The Marauders: The Legend Before Harry Potter

The Marauders: The Legend Before Harry Potter

The Second Year

Chapter Eight

The Men from the Ministry

"As I was saying, Rosmerta," Sirius said lazily, waving his hand back and forth as he relaxed nonchalantly on his side atop the bar. "A well thought out prank takes about three weeks or more to be perfect. James and I, for example, are always plotting little things on that git, Snape, and in you-never-know-when we might be struck with a brilliant idea. I'll keep you posted." Rosmerta's cheek was rested on her hand as she stood beside him, her eyes closing sleepily. It was one o'clock in the morning, and the elder girl had let Sirius return to his favorite place that night, as both her parents were gone.

"Mmmmhmmm..." she sighed, not remembering a word he had said. "That's nice. Listen, Strivius, or whatever your name is...I'm about to fall asleep. Why don't you go back to Hogwarts with your little friends..." She stood up, stretching, making her way to the back curtain leading to her residence. Sirius sat up.

"Oh, all right, if you insist, 'Merta." He slid off the table top, pouting. "If you really want to be no fun, I'll just go..." Realizing that she wasn't about to change her mind, he trotted off and headed back to the tunnel leading to the castle.

Once he had poked his head out of the portrait at the end of the tunnel, making sure the coast was clear, he headed off to the south of the wing, back to the common room. Just as Sirius was rounding a corner, he felt something grab the edge of his robe and pull him aside. Startled, he looked to see what had hold of him, and his stomach gave a lurch as he saw nothing but air.

"It's me!" hissed the voice of James, and Sirius understood now.

"Bloody hell, James, if you're going go walking around in your invisibility cloak, scare Snape, not me!" he said, wiping his forehead. James sniggered.

"Pretty stupid of you to go to the Three Broomsticks without proper protection," he whispered, and slung the cloak over Sirius, making them both invisible.

"Well, what are you doing anyway?" Sirius said, looking at the flushed excited face of James. James looked very proud of himself.

"I thought I'd just go poking around. I found a new way into Hogsmeade--through that old statue of the ancient one-eyed witch." He pointed up the flight of stairs to his right. "Not only did I find that but I just happened to run into--the kitchens." He smirked, and from under his cloak he brought out an enormous supply of tarts and confectioneries. Sirius smiled.
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "How did you know I'm famished?" Sirius led the way back to the common room.

The Ravenclaws defeated Slytherin in the second Quidditch match of the year, and they would soon be playing Hufflepuff, which would decide which teams would be playing for the victory. Once the frost on the grounds had turned to snow, and Christmas was drawing near, the students once again had to choose where they would be going for the holidays. James' mother had written several weeks before, wanting him to come home for the occasion. James had invited the other three boys, but all of them had declined, having their own parents nagging at them to come home. Sirius didn't know whether he'd be returning to his home, or staying at Hogwarts, but he promised James he'd snoop around with the Invisibility Cloak, and hopefully find a passageway that didn't lead to Hogsmeade. Though James wanted to have the large crowd of last Christmas, he decided it was all the better--the Potter's flat in London was small enough without just his immediate family. He had a paining desire to invite Lily, just to see if she'd consider it, but he knew she'd decline, and it would be odd just having her over. She was still acting very reserved towards him since the day she had fumed over him getting her place on the Quidditch match; since that afternoon she had yet to call him by his first name.

So James set out on the Hogwarts Express just before Christmas, sharing a compartment with Remus, his owl hooting happily beside him.

"Where do you live?" Remus asked, peering out the window just before they arrived at King's Cross.

"The very edge of London. In a little red flat." The train had pulled to a stop, letting out a gush of steam, and James stood up, stretching. "Actually, my parents own several homes, but they like this one above all, because it's the simplest. Honestly, you wouldn't believe my mum's a witch, she's always trying to do things without her wand." Remus smiled, getting his things as well, and the two departed, going their own separate ways.

The Potter's had a butler, name Robert. He was waiting for James, dressed elegantly in a long black suit, his gloved hands folded, standing just paces from the train. In their country manor, Robert fit in with the regal estate, but his father insisted on keeping him in London as well, to add an air of sophistication. His father always had loved superiority.

"Welcome home, James," said the young man, his voice raspy, and he took James' trunk and owl cage, putting them in his automobile. James clambered in the car, and before he knew it, he was gazing at the all-too-familiar streets and shops of London.

