The Staff of Orkney

Chapter XV

Confessions

After Dumbledore finished speaking, LeSal stirred.  There had been absolute silence in the room except for the soft ticking of a nearby clock that presently read two thirty.  Briefly, the thought of the upcoming Quidditch match crossed Harry’s mind, but he pushed it away.  It seemed so petty now.  It didn’t even dare compare with all that had just happened and after what Dumbledore had just confided in him.  He remained seated on the worn sofa, numbed in spirit, as Dumbledore slowly stood and looked over LeSal.

From where he sat, Harry could see that some color had returned to LeSal’s face and his breathing was less labored.  Almost methodically, Dumbledore checked over him by merely running his hands over the length of his body, but not touching, merely holding them a few inches away.  Harry wondered at how many times Dumbledore may have done this, looking after the casualties from the previous war with Voldemort and with Grindelwald.  It was a rumored fact that Dumbledore had seen well over a century and a half in his lifetime.  A century and a half afforded a lot of time for battles and struggles of all sorts.  For the first time, it occurred to Harry how little he knew of Dumbledore’s past.  Now he wanted to know and wondered at whether the old headmaster would be willing to share some stories sometime over a cup of tea.

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice broke his train of thought, “could you go find Professor Snape and let him know the potion worked and that his cousin is looking much better.”

Without thinking, Harry nodded and headed for the door.  Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder.

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s smile had returned.  “Thank you.  Severus would never admit it, but he needed your help tonight—and of course, Professor LeSal did too.  Thank you.”

Harry offered up a weak smile, he was too tired to convey how he really felt, but somehow he knew that Dumbledore would understand.  So without a word, he headed toward the dungeon.

As he neared the Potions lab, he caught an unexpected sound.  It grew louder and more frequent the closer he got: smashing glass.  When he got to where he could peer in, he saw shards of broken glass littering the floor by one wall as bottles, test tubes, and beakers were smashed against the cold, unforgiving stones.

Snape was standing in the center of the room.  He had managed to fix a bandage on his head and his left arm had been made up into a sling. With his good arm, he was snatching up any and every breakable thing within reach and hurling them toward the opposite wall.  For a while, all Harry could do was stare, afraid that if he made his presence known, Snape’s anger might turn toward him.  However, Dumbledore had asked him to bring the message to Snape, so gingerly, he stepped into the room.  He paused by the first desk and hoped that Snape wouldn’t notice him until he’d calmed down a bit.

Another bottle shattered against the wall.

“Professor Snape?” Harry began, but as soon as he spoke, Snape whirled around, dropping the beaker he had in his hand onto the floor in surprise.  Harry found his words choked off as he eyed Snape’s wand hand, which had gone straight to his belt where he had jammed his hemlock wand.  It took Snape a moment to adjust, to see that it was merely a student, then his shoulders slumped and he collapsed into a nearby chair.  His cold, strict demeanor was for the time washed away.  Harry couldn’t believe what was revealed to be hiding beneath.  It was disturbing and he wanted to leave the room—yet at the same time, he didn’t feel it right to leave him alone.

“Um…Professor Snape, your cousin is doing all right now.  Dumbledore sent me to tell you.”

“Thank you, Potter.” Snape’s voice was dull, broken, and quiet.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harry understood that he was to leave without another word, but he only got as far as the doorway.

“Harry…”

He turned.  Snape was motioning for him to come back.  He complied and went and stood by the desk Snape was sitting at.  He picked up a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out; it was the same paper on which he had jotted down the needed ingredients.  At this close proximity, Harry could see that Snape’s usually hard and seemingly unfeeling eyes were watery and red, and by the light of the torches, he could make out a glistening on his cheeks.

“I didn’t write the bezoar stones on this list.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  “I seem to remember that you said it’s needed in almost all poison antidotes.”

“It is.” Snape crumpled up the paper and his voice returned to the domineering Professor Harry was used to. “I’m amazed that some of my lessons have actually stuck in that mind of yours.  In my condition tonight, it didn’t cross my mind—I may have forgotten to use it if you hadn’t brought it to my attention.”

