Revelations (August 1981)
“Why did I agree to do this?” Loras asked quietly. Diagon Alley was large, overflowing with parents who were determinedly cheerful, taking advantage of the artificial peace. Bright whirls of color and a chaotic mess of sound, too much to keep track of. The trick was to pretend that you could take care of anything, that nothing got by you. Renly, who was not going through Auror training, looked amused at his unease, seeing through him with the ease of practice.
“Because my nieces are lovely, and Leona needed an escort, so we decided to have a public outing without worrying about anyone harrying us about how there are potions to cure our problems, and that as scions of old and respectable houses…” Renly started with a grin, blue eyes warm.
“We’re expected to throw out kids for the sake of tradition and putting them through Hogwarts,” Loras waved his hand. “I know this, Renly. I just choose to ignore it, and really, have you seen how many Tyrells there are? Though I admit Leo is a little shit.”
“Mmm,” Renly said, watching as his nieces’ cousins walked out of Flourish and Blotts. “I’m still amazed Lysa Lannister allows either of her sons to leave the house, much less attend Hogwarts.”
“Jaime put his foot down,” Loras said with a slight grin. “He pointed out that none of his nieces’ friends were hurt inside of Hogwarts. Waved his stump around and nearly called in Lady Cat.”
Sansa, who was escorting Arya and her brothers on her rare day off from Healer’s training, giggled. “Mum is intimidating, isn’t she?”
“Very,” Renly said with a mock shiver. “Lucky she wasn’t a Slytherin, or she would be ruling the world right now.”
“Instead we allow Grandfather to think he does,” Myrcella said mischievously. Shireen ducked her head, unruly black hair covering her grayscale and grin. (Shireen would probably be a pretty woman when she got older and grew into Stannis’ unfortunate jaw, Renly had told her in kinder words when they had found her listless and miserable after yet another comparison to her golden twin. As it was, she still hid far too often for her friends’ comfort.)
“Should we get OWLs study guides?” Bran Stark asked curiously. “Dany said they were rubbish…”
Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Yes, yes they are. I know Sam was going to make one that was a bit useful, but you’re best served by going through old textbooks and old exam questions, really.”
“Hard to have a useful study guide when the Defense professors keep dropping like flies,” Arya pointed out.
“It can’t be that bad,” Rickon Stark said.
“I don’t think we’ve had a solid defense professor since…” Renly thought about it. “Viserys said something about it when I was a firstie and he was a third year, and he had it from one of the Hightowers… Lyonesse, maybe? He fancied her madly, I know, and she was two years ahead of him…”
“Always something that matches the professor’s faults, too,” Shireen mused. “One of them was caught writing inappropriate letters to the Head Girl, and another blew his arm off with a bad spell when he was dodgy with wandwork, another mistook the type of dark creature he was trying to teach us about when he was a better dueller…”
Renly had heard about that. “This would be why I would never take the position,” he said dryly.
“Professor Dumbledore was getting a bit desperate this summer,” Sansa told them. “He asked Willas and Rhaenys both.”
“Willas turned him down flat, said he enjoyed living, and Cheshire…” Loras looked at Sansa incredulously. “Really?”
“She got an O on her NEWT, and she grew up with one of the best curse breakers in living memory,” Sansa said wryly, tucking her hair behind her ear. The quick flash of her wedding ring still surprised Loras. “Even if he was an Unspeakable.”
“Dumbledore just wanted an in for the Dragonstone library,” Renly guessed. “He hoped Rhaenys could be convinced to allow him to access it.”
“Or to keep her too busy to work on the Exchange,” Sansa said with surprising pessimism. “The fact that it isn’t an Order-influenced organization is so much a boon…”
“That it showcases the weaknesses in the Order’s organization,” Shireen guessed. “And that makes the non-Death Eaters seem very divided and weak.” She frowned. “Except most of the people involved wouldn’t want the Order’s help, or believe in them, anyway, and so there would still be that division.”
