Previously in the Darklyverse: The Order reluctantly backed Barty Crouch Jr., running against Lucius Malfoy and interim Minister Albert Runcorn, in the Minister of Magic election. Emmeline discovered Peter's treachery.

xx

March 5th, 1982: Emmeline Vance

The special election for Minister of Magic is just days away, and Emmeline is terrified.

Not for herself, of course: she accepted a long time ago that her involvement in the Order will more than likely get her killed, and after Marlene's murder, she feels like she's just been counting the days, like every breath she takes is a steal. Even if Runcorn or Malfoy wins—and one of the two almost certainly will win—Emmeline is probably safe up until her inevitable death in the line of fire. She's a half-blood, and she won't be the target of whatever bills targeting Muggle-borns the new Minister tries to ram through. Her mum was Muggle-born, but Mum died years ago: nothing they do can hurt her now.

But Emmeline is afraid for Muggle-borns like Mary. She's afraid for Squibs like Arabella Figg and for what a purist regime could do to Aurors like Alice and Frank who have been fighting for equality and Muggle protections all this time. She's afraid that the Order is going to lose this war, and she's afraid for what's going to happen to the country in the meantime, before the resistance crumbles and all hope is lost.

What limited hope she has is dwindling.

She takes the day off work on Friday to go door to door for Crouch, even though he's not whom any of them would have wanted, even though he's got next to no chance of winning. At first, it surprised Emmeline that nobody better threw their hat in the race—that there was no idealist Muggle-born who came forward and tried to change the country—but in retrospect, after Lily did that last time and lost, who would want to expend the energy on a hopeless cause? Sure, everyone in the Order wants to make a difference, but they've got their hands so full with raids that it would be next to impossible to balance Order commitments with the responsibility and time suck that come with becoming Minister. Someone else could have wanted better for Britain—someone outside the Order but honorable, like Kingsley Shacklebolt or even Alice's ex, Dirk Cresswell—but who would want to set themselves up to go down like Bagnold did? Bagnold wasn't even that progressive, and look what happened to her just months after taking office.

By ten o'clock at night, her feet are sore and her soul is weary. In spite of it, she'd keep going all night, if that were what it took—but she doubts that any wizarding families would take kindly to being woken up in the middle of the night to talk about their votes for Minister. Defeated, Emmeline packs away her flyers and the parchment she's been using to poll people for their choices, and she heads for the deserted alley closest to the house she's just come from to Disapparate.

But she's intercepted just as she's pulling out her wand. She's sure she hears footsteps somewhere in the narrow alley and she spins on her heel, looking around, calling, "Hello?" She's got a hand on her wand now, and she knows she ought to just Disapparate before she gets herself into trouble, but she's a member of the bloody Order of the Phoenix: if there's trouble around, if there's a Muggle needing help or a Dark wizard skulking around, it's her responsibility to sniff it out and put it down.

She doesn't have time to react. She doesn't see her attacker, let alone figure out in which direction to throw up a Shield Charm. She doesn't even realize she's being overtaken, because the instant she hears the incantation behind her, the most wondrous feeling of serenity and relief washes over her, and all her cares melt away.

Her wand clatters to the ground, but Emmeline hardly notices it. There are some things that entirely escape her attention—the bag with sheafs of parchment over her arm and the worries that come with it, or, in fact, any of her worries, about Crouch and Voldemort and even Peter—but others she can acutely feel: the sweet smell of the night air, for example, or the way all of the stiff tension suddenly drains out of her muscles, leaving her feeling wholly and entirely relaxed. It doesn't occur to her that she should wonder about the cause of her sudden refuge. Nothing occurs to her at all.

And then comes a Voice—a man's Voice—low and chuckling in the forefront of her mind. Easy there, bitch. You don't want to arouse suspicion. Pick the wand up.

The words hardly register: Emmeline is too caught up in the way that gorgeous, husky Voice sounds, too eager to please It. She crouches down to the concrete and reaches out for her wand. It takes her a minute to find it—it's hard to get her lazy, easy limbs to cooperate.

No, no, no, says the Voice, and It sounds displeased. It fills Emmeline with chagrin to hear It displeased. Drop it, and do it again, faster this time. You need to act normal: that's imperative. We don't want your little friends finding out that you're under the Imperius Curse, do you?

She drops her wand and hastens to gather it up from the ground. Better, comes the response, and with the Voice satisfied again, Emmeline has everything she could ever want. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the words Imperius Curse. Curses are bad, right? The word Imperius sets off a little bell somewhere—but it can't be bad. The Voice can't hurt her. It wouldn't. It's wonderful.

Now, girly, I need you to do three things for me. Can you do that?

Of course she can. For It, she'll do anything. She nods vigorously.

I need you to act normal—that's the most important. Now, I know you feel good right now—better than good, unbelievably good—and when you act normal, you're going to need to behave as if you don't feel good. You need to convince them that you're worried—depressed—miserable. In fact, the worse off you act, the better I'll make you feel. That's the first thing, and it's critical.

She'll do it—she'll find a way to do it. Anything to please It.

