At What Price? Alternate Scenes

Thank you to my wife and daughter for their understanding, their patience, their appreciation, and their love.

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"MacNair...destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, MacNair. Lord Voldemort will provide..." --Lord Voldemort, Goblet of Fire

Better Victims

Walden MacNair sat at his kitchen table, the Browning 1935 model High Power 9mm pistol lying in pieces on the kitchen table. He wiped the gun oil from his wrinkled hands on an old cloth. He looked at his hands carefully. They were wrinkled and spotted, calloused on the short, stubby fingers and across the palms. "Not nearly so old as you look," he said out loud, as though his hands could hear him.

Walden MacNair had lived a hard life. His parents, horrified at having some "satanist warlock" in the house, had turned him out when he went to study magic at Hogwarts in 1928. In 1939 he was drafted into His Majesty's Royal Marines. The Ministry of Magic said he had somehow, "slipped through the cracks." He often wondered if he wasn't dropped there on purpose. He turned it to his advantage though, he had the skills of a natural hunter and was moved to the sniper division serving "open duty" in France. He had killed fifty-five Nazi officers during the two-week invasion. Following that assignment he had been moved to the Ministry of Intelligence and served in Division Four, the group tasked with sabotage operations behind enemy lines. Twice he was awarded the Medal of Valour by the British Crown and once the Fleur de Lis by the French Government in exile. He hadn't so much cared about the cause as he had simply enjoyed the work.

When Victory in Europe was declared, MacNair had left government service and gone to work for Grindelwald. Unfortunately he had been on the losing side in that conflict, but it had secured him a place in the magical world again. Like many other returning British soldiers and wizards, he took a wife and raised a family. He began working a boring job for the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. He spiced up his routine by occasionally taking on hit jobs that most western governments were too squeamish to do themselves, but had to be done anyway. It kept his skills honed and occasionally gave him an opportunity to kill someone- he liked that part of the job.

MacNair snapped the chamber back down on the mechanism and pulled back. Looking through the chamber he was satisfied to see light at the end. He slid the chamber back forward and snapped the clip in place, then chambered a single round. He set the weapon back into its shoulder holster and hung it on the chair. His left arm began to burn slightly. As he expected, the tattooed mark on the inside of his left arm had turned dark. He pulled on the shoulder holster and slipped his robe on over it, its long sleeves covering the glowing Dark Mark. Placing his right hand on the mark to get a fix on the location, he Apparated.

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MacNair blinked as he looked around. He knew at once where he was, an old mansion beyond the limits of Little Hangleton. He knew that from the outside, Muggles would see only a dilapidated old building. However, the inside was a magnificent old manor. MacNair ran his hands along an oiled wood table as he walked to a pair of double doors with ornate brass handles. Candlelight gave the room a rich warm feeling and color that was in sharp contrast to the flat that MacNair had just come from. He knocked on the double doors.

"Come in, MacNair." The voice was high and nasal but there was no way he would ever question what it asked. He opened the door and entered quickly. The room was plush and comfortable, a warm fire blazed in the hearth, even though it was midsummer. A large silver cauldron hung over the fire, and he could hear a thick liquid bubbling in it. He turned to his right, where a thin man with reptilian green skin and red eyes stood watching him carefully. The snakelike man smiled; it was an evil sort of smile - predatory and malicious.

MacNair knelt before him, kissing the hem of his rich, black robe. "My Lord."

"MacNair, ever have you been faithful to me. Everything I have ever asked of you, you have done well." Voldemort paused dramatically and considered the man kneeling on the floor before him. "Rise MacNair, and kindly take a seat." The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and a tray of drinks appeared, it was supported by a mangy looking house elf. MacNair lifted a glass of blood red wine and handed it to the Dark Lord, then took a pint of dark for himself. MacNair sat in a rather severe chair facing the Dark Lord, who sat on his ornate black and red velvet throne. "MacNair, do you remember what I told you when I returned to power?"

"Yes, my Lord, you said that you would provide me with better victims, jobs worthy of my talents. You have done so my Lord, I am most grateful. Even the average witch or wizard is more rewarding than the most exceptional Muggle businessman or politician." Walden MacNair was a man caught between two worlds, too much magic to be Muggle, too little magic to be respected by all but the most incompetent wizards. He loathed the wizards more, though. He didn't mind being feared as he was by most Muggles, but he couldn't stand being pitied.

Voldemort sipped his wine, reveling the taste of the snake poison that was used to spice it. "Well, I have a new job for you, one that will take all of your considerable skill. This is possibly the most important task I have ever assigned you, and it is also the most difficult." Voldemort looked at his companion appraisingly, noting with satisfaction the hungry gleam in the old man's eyes.

Voldemort continued, "When I was a young man, still in school at Hogwarts, I learned that I was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, a man of immense talent and great vision. I learned to wield his weapon and sought to carry on his work. However, there was one man who was not fooled by my appearance as an upstanding student. That one man kept me from achieving my greatest triumph at the time. Later, he killed Grindelwald. and turned the lives of many upside down, you and I included. Now, he protects the one wizard who can withstand me. The time has come for him to die, MacNair. The time has come for you to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Walden MacNair sat bolt upright. This was a task of monumental proportions. This would challenge him far more than any political assassination had ever done. "My Lord, this is a great honour you bestow upon me." He realized this was a task befitting a mighty wizard. That thought concerned him greatly. "My Lord," he said questioningly, "forgive my impudence, but why not kill him yourself? Killing him would bring you great respect, many would fear you that do not fear you now."

"Are you refusing my request?" The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously as his fingers itched to reach for his wand.

"Never my Lord, I will complete this task for you if you desire it. I merely wondered why you had chosen to do it this way rather than killing him yourself. Wouldn't the revenge be sweeter if it was by your own hand?" MacNair was not overly concerned for his safety yet. The Dark Lord had never questioned his loyalty, not even when he returned two years earlier.

"I have my reasons, Walden MacNair. Your greatest strength as a Death Eater has always been your unquestioning loyalty, do not let that change now."

"My apologies, my Lord." MacNair bowed from his seat after setting the slightly trembling glass on the table next to him.

"It has been a pleasure seeing you again MacNair, it brings consistency to the universe." The Dark Lord sipped at his wine. "You may go now. I know you have work to complete before you set off on tonight's activities."

MacNair didn't even bother to wonder how the Dark Lord knew that he was preparing for an evening job. It didn't matter, he had nothing to hide.

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MacNair dropped the briefcase on the table and popped it open. Quickly he counted the five thousand British pounds within and then tossed the unused gun in top of it. He pulled out his wand and cast several innocuous charms out of it; just enough to cover his tracks in case the Ministry came calling. He missed doing sabotage work; tonight had been a good refresher. The window factory had gone up like so much dry tinder, and the explosion of the gas heaters had been spectacular. He imagined the fire department would have arrived by now, their investigators would pick through the rubble and determine that the diesel powered compressor had ruptured and caught fire, spreading quickly through the wooden shelves and raw materials for window frames. Muggles are so stupid, I could have left my wand there and they still wouldn't get it. He was about to go down the hall for a shower when the presence of a falcon at the window caught his eye.

"Give it here," he said as he opened the window. The bird dropped a black envelope in his hand, then flew away. He opened the letter and read.

Between August 5^th and August 10^th, I want the start of school disrupted.