On a very small, crowded street, where the houses and flats were scrunched together as tight as they could fit, amongst the gray and white buildings, was a small, three-story residence, painted bright red, with little blue window boxes filled with flowers and ivy that was taking over the top half of the building. On the door was the number '831' in gold letters and a large letter P plastered to the front. The car came to a halt and Robert opened the back door, letting James out. James, looking at his home with satisfaction, ran up the stairs, and went inside.

His mother, dressed casually in her usual gray pants and plaid red shirt, was standing on the kitchen table, reaching behind the sink, her messy black hair pulled back in a knot on the back of her head.

"Mum!" James called to her. The young woman looked back at him and smiled.

"James, darling!" she called, not moving from her spot. "I was just--fixing--this--bloody--sink--" She was pulling on something furiously. "I've misplaced my wand, as usual, and your father's at work." Lost her wand or not, Mrs. Potter was quite a handy woman to have around the house. She could fix things even without a wand.

"Oh, I've got it!" she said, jiggling something. With a buzz, every light in the house went out. "Blast!" She jumped from the top of the table, her hands on her hips, and walked over to James. Her small face of thirty three was smeared with grease and dirt, and when she bent down to kiss her son she wiped much of it on James. "Can I use your wand, love?" He handed her his wand and she gave it a wave, fixing the lights, and causing the sink to turn on.

"Well, that's was easy," she said. She ruffled James' hair and went back through the open walkway to the kitchen. The whole downstairs of the Potter's flat was open. The kitchen, covered in checkered floor and walls, was to the left, and the living area, where James stood, was carpeted, and covered in his mother's papers for work. A small spiral staircase led to his parents bed and bath, and a flight up led to his small room, that opened up to the sky.

"Your father will be home soon," she called from the opposite side of the house. "Lemonade?"

"No, thanks, I'll just be in my room," James said, before springing to the stairs. His room was light blue colored, with a low, slanted ceiling and sun roofs. The winter sun was shining in brightly, and he pulled of his jacket, and fell on his bed. Apart from a bed, and a small book case only half full, the room was dully empty. Most of his possessions were at Hogwarts. There, lying on the mattress as soft as clouds, remembering how he had barely gotten sleep all week, he became very tired. Sometime later, without knowing if he were only daydreaming, or truly asleep, he jolted out of bed at the sound of the door slamming. He got from his bed, stretching, glad to hear the voice of his father from downstairs. He walked to the ledge of the floor, looking down at his father's now-bald head.

"Vi, the Minister's on his way, along with several other men from my department," he heard him say.

"The Minister? Coming here? The place is a mess!" his mother exclaimed.

"Hey, dad!" he called, interrupting the conversation. His father looked up. He smiled, but James could tell his face was wrinkled with worry.

"Oh, hello James," he said quickly.

"Is the Minister of Magic coming here? The Minister of Magic!" James asked, awe-struck. His father looked flushed.

"Er...yes, she is. Coming to discuss something that just happened near Dublin. I think it'd be best, though, if you went to your room. After the meeting, we can go out together and get some dinner, all right?" Typical, James thought. Whenever his father was talking about business he always heard the words 'I think it'd be best if you went to your room.' Sighing, James turned to do so. Instead, however, he walked to the corner, making sure his father wasn't looking, and sunk down behind a piece of wall that jutted out from the side of the house. It was the opportune place to listen and find out of the goings-on in the world from his father and the rest of the workers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. For nearly ten minutes he sat their, listening to the hum of the tea pot boiling, and the hushed whispered talk of his mother and father's voices.

"How many are coming?" his mother asked. She seemed to be more worried about feeding everyone than anything else. There was a knock at the door and a thin, neatly dressed man walked in, surveying his pocket watch.

"Afternoon Harold, afternoon Vi," he said absentmindedly. He sat down on the nearest chair, still gazing at his watch. "Tiberius should be apparating just about now." And sure enough an elderly man with a long brown beard appeared in the room seconds later, dusting off his sapphire cloak.

"Harold, Misses Potter, Job," he said politely bowing to them all. Mrs. Potter returned his smile, bringing out a tray of cucumber sandwiches, offering them to the two men. Mr. Potter had gone to answer the door again.

"Come in, Jakob...Barty," he said, and the two men entered, taking off their hats. "That's everyone then, is it?"

"Except the Minister, of course," added the last man to step in, adjusting his glasses, also looking at his pocket watch. James was growing apprehensive. They all seemed very anxious about something.

