At the hour dinner was scheduled to end, Alastor Moody was waiting for Professor Dumbledore at the entrance to the headmaster's office. As the auror had supposed, Dumbledore did arrive at his office once completing his meal.
"Alastor," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling, "you've finally found the time to come and visit me."
"Things have been busy at the Ministry," Moody said gruffly, following the headmaster as the guarding gargoyle leapt aside and allowed entrance into the office. The pair ascended the stairs and the two men were soon seated within the confines of the circular office.
"What news from the Ministry?" Albus inquired, helping himself to a lemon drop and motioning for Moody to do likewise should he feel the urge.
"Prewitt is in for sure," Moody declared. "All that needs doing is to make it official."
"And who will succeed Prewitt as Director?" Dumbledore inquired.
Moody leaned back into his chair and sighed. "I'm getting the vibe that it will be Bartemius Crouch."
"Crouch," Dumbledore repeated with a frown. "Not quite the most desirable candidate."
"Prewitt is probably aiming for a zealot rather than an on-the-ground fighter," Moody observed. "As long as Prewitt looks over Crouch's shoulder on a regular basis, I think he will prove a strong influence in the coming difficulties."
Dumbledore sat thoughtfully, absorbing Moody's comments and contemplating the possibility of a Director Crouch. Finally he shook his head a little bit as if to reorient himself and refocused on Moody. "Have you any other news?"
Moody's lips curved into a smile that seemed unintentionally grim. "I cornered Ashworth the other night. Mostly it was for official Ministry business-his statement about the death of Minister Black. Off the record, though, I got him to give me a little extra information. He has revealed to me the name of our dark lord."
"Indeed?" Dumbledore said, smiling. "What is it?"
Moody produced a small slip of parchment and slid it across the table. "Ashworth is nervous about actually saying the name aloud. Apparently the Blacks feel that this fellow can hear his name being used."
"Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said out loud, reading the parchment.
"I guess your opinion differs," Moody observed.
Professor Dumbledore shrugged. "The Blacks may be correct, but one must weigh the consequences, I think."
Moody shrugged. "So should I feel nervous saying it or not?"
"Well," Dumbledore said, "maybe if you're trying to sneak up on him, you should avoid saying it." His eyes twinkled. "Perhaps you should avoid saying anything at all if you're trying to be sneaky." His face turned more serious as he set the small slip of parchment on the desk. "I want you to get as much information from Ashworth as you can-even if it means asking him to stick his neck out to gather intelligence. Don't unnecessarily endanger his life, but keep in mind we've got to draw on any advantage he can give us."
"Right," said Moody as he nodded in agreement. "I've already made arrangements. He's promised to try and dig some more information up on this creep's past."
"Good," said Dumbledore, staring thoughtfully at the wall beyond Moody. "It may interest you to know, Alastor, that Bellatrix Black left Hogwarts today."
"Did she now?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She walked out while the rest of the school was having lunch."
"She isn't the first student you've had leave this term, is it?" Moody said.
Dumbledore nodded. "A number of Slytherin's left. I presume they joined Lord Voldemort's ranks. Now, Bellatrix Black, a Slytherin at heart, has left to join Harry Ashworth's ranks. The parallel is interesting, to say the least."
"How are you so sure she joined Ashworth?" Moody asked.
"I spoke with her younger sister Narcissa. She was extremely reticent, but she implied that my contacting Bellatrix's mother about the situation would be useless. Apparently, there's been a falling out. That, and other factors I am aware of, leads me to believe that Bellatrix is with Mr. Ashworth."
Moody nodded thoughtfully and scratched his chin. "So, what precisely are you trying to tell me?"
"When you sit down to chat with Harry Ashworth, remember that Miss Black's wand will likely be pointed at your back."
.....
Thorpe, now Harry's good drinking buddy, laughed uproariously and slapped Harry on the back before tipping up a mug of ale and downing it. Likewise, Harry lifted his mug and pretended to drink its contents, having previously used his wand to surreptitiously vanish the liquid. Nearly simultaneously, the two slammed their mugs down on a table.
Slumping in his chair, Thorpe tried to get comfortable. Harry also shifted in his chair and then leaned back against the wall. Trying not to be obvious, he scanned the pub, looking for anyone new, or someone he had already observed, acting suspicious. There was no one. This annoyed Harry. If the Death Eaters had once recruited from this pub for help to find Harry Ashworth, surely they would be continuing the practice, especially seeing as they had completely failed to find Harry Ashworth thus far. Perhaps he needed to frequent a wider circle of pubs.
"Well, D, the wife is going to be wanting me home," Thorpe told Harry. He looked like he was going to cry at the thought.