RETURN TO SENDER
DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, don't make money from it, just playing in the playground.
Chapter Ten. Retrospect
Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold sat on an unoccupied hospital bed, massaging her aching head, undecided between asking for a hangover potion with a Pepper-Up chaser from Poppy Pomfrey or a `medicinal' glass of fire-whiskey. Better yet, as she glanced at Minerva McGonagall, maybe a bottle of single-malt, 12-year Scotch would hit the spot - she was sure her old schoolmate had one stashed somewhere.
Or a bottle of Goblin brandy, she thought, glancing at Filius Flitwick who was standing, wand in hand, warily watching a still-unconscious Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. The latter was slumped in a chair being ministered to by Pomfrey; this, however, did not stop him from shooting murderous glances at a greasy-haired young man standing quietly in one corner, calmly watching everyone else - or to throw concerned looks at the other side where an unconscious Remus Lupin lay.
Millicent Bagnold shook her head at the shitty hand that Fate had dealt her - what the hell was she doing here?
She should be out there, celebrating with the rest of Magical Britain, partying with the best of them - or getting out of town for a well-deserved and long overdue vacation …
Not sitting here waiting for the shoe to drop. The only thing she was grateful for at the moment was that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker wasn't around - she had no trouble envisioning the wrinkly-arsed old goat skulking around, disillusioned, waiting for the right moment to make his grand appearance, proclaiming, "There's nothing to fear, Dumbledore is here!"
And it had been going oh-so-brilliantly, too! Yesterday - despite its ups and downs - definitely qualified as the best day of her life!
It started with her security detail bursting into her bedroom - good thing she hadn't hexed young Shacklebolt to the next dimension! - screaming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead, that the news was all over the Wizarding Wireless which quoted `sources' at the Daily Prophet … she was preparing to leave for the Ministry, intent on chopping off a few DMLE heads for not informing her about it, when the special edition of the Prophet arrived … and there it was.
Sixteen-inch headlines proclaimed, "YOU-KNOW-WHO? HE'S DEAD!"
Below that, in slightly smaller type: "BOY-WHO-LIVED DESTROYS YOU-KNOW-WHO.
Finally, the article itself under the by-line of that intrepid reporter and unmitigated bitch, err, witch, Rita Skeeter … and she'd blown her top.
What kind of drunken shyte had Rita put together? James and Lily - dead? Hiding from You-Know-Who in some `undisclosed location', only for You-Know-Who to find them through means unknown - to be destroyed by Harry Potter, the `Boy-Who-Lived'?
She vowed to send the Skeeter through the veil for peddling cannabis-induced fantasies to sell newspapers … She shook her head.
She decided to portkey to the Ministry, afraid of getting splinched because of her blinding rage. They'd arrived to a total party atmosphere in the lobby - and she hated herself for throwing cold water on the celebration: yes, she'd seen the news … no, she could not confirm it yet … yes, she'd make an official announcement once she met with her Head Auror who was leading the investigation …
The only thing that stopped her from tearing a few strips off Amelia Bones when the latter appeared was the younger woman's pinched, angry face at learning that Skeeter had somehow found out and scooped the whole lot of them - releasing the information even before Amelia could report to the Minister of Magic.
And that was when the real celebrations began.
`Yeah, right,' the Minister thought as she rubbed her head. After the `official' announcement - yes, You-Know-Who was dead; details to follow; Head Auror Bones leading the investigation; go home, have fun, etcetera - she had to deal with the fallout …
Starting with the whiskered wanker who was waiting in her office, spouting platitudes and twinkling like a demented street lamp. He'd talked her into signing off on a couple of documents concerning some orphan or other who he said had to be protected for `the Greater Good' … her mind shut down at that and she'd signed off rather than listen to his bovine droppings and hoped for a moment of peace -
And then that fascist-loving, goose-stepping male chauvinist pig of a Crotch - err, Crouch! - stormed into her office, loudly demanding that she release her security detail to him so that he can go out and arrest the Dark Lord's minions … It had been with the greatest of pleasure that she'd told the headline-grabbing fool that with You-Know-Who gone, his wide ranging emergency `powers' - especially warrantless arrests and raids - were now at an end.
