Overdue

Chapter Three: Overdue

Bloomer, the Order member that told Harry he had found something, was now guiding Harry back to the bank. Hermione, Ron, Luna and Draco, their curiosity whetted, tagged along behind. Near the Hippogriff's pen he took a sharp left. Once past the bank, they came to a modest house, its left wall blasted completely away.

Inside, Harry found the Creevey brothers, the tips of their wands alight. Dennis was inspecting the contents of a hessian sack. Colin was on his knees and staring down through a lifted trapdoor.

Harry crouched to look at the bag, the others gathering around him. It was filled with what seemed like sand.

'Floo powder,' Hermione said in a hushed tone.

Since Apparition had become all but impossible, the price of Floo powder had increased a tenfold. 'Think of its value!'

'And look here, Harry.' Dennis pointed at the trapdoor.

'What's that? Lumos!'

The glow showed a small cellar, just deep enough to stand without bending. Two more sacks lay on its stone floor next to a large number of dusty bottles.

Ron gave a low, appreciative whistle.

'Firewhisky!

'What say we sample it?' Dennis suggested hopefully.

Ron added his own petition. 'It wouldn't hurt, mate. Don't we deserve that much after pulling off this mission?'

'I don't know...'

Luna looked pensive, but held her tongue.

Hermione eyed the cylinder in Harry's belt and injected a note of caution. 'It wouldn't be wise to keep the Minister waiting too long.'

Harry did not seem to hear. He pulled a bottle of the prime quality liquor, opened the cork with a tap of his wand and took a small sip.

'This Floo powder is worth a small fortune in gold and influence. Think how it would swell Scrimgeour's coffers.'

'Exactly,' Dennis eagerly concurred. 'Look at it from his point of view. Our mission was successfully accomplished, we've achieved victory in battle, and now we've gotten a king's ransom of Floo powder to boot. He'll probably promote you!'

'Dwell on this, Potter,' Draco said, eying the bottles thirstily. 'Once delivered into the Minister's hands, how much of it are we ever likely to see?'

'We, Malfoy?' Harry asked, looking at Draco skeptically. 'Glad to see you're finally coming into the team spirit!'

But Draco's argument had occurred to Harry as well.

'What he doesn't know won't hurt him,' he decided, 'and starting out an hour or two later won't make that much difference. And when he sees what we've brought, even Scrimgeour's going to be satisfied.

---

Some endure frustration of their will with grace and forbearance. Others see obstacles in the path of their success as intolerable burdens. The former embody admirable stoicism. The latter are dangerous.

Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour firmly belonged to the second category. And he was growing impatient.

The Aurors he had entrusted with the sacred mission, the Order of the Phoenix, had yet to return. He knew the fight was over and that it went in his favour, but they had not brought him the prize he was after.

When they came, he would have them skinned alive. If they had failed in their task he would inflict a much worse fate.

Scrimgeour paced around the innermost of his private quarters. The chamber, deep below the ministry at London, was constructed of stone. A dozen pillars supported the distant vaulted ceiling. Just enough light was provided by a crackling fire and some torches, for Scrimgeour favoured shadows.

Wall hangings depicted complex ancient symbols. A high-backed wooden chair, ornately carved but not quite a throne, stood next to an iron brazier of glowing coals.

Two features dominated the apartment. One was a solid chunk of white marble, shaped like a long, low table or couch, standing right before the high-backed chair.

The other was a huge, magnificent mirror with an ornate gold frame. The mirror had two clawed feet, which Scrimgeour thought amusing, since back in his Auror days he was known as 'the Lion'. On top, a number of faded inscriptions could just be made out. But Scrimgeour knew them by heart. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

But he did not care for the silly inscriptions. He only cared about what it had showed him these past six months.

A rap at the studded oak door broke his reverie.

'Come.'

Two Aurors herded in a prisoner at wand-point. Chained hand and foot, the man wore the remains of black robes. Around twenty years old, he was swiftly scanning the room, looking for an exit. The Aurors prodded him forward. He walked stiffly, partly due to the manacles, but mostly because of the torturing he received after his capture.

'Ah, my guest has arrived. Greetings.' His polite tone held pure mockery.

The captured Death Eater said nothing.

'Leave us,' Scrimgeour ordered. The Aurors turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind them.

Drawing his wand, Scrimgeour pointed it right at his prisoner's chest. The Death Eater looked up, fear evident in his eyes.

