Ah, Chapter 3. It's exciting, yes?
I just want to thank the folks who left reviews. It's awesome. I understand what the big deal is now. They are certainly encouraging. I feel loved.
Also, I have a Beta now. Thank you The Sushi Monster. She is quick, and any mistakes you read are all her fault. Really. :)
Ok, disclaimer time...and I still can't think of anything clever. Maybe next time.
On to the story.
Be Here Now
Bill Weasley crashed to the ground. A grunt escaped his lips as he slid several feet before colliding shoulder first with a sand-brick wall.
"Rock! You arse!"
A goblin crouched above him, hands on his knees, smiling a toothy grin at the human in front of him. Bill pushed himself up with his left arm and slowly stood, holding his right shoulder. He was covered in dust. His normally red hair was full of debris, various pieces of yellow and black stone caught in it.
"William, do you require assistance?" said Rockspear.
"Yep. Shoulder got a bit banged up when you decided to fling me across the entire bloody tomb."
They stood in a dimly lit chamber large enough to hold The Burrow. Each of the three walls slanted slightly inward the higher they went. The faded impression of a face that reminded Bill of a bald Albus Dumbledore, with the accompanying beard, looked down on them from a small, level triangle almost fifty feet above.
Rockspear raised his hands towards Bill's arm and extended his pointy fingers towards the redhead's shoulder.
"You must keep still," said the goblin. Bill was turning his head back and forth, searching the various passageways surrounding them for any sign of flickering air that would indicate active wards.
A few moments and several murmured spells later, Rockspear had finished. Bill rotated both arms in a circle, almost hitting the goblin in the face.
"William, if you accidentally hit me in the mouth, I believe it would injure you much more severely than it would me."
Bill grinned as he looked down. Rockspear showed his teeth again and walked back towards the passageway they had just hastily vacated. Shaking his head, Bill re-holstered his wand and took several long steps forward until he had matched pace with the goblin.
"So, about tossing me into the wall..." Bill began.
"You were about to trigger a ward," said Rockspear tranquilly .
"Where?" Bill looked forward, squinting his eyes. Seeing nothing, he produced his wand from his wrist holster. Before he was able to wrap his fingers completely around it, Rockspear placed a long, bony hand on his arm and pulled it down.
"A better question than, 'Where?' would have been, 'What type of ward?' Do you agree?"
Bill flushed. "What type of ward is it, Rock?"
Releasing his arm, Rockspear slowly moved toward the entrance to the dark passageway. He crouched and seemed to be examining the floor of the tomb before he rose and gazed along the entire entranceway.
Bill stood back quietly, his wand pointing to the stone floor, as he watched the goblin work. Rockspear turned and regarded the redhead for a moment before waving him over.
"Do you see the glyphs?" said Rockspear.
Bill looked at the floor for a moment and, seeing nothing, imitated the goblin's search of a moment ago.
"Where?"
"Look again, closely," Rockspear responded.
Holding in a sigh, Bill continued to stare around the entranceway. Still unable to find the hieroglyphs he was supposed to be searching for, he prepared to give up and ask for the goblin to show him what exactly he was talking about. Again.
"Rock, I-" suddenly his eyes settled on a barely visible set of scratches several feet inside the passageway, partially covered by shadows.
"There! A few feet down on the wall, just above the floor."
"Excellent, William," the goblin spoke in a slightly pleased manner, "I see you remember the Amahte Kamenwati lesson well."
"Yeah," Bill agreed "I'd say it's pretty well burnedinto my mind at this point..." his voice lowered, "along with a few other parts of me."
Rockspear's mouth twitched, but he did not smile. Bill watched as his diminutive partner began muttering incantations and took a mental note of the differences between the spells he was hearing now and the ones from several weeks ago.
Within a minute, Bill's hair stood up on end and he heard a small thump so quick that he wouldn't have noticed it had he not been listening. Rockspear began walking forward without a backwards glance and Bill followed without hesitation.
Several hours later, Bill sat in a large tent outside the tomb. It was tolerable thanks to some cooling charms, but every time someone walked in or out, the hot Saharan air would come wafting in, reminding Bill why he was so thankful for magic.
His friend Geoff was still laughing and snorting into his glass of firewhiskey.
