A/N
Rape scene and vigilantism in the second half of this chapter, be warned.
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Curing the Curse
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Room of Requirement (T-120)
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Everybody had taken their position and was trying to calm down for the ritual to start. A dozen braziers gave light to the room in a soothing manner. Cullen had apparently added some herbs as a sweet but not too intrusive smell permeated the air. It was warm enough to feel comfortable in the thin robes but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. The stone floor was slightly warm to the touch and Hermione wondered if someone had told Cullen about the Muggle invention of under-floor heating. She was able to see the tall statue of Andraste over Harry's shoulder, while he sat there, resting against her chest. If she turned a bit to the side, she was able to watch Luna happily chatting with the smaller statue of Mother Rosalia like a good old friend. It was a weird sight but somehow very comforting.
Ben Granger exchanged a glance with her, sending her a supportive nod and smile, while giving her a "we'll speak about this later" look. He liked Harry and certainly wanted to help him. However, he was still her father and his protective streak hadn't diminished one bit. It was his duty to give him the "if you hurt my daughter…" talk, wasn't it?
What are we waiting for? Hermione just wondered as a low 'plop' announced the arrival of a late guest.
"Matron Mathilda?" Cullen asked, his voice telling Hermione that he had somehow expected to see her today.
"Steward Cullen," the elderly house-elf bowed awkwardly, not because of her advanced age but due to the unwieldy object she was carrying in her small hands.
"That's my sword," Harry announced as he realized what Mathilda had brought with her. He was certain he had stored it away in his trunk after the last training session with Sirius.
"It is," Mathilda simply agreed. Without further explanation she turned towards Luna. She crossed the short distance and offered her the weapon.
"What…"
"The nice Lady said you'll need it," Mathilda answered assuringly, as if it were an evidence.
"The nice Lady?" Harry asked. Hermione heard the confusion in his voice.
"Thank you, Mathilda," Luna accepted the sword. Holding it with her left arm, she bent forward and gave Mathilda a one-armed hug, which the Matron patiently endured.
"I think I understand, Harry," Cullen said calmly while watching his girlfriend. Luna had approached the statue of Mother Rosalia and positioned the sword in her hands while humming something unidentifiable. Cullen watched his girlfriend with a soft smile, a faraway look in his eyes. Only now did Hermione and the others notice that the statue had changed her stance somewhat since their last visit. Her hands were outstretched today as if she actually wanted the goblin crafted Gladius to rest there. "I'll explain later."
With a small wave the tiny house elf vanished again, while Luna simply smiled: "she'll be with us, Cullen. You didn't doubt it, did you?" She shortly waved to something invisible before sitting down again, her hands folded together, her feet tapping and that humming song on her lips once again.
"No," Cullen shook his head, reciprocating her smile. "She always will."
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"You're awake."
Hermione opened her eyes only to see Ron and Harry sitting at her sides, the white ceiling of the hospital wing above her. Ron had some chocolate on his robes. Apparently he had found the side table with the 'get better' gifts and helped himself to some of them. His smile was broad and unconcerned, as if he never doubted she would wake up. Harry on the other hand was unable to hide his immense relief and it made her heart beat faster. It didn't help her composure that he held her hand, his thumb drawing small circles on her skin.
"You're back," he smiled softly. "I… I mean, we… we missed you."
Shortly she remembered a sentence she had been reading once: "I was wondering if you would miss me and I was selfish enough to hope it."
He had missed her.
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Hermione remembered the moment she first woke in her second year after weeks of being petrified. She had felt so alone lying there, unable to move, feel or hear, to do anything aside from think, and being concerned about him. And then she opened her eyes and he was there.
For a moment she strengthened her grip around him and sent him her happiness.
Around the couple, Cullen's circle was singing something. It sounded like an old English gospel, one Hermione had never heard before. It sent calming waves through the chamber, lifted her heart to the sky and erased all doubts and fears. Somehow she had the impression that they weren't alone in this; that someone was watching over them.
"She'll be with us," Luna had said. Perhaps she had been right. If only I had an idea whom she was talking about.
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It doesn't work, Hermione's mind raced and her heart pumped.
It doesn't work, she thought with desperation.
Why doesn't it work? She wondered while tears shot into her eyes.
For more than three hours they had been at work now. Three hours of singing, praying and recalling memories from the past. More and more the beneficial emotions had infused the air. More and more the positive waves of magic had done their work. Sometime after the first hour, Harry's Gladius had started to glow and the statue of Mother Rosalia had started to smile.