Was that a compliment?  Was Snape actually admitting that he had done something right?  Dazed, Harry once again turned to leave, but again, he was stopped.

“Forgive me,” the authoritarian tone again left his voice, “you shouldn’t have seen that.”  He was taking in the mess of the broken glass.

Harry said the first thing that came to mind, “I won’t tell anyone,” and he meant it.

Snape let out a rattling sigh.  “Tonight was very hard.  A lot of people died, Harry.  A lot of very good people.”

*          *          *

Harry had hoped that Snape would elaborate, but he didn’t.  He had just slowly gotten to his feet and headed to the apartment where LeSal lay sleeping under Dumbledore’s fatherly vigilance.  Dumbledore immediately instructed Harry to stay there for the night, and he had complied, bedding down on the sofa while Snape and Dumbledore spoke lowly about LeSal’s health.

Though he tried desperately to stay awake, he realized he had failed when he opened his eyes and stared at the clock, which now pointed out that it was nearly four in the morning.  There also was a damp spot on the arm of the sofa beneath his chin.  He went to wipe away the drool, however, his ears picked up the hushed voices of Snape and Dumbledore and from what he caught, he thought it best he pretend to sleep on so that he could continue to listen.

“So he was poisoned by Voldemort?” Dumbledore’s old voice seemed to melt into the room and Harry had to strain to hear.  “He suspects you then?”

“Yes.” Snape seemed to be seated close by.  “But we still may be able to return…”

“I don’t want you to.”

“But the information we’ve been able to gather…”

“We’ll have to make do without it.  I’ll not have you come back like this again.”

“But…” Harry could almost see Dumbledore quietly lifting his hand.  Strange how everyone obeyed it.

“So how did he come to be poisoned by Voldemort?”

There was a long pause while Snape evidently was piecing the evening’s events together.  “The raid didn’t go as planned for him,” Snape began.

“Did he come along?”

“Oh, no.  He rarely ever does, especially on such a dangerous mission such as this one.  But I suppose he’s been suspecting us for some time.

“He works much the same way as he has before. Gives us a spot at which to meet, then gives us our mission only moments before we are to carry it out.  He put LeSal and me in charge.  A test, I suppose.  Of course, as soon as I found out that our target was the Ministry—a special conference being held at the Minister’s house, I was determined to get there first and find some way to give a warning.” It seemed to be getting more and more difficult for Snape to continue.  “Oh, Albus,” he finally sobbed.  “I failed.  We both tried—Merlin, we tried!  But he had it set just so—we had no time!  No time at all…and now they’re all dead.”

Dumbledore’s voice cracked as he asked, “Arthur and Molly?”

“I think so.  I saw them go down.  Lucius Malfoy…damn him…but he didn’t use Avada Kedavra…he….Salazar, in all the commotion, succeeded in getting a message off to Alastor Moody and then distracted Lucius, who was being the worst.  I think he was also managing to deflect some of the curses with that staff of his.  I was about to blow our cover and turn and fight—I know it would have been suicide, but—Alastor came almost immediately, brought a whole number of Aurors with him.  With my mask and robes, I wasn’t recognized and was one of the first Moody decided to go after.  Salazar dragged me out.  Oh—I should have done more…”

“You’ve done more than enough already.”

“But Albus…I didn’t do enough.  I shouldn’t have survived while so many of them died.  I was there and they got away with killing the Minister of Magic.  Arthur and Molly!  They’re… I’m sitting here, alive—I don’t deserve to.  Oh, and their son, Percy…that Head Boy from two years ago—he’s dead.  I was looking over him when Moody got me.  Then there was Fletchley, Jackson, Haversham, the Ambassadors from the Eastern Ministry: the Changs.  Both of them were killed almost immediately.  Ludo Bagman, Stapleton…almost all the officials.”

