XXXI:

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It seemed as though the whole world knew where Ophelia was at the exact same moment. Fewer people would have known her whereabouts had she materialized in the middle of a radio station and shouted her location into the receiver, or Apparated into the middle of the stadium at the final match of the Quidditch World Cup.

Spies were everywhere, it seemed, because one second Tom was half-heartedly studying for his N.E.W.T. exams, and in the next reality shifted. His own spies, serpentine in nature, sent to watch Ophelia's mother alerted him to the disturbance. Something was happening. She'd finally showed her face, that's what it meant. As though their signal wasn't enough, however, there was a rumble upon the stairs as several people sprinted up from their respective dormitories— and knocking into each other with a great deal of cursing by the sound of it. Fenella, the most vicious of their ranks, made it to him first, dragging the Fawley family house-elf by its ear, with Rabastan hot on her heels carrying another house-elf scooped up under his arm like a Quaffle.

"My father just got the news!" she exclaimed, forgetting to release the pitiable creature from her pinching grip. "They've found her, she's—"

"And Grindelwald," Rabastan added, rubbing a sore spot on his side and looking at Fenella resentfully. "He's—"

Avery and Knott appeared over their shoulders with their own house-elves in tow and looking inclined to interrupt.

Tom cut them off before they got the chance. "I know." He pushed away from the table, not sparing them any further inspection. "We need to move quickly."

They needed no encouragement, giving their respective house-elves directions to return to their homes and pretend they'd never left. The willingness they showed to spy on their parents via their family servants without his prompting impressed Tom. Loyalty was invaluable.

"So what do you think?" Rabastan asked, easily keeping up with Tom's long strides on their way Slughorn's office. "Should I set some of Slughorn's precious pictures on fire? Or how about spill all his potions together and cause some sort of mystery explosion? No, wait! How about I set him on fire? That'll be sure to distract him!"

"There's a lot to be said for subtlety," Tom said flatly. "Stick to the plan."

Rabastan pulled a face. "I mean, sure. If you want to be boring..."

Tom did, in fact, want to be boring.

He waited outside the office as Rabastan went to knock, Knott and Avery blocking him from view with their massive bodies. A small scraping could be heard from within the room and a moment later the door was being drawn open. Although Tom couldn't see him, he imagined Slughorn blinking down upon them.

"What a surprise, m'boys!" he boomed in his perpetually loud voice. Seeing Fenella, he corrected, "And girl, of course. Wouldn't dream of forgetting about you, Miss Fawley."

Fenella smiled sweetly up at him, a sure sign of trouble for the discerning viewer. Fenella wasn't sweet unless she wanted something. Her ability to manipulate someone on command made her invaluable.

"Hello, professor. Do you have a moment?"

"Horace? Is there a problem?" The door creaked open wider to reveal Professor Dumbledore seated at a table within the lavish room.

That was one variable Tom hadn't accounted for. Damn him.

Damn him!

Rabastan, it seemed, shared similar feelings, sending Tom a discreetly alarmed look from over Avery's shoulder. Tom hardened his gaze and gave him a sharp nod he hoped Rabastan was intelligent enough to interpret as "Continue as planned, regardless of that pesky Deputy Headmaster."

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