01228 The Plan

"Where exactly are you taking us?"

The three from the British Ministry of Magic followed the mysterious attendant out of the gilded splendour of the banquet hall and into the corridor beyond. The music thinned behind them to a muffled throb, as though the whole hall had been dropped into a bowl of water, and the air grew cooler on their faces.

Along the corridor that ringed the bronze column at the hotel's centre, attendants working the banquet came and went in an endless stream: young wizards in uniform with silver trays of canapés, house-elves' worth of glassware floating behind them on charmed trolleys, a pastry chef hurrying past with flour on his sleeves and anger in his eyes.

Minister Bones was by now one of the best-known figures in the European wizarding world, a regular presence in the wizarding papers published across many countries, and her stern face had appeared on more front pages than she cared to count.

Quite a few of the attendants were curious about her. She had left the banquet quietly, with her guards, halfway through the event, and nothing is more interesting to a hotel's staff than a guest who leaves a party early.

All along the way, staff and hotel guests kept eyeing them covertly, one after another.

Not until they stepped into the elevator car, did Sirius lose his patience and raise his voice.

"Right. That's enough mystery. Who exactly wants to see the Minister? And what did you mean back there, saying this was Bryan's plan?"

"I am taking you to a guest room on the seventh floor, sir. The person who wishes to see the Minister is waiting there."

The attendant said it as evenly as before, turning a deaf ear to the rest of Sirius's questions and studying the brass indicator as it ticked upward.

Amelia, for her part, appeared perfectly composed, her hands folded before her. Having decided to come, she saw no need to fuss or to fret aloud. Besides, she had the two finest Aurors in British wizarding society at her side, which was a comfort that would have eased most people's nerves.

Seeing that the attendant had no intention of answering, Sirius and Alastor both let a hint of menace seep into their faces.

Hesitation flickered in Alastor's good eye as he calculated whether it would be worth interrogating the man by illegal means, and what the Minister would say about it afterwards.

After a smooth ride, the elevator car reached the seventh floor.

Before the doors had even begun to open, Alastor had already scanned the other side with his magical eye.

There was no ambush waiting outside; indeed, scarcely a guest was to be seen along the winding, convoluted corridors, which curled away in both directions beneath dim lamps and thick carpet that swallowed the sound of every step.

As for whether danger lurked in the rooms on either side of the corridor, that was harder to say.

As Paris's most prestigious wizarding business hotel, every room here had been enlarged with Undetectable Extension Charms, and the charms muddied the view of Alastor's magical eye, turning every door into a blank, shuttered face. A single room might hold a cupboard or a ballroom.

There was no way to tell.

Sirius and Alastor kept close guard on each side of Amelia, on their toes every moment, braced against a door suddenly swinging open and a horde of desperadoes spilling out of it.

The attendant did not lead them on any roundabout route. Leaving the elevator lobby, he turned the three of them into the left-hand corridor, passed straight along one hallway, and came to a halt before a plain, dark-panelled door, indistinguishable from all the rest.

Knock, knock, knock.

Ignoring the wand Sirius had almost aimed at his forehead, the attendant rapped on the door with calm knuckles.

Only when Gerson Barnah's face appeared in the crack of the door did Sirius and Alastor let out a breath of relief, the wands in their sleeves sagged a fraction. Amelia's tightly drawn shoulders eased as well.

"What on earth is going on, Barnah? You might have sent a note, and spared us the staircase of suspense!"

Barnah was the direct sponsor of the sweeping "Construction Movement" in British wizarding society, and with the connection through Bryan besides, he and Amelia had grown very familiar with each other over the past year. She let out a breath, though one eyebrow stayed arched in warning.

"Bryan… Is he here?"

"Come in and we'll talk, Minister Bones."

Barnah, wrinkle upon wrinkle, merely set his face grimly and drew the door open.

But the moment she saw the tall old man standing on the lawn behind the door, inside that manor-style room—a lawn! green grass under an enchanted sky, where there should have been a carpet and a bed—Amelia's foot, about to step forward, stopped short, and a trace of terror crept over her stunned face.

Sirius and Alastor, too, were dazed and utterly shaken.

"I thought you might react like this, Minister Bones."

On the lawn, the old man, who wore a short beard that was easy to keep and lent him a touch of toughness, smiled faintly as he spoke, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Vipor Dreghorn!"

Alastor was the first to spring into motion. He yanked Amelia behind him with one arm, his wand trained on Vipor, his face had gone savage.

"The same old trick again, is it? Who are you really?!"

"Don't worry, Alastor. You may lower your wand."

Barnah's voice was hoarse.

"The man standing before you is the real Vipor."

"And the one in the banquet hall?"

