Stirring the Ashes

PROLOGUE

DEATH EATERS GATHER

October 31, 1981, evening

On this Halloween night the dining room at Malfoy Manor was lighted only by the candle that shone through the gap-toothed lear of the jack-o-lantern in the middle of the long, oak table, and the tapers which hung out of the open mouths of the four snake sconces in brackets in the corners. The eery atmosphere would have confirmed the most deep-seated beliefs and fears of every muggle about the magical world--had they been allowed in to see it, which they most certainly were not. This was to be a very select Halloween supper to which only the darkest of dark wizards and witches in Britain had been invited. The curtains in the front hall had been drawn tightly and the exterior of the exterior of the old manor was also shrouded in darkness. The only light which anyone outside the house might have seen was the small lantern held by Dobby, the Malfoy's House-elf, as he opened the door to greet each new hooded guest and lead him inside. When the bell rang the first time, Dobby ushered three black-cloaked figures up the manor steps and into the house. Their billowing, black robes and hoods made them indistinguishable even by gender. On removing their hoods inside the front hall, they revealed themselves to be the brothers Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange and Rudolphus's wife, Bellatrix, the sister of their hostess Narcissa Malfoy. The Lestranges were followed by three more robed wizards, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, then by Avery, then by Augustus Rookwood.

Their host, Lucius Malfoy, greeted them in the dining room where a buffet supper of snake consomme, beef Tartar, caviar, sashimi, and pickles of all kinds had been laid.

The atmosphere tingled with expectation and foreboding. Everyone, even their host and hostess, seemed to jump at every noise from outside as if each was listening for a particular something. They filled their plates with the sumptuous food and took the blood-red punch that Narcissa handed them in goblets with handles shaped like serpents, but they only nibbled nervously. A small, mousy-haired and watery-eyed wizard who had already been in the house before the others arrived seemed to be the most nervous of all; he kept close to his friend and mentor, Augustus Rookwood and ate nothing at all.

only the Lestranges seemed to be enjoying themselves. Bellatrix, who was in high spirits, kept trying to engage her sister in her animated conversation. Whenever her sister failed to answer, Bellatrix would pop crackers as white and thin as slivers of skull spread with the beef Tartar into her mouth. She paid no attention to her husband who was sitting cross-legged in the large, scroll-backed oak chair with the serpent-head capital at the head of the dining table and was telling funny stories to his host. But this host, Lucius Malfoy, was paying no attention to his brother-in-lawÂ’s ribald stories. He just kept pushing aside the curtains to steal nervous glances out the French windows that gave onto the front steps.

Finally, the bell rang once again and Lucius followed Dobby outside, entirely forgetting about Rudolphus, who was in the middle of a sentence. The others jostled one another for the best position to be the first to greet the newly arrived guest when he entered the room. Being the first to be noticed by this special guest would be important to each one of them, for he was their Master, whom each had sworn to serve with absolute obedience till death, and on whose ascendance to power all their hopes were hanging.

The aging wizard who entered the room might have been recognized by older wizards as Tom Riddle, but to this group he was their Lord Voldemort. These were not necessarily the eldest or the first of Voldemort's followers. But by reason of their pureblood lineages from intertwined families that could be traced back through the Middle Ages, their wealth, and their brains, these had become his most elite followers, his inner circle. Only little Peter Pettigrew, trying to stay as close to his mentor as possible, stood apart as being without particular distinction in any of these categories. Even his mousy appearance would not have recommended him to this illustrious-looking group of up-and-comers. But Little Peter, though he was the second to the newest of Lord Voldemort's followers, had been included in this Halloween gathering of his lord's inner circle because he had a secret which he had promised to reveal tonight. And it was he whom his lord singled out for his favor as soon as he entered the dining room: “So, little Wormtail,” Voldemort called out in his high, shrill voice, using a diminutive for the newcomer which the veterans of the group could not place. “You have something special to share with us tonight?” he broke off in a high, cackling laugh which they had all learned to dread. They all feared that this mocking laugh would remain forever in their nightmares long after their most cherished three wishes had come true: Voldemort's rise to absolute power, his subsequent death, and his being replaced by none other than themselves.

The object of their Lord's attention had turned white and begun to tremble and had to be prompted by Rookwood before he could stammer: “Oh, yes, my Lord, yes, I have,” in a voice as squeaky and high-pitched as Riddle's own.

