Thanks to Sophie for the beta work.  Apparently Amerision gave some advice over IRC too, so thanks for that as well.  His story Lost Time is a great piece of work, too, if any readers out there are looking for something else to read, what with my own abysmal update rates .

Anyway, enjoy!

Escape to Darkness:  Chapter 3

Politics are an odd game

Wizengamot Passes New “Pureblood Inheritance Protection Statute”- Daily Prophet Interview with Lucius Malfoy!

In an emergency vote yesterday championed by community leader and suspected Wizengamot member Lucius Malfoy, the Wizengamot passed by an overwhelming margin a new law.  Lucius, who generously gave his time to sit down with the Daily Prophet for an interview about this law, believes it necessary to protect the ‘Legacy of countless Pureblood families’.  (Readers will be familiar with Lucius as he often provides publicized commentary on Wizengamot laws.

“Lucius,” asks reporter Bulstrode, herself the presumptive heir of a Pureblood family, “Just what does this law do for families?”

“An excellent question, Marissa.  This act is designed primarily for the families – the children – of wizards and witches.  It merely puts the Wizengamot in charge of overseeing the turnover of family monies when the patriarch or matriarch of a family dies.  That way there are no unfortunate cases where the money is mishandled by an disgruntled, exiled distant family member.”

DP:  “Why Lucius, was that a dig at the Black scion?  It was well known that he was threatened with removal from the family for years.”

LM:  “There are many unfortunate cases where money can be mishandled and given to an inappropriate inheritor.  The Wizengamot, in its wisdom, seeks to avoid that.”

DP:  “Are you finally coming out and naming yourself as a member of the elusive Wizengamot, Lucius?”

LM:  “Now, now!  You know that ever since the terrorist attacks of the Order of the Phoenix, the Wizengamot has gone underground – I may have heard rumors that not even members know who other members are.  So I’m not saying anything, except this is a wise decision by that august body.

If Lucius is a member of such a body, the Daily Prophet certainly thinks there is no finer man to be appointed.  To the rest of the Wizarding World of Britain, know that your fortunes are safe in the hands of your proper successor, thanks to the Wizengamot.

Gamp Heiress dies just before new Wizengamot law can take place

In an unfortunate turn of events, the legendary spinster Helena Gamp, whose remarkable ancestors advanced the field of Transfiguration to its current state, passed on yesterday in her sleep.

Her death comes just a day before a Wizengamot law would ensure the safety of her fortunes, but Gringott’s representatives let slip that her belongings have already been claimed and distributed.  A goblin from Gringott’s bank, which stored much of the late Gamp’s liquid capital told reporter Marissa Bulstrode, “The Gamp fortune’s already gone, so I told the bloody wizard from the Wizengamot already!  Good day!”

Thankfully, such speedy execution seems to indicate that she had a recent will created and therefore secured the future of her finances herself.

Let her death, however, serve as a warning to others, and tacit proof that the Wizengamot’s wisdom comes not a moment too soon to ensure the future inheritance of other families.

Notably, Lucius Malfoy raised questions about the timing of her death, perhaps implicating a family member with a spy network into the Wizengamot.  “I just want to ensure that there was no foul play by someone who stood to gain something from her death.”

However, her investigators noted that her will was last updated a few weeks before her death, which seems to be by natural causes (the spinster Gamp was 124 years old).  “Despite Mr. Malfoy’s objections, we noticed nothing out of the ordinary,” Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt assured.  Shacklebolt, however, was shortly after the investigation demoted to Junior Auror status, despite his twenty-five years of experience in the department; no reason for the demotion was released to the press.

Her executor, however, proved to be none other than French socialite Henri Desjardins – Witch Weekly subscribers will note him as a contender for this year’s Most Charming Smile Award, though Sirius Black remains the forerunner favorite for the competition.  Mr. Desjardins released only a brief statement.  “Madame Gamp has given me explicit instructions regarding the execution of her will.  It will be an honor to do this last favor for a kind-hearted friend such as her.”

