After the Dark Lord's remark the air was filled with an electric charge.

"What is it that your heart desires?" He asked his new Death Eater in a vaguely questioning tone, as though his answer was only a passing curiosity. As though he didn't know. As though he had not lingered over the memories of mistreatment- not enough to know his entire past or the unusual circumstances, but enough to guess that perhaps his new follower had had a similar upbringing to his own, one filled with its share of unproportionally severe punishments, forcing one to either become the wolf or the sacrifice.

Remy did not even need to pause as the answer fell from his lips. "Vengeance." It felt like the only truth that was spoken that night.

The Dark Lord gave him a thin-lipped, reptilian smile before he gestured to someone in the back of the room. Remy didn't dare to turn around. Severus had stepped back into the vanguard line of the inner circle. Remy was alone within a circle of Death Eaters who inspected him from behind their silver masks as though he were but an interesting horse for sale. The show was his now. If he made a false step and brought about the displeasure of the Dark Lord, Severus would not step from the line to save him. There would be no helping him. He kept his eyes on the Dark Lord- his Dark Lord, now. He thought that adrenaline was the only thing keeping him standing, but knew that wasn't true. While he had never stood before a Dark Lord before, having his life of a precarious precipice was not something new. It was not a pleasant knowledge to have back in his life after so many years believing that it was firmly in the past.

When Bellatrix dragged the young woman back into the room through the parting Death Eaters, he knew that his first true steps as a spy had begun. His feet could not now be taken from this path. She threw the woman to his left

"A gift." The Dark Lord gestured. "A bit worse for wear, I'm afraid, but she should suit your needs none the less. Do as you will with her."

What to do? What to do? This was a test. A test of his resolve, of his commitment to the Dark Lord, of the steel of his stomach. Remy walked around his dispassionately, inspecting his present. His instinct, since he couldn't possibly save the girl, was to give her a quick death. But that wouldn't be possible. Instinct honed by experience dictated his next move. Gracefully he knelt over her knees and placed his left hand with bruising force around her throat. Her scared rabbit pulse flashed against his fingers. He was taller than her by almost a foot. With his heavier weight he easily pinned her weakly thrashing body to the floor. With his wand, using a similar spell to Bellatrix's slicing hex, he carved lazy swirls and patterns into her skin. She whimpered- screamed outright when he cut over areas that had already been burned or cut- but her eyes pleaded with him all the same. She might have been cute before Bellatrix had ripped chunks of hair from her scalp and before her lip had been cut and had swollen. As it was, she had a round face and sweet brown eyes. Within the hour those eyes had shifted from pleading to condemnation to the verge of madness.

He used a wide variety of tricks. Scarring the body, that was one thing. But women, particularly average muggles, prized the face above all else. She wept as he cut deep parallel lines across her cheeks. Her screams echoed around the room when he got down and dirty, he heard the Dark Lord rumble "how positively muggle," in a delighted, childlike voice when he used his own fingers to pry loose her left eye- kind of like trying to pop open a recalcitrant oyster. At one point he had shifted upwards as she kept flailing against him, using his knees to pin down her forearms. He paid no attention to the sting as her nails left bloody marks in his skin.

After almost an hour he re-obtained vertical. The girl was so maimed as to be unrecognizable. She wasn't yet dead, her fingers twitched and her legs spasmed. He had an irrational desire to fix her skirt as the whole room was getting an eyeful of formerly-white, now red, underwear. The cloth of her garments had soaked up a large amount of blood and she was now sodden, as though she had gone swimming.

"My Lord." He bowed to the Dark Lord. "If you would do me the honor." With a flourish he extended his wand in his open palm, his head bowed. For a moment, nothing happened. When the cool, thin finger touched his hand they merely took the wand and returned it to its owner; a symbolic declaration a fealty having been accepted. He left it to Remy to put the finishing touches on his own handiwork. He knelt next to the woman. Her brown eye opened and stared resignedly as he lifted her head, cradling her skull like a lover. He took a moment to look into her brown eye and the bloody, pulpy pit of the other. He always was a sucker for a pretty girl. He committed her face to memory. With a grunt and a resounding crack, his masterpiece was complete.

