AN: The hints I peppered through the last chapter seemed rather obvious to me but in retrospect I might've been a little too vague when describing the secret goblin plans. But then again, if it was obvious it wouldn't be a secret plan, now would it? In the end I decided to do what any goblin would: get fed up, screw subtlety, and just spell everything out.
.o0O0o.
'Only tiny sparks of light joined the great glowing orb to break up the cavernous dark above as the beat of the great beast's mighty wings jostled him with every flap, threatening to plunge him to a gruesome death below.'
Oreshaft shook his head and curled into his grandfather's old cat fur lined mining coat to protect himself against the wind as he gripped the cold iron pin to his left which kept him strapped to the monster's scaly back. What he had come up with so far during the flight didn't sound particularly grand in his head; it certainly wasn't enough to capture the mind and inspire generations of goblins after him, and the story of this day was sure to be told for generations to come. His part in it would have to be truly glorious if he was to set himself apart, for only those who did would thrive.
The rumors filtering down to the Barracks from Above for the past day or more was full of exciting chatter. New ideas were being thrown around like they weren't coming from Enforcers at all but a gang of kids playing Dodge Rock on the Training Grounds. The rumor about freer fraternization with the females on their level – the maids, cooks, scullions, and occasional crafter who helped make the Barracks level run – was a tempting proposition, but he didn't think any of it was likely to happen. Then again, Oreshaft had never thought he'd be where he was now either; being on the Surface was one thing, but why in Gott's name did it have to be on the back of a–
"It's cold!" came a voice from behind him in the harshly accented goblin spoken in the deepest tunnels.
"They said to dress warmly," he replied curtly, knowing he shouldn't respond for it wouldn't do any good. The other Squad Leader had been complaining so often though that ignoring him had proven impossible. "You should have done so."
"This is the Upside," Ragnan barked, elbowing him in the back as he turned as much as he could to face him. "The Upside is supposed to be warm."
"The Surface," Oreshaft said in proper Human, keeping his sight directed the way he was strapped in; he was in no hurry to see Ragnan's ugly scar again. "Not the Upside, Surface."
"Whatever," the other Squad Leader said practically right in his ear. "Whatever you call it, this place is supposed to be warm, with a bright flaming thing above so we can see. That – that – thing–"
From Ragnan's wild gestures he glimpsed from the corner of his eye and the description Oreshaft knew he had to be speaking of the big orb-like thing in the black dome above.
'The sky,' Oreshaft reminded himself. Precious few Enforcers ever gained positions near the Surface which would show them the sky and those positions were dearly prized. 'It's not a dome, not a cave, not a cavern, and there is nothing beyond it. It is the sky.'
The thought that there was nothing but nothingness above him was uncomfortable. What if he somehow fell upwards into this 'sky' and was swallowed up by its many new words? Would there be nothing to stop him until he could grab hold of the–
"Moon," Oreshaft called over his shoulder to Ragnan. "That thing is the Moon."
"That Moon is not on fire," the other goblin complained. "It's cold, it's dark, and the Moon is not on fire."
Ragnan was right, the Moon wasn't on fire. For some reason Oreshaft didn't think it should be but wasn't sure why. Their briefing had been full of new Human words it was easy to get confused. What was that other word…?
"The Moon is not on fire," he agreed, calling back over his shoulder to the other Squad Leader. "I do not think it burns. The Sun is the one on fire."
"Sun? What Sun?" Ragnan asked gesturing again. "There is no Sun. Gutripper sent us here to freeze."
His grip on the iron pin tightened for a moment as Ragnan settled back around in his seat. Grumbling about a superior wasn't uncommon but for basic survival even the most disgruntled goblin kept it to the one set directly above them and only spoke of it in private. Conflicting with an Overseer – and with Gutripper in particular – just wasn't done. He was considered to be the most dangerous creature in the bowels of Gringotts and not the cave spiders, the shadow snakes, or the goblins from Below were as feared as him. Some Enforcers even claim he had once killed a dragon but no one was insane enough to poke around to find out if it was true just in case what might happen to you if you found out it was false.
Oreshaft glanced to his left at the long line of goblins strapped in just as he was. If word got back to Overseer Gutripper that a Squad Leader had spoken against him then he might just end them both to make sure it didn't happen again. They were supposed to be his Squad, his first command, but they had just been thrown together and didn't know him any more than he knew them. Oreshaft didn't know if this mission was the start of something new but being on the Surface was at least a chance to never see the Tunnels or Below again and that meant this was a test.
The Overseers might not have purposely put them there to freeze but the odds of the Flight's success must have been extremely uncertain or they would have assigned more senior and proven Squads to the task rather than make new ones specifically for it. Why else would they make Squads of eleven members? They had to be strapping as many goblins on as possible in the hope some might make it to the other end. And with two Squads per Flight, no Team Leader over them in the chain of command, and two Handlers to serve as pilot and navigator to carry them where they needed to go, was that why he had been paired with Ragnan?
Ragnan was outwardly bitter now he had an ounce of authority but he'd always been weak, and expendable since Gutripper had pressed his ugly face against a stone grinder like it was the flat of an axe. He had thought to rise to greatness by contesting Gutripper's promotion to Squad Leader more than two decades ago, if rumors were true. Some had said he was lucky to still have both eyes; later it became lucky to still be alive as the one who'd done it continued his climb over the bodies of those above him, but in truth it had been cowardice which sent Ragnan's life into a dive faster than an uncontrolled cart ride after that.
