Ch. 4
Sirius Black, ex-convicted felon and the only known escapee of the infamous Wizard prison, Azkaban – that is, before the now infamous Breaking of Azkaban (a.k.a. The Dementor Insurgence) that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named orchestrated – paced sullenly over a well worn piece of carpet in the office of the much distinguished Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. The book-laden shelves were also the home of numerous trinkets that shined and twirled in different but intriguing patterns. The carpet was soft and luxurious and to one side laid a low pensieve, while on the other corner stood a tall stand upon which a most magnificent bird was sitting.
"I don't like it either," the old man said from behind his large desk, deep dark bags underneath his eyes which had a determined spark instead of the cheerful twinkle he had a few years ago, before the reemergence of the Dark Lord.
Continuing the argument that had been going on for some time now, the old Headmaster continued, "Our spies within the Dark Lord's legions verified this... Wormtail was thrown into some place called the Abyss, which supposedly will give Tom unparalleled power. If it is true, that Tom now has power exceeding the combined might of the Founding Four, we must draw on all of our resources. We must make use of our trump card – Harry Potter. Thanks to his dreams, we are already able to save lives of many innocent wizards and witches. Imagine the potential advantages our side will glean if we actually make active use of him!
"The answer remains no, Albus," Sirius said firmly. "I don't want Harry to be given full status in the Order of Phoenix yet. He hasn't even completed his seventh year here, let alone had proper Auror training yet! He doesn't even know the basics of the Monstrum Refuto series of spells. And I don't care how bloody brilliant you think Harry is, it took James two years to master the Absentis Infectis Factum while it took the rest of us trainees almost the full three, and those are some of the most critical spells needed to fight the Deatheaters and their minions!
The Headmaster got up from his chair slowly and turned to stroke his phoenix, Fawkes. His shoulders were drooped, but he still cut a strong figure, standing straight and tall, with deep blue robes trailing on the ground behind him. His head was bare now, and his hair seemed grayer than ever as he turned to look at the grounds through his large window.
"You are right, Sirius," Professor Dumbledore said at last, with a uncharacteristic sigh. "Despite all the situations Harry has been through, he is yet a child and should be afforded as much normality as can be expected in these times. We shall treat him simply as a Head Boy – or at least try to. You know first hand how things can get with Harry...
The old Professor sat back down, sinking into his large chair .
"Enough about young Harry. We have other more pressing matters to discuss, such as the recent abduction of Remus Lupin, Lyndo Marx, Pagus Lee, Prin Tuffle, Ruby Wilkins, Andy Hordes and the others, and the plans for their recovery
Sirius grimaced at the memory, as he recalled how Remus had been lost in the last skirmish that the Order had with Voldemort's forces in Elks Nook, England. Intelligence had discovered that several Deatheaters, along with dark creatures such as dementors and giants, were going to destroy and generally wreak havoc upon the small muggle village of Elks Nook in the Scottish foothills. The Order of Phoenix members, almost 125 volunteers strong, attempted to evacuate the village and hold back the forces of the Dark Lord as best they could, although they were hopelessly outnumbered and out powered. Remus had been on the front lines of the defenders and got isolated from the others by two giants and a dementor. Sirius heard this all second hand, as he was on the other end of the field fighting several of the Deatheaters. Remus was more familiar with dark creatures so he naturally gravitated towards the vicious giants and the insatiable dementors and other horrid creatures. Almost a month had passed since that day, and there was still no word of Remus and some seventeen others who were involved in the fighting. This was peculiar because the old Deatheaters would have asked for some kind of ransom or at least bragged about the capture of the prisoners. It wasn't Voldemort's style to be subtle.
"We haven't been able to find much, sir," Sirius said with no small amounts of disgust in his voice. "We have received little official aid from the Ministry and their Aurors, as all of our allies there are busy with the issue of IAAP, the international aid program of whatnow. I can't believe Arthur would just desert Remus and the Order like this. Doesn't he remember who put his life on the line and saved him from the Deatheater at the New Year's Massacre!?
"Yes, but Arthur saved Remus and you as well just minutes later, as you will recall," Albus countered in a calm voice.
Sirius stopped his pacing and looked up, his eyes flashing angrily at this.
"Bah, you know what I mean! He and the others should be more -
"More what, Sirius?" Dumbledore calmly interjected. "More concerned with the Order of Phoenix, instead of the entirety of the international wizarding community? No! We cannot afford to alienate our foreign allies now, in these darkest hours of our existence, even if it comes at great cost. We'll just have to make do with what we have. Tell me, have you unearthed anything at all?" he queried, at last calming the raging man in front of him.
Sirius at last took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the large desk, and sat back to collect his thoughts. He, of course, had been at the head of the recovery expedition that the Order of Phoenix launched. He hadn't recieved a single iota of aid from the Minister, who still treated him like a criminal despite his clearance and proven innocence. Any official efforts were slow in coming and much too little, and soon, Sirius felt, it would be too late.
