[IC] Finite Incantatem [AU Harry Potter RP] – ALWAYS OPEN!

[McHaggis]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Ronan Findley

A wry, apologetic smile touched his lips as he glanced over at Albert. “Sorry, my friend,” he said sincerely, before tallying up those that had spoken against it and those that had spoken for it. “It appears that investigating the possibility is inevitable – democracy, you know?”

Ronan wasn't at all unhappy with the result, shifting in his seat slightly and tapping his wand against the desk. Another spy, one to take the spot his absence had left and Siobhan's brother could never quite fill completely, would be a welcome asset to The Ashes, if dangerous. One could never tell which side a man was on, especially one volunteering his services as a spy. They could be a double agent, a triple agent, a traitor.

“I will discuss the other matters when we all return from the... retrieval mission.” Standing, but keeping most of his weight balanced on the table, he nodded to Kyle McCarthy. “You keep watch for a possible trap – check all of the nooks and crannies for Death Eaters – and take anything or anyone you need to help. The last thing we need is to be ambushed.”

“Eric. Siobhan,” Ronan continued, nodding to each of the named members. “You're leading diplomacy. Jia will be with you for the rougher aspects – if he doesn't comply, it's your job to subdue him. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with that.” He grinned. Jia wasn't his favourite person in the world – she was a Muggleborn pushing for technology to be used more frequently by The Ashes, while he and Albert were dead set against it – but a small part of him respected people who were willing to do whatever they had to. She was one.

“Anyone else, go with whomever you please and, more importantly, be useful.” He eyed David suspiciously, as if he was going to set himself or someone else on fire.

[Jig]

2nd December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
David Howell

For the past few months, they had been quiet. There had been few leads to go on, since they were unable to know what sources to trust and, David suspected, because they could not face any further losses. The anonymous Death Eater was set to change that, he supposed: the potential for a true, reliable source at the heart of the cancer was a tempting one, and no mistake.

Even Aldenberg had given up the fight for caution, as far as the man could. From the moment the meeting had officially ended, he had abruptly stood up and started making his own contributions, arranging with Kyle what intel they required. David, whose function was less apparent, retreated to his room.

David had been among the Ashes since its very conception, a sort of heirloom passed on from the Order. He had been involved in this war over half his life, now, and he had seen his fair share of the toll. Even the mansion in which they nowadays lived reflected it. Its internal magics created bedrooms for its guests as they were needed according to its own sense of Aldenberg aristocratic logic. The Host, the Infirm, and the Women were provided proper lodgings, and the less-esteemed Everybody Else was to be found off in the East Wing, where Aldenberg had once commented that the house-elves used to reside. Counting their number was as simple as counting the bedroom doors. At one point, David had seen Dhillon’s door melt into the wall in front of his eyes, swallowed up into the house - just hours before Ronan broke the news that he had fallen in battle.

His room was a simple affair, and there was frankly little that could be done with it to improve it. Apart from, perhaps, giving it a good clean: the bed had literally not once been made during David’s tenure, and he had taken to sleeping around the large crystal ball at one end, so as not to have to find somewhere else to store it: the writing desk, the room’s only other real feature, was covered in almost more teacups than it could support, many of them in stacks of six or eight. The others did not trust Divination. He had been asked enough times, especially at Hogwarts, to simply make a prediction, as though the future was written in the sky and plain as day for all those with the right sort of telescope. Needless to say, whenever he tried to explain that it didn’t work like that, awkwardness had ensued.

Still, for all his head’s misgivings, he had a good feeling about their potential source. It was as though there were two possible versions of events, one door leading to good fortune, and the other to ruin, and only the good door was open. Put more simply, he had a good feeling about it. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to tell the others about it. Without some evidence, a good feeling meant little to them, although, to his count, he had been right many more times than he had been wrong. To try to glean a little more, he gazed into the tea leaves of his most recent cup, but couldn’t make out anything out at all beyond dregs in a cup. With a groan, he realised that he was literally predicting the existence of some tea: the rendezvous would be, after all, at a café. Insight wasn’t always especially helpful.

There came a sharp knock at the door. One-two-three. The signature knock of Albert Aldenberg - one didn’t have to be a seer to know he was at the other side. Sure enough, there he was in the corridor, eyes only just visible below the low doorframe.

“Yeeeeeees?”

