34 — The Known and Unknown
In the distance, and rapidly approaching, was a strange conveyance, even by Ponyville standards. Charging down the street was a pair of giant speakers on a wheeled platform, with a table and smaller speaker between them. Behind the smaller table was a white-coated mare with dark sky-blue mane and wearing headphones, DJ Pon-3, otherwise known as Vinyl Scratch. Atop one of the tall speakers was Octavia Melody, playing her cello.
Vinyl Scratch had a yellowish white coat with a mane and tail that were a moderate blue with brilliant cyan stripes running through them. Her eyes were a moderate red. Her cutie mark was the mirror image of two bridged eighth notes.
They shot by Rarity's Carousel Boutique, where the bugbear was currently battling the Mane Six, so fast that the small black colt Harry had noticed earlier was revealed to be Featherweight! Apparently, he somehow had been coated in ink, which the fast-moving speaker-platform had blown off when it went by so fast!
Unfortunately, Harry and the rest of his friends were swept up in the process. Harry was certain they were going to crash until he saw Octavia reach out with her cello bow and hook a lamppost. The lamppost should have simply bent, her bow should have snapped, she, herself, should have been pulled right off the speaker she was sitting on! Impossibly, though, the entire conveyance swung around to the cross street. After an exciting ride that could be used in a carnival, they crashed into the town hall.
Harmony couldn't miss a chaotic opportunity like this. The ponies flew into the building, landing where they were needed, just as the duo of Octavia and D. J. Pony concluded their impromptu composition.
The non-pony-born contingent of the wedding was staring around in astonishment. That was when Bon Bon came in and announced the Mane Six's defeat of the bugbear, to the cheers of their friends.
Cranky arrived moments' later, but with an orange wig instead of his normal blonde one. Steven Magnet, the sea serpent, arrived with only half of his moustache. No one noticed until later that Derpy Hooves had closed the Hall doors just before his mum and the rest of the Mane Six arrived.
Harry certainly didn't.
What stunned everyone was the appearance in the back row of a changeling! Kevin, as he called himself, said Cranky had invited him — he had the invitation in hoof! — and that he was only there for the food. Harry was told later by Twilight that because Kevin wasn't using his magic to hide, and he wasn't trying to force a pony to give him love, he wasn't actually doing anything wrong under the law. It was a bizarre situation in anyone's book.
The Flower sisters still fainted, of course.
That Celestia and Luna also attended the wedding was another surprise. That they appeared to have no problems with Kevin's attendance kept anyone who might have objected, quiet.
Nonetheless, the herd had kept a close eye on the changeling for the rest of the wedding and reception.
The beautiful flowers at the front of the hall turned into equally stunning fireworks when Cranky Doodle and Matilda kissed as jack and jenny for the first time. It made for a truly lovely end to the wedding, and the start of an equally wonderful reception.
At least Harry and his friends thought so — the cake certainly made it worthwhile to stay! From the occasional expression that he caught, he was sure the three fillies were making a few mental notes. He could only shudder and pretend he hadn't seen a thing.
۸-_-۸
When Lieutenant Castor walked into his office at nine that morning, he was surprised to see Debby, waiting.
"Oh," he said, "I would have been here earlier if I knew you wanted to speak to me." He moved over and sat behind his desk. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Half of the Lings had been integrating rather nicely into MI5 and MI6. The other half, it had been decided, were better suited for support roles. Which, oddly enough, seemed to be research and training. What one Ling learned could easily be transferred to another with only a few minutes concentration while they were together. The original Ling didn't even have to completely understand what she had learned — much like a typesetter doesn't have to understand a manuscript on Quantum Physics to prepare a book.
The destination Ling could take the information and add it to what she already knew. This meant, for a complex infiltration, three Lings could be watching or reading the background information while the primary agent worked at physically incorporating any needed new skills. When the three researchers finished their respective assignments, they could add their new knowledge to the primary. By the time the agent was ready for insertion, she knew as much about the assignment as if she had spent months preparing instead of a week or two!
They had also discovered that the Lings, excepting the infiltrators, did not know what relaxation meant. They worked until they were sleepy or hungry. When those were taken care of, they returned to work. The concept of "free-time" was foreign — when they had nothing to do, they typically just slept. Even the infiltrators were uncomfortable when they had no assignment — the infiltrators were always at work, even when sleeping, when they were among the ponies.
