The Dark Mark

Disclaimer: Rowan, her mother, and her troubles are mine. Her world is only borrowed, but she doesn't have to know that.

Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to my endlessly patient beta, Verity. Thanks also to my endlessly patient readers. Thank you for sticking with me and for reviewing!

Chapter 22: The Dark Mark

A fire burned merrily on the kitchen hearth of a well-kept and comfortable old farmhouse near the village of Tideswell. The kitchen was equipped with an icebox and stove ("Boyle & Hoar's Kitchen Magic: let our charmed equipment heat your cauldron and frost your pumpkin, the easy, modern way.") but the owners had kept the old hearth in working order through all renovations. A peek into the perfectly ordered parlor would show that the inhabitants rarely sat there, preferring the homey comfort of the well worn kitchen table and chairs.

Professor Dumbledore sat in one of those chairs, deep in conversation with the owner of the farm. This worthy man wore a nightcap and a dressing gown over a plaid flannel nightshirt. He looked to be in his mid forties and had an honest, weathered face. Two empty cups of tea, a plate of crumbs and an air of agreement between the two wizards suggested that their business together was very nearly concluded.

A sharp crack, as of a hasty Apparition, sounded from the yard outside, startling them from their conversation. Professor Dumbledore did not appear surprised, but Adrian Bracken jumped up and opened the outside door, which led into the yard, to investigate. He recognized the rather excitable man outside and drew him into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. The visitor was wearing a violet top hat, which was threatening to topple right off his head in his obvious distress.

Dumbledore spoke first from his seat at the table. "Diggle, you have news to report? Did they come?"

"You were spot on, Professor," Dedalus Diggle replied quickly. "They came all right. I was there maybe an hour when I heard several other people pop in close by. I cast a concealment charm, and I went over to where the noise came from. Sure enough, it was a clot of Death Eaters; they were wearing robes and masks, the cowards. I stayed hidden and only watched, just like you told me to."

Adrian drew up another chair for Diggle, but he was too agitated to sit. Adrian gave up, sat back in his own chair and listened to Diggle's report.

"I followed them down the street. They were going slowly, checking the numbers on the houses. After a few blocks, they must have found the one they were looking for, because they stopped and went in."

"And then? What did they do?" Dumbledore prodded.

"I'm wishing now I had disobeyed orders and done something to stop them," Dedalus responded, with a heavy sigh. "They came out again after only a little while, set the Mark over the house and torched it by wand-fire. The Muggle firemen came in their trucks, but of course they couldn't put it out. The house burned. They said a woman died inside. When Magical Law Enforcement started popping in, I Disapparated in the hubbub," Diggle reported. He removed his hat and lowered his eyes, grieved for the stranger he'd been ordered to watch.

"I am sorry for your distress, Dedalus, but it is very well that you did exactly as instructed and did not interfere. It is extremely important that Voldemort hears that the lady in question is dead," Dumbledore told him with a pointed look. No more was said, but Diggle's shoulders straightened a touch and he met Dumbledore's eye.

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you need from me tonight?"

"Not tonight, Dedalus. You have done an excellent job. I will convey your report to the rest of the Order. Go home, and try to get some sleep."

"Good night then, sir." Diggle straightened his hat, nodded to the owner of the house and departed the way he had come. After he had gone, Dumbledore sat back in his seat at the table and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

"That went as well as I'd hoped. The way looks clear now."

"You'll be bringing her soon, then?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I should think. She will need some time to rest, and matters will have to be explained to her."

"We'll be ready here. Does my nephew know?"

"No, but he might well recognize her, so you may tell him when he comes home."

Adrian Bracken nodded and stood when the headmaster started to rise. He shook Dumbledore's hand, then held the pot of Floo powder for him. Professor Dumbledore cast a handful into the fire, said "Hogwarts, my office," and stepped into the flames.

The change in light from yellow to green drew Laurel and Rowan's attention to the fireplace. They both stood as Professor Dumbledore emerged and straightened his hat.

