History of the World Volume II Chapter 4 The Rule of Turpin – Ignorance Is Inexcusable
...In a well publicised precedent Andrew Davis, a second tier wizard, was summarily executed on 31-11-1480. His crime was committed whilst touring the third tier Justice House on a winter sabbatical. He approached a young woman and propositioned her. While this is normally acceptable behaviour, Davis's choice in women was poor. She was wearing her third tier armband though it wasn't quite visible amongst her voluminous robes. The witch in question was a favourite of the Emperor, and her companions killed Davis without compunction. His act was performed from ignorance, but ignorance offers no mitigation. As you see in another case, ignorance is taken into account, but isn't used to defray the punishment...
Two hundred and seventy three feet of parchment wasn't a report -- it was a novel, and ninety percent of Remus's report was a list, a compilation of people that would have the knowledge or power to betray the rebellion to Oscasia. All the men and women on his list had the opportunity to take the role of that South American priest and sell the children. Whether any of them had or would, the rebellion would have to discover for itself. He had places to be and ghosts to banish.
One of his ghosts was standing with him, staring at the ungainly mound of papers as though she couldn't quite fathom its size. Lily turned to him and smiled half-heartedly. "I can't believe you're leaving just as we're finishing the paperwork. Don't you want to see how this all turns out?"
"I would say this part of the investigation is internal. I was an outsource from the beginning. Tell Albus that I should be available for more work in a few months if he needs me. He knows my rates." Now that the moment of leaving had come, Remus didn't know what to do with the ghost of his first crush. Should he shake Lily's hand like a co-worker, hug her like a friend, or stalk away blushing as if he was fourteen again? Lily answered that question for him. She stepped up and hugged him firmly.
"It has been so much fun working with you, Remus. Please be careful. I'm sure every job you take isn't quite so full of paperwork and devoid of action," Lily said. "You have to visit again soon, or at least write so that we all know you're okay, promise."
"Of course," Remus said. It was easier now that Lily had hugged him. He could feel the ghost releasing him even before he took a handful of Floo Powder and headed for the hearth. He cast the powder into the fire and stepped into the warm green licking flames. "Gabe's Hut."
Lily watched the fire until it had burned back to a normal orange. Then she turned to the job Remus had left her. She and that pile of parchment had a meeting to report to.
They all had red wands.
A line of Vietnamese dancing witches moved in graceful synchronicity, their wands emitting a steady ribbon of curling, languid light. They wore pink and red silk robes, perfectly fitted to their petite forms. Slit dramatically up the side, the dresses revealed long tan legs with every graceful step. Their thick, black hair was scooped up into dramatic coiffures. Their eyes were outlined in black and painted with shocking pinks and yellows. They seemed out of place in the bar, a flock of colourful birds in a dim, smoky cage.
Leaning low in his seat, Edgar half listened to Walter mumbling about the pretty dancers. Now that the show was ending he tore his eyes away from the stage to watch their commander, Sirius. He just caught the connection, when the commander locked eyes with one of the dancers. There was an exchange of smiles and Edgar could have sworn the girl blushed under all her stage paint. Finishing his cup of sake, Sirius barely nodded to his companions before heading toward the backstage area.
They'd been in Vietnam for nearly a week, shacking up in The Red Fan, a rebel friendly brothel. Some, like their commander, had made ample use of their time. Edgar watched Sirius go to the enchanted door that barred entry to all those who might try to enter without permission. Absently, he wondered how the commander managed to pick up girls who didn't speak English. Being tall, handsome and foreign seemed to help matters. Not everyone was enjoying their lodgings to their fullest extent though. The Admiral who'd been tagging along with them, Potter, only left his rooms to train. Ignoring a free dancing show like that was wasteful to Edgar's way of thinking.
The next act, a pair of singing girls in short blue dresses, scuttled out onstage and batted their long curled lashes at the men. Edgar sighed, and just listened to them sing.
Upstairs, in one of their cramped dusty rooms, James leaned low over a small distorted mirror. Albus stared up at him. "I honestly don't see why you can't just pull me for this internal investigation and leave Sirius where he is. He's mastered this niche work, and his soldiers would walk through fire for him. They barely know me."
Albus just shook his head and spoke softly. "You simply have to trust my judgement in this. I need Sirius Black, and no other will do."
