CHAPTER THREE: Opening Moves

Part 3

The Order waited nervously for news. Some sat or stood in the salon and adjacent hallway, others paced or tried to find something to distract themselves with.

Those present didn't represent the full ranks of the Order - some tasks were too important to ignore - but there were enough people to make Harry feel uncomfortable when they looked at him. Some of them surely thought this was his fault... and they weren't entirely wrong. Ginny provoked Mulciber, but she had only been in Diagon Alley because of him.

He escaped to the library. There, he felt isolated enough, even with Sirius watching him 'for his own safety', as he claimed.

"Stop pacing," Sirius said for the fourth time when Harry stood up again. "It won't change anything."

"Stupid," Harry muttered.

"No argument there," Sirius agreed. "That stunt was among the stupidest things you've ever done and you walked into an acromantula colony when you were twelve. That's how stupid that was."

"...my fault..."

"What exactly?" Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry glared at him briefly, then slammed his fist into the nearest surface - in this case, the door. "They're hurt and it's my fault." He swore as the pain in his hand caught up with him.

"Show me that," said Sirius. He took Harry's wrist and tapped the broken hand with his wand. Harry yelped when the hand healed with a violent crunch.

"Don't punch the door again or I'll make you go through recovery the muggle way."

"That's all you care about?"

"Of course not. I care about lots of things. But mostly me. However, we have now arrived at the crux of the matter. Sit."

Harry ignored him.

Sirius hit him with a Stinging Hex. "Are you trying to piss me off? Sit. Down."

Begrudgingly, Harry obeyed.

"Look at me," Sirius ordered.

Harry pointedly looked away.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

The next instant he felt a slap that left his cheek burning. Then Sirius grabbed his head roughly in his calloused hands.

"I'm the closest thing you have to a parent, and you're fifteen. When I tell you to look at me, you will listen. Understood?"

Harry tried to pry Sirius' hands off, but his godfather was older and stronger than him. Sirius released him and pushed his own chair close up to Harry's so that when he sat down and leaned forward, their faces were only inches apart.

"Your idiocy tonight was legendary, no one's arguing that. You could say that I'm being a pot to your kettle, but I'm an adult and you're not. You have a lot to learn about the world, so I can be a hypocrite if it teaches you something."

"You don't know everything," Harry said.

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows in a stern glare. "And you need to shut up, listen and think."

They sat in silence for a good minute until Harry's breathing slowed.

"Have you calmed down?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then tell me what your fault was in that whole affair."

"It was my idea to go to Diagon."

"Did you invite the others along?"

"No. I wanted to go alone, but-"

"Then you failed at making them listen to you, but nothing else. They followed you - their decision. You're all old and smart enough to make those. Now, who cast the first spell?"

"Ginny."

"On your order?"

"No."

"Anyone else's? Ollivander's?"

"No. It was her call, but can you blame her? We were facing a Death Eater!"

Sirius' eyes were completely dark. "Did he give you any reason to believe he was going to attack you?"

Harry leaned in even closer. "Are you seriously suggesting we should have taken a Death Eater at his word?"

"Are you claiming to know Jervis Mulciber better than I?" Sirius hissed.

"No, but-"

"Then believe me, he would've taken his stolen wands and left. No person is defined by any one thing. I know Mulciber and I know more about people than you." Sirius stood up and paced over to the fireplace, arms crossed. "I want to trust you Harry, but tonight you proved Dumbledore right. Moreover, you proved me wrong. The degree of stupidity is measured by one's ability. You are not ready to take on someone like Mulciber and you clearly weren't ready to keep your friends safe during the riot. How can I trust you not to do something so stupid again?"

Harry sank back into the chair, seething in silence, but his anger quickly deflated. "I'm sorry," he whispered at last.

Sirius shook his head, looking down. "I don't give a shit about your apologies. I want you to think before you do something. If you want to sit at the grown up table, then start acting like one. I told you explicitly - and Moody told you - and Dumbledore told you - you're not ready. I've no doubt you could wipe the floor with any student at Hogwarts. You have power and a grasp of magic that few can match, but all that potential needs hard work to translate into actual skill."

"I'll tell you again - until you are ready, if you see Mulciber, run. He's what the Ministry claims I am. He was a murderer before he left Hogwarts, slaughtered his family to earn the Dark Mark. Parents and brother. And I mean slaughtered. Mulcibers were cremated because there wasn't enough to put in coffins. Goddamnit, Moody told you he tried to nail Mulciber for years and failed. Did you think he was joking?"

"No, I-"

Sirius slammed his hand into the side of the fireplace with a dry thwack. "Moody doesn't fuck around. Next time he mentions a Death Eater by name, you better fucking listen. It's a miracle Ollivander's patronus reached Dumbledore in time. Your girlfriend was literally one minute from death and if she'd died, that would have been on you."

Right then, there was a knock on the door.

"What?" Sirius snarled at it.

"Grayson's done," came Remus' voice.

Harry rushed out of the room, to get to his friends and away from Sirius.

"Where is he?" he asked, throwing the door open.

"Living room, he's talking to the others," said Remus, moving out of his way.

"We'll finish this conversation later. Don't think you're getting out of it!" Sirius called after him.

Harry didn't go in, but stood just outside, close enough to hear Grayson talking.

"...fine, though he may experience some recurring pain for a few days. Looked worse worse than it was, really."

The man talking was Graham Grayson, the only professional Healer in the Order. Harry avoided the man like the plague when he found out Auror Grayson was his son.

"What about Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Blood-Burning Curse," Grayson answered to a chorus of gasps. "Nasty business. It's fortunate that Ollivander was able to contact us so quickly. I filtered the blood and commenced the regeneration process. Her magic will be shot for a week or two, but I believe she'll make a full recovery. She's very strong."

"And Hermione?"

"The curse she was struck with is... unique, but I was able to close the wound, with Severus' help. She should have full range of movement in the arm, but I wouldn't rule out some minor inconveniences. The scar will be permanent, I'm afraid. It could have been much worse. They were all quite fortunate, considering... I gave the girls some sedatives. I offered them to Ron, but he declined."

Satisfied with what he'd heard, Harry used the distraction Grayson provided to slip past the living room and sneak upstairs unnoticed. He knocked on the door of the room he shared with Ron. As he understood, Ron's injury was the least threatening.

"Come in," came a reply.

Ron was lying down flat on his bed, with just a folded blanket to stabilise his neck. His shirt was gone and his torso was wrapped in bandages.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked, head bowed.

"Fine," Ron replied. "It doesn't even hurt that bad anymore. This Healer chap said I'll be able to walk normally tomorrow... And I should avoid sudden impacts with walls for a while," he added with a grin.