Ordinary leisure activities, such as reading fiction, going to theatre or films, or watching the telly were futile pursuits to the Lings. Once a Ling had read a book, seen a movie, or anything similar, she shared it with the others and they didn't need to repeat the action. Going dancing served no purpose for them except as physical exercise, although visiting clubs, pubs, and other such venues did provide them with a small flow of emotional food and training in acting like the people around them — which was work, in a way, not recreation.
They had discovered that Lings liked physical games, though. The more violent, the better; they seemed to view them as practice combat. Several footie games turned into outright brawls — brawls that would have delighted the footie hooligans that travelled to support their teams. Even the Lings otherwise occupied piled out of their training building and joined in — even those who were sleeping. Apparently, a group "fight" meant the hive was in danger and it was every Ling on deck. They had a mindset — several millennia deep — where the purpose of any contest was to put down the opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible — but not permanently. You can't feed the emotions off a corpse, now, could you?
It was really weird to watch two hundred women going at each other like that, at first. Then one changed into a Pegasus and took off. It quickly developed into an aerial brawl the likes of which had not ever been seen on Earth. Especially when they started transfiguring themselves into other Equus races for better advantage when facing a particular Ling opponent.
Some of the Lings, many not considered infiltrators or guards, seemed to enjoy the brawl rather a lot, disturbingly like footie fans.
The first such incident set the training program back several days as most of the Lings were unconscious or nursing broken bones. They had to dig into their reserves quite deeply for the first time. But they didn't seem to mind, at all.
But the Lings were learning to restrain themselves.
Until they discovered rugby — the brawl that time was, for the most part, ground-bound and as men. It took a bit longer for the losing side, and most of the winning side, to recover.
Oddly, emotion "harvesting" seemed to be more efficient, now.
After that, Sunday brawls somehow worked themselves into being regular routine. The Lings seemed quite unfazed by their injuries. A few seemed to think the whole point of the brawl was to see how many injuries one could accumulate before passing out.
The government had ended up setting up three sets of trainers to handle the Lings. Which had compressed what should have taken a year into a third of that.
The world wasn't going to know what hit it, intelligence agency wise, that is, when Britain unleashed its new MI Five and Six agents.
The entire group was located at a remote, abandoned airfield, Brunton, in Northumberland County, in northeast England. It was eleven kilometres north of Alnwick, a short distance inland from the North Sea coast. It was fairly remote. With the aid of a dozen earth ponies, a ring of trees and brush now surrounded the perimeter of the airfield, and cut it off from casual viewing from the roads that ringed it
The government, using shell companies, had purchased all the bordering private homes and business properties. At the prices offered, none said, "no."
A little over half the Lings were dedicated to research support. Those were mostly the ones who weren't suited for duties among the public. They were uncomfortable when surrounded by humans and hesitant at doing anything outside of the Hive. They were mostly the Lings who had never left the hive, previously. Quite a few preferred their old form over their new "default," and so it wasn't unusual to see a black, insect-like pony in the buildings.
They had excavated heavily under the buildings and runways to create what their "hive." As a group, they were all much more comfortable underground in their new tunnels than the wood and brick buildings leftover from World War Two. Plus, with tunnels to all the buildings, the Lings, both human-form and insect-ponies, were never seen above ground — except during the Sunday "games."
The unintended consequence of this was that the base still appeared mostly abandoned as all the real activity was below the surface. The only signs of activity were the vehicles that transported the research material and personnel to the buildings at the front gates — and the Sunday brawls.
Just under half of the workers were delegated as first-tier spies, thirteen were former infiltrators with the others being new infiltrators. The former infiltrators were the most proficient, of course.
Almost a quarter of "new" infiltrators were gathering emotional food for the rest, and stockpiling the excess. Those Lings were better at maintaining disguises and weren't liable to accidentally reveal their unfamiliarity with British society. Or blow their cover by their actions or inactions in a social situation.
A smaller group were assigned the roles of messengers and couriers. They were excellent with disguises, could easily switch between them, and knew when and where they would be appropriate. Their only failing was they were not as quick-witted and able to react appropriately in a given situation as the remainder. They also weren't as ruthless or focused as the other infiltrators might sometimes have to be.
The small remainder were relegated to the camp for one reason or another.
A Ling would do whatever her Queen-mother ordered. Regrettably, this hive lacked a Queen-mother, so the order of command was more than a bit muddied. Without a distinct order to do so, getting a Ling to switch jobs was . . . problematical. It wasn't unusual for a Ling to swap jobs with another without her supervisor knowing what had happened until the "new" subordinate showed up after finishing a task and wanting a new one.
