Squibs and Souljars

The Daily Prophet's headline was sufficient to cause several members of the Order of the Phoenix to convene at Grimmauld Place as soon as they'd seen it.

"How the hell did Lucius Malfoy manage to escape from Azkaban?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked for the eighth time. "Don't tell me he's an Animagus like Black was!"

"According to the report," Rita Skeeter answered cautiously, "he was able to identify and exploit a weakness in the wards that allowed him to leave his cell. For some reason, he was not stopped by the Dementors, and as it was evening, there were no human guards around. Malfoy would simply have to walk to the shore and Apparate."

"With no wand?" Ron Weasley scoffed. "He had to have had help."

"It is much more likely that someone met him there with a Portkey," Bill pointed out. "And I don't like it that he found a weakness in those wards. They've been in place for centuries."

"None of the Death Eaters have had any visitors since their new trials," Rita replied. "I checked as part of the story. In fact, most of them are in rather ill health." She paused for a moment. "They reminded me very much of Mr. Potter's godfather."

"We'll have everyone here this evening," Alastor Moody grumbled into the silence that had followed Rita's statement. "Or at least, more of us. Can't take the Headmistress of Hogwarts and three of her teachers away during the middle of the day without causing a ruckus."

Bill brought his feet down off the table where they'd been propped with a thump. "Do we still have McGaven's notes, or did those get turned over to the Ministry?"

"Harry had them last I knew," Ron answered. "What're you getting at?"

"There's something in there about Malfoy. We didn't follow up on it at the time because we were more concerned with rescuing Albus and Black. And I can't remember now exactly what McGaven said."

"Mr. Potter can find them for us tonight," Kingsley said. "I'll remind him."

~*~

The shrilling whistle of a teapot woke Lucius Malfoy out of the best sleep he'd had in months. Being imprisoned in Azkaban was second on his list of experiences he'd rather not repeat, just under Being Soulstruck. Without help, he'd still be there. Come to think of it, he still wasn't entirely sure who'd been responsible for his restoration. He rose, wrapping his over-sized cloak around him for warmth and stepped out into the kitchen of the small house. His cohort in crime was there, as promised, with food and tea.

"You've surpassed yourself," Lucius said appreciatively taking the cup that was offered. "What plans have you for today?"

"I've been thinking about how to get a wand for you, sir. Dumbledore had a box of unregistered ones in his office, and I was thinking to, ah, liberate one."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You have more talents than I gave you credit for. I don't suppose those talents extend to breaking into Ollivander's? No? It was but a thought. One of those unregistered wands will do magnificently."

The other man poked the fire carefully, releasing more heat into the room. "It'll be tricky. When I bring your dinner tonight, I'll let you know more. I'd like to get a house-elf to take care of this place for you, but that could be a problem. You know how they like to gossip."

"Definitely." Lucius looked around the room again noting the pile of blankets, the double layers of carpet on the floor, and other non-magical ways of retaining heat within the building. "Once I have a wand again, this place will become much more habitable." He paused a moment. "I've not properly thanked you for helping me. You'll be well rewarded."

The other man gave him a grim smile in return. "I'm counting on it. If some people knew what I'd done, I'd be dead and you'd be back in Azkaban before you could say Dementor. And there's not many around who'd stick their necks out for you like I did."

"Then it's in our best interests to make sure no one finds out," Lucius replied, tacitly acknowledging the truth of the other's words. "You'd best be getting back to Hogwarts before you're missed, Argus."

~*~

"I don't think it worked," Hermione said as they met for lunch in their rooms.

Snape looked at her blankly for a moment, allowing the Daily Prophet to fall into his lap. "What?"

"Last night. The breaking of the Amorata." She stared back at him. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already!"

"I plead distraction," he replied. "I've spent most of the morning wondering how Lucius could have escaped from Azkaban, and the rest of it trying to pound sense into the dunderheads I'm teaching." He took a mental inventory of his thoughts and feelings. "Why don't you think it worked?"

"I'm here meeting you for lunch, instead of eating with everyone else in the Great Hall," she answered promptly.

"That's ridiculous! We always have lunch together."

"It is not either ridiculous! The only reason I eat lunch with you is because you insist on it!" Her voice was rising.

"That's only because I enjoy your company, you insufferable Gryffindor!" His voice rose in response.

"Let me just remind you that this insufferable Gryffindor saved your sorry arse!" Now she was shouting.

"How do you feel?" he asked mildly.

The complete non-sequitur took her by surprise. "What? I... I feel fine!"

"Hermione, we've just roared at each other. I don't have the beginnings of a headache. If you don't, then I believe we've broken the compulsion."

She opened her mouth and closed it again as the sense of what he'd said sank in. "You're right. But why do I still want to spend time with you?"

He pulled out a chair for her and sat down across the table just as he had for the past several months. "I can only guess that we have become friends as a result of our recent shared experiences."

"That makes a certain amount of sense," she said as she took a sandwich from the platter between them. "But where do we go from here?"

He pointed with an elbow at the Prophet still lying on the sofa. "First things first, Hermione. I suspect we'll be meeting with friends tonight."

