HARRY POTTER
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 13: Back to School (pt 2)

14 August 1993
9:00 p.m.
Inside the Marauder's Map

"Hullo there, Harry Potter!" exclaimed a young portly fellow in Gryffindor robes and bearing an unfortunate mullet. "Peter Pettigrew's the name! And I'm so looking forward to us being the best of friends."

Harry swallowed and then put on his best fake smile.

"Hello ... Uncle Pete," Harry said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Pettigrew grinned broadly.

"Uncle Pete!" he exclaimed. "I like that. I'm glad to see that I'm still a part of James's life so many years after graduation."

"Well of course you are," Harry replied easily. "Though I'm a bit surprised to see just you here and not the other three."

"Yeah, about that." Peter rubbed the back of his neck in what seemed to be genuine embarrassment. To Harry's surprise, he sensed none of the oily manipulative nature that the real Pettigrew radiated. This psychic impression of the younger Pettigrew actually seemed bashful and sincere, so far at least.

"We talked it over," he continued. "Well, for what passes for 'talking things over' when you're copies of four people stuck in a Map. But one of those copies is based on Remus Lupin who is the brains behind this operation, and he is of the opinion that it's too dangerous for all four of us to interact with you like this at the same time. Says it might overload the map's "mnemonic architecture," whatever the heck that means. You see the Map updates us with new memories every time one of the Real Us activates or deactivates it. James was the last person to do so before it was confiscated sometime after Halloween of our Sixth Year. Sirius was the one before him and then Remus. My personality hasn't been updated since early in our Fifth Year, so interacting with me will require slightly less magic than the others and might be a bit safer."

"Okay," Harry said uncertainly. "I don't understand that very well, but if that's what ... Uncle Remus said, I'll go along with it."

Peter smirked but not maliciously. "Just between us, there's another reason they sent me in first."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "Of the four of us, apparently I'm the only one without any dark, dirty secrets that I'm afraid to share."

Despite himself, Harry did a double-take. "Is that a fact?"

Peter nodded. "James is your dad. Sirius is your godfather. Neither one of them knows what sort of men they'll grow up to be in the future, and they're very worried that their grown-up selves would be embarrassed by how their Map personalities portray them. As for Remus, well, I don't know if you know, but he has ... a situation. And he's worried that you don't know about his ... situation and that finding out from us might embarrass his older self. Or possibly cause something worse than embarrassment." He paused. "So do you? Know about his ... you know?"

"I know he has an undisclosed medical condition. That's it really."

"Fair enough. I'll let the others know not to discuss that with you until after your Dad or one of us out in the real world has told you the truth."

Harry nodded. "I have to say ... Uncle Pete. You're ... not what I was expecting."

"Oh? How so?" Then, Pettigrew started. "Wait! Don't answer that! Remus also said that as much as possible you should avoid telling us anything about what happens after our last resets. He thought it might be damaging. Again, better safe than sorry."

"Noted."

Peter looked at him quizzically. "No offense, sport, but you seem ... sharper than James. Lily's influence?"

"I thought you didn't want me to say anything about the future."

"About our futures. Talking about your life is fine so long as you don't give us any big surprises. You've already spilled the beans that James and Lily finally hook up and that James becomes Chief Auror, both of which caused Map-James to go all funny for a while, but he's better now. But try to avoid major plot developments forward." With that, Pettigrew moved over to an easy chair in front of a big fireplace in the Map's rendition of the Gryffindor Common Room. He gestured for Harry to take the seat across from him.

"Butterbeer?" he inquired before snapping his fingers. Instantly, two icy cold butterbeers appeared on the little table separating the two chairs.

Harry looked at the beverage suspiciously. "How is it possible for me to drink in here?"

"Technically, you won't be drinking it. You'll just be reliving my memory of the best butterbeer I ever had."

Cautiously, Harry took a sip, and to his surprise, it not only tasted like butterbeer but noticeably better and more refreshing that prior butterbeers he'd had. Peter smirked at him.

"So, can I ask you a question, Harry? I promise I'll keep it in confidence and not share the answer with the other Marauders."

"Guess it depends on the question ... Uncle Pete."

The other boy chuckled. "Okay then. Just between you and me ... are you a Slytherin?"

Harry laughed out loud to disguise his momentary surprise over the question. "That was just a joke, Uncle Pete."

Peter shook his head. "I compliment you on your mask, Harry. But that was the wrong answer. If you were really James's Gryffindor son, you'd have been angry at the suggestion, and anyway, it's obvious from your reactions so far that the Gryffindor Common Room is not a familiar location for you. If you were a Hufflepuff, you'd be too honest to consider hiding your Sorting. If you were a Ravenclaw, you'd have proudly announced it, claiming that it was all Lily's influence. Only a Slytherin would have been evasive about his Sorting the way you've been."

He put up a hand to reassure the boy.

"And I meant what I said, Harry. None of the others will hear about your Sorting from me. And to be honest, I'd be cautious about them hearing of it from you. While I certainly hope that James and Sirius have grown out of their attitudes about Slytherin House, their fifteen-year-old versions definitely have not. It's remarkable in a way, because the two great obsessions of James Charlus Potter are Lily Evans and pranking Slytherins. And if he could just let go of the latter, he'd have the former in a heartbeat."

Harry nodded. "And Remus?"

"Normally, I'd say he's safe to talk to about it, but at the time of his last reset, he was in a bit of a crush phase towards Sirius so he might blab."

"Crush ... phase?"

"I don't mean sexual, though Sirius is the first one of us to lose his virginity, a fact that he still brags about endlessly. But everyone who interacts with Sirius eventually develops some sort of crush on him. Everyone."

"Even you?"

"Yeah, but luckily for me, it was when we were Second Years so I worked through it early. Now, I get to sit back and watch in amusement as other people go through the phase of getting dewey-eyed and compliant whenever Sirius grins at them and compliments their appearance and then asks for a 'little favor.' It's rather amusing once you're not the one affected by it. I wondered once if it was a magical gift, but now, I just think it's plain old charm but to the nth degree."

Harry took a sip of butterbeer. "You're very perceptive, aren't you."

Pettigrew shrugged. "That's what I bring to the group. James and Sirius are both rich, good-looking, and popular. Remus is brilliant and well-liked – which, by the way, is not the same thing as popular. And I ... notice things."

"Like what."

Pettigrew grew pensive. "Like the fact that when you first showed up here, you were visibly disturbed to see me. You covered it up fast, which was another thing that made me think you couldn't possibly be a Gryffindor. But I saw it. And it wasn't just disappointment that your father and godfather weren't here to greet you. You were unhappy to see me. Almost alarmed, in fact."

