A/N: Thank you to the Guest reviewer who gave a lovely and encouraging review last week, I'm sincerely grateful to hear your feedback!

Chapter Thirty-Five: Ambush

The Dark Lord was in a terrible mood - that was for sure. Draco watched numbly as the Dark Lord cast the Cruciatus Curse on the eighth Death Eater that night, each time becoming seemingly longer and more vicious. The current victim, Avery, had reached such a state of agony that he was no longer able to scream or even breathe, by the looks of things. Draco wondered casually if he would go the same way as the Longbottoms, and if he did, what it would look like. Living amongst the werewolves in Bulgaria had given Draco a new appreciation of violence, he often woke up in a cold sweat, the most terrible screams and cries for help ringing in his ears, and he would be unable to tell if it were real or imaginary.

Apparently growing bored of Avery's twitching, the Dark Lord stopped the curse and left the man on the floor to regain consciousness. He folded his hands in his lap and surveyed the remaining Death Eaters in the room, of which there were quite a number. It seemed that recruitment was no longer an issue.

"How many times do I need to remind you of the importance of security?" He hissed. A low level of grumbling broke out, with people in the know relaying what had happened to their neighbours. "Quiet." The Dark Lord snapped. "Who would like to explain to me how the Welsh Special Forces found out about and infiltrated the strategy meeting held at Avery's manor?"

There was silence across the dungeons of Draco's home, an area which Voldemort had undoubtedly selected with this purpose of intimidating his followers even further. "Rookwood? What do you have to say?" Draco couldn't see his face, for it was covered by a mask, but didn't miss the quiver in Rookwood's voice as he responded tentatively, "M-m-me my Lord?"

"Yes, Rookwood, you. You were there that night, were you not?"

"Y-yes, my Lord."

"Then you can recount what happened this night, yes? I'm sure your comrades are dying to know." His voice slipped silkily of the word 'dying', causing some of the Death Eaters to stir uneasily.

"Well-uh-Avery called a meeting of the lower-ranks to relay orders, my Lord, and as there were so many, a testament to your power and popularity, my Lord-"

"I have no time for such obsequiousness, Rookwood, get to the point."

"Right, yes, s-s-sorry, my Lord. Well, Avery decided to hold the meeting out in the grounds because there were too many people to fit in the house, and we'd only been there ten minutes or so before we hear shouts and spells start flying at us from all over. They were everywhere, they had us surrounded, my Lord, and they kept moving in and tightening their circle. We had nowhere to go, my Lord!"

"Are you not wizards? Are you not possessed of wands?" The Dark Lord retorted snidely. "How exactly were thirteen wizards able to kill or injure almost 250 of our ranks? Who was leading them?"

"It was the girl, my Lord, I saw people just drop down dead in front of her! Her and two others, an old man and a younger one too-"

"People dropped dead in front of a girl, is that really the excuse you want to give me, Rookwood?"

"It's the truth, my Lord, I swear it's the truth!"

"Crucio!"

Rookwood fell to the floor under the force of the spell, guttural howls of pain being wrenched from his throat. This time however, the Dark Lord lifted the curse much quicker and ordered Rookwood to get to his feet. He did so, his mask falling in the process and revealing wet skin beneath.

"Gwydion! Come here!" The Dark Lord commanded.

Draco watched Arianwen's uncle step forward and lean into a deep bow at the Dark Lord's feet. "How can I assist you, my Lord?" He enquired silkily.

"Who is the girl that Rookwood claims can eradicate hundreds of our men?"

The Welshman paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. It was evident that he didn't want to say what he was about to be forced to say, and Draco held his breath, praying to any god that it wasn't what he thought.

"I believe it must be my niece, my Lord."

Fuck. It was the only thought Draco could possibly have at that moment. He felt like he might faint.

"Your niece." He repeated painfully slowly, suspense mounting in the room with each syllable. Although to everyone's surprise, he didn't try to attack Dafydd, he merely said, "I want her captured."

"Yes, my Lord, of course!" Dafydd and Rookwood agreed in time, before both backing quickly back into their space in the circle.

The Dark Lord retreated to a grand chair at the head of the room, stepping over Avery to get there. "Draco!" he called when he had sat down. "Come forward."

Draco felt his father twitch beside him, as he always did when Draco was asked to do anything by the Dark Lord. He stepped forward purposefully, having learned the hard way that the Dark Lord did not appreciate shrinking violets.