“You are with me tonight, David. We will observe from a short distance, and if anything is amiss, we cast nothing but shield charms. It will be close quarters and we can’t afford friendly fire. Understood?”

“Yep. Do nothing, hope for the best. If sub-best, we’re on damage limitation.”

“That is not how I would have put it, but yes, in essence. We’re leaving in ten minutes. Be ready.”

[Kirah]

Collab Kirah & Master

2nd of December, 1999 Luther Cunningham, Kyle McCarthy, Jia Shang, Albert Aldenberg, and David Howell – The Safehouse

Kyle, once Luther in his frozen state was tied to a chair, had his wand removed and then unfrozen, stared at the man with a bit of confusion and a lot of anger. “You better hope they don’t find out you had anything to do with that guy showing up during our little tea time.” Kyle tapped his foot a bit and then asked. “First of all why are you trying to defect?” Luther looked him in the eyes, sighing. “I had nothing to do with the Death Eater. As Siobhan saw, I was as surprised as you were, if not more so.” He looked away, before continuing. “As for why I want to help you? Well… it’s a long story. If you’ll bear with me, I will tell it to you.” “I am a Half-blood. My father was a Muggle, and frankly he was an ass. Once my mum told him about being a witch, he lost it. He started blaming us for everything. Customer didn’t pay on time? That cursed magic caused it. His car broke down? Someone blew it up. You get the idea.” Luther looked back into Kyle’s eyes. “He had another child, a girl. Her name is Lilly. As it so happened, she turned out to be a witch as well. You can imagine his reaction, so we took her to live with us. She is a Mudblood, of course.” Luther sighed again, and went on to tell Kyle the abridged tale of Lilly McKinley. Kyle didn’t quite understand sibling love. It was something he had never personally experienced. However Siobhan knew it quite well. He had seen her family and the love that had been within it. He gave a small nod. “Okay, that’s a great story, we’ll have to look into it. Do you have anything else you want to say to back you up?” Kyle gave Luther an opening, for anything that he may know that may give the group a bit more reason to trust the turncoat. “As it happens, I do. You may not know of her, but the Death Eaters – actually, to my knowledge she is your sister – is holding a woman prisoner, in your family’s manor. Her name is Mia Dubois.” He turned to Jia, who had been silent the entire time, watching. “She told me to tell you this,” he addressed her, then repeated the string of numbers Mia had told him. He could make nothing out of it, but hopefully Jia would. Jia looked at Luther. “That’s my phone number,” she answered, a hint of surprise in her voice. Turning to Kyle, she added, “He has to be telling the truth. Only a Muggleborn would know my phone number, and Dubois is definitely that. Still, what if it was tortured out of her? Dubois isn’t exactly what I would call… tough.” “It’s a phone number,” David said, breaking his own silence, “Half of you don’t know what it is, and you don’t actually hate Muggles. The Death Eaters wouldn’t even know what to ask for.” Kyle’s frown had deepened quite a bit after his family was mentioned. He resisted his normal, “I don’t have family response” And considered changing his name again. “Maggie would be quite capable of getting the information from Mia. I vaguely remember her. Never was very in the thick of things, didn’t seem to approve of fighting.” He sighed and wondered how someone so soft could end up in Maggie’s hands. “Maggie wouldn’t know what a phone number was unless Alistair told her though. He’s the only I think would have or could have. But from what I remember of him at school he probably wouldn’t know either.” Kyle took a few steps to one side and then back. “If Maggie has anyone they aren’t going to do well.” His mind was already thinking of the possibilities. “How long has Mia been there?” Luther pondered over the question for a moment before answering. “Two or three days, I believe. I didn’t ask. But they haven’t gotten anything out of her, I can assure you. She’s been pretending she doesn’t know English, and the only thing they knew about her is that she is a Metamorphmagus.” He paused, to scratch his nose. Then he remembered he was tied to the chair. “That’s the only reason I was able to talk to her – neither of them understood a word of French, and they needed someone who could interrogate her. Instead, I told her exactly what I’ve told you, and fed Maggie some ‘facts’ – I’d be making air quotes right now, if I wasn’t tied up – which should be enough to keep Mia safe for now. From what I’ve told her, Maggie has concluded that she is worth keeping, albeit not so important as to trouble her superiors for now.” He looked Kyle in the eyes, more seriously.“Knowing your sister, however, I suspect she’ll try to start ‘interrogating’ her for more information – again, air quotes – sooner rather than later.” Kyle shot Luther a dirty look for calling Maggie his sister again. “I have no family.” He said, his voice harsh. “Look, I understand that you’d love nothing more than to distance yourself from her. I would want to as well.” Luther quickly fired back. “But if you plan on rescuing Mia you’ll need someone who knows the place, and that someone is you, I suspect. So perhaps you could at least pretend to know the place inside out, and the people who live there, at least for a little while? There is no use running as far as you can from your past, instead of simply accepting it,” he finished, unable to keep a bit of agitation out of his voice. Who’d have thought that a Death Eater would end up lecturing one of the Ashes? he thought. Luther had barely stopped talking when Kyle punched him. He marched out of the room after that leaving Luther tied to the chair. Kyle needed to find Siobhan. He needed some fresh air.

