The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix - Part One

Old Rubbish

The box landed on Dumbledore's desk with a thunk that resounded 'round the Headmaster's office with a heaviness disproportionate to the size of it. Dumbledore's eyes fell upon the box, then moved slowly upward to Edgar Bones. The auror's face was lined with concern, his bright eyes wide and staring at the box with a leery expression.

Carefully, Dumbledore tucked his beard against his chest with one hand and leaned forward over the mahogany desk, looking very closely at the box over the curve of his half-moon spectacles. He flicked his wand and the box opened. Inside, it was lined with velvet of an extremely dark green, plush and soft, and in the middle of the pillowy lining was set a small, dull-silver-looking cube. The cube glinted in the flickering light of the candles in Dumbledore's office, highlighting tiny markings that were etched into the metal, so small they were invisible to the eye. Dumbledore squinted at the etchings, but could make nothing of them.

Wanting a closer look, Dumbledore reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a handkerchief, which he used to lift up the cube without touching it. It was perhaps lined with silver but must have been made by some other incredibly heavy metal, Dumbledore supposed, as he lifted it up. The cube pressed into his cradled palm and he let it roll over onto its side, like a dice, confirming that the etchings went all around the entire thing.

"What do you make of it, sir?" Edgar Bones asked, sitting heavily in the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"I am not sure," Dumbledore mused, turning the cube over again in his palm.

"But clearly it's something, yeah?" Edgar said, "To be in such a - a fine box as that?" His question was broken in the middle by a wide yawn.

Dumbledore glanced up at Edgar Bones and was suddenly struck by the thought that he looked incredibly tired and care-worn. Caradoc Dearborn's disappearance had been weighing heavy on Edgar Bones and the effects were taking their toll on him. There were bags beneath his eyes and his usually warm skin tone had taken a bit of a paler look to it as though he were not entirely well. "I think," said Dumbledore gently, "That it is a mystery best investigated once you've had some rest."

Edgar Bones looked ready to argue when there came a knock on Dumbledore's office door.

Dumbledore's gaze turned to the door. "Come in," he called.

The door opened and Minerva McGonagall entered, followed by a very despondent-looking Regulus Black.

Edgar Bones's expression darkened and he quickly scooped up the box, shoved it into his robes, and muttered, "I'll return to talk about this matter further in the future, Albus." He nodded to Minerva and hurried out the door and down the steps.

McGonagall turned to Dumbledore as the door closed behind the auror. "I do apologize, Headmaster, if I have interrupted something important."

Dumbledore shook his head, smoothing his beard and sitting down behind the desk in his chair. "It is quite alright, Minerva, Mr. Bones was just taking his leave anyway." His eyes traveled to Regulus, whose mouth was pinched with aggravation. The boy had dark rings beneath his eyes from lack of sleep and his hair, which hung a bit longer than he'd ever previously allowed it to become, hid his eyes as he stared down at his trainers. "To what do I owe this honor of your visit to my office?"

Minerva McGonagall sighed through her nose and shook her head, glancing at Regulus, then back at the Headmaster. "This boy has repeatedly been caught sneaking about the Transfiguration wing," she said, "Despite being told to go back to his dormitory, and serving multiple detentions, he persists." She motioned for Regulus to sit down.

Dumbledore considered Regulus as he sat in the chair opposite of Dumbledore's desk. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his mind going over the contents of the Transfiguration corridor, recalling the rooms and artifacts that lined the halls there. He himself had once been the Transfiguration teacher and he'd curated many of the things there himself, and while such things were terribly interesting to himself, he did not see why ancient charts, paintings, and portraits pertaining to Transfiguration would be of such interest to the boy seated before him. He looked up at McGonagall and motioned for her to depart. She nodded, then turned and left, closing the door behind her.