“Who the heck does that damn Frenchie think he is, contending for my award?”  Sirius demanded angrily.  His audience however, was neither sizable nor inexperienced with his vanity.

“There has to be other potential candidates for an award, Sirius.  Otherwise they might as well just call it, ‘The Award We Give To Sirius Black for Existing Another Year’.”  Hermione said wryly.  Sirius’ brow furrowed slightly at her unsympathetic response.

“Yeah well you’re just a Hogwarts drop-out anyway.  Go take up more space in my mansion without giving me anything in return, why don’t you?”  She harrumphed and rolled her eyes, cleaning up all of the plates in the kitchen, excepting Sirius’, which was still full of bacon and ham.

“Oh look Hermione, you graduated to House-Elf status!”  Tonks crowed, patting the other girl on the back.  At her, Hermione merely rolled her eyes.

“Like you’re any better, Tonks.  No half-blood Aurors any more, are there?”  Tonks smirked the slight away.  Hermione sighed slightly, then added, “But at least you have an employed husband.  Hard to believe a pureblood werewolf gets more acceptance than a half-blood in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – even if it is only because they turn a blind eye to creatures that kill Muggle babies.”

Remus strode into the room at just this minute, straightening his robe and sticking a few quills in his pocket in preparation to leave.  He gave his wife a quick nip on the cheek and commented, “I don’t think that’s quite the policy, Hermione.  But I am glad of the bit of tolerance.  You find something positive in every bad situation, I suppose.”

“Tell that to your Muggleborn janitor,” she grumbled under her breath; the others in the room sat in a bit of awkward silence until Sirius broke it.

“Who wants to work, anyway?  So Moony, you invited to that party next weekend?  It’s going to be a big to-do – I’m pretty sure the judges for the Most Charming Smile are all going to be there, so of course I have to go –”

“I really don’t understand what your obsession with that award is, Padfoot.  But no, half-breeds, while marginally employable to fight other dark creatures, are not eligible for socialite get-togethers.”  Remus wolfed down a few slices of toast and an egg as he chatted.

“They aren’t socialite gatherings any more, Moony old boy.  Now they’re official socialite gatherings.  Wizengamot edict to try to keep me out, I think – made them organized by the Ministry.  Didn’t work, since I knew a bloke in the Department of Magical Games who they promoted to the Social Gathering Commission, and he put my name on the list – but the venues are even better now.  Enchanted forests, meadows with unicorns, castle ruins hidden in the midst of Muggle towns – the Ministry has some neat places ferreted away that they had nothing to do with until the Purebloods wanted some wicked parties.  Hogwarts even hosted one, a few years ago.  I pranked Snape and carved three more notches in my old bedpost – it was just like old times!”  Hermione rolled her eyes, while Remus smiled.

“I’m sure it was, Padfoot.”  Sirius nodded enthusiastically.

“It was!  One of the witches was even wearing her old Hogwarts robe – some serious nostalgia there – not to mention kinkiness – let me tell you!”  Hermione finally left the room in disgust, and Remus looked at his watch.

“Three and a half minutes, old dog.  You’re losing your touch.”  Sirius narrowed his brow thoughtfully.

“I know, I thought she’d leave after I pulled out the ‘Most Charming Smile Award’ topic, but you interrupted me.”  Remus shook his head appreciatively at the game and gathered up a final piece of toast and grabbed his briefcase from beside the counter.

“Time to earn some money.  Take care of our babies, dear,” he kissed Tonks once more and left with a dull ‘crack’.

“Now,” Sirius began thoughtfully as he scratched his chin and his eyes rolled up to the left in concentration, “What can I wear that’ll bring me home a set of rich twins I can introduce to the Black Staff?”

***

“Hold still,” Harry chastised, “Your hair still isn’t right.”

“I see it only took a decade in prison to turn you gay.  I managed to last sixty just fine – even when they put a teenage boy in a cell connected to mine by a tunnel.”  Grindelwald, currently disguised as a tanned Italian, smirked as Harry smeared more hair gel on his head and waved his wand about.

