Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Twenty-One
Spectres of the Past
Grim silence echoed from the high ceilings of the drawing room as the misty dregs of the memory cycled to a close. Harry handed the Pensieve to Percy and watched wordlessly as the glistening strand was returned to its owner’s mind.
In a voice quavering with pent up ire, Minerva McGonagall cried, “That loathsome woman! We’re past the point where I can excuse her misplaced loyalty as a by-product of Hufflepuff House.”
“Surely Umbridge was in Slytherin!” Ron asserted.
Harry shook his head. “Mrs. Figg discovered the truth as part of her research for the museum display.”
“Shows how the ideals of loyalty can be subverted,” Tonks opined with a dark scowl.
“Twisted ideology,” Remus supplied curtly.
“But every single member of her Inquisitorial Squad was in Slytherin!” Hermione protested.
“Very true,” the Headmistress affirmed. “Who else would have been attracted to such a trail of slime?”
A deep voice cleared its throat ominously as a shadow detached itself from the far wall. “Surely, you don’t mean to cast aspersions on my House,” Snape issued with a dangerous edge. “I have no lost love for that Pestilence in Pink myself!”
When had Snape joined the gathering? Harry pondered amid the nervous titters which followed.
“Forgive me for misspeaking, Severus,” Minerva remarked smoothly. “Slytherin House may cultivate cruelty, but it does not have a monopoly.”
There was a sharp intake of breath in anticipation of Snape’s acid barrage, but it never came. With dark embers smoldering in the depths of his eyes, he grudgingly acknowledged, “Touché!”
Stepping fearlessly into the fray, Hermione ventured, “If you’ll excuse an observation from the Muggle world…” She waited until she commanded everyone’s attention. “This situation reminds me of those who refused to believe the Holocaust actually took place.”
Kingsley nodded his dark head, but before he could respond, Ron interjected, “Or those yahoos who refuse to believe the Yanks landed a man on the moon “ even though their flag can be seen through a high-powered telescope.”
“I’m not entirely certain about that last part,” Remus chuckled. “But you make your point.”
“I propose we launch Umbridge into outer space,” Fred announced.
“Have her give us a first-hand account,” George added.
“Don’t forget the rose-colored spacesuit!” Hestia Jones amended sweetly.
“Thank you, Fred, George, Hestia, for reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously,” Kingsley replied through a barely contained smirk. “I would, however, like to follow-up on Hermione’s analogy with the Nazi death camps.” Addressing her directly, he encouraged, “So how did Muggles demonstrate the true facts? Perhaps there’s something to be learned from their methods.”
Hermione chewed her lip as her mind struggled for a good response. “Well, firstly, they erected memorials; but we took care of that with the War Museum.”
“Check. What else?”
“The bodies which could be identified were buried so everyone could pay their respects,” she added, her mind searching for facts of an era long before she was born.
“Do we know whether Umbridge even took note of Voldemort’s smoldering corpse? Surely, it assaulted her nostrils on the way to work each day,” Elphias Doge put forth.
“Why would she?” Minerva retorted angrily. “It was just a faceless imposter in her book!”
“What about other casualties?” Arthur suggested. “There were numerous victims of escalating Death Eater activity.”
“You just answered your own question, Arthur,” Mad-Eye Moody growled. “To her, Death Eaters were nothing but a bunch of fringe fanatics acting on their own.”
“Perhaps I can help,” Mrs. Figg volunteered as she cleared her throat nervously. “I was only a young girl at the time, but the nightly terrors of that great Muggle conflict burned themselves into my memory. One of my best playmates had Jewish grandparents and cousins in Germany. She used to chatter all the time about how much fun we were all going to have when they came to visit over the summer “ only they never did. It was years later when I realized her parents had been feeding her false hopes to avoid explaining the Final Solution to a ten-year-old.”
“Thanks, Figgy,” Hermione sighed in relief. “I think those events predated even my own parents.”
“Glad to help,” Mrs. Figg flashed a smile that faded quickly before the grim memories of her childhood. “Muggles organized pilgrimages of sorts to the sites of the most gruesome atrocities “ so that others could bear witness to the worst in man and prevent it from ever happening again.”
“We can’t very well invite Umbridge to visit our private home,” Ginny supplied. “What would she see anyway? Other than the Memory Room.”
