An interesting face appeared in her fireplace three weeks to the day that
an in-home caretaker had been placed in Malfoy Manor. It as much surprised
her that the same Head of the Department was staring at her, as much as it
was to see the worry creasing his face. She set down her cup of tea and
moved across the tiny one room that made up her lodgings, and stared down
at her guest. "Good morning, Miss Nigels," the man said, a bit quickly.
"Good morning," she returned, waited.
He wasted no time, diving in headfirst as he appeared to be shuffling through some papers. "Your presence is required at the Malfoy Manor as quickly as you can manage, Miss Nigels. As it was by your recommendation that Mister Malfoy allowed a caretaker to watch over his mother, it is the agreement of the heads of the department that you head up this investigation. Mister Malfoy is currently detained in the Manor, awaiting your arrival."
She tilted her head, ever so slightly. "Who killed the caretaker?"
He tugged at the collar of his robe, sent a look to someone else probably in the room. "Well... that we are unsure of, as of yet. Narcissa Malfoy has already been ruled out as a suspect, as she has not been allowed access to a wand in seven years. The current House Elf has already been questioned, but we do not believe it is the perpetrator, either. Priori Incantatum has been preformed on Mister Malfoy's wand, as of seven o'clock this morning, and that has been ruled out, although we will be taking the wand to do further studies." He seemed to realise he was not breathing, and did so in a loud, wheezing gasp. "If you would be on your way, Miss Nigels, once you arrive you will be filled in of the details."
She wasn't sure if she should sigh or if she should smile. She had been bored silly with interviews and paperwork, but dealing with the dead was not fun. Nor was it too much of a change of pace. It was her job. Whether she was hunting them down, or hunting their killer down, she was always right in the middle. Sending one last longing look at her cup of tea, she fetched her wand from beside her bed, tied her hair up into its usual bun, and Apparated.
The man did not look happy at all. A young-looking member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad was standing rather uncomfortably infront of the drawing room, and jerked himself straight when she approached. All she did as she brushed by was wave him off with a flick of her wrist, drawing the door closed behind her.
Draco Malfoy was seated in the same chair he had been in three weeks ago, his elbows on his knees, and his chin rested on the gathered fist his hands had moulded into. He seemed lost in thought, thin lines creasing the skin around his eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, leaned against the door, and waited until he lifted his eyes. She could see the reaction, there, dance across his face and pass into memory. "Mister Malfoy."
"Am I under arrest?"
It was a simple enough question, but a thin smile slid across her face and settled on her lips. "That depends, Mister Malfoy, on what you've been up to today."
"Nothing," he said quietly, then again loudly.
There was a knock at the door, and Ana stepped away just in time to avoid being smacked in the back of the head when the door opened. The nervous- looking wizard was peering about the room, then staring at her, sweat beading his upper lip. "The medi-wizards have arrived, Miss, they'd like your company upstairs."
She nodded, pushed the door closed on the boy's face, and turned back to the young Malfoy. "Where is your mother?"
He straightened, drawn slightly from his self-pity. "They took her away. I think she's still here somewhere, but I don't know where."
A Malfoy unsure of himself. It made her eyebrows jump up on her forehead before she managed to control the reaction. Perhaps he thought his mother was in danger, too. She would have to consider that. Or, perhaps, he had thought that in killing the caretaker, he would have his mother all to himself again, and this revelation stunned him. Then again, Malfoys were never known to be stupid. She would have trouble with this one. "I'll be back for you in a few minutes," she said, "and don't go anywhere."
Death was never glamourous, pretty, or even peaceful. Even passing in the night from nothing but old age was not kind. Death was never kind, but death was also her business. The caretaker, a lovely young woman, approximately twenty five in age, lay sprawled on the floor of the adjoining sitting room to Narcissa's bedroom. She lay face down, face turned towards the door, looking mildly surprised. Ana instantly ruled out Avada Kedavera, even before she bent down to turn over the body.
A thin trickle of blood ran from the woman's mouth, nose, eyes and ears to stain the intricate Persian carpet on the floor. It made her shake her head, even as she looked up at the small gathering of medi-wizards, who looked as baffled as her. "Check for marks on the body, check for anything she might have eaten or drank in the last twenty four hours. The house-elf should remember."
She doubted there would be marks on the body. It just didn't seem the way for someone like this to go. And if Malfoy had indeed killed her, he would not leave marks. The House Elf would admit to poisoning the woman, if it indeed had, but she doubted that as well. She tugged her fingers through her hair before she remembered it was tied up in a bun, and gave a sigh, tugged it out of the knot and let it fall around her. A small shake of her head followed, and she sent a look at the small group. "What was her name?"
