Capítulo 229: The Second Break-In
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Quinn stared at the spread newspaper on the table in front of him, looking at the eleven black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, ten showing men's faces and the eleventh, a women's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. The one face familiar to Quinn stared ahead without an expression. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.
Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Quinn, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.
Augustus Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Quinn's attention, although were drawn to the sole woman and one man.
The woman's face had leapt out at him the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Somehow, she retained vestiges of fabulous good looks, but something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty.
Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
The man, on the other hand, seemed indifferent and wasn't even looking into the camera while the mugshot was being clicked. His dead eyes seemed to look into the distance.
Rivers Lock, spoke the legend beneath the pale dead-eyed young man, convicted of abduction of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, breaking-and-entering at Hogwarts, and endangering lives of Hogwarts students.
Quinn sighed as his eyes went up towards the headline over the pictures he hadn't read because of the photographs.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS PETTIGREW IS "RALLYING POINT" FOR OLD DEATH EATERS
"This shit is bonkers," said Eddie. "Eleven Death Eaters out of Azkaban. . . and Peter Pettigrew, the man's at the peak of his popularity."
"Read the article," said Marcus, "Fudge commented on it."
The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.
Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that eleven high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.
"We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Peter Pettigrew escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Pettigrew, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's right-hand witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Pettigrew as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."
"Bullshit," said Eddie scoffing, "complete and utter bullshit."
"What other options does he have?" said Marcus critically. "He can hardly say, 'Sorry everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined You-Know-Who, and now his worst supporters have broken out too.' I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?"
Marcus ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Quinn looked around the Great Hall. His fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like he and Marcus. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other stuff, and outside these walls ten more Death Eaters along with a neo-Death Eater (Novellus Accionite) had swollen the Dark Lord's ranks. . .
He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story here: Dumbledore and McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Flitwick had stood up on his chair (atop his chair) and was hunched over the newspaper, his face at point-blank range. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once, her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food, and every now and then, she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.
"Oh my —" said Marcus wonderingly, still staring at the newspaper.
"What?" said Quinn.
He folded back page-ten of the newspaper and handed it back to Quinn and Eddie.
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TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER
St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 78, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.
Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's profoundly regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident.
"We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards, but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare, which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly.
"St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."
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"Bode. . ." said Quinn.
"You know him?" asked Eddie.
"Bode. It rings a bell. . . ah, yeah, I remember, Broderick Bode, the man was an Unspeakable, worked in the Department of Mysteries," said Quinn nodding as his memory provided, "I met him in passing at a party with grandfather — he seemed like a jolly man. . . a pity."
"A Flitterbloom turning out to be a Devil's Snare. . . that sounds oddly suspicious," said Eddie, "you said he's an Unspeakable? Maybe someone wanted to kill him?"
No one knew that Eddie was indeed right, and Broderick Bode's death was indeed an attempt to seal his lips with the strangle of death.
The newspaper was set in between Quinn and Eddie as both read it, but suddenly a blonde head of Luna Lovegood dipped in between them.
"Broderick Bode. . ." said Luna, her eyes sparkling; she picked up the newspaper and read it with unblinking eyes.
Eddie and Quinn looked at one another, then to Luna, who straightened up, closed the paper, and started to walk away.
"To send a letter to daddy," she said. "Broderick Bode, Flitterbloom, and Devil's Snare. . ." Luna was already in her own world, switching from fourth-year Ravenclaw to Quibbler columnist.
"Let's hope she doesn't trip and fall on her face," said Eddie, following Luna with his eyes.
Quinn guffawed shortly, recalling when he, Eddie, and Marcus had seen Luna trip out and plant her face right into the mud because she wasn't paying attention to where she was going. Luna's only reaction was that it had been a while since she tasted dirt and how it tasted different from when she was a child.
"So, Marcus, how do you think this's going to turn out?" asked Quinn as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, curious about Marcus' thought on the matter.
Marcus stared at the newspaper for a good moment. "Well, Dumbledore's reputation is about to take a good ride on a broom — up and up. With this, it would be difficult for the Ministry to keep their stance that You-Know-Who isn't alive — the public support would start to tilt towards Dumbledore's side," he glanced up at the staff table, "Ministry would yet again try to suppress the news, but I don't think it would work as well this time around."
Quinn nodded. The breakout was the breakpoint that was always lingering in the background. Before this point, Fudge couldn't be blamed for his refusal to believe that Voldemort had returned — there was no other evidence other than Harry Potter saying that he had seen Voldemort. But now, the breakout was indeed enough reason for Fudge to at least sit down with Dumbledore and sort the matter out.
'But the swamp of politics won't let Fudge go, and neither does Fudge want to exit what he thinks is the key to power,' thought Quinn sighing; people were emotional (he wasn't any exception), but the sight of emotions muddling minds was never a good sight.
