The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Part II - Chapter Eight
Bones drank the remainder of his coffee in one gulp and rose respectfully when Dumbledore entered the private parlor they had booked in the Leaky Cauldron. He had asked for this one in particular as he had wanted one, which had protections on it to keep others from listening in. The two Weasleys and Hermione Granger were also finishing the remnants of their breakfasts. Except for Granger, they looked as sleepy as Bones felt, but he had wanted the meeting to be as early as possible so that Harry would not have a chance to ask where they were all going. He had made sure to deliver the box of papers to Harry's dorm room the previous evening and had given him instructions on how he wanted the information sorted and tabled. It should, he hoped; keep him busy well into the afternoon.
As though he had heard Bones' thoughts, the first thing Dumbledore said after his initial greeting was, "How is Harry?"
Ginny's answer, "Fine," clashed with Hermione's, "Not as good as we'd like."
Dumbledore looked with serene interest on them and said, "Miss Weasley, you first."
Ginny flushed slightly as she elaborated, "He's much better. Almost back to his normal weight and strength."
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But," she added with a faint frown, "he's gotten more difficult about being kept out of things. He's started asking why we can't visit Diagon Alley and, well, I think there are tings that are still bothering him."
Dumbledore considered them gravely and looked at Ron.
Without further prompting, Ron said, "I think he's having trouble adjusting to the fact that You Know Who is dead. I think, sometimes, he's not really sure that he is dead. And he seems to blame himself for killing him, even though...well you know what happened."
Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened and Bones clarified, "He said so just the other day. He said he had deliberately tricked Voldemort into attacking him by giving him a clear shot. He seemed to think that was the same think as murder in a way."
The serene light in the elderly wizard's eyes darkened into a somber sorrow. "Have you talked to him about it?"
"Yes," Ginny cut in. "You all underestimate him. He's all right. But he feels cut off, even with us there. He always thought he'd be able to live like a wizard when he got old enough to be free of his aunt. And now he's living like a Muggle and working for Muggles and he feels as though he's been exiled." She looked fiercely at the old man and said, "Which is what you've done, isn't it? You're trying to protect him again and you're going to have the same problem on your hands that you had when you kept things from him before. Sooner or later, he'll decide he just wants some new robes or to have a pint of butterbeer, and he'll walk in here and something will happen."
"I agree," Bones said.
"The Death Eaters will try to kill him," Dumbledore replied.
Bones frowned at him and said, "Well, as Riddle himself couldn't quite kill him, I don't see why you should be so worried now that he's nearly back to normal health again."
Dumbledore paused before answering that question and Bones felt peculiarly as though the old wizard and the three friends knew something he didn't.
"Because of the child," Dumbledore replied.
"Look," Bones said, "I know you think this child might be Riddle's and some kind of threat in the future, but I don't see how it can be any threat now."
"Because," Hermione said, "they think they can bring Voldemort's spirit back to possess the child. And if they knew Harry was alive, they'd try to use him to do it."
Bones' flesh crept. The summoning of dead spirits was an art so dark that even the worst dark wizards feared to do it. It was something even more forbidden than the use of the Unforgivable and he couldn't recall that anyone had even tried such a thing in hundreds of years.
Before Bones had time to reply to Hermione's extraordinary statement or to press Dumbledore for the truth of the matter, a rapid tapping on the door interrupted them. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the door opened. It was Lupin, the werewolf.
"We need you now," Lupin said to Dumbledore. "We think we've found them." His large gray eyes swept over the others and he nodded at them briefly.
"Good," Ron said, "We'll come help."
Bones opened his mouth to say, you will not, but Dumbledore, after a keen glance at them, nodded. Bones wanted to stop the old wizard and say, what the devil are you doing? But they were all moving quickly out of the parlor and down the stairs to the archway that led into Diagon Alley. Fuming, he followed them. He would certainly be in trouble with the major and the Prime Minister if three of his newest recruits were injured before their training was complete. Then it occurred to him, jarringly, that this was exactly why the Prime Minister had wanted them in the first place. So he followed after them, determined not to be left out of the action.
They slid through the crowds in Diagon Alley, past Flourish and Blotts, past Weasleys' Wizards' Wheezes, past every respectable shop in Diagon Alley and turned into the dark and narrow precincts of Knockturn Alley. If Bones had felt his flesh creep before at imagined horrors, he now felt the hair on his arms raise as goose bumps shivered over him. This place was worse than the nastiest council estate that housed the nastiest gangs in London.
Doors closed and signs changed from OPEN to CLOSED as hooded witches and wizards whisked out of sight upon seeing the tall, magnificent form of Albus Dumbledore. They passed by Borgin and Burkes, which had a troll's head on a stand and a Hand of Glory above it in its window. Beside the Hand of Glory, a large crystal ball glowed with a menacing red fire in its depths and Bones had hardly torn his gaze away from it in time to follow the others into a mean looking inn called Alistair Crowley's Rest.
The windows were covered with centuries of grime and inside, a fine haze of smoke drifted by, though no source for it was immediately apparent. The man at the bar observed them sourly and said, "We're closed for the day. Come back another time."
The barman's black eyes were like small chips of glass in a face that seemed to have been carved out of wood rather than flesh. His hard horny hands were topped with saber-like nails and his short stature made Bones think the barman must be part goblin.
Ignoring the barman, Dumbledore snapped a single word to Lupin, "Where?"