In any case, the more accomplished infiltrators had already rolled up two criminal gangs involved in human trafficking, and were tracking a spy ring back to their British handlers.
In a year's time the U.K. could have fifty-one additional Double-O Seven level agents, if they needed.
Debby was the "unofficial spokesling" for the rest. Abby had disappeared into the Ling support group.
She launched into the subject without pause. "When we first went through the portal, after we took the loyalty oath, we were warned that a Ling had snuck through the portal within seven weeks of the Equestrians discovering it. Then, this summer, on August Seventh, three beings, thought to be Lings, also snuck through the portal.
"We were told to keep watch for the Lings, or other races from Equestria, and not to let their unexpected appearance throw off a mission if we were in the field and came across them.
"In the hive, infiltration Lings were taught a special code to use in the field to leave messages and warnings for follow-on Lings in the future. This code would be placed in areas that were easily accessed, and so public as to make accessing the messages undetectable. A Ling could be reading such a message and everypony around them would think they were window-shopping or watching colts and fillies playing in a park.
"Part of our training, here, includes Diagon Ally and its environs," she said, "during one of the familiarization missions, yesterday, a Ling came across one such message." She paused to give him a moment to consider what she had said. "The message indicates that she has established herself, and left contact information via Gringotts. We are asking permission to contact the Ling.
"Once we meet her, we will persuade her to take the oath. If we cannot convince her to take the oath, we will warn her that should she break any conditions of the oath, we will consider her a hostile in our hive's area of operation, and act accordingly. We will also leave her a method of contacting us if she should ever need assistance."
Castor thought for a few moments. "Is there any indication that there is more than herself?"
Debby shook her head. "No. The message is old, well over a year, probably back to when she first came through, but there are no indications that she has met, or knows about, the others who snuck through." She pursed her lips. "Of course, this could be a message from one of the three that went through this summer, we don't know." She smiled grimly. "Not giving away when she came through, or how many are involved, or even the actual age of a message is typical."
She shrugged. "Whomever she is, she will want to meet us in a crowded location. That way she can easily escape if it is a trap. None of us would resort to violence in such a location. A Ling in public who doesn't want to be found, cannot be found — except by a Queen-mother."
He frowned. "And because you don't have to actually meet when in such a location," he mused out loud, "she could be anyone in the crowd."
Debby nodded. "Whomever you select for the contact will know the other has arrived the moment she comes within a hundred yards. We will immediately advise her of the situation, at that moment. If she senses any subterfuge, she will break off contact and you will never see her, or ever find her." She gave him a steady look. "If she were to select Harrod's, for example, she wouldn't even have to enter the building. The surveillance cameras would leave you with thousands of leads — if they even saw her. She could be disguised as a dog or a cat."
He sighed. "And that assumes she isn't using an illusion of some random person she saw in the city." After a pause, he added, "I will have to take this up with my superiors."
Debby just looked at him. "Do not take too long. We do not know if she was watching us yesterday. If she were suppressing herself, and already in place, we would never have noticed her." She sighed. "A problem she won't have in meeting us. If we agree on a place and she cannot sense us at the appointed time, she will suspect a trap and vanish."
"Right," he said, straightening. "I will contact you later today." He picked up the telly to make a call as Debby left his office.
۸·_·۸
Voldemort was quite satisfied with himself. Currently, he was in Slytherin dorm, with many of his brethren. Most had, once again, remained at school instead of returning home. Their parents were still trying to find their balance, and were unready to deal with teenagers underfoot.
Fools. They should have planned for times when things went against them. They shouldn't have depended on chance that the Black fortune would fall to one of their friends. Nor should they have counted on the goodwill of whomever inherited the Black family fortune and assets.
Goodwill. Ha!
They had built their houses of cards on sand.
And that didn't count the businesses that had been sold with the new owners refusing to do business with the former clients or associates who had hurt them in previous business dealings.
He knew he would have taken advantage of the Black fortune to keep the others firmly under his foot. It was foolish of them to think the eventual inheritor would be as generous as the old Blacks.
They didn't tie up the loose end of Sirius Black, and look where that had gotten them! Many of his old rich backers' families were nearly paupers, now. Their withdrawal from supporting other businesses with sweet-heart deals put other conservative families into straining to meet their obligations.
Planning for every contingency was the secret. And they clearly hadn't. Which was their loss. It complicated things, slightly, but nothing he couldn't surmount.
Plus, as far as anyone knew, he didn't exist! The perfect ploy.