"From the reports that our spies gave, all the signs indicate that Voldemort has already left the country with a few of his elite Deatheaters. According to rumor, he also has convened other elite Deatheaters from around the globe that he had recruited back in his first reign of terror for a secret meeting somewhere, but as you are well aware, that is still not confirmed," Sirius said. He paused a minute to take a deep breath before continuing, "We also have learned that the attack on Elk's Nook was more for the purpose of satisfying the dementors and giants. The dementors need to... feed," he shuddered, "and the giants simply were restless and getting in the mood for violence. The location of the prisoners is still unsure because only the remaining upper level Deatheaters have an idea of where they might be. Most of our experts agree that it's highly likely they are no longer in England any more.
"Yes, yes, this is all old news," said the Professor impatiently, "go on."
"Recent evidence from our contacts in Norway indicates that there is a flurry of Deatheater activity, and supposedly the construction of some sort of structure. Several people have theorized that this might be a new base of location for the Dark Lord and that prisoners might be kept in dungeons near there, or actually in the building itself.
"I see."
"I suggest that we send a few members of the Order, me included, to go investigate this matter further. There is much to be gained from this even beyond the prisoners, such as a map to the stronghold before they make it unplottable," Sirius put forth, in his most suave and persuasive voice.
"I think that's a good idea Sirius. Gather a small team of six that aren't immediately involved in other business, and we'll start preparations immediately.
"Excellent Professor," said Sirius, as he stood up again, his eyes lighting up after a large period of dark melancholy. "I'll owl you when I am ready," he said as he walked towards the door.
"Do take care," the old Headmaster said softly, receiving only the slamming of the door in response. He sat down and looked towards the nearly full moon through his window. At last he turned away from the sight he wasn't really looking at, and focused on the paperwork lying scattered around on his desk.
If he was a centaur, Dumbledore would have seen that the stars weren't aligned in a very favorable position for the side of Light. He might have seen the emergence of Mars, brighter than it had ever been since the passing of the Ancients. As it was, he didn't even see the smoke from the centaurs meeting, as they gathered around near the center of the Forbidden Forest, preparing to meet and guide the one that was prophesized to come. The old man was so very tired and already had too much to think about that night, as it would not be too far from the truth to say that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders.
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It was two days until Draco would be forced to go back to that infernal cesspool of mudbloods and mudblood lovers, notably Dumbledore, Potty, Weasel, and the Know-It-All, and the young man was more than a little displeased at this. Since last summer, his mother had been tutoring him in the Dark Arts but he was unable to practice what he had learned at school because of the restrictions on magic by underage wizards. Even though his father was Minister, if the Ministry discovered the nature of the spells the family would be ruined. As such, the only time he could really practice his magic was at school, but that was difficult for obvious reasons. Dark magic was so beautiful to him, so lucrative, for a number of very good reasons. First of all, it was his heritage; his entire line were practitioners of the dark arts in one way or another, and it was a family myth that one of their ancestors was actually a vampire. Of course, some lesser born and ignorant wizards and witches would be horrified, but that was because they were simply lesser born and ignorant. There was no higher honor than having blood of the ancients, and none greater than the blood of the immortal vampires. Draco knew that the power existed for people to use it, so it was very frustrating to deal with all these comparative difficult and inane spells that students were forced to learn at Hogwarts.
The young Malfoy heir was sitting properly in the second formal dining room (the first being reserved for important occasions or for his fathers 'private business') of his mansion along with his father and mother, as he sat recalling the events that transpired last year at school that caused him to hate every aspect of it – that is, hate it even more than before. The betrayal of Snape was almost too much for him to bear and he was at a point actually considering killing his head of house, but his father had forcefully reminded him of the image that needed to be kept up until the Dark Lord's forces eventually overcame the feeble Ministry, which was unwittingly being led by a Deatheater. Snape had informed the order of the crow, or whatever they were calling it, that the Dark Lord was at last going to get rid of Harry Potter once and for all. Because of Snape's interferance, the plan went awry causing Vincent's father, the older Mr. Crabbe to be killed. The only bright spot in the whole business was that the Dark Lord most wisely was aware of Snape's weakness and had planned a strategic retreat for his more trusted servants, such as Lucius.
'Potter,' Draco thought in one of his common moments of relatively indiscriminate and random bouts of rage, shuddering and crinkling his nose in disgust at even thinking the name, 'gets all the fame and respect because his mudblood mother gave him a charm before she croaked. He's not even rich! Someday my lord will allow me dispose of that jackal!' Scowling, he finished the thought viciously, 'Then we will see who is a better wizard.'
The opulent surroundings were lost on Draco as he scrunched up his face in frustration, and ate his morning meal of oatmeal, eggs benedict, and french toast on a golden plate, shined to a point where it glowed by a nameless and unthanked house elf, along with an expensive looking crystal bowl laden with fresh fruit. Above the table was a beautiful crystal chandelier charmed to swivel around in a circular fashion, causing shimmering colors to dance on the walls. Instead of displaying all the colors, which was ridiculously difficult to charm and also, in Draco's opinion, rather silly, the colors that were shown were green and silver. The chairs he and his family were sitting on were nothing but the finest of Chinese silk and stuffed with feathers of the now extinct Dodo bird.
