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A Risky Plan


There was a little village on the edge of the Great Northern Woods that Dumbledore apparated to from the Potter’s house. It was raining and the air smelled thick of the moss and forest that surrounded the little village, the ocean air from twelve miles away adding a salty twinge to it as well. Tucking his wand safely into his pocket to hide it from any muggle eyes, he walked swiftly over a stone bridge into the town, weaving through quaint little houses with thatched roofs and stone walls until he found the little pub - The Brine Stone - and pushed his way through the doors.

Although it was still early in the day - not yet even nine o’clock - the Brine Stone was still busy. A woman in an apron told Albus she’d be right with him, but he waved her off and pointed to the table in the far corner of the room, where he could see his friends waiting for him. He walked up to them quickly and Ned Veigler rose from the table. “Dumbledore!” he said, waving to the vacant seat beside where he’d just risen from.

“Hello, Ned,” Dumbledore greeted him, nodding to the two sitting across from him as he lowered himself into the offered seat - “Tina, Newt.”

“Morning, Albus,” Tina replied, nodding back.

Newt Scamander smiled awkwardly, his overlarge front teeth resting on his lower lip and he nodded, clutching a food-stained paper menu in his hands, his briefcase on the bench between Tina and himself, his elbow resting on the handle. The case creaked and a tiny snout popped out and Newt glanced down and pushed it back in. “Not now, you nosey thing,” he muttered, then looked back up at Dumbledore, “You know how she is.”

“I do. Hello there, Niffler,” Dumbledore answered, and a couple little claws squeezed their way out of the case, waving to Dumbledore. He chuckled, even as Newt pushed her paw back in, muttering to her to stay inside.

The woman with the apron on came over and sloshed a cup of coffee down before Dumbledore, along with a menu similar to the one Newt was holding, and walked away, hurriedly. Dumbledore pushed the menu away and sniffed at the black coffee a moment, then muttered, “I’ve never been over fond of coffee.”

“Nor have I,” Newt agreed.

Dumbledore looked about a moment, then waved his palm slightly, casting a charm that would allow them to speak unheard by eavesdroppers. “You’ve confirmed the army’s presence in the woods, then?” he asked, looking around the table at Newt and Tina Scamander, and Ned Veigler in turn.

“Yes,” Tina whispered, leaning forward, a half-picked bit of croissant on a plate before her. “We sent our dear Niffler friend in and she’s confirmed for us giants, centaurs, goblins, werewolves, and dementors.”

Dumbledore looked quite concerned. “And Remus Lupin?”

“Detained in a small cell in the cellar of a stone cottage about seven miles deep,” Viegler said. “The army stands between us and the cottage.”

Dumbledore sighed and ran his hands over his beard nervously.

“I can get in,” Veigler said, “But it’ll be quite dangerous and I’ll need a second, someone Fenrir won’t recognize. Preferably someone young, though not too, of course…”

And Ned Veigler quickly filled Dumbledore in on the plan that he, Tina, and Newt had spent the night divising. Dumbledore nodded as he listened, humming and musing over the finer points until Ned had reached the very end and stared at him expectantly. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It is extremely risky, of course,” Dumbledore answered.

“Of course,” agreed Ned Veigler. “But the alternative is leaving Remus Lupin at the mercy of Fenrir Greyback and that is not an option I can live with. I would prefer to put my own life on the line at any cost than to abandon that boy to Greyback.” His voice was passionate. “Perhaps not by blood, but in other ways much stronger than such, he’s my little brother, and I hate the thought of him being in that room.” Veigler shuddered -- he knew the room too well himself.

Dumbleore said, “I must say that I agree with you.”

Newt Scamander nodded, “Then it’s, uh, it’s decided, then.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Yes, indeed. It’s decided, then.”

The woman in the apron arrived at the tableside. “Are you lot going to order anything today or are we just warming the seats this morning?”

Dumbledore looked up at her, handing over the stained menu page, “I do believe we’ve only managed to warm the seats, my dear,” he said, and he reached into his pocket and pressed several pounds into the woman’s hand, “That ought be enough to cover the croissant and coffees you’ve already served us.” He bowed as he stood up, and the other three followed as the woman stared bewildered at the money - which was more than twice what the party would owe. The group left the pub and stepped into the rain outside.

“Meet me by the edge of the wood in ten minutes’ time,” Dumbledore murmured, and he hurried away.




Frank Longbottom sat in a chair, reading a book, his feet up on the end of Andy Woodhouse’s hospital bed in St. Mungo’s. Andy was asleep, his eyes closed - though they did him as well closed as they did open now...

