The gloomy sitting room of Grimmauld Place was filled with people — a sight that had become rather common of late. Every seat at the medium-sized round table was taken, though the wizards who frequented this place had long since grown accustomed to such conditions. At the head of the table, facing the entrance to the room, sat Sirius Black in his old-fashioned but no less dandyish dark burgundy jacket. The others present were equally distinctive in their dress — whether Shacklebolt's traditional purple suit and robes, or Nymphadora Tonks's rock-and-roll get-up. The most ordinary-looking of them all was, perhaps, Remus Lupin, seated beside Black — plain trousers, a shirt, and a grey button-up cardigan that had seen better days but remained presentable.
These four wizards were the ones a first-time visitor's gaze would have snagged on — even Alastor Moody failed to draw quite as much attention, though his appearance was, at the very least, singular.
The low voices of the other wizards, less remarkable in the eyes of any hypothetical guest, rustled through the sitting room like dry leaves — each carrying on their own quiet conversation. Then the doors opened, and Dumbledore swept into the room — which managed to look gloomy under any lighting — dressed in his customary violet robes. At his entrance, the voices fell silent. Someone made to offer the old wizard their seat, but Dumbledore forestalled the attempt with a gesture. Mrs Weasley immediately began to fuss — the sole cheerful and bustling presence in the room, though some might have said her tendency to mother everyone within eyeshot verged on the excessive.
"Won't you sit down, Headmaster?" Mrs Weasley addressed him. "There's no truth to be found standing up."
"Nor sitting down, Molly," Dumbledore declined the seat once more with a polite smile, simply positioning himself between the chairs of Black and Lupin. "We have run into certain difficulties."
The wizards listened attentively, but Dumbledore paused, letting his gaze linger briefly on each person present.
"Before we come to those, however, it would be as well to hear of your progress first. Remus?"
Dumbledore looked at Lupin over his half-moon spectacles.
"You know how it is in the packs — they don't much..." Lupin hesitated, as he always did when his 'furry little problem' came up — he made a habit of choosing his words with care. "They don't much welcome my sort."
"Don't sell yourself short," Black said, grinning.
"It is what it is. Getting reliable information out of the packs isn't easy. But I have a couple of acquaintances willing to share what they know. It wasn't simple, but I can now say with confidence that nearly all the packs have sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord. Again."
"There aren't enough of them to be frightened of," Shacklebolt said, folding his hands on the table, his deep bass more suited to Hagrid. "If we're talking about them as an organised force."
"As if the MLE and the Auror Office are organised," Tonks snorted, her hair shifting from violet to pink and back again.
"I do love a good debate," Dumbledore's voice drew all eyes to him, "for it is in argument that truth is born. But everything has its time and place. Continue, Remus."
"Yes... The large pack... The werewolf community that lives along the northern coast of the islands has refused to participate. That's the only bright news, as far as werewolves are concerned."
Moody thumped his staff against the floor and leant forward across the table — he rarely chose anything other than ideal positions in a room, whether standing, sitting, or simply existing, so the gesture was guaranteed to command attention.
"And what do you make of these Mordred potions?"
"A partial transformation..." Remus frowned, turning the thought over. "That doesn't suit everyone, not by a long stretch. At the end of the day, the whole point of the potion is to preserve the mind while altering the body. But I can say with confidence—"
"Naturally," Moody grunted, though he was ignored.
"—that the potion only takes hold in those who give themselves over to the beast within. Though honestly, wouldn't it be better to put this question to Severus? He is a master of potions, after all."
"Pff," Black exhaled, making his opinion of Snape perfectly clear without words.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, with a reproving look at Black. "You really ought to set aside old grievances."
In the corner of the room, shadow virtually breathed — Professor Snape, as ever, had positioned himself where he would catch the least attention.
"An ordinary potion. Nothing remarkable. Quite aggressive," he said, dry and composed, and almost no one turned towards his voice — everyone had long since grown accustomed to the potions master's invisible presence. "But Lupin is correct — there is no reason to expect werewolves to begin using it wholesale. One in five, at most."
"Aren't you the one brewing it for Voldemort?" Sirius said with a vicious smile, glancing over at Snape.
"No. The Dark Lord, incidentally, is extremely guarded with information. Even more so than in former times — no one knows more than he deems they ought to."
"With the werewolves, I think," Dumbledore said, once more surveying the room with that thoughtful air of his, cutting off the exchange before it could develop, "the situation is fairly clear. Is there any reliable intelligence on other magical creatures?"
"Some, but very little," Shacklebolt's bass rolled through the room again. "A good many of the more-or-less sentient magical beings have abandoned their camps and habitats. The information is somewhat delayed. We haven't been able to track them so far, and most of the MLE's resources have been directed towards preparing for a possible attack and reinforcing the approaches to key sites."
"The Dementors?" Arthur Weasley was plainly more concerned about those creatures than any other.
"Still within the boundaries of Azkaban. For the most part."
