Twenty
Aftershock
He fell into what he thought was a dreamless slumber only to find he had somehow been transported to Privet Drive. Beyond the sleepy sounds of early morning, he could distinguish the staccato engine of a jackhammer as it tore up the asphalt lanes just beyond his bedroom window. Whispered voices and a heavy tread down the stairs woke him from the drowsy mists much sooner than he would have liked. So much for a lie-in, Harry thought morosely, as he willed his body to remain motionless beneath the snowy bedcovers. The jackhammer must be working through the shingles on the very roof to judge by its relentless roar. He winced to block out the physical pain pounding on the insides of his eyelids.
Tentatively, he opened one bleary eye only to recoil from the light slicing like a knife blade through the window shears. Its intensity was white hot against his retinas even without his glasses.
Thirst. The overwhelming thirst of a parched throat drew him forth from his downy cocoon as numb fingers searched blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. With dizzying slowness, his surroundings came into focus. The unfamiliar blues of the bed linens roiled like the undulating waves of the ocean as they broke against the headboard. Only sheer willpower kept him from succumbing to the relentless tide that sought to drive him back under the bed sheets with the vague promise of floating into peaceful slumber once more.
With a start, he found that his bed was much larger than he remembered, a virtual ocean liner adrift on uncharted seas instead of his familiar one-man dinghy. Even more disconcerting was that he was not alone. A shadowy bundle lay next to him, a fan of hair splayed against the silvery pillow. He’d never shared a room with his cousin, Dudley; that was certain. His aunt would have never allowed such an invasion into her son’s sacred territory.
The illusion was shattered when the other body addressed him directly. “I would have thought you’d want to linger in bed this morning,” Ginny commented in a voice still thick with sleep. “At least until the smells of sizzling bacon tickled your nose.”
With a low groan, it all came flooding back to Harry. The Broom and Bucket Pub on Queerditch Marsh, loud and boisterous as it filled to capacity with the Quidditch elite. Too many Golden Snitches to count; his stomach having dealt with more than in his entire career as Seeker, that was for sure.
“If you don’t want separate bedrooms, I beg you not to mention food again,” Harry grumbled as he barely managed to keep his body upright. “What is that god-forsaken racket?”
Ginny took a moment to listen carefully then replied with a hint of amusement, “You mean the woodpecker outside?”
“Did he bring a whole regiment with him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Briefly, Harry considered his limited options. “What’s that spell Hermione used to turn canaries into kamikazes?” Let the bird try to extricate his beak when it was buried up to its eyes in the tree trunk.
“It won’t work.” Ginny predicted. “It only works on animals you have conjured yourself.”
“Right. Then how about I conjure a second woodpecker to bayonet the first one against the tree?”
Ginny giggled in spite of the implied animal cruelty. “Is that the best you can come up with for Plan B? Reducio at close quarters might be more efficient.”
“Fine by me. See if you can aim quietly out the open window sash.”
“You just need some tea and dry toast in your stomach,” she proposed, urging him to his wooden feet as she shrugged into her dressing gown.
The querulous voices of strident elephant seals resolved themselves into his godchildren’s attempts to convince their mother to let them breakfast on the patio.
“Maybe in a few weeks time,” Tonks agreed. “But the chill of winter still lingers…” One look at Harry’s bloodshot eyes and she relented. “Tell you what: if you throw on some proper jeans and woolen jumpers, I’ll have Dobby add a warming charm to your plates.”
Their cheers of joy resembled angry sea gulls against his ear drums as the marching tread of an army retreated into the far wing to don excursion gear. With a sharp outpouring of breath, Harry collapsed his body into the nearest chair, gingerly cradling his tussled head in his arms. His skull throbbed in the ten different spots that made contact with his unsteady fingers. This is exactly what a Quaffle must feel like after it’s been tossed about, he thought. Reconsidering, he amended: make that a Bludger that been slapped by a thousand bats.
“How many did you have last night?” Remus’ voice issued in quiet sympathy as he laid a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Not looking up, Harry admitted, “Too many to count.” His jumbled memories recalled swizzle sticks with little flapping wings which refused to stay in proper formation on the bar surface.
“According to Sirius’ sliding scale, that would qualify as a half-hearted attempt,” Remus remarked.
Setting a cup of steaming tea before Harry, Ginny commanded, “Sip it slowly. Dobby added his special remedy.” To Remus’ smiling eyes, she posed, “Why half-hearted?”
Happily munching on buttered scones, Remus expounded, “Not enough to actually kill himself; just enough to wish he had.”
Harry nodded morosely.
“What would have constituted a heroic effort worthy of a true Gryffindor?” Tonks inquired light-heartedly as she returned from settling the children outdoors.
“Anything that sent you to the Hospital Wing,” Remus shot back with a chuckle. “What were you drinking?”