"So, let me understand this..."
"I think you understand fine, Geoff," said Bill.
"Help me out here. So you walk into the chamber and..."
Bill sighed. "And Rock told me to cast a detection spell..."
"And you actually did it? Why would you listen to that crazed goblin, mate? He lives to torture you."
"He calls it teaching."
"So, then what?" Geoff put down his drink and looked at Bill expectantly.
"Well, I cast the charm. Never even noticed Rock sneaking his way back into the passage."
"Course not. You were probably so shocked that he let you take the lead on this one that you didn't notice a lot of things."
"No doubt. So I cast the charm."
Geoff snorted loudly. Bill glared at him and continued. "And four mummies burst out of their cozy little houses and start running at me. I nearly pissed myself."
At this point Geoff burst out laughing, drawing looks from the others in the tent. Taking a moment to collect himself, he waved for Bill to go on.
"I put up a quick shield, but you know how strong those things are," Geoff nodded and picked his glass back up, taking a sip. Bill did the same.
"After a minute, I tried stunning one of them."
"Didn't work, eh?"
"No. No, it didn't. So I start trying to blast them, but I had to be careful," said Bill.
"Right. Don't want to destroy the entire place and have it come crashing down on your head. First rule of tomb raiding. Destroying the tomb is bad."
"And so my shield starts to flicker and the mummies are just running into it again and again," Bill continued. "I started to look for Rock, then just flew through the air towards the passage. I landed right on my arse in front of him, and he had the biggest damn grin I've ever seen on a goblin. Just stood there and grinned for the longest time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I just sat there for a minute, looking up at those giant teeth and he starts to laugh."
Geoff looked shocked for a moment, then finished his drink and dropped the glass down on the table with a thud. His expression quickly changed to an emotion Bill couldn't identify, but it seemed positive.
"He laughed at you, huh?" said Geoff.
"Yeah, at least I think he was laughing. Sounded kinda like a dragon barking."
A voice from behind him almost caused Bill to spill his drink.
"Dragons do not bark, William."
Bill turned to look into the face of their current topic of discussion. Turning back to his friend, he gave him a beseeching look. "You could've said something," he said.
Geoff chortled. "I could have."
"And yet you didn't."
"Didn't feel like it, honestly. The look on your face is priceless, you know?" Geoff was still laughing when Bill turned to look at his partner.
"I agree, William. The human mouth has the ability to express emotions much more varied than my own. It is most amusing." The grin on his face was the same as always, but the goblin's eyes seemed to indicate a smug smirk.
"So glad I can amuse you. And thanks again for the lesson today. I'm glad that I had something to distract Geoff with. He seems to enjoy hearing about our little adventures."
Rockspear nodded once and walked around Bill's chair to sit in the third empty seat. Sitting as stiff and straight as one of the sarcophagi they had been searching for, Rockspear's face was the only indication he had relaxed at all.
"William, a letter arrived for you while we were inside the tomb. I believe it is quite urgent."
"Someone sent an owl halfway across the desert?" said Geoff.
"No, Geoffrey. In fact, it was sent using a phoenix." Even the goblin sounded somewhat impressed and gazed toward Bill expectantly.
"I don't know anyone with a phoenix...do I?" Bill looked between Geoff and Rockspear, neither of whom seemed to be able to answer the question.
Rockspear pulled a shrunken envelope out of his pocket. It enlarged quickly as it moved toward Bill's hand and, by the time he had a hold of it, was at full size. He turned it over in his hands and recognized the seal immediately.
"It's from Hogwarts. I've heard that Dumbledore has a phoenix. It must be from him."
"Well, open it, man! It's not every day you get a letter from a phoenix," Geoff shouted, but lowered his voice before the entire camp became aware of the unusual circumstances behind the letter.
"I don't think the phoenix wrote the letter, Geoff."
The idea that his former headmaster was contacting him rattled Bill a bit. Thoughts of his family broke through first, but he realized that it was the middle of summer and none of his brothers would be at school. That only left him more confused. Opening the envelope, Bill read the letter. Geoff and Rockspear watched the tension leave his face to be replaced by puzzlement.
"What's it say, mate?"
"Um..." Bill read the letter again. It was quite short. Only three short sentences, in fact.
