Chapter Text
Minerva glanced across the other Order members listening to Albus’ report. As she listened, she felt her lips purse in disappointment. Again. This was not the first time Albus had waved away their concerns as if they were meaningless.
Arthur and Kingsley had been clear in their warnings about the Ministry losing control.
Alastor had emphasized the danger of a Voldemort lackey replacing Amelia after her death.
Scrimgeour was a dangerous unknown.
And yet, Albus acted as if the war had not fundamentally changed since Voldemort’s public appearance over the summer. As if the stakes hadn’t risen drastically. As if his own hand weren’t clearly withering away before their very eyes.
On that front, Albus had also been less than satisfactorily forthcoming about how precisely the curse had been triggered and what the outlook actually was.
And then there were the staffing changes. Placing Severus in a position they all bloody knew was cursed? Calling Horace out of retirement and insisting he was a capable replacement when they all knew he had been mediocre at best even in his prime?
And now a student was in the infirmary after coming into contact with a cursed necklace. Katie Bell could very well have died, and Albus acted as if it had simply been a case of unfortunate circumstances but that no other danger would likely be present for the rest of the student body.
As if clear-and-present danger hadn’t been the standard at Hogwarts, particularly for the unfortunate students of her own house, ever since Harry James Potter had been sorted. Even during her own time as a student, there had been issues. Myrtle Warren certainly wouldn’t have argued that Hogwarts was any safer in the early forties than it was today, but it was undeniable that the scale of risk to the student body had undeniably increased in recent years.
Of course she believed that Potter (as well as every other student under their care) deserved the full benefit of a Hogwarts education. That was a given; she’d been a professor for decades and would certainly not have dedicated herself to this often thankless career if she didn’t believe in it. But above all, they had a duty to protect their students. And she couldn’t help but feel that their headmaster – their leader – was no longer sufficiently focused on this priority.
She noticed a brief flash of Alastor’s magical eye and shifted her focus to him. Alastor was facing the Headmaster but both of his eyes were on her. Did he observe the same worrying changes she did? Surely she wasn’t the only one to see how much Albus was slipping. And as much as she loved the man, they couldn’t afford to turn a blind eye to this issue. Too many lives depended on it.
Still. It was certainly an uncomfortable sensation to have Alastor staring at her like that . The regular eye was fine, but the other one didn’t ever seem to blink. It was… unnerving. She shifted in her chair slightly, directing her attention back to Albus and, after a moment, she saw in her peripheral vision that Alastor had done the same.
Doing her best to school her expression into one of stern concentration (rather than show just how appalled she was at the most recent report), Minerva listened attentively to the rest of what Albus had to say as well as the intermittent contributions from other members. As far as she could tell, the vast majority seemed willing to overlook the glaring issues right before their eyes. She was disappointed but not, if she were being perfectly honest, altogether surprised… it was one thing to join the Order and fight in this war. It was quite another to admit to the reality that your leader may not be fit to lead.
Then again, who was she to judge others for failing to speak up? She was no different from the rest of them. As the meeting adjourned, she stood to make her way out, pausing for the occasional exchange with the Weasleys, Remus, and Kingsley. Getting out of Grimmauld Place was always a bit of a bottleneck and the Order members had long since developed the ability to engage each other in brief interludes of small chat as those closest to the door made their exit. This eliminated the awkward waiting period – and minimised impatience – for those who got along well enough, at any rate. Severus, who was decidedly not on how-was-your-week-oh-jolly-good-let’s-catch-up terms with any of the other Order members (barring, perhaps, herself and Albus), habitually swept out first or skulked in the corner to wait for the crowd to diminish before attempting to exit.
Alastor, too, tended to be gruff in his conversations and aim to depart early, so Minerva was surprised when he instead made a beeline for her.
“We need to talk,” he muttered in an undertone.
“Now?” She turned to face him and he shook his head curtly.
“Not here. I’ll be in touch.” He passed her a slip of parchment and then turned to leave, making his way through the room to exit sooner rather than later.
Minerva frowned, tucking the slip of parchment into her robe and then turned attentively to Tonks, who seemed to be caught up at around the same location as her. They caught up for a moment and, gradually, made their way through the hallway and the front door. When Minerva apparated to the front gates of Hogwarts, she found that Albus was standing there waiting for her.
“You were unusually quiet at today’s meeting,” he observed, falling into easy step beside her as they made their way towards the castle.
