Smoke-Novel

"WHAT?" Russell was surprised, to say the least. "Since when has Slug the
Suckup become a Defense teacher?"
Flitwick smiled grimly. "Oh, old Horace isn't going to teach Defense. He's going
to teach Potions again."
"But then what is Severus going to be . . . oh, come on!" Russell went from
surprise to shock. "You HAVE to be . . . joshing?"
Flitwick shook his head. "I assure you, Dumbledore was serious and so am I.
Minerva was even more shocked than you or I." Russell placed his pipe in an
ashtray, and now looked both horrified and stricken.
"Yes," Flitwick agreed. "I feel awful as well. Albus has always said to the senior
staff that he would not appoint Severus to the Defense teacher unless. . . ."
"Unless Severus needs it for his cover. As a last sop to Voldemort, to stop him
from insisting that Severus kill Albus."
"I hope Severus is not killed when Voldemort does insist that he kill Albus,"
Flitwick said.
Russell merely nodded, thinking of the cards predicting Albus' death. Under the
right, or wrong, circumstances, Russell knew that Dumbledore would be willing
to make the sacrifice for the greater good, and that Snape would be the most
likely Order member able to carry the assassination through. "When did all this
happen?" he finally asked.
"He said he had been after Horace for over a week," Flitwick answered.
'Albus' plan', Russell thought. He felt sick. 'I have to pick my own plans up'.
"Professor Russell, Minister."
Thursday, July 18, 1996
"Thank you, Weasley." Rufus Scrimgeour remained seated, scratching away at
some parchment. Russell came in, saw what the Minister was doing, shrugged,
and sat down. After about two minutes, he folded his hands in his laps and
started whistling the March from Aida.
"Do you mind?" Scrimgeour snapped.
"No, Rufus, I don't mind at all."
"I am the Minister of Magic, John!"