A/N: Onto my next multi chapter fic. This will be written for the Long Haul Competition (so weekly chapters are guaranteed) and the 100k competition (an indication of how long this fic will be. I'm very proud of it and it is set in 1974 and, from this point, it will be an AU. The main focus will be Bellatrix and Voldemort with a number of other side pairings (some of which are a surprise). The idea will be to explore what would really happen if Voldemort won and how the grass is always greener on the other side. Prepare for lots of surprises and get ready for the ride.
The quill was loaded with ink as it ran across the parchment, sprinkling words and pleas. It rose for only a moment as it was dunked into an inkpot before it returned to its frantic pace across the paper. Too much ink had obviously been applied, as the handwriting was blotchy and the black liquid tainted the dark red nail polish on the woman's fingers; the last remaining shred of her femininity.
A series of loud explosions, sounded above her. They were almost like the eruptions from bombs she had heard in her youth during the great muggle war. Her handwriting slipped upwards for a moment as a sprinkling of dust from the ornately engraved wooden ceiling flitted down onto her dark hair and robes, but she did not stop.
She could not stop.
Instead of glancing around at the failed charms on the window that was usually charmed to display false illusions of sunlight, she quickly scribbled her name at the bottom of the messy note.
No one had predicted this day would be upon them so soon. They had all noticed an escalation in Death Eater activity, but to imagine the Death Eaters would be as bold as to mount a direct attack on the Ministry itself had seemed preposterous. It might have been eight at night, when most of the personnel had gone home, though there was still a decent amount of Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement Squad in attendance.
You Know Who must have thought he had the numbers.
It would seem he was correct.
Removing her wand from the pocket of her robe, she lifted it to multiply the note in front of her so she could send it to the Aurors who were not present at the Ministry.
As the sound of footsteps rocketing down the hallway reached her ears like a herd of elephants, she stopped. A knife went through her heart.
She had lost the chance.
Wrenching the parchment from her desk, she gripped it tightly in the hand as she scrunched it into a tight ball. Hesitatingly she raised herself to a not very impressive height of just over five feet. Her collared robes fluttered around her ankles as she stepped out from behind her thick sturdy wooden desk.
The footsteps grew louder and she strained her ears for the unpleasant sound of screams, but, thankfully, all she heard was the click of boots against the polished floors. They grew louder and louder until it stopped in front of her door. She paused and waited for the inevitable.
Like the eye of the storm had passed by and the battering winds had arrived, a jet of indigo light shone from underneath her door. It pierced her eyes as the door was thrown off its hinges and slammed into her soft woollen rug. The dust blew into her eyes, but she strained to look forward and to not flinch as five figures stepped into her office. Each wore familiar black robes and silver masks that hid their identities.
Her heart stopped beating. She could not defeat five Death Eaters.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and her grip on the parchment grew sweaty as she waited in silence. However, she did not lower her wand. She only stared straight ahead at the eyes that pepped through the holes in the masks.
"Millicent Bagnold," The first figure said his voice coarse and containing what sounded like a Russian accent, "Stand down and surrender your wand. Despite being Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, comply and you will be unharmed."
She did not want to. She did not want to obey Death Eaters. She knew what these people were like. She knew they were cruel and vile. She knew that being head of the department that extensively opposed them and a high ranking official could mean she would soon have a knife in her back. She also had to think about what would happen to her elderly muggleborn parents.
Still, logically she knew she did not have a chance of success.
"Of course," she murmured trying to keep her voice steady. There was no point fighting when she had five wand pointed at her. She could do it later when opposition would be wiser and more affective. She tried to keep her hand steady as she turned her wand so that the handle was facing the cloaked figures. "I assume I will be allowed my wand back soon. I am not a threat."
"We will see." One of the other Death Eaters sneered. Millicent was quite surprised to hear a woman's voice under the hood. She strode forward and snatched her wand from her reluctant grip. Despite having voluntarily surrendered her wand, she felt naked as her hand dropped to her side. "This does not mean you are not an enemy."
Millicent forced herself not to glare fire into the dark almost brown eyes of the woman who continued to glower at Millicent's naked face. "But, if I am not an enemy?"
No one replied. Millicent forced herself not to panic. Luckily, since her wand was collected, the band of Death Eaters did not seem interested in her.