Harry took a big swig of butterbeer to give himself time to think. To his surprise, Pettigrew – even this version of Pettigrew – was incredibly observant. Harry had not been actively occluding when he entered the Map because he hadn't thought it necessary, but his passive Occlumency should have allowed him to ingratiate himself to Map-Peter with ease. And yet this copy of Pettigrew, one mentally only a few years older than himself, had seen through him instantly.

"It's not something I can talk about without getting into what's happening in your future. But I can tell you in perfect honesty that as of my Third Year, you're probably closer to my father than either Sirius or Remus."

Peter smiled at that and looked visibly relieved. "Thank you, Harry. That really means a lot to me. Honestly, I've been afraid for some time that James and Sirius would drop me as soon as we graduated. I'm please to find out I'd misjudged them."

"Why would you think that?" Harry said, desperate to change the subject.

Peter shrugged. "We're friends at school, but I don't exactly travel in their social circles. There's no Ancient and Noble House of Pettigrew. My family came to Britain from Norway in the 1940's, refugees from the Grindelwald War. My father died when I was three. I was raised by my mother who ... well, let's just say she had some health issues."

"What kind of health issues?" the boy asked cautiously.

Peter looked away. "Mental health," he finally said. "It's not important. Just something I had to ... to grow up with. But my point is that I know after graduation I won't have much connection with Prongs and Padfoot." He paused. "Do you know those names? What they mean?" he asked suddenly, as if afraid he'd revealed a secret.

"I know the names and I have some idea about the significance. We don't have to go any further than that."

Pettigrew relaxed. "Good, good. Anyway, I don't want you or anyone to feel sorry for me. Mother and I weren't wealthy, but it's not like we were living in some hovel in Knockturn Alley. We had a respectable two-story townhouse in Upper Appleby and lived off of a small amount of gold that my father left us. Mother couldn't work due to her ... Anyway, we lived okay."

"Still, it must have gotten old being friend with James and Sirius given how much money they could flash around."

The other boy smiled wanly. "At times. I tried not to let it get to me though."

"So how did you end up friends, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't really know if we were friends at the start. To be honest, I was more like their minion at first, always eager to suck up to them because I was afraid I might get bullied by them if I didn't. Luckily, I had a teacher in Second Year who gave me a good swift kick in the pants. My grades got better and I started to gain confidence. By the end of that year, I was an equal member of the group. It's October of Fifth Year for me now, and as of the end of last year, my grades are actually better than James and Sirius, though they're still ahead of me on the practicals. I'm not ashamed to admit that when it comes to magic, all three of the others top me. Moony's a genius, Prongs is a Transfiguration prodigy, and Padfoot ... well, I don't now how he does it, but I'm convinced he's cheating by practicing during the summers somehow without getting busted by the Trace." He laughed. "Guess that just means I'll have to be creative if I want get ahead."

"Well," Harry thought, "creative is one word for what you end up doing."

"So who was the teacher who inspired you?" he asked aloud.

Peter smiled fondly. "Why don't I show you!" He snapped his fingers again, and the room blurred around Harry. After a few seconds of disorientation, the two of them were now sitting on the back row of the DADA classroom. It seemed the class had just been dismissed, and Harry noticed pint-sized versions of the four Marauders standing up to leave, along with (to Harry's amusement) twelve-year-old versions of Lily Evans and Severus Snape! Even more amusingly, Snape seemed to be carrying Lily's books for her. Before the Marauders could exit, though, the DADA professor called out to Peter and asked him to stay behind.

Somewhat nervously, the boy made his way to the front after glancing back to the other three Marauders who left without even saying goodbye. At this age, Peter was quite overweight, and Harry was reminded of Dudley, though Dudley was never as shy and nervous as the boy now waiting in front of the DADA professor's desk for the man to finish the notes he'd been taking.

"You asked to see me, sir?" he asked timidly.

The professor finally looked up and gave Peter a piercing gaze. Harry frowned. The man seemed familiar, but Harry couldn't place the face. Obviously, whoever the man was, his appearance had changed a great deal in the years since this memory was set.

"Mr. Pettigrew, I wished to speak with you about your grades and your lack of attentiveness in my class. To be frank, both have been disappointing in the extreme. I expected much better from you given your heritage."

"My ... heritage, sir?" It was clear young Peter had no idea what the professor was talking about.

"When I started working here, the Headmaster made it plain that the faculty was not to show favoritism to any particular students, and I have sought to follow that instruction. But I cannot sit idly by and watch as the only son of Martin Pettigrew wastes his potential as the lowest-ranking member of a quartet of buffoonish delinquents. I owe it to your father to do what I can to see that you live up to your potential."

Young Peter's eyes widened. "You ... you knew my father?"

"Yes. Quite well, in fact. He did not live long enough for us to develop a close friendship, but I found him to be a man of extraordinary intelligence and limitless potential. I was deeply grieved to learn of his tragic death and especially at such a young age. The wizarding world was diminished by his passing."

The boy was speechless. "I'm ... I'm sorry, sir. To have disappointed you ... and him." He swallowed deeply. "I ... don't know much about my father. I barely remember him, and Mother well, doesn't like to talk about him."

"I ... see," the professor said slowly. "And how is you ... sainted mother?"

Peter gave a wistful shrug. "She's okay. You probably know that she's sick a lot."

The professor nodded at that but said nothing. Finally, Peter spoke again.

"I, um, hate to ask, sir, but ... would it be okay if I came by to talk with you sometime? Maybe you could tell me more about my dad? That is if it's not an imposition or anything."

The man smiled, and Harry flinched. He knew it had been meant as a friendly smile, but Harry couldn't help but sense something hiding beneath it. Something ... unsettling.

"I will make you this offer. I will talk with you about your father, but only if you earn the privilege. I will give you material to study, and when you feel you have mastered it, you will come to me and let me quiz you on it. If I am satisfied with your performance, then I will tell you about Martin Pettigrew. But! I will push you hard, young man. I warn you that I now consider it my personal project to mold you into a wizard your father would have been truly proud of. Do you understand, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter's back straightened, and a fire lit up in his eyes. "Yes sir. Whatever you say, Professor Rookwood."

At that, Harry's eyes practically bulged out of his head. Now he recognized the man, though this memory of him was decades younger than the version presently asleep in the Longbottom dungeons. "Rookwood?!" he thought furiously. "Augustus Rookwood was a former DADA professor and young Peter Pettigrew's favorite teacher?!"

And that appeared to be the case, judging by the look of pride and happiness on the faces of both the Second Year and Fifth Year iterations of Peter Pettigrew. If Pettigrew had fallen under Rookwood's influence during his school days, it explained a great deal but also raised even more questions than it answered.