And that she expected every arrest he made from then on to conform with the law - no `suspects' arrested on mere suspicion, no prisoners `killed while trying to escape' - and that he better have a basis for every action he took or she would personally throw him through the Veil!
It had been so worth it to watch the fanatical light dim in the bastard's eyes.
Millicent Bagnold shook her head. True, Crouch had been effective in taking the fight to the Death Eaters … the only problem was that the idiot's `strategy' of going in with wands blazing and a `kill them all, let Merlin sort `em out' mind-set, threatened to depopulate Magical Britain - and take out a large part of the muggle population as well!
He didn't have to deal with the widows and orphans of the innocents caught in the crossfire … neither did he have to deal with angry foreign Ministers of Magic, screaming that her `people' had cut down harmless tourists because his idiots couldn't tell foreigners from Death Eaters … nor did he have to deal with an enraged muggle Prime Minister who'd screamed at her for a good half-hour because Grouch's - Crouch's! - minions had blown up a muggle street in order to take down two, two, Death Eaters!
Much as she hated the whiskered wanker with his bromides and inanities, she had to admit that he did have his uses - especially in keeping the gung-ho, gunpowder-sniffing, addle-brained, volatile schemer of a Crotch in check. Good thing too that she'd been able to place Amelia as Head Auror over the vociferous objections of Grouch, else she'd have been presiding over a depopulated, devastated Magical Britain!
She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the aching tension in them. `Man's work is from sun to sun, a Minister's work is never done - yeah, yeah,' she thought. She'd finally made it home late last night … had a celebratory night-cap before heading to bed … only for that damned patronus of a Scottish wildcat that could only come from Minerva to sit on her chest and demand that she join Minerva in Hogwarts for an urgent meeting …
She sighed. If it had been anyone other than Minerva, she'd have told them to bugger a centaur - but since it was Minnie, she'd reluctantly left her cosy bed and gone to Hogwarts, arriving at the gates just as a clearly sleep-deprived Amelia Bones showed up, apparently called for the same meeting. A house elf was waiting for them and brought them to the Hospital Wing where they'd walked into a fight between Black and Lupin …
And here she was, waiting for the piano to drop.
Millicent Bagnold scowled. The longer she hung around, the less chance there was of getting away for her much-deserved Caribbean vacation. She had no doubt that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker would be around soon to coerce her to stick around - if only to act as a buffer to keep that fascist, male chauvinist pig of a Crotch - err, Crouch! - under control.
"Minister?" She nearly jumped at the low voice and turned to see Minerva McGonagall approaching with a large, steaming mug in hand. The Minister's eyes narrowed - she didn't need an insipid mug of tea - but stopped when the unmistakable aroma of fresh-ground coffee laced with a generous measure of cognac wafted into her nostrils.
"You look like you need this," McGonagall said, smirking - something, Millicent noted, which didn't reach her eyes. The Minister didn't care, however - her first sip of the scalding beverage helped centre her thoughts.
"Minx," Millicent said as she raised the mug in salute, to which McGonagall responded by sticking her tongue out at her. The two old friends smiled at each other, remembering the happy days of `The Bitches' Coven' - young Minerva Fraser, the confident and talented Gryffindor; Augusta Croaker, the stiff and formal Ravenclaw; Dorea Black, the fiery but sly Slytherin and herself, the shy and unassuming Hufflepuff.
Theirs had been a friendship that so few now remember - war, migration and Voldemort's (shiver) insurrection had taken its toll. They considered themselves lucky in that they'd only lost Dorea from their circle - but had to balance that with the loss of Charles and Franklin, and now, Charles' son James and his daughter-in-law Lily.
"I know, Millie," Minerva said, interrupting her thoughts. "Nae a thing for us tae do but to honour the living and protect their legacy," Minerva continued with a short nod to the corner where Amelia was playing with a sleepy Harry Potter.
Millicent nodded as she took another sip of her cognac-laced coffee. `Minnie would have made a far better Minister than me,' she thought. Minerva had the administrative and people skills - as well as generations of witches and wizards that she'd taught, mothered, pushed when she felt they were slacking - literally, hundreds of people who deeply respected her and her strict but fair ways.
It was Dumbledore, however, who'd blocked such a move - pleading, with tears in his eyes, that he needed Minerva at Hogwarts `to protect our future'. There was more than a grain of truth in that, Millicent admitted - but only because the bearded wonder spent far too much of his time outside the school rather than in it - politicking at the Wizengamot and the ICW, and lately, `conducting' the war against Voldemort (shake).
