Borrowed Time

May 10, 1968

Britain

5:01 am

"You better thank your guardian angel, Cosmo," Titus chided the younger man who sat before his desk. Cosmo Delmonte tried not to squirm in his seat. He hated having to answer to Titus Mortimer, Lord Voldemort's errand boy. "Our sources at the Ministry tell us that dear Thomas Hawn has been shelved. Next time, try not to be so rash in your assignments."

Cosmo glanced around the office room. In front of him sat Titus, sitting at his desk like God during Judgment Day, and to Cosmo's left and right, just at the edge of his vision, stood his comrades, fellow members of the Hadethanasia, dressed in their dark cloaks. Cosmo had always thought Hadethanasia to be such a stupid name. It was Titus's idea, of course, just another excuse for him to show off his Ravenclaw pretension and intelligence.

"I wasn't acting rashly," Cosmo growled. "I was doing what I was told to do. The job's done, I don't see any reason to complain."

Titus gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes, you got the job done, but you nearly ruined it for us. A witch came forward to the Ministry and reported that she had witnessed the murder."

"But the case has gone cold, hasn't it, sir?" It was the usual war of words Cosmo played with Titus.

"It would seem so right now," Titus replied, "but we don't know how long it will stay that way. Crouch has Marcus Weisel working on the case. Weisel's good, one of the best. Let's hope he's not good enough to trace the clues back to you, back to us."

"I still don't see what the big deal is," Cosmo pressed on. "I got the job done."

Titus shook his head. "You have no appreciation for subtlety," he murmured.

"And you have too much of it," Cosmo retorted, rising from his seat. "All this damned sneaking around, what good has it done? What good has it done for the Dark Lord's cause?"

Titus folded his hands neatly. "And what would you suggest? Blowing up the Ministry of Magic?" he sneered.

Cosmo shrugged. "Sounds good to me." A few of the men behind him gave murmurs of consent.

Titus gave him a look of utter disgust. "I will not tolerate this bullish behavior from you for long, Cosmo. Save your brawn for schoolyard fights; this is serious business now." He waved him away. "Go on. I have real work to get done."

Cosmo didn't need to be told again. He practically leapt from the chair and stormed out of Titus's office and into his parlor. The other men followed him. Cosmo uttered a slur of insults as soon as he knew he was out of earshot.

"You said it," one of the others said.

"Sounds like he's got a wand shoved right up his arse," another agreed.

One by one, they Flooed into the Knockturn Alley bookshop that Cosmo's uncle owned. As soon as he knew that all were present, Cosmo began his complaining again. "I'm getting sick of all this sneaking around. For three years I've served the Dark Lord and nothing's happened yet. If we sit like this, there's going to be no revolution and we'll just wait for the Ministry to find us." There was a mumbling agreement. "All Mortimer wants to do is play his little games. I doubt he really cares about anything else."

"Why don't you go to Lord Voldemort about it?" a younger man in the group asked.

Cosmo gave a snorting laugh. "Maybe I will."

June 3, 1968

Kings Cross, London

8:52 pm

"Hey, Traveler."

Emerging from the mass of commuters at Kings Cross, Titus saw a familiar face set with dark eyes and framed by blonde hair. She flashed her famous sly grin and pulled Titus aside. They reached the barrier between platforms three and four where she handed him a manila folder.

"'Lo, Speakeasy." Titus glanced at the envelope. "What would this be?"

"Everything I could find on Marcus Weisel," she replied quietly. "Just as you asked."

"I hope you didn't have to kill too many men to get this information," Titus added with a sidelong grin.

She chuckled. "Not too many." She patted Titus on the shoulder. "See you later, Traveler." With that, she disappeared back into the crowd as quietly as she had come.

Titus waited until he Disapparated back into his home before he dared to open the envelope. He grinned immediately when he glanced through the contents. He could always trust Speakeasy to get what he needed. He didn't know exactly how she went about in gathering her intelligence; he just knew that she got it done. He read the reports.

Marcus Weisel was born 1926 in Warsaw, to a Jewish wizarding family. He attended Durmstrang from 1939 to 1941. Before he could finish his schooling, he and his family were interned at Buchenwald. He alone was transferred to Auschwitz in 1944 before being liberated later that year. Titus could find nothing on what happened to his family, he could only assume that they meant their fate in the crematoriums. After his liberation, Weisel joined the wizard alliance against Grindelwald, who was later vanquished by Albus Dumbledore in 1945. After the end of the war, he assumed the name Marcus Goethe, so to hide his Jewish heritage, and lived in Germany. He settled in the wizarding community Balsburg and completed his education through private tutors.

What Titus really found fascinating were Weisel's activities in the years 1946 to 1947. He joined the radical wizard group Red Fist, known throughout central Europe for their terrorist activities. The Red Fist's believed that the plight of Jewish wizards were ignored by the rest of the wizard community during the Grindelwald years, and demanded retribution. When their requests were ignored, they turned to violence. According to the report, Weisel's involvement was minor, but he was a member nonetheless. Titus grinned at this fascinating bit of information. He highly doubted that any of Weisel's co-workers in the Ministry knew about this. Before he read any further, he copied what he had read. Taking his handsome screech owl, he addressed the note to "Nighthawk" and sent it on its way.

