Smoke

Smoke IV Sunday, July 14, 1996

"Good evening, John."

"Good evening, Filius. Care for a drink?" He held up the brandy bottle and gestured to the other bottles with it.

Flitwick smiled, but said, "You know I rarely drink alcohol, John." He hesitated, and then said, "Still, I suppose that a very weak pastis wouldn't be too indulgent, and I do need a drink."

Flitwick perched himself on a pouffe while Russell fixed the drink. He handed Flitwick the glass and sat back onto his padded rocker.

"I do enjoy the aroma of your usual pipe tobacco," Flitwick said approvingly. "What most wizards smoke reminds me of dry grass and goat dung."

"Latakia is strong," Russell allowed. "I much prefer Cavendish mixtures. Now that the small talk is out of the way, what did you climb all the way up here to tell me?"

"Direct as usual," Flitwick admitted. "Tell me, have you talked with Albus at all this week?"

Russell shook his head. "No, not since last Saturday."

"Was that after he injured his hand?"

"Yes," Russell agreed, "but I can't tell you anything about it, except that it should improve in function, if not appearance."

"That would have to be a serious curse then," Flitwick said, mostly to himself.

"Albus thought it a necessary risk, and I agree with that. It does account for the fury of attacks early this week." Dumbledore had shown both his hand and Slytherin's ring to Snape as Snape had helped the Headmaster to Russell's office. Voldemort had been outraged that a second piece of his soul was gone, and had sent his Death Eaters, dementors, and giants all on attacks.

"Then I need ask no more. Minerva and I spoke with Albus at dinner tonight, and he spoke fairly freely since we were the only ones there tonight. He asked that we pass his news on to you, since he said you were returning tonight. I volunteered, since Minerva is still working on letters."

"I was meeting an acquaintance from Tibet in Istanbul earlier last week," Russell said simply. "I had an early dinner in Amsterdam tonight before apparating here."

"I hope you had a delightful trip," Flitwick replied. "Anyway, he said to tell you that young Potter left his relatives on Friday night. He has gone on to stay with the Weasleys."

"That should be good for both Potter and the Weasleys," Russell agreed.

"I hope he spends more time with his friend Ronald than with young Miss Weasley," Flitwick said.

"I don't know her," Russell replied. "You don't like her?" Flitwick made a face. "She seems lively enough from the little I've seen, and she's pretty enough. She might be good for Potter, if he's brooding over his godfather's death."

"True," Flitwick acknowledged. "She's always reminded me of her mother, however, and Molly Prewitt had a reputation for both inventing and using a love potion to have her way with boys, before she settled in on Arthur."

"Really? I hadn't realized that Molly Weasley was Molly Prewitt, the inventor of the infamous 'Love Potion Number Nine'."

Flitwick nodded. "Exactly. The subtlest of the love potions. If we had known she was behind that when she was here, she would have been expelled. You can't imagine the trouble that potion has caused! I know I was hardly surprised by the antics of those Weasley twins. They certainly take after their mother."

"Well, as I said I don't really know Miss Weasley, or Potter for that matter. We'll have to keep an eye on the pair."

"Indeed."

"Still," Russell pointed out, "being attracted to Ginny Weasley, even if she uses that potion, is a lot better than living with those Muggle relatives of Potter's."

"Are they really that bad?" Flitwick asked.

"Yes, and I shouldn't go beyond that."

"I understand," Flitwick said agreeably. "That was not my only news. Albus said he has hired a teacher, or rehired a teacher actually, for the autumn."

"Really? Rehire. . . ." Russell thought about that. "Lupin, I would hope."

"Not even close, my boy. Horace Slughorn."

"WHAT?" Russell was surprised, to say the least. "Since when has Slug the Suckup become a Defense teacher?"

Flitwick smiled grimly. "Oh, old Horace isn't going to teach Defense. He's going to teach Potions again."

"But then what is Severus going to be . . . oh, come on!" Russell went from surprise to shock. "You HAVE to be . . . joshing?"

Flitwick shook his head. "I assure you, Dumbledore was serious and so am I. Minerva was even more shocked than you or I." Russell placed his pipe in an ashtray, and now looked both horrified and stricken.

"Yes," Flitwick agreed. "I feel awful as well. Albus has always said to the senior staff that he would not appoint Severus to the Defense teacher unless. . . ."

"Unless Severus needs it for his cover. As a last sop to Voldemort, to stop him from insisting that Severus kill Albus."

"I hope Severus is not killed when Voldemort does insist that he kill Albus," Flitwick said.

Russell merely nodded, thinking of the cards predicting Albus' death. Under the right, or wrong, circumstances, Russell knew that Dumbledore would be willing to make the sacrifice for the greater good, and that Snape would be the most likely Order member able to carry the assassination through. "When did all this happen?" he finally asked.

"He said he had been after Horace for over a week," Flitwick answered.

'Albus' plan', Russell thought. He felt sick. 'I have to pick my own plans up'.

Thursday, July 18, 1996

"Professor Russell, Minister."

