Maybe it was death.

Iris stared at the woman sitting next to her. Between the two of them, they shivered and shared only a thin, worn cloak to fight the cold breeze, but were now warm from the combined body heat they released, leaning against each other.

"She was always kind to me," Narcissa whispered, with a fond smile on her face, even as tears streamed down her strained, hollow cheeks. "Andromeda was the kind of sister that every girl wished they could have. Bellatrix… if you ignored her obsession with purity of blood, she was kind, too. Caring. I don't know what happened to her that made her so cruel, but…" she choked. "I regret not being there for her."

"It's not your fault, Cissy," Iris replied softly. Not many people were permitted to call Narcissa that.

"I know," Narcissa mumbled. "She used to be so kind, you know. Bellatrix was always being yelled at because she'd take in every stray kitten or puppy that she could find. Once she brought back an injured bird. We all loved our little pets, Bella and Andie and I. And even when our mother tried shooing them away from our house, they'd be back the next day and we'd feed them scraps of steak." Narcissa took a deep, wavering breath. "That was until Aunt Walburga crucioed the lot of them. They never came back after that."

Iris said nothing. Instead, she wrapped her arms around the older woman's frail body and squeezed. Narcissa choked slightly and squeezed back, although her eyes did not leave the roughly polished stone sitting on top of a mound of dirt. Small, dying daisies lay on it. While it was dark now and difficult to read, the two of them knew the painstakingly carved letters by heart.

Here lies Andromeda Tonks, daughter of House Black

Her soul lingers with the stars.

"Does that epitaph apply to every House Black member?" Iris asked quietly.

"It does indeed," Narcissa smiled. "We are all named after the stars."

"Where is Narcissa, then?" Iris asked, pointing upward the sky. Narcissa looked upward, and for a moment, in the light of the waning moon, she was almost as beautiful as she used to be, before the two of them were held and left to rot in one of Voldemort's prisons for months. It was only because they were disguised as mere Muggle-borns when they were captured that neither of them received… personal attention.

"Not Narcissa," she said. "Narcissa Electra Black. Electra is up there." She frowned, and took a minute before pointing at a cluster of moderately bright stars. "One of the members of the Pleiades cluster. I've never been able to distinguish which, if I'm honest with you."

"I know where I am," Iris smirked and pointed easily to the north. Narcissa, despite her earlier misery, rolled her eyes and smiled slightly.

"Of course, Polaris," she drawled. "What a clever girl you are, being able to find the North Star so easily."

"Were you offended when they decided to give a Potter a Black name?" Iris asked curiously.

"Mayhaps a little," Narcissa admitted. "But you deserve it. I realize that now." She looked up again, her eyes searching for her sister's soul, perhaps. "How fitting for you to be named after a star that historically guides people."

"Leading people to their deaths," Iris said darkly. "I never asked to be a leader. All I have ever been, is a soldier. A good one, but nothing more."

"People will follow you either way, Iris," Narcissa said gently. "Polaris doesn't care whether people use it for navigation, either. But it continues to shine brightly, unwavering and unmoving, and men will continue to look to it for guidance."

"I'm not a star so much as I'm a dark nebula," Iris snorted. Narcissa had no idea what a nebula was, so she couldn't argue back. "Hey, Cissy?"

"Yes?"

"How fast do you think light travels?"

She frowned. "Light?"

"Yes, light. How fast does it travel, do you think?" Iris stared at her. "How long do you think it takes for light from the sun to reach our eyes?"

Narcissa frowned. "I had no idea that light travels. But I'm going to guess, rather fast."

"Indeed. It travels at approximately one hundred-and-ninety thousand miles per second," Iris said, and Narcissa gaped. "Even traveling at that speed, light from the sun takes over eight minutes to reach the Earth." Iris pointed. "Alpha Centauri. Closest star system to our own. Do you know how far away it is?" Narcissa shook her head. "It's four lightyears away. Meaning, it takes four years, traveling nonstop at 190,000 miles per second, to get from there to here. And that's the closest star, aside from the sun." Narcissa stared at her.

"Incredible," Narcissa whispered.

"And Polaris, my namesake? That's over four-hundred lightyears away," Iris said to Narcissa's surprise. "And you'll find that many, many things are millions, possibly even billions of lightyears away. You know the most amazing part?"

