In Which Juneau Connors Visits the Ministry of Magic
Date: Thursday, September 21
Time: 9:30 AM
Location: Spinner's End to the Ministry
Characters Involved: June Connors & a colorful cast of NPCs
Rating: PG (borderline PG-13?) for some language and a wee bit of violence
Eight hours.
Eight hours since McGonagall had woken them, eight hours of pacing and fretting and worrying about Remus and Severus and worrying about Seamus and whoever else might have been at the Leaky Cauldron and fuming at the idiocy of the Ministry and eight hours of waiting for a knock on the door while vainly hoping it would never come. It would, and they all knew it. Eight hours of 'any minute now...'
If they're going to come, June thought, fingernails digging into her palms in frustration, I wish they'd hurry up and get here!
As if in response to her thought (though in all fairness, the same thought had crossed her mind about once every other minute this morning), the wards at the edge of the property alerted them to people approaching. June stiffened, then forced herself to relax as much as she could. They had to be calm. No matter what, they couldn't give any sign of resistance - whatever Auror escort had been sent would be only too ready for them to try and fight, and it would only cause more trouble for the pack.
She was moving toward the door before the pounding began, though from the sound of it you'd think the Aurors had been kept waiting for hours. "Coming!" she called, sensing the rest of the pack gathering behind her. She opened the door, the most pleasant smile she could muster on her lips - and before she could say a word, a meaty hand grabbed her wrist and gave a painful yank. Thrown off-balance, she stumbled, almost stumbling into the man before she caught herself with her other hand against the door frame. And her wand, which she hadn't even realized she'd taken out, was jerked from her fingers.
"Juneau Connors?" The cool voice didn't come from the man holding her; it came from somewhere behind him. And it made her tense, because it was familiar - one of many that had made the unpleasant rounds through Spinner's End during their month of Auror babysitters. She couldn't remember his name - by one week in she hadn't cared anymore - but he would certainly remember hers, which meant the only reason for him to be asking was for his own petty satisfaction. To rub his newfound power in their faces. Joy.
"You will accompany us to the Ministry," he went on without waiting for an answer. "Same for the rest of you. You will come quietly or you will regret it; my associates from the WCU are very adept at handling your kind." The Werewolf Capture Unit! Shock froze her in place for a moment, and then she felt a second pair of hands grip her other arm and shoulder.
Now that was going too far. "I can walk on my own," she began to protest, but was cut off by a hard shove from the thug on her left that almost took her off her feet. The need to pull free of his punishing grip was nearly unbearable; her senses and the proximity charms on her glasses warned her of several more, equally massive figures moving in around her - enough to corral four dangerous werewolves, she thought numbly, feeling their presence like a prickling along her skin. I think we're in trouble.
The one on her left shoved her again, causing her right arm to twist painfully in the other's grip. "I can walk!" she protested again, angrily, and heard Glamis's urgent, low-voiced "Lass!" from behind her. Unfortunately, so did her escorts.
"That's right, lass, listen to the old man. Be a good girl," the one on the left sneered, thick fingers tightening on her shoulder until she was sure to have bruises.
"Don't waste your breath, Sanders," spat the one on her other side, emphasized with another cruel yank on her arm, half-dragging her out the door as she fought to control her mounting fury - and fear - and swallow everything she wanted to say to them. "Werewolf bitch doesn't know how."
~*~
The portkey they pressed into her hand had delivered them... somewhere. She had to assume it was at the Ministry, but it smelled more like the dungeons at Hogwarts, minus the potions miasma. It was dank and enclosed and the air tasted rank and stale on her tongue. Before she could register any more than that, she was none-too-gently shoved into a chair, her captors wrenching her arms around behind her and securing them in a way that set her shoulders aching right off.
It didn't help that every one of her muscles was tense to the point of shivering. She'd had over three years now to get accustomed to blindness, and in the course of that time she'd been led about quite a bit. She'd been in uncomfortable situations, unfamiliar locations, she'd dealt with crowds, she'd fought in pitched battles. She'd learned to dance again, which had been difficult enough, trusting even someone she liked with the complete control to move her as he would. She had never in all that time been a captive, been seized or dragged anywhere, by force and against her will - and not allowed to lift a hand in her own defense.
