Chapter 6
It was raining hard in Glasgow. Water came blowing in every time someone opened the café door, soaking anyone who had made the mistake of sitting near it. The back of Catriona’s neck was wet. She was half-tempted to snatch the laminated menu Valerie Abbott was immersed in across the table and use it as an umbrella, but she couldn’t imagine doing so would go over particularly well, diplomatically-speaking. Especially given the way Henry Bones was glaring.
“Do you mean to tell us,” he was saying slowly and carefully. “That you had them in your sights. That against all odds, you just happened across them in the middle of one of the country’s biggest, busiest cities. That you were literally twenty feet away from them. And you still. Let them. Get. Away.”
“There is absolutely no need for that tone,” Ursula huffed, while Catriona gulped down some terrible coffee and avoided eye contact. “They are very fast. And very, very good at disillusionment charms. Besides, I’d like to see you try and sprint through a very busy train station in boots with heels the size of your own neck.”
“Well then maybe next time don’t try and get all clever with the disguises,” Henry whisper-screamed.
Ursula raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And how much progress have you been making, sweater vest?”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Henry said, crossing his arms self-consciously over his questionable choice of attire. “I refuse to believe there’s any significant correlation between clothes and the ability to track down fugitives.”
“All the evidence suggests otherwise,” Ursula retorted. “Seeing as we’re the only ones who have come even slightly close to cornering them so far.”
Catriona nodded in agreement. “Dumbledore said it himself, if we want to get near them we have to think like them – all their leather clothes and angry music and living in buildings owned by other people-”
“I mean,” Valerie said suddenly, emerging from her menu. “You’ve got a point, you have. But what were they wearing when you caught up to them?”
Catriona frowned at that. “Why?”
“Just. Were they dressed in a way that would blend in with these… pinks you’re emulating, or are they playing us at our own game and trying to blend in with different muggle subcultures than the ones we’re expecting them to?”
Ursula stared at her. “You may have a point there,” she admitted. “Just slightly.
Valerie hummed noncommittally and went back to her menu.
Henry drank some of his own coffee and grimaced at the taste. “So what now?”
“Well, they’re still in the north as far as we can tell,” Ursula said. “They definitely know we’re tracing them – they’d already gotten off the train by the time we caught up with it, and there was no sign of them in any of the stations when we went back and searched. They’re probably working on a way to block the tracking spells as we speak.”
Henry rubbed his hands over his face a few times. “Okay. We’ll just have to hope that travelling around aimlessly with a toddler somehow makes for slow spellwork. Unless they dump the child somewhere and vanish altogether,” he added darkly.
“They won’t,” Catriona said suddenly.
The rest of them looked at her. She glanced over at Ursula.
“You saw them outside the station as well,” she said. “You saw the boy. He was healthy. Laughing. They’re looking after him. I think they might actually care about him, in spite of everything.”
Ursula looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. They didn’t even try to apparate with him. They’re only using modes of transport that are safe for the baby. In my experience, that’s not common practice for kidnappers, let alone Death Eaters.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Henry argued. “Travelling with a child is conspicuous enough without it being a child that’s been splinched in half – of course they’re not risking apparition. Just because they’re not complete morons doesn’t mean they’re not evil.”
Ursula pursed her lips doubtfully, but she nodded anyway. “That’s fair,” she said. “I suppose we’ll find out in time.”
Henry sighed and drained the last of his coffee with a shudder. “Ugh. So that’s all you have to report?”
“So far.”
“Fine. I’ll relay it to Dumbledore.”
“Thank you. Any news from him and McGonagall, while we’re here?”
“Yes, actually. There’s still no sign of Pettigrew, but they’ve managed to track down an ex-informant of his in Knocturn Alley. They’ve taken him into custody – he’s refusing to talk without proper incentive, but they’re almost sure he knows something. They’re working on getting hold of some veritaserum. In the meantime, if Pettigrew is alive he may still be trying to make contact with the fugitives, so keep an eye out.”
“We will,” Ursula said, standing. “We should get going. It was nice seeing you, Henry. And you, Valerie.”
