Exitus Acta Probat

Ch 2 Sifting Through the Remains

Hermione was back in Lupin's office, a grim Harry clutching her hand under the table like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. The portraits of the previous Hogwarts' Headmasters were all wide-awake and alert, despite the fact that the hour was closing in on one in the morning. The levity of the order meeting earlier that day had vanished. All three were raptly listening to the report being given by Adrian and Marcus. After the chaos of the great hall, the quiet of Lupin's office was driving Hermione insane.

Viktor had grabbed her and Harry outside while they had sat numbly on the steps, and ordered them to herd the Gryffindors into the Great Hall. Percy was shoving a large crowd of sobbing third year Ravenclaws through the doors, and was barking instructions to the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. After everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, Percy had taken charge and effectively calmed the students down. The professors and various adult witches and wizards were still outside with the bodies. It was fortunate Percy had been elevated to heroic status following the Diagon Alley incident, as the respect of the students towards Percy made them obey willingly. Krum was assisting, by passing out tissues and bottles of butterbeer and administering calming droughts and cheering charms to steady everyone's nerves. Wood was nowhere to be found, he was presumably outside with the others. Hermione was desperately trying to hold herself and Harry together, as she knew if anyone saw Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the hope of the wizarding world fall to pieces, a riot might break out. Harry was now taking deep breaths, and his eyes were significantly less bugged out. They had to wait a few minutes that seemed to be a lifetime before Lupin came in with the other professors and informed the crowd that yes, Voldemort had killed their classmates. However, there was evidence to prove it had not occurred in Hogsmeade or on Hogwarts grounds; the bodies had been transported there already dead, as a message. After repeated assurances of their safety, and answering a good number of questions, Lupin had conjured sleeping bags for them all and placed the prefects in charge. He had left the hall, with a pointed look at Hermione and Harry, who had snuck out a discrete minute or so after him for an emergency meeting of the order. That was how they had come to be in Lupin's office again, with the rest of the Order downstairs taking care of the students.

Lupin had talked kindly to the two of them, and Harry had shocked all three of them by throwing himself at Professor Lupin, crying loudly. Hermione had sat still as a statue. Once Harry had detached himself from Lupin, while muttering apologies and blushing profusely, Lupin hugged her as well.

"So," continued a weary-looking Adrian Pucey, "we weren't informed of the ritual beforehand, but we were invited to the power-sharing ceremony when we returned earlier today to the stronghold." Here he paused, looking ill, "apparently we've moved up through the ranks further than we thought," he finished, disgusted.

"So were those killed done so because they were traitors, or because they were irrelevant?" asked an intent Lupin.

"Both," broke in Flint, "we're not sure who is who, though. Basically, all we know is that all of the senior members of the Death Eaters sacrificed their first born, loyal or not."

"But what about Walter?" interrupted Hermione angrily. "His parents aren't Death Eaters!"

Flint turned to her, as Pucey seemed too ill to speak, "They needed their numbers up. More death, more power for them."

"And for you!" Hermione retorted furiously. "You got stronger out of this- this slaughter as well! Didn't you?"

Flint and Pucey now looked lived, and Flint roared at her, "Do you think we enjoyed watching them die? Kids we went to school with? Kids I played Quidditch with? That I was Captain of?"

"Of course she thinks we liked it, Marcus," piped up a sneering Pucey, "we're Slytherins, remember? Even after what she saw earlier she can only see us as villains."

"It doesn't help that all you lot can do is call her a Mudblood!" bellowed an irate Harry.

Oh, dear, now they've gone and pissed off Harry. This is going to get ugly.

"Look," broke in Lupin in a placating manner, "no one is accusing you two of anything. Everyone's tied, and had a bad day. Please continue."

Adrian, Marcus, and Harry, all three breathing heavily and glowering, nodded shortly and Flint continued their report.

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"My lord, it is done. The half-breed has received your message."

"Good, Rodolphus. I am pleased. I feel strong. I feel more alive than I have in years."

"I am pleased to hear it, my lord. Bella and I feel stronger as well."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Rodolphus."

"No, n-n-n-n-no, my lord, you did not. Forgive me."

"I do. But I feel now as if I wish to try out my new strength."

"In-indeed, my Lord? How are you-"

"CRUCIO!"

"ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MY LORD, STOP! I BEG YOU! PLEASE!"

"Very well. But only because you asked so nicely. Now go and fetch my wife. Make it quick, or I will demonstrate a new curse I have thought of just for you."

