Discovering You
A Storm Brewing
Malik Grimstone strode purposefully through the grey corridor, his dark green robes billowing out behind him, the musty air pushing them out so they waved impressively in the wind. What little light there was in the corridor came from small torches that burned with blue flames, the fire casting little specks of light onto Grimstone’s shining, bald head.
Grimstone turned a corner, his feet tapping loudly on the floor and glanced once at his watch. His greying eyebrows twitched; a slight crease appeared between them before he raised his head again, his sculpted mouth twisting in a small smile beneath his wiry black beard as a woman came forward to greet him.
She was middle aged, shown by the lines that had appeared around her mouth and forehead and eyes, and the grey hairs that nestled in her brown hair. She too, was wearing robes. They looked grand from a distance, soft purple velvet with silver embroidery around the sleeves and neckline, but as she drew nearer to Grimstone he could see that the stitching was unravelling, and the colour was fading, the velvet rubbed away. She nodded to him.
“Malik.”
“Melinda.”
He returned the greeting impassively.
“Well?”
She did not reply, drawing herself up with a practised haughtiness, as if she was a schoolgirl copying an idol.
“I believe I was meant to speak to Bellatrix, also.”
“Bellatrix is not here,” and although Malik’s voice was calm, inside he was bristling with anger. Bellatrix had made things very difficult in the past few weeks. Such was her rage that the Dark Lord had gone that she seemed almost mad at first; it had been very hard to persuade her that she would not be able to reach Harry Potter, that she would certainly be caught if she tried, the security surrounding him was so great. And Bellatrix seemed to have no further goal that this, had not shown much interest in the plan he and other, faithful Death Eaters were concocting, had been concocting for months now…
“Mrs Lestrange does not care for planning,” Grimstone said with displeasure. “She has engaged herself in other ways. Muggle-hunting, most particularly.”
Melinda nodded slowly. She had read about it all in the papers, she must of. But the press was slow, a low profile for a few weeks meant people were forgotten about…the last time they had mentioned his name had been two months ago.
“Bellatrix’s absence is of little consequence,” continued Grimstone. “Unless, of course, you do not wish to report your progress to me?”
Melinda laughed. “Of course not. No, all I have to report is good news. Very good news, in fact. Everything is going perfectly.”
“The girl suspects nothing?”
“No, no, of course not. She has no idea!”
This was surprising, Grimstone had been sure that the girl would figure it out, suspect something wrong with what she was doing. It had all been too easy, too simple.
“Besides,” said Melinda, tossing her hair back and leaning against the cold, dank walls. “She should be finished soon. Very soon, in fact. It is almost complete.”
Grimstone smiled, baring his yellowed teeth. Perfect. Everything was perfect.
“Thank you, Mrs Leroy,” he said. “You have done well.”
*
Debbie forced herself to sit calmly, to drink her tea, to smile at John and nod encouragingly at Sturgis, when all she really wanted to do was to beat her head against Mrs Weasley’s mahogany coffee table, around which a meeting of the Order was being held.
“Don’t you see what’s happening?” she growled. “They have a plan! Can’t you understand? They know about the founders and the power they had! They’re not dumb. They can put two and two together and it only makes sense for the Death Eaters to try and get Cass.”
There was an outbreak of muttering all round the room – everyone was shaking their heads or rolling their eyes apart from a few people who sat near to Debbie.
“It seems very unlikely,” muttered an old warlock who sat shaking in the corner.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” snapped Debbie, glowering at him. “We have been through this a thousand times! They will find her and capture her and torture her! And you will just sit back and let it happen?”
“I really don’t think-“
“Shut up!”
John placed a calming hand on her arm. Debbie sank back in her seat, glaring at the quaking man, gulping her tea angrily.
“Snape?” asked Kingsley. As Dumbledore was not here, he had taken charge of the meeting. “What do you think?”
Snape turned his black eyes onto Debbie. “As unlikely as it may seem, I think Mrs McGibbon does have a point-“
“Thank you!”
“-however,” said Snape, talking over Debbie as if he had not heard a thing, “I would suggest that we should try and find out a little more. My favour among the Death Eaters has somewhat decreased since the death of his Dark Lord – they do not trust me, but I know enough that they have a plan that does involve the founders in some way. If this is true, then I would suggest giving Miss James every protection imaginable. They will not stop at anything to get hold of her. They believe she has some power. I would not know – she has never shown any particularly wonderful trait in any of my classes.”
If Debbie had heard Snape insult Cassandra under different circumstances she would have insulted him or shot a Bat Bogey Hex at him, but she was so relived he was agreeing with her she felt more inclined to kiss him.
People were agreeing with Debbie’s thoughts about the Death Eaters, agreeing to protect Cassandra. Kingsley was nodding, Remus made a little mutter of agreement and Mr and Mrs Weasley looked grim as they too, voiced their agreement. Debbie could have sung. All this worry about Cassandra, dreams and visions of her being carried off, screaming, by cloaked black figures…or worse, her hanging, limp and lifeless, blood trickling down her neck as Death Eaters carried her away…thank God the Order was agreeing with her. Thank God they would protect her.
