Hiding Behind Gunhilda

Michael had learned this trick back when he was, oh, maybe 15? Maybe earlier? He didn't remember for sure. Having Hiss, though, made it decidedly easier. He had descended into the tunnel in the floor of the Honeydukes kitchen, but not without taking a large cardboard box and filling it with fudge from a tray that had been cooling on one of the marble counters. Taking the fudge along, he climbed down into the hole, through the tunnel, and, with Hiss's help, climbed up the slide beneath Gunhilda's statue.  He used the age old password to try to open the statue. It was a no-go. He thought a moment and then figured out the trick to the password enchantment to get it to open from the other side. It wasn't a trick he was likely to pass on. What Rookwood didn't know might prove handy for Michael.

He found himself on the third floor of the school. It always smelled the same. Musty books, dust, stone, and a faint backnote of the odor of the cheap brand of black ink that was still pretty commonly used. Hundreds of years and some things didn't change. What wasn't here was noise. The noise of students clammoring through the halls, or just interrupting class. It wasn't here. Then again, students weren't supposed to be here in the summer. He understood that. This, though, had a dark air of something insidious, something gone horridly wrong. He needed to talk to Rookwood

"Oi!" he heard someone shout. "You there! You can't do that!" He turned to see one of the hundreds of wizarding portraits for eras gone by irked by seeing him break in. "I'll tell the Headmaster on you, I will!"

"Oh, would you?' Michael asked. "That would be ever so kind of you. That will save me from looking for him."

"I know you," One of the other portraits said, narrowing his eyes at Michael. "I've heard all about you from Walburga!"

"Oh, I bet you have," Michael said. "She's a loudmouthed, foul tempered old crone anyway." The woman in the portrait huffed off, and he said that the portraits were all seeming to get into an uproar. Well, that should help Rookwood to find him, shouldn't it?  He headed down the hallway towards the entrance to the Headmaster's tower.

“WHAT SORT OF IMBICILE LOSES A TRAIN FULL OF STUDENTS?!”

Theodore Rookwood, incumbent of the virtually untenable position of headmaster at Hogwarts, shared a despairing look with the portrait of one of his predecessors: Albus Dumbledore. It was a bizarre scenario. Well, a bizarre scenario heaped on several other equally as odd situations. It made for an unpleasant, rather haphazard meal. A really dreadful multi-layered ice cream. One that had been full of promise but deflated at exactly the wrong moment. Disaster. As it was, this scenario (to depart from metaphor and return to the matter at hand) was odd because Theodore had never really experienced the sensation of a room full of portraits having a row – and this was now the third time it had happened. In a week!

Phineas Nigellus Black took particular affront. Theodore could understand why. While the odd death wasn’t entirely unheard of, the misplacement of students was rather a new one. He was furious. Livid. All of those synonyms that made the same thing. He was cross – but on a monumental scale. Blessedly, Elizabeth Burke was on his side but in her soothing, silky tone she managed to imply that it was some sort of deficiency in Theodore – “a slight of mind” – that accounted for his negligence. Dumbledore’s head cocked towards the ajar door and Theodore turned his own, his eyes falling on the staircase winding down to freedom from rebuke. He didn’t need to be told twice.

Escape from the office was long overdue. He’d been content enough to suffer in the midst of their quarrels – feeling as though it somehow compensated for his failure of the students. He’d been buried deep in paperwork, too, as well as any loose lead. Something. Anything. It didn’t matter what it was. He needed to hunt it down. He’d also been writing letters to the families. Every last student’s parents or guardians he had been writing to, apologising, promising to find them. He knew it was probably against whatever mantra the Ministry wanted him to repeat verbatim but he needed to feel as though he was doing something meaningful … but at the same time he also needed to atone for his wrongs. So he wrote.

“Headmaster,” Dumbledore’s cool, bell-like voice stopped him at the top of the staircase.

Theodore twisted round, a dark, bushy eyebrow lifting in question.

“I think you’ll find that young Master Tremaine is downstairs,” he informed him gently, his blue eyes twinkling. Not for the first time, Theodore wondered how the artist had ever captured those blues. How had he gotten the colour so? Magic. In all senses of the word, he was sure.

“Thank you, professor,” Theodore inclined his head and turned back to the stairs, clattering down them, leaving the arguments to continue behind him.

The gargoyle moved away of its own accord when Theodore reached the bottom and as he stepped out into the faint light of the cloudy mid-morning that was streaming in through the stained glass, he found himself face to face with the man himself. His lips twitched in faint amusement, not least because Dumbledore was correct. Then concern furrowed his brows and he opened his mouth, his lips twisting accusingly.

