PAS DE DEUR
PROLOUGE-- ELEVEN YEARS

NOVEMBER 6, 1981

It took Alastor Moody nine years to gain authorization to Azkaban.

It took him two more to make his visit look inconspicuous.

It took him three days to make sure the dementors were as deaf to what he would do as they were blind.

It took him four hours to plan the act.

It took him less than sixty seconds to find the cell.

Slamming the cell door shut, Moody saw him for the first time in twelve years, Those years had been kind to neither of them; they had reduced Moody to an embittered person, scarred inside and out, and Sejanus was a husk of his former self... empty, staring silently at the wall.

His eyes focused on one thing; Moody took a step into the room... clunk...

"Alastor," Sejanus turned slowly, the dim light revealing his sunken face.

...clunk... Moody took a step closer and knelt down nest to his one-time friend. "Your master's dead, Sejanus," Moody tilted his scarred face, whispering into the prisoner's ear.

Sejanus bowed his head, and spoke with a doomed resignation; "He's not my master..."

Moody did not reply, instead he was fingering something deep within his robes.

Sejanus stared at the wall again, his expression slackened and his eyes grew vacant. When he next spoke, it had a hollow and dead sounding tone, "I saw them bring in Sirius Black two days ago. I remember Sirius Black from before... here..."

Moody's voice was low, little more than a hiss, "I remember people who were still alive before you came here."

Sejanus's voice cracked into a sob, "I didn't mean to kill her--" his words stopped, wrenched off in a strangled scream.

"Too late now," Moody said quietly as he pulled the knife from Sejanus's back, watching as the heartbeats grew weaker... and stopped, as the death blood poured out, into the oppressive void that was Azkaban. He stared into the prisoner's vacant eyes, "Too late."



CHAPTER ONE-- OPENING CHORDS

DECEMBER 25, 1970

The lights dimmed the gentle buzz of chatter replaced by the keening of a violin. Swan Lake, not your ordinary Christmas ballet, but that was all forgotten as a breathless hush fell over the audience. Every single eye was glued to the stage, flooded with light and painfully empty. Liv waited in the wings, her heart pounding in two-four time. Suddenly the cue came and she ran out into the blazing spotlights. The key to dance was not to think, but to simply be the movement-- feel all parts of your body as once whole and let your mind go. Trust your feet to move in the endless two-hour rhythm of coupé jeté, pas de bourrée... assemblé, a series of piqué turns-- and then, as the last keening note held, the last pirrotte spun, no one spoke, no one blinked, no one swallowed spit. Then, like a rising wave, came the wall of tumultuous applause.


----


"I'll have a corned beef on rye, no mustard... with cheddar cheese."

"Coming right up, miss."

Liv yawned, feeling the unbearable weariness that can only come right after a performance. Finally escaping from the bouquets of flowers and crowds of fans, Liv had kicked off her descent into anonymity at a 24-hour deli, not a place frequented by the same crowd as the London ballet. The deli was truly a grubby place, its only modern conveyance a gleaming digital clock, daring to blink out the heinous time (1:03 AM) in an angry red. Everything else was 20s retro, retro-ed so convincingly that it looked as if it had been installed in the 20s and aged considerably since then. No great Parisian interior decorator could have set foot in the eloquently named "24 hour deli" without immediately suffering spontaneous combustion. The colour scheme (or lack thereof) varied in shades of brown ranging from an "alternating speckled rawhide" countertop to the "medieval interstate 64" ceiling tiles.

"Hey, aren't you a ballet dancer?"

Turning around in a world of annoyance, Liv was tempted to scream, "No!" but her better nature won out. Heaving a great sigh, she said, "Yes."

"Yeah, I saw you tonight," the man was leaning over the counter next to her, his curly black hair going in about a million directions at once as he chewed absently on a straw.

"Did you like it?" Liv said, surprised that a man who so radiated GRUNGE had even been let into the performance.

"No," he said flatly, giving the straw a good chew, "I hate ballet, one of my friends gave me the ticket."

Liv felt a smile coming on, at least he was frank, "Why don't you like it?"

He gave he a mischievous grin, "You let me walk you home and I'll tell you."

She glared at him; "I really don't think so."

