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Author: mcdowella Story: The Chimaera and the Hippogriff Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 3 Words: 45,280
Aberforth Dumbledore called just as they were finishing breakfast. "Sorry to interrupt, Molly," he said, "but I’m handling Order business as early as possible each day; nobody ever got suspicious because they didn’t see a barman around before noon. Minerva tells me Ron and Hermione have some sort of display, up in the library. May I see it?" Ron and Hermione led him up to the library, with Mrs Weasley following in their wake. He inspected the displays with interest, with Hermione showing him the display of connections between known and suspected Death Eaters. "If Stan Shunpike is a Death Eater," she concluded, "he must have worked awfully hard at it. I think I'd find it easier to become a Death Eater than he would." Ron looked at her. "I mean, at least I know Draco Malfoy," she said. "Draco wouldn't bother noticing that Stan Shunpike existed." Aberforth looked at her. "Listen, you two,” he said. “I don’t care whose homework this is supposed to be, but I do want it done properly. Now, who do I send to Azkaban? I mean, to talk to Stan?” "Both of us," said Ron. He looked at Mrs Weasley. "RonAndHermione, if you like." Aberforth inspected another chart closely, and then picked out a name. "What's Anthony Dee doing there?" he asked brusquely. "He's never out of trouble, but it's never been proved that he's a Death Eater, either. That's libel, if you like." "There’s a reference number in the far column," said Hermione. "Hang on a moment; I'm sure we had a reason." She started trying to leaf through two different piles of paper at once, working through them much more quickly than usual, and leaving an uncharacteristically untidy scatter of papers behind her. "He was left lying barely conscious in Hogsmeade on the 20th of December," said Ron stoutly. "The Prophet reported that he had been rushed to St Mungo's suffering from what they initially reported as the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Dee and his healers later explained that he had fallen off his broom." "So?" said Aberforth, unhelpfully. "So on the 19th, three Death Eaters tried to attack the Auror's Christmas Party at the Three Broomsticks. It had been double-booked, so they were probably expecting Mrs Longbottom, Mrs Marchbanks, and some friends, who have formed a circle to write letters to the Prophet in support of Harry and the Order's policies. The ringleader got away. We think it was Dee, and the Crucio was his punishment for screwing up. Also, he bought off, I mean generously donated to, St. Mungo's in golden sovereigns." "A bit old-fashioned, but innocent enough," said Aberforth. "I bet Harry inherited a small pile from Sirius." "You know very well," said Ron smiling, "that the Dees have never been able to hold on to their money. They've drunk or gambled away any gold they ever made. On the other hand, somebody's been robbing Muggle coin dealers, and the police are baffled. All the fancy Muggle security goes on the blink, and nobody who is present at the scene ever remembers anything." "So you read the Muggle papers, do you?" said Aberforth. "Harry said Dumbledore did, so Hermione takes me out to Muggle libraries," said Ron. "I use Harry's invisibility cloak until I'm well clear of the house." "Very romantic, I'm sure," said Aberforth. "So, do you think I should get the Ministry to raid this Dee's house?" "No I don't!” said Hermione, who seemed to have got her second wind. Aberforth looked at her, and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. "He's a blundering idiot," she continued. "You'd do better to watch him and hope he leads you to someone worth catching." Aberforth smiled wryly. "We tailed him for a month after he came out of St Mungo's but didn't spot anything. Most probably, he spotted us and got scared - it's not easy following somebody magically. But, some people say you could follow Dee into the toilet and he still wouldn’t spot you. They say somebody must have told a Death Eater that we were following Dee. So, is he an innocent man wronged, or do we now know we have a spy because we know that they know we know about him?" "That could get complicated", said Ron. "You have no idea," said Aberforth. "I reviewed Hermione's report on 'Possible future moves for Snape consistent with all the available evidence,'" said Ron. "Reviewed and commented on," put in Hermione. "Good point," said Aberforth. "OK then, RonAndHermione goes to Azkaban. I'll arrange Thestrals and admittance - and exit of course! It's not a nice place, mind, and they're not nice people, even without the Dementors." The flight to Azkaban was just as awful as Hermione had predicted. It wasn't just the horror of travelling by Thestral over the North Sea, but the pelting rain and blown spray. Hermione had noted down a weather forecast from one of the papers in a public library, but Ron thought it