Be All My Secrets Remembered

La Reine Noire

Story Summary:
'Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.' Spanning from spring of 1976 through the fateful Halloween night of 1981, the adventures and misadventures of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and their contemporaries, particularly those belonging to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Toujours Dysfunctional. Warnings: contains dark thematic material, violence, innuendo, as many literary references as can be managed, and very mild slash.

Chapter 25 - Interlude: The Mirror Crack'd / Glitter and be Gay

Chapter Summary:
Wherein Christmas parties at the Ministry of Magic prove hazardous to people's health.
Posted:
08/21/2005
Hits:
1,740
Author's Note:
First post-Book Six chapter. Quite a few of my random characters and theories have been relegated to AU status, but I will do my level best to bring in as much of the new canon as is feasible. Apologies for the delay--I wanted to finish both 25 and most of 26 before posting this, so I can have as little holdover as possible between the chapters.


Interlude: The Mirror Crack'd

November 1981

Azkaban.

Three syllables. Az-ka-ban. Emphasis on the first. A fortress on an island in the middle of the North Sea, built for the purpose of housing those dangerous to society. A prison, from its rickety towers and turrets to cells deep beneath the ocean. One could only travel to Azkaban by sea. There were no Portkeys, and Apparating was impossible, for obvious reasons. It was said, you could hear the screams as you moved closer.

Blacks do not cry. She stood beside her elder sister on the rainwet rocks, tasting the salt tang of the wind. Gritting her teeth, she watched the Aurors push Bellatrix into the rickety boat. Blacks do not cry. She could hear Aunt Lavinia's voice echoed in the gale, just as sharp and stinging, and she straightened on instinct.

Her twin carried herself like a queen, of course. They expected no less. Even Aunt Lavinia would have been proud. She did not look back, instead fixed her eyes on the roiling waves. Beside her, Rabastan and Rodolphus stared into space, unseeing. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had fainted. Narcissa wrinkled her nose, thankful that she had no need to claim him as kin.

She and Andromeda had come here just a few weeks before, when Sirius was sent to Azkaban. He, like Bellatrix, revealed nothing of his thoughts, but the two watchers had the distinct impression his demeanour was born of numbness, rather than bravado. And, unlike Bellatrix, he glanced up at them, eyes wide and dark and sunk in their sockets. One manacled hand, he raised in salute, and he managed a grin that better resembled a death's head grimace.

Narcissa shuddered at the memory. Oh Sirius. How did it come to this?

"I don't believe it of him, 'Cissa. I can't," Andromeda murmured, as if sensing her sister's thoughts. "It's too horrible."

"And what of Bella?" There was no mention of the other questions: If not Sirius, then who? What is your alternative? Logic determined that her cousin was guilty, whatever she wished to believe.

"I've had very few illusions about what Bella is and isn't capable of," the elder replied with a slow shake of her head. "If they say she tortured those two Aurors, I believe it. But not Sirius. He loved James Potter like a brother--better than his brother."

"Our family does not have a history of doing well by loved ones," Narcissa refuted, bitterness staining the words. "I have very few illusions regarding that, Andromeda."

"You never told me--"

"For good reason." Finality was palpable in Narcissa's voice. "It's in the past."

"Do you believe it, 'Cissa?"

She did not answer at first, focused her gaze on the rapidly vanishing blot upon the waters. "It doesn't matter what I believe, does it? The courts have spoken. Judgement has been made. Our cousin and our sister will spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban. Regulus..." there was a hitch in her breath that she could not hide, "They found him in an alley, Andromeda. Alleyways and Azkaban. So falls Aunt Lavinia's hopes for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."

There but for the grace of... She didn't know what. For a split-second, another face looked back from that boat, pale and pointed, revealing nothing.

Don't even think about it.

But she did. Images of subterranean cells without windows or light, her own hand closed around her husband's cold fingers. And the Dementors...Bellatrix had made up all sorts of horrible stories about them when they were younger, though neither sister had ever actually seen one. When they kiss you, there's nothing but darkness and cold ever after. Well, Bella would see them now.

She was fairly sure of how the Ministry had found her sister. Standing just out of sight at the top of the staircase, she had overheard the entire conversation between Lucius and Bellatrix, the night after his raid in Kent. Bella had been hysterical, begging for news. And Lucius, calm and cold, had suggested tracking down the other family that might have fulfilled the prophecy. The parents were Aurors, after all, and at the very heart of Dumbledore's precious Order of the Phoenix. If anyone would know, they would.