Harry felt his insides go numb then something slowly pushed its way up into his throat.  He held his eyes shut tight, fighting back the burning tears that were welling beneath his lids.  The Weasleys…he thought of Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny.  It wasn’t fair at all.  Then he thought of the Changs.  Cho-Changs parents?  And Justin Finch Fletchley.  Suddenly, his thoughts strayed to Draco Malfoy.  His blood boiled.  For the first time he found himself wishing he knew some of the unforgivable curses.  If Malfoy said a word…

His emotions were broiling so violently inside of him, that he found it difficult to listen to anymore that they had to say.

“But because the Aurors did arrive so suddenly—as they have been doing in many of the raids Salazar and I have been following, I think Voldemort suspected.  When we got back, he…he immediately…tried to get us to talk.” Harry could just imagine how Voldemort would go about trying to get information from someone and shuddered at the thought.  “He asked us questions about you, mainly.  I could see he’s worried.  Didn’t feel like we were providing enough information, though.  That’s when he took Salazar and forced him to drink the poison.  Offered him the antidote as soon as he spouted off all the names closest to you.  Started off by asking if he knew why he was suddenly having trouble with the giants.  We both insisted that we knew nothing, that you even suspected us…but of course…

“I was about to…there was nothing that could be done.  I thought I was going to lose LeSal right there.  Then, of all people, Lucius Malfoy stepped forward.  Started to defend us—don’t know where he found the guts.”

“Salazar has been keeping close to Lucius, hasn’t he?”  Dumbledore did not seem pleased at all.

“Yes.  In fact, I’ve argued a bit with him about that.  But he’d always insisted that it was good to keep Lucius close.  I suppose it paid off.  He was right there.  If he hadn’t been spending all that time with Lucius, I suppose we’d both be dead by now.”

“What about the antidote?”

Snape let off a hefty “hrmph.” “He didn’t have one.  He just tossed me what was left of the poison and told me to figure it out myself.”

Some time passed before any more was said.  Then Dumbledore stated, “I never want either of you to return—in fact, I don’t see how you can.”

Snape waited, then responded softly, “There is a way.  Voldemort said we could return if we proved ourselves loyal through performing a particular task.  And while it can’t be done, I have an idea in which we may be able to rid ourselves of Voldemort once and for all.”

*          *          *

How exactly he had fallen asleep again, he wasn’t quite sure.  Harry had wanted desperately to listen, but he had suddenly just drifted off to sleep.  He wondered if Snape or Dumbledore had done something, some charm to be sure he was not awake.

There was bright, late morning sunlight streaming through the window when he opened his eyes.  The smell of formaldehyde greeted his senses and he crinkled up his nose.  He was no longer on the sofa but had been placed on the other bed in the room and a scratchy wool blanket had been thrown over him.  For now, all he could see was the window, which was level with the muddy spring ground.  A little white chamomile flower seemed to be peering in.  Nearby, he heard an odd sound, such as someone flipping through a stack of papers.  He adjusted his glasses, which were still situated lopsided on the bridge of his nose, and rolled over.  Snape’s back was to him; he was hunched intently over a desk.

LeSal looked much better.  In fact, he was sitting up in bed, propped against some pillows and drawing on a very long bone pipe.  At once, Harry thought of what Ron would say when he told him he had spent the night trapped with the Snapes—Ron…Mr. and Mrs. Weasley…Percy…He wondered if what he had heard last night was true and not something he had dreamt.  Pushing the blankets off, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.

At the sound of his stirring, Snape swiveled around in his seat.  There was an old, worn deck of cards laid out on the desk and from the look on his face, Harry knew that he had not dreamt up last night.

Snape looked about to say something but at that moment, Sirius entered the room carrying a tray of food.  He set down a plate on top of the playing cards and for once, the usual glares were not passed.  Sirius then took the rest of the tray and placed it before LeSal.

LeSal stared for a long time at the plate and drew on his pipe.  At last, he gingerly picked up a strip of blackened, crispy bacon.  “Did you make this, Blackie?  Or did I just happen to get an idiot house elf to make my breakfast this morning?”

