A/N: Story will accelerate from here on, pinkie promise. The previous 5-6 chapters were just a reflection of what would it be truly like if one were suddenly treated with unconditional love and care. Their world would start to slow down, make them take things easy, appreciate all that life has to offer.

Responding to 'timefreak': If someone constantly treats you like a kid, you start to act like one! Ariana was pandered to and was spoilt rotten during her stay, hence why she was acting in such an uncharacteristic manner. Don't you worry friend, everything is as it should be.

Responding to 'Aftermath Man': A bit of R&R for our young heroine is much deserved :)

P.S. Thanks again for reading (and all the positivity)!


Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.

Chapter 30

"All men dream, but not equally."

The voice of a male carried high and far into the flat expanse of a desolate desert that lay before him. The nascent beginnings of a simoom stirred up wispy grains of sand in ever-growing gusts as the scorching sun beat down with its malevolent unblinking eye. Heat licked at the man's tanned face and coiled around his limbs like a great hot-blooded serpent. The sand beneath his feet felt like standing in a river of molten lava, smouldering and roiling like the undulations of a vast, turgid sea.

Despite being subjected to nature's unbridled fury, the lone figure stood cool and refreshed, seemingly unaffected by all that what was happening around him.

"Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity," the man continued, his voice growing stronger with each passing word, "But the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible."

A second figure walked slowly up behind the first, the presence heralded by the the sound of sharp stones crunching underfoot.

"This, I did," came a second voice behind first, finishing the legendary quote, "Chapter one, Seven Pillars of Wisdom."

A darkly robed figure turned lazily on the spot and assessed the new arrival with a blank look.

"Rodolphus Lestrange," the figure simply said.

"Augustus Rookwood," the second figure said in kind.

The newcomer was in his early twenties, had a thin face and wind-swept hair that was black as night – yet was handsome nonetheless. His bone structure was symmetrical, cheek bones high and prominent. A keen observer would also notice that his stance could only be described in one word: dangerous, supple as a panther, capable of exploding into destructive power if he so desired.

The current spy for the Order of the Phoenix, who was also an Unspeakable, narrowed his charcoal black eyes slightly when he noticed that his… colleague was dressed in formal Death Eater robes and also held a silver mask dangling freely in one of his hands.

Rodolphus gave a snort at the scene, "Reading? You don't look the type."

Augustus gave a small shrug, "I don't look like many things," he replied nonchalantly, holding a vacant gaze as he snapped his book shut.

Ignoring the cryptic statement, Rodolphus grinned cheerfully under the pale morning sun, "That being said – good choice of literature," he rumbled approvingly.

Augustus paused for the briefest of seconds before humming in agreement, running a single finger down the spine of the book.

"The autobiography of a wizard who possessed an unrivalled mastery over one of the three Unforgivables," he spoke evenly, "I doubt anyone has surpassed him in the last century in that regard."

An odd shine appeared his Rodolphus' eyes, "T.E Lawrence, the Dark Lord of Arabia, master of the Imperius Curse," he remarked with a hint of respect in his voice, "Holding the record for the highest count of Imperius Curses ever cast. The way he bent several countries entirely to his will has still made him one of the most infamous Dark Lords to date."

Even though Augustus hated casual conversation, he could help but concur, "You're right," he murmured quietly, "Unlike other Dark Lords of yore, Lawrence accomplished all of his feats with nothing else apart from his own wand. No followers, no army – just him. Truly one-of-a-kind."

After they shared a look, Rodolphus' eyes then hardened as he remembered his purpose. He reached deep into the black folds of his enchanted robes and pulled out a tightly wrapped bundle that looked similar to his own robes but was folded neatly into a square. Its rough and frayed cuts showing that although it didn't possess an air of haute couture, it was certainly capable of withstanding significant physical damage.

"Time for your scholarly pursuits to come to an end, Unspeakable Rookwood," he said gaily, his eyes glowing as anticipation burned in his veins like wildfire.

"We have a mission."

Instead of being surprised or shocked about being suddenly called to a high-ranking operation without any prior warnings, all Augustus felt was something fierce settle on his heart.

He was ready.

Augustus knew exactly what his false master was doing, subtly changing the roster of wizards and witches with each mission, hoping to find a pattern of disloyalty amongst his followers. He knew Voldemort knew there was a traitor. There had to be. He had already foiled a few pivotal missions that would've cost many an aristocrat's blood to be spilt if he hadn't prevented it.

His current goal in life was primarily about saving as many Pure-bloods as he possibly could, until the tensions would inexorably escalate into one final battle between both of the warring factions of the wizarding world of course. He had bet every last thing he owned that Dumbledore's side would win. If not, he would surely face a fate worse than death.