[McHaggis]

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[Jig]

2nd of December, 1999 Albert Aldenberg - The Safehouse

Aldenberg was not a happy man. They had had the Death Eater in their presence not more than half an hour, and already they were fractured. As McCarthy stormed out, he bristled visibly. He had been standing behind Cunningham with his cloak’s hood obscuring his face. Showing one’s face to one’s enemies was always a poor move. The awkward silence (as though interrogations required tension injections), punctured only by blood pouring from the captive’s nose, lasted a full three seconds before Aldenberg swept in front of Cunningham’s chair and stooped so they could speak face-to-face, if not eye-to-eye. “We speak to one another properly. While you are in our custody, it would behoove you to do the same.” At that point, the door to the adjoining room opened and Ronan hobbled in: “Report?” Aldenberg pointed at Luther and shook his head to Ronan: not here, not now. “I am about to see to McCarthy,” he said, as neutrally as possible, “And in my absence, nobody in this room-” he patted Cunningham’s shoulder, “Is breathing a word. Nobody is breathing a word.”

*

It was cold out. Very cold. The safe house was an unspeakably tiny cottage, a former muggle dwelling, outside some godforsaken hamlet in the Scottish Highlands. It was a far cry from the manor, with all of its three little rooms. McCarthy was leaning against the picket fence around the property that was so rotten and fetid that it could scarcely support his weight. He was stirred by the sound of the closing door, or perhaps the crunch of Aldenberg’s shoes on the lightly-frosted glass, and so looked up, just in time. “Expelliarmus!” A red jet crackled from the tip of Aldenberg’s wand, heading straight for McCarthy. McCarthy was faster: with a slash of his own wand, the disarming spell dissipated, swallowed up by an invisible barrier. Aldenberg scowled. “At least you are not entirely off-guard this evening,” he said, bluntly, joining him by the fence, “But he was right. You are not a child, McCarthy, and so you ought not behave like one. Sooner or later, and quite possibly sooner, you are going to have to face your family, wand in hand. She won’t be defenceless. She will not be bound to a chair. She will be aiming at your throat and if you cannot control yourself, you will not survive. If you behave like this, you will die. This is not news to you.” “You don't think i know that?” said Kyle, “I dread that day. You can't seriously believe that I am not prepared for it, though?” “You treat your family and even their house with a reverential fear, the same grip in which He Who Must Not Be Named has the whole country. Each of us has fears. Each of us has ghosts in their history they have to face. None of them has hit a defenceless man because he didn’t cower from your demons with you. No, you are not prepared.” "I'm already pissed enough at myself for those actions, Albert,” said Kyle, as evenly as he could, “I do not need you to continue to lecture me on it." “Anger isn’t the solution, McCarthy. Anger is why you’re standing outside in the cold with a,” he noted the other man squeezing the knuckles of his right hand with his left, “Painful hand. I assume it isn’t broken?” "It isn't, and I'm not fixing it." “As you wish,” said Albert, turning back to the cottage. He was wasting his time, “Add it to your collection of scars. But, until you learn to control yourself, you risk us all.”