Harry chuckled at that. "No kidding. I wanted to see you before everyone else crowds in here. They're still downstairs with Grayson."

"What about Ginny and Hermione?"

The smile disappeared from Harry's face. He cleared his throat. "They'll be fine, I think. They're sleeping right now. Ginny got the worst of it."

"I didn't see much. Because, you know... I went down first," Ron said, looking intently at the ceiling.

Harry sat down on his own bed. "We all got our arses kicked, mate. It doesn't mean anything that he got your first. It could've just as easily been someone else."

"But not you, right? I saw bits and pieces. You held your own against the bastard."

"To be fair, Ron, I've been having private lessons with Dumbledore. And I wasn't doing that great, anyway. He took me and Ollivander down in three moves. Didn't even need his wand."

"Yeah, Dumbledore... That's something, I suppose."

Just then, Mr. Weasley opened the door. "Ron- oh, Harry, I didn't know- I can come back later if you want to talk."

"No," said Harry, standing up. "You should come in. I need to talk to Sirius anyway." He looked back at Ron. "I'll see you later."

The door to Ginny and Hermione's room was ajar. He peeked inside - Mrs. Weasley sat next to Ginny's bed, holding her hand. Harry looked at the girls' pale faces, feeling a lump forming in his throat. Their decision or not, they got hurt following him. There was no denying that fact.

Mrs. Weasley noticed him. "Harry, dear," she said quietly, "I don't know how to thank you."

Harry swallowed, but his throat still felt uncomfortably tight. "No need."

She thought she owed him thanks? Dumbledore was right. How could he be trusted with any sort of responsibility when everything he did was impulsive and reckless?

"Pick your battles. Gryffindor famously never retreated and he died crushed by overwhelming odds. Knowing when to back down is an important survival skill." Sirius had said that to him just a few days before. He ignored it, like most things that didn't teach him how to wield destructive magic.

He fled upstairs, to Buckbeak's attic room. The hippogriff was gone and the double doors of the balcony were wide open. Sirius must have let him out to stretch his wings.

That was where Sirius found him almost an hour later. He didn't say anything, just sat down next to him, back against the wall. They stayed like that for a long time, content to be silent together. Harry began to drift off, lulled by the calm and quiet.

Sirius shook him awake gently. "Go to your room and get some rest. Think about what I said. Then think some more. You have a busy day tomorrow and it's almost three in the morning."

"You said that conversation wasn't over yet."

"I think you've learned the lesson. I trust that you'll do better in the future, starting tomorrow."

"I will," Harry said. "You're right. It was... monumentally stupid."

"Of course I am." Sirius stood up in one swift motion. "And now that you've been properly chastised, we can take the next step in out nefarious plot."

"Which one?"

Sirius grinned and tossed him a folded note. "Bill gave it to me earlier tonight."

He's agreed to meet you. Be at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at 11 am.

"In the middle of the day?" Harry asked. "What, are we going to talk over Butterbeer?"

"It's probably his lunch break. No one will question him missing from the Ministry for an hour."

"But Three Broomsticks? It's the busiest place in Hogsmeade."

"Hide in plain sight and all that rot," Sirius said nonchalantly. "Fortune favours the bold!"

"Didn't you just tell me to be more careful?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Potter. You know perfectly well what I meant. And we won't get a better chance at this. We're going."

Harry sprang to his feet. "What do you mean 'we'? You've got a bounty on your head!"

"Harry." Sirius put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'm coming with you. You don't know Crouch like I do. Remember, he's the guy who convinced the Wizengamot to authorise Aurors to use Unforgivables in the last war."

And then Harry remembered watching Crouch Sr send his own son to Azkaban. "Alright… I see your point. Are we bringing anyone else? We could use backup."

Sirius nodded. "Remus will be watching me watch your arse."

Harry shook his head. "A werewolf, a convict and a student walk into a bar... There's a joke there, but I don't know what it is."

Sirius grinned. "See? It'll be fun as well as productive. Now get lost."

Harry left the room somewhat assured, but there was lingering doubt.

Then again, he thought, where's the fun without a little risk?

~~oOo~~

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Harry muttered as he walked alongside Sirius down Hogsmeade's High Street.

He turned some heads, naturally. Although it had been weeks since his very public trial, rumours were still flying about his "supposed" encounter with dementors. The Prophet was kept quiet (by Fudge, most likely), so none of the embarrassing details had been revealed. They did report Dudley's ultimate fate, however. Harry glanced at the faces of the people around, wondering how many of them were convinced he'd killed his cousin.

And how long it would take before someone recognised Sirius. He had refused to wear the Cloak, despite Harry's insistence.

"You're insane," Harry whispered.

Sirius was looking positively giddy.

"Right. Forget I said anything."

"It's going to be fine," Sirius said. "No one will look at your companion and think 'hey, is that Sirius Black?' At best, they'll think 'that guy reminds me of someone'."

"All it takes is one person recognising you," Harry argued. "You should have taken the damn Cloak."

"Nonsense," Sirius replied with a dismissive wave. "Where's the fun in that?"

They manoeuvred through the town's lively crowd. People stood at corners, discussing last night's events in hushed tones. The Prophet, as much as it was under the Ministry's thumb, had printed an eye-catching headline on the front page this morning.

RIOT IN DIAGON ALLEY
GRINGOTTS ATTACKED - GOBLINS RETALIATE

It was nothing Harry hadn't come to expect from what was increasingly becoming a propaganda tool, complete with eyewitness accounts of terrified citizens. The only bright spot was Rita Skeeter's continued absence. Hermione's blackmail was still working, it seemed.

Sirius strolled along at a leisurely pace, breathing in the fresh summer air as his expensive robes fluttered around his ankles. Harry had to admit that neatly groomed and no longer skeletally thin, he looked nothing like the man staring from pictures regularly included in the Prophet. Still, Harry couldn't help but worry. Sirius, on the other hand, didn't seem to have a care in the world.

"Where's Remus, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Following us, of course."

Harry looked over his shoulder as discreetly as he could manage. "I don't see him."

"Well, that's the point. What good is backup if anyone can spot it?"

"Is he wearing my Cloak?"

"No, he's just being sneaky," Sirius said. "Don't forget, we were Aurors for a while before everything went south. We had to pass Stealth and Tracking."

They reached the Three Broomsticks. Sirius pushed the door open and went inside first, heading straight for the bar.

"Sirius," Harry hissed at him, but his voice was lost among all the others, talking, yelling and gossiping. It wasn't the kind of crowd one would see on Hogsmeade weekends, or even just later in the day, but the place was still packed.

"Hello, Madam," Sirius greeted Rosmerta jovially. "Might I have two Butterbeers for myself and my companion?"

"Harry Potter, as I live and breathe," said Rosmerta, noticing him.