“Great-Aunt Olenna said Dumbledore is very divisive in certain circles,” Leona added shyly. “Some say he goes too far, some say he doesn’t go far enough.”
“Grandmother, I think, is of the not-far-enough party,” Loras drawled. “At least when it comes to defending his opinions.” That earned a round of chuckles from everyone, and Renly giving him a knowing look.
“There was something about Grindenwald, too,” Arya said. “I overheard Grandfather Tully saying something about it to Uncle Blackfish.”
Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Arya! What did I tell you about eavesdropping?”
Arya’s look turned impish. “That I shouldn’t do it… unless I tell you what I learned.”
Everyone’s laughter was the last thing Loras heard before the pain kicked in.
~
Loras fell screaming and bleeding, and Renly pulled Loras into the apothacary’s shop as Sansa herded all of the students into the shop after them, grabbing Arya’s wrist so she didn’t charge them.
“Arya, no!” Sansa said sharply, blue eyes darting over the Alley as she shoved Myrcella in. The younger girl noticed that Sansa had her hand on her wand, prodding the glowering metamorphagus. Arya’s hair was as red as Sansa’s, now, corkscrewing up in a Medusa-like tangle. “There are at least a dozen of them, and you can’t fight them alone. I saw Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister and Sirius out there, and possibly Father will be called in with Uncle Robert and Aunt Lyanna. You cannot distract them, and if Father sees you in danger, you will be his first priority.”
“Is the Floo working?” Shireen asked the shopkeeper, who was pale and watching with wide eyes as Uncle Renly cast as many spells as possible to stop Loras from bleeding out.
Myrcella responded to her twin’s question by grabbing a pinch of floo powder and running in the back. The shop was dusty and needed a good house-elf to take care of it, but the fireplace was stacked perfectly to use the floo, some embers still smoldering. She cast a spell to coax the flames a little higher, then threw in the powder.
The flames stayed normal, and Myrcella went back in the front.
“It didn’t work,” she grumbled, watching as Renly, Arya, and Bran grabbed bits from the shelves.
“We’re going to make a surprise in case anyone unfriendly comes in,” Sansa said tiredly. She was keeping watch over Loras, who was still and pale, if no longer covered in blood. “The spell damaged his back quite badly, but it didn’t hit true. Not much of it hit his spine, thank Merlin- one of the proper healers can fix that, but I’m not far enough along in my training to risk it when we have someplace to hide. There is considerable tissue damage, though, and I’m worried about some of his organs.”
She looked at Uncle Renly, who was talking with determined cheer to Bran about some of the possible uses for their traps. “The way Renly hauled him in here didn’t help much,” she added quietly. “It tore him up more. If we can’t get out soon Loras will be lucky to have scars running down his back.”
“He had to!” Myrcella hissed. “Otherwise Loras would have gotten hit again, or trampled!” Uncle Renly didn’t seem to be listening.
“There are spells he should have used…” Sansa frowned. “Which aren’t taught at Hogwarts, I admit, which is a massive mistake. Uncle Brandon taught it to me when Robb kept dragging me to practice Quidditch with him. Thought I might need it if one of Robb’s tricks went wrong. Which is why I assumed Renly would know it.”
Oh, Myrcella had to admit that made sense. Renly and Loras both loved showing off on brooms, and a spell to help carry injured fliers would be something someone should have taught them.
“Why did they attack Diagon Alley, though?” Myrcella asked.
“If he said that his followers shouldn’t be shopping in Diagon today,” Bran mused, walking over with what looked like an erumpet horn, “then he could be sure to only hit people he wants to hit.”
“Or he wants hostages,” Myrcella pointed out. “A lot of important people have children going to Hogwarts. There’s Egg and Tystane and Hightowers and Tyrells and…” she stopped and looked at Shireen, who was wearing what Myrcella knew was an identical expression of horror.
