Chapter Twelve: Sage Counsel
In the Hesperus Mansion, all was still and silent and the children were asleep in their beds…of course, if they weren't asleep, at the very least they were in their beds.
The lady of the household was nervously waiting in the front room, pacing back and forth across the rug. Her dearest gentleman friend, who had now lived with her for nearly a full year, sat in one of the leather armchairs, crossing and uncrossing his legs and twiddling his thumbs.
The cook had strung her apron on the hook and now had her everyday robes on, as though waiting to go to her house and husband. However, when asked if she was going to be leaving, she adamantly responded that she was going to go when she knew the truth, and no one was going to stop her. Of course, no one was going to be doing any such thing anyway, but they let her have her say.
Hestia's oldest friend and childhood companion had taken up darning her small son's trousers. Though she hadn't been as close to Irene as to Hestia when they were smaller, she nevertheless felt a motherly instinct towards the troubled woman; and that didn't seem to count the fact that their children had grown up together and often played together with no regard for wizarding tradition. She glanced worriedly at her mistress, who kept passing the couch as she paced.
The gatekeeper, most commonly dubbed 'Old William', had given up already on any shred of hope (obviously, since there was nothing there to begin with) and had retreated through the wind and the rain to his little house on the edge of the grounds. With a whisky dram in hand he settled down in his battered, old chair and fell asleep, proclaiming that he didn't have the slightest affection for the Rosiers, so therefore, didn't feel the smallest obligation to wait it out.
However, even though he protested against having feelings for any human being at all (or any house-elf, for that matter), we shall excuse him with the fact that he was sixty, a drunkard, and an ornery old fool. He hadn't the slightest clue that there was still an ancient, beating heart in that stubborn body of his that really did care what happened…no matter the odds.
Lastly, there was Albus Dumbledore, who chose to place himself in a rickety, straight-backed chair, as though reminding himself that he was not there for pleasure after all. He studied the folded hands on his lap intently, replaying the night's events over in his mind, keeping them, and everything his confidante had told him, as fresh in his mind as possible.
He glanced up and watched Hestia wearily walking back and forth in front of him. "My dear, if you are thinking that pacing will bring them back faster, you are sadly mistaken. Why don't you sit for a spell? It does wonders to clear the mind," he informed her, the smallest twinkle rekindled in his eyes.
Hestia stopped abruptly and looked at him, startled. Then she realized what she had been doing, what he had said, and gave a sheepish smile and sat on the couch beside Biddy, twisting her hands nervously. As soon as she sat down, however, the fire roared and turned green, and a figure stepped out of it.
Hestia rushed over and threw her arms around Irene. "You're back! How is he? Where is he?"
The fire roared, and a second figure stepped out of it. As soon as she saw who it was, Hestia turned to him and threw her arms around her brother-in-law. "Welcome back, John!" she whispered in his ear, then pulled away. "When we were in the woods, I thought --- oh! Merlin, but what happened to you two?"
The interruption came when Hestia saw that John and Irene were not only completely worn out and exhausted from the travel, but they were both sporting numerous scratches on their faces and arms.
John gave a grim smile. "A shattered window is what happened, plus an exploding toadstool, an unconscious Healer…the list goes on…"
Hestia arched her eyebrows --- Balfour had joined them as well --- while John just shook his head, thinking about what had happened not even an hour before…
In the hospital room, they had been embracing when the door burst open and Knold ran in, waving his arms. Just then, the window shattered, shards flew across the room, and just when John thought it was safe to look up, Irene screamed, there was a soft ripping sound and the toadstool on the shelf exploded.
At once, John and Irene were splattered with a sticky, gray substance. Knold stopped shouting as he was hit with a face full. The Silencing Charm John had placed earlier collapsed, and all at once there was a rush of sound.
John's co-workers rushed inside when they heard Irene's scream and the shatter of glass. They saw Knold standing inside the room, trying to scrape the slime off himself. Their boss and his wife were crouching on the ground, covered in glass and the same slime that graced Knold's face.
"What happened?" asked the tall, black man.
The portraits on the walls all complained loudly at the toadstool bits that now covered their canvases.
