DarowdrynofArcadia: The reason Danny's horcrux appeared as a "fleshy little worm" is that the soul fragment was bound to the actually scar tissue in his forehead, and that is what Jen was summoning to her. The "shred of darkness" in other stories is supposed to represent the disembodied soul itself, not the container.
Jack Inqu: One thing I want to make clear: Jen doesn't have 'almost all' of the soul jars. She does have all of them, and they've all been destroyed. The only piece of Voldemort's soul still running around is himself.
JBails: Uh, we've still got a long ways to go before we're done. This is the middle of year 5, and my plans run all the way through the end of year 7. If you want to wait until I'm done with the story in its entirety, you'll be waiting for a few years.
Merry Christmas, everyone! I wish I could give you guys another long chapter as a present, but I'm afraid my muse burnt herself out last time, and two weeks just wasn't enough time for her to totally recover. We'll see how she feels later, but considering it will contain at least one scene that I've been drooling over for a while, I have a good feeling about next chapter.
Disclaimer: Did news that Voldemort's first public appearance following his resurrection featured him fleeing from the Ministry with his tail between his legs decrease the public's fear even an iota? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 26
Change of Plans
Looking over the opulence of the ballroom, Lily could not help but regret that she was not in the state of mind to properly enjoy her surroundings, one of the few bright spots about the Solstice Ball. Normally she had plenty of time to appreciate the decor; James did not dance, instead preferring to talk politics with his peers, and rare was the wizard who would invite her onto the dance floor despite her well-publicized blood status, so examining the room and watching the other guests were the sole forms of entertainment left to her. That and ignoring the insults the Pureblood witches could not resist launching at her whenever she came in hearing range.
Try as she might, she also could not avoid looking at the behavior of these supposedly grown women in light of how the blood purists at Hogwarts had acted when they were teenagers. It was not a flattering comparison.
She sighed as the reason for her preoccupation strode off the dance floor. Ever since sobering up earlier that morning, she had been debating with herself over the wisdom of her plan. Selling out her husband's political ambitions; what new low had she fallen to? Not only that, but her actions would wind up supporting the Dark Sect, people just like those witches who took some sick pleasure from saying such ugly things about her behind their perfect smiles. People who, by and large, were honestly delighted at the thought of her and her children dying because their existence as magical but non-Pureblood offended the sensibilities of the 'right and proper' individuals. That was the philosophy You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters espoused, for God's sake! What was I thinking when I came up with this ridiculous scheme?, a small voice in the back of her head asked in disbelief.
The smile that crossed Jenny's face as she watched the dancers made her mind up for her, though, and she skirted the edge of the crowd.
Approaching cautiously – Lily doubted her appearance would scare her daughter, but it might still send the girl back into the crowd in order to avoid her – she was about to clear her throat and announce herself when Jenny sighed. Not even turning around, the black-haired witch demanded, "What do you want, Lady Potter?"
Well, that's certainly a great start to the conversation, Lily thought with a sigh of her own. She stepped closer to her daughter's side, three or four feet of space still separating them. "Scion Black. Your manor is quite incredible."
"You have our thanks." Lily cast her mind about for a safe transition to the topic she wanted to discuss, but again Jenny preempted her. A flick of the girl's wrist caused her wand to appear in her hand, and the woman could only marvel at the tailoring of her daughter's dress. The slim sleeves gave no indication at all that there was enough room to fit the focus, let alone any kind of holster. Silently waving her wand, the girl then all but snarled, "What is it with you Potters and being incapable of understanding the concept of 'Go away'?"
"I'd like to point out that I'm only a Potter by marriage," she commented lightly, only to wince a moment later as she realized how that could be interpreted.
Strangely, Jenny shot her a quick look from the corner of her eyes before returning her gaze to the dancing throng. "A good point," she muttered to herself, and then continued louder, "So if you aren't trying to bring me back to the fold, as it were, why are you here? To apologize for your husband's behavior again, as you did last year at King's Cross?"