Bellatrix had left, her husband and brother-in-law in tow. And Lucius had made his way up the stairs, looked into Narcissa's eyes, and told her that he found it very doubtful that Bellatrix would return from that particular errand. The Dark Lord was dead; of that, there seemed very little doubt. He had died, but without keeping his promise to Lucius. And Malfoys always paid their debts.

As if sensing the timbre of her thoughts, Andromeda reached out, grasped Narcissa's gloved hand. They did not move, even long after the small boat had vanished into the gloom.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Glitter and be Gay

December 1978

The Ministry of Magic, though stingy in many other areas, rarely stinted on their annual Christmas party. As usual, it was held in the largest of the Ministry's reception rooms, one of the few areas of Ministry Headquarters left over from its first incarnation in the seventeenth century.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out of one of the gilded fireplaces in the Atrium at precisely nine o'clock. "Are you absolutely sure, Narcissa?" he asked, turning to her with a frown.

"Of course I'm sure," she answered airily. "Oh Lucius, don't worry. I was only under the weather. Nothing more."

"We really don't need to be here," he pointed out. "If you're not well..."

She placed one gloved hand over his mouth. "That's enough, darling. I've claimed you tonight, and I have no intention of letting you make excuses. Now," she lowered her voice, "I could be persuaded to leave unfashionably early, given proper incentive."

"You're a wicked woman," he said, with a smile that quickened her heartbeat to no small extent. Not that it showed, of course. "Shall we?"

Linking her arm through his, she nodded. They made their way across the Atrium, where the guard on duty needed only to glance at them once before waving them through the gates into the Ministry proper.

Day-to-day visitors to the Ministry rarely noticed the doors at the end of the hall of lifts, but tonight, they were open and festooned with holly. Beyond them was a short corridor and yet another set of doors, opening into the reception room. Lucius and Narcissa paused at the top of the white-and-gold staircase, taking their time to survey the room below. Most of the guests had arrived, it appeared, as the room was filled with laughter, conversation, and music. Groups clustered all over the floor and occasionally in the gallery that ran around the length of the room. Throughout, both on the ground floor and the gallery, assorted doors opened up into other, smaller, rooms.

Exchanging one last smile with one another, they descended the staircase, Narcissa sweeping the ice-blue train of her dress robes behind her in one graceful movement. Almost immediately, Lucius was surrounded by a group of various and sundry colleagues, and Narcissa found herself face-to-face with the Daily Prophet's up-and-coming gossip columnist, Rita Skeeter.

Her nose wrinkled slightly at the woman's dyed blonde hair and garishly decorated glasses, but she bit her tongue to hold back any particularly sharp comments.

"Mrs Malfoy," the woman's voice was practically oozing satisfaction, "how do you respond to the rumours that your sister, Mrs Lestrange, is a Death Eater?"

"Lucius!" They both turned to find their former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor striding toward them. Offering Rita Skeeter a perfect society smile, she moved away to join Lucius and Professor McKinnon as the latter smiled at her. "And Narcissa, of course."

"Professor McKinnon, it's been a long time." There was genuine warmth in her husband's voice as he shook the older man's hand. "How have you been?"

"Well enough, well enough. You've done well for yourselves, or so the Daily Prophet keeps telling me." With a grin, he added, "But, then again, I expect no less from you."

Lucius inclined his head gracefully. "I'm flattered, sir."

"How are Marlene and the children?" Narcissa asked with deceptive lightness, slipping her fingers through her husband's as if in warning. They had heard the rumours, of course, about the McKinnons and that group formed by Albus Dumbledore to oppose the Death Eaters. Marlene had never bothered to hide her views, even within the pureblood community, but Andrew remained diplomatically silent, as befitted a head of Slytherin House. Their eldest, Lydia, would be starting at Hogwarts within the next year or so. Surely the rumours were wrong.

"They're all very well, thank you. And here tonight, for that matter, although the sprogs seem to have taken quite a liking to the Boneses and the Weasleys, so I'm not sure how likely any of us are to see them until it's time to go."

Even Lucius, for all his sangfroid, could not hide the slight wrinkle of his mouth into a sneer at the two names.