21 August 1993
Longbottom Manor
10:00 a.m.

Over the next few days, Harry spent time talking with Sirius and Regulus. Both of them remembered Rookwood's tenure as DADA instructor, and both remembered him as a stern but competent teacher, at least by the standards of the usual Hogwarts Defense professor. In fact, each of them had been surprised to learn that Rookwood had been both an Unspeakable and a Death Eater, as he gave no indication of either at the time and Sirius had already been incarcerated and Regulus had fled the country when he was exposed. Naturally, Regulus had researched Rookwood's background thoroughly once he'd committed himself to the Azkaban break-in. From what he had learned, Rookwood had probably not yet joined Voldemort at the time he taught at Hogwarts, although he likely did so within a few years of completing his one year as DADA professor. Both brothers thought it odd that an Unspeakable would spend a year teaching at Hogwarts, and Regulus had entertained the theory that his teaching position was a cover for some other assignment. Neither of them remembered any particular scandals or mysteries during that year, although Sirius seemed to recall Wormtail becoming much more studious after spending several hours a week with the man for "remedial DADA assignments."

After Harry's initial foray into the Map, the Marauders advised him that he would have to wait before returning. Apparently, hosting the mind of a sentient being along with the four artificial personalities was draining, and the Map would need time to recover. "A few weeks," Mr. Moony had said, "perhaps even a month or so. We'll play it by ear."

Harry spent the next week hard at work, from tutoring sessions with Moody to private practice with the Black Wand to spending more time getting to know Sirius (although Harry told him nothing about his possession of the Map). Finally, on the afternoon of the 20th, Severus Snape sent word that he was ready to attempt a Legilimency reading of one of the Lestrange brothers. After some discussion, it was agreed that he would begin with Rabastan, the younger of the two brothers (and according to Lucius, the less intelligent of the two as well).

Upon arrival, the Potions Master explained what was involved in the interrogation process to the group. Then, he, Regulus, and Lady Augusta descended into the Longbottom dungeons while Lucius and Harry remained behind in the conference room. Lucius pulled two books out of his brief case and began flipping through them and taking notes. One was a copy of Hogwarts: A History and the other was Hutchinson's Peerage, which was a book detailing the lineages of the various Wizengamot families from their founding to the present day.

After a few minutes, Harry became uncomfortable with the silence. He knew what he wanted to discuss with the former Death Eater, but on this occasion his natural Legilimency provided no insights into how to proceed. He decided to start with something easy to perhaps break the ice.

"So, I guess Draco is already on his way to Durmstrang?" he asked.

Lucius answered without looking up from his research. "He left on the 16th. I imagine he's already Sorted and moved into his dormitory by now."

"They have Sortings at Durmstrang, too?"

"Yes, though they have seven houses instead of four. Beyond that, I don't really know anything about the process except that an ancient sarcastic Hat plays no role in the proceedings."

Harry nodded even though the man wasn't even looking at him. Nearly thirty seconds passed in silence while he tried to think of something else to ask before Lucius spoke up first.

"Mr. Potter," he said, still without looking up from his notes, "kindly ask me whatever is on your mind. Your weak efforts at dissimulation are distracting."

Harry scowled at the rebuke but then accepted the invitation to get right to the point. "Okay. Are you Theo No-Name's real father?"

At that, Lucius finally lifted his head and made eye contact with him. Unlike other occasions when Harry had caught the man off-guard, Lucius's mask was in place and was impeccable. Harry could see nothing of the storm of thoughts and emotions that now roiled behind that mask in response to his simple question.

14 August 1975
Paris, France

Lucius's eyes fluttered open as the warm Parisian sun filtered through the window of his small and simple attic apartment. The young man sat up in bed with a yawn and stretched his arms. Despite himself, he glanced around the room with a frown (as he had seemingly every single morning upon waking here for the past three years) and wondered how a son of House Malfoy had ended up in such a humble milieu. Was it really that much of a crime to have been born second? But then, the woman who shared his bed and his life stirred. He smiled.

"Perhaps there are worse things than being impoverished and practically disowned if it can bring someone like this into my life. Living in a tiny garret with a beautiful woman who loves me as much as I love her. Why, it's almost like something out of that Muggle opera she so likes!"

After a second, though, the smile faded from Lucius's face. As he recalled, La Boheme did not end happily for the two young lovers. In fact, the curtains closed on Rodolfo weeping over dead Mimi's body because he'd been too poor to afford medicine for her, an uncomfortable reminder of Lucius's own circumstances. In a year's time, perhaps less, Lucius Malfoy would complete his Charms Mastery. Unfortunately, that would also end his father's legal obligation to pay for his living expenses. Lucius was only twenty-two and had no immediate job prospects, and Abraxas Malfoy had made it clear that future support of any kind would be conditional on him taking the Dark Mark. Thus, his options were increasingly binary: marry Christina Fenwick and give her the life she deserved at the cost of subservience to the mysterious Dark Lork who his father venerated or see if a Mastery and the Malfoy name without any actual Malfoy backing could win him some minor Ministry job that would pay just enough for an equally sad apartment somewhere in Diagon Alley. Or worse, Knockturn Alley.

Suddenly, Lucius was distracted from these dark thoughts by the sound of pecking at the window. It was Lilith, Abraxas Malfoy's personal owl. Surprised, Lucius rose and headed over to let the bird in without even bothering to put on a robe. A part of him thought his father would have been scandalized at the thought of him greeting a post owl au naturel, but this was Paris after all. A naked man would hardly have been the most shocking thing for an owl to encounter. Lucius took the message and shooed the owl out of the window without so much as offering it a treat. Then, he tore open the letter and read his father's unexpected message.

"Hmm," he said in a tone of mild surprise and detached amusement.

"What is it?" came his lover's sleepy voice. "Good news or bad?"

Lucius gave Christina a half-smile. "Bit of both actually," he said almost mischievously. "My brother Claudius is dead."

Christina sat up in shock. "What? What happened?" she exclaimed.

"Well, according to this, dear Claudius had finalized his contract with Narcissa Black, and he was set to be married next week. I can't imagine why I didn't get an invitation. Anyway, some of his more loutish friends gave him a stag-do, he got roaringly drunk, and then he tried to celebrate by taking his favorite Abraxan for a midnight ride without a saddle. Never a good idea when the horse has wings, I'm afraid. The beast threw him from about twenty feet in the air."

"That's awful!" Then, she paused as she thought about what he'd said. "And a fall from that height killed him?"

"Eh? Oh no, it just broke his neck. But, well, Abraxans are aggressive carnivores, you see..."

The witch gasped. "Lucius! That's horrible! Don't joke about such things!"

He sauntered over to the bed. "Who's joking? A fitting end, I should say. One beast eaten by another."

She glared at him in consternation. "Well, true or not, it's ... indecent for you to be so blase about your own brother's death."

Lucius laughed. "Christina, my love, I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but Claudius Malfoy was a horrible, vile, repugnant excuse for a wizard and an even worse excuse for a brother. But that's not the important thing!"

Christina crossed her arms. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the important thing?"

