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❨ chapter nine. ❩
❛ the last day. ❜

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     THE FINAL EXAMS, daunting as they had seemed mere days prior, were over before any of them even registered the week flying by, and suddenly, the end of semester had arrived in all its bittersweet glory, bringing with it a renewed sense of excitement and apprehension for the seventh years who had, after seven long years, reached the end of their journey at Hogwarts.

     The morning of their last day at Hogwarts had dawned gray and damp, the grounds still wet from the pouring of the night before, and a sickly chill clung to the air within the stone castle. Yet in spite of the intrepid weather casting a pall on the beginning of their summer, after the weeks of tension and tears they had all suffered leading up to the final exams, the students of Hogwarts found themselves in high spirits as they bustled around, taking care of last minute packing or else getting ready to leave for the Hogsmeade station. Even the seventh years - who would not return come the following term - milled about the corridors with beaming smiles, chatting animatedly and exchanging goodbyes. Looking around at the scene unfolding before him, for one, glorious moment, Sirius could almost forget the war that awaited them beyond the gates of Hogwarts.

     "Don't be so grim," James groaned from Sirius' right, who realized belatedly that he'd voiced his thoughts out loud. "It doesn't suit us, Padfoot."

     "Neither does using barmy nicknames," said a voice from behind them, and Sirius glanced over his shoulder to see Marlene McKinnon grinning up at them. She fell into step with James and Sirius as they made their way to the Gryffindor common room after breakfast. Needing to pack their remaining belongings, the boys had finished breakfast quickly and departed for their dormitory, leaving all their friends in the Great Hall — it had been restored overnight to its normal state after the previous night's farewell feast, where the Marauders had managed to set off a load of fireworks and colored smoke bombs to honor their reputation as mischief makers one last time. Much to everyone's disbelief and amusement, Dumbledore had conjured up an ancient gramophone at the sight of the colorful display to provide music for the remainder of the feast. All in all, and despite the gloomy circumstances, Sirius felt it was the best farewell feast he'd ever attended.

     As they climbed the grand staircase, Marlene shook her head fondly. "I never understood why you boys insist on using such stupid names for one another."

     Sirius shot James a grin as he said, "It's only stupid if you're not smart enough."

     This earned Sirius a sharp jab to his side from a scowling Marlene who otherwise ignored his comment.

     "I came to ask whether either of you had any plans this coming Monday."

     "Dunno," replied James, looking over at Sirius, who shrugged.

     "You think I know what I'm doing three days from now? How long have you two known me, a day?"

     "Fair point." Marlene turned to James. "You?"

     "Not that I know of, Lena. Why?"

     "Because," began Marlene, her voice dropping to a whisper so that only Sirius and James could hear, "mum and dad are going to be away this week, and I don't want to be cooped up at home the entire time. So last night, I was working myself into a frenzy and thinking of what to do, and it got me wondering if it'd be alright with you if I dropped by your place. I'll ask Mr. and Mrs. Potter if it's alright, of course."

     Sirius knew what James was going to say before he'd said it. The McKinnons were one of the Potters' closest friends; there was no way Marlene wouldn't be welcomed into their home. Besides, she happened to be one of James' oldest friends; there was no way he would let her stew at home if she didn't want to. And sure enough, James - after sighing exasperatedly - told her that she was welcome to come over any day.

     They were now making their way up a flight of stairs on the second floor. As the three jumped over a vanishing stair with practiced ease, Sirius couldn't help but inquire as to why the McKinnons weren't home.

     Marlene stiffened slightly the moment the question left his mouth, and the two boys exchanged a perplexed look.

     "Sorry," mumbled Sirius, "I shouldn't have–"

     "Oh, it's alright," Marlene cut him off, sighing heavily as she added, "You'd have figured it out anyway. Still got some brains upstairs, don't you? Well, they're going away on a mission tonight."

     Of course, thought Sirius. They rarely ever talked about their parents – at least in front of him – so it was little wonder he'd forgotten that both of Marlene's parents were senior Aurors.

     "I don't know where or what for, but McGonagall asked me to come to her office yesterday, after breakfast, and there they were, poking their heads out of the flames. Told me they were going away, and that dear Micah," Marlene rolled her eyes at the mention of her eldest brother, "would be there to take me and Miriam home."