All respect amongst the other Enforcers gone, he'd been banished to the worst patrols in the deepest, darkest tunnels, the female he had acquired left him and went to Gutripper, only to give him a son shortly after – though some said it was Ragnan's sister he'd taken to further spite him. No one knew, or cared really since Ragnan had been too weak to shave his head and seek vengeance over it. If he had the whole matter would've been over one way or the other, with victory or death. In the end people left him alone because of his scar and didn't want to draw the wrong kind of attention to themselves – the very kind of attention he had just drenched him with.
If it had been him he would've preferred death, better that than to live out the rest of your life a walking testament to someone else's greatness. Oreshaft knew something would have to be done before the stink of it strangled him and snuffed out any chance he had but how was he supposed to get out of this mess when they were facing the wrong way and couldn't reach their weapons? It wasn't like they could continue to talk for long; neither would have a scrap of authority left if they bickered in front of the others. Something decisive had to be done.
He improved his grip around the leather strap and iron pin before turning to address Ragnan.
"I don't think they sent us here to freeze," Oreshaft said over the biting wind. "The Overseer wouldn't send us if he wanted us dead."
Ragnan turned towards him quickly.
"He'd send me," he replied, baring the ruined side of his face. "He's always wanted me dead."
"Is it the cold that's frozen your hand to that pin or is it fear?" Oreshaft laughed as a plan formed in his mind. The other goblin's face turned even uglier as it snarled. "If the Overseer wanted you dead he could have killed you at any time, he wouldn't have given you a command," he lied, sure there had to be at least one in that Squad placed there because they would be looking for a promotion paid for by assassinating his superior.
"Think about it," he continued. "He sent you down into the deepest pits and the darkest tunnels for years and you've managed to fight and claw your way back stronger than before. And look at where we are!" Oreshaft cried, gesturing around him with his free hand. "We're doing what no goblin's ever done before. Do you think it'll be the last time? He's going to need strong leaders for anything they do next. Believe me, I wish I were in your position. He may have fought you once but he knows you're strong. Your face proves it."
The look in Ragnan's eye turned thoughtful and for a moment he forgot himself enough to raise his left hand to the ruined side of his face. In a flash Oreshaft's right hand darted around to the unprotected pin on Ragnan's left.
"But you're not strong enough!" he cried, yanking the pin free from the latch.
"NO!" Ragnan screamed, scrambling about clumsily as he started to fall away.
The excited shrieks from the right side Squad drew the great beast's attention and it was all the pilot could do to keep the serpentine neck from twisting back towards them as its leathery wings beat quickly. Oreshaft smiled as the commotion grew and couldn't help but laugh. It seemed the Squad's titular leader had latched onto the legs of the goblin next to him and refused to let go. The whole world heaved as the Beast roared and tried to turn in place, dangling them about in midair. To the right – or maybe above them – the navigator clung to the pilot in front of him as he started shaking a loud metallic clanker to regain control.
"Just die, Ragnan!" Oreshaft shouted as a bright gout of flame blinded them momentarily. "You should have done it years ago. Someone kill him!"
The noise from the other side died down suddenly, leaving the flap of the wings to battle with their beating hearts to see which would settle faster as the pilot brought the heaving under control before anyone else was lost. After they had regained a stable flight Oreshaft spoke again.
"What happened?" he asked before ordering, "Report!"
"I – uh...," one goblin behind him said, as if unsure he was supposed to be speaking. "I hit him. He fell."
"Good," he replied wondering if Ragnan would be hitting stone or water below. "I'm taking control of this Flight as Team Leader. You have command of the six next to you; I'm keeping the six next to me. And to the rest of you – I'm looking for another Squad Leader so you'd best stay on your toes." After a second he snapped, "Do you understand?!"
"YES, SIR!" they replied loudly, drawing another roar from the Beast, as if it too acknowledged him.
One Team of three Squads with seven members sounded a much better arrangement to him than just piling everyone onboard and seeing how it worked out. Keeping a death grip on his own safety strap, Oreshaft called to the pilot.
"How much further?" he asked.
The pilot looked back briefly but didn't respond. The navigator though pulled out a small disk on a gold chain to check with before speaking.
"A few hours," he replied in much better Human than he could manage. The Handlers' goggles and scarves might help against the wind but they made them look ridiculous. "We're not to be seen before time. Hang on though; it's time for a turn," the navigator said before tapping the pilot in front of him twice on the right shoulder.
"Brace yourselves," Oreshaft ordered his Team a moment before the Beast banked so sharply that for a long moment he was looking at nothing but the tiny bits of light while the other side saw nothing but the darkness which had swallowed their last Squad Leader.
When the banking turn was over he noticed that something was happening in front of them. The sparks of light didn't suddenly end and a line of blackness begin anymore, now there was a color and as he watched more colors joined it. There was a pale blue like a sock so faded it hardly had any black dye left in it at all, and there were pale reds and yellows like the faint embers of a dying torch – and there were other things in the sky with them too! Not the other Flights that'd be behind them but puffed clumps like floating balls of pillow fluff hanging in the air.
"What – what is this?" he asked the navigator, for surely they had enough contact with the Surface to know the word he sought.
"It's dawn," he replied from their seats at the base of the Beast's serpentine neck. "It means the sun is rising."
Oreshaft nodded numbly as he put Ragnan's safety pin into his pocket as a trophy. He would have to practice and become more comfortable with his Human if he wanted to stay near the Surface. Still with his hand around his own pin for safety he glanced at the Squad on his side. Their eyes were wide to take in all the new things to see with a look of wonder on their faces he knew he shared, but what they thought of it they kept to themselves. A goblin's first journey to the Surface was said to be a wondrous thing, and now he knew why. How could you even begin to describe the experience to those who would never see it?
