The Importance of Being Dung

The Importance of Being Dung

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Hermione woke up. A glimpse at the window told her that it was still night outside, and she turned around in her bed trying to go back to sleep. It was no use though, and her wristwatch on her bedside table told her it was one hour before the dawn. Irritated at herself she sat up in bed, and could hear Ginny's calm breath from the other side of the room. There was a soft snoring from one of the portraits as she reached out into the darkness and found her trousers and her jumper.

No one seemed to be up yet; nor had she expected it; the whole house felt empty and deserted without the sounds of voices and footsteps. She picked up a book from the living room and brought it down to the basement kitchen, where she sat down by the fire that never appeared to be out. Sighing she leafed through the book, while she rested her head in her hands and contemplated getting something to eat.

There was a soft creak from the hinges in the kitchen door as Sirius walked in; he looked surprised to see her. "Good morning, Hermione," he smiled cheerily, but she saw the tiredness in his eyes. "Didn't know you were such an early riser."

"I'm usually not," she replied, glad to have some company. "What about you? You look like you've been up all night."

"Yeah. Waiting for someone," he muttered back while opening the door to the fridge. Slowly he took out butter and cheese, and started to make himself a sandwich. "You want one?"

"Yeah, why not? Thanks."

They ate their sandwiches in silence and watched as the flames from the fire turned the cold stone walls into gold. Sirius propped his head in his hand while he ate, and slowly the hand with the sandwich lowered itself to rest on the table and his breathing grew deeper and more even. Hermione watched the sleeping man and resisted the urge to brush away a crumb of bread on his lower lip. He looked younger when he was sleeping, she mused.

Then the hinges creaked again, and a ginger haired man stuck his head inside. "Cor blimey, I thought I 'ad the 'ouse to myself!" he exclaimed loudly, and Sirius woke with a start. He looked disoriented for a second, before he saw the familiar face in the doorway.

"Sit down, old friend." Sirius gestured at the chair next to him. "Have a snack if you're hungry."

Mundungus looked at the fridge with something resembling longing in his eyes. "Might just do that," he muttered. "'Aven't eaten in two days..." He closed the door behind him, and as he walked over towards the food, Hermione could see that he was limping on his left leg. "Got any of them sausages left?"

"They are for dinner later," Sirius said and rubbed his eyes. "If you touch them, Molly'll kill you."

"I 'ave the feeling she'll do that anyway," Fletcher replied with his head inside the fridge, and Sirius grinned. But after rummaging through the contents Mundungus came out with a piece of cold chicken and left the sausages untouched, and with a grimace of pain he sat down in the chair beside Sirius. "Not as young as I used to be, eh?"

"None of us are," Sirius replied dryly, a streak of bitterness in his voice.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Fletcher gave her a quick glance and sipped his tea in silence, before leaning over to her in a gesture of intimacy. "Got into some trouble," he admitted softly. "When I was out working for the Order!" He whispered the last words, and she had to lean closer to him to hear what he was saying. His eyes glittered from mischief and he let his finger pat the bridge of his nose secretively, before leaning back in his chair with a triumphant look on his face. "Dangerous, it was," he nodded to himself.

"What happened?" Against her will Hermione found herself curious.

"I'm not sure I should tell ya," he answered vaguely and seemed to ponder the question. "But all right. Dumbledore came to me, you see. 'Dung,' 'e said, 'I've got an assignment for ya. You've gotta go to one of the Dark Lord's most faithful and trusted servants, and bring me back some documents.'"

"Why didn't Snape take care of that?" Hermione asked confused.

"'E's got other businesses to take care of," he replied and shrugged. "I asked the same thing. 'But I want you on this job,' Dumbledore said. And 'o am I to question 'is orders?"

Hermione looked down at the sandwich on her plate; he was right of course, the headmaster always knew best. She returned her eyes to the shabby man, who had taken off his cloak and sat in a Muggle T-shirt and a worn out pair of Jeans. He cut up the chicken with his knife and had seemingly forgotten about her, but then he raised his head and looked her straight in the eye.

"You know that storm two nights ago? I was out then, apparating to a manor in the 'eart of England. Didn't get to see much o' the landscape in the dark, though, other than the trees in the park stretching out their branches like fingers trying to grab me. But there I was, looking up at this ancient old 'ouse staring back at me wiv windows like black eyes in the night..." He dropped his gaze and waved his knife casually. "I'm boring ya," he muttered and returned to his chicken.

"Not at all!" Hermione assured him. "Was it Malfoy Manor?"

"'Ermione love, you know I can't answer that," Mundungus said in an enigmatic tone of voice. "This manor 'ad all kinds of defences 'gainst magic, you see; but nothing 'gainst Muggle methods. Yeah, them Death Eaters can be surprisingly dim-witted sometimes, 'specially the oldest families. No offence," he said with a quick glance at Sirius, who seemed to have woken up a little and was eyeing him curiously.

"None taken," he replied with a sardonic smile, and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Please continue; this story is...interesting."

The other man turned back to Hermione. "I found a window down to the cellar and managed to crawl inside. It was a 'uge cellar and completely empty 'cept for a door in the far end of the room, and behind that door there was nothing but endless corridors. I 'ad the feeling I'd walked for 'ours when I reached a staircase up to the ground floor. Pitch black, it was, and I didn't dare touch my wand for fear of being discovered; so I 'ad to feel my way forward -all the time I was 'specting my 'ands to touch some'at slimy and disgusting lurking by the stone walls..."

He took out his pipe from his pocket and meticulously started cleaning it out, and tapped out the dottle on his now empty plate while waiting for his words to sink in.

