Unplottable

31 - Varlerta

These days, we are meeting almost on a daily basis to find out what we are going to do about the Eliminatus curse. Bill Weasley arrived yesterday, bringing with him a large crate of books about curses, but also something like the smell of the desert, of sun in his hair. When he talks, he makes me feel trapped in this castle. Once upon a time, I used to be a traveller, too. I used to be young, to have adventures, to do magical research in remote countries, and to return laden with stories and strange, exotic artefacts. Back then, I wasn't tied down to a job that forces me to get up early each morning and to teach students, to pound my spells into their brains no matter how they feel about it, no matter how I feel.

Sometimes I almost hate my job. I know I should feel privileged, teaching at this great school, dealing with children who have the rare gift of magical powers. I remind myself that there are good days; days when teaching is easy or even fun, days when I feel I can really convey something to the students. But there are bad days, too, when nothing ever seems to go right, when I feel my job is useless, or maybe it's only me who is hopeless as a teacher. Then I think of Verus, of his frustration. These days, I think I can understand him better. I wonder if he sometimes felt like running away, just like me, if he felt as tied down as me. I ask myself if he was as afraid of remaining in the humdrum of castle affairs till he rotted away; I wonder if he feared growing old just like me.

Of course, as Roary likes to point out to me, right now I shouldn't be afraid of growing old, but rather of not growing old. We are likely to be under siege soon. Any day, we fear that there will be Death Eaters outside our walls, maybe Death Eaters attacking us with the most terrible of curses. Also, we are surprised that we haven't been evicted yet. Dumbledore has received an owl from the Ministry telling him to resign; he hasn't reacted yet, though. Maybe tomorrow they will come and try to take him away, perhaps using violence to convince us. In our meetings, we have repeatedly been talking about evacuating the castle before they come to curse us. We have, however, come to the conclusion that without Hogwarts' protecting walls, there would by no means be less danger to the students - or to ourselves.

Outside, there is almost open war now. Every couple of days, the Daily Prophet reports of street fights between witches and wizards of different groups. There have been a few casualties, one of them being Mundungus Fletcher Junior, the rune expert, a pacifist through and through, which makes me particularly angry. The situation is growing worse and worse. A lot of people have been fired from the Ministry, the majority of them members of Dumbledore's 'order', or people who supported Malfoy's rival, Arthur Weasley. The enemy knows who we are, and knows how to get at us; the enemy rules Magical Britain now. We talk about all of this in our countless meetings, and about ways to defend ourselves against the deadly Eliminatus curse. Roary is right to chide me for my discontent with my job, and my unhappiness regarding the absence of both Verus and Sirius. (Hey - I never said emotions made sense, did I?) I try to keep my feelings to myself and go to the next class and the next meeting like a good girl.

In today's meeting, Flitwick reports of his progress in questioning Peter Pettigrew and Romulus Lupin. The latter seems to cooperate; it was a good idea to get Aisha to talk to him, even if I do say so myself. Romulus has been owling a couple of people to get information on the curse, but they haven't been able to tell him much more than he and Flitwick already knew about it. All of the experts, including Charms teacher Flitwick and former Curse teacher Lupin (imagine, a Curse teacher!), agree that by the normal standards of this curse, it should be impossible to attack this castle with an Eliminatus. However, this does not ease our worries. There's got to be something we don't know, something against which we consequently can't prepare a defence. It is pretty scary.

Pettigrew isn't talking at all, Flitwick tells us. This isn't exactly news. Since he has been locked in his cell, he hasn't uttered more than twenty words, I think, and has said nothing useful whatsoever. He is just sitting in his cell, flexing his silver hand, if he moves at all. We have promised him better food and a chance to go outside under supervision if he cooperates - heck, we've got to promise him something - but to no avail. Neither has he signed the confession we have written up for him, the one stating that he betrayed the Potters, faked his own death, killed a couple of Muggles and got Sirius into prison. Shnirk, why should he sign it? He should know by now that we won't resort to torture, which probably doesn't apply to his Lord should he ever return to him.