“The daughters of Stannis and Cersei Baratheon, granddaughters of Tywin Lannister,” Shireen finished. “And the Starks, since Ned Stark is right after Amelia Bones for headship of the Aurors. Almost all of Hoster Tully’s grandchildren, and I saw Jorelle and Lyanna Mormont out there, and all of them are Aurors. ”
“Trys said he’d meet me here,” Myrcella said quietly. “He and Ned Dayne were coming with Ned’s Aunt Ashara.” The thought of her quiet, clever boyfriend out in that mess was terrifying.
“He means to make the Light bleed, then,” Bran said oddly, eyes like pinpricks in a sea of unearthly blue. “Or bind it so tightly it savages itself.”
“Bran, shh,” Sansa said, ruffling her brother’s hair and holding him tightly. (Hiding his eyes and slightly absent expression, and oh, Merlin, was Bran a seer? There had been Stark seers before, but not in ages. That explained his friendship with the Reeds, though- it was an open secret that Jojen Reed was one.)
“We’re ready,” Renly said, coming up to them with a set of vials. “Let’s make some surprises!”
~
Diagon Alley was a mess. There were patches of fighting up and down, and Garlan had felt his heart stop when Loras fell- really, it had been obscenely easy to pick his brother’s group out in a crowd, such a riot of different people sticking so close together.
Arthur grabbed his shoulder. “No, Baratheon and Stark got them in the Apothecary shop, they’ll be fine for now. Ashara’s teaching Sansa, she’ll keep Loras alive until we get the wards down.”
And Tyrion had told him about Myrcella and Arya’s talent for explosives. They’d have a surprise or seven in place if anyone tried to get in.
“Aye, they need hostages if they want to make this mess useful to them,” Moody said thoughtfully. “Any methods they use can’t hold forever, not with the alley such a mess of entrances. Told Dumbledore they should come up with a way around school shopping.”
“Yes, Alastor, because Olivander would gladly bring all of his wands to the four corners of the islands this summer,” Arthur snapped.
“Or just Hogwarts,” Garlan pointed out. “If they aren’t supposed to use them until school starts…”
His mentors looked at him skeptically. “Did you ever know anyone who listened to that rule?” Arthur asked. “Because Ashara tried to turn me into a turtle the day she got mine.”
“Willas might have listened, mostly because he got all Uncle Baelor’s stories of the accidental reversal squad.” Which is where Marg was now, with her wonderfully soothing manner and clever mind. At least two of his siblings were safe, even if losing Sansa might break Willas.”The tip about that raid- trap, you reckon?”
“Trap or just a lie,” Moody agreed. “It’s why I got Seaworth to sign off on us being here- Diagon’s been a target for a proper raid for a while now, and having all of our men being sent to damned Cardiff seemed risky.”
“Malfoy’s leading that group near Gringott’s,” Arthur judged. “I can take him easily enough- more show than actual backbone. Garlan, you try and clear that knot near the Quidditch shop- the Carrows are only dangerous…”
“…When you fight both at once,” he finished. His sister had compiled a list of every known or suspected Death Eater, and every bit of information they knew. (Quentyn and Renly had helped, but it was Margaery’s curly writing on the parchment.) “Take out one by surprise and the other is weakened.”
“I’ll clear the nest by the apothecary shop, lad,” Moody said with a feral grin. “I think I see an old friend or two.”
With that, they split, and Garlan aimed a curse that took out Alecto, who was a shade quicker on her feet than her brother. Amycus’ return fire was an instinctive, sickly yellow bolt that Garlan dodged, sweeping his own curse at the man.
Someone screamed, and Garlan wished he had the time to send the man out of the open air. But Amycus dodged a hair faster than the spell, and he sent out three more in rapid succession.
A stray spell whizzed by his ear, and Garlan grimly resolved to practice against four of his coworkers from now on.
But Amycus was down, and Garlan started looking for his next target. One wizard was unmasked and bloody, tossing curses at all and sundry. Garlan stunned him before he got someone hurt.
He glanced at the Apothecary, where Moody was trying to deal with four opponents at once.
