A Griffin among Ravens
Chapter Five: A Griffin among Ravens
"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies."
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Phineas Sayre found ministry work rather dull.
Most of the young wizard's days were spent running this errand or that errand, kissing up to his bosses, and filing all the necessary paperwork. His bosses were utterly foolish, the work rather dreary, and the overall hum and drum just utterly and loathingly predictable. But his attempts to put on a disgustingly charming persona during his summer job had worked-for whether it was his smarts or good looks, Phineas had been promoted to Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, and within only a few months, at that. Quite the achievement.
This usually meant he had the privilege of babysitting Minister Fudge's french bulldog, Patsy. But today, it meant privileged access to a highly confidential, top secret crime scene. And since Fudge was involved, this of course meant everyone already knew about it by the time Phineas arrived. While it hadn't hit the papers, it soon would, the tiny graveyard surrounded by reporters eager to sneak through the auror's barrier.
This was exactly why Sayre had been so interested in this position. Being one of the minister's assistants meant he could go wherever he wanted without people looking twice, and find out anything and everything without anyone so much as batting an eye. And for the time being, he was watching in fascination as Unspeakables readied Professor Quirrell's body for transport.
Unspeakables were never involved unless something really abnormal had happened. And "war heroes" rising from the dead while their children's kidnappers shriveled up like prunes was certainly abnormal.
"Oi! Phineas! Good to see ya mate, did you bring coffee?" Being the 'coffee and tea' guy had its advantages as well, such as being on a first-name basis with the aurors. Sayre suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead putting on a false cheer as he strode over to the auror.
"Should I have brought some firewhisky while I was at it?" He teased Williamson with a grin, pulling out a pumpkin juice flavored one and handing it to the taller man. Sayre fought the urge to sneer. He rather despised coffee, himself. It was too informal, too American, but not everyone could have proper upbringings, he supposed.
Williamson took a swig of his mug, closing his eyes as if Sayre had given him liquid ambrosia. "It'd be tempting, after the day I've had. The department ought to get this thing catered if they're going to take so long clearin' the scene."
"So it's true?" Sayre pressed, trying to seem nonchalant. "Are they here?"
Williamson took another gulp before pointing some distance away. Behind the scores of graves, a cottage stood in stark contrast to its grisly surroundings.
"Aye, Shacklebolt's got 'em sequestered away in the caretaker's home, fer now. I reckon they want to keep the Potters out of the limelight until the Unspeakables can figure out what's going on."
"What's the use?" Sayre asked, nodding towards the reporters. "It seems like the rest of the world already knows."
"That's only because Fudge's got rats in his office. No offense to you, of course. But most folks won't know until the morning news breaks."
"None taken." Sayre smiled, internally belittling the man. The ministry was full of its idiotic, unchecked beaurocracies, to be sure, but the man didn't seem to realize how hypocritical his actions were. Questioning the ministry's internal integrity while spilling his guts to the first minister's aid that gave him coffee. It was disgusting.
In the distance, a witch waved her hand at Sayre excitedly, walking over burial sites as she did so.
"Ms. Bagnold." He greeted with a slight bow, to which the witch giggled, looking in amusement between the auror and himself.
"It's Tris, silly. You're so formal, Phineas, I swear."
"That's how he made it this far so quickly. He knows how to kiss arse." Williamson murmured with a mischievous grin, taking another swig of his coffee. "And starting with Minister Bagnold's grandaughter isn't a bad idea." He wriggled his eyebrows pointedly at the young woman.
Sayre was caught off guard, which was something he couldn't say happened very often. Perhaps Williamson wasn't as big of an idiot as Sayre had thought.
Beatrice Bagnold pouted, the amused glint fading in her eyes. "Former minister." She corrected, obviously touchy about the subject. It didn't take long for the glint to return, and she chose to shove Williamson playfully. "Besides, I've worked with Phinnie longer than you, that's just the way he is."
Williamson smirked, raising an eyebrow at the ludicrous nickname. Sayre shrugged, raising his hands in the air.
"Guilty as charged. I'm a Pureblood through and through, I'm afraid. Formal to a fault." He drawled.
