Snapshots: Mishap

[toujours_nigel]

“Is everyone present?”

 

“Save Mr. Malfoy.”

 

“Actually, Minister, Abraxas has decided not to attend this meeting,” Lydia LeFay’s soft voice says from the doorway. “According to him, the whole thing is rubbish and entirely unworthy of attention.”

 

“But…” Aldous Peters, the newly-appointed Minister for Magical Education looks up from his papers, “we cannot conduct the meeting without all the representatives present.”

 

“I believe young Lucius Malfoy has volunteered to be the representative for his Tribe.”

 

“And, as always, you believe right, Octavius. It’s fine, Aldous,” Charlus Potter smiles, “Lucius will be joining us shortly. He found the lack of documentation deplorable…”

 

“As do I,” snarls Orion Black. “If Dumbledore wants my son expelled from Hogwarts, he should at least have come up with a less flimsy excuse.”

 

“Even if that’s what Dumbledore wants, he hasn’t the authority to do it, Orion. Calm down.” Orion glares at him from beneath black brows, but Charlus had been his father’s friend and the old habit of obedience has not yet died. “Yaxley, you were saying…”

 

“Malfoy is quite right, Potter. There’s absolutely nothing here that we can judge on the basis of… just two lines by Dumbledore and Minerva, stating that your sons were involved in an incident which caused two other boys severe physical and emotional trauma. Doesn’t even say who the boys are.”

 

“Remus Lupin and Severus Snape,” he says, entering the room. “Lupin is in Gryffindor and Snape in Slytherin. And neither will talk.”

 

“Ah, Lucius. We were waiting for you,” says the Minister, face lighting up. “It’s good to see a young man like you showing interest in such tedious matters.”

 

“I assure you, Peters, I wouldn’t be here if I found the work tedious. As it is, however, Charlus suggested that it might be good if someone whose memories of Hogwarts are still vivid bent his mind to the task of doling out justice for youthful misdemeanours.”

 

“Quite right, quite right. You’ve talked to the boys? Such initiative!”

 

Reginald Lestrange arches an eyebrow at Johann Parkinson, who leans over to whisper, “He wants Abraxas’ niece Adriana to marry his son.”

 

Reginald snorts while, on his other side, Gareth Rochester, the Assistant to the Minister for Magical Education, winces. Then gathers enough courage to interrupt his superior, who is still, with decreasing subtlety, praising a very-amused Lucius Malfoy. “Did they say anything worthwhile?”

 

He turns to see the awkward boy, still coltish, a year his junior, looking at him with a determined expression. “I believe, Rochester, that I already said that the victims refuse to share information.” He turns, again, to the others of the Ten. “Which is, in and of itself, surprising. Severus isn’t exactly known for his friendship with Sirius and James. He’s not exactly likely to just let go of a chance to get them in trouble.”

 

“Maybe he believes the matter too serious to use for school-boy rivalry?” Edwin Bones says.

 

“Or maybe,” says Morgaine Bulstrode, “he’s been persuaded not to.”

 

“While I wouldn’t put that past either of my boys,” Charlus says, and it’s a deliberate snub, “I believe both Snape and Remus have been confined to the Hospital Wing and haven’t been allowed any visitors?”

 

He nods, at the moment when she smirks. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of being persuaded by someone whose words would not be an empty threat. Say, Dumbledore?”

 

He looks at Orion Black and Charlus Potter, whose faces reflect anger and distaste, respectively, then at Morgaine, who grins openly at him. The reedy, piping voice that interrupts the shocked silence pervading room surprises them all. Rochester has risen to his feet, looking as though he is about to have an apoplectic fit. “Are you accusing Dumbledore of manipulating his own students?”

 

“It would appear, boy, that I am,” Morgaine drawls, winking at him.

 

“He would never do that. Dumbledore is…he is a great man, the greatest wizard of our times…he…” Words seemingly fail him and he waves his hands to emphasise his point.

 

“And how does being great stop him from advising a student to refrain from doing something potentially damaging?” drawls Lestrange, smiling lazily.

 

“He’s Dumbledore,” Rochester says, as if that proves everything.

