Victor Cowan Apparated into the large foyer of his London manor, feeling immensely worn out and in need of strong liquor. His wife, Nicole, who was sitting on the elaborately designed sofa, had been waiting patiently for his return, and now sighed in relief that he was home safe.

"How was your Ministry trip, dear?" she asked as she stood up and smoothed out her plum colored witches robes.

"It was a complete and utter failure," he replied. He took off his traveling cloak and held it out just as an arm from the golden coat hanger reached out and hooked it onto itself.

"I'm sure you found something, right?" she asked as she engaged him in a tight embrace, which he returned with an extra peck on the cheek.

"No, I'm afraid not," he sighed as they began to walk out of the room and down the hall to the study. "That was about the tenth time we have searched Tibet, but still no sign that Sirius Black was ever there. I believe we should start taking different leads soon or we might as well be taking vacations to Tibet. I wonder if Kinsley Shaklebolt is thinking along the same lines…"

As they entered the study, Nicole went straight for the book she had been reading before she went to greet her husband. Victor pulled out a long, thin wand and flicked it at the firewhiskey bottle on the bar behind his desk. It flew toward him, followed by a small shot glass.

"Would you care for a firewhiskey, darling?" he asked his wife as he poured a drink.

"Yes, dear," she replied, turning pages in her book.

Victor flicked his wand to get another glass for his wife.

"Where is Vera?" he inquired as he sent the glass across the room to his wife.

"Oh, she's still at school," she said, taking a drink of her firewhiskey. "She's going to Ronald Weasley's house with that Hermione Granger girl for vacation, though."

"Oh yes, I remember her. Did you say Weasley? Arthur Weasley's boy, yes? Nice man, Arthur…nice man. Only hope that Potter boy isn't there, I don't want our daughter being told wrong by that boy…You-Know-Who returned…load of rubbish!"

At that moment a large barn owl flew through the open window and landed on the mahogany coffee table.

"Ah, the Daily Prophet…at this hour?" He looked out the window, observing the velvety night and the pale full moon. "No matter," he said as he untied the newspaper from the bird's leg and inserted a knut into the leather pouch on its other, at which time it took off out the window through which it came.

Victor opened the heavy paper and looked upon the front page, who's headline read:

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns

Victor felt a sickening, hollow feeling in his stomach. It couldn't be, not now, after so many years of nothing. Sixteen years of recovery and now the Wizarding World was about to fall apart once again. After a few seconds, he realized that he was standing again.

"Darling…are you alright?" asked his wife in a concerned voice.

"I…y-yes, dear, everything is fine," he lied. He didn't want to worry her just yet.

He quickly skimmed through the article, and was immediately drawn to a part that spoke of the capture of Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. He read the names quickly under his breath.

"Avery…Crabbe…Dolohov…Jugson…Lestrange…Macnair…Mal—"

He suddenly dropped his forgotten glass, which fell to the ground and shattered, spilling firewhiskey across the floor.

"Merlin's beard, it can't be true," he whispered, ignoring his wife who was now pleading to know what was going on. "But he swore…couldn't be…and if he is…my God, VERA!"