Chapter Fifty-Four: The Raid on Malfoy Manor
Lucius surveyed the ranks of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers, who were dressed in their black cloaks and metal masks. He could tell who was who, both by where they stood, and by a little bit of well-placed, barely-noticeable Legilimency. Glancing at young Vincent Crabbe, he heard a thought:
"Shoes…don't…fit…"Yes, that would be Crabbe, all right. He glanced at Severus Snape and was somewhat displeased by what he heard:
"But if you don't add the dragon's blood before the aconite, then what? I'll have to try that when I get back, perhaps with mugwort as a thickener…"
Drat him, his mind was always halfway down a cauldron these days, instead of paying attention to what Lucius might begin to say. A quick glance toward Narcissa, who was hiding behind a tapestry, revealed something decidedly unpleasant:
"As Sabrina stared upward into the longing eyes of Baron LeGume, she felt within the yearning throes of-"
She had a book back there! Not even pretending to pay attention! And it sounded like quite the smutty one…wait. Narcissa was not supposed to be listening in anyway. What if she did spend the night reading about throbbing manhoods and waves of passion? It didn't matter. Unless she had discovered a new and disturbing way of blocking her mind to him, Lucius didn't mind. He also wondered faintly if Narcissa pictured this LeGume as blond.
"Gentlemen, we have a decided problem," Lucius announced, beginning the meeting and quite abruptly yanking Severus from his rather complicated suppositions involving what would happen if he left out the dragon's blood altogether. "Catesby's manor was raided last night, as you know, by the American detachment of Aurors and a few co-agents."
No reaction. Damn it all, Lucius expected at least a murmur, some sign that they were awake in there… Finally he shouted:
"Something must be done about that mad werewolf and you all know it!"
Crabbe, seeming to wake up, raised a thuggish hand. Lucius sighed. "Yes, Vincent?"
"I got the Per'fessor."
Lucius, genuinely surprised, watched as the Crabbe boy led the other Death Eaters out to the front steps, where a carriage, drawn by black horses, was indeed drawing up to the drive. It sounded as if a wild panther who knew swearwords was trapped inside.
Tyler?To the astonishment of the gathered Voldemort-supporters, the carriage halted and several black-robed guards emerged, holding a beaten, bloodied and loudly protesting female by the elbows and wrists. The guards wore the steel masks of Death Eaters, so Lucius assumed Crabbe had enlisted several newly-initiated school friends for the capture.
"Well done," he complimented calmly. "Macnair, Nott. The prisoner." He snapped his fingers and his men moved forward. Walden Macnair looked especially menacing, and Lucius remembered that the werewolf had raided his manor not a week ago. Macnair had also been the one to beat her –was it a year ago? Almost. Those damned Americans had been entrenched at Hogwarts for almost two years now, and tonight it would come to an end.
"Gonna get me, Macnair?" the werewolf asked, sounding absurdly casual for the circumstances. For an instant Lucius wondered how she could recognize Walden, then realized the physique likely gave his old cohort away. "I wouldn't do that."
Oh, for Merlin's sake, there were Death Eaters holding both her arms under theirs. Her hands couldn't reach the wand-holster at her belt, even if they hadn't already taken it away. Why was she so stubbornly, haughtily offering Macnair lip? Foolish girl.
Lucius heard Macnair's low chuckle first, then the shots. It had taken less than a second, and now the werewolf was standing over the body of Macnair, her right hand's gun pointed at Nott's heart. The left hand's was smoking, and the American blew it away like a candle.
"Told you," was her arrogant comment.
"Grab her!" Lucius cried. What were they thinking? She would shoot them next!
No, she wouldn't.
Each and every one of Crabbe's assumed Death Eaters threw off the cloaks and masks, revealing the smirks and denim uniforms of American Aurory Special Operatives. Lucius grabbed Crabbe by the shoulders, intending to call him an idiot, curse him, anything-
-and saw the grinning face of Nymphadora Tonks.
"Uncle!" she greeted cheerily. "Enjoy the performance?"
"Serpensortia!" Severus cried, from Lucius' left. Malfoy was pleased to see his friend's curse surround the Aurors with pythons; even if the Operatives did dispell them and Tyler shoot through them within moments.
"Severus!" Tyler cried furiously. "Zu Verrater!"
"Zie heist Idiot, Amerikanische Wolfe."
"Buch dich!"
Lucius watched in mute fascination as his friend and bastard daughter swore at each other. Severus raised his wand to cast a spell, only to hear a shot and see a splintered bit of wood in his hand a second later. A bullet whizzed by his own head, so closely he could feel it ruffling his hair, and Lucius ran. Even his own wand was no match for five, perhaps more Aurors, not if they had guns.
Narcissa was still in the alcove; the one place where Apparating would work while the house was under attack. A word, and they were gone. Surprised, she clung to him, and Lucius realized where he had taken them –the chateau in France.