“Oh, shut up.  Learn the damn hair charms yourself if you’re going to bitch – I’ve been casting them for you for months now.”  Harry turned away and adjusted his own dress robes.  A deep blue creation that Madam Malkin had been only too happy to custom fit to him; they looked striking with his current guise’s eyes and hair, so the witch said.

“Unlike you, I’m not planning to become a housewitch.  Therefore will not be learning the charms.  So get over here and cast them.”  Harry grudgingly obliged and fixed his hair.

“Why did you pick an alias known for his intricate hair styles if you have no desire to learn the charms to actually assume the identity?”  Grindelwald conjured up a mirror with a snap of his own wand – liberated months ago from a German museum and replaced with a transfigured stick – and eyed his hair from several angles before deeming it acceptable.

“He’s technically one of your assistants, so I assumed that he wouldn’t be around if you weren’t.  And naturally, I was right.”  Effortlessly and between breaths, Grindelwald assumed a thick Italian accent.  “Now, on to business.  I will arrive at the party via Apparition in exactly two minutes. I will greet Dolohov and offer my apologies that the Italian Ambassador is feeling under the weather and asked me to attend in his stead.  As for you, Monsieur Desjardin,” he said, reminding Harry to also assume the French accent of his alias some time before actually needing to be in character.  “I heard tell that a pumpkin outside will become a Portkey in seven minutes, and will then proceed to transform into a carriage suitable for Your Grace.  It will take you to the party, making quite an entrance.  I even matched the color to your robe for this evening.”  Harry nodded, looking suitably impressed.

“A contingency-based transfiguration and locomotion spells.  A bit much for a little party, don’t you think?”  Grindelwald grinned at the implied compliment.

“Not just locomotion spells, but permanent ones at that.  Technically, they’re illegal on anything other than brooms, but I don’t think you’ll have a problem.  Layers of them, too – it took me all morning to finally get it right, but it should be nearly as agile as a broomstick.  Some of us aren’t so caught up in political games that we allow our spellcasting to fall to the wayside.”  Harry rolled his eyes and glanced pointedly at the dark hair on the ruddy Italian, currently in an exaggerated wave.

“And yet you still need me to do your hair.”  Grindelwald let out a “hmph” in reply and with a firm ‘pop’ departed for the party.

***

“It’s the talk of the town, Lucius, I’m just shocked you hadn’t heard!”  The overly large woman had a voice that was far too loud and far too squeaky for a human being.  She had a prodigious amount of make up applied to her round face and was, in the opinion of Lucius Malfoy, a hideous person in every way.

“Wherever young Barty is, I’m certain he’s faring well, madam,” he responded curtly.

“I’m surprised you aren’t more concerned, Lucius…didn’t you know Crouch quite well?”  Another woman, far too much like the first for Lucius’ taste, asked nosily.

“I wouldn’t say I knew him any better than I knew any of Draco’s other instructors when he was at Hogwarts.  Except for Professor Snape, of course, fine teacher that he is.  But no, Barty’s own years at Hogwarts didn’t overlap mine as Severus’ did, so we never became very familiar with each other.  However, Draco commented positively on his instruction, however; my son’s praise doesn’t come easily, so he must be a fine wizard.  As I said before, I’m confident he’s fine, despite having given Britain the slip.”  The old bags had no way of knowing what Lucius had in fact found out about the current whereabouts of the late Barty Crouch.  Nor the sensational circumstances of his being found – the Dark Mark hadn’t been seen in ten years, and it required a personal trip by the Malfoy scion to dispel it before it was spotted by international reporters.  

Not even Lord Voldemort had been privy to that information yet – he was busy, far too busy to be interrupted by such news.  Lucius also had not quite determined the safest way to tell that news to his master.

“I say, Lucius, you ‘aven’t ‘eard a zing?”  A boisterously loud voice with a thick French accent interrupted his thoughts.  Lucius grimaced slightly before he replaced his expressionless mask and turned to the Frenchman.

