The Potter Conspiracy

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Chapter Fifteen – Kaboom

October 13, 1995 – Witch’s Secret Beauty Salon, near Diagon Alley

Augusta Longbottom entered the premises of her favorite beauty supply store, intent on replenishing her stock of anti-aging cream.  She had visited this store once per week for years on end, and was a close friend of the proprietress, Martha Mapplethorpe.  She had been warned by Amelia Bones that Voldemort was truly back, and though she took Bones’ warning seriously, she refused to be bullied into ceasing one of the few social outings that gave her pleasure.

For the most part, Augusta Longbottom only left her home for Wizengamot business.  She was descended from one of the “old families” on both sides, and was currently occupying the Longbottom seat until Neville reached the age of 25.  Her impeccable pedigree and no-nonsense demeanor gave her many allies among the old families, and she had nearly succeeded in preventing Dumbledore’s ouster as Chief Warlock.  It was her bloc of allies that represented the most powerful check on Lucius Malfoy’s radical pureblood ideology.

But today was one of those rare occasions where she need not stand on ceremony.  She was just a woman in need of make-up and female companionship, like any other aging widow.

“Lady Longbottom, what a pleasure,” smiled Martha Mapplethorpe as Augusta entered her store.  Martha was a plump, middle-aged woman whose easy smile kept her in the center of wizarding gossip.  “What can I do for you today?”

“Good morning, Martha,” the austere pureblood matriarch replied, her face softening slightly.  “I am in need of your splendid anti-aging cream, dear.”

Lady Longbottom removed her vulture hat and set it on the counter.  She seated herself primly in one of the high-backed stools that Martha kept on hand for gabby clientele.

“Well, I’ve got plenty of that for you, dearie,” Martha smiled, “but I want you to try something while you’re here.  It’s a new Italian cream for age spots that we just got in two days ago.  Let me see…”

Augusta smiled as Martha checked her shelves behind the counter.  She was probably the only person whom Augusta would allow to call her “dearie.”  Even Neville would hesitate to be so familiar with her, despite his annoying habit of calling her ‘gran.’

“Ah, I’ve got it,” exclaimed Martha, and came around the counter to show off her wares.  She handed a small cream-colored jar to Lady Longbottom, who held it up to the light for examination.

Augusta popped open the jar to inspect its contents, and was surprised when a burst of hot liquid struck the side of her face.  She looked at the jar in confusion, but saw nothing more than a white, viscous substance.  Turning back to Martha with a question on her lips, she looked down and was stunned to see her friend lying on the floor with a red, gaping wound in her neck.  Her blood was flowing freely onto the polished white stone of the floor.

Speechless with shock, Augusta Longbottom looked up from her friend’s terrified face and found herself face-to-face with a masked Death Eater.  Her eyes traveled to the tip of his wand, and the last thing she ever saw was a flash of green light.

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Belial’s Club for Gentlemen, London

“Here’s to our newfound alliance,” smiled Lucius Malfoy, toasting the elderly man across the table from him.

“Aye,” replied Tiberius Ogden, raising his glass as well.  “I’m very pleased that you will support me in this matter, Lucius.  I was worried that your opposition to Dumbledore was turning you even more radical.”

“Never,” smiled Lucius.  “I am merely a pragmatist, my dear Tiberius.  It is no secret that I felt Dumbledore had too many responsibilities.  He was simply spread too thin.  We will be able to govern more effectively without him.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Ogden replied, still somewhat wary of the man sitting across from him.

Lucius Malfoy had invited him to lunch at Belial’s in order to discuss an upcoming proposal to allow imported Chinese potions to be sold in the British Isles.  Malfoy’s acquiescence made Ogden suspicious, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Not too thoroughly, at least.

Of all the members of the Wizengamot, Ogden and his family were the most business-oriented.  They had made their fortune selling “Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey” and similar alcoholic drinks, and they had a hand in many of wizarding Britain’s business enterprises.  Ogden cared little for pureblood politics, preferring to concentrate on those things that could enrich him and his friends.  He and his family were very influential, and Malfoy couldn’t predict how they would react to the coming changes.  The Ogden family represented too great a risk to his plans.

