Sitra Ahra

Fourth Movement: Blessed Curse

August 9, 1990

Eleven days prior to Tonks’ murder

It was a tense atmosphere that permeated the large, ornate entryway of Malfoy Manor. A driving rain battered against the large windows, its repetition interrupted by the occasional crash of thunder. An expensive Oriental carpet, adorned with intricate patterns and swirls lit up with every lightning strike, and for a moment illuminated the grasping fingers of the trees outside.

Even though their expected guest was not to arrive until eight o’ clock, the two Malfoys had stood at attention since the turn of seven, dressed in their finest. Draco was currently at Junior Quidditch camp, which was convenient, as they were able to avoid exposing him to tonight’s tension.

Lucius had adorned himself in his finest velvet robes, of the deepest midnight blue. His long hair had been treated recently, and not a single strand deviated from the rest.

Narcissa was immaculate in dark silk robes, her aristocratic features highlighted by lightly accented cosmetics. The dark violet robes clung to her lithe frame, accenting the generous swell of her bosom and the curves of her shapely hips.

She indeed was a sight that would have lit a fire to Lucius’ libido, if not for the crushing apprehension he currently felt.

“Lucius, are you sure that it was our Lord?” Narcissa asked, breaking the long silence that had stretched between the two.

He believed he had already answered this question at least twenty times, and was unsuccessful at keeping the venom from his reply.

“Yes, I’m very sure it was him. I don’t know of many other wizards who would choose to correspond by snake rather than owl. Do you, Narcissa?”

His reply drew a slight scowl from his wife, which he didn’t have much of a reaction to, as his patience had already been spent on this subject.

A few days ago, a snake had entered into Lucius’ study. He had moved to blast it, only to discover that it clutched an envelope within its tiny jaws. If not for the fact that it was delivered by a snake, he wouldn’t have lowered himself to reading from the white muggle stationary. As it was, the Dark Lord was the only person who had ever communicated by snake.

The letter was short, and to the point. It said that the Dark Lord wished to thank his loyal servants in person, followed by a date and a time. The Dark Lord’s signature concluded the letter, which only members of the Inner Circle had ever seen.

Before he could begin his explanation of this fact, the tolling of the master clock interrupted him. Eight times the clock rang, which echoed like cannon blasts in the otherwise still manor.  

At the conclusion of the eighth chime, the ornately carved oak double doors were thrown wide open. The unimpeded storm raged inwards, the wind extinguishing all sources of light within the entryway. Rain surged through, and began to seep into the expensive carpet and woodwork.

Lucius cared little for this, however, as a darkened figure stood in the doorway. The dearth of light gave no impression save for a silhouette. As the shadow took a few steps into his home, he realized that the figure was far too short to be their former master, as the Dark Lord had been tall. He tensed, his hand wrapped tightly about the wand within his robe. Something was wrong.

The wind began to die down slightly, allowing for the entryway candles to re-light themselves. The newly ignited light source revealed a figure that was definitely small, adorned in a dark cloak, the hood covering the face. Slowly, it moved its hand towards the hood, in preparation of removing it.  

Lucius prepared to draw his wand. The slight rustle of fabric to his side told him Narcissa was doing the same. If this intruder was not the Dark Lord, they would be dealt with harshly.

The figure slowly peeled back the hood, revealing the head of a male child. He had black hair, plastered to the sides of its head by rain, dark green eyes, and a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. He didn’t look a day older than ten. Lucius didn’t hesitate before withdrawing his wand, and leveling it at the child.

“Give me a good reason I shouldn’t kill you for trespassing, little boy.” Lucius spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. Was this the source of all their anticipation? If so, he found it be anti-climatic.

The boy opened his mouth, and hisses began to emanate from it. Snakes, scores of them, began to stream in through the doorway, their slithering bodies leaving trails of water behind them. Lucius felt his insides turn to ice, and he heard a small, disbelieving cry of fear from his wife. He heard rustling behind him, and turned to see snakes pouring out from other rooms as well. In short order, they were surrounded.

The floor was thick with snakes, almost looking like a single, writhing mass. All of them advanced in a rapidly closing circle, black eyes shining, forked tongues flickering. Against the approaching tide of serpents, Lucius readied his wand.

“Narcissa,” Lucius whispered, “if we keep up a constant stream of banishers, we’ll be fine.”

She was clearly terrified, but fought through it, and nodded at his instruction. With a mere circle six feet in diameter separating the Malfoys and the snakes, Lucius pointed his wand at the snakes closest to him.

The boy began to hiss again, and the approaching snakes halted their progress. Lucius’ focused his sight upon the boy, and the slight smirk etched onto his young features.

“Lower your wands. If anything should happen to me, there’s not going to be anyone here to call off the snakes when they resume their advancement in one minute.”

His hazel eyes focused directly upon Lucius’ gray ones.

“Is that a good enough reason for you, Lucius?” the boy mocked with a cruel smile, one that looked out of place upon the youngster’s face.

“Not really, boy.” Lucius remarked, in a casual tone of voice. “If you thought a few snakes under a compulsion would be enough to quell me with fear, you’ve sadly misjudged the situation.” While the ability to speak Parseltongue was impressive, a gift only Salazar Slytherin’s line possessed, no one walked into his home and threatened his family.  

The boy looked thoughtful for a second, before a he shook his left arm free from his cloak. The candlelight flickered off a ring encircling the thumb, a gold one with a black stone set into it.

The same ring he had been forced to send to Harry Potter.

Comprehension and clarity came to Lucius immediately. It was no wonder he had been coerced into acquiring the ring, and sending it.

He dropped to one knee, roughly pulling Narcissa down with him.

“My lord, we beg for your forgiveness. We had no idea you had taken another form.”

Silence greeted his begs, which stretched out into what by measured time is twenty seconds, but seemed like lifetimes to Lucius. Head down, he almost collapsed with relief when the hisses began again, prompting the snakes to withdraw and disperse.

“Lucius, Narcissa,” the voice began, “rise, my faithful servants.”

He rose slowly, his wife right behind him. Once they had both regained their feet, his gaze stole once again to their Master.

“Your mistakes tonight were understandable, even expected in a situation such as this. Beyond that, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lucius, for sending out the ring.”

Lucius bowed his head in response.

“Thank you, my Lord. Would you be willing to indulge and inform us how the ring was able to bring you back?” Lucius asked in a reverent tone. Curiosity gnawed at him, as he could conceive few scenarios in which an enchanted object would return someone from death.

The Dark Lord’s stare grew hard for a moment, and Lucius grew uncomfortable, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds.

“I will indulge you this time, Lucius; for all that you have done for me. Only my most faithful of servants would have disabled the potent protections upon the ring, and sent it to the child of one of my former enemies, all of their own volition.”

Lucius bowed again, stoic demeanor held strong, but his mind was a whirlwind of thought. Did this Voldemort even know about the Unbreakable Vow he had been forced into? Was this truly even the same master they had served over a decade ago?

“Despite my vast power during the Wizarding War, all those years ago, I was aware that there was a chance that I may be defeated. However unlikely it may have been, a prudent individual always provides for any scenario, no matter its probability. It was then, in the later years of the war that I called upon the most obscure of all magic. I was able to successfully copy my memories, and place them in the ring. I also sacrificed a small measure of my power, so that the ring would have the ability to consume the consciousness and magical core of a prospective host, which would effectively assure my resurrection.”

Lucius felt it made some sort of sense, but still had his reservations. He felt the Dark Lord was being intentionally vague about the process. An inanimate object had no active magic, so shouldn’t have been able to perform the magical feats described. With more important matters at hand, he saved the internal debate for later.

It was Narcissa who spoke next.

“Thank you, my Lord, for indulging our questions. So does that mean you have successfully killed the Potter heir?” Narcissa asked in a low tone.

“At the moment I merely wear the boy like a skin. While I obviously could crack the boy’s mind and consume his magical core, destroying him would conflict with my current goal, as I still need this body for a little while longer.”

Lucius was silent for a moment, before asking the question prompted.

“My lord, is there any way that we may assist in this goal?”

“Yes, there is. In fact, your assistance will be vital to its success. Tell me, Lucius, what is the modern structure of the Ministry?”

