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❨ chapter four. ❩
❛ the plotters and pawns ❜

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Lestrange House
England

     NO ONE ACKNOWLEDGED him when Anthonin Dolohov entered the room. His velvet robes, damp from the incessant pouring outside, dragged along the floor with a soft rustle — the only sound apart from the crackle of a fire roaring in the far corner of the room.

     As he walked the length of the long room, he couldn't help but eye his surroundings apprehensively. The Lestranges' living room was a huge space of dark, polished floor and high, charcoal colored walls. Hundreds of candles flickered meekly from a massive crystal chandelier which hung in the middle of the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow around the otherwise dark room. There were two large, gold paned windows to his right; thick purple curtains with gold trimmings framed each window.

     Amused, Antonin thought the Lestranges' house was exactly how he'd expected it to be: dark and terribly opulent. Black leather furniture was placed around the room, and a velvet covered table stood to his left; a piano was placed to his right. A plush sofa set and matching, quilted leather armchairs stood by the gleaming stone hearth where the fire was thriving, illuminating the ornate - possibly made of gold - filigree surrounding the fireplace. There were paintings too along the walls, but all they depicted were deserted fields and abandoned castles - it seemed as if the residents of the paintings had fled the room.

     Approaching the fireplace, Antonin turned his attention to the people gathered. He recognized some of them: the Lestranges. Lucius Malfoy. Barty Crouch. Cobris Travers. There were three other wizards, all of whom were staring solemnly into the fire. One of them – a tall man with a rather angular face – was wearing dark gray robes that looked suspiciously like the ones worn by those who worked in the Department of Mysteries. He too, like everyone else around him, sat facing a regal armchair that was placed a few feet before the fireplace; the chair's high back was turned towards Antonin so he could not see who sat in the lone seat.

     It was not difficult to guess, however.

     The fire rippled and gleamed across the fine green scales of a giant snake, which hissed and reared its ugly head as Antonin approached the armchair, uncoiling itself from where it lay beside its master.

     "Nagini," a high, cold voice hissed, "stay."

     Antonin exhaled.

     Walking around the armchair, he swiftly dropped to a knee, and bowed his head. Laying his wand arm over his heart, he said, "My Lord, it is an honor."

     After what seemed like forever, a pale, thin hand waved before him, and Antonin got to his feet again.

     No one spoke. Antonin dared not glance at the Dark Lord without his permission.

     "Set it down," said a woman suddenly, her voice whipping through the stillness of the room. Bellatrix Lestrange; he would recognize that sharp voice anywhere. Antonin looked sideways to see a pitiful house elf stumbling towards the table before the fireplace, his trembling arms carrying a large, silver tray. It was laden with a plate of shortbreads, mince pies, and a pot of fresh tea.

     "Away with you. Go!" Bellatrix hissed under her breath the minute the elf had finished placing the tea on the table. The elf backed away quickly, limping towards a slim door beside the hearth which Antonin had not noticed before. Rudolphus Lestrange nudged the elf with his cane as it passed him, and the elf all but ran from the room.

     Antonin returned his gaze to the carpet.

     "Tea, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix calmly, her sharp voice now suddenly sweet and mellow, dripping with reverence as she gazed at the Dark Lord. Antonin noticed she didn't appear as cautious or nervous as the rest of them did when speaking to the Dark Lord. In fact, she seemed extremely at ease in his presence, something Antonin had never felt.

     "Thank you, Bellatrix," said Voldemort quietly. "It's nice of you to join us on such short notice, Antonin."

     Antonin bowed his head again. Then he looked up to meet Voldemort's piercing gaze.

     "Sit down," said Voldemort coolly, gesturing to an armchair on his left.

     "Thank you, my Lord," said Antonin gratefully as he took his seat beside Travers and Barty Crouch Jr., neither of whom looked at him.

     "How are the preparations coming along?" inquired Voldemort as he accepted the cup of tea Bellatrix offered him.

     All eyes snapped to where Antonin sat. He gulped. "Very well, my Lord," he replied evenly in his gravelly voice, forcing himself to meet the red eyes that bore down upon him, "things are moving along exactly as we discussed."

     Voldemort nodded, offering Antonin a satisfied smile. "Good... very good. I am pleased to see that, so far, it seems as though my judgement of you was not misplaced."

