(Author Notes: This is the prologue to "In the Name of Peace." It is set after the 6th book and therefore you should expect that it will contain 6th book spoilers. Ever since I read the HBP, I have been craving to write this, and now I finally had the time to begin it. I hope you all enjoy it.

Warnings: 6th book spoilers, violence, death, slash (there is one gay pairing later on).

Copyrights: All of the characters in this story unless otherwise noted belong to JK Rowling. I can safely assure you that I am not her. The chapter title is a line from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake.)

In the Name of Peace

Prologue: Some to Misery are Born

It was only until Scrigemour had shut the door of his office behind him that he allowed a slow, pleased smile to spread across his lips. So the old fool was finally dead. Good. That would make things much easier from now on. He could finally get things done that Dumbledore had prevented, the doddering imbecile.

He sat down at his desk, ravaged face thoughtful. Almost absently, he opened one of the desk drawers, pulling out three official-looking documents. Running a finger beneath the first name on the list, he murmured the name to himself. Stan Shunpike. Wasn't that the one that Potter had wanted him to free? Then this would be the one to make an example of, while Potter was still grieving his beloved mentor. In the midst of the country's mourning for the Hogwarts headmaster, Scrigemour could finally implement the first of his numerous plans.

Now that false witness could finally be called forward to testify against Shunpike to the top Aurors, and the man would be executed promptly. And after that the other two that had been arrested would be executed as well, but in a few more weeks. The public needed to be assured of his efficiency, and what better way to be efficient than to execute several Death Eaters?

Scrigemour looked up, frowning, as the door to his office was suddenly thrown open. "Weasley, you know you are to knock, even in an emergency," he snapped at his assistant, not at all pleased at the interruption. After a moment, he noticed the man's frantic state. "What is the matter?"

"Sir...surely you've heard...I mean, someone just told me...Dumbledore, he's..." Percy Weasley was trembling all over, freckled face pasty white with shock. Even his normally picture perfect attire was in disarray. He swallowed hard, unable to speak the terrible words.

"He's dead," said Scrigemour in a matter-of-fact tone. "Killed by Severus Snape, if Mercurial was right when he told me." He smiled darkly. "Severus Snape, the man that Dumbledore trusted above all others." How...ironic. He noticed Weasley still looking devastated at the news. "Weasley, sit down." The man gestured at a chair, and Weasley immediately collapsed into it. The Minister of Magic tried to turn his tone gentler; after all, he didn't need his assistant having to take a holiday to recuperate from a breakdown. Not when Weasley was so concise and first class when it came to his paperwork.

He looked gravely at the trembling redhead. "It was a grave shock to me as well, Weasley. I expected Dumbledore to outlast us all! But surely you must understand that even great men die during war. It was tragic, yes, but unavoidable."

Weasley was still pale, and shook like a leaf in a tempest. "Yes, sir it was unavoidable, of course, but-but...sir, think of the morale! Hogwarts was a safe haven for-for so many people. So-so many will lose hope at this, so many will-" He was crying by that point, tears streaking his face and dribbling onto his mussed robes.

Scrigemour scowled. Weasley made a good point. He hadn't thought of the impact Dumbledore's death would have on morale. Stan Shunpike's execution would have to be done swiftly and surely. The people needed reassurance, and if Stan Shunpike had to be the scapegoat, then so be it. He looked at the official document, and picked up a quill, and as Weasley sobbed and buried his head in his hands, calmly signed the document for Stan Shunpike's execution.

