Chapter 23

Christmas day, and dinner at 12 Grimmauld Place. Thanks to McGonagall's skill, although the external physical dimensions of the dining room had not increased an inch, it was now able to accommodate most of the Weasley family and friends along with numerous members of the Order. Arthur Weasley was not present, for the recent hearing had been a great strain upon him. His wounds had reopened, and he had been taken back to St. Mungo's. The healers had repeated their assurances that Mr. Weasley was on the way to a full recovery, and so his absence did not detract too much from the joy of the occasion.

At the head of the table, Dumbledore picked up his refilled wine glass, his glow of contentment not entirely due to alcohol. Restored to his position as Chief Warlock, Dumbledore felt a quiet sense of satisfaction, for now he would be far better placed to rein in the Ministry's absurd prosecution of political offenders, and perhaps even begin measures against suspected death eaters. Pretending to examine the colour of the wine, Dumbledore looked down the table at some of the guests. With the exception of Imogen, he had known everyone at the table for years and years. Those of a certain age had studied transfiguration with him at Hogwarts. The younger ones of course knew him only in his role as headmaster.

While many students fulfilled the promise they showed as youngsters, at times Dumbledore found himself disappointed with the path this or that student took after leaving Hogwarts. Dumbledore had eventually learned to accept with a degree of equanimity (but not indifference) the odd turns his students took after graduating.

Skeeter was a case in point. Ravenclaw, of course - with her intellect and keenness for her studies, she could not have been placed elsewhere. Not brilliant at transfiguration, but good enough. Slughorn had given her very good marks in potions, and her charms were far above average. But it was in history that she had stood out. This was in the days when Professor Binns was still alive, not that his lessons had been any better than when he continued his career teaching as a ghost. Despite the lack of an inspiring instructor, Skeeter had produced excellent work, so much so that Binns actually remembered her name. Dumbledore remembered his dismay as he had observed the strange path Skeeter had taken within a few years of graduating. It had hurt him deeply to have had to ban her from Hogwarts grounds the previous year. Yet she had redeemed herself in his eyes, and had once again proven to him the importance of giving persons a second chance.

Skeeter sat at the opposite end of the table, looking a little less subdued now that she'd been in the house a full day, and was starting to recover from the trauma of facing years in Azkaban. She was deep in conversation, eager to learn all she could about the Muggle world before starting her duties the next day as the Granger housekeeper.

"Now there are a number of appliances you'll have to learn how to use," said Hermione. "You've learned how to use the web, right?" Skeeter explained that she'd spent many hours in an internet café, and was quite proficient. But what was an appliance? Hermione explained, and then continued.

"Before you use any appliance, look it up on the web and download the manual. And whatever you do, don't even think of trying a pressure cooker - not for a while, at least." Unlike the Weasley twins, Dumbledore needed no extendable ears to listen in, and smiled to himself as he heard the exchange.

Dumbledore's smile faded as he looked over at Mundungus Fletcher. Whether the man was standing or sitting, motionless or moving, he seemed almost shapeless. At present Fletcher had both elbows on the table as he gnawed on a drumstick, his face partially concealed by hair not thick enough to be called a beard, yet far to heavy to be five o'clock shadow. He ate wolfishly, as one long-starved and not sure where his next meal would come from. Fletcher was normally impervious to the opinions (uniformly unfavourable) of others, but tonight even he was conscious of the adults' disdain, for his most recent escapade had been bad indeed, even for him, earning him an indelible mark of dishonour in the Order's books.