“How do you know so much about the Death Eaters?” said a spotty youth in the corner.
Debbie sneered. “I don’t. I’m just intelligent enough to have an idea of their plans – unlike you.”
“You were one of them, though,” another person called out. “You were a Death Eater.”
They were talking to John, John or Sturgis, one of the two, and Debbie could have cried. How unfair, how horrible, to feel outcast because of the Imperius Curse, how horrible for people to think that they hadn’t been Imperiused, that they had joined the Death Eaters out of their own want.
“I wasn’t,” said John in his calming Scottish accent. “I wasn’t, and never shall be a Death Eater. I was Imperiused.”
“How do we know?” spoke the youth again. “Aren’t you just spying for them on us? Perhaps you’re in on this plan, that’s why you know about it.”
“If I was, why would I be telling you?”
“Because your daughter has nothing to do with it at all, because she’s a ploy and you have a much bigger plan for her.”
“Why would I be plotting something to hurt Cassandra?”
“Because you’re a Death Eater, that’s why!”
The room went very quiet. There was only the ticking of the clock, the slight swish of water as the dishes washed themselves, the sound of the icy wind in the trees. The room was full of statues. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
Debbie was full of hot, thick, bright and burning anger. It rose up inside her and choked her. Her hands curled into shaking fists and her face flushed red.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Most of the room was glaring at her. Glaring at her and John. Because they thought he was a Death Eater. Because they thought they both were Death Eaters. Because they didn’t trust them.
Debbie did not see Kingsley’s head shaking, did not catch Remus’s comforting glance, missed Tonks’s huff of indignant breath and stood up before Mr Weasley could voice his complaint.
“Fine.”
They looked at her, taunting her, hating her. They had hated her for months. Believed she was a spy for months.
She took a hesitant step towards the door. “Fine.”
“Debs, c’mon, they don’t mean it…” Tonks trailed off uncertainly.
“Come on, John. Sturgis,” said Debbie, walking towards the door. She would not let them see how they had hurt her. “We’ll go. We’ll go. I can see now.”
They followed her uncertainly, and she could see the hurt she felt mirrored in their eyes.
“I quit,” she said. “I quit the Order.”
They would protect Cass themselves, fight by themselves, because if this was what the Order was now, she did not want to belong.
“But,” Debbie said as she was halfway out the door. “What would you have done if Dumbledore had been here?”
And with that, she left the Order of the Phoenix.
Grimstone turned a corner, his feet tapping loudly on the floor and glanced once at his watch. His greying eyebrows twitched; a slight crease appeared between them before he raised his head again, his sculpted mouth twisting in a small smile beneath his wiry black beard as a woman came forward to greet him.
She was middle aged, shown by the lines that had appeared around her mouth and forehead and eyes, and the grey hairs that nestled in her brown hair. She too, was wearing robes. They looked grand from a distance, soft purple velvet with silver embroidery around the sleeves and neckline, but as she drew nearer to Grimstone he could see that the stitching was unravelling, and the colour was fading, the velvet rubbed away. She nodded to him.
“Malik.”
“Melinda.”
He returned the greeting impassively.
“Well?”
She did not reply, drawing herself up with a practised haughtiness, as if she was a schoolgirl copying an idol.
“I believe I was meant to speak to Bellatrix, also.”
“Bellatrix is not here,” and although Malik’s voice was calm, inside he was bristling with anger. Bellatrix had made things very difficult in the past few weeks. Such was her rage that the Dark Lord had gone that she seemed almost mad at first; it had been very hard to persuade her that she would not be able to reach Harry Potter, that she would certainly be caught if she tried, the security surrounding him was so great. And Bellatrix seemed to have no further goal that this, had not shown much interest in the plan he and other, faithful Death Eaters were concocting, had been concocting for months now…
“Mrs Lestrange does not care for planning,” Grimstone said with displeasure. “She has engaged herself in other ways. Muggle-hunting, most particularly.”
Melinda nodded slowly. She had read about it all in the papers, she must of. But the press was slow, a low profile for a few weeks meant people were forgotten about…the last time they had mentioned his name had been two months ago.
“Bellatrix’s absence is of little consequence,” continued Grimstone. “Unless, of course, you do not wish to report your progress to me?”
Melinda laughed. “Of course not. No, all I have to report is good news. Very good news, in fact. Everything is going perfectly.”
“The girl suspects nothing?”
“No, no, of course not. She has no idea!”
This was surprising, Grimstone had been sure that the girl would figure it out, suspect something wrong with what she was doing. It had all been too easy, too simple.
“Besides,” said Melinda, tossing her hair back and leaning against the cold, dank walls. “She should be finished soon. Very soon, in fact. It is almost complete.”