The sparks above dwindled and died as the colors spread across the sky and Oreshaft couldn't resist leaning over to see what was below them. It looked to be a lake so large it went on without end and the color reflected the sky above them. But even with the marvelous sight, the most spectacular thing came next. It was like the colors gave birth to molten gold so bright all words failed him. This had to be the Sun. It was too bright to see any flames on it but he could not deny its light; it even started to feel warmer, even with the wind.
Whoever was running things now had to be greater than Gotts himself; only that would have had them bring any of them out at all. He had yet to hear of anyone taking the Grand Overseer's place but only a dramatic change in Management could have seen goblins who had never been outside the Tunnels flying on the back of the Beast into the Sun's light on their way to crush foes who defied them.
'The Beast,' Oreshaft thought fondly as he bent over to pat the animal's scaly back. It was a fitting name for a big bull dragon but it seemed quite docile... once you got the large group saddle on it that is. Hasty work, but besides the 'faulty safety pin' that'd need to be revised, the wizard they'd gotten had done a good job designing it.
.o0O0o.
'Every day is a new start and there's no better time to reinvent yourself than now,' the-diary-that-was-Tom had said and as the sun rose over the Burrow a refreshed young Weasley was certainly going to be doing just that.
Writing to Tom had her sleep really well again so even if he wasn't social when it came to other people it still felt nice to write everything out at the end of the day, so even if she had Luna back as a friend there was no reason to bin him. It would've been a horrible thing to do if he were real, so how could it be any different just because he's a book? Luna hadn't been able to stay the night but her mum had said she could come over today and any time she wanted, so things were definitely looking up.
Still, she felt kind of bad when it came to Tom though, like she was lying to him. He knew that Harry was a boy who was staying with her family, and that she wanted him to be her boyfriend, but she tried to make it seem like he was just her older brothers' friend. He'd asked all sorts of questions to help her come up with their earlier plan but she hadn't told him who Harry was or why he was so important.
She didn't want Tom to think of her as some star-struck fan, because she certainly wasn't. Harry was staying with her family; that had to mean something. She guessed she'd have to tell him everything sooner or later but how could someone understand about the books, Heroes, Damsels, and True Love like that when they'd never heard of Harry Potter, You-Know-Who, or knew what it meant to be the Boy-Who-Lived?
Stowing Tom in one of her a hide-a-book compartments, the young red headed girl – no, red-haired young woman – put her hair back in a ponytail and returned to the mirror to see how she looked. With a determined 'game face,' ripped hand-me-down jeans, and well-worn red-and-gold Gryffindor Quidditch jersey with 'Weasley' across the back her brother Charlie had let her have Ginevra Weasley was nothing like the pathetic little girl Ginny Weasley was before. She had always hated her first name, but how better to reinvent yourself than to look, act, and call yourself something completely different?
Slowly opening her door sporty-girl Ginevra Weasley, Quidditch witch extraordinaire, prowled her way through the Burrow while on the alert for other threats. Her mother had to be around somewhere and there was no telling where Harry's strange elf was so she made her way down the stairs quietly, avoiding the parts that would cause them to creak. She was going to do what she should've done yesterday.
The whole thing with Harry was also something that was going to change, she'd decided. Ginny might have moped around pining for him but Ginevra was better than that, she didn't care whether he liked her or not, so her new plan was rather clever. Ginevra would go out and put herself right in front of him, but completely ignore him; she'd be right under his nose and then quickly slip away. She'd show how feisty, sporty, and un-Hermione-like she was so when Harry got tired of the bookish girl and wanted someone different – and he would – then she'd be right there, but just out of reach. He was going to have to chase her now, and he'd have to be lucky if she let him catch her.
As she reached the last landing and the living room came into sight her eyes leapt to her mother who was asleep in a chair. So used to getting up early to fix the left over mess from the day before she must've done it again without thinking, only with Harry's elf here there was nothing to do to keep her awake and she must've fallen to sleep again. Sooner or later her mother would explode and throw the elf out of the house …or start feeding it with a bottle and tell him to stay forever.
Her mother always chided her when she 'dressed like a boy' or 'acted like a boy' and Ginny–vra thought if she was going to get in trouble for something then it was better to get in trouble after she'd done it rather than before she ever started. Carefully she made her way through the kitchen and was almost to the door when a tap-tap-tap! cut through the silence. Her mother snorted and mumbled in her sleep as Ginny bolted to the window to take the morning paper and shoo away the owl before it woke her fully.
Her mother smacked her lips and snuggled deeper into the chair. Setting the paper down on the table in relief, Ginny took a breath as her heart beat a mile a minute. Whoever thought slipping out of a house where virtually everyone slept late would be such a hassle? It made her wonder if any of her brothers' stories of sneaking out of Gryffindor tower were true at all.
Eyes darting one last time to make sure her mother was still asleep, Ginny started inching her way towards the door again… only to whip her head back to the headline of the Daily Prophet. She stared at it for a while. It didn't make any sense, it was unbelievable, the most ridiculous headline that's ever been written. It couldn't possibly be real, but if it wasn't then how could they possibly print it?
'Dumbledore Created Boy-Who-Lived,' the banner headline proclaimed at the top of the page. 'Reclusive Romance Writer Revealed,' it continued above a bashfully blushing the picture of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"But tha–… That's impossible!" Ginevra cried out loud.