Mr. Weasley,
I request your presence at Hogwarts this Saturday, 4 August, at 2 p.m. I have come upon an interesting situation for which you are well suited to help me resolve. I beg of you to share the contents of this letter only with those you absolutely must.
Sincerely Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
With Rockspear in charge of his schedule, Bill realized the goblin had to know about this and showed him the letter. He let him read it over for a minute before asking a necessary question.
"This Sunday?" Bill asked.
"That will be difficult. It is several days to the main camp," Rockspear stood and returned the letter.
"What's the date anyway?" said Geoff.
Bill had no idea what day it was either. He was fairly sure it was sometime in July, but it could be the beginning of August. The concept of keeping track of the date had been discontinued within weeks of arriving in northern Africa almost a year ago. With the monotonous sun, sand, heat and look-alike tombs, Bill had adjusted his schedule to whatever Rock had planned for the coming week.
"Is it still July?" he asked Rockspear.
The goblin looked at his partner and student. He was at the same level as Bill at the moment, standing while the redhead hunched over the letter he was holding.
"It's the 31st," Rockspear patted Bill on the head, who responded with a distracted swat that connected with nothing but air.
"How long do you think it would take us to get to the main camp?"
"I believe it should take no more than forty-eight hours. Assuming the weather stays consistent."
Geoff scoffed, "Consistent? It's bloody hot and sunny every day! Scorching! You two'll be fine. Where you going, anyway?"
Bill groaned. Geoff was a great guy, usually, but he reminded him strongly of his youngest brother who had the bad habit of tempting fate with his overly-obvious observations. Glancing at Rock, he realized that the goblin had probably spent too much time around humans. Normally not a superstitious race, he caught the goblin wince almost imperceptibly before regaining his normally placid expression. Placid for a tomb raiding, curse-breaking, ward busting goblin, at least.
"What? What'd I say?" Geoff looked between the two of them for a moment before smacking himself on the forehead and apologizing.
Bill stood. "Right. Well, I'll go pack and come see you two before I head out. Hopefully," he eyed Geoff for a moment, "there won't be a sandstorm or any other complications."
"William, I will be accompanying you. Please allow me an hour to prepare and speak with Stonenick before we depart."
The idea of traveling with Rock was unsettling. He liked the goblin, respected him greatly and trusted him completely. But...well, he loved to play pranks. Bill would have dismissed the idea of a goblin playing pranks and making jokes a year ago. Experience, and embarrassing photographic evidence, had convinced him that it was never wise to underestimate the cunning of the goblin race. Especially Rock, who had spent the better part of the past forty years exploring lost tombs and initiating curse breakers. The repetitiveness of the job that Bill had come to know since he had arrived in Egypt had been broken only by the occasional unopened tomb and Rock's 'tests'.
Fifty-nine minutes later the two of them had procured a flying carpet and were loading up their limited possessions and some supplies. With their location changing on a weekly basis, it was pointless to bring many personal items. Gringotts supplied food and tents as well as various support staff, so Bill's pack was fairly light and contained only his clothes, a small photo album, some relics deemed not worthy of retaining by the goblins that he was planning on gifting to his family, and a limited first aid kit.
As they levitated off the rocky ground their camp was situated on, Bill marveled again at the smoothness of a magic carpet. It was only his second trip on one, but he vividly remembered his first flight when he had arrived in Egypt. There was no sense of acceleration like riding a broom. No wind or sand could be felt thanks to a minor shielding charm that had been added by the goblins. Its maximum speed was limited, as was its ceiling, but the comfort level compared to other modes of magical flight was far superior. One could lie down and sleep if the length of the journey warranted, which Bill planned on taking full advantage of at the moment.
Covering his face with his robes, Bill laid down. He reflected that it would have been much faster to disapparate had the entire area not been saturated by ancient Egyptian wards preventing most types of magical transport, which also included portkeys. Even house-elves were unable to travel within the zone, other than the manner in which he and Rock were at the moment. Phoenixes, he thought, were obviously not constrained by the same rules of magic.
Several hours passed with Bill in a dozing state, occasionally waking enough to spot clouds on the horizon, outcroppings of rocks or the occasional oasis. Once he looked over the edge of the carpet and saw a group of tents that seemed to melt into the ground below whenever he looked directly at them. Assuming it was a group of nomadic wizards, he began to ask Rock about them when he turned and saw the goblin with his eyes closed, sitting rigidly upright, seemingly asleep.