After a stunned silence, Mrs. Potter marched back in, carrying yet another china tray. "Tea, anyone?" The men graciously took little cups of tea and nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you, Viola," they muttered as they warmed their hands from the floating steam. Several more anxious, drawn out minutes passed when suddenly a bell rang out through the room. James moved closer, watching the door intently. His father had stood up in a flash to open it. Clearing his throat, he pulled the door open and a tall, broad shouldered woman framed the door way. She was elegantly dressed in a black robe with white laced cuffs and a tall white collar; a top hat was perched on her head, and she held her pale face, that had been dabbed subtly with black blushing powder, up high giving herself an air of regality. She smiled, her thin face wrinkling around her eyes just slightly, at the sight of Mr. Potter and stepped in, removing her black gloves, her heels clinking.

"'Day Harold. Good day Viola. Job, Tiberius, Jakob...Barty," she nodded to all of them and took a sandwich from the silver platter, and ate it quickly. She seemed very tense. "Cornelius won't be joining us today; he has a stomach virus." She swallowed her sandwich and remained standing poised.

"Oh, what a shame," said the man Barty, but James caught a sense of sarcasm in his tone and he smiled. Following a few seconds of silence, the Minister spoke.

"I have called you all to this meeting, as you well know, to make a very important decision concerning the power of the aurors. Have you all heard what occurred in Dublin yesterday evening?" She surveyed them all.

"I am a bit unclear on it, Millicent, as a matter of fact," piped the man called Job. The Minster nodded at him, apparently sharing his feelings.

"Barty." She looked over at one of the men and he glared at her behind his glasses, his beady eyes watery. "You were there when it happened; tell them everything. I too do not understand it all..." The Minister had taken out a pipe and lit it, sitting down on the Potter's finest armchair that had been reserved for her. Mrs. Potter hesitated uncomfortably. James made sure he was completely hidden from view, and turned his head, listening even harder. The man named Barty stood up and held his hands behind his back and began to pace.

"I was in Ireland talking with the Minister Nelson Tillman--an old friend of mine-- when he got an urgent summons from a man in the neighboring village of Dublin. He asked me to come along, and I did so." He stopped pacing and watched the window for a few long seconds, and the silence in the room was ringing. He finally continued his story, his voice much quieter this time. "In the streets was a dead man, killed by the unforgivable, Avada Kedavra--" the people shook their heads all at once and Viola's mouth went open. "But the most terrible and peculiar thing was yet to happen. Suddenly, as if it had been fired by someone only paces away, a great figure rose in the air, as though someone had drawn it--the shape of a skull, and from it's mouth protruded a serpent..."

"A frightening sign; I have seen it myself, once before," the Minister interrupted, shaking her head as she exhaled, silver smoke hovering languidly around her face. "It appeared right after the killing of the witches in Austria. It was seen by many, however I forbade it to be published in the Daily Prophet--I don't want anyone frightened too soon. But one thing is for sure: these deaths have someone behind them, whether they be one being or a whole fleet of wizards and witches."

"Minister--there is a bit more," Barty said, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, carry on."

"Well--this may answer your question. After the sign was...released, or whatever you might say...incanated...another message appeared in the sky; a black message, this time written in English. It said in these exact words," Barty paused for a little while and James saw him swallow and pat sweat from his receding hairline. "It said...'Lord Voldemort lives.'" The silence from downstairs nearly shook the sound barriers of the house. James felt a shiver run from his shoulders to his toes, and a sense of foreboding, even though he knew not of this Lord that the people spoke of.

"This Lord...who is he?" spoke a small man sitting with his legs crossed in the corner.

"We have never heard of him before but it sounds to me like another power-hungry wizard who will soon meet his end like they all do," the Minister said. "I wouldn't let the name worry you."

James stood and walked to his room, closing the door as quietly as possible. He fell onto his bed. He wanted desperately to write to Sirius and tell him all he had heard, but he was too tired. He'd do it in the morning, he assured himself, closing his eyes. Nothing to worry about, he said to himself, firmly. Nothing at all, just an ugly name, just a 'power-hungry' wizard who will soon meet his end.

But somehow James knew it wasn't true.

***

Christmas holidays ended quickly and after boxing day and a quick goodbye from his family, he was back at Hogwarts. Classes went slowly by.

