Resurgence of Evil

CHAPTER 16:

I relaxed immediately, and Hermione muttered, "Lumos!"

A soft glow filled the air, revealing eight figures. Six were bound, two weren't - Harry, and a body lying in the corner. Ron and Hermione rushed to Harry's side, and I wiped blood off my chin as I walked across the oriental rug to the opposite side of the room. A small poof of dust flew up with each step, and I sneezed. The room was filthy, unused for several months and it was clear that Voldemort hadn't cared much for cleaning while he lived here.

I reached the body and knelt next to it, carefully turning the figure onto its back. I jumped when I saw the face, and lost my balance, barely able to catch myself before I hit the ground. Carefully I pushed a dark tangle of hair away from the man's neck, feeling for a pulse.

As I concentrated, searching for the beat of blood beneath my fingers that would signify life, I took in his appearance. His hair was long and matted with dirt - and blood. His face was smudged with filth and gore.

There was a pulse. I sighed in relief, noting that his breathing was so shallow as to be barely detectable. A sign of broken ribs. His left leg was broken, and his right shoulder was clearly dislocated. His hands were swollen, and bruised, indicating broken bones in his fingers and wrists. Through tears in his robes I could see even more bruising, cuts, and signs of prolonged torture.

I leant close to his neck, and sniffed the collar of his robes. Myriad scents assaulted me, and I jerked back. He had been force-fed many different potions, and they had spilled onto his clothes.

Moreover, he tingled in my magical sense - with the dark taste of curses, jinxes, hexes - this man had been tortured, and for a long time. Several scars backed up my theory, and with a shock I realized that he must have been in Voldemort's possession when he disappeared, and somehow had been 'inherited' in a gruesome fashion, by my father.

I could hear Ron and Hermione checking on the others, and there was the noise of people being brought back to consciousness. I turned and saw that Dean Thomas, Ernie Macmillion and Stephen Moon were all helping one another to stay on their feet. Harry was tending Mandy Brocklehurst, and Hermione was helping Sally-Ann Perks to her feet.

"Harry!" called Ron urgently, bending over a third figure whose face was hidden by the sleeve of his robes.

Harry leapt to his feet, crossing the room, and his face went white.

"I can't find a pulse, and he won't wake," said Ron dully.

Harry leant over, and said, "Ennervate!" There was tension in his voice, and no reaction from the prone figure.

"He's dead," said Mandy, tears in her voice. "He kept resisting, and they killed him. An example, to the rest of us."

I turned away for the moment, conjuring a stretcher and lifting the unconscious man onto it. I turned, to see a similar stretcher bearing a figure with a kerchief over his face. I glanced at it, and Ron saw me. "Neville," he whispered brokenly, and I winced. I had no love for Longbottom, but to disturb others in their grief was beneath me, and his death made the situation much clearer, not that I really needed the proof. My father was psychotic, and he had to be stopped.

"Who's - " asked Harry, but Hermione's startled gasp cut him off.

"Professor Snape!"

______________________________________________________________________________

Several hours later, the six spies were being treated at St. Mungo's - all experienced aftershocks from the Imperious and Cruciatus curses, and had been tortured. Snape, however, was far worse off than I had initially imagined.

Still unconscious, he was being treated for six and a half years in the hands of both Voldemort and my father. Snape had disappeared at the end of my sixth year, and was presumed dead after no trace of him had been discovered, at the end of seventh year. He was being kept in an induced coma in order to fully treat his injuries. The mediwitches and wizards planned to keep him that way for several weeks at least, until he was fully healed and had been given time to recuperate.

Neville's funeral was to take place immediately the next morning, as per the instructions of both his will and Ministry policy. The procession would begin in the small, nondenominational chapel of the Ministry, and proceed through the corridors to the vault reserved for Aurors killed in action, which lay behind an enchanted door in the Department of Mysteries. It was spelled to bring anyone who opened it to several different locations, depending on the need of the opener. A protected, hidden graveyard was among the destinations, where the bones of the fallen could rest without fear of desecration. Also, Voldemort's unholy resurrection using bone, blood and flesh lurked in the minds of many. This place was guarded against such Dark intents.

