A Model

Chapter 7

Interim

F,

I have just received information from a reliable source regarding the Thursday habits of LM. It seems that...

"I am going to London to get some ... things for the model. I should be back in a few hours."

Atropos's words cut through Remus's attempts to inform his Order contact of Lucius Malfoy's visits to his mistress. He looked up sharply and was immediately suspicious when she seemed to insist on staring at a point above his head. He was used to having her eyes fixed firmly upon him when speaking. Now her pale eyes skittered from his forehead to another point a little to the left of his face and back again.

It was not the fact that she had made no previous mention of a London trip before which startled him. Remus had learned that Atropos tended to withhold all her plans until the point arrived where there was no time left for anyone to disagree with them. He had decided that she was actually unconscious of the inconvenience this meant to others and was, rather than being purposefully rude, merely being unknowingly selfish.

But knowing this about her also assured him that she was probably leaving him to deal with whomever else it was she had waited, and thus neglected, to inform. He tried to keep his voice neutral. "Don't you have to meet with students today?"

Her eyes suddenly swung away from the point behind him on the wall and met his. "I canceled with them a few days ago. I told them I had business in London today," her voice rose defensively, "And it's true!"

He worked hard to stifle a slight smile. She looked annoyed that he had caught her plans to shirk. "Certainly it is," he said as neutrally as possible but he couldn't stop a bit of wry humor from creeping into his voice. She's not still afraid of running into Black? The man's trapped in Dumbledore's office for the rest of the day!

When he noticed her uncomfortable expression, a feeling of intense, warm amusement swept through him. Atropos had apparently been perfectly content to lay Sirius Black's world bare when she though him a heartless killer, but was terrified to meet him now that he was ragged fugitive whose diet consisted primarily of field vermin.

Still, Remus couldn't help but feel a stirring of sympathy for her reasons for running away to London for a few hours. He had worried about Sirius and Harry's doubtlessly painful "talk" since he left Dumbledore's office and the thought of having Sirius meet Atropos now made his stomach roll uncomfortably. The only ray of sunshine in that particular area was Sirius's fascination with his biograph. Remus hoped that Black's innate curiosity, as well as his tendency to pry, would make him interested enough in her to be civil.

Or at the very least he may be afraid enough of what she's found out from the biograph. God knows that our school years alone probably would provide someone with all the blackmail they need. Frink's Pink Ink!

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, he saw a faint pink tinge forming on her face. He swiftly asked a question. "What exactly do you need to get?"

When this only made the blush deepen, Remus experienced a slight qualm that was now completely unrelated to Sirius. The previous sense that Atropos wasn't telling him everything there was to know about the model came rushing back. As uncomfortable about Black as she was, he began to wonder if there wasn't something else afoot.

Her words didn't allay his fears particularly.

"Just a few nonmagical items. Nothing too strange." Her tone was far too bright and expression was far too composed. But when his steady stare served only to put a faint unhelpful smile on her face he was forced to admit a temporary defeat. He was beaten again by his general ignorance of Atropos's task. To say nothing of my complete lack of authority. Deciding to wait for her return from London to ask again about his copy in the floor and the model's structure, he irritably pulled out the letter.

Two thoughts floated to the top of his mind. She did help with the Lucius Malfoy situation. And what does she know about London anyway?

He sighed softly and looked up at her. "Have a good time. Don't get run over by those lurkies."

"Lorries," she said sniffily.

"Those too." Good. At least she seems to know enough about Muggles not to get into too much trouble. With that minor concern dealt with, he firmly set himself to finishing the letter. Remus had some hope that, if he got caught up in explaining the Malfoy situation to Frelsnod, he might have some hope of not spending the entire evening worrying about Sirius and Harry.

* * *

When Remus returned to Dumbledore's office to collect Sirius, Harry had already left. Black was slumped in his seat staring at the desk where Remus could see the Invisibility Cloak laying in a pile with the biograph and the remains of Sirius's dinner. There was nothing but bare bones on the plate and a few crumbs. Over a decade of living off Azkaban-rations had long since cured Sirius of any tendency to allow his mood to dictate his appetite.

He looked up when Remus entered and smiled wearily. "I told him," he said flatly. He suddenly tossed his head angrily. "It just isn't right!" The last was said with some force and a violent gesture at the wall. Fawkes fluttered nervously on his perch.

