Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Four

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ONCE BITTEN
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MCGONAGALL ROUNDED ON Marina with a fierce look. "You asked their house-elf?"

Marina shifted, irritably. "I suppose you'd rather I whipped out my wand to cast a door-finding charm?"

McGonagall's stern look didn't fade. "Of course not, but a house-elf? They are notoriously loyal, even to the worst sort of master..."

"Dobby will do the right thing," Marina said firmly, looking at the others. "I know he will. He remembers what things were like last time Voldemort was in power" – the room, excluding Dumbledore, gave a flinch at the name – "and he doesn't want that to happen again. House-elves were treated even worse than he is now. He has a good heart."

McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore for a second opinion, and he simply inclined his head in agreement, hands clasped in front of his face where he sat at his desk.

"Well," McGonagall said, deflating, "if you think he is trustworthy, Albus..." she looked like she had more to say, but she sat back down in the circle of chairs arching in front of Dumbledore.

Gathered in the eclectic ordered chaos of Dumbledore's office, the First Order looked near exactly how Marina had always imagined them. Remus Lupin was a dishevelled, permanently exhausted looking man who had kind eyes and a quiet disposition that conveyed the presence of a good listener. He had said very little during the meeting, but his voice was an even, slightly gravelly tone that drew the attention of the group even when others were speaking much louder than him.

Minerva McGonagall was tall, imposing, and authoritative in an elegant, experienced way that made Marina sorry to disagree with her. She wore emerald green robes and a wide brimmed pointed hat that curved on an angle. The creases on her face gave her the air of a robust intelligence. When she spoke she tended to stand, drawing up her height and pacing, only sitting again when she felt her concerns had been adequately addressed.

Also standing was Alastor Moody, the face who looked least like Marina had anticipated. His hair, unlike his depiction in the movies was a dark, cold-toned grey with a wild, brittle texture. His face was lined deeply with what Marina could only guess was a mix of age, hardship, and combat. These lines were further exacerbated by his perpetual frown. His single dark eye seemed brooding and observant, sinking into the shadow below the heavy brow of his face. In striking contrast, his left eye was an almost artificial looking electric blue, ever moving, bulging from the socket like it was straining away from his face. Its iris frequently disappeared as it rolled around ever roaming and restless.

"Indeed, Minerva, I believe Dobby is trustworthy." Dumbledore's voice wrenched Marina's attention back to the present. He sat back in his desk, and opened his hands as if asking their input. "Now, we must discuss the distribution of this diary."

Moody snorted. "You can't be serious, Albus."

"I am," said Dumbledore evenly.

"This plan is madness," Moody growled from where he stood, heavily leaning on the back of the chair he had yet to sit in. "Just stab the bloody thing and get it over with," he gestured to the diary which sat on Dumbledore's desk before them all.

"If only it were so simple, Alastor. Unfortunately, according to Marina" –all eyes swivelled towards her– "we have already tried that. At the cost of many innocent lives, and unquantifiable suffering."

"Are you sure she is to be trusted?" Moody said, not bothering to lower his voice. Marina levelled him with a mordant look.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Marina has told and retold her position several times both with and without Veritaserum. She has also provided information that is... particularly convincing of her validity."