"Y-y-y-ye-yes, my lord. Right away!"

Lord Voldemort sat down on his throne-like chair with a sigh. He picked up a nearby black widow spider, which had recently had the engorgement charm cast upon it, and was now ten times its natural size. Nagini circled his feet, hissing softly to her master. Voldemort studied the squirming spider absently, then conversed with a still hissing Nagini quietly. As the stone dungeon door swung heavily open again, Voldemort lifted the writhing spider and cleanly bit off its head. As the poisonous blood of the spider trickled from his mouth, he thoughtfully chewed its meat, savoring the taste. His blood-covered hands dropped the feebly twitching remains to Nagini, and he rose to greet his guests. Rodolphus was holding the door open for the Dark Lord's wife, who was dressed in robes of black silk, and covered in blood red rubies. The hood of her cloak was up, shadowing her lovely face, and she turned and imperiously beckoned to a small figure behind her. Lord Voldemort descended the stairs surrounding his throne, while licking the thin stream of escaped blood off of his mouth. He held out his unnaturally long, blood-covered hand, and met the pale, delicate hand of his wife. He drew her beside him, and languorously kissed her, while the timid figure of a young girl shifted uneasily in front of them.

Finally, Lord Voldemort drew back from the soft lips of his wife, and grinned his frightening grin. His wife, whose existence was known only to his innermost circle of Death Eaters, drew her now bloody hand from his grasp, and never breaking eye contact, slowly brought a finger to her mouth and licked it clean. Voldemort growled deep in his throat, and stepped forward, intent on taking her there, when Rodolphus gave a discreet cough. Voldemort turned his red gaze blazing with fury in his direction, but stopped when his sight rested on the silent girl in front of him. He frowned.

"Are you not a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes, my lord. And may I say what an honor it is to meet such a powerful-"

"Silence. I didn't ask you to speak."

A high-pitched giggle escaped the throat of the black clad woman. "Oh, Tom, there's no need to be so rude," she simpered. Rodolphus Lestrange paled visibly at that and stepped backwards as Voldemort hissed angrily and grabbed her by the throat.

"What have I told you about calling me that?" he ground out, eyes more slit-like than usual.

"Oh, Tom, stop; you're turning me on," the woman purred.

Voldemort released her in annoyance. "You always want sex. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those brothers of yours must have 'played' with you," he spat viciously, yet with an amused gleam in his eye.

The woman pouted. "You're no fun, Tom. You haven't tied me up in ages."

Voldemort coldly replied, "Perhaps I will right now, if only to gag you, so I can get you to shut your stupid mouth."

The woman giggled again and lowered the hood of her robes, a bright cascade of copper hair now visible, and revealed she was no woman and little more than a little girl.

"I know better things to do with my mouth," she said slowly.

Voldemort pulled her in for another brutal kiss, than turned his attention back to the other girl. "Why are you here?" he demanded roughly. "Why do you waste my time?" The red-haired girl cuddled up to Lord Voldemort.

"Now, Tom, she's here as my guest. She wants to serve you. You know we still have spies from that half-breed in our ranks. She's here to ...even the playing field."

"Is this true, girl? You have come to pledge your life to Lord Voldemort, to betray your family and friends, to swear your eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord?"

"Yes, my lord," said the girl breathlessly. She sunk into a deep curtsy, than continued, "I wish to aid you in ridding the world of Mudbloods and Muggle filth, and in restoring power to purebloods."

Voldemort stared at her, his red eyes boring into her very thoughts. "Very well," he said shortly, "You will meet with Bellatrix for your assignment. Rodolphus, take her to Bella."

"Yes, my master," groveled Lestrange, and he led the still curtsying girl out be her elbow.

"As for you..." said a visibly irritated Voldemort, "you are to be punished for undermining my authority."

"Punished?" smirked the girl as Voldemort waved his wand, locking the stone door.

"Yes. Punished," purred Voldemort while conjuring a pair of iron manacles.

The girl smiled, running her hands under her robes. She untied them, and lifted them off her shoulders to puddle at her feet on the floor.

"Why Ginny, my dear," murmured Voldemort, lifting a hairless brow, "no underwear? Were you expecting something?"

Ginny matched him smirk for smirk, as he suddenly made a violent move towards her.