“Just taking everything in.”
“You disapprove of my handling of matters here.”
“My concern for student safety has never wavered,” she replied tartly. “And as I’ve raised the issue numerous times with you in private, I see no reason that my calling you out in a meeting would make any difference.”
Albus sighed, his tone fatigued. “Minerva, it’s under control.”
“Is it?” She whirled on him, frustrated. “One of my students is fighting for her life in the Infirmary, Albus.”
“Miss Bell will recover-”
“Oh, she’ll live. She’ll recover the ability to use her magic, to walk, to talk with her friends. Perhaps she’ll even maintain her equilibrium on a broom. But that girl will never recover from the experience of nearly dying from a curse she had no right encountering. She will never forget the terror nor the pain she went through. Don’t minimise what happened simply because she will survive. It’s not the same and you damn well know it.” Without waiting for Albus’ reply, she spun and continued at a brisk pace back towards the castle.
“While I’ll never fault you for looking out for your students,” Albus spoke quietly as he fell into step behind her, “I fear you’re missing the bigger picture.”
She snorted without looking back. “Hard to see any sort of picture when all the brushstrokes are redacted.”
“What I keep from the Order is, in my judgment, necessary.”
“Far be it for me to expect open communication about what happens in the Order or the school. I’m only your Deputy Headmistress.”
“You know I value and trust you.”
“Do you share more with Alastor, at least? He’s second in command of the Order, after all. Surely he has the entire picture?”
“I fear Alastor does not have the necessary tolerance for nuance and sacrifice to appreciate-”
“Oh, leave off, Albus!” Reaching the front doors, she turned to look at him. “I adore you. I respect you. I will work with you until my dying breath to end this war and keep our students safe. But I will not pretend you are not shooting us all in the ruddy foot with your machinations.”
“Minerva-”
“No.” Sighing, she leaned back against the heavy oak of the door, closing her eyes as a familiar sense of weariness settled over her. This was an old argument at this point; why she’d thought the result would be any different was a mystery. “Please. I just… need some time alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She pushed the heavy door open and made her way inside, the Headmaster’s calm voice quiet as he entered afterwards.
“As you wish. Good night.”
“Good night, Albus.”
Making her way to her room, she summoned a bottle of Blishen’s firewhisky and a tumbler before sitting heavily at her desk. This was exhausting, demoralising, and frankly, if she allowed herself to examine it too closely, rather alarming. She poured herself a hearty slug of the amber liquid and took a sip before withdrawing the slip of parchment that Alastor had passed her. Smoothing it out on the desk, she frowned.
It was blank.
Turning it over to check the other side (also blank), she ran a series of spells over it to reveal any message. None appeared. Frowning, she considered sending a patronus and telling Alastor he had messed up when ink began to bloom across the page in Alastor’s jagged script.
When you are alone and in a secure location, write a reply.
Minerva frowned, taking a sip of her drink before reaching for a quill.
I’m here.
After a moment, his reply appeared.
We’ve not properly secured this channel. Why did I fail my first Transfiguration test?
Because your teacup had so many porcupine quills it could have doubled as a pincushion.
She waited a beat before his response appeared.
…Aren’t you going to positively ascertain my identity?
Oh for Merlin’s sake… Groaning, she reached for her drink and took another sip. Working with Alastor could be utterly infuriating when it came to security measures. She smirked then, the perfect question coming to mind.
What was the first thing I said to you when we recovered you from Barty Crouch Junior’s trunk?
I believe the exact words you used were ‘Oh you ruddy fecking eejit.’ Way to kick a man when he’s down, by the way.
Minerva smirked. Sometimes, one just had to take one’s entertainment where one could procure it.
Yes, well. It was a stressful day for all of us. What did you want to talk about?
We should complete the charm on this parchment first.
What charm?
It’s tied to my magical signature but not yet to yours. Anyone could access it from your end, though our writing will fade once either of us closes the scroll.
Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?
Vigilance, Minerva.
Yes, fine, as you say. What do I need to do?
Tap the parchment with your wand, single half-circle widdershins. Incantation is ‘Magiae meae adhaere’.
Minerva did as he directed, noting a slight glow and warmth where her wand met the parchment, though it faded rapidly.
Done. Now can you get to the point?
I’m sure I’m not the only one noting certain discrepancies in recent gatherings of late.
You’re not.
It has come to my attention that communication is not as optimal as one might hope, nor fully conducive to successful outcomes.