Lupin did not even bother to reply. He simply made swiftly for the stairs at the back of the room.
The barman shouted, "Hey! That's private!" And a sudden flash of glowing green light sprang up at the stairway, catching Lupin in mid-stride as he attempted to mount the first step. Dumbledore flung out an arm to stop the others and with a sweeping movement of his wand attacked the trap. White light poured out of his wand and erased the green as cleanly as if an eraser had wiped out the chalk on a blackboard.
"Thanks," Lupin rasped out in a tone that was as close to a growl as Bones had ever heard a human produce. He leapt up the stairs at a run taking them two and three at a time. The barman had drawn his own wand, but in front of him, Hermione Granger had got off a spell froze the half-goblin with his spell unuttered.
"Good one," Weasley said cheerfully and he bounded up the stairs in even bigger steps than Lupin. Dumbledore followed with greater energy than one would expect for a man whose age exceeded one hundred fifty, though he did not take the steps in twos and threes as the younger men had.
They all pounded up behind the two men and soon came out to a landing from which several hallways led. Lupin had paused and he seemed to be scenting the air almost, as though even in his human form, he retained something of the more sensitive senses of an animal. Quickly, he plunged down the hallway to the right and made swiftly for a door at the very end. Instead of trying the door handle, he blasted it open with a single spell and was in before the others could cry a warning to take care.
They all poured into the room and Bones saw, with consternation, that the room held others beside the child. Gathered in the center were Bellatrix Lestrange, a young girl with blond hair and a rather piggy nose, and another young man who was easily as large as Norway or MacCready, but whose gaze held none of the alert pedatoriness of the army sergeant or the quick intelligence of the engineer. Lestrange, he knew, was the most dangerous of them all, and he would, at any other time, have ducked upon seeing her. However, her right arm was occupied with holding a small bundle which was wrapped in soft baby blankets and her other was reaching out toward a bottle, which rested on the center of the table that provided a barrier between the Death Eater and the Order members. The young girl also held a similar bundle.
Granger exclaimed, "Pansy Parkinson! What are you doing here?"
The young blond woman replied, "Supporting the cause of the pure blood, as you should be able to guess if you were as smart as you think you are, you Mudblood."
Dumbledore raised his wand and the young woman and the large man flinched. "You would do well to surrender," the elderly wizard said calmly.
However, Bellatrix had other ideas in mind. "Get him, Goyle," she snarled, and the man had lifted his wand and begun the words of the Killing Curse on her command.
Dumbledore immediately whipped his wand and before the words of the curse could be completed, a brilliant red light flashed out like a whip to wrap around the wand and fling it away. "Stupid, incompetent..." Lestrange cried. But she did not reach for her wand. Even as Dumbledore's wand whipped again and the red light encircled the Death Eaters, she cried, "Now!" and all of them reached out to touch the bottle sitting on the table. A faint howl of air drawing into a vacuum accompanied their instant disappearance as the Portkey drew them away. Lupin threw himself with speed at their disappearing forms but his grasping fingers just missed contact with the Portkey. Dumbledore actually cursed as he stilled the spell from his wand and Lupin literally howled. The faint keening sound stirred the hair on Bones' arms and he tried to recall whether the full moon was soon to be upon them.
Visibly gathering himself, Lupin drew in a breath and said calmly, "I'm sorry, Professor, for that loss of temper. I just can't help recalling that that banshee murdered Sirius."
"I can't believe Pansy actually joined them," Hermione said. "She can't have done it before, when Voldemort was still alive. Why now?"
Beside her, Ginny Weasley glanced at Dumbledore and hesitated before she answered, "I think it's because of the baby."
"I see," Dumbledore said.
"Well, I don't," Bones said bluntly. "I know they said there were two, but..."
"The second must be Pansy's," Ginny answered. "I heard a few rumors at the end of the year last year. She was desperate to get Draco back and thought she'd get him to marry her if she had his child. Only you know Draco. He could care less about that. Once he was through with her, he was through with her."
"But that doesn't explain what she's doing with Bellatrix Lestrange," Ron said. "I understand Goyle. He was practically a Death Eater in his last two years already."
"I expect she went to Lucius Malfoy when Draco threw her over," Hermione said. "Only he didn't have any influence with Draco to force him to marry her and legitimize their pure-blood offspring," she continued scathingly, "because of Narcissa's death."
"So Lucius Malfoy sent her to Bellatrix," Ron concluded, "and Goyle volunteered to guard them 'cause he's always liked Pansy."
"And how are we supposed to tell which child is which?" Lupin asked. "One is Narcissa Malfoy's child, perhaps by Voldemort and the other is her son's."
"I don't know that it matters anymore," Dumbledore said heavily. "We must not fail again. And we must get them both, before Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange achieve their objective."
"Can they?" Hermione asked.
Dumbledore looked older and wearier than ever. "I do not think any of you have ever truly understood the darkness of the Death Eaters' powers or the true extent of them. If you had, as brave as you are, you should never have dared to oppose them."
"Of course, we would," Ron, said. "They were trying to kill Harry."
The two young women nodded their agreement and Dumbledore's expression lightened into one of the greatest affection. "It is your great friendship that helped defeat Voldemort. That and your courage."
"I wish that were so," Ron answered. "But you know, sir, in the end, Harry did it all by himself. He wouldn't let us in to help."
