Something Real

Lucius Malfoy strolled elegantly around his study. In a less imposing man, his promenading might be alternately described as "pacing," but no one would have the temerity to suggest that the paterfamilias of the Malfoy family would stoop to something so indicative of weak nervousness as pacing. No, Lucius was sauntering, with coolness a panther would have envied.

And yet he started when the housemaid tapped timorously on the door.

"Mr. Malfoy? S-sir?" Her eyes were wide and frightened, Lucius noted with satisfaction.

"Yes?" he rapped out.

The servant girl shrank back. "I-I....th-there is..."

"Out with it, you sniveling little fool. I don't have the time for your stupidity," he drawled, inwardly enjoying her fear. This cravenness was typical of the wench, but it never failed to give Lucius pleasure.

"M-Mr. Nott is here to see you," the girl said with an effort. "There's a witch with him."

"Bring them in."

"Yes, sir." The girl positively fled from his presence, Lucius observed with glee. She reappeared a minute later, followed by Nott and a small brunette witch. Lucius waved the maid away.

"Lucius, I am absolutely enchanted to see you once more," crooned Nott in his usual obsequious fashion, bowing a little.

"Good afternoon, Nott," said Lucius, inclining his head slightly. "And good afternoon to you, too, Miss...?"

"Cray," said the witch, in a cool incisive voice. "Francesca Cray."

"Delighted," Lucius smiled, taking her hand. She smiled briefly in response and drew her hand away. Lucius turned to Nott, and said,

"I assume that Miss Cray is part of the solution to the little matter we discussed last time?"

"Why, yes, of course, and I feel that she will prove to be invaluable to our efforts. As a matter of fact--"

"I hope so," interrupted Lucius abruptly. For your sake, Nott. He turned his piercing sapphire gaze on the witch, then back to Nott again. "If that Muggle-loving old fool retains his influence, there's no telling what will happen. Fudge is giving people what they want to hear, but they've had such slavish devotion to Dumbledore for so long that what Fudge says may be as impotent as Fudge himself."

"Of course I understand that, my dear Lucius, indeed I do. That is why I invited Miss Cray up here, from her home in Florence, to aid us in our cause."

"And how exactly will Miss Cray do that?"

"I'm an expert in Dark Detecting Charms," Francesca Cray interposed, her voice slicing through Lucius's imperious drawl and Nott's butter-smooth chatter.

Lucius's golden eyebrows shot up on his forehead. A Dark Detector? I didn't even know there were any alive in this part of the world. What was Nott thinking? If this witch was truly skilled...he shook himself out of his reverie.

"A Dark Detector, Nott?" Lucius queried smoothly. "Are you sure that she will be accurate? Meaning no offense to you, Miss Cray, but I'm sure you are aware that Dark Detecting is notoriously...imprecise."

"I could demonstrate my skills if you'd like, Mr. Malfoy," said Francesca Cray briskly. "I could demonstrate on you, so you could be sure of the accuracy."

Lucius's eyes narrowed.

"Of course that won't be necessary, Miss Cray," he said, at his most charming. Affecting to laugh, he added, "I'll spare you my dark and tragic history--I'm sure you would much prefer it that way."

"I'm sure," said Miss Cray with a thin smile.

Lucius managed to smile in response. Smug cow.

"I know!" he said brightly, as if something had just struck him. "You may demonstrate on Nott." He smirked in Nott's direction, and added, "If he consents, of course."

Nott kept the scowl off his face, pasted on a servile grin and nodded.

"All right," said Miss Cray. She drew her wand out and pointed it at a none-too-pleased Nott.

Unhappy, my dear Nott? Lucius smiled cruelly. Pity. But I am the master, as you know well.

"Manifesto Tenebrae!" The witch's voice rang out clearly.

A jet of light shot from her wand and struck Nott in the heart. It reflected off his body and turned into a banner of shining pearly smoke. The banner grew longer and longer from Nott's body until it was about eight meters long, and wound around the room in serpentine curls.