"Suit yourself," he said in a tone that made it sound as if he could not care less. This only served to infuriate Liv further, which seemed to be this man's goal in life. Sitting down on one of the "light mocha" barstools, Liv gave a half-hearted glance at the paper, and a tiny box in the corner caught her attention.

"Alastor Moody, 41, of London, caught in the assaulting of Laurel Brock, 24, last Thursday. Moody was released without charges today on the bail of a Cornelius Fudge, 36. Fudge denies comment."

Liv rolled her eyes as she pushed the paper away. Denying comment was what Cornelius was best at, she knew him all too well for comfort. Liv glanced up to find the straw-chewing man still staring at her. Scowling she grabbed her sandwich and flounced out of the shop.

"Cold are we?" with a rush of annoyance, Liv realized the man from the deli had followed her outside, still chewing on his infernal straw.

"What are you doing?" she snapped angrily.

He gave her the same sly grin; "Can a person slink around the streets anymore?"

"Slink away!" Liv glared.

"D'you mind if I slink you home?"

Before Liv could stop herself, she gave a wisp of a smile, "That was lame."

He shrugged, "I'm not the one who's laughing."

"I'm not laughing!"

"Yes you are."

"No, I am not--" she said, as suddenly as small giggle escaped her, "It was still lame."

"So, what's your name?" he said, giving his trademark grin, "I lost my program."

Liv raised an eyebrow; "You really got this whole manners think down to a tee, hmm?"

"'Scuse me, Madame, for not knowing every detail of your exalted existence," he said sarcastically.

She extended her hand; "I'm Livilla Aulnais." It was a stage name, but he did not have to know.

He blinked before taking her hand, "Livilla?"

"My mother's name is Livia, in Latin Livilla is little Livia. Most people call me Liv."

"I'm not most people," he said with the slightest bit of mockery.

"Well?" Liv said pointedly.

"Well what?" the man stopped in midstride.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

"Roger Davis," he said taking her hand for a second time.

"Roger, hmm?"

"That's my name."

"So why did you want to talk to me?"

Roger cave his cheeky smirk, "Who wouldn't?"

Liv was glad it was dark so he couldn't see her blush," Be serious."

"That's hard for me," Roger ran his hand through his curly hair, "Seriously? I don't know, I saw you in the deli, recognized you, and figured why not."

"So I'm just a whim?" Liv said dryly.

"Yeah, you could put it that way," Roger grinned, "I'm sorry, you're not the center of my universe."

"This is where I live," Liv said coldly, abruptly stopping in front of a small stone town house.

Roger stopped too; "Can I see you again?"

Liv looked down at him, nonplussed, "First you insult me, then you ask to see me again?"

"You know you want to," he said gently, catching her arm.

And with a sickening chill, Liv realized she did. Infuriating as he was, Roger was the only person she "knew" who did not treat her as if she was made of glass. "Alright," she sighed, attempting to sound as put upon as possible.

"Tomorrow night?"

Liv shook her head, "No, I have a party to go to." If she took Roger to that party... the results would be devastating.

"So do I," he grimaced, "I'm looking for an excuse to get out of it. Alright, the next night?"

"Sure," she said with a faint smile.

"I'll pick you up around eight, then," he grinned, obviously very pleased with himself.

"Well... bye then," Liv said, feeling slightly awkward.

"Eight!" Said Roger, pointing at her, before walking down the street. Much against her will; Liv stood on her doorstep and watched until he disappeared into the abyss of city night.


----



Not for the first time that evening, Liv regretted not taking Roger up on his date. As she apperated in front of the lively red and green house, a growing sense of dread, mainly brought on by the cheery Christmas carols blaring from inside, overwhelmed her. Gritting her teeth as she passed through the doorjamb, Liv found herself in a world of extremely alarming and quite possibly dangerous red and green tinsel.

Sighing, she entered her brother's party.

Completely in tune with his character of the perfect gentleman host, he brother waited by the door, earnestly shaking the hands of everyone who entered. A posh bureaucrat with a future as bright as his spit polished spats, he knew everyone who was anyone and had invited them all. With his blond hair plastered to his head and his red and green striped dress robes, Liv's brother hearkened to a festive penguin more than the dignified image he was trying to present. "Livilla!" he said, in a tone that made it sound like he was trying to sell her something. Other than her parents, he brother was the only person who ever called her Livilla. "Welcome back! I'm so glad you could come."

