"We are here today to hear your side of the story," Hermione began, her face full of expectation. "We have fulfilled our side of the deal and you have seen your sister, who is alive and well.
As soon as you are ready, please describe in detail the conditions of your first meeting."
Dolohov's arms were folded tightly across his chest, but to everyone's surprise, he actually replied.
"You know the St Mungo's bombing?"
"Yes," Hermione replied. "The one where they received a message that all the wings were ready to blow up if the ministry did not release exactly which ward Dumbledore was kept in for treatment."
"The Daily Prophet published an article about civilian heroes, do you remember?"
"Yes, the infamous Fantastic Four piece. The article claimed that these four civilians just happened to be at the right place at the right time and due to their heroic efforts saved hundreds of patients and visitors from dying that day.
It was a ruse. By sheer dumb luck some Prophet journalist had accidentally identified key personnel of the secret Auror program. People forgot about that article until their incapacitation forced the ministry to admit the existence of its Auror division." At this, Hermione turned to acknowledge Harry and Ron.
"They didn't save the hospital by sheer happenstance," Dolohov confirmed. "They knew it was going to happen well beforehand and they were there to stop us. And we weren't stupid, either. We knew something more was going on."
Looking them straight in the eye, Dolohov began to rattle off the names and purported identities of the "fantastic four" civilians.
"Alice Giggs, archivist at the British Magical Library, here to pick up medicines for her mother.
Frank Longbottom, physiotherapist with the Chudley Cannons, here to see his Uncle Algie who had been hospitalised after an accident with a Nogtail.
Gideon Prewett, run-of-the-mill hitwizard, here with his brother, Fabian Prewett, low-level administrative worker at the Ministry, to take their pregnant sister home for dinner after a routine checkup.
Of course, we didn't believe all that bullshit."
...
It was Boxing Day and would you believe it, he had just come from the office? Fabian Prewett had just been in to file his report on the St Mungo's incident, where their cover had so nearly been blown. It was going to make their life a hell lot tougher and Crouch wouldn't be pleased with them.
There was no one around at all, and after sealing his sheets of papyrus he dropped the file into the document tray marked for Amelia Bones. As he was more of the "tech guy", to borrow muggle parlance, the rest of them had spun out their reports in a couple of hours and were able to enjoy their holidays, while he had to spend most of Christmas in the Department of Mysteries labs running various tests on material he had picked up at the scene.
His work finally done, he decided to treat himself. He really dug the muggle activity of film watching, and he knew there was a good one being released today. The whole of the United States went gaga over when it was released there back in May. For this occasion, he had bribed the box-office girl to save a ticket for him, which he was on his way to pick up.
He reached the Odeon with an ample buffer of time, and brazenly strode past the long queue to greet Ramona, the lovely young lady with spiky green hair and a safety pin stuck in her nose who worked at the ticket booth. He pretended to ask her about show times and she made a show of telling him off for being rude and chucked a flyer in his face. Fabian acted like he was embarrassed and very sorry, and beat a hasty retreat, clutching the flyer.
A safe distance away from the box office, lest he anger fans of the more aggressive persuasion, he unfolded the flyer to retrieve the ticket embedded in the crease. With an uncontrolled squeal of delight, he tucked the ticket into his coat pocket, patting it every minute or so to ensure it was still safely ensconced.
He took a quick glance at his watch. There was still a quarter of an hour to go. Time for a fag, he thought, reaching into his other pocket for his pack of smokes. Benson and Hedges, the packet read, glinting gold in the artificial light of muggles.
He reached into yet another pocket for his lighter. He fished around, but felt nothing. He felt a wadded up handkerchief and the disintegrated remains of other ticket stubs that he previously failed to remove before his trousers went to the wash. The lighter was nowhere to be found. He frowned to himself, trying to recall where he could have left it.
Oh. It suddenly dawned on him that he had exploded his lighter at St Mungo's to chase away the Inferi. Hospitals, dead people aplenty, bodies ripe for possession by Death Eaters—there were too many of them swarming down the atrium, and in what he thought was a very smooth move, almost like Mr Bond himself, he removed his lighter, threw it in the direction of the oncoming swarm, and, while it was still in midair, he pointed his wand at it in a incendiary motion, setting it alight and turning it into an explosive fireball.
That was all very good, but he was presently in need of a lighter. He looked around the square. People were milling about in pre-movie excitement. At the far corner was a smoker, a middle-aged man with a potbelly. Nearer to him, by a bench, was a tall young man hunched over a cigarette. Fabian fixated on the tall young man. He had tangled locks of shoulder-length chestnut brown hair that fell across his long, pale face. He was skinny, and seemingly wrapped in endless layers of jumpers and jackets. His face was angular—gosh those cheekbones could cut!—and he had a strong, striking gaze. He felt himself go slightly weak in the knees. Dare he approach this handsome, rakish stranger?
"Erm, ah, I am terribly sorry, but I couldn't help but notice that you have a cigarette lighter," Fabian babbled, his hands twisting around nervously. "If you would be so kind as to lend it to me for an instant, ah, thank you, I am eternally in your debt."
He could scarcely bring himself to look the stranger in the eye, but he was keenly aware that this stranger was staring very intently back at him. Fabian was uncomfortable with awkward silences. He could only deal in awkward babbling.
"Are you here to watch the film? I have heard it is excellent. It was very popular in the States. Space opera, they call it, this stuff is not precisely science fiction as it contains little speculation on technological advancements and its social and environmental implications. In fact, the epigraph of the film, the opening crawl, so I heard, indicates that this may possibly be historical allegory."
There was nary a change of expression on that stranger's face. Fabian was starting to feel that this venture was doomed to fail, and he should do the wise thing and extricate himself from further social embarrassment.
"Yes, I am here to watch the film," the stranger replied in a slow, languid voice, cigarette dancing between his lips. Hell, that was sexy, Fabian thought to himself, feeling like he could wither and die on the spot.
"Great!" Fabian replied, though it was largely a lie because he was not feeling great at all deep inside. "Are you...alone? Perchance?" He almost mentioned that he was alone too, but strangled those words at the throat before he sounded like a desperate loser. God, how does one impress a sexy stranger? Or do sexy strangers not desire attention at all, being so fatigued by it.
Fabian took a deep breath off his cigarette like it was an asthma inhaler. A sly smile crept across the stranger's lips. "Yes, I am alone," he said, and Fabian nearly fainted from relief.
The two of them stood there, puffing away at their cigarettes in silence, while Fabian tried all he could to stop himself from blurting out stupid things like "gosh you are the most attractive man I have ever met" and "oh sexy stranger I want you so bad" and "please please please let me have you if only for tonight".
The ushers began to let people in, and Fabian nervously indicated that he was intent on getting a good seat and rushed to the doors. He had hoped for it against all reason and he was now painfully aware that this stranger was following him into the cinema. God, he thought to himself, for in these desperate times he availed himself to higher powers. Lord, help me. I have absolutely no idea how I am going to spend the next two hours or so stuck to a cinema chair with the most beautiful man on earth right next to me. I might die, but I would allow myself to die only if heaven was full of bodies such as his.
Fabian nervously purchased a small packet of nuts, for good luck or to steel himself or whatever. He had lost all his senses and he failed to pick up on the fact that he had just paid one pound and received no change.
The movie was very exciting, sure, but not as exciting as the stranger next to him.
Oh, this man would be the death of him, he thought, as their faces were illuminated by the screen, on which this evil contraption called the Death Star was exploding in spectacular fashion. Merlin, that was exactly what he felt like inside.