"I'll send him tonight then." The mirror went dark, but James continued to stare into its depths for several seconds, his own face now staring back at him through the wavy glass. Was it foolish to continue taking Albus's word that his strange actions had meaning? Why did he need Sirius? What was Sirius going to do that James couldn't? The real question, that of Albus's competency, bothered him most. If they lost their chief executive authority, there wasn't anyone standing in the wings to take over.
James headed downstairs and waded into the smoky bar. Today he was prepared to continue following Albus's directives. And for the moment, that was all that really mattered.
Across the room, near to the stage a small, inebriated lot of Sirius's men were enjoying the live show. James headed their way and took the only vacant seat.
"If it isn't the admiral, finally come down to mix with the little people," Edgar mumbled. He raised his cup of spirits in a parody of a welcoming manner. "What can we do for you, Sir?"
"I suggest you refrain from tossing ranks about blithely in mixed company," James said quietly. "Where's Sirius?"
One of the other soldiers, Philip, coughed and nodded toward the backstage entrance. "He's entertaining at the moment."
"Entertaining? Again?" James slumped lower in his seat and tried not to be annoyed with Sirius. The man had needs, and all too often they went secondary to the responsibilities and the rebellion. Well, maybe it was because he hadn't seen Lily for months that James found himself so terribly frustrated. The dream she'd brewed for Christmas had been pleasant at the time, but it was little more than a tease really. Spending every night in a brothel and enduring the sounds that leaked through the thin walls was not helping his frustration either. Why did he ever send Lily away?
Because it was dangerous.
Because he had to protect her.
The waitress snatched up their empty glasses and tried to interpret the sign language of the inebriated English rebels. James caught her eye, and pointed two fingers at an empty glass. Sirius's business hopefully wouldn't take too long. James knew better than to try to get backstage without an invitation. The protective wards on that door were no joke.
A marvel of efficiency, the waitress returned with a full tray balanced on her dainty wrist. She chattered at them in incomprehensible Vietnamese and hurried away.
"Didn't any of you bring a translation conch down?" James asked. "How do you know what they're saying?"
Staring up at the stage, Edgar shook his head. "I don't care what they're saying."
There was no time for languid, satiated spooning backstage at The Red Fan. Sirius only managed to hold his dancing bird for a few extra moments before she had slipped away from him and started dressing for her next trip onstage. This time it was a purple dress with intricate orange beading. He watched her primp, fastening dozens of tiny clasps with dexterity his thick fingers would be hard pressed to match. Twisting her hair back up, she spared a moment to smile at Sirius and then she was gone out the door. With a sigh, he dressed himself and made his way back toward the main floor.
Pai had invited him back three times now, and he knew from experience that the only way he was going to catch another glimpse of her, was if he saw her final dance. Sirius had never been in this kind of relationship before. Pai wanted him for exactly thirty minutes at a time, no conversation, no residual closeness. He only knew her name from hearing a stage grip shouting at her. A dull sort of epiphany struck and Sirius had to wince at the pitiful state of his romantic affairs. Three entertaining evening visits with a girl that he couldn't even understand was the closest thing to a relationship he'd managed in years. How pitiful was that?
The main floor was crowded, nearly every table full. Sirius spotted his men quickly, but his seat had been taken. James was out drinking with a few of the boys. A grin crept onto Sirius's face. He respected James' marriage, but going out drinking and wenching hadn't been the same since he and Lily became exclusive. Sirius strolled over and crouched down next to James. "Enjoying yourself?"
James looked his way and shrugged. "Just waiting for you to finish your business backstage. We need to talk, Casanova."
"Is that disapproval? It's just a wench in a bar. Why so angry?" Sirius asked.
James rose and shot him an annoyed look. "We need to talk. If you're through sowing your oats..." He headed for the exit without sparing another word for Sirius. The air outside was cool and clean-tasting. James hated the brothel, the town, everything about their hiding place. It rankled him that Sirius would be escaping it. "This place is stifling. And the food, if they serve me anything else raw, I swear...."
"You swear, what?" Sirius asked. James wasn't the only one feeling a bit affronted. With a frown, he crossed his arms over his chest. "You dragged me out here to complain about the food? You can't blame the restaurant because you don't know what you're ordering. That distasteful brothel is willingly harbouring a rather large lot of rebels."