"Could you keep it down?" Harry asked. "I'm here incognito."

Rosmerta winked at him. "Oh sure, though I think you may be too recognisable for that. And who is this?" She turned to Sirius and almost immediately, her eyes widened in surprise.

Harry froze. What now?

Before he settled on a course of action, Rosmerta relaxed and her smile returned. "Two Butterbeers, coming right up."

"Make that three. He's paying."

Harry turned right to find Remus there, leaning casually against the bar.

"Believe it or not," said Sirius, "we know what we're doing."

Their drinks arrived in chilled bottles. Harry noticed a small piece of paper under his own but before he could examine it Sirius deftly switched their bottles, glanced at the note and pocketed it. Then he took a swig of his drink, seemingly ignoring everything around him.

He and Remus chatted pleasantly, discussing the latest news and rumours of the werewolf rebellion, like many other patrons were doing. Once all three of them emptied their bottles, Sirius placed a galleon on the bar and leaned over. "Follow me."

Harry did his best to not attract attention as the three of them moved through the crowd towards the back of the bar, where a precariously steep staircase led to he upper floors. On the second floor, Sirius led the group to one of the private rooms.

There was no one inside. In fact, the room was empty save for a table and some chairs. The furniture still shone after a recent cleaning.

"How did you know we'd get a note if we ordered Butterbeer? And what did you do to Rosmerta?"

"Old Auror tricks," Sirius said, looking around the room. He bent over the table until his nose almost touched it and looked left, the right, sniffing all the while. Harry wondered if this was some bizarre investigation method. "Crouch used to be one. Things were very cloak and dagger when he ran the Department. Looks like the old dog hasn't forgotten the craft. And Remus nailed Rosie with a Confundus Charm."

"I didn't even see him until he said something. You're good at this," Harry said appreciatively.

"Yes, we are," Sirius agreed, reaching for his wand. He conjured a gust of odorless smoke, spreading it inside the room. As it swept over the windowsill, it left a rectangular gap, but there was nothing there that Harry could see.

"Oho," Sirius muttered. He jabbed with his wand and magic broke, revealing a wooden box. "Remus, you're better at this kind of thing."

The werewolf stepped closer to the box, waving his wand over it, then drew a complex pattern in the air. Finally, he tapped the lid and cast what Harry thought was an ordinary Unlocking Charm. There was a click and the box slowly opened.

"Harry, come here. It's addressed to you."

Inside the box lay an envelope with his name on it.

"Is it safe?" he asked.

Remus nodded. Harry opened the letter.

Mr. Potter,

I apologise for the deception. If you were able to get this far, by yourself or with help from allies, it demonstrates to me that perhaps it would indeed be beneficial if we sat down to talk.

The portkey found with this letter will take you to the place where we first met. Upon arrival, head to the top box. I shall wait for one hour.

Bartemius Crouch

"What does it say?" Sirius asked.

Harry read the directions again. "He wants to meet at the stadium where the Quidditch Cup was played last summer."

"Not a bad spot. He will have chosen a time when no one else will be there. The maintenance probably comes over once a month at best."

"He said he left a portkey... the box?" Harry guessed, brushing his palm against it.

"Correct," Remus said. "Ready to go?"

The box deposited them at the edge of the forest, where the path leading to the stadium began, then crumbled to dust in Harry's hands.

Sirius nudged him in the side. "Smile for the camera."

Harry cast a surreptitious glance at the tree line. "You think he's watching us?"

Sirius waved cheerfully towards the silent, looming forest. "I know he's watching us, probably with someone else's eyes. He was at Hogwarts with Moody. Between them, they invented half of the stuff that's taught to rookies these days. He was that good."

"Was? You think he's lost his edge?" Remus asked.

"He's not like Moody. I've no doubt he can still kick arse, but he's management now. Probably out of shape."

"Experience counts for something too, you know," Remus said.

"I prefer a more hands-on approach."

"Well, he did put you in Azkaban."

"So," Harry said, interrupting the banter, "what now? Do we just follow the path?"

Sirius nodded. "I guarantee you he's watching us and he probably recognised me. We're not under fire, so I'm going to assume that things are going according to plan."

"You know what they say about assuming," said Remus.

"Yes, yes. It makes an arse out of you and me, but let's just see what happens."

Remus sighed. "That's not I would phrase it..."

"We can argue about proverbs later."

"What if we're attacked?" Harry asked. How could they be so... casual about this?

"We fight back," said Sirius plainly. "Just because we can't see them doesn't mean we're defenceless."

They followed the path into the forest, Harry walking in the middle. After a while trees gave way to the monolithic wall of the stadium.

Recalling last year, Harry led the group towards the VIP area. They climbed the stairs, Remus in front of him and Sirius following, wands out. Harry couldn't help looking at every nook that seemed like someone might be hiding there. They reached the top box without trouble. It was different than Harry remembered.

Instead of rows of seats facing the pitch, the space was occupied by a large table and some chairs. Two wizards in business robes sat directly across from the door. The biggest surprise however was Percy seated off to the side.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black," said Bartemius Crouch. "Won't you sit down?"

~~oOo~~

Percy woke up this morning looking forward to a normal, boring day at work - just him and a stack of paperwork. No secret notes or suspicious security briefings. He liked his daily routine.

How wrong he was.

The day had started well enough. He hastily ate breakfast (whatever he could put together in five minutes), dressed and apparated to the employees' entrance. Like he did every time, he grimaced at the toilet before stepping in and flushing himself down. He understood the need for secrecy, but why a toilet of all things?

He checked in with security on his way to the Minister's Wing and sat down behind his desk at precisely seven-thirty. Official work hours didn't start until eight, but he knew that no one who only did the required minimum got anywhere in the Ministry. Unless, of course, their parents had connections, but his father didn't mingle with the elites.

By the time the Minister showed up - twenty minutes late - Percy had the day's schedule ready.

Then Crouch walked in.

"Cornelius, a moment, please."

The Minister obliged him. "Barty, good morning. Any news from the French?"

"Not yet, but there's something else."

"Let's go inside. Would you like some tea?"

"No time. Take a look at this." He handed Fudge a folder. "Study it before the next Cabinet meeting. It's important."

"Of course, of course. Are you sure you can't stay for a cup of tea? There are some things I'd like to-"

"Busy, I'm afraid," Crouch interrupted. "Call my office and we'll set something up tomorrow."

"If you're sure..."

Crouch waited until Fudge closed the door behind him before pouncing.

"Mr. Weasley. Are you enjoying working for the Minister?"

Percy cleared his throat. "It's a different environment than your Department. Very exciting."

Crouch's lip twitched, as if he were holding back a smirk. "I can imagine. A shame, really. You did quite well with me, as I recall."

