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Headlines
Author: Phyllida
Date: 11-08-12 02:56
Phyllida woke abruptly, in the middle of the night. A flash of green had forced through her closed eyelids, invading her dreams – but the room was dark, and the curtains drawn. Through the thin chintz of the drapes, she could see the dim, orange glow of Muggle street-lamps; nothing remotely green marred the darkness outside. She took a deep breath, and lay her head back on the unfamiliar pillow. Ptolemy stirred in ill-temper, disturbed by her restlessness. She reassured him by scratching his scruff, trying to dispel her own unease. A bad dream, she thought to herself, letting the dark, close warmth of the quilt lull her back to sleep. Her wand, sitting on the bedside table, gave a final, green-tinged spurt of sparks like a spray of embers, and lay dormant. The embers trotted across the oaken surface, before they smouldered, one-by-one, into flecks of ash.
***
The thatch cottage in Tolpuddle smelled particularly of baked things that morning; motes of spice and sweetness drifted up the stairs, enticing Phyllida to emerge from the guest bedroom. The walls were of rough, white-washed stone, adorned with the occasional portrait of a dozing, wizened ancestor. Rafters blackened with age arched across a ceiling so low that the top of Nate's head grazed the timbers. The interior was shabby, but orderly, though many walls stooped at crooked angles, and some hallways led nowhere at all. Queerest of all, there were no house-elves; Phyllida was astonished that Mrs. Ross found the time to clean the whole house herself.
Nathaniel trotted blithely down the rickety wooden staircase, nearly tripping on a worn corner of carpet as he met her by the foot of the stairs. He swung around her waist, grinning like a maniac.
"Good morning! Did you sleep alright in that striped yellow-and-black quilt?" He confirmed that his parents were preoccupied in the kitchen before taking her in his arms.
"I had nightmares," Phyllida replied, avoiding his gaze.
"Were you being swarmed by Wasps?" he asked, kissing her jaw.
Phyllida sighed. "Nate, I'm serious…"
"Really, I can switch you to another quilt if you like. We have one in the cupboard that the boggarts like, if you can stand the smell of mothballs."
She gave him a quick kiss, grinning. "What's for breakfast?"
"Er…French toast, porridge, bacon, eggs fried, eggs poached, eggs scrambled, pancakes, scones, omelette, Weetabix, Cocoa Pops…"
"Oh stop."
"I'm serious. Mum's gone all out."
And she had. Phyllida, whey-faced, sat down at their long kitchen table, staring aghast at the humungous spread before them.
"Oh. I forgot to add frittata to that list," Nate said as his mother brought out the final plate.
His mother beamed – for a moment, Phyllida could see exactly where Nate got his rapturous smile. "Plenty of food for everyone."
They tucked in; Phyllida felt obliged to try a little of everything, even though her stomach roiled with inexplicable nerves. She stared absentmindedly at the headlines on the copy of the Daily Prophet which Mr. Ross was examining; his ruddy face drained suddenly.
"How?…" Mrs. Ross stammered, putting her knife and fork down.
Phyllida felt Nate grip her hand under the table. Her hand felt clammy in his.
"Oh, I'm so relieved you two aren't going back to Hogwarts – with Dumbledore gone, nobody will send their children to school there! All these murders, attacks and disappearances…"
Mr. Ross was silent, his eyes devouring the Prophet's news. Phyllida removed her hand from Nate's, staring at the old photograph of the Headmaster on the front page, smiling sagely through his half-moon spectacles. He would never smile like that again, she thought, her heart filling with dread. And then, below the frenzied headline announcing the day's terrible news, she saw a small, hurried article with a tiny photography of a haughty, extraordinarily well-dressed wizard.
"May I see the newspaper, please?" she asked through pale lips. Mr. Ross handed it to her.
"What is it?" Nate asked, craning over her shoulder.
"My father has been arrested," she said, laying the paper on the table. The side of her knuckle brushed her wand's handle; she was not certain if it was her hand that was quivering, or the wand.