Minerva cast her eyes towards the ceiling, muttering something rather unflattering under her breath before putting her quill to the parchment again.
Alastor, I’m alone in my office, everything is warded to high heaven, and as you’ve already noted these are not only now keyed to our own magical signature but will fade when either side closes the parchment. If you would simply speak plainly, it would save us both a massive amount of time and me a rather unforgivable headache. I do have classes to teach in eight hours, you realise.
… this topic is too sensitive to be left to chance. We need to meet in person.
“Oh fer feck’s sake…”
Tempted as she was to crumple the damn parchment and hurl it into the fire, she told herself to breathe. Then she took three more deep breaths.
Where. And when.
You’re familiar with the Balfour Battery at Hoxa Head?
I am, but-
She paused mid-sentence as she saw ink already becoming visible just below where she was writing.
I can be there in ten minutes.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose. As if this day (let alone the whole week) hadn’t been long enough already…
Alastor, are you seriously asking me to apparate to the Orkney fecking Islands at nearly midnight?
Yes; I can not safely secure another place in that time frame.
Does it have to be tonight? Or for that matter, why can’t you come speak to me at Hogwarts?
Far too sensitive a topic for the castle. I’ll be at the Battery in nine minutes. Don’t be late.
She was about to reply when the ink faded before her eyes. Alastor, apparently, had closed his scroll. Infuriating man. Muttering her grievances under her breath, she tossed back the last of her Blishen’s and summoned her cloak. Apparently, her night was not yet at an end.
Hoxa Head was (predictably) cold, dreary, and rainy… very much not how she wanted to spend the early hours of her morning. Wondering if tonight would be the night she turned and took out an Order member herself, she cast another warming charm on her cloak followed by a rain repellant and proceeded to approach the Battery.
As she came closer, she heard Alastor beckon from one of the smaller compounds, built between two rock ledges. Deep breaths, Minerva, she told herself. Today is not the day for murder.
Then again, the sea lashing against the nearby rocks made an excellent counter-case for how easily it would be to dispose of a body at this point.
With a weary sigh, she entered the building, meeting the Auror’s unsettling gaze.
“Seriously, Alastor?”
“It’s remote and sufficiently secure,” he responded gruffly, turning from the doorway to enter the room.
“It’s insane,” she corrected. “You are by far the most paranoid person I’ve ever met.”
“Kept me alive all these years, hasn’t it?”
“Didn’t keep you from being locked in the bottom of a box for the majority of a school year,” she muttered uncharitably.
“Right. Let’s see your patronus.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She glared at him, slashing her wand through the air. The silvery cat that sprang forth wound a lazy figure eight between her legs before arching its back and hissing at Alastor. It then sauntered towards the doorway, hissed at the rain, and disappeared.
Grunting in approval, Alastor cast his own patronus, the large ram stomping proprietarily around the room before bumping its head into its owner’s arm and disappearing.
“Now that we’ve positively identified ourselves for the eightieth time this evening, could we please get to the point?”
“Nearly,” he growled, flicking his wand around them to enact additional silencing and privacy wards. “That should do it. Albus is losing his grip.”
Well that, at least, was blessedly to the point, Minerva thought as she crossed her arms.
“In what way?”
“Come off it, don’t tell me you don’t see it.” Alastor limped to the closest wall and leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded her steadily. “He’s dismissing reports that should be alarming, vague at best about whatever Snape’s been feeding him, and he’s let Hogwarts’ safety standards slip dangerously – Miss Bell is evidence enough of that.”
“Technically, that was in Hogsmeade, but I don’t disagree.” She sighed, turning to pace slightly and gesticulating in frustration as she spoke. “I’ve tried talking to him, Alastor. He won’t listen.”
“Aye, I’ve had a right hard time getting through to him as well.”
“I don’t know if he’s too caught up in all the secrets he’s holding, or-”
“Or if the curse is affecting his brain as much as his hand?”
Minerva paused then, turning to face Alastor fully.
“You think he’s cognitively impaired?”
“I think I know good leadership, and Albus is not displaying it.”
With a sigh, Minerva slumped back against the doorway. “But what can we reasonably do about it without the Order dissolving into chaos?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Then why-”
“Nothing overt, at any rate,” he corrected, giving her a meaningful look. “But you and I are second in command after him. We see it, and we can’t turn a blind eye. Aside from whatever is going on with that curse on his hand, he’s been holding back information from us - especially regarding Death Eater intelligence – and that could very well be lethal.”