"Did you?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Touch some'at? No. Not in the basement, that is..." He nodded to himself while he stuffed his pipe with tobacco and lit it, filling the kitchen with smoke. Once again he leaned closer. "When I got up on the ground floor the moon shone in through one of the windows, giving me enough light to work in, you know. Dumbledore 'ad told me where to find the Death Eater's study-"

"The moon wasn't out that night," Hermione protested. "Too many clouds!"

"Not early in the night, no," Mundungus answered calmly. "This was just an 'our before dawn, maybe the moon peaked out for a moment or maybe there was a lamp in the 'all, I can't remember. Never mind, I went inside the study and sat down by the desk, and looked through the drawers-"

"How could you look through anything in the dark?" Sirius suddenly probed with a grin.

"I 'ad an electric torch," Mundungus answered dryly. "A great Muggle invention; perhaps you've 'eard of it? You buy small batteries and stuff 'em inside."

"Then why didn't you use it in the cellar?"

"'Cause I didn't think of it, that's why!" Mundungus barked back at him. "Dumbledore gave it to me, and I forgot; I'm not used to walking around wiv things like that. You wanna 'ear the story or not?"

Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of submission, and Mundungus gave him an annoyed glare before he lit his pipe once again. "After going through the drawers I found the papers Dumbledore wanted; I stuffed 'em inside my cloak and got up to leave the same way I'd come. Then some'at struck me, you know." He turned his face back to Hermione. "The silence. It wasn't a normal silence like you'd 'spect in an old 'ouse, wiv boards in the floor creaking and things like that... It was a 'eavy, dead silence, like someone or some'at was watching me.

"I turned to see a 'ouse-elf standing there; a foul-looking little thing with big 'orrible eyes staring at me. Then the bloody elf turned on some kind of alarm, 'owling like a banshee through the 'ole 'ouse, loud enough to wake the dead! I 'eard someone running down the stairs and I tried to apparate out of there, but for some reason I couldn't do it. Must've been quite advanced magic, that, 'cause I've only known that to be the case at 'Ogwarts."

"Yes, you can't apparate in or out of Hogwarts," Hermione said nodding, relieved to see that at least one more person on the face of this earth was aware of the fact. "Did they catch you? Were you tortured?"

"Nah, I decided to do a runner. But where could I go? The man 'ad almost reached the study by then, I 'eard 'im outside the door and the 'ouse-elf beside me looked mad as a 'atter, so I grabbed the chair by the desk and threw it out the window. When I was outside I tried to apparate again, but...no; the anti-apparition spell probably covered the grounds as well. So I did what every sane man would do -I ran like 'Ell, and all the time this man was yelling and swearing. Then I sensed that some'at was following me; I felt this chill down my spine..."

"What was it?"

"I took cover behind a tree, and peered out to see what it was. But I couldn't see anything and I continued through the park and into a little forest, knowing I was near the end of the park. Soon I'd be able to apparate back to my flat; I can't tell ya 'ow good that thought made me feel... But then I 'eard a twig snapping behind me, and I turned to see this terrible monster- It was a bicorn; I'd never seen one before, and I never wanna see one again."

Mundungus shuddered. "You should've seen its eyes; burning like fire, and its mouth was frothing as it tried to scent me out. Big as a pony, it was, and vicious like the 'ounds of 'Ades. My 'ead worked like mad trying to find a way outta this mess, but then the beast found me, and came thundering 'round the tree to attack me. I managed to twist away just as it was gonna stab me with its 'orns, and the barmy creature smashed right into the tree and got stuck!"

Sirius laughed loudly and shook his head. "Man, you're just too much sometimes. Anybody else want more tea?"

"All right." Mundungus leaned back in his chair, and with a twinkle in his eyes he looked over his shoulder at Sirius. "I cut the other 'orn orf its 'ead; gave it to Snape. It's a potion ingredient, after all."

"But why are you limping, then?" Hermione asked.

"Cut myself on the glass in the window." He winked at her, and she had to suppress a giggle.

"But if you could apparate into the park, why couldn't you apparate out?"

"You don't believe me?" he asked, acting surprised. "Why don't ya ask Severus?"

"Yeah, right," she said sarcastically. "I'll just walk up to him and tap his shoulder then, shall I? 'Excuse me, Professor, I was just wondering whether Mundungus has supplied you with any non-tradable goods lately?'"

She took her cup and her book, and got up from the chair. "But it was a good story. I'll go up to my room now; the others will be waking soon." She bid them good morning, and closed the kitchen door behind her.

Sirius looked at his old mate, and for a minute their eyes met. Sirius shook his head at Mundungus, who simply shrugged in response.

"I think I'll try to get a few hours of sleep," Sirius said with a yawn and scratched his back. "And about your leg; the next time you go skateboarding, try to be more careful, will you? It'll be difficult for me to visit you at St. Mungo's, as I don't think they allow dogs inside."

"They don't, and I will. Mind if I kip on your sofa for an 'our?"

"Be my guest. G'night."

"G'night." Mundungus was finally alone in the kitchen. Slowly he stuffed his pipe once more, before lighting it up and leaning back in his chair, humming softly.

Carefully he rose from the chair and limped upstairs to the dark and deserted living room, found a blanket and curled up his cloak to use it as a pillow. With a sigh of contentment he snuggled up on the sofa, drawing the blanket up to his chin. There was something hard in one of his pockets, though, pressing sharply into his shoulder. He stuck his hand in his pocket and took out an object, and turned it around in his hand while looking at it with sleepy eyes. It was a beautifully decorated snuffbox in silver, with the name Macnair engraved on the lid.

"You'd be proud of me, Albus," he muttered, and turned his face to the wall to get an hour of sleep before Molly Weasley threw him out.