Now, for the second thing: on Tuesday night, you're going to go to the polling booth, and you're going to cast your vote for me to become the next Minister.

Who are you, then? Emmeline can't help thinking. She knows she shouldn't be questioning It—it's her job, after all, to to please It—but how can she know how to vote if she doesn't know who It is?

It doesn't answer her, and she realizes It may not be able to hear inside her mind. "Who am I voting for? Who are you?"

Malfoy, It tells her, and the sweet chuckle returns. You're going to skip out on campaigning for Crouch over the next four days, and you're going to cast your vote for Lucius Malfoy. But here's the key: you're not going to tell anyone that you voted for Malfoy, and you're going to tell your friends you campaigned your little heart out this weekend.

She'll do it—it's done.

Here's the third thing: you're going to meet me here, right back at this exact spot, next Saturday—a week from tomorrow. Your precious Order meets on Saturday nights, doesn't it? You're going to come back here as soon as you get out of the meeting, and you're going to report back on everything you discuss. You got that? Repeat it all back to me now.

"I'm going to act normal," says Emmeline in a flat voice, "and I'm going to skip campaigning for Crouch and vote for Malfoy, and I'm going to see you again next Saturday and tell you everything that happens at the meeting."

Now say it again with some emotion.

"I'll act normal," says Emmeline. She's pleased with how concerned she sounds—so far from how she really feels. "I won't campaign any more for Crouch because I'm voting for Malfoy. And I'm coming back here on Saturday to tell you all about the meeting."

Excellent. It's time to Disapparate now. Do it, and do it well.

And then there's a crack and the Voice is gone. She's filled with anguish for a moment—what is she going to do without It?—but she collects herself, reminds herself of her mission, and the sense of peace returns quickly. She's safe as long as she does what It tells her. As long as she does what It tells her, she can have this feeling.

She Disapparates.

xx

"Are you sure you're okay, Em?" asks Alice.

They're at home on Tuesday night after a long day of campaigning—or, at least, that's what Alice thinks. In reality, Alice and all the others had a long day of campaigning, and Emmeline spent the day holed up in the bathroom of a Muggle café in the little town of Burford, staring blankly at the wall of the stall and smiling. She chose the town specifically for its obscurity—there are no known wizards living in Burford, and with its population of barely more than a thousand, there's no reason for any of Emmeline's acquaintances to pop over there and lay eyes on her.

It's hard to remember how to act normal—which in Emmeline's world means acting worried—with the promise of the Voice's return carrying her through every waking moment. She fixes her sad face into position. "I'm fine, Alice. I'm just… the election is tomorrow, and we're going to lose. I can feel it."

She's not lying—she can feel that they're going to lose—but she keeps her delight off her face, carefully tucked away. "You're just… something's off about you the last couple of days, more so than just—what our life has become every day. You look sort of—vacant. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you look…"

And Emmeline is flush with horror because she's failed It: she's failed to convince Alice that nothing is happening. Something glorious is happening, and she hasn't kept it to herself.

She swallows.

"I've been zoning out a lot," she says. There's a wobble in her voice, and she thinks Alice might be—must be—misinterpreting it. "There's just so much happening right now. I'll do better, I promise."

"Em, you—you don't owe me anything. You haven't done anything wrong. You're just… not acting like yourself. I'm worried."

She's about to apologize—ostensibly for worrying Alice, but really for disappointing It—when she feels a flicker of… something. It's something bad, but it's not a consequence of disappointing her beautiful, beautiful Voice. It's—

—the Imperius Curse. She's under the Imperius Curse. She knows what that means, and she—

"Alice," she says urgently. "Alice, I need help."

Alice blinks. "Tell me what's wrong," she replies, just as urgently.

But then Emmeline blinks, and she slips back into dazed pleasure. So what if she's under a curse? The Voice hasn't done anything but make her feel good, has it? With the last few years being what they've been, if anything, Emmeline is grateful for it. "It's nothing," she tries to say, but Alice doesn't look convinced. "I—I need to be alone."

It's safer to retreat to her room. It may be Alice's room, too, but Alice will respect Emmeline's need to be alone, and it will give Emmeline time to collect herself, to straighten out her face and set her story. She smiles weakly and positively runs for the bedroom.

But once she's in her room, for reasons she doesn't fully understand, she pulls a sheaf of parchment from her bag and begins to furiously scribble.

You should be here. Everything feels so good and I'm so afraid I'm going to ruin it. There's Something telling me to act worried, but I'm not worried, and it's making everyone around me worry. I feel better than I have in a long, long time, and I'm going to ruin it. You would understand. You always understood. Don't you understand?

You pretended with all of us, even me. You know how to pretend. I need your help learning to pretend.

She folds up the parchment, throws Peter's name on the back of it, and ties it to the leg of Alice's owl before she can change her mind. Surely, It will understand. It wants Malfoy in office, and he would want that, too. He's on their side. It won't be angry with her if he helps her hold it together.

She just has to hold it together.

In the other room, she hears Alice crank up the WWN, hears Remus—no, Moony—whinny and chase his tail. She stares at the ceiling and listens for the winner.

It's not Malfoy, and she wonders how she will be punished.