Their meeting today was taking place at Belial’s, a “gentlemen’s club” that specialized in fine dining and even finer female company.  Members of upper-crust pureblood society could dine with their peers, safe from the contamination of inferior bloodlines and the disapproval of their wives.  Though none of the “escorts” needed improvement, Belial’s clientele often brought with them hairs of female celebrities or otherwise untouchable beauties.

Lucius tipped back his glass and drained the remainder of his brandy.  “I do so love this new French Armagnac; it’s got quite a kick to it, don’t you think?”

“It does at that,” replied Ogden, shivering a little after finishing his own glass.  “It’s a little bitter for my tastes, but I’m not quite the drinker I was in my youth,” Ogden smiled, a reminiscent glaze coming over his eyes.

“Lucius,” he said garrulously, “have I ever told you about the time that me and the lads got snockered on muggle vodka and snuck into the Hufflepuff girls’ dorms?  You see, in those days…”

For the next twenty minutes Ogden regaled Malfoy with tales of his youthful debauchery, most of which were clearly embellished.  But Lucius nodded and chuckled in all the right places, willing to indulge the man in what would likely be the last story he ever told.  The poison in his bloodstream worked slowly, but in less than six hours his old heart would seize up and stop beating.

Truthfully, Lucius wished to delay his return to Malfoy Manor as long as possible.  When he returned, he would likely find himself housing ten more of his Death Eater “colleagues,” including his deranged sister-in-law.  The crazy bitch was like a rabid animal even before his Lord was vanquished.  Who knew what 14 years in Azkaban would do to her?

Lucius let his eye rove over the available girls as Ogden droned on about some imaginary exploit with a veela.  Every conceivable fetish could be satisfied by the girls lounging throughout the room.

I think I’m in the mood for Asian today, he mused distractedly.

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Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Diagon Alley

Griselda Marchbanks waited patiently at one of the tables outside Fortescue’s in Diagon Alley.  She was to be meeting with a representative of the Bulgarian Magical Testing Authority in a few minutes.  She thought it odd that her Bulgarian counterpart would want to meet at an ice cream shop, but she supposed that Fortescue’s was something of a British delicacy for foreign visitors.

As an influential member of the Wizengamot, Madam Marchbanks had no financial or political reasons to work at the Ministry, but that did not stop her from serving as the Chief Magical Examiner in Britain.  In fact, she considered it her civic duty.  She cared deeply about the education of wizarding Britain’s youth, and in her 155 years she had tested nearly the entire population.  She was an institution in magical Britain, and held quite a lot of influence in the Wizengamot.

Seated at her table, Marchbanks eyed the empty Ollivander’s Wand Shop next door with some apprehension.  She knew in her heart that Ollivander, one of her many friends, was almost certainly dead.  Amelia Bones had warned her two days ago about the return of Lord Voldemort, and that she needed to take precautions with her security.  She was only meeting with this unknown wizard because the request had come through the Bulgarian Ministry and they were meeting in a public place.  She felt safe surrounded by so many people.

An approaching shadow captured Marchbanks’ attention.  A young, good-looking man of perhaps 30 approached her table.  He smiled down at her for a moment, then tapped his wand lightly on his chest.

Madam Marchbanks, who had just begun to return the young man’s smile, gaped as the man dispelled his glamour to reveal black Death Eater robes and a skull-like mask.

“Wha—,” she began, but never finished her sentence.  The Death Eater’s invisible companion shot a point-blank severing spell at her neck, and her head rolled cleanly from her shoulders and onto the ground.  Those at nearby tables suddenly found themselves sprayed with thick arterial blood.

Passersby stared dumbly at the scene for a second, and then there was a lone scream.  People began fleeing in every direction, no one having the courage to challenge the murderers in their midst.

The Death Eater and his invisible companion turned toward Fortescue’s and unleashed a torrent of fiendfyre, heedless of the people inside.  They maintained the spell for thirty seconds, unchallenged by any Aurors or spectators, until the ice cream shop was a raging inferno.  Those inside would not have had enough warning to protect themselves or to extinguish the fire.  Devilish-looking snakes and dragons were forming out of the blaze, threatening to spread to nearby buildings and burn Diagon Alley to the ground.