Dumbledore hesitated and then replied, "It was his love for you, his desire to protect you, that gave him the courage to do what he must."
***
Bright morning sunlight struck a crimson shine off the swan-like bird's feathers and turned his tail into an incandescent gold. An observer would have believed the light deceived him when the bird lifted its head from under his wing, blinked its emerald eyes in the bright light and as it stretched its wings, metamorphosed in a blur into a tall young man. Only the bright green eyes remained the same. Harry Potter thought none of this though. He merely stretched and yawned and noted that it was already ten o'clock in the morning.
He glanced over the neat table of information, which he had stayed up until six in the morning to complete, and ruffled his unruly black hair in thought. Most of the information meant little to him. He had gone through pages and pages of e-mails and transcripts of recorded conversations between suspected terrorists. He had tabled the information by identifying recurrent signatures; group references and set up a separate table for possible targets linked to possible culprits.
There were only two that had interested him. Both contained references to the Anglo Aryan Alliance. They had caught his attention because of the mention of them by Brittany and MacCready in their class earlier in the week. Both messages were bland and uninformative though. One was an assessment of possible target recruits: white youth, mostly male, unemployed or underemployed, preferably of true Anglo-Saxon descent. Later bloodlines from Austria and Germany were acceptable. Bloodlines from anywhere in the Middle East, Asia or Africa, or even Italy or France were unacceptable. Harry scowled in disgust. Some things, he thought, were the same among all people. The second message was a bit more cryptic, but spoke of the upcoming plan to create public awareness and interest in the group's message. More alarmingly, it stated, "Should we fail to achieve the initial objective of obtaining widespread respect and approval, other more immediate actions may be taken."
What did more immediate actions mean? He shrugged after a moment and went to shower and dress. If he hurried, he could get Johnny and Mac to leave for London in good time to check out the museum before the time for the targets' meeting.
"How'd you finish that box of papers already?" Mac asked, when Harry knocked on his door.
"I did most of it last night," Harry answered. He grinned and said, "Let's get Johnny and go."
The museum was crowded already and they had trouble finding a place to park. Harry considered getting out of the car and going ahead, but they found a space that was only a few blocks away and made their way past a line of large trucks that were parked on one side of the nearby park. A line of people snaked its way around the block and a couple of reporters were strolling around asking the waiting people questions.
"Looks like they're filming something," Johnny commented. He craned his neck to see but Harry pulled him on.
"Who cares what they're filming?" he answered. "This is real and it's much more interesting."
"We don't even know they'll show up," Mac said. "And what are you planning on doing if they do?"
"We listen in," Harry replied, "and stay out of sight."
They passed through security and into the tall marble halls of the great museum. A flyer at the information desk told them that "The Age of King Arthur, the Great Anglo-Saxon Immigration, and the Early Middle Ages" could be found on the second floor in the east wing.
Harry looked at the display in fascination. Arrows led one through the exhibition, which contained such things as a deep gold cup and platter, which the display said might be artifacts that resembled the Holy Grail of Arthurian legend. Another display showed armor, axes, and horned helmets that had been worn by early Angle and Saxon warriors. Still further on, various manuscripts were encased beneath glass, their bright illuminations gleaming in bold blues, bright crimsons, and glittering gold leaf. Some were in Latin; others written in what looked almost like runes to Harry's eyes. Hermione would love this, he thought.
"Here," Johnny said. In one of the cases, a manuscript was opened to the very picture that had been sent them in the e-mail. "Look," Johnny said, "whoever sent the e-mail must have simply pulled this right off the museum's web-site."
Harry stared at it and wondered whether the sender had any more specific reason for choosing it than that it was in the middle of the most recent display and the large number of people coming through would make it difficult for anyone to suspect that their meeting was anything but a simple tourist visit.
He looked about the exhibition and spotted a corner that might do well for concealment. He motioned to Johnny and Mac, who were absorbed in looking at a placard about the Sutton Hoo treasure. They joined him and settled in behind the display, which was a replica of a Saxon ship. The legend beneath it stated, "Longboats of this kind made regular landings on what came to be known as the Saxon Shore. By the sixth century, kings such as Cerdic and later Ethelred and Harold solidified the country into a united Saxon kingdom, whose affairs were recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Interestingly, although the chronicle mentions the Battle of Badon Hill, King Arthur's reportedly greatest victory, no mention of Arthur is made."
"Pity, really," Mac commented. "All the evidence seems to point to it that Arthur never existed."
"Not necessarily," Johnny said. "What about all the literary evidence? Where did that come from? And anyway," he continued, "it could be a case of the victor's re-writing history they way they wanted. The Saxons couldn't have been that fond of Arthur."
"Nor Merlin, either," Harry commented wryly. For a moment, he could not but feel the greatest of sympathy for the wizard king Arthur who had died betrayed by his own nephew. Of course, one didn't go about explaining to Muggles the King Arthur had only been able to use the magic sword Excalibur because he himself was a wizard.
"Now there's an even more legendary character than Arthur," Mac said. "I bet he's no more historical than Obi Wan Kenobee or the Wicked Witch of the West."
Harry rolled his eyes and scanned the people pausing at the exhibit that contained the Book of the Hours. A woman with long hair and glasses stopped and photographed the exhibit. She was shouldered aside by a very large man, who places his very large hands on the glass, blocking her view. "Well, I never," she said in offended tones as she moved on to another exhibit. Harry, however, was gaping. The large man was Norway. He gawked at the sergeant and beside him, Johnny swore almost soundlessly.
