Posted 12/30/2014

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Sixty-One - A Statement

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Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Daphne stepped into the bright spot of light in front of the mirror. "It's good to see you," she greeted with a smile.

"Hello, Daphne," Tracey greeted. "We were starting to worry when we didn't hear anything from you in a while."

"I can imagine," Daphne replied, chuckling.

"There's been a rumour about you having been in Diagon Alley," Tracey said, "but it also claimed you had been heading into Knockturn Alley."

"Neither of it is true," Daphne confirmed. "How do people get these ideas in the first place?"

"You know how rumours are," Millicent offered. "And what with everything going on right now..."

"You heard about... ?" Tracey asked hesitantly.

"My father?" Daphne forced herself to smile. It probably didn't look that assuring, but it was the best she could manage. "Yes, I heard about that one."

"He'll be fine," Millicent spoke up.

"Yeah," Tracey added, "the way the Ministry's sending everyone to prison who's remotely suspicious, Azkaban'll be crowded before long. They'll have their hands so full of more troubling people, your father will likely be one of the first to be let go."

It made Daphne chuckle weakly, but she also felt slightly guilty – while she was cheered up because her father might indeed be treated decently, Tracey's probably wasn't as lucky.

"I heard my father talk about it over the break," Millicent added. "Since the Dementors aren't there any more, they had to hire a lot of guards. It's questionable how long the Ministry'll accept those costs. Maybe they'll amend their arrest policy and only go after those who really did something punishable. You know, instead of those they don't like or who merely stuck out as odd. I can't see them keeping either of your fathers for much longer."

"At least the Dementors aren't around anymore," Tracey sighed.

"Yeah, Harry said the same," Daphne agreed.

There was an odd pause as Tracey tried unsuccessfully to keep from smiling. "Did he now?" she asked after giving up the hopeless struggle. "That was awfully sweet of him, trying to cheer you up like that."

"It's the truth," Daphne defended.

"But you did like hearing the truth from him as well, didn't you?" Tracey teased. "It did cheer you up, right?"

"Of course it did," Daphne replied, shrugging. "Truth or not, it was a nice gesture. Then again, what else could he have done? Laughed at my misfortune? Point out the many ways things can go wrong from now on?"

"How is he?" Millicent inquired.

Daphne blinked, unsure what to say. "Err, fine, I guess. I don't... It's not like he's balled up in a corner crying his eyes out or constantly complaining, and – "

"A good kisser?" Tracey interrupted.

"What? I... ?" Daphne managed to force out, barely catching herself, but still feeling her face heat up. "How... a-and why would I know that?"

Tracey laughed, holding onto Millicent for support. "Should've seen your face!" Then she caught a glimpse of Daphne and the blush that hadn't yet gone down. "Wait, don't tell me..." She seemed too stunned to speak more, but Millicent wasn't.

"Did something happen?" When Daphne glared at her, she lifted her hands in defence. "Just wondering – you blushing and all."

Having recovered, Tracey added, "Maybe a New Year's kiss?"

"We wouldn't judge you," Millicent continued, but how serious she was, Daphne couldn't quite tell.

"Yeah," Tracey finished, "it'd be completely understandable. A boy, a girl, together on New Year's Eve... Come on, tell us. Can't be worse than listening to Pansy retelling her exploits. If we sat through those..."

"How is she?" Daphne asked, momentarily distracted.

"Reasonably fine, but don't change the subject," Tracey told her. "What's up with you and Potter?"

"That has her blushing harder than I've ever seen her do," Millicent pointed out.

"Yeah," Tracey agreed. "What, constant snogging? Or," she gasped, a wild grin forming on her face, "you're going at it like rabbits, aren't you?"

"We aren't!" Daphne yelled outraged, feeling the blush intensify.

"But you have kissed," Tracey laughed. "Don't try denying it, it's written on your face! Isn't it, Millicent? And not on New Year's Eve, so you don't have that excuse. And excuses only really work when you've done something bad anyway."

"I..." Daphne's eyes jumped around. "The wedding, remember? So of course we did. You just... you know, once you brought it up and all... snogging and..."

"I didn't mean back then. Something meaningful." After a short pause, she added, "Or, you know, because it's fun. Or because you really feel like it. You know, sparks flying and all."

"That's how your tales usually start," Daphne gave back.