Hermione, her arms sweaty but still around Harry's chest, felt the changing flows in him. It was like an electrical stream, like the particles in a lodestone, dispersing towards the two poles of his aura. The darkness had mostly left his body, mind and soul. It was extremely concentrated now in one point of his aura. Hermione felt the urge to pull a knife and simply cut it out like an ulcer. However, the more they tried to get rid of it, the more the darkness dragged its feet against it, clawed into the aura and increased its resistance.
Sweat was running freely down Harry's skin. He felt incredible hot to the touch now, like he was running a life-threatening fever. Hermione didn't dare look towards her father or Cullen. She felt her father's concern about Harry's condition. Ben realized how dangerous the moment was even without Hermione's knowledge about her friend's racing heart. She could feel it, each heartbeat, one following the next like he was running a quarter-mile a minute. A few more minutes of this and he would certainly faint. He already would have without her support and his own stubbornness.
Something had to happen and fast.
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And something happened. Only she hadn't expected it.
"Shadows fall
And hope has fled.
Steel your heart
The dawn will come.
"The night is long
And the path is dark.
Look to the sky
For one day soon
The dawn will come."
As soon as the first strophe faded away, the mood in the chamber changed again, as did Harry's condition. Feeling stunned and completely overwhelmed, not daring to drag her eyes away from Harry's face, Hermione needed long moments to understand who was singing in such an unearthly way:
"Luna," Cullen whispered, his voice telling Hermione that Hogwarts' steward felt it too: This wasn't only Luna singing. It wasn't just her voice and it sounded more like a background choir.
"The shepherd's lost
And his home is far.
Keep to the stars
The dawn will come.
"The night is long
And the path is dark.
Look to the sky
For one day soon
The dawn will come."
Someone… something was screaming in pain. Harry started to tremble, his teeth chattered.
"I'm here, Harry," Hermione mumbled. "You're not alone."
The braziers shortly flickered before they flared up, their light intensifying immensely, filling the chamber with pure daylight. Harry opened his mouth, moaned in pain, the moan turning into a scream of agony. Hermione didn't notice the tears streaming down her face. She felt the change however. The darkness in Harry's aura made its last stand. It dug its claws even deeper into his soul, trying to keep tight while the light around it fought to banish it.
"Bare your blade
And raise it high.
Stand your ground
The dawn will come.
"The night is long
And the path is dark.
Look to the sky
For one day soon
The dawn will come."
Harry's hands were tightly surrounding Hermione's now, trying to stay close to her and keep his convulsions under control. Still sending her positive emotions and memories towards him, Hermione had the feeling that this wasn't enough anymore. Unable to reach his face, she did the next best thing. Leaning forward, she put her mouth on the spot of bare skin on his neck. Kissing him, she poured all her care into this gesture, all her friendship and love.
For a moment he completely tensed up. Not a single move was made, not a single breath and Hermione wasn't certain if she felt his heartbeat anymore. Then, from one moment to the next, he relaxed again. It was like someone had cut his strings. He slumped down and Hermione heard a sigh of immense relief. There was an anticlimactic 'plop' and Hermione only felt something drifting away before it vanished into thin air. No green noxious cloud, no apparition of a screaming skull, or anything like this – it simply vanished.
Nobody dared to move. Everybody was staring at Harry and Hermione, not daring to act, to believe it was finally done. This endless moment only ended when Luna suddenly lost all composure and crumpled to the ground.
Cullen's eyes darted back and forth between Harry and Luna.
"Go to her, Cullen," Hermione ordered with a hoarse voice she barely recognized herself. "I have him."
Relief washed over his face as he nodded, turned around and hurried to Luna. Bending down on one knee, he gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. "Luna?" he whispered.
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"Is it done?" Petunia asked after a long moment.
Ben Granger had hurried at Harry's side and was examining him. Marius, Arabella and Argus were still sitting in their old positions, uncertain that the job was done, wondering if they were still needed.
"Yes, it is," Hermione answered softly. She was certain of it. She could feel it, the change in Harry's aura. There was no darkness anymore. She felt incredible exhausted now, like something had sucked all her emotional energy away.
How must Harry feel right now?
He still hadn't moved since he relaxed. His head was resting against Hermione's shoulders, his eyes were closed and his lips were smiling. It seemed like he was having a happy dream.
"His heartbeat is still a bit high as is his blood pressure," Ben Granger stated. "But it apparently started to normalize again." He threw his daughter a long, thoughtful look before his face melted into a soft smile. "You did well today, 'Mione. I'm proud of you."
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They had gathered around Cullen and Luna.
