Act II
Denouement*
Purple. Regulation Obliviator robes were deep violet. Surely not…?
Kingsley willed his facial features to remain impassive as his eyes skimmed the lake of bodies below. He finally located the trio of flowers amid the deep shadows that ringed the open Atrium. It was too dark to distinguish their robes, but something in their stance reminded him of predators ready to strike.
What would Obliviators be doing at a soiree such as this? Granted, all areas of the Ministry were being represented so perhaps it was nothing more than that. Likely, there would even be Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries present -- though deducing just who would be the true challenge.
Scrimgeour’s arrival among the guests heightened the stakes, yet Kingsley couldn’t fault the way in which his personal bodyguards clung to his every move like ruby shadows. It was a skill he’d learned firsthand as part of the Prime Minister’s detail.
He had to get a better look, Kingsley decided. But without risking his strategic advantage.
Adopting the tone Aurors employ to minimize panic, he turned to Percy, –I must say you’re looking rather pale. Perhaps some Pepper-Up Potion?â€
–Skipped lunch in favor of milky tea and biscuits,†Percy replied self-consciously. –Not the best decision, I’ll admit.â€
–Missed afternoon tea myself. Best pick-me-up known to man.â€
–Seems a long trek to the Infirmary.â€
–No need. Keep a small flask on hand for emergencies. Besides, this is my own personal formula, or rather the one from my great-nana. Uses four different types of Caribbean peppers.â€
In his mind’s eye, the raisin-like face of his diminutive great grandmother was bent over the smoking outdoor cauldron. Just past the row of banana trees, the tourists’ cars kicked up dust along the gravel road leading to one of the island’s most picturesque beaches. On holiday from his first year at Hogwarts, he remembered asking her how she avoided being cited for violation of the Statute of Secrecy. To which she just cackled, –Muggles think I’m making soap the traditional way. Stench keeps them too far away to investigate.â€
His musings were cut short when Percy spoke up, –A spicy brew, I take it?â€
–Like the very hinges of Hades,†Kingsley concurred with his most disarming smile. –Only the tiniest sip is needed.†He uncorked the amber flash and offered some to Percy.
–No thanks. Pepper-Up just makes me look like an oversized carrot.†A furtive look at the masquerade below and the color rose in the lad’s cheeks, making his freckles stand out like currants.
–Suit yourself,†Kingsley returned. There was no point in revealing the unusual side effect of this particular recipe; besides as Tonks had reminded him, not everyone experienced the same revelation.
Seeing that Percy was once again mesmerized by the omnioculars, Kingsley took a measured sip. He allowed the liquid to linger on his tongue until the searing pain was unbearable, then savored the fire that streamed down his throat. The steam pouring from his ears fogged his vision temporarily; but in that split second that the vapor cleared, the potion allowed him to see things as they really were.
He found Tonks just in time to witness her body spreading horizontally. Her spiky hair dissolved into shellacked, honey curls held back by the trademark velvet bow of Dolores Umbridge. Her tight eyes were surveying those around her with a unique mixture of disdain and suspicion.
Luckily, his namesake was close by, the man laughing uproariously with Aubrey Ackerly, current head of the Department of Magical Transportation. There was no mistaking the cruel cheekbones and blonde ponytail belonging to Jonas Yaxley.
But most telling of all was the final glimpse: the shimmering, silver butterflies which decorated the walls were nothing of the kind. Instead, the entire Atrium was ringed with immobile Death Eaters. A cadre of death awaiting its command.
Before Kingsley had a chance to voice warning, it happened.
The melody of broken glass and shuffling bodies was coming from multiple directions at once. With ruthless efficiency, Kingsley identified the fallen bodies as heads of the major departments, Ackerly in his glittering Yeti suit among them. With his mask askew, the slack features of Gawain Robards stared lifelessly at the golden stars embedded in the ceiling.