"Well, then," Professor Dumbledore said, addressing Rowan, "I trust that you and Mrs. Bourne have made good use of the time while I have been gone?"

Rowan nodded faintly and Laurel answered for her, "Rowan has been explaining to me all that has happened."

"I am very glad to hear it. Mrs. Bourne, you have every right to be proud of your daughter. She has shown courage and clear thinking, despite her youth, that few could boast of."

"Thank you, Professor, but ... what happens now? It would appear that Rowan is still in a very difficult position and apparently I am also in danger. I have no magic; how can I protect either of us?"

"I and my associates will not let you be harmed," Dumbledore told her. He walked around and sat at his desk with a weary sigh before continuing.

"Things should not have come to this pass, Mrs. Bourne. I feel myself to blame; if I had not underestimated both our enemy's cunning and Miss Bourne's courage, we would not be where we are. I have already given Professor Snape my word that I would see Miss Bourne safe, and now I give it to you."

"You will watch out for Rowan?"

"Yes. And for yourself as well, Mrs. Bourne."

"We can't go back home, can we? When those – what are they, Death Eaters? – find me missing, they'll keep looking, won't they?"

Dumbledore answered her gravely, "No, you cannot go back home. A group of Death Eaters arrived at your house, not long after you left it. They burned the house, believing you in it, thanks to an illusion left by Professor Snape. By now, they will have reported your death to their Master."

Laurel sat abruptly back down. "My home, burned?"

Rowan knelt at her mother's side and put her arms around her. She looked up at Dumbledore, worry on her face.

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Bourne. The Death Eaters have little regard for property which is not theirs. I am very grateful to Professor Snape for getting you away in time."

Laurel sat back and digested this in silence. Rowan stayed where she was, holding on to her mother. She flashed back to the memories of her home and her childhood which Professor Snape had seen. Her mother had figured in most of them – she was surely remembering many of those same scenes now. It had been months since Rowan had been back home, but it was hard to believe that it was now gone.

After a time, Laurel appeared to recover herself. Her usual response to any crisis was to take stock and evaluate the situation, and tonight was no different.

"You are sure they were fooled, Professor Dumbledore? Wouldn't they check? What if You-Know-Who finds out it was a mistake?"

"Voldemort's tactics do not yield the best class of minion," Dumbledore told them, with a hint of a smile. "He has taught them, painfully, that reporting failure is a bad idea. Since he can detect lies, they much prefer not to know about anything that might have gone wrong. Furthermore," he added more seriously, "he would not have wasted his most trusted followers on a task so trivial as killing a single female Muggle."

Laurel looked somewhat offended at being considered trivial by anyone. In the normal order of things, she was anything but.

"I have friends, a job. People are depending on me!"

"Mrs. Bourne, I am very sorry, but they too will have to believe that you have died in the fire – and it is utterly necessary for your safety that they do."

Laurel looked completely at a loss. She had been a busy woman in the last few years; with her husband dead and her daughter away at school, she had thrown herself into her job and also into volunteering at a local hospital and at her library. She made a soft sound of distress and leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes.

"You will have to go into hiding, Mrs. Bourne," Dumbledore told her. "The fewer people who know you are still alive, the safer. I have arranged for you to stay with a wizarding family. One I know to be completely trustworthy. They will make you welcome and cover for your presence."

Rowan, who had had never seen her mother unsure of what to do in any crisis, now saw her cast adrift; the sight pained her. She would have to leave everything she knew and enter a world which must seem very strange. Rowan was sympathetic; she had done the same, nearly seven years ago – but she at least had had magic of her own; she belonged in this world. What would her mother do?

She realized, too, that her mother's absence would leave quite a gap in her community. Voldemort might not have succeeded in killing her, but he had caused more pain and damage than he knew.

Laurel's concern, however, was mostly for her daughter. "What about Rowan? What will happen to her?"