“On-ree,” he said coldly.  His exagerrated pronunciation was intended to be a poignant reminder of their last meeting just before the death of the Lady Gamp.  Henri, however, did not seem to take note and merely scooped Lucius up in a bear hug, kissing both cheeks.

“Oh, Lucius, it is always such a pleasure to see you!  Anyway, ladies, I ‘ave been ‘earing ze most fantastical rumors about zis Crouch!  Why, everyzing from ze Unspeakables snatching ‘im up for a secret mission to a torrid love affair with a student.  I believe ze last one ‘ad ze young girl’s father taking revenge on ‘er be’alf.”  With a puzzled look, he turned back to Malfoy and said vapidly, “It is simply remarkable zat you ‘ave ‘eard nothing, Lucius, non?”  Lucius’ jaw tightened reflexively, but he replied calmly.

“I merely intended to express that I had not heard anything credible.  The outlandish things you said are so impossible that anyone who knows anything about British society at all would know that they are patently false.  For instance, it is known who Unspeakables are, it’s simply a bit vague as to what exactly they do.  And from what my own son has said in regards to his character, Barty Crouch would never have involved himself in an affair with a student.  And as one of the finest Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers that Hogwarts has ever known, I’m certain that if he had, a student’s father would be hard-pressed to exact revenge.”

“Ah, I suppose you English do not ‘ave ze Veela students, of course.  Zey would be ‘ard for a young professor to resist, I zink…” The ladies’ laughter grated on Lucius’ nerves, and he quickly excused himself to get some refreshments.

At the table, he grabbed an hors d’oeuvre – some sort of oyster, he failed to much pay attention – and ordered a rather potent mixed drink from the bar.

“Lucius, old chap!”  A firm slap on the back caused the senior Malfoy to almost smirk in anticipation.  Here, at least, was someone far too stupid to ever get the leg up on him in political machinations.

“Black.  I’m so pleased you showed up.  After that last ball and the dreadful mix-up with the poisons, no one was quite sure if you’d even pull through, much less attend another.”  Lucius tapped a finger against the corner of his mouth as he mockingly paused for a moment.  “Now, as I recall the results of the investigation, you managed to avoid the poisoned calamari, the Draught of Living Death-spiked goblet went to the witch on your left, and – wasn’t it your dancing partner, hit by a stray spell?  However, the desert that somehow had some Amortentia mixed in finally got to you.  What an odd series of coincidences that night…”  Black’s grin only faded marginally at Lucius’ recollection.

“And I’m sure that if I hadn’t been slipped an antidote – probably by an admirer of my smile, or possibly a date – I’d have been ferreted away to be the center of amusement for a bunch of Death Eaters.  Excuse me, I misspoke; I meant your close friends and political allies.”  Lucius smiled as the bartender called out his “Horntail’s Hug” finished and he downed it in a long draw.

“Ah, Black.  You and your baseless accusations – they really might get you in trouble some day.  If you had any political pull at all, they might already have done so.  But then, what harm can an old mutt do, puttering about, anyway?”  Just then, an intolerable sight that caught his eye.  His expression shifted from poorly concealed contempt to hot fury.

“Excuse me, Black.  I think my wife needs to be excused from unpleasant company.”  Black, too, saw who his cousin was speaking to and his face lit up excitedly.

“I’ve heard that Frenchman’s been racking up notches on his bedpost, Lucius.  You probably want to keep your precious missus away!”  Lucius fought an urge to curse Black, curse Desjardins, and physically grab Narcissa away as he approached them.  Narcissa’s hand was delicately wrapped around Henri’s arm and they were animatedly discussing whatever topic came up in what was apparently a stimulating conversation.

“-And I found zat ward to be ze most out of date.  It seems that Mr. Malfoy’s money didn’t reach all of St. Mungo’s after all, and that particular ward ‘adn’t been remodeled since ze 1920’s.  ‘owever, I personally implemented a few changes and recommended some beautiful plants zat I think will really liven ze place up.”  Henri finally turned his face long enough from his companion to notice that Lucius had come up to them and was giving the Frenchman a murderous glare.

