A/N: Chap 13 review responses are available in my forums as always. Thank you all for reading.
Chapter Fourteen: The Midnight Hour
Muriel Prewett just would not stop clearing her throat. The older, self-important witch stood with the others near the closed Muggle visitor centre and kept clearing her throat—a sign of her nervousness. It was displaced, considering she was a former Dame before the Prewetts lost their wizards. One would think it would be old hat to her.
Or perhaps, Augusta thought darkly, it was because she knew something was happening that no one would tell her about and that she didn't have the wherewithal to figure out herself.
It was cruel, Augusta knew. Although she sincerely hoped her fears were misplaced, it was nonetheless cruel to bring Muriel into the battle at this late stage. Molly Weasley was far from a perfect Dame, to be sure. She was flighty and too quick to make judgments. And yet, Augusta remembered how it was Molly who stepped forward to take in the two Muggle girls after the Hunter fiasco. For all Molly's faults, she was a true light witch at heart. The fact that the Weasley Coven was among the largest in England was also an important factor in Augusta's decision to take Molly out of the equation for now.
Still, if only Muriel would stop clearing her throat!
Sallifred McDonald left her little pocket of friends and stepped to Augusta's side. "I'm not comfortable with this," the Dame said. At eighty, she was still young for a Dame but had a good head on her shoulders. "Dame Delia has never been truly linked to You-Know-Who. It's foolish to just assume this is an ambush."
Augusta, staring intently up the hill for the first sign of the blue flame of the Sabbat, said, "Have you ever heard the fable of the deer without a heart?"
Sallifred blinked at the odd question. "One of Aesop's fables, I believe."
"A wily fox twice convinces a deer to visit a lion that was too ill to hunt. When the lion naturally killed the deer, the fox ate its heart. The lion demanded to know where the heart was, and the wily fox told it that any creature so foolish as to visit a lion in its den obviously did not have one."
"What nonsense."
"Only when you remember that in Aesop's day, people believed thoughts originated in the heart. And that belief came from witch-born Aethers of the day, who could see the magic centred on our hearts and assumed that was the centre of life and consciousness."
"I don't…"
"We are the deer, Salli," Augusta said softly. "Delia and her fellow witches are the foxes. They have lured us into the den, but I fear the lion is waiting. And truly, whatever preparations we make will not harm us if I am wrong."
The younger witch hugged herself in her white penitent's dress against a slight chill breeze. It was a cloudless, moonless night, and the stars shone with unfettered brilliance above them. "Do you think Dennis is going to be alright?"
Unlike most, Sallifred and Dennis MacDonald were a true love match. They grew up neighbours and remained friends throughout their childhoods, until bonding at fifteen when another witch tried poaching him. They took on a second spouse years later, of course, but they remained unusually close for a bonded pair.
"I hope so," Augusta said.
The blue flame burst to life in the centre of the stone circle. To the outsiders, Stonehenge looked like a monolithic ruin, but beyond the glamours and wards, the stones stood whole and unbroken as they have since time immemorial—a testament to thousands of years of magic. "It's time," Augusta said softly.
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
As midnight rang from the church clock tower in St. Buryan to close the last day of August, a sudden blue fire burst to life in the centre of a ring of nineteen stones on the plains of Salisbury. Moments after the fire, dark-clad figures appeared in front of ten of the nineteen stones.
Each figure turned and tapped a wand against the nearest stone, causing the megalith to flash with white light. The figure at the north stone stepped toward the blue flame and in a voice that rang over the field, said, "The stones are wakened, the wards are set. The Sabbat is called."
With that, the figure pulled back her cowl to reveal the face of Delia Griffin. The other witches did the same, walking toward the centre of the circle where elves brought stone benches, which appeared from thin air for the circle of women to sit. Within the powerful wards, the air was as comfortable as if they were in the Ministry itself.
Though for her part, Delia preferred the circle. Looking around at the ten witches who formed the Dark Circle, she felt a surge of pride and accomplishment. Though Delia was always ambitious, she never let her ambitions grow to unachievable levels. It was always her dream to be Dame among Dames, the First Dame of the British Sabbat. Let Dolores be just one voice in the chorus of the Covens Majeure, Delia was content to rule her own special corner of the world—the birthplace of modern magic.
Of course, there was some discordance in the symphony. Her good friend Cassandra Greengrass had suddenly fallen ill. She strongly suspected Potter was involved, but tradition did not let her question too closely how Alphard Black suddenly recovered from his long term case of Draught of Living Death. Nonetheless, he had. However, for all Delia's dislike of the man, he was first and foremost a traditionalist.