"Come on," The woman said as she turned back to the group and gestured for them to follow her. "We have other opposition to crush."
"The Dark Lord did not make you the leader." A different male voice said his voice clipped and precise like someone who had been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. "Do not believe you are in charge."
Still standing in the middle of the room, Millicent moved back a little as the woman pointed her own wand at one of her comrades.
Even from the narrowing in the woman's eyes, Millicent knew she was someone to be feared. "Perhaps not now, but he will." Her voice was low and dangerous as she brought her hand to head. Tugging on her hood, black hair tumbled down in perfect waves before she wrenched off her mask. Porcelain skin, high cheekbones, pointed nose and an angular jaw were revealed. She was obviously an attractive young woman. "I just wanted to get that thing off. Now we won't need to hide our identities."
"You should be more careful." The cool voice of the Russian murmured, as not one of the other four Death Eaters made any attempt to remove their masks. "We are not finished yet."
"The Dark Lord will win. He has already won," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her dark eyes focused back on Millicent, but she was not angry. Instead she smiled in a way Millicent thought was perverse and unpleasant. "That means we will be working with each other rather soon Dear Millicent."
She grinned, her eyes alive as she pushed past the other men and out the door. They reluctantly followed.
Millicent let out a long breath she did not realise she had been holding in as she collapsed back on her elbows onto her desk.
How could they have lost? How could You Know Who have won?
There were some days working at St Mungos that Andromeda knew were too good to be true. When she was half way through a shift and had not faced any major catastrophes or rush of patients, she detected something would happen. Every time she had such thoughts, she wished she were wrong.
It was the case tonight.
William Jones had worked on the front desk of security in the Atrium at the Ministry and had been at his post just like every other day. He had been working night shift so perhaps he had slept in or perhaps he had spent the day with his wife, girlfriend, brother, mother or whoever he was particularly close to. It was meant to have been an ordinary day at work for him.
It has not been.
From what he had told Andromeda while she had struggled to heal the gaping wound in his side, he had been sitting at his desk in the empty atrium except for the late stragglers who were talking in groups or walking towards the fireplaces. He had been flicking through the Daily Prophet and he had not noticed anything amiss.
Until the screams had started.
He had barely had the chance to grasp his wand in his hand and look up at the hundreds of familiar dark robed figures that appeared out of fireplaces, before a curse had struck him in the chest and all had gone black.
Andromeda had her hands in his wounds for several hours until William had died. She had not even been allowed to mourn before she had turned to the next victim.
The rush had not stopped.
Hundreds of wounded had flooded into St Mungos with even the Waiting Room being used as an operating room. They had included Aurors, Magical Law Enforcement Squad, civilians, and even Death Eaters. She had not said anything to anyone. She had only done her job with a level of clinical detachment that was a requirement and her ears pricked up for vital news.
She needed to know the details of what had happened.
She had. Every victim that had entered St Mungos had told her something important. One hysterical woman had sobbed that she had seen the dead body of Minister Diggory. Another had told how she had hidden behind a desk as the Auror were driven back by Death Eaters. The last man had been strangely calm from his bed as he informed the ward that You Know Who had ascended a podium in the Ministry and dished out orders to the assembly.
The Ministry had fallen
The building had been flooded with the enemy and they had been overwhelmed. The Minister of Magic had been executed and the Dark Lord had taken the position of power.
It was hard to not shudder at the thought, as she muttered a healing charm to fix the head wound of the man in front of her.
She could only imagine what would happen to everyone. She had a very vivid memory of the world her old family had spoken and dreamed of and she knew what they would do to create their world.
They were merciless. They would kill and torture until all of the opposition was wiped out and their sick and twisted purist visions were realised.
It was dangerous for her. She might have been a pureblood, but she had turned away from that life and she was now labelled a blood traitor.
However, she was not at the biggest risk.
Ted and Dora were.
Hogwarts Castle had never felt so isolated and threatened. Surrounded by history's greatest witches and wizards, even Albus Dumbledore was forced to scrunch up his usual twinkling eyes and rest his slightly crooked nose up against his hands that were pressed together.
It had been more than fifty years since he had made a mistake as erroneous as what had occurred tonight.
If anyone else was around he would not be like this. He would have straightened up and appeared like he was ready to react to the tragic circumstances that they had to face.
The truth was even Albus Dumbledore was caught by surprise.