"Not surprising," Dumbledore nodded. "Of all beings, Dementors are simply incapable of leaving Azkaban without anyone noticing. I believe Voldemort has some arrangement with them as well, but he will call upon them only at the very last moment."
"That makes sense," the wizards agreed, in various tones, nodding.
"Anything else?"
"If I may," said Mundungus Fletcher, practically tumbling out of his armchair on account of his genuinely very short stature. "I'd like to say that my colleagues and fellow unfortunates—"
"Riff-raff," Tonks muttered, her hair turning scarlet.
"One needn't preclude the other," said Fletcher — short, got up like a gypsy mobster — sparing the most accident-prone person in the room the briefest of glances before continuing his thought. "The thing is, what I want to say is — the riff-raff are starting to band together. It was always like that before, of course. But now there are rumours going round that the Dark Lord is gathering under his wing everyone who isn't satisfied with life as it is."
"Wasn't that always the case?" Black said, surprised. "I'd have thought the Dark Lord had long since been drawing that sort of wizard to him."
"Well, yes, more or less," Fletcher said, rubbing his palms together. "Only the rumours are spreading down below a bit too... actively. Too actively, if you take my meaning. I can vouch for — ahem — I know what I'm talking about."
"Why would they swear allegiance to the Dark Lord?" Tonks looked around at the assembled wizards, genuinely puzzled.
"Simple as anything," Fletcher said with a smirk. "The Ministry's been squeezing all sorts of people very hard these past years — not just werewolves. No offence, Remus."
Lupin merely nodded, understanding more than most about werewolves, being one himself.
"In short, it's not just werewolves and other creatures the Ministry's been squeezing. The poor, the failures, the — er — the hapless," Fletcher corrected himself, catching Mrs Weasley's eye; she had no tolerance whatsoever for foul language of any kind. "Thank Merlin that bitch Umbridge finally croaked in Azkaban."
"Language!" Mrs Weasley protested, prompting quiet sniggers from certain parties — Black among them.
"That's a perfectly literary word, Merlin's sake!" Fletcher dismissed the accusation as if it were the gravest injustice. "I'd stake my teeth on it."
The others smiled at that too, but there was something in every set of eyes that said humour and laughter were the furthest things from their minds just now. Oh, the furthest things.
"Well, we've had our laugh," Dumbledore said, with a slight smile, drawing a gentle line under the unexpected intermission. "Anything else?"
No one seemed in any hurry to speak.
"What about the Horcruxes?" Tonks asked the question that was plainly on everyone's mind, not just her own.
"That is precisely the difficulty," Dumbledore said, with a heavy nod. "There is reasonable cause to believe that one of the Horcruxes is the Dark Lord's snake. Now that Tom is convinced of my death, she is always with him — isn't that so?"
"Precisely," Snape said. "The Dark Lord sees no reason to conceal his snake in any way. She is with him constantly, wherever he goes — whether a meeting, a walk, or some sortie."
"You're going on sorties with him now, are you?" Moody said with a smirk, glancing at Snape with his magical eye.
"No. As far as I am aware, the Dark Lord does not permit Death Eaters or any other wizards to do anything that might give them away. I believe this to be a temporary restriction."
"That can only mean one thing," Dumbledore said, with quiet gravity. "Tom is approaching the question of concealing his subordinates' movements and activities with greater care than ever before. Which means he truly is planning what he considers the 'final step.' However, the problem remains. We cannot locate the remaining Horcruxes. I have one lead, and I am anxious to share it with you."
Satisfied that he had everyone's attention, Dumbledore continued:
"One of the Horcruxes may be, as we have already discussed, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. I have been able to establish that this relic left the walls of Hogwarts only once — when it was stolen by Rowena's daughter, Helena. But after its return — never again."
"Extraordinary," breathed Emmeline Vance, a dark-haired witch of middle years in black robes. "Many people spent years trying to determine even the approximate location of the diadem, and you accomplished it in a matter of months."
"What is extraordinary," Dumbledore said, with a smile nearly hidden behind his beard, "is how much time one frees up when one steps down as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I never appreciated it before, but now I seem to find time for practically everything, and then some. But that is beside the point. The likelihood that the diadem is still within Hogwarts is very high. The likelihood that Tom has already found it is no lower. If I could arrive at conclusions about its location, young Tom could have done the same — that is beyond question. The only question is: who will find it first?"
"And will anyone find it at all?" Tonks looked troubled. "It hasn't been found yet, has it? And who to entrust with the task? Perhaps Professor McGonagall? Or Professor Snape?"
"I'd rather not," Snape said tersely, from his favoured dark corner.
"I am inclined to agree with Severus," Dumbledore said, with a nod. "The Aurors are currently stationed at Hogwarts. As you are aware, Miss Tonks, they are operating under certain orders, and any unusual movements on the part of the staff will raise questions. Moreover, we do not know whether there might be a traitor among those Aurors."