"Father," Draco began for the third time that morning, "You MUST do something about the senile headmaster! He is ruining the education of countless wizards and witches by allowing the threat of mudbloods and half-bloods to be in our presence, completely out of their given spot in civilized society. Not only are they inferior in power, they are dragging the rest of us down with their terrible manners and unpleasant and barbaric muggle ways. Not only that, we're learning more useless magic than important essential spells. What use does the Jelly Legs Jinx have in real life!? We should be learning how to perform spells that are applicable to the real world!
Draco continued to eloquently rehash the same ideas that been rolling through Lucius' own mind for several years in drawn out and well reasoned arguments. He was rather proud of the boy in that regard. Despite the poor education he was forced to endure, he was still developing into a fine young man. Ever since he had gotten the coveted position of Minister of Magic, he had longed to do just that - get rid of that mudblood loving old codger, who remained a thorn in the side of his master, and the entire true pure blood wizarding world. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord had felt that it wasn't yet time to make a move on England, because it has the greatest organized Wizarding community and as such, the most powerful defenses against any assault.
Voldemort's plan was to focus on a single country at a time in his campaign for global conquest, and all the while create chaos in the rest of the… unenlightened …world. Lucius' assignment was to prevent the forces of Light from growing strong and to disrupt the society, leaving the country unprepared for the eventual assault. The elite Deatheater's mouth twisted into a grimace as he remembered the last time that he had attempted to convince the Dark Lord that it would be best to take action immediately to remove all of the high level officials that were not on the right side; that is, Voldemorts side. The price for that small contention had been paid for at a dear price as the Dark Lord had made it quite lucid to Lucius who exactly was in charge, with a lesser variation of the Cruciatus curse that was very painful. No, ever since the contract made with the Abyss, Lord Voldemort could not be reasoned with at all, even by his most loyal and trusted servants.
Mentally shuddering again at the recollection, Lucius turned from the Daily Prophet to give his son a piercing look that forced the young man to quit his arguments and look down at his plate and continue to sullenly eat the five star breakfast in front of him. He turned to look at his wife who was eating her own breakfast calmly and very properly, ignoring the conversation around her. It was quite annoying that she was unwilling to talk sense into the boy, even though as a Deatheater she herself knew of the true situation.
Lucius turned back to his son, and said after a few long moments, "Draco, I wanted that old kook out of office as soon as possible when I became Minister but there are certain circumstances that have forced me to, shall we say reconsider, my position. Trust me, son, when I say that my actions are for the greater good of our Purpose.
Folding his paper and excusing himself from the table, Lucius got up from the table and said, "I am going to work now Narcissa, Draco," giving his beauteous but cold wife a chaste kiss on the cheek. Going towards the great fireplace he said calmly, "Oh, and Draco. Do not bring up the subject again, if not for me, then for your own sake."
"Yes father," Draco replied dutifully in a monotone voice, but his face paled significantly at the implied threat. When Lucius Malfoy gave 'advice' of that sort, anyone who ever dealt with him in the past knew it wasn't to be taken lightly no matter how colloquially it may have been offered.
Suddenly not very hungry, Draco politely asked his mother, "May I be excused now Mother," not allowing the fear of the consequences of his father's threat creep in his voice.
"Very well Draco. Go read chapter nineteen of your Dark Arts edition. I expect you to know it thoroughly when I meet with you this afternoon," Narcissa responded coolly, as she too rose.
Kissing his mother properly on her pale cheek, Draco responded "Yes Mother," as he left to go up to his own personal study and get started on the fascinating chapter on spells that increased the strength of the caster, though at the expense of victims.
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Lucius Malfoy sat behind a large and ornate desk in his private office at the Ministry of Magic. The room was decorated to Lucius' taste, complete with black velvet curtains that were similar to the fabrics used to make the his Deatheater robes, and was designed primarily to intimidate anybody who came up to see him. The room itself was quite large, with raised ceilings, and was lit by a low, dim chandelier in the center of the chamber which, by virtue of its strategic location, cast long shadows all over the room to create a somewhat sinister atmosphere. One might have been surprised to not see any human skulls scattered about on the polished onyx marble floor. The only dichotomy to the black in the room that was offered were slivers of silver on the walls that were actually silver stands where Lucious kept expensive vases crafted of fine China and the rarest white gold.
On two of the four sides of the office were long, tall bookshelves with a great many volumes of legal books containing the ancient and archaic code of the wizards that had been written by the earliest civilized Wizards, who in their great wisdom formulated a system that had lasted until modern times allowing for adaptation with the changing world. On top of the bookshelves, active wizard pictures depicted the former Ministers of Magic. If one were to observe, it could be seen that the politicians were constantly moving from frame to frame, still practicing politics and schmoozing with one another. All were trying to win each other over and become the undisputed Minister of Former Ministers of Magic. Along with the large dust collecting tomes, there were bottles of expensive liquor and even a magically refrigerated area that was the home of chilled fine wines. The cups kept next to them were all made of crystal, with gold and silver rims to them making them look elegant even among relative splendor. Behind the large Ministers desk, the third wall was occupied almost exclusively with a large window that had a fantastic view over a small park, but the windows and the light behind them was covered by the thick black curtains. On the last wall, opposite to the Minister's desk was a grand doorway, and tapestries hung about depicting famous events in English wizarding history, although the dim lighting made it hard to see what was really going on.