“Harry concentrated on these fizzy cider drinks called Golden Snitches,” Ginny responded.
“One for every game Snitch I ever caught,” Harry mumbled darkly.
“And then some,” Ginny confided. “Don’t you remember how many times you retold how you once caught the ruddy thing in your mouth?”
Harry moaned wordlessly at the memory.
“Sounds like the Snitches snuck up on you, true to their name,” Tonks observed as she dug into a hearty plate of bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes.
“It was supposed to be a drink for light-weights,” Harry defended as he raised his head slightly. He consented to nibble a bit of dry toast at Dobby’s insistence.
“As you’ve proved conclusively,” Remus noted dryly.
“At least I had enough sense to stay away from something called a Thestral Dawn,” Harry commented with a pointed look at Ginny. “Glowing like radioactive waste over a sea of black vodka.”
“At least I knew to stop after two,” Ginny replied in an innocent tone. “And that was after I consumed a hearty bowl of lamb stew.”
“What about Viktor?” Tonks urged.
“He was downing something called a Dementor’s Kiss that left the glass iced over on the outside but smoked as ominously as Snape’s Wolfsbane Potion.” Harry jabbed Remus playfully in the ribs.
“Fred and George tried to top each other with this fruity concoction called a Bludger’s Revenge,” Ginny supplied merrily.
“Who won?” Remus asked with a laugh.
“Cyrus Broadmoor, the pub owner,” Harry opined. “After he demonstrated how to swallow these flaming shots--”
“Aptly named a Wronski Feint,” Ginny broke in.
“”and Fred and George slid off their stools in unison.”
“See, Remus,” Tonks noted with mock sternness, “that right there is why I always insist on securing a table.”
“Because it’s a shorter distance to the floor?” Remus retorted.
Harry consented to a few slices of bacon more to appease Dobby’s worried frown than anything else. “Truly, your remedy has my head back to its normal proportions,” he thanked the house-elf earnestly.
“Special recipe with mooncalf blossoms,” Dobby bobbed happily. “Dobby had much experience with swollen heads at Malfoy Manor.”
The ebullient laughter that greeted his remark left the elf somewhat perplexed.
“Did you mean as in overblown egos?” Tonks teased.
“Many parties late into the night,” Dobby corrected.
“So there were many blowhards present, you mean?” Ginny goaded.
“Don’t make him have to hurt himself,” Harry rebuked in a joking tone.
“Yes!” Dobby asserted.
“To which question?” Remus volleyed wickedly.
“Dobby’s answer is yes,” Dobby insisted with a stubborn gleam in his eyes as he looked at everyone in turn.
“Very diplomatic,” Ginny observed.
Remus confirmed, “A regular candidate for parliament.”
“Don’t even go there,” Harry warned playfully. “All I can think about is Hermione’s long-winded tirades about an Elfish Utopia.”
Ginny pulled a face at the memory. “I think Ron first started snogging her just to shut her up.”
“Blimey! Nothing else would work!” Harry affirmed. “I considered snogging her myself at one point --” At Ginny’s belligerent glare, he finished, “Yes, even if it meant a lifetime’s worth of bat-bogey hexes. The blessed silence would have been worth it!”
Harry jumped noticeably as the kitchen fireplace blazed green and Hermione’s head poked through. “Forgive the intrusion. I wasn’t sure what condition you’d be in.”
Through his laughter, Remus managed, “Looks like the worst is over. How about you?”
“Eleanor and I are fine. Ronald, on the other hand…” There was the distinct sound of groaning as Hermione glanced briefly over her shoulder. “Well, he’s had better days; let’s leave it at that.”
“Too many Viper’s Teeth, if you ask me,” Harry noted wryly.
“Really, now,” Hermione acknowledged with a determined set to her jaw. “He wasn’t very chatty when he stumbled in last night. Some half-baked grumbles about Slytherin green. I wondered if you’d run into Marcus Flint.”
“He probably feels like he encountered Flint’s fist,” Ginny hissed. “That concoction looked too much like green dragon’s blood for my taste!”
“Hagrid would have been in heaven!” Tonks mouthed just loudly enough so they could hear.
“Mistress Hermione,” Dobby suggested as he peered directly into the hearth. “Please move away from the fire and Dobby will send his patented remedy for Mister Ron.”
“I highly recommend it,” Harry echoed as Dobby poked his bony arm through the emerald flames. His long-fingered hand returned without the tumbler.
“I didn’t know you could transport goods through the fire,” Tonks observed. “How did you avoid sending it through the Floo network, Dobby?”
Dobby shrugged to indicate it was obvious. “Liquid would have spilled in strangers’ fireplaces otherwise.”
Hermione’s head returned to the embers with a decided smirk. “Ron says thank you. He looks a little less like a blanched turnip already.”
“Oi!” they heard in the background as Hermione dodged to the far side of the hearth.