In regard to this next mission however, he knew better than to alert the Order, for his acute sense of judgement had sensed something amiss and was currently screaming at him not to tell anyone about Voldemort's next move; besides, a sacrifice every now and then was always a necessity for the greater good.

The current Dark Lord was cunning – but so was he.

"Location?" Augustus asked casually as he brought forth his wand in one fluid motion and swished in the air, causing the black bundle that was waiting in the other wizard's palm to disentangle itself from the string that tightly bound it and float in the air towards him.

"214 Ashton Road, Hale, Manchester."

Augustus froze for a millisecond as he recognized the address, the product of perusing through confidential files every second night.

"Targets?" he carried on emotionlessly, resuming his motions as he pretended to be oblivious, his magic guiding the sickly black robe onto his body.

"Lord and Lady Parkinson."

Augustus nodded silently as he was handed a silver mask after his robes were secure, his grip tightening around the detailed vizard in unadulterated fury for a brief second before placing it on his face, the brief paroxysm too quick for the other wizard to notice.

He was just about to depart without another word but stopped at the very last second, sensing something off with the characteristically genial wizard in front of him. Scrutinizing the older Lestrange brother carefully, his eyes then widened by a fraction as he suddenly knew exactly what thoughts lay behind the other man's mind.

This next move, a golden opportunity that prostrated itself before him, could potentially get him more favoured position with both the Houses of Lestrange and Black, an advantage that would greatly widen his possibilities of political espionage. After a brief period of mental deliberation, he knew what route to take.

"How's the wife?" the Unspeakable asked suddenly, a touch of fake concern lining his voice.

Rodolphus gave a look of surprise before he banished it, shutting his mouth as he deliberated whether or not to reply.

"Bellatrix... lives, for now," he finally revealed in a quiet voice, struggling to find the right words, "But her mind is… is…"

"You know," Augustus cut in smoothly, putting up a mock pensive face as he tapped his chin, "I do recall seeing a particularly well-guarded object in the Department of Mysteries that has the ability to perform localized memory and personality restoration – primarily meant for victims that'd been subjected to extensive physical or mental trauma."

Rodolphus' visage scrunched up in thought as he readily absorbed the new information like a sponge.

"So, what you're saying is that this… object, acts like a Memory Charm?" he started hesitantly, "Capable of reverting the mind back to a state before it was damaged? Like a precision Obliviate?"

Augustus nodded in affirmation to all of the questions, his mind spinning off in different directions as he thought of what to say next, choosing between a few scenarios he had already conjured up in his head during in the last few seconds.

All Lestrange needs is a little push in the right direction.

Perhaps endangering my position as an Unspeakable would sway him?

He shuffled closer, ignoring the scorching heat of the sun that was beating down upon his back, "If you so desire… I could borrow that specific item for you," he emphasized subtly, his voice lowering as if sharing a closely guarded secret.

Rodolphus' eyes opened wide.

"But if you get caught–

"Don't worry," Augustus interrupted calmly yet again, "I am close friends with the leader of that particular department. It would be relatively easy to cover up its sudden disappearance," he paused before continuing with a more business-like tone, "And personally, I think that erasing specific memories whilst stimulating the prefrontal cortex in the brain is exactly what your wife now needs to fully recover."

Rodolphus grew silent a second time.

Only after a good minute, did he begin to speak.

"I… I'll think about it," he replied in an unsure tone, vacillating on the choice as the sudden barrage of new and potentially life-changing information temporarily inundated his senses, "Y-Your position of Unspeakable is too crucial to our plans to attempt anything like this."

Augustus was glad the mask could hide his smirk.

You've already begun to hope Lestrange; there's no escape.

Who will you choose? Your master or your wife?

The spy then bit his lip as he projected the current scenario into the future in his head.

If these next chains of events go in my favour, my endeavours wouldn't have been for naught. Worst possible outcome? I might be able to access Grimmauld Place. Best possible outcome? A Life Debt from one of the Black or Lestrange hellspawn.

Either way suits me just fine.

His train of thought was then broken as the other wizard then waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Enough talk about unpleasantries, my friend," Rodolphus started, his face sliding back into a cordial state as he gestured with one hand, "Come, our mission begins shortly."

Before they both prepared to Apparate, the oldest of the Lestrange brothers turned back to his fellow Death Eater, something undecipherable flashing across his face.

"T.E Lawrence was right about one thing."

Augustus made a questioning noise in his throat.

