The Second War

Chapter 1

The Manor of Malfoy

From what the visitor could see as he entered the mansion, there had been many changes over the past few weeks. The entrance hall, usually polished to a dazzling perfection, held a large amount of dust, giving the quite false impression to visitors that it was a room not used often. The visitor looked to his left, the entrance to the main living room where the couple that lived here made it seem as if they lived an entirely normal and beneficial lifestyle for good and worthy wizards of good name. He looked to his right, where he saw the smallest of the many dining rooms that the family of this manor used, most of them mainly for good impression.

Finally, the visitor looked forward. On both sides of a hallway, two flights of stairs led up to a magnificent upstairs covered in large amounts of dark mahogany wood and green paint. But the visitor's eyes were focused on the hallway, a long corridor with many candelabras and portraits of past wizards with blonde hair, pale skin and grey eyes. As was the rest of the house, this hallway was drenched with the colours of Salazar Slytherin: green and silver. The entirety of the hallway was covered in emerald granite, with wide silver beams supporting the ceiling and silver beams on the basement ceilings beneath the feet of the visitor.

Crimson streaks littered the marble and tarnished the immaculate manor: blood.

The visitor took a lengthy whiff in the manner of a Dementor. Murder, thought the visitor excitedly, as he examined the walls; he looked down to the floor, past his black cloak, to check if the same blood that littered the walls and floors had spoiled his robes. They did not make robes like this anymore.

The blood did not look as if it had been in the entrance hall, but only the hallway. The hallway led to a small garden that held, as the cloaked visitor could tell, many deadly magical plants as well as far worse things. He raised his left arm, a wooden stick protruding from beneath the robes.

"Scourgify," said the visitor; his voice was high and streaming with wickedness. The voice echoed off the floor, ceiling, and walls, producing a far from pleasant effect.

The walls and floors frothed with pink bubbles, which disappeared after a minute. The walls and floors were once again their magnificent form of green. He glanced downwards onto the floor again; a face, bright as the moon, looked back at him, his snake-like nostrils widening, his red pupils glistening from beyond the shadow of the hood.

The reverberation ended; once again, the silence seemed impenetrable. However, it lasted only a minute.

Suddenly, the visitor could hear a slow steady rhythm of footsteps; he recognised the pattern of the footfall. Malfoys never walked faster than they needed to.

The steps neared and the two who had been walking stepped down the right wing of stairs, their eyes on the visitor. A teenage boy and a woman, both with pale skin and light-blonde hair, stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"My Lord," said the woman, and she prostrated herself. The teenage boy did the same, although more urgently.

"Narcissa," said the visitor. He looked at the woman. "Draco." The visitor looked at the boy. "Well, your son has indeed grown much better than I might have imagined, or his father would have even considered. Particularly with such blood on your side, Narcissa, like that Sirius Black, I thought young Malfoy might have picked up on one of your family's less desirable traits."

Narcissa grimaced, not at all up to making a good impression.

"Well, Bellatrix was his cousin, and see how well she turned out? She is one of my most faithful servants. Naturally, I wouldn't let her serve there in Azkaban one moment after Dumbledore had come and saved the day. She nearly got the boy, as I'm sure the Daily Prophet has mentioned of his heroics."

Draco looked at the visitor uncertainly.

"Lord Voldemort," said Draco. "Where is my father?"

"Of course," said Voldemort. "We mustn't let Draco not know what has been happening to his father. Lucius is, at present, leading a group of Death Eaters from Azkaban and one other, I believe, who had been sent to Azkaban for threatening to use an Unforgivable Curse at Hogwarts when Umbridge had been teaching."

"She hated Potter," said Draco.

"Naturally, that's a strength that we have," said Voldemort, "our detestation of those of impure blood."

"Let's make ourselves comfortable," said Narcissa, displeased with Draco's frankness with the most feared sorcerer in a hundred years. She didn't take Voldemort to the living room that had been on their left at the entrance hall. Instead, Narcissa led Voldemort down many passageways until they had reached a lift, on the second floor of the basements. Voldemort saw what appeared to be a portrait of a tall, muscular man with long, greyish-blonde and the coldest eyes anyone had ever seen; the man wore a sleek green cloak and a pair of black boots.

