Okay, so hopefully the plot will start forming a bit, here. Not a lot of action, but I figure, it's summer break and you guys shouldn't have to wait forever and a half for an update! So, here it is, chapter 6. Enjoy! (And please review!)
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a bit.
Harry stood between and slightly behind the dreadful duo as they strode into the chambers of the Dark Lord, pretending to be small and slightly nonexistent in an effort to prevent Voldemort from sensing him.
The Dark Lord sat at a desk, watching them imperiously through narrowed red eyes. For a moment, he reminded Harry of a very creepy professor waiting for wayward students to report to detention. Like some kind of anorexic, red-eyed and bald Snape.
Pushing the image from his mind with some desperation, Harry focused on what the bald Snape was saying.
"Have you come any closer to discovering the mole?"
Mallix had been bowing, and the male left half glanced up at Voldemort.
"No, my Lord. Though we do believe that he is a mid-level Death Eater, having joined at least a year or so ago. That has narrowed our search down to fifty men."
Voldemort raised a nonexistent eyebrow. "And how have you come to this conclusion?"
Bellatrix raised her head as well, as Harry crouched down behind them, watching the exchange.
"My Lord, we have interviewed all the newer recruits, and they lack the power and experience to be any kind of effective spy. The older Death Eaters are all far too loyal to your cause and to you, My Lord. They would not dare."
The Dark Lord glared. "Have you so easily forgotten the treachery of Severus Snape? You would do well not to assume anything about any of the men in the ranks. If you miss the spy because of your faulty assumptions, than your suffering will rival even that of the last so-called spy. The enemy still have not found his head. Fail me, and you will see its location first hand."
Mallix bowed again, nodding. "Of course, My Lord." They whispered.
Harry snorted. "This would be really pathetic if they weren't so dangerous." A second later he slapped his good hand over his mouth as Voldemort's head shot up.
The man's nostrils flared, and Harry leaned in closer to the two death eaters on the floor. Harry held his breath, staring wide-eyed at the wizard in front of him.
Slowly, he crept backward towards the door, watching as Voldemort's eyes roamed around the room.
"My Lord?"
Quick as a flash, Voldemort had his wand out. With a wave, a concussion blast seemed to explode through the room, knocking Harry flat on his back. With a groan, he sat up, then froze as he noticed that nothing else in the room had been disturbed by the blast.
Mallix was staring at their Lord in confusion, though they didn't dare open their mouths.
Harry stood, forgoing caution, and quickly made his way to the door. He closed his eyes briefly as he stepped through the wood—Bump!
"Nammit!" Harry clutched his nose and stumbled back.
Then he froze.
Slowly, he reached out toward the door, his heart stopping as his fingers rested solidly against the wood. He turned around to stare at the Dark Lord in rising horror.
"You can't see me…" He whispered.
The Dark Lord was staring straight at the door, though Harry noticed, with a rush of relief that his gaze was directed a good few inches above his head.
Out of a strange and nearly forgotten sense of habit, Harry drew his wand before quickly and silently making his way around the perimeter of the room, no longer caring about the mole hiding within Voldemort's ranks.
He'd spent twelve years trying to get people to notice him. But he'd be damned if Voldemort was the first.
Running his hand along the wall, he felt for the familiar softness of the material, that give that allowed him to pass through solid objects. But so far, everything he felt was surprisingly firm.
"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed. She was always the craziest. Maybe that's why Vodemort kept her around. It had to be refreshing.
Harry brought his mind back on track, still conceding to the point that he definitely wouldn't have been the one to break the silence when Voldemort had been looking around with that look on his face.
"Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "We are not alone."
Bellatrix and Malfoy jumped slightly and stared wildly around, trying to pierce the shadows of the room.
"Yes!" Harry cheered quietly as his hand sunk through the window. Glancing back at Voldemort, he noticed the man was now randomly shooting a light blue spell into the room that swirled like mist and glittered like fake vampires. Not wanting to stick around and discover what the mist was supposed to do, he pulled himself through the window and dropped.
He had forgotten how many stairs he had climbed to get to the room. Voldemort's chambers had been on the fifth floor. He only had time enough for a good curse that would have made the Weasley twins blush and to cast a desperate cushioning charm before he hit the ground with a muffled thump.
The man was tall, with brown hair and a thick mustache. He stood proudly, his back straight, the very picture of cultured upbringing. When he walked, his steps were measured, and even the swing of his arms was calculated to produce only the finest balance. His dark maroon robes swept elegantly around his ankles as he strode confidently through the ministry.