Minerva frowned. “I don’t think Severus would be on board-”
“Fuck Snape, I don’t trust him anyway,” Alastor shook his head. “No, Minerva, what we need is someone else behind enemy lines. Someone who will answer to us.”
“Oh really?” she scoffed, her expression unbelieving. “And who do you suggest, then? We don’t exactly have a large number of Order members who could present as sympathetic to Riddle now do we?”
“Order members, no,” he conceded. “But I have someone in mind.” At her expectant look, he cleared his throat and continued, frowning. “Her name is Celeste Wong. She’s an Unspeakable, now at any rate, but she used to be an Auror. I trained her myself and worked with her for a few years after. She’s got an uncanny talent for the Dark Arts, but she’d never join Voldemort. Not genuinely, that is.”
Minerva frowned. “Wong… How old is she?”
“Let me think…” He glanced at the ceiling for a moment, calculating. “She’d be in her early thirties right now.”
“I don’t remember that name at all; did she not attend Hogwarts?”
“No, she’s Brazilian. And anyway she had a rather unusual magical education. Came to the U.K. to join the Aurory back in ‘82. She’s a strong fighter, and a better specialist. I’ve not met anyone else who can wield the Dark Arts so well that isn’t already in Voldemort’s clutches.”
“In that case, why hasn’t she already been approached by him?”
“Because Kingsley and I went to great pains to hide her qualifications after she left the Aurory. As far as anyone knows, she is purely a researcher at the Department of Mysteries.”
“And why haven’t you brought her into the Order?”
“She… prefers research to duelling. Being an Auror right after the first war… It was too much.” He shrugged. “She wanted out, and didn’t want to return to a combat role.”
She frowned at that. “But she’ll do it if you ask?”
“Aye,” he nodded solemnly. “I reckon she would.”
Minerva mulled the idea over in her head for a minute. His suggestion had merit, though the woman he had described sounded like she would most likely balk at the request. Still, he certainly knew his colleague (or former colleague) better than she did. And if they had their own spy behind enemy lines? Depending on how high she could rise among the Death Eaters, they might be able to get intel similar to or even superior to what Severus was able to provide Albus. She knew that Voldemort regarded Severus with at least a modicum of suspicion, and that there was no way he was privy to all the details from the other side. Even a slight leg up on the enemy’s movements would help. And they could act on that information without threatening Severus’ position or directly challenging Albus’ authority (a disastrous notion, she knew). Finally, she sighed heavily and nodded.
“Alright. If you can get her to agree, I’m in. Should we tell Kingsley about it as well, assuming you all worked together?”
“We did, aye, but no – let’s hold off on that for now. If Celeste agrees to go undercover, then we’ll loop him in. He will need to know and keep an eye out for her in the field in case of direct conflict, but until then I think it’s best we keep everything just between you and me.”
“Agreed. And Alastor, are you absolutely certain she’s trustworthy? That she can keep her role secret?”
Alastor snorted as he pressed away from the wall, limping towards the door. “I have absolute faith in her. I wouldn’t suggest this otherwise.”
“And what if she’s tortured? What might she reveal?”
Clapping her on the shoulder, he shook his head. “Minerva, I fought alongside the woman. I trained her. I would trust her with my life. Celeste will die before betraying a thing to Voldemort.”
Minerva pursed her lips in concern and then nodded shortly. “Then I suppose our greatest concern is keeping her alive.”
“That it is,” he agreed, flicking his wand to lower the wards. “Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night,” she echoed.
She listened to the combination of the rain and Alastor’s uneven step for a few beats until the crack of apparition punctuated the end of his footfalls. Glancing out at the dark sky, she wondered if this was the right decision.
As much as she would like to put her faith in Albus - as much as she wished she could still put her faith in him - she couldn’t deny what both she and Alastor had observed. To continue in this vein was reckless. Dangerous. And, heaven forbid, if Albus were to succumb to the curse and die, leaving them in the dark on so many fronts… she shook her head, swallowing. It didn’t bear contemplation.
One step at a time. Alastor would contact the former Auror, and, if she was up to it, they would have their own source of intelligence. They could support Albus while also bolstering the safety of the Order without causing a single ripple among the group. If she refused… well. Now that they’d acknowledged the problem, she supposed they’d be obligated to find a back-up solution.
She very much hoped the young woman would not refuse.