Following Hermione's silent wish, the room had supplied two broad and very cosy divans, one occupied by Luna, the other by Harry who was still sleeping against Hermione's chest. Ben had a watchful eye on the couple and mostly on Harry's hands. If they started to move in an inappropriate manner, he would intercept. Arabella was sitting on a chair, dozing with a low snore. Argus stood at Petunia's side, rubbing his hands nervously. His face was glowing with pride since Hermione told them about the ritual's success. He had been part of something really important. Petunia watched Harry and Luna with concern, especially as nobody was able to explain Luna's weird behaviour and sudden unconsciousness. Marius tried to distract her with playful banter but was unsuccessful so far.
She looks peaceful, Hermione noticed in wonder. She's absolutely transcendental.
Luna's skin was even whiter than usual, shimmering in the light of the still gleaming sword. Like Harry she had this 'I have a wonderful dream' expression and Hermione would have loved to be able see into her mind right now.
"She will be alright, Cullen. Let her rest for a while."
Cullen nodded and smiled down to the blonde girl sleeping on the divan. His mind needed some time to process the fact neither Hermione, Petunia nor Arabella had said those words. Slowly he looked up and turned around until his eyes came to rest on the statue behind them all. Mother Rosalia was smiling again, her stance changed anew as if she was offering the sword. With weak knees Cullen left his place at Luna's side, walked towards her and hesitantly reached out to accept the weapon.
"He will need the weapon, Cullen."
The Templar looked down and stared at the sword. It slowly lost its gleam but he could still feel it: the ritual had induced a blessing on the weapon; it was similar to those he had watched a few times on weapons of higher-ranking Templars, meant to aid them in their battles against demons.
"The Power he knows not," Cullen whispered. Mother Rosalia only smiled knowingly. A goblin-crafted weapon imbued with the blessing of a circle of squibs, Hermione pondered with a mischievous streak. Voldy would hate this.
"Your duty to me is nearly done, Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath." Hermione felt her knees buckle and was relieved to be sitting right now as another apparition came to the chamber. This one seemed like a ghost, not unlike the Grey Lady but different. She seemed older and younger at the same time, a mesh of several characters, with feminine but also masculine traits.
"Soon it will be time for another one to take care of my castle." Her eyes shortly turned to another person in the chamber. The target of her attention blanched while the others looked thoughtful.
"It makes sense," was Hermione's only comment.
"It does, doesn't it?" The apparition smiled. She gestured towards the sleeping girl. "Take care of her. She has always been one of my favourites like her mother and grandmother before her."
"I will, Lady Hogwarts," Cullen accepted the duty without complaint, his words showing that he recognized her.
"Cullen," the statue called his attention again, her voice rich with concern and compassion. "You will have to think carefully once your work here is said and done. Speak with her, explain our world to her. I will welcome the both of you should you want to return. My children need you so much right now. But your life won't be easy. Her life won't be easy even with you at her side. I hope you'll return. I hope you'll bring her to my temple. But I'll leave this decision to the both of you."
The statue froze again, the shimmering light leaving her eyes. Now she appeared to be nothing else than a normal statue but nobody was able to deny that they had been witness to something extraordinary.
My children need you so much right now. I'll leave the decision to you. Yeah, no pressure.
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Voldemort's Lair (T-96)
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The broad-shouldered and heavily muscled frame of one Marcus Flint was blocking the entrance to the ugly prison cell. Naturally, he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his right to speak without special dispense, not in the presence of his Dark Lord. He was only here because tonight it was his duty to watch the little prison that was part of his master's lair. Rowle was the sole senior Death Eater among the warden crew. Aside from him only trainees had been ordered to take turns at watching the handful of prisoners.
It was nothing like he had imagined his life to be. As a teenager he always had aspirations of grandeur. How often had he dreamt about adventures, big fights and chances to prove his worth? The Dark Lord would realize his talent, his loyalty and his courage. He would foster him, promote him and soon call him into his inner circle. Within a few years he would surpass his father's wildest dreams, he had been so sure of it.
But none of that had happened so far. A few instances of Muggle-hunting, a single Muggleborn or Blood-traitor thrown into the mix; there hadn't been fights to speak about, no chances to prove his worth. He had been sick after being forced to kill that twelve-year-old Muggle boy. He had done nothing wrong, aside from being born into the wrong family, and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Was this his future? Was there nothing else, nothing aside from killing the helpless and guarding prisoners?
Andromeda Tonks was without a doubt the most important prisoner of them all. Rowle had urged him more than once to be especially careful with her. She had to be kept under close watch. She had to stay here at all costs and she had to stay alive – alive, nothing more. Marcus hadn't liked the glint in Rowle's eyes. And now he was watching his master as he examined this woman. He wasn't a happy master right now.
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"The nightmare potion isn't working as expected," Voldemort growled. Like could be expected Ophelia Nott trembled slightly despite it not being her fault – at least not officially. Luckily he had no idea of her little meddling. "She always gets the potion as prescribed?"
