This was where Moody, Potter, and Black had disagreed on the best approach should Longbottom be questioned. If Frank's visit had been routine, he should not remember anything. Being able to produce the name off a file he had only glanced at for a moment would be suspicious. On the other hand, trying to pretend he could not remember anything would be what a less clever snoop would do. And yet, the fewer details he appeared to remember, the briefer his grilling by the Minister might be.
"I don't remember," Longbottom said, shrugging. "Besides, what does some Australian who died twenty years ago have to do with anything?" he asked, deliberately referring to Ashworth as an Australian in an attempt to leave the impression that he had not looked closely enough at the file to read its proclamation that Harry Ashworth's identity papers had been false, and yet, strangely, the Ministry had issued him new, genuine papers.
"He wasn't Australian," Prewitt growled, sounding rather like a spurned lover. "He didn't even have an Australian accent, for Merlin's sake."
"Eh, okay," Frank said. He knew that, too. Professor Dumbledore and other Order members had placed every memory they had of Harry Ashworth into a Pensieve. Over the past days, they had examined each memory closely, cataloging every fact about the wizard that might be relevant.
There was silence for several moments until the door opened to admit the auror who had come to relieve Amelia Bones of duty. Now staring back at the top of his desk in thought, Prewitt gestured at the door absentmindedly as he grumbled dismissals to Bones and Longbottom both. Following the speedy and seamless changing of the guard, Frank and Amelia left the office together, walking in silence before entering the lift.
"So, Frank," Amelia asked as the lift doors closed, " is Harry Ashworth alive?"
"Is that what the Minister was wondering?" Frank retorted.
"Yes," Amelia replied. "I'm wondering, too."
Frank shrugged. "It was just a name that caught my eye," he protested.
Right eyebrow raised incredulously, Amelia favored Frank with her infamous interrogation room stare. "Longbottom."
"Does the Minister want Ashworth to be alive or dead?" Frank asked.
"Frank. Longbottom."
Frank sighed. "I do not know whether Harry Ashworth is alive or dead. That is the truth. I am not acquainted with anyone who knows the answer to that question."
Amelia now glared at Frank with narrowed eyes. "Someone in your little Order must think he's alive."
Frank shrugged. "Does the Minister want Ashworth to be alive or dead?" he asked, genuinely curious. The Order had not assigned him to discover that tidbit of information, even when they had contemplated the possibility that opening Ashworth's file would trigger alarms.
The lift clanged to a halt and the door opened. Amelia held Frank's gaze, even as her expression morphed from suspicious to dispassionate. "Both," she said before stepping off and walking down the hall.
.....
Bellatrix forced herself to maintain a smirk on her face as Minerva McGonagall led her through Hogwarts Castle towards Professor Dumbledore's office. Occasionally, Bellatrix discerned the voices of students who had either stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays or had returned to school early, even though they remained out of sight. It seemed that McGonagall was deliberately leading Bellatrix to the Headmaster's office via a circuitous route, designed to keep Bellatrix from coming into contact with any of the students. Bellatrix could see the wisdom in what McGonagall was doing. Didn't think the old girl had an ounce of Slytherin in her, Bellatrix mused with amusement.
Shortly, as they arrived at the famed entrance to the Headmaster's Office, McGonagall uttered the password of the week. "Sour pops."
Bellatrix arched her eyebrows before proceeding up the moving staircase. Noting with some surprise that the Deputy Headmistress had not accompanied her, Bellatrix dropped the smirk from her face in favor of her baseline dispassionate façade. She and Harry had agreed that they did not need to ask Dumbledore for anything-mostly. A close examination of Tom Riddle's diary had revealed one thing they did need to go forward. But with luck, she could walk out of the meeting with Dumbledore thinking she had done him a favor, rather than him believing she had come to him for help. In any case, Harry and Bellatrix could play hard-to-get.
Arriving at the top of the staircase, Bellatrix passed through the door to Dumbledore's office to find the Headmaster seated behind his desk, surveying her over his half-moon spectacles. "Mrs. Black," he said politely, motioning for her to have a seat in front of his desk.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Bellatrix replied placidly, sitting down and staring into the bowl of lemon drops speculatively before allowing her eyes to move across the desk. Aside from the lemon drop bowl, Dumbledore's desktop held nothing more than a familiar Rubik's cube. The one I forgot to take away from that hussy, no doubt .
Dumbledore and Bellatrix sat silently surveying one another for several moments-each of the self-styled master strategists waiting for the other to cave in and begin the conversation. Bellatrix smiled coyly and leaned back in her chair. She would not break. After all, he certainly had more questions than she did.
"It has been a long while since we crossed paths," Dumbledore said tactically, allowing Bellatrix her small victory.
Bellatrix shrugged. "I suppose it has."
"I don't suppose you would care to explain where you have been," Dumbledore said, indirectly positing a question.
A small smile quirked on Bellatrix's lips as Bellatrix remembered her conversation with Moody. "The years passed by in a blur," she said.