"I didn't come out here to talk about the food," James said. "We're out here because you're heading back to England while I have to stay here. Albus wants you, and he needs you immediately."
"You have to be kidding. After all that nonsense about not taking my command, you're taking my command." Sirius paced away then spun back toward James. "Does Albus have a reason, or is this just plain insanity?"
"I'm sure he has his reasons for leaving me here with a bunch of mismatched Animagi while you're heading home to work with MY Lily," James said. He and Sirius held each other's gaze for a long moment. "I couldn't talk Albus into using me instead. Believe me, I tried."
"Lily?" Sirius asked. "Why does he need me?" With a calculated shake of his head Sirius sighed. "If Albus Dumbledore is losing his mind, we can't follow him anymore. He needs to start making a little more sense, James...soon."
Examinations were finally over. Now, with nothing hanging over their heads, the student body had flooded out of the school to walk in the sun and breathe the summer air before the end of term carried them home. Harry leaned back against a budding beech tree and stared up at the gray stone building that housed the Class I school. Like a moldering Parthenon, it crouched on its hillside blocking the afternoon sun. Hermione sat under a different tree to his right, paging slowly through an oversized Transfiguration text. She seemed most at peace in moments like that, alone with a book.
In the air, zooming about with a pair of Beater bats, Draco and Lisa were practicing one of the Quidditch drills Coach had given them. They were batting around a large light weight ball, keeping it aloft and on course. Harry watched them drill for several minutes, but his eyes drooped shut.
"Please someone deliver me from snogging seniors!" Ron exclaimed. He took a seat and sprawled lazily on the grass by Harry. "I swear they're in the bushes, behind the doors, in the wardrobes. You'd think there wasn't anything better to do."
Yawning, Harry shrugged. "There isn't anything to do, unless you want to join the book brigade with Hermione. If I owned my own broom we could go flying like those two, but the school brooms aren't available, end of term servicing. Do you own a broom?"
"Nah, my Mum thought it was frivolous and would distract me from school. Want to play chess?" Ron asked.
"Somehow, losing to you at chess has begun to wear thin. Let's go exploring toward the senior's part of the school. We need to know what the second-year's dorms are like anyway, and I'd really like to see how the ninth-years live." Harry stretched and rolled to his feet. "Come on."
"We're just going to get hexed," Ron moaned.
"I thought you said all the seniors were in the bushes snogging. It's the perfect time," Harry said. "Come ON."
The dormitory was the biggest of the school buildings, broad and thick. Ron always thought the columns out front looked like a mouth filled with too-straight teeth grinning at him. Reluctantly, he rose and followed Harry toward the toothy building. The first floor held the Great Hall, the ballroom, and other gathering chambers. The second floor was for the first, second, and third years sleeping quarters. To check out the ninth-year's dorms, a daring first year would have to make it all the way to the fifth floor without being hexed to oblivion. Harry was already pounding the stone steps, as though they weren't on a suicide mission. With a heavy sign, Ron followed. Maybe they wouldn't get that far before the hexing started. Being hexed by a fourth-year would be far less painful than being hexed by a ninth-year.
True to his word, Harry stopped at the second-year's dorm first. A swathe of colour on the centre of the door proclaimed the new accent colour they'd be enjoying next year, buttercup yellow. Harry pushed the door open and peeked inside. A half dozen or so second-years were gathered together talking. A boy that he knew, Spencer, waved him over. "Hey, Harry, who's your friend? Come to check out your new digs for next year?"
"Hope you like yellow," a girl with exotic oriental eyes said.
"What are you guys doing cooped up in here? The sun is shining and all the sane people are outside enjoying it." Ron spared Harry a dark look before continuing. "I mean classes are over, aren't they?"
"We have a meeting with Professor Riddle," Spencer said. "He's on the market for an apprentice, you know. And we're all up for the job."
"Really?" Harry asked. "He's just considering second years then?"
"Yeah. Apparently, he's been on the market for the last five years, the entire time he's been teaching here," Spencer replied. "Who knows what he's looking for?"
"I'll tell you what he's looking for, me," Ginger Cupit said. "We're going to be late, Spencer. Get rid of the first-years and let's go."
