~*T*~

Malfoy walked out of the floo into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, clutching his left forearm in his right hand. His hair was disheveled, and he was pale, short of breath, eyes wide.

"Mr. Malfoy, can I help you?" the attendant hurried from behind the wand-check desk.

"Bones," Malfoy gasped, "Madam Bones," gasp, "Get her," gasp, "Get Fudge," gasp, "Here," wheeze, "By the statue."

The attendant dashed back to the desk, even as Malfoy staggered to lean against the statue of magical brethren. A crowd gathered, staring.

Madam Bones hurried in first, "What's going on?"

"Good," Malfoy wheezed.

"Why did you call us, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Bones' tone was much less respectful than the attendant's.

"Hard," gasp, "To talk," gasp, "Fudge."

"Lucius," Fudge gasped when he saw the man leaning weakly against the statue.

Malfoy nodded, "The Dark Lord," gasp.

Gasps sounded from the crowd, too.

Malfoy waited for quiet, "is upset," gasp, "to see," gasp, "his followers," gasp, "eat, drink," gasp, "and make merry," gasp, "while he," gasp, "languishes," gasp, "in exile."

"He is dead!" Fudge yelled.

"No body," gasp, "no wand," gasp. "He returns."

Malfoy's left arm snapped out to the side, which ripped the sleeve off his robe to show the deep green tattoo of the Dark Mark. The green started to glow red, accompanied by a smell of cooking meat, then smoke obscured the mark as it burned.

Malfoy opened his mouth, and screamed. The scream cut off abruptly as a smell of kerosene and a burst of flame escaped his mouth, a bit of smoke out his nose, and he fell forward. Sizzling and popping noises escaped, along with puffs of smoke, from under his still-twitching corpse.

~*i*~

"Malfoy's wand cast the Dark Mark over his house," the Auror says, running a hand through his thinning hair, "The women didn't hear anything, didn't know there was anything wrong until one of the children saw the Mark."

"The guests in the basement?" Bones asked.

"All marked. All suffocated slowly as their lungs filled with bugs."

"Were they forced in?"

"No, they crawled in, it looks like. Perhaps attracted by a potion that made the victim's lungs, and thus their breath, extraordinarily attractive to the bugs."

"Any sign of such a potion? Or them being forced to drink it?"

"It is very likely they came down here to, how did Malfoy put it, "Make merry,"" his lips turned down, "The prisoners were taken, likely by whatever dug the tunnels through the wards."

"Through?"

"Yes, through. The marks are most consistent with large dogs."

"Put the dogs under the Imperius, make them dig, then Vanish them when he was done," Bones nodded, agreeing.

"Dogs would account for the tooth patterns on Malfoy's robes," Dawlish said, nodding, "And the drag damage."

"Go on."

"Use a smaller dog, with a confundus, to get the victims to drink the potion. Capture Malfoy, drag him out of the wards, torture him, then send him to the Ministry with his message."

"And the women?"

"None of them were marked."

"So the Dark Lord is cleaning house, starting with his richest followers," Bones' lips twitched, then her face settled into a studied seriousness, "We should make sure the rest of his followers know that he might be coming for them. Have the Profit publish a warning, with all of the marked Death Eater's names and addresses, to make sure they are notified."

Dawlish blinked, his lips turned up, then he got serious and he nodded, "I'll get right on it, boss!"

~*i*~

Published Under Orders From the Minister of Magic!

Screamed the headline, then, in only slightly smaller letters, Dark Lord Returns! Warns Death Eaters he "Is upset to see his followers eat, drink, and make merry while he languishes in exile."

Below that was a picture of Malfoy Manor, with the Dark Mark hovering over it.

Taylor read the article, and began to laugh.

~*i*~

Amy balanced a giant figeater beetle, iridescent green and yellow, about two inches long and an inch and a half wide, on her fingertip, checking it over again, and smiled. She put it on her arm, and pressed it towards her. It chirped. She pressed it two more times, getting another two chirps, and then it bit her.

Amy cackled as the CommBeetle lapped up the blood welling slowly from the bite.

~*i*~

Lisa giggled as the CommBeetle flew, swirling, awkward, slow, and held out a hand.

It landed awkwardly on her palm, and she chivied it up her arm, and gave it three presses.

~*i*~

Taylor felt the spreading CommBeetle network days before she saw anyone in Little Whinging with one.

~*T*~

Note: The references to the Daily Prophet newspaper as the Profit are intentional and disparaging by the various speakers.

And CommBeetles!