John helped his wife up off of the floor, brushing away the small glass pieces on her traveling cloak. He checked her face and arms, wiping the blood away with his sleeve and kissing the scratches on her cheeks.
"Are you alright, honey?" he asked worriedly. His wife looked rather dazed as she looked around at the mess on the floor.
"What was that?" she asked, stepping on the broken glass to the window. There was complete darkness outside, and the alleyway below was deserted.
Her husband joined her at the window, looking over the sharp glass edges still jaunting out of the frame. A gust of wind made Irene's curls fly around her head wildly; John saw that one of her locks was sheared off as it danced too closely to certain piece of broken glass still stuck around the edges.
"Irene," he said warningly and guided her away from the window. A plump boy in the nearest painting peered over the slime that splattered his face. He had an oddly eager look about him, as though this was the most exciting thing that had happened in that room for a long time…
…Which, John told himself, it probably was
His fellow wizards surveyed the glass and slime around the room, coming up with suggestions on what could have happened.
"Muggles, most likely…curse the lot of them…" one muttered under his breath.
"Throwing stones at empty buildings…er…at least, what they think is an empty building…I mean, obviously it isn't," Knold agreed. He kept wiping at his face, trying to get the substance off, but only succeeding in making it worse.
"Anyone know what this was doing here?" A fellow with a bad megrim held up the large pot with half a toadstool inside.
His comrades just shook their heads. Irene and John Rosier struggled to get the gray slime off them as well.
Knold stopped rubbing his face long enough to say, "It's…er…it's mine. I found it when we were in the----"
The man beside him shoved his arm and jerked his head toward Irene. Irene, fortunately, was already concentrating on getting some glass pieces out of her hair, so she didn't notice.
"----In the…er…well, I found it," Knold finished lamely.
A large man with an even larger nose just shook his head. "D'you always have to bring back souvenirs, Knold? You've got the weirdest habit I've ever seen. Remember when we were in Cuzco, and you insisted on keeping that vicuna you found? You said you wanted it 'as a reminder'! D'you remember that, Erling?"
John just shook his head as they all laughed. Then he remembered something."Hey, Knold, what was that you wanted, anyway? You came running in here and shouting like someone had cut your head off."
Knold jerked his head around and cursed, "Dammit, I forgot! I was talking with your Healer, Rosier, and we were standing by a window on the other end of the ward when there was some shouting outside and the window broke. I think…I think the Healer was hurt!"
John swore as well and pushed through the crowd, tearing out of the room and down the hall. Everyone followed him to the very end of the long ward where, lying on the floor amid a pool of broken glass, was Healer Myrtilus.
John checked the wizard's pulse, shouting to his men to get a Healer. Knold ran to do his bidding.
With a swish of his wand, John cleared the glass away and checked to see where Myrtilus had been hit. On the back of the Healer's head, almost hidden by his thick, black hair, was a deep cut where blood of the darkest red seeped out.
John looked wildly around him, searching…and then he found it. A sharp rock was lying underneath the chair in the corner, and it seemed to have something wrapped partially around it…
The arrival of a group of Healers brought more order to the chaos. All of John's co-workers were gathered around, talking in hushed tones as the newcomers examined him and put him on a stretcher.
No one noticed John walking towards the rickety, old chair. No one saw him as he bent down and picked the rock up. It had jagged edges…perfect for doing some damage with…and…something else…
John unrolled what looked like a small piece of parchment that had been wrapped carefully around a sharp corner of the rock. There was some writing on it…but the writing had been so smeared with the drops of blood that John couldn't make it out at first.
He blew on it, and then slowly the red blood and the green ink separated and John could read what it said:
"I WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE. DO NOT FAIL ME!"
John stared at the words, his hands shaking slightly as everything registered. There was shout somewhere to his left and he jumped, visibly shaken. His breathing became shallower still, and his face turned an ashen gray that very closely resembled the slime covering his robes.
"No…it can't be…" he croaked. "No!"
He stared at the dreaded paper a moment longer before he stuffed it into his robes and stood up abruptly. He ran through the thinning crowd back to the small, now deserted hospital room. The cramped room seemed to have been cleaned up at least. The glass had been repaired and the walls, floors, portraits and ceiling were all de-slimed again.