That was when Percy became convinced he'd become a prop in a power play. It was an open secret that Crouch had been sour for a long time about his ruined chances for the top job in Wizarding Britain after the fiasco involving his son. The Triwizard Tournament reminded everyone who had forgotten about the whole thing. Crouch couldn't be happy about that.

His son had died and all he seemed to care about was rebuilding his reputation - again. Percy admired the man - he was a true titan in the Ministry - but after last year, he wanted to be as far as possible from Barty Crouch and his shadow.

"I've learned a lot from you, sir," Percy said, choosing a diplomatic answer. "The experience I gained-"

"No doubt," said Crouch. "I think we should catch up. Talk about... opportunities. When is your lunch break?"

"Um, I usually-"

"Splendid. Meet me in the Atrium at ten. I have a nice place in mind."

What was he supposed to say?

"Of course, sir. Ten sharp. I'll be there."

He couldn't simply refuse one of the most influential people in the Ministry. It was a testament to Crouch's endurance, that after being brought to his knees twice he still picked himself back up.

Resigned, Percy cleared his impromptu outing with Fudge and at five-to-ten he left the office. Crouch didn't even try to pretend this was about some fictional lunch.

"Follow me, Mr. Weasley."

They left the Atrium behind, disappearing into the bowels of the Ministry. In a small room, five men were waiting for them. Percy recognised the Chief Unspeakable and Marcus Plateau, Director of Magical Finance. How were they involved in this? And what was 'this', anyway?

"Weasley. Fudge's assistant. What's he doing here, Barty?" Plateau asked.

"He'll be our witness. He's already involved."

Croaker gave Crouch an ornate medallion about the size of a galleon. "It will remain active for two hours."

"Thank you."

With that, Croaker left the room.

Percy could have sworn that apparition and portkeys didn't work inside the Ministry. Unless you were an Unspeakable, apparently. Crouch held the medallion out on his palm. The three hooded Unspeakables and Plateau touched it with their index fingers.

"Weasley!" Crouch snapped.

He reluctantly placed his finger next to the others, dreading what would come next.

The travel itself was fine. This particular portkey was far better balanced than any he'd used before. Their destination, however, was the last place he expected to see when they landed. They were standing in the VIP box of the National Stadium.

"Is everything ready in Hogsmeade?" Crouch asked.

"Checked it twice. All good," said one of the Unspeakables.

"Very well. Take your positions, gentlemen."

Two of the hooded men disapparated. The last one moved to a far corner and disillusioned himself.

"Take a seat, Weasley. We could be waiting for a while."

Waiting for what? Or whom?

The three of them sat at the large table and waited. No one said anything and minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of Crouch's pocket watch whenever he checked the time. After almost half an hour, by Percy's estimation, one of the Unspeakables returned.

"Three targets approaching the forest path."

"Three?" Plateau repeated, bolting from his seat. "We're supposed to just meet Potter! Are they looking for trouble?"

"Calm down, Marcus," said Crouch. "I wouldn't expect Harry Potter to move without security these days. Potter himself is expecting only me. With guards, perhaps, but certainly not you or Weasley." He turned to the Unspeakable. "Were you able to identify Potter's companions?"

"Yes. Our lookout in Hogsmeade spotted one right away. It's Sirius Black."

Crouch's hand clamped down on his colleague's shoulder. "You're awfully jumpy today, Marcus."

"This isn't my environment, Barty," Plateau hissed. "Sirius Black? What in hell is Potter thinking? Was Fudge right all along?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough." Crouch turned to the Unspeakable again. "What about the other one?"

"Remus Lupin. We didn't see him until he revealed himself in the Three Broomsticks. They're not attempting to hide anymore."

Percy saw colour drain from Plateau's face and barely held back a laugh. From the man's perspective, he was about to meet a mass-murdered and Greyback's best friend.

"Black and Lupin?" Crouch asked. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Tail them until they get here. When they walk in, I want all of you on standby."

"Will do," said the Unspeakable and disapparated again.

Plateau had begun to sweat. He swiveled in his chair and stared at Crouch. "An escaped convict and a werewolf... What are you playing at, Barty? It seemed like you know them. I mean, not just from the newspaper."

"They worked for me in the Auror Office."

Percy filed that bit of information away. Oddly enough, it was easier to believe that Black had been an Auror. Professor Lupin just didn't seem the type. He liked this less and less by the second.

When they walked inside, Percy didn't know what to make of that particular trio.

Harry was in the middle, dressed more like a muggle than a wizard. Professor Lupin, in well-worn robes, was on his right. He looked better than Percy remembered him. Less tired.

On Harry's left, Sirius Black was the exact opposite of Percy's image of a hardened criminal. The immaculate robes clashed horribly with the memory of wanted posters depicting an unkempt, withered prisoner.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black. Won't you sit down?"

They stepped forward, moving in an almost synchronised manner.

"Who will I be speaking to?" Crouch asked politely.

"Me," Harry said. "Good morning, Mr. Crouch. Hey, Percy." Then he looked at Plateau. "I don't know you, though."

"Allow me to introduce my colleague, Director Marcus Plateau from the Department of Magical Finance."

Percy observed the tense exchange in silent awe. High-ranking Ministry officials and a group of what many would consider Britain's Most Wanted.

"Marcus requested to join me today. He's grown disillusioned with Minister Fudge's approach to some matters."

"What made you change your mind? You must have been conflicted about this meeting, given how long it took you to respond," said Harry.

"I assume you're aware what happened in Diagon Alley yesterday?" Crouch asked.

Harry flinched. "I was there. Got into a bit of a scuffle with a Death Eater."

Crouch looked surprised for a moment. He couldn't have been expecting that. Percy certainly hadn't.

Crouch, ever the manipulator, swiftly steered the conversation back on topic. "Before either side divulges any information, I think we should establish what we're expecting."

"Cooperation," Harry said. "Sooner or later, Voldemort will move openly. By then it'll be too late to react."

"You want to prepare. Not unreasonable, but how do you think it should be done? By usurping the Ministry from Fudge?"

It was Black who answered. "If that's what it takes. Unless Voldemort does it first."

"And what are you prepared to offer in exchange for cooperation?" Crouch asked.

Harry smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Who do you think is going to come out looking good in the end? Certainly not Fudge. There's also the added benefit of not letting Voldemort win."

"And you have proof that he's indeed back from the dead."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed on that front. Your son was directly involved."

Crouch ignored the obvious low blow. "Whether or not we agree matters little at the moment. I am just one man. We can't stage a coup without a shred of evidence."

"But you do believe me?"

Crouch glared at Harry. "I don't need to believe, Potter. I saw it with my own eyes."

Harry wasn't deterred. "Then why wouldn't you even talk to Dumbledore?"