One of the Medi-Wizards looked at her, slightly upset. "You sent the woman to work here and you didn't even know her name?"
She swallowed, carefully, levelled a look at the woman infront of her, ignoring the look in her eyes. She had probably not been on the job long, or had not worked with many suspicious deaths. The others were carefully avoiding looking at either of them as they did their work. "No." She said finally, biting her tongue a moment. "No, I did not know her name. My job is to find dark wizards, not keep tabs on caretakers. Now, what was her name?"
"Melissa Ashbury." It was quiet, almost too controlled, and Ana turned and walked away before the woman lost composure again. She would read the detailed analysis of the site and victim, later.
She added the name to an imaginary list, checking off the woman as dead, by unknown circumstance, bleeding from the head, found in Malfoy Manor. She would do her own research, but right now, there was a man waiting downstairs for her. She stopped along the way, tagged another Medi Wizard standing outside a door, inquired as to Narcissa Malfoy's condition. "She's resting comfortably. We gave her a cup of tea and some brandy. She should be fit to question in the morning." Morning would have to do, she supposed.
The manor was built more like a castle, and more of a dungeon then anything. It reminded her of the Tower of London, when she had taken a vacation there with her family when she was young. Cold, damp, and full of unpleasant memories. It made her draw her robes a little more tightly around her when there was no one around. It also made her quicken her pace back to the room where the man was waiting.
His face had not changed any, but she noted that the rug beneath his boots was quite scuffed. So the man had a nervous twitch, even if he did not show it in public. She closed the door behind her again, moved across the room to pull a chair over to him, sit, and stare. He met her eyes and sat almost too still.
"Your mother is upstairs, resting in her room. I will not submit her to questioning until tomorrow morning."
It made him relax visibly, his shoulders slumped slightly - though he still held his head high and back straight - and he loosened his hands from the arms of his chair.
"Now, I need to take you back to the Ministry. There are some questions that need to be asked and I should not do them here." She paused, cast a look at the closed door. "There should be a Portkey ready for us." She stood without waiting for him, drew her wand from her robes and waved it at him, urging him to stand. If it surprised or bothered her that he did stand, but also turned and proffered his hands, she said nothing. With his hands bound at his back, and her wand returned to her pocket, she laid a hand on his arm, guided him towards the door. She had decided long before she reached it that Draco Malfoy was not responsible for this. Wether it was the fact that he was a much smarter man then this murder, or the fact that it was simply a feeling in her gut, she did not believe he had killed Melissa Ashbury. Still, she would not tell him that. She had been wrong before, and could be now. Besides, a known Death Eater was neither innocent nor truly free. He had probably been brought into custody before, but nothing had stuck. He was a slick man, and this would slide right off him, as well. She caught a whiff of his smell as she pulled open the door, saw a flash in his eyes. Far too slick, too composed. But, was that a slight bit of worry, too? "Your mother will be taken care of here, Mister Malfoy. I will decide if I will bring her to the Ministry tomorrow, after reviewing her condition."
There. There was all that cool confidence. She had been like that, once. Had believed nothing could touch her, that everything would be alright. "Nothing will be the same, Mister Malfoy. I suggest you don't smile while you're at the Ministry."
The steps just outside the front door looked cool in the morning light, though she had little time to think on that. The young Enforcement member was rushing up the pathway, waving one hand wildly as he stumbled across the uneven ground. "Miss Nigels! You-you need-!"
The young man did not finish his sentence. Tripping on the first step, Ana swiped what he held in his hand away before his face smacked into the hard stone. She ignored him, absently stepped back as he raised his head and shook it, before he realised blood flecked the front of his robes and the steps. Draco stared dangerously down at his spotted shoes.
It was a letter. Unfolded, ready for the world to see, she looked up at the boy, noting the horror in his eyes, she observed he had obviously read it.
"Oh fuck," was all she said when she finished reading.
We are legion.
We ask for all sins to be repented. We choose the innocent as examples, the corrupt as justice. We will be obeyed. Melissa Ashbury was an innocent. There will be others. We have no demands. We are legion.
Purity will be obtained.
She carefully pried her hand away from her stomach, reached out for Draco's arm, pulled him straight, held him there. He had seen the letter. There would be no other reason for hooded eyes. Swallowing, she shook the letter, shoved it roughly inside her robes, stared down at the boy infront of her. "Who delivered the letter?"