A gasp at once melancholy and horrified echoed to the soaring rafters as the call for Healers rang out. In the guise of an emaciated thestral, Pius Thicknesse looked on with a bemused expression.
Kingsley shoved it all into the background, instead focusing on Yaxley’s line of sight: the Minister for Magic. That was the true target; everything else was a diversion. Not entirely useless, but secondary in importance.
With unspoken efficiency, the bodyguards shouldered their way between the Minister and the pressing crowd. In one swift maneuver, they were herding their charge back in the direction of the dressing room. Scrimgeour was doing his best to keep pace, but clearly his limp was making it more difficult by the moment.
They were just coming abreast of the overhang when Scrimgeour staggered against a dark fluted column, exposing his back to the crowd. In the next heartbeat, his bodyguards were at his side, urging him onward. Kingsley watched helplessly as the Minister’s feet struggled against the slippery floor then abruptly stopped, his body folding like a spent marionette.
Kingsley was almost certain he could detect the green aftermath of the Killing Curse as a ghostly memory on his retinas. There was no denying the tall figure who had retreated into the nearby shadows, though, his red eyes glowing forth as he raised a black cowl over his hairless head.
–What just happened?†Percy cried as mayhem drove the guests to disperse in all directions.
–Calamity. Catastrophe,†Kingsley summarized. –We just witnessed a well-planned assassination.â€
–But who? It was impossible to tell for certain.â€
–Time will tell. One at least, likely more.â€
–Who?†Percy demanded, cowering against the back of the viewing alcove.
–Does it really matter? The Daily Prophet will carry the full report in the morning.†Or the version these despots want the world to believe. –We both need to get out of here. Establish that we never saw these events if possible. It’s our only chance of staying alive!â€
Percy blanched. –I’m not wholly certain what I saw,†he stammered.
–Care to pit that against Veritaserum?â€
–They wouldn’t dare. I’m the Minister’s -- â€
–-- late Minister’s,†Kingsley corrected lowly.
In the abrupt silence, the indistinct sounds of panic from the Atrium floor seemed miles away.
–I see your point,†Percy issued, his eyes wide with fear.
–Presume Umbridge received your message about leaving; see to it that they don’t suspect you came here.â€
–Or that you were present.â€
–Naturally. I was on field assignment all day. Delivering my prisoner to the holding cells on the second floor hardly put me in the vicinity of the Atrium.â€
Percy nodded with a grim set to his lips. Kingsley had no doubt the lad would do his best. But was he really up to this type of subterfuge? Considering the internecine nest that comprised the Minister’s office, it was doubtful that anyone was.
–Come, I know a back way out,†Kingsley urged. Carefully securing the access panel so no remnant of their presence remained, he led Percy down a series of service corridors deep into the bowels of the Ministry. Only once the back delivery door was in sight did he allow the lad to slow down. As Percy bent over the public fountain to relieve his thirst, Kingsley aimed his wand carefully at the back of the lad’s head.
–Obliviate!†he intoned mentally, allowing his wrist the precise movement that would erase the last hour’s memory and no more. If all went well, Percy would remember his conversation with the Tonks imposter and nothing beyond.
As much as he hated to do it, Kingsley realized it was the only way to guarantee the lad’s safety. He would never be able to justify himself to Arthur if his son was sacrificed to achieve so little.
Percy swayed against the wall, his last gulp of water dribbling down his chin. –Where am I?†he mumbled as his body started to slide against the smooth tile surface.
–On your way home,†Kingsley suggested in a reassuring tone. Some minor disorientation was to be expected. With a mighty heave, he hoisted Percy’s limp body over his shoulder.
He managed to turn the corner into the guard’s office before he started to lose his grip. –I could really use some help here, Leopold,†Kingsley implored of the familiar guard on duty.
Leopold leapt to his feet, grabbing Percy’s ankles as they turned the body to face upwards.
–Is that Percy, Arthur’s son?†Leopold cried.
