It seems I'd dozed off.
A hearty dinner in the dim half-light of the sitting room, lit only by the fireplace, had left both me and Daphne drowsy, the latter finding my shoulder rather convenient, even in our half-collapsed seated positions.
I couldn't say exactly how many times I'd drifted off, unwilling to wake a girl who was exhausted both mentally and physically, but at some point Healer Smethwyck quietly entered the sitting room. My current mentor looked tired, slightly bewildered, and pensive.
Barely acknowledging Daphne and me, he sat down in the armchair beside us, relaxed, and a house-elf brought over a floating cup of something and a small plate with a spiral pastry — a cinnamon roll, it looked like. A moment later the smell of coffee reached me, sharp, strong, and rather unusual for the English.
Daphne kept sleeping; I had one arm around her and watched Smethwyck — the Healer took up his coffee cup with enthusiasm, took a sip, sat for a moment thinking, then glanced at me. That was the moment Daphne chose to wake — or perhaps it was the smell of the coffee, fairly unfamiliar here, that pulled her out of sleep. Either way, she blinked sleepily a couple of times, noticed her godfather, and hurried to arrange herself into a more decent position.
Daphne smoothed her hair and straightened nonexistent creases in her dress and robes.
"Godfather…"
"Godfather, godfather," Smethwyck nodded. "I see you've been resting."
"Yes," I simply nodded, agreeing with the obvious.
"Well then," Smethwyck took the pastry and looked at it thoughtfully. "I'll have a bite, and then tell you what I've learned."
The pastry was gone in under a minute, if not less, and after finishing his cup of coffee, Smethwyck settled more comfortably into the armchair and spoke, looking at us.
"Very interesting cases, I must say."
Smethwyck's phrase was, for some reason, entirely expected.
"All of them?" I asked.
"No," the Healer shook his head. "Just the young man and the young woman. The older wizard is fairly ordinary, and aside from the damage from your fight, of no particular interest."
"Something specific caught your interest?" Daphne asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of personal curiosity.
"Oh, just about everything," Smethwyck smiled slightly. "I won't mention the old injuries — nothing unusual there. But traces of an entire pile of various potions, minor brain damage indicating powerful mental interference, traces of magic, some of it quite dark… Altogether, a very interesting picture."
"But that's not all, is it?" I could see from Smethwyck's face that he had more to share.
"Of course not. They've each got little capsules of concentrated potions stitched into the same places on their bodies."
"My diagnostics didn't pick up anything like that," I wasn't doubting him, but I was surprised.
"Yes, cleverly hidden, but I've encountered something similar before and know what to look for in the diagnostics."
Daphne and I were silent. I was trying to digest what I'd heard and make sense of it, but while guesses were plentiful, I couldn't draw any firm conclusions for lack of information.
"And what does all this mean?" Daphne voiced one of my own thoughts.
"It means these young people fell in with a bad crowd."
"Do you have any thoughts on the matter, mentor? Is there anything we can do? Perhaps we should place them in St. Mungo's?"
"St. Mungo's is out of the question."
Naturally, I was a little surprised by this, as, it seemed, was Daphne. Smethwyck hurried to explain his position.
"Our hospital is, after all, an official institution, and it has its own bureaucracy. There's no way to get someone in there without it being noticed somewhere. Given that you dragged them in from another country, and if I've correctly identified the young woman, she's a citizen of a third country entirely… Given their injuries, the traces of Dark Magic, and all the circumstances in general… I don't think we can afford anything official. And right now besides…"
Smethwyck waved his hand vaguely in the air, without explaining further.
"Right now?" I hinted that an explanation was needed.
"Not the most reliable place at the moment, our beloved hospital. You don't know? Well, of course you wouldn't. In short, they say the Dark Lord has come to power. The hospital is a public place. The staff might be relatively safe, but the patients… In short, too many questions, too few answers, and the whole thing reeks of the most dreadful illegality."
"So what do we do, then? Please understand, mentor — I think it's necessary both to get a handle on the situation, in order to plan properly, and to help these two, if they deserve it."
"Deserve it?" Smethwyck smirked. "When you become a Healer, Mr Granger, you'll have to become rather less discriminating about such things. Though we don't have a Muggle equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath."
At the name of that famous figure the Healer smirked — a namesake, after all.
"I suppose," I smiled, "that while I'm not yet a Healer, I can allow myself a degree of selectivity."
"But as a Healer, I can't just walk past," Smethwyck continued. "I can offer to move them to my house and treat them there. It'll take, I think, a week and a half to two weeks. And I'll need to keep them unconscious. And since none of us are strangers to one another, the price will just be the cost of the materials used in treatment, plus a purely symbolic fifty galleons for my time."