2nd of December, 1999 Ronan Findley – The Safehouse

Ronan folded his hands behind his back, corrected his impeccable pureblood posture (despite his own filthy half-blood status) and observed the second captured Death Eater. There had been a time, back when he had only recently been cursed and taken out of the line of active duty, when he had been the “spymaster” for the Ashes – though that all changed when the Dark Lord began to root out the traitors within the ranks of his followers. Now, he had only Alistair MacFusty, who hadn’t been caught due to remarkable luck. Though, it could be because he rarely, if ever, handed important information to the Ashes, and it was always encrypted with a code only Siobhan could break. Being kept out of the loop of new information made the back of his neck itch – it was so unprofessional. He glared daggers at Albert’s back as he retreated. Brilliant though his trusted advisor was, he was far too similar to Ronan for his own good, at least when it came to controlling the chessboard that was Britain. And so, once the door had firmly shut, Ronan went against Albert’s ‘order’ almost instantly. “Name?” he asked coldly. He was certain he could judge a man’s loyalties better than Aldenberg could, especially when it came to the Death Eaters. Luther spit blood on the floor, careful to aim well out of Ronan’s way, before answering. “Luther Cunningham. You are…” he paused, racking his brain for what little intelligence the Death Eaters have of the Ashes. “Mr. Findley?” “Lord Findley to you,” Ronan replied dryly. He carefully avoided thinking about his lack of land or political power anymore. Both had been eroded by the Death Eaters until he was little more than a refugee hiding in a Dutchman’s mansion. He still had the title, though his father would be turning over in his grave knowing all he’d done with it before his change of heart, and should he survive to the end of the war… He wasn’t that optimistic. “I’m sure the others have already gleaned every possible tidbit of information from you, so I won’t bother boring you with those same questions. All I want to know is, are you aware and prepared for the consequences, should you fail?” Luther looked ‘Lord’ Findley in the eyes. “You said you won’t be asking every possible tidbit of me, but to answer I ultimately have to, at least partially. I’ll keep it short, so as to spare your sanity.” He glanced down to his neck, where the locket containing the picture of Lilly hung, beneath his robes. He looked back to Findley. “The Death Eaters took my sister away to Azkaban–” Ronan interrupted the Death Eater, when he took a breath. “Stop, stop, stop. I couldn’t care less about your life story – I’ve heard so many over the years that turned out to be false or embellished, and I’m not willing to waste my time sifting through your mind.” He walked over to take a seat at the rickety dining table, limp pronounced after how long he’d been standing for. Siobhan’s near-daily procedures lessened the pain to a degree that it was bearable, but it didn’t do a thing for having a boulder as a leg. “I asked you if you’re willing to put yourself at risk of torture, almost inevitable death, and that requires only a yes or no answer. Whether or not your sister is worth it or not is irrelevant.” Luther patiently waited for Findley to finish. When he did, Luther answered, rushing to avoid being interrupted. “They took away the one thing I care about, so I will do whatever it takes to end them. Nothing they do to me can be worse than what she is suffering. So to answer your question, yes, I am completely willing to risk my own death for your cause.” “No, you’re not,” Ronan said decisively, “Not for our cause. For your sister’s.” “They are one and the same, are they not?” Luther countered. “She wants freedom for herself, you want that for all of Britain. Both are reached by the same means.” Ronan ran a hand through his hair, tucking the errant strands behind his ear. “No, they’re not. Generally, vengeful heroes are the more trustworthy ones.“ The ’like me’ went unsaid. “Let me pose a different question to you. What would you do if your sister, the ‘one thing you care about’ is dead. Would you blame the Death Eaters? Probably. But if there was a chance she could be saved and you missed it, helping us, wouldn’t you blame The Ashes?” Luther pondered the question carefully. This man is definitely a critic of the highest caliber, he mused. “I have no chance of seeing her again if I were to work alone,” he finally decided on, speaking carefully. “If I don’t see her again as a direct result of supporting the only chance I have, there frankly isn’t much that can be done about it. Don’t get me wrong though – I’m not here just for her sake, although I’m sure you won’t believe it for even a moment. What happened to her made me realize what a cold bastard V–” he immediately stopped, having almost enacted the Taboo. Even more carefully, he amended, “the Dark Lord is.” Embarrassed for nearly compromising them all, although refusing to show it, he finished, “Although she is admittedly my primary motivation, I understand that the Dark Lord’s removal is ultimately more important than a single person’s freedom.” The silence that followed was filled only by the cracking of Ronan’s knuckles as he