He had managed to control the spurting of blood from his nose, mended it with a quick spell. His robes were not yet cleaned of blood, however, and he looked slightly pale. "I... I don't know. It was just sitting there, at the gates. I was sent to see if the Portkey had arrived, and it was just lying there. Just there... between the gates. Does this... does this mean there'll be more?" She shook her head slowly, agitated. Obviously new to the force, as he was speaking of evidence infront of the prime suspect. She realised she was chewing her lip, released it, jerked her free hand towards the gates. "Go. Wait at the gates until we arrive. Clean up your robes, and shut up. Not a word to anyone, or I'll make sure you don't have a job in the morning. Got that?" She barely waited for a nod. "Your name?"
His swallow was clearly audible. "Davis, Ma'am. Philip Davis."
"Good. Philip?"
"Ma'am?"
"Hope - by Merlin - that I don't find you on the scene of any more of my cases. Now go. Run."
He did run, hitching up his robes and running flat-out towards the gates. He was quickly lost in the moors, leaving her alone with Draco, to turn her hard stare to him, purse her lips. "Now. Would you prefer me to Obliviate you, or will you simply promise to speak of this to no one?"
Draco Malfoy looked quite sober as his eyes drifted to where she had stuffed the letter. It made her blink when a smug look appeared on his face, as if it belonged there. He lifted his eyebrows. "What letter?"
"That'll have to do," she said quietly, jerking his arm forward and descending the stairs, deliberately pulling him straight down into the small pool of blood left by the blundering officer. She did not look back at the footsteps the man left behind, but she tightened her grip on his arm just in case he slipped and pulled her along with him. Besides, a good way to vent anger was to leave finger impressions on a suspect's arm. She suspected that was what was causing the slight tightness in the man's eyes as she slowly walked him down the path to the gates of the grounds.
*
She returned home tired that evening, threw her files on the table and moved to the wall, infront of a picture hanging precariously on a bent nail. In the picture stood herself, and the real Sahra, posing infront of the Hogwarts express, all dressed up in their Ravenclaw robes, waving. Sahra had her arm around the smaller Ana, who was pushing her glasses up her nose with her other hand. With smiles as wide as either had ever known, they were preparing to board the train for their final year of school. The Prefect's badge glinted in the bright sunlight from Ana's robes, and Sahra's wand peeked out from her pocket.
Ana traced her fingers along the simple wooden frame, pursing her lips. To be that young again, and, oh, just to smile. It made her heart break just a little bit every time she looked at it. Instead of lingering, she lifted the frame off the nail, sat on her bed, and pried the backing off. Tumbling down into her lap were papers, and a photograph. She pressed her fingers to her lips as she carefully laid them all out on her bed, pulling her legs up under her. The photograph was old, beginning to yellow at the edges. Half a dozen people stared up at her, posing dangerously, eyes glinting with determination.
Gently, she poked at the tiny chest of her own reflection, and the much younger woman peered up at her. Beside, a tall, white-haired man winked, and carefully pulled back on his severe look. Quickly, though, she set the picture down, lifted a small scrap of paper that looked only moments from falling apart, it was so ripped and worn. She did not need to read the scrap to know what it said.
The Prophecy is destroyed, but safe. As is the boy.
Sirius is dead.
That was all the note had ever said, and it still brought tears swimming their way into the back of her eyes. Again, fingers pressed into her lips, and she carefully drew in a shaky breath. She found the picture again, looked down at the grim faces. The picture had been taken soon after she had received the letter.
Staring up at her was a newspaper clipping, thirteen years old, but charmed so it would never fade nor wear away. The face was gaunt, dirty, and a slight manic look danced in the man's eyes.
"Oh, Sirius," she managed, before hurriedly gathering up the paraphanelia and carefully putting the picture frame back together. She had been known as Anara Warren in those times, reporter for the Daily Prophet, member of the Order of the Phoenix, recruited just after Voldemort's second rise.
She had met Sirius, however, nearly three years before her recruitment, in a small resort in Trinidad, just after the man had first escaped from Azkaban.
And had died not long after him. She had gone in a blaze of glory, she liked to think, having lured a half dozen Death Eaters into the Daily Prophet, barring the exits, and burning the building to the ground. Two had been dead before the fire licked at the hem of their robes, consuming them, and she had had to crawl to the Portkey set up for her escape.
She had not left in one manageable piece, but she had been determined to follow the plan through to the end. Spending four months in St Mungo's - under the name of Sahra Nigels (As Sahra had suffered her attack at around the same time), she had slowly recovered from severe burns and the various curses laid upon her. And once she had recovered, she took on the tests to become an Auror and joined the Ministry under her assumed name.