Charlie hadn't quite believed it when he'd returned from a two-week long pursuit of an injured Antipodean Opaleye in the vast forests of New Zealand and bought a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Every single story in the newspaper was of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. There was an entire page of quotations by his close friends upon being asked how they felt at hearing about Dumbledore, ranging from, "I'll make you wish you were dead!" by Mad-Eye Mooney to "I am more concerned with the children, and haven't I said that there are to be no reporters here?" by McGonagall. There was a page of a concise historical timeline about the man, from Dumbledore's birth to when he had gone to Hogwarts, become a professor, fought against Grindelwald, fought against You-Know-You, and at last been betrayed by his closest ally, the ex-Death Eater Severus Snape. Well, make that formerly ex-Death Eater. He was probably You-Know-Who's right-hand man now. There were entire pages of accounts of some of Dumbledore's eccentric habits, told by former students or former professors of Hogwarts, and even as special section from the former Minister Cornelius Fudge.

On the front page, of course, were both a picture of the man that everyone had respected and many had loved, and the painful details of his death.

Charlie's hands trembled slightly, and he instinctively thought of his family. Hogwarts had been invaded, people had been injured, people had been killed... Ron. Harry. Who was going to protect them now? He immediately contacted his mother, and as her face appeared in the flames of the tiny fireplace he was astonished at how haggard she looked.

"I-I heard about Dumbledore…. Is Harry all right?"

"Of course...that boy has more lives than a cat," his mother said with a strained smile, but she glanced away from him, and he knew something was wrong.

"And Ron? Is Ron all right?"

She still didn't meet his eyes. "Upset, but he'll be fine."

Charlie frowned. Why wouldn't she meet his eyes if Ron and Harry were both fine? Unless... "Hermione, then. Someone besides Dumbledore's been hurt, Mum, I can tell. What happened to Hermione?"

"It isn't Hermione or Ron or Harry!" His mother's outburst startled him, and he saw in astonishment that she was close to tears. "You could guess for a hundred years and you'd never think of who's been hurt!"

Charlie stared at her for a moment, and then suddenly knew. He wasn't quite sure how he'd suddenly known, but the knowledge was like a punch to the stomach. Perhaps it was because Bill and Fleur living happily ever after would be too much to ask of from Fate.

"Bill," he breathed out, incredulous. "Bill...what happened to him?"

"Fenrir Greyback," she whispered, and Charlie's vision turned black.

He blinked, and steadied himself on a chair, vaguely aware that he'd almost fainted. "Bill's...a..." The man swallowed, but continued, almost gagging at the horrible taste of the word, "...a werewolf?"

"No," said his mother, and she managed a weak smile, though her eyes grew luminous with tears. "Remus has managed to assure us of that at least. He was bitten while Greyback was still human, b-but..." She covered her face for a moment, and whispered, "His face... My poor, poor beautiful baby." And then she was suddenly gone. Perhaps her tears had put out the fireplace, or perhaps she hadn't wanted Charlie to see her weep. Whatever the case was, Charlie sank into the chair he'd been clinging to, dizzy with shock.

Bill...the handsomest of the Weasley lot. Not to mention the smartest and the bravest...

For the first time, Charlie knew was true rage, what true hatred was. He picked up his wand, ignoring the trembling of his hands, and stormed from the apartment. He was going to make Greyback pay, and he knew exactly who would help him do it.

Oh, Greyback would regret dearly the day he chose to mess with one of the Weasley clan.

Percy had excused himself from Scrigemour's office, and now somehow found himself back in his flat. It was a tiny thing -- a bedroom, a bathroom even he could barely fit inside, a sorry excuse for a kitchen, and a living room/dining room. Yes, it was his flat. He just couldn't quite remember getting here.

Looking around, he sat down wearily on the tattered sofa. He wanted to bury his face in his hands and sob once more, but what would be the point. Dumbledore was dead, and now everything was ruined.

He almost moaned, and raked a hand through his hair. How could Dumbledore die? The man had seemed immortal How could he die? His fingers tugged at his mane, as though the pain would enlighten him. What was Percy supposed to do now? There had never been any discussion on what Percy should do if the headmaster had died! It had never been in the equation!