Lucius gazed at the misty tapestry with fascination. Dark splotches were beginning to appear on the white smoke, some darker and bigger than others.

"Each dark spot stands for some Dark event in the subject's life," explained Miss Cray. "The lighter ones--the ones that are pale gray, like this one over here--usually merely indicate a negative emotion, such as hatred or anger or bitterness. But these darker ones generally indicate an actual performance of Dark magic." She paused, gave Nott a penetrating stare and continued, "And these over here--the ones that are almost black, they usually suggest that the subject has performed an Unforgivable." She said the words coolly, knowingly.

"And so..." Nott piped up, to Lucius's annoyance, "...if anyone in the employ or under the protection of that senile Muggle-lover has ever committed any Dark Magic, we will know of it, and be able to use the compromising information to discredit him."

"I had already made that connection, thank you, Nott," snapped Lucius, hiding his elation. Not a bad idea, for such a fool.

"And of course the spell can be performed without the actual presence of the subject," continued Miss Cray clinically. "All you need is something that has been in direct contact with the subject's skin--an article of clothing, or some such."

"I see," said Lucius. "Nott, you will take care of acquiring an article of clothing from every person who works at Hogwarts." Nott nodded, and Lucius turned away. It was an obvious dismissal, and Lucius was soon alone in the somber elegance of his study once more.

* * *

"Consopio!" yelled Fleur, her voice echoing in the damp dungeons.

The baby Welsh Green sighed blissfully and closed its eyes, purring contentedly.

"There," beamed Fleur, turning to Charlie. If this doesn't please the lout, I don't know what will.

Charlie walked up to the baby dragon, his eyes narrowed. It snored and let out a few sparks, but other than that, it was perfectly tranquil.

"Well," he said, glancing over at Nan, whose face was as expressionless as usual.

'Well'? Fleur wondered what sort of achievement would elicit wholehearted praise from the man.

He cleared his throat, and continued, "You certainly do know how to tame these things."

Fleur scowled. Why, merci mille fois, monsieur, for finally noticing!

"It is nothing," she dismissed. "Mood magic, will magic--I have a gift for that."

It was Nan's turn to scowl.

"That's lucky for you, because you'll be needing to do more of it," she said crisply, giving Fleur a cold stare. "This is only one dragon. There are more, and they won't always be babies. You should really practice it more." She paused, then said, "I'm going to get lunch." She kissed Charlie--Fleur had only just noticed that the two extremely surly people had some kind of a romantic understanding--and left the room.

Charlie gave Fleur a long steady look, then followed Nan.

Why? Fleur asked herself, although she had already dissected and analyzed that question and come up with the inevitable response countless times before. Because they're scared, and understandably so. Because they're prejudiced. Because you don't trust them, not truly. Because...Fleur cut herself off there; she knew that there were many reasons beyond her magical and veela abilities for why people found her difficult to deal with, and she had no wish to rehash them. She pushed the train of thought aside and left for the Great Hall.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall sat in Albus Dumbledore's office with a poise that belied her inner turmoil.

Albus was being himself; that is to say, part mad genius, part wise old patriarch and part overgrown child. Maddening, stubborn and damn near impossible to pump for information--especially information that Minerva badly wanted.

Maybe if she sounded casual, he'd let something out. Yes, and maybe hell will freeze over, she told herself wryly.

She gave it a try anyway.

"So tell me, Albus, what does our ever-so-esteemed Minister of Magic want with us today?"

Albus, who had been gazing out into space, jumped.

"What's that you say, Minerva? Oh--Cornelius." He gave a tolerant and amused smile, but Minerva was undeceived: Fudge's refusal to face the truth incensed the old wizard to a degree which most people would not have believed possible. "Yes, he wishes to speak with us about our new security measures for Hogwarts."

"The dragons, you mean?"

"Yes," said Albus. "The dragons. He wishes to know who is working on the project, and why."

"He doesn't..." Minerva hesitated, then continued. "He doesn't question the, er necessity of these measures?"

Albus smiled.