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Hermione felt a jerk from behind her navel, and she was suddenly flying through a tunnel of rushing winds, colors, and sounds, her hand clenched around the Portkey pulling her onwards. Her feet slammed onto the ground, knocking her over onto her rear. It was drizzling outside, and she had managed to land right in the middle of a dirty puddle. She stood up and disgustedly swatted at her soaked skirt in a vain attempt to wipe the mud off of it. She glanced up the empty alley she had landed in, across the street from the visiting entrance to the Ministry of Magic. There was no one in sight, so Hermione quickly performed the drying charm on her clothes, then pocketed her wand and the Portkey (a chocolate frog,) into her coat. Dressed as a Muggle to avoid attracting unwanted attention, Hermione briskly walked over to the dilapidated phone booth and dialed the number for admittance.

"Visitor to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and business," came the cool female voice.

Typical. The entire staff is wiped out in less than a minute and they still have the same security system.

"Hermione Granger, and I'm here on a mission for Remus Lupin, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Thank you visitor to the Ministry. You will be required to submit your wand at the front desk for inspection."

"Blah, blah, blah, hurry the bloody hell up," muttered an irritable Hermione as she pinned the silver badge the phone had spewed out onto her sky blue jumper. She straightened her skirt and attempted to smooth her hair, (a losing battle if ever there was one,) and stepped out into the atrium. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator she was accosted by a group of wizards wearing robes with the Ministry's seal on them. They formed a circle around her as she let out a shriek of indignation as two of them began patting her down for weapons. A burly, bearded wizard pulled out her wand, while the others examined the contents of her coat pockets. Along with the chocolate frog, (which they had better not confiscate, as Lupin had charmed it to recharge back into a Portkey after three hours,) they investigated a spiral Muggle notebook, a Muggle pen, and- (Hermione suppressed a snort of laughter with some difficulty) - a tampon. When she saw that they were planning on tearing it open to observe it further, she sweetly explained it was a Muggle device used to stem blood flow. Of the menstrual variety. At which point it was dropped like a hot potato and the red-faced wizards shoved her belongings back at her with hasty apologies.

"No problem. How is the cleaning coming along?"

"Great," stated a young, slightly familiar looking wizard, "after all, nothing was destroyed, Dumbledore got here just in time. Just...the workers," he finished uncomfortably.

"Mmmm," Hermione eloquently responded, already bored with their small talk, "have any of you seen Percy? Or Kingsley?"

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Shacklebolt are instructing the crew of protection-charm casting wizards below," said the burly wizard gruffly.

"Thanks," Hermione chirped as she walked briskly to the golden-gated elevators. She slid inside and shut the gate behind herself, and stated she wanted to go to level nine. She was glad to be away from the touchy-feely guards upstairs, (her skin was still crawling from that encounter,) but the elevator was rather spooky as well. The only time she had been to the Ministry was the ill-fated "rescue" of Sirius a few months ago, but Harry had told her all about his trial, and she knew the Ministry never had empty elevators, (with only one lone memo flapping overhead,) like the lift she was in now. The lift stopped as the cool voice stated, "Department of Mysteries," and the gate slid open. Hermione walked down the stone hallway, the hair on her arms rising swiftly. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, and her breathing sounded oddly loud and ragged. She was not one to be scared easily, but the dim lighting and the fact that the Ministry had held the bodies of hundreds of dead employees not three months ago was seriously unnerving her. As she reached the black door to the Department of Mysteries, she took a few calming breaths and pulled out a key from her shoe-one spot the groping guards had forgotten- and inserted it into the lock. It opened with a resounding "click" and Hermione dropped the key back into her shoe for safekeeping, (Lupin would kill her if she lost it.) She stepped into the eerie, blue, circular room, and stood still as the walls whizzed by her in a blur. Hermione cleared her throat and said in a clear voice, "I'd like to enter the room with the bell-jar and shelves of time-turners, please." She had believed Harry when he told her how the room seemed to be just waiting for him to ask which way to go when he was chasing Bellatrix, but her mouth still fell open slightly when the correct door obediently swung open for her. She walked into the room, her forehead breaking into a cold sweat, as she remembered how Dolohov had cursed her in this room. He was not one of the Death Eaters that had been killed, a fact that continually drove Hermione to have vivid nightmares. She knew the Death Eaters wanted her dead almost as much as they wanted Harry dead, and though she would rather willingly fail Potions than admit it, she was terrified of what might happen if she was ever captured. She had been wandering around the room for some time before she spotted the small case Remus had described to her. It was a rectangular, white, wooden jewelry box, covered in strange carvings and writings, and emitting a strange, slightly sinister silver glow. It was triple locked manually, and at least six ways magically, if Lupin was to be believed. Hermione let out a small noise of impatience, checked her watch to see how long she had before her Portkey was re-activated, and began methodically removing all the locks according to Remus's instructions. After struggling with the last iron-bolt for a good ten minutes, Hermione opened the box with a triumphant cry only to discover another locked box, which Lupin apparently didn't know about, and therefore she had no idea how to open. She was contemplating just bashing the damn thing open when-

"There you are!"