And `conducting' it was, Millicent thought sourly.
Rather than leading from the front, the old goat preferred to stay behind the scenes, allowing his Order of the Phoenix to face the Death Eaters' wands rather than mixing it up - secure behind some of the best fighters in Britain as well as his reputation as `the only wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared'.
`Yeah, right,' she thought bitterly, `the only one the Dark Lord feared' - so why the hell didn't he become Minister of Magic? Voldemort would have shat his pants with Minister Dumbledore at the helm.
She shook her head - she knew why.
Why should Dumbledore risk his bony arse? Better to have someone else targeted rather than have his lily-white arse and pure as the driven snow heart on the line in case You-Know-Who got lucky and took him down.
Or worse, that some no-account, no-name Death Eater take Dumbledore down and tarnish his legend.
Crouch was no better, in a way. Sure, he was at the front lines - right behind a phalanx of strapping lads and lassies and with a dragonhide vest reinforced with magically-lightened metal plates beneath his fastidious robes …
`Like Dumbledore,' she thought spitefully. `Why should he lead from the front where a lucky shot could kill him and his dreams of becoming Minister of Magic? Better be head of DMLE and have all those strapping young lads and lassies in front of him to take one for the Kipper … rather than sit in the Minister's office or at home, waiting for Voldemort (quiver) to come calling …'
Which is how she, to all appearances an unexceptional witch from a minor matriarchal line in the Wizengamot with absolutely no interest in politics, found herself `selected' as Minister of Magic.
She'd been a compromise candidate - elected into office by the ball-less wonders in the Wizengamot on the urging of Dumbledork and Grouch, a fact that she'd been more than steamed about … until calm and collected Augusta Longbottom nee Croaker laid into her.
As Augusta pointed out, better for her to take the post than have Old Blue Eyes surrender the Ministry `for the Greater Good' - or have Crotch-Grouch-Crouch wipe out Magical Britain in his rabid hunt for You-Know-Who's minions!
She'd reluctantly agreed - only to be caught unaware by Dorea's astute observation that Dumbledork and Grouch were behind her election because they both saw her as perfect BAIT to draw out the Dark Wanker while they `waited' in ambush …
Millicent felt a feral grin escape her - well, she showed those smug arseholes who's boss! She remembered the pious Dumbledore `allowing' Alastor Moody to head up her security team, while the sanctimonious Bartemius Crouch could only offer Amelia Bones to help.
She'd demanded - and got - James and Lily Potter, as well as Frank and Alice Longbottom, Dorea's nephew and `adopted' son Sirius Black and their friends Remus Lupin and little Peter Pettigrew. They were all junior Aurors at the time, fresh graduates from the abbreviated Auror course, and Dumbledore and Crouch let her be, thinking that she'd asked for them because they were all `family' to her … and enhanced her status as `bait' because they were all blood-traitors to Voldemort's eyes anyway …
What they didn't know was that she'd asked for them on Minerva's advice - being their teacher, mentor and head of house at Hogwarts, she knew how capable the group was and could be. Voldemort (shake) attacked soon after her swearing-in - and gotten his arse handed to him.
He'd tried again, and again, and again until he finally got the message: there were other, softer targets out there than Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold … and her security team.
She bit her lip at the thought - wondering, again, whether taking the children as her security detail was the right move. Sure, they'd beaten the Dark Wanker several times - but she would always wonder whether it was that which led to the Dark Arse targeting the Potters and Longbottoms - Charles and Dorea had been brutally murdered by Voldemort (quake) himself and they'd ambushed Franklin - Frank's father and Augusta's husband - in Diagon Alley, all at times when their children had been on duty with her.
And then the twinkly-eyed, whiskered wanker had come to her, pulling the guilt card, spouting some portentous shyte about needing the Potters and Longbottoms for a special mission or other …
She had no problem letting them go - Lily and Alice were both pregnant at the time and she didn't want them in the line of fire; she'd allowed Remus to go because Dumbledore wouldn't give up on his idea of getting intelligence from the werewolves … and little Peter - the guy was all a-fire with some `special mission' that the old goat had in mind for him.