Two Aurors on duty near Gringotts finally ran toward the scene, shouting and shooting stunners haphazardly in the direction of the lone Death Eater they could see.  The masked Death Eater smirked once at them, then apparated away.  His invisible companion shot off a Dark Mark and then disappeared by portkey, leaving the green skull to hover menacingly over the chaos and destruction in Diagon Alley.

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Ministry of Magic, 3rd floor corridor

Arthur Weasley knocked on the door to Rufus Scrimgeour’s office and waited for his secretary to unseal the magical door.  As the Head Auror, Scrimgeour’s office was one of the most secure rooms in the Ministry.  No one could enter the outer reception area without being admitted by Scrimgeour’s secretary, and Scrimgeour’s actual office lay behind a password-protected door.

As Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division, Arthur submitted weekly reports to Scrimgeour about the latest attempts at muggle baiting and illegal charms.  Today he could report that they were close to apprehending the perpetrator behind a string of attacks on muggle public bathrooms.  Someone had charmed dozens of public toilets to spew their contents upwards when they were flushed.  The unfortunate muggles would usually be hit in the face by a geyser of foul water.

Hearing no response from within the office, the Weasley patriarch tried the door handle on the off chance that it was unlocked.  To his surprise, the door swung open.  Entering cautiously, he looked around the outer office and found it empty.  Scrimgeour’s secretary was not at her desk, but Scrimgeour’s office door was hanging open slightly.

Weighing whether he should interrupt whatever Scrimgeour was doing, Arthur approached the open door and peered in.  He could see very little within the room without entering it.  He heard the sound of rustling paper, but no voices.

“Rufus?” he called out hesitantly.  “Are you in there?”

There was no response from inside.

Something isn’t right, Arthur thought warily, drawing his wand.  He was all-too-aware of the dangerous elements within the Ministry.  Though he wasn’t much of a fighter, neither was he a coward.

“Rufus?” he asked again, very loudly.  “Are you alright in there?”

Growing alarmed at the silence, Arthur debated whether he should approach one of the Aurors in the offices next door.  He didn’t want to look like a paranoid fool if nothing was amiss, but he wasn’t too keen on entering Scrimgeour’s office by himself.  Something just didn’t feel right to him.

The decision was taken out of his hands when the door beside him suddenly exploded off its hinges, connecting with Arthur and sending him careening to the floor of the outer office.

“Protego!” he screamed, instinctively raising a shield despite lying dazed on his back.  It saved his life.  A strong severing curse ricocheted off his shield and hit the ceiling.

“Reducto!” Arthur returned, but his target was disillusioned and the spell was wide of the mark.

Backpedaling quickly toward the exit, Arthur was unprepared for the onslaught of silent spell fire that erupted from his right.  He blocked a blasting curse, but was unable to evade the follow-up spell.

He felt a sudden pressure in his head and everything went black.

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Ministry of Magic, outside the DMLE Office

Amelia Bones hurried out of her office, Junior Auror Brendan Mockridge in tow as her security.  Brendan was the nephew of Cuthbert Mockridge, the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office and one of Bones’ important allies in the Ministry.  She and Mockridge had just received reports of fiendfyre and the Dark Mark in Diagon Alley, and she wanted to see the scene for herself.

So it begins, thought Amelia in dread as she strode quickly toward the elevator on her floor.  The Dark Lord has finally announced his return.

For the past few days she and Croaker had been working feverishly behind the scenes, trying to prepare for the coming conflict.  Bones had personally warned the likely enemies of the Dark Lord, and three of her most trusted Junior Aurors were warning the families of muggleborns.  Senior Aurors Proudfoot and Savage had copied the DMLE’s files and placed time-sensitive devices that would incinerate the originals in case of invasion.

While Croaker worried over safe houses and the situation with Harry Potter, his personal assistant prepared special portkeys that could be used to remove the most precious and dangerous artifacts in the Department of Mysteries.  Unlike other departments, the DoM could be virtually locked down, but Croaker was taking no chances.

He had even proposed assassinating the imprisoned Death Eaters as a precaution, but such an operation created insurmountable legal obstacles for them.  There would be a record of whoever visited the prison to dispatch the Death Eaters, and Bones was unwilling to sacrifice the reputation of a valuable Auror at this point.  Her years as an administrator made her accustomed to playing by the rules.

