PHOENIX ASCENDING I-- Homecomings


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Albus--
Due to recent developments involving the dark arts, I can no longer attempt to postpone the inevitable. Voldemort is back after all, and we must make every attempt to rally our forces and withstand his rising power.
Cornelius.

Fudge stared at the letter, leaning so close that the tip of his nose was marked purple by the still-wet ink. Brows knitting, he lent back and crumpled the letter into a ball, tossing it into the roaring fire in the grate behind him. Something about the letter was not right... something didn't fit, but try as he might, he couldn't put his finger one it. Tommyrot Cornelius old chap, his conscience whispered peevishly, You're too damn proud for your own good. You could never admit you were wrong, and you aren't about to start now.

"Cornelius Fudge." The minister tensed as he heard his door slam behind him. Slowly, fearfully, he turned around. "Kryptos," A blast of green light whisked past his ear, singing his graying hair and wrapping itself around his front door, pulsating angrily. He stumbled clumsily out of his plush recliner and took a step towards the light. It lashed forward like a sentient entity to snap out his outstretched fingers, charring them black. With a cry Fudge raised his hand to his mouth, trying to suck out the pain like a toddler who put his hand on the kitchen stove. "That's to ensure no one gets in... or out," a cold voice hissed in his ear. Dreading and somehow knowing what he would see, Fudge turned around. "Boo." Voldemort smiled, the bone-white skin tensing over his jawbones in an unfamiliar expression. His red eyes glinted ominously in the green light of his Kryptos spell. "The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he didn't exist."

Fudge gaped, trying to save himself from collapsing at the knees due to the fear that coursed through him like molten steel. Wetting his dry lips he attempted to speak, "The devil? You have lofty aspirations."

"Aspirations?" Voldemort would have raised an eyebrow in scorn if his pale face had possessed any. "Aspirations on the brink of reality."

Fudge could feel his heart pound fiercely in his breast as the tall thin man cloaked in black took a step towards him. "What do you presume by coming here?" he stammered as the putrescent stench that lurked around Voldemort like a cloak engulfed his senses.

"Oh Mr. Fudge," Voldemort shook his head while clucking his tongue in mock pity. "Dear, dear Mr. Fudge. You know very well what I presume to do."

"Albus will--" Fudge took a step backwards, nearly tripping over his recliner as his words failed him.

"Albus will what?" Voldemort spat contemptuously. "Spout morals at me? I fear no one, Mr. Fudge."

"Harry Potter--"

"Is a fourteen year old child," Voldemort sneered, placing his skeletal hand on Fudges shoulder. The minister felt a wave of revulsion creep over him at that touch. "I could torture you, you do know that."

Fudge felt his mouth go dry as his knees gave way, "Please, I'm the Minister of Magic--"

"But," Voldemort continued, a faint smile of triumph stretched across his gaunt features as his red eyes slitted into two points of sinister apathy. "You were always a bumbling fool. I see this as more of a public service than any sort of personal victory. Besides," Voldemort bent down, his slit of a mouth only a handbreadth away from Fudge's terrified visage. "I still have a score to settle with my little Lucifer."
"You're going to kill me," Fudge stammered, his heart beating wildly into a crescendo of fear and terror. Then it stopped.

"Avada Kedrava."


----


Voldemort bent down, silently inspecting his handiwork. Fudge lay on his living room floor, his limp body as pale as the egg-white carpet beneath him. He couldn't help but smile, after long last, Cornelius Fudge was dead. Yet another fly had met its end in his all-encompassing web.

It had been decades since the name Fudge had had any relevance whatsoever to him. And now, their troublesome line was finally eliminated, eradicated, gone.

I'll see you in hell.

Her words still echoed in his ears. But they were but words, and words in vain. He had won this battle.

He always won.

A final fitting touch wormed its way into his mind, the injustice that would cause her to roll over in her grave. He couldn't help but smile at the irony, because professionally, it was something she would have rather enjoyed.

Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Voldemort pulled out a silver dagger. Looted from the chamber of secrets, it was a blade enchanted to never loose its sharpness with twin snakes twined around the hilt, ready and rearing to strike. Unbuttoning the minister's awful pinstriped dress robes, Voldemort dug the dagger into his oversized paunch, fascinated as the still-warm blood welled up to the cut, a tiny line of red along the bitter white of Fudge's dead body.

Dipping his pure white fingers into the blood, Voldemort began to write.


----


With a sigh, he took down the last photograph.

Sacked. Fired. Got the boot.

However you put it, it all amounted to one thing that made the goofy, smiling, waving photographs tossed haphazardly into a ratty cardboard box all the more annoying. He was out of a job. The twenty-odd photographs in the box all gave a simultaneous jubilant wave. Glaring at them, he gave the box a huge kick, which of course only caused them to wave harder.