Closing his own eyes, Bill drifted off for several hours before he was awoken by a gentle shaking. He looked into the grim face of his companion and sat up with his arms bracing him into a sitting position.
"What's going on?"
"There is a sandstorm approaching," Rock waved his boney hand behind them. Bill turned his head and saw a perfectly clear night sky. Millions of tiny pinpricks of light and a silver half moon made the desert below them shimmer. The sand dunes rose and fell, like a still ocean under the ancient glow. The beauty made his heart ache.
Flying so low, he could see wisps of sand blowing underneath them, flowing along in the same direction as the carpet. The sand moved at about half their speed. This caused Bill to feel slightly disorientated when they passed over solid earth, as if they had suddenly sped up. He focused on the horizon behind them and saw the desert floor vanish into darkness a bit nearer to them than it did in other directions.
"So, what do we do?" he asked Rock.
"We should continue on as long as possible before the storm can overtake us, and then seek shelter."
"How long do these things usually last?"
Rock was muttering under his breath as he waved his hands over various parts of the carpet. Bill felt nothing to indicate that they were going any faster, but when the carpet slowly angled towards the ground, he decided that Rock must have increased their speed a bit. This did not lessen his anxiety about the storm that had rapidly grown to consume a more noticeable portion of the sky. The moon was starting to look a bit hazy.
"Rock, do you-"
"William, there is no way to tell," the goblin interrupted. "Often they will last a few hours. Sometimes a week or longer. We can only hope that this will be one of the shorter storms if you wish to make it to your meeting."
Bill sighed. The two of them sat silently for what seemed like quite awhile. Rock had ceased his attempts to increase the speed of the carpet and asked Bill to assist him in finding a suitable landing spot, just in case they saw something that might help them ride out the storm before it reached them.
They had both taken to glancing behind them, waiting for the storm to finally catch up to the slow moving carpet. About a third of the sky had been blotted out, and the moon was no longer visible at all, making it difficult to search for a safe landing spot. Bill looked at his watch and saw only twenty minutes had passed since Rock had first alerted him to the problem.
"Is there anything we can do to ride out the storm?" Bill asked.
"No, William. The flying carpet is a very useful and powerful magical object, but they are not meant to take the strain of a full powered sand storm. Storms like that," he pointed behind them with his boney thumb, which was longer than any finger on Bill's hands, "can rearrange the sand dunes they come into contact with so that they are unrecognizable. Why do you think so many of the tombs and ancient temples we work in are covered by hundreds of feet of desert?"
Bill mumbled an unintelligible reply before he shouted.
"Hey!"
He pointed down and ahead of them. As Rockspear looked over the edge of the, now low-flying, magic carpet he spotted an outcropping of rocks and what looked like some small boulders.
"Excellent! That should make a wonderful shelter. We may survive the night."
"That's great," said Bill, "Do you think it'll protect us from the storm?"
Rock grinned, teeth glittering, "We may survive the night, William. Let us not think too far ahead."
As the carpet swung down to the right, Bill cursed. "This is all your fault, Geoff! You twit..."
In a building on the edge of Manchester's city center, a man sat at a desk in the only room of a very small flat. The room itself was just big enough for a single bed, a desk, the chair the man was sitting in, and a hot-plate where he brewed his tea. A tiny closet was built into the wall, inaccessible if the front door was open. White walls, fading to beige, merged into a cracked ceiling.
Occasionally, bits of the ceiling would fall onto Remus Lupin as he slept. This often occurred on the weekends, when the young couple that lived above him wasn't working. They were both teachers and had decided to save money after their wedding, so they moved into the tiny but cheap flat. The way the ceiling was flaking recently, they would need that money soon enough for the baby that would surely be on its way, Remus mused, grinning.
There hadn't been much for him to smile about for quite awhile now, he thought grimly. For almost nine years now, the only friends he had were either dead or in Azkaban. Certainly he had his share of muggle friends. It was really the only option as he had spent most of his time living in the muggle world, working temporary jobs he had little to no interest in, since that nightmarish Halloween.