He had thought it would take Tom another decade to amass enough strength to tear down the Ministry in such a direct way. He had assumed a takeover of the Ministry at this stage was ludicrous.
He had been wrong
He had received news via one of his contacts in the Ministry about the attack. He had notified as many of the Order as he could so they could rush to assist.
It had not been enough.
He had resisted going himself for fear that the attack might have spread to Hogwarts.
Again, he had been wrong.
The Ministry was only ever the goal and it had fallen.
Now the poor souls he had been sent to the Ministry were either dead or in the hands of a madman. The whole of the nation was in the hands of a madman.
It could not be allowed to remain that way.
He only had a few choices; he could mount a direct attack or wait until Tom made the first move.
He knew that every moment he waited more people could be tortured or killed, yet he did not have the capabilities to act.
He would have to wait.
No one could support Tom for long. It would shift and he could mount and uprising.
That was if Tom allowed him to stay on as Headmaster.
Flicking his open his bright blue eyes, they shone brighter than ever as he gripped his wand under the table.
Tom would not move him from his job as Headmaster.
He would not dare.
Pollux Black looked over his glasses at the man before him. His eyes were red rimmed and blurry, there were ink spots over his chin and his face was slightly pale. He was the very definition of exhausted and overworked.
He did not care. No one had the luxury of sleep. Fatigue did not excuse untidy appearances and slack mannerisms. Pollux would never allow that in himself. After all he was a Black. He might have been from the lesser line of the Blacks, but their line was proud and their line had survived.
Since Pollux had become Editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet, he had made it his policy to ensure each edition was perfect and finished by nine o'clock at night so that it could be printed. On that day everything had been fine. It had just ticked over to eight thirty and he had been about to return home when the news about the Ministry had leaked into the office.
Immediately he had set every available reporter to the scene to gather information and to start writing.
He had not left his office. He had waited for the articles to come to him. They had, but they had not been satisfactory. He had sent each back. They had then been reworked and he had ordered them to be changed again.
Admittedly it was not their fault. He had not decided what stance he wanted to take. He had tossed and turned and had barked different orders at his writers. He would not tell them that. They were below him and they should just do whatever he requested.
The silver in his hair shone in the candles behind his desk as he stared at his employee. He slid his gold rimmed glasses down his pointed nose, his gaze clinical and cool. "Good," he said his voice brisk and somehow devoid of any suggestions that he was exhausted. "It is good. You can go."
"Thank you," the exhausted boy muttered as he turned to depart.
Pollux did not show relief or thanks as the man left. He did not even look at him. He only concentrated on his decision and his confidence that he had made the correct decision.
It was the right stance.
It had to be.
Now was not the time to pick a side. The Dark Lord might declare that he planned to create a world where purebloods were superior, but, until he showed those intentions and his ability to do so, Pollux would not provide him with complete support.
Glancing down at the article, he read it for a final time.
2nd March 1974
Devastating Battle in Ministry! Minister Diggory Dead! Dark Lord Appointed Minister!
In a shocking and devastating scene last night, violence struck the very heart of the Ministry. At about 8pm men and women armed and violent descended onto the Ministry. Set upon forcing a coup, Aurors, Hit Wizards and Ministry personnel did their best to hold down the Ministry but they lost the fight. Out of the smoke and haze, Minister Diggory was announced as dead. Details are still sketchy about who perpetrated such a horrific crime.
It is unclear who started the violence but it is clear that two groups; including the Death Eaters and another rebellious organisation were involved in open hostilities in the Atrium. The Death Eaters and the Dark Lord won the battle and the Dark Lord was appointed Minister of Magic. The legalities of his attempt have yet to be-
"Mr. Black!" The voice of his secretary called, her voice too loud and shrieking for his tastes, but at present he excused it with the current situation. "Someone from the Ministry is here to see you."
Pollux knew what that meant. Restoring his features to try to remain calm, he smoothed down his robes and placed his piece of parchment flat on his desk.
He would see what the Dark Lord desired from him and what he was willing to offer.
A/N: As you can see this chapter was more of a prologue. If you missed it Millicent Bagnold is the character who, in canon, is the Minister of Magic in 1981 and Pollux Black is the Black sister's grandfather.
As well, I would also like to thank OnyxRose13 for acting as my beta for the fic to hopefully minimise my foolish errors.