Destruction Where You Stand -- Chapter Fourteen
This was originally planned as a two-part chapter; however, as my laptop committed hari-kiri two days ago, I have decided to post what I have in the Internet-time allotted to me.
Thus, without further ado...
Chapter Fourteen: And the Dark Street Winds and Bends
“Among the red guns,
In the hearts of soldiers
Running free blood
In the long, long, campaign:
Dreams go on.
Among the leather saddles,
In the heads of soldiers
Heavy in the wracks and kills
Of all straight fighting
Dreams go on...
Dreams,
Dreams go on,
Out of the dead on their backs,
Broken and no use any more:
Dreams of the way and the end go on.”
-Carl Sandburg, Among the Red Guns
Berlin offices of the Volksmagiepolizei, Democratic Republic of Wizarding Germany:
"To be honest,” Kingsley says, sipping at his tea, “I was expecting that your lot would be more upset than this.” The tea is the sort of too-strong, lukewarm brew that he associates with every law-enforcement office he's ever been in, magical or Muggle. He knows from experience that adding milk and sugar will only partially disguise its bitterness. Beside him, Dawlish grimaces at the taste. Kingsley, oddly enough, has grown to appreciate it.
"The complaints are being dealt with on another level,” the older of the two German officers, Major Kurt Weber, says in mildly accented English. He's stocky and grey-haired, with a round, good-natured face and tired blue eyes, and his robes are wrinkled and fraying at the cuffs. “We personally are interested only in making certain that Sirius Black is apprehended and returned to England.”
"Returned to England for trial,” the other officer adds. Captain Johannes Abendroth is Kingsley's age and height but slender, with dark brown hair and sharp, elegant features. His robes are immaculate and his hands have the bony grace that Kingsley associates with the old pure-blooded families, though his fingers are ink-stained. His eyes are dark and piercing, and they flicker restlessly from Kingsley to Dawlish and back again as he speaks.
"The summary executions that your Ministry performed upon Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange make it highly unlikely that we will simply hand you Sirius Black, should we be fortunate enough to apprehend him.” Abendroth's English is flawless. His accent owes more to Oxford than it does to Bavaria, and the elegant sarcasm of his manner couldn't be more guaranteed to irritate Dawlish if the man had planned his personality with that direct end in mind.
“The internal workings of the British Ministry of Magic are not subject to review by the Democratic Republic of Wizarding Germany,” Dawlish snaps.
“Usually, we would be more than glad to agree,” Abendroth says, with a faint curl of his lip. “However, our friends in Federal Republic of Magical Germany are not the only ones who learned from the tragedies of the Grindelwald Conflict. As much as we would like to cooperate, we simply will not hand anyone over for summary execution. As the intended method of execution has been stated as the Dementor's Kiss, it is entirely possible that the President will not allow him to be handed over at all, trial or no.”
“That's presuming it's your chaps who catch him,” Dawlish says smugly, his initial flash of anger presumably forgotten. Abendroth sneers at him.
“Do you for one moment believe that we will simply permit a group of British agents to run about within our borders unsupervised? Especially as your Mr. Crouch allowed Dementors into the FRMG despite having been especially told by Ministre Heffenstein that such a thing was expressley forbidden.”
“One Dementor,” Kingsley says, “and that only over all of our strenuous objections.” Dawlish, who hadn't objected to the Dementor's presence in the slightest, throws Kingsley a suspicious look, but remains silent.
“The fact remains that the Dementor was allowed in,” Abendroth says dryly.
“Which is, no doubt, an incident to be handled on another level,” Kingsley says smoothly. Weber gives him a look of faint approval; Abendroth's expression is one of surprised re-evaluation, though he masks it quickly.
“None of this changes our main objection to releasing Sirius Black to you,” Weber says after a moment. “We simply will not hand over to your country a man who will most certainly be given the Dementor's Kiss after we have done so, particularly when it seems unlikely that your government will grant him even the courtesy of a trial.”
“We have,” Abendroth says, “learned the difference between justice and cruelty.” The unspoken in our country is nevertheless audible. Dawlish reddens with fury. Kingsley ignores both Dawlish's anger and Abendroth's baiting, though he cannot help feeling a little stung.
“Even that issue is premature,” he says, “and again, I'm sure that those negotiations will be handled on another level. Our concern is simply the retrieval of Sirius Black, and how we will go about it.”