On top of everything else, she and Croaker had to decide who could be trusted within their own departments.  Almost everyone was theoretically opposed to Voldemort, but if the Ministry were taken over through political means, it would be harder to judge what people might do.

Overall, it was a very precarious situation, and they both blamed Dumbledore for it.

As Amelia approached the elevator doors, flanked by Mockridge on her right, her sense of danger suddenly flared.

It was too quiet in the corridor.  There was no one else present, and none of the noise typical of this part of the Ministry.

“Wait,” she commanded, holding up her hand to stop Mockridge and drawing her wand.  “Something isn’t—,” she began, but was stopped short as spell fire erupted from both sides of the elevator.

His attention on Bones, Mockridge was caught unawares as a vicious slicing curse impacted his upper torso and neck.  He fell like a stone, his carotid artery severed and spurting blood wildly on to the smooth stone of the hallway.

Bones stared in horror, but had no time to render aid to her fallen colleague.  A nasty-looking purple spell forced her to throw up a hasty shield.  It deflected at the last possible second.

“Bloody hell,” Bones muttered, dropping to the ground and backing away as two slicing curses flew over her.  There were clearly two attackers, and both were invisible.

Acting on instincts that took years to hone, Bones moved her wand in a wide arc, launching a deluge of blue paint at her invisible attackers.  At the end of the movement she muttered and tapped herself on the head, making herself just as invisible as they were.

One of the attackers was able to dodge the paint and stay on the offensive, but his partner was forced to raise a protego to avoid the paint.  Bones was now aware of his position.  She dodged three recklessly aimed curses and sent a chain of vicious offensive spells at the first attacker, hoping one of them would hit its mark.

Her final ‘confringo’ did.

The blasting curse battered down the man’s shield, and she heard a muted scream as it connected.  

His disillusionment faded and she saw a masked Death Eater flicker into existence.  He had been hit in the stomach by her blaster, and there was now a gaping and bloody hole in his midsection.  The Death Eater, young by the sound of him, whimpered and tried to hold in his intestines, no longer focused on the fight.  He ripped off his mask, and Bones noted distractedly that it was Phillip Nott, a young man who had failed out of the Auror Academy over a year ago.

Bones’ attack revealed her location to the other attacker, so she darted quickly to one wall and flattened her back against it as two curses sailed past her.  She was breathing heavily, and took a second to take stock of her situation.  One opponent was down but not totally out of the fight, and the other was still disillusioned.  This could get tricky.

Her brief respite was ended when a powerful bludgeoner sped directly at her.  She raised a strong shield and cursed herself for forgetting about her breathing.  She was panting like a race horse, and her attacker must have heard her.

She knelt in the center of the hallway, ready to move quickly, and fired a chain of blasting spells at the area surrounding the elevator.

One of them was deflected by a shield, and Bones prepared to launch a more precise volley when she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her left arm and shoulder.

She stared in confusion as her arm skittered down the corridor away from her, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Her disillusionment faded and Bones became visible to her attackers.  Shock was the only thing that saved her life, as she slid to the floor and stared at the stump of her left arm in disbelief.  It was gushing blood, but curiously, there was no pain.  She barely noticed the spells that passed through the space she just occupied.

That came from behind me, she thought in despair, now outnumbered and badly wounded.

Bones fought through the shock that was threatening to immobilize her, and realized that her situation was desperate.  She needed to cauterize her arm, or she would bleed to death within a minute.

There was nothing else for it.  Bones stood on shaking legs, turned, and ran at the invisible attacker who had ambushed her from behind.  There were Auror offices further down the corridor, and he was in her way.

Bones screamed like a banshee and let loose an uninterrupted barrage of ‘confringo’ blasters, desperately hoping that she would score a hit.  She zigged and zagged through the corridor, both to avoid potential curses and because she couldn’t see straight.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A killing curse flew at Bones from a mere six feet away, but she sidestepped it and returned the strongest blaster she could manage.  It impacted the wall harmlessly, but she was grimly satisfied to see an explosion of blood come out of thin air and a broken body materialize directly in front of her.  Her attacker had dodged her curse, only to step directly into the path of a blasting curse launched by his partner.  His chest was now a red ruin.

Bones sprinted over the Death Eater’s body, her legs wobbly and her head dizzy from blood loss.  She threw herself against the first door she came to, her weight slamming it open, but not before a slicing curse caught her in the small of her back.  She screamed in pain and fell through the open door.