     Antonin felt his chest expand. He suppressed a grin and said, "Allow me to express my gratitude, my Lord. I am honored to be given this opportunity, to be trusted with this task. I live to serve you, my Lord."

     "As much is expected," huffed Bellatrix, her nostrils flaring as she glared at Antonin. Her husband hissed Bella as he glanced at her with wide eyes.

     "Now, now, Bellatrix," soothed Voldemort, his placid tone betraying a hint of amusement, "there's no reason to pick apart Antonin's words. He has proved himself to be rather competent thus far." Voldemort turned to Antonin. "But this is only the beginning, Antonin. It remains to be seen how you fare in the end."

     Antonin pushed his shoulders back. "I will do anything to make sure I fulfill the task you have asked of me, my Lord."

     Voldemort narrowed his red eyes, and Antonin forced himself to not look away. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, he thought to himself because a moment later, Voldemort had turned to stare into the fire roaring before him, the faintest smile spread across his pale face.

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❨ The Next Day. ❩

Hogwarts
6:00 am

     "GET BACK TO your dormitories," called Professor McGonagall as she swept past a group of fifth year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor girls lingering in the main courtyard. They were sitting on the steps of a small fountain in the middle of the open space, huddled over a magazine that they were reading animatedly. The girls appeared startled when McGonagall's voice echoed in the otherwise quiet courtyard. She fixed them with a stern look. "Why on earth are you girls out of bed this early?"

     She would have liked to stay and hear what the girls had to say, but McGonagall was keenly aware that she was running late. The meeting was due to start in 10 minutes, and she still had to make her way to the other end of the castle. Waving a hand at the girls, she repeated, "Back to your common rooms this instant. Curfew doesn't end for another hour and a half, as you all should be well aware of by now. Don't let me catch you loitering about the school again."

     She walked away from them briskly as they mumbled apologies. Warmth cascaded over her as she turned into a brightly lit corridor, away from the chill brought on by the dense fog which had descended upon the castle overnight. She glanced at her wrist to check the time, only to realize she'd left her watch behind. Looking around her, she spotted a slightly rusted, wrought iron armor near the door to the Charms classroom. It was rumored to have belonged to Sir Lancelot once.

     As McGonagall walked past it, she asked the ancient armor what time it was.

     Upon her voice, the visor moved, opening just an inch, and a low, throaty voice answered, "It is quarter past six in the morning, Professor."

     "Thank you," said McGonagall calmly, as though she was used to having armors telling her the time.

     Eventually, with just over a minute to spare, McGonagall found herself standing before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Clearing her throat, McGonagall said, "Pixie puffs."

     The gargoyle leapt aside, its giant stone wings turning to reveal a narrow, circular staircase concealed behind it. McGonagall quickly climbed the stairs, running a hand over her hair to tuck away any errant strands of hair. She rapped on the door to the office twice before letting herself in.

     "Ah, Minerva! Come in," said Dumbledore as she closed the door behind her.

     McGonagall took a good look around the room. Albus Dumbledore smiled at her from where he sat at his desk. Professors Sterling and Enid Hornbean, who taught Ancient Runes and Defense Against The Dark Arts respectively, offered McGonagall rather nervous smiles. She narrowed her eyes, and Professor Sterling looked away. He seemed to carefully be avoiding meeting anyone's gaze.

     "Albus," she greeted the Headmaster, warily eyeing the other teachers who were already seated across the Headmaster. "Bartholomew. Enid."

     Professor Enid waved cheerily.

     "Minerva," said Sterling, tilting his head in greeting. He was looking at her shoes.

     With an exasperated sigh, McGonagall turned to Dumbledore. "This is in regards to the Order, then?" she asked bluntly.

     The other professors looked uneasily around the room, but Dumbledore surprisingly chuckled. "I am constantly amazed by your dexterity at reading a room, my dear Professor McGonagall."

     If possible, McGonagall's eyes narrowed even further.

     "Yes," Dumbledore revealed, "I do indeed wish to discuss something related to the Order with the three of you."

     Enid Hornbeam, a plump witch in her 40s with pink cheeks and blonde hair that was always pulled back into a tight braided, asked, "are the others joining us, then?"