"All men dream, but not equally," the other wizard quoted, referring to the very first thing he heard. His voice then turned ponderous, looking straight into the silver mask that hid the brave spy's face, "To what extent do you dream, I wonder?"

The Unspeakable stayed silent as thoughts churned in his head like the waves of a thrashing sea.

My life – bound in servitude to the consuming madness; my magic – tied to thraldom to two warring factions.

As each side carries out their petty acts of war, they are blind to another. Clueless in their squabble as a third player prepares to strike from the shadows; this new, dangerous enemy is an even bigger threat to the wizarding world than the other two combined.

I am already prepared for their coming. But I wonder… are Dumbledore and Voldemort ready?

Augustus gave a grim smile under his mask as the weight of the world bore down his broad, unflinching shoulders.

"For me, no dream is too big."


One hour later

"There are too many guards, they definitely know we're coming," a darkly clad figure said nervously.

"Oh, shut it, Karkaroff," someone snapped.

The leader of a huddled group of witches and wizards that were dressed in full Death Eater garb quickly raised his arms in a placating manner as the first signs of an inevitable argument showed itself, his quick action ultimately averting an unnecessary squabble as they diverted their attention towards him instead.

Waiting for a pregnant second for distant voices to be tempered into silence, he began to speak, his voice muted and muffled from being filtered through a clump of dense undergrowth.

"We're running through the plan one last time," he said firmly in a low undertone, "Yaxley, Rookwood and Karkaroff will subdue all guards in the specific formation that we've practiced." He waited for a round of nods before continuing. "Now, while I will take care of our special guest over by the courtyard, Carrow is going to erect his own Anti-Apparition wards before disabling the the manor's protective wards. Everyone got it?"

Four serious nods pleased Rodolphus Lestrange, for he had longed to prove himself to his master with his leadership skills and tactical abilities on the battlefield. All the strategies that were so carefully thought out for this particular mission were borne of his grand design.

"Carrow, give me a timing for your ward deactivation again," he whispered as a patrol of three heavily armed wizards passed close by to their position.

"Eight seconds to set my up my own wards, twenty-five seconds to disable theirs," Amycus Carrow grunted softly, "It's nearly impossible to be faster."

Lestrange gave an impressed nod, temporarily forgetting that the people gathered here were all specialists in certain branches of magic. His speciality of magic on the other hand, would be revealed later.

"Any last questions?" he asked as he unsheathed his wand from his holster, the piece of wood almost vibrating as it sensed its master's lust for blood.

Rookwood spoke up. "Yes. Did they know we were coming?" he questioned lowly, his tone revealing the frown in his voice, "Karkaroff is right, there are way too many guards."

Rodolphus shook his head in a negative, "Not us specifically. They've had the extra guards stationed for a few months now," he quickly explained, "The Parkinsons know that they'll soon be next. This is their feeble attempt to stop us."

A strange, righteous light shone from his eyes, "They cannot stop us," he murmured softly, "They cannot stop the future."

Just as he was about to get into position, someone else spoke.

"Why are we doing this in the middle of the day? Surely it would be better to attack at night," Igor Karkaroff nervously piped up.

Rodolphus restrained himself from hexing the wizard that had just spoke, something about jumpy man just rubbing him the wrong way.

"Their security heightens at night," he clarified with as much patience as he could muster, "I have studied their movements extensively. Now is when they're at their weakest."

And with that, he finally got into an odd crouching position, one which resembled the pose of an athlete in preparation for a sprint.

He felt like every fibre of his being was vibrating with anticipation. It tingled through him like electrical sparks from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes, heightening every sense he possessed. He then raised one arm high in the air from his kneeled position, ready to give the signal to begin attack at any second's notice.

As a pair of careful eyes behind a silver mask scrutinized the routes of the patrolling guards, he mentally counted down to launch the perfect attack.

5… 4… 3…

After a two more seconds, he knew the moment had arrived as everything slid perfectly into place.

Now.

The rapid descent of his cloaked arm whistled through the air, "Leave no one alive apart from our targets. Got that? NONE," he grated harshly, his final word turning into a snarl.

With a wave of his wand, a pair of magically enchanted boots he wore on his feet activated, stirred to life by the intensity of his will. And with blink of an eye, he was gone before the others could even react, propelled up and though the air at a speed that rivalled the speed of the fastest broomstick.

A miniature sonic boom defeated the entire mansion as he temporarily surpassed the speed of sound, the unique combination of magic and physics working in his favour as he crossed the expansive grounds of the manor in one single jump, ignoring the shocked and blurred faces of the hired guards below him as he flew.

He ignored them: those were food for his comrades.