Then, of course, there is the question of what Lucius Malfoy's son has to do with the curse. I've never met Draco Malfoy, as he already had left the school before I came to teach here, but I've heard a few stories. He's a student at Durmstrang now, which probably suggests that the staff or the students of Durmstrang know something about the curse. Romulus Lupin told us he knows a few teachers of Durmstrang due to an exchange program between two schools; however, it might look suspicious if he asked them for help. The enemy might be warned of what we know - which is very little indeed, but we have to use every tiny advantage we might get. Therefore, he hasn't owled these teachers yet and is asking us for advice, advice nobody really wants to give him.

After Flitwick has finished his discouraging report and the meagre discussion about the disconcerting news has subsided, Dumbledore raises his hand, indicating that he has something to say.

"My dear friends," he addresses us, "matters look bleak indeed, but we must look ahead and bravely face the trials that lie before us. One of the things we therefore should accomplish in this meeting today is to elect a leader and a second- and third-in-command for the defence of this school. It is likely that we will be facing battles soon, and that not all of us will survive these battles. We have to be prepared for such cases, because we must not be without a leader."

"Albus, you are our leader, and Minerva is our second-in-command," Chent Flitwick pipes.

So it was in the past, and so it will be in the future. There are nods all around, but also people glancing around the room. Dumbledore has spoken of a third-in-command, and we haven't got one yet. The absence of Verus is palpable. It is his place we are talking about here; after decades of serving Dumbledore loyally, it should be him to take the place behind Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. He deserves this honour, or rather, he used to deserve it. More importantly, we need him here, because he is likely to make a good leader in a battle, but Verus isn't among us any longer. It is almost as if he was dead, as if his ghost was present at the meeting. If I'm not mistaken, everybody is thinking of him at this moment, but nobody mentions his name.

Involuntarily, my fingers stray to a worn piece of parchment in my pocket - the last sign we got that he is alive and sane. I know it's silly to keep it there, but somehow it helps having it close.

"I agree with your proposal, Chent," Professor Vector finally replies, "and I suggest Roary Lyons to take the place of the third-in-command."

In terms of charisma and experience, Roary seems the obvious choice, even if he is too junior for such an honour in Hogwarts' unspoken hierarchy. However, this is not the main problem, as Roary is quick to point out himself.

"Thanks, Chent," he says, "I feel very honoured. However, there would be a conflict of interests, so I'm afraid I have to decline."

Flitwick looks confused, but as Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore nod, he accepts that he doesn't need to understand which conflict of interest Roary means. I know, incidentally - you can't lead both the League and Hogwarts, and if both sides needed him, Roary would always choose the League. Of course, his position is largely kept a secret - otherwise it wouldn't be safe for him to walk down a single street in the world. I suppose he would tell the people present at our meeting if the need arose, but as it isn't really necessary, he doesn't elaborate.

"I suggest Chent Flitwick as third-in-command," Heather Sprout says, perhaps only to fill the silence.

All eyes turn towards the tiny Charms teacher. Seated between Roary and Dumbledore, he looks smaller than ever. It is hard to imagine him leading people into battle.

"I am no great war strategist, let alone a fighter," Flitwick pipes up. "Instead, I suggest Professor Cosinus Vector."

The Arithmancy teacher shakes his head. "I certainly wouldn't be a good leader for you," he says. "You all know that I am no fighter, that I have never won a duel in my life, and that I find it difficult to make decisions at short notice. The idea of leading the defence of Hogwarts scares me. What about you, Heather?"