"No, as it happens, he does not. He blames the recent unrest, you see, on Sirius Black. Therefore, he believes that there is cause for greater security around the school--he differs with us, however, on the nature of that cause."

Minerva's nostrils flared, and she pursed her lips. She had only recently been informed about Black's innocence, and the news had annoyed her as much as it had shocked her: Minerva McGonagall emphatically did not enjoy being ignorant of crucial facts.

The door to the office opened, and two ominous looking Dementors entered. Minerva fought the wave of gloom that passed over her and threatened to drown her happier emotions; after a few seconds, she managed to regain her self-control, and saw that the Dementors were actually flanking an unimpressive-looking little man.

Maybe that's why Fudge is being so difficult, thought Minerva snidely. The man has a Napoleon complex. Her mind drifted off into the direction of Freudian psychology until Fudge's words drew her attention back to the room.

"Anne McKinnon...hmm, yes, a very able woman, I've been told. And...Charles Weasley. I suppose he's skilled with the dragons, Dumbledore?"

"Mr. Weasley is an excellent and talented worker," said Albus quietly.

"Hmm," said Fudge, shaking his head importantly. "Still, Dumbledore...he doesn't have any, er, radical tendencies, does he? He is a Weasley, after all..."

"The Weasleys are one of our most respected and trusted pureblood families, Cornelius," said Albus. His voice held that steely note which never failed to unnerve far braver men than Fudge.

"Oh, of course, of course," the Minister hastened to say. Minerva inwardly marveled at Albus's ability to spin the facts whichever way he wanted to. He could convince Cornelius Fudge that hiring a committed opponent of Voldemort was a conservative move that showed pureblood pride. Albus could probably give Salazar Slytherin himself a few lessons, she thought wryly.

"And...who did you say the other dragon worker was, Albus?" asked Fudge

"Miss Fleur Delacour," was the reply. "A very capable witch, particularly in the area of Charms and mind magic."

"Fleur Delacour...Delacour, Delacour...now, where have I heard that name before?" Fudge pondered.

"She was the champion for Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament," said Minerva.

"Oh, that's right! She was that perfectly beautiful girl! The part-veela!" Fudge's countenance took on a most unbecoming leer. He chuckled and continued, "No wonder she can charm the dragons, eh? Even they can't resist..."

Minerva's nostrils flared dangerously.

"Miss Delacour is a very talented young witch," she said. "She is quite skilled in her areas of expertise..."

Fudge interrupted her with a laugh.

"Oh, I'm sure--does she turn that killer smile on the dragons, too? Is that how she does it?"

Albus moved hastily to avert Minerva's impending eruption.

"Now, then, Cornelius, have you satisfied your curiosity about our security measures?"

Fudge bristled.

"It's not just curiosity, Albus. I am merely doing my duty by ensuring that any and all precautions taken are appropriate and sound." This idiot becomes more pompous by the minute, Minerva thought disgustedly. Fudge must have noticed the unenthusiastic faces of the Headmaster and his Deputy, because he quickly added in a conciliatory tone, "But it seems as though you have the dragons under control, and in capable hands, so I believe my business here is done. I thank you for your time." He hurried out the door, followed by his Dementor guards, and Minerva felt her spirits lift as if buoyed by winds. She let out a sigh.

Albus chuckled in response.

"So glad to see our illustrious and revered Minister depart, Minerva?" He made a tutting sound that was eerily reminiscent of Hermione Granger. "I am disappointed in you. Is nothing sacred to you at all?"

Minerva grinned, then became serious.

"What do you think will come of all this, Albus? Fudge won't see the truth. At least, I do not think he will. And Voldemort sympathizers will not hesitate for one minute to take advantage of him and his fear and ignorance..." She trailed off.

"No, Cornelius will not see the truth," Albus said heavily, and opened his mouth to continue. Minerva knew Albus very well, and she knew to brace herself for yet another pithy proverbial statement from the old wizard. She was not disappointed. "Those who keep their eyes closed never see anything."