October 16, 1968

London

10:34 pm

Cosmo despised telephones, as he despised most things Muggle. They were so impersonal when it came to forms of communication. At least when he used the fireplace, Cosmo could see the person he was talking to. On the telephone, he could not study the other person, look in their eyes and see their motives. But after the murder of Thomas Hawn, Titus managed to convince the Dark Lord that fireplace communication would no longer be as secure as before and suggested other means to communicate, namely the Muggle telephone. No one would suspect wizards to use a telephone. So here he was, sitting on his bed in his London home, talking with Lord Voldemort over the telephone. The absurdity of it all made him want to break into peals of laughter.

"What is it?" the Dark Lord's hissing voice streamed through the receiver. Even with the horrid connection, that voice sent chills down the spine.

"It's Mortimer," Cosmo replied promptly. "He's practically got me on probation for the Hawn job."

"Hawn's been taken care of, I hope."

"Yes. The job got done. But there was a witness."

"Who?"

"Dunno. It was a witch who heard me curse him. That's all."

"Is Titus upset by this?"

"Of course! He practically wanted to throw me out of the Hade...Hadethana..."

"Hadethanasia."

"Yes. Sorry, m'Lord."

"That's quite a difficult name to remember. It's understandable. Don't worry about Titus; he was just overreacting. The job was completed; we have nothing else to worry about."

Cosmo snorted. "Try telling that to Titus. He's acting as if we have an enormous leak in our network." He swallowed before deciding to jump into his argument. "All this sneaking around, it's doing us no good, m'Lord. We're running around in circles. How are we any different than when we started?"

"Titus has never failed me. I trust his actions and his motives. But I also trust you, Cosmo." There was a long pause. Cosmo held his breath as he waited for the Dark Lord to continue. Lord Voldemort had just placed him on par with Titus Mortimer. The thought of this made Cosmo giddy. "Even if my patience is more pronounced than yours, Titus's methods can seem very drawn out. I have confidence in you as well, Cosmo. Should you wish to propose some action to me, feel free to do so." Another long pause. "Do you have a proposal for me, Cosmo? Is that why you called me?"

Cosmo's head swarmed. In a round about way, the Dark Lord had just given him a carte blanche, an open forum on the next move of his followers. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he answered: "Yes."

February 21, 1969

Northern Britain

9:11 pm

Deep within the ruins of an ancient castle, Voldemort called a meeting of his faithful followers. They gathered together inside one of the castle's remaining dungeons, the chamber was nearly as intact as it had been hundreds of years ago, when it held the lord's many enemies. Standing on the stone dais in the center of the impressive dungeon, amidst the glow of the torches and the masked faces of his comrades, Cosmo Delmonte surveyed the scene. This was to be his moment. Titus Mortimer, he observed with great pleasure, was missing from the crowd.

"My friends," he began, his voice echoing off the moldy stonewalls. "Our Lord has called us here to set about a new plan of action For years we have been together, for years we have struggled in the underground, unknown to the world around us. Our most noble cause, the purification of wizard kind from the unseemliness of Muggles, Mudbloods, and Half-blood bastards, has yet to be realized. Instead of action, we are told to sit and wait, to allow the events to unfold." There was a murmur of consent from the group, which made Cosmo swell with confidence. He continued his sermon.

"Throughout our lives, we are taught about great men who did great and terrible deeds. Great men make their own history; they did not allow fate to take command of their lives and actions. So must we make our own history. We shall take action, risking everything so that we may succeed. Some in our group fear these risks, preferring to control all actions around them. This has only stalled us. For too long have we cowered in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity. My friends, our opportunity is here, because we shall make it! Now is the time for us to rise up!" The masked fellows around him began to clap and cheer. Cosmo felt himself glow with pride.

"We shall rise up! Our time is now! Soon, all the world, both Muggle and wizard, shall know of us and fear us. They shall be crushed under the wands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters!"

Once again, there was a swell of murmuring. Cosmo could tell that he had won them over. In an ecstasy of triumph, Cosmo punched his left fist into the air. The loose sleeve of his robe fell below his elbow, revealing the ugly, black tattoo of a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth.

October 31, 1969

Ministry of Magic, London

2:23 pm

The Auror headquarters was bustling with activity when Weisel wandered down there to meet with Moody, who had sent an urgent owl to him that morning. He found Moody at his cubicle, his various papers and notes spread out all over his desk. It looked as if a pack of trolls had swept through.

"You wanted to see me?" Weisel asked Moody.

"Yes," Moody replied curtly. He rifled through his papers and pulled out a ratty piece of parchment with elegant handwriting covering one side. Moody handed it to Weisel. "Take a look at this."

