Chapter 13
We're Bugging Out
Michelle Goldsmith gritted her teeth at the order being frantically disseminated throughout the offices of the Daily Prophet. Her robe hung on a hook on the wall behind her, and she sat at her small desk, ignoring the various photographs and sheets of parchment before her. Just a few hours before, Kingsley Shacklebolt managed to contact her, instructing her on her first true "mission" for the Order of the Phoenix. So far, she felt that she had been a member of the Order in name only, not having provided any especially useful service or information. Excited by Shacklebolt's instructions, she intended to make plans that evening. In fact she hoped to use of a couple of her vacation days to devote to her Order duties. But now she discovered that all Prophet employees had been ordered to remain in the building, and to plan to work all night.
In most respects, Michelle varied little from the norm. Perhaps an inch or two on the short side, she would be considered an attractive if not beautiful young woman. Without a doubt her best feature was her thick brown hair, not as dark as Melissa Montgomery's but not as light as Hermione Granger's. It hung a few inches below her neck, with just the hint of a wave. All natural, she barely had to do a thing to it. A likeable, friendly person, she earned many friendships and enjoyed an active social life, until recently when the re-emergence of Lord Voldemort put a damper on everyone's activities.
Of course, she remembered Harry Potter. No doubt Harry Potter would have no memory of her, she recognized, but everyone knew him. While she sat in her cubicle waiting for Mr. Oglesby to return, she recalled her seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry's first. Normally a seventh-year Hufflepuff girl would not take any notice of a first-year Gryffindor boy, but Harry Potter most certainly was not a normal first year.
For one thing, everybody knew the name, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. But he could also fly. What a performance he displayed on the Quidditch pitch that year. And then, of course, Dumbledore specifically singled him out at the closing feast for his bravery. At the time, the student body did not understand exactly what Harry had done to deserve such praise, but now she knew that he rescued the Philosopher's Stone from You Know Who.
"Voldemort," she forced herself to whisper. Since Dumbledore's death, she resolved to say the dark lord's name, just as the great headmaster did. Michelle admired Albus Dumbledore more than any witch or wizard who ever lived, and when she heard of his death, she promised to do whatever she could to be more like him, even if she could only hope to accomplish one percent of what the great man had. Only twice had she spoken with the headmaster in an one-on-one conversation, but on both occasions, she left amazed that the great man dedicated all of his concentration to her, as if she were the most important person in the world. Ultimately, Dumbledore's example caused her to agree to join the Order of the Phoenix, after first ignoring the feelers from the secret organization.
Now that she could finally contribute to the cause, she had to wait. Who knew when she would be able to find time to search for him? Perhaps not until the weekend, three days away. She almost pounded her fist on her desk to release her frustration, but with so many people around she refrained. Instead, she gritted her teeth even harder.
All day long, Harry noticed that Hermione acted unusually. At first he determined that she probably continued to suffer the aftereffects of her release of emotions that morning, when she opened his Hogwarts letter. Yet as they passed the day together, awaiting Harry's appointment with William Oglesby, he could not help but sense that his best friend wanted to tell him something but refrained from doing so.
For her part, Hermione abruptly changed her plan to inform Harry immediately of Ron's deduction about Slytherin's locket. Harry needed to concentrate on his interview with the Daily Prophet, and Hermione knew that if she mentioned the locket, he would understandably focus all of his attention in that direction. Thus she managed to fend off Harry's inquiries about her visit with Ron and Ginny, informing Harry only that the two red heads merely worried about Harry and wanted to know if she knew anything. She admitted that she informed them about what had occurred over the past few days, and she breathed a sigh of relief that Harry did not appear bothered.
Finally, as arranged, Evan Harrington apparated into Harry's hotel room late in the afternoon. Harry had showered and groomed himself as best he could, and he wore a blue long-sleeve shirt, one of the new shirts that Hermione gave him for his birthday. Evan quickly assessed the young wizard. Though Harry and Hermione at first resisted the auror's proposal to go public, once Harry had been convinced, he appeared to relish the opportunity. Evan noted the same spirit a day later, and in fact Hermione displayed more nerves than Harry.
