Seeking
Minerva waited nervously those last minutes in the conference room, thinking of the two wizards who were awaiting rescue somewhere in the cold French countryside, both of whom she cared for deeply, but whom she loved in very different ways. Frankel returned, now dressed as a Muggle, and Sprangle bustled in behind him.
“Now, for your final briefing, Miss McGonagall,” began Sprangle, “I will only remind you that Auror Frankel is in charge of this search mission. You are only there to assist him in locating the two wizards. As a cat, you may be able to sense things that he is unable to without using his wand. Because of certain, shall we say, dangers, Auror Frankel is going to minimise his wand-use on this mission. In addition, in your Animagus form, you may be able to traverse a path that would be unavailable to Auror Frankel; therefore, if he permits it once you have arrived at your destination, you may go on ahead of him and return to him once you have discovered the direction the two wizards took. Under no circumstances are you to tear on ahead after them and leave Auror Frankel behind, forcing him look for you as well as the two wizards. The current mission is difficult enough without his having you get lost, too. In addition, should you happen upon the wizards before Auror Frankel arrives at their location, you are not to reveal yourself to them, but must stay in your Animagus form and return immediately to Auror Frankel. If Auror Frankel is nearby and will arrive shortly, you may remain with the wizards, but you may not reveal yourself to them. You are only to return to your natural form when you are ready to Portkey back. In an emergency, if you need to communicate with Auror Frankel, raise your right paw and shake it at him. He will then let you know whether it is safe to transform and speak with him. You are not to make such a decision on your own. I believe I have answered any questions you may have had.”
“Actually, Auror Sprangle, you haven’t. First, what ‘dangers’ are you referring to when you speak of Auror Frankel’s wand-use? Second, you have not given me my return Portkey, nor have you shown me the Portkeys for Professor Dumbledore and Carson Murphy. If something should happen to Auror Frankel, I should know what the Portkeys are. I also do not want to be stranded in France without a Portkey of my own.”
“As to your first question, I have desired not to alarm you unduly, Miss McGonagall, but as you seem determined to question my judgment regarding what information you need to know and what information is extraneous, I shall answer it as far as I believe wise, under the circumstances.” Auror Sprangle was clearly unhappy with the young witch standing before him. “There are reports coming in that there are German soldiers in the area. We know that Grindelwald has a few, shall we say, operatives, engaged in activities to the south of that location. In addition, we know that the Dark Wizard has placed his own wizards in strategic positions within the German military and the secret police, the Gestapo. It is possible that he is aware there has been magical activity in the area, or that there were wizards wounded in the explosion who are unaccounted for. He may believe that they have all Apparated or Portkeyed away since the American Muggle reconnaissance party indicated that, although there were bloodstains and tracks near the vehicle, there were none leading anywhere off the road. Nonetheless, we must be prepared for the possibility that the area is being observed either by Grindelwald’s own wizards, or by German soldiers acting unknowingly on his behalf, under orders from one of Grindelwald’s plants.” Auror Sprangle completed his explanation with a furrowed brow, clearly disturbed by the information he was imparting, although Minerva couldn’t tell whether it was the nature of the information that disturbed him or the fact that he was telling her.
“And my second question, Auror Sprangle,” she prodded.
“Ah, yes. Auror Frankel will be carrying your Portkey and the others with him. When you are ready to return, he will ask you to transform back into your normal form and give you your Portkey.”
“Auror Sprangle, that is unacceptable! As I said, anything could happen once we arrive – you have said yourself that the area may be watched. He may not be in a position to hand me the Portkey if there is an emergency; we may become separated, or even the amount of time it would cost me to Transfigure back to my ordinary form and take the Portkey from him might prove a liability. And you haven’t told me of the other two Portkeys so that I might identify them.”
“I am sorry, Miss McGonagall,” replied Auror Sprangle, although he looked anything but sorry, “but I cannot accede to your request to carry your own Portkey. Although there is some truth to what you say, I believe those risks to be minimal, and we are concerned that your Transfiguration into your Animagus form will affect the Portkey and render it useless. Our specialists have no experience with those effects, and we dare not risk it. They thought you might wear the Portkey in your Animagus form, although Auror Frankel correctly pointed out the inadvisability of your wearing a belled collar when you are both trying to go unnoticed.”
Minerva winced. These were the men the wizarding world was relying on? Whoever would have thought of such a daft idea? She would no doubt break the collar when she Transfigured back to her ordinary form, even if the thing didn’t have a bell – the stupidity of it! – and that would be more likely to have a deleterious effect on it as a Portkey than her simply putting it in her pocket and Transfiguring herself while carrying it.