"Yeah, and... ? Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, is there? So, sparks flying, then?" The answer had to have shown on Daphne's face as both of her friends gasped in surprise. "You really did," Tracey said, shaking her head in disbelief. "With Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived no less."

"Will you cut it out?" Daphne hissed, glancing to the door worriedly.

"I'm trying," Tracey replied, shrugging helplessly, "but it's just so... there are hundreds of boys around and only one Boy-Who-Lived. That whole business with the contract was freaky enough, but this? I mean, sure, you're staying with him right now, but..." She broke off, chuckling. "So, is he any good, then?"

"I... How am I supposed to know?" Daphne tried.

"You've heard Pansy and me talking in the past," Tracey told her with a roll of her eyes. "And you read those... stories of yours. So, was it so that only one as smitten as Pansy would have liked it or... ?"

"I'm happy for you," Millicent spoke up with unexpected sincerity. "For both of you. Mostly for you, though."

"I... Thanks," Daphne said, finally feeling the blush recede. "And you've got it all wrong. It's not like that. Not really."

"But there were sparks, weren't there?" Tracey asked.

"Why are you so obsessed with it in the first place?" Daphne accused. "You're acting as if the whole suddenly turned upside down."

"Sorry," Tracey replied, looking slightly crestfallen. "It's just nice to have some good news once in a while. Kind of rare right now." Hesitating, she added, "Theodore lost his parents and sister. Murdered. Now it's just him... and Marcus."

"I... heard about it, yes," Daphne managed to say, hoping the dread she felt wasn't noticeable in her voice or on her face. "How is he doing? Err, stupid question. Sorry. I meant..."

"I know. Don't worry, I..." Tracey exchanged a worried glance with Millicent. "He's been better. I doubt he'll ever be the same again, but with time... Who knows? We've been talking to him quite a bit recently. Pansy too. You know, to keep an eye on him and..." She broke off, apparently unable to look Daphne in the eye.

"He's tried latching onto Astoria," Millicent explained, "thinking they're similar – both losing family."

"And she lapped it up, am I right?" Daphne groaned.

"Yes and no," Tracey told her with a grimace. "She didn't seem to... like it, really. It was more that she endured it for the peace and quiet – the path of least resistance. Since Astoria wasn't quite as willing to share his pain, Theodore seems to have given up looking for sympathy from her."

"How is she doing?" Daphne interrupted. "Has she... done anything?"

After another glance, Millicent shook her head. "Not that we know of."

"She's applying herself in class, from what we hear," Tracey elaborated. "She doesn't really interact with people much, but... She's sure you're still alive. No idea how, but Pansy thinks knowing keeps her happy and on track. We haven't told anyone about you, of course."

"Apart from that," Millicent continued, "I don't think Astoria has changed that much since you left. We're trying to keep an eye on her for you, just in case she..." She hesitated, waving around weakly, before finishing, "got got bored."

"Or any funny ideas, yeah," Tracey added.

"Well, that's... something, I guess," Daphne replied, torn between being happy that her sister was doing all right and worried because she was. Astoria being happy rarely meant anything good and more often than not that she was planning something. "Please keep an eye on her, I wouldn't want... Please do."

"We will," Millicent promised. "As much as possible, at least. The Carrows have tried sniffing us out. Random searches. Some interrogations, I heard. Longbottom had it worst, but he managed somehow. Surprising, really, but I won't complain. We're busy on our end. Nothing big, mind you, but big enough. And... N.E.W.T.s are coming as well."

"The professors are all piling the work on us," Tracey agreed. "I'm barely scraping by as it is. It's a wonder I haven't gotten any detentions so far. That's something, I guess. Wouldn't want that, not with the Carrows going around. Not long until one of them might do something rash, I fear."

"Curfew's at nine," Millicent added. "Barring Astronomy, of course. And Hogsmeade weekends haven't been brought back yet. The students have to get special permission to leave and have to be escorted by trustworthy students or members of staff. It was a pain getting the former. I was lucky Pansy is considered trustworthy."

"Why did you go to Hogsmeade?" Daphne wondered. "I doubt they'd let you out for shopping or something similarly trivial."

"They don't, no," Millicent agreed. "I... My mother asked to meet with me. She wanted to set me up with someone from the continent."

"So she still hasn't given up?" Daphne asked with a sigh.