"Wait… I thought you were supposed to be off today?" Tris changed the subject, cocking her head to the side in confusion. She bit her lip as she eyed him, something Sayre found rather distasteful. The young witch flaunted her desires in an appallingly obvious manner. It was clear she hadn't inherited an ounce of her grandmother's political aptitude, as so far, all the ditz had managed to do was to ride on the coattails of her grandmother's career, all while claiming that she had achieved it on her own. And yet, without any namesake or connection, Phineas had gained the same title in mere months.
"I was supposed to look after my nephew today." He admitted irritably. "But he didn't show, and when I heard about all of this…..well…."
"I know, right? It's sooooo eerie. This is going down in the history books, for sure. Can you imagine it, Phineas? We'll be in history books!"
"Perhaps a footnote. But it'll still be more interesting than the goblin rebellions." He mused with a smirk. In the distance, two figures exited the cottage and headed in their direction, causing Sayre to clench his teeth. Just what he needed, more idiots to navigate through. He was growing weary of the small talk; he wanted to see the corpse before the Unspeakables hauled it away.
It appeared the two newcomers intended on doing the same, looking rather flushed as they, just as carelessly as Baggold, traipsed through the graves. Some of the lingering ghosts grumbled, unhappy with their homes being disturbed. The closer they walked, the clearer their features became. One was a young witch with rather false looking auburn hair, dressed in an auror uniform. The woman was rather haphazard as she walked, which contrasted with her befuddled companion's purposeful strides.
A Weasley, Sayre realized, smirking at the realization. The lad had that look about him. Poor, rundown clothes, long, scraggly hair. The pale face, the rosacea ridden cheeks, the red mane atop of the man's head. It all just oozed of a Weasley. He didn't even have to devise an excuse to walk over to the pair, as Williamson did it for him, Sayre following at the auror's heels.
"Oi, Tonks! The lad brought drinks, if ye want any!" The witch stopped rather suddenly, causing her acquaintance to run comically into her. The two recovered, and the witch offered an embarrassed grin.
"Oh? Got any Earl Grey?"
"Of course." Sayre defended. "As any proper wizard would."
"Do proper wizards bring doughnuts, too?" Williamson joked, but then sharpened up in shock as he took in his colleague's companion. The girl looked sheepish once again, and Sayre had the distinct impression that her Weasley companion had not been approved to be on the scene.
"So…...do you remember that idea I had?" The witch asked. Williamson's eyes were wide, indicating that he had, in fact, remembered. He let out a long whistle.
"Did you run that by Shacklebolt?"
"He's covered up with Scringemour and Fudge right now. It'll just take a few minutes, and Bill will find out tomorrow, anyways ..."
"It's your career." The older auror shrugged, taking another swig of his coffee. Sayre handed over the tea to the young woman, watching the interaction with great interest. "I won't say anything, but I won't deny it if they ask me, either." Williamson said flatly.
Weasley looked even more bewildered than before, and a bit horrified by the direction the discussion was taking.
"That's why we had to sneak through the cottage? So your boss wouldn't see I was here? Tonks, I appreciate you reaching out to me for whatever this is, I do, but if this is illegal-"
"It's not." She interrupted, eyeing the Unspeakables as if she weren't sure, herself. "And it wasn't to sneak you past Shacklebolt, it was so you wouldn't see….um….well I mean…."
"So you wouldn't see the other part of the story that's going to hit the front page tomorrow." Williamson grumbled, watching the trainee warily. Realization dawned on Weasley's face.
"So….this is about Harry Potter?"
"It's about Quirrell, to be exact." Tonks clarified. "He's dead, and I was hoping you could help identify the curse that did him in."
Weasley stared rather stupidly at the impulsive girl. If it weren't for the girl's black and yellow striped scarf, Sayre would have pegged them both right then and there as Gryffindors.
"Quirrell is dead." Weasley began, searching the group's faces for answers. "He's dead, and we're in a graveyard about to identify the curse that was used to kill him, is that right?" Tonks nodded matter of factly, as if dragging in unrelated civilians into murder scenes was an everyday occurence. Weasley sighed deeply, digging his hands in his pockets.
"Alright then, let's have at it. Mind you, I specialize in Egyptian curses, not-oh." Weasley stopped, the group finding themselves at the crime scene faster than the redhead had expected.