"No problem," I nodded. "I take it you'll only be treating the two of them?"
"Of course. The elder one doesn't need treatment."
"Excellent. You mentioned the Dark Lord has come to power."
"I understand what you're getting at, Mr Granger," Smethwyck nodded. "There's been no official statement yet, but from reliable sources it's known for certain that Bartemius Crouch is dead, killed in his own home. And a few other details besides. But so far there's been no statement, no new measures, nothing of the sort."
We spent a couple of minutes arranging how to transport the patients, after which I helped Smethwyck deliver them to the right place. The delivery was done with the help of the phoenix, at the Healer's insistence — phoenixes have an extremely gentle magical effect, and travelling with their help can be considered the gentlest method possible. Which matters quite a bit when it comes to treatment and the like — you never know how excessive harshness in magical transport might end up affecting a patient's condition.
In short, I first travelled by Floo to Smethwyck's house, not a particularly large one, in a quiet peaceful spot, summoned the phoenix there, and once I had the coordinates for transport, quickly brought Romanova and the other unfortunate man over, leaving their further care to Smethwyck. Having handed them off, I returned to the Greengrass house, to the sitting room where Daphne was waiting for me.
"How did it go?" Daphne asked at once, gesturing for me to sit beside her on the sofa, which I did.
"All went well. Smethwyck will get them settled and begin treatment. Payment once it's done."
"That's good," Daphne settled against my shoulder again. "Worried about the situation?"
"A little," I admitted honestly, putting an arm around the girl. "The change of power, I take it?"
Instead of answering, Daphne gave a short nod.
"I just don't know what to expect. What to prepare for. Some people say one thing, others say another. From personal experience, I've noticed that even among the Death Eaters there are some relatively reasonable wizards, and some absolute lunatics. What happens now? What changes will the Dark Lord bring?"
"You're not thinking of joining a fight against him and his followers?"
"No, of course not. I'm not interested in universal justice, the greater good, or other ephemeral things like that. There's only my loved ones, my family, and their well-being. And if anything threatens them — or your well-being — then for whoever wishes us harm, the attempt will be the last act of their life."
"Dramatic. You don't usually like drama."
"How else am I supposed to put it, if that's how it is?"
"True enough. What will you do with the third one?"
"I need to find out everything he knows."
"Do you need help?"
"I'd rather you not have to witness interrogations under duress."
"But you know I'd support you even in matters like that."
"And if I need help, you'll be the first to know."
"All right," Daphne seemed to smile and relax, but not for long. With a sad exhale, she pulled back and turned to face me. "I suppose there's no point wasting time."
"You're right."
We left the sitting room and went downstairs, collecting the unconscious body. Daphne gave instructions to the house-elf about resuming the house's "preservation," and I-the-phoenix carried us to the doorstep of the Andersons' house.
"Don't be long," Daphne gave me a quick goodbye kiss with a smile and went inside.
I-the-phoenix carried me and the unconscious body to the empty lot I'd seen on the journey from Rome here.
Dark, quiet, not even birdsong — only the wind stirring the grass and the treetops slightly. Not a single light source anywhere — only a clear, starlit sky. I-the-phoenix flew up high, hidden from any conceivable observers by magic, and began circling the area to keep watch, while I conjured a multi-layered dome of protection and concealment, a couple of grim green Lumos will-o'-the-wisps for atmosphere, summoned the Doctor's costume onto myself, and laid the prisoner out on a table transfigured from thin air, complete with a few runic arrays and restraints for the hands and feet. I secured the prisoner, stripped away any excess clothing that might be concealing an unnoticed runic array — there's always a chance of missing something — and set about waking him up.
A little magic, a little dementor's energy through the bond with the phoenix — just for that same atmosphere.
"Wake up and sing, Mr Loser," I said softly in a disguised voice, as signs of waking appeared on the man's face, his unfocused gaze slowly searching for something to fix on. "Wake up and sing."
The man slowly began to come to, twitched his arms and legs — useless. He stared around in confusion, but an aura of dementor's energy can't help but affect a person's psyche, especially when it's compounded by imagery, surroundings, and a light that wizards associate with only one spell — Avada.
"I see you understand English well enough," I went on. "That simplifies matters considerably. Care to introduce yourself?"
"Auror. Erwin Kestner. I've heard of you. You've made a serious mistake, capturing me."
"Not as serious as yours, I think."