"What is it?"

"The universe is expanding like a balloon, faster than the speed of light," Iris smiled. Narcissa stared at her, as Iris looked up to the sky. "There are so many places we could go," Iris said, much more quietly now. "So many other places we could be. Yet, we remain here, on this tiny blue marble, and we suffer."

Narcissa hugged Iris tightly. "Oh, Iris."

Iris and Narcissa began to trade stories. Stories about the stars. Narcissa was much better versed in mythology than Iris, so Narcissa took charge of telling the stories behind the constellations. Iris was better versed in astronomy, so she talked about quasars and black holes and the birth of the stars and planets and the universe itself.

Iris envied Andie at the moment. She'd have eternity to explore the sky.

"Father?" Draco knocked on his father's office.

There was a startled scuffling noise and it was a while before Lucius Malfoy responded with a weary 'come in'. Draco opened the door to find his mother sitting in a chair and his father standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Narcissa Malfoy's hair was down and messed up, as was his father's, though not to the same extent. Draco's cheeks started burning as he wondered if his parents were previously engaged in a moment of… intimacy.

"What is it?" Lucius asked.

"Oh, it's nothing… you both appeared to be distressed, so I, uh," Draco stammered under his father's hard stare. "I wanted to make certain you were both alright," he said meekly.

Narcissa finally turned around, slumped in her chair (something that the Lady Malfoy never did) and smiled tiredly at Draco. "Your concern is appreciated, Draco. But there's nothing you can do. Nothing I can do."

"What's wrong?"

"Have you been reading the Prophet lately, Draco?" Lucius asked softly. Draco nodded. "Then, you must already know of the entity known as 'Archangel'. Well, we have cause to believe that Archangel has infiltrated your mother's birthday party."

Draco's blood drained from his face. Lucius was now as afraid of this figure as he was of the Dark Lord himself. Draco had no idea why Lucius was so frightened since this Archangel figure had only appeared about two months ago. However, even Draco could not deny that Archangel possessed brutality that exceeded perhaps even that of the Dark Lord's. In the past two months, starting with Rabastan Lestrange, four high-profile Death Eaters of the previous war had been tortured and turned into a vegetable.

"I've already received numerous letters telling me to leave the country," Lucius said, palming his face wearily. "Some of them have been from paranoid allies. Others have been addressed by Archangel himself, though I suspect they're all fake." Lucius looked up. "If it were not for you and your mother, I would not be so worried about this figure. I can take pain. Neither of you would be able to."

"Father - you know I can," Draco said rather forcefully.

"Oh?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You would be able to function after being dunked in hydrofluoric acid, flayed using a magically sharpened butter-knife, tendons sown off to make puppet-strings, and in the case of Alecto Carrow, raped by the very horses that she raised and allowed to live on her farm before bleeding out to death."

Draco did not respond.

"This Archangel is brutal and almost certainly insane. It would be a fate worse than death for either of you to be captured by him." Lucius smiled thinly. "And now we know, that is entirely possible. Observe."

Narcissa flinched slightly and Lucius placed a hand on her neck and pushed her hair up. Draco's stomach dropped as he saw, somehow, the number '6' tattooed onto Narcissa's nape. It wasn't very noticeable, even with her hair up, and could be easily concealed with a glamour. But the point was, someone had managed to ink that onto her skin without her noticing, or anyone else noticing, during the party.

"What…" Draco swallowed.

"What do we do? We've gotten recommendations from Archangel himself," Lucius said quietly, pulling out a folded letter from one of his pockets. "This too was slipped to me during the party, it appears. It says: 'It's a good thing I was an orphan too, and am not willing to turn your son into one. I suggest you and your family remove yourselves from V-Voldemort's area of influence as soon as possible. In doing so, you will be depriving him of a strategist, a large source of income, and you will not be executed by yours truly when I come to kill your master.'"

Executed. Such a strange word to use in this context, but nonetheless effective. Draco felt a shiver run down his spine at the final statement. It was not arrogant - it was so matter-of-fact that Draco almost believed it. From when he was a child he'd been hearing that the Dark Lord was the most powerful of all, but now he was worried. Very few people could have bypassed the attention of all of Malfoy Manor's wards, the newly acquired bodyguards, and finally Narcissa Malfoy herself.

