Ad Infinitum

Chapter Four: Imperio

 

Peter let out a barely audible groan as he exchanged his tediously filled-out sheet of parchment, which detailed exactly what some mad old witch had managed to do to her Muggle friend’s clothesline (including a statement of how many memories had been modified after the clothesline had nearly succeeded in strangling half a dozen Muggles at a dinner party) for a blank sheet of parchment, putting the other in the “OUT” tray that was to be sent to the Ministry’s extensive record offices. He dipped his quill for what seemed like the thousandth time into the pot of ink at his desk (which, to relieve the tedium, he’d painstakingly charmed to flash different colors) and held it, dripping multicolored ink, over what must have been the hundredth sheet he’d filled out in the last few hours. The squat little witch opposite him cleared her throat yet again and prepared to embark upon another rendition of the latest Muggle-baiting incident when the door flew open and Arthur Weasley’s head, topped with its incredibly red shock of hair, stuck itself into the room.

The interruption was hardly unwelcome at that point, and Peter looked gratefully up from his work. “Mr. Weasley, is there something I can do for you?”

“Actually, there is,” the other man replied. “Abby, you can take off early today.” This was directed at the plump witch sitting in the other of two chairs in the office, who stood up and stretched gratefully. “Pettigrew, can you come with me?” Only too willing to comply, Peter stood up, letting the quill fall back to the desk, further scattering ink over the parchment and his desk, and followed Weasley out of the office.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“I don’t know. Mundungus Fletcher--you know him, works in the Law Enforcement department? He asked me to bring you over to his office. I was just going to tell you to take the rest of the day off, actually. We’re nearly caught up on our records.”

“Are we?” The note of relief in Peter’s voice must have been audible, for Weasley gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Believe it or not, we are. About time things started to settle down--Molly’s been complaining for days on end that I’m never home.” Molly, Peter recollected vaguely, was Arthur Weasley’s wife. “She has a right to, I suppose,” he continued as they turned into another busy corridor marked “Department for Magical Law Enforcement.” “We just had our third boy, you know.” Peter did, as a matter of fact. Arthur Weasley was the epitome of the proud father. His office was covered in colorful, moving photographs of three children and his wife, and he never stopped talking about them. He didn’t get much of a chance to do so this time, however, as they had just reached an office door, which the older man stopped in front of.

“This would be it,” he said, waving a hand at the plaque on the door which read, ‘Mundungus Fletcher, Magical Law Enforcement.’ “Have a good day, Pettigrew! I’ll see you tomorrow, same time as usual.”

Arthur Weasley turned back and walked down the hall. Peter reached out hesitantly to rap on the door. A voice called back out, telling him to come in, as the door was open. He pushed it into the room and stepped in, closing it behind him with a snap.

The office he found himself in was fairly large. The furniture consisted of a desk pushed into a corner (Peter noticed a multitude of cracks and burns on the otherwise bare surface), two armchairs, a wastepaper basket, and a small cabinet next to the desk. The floor, ceiling, and walls looked like they had undergone the same violent treatment as had the desk, besides the fact that the rug had faded from what had probably been a light blue to an odd sort of bluish-gray, and the creamy paint on the walls was flaking off. There was a faint, residual smell that implied that something had recently been burning. Peter tore his eyes from the cracked glass in the lamp hanging from the ceiling to look at the man watching him expectantly from a deep, plushy armchair.

“Sir? Er, Arthur Weasley said...”

“Yes.” Fletcher leaned forward in his chair, peering intently at Peter. He was a short man on the plump side, with dark brown hair and sharp eyes. “You have your wand?”

“Of course. Sir, what-”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. Come on, then.” He stood up and walked over to the cabinet, pulled a drawer open, and extracted a battered but otherwise perfectly ordinary old glove, holding it out to Peter. He looked up at Fletcher in bewilderment.

“It’s a Portkey, of course! Hold on to the finger. It’ll go off in a minute....” And indeed, just as Peter was about to ask again where they were going, he felt a familiar jerk behind his navel and the world began to rush past him in a blur. A few seconds later, he came back to Earth with a rather unpleasant sort of bump and fell over backwards. Fletcher reached out a hand to help him to his feet, and Peter looked around.

They were standing inside a nicely furnished sitting room, completely devoid of the feeling of a battleground that had characterized the office. Before he could say anything, a short, plump woman wearing Muggle clothing stepped in from the next room, smiling pleasantly at both of them. “Hello, Gus,” she said, “I’d expected you sooner. And you’d be Peter Pettigrew?” She stretched out a hand to shake Peter’s. “Welcome, dear. You’ll be staying for dinner?”

Fletcher coughed. “This is my wife, Ellis. Yes, he’ll be staying for dinner, unless you need to be somewhere, Pettigrew?” Peter shook his head, and Fletcher rubbed his hands together as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “Very good, then. Ellis, we’ll be in my study until then, if you need anything.”