John cast his eyes around and found what he was looking for settled on the bed a few moments later. The parchment rolled around this rock bore the same words as the last, and the were written in emerald ink as well…
"John!" Irene called behind him.
He hastily shoved the second scrap into his robes and turned to face his wife.
"I was able to get the slime off, and your friend Knold said he didn't think it was poisonous…and, well, nothing seems to have happened. I feel a little confused, granted, but overall I'm fine. Turn around, and I'll take it off you," she ordered.
She was concentrating so hard on getting every single piece of glass and smudge of slime that she didn't even notice the look frozen in his eyes until she was done. "Is something wrong, John?" she asked, alarmed.
He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and looked at her with an oddly sad smile. "No, Irene," he answered, putting his arm around her. "There's nothing wrong."
She looked at him for a moment longer before smiling back and kissing him on the nose. "Good. Let's go home."
They strolled out of the room and into the long ward, calling goodbye to John's companions.
"Gladys! Keep me posted on Myrtilus, will you?" John asked the Trainee Healer, who acknowledged him in return.
"See you, boss!"
"So long, Rosier!"
"Fun while it lasted, eh?"
"See you Thursday, John. You and I've got desk duty! Looking forward to it?" The tall, black man called out.
"As ever, Nigel! We'll make the most of it. Are Basil and Normstrom bunking with us?" John asked.
"Aye!"
"Bye, boss!" Knold was the last to call out. Obviously, Irene had de-slimed him as well; his flaxen hair held no traces of any gray substance whatsoever, and his face bore only a few small scratches and cuts.
John smiled and, after a nudge from his wife, replied, "See you around, Knold!"
And so, together, John and Irene Rosier walked out of the ward and headed for the Hesperus Mansion.
"…But that poor Healer, though," Irene was saying. "They had to put him on a stretcher and float him out of the ward. I wonder which one they put him in…"
She sat down at the long couch along with Hestia. Albus Dumbledore and Balfour kept looking expectantly at them, and Marmie was looking John over as if just waiting for him to lose a leg at any moment.
Meanwhile, John was pulling something small out of his pocket.
"Engorgio!" he said, tapping it. A split second later, a large suitcase was sitting in the middle of the floor.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" Irene drew something out from her robes as well and enlarged it. It was the pot with the half-blown toadstool.
John furrowed his eyebrows. "What did you bring that here for?"
"Knold said he brought it to the hospital for them to check it out and see what kind it was. I thought that maybe Balfour could do that instead, since they never got around to it," Irene replied.
Balfour leaned forward. "Let me see it, then."
Irene obliged and Balfour spent the next five minutes studying it, though more to keep his mind off the questions threatening to burst out of him then anything else. He pretended to be quite interested in what the substance was that it carried, while Irene told them all what John had relayed to her at the hospital.
"---So, you see, it couldn't be John. We just have to find some way to be able to prove it!" she finished.
John couldn't help but notice how her eyes sparkled at this newfound information. She seemed to be so relieved that her husband said he didn't take any part in the embezzling that it hardly occurred to her that he wasn't nearly as relaxed as everyone else.
On the contrary, he had his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, massaging his temples. Those in the room with him thought he held that position because he was trying to fathom why his superiors would think that about him in the first place…but he was thinking exactly the opposite.
"Dumbledore?" he said abruptly, cutting his wife off. "May I speak with you for a moment? Alone?"
Albus' sharp eyes didn't miss a beat. Throughout Irene's entire speech on what had happened at St. Mungo's and how innocent John was, Albus had had eyes only for John Rosier. He couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable the man looked, how often he rubbed at his temples, as though trying to remember something rather important.
There is something terribly wrong here, he thought. And I must get to the bottom of it!
"Of course, John." Albus stood up, his periwinkle robes dropping to the floor around him. "If you would all excuse us."
John led the way into a smaller anteroom off the entrance hall. Quite contrary to the furnishings of the other rooms on the ground floor (most of which were colored in brown, gold, and red), this one was decorated in a very dark palette. The wooden floor was partially covered in a magnificent emerald rug, and the wallpaper that reached all the way up to the high ceiling was of the deepest purple. Darkly elegant foxglove flowers adorned it.