The door to the room creaked and Frank looked up, sliding a notecard he was using as a bookmark between the pages of the text. He sat up in surprise, “Professor Dumbledore!” he said.

Dumbledore nodded his greeting, “Mr. Longbottom.” He paused, looking Andy Woodhouse over a moment as he hovered at the foot of the bed. “How is our patient?” he asked.

“They say the spell that Orion Black cast on him has blinded him and so far as the healers can tell, it could very well be permanent damage, the irreversible effects of dark magic,” Frank said.

Dumbledore looked pained and shook his head in regret.

Frank sighed and put his book down on his knees. “He’s already begun lamenting losing all his chances at a career in quidditch.” Frank ran his hands over the text cover. “That’s all he’s talked about for the past six years I’ve known him.” He shook his head, “One night and his dreams are taken away - just like that - just as fast as could be. A blink.” He shook his head again. “It makes you think.”

Dumbledore hesitated, nodding, “Yes… it certainly does make one think,” he mused. His eyes flickered over to Frank.

Looking up, Frank saw the expression on Dumbledore’s face, the question hinting just behind his eyes. “Sir… you’re not here to discuss Andy Woodhouse and his quidditch, are you?”

“No,” Dumbledore answered, “I’m not.”

“You’re here for me.”

Dumbledore nodded.

Frank considered this a moment. “Resistance business?”

Dumbledore corrected, “Order business.”

Frank smiled, “Well. In that case,” he answered, and he stood up, leaving his book on the chair, “Let’s go.”

“I haven’t even told you what it is I would be asking of you,” Dumbledore answered.

Frank shrugged, “Will it hurt the Dark Lord’s cause?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Then I’m game. Let’s go.”




Newt and Tina Scamander and Ned Veigler stood at the edge of the woods once again, waiting for Dumbledore. Newt had unclasped his case and was now kneeling beside it, a comical sight as he bent forward over the edge, leaning into the laboratory within. Ned Veigler paced and Tina held the niffler, stroking her fur, watching the night around them as the niffler snuggled into her arm, snoring tiny little niffler snores…

CRACK!

Dumbledore appeared with Frank Longbottom at his arm. They stepped beneath the cover of the trees, the misty rain cold against their faces. Frank breathed deep of the scent of the little village - that oceanic tinge to the breeze strangely refreshing. Dumbledore had informed him more of the idea, in hushed tones, as they’d left St. Mungo’s so that Frank managed to suppress his shock at seeing Newt and Veigler there as they approached them across the grass. “Here we are, Mr. Veigler,” Dumbledore announced. “Although Greyback’s met Mr. Longbottom once or twice, he’s not likely to recall him.”

“Aren’t you the one that dueled Rudolphus Lestrange, I heard?” Veigler asked, pausing in his pacing.

“The night I dueled with Rudolphus was around a full moon, Greyback wasn’t at the Lestrange mansion,” Frank nodded confidently. “I only saw him for a few moments during the main battle and he was leaning against the doorway, looking rather peaky when I did. I doubt he’d know me.”

Veigler nodded, then, “I’m very impressed. Duelling with Rudolphus Lestrange is quite the feat. It sounds as though you had a good duelling instructor.”

Frank replied, “Sir, it was you who taught me duelling, in my third year. We had a class on it.”

Veigler stared at Frank for a long moment, then a tremulous smile broke out on his face. “I am most honored, then,” he said sincerely, his voice thick with the emotion of it.

Frank smiled.

Newt Scamander leaned up from his laboratory, clutching two vials of bubbling potion. He handed one to Veigler, open, and stoppered the second one quickly before handing it over to him. Veigler took the potion and drank it quickly, shuddering as he swallowed it down. All the residual effects of the full moon fell away from him, though he’d been doing better than he usually did, his muscles had still been weak and sore. The potion made him feel much better and he was sure Remus Lupin would need the brew as well, so he tucked the second vial Newt Scamander handed him safely into his pocket, patting it to ensure its safety.

They went over the plan one last time, whispering quietly… Finally, Veigler looked up at the cloudy sky, “It’s nearly noon, we need to go before Fenrir gets restless.”

Tina nodded and woke the niffler, who she put down into the bracken, and watched as the little creature moved through the trees, pausing a couple feet away, looking back to see that they were ready to follow after her to find her treasure.

“Off you go, then,” Dumbledore said.

“Do be careful,” pleased Newt Scamander.

Tina held a handkerchief to her nose, staring after them as Ned Veigler and Frank Longbottom stepped off into the trees, following after the niffler.