He hoped the Ministry wouldn't decide to 'help' the Americans in the search, as he could more easily bribe Fudge to let him off if the raiders were American –or he could have before Fudge was arrested. Either way, Umbridge hated the Yanks as much as her predecessor, and Albus Dumbledore didn't quite run everything yet. Lucius also hoped that Severus and perhaps Pettigrew escaped safely. Past that, he didn't really care. He had more money, in various places, and the chateau was Unplottable. It would be best to wait.
And perhaps, he could win his beloved back.
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"Blood and gall!" The Aurors watched as their commander tore open the drapes of an alcove behind a tapestry. "The Malfoys are gone. Disapparated." Cass indicated two of her brothers-in-law: "Tyler and Tyler, search the house."
"Yes, Colonel!"
"Tonks, you have accounted the prisoners?"
"Yes, Colonel, four Death Eaters, including Macnair, Nott, and an unidentified non-Briton."
"Pettigrew?"
"No, sir –ma'am…how the hell do you address superiors in your country?" Tonks frowned. Cass shrugged.
"Fucked if I remember. Watling, any house-elf resistance?"
"None."
"Good. Tell them that their master has sold them." Mel looked surprised and Ringo frowned.
"Wouldn't that qualify as looting or wrongful continuation of bondage?"
"We're on British soil, so the elves can be considered property for this purpose. As to the looting…" Cass arrogently drew a pawful of Galleons from her pocket and tossed them into the alcove. "Bought and paid for."
"Whom shall I say has purchased them, Colonel?" Mel inquired.
"Tell them…oh, hell. Tell them they were purchased by Colonel C.A. Tyler of the American Aurory as a gift for Staff Sergeant Hermione Granger. She'll be amused by the sentiment once we get her back."
"Colonel Sis, you are evil," Ringo observed, chortling.
"Quite so, Lieutenant. Would you and Sergeant Tonks start inspecting the library?" Cass turned back to Mel. "And while you debrief the elves, Sergeant Watling, kindly confiscate any contraband peanut butter and apples you may find in the kitchens." Damn weird cravings. "And some tea, if they have anything decent."
As her men (and women, as the politically correct section of her mind pointed out,) darted off in various directions to case the joint, it occurred to Cass that this whole commanding-officer schtick was not so bad as she had thought it. As soon as Embedded War Journalist Clearwater and Embedded War Photographer Creevey showed up, she could have wonderfully smug photographs taken of herself and the Aurors on the scene.
It was an Aurory tradition, when raiding a Dark manor, for the CO and officers to take a picture smoking the Dark wizard's personal cigars, drinking the most expensive wine, lounging on the chairs, playing…oh, she had long looked forward to the spectacle of her team in a major Dark manor. All Aurors did. Normally, the local papers would show a traditional, Elliot Ness-style picture of the raiders doing proper search work, yet the smirky, 'fun' pictures were a fondly held custom.
After sending word via cellular walkie-talkie to John, who was back at the Machine, to ward down the place, Cass began deciding the most opportune posing sites. The library was a definite. Perhaps the Aurors could all wear paper hats whiley the postured outrageously. Paper hats were so childish and lighthearted, especially in the stern, dignified library. Donning skirts and doing the can-can on Lucius desk seemed so… no, it was perfect. She wondered if Narcissa would mind lending a few from the closet. Ringo and Paul looked so good in skirts.
Absently, the Colonel picked up a book and began to flip through it. Ah, the Malfoy family photo album. Draco as a baby; good god, was he cute! His fifth birthday… Cass gasped in spite of herself.
Standing next to what could only be the preschool incarnations of Maria Catesby and Blaise Zabini was a ten or eleven-year-old girl. Her nose, eye shape, and hands were completely familiar, even if her hair, eye color and weight were different. Cass checked the caption, written in Narcissa's even script, and discovered her friend's secret.
Mel Watling had been Elena Marie Catesby.
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"Severus…"
"What is it?" The Potions professor had a grim look as he prepared the six glasses of Wolfsbane potion, and John knew he was missing Hermione. Perhaps the newspaper would help. John set it before his friend and smoothed the wrinkles out. Severus looked over the cauldron at the headline:
'Malfoy Manor Raided –Dark Articles Found!'The picture was not quite so dignified. All seven male Aurors were wearing frilly skirts and dancing an athletic can-can on the Malfoys' dinner table, while Cass, Mel Watling, and Tonks waved beer steins and mischievously slipped money into their waistbands. Each and every person in the picture was wearing a paper hat.
"So, you want a sedative for your wife?"
"Severus, I think you could lighten up a bit. As soon as we find Narcissa Malfoy, she can lead us to Hermione. Meanwhile, we are either tracking or holding every Death Eater Cass has shot. Apart from Malfoy, Pettigrew, and yourself, we have just about everyone save Moldy-Voldy himself tagged."
"And what if they decide we're getting too close?"
"They wouldn't kill her, Severus."
"How can you know? What if they…" The Professor clenched his fists. "Why would they want her anyway? She's not brewing potions or doing charms for them, and they haven't offered or accepted a hostage switch. Why?"