A scratchy voice magically rang out from the back right corner of the room causing Lucius to look up irately from the paperwork he was completing, a formal refusal to pass whatever dimwitted plan Arthur Weasley and his foolish cohorts were trying to get done now. Even though the family wasn't very well respected, Lucius thought that the Weasleys would be able to join the right side if they properly applied themselves, but it wasn't any of his business. If they foolishly persisted in fighting for the wrong side, in favor of mudbloods and evil, they would get what they deserve.
"Minister Malfoy," the scratchy voice of his elderly secretary came through, "Mr. Macnair is here to see you about concerns for rights and restrictions for magical creatures in west Scotland as pets." Clearing her throat noisily, which caused Malfoy to crinkle his nose in disgust, she asked, "Are you ready to recieve him?", fully expecting him to say no.
"Send him in Margaret," Lucius said after saying a word and delicately flicking his wand for the intercom spell.
Macnair was a surly man, solidly built and tough, with raw physical strength comparable to Goyles', which along with his willingness to kill and keen rationale had helped him rise to the high position among Deatheaters that he currently held. Few had known that Macnair and he vied for the top position in England among the Deatheaters remaining here, which nearly resulted in a few violent episodes. Eventually, Lucius became the head of the organization in Great Britain under the Dark Lord because of his more polished manner and his vast family holdings, which also served him in his bid for position in the Ministry. The Minister made a few motions with his mahogany wand and muttered sonitus obex, creating a sound barrier around the room. Macnair strode into the room boldly, all the features of the room meant to strike fear failing miserably with this man. He wore blood-red dragon skin boots and a black cape that seemed to shimmer, along with finely made dark green robes.
"Malfoy," Macnair greeted after the door had been closed and privacy was ensured.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Lucius said dryly in response holding his arms out wide as he stood up, making the simple act of courtesy seem more into a mockery.
Macnair easily ignored Malfoy's annoying attempts to irritate and intimidate him, and continued onward towards the desk sitting near the large windows. He wasn't afraid of a man so spoiled that he wouldn't know the business end of a broom if his life depended on it. As for himself, well, Torvald Macnair had been brought up in the bosom of evil. He knew far worse fears than Lucius Malfoy ever could dream of. Although he did not possess the wealth of the arrogant man in front of him, he more than made up for it in tenacity and willingness to get a job done by any means necessary.
Macnair stopped short of the chairs in front of the Ministers desk, not bothering to sit down.
"I have received word from our Lord that everything is going to plan in Brazil and the tribes will be eliminated, paving the way to the rest of South America and Africa also, as you well know. The Portal has yet to be uncovered but progress is great." Macnair stopped his tirade for a short breath before continuing the report. "Our Lord has instructed for another attack, this time at Hogsmeade preferably when the most possible destruction and chaos has a chance of being caused. He has also instructed that the prisoners be moved to Sweden as soon as possible, as our spies have indicated that the Order may have become aware of the Gatehouse that is being built to protect the European Portal in Norway. Prisoners are less important than the project so we must lead the Order away from the Gatehouse. The attack will serve the dual purposes of distracting our enemies from Norway and also to satisfy the ... cravings of the Dementors.
Lucius sat back and reclined in his chair contemplating the news and thinking of courses of action that needed to be undertaken. The Portals were devices of the Ancients that involved incredible amounts of Wild Magic that harnassed natures forces to create links between continents or although there were more than one Portal in each continent. The stories of the Portals had been lost to the majority of the wizarding world before myths were old, but Voldemort had somehow come to find out about them in his studies of the dark arts. The portals were of great importance for conquest because they would enable the armies of the Dark Lord to transverse distances quickly and efficiently. Unfortunetly, the devices had to be activated first so they could not simply use one to find the others, and the locations of many of them were still unknown as references to them were vague and few.
"I see," Lucius said as thought ran through his head and the dark wheels turned round and round, "You may convey to Lord Voldemort that I shall start planning immediately, and that the prisoners will be moved to caves in the Alps before the end of the week." Sitting down again, he continued "If that is all," said with an air of finality and impatience.
"Thats not all Malfoy," Macnair said brutally, his savage nature very much present in his usually docile demeanor. "The Dark Lord has instructed me to make you aware that our next campaign will be on South Africa. We have reason to suspect that there is a Portal located nearby, either on the main continent or on the island of Madagascar. You are to sever relationships between those southern nations and the rest of the wizarding world by January of next year. A last point of interest was that your son's request to become a Deatheater Officer elite has been granted by the Dark Lord, and upon his completion of," Macnair sneered, "education, he is to be taken to the Dark Lord to be initiated."
"Thank you Mr. Macnair," Lucius said, happy internally that his son had done well enough to become an elite Deatheater, following in his father's footsteps. Not allowing any emotion to come to his face or voice, he said, "If that is all, you may see yourself out." Unraveling the charm that kept their words secret, he gave a few remarks on the bill, totally meaningless, for the benefit for his secretary.
Leaning back on his chair and picking up his daily calander, looking at his deep dark curtins without seeing, Lucius thoughtfully wrote a note to remind himself to ask Draco to inform him of any Hogsmeade trips that the docile headmaster would allow the children this year once he got to school. This was almost too easy.