"Thank you, Weasley." Rufus Scrimgeour remained seated, scratching away at some parchment. Russell came in, saw what the Minister was doing, shrugged, and sat down. After about two minutes, he folded his hands in his laps and started whistling the March from Aida.

"Do you mind?" Scrimgeour snapped.

"No, Rufus, I don't mind at all."

"I am the Minister of Magic, John!"

"So you are. And you're busier than I am. Still, that does not mean I have time to waste playing games."

The Minister slammed his quill down and glared at Russell.

"Rufus, that glare didn't scare me during the year you were the Visiting Defense Professor, and it doesn't scare me now."

"Well, you were a Sixth year," Scrimgeour allowed.

"True. Now, what do you want, Minister?"

"Is there anything you can do about the dementors?" the Minister asked straight out.

"I have some ideas, but all the previous Ministers turned down my requests for research," Russell pointed out.

"I know. I've reviewed all the files and proposals we have on the damn things." He gestured at a thick stack of parchment on the floor. "The fact that you, and Dumbledore and Moody and a few others, were right about the dangers of using the dementors doesn't matter now."

"I suppose that's true. So?"

"So, can you try out any of your experiments?"

Russell frowned. "How?"

"Search 'em out, and try to wipe 'em out!"

"Fine."

"Don't you understand? If we don't do something about the giants and dementors, who knows what will happen when the Muggles find out!"

"I said I would do it," Russell pointed out.

"Oh. . . ." Scrimgeour said, relieved, "Fine. Do anything you have to, but try not to let the Muggles find you."

"No problem. Make out my credentials and the expense vouchers. . . ."

"Who said anything about any of that?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"What? You expect me to finance this?" Russell demanded in return.

Scrimgeour sighed. "No; no, of course not. I couldn't say this to many others, but I'll give you a blank cheque. Now, go away and do something."

"Well," Russell said, standing. "I'll try at least. Is there anything in particular I should do with any Death Eaters I run into?"

"Capture or kill 'em. Now, get out."

"Right."

Wednesday, August 21, 1996

"Rise, Severus. Severus, do you know why you are before me?"

"No, Master," Snape answered, his head bowed.

"Bella here has been quite insistent that you are not to be trusted."

"So I have heard, Master."

Voldemort glared at Bellatrix, who winced. "Yes, Bella. You have undermined my potions master. You extorted a promise from him which I did NOT want him to make. And for that, I blame you, Bella."

He looked back to Snape. "Since you have been doing the work I assigned you, you might not know that my dementors have been driven away with increasing frequency from Muggle targets."

"I did not know that, Master."

"Bella here believes you have been betraying the location of the attacks." Snape said nothing. "Nothing to say?"

"No, Master. Unless you command it, I do not answer to Bellatrix. Since our . . . meeting, I have deliberately avoided as much contact with your other servants, so that these rumors could die down."

"Do they concern you, Severus?"

"Only in that they spread disunity among your faithful, my lord."

"I have taken great care that you not know what was planned for tonight." Voldemort's head snapped up. "They are back early."

Voldemort glanced over at Bellatrix. "Say what you are thinking, Bella."

"I was just wondering if any of those who went tonight might not have sought Snape out, Master."

"You may question Fenrir Greyback about his team if you wish," Voldemort sneered. Bellatrix shuddered.

A huge, angry man burst into the throne room. It obviously took some effort on his part to control himself, but he managed to get down on one knee. "Master," Greyback growled. His left arm was covered in blood.

"You are hurt. A difficult evening, was it?"

"Yes, Master."

"Despite my warnings, there was a successful ambush?"

"Yes, Master," Greyback admitted. "Six of the thirty dementors were destroyed, and the others fled back to their gathering spot without Kissing one Muggle. I also lost Marcus Flint."

"Tell us about it."

"We were approaching a Muggle camping area called a caravan park. There was a series of small explosions, which drove off the dementors. I admit I can not describe them. As I was trying to call them back, we were attacked from the rear."

"By aurors, the Order, or a combination?"

"The Order, Master, although I knew none of them by name. With one exception, these were older wizards. I would say they were between Snape's age and yours, Master."

"Tell me about the exception, Fenrir"

"A rather toothsome young man, with red hair and a fang ear ring." Snape reacted slightly.

"You know him, Severus?"

"It was most likely Bill Weasley, Master. He worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts in Egypt."

"He was the second most effective of the attackers," Greyback snarled.

"I see. Yet another Weasley. And the most effective?"

"An older, somewhat stout wizard with a mustache. His few verbalized hexes were in languages I never heard of."

Voldemort considered. "Anything else?"

"Yes. While the explosions drove the dementors off, six passed over an area that seemed to suck them away. That made the others flee all the faster."

"I see." Voldemort had a good idea of who that stout wizard would have been. "And who wounded you?"

"That older wizard."

"What did he do?"

"He shot me!"

"What?" Bellatrix exclaimed.

"He shot me! With a silver bullet! If he had had better aim, he would have killed me! As it is, this wound won't heal until after my next transformation!"