He carried it to the bathroom and ignited it with his wand as he dropped it into the sink. August tenth, that gives me just over six weeks. Alright then, time to start researching. After a quick shower MacNair headed in to work early. The rising sun found him in the second most extensive wizarding library in all of Britain, second only to Hogwarts. MacNair had his feet propped up on a table, a copy of Hogwarts: A History open in front of him and a copy of Decoding Enchantments and Deciphering Curses lie open on the table next to a parchment scrawled with notes in German.

Lunchtime found MacNair strolling down Knockturn Alley. He turned into Borgin and Burkes, a shop that specialized in all manner of interesting, and in many cases illegal, items. Mr. Borgin looked up looked up from an opal necklace he was cleaning. "Ah, Walden MacNair," his oily voice sounded pleased, the voice of expectant profit. "How can I help you today?"

"Just looking for information today." He dropped a single Galleon on the counter. Borgin snatched it up quickly. "I seem to remember hearing about an item that breaks enchantments and opens secret doors. You wouldn't by chance remember any such thing would you?" MacNair knew very well that if anyone would know, it would be Borgin.

"There's a couple of items that would do it. The Wand of Icklemore is reputed to be able to destroy an enchantment at a touch, provided you know the enchantment. The other option is..." Borgin looked meaningfully at MacNair.

"Depends on how useful your information is, I'm not in the business of giving you easy money, Borgin." Borgin snorted and glared at MacNair.

"Very well," Borgin's voice was sullen. "The keys of Ali will also do what you ask. There are forty keys in all, kept on an unbroken ring of ivory. Each key will destroy a particular type of enchantment except for three of the keys, which all act as skeleton keys and will open any lock or secret door."

"Any idea where the keys are now?"

"That will cost you." MacNair flipped another Galleon over to Borgin, who caught it awkwardly. He smiled with an oily look. "In the late 1960's they were in possession of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, who had them locked in an evidence locker."

"Joseph Weasley was in charge of evidence during that time wasn't he?" MacNair remembered that Joseph Weasley had been most useful to Voldemort at that time. Several powerful Dark Artefacts had come into the possession of the Dark Lord during those years.

"Yes, after the duplicity of Weasley was uncovered MLES did a complete inventory and discovered that over a hundred items that had been collected since the end of the Grindelwald. War were missing." Borgin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he thought. "In 1978 the Longbottoms found them in the possession of our shop, we had just purchased them from a Russian bloke for almost nothing. They confiscated the keys from me, though I suspect they kept them for their own uses. Crouch mentioned the keys being in the possession of Stormosi at the trial when she was sent to Azkaban. That means that they were in the possession of MLES again as of 1982. Evidence records should be able to tell you where they've gone from there."

MacNair turned and headed for the door, "Thanks, Borgin." He strolled back up the street, through Diagon Alley and back to the Ministry offices, all the while a plan forming in his mind. Back in his office he picked up Hogwarts: A History and resumed his reading, scanning the material rapidly. A few more notes and a couple of hours later, MacNair decided to call it a day. It had been almost thirty-six hours since he'd had any sleep and it was starting to take its toll. You're getting old, Walden, he Apparated home.

The next afternoon MacNair contacted an acquaintance after he sent an owl to another friend. "Avery," MacNair spoke into his fire to the head of his acquaintance appeared.

"What do you want, MacNair?" Avery was not particularly happy about talking to this man and his voice conveyed that.

"Not a great deal. I need four Polyjuice Potions, I will supply you with the hairs and pay you the going rate, twenty five galleons each."

"For you MacNair, thirty-five galleons each."

"Twenty galleons, and I forget about that very interesting meeting you had with Minister Fudge the night before Black was exonerated."

"You son of a..."

"Be careful Avery," MacNair interrupted him. "You and I both know that the Master trusts me a great deal more than he does you."

"They take a month," Avery's voice was surly. "I'll have them for you on July thirtieth. I'll need the hairs by the twenty-eighth."

"Thank you Avery," MacNair said with saccharine sweetness, "the Master appreciates your help as well." MacNair saw the flicker of fear pass over Avery's face. Now that he knows it's a mission for the Dark Lord, he'll be far less likely to sabotage it. Normally, MacNair would have gone to Viscol's Viscous Potions for this, but the Dark Lord took a very dim view of using sources outside the Death Eaters for Death Eater business. He felt that it left too many loose ends. "I'll see you on the twenty-eighth." Avery's face disappeared from the fireplace.

Two days later, MacNair was in Arthur Weasley's office discussing a case where a witch in Oxfordshire was using magic to help her win Muggle animal shows by enhancing the appearances of her cats, and crossbreeding them with Kneazles. When the meeting adjourned the representative from Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures left the office. MacNair kicked his feet out, "So, Arthur, how are the kids doing?"

"Doing well MacNair, have you heard from yours yet?" MacNair didn't really care about his own two sons, whom he hadn't spoken to since their mother took them and left in 1958. However, he had led Arthur to believe that he was trying to find his sons. It gave him an excuse to pump Arthur for information about his own children, one of whom was a close friend of Harry Potter.

"No luck yet, can't find their mother either. Although it looks like she may have gone to the U.S. in '61 or '62. Gods only know where they could be. Enough about them, what news of your boys?"

Arthur's face began to beam with pride. "This weekend Molly and I are Apparating to the Salem Witches Institute to meet with Fred and George. We're going to help them celebrate a new contract for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"A new contract for what?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George's company. They develop and sell joke products and gag gifts; fake wands, foods that make you change forms and then back, that kind of thing."

"The boys are a couple of real jokesters, eh?"

"Oh yes, they were forever getting in trouble at Hogwarts." At this MacNair started listening closer, his eyes just a little more intent. Arthur continued on without noticing, "And to hear them tell it, they would have gotten in even more trouble if they hadn't known every secret passage in and around the school. Used to give Filch nightmares, he told me those boys had their own file cabinet full of detention reports and what not."

MacNair grinned, "They sound like my kind of boys, sneaking around and looking for trouble just for the opportunity to pull one over on somebody."

"Oh yes, that's Fred and George alright. I'm really looking forward to seeing them again, I haven't talked to either one in about a month." MacNair responded with a questioning look and nod. "Yeah, they've been in the States trying to establish a business front. Looks like they're going to be coming home soon now that they've concluded their business there."

"Arthur, would you mind introducing me to them when they get back. They sound like great kids." Arthur glowed with pride.

"Of course, Walden."

"Thanks, Arthur. Well, I need to get back to work, so I'll talk to you later. Enjoy your trip."

"Thanks, I will. Take care, Walden"

MacNair spent the next two weeks gathering what information he could about the Keys of Ali, the spells over Hogwarts, and trying to gather information about what items were in the MLES evidence lockers that could be useful. He studied the behaviors and mannerisms of Davy Gudgeon, the man in charge of the evidence who was too trusting for his own good. He was coming back from lunch when an owl arrived in his office. He unrolled the parchment and read the letter from Borgin. It was requesting that he stop by the shop on his way home. He locked his desk, burned the letter in the fire, and checked to make sure his Browning was strapped securely under his shoulder before heading home for the day.