“My Lord, the public dismay and uncertainty that followed Halloween night of 1981, the date of your assumed downfall, created a clamor for the government to make them feel safe and protected. The Ministry took this as an opportunity to create many new departments, many of them of little use, but it appeased the public, as it created the perception that the Ministry was actively making the Wizarding World safe.”

Lucius paused for a moment, before continuing.

“As you’ve no doubt deduced, the Ministry’s true intention was the vast expansion of government. With an almost unlimited supply of Ministry jobs to hand out to loyal supporters, politicians had the power to employ countless people to work on their political campaigns, with the promise of an easy job in the Ministry an effective motivator. In the past decade, an incumbent has never lost an election.”

The Dark Lord let out a cold laugh at this revelation, which both Malfoys smiled at.

“I have a great deal of influence in almost every Ministry department, but none more so than the newly created Muggle Relations Department. It is comprised solely of political appointees, which given the corrupt nature of hacks, makes them very easy to manipulate to my advantage. There is nothing I could not accomplish within that department. The best part is, though, my Lord, that most of the members of the department share our opinions on Mudbloods and blood supremacy.”

His master let out another cold laugh at this fact.

“Very good, Lucius. Tell me, does the Department of Muggleborn Education still exist?”

“Yes, but now they’re a branch of the DMLE. The DMLE now has a nation-wide magical monitoring grid that detects all magical discharges. All detected instances of accidental magic are noted, and the reports are sent to the Muggleborn Education office, which then sends out its own agents to investigate. They identify the exact magic user, and put their names down for Hogwarts.”

The Dark Lord nodded at this explanation.

“What would it take to falsify a report of accidental magic, and have it promoted to priority status for Muggleborn Education?”

“It wouldn’t be easy, my Lord, but I have enough influence to accomplish it.”

The Dark Lord waved his hand impatiently.

“Make sure that it happens, then. The address is the Stockwell Orphanage, in the center of London. Make certain the investigating agent is the most inexperienced, incompetent one in the employ of the agency.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Lucius said, head bowed slightly.

“I assume, Lucius, that as soon as the DMLE created their magical detection array, you had your home appropriately warded against this level of intrusion?”

Lucius nodded in response.

“In that case, I want you to get back in contact with the black market curse-breakers who did the work here. I’m looking for the same type of cloaking from the Ministry’s net, but it only needs to be for a small room, and something I can activate with by a mere tap of the wand. I can’t activate it by using magic, since the Ministry detectors will pick it up. I’ll also need an extensive supply of potions, rune carving stones, tools, and two spare wands. I don’t have the exact list of potions and stones needed yet, but I want you to start sending an owl to me once every two days, so I can update you consistently on what I need.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Lucius replied.

Without acknowledging Lucius further, the Dark Lord turned to Narcissa.

“Narcissa, I require your participation as well, for I have three tasks that need completion.”

Narcissa bowed low in response.

“Whatever you need, my Lord, I am at your disposal.”

He nodded, pleased with her reaction.

“Whomever Muggleborn Education sends, I am going to kill them, and take their hair. You will assume their identity, and contact Dumbledore. When he grants you an audience, you shall speak of a moral dilemma, where you have discovered Harry Potter, but the director of Muggleborn Education wishes to keep this fact secret. In good conscience, you will seek his advice on the matter. He’ll thank you, and immediately rush off to meet Harry Potter, to save him from whatever fate has befallen him. He’ll be expecting to play the part of liberator, and will be completely unprepared for what I have planned for him.”

Both Malfoys were silent at Voldemort’s implied course of action, temporarily struck speechless. Even at the height of his power, the Dark Lord never sought a fight with Dumbledore. Now, with the magical core of a child, he’s going to take on the most powerful current living Light wizard in Europe? Lucius wondered to himself if his former master had gone completely insane.

As the silence stretched further, the Dark Lord’s gaze grew inquisitive. While the expression should have been at home on the face of a young man, it filled Lucius with unease, yet he was unable to think of an adequate way to break the silence.

It was Narcissa that saved them from the continuation of the awkward silence.

“My Lord, what else do you require of me?” she asked.

“I want you to assume the identity of the Muggleborn Education employee, as they’ll have access to some of the deeper parts of the DMLE. We’ll need a sacrificial lamb, someone to take the fall so that you can infiltrate the DMLE artifact storage without destroying your own cover. I want the artifact directly following Dumbledore’s death.”

Narcissa looked to Lucius for help, but he had none to offer. He had a good idea what the Dark Lord was after, but didn’t want to steal his thunder.

“My Lord, which artifact do you desire?”

“My wand, Narcissa.” the Dark Lord replied.

After the night of the Dark Lord’s downfall, it had been the Aurors who had been the first to officially arrive at the scene. There had not been many remnants of Godric’s Hollow, but one of the few artifacts that had survived was Voldemort’s wand. After careful examination by the Unspeakables, it had been sent to the DMLE’s artifact storage. The amount of deadly artifacts contained within the warehouse was almost without number, and kept under stringent security. Referring to it as a difficult place to infiltrate was an understatement.

“The third task, my Lord?” Narcissa asked, her voice trembling slightly.

The Dark Lord turned to Lucius, and regarded him.

“Lucius, in a face of a major crisis, who would be the one person in the Ministry that could potentially pull things together, and keep the Ministry functioning?”

He presented the pretext of thinking for a moment, but in reality, there really was only one person who could fill that role.

”Without question, Amelia Bones. Despite her unwillingness to play the political games with other departments, she made quite the name for herself during the first Wizarding war, so she has a great deal of support within the Wizengamot. Also, all that work under her are fiercely loyal, including the Aurors, which are probably the most stable department within the Ministry.”

“Very well.” Voldemort said, before turning back to Narcissa.

“Narcissa, you will use your assumed role to gradually move up in the DMLE, get closer to Bones, and eliminate her.”

He saw his wife’s eyes widen in fear. While competent with a wand, she wasn’t any match for the combat-hardened head of the DMLE.

The Dark Lord let out a laugh at her apparent fear.

“I don’t require that you perform the actual murder. Hire an assassin, and let him use your credentials to gain access. Send her a cursed artifact. I just need her dead. With her gone, coupled with the public fear of my own return, the Ministry will be unable to properly organize, and defend against insurrection.”

Lucius’ face betrayed nothing, but his earlier inhibitions had grown in strength. Really, what was his Master thinking? A low-level Ministry worker in a small office would not have access to Bones, since she only dealt with the Aurors directly, on a regular basis.

“It shall be done, my master.” Narcissa replied, with head lowered.

“See that it does,” Voldemort said, before training his gaze upon Lucius.

“Draw back your sleeve, Lucius.”

Lucius complied, exposing his pale forearm, upon which the Dark Mark was branded, and presented his wand. The Dark Lord took it from him, and appraised it for a moment, before bringing the tip down, pressing it into the Dark Mark.  

It was never pleasant acting as the conduit for the Dark Lord’s messages, but Lucius noticed the pain was not nearly as potent as usual.

As the seconds passed, Lucius thought of all the Death Eaters across the country, who had just received the Dark Lord’s message. There would be no way to hide from it now, those who had hidden, had renounced the Dark Lord, even those rotting in Azkaban right now.

The Dark Lord had returned.

-

August 31, 1990

At precisely 8 o’clock in the evening, the main fireplace within the Flamel estate came alive with green flames. A swirling Albus Dumbledore appeared within the flames, and gracefully stepped out of the Floo connection point. With hardly a hair out of place, he stood upon the hearth, a warm smile upon his face as he beheld his approaching friends.

“Albus, it has been too long,” greeted Nicolas, “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.”

He grasped Nicolas’ outstretched hand, and gave it a firm, friendly shake, as his friend’s eyes danced with mischief.

The Elixir of Life had been kind to not only his lifespan, but also to his outward appearance. Despite being more than halfway through his sixth century of life, he looked younger than Dumbledore. Short-cropped white hair topped a ruddy complexion, only lightly touched by wrinkles.

“As much as it pains me to say, I must say that you are a rather forgettable person. However, how could I ever forget the stunning mix of intellect, beauty and grace that is your wife?”

Perenelle, the woman in question, stepped forward, a fond smile upon her face. Time had been even kinder to her than Nicolas. While her hair was grey, it still grew thick, in long locks that fell down to the middle of her back. Her tall form was still striking; the only lines on her face the ones that formed at the corners of her striking blue eyes while smiling.