Suddenly, Draco felt a pain in his chest. He yelped; his parents turned to face him, stood up with their wands at the ready, faster than Draco would have imagined them doing so. He knew both his parents had been regional duelling champions in their youth, and he could understand why, now. Lucius cast a plethora of detection spells, but none of them showed results. Despite this, Draco was almost certain they heard faint, female laughter. Narcissa visibly shuddered and closed her eyes, clutching her husband's free arm.

Draco clutched his chest, and realized there was something in his breast pocket that was surely not there before. His fingers shook as he withdrew a folded slip of parchment. Lucius quickly snatched it out of his son's hand and read it. "You are now: TRYING TO ESCAPE VOLDEMORT. Would you like a hint for fifteen points?"

"What?" Narcissa murmured. "Even if we were to take the hint, what do the points refer to and how do we know we have enough?"

"I'll take it," Lucius said firmly, to the protest of his wife. "My points, though, not Narcissa's or Draco's."

A moment later, the three jumped as a package fell from above with a loud bang. Immediately, Lucius cast five stunners in quick succession at the ceiling, but all it accomplished in doing was leaving five scorch marks on the masonry. He was breathing heavily, while Narcissa whimpered. Draco had never heard his mother whimper. But he couldn't blame her; he was also terrified on a scale he'd never been before.

"Pippy!" Lucius roared with a rage that made the two other occupants flinch. A moment later, a house-elf POPed into the room with her head cowed.

"Yes, Master Lucius?"

"I want this room warded against just about anything that it can be warded against," Lucius said quietly.

"Yes, Master Lucius," Pippy responded and put her hands up in the air. She frowned. "Something is disrupting my magic, Master Lucius."

"Can you tell us what is disrupting your magic, Pippy?" Narcissa asked before Lucius really got angry.

Pippy closed her eyes. It might not look like anything to an observer, but house-elves were bound to the family they served and their ancestral home on a spiritual level. She was currently reaching out with her senses, trying to find something within the manor that was causing problems, but judging from her slowly changing expression, she was unsuccessful - or she was seeing something she didn't want to see.

"Pippy sees evil, Master Lucius," she spoke, voice trembling and higher-pitched than usual. Draco was shocked as a wave of magic washed over him; protective house-elf enchantments. For Pippy to do so without even being asked…

"What's going on?" Lucius hissed.

There was laughter. Faint, like last time, but definitely clearer.

Just open the package, Lucius.

The voice, which whistled through the manor like wind, sounded amused and Pippy was quaking as her master picked up the parcel. He tore it open aggressively to find documents. One of them was a French tourist's guide to Australia. There were three economy-class tickets from Heathrow to Sydney, whatever 'economy-class' meant. But none of this was truly important to Draco or Narcissa or Lucius. Their minds were occupied with the fact that there was evil in the manor somewhere.

And it was playing with them.

"Is it you, Archangel?" Lucius shouted, his voice echoing through (what should be) the empty house. "Show yourself, coward!"

Silence.

"Answer me!" Lucius practically screamed, his wand glowing brightly with raw power. Draco felt tiny elf-arms clutch against his leg, but he did not try and chastise her as he normally would. He could see his mother's fingers digging into the flesh of his father's arm.

Soft laughter again. Carried by the wind. Like the voice of a goddess, but much more sinister. Like the voice of a wraith.

Shall I show myself at the risk of your family's lives?

Lucius did not answer that. He steadfastly ignored it, instead with trembling hands reading through the documents that were provided to him at the cost of fifteen points, whatever the fuck they were. Draco knew he wasn't reading, though; his eyes were twitching from place to place too violently, too disorderly, to be actually reading. It was like Lucius was trying his best to take in information but the inside of his mind was unable to detach itself from whatever it was focusing on.

The tickets were scheduled for 18:45 tomorrow evening. Three-quarters of a day until the scheduled flight would depart for Terra Australis. Just enough time, perhaps, to pack their most important belongings.

"Draco, Narcissa…" Lucius hesitated. He hated to abandon the battle like this. He'd not even had time enough to consider the merits and demerits of leaving. So much of his life was located here. He stared at the slips of paper, just wondering what he should do…

CHOOSE!