"Ah Mr. MacNair," came the very smooth voice of Borgin as the door to the dark shop closed behind him. With a word and a flick of his wand Borgin locked the door and closed the shutters. MacNair gave him a questioning look. "Mr. MacNair, I have a proposition for you. I was thinking after you left here the other day; you seem to be asking quite a few questions about items that were last known to be in the possession of the Ministry. You wouldn't by chance have access to the MLES evidence lockers, would you?"

MacNair gave Borgin a dangerous look. "No, why?" He hasn't pieced it together, has he? If he has, I may have to kill him, pity that.

"Well, because there is this piece in the MLES lockers that I am looking for. I would be willing to pay well for it, if I could get my hands on it."

"So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to get it for me when you go after the Keys of Ali and the Bane of gah..." Borgin couldn't finish what he was saying because the barrel of a large gun was in his mouth. Borgin followed the line of the gun up the blue-metal barrel, over MacNair's wrinkled and spotted hand, up the coarse gray sleeve, over his wrinkled leathery skin to look into MacNair's flat dark hazel eyes. Borgin had no idea what it was that MacNair had stuck in his mouth, but the look on the wrinkled man's face told him it was dangerous, very dangerous.

"Borgin," MacNair's voice was quiet and threatening. Sweat began beading on Borgin's brow, his teeth clicked on the metal barrel of the gun. "It would be a shame if you knew too much. You know, I've never been any good at Memory Charms, so if I thought you knew too much I'd probably have to do something about it." He clicked off the safety on the large heavy pistol, its sound was ominous in the quiet shop. Slowly he removed the pistol from Borgin's mouth.

Borgin gave MacNair a curiously fearful look. "W-wh-what is that?" MacNair shifted the aim on the gun and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud bang and Borgin flinched. At the same time a ceramic jar full of human fingers blew apart about fifteen feet away. "Ack!" Borgin shouted.

MacNair snapped the gun back against Borgin's head. "It'll do the same thing to the inside of your head if I pull the trigger again." He nodded meaningfully, "Do we understand each other?" Borgin nodded nervously. MacNair snapped the gun back into its holster under his shoulder. Never one to turn down an opportunity though, he spoke. "What is it you're looking for, Borgin?"

"Ah," it was a nervous sort of statement, "a very old item, belongs to an ancient Welsh clan." MacNair leaned against the wall and watched Borgin curiously as he pulled a very old book off of a bookshelf and flipped through it. "Here," he said, "look here." MacNair saw a hand drawn and inked picture of blue and silver pendant. The silver was worked over an enormous sapphire to look like an eye. "The eye of Tal-y-Rhys, grants the wearer the ability to charm with a gaze. You can insert thoughts into people's heads, tell them things without ever speaking. Very powerful item."

"Hmm," MacNair answered noncommittally. He turned and opened the door, "I'll see you round Borgin, take care." He stepped out of the doorway and was roughly bumped into. "Watch where you're going."

"You might do the same," the voice drawled. MacNair looked sharply at the voice's owner. His silver-blonde hair was nearly shoulder length, his features sharp and angular, his eyes gray and calculating, he was the spitting image of his father.

"Excuse me, Master Draco." MacNair eyed him coldly, grinning slightly as he noticed the way Draco bristled at the childish title.

"MacNair, I don't understand why the Master doesn't kill you. You're a Mudblood with so little magic you might as well be Muggle. Maybe I should kill you now and save the Dark Lord the trouble."

"Master Draco, I would give a great deal of money to see what would be left of you after the Dark Lord got done if he thought that you presumed to know his mind. You know how he is about those he thinks have a little too much ambition." Draco had heard the stories, had even seen the results of that suspicion, it wasn't pretty. He shuddered ever so slightly. MacNair laughed at him, then turned and walked away.

As he strode on up the street he breathed a sigh of exasperation. He had been with the Dark Lord longer than any other Death Eater, but he wasn't a member of the inner circle like the Malfoys were. He supposed if he wanted to deal with politicking and back-stabbing he could worm his way in, but he really didn't care to. He didn't care about the cause, the Dark Lord kept him busy with interesting work; that was all he really wanted. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the younger Malfoy enter Borgin and Burkes.

It was a couple of days later, and MacNair was sitting in his office, his feet propped up on his desk and reading through a file. There was a knock at the door. "Come in." The door opened and the balding head of Arthur Weasley poked around the corner.

"Hey Walden, got any plans for Saturday night?"

"Oh, I thought I might go out and hunt down You-Know-Who, make the world safe for wizarding kind, and get the Catholic Church to reverse its stance on magic." His voice was flippant and Arthur laughed. "Nothing that can't wait a couple of days though, why do you ask?"

"Well, I was wondering if you might want to come over for dinner. Fred and George are back in town."

MacNair considered whether or not to accept. He didn't have any plans other than going down to O'Leary's for a dart tournament. On the other hand he wasn't sure he should impose on this joyous little reunion. I need to get that information though. Pragmatism won out over politeness, it was a short battle. "Sure, Arthur, that would be great. Can I bring anything?"

"No, we've got it all. Let's meet here about 4:30, we'll travel by Floo. See you later." Arthur disappeared back down the hall. MacNair decided to go out and get a bottle of wine to bring over. While he was out, the mark on his arm began to burn. Placing his hand over the mark, he Apparated.

"Yes, my Lord."

"MacNair," the Dark Lord sounded unhappy, "how are your plans coming along. Today is the eighteenth of July, I want Dumbledore dead in three weeks, tell me you have good news for me." Voldemort stepped away from MacNair, leaving him looking down at the motionless form of a dark-haired young man. He wondered what had happened, but decided he was better off not asking the Dark Lord to relive whatever had made him that angry.

"Yes my Lord. I have found a source that knows the secret passages in and out of Hogwarts. I have located the Bane of Caesar and the Keys of Ali, those will allow me to pass through the enchantments and wards." The Dark Lord interrupted him.

"When you are done with them, you will bring them to me."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I am going to make this considerably more difficult for you MacNair." Walden blinked but said nothing. "This will be done without casting a single spell. You will not cast the Dark Mark, you will not use the killing curse."

"As you wish my Lord." This was no great inconvenience for him, he routinely killed this way. Voldemort took a deep breath, his lanky frame shuddered with it. He turned back to MacNair, his face more relaxed now.

"MacNair, your unflinching obedience is so refreshing in this world of overly ambitious people. Do me a favor, gather a half dozen other Death Eaters and kill Avery for me."

"Meaning no disrespect my Lord, but is it alright if I wait till the end of the month?"

Voldemort whirled and faced MacNair, his eyes blazing. "I-want-it-done-tomorrow!" He emphasized each word forcefully. "Kill all of them, the whole family. Make sure that everyone knows that it was a Death Eater attack. And make it violent. I am making an example of him. I will assemble the team and you will meet with them here at 8:30 Saturday night."

"Of course my Lord." Shit! He bowed deeply. Voldemort excused him and he Apparated back to the office.

Five o'clock Saturday night found MacNair sitting at the Weasley's dinner table, sighing with contentment at the wonderful flavor of Molly's cooking. He hadn't eaten this well in over thirty years, except when he went to Maggiano's of Diagon Alley. He traded stories of sneaking in and out of places with Fred and George. Him telling stories of the French Resistance during World War Two, they of getting in and out of the kitchens and various teachers offices at Hogwarts. In time they found that they all shared a fondness for Butterbeer, lock picking, and salamanders. About 8:00, he begged off and headed to his rendezvous.