“Right. Dinner’s in an hour, so mind you’re not late.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the other room.

Peter was still looking around the room, but noticed with a start that Fletcher was once again watching him impatiently. “Come on, then, we haven’t got all day, upstairs now.” He followed the other man up a steep flight of stairs and down a hallway, until they reached a rather large room at the end. It reminded Peter of Fletcher’s office more than the sitting room had, with the faded rug and signs of spells gone awry. There were far more filing cabinets in here, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they contained. He was waved to a seat, and Fletcher himself sank into another plushy armchair behind the desk.

“Well, Pettigrew, we didn’t really get the chance to find anything out about each other the last time we met,” he began. “I’d hoped to have more time, but then I got called back into the office, and there you go.” He made a fluttering sort of gesture with one hand. “What I want to do is begin to show you exactly what I’m responsible for--not at the Ministry, naturally. You’re in the Muggle Artifacts Office, I know.” He broke off here to stare intently at Peter. “Arthur Weasley, eh? Likable sort, but I’m not one of his favorite people. I’ve been brought in on too many offences. Anyway. What I’m responsible for is the management of the information gathered by Dumbledore’s Intelligence network. What you see here,” and he waved a hand vaguely around at the cabinets that lined the walls “-is the compilation of several years of work, carried out by double agents and the few Death Eaters we’ve captured. I look over their statements and organize them. These cabinets can only be opened by either Dumbledore or myself. Obviously, we don’t want just anybody looking through them. I’m to introduce you to the system, and show you how you’ll be responsible for gathering information, as well as storing it.”

Completely nonplused, Peter said nothing. Fletcher stared at him for another moment, then chuckled and removed a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, which he handed to Peter. “Right, then. Let me explain how this system works.” He seemed suddenly to remember something and reached for the newspaper that was lying on the floor near his desk, placing it on top of the sheet. The date was June 26th, the previous evening, Peter noted, then looked back up at Fletcher’s suddenly grave face. “Before we do that--there’s something you ought to know.”

* * * * *

Moody flicked his wand at the trunk, and it fell out of midair to the floor with a heavy thud amidst a shower of sparks, causing James and the rest of the front row to jump in their seats. He turned to fix them with his customary glare, eyes skimming over their heads to check for empty chairs. Finding none, he let out a satisfied grunt and nodded.

“Good--all on time. We’re doing something a bit different today. We’ve had five sessions so far to cover the basics and get to work on the Patronus charm. We’ll still be going at that, of course, until you all start producing something more than a wisp of smoke.” Here he glanced briefly at Remus, then cleared his throat.

“The point is, I want to show you all how to use objects other than your wands in your work. That’s what I’ve got here.” Moody kicked the trunk that was lying sedately on the floor with the toe of one of his boots, and they all peered closer at it. There were seven keyholes rather than only one, but other than that it seemed perfectly ordinary. “There are also a number of tools I carry around with me, just in case. I’ll show you those later.”

He dug deep into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a key ring. Moody bent over and inserted one into the first of the seven locks on his trunk, throwing the lid open. James leant forward slightly in his chair to see inside. He saw an assortment of large tops, globes, mirrors, and other strange objects, most of which were glowing, spinning, or humming quietly. Moody pulled out the largest of the tops and set it on the floor, where it spun slowly in a circle, balanced perfectly on its point.

“Anyone know what this is?” He nodded at someone behind James, who turned to see Frank Longbottom lowering his hand.

“It’s a Sneakoscope--they spin and whistle when there’s someone untrustworthy around.”

“Right,” Moody rumbled. “This here’s a very high-quality Sneakoscope, and very sensitive. The smaller, cheap ones don’t always work as well. They’ll go off for no reason, and half the time you’re just trying to get them to shut up. Doesn’t tell you much. Then again, even this one isn’t always useful. Just because someone’s concealing something doesn’t mean that they’re a Death Eater. Still, they can help. They’re used sometimes to see if a witness is lying in court, although even if they’re not lying, the Sneakoscope might go off.

“This,” he continued, “is a little more reliable.” He removed a globe from the trunk, also spinning slowly. Scattered around over its surface were about ten tiny, pulsing pinpricks of light, most of them gathered around the tiny blobs that were the British Isles.

“This is a tracking globe--you fix it to a person or object, and they’ll show up here. It’s very accurate, but there are ways of counteracting the spell that make it stop working, so a person won’t show up. The initial spell’s also extremely complicated, and not always worth the bother.”