“The Memory Room is for the exclusive use of family and friends, not outsiders,” Tonks intoned fiercely. “And the area where Harry and Neville cut down Voldemort himself has been renovated.”
Forensic science might still be able to extract DNA evidence, Hermione pondered, but blithely concluded that would hardly convince Umbridge. Instead, she observed, “The Muggle peerage often open their stately homes to visitors certain days of …”
Remus’ glare cut off that line of thought. In a clipped voice, he remarked, “I’d hate to think we’d been reduced to that sort of pretentiousness.”
“First-hand accounts were also very persuasive,” Mrs. Figg offered. “But we already have those in the museum as well.”
“I doubt any of that will change her tune,” Snape dismissed with a curt wave of his hand. “You’re approaching it as if she doesn’t know the truth of the matter instead of how to clip her wretched little wings.”
“Severus has a point,” Moody concurred. “She’s too stubborn to back down.”
“So how do we entice her to scurry back into her rank little hollow?” Ron interjected, his temper barely banked.
Xenophilius cleared his throat as he waited for all heads to turn in his direction. “Seems to me that it’s a fool’s errand to defend a truth that’s staring us in the face. Better to attack the source of the misinformation.”
“Attack Umbridge directly?” Elphias Doge gasped at the ungentlemanly suggestion.
“I know it flies in the face of the idealism we have always espoused,” Remus considered. “But it may be our only option at this point.”
With an encouraging nod, Xenophilius urged, “It strikes me that this Umbridge woman was not particularly adept at making friends. Surely we could find someone willing to speak out against her.”
“How about the entire Hogwarts faculty?” Snape snorted with a dour grimace.
“Old news,” Ginny spoke up with authority. “Even the trail of Veritaserum abuse which Percy unearthed can’t be substantiated.”
“Regardless of what happened at Hogwarts,” Moody groused, “she can just assert she was following Fudge’s mandate.”
Harry nodded grimly. “All those Educational Decrees are displayed in the museum for everyone to see.”
“Her behavior at Hogwarts can’t have been unique,” Xenophilius posited. “Was she involved in any other Machiavellian crusades prior to that?”
Amid an exchange of stealthy looks, Tonks had the courage to speak up. “Umbridge gained quite a reputation in the Ministry for her restrictive legislation.”
“Werewolf issues,” Moody added. “Turned it into a regular pogrom, she did.”
Amos Diggory issued a nervous cough as he took up the trail, “Perhaps Hermione’s analogy is not so flawed after all. Need I remind you of the werewolf relocation camps? Even though much of the details were established during Umbridge’s Hogwarts assignment, she was instrumental in drafting the framework.”
“But was the intent the same?” gasped Dedalus Diggle. “I’m old enough to remember the Nazi threat just as much as Arabella.”
Remus nodded with sad solemnity as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Albus certainly thought so. That was one of the reasons he was so keen on having me infiltrate one of the less prominent camps. Claimed they were the first step towards genocide.”
“That sounds too much like something from Voldemort’s bag of tricks!” Hestia protested. “How could the Ministry have gone along with such a plan?”
“They billed it as a social program,” Amos elaborated as Remus shot him a grateful look. “A bit of government intervention for unemployed werewolves. It could be argued the Ministry owed it to them since Umbridge’s laws systematically limited their job opportunities.”
“Theresienstadt,” Mrs. Figg muttered under her breath. Then with renewed courage, she reiterated, “It’s just like Thereseindstadt! The model Jewish settlement which was established in Czechoslovakia. It was later uncovered to be just a sham “ nothing more than a staging ground for Jews to be shipped off to extermination camps.”
“We’d expect that from the Death Eaters, but not from our own government!” Arthur railed amid much angry muttering.
“Umbridge was a Death Eater,” Percy pronounced to instant silence. “The evidence has just eluded us.”
“As we destroyed Hufflepuff’s Cup, there was a memory within detailing a strategic meeting between Voldemort and Umbridge,” Harry volunteered.
“They were playing Fudge as the unwitting stooge,” Ron elaborated.
“All the more reason to expose her true colors for all to see,” Kingsley emphasized.