Professor McKinnon noticed, naturally. "I did not approve of the Headmaster's decision, Lucius. I told you as much. But in these times..." he shrugged expansively. "Everything is uncertain. I see no reason to curtail my children's friendships or their ability to enjoy themselves when they are still young enough to do so without fear of reprisal."

Narcissa's nod was almost certainly more emphatic than her husband's, and she lowered her eyes slightly at Professor McKinnon's enquiring glance in her direction. Thankfully, Lucius drew his attention away with some remark about Minister Martindale that Narcissa only half-caught. From the corner of her eye, she could see four other guests enter behind them.

The older couple was easily recognisable, whether from articles in the Prophet or from Narcissa's own occasional visits to St. Mungo's Hospital. Geoffrey and Helena Potter had been quite the sensation at one time, or so her mother had occasionally said, in the midst of one of her laments for Andromeda's loss. Narcissa had been forced to bite back the remark that perhaps it was penance for Eleanor Black's repeated jabs at Griselda Marchbanks on account of her daughter's choosing to marry--of all people--a Potter.

The tall, skinny boy with the messy black hair was also recognisable, although this one with a rather more painful pang of memory. Sirius' best friend, from Gryffindor. It seemed eminently doubtful that Sirius would show up at a Ministry function, but that did not stop Narcissa from glancing instinctively at the door as if expecting her wayward cousin to appear.

"...Narcissa, are you looking for someone?" It was Lucius, whose fingers had curled round her elbow.

She shook her head, offering him a somewhat halting smile. "No. I just thought I saw someone I recognised. Nothing more." Turning their backs on the entrance, they made their way further into the room.

***

Lily was sure that her eyes had widened to the size of saucers since they entered the room. James, of course, was grinning proudly as the Minister for Magic, himself, greeted his father. "What do you think, Lil?" he whispered.

"I knew your parents had connections, James, but I hadn't expected this," she admitted. "I have to confess I didn't believe you until we actually arrived at the Ministry."

"I wouldn't lie about something like this."

"Oh really?" teased Lily. "What about in fifth year, when you tried to convince everyone that you were having some sort of fling with Sirius' cousin?"

James coloured slightly. "Desperation."

"Oh James." She leant her head on his shoulder, laughing. "You know I never believed you."

"Apparently nobody did," he grumbled. "Padfoot found it hilarious."

"...our son, James, and his girlfriend, Lily Evans." At the sound of her name, Lily snapped to attention and found herself facing Edgar Bones. "James, Lily, this is Edgar Bones."

"Oh sure, we know him, from--ow!" James cut himself off as Lily stepped on his toe.

"From Hogwarts," she concluded, with as sweet a smile as she could muster. "You were Head Boy during our first year...I think."

"You'd be right," replied Edgar, with a badly hidden laugh. "And you, Potter, apparently followed in my footsteps, in spite of everything I remember from that year."

"We weren't that bad," James protested mildly. "And whatever else, Snape deserved it."

"Deserved what?" That was Mrs Potter, who had crossed her arms over her chest and was studying her son in a decidedly suspicious manner. "James, you never mentioned any of this."

"There was nothing to mention, Mrs Potter," Edgar assured her. "Merely a few hexes in the corridors...although there was that exploding cauldron..."

"That was completely not my idea! Pa---Sirius planned that one. I just provided the cauldron."

"That was why we needed to replace your cauldron three weeks into winter term?" James' mother sighed. "I should have known."

The moment his parents turned to talk to Edgar alone, James hissed, "You didn't need to break my toe. I wasn't going to say anything."

"Better safe than sorry," she whispered back. "Should I heal it for you?"

"It's fine," he muttered. "Just trust me next time?"

"Very well."

"Lily Evans?"

At the delicately accented voice, Lily paused, unsure of precisely where she had heard it before. However, when she turned around, she felt herself smile in recognition. "Eliane Raimbaut. This is a surprise."

"Not anymore," the French girl replied, holding out her hand to reveal an antique diamond ring on her fourth finger. "Eliane Zabini, now."

"Why, that's lovely news. Congratulations!" Lily shook her hand. "When were you married?"

"Just three months ago," she explained, glancing back over her shoulder at a dark-haired man, presumably her husband, who was deep in conversation with a group of people Lily did not know. Turning to James, Eliane regarded him speculatively, "And who is this?"