Clearing her throat, Hermione’s expression turned serious. “Have you had a chance to read the Prophet this morning?”
“Not yet,” Remus responded as he idly watched Teddy and Phoebe feeding bits of their breakfast to the brown post owl perched on the edge of the wrought iron table. “Anything which needs my immediate attention?”
“Only if you want your blood pressure to go into orbit!” Hermione claimed sardonically. “Umbridge again.”
“Hasn’t the public had enough of her by now?” Tonks commented.
“Apparently not. Floo me back once you take a glance. Page three, bottom right.” With those terse words, Hermione signed off.
At least it’s not on the front page, Harry thought to himself, but Remus’ grim expression as he tossed the folded paper onto the center of the table said it all. In the background, Tonks shooed her children towards their bedrooms with a whispered command to make their beds and fold their pajamas.
“How bad is it?” Ginny posed as she leaned over Harry’s shoulder and absently rubbed the knots out of his suddenly tense shoulders. An op/ed piece sandwiched in the lower corner caught her eye.
In a move that has Ministry officials scratching their heads, recently retired Dolores Umbridge has spearheaded a citizen’s committee to scrutinize the misappropriation of Ministry resources.
“We’re not just looking at the galleons, mind you,” listeners heard Ms Umbridge proclaim over the airwaves yesterday. “Man-hours are also being spent on frivolous pursuits that benefit a select few at the expense of the needs of the many.”
When asked to elaborate, however, Umbridge could not point to any social programs that were being short-changed at the expense of more “elitist pursuits” as she likes to call them.
In a press conference carried over the WWN yesterday afternoon, Umbridge expounded on the ideals which are falling by the wayside. “It’s time for common citizens to make the bureaucracy prove itself,” she asserted with the fervor of a true visionary.
But one can’t help but note that just six months ago, Ms. Umbridge herself was a long-time Ministry employee, i.e. part of “the overgrown shrubbery that needs prudent pruning” according to her recent statements.
Ministry officials are baffled as to why she should target the recently established Historical Preservation Initiative when all those sites are open to the public free of charge.
“You can’t get more egalitarian than that!” Rufus Scrimgeour attested from his country home where he was reached for comment last night. “If anything, Dolores is to be commended for her extraordinary timing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to my guests.”
As an alumnus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, this reporter can’t help but remember Ms. Umbridge’s rampage of terror when she appointed herself as supreme overseer of British magical education. Does Ms. Umbridge truly represent the unspoken concerns of ordinary witches and wizards as she would like us to believe? Or are we to see a similar chaotic display of self-righteous ego?
While Harry and Ginny poured over the newspaper article, Remus knelt before the hearth to contact Hermione. From the doors leading out to the patio, Tonks watched with concern. Despite the boyish manner in which he hung his head, there was no mistaking that her husband’s playful demeanor had evaporated into a haggard scowl.
In the months since the publication of that anonymous treatise on werewolf superiority, it had become all too familiar. Too many nights had her feigning slumber while she felt the mattress shift as Remus despaired of going back to sleep. He studiously avoided the main part of the house, Dobby had informed her afterwards, and sought solace in the small patio adjoining the master suite. Occasionally, she’d hear his bare feet against the bathroom tiles as he filled a glass with water; or more likely, the soft ring of crystal as he poured himself a measure of brandy. If the nightmares had been particularly unsettling, Remus would even resign himself to the anti-anxiety medication Poppy Pomfrey had prescribed. The phosphorescent glow when diluted in water always managed to seep through Tonks’ closed eyelids. Not that she’d said anything to him; instinctively fearing he would burden himself even more by thinking he was heaping worry upon her shoulders as well.
Hermione’s words of concern brought her sharply back to the present. “The radio interview must have aired during the Quidditch match. That’s all I know for certain.”
“But if the Minister’s already commented on it…” Remus began.
“…Percy will have access to the data,” Ginny proclaimed.
“What about directly from the WWN?” Hermione suggested. “Would Ginny be able to procure some sort of audio recording?”
“Not until Monday,” Ginny replied. “Not unless I want to raise any suspicions.”
“We want the public to discount this as nothing more than Umbridge’s ranting,” Remus emphasized. “Our actions cannot betray us.”
“I’ll contact Molly at the Burrow, then,” Hermione announced. “If Percy’s not already there in preparation for Sunday dinner, she’ll know how I can get in touch with him.”
Molly assured them there was no need to apologize for anything; the standard Sunday dinner plans at the Burrow had disintegrated of their own accord. Bill and family were spending the weekend in France in honor of Mrs. Delacour’s 59th birthday “ which was being billed at her 39th, she commented wryly via the Floo. The twins had barricaded themselves in their room, promising to come down when the sunlight toned itself down to a bearable intensity “ perhaps at dusk.