“But how could such a thing go on right under our noses?” Bill ranted, working his way nearer to the center of the group. “Not everyone in the Ministry could have been so blind.”
“Blindsided, more like!” Hermione muttered angrily.
“I know for certain that Albus journeyed to London to address the Wizengamot in person,” Minerva volunteered with quiet dignity. “They chose to ignore his counsel.”
Kingsley concurred with a stern set to his lips. “Indeed. I remember finding him pacing the halls angrily, the air around him fairly crackling with lightning bolts of pent up magic.”
In a bare whisper, Elphias added, “There were those who had the temerity to call him a paranoid old fossil.”
“Fudge himself commented that he was ‘confusing us with the adversaries of his youth’,” Percy added thoughtfully. “It was in the transcript I filed away. I never really knew what the conclave was about before now.”
In an ethereal tone, Luna cut to the heart of the matter, “So Fudge sent Umbridge to Hogwarts to demonstrate that Dumbledore was inept. Not so much to subjugate learning, but so the Headmaster wouldn’t interfere in their plans.”
Harry sat up straighter as he recalled Dumbledore’s sage words regarding the near debacle he himself had weathered at Umbridge’s hands. The sad droop of his beard had contrasted sharply with the blue sparkle in his eyes as the stately wizard defended, “It’s an unfortunate fact of life that there will always be those who are willing to tell lies about us. It is our duty to disprove them with our actions. This is especially true for anyone in the public eye.”
At the time, Harry’s impassioned response had been colored by the outrage burning within him. “How could you just let them drag you away?” he’d cried.
“They didn’t,” Dumbledore clarified with an air of nonchalance. “But they were under the mistaken belief that they could usurp the power of my office by simply taking it by force. My absence exposed their lies for everyone to see.”
The very same thing applied here, Harry concluded with sudden clarity. The wily old fox had seen through their subterfuge, letting them play out their charade and expose themselves in the process. “So torturing the students and staff was not her primary goal after all,” Harry surmised aloud.
“No doubt she considered it a fringe benefit,” Snape interjected.
“Knowing how kind-hearted the personnel in the Magical Creatures Department are, how could they go along with such a plan?” Hermione demanded.
“Many didn’t,” Amos stressed. “There was a minor revolt of sorts. But in true bureaucratic fashion, they were allowed to transfer into other areas.”
“So their actions had no real weight,” Bill noted with a scowl.
“Only for themselves,” Amos supplied. “They were required to sign a detailed non-disclosure statement. All manner of penalties could apply if they gave voice to their misgivings.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Arthur protested. “That type of subservient silence is only required of those in the Department of Mysteries.”
“Hence the term Unspeakables,” Percy confirmed. “But this other type of contract would not have been standard procedure within the Ministry. That in itself makes it extremely suspicious.”
“So there’s little chance of these disgruntled employees coming forth, you’re saying?” Kingsley summarized.
“Actually, quite the opposite,” Hermione proclaimed amid startled looks. “The archives are in such shambles, it’s doubtful anyone could lay their hands on those nondisclosure agreements.”
“But without the contracts, how can you prove a conspiracy?” Ron questioned.
“Identical reports from varying sources -- yet the records have been misplaced,” Moody surmised. “Smells like a cover-up to me.”
“But could you prove it?” Hestia Jones insisted.
“You wouldn’t need to,” Xenophilius affirmed with fervor. “The declaration of these individuals would be enough to require a rebuttal. Then the Ministry “ and by extension, Umbridge -- would need to disprove the employees’ statements.”
“What about those employees who stayed?” Luna pressed. “How could they stand to enforce such heinous practices?”
Amos sat up a little taller as he responded directly, “We tempered those directives as best we could. Tried to maintain compassion in the face of intolerance. Not too much different from what we’ve always done.”
“Despite the punitive atmosphere, I can honestly say that none of the personnel at the encampments treated the inmates brusquely,” Remus testified.
“Perhaps you should elaborate a bit for our younger members,” Kingsley suggested softly. “Those who were not present when you detailed your findings before Dumbledore and the rest of the Order.”