"No. He made his bed, and this time he can lie in it. Although, what I wanted to talk to you about does pertain to him." Lily took a deep breath; this was the point of no return. What she was about to do could never be undone. "Have you heard about the legislation he's helping to write?"
"No…" Jenny answered, curiosity creeping into her voice.
A glimmer of hope began welling in her breast, and the redhead continued. "He and Lord Pickering both despise that the Dark Houses have been able to claim various enchanted items that would otherwise be illegal as family heirlooms. They feel that changing the label makes them no less dangerous, and so they should be confiscated and destroyed." She licked her lips nervously. "To that end, they are drafting a bill that would redefine the term 'heirloom' to no longer include any object that possesses an enchantment that would otherwise be classified as a curse or hex, nor would it cover anything whose charms or enchantments would allow it to be used as a weapon."
"Well," Jenny answered with a quirk of her lips, "that's an interesting change. Stupid in the extreme, but interesting nonetheless." At Lily's confused blink, she explained, "You do realize that would eventually have to be expanded to include such things as self-lighting candles and ever-sharp kitchen knives and collapsable cauldrons, too, right? People are predators, vicious and temperamental beasts; give us the proper incentive, and we'll figure out how to turn literally anything into a weapon. It may not be much better than using our bare hands, but it can and eventually will be done," the girl concluded with an dismissive shrug.
Watching and listening to her daughter's retort, Lily could start to understand what James had been trying to tell her early in October when she pressured him on how well his plan to get closer to their child had been working. There was something cold and dark in those purple eyes as her own flesh and blood expounded on a remarkably cynical view of humanity. She, like Alice and Marlene and James and Dumbledore, tried to see the best in people; it was her most closely held belief that people were always capable of improving themselves, even if they needed a bit of a push to get started. It was why she had given Severus a second chance after he called her a Mudblood at the end of their fifth year, and he had found her on the Express not two days later and apologized profusely for his atrocious behavior and had never acted that way again, so clearly there was something to her opinions.
To hear Jenny condemn those same people she wanted to see uplifted as unthinking animals was… disturbing, to say the least.
Then again, considering how Petunia admitted to treating her, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that she doesn't have a complimentary view of people in general.
Shaking off her dismay as best she could – though she was going to have another chat with her sister in the very near future to find out what other surprises she should expect from her daughter's horrifying excuse for a childhood – she continued shakily, "Yes, well… I doubt the law would really be extended to cover things like that, but Pickering also suggested they include secondary foci in general and proposed a rather involved process to go about getting specific objects exempted. Considering how you used one against, er—"
"Used one to defend myself from the criminally inclined individuals who tried to assault and murder me?" the younger witch asked with a sharp, cruel smile. "Yes, getting rid of secondary foci is definitely the best way to make things more peaceful. No more pesky girls pointing out the hypocrisy of the Light's actions for the whole country to see. And would I be correct in assuming that the 'involved process' you mentioned would be considerably simplified for your political allies?"
"That… would probably not be an unreasonable assumption, no," she admitted quietly. "I doubt it would be simple, necessarily, but you have to acknowledge that members of the Light are far less likely to have those kinds of dark artefacts."
"'Dark artefacts'," came Jenny's scoffing retort. "You just hate the idea of casting magic with anything other than a wand because it challenges your narrow-minded world view."
She hissed back, "Secondary foci can be dangerous! All it takes is one of the runes getting dented or the material becoming tarnished, and suddenly you have a bomb strapped to your arm! And it's not like they are made by people with a reputation for quality work…" Realizing what she was saying, Lily squeezed her eyes shut. The information James had passed on to her a few weeks ago about the perils of secondary foci had driven home just how often Jenny was playing with fire, but her daughter would never see it that way. Rather than concern, her words would be taken and twisted until they were just as patronizing as the rebukes she had already experienced from James.
"Hmm." She chanced a short look, and what she saw surprised her. It was not anger or distrust that greeted her gaze, but a smirk of mocking amusement. "Never fear, I have the utmost faith in my foci's reliability. There is one thing that I cannot help but wonder about, however; why are you giving me this information instead of Sirius or Aunt Narcissa if you are truly so concerned?"