     Sirius grinned, recalling the chiseled face and prissy voice of Marlene's older brother. "Well, at least pretty boy's there for you."

     "Petty boy, more like. I can't believe I'm going to be stuck with no one but that git and my sister for a whole week."

     "You're seventeen, you know," pointed out James, "You could just leave to go see your friends."

     Marlene shot him an incredulous look. "You think I'm allowed to go anywhere by myself in times like these? I can't leave once I'm home. There are wards around the house to make sure I stay there until my parents return. The only reason I can even entertain the idea of going to yours is because our floo is still connected to the your house for emergency purposes or something of the sort."

     "It's not like you'll be gallivanting around Bristol if you leave home," said Sirius, "You'll just apparate beyond the wards. Should be safe enough, so I can't see why can't you leave."

     "Search me, Black. Mum and Dad insisted we stay home until they're back. I think the MacDonalds' disappearance has got them on the edge, if you ask me."

     James hummed in response, and Sirius remained silent. He hadn't given it much thought before, but now that he did, Sirius was willing to bet the McKinnons weren't the only pureblood family taking such measures. Until two weeks ago, it seemed unlikely that the MacDonald's would be hurt, what with their pureblood background and influence within the Ministry. Surely they were safer, more protected than most half-bloods and all muggle-born witches and wizards? And yet, the unthinkable had happened, had it not?

     Sirius had known for a long while now that the war — and its many horrors — awaited them the day they left Hogwarts for good, but now that the hour was nearly upon them, he felt a chill wash over him at the thought of what lay beyond. He knew it was rather hypocritical of him to think so; he was a Gryffindor, after all, and didn't that mean he was supposed to be brave in times like these? Yet for some reason, every time he thought about the future, his insides began twisting and churning, faster and faster until he felt as though he was about to be sick. Perhaps it was not the danger itself that disconcerted him most but rather the uncertainty of it all.

     James' low rumble drew Sirius' attention back to his surroundings.

    "Can't they assign an Auror or two to make sure you're safe?" James was asking Marlene, a frown lining his forehead. "They did that last summer, didn't they? When they went to whatsit in Europe?"

    "Albania," said Marlene, and she shook her head. "I asked them the same, but they said they can't spare any Aurors at the moment."

     Not for the first time was Sirius reminded of the fact that in a few weeks, while he would still be holed up at the Potters', wondering what to do with his life, James and Marlene would begin their Auror training; they would be in the thick of all the action whilst he stayed behind closed doors or else sat shuffling papers at overcrowded desks.

     "So I can come over Monday?"

     Sirius looked over at Marlene, just in time to see James hastily averting his eyes from him.

     "Sure you can," said James quickly, "just as long as you bring some biscuits or pudding."

     Marlene gave him a look, then "Pigs," she muttered under her breath even as she swung her arms around Sirius and James.

     "Ah, yes, that reminds me: James and I love pork chops," quipped Sirius, "Feel free to bring those as well."

     "I hate you both."

     Sirius grinned. "Nah, you don't."

     "You're such an-" Marlene began to say, but she was interrupted by a deep voice booming across the hall.

     "Miss McKinnon, what are you doing?"

     The three students turned on their heels to see their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Hornbeam, hurrying towards them.

     "Oh, here we go," muttered Sirius, shaking his head in amusement.

     "You know, I think I'm going to miss Hornbeam," said James lightly, "She always makes me laugh."

     Marlene rolled her eyes. "Speak for yourself. I can't wait to get away from her. Wonder what she'll say this time. . ."

     They didn't have to wait long to find out.

     "Girls and boys," she panted as she walked briskly down the corridor, "are to remain at least six inches from one another." The three Gryffindors stared at her, bewildered, though not very surprised. Professor Hornbeam's loud, booming voice echoed down the corridor, "Six inches! Six. What do you think you're doing young lady?"

     Sirius bit his lip to stop himself from laughing loudly as Marlene stared at the aging woman. After a moment's hesitation, she muttered, "I'm convinced she's old Binns' wife. The way she talks, you'd think it's the 1800, not 1978."