Percy, it turned out, was with Penelope, trying in vain to appease her fears that the Ministry would discount her best efforts with the Riddle House. He confessed that he had dragged his weary body home to the Burrow in the wee hours of the morning himself. Not from a night of revelry, mind you, but from an emergency meeting in the Minister’s offices. In truth, they had done no more than review Umbridge’s latest remarks; food for thought as they prepared for the upcoming workweek. But it had not been a pleasant experience for Penny; and as soon as he swallowed a hurried breakfast that Sunday, Percy had returned to her flat.
“We don’t yet have a transcript of that toad’s comments for the Minister’s file,” his pinched features advised them from the slumbering embers. “Everything’s locked up at the Ministry at the moment. And while, yes, I have access to come and go at will on Sundays, there’s no telling if anyone will ask me to explain myself later.”
“Too many actions can seem suspicious in a time of peace,” Remus concurred.
Having arrived at Godric’s Hollow moments earlier, Ron spoke up with a workable alternative. “Look, Mum says she listened to the original broadcast on the wireless. Can’t we use a Pensieve to review her memory?” In a bare whisper, he added, “She’s not really as big a Quidditch fan as she always claims before us boys, you know.”
“What about Percy and Penny?” Harry added.
“Best we keep Penny out of this,” Percy suggested. “There’ll be no convincing her this isn’t a referendum on her hard work if she sees the Order calling roll. But there’s no need to bother Mum; I’m more than willing to give up a scrap of memory for the time being. Does anyone have a Pensieve?”
“In my office at Hogwarts,” Remus confirmed.
“I brought one home to catch up on some interrogations last summer and I don’t think I remembered to return it,” Harry supplied with a sheepishly grin.
“Well done!” Tonks cried as she returned from packing off Phoebe and Teddy for an impromptu visit to the zoo. With the day’s mild temperatures, her parents had only been too happy to oblige.
Ginny accepted Percy’s narrative with a determined set to her lips. “Perhaps Dobby can send along some of his patented potion. It certainly brought Harry back from the edge of the abyss.”
“I’m sure the twins will appreciate it but, somehow, you have to stay below Mum’s radar,” Percy made her promise. “I doubt they’ll find the decibel level of her diatribe much to their liking today.”
With a mischievous twinkle, Harry proposed, “I’m sure you’ll manage it, Percy. Tonks suggested the remedy would be so much better received if it came from you.”
“Not to mention that it will give you an excuse to leave Penny alone for a few hours,” Remus added.
It was not a particularly pleasant sensation, Percy decided as he watched the glistening strand of memory curl seductively in the deep Pensieve bowl. Such a tiny fraction of his being and yet he felt incomplete. The empty shelf in his mind where he’d catalogued yesterday’s interview beckoned hollowly, reminding him of the phantom aches amputees often describe in non-existent limbs.
“Just sit back in that squashy chair and relax,” Tonks urged as Dobby dutifully placed a small teapot at his elbow.
“Close your eyes if that will help you to unwind,” Remus suggested. “The nagging sensation will dissipate as soon as you hear the voices coming from the Pensieve once again.”
It made perfect sense, Percy decided; a new memory to substitute for the original as he tried to ignore the queasiness building up in his stomach.
“You won’t feel quite like yourself until we return the original strand,” Harry commiserated.
Their plans put into motion, it wasn’t long before the twins themselves arrived at Godric’s Hollow amid a veritable dust storm of Floo Powder. They had no sooner disentangled their arms and legs from one another than they were presenting Dobby with a gift.
“It is not necessary to reward Dobby,” the house-elf protested as his eyes grew wide with anticipation. “Mistress Molly just hadn’t time to replenish her stores after the Christmas celebrations.”
“Yeah,” Fred nodded. “Only we didn’t expect Mum to be quite so accommodating this time around.”
“Not when the entire family hadn’t come down with the same malady,” George concluded.
Ginny gave them a sage look. “Somehow if Dad’s under the weather as well, she restricts herself to just reproachful looks.”
“Which are easily ignored,” Fred concurred.
“And blessedly silent,” George added. “Go on, Dobby. Tear into that paper so everyone can admire our latest product.”
With a quick glance at the eager faces around him, Dobby extended one long, bony finger and waved it in a small circle. Almost immediately, the bright cording untied itself as the foil wrapping dissolved into thin air. With exaggerated care, Dobby unfolded a diminutive cranberry jacket with black stain lapels. His large eyes washed over the fabric lovingly as he thanked them profusely for their generosity.
“So elegant, too,” the elf gushed.
Fred smiled encouragingly. “Gryffindor red. Although we felt that gold lapels would have just been--”
“”utterly and completely wrong,” George advised. “Let’s see if we got the size right.”
Dobby didn’t need any more encouragement to slide his knobby arms into the crisp sleeves. As he looked down at himself with unabashed pride, Fred urged, “Now put something in the pocket.”