Remus sat in another chair and waited. Sirius would make himself clearer given time.

When all that he got from Lupin was an inquisitive silence, Sirius made an irritated noise and ran a hand through his hair. "He worries too much, Remus! And about all of the wrong things." Sirius shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. "He should be thinking about OWLS or girls or Quidditch or ... or something else. Certainly not whether or not I'm going to be eaten by dementors or whether or not a deranged madman is going to kill him and take over the world!" Sirius finished with a powerful slap on the desk. Fawkes, now thoroughly agitated, flapped wildly. He was at his miserable pre-burning stage and desperately needed rest.

Remus raised his eyebrows at Sirius and pointedly looked at the wretched Phoenix. Sirius had the grace to blush and lowered his voice somewhat. "Sorry Fawkes," he muttered. He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But Remus, you know I am right! Something has to be done or he'll he be sporting gray hair before he's twenty." His head suddenly swung up, "My apologies," he said remorsefully, "I didn't mean ..."

He sounded so like the woefully tactless and belatedly regretful Sirius of the past that Remus had to chuckle. "Never mind. I understand the sentiment," he made his voice sound slightly aggrieved, "Though I cannot understand the expression myself. There was a waitress in Panama who told me that the gray made me look quite ... distinguished I think was the word she used."

Sirius's eyes glittered briefly with amusement. A delighted smirk flickered about his mouth. "Did she tell you that you had a wonderful personality too?"

Remus settled back in his chair "No," he smiled sweetly at his friend, "She didn't need to."

Sirius laughed appreciatively, his nervous fingers tapping on the chair arm, but the sight of the Invisibility Cloak on the desk seemed to sober him. He shook his head. "Panamanian waitresses aside, there had to be some way we can help him. Make him stop ... worrying so much."

"Sirius you can hardly expect him not to worry. His life, your life, all of our lives are being threatened. " Remus tried to keep his voice gentle. He couldn't deny that Harry's state was upsetting. When Remus has seen him again after a yearlong absence, he had instantly noticed the look of strain that seemed to be permanently fixed on the boy's face. But though he had pitied Harry in his disquiet, Remus had very little hope that they could do anything about it. Harry had every reason to be anxious.

He tried again, "Harry's life has never been normal, Sirius, and it won't ever be normal while Voldemort is alive." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, "Its natural to worry when you have cause. Its wise to worry when you have cause."

When the stubborn look refused to leave Sirius's face, Remus shook his head. Sirius wasn't ever going to accept that Harry's anxiety would be a permanent fixture of their lives for sometime. He had never approved of simply suffering through what couldn't be changed.

But then Sirius never understood that sometimes melancholy is the only tenable response to certain situations, Remus thought resignedly. Some things in life can't be cured or made into a positive. They just had to be suffered through.

He opened his mouth, not really certain of what he was going to say, only to be saved from having to come up with something by the sudden roaring to life of the fireplace.

Sirius swore and ducked toward the desk, smacking his head when he misjudged the height, Fawkes fell off his perch with a startled squawk, and Remus, after leaping to his feet with a confused idea of blocking the view of Sirius with his body, frantically tried to plan out a plausible explanation as to why Sirius Black would be sitting unbound and eating dinner in Albus Dumbledore's study.

Everyone on the room relaxed somewhat when they saw Alistair Moody's fearsome countenance floating in the fire, though Sirius was groaningly clutching his head and Fawkes lost several more feathers while recovering his footing. Moody looked annoyed with their histrionics. "Have you all gone mad?" he barked, "Where's Dumbledore? I have something to report and very little time in which to do it."

Remus shakily sat down and fought to recover his voice. "Our apologies, Moody. We were alarmed when we saw someone connecting to the fireplace." Losing track of what he was saying, Remus gestured helplessly at Sirius by way of an explanation.

The Auror now looked intensely irritated, "Dumbledore doesn't allow just anyone to contact him without warning! And you still haven't told me where he is!"

Remus flushed. Talking to Moody always left him feeling woefully inadequate as a sensible human being. He leveled off his voice and tried not to sound huffy. "He isn't here." It still came out rather short. When Moody opened his mouth in response, Sirius jumped in. "We can get him, sir. He certainly hasn't left the school grounds."