In that vein, he had managed to find a secure place for his diary. One that was both hidden, and yet still accessible. He didn't want to deal with having to sneak into the Slytherin House to retrieve it, but he wanted it as safe as possible. It had to be in place where the house-elves wouldn't disturb it, nor would anyone think to look there if they were searching for something else. But it also had to be easily accessible to him, or any of his dupes. Plus, in a place that wouldn't attract attention if he, or anyone else, was there. He needed to be able to drop off the book and pick it up at his leisure, and no one would suspect a thing.
The Library fit the bill perfectly.
With a simple fidelius, and him as the secret keeper, it was perfectly safe among the books on arithmancy. Anyone wandering in those aisles would not garner a second look. Plus, if he was carrying the book, no one would give it a second glance, even if he had it out and was writing in it. Not that he intended to do that. Writing was saved for late nights in his bed, with the curtains closed and spelled shut. Otherwise, he only wanted the boy to carry the book to maintain a light bit of control, occasionally.
۸·_·۸
Albus made himself comfortable in the private dining room at the Three Broomsticks. His appointment should be arriving at any moment. He had arrived several minutes early so he would have time to settle himself and review what he needed to accomplish.
It was a rather delicate matter.
It wasn't a long wait. Soon, Rosemerta opened the door and ushered in his guest. The witch she brought in was obviously nervous and unsure of why she had been invited to have lunch with the great Albus Dumbledore. Of course, she had met with him before, in the Ministry. But that was usually in his official capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Lately she had met with him as Headmaster of Hogwarts, in meetings along with Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and her boss.
She had changed from the slightly plump girl she had been in Hogwarts, and was now a slim young witch. The surly girl he had seen had changed a bit, although the surly part might have been because she was complaining to him about various situations in Hogwarts, at the time.
She had had a reputation of not being very bright, and very nosy. Sirius remembered her and had told him, "She was a few years above me, but I still had a few run-ins with her. She was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. She was constantly complaining about one thing or another. Especially about things in which she had no reason to involve herself!" The wizard had shaken his head ruefully. "If she had kept her nose out of other peoples' business, she wouldn't have had half the problems she did."
Which pretty-well matched his own recollections of the witch.
Her reputation, now, of being forgetful was something she had not been in school. He hadn't noticed it himself, but a few casual conversations over the last few weeks with some of his more approachable graduated students in the Ministry had confirmed the change. That was not a good sign, based on what he had been told by Princess Sparkle.
"Good day, Bertha," he said jovially, standing. "It is good to see you, again. How have things been for you in the Ministry?"
She gave him a nervous look and patted her right hand on her hair. "Oh," she said quietly, "Quite well." Then she frowned. "But I seem so forgetful, lately."
"Ah, yes," he said consolingly, "It comes from being overburdened. You have so many things to keep track of that you're bound to let a few slip by." He settled back down as she took her seat. He didn't look at his menu, instead giving the waiting Rosemerta a plowman's platter order. "The fish broth is quite good," he gently suggested. "I found it very filling, the other day."
She gave the menu a quick scan, then said, "I'll just have the fish and chips, please."
Rosemerta closed the door with a promise to return shortly.
Albus smiled at the still nervous witch. "There's nothing, really, to worry about, my dear," he said. "I just wanted to get your impressions on how the Tri-wizard Tournament is shaping up. I thought this might be a more relaxing venue, where we wouldn't be interrupted. When I'm at the Ministry, people just can't seem to stop themselves from seeking me out."
She stared at him, blinking. "The French seem to be in favour it, the Bulgarians are a bit more reserved," she said cautiously.
He asked questions about the Tournament, her interactions with other witches and wizards in the Ministry, and some of her conversations with the foreign Ministries. He probed her surface thoughts lightly with his legilimens ability, listened carefully, and compared her answers with conversations he had had in the Ministry with the same people. Several times he had to prompt her response, or correct a detail here and there. They had finished their meals and were just talking when he said, "When you first started working the Ministry, you were moved around through several departments, correct?"
She nodded, "Yes, it was quite confusing at times. Sometimes I mixed up which department I belonged to, and who the head was!" She shook her head ruefully.
He nodded understandingly. "Yes, I'm rather familiar with that problem. My Chief Warlock aides seem to change every time I walk into the Wizengamot." Watching carefully, in several meanings of the word, he said, "At one time you worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, with Bartemius Crouch, Senior, correct?"
She blinked rapidly, but nodded and took another drink of her butterbeer.