With that, Lucius actually threw himself onto the bed, landing next to his lover. "WE'RE RICH! That's the important thing! I'm the Malfoy heir now. No more eating stale bread in a drafty attic apartment! From now on, it will be champagne and foie gras every meal of the day!"

She looked away. "I hate foie gras," she said quietly.

Lucius sighed and placed his hand gently on her arm. "What troubles you, darling?"

She sighed dejectedly. "The Fenwicks aren't a Noble House, Luc. Your father might have tolerated me as the scandalous lower-class lover for his second son, but never as Lady Malfoy."

"My father will have no say in who I marry, Christina."

She scoffed. "How can you possibly believe that?"

Lucius lay back against the pillow with his arms folded behind his head. "What I believe is that I am the sole possible heir for a man in his 60's, Christina. There is literally no one else who can claim the Lordship other than me. Honestly, what other option could he have? Disown me out of sheer spite, remarry, and try to sire another male heir at his age?

Then, he grinned and let out a laugh. For perhaps the first time in his life, Lucius Malfoy was looking forward to seeing his father again. And even better, it would be at Claudius's funeral! It would probably take all of his acquired Occlumency training to not grin through the whole ceremony.

Christina said nothing but simply looked at him pensively.

7 June 1976
The Great Hall of the Wizengamot

"Do you, Lucius, son of Abraxas of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?" intoned Edith MacMillan, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

"I do," Lucius said tersely, without an ounce of emotion on his face. His immaculate formal wedding robes spoke to the solemnity and excitement of the occasion, but his facial expression gave a far different impression. In fact, he rather looked like a man trying to maintain his poise and dignity while on his way to a hangman's noose. It didn't matter, though. Abraxas Malfoy stood next to him as his "best man" and projected enough happiness and satisfaction for them both. Of course, it didn't help Lucius any that he had to constantly fight the urge to rub the ugly tattoo on his forearm that he'd accepted just a few days before, the same tattoo that adorned his father's arm and those of nearly a dozen of the many dignitaries and luminaries who were in the Wizengamot hall to observe this union.

"And do you, Narcissa, daughter of Cygnus of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Narcissa said before smiling sweetly at her new husband. Next to her, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Narcissa's sister and maid-of-honor practically sneered at Lucius, her eyes lit up in cruel victory. He felt like vomiting.

The Chief Warlock addressed the rest of the assembly. "I now pronounce these two joined by magic and by vow as husband and wife. Let it be known, however, that this is no ordinary union. By their contract and as a token of their love and loyalty to one another, Lucius and Narcissa are joined not just as husband and wife but as co-equal partners to their joint marital estate. Upon Lucius's eventual accession to his Lordship, his wife shall not be known as Lady Malfoy, the title of a noble consort. Instead, they shall serve together as Master and Mistress of the House of Malfoy. In keeping with their wishes, I present to you all, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!"

Lucius and Narcissa looked up towards the representatives of the Wizengamot, all of whom applauded. Some out of politeness. Others out of vicious delight that a powerful union had been forged and bent to the service of their Lord and Master. As Lucius surveyed the room, he noticed that up in the viewer's gallery, Christina Fenwick suddenly rose and quickly left the chamber, wiping her eyes as she went. If Tiberius Nott, who sat alone in his family box, noticed his recently-announced fiancée's sudden departure, he gave no sign.

31 January 1980
11:30 p.m.
A private office at the Ministry of Magic set aside for the use of House Malfoy

Lucius frowned in annoyance and then wadded up the parchment he'd been working on for hours and tossed it into a waste basket before starting fresh on a clean page. Government budgets were complicated things under the best of circumstances, but even more so when one was trying draft one so as to clandestinely allow Ministry funds to be embezzled from the government to finance a terrorist organization without anyone knowing. At the moment, Lucius Malfoy was so engrossed with his work that he didn't even hear the door to his office open. Not until he caught the scent of a familiar perfume and looked up at once.

"Christina," he almost said aloud before catching himself.

"Lady Nott," he said instead as he rose from his seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night visit.

His former lover said nothing before producing a wand and covering the room with an array of privacy spells. Bemused, Lucius pulled his own wand out of his cane and added his own protections.

"And now that we are suitably hidden from eavesdroppers, Christina, I'll repeat the question. Why are you here?"

She moved to a chair across from his desk and sat down wearily. A pang of regret stabbed at Lucius's heart. It had three years since she'd married Tiberius Nott. She appeared to have aged ten or more.

"Tiberius is on a raid," she said in a tired voice. "But I have only recently learned that you no longer go on Death Eater raids since your father's death. Also, Narcissa is still recovering from giving birth. My congratulations on your new heir, by the way. Anyway, that makes this a good time for us to talk."

Lucius leaned back in his chair. He had indeed been fortunate. Since his father's death, he'd made the case that it was too dangerous for him to raid with the other Death Eaters. If he were caught, Crouch would assuredly demand that the Malfoy assets be frozen pending investigation and confiscated upon a conviction. The value that the young Lord Malfoy provided the Dark Lord's movement as financier and politico vastly outweighed anything he could bring as a fighter even with his considerable skill with a wand, and so Lord Voldemort granted his request and put him in charge of those Death Eater cells tasked with infiltrating the Ministry.

"Very well, Christina. Talk."

She sniffed softly. "Such coldness from you, Lord Malfoy, and towards one you once talked of marrying. Have you really traded so much of your soul just to gain the Malfoy fortune?"

Lucius regarded her stoically. "The decisions I made, Lady Nott, are irrevocable, regardless of their wisdom. I am Lucius Lord Malfoy, husband of Narcissa Black Malfoy, father of Draco Malfoy, and faithful servant of the Dark Lord. And I am past the point of worrying about how much of my soul is compromised. I have sworn oaths and accepted responsibilities. I cannot spurn them now. Again, why are you here?"

Christina looked down, hurt at his response. She inhaled slowly. "Tiberius ... wishes to have another child."

"Does he now? And how is that my concern?"

"It is your concern, Lucius, because you are the reason for his sudden desire. He knows that Narcissa has given birth to a son, and he wishes me to provide him with a daughter. He believes that if I deliver a female child who enters Hogwarts with Draco, he can persuade you to enter into a marriage contract between your house and his. Or, failing that, he can persuade the Dark Lord to order you to do so."

Lucius snorted. "Tiberius is getting a bit ahead of himself, I think. The Parkinsons have already started negotiations for their own newborn Pansy to marry Draco. And besides, there is no way to even guarantee that your next child will be a girl."

She swallowed painfully. "There are ways to ... improve the odds. Potions that can increase the likelihood of a preferred gender."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. "Those potions are illegal, Christina! Illegal and dangerous! Surely he would not endanger your life just to forge a marital alliance with my house!"

"Why not, Lucius?" Christina replied bitterly. "I have already given him an heir. I suspect I am quite expendable in his eyes now."

