The fate of the world lay in the hands of three men.
That Albus Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel and Alastor Moody realized, as they once more bowed over the large variety of parchments that lay before them on Alastor's desk. They knew it was useless, though. No words were needed, but deeds. Something needed to be done, and quickly. If only they knew what… or by whom.
But they didn't.
No-one did.
The Dark Lord Grindelwald and his followers were on top of their power. The wizards of the Ministry couldn't stop them anymore. Well, in fact there was no Ministry left.
There was chaos.
Absolute chaos had been ruling the wizarding world for more than five years now, and it only grew worse. Nobody knew anything about anyone anymore. Your friend of today could be your enemy of tomorrow. People changed sides constantly, confused and hoping to save their own lives. And in fact, no-one could blame them.
"We must act." Albus Dumbledore, the auburn-haired wizard with his half-moon-shaped glasses, summarized the situation.
"We must act now, before it is too late."
Alastor Moody- the youngest of the three- nodded, yet shrugged his shoulders at the same time.
"I agree, Albus, but what must we do?"
"We've tried everything." acknowledged Nicolas Flamel, obviously the oldest of the three, with his parchment-like skin and his snow-white hair.
"We've tried everything and I fear we have failed."
He slowly nodded, a sad, almost-defeated look in his dark eyes.
But Alastor Moody objected.
"No!" the young man fiercely exclaimed, as he half-stood up and banged his fist on the table, causing the three whisky glasses to dangerously shake.
"I know the situation is desperate, but we cannot give in. If we give in, what happens then?"
Albus sighed.
"Then there is no hope left." he flatly expressed the thoughts of the three of them.
"Then Grindelwald has won."
"Yes!" Alastor said. "Yes, and we won't let that happen. There must be a way to…"
"But what way, my boy?" Nicolas seriously spoke.
"You are young and enthusiastic, Alastor, and that's good."
The man sighed and looked at his long, wrinkled hands.
"Look, I don't fear for myself. I am 619 years old- I don't care if I die tomorrow. Death is merely a new adventure for me. But you, Alastor, and you, Albus! And all those children of today…"
The old man sighed, yet then, something of the fire in the eyes of the younger man crept into his slightly hoarse voice.
"You know what," he then, surprisingly determinedly, spoke.
"Alastor, you're right. We cannot give in now. We are the last hope of the world, I am afraid- a small hope, but a hope."
But Moody sat down again, smiled at the older man, yet sighed.
"But what can we do?"
The three men sighed almost in perfect unison- it would have been funny, if it hadn't been so tragic. A strange silence fell, as every one of them found himself lost in his own thoughts.
Until Nicolas suddenly suggested
"Albus, Alastor… perhaps- I know it sounds quite ridiculous, but… a spy? I remember a case in 1758, and…"
Yet Albus bit his lips and hesitatingly shook his head.
"A spy, Nicolas? After what happened to all Aurors who've tried to infiltrate? Have you forgotten about poor Gerry Lachlan? We had to scrape his body off the ceiling, to have at least something to bury!" he muttered with an undertone of bitterness.
"It was a really horrible incident." He lightly shivered.
Nicolas nodded and sighed.
"Oh I do remember him, Albus, don't worry… But I meant something else- the spy in 1758 who managed to eliminate one of the most evil wizards of her time, was a woman."
"A woman?"
"A woman?"
Alastor almost choked in his last sip of his whisky.
"A woman! But Mr. Flamel- Nicolas!"
Nicolas Flamel nodded, clearly amused by the surprise of the two younger men.
"Yes, a woman indeed! Simonetta Morgan was her name- oh, I remember her… fine-looking woman, by the way. And a very powerful witch. She totally lured that chap into it! Oh, I remember it as if it were yesterday…"
"Yes, but Nicolas," Albus sincerely interrupted his friend- he knew Nicolas and his stories only too well.
"The risks!"
Nicolas sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, there are risks anyway, whether you send a woman or a man. Dead is dead in the end. I know I sound cruel, Albus, and I am sorry, but this indeed may be our last chance."
Albus sighed and nodded then, quite reluctantly.
"Okay, Nicolas, perhaps it is. But what woman will ever want to risk her life for this?"
The three friends once more sighed. Yes. Yes, what woman? It was a dangerous task, of course, and the chance she would have to be scraped of the ceiling in the end was highly probable. They could ask an Auror of course… if only there were female Aurors. But there were none.
In fact, after years of war; there were only five more fully-trained Aurors alive…
No women.
Except…
"Yes!" Alastor Moody all of a sudden exclaimed.
"Of course! Listen, my friends, I know someone who has a chance on succeeding."
"Is she an Auror?" Nicolas Flamel asked anxiously. "Because if she is one, then Grindelwald will of course know her, and…"
"There are no female Aurors." Albus calmly stated. "Not anymore, that is. So, Alastor, who do you have in mind?"
Despite all their troubles, Alastor Moody faintly smiled.
"She is not an Auror, no. But you know what? I'll invite her to come over tomorrow. We'll explain her, then, and we can see whether she is fit for this task. But I trust she is. So, my friends, tomorrow, same time, same place?"
The two other men nodded, and after they'd left him, Alastor Moody rested his head on his hands and nodded.
He indeed trusted her to be fit for the task.