“How in the name of Merlin did you get into the castle?” He demanded, entirely put out all of a sudden. It was understandable. This was the sort of thing he had legislated against. If Michael could get in, then so could the Death Eaters. So could everyone. But then, all of his attempts at preventing such things from occurring were clearly failures – as evidenced by the fact that his students were missing. Utterly and completely missing. Bloody hell.

Rookwood, for all the world, reminded Michael of a teakettle too long on the burner. Steaming and screaming for relief. Michael felt for him.

"You forget who you're talking to," Michael said. "I get paid exceptionally well to get into places no one else can breech. The castle's secrets are safe with me. Relax. Besides, I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend. I come bearing gifts--and a bit of news you need to know. It's about time you and I tried to team up in this matter, I think."

He opened the pack and held up a bottle of exceptional quality firewhiskey. He showed him he also had a box of his favorite handmade Italian cigarettes, and the box of still warm Honeyduke's dark chocolate fudge.

"You need a bit of stress relief anyway. So, shall we find a glass or two and see if we can't look at this whole business with a bit of logic and calm?"

"Logic and calm?" a shrill voice from one of the paintings piped up. "The whole student body is gone, and you just waltz in uninvited and you expect him to be calm? How would you know..."

"Oh for pity's sake," Michael rolled his eyes, got out a roll of duct tape out of his pocket, ripped off a piece, and covered the woman's mouth. Her eyes grew large as saucers and she was clearly put out. He looked at the rest of the paintings. "I've got duct tape, and I know how to use it! Who else wants to pipe up?" he narrowed his eyes at them.

Jack had needed to deal with a few things before she and Michael met with Theodore. Of course, they had not scheduled a meeting, but she thought it was fair, seeing as he hadn't ensured the students of Hogwarts got off the train.

She couldn't help it. Really. She didn't really believe Rookwood had anything to do with it, but she couldn't help but treat everyone remotely involved with a bit of cruel irony. She was at the point where she really shouldn't have been surprised, but they had done it. They had surprised her. And she was a bit impressed.

It was the discussions she had just had with Ace and Oliver, others present as well but those too especially, that kept her mind turning over and over as she walked the well beaten path. Her years with the Marauder's Map meant she knew the way to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. It took a quick slip into an outdoor basement placed in Hogsmeade's community garden, and she was on her way, thoughts of trains and lost letters swirling in her head.

The giant cape op Greogry swung open and Jack took a step out. A quick errand done, precious cargo unloaded, and she was on her way as though she belonged there. Her hands danced over the stone of the walls, bumping and skidding along. She had been miserable for quite some time at this school, but it had always been home. Her heart's pounding became more deliberate and tender as the familiar scents of Hogwarts filled her body.

She could hear shouting as she walked past a corridor on the third floor. Mid step, she swung her leg to the left in an abrupt about face, whistling as she walked. She could see Michael and Theodore, and it seems there was already an argument brewing. But not between two men.

"Already defacing the school," Jack said as she reached them casual as can be, thrusting her hands into her pockets. She glanced at Theodore. "How's it hangin', Rookwood?"

She sure knew how to make an impression.

((I think we're out in the corridor? If not, ignore me xD Also realized Jack and Theo are both 23, unless you've aged him up. So that's supes fun. ))

"Oh, nice you could make it, my dear," he smiled at her. "And I'm only defacing what needs defacing, so, as I see it, no harm done." He looked at Rookwood. "And before you boil over again, no, I did not teach her how to get in. She did that on her own. If you decide you want to beef up your wards, you might want to consider enlisting us to sort that out for you. Nobody better to stop an intruder than another intruder."

He looked back at Jack. "I was only shutting some of the artwork. And when I find the old biddy who has been spending entirely too much time with Walburga Black...."

"It's me, you arrogant, entitled old goat," the same woman with the screechy voice piped up. Michael could almost feel it grating against his spinal cord. Women like her were some of the best reasons Michael still hated marriage. He spun around, looking to see which portrait it was while she was still prattling on a long litany of insults towards him. "You assaulted my dear friend," the woman screeched. "You're a foul tempered, despicable, evil reprobate who deserves..."

Michael lifted his wand and fired at the portrait without saying a syllable, transfiguring the woman in the portrait to an image of the ugliest looking tea cup he could imagine, but covered with hairy warts.  He could hear the other portraits around the woman groan in disgust. He sheathed his wand and turned back towards Rookwood and Jack as if nothing had happened whatsoever.