"My boyfriend, James Potter," replied Lily, glancing at him from the corner of her eye to note his reaction to the French girl.

"Ah," Eliane extended her hand to James, "Geoffroi Potter's son, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yeah." James grinned, puffing up slightly. "Nice to meet you, Mrs Zabini." He paused for a second or two, before venturing, "Wait...Eliane Raimbaut...you're Pa---Sirius' friend from Paris, aren't you?"

"We are...acquainted, yes," she answered with the sort of graceful Gallic shrug that made Lily want to drag James away on instinct. "He is not here, is he?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he admitted. "He's...where is he, Lil? Someplace warmer, I'm sure."

"Not necessarily," Lily corrected him. "I think mentioned Germany. Tracking down something in Bavaria. I've got no idea what it is."

"Tracking down?" Eliane's brow furrowed in confusion. "What is it he does now?"

"Curse-breaker for Gringotts," she clarified. "Are you still with the French Ministry?"

Eliane nodded. "Vittorio--my husband--is the Italian Ambassador, and they transferred me to International Cooperation, so we did not need to live in different cities. And what of you both?"

"I'm in Auror training," James announced, his grin growing wider, if that were even possible. "And Lily's just started working at St. Mungo's. We only left Hogwarts in June."

"Of course," Eliane smiled. "I had always forgotten how young Sirius was." She shot another glance in her husband's direction before stepping back. "It was lovely chatting with you, Lily, and making your acquaintance, James. Please do give my regards to Sirius?"

"We'll certainly do that," James assured her, even before Lily could open her mouth to say anything. "Happy Christmas, Mrs Zabini."

"Joyeux Noël," was her reply, as she swept off to join her husband.

"So that was the famous Eliane," James whistled under his breath. "No wonder Padfoot was so secretive. Nobody would have believed him!" Lily merely glared at him for several seconds, and he started laughing. "Lil, you're not jealous, are you?"

"Nothing of the sort," she snapped.

But James was laughing far too hard to pay much attention. "If I ever thought I'd see the day..."

"You'll not see another if you don't stop laughing," threatened Lily, although in truth, she was far closer to laughter than she wished to admit.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter." They both turned to find Frank Longbottom grinning at them. "Simply because she said yes once doesn't mean she'll tolerate too much out of you."

"I don't know" retorted James. "Alice seems to tolerate you, and I remember enough from Quidditch to know that neither of you is a saint." Then, in a complete turnabout, he drew closer to Frank and lowered his voice. "Did you hear the rumours about Crouch?"

Frank nodded. "More than heard. He and Moody had a screaming row no more than twenty feet from my desk. Needless to say, I didn't advertise my presence."

"I think it's an awful idea," Alice put in forbiddingly. "If they allow us to use Unforgivables in combat, how are we any better than the Death Eaters?"

"Sometimes, you need to lower yourself to their level," James ventured. "I'd rather wrestle with my conscience than with an army of Death Eaters who won't shrink from killing me."

"That's precisely what I said," Frank added, turning to his fiancée. "I'm not saying we ought to use them without thinking. Only in extreme circumstances. I'm half-tempted to find McKinnon and ask him what he thinks. I'm sure he'd agree with me."

"McKinnon?" Alice looked more than a trifle suspicious. "He was talking to the Malfoys earlier, and very friendly too."

"He's head of Slytherin. He can't just disavow that, regardless of what he might think about what they're doing."

"And even so," Lily interjected, "not all Slytherins are Death Eaters."

All three of them were looking at her now, visibly incredulous.

"Name one who isn't," challenged Frank.

Lily thought for a moment. "The fact that McKinnon's on our side ought to say something."

"Name one of the students," Alice requested. "McKinnon is an exception, as far as I'm concerned."

Lily raised her chin and looked James directly in the eye. "Severus Snape."

"Snape?" James started laughing, albeit harshly. "Snape could have been mistaken for a Death Eater from the moment he first started Hogwarts. He's always known more curses than anyone, and you remember what he did--"

"Yes, I remember," she interrupted smoothly. "That does not, however, make him a Death Eater. Rosier, Wilkes, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, I won't begrudge you any of them. But not Snape. Not..." she hesitated, "Not necessarily. He's not even here."