It was a nightmare. And now she had no idea where she was, though her head turned from side to side as if she might be able to squint through the darkness - as if the darkness were outside of her instead of the same darkness she lived in constantly. It felt thicker, heavier, more oppressive. She strained around her with senses that felt oddly stifled; vaguely she could detect people moving around her - but how many? What were they doing? What did they intend?
She couldn't tell, she didn't know, she couldn't use her hands and her much-vaunted other senses weren't doing her any good, she was lost and it all boiled down to a single panicked, nonsensical thought:
I CAN'T SEE!!!
If they had a Legilimens, the person had surely just been 'deafened'.
"Too bright in here for you, werewolf?" came the Auror's mocking voice again, and she felt her heart stutter in sudden fearful anticipation. "Take those goddamned sunglasses off her, Blossom. I want to see your eyes when I'm talking to you."
"You-" she began, but wasn't permitted to finish; suddenly one of the figures was right next to her, a rough hand on her face, and then her glasses were yanked off with enough force to make her dizzy with the shift in perception. And the whole cell went suddenly still.
"Sweet fucking Merlin..."
She was going to be sick. With the loss of the twins' special glasses her senses had been cut back even more, she could no longer tell exactly where anyone was, but she could feel all their eyes boring into her face, smell their revulsion; it made her skin crawl and her stomach turn over. What she never wanted even her dearest friends to see was now on display to a roomful of brutal thugs and bullies who hated her anyway, and she hastily bowed her head as far down as it would go, her throat burning as though she'd swallowed a mouthful of acid.
Ironic, therefore, what happened next. Without warning a hand closed around her plait, jerking her head savagely up and back. She cried out in startlement and pain, a cry which was abruptly broken off as some sort of oily liquid was poured down her throat and she choked. A firm grip on her hair and under her jaw kept her head tipped back so she couldn't spit it out, until she had swallowed most of it and harsh coughing had given way to ragged gasping breaths.
The tension drained out of her muscles, the panic from her mind, as a haze of artificial calm stole through her veins. Veritaserum, of course... It was hardly surprising; Severus had warned her, though in the confusion of the past several minutes she'd forgotten to expect it. No matter. She felt better now, her trembling abated, her arms bothering her less now that she'd no choice but to relax. Her face was still bared to them all, but it no longer bothered her so much - with her senses so curtailed she could almost imagine she was alone in the room.
For a few moments, anyway.
"Now, werewolf - what is your relationship with Severus Snape?"
The questions were neverending. And most of them had no seeming connection to the attack on the Leaky at all. How had she come to work for Severus, what duties did she perform for him, who did she know that was (or might have been) a Death Eater? When had she come to stay with Remus Lupin, what was the purpose of this "so-called 'pack'," what other allies did they have, what activities had they been involved in over the past five years? When and how had she been infected with lycanthropy? (He laughed when she admitted to having trained to be an Auror.) Had she ever encountered Fenrir Greyback? Did she know his present location? Had she ever encountered He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?
Quite a few of her answers, it seemed, weren't what they wanted to hear. She had no information about Death Eaters, no inside information about the Order, she could tell them no tales of bloodshed or sordid secrets about Severus or the pack. She tried to give as little information about her friends as she could manage through the potion, and counted herself fortunate that the Auror wasn't interested in personal things, only in tales of bloodshed and mayhem - both in quite short supply. She began to think perhaps she'd get out of here unscathed - or at least not any more scathed.
"How was your face so... mutilated?"
So much for that. She could hear the disgust twisting the Auror's voice and felt her own mouth twist in response, even through the potion.
"It was done to me by members of Greyback's pack," she answered, amazed at the dispassionate steadiness of her own voice even as she cringed back from the memory. "We were transformed... and they attacked me."
