Not Over By A Long Shot

Nothing Sweeter Than Revenge

"This is not over," Augustus Rookwood murmured, his fists tightly clenched at his sides as he stared out the window of the run down shack that sat upon a far away mountain top. "Not over by a long shot."

"Oh really," Amycus Carrow wheezed, "because I'm pretty sure it is. The Dark Lord has fallen, a large number of our forces are dead or imprisoned, and the few of us that were smart enough to flee before it was too late are now hiding out in the mountains. I think its safe to say we've got nothing left to fight for."

"He's right, Rookwood," Alecto agreed, "All we can do now is hide and hope that no one finds us."

"Oh, If we stay here they'll find us," Rookwood assured them. "But I don't plan on staying put for too long."

"What are you talking about," Alecto asked, confused.

"I'm talking about fighting," Rookwood said, a maniacal look in his eyes.

"Have you learned nothing," Amycus griped, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"We've got a price on our heads," Rookwood reminded, "If we stay here with our tails between our legs, hiding like pathetic little children, they'll find us and we're as good as dead. If we go back, they'll either lock us up in Azkaban or feed our souls to the Dementors. I don't know about you but I don't plan on going down like that."

"What do you have in mind?" Alecto asked Rookwood. "What do you suggest we do?"

"I suggest we do as our master would have wanted," Rookwood smiled. "We fight. For him, for us, for our Pure-blooded brothers and sisters... but most importantly we get our revenge."

"As lovely as that sounds," Amycus interrupted, "There's only ten of us here. We don't stand a chance. It's suicide!"

"Then suicide it is!" Rookwood shouted. "We were like gods, Amycus. We were wealthy and feared, the world was at our fingertips. And now look at us! Look at us!" Viciously, Augustus took hold of Amycus' face, his hands forcefully holding on to either side of his friends head. "Dirty and starving, our time quickly ticking away. Its only a matter of time before we're dead, and I don't know about you but I plan on making as many of those filthy cretins suffer before I go... especially Harry... Potter."

"Now that sounds like something I'd been interested in," Alecto agreed, standing and sauntering over to her brother. "Doesn't that sound like fun, Amycus?"

"Yes," he replied, a warped and twisted smile spreading on his face, "Yes, it does."

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Draco Malfoy was spitting mad. He couldn't believe the message that had just been delivered to him by owl. Here he was, just about to turn eighteen years old and they actually expected him to return to that hell-hole. No way, he simply wouldn't do it and there was no one who was going to make him go back. He was smart enough as it was, and he'd more than proven that he was a capable wizard. There was no way he was going back to Hogwarts.

"We'll head into Hogsmeade tomorrow to get your supplies," Narcissa informed her son, as she finished her morning cup of tea.

"Like hell we will!" Draco shouted, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Lucius warned, barely glancing up from the Prophet. Draco glared at his father wanting nothing more than to stab him in the eye with his butter knife.

"Sorry mother, but..."

"No buts," she interjected, as she reached over and took her son by the hand. "You're going back to Hogwarts and you'll complete your seventh year."

"I already know all this shit," he griped. This was not how he'd expected this conversation to go. In fact, the only reason he'd even brought the letter down to his parents was because he thought they'd just laugh it off and tell him he didn't have to go back. "The only thing I should have to do is take all of my tests."

"Draco," Narcissa said, looking her son right in the eyes. "Do you realize that you, your father and myself should all be in Azkaban right now? Do you realize that the only reason we're not is because Harry Potter vouched for our having switched sides at the last minute? It is nothing short of a miracle that the Headmistress has even thought to allow you to return to Hogwarts. Needless to say, it would be a grave mistake to reject their offer. Quite frankly, my love, if the Headmistress offered to let you come to Hogwarts, dress up in a frilly dress and tap dance for them during breakfast every morning for a year, I'd see to it that you accepted. Now get packed."

"Absolutely not," Draco replied, vehemently shaking his head in disagreement. "I'm not going back. I'll be miserable. Everyone hates me."

"Perhaps, Draco," Lucius interjected, "instead of thinking of your return to Hogwarts as a punishment of sorts, you might consider it an opportunity to repair your tarnished reputation. Right now, you have no friends, save for Gregory Goyle. This would be the perfect chance for you to rekindle friendships that you've lost and maybe even make a few new ones. Which shouldn't be hard. You're the only heir to the wealthiest family in the Wizarding World and devilishly handsome... which you undoubtedly inherited from me."

"What if I don't go?" Draco asked. "After all, I am an adult. I don't always have to do what Mommy and Daddy say."

"Yes," Lucius laughed, "But if you don't go back and finish your schooling you won't get within a foot of that Gringotts vault filled with gold."

"No trust fund?" Draco asked, shocked.

"Nope," Lucius assured his stunned son. "Not a knut."

"This is crap!"

"Yes," Narcissa laughed, "Poor you."

"How did all of this come about anyway?" Draco asked, sounding as if he'd finally come to terms with the fact that he'd been heading back to Hogwarts in just a few days time.

"Apparently, Hermione Granger was less than pleased with the fact that she and her friends had to miss out on their seventh year at Hogwarts, so she went to the Headmistress and asked if she, Potter and Weasley could return and finish their education. Of course, McGonagall gave the girl what she wanted and in the process decided to extend the offer to all of the previous years' seventh year students as well," Lucius informed his agitated son.

"And its a good thing," Narcissa interjected, "without having formally finished your education you'd never be able to get a good job."

"Job?" Draco scoffed. "We're rich, I don't need to work."

"We may be rich, but you'll still need to find something to do," Lucius replied. "I'll not have you lazing about all your life. I'd like to think I was a better example than that."

"Yeah, sure you were," Draco muttered. "What do you do anyway?" Lucius held his tongue. He wanted to reach over and smack his son, but he was already on thin ice with his wife and he'd hate to piss her off even more than she already was.

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