Millicent shrugged with a grimace. "Marrying me off to some place else doesn't seem to work that well. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

Tracey patted her shoulder. "So you see why it's nice to hear at least you are doing all right." After a moment of hesitation, she said worriedly, "You are, aren't you?"

Daphne straightened up, pursing her lips. "I'm fine," she told them, forcing a smile that hid her worries. "I keep myself busy. I..." She sent both of her friends a look. "I miss you. Pansy as well. Especially with the dangerous times we're living in right now."

"Ah," Tracey laughed, glancing to somewhere to the side of their mirror before nodding, "we'll manage. Longbottom and the others, they'd get flayed if they were caught. Millicent and I'd just get a few scars out of it. And anyway, we're too smart to get caught in the first place. You just worry about yourself, keep afloat, you hear?"

"We'll see each other again before you know it," Millicent assured.

"Yes," Tracey agreed with an innocent smile. Lowering her voice a bit, she added, "and until then, you'll have your Harry Dearest to keep you company."

Daphne gave her a genuine smile. "He's good at that, yes," she admitted, watching both of her friends leave hurriedly.

Longbottom showed up. "Don't worry, the Carrows are just on the prowl. Your friends just have to return to their dorm, that's all. Greengrass, there's something I wanted to ask. We're a bit cut off from news around here. We're worried about our friends. Have you heard anything? About Bones or Abbott? About anyone getting caught or in trouble? There wasn't anything in the Daily Prophet, but Harry and his friends have this strange way of learning and knowing things."

"Not that I know of, sorry," she replied.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Longbottom told her with a sigh and a shrug. "No news is good news, right?"


They had left the town behind. It wasn't anything new for Dudley who went by the new name of Evan Harris for the time being. For months, he had been on the run. Orphaned, he had been forced to scrounge for food, sleep in bug-ridden beds and corners before he got the hang of things.

That had changed when he had joined up with Sarah. He didn't know why he had taken her with him. Maybe he had understood deep down what he needed to do, both for himself and for her. Without him, she might have been killed in that square or otherwise left to deal with the ruins of her life. Worse, knowing what happened to those who knew too much about that other world, it was very likely that they would have rewritten Sarah's life. They would have made her believe her family had been killed in some freak accident, or maybe that she had run away from home or was someone completely different – Eve, the poor street rat or whatever those wizards would have come up with. Sarah would have never learned the truth. Maybe that had been the reason – it mirrored the life Harry had had before that giant man had come and told him the truth. Sarah would have lived a life suspiciously close to that Dudley's parents had forced upon Harry. Maybe it was Dudley's attempt to make up for that injustice. With him, she had somewhere to go, someone to drag her along, and someone who could do something right for once.

But maybe it was something else, Dudley mused. Without her, he might have gone insane already. He had been close to it that day, but having her around gave him a purpose. He had something to do, he had someone around to keep him going. He had been forced to acknowledge his uselessness, had lost all delusions of his own talents or worth that day. Those beasts' power still lingering made it so difficult for him to doubt it even weeks later, Dudley guessed, but it didn't matter. If he managed to keep Sarah safe for the time being, if he kept her alive long enough, kept himself going, taking one small step after the other, maybe he would leave the past behind. And if he saved Sarah, if he did something right in his his life for once, then even if he died, he could meet his parents proud and upright, knowing that he had done one good thing in the world.

Still, with her around, his risk had increased dramatically. Two people had a decidedly harder time slipping through the nets. Worse, while he had been believed to have died with his mother, someone might still search for Sarah – the one that had gotten away. Someone might have seen them escape. Someone could be closing in on Dudley and Sarah without them knowing it. Another downside was the need to plan for two. That included getting decent food, for one, not that he minded it much. It meant clean beds –something he had missed – even if it meant an additional risk.

The again, he thought with a smile, having her around did have some upsides. For one, they got along quite well, and she was the first girl to look at him like that. True, he had lost a lot of weight, mostly fat, but he was still far from any girl's dream. More than that, though, having her around meant he had someone to talk to. It had gotten quite lonely during his travels before they had met.

Dark clouds moved overhead, and Dudley turned to face Sarah.

"Let's try to get another mile or two done," he told her. "It can't be that far any more."

"I'm tired," she complained.