The motherly Head of the House of Hufflepuff chuckles. "You can't be serious, Cosinus," she replies. "Just like you like to hide behind your desk and your formulas, my place is in the greenhouse. What about -"

She looks around, searching for someone to nominate instead. However, there is nobody who fits the job; the absence of Verus has torn a hole in our midst which we can't mend, it seems. Hagrid is present, but of course not suitable, if only because he is not a fully qualified wizard; Sibyl Trelawney, Astra Sinistra and Professor Binns are not usually invited to our meetings, perhaps at their own request. I notice that nobody nominates me, that their glances skid off my face like they skid off Hagrid's. I'm quite relieved at that, because I see myself as a musician, a researcher, perhaps a teacher, but not a war strategist. However, I can't deny that I am also a bit hurt. If they name Cosinus Vector, who is probably the least suitable of us all, and Roary, who has been here shorter than me, omitting me can only mean that in spite of it all, they still won't trust Tom Riddle's daughter. Well, I'm used to that, I suppose. Years ago I intended to join the League, only to be refused membership because of my parentage: Roary knew who I was and discretely told me I was not wanted in the League, and while I understood his point, I was hurt. It was similar with becoming Head of the House of Slytherin: The post is officially still vacant, with Astra Sinistra functioning as stand-in. I wasn't positively keen on it, but feeling some kind of connection to my old house, I would have accepted the post if they had asked me. But they didn't, which, again, hurt a bit. Right now, I feel exactly the same, so I need to remind myself that I really don't want this job.

"I still believe it should be you, Chent," Professor McGonagall finally says a little wearily. "Nobody needs to be tall to lead people into battle - just think of that Muggle, Bonaparte. You have proven your authority many times as the Head of the House of Ravenclaw. You have been Albus' trusted follower, friend and advisor for many decades. I implore you to reconsider."

Flitwick sighs. "I don't want to be third-in-command, and I truly wish there was someone else around who is more suitable for this post, but if you all ask me, I will accept it," he replies.

We all murmur assent; I dutifully join in with the others, mentally chiding myself for feeling sorry for myself. When Dumbledore asks us to raise our hands to vote for Flitwick, we all do - except for Flitwick, who modestly looks at his tiny feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the meeting, Roary asks me whether I want to come along for another attempt to question Pettigrew. I would like to decline, not only because my hatred for the wizard who put Sirius into Azkaban is threatening my professional distance as interrogator, but also because I believe that all our efforts are futile. However, I feel it would not be very nice to refuse, so I promise I will join him: After all, I don't want them to think I am sulking.

Pettigrew is kept in a cell down in the dungeon; unlike Romulus, he has not been permitted to leave it except for his weekly bath, which takes place under strictest supervision. I know that is beneath my dignity to wish Pettigrew a damp cell and bread and water fare, but I suppose I can't be kind and reasonable all the time.

We pick up Romulus Lupin from his cell so he can join the interrogation. We have attempted to get the two of them to talk on their own, hoping that Pettigrew would still trust Romulus and therefore confide in him. However, it soon became evident that Pettigrew doesn't tell Romulus a whit more than he told us - namely nothing. We tried bribery and flattery, we tried threats, we tried different kinds of Veritaserum, but all has been useless - it seems if Voldemort has decided to close a mind, he can close it for good.

This time doesn't seem to be any different. The terms 'Eliminatus' and 'Draco Malfoy' leave Pettigrew's face immobile; only the eerie silvery hand opens and closes, opens and closes, as if run by a clockwork. As the usual questioning doesn't have any effect, Roary takes out a vial containing a small amount of a brownish, opaque potion. He has been studying Verus' notes, notes which document the use of potions on Dolores Lestrange in Azkaban. He has hinted at their danger, implying that Dumbledore might not exactly approve if he knew what vile concoction we give our prisoner. However, I suppose Roary knows what he is doing; if not, I'm positive Verus knew, so I see no reason to object.

Dangerous as the potion is said to be, it has no other effect than to make Pettigrew tremble visibly. However, he has nothing to say about the Eliminatus curse, or about Draco Malfoy, or about Durmstrang, something Roary brings up. There does not appear to be any kind of emotion in Pettigrew; after swallowing the potion without complaint, he just continues to stare beyond us. If Lord Voldemort takes possession of a mind, he does so rather effectively, it seems.