"It's Septillion the Second," said Narcissa. "Fourth in a line descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, but not from his favourite son. He chose your ancestor, as his heir instead, didn't he, my Lord? His daughter was a useless piece of garbage to be wedded off to a good wizarding family."

"Yes," said Voldemort, "and there would be too many heirs, wouldn't you agree? If he had named all of his sons and descendants heirs to Slytherin, there would have been a war between the Slytherins and the Malfoys."

"Of course," said Narcissa, as she brushed the side of Septillion the Second's oil sideburns, "who, outside of our lines and the Death Eaters, knows still that the Malfoys are related to Slytherin himself, and his daughter?"

The painting swung open; Voldemort noticed a wink from the painting to Narcissa.

"This should benefit us," said Voldemort.

Weapons of the Dark Arts covered the entirety of the walls of the living room; many forms of staffs, scythes and swords covered the right hand side of the room. Silver covered the floor, but much of the floor was located in the centre of the room; a large portion of the room had no surface to walk on. From what Voldemort could tell, there was a large amount of movement from when they had entered the room.

"Devil's Snare," said Draco. "On the floor down there...take a wrong step, hope you know a basic Illumination Charm."

They sat down at a mahogany sofa, which had plush green cushions.

"So where is Lucius now?"

"Narcissa," said Voldemort, looking pleased to talk to her at last. "Your husband, Lucius, will be with us very soon. It's only the matter of an Anti-Apparition Jinx. It wears off after a couple of weeks."

"How long has it been since he broke out?"

"Nearly a month by now," said Voldemort. "It must have been twenty-six days."

"Twenty-six?"

"Yes, Draco," said Voldemort. "Anti-Apparition is different every time depending on the wizard. They have some good Charmers in Azkaban, don't they Narcissa?"

"I suppose," said Narcissa. She looked at a mirror behind her. Someone had placed it facedown on an emerald end table. She brushed her hair back with both of her arms and she picked up the mirror, turned it over, and screeched. The mirror dropped, crashed to the floor, and broke into a thousand glittering pieces.

"What's wrong?"

Draco had rushed to Narcissa's side. His eye caught a huge shard of the mirror, but he did not scream.

"There's nothing wrong with the mirror," said Draco. "You look perfect."

"It's cursed," she said. "I'm cursed."

"A Boggart's View mirror," said Voldemort. "Those are very rare. You see, a person who looks into it while it is still whole will see his or her worst fear in it. What did you see, Narcissa?"

"I looked like a hag," said Narcissa with a shudder.

Voldemort smiled nastily. "You see," continued Voldemort. "Her worst fear is looking something like a hag."

"I remember when we had a Boggart," said Draco. "It turned into a mirror for her." He frowned. "She nearly went out the window. Now she has her own mirror."

"What's that noise?" Narcissa said and suddenly turned white.

"What noise?" Draco looked around, mostly upwards. He smiled as he looked back at her frightful face. "You're acting peculiar, mother."

"There's a mouse in here!"

"It is no matter," said Voldemort. "It's only the Animagi."

"There's Animagi here?"

"Just one," said Voldemort. "Wormtail, reveal yourself!"

Suddenly a man rose from behind the sofa. His shabby black trench coat smelled of dust, and upset Narcissa, who started to cough.

"Ah, my not-so-faithful servant," said Voldemort. Wormtail bowed. "Where are the plans I was stupid enough to trust you with?"

"Right here," said Wormtail excitedly, seeming not to notice the insults. He handed a long roll of parchment to Voldemort with his left arm; Voldemort, in turn, grabbed Wormtail's arm and pressed his finger against a mark on his wrist. Wormtail gasped and dropped the parchment.

"Well, my Death Eaters will be here soon enough," said Voldemort. "Their welcome at the hideout has been well worn out." No sooner had he said this than black-robed Death Eaters began Apparating to the room, looking dishevelled. Presumably, they had lost touch with society and had lost the need to remain neat.