She embraced him with a warm hug, which he returned, along with a chaste kiss to her smooth cheek.

“It’s good to see you again, Albus.” Perenelle said, the weight of her chin upon his shoulder.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to once again be in your presence, milady.” Dumbledore complimented. She let go of him with a smile upon her face, and motioned to the couch positioned near the fireplace.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” he replied, taking a seat upon the plush, cream-colored couch. Perenelle took a seat next to him, while Nicolas sat himself in the adjacent chair.

“So, Albus,” Nicolas began, “how goes the battle at Hogwarts?”

“It’s a difficult battle, I must say. Would you believe that the Board of Governors attempted to coerce me into hiring Gilderoy Lockhart as the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”

Nicolas broke into hearty guffaws, while his wife adopted a stunned look.

“Albus, are you serious? That man is a fraud of the highest order.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I assure you, I was quite vigilant in maintaining that he would never set foot within our proud institution as a professor.”

Nicolas let out a slightly malicious grin at Dumbledore’s statement.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dumbledore. With the recent history of defense instructors, I would think it an excellent opportunity to get rid of that glory-seeking wanker.”

He smiled at his friend’s idea, while Perenelle looked less than pleased at her husband’s blunt assessment.

“Luckily, I was able to get a good contingent of the governors on my side, and they agreed that Theobald Thistlewood would make for a far superior teacher to Mr. Lockhart.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard the name,” Perenelle said, “who is he?”

“He’s a former Auror, who once retired, found that the life of relaxation he had always dreamed about was a bit too boring for his tastes. We’ve had a relative scarcity of qualified applicants, so I was pleased when he inquired about the availability of the post. I believe he’ll make a fine addition to the staff.”

“Yes, he’ll have a fine year, until a swarm of knarls enter into Hogwarts, and carry him away,” Nicolas spoke, earning him a sharp look from his wife, and a small chuckle from Dumbledore.

“Theobald is quite aware of the apparent stigma upon the position. He wasn’t very concerned, saying it provided a convenient escape clause should teaching turn out not to be his cup of tea.”

Both Flamel's smiled at Theobald’s lack of concern about the unfortunate fates that had befallen recent Defense professors.

“Besides the constant struggle with the Board of Governors, how are the things at Hogwarts going?” Perenelle asked.

Dumbledore felt a moment of gratitude for giving him the option to decline talking about the Board of Governors. The board had only been a minor nuisance during Nicolas’ short tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had been appalled at the level of meddling that Dumbledore had to contend with on a daily basis.

“We should be ready for tomorrow’s re-opening of Hogwarts for the school year, barring anything unforeseen. Perenelle, how’s the greenhouse?”

Perenelle smiled at the question, sensing Dumbledore’s desire to change the subject.

“I’ve been attempting to cross-breed species of plants. I came into possession of a rather rare cut of a South American vine, which appears to have similar healing properties to healing charms. They don’t do well outside of the rain forest, so I’ve been attempting to cross it with a plant indigenous to England.”

Dumbledore didn’t need to feign being impressed at her work.

“That would be quite the breakthrough. May I ask what inspired it?”

“You certainly may,” Perenelle replied, “I had read an account of a senior Auror who had participated in a battle against Grindelwald. The name eludes me, but he spoke of the horror of being the only wizard who had made it through physically unharmed and the wails of the others who weren’t as fortunate. He couldn’t do anything to alleviate their suffering, as he had magical exhaustion. No healing charms, no numbing charms, nothing.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. He was all too familiar with the horrors of war.

“It occurred to me that it could save a great deal of lives if there was a way to heal people without having to use magic. One of my contacts, a French herbologist, mentioned a rare vine that grew in the South American rain forests. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to acquire a sample.”

From deep within his thoughts, he saw his mentor and wife exchange a look almost telepathic in nature, a knowing forged from decades upon decades of familiarity. He saw Nicolas’ face lose some of its good cheer, and regarded him with an earnest look.

“Albus, you were rather elusive about the true nature of your visit here. We very much enjoy your company, but you must have had a very compelling reason to visit us so close to the start of the school year. So, what’s going on?”

He sighed deeply. What he was about to do did not promise to be easy, but had to be done. He conjured a white cloth, and laid it upon the table. With the curious eyes of the Flamel’s upon him, he withdrew a small, rough wooden box from his robes. Gently, he opened the box, and levitated its contents onto the cloth.

The hosts appraised the odd combination of objects, Perenelle with slight disgust, Nicolas with a blank look, which looked wholly out of place on the alchemist’s face.

Upon the white linen lay a fair amount of dark ashes, what looked suspiciously like a charred fingernail, and a gold ring set with a black stone, apparently untouched by the fire which begat the ashes.

Nicolas slowly reached out to pick up the ring, but Dumbledore gently stopped his hand.

“This ring is extremely dangerous. I cannot stress how important it is that neither of you touch it, under any circumstances.”

His friend nodded, before bringing his hand back to his lap. In the wake of his warning, it was Perenelle who spoke first.

“Albus, you must have had a good reason for bringing this dangerous item into our home. What’s the significance of the ring?”

With a deep sigh, he began his story.

“A few days ago, I was contacted by a former student, who worked as an intern for the Department of Muggleborn Education. She told me that she had found Harry Potter at a muggle orphanage, in the center of London.”

Nicolas merely looked surprised, while Perenelle let out a gasp of surprise.

“Is it true? Is Harry Potter really alive?”

Dumbledore nodded in response, but his face remained grave. Her excitement faded quickly at his lack of excitement.

“It wasn’t a happy occurrence, was it?” she asked, in crestfallen tone.

He shook his head, before continuing with the story.

“I naturally endeavored to confirm this astonishing fact. It was, but I was shaken by his remarkable likeness to the young Tom Riddle I had met decades ago, and far more disturbed when the child spoke using the same words I exchanged with Tom Riddle during our first encounter. He tried, unsuccessfully, to defeat me using runic attacks.”

In front of the shocked faces of the Flamel’s, his voice faltered slightly.

“I…I had to hurt him to subdue him. He was possessed by a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, but Harry gained control long enough to help me. Before I could banish Voldemort from his body, he attacked Harry’s mind, and severely damaged it.”

The pain in his eyes evident, Perenelle grasped his hand, and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. He gave her a grateful smile, before finishing his tale.

“He’s currently at a secret ward within St. Mungo’s. While his physical wounds have almost completely healed, it is the mental ones that concern the Healers. We believe he’ll make a full psychological recovery, but it is going to be a long healing process.”

The Flamel’s had been understandably horrified by the details of Harry’s possession, but appeared slightly mollified knowing Harry would most likely recover.

“How did Harry find his way to the orphanage?” Perenelle asked, breaking the brief silence.

“I’m not sure,” Dumbledore replied, “it’s one of the many mysteries that surround Harry Potter. All I know is that he was found in a near-catatonic state, wandering the desolate back roads of Bedfordshire County. While his clothes were scorched, he was without any physical injury. There were no reported fires that week within a fifty mile radius. As implausible as it may seem, it’s as if young Harry literally appeared from nowhere.”  

While giving Perenelle his explanation, he couldn’t help but notice that Nicolas had only been listening with half an ear, his attention more focused upon the ring. He supposed his mentor had already begun to assemble the pieces.

“Albus, do you have any idea how Harry came into possession of the ring?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Do you know what the ring is?”

Dumbledore paused a second to compose his reply.

“I can’t say with exact certainty, but I have a hypothesis. I know that it inexplicably contains active magic, can possess people, and carries a curse upon it. Based upon that information, what would be your opinion?”

Nicolas closed his eyes in concentration. After about thirty seconds, he seemed to deflate slightly.

“Shite,” Nicolas whispered to himself more than anyone else, “that poor child.”

Perenelle was visibly puzzled by her husband’s reaction, but said nothing, as he was clearly about to speak.

“Albus, is the ring Voldemort’s Horcrux?”

He gave a single nod in response.

“You had always claimed that Voldemort would be back, despite the evidence to the contrary at Godric’s Hollow. You knew he had a Horcrux, didn’t you?”

“You’re only partially correct,” Dumbledore started, “I always had good reason to believe he made a Horcrux, but had no concrete proof until the discovery of Harry Potter.”