Remus nodded wordlessly as he took up the narrative in a dispassionate tone, “It was a motley group of individuals. Some older men who played at draughts and backgammon most of the day, the women looking after the children who had been abandoned by their parents. Failing to make the act of being a werewolf a crime, the Ministry had to settle for prosecuting the unfortunates who were being supported by other family members. Those who truly posed a danger and deserved imprisonment ironically remained at large. Fenrir Greyback and rumored others could all prove they were gainfully employed “ and that was enough to satisfy the Ministry guidelines.”
It had been too glib a response, Harry concluded. Despite emotions the man couldn’t totally sublimate, Remus’ summary of those six months had barely scratched the surface. Who knew what true horrors lay beneath?
The tight grip of Ginny’s hand conveyed she was of a like mind. Only she had been allowed to visit Remus during the long convalesce which followed his undercover assignment. He had been a shadow of himself, she had whispered to Harry years later. The months of hiding behind a false identity twenty-four hours a day had made him feel like a stranger in his own skin, or so Madame Pomfrey had explained. That, too, was probably an overly simplistic interpretation.
“You knew about zis…atrocity… and yet did nozing!” Fleur glared into Remus’ haunted eyes.
“I’m certain Dumbledore wouldn’t have turned his back on these people,” Kingsley affirmed. “But Remus was sent on a fact-finding mission only.”
“Don’t look to me,” Remus replied. “I was laid up with the worst case of werewolf pneumonia Poppy Pomfrey had ever witnessed.”
“Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn’t get a chance to share the rest of his plans before his untimely demise,” Minerva supplied.
“And soon thereafter, there was no need,” Amos expounded. “The camps were labeled a drain on Ministry resources with little to show in return and allowed to disband. Very quietly, I might add.”
Just how would they assault Umbridge’s credibility? the discussion continued. By mutual consent “ and much to Remus’ relief “ it was determined that he should remain in the background. Eyewitness testimony aside, he was too close to Harry and thereby likely to be summarily discounted by Umbridge as nothing more than another of the Order’s pawns. Besides, as Kingsley emphasized, should the records resurface there was nothing to actually connect Remus to the werewolf compounds. It had been his alias who had been consigned there, not him. A fact which Umbridge could easily contort to make Remus appear to be the liar and not the other way around.
“Could you refer me to some of those disgruntled employees, Amos?” Ginny proposed. “I sense a breaking news story that needs pitching to my programming director tomorrow.”
“As for The Quibbler,” Xenophilius’ voice rang out, “I believe a picture essay of the abandoned camps would be just the thing to bring Amos’ eloquent words home. Are you willing to grant me an exclusive?”
With those preliminary plans, the meeting adjourned just as Dobby deposited a tray laden with freshly baked tarts on the dining room table.
Sneaking the last savory tomato tartlet, Snape considered how well the flavor complimented the Côte de Rhone which Remus had insisted on uncorking.
“It’s nothing to compare to your Margaux,” his host apologized.
“A lighter flavor to appeal to springtime,” Minerva asserted as she took an appreciative sip herself.
Excusing himself, Snape broke off to speak to Luna briefly. “I’m sure you’ll find the lease documents in order for when Neville arrives mid-week,” he commented, handing her a thick roll of parchment. “The extra greenhouse space will allow us to expand for a number of years.”
Luna’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in Snape’s impassive features. It just couldn’t be, she cried inwardly.
Her hesitation prompted Snape to add, “This is the right cottage, isn’t it? At the end of Ravenscroft Lane -- with a small pond in the adjoining meadow.”
“Yes, but…” Luna stammered. “Well, Neville and I discussed it at length and we decided it was much too spacious for just the two of us. Not to mention the expense…”
“I believe at least half the footage is attributable to the greenhouses and garden areas that are to be billed to my firm,” Snape confirmed as he tapped the parchment. “It’s all in there. I was able to negotiate a more equitable rent as well.”
Caught momentarily speechless, Luna allowed Hermione to redirect her to the group of young women intent on rehashing all aspects of the upcoming wedding.
“Why, Severus,” Minerva fairly glowed over her third glass of wine. “You’ll have us thinking you’ve turned into a milquetoast in your old age.”
“If wine puts such unsavory notions in your head, woman, I suggest you stick to whiskey!” Snape retorted. “The imbecile landlord refused to let me the greenhouses without the adjoining cottage. What was I to do, set up a rooming house for errant seventh years?”
