Okay, I admit it. I got the idea from ThisbeHecate's Potions Homework Series, and she (?) got it from DrunkYouthProdigiesAssociation's '40 Ways to Tick Off the Order of the Phoenix'. Could this be the end of my originality? Don't worry, I'm scared, too.

Disclaimer: Don't own the series, don't own the characters, heck, I don't even own the idea. I feel like a puppet.

If Only the Light Had a Mark

Third Person POV

The Death Eaters stood around celebrating with an excess of Butterbeer, Firewhisky and Muggle torture. The Death Eater Quidditch World Cup had undeniably been the best ever. Voldemort himself had acted as host and Peter Pettigrew was the commentator. Granted, it was a little more violent and underhanded than normal Quidditch, but that was the way they liked it.

Reminiscing about the events of the past few hours, they all decided that the best part was when Fenrir Greyback had latched onto Bellatrix Lestrange's robes in an attempt to stop her from reaching the Snitch. Bellatrix had reacted with the fiery temper that was expected from her. Looking back on it, Greyback realized he should have seen it coming.

Bellatrix had pulled her wand from her sleeve with lightning speed, but instead of rounding on Greyback, she turned to Yaxley and shot a spell at his broom. Yaxley stared for a moment as the end of the broomstick started growing wider, then split in two. A mouth, complete with jagged wooden teeth, formed and began gnashing viciously in Greyback's direction. That was about the time Yaxley realized he had lost all control over his broom. Being Death Eaters, they thought themselves above such dependence that is brought about by having Mediwizards on hand, so Greyback did not receive any medical treatment for some time. Needless to say, Bellatrix's team won.

Second to that was Lucius Malfoy's realization that flying on a broomstick is very much like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it, but after a few decades of leaving your broom locked in a cupboard, it's always a little bit more straining on the muscles than you remember. Specifically, where you're seated. Roughly half an hour into the game, Lucius had apparently decided that he wasn't made for playing Quidditch and executed a less than graceful fall from his broom, at around fifty feet above the ground. Lucius, too, was neglected treatment for at least an hour, in which time he demonstrated every show of pain known to man. Screaming, swearing, crying and shooting random curses in every direction were just a few the Death Eaters saw that day. Snape made sure everyone knew he was creating a highlight reel to put in his Pensieve, and the Death Eaters began ordering copies faster than he could produce them.

But alas, all good things must come to an end. After killing someone for saying "alas" because he thought they must be in league with Dumbledore, Voldemort had left to set in motion his latest Harry killing scheme. The Death Eaters would have to be gone by the morning, but the rest of the night was theirs and they intended to make the most of it.

"Hey thar, Macnair," slurred a drunken Travers. "Jus' been over thar... torturin' me some of them Mudbloods. How's you goin'?"

A much less drunk, though still slightly tipsy, Walden Macnair stared at where Travers had pointed for a moment before replying. "Travers, you idiot! They're not Mudbloods! Those are new recruits!"

Travers blinked a few times and surveyed the area until he spotted the trembling young Death Eaters. "Wha' was tha'? New recruitses, you say? Aw, crap... Why di'n't you tell me, Macnary?"

Macnair briefly considered shooting a quick Avada Kedavra from inside his robes but decided that he wasn't important enough to get away with it. If he could just get Bellatrix over here...

"Okays, I gotta go before somebuddy tells 'em it was me who done it," said Travers, interrupting his thoughts. "Lemme know if... if..." Travers stopped for a moment, his eyes crossed. He refocused on Macnair's face and laughed loudly. "All righ', I'll see you later, buddy!" He clapped Macnair on the shoulder and stumbled off.

Macnair stared after him bewilderedly until Bellatrix's head blocked his view.

"You know, if you keep ogling men like that, people are going to suspect something."

Macnair blinked as though he was the drunk one. "What? Oh... Ha ha... That was good."

"Yes, I can tell by your sincere praise," commented Bellatrix dryly. "You should get into acting. This line of work is obviously beneath your considerable talent."

Deciding to ignore her jabs, Macnair changed the subject. "I really could have used you here a few minutes earlier. Travers was being very irritating. Even more than usual."

"You should have just Avada'ed him. I think the Dark Lord's actually been meaning to do it for a while now, but Lucius keeps distracting him with his brown nosing. It's all 'What a marvelous plan, my lord' and 'Brilliant idea, master' with him now. He's aiming for a promotion. Narcissa's been going a bit overboard with her shopping lately, apparently they're having relationship problems." At this Bellatrix laughed cruelly. "Anyway, with her spending so much on dragon hide shoes and him constantly having to bribe the Ministry, he really needs a position where he can get his share of the loot."

Macnair, anticipating Bellatrix's unbearably annoying gossip, had finished off his full glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in the time she was talking, then summoned an entire bottle of mead, which he had downed just as quickly. Realizing she was still speaking, he'd stolen another bottle from a passing Death Eater and was now quite intoxicated.

So when Bellatrix looked at him expectantly, all he could manage to say was, "Malfoy tot'ly oozes hydoden p'oxide," before he passed out in front of her.

After staring at him for a moment, Bellatrix let out an excited squeal. "Where did you hear that?! Oh, this is gold!" she shrieked, running off to spread the rumor.

Meanwhile, a more drunk than ever Travers was unsuccessfully trying to escape the wrath of the older brother of one of the new recruits he'd recently been torturing.

"I shwears I di'n't know 'e was a Deaf Eagle! I fought 'e was a Studbud, 'onest!" he yelled, effectively confusing the large Death Eater who had been advancing on him. Menacingly, too.

As the Death Eater paused to make an attempt at figure out what had just been said, Travers prepared himself for the worst: a noogie.

Having apparently decided to ignore his drunken ramblings, the Death Eater stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, but just as he raised his fist a spell hit him from somewhere behind Travers.

Travers breathed a sigh of relief and spun around to thank his savior, only to find himself face to face with what looked like the entire Order of the Phoenix. A quick Stunner from Mad Eye and Travers's evening came to a halt.


It was chaos at the Death Eater Quidditch World Cup. Members of the Order were everywhere, disarming Death Eaters and rescuing their victims, while the Death Eaters were screaming and running in all directions.

After a few hours, all of the Death Eaters were either captured or had escaped and their newly freed prisoners would be taken to St Mungo's. Taking the wand from an unconscious Selwyn and levitating his body into a temporary holding cell, Tonks looked around at the evening's accomplishments, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

Moody came limping over and Tonks quickly hid her smile. Moody shook his head good naturedly. "It's all right, Tonks. You did well tonight."

Tonks straightened up proudly. "All in a night's work."

"Yes, well, don't get too cocky about it."

"Yes, sir," said Tonks, no longer bothering to try to stop grinning. "Who's casting it this time?"

"That's why I came over here. Would you care to do the honors?" asked Moody, though he already knew the answer.

"Really? Of course I would!" exclaimed Tonks. She wasted no time in pointing her wand toward the sky and shouting,"Avismordre!"

Immediately, a jet of bright, red light shot up into the sky, forming a large skull with a phoenix sticking its head out of the mouth.

Every Dark wizarding family in a ten mile radius looked up at the night sky and gasped in horror.

"It's the Light Mark!"

I think Voldemort may kill me for using "alas". Ah well, I brought it upon myself. I became arrogant and was really just trying to get on his nerves.

Anyone want to take a guess at what Avismordre means? It's not that hard. As long as you know what Morsmordre means you'll be fine.

-TeamVampire