He dropped one foolish enough to make himself a perfect target. Moody glared at him, and Garlan let out a little chuckle before checking on Arthur.
“Huh. I always thought unspeakable evil would cause the immediate area to cold and dark,” Garlan mused nonsensically. “Probably got it mixed up with dementors.”
He could feel Leonette trying to slap him on the back of the head for that foolishness, but when it came down to it, one did not often see one’s mentor dueling Voldemort.
Arthur was holding up… actually really, really well. He was fast, and had mostly forgone complicated wand movement for quick sudden movements and a type of logic that made sense if you were him. Voldemort was aiming for carelessness, but Garlan saw him stumble a bit over a torn up bit of the street.
Jaime Lannister peeked out of a nook, grinned lazily, and fired a stinging hex at Voldemort’s ankle. Since he was focusing on Arthur’s series of spells and what looked like a variation on Peter’s getaway firework illusion, it connected, distracted him enough to actually cause the murderous bastard to stumble.
Someone cheered, and Garlan shook his head and went back to trying to pick off the Death Eaters who had come scurrying along with their master.
It didn’t take long before he noticed how dark it was getting, and that his muscles were starting to stiffen with cold. There were others who noticed that, the last few stragglers watching the duel between Arthur Dayne and You Know Who. (Someone, somewhere, was going to write wretched poetry about it, and Garlan would read it aloud.)
He ducked into a shallow shelter, following the cold to aim at whatever it was. (Dementors caused cold, but he didn’t have the sense of depression he should be feeling, and his worst memories were not rushing to overwhelm him.) His first thought was inferi- they moved properly for that, a stiff lope that was nothing like that muggle movie he’d gone to see with Leonette.)
They were not inferi, Garlan realized. Inferi had dead eyes, fogged over and not glowing a cold blue.
A jet of flame burnt one to a crisp, the flames seeming to melt it like candle wax rather than char, and Garlan followed whoever it was, picking off any he could find.
“Dracarys!”
The word was sharp, short, and not a spell Garlan had ever been taught.
“’Lo, Targaryen, fancy seeing you here,” he called. Rhaenys laughed at that, her blacklight flame cutting down half a dozen.
Someone behind him was being violently ill, but it was helping. There had to have been seventy of them at first, and after a fire-whip spell from someone who sounded worryingly like Myranda Royce, they were down to sixty two before they could properly get in the alley.
A low tangle of familiar blonde hair caused a wall of flame to fence in, Tyrion and Tysha Crofter each maintaining an end. Tysha was nearest him, half-hidden behind a doorway, brown eyes flat. (Garlan knew that the couple had taken shit from a lot of some of Tyrion’s family, not to mention anyone who felt the need to weigh in. While Lily Potter dealt with a blazing defiance and unwavering support, Tysha got a bit… brittle over the past few years, ducking out of many public meeting places and barely showing up to friendly gatherings.)
Garlan aimed at someone he was fairly certain was Mulciber, using a disabling and highly embarrassing hex he’d learned from Remus. Mulciber went down vomiting, which he considered a victory.
“Garlan, one day your feathers will be ruffled,” she called from across the alleyway. There was a groan.
“Hello, Black,” Garlan added, to be fair. Potter had probably tipped him off, and Rhaenys was, for all of her refusal to join the Aurors or listen to any authority other than her own, very good at taking care of herself. If Voldemort was not there, Garlan would actually be happy for the help.
Arthur was still winning, though there was a welt on his face and he was holding one arm stiffly. (And Jaime, after a lengthy pause at the sight of the frozen corpses, was adding the occasional spell of his own.)
“Fuck,” Tyrion muttered. “We need to chase him away somehow.”
“Plans for that would be good,” Garlan shot back. “Got any?”
“Working…” Tyrion stopped, looking behind Garlan towards the Apothecary shop. “Huh.”
Garlan took a moment to look behind him and laughed.
It was a shaking line of crockery, some of which slipped a bit, sizzling over torn-up cobblestone. Renly’s form was seen crouching behind the heavy dark door of the shop, wand sticking out at knob height and directing the flow of objects.