Harry spun in the room once taking in the dorm which was virtually identical to their current quarters and grinned. "We're going. Good luck with Riddle, guys."
Watching the second-years tromp down the stairs, Harry and Ron loitered in the hall. "A bloke would have to be mental to accept an apprenticeship from Professor Riddle. You saw what he did to Draco. The man's unstable," Ron said. "If he offered it to me, I'd tell him no thanks."
"I'd accept it," Harry said without hesitation. "If you're apprenticed to a third tier wizard you get the silver armband at the age of fifteen, no questions asked. The benefits are completely worth the risk."
"Sometimes, I think you have a really underdeveloped survival sense, Harry. And while we're on the topic of your death wish." Ron planted his feet and frowned. "I think going to the fifth floor is a bad idea. It's pointless. We're just going to get turned into slugs."
"It's an adventure," Harry said. "What's an adventure without a little danger?"
An impressive pile of scrolls glowed a faint purple in front of the Potter's hearth. With Lily supervising, the scrolls filed into a black carpetbag. Obviously enchanted for storage, the bag should have been full long before even a quarter of the scrolls had been stowed.
Sirius watched her work, neither interfering or commenting on her choice in receptacles. He might not have known why Albus sent him to aid in the rebellion's internal investigation when he left Vietnam, but after fifteen minutes alone with Lily and her master list, he had a good idea. James was a powerful wizard, a great leader, but unlike Sirius, he only spent a few months under Moody's tutelage. Lily's list required investigation and interrogation, two skills any true apprentice of Moody's was guaranteed to be uniquely qualified in.
"We'll need to move quickly, efficiently, and with complete secrecy. We don't want the culprits to know we're looking for them. We can't have a warning go out before we're done." Sirius mentally catalogued the spells and potions he was likely to need for this internal housecleaning. At the top of his list were Veritaserum, and a concise memory charm to keep them from blabbing about the investigation.
"Well I have a good recipe on Veritaserum," Lily said. "What else will we need?"
A grim smile on his face, Sirius shook his head. "We'll be using Master Moody's recipe for Veritaserum, and a memory charm to make sure we finish this in proper secrecy."
"Of course." Lily found she couldn't hold Sirius's gaze tonight. After finding out their mission, his demeanor had cooled. She'd never seen her husband's normally boisterous friend this sullen and withdrawn. Perhaps it was the size of the list that had disheartened him? "I can do this myself, you know, if the work isn't to your liking. I know it isn't as exciting as a mission in the field, but it's important." Then Sirius actually laughed at her.
"If you could do this job yourself, I wouldn't be here," he said. Lily glared at him indignantly, but Sirius just shrugged. "Not being able to do this job is a compliment." Sirius rubbed at his temples, mentally cataloguing other spells that he might need over the course of so many interrogations. Most of them inflicted pain mentally or physically to force truth and details from a clear mind, un-fogged by the inebriating effects of Veritaserum. "Where do we begin?"
"I'm surprised you're willing to let me decide, since I'm too incompetent to interrogate a suspected traitor. Administering Veritaserum and performing a memory charm aren't exactly beyond my reach."
"No, you're quite competent. But what about your experience? Consoul Sorcia?" Sirius asked. "Or how about Firos De Crimen? Crucio? They are very useful interrogation curses, Lily, rudimentary really. Have you ever cast a curse with intent to torture?" Though he spoke forcefully, there was no anger in his voice. Lily had paled. She recognized some of the words of power even if she hadn't ever learned the curses. "When I find our traitor or traitors...Veritaserum and a memory charm will be just the beginning. Now, where do we start?"
With only a moment's hesitation Lily summoned one of the scrolls from the dwindling pile. Had she considered that there would be interrogation and torture ahead? Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew even before Sirius spoke the names of the curses he would use. Torture was distasteful, but if one of their comrades had even considered selling children to Oscasia, Lily thought she might be able to cast the torture curses herself, however squeamish Sirius thought her "I've always made it a point to start at the beginning." With her hands steady and her voice clear, Lily read, "Atwood, Patrick."