The rushing air thundered loudly in his ears as he deactivated his boots mid-flight and turned sideways upon seeing his destination in the distance, the flesh on his face tugging to one side from the deceleration thanks to a phenomenon the Muggles call g-force – something that his master once warned him about when attempting high speed aerial manoeuvres.

The curve of his flight placed him exactly where he wanted to be, for his brilliant mind was able to deconstruct spatial calculations in real time – a inborn ability that he had been gifted with from birth.

He let out a loud grunt when his feet slammed down onto the sun-baked soil of the manor, the violent impact sending out a visible shock-wave and creating a large depression in the soil as his momentum transferred its energy to the ground.

He quickly regained his balanced and stabilized himself within the crater he had just created.

Good. My Cushioning Charm worked. Now phase two begins.

Rodolphus drew in a deep breath, filling the entirety of his lungs with air, and then roared.

His magically amplified war cry resonated and echoed around the large mansion, insonifying every nook and cranny within at least a mile radius, causing all those within hearing range to cringe and instantly slam their hands over their ears in an attempt to blot out the blare.

In the mass confusion, the young prodigy's eyes refocused the threat that lay before him.

It was a hideous creature by any and all standards. It towered over him, bipedal, standing roughly about twenty feet. Matted and unkempt hair framed a misshapen and ugly visage. Huge warts that covered a repulsive face protruded outward from the surface of its skin, each disgusting nub resembling the growth of a new limb. It gave off an aura of pure hate expressed in its dull black eyes as it gazed down upon him, its fetid breath smelling oddly like a seven-day old cabbage stew.

It was a giant.

Now, there were two things giants didn't like. One were loud sounds, and the other were things that were too fast for them to catch. Rodolphus was both, and more. He also knew the skin of giants were protected against nearly every type of magic that existed.

However, herein lay the key to his victory.

Words of criticism from a recent past floated into his mind as every muscle in his body tensed for his next action.

"It took six skilled wizards to subdue that rogue giant that recently terrorized the Forbidden Forest, what hope do you have on your own?"

Rodolphus let out a small scoff, clenching onto his wand with such strength that magic was the only thing that kept the wood from splintering in his iron grip.

With a small of flick his wand, his self-created custom-made boots once again actuated when he jumped, straight up from where he stood as he was accelerated upwards into the cloudless sky at a terrifying speed, the action taking him roughly five times as high as the giant's height.

He calmly sailed through the air, wind buffeting his body as he got into position. He knew when he reached his zenith as his back perfectly lined up with the sun, casting a dark shadow on the giant's face. When gravity greedily grasped at ankles and started to wrench him back to earth, he knew it was now or never strike.

"LUMOS SOLEM!" he bellowed when he started to descend, the sudden burst of concentrated magical light accompanied by the natural glare of the afternoon sun searing painfully into the giant's eyes, causing it to roar in an even higher state of confusion.

To the eldest of the Lestrange brothers, this sequence of events seemed to take forever to his mind, but in reality, nine exact seconds had passed from the second he had launched himself from the bushes and was now currently falling down in the air.

The giant was suffering first-hand under his disorienting onslaught, roaring in confusion and swinging its meaty fists in the air at no particular target, its hearing still buzzing from the explosions of noise and it's sight was now blinded by both magical and non-magical means.

Rodolphus then performed then the next and arguably riskiest move.

"My magic will protect me," he murmured softly to himself as he plummeted downwards, wind whistling in his ears as he chanted a mantra, "My magic will protect me."

There was no uncertainties or doubts in his voice. He trusted his magic, as his magic did him.

"My magic will protect me."

With another small wave of his wand, his boots came alive once again, obeying the call of its master's magic. This time however, instead of ascending to the skies as he did twice before, he now accelerated down at the giant's face like a speeding bullet with one arm extended, holding a strange metallic tube in a pose that befit a famous Muggle superhero.

As he plummeted downwards, there was only one thing he fixated on.

Come on you lumbering brute, move your arm. MOVE YOUR ARM.

Fortune smiled upon him as the creature created an opening in its disoriented thrashing, allowing the wizard to slip past two dangerous arms – ones that were as thick as tree trunks and promised instant death if he were to be caught by them.

Time seemed to slow for him when he neared his destination. Upon reaching it, he mustered all the physical strength he possessed and rammed the mysterious tube into the right eye of the giant with pinpoint accuracy, tearing through its closed eyelid and nearly gouging the eye out.

He bit back a scream as the sudden impact broke every single bone in the arm.

Pushing past the indescribable pain and moving before the sluggish creature could even react, he had already plunged his wand down the hollow tube, past skin and flesh, straight into the raw insides of the beast.

