Sunday, 5 June 1994
"And what happened then?" Miss Carthew asked Gwen, pouring the fragrant gold-coloured tea into Gwen's porcelain cup. They were sitting in Miss Carthew's garden behind her cottage on white garden chairs in the sun. The sky was forget-me-not blue, and the Gloria Dei roses exuded their exquisite scent.
"Well, it was terrible. Mrs Beresford was so angry and furious – she even lit a cigarillo right there in the office. When she'd calmed down we all tried to remember whether or not the vial had been there when Crow and I worked in the office after my search for the pensieve, and who we've met when and where, and they asked me whether I've blabbed, but the only one I talked about the memory had been Isabelle."
"Isabelle?"
"Now, don't you get ideas, Miss Carthew!" Gwen wagged her index finger at the white-haired lady. "Isabelle is beyond any doubt. That's why I decided not to tell them, I don't want them to swoop down on her like Chinese fireballs. After all, I told her in the Cenaculum at lunch."
Gwen put her fork into the slice of strawberry tart Miss Carthew had baked.
"So you think someone might have overheard your conversation?"
"Well, in fact anyone. You know that the Occlumency doesn't work properly when you're telling things."
Miss Carthew leant back and put her fingertips together: "That's why Unspeakables are supposed – well – to not speak." She lifted one eyebrow.
Gwen tried to look dignified. "Well, you know that's nearly impracticable among ourselves."
The old lady nodded, her green eyes twinkling: "Another slice of tart, perhaps?" As Gwen assented, she pointed her wand to the ornate silver cake server, which magically lifted a slice and put it onto Gwen's dessert plate.
They both enjoyed their tart in silence, Miss Carthew obviously pondering the whole affair.
"You realise that it must be someone from within the Department?" she asked finally.
Gwen stiffened, but then nodded.
"To be able to react so rapidly, I mean." Miss Carthew sipped her tea. "Someone who knows the Department well, who moves about freely and openly. It gives one ideas, doesn't it?"
Gwen sighed and swallowed her last crumb of strawberry tart.
"I'd like to suggest that the vial was still there when you two continued working on the brain before lunch, I mean, after your search for the pensieve."
"Why?" asked Gwen, draining her cup of tea.
"Because you'd probably have noticed the vial missing in the first place, even though you didn't use it then. One notices when things have been changed, and I think you're a good observer."
Gwen knitted her brow, she wasn't so sure about that.
"Secondly, you told Isabelle only at lunch. Before that the thief hadn't any knowledge of the memory, unless they used legilimency on you, or Crow, which I consider rather improbable. Based on these assumptions the theft must have occurred between lunch and your return to the office."
"Sounds sensible to me," said Gwen appreciatively.
"Where was the victim's colleague, by the way?" asked Miss Carthew.
Gwen looked at her with big round eyes. "Jacobus Mayfield? I suppose he was working in Crow's office as usual. Though I don't know what he's doing now, I hope he's given up on – well, you know – horcruxes. Ah – and I saw him at lunch." She took a sharp inward breath. "He was sitting at a table nearby with Manisha, Crow and that gossipy Evelyn Anderson! Do you suspect him?"
"No, Gwen, I don't suspect him in particular, I suspect everyone."
Gwen looked at her, a bit taken aback.
"I'm just trying to get all the facts in order." Miss Carthew put her cake fork down.
"I want to talk to Jonathan, perhaps he can give me more information. And I want to tell him about the horcruxes. I still haven't had a chance to do so."
"Yes, do so, my dear."
"Miss Carthew, don't you think that it could have been Crow himself, biding his time, as he knew that the pensieve wasn't available."
"Yes, of course, it could have been Crow, too." Miss Carthew looked earnest. "And listen, I'm glad you are going to talk to Jonathan about that horcrux business, but be careful to whom else you talk in the Department, my dear, be very careful!"
Miss Carthew looked worried.
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~
Wednesday, 8 June 1994
Gwen was running along the corridor that lead to the black entry of the Department of Mysteries. She was late. This morning she had slept in because she had been exhausted. Her head felt like it was going to implode.
The first half of this week had been horrible, and she still felt terribly tired. Mrs Beresford had resumed her grumpy attitude towards her, making her and Crow feel like a complete failure. Crow hardly ever spoke to her at all. They had continued working on the brain, but without any noticeable success. It was as if the brain didn't want to relinquish its secrets to them. Isabelle and Ademarus had been very busy, and she didn't dare join them too often, trying to focus entirely on the victim's brain, attempting to improve her spells even further. Apart from that she still hoped to find the vial, and searched the office on her knees, in case it just had fallen from the cabinet, rolled on the floor and simply been overlooked then.
On Monday, Agatha Hill had convened a conference with her, Crow, and Mrs Beresford, and after a long and earnest discussion had impressed on them the necessity to always seal the office whenever they left it unoccupied. Her cool composure had been worse than Roxanne Wingfield's shouting at Roberta and Graham in the Time Room because of the missing time-turners the other day.
Gwen rubbed her forehead, yawning. "Wizarding researchers provide for a bright present and an even brighter future", she mumbled, rolling her eyes inwardly, and entering the Circular room.
As usual she extracted the silver instrument formed like a double-helix with a slim rod in its centre. She pressed it, without even looking at the blue flame that erupted from the opening at its tip, felt the vibration, heard the soft purr and murmured: "Caverotari". When the blue inscriptions appeared on the black doors, another witch was standing there.
"Hi Roberta," Gwen said gloomily, putting the instrument back into her leather bag. "How are you?"
"Bad," Roberta answered dryly.