Besides, she smirked to herself, her successful stint as `bait' meant that Crouch had to assign experienced, capable people to her - wouldn't do to have inexperienced juniors taking over her detail and having them wiped out, not after so successfully fighting off the Death Eaters and the Evil Wanker, right?
Millicent Bagnold huffed as she realized that her cup was empty. Enough of the memories, she told herself; she had bigger problems right now. Starting with what to do with Charles' grandson Harry, now known as `The Boy-Who-Lived' …
She looked at the sleeping boy now cradled in Minerva's arms and sighed. They were old biddies by now, she thought, able to experience the joy of motherhood vicariously - at least Minnie had her students, while her numerous nieces and nephews were scattered all over the globe. She sighed - Minnie's great love had been killed by those thrice-be-damned Knights of Walpurgis, predecessors of Voldemort's (shudder) Death Eaters … her own lovely husband killed during the Blitz …
She shook the thought off; time enough for that later. She shifted her gaze to Black and Lupin, and frowned. What were they fighting about? They were close as brothers, the last time she saw them … So why was Lupin trying to kill Black?
She dismissed that thought as irrelevant for the moment, and continued scanning the hospital wing.
She finally saw Amelia at the other end of the Hospital Wing, apparently scanning the area for … something, and she shook her head. She knew what was bothering the Head Auror.
"Leave it, Amelia," she ordered. "Skeeter's been able to dig out the deepest buried information before … this time, at least, she got the word out quickly enough. I'm really tempted to reward her for `intrepid reporting' or something for that," Millicent smiled.
Amelia Bones' smile, however, was frosty. "Be that as it may, ma'am, I'd still like to find out how the hell she was able to do it … we were still gathering evidence when she got the word out to both the Prophet and the WWN. We didn't see her - and she sure as hell shouldn't have been there!"
"What do you mean, Auror Bones?" A bemused Minerva McGonagall asked. Amelia looked at Millicent, who nodded - time enough for the serious stuff later. Some banter would do no harm right now.
Amelia Bones took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I was on the night shift at the Ministry on Halloween -" she raised a hand at the Minister. "I know, ma'am - I should be resting but given what's been going on, I wanted to give the guys a break …"
Millicent nodded, knowing Amelia's dedication to her work and the people she worked with. She'd signed off on Amelia's promotion to Head Auror in an effort to balance and check Crouch, a decision she never regretted since it kept the body count low and the muggles and foreign magical governments calm. She gestured for Amelia to continue.
"Around seven o'clock, the magical monitors went crazy - they picked up a huge magical discharge somewhere in Wales; we sent Aurors to check but the teams couldn't pinpoint the location and came back. I ordered a higher alert but didn't want to issue a general recall … figured that since things went quiet immediately after, there was nothing major to worry about.
"Anyway, around ten or so, Alastor floo'd me with a request for an investigative team and Obliviators to meet him in Godric's Hollow. He claimed that You-Know-Who attacked the Potters and had disappeared … problem is, the Potters were under a Fidelius and he'd just been informed of their location …"
"Which would be why your teams couldn't find them," Filius Flitwick piped up from his spot. Amelia nodded at the diminutive professor, noting in passing the rapt attention of Black and the silent Snape as she continued, "The house was a wreck. Good thing that the fire suppression wards were still active. James … we found James and Lily on the ground floor, someone had placed them together there, covered them with blankets … upstairs, we found the nursery with the walls and windows blown out … we found a cloak and a wand which we subsequently identified as You-Know-Who's -"
"Oh?" Flitwick's high voice interrupted.
"We had Ollivander do the ID … I sent Moody to pick him up and bring him there ASAP; he confirmed it as You-Know-Who's. Priori Incantatem revealed three Killing Curses as the last through the wand … James, Lily and -"
"TRAITOR!"
The feral roar followed almost immediately by a loud thud interrupted Amelia's tale, and they blinked when they realized that Remus had gained consciousness and attacked - Filius Flitwick, Duelling Champion, had cast a combination tripping jinx and incarcerous on the enraged man.
Even trussed in heavy chains, Remus Lupin was trying to crawl on the floor, incoherent words escaping his mouth as he tried to get at Sirius Black, who was being held back by Poppy Pomfrey. Black was shouting as he tried to get away from Poppy, "NOT ME, REMUS - YOU MUST BELIEVE ME!"
