Chapter Fifty-Three:

"Astonishing," Lucius observed, setting the brandy glass down on his desk. "I expected you to notice that weeks ago." Narcissa concealed her surprise at his calm reaction. "Honestly, why else would we incapacitate a hostage so totally? And surely you didn't miss the pregnancy showing…Draco tells me the girl is on the slender side." Narcissa let her cheeks redden slightly, trusting her husband's bravado to explain things for her. "Or have you got her up to the shoulders in blankets out at the Hollow?"

"It's freezing there and you know it. I've had three sweaters on." The look of sullen sheepishness covered Narcissa's delight at hearing her prison named. Godric's Hollow! Of course! "Has it occurred to you that those downers and nutrition-drinks you've got her on might be bad for the kid, not to mention liable to kill her?"

"Actually, I've guaranteed they aren't. The potions are prepared from Severus' own notes."

"And how did you get Severus into this?"

"I didn't." Lucius smirked coldly. "It was impossibly simple, my love, considering that many of the same potions were in use during your pregnancy. His notes on the Tyler bint's Wolfsbane supplied the other two. To put it as bluntly as imaginable, Narcissa, I'm a plagiarist."

"In addition to your other little idiosyncrasies, I can't feign surprise," the blonde observed smoothly. "How about a spy? Heaven only knows what that mad wolf is doing to Bellatrix."

"You're worried?" Lucius' face almost softened as Narcissa mentioned her sister. "That werewolf is under Dumbledore's thumb. She couldn't-"

"And she is also working in close quarter with Severus. His loyalty isn't as cemented as before. He may slide. I think you need to get a pair of eyes in closer to both of them."

"I have, darling." Lucius's smile was, for once, more affectionate than leering. "Our son."

"How poetic," a cold voice hissed from the doorway. "Sending your son and heir to keep an eye on your right-hand man to make certain your-ill-concieved bastard doesn't corrupt him. Nice."

Lord Andrew Catesby was, to put it mildly, not a nice person.

"It's nearly as sentimental as forcing your youngest child to marry her rapist," Narcissa spat back. "Really, one wonders why pure blood is becoming as passè as your robes."

"Maria is my only daughter. The line had to be continued."

"Oh, truly, considering your eldest left home for god-knows-where and your son married Muggleborn. Have you a reason for giving my house-elves more work than usual in disinfecting the place?"

"I sought the aid of your husband, Lady Malfoy, not some garrulous jibes from you," Andrew snarled. "It is hardly astonishing that the Tyler bastard is, considering your dubious charms no longer outmatch that poniard you possess in place of a tongue."

"Insult my wife again and you will find yourself defecating from a bifurcate orifice, Andrew."  ('Dear gods,' Narcissa thought, 'he's still got such a sexy voice…') "Speak your plea and then depart."

"My manor was raided last night, and not by the Ministry. Only my closest friends knew the entrance that was used."

"Are you accusing me or my household?"

"Lucius, only you, my wife, Nott, and Bellatrix knew the way inside."

"Under the third oak to the left in the second row of your orchard?" Narcissa inquired sweetly, relishing Andrew's glare of shock. "More people knew than you think."

"And considering my wife was busy at the time of the raid, I believe you had better look elsewhere for a body in which to plant a stake."

"I know whom I seek," Andrew hissed. "It is Elena."

"She's likely been dead for years." Lucius smiled amusedly. "How long could a witch survive without a wand among Muggles?"

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"Mel, when did you graduate?" Tonks inquired.

"I didn't."

"Oh. Well, where did you go to school?"

"Is your hair violet today?" the radio announcer asked, squinting.

"Yeah…the blue was getting a bit dull."

"Looks nice. Are you going to the movies tonight?"

"You bet. Cass promised me I could make popcorn."

"What are you seeing?"

"Something with Kathleen Turner. Are you going along?"

"I d'know, I've got some paperwork to do." Mel grinned. "I did make the arrangements, though."

It should perhaps be mentioned that 'movies' was a code word, and not the only one.

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Severus had rehearsed his lines and the 'choreography' to the point where he woke up mumbling what he was supposed to say. He would have his secret 'prop' under his robes, just in case, and a Tyler brother –not sure which- was taping a wire to his arm.

"Now the mike picks up everything, and the-"

"Tyler, I'm aware of how these devices work. Your sister-in-law's been making me watch James Bond movies all week." The werewolf pushed back his black hood, revealing shocky hair that was browner than John's and lighter than Smokey's. Ringo.

"Okay, but what does the toe-button do?"

"The what?"

"Cassie added it half an hour ago. Did you not get the memo, so to speak?" As the youngest brother smirked, Severus sighed.