Is this the end? Bones wondered, lying on her back in a room she recognized hazily as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office.  She flicked her wand at the door and it slammed shut and locked.

She looked down at her pitiful stump of an arm and hoped she wasn’t too late.  She moved her wand erratically over the gaping wound, muttering a battlefield congealing spell that she had never had the misfortune to need before now.  When she was finished, she gritted her death and jabbed her wand at the wound, where it emitted a bright torch of flame that instantly cauterized her arm.

Bones moaned in agony and fell back against the floor, where she mercifully blacked out.  Her last thought before she lost consciousness was ‘I hope Susan’s going to be alright without me.’

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Bones Manor, Front Lawn

“Remember, Harry, concentrate.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time, Tonks.”

Harry closed his eyes and visualized a spot five feet to the right of Tonks, willing himself to appear there.  Tonks was giving him a crash course in apparition, and the morning had been full of mishaps.

After two hours of explanation and reading, Harry’s first attempt at apparition had yielded a bizarre splinch.  He had left behind both legs below the knee and landed in an ungainly heap on the ground, much to Tonks’ amusement.

She had been less amused at a later attempt, where Harry’s concentration wandered because of her voice and he apparated right on top of her, knocking both of them to the ground in a suggestive position.  She had ‘accidentally’ kneed him in the groin while disentangling herself.

They were practicing outdoors on the expansive front lawn of Bones Manor for two reasons.  First, because the open space made apparition easier and less dangerous.  Second, because Madam Bones was growing tired of Harry’s practice sessions destroying her dueling room.  After a couple dozen of Harry’s over-powered blasting curses, her training dummies and stone blocks were practically useless.

A loud pop echoed through the beautiful outdoors of Bones Manor, and Harry reappeared next to Tonks, just as he had planned.

“Ha!” Harry whooped.  “That’s three in a row, Tonks.  Now you have to teach me how to control the fire whip spell.”

Hedwig, who had been swooping to and fro across the grounds, barked at her master’s elation and flew to a tree branch to watch the antics of the wizards.

Tonks rolled her eyes.  “Whatever, Harry—we’ll do that one later.  What is it with you and that spell, anyway?  Are you some sort of pyro?”

Harry shrugged.  “Everything’s cooler when you add fire.”

Tonks snorted.  “Right.  Well, before you starting lighting things on fire, you need to learn some of the more useful offensive spells.  Yesterday you mastered confringo and reducto; today you’re going to master percutio and abrumpo.  Then you’re going to block my spells with the ‘fortus aegis’ shield we practiced yesterday.”

“Is that all?” Harry retorted.  “I thought you were supposed to be challenging me, Tonks.”

“Laugh now, boy hero—tomorrow you have to do everything non-verbally.”

Harry sighed.  Despite it being only his third day of training, they were working at a breakneck pace.  It helped that he was learning quickly and seemed to have inexhaustible reserves of energy.  His training in the Room of Requirement was paying off, despite the fact that his magic had been bound at the time.  His offensive spells were brutally powerful, even if they lacked finesse, and he had mastered the ‘fortus aegis’ shield in just one day.  It was stronger than a standard protego, and blocked physical objects as well as spells.

“Percutio, then?” Harry asked.  “What do you want me to pierce?”

Tonks eyed their surroundings thoughtfully for a moment, then conjured a large block of wood.

“Knock yourself out, Harry.  If you can pierce that, all you need to worry about is technique.”

Harry nodded and muttered ‘percutio,’ thrusting his wand viciously at the block of wood.

THWAP!

Despite its size, the block wobbled slightly as a dime-sized hole appeared in its surface.

Tonks walked around it and whistled, admiring the hole that exited the block in the rear, its diameter the same size as the hole in the front.

“Well, it looks like this one isn’t going to give you trouble, Harry,” she said.  “But how will you do throwing that little beam at a moving target?  Death Eaters won’t be standing still, and it’s not easy to fling a lethal curse at another human being.”

She drew her wand and sent a stunner at him, which he dodged artfully.

“C’mon, Harry,” she grinned, “I’ll use the ‘fortus’ shield so you won’t hurt me.  Give me your best shot, luv.”