"The Order. Yes, I would expect so." She took a bite of sandwich. "Hopefully Arthur can get an accurate idea of what exactly happened." Another bite and she changed the subject. "Minerva gave me a copy of that odd message Albus sent to her."

"Oh? What do you make of it? I admit that I've done nothing but read it the once. It..."

"It reminds you of McGaven's puzzles," she finished for him. "I can see the resemblance. It's very old; it's been under a Stasis spell for centuries. I'd very much like to know where Albus got it. That might provide a clue."

"Send him an owl and ask. You'd think the meddling old codger would think to include such little tidbits of information." He put down a mostly eaten sandwich and reached for the tea.

"I think the meddling old codger is regretting his retirement and looking for an excuse to come back to Hogwarts in some capacity," Hermione returned. "I didn't think he would stay in southern Italy forever, even with a War Hero stipend to live on."

"The owl came from London, not Italy, so Minerva told me," he replied. "I suspect your hypothesis is correct."

"I'll ask when I owl him about the parchment," she said with a grin. "If I phrase it so that I know he's coming back, he might even answer."

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to have been Sorted into Slytherin?" he asked. "That is not the kind of tactic a Gryffindor should think of."

"I think you'll find that I'm not a typical Gryffindor."

"Thank Merlin!"

~*~

Aberon looked at the blank wall in front of him. "Are you sure there's a doorway here? I certainly can't see it." He gingerly pushed one finger against the painted surface. "It feels solid."

"It's right here, see?" Leech replied, stepping into the wall and disappearing. His voice came back distorted. "I've got a lantern here. Now come on."

The wizard considered. "Did Fudge ever say anything about how the door worked? All I see, all I feel is wall."

Leech reappeared. "Well yeah, he had this little thing he always said. Let's see... oh yeah. Nil nisi bonum." He chuckled. "The Aurors never thought to ask and I wasn't going to volunteer."

"Nothing but good," Aberon muttered to himself. Then facing the wall, he spoke the Latin phrase wondering what would happen. Before him, the wall twitched and faded into non-existence, revealing a well-lit flight of stairs descending into a soft pool of darkness below.

"Nice!" Leech stepped through again and took the lantern from its hook next to the doorway. "Mind the stairs; they're kind of steep."

McGaven followed him down nearly a hundred stairs. Obviously this was wizard-work rather than Muggle construction. At the bottom, Leech threw open a door with a flourish. "And here, sir, our fortune awaits!"

Cautiously, expecting there to be wards or other booby-traps, McGaven entered the room. It was definitely a laboratory, with well-filled bookshelves filling one wall, racks and racks of potions ingredients, several cauldrons of different sizes neatly stacked one inside the other, and a diamond-topped workbench that had to have cost a fortune. Sitting on the workbench in neat rows were dozens of dark blue glass jars a bit bigger than his fist. He counted them automatically – there were forty-two. For some reason the number stuck in his head.

"Leech, did Fudge keep any personal notes here?"

"Not that I know of." He pointed to the jars. "Those things there – what are they?"

"They're important. They're very important," McGaven replied. "I know I used to know what they were. It's part of what they took from me!" He stared at the jars for a long moment. "They're called Souljars... I remember that much."

"No kidding!" Leech rubbed his chin. "What about those cauldrons? Any idea what they'd be worth?"

McGaven considered, going over to the items in question and making a show of inspecting them for damage. "Two hundred galleons for the set, more or less." He walked over to the bookshelves. "There's easily a thousand galleons in books alone. Probably another thousand in equipment and ingredients. And," he added, "A lot of those ingredients would get the owner sent to Azkaban just for having them around." He pointed. "Hand of Glory, graveyard earth, powdered human bone, all things that have no use other than Dark potions."

"I'll take everything down to Knockturn Alley tomorrow. I'm sure Borgin and Burkes will be interested."

"If you sell all this at once, you'll draw a lot of attention to yourself," Aberon pointed out carefully. "It would be better – much better – to sell off a few things at a time to different shops. If we worked together, we could probably dispose of everything in two or three months."

"Damn! I was hoping to be rid of it all in a week at most!"

"You'd need to find a wealthy dark wizard," McGaven replied. "Very wealthy. One who needs a lab." He looked around the room again. "A fully-stocked lab and a library."

"How hard would that be?"

"Not hard to find one, I wouldn't think – but finding one you could trust not to kill you after the sale would be harder. They'd almost certainly want to guarantee that you wouldn't report them to the Ministry. And obviously, you can't report them if you're dead."

Leech grumbled to himself for a minute. "What about this? Can you tell what's Dark and what isn't?"

"Yes..." Aberon wasn't sure where this was going.

"I'm thinking we could sell all the books and equipment that's not dark all at once."

"Still risky. The Aurors searched the house. If they notice that you're selling things, they may come back and search it again."

"Damn it, McGaven! Are you trying to queer this up?"

"Not at all! I don't want to be sent to Azkaban!" He forced his voice to become reasonable. "If we're patient we'll be free and wealthy in a few months. Isn't that better than being broke and imprisoned?"

"All right, all right. You're right about that, at least." Leech stood beside him looking at the massive tomes that graced the shelves. "Pick out two books, give me a price, and let's get started."