"Wha–what's impossible, dear?" her mother mumbled. "And what on Earth are you wearing?" she said even louder.
.o0O0o.
"Impossible," Rufus Scrimgeour said with a shake of his straw-like mane of hair. Even put off as he was by how this day may play out, his pride seemed to force him to make a stand somewhere. Moody wished he hadn't decided to stand on him though.
"It's not impossible, it happens all the time," Alastor said as his magical eye darted from the insubordinate superior to his superior's superior beside him and back to the rest of the aurors behind them as they gathered in the Ministry's Atrium. Nymphadora "Pinky" Tonks was making no effort to hide the fact she was trying to listen despite all the noise around them.
"For other people, yes," square-jawed Amelia Bones agreed. "But not for you."
"How am I not a people?" he asked before quickly correcting himself. "A person."
Alastor hoped Saul's battiness wasn't catching but he had to be more than a little mad already to let the man drag him to do this. It made sense though and provided everything he'd been looking for. What better way to maintain secrecy and security while having access to everything the Ministry could provide than to bury yourself into a well-funded department that no one knew what it did?
"For the last two years we've heard nothing out of you but 'retirement,'" Scrimgeour said looking at him strangely. "And now you want a transfer just when we need you the most?"
"I'm not going to leave you with your robes around your ears," Moody said as they stopped by the golden fountain of sycophantic followers. "But you've known I've had one foot in the floo and you've done nothing to replace me or force me out – which is exactly what you should have done," he pointed an accusing finger at Scrimgeour.
"It would have been disrespectful in light of your long service," Amelia said, the guilty look on her face making her seem younger than her short-cropped gray hair indicated.
"There's nothing wrong with giving an old man a hard shove and quick kick in the pants if that's what's good for him," he told her. 'At least they had sense enough to have the conversation though,' Alastor thought.
"I would have thought you'd want to quietly slip away and enjoy your retirement," Rufus said. "Why transfer instead?"
"What'd you expect tropical isles, sun tans, and grass skirts?" he asked dryly with a spin of his eye. "Do I look like someone who'd enjoy a quiet retirement? Odds are you'd have to send someone around two or three times a week just to make sure I didn't go insane."
"How could they tell the difference?" Amelia asked with a look.
"Why the Department of Mysteries?" Scrimgeour asked.
"If I told you that I'd have to Obliviate you," Alastor replied promptly, drawing a chuckle from their department head. "Why not?" he asked.
"Besides the fact you hate it?" Bones said with a smile that said she was playing with him.
"The Unspeakables are creepier than the whole Headless Hunt, true, but you can't say I won't fit in," he replied with a wave. "When a man gets older he remembers how young and stupid he used to be and starts asking deeper questions about things he never thought of before. Maybe I'll find some answers there."
The instant silence that followed told him what their answer would be. If it hadn't been for bumping into Lichfield again and seeing his 'woe is me' act he liked to hide behind Moody never would have thought of this at all. Playing the role of a fading hero passing the baton to a new generation was one thing, but he had to wonder how people could get so blinded by sentimentality they couldn't hear what he was telling them when he was saying it to their face.
Amelia looked to Scrimgeour for his thoughts and after a moment the man gave a resigned dismissive gesture.
"Provided we still have a country by the end of the day and the goblins don't kill us all," the Head of the Auror Office said grudgingly. "I'll sign off on a transfer."
"Good. Now if you two would be so kind, try not to start a war today," Amelia said as she put on her monocle and gave them both a stern look before walking away.
"You ever get the feeling she sees us as overlarge children?" Alastor grumbled as the woman in question weaved her way through the mass of aurors and the two men edged their way further from everyone to get more privacy.
"Your lack of a ring is showing," Scrimgeour said with a rare smile as he raised his left hand and fingered his own wedding band. "Find a woman who doesn't act like that and you've found one who's never had to put up with one of us."
Alastor had to give the man that, most men were thicker than trolls more often than not.
"You dislike the taste of politics more than I do," the other man went on to say after he flicked his wand to provide additional privacy. "But if you'd rather have the easier assignment to end your tenure on you can take charge of Ministry security today. The worst that'll happen is grand standing; no one's going to attack us here – if they do at all."
"I'll take the Alley," he replied with a shake of his head. If there was going to be any problems then the odds were the Alley would be the center of it; it's where the goblins lived after all. "Let Kingsley have the Ministry. He's reassuring enough to keep those Wizengamot types settled if the worst should happen."
"I was going to have him around Hogsmeade and Hogwarts," Scrimgeour said with a curious look on his face. "He's a local; well-known and well liked enough to calm the populace should the I.C.W. make an appearance and try to arrest a British citizen on our own soil."
"No, you should be the one to do it," Moody said, his magical eye darting around to check everything in the room. There were far too many wands in one place for him to feel secure about it. "If those bureaucratic types show up they won't like being sent scurrying away by someone without a fancy title; Senior Auror won't cut it with them. You go. It'll do you good to get back into the field; Kingsley can handle the Ministry. I'd get with Bones to make sure she keeps him away from the detainee though, both before and after he's in custody."
"You doubt his loyalty?" Scrimgeour asked shooting a look between him and Shacklebolt who was standing on the far side of the room in conversation with several of the younger aurors.
"Loyalty to who – or what?" Alastor asked nebulously. "Take a look at the kids we call aurors," he said with a gesture to the milling crowd, both eyes skimming around from face to face.
"What am I supposed to be seeing?" Rufus asked, looking at the officers he helmed.