Quirrell was a pathetic sight, Sayre mused, examining the body as closely as the Unspeakables would allow. Half of his face was sunken in, eaten away and necrotic. Whatever had done that would be a useful curse in a duel. The back of the man's head was grotesque, and while part of it was eaten away, he could make out something almost resembling a death mask molded into the professor's shaved head. The smell was ... unpleasant, to say the least. Insects of all kinds had come to lay their claim, adding to the revulsion. Sayre found himself swatting away an indigo coloured beetle that had landed on his shoulder. Yet he wasn't alone in his morbid fascination. While Baggold shied away from the scene in disgust, Weasley drew closer, his eyes widening as he did so.
"Well blimey." The redhead uttered in disbelief. "I have seen this before. It's bloody Incan."
One of the Unspeakables startled at that, pretending not to listen. The fools, Sayre seethed. Unspeakables had a reputation for being "all knowing" and "mysterious", but the truth was that the majority were scarcely more educated than their auror counterparts. The difference mostly who had the right connections in the ministry, not necessarily any sort of intellect.
But Weasley was intelligent, if annoyingly brash. He examined Quirrell closely, turning his head at an angle to see as much as he could without touching the body. To Sayre's surprise, the Unspeakables didn't correct him, instead watching in interest. To steal the man's observations afterwards, no doubt, Sayre mused.
But Weasley was oblivious, instead enraptured in the pattern the necrotic curse had taken.
"Did this start in his hand?" The redhead asked, looking up at the female auror. She blushed, nodding.
"We think so. The only witnesses we have are ghosts." She said slowly, careful not to divulge too much information. It was silly of the girl to bother, everyone would know by morning.
"Does anyone know where the ring went, then?" Sayre asked, exasperated with the unnecessary intrigue. Williamson turned sharply, nearly dropping the coffee in his hands.
"No... and how the bloody hell did you know about that?" He asked, the others' widening their eyes. At the mention of a ring, Weasley turned his attention back to the hand, seeming pleased with himself as he identified the originally cursed finger.
"Like you said." Sayre shrugged, smirking mischievously. "Rats."
Williamson let out a string of unpleasant words at this, and Sayre once again had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the auror's lack of control. Weasley was nodding, however, standing back up.
"I was actually going to suggest an amulet, but a ring makes more sense, given how rotted the hand is." Weasley murmured, a glazed look in his eye. "Have you heard of the brothrops asper?" He asked the group, watching their reactions.
Sayre struggled to keep his composure. He had, in fact. But how had Weasley? The others were unsurprisingly clueless, and Sayre feigned ignorance, forcing the curse breaker to elaborate.
"It's a type of snake. Their venom causes this kind of reaction. Incan priests would often curse sacred garments or artefacts to affect anyone who touched them to be afflicted by it. It was a way to establish their superiority over the Incan muggles, to prove they were all powerful priests touched by the 'gods' or such rubbish. There aren't many people other than South American curse-breakers that are even familiar with it. Whoever did this knows quite a bit about ancient magic."
The Tonks girl was over the moon at his response, and even the Unspeakables had raised their eyebrows. She pressed on, disgustingly eager as she spoke.
"The Incan warlocks….or this curse, to be precise. Was it ever involved with bringing the dead back to life? Or any rituals of the kind?"
Weasley was understandably dumbfounded by this, much to Sayre's relief.
"Back to….life? No, I mean, Incans had mummies like the Egyptians, and shared similar obsessions with the afterlife, but outside of Cadmus Peverell himself, nobody's ever figured out how to do anything of the sort." He joked uneasily, uncomfortable with the group's stare.
"What about blood magic?" Tonks annoyingly pressed on. "Incans were big on sacrifices, yeah? Did they believe they could resurrect anyone by human sacrifice?"
"What? No, no, I mean, there is evidence that their priests were performing blood magic, but nothing about resurrections. Look, Egyptians are really my specialty, but both of them were focused on the afterlife, not in bringing people back from the dead. They believed that by mummifying themselves, dying alongside their servants, animals, and the like, that they were allowing themselves to live indefinitely in the afterlife. There's even a theory that the magical amulets we've been finding in their tombs actually contain a piece of the mummy's souls. So they could live on forever, so to speak."
Horcruxes. The man was speaking of horcruxes.
Damn it all to hell.