Liv forced a smile; "I wouldn't have missed it, Cornelius." It was rather sad; she thought when she had to use the same voice she reserved for ballet donors on her own brother. He turned away, ready to curry favor with a new guest.

Walking through the maze of seasonal cheer, Liv was almost glad she had not brought Roger. She could not imagine his lounging around on Cornelius's plush living room furniture, couldn't see him hob-nobbing with the wealthy guests. However, there was another, more integral reason against bringing Roger. Liv was a witch, she was sure he would love that, but it was simply beside the point. For thousands of years, the muggle (or non-magical community) had lived unknowing of the magical one existing beside their own. If, after all these years, Liv blew their cover, it would be worth more than one lousy night at her brother's. Why was she thinking about Roger, anyway? He had no right to keep perusing into her thoughts like this, but in the seconds that she had known him, having a right to do anything seemed the least of Roger's concerns.

"Liv, darling!" turning around, Liv felt a sense of impending doom even stronger than the feeling she got when hearing the opening chords of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". Mrs. Agatha Crunchmas was an old friend of her mother's who had somehow gotten it into her head that Liv was her "pet". She stood, her arms outstretched in an attempt to hug the quailing Liv.

"Mrs. Crunchmas..." Liv said, stretching her polite quota to the limit as they embraced, Liv trying to avoid the yipping dog under the old lady's arm.

"Liv, dear, when are you coming back to us magical folk, we miss you ever so much!" Mrs. Crunchmas compulsively pet the head of the tiny little dog she carried around like a fifth limb.

Liv forced a smile, "I'm very happy where I am, thank you."

Mrs. Crunchmas moved her hand dismissivly, "Oh ballet is all very well and nice, but I have a friend in the Ministry who could get you a very nice desk job. God knows we need all the help we can get."

"What do you mean?" Liv raised an eyebrow. Her "so-called" isolation from the wizarding world had its disadvantages.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard!" Mrs. Crunchmas looked scandalized and Liv was on the verge of screaming in frustration. "You must have heard of Lord Voldemort, my dear?"

If Liv had any guttural reaction she kept it well concealed and simply shook her head; "It sounds vaguely familiar."

Mrs. Crunchmas heaved a heaved sigh, "I do wish I could preserve your innocence my dear, my dear. Lord Voldemort is a powerful dark wizard; he surfaced in the Soviet Union near Drumstang, about six months ago. Since then, he has been gathering supporters, who call themselves Death Eaters. Ministry officials are being murdered left and right. Some call Voldemort the next Grindewald, but personally I think they are blowing the situation completely out of proportion."

For the first time in her life, Liv was interested in what Mrs. Crunchmas had to say," How many Death Eaters are there?"

Mrs. Crunchmas clucked her tongue disapprovingly, "Too many, and growing everyday. Only one has been caught, Laurel Brock. The man was babbling like an idiot, scared out of his wits they say. All we got out of him was the Death Eaters had some sort of brand to identify each other but they searched his body and found nothing. Alastor Moody was the one who caught him, my dear. You know Alastor, of course-- poor thing, Brock let out a few good hexes before he was overpowered." She had said this all very fast and was now pausing for a deep breath.

"How awful," Liv said. Despite the fact that aurors made her nervous, Alastor Moody was one of the few acquaintances of Cornelius she actually liked.

"And that's not all!" Mrs. Crunchmas said conspiratorially, drawing Liv closer towards her, "Some people say Brock was with another Death Eater who got away. Alastor found Brock attempting to break through the ward spells on the Department of Dark Magic Annihilation, heavens knows why, but in the morning the wards were down and some files were stolen. Top secret files," she added in a tone of great relish.

"Really?" Liv said, picking at her nail, while glancing around for a mode of escape. "Mrs. Crunchmas, if you would excuse me--" and then she ran away before the old lady could ask for her non-existent reason. In her flight, Liv nearly tripped over a man standing by the stairs, "Careful there, lassie," he said, steadying her.

"Alastor," Liv smiled, relieved to find a remotely rational human being in this festive cheer. Out of all of Cornelius's ministry acquaintances, Alastor Moody was the one she liked the most. A tall man around forty, Alastor's ruggedly handsome features were disfigured by a single scar running along the right side of his face. "Liv," he grinned, "Its been a while."

