Disclaimer: I do not own any of Ms. Rowling's wonderful creations. Nor do I own any of the various songs that may be presented throughout the length of this fanfiction. The various songs will be named at the end of the fic, as well as in the chapter within which they lie.

A big thanks and a shout out goes to:

The Gryffindor Drummer – Thank you.

screwtheperfectlife – Yeah...but you'll see that- later on especially- she has to be cold and heartless.

goldenlioness1102 – Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy this story.

Alenor – I'm glad you like it.

Applekissis – Yeah, it is. I've read one similar to it before and I decided to adapt the idea.

Well...here is your last update before I continue working on my Christmas Present for all of you. No, I shan't tell you what it is. I will tell you, however, that it saddens me to do it at the same time that it makes me happy. Nothing more...my lips are sealed! Well...in this case, my fingers are stilled. ...Heaven help me, I've become a poet...

Yours,

Allison

Chapter 2

Kira stood silently between Lucius and Voldemort, watching dispassionately as Asabi and one of the deatheaters employed their great love of pain to extract information from a spy that the Order of the Phoenix- she had been told much of the Order by Lucius just prior to this summoning- had had the gall to send undercover in a desperate attempt to gain information. La Dama de la Muerte had been in England for three weeks; however, and though she had been careful to keep a low profile, many people had found out that she was in the country and were hunting her. Harry Potter, for one. Xue was on an errand for Kira, concluding the last of their business in England, and the three women would be leaving immediately after Kira and Voldemort were both satisfied that they had gained all of the information from the wench that they could.

"Gryffindor's seal is...is in Potter's hands..." The young woman, no older than Draco, gasped out. Kira felt Voldemort still at this piece of information, though she said nothing and gave no indication that she'd noticed.

"Where is he keeping it?" Voldemort hissed, reaching up to pet Nagini as if assuring himself that she was there.

"I don't know." Pansy Parkinson wailed, tears and blood mingling on her face. Voldemort looked at Kira, who had stepped forward at the young woman's reluctance.

"Asabi." The other woman stopped immediately, holding a hand out to prevent McNair from striking Pansy again. She shrugged off her cloak and turned. Lucius was there immediately, taking it from her. La Dama de la Muerte shifted her billowing sleeves, tying them up to keep the blood from them. Voldemort studied her with an appraising look as she tapped her wand to her hair, tying it back in a fiercely tight braid that was coiled up...the locks that normally fell to the middle of her back twisted and curved into an elegant style to keep it both off of her back and out of her face. She then tucked her wand away somewhere in the folds of her robes and reached for the Cat 'o' Nine Tails held towards her by her el Sirviente de la Muerte, her servant of death.

"Muggle torture methods, my dear?" Voldemort asked.

The smile she gave him as those dispassionate blue eyes met his made Voldemort tremble...whether with desire or fear, he knew not. "Not necessarily, Lord Voldemort." She said, lifting the weapon up. Just before the metal spikes at the end of each tail of the whip was a tiny metal container much like a snake's venom sac. "Each contains a different potion, many of which I'm sure your potions master will be able to identify the moment that they take effect. Some, however, are native to Spain...so he might not recognize them quite so readily." With this, she lifted the elegant, beautiful weapon...

...and pulled the truth from Pansy's sobbing, screaming, begging lips.

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Kira closed her eyes as she knelt over a random toilet of a random truckstop emptying the last of her stomach's contents. She had cast a silencing spell on the stall as soon as she had entered, dropping to her knees and vomiting. The saddest part of it all wasn't that she was throwing up after what she'd done to Pansy Parkinson before Voldemort had finally granted the girl death...it was that she, Kira, didn't feel guilty. She wasn't repulsed by what she'd done, what Pansy had had to deal with.

It was part of what she had made herself. It had taken the constant use of the time turner throughout her entire year's worth of studying and developing in Spain. Part of making the reputation that she had needed to force Voldemort to seek her. She had become a sociopath.

