Author's Note:

            Hey. It's me. I'm back. Sorry for the delay, but, as I warned in June, I moved and it set me back. Then all my drafts and notes were inadvertantly erased during a computer exchange in August, and I acquired the most massive case of writer's block I have ever endured. That said, here's the first update in awhile. They may be slow in the coming weeks, both because I'm very busy with real life, and because I'm still fighting a block, but hang in there. They will come. Thank you for your patience – it's greatly appreciated. Please let me know what you think (via review or email) as you read on. Things are about to get a little wonky. I think you'll like it. – 40

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            Malfoy Manor glittered like a jewel in the cold October night.

            Dark and foreboding had been the décor of choice at the manor for centuries. Generations of Lucius and Draco's ancestors employed shadows as the cloak for their nefarious activities, and it was the rare (and stupid) wizard who approached the manor for a closer look. Surrounded by trees, the house perched atop a low hill overlooking fields once rich with farm crops. Malfoy Manor stood as a blackened shrine to its owners' inner malice.

            Except, of course, on the night of the Autumn Gala.

            Since the very opening of the manor, the Malfoys had hosted a party for the elite of the wizarding world on the third night before Halloween. Dressed in their finest robes, the pure-blood aristocracy gathered for drinks, dancing, and merriment at the Malfoy's expense. As deep as wizard culture ran with grand and ancient tradition, few of the rituals carried the excitement of the Autumn Gala. An invitation signaled a family's blessed position in the wizarding world; a snub marked a pure-blood family in social decline.

Families that fell out of favor with the Malfoys would wait with baited breath for the signature Malfoy owl. If it failed to arrive, it was not unheard of for the family patriarch to abase himself before the Malfoy family and beg their forgiveness. Some spent an entire year paying tribute to the Malfoys in the faint hope of receiving another invitation. Such pleas rarely failed. Lucius enjoyed making them beg.

            Not everyone begged, of course. The Weasleys had never been, would never go, and, Molly Weasley would explain to her questioners in a most convincing tone, would "rather hunt dragons without wands than get an invitation to that dreadful place."

            Minister Fudge hardly shared that attitude, Lucius mused as he slipped in between his guests, deftly ignoring their hails and congratulations. The Minister, dressed in his finest robes and carrying a half-empty glass of blue liquid topped by an umbrella, stared overtly at a young witch in gauzy robes. The witch returned the stare with a seductively coy smile. Lucius clapped him on the shoulder, causing Fudge to half-turn around. His eyes stayed on the woman, and Lucius could see the flush of several drinks in his cheeks.

            "Lucius! Fabulous party, absolutely fabulous. As always, of course."

            "Thank you, Minister," Lucius said with his most oily grin. "It's good of you to come. I shudder to think what would happen if most of these people didn't have your lead to follow into my home."

            "Nonsense," Fudge said, his eyes finally turning back to Lucius, "absolute rubbish. This is the absolute high point of the social season. Who could miss this?" He gestured to the crystalline decorations cast by Narcissa's expert decorator. A full-size replica crystal dragon floated above the dance floor, and a dozen ice sculptures dotted the buffet tables. "Your wife does such a magnificent job, I doubt another event in the whole world is so richly appointed." Fudge's eyes flicked onto the young witch briefly. "The sights are splendid."

            As they should be, Lucius thought with a glance at the girl himself, for what I'm paying that whore to be here. The witch in question would very shortly make the Minister's personal acquaintance, along with two of her friends. The three of them and their predecessors had taken a sizable chunk of the Malfoy fortune, but his influence with Fudge was more than worth the price. And if he ever gets cold feet, well, those pictures move in the most interesting ways.

            "I'm glad you're enjoying things, Cornelius. If you need anything at all, I am of course your humble servant."

            "Thank you, Lucius," Fudge said absently; the witch had taken Lucius' cue and started drifting towards them.

            "If you'll excuse me, I must mingle or risk upsetting Narcissa."

            "Of course, of course."

Fudge wandered away towards the witch; Lucius spun and knifed his way to the buffet. Attempting to assuage his growling stomach, he devoured several delightful cheese pastries and a handful of bacon-wrapped shrimp. He knew that he shouldn't. Eating such things risked Cissa's wrath, something he truly sought to avoid, but he liked them too much. One night a year my health can take a bloody holiday, he thought, glancing around for his wife. She was nowhere in sight as he scarfed down a final shrimp. Now, to business. I wonder … damn. That fool.

            The fool in question, a silver-haired man of middle years resplendent in an expensive maroon robe, had carved out a small pulpit for himself on the other side of the dance floor. As Lucius approached, he saw his guest holding court with a number of blue-haired Malfoy cousins, all from the elderly wing of his family that Cissa loved and he thought composed of doddering imbeciles. Hanging on to the man's arm was a striking brunette dressed in a shimmering aqua robe. Her attention and glassy eyes were raptly attuned to her companion's story, a small piece of which Lucius caught as he walked up to them.