The trek to the apparition point outside of Malfoy manner was a quiet one. Neither man knew who else may be listening. There was, for certain, a man walking about fifty yards behind them. The other Death Eaters seemed to mingle, but to uphold their own guises as school teachers, they had to return to Hogwarts. As soon as Remy crossed the wards he apparated with a sharp crack. He had a few seconds head start towards the castle when he heard the twin crack of Severus' arrival. The older man did not try to catch up with his quick gait, merely followed at a measured pace. Across the lawn and up the front stairs. Together they climbed the stairs, keeping an eye out for errant students. While Severus' mask was safely back in his pocket, two slimy Slytherin teachers, one of admittedly higher and less slimy standing than the other, wandering the castle at three in the morning in each other's company was bound to start some whispers.

Together they silently hiked up to the Headmaster's office. "Hobnob," Severus commanded the Gargoyle and it moved aside. A strip of light could be seen from under the Headmaster's door as they climbed yet more stairs. Some days the school made one feel like Sisyphus, always climbing, never reaching a destination. The Headmaster opened the door before they reached it, the worried expression on his face clearing at the sight of them, waving them inside.

"Albus." Severus said, inclining his head slightly before he took his usual place in the high-backed wooden chair. It was uncomfortable and hard, but it was not in the garish colors the Headmaster preferred. Remy didn't mind though, sprawling in a plush purple chair that clashed with his auburn hair. He had yet to say anything, and his closed-off expression worried his former head of house.

"I assume your meeting was a success as you are both here and presumably have all your body parts." The Headmaster began, settling behind his desk. His attempt at levity fell flat. He summoned a house elf for a tea service. When the elf disappeared with a pop they sat in silence, the Headmaster inspecting both men; Severus sardonically glanced back while Remy inspected a pulled thread on the arm of his chair, looking much as he did in his former school days- bored, and not at all intimidated to be in the office of such a man as Albus Dumbledore. His behavior, even in silence, could communicate so much, and often that communication was good natured insubordination. At the moment he could read nothing from him.

The elf returned with tea and scones and the chocolate biscuits that the Potions Master preferred. The Headmaster made them both their tea as they preferred; Severus with no sugar and Remy's full of a disgusting amount of sugar and then chilled with a sustained cooling charm. He passed the tea to them.

"Tell me things went according to plan." The Headmaster said.

"Things went according to the larger plan, yes, but there was an...unforeseen incident." He glanced at Remy, who sighed and addressed the Headmaster.

"I'm in. Not the Inner Circle, that'll take more work an' time. But no matter what happens from here on out, I'm in, irreversibly tied to the Death Eaters." Albus had a sinking feeling. Turning to Severus, "Already?" he asked. Deaths would happen, and while he didn't like it, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to have assess to Voldemort, access which, unlike Harry's scar, was in some ways predictable. Grim faced, Severus nodded.

"I did not think this would happen so soon. The victim was a muggle woman- Bellatrix had already begun torturing her when she was passed on to Remy. The Dark Lord" "Voldemort" the Headmaster quietly interjected, "the Dark Lord used to entice with honey, lure his members into a trap before he put blood on their hands- if they were not already so inclined. Something must have changed suddenly for him to abandon this way."

"It's 'cause'f what he saw in my head." Remy admitted, looking at neither man. "I didn't lie when I told him what I wanted, ya know."

"Which was?"

"Vengeance, revenge. Ain't so hard to keep that at the front of my mind when he's flippin' through it like a book, 'cause it's based offa something real. He saw my time with Magneto- that's what convinced him, I think, that I'm anti-muggle- he saw what Magneto stood for and when I did while working for him. I hid Apocalypse from him. Don't need him getting any ideas. He didn't really go to my early memories, but even I could sense blood when he got to close t'them, he saw a spot or two of when I killed someone as a pup. I ain't exactly been livin' the pacifist life, now have I?"

Neither man knew how to respond.