Her Gryffindor bluntness caused her to answer with complete honesty. "They aren't the ones whose trust I'm trying to earn."
Jenny blinked, apparently blindsided by that particular response. "I… see. And why, may I ask, should I trust you? You have, to be blunt, a rather pathetic record in that field."
"I… Well…" A shrug signaled her helplessness; she had not planned for a question like this. Honestly, she had expected to be blown off completely, though she had held out a little desperate hope that her information might gain her a warmer reception. "I can't deny that, nor can I give a reason to trust me on this other than that I'm telling the truth. If you really need proof, though," she added, an idea forming – it was completely crazy, but no more so than the one that brought her here in the first place – "I would be willing to make a magical vow—"
"No." Her head rocked back at that sudden rejection. Seeing her confusion, Jenny deigned to elaborate, "All that would tell me is that you believe you're telling the truth, and that's not enough. Not when one quick spell could make think you are being honest when in fact it is nothing more than a performance you and your husband came up with to lure me closer. No, to trust that you're telling me the truth about this, I would need to trust you already, and quite frankly, Lady Potter, I don't. Not in the slightest."
"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" she all but begged. Being blown off for the things she had done was one thing, but for unfounded paranoia? James and Danny sowed these seeds, her inner doubt reminded her, and now you are the one to reap the harvest. You didn't want her to paint you with the same brush, but your inaction led to it, anyway. Maybe if you hadn't been so indecisive…
"No, there isn't." Jenny waved her wand, dismissing whatever privacy charm she had erected. She strode off, looking over her shoulder for just an instant before returning to the dance floor. "Enjoy the party."
"Crucio."
Voldemort rubbed the skin above his nasal slits where the bridge of his nose used to be, wishing not for the first time that he had a talent for divination. Maybe if he could see the future, he would have been able to avoid his current frustration. After another second, he ended the curse. "I. Am. Not. Happy."
The Death Eaters assembled before him all stood absolutely still, as if they feared that the slightest hint of movement might draw his wrath down upon them. It was not the first time they had seen him use the Cruciatus to express his displeasure, but it was a rare enough occurrence that it surprised them every time. Of course, the reason for their reaction could also be that they knew he only took them to task with the Unforgivable when he was truly enraged. He glared down at the quivering, mewling half-wit curled up on the floor before him. "Lucius."
"Yes, my lord?" the blond wizard hastily answered from his position at the end of the line of Inner Circle members.
"Remind me, what did I tell you your spawn's mission was?"
The elder Malfoy's face was hidden behind the silver mask, forcing the Dark Lord to wonder if his question had caused the man's customary arrogant countenance to falter. He hoped so. "He was to gather information on the Black girl and report back to you."
Voldemort nodded. "And is that what you told him, in turn?"
"It was, my lord."
"I see." He turned and walked a few steps toward his chair. Whirling around again, he smiled, though the expression was completely bereft of humor. "Then please, explain to me how your heir could have possibly interpreted that clear command to mean that he should threaten her in my name?!"
Lucius cringed slightly, just as he had when his child had admitted his actions from the previous night in front of the rest of the Death Eaters. "I do not have a suitable answer," he whispered.
"How unfortunate," Voldemort drawled. Looking again at the spoiled brat, he ordered, "Stand up, boy. If whimpering on the floor is all you're good for, perhaps I should just kill you myself and spare your father the trouble."
The twitching wreck slowly made his way to his feet, and Voldemort seriously considered going through with his threat. Even the animals he had tortured with this curse as a boy had been better off afterward than this insufferable dandy-in-training, and after much longer than just a couple of seconds! "Please… my lord…"
"Your lord?" Disparaging disbelief was thick in his voice. "You presume much if you believe that I am your lord. You would count yourself among the ranks of my followers? Every wizard and witch standing here today has proven their devotion to the Pureblood Cause, all at least once and many several times over. I would trust any one of them without hesitation to carry out my will." Throughout the ranks, chests swelled at his public proclamation. It was not often he showered them as a group with praise, and that scarcity only gave it greater value. "You dare to think yourself their equal? You could not even accomplish the simple task I assigned you."