"How do I look?" Harry asked lightly, holding his arms out and making a quarter turn.
"As ugly as usual," replied Evan with a chuckle, earning a grin from Harry but a glare from Hermione.
"You look fine, Harry," she declared, putting an end to that topic. "Are we still sure about this? Is this the right time? Maybe we should wait and think this through."
"Not possible. It's now or never," Evan insisted, no longer smiling, "We have new information. Word is the Ministry may move to close down the Prophet soon, within a day or two. I can't confirm that, but we can't take the chance. We have to do this now"
"We're doing it," Harry assured him, for he did not harbor any second thoughts, "I'm ready. When do we go?"
Evan smiled again. He liked this Potter kid, and the girl too, though she could be a bit of a worrywart. Despite the seriousness of the actions they needed to take, Evan found that he enjoyed this. Their youthful energy infected him.
"Soon," he answered, "Let's go over it one more time."
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"I am well aware of the risks involved, Severus"
"Of course, My Lord, I did not mean to suggest otherwise," Snape quickly agreed in his silky monotone, "I will, of course, serve you to the best of my abilities."
Snape's words mollified Lord Voldemort sufficiently to avoid punishment. Though Voldemort hated to admit it, he needed Severus Snape more than any other death eater. Lucius Malfoy also possessed intelligence and magical power, but he always had his own agenda, his own need for glory and recognition. In any event, Scrimgeour made certain that Lucius would never serve Voldemort again. Snape did not seek the limelight, preferring to remain in the murky background. Other death eaters questioned his loyalties, Voldemort knew, especially the recently deceased Bellatrix Lestrange, who often urged Voldemort not to trust his spy. Yet Voldemort did trust him, and he trusted him still.
"Naturally you must take proper precautions, Severus," he assured him, "but the others are incapable of understanding and overcoming these new wards. I realize that many of you wonder why I am focusing on Hogwarts, but I am not in the habit of explaining myself. What I do expect is loyalty, from you and from all of my followers."
"I understand, My Lord," Snape responded with a slight bow, "I will do my best to solve this puzzle. It may take some time."
Voldemort nodded his agreement, but cautioned, "Not too much time, Severus. Determine what you can and report back to me in no more than two days. I will remain here until your return."
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William Oglesby shuddered as he walked up to the door of the hotel room in muggle Liverpool where he had been instructed to arrive. Quite obviously, this could be a trap, and as he knocked three times on the door, he realized that within moments he could be a prisoner of the Ministry or even of He Who Must Not Be Named. He held his wand nervously, ready to apparate away in an instant if he sensed anything unusual. Thoughts of his wife and three children, now all grown and with families of their own, passed through his mind.
After a short delay, a teenaged boy opened the door. Surprising Oglesby, this boy had bleached-blond short hair, but instantly Oglesby's eyes shifted from the hair to the unmistakable lightning-shaped scar on the boy's forehead.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Oglesby," Harry greeted the tall man, now in his late fifties. Harry had no idea what a newspaperman should look like, but Oglesby fit the bill. The older man's grey hair and lean, lined face indicated a life of hard work. The two men shook hands, and Harry closed the door behind his guest.
In the corner of the same hotel room where Harry fought Evan Harrington just two weeks before, the auror crouched under his invisibility cloak. Evan anonymously made all the arrangements, contacting Oglesby, renting the same room so that Harry could apparate directly there, and instructing Harry about what he should and should not disclose in the interview. The auror insisted on hiding in the room as a precaution. He did not believe that Oglesby would inform the Ministry of the interview, but he could not ignore the possibility.
"Let's sit over here," Harry suggested, motioning to a small table around which two chairs had already been placed. They sat down, and Harry waited for Oglesby to initiate the interview. Oglesby remained silent, not sure if Harry intended to make any preliminary remarks. When the boy did not speak, Oglesby waved his wand to produced several sheets of parchment and a quill. He set the quill upright and tapped it with his wand. When he removed his hand, the quill remained standing at a slight angle, ready to write down every word of the interview.