     Dumbledore shook his head.

     McGonagall's eyes snapped to Bartholomew Sterling. She noticed he was sitting uncharacteristically still, his ears deep pink and forehead glistening. Her frown deepened.

     "It is a matter pertaining to Hogwarts and its students, and thus I wish to discuss it with the three of you only," Dumbledore explained, "for the time being, anyways. We shall discuss this with everybody else once we've arrived at a decision today."

     In an instant, it dawned upon McGonagall what Dumbledore had gathered them to discuss. Bartholomew's disquiet told her all she needed to know, as did the fact that the Ancient Runes teacher had sought her out just days ago, pitching an idea she did not entertain for a second.

     McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "No."

     Everyone stared at her. Dumbledore looked slightly bemused but said nothing; the other professors were gaping at her, even Professor Sterling who had so far avoided making any eye contact.

     "If this is about what I think it is about, then, with all due respect, my answer is no," elaborated McGonagall.

     Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles, carefully watching the stern witch. "Very well," he nodded, "though we haven't discussed anything, of those gathered here, it is clear that a quarter of us will not be in favor. But to merely quell my curiosity, Minerva, what did you think I asked you all here to discuss?"

     McGonagall squared her shoulders. "Keeping in mind a conversation I've had with Bartholomew a few times this semester, and judging by his current, rather frazzled disposition," she threw Bartholomew Sterling an angry glare, "I surmise you wish to discuss recruiting new Order members. Yes?"

     "You indeed constantly amaze me, Minerva," said Dumbledore with a smile, and he did look impressed, "yes, it is the very thing I wish to discuss."

     Enid Hornbeam looked around wildly. "But what's that got to do with Hogwarts? Or the students?"

     "As you all know, the Order is currently in dire need of more members. Voldemort," All three professors flinched at his mention, but Dumbledore paid it no heed, continuing calmly, "-and his followers grow stronger, and we are fiercely outnumbered as of now. We have been searching for people to join us, but locating people whom we can trust has, ah, become a rarity."

     Dumbledore paused, watching the three professors over his spectacles. McGonagall, her heart beating loudly, sat down beside Professor Hornbeam. What Dumbledore said was true, finding new recruits was much harder now than it had been a few years ago. It was difficult to know who was truly on their side, and who was a spy for Voldemort. Paranoia and anxiety were very much prevalent, helping the task at hand little.

     "Bartholomew came to me with a suggestion earlier this month, which he and I have been speaking about at length recently," Dumbledore revealed slowly. Professor Sterling had turned very red now and was clearly avoiding McGonagall's gaze who was watching him pointedly.

     "Yes?" prodded Professor Hornbeam, now frowning herself.

     "We think we may find some competent, valuable members amongst the students of Hogwarts-"

     "But they're too young!" interrupted Professor Hornbeam.

     "Exactly my point," exclaimed Professor McGonagall sharply. "They are simply too young, and not experienced enough to be fighting in wars."

     "Oh, absolutely," agreed Professor Hornbeam. Her eyes were the size of small saucers by now. "I know each and every one of them, and I assure you, Headmaster, they are simply far too young, inexperienced, and undertrained for such a task."

     "Inexperienced and undertrained, indeed," Professor Sterling spoke up for the first time, "but not untalented, surely?"

     "Bartholomew-"

     "Oh, honestly-"

     "Quiet." Everyone fell silent. "I am aware that they are young, Enid. Neither Bartholomew nor I were suggesting we recruit underage witches or wizards."

     "But-"

     Dumbledore raised a hand, indicating he was not to be interrupted. "Bartholomew believes, and I agree, that we can have greater confidence in the integrity of our members if we recruit students who are of age and will be leaving Hogwarts this year. As you said so yourself, Enid, as teachers we know these young witches and wizards extremely well, better than we'd ever know anyone else we come across."

     Dumbledore paused, giving them all a long look before rummaging through the drawers flanking his desk. He pulled out a small, black box covered in silver crescents.

     "Butterbeer fudge," said Dumbledore cheerfully as he passed the box around. "A bit too sweet on the tooth, if I'm honest. Nevertheless, I am rather fond of these."