"How many of them served during the war?" he asked. "A handful, at most? They may have experienced it as students trading rumors between classes or children quaking in their beds at night but peace is seductive, it makes you think the past is over and done and all the bad times will never come again. Fighters like you and I know better," Alastor said, turning his real eye to look Scrimgeour in his. "What drove us to war last time is still very much alive. How do you kill an idea like Blood Purity or force people to admit their problems aren't somebody else's fault? People won't see what they don't want to see."
"What's that have to do with Kingsley?" Scrimgeour asked, looking at them all with growing scrutiny. "He's never seemed a Purist to me."
"It's a different kind of purity he prizes; purity of spirit – as if there is such a thing," Alastor explained. "He came in as a recruit during the war, remember? During the big propaganda push for the 'pure and chosen few,' with the Ministry doing everything it could to puff up Dumbledore as the one who'd save the country."
"The Prophet named him 'the Leader of the Light,'" Rufus nodded. "You see what they said about him today? I honestly don't know what to believe."
"And neither would anyone else," Alastor said conspiratorially. "If the man said he was being framed and it was up to them to set him free so he can set things right–"
"–I don't like where this is going," Scrimgeour interrupted. Moody stared at him silently to press his point better than words ever could. "I don't want to see it," the man went on to say, "but I do, even in myself."
"Then you'd best hope even if the goblins do have some trick up their sleeves that they don't want a war any more than we do," Alastor said finally. "Because we are not prepared for it. These kids were trained to maintain the peace – to rap people on the knuckles and send them on their way – not to fight to make peace possible. When we were facing Death Eaters, would you have let the entire Auror Corps gather in one place, let alone wander around?"
Rufus blanched at that and darted a look at the aurors again. With a sigh and slumped shoulders Moody saw the last of the man's pride leave him. If the I.C.W., the goblins, or the Death Eaters had wanted to attack the Ministry then having the already undisciplined defenders grouped up and at their ease was doing most of the attackers' work for them. They might as well open the doors and invite them in.
"You always were a rough teacher. You can't leave," Scrimgeour said finally. "There's too much work to do."
"Then you're going to have to get off your ass and do it then," he replied with a smile that he knew pulled his scarred face in odd ways. "After publically agreeing to the transfer you can't go to Bones and tell her I'm indispensable – you'd look incompetent. So like it or not I'm already out the door. If you don't like what you see here, change it. Break them down and reshape them into what you need – weapons."
Having already made his decision to go, Alastor was surprised at how freeing it felt. He'd never thought about actually telling Rufus what he'd thought about the direction the Auror Office had taken under his watch, but if you couldn't tell the truth when you were leaving then when could you say it?
"And you think the Wizengamot will just sit by as I turn the Auror Corps into an army?" the other man asked.
"After Fudge conjures up the bogeymen of goblin wars and foreign invasions?" he asked with a look. "I think they'll let you do whatever you want as long as it makes them feel safe and strong; they may just insist on it."
"You're right, and I wouldn't even know where to begin doing that," Rufus said honestly.
"Kingsley could help, but not like he is now," he said critically. "Don't rush to replace me when I leave, let him see how all this plays out without larger duties to get in the way. Once we get a better picture of what's going on with his hero then you can see where his head's at, where his loyalty lies, and see if he's the man who can help reform the Auror Office into a force that can take on any threat it faces."
"Calisthenics, drills, and classes will only take them so far," Rufus observed, finally coming to the conclusion Alastor had tried to beat into him years ago.
"I've got some ideas," Alastor said, scanning the group as if they were all fresh recruits again.
'Simulated investigations, group missions with surprise enemy attacks, real-world raid training where they don't know what they're facing, mock battles against superior foes, having to face a traitor in their midst,' he thought in rapid-fire succession as a grin formed on his face. 'It'd be really fun to see how these puffed-up popinjays handle those.'
He practically felt giddy, before the whole thing turned sour on him. It really would've been fun to be part of it but if he wanted Saul's help he had to transfer departments so the man could have some company and yammer his ear off. And on top of that, now that Bones knew of his decision to leave he had to stick to it just like Scrimgeour did.
'Damn Rufus for picking today to finally grow up,' Alastor cursed to himself.
"Once I get settled I'll find a way to slip you my ideas," he said casually before looking back to Rufus when he noticed the man looking at him. "An Unspeakable's work may be Unspeakable but that doesn't mean they can't talk about their old jobs. The others probably wouldn't take too kindly to the new guy ruining their reputation though, so keep my name out of it."
"Your input will be appreciated," Rufus nodded before turning back to the Corps. "Now to divvy up what we have," the head of the Auror Office said as he started rattling off the mission again in a by-the-book fashion. "Securing this island they're after – presuming it's not some feint – should be their primary objective. You have any idea who the Ministry's sending there?"
Alastor shook his head as his magical eye caught someone appear on the far side of the Atrium with a house-elf. Leave it to Lichfield to bypass a floo lockout for Gringotts employees.
"Whoever it is," he said, "they'd better be good."
.o0O0o.
Lester smiled and patted Mipsy's head before she disappeared again. He'd originally sent the elf to the bushy-haired girl as a bit of a joke but it seems as though it was actually working out. Mipsy seemed to like her and the girl treats her well, so it's all well and good as far as he was concerned.
As he hefted his briefcase to make his way through the milling mass of mindless Ministry morons Lester was reminded that not all females were so easy to please. The pink-haired girl from before, Trips, or whatever her name was, didn't look happy to see him.
"I should be really pissed off at you," she said as she blocked his path.