Nicolas was silent for a moment, a look of deep contemplation upon his face. With a heavy exhale, he regarded Dumbledore with a look of weariness.

“I assume you want help destroying the Horcrux.” Nicolas said, his voice steeped with trepidation.

Dumbledore nodded his head.

“My own knowledge of Horcruxes is rather limited. While basilisk venom is reputed to destroy them, one hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years, so that avenue is closed to us. I also have no intention of using the Dark Arts to rid ourselves of it. Nicolas, you’re one of the finest Potion Masters that has ever lived. If anyone could somehow re-create the effects of basilisk venom with Potions, it would be you.”

Nicolas had no visible reaction to his praises, but continued his emotionless appraisal of Dumbledore. Undeterred, he pushed on.

“Nicolas, we may have found the key to defeating Voldemort for good. His soul was bound to earth by his Horcrux, which allows for the possibility that the foul magic of his fractured soul has since found a new host. If we can destroy the Horcrux, then the next time Voldemort surfaces, he’ll be without his trump card. We could finally defeat him.”

His mentor looked ready to reply, but his wife cut him off.

“Of course he’ll do it, Albus,” Perenelle exclaimed, whirling upon her husband, withering gaze unsheathed.

“I’m well aware that you tire of the Wizarding World in general, and all of its pointless squabbles, but I will certainly not allow you to sit back when you have the power to help thwart one of the most vile Dark Lords that has ever lived.”

Silence met her chastisement. As it stretched out, Dumbledore struggled to keep the corners of his mouth down after Perenelle’s verbal lambasting, while the married couple exchanged cross expressions.

Nicolas finally broke his gaze from his wife’s, and looked down on Dumbledore with a glance of annoyance.

“You, Albus, do you really think I don’t know you’re trying to hide a smile right now?”

At his companion’s cranky outburst, Dumbledore broke into chuckles. It proved contagious, as Nicolas’ feigned anger dissolved into a smile, which he refocused upon his wife.

“Forgive me, Perenelle, you’re completely right. This is one situation that would be far too selfish of me to ignore.”

He turned to Dumbledore.

“I would be honored to help you in this matter.”

“Thank you, Nicolas.”

He then turned to Perenelle.

“And thank you, Perenelle, for your support.”

She smiled at his thanks.

“You’re very welcome, Albus. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

Dumbledore adopted a slightly melancholy look at Perenelle’s question.

“There is one other issue I need help with, which has equal importance to the destruction of the Horcrux. Harry will be physically healed soon, but will need a quiet place to recuperate, outside of the clamors of the Wizarding World. If the Ministry were to get a hold of him, they would have no qualms against using him as a puppet to further their own agendas. Would you two be willing to consent to watch over Harry while he recovers his strength?”

Perenelle opened her mouth to reply, but her husband was quicker.

“While I may be sick of the squabbles of Wizarding Society, and the Ministry’s bureaucracy and inefficiency, Harry Potter never asked for any of this. I would be more than glad to help the young boy to the best of my ability, and I’m sure my wife would be just as, if not more so willing than I.”

Nicolas turned to his head to his right, just in time to catch his wife’s bright smile, and nodded conformation.

Albus let out a large, warm smile at the decision of the Flamel’s.

“Thank you very much. I can’t imagine a better place, or better people to care for him during his recovery. By the time he’s eligible for Hogwarts next year, I’m sure he’ll be in fine shape.”

He turned to the side to hug Perenelle, and then gave his mentor a warm, hearty handshake.

While Harry Potter may have a long road ahead of him, for the first time since their fateful meeting at the orphanage, Dumbledore began to get the feeling that perhaps things would work out for Harry after all.

-

The scorched sky is an endless ocean of rolling, black clouds, with the occasional pocket of dull yellow shining through. Burning physical agony courses through my being, the same as it had for as long as memory allowed. For all I know, the pain actually is now a part of me.

I try to concentrate upon the mysterious rays of bright yellow color that splash through the sky. It seems like I should know what the source was, but I just can’t recall it. All I receive in return for my efforts to concentrate is a large increase in my agony, which once again scatters all near-coherent thoughts to the four winds.

Was it a great yellow fire that lay beyond the smog, which was slowly consuming the world whole?

I think I may have had a name at some point, but can’t really be sure. Things have been the same for so long, it may not even matter either way.

The dark, sooty patterns of the sky did seem a little unnatural. Maybe the black wastelands of smoke are a relatively new occurrence here. Isn’t the sky typically green?

While the patterns in the sky seemed to change, I never did. I’m not truly sure if I even have a body, or any form at all. Maybe at one time, but it was stolen, and replaced by a conscious pain. Unmoving, I’ll just lay here forever.

All of my attempts to discover who I am have been futile. Perhaps it has always been like this, and I was just flung here upon the creation of the world. It occurs to me that I might just be a rock, no different than the countless others than dot the landscape. Maybe all rocks feel pain, but no one can hear their screams?

After another eternity, something new began to happen. It first comes into my awareness subtly, a change without detectable effect, but I then begin to feel different. A moment later, I realized that it was a sound. Aside from the crackling of flames, and the desolate rush of the wind, I can’t recall ever hearing any other sounds.

This new, wonderful thing, however, is a change. It seems to come from nowhere, but exists everywhere, lifting my spirits from the abyss of agony.

It’s a voice! Increasing in volume, I feel it in every fiber in my being, of my body. Of course, I have a body!

The volume increases in potency, and I realize that it’s a song. It’s so beautiful that it takes every effort of my being to not break down and weep at the wonder of it all. Enraptured, the constant pain begins to fade. Like a retreating tide revealing seaweed-covered rocks, my thoughts begin to clarify, to make sense.

This place hadn’t always been a fiery cataclysm. Once it teemed with the warm pulse of life, with lush greenery as far as the eye could see, all beneath the serenity of a light blue sky.

The song again grows even louder, and the blossoms of hope, once buried so deeply as to never be found, flowers  forth.

With a stirring in the deepest parts of my soul, I remember. I am ten years old, and I am a wizard. My name is Harry Potter

-

August 28, 1990

At half-past-six in the morning, Octavius stepped out of one of the many Floo-connected fireplaces that lined the walls of the Atrium. With a light spring to his step, his boots clacking lightly upon the dark, polished wood, he approached the end of the Atrium. He stopped right at the security stand, which stood vigil to the twin set of golden gates, whistling.

Indeed, he felt as though he had all the reason in the world to smile, for he was doing her will. Just the mere thought of her, and serving her will, brought with it another bout of euphoria.

His cheerful whistles brought forth the security guard, Eric Munch. Judging by the wrinkled blue robes and the bloodshot eyes of the man, he deduced that the security guard didn’t share his own bliss.

“Good morning, Mr. Munch.” Octavius greeted, in a tone that couldn’t have been more jovial.

“Your name, sir?” Munch demanded in a bored voice.

“That would be Octavius Pepper, sir; here for my meeting with the Commerce sub-committee,” he beamed, before finishing, “I have a few things to go over before the actual meeting.”

He couldn’t help but notice that poor Munch’s mood only seemed to sour further with each passing moment. He briefly considered referring to him as Munchy to lighten the man’s obviously troubled mind, but ultimately decided that might do more harm than good.

“Sure, whatever you say. Your wand, please.”

He produced it with a needlessly complicated flourish, almost dropping it in the process before pressing it into the hand of the poorly shaved guard.

“Here it is, sir. Nine inches of maple, with a feather from a griffin for the core. Did you know that historians think that Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand had a griffin feather for a core?”

Oddly enough, he observed that Munch didn’t exactly seem blown away by this fascinating piece of historical lore, if the contracting of his eyebrows were any indication.

The beleaguered guard rushed his way through the wand-check process. He thrust the slip roughly into Octavius’ hand, before turning his back to him and trudging back into the security stand.

He waved at the retreating guard, and wished him a good day. His only response was the slam of a door as Munch shut himself inside the security stand. He thought he might have heard a mumble of “too fucking early for these idiots”, but he might have mistaken. Surely it wasn’t him the grumpy guard referred to?

With a shrug, he passed through the golden gates, and approached the array of lifts. He moved over to the farthest one from the door, and entered. He had been told that security only checked if a visitor was cleared to enter the Ministry, not whether they went to their intended destination. According to security’s morning manifest, he was scheduled to attend a Commerce sub-committee hearing at quarter-past-eight.