Though Delia was not pleased to have Andromeda Tonks in the circle, given the treason of her daughter and her own marriage to a half-blooded wizard, Andromeda herself formally announced before the whole circle the Black Coven's adherence to Alphard's own Dark Traditionalist stance, and that her actions as Proxy Dame with the Light Sabbat was a matter of a debt that had since been paid back in full. "With my support of Elder Potter's declaration of coven, we have met the requirements of that agreement and now cut ties with the Potter Coven," Andromeda assured them all when she first presented herself as the Proxy Dame.
Though there was a great deal of condemnation for Andromeda's actions among the Dark Sabbat, none could fault her qualifications. As a witch of the Black Coven, she was formally trained to be everything the Sabbat could desire, and she comported herself accordingly.
The other note of discordance was the recent return of Aahuti Patil. The Hindu witch was as steeped in dark magic as Delia herself was, only it was foreign dark magic, much of which predated wands. Nonetheless, despite being foreign, the Patils were more pureblooded than most British witch-born, tracing their ancestry back to the Persian Empire of Alexander's days. And given her recent flip-flopping, Delia had no doubt the Patil Coven would toe the Sabbat line or be destroyed.
Her musings were interrupted by the realization that everyone was looking at her. "Sisters," she began, "dear sisters, the day of our victory has finally arrived. Now that the treachery and evil of Harry Potter and his order have been exposed, not even our misguided sisters in the light covens can deny us any longer. Two days ago, an envoy from this circle reached out to the so called Light Sabbat with the findings from the Covens Majeure."
Delia did not bother to hide her smile. No one in this circle liked Amelia Bones. "The Light Covens sentenced the Proxy Dame of the Potter Coven to death, and sentence was carried out in their very presence. Potter and his pathetic Muggleborn followers are even now hiding in terror. The Dames of the Light Covens have acknowledged they were misled, and have accepted my personal invitation to re-join this Circle. What say you, sisters?"
Delia watched as her fellow Dames debated what was a foregone conclusion. She would step in if she needed to, but she knew Elezeta and Dolores had already pushed most of the Dames into accepting the Light Covens back, and given the invitation was made personally by the First Dame, they would not want to deny Delia like that. For Delia, being the First Dame meant nothing if she was not First Dame of an entire circle. Letting the weakened Light Covens back in with a number to guarantee they would never gain a majority again ensured Delia's primacy, but would also settle any doubts the more light-oriented elements of the Covens Majeure had about the Dark Sabbat and the new Ministry. In essence, it would cement and finalize the Sabbat's direct administration of magical England, doing away at last with the Wizengamot.
Finally, the vote was tallied. None opposed, as Delia predicted. Aside from all other pressures, the other witches, like Delia, desired a whole Sabbat. Light or Dark, there was a certain camaraderie and respect among the Dames that those outside the circle could not understand. There were exceptions, of course, but the whole was worth the individual pain.
"So be it," she said. "Let those who petition this circle come forward."
The wards dropped at Dame Elezeta's gesture as the new guardian of the flame, and a line of eight witches in white robes entered. Because these were dames, they were not subjected to the same rigors a true penitent would be, but there was no question that they came as penitents. The lead which was Augusta Longbottom herself, who as far as Delia was concerned, proved her mettle with the killing of Amelia Bones. Delia looked for that vapid ginger, Molly Weasley, but instead saw the harsh, unsmiling features of Muriel Prewett, the matriarch of the Prewett family, which lost its coven status with the death of Molly's brother Gideon during the last war.
The ritual began when Augusta said, "I am Augusta Longbottom, Dame of the Croaker Coven. I come before this circle in humble confession for my errors. I was misled by one I called friend."
Augusta bowed not to Delia, but to the blue flame that lit the circle from the centre. Behind her, the next witch said, "I am Muriel Prewett, acting Proxy Dame for the Weasley Coven. My great-niece was cursed by a proscribed wizard while trying to save her children and so cannot be here. By this great sin, on her behalf and on behalf of the Weasley Coven, I come before this circle in humble confession of our errors. We were misled by one we called friend."
So it went, witch after witch: Cassandra Marches, Melinda Brant, Sallifred MacDonald, Deena Gallagher, Elizabeth Morris and finally Patricia Sanford. Each of the eight surviving light dames walked into the circle.
"Sisters, be welcome," Delia said with a victorious smile. "By the unanimous vote of this circle, you are all forgiven for your errors. We welcome you, and by our desires you are reinstated as Dames of the Sabbat, with all the duties and responsibilities thereof."