The raging gust of wind that accompanied that word threatened to knock Lucius off his feet; indeed, Draco stumbled and his mother only remained upright for she was holding tightly onto her husband. Lucius' disheveled form looked towards every corner of the room, but finding no intruders, he retreated into sullen resignation.

"Very well," Lucius said quietly. "We'll leave for Sydney tomorrow. I will sort out any business I have with the goblins, and will purchase the best expanded trunks so we can fit as many of our things as possible."

Draco was washed over with a sudden sense of… relief, as it could only be described. The house elf, Pippy, opened her eyes and surveyed the room.

"It's gone," she said, with a bit of awe and a lot of relief. "The evil is gone, masters and miss."

Lucius trembled and dropped weakly onto the couch, staring off into nothingness. Draco had never seen his father so… weakened.

Then again, they hadn't encountered anything like this before. An invisble presence that crossed the family wards without any difficulty. One who'd infiltrated their party and somehow managed to get close enough to every individual family member to kill them, if they so wished. Undeniably insane and utterly cruel, yet somehow, more merciful than the Dark Lord would ever be to the Malfoy family.

Lucius Malfoy was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Severus Snape was not having a good time. Not at all. If the Dark Lord was having a bad time, then it was guaranteed to be exponentially worse for his followers. Lucius Malfoy had not attended yesterday's Death Eater meeting. Severus was sent to investigate. He found Malfoy Manor crumbling, whatever remained of the masonry still burning with white-hot fiendfyre. It took himself and three other Inner Circle reinforcements to put out the cursed flames.

There was absolutely nothing left in the manor. Everything above-ground had turned into ash, glass or vapor. The hidden underground cellar was devoid of Lucius' collection of legally dubious objects, as they too had also burned. The only thing that remained was a large '6' produced with the mangled corpse of Narcissa Malfoy. Or that's what Severus assumed, based on the size of the body; the skin was melted off and only clumps of charred flesh stubbornly clinging to glassy bone was all that was left for identification.

Since the Azkaban incident where twelve senior Death Eaters were burned to death in a method similar to this, the Carrow siblings, Nott, and now Lucius Malfoy and his entire family had been decimated. Each time, their Gringotts vaults and their hidden stashes were pillaged. The Ministry, never in a position to cover anything up since the brutality was so noticeable, claimed that this was the work of Sirius Black.

That was absolutely ridiculous; Black was a muzzled dog and nothing more at this point. The only reason this theory had any credibility in the public was that the majority still believed Black was a psychopathic serial killer and also that Black was the only person so far to have been able to escape Azkaban undetected. No, to those with a high enough security clearance or to those with an alternate source of hushed news, this was the work of the so-called Archangel.

It was a force to be reckoned with.

Voldemort was not raging and hissing, cursing anyone unlucky enough to be in his immediate vicinity. He was sitting on his makeshift throne, Nagini curled up by the foot of the throne, with his fingers locked together. He was leaning back into the shadows, his face clouded save for his blood-red eyes, not saying a word, not moving a muscle.

This was somehow more frightening.

"Severus," he spoke quietly. "What kind of spells is this Archangel using, do you know?"

"I'm not certain, my Lord," Severus apologized, bowing. "Much of the magical residue is burned away from the fiendfyre that Archangel unleashes on his victims' abodes. However, when I discreetly examined Rabastan Lestrange…" Severus choked. "I discovered that Rabastan's consciousness was trapped in his own mind with no way out, which Archangel had turned into a torture chamber. While Lestrange will lay in St. Mungos until his heart finally fails, his mind is in constant agony with no way out save death."

Who was the stronger Legilimens, Voldemort or Archangel?

"He is a Legilimens, then," Voldemort said softly. "I had not gambled that a dimension traveler would so happen to be a powerful opponent to myself. If they did not oppose me so blatantly, I would be desperate to have them under my command."

The Death Eaters remained with their heads bowed. Even if a killing curse was sent their way, they wouldn't be able to see it, and they would die quickly, at least.

"What else do you know, Severus?" Voldemort asked. "Have any of our Death Eaters fought with him before dying? If so, what seems to be his combat style?"