            "So there I was, completely without my spell book or a stitch of clothing, the man's wife naked beside me, and his wand pointed at me in a rather unpleasant fashion. How I survived the night, well," he offered a practiced smile, "it simply is not a tale meant for such company."

            Several of the older women blushed and all of them tittered as the man began a flourishing end to his story. Lucius reached out and cut him off, apologizing to the ladies as he did.

            "Oh, Lucius, must you take him? He's just such a darling, and the stories he tells!" One of the women reached up and touched her forehead with the back of a wrinkly, liver-spotted hand. "So exciting, why, I just don't know if I can live without hearing the end of this one."

            "I'm sorry, Mildred my love, but I must borrow him for just a second."

            "Must you?"

            "I'm sorry, dear, but I must."

            "Oh, very well," his cousin said with a sigh. "Do hurry back," she told the man with a smile.

            "You won't even know I'm gone, madam. Why, you'll barely have time to freshen your drink." He smiled, revealing white, even teeth. "Now, if you beautiful ladies will excuse us?"

            The old women swooned as he and Lucius retreated to a darkened corner. The brunette followed along, her vacant stare suggesting that she had consumed nearly as many drinks as Fudge.

            "Are you insane?" Lucius hissed when they were alone. "I said you should come and meet me quietly. Where do I find you? At the center of the gossip circle of wizard Britain."

            "Come now, Mister Malfoy, just a bit of sport. Nothing to be concerned about," the man assured him. "Besides, we have little to discuss. The files you provided were most helpful."

            "You understand the plan, then?" Finally, Malfoy didn't add.

            "A brilliant one, Lucius old mate. Bloody brilliant. Don't worry, everything will be taken care of. This costume ball will be a perfect shroud for us. As long as the doll is where your man said, I'll have no problems."

            "Just make sure the two girls die. If you fail to accomplish that, my master will be extremely displeased."

            "I understand, believe me," the wizard said, not quite hiding the fear creeping into his voice. "The Weasley girl and the Granger girl. All part of the plan. Though I must say, I find it … a bit unseemly."

            "How you find it is not your concern. Should you fail, though, my master's vengeance will be temporarily refocused. I doubt you will fancy the direction."

            Ethan Rayne gulped audibly. Voldemort's wrath he could certainly live without. Possibly only without.

            "No need to worry your master. We'll take care of everything."

            Lucius eyed the women skeptically. She smiled back with the lazy smile of the thoroughly inebriated. "Are you certain your assistant will be up for it?"

            "I assure you, Lucius, that both Miss Madison and myself are quite capable of carrying our special brand of chaos into Hogwarts. They won't know what hit them."

            The yawn twisted Hermione's head, catching her hair on the pin and yanking it hard. The sharp pain burned her drowsiness away in a flash.

            "AAH!"

            Cordelia cringed. "Sorry! Sorry! That had to hurt. Sorry, Hermione."

            Hermione reached up and tentatively rubbed the injured spot. The touch forced an involuntary wince.

            "That's alright, Cordy. It wasn't your fault. I'm just overtired and standing in one place is perilously close to putting me to sleep."

            "Nothing like a good snarl and yank in the hair to wake you up, then. Too many late nights with that hunky boy who's always staring at you?" She slid the pin into Hermione's bun and patted it down.

            "Cordelia," came Willow's warning voice from across the room, "don't be giving her any, y'know, ideas." The redhead looked up from the dresses laid out in front of her and added a glare.

            "Oh, please. She's how old, sixteen, hon?" Hermione nodded, blushing at the conversation but not wanting to tell Cordy to stop. "When I was sixteen…"

            "You were doing things so not for the ears of youth."

            "I don't think Hermione needs any helpful ideas, 'least not from the way she's glowing red," Ginny said with a laugh. She had three pairs of shoes in front of her, along with swatches of the dress fabric. The enchantment for coloring the shoes refused to behave. Dawn watched her work, silently marveling at the girl's adept wand movements and wishing that being a Key would have let her do spells. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had tested her several times. The monks had made her all muggle.

            "Can we talk about something else?" Hermione asked hopefully. She thought about mentioning Neville somehow, but she stopped herself. It would only embarrass Dawn, and the last thing Hermione wanted to do would be to make Dawn as awkward around Neville as he was around her.

Instead, she hurriedly said, "Besides, I've barely seen Ron the last two weeks."

            "What's that about?" Cordelia slid another pin into Hermione's bound hair. Her nimble fingers deftly snatched up the few remaining loose strands as she reached for another.

            "She's Giles' research girl," Willow replied for Hermione.

            "Ah, doing slave-like legwork for a watcher. Why does that sound familiar?"