“Oh, Lucius!  I’m so glad you’re ‘ere, I was just discussing your philanthropy with zis gorgeous young lady.  Lucius Malfoy, please meet Ms. Narcissa – I’m sorry, dear, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your last name.”  A dainty smile rose in reply to Henri’s charming grin.

“It’s Malfoy, Henri.  Narcissa Malfoy.”  Henri adapted a surprised look as he eyed Lucius.

“Why Lucius, I never knew you ‘ad a daughter.  Or is zis a niece, per’aps?  ‘ow are you related, my dear?”  At this proclamation, Narcissa let out a throaty laugh.  Lucius remained still, though the hand closest to his wand made slight clenching movements.

“Oh no, Henri, I’m Lucius’ wife.  Do you really think I look quite that young?”  As Henri insisted that the lady must have been a childhood match to the much older Lucius, the senior Malfoy finally snapped and attempted to object.

“That’s –!”  He managed to choke out only a single word before he realized that his throat had seized up for a reason other than his anger.  His hand grabbed his neck as he tried to loosen his collar, but it was no use.

"Lucius?"  Narcissa asked, still clinging to Henri's arm.  She released him and hurried to her husband's side.  "Lucius, are you alright?"  He batted her away as his face turned purple and he clawed at his neck, leaving bloody gashes where his perfectly manicured nails dug in.

His other arm was grabbed by another woman, totally unfamiliar to him.  When she hissed in his ear, however, Lucius – even in his confused, asphyxiating state – recognized the voice of his sister-in-law, Bellatrix.

“You idiot!  Did you take the poison I planted for Sirius?  Who else loves oysters and cheap booze?  Gah, you’re an imbecile!”  In a louder voice that was only slightly disguised, she called out calmly, “Someone take him to St. Mungo’s!”  Narcissa nodded shakily and Apparated both of them away.  

Unfortunately, she was both quite disturbed by the evening’s events and unused to Side-Along Apparation; Lucius’ left foot was splinched and remained on the floor.

Unnoticed, Bellatrix cursed it a few times before transferring the offending limb to the St. Mungo’s cafeteria with a flick of her wand.  She put an innocent expression on her face and walked away.

***

“He’ll be just fine, Mrs. Malfoy – I assure you, he’s getting the best of care.  We did have some trouble reattaching the foot, but the limp should only last a few months, with the proper rehabilitation regimen – potions and exercise, nothing horrendous.”  The Medi-witch delivering this news to a seated and fairly calm Narcissa Malfoy was an older lady, Harry noted from his position down the hall.

“I was hoping we might return to our manor this evening.  Will that be possible?”  She replied coolly.  The nurse smiled condescendingly, conveying her thoughts on that rather clearly.

“We will definitely need to monitor your husband for at least another day, Mrs. Malfoy.  He very nearly died from a potent poison we still haven’t identified.  There could be many side-effects we still aren’t seeing.  And besides, we’ve been keeping him asleep for a few hours now –tomorrow, the Healer will have a better idea when he can be safely released from our care.”  The Medi-witch retreated to an office stacked with paperwork being constantly notated upon by moving quills, leaving Narcissa alone; Harry quickly swept in, immediately conjuring a pot of tea and two fine china cups with a fabricated crest on them.

“Oh my dear Narcissa!”  He said in an extravagantly exaggerated swoon, “I ‘ave been simply beside myself wiz worry about Lucius – ‘ave you ‘eard any news?”

“Thank you, Henri – this is possibly the finest conjured tea I’ve enjoyed in some time.  No, there’s been no firm news, but I’ve been informed that he is recovering and is currently asleep.”  Narcissa politely sipped her tea; for a grieving wife, Harry noted that she did not seem particularly upset.

“Of course, Madame – I am French, ze culinary arts are naturally fascinating to me.  And I do put myself at your service, if you need someone to rattle some cages around ‘ere.  I ‘ave done some volunteering on a few of ze floors ‘ere, so I might be able to throw my weight around, as it were.”  A dashing smile and a pat of his lean stomach accentuated the offer, and Narcissa granted him a slight smile in response.