Moody somehow managed to look grimmer than before. He waved an arm. "There isn't time. I have to meet with our operative in a few minutes." He looked at the two men sharply. "You'll have to report to Dumbledore for me. Assure him I will communicate with him again as soon as I have more information." He waited for them both to nod and then released a long breath. His false eye was rolling wildly about.

"Locusta and Lucretius Lestrange have vanished from Azkaban." The silence that followed that declaration was broken by a soft moan from Fawkes. Remus and Sirius had to struggle not to echo him. The Lestranges had once been researchers at the Potions Institute of Calais. In her youth, Locusta Lestrange was responsible for the development of the Pegasus Palliative, a discovery that might have gotten a wing of St. Mungo's named in her honor. Instead there was one dedicated to the care of her victims. And though dragon handlers still rely heavily upon Lucretius Lestrange's sedatives in the care of their charges, almost all of them also have relatives sleeping forever beneath the ground because of his skill in the area of induced repose.

Sirius's voice rasped softly. He still hadn't gotten up from the floor. "They escaped?"

Moody's mouth twisted. "That's what Fudge is saying. But our man in Azkaban said that they found two Muggles in the Lestranges' cells - dead of course. They were laid out on the pallets." Moody paused briefly, "It looked like an exchange."

Remus and Sirius shared a grim glance. It was Remus who voiced what they were all thinking, "Keziah Mason then."

Moody jerked his head once in a sort of nod. "Looks like it. I'll talk later when I have something more solid." His face winked out.

Sirius swore violently as he dragged himself to his feet. "That's it then! They'll have every Death Eater out and about before tomorrow if Mason actually has her spells working correctly." He swung his foot, narrowly missing the chair and almost tripped again. "Damn it! Keziah Mason? They locked up anyone Voldemort breathed on who didn't have a large Gringott's vault and they let that ... that woman run free?"

Remus grimaced and straightened the chair. "The Department of Mysteries needed her for whatever research they had her doing." He sighed. "She never personally killed anyone."

Sirius snorted. He could tell that Remus didn't find that argument particularly compelling. His shoulders suddenly slumped. "They'll blame me, you know." Now he sounded bitterly amused. "What with my miraculous ability to kill people in two places at once and my general evilness, it was obviously a breeze for me to slip into Azkaban and save my associates." Sirius was starting to look angry. "It isn't enough that I have to be on the run, but now I am helping Voldemort by being the excuse for everything he does."

Remus rested a soothing hand on his friend's arm but said nothing. He didn't have the heart to disagree with what was essentially true. He silently gathered up the cloak from the desk, sternly ignoring the temptation of the biograph and handed them over to Sirius. "Get under this cloak and stay in my room. You know where it is." He pulled a face. "I have to report this to Dumbledore." He looked out at the window, suddenly realizing that it was getting dark outside. "You might as well get some sleep. There's nothing else we can do today."

Sirius smiled wearily and started to pull on the cloak. He paused when he had to juggle the biograph. Staring down at it a reckless grin spread across his face. "Well today turned out to be absolutely horrible! Shouldn't we cap it off the report to Dumbledore with a visit to your oneiromancer? Get all of the unpleasantness out of the way?"

Remus snorted. "I think I would prefer having needles stuck in my eyes." When Sirius snickered, he sighed. "She isn't even here right now. She had to go to London."

Sirius raised a dark eyebrow. He didn't miss the convenience of her absence. "Afraid of me is she?"

Remus sobered. He didn't want Sirius to become any more prejudiced against Atropos than he already was. He fixed his friend with a sharp stare. "I think that she is feeling ... guilty." When Sirius's eyes narrowed, he waved his arms irritably. "She isn't completely callous, Sirius." He paused thoughtfully, searching for the words. "Perhaps she is sometimes ... unthinking. I honestly believe she was unaware of the ramifications of what she planned until it was too late. But it wasn't cruelty!" He stopped, feeling inexplicably embarrassed when he noticed that Sirius gazing at him curiously. He finished roughly, "You can meet her tomorrow, Black. I need to talk to Dumbledore."

As he left, Sirius pensively pulled on Harry's cloak. But his thoughts about the oneiromancer and Remus's uncharacteristic outburst were quickly submerged by the memories being under the cloak dredged up.