“Well, let us begin with a little special treat for our lucky neophyte this evening,” Voldemort said in a mean voice and with an unpleasant smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “I see this lovely jack-o-lantern here, the delight of every muggle child on Halloween, which our dear little Narcissa has seen fit to make to adorn her supper table. Now, as every muggle child knows,” Voldemort continued and the mean little smile grew in the corners of his mouth, “though you illustrious purebloods do not, the youngest child gets the privilege of blowing out the candle in the jack-o-lantern and having his three wishes come true,” he explained with a cackle to the now silent and tense room. “Now who is the youngest among us? Our little Peter, of course. So come here little Peter, and blow out this little fellow so that the night can attain its proper mystery.” Here Voldemort broke off into a fit of high, mirthless, cackling laughter which made even these seasoned dark wizards' blood run cold. “But first, let us share in your triumph tonight. Tell us your three wishes so that I may grant them and all of my followers will know how I reward my faithful servants.”

“I wish for Lord Voldemort's rise to absolute power,” Peter said easily enough. Then he summoned up his other wish--the vision of James, Sirius, and Remus slapping him on the back and crying: “Hey, Wormtail, you were right after all. You are the leader of the four Marauders now!” But this vision, his dearest dream that had kept him going through these terrifying months, had somehow gone horribly distorted, its fulfillment horribly wrong. “I wish for you to live forever,” Peter Pettigrew prattled like a frightened schoolboy as Rookwood prompted into his ear: “and I wish to serve you all my days.” The last came out in a strangled sob and would not have been understood, except by someone who wanted to hear these words more than any others.

“Very good, Wormtail!” cried out the thin, aging wizard, clapping his hands in almost childish glee. “And I will grant your last wish first; you shall serve me, Wormtail, all your days!” This was greeted by a round of applause made more exuberant by the relief of each of the assembled gathering that he had not been chosen to receive this particular bestowal.

“And now for the meat of the evening!” their master called out. “Lucius, lead us to the drawing-room so we can plan this night's work and not be distracted by your lady's sumptuous fare.” Voldemort took Lucius Malfoy's arm and the group processed ceremoniously into the drawing-room. Voldemort never took nourishment in the presence of his followers, never placed himself on terms of equality with them, and every meeting where he was present became a rite of fealty with every action deftly scripted to remind them that he was their reigning lord. He never even allowed himself to occupy a chair in the homes of his followers so that none of them could later sit in the chair where he had sat and dream of being him.

In the oak-paneled drawing-room Voldemort stood in front of the fire between the two candelabrae facing his followers. He beckoned them to be seated. “Now, to which of you shall I give the honor of accompanying me tonight?” he asked when they had all taken their seats. “This will be a most auspicious and historic mission which will go down in history in the wizarding world and may well signal the tipping of the balance in its fortunes. Will it be you?” and he pointed to Bellatrix Lestrange.

She came forward, then knelt in front of him and kissed the hem of his robes. “I should be most honored, my Lord,” she said in a voice softer and lower than her usual shrill call.

“Ah, Bellatrix,” he fawned, taking her hand, “you are a fine lady and you have shown yourself to be a most valiant warior in my service. But I have other work in mind for you. Your moment, my brave little Bellatrix, is not yet come.” He helped her to rise, and she returned disappointed to her seat.

He beckoned to Malfoy who knelt before him and also kissed the hem of his robes. “And you, my Lucius, the brightest light? No,” Voldemort answered his own question sweetly. “This is neither your work nor your time. Return to your place.” Lucius stood up and moved backwards to his chair. He seemed, thought Pettigrew, a little relieved.

Voldemort then nodded to Crabbe and Goyle who knelt together before him: “And you, my two knights? Will you be chosen to stand tonight at my side? No, you are not yet firm enough in your fealty to me. A little more tempering will be needed.” He dismissed them also and they returned to their chairs looking humiliated. Nott and Avery received the same dismissive, belittling treatment.

Then Rookwood was summoned. “Well, Rookwood, I will be able to credit some of the success of this most significant mission tonight to you. You have brought me one who will give us the information we need. Your work today has already been accomplished; well done! Remember that your Lord never forgets the services his vassals render to him,” he announced placing his hand on Rookwood's head. Though he had been dismissed along with the others, he returned to his seat looking pleased with the commendation.

Having toyed with the deepest hopes and fears of his followers, Voldemort announced: “No, I will take none of you with me on this most important mission tonight. The success and the glory of this nights work will be mine alone. None of you have been found worthy to enjoy it.”

The wizards exchanged secretive looks of knowing annoyance behind their hands.

“And now for the moment for which our Rookwood has been working and preparing for these long months! But first a riddle for you all from one who used to be known as the king of riddles. What well-known child was born as the seventh month dies?”

The entire group chorused: “Little Harry Potter!”

“Very good!” replied their leader clapping his hands, “And how many times have this child's arrogant parents dared to defy your Lord?” he asked in a raised voice.

“Three times!” the group chorused as the tension in the room rose.

“Good again!” Voldemort nearly shouted and again clapped his hands. “And is there any other child who fits this prophetic description?” Voldemort now thundered.

But this time only one feminine voice broke the silence. “Neville Longbottom was born at the end of July and his parents, the Aurors Frank and Alice, have also defied you three times,” said Narcissa Malfoy quietly but firmly.

