Disclaimer: Harry Potter, the Potterverse, and all that jazz are the property of Jo Rowling. I sincerely wish I was as badss as all that.

A/N: (MH AU) This story is the second part of the Masquerade series -- a group of stories involving Death Eaters who turned against each other, and the repercussions that followed, more than twenty years later. Voldemort hears about Avery's death and calls a meeting.


Rookwood had come to him, two days prior, to discuss the matter of a peculiar Yule gift. Apparently, the former Unspeakable had recieved a hatbox, tied with a festive bow, containing a bloodstained skull with an illusory serpent wound through the eyes. The elder Lestrange had been unable to offer any useful comments on the origins or symbolism, except to say that it was definitely human, and probably a visual pun on the Dark Mark. He paid for his ignorance, of course.

The Dark Lord announced an emergency conclave when the news of Avery's death broke, the following morning. His suspicions as to the identity of the skull were suddenly aroused by the news, and he would have an answer at the next night's Revel, if it could be called such with one of his more useful moles lying dead. He sat alone in speculation, if one failed to count the ever-present Nagini, wound around both his seat and his chest, and wondered at the audacity of any man dim enough to launch an attack against one of his Death Eaters. He was somewhat sobered by the idea that that individual had so neatly succeeded, but found it easy to attribute the success to some fault of Avery -- perhaps the man had gotten slow as he aged. He would be difficult to replace, certainly, but nothing was impossible.

December 27th, 1998, 10pm

He strode into the room in which his followers were waiting, already mumbling their suspicions and half-cocked theories. He cleared his throat before taking his seat on the dais at the head of the room, and silence fell swiftly across the crowd. "Gentlemen, I believe we have a problem. Pollux Avery appears to have been violently murdered. I offer my condolences, of course, to his father."

He paused for the appreciative murmur and the nod from the elder Avery. "I would hope that any of you who believe they have evidence or suspicions in this matter would think to bring them to me. Rookwood, for instance has brought a strange offering that I believe to have been some article of Avery's sacrifice, but I will address that momentarily. Has anyone else anything to bring to my attention?"

Every head in the room turned to inspect its neighbours. A voice in the back finally piped up. "It was that wicked bint he married, my Lord. She was nothing but a shrew." Hearty laughter surrounded the speaker.

"Your opinions have been duly noted, Mulciber. In the future, I will insist that you display more respect for the dead. Crucio." He levelled his wand at the unfortunate man, who crumpled, screaming, to the floor. After a few minutes with nothing but a mildly amused expression, he dispelled the curse. "Carrow, Dolohov, help your friend up. I sincerely hope to hear no further unfortunate merriment from your corner of the room, this evening."

Two masked heads nodded before dipping below the visual horizon to remove their groaning compatriot from the floor.

"Now," he continued, turning his pallid, impatient features back toward the rest of the room, "I believe that Rookwood has something to show us. Come, Augustus, display the lovely gift from your mysterious benefactor." He crooked a finger at his greasy lackey.

Rookwood swaggered into the clear space between the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord's throne with the hatbox tucked under one arm. "Yes, my Lord." He nodded and opened the box, allowing it to fall to the floor away from the contents he lifted from it. There was a sudden murmur that rattled through the crowd as they percieved the skull.

"Tell me, Augustus," the Dark lord purred, "what have you discovered about the skull since last we spoke?"

The masked figure turned around, eyes widening in horror. "Nothing, my Lord -- you didn't ask anything!"

He shook his head. "I thought you were the smart one in your little cadre, Augustus. Able to put two and two together? Considerate enough to investigate the identity of our Yorick?" He feigned surprise. "What a terrible shame. Set down the skull, Rookwood. I don't want it damaged."

Rookwood was surprisingly composed as he laid the skull back into the box and knelt facing the throne. He knew what was coming and feared it, but years as an Unspeakable and more years as a Death Eater had rather inured him to the prospect of straightfacedly enduring various forms of trauma. He waited.

The Dark Lord also waited, just long enough to induce doubt in his followers, before striking with lightning quickness. "Crucio. I thought better of you, Augustus." He examined his fingernails while waiting for the screams to subside into whimpers of shock.

"Malfoy, you've always been passable at obscure charms. Identify the original owner of this skull for me." He picked Lucius out of the crowd with his wand, and then gestured to the box on the floor.

Lucius stepped forward carefully, and took a look at the skull. Aiming his wand at it, he cast a charm he'd learned from his father. Suddenly the image of Pollux Avery's head superimposed itself over the skull, not disturbing the serpent that was already there. "It's Avery, my Lord."

"Finally, a competent agent!" He applauded ironically. "My compliments, Lucius. Please move Rookwood; he's going to ruin the floor with all that sobbing and drooling, and I'd prefer the stains to be out of my view."

Glad he was wearing his mask, because it hid his features, his face screwed up into an expression of hate and distatste. Since he already had his wand out, he pointed it at Rookwood, and levitated the man over to MacNair, before returning to where he had been standing.

MacNair glared at Lucius before lifting his friend off the floor. One of them would die soon, and he hoped it would be Malfoy, who, worse than the half-breed and the Irish queer, consorted with both. He was fairly certain that it was Lucius's behaviours that had killed old Abraxas, in the end.

The Dark Lord looked contemplative. "I expect answers. Rewards will be granted to those who can provide them. If I am given so much as an iota of false information, though, the penalty shall far outstrip the reward." He flicked his wand and the door slammed open. "Go forth, my maggots, and consume the bloated carcass that is the modern Wizarding World. Such a shame it has not yet rolled over and realised its demise. Bring me what I desire, if not from your undying respect, then in self-interest -- a dead man, as they say, tells no tales but the implicit story of his treason." He waved his hand, and the room began to empty.