"Indeed," she smiles, taking his outstretched hand.

"Before you elope and leave me, would you mind introducing this beautiful woman?" For the first time, Liv noticed the woman on Alastor's arm.

Alastor looked at her, and a smile softened his weather-beaten features. "Liv, this is our newest auror, and my fiancé, Chita Ramone," he said, grinning as if he had just won the lottery. And in a way, he had; Chita looked more like an exotic dance than any sort of auror.

"Nice to meet you," she said with a slight accent.

"You too..." Liv replied, taking in the perfectly manicured hands, the impeccable hair, and the red dress, that managed to fit like it was painted on and cover less than one of her ballet leotards.

Alastor's harsh brogue cut her appraisal short; "Chita was an auror in the Ministry over in Spain."

"I was transferred when Voldemort... appeared... and focused his attacks on Britain," Chita said in English so perfect, there was no way it could be her first language. "Alastor tells me you are a dancer."

Liv shrugged, still wary about the newcomer, "For the London ballet... I really don't get around in the wizarding world much." Liv wondered why she said that, she had never been much good at small talk.

"I used to dance myself," Chita said, fingering her empty wineglass and looking at Alastor with big cow eyes.

"Among other things," a new voice joined the conversation, "Gourmet chef, jazz singer, first class auror, animagus... If I hadn't known Alastor forever, I might consider stealing you. I got your wine, by the by."

Alastor stepped forward, "Liv, this is Sejanus Cox, my absolute best friend. Sejanus, this is Liv Fudge."

Glancing at Sejanus, Liv almost choked. He gaped at her, an almost identical expression of surprise on his own face, which he quickly masked with a superior grin. "No wonder you don't use your real name," Sejanus smirked, somehow holding three glasses of wine in his hands while absently chewing a straw.

"I could say the same for you," Liv snapped.

Sejanus shook his head and said in a tone of sarcastic reverence, "We live in such dangerous times, safety comes before truth."

"Shut your trap," Alastor growled, "Am I missing something?"

"We've met," Liv said in a cloud of fury. "Only that time his name was Roger."

"A rose by any other name, would smell as sweet," Sejanus said, biting his straw with a flourish.

"You are truly an idiot," Alastor smirked.

"Touché," Sejanus shrugged, "Anyway, take your wine," he said handing Alastor and Chita their glasses. "Sorry it took so long, I was cornered by Cornelius Fudge. He wants to put more restrictions on the Dark Arts program; I told him to mind his own business, so I don't think I'll have to come to any of these parties anytime soon, unlike you," he said, gesturing to Liv. "He's your brother I presume, Fudge isn't all that common a name."

"Unfortunately," Liv said with a sigh.

"Right," Sejanus smirked. "Only don't let him hear it, or he'll find some way to connect you to Lord Voldemort."

"Sejanus," Chita said disapprovingly, the name rolling off her tongue.

"It's true," Sejanus shrugged. "Anyone politically damaging to the Ministry suddenly becomes a Death Eater. Strangely sick fad, if you ask me."

"I thought only one Death Eater was captured," Liv said.

"Only one was convicted," Alastor said gruffly.

Chita smiled sweetly over her glass of wine, "And you caught him."

Sejanus snorted, either at her open display of affection or at the topic of conversation, Liv couldn't tell. "There wasn't much left of him to convict."

"He got a life sentence in Azkaban," Alastor said for Liv's benefit.

"Poor man," Liv said absently, "You wouldn't think anyone would deserve the dementors..."

"You'd be surprised," Alastor muttered gruffly, taking a swig of wine.

"Its barbaric," Liv said, miffed.

Chita gave her a long piercing stare. "Let us hear you call it barbaric when they burn your house, kill your family, hmm?"

"Excuse me?" Liv growled.

Chita shrugged airily, "You're simply naive. It's not your fault."

Before Liv could make a reply that gave voice to the fury she was feeling, Sejanus, obviously sensing trouble cut her off; "Does anyone else want to leave?"

"Yes," Liv said, glaring at Chita, who remained annoyingly aloof.

"We'll stay," said Alastor catching on.

"See you later then," Sejanus said, catching Liv's arm.

"Before you go back up north," Alastor said, steering Chita the other direction.