“You’d put poor Rosmerta out of business,” Arthur supplied as he slipped into the conversation. “Not that I said that, mind you.”
“If Molly asks,” Remus clarified to knowing chuckles all around.
“Thankfully, Molly has her hands full with Bill’s girls as well as Eleanor,” Arthur noted. “Victoire claims to be just as adept as billie-yards as Teddy and offered to instruct her grandmother.”
“It’s billiards, Dad,” Ron sniggered. “Not something you would play at the Hog’s Head.”
Arthur shrugged with a wide grin as he mounted the back stairs to the playroom. “All I know is that Molly was a rabid gobstones champ at school. I wouldn’t be surprised if I come face to face with an accomplished hussy already.”
“That’s hustler, Dad,” Ron called into the rafters as Ginny giggled that perhaps Arthur knew precisely what he was saying.
“Please forgive me, Remus,” Fleur implored as she and Bill prepared to relieve Molly. “One of my grandmères, she served een ze Résistance een ‘er youz. She married eento a family from Arles. Zings did not go so well for zhem during zat great Muggle war.” Her unspoken words said it all. “But I did not mean to eemply you were a coward.”
“I didn’t think that,” he assured her warmly. “Such dedication to return from across the channel just for our impromptu meeting.”
“Not zo much,” Fleur confided. “Gabrielle, my sister, was unable to take off from ‘er work, so we moved Maman’s party to London at the last moment.”
“If you were intent on insulting me, I’m sure Severus could give you some guidance. He’s the one with the natural talent,” he whispered as he succumbed to her ritual goodbye kisses with good grace. After all, the Weasleys were the closest thing he and Tonks had to in-laws.
Her silvery mane shook slightly as she laughed in response. “In France, we say: il est coift comme un dessous de bras.” *
Remus threw back his head and laughed heartily at her brazen comment. Snape would have boiled her alive if he’d understood. Thankfully, a sweep of the far side of the room showed the man deep in conversation with Kingsley.
Instead, it was Minerva who ambushed him as she slid up soundlessly. “Just make certain I don’t hear such colloquialisms from any of your students, Remus. A bad hair day, indeed! You know how tetchy Severus is about his appearance.” The stern line of her mouth was betrayed by a small twitch in the left corner. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the usual ton of paperwork waiting for me in my office.”
“Do you need an escort to the school gates?” Snape supplied smoothly, causing those in the immediate vicinity to start.
“Thank you for the generous offer, Severus,” Minerva replied as she quickly regained her composure. “But that won’t be necessary this evening. I need to make an intermediate stop at the Hog’s Head.”
“Of course.” Snape bowed graciously as in the next breath, he swept his dark cloak into the Floo and announced, “Thistletwine Tower.”
‘The Raptor’s Nest’ came unbidden into Remus’ mind, but he wisely kept silent. As an homage to the current shape of the man’s Patronus, it made perfect sense. But not even Tonks could be so flippant to Snape’s face without suffering the consequences “ and the man was unlikely to believe it was Rolanda herself who had coined the phrase.
“By the way, Aberforth sends his regards, Remus,” Minerva offered as she said her goodbyes. “He stayed behind to keep a watchful eye on Mundungus who had just settled into his habitual chair by the back fire.”
“So you’re off to fill him in,” Tonks surmised.
“Not entirely,” she admitted with a mischievous glint behind her square glasses. “I need to rescue Hagrid from his hazardous assignment.” In a bare whisper, she confided, “He volunteered to engage ‘Dung in a friendly card game to keep him occupied. I loaned him twenty galleons to sweeten the pot.”
“The Hogwarts Discretionary Fund,” Remus chuckled. “Is it your coins or Hagrid you wish to rescue?”
“Both. And he’d better have earned us a bit of return for our trouble, at that!”
As the warm glow of early evening descended upon Godric’s Hollow, the very last of the guests took their leave. Tonks excused herself to retrieve Phoebe and Teddy before they totally wore out their welcome with their indulgent grandparents.
Among the last to linger, Amos found Harry in the masculine confines of the study.
“Excuse me, Harry,” he began hesitantly. “I couldn’t help overhearing earlier that you never knew what happened to your grandparents.”