"Because he's a politician," said Black. "He will toe the line until the winds shifts, no matter what he knows."

Harry's expression hardened to match his tone. "Then perhaps we're just wasting our time here."

What followed was the most tense ten-second pause Percy had ever witnessed.

"We started off on the wrong foot. Why don't we begin with something less aggravating than the Dark Lord. The elephant in the room," Crouch said, looking at Black.

"I'll tell you what Fudge didn't want to hear," Harry said. "Peter Pettigrew is alive."

Percy listened in morbid fascination as Harry told of Pettigrew's deception and his third year, sometimes in disturbing detail. Like how Scabbers, Percy's pet rat of many years, had been Peter Pettigrew all along. Percy wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, vowing to scrub himself extra clean tonight.

Things only got more interesting from there. Harry recounted the night of You-Know-Who's resurrection in such avid detail that Percy couldn't imagine how anyone who heard that tale could not believe it. It took almost an hour before Crouch and Plateau exhausted their questions. This 'lunch break' was stretching uncomfortably long.

"That's all of it," Harry said at last. "Voldemort is moving as we speak. He will hit Azkaban at some point to retrieve his Death Eaters. He can't afford to leave them to rot when he's so short on manpower, even though he's no doubt recruiting again. As long as Fudge pins everything on Sirius, Voldemort can do whatever he wants."

"Then the first step is putting Mr. Black on trial and spreading the word," Crouch said. "It won't be easy in the current political climate. I'm afraid that without the key witness we won't be able to do it."

"Leave Peter to Remus and I," said Black.

"As you wish. In any case, unless a significant change in direction occurs, I can't offer any assistance from the Ministry anyway. Official or not."

"What do you think of Scrimgeour?" Harry asked.

"He's no friend of the Minister," said Crouch. "Were you thinking of approaching him?"

"He seemed sympathetically inclined."

"I'll make some inquires, but I dare not approach him directly. My position at the Ministry isn't as strong as I'd like. But I suppose I could... encourage him to reach out to you."

"That'd be great, Barty. And one more thing," said Black. "Have you heard anything about Malfoy in relation to the Black family inheritance?"

"I have," said Plateau. "Lucius Malfoy has been pushing for acquisition on behalf of his son, but... well, the legal situation was complicated even before this meeting. I can't simply throw Malfoy's petition out, not until Mr. Black's legal status changes."

"Goblins don't care," Black interjected. "I've been withdrawing money almost since the escape. Stall Malfoy. Once we get Peter, we'll clean up this mess."

"You could file a counter-claim, Mr. Potter," Plateau added. "The irregularities in your godfather's case allow for it. It will shake Malfoy, but not much. Your claim is flimsy at best until status quo changes and with Malfoy influencing the Minister, facilitating any change will be difficult."

"Will it slow Malfoy down, at least?"

Plateau nodded. "Any obstacle will."

"Then I'll do it. Contact me about the details. Perce, would you..."

Percy sat up straight. "Sure. Anything I can do to help."

Merlin, I'm in deep. Just don't let me sink with them.

"Then I think that'll be enough for one day," said Crouch. "We all have a bit of thinking to do."

The five men - or four men and a boy? Percy didn't know how to think of Harry - stood up and shook hands. Then Harry, Lupin and Black left the same way they had come.

"I expect you to keep your mouth shut, Mr. Weasley," Crouch said once they were gone.

"Of course, sir."

"Barty... are we really doing this?"

"I should have done this months ago."

"Algernon will want to know," said Plateau. "And what about Scrimgeour?"

"You heard Potter. He was sympathetic. Wouldn't hurt to find out how far that sympathy goes."

"And Fudge?"

Crouch's next words sent a chill down Percy's spine.

"Some sacrifices... are inevitable."

~~oOo~~

"Observe, Harry."

Dumbledore laid an unremarkable smooth stone on the floor of the Chamber.

"I don't see anything special about it, sir. It's not magical."

Dumbledore smiled. "That's material for Transfiguration. I would hate to damage this ancient place."

Harry looked down. "Right. My mistake."

The Headmaster flicked his wand and the stone popped like corn, sprouting into a three foot high cube, perfectly smooth, with sharp edges. It was a simple transformation - he'd mastered more complex spells - but the speed and ease with which Dumbledore performed it were beyond his ability.

"Imagine that an opponent skilled in Transfiguration used this for protection. Why go to such lengths when a Shield Charm can be mastered with considerably less effort?"

"There are ways to circumvent it. A physical protection is superior against some attacks," Harry replied. "Like... the Killing Curse."

Dumbledore nodded. "Just so. Attack it, Harry."

Magic was coming easier to him. He aimed at the target. "Tonare."

The Bludgeoning Hex shattered the cube into hundreds of smaller fragments.

"You've been practicing," said Dumbledore. "Tell me, how come that even though your wand movement was rather poorly executed, the spell worked correctly?"

Harry struggled to find the right words. "I guess... it's all about practice?"

"Are you answering or asking?"

"Not sure," he mumbled.

"Give me an example of a spell which textbooks describe with a precise wand movement."

"The Levitation Charm."

Dumbledore nodded, humming. "Good choice. Please demonstrate."

Harry jabbed his wand in the general direction of the cube's remains.

Nothing.

Non-verbal casting wasn't as intuitive as he'd hoped.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Several fragments rose into the air.

"Yet again, your wand movement was mostly absent and I can see that you have no trouble with the spell."

Harry guided the fragments with his wand in an aerial dance. He arranged them into a line and pretended to tie a knot on it.

"I think precise instructions are necessary when you learn about something new," he said. "Then you just sort of... internalise it. If you know something well enough, it takes less effort, less concentration. You look back on things you studied years ago and they seem laughable now, when seen from the perspective of the time that has passed since. Sometimes when I see Hermione in Potions class, she barely looks at the instructions. It looks like she's just chucking random ingredients in, but she knows what she's doing."

"Say, like you can keep up your levitation and talk to me at the same time," said Dumbledore.

Harry blinked. "I never thought about it like that-"

His focus shifted away from the spell and the stone fragments fell as the levitation failed. He glared at them.

"Everything takes practice, Harry."

"Yes, I see your point, Professor."

Another flick of Dumbledore's wand and the cube reassembled itself, but it didn't stop there. In one continuous process, the Transfiguration was reversed and the small stone flew back into Dumbledore's hand.

"Did you notice what I did?"

Harry tilted his head, looking at the stone. "I would have had to use three separate spells to do the same. Reparo, Untransfiguration, Accio."

Dumbledore put the stone in his pocket. "I would like to see your Shield Charm. I've been told it's excellent."

This was one of the spells that Harry knew so intimately that magic eagerly shaped itself almost on its own under his direction. Then, without warning, Dumbledore cast a spell. The shield swallowed it without even flinching.