Immobile as a statue, George Weasley stood on the path that led off of Moody's mountain. He couldn't move for a simple reason. Professor Moody forbade him to leave and George was ready to go. The magical contract he signed gave Moody the power to command. If invoked, George could no more deny the order than he could decide to stop breathing. He'd pitted his will against the contract for the entire day, pushing forward with every ounce of mental energy he possessed, but his limbs refused to move.
George heard the door creak open behind him and a patch of light cut into the darkness. "If you're through pushing that mountain, dinner is ready."
Moody had made the same offer at breakfast and lunch, but George had been sure that he could throw off the compulsion. If a strong-willed wizard could throw off the Imperius curse, couldn't one throw off a contractually bound order? Apparently he couldn't...and light wasn't the only thing escaping from Moody's hovel. Aromatic spices wafted toward him on the breeze, torturing his deprived stomach.
Like snuffing out a candle, the force George had strained against was gone, and he stumbled forward a step. The moment he resolved to stay for another evening the need to restrain him passed. "You should just let me go. We've spent months on defensive blocking and we’re getting nowhere. You're wasting your time and mine."
Without acknowledging his pupil's statement, Moody clomped back inside. He took a pair of ceramic bowls to his steaming cauldron and dipped two healthy portions of stew out. "Sit down," Moody commanded. George knew he hadn't invoked their contract as his legs hadn't set off of their own volition, but it bothered him that Moody could, without even trying, order him about like a marionette. "You'll be starving after that vigil."
George watched as Moody tucked into his meal. Nothing seemed to rile the man. He hadn't even raised his voice since their first night together, the night when he scolded George for signing a binding magical contract. In hindsight, it was stupid. He'd relinquished control of his life, but at the time Dumbledore had made it seem so ideal, so easy. It had sounded like escape, but it was just a remote efficient prison. Unable to resist his stomach's protestations any longer, George joined Moody and attacked his meal.
All too soon George found the bottom of the bowl. Settling his spoon on the table he looked up into the ravaged face of his mentor. "You said I could go when I was competent to survive. Well, I'm not learning anything. At this rate I'll never be ready to survive. And I have to go."
"Dying won't help anyone." With a grunt, Moody fished a tarnished silver pendant out of his robe pocket. He hefted it thoughtfully and tossed the jewelry across the table. "Put it on and leave it on."
There wasn't any difference in tone or expression, but this time Moody invoked their contract. As though they didn't belong to him George's hands snaked out and grasped the silver chain. In a smooth motion that he had no control over he slid the pendent into place. Indefinable relief washed over him. The constant pain that had throbbed just beneath his perception every minute of every day since his brother's ordeal began vanished. He had become so used to its constant squeal that he didn't notice it most of the time except when he slept. George sagged as tension he hadn't been properly aware of leaked out of his body. "What is this? What did you do?"
Turning the pendent up for a better look, George saw the recessed carving of a woman, her eyes shut and her hands clasped over her mouth.
"That is a filter charm, to separate you from your brother. It arrived this morning by owl. Maybe you'll be able to concentrate on your lessons now? You master blocking spells and we'll move on to trap detection." Moody leaned over the table, a grin on his face. "Stupid, untalented wizards don't end up in Class I. I expect better from you than the mediocre half-attempts you've made at everything you've tried. Tomorrow is a new day."
The relief began to fade as the guilt hit him. George shook his head. Thanks to Moody's pendent, he was free of the minor inconvenience of his brother's pain. "I don't want this." George let the pendant drop, knowing full well that he would need Moody's permission to remove it. "That pain is the only connection I have to Fred. Maybe that connection is unpleasant for me, but what if it helps him? Professor Moody, I won't try to leave or question you. I won't make another mistake, just please, please...don't make me wear this."
Moody stood slowly and stalked away toward the fire. "You will not leave this mountain until you've learned the skills you need to survive. You want to charge off and help your brother, well put him out of your head for now, or you aren't getting off this mountain till your twentieth birthday when your contract expires."
Towing his trunk behind him, Ron followed the flood of kids heading for the transportation circles and home. He could see Hermione up ahead, tugging her small, black school-issue trunk. She and Harry would be heading to their group home for the summer, a fate Ron would have pitied a few months earlier. But they had each other, and Harry even had a sister. They were going home where things were going to be the same. Nothing would be the same at the Weasley house. For the first time in his life, Ron was going to be the only child at home. Fred was a red-eyed imperial soldier and George was apprenticed to some hermit. At least his mum would be home. She'd written after the winter holidays to assure her sons that everything was okay and that she was safe. But Ron wouldn't be satisfied until he'd seen her and hugged her.