Feeling herself being pulled towards the door, Liv rounded on Sejanus. "What do you think you're doing?"

He blinked at her, "avoiding possible catastrophe. Chita is known to get curse happy when you give her the chance, and you don't look all that stable yourself."

"Get off of me!" Liv screeched. "You-- You are so--"

He pulled the straw out of his mouth; "I am so?"

"Forget it," Liv growled, starting towards the door, "Just forget it."

Sejanus stared at her, and finally spoke, "Look, you just don't know Chita-- I'm sorry for dragging you away like that, ok?"

Liv blinked, surprised to hear anything as human as an apology coming out of Sejanus's mouth. "I'm sorry, too."

He smiled, "For what?"

She shrugged, "Being a bitch..."

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, you are good at that, I'm just kidding--"

In spit of herself, Liv felt the beginnings of a smile, "You had better be."

"Let me walk you home," he said, "I have to get my coat from the closet."

Striding away from Liv, he reached for a door on the right. "Wait!" she began, "That's the bathroom!" However, what Liv saw next made the last mistake seem miniscule. As Sejanus pulled open the bathroom door, what was unmistakably a body fell out and hit the floor face down with a sickening crunch. A primitive instinct told everyone in the room what that crunch was, the same primitive instinct that raised every hair on every neck, kept every tongue locked behind every lip, kept every bone stock still, kept even breath inside. After an eternity of heartbeats pent up in miniscule seconds, someone spoke, "Bloody hell." Speak of the devil or not, bloody hell was exactly what broke loose.

It was Mrs. Crunchmas who first screamed, her screams cloned over and over all across the room, the panic murdering the earlier shock. It was the assassination of Kennedy, the murder of Caesar, the sinking of the Titanic, only this time the band was too afraid to play on.

Sejanus, standing right next to the body, too shocked to move, suddenly knelt down and pushed it over-- two things happened at once. The first, a great cry took hold, "Dippet! Edwin Dippet! Dead!" The second, slowly at first and then faster, with growing menace a trickling column of green smoke drifted out of Dippet's lifeless mouth, curling, whipping, thrashing... into a hideous shape of a skull. Out of the skull's mouth, like some sadistic parody of a tongue, a snake emerged, baring its poisoned fangs. The snake reared, as if to strike at them all... and stopped. The horrible smoke figure hung there in the air for almost a full ten seconds, ten seconds where no heart beat, no breath was taken, all were paralyzed, staring at the blatant evil hovering above them. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it dissolved into nothing.

Through the shredded remnants of festive cheer, Alastor's spoke, giving voice to the one thought resilient on every single mind, "Voldemort."


----


It took the hit wizards three hours to stop asking Sejanus for his story ("I opened the closet and Dippet fell out"), and another half an hour fending off the concerned Alastor, furious Chita, and blustering Cornelius. The official report was that another Death Eater, probably Brock's accomplice, had murdered Dippet, because Lord Voldemort himself could not easily slip in and out of a ministry party. Liv felt half-guilty for not caring overmuch, but she was more than relieved to finally see her own apartment. There was a swoosh of air as Sejanus apperated alongside her. "Cozy little place you got here," he said plopping down on the sofa as Liv lit a fire from across the room.

"Where d'you live?" she asked suddenly, sitting down beside him.

"In Scotland," he said, pulling out the straw that the hit wizard interrogator had given him. "I live up at Hogwarts, actually."

Liv raised an eyebrow, "Whatever for?"

"I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Seriously?"

"Yes... why?"

She gave a slight smile, "You don't seem like the teaching type."

He put the straw back into his pocked, "I didn't even know there was a teaching type."

Liv shrugged, "There probably isn't..."

"Then how could I be one?"

"Forget it."

Sensing the lapse in conversation, Sejanus began to ramble, "I actually like teaching. Its the students, I have this second year James Potter, absolutely insane, worse than I was in fact, especially when he's with his friends. There was this class on werewolves before holidays..."

However, Liv ceased to listen to the escapades of this James Potter. Maybe it was the flickering firelight, maybe the fact it was midnight, maybe the stressful evening, or any combination of a million different factors. But the feeling she had been edging around all evening was finally catching up with her. Surprising even herself, Liv reached out and caught Sejanus's hand. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but she shook her head... and slowly lowered herself into the kiss.