"Now attach the shield to your left hand," Dumbledore instructed.

The next spell was aimed at that hand, where it also met his shield. Harry manipulated the spell, shaping the magic at will.

"That's enough. Quite well done, Harry."

"I still don't understand, Professor. I know I can do it, but how is that possible? I don't even remember when exactly I started doing it. It must have happened during the Tournament."

"Magic... is a puzzle," said Dumbledore. "Probably the greatest, most fascinating and frustrating puzzle there is, because there are no easy solutions. The best advice can add up to nothing, because each of us approaches magic as a whole from a slightly different perspective. You must broaden yours - and narrow it."

"That... makes no sense," said Harry.

"It's very possible," Dumbledore agreed. "After all, our perspectives undoubtedly differ. Who knows what you're actually learning from me. Certainly not everything I intend to teach you. Perhaps nothing at all and we're wasting our time. But perhaps, in your own unique way of looking at things, you'll learn from me how not to do something. What works for me very likely isn't universal. It's why writing textbooks on magic is so difficult."

"But everyone starts from the same place," Harry said. "You turn a match into a needle. You levitate a feather."

Dumbledore seemed amused. "Are you sure about that? If what you say is true, then you and your friends must have achieved the same result when you began studying magic and only then your paths diverged."

Harry recalled his first Charms class, Hermione's self-assured superiority, and his and Ron's failed attempts. "Alright. You win."

Dumbledore laughed. "So you see, Harry. Everyone is different. It is fortunate that you have more than one person instructing you. Theory, understanding of the underlying principles, is important. Then again, not necessarily. Could you describe for me the Five Fluctuation Points of the Shield Charm?"

"Er, no. Hermione probably could, though."

"Yes, I imagine so. Ms. Granger finds security in structure and order. She tends to obey the rules and follow precise guidelines. That suggests that she would adhere to rigid standards laid out in textbooks. Would you say she is uncreative with her spells?"

Harry scoffed. "No one who knows her would say that."

"I've no doubt that with sufficient practice, she will master the Shield Charm just as you did," Dumbledore said, sneaking a candy out of a pocket and popping i tinto his mouth. "I would also bet a chocolate frog that she has read Gilbert Price's impressive study of the Shield Charm. I take it you haven't."

Harry did a double take. "There's an entire book just about the Shield Charm?"

Dumbledore looked around, puzzled, then wiped his fingers on the robe without much concern. "There are entire books about many spells and techniques. A lot of them are available in the Hogwarts library, but they're not required reading precisely because a teacher's role isn't to rigidly guide a student through one safe path in the labyrinth. Our job is to provide students with sufficient tools, so that they may follow one of many possible paths to understanding."

Harry stared at the wand in his hand. It was another of those Dumbledorean lectures that left him grasping at the frayed edges of something, trying to decipher it. On some level Dumbledore was making a lot of sense. He just couldn't figure out where he'd have the best view.

He stood on a precipice and couldn't move forward. Flying was bloody well impossible... but at least he wasn't falling.

"Professor, I think I prefer when you just teach me spells."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with bright lights. "And I enjoy teaching you. Forgive an old man, Harry. I rarely have opportunities to indulge in philosophising about magic these days."

"Eh, it's fine. Give me a decade and I may just get it."

Dumbledore checked the time on his peculiar watch. "O-ho. Our time for today is up, I'm afraid."

"Another staff meeting?"

Dumbledore sighed. "As much as I love Hogwarts, running a school can get boring if there are no petrifications, break-ins or other disasters."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure of what he just heard.

"...that was a joke."

Harry blinked. "Oh, right. Sure. Good one, Professor."

"It seems I've lost my touch. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

Alone in the Chamber, he thought back to the meeting with Crouch and the afternoon of realisations that followed. Hermione and Ginny had woken up, healed for all practical purposes, though still shaken. Ginny blamed herself, which Ron and Hermione were quick to dispute. Harry kept silent, keeping in mind his conversation with Sirius.

He recalled meeting Mulciber in Godric's Hollow. Harry hadn't told anyone about that encounter and wasn't planning to. The way Mulciber had spoken, it was obvious there was a hidden agenda at work. Whether it was another one of Voldemort's deceptions or Mulciber's own scheme, he couldn't tell.

His thoughts went full circle and back to Dumbledore.

Broaden my perspective... and narrow it.

"That's bloody helpful," he muttered. He took his wristwatch off and weighed it in his hand. "Perspective, huh?"

He threw the watch into the air. It climbed in a steep arc, gaining the highpoint just below the line of torches hanging on the columns and started to fall. Harry flicked his wand just before it hit the floor. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Caught by the Levitation Charm, the watch stopped its fall abruptly. Harry jerked the wand sharply and the watch flew towards him. He dangled it in front of his face, then drew back his hand and threw it forward like he would a fishing rod. The watch obeyed and shot forward, this time along a flatter trajectory.

He levitated it back towards himself again, controlling the spell with not so much his wand anymore as only thought. The watch returned without fail, as if he had used a different spell entirely.

"But I'm not Summoning it," he said to himself. "The Summoning Charm is based on different principles..."

He remembered that frantic afternoon before the First Task. Hermione had said enough about the arithmantic foundations of Levitation and Summoning that some of it had stuck. What was it Dumbledore had said? ...many possible paths to understanding.

"Understanding what?"

He put the watch back on. Maybe he should take a look at some arithmantic equations after all. Hermione would surely agree to help him...

"All hail Lord Snaketongue!" someone yelled jovially.

Harry turned on his heel. Sirius was marching towards him briskly, followed by Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

"I remember this," Ginny said, her voice echoing softly.

"Fascinating," Hermione whispered.

Ron settled for a simple 'wow'.

"Yes, it's something," Harry said. "Dumbledore and I just got done charting out all the tunnels two days ago. Well, all those we could find. You're getting a tour in a moment, but first..."

He cast out his voice, amplified by the Chamber's magic. The hiss was carried through the tunnels, reaching every shadowy nook. The basilisk hissed a response and soon emerged from behind him, rising from the pond at the Slytherin's feet.

Sirius clapped. "Very dramatic. Well done. Full marks."

Harry grinned. "Don't panic, guys. He won't bite."

None of them moved for a long moment, until Ginny came closer. Harry took her hand and placed it on the basilisk's snout as it lowered its head.

"Hello, Master. Are these your nestmates?"

He wasn't sure he could adequately explain the concept of friendship to the snake, so he just settled for saying, "Yes. As the others, they are not to be harmed."

Ginny touched the scales, then immediately back off, bumping into him.

"Sorry," she said. "Some less than pleasant memories."

"No worries. I control this one, not Tom Riddle," he whispered to her.