And had been hunting and killing ever since.
"Good morning," she returned, waited.
He wasted no time, diving in headfirst as he appeared to be shuffling through some papers. "Your presence is required at the Malfoy Manor as quickly as you can manage, Miss Nigels. As it was by your recommendation that Mister Malfoy allowed a caretaker to watch over his mother, it is the agreement of the heads of the department that you head up this investigation. Mister Malfoy is currently detained in the Manor, awaiting your arrival."
She tilted her head, ever so slightly. "Who killed the caretaker?"
He tugged at the collar of his robe, sent a look to someone else probably in the room. "Well... that we are unsure of, as of yet. Narcissa Malfoy has already been ruled out as a suspect, as she has not been allowed access to a wand in seven years. The current House Elf has already been questioned, but we do not believe it is the perpetrator, either. Priori Incantatum has been preformed on Mister Malfoy's wand, as of seven o'clock this morning, and that has been ruled out, although we will be taking the wand to do further studies." He seemed to realise he was not breathing, and did so in a loud, wheezing gasp. "If you would be on your way, Miss Nigels, once you arrive you will be filled in of the details."
She wasn't sure if she should sigh or if she should smile. She had been bored silly with interviews and paperwork, but dealing with the dead was not fun. Nor was it too much of a change of pace. It was her job. Whether she was hunting them down, or hunting their killer down, she was always right in the middle. Sending one last longing look at her cup of tea, she fetched her wand from beside her bed, tied her hair up into its usual bun, and Apparated.
The man did not look happy at all. A young-looking member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad was standing rather uncomfortably infront of the drawing room, and jerked himself straight when she approached. All she did as she brushed by was wave him off with a flick of her wrist, drawing the door closed behind her.
Draco Malfoy was seated in the same chair he had been in three weeks ago, his elbows on his knees, and his chin rested on the gathered fist his hands had moulded into. He seemed lost in thought, thin lines creasing the skin around his eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, leaned against the door, and waited until he lifted his eyes. She could see the reaction, there, dance across his face and pass into memory. "Mister Malfoy."
"Am I under arrest?"
It was a simple enough question, but a thin smile slid across her face and settled on her lips. "That depends, Mister Malfoy, on what you've been up to today."
"Nothing," he said quietly, then again loudly.
There was a knock at the door, and Ana stepped away just in time to avoid being smacked in the back of the head when the door opened. The nervous- looking wizard was peering about the room, then staring at her, sweat beading his upper lip. "The medi-wizards have arrived, Miss, they'd like your company upstairs."
She nodded, pushed the door closed on the boy's face, and turned back to the young Malfoy. "Where is your mother?"
He straightened, drawn slightly from his self-pity. "They took her away. I think she's still here somewhere, but I don't know where."
A Malfoy unsure of himself. It made her eyebrows jump up on her forehead before she managed to control the reaction. Perhaps he thought his mother was in danger, too. She would have to consider that. Or, perhaps, he had thought that in killing the caretaker, he would have his mother all to himself again, and this revelation stunned him. Then again, Malfoys were never known to be stupid. She would have trouble with this one. "I'll be back for you in a few minutes," she said, "and don't go anywhere."
Death was never glamourous, pretty, or even peaceful. Even passing in the night from nothing but old age was not kind. Death was never kind, but death was also her business. The caretaker, a lovely young woman, approximately twenty five in age, lay sprawled on the floor of the adjoining sitting room to Narcissa's bedroom. She lay face down, face turned towards the door, looking mildly surprised. Ana instantly ruled out Avada Kedavera, even before she bent down to turn over the body.
A thin trickle of blood ran from the woman's mouth, nose, eyes and ears to stain the intricate Persian carpet on the floor. It made her shake her head, even as she looked up at the small gathering of medi-wizards, who looked as baffled as her. "Check for marks on the body, check for anything she might have eaten or drank in the last twenty four hours. The house-elf should remember."
She doubted there would be marks on the body. It just didn't seem the way for someone like this to go. And if Malfoy had indeed killed her, he would not leave marks. The House Elf would admit to poisoning the woman, if it indeed had, but she doubted that as well. She tugged her fingers through her hair before she remembered it was tied up in a bun, and gave a sigh, tugged it out of the knot and let it fall around her. A small shake of her head followed, and she sent a look at the small group. "What was her name?"