Lucius gripped the arms of his chair tightly, but then, he closed his eyes and let his fury drain away. "Even if what you say is true, Christina, what do you expect me to do about it?"

She leaned forward and spoke with urgency. "You can take me away, Luc. Let us flee Britain. This very night! To Australia or the Americas. I know you have no loyalty to the Dark Lord. Only the oaths forced upon you by your father and that deranged succubus he made you take as a wife." But despite that urgency, Lucius's face remained impassive. Christina sat back dejectedly. "Or perhaps it is not your oaths which bind you. Perhaps it is simply the fear of losing all that precious gold that sits in the Malfoy vaults! After all, that is why you left me in the first place!"

Lucius looked down and drew his forefinger and thumb across his eyes. "Christina, I ... I'm sorry. But there is more at stake than gold or vows. I have obligations now. I have a newborn son who I cannot abandon to be raised alone by Narcissa according to the traditions of House Black. And I have..." He looked away for a moment. "I have other obligations as well. People who I have sworn to protect from the Dark Lord as best I can. I'm sorry. But I cannot simply run away from my responsibilities. Not even for you."

He gazed at the woman's face and tried to pretend that her expression wasn't breaking his heart. "You should go, Christina. Do not come to see me privately again. People will talk. Go now."

She rose and headed towards the door. But as she reached for the handle, she paused and turned back to him. "Do you ever miss it, Luc?"

"Miss what?"

"That drafty garret apartment with the stale bread and the tiny window that looked out over the Seine?"

"No," he lied.

She nodded sadly and left the office. The next time Lucius Malfoy would see Christina Fenwick Nott, she would be lying in repose.

Now...

"No, Mr. Potter," Malfoy replied coldly. "I am not the outcast's father. Though I am hardly surprised that Tiberius Nott might think otherwise. The former Lady Nott and I had been ... in a relationship prior to our marriages to other people. Indeed, I had suspected that Tiberius only pursued a marriage contract with Christina Fenwick as a way of striking back at me. He has always been jealous of me for many reasons, and forcing my former paramour into marrying him was something he probably viewed as a victory over me. But I never broke my vows to Narcissa while we were married. I have committed many sins in my time, but adultery was never one of them."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Of course, now that you raise the question, it would explain why Tiberius went to such extremes as the Ultimate Sanction. If I were the outcast's true sire, I would be immune to the Sanction's effects and, in fact, would be one of the few people who could legally adopt the boy and end those effects. Doubtless, Nott thought I would be so moved by the boy's torment that I would adopt him even though doing so would conclusively prove that I had cuckolded him, thereby leaving myself open to charges of line theft. As his House is Ancient and Noble, the penalty for that would have been up to ten years in Azkaban and forfeiture of most of my remaining assets."

"But since you are not Theo's true father, that's not an issue," Harry said.

"Correct, Mr. Potter. You may, of course, choose to think that I am lying about the matter and am cruelly rejecting my illegitimate son in order to avoid embarrassment, financial ruin, and jail. Or you may accept what I have told you at face value. Either way, the practical effect on the outcast is the same, and honestly, I really don't care what you think of me as a person. You have my answer. I will thank you not to raise this matter again."

Harry nodded silently, and Lucius returned to his research.

A few hours later, Snape completed his probe. Unfortunately, it would not be possible to safely dose Rabastan a second time with Draught of Living Death for at least a week, as doing so might prove fatal. And while none of the conspirators were particularly concerned with preserving the Death Eater's life, they all agreed he might still be useful, so he was instead stunned and then bound in a mask, chains, and a straitjacket for the time being, much like Augustus Rookwood in the next cell. Then, the three conspirators rejoined their compatriots in the conference room where Hoskins had prepared a platter of watercress sandwiches and a strong pot of tea.

"Well? Good news or ill?" Lucius asked.

A visibly exhausted Severus Snape took his seat at the table, as did Augusta and Regulus. It was clear that the latter two knew nothing of what he had learned as he wanted to explain everything at once to the whole group.

"A mixed bag," the Potions Master said after swallowing a bite from a sandwich, "but on the whole, things went quite well. To begin with, my concerns about probing the Lestrange brothers were overstated. Although they studied Occlumency under Rookwood to some degree, it seems Boruslav Lestrange refused to allow him unfettered access to his sons' minds. Consequently, they are not protected by any of the psychic traps I feared would be in place, and their existing Occlumency defenses after years of continuous Dementor exposure are no match for a master Legilimens. Bellatrix is another matter, for reasons I shall explain shortly."

"Boruslav Lestrange," Harry murmured. The name was familiar, and Lucius answered his unspoken inquiry.

"The former Lestrange patriarch. And also the former Potions instructor at Durmstrang. A master alchemist who pioneered the mass-production of magic-resistant orichalcum. And the only reason Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were ever allowed into the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. Boruslav made their induction one of his conditions for swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord."

"If the name seems familiar to you, Harry," said Augusta, "you may recall that my daughter-in-law Alice killed Boruslav Lestrange in a duel in April of 1980. Many believe that revenge for Boruslav Lestrange's death was part of the reason why the Lestranges attacked Longbottom Manor after You-Know-Who's fall."

Harry nodded at that before turning back to the three ex-Death Eaters. "What exactly was the Inner Circle? Who all was in it?"

"A complicated question, Mr. Potter," said Snape. "The vast majority of Death Eaters, who numbered in the thousands, consisted of career criminals, mercenaries, and ignorant fools consumed by anti-Muggleborn bigotry, as well as those blackmailed, bribed, or Imperiused into serving the cause. The Inner Circle consisted of about thirty or so Death Eaters who were considered particularly loyal and capable or who brought specialized gifts and advantages to the table that warranted the Dark Lord's personal attentions. Only those few Death Eaters were actually given the Dark Mark which served as a method of communication directly with the Dark Lord. Some of the Inner Circle were charged with overseeing the various Death Eater cells and directing terrorist and guerilla actions. Others worked on special projects at the Dark Lord's personal direction. For example, I rarely went on raids because I served as the Dark Lord's personal Potions Master."

"Whereas I," interrupted Lucius, "mainly handled the money side of the operation, which was my own excuse for mostly avoiding raids. I imagine the Dark Lord wanted to mark Regulus to use him for field work." He turned to the younger man. "Did the Dark Lord ever realize you were a Metamorphmagus?"

Regulus shrugged. "Not to my knowledge. I think he mainly wanted me for my combat skill and because he thought that I would eventually become Lord Black."

Harry absorbed all that. "Would Pettigrew have been marked? Or your, um, ex-wife?"