“I think they were amused at the thought of creating a Portkey for an Animagus, Miss McGonagall. They are not part of our clandestine units and therefore perhaps may be forgiven for their attempt at humour,” said Frankel. “And I do not know what Auror Sprangle’s thoughts are regarding your request to see the Portkeys, but I believe it is a reasonable one – I have been in the field a long time, Septimus,” he added to Sprangle, “and I am very aware that no matter how well one prepares, the undesirable – and the unanticipated and unprepared for – can occur.” He reached into his right trouser pocket, pulling out a Muggle pen and a small, buckled, red cloth collar with a bell on it. “These two objects are your Portkey and Professor Dumbledore’s. The trigger word is set to ‘spero’ for them both – in an unusual flash of common sense, they thought to shorten the trigger word in order to hasten the activation. My own Portkey is the cheap St. Christopher medal around my neck. It is, however, like Professor Dumbledore’s original Portkey, tuned to my magical signature, whereas the ones for you and Dumbledore may transport any of us – you, him, me, or Murphy – but no one else. In addition, those Portkeys have been set to enable us all to transport by just one of them. Therefore, if necessary, we could all hold onto your collar and Portkey together.”
“There’s no separate Portkey for Carson?” asked Minerva.
“No, although either you or Dumbledore may share your Portkey with him. It is probable that, if he still lives, Murphy is unconscious and would be unable to initiate the Portkey and one of you will have to transport with him, in any case. The Portkeys created for you and Dumbledore return you to this room, which will have an Auror present at all times, waiting for you. My own brings me to Headquarters in Amiens, whence I can Apparate or Portkey to London.”
Minerva didn’t like any of this, but it was too late to have another Portkey made or to try and convince Auror Sprangle to let her keep her Portkey in her pocket.
“One last thing, Auror Frankel. What will you say to any Germans who find you? You are clearly a civilian, in France, and you don’t speak French. I assume your German is fluent, but won’t they wonder at your presence? And don’t you have an accent?”
“I am going to say that I am visiting a French cousin, and that I was trapped there with the Allied invasion. I speak enough French to be able to maintain the pretence that I visit this cousin often. Of course, with so little civilian travel allowed, they will be suspicious, but I am rather adept at a wandless Imperio, and if there aren’t too many of them, I should be able to convince whomever is in charge of the truth of my story and have them leave me be. I am carrying German identification papers, as well. My greatest concern is that they will believe them to be counterfeit and that I am a Jew trying to escape from the Nazis. Which I am. Jewish, I mean – I was born and raised in London. Of my Muggle-born German mother’s side of the family, however, only my aunt and two of her children survive, Miss McGonagall.”
Minerva, growing even more concerned with this latest revelation, asked, “Wouldn’t it have been wise, then, to send someone else along? Someone who does speak French?”
“We have determined that the fewer who are engaged in this search, the better, Miss McGonagall. We do not wish to raise the suspicions of Grindelwald’s agents any more than they already might be. Dumbledore must not be captured,” Auror Sprangle responded.
“All right, then. I see that the plans have been laid and all has been set in motion. I do wish I had been consulted earlier, though. I may have been able to contribute some useful ideas, despite my lack of training. What is our outbound Portkey?”
Sprangle pulled a small brown bottle from his pocket. It looked to be the sort of thing Muggle patent medicines came in, thought Minerva.
“Well, I guess more talking only delays our search. Auror Frankel, though, please address me as ‘Minerva,’ particularly when I am in my Animagus form. It might strike an eavesdropper as strange if you were calling a cat ‘Miss McGonagall’ – well, in France, anyway!” she said, trying to smile.
“Very well, then, Minerva, if you would kindly transform, we can leave now – and I am Philip – although the name in my German identity papers is Hans Bredel.”
Minerva quickly morphed into her Animagus form and allowed Philip to pick her up. She wondered briefly what it would be like to Portkey in her Animagus form, then closed her eyes as the Auror took hold of the Portkey and said, “Expecto.”
Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse than it did, thought Minerva as she picked her way amongst the tree roots and fallen branches, stopping to sniff the air every now and then, or to nudge a bit of fallen foliage with her moist nose. She had known that Sprangle’s plan had been a recipe for disaster. Scrimgeour, for all his pomposity, had been correct about that.