After a rather frustrating half an hour, we leave. Out in the hallway leading to the cell, Romulus suddenly says: "You know, I really wish I could write to some of the Durmstrang teachers and ask what is going on. Ludmila Davies, for example, the Combat Magic teacher - when the students and I went to Durmstrang last year, I met her, and she actually mentioned Pettigrew to me, so I'm sure she's working for the Dark Lord. She also mentioned a common project the students might work on this spring while the Durmstrang students are visiting Boston Magical High. Right now, she and her students are over there if everything worked according to schedule. I could contact her; the only problem is that she must have noticed I'm not at Boston Magical High right now. This might look suspicious, especially as the Dark Lord might have informed her of the reason for my absence. Also, I can't find any convincing reason to ask her whether she has anything to do with the curse."

"Even by sending her an owl asking a few questions, you could completely blow your cover, and, by the way, endanger Remus and Sirius," Roary replies, nodding. I am glad that he mentioned it, because I immediately worried about the same: Once word gets really around that Romulus Lupin should not be trusted any more, Voldemort's followers might try much harder to find out the whereabouts of his hostages. I wish we could find a way for Romulus to have them set free.

"Of course, I could try to impersonate Pettigrew and see if Ludmila and her colleagues still trust him," Romulus says very quietly, as if he didn't really want us to hear.

For a moment, nobody says anything. What Romulus is suggesting comes close to a suicide mission.

"It might actually work, you know," Roary says, adapting the volume of his voice to Romulus' as if he was afraid to say such things aloud. When he continues, he sticks to long words, something he sometimes does when he wants to hide the emotions behind an utterance. "Voldemort must be aware that something went amiss for Pettigrew, but it seems hardly likely that he wants this broadcasted. It's quite possible that Voldemort's followers have not been informed that Pettigrew has disappeared. In that case, you could, with an adequate amount of Polyjuice Potion, successfully pose for Pettigrew and elicit the relevant information."

Romulus grimaces. "I could, just as well, get fried, tortured and cursed to death."

"I can't deny it," Roary replies. I try to read in his face, because I want to know what's going on before I make up my mind about the whole thing. As far as eliciting information, this seems to be the first plan that might actually work. On the other hand, the whole thing is rather dangerous, not only for Sirius and Remus, but most of all for Romulus.

Somehow I have rather taken to him, maybe because I believe he really is in love with Aisha, maybe because in some ways, he seems to be refreshingly different from most witches and wizards in the castle: He is far less idealistic than they are. True, he has a sense of conscience, of right or wrong; otherwise, I certainly wouldn't like him. But he is not as heroic as some; he is absolutely interested in saving his own skin. I admit it makes me like him no less; to be honest, I am quite fond of my own skin, too. I put myself into his shoes and realise that he must be terrified of his own idea. That's why he doesn't look happy about Roary taking the bait of his outrageous suggestion.

Of course, there is another dimension to it: If we let Romulus go, how do we know whether he will really go to Durmstrang and spy for us there? How do we know he won't go straight to the Dark Lord with everything he has seen and heard around here? I can see the same doubts mirrored in Roary's face. He has never trusted Romulus, still sees him as a political opponent, a member of the Magical Society, an enemy of the League, and I do admit he has a point there. It's the same dilemma as letting Romulus go so he can free Sirius and Remus for us: We need his help, but if we want it, we have to trust him.

By now, Romulus has also figured this out. "So - do you trust me enough to let me go?" he asks Roary with a crooked grimace, obviously aware that, while it's Dumbledore's word that counts most in this matter, Roary's is not unimportant either. His face and posture express ambivalence. Either way, he wins and loses at the same time. If we don't trust him, he can't get free - but, at least for some time, he will be safe here. If we trust him, however, and give him back his freedom to roam the world outside, he is morally bound to go on an extremely dangerous quest - if he feels bound by his word, that is.

"Dumbledore has to decide what to do," I tell him. Roary nods in an affirmative way; so does Romulus.

"We really could use your help - but Aisha won't like to see you go on this dangerous mission," I continue, half-intending to remind him of his moral obligations.

"You really think so?" he asks, his glance furtive and hopeful at the same time.

"Yes, I think so," I reply truthfully.