Minister Bones narrowed her eyes and asked in a low voice.

"That is Miguel Tusk, one of my subordinates."

Standing on the lawn, Vipor smiled with a soft chuckle, perfectly at ease beneath three wands' worth of suspicion.

The three from the British Ministry all wore grave expressions. They exchanged glances and brooded for several long breaths, weighing the thing from every side. Then Minister Bones glanced at the attendant standing to one side.

"This gentleman, just now… he spoke of Bryan's plan?"

"It was no lie, Minister Bones."

Barnah beckoned to the three of them and set off across the lawn toward the manor at its far end.

"We will explain everything, I promise you, but not here, and not standing in a doorway. We don't have much time to waste."

It was impossible not to feel doubt. Yet Barnah and Dreghorn before them truly seemed to have nothing wrong with them.

Amelia looked at Alastor, who, after staring deeply at the manor a short distance away for a few moments, his magical eye spinning slowly in its socket, gave a slight shake of his head. No ambush inside.

Sirius followed without waiting for Amelia's order, though his jaw was tight.

"I don't understand. If Bryan has some plan, why didn't he tell us beforehand?!"

"It has nothing to do with trust, Mr. Black."

Vipor explained as he strode toward the manor.

"Bryan drew up this plan to wipe them out after Erkstag fell, during the period when the International Confederation of Wizards was holding meetings to negotiate a response. It would need the elite forces of every nation's Ministry, and with that many hands the risk of a leak was very high. That is why Bryan chose to say nothing, to you or to anyone."

"Wipe out whom?"

Minister Bones did not question Vipor's account; she only pressed him, her voice crisp.

"What exactly is the plan?"

"The Death Eater organization, of course, Minister, and the prisoners of Erkstag."

Barnah answered that question.

The group reached the front of the manor. In the courtyard stood a round fountain pool, its water black and still under the enchanted sky, and in its centre rose a gilded sculpture of an enormous Galleon.

Under the fixed gaze of the three from the British Ministry, Dreghorn and Barnah stepped into the pool and laid their hands on the gilded Galleon.

"As for the plan—"

Vipor pressed his lips together, looking at the three who still harboured some hesitation.

"Bryan calls it 'Come Into My Parlour.'"

There was a flash of light, and Barnah and Dreghorn vanished before their eyes, leaving only a faint ring of ripples on the black water.

A targeted Portkey.

All three were wizards of high standing who had seen much in their time. They recognized simultaneously what the Galleon sculpture truly was.

Sirius and Alastor both turned to Amelia, waiting for her decision.

"Come Into My Parlour…"

Amelia murmured under her breath, a thoughtful look on her face, and the name rolled over her tongue.

After all that had been said, it was not hard, for someone of her intelligence, to guess what Bryan meant to do.

Bryan's plan rested on an entirely reasonable inference: that in response to the founding of the Joint Task Forces, Voldemort would surely order the forces he held in reserve, biding their time, to carry out an equivalent act of retaliation.

Just as, after the Death Eaters' breakout from Azkaban, Bryan had declared he would seize the Death Eaters' assets—which had set off the First Death Eater War, now called the Battle of Diagon Alley.

The Ministry had suffered heavy losses in that war, but it had fought its way into people's hearts, and fought out a relatively stable order for British wizarding society.

And now Bryan seemed to intend to repeat the old trick.

Since there was no way to know when the Death Eaters would strike, he would simply create an opportunity so full of temptation that they could not resist it.

"Come Into My Parlour…"

Amelia murmured it once more, and then she smiled, thinly.

"It seems that I—oh or rather, all the Ministry heads of the nations that signed the Mutual Defence Treaty—have been taken by Bryan for…. food set out on a trap. Delicious, but deadly. Is that it?"

Amelia's gaze turned dark and deep.

It was a good plan… but for Bryan to use the officials and leaders of so many nations' Ministries as bait would undoubtedly offend a great many people, and she did not want to be the one to explain it to them.

Hazy light flashed again. Before their vision could clear, a bleak, murderous chill came rushing at them like a wall of cold water, and the faces of the three from the British Ministry hardened.

"Welcome to the goblins' Twin Moon Town, Minister Bones—and Mr. Black, Mr. Moody."

Barnah, his long, slender hands folded before him, smiled at the three of them, who were stunned beyond measure.

"Oh… this is… all these…!"

Sirius stared at the dense, dark mass of heads before him, his breathing heavy, a ruddy flush rising on his cheeks. "How did you do it… so many… when did you—!"

"Just before the Daily Prophet ran its report on the convening of the preparatory conference."

Vipor's words came with an aura of iron and blood.

"This is everything the Confederation and the goblins could bring."

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