"According to the information I gleaned in one Order meeting two months ago, Archangel is proficient at dual-wielding," Severus said. "It appears that Nott struggled briefly with Archangel before being killed, but very briefly indeed. I can only say that Archangel is powerful and that he prefers to capture his victims alive so he can torture them."

"Old-fashioned torture, too," Voldemort mused. "I use the Cruciatus if I feel a little sadistic. It's strange to think of a wizard using old-fashioned methods like pliers and knives."

Severus ground his teeth. Sick bastard - how was it possible for one to discuss methods of being tortured to death like it were two schools of philosophy? If Archangel wasn't opposed to Voldemort, Severus could imagine the two chatting over a cup of tea their favorite ways of violating their victims, in front of a cozy fire in two leather armchairs with a Fenrir Greyback-shaped pelt rug underneath the ottomans.

"Our priority is hunting down this Archangel," Voldemort said finally. "I want them dead. Right now they are a bigger threat than Dumbledore or his ridiculous Order, the Order too cowardly to fight their battles. Archangel has no such problems and if we do nothing, we will continue to be picked off one by one. Arrange for portkeys to each others' houses so you can warp in as soon as one of our member is attacked."

Severus let out a breath of relief as he scraped another bow and turned to leave.

Tonks was sitting in a small cafe about two minutes walk from her flat, having brunch. She had been called in early yet again, so breakfast was out of the question. She wasn't entirely certain if she was able to eat anything after today's wonderful crime scene, but she needed her fill, considering she hadn't eaten the entirety of yesterday.

She recalled the crime scene. Everyone had been made to stare at the gruesome picture until their eyes started tearing up from not blinking enough, in an attempt to pin down anything about Archangel. While Tonks did not mind the… permanent removal of certain members of society, the savagery exhibited frightened her. And this morning, Archangel had been bold enough to ambush Edward Goyle in the middle of Diagon alley with witnesses.

Bystanders, regardless of their affinity for troublemaking, had been in a state of shock that had forced the Aurors to escort them to St. Mungos to receive calming draughts before they were able to get testimonies. Their stories were more or less consistent; Goyle had flooed into the Leaky Cauldron and was walking down Diagon towards Knockturn Alley where his store was located, when a cloaked figure walked into him. The cloaked figure insulted Goyle, whereupon Goyle tried to intimidate the figure using his considerable girth.

After the stranger insulted Goyle's mother a few times, he predictably pulled out his wand and prepared to curse the stranger. However, the stranger was apparently wanting to start a fight the whole time, as she (the witnesses all believed the voice to be feminine) closed in and neutralized Goyle with Muggle dueling techniques. She then proceeded to break Goyle's limbs, then his fingers, one by one. When that was all done, she used Goyle's own wand to burn him to death. During which, she never ceased to taunt Goyle's stupidity and his allegiances. Then she apparated away to who-knew-where.

Well, the Aurors found out quickly enough; while they were examining Goyle's smoldering corpse, Archangel had visited Goyle's shop and painted a nice big '5' onto the storefront using fiendfyre, again. It was all the Aurors could do to contain the cursed fire, stop it from spreading to other buildings. Goyle's store, dealing with imported woodworks, burned like the tinder-shack that it was.

Fudge was terrified. His biggest donor, Lucius Malfoy, had been murdered. Ever since, he'd perceived all of this to be an attack on his political career. Really! How could the man be any more stupid? It wasn't even as if anyone needed to attack his career - he was doing a good enough job digging his grave by himself. He'd declared this a state of emergency and sent all Aurors and Hit-Wizards out on patrol (while permanently reserving two Auror bodyguards for himself, of course).

Well, at least it took the heat off Dumbledore and Harry. The murders committed by Archangel managed to push Skeeter's heinous articles ('Harry Potter: Student, Hero, Archangel?') to the second page of the Prophet and even sometimes to the third or fourth. The emergency declaration and law enforcement patrols meant there were fewer opportunities for Death Eater attacks, as well.

Tonks thanked the waitress as she received her smoked salmon-and-asparagus omelette. She took a bite. It was good, but Merlin, it was heavy for someone who hadn't eaten for some time. As she sipped her coffee, she sorely wished it was alcoholic.

She was snapped out of her reverie when a young redheaded woman sat down in front of her. "Hey, Dora!" She greeted cheerfully, with a bright smile.