(Alexander) The New Cellmate
Author: Mildred
Date: 11-08-12 03:45
The news of Albus Dumbledore's death had spread quickly at Azkaban. While some felt somewhat devastated with the news, most of them rejoiced: Dumbledore was not a popular figure among the prisoners.
Alexander could not help but feel relieved that Mildred no longer attended Hogwarts: the headmaster had been killed at his own school and he had the feeling that Hogwarts was no longer a safe place. Dumbledore had always been the one figure who had offered protection and stability to the Wizarding world, and he could not even guess the chaos lived outside Azkaban at this very moment. He wondered how many parents would keep their children at the school - if someone had managed to break into Hogwarts and kill its headmaster, it was sure that the children would be even easier targets.
There were some rumors about who might have killed Dumbledore circulating in the prison. However most of the prisoners declared they did not care what happened - Dumbledore was dead and the world was a better place. Alexander did not involve himself in any of these conversations. He just limited himself to listening, and not to judge. His main concern was Mildred, and to know she was safe with Helen outside the country was enough to make him happy.
After breakfast he went back to his cell only to find out he had a new cellmate. Alexander's previous cellmate had left Azkaban a few days ago and he could not help but feel disappointed they had quickly found him a new substitute: Alexander was starting to enjoy his solitude and being able to sleep without his cellmate's snoring.
The bars closed behind the new inmate, and he felt the man's eyes on him. They mutually studied each other. The man was older than him and Alexander could tell right away he was convinced his stay at Azkaban would be temporary. That meant he hadn't been tried yet. He didn't have the look of someone whose fate had been determinate by a judge and that he would have to spend a long number of years behind bars. The wizard actually seemed somewhat amused when his eyes fell on the photo Alexander had of his wife and daughter as if he was sure he would not reach to that situation.
The silence between the two didn't last long. Soon the man was presenting himself as if they were not in prison but in some ballroom party.
"I am Phineus Grimshaw-Spore, former member of the Wizengamont, and now what it seems to be, a prisoner of Azkaban," he chuckled. "And who do I have the pleasure to share my cell with?"
Alexander did not like how he declared the cell as his. However he decided to let that pass. The wizard was clearly not himself. His good mood was not normal.
"Alexander Campbell," he greeted, though he didn't offer his hand for Phineus to shake.
"Campbell, Campbell…hmm…are you related with Matilda Campbell, the great witch of Cornwall from the XXIV century?"
"I don't think so."
"What a shame. She was a lovely person. Or so they say. I never met her of course. I wasn't even born," he chuckled once again and then he approached the bars looking around. "When are we allowed to leave our lovely installations?" he asked. "I have some friends in here that I would like to meet. It will be like a little reunion!"
"In an hour or so. But I'm not sure. Everyone has been agitated with Dumbledore's death so they might not let us out. They don't like conflicts."
"Neither do I." He paused and then he continued: "Well it seems we have a few hours to kill. Is that a chess board? What do you say to a friendly match, Mr. Campbell?"
Alexander accepted. It was not that he had anything better to do.
Wrong Time To Be A Rebellious Teen
Author: Errol
Date: 11-08-12 15:35
Ross Anderson hands a box to Errol. "Your new school robes. Be sure to try them on soon. You look like you've grown another inch or two so Della might need to adjust the hem."
"Yes, sir." Errol, the box clutched to his chest, starts for the stairs to his room but stops, turning to ask, "Uncle Ross, are you leaving again right away?"
Eyes scanning some article of mail Ross absentmindedly answers, "No, not for awhile."
"Then tell me why I'm still under house arrest."
"I've told you, Errol, you aren't. The restrictions are necessary."
"So explain it to me already. You've been putting me off for weeks."
"This isn't a good time."
"It's never a good time. You're gone so much I think you're avoiding me. When you are here, you make one excuse after another."
"Errol," Ross says in that stern tone he takes when not in the mood for any crap.
"Don't put me off again. I have a right to know. Do you have any idea of what it's been like? Locked away at Hogwarts, sitting doing extra work while others are off on field trips or waving at them from the gate as they go into Hogsmeade or to catch the train for a holiday break. People long thinking I'm guilty of some nasty crimes."