"Everyone in the Inner Circle received the Dark Mark," said Lucius, "but those members who were most trusted by the Dark Lord or who worked as spies could conceal their Dark Marks at will from both magical and mundane observation, though that characteristic of the Mark ceased to function once a bearer had been confirmed as a Death Eater by other means. Erasmus and Linnea Wilkes, Augustus Rookwood, and Berith Selwyn all had been seen many times with bare unmarked arms until they were eventually captured in Death Eater regalia and exposed, at which point their marks were plainly visible. It seems unlikely that Pettigrew could have avoided rolling up his sleeves for twelve years, but he may have been granted a Dark Mark that could be concealed. Or he may simply have not been Marked yet at the time of the Dark Lord's fall. Or he may not have been high enough in the Dark Lord's esteem to even be invited into the Inner Circle. I am, however, quite certain Narcissa can conceal her Mark."

"This is all interesting, if lurid," interrupted Augusta, "but what did you learn about You-Know-Who's horcruxes?"

Snape looked almost pained at her Gryffindor directness. "Unfortunately, Rabastan knew nothing of that, and I honestly don't think the Dark Lord would have ever trusted Boruslav with a horcrux, let alone either of his sons. But Rabastan did recall Rodolphus telling him once that the Dark Lord had presented Bellatrix with a magical artifact of some kind and charging her with protecting it at all costs. Apparently, Rodolphus was somewhat jealous of Bellatrix being more trusted by the Dark Lord than himself."

"What was the artifact?" Harry asked

"Rabastan never saw it, but Rodolphus described it as a golden chalice. He has no idea what it was or where it was hidden or what protections were set in place around it."

Lucius started suddenly and then pulled out one of the books he'd been researching. He opened it to a particular page and set it in the middle of the table. There was a detailed drawing of an ornate goblet. "Here. The Golden Cup of Helga Hufflepuff. I am certain that was the item turned into a horcrux and given to Bellatrix."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Regulus.

Lucius gave him a smug look. "I have spent considerable time researching the brief post-graduate career of the mysterious Tom Marvolo Riddle. A difficult topic of research due to the Fidelius Charm that still conceals much of his past. But I did discover that shortly before he disappeared from Wizarding Britain, he was briefly detained in connection with the death of Lady Hepzibah Smith, the former matriarch of the Noble House of Smith which is the only surviving cadet house descended from the line of Hufflepuff."

"How did she die?" Harry asked.

"Officially, an aged house elf accidentally mistook a box of rat poison for sugar when preparing her afternoon tea, but naturally, a competent Slytherin could have arranged that by any number of means. What matters is that Riddle was never a suspect in Smith's death, but he was held briefly in connection with the disappearance two priceless magical artifacts from her personal collection that had come up missing during the inventory of her estate. After a few hours in custody, he was released for lack of evidence, and then he essentially vanished from Wizarding Britain. As for the artifacts, one was the aforementioned Cup which had been passed down from Smith matriarch to matriarch for centuries. The other, however, was an artifact from a different Founder, one that Smith had recently purchased from Borgin and Burkes!"

"Slytherin's Locket!" Regulus exclaimed.

"The same," Lucius said. "Before it turned up in a booby-trapped cave on the coast of Essex, the last reported location of Slytherin's Locket was with Hepzibah Smith just weeks prior to her death. And if Riddle stole the one ..."

"He undoubtedly stole the other," finished Snape. "Unfortunately, that still doesn't give us its current location. I will examine Rodolphus Lestrange in October during the first Hogsmeade weekend, but it is entirely possible that Bellatrix did not share with him the hiding place or protections of the Cup. I will probably have to probe Bellatrix's mind which is protected by the full range of mental defenses which Rookwood's training techniques could provide. Which brings us to the first of two other matters that came to light during my interrogation of Rabastan Lestrange that bear discussion."

Snape hesitated and glanced at Augusta who he suspected would not care for either bit of news.

"From reviewing Rabastan's memories, it is ... possible that Bellatrix Lestrange is ... not fully culpable for her actions," he said before wincing at the glare Lady Augusta gave him.

"Not. Fully. Culpable?!" she practically growled. "That vile woman eagerly confessed to everything she was accused of in open court. I was there!"

"I know, Lady Augusta, I know. At the time of her trial, Bellatrix was utterly devoted to the service of the Dark Lord. She was also his most accomplished assassin and, after the death of Erasmus Wilkes, essentially his right hand." He turned to Lucius and Regulus. "But tell me – does that description comport with your memories of Bellatrix when she was younger?"

The two men looked at one another. "Honestly," Regulus said, "I always found it a bit odd. I mean, she'd been raised to be a blood purist just like the rest of us Blacks. But when we were younger, she was never that aggressive about it. Or as cruel as the reports said she was. If anything, I always found her to be a bit shy and reserved when we were kids, at least compared to her sisters and Sirius, anyway. And I know for a fact that she refused to cut ties with Andromeda after she married a Muggleborn. Well, at first. I'm pretty sure she did by the time she took the Dark Mark."

Lucius nodded. "Bellatrix was two years ahead of Narcissa and myself. My recollection of her at school was she was somewhat aloof and studious. Nothing at all like the cackling madwoman we found at Azkaban. When we served the Dark Lord, she was ruthless and calculating and certainly not given to singing childish songs, which I attribute to Dementor-induced madness. But when she was a Seventh Year, I remember her as planning to apply for the Auror Academy and being fairly disinterested in the Dark Lord and his movement. Moreover, she was very disinterested in Rodolphus Lestrange. To the point of hexing him rather viciously when he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"So what changed?" Harry asked.

Snape exhaled with a surprising degree of bitterness. "Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide by Mr. Nemo." Harry's eyes widened at the mention of the book that had turned his brother into a violent thug after just a few weeks.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape continued. "The same book that fell into Jim Potter's grubby little hands. But where he only read a few chapters, Bellatrix was induced to read the whole thing, cover-to-cover. The book was designed to teach Occlumency quickly, but it does so by reordering the reader's very mind. The version that Bellatrix was exposed to also had additional passages edited out of your brother's copy, passages that would render the reader obsessed with gaining the Dark Lord's favor and with adopting his social and political views regarding Wizarding society. It would also install psychic 'back doors' that would have allowed either August Rookwood or the Dark Lord himself to further refine the subject's personality. This process was used to secure Bellatrix Lestrange's loyalty to the Death Eaters ... and also to compel her to submit to the desires of Rodolphus Lestrange, who she had spurned during their school days."

"So, she was brainwashed," Harry said. "Can she be cured?"

Snape shrugged. "I honestly do not know. I have barely scratched the surface of Rookwood's advances in the psychic arts. I cannot imagine any curative attempt that wouldn't take years or even decades nor one which isn't as likely to leave her catatonic as to cure her."

"You said Bellatrix was induced to read Mr. Nemo's book," Lucius said slowly. "Induced by whom?"

The Potions Master grimaced. "Bellatrix received a copy of Rookwood's book as a graduation present from her youngest sister – Narcissa."