Normally, Oglesby may have begun the interview slowly, easing his way into it, but on this occasion he lacked the time. He needed to conclude his work here in order to return to the Prophet's offices as soon as possible. Thus he moved right to the point.
"Why do you want this interview, Mr. Potter? You have gone though a lot of trouble to arrange for our meeting." The quill began to scratch on the parchment.
"I want the public to know what the Ministry has been doing. I want the Ministry to stop chasing me."
The two men stared at each other for several moments. Oglesby knew that Potter intended to use him for his own purposes, but that came with the territory. In this case, Oglesby did not care about being exploited, because this time what benefitted Potter would also benefit the Daily Prophet.
"OK, let's get started then," Oglesby requested, and the interview lasted over ninety minutes.
Two hours later, William Oglesby burst into the reception area of the Daily Prophet, yelling at the top of his voice, "STOP PRODUCTION! STOP EVERYTHING!" His assistant ran down the hall transmitting the order, and in moments the offices bustled with noise and activity. Oglesby passed by another underling and bruskly instructed him, "Send an owl to my wife. I won't be home tonight. Tell her to pack as much as she can. We'll be on the move in the morning."
Oglesby rarely drank, but in this instance, he opened a little used cabinet in his office and poured a measure of Ogden's Firewhisky, plus a little extra, into a glass. He downed it in three gulps, and turned around to find his personal assistant and his four deputy editors rushing in. All of their eyes requested an explanation for his odd behavior.
"This will be a long night, ladies and gentlemen," he informed them softly, "First we're going to prepare an edition that will knock the socks off of our dear friends at the Ministry. Then we're bugging out." The five employees glanced back and forth at each other in confusion, unfamiliar with the muggle military term.
"Bugging out, Will?" asked the most senior of the editors, a long-time colleague of Oglesby and the only one comfortable addressing him by his given name. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that we're moving. Everything we can. We have to relocate to a secret location before the Ministry shuts us down." His eyes bore a hole through the five onlookers, who had never witnessed the mild-mannered Chief Editor in such a state. He tried to relax a little and took a deep breath. "Look, I'll explain as we go, but first off, we need to write this up. We can pull out some file photos and add a little filler. We can't do more than that, I'm afraid." He pulled out several sheets of parchment and handed them to his assistant.
"Harry Potter?" she asked breathlessly, "How did you . . .?"
"No time for questions. Let's get to work. I already have the headline: MINISTRY CHASES THE CHOSEN ONE.
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Hermione mindlessly kept changing the channels of the television in Harry's room, anxiously awaiting his return from the interview. Her sandals lay on the carpet while she curled up on the bed, her back braced by both pillows. She worried about Harry's return, having second thoughts about not revealing the information about the locket before. Would he be angry with her?
After waiting impatiently for almost two hours, Harry materialized next to the bed with a deafening crack which echoed in the small hotel room. Naturally, they had placed a silencing charm on the room days before so that no sound could be heard by other guests. Just a few seconds after Harry arrived, another crack announced the arrival of Evan Harrington, though he did not appear for a moment until he whirled the invisibility cloak from over him. He wore a satisfied expression.
"Well done, Harry," he softly assured him, "I can't wait to see tomorrow's Prophet. This will change everything. Scrimgeour will have a heart attack."
The image of the Minister of Magic falling to the ground clutching his chest appeared in Harry's mind, and he could not help but chuckle.
By now, Hermione had moved off of the bed and stood next to Harry.
"So how did it go?"
"OK, I guess," Harry replied, "We won't know for sure until the article comes out tomorrow." Turning towards Harrington, Harry commented, "Didn't Oglesby seem awfully tense? Something seemed to be on his mind distracting him."