With a slight hint of glee, he punched the button for level 2 of the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had no intention of showing up for the hearing, as his mistress had other plans for him, which was far more important than any mundane meetings.

After a few moments, the elevator doors opened, and a cool, pleasant female voice welcomed him to level 2 of the Ministry of Magic. Upon exiting the elevator, he took a right, in the opposite direction of the Auror Headquarters. His mistress had explained to him that he was to enter the fourth door on his right, which proved to be a heavy, oak double door, which led to the DMLE’s artifact storage.

With a quick look around, to assure that no one watched his passage, he found the coast clear. Swiftly, he opened the door and stepped in, closing it softly behind him. Beyond was a wide hallway with white walls, almost completely bereft of decoration. The only objects that broke up the monotony of the white walls were various signs with claims of access restricted only authorized personnel, and a two small insets into the wall, placed twenty feet apart.

The corridor was empty, so he positioned himself near the insets, and waited.

His mistress had told him earlier that the security system for the storage was simple, but effective. Those with authorized access had their wands registered, and a simple tap of their wand upon the elaborately carved stone nestled into the hallway’s insets would allow access.

If someone chose to not tap the checkpoint stone, or used an unregistered wand, unbreakable magical barriers cascaded from the ceiling, blocking in the offending party. He wasn’t sure how they were going to gain access, but was certain his mistress had a plan.

After only a few minutes of waiting, the double doors opened again. He tensed, before a young woman passed through the entryway. She had bright pink hair, and a cute, heart-shaped face, the exact description of the woman he was supposed to take further orders from. She was followed by a tall behemoth of a man that bore more than a passing resemblance to a troll.

The woman favored him with a hungry look, while the man just looked rather annoyed with him. As he approached closer, Octavius realized this was none other than William Flint, the areshole who proposed to shut down his livelihood!

Anger began to cloud his vision, and he looked around with a start, wondering why the hell he was there. While attempting to answer this question, the fog that had descended upon his mind clamped down again, and things began to make sense again. If his mistress wanted to work with William, then he couldn’t be that bad of a guy.

“Are you sure the Imperious is going to hold?” asked Flint.

“Of course,” the woman replied, “He just had a momentary lapse upon seeing you. I suppose he’s not too fond of your right now.”

Flint sneered at her reply.

“The feeling is completely fucking mutual. Let the Mudblood know that he better not fuck this up, Tonks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman, Tonks, assured, “he’s not going to do anything I don’t tell him to.”

He gave a curt nod at her reassurance, and withdrew his wand, and handed it to the woman. She took the wand and handed it to Octavius. As she did, his mistress’ voice spoke again in his head.

“Flint has agreed to serve our purposes. Hit him with a disarming curse.”

Octavius found this odd considering he already had William’s wand, but he complied. The disarmer hit him in the arm, knocking him back slightly.

“Good work, Octavius. Now, hit him with a slicing curse, directly in the stomach. It has to look bad enough to clear him of culpability, but can’t hurt him permanently.”

He found this to be a wonderful idea, as all of his mistress’ order were, and readied his wand.

“I don’t know if Lucius is paying me enough for this bullshit.” William muttered under his breath.

With a quick incantation, the red spell flew through the air. Sadly, his mistress never asked him how good his aim was.

The spell flew low, and struck William’s groin area in a glut of blood. Almost as if in slow motion, he sank to the ground, his face frozen, almost uncomprehending.

He looked to his right, to see the Tonks rubbing her temples. He noted that she seemed rather perturbed about something, but wasn’t sure what was bothering her.  

With an angry flick of her wand, she cast a silencing spell on William, who lay on the floor curled up in a fetal position, cupping his ruined genitalia. The voice of his mistress spoke again, in an angry tone.

“You fucking Mudblood retard! How the fuck do you miss? It was only fifteen feet!”

Octavius found himself agreeing with his mistress, as her word was absolute law. Of course he was a Mudblood retard!

With an obvious note of exasperation, her voice spoke again.

“Well, this is great. William is a vindictive bastard, and he’s never going to forget this. Just hit him with a blasting curse. Point blank this time.”

He looked his right, and saw the woman hit William with a silencing spell. She then appraised him with a look, as if asking him what he was waiting for.

“What indeed?” he wondered to himself.

He advanced on William, wand drawn. William must have seen something in his face he didn’t like, since he began to crabwalk backward, leaving a crimson streak on the ground as he moved. William began to plead silently as he reached the downed man, his mouth working as if there was any way he wasn’t going to carry out his mistress’ will.

Heedless to William’s arms grabbing at him, trying to make him stop, he pressed his wand to the man’s forehead, and cast the blasting curse. William’s head exploded like a piñata, spraying him with blood, brains and bone fragments. His body jerked one final time, before the limbs froze; the only movement was the slackening flow of blood from his throat.

Idly, Octavius noted that his robes were probably ruined.

He turned around, to see the woman press her wand to the keystone. There was no visible effect, but when she passed through the ward zone, no magical barriers spring into existence. Without a look back, she opened the door at the other end of the hallway and entered, closing it behind her.

He was at an impasse. Was he supposed to follow Tonks? She hadn’t instructed him to do so.

“Yes, Octavius, I want you to follow my example, using Flint’s wand. When you get in, hit the young man inside with a stunner. Try not to miss.”

As his mistress ordered, he did. He passed through the ward without incident, and opened the door.

Beyond the door lay a small room, with a long counter taking up half of the opposite wall. Both Tonks and a young, blond man were leaning against the counter, talking. At the sound of the door opening, he began to speak, slowly turning to the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Flin…..”

His sentence was cut-off when he saw Octavius. He only had a moment to register a brief surprised before Octavius’ stunner caught him in the leg. The blond man flopped ungracefully to the floor, his jaw hitting the tiled floor with a loud crack.

Tonks started to move swiftly once the young man was knocked out, grabbing two chairs from the side of the room, and moving them into the center. She positioned them six feet apart, facing one another.

“Drag him into the chair, and bind him,” Tonks ordered, “then bind me in the opposite chair. You know what to do from there.”

Indeed he did, as his mistress had already went over this part with him.

He bound both of them with the incarcerous spell, before pointing his wand at the trussed man.

“Remember,” Tonks warned, “be careful with Siegfried. If he dies, we won’t find the location of the wand.”

Octavius nodded, before waking up Siegfried with a whisper of “enervate”.

Young Siegfried began to scream as soon as the spell took effect, which prompted Octavius to hit him with a silencing spell. He continued his silent tirade for a few moments before giving up, and observing his captor. His eyes adopted a look of terror upon seeing the blood and brains splashed across Octavius’ robes.

“What are you waiting for? Our time is short, begin the questioning!”

With a smile, he looked at the terror-stricken young man, reveling in performing his mistress’ work. Oddly enough, young Siegfried didn’t look reassured by his winning smile.

“This is going to be simple, Siegfried. You give me what I want; I’ll leave both yourself and Tonks alone. If you refuse to answer my questions, or answer incorrectly, I not only hurt you, but I hurt your pretty friend here.”

He moved closer to the visibly shaking man, and rubbed his hand through the congealing blood upon his robes. With Siegfried’s frenzies gasps of fear growing louder, he smeared William’s blood over the young man’s face. It didn’t suit his face well, but he wasn’t about to argue with his mistress’ orders.  

“William Flint didn’t answer my questions in a satisfactory manner. It, well, didn’t work out too well for him. You don’t want the same thing to happen to Tonks and yourself, right Siegfried?”

The front of Siegfried’s robes turned a darker shade at his statement, followed by the sharp smell of urine assaulting his nostrils. He turned to the side, to see Tonks ignoring the stench, and keep her ruse of being terrified up.

“Siegfried, I don’t want that to happen to you, though. Why don’t you tell me where artifact 38723 is located?”

The bound man’s eyes widened at his request. Apparently the young man knew exactly what the item was. After a moment’s indecision, he shook his head sharply from side-to-side, sending off flecks of blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Siegfried.”

He turned on Tonks, and regarded her for a moment.

“Do it, just as we planned.”

At the voice’s push, he whipped a bludgeoner at the young woman. It hit her in the stomach, pushing the air out of her lungs, causing her to gasp for air. He whirled back to Siegfried.

“Tell me, where’s the artifact?”