Delia led the circle through the rituals of re-admittance, which was in essence an intricate method of returning the dames back into the ancient wards of the circle. When at last Patricia Sanford went through the ritual and assumed her position before her stone, the returning light witches transfigured their white penitent dresses to the black robes of the Sabbat.
"The circle is complete once more!" Delia crowed. "Though we remain one coven short, a true quorum has been met and the greater Sabbat is at last healed. Thank you, sisters, for having faith in the circle. At last we have…Dame Elezeta, what are you doing?"
The question surprised Delia herself as much as it did the other Dames, for Elezeta had left her stone and walked along one side of the circle to the ward entryway. Without answering, the Malfoy Dame took her wand and using her own ward key as the guardian, she brought down the wards of the circle.
"Elezeta, what are you doing?" Delia demanded again. Even as she asked, she struggled to bring the wards back up, something only she as First Dame could do.
A thrill of fear ran down her spine as a cacophony of pops announced unwanted visitors. Voldemort himself popped into the very centre of the circle, dousing the blue flame with the rush of displaced air and magic from his apparition. Delia felt her heart stop at the utter profanity of his presence in that circle. What was even more astounding to Delia, though, was the near instant reaction of old Augusta Longbottom. The ancient dame thrust her wand forward and mouthed the killing curse itself, shooting a ball of green death at the Dark Lord.
Voldemort spun away and responded not with a killing curse of his own, but a mere stunner. Augusta's shield came into existence in astonishing time—a testament to her skill as a witch—only to shatter before the exponentially more powerful magic of the un-bonded dark lord. Augusta crumpled to the ground. Around the circle, wizards and a few witches shouted disarming charms and quickly disarmed the shocked Dames of the Sabbat.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Voldemort said. "A party and you didn't invite me? Delia, I thought we were friends."
Delia shook with rage as she regarded this wizard who dared to shatter the perfection of her circle. "You arrogant fool! You can't just waltz in to the Circle!"
"Ahh, but I did," Voldemort said. "I had questions, you see. Questions that I need to address to all Dames. Did you know that dear Elezeta was never taught how to make wands? The Lestrange Family Dame never taught her, and of course the Parkinsons were always a client family and never knew. For the past ten years the Malfoys have had to buy their wands from fellow covens since the old Malfoy Dame died before she could share the secret. By my hand, I must confess. In fact, none of the witches who support me know the secret. Why is that, Delia?"
"Why would any witch tell you wandlore?" Delia demanded.
"Someone told Garrick Ollivander," Voldemort pointed out with an expectant grin. "And he told Potter. Why else would the International declare him an Apostate? A wizard who can make wands... You're going to tell me the secret, Delia. If you do, I will let you and your sisters live. Well, perhaps. I can't kill all witches, now, can I? What's the point of ruling a magical world without anyone in it? Some witches need to survive just to give me new followers. But the future will be a better world with fewer of you … that cannot be argued."
Voldemort walked around the circle, staring at each of the Dames, dark and light alike, while his army held each in place. "The future will be a world in which wizards are treated with the respect our power deserves. It will be a world where witches know their place, and where no wizard will ever, ever be bonded against his will."
He turned to face Delia again. "And that future starts with you, my dear, telling me the secret of wandlore."
"I can't, you fool," Delia snapped. "It's an Unbreakable Oath! Every Dame takes the oath upon learning the wandlore of her coven. It's the same oath taken since the time of Rowena and Morgana, and its power has multiplied over generations to be the most powerful Unbreakable Vow in magic!"
"Really?" Voldemort asked. "Tell me Delia, it's after midnight, do you know where your children are?"
Delia froze and her heart skipped a beat as a terrible, terrible dread gripped her chest. She had two adult children—both girls. Her potioned husband had a son with his First Wife, thus ensuring the Griffin Coven's continuance. Of course, that First Wife was dead now—Delia did not believe in unnecessary risks, and her husband was safely bundled away in a bed with Draught of Living Death as his sole companion. Delbert was, after all, a light wizard, and she could not tolerate his interference for her take-over of England.
A squad of masked Death Eaters dragged a group of terrified witches into the circle—her two daughters and the three granddaughters were all grouped together in torn, ragged robes. Stella, her eldest, had a large bruise on the left side of her face.
"What is this?" she demanded, unable to hide the fear in her voice.
