2nd of December, 1999
Ronan Findley – The Safehouse
Ronan folded his hands behind his back, corrected his impeccable pureblood posture (despite his own filthy half-blood status) and observed the second captured Death Eater. There had been a time, back when he had only recently been cursed and taken out of the line of active duty, when he had been the “spymaster” for the Ashes – though that all changed when the Dark Lord began to root out the traitors within the ranks of his followers.
Now, he had only Alistair MacFusty, who hadn’t been caught due to remarkable luck. Though, it could be because he rarely, if ever, handed important information to the Ashes, and it was always encrypted with a code only Siobhan could break. Being kept out of the loop of new information made the back of his neck itch – it was so unprofessional. He glared daggers at Albert’s back as he retreated.
Brilliant though his trusted advisor was, he was far too similar to Ronan for his own good, at least when it came to controlling the chessboard that was Britain.
And so, once the door had firmly shut, Ronan went against Albert’s ‘order’ almost instantly. “Name?” he asked coldly. He was certain he could judge a man’s loyalties better than Aldenberg could, especially when it came to the Death Eaters.
Luther spit blood on the floor, careful to aim well out of Ronan’s way, before answering. “Luther Cunningham. You are…” he paused, racking his brain for what little intelligence the Death Eaters have of the Ashes. “Mr. Findley?”
“Lord Findley to you,” Ronan replied dryly. He carefully avoided thinking about his lack of land or political power anymore. Both had been eroded by the Death Eaters until he was little more than a refugee hiding in a Dutchman’s mansion. He still had the title, though his father would be turning over in his grave knowing all he’d done with it before his change of heart, and should he survive to the end of the war… He wasn’t that optimistic. “I’m sure the others have already gleaned every possible tidbit of information from you, so I won’t bother boring you with those same questions. All I want to know is, are you aware and prepared for the consequences, should you fail?”
Luther looked ‘Lord’ Findley in the eyes. “You said you won’t be asking every possible tidbit of me, but to answer I ultimately have to, at least partially. I’ll keep it short, so as to spare your sanity.” He glanced down to his neck, where the locket containing the picture of Lilly hung, beneath his robes. He looked back to Findley. “The Death Eaters took my sister away to Azkaban–”
Ronan interrupted the Death Eater, when he took a breath. “Stop, stop, stop. I couldn’t care less about your life story – I’ve heard so many over the years that turned out to be false or embellished, and I’m not willing to waste my time sifting through your mind.” He walked over to take a seat at the rickety dining table, limp pronounced after how long he’d been standing for. Siobhan’s near-daily procedures lessened the pain to a degree that it was bearable, but it didn’t do a thing for having a boulder as a leg. “I asked you if you’re willing to put yourself at risk of torture, almost inevitable death, and that requires only a yes or no answer. Whether or not your sister is worth it or not is irrelevant.”
Luther patiently waited for Findley to finish. When he did, Luther answered, rushing to avoid being interrupted. “They took away the one thing I care about, so I will do whatever it takes to end them. Nothing they do to me can be worse than what she is suffering. So to answer your question, yes, I am completely willing to risk my own death for your cause.”
“No, you’re not,” Ronan said decisively, “Not for our cause. For your sister’s.”
“They are one and the same, are they not?” Luther countered. “She wants freedom for herself, you want that for all of Britain. Both are reached by the same means.”
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, tucking the errant strands behind his ear. “No, they’re not. Generally, vengeful heroes are the more trustworthy ones.“ The ’like me’ went unsaid. “Let me pose a different question to you. What would you do if your sister, the ‘one thing you care about’ is dead. Would you blame the Death Eaters? Probably. But if there was a chance she could be saved and you missed it, helping us, wouldn’t you blame The Ashes?”
