Order Only: Robert Pigott
Jan. 28th, 2011 03:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alt_kingsleyI'll start with the good news. Robert Pigott (his parents call him Robbie) has safely arrived at Moddey Dhoo.
Bill's identification worked as well as always at getting us in. We followed the usual protocol and avoided the camp administration as much as possible, and arrived at the cottage (well, hovel) where his parents live.
There we ran into a poser. The parents insisted that they didn't have the baby, that he had in fact died shortly after his birth.
I felt badly for them, and I thought that meant the mission was over, but Frank apparently smelled a rat and kept questioning them. After a few minutes I could see what had tickled his intuition that they were lying. We could almost smell the fear coming off of them in waves, and not just because they assumed at first we were from the Ministry.
Then we heard a baby crying, muffled but clear from the room beyond. The mother blanched, and they tried to pass it off as nothing but a cat, but Frank and I made it clear we weren't buying it, and then finally John, the father, told the mother she had to go get him. Guess they were afraid the neighbours would hear him.
They were real reluctant to let us see him. But when we did (and it took a lot of cajolery from Frank; that man could charm a Hungarian Horntail out of its den), we saw that he had a harelip. Not the worse possible case. The roof of his mouth is dented but still intact. But his lip is badly split.
The mother fed him--or tried to, because he obviously has a hard time sucking--while we told them about Moddey Dhoo. They hemmed and hawed, and you could tell they desperately wanted to ask questions, but it was as if they didn't quite dare. Frank offered the children's letters, but they just stared at them and left them on the table untouched.
"What's wrong?" Frank asked. "Why do you want everyone to think he's dead?"
"Just wizards," the father said, and then clamped his lips shut, as if he'd said too much.
Frank looked between the two of them, clearly baffled, but I began to feel a sinking feeling as I started to see what they were on about. "We won't hurt him," I said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "We wouldn't ever do that."
They stared us both like hares hypnotized by a snake about to strike, the mother clutching at the boy's blanket.
"But you thought we would." I looked at their frozen faces and saw I was right. They hid him, and told everyone he was dead, because they thought that wizards would kill him. Because of the harelip.
The father edged over closer to his wife as she struggled to help the boy nurse and he mumbled something about 'we know what you want him for.'
I didn't understand at first, but as I saw the realization on Frank's face, it dawned on me, too. I thought Frank was going to sick up, just sitting there. 'You figure we want him for--for dark arts.'
'Or just pieces of him,' the father stammered. 'For potions and such.' And then he turned white at the look in Frank's eyes.
Frank started to say something fierce, about him being a father, too--and then he abruptly stopped and clapped his hands to his face.
And that's the bad news. We'd been talking so long, trying to convince them, that we'd lost track of the time, and Frank's polyjuice had wore off, right there, before he could whip out his bottle to swig down another dose.
What's more, the father recognised him right away as 'that Longbottom bloke, the one on all the posters.'
We figured then that everything was bollixed up, for good and all, that we'd have to obliviate them, but then they astonished us.
They told us to take him. Because, get this, Frank was Sirius Black's friend. As soon as they grasped that, they no longer believed we were about to go boil him in a cauldron.
So we made the rings, and offered them the sketch, and now we're here at the Sanctuary, and Stephen is looking Robbie over. The boy's underweight, obviously, but since he can take at least some nourishment, Stephen doesn't want to attempt the repair of his lip for now, thinking it's best left for when Poppy comes for a visit over Easter break.
Anyway, that's our report. Frank's still kicking himself about the Polyjuice mistake. We both are, and we'll try to make sure we don't make such a tyro's error again. But they'll keep their silence for the boy's sake, and we figure that's the best that we can expect.
And the name of 'Sirius Black' is still good for something. Enough to give Robbie Pigott a fighting chance at a decent life.
Bill's identification worked as well as always at getting us in. We followed the usual protocol and avoided the camp administration as much as possible, and arrived at the cottage (well, hovel) where his parents live.
There we ran into a poser. The parents insisted that they didn't have the baby, that he had in fact died shortly after his birth.
I felt badly for them, and I thought that meant the mission was over, but Frank apparently smelled a rat and kept questioning them. After a few minutes I could see what had tickled his intuition that they were lying. We could almost smell the fear coming off of them in waves, and not just because they assumed at first we were from the Ministry.