"You're sure he did not see many of your pre-Hogwarts memories?" Severus demanded.

"Just a few- the more violent ones. That's part'a why I put on a bit of a show. He thinks I have some blood lust. Why lure me in if I'm already depraved, yeah?"

"First blood has been spilled." The Headmaster commented. "I'm afraid extricating you at this point would be nigh impossible, even if we wanted to."

"I made the choice. I knew the risk. I'm not turning back now. I'm sure there'll be a lot more people dead by the time this is finished. This is just the beginning." All three men sat in pensive silence, tea forgotten, and the bleak future of the war they were throwing themselves into becoming abundantly plain.

"Are you sure you do not need to talk?" Remy and Severus stood on the stair landing. Remy would take the stairs to his quarters that lay in the direction of Ravenclaw and Severus would slide back down to the dark dungeons. Remy shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing t' say, really. You were there."

"That is not what I asked." Severus snapped.

"We're equals, here. You can't carry both of us. I'm fine." Remy snapped back.

"Equals?" Severus stepped closer into Remy's personal space. Remy glared the two or so inches down into back eyes, but made no move to back up, instead he lengthened himself to his full height. Even still, he could never aspire to match the Snape Presence. "I've been doing this for years. And need I remind you, that you are here because of me. If you die because of your position with the Dark Lord, that will be my fault."

"Trust you to make this about you." He weakly joked back. More seriously he added, "I'll be fine. Gotta stand on my own two feet here. Gotta keep myself alive. You gotta make sure you keep you alive, ya hear?" He began walking away. "I'm sure I'll be in your office havin' an existential crisis eventually, but not right now. Gotta work through some stuff on my own, for once." He tossed back over his shoulder before disappearing around a bend in the hallway. Severus glowered- it was impossible to make Remy talk about something he did not want to, but he was not used to his intimidation tactics not working. With a snap of his robes he stalked to the dungeons, looking very much like the bat the students called him.

Remy's chambers were cold when he returned to them. He cast lumos as he made his way to the fireplace to stir up the banked coals. His chambers were Spartan in their simplicity, barely looking as though anyone lived there at all aside from the papers waiting to be graded on the desk and a few books on the shelves. An envelop lay just outside the fireplace, having been deposited by floo sometime when he was gone. Opening it he read the large, looping handwriting which simply said:

Tried to call-where were you?

Charlie

Tossing the note on his desk he reversed course. He couldn't talk to Charlie right now. Like he couldn't talk to Severus. Like he couldn't explain to the Headmaster. Instead he made his way to the bathroom. It would be his normal time to rise in a couple of hours. He figured he'd forgo his normal morning run. He wondered if the hot water supply ever ran out and how long it would actually take for him to drown in the bath. He'd give it his best shot.

Kitty glared at her computer screen and tried not to notice that Scott was poking his head into her "office" more and more often as the day wore on. She found herself entangled in a mire of information, very little of which was actually useful or interesting.

She finally snapped without turning around. "Damn it, Scott, I'll let you know when I have something to report. Get out of my hair!" She felt the weight of his eyes disappear. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her spine, twisting in her seat, trying to shake lose the feelings of inaction. She had been at this for hours and had nothing to show for it. She was beginning to find what may have been potential cracks, however. Why so many scientists and doctors just for a project compiling names? She was beginning to smell something funky taking place, even if she couldn't find the source yet.

Sword and Shield seemed to be connected to a lot of other corporations, most of which she had never heard of: a major law firm in L.A., a few military defense contractors, a scientific lab. She'd need to further research that last one. Yet they were also philanthropic, donating money to children's group homes and centers for domestic violence around the country. They were also somewhat less philanthropically involved in the prison system, shelling out some cash for convict workers. She couldn't quite make heads or tails of them. The more she dug into their financial records the more she found evidence of fraud. Money that was purported to go one place but never seemed to make it to its destination. Dealings in untraceable offshore accounts (and she had tried to trace them). She wasn't an accountant, but Bobby seemed to have a way with numbers, having explained to her at one point that he'd like to go into accounting. Perhaps she'd toss some of the numbers his way and see what he made of them. With that in mind she dragged some files and deposited them onto her thumb drive before leaving in search of Bobby. She scowled when she saw Scott fumble with a magazine he was pretending to read when he really was just sitting in the hall waiting to pop his head inside the office yet again. She ignored him.