"Yeah, he's off in Germany with some old bat of a Potions professor," Alice said. "At least that was what I heard from Damocles Belby." At their quizzical looks, she clarified, "Friend of my mum's. He's working with Agrippa, at least until Snape gets back. He's been complaining about losing his job to a possible Death Eater, so..." She trailed off.

Lily, although very much wanting to argue that point, decided to keep silent on the subject. Besides, it wasn't as though Severus deserved any defence on her part, after the way he'd acted the past year. Or even beforehand... Lily had to will herself not to shudder at the memory. In what she knew to be a change of subject as subtle as a runaway train, she asked brightly, "When is the wedding, at any rate? I don't remember."

"That would be because we only posted the invitations yesterday," Frank admitted, visibly embarrassed. "April, as it happens. Alice--" at the prod from his fiancée, he amended, "We thought a spring wedding would be nice."

"You agreed!" she insisted. "Don't blame it all on me, now."

James and Lily exchanged looks, and James shrugged sheepishly. "Well, we'll be there," he finally said, "so long as we actually receive invitations. I'll go tell Mum and Dad while I still remember."

Taking Lily's arm, he led her away, waving over his shoulder. Lily bit her lip. "Look, about Snape..."

"Lil, I know what you're thinking. Just..." he sighed, "Just don't. He's no good, Lil. I know you want to believe better of him, but he's a slimy bastard, and no mistake. All the better that he's elsewhere, I say. Maybe he'll develop an addiction to sauerkraut, and decide to stay..."

"James!"

"What?" He was grinning, his bad mood apparently forgotten. "He'd be no nicer to me."

Lily was forced to concede that, as they made their way back to James's parents. Above their heads somewhere, the clock struck ten.

***

It was Alice who saw the intruders first, advancing inexorably forward beneath their black cloaks and silvery masks. Groping behind her, she closed her fingers around Frank's wrist. "Frank!" she hissed.

He turned, eyes widening. "What the--"

Before he could finish, the lights went out, and laughter turned to screams.

***

Alastor Moody's anger was, thankfully, of the slow-burning, cold variety. It rarely--if ever--interfered with his ability to do his job, and more often than not, proved an ally. Most employees of the Ministry of Magic lived in fear of his temper, another thing that worked in his favour at the ill-fated Christmas party. After all, fearful people tended to obey without question.

After about a half hour of near-uninterrupted chaos, the attendant Aurors had managed something resembling order in the main reception room. The Death Eaters had scattered once the lights reappeared, vanishing into the numerous smaller rooms connected to the reception hall and gallery. Moody was stationed near the main entrance, allowing small groups of terrified guests to leave, so long as they did so quietly. It had been his stridently voiced wish that Marlene McKinnon and her three children leave as soon as possible, but his notoriously stubborn former employee refused to do so.

"They have their parents to protect them here," she said, "both of whom are former Aurors you yourself trained. And, quite frankly, there might well be more Death Eaters outside."

Moody attempted to point out that he had already personally checked the Atrium and surrounding areas to his satisfaction, but she would hear none of it, and strode off to find the rest of her family. The children had been playing hide-and-seek. If they were lucky, they hid well.

That had been...he didn't even know how long it had been. Checking one's watch was not a priority in this situation. It seemed like aeons.

He turned back to survey the room, suppressing rage at the absurdity of it all. Five were already dead, four guests and one Death Eater, almost certainly hit by a missed curse from one of his colleagues. He hadn't known any of them personally, but someone had. Inwardly, Moody swore. He should have kept Marlene by the door with him, in case the Death Eaters chose to make their escape. The Anti-Apparition Jinxes--one of Martindale's security considerations that Moody had heartily disagreed with--had gone up throughout the Ministry within seconds of the initial attack. If anyone chose to leave, they would be doing so on foot.

That was when he heard the high-pitched shriek from one of the rooms on the far left. Glancing back at his post for barely a second, Moody ran down the stairs, following the sound.

***

Professor Andrew McKinnon had felled at least two Death Eaters in the past twenty minutes, leaving them bound in one of the side rooms. Even so, he had been unable to find either his children or the Bones'. He couldn't even count the number of Death Eaters present, between the chaos in the main hall and the continued darkness of the outer rooms.

The room he now entered appeared to be empty at first, but he soon heard a shuffling noise from a far corner, one entirely unlit by even the few lamps he could see. Before he could investigate, however, the door opened again to admit a single cloaked figure.