"How well you look, Draco, I see that your time with the werewolves has paid dividends." Draco said nothing. He knew that the Dark Lord must be referring to his broader stature; hauling dead bodies into a grave without the use of magic had certainly equipped him with incredible physical strength. The Dark Lord had demanded that he leave his wand behind in England, wishing to humiliate him publicly before forcing him to be servant to Greyback and his cronies. "Take Avery back to his house."

"Yes, my Lord." He approached the unconscious body on the floor and dragged him upwards and over his shoulder without much difficulty.

"Very good," the Dark Lord said softly, licking his lips. Draco tried not to react, not wanting to even think about why the Dark Lord cared that he'd become so strong.

"Should I return, my Lord?" Draco asked, trying to keep his voice plain. He longed desperately to be reunited with his parents, even if just for two minutes.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord did not miss this cloaked desire. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. In fact," he jeered, "I don't think I'll need to call you to our meetings any time soon, I wouldn't want to distract you from your mission, after all." A number of Death Eaters, presumably the ones that knew all about Draco's 'mission', decided this was a particularly funny joke and laughed callously at his expense.

"As you wish, my Lord." And with that, Draco exited the dungeons, Avery hanging over his shoulder, and apparated away.

"Where is he?" Narcissa demanded, practically leaping from her armchair and charging towards her husband, who had just entered their bedroom.

"He sent him back." Lucius bit coldly.

Narcissa didn't bother to conceal her anguish at this statement and Lucius had to grab her quickly before she collapsed onto the floor. She looked up at her husband fearfully, trying to read his steel grey eyes. "How was he? Is he well? Was he hurt?"

"He's fine," Lucius assured, "he's been eating, at least." He decided not to mention the obvious smell of firewhiskey that he'd detected on his son as they had stood shoulder to shoulder in the Death Eater's circle.

"Well, what have they got him doing?" Narcissa demanded again, gripping Lucius' robes tightly for support as she anticipated his answer.

"I'm not sure exactly," Lucius admitted, "but whatever it is its physical work."

Narcissa nodded slowly and allowed Lucius to lead her to sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace. He pulled her close to him and played with the end of her hair as he always had done when they were younger – and happier. "I'll do whatever I can to get him home, Cissa."

"I know." she breathed, tears wiping the tears that had spilled from her eyes. She shifted slightly so that she could look her husband in the face. She brushed her slender fingers across his cheek, smiling sadly. Leaning closer, she pressed her lips against his gently and tried to convey as much emotion as possible in the kiss. "I love you, Lucius Malfoy."

Arianwen was kneeling upon a plush black velvet cushion encrusted with the crest of Saint David in her family home of Ty Myddfai, her head bowed and hands folded carefully in her lap. Around her, she could make out the feet of numerous bystanders, all standing around her in a circle. In front of her were a pair of perfectly shiny black leather shoes, which must have been disgustingly expensive, she noted. The owner of these remarkably fine shoes was speaking loudly, the rehearsed rhetoric one which she had heard a number of times in the past year, but had never quite believed would be directed at her. She allowed her ears to tune back into the speech just in time.

"-and with this honour comes the heavy burden of responsibility. Do you promise that you will uphold the code of the Council?"

"With unity, peace, and prosperity, I will serve our great Nation and uphold the code." Arianwen recited to the floor, giddy anticipation causing her heart to thump heavily.

"Then it is with great pleasure that I now pronounce thee, Arianwen Gwenllian Gwydion, Duchess of Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire, to be Warden of the South and Lady Protector of the Realm!"

A magnificent applause rung across the room and practically lifted Arianwen to her feet, elation beaming out of every inch of her face. She had finally been recognised by the Councillors as worthy of the title of Warden of the South, a position her father had held before his death, and her uncle had taken from her the year prior. To her amazement, the call to impeach her uncle hadn't even come from Aneirin or Montgomery, her closest allies and both Wardens of the North and Mid-region respectively, but had come instead from Earl Flintshire, an ex-supporter of Dafydd.

After many congratulations and thanks had been shared between Arianwen and the other twelve councillors, the group made their way to Ty Myddfai's War Room, a grand wood-panelled room cloaked with gigantic tapestries and paintings of famous historic battles and army figureheads. Once each councillor had taken their seat at the triangular table, which had a Warden at each point and the councillors of their region to their left, Montgomery began addressing the room.