Sirius Black, ex-convicted felon and the only known escapee of the infamous Wizard prison, Azkaban – that is, before the now infamous Breaking of Azkaban (a.k.a. The Dementor Insurgence) that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named orchestrated – paced sullenly over a well worn piece of carpet in the office of the much distinguished Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. The book-laden shelves were also the home of numerous trinkets that shined and twirled in different but intriguing patterns. The carpet was soft and luxurious and to one side laid a low pensieve, while on the other corner stood a tall stand upon which a most magnificent bird was sitting.
"I don't like it either," the old man said from behind his large desk, deep dark bags underneath his eyes which had a determined spark instead of the cheerful twinkle he had a few years ago, before the reemergence of the Dark Lord.
Continuing the argument that had been going on for some time now, the old Headmaster continued, "Our spies within the Dark Lord's legions verified this... Wormtail was thrown into some place called the Abyss, which supposedly will give Tom unparalleled power. If it is true, that Tom now has power exceeding the combined might of the Founding Four, we must draw on all of our resources. We must make use of our trump card – Harry Potter. Thanks to his dreams, we are already able to save lives of many innocent wizards and witches. Imagine the potential advantages our side will glean if we actually make active use of him!
"The answer remains no, Albus," Sirius said firmly. "I don't want Harry to be given full status in the Order of Phoenix yet. He hasn't even completed his seventh year here, let alone had proper Auror training yet! He doesn't even know the basics of the Monstrum Refuto series of spells. And I don't care how bloody brilliant you think Harry is, it took James two years to master the Absentis Infectis Factum while it took the rest of us trainees almost the full three, and those are some of the most critical spells needed to fight the Deatheaters and their minions!
The Headmaster got up from his chair slowly and turned to stroke his phoenix, Fawkes. His shoulders were drooped, but he still cut a strong figure, standing straight and tall, with deep blue robes trailing on the ground behind him. His head was bare now, and his hair seemed grayer than ever as he turned to look at the grounds through his large window.
"You are right, Sirius," Professor Dumbledore said at last, with a uncharacteristic sigh. "Despite all the situations Harry has been through, he is yet a child and should be afforded as much normality as can be expected in these times. We shall treat him simply as a Head Boy – or at least try to. You know first hand how things can get with Harry...
The old Professor sat back down, sinking into his large chair .
"Enough about young Harry. We have other more pressing matters to discuss, such as the recent abduction of Remus Lupin, Lyndo Marx, Pagus Lee, Prin Tuffle, Ruby Wilkins, Andy Hordes and the others, and the plans for their recovery
Sirius grimaced at the memory, as he recalled how Remus had been lost in the last skirmish that the Order had with Voldemort's forces in Elks Nook, England. Intelligence had discovered that several Deatheaters, along with dark creatures such as dementors and giants, were going to destroy and generally wreak havoc upon the small muggle village of Elks Nook in the Scottish foothills. The Order of Phoenix members, almost 125 volunteers strong, attempted to evacuate the village and hold back the forces of the Dark Lord as best they could, although they were hopelessly outnumbered and out powered. Remus had been on the front lines of the defenders and got isolated from the others by two giants and a dementor. Sirius heard this all second hand, as he was on the other end of the field fighting several of the Deatheaters. Remus was more familiar with dark creatures so he naturally gravitated towards the vicious giants and the insatiable dementors and other horrid creatures. Almost a month had passed since that day, and there was still no word of Remus and some seventeen others who were involved in the fighting. This was peculiar because the old Deatheaters would have asked for some kind of ransom or at least bragged about the capture of the prisoners. It wasn't Voldemort's style to be subtle.
"We haven't been able to find much, sir," Sirius said with no small amounts of disgust in his voice. "We have received little official aid from the Ministry and their Aurors, as all of our allies there are busy with the issue of IAAP, the international aid program of whatnow. I can't believe Arthur would just desert Remus and the Order like this. Doesn't he remember who put his life on the line and saved him from the Deatheater at the New Year's Massacre!?
"Yes, but Arthur saved Remus and you as well just minutes later, as you will recall," Albus countered in a calm voice.
Sirius stopped his pacing and looked up, his eyes flashing angrily at this.
"Bah, you know what I mean! He and the others should be more -
"More what, Sirius?" Dumbledore calmly interjected. "More concerned with the Order of Phoenix, instead of the entirety of the international wizarding community? No! We cannot afford to alienate our foreign allies now, in these darkest hours of our existence, even if it comes at great cost. We'll just have to make do with what we have. Tell me, have you unearthed anything at all?" he queried, at last calming the raging man in front of him.
Sirius at last took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the large desk, and sat back to collect his thoughts. He, of course, had been at the head of the recovery expedition that the Order of Phoenix launched. He hadn't recieved a single iota of aid from the Minister, who still treated him like a criminal despite his clearance and proven innocence. Any official efforts were slow in coming and much too little, and soon, Sirius felt, it would be too late.