"Did you ever have cause to visit him at his home?"
She cocked her head sideways, and frowned. "I want to say yes, but . . . I can't recall ever doing that."
He caught a brief flash of her standing in front of a Ministry floo with a folder-full of parchments, then stumbling out without them. Then it was gone.
"No," she said more firmly. "I've never been to his house. I did have some urgent parchments, once, but he came to the Ministry before I could go looking for him."
In her mind was the stern visage of Bartemius, very angry, almost in a rage, his wand in his hand at his side.
He asked a few more questions, but felt he had enough evidence to proceed. He sighed sadly. He said, "Now, Bertha, I have something a bit more personal to ask you."
Her relaxed state vanished rapidly. "Yes?" she said nervously, picking up and putting down her utensils, then taking a sip of her butterbeer.
"A friend of mine has heard a rumour that you might have been obliviated of something, several years ago. She fears that your apparent forgetfulness, today, is merely a side-effect of that."
She gave him a horrified, disbelieving look.
"And, I must say," he continued, "That some of the things you've said today seem to support that." He paused. "I remember how you were in Hogwarts, and you weren't nearly as forgetful as you are now."
He gave her a steady look. "I'm sure it's nothing, but with this Tri-wizard coming up, it's better to be safe than to take a chance on an avoidable mistake derailing everything."
She mutely nodded; eyes wide.
"I am a quite accomplished legilimens," he said soothingly. "Rather than make a big deal out of what is probably nothing, may I take a quick look at your memories to see if there's anything that isn't as it should be?"
She stared a moment longer. "Is it really necessary?"
He stroked his beard. "Yes, my dear, I truly think this is the best way to handle the situation. I promise not to look at anything personal, only the issue as it was described to me."
She stared at him a bit longer, then blinked. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Well, if you truly think it is necessary . . .," she said reluctantly, her voice trailing off.
He nodded.
After another few moments thinking about it, she said, "All right." She nodded and straightened herself in her chair. "Let's do this. What do I do?"
He smiled gently. "Just relax, and stare into my eyes. Don't think of anything special, just let the memories come as they may."
She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, then let it out. She opened her eyes. "Okay," she said quietly.
His wand was in his right hand, under the table. "Legilimens," he said softly. He pulled gently on that image of the stern Bartemius with his wand at his side. The first few images were of the wizard in his office, in meetings, greeting her and dismissing her at the end of the day, and a myriad of others. However, every time the stern, very angry visage started to appear, it dissolved. However, there was enough to the image that he could get the impression of a non-Ministry location. While Barty had been angry with her before, regarding details of Ministry business, they had always been in the Ministry. That particular memory was not.
He slowly withdrew and looked out the lone window in the room that overlooked the street in front of the inn.
He reached inside his cloak and handed her the small potion bottle. "For your headache, my dear," he said, contemplating what he had seen and what he should do next.
"I am afraid," he said gravely, "That it appears you were memory charmed."
She burst into tears.
He smiled. "However, I don't think it was for any nefarious reason regarding yourself. I think you just happened to witness something you weren't supposed to see and someone decided that an obliviation was the proper course of action." He sighed. "Unfortunately, they were not a master Obliviator, and therein lies the root of your forgetfulness.
She looked a little relieved, as she wiped her tears away with her hands.
"While I'm an accomplished legilimens," he said regretfully, "I am not a Master of the craft." He smiled encouragingly at her. "However, Professor Snape is. I would like for him to give me his professional opinion, if you don't mind?"
She gave a slow, hesitant nod.
"In the interests of keeping this out of the public eye," he said consolingly, "and to not warn the perpetrator of our suspicions, I think we should handle this at Hogwarts. Should my suspicions prove true, Madam Pomfrey can call for any Healers she needs and maintain your privacy."
"But . . .," she said hesitantly, "I need to return to the Ministry, there is so much to do!"
"Yes," he agreed, "There is much to do, but in my opinion, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, getting this settled is of higher importance." He slowly stood. "I will notify Ludo that I have need of your services for the rest of the day." He paused. "If longer is needed, we shall say you are in Bulgaria, dealing with an unexpected problem for the next week."
He escorted her out of the room, and they set out for Hogwarts. He decided that while Poppy was getting a proper Healer to look at Bertha, he would inform Amelia that he was issuing a search warrant for Barty's place. He would tell her that she needed to conduct the raid, herself, and to take a team with her. The details in the warrant would be that Barty was concealing someone or something important in his home, perhaps under an invisibility cloak.
۸·_·۸