“Just shut up and eat it.”  Harry was surprised to hear Snape speak up so quickly.

LeSal seemed surprised too, but he then just narrowed his eyes and in a mocking tone said, “Well, someone sure doesn’t seem to know how to keep himself from cracking under pressure.”  With that, he pushed the plate away and stumbled out of bed.  He didn’t seem very steady on his feet.

“I’d stay in bed if I were you.  While that potion helped you to feel better, the poison surely did damage.  You need rest.”  Snape moved the plate over, picking from it while continuing on with his card game.

LeSal laughed.  “As if I should worry. Voldemort in general is a hazard to my health, and I can bet that if he’s around a few months from now, I most likely will be dead—and I wouldn’t give yourself much longer, dear Severus.”  He then busied himself with the contents of a trunk that lay on the floor.

He had hardly removed a dark velveteen pouch when Snape said, without even looking, “I wouldn’t drink any of that right now.  You threw up enough last night.”

“Yes, daddy dearest,” LeSal scoffed and brought the bag back into bed with him.  From inside, he pulled out a liquor bottle filled with a clear substance: the label seemed to be entirely in Russian.  He placed his pipe on a nearby table and began to drink heavily from the bottle.

Sirius shook his head.  “He’s yours to deal with Severus.  Frankly, I can’t see how he can drink that stuff straight.”

LeSal straightened. “When you have nights as I do, you learn.”  Then in a softer tone, seemingly more to himself, “Ten years teaching over in Durmstrang does it too.  Got this bottle from Karkaroff, actually—poor Igor. How long ‘til we meet his fate, aye Sev?” He studied the bottle for a moment before taking another swig.

“Dumbledore has called an important meeting for this afternoon,” Snape informed softly.  “One that I highly suggest you be sober for.”

Sirius looked very dark about this, then he spotted Harry.  “Ah, you’re awake.” He came across the room.

Harry had been ready to cry.  His thoughts still remained on the Weasley’s.  He looked up at Sirius and could feel tears beginning to burn his eyes.

“What is it Harry?” Sirius sat down on the sofa next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“The Weasleys…”

“Oh.” Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair.

“Arthur and Molly Weasley are alive and recuperating in St. Mungo’s,” Severus answered from across the room.  “Your friend, Ronald and his siblings were informed this morning.  The headmaster took them there this morning; that is where he is now.”

“However,” Sirius continued, “Their son, Percy was lost.”

The news of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley made Harry feel somewhat better, but the news of Percy still stung.  “But Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—they’ll be okay?”

Sirius looked over to Snape who evidently seemed to have the answers.

“The owl Dumbledore sent me less than an hour ago claims that they should recover fully.  The biggest blow right now is the loss of their son.”

The room was quiet and for a time, Harry allowed himself to lean against Sirius’ shoulder.  Snape seemed focused on his cards while LeSal remained preoccupied with his bottle.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” LeSal finally spoke up.  “We’re gonna kill that no good bastard.  That’s what the meeting’s going to be about, isn’t it Sev?”

Snape glance over, raising an eyebrow.  “Be careful what you start saying.  Actually, perhaps you ought to put down the bottle now.  Harry’s a student and it doesn’t look good.”

LeSal chuckled then said loudly, “Harry, never mind me.  I’m foul, vile—Severus makes a much better role model.”  He then took another drink.  More than half the bottle was now empty.  “Even though,” he continued, “he has lost all sense of humor, acts like a pewit around women, needs to bathe more often, and generally adds as much life to a room as a cadaver.”

“Salazar…”Snape’s warning held a condescending tone.

“What?” LeSal rivaled it.  “Say, I didn’t have a good night either.  I’ve just found a better way to cope than you.”

“Drowning yourself in the bottle is hardly coping.”

“And you would know? This was the way Igor handled those nights…and he was far more entertaining.”

Severus let out a short snort to display his disapproval.