Percy threw himself to his feet and lurched over to the tiny fireplace. A second later, he called in a hoarse voice, "Lupin! Lupin! Lupin, I must speak to you!" Desperation filled his voice. Only four people, including himself, had known what Percy had been doing since the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and two of them were now dead. Was this a sickening trend? Would he die next and then Lupin? Or would it be the werewolf and then the Weasley...

He called again, but there was no answer, and so he began to pace, mumbling to himself. Had Lupin also been injured in the assault on Hogwarts? Surely Lupin and the rest of the Order would have been there as soon as they'd learned of the attack

And so Percy walked back and forth from the sofa to the fireplace, over and over again, every so often tossing a pinch of green into the fireplace and calling the werewolf's name, all to no avail. Lupin was out of reach, and Percy was all alone.

The young man sank at last onto the sofa, letting his head loll back onto the backrest. He resisted the urge to cry again. The tears would be pointless, after all. Still, the stifling of his sobs made him remember those times of hiding before You-Know-Who had been temporarily defeated by Harry Potter. Everything had been dark and sinister then, and his mother had been pinched-looking and frightened, hands always on her belly where Ron and then Ginny had been forming. He had had to try so hard to keep Fred and George from sneaking out of the hiding places and getting them all killed. Those days had been as long as eternity, and now they were back.

Although this time he had no family that needed his aid. His father and mother were in the Order; they had safety in numbers. Bill and Charlie were far more competent than he could ever hope to be; they could protect themselves. Fred and George were rich; they could pay off the Death Eaters if they wanted. Ron was with Harry and Hermione; though Harry Potter attracted danger, Percy knew Ron would never die before Harry. Potter was just that sort of friend. Ginny...Ginny might have needed his help perhaps, but he had seen her silent disdain when he had last come to the house. No, his little sister wouldn't accept his help even had he offered it.

Percy stared up at the ceiling and noticed the cracks in the ceiling. He really should do something about them; otherwise his ceiling might fall down one day. The cracks blurred as tears again sprang to his eyes. It had seemed like only yesterday that Dumbledore had sat on this couch and tried to engage him in a game of finding the outline of creatures in the cracks. How could that cheerfully insane man be gone? How could that evening have been two weeks ago? How could that man be dead?

He closed his eyes, knowing he would have the repairmen in his flat the following day to patch the ceiling and destroy the cracks and the beasts Dumbledore had pointed out during their long conversation. If he didn't, Percy rather thought he'd go mad.

He sat there for a long moment, and just listened to the quietness. Well, it wasn't so much of a quietness as the softened noises of the city. There was the sound of the train gently rumbling a few streets over, close enough to hear but far enough away so as not to make the windows tremble. The muted wailing of an alley cat a few buildings down. The soft footfalls of someone else who was pacing just upstairs, beating out an anxious tempo of quiet thumps.

Percy wondered who else had thoughts weighing so heavily upon their mind that they too needed to pace. He didn't dare look up at the cracked ceiling to wonder this. He instead stood and went shakily into his kitchen to pour himself a drink. Water though; he had to be perfectly coherent if Lupin should manage to become available in the next few hours.

Glass in hand, he sighed and attempted one more time to contact Lupin, again to no avail. By Merlin, he prayed the man wasn't injured. Hopefully the werewolf would know what Percy was supposed to do now.

Well, scratch that. Percy knew what he was supposed to do. He'd keep on doing what he'd done for Dumbledore, only now he would talk to Lupin instead. Perhaps Lupin would know what to do with what Percy was going to tell him. Either that, or pass it onto someone who did.

For the first time, Percy wished he was a smoker, or at least had some sort of habit that could keep his mind off this entire ordeal. Smoking, fidgeting, chewing gum, he'd be willing to do almost anything at all to ease the stress.

After all, hadn't Dumbledore warned him that it was going to be extremely stressful as the headmaster's top spy in the Ministry?

(Author's Notes: I hope you all enjoyed the prologue of In the Name of Peace. Please remember to read and review.)