His ability to keep friends was severely hindered by the fact that he had been unable to retain a job for longer than a few months at a time thanks to his 'furry little problem'. Calling in sick for three or four days each month was not a good strategy for holding a job, and he was always either too tired, too irritable or in too much pain to make it to work. He always blamed it on a sickness, but the types of jobs he was able to get without references or a muggle education were always easily filled. He was expendable.
Sickness. Well, it was a curse more than a sickness, but the result was the same whichever way you looked at it. Remus recalled a job he'd had several years ago at a low budget eatery which had not required much effort. He would take the order, write it out, hand it to one of the cooks, then turn back to his customer, give them the total cost and take their money. It was a simple job that he could do in his sleep. He had been able to make it to work everyday but the day after the full moon. Thanks to shift-switching, he had even been able to get most full moons off and had kept the job for almost four months.
It had ended spectacularly one day when one of the busboys had started sharing his opinions on some of the customers the day before the full moon. This was not unheard of from most of the staff, but that day a group of young girls on their way to school had drawn the man's attention. After hearing him make a few lewd comments about the attractiveness or potential skills of the pre-teen girls, Remus had politely urged him to not speak. His request had been ignored.
After an extremely offensive comment, Remus had heard enough and broken the man's arm. In five different places. The manager had come out screaming like a banshee and fired him on the spot. After he had handed over his apron to the manager the pervert he had disciplined laughed through gritted teeth and commented on his violent reaction.
"Don't like girls, eh queer? What's wrong with having a little fun? You know what they say about the young ones-"
His next comment had been cut off by his own scream as Remus pulled his arm out of socket, and in the process insured the breaks would never heal properly. The last thing he had seen was the man doubled over in pain, vomiting bile after Remus had given him a werewolf enhanced kick to the groin, attempting to make sure he never attempted to enact his rambling fantasies about the school girls.
After that incident he had been unable to find a job that suited his temperament so close to the full moon. This made it much more difficult to find steady work and he had spent the past few years wandering from city to city, working odd jobs and attempting to make ends meet.
When he finally arrived in Manchester the year before, he had found this flat and managed to hold onto it. The rent was cheap and the neighborhood was as nice as could be expected. For the past six months he had been working at a used bookstore, and it was the best job he could have hoped for since leaving the magical world.
His tasks were simple. Remus was in charge of shipping and receiving used books between several different bookstores that shared stock. He would sign for the boxes of books that his store received and then stock the shelves. Occasionally, he would sort through books that customers would sell or exchange at his store and send requested copies to their sister stores. It was an easy job, made easier by the fact that this particular store wasn't exceptionally busy most of the time. Remus also had the pleasure of taking home unwanted books that they would normally send to charity or recycling plants.
Because of this, the small amount of wall space he had available was covered floor to ceiling in books. Most of them were of the textbook variety, especially university texts as the term had just ended the previous month. In the past several weeks, Remus had become an expert on post-colonial African history, which for some reason was extremely popular in his particular store.
The rest of his one room flat was simple and extremely functional. The small wooden desk sat next to his small single bed. A small dresser rested against the wall on the opposite side of his bed. Sitting in his (small) chair, Remus waited for his tea water to reach boiling. He had a couple of hours to relax with one of the few novels he had purchased, thanks to his employee discount, before going into work at two o'clock. As the kettle finally whistled to indicate he could enjoy his tea, he sank into the chair and crossed his legs.
Remus looked forward to this particular job. It had three main points in its favor, three things that made it a job he truly enjoyed more than any other.
The first was, of course, the books. The idea of working in a bookstore had appealed to him since before he had graduated Hogwarts. Spending all day reading, even if it was only a few words at a time on a subject he had no interest in, was almost pure bliss as far as he was concerned. The fact that he had little to occupy his time beyond work and reading made the idea of free and discounted books that much more appealing.
The second point was the limited requirements of the job itself. Remus was rarely asked to interact with customers. His job was to take care of the books, not to sell them, and he was able to wander into the stock room during the rare event that the staff was overwhelmed with customers. This low stress environment allowed him to get by with going into work while only missing the day after his transformation. The short temper and pale, sickly appearance were easily brushed off as one unfortunate malady after another from a migraine to allergies. The store was not busy enough to begrudge him the occasional sick day. As luck would have it several of the full moons had occurred on one of his pre-scheduled days off, and no one was the wiser.
