Saturnine wished she could have said that this was her first time breaking into the house of the Minister for Magic, but that would be lying. Well, Cornelius Fudge was only the former minister now. But Rufus Scrimgeour had been in office when she had let herself into his house a year ago.
There had to be a poetic, cosmic balance to that particular bout of larceny, she figured. After all, it was the Ministry of Magic that had taught her how to break into people’s homes. She had done it countless times under orders from Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour. She hadn’t enjoyed it one bit but had felt no such qualms when she let herself into her boss’ London townhouse one rainy day when she knew he’d be vacationing overseas.
Saturnine hadn’t found what she’d been looking for that evening, but there had certainly been skeletons in the surly wizard’s closets. If she were a less scrupulous witch, she might have put some of that knowledge to good use. But she had refrained, taking the high road. She did keep copies of the incriminating evidence, of course, knowing a day might come when the end would justify the means.
A different agenda motivated tonight’s burglary, though. The felony she and Remus were about to commit was part of the ‘war effort’. They would break into Cornelius Fudge’s home for the greater good, and she wondered if that ought to absolve them of all guilt. No, she figured, it certainly won’t save us from a trip to Azkaban, should the authorities catch us.
Under the cover of a new moon, the two Order of the Phoenix’s members Apparated two yards away from the former minister’s Yorkshire manor. The building was moderate-sized, and there were only two floors to the limestone and brick house. Saturnine surmised there shouldn’t be more than three or four bedrooms to sift through inside.
Creeping closer, staying close to an orchard, she noted that the surrounding terrain was far more impressive than the house itself. The manor had an elevated setting, and it had a commanding exterior of professionally landscaped gardens that included stone terraces and patios, lawns, and fruit trees.
“Not what I expected,” Remus muttered underneath his breath as he crouched low by an apple tree.
Saturnine took a similar stance next to him. “Hmm?”
“With everything that happened, I figured Fudge would have found a rock to crawl under to avoid the bad press and howlers,” he continued in the same tone. “Guess it pays well to be a minister.”
“That, and he descends from an old Pureblood family,” Saturnine told him.
Though Fudge’s reputation and image had been shattered when he became known as the idiot who stepped aside and allowed Lord Voldemort a second chance to destroy what the Wizarding community had tried so hard to rebuild, her eyes were dry. Saturnine would not be caught shedding any tears for the wizard whose cowardice, arrogance, and incompetence led him to become the most disgraced and least effective minister in British wizarding history.
And she knew full well what Remus’ feelings for the man were. No one had forgotten that Cornelius Fudge’s right-hand woman of many years was none other than the fanatically prejudiced Dolores Umbridge. The very witch whose anti-werewolf legislation had made it almost illegal for people like Remus to hold jobs. Umbridge’s madness was why her friend had been forced to live in poverty most of his life, working jobs far below his level of abilities, resigning and moving on to another before his workmates noticed his signs of lycanthropy. She cursed the toad of a woman inwardly. As if the fear and disgust with which wizarding society regards werewolves weren’t enough.
The murkiness of her thoughts made Saturnine place a comforting hand on Remus’ shoulder, and she heard him sigh softly. No doubt her friend’s mind strained in the same direction as hers. Add to that what Harry and the other professors had told her about Dolores Umbridge, and she would gladly introduce the witch to a few choice curses of her own.
“No one seems to be awake,” Remus remarked, gaze once again focused on the looming building ahead. “I suppose there won’t be a better time than this.”
Saturnine had felt queasy about asking the werewolf to tag along, especially after their recent mishap in Knockturn Alley. But she knew her friend would never have forgiven her if she’d gone behind his back. She stole a glance at her companion while he studied the manor. The wound at his side had healed nicely—she checked it daily for a week—and Remus seemed none the worse for wear. Still, she would have preferred it if he’d stayed in the safety of 12 Grimmauld Place.
“We ought to be careful, ’Nine.” Remus’ hushed tones broke through her musing. “The man may be a fool, but I’m afraid he might be the paranoid kind.”
Saturnine had to agree with that statement. Fudge had many shortcomings, one of which included a deep-seated paranoia. And it was her experience that suspicious wizards were something to be cautious of. They were often criminally stupid, yes—but they could be lethally dangerous, nonetheless.
“He will have wards all over the place,” the werewolf continued. “Probably not very strong ones—but numerous.”