"She must stay here to finish school," Dumbledore told her with certainty, "and, incidentally, to be seen to grieve for your 'death.' After Leaving, she may decide what she wants to do. I shall do my best to assist her. If she wishes to join you in hiding, I shall arrange for that as well."

"And, if she doesn't hide? What will she do?"

"Professor Snape's idea that she could become a maker of Invisibility Cloaks is an excellent one. It will make her of strategic importance to the Ministry, ensuring that they are as concerned for her safety as we are."

Laurel, reassured somewhat, seemed to gather herself together. She rose from her chair and stood in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk. She glanced at Rowan, who also stood.

"Professor, it is terribly late. Don't you think Rowan should be getting back to her dorm?"

Dumbledore took the hint. "Yes, of course. Miss Bourne, will you be all right walking back by yourself?

Rowan had realized at once that her mother wished to speak to Professor Dumbledore alone. From the tone of her mother's voice, Rowan decided she would be wise to comply.

"I'll be fine, Professor. Good night, Mom."

"Good night, Rowan." Laurel kissed her daughter and gave her a fierce hug.

Dumbledore walked her to the door. "You should try to sleep. Tomorrow, we must all behave as if you have lost your mother. When the news comes officially, I will send Flitwick for you. We allow those who have suffered losses some privacy in the Infirmary while the rest of the students learn the news. It is terrible that such a thing can happen so frequently that we have a standard procedure," he sighed heavily, "but it will assist us now.

"I will bring you to your mother in time for you to share breakfast with her before she leaves."

"I understand. Thank you, Professor."

When Rowan had left and closed the door behind her, Laurel turned to Professor Dumbledore and said, "Professor, there are some things I still don't understand."

Professor Dumbledore was expecting her questions. "Yes, of course."

"You appear to know a great deal about what this wizard and his followers are up to. You were able to rescue Rowan so quickly after she was kidnapped, and you brought me out in what was certainly the nick of time. What is going on?"

"You are very perceptive, Mrs. Bourne. The fact of the matter is that Professor Snape is still my spy in Voldemort's camp. Miss Bourne was right to conceal what she was told in confidence, but I believe you should know."

"Rowan said that this wizard ... Voldemort? I don't think I've ever heard his name before. She said he sent men into the school after Professor Snape."

"Never fear to name a thing," Dumbledore told her. "Your own fear lessens you. It limits your freedom, and it gives power to what you fear.

"After Professor Snape's report on Voldemort's plans, I ordered him to cease his spying and remain at Hogwarts. I believe Voldemort suspected this, and he sent his Death Eaters here to get him.

"It should not have been possible, except I overlooked a weakness in the castle's defenses. Parents of students are permitted to come here, to speak with teachers or visit their children."

"And Rowan was in his office when they came," Laurel stated, shoulders stiff.

"That is correct, on a matter of her term project."

Laurel took a deep breath and glared at Professor Dumbledore. "And they took her too. She was under your protection. How could you let something like that happen to a student? To my daughter?"

"It happened so quickly," he told her, sighing heavily. "Professor Snape had no opportunity to fight them. These Death Eaters believed that Professor Snape had chosen Miss Bourne and had arranged for her to be there. When they appeared before Voldemort, Severus recognized their mistake and used it to advantage."

"Wait – did Voldemort know he was disloyal, or not?"

"He did not know for certain, and the circumstances allowed Severus to continue to deceive him."

"But then why did Voldemort use that ... what was it? Imperius Curse?"

"He did not. That was a story which I suggested to Miss Bourne and which she has agreed to maintain."

Now Laurel looked shocked. "What? Why would you suggest such a thing? Why should she go along with it?"

Dumbledore rose from his chair and walked around the desk to stand before Laurel's accusing glare and answer her.

"Professor Snape believed that Miss Bourne would be killed when they had no further use for her. He has had, after all, some years of experience in observing them. There have been others whom ... he could not help. He hoped that if he was able to convince Voldemort of his loyalty, he could induce Voldemort to spare her life.

"Mrs. Bourne, I trust Severus, and I know that nothing less than the belief she would otherwise have been killed would have induced him to harm her so. I know it may be very difficult, but can you believe that?"