George handed Dobby an apple from the basket sitting atop the kitchen counter.
With a slight frown, Dobby complied “ only to have his face light up in wonder. “Where did it go?” he marveled as he held out an empty pocket for everyone to see.
“Magically transported,” Fred supplied.
“For safekeeping,” George echoed.
“But where?” Dobby insisted.
“To the top of your dresser,” Fred confided in a bare whisper.
“In case I have need of a midnight snack!” Dobby concurred happily. “Oh, you are indeed too kind. Dobby won’t have to worry about dropping things he transports to his quarters ever again!”
Catching their eye deliberately, Tonks ushered the twins into the next room so Dobby could attend to his duties without distraction. They exchanged a nod with Percy who was relaxing in a deep armchair in the main sitting room, but Remus warned them to let their brother be as he was still feeling a bit peaked.
“What’s the truth of it?” Ginny demanded as soon as they were in Remus’ study and well out of Dobby’s range of hearing.
“Out with it,” Remus urged. “You two are hardly known for running a haberdashery.”
“I don’t know what you mean…” Fred began only to be cut short by Tonks wagging her wand in his face.
“Cut to the chase,” she insisted sweetly. “Is Dobby going to disappear himself if he manages to turn his jacket inside out?”
George cackled outright. “I hadn’t thought of that! Make a note of that variation, will you, Bro?”
“Already on it,” George instantly returned.
“So how exactly is this product marketed in your stores?” Remus prodded.
“Well, it’s rather intended for absent-minded types,” Fred allowed as he eyed Tonks’ wand warily.
“Those who are always losing things and drive their families to distraction,” George seconded.
“So instead of the inevitable scavenger hunt, this product deposits all objects in a single location for easy retrieval,” Fred concluded.
“Only if they remember to place them in the pocket,” Ginny pointed out.
“Nothing’s perfect,” George defended.
“True, but it’s a natural inclination to place things in your pockets,” Tonks allowed as she sheathed her wand.
“So how does it work?” Remus implored in a tone that sounded exactly like Teddy’s. “Transporter spell?”
As Fred and George happily explained the mechanics of their newest product, Tonks turned her attention to the newest arrivals. Molly had done a good job of getting the word out through her “daisy chain” communication network. In the background, she could still hear the twins expounding about how the homing device could be set to any locale so the victim could be tormented in various and ingenious ways.
“Returning objects from whence they came?” Remus suggested with the Marauder’s trademark grin.
“Can only be set to one destination at a time,” George cautioned.
“Great suggestion, Remus,” Fred remarked. “Have anyone in mind?”
“Not really, but I suspect you do.”
“Us?” the twins replied, practically in unison.
“Let us in on the prank and we won’t report you,” Harry insisted.
“Is this how you run Gryffindor House, Professor?” Fred intoned with feigned outrage.
“We’re not at Hogwarts,” Remus reminded them handily.
“But I take it your subject is?” Ginny surmised with glee.
“We rather had our eye on Filch,” Fred admitted as his twin kept a careful watch that Tonks was occupied with welcoming Xenophilius.
“Got our hands on some of that nondescript tweed he seems to favor,” George confided.
“You mean the color that resembles leaf litter in the Forbidden Forest?” Ginny quipped.
“Planning another Christmas gift?” Harry interjected. “That was brilliant with the Probity Probe, you know. Made it into Professor Flitwick’s Hall of Fame even.”
“Too long a wait,” George protested. “End of term would be better.”
Immediately seizing the flaw in their plan, Remus volunteered, “Not all the faculty are on hand over the summer term break, you know.”
“Right,” George allowed thoughtfully.
“Easter gift?” Harry suggested but was met with a round of quizzical faces. “It’s just that some Muggles give candy baskets as if delivered by the Easter bunny…” He trailed off as it occurred to him that this was just another example of Muggles seeking to bring a bit of trumped up magic into their dreary lives.
“If only we knew when his birthday was,” Fred sighed.
“Those records are locked up tighter than the Chamber of Secrets, though,” George attested.
With a wry chuckle, Remus noted, “I take it you boys tried to uncover that bit of trivia while you were at school.”
“Think of the various events they could have planned,” Harry dreamed.
“He would have been too suspicious,” Ginny opined.
“Remus, you don’t think as a faculty member you could…” Fred left the rest of his sentence dangling.
“No.”
“Where’s your Marauder’s spirit?” Harry chided.
“Is this how you repay us for allowing you onto the official planning committee?” George moaned.
“Besides the fact that you’ll be wanting my private personnel records next,” Remus demurred, “I maintain, gentlemen, that is it totally irrelevant. Best to use a random day; that way, he won’t suspect a thing.”
“Won’t he wonder why he’s getting a gift, though?” Harry questioned, not fathoming how Remus could have worked through that detail.