Kingsley nodded gravely. –Overindulged, I’m afraid.â€
–No spirits at today’s function I was told.â€
–Illusionary only,†Kingsley concurred. –But some buy into the fantasy more than others, particularly on an empty stomach.â€
–The young are the most gullible,†Leopold observed.
–Didn’t want his superiors to see him like this. Arthur’s a close friend.â€
Leopold lowered Percy’s legs to the ground as he used a combination of magical key spells to unlock the lift.
–I’ll take it from here,†Kingsley acknowledged with a hurried word of thanks. –Don’t want you to suffer for leaving your post.â€
–Up,†Leopold commanded, pointing his wand at a shiny brass control panel devoid of any numbers or buttons.
With a silent whoosh, the doors opened into the Unplottable alley that marked the Ministry’s hidden delivery port. The sooty brick walls that closed behind them held no indication of their true function.
Kingsley leaned Percy against the nearest rubbish bin, making doubly certain that the lad’s breathing was still normal. As eager as he was to leave the vicinity, Kingsley needed to broadcast what he’d seen of the Death Eater coup. With Percy out of commission, that left him as the sole witness.
A hasty slash established a Privacy Charm and then Kingsley allowed the memories of his childhood in paradise to engulf him. Endless days of beachcombing, his great-nanas jerked lobster rolls, the exotic perfume of the wild flowers which draped the nearby jungles like spectacular gems. In the next moment, his lynx Patronus exploded from his wand, then loped back for its master’s instructions.
In a terse whisper, Kingsley relayed, –The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead.†Then as an afterthought, he added, –They are coming.†**
Longer explanations would have to wait until later. For the moment, everyone’s safety was paramount.
Apparently, Percy’s lack of sustenance was prolonging the side effects of the Obliviation Spell. Despite Kingsley’s best attempts, the lad was still groggy.
For the briefest of moments, he considered summoning the Knight Bus; but then discarded the idea almost immediately. The image of Stan Shunpike as part of the Death Eater ambush was still fresh enough to convince him that it was too risky. Besides, it wouldn’t do to have those seeking to escape the evening’s fiasco encounter Percy and him; they needed to be away without extraneous witnesses.
–Here, have some of this,†Kingsley urged with mounting urgency.
–What is it?†It was all but a slur. With unfocused eyes, Percy tried to take a measure of his surroundings. –Kingsley, isn’t it?â€
–Right on the mark. Now take a tiny sip of Pepper-Up Potion.â€
Percy barely touched his lips to the flask when his eyes flashed with indignity at the taste. But it was enough.
–Lean on me and we’ll walk to the corner. We can Apparate home from there.†Already, the lad’s feet were falling into a staggering sort of rhythm.
–Where are we going?†Percy demanded.
–Home, of course. And you’ll have to allow me to lead, otherwise you’re bound to Splinch yourself into ribbons.â€
–You don’t know where I live,†Percy protested, coming to a sudden stop.
–Of course I do. Number five, Creighton Place. Second floor, rear.â€
Percy gulped noticeably in surprise. –Do Aurors know everything?â€
–Just about,†Kingsley grinned. –Arthur’s a close friend.â€
That was enough to convince Percy. With a tiny smile that his father remembered the address to a flat he’d never visited, the lad dutifully submitted to Side-Along Apparition.
Kingsley helped him climb the steps to the shabby rooming house. He recognized the landlady’s resemblance to her cousin, Hestia Jones, almost immediately.
–Overworked and undernourished,†she pronounced of her own accord.
–Too dedicated for his own good,†Kingsley returned.
–I’ll see that he has something in his stomach before retiring,†she promised.
Certain that Percy was in good hands, Kingsley turned on the spot and Apparated far from the city lights of London.
–Barbados rum, neat. Make that a double.â€
The familiar barkeep didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, the amber liquid was swirling in the tumbler before him. In its soothing depths, Kingsley found serenity -- and the detachment to review the night’s events.