The voice sharpened with new interest, scenting blood in the water. "You were with Greyback during a transformation? Unrestrained?"
"Yes." Oh hell. "Just one."
"And why would your fellows attack you?"
"They weren't my 'fellows'." A tiny thread of anger laced through the dreamy calm of the Veritaserum. "I was with them trying to find out information, find out if any of them might be willing to switch to our side. But I wasn't careful enough. I got caught."
"I see." He sounded patently skeptical, and she wanted to snap at him. Did he think she was lying, with that much Veritaserum in her system? He was severely overestimating her, if so. "So these werewolves, they discovered that you were a traitor, and tore your eyes out as punishment?" Her breath sucked in through her teeth in a hiss, but after a moment she nodded, once.
"Yes."
"I see," he said again - deliberately, she was sure this time. True, she was the one who always encouraged people not to shy away from that word around her, but the deliberate malice in the way he said it added fuel to the fire under her skin. Only the Veritaserum kept it damped - along with the knowledge that, even now, it would only make things worse for her and the rest if she let her temper get the better of her.
The Veritaserum muffled her anger. Anger kept the panic at bay. The whole situation had a precarious feeling, as if when the potions fog cleared, she would find herself standing on a very fragile rope over a very, very deep canyon.
"It's common knowledge that a transformed werewolf is a mindless, bloodthirsty beast." She heard the scrape of his chair being pushed back, heard him moving, and kept her mouth shut. "And yet you claim that Greyback and his allies somehow figured out that you weren't one of them. While in werewolf form. Do you expect us to believe that?"
"It's true." Listen to his footsteps. Keep calm. How long had she been here? Minutes? Days?
"Is it?" He was very close now. Then once again she found her head being hauled back by a vicious grip on the braid, straining her neck. Cause to be grateful she'd chosen to plait her hair this morning: yes, they obviously found it far too convenient a handle, but at least it hurt less than if they'd been hauling her around by a fistful of loose hair. Which didn't mean it didn't hurt. She gritted her teeth and tried to tilt her head back further, to ease some of the strain.
“Why did you confront us armed, this morning, werewolf? Thinking there wouldn’t be so many of us? Figured you might be able to run? What are you trying to hide from us, little bitch?”
Too many questions at once. And the last one was too general; she was hiding many things, minor and major, from many people, when it came down to it, but none which the Ministry had any business asking her about. From them, she told herself, and hoped the potion would allow that qualification. He only asked what I’m hiding from them. The angle her neck was at made it hard to speak, but the potion wouldn’t let her keep silent. “No-thing,” she managed. “My wand… habit. Always carry my wand… to the door. Sa-safety-” She gasped as he pulled back harder.
“Safety. And who is it you think yourself in such danger from?”
“…c-can’t…” She tugged against his grip in spite of the extra pain, hoping he’d take the hint and let up a bit.
“Listen, bitch-”
“Reeve!” The hand gripping her hair released all at once and June’s head snapped forward. She concentrated on deep breaths as the Auror retreated across the room, to hold a low-voiced conference with another man. Though the Veritaserum still seemed to be fogging her senses, she caught a few words - solicitor, charges, release and, thankfully, now. And then two of the WCU thugs were beside her again, one of them moving behind her to release her hands, the other grabbing her arm and unceremoniously pulling her up; a rush of dizziness accompanied the sudden movement and she swayed, trying not to be sick.
A clatter on the floor at her feet betokened the return of her wand and the purloined glasses; she had to kneel to retrieve them or she might have fallen. With shaking hands she replaced the glasses on her face, ran her fingers over the familiar contours of the wand to be sure it wasn’t damaged, and slid it into her pocket. By the time she’d finished, the room was empty.
Almost. Over by where she believed to be the door was a single figure, no one she immediately recognized. “Jackson Bingley, Miss Connors,” he introduced himself as she warily picked her way over to him, and light dawned; Severus had mentioned the man when he'd flown through the house early this morning, but again, she'd nearly forgotten. “Mr. Glamis is waiting in the lobby. Will you permit me?”