Dumbledore shook his head ruefully as he recalled the mess he'd found Mundungus in. A wizard getting himself enthralled to a Goblin! How was the Order to tackle Voldemort and his gang, if it had a member who could not even defend himself against the likes of Balzad? But for Snape's legilimency, Fletcher's predicament might never have been uncovered, for the stupid, stupid fellow had sworn a very nasty (and lengthy) unbreakable oath which, among other things, included a vow to tell no one about the vow. But Snape had known Fletcher for decades, and had instantly read the deep fear in the man's face when he'd returned to 12 Grimmauld Place, two days late and with no credible explanation for his absence. In a trice Snape had intruded on the man's mind, and in the few seconds before Fletcher broke eye contact, Snape learned enough to know that Fletcher had to be instantly contained. But it was some hours before Dumbledore had found time to see Fletcher in the dank basement, the wayward wizard immobilized by Snape's petrificus spell and confined in a room that only a most powerful wizard would be able to unlock.

It was not known to most magical folk that an "unbreakable" oath was unbreakable only from the perspective of the oath taker. It was easy enough for a wizard of Dumbledore's calibre to break that part of the oath relating to secrecy, and to compel Fletcher to tell all without any risk of the usual consequences of breaking an unbreakable oath. And a sordid, sickening tale it was. Dumbledore released the useless fellow, confining him to the Order's headquarters, and then ventured out to Knockturn Ally, returning shortly thereafter to the same basement room with a large bundle under his arm, rendered very light by means of the levitation charm.

Coming upstairs, he bumped into an exhausted and overworked Lupin.

"The goblin's in the basement now," said Dumbledore. "You will persuade him to release Mundungus from his unbreakable oath, and then ensure that Balzad never tries such nonsense again." Lupin nodded with a nasty smile, and headed down the stairs. This was one chore that he would have paid to do. Perhaps allowing his werewolf side to reveal itself might do the trick.

The whole incident had made Dumbledore feel unclean, causing him to wonder how he would have treated Goblins had he been born five hundred or a thousand years earlier. Would he have been more enlightened than the common wizards of the day? He had asked himself this question many a time, but never was he willing to reply.

Sirius was looking more cheerful than Dumbledore had seen him since his escape from Azkaban. He was seated between Harry and Imogen, a delightful smile on his face as the two students took turns entertaining him with tales of goings on at Hogwarts. Imogen had just finished her account of her victorious duel with Malfoy, and Sirius laughed out loud at the conclusion.

"But does anyone know what has happened to Draco?" Sirius asked. "His parents must be absolutely frantic. And given his father's connections, it can't have been death eaters, so at least they don't have that to worry about."

Lupin spoke up at this.

"I'm not sure your right there, Sirius. Perhaps Voldemort wanted to ensure Lucius' compliance, and kidnapping his son would be the easiest means of keeping control. That's been a hallmark of Voldemort from the beginning, to threaten or punish a victim's relatives."

Many members of the Order had spent most of the last two days searching for Draco. The boy could not help his parentage, and despite Draco's nasty streak, he was still considered an innocent. Snape, McGonagall, Lupin and a number of other members had been very busy tracking down leads, but so far had come up with nothing - it was if Draco had apparated to nowhere.

"God help him, then," said Sirius. "At least now I can join in the others in trying to find him."

That Sirius was no longer confined to the house was not due to Dumbledore, although he had done his part by making sure that when the dinner guests had pulled names from a hat a few days earlier, Sirius and Snape had drawn each other, and were therefore expected to exchange Christmas gifts. Sirius' gift had been decent enough - a first edition of a spellbook long out of print, taken of course from the Black library. But Snape's gift had been far beyond what Sirius could have expected. The large wooden box at the base of the tree had been surrounded by other gifts, and was gradually revealed as the gift-giving continued. Finally it had been Sirius' turn, and he'd opened Snape's gift more with curiosity than anticipation.

Inside were rows and rows of corked bottles, everyone of them polyjuice potion, each labelled with a brief description of the form Sirius would assume if he drank from the bottle. Snape could not have prepared his gift over the last couple of days - it would have taken him a month at least, if not more. The collection of polyjuice potion meant nothing less than freedom to Sirius, for now he was able to wander out of his home at will, with a wide range of human forms to choose from. When an opportune moment came, he'd taken Snape aside.