"From the reports that our spies gave, all the signs indicate that Voldemort has already left the country with a few of his elite Deatheaters. According to rumor, he also has convened other elite Deatheaters from around the globe that he had recruited back in his first reign of terror for a secret meeting somewhere, but as you are well aware, that is still not confirmed," Sirius said. He paused a minute to take a deep breath before continuing, "We also have learned that the attack on Elk's Nook was more for the purpose of satisfying the dementors and giants. The dementors need to... feed," he shuddered, "and the giants simply were restless and getting in the mood for violence. The location of the prisoners is still unsure because only the remaining upper level Deatheaters have an idea of where they might be. Most of our experts agree that it's highly likely they are no longer in England any more.
"Yes, yes, this is all old news," said the Professor impatiently, "go on."
"Recent evidence from our contacts in Norway indicates that there is a flurry of Deatheater activity, and supposedly the construction of some sort of structure. Several people have theorized that this might be a new base of location for the Dark Lord and that prisoners might be kept in dungeons near there, or actually in the building itself.
"I see."
"I suggest that we send a few members of the Order, me included, to go investigate this matter further. There is much to be gained from this even beyond the prisoners, such as a map to the stronghold before they make it unplottable," Sirius put forth, in his most suave and persuasive voice.
"I think that's a good idea Sirius. Gather a small team of six that aren't immediately involved in other business, and we'll start preparations immediately.
"Excellent Professor," said Sirius, as he stood up again, his eyes lighting up after a large period of dark melancholy. "I'll owl you when I am ready," he said as he walked towards the door.
"Do take care," the old Headmaster said softly, receiving only the slamming of the door in response. He sat down and looked towards the nearly full moon through his window. At last he turned away from the sight he wasn't really looking at, and focused on the paperwork lying scattered around on his desk.
If he was a centaur, Dumbledore would have seen that the stars weren't aligned in a very favorable position for the side of Light. He might have seen the emergence of Mars, brighter than it had ever been since the passing of the Ancients. As it was, he didn't even see the smoke from the centaurs meeting, as they gathered around near the center of the Forbidden Forest, preparing to meet and guide the one that was prophesized to come. The old man was so very tired and already had too much to think about that night, as it would not be too far from the truth to say that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders.
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It was two days until Draco would be forced to go back to that infernal cesspool of mudbloods and mudblood lovers, notably Dumbledore, Potty, Weasel, and the Know-It-All, and the young man was more than a little displeased at this. Since last summer, his mother had been tutoring him in the Dark Arts but he was unable to practice what he had learned at school because of the restrictions on magic by underage wizards. Even though his father was Minister, if the Ministry discovered the nature of the spells the family would be ruined. As such, the only time he could really practice his magic was at school, but that was difficult for obvious reasons. Dark magic was so beautiful to him, so lucrative, for a number of very good reasons. First of all, it was his heritage; his entire line were practitioners of the dark arts in one way or another, and it was a family myth that one of their ancestors was actually a vampire. Of course, some lesser born and ignorant wizards and witches would be horrified, but that was because they were simply lesser born and ignorant. There was no higher honor than having blood of the ancients, and none greater than the blood of the immortal vampires. Draco knew that the power existed for people to use it, so it was very frustrating to deal with all these comparative difficult and inane spells that students were forced to learn at Hogwarts.
The young Malfoy heir was sitting properly in the second formal dining room (the first being reserved for important occasions or for his fathers 'private business') of his mansion along with his father and mother, as he sat recalling the events that transpired last year at school that caused him to hate every aspect of it – that is, hate it even more than before. The betrayal of Snape was almost too much for him to bear and he was at a point actually considering killing his head of house, but his father had forcefully reminded him of the image that needed to be kept up until the Dark Lord's forces eventually overcame the feeble Ministry, which was unwittingly being led by a Deatheater. Snape had informed the order of the crow, or whatever they were calling it, that the Dark Lord was at last going to get rid of Harry Potter once and for all. Because of Snape's interferance, the plan went awry causing Vincent's father, the older Mr. Crabbe to be killed. The only bright spot in the whole business was that the Dark Lord most wisely was aware of Snape's weakness and had planned a strategic retreat for his more trusted servants, such as Lucius.
'Potter,' Draco thought in one of his common moments of relatively indiscriminate and random bouts of rage, shuddering and crinkling his nose in disgust at even thinking the name, 'gets all the fame and respect because his mudblood mother gave him a charm before she croaked. He's not even rich! Someday my lord will allow me dispose of that jackal!' Scowling, he finished the thought viciously, 'Then we will see who is a better wizard.'
The opulent surroundings were lost on Draco as he scrunched up his face in frustration, and ate his morning meal of oatmeal, eggs benedict, and french toast on a golden plate, shined to a point where it glowed by a nameless and unthanked house elf, along with an expensive looking crystal bowl laden with fresh fruit. Above the table was a beautiful crystal chandelier charmed to swivel around in a circular fashion, causing shimmering colors to dance on the walls. Instead of displaying all the colors, which was ridiculously difficult to charm and also, in Draco's opinion, rather silly, the colors that were shown were green and silver. The chairs he and his family were sitting on were nothing but the finest of Chinese silk and stuffed with feathers of the now extinct Dodo bird.