"I know. I'm as well," he lied. After years of carrying all that extra weight around, not to mention hunting a very agile cousin in their youth, and the boxing he had done in school, he had gotten quite strong. "But unless I read the map wrong, I think we should be closing in on that cottage that old couple told us about. And from there, it's only another day until we'll reach civilization again. Just think! Showers and restaurants and cars and trains! I promise you, once we're in the city, we'll sleep in a real hotel for once, all right?"

That seemed to brighten her mood; she was looking forward to the comforts he had promised.

"Evan?" she asked him, frowning as they trudged on. "Why did you leave?"

"Leave?"

"Your... past life? Your... you know what I mean," she tried, blushing under his gaze.

"Ah. Well, I didn't want to, necessarily," he admitted. "But then, who does? I didn't have much of a choice. There was a risk for me and my family. My cousin..."

"The one with the war going on, you mean?"

"That one, yes. That war going on, the one he's part of," Dudley tried, "he's important somehow. I don't know, I didn't think to ask back when I had a chance. When we last saw each other, he told me to make a run for it. I left with my mother, but we..." He hesitated. "We split up a few weeks later. I hadn't been too happy about it back then, but I understand it now."

"Why?" Sarah asked, stumbling a bit to keep up.

Dudley laughed with a pained expression. "Well, my mother sent me away. She said it'd be easier to hide separately. She lied. Well, no, she didn't lie so much as... We were probably watched by then, that's why. I got away; she distracted the guards."

Sarah swallowed, glancing to the side for a second. She had understood. "Your parents, what did they do?" she spoke up a moment later, slightly out of breath. He held out a hand for her backpack and shouldered it with ease. Anything to speed up their hike, he thought dully with a glance to the sky. The last they needed was getting caught in the rain or possibly hail the clouds promised.

"Well, my Dad... most of the time when he was home, he didn't really do that much, but he negotiated contracts for the company he worked for," Dudley replied, shrugging. "My Mum, she took care of the household. Cooking, washing, cleaning the stuff the family owned. She also knew a lot of people and made sure she knew about everything going on around us." That too wasn't a lie so much as he had bent the truth somewhat. He felt incredibly clever for thinking of it. He owed it to his parents to present them in a favourable light, after all.

Sarah huffed. "Well, judging from how you turned out, they must have been good people."

Dudley blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. She couldn't have known, but it felt almost like an insult. For all the good they had done for him, Dudley's parents had been awful to Harry. Perhaps it was the punishment for all the taunts Dudley had made in his previous life, but Sarah's compliment reminded him of all of his shortcomings. It made him more aware of the injustice he had been part of and of all the things he had to make up for. A small part of him wished he would never meet Harry or any of his old victims or friends again; he feared confronting his past life, ashamed of his actions.

They were silent for a while, Dudley trudging ahead with Sarah trailing behind him. How long until they would reach the hut?

Finally, she broke the silence again. "So, that hotel we will be staying in," she spoke up, and even he could hear how forced she sounded, "tell me about it again, please?"


Her sudden movement shook him from his thoughts.

"Ah, good, I thought you had fallen asleep." Hermione sent him a worried smile, absent-mindedly sorting through the items they would take with them on their mission for a last time. "Harry, you aren't that distracted normally. If you're not feeling well... or if you're second-guessing our plan..."

"It's fine," he told her. "I'm fine. Just worried and nervous, I guess. This is something else."

"You can say that again," she growled. "It's definitely a step up from your usual tactics. Our tactics, I should probably say. It's only natural to be nervous about it. I've hardly slept last night. There's just so much that can go wrong..."

"That's not what I meant," he replied, waving her off. "It shouldn't be that much of a problem – the execution, I mean. Or executions? Eh, not the time for nit-picking, I guess. No, the practical side is not the worrying part. We planned. We prepared and double-checked. It won't fail. No, that's... Look, Hermione, I know I agreed to take you with me, but..."

"I will join you," she interrupted. "That is non-negotiable. Ron wants someone with you to avoid a repeat of the last time. I want someone with you to look out for you. Greengrass doesn't want you to go alone, either." There was an odd pause as Hermione hesitated, likely about to comment on the strange and shaky alliance between the two girls who both wanted Harry to return unharmed. "Even Kreacher seems to want someone to bring you back," Hermione joked instead after a moment of silence.

"Odd little fellow," Harry laughed.