Gwen looked up, startled. Roberta was indeed looking even worse than Gwen. Her face was pale and drawn, with deep shadows underneath her red and puffy eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" Gwen whispered.
"Oh, I'm angry about those wizards from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures," she choked. "Honoria was right: There will be an appeal, and it's scheduled for tomorrow. But – appeal my foot! They're sending the executioner right with the Ministry officials, can you believe it? So the outcome is quite clear. Someone told me Lucius Malfoy has his wand in the pie."
Gwen was about to ask who Buckbeak was, but remembered in time the Hogwarts hippogriff Roberta had mentioned in late April.
"I'm so sorry for you – for him."
"And I'm hopping mad! I can't do anything. I suppose he'll execute him the same day."
"Er … who? Ah – Macnair, it's him, isn't it?"
"Yes," Roberta's eyes flashed. "He's a cruel wizard!"
"Perhaps we can go there," Gwen proposed.
Mercia Borthwick and Evelyn Anderson appeared from outside, nodded to them and disappeared into the Death Chamber.
"What?" Roberta looked up, and straight into Gwen's eyes. "And what would that be good for? As far as I know we are not allowed to enter the Hogwarts grounds."
"That's true, but…" Gwen thought of Jonathan. His task force must be somewhere near the school to protect that Harry Potter boy from Sirius Black, and she still hadn't been able to tell him that Archie and Jacobus had been working on horcruxes. Not to mention the stolen memory.
"I wanted to go there anyway," she heard herself say. "I…I still don't know how. I'll try to find a way, and inform you later on, all right?" I must be mad to suggest this, she thought, it's only because I want to impress her, isn't it?
Roberta looked at her curiously. "We could go there riding on Amber Dancer."
"That's a wonderful idea," Gwen replied, wincing inwardly, and thinking of her fear of heights.
"I'd have to take the day off," Roberta pondered, pacing up and down the Circular room.
"Roxanne won't be amused, but … she'll understand. She likes hippogriffs. And, hey, my niece is studying in second year in Hufflepuff, perhaps I can ask to visit her because… because," she murmured. "No idea. But isn't it exam time? I read something about it in the Daily Prophet." She twiddled her thumbs nervously. "I don't want to mess things up for her."
"Yeah, it'll be difficult to meet her during exams," Gwen pointed out.
"Yep, but I could bring her a book she – she needs urgently, couldn't I? I'd just see her a minute, but I'd be right there on the grounds, and try to… well – what exactly?"
Her eyes were shining. Other wizarding colleagues passed all the time through the Circular room, looking at both and filing out through the different doors.
"Anyway," Gwen interrupted her stream of thought, "listen, Roberta. Try to draw up a plan on your own, I have to try to get some … further information. Let's coordinate at lunch whether we'll go North tomorrow, or not."
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~
I've done it once, Gwen thought, I'll simply have to try again.
She had to find out where Jonathan's task force was and how to get in contact with them. She cautiously opened the door to Archie's and Jacobus' office. She was lucky: Mrs Beresford, clad in her usual dark emerald robes, was in, reading her owl post. Suplinius Crow wasn't there yet.
"Good morning, Mrs Beresford."
"Good morning, Miss Bale."
I know a song that gets on everyone's nerves,
everyone's nerves, everyone's nerves.
Oh, I know a song that gets on everyone's nerves,
and this is how it goes:
The potted wormwood in the corner repeated its song happily. Gwen threw it a dark look. Sometimes I think the plant is somewhat intelligent.
Gwen crossed the room to get to her desk, but was, in fact, focussing hard on the Auror sitting behind her, rummaging through her violet-coloured memos. She tried to perceive the Auror's energy field, the witch's texture.
When she had the feeling that she was as close as she could get, she turned around.
"Please tell me, Mrs Beresford," she said in a loud clear voice, holding her wand hidden inside the sleeve of her robes.
The witch put one of her memos down. "Yes, Miss Bale?"
"Where can I find Jonathan?" Legilimens! Gwen thought. She concentrated with all her might on Mrs Beresford's thoughts, and caught a glimpse of a small thatched cottage on a narrow street. The street looked quite familiar. She withdrew rapidly, waiting with bated breath.
Mrs Beresford frowned: "Miss Bale, you know that I can't tell you," she answered, looking around as if something had perturbed her. "That's Aurors' business." She coughed.
"I want to talk to him." And the image I glimpsed wasn't clear enough…
Oh, I know a song that gets on everyone's nerves,
and this is how it goes...
Mrs Beresford gave her a shrewd look: "You can tell me anything that concerns this case, I've told you so before."
"It's not…, it's private," Gwen lied finally. "Please, Mrs Beresford." She must think I'm barking mad, Gwen thought, feeling absolutely silly. She took a deep breath and concentrated again on the witch's thoughts, but didn't succeed.
"You can't go where he is."
Gwen started to whisper: "You told me he's near Hogwarts. I could meet him in Hogsmeade."
Mrs Beresford gathered all her mail up, cocked her head and grinned suddenly: "All right, Miss Bale, somehow I've always suspected it, Jonathan has been rather different of late. I'll tell him to look out for you, will that do? You could wait for him in the Three Broomsticks, couldn't you?" Her smile widened: "Or would you prefer Madam Puddifoot's?"
Gwen just raised an eyebrow. "The Three Broomsticks would be all right, thank you." she mumbled.
"When will you be there?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, I suppose."
"I'll tell him that you'll be waiting for him in the Three Broomsticks," Mrs Beresford promised, taking her emerald-coloured cloak, her bag and her mail, and left the office.
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~