* * *

Disaster, it was said, always comes in threes. Albus Dumbledore had lived long enough to learn that expecting only three disasters was an excellent way to have the fourth and fifth surprise you from behind, but even he was startled by how completely the day turned into a nightmare of the mind and nerves. He had just returned from speaking to Remus Lupin about the Lestranges and was trying to find an Order member who knew where to find Moody when Arthur Weasley's head appeared in the fire. He looked so worried and grim that Dumbledore immediately dropped his quill and directed his full attention to his friend.

"I have the report on the strike against that Muggle bank, Albus." Arthur's usually pleasant voice was tense.

Allowing himself to frown slightly, Dumbledore sat forward in his chair. Mundungus was scheduled to speak to him in few hours. He had expected to receive the report then.

Arthur seemed to sense his unspoken question. He grimaced. "Molly's cousin worked at that bank, Albus. He was an ... accountant. We only just now learned that they found his body." There was a slight pause. Dumbledore waited. Saddened though he was by Molly's loss, he knew that Arthur wouldn't have risked contacting him from a Ministry fireplace unless there was something more to add. Mr. Weasley drew in a steadying breath. "Albus, he was bled completely dry - the only one who was." His voice wobbled slightly. "And it wasn't from torture or having his throat slit either. Someone made an incision and collected every drop of blood he had." He ground to a halt, unable to say what the obvious conclusion was.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. The Order had hoped that the few vampires left would choose to stand down in the coming battle out of deference to their dwindling numbers. It seemed that Voldemort had at least one at his disposal.

Arthur began speaking again slowly, trying to encourage his leader, who suddenly looked so weary. "Of course it doesn't necessarily mean that. It could have been something else ..."

The "but what" lingered in the air as Arthur's voice died down again. Neither of them could really think of anything that would require all the blood out of a body. All of the blood. The idea stirred something in his mind, but it was gone before he could grasp a hold of it. Dumbledore sighed, it was probably nothing. Over a century of experience wasn't always a help. It often cluttered up the necessary information.

He summoned up a smile. He knew that the true reason that Arthur had given him the news was Molly's relationship to the victim. It was too frightening to be coincidence. If Voldemort was having a vampire target Weasleys, the children still at Hogwarts would need some added protection. The whole school will need some added protection. I'll need to talk to Arabella.

Dumbledore tapped a finger lightly on his desk. He made his voice has confident as possible. "I assure you, Arthur, that ..." he was interrupted by Mr. Weasley's suddenly rigid face. Clearly someone had entered Arthur's office at the Ministry.

Arthur abruptly began speaking earnestly, "And I assure you, Headmaster, that Fred and George will be made aware of the gravity of their actions."

Feeling amused in spite of himself at Arthur's perfect excuse for his conversation with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore answered sternly, "See that you do. I doubt that the lawn statues will ever recover from the experience."

He was rewarded by a muffled snort of laughter just before the head winked out. At least he had managed to remove a little of Weasley's worry for a time. Or to take on some of it himself. I'll have to ask our Transylvanian contact which of the vampires has gone missing. Though if he hasn't reported it yet, it means the entire family is trying to hide it from him.

Grimacing wearily, Dumbledore rose from his chair to pour himself a glass of brandy from the decanter on a side table. Moody would no doubt be contacting him soon with news about Keziah Mason and the Azkaban escapees. He felt he needed something a little more fortifying than the tea that the house elves had thoughtfully sent up.

He rested in his chair, briefly considering pulling out the Pensieve. He felt he could use its organizational help to assist him with arranging Voldemort's various intrigues in his mind. We need to know what he is planning with all of this. Vampires and Ms. Mason and whatever else he is doing. He grimaced and reached for his pen instead. There were now at least eight people he needed to personally contact. Perhaps Academic Merriman's model will allow us to fit this all together.

* * *

The telephone ring jangled through the house. A pretty woman with a baby balanced on her hip picked up the receiver. In answer to the query she politely asked the caller to wait and yelled over her shoulder, "David! Telephone! It's a hospital in London!"

Dr. Merriman hurried down the stairs, wondering if a patient had met with a mishap. He took the receiver from his wife, who waited next to him, swaying back and forth to keep the little boy calm. As the person on the other end spoke, his face grew grimmer and grimmer. Muttering a quick thank you into the phone, he hung up and stood still for a moment.

His wife, starting to become worried, lightly touched his arm, breaking his concentration. "Is it a patient dear? Has something happened?"