"EXPULSO!" Rodolphus roared with all the physical and magical strength he could muster.

A bolt of blue light rushed out from the tip of his wand and was funnelled down the special tube as he leapt off the chest of the slow-witted giant in an acrobatic move, stumbling once his feet touched back on the ground.

The spell that was designed to produce powerful explosions upon contacting something inorganic entered the giant through its only weak point – the eye.

The oversized creature howled in agony as the curse rebounded inside its body, seeking a trigger to make it activate but finding none in sight due to the nature of the giant's own near-impenetrable skin. As a result, the powerful spell, augmented by the strength of its talented caster, destroyed it slowly from the inside as the curse ping-ponged in its body, creating a morbid display as bruised pock-marks of vivid red and black appeared on its skin from within.

It all ended when Rodolphus snapped his fingers; the loyal spell finally did what it was created to do: it fulminated.

Death was neither kind nor quick to the creature, for there was nothing was left inside the hollow husk but a gooey mess, a disgusting amalgamation of organs, bile and connective tissue. Blood with sinewy chunks flowed out of the limp body from every orifice when the creature at long last toppled to the floor, the viscous liquid splattering onto the warm, sun-kissed ground.

Only after a brief and breathless period of silence did the wizard realize that he had just slain the beast.

The victorious wizard let out a large sigh of relief, grinning widely as he realized every single action he'd performed was perfect, from the flawless timings that would've disastrous if he were off by a millisecond to the perfect curves of his magically assisted jumps.

Realizing he still had one last thing to do, the wizard pointed his wand at his damaged arm before a new wave of pain could hit him due to the wane of his adrenaline surge.

"Episkey Maximus!" he hissed.

He moaned in pleasure when the upgraded version of the regular healing spell stitched muscle and tendon, reconnected nerves and arteries, and sowed skin and fat back together.

Noting that he still couldn't move his arm after the spell due to all the fragmented pieces of bone in his arm, he then cast a secondary spell – a numbing charm – and made a mental note to remove the bone shards later and drink as many Skele-Gro potions as he could find.

"My side is clear, but what about the others?" Rodolphus muttered out loud to himself, his semi-healed arm flopping down uselessly to his side as he refocused on the task at hand. With the giant mercenary down, the rest of the guards should be a piece of cake to his well-prepared comrades.

Feeling something suddenly wash over his skin, akin to someone pouring cold water over his body, he knew total victory was nigh; Carrow had did it, the manor's protective wards were down.

With a purposeful wave of his wand, his boots then activated again, launching him high into the air from where he stood, once more creating sound that resembled a clap of thunder as he broke the speed of sound. As he flew effortlessly in the air like a bird, he soon spotted flashing lights over the far side of the compound a good mile away, calculated the dynamic trajectory in his brilliant mind and he deactivated his boots.

Like a blazing comet he crashed down brutally in the exact location he wanted to be, causing a large depression in the soil when he landed, his body protected by a constant Cushioning Charm and the physical properties of his enchanted robes as the sudden impact shook the earth and knocked all the surrounding wizards and witches off their feet.

"Wotcher, lads," he exclaimed cheerily through the settling dust as he waved his good hand in the air in greetings, still riding on the high from his recent triumph.

In the small pause of confusion that his dramatic presence brought, he saw Rookwood jump to his feet and hurl a curiously designed box at the final group of guards that were still dazed.

When the box neared their opponents and its lid creaked open ever so slightly, every muscle in Rodolphus' body to unconsciously knot up in fear, horror, and awe at the same.

A godless sea of dancing flames that filled a spinning darkness erupted from the opening in the box as the curio created a levitating black hole in the air, sucking everything in within a yard radius. Colours swirled and blended as even light itself seemed to bend a knee in submission to the unknown object.

After a long, horrifying second, the box closed, and with it taking the hole in the fabric of space and time as well as all the guards just previously were next to it.

Rodolphus was the first to speak after witnessing a new type of magic that he couldn't even begin to dream of.

"What… what in Merlin's name was that?" he asked breathlessly, wary eyes locked onto the Unspeakable that walked over to the box and pocketed it in one fluid motion, stowing it deep within his robes from whence it came.

"A little something from the Planet Room," was the only reply he got, cryptic and uninformative as always.

His eyes shifted left and right at the emptiness around him, "What happened to the guards?" he wondered out loud.

"They are nothing now but unconsecrated corpses floating around in the vastness of the cosmos," came the second reply, even more cryptic than the first.

Rodolphus was about to ask another question before he realized that there were two people still very much alive in the sealed compound.

His commanding aura returned to him, mentally filing away this moment for later as he pointed with his good hand towards a large edifice that towered over them.