They had barely arrived, and Frankel had put Minerva down and nudged her, waving her to go on ahead and see what she could see, or smell, or what-have-you, when the mission went south – at least as far as Auror Frankel was concerned. Minerva had proceeded toward the wreckage, which, although it could not be seen from their arrival point several hundred feet down the road, was easy for Minerva to locate. The smell of the explosion and ensuing fire were still very heavy in the air, especially so to her heightened feline senses. As she padded her way along the edge of the road toward the burnt shell, she heard some rather alarming snaps, the sounds of twigs being broken, and the rustle of dead leaves being stepped on. She was fairly certain that Auror Frankel would be unable to hear them, however, and had just turned back to try to warn him, when she heard a voice whisper something very clearly. Unfortunately, although she could read German well enough to read a treatise on Transfiguration written in the language, she had never spoken it and had rarely heard it spoken. In addition, her vocabulary was better suited to understanding discussions of esoteric metamorphosis charms than to understanding everyday conversations. Minerva, therefore, knew only that the words were German, but that alone meant they were in dire trouble.
Before she was able to reach the Auror, a half dozen German soldiers had emerged from the bushes and had surrounded Frankel, who had only walked about ten yards before he was stopped. Minerva’s French was, unfortunately, worse than her German, and she understood nothing except that they seemed to be asking him why he was there. Minerva vowed that when she got home, she would improve her understanding of both written and spoken French and German.
Frankel had responded, first in French, but then he switched rapidly to German. Minerva hid in the undergrowth, unobserved by anyone. One of the soldiers, whom Minerva would later call “the twitchy one,” had moved back around behind Frankel, watching him as though he expected him to do something threatening at any moment. As the soldier who appeared to be in charge questioned the Auror, the twitchy one began a whispered, erratic conversation with another soldier who was also standing behind Frankel. His fellow soldier seemed to become agitated by this conversation, and, from what Minerva could discern, seemed to want the twitchy one to shut up. Minerva believed that the interrogator was asking Frankel something about where he’d come from and whether he was alone, but beyond that, she understood nothing. She understood almost as little of Frankel’s responses, although because she knew his cover story, she recognised that he was talking about his French cousin.
Minerva kept waiting for Frankel’s wandless Imperio, but realised with growing unease that he had been unable to make eye contact with his interrogator long enough to cast it effectively. From the tone of his voice and his body language, Minerva could tell that the German soldier was not buying Frankel’s story.
She thought the man had just asked Frankel for his papers, and Frankel was reaching inside his jacket, when the twitchy one suddenly turned from his hushed, erratic conversation with his fellow soldier, raised his rifle, and shot Frankel in the back. What followed could only be described as chaos. It was clear that the rest of the soldiers had not anticipated this turn of events, and their leader was enraged. Two of the soldiers knelt beside Frankel, who was alive, but wheezing and moaning lowly. The leader had walked up to the twitchy one, shouting incomprehensibly, grabbed the soldier’s rifle, hit him in the head with its butt, and knocked him to the ground. He kicked him twice, for good measure, shouted something at the other soldier, then went to look at Frankel.
Minerva felt paralyzed. She had no idea what to do now. She doubted that she could do anything for Frankel in her current form; if she were to Transfigure back to her ordinary form and try to rescue him, she might get herself captured or killed – and even if she did succeed in rescuing him, Grindelwald would have definitive evidence that something odd and wizarding was happening in the area. On the other hand, Frankel had the Portkeys. And he was a wizard who should not be captured, she was sure. No one had briefed her on what she should do if anything happened to Frankel, although they surely must have been aware of the possibility. Damn the stupidity of bureaucrats! These were the people who had thought it was a good idea to make her Portkey a cat collar with a bell attached, after all.
Minerva watched from the side of the road as the German soldiers tore open Frankel’s clothes and examined his wound. Frankel was still alive. The Germans didn’t seem to be interested in having him die on them. She wished she could understand the conversations, but other than snatches here and there, she could catch little of it. She decided that Frankel would have to take care of himself, and Portkey out, if he were able. The soldiers didn’t seem interested in the religious medal that hung around the Auror’s neck, and they might leave him with the contents of his pockets, as well. She wondered briefly where he kept his wand. She hadn’t seen it before they’d Portkeyed from the Ministry.
Yes, Frankel would have to take care of himself. Albus couldn’t. And someone had to find him. So here she was, somewhere in France – they hadn’t even told her where in France, just shown her that map of the area surrounding the crossroads – sniffing and listening, and picking her way through the wood and underbrush. Someone, Albus, no doubt, had done a good job in eradicating most signs that anyone had been through there recently, but she could easily smell their trail. In addition to their own scents – and, although she was familiar with them from entirely different experiences, Minerva would recognise either Albus’s or Carson’s scents anywhere – the scent of blood was disturbingly strong to her feline nose. She heard nothing, though, despite stopping now and then, pricking her ears, turning them in different directions, and listening as hard as she could. Minerva didn’t know whether she should be alarmed by this or not. She did know that it was cold, and that she hoped she found the wizards soon, and that Albus would have some idea of how to get them away from there and back home . . .