Crimson Dawn
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the canon Harry Potter characters present in this work.
Prologue
His eyes were crimson.
"My friends, I welcome you warmly."
There were few wizards so privileged that the Dark Lord might greet them as friends; they numbered seven, as did most trifles with which Voldemort deigned to deal.
"Please refresh yourselves. Treat my home as if it were your own. Tonight is a night for celebrations."
Severus Snape, as slayer of Albus Dumbledore, merited the honour of attending many such festive occasions. Although the shambles of Ministry and Order may have cast him out, he would have a place in the houses of the most potent pureblood families forever more.
"Bella, you are as lovely as ever."
"My thanks, Lord."
"Narcissa and Draco: your presence always appreciated at such gatherings."
There were few strong enough to resist the call of the Dark Mark. The midnight skull is no siren's call, but a Greek fire. Ever it burns, but never so strongly as when one attempts to douse the darkness.
"Fenrir: I trust you appreciated my gift. Children, after all, are beyond mere price."
The tongue flits across salacious lips.
"There are few things I cherish more, Lord."
Indulgences are their own flames, ever chasing those who would be sated.
"Ah, Rodolphus and Rabastan have arrived as well. So our gathering is complete."
Some without fire are burned: reduced to scraps of charcoal. The flames are oft an untrustworthy forge. Yet a few resisted the searing tongues. He, Severus Snape, was not formed of an ice which fires would melt. His lot had always been endurance: one moment or a thousand infinities. It remained unwise to try his patience.
"My Lord, why are we here? What is this celebration?"
He who once might have been Tom Marvolo Riddle smiled.
"Scarcely a month ago, Severus, you played an integral part in winning this war for us. Tonight we sweep up a persistent piece of resistance to the inevitable."
Having seized the attention of the room, he continued with flourish.
"You see my friends, tonight there will be death."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
A middle-aged wizard, entirely bald except for a few tufts of thinning red hair, attempted to step into the flames once more. For some reason, the Ministry fireplace was refusing to connect with his home. That was odd; he had not even reached the wards or been prompted for a password yet.
"Arthur, Arthur!"
The man turned with a frown. Tonks was usually not so foolish as to parade their connection in such a locale. Even if Voldemort had returned, The Ministry was not friendly towards those it suspected of working for what remained of The Order. As far as the Ministry knew, they did not even know one another.
"Auror Tonks, is there something the-"
Gasping for air as if she had just run a marathon, the often clumsy metamorphamagus cut in abruptly.
"It's the burrow. The wards were triggered about an hour ago. Arthur, it's gone. The entire house was burned to the ground. He sent up the dark mark"
Arthur Weasley went entirely pale.
"What happened to Molly and Ginny? Are they-"
"They're gone." Tonks appeared nearly prepared to cry at this pronouncement. "We found the bodies, and-"
"No."
The tone was that of a man spent. In one moment, an age of worry lines seemed to appear, as the Ministry department head's shoulders drooped. Arthur had never looked so old.
"I suppose then, that I had best tell the boys."