He replied with another shake of his head, almost completely identical to the first.

“Threats to other people aren’t getting to him. He’s not going to break until you hurt him. You know what to do.”

Octavius agreed, he certainly did know what to do. He steadily advanced on the young man, wand drawn. At Siegfried watched on in silent terror, he stuck his wand inside Siegfried’s mouth, and pressed it against the inside of his right cheek. With a look of sheer terror in the young man’s eyes, he cast a cutting curse.

The curse ripped through his cheek like it was tissue paper, and exited in a splash of blood. Siegfried began to scream silently again, his bloodstained teeth visible through the rent in his face.

“I’m going to do far worse if you won’t answer my question. Where’s the artifact?”

With a frightened resignation, the young man emphatically nodded his head. Octavius canceled the silencing charm at the sign of cooperation.

“Please don’t kill me!” Siegfried begged, the hole in his face distorting the words slightly, “I’ll tell you where it is, I swear!”

“Where is it?”

“It’s at the top of shelf twenty, on the very back wall of the warehouse. It’s on the top shelf.”

Octavius nodded in satisfaction.

“Just stun him, Octavius. We need his memories intact.”

He complied, and stunned the young man yet again. He then freed Tonks, who immediately jumped up, running to one of the lockers that lined the wall. A quick unlocking charm later, the locker opened up, revealing two brooms. She withdrew both of them, throwing one of them over to him. She mounted the remaining one, and took off into the stacks. 

“Go help the woman, time is short.” 

With the command given, he kicked off from the ground, and followed the pink-haired girl.

- 

Despite the fact that it had been almost thirty-six hours since her last moment of sleep, Amelia Bones paced her office relentlessly. She was well aware that she was going to be late for the Wizarding Commerce sub-committee meeting, but couldn’t find it in her heart to care.

In the new Ministry that had risen over the past ten years, even trivial matters such as a Muggleborn’s right to conduct business with their own world, was put under scrutiny. Often during the seemingly endless sub-committee meetings, it took all her effort to keep back the bile that rose in her throat. Her position forced her to preside over these pointless exercises in bureaucracy, to pretend to care, as if they weren’t complete and utter bullshit.

Besides, her current cause of anticipation was of far greater importance. She had Floo-called Kingsley Shacklebolt, her most trusted Auror, very early in the morning and roused him from his slumber. She had apologized for the intrusion, but Kingsley waved her off, knowing it had to be important to call at the late hour. She explained how she needed him to wait at the security gate within the Atrium, and apprehend the director of Muggleborn Education, Charlotte Lewis. Preferably in a non-violent manner, and bring her to Amelia’s office.

Amelia had only two leads that might have had culpability in yesterday’s fiasco, and since she had a good idea of Charlotte’s schedule, thought it would probably be easier to find her.

At five-to-eight in the morning, a sharp knock stopped her mid-step.

“Come in.” Amelia beckoned.

Charlotte walked through the door, flanked by Kingsley. The bald-headed Auror caught her eyes, and she replied with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Kingsley nodded, and backed back into the hallway, closing the door.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Amelia welcomed, “I hope Kingsley didn’t startle you.”

Judging by the look of trepidation upon her face, he had. While Kingsley would have been polite, it would be completely understandable to be nervous when summoned to the office of the DMLE director.

“No, he reassured me that I wasn’t in trouble,” Charlotte spoke, “but I can’t help but feel intimidated when a senior Auror escorts me to your office. What’s going on?”

“Charlotte, what do you know about yesterday’s situation at the Stockwell muggle orphanage?”

She let out a rueful smile at the question.

“Not much. When something important happens, my department usually finds out slightly ahead of the Daily Prophet readership.”

“Are there currently any young muggleborn wizards in that particular orphanage’s care?”

Charlotte thought for a moment.

“Officially, no. I did send one of interns there maybe a week ago to investigate a report of accidental magic, but my intern has been late with her report. Now that you mention it, that is rather odd, considering that Nymphadora has always been great about turning paperwork in on time.”

With a heavy sigh, Amelia reached into the top drawer of her desk, and withdrew a vial of Veritaserum. She placed it on the desk, where Charlotte looked at with an air of mistrust.

“Yesterday, Nymphadora Tonks contacted Dumbledore, claiming that Harry Potter had been discovered at the Stonewall muggle orphanage. When pressed, she claimed that the director of Muggleborn Education was attempting to hide evidence of his re-emergence into the Wizarding world.”

“That’s a lie.” Charlotte sputtered in an indignant manner.

“Charlotte, relax," she soothed, "I believe what you’re saying, and I just want to clear you from any wrongdoing. Sadly, there’s always the possibility that you’re under the Imperious Curse."

The woman stiffened at Amelia's words, which wore heavily upon her heart. She was no stranger to how far the reach of evil truly was, considering the countless innocent people she had seen drawn into conflicts that they had no stake in. It still affected her, which was probably the main reason she was immune to the apathy that turned idealistic people into corrupt politicians.

"I'm well aware that you don't have to consent to questioning by Veritaserum, but I would urge you to do so anyway. It works even on people under the Imperious, so it could clear you of all crimes, right now. If I were you I would seize this opportunity, as it would prevent a full scale investigation, which would unfortunately be very invasive."

Charlotte's face grew displeased, fully aware that she had been backed into a corner. Amelia didn't enjoy doing this to the woman, whom she had always had a good relationship with, but if there was a leak at the Ministry, it was necessary to weed it out as soon as possible.

After a few moments, Charlotte nodded.

"I don't like this, Amelia, but it's currently my best option. Let's get this over with."

She gathered up the Veritaserum, and carefully placed three drops of the clear liquid upon Charlotte's tongue. Her eyes immediately glazed over, apparently under the control of the potent potion. However, she knew that there were many ways to fight Veritaserum, so she always did a small test before the actual questioning began. With a slightly evil smile across her face, she addressed Charlotte.

"Is it true that you had a fling with Mundungs Fletcher?"

At her flat answer of "Yes", Amelia broke into high giggles, the like of which few who worked at the Ministry had ever seen. As they tapered off, her face reverted back to seriousness.

"Are you under the Imperious?"

"No."

"Do you have any knowledge of Harry Potter's whereabouts?"

"No."

"Did you conspire to kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"No."

Satisfied, she withdrew the Veritaserum antidote from her desk, and administered it Charlotte. It took effect immediately, with the glazed look in her eyes giving way to a slightly angered one, with a blush rising in her cheeks.

"Amelia, have I told you I fucking hate you lately? If anyone else finds out about this, you're dead."

She let out a chuckle at the threat.

"Don't worry, you're dirty little secret is safe with me." Amelia reassured, placing emphasis on the word dirty. This statement prompted the other woman to groan deeply, and bury her head in her hands.

She gave a final smile at the embarrassed woman, before squeezing her shoulder lightly.

"Seriously though, Charlotte, thank you for being so cooperative. With you exonerated, we can go straight after Nymphadora and apprehend her before anything too bad happens. Do you know where she is now?"

Charlotte nodded her head in affirmation.

"About a week ago, she requested a day to spend with the Auror intern, Siegfried. She wanted to learn how artifact storage worked. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but she was scheduled to meet up with him at seven this morning."

Amelia cursed loudly at the news, before jumping up. If Tonks was scheduled for access to the warehouse, her wand would have been registered to bypass the security wards. Whether it was by Imperious or by her own volition, she was going to steal something from the storage, and it was happening right now.

She ran out of the office, to the waiting Kingsley who had visibly tensed from her violent exit from the office.

"Shacklebolt, Tonks is compromised, and has access to artifact storage." Amelia said without stopping, the senior Auror matching her stride for stride. They entered into the Auror Headquarters, where Dawlish had been positioned, in case the situation with Charlotte had deteriorated. He fell right in step with them, as Amelia laid out the situation without slowing her pace.

"Dawlish, Tonks is compromised. She has access to artifact storage, and is probably there right now. I want her alive, John."

On their way out of the Auror headquarters, they passed junior Auror Williamson going in the opposite direction. The young man started to address the director.

"Good morn-"

"Williamson," Amelia said, cutting him off, "we've got a security breach on this floor, a young woman named Nymphadora Tonks. She's short, with pink hair. Gather all available Aurors, and lock down this level. No one leaves this floor. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am," the young man answered, before running off to put her command into action.