was some Muggle equivalent of Divination, and had given it no credence whatsoever. They landed on the top of an outcrop of jet-black rock, its sides too strictly vertical even to offer perching space to sea birds. Larger than 12, Grimmauld Place, but apparently not as large as Hogwarts, it was dwarfed by the surrounding sea, and Ron could feel the spray on his face as he stood there. A single wizard stood there to meet them, shooting green sparks from his wand to draw attention to himself in the driving rain. Azkaban was built into the rock itself, with the entrance tunnel looking like a natural cleft in the rock until they were nearly upon it. As the heavy gates behind them slammed shut the shelter from the wind was welcome, but Ron still felt chilled and damp, even though Hermione had used her wand to dry out their clothes. The torches on the walls gave out only the bare minimum of light sufficient to see by. It seemed like the sort of place that could never be properly heated. The wizard warmed himself with his wand, and then introduced himself. "I'm Dominic Rottweill, and I'm the Head Warder here - they call us warders, not guards. I've moved Shunpike to a holding cell. We don't have facilities for visitors, as such. In fact, we don't have facilities for very much at all. The existing arrangements were designed for Dementor Guards, not warders, and the changeover was chaotic." He led them down a horrifying circular staircase. When Ron made the mistake of looking down, he could see no end to it. Surely, it extended well below sea level; anybody who just happened to fall down the stairs in this prison would end up with more than a couple of black eyes and a few bruised ribs. Fortunately, after only a few turns of the staircase they took one of many narrow corridors leading off it. Every few yards there was an iron grill barring the entrance to a short tunnel, leading to a small room lit only by a torch on the other side of the corridor from the grill. None of these were in use. Then they passed a larger tunnel, with the grill unlocked, and a partition, with an ordinary door, just behind it. It seemed to be well lit, from within. "This is my office," he said, "Shunpike is in the next cell along. I'll be here when you're ready. You wouldn't believe how much paper work there is to this job. It's just as difficult as running a large hotel, except that we don't have a complaints department." He smiled at this. Rottweill hadn't mentioned any keys, so they just walked over to the grill, and Ron said "Hello." Stan Shunpike was sitting on the floor of the cell with his back against the far wall, staring blankly towards the light. "'Oo are you?" he said. "Are you why I'm in solitttt.., solittt.., alone again?" "I'm Ronald Weasley," said Ron, "and you're just here for a while to meet us. At least, I think you are. I'm here to ask if you want us to help you appeal your conviction. And this is..." "I know!” interrupted Stan. "If you're Ronnie t'Weasel, tha' must be t'Mudblood witch. Lucius Malfoy is always talkin' about you." Ron wrenched at the bars as soon as he heard the word "Mudblood", and opened his mouth, but Hermione elbowed him away from the grill and asked Stan, "Do you talk to Lucius Malfoy a lot?" "Don't tell 'im I said that," said Stan, sounding scared. "I wouldn't dare disturb 'im. 'Ee's the big man 'ere. You can 'ear him shoutin', about Potty little 'Arry, Ronnie t'Weasel, and especially about t'Mudblood witch. I don't think 'e likes you. That's very bad." Ron realised that Stan didn't have any idea he might cause offence; he was repeating the words tonelessly, almost without understanding them at all. "Would you like us to work on your appeal?" said Hermione, "we'd like to try to get out you of here, but we can't do anything unless you agree." "You goin' to get me out of 'ere?" asked Stan. "I'd like that. It's 'orrible 'ere, and the others are 'orrible 'ere, too. We never got people like that on t'Knight Bus. I mean, I know they're Death Eaters, but they never seem to be nice. I don't think they can be very famous. When can I go?" Hermione turned away and hid her face. "We can't promise anything," said Ron. "We need to persuade the Ministry of Magic that you haven't done anything wrong. We need you to answer some questions, too. Can you do that?" "I'm not good with questions," said Stan. "But I'd do anything to get out of 'ere." "Are you a Death Eater?" asked Ron. Well, he at least needed to know what would happen if the Ministry of Magic asked Stan the same question. "No," said Stan, "I was just kiddin'. They didn't get the joke, though. Mr Malfoy was very angry when a warder said I was a Death Eater like 'im. The warder got 'urt taking back the meal trays. They go under the grill, you know." He paused, so Ron could appreciate the ingenuity of this arrangement. "Is there anyone who could say where you go when you're not on the Knight Bus?" asked Hermione. "Oh, I can answer that," said Stan. "I go to t'pub on my day off. They're