Behind him, a slightly shorter man with shoulder-length black hair neatly combed back into a leather band kept pace. His dark green robes were finely trimmed and laced with black at the edges, so they seemed to shift and swirl in the shadows. He was every bit the picture of fine aristocratic upbringing that his companion was, and the younger and lower rank ministry officials scurried out of their way as they passed.
Finally, in a near empty corridor, the taller man spoke in a rich baritone.
"It was on the tenth level, was it not, Reginald?"
"Indeed," The shorter man acquiesced silkily. "I do believe you're correct, Sir Kikimufoo."
The taller man sniffed. "That's Sir MacFully, you arrogant bilge rat."
"Of course, sir." Reginald bowed gracefully.
Silence descended once again as they made their way to the lifts. Once inside, they stood straight, hands clasped behind their backs in the most dignified pose they could muster.
"I don't know how they do this every day."
"Right you are, Sir Fully. I'll need a long bath just to soak the slime off."
"Not before I get one, Ralph."
"Reginald."
"That too."
With a soft ding, the lift stopped and the doors slid open and the two men strode gracefully out into the corridor of level 9.
"Department of Mysteries." The lift cheerfully chimed behind them.
Ignoring the door at the end of the hall, the two men turned left and descended to the next level—level 10.
Courtroom ten was down here, waiting for trials to be held on the most hardened of criminals, or nowadays, more often on spies or those accused of going against the current ministry's wishes.
Stepping through the final door, Reginald and Sir MacFully found themselves in the pit of the courtroom, facing a chair lined with chains; the prisoner's seat. Up above, rows of benches rose up, where the Wizangamot would sit during a trial.
"Alright, Sir Fluffy. Left side third brick?"
The brown haired man shook his head. "No, No, Rupert. It's the fourth brick from the left side."
"Oh, yes. Right you are."
"Seventh brick up, yes?"
"Nah, it's the seventh down."
"You're sure?"
"You doubt me?"
"Not at all, Reagan."
"I should hope not."
Together, they strode over to the wall formed before the first row of benches. Thirteen bricks high. Standing at the far left, Sir MacFully counted seven up from the bottom, while Reginald insisted on counting down from the top.
Meeting at the seventh brick, they shot each other a grin before jabbing their wands into opposite ends of the brick.
A soft click echoed through the otherwise empty chamber, before the brick slid slowly into the wall, reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley. The surrounding bricks slid out of sight, and soon, there was a narrow opening, just large enough for the two men to squeeze in. As they disappeared from sight, the bricks slid back into place behind them, leaving nothing but an empty courtroom.
The door closed behind him, and Ron leaned against the wood with his eyes shut gently. For a moment, he just stood quietly, breathing in the slightly musty smell that would always be associated with Grimmauld Place, no matter how clean it was.
"Ron?"
Blue eyes opened and he smiled at his older brother.
"Hey Bill."
The taller man stepped over to lean against the wall next to him.
"How are you doing?"
Ron shrugged.
"Fine, I guess. I just went to visit Hermione."
"Yeah?" Bill grinned. "How's she doing?"
"Fine. She looks better. I guess Mrs. Parksey just had a son. Guess what she named him?"
"Oh no," Bill shook his head, chuckling. "Don't tell me."
"Yeah. Harold."
They shared a quiet laugh, before Ron sighed. "I'm exhausted. I'm gonna head up to bed, alright?"
"No dinner?"
"I picked something up on my way back."
"Alright. You take care of yourself, brother. I'm heading out tomorrow. Apparently the twins found something they want my help with."
"Oh no."
"Yeah, I'm a bit worried myself. With those two, you never can tell. But it's sure to give Voldemort a headache, so whatever it is, it'll be well worth it."
"Yeah. You take care of yourself."
"You too."
The two brothers shared a hug before Ron made his way upstairs to his room. It was nothing like his old room at the Burrow; the walls were bare, save for a few old photographs of him and his friends, and one of his whole family together, smiling and waving in front of the Burrow. That one had been taken just after Ginny had started Hogwarts, and everyone had been happy and whole.
The Burrow had been burned to the ground in an attack two years ago. It was in that attack that Ron had lost his parents, his oldest brother Charlie, and his baby sister, Ginny. He had been devastated, but the remaining brothers had banded together and given each other strength.
Turning away from the picture, Ron sat on his bed, focusing just long enough to slip his boots off. His father had wondered at them, Ron remembered fondly.
"Zippers and laces?"
"Yeah, dad. You lace it up to where they're comfortable, then whenever you zip them up, they're already tightened to where they need to be."
"The things those muggles think of…"
Ron was asleep before his head hit the pillow.