"Much better. So, I brought all the necessary discussion supplies," he said calmly without missing a beat. He showed her the firewhiskey, the cigarettes, and the large box of pilfered, warm fudge. "We should be good for a couple of hours at least, if we need it. Shall we talk, then?"

The horror the wizard felt at the sight of adhesive on an ancient portrait was uncontrolled. He almost forgot that there were slightly more pressing matters to attend to in the process. Seeing tape over poor old Winnie was a crime not only against a long-dead woman who had always been kind to him but also a crime against good taste. So irritated was he that he almost forgot to be concerned at the appearance of another uninvited guest. Theodore decided to pick up one of the cigarettes and then hesitated briefly before taking another and tucking it behind his ear. The girls didn't have to know.

Just as he brought his wand to the end of the cigarette, the teacup incident, that would forever scar Theodore just a little bit, occurred. He blanched thoroughly and couldn't help his smirk but then the finer sensibilities in the pureblood grew concerned over the art. He exhaled a mouthful of smoke and shook his head, deciding to turn away and look at the redhead instead. A finer image, by any account, than the ones being defaced around him.

"Do try to be the bigger person, Tremaine," Theodore commented idly. "Much more artistic licence and I might have to send you a bill."

He already had it in his head to collar one of them to help Athena with some more wards. He wanted every single loophole plugged. It wasn't about the indignity of having one's school entered arbitrarily. Well, not totally, anyway. Theodore had made the promise long ago that he'd keep the students safe. He was sick to the back teeth of his failure and he was sorely tempted to start hiring people to ensure that the liberty of the children would not be compromised. It was going to reach the point where it would be easier to educate their children elsewhere, knowing that their safety was a guarantee. Theodore hated with every fibre of his being that he couldn't guarantee it for them.

"Oh, it's just swell," Theodore replied airily, reaching to take the whisky from Michael. He needed the whole bottle, really, but that wouldn't help matters for anyone. Not even a little bit. Well, maybe for the moment.

"I'm probably one of the worst headmasters ever," he informed her blithely, uncorking the bottle. "I don't even think Shackle, mad bastard that he is, would've let this happen under his nose. Ladies first," he held out the bottle to her. "How precisely do you suggest we solve this problem, Tremaine? And has the Ministry worked out where they've been disappeared off to yet - and by whom?"

They didn't seem to be in the cheeriest of moods which, Jack supposed, made sense. Rookwood, for all his cool, seemed shaken to his very core, a condition Jack found intriguing. People revealed a lot of who they were when they felt they were at a total loss. And you didn't get much more of a total loss than losing an entire train full of defenseless children for whom you were responsible.

Jack was known to be a bit... harsh, when it came to these matters. She had, after all, thrown not one, but two men out of windows before, and had even physically assaulted a man she thought to be impersonating a family member. But her ideas of black and white justice, stark differences in morality... well, that all went out the door the more one became wrapped up in politics.

Maybe she was still that same You're with us or you're against us type, but this situation, or rather, the people responsible didn't deserve her passion. It would be lost on them. With the world finally in the uproar she had been in for what felt like her entire adult life, she found herself remarkably in control.

Perhaps that was what led her to redirecting Rookwood's bottle-clad arm towards Michael when he offered if to ladies first. She gave Michael a cheeky smirk to ensure the joke was not lost, and decided to answer. Because this lady had some answers.

"Where they are is probably going to be the last place we check," Jack said, finding she almost enjoyed the fact that this was probably endlessly frustrating to him. "As for me, I doubt the who is any faction, unless we have some rogues. Otherwise, someone would have spoken up or claimed credit. The question we're working on now is 'how.' It might provide the key."

She cleared her throat. "The ferry to Ilvermorny had some problems of it's own, if you didn't know. I've actually," she glanced to Michael, knowing this next bit was probably news to him "I've actually got some people working on that one."

She didn't bring out her suspicions that this might answer more than the question of how, instead keeping that to herself and turning her eyes back to Rookwood. "So, what. You don't have anything for us? No nugget of suspicion, no thought that, in hindsight, offers any context? You were just blindsighted?"

And for the first time in their conversation, she wasn't trying to make this harder on him. These were actual questions she needed the answers to. Even in negation, the answers could help narrow down the search.

"Rookwood, hold up on the self flagellation until we tell you that you need to engage in it. It's not true, and crucifying yourself won't bring the kids back.  We didn't come here to accuse you of anything."