“Famous last words, Tonks,” said Harry, taking up her challenge.  He lifted his wand and launched three successive piercing curses at her, each bouncing harmlessly off Tonks’ shield.

“Is that all you’ve got, Harry?” Tonks taunted.  “I bet your little Indian girlfriend could do better than that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Harry blushed, and focused more intently on embarrassing Tonks.

His next round of spells actually pushed her back despite the shield, and she raised a curious eyebrow at him.

“No?  Seems to me that other communication mirror went missing, didn’t it?  Do you two discuss the weather?  Do I need to give you ‘the talk,’ Harry?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her.  “If you’re trying to piss me off, Tonks, it’s working.”

The first two spells of his next volley were off target, but the third one wasn’t.  The livid orange light traveled right at Tonks, where it impacted her shield—and traveled right through it.

Tonks had a split second’s notice as her shield buckled, and she fell to her left to avoid the dangerous beam of light.

She was too late.  The piercing spell met her right arm at the biceps and traveled straight through, leaving a small smoking hole in its wake.

“Shite,” Tonks muttered, staring in surprise at the blood that was trickling out of her arm and onto her camouflage trousers.

Harry was rooted to the spot, horrified at having nearly killed Tonks.

She hissed in pain as she waved her wand over the wound, which woke Harry from his stupor.  He ran to her position.

“Tonks!”  he yelled, kneeling beside her in the grass.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t think it would go through like that!  Are you alright?”

“Shhh—shut up a second, Harry,” said Tonks, who waved her wand over the wound yet again, and then closed her eyes as if meditating.

When she opened her eyes, she seemed to be much calmer.  She smiled wanly at him, but Harry was still unnerved at the amount of blood draining down her arm.  “It’s alright, Harry.  That’ll hold till I get to a healer, and it helps to be a metamorph.”

“Are you sure, Tonks?” Harry asked anxiously.  “Seriously, I’m sorry.  I got mad at you, and I almost killed you with that spell.”

“Really, Harry, it’s alright.  Comes with the territory.  But I guess we know not to practice that spell with live targets any more.  Cor, that was some piercing spell; I’ve never seen one blast through a fortus like that.”

Tonks got to her feet and vanished the blood that had been running down her arm.  “Look at my bloody camo, though, you wanker.  Cleaning spells don’t work that well on blood!”

Harry, finally reassured, grinned and shrugged at her.  “Comes with the territory, Tonks.  Plus the blood will help you blend in during a real battle.”

“Cheeky bugger,” Tonks muttered, and gave him a light slap on the cheek.

“Right.  Well, this will be fine for another hour, so I want to see what your ‘abrumpo’ can do.  Back in position, cadet!” she barked, the authority of her tone diminished by her pink hair and bloody clothes.

Harry sighed and returned to his earlier position.

Tonks pointed to the conjured block of wood.  “Same drill, Harry.  Remember that ‘abrumpo’ is more dangerous than ‘diffindo,’ so don’t go using it to slice tomatoes.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Harry replied, and whispered the curse as he slashed his wand diagonally through the air.  

Wood chips hurtled in every direction as a wide, jagged line appeared on the stump.  It reached three inches into the wood at its deepest point.

Tonks walked over to the stump and examined it closely.  She came away shaking her head.  “You may not know how to fight yet, Harry, but bloody hell if you don’t pack a wallop.”

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An hour later Harry had finally satisfied Tonks of his mastery of piercing and slashing hexes.  They were about to move on to practicing the ‘fortus aegis’ shield while she tossed stunners at him, but Tonks’ Auror badge suddenly vibrated.

She took it out of her robes and looked at it closely, then frowned.

“They’re calling in all available Aurors, Harry.  Something big must be happening.  It looks like you’re on your own for awhile; I need to go.”

“What about your arm?” Harry asked, still worried that he had seriously wounded Tonks.

“Flesh wound,” she smirked, shooing him away with her hands.  “I’ll be fine.  You better get inside just in case someone has a go at the wards.  It would take forever to get through them, but better safe than sorry.”

“Right,” said Harry, “be careful out there.”  Despite her constant teasing of him, Harry was growing attached to Tonks.