As she took the arm he offered, she thought more welcome words had never been spoken.
Time: 9:30 AM
Location: Spinner's End to the Ministry
Characters Involved: June Connors & a colorful cast of NPCs
Rating: PG (borderline PG-13?) for some language and a wee bit of violence
Eight hours.
Eight hours since McGonagall had woken them, eight hours of pacing and fretting and worrying about Remus and Severus and worrying about Seamus and whoever else might have been at the Leaky Cauldron and fuming at the idiocy of the Ministry and eight hours of waiting for a knock on the door while vainly hoping it would never come. It would, and they all knew it. Eight hours of 'any minute now...'
If they're going to come, June thought, fingernails digging into her palms in frustration, I wish they'd hurry up and get here!
As if in response to her thought (though in all fairness, the same thought had crossed her mind about once every other minute this morning), the wards at the edge of the property alerted them to people approaching. June stiffened, then forced herself to relax as much as she could. They had to be calm. No matter what, they couldn't give any sign of resistance - whatever Auror escort had been sent would be only too ready for them to try and fight, and it would only cause more trouble for the pack.
She was moving toward the door before the pounding began, though from the sound of it you'd think the Aurors had been kept waiting for hours. "Coming!" she called, sensing the rest of the pack gathering behind her. She opened the door, the most pleasant smile she could muster on her lips - and before she could say a word, a meaty hand grabbed her wrist and gave a painful yank. Thrown off-balance, she stumbled, almost stumbling into the man before she caught herself with her other hand against the door frame. And her wand, which she hadn't even realized she'd taken out, was jerked from her fingers.
"Juneau Connors?" The cool voice didn't come from the man holding her; it came from somewhere behind him. And it made her tense, because it was familiar - one of many that had made the unpleasant rounds through Spinner's End during their month of Auror babysitters. She couldn't remember his name - by one week in she hadn't cared anymore - but he would certainly remember hers, which meant the only reason for him to be asking was for his own petty satisfaction. To rub his newfound power in their faces. Joy.
"You will accompany us to the Ministry," he went on without waiting for an answer. "Same for the rest of you. You will come quietly or you will regret it; my associates from the WCU are very adept at handling your kind." The Werewolf Capture Unit! Shock froze her in place for a moment, and then she felt a second pair of hands grip her other arm and shoulder.
Now that was going too far. "I can walk on my own," she began to protest, but was cut off by a hard shove from the thug on her left that almost took her off her feet. The need to pull free of his punishing grip was nearly unbearable; her senses and the proximity charms on her glasses warned her of several more, equally massive figures moving in around her - enough to corral four dangerous werewolves, she thought numbly, feeling their presence like a prickling along her skin. I think we're in trouble.
The one on her left shoved her again, causing her right arm to twist painfully in the other's grip. "I can walk!" she protested again, angrily, and heard Glamis's urgent, low-voiced "Lass!" from behind her. Unfortunately, so did her escorts.
"That's right, lass, listen to the old man. Be a good girl," the one on the left sneered, thick fingers tightening on her shoulder until she was sure to have bruises.
"Don't waste your breath, Sanders," spat the one on her other side, emphasized with another cruel yank on her arm, half-dragging her out the door as she fought to control her mounting fury - and fear - and swallow everything she wanted to say to them. "Werewolf bitch doesn't know how."
~*~
The portkey they pressed into her hand had delivered them... somewhere. She had to assume it was at the Ministry, but it smelled more like the dungeons at Hogwarts, minus the potions miasma. It was dank and enclosed and the air tasted rank and stale on her tongue. Before she could register any more than that, she was none-too-gently shoved into a chair, her captors wrenching her arms around behind her and securing them in a way that set her shoulders aching right off.
It didn't help that every one of her muscles was tense to the point of shivering. She'd had over three years now to get accustomed to blindness, and in the course of that time she'd been led about quite a bit. She'd been in uncomfortable situations, unfamiliar locations, she'd dealt with crowds, she'd fought in pitched battles. She'd learned to dance again, which had been difficult enough, trusting even someone she liked with the complete control to move her as he would. She had never in all that time been a captive, been seized or dragged anywhere, by force and against her will - and not allowed to lift a hand in her own defense.