The day was bright and sunny, an ill contrast to the grim business that occupied all conversation in the Burrow. It seemed that there was just enough time to notify his family, and wait for them to arrive the previous night, before his ceremony began. His coffin was brought out, borne by his cousins. The burden lay heavy on their shoulders, and the few faces that were dry were set in stone.

I stayed in back of the crowd. I'd never particularly liked Longbottom, or been liked by him. He'd fought against Voldemort, and I respected that. I waited to follow the crowd through the chapel and corridors to the graveyard when I felt something jab against my back.

"Make a sound and you're dead," came a low, slightly familiar voice.

I froze, trying to figure out what was going on, and the voice spoke again. "Move slowly. You're going to leave out the back while everyone's lining up."

I hesitated, and a painful curse hit me. It was light, however, and I did nothing more than clench my teeth. It lifted almost immediately.

"Move," the voice hissed. "If I have to kill you here, I will."

"Sloane," I snarled under my breath, moving carefully away from the crowd that was following the coffin and pallbearers through the Ministry's chapel and out to the burial ground.

"None other. And not just me," he hissed. "There are eyes, everywhere. Move."

Given no choice, I began to slowly move toward the doors, praying that someone - anyone - would stop me. But all were too ensconced in their grief to notice, or care if they did. Damn. Sloane had timed this well.

Scowling in frustration, I tensed as we approached the door, but immediately I felt something poke against my throat. The tip of a wand was barely visible. They were wearing invisibility cloaks. Carefully we maneuvered through the door, and I found myself in a long, empty corridor. The door swung shut, and all noise was cut off.

"Don't try anything," hissed a young, but deadly serious voice. I rolled my eyes. The hippie-child was here.

"Midgely," I said smoothly. "Good to see you again. Or not see you, as the case may be." I stared straight ahead, not searching for the eyes under the cloak.

The wand pressed tighter against my throat, and I frowned. "Death Eater," the voice hissed.

"Amateur," I threw back. There was an intake of air, and I smirked. The kid really was green enough to be bothered by that.

A spell hit me, and I gasped slightly. It was localized, but damn, it hurt! I'd almost had enough. If that ponytailed nuisance showed up, I just might -

"That was from me, Malfoy," came a feminine voice to my right.

"Speak of the devil," I said, and moved.

Before I could think, I dropped to the ground, swiping quickly with my hands. I felt the edges of cloth and tugged, hard.

The cloaks shifted, sliding off their owners, and I ripped at them, hard. Midgely and Sloane were revealed, and were frozen for a crucial second in shock, as they faced each other.

I flung the cloaks to the ground, and pulled out my wand, rolling to my feet.

"Freeze," came a cold command. A wand was pointed right at my heart - and there was nothing I could do about it.

Midgely and Sloane surrounded me, and shoved me hard against the wall. I was pinned like an insect, and could do nothing while they searched me, and relieved me of my wand and sword. I still couldn't see Jones, or tell where she was. Gritting my teeth, I glared at them.

"I've been found innocent at trial," I snapped. "You have nothing on me."

"You think so?" asked Midgely, pulling up the sleeve of my shirt roughly. "Death Eater."

The mark, faintly green, glared accusingly from my flesh. The skin around it was still smeared with blood - I'd ripped stitches and not taken the time to repair them.

"What happened here?" asked Sloane, fingers trailing lightly over my bloody skin. Unnerved, I didn't move, not even to shudder with repulsion. I stared straight ahead, trying to ignore what I knew was coming.

Pain flared as Sloane grasped the thread of several stitches at once, and tore viciously. The warmth of blood spilled over my skin.

Pissed, I kicked out with my foot. Sloane gave a high pitched moan as my toe impacted with soft flesh below his belt. Smirking, I grunted only slightly when Midgely slammed his fist into my midsection.

A curse hit me, and I writhed in pain. It had been a long time since I'd been under the Cruciatus.

"Try it again, and you're a dead man," said Sloane, gasping the words out around ragged breaths as he cradled himself, trying to stand up straight.

"Worth it," I commented lightly, grinning as I watched him.

He slammed my head against the wall, several times, and I felt my scalp split under the abuse. Blood seeped into my hair.

Just about fed up, I searched for some way to know where Jones was. They had one over on me, with an invisible guard.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a shoe, as I bent over, laboring for breath. She hadn't draped the cloak properly - her feet were showing slightly. Doubled over, I made my move, lunging forward suddenly, and to the left, throwing myself to the ground and rolling as I grabbed her cloak.