"Okay you lot," his voice sounded strange in his ears, it was the effect of the mask. MacNair looked around nervously; he had never been much of a leader, more of a lone wolf. The six people standing around him were all wearing black robes and black laquered masks. "Standard rules, no survivors except Miles, who comes with me. You two," he indicated a man and woman standing next to each other, "take the back door." He looked around the rest of the group, taking note of the way the rest stood. A medium height wizard stood between two hulking forms, they appeared to be very comfortable in each other's presence. The last appeared to be a young woman who stayed rather near the medium built wizard and fidgeted nervously. Voldemort had hand selected this team to accompany him, he had no idea who any of them were.

"You three will take the front door, make sure no one comes out the upstairs windows either Once you've secured the entry way and living room check the upstairs." The medium height wizard nodded. He pointed at the young witch standing by herself. "You'll come with me through the east wall door, it leads to the den." The trio leader muttered something and his two companions chuckled thickly. He pulled out a charcoal pencil and began to draw on a piece of parchment. He sketched out the layout of the house, with which he was quite familiar. He gave tactical directions to the team and made sure they understood. "Let's go."

A moment later they were all standing in front of the Avery's two-story residence. They spread out to their appointed places. "Okay girl, when I give the word send up the red sparks. Now!" MacNair kicked the door open and leveled his wand. "Crucio!" he shouted as he pointed his wand at a chair in the middle of the room. The young woman sitting in the chair screamed with pain and began to jerk spasmodically. He could feel the presence of his female companion behind him. He turned and yanked her into the house breaking the spell on the girl. She collapsed, weeping with pain. "Bind her, make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

A woman screamed in fright in the kitchen and then another female voice shouted. The screaming stopped. MacNair ran across the room toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two hulking boys on either side of the door, the smaller boy walked through the door confidently. After looking in both directions he sent the two larger boys up the stairs and turned to walk toward the kitchen.

Miles Avery's voice rang through the kitchen, "Avada Kedavra!"

MacNair entered the kitchen, his wand extended, to see the thin young man suddenly grab Miles Avery by the back of his collar as he simultaneously fired a Cruciatus Curse into Elizabeth Avery. He was too late though, the crumpled form of the young man he had sent through the back door lay on the ground. The sounds of scuffling could be heard from upstairs. "Dammit boy," MacNair did nothing to hide his annoyance, "I thought I told you to check the upstairs." He grabbed Avery roughly by the neck, "there are still two people unaccounted for. Your quest for glory could well get your friends killed."

Suddenly there was a shout from the den. MacNair and the young wizard both turned to look toward the voice. The blonde woman that had been hit by the Cruciatus Curse was standing behind the young female Death Eater that MacNair had instructed to bind her. The blonde woman was shorter than her hostage, nearly hidden behind her with the exception of the arm sticking out and holding a wand at her throat. He noted that the girl was standing slightly to the hostage's right, and the bodies were turned away from him to his right. He turned his wand on them. "Give it up girl," MacNair growled.

The girl's wand suddenly snapped forward, "Expelliarmus!" MacNair dodged the force of the hex, letting the arrogant young wizard take it instead, but his wand was still ripped from his hand. With a hand trained by years of experience, he snatched his pistol out its holster under his half-open robe. He squeezed the trigger and in less than a blink of an eye blood burst from the hostage's shoulder. The woman standing behind her took the shot through the upper chest though. She staggered back against the wall trying to raise her wand. MacNair was vaguely aware of Avery's screams as he squeezed the trigger a second and third time sending two more bullets through the woman's chest and into the wall beyond. She slumped to the floor, trailing blood down the wall. The Death Eater she had been holding lay on the ground screaming and crying, holding her shoulder.

MacNair ignored her, though the young wizard rose and started to run to her. MacNair stuck his gun in the other man's chest. "Leave her. She isn't going to bleed to death." Just then the two round shouldered boys clumped down the stairs, dragging two unconscious forms with them. These they threw at their friend's feet.

"Here, boss."

"Building your own support groups within the ranks huh? I think I told you once before that the Dark Lord doesn't like Death Eaters with too much ambition for their own good." The young wizard flinched, confirming his suspicions. "Cast the Imperius Curse on this piece of filth," he kicked Miles Avery, "and have him kill one of his sons." The young wizard did so with no more hesitation than one would have putting on socks. As Avery lifted his wand and pointed it at the whimpering form of his oldest son, his sleeve rode up and exposed the skull and serpent tattoo that marked him as a Death Eater. The masked witch by the door and the two gorilla-like wizards all gasped.

"This is the price of betrayal," MacNair said pointedly, looking at the wizard who had cast the Imperius. He turned now to Avery, "Why don't you tell these fine young Death Eaters why we're doing this to you, Avery."

Avery's face was set with impotent rage as he glared at MacNair. The young wizard who still had control of Avery commanded him, "Speak."

"I told the Minister of Magic," he said mechanically, "that Wormtail had been in the service of the Dark Lord for years. That it had been he who betrayed the Potters."

"Why?"

"I wanted out, the Ministry was going to help me escape to the States. I told them everything I knew." MacNair and the young wizard both swore, fully able to appreciate how much information this could be. It also explained why the Aurors had been so successful in rounding up old Death Eaters in the last couple of weeks. The young wizard levelled his wand and dropped a Cruciatus Curse on Avery, who squirmed on the ground for a full half-minute before finally being released. While this was happening, MacNair walked over and picked up his own wand. He half carried, half dragged the witch he had shot in the shoulder into the kitchen with them.

"Kill him," the young, thin wizard told Avery. With two words, green light shot from the end of Avery's wand and his son slumped to the ground. His brother keened for him and tried to stand up, but one of the heavies punched him hard in the kidney's and dropped him back to his knees. "Now the other one." The scene repeated itself, this time without the keening brother, for both were dead.

"You there," he said to the masked witch standing by the door. "Is she dead?" He indicated the slumped form of Avery's wife.

"No, stunned." Her voice sounded small and frightened.

"Good, bring her over here." The woman stood and cast Mobila Corpus on the stunned form, which stopped in front of Avery and sank to its knees, facing him. MacNair dropped the clip of armor piercing bullets from his gun and cleared the chamber. He then pulled out another, this one filled with hollow point shells designed to leave huge, messy exit wounds. The clip snapped home with an ominous click. He place the gun against the back of Elizabeth Avery's head, "Look at me Miles." Miles Avery looked up with pleading eyes. "This is the price of betrayal, Miles," MacNair squeezed the trigger. Blood and worse erupted from the front of Elizabeth Avery and splattered all over Avery, who shuddered like a ghost had touched him. The others except MacNair all flinched.

He turned to one of the hulking boys, "Do you know the severing charm?"

"Um, yeah," his voice was slightly edgy.

"Good, cut off his left arm at the elbow and leave it on the floor. Leave the wand in his hand." The smaller wizard went down the hall and entered the study. A few minutes later he emerged, a box in his hand.

"Burning anything that might have been incriminating," he said by way of explanation. "And picking up a few items of interest." MacNair nodded, ever your father's son.

MacNair pulled a six inch silver ring from under his cloak. "Everyone into the kitchen," he commanded. They all went, including Avery who was still under the Imperius Curse and could not resist. He draped the hand of the dead wizard over the loop while holding it himself. "Everybody grab on." They did so and MacNair pointed his wand at the ceiling. "MOSMORDRE!" Green light leapt from the wand and at the same time the eight wizards and witches were yanked away to the headquarters of the Dark Lord.

