May 12, 1982: Red Handed
The first thing Isabel saw upon awakening was a note and a sealed parchment upon her bedside table. Seeing that the note was written in Barty’s hand, she picked it up and read:
“You must send this Owl today, at five minutes before ten. It is important that you use an Owl not our own. Discretion is of the greatest necessity. I only ask that you trust my reasons for asking this. Your Barty.”
Isabel turned her head towards the bedside table once more and retrieved the sealed parchment, then leaned back into the multitude of pillows on the bed. She vaguely studied the piece of paper, lost in thought, turning it over and over between her fingers.
Surely he wouldn’t be so foolish as to break the faithfulness vow they had only just made to one another. Besides this was to be sent to the Ministry. At a specific time. Using a public owl. By her. That would hardly indicate a lover.
Which led to the question of just exactly what this was all about. Whatever it was, it made her feel very uneasy. With their political hopes set so very high and everything proceeding exactly as planned, there could be no mistakes made. None at all.
She continued to turn the parchment between her fingers. Until-finally-she made her decision. She slid her fingers beneath the seal and opened it.
“Multiple Muggle incident at 233 Brewhouse Lane. Muggles spread out over three floors. Floo at building has been disconnected while incident under investigation. Floo hopping hooligans suspected. Building now thought deserted except for Muggles.”
Isabel sat up. A Muggle incident. How was Barty to know of this ahead of time? What exactly was he planning?
She quickly dressed and, placing the note and parchment in her pocket, went downstairs.
“Winky!” she called.
Winky appeared in an instant. “Yes, Mistress Isabel? Is you wanting coffee or tea? Some breakfast, perhaps?”
“No,” she answered. “What I’d like to know is what time your master left this morning.”
“He was leaving when the clock chimed,” Winky answered.
Isabel’s lips thinned slightly. “Did he say anything to you?”
“He said that Winky is must be reminding Mistress Isabel of his Owl and that she must be sending it this morning at the right time,” Winky answered in one rush of words.
“Yes, yes,” Isabel said. “Did he say anything else? Give you any instructions perhaps?”
“He is saying that I isn’t,” Winky replied and then blinked once.
“Isn’t what, Winky?” Isabel prompted, willing herself to remain calm.
“I isn’t to be saying whatever he is telling me,” Winky said and crossed her arms, as if shielding herself from Isabel’s glare.
And Isabel was glaring by this time; but then her face softened and she smiled.
“I understand completely,” she told the house elf. “You certainly cannot say what he told you if that is what he ordered. But you can show me. So if there is anything you can show me pertaining to what he said to you, I command that you do so.”
Winky nodded at once. “If that is what Mistress Isabel is ordering, I is obeying.” She turned about and began to nearly bounce down the hallway and then downstairs. She led Isabel to a large fireplace and then pointed at the ashes and blackened papers.
“All right,” Isabel said. “Thank you, Winky. You may go now.”
Winky’s eyes widened and then her entire face sagged. She turned, her shoulders hunched, and then Disapparated.
As soon as she was alone, Isabel withdrew her wand and pointed it at the ashes and blackened papers.
“Reparo.”
Within seconds, the papers were as they had been before Winky had tossed them into the fire.
Isabel took them from the fireplace and looked them over. They consisted mostly of numerous correspondences between the Soviet Embassy and Barty, agreeing to and outlining the transfer to the Soviets of Antonin Dolohov. Amongst the correspondence, she found a receipt from a small shop in Knockturn Alley. It was notorious for selling illegal Portkeys. And on the back of the receipt was a quickly sketched diagram of a warehouse, the address, 233 Brewhouse Lane, scrawled beneath it. Every entrance and exit to the building was carefully highlighted.
Isabel stared at these things, appalled, for several moments, drawing together all of the implications. Then, still holding the papers, Apparated into her dressing room. She quickly grabbed her cloak and tucked the papers into an inner pocket. In moments, she had Apparated to the Ministry, and was soon outside of Barty’s office. She pushed the door open and entered.