"The next couple of weeks are going to be interesting ones," said Quinn.
The next couple of weeks, there was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumors were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack, and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just like the eleventh escapee Rivers Lock had done.
Those who came from Wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors.
Susan Bones eclipsed Harry Potter in popularity because she had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten. And that her aunt, guardian, and only living family member, Amelia Bones, was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement — many hounded her wanting to know what the DMLE was doing to catch the escaped convicts.
The sudden pressure increase on the poor Hufflepuff was so much that Quinn had decided to pair her with Harry in a DA meeting to alleviate some stress. The girl had said miserably that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry.
"And I don't know how you stand it; it's horrible," she said bluntly, putting a bit too much power into her Banishing charm that Harry had to actually put in some effort to defend himself.
It was true that Harry was the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet he thought he detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them, the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year.
It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.
"They obviously can't talk freely in the staffroom anymore," said Quinn nonchalantly, as he, Eddie, and Marcus passed McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. "Not with Umbridge there."
"Reckon they know anything new?" said Eddie, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.
"If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?" said Marcus darkly. "Not after Decree . . . What number are we on now?"
For new signs had appeared on the house notice boards the morning after
news of the Azkaban breakout:
EDUCATIONAL DECREE -> NO. FORTY-NINE
----------- By Order Of -----------
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Forty-Nine.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
----------- Ministry of Magic -----------
This latest decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule, she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.
"Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!"
When Quinn next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather severely, but the Gryffindor was smiling widely as he shook two empty potion vials — a standard care package that every Umbridge detention attendee got from Quinn.
Many had thought that the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under her beloved Fudge's nose. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control.
She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long — Quinn had listened on her as she toad-huffed in her office.
Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard.
She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about Ornithomancy and Heptomology, insisting that she predict students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves, and the runestones in turn.
Umbridge even dared spend more time in Hagrid's creature farms than any other student in Hogwarts. She braved staying close to even the stinkiest of Hagrid's beast just so that she could maximize the harassment she could punch into Hagrid, and it seemed to work because Hagrid was oddly distracted and jumpy in lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying while talking to the class, answering questions wrongly and glancing anxiously at Umbridge all the time — seemingly lost his nerves.
The third one to be targeted by Umbridge's constant hounding was Lily Potter, but Umbridge didn't disturb Lily as she did Trelawney and Hagrid — she just sat in the back of the class and stared at Lily without saying a single word, but there was something brewing and everyone who attended the Muggle Studies class knew that Umbridge was planning something.
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It was the end of another DA meeting, and Quinn exited the Room of Requirements, closing it behind him as his duty of the room manager. He stared at the crowd of people slowly drifting away. It was late at night, and after another session with drillmaster Quinn, everyone simply wanted to collapse on their beds and go to sleep.
"Good work, everyone. I look forward to meeting you all in the next session. Please make sure to revise and keep the magic alive," said Quinn, his voice reaching into everyone's ears without leaking into the surrounding.
"Come on, let's go," said Eddie as he cracked his neck.
"I've work to do," said Quinn as they walked towards the Grand Staircase.
"work-work, or work-work?" asked Luna.
"work-work," said Quinn.
"Return before it's too late," said Marcus.
"Yes, mum."
On the sixth floor, Quinn separated from the group and silently made his way to the entrance of the Architect's Vault. He took out the teal ring from his pocket and slipped it on. The teal ringlet appeared on the wall, and Quinn touched the teal gem in the center of the ringlet, opening the swerving teal portal through which he effortlessly slipped in like he had done so many times.
As soon as he entered the first room, Quinn sighed, staring at the erect pedestal — it was always up whenever he entered. It was fun a couple of times, but after that, he was sick of it.
He conjured a floating silver disc and sat on it, his legs crossed. He was sick of all the shaking that happened while he solved the mechanism was utterly annoying.
Quinn raised a hand and placed it on one of the pillars that held up the roof. He was about to channel some magic to kick start the process when he heard a loud gasp of surprise. Quinn froze on his silver disc and slowly turned towards the source of the human gasp, which he knew didn't come out of him.
Quinn saw a head of red hair. She was looking at the swirling teal portal so he could only see her back, but there was no doubt in his mind about the person's identity.
She turned towards him with an utterly surprised expression, and Quinn's closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what was about to come.
". . . Quinn, what is this room?" she asked.
Quinn took a deep breath and opened his eyes to her standing before him.
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Quinn West - MC - Trying to keep his inner-Eddie from coming out.
Intruder - Surprised - There are a couple of options.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Well, this is how it went. Wait for the next chapter, people, before trying to break my head. Remember, patience's the key.
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