The rest of them also stood. Valerie put her menu down at last while the others were exchanging handshakes, gave them an absent smile and wandered over to the counter, murmuring something about wanting egg on toast.
Ursula and Catriona left Henry with a long-suffering look on his face and ducked out the door back into the rain, pulling their jackets over their heads as they went.
The Burrow was somehow even more chaotic than usual, and Molly was getting a little tired.
She had three injured Order members in her living room, being tended to by an increasingly irritated Madam Pomfrey and being inundated with an endless stream of questions from Percy. Hagrid, mostly recovered from his assault but not quite steady enough to travel, was taking up most of her kitchen, making endless pots of tea and getting pestered by Charlie for stories about dragons. Bill was on his fourth sulk of the day about wanting to be out of the house and off at Hogwarts already, and had been sent to his room to calm down (instead, he was playing Gideon’s old Unhappy Giants albums on repeat with the volume turned up as high as it would go).
Fred and George had also been sent upstairs in disgrace after they’d been found trying to bury Ron in the garden, explaining that they were trying to send him home to the other gnomes. Ron himself had fallen asleep in one of Hagrid’s shoes, having tired himself out when he succeeded in tipping Bill’s entire gobstone collection down the stairs. Only Ginny was behaving – Molly assumed that this was only down to the fact that she was still too small to sit up on her own.
Arthur wouldn’t be home from work for another hour, and there was still the dinner to be made and the laundry to be brought in. Molly sat down heavily at the kitchen table and rubbed her eyes tiredly. A few of her brood went thundering past and disappeared out the back door.
“Everythin’ alright, Molly?” Hagrid asked hesitantly, lurking next to the kettle with a mug in each hand. “Made yer a cuppa.”
“Thank you, Hagrid,” Molly sighed, accepting the proffered mug and slumping back in her chair to take a sip. “Any chance you know what my children are up to out there?”
“They said summat about feedin’ the chickens,” Hagrid said. “Not sure what they wanted to feed ‘em with, though – I think Fred might’ve had some Every-Flavour Beans. You want me to go an’ put a stop to it?”
She glanced at him, surprised. “I – yes, thank you,” she said. “I’m just going to start on dinner.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you could get that laundry down off the line as well. Ask Charlie to help, he’s tall enough. And tell Fred and George to count the pegs once you’re finished, that should keep them occupied for a while.”
“Right you are,” Hagrid nodded, looking pleased that he had something to do. He glanced out of the window and squinted at something. “Ah – should Percy have hold of a live rat out there?”
“Oh, that’s just Scabbers,” Molly dismissed, hauling herself up and summoning the chopping board from across the room. “They fed it the other day and now it keeps coming back. I think Percy’s trying to train it. It’s fine as long as he washes off with the hose before he comes back inside.”
Hagrid nodded and squeezed himself outside.
He only took a few chips off the doorframe this time. Molly decided to consider this progress.
The Death Eater tied to Emmeline Vance’s table struggled uselessly, shouting muffled curses against the gag in his mouth.
Harriet glared at him. “Look,” she said. “You’re not achieving anything here. You’re just wasting your energy and annoying us. Kindly shut up.”
“Did you have to bring him here?” Emmeline asked, bustling into the kitchen and dumping a rolled-up cloth onto the butcher’s block. Something inside it clinked ominously. “This hardly seems like the most practical option.”
“Sorry,” Harriet said, not sounding particularly apologetic. “It all happened very fast, we couldn’t think of what else to do. How’s that water coming, Eleanor?”
“Still cold,” Eleanor said from over by the stove, where she’d been instructed to put a large pot on to boil. “Are they the tools, Emmeline?”
“Most of them. I’m afraid some of them are rather rusty from being in storage, my attic has a spot of damp.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Harriet assured them. “I’m sure they’ll still be very helpful.”
The Death Eater had stopped trying to pull himself free and was starting to look panicked, his eyes darting around anxiously.
“Which one’s this, then?” Emmeline asked, folding her arms and leaning over to inspect him with an expression like she was smelling something unpleasant.
“Evgeni Rosier, according to the posters. Caught him trying to follow us out of Birmingham, thought he might be in a sharing mood.”