The third and most interesting, to Remus at least, was Sarah. She was one of the sorters, and occasionally assisted customers in finding a title. Remus rarely spoke to her outside of the occasional request to recommend something when someone had dropped off a large selection that she was sorting through. She was quite beautiful. Short, with spiky red hair and pale white skin that seemed at home in any library or bookstore. He only saw her on the weekends and knew from one of their brief conversations that she was still attending university. He rarely became enamored with women and had learned long ago that the chance of meeting someone who would look past his problems was extremely unlikely. However, no one had said he couldn't dream, and so he watched her from afar, admiringly and without agenda.
After reading for another hour, Remus walked down the dimly lit hallway of his building and showered in the floor bathroom before returning to his flat and dressing for work. At about half past one, he opened the door to his small closet and looked for an appropriate shirt. At that moment, a sound that reminded him of the muted pop of a gas stove top igniting caused him to turn his head away from the closet. He watched as a single red feather floated over his desk. It swayed back and forth, following the minor air currents underneath it, until it landed on an envelope that had not been there when he had begun getting dressed.
The two steps he took toward his desk covered the length of the room and he was immediately looking down on a familiar parchment style envelope which, he could tell from the seal, was from Hogwarts. He glanced at the feather, saw the gold tip and brilliant red color and realized that it was from a phoenix. Being that he only knew one wizard at Hogwarts who had a phoenix, Remus picked up the envelope and resisted tearing into it immediately. His interaction with the wizarding world was so limited and infrequent that he chose to cherish the rare moment, hoping that whatever was contained in the letter he was about to read wouldn't be something unpleasant.
He carefully opened it and unfolded the parchment letter inside.
Remus,
I request your presence at Hogwarts this Saturday, 4 August, at 2 p.m. I have come upon an interesting situation for which you are well suited to help me resolve. I beg of you to share the contents of this letter with no one.
Sincerely Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
Well. That was odd. He hadn't received any correspondence from Albus since it had been made abundantly clear that however he felt about it, Remus would not be taking care of little Harry Potter. Remus had tried talking him out of placing the baby with the Dursley's, but Albus had insisted that he would be safest there. After explaining the blood protections a bit, Remus had grudgingly agreed that it would be difficult to break the wards, but argued that Lily's sister was not a fan of magic.
They had agreed to disagree and after the final link to his friends, his family, had been severed, Remus distanced himself from the world in which he had been raised. A place that had no interest in a werewolf participating in the daily life of the Wizarding World.
He read the letter several times, memorizing it, then folded it and placed it back in the envelope. Today was Thursday, so he had to find someone to take his shift that weekend or he would lose the only job he had actually enjoyed for years. Remus finished dressing and, with a look towards the envelope on his desk, walked out of the flat on his way to work.
Inside the office of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a heated argument was taking place. On one side of the argument was the new Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and his newly appointed undersecretary, Delores Umbridge. On the other side was...the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, at the moment there were only five people in the office. The room wasn't large enough to hold more comfortably, and if there was anything Cornelius Fudge detested, it was being uncomfortable.
Senior Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nadia Chalmers stood behind Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE, who sat at her desk. She was doing her best not to sneer at the two people in front of her. Fudge was certainly the most inept Minister she had come to know in her almost forty years working in the Ministry and the woman sitting next to him was horrifying. She wore a pink outfit of some sort, which would have been appropriate on Amelia's ten year old niece, Susan. Five years ago.
Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at the Aurors and roll her eyes, Amelia kept her focus on the man who was, technically, her superior. She did her best not to allow Dolores Umbridge into her sight, but the colors she wore were like a grotesque accident, impossible to look away from. Amelia decided on one last attempt to convince the Minister before their meeting was over.
"Cornelius," she began, only to be interrupted by Umbridge clearing her throat.
Amelia looked at her blankly before continuing.
"Cornelius-"
"Minister Fudge, please," simpered Umbridge.
Amelia gritted her teeth and attempted to remain calm.