Norway appeared to be reading the exhibit information with avid interest as another man joined him. He had blond hair just turning silver and a handsome face and he seemed very familiar, though Harry was sure he had never met the man in his life. Mac, however, said quietly, "What on earth is Eric Hayden doing meeting with Norway?"
"Who is he?" Harry asked.
"The film star," Johnny said softly. "You know, all those adventure movies."
"Oh, yeah," Harry said, though he had never seen any movies the man had been in owing to Aunt Petunia's unwillingness to take him anywhere like the movies. He did recall now seeing the man's face on the cover of the gossip magazines his aunt liked to read.
"Figures he would be coming to an exhibition like this," Mac said.
"Norway?" Harry whispered in disbelief.
"No, Hayden," Mac replied softly. "He was involved with the Anglo Aryan Alliance a few years ago, when everyone thought it was just a bunch of fringe nuts and ancient history buffs. Then he disavowed it when some of their members were involved in a rally that ended up with beatings of some Indians and Pakistanis. The whole racist bit looked bad and he had trouble getting parts here in Britain for a while."
"Do you think they're the ones behind the e-mails, though?" Harry asked.
"It's an awfully large coincidence," Johnny answered.
Harry watched the two men and tried to guess from their posture whether they were really meeting or whether they had arrived at the same time but not to meet. Since both were gazing at the exhibit and neither had yet said anything, it was difficult to tell. Then a third man arrived and Hayden glanced around as if to see if anyone was watching. His eyes, however, by-passed the three of them as they were well concealed behind the longboat.
He held out his hand and the third man turned so that Harry could see his face. He had sleek blond hair, gray eyes and a pointed chin and in his right hand he held a walking stick with a silver serpent's head. It was Lucius Malfoy. With an inarticulate cry, Harry moved, but his cry was smothered as Mac wrapped one large hand over his mouth and his arm around Harry. "Are you completely mad?" Mac whispered in his ear. "Do you want to ruin this and get into trouble?"
Johnny held his breath and watched the three men at the exhibit for any sign that they had been spotted. Harry's sudden rash movement had nearly exposed them all. The kid's normally pale face was flushed with fury and you could see the tension in his lean body. He struggled a bit against Mac's hold and then relaxed slightly as common sense took hold. Johnny eyed him cautiously and prepared to catch him if he tried to leap out to confront the men again.
Hayden, he noticed, had been shopping in the museum gift shop. The actor reached into the bag with the logo on it and pulled out a box wrapped in plain brown paper: not the kind used by the museum. He held it out to the third man, the one with the blond hair and pale eyes and said, "Try not to lose it this time. It's not easy to get a hold of some of the ingredients you wanted."
The third man said coldly, "If the fools you sent to deliver it hadn't been so careless, we might be in a very different position." However, he did not take the box into his gray golved hands. Instead, after a barely perceptible pause, he said, "There have been a few setbacks. I won't be able to deliver it myself now. You," he said to Norway, "will deliver it to the tavern where you used to meet with the Lord's men in London. You'll recognize my messenger."
Norway took the box and hefted it curiously.
"Do not open it!" the third man said sharply. "I assure you, I shall know if you have or if even one item is out of place."
Norway nodded but didn't speak. His muddy eyes were ringed around with white and Johnny was amazed to see that he was actually terrified of the sleek, blond man.
"Another setback," was Hayden's critical comment. "We should not be meeting in secret in these places if your master had not failed."
"We should have been years ahead if your man Grindelwald had succeeded," the third man replied coldly.
"A pity, yes," Hayden, said. "Our aims for blood purity among all races would have been achieved years ago then. Dumbledore has thwarted us both too many times. It is time, perhaps, to target him directly."
"He is a great fool when it comes to championing his noble causes," the third man said, "but you have not seen his power. You try to eliminate him, if you can. I have a better plan, which if you will exercise patience, will gain us everything."
"You really think you can bring your master back to power?" Hayden asked. "He could not even defeat a young boy."
"The Boy who lived is gone," the third man said. "None now live who have the power to stand in our way."
Johnny thought the conversation could not have been more obscure except one thing was clear: the men were certainly plotting something nasty including the possible murder of this person Dumbledore. He glanced over and saw that Harry had stopped struggling. The look in his green eyes was something else. They fixed on the third man with the intensity of a lion about to kill. Almost, he could see the beginnings of the spring to attack. Even as the three men at the exhibit parted and walked in different ways, Harry moved, tearing through Mac's now loose grasp. Johnny caught him and said, "Don't you dare go after them. Do you want to be killed? That’s what they were talking about."
"You don't understand," Harry hissed with impatience. "That third man, he was one of Voldemort's closest men."
"Vol...?"
"The Lord of Death, yes," Harry said sharply. He tugged away and looked down the aisle where the sleek blond man had gone. "Gone," he said furiously. Then he turned and ran out in the direction where the actor had gone.
"What are you doing?" Johnny said. He had to push to catch up with the kid, who was a fast runner. Mac was a few paces behind and the museum guard yelled after them as they pelted down the steps outside the building.
"Following Hayden," Harry said. He paused for only a moment, the green eyes tracking the movement of a tall figure across the street. He said, "There. He's going into the park," and he ran after.