“Well you came to the right place for that, at least,” Emmeline said graciously. She unrolled the cloth in one swift motion and picked up one of the instruments inside it, holding it up so the light glinted off the numerous short, sharp-looking prongs.
“Bloody hell,” Eleanor said, staring.
Harriet shot her a smile. “Family heirlooms – our grandfather worked for the muggle secret service in his youth. He went a little – ah, rogue, and forgot to return a few things when he was court-martialled.”
Emmeline slid the butcher’s block closer to the table. “We’ve found them to be particularly handy when it comes to negotiating with people who have almost certainly undergone counter-interrogation training against, say, the cruciatus curse, but are unlikely to have even considered that there might be other methods of… persuasion.”
Evgeni Rosier was starting to hyperventilate, staring sideways at the tool in Emmeline’s hand. He started babbling frantically through the gag.
“I’m sorry, we can’t quite understand you,” Harriet said, moving to stand over him. “Could you repeat yourself?”
Rosier shouted something else. His face was turning purple.
Emmeline and Harriet exchanged a look.
“Listen, Evgeni,” Harriet said. “I’m going to take off that gag so we can have a proper chat. But I’m going to have to ask you to keep yourself quiet when I do – I’d hate for Emmeline to have to get her tools dirty. Understand?”
Emmeline had picked up another implement. This one was long and thin, with an alarmingly sharp-looking point.
Rosier glanced between them with wide, terrified eyes, and nodded hastily.
Harriet removed the gag and immediately put it back when Rosier started to shout for help.
“Now, Evgeni, what did we just agree on?”
Evgeni stilled as Emmeline touched the point of the instrument to the skin just below his ear. He went quiet, taking deep breaths in through his nose.
“Better,” Harriet smiled, removing the gag again. “First off – would I be right in assuming that you’re the brother of Druella Black, née Rosier? Uncle to Bellatrix Lestrange?”
Rosier scowled, but made a noise that worked as an affirmative.
“And would I be right in assuming that the Lestranges are where your current loyalties lie?”
Another grunt.
“Capital. Now – why were you following us, exactly?”
Rosier hesitated.
Emmeline put just a little pressure on the spike.
“Okay!” Rosier yelped. “Intel from London – they’re saying you lot are tailing Sirius Black, we, we thought following you would be our best chance at finding her!”
The Vances paused, and exchanged a glance with Eleanor, who walked forward.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, frowning. “Has she not already been in contact with you?”
“What? No, of course not,” Rosier said, his face creasing with confusion.
The three women shared another look. Emmeline shrugged. Eleanor and Harriet nodded.
Emmeline twisted the spike, letting it break the skin slightly, causing Rosier to shout in alarm and try to jerk his head away.
“Merlin would you stop that? I’ll answer your questions I swear, just-”
“What to the Death Eaters want with Black?” Harriet demanded.
“To kill her, obviously! Kill her and take the child, the Potter scum who murdered our Dark Lord! We know she has him!”
They all froze at that.
“Why would you need to kill her to get your hands on the boy?” Eleanor asked suspiciously. “She’s already working for you.”
“If she was it’d be news to me,” Rosier wheezed, eyes straining sideways as if to make sure Emmeline wasn’t planning anything else with the spike. “All I know is she’s protecting the child from us, keeping him hidden. None of the tracking spells we’ve cast will hold, every time I try to follow a trace I end up apparating in the opposite direction!”
Emmeline narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re telling the truth?” she pressed, running her free hand over the instruments lined up on the butcher’s block, making the clink meaningfully. “I’d so hate to make a mess of my kitchen floor, I only cleaned it yesterday-”
“I promise I’m not lying!” Rosier half-screamed, leaning his head as far away from her as he could reach. “Please, I swear!”
Over on the stove, the pot of water started to boil, the lid clattering noisily. Emmeline looked up.
“Oh, good,” she said, pleased. “That should come in useful. Harriet, be a dear and hand me that cleaver from the draining board?”