"My lords and lady," he nodded to Arianwen, "may I first welcome the Duchess to her new position, it is my strong belief that you will perform your duties most admirably."

"Hear hear!" Came a few cries of other councilmen.

"However, I am afraid that we cannot spend much time on congratulations when we have the pressing issue of Lord Gwydion's abscondment to address." There were some murmurings of agreement amongst the councillors, before Duke Montgomery continued, "I do not need to remind you of the importance of capturing Lord Gwydion before he confides any more of our tactical information to the enemy. We have intelligence that he will be at the Malfoy Manor tonight and that the one they call the Dark Lord will not. This is our best chance to capture Lord Gwydion and-"

"You want us to raid the Death Eaters' headquarters? Are you mad?" Radnorshire exclaimed.

"There must be another way!" Caernarfonshire demanded.

"There is no other way!" Montgomery's deep voice boomed. "Lord Gwydion has proven to be a slippery foe; this is the first time that we can guarantee his whereabouts. He is due to attend a meeting called by Severus Snape, who I gather is the unofficial leader of the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's absence."

"And how have we received this intelligence?" Aneirin questioned. Whilst he had no qualms with battling the Death Eaters, he was uneasy about doing so in a location where they would surely hold the upper hand.

"From me." Earl Flintshire answered. "Whilst I have made my allegiance to our new Warden of the South very clear amongst our circle, I have not been so blatant with my contacts in England and they still believe me to be their ally. I've found that after a drink or two, some mouths that would otherwise remain closed, miraculously seem to open…"

"It would be foolish to pass up this opportunity," Arianwen spoke up. Whilst she and Flintshire had certainly not seen eye-to-eye in the past, she wasn't one to hold a grudge, and if he wanted to play double-agent to win their side information, she wasn't going to stop him.

"I have a personal understanding of the logistics of the Manor," Flintshire continued, "I believe I know how we can get in."

"So are we in agreement, my Lords?" Montgomery asked, staring each man boldly in the eye and gaining some both enthusiastic and reluctant nods in return. "Then the matter is settled. We attack tonight."

Arianwen crept behind Flintshire as they snuck into Malfoy Manor via an underground tunnel that ran from an alder wood right into one of the inner walls of the house. Flintshire stopped suddenly, and Arianwen crashed straight into him, earning herself a few choice swear words in response.

"Everyone stop!" Arianwen hissed to the large chain of people following behind, who in turn whispered the command to the people behind them. Visibility was poor in the tunnel, even with their wands alit, as the walls were so close on all sides that all the bodies filled it and the light had nowhere to bounce off. Slowly, Flintshire pushed open an old trap door; the hinges had rusted badly and caused the door to creak slightly as it opened, setting Arianwen's nerves on edge, though even the tiniest of noises was enough to make Arianwen's heart beat so loudly in her chest that she was sure it would give them away. Flintshire entered whichever room the tunnel led to, alone, and after a tense minute, returned to give the all clear. As silently as possible, they all climbed through the trap door and into what Arianwen realised was the grand dining room one-by-one. There were only about twenty people in the raiding party, the councillors had decided that a stealth mission would be more easily pulled off if there were just a small selection of highly-trained individuals in attendance; amongst them was Gwyn, who made sure to throw Arianwen dark looks whenever their eyes met. The plan was to separate into subgroups, locate the room in which the Death Eaters were gathered, and surround it. Then, at the earliest opportunity, they would either abduct or kill Dafydd, depending on logistics. Arianwen had drawn a map of the Manor to the best of her memory and distributed it amongst the raiding party for them to memorise.

Flintshire nodded to Montgomery, who led the first group out of the dining room and towards the source of the rumble of Death Eater voices to the right. Swiftly, Aneirin led the second group to the left, putting the plan to surround and destroy the enemy into motion. Finally, Arianwen's group; which was much smaller than the others and only consisted of herself, Flintshire and Earl Bedwyr, Gwyn's father; exited the dining room and crept along the corridor and up the stairs until they reached the ballroom, where the meeting was being held. Their role was possibly the most dangerous as they were actually going to mix with the Death Eaters in order to locate and abduct Dafydd, while the other two parties would act as back-up should they be discovered. It was not a role that Arianwen had come by easily, but with a bit of persuasion she'd managed to get the other councillors to agree to let her be in the thick of the action. She wanted to be the one to engender Dafydd's demise.

