The Daedylus Project

Arthur Weasley arose earlier than most adult wizards. It wasn't that he was especially fond of the pre-dawn chill and the chorus of raucous birds, so much that his office--The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts--was understaffed as it was, and there was always too much work to be done.

Too much work, never enough galleons. Ah, well...such is life. I'd rather be a poor Weasley than a rich Malfoy any day!

He grabbed a crumpet and a small cup of tea on his way out the door. He always preferred to disapparate out by the barn...like those telly-visions the muggles stared at so obsessively, the "reception" was much better out of doors and there was less of a chance of getting splinched, or something nasty like that.

As he stood by the old barn door, sipping the last of his over-strained tea (Molly always re-used the bags to save money), he saw a peculiar site. A low-lying grey cloud was approaching fast from the East...no, it wasn't a cloud...it was...owls.

Tawny owls, the swift sort reserved for official Ministry business and Fudge's private orders from Madame Rosmerta's in Hogsmeade.

I doubt even he would request that much currant ale on a given morning. It must be something important.

One of the owls veered off from the group, zooming down to the very place where Arthur stood, a sealed envelope tied to its leg with silvery twine. Arthur quickly removed the letter; within seconds, the bird was in the air was more, headed toward London.

I wonder...

He quickly undid the seal, and opened up the envelope. Inside was a single piece of parchment with green ink print in a neat stroke.

Dear Ministry Official:

You are hereby informed that a shocking tragedy has befallen our community this morning. At approximately three o'clock a.m., our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was slain by an unknown assassin. Mixed reports seem to agree that he was in his home at the time of his murder, though that information has yet to be confirmed by a verifiable source. In the meantime, we ask that you please report to your office as soon as possible. Be advised that rumors will spread rapidly once the sun rises; please treat all information as highly confidential and classified until otherwise informed by a sr. official.

Arthur breathed heavily, trying to control the sudden rush of his heartbeat. Fudge, dead? I never liked the bloke, but--but I can't believe it!

He turned the paper over, and noticed another message--this one scrawled hurriedly in black. It took him a long moment to make it out...

Much darker than it would seem. Diagon at eleven; remember the Daedylus...

Arthur crumpled the paper up, stuffed it in his pocket, and quickly chanted the words that would transport him to his office in the increasingly frantic Ministry of Magic.

And miles away, a sixteen-year-old wizard-in-training sat in his window seat, watching the moonbeams dance around in the dark sky, and wondering why he couldn't sleep that night.