“You bet,” Tonks smiled, and jogged quickly toward the edge of the wards a hundred meters away.  Harry watched her go a little wistfully, wishing that he could go with her and find out what was going on.

He lingered for a moment in her absence, taking time to admire his surroundings and breathe deeply of the fresh air.  The grounds of Bones Manor were breathtakingly green and beautiful, and Harry could see a small mountain range to his north.  The air had a peace and stillness that he could get used to.

As Harry walked slowly back toward the Manor, he thought of Parvati and wondered what was happening at Hogwarts.  It did not occur to him that his mind no longer wandered to Ginny when he thought of attractive girls.  His system clear of love potion, his mind was finally his own.

Like any red-blooded young man would, he had dreamed of Parvati and her new necklace last night.  Only in his dream that necklace had not been encumbered by robes.  Parvati had been gloriously nude, and the image had remained in the back of Harry’s mind all morning.  The thought spurred him into a quicker walk, and he suddenly found himself very interested in locating his communication mirror.

It won’t hurt to contact her again so soon, Harry reasoned.  Besides, I just need to find out if anything new has happened.  He blissfully ignored the fact that Parvati, stuck in classes at Hogwarts, was exceedingly unlikely to know more than Tonks about what was happening.

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Azkaban Prison, the North Sea

A dozen dark-cloaked figures appeared in a swirl of light that lit up the grey skies overlooking Azkaban prison.  The tallest figure, clothed in regal black robes tinged with red, tossed aside a piece of paper and looked up at the imposing fortress of Azkaban.

“Move.”

The small group strode quickly to the massive iron door, which looked to be centuries old.

“Wormtail,” hissed Lord Voldemort, “you are to shield the group.  Everyone else, on three.”

When the count was finished, eleven powerful blasting curses slammed into the door, leaving a twisted heap of metal in their wake.

The group entered the ancient fortress warily, their senses assaulted by the darkness, the unnatural cold, and the smell of decaying mildew.

Three ‘reducto’ curses thrummed suddenly out of the darkness, causing the tightly-packed Death Eaters to throw up hurried shields or dive to the ground.  One masked recruit was, unluckily for him, knocked directly into the path of an oncoming curse by his closest compatriot, who had tried to dodge the curse.  It impacted him on the right side, shattering his rib cage and sending him to the floor in agony.

“Damn it,” yelled a voice out of the darkness, “there’s too many of them.  Fall back!”

The Death Eaters unleashed a barrage of lethal curses ranging from entrail-expellers to Avada Kedavra, and the darkness was lit up in a rainbow of sinister colors.  Lord Voldemort swept his wand in a wide arc and hurricane-level winds swept toward those opposing him.

The defenders, three Aurors unlucky enough to be working at Azkaban this evening, retreated toward an exit in the left rear of the room.  The wall of curses fired by the Death Eaters had been misaimed in the darkness, and they had just enough time to escape into the labyrinthine expanse of the prison.

They had almost reached safety when three stunners came from the dimly-lit corridor beyond their exit and felled them.

A figure in red Auror robes strode out of the shadows, his wand at his side, and gingerly side-stepped his fallen colleagues.

“So kind of you to finally join us, Roth,” Voldemort sneered at the man, motioning at the fallen Aurors to his followers.

Auror Roth watched in horror as his fallen comrades were given point-blank killing curses.  His hands trembled and he dropped his wand to the floor.

“You performed well, Roth,” Voldemort continued, rolling his wand in his long white fingers.  “Perhaps I shall allow your wife and daughter to live, after all.  Avada Kedavra!”

“Then again, perhaps not,” Voldemort finished, glaring at the dead body of Auror Roth, earning snickers from the assembled Death Eaters.

Their mirth was short-lived, however, as a sudden cold descended on the inner foyer.  Dementors were on the way.

“Now we shall see,” said Voldemort as his followers gathered around him in a semi-circle.  Noticing the absence of one of his fighters, Voldemort glanced back at the fallen man, who was whimpering and trying vainly to stop the bleeding in his side with both hands.  He flicked his wand sharply, and the new recruit twitched once before he stopped moving, a thin stripe of brain matter now decorating the floor behind him.

The Dark Lord’s attention returned to the approaching dementors just as five of them rounded the corner and hovered before the group.  Their approach stopped when Voldemort held up a hand.