Shaking himself swiftly, he stared at her. "Where is Pomona?"

His wife blinked and looked concerned. "Making a pig of herself with some bacon." She laughed nervously. "I always thought that if we had to own an owl we might as well indulge it a little."

She hurried after her husband as he ran towards the kitchen. "What's happening? What did they say?"

At the frightened tone in her voice, he finally broke out of his confusion. He swallowed. "Atropos was attacked by someone in London. The doctors found my card in her purse." He began scrabbling for paper and a pen. "I have to go. But first we need to contact her ... employers." He looked at her worriedly. "Will you be able to cancel my appointments? There isn't time for me to do it."

His wife nodded quickly. "Of course, David! But Atropos was hurt? How? I thought ... I mean I thought she was a ... a magic person."

He finished his scrawled note and began tying it to the leg of his indignant and lazy owl. Pomona had been an "in case of emergencies" gift from his witch-sister and hadn't seen very much use. "She is. But it doesn't mean her skin is made of Teflon." He grimaced. "They said she's unconscious. She's been stabbed."

At this, Mrs. Merriman gasped and swiftly set the baby on the floor where he instantly began investigating a crust of bread that had been dropped there that morning. She ran into the hall, returning moments later to snatch the dirty piece of bread out of her son's mouth and offer her husband his coat.

She pulled the note, which still wasn't successfully tied to the owl's leg, away from him and spoke firmly. "Never mind Pomona! I'll send her to the Academy." When he looked at her worriedly, she rolled her eyes, "David, I spend more time with that ridiculous bird than you do. I can manage this. Now leave! We need to know more about what's happened."

Nodding silently, Dr. Merriman kissed his wife and son and hurried out to his car. He promised to call them from the hospital.

* * *

The room where Lucius Malfoy met with Macnair and his hired killer was dimly lit. One of the smaller sitting rooms, it was filled with heavy furniture and stuffed magical beasts of all kinds - the late Gaius Malfoy had been a keen hunter. Walden and Lucius were sitting. The assassin stood in the center of the room. He hadn't been able to shed his Muggle garb yet and looked vaguely annoyed.

Malfoy wasn't vaguely annoyed, he was outright furious.

"She was still alive when you left?" Lucius's voice was deadly quiet. Macnair had to wonder at the composure of the assassin when he didn't flick an eyelid at the dangerous tone. He himself was struggling to hide his terror now that he knew that they had not only gone against Lord Voldemort's expressed wishes, but had also failed to even do so successfully. The snarling head of chimera that hung directly across from where he was sitting did not help his peace of mind.

Their hireling obviously had no such difficulties. "I caught her twice. She was twitching in a pool of her own blood when I left," the man said calmly. "There was only so much I could do when magic wasn't an option." He flicked a fastidious hand on the bloodied sleeve of his silly Muggle clothes. "It was messy enough to make me think that she might be a corpse as we speak."

Lucius settled back, allowing himself to be soothed. "You left her with the Muggle healers?"

The assassin shrugged. "They hadn't come when I left. I don't imagine we have much to fear from that quarter."

Malfoy finally relaxed into a smile. "Yes. I understand that they use leeches to heal the sick." He waved an arm. "Perhaps the treatment will kill her." Suddenly his eyes flashed angrily. "But if it doesn't, I want you to make certain something else does." His voice became horribly warm and soft. "I want the woman dead," he finished.

The man glanced briefly at Macnair's rigid features. His gaze returned to Lucius and he nodded stiffly, turning on his heel to go out.

When they were alone, Walden opened his mouth. Lucius's head snapped around. His narrow nose was almost quivering. "Not a word Macnair." Malfoy visibly calmed himself. "I can't bear to hear your sniveling." His mouth twisted petulantly, "Don't you have errands of some sort to run for our half-breed oneiromancer?"

Macnair stiffened. He knew that any response he could stand to make would likely get him messily killed. When he forced himself to meet Lucius's eyes, Walden realized from his satisfied expression that Malfoy knew it too. The pale gray-eyed gaze seemed to be searching for an excuse. Shuddering imperceptibly, Walden lowered his head. He had lived as long as he had while keeping the company he kept by knowing when pride was a pointless comfort. But it was truly bitter to hear Malfoy's soft chuckle as he left the room.