It was a nightmare. And now she had no idea where she was, though her head turned from side to side as if she might be able to squint through the darkness - as if the darkness were outside of her instead of the same darkness she lived in constantly. It felt thicker, heavier, more oppressive. She strained around her with senses that felt oddly stifled; vaguely she could detect people moving around her - but how many? What were they doing? What did they intend?
She couldn't tell, she didn't know, she couldn't use her hands and her much-vaunted other senses weren't doing her any good, she was lost and it all boiled down to a single panicked, nonsensical thought:
I CAN'T SEE!!!
If they had a Legilimens, the person had surely just been 'deafened'.
"Too bright in here for you, werewolf?" came the Auror's mocking voice again, and she felt her heart stutter in sudden fearful anticipation. "Take those goddamned sunglasses off her, Blossom. I want to see your eyes when I'm talking to you."
"You-" she began, but wasn't permitted to finish; suddenly one of the figures was right next to her, a rough hand on her face, and then her glasses were yanked off with enough force to make her dizzy with the shift in perception. And the whole cell went suddenly still.
"Sweet fucking Merlin..."
She was going to be sick. With the loss of the twins' special glasses her senses had been cut back even more, she could no longer tell exactly where anyone was, but she could feel all their eyes boring into her face, smell their revulsion; it made her skin crawl and her stomach turn over. What she never wanted even her dearest friends to see was now on display to a roomful of brutal thugs and bullies who hated her anyway, and she hastily bowed her head as far down as it would go, her throat burning as though she'd swallowed a mouthful of acid.
Ironic, therefore, what happened next. Without warning a hand closed around her plait, jerking her head savagely up and back. She cried out in startlement and pain, a cry which was abruptly broken off as some sort of oily liquid was poured down her throat and she choked. A firm grip on her hair and under her jaw kept her head tipped back so she couldn't spit it out, until she had swallowed most of it and harsh coughing had given way to ragged gasping breaths.
The tension drained out of her muscles, the panic from her mind, as a haze of artificial calm stole through her veins. Veritaserum, of course... It was hardly surprising; Severus had warned her, though in the confusion of the past several minutes she'd forgotten to expect it. No matter. She felt better now, her trembling abated, her arms bothering her less now that she'd no choice but to relax. Her face was still bared to them all, but it no longer bothered her so much - with her senses so curtailed she could almost imagine she was alone in the room.
For a few moments, anyway.
"Now, werewolf - what is your relationship with Severus Snape?"
The questions were neverending. And most of them had no seeming connection to the attack on the Leaky at all. How had she come to work for Severus, what duties did she perform for him, who did she know that was (or might have been) a Death Eater? When had she come to stay with Remus Lupin, what was the purpose of this "so-called 'pack'," what other allies did they have, what activities had they been involved in over the past five years? When and how had she been infected with lycanthropy? (He laughed when she admitted to having trained to be an Auror.) Had she ever encountered Fenrir Greyback? Did she know his present location? Had she ever encountered He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?
Quite a few of her answers, it seemed, weren't what they wanted to hear. She had no information about Death Eaters, no inside information about the Order, she could tell them no tales of bloodshed or sordid secrets about Severus or the pack. She tried to give as little information about her friends as she could manage through the potion, and counted herself fortunate that the Auror wasn't interested in personal things, only in tales of bloodshed and mayhem - both in quite short supply. She began to think perhaps she'd get out of here unscathed - or at least not any more scathed.
"How was your face so... mutilated?"
So much for that. She could hear the disgust twisting the Auror's voice and felt her own mouth twist in response, even through the potion.
"It was done to me by members of Greyback's pack," she answered, amazed at the dispassionate steadiness of her own voice even as she cringed back from the memory. "We were transformed... and they attacked me."
The voice sharpened with new interest, scenting blood in the water. "You were with Greyback during a transformation? Unrestrained?"