"Father," Draco began for the third time that morning, "You MUST do something about the senile headmaster! He is ruining the education of countless wizards and witches by allowing the threat of mudbloods and half-bloods to be in our presence, completely out of their given spot in civilized society. Not only are they inferior in power, they are dragging the rest of us down with their terrible manners and unpleasant and barbaric muggle ways. Not only that, we're learning more useless magic than important essential spells. What use does the Jelly Legs Jinx have in real life!? We should be learning how to perform spells that are applicable to the real world!
Draco continued to eloquently rehash the same ideas that been rolling through Lucius' own mind for several years in drawn out and well reasoned arguments. He was rather proud of the boy in that regard. Despite the poor education he was forced to endure, he was still developing into a fine young man. Ever since he had gotten the coveted position of Minister of Magic, he had longed to do just that - get rid of that mudblood loving old codger, who remained a thorn in the side of his master, and the entire true pure blood wizarding world. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord had felt that it wasn't yet time to make a move on England, because it has the greatest organized Wizarding community and as such, the most powerful defenses against any assault.
Voldemort's plan was to focus on a single country at a time in his campaign for global conquest, and all the while create chaos in the rest of the… unenlightened …world. Lucius' assignment was to prevent the forces of Light from growing strong and to disrupt the society, leaving the country unprepared for the eventual assault. The elite Deatheater's mouth twisted into a grimace as he remembered the last time that he had attempted to convince the Dark Lord that it would be best to take action immediately to remove all of the high level officials that were not on the right side; that is, Voldemorts side. The price for that small contention had been paid for at a dear price as the Dark Lord had made it quite lucid to Lucius who exactly was in charge, with a lesser variation of the Cruciatus curse that was very painful. No, ever since the contract made with the Abyss, Lord Voldemort could not be reasoned with at all, even by his most loyal and trusted servants.
Mentally shuddering again at the recollection, Lucius turned from the Daily Prophet to give his son a piercing look that forced the young man to quit his arguments and look down at his plate and continue to sullenly eat the five star breakfast in front of him. He turned to look at his wife who was eating her own breakfast calmly and very properly, ignoring the conversation around her. It was quite annoying that she was unwilling to talk sense into the boy, even though as a Deatheater she herself knew of the true situation.
Lucius turned back to his son, and said after a few long moments, "Draco, I wanted that old kook out of office as soon as possible when I became Minister but there are certain circumstances that have forced me to, shall we say reconsider, my position. Trust me, son, when I say that my actions are for the greater good of our Purpose.
Folding his paper and excusing himself from the table, Lucius got up from the table and said, "I am going to work now Narcissa, Draco," giving his beauteous but cold wife a chaste kiss on the cheek. Going towards the great fireplace he said calmly, "Oh, and Draco. Do not bring up the subject again, if not for me, then for your own sake."
"Yes father," Draco replied dutifully in a monotone voice, but his face paled significantly at the implied threat. When Lucius Malfoy gave 'advice' of that sort, anyone who ever dealt with him in the past knew it wasn't to be taken lightly no matter how colloquially it may have been offered.
Suddenly not very hungry, Draco politely asked his mother, "May I be excused now Mother," not allowing the fear of the consequences of his father's threat creep in his voice.
"Very well Draco. Go read chapter nineteen of your Dark Arts edition. I expect you to know it thoroughly when I meet with you this afternoon," Narcissa responded coolly, as she too rose.
Kissing his mother properly on her pale cheek, Draco responded "Yes Mother," as he left to go up to his own personal study and get started on the fascinating chapter on spells that increased the strength of the caster, though at the expense of victims.
*****
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Lucius Malfoy sat behind a large and ornate desk in his private office at the Ministry of Magic. The room was decorated to Lucius' taste, complete with black velvet curtains that were similar to the fabrics used to make the his Deatheater robes, and was designed primarily to intimidate anybody who came up to see him. The room itself was quite large, with raised ceilings, and was lit by a low, dim chandelier in the center of the chamber which, by virtue of its strategic location, cast long shadows all over the room to create a somewhat sinister atmosphere. One might have been surprised to not see any human skulls scattered about on the polished onyx marble floor. The only dichotomy to the black in the room that was offered were slivers of silver on the walls that were actually silver stands where Lucious kept expensive vases crafted of fine China and the rarest white gold.
On two of the four sides of the office were long, tall bookshelves with a great many volumes of legal books containing the ancient and archaic code of the wizards that had been written by the earliest civilized Wizards, who in their great wisdom formulated a system that had lasted until modern times allowing for adaptation with the changing world. On top of the bookshelves, active wizard pictures depicted the former Ministers of Magic. If one were to observe, it could be seen that the politicians were constantly moving from frame to frame, still practicing politics and schmoozing with one another. All were trying to win each other over and become the undisputed Minister of Former Ministers of Magic. Along with the large dust collecting tomes, there were bottles of expensive liquor and even a magically refrigerated area that was the home of chilled fine wines. The cups kept next to them were all made of crystal, with gold and silver rims to them making them look elegant even among relative splendor. Behind the large Ministers desk, the third wall was occupied almost exclusively with a large window that had a fantastic view over a small park, but the windows and the light behind them was covered by the thick black curtains. On the last wall, opposite to the Minister's desk was a grand doorway, and tapestries hung about depicting famous events in English wizarding history, although the dim lighting made it hard to see what was really going on.