"Now, to the manor."


"Are you sure they didn't get away by Floo or Portkey?" came a nervous voice.

"Oh, shut your trap, Karkaroff," someone snapped in annoyance, "We've already been over this. Lestrange took care of those things beforehand."

And with that concern assuaged, the rest marched on quickly and silently behind Rodolphus, who was leading the way with confident steps in the big manor, his poise and gait hinting that he knew exactly where their targets were.

The Parkinson's were the most exotic of all Pure-bloods when it came to architecture. The open porch the Death Eaters were currently walking through was held up with the most ostentatiously detailed pillars, painted in brilliant white. Inside there were no doors on the ground floor, only arches. Great antechambers and majestic vestibules were carpeted with an indigo material with elaborate golden designs and draped with tapestries and dark cloths.

The admiration for the Parkinson's avant-garde choice of decorations came to an end when Rodolphus kicked open the door which led to the main dining hall, the act revealing two very confused faces.

Both groups froze when they locked eyes onto each other.

Augustus was the first to move, taking a single step back to gain a wide uncluttered view of the room they were in as he assessed the situation, plotting something new with each passing second.

Hmm. If I stun everyone here and blame it on a magical trap, I can get the Parkinsons out just as I did with the Goyle family last month.

No… that's too predictable, the Dark Lord will know.

Okay, what if I–

His thoughts were interrupted as a vicious voice tore through the air.

"Where is my daughter?" a regal looking woman hissed venomously, one who looked like she was in her late fifties, "Where is Isabel?"

The elder Lestrange gave a low, mocking bow, "Salvete, amicis meis epularer," he greeted cordially in Latin, "How fares the mighty Parkinson clan?"

The woman was not fazed by the carefree tone of the intruder, "If you lay a single finger on my daughter, I'll–"

"Fret not," Rodolphus interrupted calmly, "No physical harm will befall your daughter. However, as to her state of mind, all I can say is that she's currently being… proselytized," he ended with a merry laugh that echoed around the room, his attitude disturbing and confusing the old witch.

The other target, the patriarch of this particular family, then spoke out.

"What business do you have with us?" Lord Parkinson spat angrily, "We've already given fealty to your master; we are under the Dark Lord's protection in exchange for our patronage. Get out of our house."

After a pause, all Rodolphus did in response was to slowly remove his mask and place it on the large wooden table that separated the two parties, revealing who he truly was.

Lord Parkinson sucked his breath in sharply, "A Lestrange," he gasped in surprise as he recognized the aristocratic features of the handsome face, "A young, impressionable scion as well."

Bellatrix's young husband stood unaffected as he ignored the remark, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the Dark Lord's directives have recently changed," he informed cheerfully and casually, almost as if discussing the weather.

A nervous bead of sweat appeared on Lord Parkinson's brow as he processed the statement.

"H-How so?"

"He desires the reformation of Wizengamot," came the simple reply.

Lady Parkinson turned white as a sheet from his utterance as something suddenly clicked in her head, the comment shedding light on a particular mystery that plagued the magical gentry for quite some time.

"S-So it was you all along," she stuttered, aghast as she pointed at the unmasked Death Eater, causing everyone to direct their attention to her, "You're responsible for all of their deaths."

An unnervingly polite smile played host to Rodolphus' lips, "You'll have to be a little more specific, Lady Parkinson," he said politely, his eyes alight with something truly dangerous, "I've killed many in my life."

Lady Parkinson refused to say anything further, her mouth clamped shut out of fear. In her silence, Lord Parkinson finally caught up on what his wife was talking about and he too, turned white as a ghost.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he lowly intoned with no trace of emotion in his voice, "Arcturus Black, Humphrey Nott, Aeneas Macnair…" he rattled on, listing off all the names of recently deceased Pure-bloods.

"You… you've been culling the older generation, one family at a time," he said in a quivering voice, "Posing their deaths as accidents, only for title of Head to be passed onto the next successor," his visage then twisted in confusion, "But in Merlin's name, why? We all pledged our loyalty to the Dark Lord many years ago."

Rodolphus gave a single clap, "Great job! You've got us all figured out," he said in a pleased tone, as if complimenting a small child, "And just for that, you've earned the right to know why we are doing this."

The almost permanent look of cheerfulness he always carried on his face suddenly morphed into something else. Something ugly.

"YOUR GENERATION LET MUGGLE-BORNS INTO OUR BELOVED SOCIETY," he roared wildly as a wave of non-verbal magic that spoke for his unbridled fury blasted the unprepared wizard and witch off their feet.