"Then you deserve to rest. Unless you have some questions, Bella?"

"No, Master."

"Then you may go, too." As they left, Snape awaited his Master's orders.

"I'm sure you have a good guess at who this stout wizard was," Voldemort stated.

"Yes, Master."

"Can your potions be left for a short time?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then go ask him what he discovered. Perhaps he will answer. After all, he thinks you are still loyal to the Old Man."

"Yes, Master."

Thursday, August 22, 1996

"You look tired, John."

"I am, Severus." Russell was loading his largest briar pipe with the Cavendish-Burley mixture he used when he wanted to stay awake. "I wonder why you might be taking a break from your own mysterious business to come visit our little aerie."

"Sarcasm does not become you, John."

Russell glared at his colleague. "Let me guess. He said to come and ask me what I've done, because you are, after all, a good member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Almost word for word," Snape admitted.

"But if I tell you, I won't be able to stop the attacks," Russell pointed out.

"True," Snape said. "How about if you at least tell me how you're driving the dementors off, as opposed to telling me how you know where the attack was coming."

"Dementors cannot stand ultraviolet light," Russell answered. "Muggles have an amazingly large number of ways to project it, even at the levels needed to drive those demons off. Alas, I have not found a spell that does the same, yet." Russell tossed Snape a pair of tinted glasses. "These charmed glasses allow Muggles to see dementors under normal light. Scrimgeour has recruited some squibs who can work with Muggle law enforcement. It will take some time, but between the Ministry and the Muggle Government, they will figure out ways to drive dementors away, if not destroy them, without the general Muggle population learning of us."

"That isn't what you did to the dementors last night!"

"No, that was a nasty little ritual from West Africa. It destroys the physical manifestations of demons, and it worked on dementors quite nicely. I have it down to a three minute ritual."

"And Marcus Flint?"

"Your other Master should be gazing at his face by now."

Snape glared at Russell. "Is this a new vice?"

"No," Russell retorted. "I did not like having to kill that idiot. I got no pleasure from it, and certainly didn't inflict pain on him, like your other master and his followers would."

"That is so good to hear," Snape said, a bit sarcastically.

"Considering I saw that Greyback was there, you should not be questioning my morality, Severus. If I killed every Death Eater there is, I would not have destroyed, disrupted, and ruined as many lives as that sick bastard."

"Should I tell Greyback that the same fate awaits him?"

"Please do so," Russell said. "If he hadn't tripped when I fired last night, I would have bagged him then. I'll have that beast's hide on my floor as a foot warmer."

"I thought hating werewolves was, what was it you called it? A mindless piece of bigotry?"

"Hating werewolves is nonsense. Wanting Greyback's pelt is personal."

"And my dislike of Lupin. . . ."

"I understand why you hated Black even more after hearing about that near-attack on you. Lupin was a mere weapon."

"May I ask what Greyback did to you?"

"He bit my sister. She was one of his first victims. She died during the first transformation." Russell's eyes hardened. "She was twelve when he attacked a friend of hers, and half the family was killed, the others infected."

"I understand," Snape said. Still, he had to ask. "A silver bullet?"

"There are reasons why Muggles dominate the world, Severus. Did you know that a mild mixture of cocaine and a certain Muggle anti-depressant will prevent a Muggle or Squib from freezing up in the immediate vicinity of a dementor?"

"No, I did not," Snape acknowledged.

"Did you know that only one out of three hundred wizards can cast a shield strong enough to stand up to a standard Muggle bullet fired from a rather powerful handgun called a .357 Magnum?"

"No, I did not," Snape had to admit.

"You might also mention that there is a special bullet than can be used that I doubt anyone in Europe, except perhaps Voldemort and Dumbledore, could produce a shield against. However, against the silver-alloy bullets actually issued, probably one in two hundred could produce a material shield strong enough."

"That should be helpful," Snape admitted through clenched teeth. He hated the idea of Muggles and Squibs having an edge over wizards.

"Yes. And it turns out that a number of our Muggle-born students come from families that at least have rifles and shotguns. Once they learn they can fight back, I would imagine attacks will be a bit more . . . undecided as to their outcome."

"Just be careful, John," Snape warned. Voldemort would not like these developments, to say the least.

"I believe I shall be here next August," Russell retorted. "Make certain you are as well."

Snape had no answer to that.

"You needn't ask Dumbledore, either, or any of my team, about how I am tracking the attacks," Russell added. He was lying, as he and his team had cracked the pattern of the dementor attacks together. In fact, it was Bill Weasley and his fiancee Fleur who had found the key. Russell saw no reason to tell Snape that.

"Thank you. At least I have a partial answer," Snape said standing. "I do hope you know what your doing."

"The Ministry is acting somewhat foolishly, but Scrimgeour is no fool. The Muggle Government is not only aware of what is going on, there are segments readying to take action. And this is the fault of Voldemort. If the magical world is destroyed, it will be because of his greed."

"I will see the Dark Lord gets the messages," Snape said, and left the room.