At the Dark Lord's manor they were directed to the rooftop, MacNair knew this meant a ritual was to be performed. He shrugged inwardly, he had little use for the more complex rituals the Dark Lord performed; but he was smart enough to keep it to himself. Moonlight spilled on him as he exited on to the roof. The unconscious form of Avery bumped into him. "Watch where you're walking that thing," he growled over his shoulder at the witch who he had left in charge of Avery's body.

Lord Voldemort was draped in a robe of werewolf fur, it gleamed silver with pools of black in the harsh light of the full moon. Beyond him stood seven other Death Eaters forming a half-circle. "Bring him," the Dark Lord called in his high nasal voice. Avery was thrown to the ground in the middle of the circle, the other six filled out the rest of the circle. "Where is the other?" He shot MacNair a hard look.

"Dead, my Lord. Avery killed him with a curse."

"That is a shame." Voldemort looked down at Avery's crumpled, gore-splattered form. "Avery, you are a great disappointment to me. You have killed one of my newest recruits. You know that I disapprove of my followers killing each other. Now you will pay. Crucio." Avery writhed on the ground in pain, a hoarse scream tearing from his throat. After a full minute that felt much longer, the Dark Lord released him. Voldemort looked up, a grin split his face giving him a sinister look.

"Tonight is a night of great celebration, tonight we welcome the next generation to our ranks. Tonight we initiate five new members. Parkinson, come to me." MacNair watched as the girl he had shot in the shoulder moved forward with a proud determination. Blood was crusted on the front and back of her robe from where the bullet had entered and exited her shoulder.

They weren't even full-fledged Death Eaters, I'm a bloody baby-sitter, MacNair thought to himself bitterly. Pansy knelt on the ground before the Dark Lord. "My Lord, I am your faithful servant. I ask you to put your mark upon me and accept me into your service." Her voice was seductive and smooth.

"Do you truly?"

"Yes, my master."

"Do you truly mean it?"

"Yes, my master." Her voice was perplexed.

"I ask you once more if you truly desire to be my servant? Will you be faithful to me, follow my orders, give me your death should I ask it?"

Pansy pulled herself up proudly though she was on her knees before the Dark Lord. MacNair could see that she was still young and foolish enough to be in love with the idea of the power she thought this would bring her. "I give you all I have my dread Lord. I desire more than anything to be your servant."

"Thrice you have sworn yourself to me. If you break this vow I will know it." He smiled triumphantly. "You cannot lie to me." The other young witch that had accompanied them on the raid suddenly turned and ran towards the stairs. Voldemort's wand rose with a snap, "Avada Kedavra!" Green light shot from the wand and engulfed the young woman who fell and crashed into a stone wall. A palpable silence fell over the assembly. "The Order of the Phoenix is ever vigilant, but I am no fool. I knew there was one among our number, now I know who she is. It is no loss for me, but a great loss to my enemies." He turned his baleful eyes back on Pansy and snarled, "Give me your left arm."

Obediently she extended her arm, palm up. The arm of her black silk robe slid up to expose the alabaster white skin beneath. The Dark Lord took hold of her wrist and slid his finger gently up her arm, making her shiver as his claw raked lightly over the soft skin. The Dark Lord raised his face to the sky, "Lords of Darkness, Lords of Night, witness the binding of this servant to my will. Semper fidelus donec mors mortis." There was a clap of thunder, followed by another, and finally a third that seemed to hang in the air for a long moment. The Dark Lord's wand appeared suddenly in his hand and he pressed it firmly into the yielding skin of Pansy's arm, "Mosmordre!" Pansy clenched her teeth though the pain that was clearly visible on her face. The wand was held against her arm until finally Pansy cried out. She was released and sat for a moment suppressing the shudders of pain that racked her body. Finally she stood and stumbled back to her place in the circle; a fierce pride seemed to wrap around her like a cloak giving her an air like a queen surveying her subjects.

With the same ritual Goyle, Crabbe, and Draco Malfoy were sworn to the Dark Lord's service. More than pleased at the successes he had enjoyed thus far through the evening, he returned his attention to the cowering form of Avery. "You betrayed me Avery. I know what you told the ministry about Wormtail. I know that you betrayed a Death Eater to the Aurors. For that, I will have my due from you." He looked meaningfully at the new recruits. Imperiously, Voldemort pointed to a shadowy corner and spoke a single word, "come." A dark, hunching form detached itself from the darkness and padded towards the circle.

MacNair noted with professional curiosity that the werewolf was a large and powerful specimen. His muscles flowed smoothly under his thick black coat. His amber eyes narrowed as he approached the Dark Lord. "Bite him, but do not kill him," Voldemort commanded the wolf. Hatred burning his eyes, the wolf looked first at his master, then at his prey. He stalked forward. The pitiful form of Avery curled up into a small ball, as though trying to hide from the wolf that eyed him with hunger.

MacNair watched with interest as the wolf stood over the limp form of Avery, the wolf looked like it was waiting for something. It snapped once at Avery who tried to leap away and suddenly the wolf had him, tearing out the back of his thigh with a triumphant howl. The wolf climbed on to the sprawled man's back, blood and drool dripping from his massive muzzle. He bit Avery's shoulder savagely, then the other, then lifted his head to the moon and howled.

Voldemort stepped up next to the wolf and scratched its ears with his long, claw like fingers. The wolf stepped off of Avery and sat facing the Dark Lord. The shape of Avery began to twist and writhe in the moonlight, his shoulders hunching, his legs curling up underneath him, his face stretching and elongating. After several long minutes Avery, a nightmare cross between man and wolf, lay bleeding and torn on the ground whimpering in pain.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Avery, "Stand." Slowly, in obvious pain, Avery stood unsteadily. Voldemort began to walk around Avery in a circle, his wand hanging limply at his side. "Affero vis veras lupus." Silver light began to spill from the wand and morph into runes on the stone surface. "Affero sensus lupus." The moonlight began to coalesce into a cloudy mist around Avery. "Affero imperium lupus." The air became still as Avery and the wolf both raised their muzzles to howl at the moon. "Affero imperium mutatio." The circle was complete. Twice more Voldemort encircled Avery repeating the mantra, the mist became brighter and thicker engulfing the two figures within the circle, concealing them from sight. Avery was howling loudly and fearfully now, the Dark Lord's voice could be heard as well, "Affero luna imperium lupus." The howl was suddenly cut off with a sickeningly wet tearing sound. Blood splattered over the young Death Eaters to MacNair's left, they did not seem to notice.

The mist dissipated to reveal the Dark Lord standing alone in the center of the circle, his hands drenched with blood. At his feet lay the man/wolf body of Avery, its throat torn out. He turned to the dark wolf that was looking at him curiously. He arched his eyebrows, and the wolf sprang across the roof and leapt off. It fell to the ground with a great thud and a yelp of pain. The Dark Lord smiled triumphantly. He extended his wand, "Mutatio Luna." Silver light leapt from the wand and struck the yelping form of the werewolf on the ground twenty-five below, it suddenly reverted to its human form, shuddered once, and lay still.

