Changing One's Stars - Chapter 4 - A Different Sort of Battle
Amelia Bones was a stout but formidable-looking woman of middle years, and at the moment her businesslike haircut looked a little frayed.
“Madam Bones?” Lily started. “We just came to say that we're really sorry about your brother and sister-in-law, and their little ones.”
“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Edgar will really be missed.”
“It's... really tragic,” said Peter.
“Thank you, dears. It's been something of a shock.” She looked around at the odd collection of young people on her doorstep, a young woman carrying two baskets, one with a baby in it, and two young men. “I would invite you in, but I'm not entirely sure who you are.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lily. “I'm so sorry. I'm Lily Potter. I am-was-Healer Bones' apprentice.”
“Ah,” Madam Bones cracked a small smile. “So you're Lily. Edgar spoke very highly of you.”
“Sirius Black.” Sirius pulled his hand from his pocket for Madam Bones to shake. “You, ah, may remember me. Unfortunately.” When he was a teenager, he and Madam Bones had had a slight legal run-in involving goblins and billywig stings. She quirked her lips in response, but said nothing. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to reveal his involvement with the Order and his exact connection to Bones. He dived in. “Edgar once put me back together on a billiard table when my back was split open to my spine.”
“And I'm Peter Pettigrew. I, uh, Edgar has really helped me out, and I've worked with your brother, Allen.”
“You're all Order, aren't you?” Madam Bones said, looking them over shrewdly.
“Yes,” Lily said, after the slightest hesitation. Then: “I've brought a little food for you, if you'd like? And for Allen, too, and if there's anything else we can do for you, please, let us know.”
“I thank you, and...” Madam Bones seemed to undergo a brief mental struggle before holding open her door. “Come in. Allen's here as well. I'm sure you two can talk babies. It's always good to know that life continues.”
***
“How is your wife, Mr. Potter? And your young son? I trust they are well?”
Though Abraxas Malfoy's words were polite, his tone held the shadow of a threat, and James was struck, as he often was, with the urge to punch the old man in the nose. Superficially, Abraxas Malfoy bore some resemblance to Albus Dumbledore, both being formidable old wizards with silvery hair and beards. Yet where Dumbledore stood tall and unflappable, Abraxas bent over a cane, a sneer forever etched into his wrinkled face. The snake-headed cane, along with Abraxas' emerald green robes, marked exactly where he stood on all the issues that mattered.
Strange, how a decision made by a talking hat when we're eleven years old marks us. But then, there's no doubt where I stand there, either. James' robes were black, but with crimson cuffs and gold trim.
“Lily and Harry are quite well, thank you,” he said with cold formality. “Lily would be with me, but I thought it more important for someone to comfort Edgar Bones' family.”
“Yes, of course, exceedingly tragic. Healer Bones was an upstanding member of our community.”
James noted the emphasis on the past tense without comment. Had Abraxas' son been among the wizards who killed him? It seemed likely. Suddenly, James didn't think he could remain polite much longer. “Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. “But I'd like to have a word with...” he gestured vaguely toward a knot of wizards and witches gathered near the string quartet, and hoped there was actually one among their number he would like to have a word with.
“Potter!” called a gruff voice. James turned to see that it belonged to Alastor Moody, who was glaring at the punch bowl with beady eyes.
“Auror Moody,” James said respectfully as he sidled up next to the man.
“You know Crouch is bringing up Magical Law Enforcement Decree number 103 next week?”
“The one allowing Aurors to use Unforgivables?” James asked shrewdly.
“The same. How can I count on you to vote?”
James took a deep breath before answering. “Well, I was going to see if I could talk it down to just allowing the killing curse, and not the--”
“No!” Moody barked, startling James, and making a witch a few feet away from them jump. “No, that's not good enough,” he growled, waving a gnarled finger at James. “I'll grant you, Aurors have got no place using the Cruciatus or the Imperius. We've got no right, and no reason. But Avada Kedavra should be out too.”
“Why?” James wondered. “The Death Eaters are using deadly force against you. I thought you'd be pleased. Plus, I'm sure old Abraxas will vote against it.” James tilted his head toward the bent old wizard, who was now chatting with a wizard with graying mutton chops.
Moody shook his head, making his grizzled gray hair swirl about his neck. “Don’t think that I would mind putting another bee in the old bastard’s bonnet, but is it any harder to stun a man with a wand than to kill him with it?” He paused for a moment, looking into James' face.
“No,” James admitted.
“No,” Moody agreed. “In fact, it's far easier, doesn't take the same amount of power.”
“When you put it that way....” James said slowly.
“Crouch just doesn't want to try them,” Moody said with a grim smile.
There was a time, not long ago, when that statement would have shocked James. Now he simply raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think so?”
“That I do. And I'll tell you, I can't entirely blame him. Half of the ones we bring in get let right back out. If there are witnesses, they claim Polyjuice. If they were caught in the act, they claim Imperius. If that doesn't work, they name names, and let their friends go to Azkaban in their place.” Moody took a convulsive swig from his flask. “But if they're dead, they can't get off. Sounds good, doesn't it?”