"Harry, mate," said Ron, "I can't help but wonder-"

"I guarantee he's harmless," said Harry. "Well, unless I say otherwise. And if you meet him in the tunnels, you should give way... he takes up quite a bit of space."

"So... it hasn't tried to eat you?" Ron asked.

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Okay..."

Ron moved closer as well. The basilisk was observing him rather amused, as far as Harry could tell. He had given up years ago trying to understand how magical animals developed sentience advanced enough that they possessed personalities. He had never been able to figure it out with Hedwig and he doubted a snake would cause an epiphany. He sent the basilisk on its way and it slipped back into the pond.

"Where'd it go?" asked Ron.

"There's a nest below this floor. Spells keep the water out. The cave is almost as big as the Chamber."

It was Ginny who answered. Harry looked at her curiously.

"I don't remember a lot, but there are... flashes," she admitted.

"Come on, then. Let's refresh your memory."

The group followed him - Sirius as well, though Harry suspected he wanted to see the others' reactions for a laugh. He led them into one of he wider tunnels, but it still could fit no more than two people across comfortably. Dumbledore had smoothed the floor to make walking easier and placed some torches, but nothing more. He wanted to preserve as much of the Chamber's original design as possible. Many of the smaller tunnels hadn't been altered at all. Those were left to the basilisk.

"Ginny... when you mentioned a nest... Did you mean to imply that there are eggs down there?" asked Hermione.

"That's one of the things I don't remember," she said, looking at Harry.

"There are dozens," he said. "Enough to raise an army of basilisks, but we can't do that."

"Not that I'm disappointed, but why not?"

"Slytherin didn't magic this up in an afternoon, you know. Dumbledore estimates it took him years. Basilisk breeding wasn't banned then, but just as difficult. He created a good-sized supply of eggs. Then he put them all in the nest and began layering the spells. Dumbledore said the complexity of the charmwork in this place matches what he saw in the part of the Department of Mysteries only available to Unspeakables."

"If only Unspeakables can go there, then how did he get in?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "By being Albus Dumbledore, I suppose."

"I don't understand something," Hermione said. "I thought that- V-Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. Isn't the basilisk only supposed to obey that one person?"

Harry grinned. "Turns out that everyone who called me the Heir back in our second year had the gist of it right."

"I love this part," said Sirius in a stage whisper.

"Slytherin's descendants married the Peverells. There were three Peverell brothers. The oldest died childless. The second led to Voldemort. The third led to me. The Chamber's basilisk isn't just a weapon. It's a test. Any Heir who seeks to continue Slytherin's eugenics program must first slay the basilisk they find down here to prove themselves worthy. Only then the magic responds, releases and egg from hibernation and the new incumbent Heir gets their own basilisk."

Hermione frowned. "Are you saying Voldemort was the first since Slytherin, or that there have been others before him?"

"He was only the last," Harry said. "Each time, the Heir terrorised the school with the threat of a monster. So far, only Voldemort has acted on that threat. And even he failed to drive out the unworthy."

"How can you be the Heir though?" Ron asked. "If Voldemort is from the senior line... Magical inheritance doesn't work that way."

"But Voldemort left something of himself in me when he tried to kill me the first time," Harry said, touching his scar. "Dumbledore thinks that's how I was able to fool Slytherin's magic into accepting me."

"Pretty cool, isn't it?" Sirius asked with a grin.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione.

"It's just around the corner."

There, the tunnel curved to the left and continued on, coming back to the Chamber and meeting several other passages. The left wall curved along with the path. The right wall was missing.

Instead, the tunnel opened into a cavern, the biggest Harry had ever seen. It looked like it could swallow a cathedral and have space left for a few smaller buildings. It was lit by the soft glow emanating from thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the ceiling. It almost looked like a night sky.

A narrow rocky peninsula extending a hundred feet was all the floor space available. The rest was an underground lake. At the far end, a small waterfall cascaded down from, as Dumbledore had determined, the Black Lake. Next to it, another waterfall flowed up, back to the Lake. The rumble of foaming water carried easily over the surface. Neither waterfall was making any waves. The surface was smooth as glass.

"Want to see something cool?" Harry asked as they followed him onto the peninsula. Without waiting for an answer, he let out a long hiss. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the lake was disturbed, as if the water had begun boiling. Then the lake started moving.

Snakes of all sizes, some as small as pencils, others exceeding twenty feet, came forth from the black water, coiling and piling up around the group. Shortly, they were surrounded by a three foot high living wall.

"Enough," Harry hissed and the snakes stopped coming. He and Sirius were grinning, congratulating each other on a prank well-played. Ron froze, eyes wide, not daring to move and step on one of the reptiles.

"Awesome," he said, swallowing loudly. "Can you send them away now?"

Harry gave another command in Parseltongue and soon the snakes were out of sight and the water perfectly still, as if it had never been disturbed.

"Chin up, mate," Harry said. "Just imagine bringing Malfoy down here and dropping him in the water. He'd piss himself. Or worse."

Ron livened up at the suggestion. "Why stop at imagining? That slimy bastard could use a bath."

Harry sighed. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't do that."

"Snape?"

"Ron!" Hermione punched him in the arm.

Ron shrugged. "Well, there's always Crabbe and Goyle."

~~oOo~~

He dressed with meticulous care tonight. The occasion called for it. He listened to his father's advice with half an ear - of course it was important, and he committed it to memory, but he couldn't help but get distracted. His mind kept leaping forward to what was coming.

Preparations had been made. Father had spent a lot of gold to make sure there would be no disturbances. He wasn't going alone. Nott would be there as well, but he wasn't important. The test had been designed and targets chosen for him. He couldn't say it out loud, of course. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate gloating without merit and he had no deeds to his name yet. That bastard, Mulciber, gloated all the time. He didn't boast openly, but the little taunts directed at Father drove Draco insane.

Tonight, he would prove himself. Like Father had. Like Professor Snape. Like bloody Mulciber. He would not be bested by Saint Potter.

He relished in the weight of robes settling down on his shoulders. The cloak billowed around his ankles when he stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool wind wash over him. He took a minute to calm his thoughts. It would not do to bounce like an excited child in front of the Dark Lord. He suffered no fools. Draco had already learned that lesson. He shuddered at the memory, the wind suddenly chilling him to the bone despite the cloak.

With his wand resting in a holster at his belt, he left and locked his room, walking briskly through the empty hallways of the Manor. It was quiet, as if it knew the importance of this night. He was the last one here - everyone else had already left. Father was with the Dark Lord. Mother was enjoying Uncle Sylvestre's hospitality in France. As Father had said, her role was different, but she did her part all the same.

Once outside, he went straight to the apparition point. He took a deep breath and concentrated - he still needed some practice - before apparating to his destination.