Laurel lowered her eyes and envisioned the stern, spare man who had suddenly appeared in her house earlier that night. He had looked frightening, had offered no reassurances, had, indeed, spoken barely a handful of words to her. Yet she had gone with him when he asked her, without hesitation. Why?

She started to blurt "Yes," but caught herself. "Maybe. But if you believe what he did was right, why lie about it?"

"It was too late to conceal what had happened from the Ministry. Professor Snape had to go to trial, and it was imperative that he be acquitted. Having paid so dearly to regain Voldemort's trust, that price could not be wasted. An acceptable excuse was needed. Others, far more guilty, had claimed Imperius and been proved false, but if Miss Bourne spoke for him, the court would believe her."

"You said that your Professor Snape has again gone back to spying on this Voldemort. Do you mean to tell me, that you used my daughter to make that possible?"

Dumbledore answered her without flinching. "I did."

Laurel whirled around and walked away from Dumbledore. Distraught, she looked everywhere except at him – at the spindly tables, the shiny instruments, the desk, the windows.

She was so angry that she saw the entire office through a red mist. Fawkes disappeared entirely into the color; she no longer heard his soft crooning. Only a few small objects shone brightly enough to penetrate the haze and attract her attention. Without thinking, she grabbed one and hurled it with all her strength at the wall.

One of the portraits why did Dumbledore have a roomful of portraits of sleeping people? almost seemed to flinch when the shining glass sphere shattered against the wall right next to its frame.

Dumbledore, making no comment, stepped back out of the way.

Feeling slightly better, Laurel grabbed another and did it again. This time she actually struck a portrait frame and knocked a chip off the corner. The figure in the painting jumped up, now wide awake. Glaring at her, he walked out the side to reappear in his neighbor's picture. The lady in that frame also woke and, while Laurel watched them, dumbfounded, the two figures began an animated conversation which seemed to revolve around Laurel herself; it did not sound complimentary.

Startled back to her senses, Laurel looked down at the third bright and fragile object she had picked up, which she still held in her hand. There was something in it like a top which glinted but did not move. She looked up from the shiny ball to Professor Dumbledore, suddenly aware of the impropriety of smashing up his office, no matter how justified her anger.

"That is quite all right, Mrs. Bourne," he told her gently. "If your feelings have been relieved, then it was entirely worth some small destruction. I assure you, you are not the first visitor in my office to wish to throw things at me, nor even the only one to have done so."

Feeling slightly shamed by his mild tone, Laurel put down the little ball. What use was throwing things? She needed help and she needed information; venting her anger at the headmaster would gain her neither.

"I apologize for losing my temper."

"Do not be embarrassed; it is entirely understandable. You are quite right to be angry, and if destroying anything of mine is of any help to you, you are more than welcome to continue."

Laurel laughed awkwardly and said, "No, thank you. I'm quite done."

"Very well, then. Is there anything else I can tell you?"

"There is so much I don't understand, but I don't know where to begin asking, and I'm very tired."

"Would you like to go to your room now?"

"Yes, thank you." She looked down at herself and suddenly realized that this entire interview had taken place with her wearing nothing but a blue-flowered nightgown and fuzzy blue slippers. "At least I'm already dressed for it."

Dumbledore smiled at her, but did not in any way indicate that she was not dressed entirely appropriately for the occasion. "I daresay you are of a size with Miss Bourne; she can lend you something fresh to wear tomorrow."

With that, Dumbledore ushered her down the spiraling staircase and escorted her to her room.

Laurel found it surprisingly comfortable-looking after the drafty halls and more formal public spaces. There was a cozy fire in the fireplace and the bed was turned down, ready to climb into. There was no mirror, that's right, that elf thing said she'd taken it down, but Laurel supposed she didn't really want to see herself right now anyway.

Laurel blew out the candle and sat watching the fire numbly for a while before she climbed into bed and fell into an exhausted slumber.