A Surfeit of Wands

Chapter Five: Tea for Three

'I'm coming with you,' Harry said instantly.

'No.'

'Professor Lupin said - '

'Lupin's not making the decisions today. I am.'

Harry scowled. He was about to argue when Tonks interrupted.

'Ooh, come on, Kingsley, be nice. He'll be safe with us.'

Harry looked round. She was standing behind him, dressed in a faded T-shirt, black jeans and heavy black boots. Her black hair was short and spiky this morning, and her eyes were a deep green. On her back she carried a black canvas satchel.

Shacklebolt frowned. 'I'm not sure - '

'Come off it. Two Aurors like us?' She grinned at him again, and Harry saw him waver. 'Got any plans for today, Harry?'

Harry took a gamble. 'I thought I might wander into Hogsmeade,' he said, careful not to look at Kingsley Shacklebolt. He crossed his fingers in the pockets of his robes.

That did it. 'All right,' said Shacklebolt. 'You can come with us. On one condition.' Harry nodded eagerly. 'Stick close and do as you're told.'

Tonks looked him over. 'And you might want to change out of those robes.'

--

The little cottage seemed unchanged from when Harry had last visited. The net curtains still blocked the light from the sparkling windows and the chickens pecked busily in the yard. Tonks rapped sharply on the front door. It was opened almost immediately and Hestia Jones peered out.

They followed her inside - Harry sandwiched between Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, as he had been throughout the short journey from the fireplace in the library. 'She's in here,' Hestia whispered, and the four of them walked through into the sitting room.

Bridget Meadowes was sprawled on the frayed carpet beside the piano. With a sudden surge of compassion, Harry realised how much she would have hated to be discovered like this, in such an undignified position. He felt embarrassed, as if he had stumbled upon something he was not meant to see. The others were talking in low tones. He heard Tonks whisper a question and Hestia reply, although he could not make out the words. Then Shacklebolt knelt beside the body and began to search through the pockets of Bridget's dress. Harry turned away, sickened. It goes with the job, he told himself. If I'm going to be an Auror, this is something I'm going to have to get used to. It didn't make him feel any better.

He walked slowly round the small room, looking once again at the furniture and ornaments. The faded suite, the photographs on top of the piano - everything was just as it had been. No - Harry looked at the photographs again. There was something different about them, something wrong -

'Someone's been here,' he said, his voice cracking unexpectedly as he spoke. Tonks hurried over to him.

'What is it, Harry? How d'you know?'

'The photographs.' Harry pointed to them. 'She had them the other way round.' He picked up a tiny paperback from the music stool and looked at it wonderingly. Folk Tales of Wales. He put it down carefully on top of the piano by the photographs.

'Neat.' She threw him an approving look.

'And this.' Shacklebolt's deep voice was thoughtful, and Harry turned to look at him. He was still kneeling by the body, staring down at a wand which rested in his left palm.

'Is it hers?' Tonks asked.

Hestia took the wand from Shacklebolt's hand. 'Rowan, yes, and Bridget's wand was made of rowan,' she said after examining it. 'But I do not think it is hers. It is a common thing in Wales, to use wood from a rowan tree, taken on the first day of May.'

'Did you search the cottage before you called us?' Shacklebolt asked. Hestia shook her head. 'Tonks, have a look around, will you?' She nodded and left the room.

Harry moved to the window and stared out at the sunlight through the faded curtains. Everything was normal outside, he thought, as if a woman hadn't just been murdered in her own cottage, wasn't lying dead on her own carpet in her tiny, over-crowded sitting-room. Outside in the sunlight, people would be carrying on with their daily routine, going to the shops, going to work, as if nothing had happened, as if there was nothing wrong -

'Shouldn't someone be told?' he asked suddenly. His voice wavered on the last word and he bit down on his lip to regain his self-control. He heard movement behind him, and then Hestia's voice, low and gentle, in his ear.

'There isn't anybody to tell, Harry. She had been alone for a long time, and there were no relatives.'

No relatives. Not for sixteen years, Harry thought, not since Dorcas had been captured by Voldemort and Caradoc had disappeared in his vain quest to bring her back. Her sister and her fiancé, both gone, and she had been alone since then, living her ruined life as Geraint Dearborn was still living his.

He shook his head, staring unseeing out of the window. This is wrong, he thought. This has to be stopped. So many dead, so many devastated lives... He shook his head again, closing his eyes. It's up to me. The scale of the task appalled him.

'Here.' Hestia tapped him gently on the shoulder and he turned round. She was holding out a cup of tea. He took it gratefully and sat down on the music stool. There was a clatter on the stairs and Tonks erupted into the room.

'Kingsley, there's a - ooh, thanks, Hestia!' She sat down on the sofa and took the cup of tea she was offered. Harry found himself praying that she would not spill it. Tonks took a gulp, winced, and began to speak again.

'There's another wand upstairs, in her bedroom, Hestia, you might want to have a look. And there's a note on her calendar, in the kitchen. She was expecting a visitor last night.'