The old wizard struggled to get up on his feet but stopped as a glowing wand was shoved in his face.

"YOUR GREED FOR THE MONEY THE MUGGLES POSSESSSED…" the impassioned Death Eater bellowed, "…HAS DOOMED US ALL."

The rest of the Death Eaters stood silent and frozen as their comrade cast spell upon spell upon the screaming couple, their hair-raising shrieks causing the windows and mirrors to rattle in accordance to their intensities.

The Parkinson's souls were relinquished from their mortal coils long before the wizard had finished his unrelenting onslaught of dark spells.

Their bodies lay like ghoulish mannequins by the time he was done, their oesophagi and arteries sticking out akin to corrugated and rubber tubing. The skin on their faces hadn't just been burnt, but it had been burnt off entirely. From the scorch marks on the semi-cooked muscle beneath it seemed to have been done with wild bursts of Incendio, taking one layer of flesh at a time.

Rodolphus looked back at his motley crew of Death Eaters and gave them a large Cheshire-cat grin, his blood-stained face and aura of geniality a jarring juxtaposition next to the two smouldering corpses.

The smell of cooked human flesh wafted around the room.

"What shall we do about our magical traces?" Yaxley's voice piped up, the first to speak, undisturbed by the carnage he had just witnessed, "Do you want us to clear up the mess, so the Ministry's sleuths and dogsbodies don't catch on?"

Rodolphus shook his head in a negative as he stowed his wand back into his holster with his good hand, "There's no need for that. Follow me," he ordered succinctly to his team, not caring about the blood that still covered his face as he marched purposefully out of the now deserted mansion.

The group then obediently stepped in line after their mission commander, full respecting the autocratic nature of leadership that their Dark Lord enforced on their missions, his way of figuring out where unseen talent lay in a group – if any.

As the group crossed the once pristine grounds of the expansive manor, a fearsome roar sounded above their heads, causing four out of the five members to panic and automatically reach for their wands as they broke out into a defensive formation.

Rodolphus shook his head as he wordlessly gestured for them to put their wands away. After they acquiesced, another ear-splitting roar of bestial origin emanated from the cloudless skies above as a winged shadow passed over their heads, causing them to instinctively duck yet again.

Following their leader's stride, they then all held onto a proffered Portkey and popped out of existence right as the creature descended from the skies and crashed down onto the grounds of the manor.

What came next, was fury incarnate.


BREAKING NEWS! DRAGON BURNS ASHTON MANOR TO THE GROUND

The once great Ashton Manor, whose lands belong to the House of Parkinson, was burnt to the ground yesterday at 3:30pm in the afternoon, killing the current Heads of the Sacred Parkinson Family. The culprit: a dragon. Experts suggest that a dragon's nest was disturbed by heightened magical activity in the area and was drawn to feed on a fully grown giant, whose bones were found on premises. Investigators are ruling out any foul play since dragons are unable to be controlled by any wizard or witch…

The knuckles of a young girl turned white as she clenched hard, gritting her teeth in an effort to remain silent, her hunched form exuding an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing, potent. Her face was tight with suppressed rage, and when she finally finished reading the article, she threw down the paper in disgust as she mentally snapped.

Dammit.

The girl growled in rage and punched the nearest thing she could find with all the strength her small body could muster: a wooden bedpost. The victim of her paroxysm groaned under her strike as the entire bed frame rattled violently, tiny slivers of magic leaking out with her emotions.

This is all my fault.

Ariana was not referring to the recent deaths of the Lord and Lady Parkinson, but rather the current situation of the wizarding world as a whole.

A stack of crumpled newspapers from the Daily Prophet lay on the ground beside the agitated girl, a collection from the last few months of which she had just finished reading. This update had struck the realness of reality back into her heart, causing her to get up from her bed and pace around in the emptiness of the girl's dormitory.

To her, the past three months had been just… wasted. She could've been ten, twenty steps ahead of Voldemort, could've set new political or economic traps with the help of the Order, could've hunted for more clues to find more Horcruxes, or even could've trained further in the sacred art of duelling.

Instead, she read books day and night, played Quidditch, learned how to cook, pranced around in parties… played dress-up.

She did all these acts over stopping the Dark Lord's first rise to power; and during those months she had vanished from the world, the Dark Lord had switched strategies.

No more was Voldemort's modus operandi based on fearmongering and mass hysteria to achieve his objectives, but was now using guerrilla warfare instead: hit-and-runs, small scale raids, ambushes, and assassinations.

No more did Voldemort vie for the largest cut of the property market, but was now focusing his economic goals on obtaining full control over the trade of basic commodities within the wizarding world: he was hitting the food industry.