They landed on the dead, and the dead burned in pairs, in quartets. They kept pressing against the flames, steam and smoke undistinguishable, and started trying to get around it.
Then Tysha yelped, and half the flame wall fell.
“She’s fine,” Garlan told Tyrion before he could let his end go, the flames starting to waver.
Though the dead were bottlenecked, trying to get through and being felled, still Garlan thought he counted twenty left.
Arthur was faltering, not moving as quickly. All it would take is one more strike…
Sirius looked at Garlan, a short flick of his wand and a raised eyebrow enough for permission.
Let’s end this.
Garlan nodded. He’d have to explain this to his superiors, anyway. Black wasn’t an Auror, and there would be complaints about letting Voldemort get away. That they shouldn’t be prioritizing medical care for a muggleborn witch and an off-duty Auror. That he would be leaving missing what looked to be almost ten followers and seventy walking corpses, but it was the symbolism of the thing. (And half the Death Eaters were dead. Garlan understood the Order’s principles, but he preferred knowing that he was actually preventing more massacres, not merely holding them back until the instigators were released. It would be different if the Ministry’s security and integrity wasn’t as leaky as a parchment pail.)
Sirius’ patronus, much to Garlan’s amusement, looked very much like Meraxes the Devil Cat done in shades of silver. It slunk to Renly, who swirls his wand and creates a bundle of caustic potions that hover above the breach, which Garlan and Rhaenys use to thin the ranks of the dead. (Maybe a dozen left at this rate, which isn’t bad.)
Arthur is playing the desperate man so well that Garlan believes it, sweat and blood going into mere survival.
The pots suddenly flew towards the duel, Tyrion summoned Arthur, and Sirius and Rhaenys let out a wave of Fiendfyre, blowing the potions, burning half the remaining walking dead, and Voldemort vanished in a rather tattered swirl of shadowy robes.
“Huzzah,” Tysha said hoarsely, one hand covering her bleeding shoulder, complete with blackened skin and visible bone.
“It worked,” Garlan shrugged. “And we’re all alive.”
And then the Fiendfyre devoured the last of the dead men.
~
Losing Gregor Clegane and the widespread support of the Freys- useful in numbers and wealth under Black Walder, if nothing else- should have helped the war effort, Dany thought. Bran had been more cheerful at the death of that madman, even without most of his full moon company. (He was down to Aegon and possibly Arya, whose Metamorphagi talents led her to frightening ease when working on self-transfiguration.)
However, she could hear reports from various sources, namely a nervous Quentyn, who was serving as a junior undersecretary seconded to the Aurors, this wasn’t the case.
A office building fire in muggle Manchester had burned suspiciously hot, and some had reported the green flames of wildfire. Thirty people had died, and while there was no Dark Mark, it would not be the first time a less than brilliant wizard had accidentally set the balm alight too soon.
There had been a number of students withdrawn from Hogwarts- the Vance heir, and Jaime Lannister and his Tully wife had fought bitterly over where their sons should go to school. (Lannister had won the argument, and Robin Arryn had been sorted into Ravenclaw like his cousins Bran and Sansa.)
Several people had vanished, some permanently, some only for a day or two, returned shaken and jerky in their movements. (Doran Martell and Leyton Hightower were both calling for an inspection of those vanished and returned, using Legilimency. Imperioused or turncloak Ministry employees would be able to cause all manner of havoc, and records offices would provide all sorts of dangerous information, judging by the remarks she overheard. No one thought much of newly graduated witches, especially those who looked younger than they were.)
Which had lead her to sitting in the receiving room of the Red Keep, which Rhaegar’s family had retreated from without a fuss. Viserys would one day want Dragonstone, either for himself or his son. The only question was how long his genuine love for Elia and Rhaenys would keep him from acting on that desire. Which in turn most likely rested heavily on if he ever chose a bride. (If only Arianne had proven agreeable to that plan. She would have kept him in line. Dany was not entirely sure what her not-cousin saw in Lupin. Perhaps it was that he occasionally told her no?)
