Smoke-Novel

Chapter IV
Sunday, July 14, 1996
"Good evening, John."
"Good evening, Filius. Care for a drink?" He held up the brandy bottle and
gestured to the other bottles with it.
Flitwick smiled, but said, "You know I rarely drink alcohol, John." He hesitated,
and then said, "Still, I suppose that a very weak pastis wouldn't be too
indulgent, and I do need a drink."
Flitwick perched himself on a pouffe while Russell fixed the drink. He handed
Flitwick the glass and sat back onto his padded rocker.
"I do enjoy the aroma of your usual pipe tobacco," Flitwick said approvingly.
"What most wizards smoke reminds me of dry grass and goat dung."
"Latakia is strong," Russell allowed. "I much prefer Cavendish mixtures. Now
that the small talk is out of the way, what did you climb all the way up here to
tell me?"
"Direct as usual," Flitwick admitted. "Tell me, have you talked with Albus at all
this week?"
Russell shook his head. "No, not since last Saturday."
"Was that after he injured his hand?"
"Yes," Russell agreed, "but I can't tell you anything about it, except that it
should improve in function, if not appearance."
"That would have to be a serious curse then," Flitwick said, mostly to himself.
"Albus thought it a necessary risk, and I agree with that. It does account for the
fury of attacks early this week." Dumbledore had shown both his hand and
Slytherin's ring to Snape as Snape had helped the Headmaster to Russell's
office. Voldemort had been outraged that a second piece of his soul was gone,
and had sent his Death Eaters, dementors, and giants all on attacks.
"Then I need ask no more. Minerva and I spoke with Albus at dinner tonight,
and he spoke fairly freely since we were the only ones there tonight. He asked
that we pass his news on to you, since he said you were returning tonight. I
volunteered, since Minerva is still working on letters."