Destruction Where You Stand - Chapter Fifteen
And finally, the plot is beginning to pull itself together.
I feel accomplished.
Chapter Fifteen: Only the Dead Were Smiling
"And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind. I was ready.
I will manage somehow.
Today I have so much to do.
I must turn my soul to stone;
I must learn to live again."
-Anna Akhmatova, The Sentence
The walk to Dumbledore's office seems to take twice as long as it ever has, and Remus more than half-expects to feel Professor McGonagall's hand fall without warning upon his shoulder. Fortunately for his nerves, though, the halls remain empty. He spots the familiar gargoyle with a sense of deep relief that lasts until he has thrown three passwords at the thing without success. The longer they stand about in the hallway, the more likely they are to get caught, and if Dumbledore has indeed changed his password system, they are in deep trouble.
"Chocolate Frog," he tries again. "Sugar Quill?" The gargoyle doesn't so much as twitch.
"Try 'blood-flavoured lollipop'," Sirius suggests, and the statue swings into motion. Bill Weasley looks disgusted. Remus, who has known since first year that Sirius' taste in candy is beyond appalling, rolls his eyes.
"You and Dumbledore," he says, "are both completely insane." He starts up the stairs, and can tell from Bill's quickly-stifled giggle that Sirius is pulling a face behind his back.
Remus knocks softly on the door to Dumbledore's office, and isn't surprised at all when it swings open to reveal the man himself, sitting behind his desk. He looks tired, and a little sad, but his fatigue vanishes beneath the weight of true shock for the briefest of moments when he sets eyes on Remus and Sirius; only for a moment, and then he smiles.
"My dear boys," he begins, then catches sight of Bill, whose wand is still aimed squarely at Sirius' back. Dumbledore raises one shaggy eyebrow.
"Mr. Weasley," he says dryly. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Bill goes red beneath his freckles. "It's Sirius Black, Headmaster," he says. "I caught him!"
"Really," Dumbledore murmurs. His eyes are sparkling with humour. "I see. Well, in that case, I will refrain from asking what you were doing out of your dormitory after hours. Fifty points to Gryffindor for bravery, and take another twenty-five for having the common sense to bring this quietly to me."
"Thank you, sir!" Bill gasps, lowering his wand for the first time.
"Now go to bed," Dumbledore says. "Oh, and Mr. Weasley?"
"Sir?"
"If you are stopped on your way back, you were on a kitchen raid. I shall replace any points you may lose tomorrow, but you are to say nothing of what has happened here tonight. Neither Remus nor Sirius is a danger to anyone in this castle, but I will not have it known that they are here. Is that understood?"
"I won't say anything," Bill promises. He starts to leave, then turns in the doorway. "I knew they weren't evil! Not if you were glad to see them."
"Good night, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says gently. As the door closes behind Bill, the fatigue slips back into Dumbledore's expression; still, he is smiling. "Children possess such extraordinary faith," he says, then shakes his head slightly and turns that weary smile back on Sirius and Remus.
"It's good to see you both," he tells them. "Please, sit down."
Remus sinks gratefully into the nearest chair. Sirius flops down in the other one, his customary grace seemingly conquered by fatigue.
"I am exceedingly glad to see that you made it out of Cologne without injury." Dumbledore pours tea for all three of them as he speaks, despite the lateness of the hour. "I will admit," he continues, "that I did not expect to see you here; still, I hope that Hogwarts will always remain a sanctuary for all of its students, past and present." He hands each of them a cup and saucer. "May I ask where you left the Aurors?
"They hadn't arrived when we left," Sirius answers. "It'll take them days to get through the wards on the house -- unless they bring Dementors with them. We also laid a nice bit of false trail down for them, into East Germany. The red tape ought to keep them occupied for a while."
"Especially with Kingsley in charge," Remus adds.
"Well done," Dumbledore murmurs.
"It was all Remus' idea," Sirius answers, with a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Both of you have done extremely well," Dumbledore tells them. "Might I ask what you plan to do next?"
"Oh, Merlin," Sirius says ruefully. "To be honest, I hadn't thought much beyond a decent night's sleep. Remus?" His expression is bland, and far too innocent. Remus tries desperately not to blush.
"Er - right," he says. "Sleep. We're both pretty tired."
"Of course."
Sometimes, Remus despises the knowing twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes.
"I wish I could offer you beds in Gryffindor Tower," Dumbledore continues. "You've both certainly proven that you were properly Sorted. Unfortunately, I dare not risk your being seen by any more students." He pauses for a moment, tapping his fingers against his lips. "I think -- yes." He gets up and crosses the room to a trunk that Remus has never noticed before, despite repeated visits to the Headmaster's office. Murmuring a quiet incantation, Dumbledore opens the trunk and pulls out an achingly familiar bundle of silvery-grey material. Remus feels something in his chest tighten almost to the point of pain.