Weisel studied the note. "Traveler not aware. Crank and Bust, London. DA via KA. Ministry. Voldemort approved. Plans as go," it read. "Where did you get this?" Weisel inquired.

"Sean Benton happened upon this morning," Moody explained. "An owl delivered it to him late last night. It seems that the owl went to the wrong address."

"Whom was it addressed to?"

"There was no address. Probably why the owl screwed up."

Weisel chewed his lower lip. "Do you know what it means?"

"Looks like plans of some sort. An attack maybe?"

"An attack by whom?"

Moody pointed to the word "Voldemort". "This person, maybe? It looks to be the only proper name in the whole thing. The rest is code."

"Any idea what Voldemort means?"

"Dunno, I'm having it looked into now."

Weisel pondered for a moment. "Where does Benton live?"

"In Cornwall, why?"

"Does he have any neighbors that are wizards?"

Moody shrugged. "I think the Lestrange family has an estate there."

"Check into that as well," Weisel said. "That owl wouldn't have dropped off that note to Benton randomly. Its intended destination had to be somewhere nearby. Have you told Crouch about this yet?"

Moody shook his head. "I wanted to get your opinion on it first."

"Alright, I'll bring it to Crouch today," Weisel continued. "If someone was planning against the Ministry, Halloween would be a perfect time to strike." He pocketed the note. "Tell me anything you can get on these names, especially Voldemort." He headed toward the door.

"Will do," Moody called as Weisel rounded the corner.

Weisel hurried down the hall to Crouch's office complex. The Junior Assistant greeted him. "Can I help you, Mr. Weisel?" he asked.

"Is Crouch in?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can I see him?"

"I think so, sir. But--"

"Good," Weisel replied curtly and stormed into Crouch's office before the baffled assistant could say another word. He found Crouch having tea with none other than Albus Dumbledore. Both were surprised to see him barge in.

"Marcus?" Crouch said mildly. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Weisel began, giving a quick nod to Dumbledore, "it's just that Moody showed me something today that I think you should see."

"Should I leave, Barty?" Dumbledore asked, as he started to rise from his seat.

"No, no, no," said Crouch, still looking at Weisel. "Please stay, Dumbledore, I may need your help. What do you have, Marcus?"

Weisel handed Crouch the note. "It was accidentally delivered to Benton late last night. Apparently the owl had the wrong address."

Crouch looked over the note. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know, sir, we're looking into its meaning," Weisel replied promptly. "It just strikes me as threatening."

"May I see it?" Dumbledore requested. Crouch handed the note to Dumbledore, who studied it in silence.

"Let's not get too hasty here, Marcus," Crouch chided. "We don't know anything about it now."

"Yes," Weisel began, "but today is Halloween. Today would be a perfect time for the unfolding of whatever these plans are."

"He has a point, Barty," murmured Dumbledore, not looking up from the note.

"If, if, that is the case," Crouch said, "there's not much we can do about it." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid all that we can do is wait and see, and stay on our toes."

"But, sir, what if--"

"'If' is all we have, Marcus," Crouch interrupted, "and I'm afraid that's not enough for me to send out the kind of attack you seem to be suggesting. All we can do is wait."

"I'm afraid he may be right," Dumbledore added. "We simply don't have the information right now." He turned to Crouch. "Barty, what do these names mean?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," Crouch replied. "Do you?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't think so. Would you mind if I looked into it?" He handed the note to Crouch.

Crouch waved a hand indifferently in the air. "Go right ahead. I don't know how much you think you'll find." He turned to Weisel. "Marcus, all we can do is wait. Please, just try to relax."

"I'll try, sir," Weisel said in a defeated tone. "May I continue to investigate?"

"Of course. Just don't get your hopes up." Crouch gave the note to Weisel.

"Don't worry," Weisel muttered as he walked out of the office. He turned down the hall and into his own office. He plopped into his desk chair and spread the note out on his desk. Something was going to happen soon, he definitely knew it. But the wait was going to prove to be agonizing.

November 2, 1969

Knockturn Alley, London

9:53 am

Cosmo Delmonte was on top of the world. Here he was, sipping tea in Knockturn Alley's Blackbird Pub surrounded by the more shady denizens of London's wizard community. History was about to take a sharp turn, and it would all be because of him. Cosmo smiled, pleased with his ingenuity. He glanced at his watch. 9:53. It would not be too long now.

He hoped that Hamilton, the Death Eater Cosmo knew as "Bust", was in place. Cosmo had to admire the young Death Eater; so naïve that he is willing to sacrifice himself for the cause. His fellow Death Eaters already revered him as a martyr, but Cosmo knew that he was nothing but a common terrorist. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Unlike Titus, Cosmo could care less about subtlety in his tactics; he just got the job done.

Once again he glanced at his watch. 9:55. He smiled. Taking a sip of his tea, he muttered to himself, "Cheers." He rose slowly and walked calmly out of the pub, just as the ground shook and the dust and debris began to rise next door at Diagon Alley.