Taking one last glance around his pint-sized excuse for an office, his eyes fell on an official looking piece of parchment, the last piece of paper left on his desk. That piece of parchment was of the devil. Picking it up with as much zest as one might approach a rabid hippogriff, he read it for the umpteenth time that morning

Dear Mr. Cox,
We regret to inform you that due to recent publications penned by yourself that we no longer have a place for you here at the Daily Prophet (established 1692 A.D.). Aside from slandering several upstanding members of the wizarding community, including the Prophet's own Ms. Rita Skeeter, misleading the public, and lying outright, you have committed no noteworthy offenses.
Please do not use us as a reference.
Sgd., Ptolemy Papscrew (executive editor).

"Cox," a tall blond figure slunk into his cubicle.

"Skeeter," he looked up from the letter, almost blinded by her vibrant magenta dress robes "Come to gloat?"

She smiled at him over the top of her rhinestone encrusted horn-rimmed glasses. "Oh Gabriel, don't you think we should put all of that behind us?"

"Behind us my ass," he growled. "Do you honestly think people believe your trash on Dumbledore being bent on world domination?"

She gave a patronizing chuckle, "People believe what they want to hear. And they don't want to hear that Voldemort is back."

"He is," Gabriel insisted firmly, gripping the sides of his cardboard box with both hands.

Skeeter gave him an amused look, "Of course Cox," she sneered sarcastically, "Of course."

He pulled out his wand, "Wingardium Levosia," the box full of photographs, papers and other general office trash floated a few feet into the air. "Come on Skeeter, you got me fired, the least you can do is stop blocking the door."

"Actually it was your uncle that sent the letter to Papscrew demanding your removal from the staff." Skeeter smiled, "Though I did lodge a formal complaint. Speaking of your uncle--"

"Do shut up and go away," he growled, his eyes smarting from her flourescent robes.

Ignoring him, Skeeter continued. "Your uncle has been found dead in his home. Victim of the timeless Avada Kedrava."

"What?" His box hit the floor with a clunk of broken picture frames as his concentration snapped. Skeeter smiled wickedly, always happy to have caused a stir. "The word LUCIFER was scrawled onto his chest in blood."

"You're lying," he said flatly as her smile widened.

"Mad-Eye Moody personally requested to be brought back from retirement to take the case," Skeeter said blithely. "Just thought you might like to know." Gabriel said nothing in response, only staring at the broken photographs in his broken box, still, despite all their recent abuse, waving furiously. "I'd lay low if I were you," Skeeter persisited, taking a step towards him.

"Gabriel!" He looked up as Will, a copy editor, pushed his way past Skeeter and into the cubicle. "There's someone on the phone for you." He held out a tiny black block of plastic with brightly colored buttons all over it.

"On the what?" Gabriel said as his mind, still smarting from Skeeter's news, drew a blank.

"Some Muggle device for communication," Will answered.

Skeeter gave a derogatory laugh, "Since when have we had a Muggle device for communication?"

"Since the non-discrimination act on '91 required it," Will replied, still offering the black piece of plastic to Gabriel. "Just nobody's used it yet."

Gabriel gave the phone a hesitant glance, "I just... talk into it?"

"I guess so," Will smiled ruefully. "There's only one way to find out, eh?"

"You're a help," Gabriel snapped, tentatively taking the piece of black plastic from Will's outstretched hand.

"Who is it?"

"Dunno," Will shrugged. "Some chick from Hong Kong."


----


"Murderer's Way? Sure, I'll tell you about Murderer's Way. Chic Café, smack dab in the middle of Hong Kong, it used to be a ratty old diner 'til it got bombed. The owner, slick chick, I'm telling' you, I think her name was Vix Su. So this Vix got mixed up with the mob and was taken in by the police for the murder of some upper-crust businessman, I think his name was Seiji, but don't quote me on that one. Anyway they brought her to trial for this Seiji's murder but ended up releasing her on lack of evidence. There was huge press coverage, it turned out that Seiji was a multi-billionaire and when money's involved you know how those reporters get. They can sniff scandal a mile away. It turned out that Seiji had willed most of his money to Vix's father, but since the father was comatose in the hospital (he had been for about two months at that time) it all passed to her. To this day, not one of us knows whether or not she went and did Seiji in. But where was I? Oh right... so where most self-respecting girls would have gone and moved out of town, this one didn't. Vix went and capitalized on her new celebrity, reopened her restaurant with the money from Seiji's will, and called it Murderer's Way. The place served nothing but steaks. At first people just came out of curiosity from the trial, but then they realized that the Hannibal's Texan hamburgers weren't half bad, and its been up, up and away ever since. If you go, I recommend the Bates Motel Blue Plate. Of course it's beef... what kind of a person do you take me for?"