“You never did come and join us on our nightly games with the Moscow underground, did you?  Ah, those were fun.” He turned toward Harry and Sirius, hoping they’d be a better audience. “For part of the time I taught at Durmstrang, the muggles had a very odd type of government—barbaric, really.  Their police were horrible, called them the KGB, I think.  Anyway, they knew something was odd.  For see, after a dark wizard named Rasputin, the wizarding community decided to hang low for a long while and there was a general distrust of the muggle political leaders.  So as time wore on, the wizarding community became somewhat of a superstitious tale for the muggles.  People such as Igor—Karkaroff and I, kept them guessing every now and then.  We never did anything to hurt them, of course, just had some fun and kept them on their toes.” He took yet another swig from the bottle. “Strange, really.”

“What is?” Harry asked half-heartedly.  He was still thinking of Percy, but LeSal’s stories were helping to keep his mind from dwelling hard in the sadness.

“How many different ways the magical and muggle communities interact.  Everywhere I’ve been, we have remained somewhat secretive from the muggles, but take the States for instance.  There, society is much more integrated.  Wizards and witches tend to live right alongside the muggles and the government has a department of magic attached to it.  Of course, they don’t tell the general public about it.  But the fact is, there isn’t such a revulsion for muggle artifacts and ways of life as there is here.  That’s why I personally don’t think we ever have to worry about Voldemort gaining support in the States.” Harry was trying to listen but his mind kept wandering to those who had died last night.  How could LeSal keep prattling on like this? “For example, I taught for two years at Crabhill and Funk.  It’s in the southern part of the States—not too far from the city of New Orleans.  The school is set back in the woods close to a muggle university.  On weekends, my students would don muggle clothes and go to the same parties as the muggle students.  I went to a couple myself.”  Then he laughed and in such a way as to show that the vodka was having an effect on him.  His nose and cheeks had already gone very red.  “I took Severus to one.  The students called it a crawfish boil.  They throw all these crustaceans that live at the bottom of the rivers into a boiling pot then eat them, get smashingly drunk, then they all sing songs in really bad French that usually end in everyone shouting Aieee!”

It was after this story that Lupin appeared, saving them from hearing anymore, for LeSal noticed him almost immediately.  “Ah look, it’s wolf boy.  Have a good night?  Though I believe Severus and I could beat you.  We had a corking time.”

Lupin had dark bags under his eyes and looked worse for the wear.  Yet he managed, “How does he manage it?”

“Manage what?” Sirius asked.

“His mood.  How he’s able to be so dripping full of sarcasm after all he’s been through.”

Immediately, Sirius pointed to the nearly empty bottle LeSal had finally set aside.

“Ah, I keep forgetting.  He’s so simple, I really must stop trying to give him depth.”  As he said this, LeSal stumbled once more out of bed and headed over to the chest.

“And he’s really working hard on getting sick again,” Sirius noted.

Snape evidently had had enough.  His chair scraped back against the floor and he stood up, heading over to LeSal, who had just stood up holding yet another bottle, but this time the label read, Ogden’s Firewhiskey. “Hand it over,” he demanded.

LeSal ignored the request.

“Don’t make me embarrass you,” Snape said dangerously. “I think you’ve had quite enough.”

Still LeSal disobeyed and so Snape finally made a pass at snatching up the bottle, but the moment his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, something very unexpected happened.  There was a pop, and Snape suddenly was not only holding the bottle of whiskey, but a small, emerald green wyvern.  It quickly wrapped its snakelike tail around Snape’s arm and clawed at the bottle while flapping its leathery wings.

“If you don’t let go, I’m going to lock you up in Bertram’s cage again,” Snape threatened.

At this, the wyvern’s red eyes flashed and it opened its mouth, displaying a painful set of razor sharp teeth.  It motioned to bite Snape’s arm, and instinctively, Snape let go of the bottle.  There was another pop and LeSal was now sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the bottle triumphantly.  However, the glowing red eyes had not completely disappeared, and still glinted in his own.  This made even Snape balk.

*          *          *

Things had quieted down quickly, for LeSal had soon fallen asleep and Harry had the chance to visit with Sirius and Lupin before returning to his dorm.