“Thank you, Henri, but I myself have been a volunteer for many years, most recently on the new children’s floor addition whose creation I sponsored.  Between that and my husband’s well-known name – I don’t know if you noticed, but this is actually one of the Lucius Malfoy wards, ironically enough – I have been attracting quite a bit of attention.  I’m sure everyone involved will do their best to keep me informed.”  The mention of Lucius’ philanthropy grated on Harry’s nerves, but he kept his smile in place and changed to a topic that did not involve her husband.

“Why Narcissa, I didn’t know you enjoyed volunteering ‘ere as well!  My, what a small world, non?  I’ve always thought it particularly rewarding, ‘elping ze patients recover.  Alas, if not for ze demands of managing my family, I might ‘ave continued my schooling to become an ‘ealer myself.”  Here, Narcissa seemed to find a kindred spirit – as Harry expected, volunteering at St. Mungo’s was not a common pastime for many of her station or political affiliations.

“Yes, I know what you mean.  The children are simply wonderful to work with.  Before I started to champion the addition – nearly a decade ago – they were simply interspersed with the other patients on various floors according to their conditions.”  

“Ah yes,” Harry interrupted.  “But from every time I’ve visited ze children’s ward, I zink zey are much ‘appier being all together wiz youngsters zeir own age; besides, ze ‘ealers can simply Apparate to ze new ward, so zey would receive care that is just as good.”  Narcissa graced him with another broader smile as he seemed to understand her feelings.

“Exactly, Henri – you wouldn’t believe how much the Healers resisted the idea at first, claiming that the additional Apparations would put undue stress on them.” Narcissa rolled her eyes, even after all this time growing agitated by the pettiness of the professional wizards and witches.

“Oh, I’ve seen my share of ridiculous notions from ‘ealers.  Anyway, Narcissa, as much as I’m enjoying zis lovely conversation – and I do ‘ope you’ll agree to ‘ave lunch wiz me ze next time we are boz ‘ere volunteering – I zink you should get some rest.  Zey are keeping ‘im asleep anyway, so you might as well do ze same.  After such an exciting party, I zink I need some rest as well, non?”  Narcissa nodded and Harry hugged her tightly and pasted light kisses on each of her cheeks.

“Of course, Henri.  It is certainly getting late, after all, and Lucius will be here in the morning. I look forward to lunch with you sometime this next week, then.”  She Apparated home and Harry was about to follow when he heard a commotion in the hall.

A large, rough looking wizard was being levitated through the hall by an entourage of Healers and Medi-witches.  They were frantically discussing the problems with his health in hushed voices so as not to attract undue attention, but Harry only caught a few words.

“…Macnair again…some kind of venom, we aren’t sure…”

“Reverse…general antivenom infusion…keep him sedated…monitor every few hours…”

It was enough for Harry.  Macnair was on the list of Death Eaters he knew personally, from the Buckbeak incident in his time at Hogwarts.

Two Death Eaters in close proximity was too tempting of a target, even if they were in a hospital and he had not planned their deaths.

***

It took just over an hour of sneaking around Disillusioned before Harry was able to formulate a solid plan that he considered good enough.

This particular wing of St. Mungo’s was located in a different building than the original hospital, as it was a Malfoy-financed addition specializing in poisonings.  As Harry explored the particulars of it, he found that it was originally an outdated Muggle building.  And as he looked in the basement, he saw that the electronic wiring had not been torn out when the wizards moved in.

“Typical of them, to keep this Muggle crap despite not knowing what it is.”  Harry murmured to himself in his own voice and accent, having ditched the ‘Henri’ persona upon Narcissa’s departure.  Of course, Harry knew only a little about Muggle electronics as well, and certainly not enough to cause them to start a fire.

A quick Apparition outside to Muggle London, however, provided him with matches – the Aurors investigating would no doubt search for evidence of magical fire, especially Fiendfyre, which had been Harry’s first idea; he doubted their familiarity with Muggle matches, however, particularly Draco Malfoy’s familiarity – and so it was only a few minutes later that he had located the area underneath Macnair’s and Malfoy’s rooms and had liberally soaked the wooden boards in lighter fluid.