Even Lucius was shocked to learn that Narcissa Black had given her own sibling a cursed book designed to alter her mind and brainwash her into serving the Dark Lord. Finally, Augusta spoke up.

"All of this is well and good, Severus. But none of it matters in comparison to the information about You-Know-Who's horcruxes which we have hired you to obtain. So let us put into abeyance the question of whether we will attempt to heal Bellatrix Lestrange or simply put her out of her misery." From the older woman's tone, it was quite clear which option she preferred. She picked up the teapot to pour another cup for herself as she spoke. "Is there anything else you gleaned from the mind of Rabastan Lestrange?"

At that question, Snape grimaced even harder and prepared to defend himself in case Augusta decided to hex him.

"Yes, Lady Augusta." He took a deep breath. "There is some evidence that Barty Crouch Jr. may still be alive."

And then, Harry and the three men all jumped as the teapot crashed to the floor and shattered.

"... what?" said Frank Longbottom's mother in a voice as cold as the grave.

24 August 1993, 8:30 p.m.
The DADA Instructor's Private Living Quarters at Hogwarts

It had a long and tiring day for Hogwarts' newest faculty member, but his work was nearly done. His classroom and quarters were set up for his liking, as was the large ballroom now repurposed both for the dueling club he'd grudgingly inherited and for the school-wide lessons he would be giving on the Patronus Charm. Fortuitously, he'd recently ingratiated himself with a young Slytherin graduate who could actually cast the blasted thing (for he himself had never mastered it) and who had agreed to serve as a teacher's assistant. Rufus Scrimgeour smiled. The things young people would do for a good reference.

He had just sat down to review his first week's lesson plans when there was a knock on his door.

"Enter." He was not terribly surprised when Albus Dumbledore came in. Scrimgeour had been ensconced at the school for several days, and the Headmaster had not yet come by for some of their traditional repartee. In fact, Scrimgeour thought he was overdue.

"Good evening, Rufus. I just wanted to see how you were settling in."

"Quite well, Albus. Quite well, indeed. Would you care for a glass of port?" As he spoke, Scrimgeour hobbled over to a sideboard where a decanter and several glasses rested.

"No, but thank you," he demurred.

"As you wish. Well, as you can see, I'm fully settled in." Scrimgeour smirked slightly as he poured a glass for himself. "Was there ... anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Dumbledore gave a long-suffering sigh. "You really do abhor small talk, don't you, Rufus."

"Only with you, old friend. You use idle chit-chat to be disarming. And I hate being disarmed."

The Headmaster shook his head. "I had a conference with the Board of Directors. There was some discussion over the wisdom of teaching the Patronus Charm to all seven years. I wanted to confirm that you felt up to the challenge."

The ex-auror took a sip and enjoyed the burn of the liquor down his throat. "I must confess that I am not personally able to cast the Charm, but I am fully versed in the theory. Also, I've offered Marcus Flint some post-graduate credit and a small stipend if he assists me in the project."

"Post-graduate credit?"

Scrimgeour nodded. "He'll get some bonus points retroactively applied to his Charms NEWT, enough to raise him to a solid Outstanding. I'd have applied it to his DADA NEWT, but he'd already received an O on that exam."

"I was not aware it was possible to grant bonus points on a NEWT. And especially not retroactively."

The other man shrugged. "Griselda Marchbanks owed me a favor. I got her grandson off from a charge of Second Degree Mugglebaiting back in '84."

"I see," Dumbledore said with a look of faint disapproval. "And I take it you are familiar with young Flint's background?"

"That he's the son of an unmarked Death Eater who was looking to follow in his father's shady footsteps until the mysterious Harry Potter did something to change the boy's career trajectory? Yes, I'm aware." Scrimgeour smiled at the Headmaster, who crooked an eyebrow.

"Is it just my imagination, Rufus, or do you have something more than a casual professional interest in young Harry Potter?"

"Nothing prurient or malicious, I assure you. But you must admit that he represents an intriguing collection of anomalies. He is the twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived but was raised under drastically different circumstances. He has natural Legilimency which specifically manifests as a deductive genius not unlike the form of Legilimency I was born with. He is also the son of my replacement as Chief Auror with whom he has an antagonistic relationship, a fact that might be of use to me in the future."

Dumbledore stared at the man who he had considered a friend for many decades in visible surprise. "I am sorry, Rufus, but you quite caught me off guard. I was unprepared for something so unexpected as you actually being direct and honest."

Scrimgeour shrugged and took another sip of port. "You are well-skilled at Legilimency yourself, Albus. I could have obfuscated, but I imagine you'd have figured out my intentions towards Harry Potter before you left. However, we'd have probably been up past midnight in the process, and it's been a long day. In any case, put your mind at ease. I have no ill intentions towards Harry Potter or any other student."

"Beyond the fact that you aspire to use Harry Potter against James Potter in some way," Dumbledore said drily.

The other man chuckled. "I'm Slytherin, Albus. We use everyone in every way that we possibly can. I suspect a clever young snake like Harry Potter would expect nothing less of me. As for James Potter, I give him a year in his current position. Maybe less. He would be a poor Chief Auror in the best of circumstances, but with the Azkaban breakout and everything else that's happened, he's a train wreck in the making. I plan to be well-positioned when that train finally runs off the tracks."

The Headmaster blinked in confusion. "You think serving as DADA professor will position you for eventually reclaiming the Chief Auror's job?"

"Oh no, my friend. My injuries make it highly unlikely for me to ever work in any sort of active law enforcement. But when James falls, Amelia Bones will be the only plausible replacement. Cornelius Fudge will ask her to laterally transfer into his job, and then I will graciously accept the office of DMLE Director when it's offered to me. And a few years after that, when Fudge's unfitness finally catches up with him, I will support Amelia as the next Minister in exchange for reforms and increased funding in the DMLE that will ensure we aren't caught flat-footed like last time. Besides, we both know I wasn't going to teach for more than a year – the job is cursed after all. But it's a year I can spend strengthening political ties with Wizengamot families through their children here at Hogwarts, as well as a year I can spend recuperating and undergoing rehabilitation therapy with Madam Pomfrey."

Dumbledore sighed again. "I think I will take that glass of port after all." As Scrimgeour turned back to the decanter, the Headmaster continued. "Why are you even telling me all this? I've never known you to be this direct. And what if I revealed what you've said to James Potter?"

"You won't. You know what's at stake, Albus. You-Know-Who is out there, gathering strength and seeking the means to restore himself. Several of his most formidable servants have been freed from Azkaban, presumably to aid his eventual return. And we now know he made at least one horcrux, which tells us a great deal about his power, his knowledge, and his propensity for utter evil that we could never have truly appreciated before now. You need someone like me at the levers of government. I know you're fond of your Gryffindor golden boy, but in times like these, spurious ethics are far less valuable than cold pragmatism. You know I'm right even if you cannot yet admit it to yourself. And that is why you won't repeat anything I just said to Potter. It would do nothing except burn a bridge between us while undermining his self-confidence. And I suspect his confidence will already be taking a hit sooner rather than later."