"That's a common thing nowadays," he replied as he stepped aside to pass her by.
She stepped again to stay in front of him.
"Don't make me spank you in front of your friends," Lester said with a wry look. "If you want to bitch at me, start walking," he gave her a shooing wave towards the elevators. "You've got until the lifts, after that your babysitters will be after me for kidnapping."
Lester moved aside again and amazingly the girl fell in beside him.
"Out of curiosity," he asked with a quirky grin, "why are you pissed at me? I made you the main witness to something sure to tug the heartstrings of every mother in the country. You know how many people will want to talk to you?"
"I'm not interested in getting attention–"
"–Said the girl with pink hair," Lester interjected. "Ever think of going for bright blue polka dots? It might help you blend in."
"I spent my entire time at Hogwarts 'blending in,'" the pretty girl grumped. "Now that I'm out I'd like to make a name for myself on my own."
"So what's your problem with me?" he asked exasperatedly.
"I don't want the name to be Pinky!" she said tersely.
"Would you prefer Trips McGee?" he smiled.
"Why can't it be Tonks?"
"Bah," Lester said dismissively. "Too boring. Besides, it sounds like that thing non-magical automocars do."
The girl looked at him oddly for a moment.
"You mean honk?" she asked.
Lester stopped and looked at her.
"Tonks!" Lester honked out as he poked at her like he was pressing a button. "Tonks-Tonks-Tonks! You're in my way. Tonks!"
"You should be in one of those special rooms at Saint Mungo's," Tonks said finally.
"What makes you think I didn't escape?" he asked, pulling an 'I'm crazy' look at her. "Anyway, you can't blame me for Pinky. Moody's the only one I've talked to in your office in over a decade and he's not one to spread it around. Someone else must've come up with it too unless you told someone you shouldn't have."
A split second after he said that he knew that was exactly what had happened.
"Oh no," Lester said, shaking his poking finger at her. "Don't you go projecting your issues on me; I've got enough of my own."
A sharp thunk! behind them drew their attention to the gnarled and limping other half of the odd auror team.
"I should've known you'd find your way in here," Alastor said, the creepy blue eye of his zipping around inside his skull.
"Was it supposed to be hard?" he asked curiously.
"For your bosses at least," the old auror replied.
Lester didn't particularly like the sound of that. It definitely made him think the Ministry was up to something, or at least was being paranoid about Gringotts being up to something. While it was understandable that both parties were taking precautions – though the rumors starting circulate around the office last night were patently ridiculous – the whole thing set up a situation where one wrong move might mean a world of hurt for everyone involved. Not to mention it put every human who worked for Gringotts in a delicate position: who did they side with, their employer or their race?
Though he sympathized with everyone who'd be put in the awkward situation because of divided loyalties, at least with the kid back in the picture the third divided loyalty gave him a plausible way out. 'Nothing to see here,' he thought to himself with a benign grin. 'I'm just the Potter bailiff going about my official business. I'm not involved and will be on my way.' He had to like that kid, even if he was a monstrous pain in the ass and caused too much trouble.
"So what are you doing here?" the one-eyed auror asked.
"Pestering Pinky, bothering bureaucrats, and sowing the seeds of sedition," he replied without missing a beat. "You know, typical litigator stuff," Lester smiled.
"My name – is not – Pinky!" the pink-haired girl said testily with a face that was more pink than flesh-toned.
"Quiet, Pinky, and run off to Rufus," Mad-Eye said gruffly with a dismissive wave. "You'll be with him today so you'd best behave."
The girl's angry eyes looked ready to fire curses out of them. Lester gave her a smile with perhaps a bit of comedic victory thrown in.
"Gah!" the girl cried before storming away from them like one of those great mountain cats ready to pounce on something as he chuckled at her retreating back.
"I was kind of curious to see which of us she'd attack first," Lester said with a glance to Alastor. "I didn't think you liked nicknames."
"Not when they're about me," Mad-Eye replied. "They get stuck in your head though."
A quip about Moody's magical eye came popped into his mind and he was just about to let it loose when the same bright blue eye flipped over to stare at him. 'Yeah, it probably wouldn't be funny at all,' Lester thought to himself as he quietly discarded the remark.
"Anything else to talk about?" he asked wondering if the old auror was using the 'stuck in your head' comment to refer to the memory he had provided him the other day.
"Nope," Alastor said before quickly turning away. "Jameson!" the man cried as he walked, "You're with me today."
Lester thought about what just happened as the lift carried him away from the Atrium. Alastor wasn't one to let a tip like the one he'd given him slip by without being acted upon, and even if he was only a monstrous idiot would ignore evidence of You-Know-Who still being alive. The comment about making things difficult for his bosses had to refer to Gringotts, which would imply that all the aurors were for something to do with them and not the Death Eaters who had run to ground a decade ago.
It was a pity, actually. With the uproar at the bank and the disruption Flamel and the I.C.W. were sure to cause as a cover, finally rooting the remaining Death Eaters out would've had their whole society take several huge strides forward in a single day. It would've been a singularly spectacular feat in a world that took a perverse amount of pride in never taking the slightest step forward at all. Still, Alastor would have done something with the memory but if the man didn't want to talk about it then odds were his plan was to handle it in secret.
'Let him take it,' Lester thought. 'The kid's already had two too many run-ins with You-Know-Who anyway. There's no reason for him to be involved at all.'