The flames turned green, and Rhaenys came tumbling out of the fire, covered in stone dust and grime, which in turn was pasted on her skin by what Dany thought was sweat and blood.
“Diagon Alley had an attack,” her niece said, shoulders slumped and leaning against the fireplace. “It was a bad one. We’re all alright- Loras and Tysha were pretty badly hurt, and Mad Eye might lose the leg still, Aunt Ashara isn’t sure, and Uncle Arthur is sleeping like the dead…” She shuddered at that, for some reason. “But casualties were very low on our side. Viserys is where, by the way?”
“Right here.” Viserys had come into the room with his wand out, checking an uncomfortable Rhaenys, who was squirming like a cat confronted with a bath.
“I’m fine, most of the blood isn’t mine, I just didn’t want you to work yourself into a fit when you heard, Mother is fine as well, did you know she was seeing Uncle Art?” Rhaenys chanted, a flicker of a smile when it was Viserys’ turn to look uncomfortable for a moment.
“Well,” Dany said musingly, “It isn’t as if no one suggested the three of them weren’t all in a relationship anyway.”
“Mmm,” Rhaenys said, looking at Viserys with pleading eyes. “Can we not speculate on the potential kinkiness of my parents’ social life?”
“You tried to throw your mother to the wolves,” Viserys smirked. “Don’t complain when we turn the tables.”
“Right, sorry, slight shell shock moment right now, and I need to get back to Riverrun, because I need to shout at someone, possibly one of the multitude of people I know who work in the Department of Mysteries and neglected to inform anyone that Voldemort was working with what looked awfully like the wights from my bedtime stories.”
Rhaenys looked a bit wild-eyed at the last, and Dany wondered fleetingly if the Targaryen madness had settled on her niece. The flames grew green again, and a mulish Sirius Black jumped out.
“Did you tell them about the wights?” he asked. He looked as badly off as Rhaenys, with some of Sansa’s healing mess on his torn shoulder.
Viserys nodded. “I suppose you want my brother’s worknotes that weren’t already confiscated by the Department? I mean, judging by Rhaenys’ little fit there.”
“I’m sorry, Viserys, but we’ll need them,” Rhaenys said, tangling her hands in her hair and doubtless getting more blood in there. “Drat, I’ll have to cut the whole mess off. Anyway, I figure most of the records he used came from the Dragonstone library- we did have a slew of ancestors who were interested in the tales of the Longest Night, and I know Alysanne Targaryen did a field study near…”
She swayed and Sirius grabbed her elbows. “Near where?”
Viserys looked pained, and finished. “Near Harrenhal, dearest niece, isn’t that right?”
Dany wondered what a city that had been razed by dementors and Death Eaters over two years ago had to do with anything.
Judging by Sirius’ sick expression, it had to do with something horrifying.
~
The dead were walking, and they were not alone. It was like something out of a story, if you liked your stories to be utterly miserable epics of despair and tragedy.
Personally, Shireen didn’t. Being the tragic, scarred twin of Myrcella Baratheon was enough misery. Not that Shireen didn’t love her sister- but really, if anyone could bother to be subtle, she would enjoy it. Myrcella was sharp and loud, and everyone assumed Shireen was the good twin, which meant most of her insults went over people’s heads.
(That wasn’t fair. Arya didn’t pity her. Neither did Bran, Tommen, or Robin. Egg had merely grinned and asked if she would like to trade. Gendry had merely asked if grayscale was more wizarding weirdness. Devan had known her long enough Shireen knew he didn’t care.
She had good friends.)
“Why didn’t the Aurors come?” Myrcella asked her, scrubbed clean and huddled under her (Gryffindor, Lannister) blanket, golden curls and white face in a sea of red and gold.
“Because they had a major operation in Cardiff,” Shireen remembered. “There was a pattern that made the Aurors and Father think that there was a base being run by the Lestranges. It would have had captives, and that would have done good for Father.”