     "She is a bit insufferable," Sirius nodded, adding in an equally low voice, "a bit of a kindred spirit for you then, isn't she, McKinnon?"

     Later, after enduring a lengthy speech from Professor Hornbeam about propriety and decorum and other codswallop, Sirius wasn't entirely surprised to see Marlene resolutely ignore him for the rest of the day.

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     THE NORMALLY BUSTLING and loud Auror Office was unusually quiet when Alastor Moody had come into work earlier that day. He did not need to ask the reason behind the grimness that shrouded them; Annie and Tobias MacDonald's disappearance had proved to be difficult for everyone. It had now been two weeks since they had gone missing, and the Aurors were nowhere near locating the junior Aurors. This lack of progress was yet another reminder of how poorly their Ministry was coping with the ongoing war; a few years ago, they would have found a lead or two, witnesses whose accounts would help paint a clearer picture, yet all they'd found so far was Annie MacDonald's lost handbag, and a Muggle witness who insisted she'd seen a masked figure blow up the street. It was nothing they didn't already know.

     A bunch of Death Eaters had attacked the Muggle town of Ripon in broad daylight, right around the time a team of unsuspecting Aurors was patrolling the streets. Out of the four Aurors present, two had been injured and two taken. It was hardly surprising that Annie and Tobias MacDonald were the ones to have been taken. Their father was the Head Auror, a leader in the fight against You-Know-Who; his children had been walking targets since the day he'd assumed the position three years ago.

    "How's Angus doing?"

     At the sound of a sharp, thin voice, Moody looked up from his half-forgotten lunch to see a grizzly face looming over the top of his cubicle.

     "Scrimgeour," said Moody by way of greeting before turning his attention back to his sandwich. He tore off a large chunk of bread, ham, cheese, and lettuce, and was munching it aggressively when Scrimgeour spoke again.

    "I asked you something."

     "You did," replied Moody, swallowing loudly. "But given that even the most thickheaded of people would know the answer to that question, I'm assuming you don't need me to tell you. You're quite smart, I'm told."

     Scrimgeour glared at Moody. "Do you ever give a straight answer?"

     "When someone asks me a straight question, I do." Moody leaned back into his chair. He fixed Scrimgeour with a look. "What do you want? You're not here to discuss the old man."

     Scrimgeour looked as if it was taking every ounce of his being to not lash out. Moody would have enjoyed watching the man struggle so had he not been so intrigued. Scrimgeour had never had any reason to hold back his words with Moody; it was no secret the two didn't like one another.

     An annoyed lion, Moody realized with a start as he watched Scrimgeour. With the long, grizzly hair framing his face and yellowish eyes glaring dangerously at him, he really did resemble a lion in Moody's opinion.

     "Sit down," growled Moody finally, waving towards the empty chair on the other side of his desk. He waited until Scrimgeour had settled into the chair before asking, "Well?"

     "Annie and Tobias MacDonald."

     "Ah."

     Moody regarded the man in front of him. He had assumed Scrimgeour was here to talk about their impending mission to Bulgaria, the one they were set to depart for later tonight. Over the past handful of days, the handful of times the two men had spoken to one another, the only topic of conversation had been the mission. It was just as well, thought Moody, because he highly doubted he'd wish to speak to Scrimgeour otherwise.

     Coming back to his surroundings, he noticed the other man was still glaring at him. Moody, after clearing his throat loudly, added, "Tragic, no doubt. But what about it?"

     "You don't think it's odd that two junior aurors were kidnapped in broad daylight? From a Muggle town, no less."

     "I'm sure MacDonald isn't taking the disappearance of his kids lightly, Rufus."

     Scrimgeour rolled his eyes. "I wasn't implying that."

     "Sounded like it."

     The comment earned him an annoyed huff from the other man. Moody watched, his curiosity growing by the minute, as Scrimgeour's eyes darted around the cubicle, peering over the edge to take note of who – if anyone – was around. Apparently satisfied by his surroundings, Scrimgeour finally leaned back into his chair and met Moody's inquisitive gaze.

     "Look," he began cautiously, "those kids, and a few others, were there on my orders."