“Yes and no.”
“Exactly. You let Aurors play executioner, maybe you end the war. But you let that beast out of its cage, and it'll be difficult getting it back in. We win, and maybe this decree gets repealed. But then, maybe it doesn't. Maybe some with pro-pureblood sentiments get cursed down, even if they've got no acts of violence to their name. We lose...” Moody spread his hands and twisted his ruined mouth into a grin. “Well, you can imagine how this decree would make it all the more difficult for the survivors.”
“I see your point,” James said grimly.
“So I can count on you to vote no?”
“I guess I would be going against my duty if I didn't.”
“Good man!” Moody said as he clapped a hand to his back. “It's a shame we couldn't have you in the Aurors, Potter. But then, good men are in even shorter supply here.” The old auror glanced pointedly about the parlor as he swung his cloak over his shoulders. “Lastly: meeting tonight. See that that gets in the right ears.” With that, he stalked toward the exit. Had Moody come only to speak to him? It was quite possible. Though he held a seat on the Wizengamot, Moody was more than content to leave this sort of work to someone else most of the time. Moody’s seat was permanent as long as he was head of Aurors, which meant he could afford that luxury. James couldn’t. Though he had inherited his own seat from his father, he would have to fight to keep it when its term ran up.
James looked across the elegant parlor at the witches and the wizards of the ministry, their families and their friends, laughing and talking and smiling their fake smiles while the war waged all around them. He sighed and steeled himself to speak to those who might be turned to Moody's way of thinking.
***
Peter turned a corner off of Diagon Alley and stepped onto Dress Circle. The wide cobblestone loop was far less crowded than it would have been even a few months ago. The grandiose Castle Theater sat empty and boarded up, and the Peerless looked all but abandoned, with only a few shabby wizards loitering near its doors. Yet the panic of the war hadn’t seemed to touch the Hesperus. Peter pressed through the sea of perfume and gauzy fabrics that flowed out its doors. In his own dress robes, he was practically invisible, just another theatergoer, though he walked against the crowd. He passed a pair of witches sniffling into handkerchiefs and Peter’s ears quirked at the mention of the young man he was here to see.
“I thought Crouch was just good-looking, but…”
“Yeah, me too, but the look on his face when just killed her…”
“You had the omnioculars, I couldn’t see…”
Peter looped around the theater to the narrow alley that held the stage door. He leaned against a brick wall, trying to look casual, or at least make himself look like a fan nervous about meeting a favorite actor instead of a Death Eater nervous about being seen with his contact. It was strangely quiet here, after the bustle in the street. No one seeking autographs this time. He let himself relax for moment and jerked when the stage door crashed open.
“Peter!” Barty Crouch, Jr. said with a fondness Peter suspected was exaggerated. “Did you finally see it?”
“What?”
“The play, idiot.”
“Oh. No.”
“But you’re dressed for the theatre and everything! You’ll be the last, I suppose. Even the Dark Lord was in attendance last week, did you know?”
“No, I didn’t,” Peter said cautiously.
Crouch nodded, a somewhat dreamy look coming over his face. “He came in a hood, sat in Box 4 by himself. No one knew it was him but me. He called me an inspiration, afterwards. Can you imagine?”
Peter could only gape at him. All he knew about The Good of All was that it involved a Grindelwald follower going mad from a curse and killing his wife. Either he was misinformed about the plot or the Dark Lord was missing the point. “It is difficult to imagine.”
“Difficult to imagine because it’s the Dark Lord or because I’m not that good?”
“Er, I…”
“Because I am that fucking good, Pettigrew.”
Crouch stared down at Peter, who didn’t dare twitch. The young actor was notoriously mercurial, which was why Peter preferred to meet him after his performances. The adoration of his audience seemed to put him in a good mood. That hadn’t always kept him from turning on Peter, however.
After a tense moment, Crouch smiled and grabbed Peter by the shoulder to shake him gently. “You are far too twitchy. I’m just having you on! Anyway, to business,” Crouch said, letting Peter go and turning suddenly serious. “What do you have for me?”
“Not much. Amelia Bones is considering joining the Order.”
“That’s it?” Crouch said with some irritation. “Some old biddy is considering joining the Order?”
“I just gave you Edgar Bones. I can’t give you an Order member every night.”
“Hmmph.”
“Do you have any news for me?” Peter asked after a moment.
“Black is dead,” Crouch said casually. “It’ll be in the papers tomorrow.”
Peter could feel the blood draining from his face. He’d only seen Sirius a few hours ago. “What? How?”
“Deserted. Spent all bloody morning trying to tail him. It was Snape that got to him, though.”
Peter breathed again. Deserted. Regulus, he meant Regulus. Peter watched Crouch closely. If Crouch found his reaction strange, he didn’t say so. “Did he… what did he do?”
“Jumped out of the Bones’ fucking window is what he did. Bugged out when Mulciber told him to kill one of the kids. Never came back. Mad, eh?”
“Mad,” Peter said weakly. So he’d killed Regulus Black, too. That made five.