"The point I was trying to make was that you won't go alone. I'll go with you." She returned to her workbench, sorting through the different capsules in front of her. "All right," she announced. "Everything seems to be in order on my part. I sorted them from longest to shortest delay. I have the notes," she pointed to some parchment with the coded plan.

"The cloak is ready," Harry added. "I'm ready if you are."

"I won't ever be more ready than I am now," she sighed. "Well, best get it done now before I change my mind. How does half an hour sound, Harry? Enough time for one last bathroom break?" She glanced his way. "And you should probably tell Ron we're about to leave while I'll finish this up." She pointed towards the table.

Harry nodded. He had little trouble finding Ron.

"We're about to leave," he announced to the redhead who was conspicuously lingering around in the corridor. "Hermione's just packing up."

"That's good, then," Ron tried, glancing nervously at the room Harry had just left. "You just think about your mission, I'll keep things running here."

Harry didn't have to ask what Ron planned to keep running in the middle of the night. Oh well, he thought, they wouldn't cause that much of a problem around the house, would they? What was the worst that could happen if you left two young adults who hated each other in a house without someone keeping the peace?

More to keep himself from thinking about the many small catastrophes that could happen as a result of leaving Ron and Daphne unsupervised, Harry spoke up once more. "We'll be back at about eight or nine."

"Don't worry about me. I won't get bored, and I won't let that Greengrass get away with anything. I'll watch her like a hawk," Ron promised.

"Maybe get a bit of sleep?" Harry suggested. "It might be a long night otherwise. I'd suggest a good book, but..."

"Har, har, very funny. Yes, I get it. Stupid Ron not reading books."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, you could do something useful and..." Harry hesitated, unsure of what Ron could do around the house. "Well, maybe restock our potions supply. Some healing salves or something?"

"We have some lying around," Ron pointed out. "No, I'll watch Greengrass. If I'm the guard, then I should act like one."

"This isn't a prison," Harry reminded him. "She isn't a prisoner. She's allowed to roam the halls."

"Yes, yes, I know." Despite his words, Ron seemed to be distracted somewhat and not paying full attention.

"Well, I'd better go," Harry told his friend, smiling. "Hermione gave me half an hour for a last bathroom break."

Judging from Ron's chuckle, Harry seemed to have given it the right amount of incredulity to make it sound as ridiculous as it was. But then, Harry had no intention to go to the bathroom.

He found Daphne in the drawing room, looking at the tapestry again.

"So you're about to leave, then?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Hermione is making the last preparations," Harry replied. "It helps her deal with her uneasiness to have something to do, in this case, going over the plan."

"It's perfectly understandable," Daphne agreed. "Not everyone's a cold-blooded killer." The slightly accusing tone wasn't lost on him, and from her expression, she seemed to have noticed as well. "Sorry. I know you aren't one either," she tried with a forced smile. "How about you do your thing tonight? Do what you feel is right and let history be the judge of it."

"History is written by the winners, the Muggles say," Harry said.

"So you'd be working to be your own judge eventually," she answered.

"If I win, yes, it might come to that," Harry agreed.

"Like I said, do what you feel needs to be done and wait how that turns out."

"Ron plans to keep a close eye on you," he told her, changing topics.

"I guessed as much. Don't worry, I'll be as well-mannered as I can be around him. I might probably just hide in the library, though – it'd keep me busy, and I'd get something done."

"And the fact that Ron can't enter and will probably waste hours guarding the entrance so you won't slip past him has nothing to do with it, I'm sure," Harry said.

"Says the boy who wanted to hold hands to wind Weasley up," Daphne told him, but she made no move to deny the motive Harry had implied. "I'll find something to keep me busy," she promised.

They were silent for a while before she spoke up again.

"If you can, try bringing a Daily Prophet, all right?" When she saw his look, she shrugged. "You'll never know what they might be saying."

He didn't point out that Hermione and Harry had already agreed on trying to get their hands on a copy – propaganda or not, it was one of the major news outlets of magical Britain.

"And," she added with a glance to the side, "don't let yourself get caught this time, all right?"

"I'll try, but I doubt they'll have anti-Apparition wards ready everywhere. It likely won't be an issue this time."

Daphne bit her lip, likely trying to keep from commenting, but finally gave up. "Let's hope so. You walking into a trap once should have been enough."