"A moment of decision," Voldemort said. "Think of it as incentive, one every witch in this circle will soon experience. I am going to have one of these lovely young ladies killed no matter what. It's going to happen, you cannot stop it. And then, for every minute you fail to tell me the secret of wandlore, I'll kill another. After they are all dead, if you fail to tell me, I will kill you and move on to the next witch. Ready?"
She looked at the Dark Lord in appalled horror. "Do you want this alliance to crumble, you madman?"
Looking into his eyes as she was, she saw a brief spark of cold, black rage before his power washed over her like a tidal wave, sweeping away her tattered defences until she fell to her knees with a moan of pain. Oh, how she hated to be in the presence of an un-bonded wizard of his power!
"There is no Alliance, witch," Voldemort hissed. "You've served your purpose with the International, and now there is only me telling you what to do. And there is you obeying. Surely you've realized by now that there was never any equality between us? I am a wizard. I wield more magic by myself than this entire coven. It was a perversion of magic that ever allowed witches to gain ascendency. So, choose who dies first, or I kill them all immediately!"
Delia looked up at her two daughters, then at the three granddaughters between them, struggling with a decision she had never imagined she would face. Her daughters were both approaching their magical flash point, whereas the younger girls were just ready for Hogwarts and a handful of years away from their prime fertility.
Even as grief struck her heart, cold calculation guided her mind. "Stella," she said at last. "I'm sorry, child."
Stella gasped and cried out as one of the Death Eaters stepped up behind her and shoved a knife into her back. Delia, expecting a Killing Curse, cried out in horror as the point of the blade erupted from her eldest daughter's chest. Hot blood spurted on Stella's only daughter, who screamed out, "Mum!"
Stella managed one incredulous look at her mother before the Death Eater viciously pulled the knife out. She fell forward, caught by her daughter and sister, but already the magic was fading from her eyes as she died.
"So, one down... How many more do you wish to die tonight?"
Delia bowed her head as the true, crushing immensity of the situation came raining down on her shoulders. She remembered the first time she met Voldemort in the mid-seventies. Back then, he was still regarded as a dangerous revolutionary. She remembered reading his book about the American Magical Civil War. Though she disagreed with everything he said she was enthralled by the passion of his writing.
She met him through Elezeta, and their affair was brutal and intoxicating. It was also the start of a partnership she was sure would propel her to the top of the British magical world.
And now…now she found herself staring at her eldest daughter bleeding to death in the centre of the most sacred place of magic in the United Kingdom. "Damn you," she whispered.
"Damnation is not something to be feared, but embraced." Voldemort laughed. "It has been almost a minute, Delia. Your second daughter is looking nervous."
Delia looked up at her baby girl, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. And then, turning to Voldemort, she tried her very best to tell him the secret of wandlore.
She fell dead of her own magic before she got the first word out.
"A shame," Voldemort said. To his men, he said, "Kill them, please."
The girls screamed in agony while Voldemort turned his attention to another Dame. "Next!"
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
Augusta woke to the sounds of screaming women. With effort she opened her eyes onto a scene of horror. Across from her, against six of the monoliths, she saw six of her fellow dames stripped of their black robes and held by magic spread-eagled against the stones. Each of the six was impaled by a thick rod of lead through their stomachs, and the air was filled with the putrid stench of death and ruptured bowels.
She recognized each of them—the first of whom was Delia Griffin. Carolyn Graham, Agrippina McKinnon and Aahuti Patil were the four dark dames she saw, while Sallifred MacDonald and Muriel Prewett were the two light dames already killed. "Oh, Salli," she whispered sadly, thinking how heart-broken Dennis would be.
In the centre of the stones, Voldemort and his wizards were dragging another witch to be tortured. He pulled off the hood to reveal thick, luscious black hair and a porcelain face that reflected the epitome of pure-blood beauty. By his side, one of the masked Death Eaters stepped forward and removed the mask to reveal almost a mirror image, though one more gaunt without the possibility of kindness in the dark eyes.
"Hello, dear sister," Bellatrix Lestrange said to Andromeda. Because of the magic of the circle, Augusta heard every word. "When did you become a dame?"
"I am a proxy dame only," the brave young witch, Andromeda Tonks, said. "And you, Bella, know damned well that Aunt Walburga never told me the secret of wandlore. You were the eldest and in line to learn."
"True," Bellatrix said as she walked around the kneeling witch. Further down the circle, Augusta winced and tried not to look when she recognized Patricia Sanford's voice screaming.
"I heard that your little Nymphie was one of Bones' bitches," Bellatrix continued.
"I wouldn't know," Andromeda said with calm defiance. "I've not seen nor heard from my daughter since May. I was appointed proxy dame by Elder Alphard Black himself because I was the last available Black witch."