MacNair spent his Sunday afternoon sitting in the outdoor seats at the Three Broomsticks. He would have preferred to spend it in the smoky rooms of O'Leary's, but he was waiting for Fred and George Weasley. "Hey, Walden," Fred whispered conspiratorially, "got something for you." He handed MacNair a glass of pumpkin juice. Fred and George sat down across from him, each drinking a glass of pumpkin juice as well. "Mixed it with Cinnamon Schnapps, great stuff." MacNair took a long deep drink, then his throat suddenly seized up. Everything went dark and his head felt very heavy on his neck. He could hear Fred and George laughing hysterically, then a puff and a small explosion.

"How about giving us a smile and a wave, Walden?" George asked between great guffaws.

"How about I give you the finger," he put his hand on the table, his middle finger extended like a thin sausage. "And you give me the antidote for this." The boys were still laughing when his head returned to normal a few seconds later.

"Very funny boys," MacNair said sardonically. "What the hell was that?"

"Pumpkin Head Juice, a transfiguring potion that turns your head into a pumpkin for about thirty seconds. Zonko's just placed a regular order for ten cases a month once school starts." Fred and George both looked extremely proud of themselves. MacNair couldn't help laughing, it was a marvelous joke.

"That's excellent boys! Speaking of school, how is it you guys used to get in and out of there so easily?" He sat back in his chair trying to project an image of casual interest, hoping that his body would not betray his true interest. "The caretaker in my day, Carmine Curmudgeon," Fred and George began to laugh uproariously, pumpkin juice spraying from George's nose.

"You can't be serious?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Perfectly, and was he ever. Hated everybody who wasn't in Hufflepuff, especially us Gryffindors." Fred and George both goggled at him. "What?"

George looked a little guilty, "Well, I just thought that," he stuttered for a second, "that you were in Slytherin. What with you having been a, you know..." MacNair gave him a long piercing look. "You know, a Death Eater and all."

"Yes George, I was accused of that. If you go back over the records though, there were never any formal charges filed against me. You want to know why that is? Because there was never anything to charge me with."

"Sorry about that Walden," George apologized.

"Don't worry about it. Although I'm a little surprised you boys knew that. You would have been what, three or four years old then."

"Seventh year class project for Defense against the Dark Arts. Essay on the first rise of You-Know-Who."

"Learn a little family history in your research?" Fred and George both stared at MacNair with stunned looks. "Apparently not. Forget I said anything."

"Yeah, right," said George, making it obvious he was not going to drop it. "What do you know?"

"Why don't you ask your father about it?"

"He hasn't said anything about it in twenty years. We had always heard that most of dad's family was killed in Death Eater raids. Are you telling us that's a lie?" Fred did not sound at all happy about this.

"Depends on how you want to define it. You could say they died at the hands of Death Eaters, though they weren't called Death Eaters then." He took a drink of the Butterbeer he had ordered after recovering from the Pumpkin Head Juice. Fred and George were looking at him very seriously. "Tell you what boys, I haven't been inside Hogwarts in about sixty years or so. You take me on the Fred and George grand tour, and I'll tell you what I know about your family's involvement in the first rise of The Dar...You-Know-Who." The two red-haired young men looked at each other gravely. Then Fred grinned, they had apparently come to an agreement.

"Alright, Walden, it'll take us about half-an-hour to get there, you can talk on the way. How good are you at sneaking?"

"Good enough."

"Okay, this is going to be a little tricky. Fred, what say we go through Madam Malkins and tempt fate, give Filch a chance to catch us?"

"No, Honeydukes. I don't want to tempt Filch."

"C'mon Fred, when was the last time we got the heart-rate up on that old git?"

Fred was suddenly overcome by a devious look. "Do you one better George, let's go through the Civic Center and come out next to Filch's office." George hemmed and hawed, his trepidation clearly evident on his face as Fred poked him. "Dare you, double dog dare you. Chicken." Fred began to make chicken sounds until George punched him and agreed. The troop set off for the Civic Center at the middle of town. Walden began telling the boys about how their grandfather had been an early agent of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Two hours later they emerged fresh from their jaunt about the school. "Tell me boys, has Filch always been so disagreeable?" He felt invigorated, rather like he had after burning the old window factory to the ground. The three men headed back over to the Three Broomsticks for another round of Butterbeers and one-upmanship. MacNair reveled in the comradeship, he hadn't enjoyed himself this much in many years. He was glad it had turned out this way, he would regret having to coerce the information out of the boys and then Obliviating them. He would save the Oblivion Potion in his pocket for Davy Gudgeon.

---------------

"No, Walden, it's 'But I'm carrying a broom that makes strong girls weep/Won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?'" Walden MacNair had just walked in to Davy Gudgeon's small office in the Magical Law Enforcement Service. Davy was in charge of the evidence gathered by MLES officers and he had a pile of it to sort and file before he left to go home.

"Thanks, Davy," Walden MacNair forced himself to sound thankful. Davy Gudgeon was an idiot and Walden really didn't like him; but he was a necessary idiot. "Fred just taught it to me a couple of nights ago, I'm still trying to get it all down." While the statement was true, getting it out without being insulting was taking a great deal of effort.

It was late Friday afternoon, and everybody was heading home for the weekend from the offices of the Ministry of Magic. Davy Gudgeon was still here filing paperwork because MacNair had sent some new evidence down to him an hour before. "Davy, you need a hand carrying all that stuff down to the evidence room?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Any reason this couldn't have waited until Monday morning though?" MacNair lifted a box of dead wolf pups that had been placed under a stasis charm and stacked an experiment journal on top of them.

"I've got to present evidence of illegal species tampering to Minister Fudge first thing Monday morning so we can decide whether or not to press charges. I want all my ducks in a row, you know how Fudge is." Davy picked up a box of scrolls and notes as he nodded his agreement. The two men walked down to a secured room, its door locked with a magical signature that could only be opened by a few people with necessary access. Davy opened the door and MacNair followed him in. Davy levitated his box up and slid it into a slot on a fourth shelf. He turned to MacNair to get his box so it could be put away as well.

"What-, gah," he choked as MacNair suddenly shoved his wand into Davy's open mouth.

"Stupefy." Davy collapsed to the floor. MacNair began to slip farther into the evidence locker. First he went looking for the Keys of Ali Babba. He knew they were in bin 1982-ST1. The bins and shelves were well organized, he silently thanked Joseph Weasley for instituting this project some forty plus years ago. A glint of silver in the next box caught his eye. He opened the box and found a silver necklace with a large sapphire pendant. Over the pendant was a casing of worked silver that looked like an eye, this he slipped into his pocket as well.

Getting to the Bane of Caesar was going to take considerably greater pains. It was a held in a vault of dark artefacts that were sealed with several deadly enchantments. Fortunately though, Joseph Weasley's diary had outlined what they were, he filched this item as well. Using a combination of the Keys of Ali Babba, a partial list of their powers given to him by Borgin, the Weasley Diary, and his own wand he was able to slip past the wards and open the vault.

The sight within was a cornucopia of weapons and baubles, jewelry and clothing, and items bizarre and macabre. He lifted a disembodied hand that held a seven-centimeter black pearl clutched tight in its grip. Below it was the object of his search.

The dagger was unremarkable in appearance. Its fifteen-centimeter blade was untarnished dark silver steel. The grip was a simple linen wrap, though it was undamaged. MacNair lifted the item gingerly and slipped it into the box that now held the keys and the sapphire necklace. He secured the box under his cloak and closed the door to the vault. It was times like this when he realized how glad he was not to be a greedy man, for there were some very tempting items inside the vault. Carefully he closed it and hoped that the enchantments would automatically reset themselves as he walked back over to where Davy lay sprawled on the floor.