Voldemort looked surprised, as if he had forgotten, but immediately took hold of the situation once again. “Tonight it will be little Harry Potter, the Mudblood baby prince of the wizarding world, who I will choose to mark with my curse of death, and his over-weaning, arrogant parents, James and his Mudblood wife, Lily! Now, little Peter, come forward and announce to us where I will find this little prince and his parents!”

Peter was trembling almost too much to walk and had to be pushed forward by Rookwood. Propelled by his mentor's shove, Peter nearly flew across the room and fell at the feet of Lord Voldemort.

“Now tell us, little Peter, exactly where is this little Harry Potter, the Prince of the wizarding world, and his charming, elegant and rich parents, Lily and James?” Voldemort demanded ironically.

With tears streaming down his face and shaking with sobsk, Peter Pettigrew thought at lightning speed that this was not how it was all supposed to end up. He had always thought something would change the course of events and avert disaster just as when Sirius had revealed the secret of the Whomping Willow to Snape, and had nearly exposed Lupin's hidden shame and risked Snape's life. Then James had rushed in to save the day. But now it was James whose life was in the balance. Sirius had trusted him, Peter thought. And now he was about to betray them all. And if he didn't?... just refused to speak... But he heard his own, high-pitched voice broken by sobs saying: “They are hiding in Godric's Hollow, the ancestral family home of Godric Gryffindor.”

“Very well, little Peter, that is enough. I know very well where the place is. Narcissa, take the boy to bed and give him a sleeping potion. We cannot allow the bond that binds us together to be weakened by one who has betrayed his friends and broken his oath of loyalty, which is something that I'm sure none of my loyal followers would ever do,” and he looked hard at each face in the room. Narcissa and Rookwood carried Peter Pettigrew, shaking but now silent, from the room while their Master continued to explain. “I will go to Godric's Hollow in a moment, alone, but I will draw on the strength and the combined magic of the group which will remain in position here. Do not rise from your places or break the circle until I return. You will each be able to follow the progress of this glorious undertaking to my victory through the sensations in the Dark Mark which I have seared into your flesh as an eternal sign of your bond of fealty to me.”

When Voldemort had finished his speech, the group erupted in loud calls of: “May our Lord Voldemort live forever!” and “Long live our mighty Lord and master!” When they had stopped shouting, they realized that he had gone.

Lucius Malfoy felt the familiar tug of traveling in his left forearm, as he had always felt it when his Master or senior Death Eaters were apparating to a raid. Then he felt the growing heat in the Dark Mark, which meant that Voldemort was gathering his magic. Then a sharp, quick pain like a slap told him that one victim had been killed. A quick look at the satisfied expressions around the room assured him that the others were experiencing the same sensations and had interpreted them as he did.

Then the warm glow of magic gathering again--for a long minute it grew, then another slap--but this one lasted longer and left a coldness behind... oh, so cold... The others looked bewildered.

But the magic was gathering again, warmer! Warmer! Stronger! Hotter! Burning now! the pull on their magical powers would have raised them to their feet had it not made their bodies go limp... Then a head-splitting bang, and Lucius felt a pain in his arm. A clot of congealed blood was growing like a hard knot under the Dark Mark; it blocked circulation and caused such pain! Such pain! And the gathering of magic again... It eased the cold a little but then it was gone. The cold And the pain remained. Lucius thought that he would have a heart attack. He thought that it was an evil trick to kill them all! But no! Another attempt to gather magic, but so feeble, so feeble! Long minutes of pain and cold! Hard to breathe! Can't breathe! Sweating icy drops...

Malfoy saw that they were all sweating, all had faces frozen in fear and amazement. The candles sputtered and went out, but the little group sat for what may have been an hour, two hours maybe, but still there was no familiar pull of Apparating, no sign that their Master would return. One by one they struggled to their feet, exhausted, needing liquid and nourishment, feeling weak and dizzy and depleted as if they had lost most of their blood.

Malfoy used the arm of his chair to lean on in order to get up and walk unsteadily into the dining room. He found his guests silently eating his Halloween supper, not trusting one another to be the first to say what was chilling their hearts--that something had gone horribly wrong at Godric's Hollow, that this was not a victory for them and that their Lord would not be coming back. Each guest ate enough of the proteinous meal and took in just enough of the blood-red wine to gather enough strength and magic, then one by one they stepped out through the now open French window onto the veranda and Disapparated. None dared to give voice to what they all suspected by now--that their Lord had been defeated. Therefore, they could not discuss, could not come to conclusions, make plans, organize a search for their endangered Master, or even a watch at Godric's Hollow. All they could do was to run for the safety of their homes.

When the last guest had gone, Lucius Malfoy closed and locked the French window and, signaling his wife to follow, left the room without a word.