Evan nodded, "You're right, and if I'm not mistaken, there's been a leak from the Ministry about Scrimgeour's plans to control the press. The Ministry is leaking like a sieve right now because Scrimgeour's created a lot of enemies. But he has a lot of supporters too. It's not a good situation. We need to unite in the face of Voldemort, and I'm afraid that we're going to be tearing ourselves apart."
Hermione glanced between the two men, not sure if she should bring up the revelation about the locket with Harrington present. Somehow, though she now mostly trusted the auror, this piece of information seemed too personal to be divulged to anyone else. Fortunately for her, Evan made the decision for her.
"What do we do next?" Harry asked while Hermione mused.
"Nothing for the moment," Evan decided, "There's nothing to do until the article comes out tomorrow. Tonight you can relax and enjoy yourselves. But I've no time to discuss it now. I need to return to the Ministry right away. They'll be expecting me, and with so much happening, I need to keep tabs on it. I'll be back tomorrow night." He grabbed his invisibility cloak and stuffed it into a small valise that he had left in the room, ready to apparate away. He paused for a moment, and gazed at the young wizard and witch, who by now stood next to each other. A handsome couple, he thought.
"Be careful tomorrow. If you go out, take care. Cover your scar." He peered at them with great severity, and Harry and Hermione knew that he worried over the events of the coming days. "I'll be by again tomorrow night," he concluded rapidly, and a moment later he disappeared.
The two friends stood silently for a moment, and Hermione knew that the time had come to reveal the information about the locket.
"Harry," she began softly, "I have something to tell you, but I couldn't . . ."
"Tell me later," Harry interrupted brightly, "Right now I feel like a walk, and I'll buy you a slice of pie. How's that sound?" He grabbed her hand, not waiting for an answer, and Hermione followed along involuntarily, surprised at the upbeat tone of his voice. Harry seemed to be in great spirits.
He pulled her playfully out the door, closing it behind them. Hermione expected Harry to release her hand once outdoors, but again to her surprise, he instead repositioned her hand in his so that they fit together more comfortably, and they walked hand-in-hand past the doors of the other hotel rooms.
What did this mean? Hermione made no effort to remove her hand, and in fact found it pleasurable. Through the contact of the skin on their hands, Hermione tried to decipher Harry's mood. He seemed playful rather than amorous, full of pent up energy, and again Hermione could not reconcile this Harry with her best friend of six years. The Harry Potter she knew would never walk hand-in-hand with a girl unless that girl most definitely was his official girlfriend, but on this evening, they walked together as if he felt it to be the most natural thing in the world.
Hermione, however, could not walk in such a relaxed manner. Firstly, she needed to tell her friend about the locket, but she could not find an opportunity. Secondly, she could not help but wonder what Ron would think if she could see them like this, holding hands for all the world like a couple. Though she refused to admit Harry's assertion from the previous day, she knew good and well that Ron liked her, and she assumed that if she walked hand-in-hand with a boy, that boy would be Ronald Weasley, not Harry Potter.
She liked Ron too. Sure, he could be lazy, jealous and argumentative, and he would never be a great wizard like Harry, but he also could be a wonderfully funny and loyal friend. It all seemed almost preordained. Harry would be with Ginny, and Ron would be with Hermione, once they ever surpassed the posturing stage of the last year. But over the past few days, Hermione discovered, this self-evident truth had been shot to bits. Harry fell for a muggle girl in Liverpool, admitted that he did not love Ginny Weasley, and now held Hermione's hand while walking down the street of her home town. None of it made any sense.
After a pleasant fifteen minute walk in the darkening evening, Hermione finally concentrated her thoughts enough to determine that she HAD to tell Harry about the horcrux. Realizing that they approached the same restaurant where Hedwig found her just a few days earlier, she seized the opportunity. Her free hand pointed ahead.
"How about that pie you offered, Harry? You haven't forgotten already, have you?" she asked coyly, "That restaurant will do, and then I can tell you what I wanted to before."
Harry smiled broadly, seemingly enjoying a wonderful evening. He pulled her hand playfully towards the restaurant.