The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix - Part One

The Bit of Paper

James had arrived to work early and found Underhill's office vacant. He had been expecting the auror to be there, considering he had specially requested James to come in that evening. James hung about, looking through files on Anne and Marjorie Veigler and found nothing new. He had grown bored after an hour or so of this, and finally set to finishing off the filing that Underhill had set him to when he had first started in his office.

It was boring work and soon he was day dreaming about the Gryffindor quidditch team. James wondered how the new lot was handling their season thus far without him there. He reckoned they were probably doing alright, after all they'd been doing rather brilliantly by the end of the season last term. So long as they remembered the things he'd taught them, they might just have it in them to win the cup, he thought. But oh how he did miss quidditch - and he made up his mind to go and find Frank Longbottom next morning and demand a one on oner sometime soon.

He thought, too, about the upcoming holiday, so closely followed by Sirius's birthday. James smiled to himself as he worked, imagining what kind of crazy antics Sirius would resort to as he turned a blistering 19 years old - 133 in dog years, James snickered, and he decided instantly to be sure there were precisely 133 candles crammed onto the birthday cake. He chuckled imagining Sirius turning himself blue trying at blowing them all out at once.

Suddenly, he realized as he reached for another box and found none that he had somehow finished with organizing all the files.

Underhill's office had never looked so organized. James stood behind his desk, hands on his hips, his expression one of wild pride, as he glanced about the tiny office at all the space where the overflowing boxes of case files had stood when he'd first started. Now, the rug was showing again and, aside from being slightly discolored from having been buried under boxes so long compared to the exposed bits, the office was spotless. Of course, James could have fixed that discoloration with a flick of his wrist, but where was the fun in that?

The office door banged open suddenly, making James jump and knock over a bottle of pumpkin juice he'd had on the desk. It spilled all over the papers on the surface and dripped over the edge onto the floor, cascading in rivulets over the drawers. He got down quickly to start sopping it off with a good spell and was about to apologize when he heard Underhill's voice - low and gruff - snap, "Stay where you are."

James froze, thinking Underhill meant him, but realized a moment later that the elder wizard had been directing his words to another who had followed him into the office.

"Get out of here, I tell you!" Underhill's voice was stern, "If anyone saw you here, you'd be absolutely finished - and then what? What do you reckon might happen to you then? To me, for that matter?"

James lay flat on his stomach, his eyes peering out from beneath the desk at two pairs of boots moving through the office. He hoped his gangly legs weren't sticking out the back of the desk where they could be spotted and wished he could go invisible. At the thought of it, he realized that he had the cloak in his pocket and he quickly tugged it out and curled himself beneath the cloak's hem, feeling much better protected now that he could see but not be seen for sure.

"You act as though he moves unpredictably, as though his moves were not calculated," athe second person spoke.

Underhill's laugh was booming and surprised James at the roughness to it. "You act as though he is predictable and calculated!" The laughter cut off abruptly, and Underhill's voice was cold, hard and low. "Nothing the Dark Lord does is predictable... and often it's not calculated." He paused for emphasis. "Not usually anyway. And particularly not when he's angry."

There was silence from the other person and James felt as though he didn't dare to breathe. He was cold all over and reminded very suddenly of those early close-calls with Argus Filch and his cat back in First Year at Hogwarts, when he and the lads had pressed themselves into tight corners behind tapestries holding their breaths, certain they would be expelled if they were caught. Back when being expelled was the greatest fear that he had, back when being caught meant getting scolded or serving a detention doing homework shoulder to shoulder with Sirius Black, sitting under Minnie's watchful eye. Now, getting caught meant so much more than a few hours chomping biscuits and being forced to concenrate on studies. Now... well, there could be a good deal of trouble for getting caught now. And, he felt a sinking pit in his stomach, possibly more trouble than he would have believed could come out of falling out of Underhill's graces.

"You dare to speak this way of him?" the second voice was breathless, like a child in awe of a naughty word. The way Peter used to sound when he or Sirius suggested some devious scheme.

Underhill's boots shifted and James grabbed hold of his trainers and rocked backward, afraid Underhill might nudge him or kick him as he walked up to James's desk. There was a sound on the desk top, Underhill rummaging in something - a briefcase perhaps? "I don't fear weak men," Underhill's voice was hushed but strong, and James felt his gut twist with a strange mixture of pride and foreboding.

The other pair of boots stomped closer and there was an excited gasp. The second person had come alongside Underhill and, James supposed, was looking over Underhill's shoulder at whatever it was that was on top of the desk. (How he wished he could see what it was!)

"You... You -- But -- How?"

Underhill chuckled quietly, but he didn't answer.

"Surely he will find out... He will figure it out and he will come for her."

Underhill's voice was level. "I have built the perfect hedgerow, my friend. I have my assistant - gulliable lad, he is - researching the matter. Supposedly secretly... but word will get back to the Dark Lord... and when it does, he will be thrown off of me to persue other answers..."

James felt sick. Gulliable? Was Underhill talking about him - James?

"Brilliant," the second voice whispered.

There was more shuffling on the desk above James's head, and the boots of the second person turned and walked to the door quickly as Underhill walked 'round to his own desk. James heard a drawer open and close, a scratching of a quill, and then Underhill said, "Alright, I've got the paperwork I needed." He came back to the space between the two desks, and then, as James watched, Underhill took a step back and then a small bit of paper, no larger than a Drooble's gum wrapper, fell onto the floor. With a kick that could've been accidental had it not been for the awkward ankle that Underhill's boots turned, the paper rolled under the desk and directly against James's trainer. He stared at it, not daring to move. "Let's go."

The office door opened, and both men walked out into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them and James heard Underhill's key turn in the lock before their steps receeded down the hallway.

He didn't dare to move at first, even once he was sure they were gone. When he did, he pulled away the invisibility cloak and snatched up the bit of paper, palms sweaty, and crawled out from under the desk. He sat down and smoothed the tiny bit of paper out on the desktop.

J -
Grant.
Archer Record.
IRE.
Dumbledore.

James reread it about a hundred thousand times.

"What the bloody hell?"