"Nowhere to hide, McKinnon." He recognised the voice, young, and teetering on the edge of...something. He couldn't have said what, precisely. "I can't imagine asking you to surrender will work very well. You were a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, after all."

McKinnon straightened, shifting the grip on his wand just slightly. "I am, you mean, Travers."

The Death Eater paused, apparently startled.

"I recognised your voice, Anthony. You disappoint me."

Travers raised his wand and snarled, "Ava--"

"Silencio!" The first word never finished, and Travers made a choking sound. "Expelliarmus!" When the second wand was safely in McKinnon's hands, he stepped forward. "Now, Travers, you will listen to me...Petrificus Totalus!" A crash followed as the cloaked body hit the floor. "If you're willing, I can lift all the spells. Just tell me what I wish to hear."

Travers glared up at him, unable to move or speak. McKinnon obligingly pointed his wand at the mask and murmured the reverse incantation. Travers gasped, "Bastard."

"You slur my mother. How very rude. But I do recall you were always at least somewhat rude to your peers. I should have expected little else to your teachers."

"You're a blood traitor."

"If you wish to anger me, Travers, you needn't waste your breath," he replied coldly. "How many are there?"

"How many?"

"How many of your friends," he placed one foot on Travers' chest before adding, "Voldemort's cronies, are out there? You should know how much I dislike repeating myself."

"Twenty," Travers gasped again, as McKinnon's foot pressed down on his lungs. "Maybe thirty. I don't know for certain."

"Thank you, Travers." McKinnon stepped back.

"I thought you said you were going to lift the spells!" Travers yelped.

McKinnon smiled. "I lied."

Just then, the door swung open to admit three more Death Eaters, one holding a little girl in front of him. "Daddy!" Lydia McKinnon shrieked.

"Let her go!" Sudden fear clawed at his throat. "She's not what you want---let her go!"

One of the other Death Eaters had lifted the spells from Travers, and he staggered to his feet, laughing. "I'd quite like my wand back, McKinnon. Actually," he forestalled McKinnon's response with a raised hand, "Mulciber, will you do the honours?"

The burly Death Eater muttered something that McKinnon could not hear, and carefully eased away his hold on Lydia.

"Daddy?" Her voice sounded oddly calm, and there was something in her face, something he could barely make out in the scant light from the wall sconces. And she was holding a wand. Before McKinnon could open his mouth, she yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

Both his wand and Travers' flew across the room, into Mulciber's waiting hands. McKinnon stepped back on instinct, his hands colliding with the wall as he stared at his daughter in dawning horror. She stared back, glassy-eyed.

"Now," there was a smile in Travers' voice, "why don't we get started?"

***

He could hear the screams from within. Not McKinnon, of course. His former schoolmate would rather bite off his tongue than scream. The little girl, then. Did he know that Travers had already finished the other two, laid them carefully side-by-side in the corner of that very room? And that his wife, bound and spell-silenced, lay beside them to watch?

Marlene had been...difficult. But he expected no less. Ironically, Travers had been the one to strike the telling blow, a Stupefy from behind, when several others had been wounded in more traditional attacks. Three against one was hardly fair, but then again, neither was life in general.

No, McKinnon couldn't have known. Travers would probably inform his unfortunate victim, just before he finished him. That was his way. Elaborate, complex plans, involving multiple people and perhaps more sneaking around than was strictly necessary. He was a Ravenclaw, after all. It was simply the way they thought. And Travers was particularly militant in his outlook, with a rather appealing penchant for cruelty.

One word had resounded above the others. Teratio. The Monstrous Curse. He recalled his own most recent use of that spell, and the dawning glee on Travers' face. He did so like knowing things.

A quick glance down the line of doors revealed Alastor Moody, caught in a duel with two figures, neither of whom he could recognise from behind. A flash of purple light identified one as Antonìn Doholov. Smiling, Voldemort made his way toward them.

Then, from the open doorway beside him, he heard a rustling noise. "Quick," a voice hissed, "behind the table. Better defensive position, remember?"

Moody could wait. He had no particular feeling toward the man. An irritant, nothing more. There were better things to think about.

Lumos! Lamps flared to life around the room, and he smiled beneath the hood. Trapped in a half-crouch beside the table, the red-haired girl turned, green eyes widening in terror. With a smile, he cast Petrificus. It would be far more entertaining that way. Stepping closer, Voldemort held her gaze.