     The professors all stared back, perplexed, then Bartholomew Sterling leaned in and grabbed a piece of the fudge. The others followed.

     "I find that sugar always helps me concentrate." Dumbledore's lips twitched beneath his long, silvery beard as the three professors bit into the popular confection. Then he continued solemnly, "Students that are of age can no longer be protected from the horrors of this war. Some may pursue paths that lead them directly into the forefront of this war. Others will be forced to confront the terrors awaiting them, whether they wish to fight it or not. So I ask you this: is it so unreasonable of us to consider recruiting a select few of them for the Order when they will, undoubtedly, be thrust into the midst of this war sooner rather than later?"

     A long silence followed his words.

     "They may be young, and inexperienced, but they are not children anymore," Professor Sterling began softly, "Many of them are very talented, you see. Skilled at several branches of magic, but what use is talent if the truth is that they are going out into a world that is bleeding faster than we can heal it. Hogwarts has shielded them thus far, but now? They must face the war awaiting them."

     "We can train them. We can train them and teach them, and they can put their skills to use and help us," continued Sterling, his ruddy face shining with eagerness now, "They are young and full of energy. Many of them are in search of a way to make themselves useful in this war. We are in dire need of more people. Why not select students who we've known for seven years? Student's whose dispositions we've come to understand so thoroughly? Students who can be trusted?"

     "Take some time to calmly think about this proposition," said Dumbledore, his voice quiet yet firm at the same time. "We'll discuss it again in three days' time."

     McGonagall looked pleadingly at Dumbledore. "Albus, you can't possibly be-"

     "But I am, Minerva," he interjected, looking a tad more sorrowful than she had expected. "It gives me no joy to ponder along these lines, but we must do what we can in times like these."

     Silence fell over them once more as the professors all sat in the Headmaster's office, mulling over the words that had been exchanged just now. In the distance, a loud bell rang, reverberating around the asleep castle.

     "Well, that's the breakfast bell," announced Professor Sterling as he got to his feet. McGonagall looked at his disbelievingly. "Shall we be off, Dumbledore?"

     "Certainly," the older man replied, "a new day awaits us all, and we'll need all the energy we can muster. I dare say I've already exhausted you three with the our conversation just now."

     And so, with polite smiles and quiet goodbyes, the three professors rose from their seats, but while Professors Sterling and Hornbeam all but fled from the Headmaster's office, McGonagall remained rooted to her spot.

     "Minerva?" inquired Dumbledore, "Is there something else you'd like to say? Perhaps you mean to ask for another piece of butterbeer fudge? Here."

     "No, thank you," she replied curtly, her jaw set as Dumbledore held out the box of sweets. "Would you have a minute to spare later today? I must speak with you about this... this suggestion, in private."

     "I'm afraid I'll be away today," said Dumbledore, "but you may come see me tomorrow, if you so wish to talk about this."

     "Very well, I'll see you tomorrow at 8, after dinner."

     She had walked across the room and turned the doorknob to let herself out when she halted again. Turning back, she saw Dumbledore watching her curiously.

     Hesitantly, McGonagall said, "Can I ask where you'll be going?"

     "Certainly," said Dumbledore with a wide smile, "and I would gladly tell you that it is for Order business."

     "Oh?"

     "You see, Minerva, I have someone in mind who may be of great assistance to the Order," he revealed, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "Someone who I hope will agree to help us."

     "Who is it?" asked McGonagall curiously. "Is it someone I know?"

     "Ah, well, that I cannot answer just now," replied Dumbledore, getting to his own feet, "But should things go as expected, all will be revealed in due time, Professor McGonagall. In due time."

     McGonagall stared at him, and not for the first time did she have the impression that the Headmaster sought great amusement by being intentionally vague.

     He seemed to read her thoughts, for Dumbledore pushed open the door to his office and said, "I do not intentionally wish to keep you in the dark, Minerva, but it must be so at times. Now, shall we head down to breakfast? I'll accompany you."

     The sound of students chattering as they made their way to the Great Hall drifted up the spiral staircase. Dumbledore led the way, speaking rather animatedly as they walked past the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "I know for a fact that the house elves have prepared drop scones for breakfast today. A marvelous, but sadly overlooked delicacy, don't you agree? Much like kedgeree, I think."

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