“Because Crouch wants Father’s job,” Myrcella nodded. She had always had a knack for putting together people’s motivations. “And there hasn’t been anything since Black Walder died, and that was ages ago. And there was Gregor Clegane, but since Rhaegar Targaryen died, that cancelled out the good.”
Shireen thought about it. “There was a squad in Diagon Alley, plus people who I think were Order members. But that was it.”
Mother did not like the Order. She thought they were rabble-rousers, as bad as the Potion’s Exchange. But that… well, Sirius Black was a troublemaker, everyone knew that. But Rhaenys and Sansa were both elegant, and Roslin Frey was kind.
“Because the Lestranges terrify people,” Myrcella guessed. “And it’s likely that Voldemort might have been there. But he wasn’t… and I heard Renly say that Cardiff was probably a trap, and Uncle Tyrion agreed with him.”
Shireen nodded. “Everyone guessed that there was a spy in the Ministry, and I bet he set it up. Did you notice who he brought? None of the really scary ones.” That wasn’t quite right. “People who could take hostages, rather than just kill everyone.”
“If it’s a trap…” Myrcella bit her lip. “He takes people and bleeds the Aurors, like his men were bled when the Freys splintered.”
“And the wights, to show he has new monsters at his command,” Shireen agreed.
Myrcella’s grin was quite a bit like Uncle Jaime’s when he was angry, all sharp and amusement at another’s misstep. “But that didn’t work so well, did it? Arthur Dayne held him off, and they managed to burn all of the corpses he brought with him.”
“We were lucky Rhaenys knew the stories well enough,” Shireen said, remembering Father telling them to practice their fire spells. Her twin’s expression undoubtedly mirrored her own.
“What’s going on, Shireen?” Myrcella asked, looking as lost as she ever did. Normally Shireen was the doubtful one, the one Joffery teased and hexed, the one afraid.
Shireen crossed over to her sister’s bed and curled up under the covers, worrying about all of the Auror’s who might have walked into a trap.
After all, if all of the more unrestrained Death Eater’s weren’t at the Alley...
~
It had been depressingly easy to spot the spy. Cersei Baratheon, of all people, had come into her office at Saint Mungo’s, tossed the papers at her, and asked how long her old friend had been a traitor.
Petyr’s signature on three pages, falsified tips that had come in through the mail of Wizenmagot members of varying positions. He hadn’t bothered to hide it- he probably thought no one would notice.
Petyr had set the stage for a trap that resulted in twenty dead men and women. Ned had a gash across his leg that, between muscle damage and lingering issues from the curse, would probably never work properly again. Robb… her boy might never wake up. Saint Mungo’s was under lockdown, with only approved people allowed in and out, because there were so many people here that the director thought that it was likely someone would come to finish the job, and her other children were at Riverrun, waiting for her to come to them.
She was still shaking when Cersei left her, with something like pity on her face.
“Cat?” Lysa was in the hospital, and it took Catelyn a moment to understand why. Robin was here, because he had a bad seizure earlier, and Lysa had sent Tommen to the Alley with Jaime to pick up the things for Hogwarts, and Cat had mentioned that Sansa and Bran would be there. That had soothed Lysa. (Lysa had finally stopped mentioning what happened to Bran when Tommen had said something to her, which made life so much easier on everyone.)
“Lysa,” Catelyn held out the copies that Cersei had left for her. Her sister’s puzzled expression turned to horror and stunned disbelief.
“No, this is false, it’s a set-up,” Lysa said, rubbing her eyes. “Petyr wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t…”
“He was perfectly positioned for it,” Catelyn said quietly. “He deals with all sorts of paperwork, and randomly checks his employee’s work- you said that he did it yourself, Lysa. How random do you truly think they were? He was the perfect spy- who could think him capable of this? We all assumed it was a department head, or a senior Wizenmagot member.”
“Couldn’t he be under Imperius?” Lysa asked, looking desperate.