 

“Rochester,” Charlus snaps, “sit down and don’t talk of things you know nothing of.” He’s never heard this tone from Charlus, none of his peers have. This is the Charlus Potter the Aurors still whisper about, the one who lost his wife of thirty years and his twenty-five year old son in Grindelwald’s attack on Belgium in 1940, the man who went berserk and killed twelve of Grindelwald’s followers in the weeks following his capture, the man who has never forgiven Dumbledore for letting his misguided affection cost thousands of innocent lives, who said so in public when others were treating Dumbledore as a saviour. Then he smiles and is the benevolent man who has made Godric’s Hollow a refuge for them. “Lucius, what did James and Sirius say?”

 

“I talked to them separately,” he begins and Charlus and Orion nod in concert. “they both said that Snape had been following them around for years, always trying to pry into their private lairs and Sirius found it unbearable. So he told Severus to poke at a knot on the trunk of the Whomping Willow and crawl into the passage underneath, if he really wanted to know where they disappeared.”

 

“That’s it?” The note of incredulity in Lydia LeFay’s voice is obvious. “Seems like rather a harmless prank to play.”

 

Charlus hushes her absent-mindedly, gesturing at him to continue. “It would have been, if not for the fact that the Whomping Willow does not take too well to intruders. The passage was also booby-trapped with vials of Bubotuber Pus and knives.”

 

“That explains Snape’s physical trauma, then,” Edwin Bones says dryly. “But what about the other boy? Lupin, you said his name was? And the ‘emotional trauma’?”

 

“Well, Severus apparently dragged Lupin along as shield,” he shrugs. “So Lupin got the worst of it. The emotional trauma bit… well, can’t be much fun to be whacked around by a tree and then have pus and daggers thrown at you, can it now?” The story’s good enough that the boys would have managed to get away with it, if he hadn’t seen the marks on Lupin.

 

“I suppose not.” This from Octavius Longbottom. “Well, now that we’ve all heard the story, how stand ye?”

 

“Expulsion,” says Rochester, “That sort of pranking is…”

 

“Aldous, do try to control your boy. We don’t need his opinions, just his vote. Detention,” drawls Lestrange, “couple of weeks.” 

 

“Quite right. Detention.”

 

“Suspension from the Quidditch team. I’d like to see Slytherin win the next match.” Morgaine winks at him.

 

“Let Dorea send them Howlers,” snorts Lydia, “that’ll fix them.”

 

“I agree with Morgaine,” Parkinson says.

 

“Make them help the house-elves clean up their common-room for a week,” suggests Bones.

 

“Give Snape knives and let them settle it themselves.” Orion Black, supremely confident in his son’s abilities, no matter what he thinks of the boy’s principles.

 

“A month’s detention. Preferably doing manual labour,” smiles Charlus. “There’s nothing Sirius detests more.”

 

Yaxley frowns. “Make them clean the suits of armour.”

 

He looks straight at Rochester. “Let them off with a warning.”

 

“I prefer the idea of making Black muck out the Thestrals, myself.” Longbottom chuckles.

 

Rochester slumps into his seat, defeated. He allows himself a small smile. “May I be the one to tell them that they’re allowed to continue at Hogwarts?”

 

“Seems fitting enough,” smiles Lydia, drowned out by Peters’ enthusiastic, “How noble of you, Mr. Malfoy, to wish to relieve them of all worries.”

 

***

 

“You’re not been expelled,” he says, to the two boys lounging on the Astronomy Tower. “They haven’t decided on your punishment yet, but it’s not going to be too dire.” Well, at least the punishment the Board sets will not. James, it seems, has decided to punish Sirius all by himself. Fitting, considering they don’t know the truth and James obviously does.

 

“Thank you, Lucius,” James offers, holding out his hand. “We appreciate it.”

 

He arches an eyebrow at them, before clasping the hand. And keeping it clasped. “Are either of you going to tell me what happened?”

 

“Are you going to tell the Aurors what you are?” James challenges.

 

“Lucius, we can’t.” Sirius looks as tired as Lupin did in the Hospital Wing. “But what you did means a lot. Thanks.”

 

He nods once, letting go of James’ wrist. “This clears my debts. I no longer owe either of you anything.” He turns on his heel, leaving so that he doesn’t have to see James storm off, face hard, while Sirius slumps down to sit on the cold stone, hugging his knees to his chest, miserable.