Michael wasn't ignoring Jack's questions to Theodore, but he could see that the boy was already overwhelmed, and had probably been spinning the same questions she'd just asked endlessly in his head looking for some clue that would bring him to a different solution that sitting holed up in his office.

"Tell me. I know Gwen Fawcett is the headmistress at Ilvermorny. How is she getting entrance to England. I know she's getting in because I've seen her. I know the headmasters and headmistresses are supposed to be able to use some sort of direct portal between the two schools." He stopped for a moment. He wasn't supposed to know about that, but the Department of Mysteries did hold a couple of tidbits. They just, on their own, weren't every helpful.  "Where the hell is she getting in at? Surely you have to know because I'm presuming you'd be using the same portal to be getting there and back. And--have you tried it? Can you get in at all?"

He looked at Jack. "I know this isn't a direction you probably want me to take, but I still think its a valid one. And he needs to know what he's up against."

Theodore privately marvelled at his own ability to keep cool. His fingernails were digging furrows into his palm but the rest of his exterior appeared calm, albeit strained. He tried let the criticism wash over him – truly, he tried. As he considered her words, though, and let his eyes filter over her, observing the movement of her lips as she let fly her words, he felt his irritation flare.

“I sent my Gryffindors, my Hufflepuffs, my Ravenclaws, and my Slytherins home. To be with their families,” he spoke, forcing his voice out slowly in an attempt to keep it even. “The Death Eaters are off of the radar. That mad politician is nowhere to be found. Tell me, who on this green earth is left who would get it into their heads to pinch a train full of children, eh? This castle is meant to be tighter than drum although the likes of you and Tremaine do delight in pointing out that, well indeed, it is not. That’s my responsibility. I failed in that. But the person who you should be asking about who might or might not have been involved is the Minister. That’s his responsibility – and his failure. The cracks in my school’s defences would not be noticed if the cracks in our Ministry’s were not so stark, would they?”

Theodore’s eyes turned towards Michael and he snorted derisively. All this talk of Ilvermorny did nothing to assuage his temper. He had little inclination to form meaningful ties with the school. His focus had always been on their nearest and dearest neighbours. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. What a bunch of odd-bird wizards across the Atlantic were doing was hardly something that preoccupied his time. Why on earth did they now suddenly matter?

“Excuse me?” His voice was razor sharp. “Portals exist between the schools?” He looked at Jack, his expression contorted as if to say that this was why he had been so easily blindsided, why the children had gone missing. “And I presume this is the Ministry’s doing?” He quirked an accusatory eyebrow before huffing. “Any and all more creative entrances-slash-exits from the school aside from your dirty passages, evidently, were sealed after the train crash. The fireplace in my office is the only open one but even that’s closed on this side. If there are others then someone somewhere neglected to inform me. If she’s getting into the country through Hogwarts then she’s either taking these unknown portals or she’s manipulating the Floo Network somehow. But what’s the matter with this woman? Surely she could just come in through international portkey like every other normal human being?”

Jack was actually surprised at Rookwood, and it was a surprise that could help him. At least, help him in earning a bit of grace in her eyes. She knew a bit of what he was feeling. That self-loathing, the blame that would never go away, no longer how hard one tried to right the wrong. She had found herself in a position where the evil deeds of others would forever be her burden of guilt. The thing about that place - you never left it.

Maybe she should form a support group. Cheery place that'd be, with her leading it.

Ha.

"I tend to agree with you, actually," she said, gifting him a surprise of her own. "I don't think a Headmaster is any position to be the culprit of all the blame in this matter. And really, once you get the kids on the train, your job is to keep them safe from within. From outside is a bit trickier."

She could like Robert as a man, could see how he was such a strong asset. But Theodore Rookwood and Jack Dyllan agreed on something. There had to be something to it.

Jack turned slowly towards Michael, and for the first time in their relationship, a true look of frustration crossed her face. He was still going on about Gwen. Theodore's gaze was met with one of ironic affirmation.

"Michael," she said, her voice a growl. "I'm sorry. I give a flying f*ck about Gwen or whoever is behind this until we figure out where those kids are. Knowing where she is doesn't mean she is going to hand them over. If anything, it'll warn her, or whoever is behind this," she added, still full of doubt, "and we'll be back at square one. My people are already on their way."

She turned to Rookwood, finding it time to cut the crap and lay down some cards. "I think there's a connection to Ilvermorny and the Express. I don't think the connection has anything to do with who is in charge but in the transportation issues. The ferry hasn't returned a single exchange student all year and, far as I know, not a single American kid has gotten sent home yet. And now this. It'd be a special kind of magic for that to be a coincidence."