Her orders given, she stormed onward, senior Aurors in tow, towards artifact storage.

-

Narcissa Malfoy, using both the body and wand of the deceased Nymphadora Tonks, was beginning to have severe problems with her husband's choice of scapegoat. She really wished Lucius had picked another Mudblood to have a petty vendetta against. While Octavius may have almost no resistance to the Imperious, which allowed her to command him by thought, and was hung like a mountain troll, there were significant drawbacks. It was likely that most first years were more competent with their wands, and if they got caught, he wouldn't be of much use in a fight against the Aurors.

She hadn't really wanted to kill Flint, but her practical side had won out. William had been known for his vindictiveness, and he would have taken her quarry's botched cutter rather personally. At the very least, it tied up a loose end should the situation go sideways, as a dead conspirator wouldn't be spilling any secrets.

The worst part of the whole situation was that she didn't even know if her cover was intact. Lucius' contacts within Muggle Relations had done their job. They had hidden or destroyed all evidence that Harry Potter lived at the orphanage, and performed intentionally poor memory charms on all adult muggles, so the Aurors wouldn't be able to find out just which child had lived in the ruined upstairs room. The only problem was that there were no bodies upstairs, no evidence that either Harry or Dumbledore were dead.

It was the unknown that frightened her. If Dumbledore had lived, there was a good chance that her cover was compromised. With a slight shake to her head, Narcissa banished the traitorous thoughts. If she was compromised, she would deal with it once they had acquired Voldemort's wand.

Mind slightly cleared, she increased her pace down the brightly lit stacks. Artifact storage was a grid comprised of tall, heavy oak shelves, stretching all the way to the ceiling, which must have been thirty feet tall. Stacked wooden boxes, ranging from the size of an Ollivander wand-box to a small room, occupied almost every inch of shelf space. All of the shelves were arranged in long, unbroken rows, parallel to the sides of the storage space. Brooms were a necessity, as there were no ladders of any type to be found, but Lucius had planned for this problem, and had found out which locker they were stored it.

She reached the end of the stack, and hovered. The end of the stacks emptied into a pathway with a single array against the back wall, perpendicular to the other arrays of stacks. The array on the rear wall was comprised of seven shelves, each about twenty feet long, broken by columns of stone, each shelf extending back six feet before meeting the wall.

Shelf twenty was directly in the middle, in clear sight of one of the pathways. It was one of the more cluttered shelves in the warehouse, with most of the boxes on the small side. She pushed against one of the lower shelves, expecting to topple the carefully stacked boxes. Her thrust was met with resistance, as the boxes didn’t move, suggesting the clutter extended to the very wall. With a heavy sigh, she accepted the obvious fact that if the upper shelf were this packed, it was not going to be a quick process. It would have been much easier for her if every artifact and box in the warehouse didn't have anti-summoning charms upon them, but that wasn't the case.

With time breathing down her neck, she flew up to the top of the shelf, and inspected the numbers on the boxes closest to her.

38756, 45601, 26419.

"Spectacular" Narcissa said to herself. This lack of organization was going to cost her at least ten minutes, time she wasn't sure that she could spare. She turned to Octavius, and began to speak.

"Octavius, search through the boxes on the top shelf, and find artifact 38723."

She turned away before he could reply, and flew back to the tall stacks she already traveled by. If the Aurors were to storm in, it would be hard to explain why she was at the back of the warehouse. If they arrived before she could make her getaway, she'd have to at least avoid detection in the warehouse. She wasn't bad with a wand, but she didn't stand a chance against the well-trained Aurors. Her only option would be to try to avoid detection.

Hovering on her broom, she withdrew her wand and cast a reductor curse at the light fixture mounted to the ceiling. The crimson curse struck with a loud crash, spraying shards of frosted glass in every direction, spilling the powdered phosphate contained within to the floor. She swept up and down the rows, plunging them into darkness. All she left intact were those at the front of the warehouse, to find the exit easily, and those at the back, to expedite the acquisition of the artifact.

Right as she destroyed the last light, she felt a sense of jubilation enter into her servant's mind. Relief washed over her as she realized that Octavius had found the artifact, the first time all day he hadn't screwed up her plans in some fashion.

“I’ve found it!”

His yell confirmed what his thoughts had already betrayed. She swung the broom around in the murky darkness and carefully flew towards the lighted part of the warehouse. Upon arriving, she saw him holding a wooden box, roughly the same size as Ollivander’s wand boxes.

“Give me the box, Octavius.”

The enchanted man complied and handed the box to her. Stamped across the side was the numerical designation 38723, the only marking. She took off the lid carefully and beheld the contents.

The interior of the box was filled with thick, purple velvet, with a single depression in the middle. Within the hollow was a yew wand, which seemed to be about a foot long. With a shiver, she thought of how an entire nation trembled under the might of this wand, how it had nearly brought an entire society to its knees.

“Is this what our mistress wanted?” Octavius questioned, drawing her from her reverie.

She cursed herself for losing herself to wanderings. Time was short now, and there would be plenty of time for awe later. She tucked the small box into a large pocket within her robes, and began to fly back towards the front of the warehouse. She had time to hope that perhaps they would escape unscathed, her cover intact.

That was, before she heard a small, shrill alarm go off, which signified someone was deactivating the wards. With a slight panic, it became clear she was about to have company, and had to make a quick decision.

After a moment’s though, she immediately ordered Octavius to land, softly. She did the same, and gave some quick mental commands.

“Give me your wand, you’ll use Flint’s. Return to the back of the room, and begin to upturn a shelf, like you’re trying to find something quickly. Take the other broom with you, and kill anyone you see.”

Under the burden of severe stress, her mental orders were far harder to give, as if having a conversation under water. She didn’t know how long she was going to be able to continue mental command of the man, but he did comply with her current requests, albeit slowly. He handed her his wand, before wordlessly gathering the other broom in his hands, and flying back the way they had come. With an eye on the retreating man, she stowed his wand, and withdrew Tonks'. She disillusioned herself with a rap to the head, and cast wordless silencing spells upon her feet. Her spellwork, combined with her earlier sabotage to the lighting, gave her hope that she had a decent chance to slip out the door unnoticed.

Moving quickly, a shadow in darkness, she crept toward the front of the warehouse. As she moved closer, unintelligible voices from the front of the warehouse met her ears. Ten feet from the end of the stacks, but still under cover of dark, she was close enough to understand the voices.

"...happened then, Siegfried?"

An older woman's voice, which sounded very similar to director Bones. Probably was her.

"I...I gave him the location. He said he would kill me!" Siegfried said, his voice raised defensively, in justification.

There was a derisive snort following his statement, which sounded like it probably came from a male.

"Its okay, Siegfried. You did the smart thing," a calm, deep male voice reassured, "someone who would kill William like that wouldn't have any problem with doing the same to you if you hadn't cooperated."

It definitely sounded like Kingsley Shacklebolt. The "snorter" must have been another man.

"I assume you were then stunned?" Bones asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I didn't see it coming. I don't even know what that guy did with Tonks." Siegfried replied in a quiet, defeated voice.

There was a short silence, which was eventually broken by the Director.

"We have very good reason to believe that Tonks was a participant in this mess. Are you sure that they were the only two people you saw?"

Narcissa never heard the reply, as a resounding crash echoed from the back of the warehouse, followed by several smaller ones. Octavius' distraction was even louder than she anticipated, as the sound amplified off the vast dimensions of the room, making it seem as one was being devoured by the crashes.

Almost immediately, she heard three pairs of footsteps take off in a sprint, moving towards the sound of the ruckus. As soon as the loud bootfalls began to decrease in volume, she crept beyond the edge of the stacks. Confident in her disillusionment charm, she walked right to the edge of the entryway. Siegfried was sitting with his head down, not paying any attention to his surroundings. This worked perfectly for her, since she could just fell him with a quick stunner and make her way out the door.

With graceful movements, she planted her hands on the counter cut into the wall, which separated the entryway and the warehouse. She put her weight on her hands, and carefully hoisted herself onto the counter, seating herself upon it. As she looked on, Siegfried brought his head up, and began to stare at the wall. Slowly, she spun around on her rear, to get off the counter. As soon as her legs touched the space where the counter ended, her disillusionment charm winked out of existence.