Grimstone smiled, baring his yellowed teeth. Perfect. Everything was perfect.
“Thank you, Mrs Leroy,” he said. “You have done well.”
*
Debbie forced herself to sit calmly, to drink her tea, to smile at John and nod encouragingly at Sturgis, when all she really wanted to do was to beat her head against Mrs Weasley’s mahogany coffee table, around which a meeting of the Order was being held.
“Don’t you see what’s happening?” she growled. “They have a plan! Can’t you understand? They know about the founders and the power they had! They’re not dumb. They can put two and two together and it only makes sense for the Death Eaters to try and get Cass.”
There was an outbreak of muttering all round the room – everyone was shaking their heads or rolling their eyes apart from a few people who sat near to Debbie.
“It seems very unlikely,” muttered an old warlock who sat shaking in the corner.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” snapped Debbie, glowering at him. “We have been through this a thousand times! They will find her and capture her and torture her! And you will just sit back and let it happen?”
“I really don’t think-“
“Shut up!”
John placed a calming hand on her arm. Debbie sank back in her seat, glaring at the quaking man, gulping her tea angrily.
“Snape?” asked Kingsley. As Dumbledore was not here, he had taken charge of the meeting. “What do you think?”
Snape turned his black eyes onto Debbie. “As unlikely as it may seem, I think Mrs McGibbon does have a point-“
“Thank you!”
“-however,” said Snape, talking over Debbie as if he had not heard a thing, “I would suggest that we should try and find out a little more. My favour among the Death Eaters has somewhat decreased since the death of his Dark Lord – they do not trust me, but I know enough that they have a plan that does involve the founders in some way. If this is true, then I would suggest giving Miss James every protection imaginable. They will not stop at anything to get hold of her. They believe she has some power. I would not know – she has never shown any particularly wonderful trait in any of my classes.”
If Debbie had heard Snape insult Cassandra under different circumstances she would have insulted him or shot a Bat Bogey Hex at him, but she was so relived he was agreeing with her she felt more inclined to kiss him.
People were agreeing with Debbie’s thoughts about the Death Eaters, agreeing to protect Cassandra. Kingsley was nodding, Remus made a little mutter of agreement and Mr and Mrs Weasley looked grim as they too, voiced their agreement. Debbie could have sung. All this worry about Cassandra, dreams and visions of her being carried off, screaming, by cloaked black figures…or worse, her hanging, limp and lifeless, blood trickling down her neck as Death Eaters carried her away…thank God the Order was agreeing with her. Thank God they would protect her.
“How do you know so much about the Death Eaters?” said a spotty youth in the corner.
Debbie sneered. “I don’t. I’m just intelligent enough to have an idea of their plans – unlike you.”
“You were one of them, though,” another person called out. “You were a Death Eater.”
They were talking to John, John or Sturgis, one of the two, and Debbie could have cried. How unfair, how horrible, to feel outcast because of the Imperius Curse, how horrible for people to think that they hadn’t been Imperiused, that they had joined the Death Eaters out of their own want.
“I wasn’t,” said John in his calming Scottish accent. “I wasn’t, and never shall be a Death Eater. I was Imperiused.”
“How do we know?” spoke the youth again. “Aren’t you just spying for them on us? Perhaps you’re in on this plan, that’s why you know about it.”
“If I was, why would I be telling you?”
“Because your daughter has nothing to do with it at all, because she’s a ploy and you have a much bigger plan for her.”
“Why would I be plotting something to hurt Cassandra?”
“Because you’re a Death Eater, that’s why!”
The room went very quiet. There was only the ticking of the clock, the slight swish of water as the dishes washed themselves, the sound of the icy wind in the trees. The room was full of statues. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
Debbie was full of hot, thick, bright and burning anger. It rose up inside her and choked her. Her hands curled into shaking fists and her face flushed red.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Most of the room was glaring at her. Glaring at her and John. Because they thought he was a Death Eater. Because they thought they both were Death Eaters. Because they didn’t trust them.
Debbie did not see Kingsley’s head shaking, did not catch Remus’s comforting glance, missed Tonks’s huff of indignant breath and stood up before Mr Weasley could voice his complaint.
“Fine.”
They looked at her, taunting her, hating her. They had hated her for months. Believed she was a spy for months.
She took a hesitant step towards the door. “Fine.”
“Debs, c’mon, they don’t mean it…” Tonks trailed off uncertainly.
“Come on, John. Sturgis,” said Debbie, walking towards the door. She would not let them see how they had hurt her. “We’ll go. We’ll go. I can see now.”
They followed her uncertainly, and she could see the hurt she felt mirrored in their eyes.
“I quit,” she said. “I quit the Order.”
They would protect Cass themselves, fight by themselves, because if this was what the Order was now, she did not want to belong.
“But,” Debbie said as she was halfway out the door. “What would you have done if Dumbledore had been here?”
And with that, she left the Order of the Phoenix.