If she wasn't, then no-one was.
That Albus Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel and Alastor Moody realized, as they once more bowed over the large variety of parchments that lay before them on Alastor's desk. They knew it was useless, though. No words were needed, but deeds. Something needed to be done, and quickly. If only they knew what… or by whom.
But they didn't.
No-one did.
The Dark Lord Grindelwald and his followers were on top of their power. The wizards of the Ministry couldn't stop them anymore. Well, in fact there was no Ministry left.
There was chaos.
Absolute chaos had been ruling the wizarding world for more than five years now, and it only grew worse. Nobody knew anything about anyone anymore. Your friend of today could be your enemy of tomorrow. People changed sides constantly, confused and hoping to save their own lives. And in fact, no-one could blame them.
"We must act." Albus Dumbledore, the auburn-haired wizard with his half-moon-shaped glasses, summarized the situation.
"We must act now, before it is too late."
Alastor Moody- the youngest of the three- nodded, yet shrugged his shoulders at the same time.
"I agree, Albus, but what must we do?"
"We've tried everything." acknowledged Nicolas Flamel, obviously the oldest of the three, with his parchment-like skin and his snow-white hair.
"We've tried everything and I fear we have failed."
He slowly nodded, a sad, almost-defeated look in his dark eyes.
But Alastor Moody objected.
"No!" the young man fiercely exclaimed, as he half-stood up and banged his fist on the table, causing the three whisky glasses to dangerously shake.
"I know the situation is desperate, but we cannot give in. If we give in, what happens then?"
Albus sighed.
"Then there is no hope left." he flatly expressed the thoughts of the three of them.
"Then Grindelwald has won."
"Yes!" Alastor said. "Yes, and we won't let that happen. There must be a way to…"
"But what way, my boy?" Nicolas seriously spoke.
"You are young and enthusiastic, Alastor, and that's good."
The man sighed and looked at his long, wrinkled hands.
"Look, I don't fear for myself. I am 619 years old- I don't care if I die tomorrow. Death is merely a new adventure for me. But you, Alastor, and you, Albus! And all those children of today…"
The old man sighed, yet then, something of the fire in the eyes of the younger man crept into his slightly hoarse voice.
"You know what," he then, surprisingly determinedly, spoke.
"Alastor, you're right. We cannot give in now. We are the last hope of the world, I am afraid- a small hope, but a hope."
But Moody sat down again, smiled at the older man, yet sighed.
"But what can we do?"
The three men sighed almost in perfect unison- it would have been funny, if it hadn't been so tragic. A strange silence fell, as every one of them found himself lost in his own thoughts.
Until Nicolas suddenly suggested
"Albus, Alastor… perhaps- I know it sounds quite ridiculous, but… a spy? I remember a case in 1758, and…"
Yet Albus bit his lips and hesitatingly shook his head.
"A spy, Nicolas? After what happened to all Aurors who've tried to infiltrate? Have you forgotten about poor Gerry Lachlan? We had to scrape his body off the ceiling, to have at least something to bury!" he muttered with an undertone of bitterness.
"It was a really horrible incident." He lightly shivered.
Nicolas nodded and sighed.
"Oh I do remember him, Albus, don't worry… But I meant something else- the spy in 1758 who managed to eliminate one of the most evil wizards of her time, was a woman."
"A woman?"
"A woman?"
Alastor almost choked in his last sip of his whisky.
"A woman! But Mr. Flamel- Nicolas!"
Nicolas Flamel nodded, clearly amused by the surprise of the two younger men.
"Yes, a woman indeed! Simonetta Morgan was her name- oh, I remember her… fine-looking woman, by the way. And a very powerful witch. She totally lured that chap into it! Oh, I remember it as if it were yesterday…"
"Yes, but Nicolas," Albus sincerely interrupted his friend- he knew Nicolas and his stories only too well.
"The risks!"
Nicolas sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, there are risks anyway, whether you send a woman or a man. Dead is dead in the end. I know I sound cruel, Albus, and I am sorry, but this indeed may be our last chance."
Albus sighed and nodded then, quite reluctantly.
"Okay, Nicolas, perhaps it is. But what woman will ever want to risk her life for this?"
The three friends once more sighed. Yes. Yes, what woman? It was a dangerous task, of course, and the chance she would have to be scraped of the ceiling in the end was highly probable. They could ask an Auror of course… if only there were female Aurors. But there were none.
In fact, after years of war; there were only five more fully-trained Aurors alive…
No women.
Except…
"Yes!" Alastor Moody all of a sudden exclaimed.
"Of course! Listen, my friends, I know someone who has a chance on succeeding."
"Is she an Auror?" Nicolas Flamel asked anxiously. "Because if she is one, then Grindelwald will of course know her, and…"
"There are no female Aurors." Albus calmly stated. "Not anymore, that is. So, Alastor, who do you have in mind?"
Despite all their troubles, Alastor Moody faintly smiled.
"She is not an Auror, no. But you know what? I'll invite her to come over tomorrow. We'll explain her, then, and we can see whether she is fit for this task. But I trust she is. So, my friends, tomorrow, same time, same place?"
The two other men nodded, and after they'd left him, Alastor Moody rested his head on his hands and nodded.
He indeed trusted her to be fit for the task.
If she wasn't, then no-one was.