She glanced at the woman and gave her a wan smile. As her eyes shifted back to Cornelius, she saw he was alternating between looking uncomfortable and pleased with the lackey to his left. Amelia sighed. "Minister," she continued too quickly for Umbridge to interfere, "I believe you should reconsider the department's budget request. The idea of no increase in funding is absurd. What of the Aurors? New equipment? Even the DRCMC has received a significant increase. The Aurors are responsible for the protection of witches and wizards throughout Britain. Don't you believe they should have the best the ministry can provide?"
"You disagree that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures deserves funding?" said Umbridge.
"Excuse me?"
"The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It's an extremely useful department. Think of all the dangerous and out of control beasts that are lurking, waiting for a human to pass by so that they can maul or even kill them!" Umbridge seemed deranged, her voice and excitement rising towards the end of her unnecessary explanation.
Amelia paused for a moment to collect herself. The fact that Fudge was nodding along in agreement made her seriously doubt the sanity of the two people across from her.
"Minister," she decided to pretend the offensive pink woman was not in the room, "when the DRCMC is informed of an emergency, they notify the Aurors. The Aurors respond to all emergencies that threaten any magical person. I truly believe that it would be in the best interests of the Ministry and magical Britain to increase funding for our department. At least an increase equal that of any other department. Don't you agree?"
Fudge looked startled that someone was asking his opinion on a matter of governance. It did not bode well for the future. He stared at her for a moment, mouth open as if he wanted to say something before turning to Umbridge and questioning her with his eyes. Amelia closed her own for a moment, just a bit longer than a blink, and waited for a response. Instead, the grating voice of Umbridge was the only answer she received.
"Director Bones, I'm sure you understand that with this increased funding, the the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will be able to respond more quickly and efficiently than it has in the past. With these improvements, the Aurors will no longer be stretched quite so thin, making your job much easier. The Ministry would hate to challenge your department so much that it would negatively affect the performance of your Aurors."
During her rambling, Amelia refused to look away from Fudge, making him squirm. A few more minutes of this argument eventually left Amelia in a state of near enragement, and by the time the two imbeciles left her office her jaw throbbed from clenching.
She watched the door close behind her and listened as the most irritating voice she had ever heard quieted the further it traveled from her office. She put her head in her hands, elbows propped up on her desk, and raised a single finger to motion the Aurors in front of her.
"So," she began without raising her head, "we have six more years of this, right?"
She already knew what the reactions of her subordinates would be. Nadia would be irritated, and rightfully so. Kingsley would have a sympathetic grimace on his face while doing his best not to laugh at his boss' frustration.
"That woman thinks the the DRCMC is going to actually go out there and deal with anything? This is just more pocket money for Macnair and his cronies," growled Nadia.
"Director, I must agree," said Kingsley soothingly. "The evidence that Minister Fudge is taking bribes from former supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is growing."
"By the way, did either of you find it odd that she kept saying the full name of the DRCMC. I know she's a bit...off, but honestly, no one in the Ministry uses its full name. She's freakish. Also seems to hate non-humans morethan Macnair. And all that pink..."
Amelia's face rose out of her hands and she sat back, looking at Nadia. "While I can't disagree with you on the woman's appearance, she has power now that Cornelius is Minister. We should not forget that. So, let's try and keep our opinions to ourselves, or at least in this office." She finished with a slight grin, allowing both Aurors to relax.
After a frustrating hour of debate on how to allocate what few funds the DMLE had at its disposal, Kingsley and Nadia left her office to finish some paperwork. Amelia settled in to complete her own.
She had thrown herself into her work after the death of her husband, Harper, during the first war against Voldemort. Amelia had no trouble thinking or saying the name. It didn't terrify her like it did most of the wizarding world. She was in the latter half of her fifties and, except for her niece Susan and her parents, had few people connected with her personal life. During the months immediately following Voldemort's demise almost nine years ago, she had quickly been promoted from Senior Auror to the leader of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Less than six months later, her former superior, Bartemius Crouch, had been demoted and she had taken his place.
In the years since, she had proceeded to watch over a dozen men and women who she strongly suspected of being Death Eaters walk freely out of the Wizengamot. It disgusted her. She had protested mightily, produced evidence that would have condemned Albus Dumbledore (had the evidence applied to him) but it was no use. Galleons, apparently, were the best defense possible. Much better than the truth, which the former Death Eaters were unwilling to share, not that there was much incentive to do so from the Wizengamot.