Then we heard a baby crying, muffled but clear from the room beyond. The mother blanched, and they tried to pass it off as nothing but a cat, but Frank and I made it clear we weren't buying it, and then finally John, the father, told the mother she had to go get him. Guess they were afraid the neighbours would hear him.
They were real reluctant to let us see him. But when we did (and it took a lot of cajolery from Frank; that man could charm a Hungarian Horntail out of its den), we saw that he had a harelip. Not the worse possible case. The roof of his mouth is dented but still intact. But his lip is badly split.
The mother fed him--or tried to, because he obviously has a hard time sucking--while we told them about Moddey Dhoo. They hemmed and hawed, and you could tell they desperately wanted to ask questions, but it was as if they didn't quite dare. Frank offered the children's letters, but they just stared at them and left them on the table untouched.
"What's wrong?" Frank asked. "Why do you want everyone to think he's dead?"
"Just wizards," the father said, and then clamped his lips shut, as if he'd said too much.
Frank looked between the two of them, clearly baffled, but I began to feel a sinking feeling as I started to see what they were on about. "We won't hurt him," I said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "We wouldn't ever do that."
They stared us both like hares hypnotized by a snake about to strike, the mother clutching at the boy's blanket.
"But you thought we would." I looked at their frozen faces and saw I was right. They hid him, and told everyone he was dead, because they thought that wizards would kill him. Because of the harelip.
The father edged over closer to his wife as she struggled to help the boy nurse and he mumbled something about 'we know what you want him for.'
I didn't understand at first, but as I saw the realization on Frank's face, it dawned on me, too. I thought Frank was going to sick up, just sitting there. 'You figure we want him for--for dark arts.'
'Or just pieces of him,' the father stammered. 'For potions and such.' And then he turned white at the look in Frank's eyes.
Frank started to say something fierce, about him being a father, too--and then he abruptly stopped and clapped his hands to his face.
And that's the bad news. We'd been talking so long, trying to convince them, that we'd lost track of the time, and Frank's polyjuice had wore off, right there, before he could whip out his bottle to swig down another dose.
What's more, the father recognised him right away as 'that Longbottom bloke, the one on all the posters.'
We figured then that everything was bollixed up, for good and all, that we'd have to obliviate them, but then they astonished us.
They told us to take him. Because, get this, Frank was Sirius Black's friend. As soon as they grasped that, they no longer believed we were about to go boil him in a cauldron.
So we made the rings, and offered them the sketch, and now we're here at the Sanctuary, and Stephen is looking Robbie over. The boy's underweight, obviously, but since he can take at least some nourishment, Stephen doesn't want to attempt the repair of his lip for now, thinking it's best left for when Poppy comes for a visit over Easter break.
Anyway, that's our report. Frank's still kicking himself about the Polyjuice mistake. We both are, and we'll try to make sure we don't make such a tyro's error again. But they'll keep their silence for the boy's sake, and we figure that's the best that we can expect.
And the name of 'Sirius Black' is still good for something. Enough to give Robbie Pigott a fighting chance at a decent life.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-28 09:54 pm (UTC)I can't even-
And you let yourselves be seen?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-28 10:11 pm (UTC)My dose was still good, and I took another swig right away when I saw Frank's dose wear off. But yeah, they saw him.
They'll keep it quiet. They have every reason to do so, since we have Robbie, and it's clear they were doing everything they could to protect him.
But we don't like it either.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-28 10:21 pm (UTC)Well. You're right, of course: the parents have every reason to keep that secret.
I do hope, though, that they made no slips with their own secret and that their neighbours were truly not aware of the child's existence.
But you say he has a harelip? I will do a bit of reading up, then, in preparation for Easter. I feel sure there have been advances since I was in training and studied the restorative techniques.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 08:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 05:25 pm (UTC)Kingsley, I almost missed this amid all the hubbub about Malfoy and Carrow yesterday. Still don't quite know what to make of the fact that they recognised Frank and that's what convinced them you were sincere.
Maybe it should be a new strategy for getting parents to agree.
Only joking, Poppy! On another topic, have you checked on Minerva? It really is unlike her to let the gossip mills rage quite so long. I'm worried you might have to fill up your ward with professors instead of students!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 06:27 pm (UTC)least kingsley managed to keep his cover. he needs it.
still. damn.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 08:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 08:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 08:20 pm (UTC)