"What classes should I take?" Lily wondered out loud one evening, drumming her quill along the pages of her book. "You know, we'll be third year soon and we'll get to take some new classes."

"Whatever has no homework," Peter said, putting his feet on the table and leading back on the couch. "But I aren't worried about anything but exams."

"Oh, isn't you?" Remus, who was sitting on the floor with a book, said, a smile curling on his lips.

"Oh, by the way, Remus, where were you yesterday?" Lily asked. Remus looked at her quickly and then averted his eyes to the pages of his book.

"Sick, as usual," he said calmly.

"Must be a monthly thing, huh?" Lily said. Remus nodded. "Don't worry, I know how those things are..." she said rolling her eyes, before realizing that James was watching her intently, and she looked away and stayed silent.

"Monthly malaria," James joked.

"So James, what's the Minister like?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"She's okay I s'pose. Really serious, like all Ministry people," James responded, thinking of his dad. He had told them all everything he heard, except the very last part about the dark wizard, which he had only confided with Sirius about. Sirius hadn't taken it too seriously yet; until the Daily Prophet came the first of January.

"'Auror's Given New Powers'? What is this? Why do they need more powers?" he exclaimed after reading the headline. "Listen to this: 'Due to dangerous warnings from the unknown gang of killers, Aurors have been given permission by the Minister of Magic to use the killing curse if needed without Ministry permission.' They're making it sound like there's some mass murdered on the loose, for Merlin's sake!"

"Well, maybe there is," Remus said, shrugging. "People have died a lot lately, and the talk of that Dark Lord...sounds like good reasons to me, eh?"

"The warning...? Black Mark, or something, isn't it?" Ezmerelda asked as she too looked over a copy of the daily prophet.

"Lord Voldesport, or whoever," Lily said.

"Voldemort!" yelled an older Gryffindor. McGonagall was over at the table in a heartbeat.

"Now, now, what is everyone talking about?" she said, eyeing them all closely.

"Professor, what do you think about these killin's?" said the boy Davey Gudgeon, getting up from his seat and going over to the Headmistress. "Do you think there is a Dark Lord gaining power somewhere?" Suddenly every eye in the Hall was on McGonagall and the professor's face turned a ghostly white.

"Well..." she said, sourly. "Personally..." she still seemed lost for words. "I think, Davey, that it is rude of you to ask my opinion at this time since I still do not know everything except what the Daily Prophet writes...and we all know that the whole truth isn't printed in that paper."

"Because the Minister didn't want to tell everything," James said, accidentally. The Hall was silent once again.

"What, Potter?" McGonagall said, her nostrils flaring.

"The Minister came to my house over Christmas holidays with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement--"

"Well, what did you hear?" asked a plump girl in Ravenclaw.

"Bertha, everyone, that's enough questions; breakfast time is over anyway," McGonagall said loudly before James could respond. The students began to clear out noisily. The stout Ravenclaw girl ran up to James in the hall, however, keen on what he had to say. She was older than them, with a large nose and blond pigtails. Her hips were very big, both of them had her hands upon them, and her cheeks were chubby and a bright scarlet.

"So, Gryffindor, what did you hear the Minister talking about?" she said. James and Sirius looked at her. She hadn't really asked it--she had demanded it.

"What's it to you?" asked Sirius, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm the gossip of the school, that's what. I need to know these things," she said, as though they were stupid fools for not knowing her. James, who wasn't a fan of gossip just said,

"I'm late for Potions."

"He's heard nothing that hasn't been printed in the Daily Prophet," Sirius said. The girl didn't look convinced. "We really are late for Potions, come on." They left her unsatisfied and proceeded to the dungeons at a fast pace.

"There wasn't anything else was there?" Sirius inquired once they were far away from the Bertha girl. James bit his lip.

"Er...actually there was," James said. He looked behind him to see if anyone was within earshot. "This guy named Barty said that there was this message in the sky that said 'Lord Voldemort Lives.'" Sirius looked at him--that had been printed in the Daily Prophet already, apparently. "And there was also a sign--a snake coming out of a skull--up in the air." Sirius' mouth was slightly open. He sighed. "Is that bad?"

"Bad?" came a cold voice. Snape stepped out of a dark corner, his greasy hair shimmering in the torch light. James and Sirius lowered their eyebrows, frowning.

"What do you do, Snape, follow us everywhere?" James spat.