"Alright, Ringo, tell me what it does."

"See for yourself. Curl your toes and press down on the sole of your shoe with your middle one." Severus complied. A blade shot out, turning his black boot into a sort of foot-dagger.

"Why?"

"In case you have to kick somebody in the balls," a sardonic voice replied. Severus looked over his shoulder, only to meet with a hideous sight: Cass had a rapidly darkening black eye, assorted gashes about the face, and what looked like a nasty head wound running blood down her neck. "I was going to put one in your other boot, too, but there wasn't time."

"Sweet peace, Cassandra, what happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing, actually. S'part of the costume. Lick." Cass got some of the blood on her fingertip and held it near Severus' tongue. He licked, then stared.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Strawberry jelly? No. But that is one of the main ingredients of this particular variety of fake blood. The only problem is that I keep eating it." The werewolf licked her artfully 'bloodied' knuckles and smiled. "Had the worst craving for strawberries lately, Sev, why do you suppose that is?"

"Likely nerves," Ringo suggested absently, missing the knowing glances passing between his sister-in-law and Severus. They had decided to keep the secret until after the mission. "I always find myself wanting a turkey sandwich before combat."

"Dobby has Per'fessor Cassie's food!" The house-elf appeared with a tray that seemed nearly twice his size. "Turkey sandwich and crisps, double Reuben on rye with extra mustard, dish of strawberries, and steak with onions."

"Cass, you remembered?" Ringo was amazed. "Dobby, does that turkey sandwich have pickle relish and mayonnaise?"

"No…Dobby was told to use Miracle Whip."

"You sainted elf! I didn't think you could get it in this country!" Ringo picked up the sandwich and took an ecstatic bite as the house-elf scampered off. "Ahhh…"

"In the name of Merlin, don't do a Meg Ryan right here and now…" Cass began delicately nibbling the strawberries. "Here, Sevvy, get your steak. And you can't get Miracle Whip in this country unless you know someone."

"Let me guess, the mysterious Melanie Watling?" Severus smiled, cutting off and taking a bite of steak. "She seems so familiar…"

"Why, have you been watching Julia Roberts movies, too?" Ringo asked. "She looks like her, only prettier." Cass stopped eating mid-strawberry and glanced at Ringo, a most peculiar expression on her face. "And she's so nice."

"Well, when she isn't avoiding Tonks." Severus took a sip of the Guinness Dobby had brought for the guys. It was strange that Ringo didn't notice –Cass was drinking Coke instead of her usual pre-combat screwdriver or Scotch. "I think the pink hair bothers her."

"That, or she's just busy," Ringo defended. "She gets along fine with me."

"Oh, that she does," Cass observed with a faintly-concealed smirk, picking up the Reuben. Ringo set down his sandwich and stared at her. "What?"

"You're eating mustard," the werewolf accused.  "You hate mustard."

"Does she?" Severus glanced at the sandwich in his coworker's hand. "Well, a Reuben does sort of require it, or so I'm told."

"Severus, this is the woman who will not touch a jar of it at home for fear of contamination."

"I'm in one of my moods, Ringo," Cass lied glibly. "Besides, this kind is rather tasty."

"No way. Who invented the zipper?"

"J. Whitcomb Judson, 1858."

"Who was the points leader in 1987 for the Penguins?"

"Mario Lemieux, of course."

"When did Armstrong take his moon walk?"

"Er…Michael Jackson did the moonwalk, Ringo." The boyish werewolf sighed with relief.

"Yep, it's Cass alright. But why the mustard all of a sudden? You really detested that at the last picnic."

"'Doth not the appetite alter?'" Severus quoted. "'A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.'"

"Yeah, look at Sevvy. He likes fried chicken now."

"Ar'right," Ringo grinned. "I am being a paranoid twit."

"Undoubtedly."

"But it is kinda odd. I mean, first the strawberries, and in November of all months, and then the mustard…I'd swear you were a Dark spy on Polyjuice or…" Ringo's eyes went wide.

"Stop speaking now," Cass commanded. "I've got a war to fight. We'll discuss this anon."

"But…" Ringo was grinning broadly and looked like he might at any second leap up and do the Werewolf Endzone Dance of Joy, until he remembered Severus. His eyes went even wider. "You knew?"

"Oh, come now, Richard," Severus replied aristocratically, setting down his fork as delicately as he would a flower. "I caught her trying haggis a month ago, and vomiting beforehand. Elementary."

"You better watch out during the mission tonight, then, Sis," Ringo cautioned. "Are you sure 'Dora couldn't fill in for you?"

"Don't make me kill you."

"Alright. Don't forget your guns."

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