     Moody, in spite of himself, sat up straighter. The last he had heard, they had been stationed in Ripon on the Head Auror's orders, and that too for a rather trivial case involving cursed cauldrons.

     "Why were they there on your orders?" asked Moody in a quiet voice, careful to avoid being within earshot of whichever git was moving noisily in the cubicle behind him.

     "To investigate the death of the Linneys," answered Scrimgeour without missing a beat.

     "The Unspeakable's family?"

     "That's the one."

     A picture of a happy family of five swarmed before his eyes, as did the headline above it: MINISTRY WORKER AND FAMILY FOUND DEAD IN YORKSHIRE.

     "I thought it was the killing curse that did it for them."

     Scrimgeour nodded. "That's what I first thought too, but I'd been reading the debriefs regarding it, and their post mortem suggests otherwise."

     "How so?"

     "The killing curse leaves no trace, correct?" Scrimgeour waited for Moody to nod his assent before continuing, "Well, the post mortem reports show the Linneys were all in great health at the time of death. They weren't ill. Weren't tortured, or hexed, or killed by any other more violent means. The house bore no signs of a struggle, forced entry, spell damage... nothing. Nil. Nada."

     Moody frowned. He knew all this; he had been one of the first Aurors on sight for the Linney case. He'd seen the destruction - or lack, thereof - around the house; the unmarked bodies of the family. It looked exactly like any other crime scene where the killing curse had been used.

     "You'll get to your point sometime this year, I'm sure," Moody growled, running a hand through his knotted hair.

     "Belladonna," snapped Scrimgeour.

     Whatever Moody had been expecting the older man to say, this was not it. "What?"

     "There were traces of belladonna in the Linneys' blood. Not enough to be lethal, but present nonetheless."

     "And?"

     "Belladonna isn't exactly your average mint or parsley plant, is it?"

     Moody was silent for a long while. Then, still frowning, he said, "Belladonna isn't common, yes, but it's not uncommon either. Grows in a lot of thickets around, don't it? Maybe they came into contact with it through tainted food or mere touch, I can't say for sure. I'm not a healer."

     "I know that," gritted Scrimgeour, "But I also think it's highly unlikely. You know why? I'll tell you: Wallace Linney's wife was a Healer. I knew them well, you see. Brilliant thing she was, Mrs. Linney. Had a thorough understanding of magical maladies and cures, especially ones pertaining to herbs and plants. You don't think she'd notice if she came across belladonna? Or that she wouldn't recognize the signs in her family? Come off it."

     Moody thought there were several explanations for the questions in Scrimgeour's head, but given what he'd just learned, Moody too had the growing suspicion that coming into contact with belladonna should not have been as easy as it seemed. He wanted to ask what exactly Scrimgeour was thinking. Did he suspect foul play? Was it even plausible that a Death Eater would take the time to slowly poison a family instead of killing them instantly with Avada Kedavra? And most importantly, why were they talking about all this when two Aurors had gone missing from their midst, and they had another possibly dangerous mission coming up soon?

     "You didn't say what the MacDonald kids were doing in Ripon anyway," said Moody instead, his mind still trying to wrap his head around all the new information Scrimgeour had so impolitely dumped on him. "I thought they were patrolling the city because of the tip-off we had regarding that Burke bloke. Something about illegal cauldron dealings, from what I remember."

     "That is why they were there," nodded Scrimgeour, then added, "partly, at least."

     Moody raised a brow.

     "I found a bus ticket to Ripon in Wallace Linney's pocket," Scrimgeour explained, "and there were several others of him going into and out of Ripon every Monday and Wednesday. I'm assuming he couldn't apparate there because then we could have learned of magical disturbance in the area. Whatever it was he was doing in Ripon, it had to be kept secret from the Ministry."

     Moody raised a hand and rubbed his temples. "What are you on about, mate?"

     "Look, I think there's something not right about the Unspeakable's case. Ripon was a lead I've been very keen on investigating, but secretly, as much as possible. Only a handful within the MLE – Head Auror, Head of MLE and such – even knew I'd sent Aurors to Ripon. All they were supposed to do was patrol the streets, monitor the city for any dodgy activities. And now they're missing."