Quidditch had of course been cancelled.  The Changs that had been killed in the raid were in fact Cho’s parents.  The entire school seemed hushed—even the Slytherins, for as Harry soon found out, some of the Death Eaters had been captured or killed.  Luckily, Harry didn’t see hide nor hair of Draco Malfoy.  So he spent most of the day quietly sitting with Hermione and Neville until McGonagall unexpectedly entered the common room.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry sprang up from his seat at the call of his name and began to think of what could be wrong.  His heart did a little flip-flop.

“The headmaster wishes to see you in his office.”

Harry glanced back at Hermione who gave him a reassuring nod, then followed McGonagall out of the common room.  They passed Peeves in the hall who was attempting to wrestle an ax out of the hands of a suit of armor that appeared determined not to surrender it.

“Peeves!” McGonagall snapped.  “Leave that alone.”

Peeves let go of the ax but wrinkled up his nose and pursed his lips in imitation of McGonagall.  She only shook her head and quickened her pace.  “You may need something like this if that Lucius Malfoy returns,” Peeves called after.

McGonagall stopped.  “Lucius Malfoy was here?”

Peeves did a somersault and stuck out his tongue.

“When?”

“Oh,” Peeves twiddled his thumbs. “Just a few hours ago.  Very secretive. Up to no good, I suspect.”

McGonagall looked worried.  “Was he alone?”

“No,” Peeves grinned.

“Who was with him?”

“Hmmm. Is it my business to say?”

“I’ll get the headmaster, Peeves, if you don’t tell me.”

Peeves looked sour and said in an oily voice. “Professor LeSal was with him.  And I know nothing more because he forced me—very rudely, I do say—to leave.”  And with that, Peeves floated off.

By the look on McGonagall’s face, Harry could tell that she was not happy.  “He better not be messing anything up,” he heard her say under her breath and he wondered if she meant Malfoy or LeSal, or both.

As they neared Dumbledore’s office, Harry contemplated on what he was needed for.  Undoubtedly it would have to do with last night.  Perhaps this was the meeting Snape had mentioned—but why was he invited?  Halfway up the spiral staircase, McGonagall stopped.

“I trust you can find your way from here,” she stated before turning around and heading back down.  Evidently, she was not attending the meeting.

Alone, he climbed to the top of the stairs and lifted the silver knocker.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore said before the knocker had even dropped.

Inside, the room was crowded.  Dumbledore was leaning against his desk while numerous wizards and a witch, one whom Harry had never seen before, sat seated in assorted chairs.  There was Sirius and Remus Lupin, both Snapes, Mad Eye Moody, and next to him, an odd looking aged wizard with a very lopsided pointed hat, and… “Mrs. Figg?” Harry said, startled to see the woman from Privet Drive.  She had brought one of her cats with her and it was weaving around her legs.

“Harry,” Mrs. Figg acknowledged, giving him a warm smile.

“I think you’ve already met Arabella Figg,” Dumbledore explained, “so I believe the only introduction that needs to be done here is Mr. Fletcher.” He motioned toward the man in the pointed hat.  “Harry, this is Mundungus Fletcher, an old colleague of mine.”

He looked to be quite old, though Harry didn’t feel as if he could rightly estimate the age of a wizard.

“It is very good to finally meet you, Mr. Potter,” and Mr. Fletcher gave a slight bow.

“Sit, Harry.” Dumbledore motioned toward an empty seat Harry hadn’t noticed before.  “You’re no doubt wondering why we summoned you here.  The truth is Harry, our plan unfortunately includes you, though if everything works out as planned, you won’t be directly involved.”  Sirius walked around the room and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulder as Dumbledore continued, “Professor Snape and LeSal were asked by Voldemort to show their loyalty by bringing you to him.  Of course, we would never even consider such a thing.” Snape was looking over at Harry, an indiscernible expression on his face while LeSal was just staring at the floor. Harry wondered what was going on in his mind.  Why had he been talking to Lucius Malfoy earlier? Did Dumbledore or Snape know about that? “So Severus has devised a plan in which we can use this request of Voldemort’s to cause his downfall.”  Everyone in the room was paying rapt attention to Dumbledore, all except LeSal.  Should he say something?  “The plan is this: Severus will return with Harry, but then again, not with Harry.”