He scattered the box of evidence he had brought down and then rapped Davy smartly on the head with it. Next, he reached into his own pocket to pull out a vial. He propped Davy up and gently poured the liquid into the unconscious man's mouth. After a few seconds Davy had swallowed enough that MacNair replaced the vial into his pocket. Next he took out his wand again and stood over Davy, "Enervate!" Quickly he put his wand back in his pocket.

Davy stirred and looked up at him. "Wha-, what happened, Walden?" His eyes were glazed over had a far away look in them.

"You lost control of the box you were putting away," MacNair answered matter-of-factly. It slipped and hit you on top of the head." Davy winced as he put his hand to the top of his head and felt the faintest trace of blood. "Smacked you right good." MacNair pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, "here, put this on it." Davy held the cloth to his head as he was assisted to his feet. MacNair levitated the box shakily and slid it in place, then the two men headed back out to Davy's office so he could clean up and go home. It would be five days before the robbery was discovered.

-------------------------

MacNair sat at his desk twiddling his thumbs. Under normal circumstances he would have taken this day off. In the past he had always taken three days off for any assassination. He felt uncomfortable sitting at his desk going over the plan of attack again and again in his mind. He believed he should be at home going over this plan, but an airtight alibi was far too important in this case. He went over the list of items he had acquired again. Access- Keys of Ali, weapon- Browning 9mm and the knife, Sobriety Potion, Invisibility cloak. His left arm began to burn with an unholy pain, interrupting his thoughts.

"Bloody Hell," he swore softly. Quickly he headed down the hall to the Apparition portal. He blinked out and found himself standing in front of Eyelops Owl Emporium. Placing his hand over his arm, he Apparated again.

The Dark Lord was pacing his study when MacNair was shown in. The room was very warm, a large fire blazing in the fireplace. Voldemort's inhuman eyes fell on MacNair. "You have everything you need?" His voice snapped and growled like an angry dog.

"Yes my Lord, Lucius has graciously agreed to supply me with the necessary information I requested from him." MacNair bowed stiffly, "are there any last minute instructions?"

"As a matter of fact, there are." A small green snake began to slither its way up MacNair's arm. MacNair recognized the snake at once; it was one of Nagini's clutch. "You will take Praenuntia with you, leave her at the site to be found. She will deliver a message to Potter for me." A white scaly finger reached out and stroked the small, poisonous snake. "I want there to be no doubt that this was a Death Eater attack MacNair, but again I must remind you; do not cast any spells. If you do you will die, and I am not yet done with you." Lesser men who were unsure of where they stood in the Dark Lords eyes would have quailed beneath the imperious gaze; MacNair did not.

"As you wish, my Lord." MacNair bowed and left the room.

Evenings at Malfoy Manor could be beautiful affairs. MacNair glanced out the windows to see large gardens of beautiful flowers surrounded by sculpted hedges as he was escorted to Lucius Malfoy's study. The study itself was a classic vision of the thing. Dark woods formed shelves filled with ancient tomes, a large desk dominated the room, and leather upholstered furniture rounded it out. MacNair noted that on one wall hung an old painting of a bride and groom and fabulously wealthy garments. Curiously, the painting was titled "The Fall of the House of Medici." As MacNair closed the doors behind him he asked, "You have it then?"

"It's right here MacNair." Lucius Malfoy pulled a black leather-bound book out of a bookshelf. He opened it and removed a piece of parchment covered with blue writing. "The Keys of Ali are each designed to break a particular type of enchantment. I have copied a list of the keys and their known effects for you."

"Any idea what he wants these for?" MacNair lied to Lucius.

"I'm sure he'll tell you when its time for you to know. Do you have the Keys with you?"

"No, he told me to come to him tonight and he would give me what I needed." He had long ago discovered that when dealing with Lucius Malfoy, the best policy was to lie about everything.

"Are you sure he doesn't need to give you something unpleasant?" Lucius's mouth turned up slightly at the corners. MacNair was quite sure that nothing would please Lucius more than finding out he had been tortured to death. Lucius had been very unhappy when he heard that MacNair had threatened to kill his son.

"No Lucius, just because I'm not as close to him as you are doesn't mean he questions my loyalty. You know what he says, keep your enemies closer."

Anger flashed like lightning in Lucius's dark eyes. "You are dismissed MacNair." MacNair showed himself out of the study, he and Draco exchanged a challenging look as a house elf came to escort him back to the Apparation chamber.

----------------

Fred and George Weasley followed Walden into the smoky confines of O'Leary's, an old pub on London's lower east-side. It was a crowded night, several old men sat around tables in dark corners having heated discussions about various football teams and the merits of their forward lines versus various goalies. A loud and racuous dart tournament was taking place in another corner.

"Why'd we come here instead of the Three Broomsticks?" Fred shouted over the noise.

"Because I can't Apparate when I'm drunk, and I hate to waste a good night's drinking by using a Sobriety Potion." He smiled at Fred. He ordered three stouts and handed them round, "Here boys, time to drink like real men." Fred gagged on the thick brew, but George relished it. The men settled into some serious drinking after walking out of a back room poker game with little more than the shirts on their back. "The advantajjeshz ofvv knowing the barrtender for sho long," MacNair answered when Fred asked how they intended to pay for this.

About one in the morning the three men stumbled out of O'Leary's and staggered up the street toward MacNair's flat. Inside the door of the run down late forties apartment building, Fred and George said their goodnights and Apparated home. Stumbling slightly, MacNair climbed the stairs to the third floor and lurched through the door of his three room flat. Reaching into a box on his mantle he lifted out a small vial full of a thin putrid-yellow liquid. "Bottomshz up." The contents disappeared into his mouth and beyond. He shook his head at the disgusting taste and gasped as he felt the potion coarse through his veins evaporating the alcohol in his blood and expunging it from his stomach. In the bathroom he retched up the effects of the potion.

His vision clear and his balance restored, he began to move about the living area. He slid the silver dagger into a knife sheath at the small of his back. He slipped his shoulder holster into place, his gun was checked one last time and holstered. The ivory ring of small wands he placed into the pocket of his invisibility cloak, which he wrapped round himself. Taking one last look at the list he had gotten from Malfoy, he turned off the lights and disappeared with a pop.

He took a long moment to orient himself in Founders Park in Hogsmeade. The air was cool and filled with the pungent smell of greenery. He breathed deeply taking in the damp air and exhaled slowly, he could almost taste the morning fog that would envelope the ground for miles in every direction. The chirping of crickets filled his ears, but he heard no other movement. Calm and centered, he opened his eyes and looked about.

The Hogsmeade Civic Center building rose before him in all its two story marble elegance. Within were the offices of city administrators, the community theatre, a historical museum, and the one well-hidden entrance to Hogwarts. Across the street stood Honeydukes, a popular sweet shop known far and wide for its excellent selection of wizarding candy. Few knew that it also held an entrance to a fourth floor passage inside the walls of Hogwarts, but MacNair knew. Deciding not to tempt fate too much, he walked across the street.

