--Kayli --

We find the Headmistress in her office.

She does not like me. Ah, well.

Yeah. I care. I care whole lots.

Besides, if what Remus said is right, we have way bigger things to worry about than whether or not the Headmistress likes me.

If Remus is right, and Greyback is lose in the great state of Minnie-snowta, we have way bigger things to worry about than a snooty Headmistress. In fact, I would say we have bigger things to worry about than getting home.

You didn't hear that from me, however. If what I'm currently thinking about Legolas and Thranduil is right, than we don't have any bigger concerns than getting home. Because they're Elves. And if they start to pine...

So....if I'm right, and Remus is right, we're fucked.

Yay?

She glares at us. "Yes?"

I plop down in a chair without waiting for an invitation. "According to our contact in England, we may know who was responsible for the Minister's death. He says that he only knows of one werewolf who will eat flesh. That he knows of."

"And I'm assuming your contact is a werewolf?" she asks, all snooty.

"Our contact is our business," I reply evenly. "Ever heard of Fenrir Greyback?"

She goes beyond pale, and then beyond pasty. Right after that she turns grey, little green around the edges, and looks like she's going to puke, faint, or both.

I'm gonna take that as a yes.

"You don't mean to say...Greyback....here?" she manages.

I shrug. "It's possible. As far as our contact was able to tell us, there's only one magical creature that can change shape. And if this creature works on it enough, could they change shape at will?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. But...it doesn't matter. Last night was the full moon."

I swear. "Of course it was. Duh."

Harry shifts behind us and clears his throat. "At the beginning of the year...well, I was hanging about in Diagon Alley, you see, with everyone...and, well, I saw Malfoy."

"And who the hell is Malfoy?" I ask. "Wait. Tall skinny kid, pointy face, stupid French name?"

He smiles a little, and nods. "He was talking to one of the shopkeepers in Knockturn Alley."

I frown. "I thought you said you were in Diagon Alley, which I'm assuming is kid-approved? And question number two, why were you in Knockturn Alley, which from what I've heard is not exactly friendly?"

He actually blushes a little, and looks at his feet. "Well, I followed him."

I groan. "Jesus, Harry, why?"

He looks a little miffed. "I got his father locked up last year. I thought maybe he was planning something to get back at me, or maybe at Dumbledore. And his mum isn't friendly either."

"I don't imagine a happy person could have spawned that kid. Anyway. Shopkeeper. Knockturn Alley."

"Yeah, Borgin and Burkes. They were talking about how Borgin had to help him, or whoever, and...well, he showed him something. Something on his left arm."

I sit up straight. "Come on, Harry. No way. No fucking way."

"What, melisse?" Legolas asks sharply.

"Miss Peters! Language!" the Headmistress snaps. "And what could have possibly been on this young man's arm?"

"You're American," I reply, almost bleakly. "You wouldn't have had a lot of contact with Vo --" she hisses "-- all right, all right, Mr. Big And Scary, during the war, right? Well, I'm sure you've heard he brands his followers. Always on the left arm."

She looks at me sharply. "How old is this boy you're talking about?"

I shrug. "Sixteen, seventeen?"

"Sixteen," Harry replies. "Same age as me."

"There is no way Vold --" Another hiss from the Headmistress. "Christ Jesus, what is wrong with you people? It's just a fucking name! Anyway, yeah, Mr Cloak and Dagger, there is no way he'd trust a kid with anything important. Even a teenager. Shit, he'd probably trust a younger kid more easily. You teenagers are a bunch of ticking time bombs stuffed full of hormones. About as reliable as a pickpocket in Tiffany's. You really think he'd give Draco a mission of any real importance?"

"Maybe he doesn't expect him to succeed. Maybe it's a punishment. For his failure." He clears his throat. "For his father's failure. See, the whole thing at the Ministry, Voldemort -- " the Headmistress shudders, and Harry repeats the name, more firmly -- "Voldemort was after a prophecy, one made about me and him. And it broke before Malfoy's dad and the others could get it, so...he never got to hear what was inside."

"But you did, didn't you?" Legolas asks, looking at Harry with that creepy look Elves get, the one that says not only can they see through you, they can see into you, into the deepest, darkest parts of you where you hide everything you don't want the world to see.

I hate that look. Galadriel does it the best, Elrond and Celeborn tied for second, and Thranduil in a close third, but Legolas is no slouch.

Harry's bright green eyes slide toward the Headmistress for a second, then look back at us. "Just a few words, not enough to make any sense of," he replies, almost smooth enough to be believable. "But he can't punish Lucius -- he's in Azkaban. Maybe he's doing the next best thing and punishing his son."

"The sins of the father," I mutter. "Fucking wonderful guy. Anyway, Harry, was there a point to this little spin down Memory Lane?"

He nods. "Yeah. When Malfoy was in Borgin and Burkes, one other thing he said to convince the shopkeeper -- he told him that Fenrir Greyback was a close personal friend of the Malfoy family."