“How so?” Mrs. Figg asked, picking up her cat off the floor.

“Polyjuice.”

Moody twitched oddly at this.

“I will go disguised as Harry.”  Everyone froze after Dumbledore announced this.

“So you’ll be confronting Voldemort, directly?” Lupin said softly.

“Severus will be with me, and I’m hoping there will be a way in which I can have some of you join with me shortly after I reveal myself.”

“What about the Death Eaters?” Moody pointed out, his eye swiveled to the Snapes.  “I have faith that you can handle Voldemort, but he is far more powerful when he has his toadies with him.”

“I have thought about that, and I am hoping that Salazar can help us there.” LeSal finally looked up while Moody looked skeptically over at Dumbledore.  “He has been keeping in touch with Lucius Malfoy, who we are certain is a Death Eater with some prominence in Voldemort’s circle.  I think I’ll let him tell you exactly what he plans.”

LeSal stood up. His eyes were red and he swayed slightly.  He was still ill, either from the poison or alcohol, or maybe a bit of both.  “There is unrest among the Death Eaters,” he began in a voice that seemed much older than he looked.  “It’s been growing slowly.  There are many who believe that Voldemort lost too much of himself when he fell.  That he will never be as strong as he once was and that he’s easily distracted, especially where Mr. Potter is concerned.” Harry squirmed in his seat.  “Harry’s sort of become his white whale and many of us—the Death Eaters,” Harry caught him catching himself there, “find it rather ridiculous.  They believe that a new leader needs to step forward.  There’s been mumblings of a rebellion.

“I believe that I could set it off.”

“And how would this help us?” Sirius was looking distrustfully over at Salazar.

Salazar answered it in such a way as to show that he didn’t think he had to explain it, especially to Sirius.  “It would take the Death Eaters away from Voldemort.  All I need to know is when exactly we will be doing this, and I will call a meeting somewhere where it will be difficult to quickly apparate from.  Most of the Death Eaters will come.  You’ll still have to deal with a few, such as the LeStranges, but Voldemort would be greatly weakened.”

“You have the power to do this?” Sirius asked, and from the look of Moody’s face, Harry didn’t doubt that he was thinking the same thing, only he was pondering something else.  He wondered if LeSal caught it.

“Both Lucius and I hold a lot of sway.  Together, we probably can name every single Death Eater that there is.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know very many!” Sirius burst out.

“He lied,” Moody explained coldly.

“Look,” Salazar turned on Moody, “I’m not as ready as you are to go throw everyone into Azkaban.  I think things through.  Even though I may know someone’s a criminal, I wait to see how I can use them, such as we are going to do now.”

“But if they were in Azkaban, we wouldn’t be faced with the problem of trying to get them out of the way!” Moody argued.

“If I had told you everyone, then Voldemort would probably have figured out who the fink was and neither I nor Severus would be here right now offering you the chance to get at Voldemort himself.”

Moody scoffed, “I know you better than you think, Salazar Snape. I know how you slink around. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

Snape turned on Moody at this but Dumbledore intervened before there was a conflict.  “I trust both of them, Alastor.  They have never failed me—or us.  They’re pertinent to this struggle, and I believe have shown themselves to very honorable wizards.  Now,” he turned to Harry, “we’re going to eventually need something from you to complete the polyjuice potion, and of course, I need your absolute secrecy.  No one outside of this room is to know what we discussed here.  Also, after considering what happened to you at the end of last year and the danger that you are unfortunately in, I have decided, Harry, to have you learn some advanced magic that may help you if you get in a bind.  Professor Snape will help you.” Harry looked over at Snape but he and Moody were still attempting to stare the other down.