all pure-bloods there. Even Joe and 'e has a Muggle mother. They wouldn't like you, either. And my Mum cooks for me after work. I'm not good with cooking. Why are you writing this down?" "She always writes things down, Stan," said Ron, "don't worry about it." "I 'aven't got anything to write things down with," said Stan. "Did you know any Death Eaters?" said Ron. "Do you know anything at all about Death Eaters?" "Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater," said Stan. "And lots of the people at the pub said they were Death Eaters. I'm sure the Duellists were Death Eaters. They were famous." "Have you ever seen a Healer?" asked Hermione. "Has one come to look at you here?" "One came when I didn't get 'ungry," said Stan. "That was when I came 'ere. 'Ee gave me a potion, and told me I had to eat, even 'ere. Then I got 'ungry again. I don't know why, though. The food's still not very good." Ron took out a parchment from his robes. "Stan," he said, "I have a parchment saying that you want us to try and get you out of here. Could you sign it, please?" He was wondering if Stan could sign anything, whether he wanted to or not, but Stan said "Yes, I can," sounding immensely proud. Ron passed in the parchment and a quill, under the grill. Stan didn't read the document, just slowly and carefully wrote his name at the bottom, before passing it back. He sat on the floor holding the quill and Ron wondered if there was a rule against leaving it with Stan. Apparently, Stan had the same worry, because he handed it back regretfully. Ron looked at Hermione; he couldn't think of anything else to ask that Stan could actually answer, and he couldn't bear any more of this. She nodded, and then said to Stan. "We have to go now, Stan. We'll try and get you out, but we might not see you again for a long time." "I've already been 'ere a long time," said Stan, and they left. When they entered the head warder's office, Hermione nearly shouted. "He's no more a Death Eater than I am, and I'm a Mudblood!" The warder looked shocked, though whether from the use of the word Mudblood, or from the sheer vehemence of Hermione's tone was hard to tell. "That's not my place to say," he said. "I don't say who goes in, and I don't say who goes out." "What did the Healer say?" she said. "I mean, Voldemort has standards of competence, if nothing else. They don't stretch as far as Stan Shunpike, by all accounts." "You have to understand," said the warder, after he had got over her use of the name Voldemort. "After the Dementors, many of the prisoners were a bit funny. The healers can't do much about that, so we don't worry about it. A lot of them have come in with Curse damage, too. They get questioned before they come to us. Stan's a little slow now, but he might have been a Death Eater once, for all I know." Hermione just shook her head. Ron asked "Could you at least take him back to his cell promptly? He seems to think he's been put in solitary. And could you make his life more comfortable?" "I'll get him back in his place as soon as you're gone," said the warder. "But I'd not be doing him any favours making him comfortable. You don't want to stand out here, and if they thought he was getting special treatment, they wouldn't like it. Do you want out, now?" "Yes, please," said Hermione. The warder led them back to the entrance the same way they had come in. At the entrance he said, "If you don't mind, I’ll just see you off from here." "That's fine," said Hermione, and they went over to untie the Thestrals, who were huddled together in the entrance tunnel, just outside the gates. "Did you notice?" said Ron. "He showed us no more than he absolutely had to." "I noticed," said Hermione. "Ron, we have to get Stan out of here." The trip back was, if possible, worse than the trip out, but at least they were on their way home; they landed where they had taken off in Hogsmeade, and used the official Floo fireplace from the Post Office to get back to Diagon Alley, and then to 12, Grimmauld Place, with Ron using the cloak again. By the time they got back, they were both chilled to the bone and had runny noses, but at least they could get warm, and Ron began to feel a bit better, with Hermione drying him off with her wand again and with Mrs Weasley rushing off with promises of hot chocolate and a good hot meal. "Well,” he said, ”even Lucius Malfoy recognises your talents, it seems." Hermione looked at him quizzically. Ron explained, "He did call you a witch, you know." "Oh Ron," laughed Hermione, "do you really think Lucius Malfoy called me ‘The Mudblood witch’?" carefully emphasising the last word in the phrase. Ron didn't think this was at all funny, which set Hermione off even more. "Never mind," she said. "We're out here and he's in there. He can call me anything he likes from there, and it won't make a Knut's worth of difference. I do wish Stan Shunpike wasn't shut up with him, though." "Me, too," said Ron.
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