Eventually she found Bobby in the kitchen. He was chattering to X-23, a strained look on his face at her deadpan expression as she tried to point out a logical flaw in his argument. Agatha, who was at the mansion briefly to work on some project dealing with Rogue's powers, and would be leaving the next day, was inspecting some art cards on the table, tapping her lip with one gnarled finger, pausing to watch Kitty as she walked by.

Briefly explaining to Bobby what she wanted him to do, she rolled her eye and raised her voice for her spy. "Fraud, Scott." She heard him walk away now that she had finally given him some type of answer. She passed Bobby the thumb drive. "Sure, I'll take care of it." He assured her, pocketing it.

"Not going home?" She asked sympathetically. Bobby shrugged, his grin never leaving his face.

"Nah, but there's a bunch of us staying, so it won't be lonely or anything. Wouldn't want to go home anyway, too much fun here." She didn't bother to call him on his lie. Laura just watched their conversation, making no move to speak. She gave Kitty the creeps sometimes. She was always there, always watching.

"I've got to drive Jean and Rogue to the airport in a little bit"

"They never should have given you a license," he joked. She stuck out her tongue at him as she left. Laura had moved to observe Agatha and Bobby meandered down the hall.

It was early evening when the alarms sounded. A few of the mansion's residents were gathered in the rec room, trying to watch tv, but it had devolved into a fight over the remote. At the alarm heads snapped up, voices stopped, movements froze. Scott's hand immediately flew to his glasses as he scanned the windows outside of the rec room. A deep red glow from the almost extinguished sun cast the front lawn in with hauntingly blood soaked appearance. With his free hand he herded the younger students behind him, their backs to the fireplace. Anxiety crawled through his stomach, but his hand did not tremble. It was odd, he always thought, that he was in the position of being an adult. It was moments such as these when he was startled that he was no longer the one being herded away from potential danger, and that he was now in the very real position of protecting the younger students. He strained his ears for any sounds.

Wolverine sniffed the air, once, twice, his brow furrowed, his claws extending silently as he stalked to the doorway. There was a commotion outside in the front parlor. Oh Shit, thought Scott. All hope of a false alarm or a drill sunk faster than his stomach. Agatha Harkness sidled next to him, but he did not pay her much mind. She was only one of the visitors the mansion sometimes hosted, along with its Hodge-podge of semi-permanent dwellers. Funny how fighting an apocalypse could bring people together.

He barely stopped himself from flinching- and thus letting loose an optic blast- as Storm and Nightcrawler fled into the room, together sliding the heavy doors shut and locking them- presumably to buy them some time. Storm's white hair was dark with blood by her left temple. She absentmindedly tried to wipe the blood away from her eye, giving it the look of war paint.

Storm answered his unasked questions, speaking so quickly as to barely be comprehensible. "Military, maybe. Weapons are too good for FOH. They've taken the Professor. They're subduing Hank. They have some kind of power jammer, like an inhibitor collar. No idea how far it reaches." Scott tried not to hear the tone in her voice. No hope. He cast an eye back to his charges. A bag and tag operation. Not shoot on sight. Maybe they'd have a chance of escape when they figured out what was going on.

"Agatha?" Storm shot her a questioning look.

"On the dresser in the wooden puzzle box." her gravely voice answered.

"Nightcrawler." Storm ordered. Nightcrawler looked to Cyclops. Cyclops looked to Storm. The noises outside were getting louder, closer. Wolverine's animalistic yell-turned-scream could be heard from the far end of the hall. Then silence. His fingers shook.

"What are you thinking?" Could Nightcrawler get the children out? Could some of them be saved? Scott may be the appointed leader, but Storm had more experience, more seniority.

"A way to get out." She simply said. She stood calmly, regally, as though with each passing second they weren't being marched closer to their doom.