And he saw.

...a man and a woman, Muggles, middle-aged--Mum, Dad, her voice shrieked within his head, they won't know--the image of a train hurtling south, toward London, Edinburgh heading the list of stops that ended in King's Cross...

A familiar set of words indeed.

He smiled again, but barely for a second, before the entire world turned upside down. The ground hovered a fair distance below his dangling hands, and he could feel something holding him up, as if by one heel. He snarled something unintelligible, catching his wand just as it threatened to slip from his fingers.

There were four in total. Someone had apparently lifted the spell from the red-haired girl, as she was kneeling low to the ground, her wand pointed upward at him. The young man beside her, with messy black hair, had his eyes closed. On his other side, a round-faced woman and a large-framed man were holding the same position, wands trembling with the effort and faces set in concentration.

Then, the round-faced girl opened her eyes and drew in a horrified breath. "What is that thing?" she whispered.

That, more than anything else, galvanised him back to action. Shooting Expelliarmus down at the black-haired young man, he managed to twist round far enough to land on his feet. By the time he landed, all four had dived beneath the table yet again.

"Incendio!" he growled. The wood burst into flames, and he could hear the surprised cries that resounded from behind. There were no other doors that he could see. Only one way out, and that lay behind him. Voldemort was smiling again.

Something whipped past his shoulder, and he turned, snarling curses under his breath. A man's voice echoed from the doorway--Rookwood. "My Lord, we must go immediately. Aurors are on their way, too many for us."

"Too many?" he echoed. Turning back, he saw that the fire had been at least partially extinguished, and four pairs of eyes were peering over the top. Another glance at the girl on the far left, and he remembered. Shrugging, he stepped back. "More than one way to revenge after all." Then, ignoring the puzzled question from Rookwood, he swept through the door.

***

Narcissa hurried round the corner, all the while glancing down at the ballroom floor. The Death Eaters, for their own reasons, had begun to spill into the main room, and up the staircase, a hodgepodge of Aurors and Ministry personnel in pursuit. Toward the back, she caught a telltale glimpse of silver. Lucius was glancing about, no doubt looking for her. Another few minutes barely mattered. She rounded the corner, half-hidden behind one of the gallery pillars.

There was just one left now, paused by the half-open door. Narcissa moved as softly as she could, one eye on the motionless Death Eater, and the other on the staircase beside her.

It was the sound of laughter that made her freeze. Low, sultry, and unmistakeable. Bellatrix.

"Bella?" she called softly, turning to face the Death Eater now standing between her and the door. "Is that you?"

There was no response, save the Death Eater's raised wand, held in a ring-bedecked hand that Narcissa would have known anywhere. But before she could speak further, Bellatrix hissed something she could not catch.

Then, the ground vanished from beneath Narcissa's feet, and she fell.

NB: My grand plans for Blaise Zabini's parents have been destroyed by new canon...sniff. I'm going to leave it alone for the time period, as it's really not relevant to the rest of the plotline, and I like it. Of course, if one wishes to imagine that Eliane kept her first husband's name and became a serially monogamous Black Widow, that is entirely possible. ;)

Damocles Belby is mentioned by Professor Slughorn in Half-Blood Prince as being involved with the Wolfsbane Potion.

I'm not entirely sure what the word 'defied' implies in the prophecy regarding the Potters and Longbottoms, so I'm simply going to interpret it as facing Voldemort down in some kind of combat situation.

The Teratius curse comes from 'The Stroppy Professor'. And the title comes from Bernstein's Candide musical.


Author notes: My grand plans for Blaise Zabini's parents have been destroyed by new canon...sniff. I'm going to leave it alone for the time period, as it's really not relevant to the rest of the plotline, and I like it. Of course, if one wishes to imagine that Eliane kept her first husband's name and became a serially monogamous Black Widow, that is entirely possible. ;)

Damocles Belby is mentioned by Professor Slughorn in Half-Blood Prince as being involved with the Wolfsbane Potion.

Im not entirely sure what the word defied implies in the prophecy regarding the Potters and Longbottoms, so Im simply going to interpret it as facing Voldemort down in some kind of combat situation.

The Teratius curse comes from The Stroppy Professor. And the title comes from Bernsteins Candide musical.