flexed them, preventing them from stiffening up. That it created a good bit of tension in the room (at least he thought so) gave him great pleasure. Eventually, he admitted, “I do wish I had a purpose as grand and noble as that. I’ll vouch for you, to Albert. Granted, I’m still suspicious, but that’s just my natural state.” Before he continued any further though, he wondered just how adept the future-spy would be at protecting the secrets of the Ashes. Nobody wanted a double agent. “How good’s your Occlumency?” Luther was taken aback from the question, having expected a counterargument to his own. Upon thinking about it, he realized he hadn’t even considered Occlumency. The Dark Lord was an amazing Legilimens, of course, and he was a damn fool for not considering it until now. “No match for the Dark Lord’s Legilimency,” he admitted. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Ronan mused, though he didn’t make any move to draw his wand for an impromptu session. “Mine stood up to the Dark Lord’s just fine.” Luther spit blood on the floor again. He couldn’t tell what was bleeding exactly,, but McCarthy definitely threw a good punch, that’s for sure. Ronan peered at him curiously. “Alas, I don’t think now’s a good time for that. McCarthy’s work, I’m guessing?” Luther nodded. “He wasn’t very happy with what I had to say, I’m afraid. Were he a Muggle, he’d be a damn good boxer, that’s for sure.” The leader of the Ashes simply nodded, having not even the foggiest as to what a ‘boxer’ was, other than it was something Muggle-related. “McCarthy wouldn’t be happy with anything, unless it was MacFusty’s tongue shoved down his throat.” He shot a grin over to the woman standing by the door to the room holding the Imperiused rookie. Siobhan, who had been uncharacteristically silent as her boss talked with the potential spy (she wasn’t so silly as to interfere in what looked to be a conversation between evil ex-Death Eaters), pointedly glared at Ronan as she stepped forward. She definitely wasn’t going to let that train of conversation continue, and it was either interrupt it or hex Lord Findley, cripple or not. “So,” she said decisively. Luther fought to hide a grin from his face as he thought, I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t mind that either. “I could’ve healed that up ages ago, you know,” she said, drawing her wand. It glimmered in the half-light, clearly recently polished. “Ronan’s just a sourpuss.” Luther nodded to her. “Yeah, that’d be lovely, thanks.” Siobhan barely even acknowledged his consent, already aggressively waving her wand with an “Episkey,” on her lips. A light mist shimmered out from her wand in Luther’s direction, as soothing as a summer rain. Luther shuddered as the spell hit him, the mist granting instant relief.”Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “That feels a lot better.” “Well, at least someone thanks me for my services,” Siobhan replied with an answering smile and a cheeky glance in Ronan’s direction. Her boss held up his hands placatingly, but otherwise said nothing. “I’m the mediwitch of the Ashes. Sadly the only healer. Bottom of my class in St Mungos, too!” Luther nodded, feigning shock – as if she was literally the greatest witch of all time. “No way! The bottom of the class! Truly remarkable!” he laughed, allowing himself to be cheeky with them, for they seem to be a lot… well, nicer than McCarthy. Siobhan seemed baffled by that, narrowing her eyes. Was that sarcasm or an insult..? Ronan snorted in laughter from somewhere behind her, and answered, “Believe it or not, she’s not as bad as she makes herself out to be. The fact that she had to buy her way into training is irrelevant.”

[McHaggis]

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[Kirah]

2nd of December, 1999 Kyle McCarthy - Not far outside the McCarthy manor

The meeting had not been an easy one, in fact there had been very little sleep since it had been agreed that they as a group would in fact be going to the McCarthy manor and rescuing one Mia Dubois. Reasons were mostly listed as "She's a Metamorphmagus" counter arguments were "Yeah, but she's a pacifist." In the end, the rescue team was dispatched to Kyle's least favorite place in the world. Kyle cloaked in a Disillusionment charm stood near the edge of the manor property. He was deep in thought, trying to slip through the cracks of his father's spells on the manor. "Father wasn't as good as my mother at casting protection charms on the house." He said with a grin, "But there are a few new ones since I lived here." Finally he found the path, and led the others through. "Mia will be in the basement. It's a mess to get there, the house isn't laid out all that logically, but if you find stairs leading down you'll be in the basement. Be careful though only one set of stairs will lead to the rooms where she would be. At the base of that stairs is a second door. If there isn't you're in the wrong place." Once the group was clear of the magical field before them laid a large mansion, several stories tall, and in near perfect condition. It was painted white, with a pale blue trim, which felt oddly incorrect. "We don't have long. Other spells may pick up on us." Kyle frowned.

[McHaggis]

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