Luther pondered the question carefully. This man is definitely a critic of the highest caliber, he mused. “I have no chance of seeing her again if I were to work alone,” he finally decided on, speaking carefully. “If I don’t see her again as a direct result of supporting the only chance I have, there frankly isn’t much that can be done about it. Don’t get me wrong though – I’m not here just for her sake, although I’m sure you won’t believe it for even a moment. What happened to her made me realize what a cold bastard V–” he immediately stopped, having almost enacted the Taboo. Even more carefully, he amended, “the Dark Lord is.” Embarrassed for nearly compromising them all, although refusing to show it, he finished, “Although she is admittedly my primary motivation, I understand that the Dark Lord’s removal is ultimately more important than a single person’s freedom.”
The silence that followed was filled only by the cracking of Ronan’s knuckles as he flexed them, preventing them from stiffening up. That it created a good bit of tension in the room (at least he thought so) gave him great pleasure. Eventually, he admitted, “I do wish I had a purpose as grand and noble as that. I’ll vouch for you, to Albert. Granted, I’m still suspicious, but that’s just my natural state.” Before he continued any further though, he wondered just how adept the future-spy would be at protecting the secrets of the Ashes. Nobody wanted a double agent. “How good’s your Occlumency?”
Luther was taken aback from the question, having expected a counterargument to his own. Upon thinking about it, he realized he hadn’t even considered Occlumency. The Dark Lord was an amazing Legilimens, of course, and he was a damn fool for not considering it until now. “No match for the Dark Lord’s Legilimency,” he admitted.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Ronan mused, though he didn’t make any move to draw his wand for an impromptu session. “Mine stood up to the Dark Lord’s just fine.”
Luther spit blood on the floor again. He couldn’t tell what was bleeding exactly,, but McCarthy definitely threw a good punch, that’s for sure.
Ronan peered at him curiously. “Alas, I don’t think now’s a good time for that. McCarthy’s work, I’m guessing?”
Luther nodded. “He wasn’t very happy with what I had to say, I’m afraid. Were he a Muggle, he’d be a damn good boxer, that’s for sure.”
The leader of the Ashes simply nodded, having not even the foggiest as to what a ‘boxer’ was, other than it was something Muggle-related. “McCarthy wouldn’t be happy with anything, unless it was MacFusty’s tongue shoved down his throat.” He shot a grin over to the woman standing by the door to the room holding the Imperiused rookie.
Siobhan, who had been uncharacteristically silent as her boss talked with the potential spy (she wasn’t so silly as to interfere in what looked to be a conversation between evil ex-Death Eaters), pointedly glared at Ronan as she stepped forward. She definitely wasn’t going to let that train of conversation continue, and it was either interrupt it or hex Lord Findley, cripple or not. “So,” she said decisively.
Luther fought to hide a grin from his face as he thought, I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t mind that either.
“I could’ve healed that up ages ago, you know,” she said, drawing her wand. It glimmered in the half-light, clearly recently polished. “Ronan’s just a sourpuss.”
Luther nodded to her. “Yeah, that’d be lovely, thanks.”
Siobhan barely even acknowledged his consent, already aggressively waving her wand with an “Episkey,” on her lips. A light mist shimmered out from her wand in Luther’s direction, as soothing as a summer rain.
Luther shuddered as the spell hit him, the mist granting instant relief.”Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “That feels a lot better.”
“Well, at least someone thanks me for my services,” Siobhan replied with an answering smile and a cheeky glance in Ronan’s direction. Her boss held up his hands placatingly, but otherwise said nothing. “I’m the mediwitch of the Ashes. Sadly the only healer. Bottom of my class in St Mungos, too!”
Luther nodded, feigning shock – as if she was literally the greatest witch of all time. “No way! The bottom of the class! Truly remarkable!” he laughed, allowing himself to be cheeky with them, for they seem to be a lot… well, nicer than McCarthy.
Siobhan seemed baffled by that, narrowing her eyes. Was that sarcasm or an insult..? Ronan snorted in laughter from somewhere behind her, and answered, “Believe it or not, she’s not as bad as she makes herself out to be. The fact that she had to buy her way into training is irrelevant.”