The lift doors opened on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the sprawling leviathan with its tendrils spread wide and buried deep into every aspect of a magical person's life. Some said the Wizengamot was the Soul of the Ministry, the collective will of the people, and though Barchoke had a more colorful part of the body to compare it to, in reality it was the mouth: an overlarge echo chamber which caused more trouble than it knew how to deal with. The D.M.L.E. though was the brain – overloaded and half-mad from the constant strain of keeping things somewhat under control when Lester doubted anyone even knew what all it did.
With the Ministry being in the center of London and untold millions of muggles just on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron, he had sometimes wondered what it was like to live life surrounded by so many people. Barchoke said it was reserved only for the worst sort, and Charlus had always hated the intrusiveness of the Department itself, but to Lester the sheer size of its expanse of cubicles and wandering corridors was enough to shrink everyone into insignificance the likes of which only those large non-magical buildings could match. It had to be the auror part in him; no one who worked here could know everyone else and when you added visitors into the mix it afforded you as close to anonymity as you could get.
'Like a rat scurrying through an alley; all the better to sneak about and get done what you wanted done without anyone knowing what you were up to,' Lester thought to himself.
Turning away from the elevators and the way to the Auror Office, Lester tried to adopt the same tired look he saw on the Ministry employees so he could blend in and catch snippets of their conversation. Surely they would know what was going on with the aurors downstairs, though the first thing he heard didn't give him much hope.
"I didn't even know there was an English Wizarding Council let alone a Scottish one," one harried looking fellow said to his mate as they hurried down the hallway. "Where are we even supposed to start looking for their archives?"
"Search me," his friend replied. "I only remember seven words from Binns's class and they're: 'Blah blah, giant war, snore, goblin rebellion,' and I don't think any of those are going to help."
Lester shook his head and moved into the field of cubicles.
"Sherry!" one homely woman said brandishing a newspaper as she peered over the divider separating her work space from her friend's. "Did you see this?"
"What, with Dumbledore as Ida Beeman?" her unseen friend responded disbelievingly. "You can't seriously be taking anything Rita Skeeter says as the whole truth, can you?"
"Well it certainly makes sense the way they explain it, and she was certainly right about that Lockhart," the first woman said defensively. "I was there. The man was trussed up like a child and couldn't answer a single question I had."
Lester quickly sped away and took the first turning before the woman recognized him; at least there was someone who was taking the story about Dumbledore at face value. Rather than pressing his luck any further he went straight to where he was supposed to go and walked up to a large counter-like desk off to one side in front of a painting of a stately old wizard.
"Welcome to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Civil Suit Servicing Section," the young woman manning the desk said in a tone that was much too chipper not to be criminal this early in the morning. "The Dietrich Lichfield Law Library," the woman gestured to the closed door to her right, "–is closed today due to temporary security concerns. If you'd like–"
"No, that's fine," Lester said with a wave, feeling a bit more at ease. If the Ministry was closing public parts down for security then those aurors would be for protective measures rather than for anything offensive. "I'm not here for books, I'm here to file."
"By proxy or on your own behalf?" she asked.
"By bailiff proxy," Lichfield replied.
"In that case I'll need your credentials, sir."
Lester withdrew and presented the small well-worn leather case which held his Ministry-Approved Litigator's Accreditation and Bailiff's Identification and set his briefcase down on top of the counter. Rather than giving it a quick scan and continuing on with the day the girl seemed determined to do her job and actually verify everything. He tried to wait patiently as the woman went through an elaborate checking procedure only a goblin or professional bureaucrat could think up.
The bailiff paperwork was out of date; the girl would see that. Charlus had given it to him long ago and it had languished in a box since Gropegold had dismissed him, kicked him out of his own house, and he'd had to find a new place to live. When he and Mipsy had started going through it last night he hadn't been sure why he had left the box packed when everything else had been set out but after a while it finally dawned on him. That small box had contained everything from his life after Constance had died and there really wasn't anything of importance there. It was the tiny coffin holding the moldering remains of the little bit of Lester Lichfield that had somehow survived having his heart ripped from his chest.
'How many times could a man die before he was finally buried?' Lester wondered.
His wife was when most of what had made him him had been scoured away and it was thanks to Charlus he hadn't laid down in a grave right then and waited to join her. Knowing him and Dorea were going to go together, and knowing why, had softened their passing and James had stepped up to be responsible to the people on the Estate. Despite the wildness of his youth James had become a good man, and even with the war going on it was plain to see there were good days ahead, so when all that was ripped away…
'It was easier to forget Harry and occupy myself with other things rather than risk getting hurt again,' Lester finished to himself ashamedly. It was a poor way to repay the kid's family for everything they'd done for him.
"I'm sorry, Mister – er–" the woman referred back to his identification, "Mister Lichfield, but I'm afraid your credentials are out-of-date," the desk worker said as she handed them back to him and the wizard in the painting behind her turned his head to look at him. "Is there someone you'd like us to get in contact with?" she asked as if he were an invalid wandering in off the street.
Lester spared a glance at the man in the painting behind her. With the man's large furry eyebrows and piercing eyes, Dietrich Lichfield stared down at him like a horned owl coming in for the kill – but his father had never been welcoming in the first place. He'd like nothing more than to stick his tongue out at the pretentious tyrant but if he did he'd probably end up with a one-way trip to Saint Mungo's like Pinky suggested.
"I know the registration's lapsed," Lester said gruffly as he opened his briefcase to withdraw the legal paperwork. "That's part of the complaint."
"Then you'll have to take it up with the relevant parties involved," the woman said patiently. "Proxy management is determined by the Estate in question, the Ministry only recognizes their selection; we can't override it."