   Moody swore under his breath, his hands gripping his hair without him being conscious of it. "Any moment now, Rufus."

     "The Aurors sent to Ripon weren't supposed to be in any danger. That town is tiny, and it's considered low risk. There's a slim chance of sighting Death Eaters there. So slim, in fact, that it's not even on our watchlist."

     "So?"

     "So, Alastor, how did a bunch of Death Eater bastards know Aurors were going to be there?"

     "Followed them, maybe?"

     "The kids went straight into a back alley in Ripon. I had a special portkey set up for them."

     "Then Ripon's not as low risk as we thought."

     "Perhaps."

     "That would explain the disappearance, wouldn't it?" asked Moody, frowning himself now. "Death Eaters were probably on the lookout."

     "In a city we know isn't frequented by Death Eaters? And on the lookout for what? For a bunch of young, undercover Aurors whom none of them have seen before? Besides, the MacDonalds live in Muggle London, they blend into their world better than some of those hippie Muggles do. It's not easy to spot a MacDonald witch or wizard in a Muggle crowd, I'll tell you that."

     Moody shifted in his seat. He could feel his head throbbing now; he really just wanted to go home. "Christ, Rufus, stop beating about the bush. Your point is?"

Scrimgeour looked at Moody cooly, then he leaned back into his chair. "I've heard you're quite smart too, Alastor. Surely you know exactly what I'm getting at, don't you?"

     But before Moody could say another word - or swear loudly, as he had been about to - the door to the Head Auror's office flung open and a tall, pouchy figure appeared in the doorway.

     "Moody!" came the plummy and carrying voice of Joseph McKinnon, the Deputy Head Auror, from where he stood on the opposite end of the Auror Office, "Have you decided on the Aurors that'll be shadowing you?"

     It took Moody a moment to shake himself out from his stupor. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I have," he called back, still watching Scrimgeour with a frown.

     "Good!" yelled Joseph, "Come here and get their papers ready now, yeah? But before you do that, Mr. MacDonald wants a word!"

     "A minute!" replied Moody, still not averting his gaze from Scrimgeour as he scrambled to his feet. Quietly, he asked, "What were you saying, Rufus?"

     But Scrimgeour, after brief hesitation, simply shook his head.

     Cursing the other man under his breath - and not making much effort to hide his choicy words from the man in question - Moody cleared the remnants of his lunch from the desk and straightened a few files. He grabbed his coat, his wand, and two blue folders before murmuring a 'later, mate,' to Scrimgeour and making his way around the cubicle.

     Moody stumbled.

A quick glance to the floor told him that Scrimgeour had stuck his foot out.

     "Think about what I just said," Scrimgeour hissed before Moody could start berating the other man.

     "Thanks but no thanks," snapped Moody, "As thrilling as your new line of thought is, I think it's best we not forget what we're supposed to be focusing on at the moment, simply because you're feeling guilty about what happened."

     "Guilty?" Scrimgeour looked livid. For one wild moment, Moody thought he saw the other man's hand twitch, as though he was about to reach for his wand. But the next moment, however, a placid expression took hold of Scrimgeour as he got to his feet and said in a normal voice, "Be here in the morning by 6, alright? I want to leave before daybreak."

Scrimgeour had turned on his heel and moved a few paces before he halted. Then he turned back and marched up to Moody again, and in a much lower voice, he added, "Don't be a fool. Think about what I said, Alastor. I know we don't see eye to eye on anything, but I've a feeling we'll agree on this. Or at least, you'll be sensible enough when it matters."

     "Agree on what? And when what matters?" Moody whispered back angrily just as McKinnon shouted again, "Alastor Moody, today, please!"

     "Go on," said Scrimgeour airily, "Best not keep McKinnon waiting. He's at his wits end already, I tell you."

     "Rufus-"

     "Later, mate," Scrimgeour cut in with a wry smile, echoing Moody's words from earlier.

     Without so much as another glance at him, Scrimgeour had turned his back on Moody and strode across the Auror Office, disappearing behind a pair of wooden doors labeled 'Operations' and leaving Moody to stare behind him in utter disbelief.

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