But Tonks seemed disappointed in the ginger's answer, missing the weight of the man's words. The ginger narrowed his eyes, building up the courage to say something.
"Now it's time you give me some answers, Tonks." The lad said quietly, a force to contend with. "My brother is going to be miserable if he thinks I've withheld something from him-have you found Harry? Is he….is he dead, too? You said it yourself, it's going to be in the news tomorrow, anyways."
The Tonks girl backtracked as fast as she could muster, aware of the series of eyes upon her.
"Oh no! At least, I don't think so. That's what's so puzzling about it all. He has…. there has to be someone other than Quirrell involved. Harry had all the reasons in the world to run away after Quirrell died, but he didn't, he stayed with his abductors. Or at least, that's what I think, nothing is really certain ...and I really can't say more without telling you things I'm not supposed to. You, uh, weren't exactly approved to be here."
"I got that." Weasley said dryly, a weary smile on his lips.
So the aurors knew that Harry Potter had been here, Sayre mused. After looking over the scene once more, he quickly spotted why. Portions of the ground had shielding charms protecting them, an attempt to keep evidence from being disturbed. Peering through, he could see footprints the size of a child's leading away from the scene and towards trees bordering the property.
"So...the survivors-" Sayre started pointedly, eyeing Weasley as he did so. "- what's going to happen to them?"
"After Fudge and Scringemour are done preening over them, they'll have to find a safehouse, I imagine. The problem is-" Williamson admitted, afraid to divulge too much in front of the clueless member of their party, "-the witness protection program has been non-existent for years. Hasn't been much of a need for it since the end of the War."
"I thought you said the only witnesses were ghosts?" Weasley asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Tonks smiled sheepishly.
"Yeah…. it's a long story. Listen, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this-"
"That's your way of saying that you're not going to tell me anything." Weasley snarked.
"-aaaaannnnd you're right. I mean, I would love to, I really would. Listen, if I don't get fired for this, would you mind if I talk to you about it again? You're the first person anyone's brought in that even had a clue to what this curse was. Did it have a name?"
Weasley sighed, digging his wand out of his pocket. "I'm not familiar with the incantation. In fact, I don't even know if there's a known way to break it. I'll ask around in the community, I'm sure more senior curse-breakers will know. I'll owl you, yeah?"
"Yeah. That would be brilliant, thank you, Bill. Really brilliant. Er…. are you ok to apparate, or...?"
"I won't get you in trouble by going back through the floo, if that's what you're asking." Bill teased, a strange look coming over his face. He turned to the Unspeakables, a question in his eyes. "Um….I don't… there aren't any anti-apparition wards up, did you know that? After I leave, you should probably ...someone should probably set that up. I've seen reporters do lousier things then popping in and out of crime scenes to get a scoop."
Tonks's eyes grew impossibly wide, and Sayre found himself reluctantly commending the pureblood for his common sense. Sayre smirked as the Unspeakables straightened, once again pretending not to overhear as they took in the lad's words.
"I will. And thanks so much, Bill, you're great. You're really great."
"Don't mention it. Nice to meet everyone. Good day."
With a few words and a pop, the redhead was gone, leaving Sayre alone with the idiots. Amusingly, he felt wards go up soon after, the spells still fresh from the Unspeakables' lips. It was the only words they had even spoken since Sayre had arrived.
Things soon returned to normal after that. Tonks was practically bouncing with each step, which was a rather dangerous thing for the young witch, but had the sense to withhold her discovery from Shacklebolt until he was free of Scringemour and Fudge. Tris continued her flirting and Williamson unashamedly took a second coffee. Sayre made himself useful, restraining a sneer and instead plastering a charismatic grin on his face as he went from person to person.
The aurors didn't even prevent the young assistant from offering tea to the Potters, something Sayre thought utterly foolish. With a quick charm or even a bit of arsenic, the Potters would have returned to their graves instead of merely offering him weary words of gratitude.
The house-elf was staring at him as he offered up tea. She was staring at all of them, waiting for the moment to sweep underfoot and clean something, but she seemed focused on him, and was almost...terrified. House-elves had never liked him, he mused. It was as if they recognized the true potential of the magic underneath his facade. They were stupid creatures, but they did astoundingly different sense over their magics than humans. But Sayre didn't care. Nobody listened to elves, and it wasn't like she had anything of import to report about him, besides.