"But it was just Black!" the boy protested weakly. "She's nothing! Why do you care so much about her?"
Because she has worth. A budding necromancer is a valuable prize, and her relation to Bellatrix makes her even more important. He shook his head. It had been a great surprise when not only Bellatrix, but Rudolphus and Rabastan as well, had denied that the woman had ever given birth, but it was hard to argue with reality. Far more likely, she had simply hidden the evidence of her dalliances from her husband and brother-in-law. And as for her own protests that she was childless… Well, even after three months, the Death Eaters he had rescued from Azkaban were still not entirely stable. Memory loss would not be unusual, and considering that Bellatrix could not remember large portions of her childhood, either, it was actually somewhat expected in hindsight. Irritating, but still expected.
No one ever said that taking over the country was easy. If things were going too well, he was clearly doing something wrong.
Still, he could not reveal the true reason he wanted to know everything he could about Black: if anyone could figure out how to disrupt and destroy the construct he had grown around his previously disembodied soul, it would be her. At least Dumbledore would have to fight him face-to-face to defeat him. "Surely your father will give you the answer to that question. Well, Lucius?"
"I… I am afraid that I do not understand the importance of the Black girl to your plans, either, my lord. She is an able young witch, true, but…"
Do you truly not see, or do you simply not wish to see? "How unfortunate. Alecto," he hissed softly, causing the witch to stand straighter. "How often in our first revolution did I give you or others orders that did not make sense at the time? And how often did my reasons become clear afterward?"
"You would give us orders like that sometimes," she slowly agreed, "and usually they made perfect sense when it was all over."
"And that is why," Voldemort said, glaring at the Malfoys while jabbing one spidery finger at her. "It is not the information itself that was of the greater importance, but that he completed his task faithfully and unfailingly." The Dark Lord shook his head. "You volunteered your son to join our ranks. You said that he would be a worthy fighter for the Cause. So I gave him a test, something simple that I doubted he would have any problems accomplishing. Imagine my disappointment at hearing that he could not."
Lucius began tentatively, "But he did bring you information about the girl, even if it was only distant observation. I assure you that he will do better next time—"
"'Next time'?" he repeated incredulously. "What could possibly make you think there will be a next time? He has already supplied sufficient evidence that he does not have the ambition necessary to apply himself diligently to the tasks assigned to him, nor does he have the cunning to find out vital information. We have set ourselves on the road to revolution, Lucius, and we do not have the luxury of catering to spoiled brats incapable of bearing their own weight. No, there will be no next time; I have learned what I needed to know. Your son does not have what it takes to be a Death Eater.
"Timothy." The younger Nott stepped forward and stood at attention. "You asked that your own son be afforded the opportunity to join this army as well, correct?"
"I did, my master."
"Good. I have an assignment for him. Have him speak with Black and offer amends for the grievous error Lucius's son made." A flick of his wand had the boy in question thrown at his father's feet, and considering how the elder blond was all but quivering in fury, he would not want to be in the brat's shoes once the meeting was over. "Now, are there any other reports that are ready to be given?" And by Merlin, they had better be good news.
Walden Macnair cleared his throat. "The envoy you had me send to the giants has finally returned, the giants in tow. They are currently stationed near Dover and waiting for your orders."
"Excellent. Have you had such success with the werewolves, Greyback?"
"Not… exactly," the wiry half-human answered reluctantly. "Some of the packs have answered your call, but lots of others said they want proof that this war will turn out differently than it did last time before they'll join."
Voldemort's lips thinned. That was… unfortunate. Of all the non-human species he had sent his followers to court, it was the werewolves he had counted on the most, though not necessarily for their numbers. The vampires had returned word that they would only side with him if the wolves were there, and the harpies said they would stay out of the fight unless the vampires were willing to put up their own troops. Unfortunately, he desperately needed the harpies to provide air support, and of all his inhuman forces, it would be the vampires who could replenish their ranks the fastest.