“The ones who originally owned this estate, you mean?” Harry clarified. “Used to live in the wing which Remus and Tonks renovated for their use.”
“But you’re certain of their dates of death?”
“Only because I visited the small graveyard on the hill.” Harry nodded towards the tall white spire just visible over the treetops. “It was on their tombstones.”
“But their names were Harris and Trudy?”
“Again, I’m relying on the grave markers. Let’s ask Remus, though,” Harry proposed. “He was often a guest while they were still alive.”
“But he didn’t know what finally happened to them?” Amos pressed.
Harry concurred with a morose nod. “He was away dealing with his own aging parents at the time. When he returned, James refused to talk about it and Sirius advised him to leave it for another time.”
Catching on to the tail end of the conversation, Remus leaned over Harry’s shoulder to supply, “Just add it to the things I regret not having discussed with Sirius when I had a second chance. I suppose it would be too greedy of me to demand a third?”
Turning his head to look at Remus directly, Harry posed, “What were my grandparents’ first names? All I have to go on is the tombstone.”
“Let me see…” Remus began as he ushered them into deep leather chairs. “They were just Mr. and Mrs. Potter to me. I believe he was christened Harrison, but went by Harris. According to Lily, Harry was named after him. I’m not really sure about Mrs. Potter. Sorry.”
Hoping to jar his memory, Harry supplied, “The tombstone reads ‘Trudy’.”
“Could it have been Gertrude “ or possibly, Prudence?” Amos volunteered.
“I’m not sure I ever knew,” Remus admitted then excused himself to see to the last of his guests.
Harry’s voice was tinged with excitement as he leaned forward in his chair. “I can tell by the look in your eye that you know something, Amos. Would I be too far off the mark?”
“Possibly, Harry. The dates are what tipped me off, you see.”
“I’m listening…”
“It’s a rather long story, if you really want to know the whys and what fors. Details that may matter to you as you weigh the import of the information.”
“Why don’t I pour us some wine then?” Harry offered as a quick flick of his wand summoned two deep goblets and filled them handily. “Remus has convinced me of the contemplative properties of ruby port.”
“You don’t wish to wait for him?” Amos suggested as the glasses settled themselves snuggly atop the small adjoining table.
“He’ll be along shortly,” Harry pronounced with a small smile. “The bouquet alone will lure him.”
With a chuckle, Amos allowed, “Such an offer of hospitality, I can’t refuse. Let me give you a bit of background. Unlike many others whose careers with the Ministry have led them to transfer through various positions, I have always worked for the Magical Creatures Department. Always felt that improving their lot would also improve mine “ or at least wizarding society as a whole.”
“My friend, Hermione, has a similar calling.”
“Yes, she does. We’ve become rather good friends due to a similar mindset. Like many of those in your parents’ generation, I married young and had children almost immediately. Perhaps it was something in the water supply at Otter St. Catchpole as Arthur Weasley can attest.”
Harry laughed outright. “Perhaps it would be imprudent of me to ask him point blank “ considering I just married his only daughter.”
“Good point.” Amos’ eyes crinkled in merriment as he resumed his narrative, “With two young daughters, I took advantage of a special assignment that came my way. A unique case abroad which promised a hefty bonus if my team of three was successful.
“There had been reports of rogue werewolves throughout the most isolated areas of central Europe and we were sent to capture and relocate these individuals to areas where they could observe proper safety procedures during the full moon. It was a delicate diplomatic mission as farmers protecting their livestock are prone to shoot first and not worry about the consequences. It would not do to have some hapless local brought up on murder charges once the carcasses returned to human form the next morning. For the sake of all, our Ministry undertook a humanitarian mission and I was only too happy to volunteer my services.”
“Did you find the werewolves?” Remus inquired as he took up the nearest chair and replenished everyone’s wine.
“Turns out there weren’t any,” Amos elaborated with a dry chuckle. “It was only when we got closer to them in Bavaria that it became clear the attacks were all occurring on cloudless nights. Yes, there was moonlight to make it easier to distinguish the farmsteads in the dark, but it was not necessarily a full moon.”
“Didn’t they get a good description from the locals?” Remus urged.