"As for why I'm telling you this," he continued as he handed a glass over to his old friend and then took a seat behind his desk while Dumbledore sat opposite. "Well, I am the Hogwarts DADA professor. The great majority of my predecessors have been some combination of incompetent and malicious. You know perfectly well that I am not the former, and I thought it best to reassure you that I am not the latter. My agenda here at Hogwarts is perfectly straightforward. Well, for a Slytherin definition of straightforward."

"Be that as it may, I'm not entirely comfortable with you using your position here to advance your political ambitions by ingratiating yourself with the students."

Rufus barked out a laugh. "Why not? You never had a problem with Slughorn for all those years!"

Dumbledore grimaced. "Yes, well, he was well-ensconced long before I became Headmaster. So much so that he had a network of followers ready to storm the castle if I'd tried to rein him in. While I consider Horace Slughorn a friend despite our differences, I wasn't entirely sorry to see him retire, and I am not eager to have another professor follow in his footsteps, even if only for a year."

"I don't blame you. By the way, how did you get him to retire?"

"He finally crossed a line that allowed me to credibly threaten him with termination even if it upset the Slug Club Alumni."

"Oh?"

Dumbledore took a sip from his glass and frowned slightly at the taste. He rarely indulged in liquor of any kind. "Yes, he got bored with his Sixth Year NEWTS Potions class and added Amortentia to the curriculum without bothering to collect all of the samples brewed. There were some unpleasant incidents. Nothing with any serious or lasting consequences, but enough to cause embarrassment to the children of influential parents. I persuaded him that it was time to take a break from academia."

"And just in time to replace him with your reformed Death Eater," Scrimgeour said with a smirk.

"I have complete faith in Severus, Rufus. And the intelligence he brought us during the war was of inestimable value."

"Yes, of course. Whatever it takes for the Greater Good."

The Headmaster crooked an eyebrow. "Is there a hidden meaning in that remark, Rufus?"

"I was merely thinking about our conversation last June in which you denounced the idea of 'The Greater Good' as a philosophical goal. Surely, however, removing a tenured professor with whom you'd had such a long friendship in favor of a 21-year-old freshly-minted Potions Master who'd been your spy during the war is an example of acting for the Greater Good, no matter how distasteful you find the concept in general."

Dumbledore shook his head. "The phrase 'For the Greater Good' is associated with utilitarianism, Rufus, the doctrine that actions are per se correct if they benefit more people than they harm. It's a shortened form of the longer expression "the greatest good for the greatest number," a concept which necessarily implies that some people must suffer so that a greater number of people will benefit. I refuse to engage in such calculus if it involves intentionally inflicting suffering no matter what the potential Good. In any case, Horace was already planning retirement even before I began my ... association with Severus Snape. I fail to see how my actions pertaining to Severus's employment are unacceptably utilitarian."

"Perhaps not," Scrimgeour said as he studied his port while swirling it around in its glass. "But let's be honest. We both know that for all your current reticence, there have been times when you have been persuaded to act according to the Greater Good in the past."

There was a tiny twitch on the left side of Dumbledore's mouth that only Scrimgeour and perhaps ten other people in the world would have recognized as a mixture of apprehension and, perhaps, guilt.

"You have me at a loss, Rufus. Whatever do you mean?"

The man's smile was almost predatory. "Some people collect stamps, Albus. Others collect chocolate frog cards. I collect secrets. For example ... I know about Romulus."

At that, barely recognizable expressions flashed across the faces of both men almost simultaneously. To Scrimgeour, Dumbledore's face betrayed both surprise at his knowledge of the Romulus Affair and, more interestingly, relief that he was not referring to something from the Headmaster's past that both invoked the Greater Good principle and was even more potentially embarrassing. He filed that away for future investigation. To Dumbledore, on the other hand, Scrimgeour's expression revealed that the other man now knew he had even bigger secrets in his past but the ex-auror had no idea what they were. Both men instantly knew what the other had deduced about their own lapses in self-control and both successfully hid their mutual annoyance about giving anything away to another Legilimens.

Dumbledore took another sip of his port. "Romulus, eh? Do the Unspeakables know that you've been looking through their top secret files, Rufus? I hear they take a dim view of such things."

Rufus shrugged again. "I've been lucky so far, I suppose. In that regard at least."

"I hope your luck continues for the sake of your health and safety. But to answer your insinuations, Romulus represented the last gasp of my willingness to be persuaded by appeals to the Greater Good. It taught me the hard way that some lines should not be crossed no matter what the assumed societal benefit. I hope you will take the lessons I learned to heart in your future political endeavors both inside and outside of Hogwarts."

The Headmaster rose and placed the now empty glass on the desk. "This has been a most stimulating conversation, Rufus. We should do this more often."

"My door is always open to you, Albus."

The old man headed out the door but then stopped on the threshold. "Oh, and Rufus? I hope I don't need to remind you that it is a crime to use active Legilimency against anyone here, student or staff, without consent?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing so, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving Professor Scrimgeour to his stacks of lesson plans.

Next: Back to School (Finale).

AN1: I am somewhat frustrated that after more than 18,000 words, an arc called "Back to School" has not actually managed to get the kids back to school. I really should have named this chapter and the last something else. Anyway, it was necessary because there are some things that absolutely had to happen before the start of the school year or it would have caused problems later, but I worry that people will think that Death Eater Menace will end up longer than The Secret Enemy, which I don't think will be the case. Rest assured, next chapter will end with Harry et al. reaching Hogwarts, though not without incident. And once the kids are at Hogwarts, the pace should pick up quickly.

AN2: This chapter does not represent any sort of redemption arc for Peter or even an attempt to justify his actions. Peter Pettigrew was and is a Death Eater. Unlike Bellatrix or Lucius, he was neither mind-controlled nor bribed/blackmailed into joining Voldemort. He made his choices and, at this point, doesn't even regret them in the slightest. Rather, this chapter is the beginning of an exploration into to how and why Peter made those choices, something completely lacking in canon, which, frankly, veers close to saying that Peter became a traitor simply because he was short, fat and unlikeable while Sirius was good looking and popular and eventually played by Gary Oldman instead of a relatively minor British character actor.

AN3: I was going to save this for later, but since he's finally appeared in the flesh (sort of), the part of Augustus Rookwood will be played by Lars Mikkelsen (best known for playing Charles Magnusson in the third series of Sherlock).

UPDATED 10/24/17. Because the former Potions Master at Hogwarts was Horace SlugHORN, whereas SlutWORTH was the guy who wanted to steal the Everlasting Gob-Stopper. But man, wouldn't THAT make an interesting cross-over story. :)