Two Couplets Equal One Death Eater

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. The original plot and story belong to Velvet Song. Any resemblance to anything living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of Velvet Song’s story “Damsels & Dragons”, which she has graciously allowed me to adopt. You will find the first thirteen chapters of her story here: http: //www. thepetulantpoetess.com /viewstory.php?sid =18337 (remove the spaces first). I might suggest you read her story first in order to understand what has been happening.

Virtual chocolates to Fizzabella and writermerrin for the beta of this chapter. The story is completed and will be posted as each chapter is beta’d.

Two Couplets Equal One Death Eater

“This is most interesting,” Phelps murmured as they viewed the memories Hermione had managed to obtain. “Most interesting, indeed.” He scribbled furiously on his notes. “Play it again, please. I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Almost isn’t good enough,” Lucius growled impatiently. “We need to have an answer now.”

“Lucius—”

“No, Minerva. Every minute we waste is another minute that Severus doesn’t have.”

“I’ve got it!” Phelps’ shout interrupted their argument. “At least I believe I have,” he said slowly, as he rearranged several runes on his paper. “Play that again, would you? One more time? I need to verify…”

He glanced up at the wall and back down to his parchments. “Hmmm, yes,” he mumbled. “That makes more sense than this other one.” Looking up, he grinned. “I think I’ll keep my bottle of Hundred Year Reserve for this.”

Not bloody likely.

Hermione giggled. “You couldn’t drink it right now anyway, silly,” she said, seemingly into thin air. “We don’t even know if we can reverse the spell.”

You can if they can’t.

“How sweet of you to think so.”

I am not sweet.

“Of course you are.”

Ask Phelps about the spell.

“He’s changing the subject,” Hermione said, grinning at her fellow teachers. “He wants me to ask about the spell. Do you have all of it?”

“I believe so,” Phelps said, nervously straightening his parchments. “I can give you what I have, but I would really like to see Mrs Tonks-Weasley’s memories as well. They might give me a better grasp of this.” He looked up at the memory, which hung, movement frozen, on the wall. “Where did the man learn Gothic?” he murmured, half to himself. “There aren’t that many of us in the community that anyone could have taught him without someone hearing about it.” He shook his head in annoyance. “I’ll read you what I have, shall I?”

“Please do,” Minerva said, taking her place at the head of the table and gesturing for the others to take their seats. “Then we can decide what our next actions should be.”

Phelps cleared his throat several times. “I want you to remember that this is what I have gleaned from all your memories. It’s only a rough approximation—”

“Yes, yes,” Lucius said, waving an impatient hand. “Get on with it, man.”

Phelps cleared his throat again and looked down at his parchments.

“From man to animal,

never again.”

He finished reading and looked up expectantly. “Well?” he asked. “Does that help any?”

“That’s it?” Minerva sputtered. “Two couplets to turn a man into a great beast?”

“Minerva—”

She waved her hand at Hermione. “It took only two couplets to make Severus into a beast, Hermione.” Sighing, she scrubbed at her face, only to look up with tears in her eyes. “A longer spell would have a better chance of being reversed. This one? I don’t know…”

“We can still do something with this,” Flitwick said cheerfully. “Tell me, Mr Phelps, does the reversal spell have to be spoken in Gothic as well?”

“I’m sure it would have a better chance of succeeding,” Phelps said, assuring everyone at the table. “If you need my help with translating—”

“Oh, we’ll need your help alright,” Lucius growled. “Especially as none of us have the slightest hint of how to speak your precious Gothic language.”

“Lucius, really!” Narcissa scolded her husband. “Mr Phelps, please forgive him,” she apologized. “We’re all just a little upset and shaken over what you’ve revealed.”

“Think nothing of it,” Phelps said, waving away her apology. “I completely understand. Headmistress, if I am to stay for awhile, might I speak with your house-elf—what was its name—Panty?”

“That’s Penti!” Hermione shouted. “His name is Penti!”

“Yes, that’s it.” Phelps calmly turned back to Minerva. “May I? The knowledge he has of his former master is irreplaceable. To be able to regain that knowledge…”

Minerva sighed. “Very well, Mr Phelps,” she said. “I have no objections to your speaking with Penti.” She raised a finger in warning. “However, he shall not be coerced. If he chooses to answer your questions, well and good, but I will make it clear to him that he is under no obligation to do so. Do you understand?”

“Oh, most definitely.” Phelps beamed at her. “This is so exciting.”

Not for me, it isn’t.

* * *

“What do we do now?” Hermione paced the length of the staff room after Phelps had been shown to his guest quarters. “In order to restore Severus, do we have to come up with an original spell? And if we do, how do we know it will even work? We certainly wouldn’t want to test it out on anything first.”

Lucius tapped his forefinger on the tabletop. “There might be a spell somewhere in the Dark Lord’s books and papers. As I said before, he was usually prepared with a counter-curse so he could torture his followers when they displeased him and reverse the spell at will.”

“But we don’t know where they are,” Hermione protested. “And remember, the books said the spell destroys the original body. How are we to find something—”

“I know who owned the vault,” Bill said, interrupting her ranting. “I don’t think anyone’s going to like it, though.”

“Why not, son?” Arthur looked over at his eldest child. “Is the vault still in use?”

“It is,” Bill said, “but not by the person we need. He gave it up and returned the key a few months after the Final Battle. First, though, he emptied the vault.”

“And took another one, right?” Harry asked, leaning forward eagerly. “Who is it?”

“Rufus Scrimgeour.”

“What!” Remus shouted into the shocked silence, the faces of the other teachers echoing his shock.

“He’s a Death Eater?” Hermione cried.

“Can’t be!” said Arthur, brows beetling in thought.

“That slimy, sanctimonious, egotistical git?” Harry was furious.

“But… but… he was Minister of Magic!” Filius protested.

“Doesn’t preclude him from being a Death Eater,” Lucius drawled.

Minerva knocked on the table and waved everyone to silence. “Lucius is correct,” she said. “Being Minister of Magic did not preclude him from following Riddle. And,” she continued, frowning at Harry, “he is the last person any of us would suspect. After all, he fought on our side during the Final Battle.”

“How can we prove he was a Death Eater?” Hermione asked. “Especially if he didn’t take the Dark Mark?”

He was marked.

“What?” Hermione whirled on Lucius. “Severus says he was marked.”

“Yes.” Lucius blinked. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“About what?” Harry’s face was red with anger. “I can’t believe that git thought I would work with him,” he muttered, shaking off Neville’s soothing hand. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Indeed,” Lucius agreed. He tapped on the table with his forefinger again to emphasize his words. “The Dark Lord did not leave his followers unmarked, regardless of what they might have thought. It’s not a visible mark, however.”

“How do we prove he was a Death Eater, then?” Minerva asked. “I’m sure the Ministry wouldn’t accept the testimony of a dragon,” she said wryly.

Indeed, they would not.