"Do it." He ordered, turning back to the door. Nightcrawler's BAMF echoed through the silence. In less than three second he returned, with an equally loud sound, a wooden box clutched in his clawed hands. Agatha took the box and turned towards the children. God, they were all so young. The brave front they were putting on couldn't hide their fear- except X-23. She was never afraid, was she?

"Everyone grab a handful." She ordered in a no-nonsense tone. God, was this her plan? His stomach couldn't sink anymore. It was now a block of lead. The students hesitantly stood there with their hands full of a dark powder. Agatha herded them closer to the fireplace.

"Tell them what has happened. You will be safe." She ordered. There were a few hesitant nods. The students were obviously confused "The Informant will be there. He'll watch out for you. Trust." With a final nod she shoved Rahne into the fireplace. The smaller girl yelped and attempted to get back out. "No." Agatha ordered and Rahne paused. "Everyone must do this so pay attention. Throw the powder down and name your destination. Hogwarts!" Looking confused and not at all certain Rahne threw the powder down and shouted "Hogwarts" in a choked voice. With a flare of green flames she was gone.

The younger students looked aghast and even Cyclops had to admit that he was flummoxed. But Agatha was a witch, after all, or at least her mutant powers presented that way. But what in the hell was a Hogwarts? Agatha herded them, one by one- she said going in multiples could be dangerous- as they quickly disappeared in green flames. Roberto. Amara. Sam. The doors to the rec room began to shake. Shattering wood could be heard. They were breached. The slightly older students were next. Iceman. Tabitha. Cyclops gave X-23 a hard shove into the fireplace as she seemed to believe she'd be staying for this battle and she disappeared as well. The doors came flying over in a sea of splinters. Jubilee resolutely stood by Storm, too far away from the fireplace to make it. Cyclops briefly thought about tumbling them all into the flames, but his feet wouldn't move. There was a visceral shock as he felt his optic blast disintegrate, like it had never been there at all. He took his hand from his glasses. There was only a physical fight left.

With a flurry the remaining X-Men attacked. They took out Storm first. Without her powers she lacked real fighting strength, though she landed a few good blows before being taken under. One fighter merely grabbed Agatha- she was too old to really be any trouble. One of the men fired at Nightcrawler, hitting him. His strength was in hit and run style attacks and he had been too close to the door to make it very far. Jubilee was next. All effort that had been put into her during training to turn her into a fighter seemed to flee, though her new-found vampire strength was an asset. She wailed in haphazard kicks and punches, almost windmilling at times, before she too was subdued. Cyclops could feel the helplessness of the situation weighing down his limbs, delaying his reaction time. Once the attention was removed from Storm and Jubilee he stood no chance. He collapsed under the onslaught of a half-dozen heavily armed men. The last thing he saw was the glint of green of one masked man's visor, a sharp stab into his thigh, and the quick pull of drugged sleep.

It was very hard to catch Albus unawares. He was a senile old man only when it suited his purpose. He had informants- he didn't like to say spies- in virtually every nook and cranny in the wizarding world and was very up-to-date on current events. He could calculate a ministry or parental visit from a mile away. Consequently, one could have bowled him over with a feather when he was roused from his bed by the sound of the school's floo activating. He stood in the doorway of his quarters, which connected to his office, mouth agape, as children came, one right after another, through the floo. The first girl stumbled and fell. The next tripped over the first. The third looked to be on the verge of vomiting. They were hysterical, on the verge of tears and clambering over one another in their speech. Still more came. They all stood watching the floo as the last girl came; the only one who even noticed he was there as she turned to inspect him.

"Where's Scott?""-Storm""-Kurt!" Eventually, after long moments of staring at the dormant fireplace, their hopes seemed to wither. They began to inspect the room, gawking at Fawkes on his perch, when Albus tactfully cleared his throat. The sight of a strange man with a long white beard in a purple terry bathrobe standing on the stones in his knobbly bare feet was not the one they expected. A little awkwardly he said:

"Welcome to Hogwarts."