“You can still label it as a birthday gift,” Remus proposed. “Such misdirection will just make him that much more curious.”
“I get it!” Ginny confirmed eagerly. “He’ll think himself doubly lucky at the expense of some poor bloke who couldn’t get his dates straight.”
Remus’ wicked smile increased in magnitude.
“Absolutely brilliant!”
“Diabolical, even!”
“Where do we sign up to become honorary Marauders?” Fred emphasized.
“Just promise me you won’t pull this off when I’m away from the castle,” Remus begged. “That’s all I ask in return for my strategic skill.”
“Where are you planning to misdirect his belongings?” Harry inquired. “The Headmistress’ office?”
Through his laughter, Remus cautioned, “You’d have to let her in on it, if you did.”
“How about the Room of Requirement?” Ginny put forth.
“Oooh, too cruel!” George laughed. “He’d never get his stuff back!”
“Can’t make our charm cooperate with that ancient magic,” Fred stipulated. “Sorry.”
Barely able to control his laughter, Harry stammered, “What if he puts Mrs. Norris in his pocket?”
“Will it be big enough?” Ginny wondered.
“Absolutely,” Fred promised. “I’ll see to it personally.”
With sudden inspiration, George blurted, “Perhaps we could line the fabric with catnip!”
Much to everyone’s regret, the view across the foyer showed the main drawing room was rapidly filling up. With only Tonks and Dobby to welcome their guests, the animated discussion was tabled until later “ although the twins could still be heard planning in hushed whispers along the sidelines.
Solemn faces in a circle. Pinched lips and narrowed eyes.
The hostility radiating from the assembled members of the Order of the Phoenix was palatable as they concentrated intently on Umbridge’s latest bit of poisoned posturing.
Having listened from the next room while the words had been transposed by a Quick Quotes Quill which Hermione had modified into a strict stenographer’s mode, Percy was no longer feeling the loss of his memory quite so keenly. As the others watched the ghostly images issuing forth from the Pensieve, he had a rare opportunity to observe the gathering.
Tonks’ brain had clearly shifted into problem-solving mode as she absently chewed on the end of her quill. Snape’s dark eyes bored into the transcript he held in his hands while Ginny’s anger fairly sparked from her eyes. But it was Remus who intrigued Percy the most for the man actually seemed relaxed with his arm thrown over the back of the sofa, his long legs casually stretched out before him. Appearances never told the complete story when it came to Remus; Percy had come to that conclusion long ago. When riled, the man could be coldly calculating behind his self-effacing demeanor. May Merlin and all the past and future saints help anyone who came between him and his family. Despite what the Auror Department had ineptly maintained so many years ago, it had absolutely nothing to do with being a werewolf, either.
Vividly, Percy recalled the dossier of Remus’ last interrogation which had come across his desk at the Ministry. The fevered investigation into Sirius Black had expanded exponentially without yielding any tangible results other than the file becoming so thick it needed to be separated into units. It had been an oddly sobering moment when he determined that Remus’ interrogations merited a folder onto themselves. What’s more, the summary of the last session included a carefully cushioned vial protecting a wispy tendril of memory. What was so important it had been encapsulated in such a manner for the Minister’s review? And why hadn’t it been done for previous interviews?
For most of the morning, Percy struggled with a blend of curiosity and concern for a man whom he considered his friend. Finally giving in, he waited until Fudge stuck his head past the communicating door and announced he was taking a leisurely lunch. No need alarming the Minister unnecessarily, or even overburdening him, Percy argued to himself. These were touchy times indeed; the Minister worried that public opinion would turn against him for installing Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts amid vague accusations of Dumbledore’s senility.
Fudge had always been an overly jovial sort in public, even when the situation would have been better served by a show of executive gravitas. Lately though, he’d become edgy, for lack of a better word; the glossy surface of years in office marred by sudden uncertainty. Like a man who was staring at numerous paths, all which led to varying circles in his own personal hell, Percy decided.
Not daring to appropriate the full-sized Pensieve kept in the Minister’s coat cupboard, Percy instead dug out the tiny desktop version from the depths of his credenza. A thick layer of dust indicated it had been rarely used due to its strict limitations. But for Percy’s needs, it would have to do. A full body immersion was impossible, but the figures could be coerced to hover above the rim like wraiths for his review. Better to keep a concurrent eye on the doors to his office, he reminded himself.
It was not as easy as others had made it out to be; but an old spell book in the Ministry’s cavernous library detailed the appropriate wand movements and incantation. He had begun to think of the magical words as imprecations when he was finally met with success.
The shuffling of chairs and rustling fabric in the background established there were others present in the interrogation chamber, although only Remus could be seen sitting in the small straight-backed chair. There was something off about his mood, Percy surmised immediately; not insolent, as such, but weary -- as if his infinite store of patience was finally nearing its end.