"That's --" Sirius starts, and is unable to finish.
"James left it in my care just before he went into hiding," Dumbledore says gently, "with instructions that it be used to further the Order's work, if it were needed. He also instructed that if anything should happen to him and to Lily it was to be given to Harry when the boy entered Hogwarts. I can not think of a more appropriate caretaker for it in the meantime."
He passes the Invisibility Cloak to Sirius, who takes it with the reverence of a man handling a reliquary, then clutches it desperately, as if afraid that this last tangible evidence of James will vanish even as he touches it.
"Thank you," Sirius says hoarsely, eyes bright with unshed tears. Remus tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Dumbledore simply nods, and changes the subject with a delicacy that should not surprise Remus, but does nevertheless.
"As I am sure you are both aware," he says, and looks over his half-moon spectacles at the pair of them, "there are seven or eight unused dormitory rooms on the fourth floor in the west wing. I suggest that you avail yourselves of one of them. I will also remind you to set wards and charms to warn yourselves of any intrusions."
"We will." Remus answers for both of them, because Sirius is still too near to tears to risk speech. "Come on, Pads." They both rise, and Sirius spreads the Cloak over them with hands that shake only a little.
"Sleep well," Dumbledore says, as they step out into the hall.
***
The attack on the Dursleys is the final straw, at least as far as Alastor Moody is concerned. Phineas Nigellus might want him to sit idly by and wait for events to break, but that sort of passive behavior is not Moody's way, and it never will be.
That doesn't mean that he's going to rush off half cocked like certain other people have been doing recently. Black and Lupin are not thinking clearly at the moment, no matter how clever they are in extremis; but then, they are both young, and entitled to the foolishness of young men.
Moody knows better. If he goes charging blindly into the fray, the Ministry will get word before he's made any real progress, and bloody Crouch will shut him down in a hurry. No, if he wants to get anything done, he will have to talk to the sort of people who won't talk to the Ministry -- and that will be bloody dangerous without a badge to back him up.
Fortunately, he has his reputation. He's spent twenty years scaring the shit out of Britain's Dark wizards, and badge or no, it won't take much to remind them that cooperating is better for their health. It would be enough, if he were going to stick to his usual network of informants.
He's not.
There's no point in talking to the little people who usually fill in the gaps of any intelligence operation. If he's going to prove Black innocent, he needs to talk to the higher-ups - and he won't be able to scare them into submission. There are precious few, even among the Death Eaters themselves, who can name all of their compatriots, and fewer still who will be willing to listen, much less cooperate.
Alastor knows just where to start.
***
Lucius looks with some annoyance at the stack of paperwork that he still needs to complete before next month's charity ball. It will, he is quite certain, be a horribly tedious affair; still, it is part of a larger campaign to repair his public image, one that if handled correctly might even be enough to allow him to stand for election and win. No Malfoy has ever been Minister of Magic, though several have been the power behind the throne, and it would be... amusing to be the first, particularly with his already tarnished record to contend with.
He is about to start on the paperwork when a prickle along the back of his neck alerts him to someone asking for entrance through the Floo network. Rising, he murmurs the incantation that allows the petitioner's head to come through, and nearly blinks in surprise when he recognizes Mad-Eye Moody.
"Malfoy," the man says, without even a pretence at courtesy. "We need to talk."
"Oh?" Lucius raises a deliberately offensive eyebrow. "Is this a follow-up from the Ministry on my sister-in-law's demise, then?"
"Don't be cute," Moody growls. "You know damn well that I'm not with the Ministry any more."
"True," Lucius nods. "Then again, you're the sort who doesn't require official backing to be dangerous."
"You should know," Moody scowls.
Lucius smiles, acknowledging the hit. "Touche. Of course, considering how foolish the Aurors are making themselves look these days, perhaps you should be grateful to have lost your official backing. I certainly wouldn't want to be associated with that mess."
"What mess?"
"Oh, that's a bit much," Lucius drawls. "I heard all about your aborted interview with my dear sister-in-law. You must have some idea as to what's really going on."
"Can the crap, Malfoy," Moody barks. Really, the man has no patience. "What are you trying to say?"
"Quite simply, that my less-than-beloved cousin was never a member of the Dark Lord's coterie." He catches the flicker in Moody's expression. "But then, you knew that."
"I didn't expect you to admit it so quickly."
"No? But then, you've been out of touch. Perhaps you didn't know that someone attempted to frame me yesterday evening. "
"Why do you think I contacted you?" Moody snaps.
"I see," Lucius says, and he does. "In that case, Moody, feel free to come through the fire. I'll swear any oath you like that you'll be perfectly safe. It seems we have a great deal to talk about."
****
Author's Notes: My thanks to
marauderswolf and
blackxlupin for beta-help, and to
marauderswolf again for kicking my ass and keeping me motivated. You rock, babe.
As always, feedback makes my day.