Adding to the confusion was Harry Potter, who'd been awakened by the shouts, crying piteously from Minerva's shoulder, "Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo … Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo …"
"QUIET!" The twin roars from Millicent Bagnold and Amelia Bones echoed around the wing, forcing everyone except the trussed-up Remus and Minerva who had Harry in her arms to clap hands over their ears.
The deafening silence lasted only a second as Harry let loose a heart-rending wail that only young children can seem to do, prompting Poppy Pomfrey to bustle up to him while Amelia covered Sirius. Poppy's wand was out and ready to cast a calming spell on the toddler -
"NO!" wailed the young boy and waved his hands in a `get-away' gesture which unleashed a wave of magic that everyone felt - and tossed the approaching healer into a wall. Luckily for her, Flitwick was on the ball, casting a cushioning charm just before she hit.
Another moment of relative silence followed, punctuated by Minerva talking softly to the young boy in his arms - followed by a sigh of relief as she laid a sleepy Harry Potter on a nearby bed, where he rolled over as Minerva placed a pillow beside him.
A cautious Poppy Pomfrey approached and, seeing Harry turned away from her, silently cast a diagnostic charm; after a moment, she sighed as the young boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The healer looked at the others. "Magical exhaustion," she said softly. "He should sleep for a bit now."
The others nodded and turned to where Flitwick was levitating a still-struggling and silenced Remus Lupin to a bed away from Harry and Sirius Black. Poppy Pomfrey's voice - sounding loud in the silent room - spoke what they were thinking: "The boy's powerful … that was the strongest case of accidental magic I've ever seen …"
"Strong enough to destroy You-Know-Who?" The quiet question from a frowning Amelia Bones made everyone look at her. She shrugged helplessly. "As I was saying, the Priori Incantatem on You-Know-Who's wand showed a third Killing Curse … so who was he targeting?
"Spell residue showed the AK cast at Harry's crib. Given the traces, it looked as if a shield or something deflected the curse back …"
"Harry?" whispered Minerva.
"Or something Lily did." Amelia shrugged. "We can only assume but the way things looked …"
She sighed. "It was Alastor who told us that young Harry had been taken away to safety; he didn't say who but I assumed it was Dumbledore. One of the Aurors - I don't know who - started going on and on about `the Boy-Who-Lived' …" She shook her head. "I still can't understand how Skeeter picked up on that …"
"Something for another day, Amelia," Millicent Bagnold broke in firmly. "Nothing we can do about it now … the name's out and, short of obliviating the whole of magical Britain, nothing we can do about it."
She paused as she went over Amelia's story once again. She wasn't really listening when Amelia reported in yesterday; all she needed, really, was confirmation that the Dark Lord was dead - and then she'd had to deal with the press, Dumbledore and Crouch ...
She looked up as Minerva spoke, "I dinna understan' though, why You-Know-Who went after James and Lily …"
"I can answer that."
Eyes swivelled to Severus Snape who had been standing quietly in his corner of the wing - and jaws, even Sirius and Remus', dropped at the haggard, haunted look on his face. They also realized that he was unconsciously rubbing his right elbow - Amelia's eyes narrowed and her wand was already pointed at the young man, who nodded at her.
Sighing, he pulled out his wand and handed it, handle-first, to Amelia Bones who pocketed it.
"Before I say anything else … may I request that the Headmaster join us? I need him to verify what I am going to tell you."
Millicent blinked - where was the whiskered wanker? She couldn't believe that he was enjoying a lie-in while they'd been up for hours - and then she caught the pained, haunted expression on Minnie's face. Millicent started cursing silently in every language she knew - including Gaelic and ancient Assyrian …
She looked at her old friend who was standing beside Harry's bed, her hands clutching the covers tightly and looking older than her fifty-plus years - and she could almost hear the piano falling towards her head -
"I'm sorry, Severus …" Minerva looked at Millicent with devastated eyes. "With everything's that happened …" She took a deep breath. "I … we … Albus and I were on a … a mission last night and …
"It was an accident. He … he's dead."
Shyte!, Millicent thought, I really need that bottle now!
In a different dimension, a ramrod-straight General gently informed an incensed warrior princess that there was no alcohol in the complex to be had for love or money - it was a government installation, after all.
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