Yaxley had been waiting patiently for several days now, ensconced in a house opposite that of a muggle family. His Lord had very specific orders for the father. Yaxley grinned, before it fell away. He’d run into a rather large problem shortly after arriving, however. Securing the house he presently occupied had been simple enough, muggles were fragile creatures and they died easily, however the house across the way seemed quite unoccupied… and that was difficult, as he had no notion as to where to begin looking for the man.

Shrugging on his coat, he settled the debate that he’d been waging internally for the past few days – there was a large chance that the house was under wards, and it was possible that if he simply stormed the place, he’d walk into a trap. On the other hand, one didn’t return to Lord Voldemort saying “Sorry milord, the lights were off.” And so he steeled his nerves and made his way up the driveway of the house, stopping short of the door and rapping the fake wood thrice.  If it’s a trap, he thought, at least pretending to be a muggle might give me a few seconds. He hadn’t felt any wards, but that meant bugger all… the nasty ones weren’t felt until it was far too late. Before the debate could cloud his mind further the door opened, a middle-aged man with cropped brown hair stared at him with irritation etched on his face. Yaxley twitched, before regaining his cool and smiling widely.

“Good evening, Mr. Moore I take it?” he said, taking care to note the slight relaxation in the man’s stance and expression. “That’s me, how can I help you?” Moore replied, frowning with confusion as the stranger drew a slender piece of wood and waved it at him, before his mind went blank. Yaxley smiled again, passing the instructions his Lord had given him to the muggle before turning and apparating with a crack.

Moore came to the next morning, the blackness lifting and his consciousness returning. He found himself in his office at work, dressed, a steaming cup of tea on his desk and his computer on. Blinking, he noticed two barrels on a trolley near his door, and then he felt the compulsion tug at his mind. He stood from his chair and grabbed hold of the trolley, propping the door open and wheeling the barrels outside and across the second story metal walkway. He couldn’t help but panic as he fought for control, willing his hands and legs to stop moving as they carried him and the barrels over to the large water reservoir. It dawned on him then what was happening, and he doubled his efforts to wrest control of his mind – there was poison in those barrels, he knew now. It made sense, he managed a water treatment facility for the London area, somehow someone was controlling him to do this, and a great many lives were at risk. He popped the lid on the first barrel then, tipping it over the side of the railing. It fell and impacted the surface with a splash, spilling it’s contents into the surrounding water. Moore cried, then, not for the first time, as he repeated the action with the second barrel. Only then did the compulsion dissipate, and he regained himself. He leaned hard on the railing, his body shaking with sobs as he shut his eyes and willed it to be a dream. A thought hit him then, and he straightened up, running to the nearest control tower. He shut the water flow off, then. A countless volume of water had already left the facility, but the damage had been stemmed for now. He picked up the phone on the wall and began dialing the police, but was interrupted as a crack sounded behind him.

Yaxley quickly silenced the muggle with a killing curse, reversing the lever he had pulled and reopening the water pumps. The poison, a highly potent bioweapon the muggles had developed to eradicate one another, had been lifted on a separate assignment several weeks later. He wasn’t one to speculate, but Yaxley rather thought the Dark Lord took great pleasure in using muggle weapons against them, and thus the current mission. Seeing that the water was flowing correctly, Yaxley disapparated, reappearing in St. James Park. With a flick of his wand, the Dark Mark was sent high into the sky, a snake coiling out of the skulls mouth, turning to flick it’s tongue at the empty eye socket.

Albus Dumbledore awoke the next morning to a rather insistent sounding voice emanating from his fireplace. Gathering his robes about him he climbed out of bed and knelt at the fireplace, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Minister Fudge’s face was there in the flames, and he said, “Albus, London is gone.” A chill went down his spine, then, and he said, “Gone how, Minister?” “Everyone is dead, Albus. Everyone. The bastards wiped the whole city out. I’ve just been over, it’s horrifying. The streets are silent, people just froze in their seats. It’s quite unnerving, honestly.” With a shuddering breath, Albus collapsed into his chair, his eyes sparkling as he retreated into his thoughts.