Johnny and Mac followed and they all crossed the street, which fortunately had no traffic on it due to the stationary film trucks, at a dead run.
A large man in a security uniform stopped them. "Whoa, ladies," he said. "You want to get your chance, you have to stand in the queue like everyone else."
"We just wanted Mr. Hayden's autograph," Mac said quickly.
"Sorry," the guard said. "He's back from break and they'll be getting on with auditions. You'd best be moving on then."
Defeated, Johnny and Mac started to turn away. Harry, however, had other ideas. "Wait," he blurted out. "We do want to audition. That is, if they're taking everybody?"
"Oh, aye," the guard said. "You wouldn't believe some of the weirdoes that 'ave showed up. There's some nut thinks he's a real Druid and he's got himself covered in mistletoe."
Harry slipped past the guard and trotted over to the line of people waiting for their chance at fame. Johnny looked at Mac in despair. Mac shrugged and said, "We can't let him go alone. Gawd only knows what he'll do."
They walked quickly after and got into line behind Harry, displacing a young man with pimples and crooked teeth. "We're with him," Johnny said, cutting off the fellow's protest.
He caught Harry's arm and said, "How the devil are you going to explain this brilliant idea to Daniels or Bones?"
Harry turned a bright green glare on him and said fiercely, "Are you going to worry about that or are you going to try to find out as much as possible about this guy Hayden?"
"Why not follow Norway?" Mac asked.
"We know where he's going to end up," Harry answered. "We can grab him back at the Compound."
"This is nuts," Mac said back. "What makes you think we can get away with auditioning for a movie?"
"Don't worry," Harry said, "it's probably just extras they want. They usually have the main parts cast way ahead of time. We just have to get in so we can get close enough to Hayden to watch him and ask some questions."
The line moved more quickly than one would have expected. Craning his neck, to see above the crowd, Johnny noticed that many were being sent off without even being given a chance to try out. He thought that Harry's hopes of getting in far enough to talk to Hayden or get involved in the filming as a means to investigate the actor undercover were slim.
"Do you know what the film is supposed to be about?" Harry asked the person in front of him.
Their fellow hopeful was a cheerful, rather rotund man with a bald spot at the back of his auburn hair. "It's supposed to be a historical epic, adventure sort of thing, you know." The man winked cheerily and added, "King Arthur and all that sort of thing, but supposedly historical. Dark Ages, not Mallory."
"Not surprising," Johnny muttered to Harry, "considering where we just saw him." He turned back to the round man and asked, "What part are you auditioning for? Not King Arthur?" He said this as courteously as he could but the man's cheerful face changed into defiant irritation.
"Why not?" he asked. "If it's historical, we don't know that the real Arthur was a big soldierly type like you. He could have been a brilliant tactician who sent his dumb musclemen out to do his job."
Harry turned to Johnny and rolled his eyes. They were lit with laughter, but he said quite solemnly to the fat man, "You never know. Theatre people have the strangest ideas about things sometimes."
They moved rapidly nearer to the front of the line and Johnny was amused to see that the fat man was sent off with a "thanks, come back next week for extras," and no more. The tubby man waddled away muttering, "I could always try for Falstaff. I'd be a great Falstaff. And who are they fooling? Historical my eye."
They had finally advanced to the front of the line. Johnny and Harry and Mac stood shoulder to should as though they were one act, although Johnny had the impression that Harry was barely restraining himself from jumping forward and abandoning all of his normally excellent manners on account of his out of control curiosity. Johnny was surprised though when the lady who must be the first casting director, a woman whose carefully applied make-up failed to conceal the heavy lines about her mouth and between her eyes, pointed at him with blood red nails and said, "You next. You look more the type than anything I've seen so far."
He was hard put not to say, the type for what, but simply smiled at her exercising all of his considerable charm as he said, "Thanks." He saw with pleasure that she blinked and smiled more warmly at him, but she seemed to recover and said, "You have done some acting, haven't you?"
"Of course," he lied coolly.
She took his name and said, "Over there, then. Mr. Hayden and the director will want to speak to you and try a brief scene perhaps."
Harry cut in quickly and asked, "Mr. Hayden? Is he choosing actors?"
The lady turned from Johnny to Harry reluctantly and her cold dark eyes narrowed as she looked at him, "Have I seen you before?"
Harry blushed and said, "Erm, could be. So is Mr. Hayden picking the actors?"
"Mr. Hayden," she said with every evidence of dislike, "is backing the picture. He has a say in everything including telling Ken how to direct. I don't know why he took on this ridiculous project when he could have had a much better script if he took on that small comedy he was offered."
She sniffed and seemed to realize she had said too much, for she glared at Harry and then at Johnny and said, "Well, get going if you want a chance at a part. There's hundreds more who really want a chance at stardom." Johnny shrugged and looked at the others and then made for the area where Hayden was standing with another man with curly brown hair and one of his favorite stars, Annie O'Hara. You had to hand it to Harry, he thought, he did seem to find the gold in the middle of a mess.
Hayden looked him over with the cool glance of an expert at work in his field. Had Johnny not seen him at the museum in the very questionable company of Sergeant Norway and the man who Harry insisted had been connected with the Lord of Death, he would never have thought twice about Hayden's motivations for putting on this particular picture. He supposed that whatever his inclinations, for good or for evil, that Hayden must have a genuine interest in and obsession about Dark Age history. It was Annie O'Hara, however, who had the first word.