"Not everyone at Hogwarts thinks that anymore after the Veritaserum incident."
"Not everyone, no, but some do, and there are other rumors. There are also my professors who must not think too highly of me, sent there because of what I'd been accused of and then kept there on just as tight of restrictions as before even after you must have let the school know I was innocent. If you bothered that is."
"Of course I spoke with both Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall."
"But not to me. Dayna came and spoke to me, sure it was through the hedge and so I could only see a little of her, and I didn't really want to talk to her or hear anything she had to say other than maybe an apology, which she didn't make, not really, but she at least bothered to come talk to me."
"What do you mean you spoke to Dayna? When?"
"Saturday when I was listening to some of the delayed broadcast of Emrys Fest from England."
"And you are only just now mentioning this?"
"I hadn't planned to say anything at all. Why would I? It's not like I invited her over or attempted to find some way around your security charms to ask her in."
"How did she find the house?" Ross asks more to himself than to Errol.
"She was here all the time last summer."
"You don't understand, Errol. Dayna shouldn't have known where to find the house. I moved it."
"What do you mean you moved it?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Though still in the Willow Creek region, the house and grounds are no longer in the same physical location you are familiar with."
Still in shock over this revelation, Errol needs clarifications. "You moved the house."
"Yes, with the help of some trusted people."
"Why would you do that?"
"Are you sure it was Dayna?"
"Yeah, I guess it was. Looked and sounded like Dayna. Why did you move the entire property?"
"Can you be 100% positive the person you spoke with was Dayna?"
"Why would someone impersonate Dayna and, again, why did you move the house?"
"Errol, think. This is very important. Could the person you spoke with have been someone using Polyjuice or some other method of disguise?"
Errol thinks back to Saturday's conversation. After a few moments in which Ross is growing increasingly impatient, he slowly nods. "Yeah, I guess it could have been. We mainly only talked about that night and she didn't get into any specifics to speak of."
"Go upstairs and pack enough for a week. A week should give me time to gather those trusted few to move the house again and ferret out who gave Gresham this location."
"What is this all about, Uncle Ross?"
"Now, Errol. Go."
"NO, DAMMIT! Tell me what the hell is going on. I have a right to know."
"Later, I promise."
Ross must really be distracted by whatever the hell is going on because for once he doesn't growl at Errol about language and tone. Errol, the box with his new Hogwarts robes becoming crushed as he stubbornly folds his arms to glare at his uncle. "You've been making that same promise all summer. I'm not being put off this time and I'm not budging until you explain."
Ross makes a deep throated sound of frustration. "This is seriously not the time for the rebellious teenager act."
"You do realize that you could have explained at least a little by now instead of repeatedly putting me off and I would be up the stairs and packing?"
"If this wasn't a crisis, you do realize you'd probably not be able to sit for a week?"
"Just going to keep stalling, aren't you?"
"Goddammit, Errol, if you knew "
"BUT I DON'T BECAUSE YOU WON'T FUCKING TELL ME!"
Ross has never slapped Errol before but Errol have a feeling his uncle would dearly love to do just that right now. Luckily for him, Ross expels a loud burst of air, fingers going to massage the bridge of his nose, head tilted slightly down, eyes going closed for a few seconds. When he opens them again he runs his hand down his face, sighing loudly once more.
"Fine. The as short as I can make it version. You know what my job is, right?"
"Yeah, financial strategist and analyst."
"My firm was contracted by the government to investigate several companies making bids for a government job. One was a Gresham owned. We found some discrepancies and investigated. Gresham didn't like that. Threats have been made though there is no proof Gresham himself is behind them. The government still has me working to help build a case against not just that one company but others Russell Gresham owns. A few people have died and a couple of others have gone missing. You have been specifically targeted in several threats. I have been trying to keep you safe while continuing building the case. If this location has been found out, then with time and diligence, Gresham's people could potentially breach security. Now, go upstairs and pack before I am tempted to leave this second and lock you in a closet sized safe room with no books or WWN until the property can be moved again."