He listened to Fudge puff up his chest and Scringemour follow along like the lost puppy he was, stuck between the role of an auror and a politician. In the end, they idiotically came to the very conclusion Sayre thought they would, to let the Potters stay with friends for the time being. Not a safehouse, not even bloody Hogwarts. Friends. The Potters seemed relieved to find a place to stay, any place to stay, which was to be expected after having been awake since whatever godforsaken hour they had been resurrected. They had appeared disgustingly weak as well, shaky in their movements. It made Sayre wonder how either one of them had ever presented a threat against the Dark Lord.
In the end, Sayre had made his presence known, the minister was appreciative of his attentiveness, the Potters had flooed off to whatever designated spot they had been stuck in, and the Unspeakables had hauled what was left of Quirrell away. The graveyard's undertaker had seemed particularly amused by this, as corpses usually made their way to the cemetery, not the other way around. Sayre enjoyed the irony, himself.
Being somewhat invisible had its advantages. He managed to stay at the scene long after the Unspeakables and aurors had departed, when the moon was high and the crickets chirping. Even the reporters had scurried off, no doubt hurriedly writing the morning's headlines. The ghosts seemed to accept his presence begrudgingly, sleepy from the most activity they had experienced in years. After a while, they didn't even seem to notice he was there. Which is exactly what the young minister's assistant intended.
Nobody noticed Phineas Sayre unless they were looking for their tea or coffee, and Phineas was perfectly content with this. Because that meant nobody was noticing him now.
The Unspeakables' wards and enchantments had dispelled hours ago, leaving the Potter boy's footprints barely visible in the mud. An oak tree as old as the graveyard itself was waiting at the end of the muddy footsteps, its branches bare save for a few nesting crows. Sayre leaned against the tree's trunk, smirking.
"You know, I imagine whatever great wizard was powerful enough to raise people from the dead, could also undo such a tedious mercy." He snarled, looking up into the swaying leaves. A branch creaked slightly, betraying its occupant. Sayre rolled his eyes.
"You were supposed to meet me at the bus stop." He accused stonily to the air, shaking his head in disgust.
The tree itself seemed to pause, but the ravens cawed, flying away as a thud sounded at Sayre's feet. Sayre glared at the sight, unimpressed. A detached head appeared suddenly on the ground, a pained grimace on its face. Dark feathers fell and soon the boy's entire body was revealed, along with the invisibility cloak he carried.
"I just wanted to see them." The boy whispered, his eyes downcast. "Just to make sure they were ok."
"And in doing so, disobeyed the Dark Lord's orders..." Sayre glared, watching the boy closely. A ring was clasped tightly in the boy's hand, its dark stone barely visible in the shadows. "You could have been seen."
"But I wasn't." The boy replied hotly, finally meeting his counterpart's gaze. Ever the Gryffindor, he was still prideful, something the Dark Lord hadn't yet broken. Still, Sayre was unimpressed. This was the Boy-Who-Lived? The Dark Lord's own Waterloo?
The boy had the gall to eye the older wizard up.
"Voldem-" The boy paused, correcting himself, "I mean the Dark Lord. He...he told me to meet a 'Tom Riddle'...but those aurors called you 'Phineas'." He murmured, accusation in his eyes. Sayre smirked at this.
"If you were raised properly, you would recognize the importance behind names. Phineas might sound silly to a mudblood, but it means the mouth of a snake. I thought it rather appropriate."
Pulling out his wand, Sayre muttered a spell. His glamours dispelled, changing his appearance in the moonlight. His chin was more defined, his hair darkened and his nose sharper. Despite this, he still cut an attractive appearance, he knew. He had made sure to keep the alterations small, as to not draw attention from more seasoned wizards, but just enough to prevent recognition among senior death eaters. He was no longer Phineas Sayre, the up and coming ministry boy, but instead the name he had longed to put behind him.
"I am Tom Riddle, you fool. And unless we want to threaten your parents over each annoying rebellion of yours, it's time you made that unbreakable vow."
The boy shrunk back, looking up at the transformed Riddle in disbelief. Tom grinned snidely.
"Happy birthday, Harry Potter.