"The Plague Doctor," the man said with hostility, and a touch of unease whose cause wasn't immediately obvious.
"Let's dispense with these formalities, Mr Kestner."
Concentrating a little Dark Magic into the shape of a sphere, adding a drop of life energy, focusing on pain through stimulation of the relevant nerve endings while also supporting the target's consciousness and life, I brought my hand close to the man's chest. The magic began to work, and the man convulsed, clenching his teeth, almost wheezing through gritted teeth.
"I need you to talk," I said calmly, withdrawing my hand with its concentrated magic. "I hope you understand the point of this demonstration, and won't try to hold anything back. For both our sakes, and to save time."
"As if I'd… say anything…"
"Let's start by my simply asking some questions. Perhaps there's no secret at all in the answers, is there?"
"Try it," the man spat with hostility, attempting some wandless magic — only the runic arrays on the table drew the magic straight in, dispersing it into the air and spending it on reinforcing the construct's strength.
"I see you're surprised," I couldn't help saying, seeing the bewilderment on the man's face. "Well then, let's continue. You led a capture team that broke into one of the houses, where you yourselves were captured instead. Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter."
"What were your objectives?"
"None of your business."
"What group or organisation do you represent? What are your goals?"
"You'll learn nothing."
"A rather dubious claim."
The man had no wish to answer and showed no inclination to cooperate, so I moved on to procedures unpleasant for me — and, let's be honest, for the subject too — stimulating a sincere desire to tell everything, even things he didn't know he knew, by working on the pain centres, the brain, the nerve endings. I cycled through questions, overloaded the man's mind, aided myself with Legilimency, and fully repaired any damage to his "tongue," keeping him conscious and relatively coherent throughout.
The result? Doubtful. The man didn't really know much. Not even the name of the organisation he served. And yes, he was an Auror. In the distant past. His task had been simple — to command a group of three, including himself, and carry out captures of people whose houses some intermediary would plant and activate tracking beacons in. He didn't know the specific purpose of the captures, but from indirect hints dropped by his faceless superiors — some sort of rituals, experiments, or something along those lines.
The man didn't really know anything more — the organisation clearly followed a simple and effective method of compartmentalising information. Everyone knows only what they need to, and that's all.
By the end of my improvised interrogation, the man had apparently lost his marbles. He started speaking German, talking nonsense, though at first I could still pick out some images in his thoughts — but a moment later there was nothing from him but mutterings of "Blutreinheit über alles" or minor variations on the theme. At first I didn't quite grasp the meaning — my German is a bit better than just "eins, zwei, drei, Hitler kaputt, auf Wiedersehen." And then it hit me.
More blood-purity fanatics. Honestly, that was rather depressing. With a wave of my hand, I conjured Fiendfyre, burning the wretched man and the surrounding space in a stream of reddish flame. A couple of moments, and not even ash remained on the small patch of ground.
Dispelling the Plague Doctor's costume, I Apparated to a dozen random locations to throw off any possible pursuit, and only then appeared at the gates of the Andersons' house. The gate was open, so I simply walked in and headed up the path to the house. Lights were on in many of the windows, and the outdoor lighting on the grounds kept the place from sinking into darkness.
The door was also unlocked, but I felt a couple of charms on it and on the handle — something for alerting and identification. At least, that was the sense I got from the magic.
In the hall I was met only by Mrs Anderson, who was heading toward the staircase to the second floor.
"Ah, Hector, you're back," she smiled politely.
"Yes. Doesn't look like anyone's asleep yet."
"A complicated and ambiguous day. My husband and I, and your parents, are sitting in one of the sitting rooms discussing what happened. Daphne wouldn't tell us anything, said to ask you, and went off to the girls' room. Won't you tell us?"
"There's not much to tell," I shrugged. "The detainees have been handed over to a good Healer friend of ours for treatment and to find out the circumstances. It'll probably take a couple of weeks — there are some complicated cases that need lengthy, quality care. The right approach."
"I see. Hopefully we'll be able to learn something concrete before long."
"I can tell you part of it now, as it is."
I went up the stairs to the second floor, and Mrs Anderson and I walked at an easy pace toward the guest rooms.
"They're not Aurors — not currently serving ones, at least…"
Quickly and factually, I told her what I'd learned, leaving out my own guesses and conclusions. Dry and to the point. It took less than half a minute — there wasn't much information to give.
"Something to think about," Mrs Anderson nodded, just as we reached my room. "Goodnight."
"More like 'good morning' by now, really. But to you as well."