One of the Medi-Wizards looked at her, slightly upset. "You sent the woman to work here and you didn't even know her name?"
She swallowed, carefully, levelled a look at the woman infront of her, ignoring the look in her eyes. She had probably not been on the job long, or had not worked with many suspicious deaths. The others were carefully avoiding looking at either of them as they did their work. "No." She said finally, biting her tongue a moment. "No, I did not know her name. My job is to find dark wizards, not keep tabs on caretakers. Now, what was her name?"
"Melissa Ashbury." It was quiet, almost too controlled, and Ana turned and walked away before the woman lost composure again. She would read the detailed analysis of the site and victim, later.
She added the name to an imaginary list, checking off the woman as dead, by unknown circumstance, bleeding from the head, found in Malfoy Manor. She would do her own research, but right now, there was a man waiting downstairs for her. She stopped along the way, tagged another Medi Wizard standing outside a door, inquired as to Narcissa Malfoy's condition. "She's resting comfortably. We gave her a cup of tea and some brandy. She should be fit to question in the morning." Morning would have to do, she supposed.
The manor was built more like a castle, and more of a dungeon then anything. It reminded her of the Tower of London, when she had taken a vacation there with her family when she was young. Cold, damp, and full of unpleasant memories. It made her draw her robes a little more tightly around her when there was no one around. It also made her quicken her pace back to the room where the man was waiting.
His face had not changed any, but she noted that the rug beneath his boots was quite scuffed. So the man had a nervous twitch, even if he did not show it in public. She closed the door behind her again, moved across the room to pull a chair over to him, sit, and stare. He met her eyes and sat almost too still.
"Your mother is upstairs, resting in her room. I will not submit her to questioning until tomorrow morning."
It made him relax visibly, his shoulders slumped slightly - though he still held his head high and back straight - and he loosened his hands from the arms of his chair.
"Now, I need to take you back to the Ministry. There are some questions that need to be asked and I should not do them here." She paused, cast a look at the closed door. "There should be a Portkey ready for us." She stood without waiting for him, drew her wand from her robes and waved it at him, urging him to stand. If it surprised or bothered her that he did stand, but also turned and proffered his hands, she said nothing. With his hands bound at his back, and her wand returned to her pocket, she laid a hand on his arm, guided him towards the door. She had decided long before she reached it that Draco Malfoy was not responsible for this. Wether it was the fact that he was a much smarter man then this murder, or the fact that it was simply a feeling in her gut, she did not believe he had killed Melissa Ashbury. Still, she would not tell him that. She had been wrong before, and could be now. Besides, a known Death Eater was neither innocent nor truly free. He had probably been brought into custody before, but nothing had stuck. He was a slick man, and this would slide right off him, as well. She caught a whiff of his smell as she pulled open the door, saw a flash in his eyes. Far too slick, too composed. But, was that a slight bit of worry, too? "Your mother will be taken care of here, Mister Malfoy. I will decide if I will bring her to the Ministry tomorrow, after reviewing her condition."
There. There was all that cool confidence. She had been like that, once. Had believed nothing could touch her, that everything would be alright. "Nothing will be the same, Mister Malfoy. I suggest you don't smile while you're at the Ministry."
The steps just outside the front door looked cool in the morning light, though she had little time to think on that. The young Enforcement member was rushing up the pathway, waving one hand wildly as he stumbled across the uneven ground. "Miss Nigels! You-you need-!"
The young man did not finish his sentence. Tripping on the first step, Ana swiped what he held in his hand away before his face smacked into the hard stone. She ignored him, absently stepped back as he raised his head and shook it, before he realised blood flecked the front of his robes and the steps. Draco stared dangerously down at his spotted shoes.
It was a letter. Unfolded, ready for the world to see, she looked up at the boy, noting the horror in his eyes, she observed he had obviously read it.
"Oh fuck," was all she said when she finished reading.
We are legion.
We ask for all sins to be repented. We choose the innocent as examples, the corrupt as justice. We will be obeyed. Melissa Ashbury was an innocent. There will be others. We have no demands. We are legion.
Purity will be obtained.
She carefully pried her hand away from her stomach, reached out for Draco's arm, pulled him straight, held him there. He had seen the letter. There would be no other reason for hooded eyes. Swallowing, she shook the letter, shoved it roughly inside her robes, stared down at the boy infront of her. "Who delivered the letter?"