She briefly had time to realize there was a glamour-dispelling ward in place before her sudden appearance registered on Siegfried's peripherals. He turned to her, his open mouth in shock, as she grasped for her wand. His eyes followed her hand movements, which caused his look of surprise to be replaced by one of terror.

"IT'S HER! TONKS! HEL-"

His scream was abruptly cut off by a stunner. For the third time today, the young man collapsed to the ground. In her sudden panic, she vaguely felt her mental connection to Octavius severed. She jumped off the counter and scrambled to the door, throwing it open wildly. She began to sprint, before catching the sight the rapidly approaching receptacle on her right. She stopped herself right before she crossed the threshold that would have locked her inside an inescapable magical field. Clumsily withdrawing her wand, she de-activated the field and sprinted down the hall.

Right before she reached the end of the warded section, the warehouse door was blasted off its hinges. John Dawlish shot through the formerly occupied space, mounted atop the broom she had given to Octavius. He stopped long enough to deactivate the wards, before shooting through. He leveled his wand at her as she retreated, barely avoiding his hastily aimed slicing curse, proving that even an Auror had trouble casting from a broom. As she passed the outside boundary of the security ward, inspiration struck her.

She withdrew Octavius' wand and pressed it to the ward keystone within the receptacle. Dawlish was charging at her upon his broom, and only had time to register slight surprise before the stout blue magical barriers sprang into existence. The tip of the broom handle hit the barrier milliseconds ahead of his body, which collided with the unmovable wall face-first with a mighty crack, leaving a large bloody imprint upon the shimmering blue.

Narcissa turned from the limp, falling body and sprinted the rest of the way down the hallway. She caught her breath for a moment, mentally calming herself, before pointing her wand at her hair. With a quick incantation, she changed the hair to a more ordinary chestnut brown. She wasn't very well known by the Aurors, so if they were on the hunt for her, the lack of pink hair might buy her a little time. Despite how much disdain there was for cosmetic spells by most wizards, she was acutely grateful for her knowledge of them, especially at this point in time. Feeling slightly calmer, she opened the door and stepped through.

The large hallway that served as the connecting path to every other part of the DMLE was about twelve feet wide, a large expanse that ran the entire floor. Portraits and doors took turns above the walls, the various occupants of the paintings rushing to their neighbors and having whispered conversations. The human occupancy was rather sparse, with only the occasional Auror dotted along the hallway, always standing close to a specific door, with sharp, watchful eyes.

With a curse, she realized they were probably securing any exits, since Bones probably ordered a lockdown. The elevators, the only way she knew out, were probably guarded tighter than anything else. It was actually miraculous that no one had accosted her after leaving the warehouse entrance. The only chance she had to escape was to draw attention away from the elevators. She patted her pockets, praying that she hadn't lost her trump card in her previous excitement. When her fingers found the bulbous shape, a smile formed onto her face.

She began to walk in the opposite direction of the elevators and Auror Headquarters. Eyes alert, she noticed a door that didn't have any Aurors standing near it, probably a closet or something else equally unimportant. As she approached it, she subtly placed a hand in her pocket, and squeezed the object hard. Lucius hadn't told her the name of it, but she had been made well aware of its effects. With a quick movement, she opened the door slightly, and threw the object into it. She closed the door quickly, and began to walk away quickly, maintaining a count within her head. She groaned aloud when she realized an Auror far down the hall had seen her open the door.

Thirty.

"Miss?"

She put her head down and walked faster, putting distance between herself and the door.

Twenty-five.

"Miss?"

The man was louder his time, and also seemed to be following her.

Twenty.

"You, with the brown hair, stop!"

She stopped at the yell, as a nearby man who also had brown hair looked around in confusion. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him, giving him a shrug.

Fifteen.

She turned, and adopting a puzzled expression upon her face at the approaching Auror, who looked at her with a scowl.

Ten.

"What's his issue?" The man behind her asked.

Five.

The approaching Auror drew his wand right as he arrived at the door she had thrown Lucius' object into. His fingers grasped the handle.

Zero.

A loud explosion ripped through the hallway, disintegrating the Auror that stood in front of the door. Wooden, flaming shrapnel fell in a rain, as thick clouds of dust rolled through the hallway. In the ensuing confusion she subtly drew her wand and fired a stunner at the brown-haired man closer to her. He full inconspicuously to the ground, and she rushed over to him. Reaching down, she grabbed him by the shoulders, and began to pull him towards the elevator. Yelling Aurors rushed past her, paying her no notice.

The muscles in her back straining, she finally reached the bank of elevators. As she had hoped, there was only one person standing guard, a junior Auror named Williamson.

"Shite," Narcissa said to herself. She had spoken with Williamson; he knew who she was. She waved him over to help with the body. She hoped the hair change and dust-covered clothes would be enough to give her some time.

The young Auror stowed his wand as he approached, worry etched upon his features.

"Look, I can't help you much," Williamson began, "this level's in lockdown, and I'm watching the elevators while the other Aurors check out that loud blast."

With a quick movement she produced her wand and felled the surprised junior Auror with a stunner. He flopped to the ground, unseen in the mayhem that currently consumed the level. She ran to the nearest elevator and called it. Eyes darting wildly around, making sure she was unnoticed, she heard the door open and stepped through.

"Stop, this level's in lockdown!"

She turned to see Tonks' former boss, Charlotte Lewis, standing there. Narcissa gave her an evil smile while punching the Atrium button on the elevator. A look of shock flitted across the woman's face, only to be replaced by anger. She drew her wand and fired a cutting curse at Narcissa. The yellow curse hit Narcissa's shoulder in a splash of blood, knocking her back slightly.

"Why won't the fucking door close!" Narcissa screeched, jabbing the corresponding button on the elevator.

The elevator responded to her button-mashing, and the metal door began to close. She saw Charlotte begin to cast another curse, so she cast a magical shield. Charlotte's curse traveled through the slowly closing door and hit Narcissa' shield with a minor detonation. Her shield collapsed, and the magical discharge threw her roughly against the back of the elevator with a crunch, expelling all the air from her lungs. The door fully closed as she hit the ground in agony, shutting off Charlotte's rapidly approaching form. Her last look of the woman revealed rage and sadness.

She thrashed about on the floor, the wind knocked out of her. Gasping for air, she was interrupted by the cool, pleasant female voice announcing arrival into the Atrium. She heaved herself up as the door opened, breath burning in her lungs, blood flowing freely from the wound in her shoulder. She stumbled from the elevator ungracefully, and made her way to the golden gates. She passed through them, and in her peripheral vision saw the hefty form of the security wizard heave his bulk out of the guard shack.

"Halt!"

She turned to the fat Wizard and snapped off a quick stunner at him. The spell struck him in the head, knocking him backwards, landing askew back inside the guard shack. A few bystanders gasped as her actions, and a brave few drew their wands, but Narcissa was already running.

She threw herself into the crowd of people that usually inhabited the bustle of the Atrium in the late morning hours. Reaching deep inside, she ignored the pain and started to run through the crowd, knocking people aside as she ran. She knocked an elderly wizard into the fountain, and pushed over a witch who had stopped to look for something in her pockets. More voices had joined the yells of the first bystanders, the indignant cries of those she had trampled on her way to her goal.

The shouts of the Aurors reached her ears right as she reached the apparition point. With a loud pop she disappeared, leaving destruction, mayhem and frustrated Aurors in her wake.

That was the last glance at Nymphadora Tonks the world would ever receive.

-

Author Notes:

This chapter concludes the first arc of the story, which covered the fallout from Harry being sent Slytherin’s ring and the situation that inspired him receiving it. While the events that have occurred will have far reaching and unforeseen consequences, all the immediate impact has been covered. From here on out the story will become more Harry centric, but there will still be plenty of scenes from the point-of-views of other characters.

I think that next chapter will be out by late July, but time shall tell.

Any comments, suggestion or criticisms would de deeply appreciated. I’ll make an effort to answer every review I get.

Thanks to my co-conspirator, darklordmike, for his valuable suggestions with plotting, characterization, continuity and grammar.

Thanks to my new beta, Erzibeth-Malfoy for her valuable help on this mammoth chapter.

DLP Thanks:

Johnny Farrar, Zarent, Tinder, KrzaQ, The-Hyphenated-One

Thanks for reading.