“We’ll test for it, but I doubt it, Lysa,” Catelyn said, tucking the papers in her robes. “I’ll let the guards know he isn’t to be trusted, and when Cersei finds him she can see what he knew…”
Catelyn swayed for a moment, as something hit her. “Did Petyr know the children would be at Diagon today?” Voldemort had been there, those walking dead creatures, and from what she heard Loras Tyrell was gravely injured.
Lysa went whey-pale, nails digging into her cheeks. “No, no, he wouldn’t, that rat, that… that, traitor!” Lysa swirled out of the room. “He followed me here, did you know? He’s with Robin right now, he’s with my boy, and he tried to kill one son already!”
“Or capture,” Catelyn said thoughtfully. “Tywin Lannister’s grandson? He’s only been aided by Lannister’s neutrality, but Tywin was furious when Jaime lost his hand. At least all of the transportation systems are on lockdown… Lysa?”
Her younger sister, her silly, vain little sister with her petty cruelties and her lovely, distant husband, looked at her with a serious expression.
“Can you tell Petyr I want to see him?” Catelyn asked. “Bring him up to my office.”
She was going to have words with Petyr Baelish, she reflected as Lysa went to go fetch the man. She should probably talk to the Aurors, but most of them were currently being treated for various injuries.
It was excruciating, the waiting. Catelyn started pacing, trying not to flinch with every sound of footsteps, every raised voice becoming Lysa, or God forbid, Cersei Baratheon confronting Petyr.
After what seemed like hours, a subdued Lysa tugged a bemused, falsely sympathetic Petyr through the door.
“I don’t quite see what I can do, Cat, but of course I will be happy to help you get your daughters back,” Petyr was saying. “I suspect most, if not all of the demands, will be ones to curtail your husband, who undoubtedly drew their attention with his activities. Not a very subtle man, Ned Stark.”
Catelyn looked at Lysa, who shrugged and slammed the door shut. “I needed something to lure him here, and he knew that Tommen was safe.”
That made a good deal of sense, though Petyr was looking confused. “What?”
“Oh, Petyr,” Lysa crooned, turning on him, wand at his throat. “We have so much to talk about.” Her sister’s face was a mask of pain and fury. “Like the fact that you tried to kill my sons!”
Catelyn was torn between wanting to join her sister- if he was the Ministry Spy, the one no one had wanted to believe existed, the spymaster in the Ministry- he could have been the one who sent Clagane after Bran, had tried to have Ned killed, three of her other children kidnapped and held as hostages- and the knowledge that they needed from him to begin to realize all of the damage he had wrought over the years.
Then a wicked, vengeful part of her imagined Petyr in a dank Azkaban cell after spending the necessary time having his mind picked apart with Legilimency and Veritaserum.
“I never tried to kill your children,” Petyr said, looking at the wand with a look of bemusement. “Cat, a little help? I think Lysa is…” He grunted as Lysa jabbed the wand into the hollow of his throat.
“Lysa,” she said gaily, seeing her former friend’s face light up with hope. “Surely you won’t give Littlefinger the mercy of a quick death? The aurors will have many questions for him. Of the angry sort- from what I heard, one of the Pipers just died, which means… how many dead aurors today? How many children at risk? Not to mention how long this must have been going on.”
“Cat?” Petyr said uncertainly. “Cat, I did it all for you…”
“I never wanted it, Petyr,” Catelyn pointed out, a curious calm settling on her. Petyr had simply never understood, foolish boy. “I never wanted you. Only Ned. Only ever Ned, and he could have died on one of your wild kneazle hunts.”
Petyr let out a strangled sound, and Lysa brought down her wand in one quick, slashing movement, and the chief record-keeper for the Wizenmagot fell like a tree.
The door creaked open, and Brienne Tarth ducked her head. “Er, is everything all right?”
Catelyn’s laughter was as wildly hysterical as Lysa’s, and Brienne closed the door again, undoubtedly going to fetch back-up.
She’d need to get herself under control, soon, and explain what had happened.