After some digging around inside the trunk, Moody straightened up with a length of extremely fine, silver cloth, which he held up for everyone to see. “And this is an Invisibility cloak. You probably haven’t seen one before,” he added, oblivious to the look exchanged between James, Remus, and Sirius, and threw the cloak over himself. Some of the students gasped as his body disappeared, leaving only the shaggy mane of hair and the craggy face floating in midair. “They’re expensive, these, but more useful than the other two. I’m still solid, mind you.” Moody picked up the Sneakoscope to demonstrate. “That makes this difficult to work with in crowds, but it’s still the best way to go completely unnoticed, should the situation call for it.”

James doubted very much that Moody was referring to “situations” that took place after hours in the Hogwarts corridors.

For the next half an hour, Moody displayed a wide variety of magical objects, explaining how each was used, including a strange metal object like a Muggle television antenna and a bottle filled with truth serum. James was fascinated by his Foe-Glass, a mirror that stood a good five feet tall on a platform, in which he could see shapes moving threateningly. Many of the devices were restricted by Ministry laws, he remembered from the information booklet he’d been handed a week before, but could be used with special permission. At last, Moody packed everything back into his trunk, locked it, and sent it zooming out the door amid a shower of sparks. When he turned back to the class, his almost genial expression had disappeared.

“Now,” he growled, “I should tell you that I won’t be teaching the rest of today’s lesson. Mr. Crouch is coming in instead.”

A low, curious murmur arose, cut off instantly by Moody’s glare. “He’ll explain soon enough.” James had to wonder what had initially caused the tension between Crouch and Moody. Perhaps it was whatever Crouch was coming to say--Moody certainly seemed upset enough about that--but he had the feeling the animosity had originated some time ago.

“As a matter of fact,” Moody continued with a glance at the clock, “he should be arriving any-”

As though on cue, the door opened, and Mr. Crouch stepped into the room, immaculately groomed, as usual. He flicked a cursory gaze over them and then turned to Moody, mouth curving in a taut smile. “Good afternoon, Alastor. May I?”

The Auror nodded. James didn’t miss the tightening of his jaws as he seated himself in a chair that stood off to the side, allowing Crouch to become the center of everyone’s attention.

“Good afternoon to you all. I am here today to introduce a new program that the Ministry has just established.” Moody’s scowl deepened noticeably, but Crouch’s eyes were glittering with some sort of strong emotion--was it triumph?

“For quite some time, I have been working to have a law passed that would allow Aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses against Death Eaters.” James stiffened in his seat. Surely Crouch was joking? Turning to look at the others, he saw his own astonishment mirrored in their faces. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. Some--Slytherins, mostly--looked merely thoughtful, and Snape's’ face showed no expression at all.

Crouch allowed a moment for this to sink in. “I have always felt this a necessary measure. As much as the Unforgivable Curses can be used against us, there may well be occasions when we have no choice but to fight fire with fire.”

James raised his hand slowly. Crouch opened his mouth as though to continue, but then he looked sharply at James and nodded slightly.

“Sir, doesn’t using the Unforgivable Curses just bring us down to the same level as the Death Eaters?”

Crouch’s lips tightened even further. “There are those who think so, Potter. I am of the belief that it is better to use one of these curses rather than allow the Death Eaters to continue murdering innocent wizards and Muggles.

“As I was saying, the law has just been passed, after much debate. We will be teaching each one of you how to use all three of the Unforgivable Curses. The program also entails that you be exposed to them for brief periods of time.”

“What?”

Crouch looked less than pleased at the interruption. “I mean just what I said, all of you. You will each be exposed to the Imperius and Cruciatus curses for brief periods of time. You need to know what you are facing. How can you expect to capture a Death Eater if you can’t fight those curses off? The Death Eaters won’t hesitate to use them. If you hesitate...or if you can’t fight off the Imperius or Cruciatus...you have absolutely no chance. This is perfectly necessary and, I feel, a step that should have been taken long ago.” Crouch paused, then continued, “Naturally, we will not expose you to Avada Kedavra.”

That goes without saying, James thought. Even so, what on earth was Crouch thinking?

“I assume all of you have seen the curses in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

They all nodded mutely, and Crouch looked satisfied. “That is something, at least. We will begin today with the Imperius Curse--it’s the easiest of the three, if the entity you are using it on is simple enough. We find that spiders work rather effectively.” He raised his wand, muttered something, and flicked it, and a jar of spiders appeared in midair. “Would you all, one by one, come forward and take a spider? These are stunned already.”

James did so, along with all the others. He couldn’t help but stare at Crouch as he did so. The man was just standing there, a perfectly composed look on his face, telling them all to pick up a spider and learn to do something that, under ordinary circumstances, would earn each of them Azkaban for life. How could he be so calm about it?

In a few moments, every one of them was seated at their respective desks, a limp spider lying in front of them. Moody still sat against the wall, watching the proceedings from underneath his narrowed eyebrows. Crouch swept his gaze over them all and reached into the jar for the last spider. The jar slowly floated to the floor, but he let the spider hang in midair.