In even more shock now, Errol numbly nods and heads for the stairs. In his room he starts pulling neatly folded underwear, socks, some shorts, and t-shirts out of the chest of drawers. Della pops into the room to ask if he needs any help. "Thanks, but no, I think I've got it."
Going to the closet to grab a couple pair of jeans, Errol opens it only to jump back with a start when a very large man steps out reaching for him.
The Morning After
Author: Minerva McGonagall
Date: 11-08-12 18:18
Professor McGonagall sat in the staff lounge, feeling numb. The events from last night seemed like a dream rather than reality. A frantic knocking at the door to her private quarters had startled her awake. What followed had come as an incredible shock. Dante, half-dressed and white as a sheet, had led her to the body of Albus Dumbledore.
Minerva, always a pillar of strength among the staff at Hogwarts, had been overcome with grief and had collapsed on the dewey grass at Dumbledore's side. How had the unthinkable happened? How would Hogwarts go on without its finest Headmaster there to lead it? And what would happen now?
Word had spread quickly in the castle, even with it being night, and soon a group of staff members had joined Minerva and Dante at the base of the Headmaster's Tower. Somebody had thought to notify the authorities, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, had also eventually arrived on scene.
Part of last night, much of it entirely sleepless, was a blur.
Dante slipped into the staff lounge and sat down next to Minerva. He wasn't in his running clothes this morning, instead wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His hair had that disheveled quality that came from a rough night rather than intentional styling.
A few other staff members trickled in, but some were on holiday and hadn't yet heard the terrible news.
Jolyon came in with the morning's Daily Prophet folded under his arm. The paper stated what they already knew, that Dumbledore had been murdered, but as of yet, nobody knew who had killed him or why.
Minerva finally found her voice. "We need to discuss what happens next."
First and foremost on her mind was a proper funeral for Dumbledore. Should it be at Hogwarts, the school he had loved? Aberforth Dumbledore had offered no suggestions when Minerva had gone to see him earlier in the morning. He would attend out of respect for his brother, but he felt that there were many who knew Albus better than he and who would be more familiar with his wishes.
Who would be the next Hogwarts Headmaster or Headmistress? Would it be she, as the current Deputy-Head, or somebody else? And if she rose into Dumbledore's old position, then could a new Transfiguration professor be found before the start of term? Minerva was willing to perform double duty, but if a suitable replacement could be found, then all the better.
And if she became Headmistress, then a new Deputy-Head would need choosing. Kissy would no doubt become Head of Gryffindor House, but who would fill her old role as Deputy?
There were many decisions in need of making, and with term starting in less than a month, they needed to act fast.
She cleared her throat and asked, "What do you think about holding his funeral on the Hogwarts grounds?"
At The Burrow
Author: Ginny Weasley
Date: 11-08-12 19:32
Molly Weasley sets a steaming cup of tea in front of Ginny. "You look as though you've not had sleep."
"I got a little, just not very much. How are you and Dad?"
Stirring a little sugar into her own cuppa Molly gives an almost imperceptible shrug. "In shock. Denial. I keep expecting him or Kingsley to show up and explain that it's some sort of plan to draw someone out or to uncover a plot. How are you?"
"Tired and, like you, shock and denial." Ginny rubs her belly. "I feel as if I went from a tiny little bulge yesterday to a huge watermelon this morning."
That brings a small smile to Molly's face. "You aren't very big yet at all."
"I'm not sure it's comforting to know that huge still looms on the horizon." She grimaces slightly rubbing a particular spot. "I have a nerve that keeps misfiring. I mentioned it last check-up but was told it's nothing to worry about. I'm not so much worried as annoyed as it does get painful at times."
"Maybe you should see someone else, get another opinion? I'll ask Majandra or Blossom. They used the same healer and absolutely loved him."
"I can find out, Mum, but thank you."
"Your well being is still very much my concern even if my baby is going to have a baby." Molly takes another sip of tea before venturing, "How is Harry holding up?"