“Yes, and all the evidence still pointed to werewolves. The sheer size of them made anything else unlikely. Not foxes nor any other predators were bulky enough according to the accounts “ and they were very consistent in that respect. For a while, we entertained the notion that it might have been a tiger escaped from the local zoo, but that lead didn’t pan out. Some of the more superstitious locals, mainly Muggles, started a rumor that it was a ghostly white tiger which had wandered from the steppes of Russia or Siberia and was close to starving due to its long journey.”
Shaking his head sadly, Remus commented, “Leave it to Muggles to romanticize the danger…”
“So if it wasn’t werewolves, what was it?” Harry interjected.
“A pair of reprobates recently graduated from Durmstrang. They had somehow been able to get their Animagus forms to assume the shape of the legendary wolves of old, the ones which the townsfolk all recalled from the fairy stories told by their grandmothers. The ones which haven’t been seen in Europe for close to five hundred years or more.”
“You mean the wolves which are now extinct due to systematic extermination by farmers?” Remus suggested.
With a grim nod, Amos concurred. “Those two lads practically assured their own extinction. Got them up on charges of being unregistered Animagi and then took them back to their Headmaster to account for their extracurricular activities.”
“They probably wished you’d just fined them,” Remus opined. “Regardless of how costly.”
“Probably so,” Amos chuckled. “But this was a much more elegant solution. One of our team members had gone to Durmstrang himself so he had no trouble getting the Headmaster’s ear.”
“Karkaroff?” Harry posed.
“No, this was before his time,” Amos testified. “Some other chap whose name escapes me. Rather ferocious looking when riled, though; like a stout polar bear with a short beard.”
“That’s a very amusing tale, Amos,” Remus affirmed with a broad smile. “But how does it tie in with Harry’s grandparents?”
“Don’t rush the storyteller, my mum used to say,” Amos groused good-naturedly. “So we returned to the out-of-the-way inn where we had set up our base of operations to get our things together. The little side trip to visit the Headmaster had taken somewhat longer than planned, but it had been well worth it.”
Breathless with excitement, Remus prodded, “So you found out where the school is located? My son would love to know for certain.”
“Especially considering how many people have threatened to send him there!” Harry slipped in with a snide snigger.
“Wish I could help you out, but no. We met the Headmaster at his private residence along the shores of a remote mountain lake. I’m not sure I could even locate it on a map anymore. But the Institute itself was off-limits to non-students, we were informed very politely.
“Upon our return, we found our little inn swarming with police, all rooms quarantined due to possible health risks. My teammates went on ahead as I negotiated the release of our personal belongings from a room we had not occupied for a good week. Much to my surprise, I received a Ministry owl informing me to stay put as a member of Magical Law Enforcement would be arriving the next day and he would greatly appreciate it if I gave him the lay of the land, so to speak. The gentleman’s language skills left a lot to be desired, so I was able to avoid an international misunderstanding by extending my assignment for an extra week.
“Turns out there had been an incident involving a British wizarding couple on holiday. Little by little, we pieced together the story: how the gentleman was a great history buff and was determined to visit the decrepit little schloss on the horizon. Forget that no local guide would take him there, that the trail had washed away, that it was prone to landslides, that it was nothing more than a haunted shell; he would not be turned away. Finally, we found the answer inside his travel diary -- or rather the few pages my new friend from MLE felt he could share with me.”
“He kept things anonymous, I take it?” Remus remarked.
“Standard procedure. Even though this was a Muggle village, the foothills were not without their wizarding families scattered throughout. Finally a wizened old lady had come knocking on the travelers’ door, having heard of their interest in the ruin. Of course, they instantly recognized her as a witch. Although the trails were indeed treacherous, she was familiar with a well-protected Apparition point within the very shadow of the crumbling walls. So on a warm, sunny day she took them there, to the heavily-warded garrison where the infamous Grindelwald had been held captive for most of his adult life. The couple had a nice chat with the guard on duty who just happened to be the old witch’s great-nephew.
“Although it was not a site usually included in wizarding guidebooks, the British gentleman had meticulously pieced together the clues and had been searching various locales for a fortnight before stumbling upon the true location. We interviewed the guard himself who claimed the unexpected visitors had not been allowed to see the prisoner; there were very specific instructions about that, he assured us. Only one person allowed access and even he had not been by in years. And then he showed us the same logbook he had shared with the visitors, the stained parchment showing only a single name over and over again: Albus Dumbledore.