No more was Voldemort trying to buy loyalties, win over exiled races and expand his ever-growing army, but was now actively wielding them with cruelty like no other.

No more was Voldemort threatening Muggle-borns with the threat of fire and brimestone, but was now actively slaughtering them, especially those which held positions of power within the wizarding world.

The world had moved on, and she, Ariana Potter, was left behind in its dusty wake.

"And in that time I was in Godric's Hollow, what did I achieve?" the said girl snarled loudly, cool air sizzling as it curled past her body – almost as if her blood was literally boiling in anger under her snow-white skin.

"That's right, nothing," she spat.

A small part of her brain was screaming at her that the stay at the Godric's Hollow was more valuable than anything she could've achieved, for it reminded her of two very important achievements. One, that she had saved the lives of her grandparents, and the other, that she had joined the Potter family once again, gaining unconditional love and guidance from people that she too loved with all her heart.

For the first time in months, the silver band she adorned, the same one that restricted her magic, came life in accordance to her heightened emotions, safeguarding its wearer as it absorbed the excess magic and transformed it into heat.

"Foolishness, you stupid girl," Ariana whispered furiously to herself as her eyes watered, consciously refusing to heal a growing torus-shaped blister upon on her skin, the pain increasing in pulsating waves with each passing second, "You traded your happiness for those of other's a long time ago. Why did you forget your purpose?"

Strange thoughts then started to whisper in her head, a voice of insidious darkness she'd thought was all but banished once Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem was destroyed.

Even though Albus had told all about the particular incident and how she'd been temporarily possessed by the Horcrux last year just as Ginny once was, she felt something off, as if the lingering madness was still up there, hiding somewhere deep within her mind.

Her scar twinged as she looked out of the open window and down onto the grounds of Hogwarts, a long, long way from her vantage point.

all you need to do is jump…

no more would the entire world be your burden…

you've already died once, what's the worst that could happ–

Ariana suddenly slapped herself, breaking off dangerous thoughts that didn't seem to be hers. It was an open-handed smack and it left a stinging welt where it landed. She staggered backwards from the window from the force of the blow and fell to the floor, eyes watering even more from the combination of hurt on her body – her hand smarting, her wrist burning, her face stinging.

yes… we deserve more pain …

"Shut up," she growled angrily.

more suffering…

"I SAID SHUT UP," she screamed, her nerves too frayed and emotions too wild to rationally throw up an Occlumency shield to block out the seductive whispers of suffering, perversion and avarice.

Her harsh command however, seemed to do the trick, for the voices then quietened and slunk back into the dark recesses of her vulnerable mind once more, waiting ever so patiently for their next chance to strike – unbeknownst to the adolescent of course.

Ariana back-peddled on the floor at breakneck speed when she regained some semblance of awareness, driven by her primal instincts to get as far away from the from the open window as possible. She only stopped in her wild movements when her back hit something hard and cold: the grey granite of Hogwarts itself.

One often forgot her mind was ravaged by a recent possession by a Horcrux, as well as was currently being strained under the constant stress of Voldemort's connection, one that was more aggressive in the world than in her previous and could only be made defensible by Occlumency.

Stable was not a condition her beleaguered mind was currently in, no matter how hard she tried to mask it with sweet smiles and lilting laughter.

After a good minute of laborious breathing, only then did she manage to pull herself together.

Ariana gave a subdued sigh and she placed her head between her knees, jet black hair tumbling down and hiding her sallow face as weariness completely replaced all the previous emotions she held, "I swear I'll go loopy one of these days," she mumbled incoherently before the corner of her lip quirked upwards in morbid amusement, "I mean… I'm already talking to myself."

After standing back up and healing herself with a quick Episkey, something in her eyes then shifted. Gone were the eyes of a pampered young girl, for all that remained was a gaze that she had previously always held: one of a tired solider, inured and hardened by the struggles of war.

"Oh well, might as well head up to Albus' office and wait for the welcoming feast to end," she decided in an undertone, glad that she had skipped dinner to catch up with the current events even though it was the first day back to Hogwarts.

As she exited the girl's dormitory and walked through the silent castle, she paused mid-step and stroked her chin as a question that haunted her all summer suddenly rose to the surface of her mind once more.

"Why didn't he meet up with me while I was at Godric's Hollow as we planned beforehand?" she murmured out loud, referring to the venerated wizard.

She shrugged tiredly as her legs resumed in their movements, "I guess it's time to find out."

As her small feet tapped upon the cold granite that called Hogwarts their home, she said just one final line through the stillness of the sombre evening.

"I hope Albus is well."