His eyes were everywhere as he entered the shop. All was quiet, and a simple opening charm had allowed him to slip inside the building and down into the cellar below, where the secret passage was hidden. He descended the steps into the subterranean passage, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils. "Aspicio Nox Noctis," he whispered into the gloomy darkness that surrounded him. Anyone standing in the darkness with him would have thought he was a demon had they seen the red glow of his eyes, but he knew there were none to see him so he was safe. Secure in his ability to see in the darkness that surrounded him, he descended the two hundred sixty seven steps to the passage below. Dust stood thick on the ground, the signs of footprints from his adventure with the twins were clearly visible. He set off at a swift walk for his date with destiny.

As he walked the dagger carried in the small of his back rubbed uncomfortably and began to weigh on his mind. Would it mask his intentions from Dumbledore? Would it conceal his presence from those who sought him? Would in conceal the envy and betrayal in his heart from the target? Would it protect its wielder from the controls of his master? Would it be powerful enough to slay the Dark Lord?

With a start, MacNair realized what he was thinking and stopped walking to clear his head. He looked down and was shocked to see a dagger in his hand. A cobra head sat upon the pommel and silvery runes danced along its black blade. "I am not going to betray the Dark Lord," he said to the blade as he slid it back into its sheath. "I am a faithful servant."

The rising dust in the in dark corridor began to parch his throat. He took a water bottle from his pocket and drank deeply, then again, and again. Still he thirsted for something more, something thicker than water. The thirst was so powerful it was almost a hunger. He desired something that would give him power, would fill his need and leave him sated. A clank of metal on stone snapped him from his reverie.

MacNair looked again to his right hand, this time to see it gripped about the hilt of a sword. A blood-red garnet flashed in its pommel, and gold runes were etched into the gleaming silver surface of the blade. Slowly, with his left hand, he reached around to discover that the sheath was empty. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked the darkness. "You are a dagger," he said to the weapon in his hand, picturing it the way he had first seen it. It morphed in his hand again, to become the simple blade he had stolen from the vault at MLES.

In his mind he pictured the great Scottish Claymore that had hung on his parent's wall when he was a boy. He tried to project that image on to the blade in his hand, but it did nothing. The image of the sword held clearly in his mind, he thought this time of cleaving through the bone and flesh of a prominent banker he had shot some weeks before. There was a great clatter as the heavy blade of the Claymore crashed to the ground. "What are you, truly?" he asked in an awed voice.

Lying in his hand was a simple bronze dagger of ancient make. The hilt was wrapped with strips of thin leather and it bore no markings or decoration of any kind. Truth be known, the blade looked poorly made, though it was wickedly sharp. Feelings of hunger and thirst, of jealousy and rage, of triumph and evil glee passed over him as the blade made itself known to him. "Patience, patience, soon you will feed, soon." The blade seemed to almost sigh with content in his hand, he slid it back into its sheath and continued down the passage.

At the top of the stairs leading into the castle he stopped and removed the Keys of Ali from his pocket. At a word,one of the wands glowed for a moment and the door opened. He peered out, looking from left to right around the corner. There was no sign of anyone. Assured that all of his tools were as they should be, he set off down the fourth floor corridor towards the headmaster's office.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office stood leering at him as he stood before it the ivory ring in his hand. He was shocked when the Keys revealed no alarms on the passage guardian. Seems that Dumbledore has begun to believe his own press about this being the safest place on earth. A grin spread across his wrinkled face. Another wand-key glowed blue and the gargoyle sprang aside. Passing through the doorway, he dropped the keys back into his pocket and took out his gun, affixing a long silencer in place. As though sensing the impending kill, the dagger leapt to his hand and elongated in his grip.

Sword in one hand, gun in the other, he crept along the wall and up the stairs. At the first door he stopped and listened, within all was silent. He stole a glance into the room and saw a pathetic looking red bird standing on a golden perch. It was obviously molting and maybe even dying, for not since the war had he seen anything looking so pathetic that yet lived. He slipped past the door and came to another, this one on the opposite side of the hall and about ten feet beyond the first.

Stopping to listen he could hear soft snoring coming from within. Taking a chance he glanced around the corner. Albus Dumbledore lay stretched out in peaceful repose. His long silvery beard lay atop the covers, his hair splayed out around him and draping off the sides of the bed in long tendrils. The old man's wand sat on a night stand next to his glasses. MacNair was about to retrieve his own wand when he remembered the Dark Lord's admonition against using his own magic during this escapade. With effort, he returned the Bane of Caesar to its original state and slid it into its sheath. The weapon's bloodlust and hunger begging for the life of the figure in the bed.

On catlike feet MacNair crept across the room and lifted the wand, which he dropped to the floor so that it landed on his foot. Watching the old man carefully, he removed the invisibility cloak. He could feel the power of the man's wand under his left boot as it rested at an angle atop his right. The wand gave way under the pressure from his foot with a loud crack, Dumbledore's blue eyes snapped open.

"Wha-?" the old man's voice was raspy, but alert.

"It's over old man. The Dark Lord claims his right. Your time is up."

The old man's blue eyes twinkled and suddenly, he began to chuckle. "Tell your master, he is too late. The next Heir is come and," the old man's eyes went wide with surprise as though something had just been revealed to him, "and she shall take her place before the Dark Lord comes."

"Then I'll kill her too." Dumbledore watched the world slow to agonizing slowness as MacNair's left arm extended, the gun barrel coming closer to his eyes. A flash erupted from the end of it and a speeding ball of black hurtled out of the fire. He watched as, with agonizing slowness, it moved inexorably toward him. A flash of bronze refracting the light of his fireplace caught his eye as he saw MacNair's hand close about the handle of a dagger and begin to move forward. It was slower than the slug of black lead now just centimeters from his head, but no less murderous. Dumbledore closed his eyes just as the bone of his forehead gave way under the bullet's crushing impact. He was aware of a sharp pain in his chest, and suddenly he felt himself being yanked from his own body, out through his chest.

MacNair yanked the blade back from Dumbledore's chest, blood pooled in the wound and dripped from the blade. A wispy, smoke-like substance hung about the blade and the thirst that had been ever present since entering the castle was now gone. MacNair focused on the image of the Claymore, picturing himself cutting the head from Dumbledore's shoulders and forced that image to the dagger. It morphed slowly, seeming to be reluctant to do its master's will now that it was sated. The blade finally stopped cutting when it struck the bed frame.

-------------

The Dark Lord accepted the proffered glass of wine with a gracious smile. "So the head of Dumbledore became the Dark Mark. Very inventive, MacNair." Power flowed through him as he laughed with evil satisfaction. The world lay before him; the one wizard with power enough to stop him was dead. The signs showed no trace of the other Heirs, he was alone until they rose again, and if he watched the signs and killed each of them before they rose to power, he would be virtually immortal. His diabolical laughter filled the grand study and filtered throughout the house.

"Excellent MacNair, with that doddering old fool slain, his alliance will collapse. I will kill Harry Potter before the new moon now that his protector is gone. Hogwarts will be closed with no headmaster. MacNair, you have done us all a great service, I will reward you magnificently!" He laughed again and toasted his old servant.

MacNair sat calmly in his chair watching the Dark Lord celebrate his victory. I am a true and faithful servant, it is right that I should be rewarded. He smiled to himself; the reassuring weight of the dagger strapped to his leg a great comfort as it slumbered peacefully in its sheath.