Bellatrix grabbed a fistful of her younger sister's hair and yanked hard, forcing Andromeda to look up at Voldemort. "Look at him, sister dear," she hissed. "Feel his power. He's taken all the Black sisters save one. It might be worth your life just so he can complete the set."
Voldemort laughed darkly. "It might at that. You're such a delight, dear Bella. She even resembles you a little, though of course she lacks your spark. I'll grant you her life as a boon if you wish. You've served me well. You deserve that much and more."
"Cissy would pout if dear Andy were to die," Bellatrix said. "If you'll grant her life, Lord, I'll make sure she receives you with relish. A bonded witch—she's perfect for your pleasure."
"Indeed. Nor would it hurt to court Alphard," Voldemort said. "Take her. We'll talk more later."
Bellatrix gripped Andromeda's hair even tighter, and in so doing Apparated both out of the circle. Augusta shook with rage but could do nothing without her wand as Voldemort turned his cold, black eyes to her. "And the grand dame of them all finally awakes," he said. He stuck his hands in his pockets, whistled a jaunty tune, and literally danced across the blooded, profaned circle until he stood over her. "Hello, Augusta! All recovered, are we?"
"You are a monster," the old Dame whispered.
"Yes, yes I am … and your point?" Voldemort said.
"Why do this?"
Voldemort leaned down until his eyes pierced hers. "You weren't dame when they sent Myrtle to bond me, were you? The old Croaker Dame was the one who gave the order, or so I learned when I cut her throat. A group of Slytherin prefects stunned me from behind as I was coming out of class and then petrified me and levitated me to the second floor girl's bathroom. They were laughing when they vanished my clothes, fondling me like a piece of meat. Myrtle was the worst. She cast the Mas Turbare charm on me and threw a potion down my throat. She didn't bond me, she raped me. She stole my magic, her and her three bloody crones who she invited to join her. I made sure she died last, and most slowly. But I never forgot that it was women like you who ordered them to do it. Too powerful, you said."
"Just like Potter," Augusta said, remembering her own part in the order to force Harry to bond before his fifteenth year.
"Yes, we two have much in common. But he has something I need—he knows wandlore. If you tell me, I might let you live."
"You have much in common, and yet you are completely different people," Augusta continued. "You are a monster, while he is the hero who will slay you. If I don't kill you first."
Voldemort knelt closer, a manic grin on his face. "And how are you going to do that without your wand, Augusta Longbottom?"
"Perhaps, it will atone for my own many sins," she said, more to herself than to him, as she pulled out the explosive potion from her robes. The phial was charmed to be unbreakable, but with just the touch-magic almost all witch-born had, even if they didn't know it, she cancelled the charm. She looked up in time to see the monster's eyes widen in alarmed recognition. "For Amelia," she whispered. She then crushed the phial with her fist.
The potion, exposed to the air, exploded with terrific force. The Dark Lord realized his danger a split second before and cast his most powerful shield. He felt terrible heat burning him in that fraction of a second before his shield materialized, and then the percussive force of the blast rebounded against his shield and shot him out of the circle like a bullet.
He landed on the grassy slope of the hill, screaming in agony. He turned his wand onto his own face and cast a whole fusillade of healing charms until the pain eased to a brittle discomfort. Only then did he see the billowing mushroom of white magical fire burning away every one of the surviving dames and a sizable portion of his forces.
"No," he shouted. "Damn you, no!"
But it was done. When the fire passed, the stones themselves were untouched and in fact cleaner than before. But all the people, including old Augusta herself, were dead and gone. Not even their bodies remained.
"Lord!" Voldemort spun around to see Lucius Malfoy approaching with a bevy of his other Death Eaters. "I felt Elezeta's bond end. What has…my lord, your face?!"
Voldemort's biting response ended in a swallow of bile. He conjured a mirror and lifted it up to stare at himself, only to blink back in shock. The magical fire did not burn like normal fire; it vaporized all living things it touched. That brief second of contact was enough to remove the outer layer of Voldemort's skin and any appendages that protruded from it, and his own healing spells ensured it would never grow back. His nose and ears were gone, reduced to a pair of disgusting slits. All sign of his hair was gone, and his hands and face were pale and glistening with the magical charms he had cast to stop the pain.
He truly looked a monster.
"Lord, my wife?" Malfoy whined.
With a shout of rage, Voldemort spun and shouted, "Crucio!"
Malfoy himself screamed in agony as he fell twitching to the ground. Voldemort marched past him without a word.
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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.