Not breaking eye contact, Remus leaned back and crossed his long legs before him. “You have a strange way of showing you missed my scintillating company, gentlemen,” he issued with a disarming smile. “Lunch at the Leaky Cauldron would have been a friendlier gesture, don’t you think?”
Appreciative chuckles from off camera attested to Remus’ familiarity with his captors, but Percy did not fail to notice the man’s eyes were guarded.
“’fraid we can’t offer you a dram o’ Firewhiskey, Lupin,” one of the questioners drawled. “But I doubt anyone would report us if we broke with standard procedures and offered you a smoke.”
Remus withdrew a cigarette from the pack and waited for one of his hosts to light it with a wand tip. A wheeled metal cart was unceremoniously shoved to his elbow as an astray materialized in its center. With utmost casualness, Remus took a long draw and languidly exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling.
Percy was absolutely floored! He’d never known Remus to smoke, not in all the years he’d known the man. As a matter of fact, Remus had rather struck Percy as the sort who prided himself on healthful living and categorically vilified smokers on principle alone.
Mesmerized, Percy watched the familiar cadence of the questions hammered at Remus and his polite denials that he had any more information than the last time. Then out of left field, the interviewer caught Remus unawares.
“What gives, Lupin? You’re as jumpy as a kangaroo in a crate.” The same voice as the man who had offered the smokes.
Masterfully, Remus blew a narrow trail of smoke right in his questioner’s face as he locked eyes. “You have my dossier. You tell me what’s normal for a Quasi-Domesticated Insular Werewolf.”
A bit of raucous laughter from the second fellow who suggested sardonically, “No fleas or ticks, teeth look good, no bald patches in your fur. A bit undernourished, though. Have you been taking your vitamins like a good boy?”
Coolly, Remus played along. “Again if you’re so concerned about my dietary habits, an offer of lunch would have been appreciated.”
“You look like a man who has issues…”
“A werewolf always has issues,” Remus replied ever so softly.
“More than the usual panoply?”
“A whole Pantheon, gentlemen. But my personal problems are not really relevant,” Remus allowed closely.
Looking carefully at the image before him, Percy noted how drawn Remus’ features looked. When was the last time the man had eaten his fill, he wondered, as skeletal wrist bones poked from threadbare shirt sleeves.
Remus flinched as a third voice was heard, “Domestic troubles, Lupin? Too many bitches or too few?”
The rise and fall of Remus’ chest was the clearest indication he was fighting for control. Stony silence stretched on as he lit a new fag from the pack with the spent one in the ashtray.
Remus’ eyes fairly smoldered as he issued through terse lips, “As you well know, boys, I’m nothing but a lone wolf, graying around the edges. Surely your wives wouldn’t appreciate you sniffing about my castoffs?”
Like a flash, one of the questioners lurched into view, his hand drawn back as if to slap Remus across the face.
“It’s not worth getting written up, Sid,” his partner warned as Sid was pulled back and presumably into his chair. “Does it surprise you that he’s so much like his friend, Black? He always had a bevy of females swooning in his wake even when he was just a lowly fourth year.”
“Don’t provoke him,” Sid cautioned.
Hearing this, Remus taunted acerbically, “Other than words, what other weapons do I possess? Even an Animagus needs a wand to transform and mine is being held for safekeeping outside this room. The first twitch and I’ll be cut down with a Stunner.”
“Black was just like that. Always had a ready reply to everything. Thought he was king of Hogwarts.”
“All ancient history, gentlemen,” Remus remarked impassively. “Sirius Black was deposed from his throne long ago. I doubt many women would be attracted to the recruiting poster you’ve plastered all over Britain. And I will thank you to remember that anyone who betrayed the Potters could hardly be considered my friend.”
What was Remus playing at? Percy wondered to himself; for there was no longer any doubt he was witnessing a masterful performance. The cigarettes were nothing more than a prop being used to divert attention from the real issue. Did they not realize that Remus was feeling them out just as much as they were him?
Sid issued a dark laugh. “You’ve been warned not to kill Black if he shows up unannounced on your doorstep. Save him for the barbecue so we can all enjoy.”
Remus raised his eyebrows in query. “So gratifying to know you’re not concerned he might try to kill me first.”
“Black doesn’t strike me as the type to tie up loose ends. Bet he left many birds hanging by the wire when they hauled him off to Azkaban. What do you say to that, Lupin?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I abandoned any attempts to keep up with Sirius’ conquests after I filled up my first scorecard at school. Pettigrew was the one who liked to live vicariously.”
“A lot of good it did him, poor bloke!” Sid scoffed. “Tied his coattails to a heartless maniac…”
“Speaking of heartless,” Remus volunteered. “Have you boys considered chatting up some of those women who Sirius might have left behind? Just in case he was seeking out a bit of female company after his escape.”