"Yes." Oh hell. "Just one."
"And why would your fellows attack you?"
"They weren't my 'fellows'." A tiny thread of anger laced through the dreamy calm of the Veritaserum. "I was with them trying to find out information, find out if any of them might be willing to switch to our side. But I wasn't careful enough. I got caught."
"I see." He sounded patently skeptical, and she wanted to snap at him. Did he think she was lying, with that much Veritaserum in her system? He was severely overestimating her, if so. "So these werewolves, they discovered that you were a traitor, and tore your eyes out as punishment?" Her breath sucked in through her teeth in a hiss, but after a moment she nodded, once.
"Yes."
"I see," he said again - deliberately, she was sure this time. True, she was the one who always encouraged people not to shy away from that word around her, but the deliberate malice in the way he said it added fuel to the fire under her skin. Only the Veritaserum kept it damped - along with the knowledge that, even now, it would only make things worse for her and the rest if she let her temper get the better of her.
The Veritaserum muffled her anger. Anger kept the panic at bay. The whole situation had a precarious feeling, as if when the potions fog cleared, she would find herself standing on a very fragile rope over a very, very deep canyon.
"It's common knowledge that a transformed werewolf is a mindless, bloodthirsty beast." She heard the scrape of his chair being pushed back, heard him moving, and kept her mouth shut. "And yet you claim that Greyback and his allies somehow figured out that you weren't one of them. While in werewolf form. Do you expect us to believe that?"
"It's true." Listen to his footsteps. Keep calm. How long had she been here? Minutes? Days?
"Is it?" He was very close now. Then once again she found her head being hauled back by a vicious grip on the braid, straining her neck. Cause to be grateful she'd chosen to plait her hair this morning: yes, they obviously found it far too convenient a handle, but at least it hurt less than if they'd been hauling her around by a fistful of loose hair. Which didn't mean it didn't hurt. She gritted her teeth and tried to tilt her head back further, to ease some of the strain.
“Why did you confront us armed, this morning, werewolf? Thinking there wouldn’t be so many of us? Figured you might be able to run? What are you trying to hide from us, little bitch?”
Too many questions at once. And the last one was too general; she was hiding many things, minor and major, from many people, when it came down to it, but none which the Ministry had any business asking her about. From them, she told herself, and hoped the potion would allow that qualification. He only asked what I’m hiding from them. The angle her neck was at made it hard to speak, but the potion wouldn’t let her keep silent. “No-thing,” she managed. “My wand… habit. Always carry my wand… to the door. Sa-safety-” She gasped as he pulled back harder.
“Safety. And who is it you think yourself in such danger from?”
“…c-can’t…” She tugged against his grip in spite of the extra pain, hoping he’d take the hint and let up a bit.
“Listen, bitch-”
“Reeve!” The hand gripping her hair released all at once and June’s head snapped forward. She concentrated on deep breaths as the Auror retreated across the room, to hold a low-voiced conference with another man. Though the Veritaserum still seemed to be fogging her senses, she caught a few words - solicitor, charges, release and, thankfully, now. And then two of the WCU thugs were beside her again, one of them moving behind her to release her hands, the other grabbing her arm and unceremoniously pulling her up; a rush of dizziness accompanied the sudden movement and she swayed, trying not to be sick.
A clatter on the floor at her feet betokened the return of her wand and the purloined glasses; she had to kneel to retrieve them or she might have fallen. With shaking hands she replaced the glasses on her face, ran her fingers over the familiar contours of the wand to be sure it wasn’t damaged, and slid it into her pocket. By the time she’d finished, the room was empty.
Almost. Over by where she believed to be the door was a single figure, no one she immediately recognized. “Jackson Bingley, Miss Connors,” he introduced himself as she warily picked her way over to him, and light dawned; Severus had mentioned the man when he'd flown through the house early this morning, but again, she'd nearly forgotten. “Mr. Glamis is waiting in the lobby. Will you permit me?”
As she took the arm he offered, she thought more welcome words had never been spoken.