Barty did not glance up after he heard the door open. “No visitors today. Tell them to return later.”
“Oh, I think it might be wise to accept this visitor,” Isabel answered.
Barty finished a sentence and then rested his quill on the desk. “I’m never too busy for you, of course,” he said and then smiled, showing his teeth.
Isabel shut the door behind her and approached his desk. Still standing, she said, “I certainly hope not. After all, we are allies in your run for Minister, are we not? We agreed to work together towards the same goals?”
His eyes met hers, and he nodded. “I won’t find success without you.”
“And do you believe you will find success in actions such as these?” she questioned, pulling the papers from her cloak and dropping them onto the desk before him.
His eyes followed the motion of the papers. “It must be done,” he said, his voice quiet.
Isabel did not answer immediately. Instead, she smoothly sat in the chair before his desk and said, in an equally quiet voice, “Please explain to me why it must be done.”
Barty’s eyes met hers once again. “How can I have honor if it is not done? If he will not meet my challenge, what choice do I have?”
Almost imperceptibly, Isabel shook her head. “So you would throw away all of your ambitions-our ambitions-over a matter of pride.” She sat back. “I thought we had agreed that the choices the two of us made in the past were to be forgotten, wiped away, never to be spoken of again.”
Barty adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “And this would be the final step. It would never be spoken of again. It would be wiped away.”
“Do you not realize how reckless this is?” she asked. “Not only might you lose the Ministry, but your freedom as well. You could very well find yourself in Azkaban.” She leaned forward and placed her hand over his. “Barty. Don’t lose focus. We are so close. Forget about him. He is not worth losing everything we’ve worked for.”
Barty turned his hand under hers and then brought her hand to his lips and then forehead. “Once I am the Minister of Magic, it will no longer matter.”
“No,” she whispered. “Nothing will matter but that; what you can do for the wizarding world, the mark you’ll make. He will be forgotten by both of us. He will be nothing. Nothing.”
Barty closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then led her hand to the desktop and released it. “Yes, a terrible mistake.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
Isabel leaned back once more. “You’ll call off everything, including the release of Dolohov? He is a Death Eater, Barty. In the midst of Death Eater trials. To release him to the Soviets would also be a terrible mistake. The press, the public, might succeed in turning this against you.”
“He did attempt to murder you,” Barty said. “That should never have became secondary.”
Isabel lowered her head. “And it was horrible, Barty. I was so frightened.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know. I won’t allow that to happen again.” He reached forward and began to stroke her hand. “Although I imagine the Soviets will be moderately irritated.”
She looked up at him and smiled slightly. “Aren’t the Soviets always moderately irritated?” she said. “Besides, I have no doubt you will think of something to appease them. Perhaps a trade restriction that has been causing conflict. A resolution to an issue such as that might be something to offer them.”
“Perhaps. I have time to think on it before our scheduled meeting,” Barty replied and then patted Isabel’s hand. “But I need time to think.”
“Yes. I’ll leave you to that.” She stood, picking up the incriminating papers and placing them back into her cloak. “I’ll see these are destroyed properly.”
She studied him for a moment, smiling. “I can’t tell you how fortunate it is that this disaster was averted. You must never forget, we are working towards only one goal. We will allow nothing-nothing at all-to interfere with it.”
He returned her smile. “I’ve waited a long time for this. To think that I nearly forgot.” He shook his head. “Go, then. I’ll see you after work. Perhaps I’ll return early.”
She nodded, still smiling. “Until this evening, then.” She turned and left his office.
Barty reclaimed his quill and tapped the tip against a paper as he thought. After a few seconds, he began to write again.
Isabel, meanwhile, returned home to destroy the papers more thoroughly than Winky had. But not before stopping by a public Owlry and sending the Owl Barty had originally left on her bedside table.
By honorstudentmum and wartimepolitics