“As has already been stated,” Weber answers, “we will find Mr. Black. You will go back to England and wait until you are contacted.”
“Not acceptable,” Kingsley says calmly, kicking Dawlish under the table to keep him quiet. “I'll agree that your people will lead any investigation within your own borders; however, you will have one of my people with you during said investigation.”
Weber looks Dawlish up and down, then does the same to Kingsley.
“One liason from the Auror's office might be acceptable,” he says grudgingly. “You can stay, Shacklebolt.”
Kingsley tries not to let his dismay show on his face. He's almost certain that Sirius is nowhere near East Germany, and he has no wish to be tied up in a multi-national investigation halfway across the continent, especially as it means he will miss important goings-on at home. He's the only Auror who knows that Sirius is innocent. He needs to be where the action is.
“I had planned on leaving you Dawlish,” Kingsley says calmly. Weber raises both eyebrows without speaking, and Abendroth gives Dawlish a look of such undisguised loathing that Kingsley is hard-pressed not to laugh.
“No, thank you,” Weber says politely.
“I also have a number of Aurors on my team who speak German. You're welcome to one of those,” Kingsley offers instead.
“You don't speak German?” Abendroth asks.
“I speak it very badly, but that's beside the point. I have an investigation to cover, and I need to be at home for that.”
“Certainly you can be kept up to date from here,” Weber says. “Your embassy has spell-secure fire-lines that link directly to your Ministry.”
“There's no need to fear that the Ministerium fur Zaubereit Staatssicherheit will be listening in on those,” Abendroth adds, then smiles for the first time. “Not, you understand, for lack of trying.”
“In that case,” Kingsley says, “you must excuse me for the moment. I need to contact the Ministry for further instructions.”
“Of course,” Weber says with a smile. Abendroth has already gone back to looking idly around the room.
Kingsley is about to collect Dawlish and leave before the man can open his mouth and turn a surprisingly amicable situation into a disastrous one when the office door opens forcefully, striking Abendroth's desk with a bang. Several sheets of paper float gently to the ground.
The intruder is a tall, broad-shouldered blond with handsome, if somewhat bloated, features, a deep tan, and an obviously well-cut suit. As he's got a wand in his right hand, Kingsley decides it's safe to assume that he's not a stray Muggle, especially as both Weber and Abendroth seem to recognise him. Weber plasters on a clearly false smile, while Abendroth gives the stranger a sneer worthy of Lucius Malfoy at his most arrogant.
"Caldwell,” Weber says. “Do you have permission from Colonel Braun to be here?”
"Would I be here if I didn't?” Caldwell responds. His accent is unmistakably American, and he looks at everyone in the room with undisguised hostility.
"That's not an answer,” Abendroth says.
"In that case, Captain, I do have permission. Your Brit fugitives stunned two of our citizens during their flight to your Socialist utopia.” The last two words practically drip sarcastic disdain.
"I was told that the two stunned Americans were Muggles,” Abendroth says, with a curl of his lip.
"Muggles or not, they're still American, and that makes them our responsibility,” Caldwell says. His tone rings with false sincerity, and sets Kingsley's teeth on edge.
"That's not what you said when that pair of idiot tourists smuggled themselves over the Wall last year,” Abendroth says.
Caldwell ignores him grandly. "The fact remains that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin gained entry to the Democratic Republic of Wizarding Germany through our checkpoint. That makes it our affair.”
"Who, exactly, are you?” Dawlish asks. For once, Kingsley is grateful for his colleague's habit of automatic hostility.
"David Caldwell. Central Magical Intelligence Agency of the United States.” Caldwell flips open some sort of badge.
"What can we do for you, Caldwell?” Weber asks, with patently feigned politeness. Abendroth just rolls his eyes.
"I need to talk to them,” Caldwell points at Kingsley and Dawlish, “as well as anyone else on their team. Alone.”
"Sirius Black is a British affair, not an American one,” Dawlish says.
"Since he's in our country, I think he's become a German affair,” Abendroth observes.
Kingsley exchanges a glance with Weber, and sees a mirror image of his own resigned annoyance. There's enough personality in the room to toxify the air.
"Whether the re-capture of Sirius Black is a British affair or a German one,” he says, trying for calm, “it is certainly not an American one.
"There have,” he says to Caldwell, “been repeated statements made to the effect that the issue of He Who Must Not Be Named is a strictly internal problem, and that your government has no wish to get involved.