Rosier’s gaze whipped over to the stove, and then to the meat cleaver Harriet was picking up. “Listen,” he said desperately. “I don’t know what you think you know about Black – she might be working with us, I don’t know! We don’t get told everything! All I know is my orders are to find her, kill her and take the boy to the Lestrange mansion, please don’t use that!”
Emmeline moved to the end of the table and briefly ducked out of his line of sight. Rosier fought against his restraints, trying to see what she was doing, and jumped horribly when he felt her hand on his lower leg.
“Oh Merlin, please don’t chop off my leg, please! I swear, I’m telling the-”
Emmeline raised the cleaver.
Rosier passed out. His head hit the table with a thud.
Emmeline nodded, satisfied. “In my experience, if they’re scared enough to faint, they’ve usually left the ability to lie convincingly far behind,” she informed the other two.
Eleanor looked a little unnerved. “You weren’t really going to chop off his leg, were you?”
Emmeline smiled slightly and held up what she’d grabbed from underneath the table – a joint of beef, still on the bone. “If he hadn’t fainted, I would have brought the cleaver down on this. The sound of it would have scared the last of the resistance out of him before he realised he hadn’t actually felt anything.”
“That is… well thought out,” Eleanor said.
“They don’t always fold as easily as this one,” Harriet shrugged. “Sometimes they need a little extra nudge.”
“And the water?”
“Adds a little time pressure,” Emmeline explained. “Plus, I quite fancy some boiled potatoes with my dinner.”
Eleanor started to smile. “Have you ever had to actually torture someone?”
“Not once,” Emmeline said proudly. She held up the spike. “I’ll tell you, it’s a good thing Death Eaters reject so many aspects of muggle culture. I don’t think this would work nearly so well if any of them realised that this was just a meat thermometer.”
“Also a good thing that so many muggle kitchen implements look like torture devices in the right lighting,” Harriet added. “I’m going to go contact the aurors. They can take care of the Rosier.”
“Make sure it’s Moody who comes for him,” Eleanor told her. “He’s got a direct line to Dumbledore and the rest of them – I’m sure they’ll all be very interested in what our friend Evgeni has to say.”
"Damn it,” Sirius said again as the spell fizzled uselessly at the end of her wand.
Harry giggled delightedly at the faint silver sparks, trying to reach out and grab them. Remus gently guided him back to where she was holding him with a quiet “stay still, kiddo.”
Sirius raked her hair away from her face, looking tired. “I don’t understand why it’s still not working.”
“Maybe you’re trying to do too much with one incantation,” Remus suggested. “What if you broke it down into steps?”
Sirius eyed her notes contemplatively. “Yeah, maybe. Build the shield first, regulate the pressure, direct it to cover him-”
“Then add the thermal layer once it’s in place,” Remus finished.
The room was quiet for a long moment while Sirius made a few adjustments in her notebook, occasionally testing something out loud. After a while, she nodded. “Yeah, that should work. Okay, so if-”
She was cut off by a knock at the door and a jovial call of “Housekeeping!”
Sirius quickly shoved her wand and book out of sight. “That’s the third time this morning,” she said under her breath, irritated.
The guesthouse they’d found was warm, cheap and secluded, but near a village with a train station, which made it ideal. However, it was run by a woman who seemed to have a tendency to get a little over-invested in her tenant’s daily routines, which was… less than ideal.
“Probably making sure we’re not up to any weird shit, hanging out in the room all day,” Remus muttered, getting up to answer the door. “Best just answer or she’ll never leave.”
Their host was already trying to peer into the room when Remus whisked the door open. She straightened up hurriedly with a cheery smile on her face, and held out a stack of towels with some kid’s books balanced on top.
“Thought you girls might like a few extra towels,” she said brightly. “And I had a hunt around, came up with a few books for the little lad – he must be getting fussy, cooped up in this room all day!”
As if on cue, Harry laughed loudly in the background at something Sirius was doing.
Remus smiled at the woman. “He’s been fine so far,” she said. “But thanks for the books anyway, that’s very nice of you.”
“Yes, well.” The woman handed over the pile, her grin starting to look a little fixed. “I do hope you find the time to have a look around the village, and there’s wonderful countryside around here-”
“We’ll definitely be having a look around, don’t you worry,” Remus assured her, layering on enough fake cheerfulness that Sirius had to turn an amused snort into a minor coughing fit. “We’re actually all heading out for a while later on.”