He had managed to control the spurting of blood from his nose, mended it with a quick spell. His robes were not yet cleaned of blood, however, and he looked slightly pale. "I... I don't know. It was just sitting there, at the gates. I was sent to see if the Portkey had arrived, and it was just lying there. Just there... between the gates. Does this... does this mean there'll be more?" She shook her head slowly, agitated. Obviously new to the force, as he was speaking of evidence infront of the prime suspect. She realised she was chewing her lip, released it, jerked her free hand towards the gates. "Go. Wait at the gates until we arrive. Clean up your robes, and shut up. Not a word to anyone, or I'll make sure you don't have a job in the morning. Got that?" She barely waited for a nod. "Your name?"
His swallow was clearly audible. "Davis, Ma'am. Philip Davis."
"Good. Philip?"
"Ma'am?"
"Hope - by Merlin - that I don't find you on the scene of any more of my cases. Now go. Run."
He did run, hitching up his robes and running flat-out towards the gates. He was quickly lost in the moors, leaving her alone with Draco, to turn her hard stare to him, purse her lips. "Now. Would you prefer me to Obliviate you, or will you simply promise to speak of this to no one?"
Draco Malfoy looked quite sober as his eyes drifted to where she had stuffed the letter. It made her blink when a smug look appeared on his face, as if it belonged there. He lifted his eyebrows. "What letter?"
"That'll have to do," she said quietly, jerking his arm forward and descending the stairs, deliberately pulling him straight down into the small pool of blood left by the blundering officer. She did not look back at the footsteps the man left behind, but she tightened her grip on his arm just in case he slipped and pulled her along with him. Besides, a good way to vent anger was to leave finger impressions on a suspect's arm. She suspected that was what was causing the slight tightness in the man's eyes as she slowly walked him down the path to the gates of the grounds.
*
She returned home tired that evening, threw her files on the table and moved to the wall, infront of a picture hanging precariously on a bent nail. In the picture stood herself, and the real Sahra, posing infront of the Hogwarts express, all dressed up in their Ravenclaw robes, waving. Sahra had her arm around the smaller Ana, who was pushing her glasses up her nose with her other hand. With smiles as wide as either had ever known, they were preparing to board the train for their final year of school. The Prefect's badge glinted in the bright sunlight from Ana's robes, and Sahra's wand peeked out from her pocket.
Ana traced her fingers along the simple wooden frame, pursing her lips. To be that young again, and, oh, just to smile. It made her heart break just a little bit every time she looked at it. Instead of lingering, she lifted the frame off the nail, sat on her bed, and pried the backing off. Tumbling down into her lap were papers, and a photograph. She pressed her fingers to her lips as she carefully laid them all out on her bed, pulling her legs up under her. The photograph was old, beginning to yellow at the edges. Half a dozen people stared up at her, posing dangerously, eyes glinting with determination.
Gently, she poked at the tiny chest of her own reflection, and the much younger woman peered up at her. Beside, a tall, white-haired man winked, and carefully pulled back on his severe look. Quickly, though, she set the picture down, lifted a small scrap of paper that looked only moments from falling apart, it was so ripped and worn. She did not need to read the scrap to know what it said.
The Prophecy is destroyed, but safe. As is the boy.
Sirius is dead.
That was all the note had ever said, and it still brought tears swimming their way into the back of her eyes. Again, fingers pressed into her lips, and she carefully drew in a shaky breath. She found the picture again, looked down at the grim faces. The picture had been taken soon after she had received the letter.
Staring up at her was a newspaper clipping, thirteen years old, but charmed so it would never fade nor wear away. The face was gaunt, dirty, and a slight manic look danced in the man's eyes.
"Oh, Sirius," she managed, before hurriedly gathering up the paraphanelia and carefully putting the picture frame back together. She had been known as Anara Warren in those times, reporter for the Daily Prophet, member of the Order of the Phoenix, recruited just after Voldemort's second rise.
She had met Sirius, however, nearly three years before her recruitment, in a small resort in Trinidad, just after the man had first escaped from Azkaban.
And had died not long after him. She had gone in a blaze of glory, she liked to think, having lured a half dozen Death Eaters into the Daily Prophet, barring the exits, and burning the building to the ground. Two had been dead before the fire licked at the hem of their robes, consuming them, and she had had to crawl to the Portkey set up for her escape.
She had not left in one manageable piece, but she had been determined to follow the plan through to the end. Spending four months in St Mungo's - under the name of Sahra Nigels (As Sahra had suffered her attack at around the same time), she had slowly recovered from severe burns and the various curses laid upon her. And once she had recovered, she took on the tests to become an Auror and joined the Ministry under her assumed name.
And had been hunting and killing ever since.