“So the couple returned to the inn that night, full of ebullient high spirits about their discovery. Now they needed to chart out the next leg of their quest to locate the site of the infamous battle where their former Transfiguration instructor had vanquished the very embodiment of evil. In the shadowy pub, they discussed their ideas that night, excited whispers among a room full of rough and rowdy locals. But as the proprietress of the inn attested, she always kept a close watch on the pub clientele as small groups of strangers had recently taken to frequenting during odd times. Furtive, suspicious types who kept to themselves in a dark corner and never looked her in the eye. And on that particular night, a group of four or five were there; each arriving separately and leaving alone, speaking in a foreign tongue which no one recognized.
“But unfortunately for the British tourists, they did not have so much trouble following along with the one group member who spoke in strangely accented French. And when that dodgy gentleman mentioned the golden bumblebee, the British lady jerked up as if they had read her very thoughts “ which I suppose they had.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Harry murmured.
“Golden bumblebee is the literal meaning of ‘Dumbledore’ in French,” Remus clarified. “She must have realized they were using a code name.”
Amos nodded. “Which implied they were hiding something. Something underhanded. But it also meant their fathomless eyes had pinpointed her among the other denizens of the pub. And when the proprietress knocked on the tourists’ door with their breakfast tray the next morning, there was no answer.”
“Had they crept away in the night?” Harry pressed as Amos stopped to take a long swallow of wine.
“If only they had been suspicious enough to do so.” Amos shook his head sadly. “They were found dead in their beds. Poisoned in such a manner that it was as if they had simply drifted off into their final sleep. And despite the stringent investigation that embroiled the entire village, no traces of any poison were ever found in the pub itself and no charges were levied against the proprietress.”
“Do you think she was guilty, Amos?” Remus inquired.
“What you should be asking is whether she was in collusion with the shadowy gentlemen who had begun using her pub, among others, for their frequent meetings,” Amos insisted. “That was never determined and much of the reminder of the story I only cobbled together from my new mate in the MLE Department. I went home soon after to find my tearful wife had been eagerly anticipating my return to announce she was expecting once again. A boy this time, she was certain of it “ or rather, Molly Weasley was after taking one look at her silhouette. And if there’s anyone familiar with boys, it’s Molly.”
With a gentle smile, Harry remarked, “That was Cedric, wasn’t it?”
Amos’ smile was bittersweet as he replied, “Yes, it was. And he turned out to be a blessed child, if only for too brief a time.”
Harry deftly returned the conversation to less painful topics. “So you think the poisoned couple might have been my grandparents?”
“Well, they were being called Harv and Pru by the investigators, or so my friend told me. They traced that rough lot deep into the mountains and lost their trail; but not before they established conclusively that they were planning some sort of dark magic with Dumbledore as their target.”
“Death Eaters,” Remus surmised.
“Likely. Although the name of Lord Voldemort was not really mentioned within Cornelius Fudge’s hearing,” specified Amos. “Not if one wanted to continue with one’s Ministry posting, if you get my drift.”
“So what’s to say Harv and Pru weren’t just code names for the victims?” Remus pondered aloud. “Despite the similarities to the Potters.”
Gravely, Amos returned, “The date of their deaths. Husband and wife both die on the same day as this British couple. Now, I’m not discounting coincidence, mind you. You’ll just have to make up your own minds.”
“Are those records still in the Ministry archives?” Remus inquired.
Amos shrugged. “With all the rifling Umbridge has done, who’s to say? I do remember that when I first heard about Voldemort’s defeat in Godric’s Hollow, the name of the village rang a bell with me.”
“Is that where the British wizarding couple was from?” Harry contributed.
“I never knew. My mate at MLE said that was classified and I certainly didn’t want to cause him any problems. He’d probably confided more to me than he should have as it was. But I think, perhaps, it may have been in the heading of one of the travel journal entries I saw. Memory is a murky thing, you know.
“Take of the story what you will, Harry,” Amos offered as he slowly rose to his feet. “If it gives you some sort of closure, so much the better.”
“If not, it was a tale well told, Amos,” Remus attested as he toasted him with the last of the port.
* Literally: His hair looks like an arm pit.