"Now this is much more like it!"
Johnny smiled at her, and extraordinarily, found himself flushing just a bit. Her enthusiasm was patently genuine and she had the most amazing smile and marvelous round blue eyes that were full of warmth.
"He looks good," Hayden agreed, "but can he act?"
Daringly, Johnny nerved himself up to ask, "What part do I look good for?"
"King Arthur," Annie replied instantly, at almost the same time as the director. Hayden, however, looked at him again and said, "I don't know. He doesn't look like a Celt or Roman, like Arthur was. He looks like a Saxon with that blond hair and those eyes."
"We're auditioning for Arthur today," the Director said levelly, although their was an undertone that only the most sensitive might notice that said his patience was sorely tried.
"Certainly," Hayden answered affably. "He can try the same improvisation as everyone else, but I'll reserve the right to bring him back to audition for another part. Remember," he added, "This is not one of those glorifications of Arthur. This tells the stories of both sides."
"You mean the real founders of English society?" Johnny ventured.
Hayden's blue-grey eyes took on a manic gleam. "I do indeed. It appears we have someone who is actually educated for once."
Johnny spared a glance at the Director, who he thought was very talented, and saw a faint flash of distaste, quickly masked by a business-like mien as he cut back in, "right. We're behind schedule, so let's go ahead. You," then he glanced at the paper with Johnny's name, which the casting director had taken, and went on, "Mr. Carter, will be playing Arthur at the crucial moment when he draws the sword out of the stone."
The Director gestured to the center of a large open grassy area and there in the center was a large rough boulder, which Johnny guessed might actually be plastic or styrofoam, and sticking out of it was the quite nice looking sword, though nothing remotely so fabulous as the one he had seen in Harry's hand just recently.
"Mr. Hayden will have a confrontation with you. He's a Saxon invader and you have just fought with him and had your sword break. He pushes you down, insults you and then walks away. You get up and go after him, but you stop to pull the sword out to give yourself a new weapon and confront him."
"That seems easy enough," Johnny said. "But what do I say?"
"Anything that comes into your head that you think Arthur might say in that situation." The Director considered him assessingly, though in a different fashion somehow than Hayden had and continued, "And don't stop the scene just because the sword doesn't release immediately. It's made to stick until you've pulled at it a number of times."
Johnny raised his brows and asked, "So they can do the bit where everyone tries to draw the sword and only Arthur can?"
"You've read you Mallory," Hayden said almost irritably.
"I saw the Disney cartoon," Johnny replied with deliberate irony and charm, and he saw that Hayden liked that answer very much.
"I love that movie. It's perfectly brilliant," Annie said in the background. " 'Specially when Merlin gets Madam Mim with the flu." She giggled, an infectious, bubbling sound that had made her the darling of prime time telly.
The Director smiled at her with a softening of the face that would have done well in a paperback romance. Hayden gave her a glance of almost derision, another nail in his coffin, as far as Johnny's opinion of him went.
At the Director's gesture, Johnny walked out in the center of the field feeling unaccountably nervous. He knew perfectly well that this wasn't real and that he was actually in an unauthorized undercover operation, but still, the whole trappings of celebrity and the movies were intimidating to a novice.
Johnny followed the actor and stood where he had pointed. He was a little startled by the fact that the actor had pointed with a rather dangerous looking sword. A large camera was set up to the side and Hayden said, "Don't worry about looking into the camera right now. They'll follow the action for the test. We want to get a feel for whether you look right for the part."
"Why haven't you got someone already known for a main part like that?" Johnny asked.
"We want someone new," Hayden replied, "That the audience hasn't already got preconceived notions about. And we have enough star power as it is," he added dryly with another sardonic glance at Annie O'Hara. Johnny did not reply but he supposed that it must rankle with Hayden, who was a star of international fame that the crowds had been looking for Annie’s autograph not his. And she, obligingly, had stepped to the side to sign their papers with delight.
Hayden nodded at the cameraman, and then without further warning, shoved Johnny in the chest with the flat of his hand so hard that he staggered back several steps before he managed to get his balance back. He started forward, intending to strike back, but Hayden now swung a sword at him.
"I would take a few more lessons, if I were you Arthur, before crossing swords with your superior again," Hayden said. Johnny was startled again, by the threat in the man's voice, which was also combined with a tone of annoying superiority. He felt himself flush with annoyance, even though he knew the whole thing wasn't real, and he stood there for a moment glaring with fury at Hayden's back before he recalled that he was supposed to try to pull the sword from the stone.
He jogged over to the stone and grabbed the hilt with his hand and tugged, but it didn't move. He tried with two hands the second time, but still it would not budge. In all, it took four tries before the sword came free and the sudden release so surprised him that he again staggered back a step or two. Without thinking, he cursed at the thing and then recalled again that he was supposed to go after Hayden. He brandished the sword awkwardly, surprised at its weight. However, before he could do anything further, a voice bellowed, "Cut!"
Hayden came striding back toward him and said, "You could use a few sword lessons, Mr. Carter. What did you act in previously?"
For half a second, Johnny was flummoxed. Then he recovered and said, "Oh, erm, a comedy, you know. Romantic sort of thing. No swords."
"I expect you can learn if you have to," Hayden said, after another sharp glance. The Director stepped forward and said quite kindly, "That wasn't bad, and the curse was a good reaction. Very natural."
