A New Order
The large manor lay quiet and still in the dark night. Its majestic brick walls were covered in green ivy. The lawn flourished with flowers. The grass was as green as it could possibly be, freshly cut and watered. A step-stone path led down the sloping lawn to the wrought-iron gates.
The window panes were painted white, the glass shining in the moonlight. It was no longer the derelict, rundown home it had been all those years ago. However, it still carried the rumors. No matter how many times it was remodeled, it was still the Riddle house; infamous for the murder of its three inhabitants.
The rumors had flared up more than 20 years before when the house keeper, Frank Bryce, had been found dead moldering in the sitting room upstairs, looking as if an animal had attempted to eat the remains. The house had been condemned, the perimeter cordoned off. But as time went by the people forgot Frank Bryce and the Riddles more and more and eventually the house was sold to a wealthy family of four.
The inside of the manor shined brightly as the floors had just been cleaned and waxed. The walls were freshly painted and the living room had been laid with a new maroon colored carpet. The dining room walls were covered in modern art. A great table with eight places was the masterpiece of the room. Made of wood and giving a beautiful reflection of the glass chandelier that hung above it. Both heads of the table were occupied, as well as three of the other seats.
At the ends of the tables sat a woman and a man, both seemingly in their early forties. They were dressed elegantly and sat still apparently listening to the man in black, who sat next to a young boy, and was jubilantly talking. Across from the boy sat a young girl who was also dressed as elegantly as the other three, who presumably were her parents and sibling. The man in black continued to talk, laughing loudly as he finished his story.
The others at the table seemed uninterested in what he had to say.
"Forgive me. I guess my sense of humor is a bit off colour," said the man in black spitefully. He continued to eat from his plate as the others watched him, unmoving. Another man entered the room suddenly, looking on the verge of collapse.
"We've found him," he panted. "Came as quickly as I could. He's upstairs, sir. We have him tied up."
The man in black looked up slowly, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He stared dismally at the other man and did not move. He spun his spoon in his hand, turned to the boy and sniggered.
"The servants have no manners now do they," he said joyfully. The boy didn't even look at him, but kept in place. "That's why they must be taught to behave themselves," finished the man. He picked up a wand from beside his plate and pointed it directly at the other man.
"Crucio," he said calmly as the other man fell to the floor, screaming in agony. The man in black stood, his wand still firmly pointed at the other. Slowly he walked around the table, wand never wavering, and stopped beside the man at the head of the table.
"Dinner was splendid, but it's time for me to leave you. My compliments to your kitchen staff," he said and clapped the man on the back.
The man fell forward, face first into the plate before him. The weeks old food splattered onto the table. The man in black laughed as he moved toward the writhing figure in the doorframe. He lifted his wand and the other man stopped screaming.
"Never interrupt me again, specifically when I am entertaining."
"Yes, sir. I beg for your forgiveness."
"Very well. You are forgiven, but do not forget your manners again, or the consequences will be far greater," said the man, now frowning slightly.
He stepped from the dining room gracefully, almost floating away. He made his way to the grand staircase and began to ascend the stairs. Once he had reached the second floor landing, he turned to the only open door in the hallway.
He reached the room, stepped inside and smiled at the scene that awaited him. The fireplace was crackling, the walls illuminated a bright orange. There were dark figures along the walls of the room. In the middle there was a man, doubled over, tied up and perfectly still. Some of the figures in the room had their wands drawn, all pointed at the messy man before them.
The man in black stepped closer to the huddled silhouette, his fingers now touching one another, as he clicked his tongue.
"You were a hard one to find, but at last here you are. After a long deal of searching, I was afraid the rumors were false. Yet I felt, perhaps, that you had not been killed in battle all those years ago. Had it been true, my plan would not have been able to move forward," he said as he rounded around the figure, coming to stop directly in front of the shaggy man.
The man gave a grunting laugh.
"What makes you think it will," he grunted deeply.
The man in black looked down upon the shaggy mess before him and frowned deeply. He knelt down in front of the messy figure and pulled its face up from the shadows.
"Don't be quite so noble. You are going to tell me everything I need to know, without hesitation. Isn't that right, Greyback?"
The werewolf looked directly into the mans face and growled. He looked away almost as quickly as the other man stood up again. Greyback looked around the room.
"So, what are you trying to accomplish? He's gone. He won't be coming back. Or are you trying to surpass him," Greyback sneered. The other man raised his right hand and brought it down with all his might against the werewolf's cheek.