"Not very well in my opinion. He keeps saying he's fine but he's not fooling anyone. We were woken with the news last night and he insisted on going to Hogwarts. Given his relationship to Professor Dumbledore, Kingsley wouldn't put Harry on the investigative team but knew that he'd have to have Harry forcibly removed or knocked out to get him to leave. That meant Harry hovered much of the night and into the early morning. He went in today like normal but I doubt he's being very productive, most likely pestering Kingsley to let him in on it."
"Arthur insisted on going to work as well, saying he needed to keep busy. I can understand the sentiment."
"Harassing the Minister of Magic all day is definitely keeping busy but it's not being very productive." Ginny shifts from talking about her husband to asking after her brother. "What of Ron? Do you know if he went to Hogwarts last night too? How is Hermione this morning? Do you know? She's got to as upset as the rest of us."
"Ron came over in the middle of the night, not wanting your father and I to hear it on the news or read it in the papers. As for Hermione, he said she seemed to be taking it well, but you know how she is. Even if upset and emotional, she will be practical in her approach and is most likely doing her rounds as we speak, being stoic with everyone around her."
"I can easily picture it." Ginny swirls the remaining contents in her cup then, sounding even more tired than she looks, asks her mother, "Do you mind if I stay here curled up on the couch?" She bends to pat the puppy snoozing at her foot. "And Pixie? If you don't want her inside, she'd be fine running in the yard as long as we set a barrier. She tends to go exploring and forgets how to get back to where she started."
"Of course you may stay, and as long as Pixie behaves inside, she may too."
A short time later Ginny is asleep on one of the Burrow couches, Pixie stretched along the length of Ginny's legs, emitting soft puppy snores, her tail flicking almost cat-like every now and again.
Ravenscrofte Rare and Antiquarian Books, Knockturn Alley
Author: Cassandra Catesby
Date: 11-09-12 03:35
Cassandra Catesby threaded her way through the towering shelves, stuffed to the rafters with old books and scrolls. The atmosphere was dim and dusty and there were very few customers perusing the shelves. This was no Flourish and Blotts, filled with chattering schoolchildren and their weary parents looking for next year's set texts for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - and that was just the way she liked it.
Ravenscrofte Rare and Antiquarian Books dealt with a more select clientele. It catered to those witches and wizards who had the intellect to appreciate - and the galleons to afford - the rare, the antique, the hard to obtain and even, on occasion, the dubious of provenance or morality. It was not, in Cassandra's opinion, her role to judge. Merely to track down and make available those volumes desired by her clientele.
Outside the shop's front door lay the shady lane of Knockturn Alley, where it was possible to purchase anything from Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent to the infamous Hand of Glory. The alley's dark reputation tended to discourage passersby, so it was probably fortunate she chose not to rely upon through trade. As Great-Aunt Morwenna had always said though, the serious customer was the only customer in their business. The curiosity seeker was unlikely to pay several hundred galleons for an old book, no matter how rare.
Cassandra reached the scarred wooden counter at the far end of the shop. Picking up her quill pen, she scribbled a quick note on a scrap of parchment and said softly, "I have an errand for you, Bathilda."
A barn owl swooped down from its perch up on a high shelf and glided down, a silent, pale ghost in the gloom. Cassandra rolled up the scrap of parchment and fastened it to the owl's leg.
"Perfidius Netherby will be wanting his book on Asiatic Anti-Venoms," she said. She stroked a hand down Bathilda's feathered back. The owl nipped her affectionately and then took flight once more, gliding out of a small, narrow window Cassandra left open for just that purpose.
Cassandra watched her leave and then turned back her desk. She grimaced as she caught sight of the open page of the Daily Prophet. The headline screamed 'Missing Witch: Where is she now?'. She didn't need to look at the face gazing imperiously out of the photograph beneath; it was identical to the one she saw gazing out of the mirror at her every morning when she cleaned her teeth.
Closing the newspaper, she folded it in half and tossed it into the wastebin.