Thankfully, Amelia thought to herself, it was the end of the week. The summer session of the Wizengamot had finally ended and she decided that she would take the rest of the afternoon off since it was Friday. Meeting with Cornelius when he had been a junior minister in The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been difficult enough. He had always been frustrating, but now that he was the Minister of Magic (A magical catastrophe, indeed) he almost gave Amelia a fit whenever she had to speak with him. All she wanted now was an afternoon to herself. Somewhere that was Fudge-free.
And Umbridge-free. Merlin, how she detested that toad of a woman. Her sickly sweet voice, her hideously flabby face. The chills that trickled down Amelia's spine whenever the woman spoke reminded her vaguely of the rare and unfortunate occasions when she had visited Azkaban. The woman was a pink dementor in disguise. She had to be.
Laughing darkly to herself, Amelia finished organizing what little paperwork she had left, deciding to finish it tomorrow afternoon, as much as she hated coming to work on Saturdays. She was supposed to have at least one day off per week, but the reality of the latest budget cut necessitated her presence until they had straightened everything out. With a flick of her wand, the room darkened. She made her way out of The Director's office, past her assistant and down the corridor of the second level of the Ministry.
Amelia took the lift to the atrium, ducking several memos as the doors opened on various levels. When she exited, the sight of the cavernous room brimming over with various witches and wizards barely registered. Stepping up to an empty fireplace and grabbing a handful of floo-powder, Amelia stated her destination, "Bones Residence".
When the spinning ended, she smoothly stepped into her own living room and placed her wand on an end table before falling backward onto the black leather couch her sister-in-law had convinced her to buy from a muggle family having something called a 'yard sale'. Amelia shook her head tiredly. She thought again about the idiocy of Cornelius and had to concentrate so as to not pull a muscle in her jaw. What was it that drew imbeciles to powerful positions? And how did they always manage to succeed in reaching such positions? It truly baffled her. The only rationalization she had for the way Cornelius was behaving was bribery or the imperious curse.
"Or he could just be dumb as a flobberworm," she said to herself out loud, then giggled like a schoolgirl her niece's age.
Several minutes, and not a few deep breaths, later, Amelia gathered herself and meandered into the study to put away some records. The smell of books and parchment enveloped her as she sat down in her chair and began placing files into her desk drawers. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the calm that she felt whenever she spent time in the room. But when her eyes spotted the letter sitting at the edge of the desk, a red phoenix feather resting atop it, Amelia sputtered and coughed, choking on her own breath.
Picking it up, she rotated it and saw the Hogwarts seal glittering in the flame lit glow of her study. The feather she placed gently placed in one of the open books sitting in front of her. It was rare for Albus to use Fawkes to deliver post, something she hadn't seen since the war. It was extremely difficult to obtain phoenix feathers, and they were quite valuable, not that she would ever try to sell it. It would make a spectacular bookmark, she decided.
Turning to the letter, she pulled out her silver opener and broke the seal. She methodically unfolded the parchment and set it down on the desk.
Director Bones,
I request your presence at Hogwarts this Saturday, 4 August, at 2 p.m. I have come upon an interesting situation for which you are well suited to help me resolve. I beg of you to share the contents of this letter with as few people as possible, only those you would trust with your life. It is imperative that no one else in the Ministry is aware of the situation.
Sincerely Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
Amelia reviewed the letter several times. Obviously, this was not something related to the Ministry. Even if he had evidence of massive corruption within the Ministry, he would have stopped by her office and spoken with her. That he was being so secretive as to warn her to share the letter only with people she trusted with her life made her nervous. Nervousness was not something Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, often felt. She did not enjoy it.
Mentally reviewing her tentative schedule for tomorrow, she decided to go in a bit earlier than she had planned so that ducking out after lunch wouldn't be noticed by many. Thankfully, being a department head allowed her a certain amount of leeway so there was no doubt she could make the meeting with a minimum of fuss.
There was no request for a response in the letter. Albus was confident enough in his knowledge of her curious nature that he assumed she would be there. With guesses ranging from outrageous to bizarre fluttering through her mind, Amelia Bones summoned her lone house elf and asked him to prepare dinner. It was going to be a long night.