"Right," Hayden said briskly. "But I still see him more as one of the Saxons, you know. We'll give your name to the casting director," he said to Johnny, "and you'll be called back in the next two weeks or so."
"Thanks," Johnny said, not at all sure that he'd be willing to turn up for a second turn. There was that unpleasant thought of what his Uncle Bill would say when he heard what they'd been up to. He remembered just in time to ask, "Might I stand off to the side and watch my friends take their turns?" He pointed at Mac and Harry.
The director said, "Why not, so long as you don't get in front of the camera." He looked at Mac said, "He's even bigger than you are, isn't he? We could use a few like that for battle scenes, even if they can't act."
***
Harry craned his neck impatiently trying to see past the camera and tech men to see how Johnny and Mac were doing. The casting lady alternated between muttering about dodgy set-ups and projects without scripts and giving Mac's muscular frame appreciative glances. She didn't look at Harry again at all until it was his turn.
"You're a bit young, aren't you?" she sniffed suspiciously at him.
"I'm eighteen," he said truthfully.
She squinted at him even more suspiciously and he arranged his face in an expression of calm maturity, or what he thought might be, and as he went forward on her wave, he realized that she must need glasses and be too vain to wear them.
Nervously, he stepped out into the clearing past the camera, feeling sure he would be sassed out as a fake. His one small experience with acting had been in a theatre and this looked a whole lot different. His heart took up a quick pitter-patter as Hayden stepped forward and looked him over. "You're a bit skinny, aren't you," he said, "and the glasses would have to go."
Another man with curly brown hair stepped forward and said, "There's always contact lenses Eric, and remember, Arthur is supposed to be young at this point. We can always pad the costumes a bit if he tests well."
Harry, meanwhile, was gawking at the man. "I know you," he blurted out.
The Director, stared at Harry and looked again and then a third time. "I'll be damned," he said. "Hamlet!"
Hayden looked surprised and said, "You must be joking. That's not his name."
"No, no," the Director said, "He played the part for me two years ago in our production in the park. It's James Black."
Harry opened his mouth to correct the Director and then shut it. It would be much better he thought, not to mention what his real name was, since Hayden obviously had some contact with wizards, even if he wasn't necessarily a wizard himself. Quickly changing what he meant to say, he replied, "Well, I was really a pirate. I only did Hamlet because the real actor eloped with Ophelia."
"I heard about that," Hayden said. "Unprofessional and a drunk, he was."
They were interrupted by a squeal when someone nearly bowled Harry over with a hug. Untangling himself, Harry found a real grin splitting his face. It was Annie. She smiled at him with her thousand-watt smile and said, "Jamey! This so brilliant. You're trying out aren't you?"
He nodded and saw that Annie had changed and not for the worse. Her long wavy hair was now done in a professional cut and even to his uneducated eye her clothes were quite stylish. But the smile and her round eyes were the same. She gave him a thorough inspection and said, "You have grown and got tall, haven't you? And you've got shoulders."
That surprised a laugh from him and he said, "Of course, I've got shoulders. Everyone's got shoulders."
”She means," the Director said kindly, "that you look like a man now and not an overgrown child."
Harry blushed and shrugged. "So what part are you playing?" he asked Annie.
"Guinevere," she said, "and don't laugh. I know I'm not a raving beauty or a femme fatale, but as it's supposed to be historical. I don't have to be in a love triangle. That whole bit gets cut." She pouted a bit, though, as if she'd like nothing better than to play the part that way.
"You look good enough," Harry said, "don't worry."
"Ooh, duckie," she said, "you don't want to make your girlfriend mad, do you? She's got red hair, hasn't she?"
"Don't worry," Harry said again. "Ginny knows we're just friends."
"If you're done with the reminiscences," Hayden cut in, "perhaps we could go ahead with the test."
"You saw enough of the other tests to know what we're doing?" the Director asked.
"I think so," Harry said. "Is there a script?" He asked, recalling how they had all had to read the same speech in Hamlet.
"Just improvise," Hayden said. "React to what I say. I've just knocked you down and broken your sword, as you saw with the others. Try to pull the sword out and come after me. If you can get it out," he added after another slightly disdainful look at Harry.
Hayden strode out to the center of the grassy area, and fortunately, he missed the Harry's glare of dislike altogether.
Harry stood where Hayden pointed and struggled to contain his growing dislike. The actor was almost certainly mixed up in something illegal and very dangerous and he did not like the fact that Annie and Ken were involved with him.
Hayden was a tall man, taller than Harry, though not so tall as Johnny or Mac. He was solidly built, too, and when he shoved Harry, it was with greater force than Harry expected, even for a fight scene. Hayden had shoved him so hard, in fact, that he stumbled back and sat flat on his behind. The afternoon sun was in his eyes as the actor loomed over him and pointed a sword in his face.
"You're a pitiful, weedy thing, Arthur," he said. "And it's no surprise considering you're nothing but a jumped up half-blood Celt. You think your Roman father gives you a claim to rule here?" Mesmerized, furious, Harry stared into the point of the sword. "The truth is," the man continued, "you Romans are a dead people and the Celts are dying. You're a mongrel and you'll never have the strength to rule this place."
Harry could not have said why the references to half-bloods and mongrels so stirred the fury in him, but he found himself yelling back, "And who're you, anyway? What makes you think you're anything but a savage with a sword?"