Disillusioned once more, he sneaked up the stairs to the hospital proper, past the Medi-witch station, and into Macnair’s room.  He picked up the man’s wand from the bedside table and put it conveniently out of reach, should he wake up despite the sedatives.

“Tergeo,” Harry muttered under his breath, siphoning off some of the lighter fluid that had leaked onto his right hand and smearing it on Macnair’s gown.  There was no response from the unconscious patient, so Harry crept back out of the room and went over to Malfoy’s room a few doors down; he waited outside as he heard voices from inside the room.

“Yes, I’m sure she was quite concerned; by all appearances, the Malfoys genuinely care for each other – somewhat odd, considering their station, but not unheard of.  If you knew Narcissa, though, you’d find that she does have a soft spot in her, despite the rather…frigid exterior she exhibits.  I remember a long-term patient here, a little boy with blonde hair and a toothy grin – no family, or at least none that ever come to see him.  She always visits him, treats him very well.  I even heard talk that she might considered adopting him, but apparently Lucius put his foot down at that.  But yes, she…can be a nice woman, if you get on the right side of her.”  This voice was male, Harry noted, and seemed to speak with some kind of authority over the other – probably the Healer, Harry deduced.

“Well I suppose, but she seemed awfully demanding towards me; wanting constant updates, wanting to take him home immediately.  I told her we needed to keep him here over night, and that he was sedated anyway.  She finally left, though.”

“Well, we don’t strictly need to keep him sedated any more – go ahead and administer the reversal potion – three vials of Everard’s Easy Knock-Out Reverser – and we’ll see how he sleeps on his own.  He’ll probably be a bit queasy when he wakes up, but we need to make sure he can keep some food down before we release him tomorrow, and the faster we get the sedative out of his system, the milder the nausea will be tomorrow morning.”  Harry almost cursed aloud – a non-sedated Malfoy would be more difficult to deal with than an unconscious one.  He heard the Healer Apparate away, followed after a minute by the Medi-witch, and then bustled downstairs.

There was a moment’s hesitation when it actually came time for him to do it.  After all, his revenge had so far been rather limited, with no chance of bystander casualties.  He’d taken precautions by having the Death Eaters with the most risk, as well as this being a rather isolated unit of St. Mungo’s; there was still a chance of innocents dying, however.

“Well,” Harry said to no one in particular as he looked at the innocent match in his hand.  “In for a knut and all that.”

He struck the match and tossed it up against the ceiling of the basement underneath Macnair; it lit up easily, and he hoped it would work its way to the inside of the Death Eater’s room quick enough.

He was striking the match to start Malfoy’s room aflame as well when an alarm went off – far sooner than he had expected.  He flubbed the lighting of the first two matches, but finally got one lit and ignited the planks underneath Malfoy’s room.  Certain not to leave any evidence of magic near the source of the fire, Harry crept up the stairs before Apparating back to his and Grindelwald’s warehouse home.

***

A battery of cosmetic charms later found him once more at the Ministry Ball, which was winding down after an exciting night for the socialites.

“Assistant Ambassador, I don’t believe we’ve met – Henri Desjardins, at your service.”  Harry said to Grindelwald, who was occupying himself at the refreshment table, casually sipping a blue punch.

“Monsieur Desjardins, a pleasure.  I’ve heard much about you tonight; your emergence upon the social scene of London has made quite the impression on many of the guests here.  I’m only sorry that the Ambassador couldn’t be here tonight himself to meet you.”  This was a chastisement from Grindelwald, one that would no doubt be repeated in a more obvious manner once they had some privacy – Harry needed to keep a low profile for awhile, perhaps spend some time as the Italian ambassador.  He had every intention of keeping a low profile, but would be doing so volunteering at St. Mungo’s with a certain Lady Malfoy, not attending boring meetings at the Ministry.