Hermione gave an undignified screech and whirled around with her wand at the ready.

"Really, Hermione, you should be more on your guard, I could've been a Death Eater," said the pompous voice she knew all too well.

"Percy," she sighed with relief, "you scared the hippogriff out of me."

"Sorry about that," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "Professor Lupin told me you would be down here, and it was no easy job sneaking away. Luckily, we have so little staff the whole building can't be occupied at once," he finished, idly twirling a key between his fingers.

"Yes, that's the benefit of a senseless bloodbath," Hermione said dryly, "easier to sneak about."

Percy looked thoughtful. "Actually, the benefit of a senseless bloodbath is the ease in which one gains power, due to the fact that everyone more powerful than you is dead."

Hermione snorted in response. "Yes, really, one should organize senseless bloodbaths at least twice a year to keep the competition down."

"Now really Hermione, don't be ridiculous. You would need to do it at least four times a year," Percy said indignantly. He quirked an eyebrow at her as she burst into laughter, while a wry smile played on his face. It was quite unlike Percy to crack jokes, and his recent state-of-mind had been one of many minds Hermione had been concerned about. It made her feel a little less worried to see him coping at least somewhat. He had been alternating wildly between a facade of the old, prim, rule following Percy, and a grim, stoic, and silent new Percy who occasionally had a gleam in his eye Hermione didn't care for one bit.

"Anyway, the guards told me you were looking for me, it apparently didn't concern them that you had said you were looking for me and still hadn't found me an hour later." He sighed, "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Yes, it really makes one wonder how on Earth the Death Eaters were clever enough to break into such a securely guarded place," Hermione noted sarcastically, "although they seem to take their job of molesting all visitors very seriously."

Percy looked mildly concerned. "They touched you?"

"Yeah, they went all Grabby McHandsy on me, but I'll get over it," she added, perplexed, "Why did Mooney send you to find me anyway?"

Percy raised both brows alarmingly high. "Mooney? You're on a 'Mooney' name basis now? Does he call you Hermy?"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione retorted grumpily, "or I'll refer to you as 'Per' as in 'Pervert.'"

"Well, that was unnecessarily nasty," Percy said, amused. "And here I am, sneaking away like a common thug to help you, and I get called a pervert for my troubles." He held out the key he had been twirling. "I believe you were in need of this?"

"Percy, you pompous git! I could kiss you!" Hermione squealed. She snatched the key from his hands and jammed it into the locked box. It sprang open with a click, and a flash of blinding silver light blasted out for a few seconds, then dimmed to a low glow. Hermione and Percy peered at its contents excitedly.

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Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, was currently staring at a pair of dirty socks. He had just returned from a grueling Occlumency lesson with Snape, and was blankly gazing at his foul-smelling socks while sitting on the edge of his bed in the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. His roommates, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan were downstairs playing Exploding Snap in the common room with some fourth years. Ron's empty bed and corner of the room remained as he had left it, emblazoned with Chudley Cannons memorabilia. Harry had put up quite a fight when the House Elves came to clean it, (there was still one house elf walking about Hogwarts with a purple Mohawk, and another covered in pink and green polka-dots.) Harry was in a particularly foul mood, as he always was after prolonged contact with Snape. He had spent half the lesson zinging snide, barely veiled insults at Harry, and the other half blatantly insulting him. It was a small consolation to Harry that he was becoming quite adept at Occlumency, he was still quite angry with himself for not mastering it before Voldemort had sent him the visions of Sirius. A tapping on the window interrupted his bitter train of thought. He opened it to admit a jet-black owl that ruffled its feathers importantly after dropping a small wrapped package on Harry's bed, and then flew out the open window. Harry glanced warily at the parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper and twine, bearing his name on the front. He hadn't recognized the owl, and he realized it would be reckless of him to open the package without checking for curses first. This thought made up his mind, and with one vicious tug he ripped open the package. Out fell a diary, a pink one covered in glitter stickers. Harry opened the book to the first page and saw it was inscribed, "Property of Ginny Weasley." With a deep sense of foreboding, he turned the page and began to read.