It was because of this rather alarming and somewhat overwhelming tirade that Maximilian Consuedo-Ponce III Esq., decided to brave the afore mentioned restaurant. He had heard of nothing else ever since his Merlin's Tour of the Wizarding Far East arrived in Hong Kong, and when asking his tour guide exactly what Murderer's Way was, he felt that nothing could keep him from its doors. It was a good thing that Maximilian was a wizard, and therefore not privy to the deeper meanings of the Bates Motel Blue Plate or Hannibal's Texan Burgers. If he had comprehended, he may not have attacked his Jaw's Favorite Jambalaya with such relish. And here our story begins, with Max bending over his Jambalaya, relaxing in a place far far away from home, responsibility, and anything remotely resembling a heating bill. He was sitting back in his chair, enjoying the Asian summer, engrossed in the Daily Prophet. It was a few days old, but the news was still hot, evidently Rita Skeeter had uncovered a new fiasco, involving Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and a werewolf. The front page story by one Gabriel Cox, denounced Skeeter's tale as pure tommyrot, and went on to state that Sirius Black was innocent, Voldemort had risen from the grave and the only way to survive the "rising storm" was to bind together as a community and fight. Max doubted that even half of the story was true but it defiantly made more exciting reading than The Wizards Guidebook to Birdwatching in the Greater Hong Kong Metropolitan Area. "More coffee?"

Max blinked, suddenly roused from his engrossment with the scandals of the wizarding world. "Pardon?"

"Coffee," his waitress snapped drolly, dangling the brimming silver pot dangerously close to his newspaper. "You know the brown stuff that people like to drink?"
Max gave her what he hoped was a disapproving look, "Let me move my paper if you don't mind," he said, trying to wrestle the free edge of the Prophet out from under his coffee cup.

"Fine by me," she replied, shifting her weight to the other foot. But as she did, a splash of coffee from the overflowing pitcher fell onto the table, missing Max's cup entirely and soaking through his paper. "I'm so sorry!" In confusion she dropped the pot, causing newly freed coffee to splatter all over the floor and onto the starched white of her uniform.

Max could feel his face turning red in fury, "I would like to speak to the owner."

The waitress gave him a lopsided smile, bending down to pick up the pitcher, "That could be arranged." She straightened up and picked up his paper, "How about we get you a new copy on us. What is this, The Daily Prophet?"

Max felt his heart race, his day was getting worse by the second. "I'm afraid you couldn't buy that in a store. Just return it to me and--"

But the waitress wasn't listening to a word he was saying. In all actuality, her face had gone from a pleasant peachy color to a few shades below stark white. "Remus Lupin and Sirius Black..."

"What?" Max stood up in ill disguised fury, making a grab for the paper as she twisted out of his way. "I don't know what the meaning of this is..."

"Sirius Black," the waitress looked up from the paper, her face still in an expression of shock. "Where is he?"

Max gave a scowl, "If we knew that I daresay we could all sleep a little safer at night. May I please have my paper, young lady."

"No," she replied flatly. Then to add insult to injury she began to mutter to herself. "Who wrote this... Gabriel Cox." Abruptly, the waitress turned to Max, "How can I contact the Daily Prophet?"

"I'm afraid," he snapped, snatching the paper from her fingers, "that you wont be contacting anyone."

"And I'm afraid that you are mistaken," she growled in reply, while swinging what was left of his Jaw's Favorite Jambalaya into his face.

"Young Lady!" He screamed, as the restaurant came to halt and started, breathless at the two of them. "I don't know what the meaning of this is, but I would certainly like to speak with your owner!"

The waitress grinned belligerently, "I am the owner." Without warning she snatched the paper out of his hand. "Have a nice day Mr. Consuedo-Ponce."

His face dripping with Jambalaya Max gave a resigned sigh. He had never been one for conflict, and he felt, not for the first time in his life resigned to his inevitable fate as the loser. Besides, nothing remotely as exciting as this had ever happened on the Merlin's Tour of the Wizarding Far East, not even the petrified head of Sung Kao-Tzech-Zedong had come close. Imagine what kind of dinner conversation this could bring, so all in all, he reasoned to himself, he could begrudge a Prophet to the girl. "There's a telephone number on the back page," Max said with a definite droop in his voice.

----


Midnight dawned heavy on 12 Rivermede Road.