Nerve toxin? Manticore venom? It could have been anything in the open vat of the Atrium fountain. He would never know for certain how the Death Eaters singled out their intended victims. Even if their cohorts had taken antidotes in preparation, that still didn’t account for the innocent bystanders.
Polyjuice Potion and strands of hair from the Auror locker room; not so difficult to orchestrate with Yaxley as an accomplice. Tonks’ vibrant hair was easy to identify and he himself regularly shaved in the men’s lavatory.
No doubt about it, he and Tonks had been the key. Both singularly incorruptible Aurors whose very presence could doom the carefully planned coup. The wedding of Arthur’s son must have fallen into their very laps, a gift from fickle Fate herself. As newlyweds, it was a foregone conclusion that Tonks and Remus would attend the wedding together. And as for Arthur, he’d made so many friends during his long Ministry career that the occasion practically guaranteed that like-minded renegades would be gone from the building that afternoon.
As the link to the Muggle government, Kingsley’s presence was even more problematic. The last thing the Death Eaters wanted was for the PM to learn of their existence. Ah, but they’d masked their subterfuge well -- and Kingsley had fallen into their snare like a fat rabbit. With that in mind, his recent rotation from guarding the Muggle Prime Minister assumed sinister overtones. It hadn’t been a welcome respite in his official duties as he’d assumed, quite the contrary. It had been an artful way to remove him from underfoot. His replacement would see that Downing Street was not unduly alarmed by the change of wizarding government. He could only imagine what spin the new, puppet Minister would place on the news when he presented himself before the PM.
No doubt about it, he’d been lured into the summer countryside to follow up on the pesky complaints that were generally relegated to Arthur’s office. Thus they had sought to plant the notion in his head to skive off for the rest of the day once the leads proved worthless. It all seemed so clear in retrospect. But instead of attending the wedding, Kingsley had unearthed a true criminal lurking in a quaint corner of Yorkshire. Such persistence was sure to be his downfall if Voldemort’s minions learned he’d witnessed their heinous actions.
At least Percy was safe. Or as safe as he could be with potential enemies in every corner. Once you got past the stuffy exterior, he wasn’t such a bad chap, braver and more resourceful than most. While Arthur’s second son tamed dragons, the middle, studious one wrangled politicos on a daily basis, Kingsley mused. These days, it was difficult to determine which occupation was the more hazardous of the two.
As for Voldemort, it was hardly the first time that fiend had bypassed Ministry safeguards. Scrimgeour’s administration had done little to purge the corruption that riddled those very halls. Despite promises to streamline the staff, the man had done little more than shuffle duties about. A few had been coaxed into early retirement, but not enough to make a difference. The beast remained top-heavy and seeded with Death Eater sympathizers.
In retrospect, Rufus Scrimgeour’s strict adherence to the letter of the law had been but an artifice to rework each nuance to his own ends. A strategy which proved even more polarizing than Fudge’s determination to avoid inconvenient truths. What was it about the office of Minister for Magic that bred egos like over-sized Quaffles?
Umbridge’s complicity with Voldemort’s regime was no surprise. Her intolerant attitudes dovetailed with their ideology. Likely, she’d been using her post as Undersecretary to try to influence the Minister humself.
After tonight, the lines would be clearly drawn; no more flaying at phantoms. The succeeding Minister and those appointed to the newly vacated Department Head posts would all be in Voldemort’s pocket. If only he’d been able to witness which guests had been brought before the Obliviation squad, he’d have a true inkling of those who could still be trusted.
Not a chance, he concluded. If they were as thoroughly diabolical as their leader, the Death Eaters would in turn Obliviate the Obliviators so that no credible witnesses remained.
Even if it was only safe to confide in his fellow members, Kingsley owed them the truth of what he’d seen. In the next few days, he’d share his conclusions with Remus and Arthur and review their options. The Order may have to bury itself deeply underground, but it was not dead yet.
* from the French: to unveil, unmask, or reveal
** dialogue from page 159, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, American hardback edition