Wiping her mouth, she pulled out the mirror that was her Witch's Glass and studied her features. A few cosmetic charms later and she emerged from the stall in a flurry of robes, imperious look firmly implanted on her face.

"Where are we going next?" Asabi asked, pulling out the portkey that they would need. Kira didn't answer for a long moment. Her Los Sirvientes de la Muerte didn't care, though...they were used to the icey silence. Kira paused before looking towards the mansion on the hill that overlooked the town, giving it a distasteful glance and turning back to the women.

"We're going home for the moment." She stated. Asabi and Xue glanced at each other. Home, as far as the word went, was where the rest of los Sirvientes de la Muerte lived. Australia, for those who did not know where the 'House of Death' was. Few knew of its location...one, of course, had been added to that list just recently. Kira and Voldemort had agreed to trade a servant, each, to be 'ambassadors'. Which, in all truth, was simply Dark Wizard Speak for 'spies.'

Kira would, of course, choose her own spy when they arrived at the House of Death. Or 'La Casa de la Muerte.' It would likely be one of the several sirvientes that had accompanied her from England, a year before, to be subjected to the most rigorous form of training known to wizardkind. The Spanish Academy of Death was one that only the most dedicated witches and wizards could survive. It taught its students how to kill...how to remove themselves from all feelings...and it did so in record times. Hermione Granger wouldn't have made it into the academy, let alone through all of the tests that one was required to take before graduating. Kira Bronwen, however, had done what she had needed to. She had been given this mission...the chance to avenge her parents, Dumbledore, Harry's parents...everyone...and there was no way that she was going to blow it.

She knew that her blue eyes were eerie, because she was taken aback almost every time she looked in the mirror. The eyes were the one thing that she couldn't manage to cover with a spell while she was conversing with Harry, Ron, and Minerva. Oh, she could make them brown again...give them the golden flecks that Ron had always pointed out...but she couldn't force them- no matter how many spells she tried- to show emotion. This was a bit of a problem, as Hermione Granger had tended to give away slightly too much with her eyes. Kira gave away nothing at all.

She knew what would happen at the end of the war. Oh, they'd call her a hero and parade her around under Harry's protection, but that wouldn't be enough. Not only would the crowd not be satisfied, but Kira herself would not be satisfied. Being caged...stuck at Hogwarts- for, indeed, that was whe they had done to Severus Snape- teaching imbeciles when she'd once commanded power enough to make adults bow before her? It was a sure way to break her spirit. She'd rather french kiss a dementor than live life cooped away to grow old, her magical abilities unworked. She enjoyed the power that she commanded. Indeed, she thought that it was a rather fair trade for selling her soul to the devil to have a way to end the war. Not that she regretted it. If anything, she regretted most her inability to regret...knowing that she had slaughtered exactly thirty muggles and half again that many muggleborns in Spain...and that she was joining with Evil Incarnated. She did not regret any of it.

Nor was she afraid to die. If anything, she knew, death would be a mercy for someone such as her.

She remembered when Minerva McGonagall had approached her with the mission. Harry had forbid Ginny to do it...saying that he was looking out for her as a brother would...and Molly Weasley had died the year before. Oh, there were other women in the order...but they were all married or otherwise attached, and that had left Hermione. No doubt Harry would have forbidden her to go on the mission...would have extracted the same promise from her lips that he had from Ginny's...but she had been gone before he could. She had disappeared while he was on a mission. It was cowardly of her, yes...but it was also because the mission couldn't afford to wait much longer.

When she had become Kira Bronwen inside as well as out, she wasn't sure. The Academy of Death was a cruel, cold place. Working to get through it in one eighth of the time that was normally required had forced Kira to put aside her morals...it had been a very, very long six months. And then she'd had to begin establishing a reputation for herself...Asabi and Xue were, luckily, just slightly younger than her. She was twenty-three, while they were both twenty-two. They had entered the academy at the age of eighteen...as was custom...and had graduated with Kira. They had first bowed to her, calling her La Dama de la Muerte, when the Headmistress of the Academy...a Vampiress named Dove...had honored Kira upon her graduation...congratulating her for being not only the first in her class...but having graduated in record time.

