a decent cover story in mind, Headmaster," he said quietly.

Dumbledore nodded, looking profoundly disappointed…

At the sight of the headmaster's reaction, something seemed to crumble in Zarekael's features, but Meli couldn't be certain, for his face transformed immediately to marble. "I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said stiffly. "It was the only way to salvage the situation."

Those words, so plainly a defense, cut Meli to the heart as she realized what had just happened. Again Zarekael had acted without consulting Dumbledore; again his trustworthiness—his rightness—appeared to be in question.

Dumbledore just decimated that boy with a look, she thought, stricken. And he probably has no clue that he did.

Dumbledore proved her suspicion correct by shaking his head regretfully and driving that wrong point further home. "I had hoped to resolve this without resorting to memory charms," he sighed.

Zarekael, his beliefs confirmed, locked eyes with the headmaster and went deathly silent.

"They were adamant, Albus," Snape bit out, giving Dumbledore an outright venomous look. "If Zarekael hadn't done it, I would have."

Meli swallowed again, then cleared her throat before further hostilities ensued. There were, after all, others present to be seen to. "You'd best hurry, Headmaster," she advised, glancing shrewdly at the teachers present. "They'll be coming out of it soon."

Dumbledore shook his head as if rousing himself from a nap, then went quickly to work planting a false memory of the events of the past hour in the Llewellyns' minds. Once the Aurors came out of their brief departure from reality, Meli re-introduced herself and led them away to the newly-established Hogwarts guest wing for disappeared personages.

Fortunately, the family were all exhausted, so it required little effort to have them drink some laced chamomile tea and send them to sleep. She paused just long enough before going to murmur a complicated charm over Jerreth, and then she took her leave and returned to Dumbledore's office.

Zarekael was still giving his report, and Meli would not have been surprised to learn that he hadn't moved a whit since she had left. He stood as stiffly as he had done before, and his eyes never left Dumbledore's face as he spoke in flat, dead, matter-of-fact tones.

She had missed entirely his account of the activities within the Llewellyns' house, and as she closed the door quietly behind her, he was giving a summary of the ending. Zarekael himself had torched the house, employing the green flames that were rapidly becoming his trademark, and a Death Eater named Cooper had sent up the Dark Mark. The raiding party were not due to report to Voldemort until a later date, so the Death Eaters had apparated to various different destinations, then returned home. Zarekael, however, had apparated directly into the children's bedroom and portkeyed out with Jerreth, leaving a rough simulacrum in the child's place.

Even when he had done and fell silent, Zarekael's eyes remained fixed on Dumbledore's face, as if he was looking for something. Meli had her own guess as to what that something might be, but since Dumbledore was clueless, the apprentice's search came up fruitless.

The headmaster nodded once, then set aside the Dicto-Quill and put the log away. Once he had finished these chores, he looked expectantly to Meli.

She cleared her throat. "They're all sleeping, courtesy of a judicious amount of Dreamless Sleep," she told him. "And I took the liberty of casting a memory charm on the little one. He remembers what happened tonight, but it's hidden in his mind as a suppressed memory. Even if it rises to his conscious mind, he won't be able to speak of it until it's safe to do so."

Dumbledore nodded again. "Thank you, Rasa," he sighed, the twinkle gone from his eye. "And you, too, Zarekael," he added, "though I truly wish tonight had turned out differently."

Meli winced openly at that remark, which she had no doubt was intended innocently, but which she knew would wound her friend even more deeply.

"So do I," Zarekael replied hollowly, then drew himself up further. "Am I dismissed, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked a touch startled at the sudden formality, but he still did not piece together what was actually happening. "Of course, Zarekael," he said. "Get some rest."

The Potions apprentice bowed deeply, turned on his heel, and left the room without another word, any sign of pause, or so much as a look at anyone else.

Brittle silence ensued for several minutes, until Zarekael was certainly out of earshot, and then Snape leaned forward, gripping the corner of his desk until his knuckles were white. "How could you, Albus!" he demanded sharply, his tone perhaps two notches down from an all-out shout. "How could you do that to him?"

Dumbledore regarded him in outright amazement. "Do what?" he asked.

Meli felt her jaw fall open. He really and truly has no bloody idea, she marveled, torn between horror and disbelief.

Snape also looked incredulous, but when it became excruciatingly clear that the headmaster was every bit as bewildered as he said, the Potions master smiled unpleasantly. "You have no idea, do you?" he growled. "You have no idea—no concept—of the power you have over people." He pointed forcefully at the door through which Zarekael had just departed. "You just devastated that man, Albus."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed in concern, but he looked no less nonplused. "How did I do that, Severus?" he inquired.

Snape slammed a fist down on Dumbledore's desk, and with no memory of having moved at all, Meli found herself several steps back from where she had just stood. "Damn it!" he spat. "You can destroy Zarekael with a single glance, Albus! The disappointment in your eyes and voice—"

"I was disappointed with the entire situation, not with him!" Dumbledore protested. "He was splendid, doing far more than anyone could expect."

"Unfortunately, that isn't how he perceived it," Snape countered sadly. "You can do no wrong, Albus, because to Zarekael, you are a god." He pushed away from the desk. "He has worked tirelessly to regain your trust and approval, and now he believes he has failed you—again." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What progress he had made was for naught."

"He earned my approval long ago, Severus," the headmaster objected, shaking his head adamantly. "Surely he could see that. As for me being a god, I am a man, Severus," he stated firmly. "I make mistakes—everyone knows that." When neither Snape nor Meli replied, he looked from one to the other, a grain of uncertainty surfacing at last. "Don't they?"

To judge by Snape's startled reaction, he had forgotten Meli's presence, but he quickly recovered and looked also to her.

Who died and named me diplomat, dammit! she railed irritably. She carefully cleared her throat, though, and shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid not, Headmaster," she told him. "Most people see you as an omniscient, omnipotent wizard. You have a knack for showing up in exactly the right place at exactly the right time with the right thing to say." She offered him a rueful smile. "It's hard to see you as a fallible human being." I don't have that problem, she added silently, but that's hardly the point at the moment.

Snape nodded his approbation, then returned his gaze to Dumbledore.

The headmaster looked stricken. "But he adores you, Severus," he persisted weakly.

"I have been placed on a pedestal, yes," the Potions master allowed, "but I am not a god. We are too much alike; I'm tainted. You are not. In a very real sense, you are a figure of light in a rapidly darkening life."

"And now the light has banished him to the darkness," Dumbledore realized aloud, his own features clouding over. He seemed not to see when Meli nodded slowly and Snape took a step backward, satisfied that he had finally been understood. "Oh, dear," the headmaster continued after a moment of painful silence. "What am I going to do about this?" His eyes at last focused again on Snape, who merely stared at him stonily. "He won't do anything—"

"Drastic?" Snape suggested, crossing his arms. "That depends on how you define 'drastic'. If you're asking if he might kill himself, then no. You have forbidden him that."

That was interesting…but not really very surprising, after a moment's thought. Zarekael's value to the Order would end if he died, either by another's hand or by his own. If only for purely Machiavellian reasons, Dumbledore would quite possibly have required of him an oath not to kill himself.

Another awkward silence fell over them, which was broken by Snape clearing his throat pointedly. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, Headmaster," he said coldly, then departed, Meli on his heels.

She hadn't particularly wanted to see the prior conversations, but she most certainly was not going to stick around for their aftermath.