She was cute, and her sparkling green-eyes were very memorable indeed. All in all, she was not a forgettable person. Which was why Tonks was immediately suspicious when this woman picked her table of all the empty tables in the cafe and somehow knew one of her many nicknames, created in an attempt to discourage people from using her real name. Tonks palmed her wand under the table.

"Who are you?" Tonks growled.

She did not seem at all threatened. "Come on, Nymmie." She leaned in with a dark smile, making Tonks pause. "Surely you remember me."

And she did.

Her brain cried out in confusion as a previously locked part of her mind suddenly burst open, previously dammed information being released into her train of thought. Tonks' eyes widened as she remembered a redheaded woman being chased by an Unspeakable, brushing off her and Kingsley like mere ants before an elephant. The raven-haired woman at the Imperial War Museum, who strolled through the defenses in her mind like it was a walk in the park. Who had not destroyed, but in fact hidden the memories of their encounters with the surgical precision of a neurosurgeon.

"You!" Tonks hissed, preparing to cast the most powerful stunning spell she could. However, her entire body was frozen before she could do so. While wordless casting was easy for her, not being able to make even the barest hint of wand movements made performing magic extremely difficult.

The woman had not moved except to point her index finger in Tonks' direction. Wandless magic. Merlin-damned wandless magic.

"Just a petrificus totalus, you understand," she said. "You were about to hex me, weren't you? It's technically self-defense."

Tonks said nothing. Mostly because she couldn't.

"I wanted to speak to you," the young woman said softly. She sighed. "I missed you."

Tonks could feel everything above her neck loosening. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"The Nymphadora I knew died," she said flatly. "By the Dark Lord's hand, no less."

"What - what are you talking about?" Tonks said, squirming. "Please. Let me go."

"I fell out of the Veil, I'm pretty sure," she said dryly. She flicked her finger at Tonks again and suddenly she could move. "What makes you think-"

Tonks stood up and whipped her wand around in an arc, charging her magical energy at the tip, preparing to blast the woman to oblivion. Tonks' magic roared as it hurtled from point blank towards Archangel.

However, Archangel only raised her left hand and blocked Tonks' strike with a shield she conjured over her arm. The impact blasted a sharp gust of wind outwards and with a sound like a tower bell being struck. Tonks' body was frozen again, and the woman stood up. Tonks briefly noticed that, even with their hair all ruined, the Muggles didn't notice.

"The mother of all notice-me-nots," Archangel grinned wryly. "Useful for when you get attacked by overzealous Aurors."

"How else am I supposed to act to a sick murderer?" Tonks growled.

"You could act with gratitude," she shrugged. "For cleaning up the trash of your society."

"You torture people for the hell of it," Tonks hissed. She cursed her metamorphmagus abilities for betraying her fear. The spell on her kept her from shivering in terror, but it didn't extend to the paling of her hair.

"An eye for an eye," Archangel smiled thinly. "Why don't we talk somewhere else? Like two grown adults. I'm not going to hurt you, Nymphadora." Tonks growled. "Oh, grow up. I think it's a lovely name, anyway. Anyway, I promise I won't hurt you. At least because you were so kind to me in my old world, if nothing else."

On one hand, Tonks was terrified and wanted to get the hell out of there. On the other hand, this might be the first chance that either the Order or the Aurors had an opportunity to interact with the mysterious Archangel. She'd been in plenty of scary situations before. She steeled herself and allowed herself to give into her 'overzealous' nature as Archangel had described it.

"Fine, let's talk," Tonks decided.

"Wonderful," Archangel smiled, seemingly a genuine smile, and clapped her hands together. Tonks stumbled slightly as the petrification spell was canceled. "Please don't attack me, and I'll return the courtesy," she said quietly.

Tonks shivered as she locked eyes with brilliant, yet deathly green irises.

"I won't attack you so long as you don't attack me," Tonks said warily. "Witch's oath?"

Archangel smiled. "If you so require."

After they spoke their respective oaths, Archangel claimed she knew of a place where they could speak in private. Tonks was definitely wary about allowing herself to be apparated by the wizarding society's most recent supervillain, but she gave in to it. When she landed in front of her own flat, however, she could only glare at the giggling young woman.