"I'm well aware of that," he replied as the great tight-fisted Dietrich Lichfield turned his back on him; being a meager bailiff had never been in the man's plans for his son. "I'm also aware the Estate Act of 1348 gives a former Bailiff to a deceased Lord the right to act as the current Bailiff on the Heir's behalf against an Appointed Guardian in any such matters that applies to the well-being of the current underage Heir."
The young woman blinked at him, seemingly at a loss. The goblin fastidiousness when it came to wizarding legal history he had picked up over the years might be a bit overwhelming at times but it did come in handy. Lester thought he'd help the woman recover her professional demeanor; she was there to help the uneducated form a coherent basic case, not to know every bit of legal minutia.
"Of course you're right in the Chief Constable would have to sign off on this," he said patiently. "But it still provides the legal grounds for temporary recognition of the status and provisionally allows the complaint to be filed until such time as the matter can be seen to by your Head of Department, since it would be her duty nowadays and she'd likely have a lot to do."
"Right," the woman said finally. "I don't think we have a form for that."
"I took the liberty of having one drawn up," Lester said passing over the bundle of legal paperwork that had been tied neatly together; the first page had the make-shift form in question. "The top part would be the temporary recognition you'd sign," he explained as the woman's eyes popped at seeing the names involved. "The bottom part would need her signature for the final approval."
"Yes, this looks like it'll do," she said judiciously before handing him a clean sheet of parchment. "You'll also need to provide contact information for you and the Heir so she can schedule a meeting at her earliest convenience," the woman said with the courteous but triumphant smile all desk workers got when they extracted their revenge for being made to feel like a fool. "I'm sure Madam Bones would want to check with Mister Potter himself to make sure this is in fact in his best interests."
'Be they human or goblin,' he thought as he scratched out the relevant information. 'Never piss off a clerk; they'll always get you in the end.' And as much as he'd prefer to keep the kid under wraps as everything came out into the open Lester supposed meeting Bones in private wouldn't be the end of the world – and if he could talk the kid around into pursuing the issue of Sirius Black… He paused and glanced up at the cold shoulder his portrait patriarch was still giving him.
An adherent of the abhorrent practice of striving for a type of familial immortality by acquiring power and wealth and beating your child into becoming a portrait-perfect copy of yourself, darling daddy Dietrich had been the personification of Pureblood Privilege and a bulwark against social change who wielded the law as a cudgel. If his mother hadn't died when he was five Lester had no doubt he probably would have found himself in an arranged and magically binding marriage contract before he had hit Hogwarts. As bad as losing her had been, her death had also been a release. Any contract had to be agreed to and sealed with the blood of both parents in order to be binding on the child, and without that certainty it had taken much longer to arrange a match for him, and by then he had started to think for himself.
Sirius Black hadn't been the first runaway the Potter Family had taken in, nor was he the first boy to have been raised like family. Charlus's father, Fleamont, had helped to put an end to most of the secretive abuse by causing it all to go public when he gave anyone who wanted it safe haven at his distant manor home when things had gotten dark during their first year at school. It wasn't until years later he realized how much trouble the man had taken upon himself when the Wizengamot had refused to enact the basic child protections which would have – looking back now – saved Harry from so much hardship. He still didn't know if all of that turmoil had started because of what he'd said to Charlus about his own family or not, but it wouldn't have surprised him either way.
At the time it had all been a lark and he could still remember the little tent city which had sprung up around the house; they called it 'Potterstown' and named Charlus their Mayor since he lived in the big house. Fleamont had been fine with the squabble of kids running their own lives as long as they did their homework, stayed in their own beds at night, and kept away from the hill and the old tree nearby. It had been a joyous Christmas break with much of the time spent laughingly watching the Ministry workers bounce off the wards as they tried to break through while parents tried to negotiate with their children to get them to come home. Only the ones who were in real need had stayed more than a few days and by New Years he had managed to convince almost every parent to agree to let their children live out their own lives as they chose, and even sign a contract stipulating such. Only he had been left behind.
Two things happened then: Fleamont had invited him to use the spare bedroom, and his father never acknowledged him again. He even went so far as to bequeath everything he had to the Ministry to establish this law library rather than to have his rebellious son see a knut of it. It had been a small price to pay for freedom, in his opinion, so no matter how it had turned out his life had been his own. Lester did wish he could remember where the house was though – or even the name – no doubt the kid would enjoy seeing the place.
'Not every castaway is as grateful as you, you sentimental old fool,' he said to himself. There was no reason Sirius Black would have harbored the same kind of affection for the Family that he had. History didn't repeat itself generation after generation and it was stupid to have expected him to react the same way just because he had gone through something similar.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the woman asked as she accepted the parchment from him.
"Yes," Lester replied as he pushed those thoughts aside and withdrew another form from his briefcase. "I need to file this petition for an injunction against the extradition of Albus Dumbledore."
.o0O0o.
AN: To the anonymous Guest reviewer who's picked out the rare instances of missing, misplaced, or misselected words as they made their way through the story: Thanks. While some might think it peculiarly punctilious to pursue perfect punctuation and particular phraseology I find such nit-picking helpful. And to the other Guest review: I go by the books whenever possible, not the movies; so no, Animagi were not covered in Harry's first Transfiguration lesson. McGonagall transformed her desk into a pig and back in order to make an impression on her class, she did not show them her Animagus form. Though it was shown in the first chapter of PS/SS, the ability itself was not mentioned in the story until PoA.
As always, thanks for reading.