She had become the prodigy of the Academy. The embodiment of Death's servants.

"Kira?" She glanced over at Asabi, who was still waiting for her. Xue was scouting around to make sure that it was safe to apparate. They were Death's Handmaidens, insofar as that went. They were also the ones that Kira trusted to kill her the moment she lost sight of what she had to do in this war. Headmistress Dove had been very firm with her instructions. Voldemort had mocked Death...claiming that he could defeat it. Death was answering by sending its incarnate and handmaidens to insure the shattering end of the war.

"I'm thinking of our mission." Kira admitted, wryly. "What it's going to cost all three of us."

Xue had entered at this time, and she and Asabi looked at each other for a moment before Asabi spoke...her english was better and while Kira's chinese was passable, it was better to speak in English most of the time. "Death is a demanding Master." Asabi said, softly. "You were not in the Academy for quite long enough to truly accept- in your heart- this fact. Even Headmistress Dove must accept that Death will come for her at one point in time, demanding his payment for her powers." She and Xue exchanged another glance.

"I know." Kira said, softly. "And I do not fear our Master. There are times, however, that I wish that he had chosen another to be His blades."

"It is a heavy burden you bear." Xue said in her heavily accented English. "We cannot fathom how it must feel...and yet that is why we are here. To make sure that you have the strength to carry out our Master's biddings."

"Thank you. Both of you." Kira said, quietly. The two handmaidens knew that they were blessed indeed to hold her confidence in such a way that she would admit to her fears in their presence. Kira was a very, very private person. "We'd best be going. I need to be back in England by Saturday night." They nodded, as one, the three women touched the portkey and disappeared.

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"POTTER!" Draco's voice rang out through Grimmauld Place as he stormed in, pausing only to shoot an icey-eyed glare at Old Mrs Black's portait...shutting her up before she even drew breath to scream.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Harry walked out of the kitchen, where he'd been talking to Ginny and Ron about Hermione.

"We've got a fucking problem." Draco looked positively green. "We've got a big fucking problem."

"Language, Malfoy..." Ginny said slowly...but it was more a phrase spoken to allow Harry, Ron, and Ginny to get their bearings with the appearance of the Slytherin-turned-Spy.

"Calm down..." Harry said, soothingly. "Ron, get Malfoy some brandy." The redhead nodded and moved to the well-stocked liquor cabinet, pouring a glass of brandy and moving to hand it to Draco, who chugged it.

"Another." He murmured. Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged and nodded. When Draco was finally sipping slowly on his fifth glass of brandy, the green edge had been replaced with a much healthier pinkish glow. "We've got a problem." Draco repeated.

"Yes. That's why we're waiting." Harry said, patiently. "For you to tell us."

"Parkinson fucking got herself caught." Draco murmured. The others in the room...especially Ron, who was in a hidden relationship with the other spy...turned pale.

"Is she..?" Harry began, as Ron poured himself a glass of brandy and chugged it.

"Yes, she's dead." There was a defeated slump to Draco's shoulders. Ginny, being the motherly figure that she was, moved to him and began massaging his shoulders. "And that's not the worst part." Draco groaned. It was clear to all of them that he was dreading telling them.

"What is it, Draco?" Harry asked, hoping that using his first name would calm the Slytherin enough that he would be able to speak clearly.

"La Dama de la Muerte." Draco spat.

"The Spanish Killer?" Ron asked, confused.

"There have been rumors of her presence in England..." Ginny said, slowly.

"Oh, they're more than rumors, Weasley." Draco's forced sob-laugh held no humor. "She was fucking staying at my manor. Father's fucking enamored with her."

"Oh fuck." Harry said, sitting down hard. "Draco...what happened to Pansy?"