I lean back in my chair to think. "How long a range can a Portkey have?" I ask.

The Headmistress straightens, probably thrilled to get a question she can answer. "Anywhere in the world. They're easier to make for shorter distances, of course, but a suitably skilled witch or wizard can have any work to anywhere. Side-Along Apparition would be easier, of course."

"Why?" Harry asks, obviously confused.

"Because maybe somebody can pop back to England and ask Mr. Malfoy nicely if he's seen Greyback recently."

"Why do I have a feeling you don't really mean to ask him nicely?" the Headmistress asks tiredly.

"I will ask nicely," I reply. "The first time. After that, I'll get a little testy." I shrug. "I'll talk to Dumbledore first, though." I turn and look at Legolas. "I'm gonna want you there when I talk to Dumbledore, though."

Harry frowns at me. "Why?"

My God, doesn't that stop being their favorite question at some point? Like at six or seven? "Because."

Harry's eyes narrow, and I force myself to remember that Harry isn't your typical teenager. "Because I don't think he's telling us everything he knows, and that pisses me off, OK?"

"That's for Dumbledore to decide, what we do and don't need to know," Harry argues.

"Your loyalty is admirable," Legolas murmurs.

"Admirable, and well-placed," I agree. "But it's for Dumbledore to decide what you need to know and don't need to know. If I find out he's not told us something that could bite me in the ass, I'm going to walk out that door and hitch my own ride home. Until I know for sure, I'm not doing any more work for him."

He glares at me. "Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

I stare at him. "I'm not a schoolkid, and I don't need to be protected."

"Neither do I!"

I sigh. "Harry, don't argue, just do what I tell you."

"I'm old enough to know what's going on!"

I nod. "Yeah, that's my argument, too. Let's see how it works for me on Dumbledore, huh?"

-- break --

We hitch a Portkey back to Hogwarts, and are let straight in to see Dumbledore, which somehow doesn't surprise me. Remus is with him, which doesn't surprise me either.

I'm not that easily surprised, at this point.

"OK," I say, kicking the door shut behind me. Snape arches an eyebrow from next to the fire. "I want answers. I want to know what's going on, and I want to know pretty much right now." I point at Dumbledore. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you're trying to protect Harry, 'cause the kid has impulse control problems. I am not seventeen, and he sure as hell isn't seventeen." I jerk a thumb back over my shoulder at Legolas. "So. What is Malfoy up to?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows go up. "He has been attempting all year to try and kill me," he says calmly.

I blink. Not quite what I expected. "Oh." I turn to Snape. "Wait a second. You. You've taken an Unbreakable Oath to finish Draco's task." I spin back to Dumbledore. "Are you seriously telling me this is a setup?"

"Melisse?" Legolas says.

"It's all -" I shake my head. "Jesus, Dumbledore, he is seventeen fucking years old!"

"Albus?" Remus says. "What's going on?"

I blow out a breath. "Draco has been ordered by Voldemort to kill Dumbledore. If he isn't a success, Snape will do it, because he has to. He's taken an Unbreakable Oath. Which, since it's called that, I'm assuming causes something really, really horrible to happen if it's broken. This will ensure Snape's place in Voldemort's good graces, making it easier for him to fuck things up from the inside. Am I right?"

"Quite right," Dumbledore replies calmly.

"You're already dying, aren't you?" Legolas asks, surprising all of us.

Well, I'm glad he can speak. I'm in a state of catatonic shock, which isn't normal for me, believe me.

Dumbledore glances at him, then nods. "Yes," he says, and smiles. "They are really very clever. At least this way, my death serves a purpose."

Remus and I just stare at him. Snape is glaring at us.

Legolas seems to think about that. "Yes, I see."

Now we both turn and stare at him.

"It's understandable, melisse."

"It's fucking insane, that's what it is!"

"Perhaps," he said. "But they are at war, love. You cannot expect everything to run smoothly, or as you think it should. Subterfuge is a part of war."

"God, why can't we fight Orcs?" I ask, and drop into a chair.

"'Twas simpler," Legolas agrees.

"All right," I say. "Fine. I don't know anything and he doesn't know anything. We're both clueless. I need to talk to Draco Malfoy."

"I think not," Snape sneers.

"I think so," I retort. "Fenrir Greyback murdered the American Minister of Magic. He's loose in Minnesota. You don't let me in to talk to Malfoy, and I swear to God, every little boy he changes will be on your head, greaseball."

"You think, learning what I've done would make you more polite," Snape sneers.

"Why?" I ask bluntly. "You're a spy. I have a personal loathing of spies, and I don't fucking care which side you're spying for. Besides, you're still an asshole."

Next to me, Remus chokes.

"So," I say cheerfully, "I get to talk to Draco, right?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replies, hiding a smile. "This way."

TBC...