They had donned black clothing and cloaks to match the Death Eaters, and Flintshire had provided them each with a mask. It made Arianwen feel sick to put such a mask on, but in this moment she knew it was necessary to ensure her survival. The door that they used to enter the ballroom had been left open enough for them to slide into the room without attracting attention. Death Eaters were packed into the room like bats in a cave, they were everywhere. At the head of the room were clearly the more important of the Death Eaters, Voldemort's inner circle, as they stood away from the rest to reinforce their superiority. Arianwen moved carefully around the edge of the room, trying not to draw attention to herself. Her eyes were scanning the room quickly, looking for any hint of her uncle amongst the faceless masses. Then, suddenly, her gaze was drawn to a flash of light, which had reflected off some kind of a pin on one of the Death Eaters. She moved closer, eyes squinting, trying to gauge what the shape was, and then she realised – it was a dragon, the symbol of the War Council. Dafydd!

How stupid of him to wear it, Arianwen scoffed to herself, such an obvious identifier amongst a sea of Englishmen. She wondered vaguely if Draco was there and found herself looking round for his form, though she couldn't see him as far as she could tell.

Focus! She told herself. You're here for Uncle Dafydd.

She looked back to where Dafydd had been standing and found that he had disappeared. Cursing her own stupidity, her eyes ripped through the crowd until they once again caught a flash of light and identified the elegant gold dragon pin on Dafydd's collar. He had moved to a spot quite near the doorway, presenting the perfect opportunity for one of them to capture him and escape. It seemed Gwyn's father had had the same thought, for Arianwen saw him move towards his target. She moved too, trying to get closer to Gwyn's father should he need support; before she could reach him, however, Dafydd had suddenly procured his wand and shouted, "Stupefy!"

The spell barely missed Bedwyr, who had shot a curse back at Dafydd, green light just missing him and causing a spot in the wall behind him to crumble. "Attack!" Bedwyr shouted as the other Death Eaters cottoned on to what was happening and began scrambling over each other to catch him.

"No!" Arianwen screamed as she saw a couple of Death Eaters attack Bedwyr from behind. She ran towards him, throwing spell after spell at the surrounding Death Eaters. Mercifully, their reinforcements burst through the rear doors and leaped down from the balconies, helping them fight against the onslaught of Death Eater hexes and jinxes flying around the room. Arianwen's spells hit their targets, and three of the four Death Eaters surrounding Bedwyr fell away, leaving just one in physical combat with him. Anger raged inside her as she watched the Death Eater's curse slash Bedwyr across the chest, blood spilling out instantly. She focused her energy into the ancient magic that presided within her, the magic that Nimue had taught her to harness, and watched with content as the Death Eater gasped for breath, falling to the ground within seconds, dead.

"RUN!" Aneirin bellowed at their party. "GET OUT! RUN!" And run they did. Arianwen bolted for the doors she had entered by and made it through - but then-

"Argh!" She screamed. Someone had grabbed her from the side and was pressing a wet cloth to her mouth while they dragged her away. "Don't struggle now, Duchess, we wouldn't want to bruise that pretty skin of yours." Arianwen's head was foggy, everything was blurry, and she found herself unable to move for herself – but she recognised that voice, it was Flintshire, he had betrayed them!

Whatever potion had been on the cloth that Flintshire was trying to gag her with was setting in fast. Flintshire's grasp on her slackened suddenly and she fell carelessly to the floor, her head hitting the marble with a great thwack! She tried desperately to reach for her wand but it was fruitless, she couldn't move a muscle. The last thing she heard before she passed out was the unmissable voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Don't call the Dark Lord," she commanded, "he said not to disturb him for anything but Potter! We can take care of this little blood traitor ourselves."

A/N: Am I right in thinking that interest in this fic is diminishing somewhat? I just had one review last chapter (and very grateful for it I was too) and it's becoming a bit of a struggle to write alongside all my other commitments. I'd say there's about 4/5 chapters left, but they're not particularly easy ones to write and I'm struggling to get the motivation to do so. That said, it would be a shame to come this far and not finish it, so I will consider just putting it on the back burner and revisiting it in 6 months or so, when life has potentially calmed down a bit. I don't know...let me know what you think!