Two dark armchairs sat on either side of a small table, a portrait of unusual size took up the entire wall opposite, and a few bookshelves housed some of the weirdest instruments and potions bottles John had ever seen…which was saying quite a lot. There didn't seem to be any window or fireplace, either. He didn't even want to guess what this room used to be for.
Albus Dumbledore lit the candles surrounding the brackets in the room and on the table. They both sat in either chair, and Albus waited for John to begin. It seemed that John Rosier was so nervous on what he was about to say, though, that Albus began to fear the worst.
John raised a shaking hand to comb his black curls away from his eyes. The candlelight flickered across his face, making it appear to be a ghastly white. Several times John tried to speak, but nothing came out. He suddenly stood up and paced the small room.
Dumbledore watched him quietly. "What Irene said is not true, is it?" he asked softly.
John Rosier turned to him, and Albus saw that he looked as though he was about to be deathly sick. "No," John whispered, his green eyes more troubled than Albus had ever seen them. "No…it's not."
Hestia watched the two men go with an uneasy air. I wonder what's bothering John?
Lord Balfour had found something in the toadstool that had really struck his attention. He left for his rooms, carrying it and muttering to himself. Marmie, Irene, and Biddy, meanwhile, were all arguing over the finer points of what Albus told them earlier concerning John.
"So, d'you think it was one of his colleagues? Are they tryin' to frame him or summat?" Marmie asked.
"If Master's innocent----" Biddy squeakily began.
"You mean, since he's innocent," Irene interrupted.
"----Then wouldn't he know who's good to trust and who's not good to trust?" Biddy finished, looking around at them all.
Hestia joined them. "I think that sometimes…bad wizards are hiding behind more than a mere mask. I know that it's hard for us to believe, but they think that what they are doing is actually right. That it will honestly help the people around them…or themselves."
Irene looked puzzled. "So are you saying that…it could be John's closest friend who's betraying him?"
"Well…yes, and no…I mean to say, that perhaps John really is doing all of these horrid things to Gringotts and doesn't even realize what it means to his family," Hestia began. Irene made to interrupt her, but Hestia cut her off. "No, let me finish. It could be that he's forced into doing it. Maybe he's been threatened…he always says that he'd do anything for you and the kids, Irene. Well…maybe they've threatened to do something to you if he doesn't obey them."
Irene paled. "So he's…he's willing to…to throw away his future, his career, his position…to save us?"
Hestia nodded grimly. "Exactly."
Marmie went on, "Yes, they could be doing that. Or perhaps whoever is doing this has even resorted to the old ways. They could Imperius him into something, even----"
Irene dropped her cloak. "I-I-Imperius?"
Hestia crossed over to her and gave her a hug. "Irene, don't worry! Whatever it is, Albus will sort it all out! You just need to have faith in them!"
Irene took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. Everything will turn out fine. I needn't worry…we've got Dumbledore with us!"
Hestia nodded, smiling, then she remembered something. "Irene…I think you ought to know that shortly after you left…I…I found Tobias in the library…"
Eerie green shadows flickered around the room. The large portrait that covered one wall housed a single occupant: a girl of about sixteen with mousy brown hair and a scowl on her face. She held a bouquet of flowers and glared down at John Rosier and Albus Dumbledore as though wondering, 'What are they doing in my room?'
Albus stared at John with a stern expression.
"Tell me everything!" he said sharply.
John drew a deep breath and wiped a hand across his perspiring forehead. He sat down at the armchair he had so previously deserted and stared at the candle flames. "I didn't want to believe it, at first…" he began hoarsely. "I knew something was wrong with me…I just didn't know what…"
Albus leaned forward, watching him intently. "What do you mean, there's something wrong with you?"
The candle danced in John's dark green eyes, as though to hide the fact that they seemed so gaunt and lifeless. To him, the flames began to take shape…a griffin…a bottle of potion…Irene, even.
"I thought everything was fine. I had a family…a beautiful wife…children. Sure, there had been some problems in the past --- who leads a perfect life, after all? But that was all they were…in the past." John shifted and looked directly into Dumbledore's eyes.