Going into my room, I shrugged off my robe and simply sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees. I sat there, thinking. In truth, the last thing I'd want to do is torture. Doesn't matter what the end goal is. Intellectually, I understand that sometimes such means are necessary, and the memory of the shards bears that out — but that doesn't mean I approve of such an approach, and I certainly don't enjoy it. I find it repugnant, even.
From the corner of my eye I noticed the door quietly open, and Daphne slipped quickly into the room. Closing the door behind her without a sound, she came over so I'd see her and notice, and simply sat beside me on the bed, half-turned toward me. She placed her hand on mine and sat in silence.
I sat like that for perhaps two minutes, after which I took Daphne's hand, turned to her, and pulled her into a kiss. Brief, but sincere and heartfelt, and she returned it in kind.
"Thank you," I said quietly to the girl.
"Get some rest," she said just as quietly, all but pulling me onto the bed and simply lying down beside me, resting her head on my shoulder again.
"All right," I exhaled, putting an arm around Daphne and closing my eyes.
Sometimes it's damn nice having someone like that nearby. Or not quite a person. The elf shard… It had always gone alone. That shard, despite its phenomenal incompleteness, was the largest. And the appearance of attachments like this… It's unsettling, in its unfamiliarity. No — not unsettling. Stirring.
. . . . . .
Thick clouds had gathered over the night sky above London. In one of the dark alleyways stood a wizard, invisible to ordinary people, in lilac robes and with a long grey beard. He had been standing there for about three minutes now, waiting.
"Albus," came a quiet, soft-spoken voice from the shadows.
"Severus," Dumbledore nodded into the darkness, and from that darkness Snape's face seemed to materialise. "What's the urgency?"
"There are reasons I decided not to delay."
The outline of the well-known Potions Master's black robes could only just be made out in the shadows.
"So urgent that there wasn't even time to gather the available members of the Order?"
"That's my opinion," Snape replied dryly. "And you're quite capable of passing the information on to the others yourself."
"Fair enough, Severus."
"The Dark Lord has given me a clear instruction to take up the post of Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"I'm afraid it doesn't quite work that way," Dumbledore shook his head.
"It's no secret to anyone, Albus. The necessary people have already given their preliminary agreement."
"Well… Something of the sort was to be expected," Dumbledore said sadly. "No doubt Tom has already issued his first orders, even though you haven't taken up the post yet?"
"He has. Find any pretext to drive out Charity Burbage, freeing up the Muggle Studies post for one of his own."
"Predictable. Tom seems to want to spread his ideas through propaganda. He's never been known for tolerance toward Muggles. Is it known yet who it'll be?"
"There aren't that many people among the Dark Lord's followers with clean records," a sardonic smile appeared on Snape's face. "So the list is rather short. Although you, Albus, should know — a clean record can simply mean the criminal was never caught."
"True, Severus. Quite true. Anything else?"
"As far as I know, the Dark Lord has found a candidate for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Tell me," Dumbledore looked closely at Snape's face, "has Tom nothing better to do than pick out teachers? I understand, of course, the long-term importance of such things, but even so."
"He's not planning to become Minister for Magic either. He'll put one of his loyal people in the chair."
"Again, someone with a clean record."
"Yes, Albus. Despite his successes, the Dark Lord is in no hurry to step out of the shadows."
"It seems you'll need to find yourself a replacement for the post of Potions professor."
"Strangely enough, I came to the same conclusion. That way I'll have more scope to keep these lunatics from doing too much harm to the students."
"You don't think much of your comrades on that side, do you," Dumbledore smirked.
"My opinion of the comrades on this side isn't any better," Snape sneered. "So let's set aside my opinions of others — they're none of anyone's business."
"But you might have softened your view by now of… Sirius, at least."
"He remains exactly what he always was — a glaring stereotype of the brainless Gryffindor. And let's leave this conversation for better times."
"There's a chance better times may never come, Severus. I'm starting to lose my grasp on Tom's actions — they slip further from my understanding more and more often."
"Perhaps it's time you stepped out of the shadows yourself?" Snape smirked.
"No, that won't do. At the moment Tom believes me dead and is acting gently, but steadily, as though he faced no threats. If he learns I'm alive, I fear his actions will become far harsher."
"A highly doubtful claim. I've heard, Albus, that he's planning a mass registration of Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Mandatory. And you and I both know what the Dark Lord does when his mandatory requirements aren't met."
"You've brought important news, Severus, and I'm grateful to you for it," Dumbledore decided to end the conversation — his instincts told him to. "We will certainly take it into consideration."
"I hope so."
Snape vanished back into the shadows, and Dumbledore Apparated away.
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