            "You used to help Willow and Buffy, right, Cordy?" Ginny asked.

            "Duh. I was only, like, the linchpin of the operation."

            "Right. We never would have made it without your stirred-not-cooked food and handy put-downs," Willow said, her tongue firmly embedded in-cheek. The new, mature Cordelia was a big hit with her, and the girl had only been there for an hour. She had insisted on helping the girls get ready in person this year, and Giles had wangled invitations for all of Angel Investigations, as well as Anya and the Weasley twins. Buffy had tried to beg off, claiming the need for a full night's sleep, but Willow and Xander convinced her to come anyway. Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, and Angel had joined Cordy for the trip.

            She let Willow's jibe go by. She had hit the girl with enough of them over the years. "Yeah, I read my share of monstery books and carved my share of stakes."

            "An' now you get visions?"

            She nodded, tilting Hermione's head slightly to check the side angle. "Uh huh."

            "What's it like?" Hermione asked. "I mean, is it like prophecies, where the words appear in the prophet's heads? Or is it more of a movie in your head?"

            "Not really. More like an acid flashback without the floaty feeling."

            Ginny raised both eyebrows; Hermione asked what that meant.

            "No acid here, Cordy," Dawn explained.

            "Sure we have," Hermione interjected, looking puzzled, "though I can't say I know what kind of a flashback it could give you."

            "She means LSD."

            "Oh. No, none of that."

"It's sort of … um, blurry, the picture part anyway," Cordy went on, "and I can just, like, feel stuff about what's going on." She shrugged. "It's kinda hard to explain. It does have the added bonus of making my head feel like it'll explode like a melon, though."

            "S'not my idea of fun," Ginny said.

            "Uh uh. You guys being witches sounds like way more fun."

            "Useful, too," said Ginny. She flicked her wand and each pair of shoes took on a new color. "A'right! Perfect! Shoes are ready."

            "So are the dresses," Willow said.

            Cordelia glanced over. "Nice, Gin. Much better than my last few Halloween costumes. A word to the wise, girls: as good as it sounds, don't dress up like a cat. Unitards are way more binding than they look."

            Ginny and Hermione traded a confused look as Willow and Dawn burst out laughing.

            "These … costumes … much better," Dawn gasped out. "Non-bindy, and you nailed that shimmering green color, Ginny."

            "Thanks," the Weasley girl replied. "I looked at the tape enough times in that smelly dungeon of Spike's. I should've got it right, I reckon."

            "Theme costumes," Cordelia said, shaking her head. The idea had been a good one, and she had a pale green dress of her own. "Gotta love 'em."

            "All right, Harry?"

            "Who picked this theme?" He jammed the pointy gray wizard's cap onto his head, wondering what his hair would look like when he took it off. "I look ridiculous, Ron. What wizard wears a gray hat?"

            "Nah you don't. No more than the rest of us. 'Sides, the girls like it, right? Wish I knew how to use this, though." He held up the longbow he had borrowed from Grey.

            "Sure, and they'd give ya arrows ta use it with, too, because everyone should carry weapons in school," said Seamus with a laugh. He and Dean both wore sets of borrowed Quidditch robes with full padding, which Seamus thought made him the spitting image of a professional. Harry and Ron thought otherwise, but kept it to themselves. "I like it. As themes go, s'a good one."

            "You've seen the movies?" Harry asked.

            "Me dad's a muggle, remember? He gave me the books."

            "Good?" Ron asked skeptically. Seamus nodded. "So this Legolas guy, he's not a … um, y'know … dork?"

            Seamus shook his head. "Nah, he's cool. Gandalf's better, though. He's a right bad-ass. I reckon he could give Professor Dumbledore a few minutes o' pause. You lucked out, Harry."

            "Could be worse," Neville said from across the room, where he was tightening the last straps on his fake set of armor, "you're not dressed up as a dwarf, after all. This axe is heavy."

            The others laughed; Seamus walked over and strapped it to Neville's back tightly. "Jus' shed the thing when ya get in, Neville. You'll be a'right. Can't dance with yer date with it, anyhow."

            "Shouldn't be too big a problem," Neville grunted. His only consolation was that of all the people in Lord of the Rings attire, only he and Dawn were dateless. He figured he would have ample chance to talk to her, since everyone she knew was in their party. Unlike the week before, that prospect wasn't making his stomach spin. "When are Fred an' George getting here, Ron?"

            "They're gettin' Alicia and Angelina first, an' comin' from there."

            The door to their dorm swung open and Xander leaned his head in. "You guys ready yet? The girls will be down in a few minutes." The hilt of a sword stuck out over his left shoulder, and the chain armor glittered in the candle light. Willow had appropriated them from one of the many suits lining the Hogwarts halls. "Grey's already down there waiting for us."

            The boys looked each other over one last time and nodded.