Saturnine ‘mm-hmmed’ in agreement. She’d figured as much herself. Thankfully, while under Fudge’s regency at the Ministry, she had learned a thing or two about disassembling them.
“I’ll fly us up to the upper floor,” she said. “We can go in through a window; they’re usually a lot less warded than everything that’s on the ground floor.”
Remus didn’t look enthused at the prospect, but he nodded anyway. Saturnine wasn’t used to flying with company, but she had attempted the manoeuvre once or twice before. It was no more complicated to have the currents lift two people than one, but she always worried the person she was with would panic, flail about, and step away from the wind’s protective grasp.
Remus kept a tight lid on his panic, and the two landed with no trouble on an ornate balcony. A few charms of her device later, they discreetly slipped inside. The old manor was deathly quiet as the night-visitors crept along carpeted corridors. Saturnine focused her magic and whispered an incantation to produce the tiniest Lumos she could. It bathed the small parlour in which they found themselves in soft bluish light. And they quickly started looking around for the object of their query.
The search of her brother’s living room had revealed the existence of an old dagger that used to be Salazar Slytherin’s. Remus had found a note referencing it in one of Horace Slughorn’s old journals. Ever the socialite, Hogwarts’ former Potions professor had revealed in writing that the Minister of Magic once boasted to owning it during a reception they had both attended. The note had been scrawled between a potion recipe for an experimental blood coagulant and the guest-list for old Slughorn’s 1976 Christmas party.
Saturnine and Remus found nothing interesting in the stuffy parlour and resorted to searching through the rest of the manor. Two empty bedrooms proved as fruitless as the parlour had been. And soon enough, the upper floor only had one closed door left to be pushed open—the one leading to the master bedroom.
“Later,” Saturnine whispered, dearly hoping they wouldn’t have to resort to Stupefying Fudge and his wife to peek under their bed.
Silently, the dark-haired witch cast a powerful Silencing Charm on the master bedroom’s door before moving to the large spiralling staircase that stood near the centre of the house. The two Order members took the steps down and came upon a lavish sitting room. There was little light streaming in through the large bay window at the back of the oval space, and Saturnine pushed the weak ball of her Lumos Charm forward to better see her surroundings.
Remus, who was slightly ahead of her, had only gone two steps in when the carpet he treaded on seemed to come to life beneath his feet. Saturnine froze where she stood, perched on the last step of the stairs. Ahead of her, the old garish Persian rug undulated before dipping in the middle. It was as if the floor beneath it had turned into quicksand.
Remus lost his balance and would have fallen flat on his arse if his legs hadn’t been half-swallowed by the textile monster already. Saturnine lifted off the ground immediately. Hovering forward, she held out both hands to catch the werewolf’s desperately flailing arms.
“Hold on,” she urged as she grabbed hold of him.
Remus did, and their fingers clasped tightly. She pulled with all the strength she had while using the air in the room to help with the task. Whatever monstrosity had taken hold of the carpet was fighting for its prey with all its might. And for every inch of Remus that Saturnine won, the carpet swallowed back two.
“Got any thought?” she asked, feeling fear rise inside her.
Remus’ grasp on her fingers turned desperate, as did the look in his eyes. “Leverage,” he urged, contorting in pain as the wild yarns of wool wrapped around his waist. “Use ropes!”
“I’ll need a hand,” the witch said, moving closer. “Hold on to me!”
Remus did, reaching around her torso with both arms. Saturnine did her best to keep hold of him, grabbing a fistful of his black jumper to help pull him forward. Her wand fell into her right hand a moment later. Shouting a binding spell, she watched as a thick strand of rope shot from the length of her acorn wand. She directed it to the staircase bannister and watched as it looped itself neatly along the mahogany rail. Grabbing the untied end, she pocketed her wand again.
“I’ll need both hands,” she warned Remus, glancing down at him. The carpet had swallowed at least ten more inches of his torso in the last minute or so.
The thought clearly frightened the werewolf, but he nodded anyway. “I trust you,” he said through clenched teeth.
Saturnine caught his gaze and held it for an instant before releasing the fistful of cotton she’d been desperately holding onto. Remus squeezed her in return, his arms sneaking around her middle like a boa constrictor. She winced in pain but wasted little time ensuring the rope was securely tied. Looping it twice around her wrist for additional safety, Saturnine grabbed the length of nylon with both hands and pulled with all the strength she had in her arms and upper torso. At the same time, she bid the winds to propel their combined mass forward and away from the magical quicksand.