"True," he admitted. More than anything else, it had been his inability to get away unseen that had caused the Nott incident. There was a reason Voldemort had thought to protect Slytherin's Locket in a cave warded against magical travel – a simple, deadly trap for anyone foolish enough to venture inside and meet the army of the dead lying in wait for their next victim. Wasn't that part of his plan for another attack some other time?

More to force the images down, he announced, "See you in a few hours, then."

After a short moment of hesitation, she grabbed his sleeve and stepped closer to him. They didn't need words – she gave him a short, sweet kiss he returned, a wordless promise of more in the future, but it was also filled with the pain of parting. When he stepped back, he saw the fear of loss flicker in her eyes, but a moment later, it was gone. He was glad it was; he knew nothing that could calm her worries, and both knew they weren't completely unfounded.

With a nod, he turned and walked towards the door.

"Stay safe," she called after him.

He looked over his shoulder. She sent him a sad smile, and he nodded once more. "Don't do anything stupid," he said, halfway between a genuine reminder and a playful suggestion.

"A bit late for that, isn't it?" she chuckled.


The first shoppers strolled down the alley, some intent to finish their business before the rush of the day, when it happened. Few really noticed it as first, too focused on not drawing the attention of anyone, but some did see the red letter float down from somewhere above their heads, and of those who did see it, only a handful knew immediately what it meant and froze in place. Once the letter had burst open with the noise of a shrill whistle, people cowered, looking around nervously for the attack they feared had just begun. Instead, a loud voice boomed, shaking the windows around.

"Challenge accepted, Minister Thicknesse."

Once the announcement was finished, the red letter burst into flame and fell to the ground, leaving a momentarily stunned crowd. Only a heartbeat later, the realization set in – people to scattered and ran for cover. No one wanted to be around when the still unknown attackers could be among them. No one wanted to be around when the Ministry showed up either.

An hour later, Walter Cummings, Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ever since his record and his path had been cleared with a few handshakes and words in the right ears, ran a hand through his hair. The day had only begun and it was already promising to be a bad one. With the threat being made in Diagon Alley, there was little hope covering it up. Worse, they were no closer to finding out the identity of the terrorists. Cummings was just about to take a sip of his tea when he suddenly crumbled to the ground right in his office. He was dead before the cup he had been holding hit the ground.

Only ten minutes later, Abigail Kent, lawyer of the rich and famous and who had made a killing defending the prosecuted Death Eaters the first time around as a favour to her loyal customers, gasped as her eyes bulged. Swaying, she frothed and fell to her knees. Retching, she spat blood, more than a human should be able to hold, and died as her insides seemed to melt away.

At half past eleven, Anastasia Flint, a keen-eyed witch in her late fifties and bent on impressing a rather red-faced Connor Bailey out of his money, fell face-first onto the table with her dishonest smile still etched on her face while beyond the windows, her son flew around the pitch in the foolish hope to earn a spot on the team.

At about the same time, Decker, the dim, but muscular guard of one of the more prestigious families ever since he left school smiled at the young lady, wondering whether he might have a chance with her someday. When she didn't spare him one glance, he returned to the task at hand and watched for any sign of an attack. Rumour had it Wizarding Britain was under attack once more. All Decker cared for was having to work on his free day. With a thought about the fun he was missing out on, he felt a sudden pain shoot out from within and into his limbs. Knees buckling, he fell over. It drew the young lady's attention, but it was too late – Decker died a heartbeat later.

At five to half past one, Arthurus Melvin, a thick man who had fallen on hard times during the last war after all his gold had been lost in one investment or another, wiped his head with his sleeve and waved the healer over to ask him to turn down the heat. But it wouldn't come to that, for before the healer had arrived, Melvin twitched. His eyes rolled back, he pulled at his collar and fell from the bed. Within reach of the healers, Melvin perished.

It hadn't been a good day, Augustus Rookwood decided at quarter part four, glaring at the people passing him in the corridor. Pardon or not, he disliked working for the Ministry. Yes, he had the backing of the Dark Lord, but people knew it. Yes, they cowered, yes they grovelled, but it was a lie everyone knew about. People didn't trust Rookwood any more. People kept an eye on him and watched what he did and whom he talked to. It meant being noticed – which was bad for Rookwood's preferred style as he had been happy to be a spy, staying in the shadows – and it meant no longer having the Dark Lord's favour for providing insights into the Ministry's workings. As a result, Rookwood had gotten a pardon, but little more and was forced to do boring work for small-minded superiors. He had once been an Unspeakable, researching the secrets of the world. He had profited from the air of secrecy surrounding the Department of Mysteries. No one had dared question the decisions of an Unspeakable – their work had meant coming and going at odd hours even without serving the Dark Lord. It had been fascinating work and a good cover, and he had lost both.