“I will demonstrate first. Ennervate!”

The spider twitched several times, and then it began to scuttle around rapidly, hanging several feet from the ground. It looked as though it was set onto an invisible table.

“Imperio!”

The spider froze immediately. Crouch let his wand twitch slightly, and it stood up on two of its eight legs. James watched as Crouch forced it through a series of cartwheels and somersaults. After a moment, he lowered his wand, and the spider twitched violently and again set about feeling its way randomly through midair.

“Stupefy!” Crouch replaced the spider in the jar, then turned back to face them. “Abressley, you first.”

The whole class watched attentively as each of them in turn attempted to put the spell on their spiders. Sirius did rather well. His spider froze for a moment, just like Crouch’s had, and he managed to make it take a step forward before the spell disintegrated. Remus didn’t get any response at all--although by the look on his face, James wasn’t sure he had wanted to. Eventually, Crouch came around to his desk.

“Ennervate.” He considered the spider for a moment as it felt its way along his desk, then concentrated as hard as he could, trying not to think of what he was doing. “Imperio.”

The spider froze on his desk. James took a deep breath, then whispered under his breath, “Take a step forward.”

Nothing. He watched the spider for another moment, then repeated his words. “Take a step forward.”

Slowly, the spider’s leg extended itself into the air. It wavered there for a moment before coming to rest on the desk. “Take another step.” It did so, more readily this time. “And another. Again.” Within a minute, he had managed to make it walk slowly across the surface of his desk, and then his control broke. He raised his wand and stunned the spider again, then looked up.

“Very good, Potter.” Crouch was watching him appraisingly. He turned and went to the next desk.

James shuddered slightly. It had felt so strange, knowing that he could force a living thing into doing whatever he wanted. Well, with a little more practice, he could. He swallowed and turned to see Crouch standing over Snape’s desk.

“Imperio!”

The spider stopped moving. Snape muttered something, and it immediately scuttled across the desk. He turned it around and forced it to run in figure-eights for a few moments before leisurely raising his wand and stunning it again.

This was by far the most successful demonstration since Crouch’s. “Very good, Snape.” Though James could only see the back of Crouch’s head, his voice was very thoughtful. Snape’s eyes glittered oddly as he sat back down. James looked over at Moody, who was leaning forward in his chair, a troubled expression on his face.

After all the students had had a try--some more successful than others--Crouch glanced at the clock. “That will be all for today. Be here at the same time on Friday.”

He walked straight through the door under the clock. The students left one by one, more slowly than usual. James was last in line. He was just about to go through the door leading up to the main office when he heard Moody’s gravelly voice behind him.

“A word, Potter?”

James turned around. “Yes, sir?”

Moody hesitated for a moment, eyes boring into James’. “Do me a favor and don’t forget what you asked Crouch earlier, Potter. There are people who argue that we should use any means possible to stop the Death Eaters, but--just don’t forget it. If we become like them, even if the Dark Lord is destroyed, he’s won. Don’t forget that. Too many people have.”

Moody turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room, leaving James standing there, one hand holding the other door open, staring after him.

* * * * *

“Mr. Black?”

Sirius stopped walking away from the Ministry building and turned around, earning several dirty looks from shoppers who were fighting to get their way through Diagon Alley. It was always crowded at this time of day. The man he found himself looking at was Edward Cole, the Unspeakable from Dumbledore’s meeting and his new mentor.

“Mr. Cole?”

The man blinked at him, nodding slightly. “You may call me Edward. If I might have a moment of your time...?”

Sirius looked over at Remus, who shrugged agreeably. “Go ahead, Sirius. I’ll see you later!”

“All right, then.” Remus waved and disappeared into the milling crowd, and Sirius turned back to Cole.

“If it is agreeable to you, I would like to speak with you.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“If you would follow me....”

Cole let his voice trail off again and began leading the way towards the Leaky Cauldron. They went through the arch that led the way into Diagon Alley and stepped into the dimly lit pub. Sirius had to blink several times before his eyes became accustomed to the reduced light and followed Cole to a small table in a corner.

“Better. I haven’t much time. We will need to meet again, soon. Right now I need to tell you something. Did you read yesterday’s newspaper?”

“No, actually, I didn’t.”

Cole nodded and blinked from behind his glasses. “There was an article about a Ministry official found unconscious in an alley somewhere in Muggle London. Little information was given to the press. You are to know everything, Dumbledore tells me. The man’s name was Simon Wiverrtem, another Unspeakable. He was taken to St. Mungo’s. The doctors there said there was nothing they could do.”

“What was wrong with him?”

Cole stared hard at Sirius, eyes no longer blinking.

“The Dementor’s Kiss.”