"Out of the question!" Tonks protested, and even made to leap from her seat before thinking better of it and merely shifting restlessly in her chair — catching herself just in time. "I'm certain none of the Aurors would ever go over to the Dark Lord."
"I wouldn't be so sure, niece," Sirius said with a smirk. "In every age, practically any person could be made to act in someone else's interests."
"Agreed," Lupin said, sombre as ever. "The Dark Lord is known for his ability to compel people to serve his ends, to sow discord among his enemies, and to erode will and readiness to fight by every other means available. If he hasn't yet turned these particular talents towards us in earnest, I suspect it's simply because he doesn't need to."
"In any case," Dumbledore said, drawing the room's attention back to him, "we cannot entrust this task to the professors or other adults at Hogwarts. On the other hand, students running about and getting into things raises no one's suspicions. I believe Mr Potter and his friends would be quite willing to take part in what is, at bottom, a simple but intriguing adventure — the search for a lost ancient artefact."
"Not all that ancient," Snape muttered.
"Don't be pedantic, Severus," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "Do you think you could give Mr Potter the appropriate hints as to the importance of this undertaking?"
"Entrust that particular matter to McGonagall. Potter possesses a phenomenal immunity to hints, and I have reasonable grounds to fear that anything I say will be received... poorly, simply by virtue of my being the one to say it."
"Lay off my godson, Snivelly—"
"Enough," Dumbledore said, cutting off the conflict — one-sided, at least — before it could properly begin. "I think Severus is right, and that matter is best left to Minerva. She will convey our thinking to young Mr Potter in the shortest, clearest, most direct manner possible — which is precisely how he prefers it. As for the Horcruxes — does anyone else have information to offer?"
Silence. But within that silence came the sound of shifting fabric — with a somewhat boyish gesture, Sirius Black raised his hand.
"What about Gringotts?"
"What's wrong with it?" Moody latched onto the new thought immediately.
"Whatever anyone might say, Gringotts was and remains one of the most impregnable places in England," Black said, making every effort to look as serious as possible, though nearly everyone present struggled to see in him the mature and seasoned wizard he was attempting to project. "If I had a collection of equally precious artefacts, the safety of which was tied to my life... And given that I'd already entrusted one of them to Malfoy..."
Black was clearly alluding to the origins of one of the destroyed Horcruxes — Tom Marvolo Riddle's diary.
"Go on," Tonks leant forward across the table.
"If I'd entrusted something that important to Lucius... or even his father, Abraxas," Black continued, "who was every bit as slippery and unworthy of trust..."
"Keep personal opinions out of it, Padfoot," Moody said, thumping his staff on the floor. Black didn't react to the name, but he did abandon the personal commentary and resumed in a more constructive vein.
"Then Gringotts would be worth a look as well. I seem to recall my little brother Regulus mentioning that the Dark Lord was particularly pleased when both Reg himself and Bella came over to his side at almost the same time — something about symbolism, aristocracy, the Blacks, and all that sort of thing. It's possible something is hidden in my dear cousin Bellatrix's vault. Especially given that her loyalty and fanaticism border on madness. Or rather, cross it entirely."
"There is sense in what you say," Dumbledore nodded, and others around the table were plainly inclined to agree. "The difficulty is that we have no goblins willing to confirm or deny your idea. And I don't believe that even a fairly considerable pile of Galleons would be enough to find a single goblin prepared to act against the clan."
"So why not simply break into the vault?"
That announcement earned Black a round of baffled stares.
"No, really?" Sirius said, with exaggerated enthusiasm, slapping both palms on the table. "The Dark Lord managed to pull that off a couple of years ago, didn't he?"
"Don't go comparing his abilities to everyone else's," Moody said, fixing Black with his artificial eye.
"Sirius has a point, in a way," Dumbledore said, without quite agreeing. "But there is no one among us who could guarantee success at such an undertaking. What matters here is not raw power — and Tom relies on nothing but raw power in his magical endeavours — but skill."
"Then one could approach someone who possesses such skills," Black said, with a shrug. "We all know that Gringotts' claims about its own impregnability are aimed at ordinary people. There have been precedents, rare as they are, and no significant harm ever came of them. What about this new fellow — the Doctor? Perhaps he could manage it? Under contract, all that. Has anyone got his contact details?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly as the others began quietly debating the notion. Breaking into Gringotts was not, in truth, an impossible undertaking — Albus himself could manage it. But there was a chance of failure, and in that event it would be an utter catastrophe, which could not be permitted under any circumstances — at least not now. Perhaps, though, it really was worth engaging an outside specialist who, for appropriate payment, might deal with the difficulty in question. The only problem was that, unlike Tom, Albus had no great financial resources, nor anything with which to interest a specialist of this calibre in the Dark Arts. But, Albus was confident, if it truly came to that, an arrangement could always be reached. Yes. It was worth trying. And if Bellatrix Lestrange's vault turned out to contain nothing of use, the vaults of Tom's other followers could be ruled out and set aside.