“Right! Jolly good!” the woman chirped. “Don’t forget to give Helen at reception your breakfast requests for the morning!”
“Thanks for the books and towels!” Remus called after her, before kicking the door shut and going back over to the bed where the other two were sat, letting the stack in her arms drop along with her fake smile.
“Think you might be going a little overboard with trying to compensate for your lack of social skills,” Sirius said, semi-jokingly.
Remus raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t respond to the attempt at banter. Instead, she gave Harry one of the books to look at, helping him open the front cover and smiling slightly when he started looking at the pictures with interest.
Sirius had gotten out her notebook again, but wasn’t writing anything. “Hey,” she said. “When you said we’re all going out later – you didn’t mean all three of us are going to get the brooms, did you?”
Remus shrugged, not looking up. “I don’t know,” she said. “Kind of figured we would be. We can just use disillusionments again, right?”
Sirius was frowning. “Right,” she said. “But – why bother? It’d be quicker if just one of us goes. Easier as well. The other one can stay here with Harry.”
“Seems safer if we all stay together,” Remus said.
“Yeah, if we’re out in the open. But we’re safe enough here - we’ve got the room warded, we’ve covered our tracks and we’re blocking the tracers. You know where you’re going better than I do, you could get the brooms and I could stay here to work on the spell so we’re ready to fly.”
Remus didn’t say anything, just turned a page in Harry’s book.
Sirius sighed, hard. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Remus said. “I just don’t think we should split up.”
There was a heavy silence while Sirius watched Remus determinedly avoid eye contact.
“You still don’t trust me,” she said at last. “After all this, you still don’t trust me enough to leave me alone with Harry. That’s why you haven’t been sleeping properly.”
“Neither of us have been sleeping properly,” Remus said. “We’ve hardly stopped in days.”
“You know what I mean,” Sirius said, her voice getting harder, angrier. “The hostel in Manchester. You wouldn’t even close your eyes on the train, not to mention – I woke up last night, I heard you pacing, I thought you were just getting Harry to settle-”
Remus stood up abruptly, her face stony and closed over. “Get a grip, Sirius,” she said harshly. “Of course I don’t trust you."
Sirius’ nostrils flared. She got up as well, leaving Harry to flip through the cardboard pages of his book, oblivious. “You don’t, do you?” she spat. “Still? Where’s all your fucking logic, Remus? What, you think I’d send you a message begging you for help, rely on you for navigating all this muggle nonsense for days on end, then just take off in the middle of the night? In what reality does that make any sense?”
“Well where’s your logic?” Remus snapped back. “Did you honestly think it’d only take a few days of buying nappies and running for trains for it to be just like old times? That I’d just suddenly forget about everything you’ve been accused of? Everything you accused me of?”
“I gave you my side of the story, I apologised-”
“And what if I don’t fucking believe you.”
Harry let out a sharp whimper from the bed, causing them to stop abruptly, both of them red with anger and breathing hard. They turned to him – he was blinking up at them, confused and scared, clutching his book as if it were a teddy bear. He started to cry.
Remus backed up a few steps and tried to force herself to calm down. Sirius picked up Harry and held him close, rocked him gently, whispering reassurances.
They both stood in silence until Harry was calmer. Sirius briefly hid her face in the top of his head and let out a long breath. Then she strode across the room and pushed him into Remus’ arms.
“I need some air, and he needs a nappy change,” she grit out. “You handle it. I’ll be back later.”
She shoved on her shoes and made for the door.
Behind her, Remus shifted Harry so she was holding him with one arm, and used the other to draw her wand.
“How do I know you won’t just disapparate?” she challenged, shaking even as she pointed it levelly at Sirius’ back. “How do I know you’ll come back?”
Sirius stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “Because I wouldn’t do that to Harry,” she said, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Check your calendar, Moony. You’d better work through those trust issues of yours sharpish, or we’re all fucked. Including him.”
With that, she slammed out of the room, leaving deafening silence in her wake.