At least he had the giants and the trolls on board, and the mere presence of the Dementors standing guard at Alecto's side had been enough for the lamia to have second thoughts about rejecting his proposal outright as they had in the previous war. Whether they would merely forward supplies or actually contribute warriors to the battle was another story altogether.
"I see. And what exactly did they mention they would consider to be such proof?" he demanded in a soft, dangerous voice.
The werewolf fearfully licked his lips. "They… uh… didn't really say much on that score. Just something that would show that you're completely serious about this, was what they said. They don't like that you're going around all sneaky-like instead of chasing your enemies down and tearing them apart."
"They don't like me being sneaky," he repeated. An idea started to blossom in his mind, and a wicked smile adorned his face. "Well, I suppose if it's a public demonstration they want…"
With a small huff of exertion, Hit Wizard Robert Duffy approached the small alcove on Diagon Alley where his eight-man team had made their impromptu base. "Captain, another round of the Alley complete. Still nothing going on." He stomped his boots on the ground to knock the snow off and slipped inside the warming and keyed Notice-Me-Not charms anchored to the overhang. The wizard he had addressed merely nodded, not looking away from the map of the shopping district he was examining, and Duffy sighed again before running his hands over his bald head.
Just once, he would like to be able to have time off on the days leading up to Christmas. Three years running, and every time, he had been assigned some duty that kept him from returning home until his two boys were already fed, bathed, and in bed. Thank Merlin for Kathy; without his wonderful wife taking care of the house and the kids, he didn't know what he would ever do.
"I know it's frustrating," the Senior Hit Wizard replied at last, finally giving him the curtesy of meeting his eyes, "but you know what Jameson said as well as I do. We have to maintain a constant presence here in case the same people who attacked the DoM or Azkaban decide to hit the Alley."
"Cap, it's been almost four months since then, and nothing's happened," he complained. "And even if those guys were still around, what are the chances they'd do anything two days before Christmas? They have better things to do with their time, and so do we."
Mikkelsen raised his hands in a 'What can you do?' gesture, and Duffy shook his head. He knew his superior did not want to be here any more than he did, and if the Head Hit Wizard's order wasn't enough by itself, everyone knew this command came straight from Madam Bones herself. That did not mean, however, that he had to like it.
At least their team was only stationed here for one more week. Get through that, and they could return to some real work.
BOOM.
The entire Alley shook from the force of the explosion, and a giant cloud of dust that had once been a building storefront appeared over the crowd of shoppers. Shouts filled the air as the civilians ran away, shoving the people in front of them to the ground and trampling them underfoot. Duffy and Mikkelsen shared a look of incredulity, then the two were running down the street, wands out and the transfigurations disguising their thick, black Hit Wizard robes shattering. As they rushed to the destroyed building, the other six members joined them. "Patricks, Sizemore!" Mikkelsen yelled. "Go inside and look for survivors! Duffy, get anyone hanging around out of here! If you find someone who looks suspicious, arrest them and we'll sort it out later! The rest of you, check the buildings next door and make sure they're not also—"
"Wizards and witches of Britain!" interrupted a Sonorus-ed voice. The dust hanging in the air began to dissipate as a wind spell whipped through the cloud, and as visibility improved, the Hit Wizards could see a figure coming into greater focus. The unknown wizard advanced a couple of feet, and as his charm finally cleared the sky, all eight of them gasped in horror. The bomber was tall and spindly, his skin inhumanly white and his nose nonexistent, and eyes red like blood pierced through them and held them still. What few civilians had hung around in morbid curiosity now fled screaming as if the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.
Britain's most terrible Dark Lord, You-Know-Who himself, smirked at the mayhem he had caused. "I'm baaack."
In book five, Lupin said Voldemort was gathering "an army of dark creatures". Well, if that's the case, I had better give him a legitimate army then, hadn't I?
Silently Watches out.