He had fallen from his glory days of the first war as one of the Dark Lord's favourites. While others had had to take risks for the Dark Lord, had been called to do their duty at odd hours, Rookwood had been safe from that most of the time. He had offered something rare – his services as a spy within the Ministry. But now, with everyone knowing Rookwood's allegiance, he was nothing more than another warrior for the master's cause. And worse, Rookwood thought with a snarl as he stepped into one of the fireplaces to leave the Ministry under the guise of an assignment elsewhere, he had been called to his master's side. A master who would probably demand answers Rookwood couldn't give about the attacks that had been going on in the past hours.

Apparating to Malfoy's mansion, Rookwood was secretly glad he had sold what little possessions he had had to fund his master. It meant Rookwood didn't have to fear the Dark Lord invading Rookwood's life and home. Augustus still had a home that was his and would likely never see a visit from the Dark Lord. And Augustus also had his little joys in life, like Miss Theresa and her service with a smile.

When Rookwood entered, the Dark Lord sat on a throne of dark wood and silver ornaments. Some of those in attendance looked particularly worried, and Rookwood guessed he wouldn't be the first one being questioned about the troubling events of the day.

"Rookwood," the Dark Lord hissed. "I expected you to come earlier."

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lord," Rookwood replied obediently, but he didn't dare try an excuse.

"Maybe you can clear something up for me. I have been hearing strange rumours going around today. Some say there have been strange deaths all day."

"Master, I cannot be sure of what is happening," Rookwood tried. "There seems to be yet another attack going on as we speak, yes, but the Ministry is still investigating. I have paid close attention and listened to the news coming in, though, and have been able to bring order into the jumble of rumours and fact." Here he glanced at Malfoy who had likely given a report already. The Dark Lord didn't interrupt or chastise Rookwood for the implied taunt, but Augustus knew better than to continue stalling. "There was a message in Diagon Alley shortly after eight – the acceptance of a challenge Thicknesse made after..."

"Nott died, yes," the Dark Lord spoke up in a quiet voice. "I know, Rookwood, others were faster than you." A nervous laugh rang out, but Rookwood didn't dare look who it had been. He was in enough trouble and had to worry about himself first.

"Yes," he said, "that one, which is why the Ministry suspects either the same perpetrators or a copycat. About an hour after the message was heard, Walter Cummings died at his desk at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was involved in the investigation of the message, which might be the motive. I heard it was poison, my Lord – the Touch of the Shadow was rumoured at first, but my contacts told me no traces of the poison have been found in his office."

Some of the less experienced Death Eaters looked around nervously. The Touch of the Shadow was known to many, and it was known as working almost instantly, either making the Ministry look incompetent or the unknown enemies outwitting the investigators once again. Neither option would put the Dark Lord in a forgiving mood.

"Cummings," the Dark Lord repeated. Only he knew whether there was any truth about the whispers about the man's past, but most Death Eaters knew he had either knowingly or unintentionally assisted in solving some problems during the first war.

"Kent was next, from what we can tell. She was in her office at the time. The Draught of Endless Sorrow, I heard, and quite a mess when she was found, but no traces of that poison were found."

"Kent," the Dark Lord repeated once more. The tension in the room grew.

"From what I heard, Flint died at half past eleven. The investigation is still going on, but it sounded like the Touch of the Shadow again." Rookwood told his master. "I don't know why she would be a target, though. She was with someone high in the league, so maybe it was something personal. She died instantly, and the man is under investigation, but I don't know who it is. The investigators are very tight-lipped about it."

"Flint," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Yes, my Lord. Whether any poison was found, whether it was even an attack in the first place, I don't know, but from the other incidents, it would fit. At half past eleven, Decker died while on guard duty. Poison again, and..." Rookwood collapsed mid-word, falling face-first on the floor. It was about a quarter to five when he died right in front of his master and more than a dozen followers.

"Anyone want to continue the list?" the Dark Lord asked. No one answered him.


No, Harry didn't plan Rookwood's death to occur in front of Riddle. I just found it too funny to not have it turn out that way.