"How lovely to be with family," said a female Death Eater. She hugged Narcissa, who had gotten out of her seat. "It is so good to see you again, Narcissa. I've had to take care of these idiots until they could Apparate again. Of course, I had the choice as to whether I wanted to stay with the Dark Lord after he had saved me from being taken to Azkaban, being his most loyal servant... instead this lousy rat stayed with the Dark Lord--!" Wormtail looked away from Bellatrix and Narcissa, quite heartbroken.

"Narcissa," said a Death Eater with a drawling inflection. "Draco, I trust you are both in good health...having not been in Azkaban, I'd say you're under excellent care, instead of being treated like dogs in that prison."

"Father," said Draco with a note of annoyance. "You've been long."

"Well, I am not exactly trusted anymore," said Lucius. "How has it been that you are no longer of such a prosperous family?"

"I got turned into a slug by Potter and his Army," said Draco.

"Army? What Army?"

"Dumbledore's Army," said Draco spitefully, his eyes wandering along the floor. "He's got an army of students who have been trained in Defence. And Snape still is on our side." He smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he tried punishing Potter when we were about to fight," said Draco. "He hates Potter and his sidekicks."

"Tried," said Lucius, very much alarmed.

"Well McGonagall intervened," said Draco much slower. "Gave his house 300 points or something..."

"We'll see about that," said Lucius. "This year they have come out with a new prototype for a broom - it's not even out of the factory yet, nor will it be in the next year. The Firebolt: SE, or Special Edition. I've had the chance to read about it in that Which Broomstick? Newsletter they put out; I have had lots of free time to do nothing but look out for my only son." He seemed to have a note of disappointment when he said this. "Naturally, I have, under your uncle's name, purchased this Firebolt: SE and it will be arriving by August. Not that you deserve it, considering your poor performance, which has at least been consistent every year." Draco grimaced distastefully. "Hopefully, you shall bring pride back to the Malfoy family name - at least for mine and Octavius's sakes."

Lucius's brother, Octavius Malfoy, usually put out extravagant sums of money for his nephew because he himself didn't have children, and thought of himself as an ideal uncle. Malfoy would concur as he got some splendid gifts from him.

"Ah, now that we are comfortable," said Voldemort as he watched the uncomfortable Death Eaters shift on their feet as Voldemort said this (one follower sniggered unpleasantly), "we shall discuss the plans for this mission. As we have failed to retrieve the prophecy, I have come to the understanding that my Death Eaters could not defeat a group of fifth and fourth year students with standard Defence training, while my Death Eaters have the knowledge of such curses as Avada Kedavra and Crucio."

A stout man rose from his seat.

"What do you want, Crabbe?" said Voldemort. "If you have nothing to say, sit down."

"My Lord," said Lucius, rising to his feet, "we have a message for you." Voldemort looked at Crabbe unconcernedly. "Sit down, Crabbe! My Lord, we have heard of a design that we could put to use." Voldemort's gaze turned towards Lucius, but only for a moment.

"Really? If you won't sit down - CRUCIO!" Crabbe flailed on the ground, his back arched dangerously high in the air, his voice echoing in the living chamber; within the room, there was a loud rumbling from within the cavity in the ground underneath their feet. Voldemort looked back towards Lucius. "Well, explain."

"I know it is a long way off," said Lucius. "Nevertheless, my plan is to, on August 22nd of next year, to enter Wembley Stadium in London, and eliminate this band called U2, for the greater good of our people."

"They perform for wizards and Muggles," said Mulciber. "But they are wizards... disgraceful, though, they love Muggles and are doing so much to save the Muggles in third world countries."

"I see," said Voldemort. "So we'll eliminate them?"

"Yes," said Lucius. "The opportunity is too great to let get away. This is our chance to begin a war that the Wizarding World has never dreamed of... total war. If we were to show ourselves to the world as whom we are, and we were to threaten them with terrorism, the Muggles would have no choice but to go to war against that blasted Ministry. Once weakened, and without the muggle trash and everything, the stage will be set for a war between us and the Ministry's many foolish wizards."