His guide was waiting for him there. "You're on time. Good."

The Death Eater beckoned him to follow. They went down the barely visible path, curling as it descended the steep slope, to a remote, secluded clearing deep in the woods. Draco was aware of the things lurking in the darkness beyond the path - this forest was as old as it was dangerous.

He couldn't help but grin at the thought - they were practically right under Dumbledore's nose! From what Father had told him, there was a hill nearby, rising above the trees. If one were to climb it, one could see Hogwarts to the northwest and Hogsmeade to the south.

The clearing they were going to was a hallowed place to them and their cause. The first Death Eaters had made their vows there. Now, no vows were necessary. Words were redundant when all that needed saying was represented by a symbol.

The Dark Mark.

Tonight was a test. He had worked so hard for the right to attempt passing it - he had the scars to prove it. Mulciber was a hard taskmaster, but an effective one. Not all recruits followed these rituals, but Draco was happy to. It was an established tradition, decades old, deserving of its a place among the others. He was ready.

Darkness gave way to the light cast by a small fire. The stones surrounding it were adorned with runes, representing qualities the Dark Lord desired in his Death Eaters. Loyalty. Courage. Cunning. Determination. Skill. Dedication. Draco had worked for months to make sure he was all of those things and more. He would prove it this year, starting tonight.

There weren't many Death Eaters present. Most were in Azkaban. It was the right and duty of the Inner Circle to witness the initiation. Right now, there were only five, arranged in a circle on the tips of a five-pointed star. Five masks, each unique to its owner, reflected the dancing fires. They were decorated with symbols and runes the meaning of which were only known to the wearer and the Dark Lord himself.

He was there, standing close to the fire, opposite from Draco and Nott. They were the only suitable candidates. None of the other recruits had impressed the Dark Lord. Draco respected Nott's accomplishments, but hardly considered him his equal. Nott was talented, but lacked conviction. Draco had been prepared for this since he had learned to walk.

The Dark Lord smiled at them.

"Draco. Theodore," he said in greeting. "You have waited for this moment for a long time. Finally, you are here, in this circle. Your abilities speak for themselves."

No one else spoke. It wasn't their place. The Dark Lord would say whatever words were needed.

"You have come a long way and you have arrived. Welcome."

They bowed their heads.

"The ceremony is simple and we shall not prolong it unnecessarily. You have elsewhere to be tonight, after all."

Then the Dark Lord's wand was in his hand. He pointed it at the fire and a white-hot branding iron rose from where it had been heating up. Draco felt a mixture of dread and anticipation. He wanted to do it, but it would hurt like nothing he'd felt before.

"Theodore," the Dark Lord said, wand in one hand, brand in the other. "Step forward."

Nott did, dropping to one knee, holding up his left arm. The Dark Lord slid the wand along the sleeve, splitting it down the middle. The fabric fell away, revealing unblemished skin.

"I give you my Mark. Wear it with pride. Wear it with purpose."

The scream that pierced Draco's ears threatened to shatter his eardrums and made his teeth vibrate. Nott screamed until he was out of breath as the Dark Lord held the brand to his flesh, burning it away almost to the bone. Nott seemed frozen in his position, held in place by magic.

Finally, the Dark Lord lifted the iron, slashed his wand once and Nott collapsed, pouring with sweat, eyes rolled back. A Death Eater left the circle and pulled Nott up by the newly Marked arm, as if Nott were a ragdoll.

That'll be Greyback, then, Draco thought.

When Nott still couldn't find his footing, Greyback backhanded him. It worked - his eyes focused again and he repaired his robe. Still trembling, Nott returned to his place by the fire.

The Dark Lord's eyes settled on him. "Draco. Step forward."

Draco knelt down in front of the man, rolling up his sleeve and bowed his head.

"I am ready, my Lord," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Very well. Wear my Mark like it is expected of you."

The pain was undescribable. It was futile to try to find words for it, in any language, human or otherwise, but he kept his mouth shut. He couldn't hold a grunt that escaped him at first, but he held out. He had been prepared for this. He would not scream. He would not break. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys were supposed to be better than that. Tonight, he would prove worthy of that name. He focused on those thoughts instead of the pain and, somehow, it ended as suddenly as it had started. A rush of relief and tiredness threatened to take him, but he overcame it and stood up before Greyback reached him.

"Very good, Draco," the Dark Lord said appreciatively. "You are becoming more like your father."

As much as he admired Father, Draco secretely disagreed. He was going to be better.

The Dark Lord laughed.

~~oOo~~

He was breathing deeply, calmly. They weren't rushing. This wasn't a routine operation - the Dark Lord gave you the target and expected you to show him what you could do.

Arrangements had been made to minimise risk. There was no need to cause an incident - well, apart from the one that had been planned.

Their dark cloaks, combined with Notice-Me-Not Charms made them undetectable to muggles and other common filth. Mulciber led the party towards a stately brick house. Draco had to admit he was disappointed. He had been hoping for a rundown ruin, like the Weasleys' oh-so-proudly named Burrow. He knew that rich muggles lived in nice enough homes, but this... this was practically an insult.

Mulciber stopped in a darkened alley. "Greyback, get the guard. And for Merlin's sake, don't make a mess for once."

The werewolf grunted. "You want her alive?"

"If you can manage it, sure, but she's not important. Macnair, show me the ward stones. You said there were two?"

"Yeah. Over there."

"Initiates." Mulciber turned to him and Nott. "Wait here until I come to get you. Don't move, or I'll make sure you will never move again."

The three Death Eaters were gone for a few minutes. Greyback returned last, his clawed hands covered in blood.

"Goddamn you, Fenrir," Mulciber snapped.

"She resisted. I made a tactical decision."

"What did you do with the body?"

"Dumped it in he river."

"Good enough. Initiates... follow me."

Mulciber waved his wand at the gate. A box with buttons on a pillar next to it crackled, hissed and spat out a few sparks. They cobblestone path to the door ran along a neatly trimmed lawn. Mulciber took off his mask and hood in front of the door.

"Thanks to Lucius, the Trace grid has been temporarily disabled in this sector. We will have two hours. Make the Dark Lord proud," Mulciber said. He pressed a button next to the door and Draco heard a muffled melody coming from inside. Almost a minute later, the door opened, revealing a man in his forties.

"Mr. Granger?" Mulciber asked. "My name is Jervis Mulciber. I'm terribly sorry about the late hour, but this concerns your daughter."

"Hermione? Has something happened to her?"

"I believe we should sit down for this conversation," Mulciber lied smoothly.

"Fine. Come in."

And thus, the man sealed his fate. Draco smiled in excitement as the three of them walked inside, a spell on the tip of his tongue.

If only the mudblood could see this.