"Does this signify a policy change, then, on behalf of the United Magical States of America? Are you lot willing to get involved now that the main part of the danger is over?” Kingsley's palms are sweating; his heart is racing. This sort of cut-and-thrust wordplay is not his area of expertise.
Caldwell ignores the last two questions, and laughs instead. “He Who Must Not Be Named? You guys were really afraid of that nutjob, weren't you?”
"I'll get you a list of the people who've disappeared or were outright murdered by him and his followers in the past six months. Read it over, then say that again,” Dawlish says heatedly.
Kingsley is willing let it stand at that, but Weber and Abendroth are both looking at him expectantly, apparently waiting for further explanation.
"We don't know the extent of his powers,” Kingsley says. “It's entirely possible that he can hear his name if it's spoken, or that speaking his name lends him additional power. There have been wizards in Britain's past who were capable of both.”
"I thought he was dead,” Abendroth says quietly, but there's a liquid gleam of true interest in his dark eyes that has been missing since the beginning of the interview.
"We've found no body,” Kingsley says, “and though his followers are in disarray and he himself is apparently destroyed, that's no reason to start being careless.”
"Hence the importance of pursuing the hunt for Sirius Black with all due haste,” Caldwell says. “If Voldemort - all right,” he says impatiently, as Kingsley and Dawlish wince, “if He Who Must Not Be Named isn't really dead, the last thing anyone wants is to have his strongest follower rejoin him.”
Kingsley stifles the urge to protest Sirius' innocence, though it's not as difficult as it was in the first few hours after he'd found out the truth. Everyone else sees a murderer trying to escape justice. Kingsley remembers a schoolmate, and thinks of an innocent man currently fleeing for his life and soul.
"Actually,” Abendroth drawls, “the last thing any of us want is for you to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong. Go back to your side of the Wall, American.”
"Not gonna happen,” Caldwell says stubbornly. “As long as you Brits kept the problem internal, we were happy to mind our own business - but Black and Lupin are now wanted for attacking American military personnel, and we're not going to allow that to slide.”
"They're also wanted for the murder of 15 British citizens,” Dawlish exclaims, his face reddening with anger. “Not to mention engaging in the practice of the Dark Arts. Mr. Lupin is wanted for several violations of the Werewolf Code of Conduct, and Mr. Black is wanted for high treason! You'll forgive us, I hope, if some Stunned Muggles are not high on our list of priorities.”
"It's perfectly understandable,” Caldwell says, in a reasonable voice that Kingsley doesn't trust in the slightest. “That's why I'm here - to make sure that my countrymen aren't overlooked.”
"Of course,” Weber says. “It is a perfectly commendable desire.” He smiles sourly. “We will be more than happy to inform the American Magical Consulate as to any developments in the case, and you can be assured that we will add two counts of breaking the International Statute of Magical Secrecy to both Black's and Lupin's list of charges, as well as two charges of assault on a non-magical authority figure.”
"That's not good enough,” Caldwell says. His smile looks completely genuine, and reveals large, even white teeth. "We're requesting the full cooperation of both the British government and the government of the DRWG. My team also needs to de-brief every agent who's worked on this case so far."
"If I might have a word?” Kingsley says dryly.
"You'd be Kingsley Shacklebolt, then,” Caldwell says. “You're in charge?”
"Yes,” Kingsley says, just as Abendroth says, “No.”
"He's not in charge,” Abendroth says.
Caldwell rolls his eyes.
"You know damn well what I meant. Stop being difficult.” He turns back to Kingsley, ignoring the irritated expressions of both German officers. “Go ahead, Auror Shacklebolt.”
"You can de-brief Dawlish,” Kingsley says, which gets him protests from both Dawlish and Caldwell. He holds up a hand for silence, and is surprised when both of them obey.
"There is no way that I am going to give up the manpower it would take to comply with your request. No matter how many of my team stay in East Germany, I will not change my mind.” He does not add 'unless ordered to do so', as there is no need to give Caldwell ideas.
“The situation at home is quite simply too desperate for me to justify that much wasted time. If we are not allowed to be here, then I assure you that we will be needed elsewhere. To be quite frank, I can't spare Dawlish either - but he's my second, so he gets all the crap jobs I don't have time for myself.”
****
Author's Notes: As always, my gratitude to my wonderful beta readers - marauderswolf and molsymo. There would be no story without you guys.
Thanks also to everyone who has taken the time to read/review so far.
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