“And face the ire of their husbands?” Sid’s partner sneered. “I’m not that suicidal.”
Remus smirked in appreciation. “Well, I assure you, if he shows up on my doorstep, it will be with a ready hex, not a kiss.”
Percy was not certain whether Fudge had ever reviewed that vial before his resignation, but he was certain Scrimgeour had. There was a terse memorandum added to the file in Gawain Robards’ hand advising all Aurors that Mr. Lupin was not be interrogated without due cause in the future. And they’d better have photographs to prove it.
A small scrawl at the bottom of the memo had supplied: “Werewolves still have some rights under due process. Any violations of these warnings could give Mr. Lupin grounds to sue the Ministry for inappropriate harassment. Remember that it will be our own lawyers from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures who will likely defend his actions.” It was signed by Amos Diggory.
Amid the turmoil of the impromptu gathering of the Order, Percy could not say for certain what had reminded him of that moment. Perhaps the steely determination in Remus’ eyes recalled how stressed he had appeared in those dark days. Despite his easy going manner, it was no secret that the nameless werewolf manifesto had shaken the very foundations of Remus’ existence. If anything, it made it that much more difficult for him to maintain that he was fundamentally just like everyone else. Not that the man he was bore any resemblance to that degenerate, Percy affirmed silently, but life had taught Remus that he could not depend on others to make the same distinction.
At Percy’s right elbow, a sharp cough from Minerva McGonagall drew his attention back to the present. Coming up was the part of the interview which had so infuriated Penelope.
“What do you think of the Ministry’s efforts to make the past come to life?” the reporter posed with false cheer.
As if reciting a much rehearsed phrase, Umbridge allowed, “It’s an admirable undertaking.”
“Why do you hesitate, Ms. Umbridge? Do you feel it’s a wrong-footed plan?”
With a melodramatic sigh, Umbridge responded, “Perhaps it’s too much idealism in a world that calls for realism above all else.” Percy could just imagine her eyes slitting in reptilian fashion, but such details were not captured by the wireless.
“Could you elaborate for our listeners?”
“The tale of the poor girl who latches on to her gentrified and handsome neighbor is a clear warning that magic should be used judiciously. Just as the Statute of Secrecy mandates: Muggles should not be drawn into the magical world; not all of them appreciate it.”
“Do you think Tom Riddle, Senior, turned against her because he felt inadequate as a Muggle?”
“There’s no way to tell,” Umbridge simpered. “Clearly social climbing did not turn out well for this unfortunate creature. But if you ask me, that worthy lesson was diluted by the overwrought finale in the graveyard. I could have done without that entirely!”
“Was it too shocking?” the reporter prompted as if on cue.
In a voice swimming with treacherous treacle, Umbridge maintained, “It was too unsubstantiated. It’s always the same when Harry Potter is involved. Now that he’s no longer a misguided lad, I’m less tolerant of his over-blown antics. Grow up, I say.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Haven’t you stopped to think, dear, that every grand phenomenon which our intrepid Mr. Potter encounters seems to come with a deplorable lack of witnesses? With no one to corroborate his tale, he can spin it out to fantastic lengths.”
“But the Priori Incantatem is a documented phenomenon!”
Seated on the floor before him, Percy could hear Ginny whisper to Harry that her associate, Eunice, always did her homework.
“He could have read about it in a book, same as you,” Umbridge dismissed sharply. “He may not have been much for library research himself, but I seem to remember a close friend of his was. All answers were to be found in books, she seemed to think.”
“You faceless hypocrite!” Hermione hissed from the far side of the room. “That’s the very pack of lies you told us when you claimed we could learn defensive spells from reading a textbook alone.”
“I understand your concerns, Ms. Umbridge,” Eunice supplied evenly. “But the Priori Incantatem requires two wands to react to one another.”
“Yes, but the dead do not testify “ or agree to interviews for that matter.” Umbridge’s girlish giggle was chilling. “So that lets He-Who’s-Been-Defeated off; Pettigrew is presumed dead, although his body has never been recovered. That leaves a whole host of dark followers who have been relocated handily to Azkaban. Why have none of them spoken up?”
“Perhaps because there’s nothing to add to the story,” Eunice dared.
“Perhaps no one thought to ask for their recount of the events in question,” Umbridge amended in a frosty tone.
“We have other witnesses, though. When the phenomenon occurred a second time, the freedom fighters who were awarded Orders of Merlin can all attest to what happened.”
“Quite an elite group, wouldn’t you say? There are those who might wonder if they have been handsomely rewarded for their complicity.”
Eunice only allowed a hint of breathiness to enter into her voice, but it was enough to show that Umbridge had managed to get under her skin. “Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for today if I’m to keep to the programming schedule. We have been visiting with Dolores Umbridge and I’m Eunice Sharpe for the Wizarding Wireless Network.”