"I see the benefits of such a plan," said Voldemort. "Wembley Stadium is located in an aeroplane hangar, am I correct?"

"Yes," said Lucius, "why does that matter?"

"It's no matter," said Voldemort. "When can I expect you to have the specifics of the plan?"

"In less than ten days," said Lucius. "But we cannot be sure until about two months before the concert."

"Well, prepare suitable clothes for such an occasion," said Voldemort. "I don't think the cloaks we wear are going to be suitable there, yet you might find some Muggle clothing that might suit you." Draco sniggered as he thought of Crabbe and his father wearing the punk clothing that he usually saw Muggle teens wearing.

"Isn't that what we want to accomplish?"

"No, Mulciber, we want them to be hit by surprise. All of the greatest events in our time were done in secret, and not made obvious. A lot of people like this band, I hear, but an assassination by wizards...it will prompt a war like no other. This is only the beginning; the beginning of a time when Lord Voldemort and his minions shall rule the Earth and shall exterminate the Muggle-loving trash that populates our world."

Many of the Death Eaters smiled. If there was a first thing they wanted, it had to be a war, and power. Maybe later on, thought Draco, I will have my own slaves...perhaps Harry Potter himself.

Later that night, he dreamed of sending Harry to work in the forest to feed some Devil's Snare. Harry protested but was dragged by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who were also leading Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley to their own cruel fates.

* * *

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who had faced Voldemort four times and lived, sat on the very doorstep he had been deposited nearly fifteen years ago, the day after Halloween. He lived on 4 Privet Drive because this was the place where his mother's blood resided. The ancient blood magic that had been used to keep him safe remained as strong today at his relatives' home as it had the day it was put on him so many years ago.

It was a hot summer day, and most of the neighbours were inside their houses. Some of the teenage boys, including his cousin, Dudley, were hanging out, probably smoking or wrestling with some five year olds.

Suddenly, Harry felt his insides go cold. The air around him grew still and nothing seemed to be happening anywhere in the Muggle world. Harry remembered having a similar sensation in his stomach when the Dementors had glided onto him and his cousin. Why would the Dementors come into Little Whinging?

What's happening?

CRACK! Harry knew what that was... apparition... but why the unpleasantness? CRACK! There was someone here, and they were bringing friends. Harry got up, listening for more, and pressed his body against the hydrangea bush; he jumped behind it, almost hitting the windowsill over it.

CRACK! Three people had just Apparated into his quiet neighbourhood where nothing ever happened.

CRACK! This was the final straw for Harry; he took out his wand, straightened his body out and peered through the hydrangeas, careful not to make a sound in the all too quiet surroundings.

"What did you expect?" asked a familiar voice. "The man knows what he's doing."

Harry distinctly heard a loud scoff.

"The man knows what he's doing?" asked another more familiar voice.

"I know how to do time spells," said the first familiar voice. "Time-Freezing is a highly refined craft and what I have done is one of the most powerful ones; I heard Dumbledore himself was quite into doing time magic when he was a student."

"Too bad you can't use it when you try to tame dragons," said the second familiar voice. "You wouldn't have all those scars."

"You can't tame dragons, you fool," said the first voice.

"Listen, I've got a date with Fleur tonight," said a new voice, but still familiar. "Concert, some new band..."

"So? You just want everyone to know?" asked the second voice.

"No, I'd only like this to be as quick as possible, after Snape delivers his news," said the third voice. "Hey, didn't Dumbledore say Harry'd be here?"

"Only because you are the closest thing to a straight rock star that she will ever know that hasn't taken the Mickey," said the first voice. "Harry might be hiding. Probably figured we were deranged murderers out for his blood..."

Harry suddenly realized how stupid he was to still be hiding in the bushes when the Weasleys were waiting for him to come out. At the same time, he didn't want to reveal he had been hiding from them in fear of them being the same deranged murderers Charlie mentioned.

Fred glared eerily at Harry as he jumped out of the bushes. Charlie and Bill had taken out their wands and George was clutching something behind his back that Harry could not see. Nor did he have any time to postulate a theory about it.

Instead, Harry asked, "What are you doing here?"