'A visitor?' Kingsley Shacklebolt got to his feet and left the room. When he returned, a few minutes later, he was holding a calendar. Harry looked at it curiously.

It was a wall calendar, long and thin, like the calendars he had seen in Muggle shops, and like the ones Aunt Petunia sent to Aunt Marge every year featuring breeds of bulldog. Bridget's calendar depicted stately homes and castles in Wales. Shacklebolt sat down and turned the pages slowly as Harry watched.

Most of the pages were blank, or contained brief notes concerning Bridget Meadowes' day-to-day routine. There were regular entries about the chickens and geese, the occasional hair appointment or shopping trip. No visitors. Until the entry for the previous day, which read simply Re D. 9 p.m.

'Nine 'o'clock,' Shacklebolt murmured. He glanced at the figure on the floor. 'That fits.'

'There was a home-made cake on a plate in the kitchen.' Tonks' voice was subdued.

'And she left her wand upstairs.' Shacklebolt nodded. 'She wasn't expecting this.' He got to his feet. 'Right. There's not a lot more we can do at the moment. Hestia, you'll stay here. Check up on whoever's watching Geraint Dearborn; make sure he's all right. Tonks, get on to Magical Law Enforcement. Tell them what's happened; give them my name as a contact. See if they're happy to let you and me handle it. Harry - you and I should be getting back.'

--

Harry stared down at his feet as they walked back to the centre of Mold, hoping that Shacklebolt would not feel the need to make conversation. The Auror seemed to understand his feelings, however, and the brief journey was completed in silence, for which Harry was profoundly grateful.

They were walking along the High Street, heading up the slight hill towards the turn-off for the library when without warning Shacklebolt grabbed Harry's shoulder without warning and shoved him into an apparently solid brick wall, which melted away to reveal the doorway of a café. Harry barely had time to absorb its name - Mabon's Magical Tea Shoppe - before he was pushed through the door. He turned to Shacklebolt in surprise, but the other man merely jerked his head towards the small booths along the outside wall. Harry slid himself into a booth near the back of the café without speaking, wondering what was going on.

Shacklebolt joined him a moment later with a pot of tea and a glass of lemonade. Harry took the lemonade and waited while Shacklebolt poured himself tea, sensing that the Auror wouldn't answer any questions until he was ready. Finally Shacklebolt looked up and grinned.

'Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.'

'What was that all about?'

Shacklebolt grimaced. 'Someone I work with. I'd forgotten that he lives round here. I'd rather he didn't see either of us.... We don't want the wrong people associating you with this part of the country.'

Better that they keep hanging around outside the gates of Hogwarts. The words were on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he did not say them. Instead he said, looking down at the bubbles in his lemonade, 'Do you think the D on the calendar stood for Dorcas Meadowes?'

There was a pause, during which Harry knew that Shacklebolt was studying him intently, and then the Auror said, 'Yes, Remus said you were quick on the uptake. I don't think we can rule it out.'

'Maybe someone had something to tell Bridget about Dorcas.'

'Maybe.'

'But why now? And why kill her? What harm was she doing to anyone?'

Kingsley Shacklebolt said in a quiet voice, 'Actually, Remus has got a sort of theory about that. If he's right, then Bridget's death makes sense - and it means you're in less danger than we thought. The trouble is - ' He broke off, frowning.

'What is it? What's wrong?'

'I thought I saw... Stay here. Don't move from this spot until I come back for you. Clear?' At Harry's startled nod, he rose swiftly to his feet and strode out of the café.

--

Harry toyed with his lemonade, trying not to look at his watch. He knew what it would say: he had looked at it less than a minute ago. Where had Shacklebolt got to? He had been gone almost forty minutes. He can't have meant me to wait this long. Something's happened.

He had almost decided to break his unspoken promise and to follow Shacklebolt out of the café when he heard a familiar voice from a nearby booth. Harry stiffened. It was a voice he had heard often in his dreams, although he could put neither a name nor a face to it. He had heard it only once in real life, and its owner had been cloaked and masked, standing in a graveyard in Little Hangleton.

'He was spotted here,' the voice muttered. 'Malfoy wants to know what they're doing in Mold. They could be up to something.'

'Up to something? My dear Parkinson.' The second voice was cultured and confident. Harry was certain he had never heard it before. 'Of course they are up to something. Dumbledore always is. But it would be a feather in our caps indeed if we could hand Potter over. To Malfoy or to him.'

'Think we'll catch him?'

'Oh, yes. If he's here. Vivian's watching the Library Floo and Potter's too young to Apparate. We'll get him all right.' The speaker laughed. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He did not like the confidence that laugh implied.

Looking around to check that no-one was watching him, Harry began to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket.

He ran his eyes over the café. The Death Eaters were seated in a booth between him and the entrance; although they could not see him as long as he remained where he was, he would not be able to open the door and pass through it without attracting suspicion. He stood up slowly and drew the Cloak over his head and body, then began to edge towards a smaller door marked Wizards at the rear of the café.