There was a screech as she fell over, having tied the cloak around her neck. I was now dragging her by it. I ripped at the cloak once more, and it came free with the wrenching noise of torn cloth.

Quickly, I whirled the cloth around my own shoulders, crouching low so that it covered me entirely, and holding the rip closed. I moved quickly, knowing that they would come after me, and I was right. Sloane dived at me and barely missed me, but I hurried toward the door, keeping my footsteps light and my breathing low.

I needed my wand and sword back. I opened the door, then quickly shut it, without going through.

All three aurors slumped in defeat.

"Damn it, Jones!" Sloane snapped.

She colored, and said, "Whose idea was this, anyway?"

Sloane didn't take the hint. "Get the cloaks, Johnny."

Midgely blushed furiously and scuttered over to collect the cloth of the invisibility cloaks. He looked ashamed and disappointed, and he stumbled, tripping over the cloth of the cloak, as he tried to pick up the bundle of material. Sloane was carefully going over my wand, and Jones was fingering the metal of the sword when she pulled her hand back with a muffled exclamation.

"What?" asked Sloane irritably.

"Nothing," she said, wiping her hand on her robes. I could see the slight crimson stain left by the cut on her hand. I smiled grimly. First warning.

Jones, taking the cloaks from Midgely with a huff, stormed down the hallway. Sloane and Midgely followed, and I crept quietly behind them. I could hear some of the words the two were exchanging.

As Jones stalked through a door to the left, Midgely and Sloane stopped, and the two kissed deeply.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my snicker. Midgely - yes, but Sloane? Unexpected, to say the least. But everything about the man was contradictory. Why should this be any surprise?

The two broke apart and walked into the office. I followed quickly, barely managing to keep the edges of the cloak from being shut in the door.

"Making out in the halls again, Sloane?" sneered Jones. "Overcome by your hormones?"

I raised a brow. Apparently, all was not quiet on the home front. "Oh, shut up," said Midgely with his characteristic earnestness. I rolled my eyes. This scene was what I would expect from these three.

Carefully, I watched as Sloane and the others preformed Priori Incantatem on my wand, and eventually became bored with the absolute lack of Dark magic that was revealed. As soon as Jones placed my wand on her desk, I took the first opportunity to carefully slide it under the cloak.

The sword, however - it would be very difficult to re-obtain that without arousing suspicion. As the three bickered over who had misplaced my wand, I waited. Eventually, they collected their things, and left the room. Still arguing. And I'd thought the Burrow was full of squabbling.

I followed them through a maze of corridors, and realized that they were making their way to the office of the head of the DMLE. How convenient.

When I was sure of their destination, I went immediately to the men's room, removed the cloak and, after transfiguring and hiding it, used the quickest route possible to reach the DMLE office before them.

I walked in right behind Potter, pulling down my sleeves to hide the blood, and hoping the rest of my slight beating wasn't very noticeable. "I've come to collect some property of mine that was - removed from my possession by several of your deputies," I started off, before Harry could say anything.

"Why is there blood in your hair?" he asked, earning points for perception. I held back a scowl.

Before I had to respond, there was a cursory knock and the door opened. In walked Sloane, Midgely and Jones.

They stopped immediately, seeing me in the office.

"I believe that is mine," I said icily, immediately indicating the sword.

"Return Mr. Malfoy's property," snapped Harry.

"Sir, he had it at the funeral. As Aurors, it is our job -"

"Need I remind you, Ms. Jones, that you are no longer Aurors? You've been returned to your separate offices, and I have received complaints that your work has been somewhat lacking the last few days. Most," he continued, picking up several stray pieces of parchment and glancing at them, "come from the Department of Magical Games and Sports in regards to your particular inattention, Mr. Sloane." Harry stared pointedly at the man, whose face was a combination of thunderous threat and anxious worry.

"Now." Harry's voice snapped through the air like a whip, and Sloane's head dropped. He dropped the sword onto the desk, turned, and left. The others followed, much like chastised dogs.

I picked up the sword and looked at it for a minute. Then I glanced at Harry. "The Department of Magical Games and Sports?"