"I went on my missions. We had a few mishaps every now and then, but I loved my job, Dumbledore! I loved the men I worked with…we had become almost…family," John said, reflecting back to those times. "But then I started noticing it. I dismissed it almost immediately, of course, thinking it nonsense…but it wasn't nonsense…and it wouldn't go away. Believe me, it didn't escape me how much in detail the men would go in…describing every flaw in the plan, every rock in the mountain…and I found that I…that I couldn't."
Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows. "You couldn't remember the places that you went to on your missions?"
John stood up. He seemed frustrated almost. "Oh, I could remember, all right! I could remember very clearly the outline of the scheme of things, what we were supposed to do and all that, but I was watching it through another man's eyes! I couldn't remember walking from one place to another…just one scene, and then the next…I couldn't even remember actually speaking to my men…just what they would tell me afterwards about what I said…" John stopped and rubbed his temples fiercely.
"I thought that there must be a possible explanation, Dumbledore. I thought that maybe I was coming down with a disease or something like that…I even checked myself in at Mungo's, but they couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then finally, I just had to face the truth…" He paused, staring up at the girl in the painting.
Dumbledore leaned forward; his eyes were fixed on John's gaunt face. "And what is the truth?"
John looked at him, his eyes feverish. "Huge blanks in my mind, spaces of time when I don't know where I was, what I was doing…Dumbledore, I think I'm the spy!"
Dumbledore stood up. "Will you show me?" he asked. "Will you let me see those memories?"
John stood up as well, and nodded. "Go ahead."
And so, for the second time that night, Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry performed Legilimency on one of the members of the Hesperus Household.
John immediately felt a rush of memories, colors, voices and images in his head. He struggled to contain them…to organize them into their own separate drawers, and lead Dumbledore to those memories…if they even were memories…he wanted to show him, he wanted to know…
It was a full five minutes later when they broke apart and collapsed into their chairs, exhausted. Albus Dumbledore looked older at that moment than John had ever seen him before, and it was a long while until either of them spoke up.
Dumbledore stroked his beard, staring hard at the floor. "Those were false memories, John," he said finally. "I am sure of it."
John Rosier nodded at the wall.
"And it was no accident by which they came there."
John laughed bitterly. "I'm sure. But…but who?"
Albus Dumbledore stood up and paced the small room, thinking hard. "By no means are we to make light of this. It takes clearly advanced magic to alter someone's memory, let alone exchanging it entirely…"
"But…" John said again, rubbing at his face. "But who? I know I have a number of enemies…but all the ones I can think of are either dead or in Azkaban…unless…"
Albus stopped pacing to look at him over his half-moon spectacles.
"Unless it wasn't necessarily an enemy! I could have just been a pawn…just some poor shmuck they chose to do their dirty work! Someone who's got it in for Gringotts --- in fact, it could even be one of the goblins themselves…but why would they…" John trailed off again, looking confused.
"Our first objective," Dumbledore interrupted, "is to find out how you have been given false memories, then hunt down who has been doing this. Once we have evidence, we can take this to court. The goblins have no ruling over you if we have the proof that you are innocent. In the meantime----"
"Wait!" John stood up. "Who's to say it won't happen again? What if I go into work tomorrow, say, and whoever is doing this curses me again? I'll be completely at their bidding! They could force me to do anything and I won't even remember it!"
Suddenly, a horrible thought struck him. He sank back into his chair, knees too weak to support him. "Merlin! They…could have forced me…to do anything! I…I could have been killing…innocent children…for all I know! I…Dumbledore, what if…what if they made me…hurt my family? Would I have done it…and not even know?" He put his head in his hands, too shaken for words.
"We will find out, John!" Dumbledore said firmly. "It will take time…but we will find out who has been doing this to you." He stared at the candle on the table, flickering madly as melted wax ran down its side.
"We will."
Author's Note: Well! Only one more chapter, I'm afraid! Unless what I have to say next takes up more room, then I'll have to make there be two more...but I'm sure you wouldn't mind.
For those interested, the title of this chapter comes from a poem by Sir Author Quiller-Couch. I was browsing through my poetry book and thought it the best thing for this chapter.
Now, if you are confused by what was being said in this chapter, feel free to comment! I try not to mess you all up too much...but it seems I just have the knack for it! When this story is done, another one-shot will be coming up! And I love it already! Now review! Please?