Savoring his captive's distress a moment longer, he looked the Death Eater straight in the eyes. Although Scrimgeour never completely mastered Legilimency, it gave him a certain pleasure to look around in other peoples minds.

'Legilimens!' Repeatedly, he saw images of a nice older witch, probably his mother. He sighed. As usual, no coherent thoughts became obvious. Ah, well.

'Imperio!'

The Death Eater had no new information to tell. Scrimgeour played with him for another half hour before he got bored and let the creature kill himself. It was amazing to see that while under the Imperius curse most wizards were still able to Apparate. So Scrimgeour made him Apparate inside a volcano. He laughed. This, was power.

He waved his wand at the door. It clicked open, and one of the Aurors stepped inside.

'What news of the Order?' Scrimgeour asked.

'None, Minister,' the guard replied, avoiding his gaze.

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. His pleasure in imposing the captured Death Eater's own suicide was already fading. Regal displeasure returned.

He made a silent vow that the Order's deaths would surpass their worst nightmares.

---

Dennis and Colin Creevey lay stretched out with their backs against a tree, sharing a bottle of Firewisky. A couple of gnomes slowly advanced on them, attracted by the smell of alcohol. One of the gnomes got too close for Dennis' taste; he lazily gave a small flick with his wand. The gnome was blasted backwards, where it scrambled up and ran away.

'Irritating little bastards,' Colin muttered.

Dennis nodded sagely. 'Yeah, but good for target practice.'

'And stupid,' Colin added as the gnomes approached them once again.

He watched them for a while then decided to blast a handful as well.

They sat drinking, staring dumbly at the plain below them. The gnomes finally got the message and ran away.

A moment passed, and Dennis said, 'Did that really just happen?'

'What?'

'Those gnomes.'

'Gnomes? Irritating little bastards.'

'Yeah, but good for...' A light kick from a boot against his shin interrupted the discourse.

They hadn't noticed the approach of another Order member who was now standing beside them. He stooped, grunted, 'Here,' and handed over another bottle. Swaying slightly, he stumbled off again.

Nearer the remains of the house, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny sat around a small campfire sharing their own bottle.

'I'll say it one last time,' Harry told them, mildly exasperated. He pointed to the cylinder in his lap. 'This thing was taken from a large group of Aurors by Death Eaters, who killed them all. That's the story.' His voice was growing slurred. 'Scrimgeour just wants it back.'

'But why?' Ginny wondered, taking another swig. 'After all, it's only a cessage marrier . . . I mean, it's only a message carrier.'

Blinking, she handed the bottle to Ron.

'We know that,' Harry replied. He waved a dismissive, lazy hand. 'Must be an important message.'

Opening another bottle, Ron commented 'I wager this Firewhisky and Floo powder was part of the Auror's charge too.'

Hermione, displaying characteristic correctness even in her present state, again tried reminding Harry of his responsibilities. 'We mustn't linger here too long, Harry! If the Minister...'

'Can't you chirrup a different song?' Harry interrupted testily. 'Mark me; Scrimgeour will welcome us with open arms. You worry overmuch, Herm.'

Hermione lapsed into moody silence. Ron offered her a bottle of the prime liquor. She shook her head. Harry accepted the alcohol and downed an ample draft.

Draco had been vacant-eyed and half drowsing under the Firewhisky's influence. Now he spoke. 'The Mudblood has a point. Incurring the Minister's wrath is never a good idea.'

'Oh, shut it, Malfoy,' retorted Harry, raising the bottle once more. 'We'll be on our way soon. You just go conjure snakes or something.'

Ginny giggled. Harry looked at her from the corner of his eyes. Maybe he should go and sit next to her?

Harry looked in the direction of the bank where most of the Order was taking their ease. Most of them were sprawled before a larger fire. Several were slumped in ungainly postures.

Harry turned back to Draco. But the scene had changed completely.

He was curled on the ground with his eyes closed. All the others were also lying on the ground. Ron was snoring loudly, his head in Hermione's lap. The fire had long been dead. He returned his gaze to the main Order; they too were sleeping, their fire also reduced to ashes.

It was the depth of night. A full panoply of stars dusted the sky. What had seemed to him no more than an instant of time had proved to be an illusion.

He should rouse everyone, organize them and issue orders for the flight back to London. And he would. Certainly he would. But he needed to rest his leaden limbs and clear the muzziness from his brain. A minute or two was all it would take. Just a minute.

His nodding head drooped, chin meeting neck. A warm stupor crept into every fiber of his being. It was so hard to keep his eyes open.

He surrendered to the dark.