“I have…a proposition,” he intoned menacingly.  “If you agree to serve me, I will reward you with more souls than you can imagine.  You can feast as you deserve, no longer bound to this accursed island.”

The demonic creatures hovered in stillness for several seconds, and not even Voldemort could guess what they were thinking.

When the dementors swept suddenly forward rather than stand aside, he had his answer.

“Expecto patronum!” rang out across the foyer, and a host of small animals rushed toward the dementors, led by a long, slithering asp that moved with unnatural speed.  The dementors were pushed back down the corridor from which they came, though the continuing cold suggested that more were on their way.

“We have little time,” Voldemort hissed to his followers.  “You know your assignments, so move quickly.  Do not fail me.”

He stepped forward and directed his silvery asp toward another group of approaching dementors, this one numbering a dozen.  It would not be easy to hold them off, even for him, if they attacked en masse.  Most of his Death Eaters ran from the room, eager to complete their duties and escape the presence of the dementors.  Thanks to Malfoy’s research, they knew exactly where they were going.

For the next five minutes Voldemort and two of his Death Eaters stood in the middle of the foyer, holding off the dementors.  The Dark Lord directed his asp almost lazily back and forth across the room, keeping the dementors at bay and securing an escape route for his followers.

He finally smiled, or gave his closest approximation of one, as the first of his faithful was levitated toward him by a shivering Peter Pettigrew.  It was Rabastan Lestrange, and he lacked the strength to stand or walk on his own.  Pettigrew set him down gently at his master’s feet, and Rabastan instinctively knelt.

“M-master,” his harsh voice rasped out.  “You have returned.”

“You should never have doubted it, Rabastan,” Voldemort said, slightly repulsed by the man’s frail appearance.  “You have been punished for your loyalty to me, and you shall have your revenge.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Rabastan replied, shivering from exhaustion, hunger, and adrenalin.

One by one they came, Voldemort’s old guard accompanied by the new blood he had recruited.  His most capable fighters were performing other missions at the moment.

Most of the rescued walked on their own, albeit slowly, their pride making them unwilling to be levitated.  They knelt in exhaustion and relief when they finally reached their master, eager to leave Azkaban behind.

The last to arrive was a disheveled Bellatrix Lestrange, striding erectly toward her Master, madness and ecstasy displayed in equal measures on her face.  Despite her native beauty, she looked unnervingly like a Knockturn Alley hag.

“Master,” she sighed devoutly, kneeling and kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes.  She looked up at him in reverence, giving him a black-toothed smile that would have sent a sane person scurrying away in horror.  Voldemort patted her gently.

“My Bellatrix,” he hissed softly, his voice approaching something like affection.  “I know of your faithfulness, and you shall be rewarded as only I can reward you.”

“I live to serve, Master,” she said worshipfully, and one by one each of the assembled Death Eaters echoed her words.

Voldemort eyed each of the ten former prisoners in satisfaction.  Despite their current physical condition, these were his Inner Circle, his most trusted and valuable followers.  They would regain their strength soon enough.

Bellatrix, with her thirst for violence; Rookwood, with his knowledge of ancient languages and magical artifacts; Dolohov, a connoisseur of sadism; the Lestrange brothers, powerful and loyal; Mulciber, an Irish assassin who loved to toy with his female victims; Gibbon, stupid but good for brute strength; Jugson, a notorious criminal with many underworld connections; Rosier, loyal son of one of his earliest followers; Selwynn, a pureblood aristocrat with a taste for muggle torture.

All of them were skillful fighters and all were loyal to his cause.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed for the first time since his resurrection.  Today he had regained his army.  Today his enemies had been slain in the streets.  Today the world had learned that he was to be feared above all others.  Today, Lord Voldemort had returned.

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A/N: There you go.  I hope you weren’t traumatized.  The action will pick up from here on in, as will Parvati’s screen time.  Next chapter, the wizarding world reels and Croaker decides what to do about that irritating prophecy.

Thanks to Voice of the Nephilim for his suggestions on the assassination scenes.  Check out his excellent story, ‘Sitra Ahra,’ here on this site.

The ‘fortus aegis’ shield isn’t mine—I ‘appropriated’ it from lorddwar’s ‘Harry Potter and the Summer of Change,’ the best Honks story out there.