"Hold up, Ron," Harry said. He managed to squeeze his way through the crowd of trunks and slip into step beside him. There were two small bandages taped to Harry's forehead, covering the last vestiges of the hexes from their ill-fated trip to the dorm's fifth floor. An impressive set of antlers had been rooted under those bits of gauze. "You'll need this. I'm helping Draco hand them out to the people he'd like to come to his birthday celebration this summer." He handed Ron a neatly folded royal-blue envelope.
"Draco wants me to come?" Ron asked. "Why?"
Harry shrugged. "He won't care. I'm supposed to be finding the most annoying, Class IV, hairy-knuckled, group home nobodies and giving them invites."
"And you came to me first? Why doesn't that give me a warm fuzzy feeling?" Ron asked. "What's he planning to do to a bunch of low bred wizards and witches? He's not going to hurt them, is he?"
"I gave you an invite because I'm going, and I thought it might be fun. And no one's going to get hurt. Who do you think I am?" Harry leaned closer to Ron and whispered so that he wouldn't be overheard. "He's trying to make his father angry. Beyond that, I really don't know."
York could call itself a bright town, with its gleaming stone walls and clean streets devoid of Muggle offal. But if you knew how to look, even the brightest towns had their dark alleys and their unpleasant secrets. York was prettier on the surface, but Remus still had a place here. He ducked down a side street, careful to stay just out of the glow of the street lamps. He tromped up a back stoop and knocked lightly. When the door opened a fraction of a crack, he whispered, "Have you seen my Thestral?"
"Aye, come in then."
The door swung open into a tavern. Heavily-cloaked witches and wizards filled most of the stools, but Remus entered bare-faced and brazen. Yes, there was a warrant against his life, but these people weren't the ones seeking him, and he had no reputation to lose by associating here. He turned to the old wizard who let him in and smiled. "Is my booth occupied?"
"Yes sir," the stooped wizard replied. "Your lady friend arrived a few minutes ago."
Lady friend? Remus had been expecting a guest but not a lady. Captain Nyt was supposed to be a new client. He'd assumed that anyone who commanded a ship of smugglers would be a man. Rather sexist of him, Remus thought with a smirk. Wondering what kind of creature he was going to find in the back booth, he headed over and slid into the seat opposite her.
Though his trained smirk never wavered, Remus was a bit disappointed by the pirate princess fate had sent him. She was an old woman with deep lines set into her leathery sun-weathered skin. Her gray hair hung in loose curls past her waist, a random lock here and their braided and threaded with beads. She smiled a crooked-toothed grin. "What's your name?" Nyt asked. "Little scrap of a man like yerself can't be the Lupin."
"If the Lupin is Remus Lupin, then I am. I must assume that you're Captain Nyt." Remus waved at one of the barmaids and she sauntered over. "A couple of butterbeers, please."
"The Lupin drinks butterbeer?" Nyt chuckled, but didn't order anything harder for herself. She waited for their server to leave. "You ever broke a body out from an imperial holding prison? That's what I'll be paying you to get me in and out of."
Remus didn't say anything at first. He'd been involved in a more than a few jail breaks all over Europe. "I charge by the head. How many are we going in for?" Remus produced a quill and scrawled a figure on his napkin.
"That gold is per head? Ten then," Nyt said. "It's all I can afford."
It didn't pay to offer discounts or to dicker with criminals, but Remus hated the thought of leaving people behind to face the Saharan or Siberian prisons. "How many of your people are in?" Remus asked.
"Twelve," Nyt said. "You get them all and we could work out a barter for the rest of the gold?"
Remus nodded slowly. It didn't pay to dicker or offer discounts, but it never hurt to be owed favours. "A favour for every extra man."
Author's Note:
Apologies on the wait. Hopefully the next chapter will be out in a more timely manner, but I can't make any guarantees at the moment. I've entered a time of personal/professional upheaval. I'm most likely about to move 500 miles southeast for a new job.
Next chapter is one I think you've all been waiting for. Peter will be crawling back onto the canvas...and...well. You'll see.