"She was keeping quiet through McNair's torture...La Dama de la Muerte, or Kira Bronwen as she's called, had brought two other women with her. One of them...a black woman so dark that I swear she was nearly purple-tinted...excelled in torture." Draco had regained his green pallor by this time, staring miserably at the brandy in his hands. "Fucking...I don't know how Pansy managed to stay quiet as long as she did." He groaned. "McNair and the woman...Asabi, she's called by Kira...were at it for a good hour before Pansy finally broke."

"What did she tell him?" Ginny asked, but Harry held up a hand. He sensed that if Draco didn't get it out at his own pace, they would get nothing at all from the obviously distraught blonde.

"She told the Dark Lord that you had Gryffindor's Seal." Draco said. "When asked where it was, she regained her nerve and lied. McNair and Asabi...the demon of a woman...were about to continue their methods when La Dama de la Muerte stepped forward." Here, he stopped and gave a short heave...nearly losing the precious brandy that was all that his stomach contained...clamping one hand to his mouth. Harry and Ginny stood back, sensing that if he were to be comforted, they wouldn't get another coherent word out of him for a considerable timespan. "I've seen torture before, Potter..." Draco said, grimly. "Hell, I've even done it...but the things that Kira did...Pansy told everything. She...oh god..." Draco collapsed into sobs, only to be drawn against Harry's strong chest. He clung to the Gryffindor with all of his might, reminded once more as to why exactly why he had turned against Voldemort.

Nobody deserved what Pansy had had to go through.

Without warning, Harry stiffened against him. Draco felt one of Harry's arms move down and into his pocket, pulling something free. Across the room, Ron was doing the same thing, looking grimly at the knut in his hand. Harry met his eyes solemnly for a long moment before nodding. Ron nodded in return and moved once more to the liquor cabinet, pulling free a pair of mirrors and a dreamless sleeping potion. Handing the potion to Harry, he moved upstairs to the Attic, where the base of the Order was set up.

Harry joined him in short order, leaving Ginny to watch over the sleeping blonde, and took his Witch's Glass from Ron, activating it. Moments later, Minerva's face, pinched and pale, appeared. After a long moment, cold brown eyes peered through the second side of the screen.

"POTTER!" Hermione shrieked. Harry flinched. "PROTECT YOUR FUCKING SPIES BETTER THAN THAT! GOD DAMN! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT POOR WOMAN HAD TO GO THROUGH!"

"W-who?" Harry asked, playing dumb. It was the wrong thing to do, because the cold brown eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Harold James Potter. Do not play games with me! Parkinson, that's who I'm talking about! God damned, don't you teach your spies occulmency at the very least?" Hermione was, obviously, just as shaken up as Draco had been.

"Why didn't you help her?" Ron asked, accusingly.

"What did you expect me to do, Ron? Put my entire mission in jeopardy for one spy? I couldn't even spare her any pain!"

"Hermione..." Harry said, trying to avoid an argument. "Did you see the woman called La Dama de la Muerte?"

There was a long silence before Hermione spoke. "I did. She was powerful, and she was frightening." Her eyes were empty as she met Harry's. "I'm glad to see that not all of your spies are as foolish as Parkinson was. However...do us all a favor and protect my cover by not telling anyone- even Ginny- about the fact that I'm undercover. I will obliviate you if I must, Harry." She looked grim. "This cover was too hard to win to allow you to blow it by shoving your foot in your mouth."

"But..." Ron began.

"Miss Granger is right, Mr. Weasley." Minerva spoke for the first time. "And if- from what I've gathered from her outburst and your accusations are true- then we no longer have Miss Parkinson to spy for us...and we will need any information that Hermione can gather. It is safer...for both her and Draco...if he does not know about her.

"But..." Harry said. He sighed, lowering his head. "Alright, Minerva...but you know that I'm not good at keeping things from Draco."

"Yes...well..." Minerva's lips curved upwards. "You'll just have to learn."

None of them noticed the calculating look floating behind the dispassionate brown eyes of the fourth person in that conversation.