“Indeed, I look forward to zat meeting, ‘owever distant it may be.  I’ve ‘eard several rumors myself about ‘im – perhaps we could trade a bit of gossip when we meet.”  Changing the subject, Harry said, “Quite ze bit of excitement tonight at ze ball.  Lucius ‘ad a bad oyster – you know ‘ow oysters and brandy mix, of course.  I went and visited ‘im at ze ‘ospital, just to be sure ‘e was alright.  ‘e was stable, but ze poison…put ‘im in a lot of ‘ot water.  I’m not sure if zings will cool down.  Anozzer patient zere, a Monsieur MacNair – ‘e was in ‘ot water too.  It would be such a shame, if zose fine gentlemen were to…go up in smoke.”  Grindelwald’s eyes flared for a second – Harry had always before consulted with the other man and meticulously planned his every move.  He knew Grindelwald would be upset and worried that Harry’s plan was too abrupt and might reveal them.

“Indeed.  Well, Monsieur, if you’ll excuse me I believe that the party is wrapping itself up, and I should be going home, old man that I am.  A pleasant evening to you.”  The message in Grindelwald’s eyes was clear:  Get home immediately, without arousing suspicion.

Harry intended to do just that.  A problem, however, caught his eye.

He had known even before the Lucius incident that Bellatrix Lestrange was somewhere in the crowd, probably even in disguise.  She had revealed herself then, but he had not had a chance to keep track of her.  Finally, Harry spotted her, smiling coyly as she stood next to Sirius Black.  Harry gritted his teeth, but he knew he could not leave anyone to the tender mercies of Bellatrix.

The younger man who stood next to Sirius convinced him even further.  He was slightly chubby, wearing a nervous smile and seeming not to quite belong anywhere.  Almost unchanged from when Harry knew him a decade and more ago, Neville Longbottom was someone else he would not let Bellatrix get her claws in.  Without a plan, or indeed so much as an inkling of how he could help without revealing himself, he steered towards Sirius and Neville.

“So I guess the only thing left to discuss is which two of you are coming to the Black family manor, and who’s heading off to the Longbottom estate tonight, right ladies?”  Harry had to fight a snort at Sirius’ pathetic pickup line.  He subtly jabbed his wand and cast a simple detection charm – anything more complicated would have involved waving his wand – and all three of the “ladies” lit up like a flashlight.  Definitely all kinds of magic making them look like that, then – but was it harmless cosmetic charms or complex transfigurations hiding Death Eaters behind cute faces?

“Looks like I get twins tonight, Neville!  Have fun, mate, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.  But if you think of something I might not, write it down and I’ll try it out, eh?”  The ladies laughed and even Neville grinned at Sirius’ joke.  Then he tossed back a shot of amber liquid and made to grab an oyster.  Harry was almost next to him now, and a quick glance at Bellatrix’s face told him that he needed to act quickly.

“Black – defiling good French food, are you?”  He called spitefully.  Sirius paused right before slurping the oyster and glared at him.

“Oi, Frenchie!  Shouldn’t you be practicing your smile in the mirror or something?  I hear you’re trying to dethrone me as reigning champion of the Smile, so you’d better practice.”  Sirius smirked as the three ladies laughed and even Neville smiled, and made a move to slurp down the oyster he held in his face.

It was decision time, and Harry had only a few options to save Sirius’ life – especially since he’d already burnt down the area of St. Mungo’s capable of helping him should he ingest the same poison Malfoy did.

So Harry hit him, square in the jaw.

The oyster went flying all over Bellatrix’s gown, and Sirius himself collapsed on the ground, hitting one of the pair of twins in the face.  They scattered, and even Bellatrix left, sensing that her opportunity to kill either Sirius or Neville had passed.

“See if you can win zat award now, pretty boy,” Harry said haughtily, glancing at a wide-eyed Neville who was backing away.

By the time a red-faced and hopping mad Sirius Black had regained his bearings, he had learned that Henri Desjardins had already retrieved his jacket and Apparated home, so he settled for swearing revenge and going home himself, minus the set of twins he had been hoping to snare.