Almost as heavy as a day thirteen years ago, a Halloween morning when he had awoken to find his world cleaved into tiny portions that try as he might, he could never, ever accept. That blood-soaked morning had shaped his life, for better or for worse, until death did him part.

As the church bell began to toll twelve times, Remus Lupin contemplated.

He had much to think on, and hardly any time to think it, watching the bite-sized sliver of moon through the tiny window, every painful inch of memory condensed into a single heartbeat.

A single breath.

A mere instant.

Six tolls of the church bell, halfway to 12:01.

Midnight was the witching hour, no irony intended, the hour when anything and everything was possible for wizards and muggles alike. Late at night the bridge to sleep grew crossable, with harsh dreams and memories harsher still waiting on the other side, ready to once more drift to the forefront of the slumbering psyche.

Ten tolls of the church bell.

Psyche. It had been more than a year since Hong Kong, since those five days halfway across the world that would echo is the eternity of his life. Wistfully, longingly, he reached into the pocket of his robes, where a well folded piece of newsprint had taken up permanent residence.

Watch for me -- Vix.

He was still watching.

He was forever watching.

The bell let out its twelfth tole with an angry cry. The without warning, one more ring broke into his reverie.

A thirteenth tole.

Remus stood up abruptly, caught unaware. The bell sounded again.

It was the front door.

Pulling himself away from the kitchen table, he took a tentative step into the hall, cringing when the floor creaked in protest. Slowly, his eyes locked on the oaken door he made his way down the entry hall, trying to ignore the wave of unplaced fear and untapped anticipation. Who was ringing his doorbell at midnight? Could his waiting be over?

Ever so slowly, he took a hold of the brass door handle, its metal cold and alien to his touch. He swallowed heavily, trying to mentally quiet the pounding of his heart. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open, and stared out into the blackness of the night.

A hulking shadow blocked his view.

As the shadow stepped into the light, he didn't even have to look at its illuminated features to know who it was. He saw that face every time he looked into the bathroom mirror.

The shadow gave a long low chuckle, "Open up, little brother. I've come home."

thanks to everyone that reviewed the last one (mwah to you all :O) ) and a special bouquet to Rowena Alana, for being the best beat reader a girl could ask for and just all around cool (if you haven't read her Vaya series or Unchained Melody do. Now. Before I set Orien on you). That may have been slightly confusing for those of you who haven't read Third Camp, Pas de Deux, or China Doll, you can go back and read and review or just skim the painless little summaries I have here:

THIRD CAMP: takes place directly after GoF, through long involved and excruciating plot, Harry and Ron go to live with Sirius and Remus who are driven out of their house by a mob of angry reporters a short time after. It turns out that Rita Skeeter broke her promise to Hermione and wrote a tell-all saying that Sirius and Dumbledore were in cahoots to take over the world and follow in Voldemort's footsteps. Sirius escapes (barely) when he is warned by Hermione and Viktor Krum (who fly in from Bulgaria). It looks like Dumbledore and Remus are going to be arrested until Gabriel Cox (Cornelius Fudge's nephew) writes an article telling the events of PoA and GoF and that the wizarding world needs to band together to fight Voldemort. Fudge drafts a letter to Dumbledore about to make amends....

PAS DE DEUX: Takes place in the early 70s, when Voldemort is making his rise to power. His first, and most loyal death eater is a serial murderer referred to as "Lucifer" after the angel of death. The wizarding world lives in constant fear of Lucifer who kills random people indiscriminativly. Assigned to Lucifer's case is Chita Ramone, an auror who is also engaged to Alastor (Mad-Eye, though he's not Mad-Eye yet) Moody. Alastor's best friend is a man named Sejanus Cox, who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Sejanus's fiancé is Liv Fudge, Cornelius Fudge's ballet dancer sister. At the end, Sejanus accidently kills Chita, who attacks him, thinking he is Lucifer. Chita's death drives Alastor insane, and he begins to hunt Sejanus down with a manic passion. It turns out that Liv is Lucifer, and after leaving her son (Gabriel Cox of the Third Camp) with Cornelius, she tries to go turn herself in, because Sejanus is being held by the Ministry as Lucifer. Voldemort gets to her first and kills her, making it look as if Sejanus killed her. Alastor finds the bodies and watches in horror as Sejanus is sent to Azkaban. Ten years later, Alastor manages to get inside the prison and puts a knife through the back of his one time friend. Everyone, Moody included, believes that Sejanus is Lucifer.

CHINA DOLL: Basically what happens in Sirius and Remus go to Hong Kong and meet a girl named Vix. (As you can see I'm tired of summarizing) She is the waitress that opened Murderer's Way. And this is Soz, signing off. Please Read and Review :O).