A scratchy voice magically rang out from the back right corner of the room causing Lucius to look up irately from the paperwork he was completing, a formal refusal to pass whatever dimwitted plan Arthur Weasley and his foolish cohorts were trying to get done now. Even though the family wasn't very well respected, Lucius thought that the Weasleys would be able to join the right side if they properly applied themselves, but it wasn't any of his business. If they foolishly persisted in fighting for the wrong side, in favor of mudbloods and evil, they would get what they deserve.
"Minister Malfoy," the scratchy voice of his elderly secretary came through, "Mr. Macnair is here to see you about concerns for rights and restrictions for magical creatures in west Scotland as pets." Clearing her throat noisily, which caused Malfoy to crinkle his nose in disgust, she asked, "Are you ready to recieve him?", fully expecting him to say no.
"Send him in Margaret," Lucius said after saying a word and delicately flicking his wand for the intercom spell.
Macnair was a surly man, solidly built and tough, with raw physical strength comparable to Goyles', which along with his willingness to kill and keen rationale had helped him rise to the high position among Deatheaters that he currently held. Few had known that Macnair and he vied for the top position in England among the Deatheaters remaining here, which nearly resulted in a few violent episodes. Eventually, Lucius became the head of the organization in Great Britain under the Dark Lord because of his more polished manner and his vast family holdings, which also served him in his bid for position in the Ministry. The Minister made a few motions with his mahogany wand and muttered sonitus obex, creating a sound barrier around the room. Macnair strode into the room boldly, all the features of the room meant to strike fear failing miserably with this man. He wore blood-red dragon skin boots and a black cape that seemed to shimmer, along with finely made dark green robes.
"Malfoy," Macnair greeted after the door had been closed and privacy was ensured.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Lucius said dryly in response holding his arms out wide as he stood up, making the simple act of courtesy seem more into a mockery.
Macnair easily ignored Malfoy's annoying attempts to irritate and intimidate him, and continued onward towards the desk sitting near the large windows. He wasn't afraid of a man so spoiled that he wouldn't know the business end of a broom if his life depended on it. As for himself, well, Torvald Macnair had been brought up in the bosom of evil. He knew far worse fears than Lucius Malfoy ever could dream of. Although he did not possess the wealth of the arrogant man in front of him, he more than made up for it in tenacity and willingness to get a job done by any means necessary.
Macnair stopped short of the chairs in front of the Ministers desk, not bothering to sit down.
"I have received word from our Lord that everything is going to plan in Brazil and the tribes will be eliminated, paving the way to the rest of South America and Africa also, as you well know. The Portal has yet to be uncovered but progress is great." Macnair stopped his tirade for a short breath before continuing the report. "Our Lord has instructed for another attack, this time at Hogsmeade preferably when the most possible destruction and chaos has a chance of being caused. He has also instructed that the prisoners be moved to Sweden as soon as possible, as our spies have indicated that the Order may have become aware of the Gatehouse that is being built to protect the European Portal in Norway. Prisoners are less important than the project so we must lead the Order away from the Gatehouse. The attack will serve the dual purposes of distracting our enemies from Norway and also to satisfy the ... cravings of the Dementors.
Lucius sat back and reclined in his chair contemplating the news and thinking of courses of action that needed to be undertaken. The Portals were devices of the Ancients that involved incredible amounts of Wild Magic that harnassed natures forces to create links between continents or although there were more than one Portal in each continent. The stories of the Portals had been lost to the majority of the wizarding world before myths were old, but Voldemort had somehow come to find out about them in his studies of the dark arts. The portals were of great importance for conquest because they would enable the armies of the Dark Lord to transverse distances quickly and efficiently. Unfortunetly, the devices had to be activated first so they could not simply use one to find the others, and the locations of many of them were still unknown as references to them were vague and few.
"I see," Lucius said as thought ran through his head and the dark wheels turned round and round, "You may convey to Lord Voldemort that I shall start planning immediately, and that the prisoners will be moved to caves in the Alps before the end of the week." Sitting down again, he continued "If that is all," said with an air of finality and impatience.
"Thats not all Malfoy," Macnair said brutally, his savage nature very much present in his usually docile demeanor. "The Dark Lord has instructed me to make you aware that our next campaign will be on South Africa. We have reason to suspect that there is a Portal located nearby, either on the main continent or on the island of Madagascar. You are to sever relationships between those southern nations and the rest of the wizarding world by January of next year. A last point of interest was that your son's request to become a Deatheater Officer elite has been granted by the Dark Lord, and upon his completion of," Macnair sneered, "education, he is to be taken to the Dark Lord to be initiated."
"Thank you Mr. Macnair," Lucius said, happy internally that his son had done well enough to become an elite Deatheater, following in his father's footsteps. Not allowing any emotion to come to his face or voice, he said, "If that is all, you may see yourself out." Unraveling the charm that kept their words secret, he gave a few remarks on the bill, totally meaningless, for the benefit for his secretary.
Leaning back on his chair and picking up his daily calander, looking at his deep dark curtins without seeing, Lucius thoughtfully wrote a note to remind himself to ask Draco to inform him of any Hogsmeade trips that the docile headmaster would allow the children this year once he got to school. This was almost too easy.