"That's the other reason why I came, Severus." John took a deep breath before continuing. "Among Lucius' books and papers were many works on primogeniture, reincarnation, heredity… all par for the course for a Death Eater, but there was something else." Severus stared at the werewolf in horror.
"You think they might want to use her for…?"
"I won't allow that and neither will Cassie. Even if the Machine can't find her, it can cast a spell on the fifty-mile range in which Narcissa has been for the past few weeks."
"What spell?"
"Standard anti-ceptive. If nobody in the United Kingdom gets knocked up for a few weeks, who would notice at this time of year?" Severus raised an eyebrow quizzically and John explained: "Football, Severus. Britain's going to the World Cup, looks like."
"Don't you Yanks call it 'soccer'?"
"Yes, but just the other day Cass asked for tea and biscuits. Your language is rubbing off. Why do women get weird cravings, anyway?"
"Probably to see if their mates love them still despite increasing waistlines. Is she showing at all yet?" John's eyes lit up proudly.
"Only a little. Her one pair of jeans don't quite button. Severus, I can feel the baby's heartbeat already. It's fast."
"Yes, that's a good sign."
"There's this other thing, sort of odd, but…" the werewolf blushed a bit. "Exactly how much do you know about this kind of thing?"
"More than is logical. Quite a lot of potions deal with this particular area of human activity, so I'm about as knowledgeable as Poppy."
"Then you know all the usual side effects?"
"More or less."
"Well…" John was by now quite scarlet. He bent and whispered in Severus' ear. The professor almost laughed.
"Yes, that's perfectly normal! After all, they're supposed to be functional in another few months."
"I hadn't considered it that way," John admitted.
"I expect you're enjoying it, though?"
"Oh, rather, though Cassie's pissed to the ninth circle of hell that her bras don't fit." John smiled wistfully. "It'd be nice if we got Hermione back in time for the baby to be born. Cassie and I've always had trouble with choosing names."
"She was joking earlier about naming a boy baby 'Severus.'" Snape shuddered, but John remained cheerful.
"Oh, she wasn't joking. Cassie's dead serious." Utterly missing his friend's terrified glance, John continued. "She said you checked and found out what kind it was."
"Yes, the test tells me that automatically. Do you want to know?"
"That's the thing. I'm not sure if it's proper."
"Muggles do."
"Well, yes, but my mother knew by intuition that we were boys. Will Cassie be able to-?"
"I don't know, but if it's a quality unique to werewolves, then I would imagine that at some level she does know." Severus finished chopping the daisy roots and slid them from the cutting board into the cauldron. "Are you worried that you'll be disappointed?"
"Severus, I could care less what gender my child is." As suddenly as he had made this statement, however, John looked at the back wall of the Potions room and sighed. "I'm lying, of course. I would especially like a girl."
Severus seemed surprised.
"I thought most men wanted sons."
"Well, to hell with most men. I'd like a baby girl."
"Dare I inquire why?" John sighed tenderly.
"Severus, you've met my wife. Another like her? Not to mention daughters…they're just so sweet and loving, even when they grow up. Cassie's a daddy's girl in many ways, and I want what her father has."
"What will you name her?"
John didn't even pause to think.
"When Cassie wrote for the school paper, 'Michelle' was her nom de plume. I've always liked that name, and Cassie can't bear the idea of 'Cassandra the second,' 'cause a girl called junior sounds… it's just sort of weird." The werewolf frowned at the thought, then realized that Severus had used a definite article. "You mean…?"
"John Tyler, in mid-June you and your wife Cassandra will be blessed with a baby girl. I can't guarantee her appearance, but she is already a werewolf and will likely be exceptionally long at birth, despite what can only be described as a near lack of maternally bequeathed height genes."
John didn't even blink at the fact that Severus had just called Cass short. His face was such a perfect portrait of abject joy that Snape almost turned away from him. Yet quite abruptly, the expression slid from his face and the werewolf's eyes went vacant. Severus started in surprise. "John?"
"BEHOLD," the Seer intoned in a voice not his own. "THE THIRD OF THE HEIRS IS NOW FORETOLD. GUARD WELL THE FIRST, FOR SHE SHALL HAVE NO TRUE BROTHER. THE SECOND REMAINS UNKNOWN UNTIL THE FIRST IS ALREADY OF AN AGE, TO BE RAISED IN INFAMY WITH THE THIRD AND FIRST. WHEN THE THIRD PASSES HER SIXTEENTH YEAR, THEN SHALL THE LAST OF THE THREE WARS BEGIN. BEWARE ANY HE WHO WOULD MATE THE SECOND, UNLESS HE BE THE BLOOD UNCLE OF THE THIRD, FOR ELSE SHALL ALL HOPE BE UTTERLY LOST FOR THE LIGHT."
Severus lost no time in writing down the prophecy verbatim. By the time he added a quotation to the end of 'light,' John was himself again.
"So…shall we go up to Hogsmeade, Severus?" The Professor stared as the werewolf grinned. "I saw baby-sized Quidditch robes."
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