"I am Hengist, King of the Saxons," the man said coldly back. "One day, I and mine will rule you, and yours." Then he turned his back and strode away.
Rage possessed him at the sound of the name. Harry knew, now, that the man before him was truly his enemy, the one he'd been tracking. Without considering, he pushed himself up and ran. He grabbed at the sword in the stone and it resisted him. "Come on!" he hissed and it came easily into his hand and he flung himself after Hengist roaring, "Hengist! Come back you bloody coward! Come back and fight!"
Hengist turned back in surprise and ducked Harry's first swing and then attacked back with speed and power.
***
How could I have forgotten? The Director thought. All the promise that had been there last time was now there in full measure. The defiant courage and the rage in the face of creeping evil, and the extraordinary predatory grace of the dancer or the lion grown. And someone, somewhere, had given the man real sword lessons. He was actually pressing Hayden back, despite the actor's greater height and power, and the look on Hayden's face, surprised and furious, was exactly the one that was perfect for this scene. So was the fire in the young man's green eyes and the furious conviction with which he attacked. A quick twist of his sword sent Hayden's flying, and the actor stepped back in astonishment and blinked as the point of a sword was now in his face.
"Cut!" the Director yelled. "Brilliant!" he said. "Wonderful!" He grinned enthusiastically and almost laughed when he heard Annie yelling, "Way to go, Jamey!"
Both of the men looked almost startled at the interruption. Then a flush suffused the young man's face and he said, "I forgot myself, for a minute there." He let the sword drop with a sudden grimace and said with cool politeness, "You're a hell of a good actor, Mr. Hayden. You made me feel like you were insulting me personally." There was, however, a clipped edge to the young man's voice as if the loathing and the fury were only kept in check by a great force of will.
Hayden was looking at Black with great interest. "You're not bad, you know. You could even be good with a few lessons. And your sword fighting's phenomenal." He paused and the blue eyes raked his target with curiosity as he added, "Where did you learn that?"
The green eyes suddenly calmed and looked simply polite, and his tone was that of a well-schooled public school man. "I had my first lessons when I played in Hamlet, but I took some more fencing when I went back to school."
"And where are you from?" Hayden asked. "What family do you come from.”
The winged black brows rose and the green eyes narrowed. Then they glinted with mischief as the young man replied, "My family is from Surrey. My Uncle, you know, was a director of a business. I'm afraid he didn't approve of acting very much. He thought it's not very respectable, you know."
Ken could almost see the wheels turning in Hayden’s eyes. He could hear that the boy was from good family and he must be nearly as irritated by the slight on his profession as Ken himself was; though Ken understood the young man's answer was full of irony, for the Uncle and for society's notions of "respectability."
The Director rubbed his hands together in satisfaction and said, "We've about run out of time for today. The tech people go into overtime at three." He had the feeling of elation he got when all the pieces were falling into place and he was sure a project would work out after all. This one certainly hadn't been that way before. It had only been the combination of assured backing and the opportunity to give Annie a large screen role that was different from her telly role that had persuaded him into a project without a finished script. He looked at Hayden and said; "I think we can ask James here to come for call backs in two weeks. We'll be through with the lot that have agents pitching for them by then, and frankly, I don't see too many from them that look all that interesting."
Hayden nodded and scrutinized the young man once more. "I'd like to see a bit more before I make up my mind."
The Director was even happier when the young man asked, "Which day, and what time?" Quickly, he said, "Make it Sunday after next. You can call me at this number and I'll tell you whether we've managed to book a studio or if we'll go for some script readings." He hoped the reference to the script would serve as a pointed reminder to Hayden that the promised script was overdue.
***
"What do you suppose they're saying?" Mac asked Johnny.
"Looks like they want to call him back, too," Johnny replied. Something of the astonishment he had felt upon seeing Harry’s performance spilled over. "Nor surprising either. Did you see how he handled that sword? He really knows how to use it, doesn't he? And it's odd, isn't it, that he pulled the thing out on his first real try. I thought you couldn't do that."
"Yeah," Mac said. "Norway's had him pegged all wrong, and so have the rest of us. I dunno, though. It's a bit odd, really. He knew Bones before joining the service. And here, he knew Annie O'Hara. Just who is he really?"
"James Black?" Johnny said. Mac looked at him and he continued, "That's the name he gave Norway at the pub. And he gave it again here. Wonder why an eighteen year old kid needs an alias." He trailed off and moved decisively nearer as it was clear that Harry was through with his audition. He had given Annie O'Hara another hug and wasn't that annoying and had started to walk toward Johnny and Mac. That was a good thing, too, as the wind had picked up as the afternoon had passed and the temperature had turned chilly. And he was anxious to get back to the Compound in time, as this escapade had taken longer than expected and brought them into territory that their officers would not like.
Hayden called back, "Mr. Black!" and Harry turned to answer. The wind stirred and blew his untidy black fringe off his forehead so that in the bright sunlight, a fine, thin, nearly invisible white scar in the shape of what looked almost like a lightning bolt was exposed. Hayden stared at him for a moment and then said, "What did you say your full name was?"
Harry stood still and paused almost imperceptibly before replying, "James Black." He held the man's gaze as though an unspoken challenge had passed between them and then said quite mundanely, "Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Hayden. I shall see you then Sunday after next." When he strode toward Johnny and Mac, however, Hayden's gaze followed him; a questioning gaze, full of speculation and something close to malice.