He pushed the lavatory door open quietly and slipped inside, glancing quickly into each cubicle, then let out a sigh of relief. Set high into the wall of the third and final cubicle was a small window. It opened easily when he tried it.

Harry locked himself into the cubicle and reached into his pocket for the mirror Lupin had given him. 'Lupin,' he breathed, even though he knew there was no one there to hear him. 'Remus Lupin!'

There was no reply. With a sickening feeling, Harry realised that Lupin was probably asleep or unconscious, worn out after his transformation the night before. He could expect no help from that quarter. His gaze fell on a teacup which someone had dumped on top of the cistern and used as an ashtray. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Harry shook the cigarette stubs into the toilet bowl and pulled out his wand.

The tiny owl fluttered in his hand. Harry gripped it tightly by the china handle, wishing he had paid more attention in McGonagall's Transfiguration lessons. Still... it looked like an owl. It wriggled like an owl. Maybe it would fly like an owl. He attempted to fasten his message to the owl's leg, but the tiny bird turned its head and pecked his fingers until they bled, glaring at him with indignant orange eyes. Harry gave up and threaded the rolled up parchment through the teacup handle. 'Albus Dumbledore,' he whispered. 'At Hogwarts. Off you go! Hurry!'

He opened his hand and the owl took off, flying through the window and out into the open air. Fingers crossed, Harry watched it until it disappeared from sight. Then he scrambled onto the lavatory and, with an effort, squeezed through the window.

He landed with a light thump on the ground and looked quickly left and right. Luck was with him: he was in a deserted alleyway at the back of the café. Concealing himself once again beneath the Cloak, Harry set off as fast as he could, hoping desperately that Kingsley Shacklebolt was all right, wherever he was.

At the end of the alley, he came across a bicycle propped up against the wall. Harry didn't stop to think. He grabbed the bicycle and jumped onto it, pedalling furiously, his only thought to put as much distance as he could between himself and his pursuers. He thought he heard a shout behind him and redoubled his efforts.

--

It was no good. Harry threw the bicycle down, dragging it out of sight into a ditch. He had no idea how they had found him, but his pursuers seemed always to be behind him. Some sort of location spell, he thought grimly, remembering the Four-Point Spell he had learned for the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth year. It made sense that similar charms would exist, for locating people instead of directions. He glanced up and around him, wondering if he would be able to find cover in the hills until help came. Where was he, anyway? With a shock of recognition, he saw the standing stones silhouetted ahead of him, at the top of the tallest hill. Lupin's words floated back to him: Nobody could have used magic to find you while you were inside the circle. You were perfectly safe. Praying that the Death Eaters were less knowledgeable than either Lupin or Caradoc Dearborn, Harry pelted across the field, heart pounding, heading for the hill and the stone circle.

'Over there!' An exultant cry came from a nearby field. In horror, Harry realised that the Invisibility Cloak had slipped, leaving him partially visible. He risked a panicked glance behind him. Standing ankle deep in damp grass and incongruous in black robes, a masked figure was pointing a wand at him. He saw the mouth open and close, but was too far away to hear the words. A jet of red light burst from the wand and Harry dived to avoid it, then scrambled to his feet and continued up the hill, pulling his Cloak tightly around him as he went.

The sheep were still standing beneath the yew tree. Fighting an insane urge to laugh, he wondered if they had moved at all since he had seen them last. They stared at him without blinking as he struggled towards the summit and the circle of standing stones, hoping against hope that he wasn't leaving too obvious a trail as he picked his way through the long grass. Hearing nothing behind him, he stopped for a moment to look back. The Death Eater was following him, casting his gaze this way and that as he strove to follow Harry's footsteps. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously the trail wasn't that easy to follow. He wondered for a moment why his pursuer wasn't using magic to track him, and then dismissed the problem; maybe the charm just gave a direction to aim in, instead of leading you directly to the person you were hunting. If that were so, he stood a good chance of reaching the stone circle and the sanctuary within. He pushed aside the question of what he would do when he reached the circle, or rather, how long it would take for help to come. He didn't much like the idea of waiting there for several days while his teacup-owl found its way slowly to Hogwarts, but it seemed possible that he would have little choice in the matter. Not for the first time, he wondered if Shacklebolt was all right, and what had happened to him to make him leave the café so abruptly.

He was almost half-way up the hill by now, and the lush grass of the lower slopes was becoming gradually replaced by heather and bracken, both of which sprang back into place as soon as he lifted his feet, obscuring any traces of his passage. He was breathing deeply from his exertions, but he knew he could not afford to stop and rest. Nearly there...

A Death Eater rose up suddenly from behind a low stone wall and Harry nearly screamed in terror. The wand was pointed straight at him. He turned to run, knowing it was useless.

'Stupefy!'

Harry stumbled and fell flat.