"I will not have a filthy animal speak to me like that," he bellowed, then stuck Greyback again. The werewolf looked up at him and laughed.
"There's nothin' you can do to me."
The other man laughed and spun around to face the large chair behind him. He sat down and surveyed the rugged werewolf. The look on his face showed anxiety, and Greyback was no longer looking at him.
"The world is safer now, the prophet says. Not as dangerous as it once was. However, the truth is, Fenrir-" the wolf looked up at the sound of his name, "-it's just better organized. We lot have gone underground. The original death eaters are gone to Azkaban or have died and taken secrets to the grave. Lucius Malfoy is one of the few who remain accessible. I need him… His influence, to execute my plan."
The man looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
"I am not a secret keeper. I can't reveal his manor's location to you, and even if I did, you wouldn't be able to find it."
The other man sprung up suddenly.
"Don't you see? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself was secret keeper all those years ago. He trusted no one else, except his death eaters and a few others. You were one of them Greyback. I've done my research. If a secret keeper dies, the magic moves on to those who were told. You are now a secret keeper yourself."
Greyback howled with laughter. The other man looked affronted as Greyback continued to laugh. Eventually the laughter died and Greyback looked into the other's eyes.
"What makes you think they haven't got a new secret keeper? That would make my knowledge worthless."
The other man smiled his yellow smile.
"I'm willing to bet they never got one. Lucius Malfoy was always gullible, according to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Greyback frowned.
"How do you know? You never met him."
The other man's smile dropped. He straightened up in his seat. He raised his left arm and beckoned one of the figures to him. A tall cloaked man carrying a box stepped forward.
"Never you mind about that my mangy friend. Now, it's your choice. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the other easy way," he said as the cloaked figure opened the box, revealing five glass vials set atop the velvet lining inside. "Veritaserum. It was hard to make, but I'm glad I had it made. Tell me of your own accord, or I will MAKE you tell me."
The werewolf looked from the man to the box. Then slowly dropped his head, defeated. The other man clapped his hands together,
"Splendid. Good choice my dear, Fenrir. However, what a waste of Veritaserum this would be. Make him drink all of it," he added to the cloaked man.
Sputtering and mouth foaming, Fenrir fought back, but in vain. Fenrir looked up as the cloaked man force fed him all five vials of the serum. Soon the serum began to work, and Greyback found himself revealing all the secrets he had kept with him all those years.
When Greyback had finally stopped talking, the man in black stood and flashed a triumphant smile. He opened his arms, warm and welcoming and turned to the hooded figures around him.
"My brothers! The werewolf has given us what we need to move forward. With the path to Malfoy Manor unbarred, the Dark Lord's return is close at hand," he proclaimed and the room was filled with chanting voices. He laughed shrilly as he turned his attention back to the broken man before him. He grabbed Greyback by the beard and raised his gaze to his.
"You have proven to be most useful my dirty friend. You are of no longer use to us," he spat into Greyback's face. " But what to do with you?"
The dark figures around the room began to chant.
"Death…Death…Death…"
The man smiled.
"I cannot deny the requests of my men. At least you die with meaning," the man said. He raised his wand as the other men chanted. Their voices rose, louder and stronger. Greyback stared directly into the wand pointed at his face and snarled. The room flashed green and Greyback's body crumpled to the floor limp, lifeless. Eyes open and staring, Greyback looked pitiful in the glowing light of the fire. A rumble of cheers erupted around the room.
"Tonight, we begin our journey," the man in black said gently. "We must leave this place, for soon the muggles will get suspicious of the disappearance of the house's new inhabitants."
He stepped from the room and the others followed close, Greyback's body was left behind. They all congregated in the main hall. The messenger was still in the doorway to the dining room.
"Master, what shall we do with the muggles," he asked, rubbing his hands together.
"Leave them. It won't be the first time this house has seen an entire murdered at dinner. It will stir panic in the village. Precisely what we are intent on doing."
The other man swallowed.
"And the wolf?"
"Let him rot upstairs. They'll blame him for the murders no doubt. We will leave no trace of our presence," the man in black said. He looked onward to his followers. "We now leave. You heard the beast. You have your location. Do not disappoint me."
With that he spun on his heel and disapparated. The others begun to do the very same. The messenger lunged forward and took hold of one of the others just in time to disapparate. The house was left eerily silent. Soon the villagers would find the four dead at the table, instilling fear and reviving the rumors of the Riddle House. The rugged man upstairs would also be found, leaving questions asked, but without answers.