It was no easy task, and the witch clenched her teeth from the effort, feeling droplets of sweat pearl on her skin and run down her back. Remus was still holding onto her, his grasp painfully tight. Without looking down, she knew that he was in pain—she could tell by his laboured breathing and frequent gasps.
Giving it all she had, Saturnine pulled on the rope, even as she reached deep within until her blood sang with the surge of Elemental Magic. And inch by painful inch, the two moved forward and out of the bewitched carpet’s hold.
The rope chafed at Saturnine’ skin and burned the inside of her sweaty palms, but she paid it no mind. She kept pulling with severe determination. She would not let them move backwards—not this time. Every inch forward that she won was hers to keep, she decided. And so she kept pulling and pulling on the rope.
It took a short eternity to work their way free of the Persian monster’s grasp. It tried holding onto Remus’ shoes, wool yarns stretching high in the air, as they shot forward in a last-ditch effort to keep hold of its prey. But Saturnine’s resolve was stronger than the textile creature’s, and its resistance finally broke like an elastic band that had snapped in two. The momentum propelled both wizards forward at a rapid pace, and they hit the staircase with bone-crushing velocity. They landed in a heap atop each other, and Saturnine got the wind knocked out of her when Remus inadvertently elbowed her in the ribs. In return, one of her knees hit him in a most sensitive spot between his legs, and he let out a high-pitch shriek, not unlike his lupine counterpart’s nightly yowls.
“What the—hell was that—thing?” Saturnine asked, panting heavily. Sitting up, she tried working her legs free from beneath Remus’. The werewolf helped further by lifting his torso so she could remove the arm that had been crushed behind his back. The two Order members kept silent as they awkwardly detangled themselves before sitting down on two distinct steps.
“No idea,” Remus muttered as one of his hands moved south to massage his tender flesh and wounded pride.
“So sorry about that, old friend,” Saturnine apologised, unable to hold back a soft chuckle. The chagrined look the werewolf shot her in reply was priceless. “I hope there will be no—um, lasting damage?”
Remus shook his head before looking away, a deep blush rushing into his cheeks.
Standing up, Saturnine moved down the stairs, stopping on the last step. Ahead of her, the Persian rug looked idle again. “I’m not going anywhere near that thing again.”
“We still need to check the ground floor,” Remus said, standing up with a grunt of effort. He came down but stopped three steps shy of the ground floor.
She quirked an amused eyebrow up at his caution. “Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I’ll take off again.”
“I don’t fancy letting you search alone.” Remus looked chagrined at the idea. “Merlin knows what other trap that paranoid idiot might have waiting for us.”
She agreed with him there, but they had to look. The mission was too important for them to give up. “I’ll be careful. I won’t touch a thing; I’ll just hover about.”
“You better be, ’Nine. I’ll have a hard time getting to you with that,” he waved a hand about, “monstrosity standing in the way.”
Lifting off the floor, Saturnine bid the winds to carry her forward slowly. The living room consumed half of the entire ground floor, and it would take time to search around the numerous shelves that lined its walls. There were also two cupboards and a large trunk on the side opposite the bay windows; those would also have to be thoroughly searched.
Flying past a large leather sofa, Saturnine froze mid-air and did a double take. Maybe it won’t be that hard, after all, she thought as her gaze settled on the large fireplace mantle facing her. There it was: the dagger they were after. It was ensconced in a fancy glass display that had been stuck to the white stucco paint.
Hovering closer, Saturnine was careful not to touch anything on her way. Directing the winds to keep her in a stationary position ahead of the fireplace, she reached a hand forward to let her fingers ghost over Salazar’s heirloom. She didn’t let herself touch it, though—the memory of Dumbledore’s cursed hand vivid in her memory.
Using all of her senses, Saturnine sought out the Dark Magic she expected to find but caught nothing. Frowning, she reached for her wand to cast a few examining spells. But however hard she tried, she couldn’t detect a single trace of malice to the old artefact. It was just a dagger, it would seem. Elegant, refined, expensive—precious to some—but worthless to her.
This was no Horcrux, she realised. She and Remus had risked their lives for nothing tonight. And the Order of the Phoenix was nowhere closer to causing the fall of Lord Voldemort.