"I was just walking by when I heard the name 'Voldemort',"--the name sounded thrice as bad when spoken by Snape--"and thought I'd see what you two Gryffindors were talking about. And yes, James, it is bad, especially for you...and you." He nodded at both of them. "Being the Gryffindors that you are." Sirius groaned and began to walk away. "This isn't a hoax, Black, even if you think it is. Because if you see a sign in the sky, whatever it may be, it means that there are Dark Arts happening somewhere, and there is a leader. Perhaps a former Hogwarts student..."

"Perhaps a Slytherin," James snarled at him, but Snape only laughed.

"Makes it all worse for you Gryffindors, eh? Good morning." And he walked off in the opposite direction, his heels clicking against the floor, his robe flowing behind him.

"Bet you Voldemort's his best friend," Sirius said. A few other Gryffindors walked down the hall.

"What are you all just standing around for, we're late for Potions," Gryffindor second-year Amelia yelled at them.

"Look who's talking!" Sirius mocked. Amelia gave him a harsh glance. Peter was running to the classroom, as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. James caught up with him. "Coming Sirius? We're five minutes late, you know."

"I'll just wait for Moony," he said. James nodded and went on.

"Moony?" he said, just as he realized what Sirius had said. He shook his head and went on into the classroom. Remus was far behind everyone, walking slowly, trying to zip up his overflowing bag.

"Hey, Moony, my chum, what's new with you? Eh, that rhymes: What's new with you?" Sirius went to walk with him.

"Oh, hey Si--what did you call me?" Remus asked, looking up.

"Moony, o' course. No one's ever called you that? Pathetic, pathetic. Not even your parents? Oh, well, you're Moony from now on. Come on, we're late."

Professor Quint took ten points from Gryffindor for their tardiness and began to teach the lesson, his back turned to the class and when he turned around Lily raised her hand politely.

"What is it?" he said dully, turning.

"What do you think of all this talk of a Dark Lord Professor?" she asked.

"I think it is rubbish and has nothing to do with Potions, now let me teach!" was his reply. So they talked about healing potions as they had been doing all month without another word.

Professor M. had a few interesting discussions started though after Lily had asked him the same question. "Very good question, Lily. Very good. I still think that we don't know the whole story. All we have been told in the Daily Prophet is that rumors of a Dark Lord have occurred and it's possible, yes, but--"

"But what about the killings?" Peter interrupted.

"That's the part that scares me. There has to be a sort of gang causing them, and it would make sense that they would have to have a leader."

"But..." James added. "If it's just a small gang why would the leader call himself a 'Lord' unless he were truly powerful, or unless it was a huge mob of people, since the deaths have happened so far apart?"

"Yeah, and why in Dublin and Vienna?" said Gryffindor girl, Madeline Marsh.

"Well, Madeline," Professor M. said, leaning on his desk and rubbing his chin. "Vienna, I know, is a major tourist city, not only for muggles, but also wizards, because it has the largest Historical Magic Museum in Europe. Dublin...I'm not sure." The discussion continued through the whole class period and in the Gryffindor common room with everyone that night.

"Codswallop!" said a seventh year boy. "It's just a band of bloody teenagers trying to get attention."

"Yes, but using Avada Kedavra, Benjamin, really! That's gone a bit too far for a simple gang of adolescents," said Frank Longbottom, the prefect.

"Now that the Aurors have been given permission to kill, there's nothing to fear!" said Bruce Darwall.

"Nonsense, Bruce!" said Mildred. "We have more to fear. The Dark Lord, if there is one, will just have reason to get more power, and more followers." The common room door flew open and Davey Gudgeon came running in, flailing his arms about, holding a paper in his fingers.

"Just got the latest Daily Prophet, started selling them ten minutes ago. You won't believe this." He held up the paper and there was a blurry, dark picture of the mark, right on the front page: the skull and out of it rose a snake.

"Ohhh, what is that?" shrieked the girls.

"Apparently it's the sign of Lord Voldemort--how is that pronounced?--and they're calling it the 'Dark Mark'," Frank Longbottom replied.

"Oh, no!" yelled a few people.

"So there really is a Dark Lord!"

"Now now," said Frank. "Everyone, we have enough to worry about with exams coming so don't pay any attention to this stuff, it's all rumors right now." But they all saw an ounce fear behind Frank's blue eyes, however confident he sounded. He lay the newspaper face down on the mahogany round table and marched up to his dormitory, silence following behind him.