"Yes, milord," Ophelia bowed. "Three times a day in the prescribed amount."
"Then why isn't it working?" He narrowed his eyes and watched her closely. She wasn't lying about the nightmare potion, he was certain about that. Nonetheless, Andromeda Tonks had stopped screaming days ago. She was only mumbling senseless words from time to time, swaying back and forth on her seat and not reacting to his presence in any way.
"I assume what happened to Alice Longbottom is at play here," Ophelia Nott answered the angry question. "The pain was too much to bear so her mind cracked. It's a well-known symptom among healers. The mind shuts down. It separates from the body. It erects barriers between the part that is feeling and the part that is processing."
"And the result?"
"It's like she is watching pictures, as if another person endures the pain. Her mind doesn't accept it as its own pain anymore."
"Can we alter this?"
"Not in time, milord. If we discontinue the potion, she should open again after a while. But that would needs several days, perhaps even weeks." It would be too late with the ritual only four days ahead.
Voldemort growled again, he was clearly unhappy about the news. To Ophelia's relief it didn't prompt him to shoot the messenger. "Discontinue the potion. Make her ready for the ritual." Without waiting for her response, Voldemort turned around and left, Marcus Flint hurrying to get out of his way.
Ophelia glanced towards the poor woman. Snape's potion had helped. It certainly dampened the impact of that hellish nightmare potion. Discontinuing it would put her on track back to sanity – or so Snape and she were hoping, at least. According to its nature and origin, the nightmare potion wasn't exactly thoroughly researched; neither its effects nor long-term ramifications were known. They could only wait and hope for the best.
"I want to be informed of any change regarding her behaviour and condition," she commanded coldly and Marcus Flint hastily nodded. Ophelia Nott belonged to the incredible short list of followers that treated him like an adult and borderline friendly. He actual like her and had a little crush on her. She knew of it, he assumed, but hadn't taken advantage of that fact so far. "Protect her," she added after a moment, allowing her concern to shimmer through.
"I will." He bowed again, happy to oblige. At least for the next days she would be secure. After that everything was undecided.
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Malfoy Manor (T-72)
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"You always liked her more than us." Goyle tried to say it like a joke but his voice stated the contrary and his eyes were too serious to believe it. He was speaking of Narcissa Malfoy née Black and Severus' close friendship with her.
Severus Snape shrugged and poured his old friend some vintage Kentucky whiskey, which he was found of despite it being a Muggle drink. "She was always nicer by far, had better manners and… sorry to spoil your mood, old friend… she's looking ten times better than you do."
Goyle forced a grin while Travers and Gibbon really seemed to be amused by the banter. With Narcissa's allowance under his belt, he had invited the three 'comrades' to Malfoy Manor for a bit of quality time. They were tense and still didn't completely trust him. Goyle certainly had neither forgiven nor forgotten his betrayal as he saw the manner Severus handled the whole Malfoy family matter. In his simple mind he should have found a way to bring Narcissa and Draco back into the fold, irrespective of the repercussions to their well-being.
"You aren't hitting on her?" Goyle frowned, narrowing his eyes and his wand hand twitching.
Snape showed his best smirk. "I'm hardly her type." He didn't actually answer the question and at least Travers noticed it. He had always been the most cunning of the trio. However, Snape was right. Despite all her virtues and flaws, Narcissa was a spoilt princess at heart. She needed money, a special 'je ne sais quoi' and the whole pureblood lady life-style. Severus could never offer her such things, not to speak about the things she expected from her husband: appearance, manner and charm.
Yes, Lucius Malfoy had charm – when he wanted to show it. He had a unique ability to make you believe that you were important, that you had a place in the grand scheme of things and a role to play that would influence the future. It had been these charms that draw a teenage Severus towards him, created a friendship that lasted until this summer, perhaps even now. He wasn't always of the same opinion and he had ultimately taken the opposite side in this war, but he would never forget the blonde prefect that had pushed open a door to a new world for a young unsocial Firsty.
On the other hand this manoeuvre, inviting the trio of Death Eaters into this manor, was an open declaration of intent. It told them that he was prepared to step in and take over what Lucius Malfoy had left behind. Right now his place in the Inner Circle wasn't secured, but the trio acknowledged that his return like a phoenix from the ashes was something that could actually happen. They had to be prepared: to take sides, to support him. In any case it would have been stupid to antagonize him in case he succeeded with his shenanigans. If he really killed Dumbledore, all former trespasses would be forgotten. They expected him to beg for Narcissa's life – and hand – as soon as he accomplished the task. Travers wouldn't be surprised to get an invitation to a Malfoy-Snape Christmas party next year.
After a bit more of uneasy banter, Snape lifted his glass. "Let us clink our glasses. To the future. That our plans may succeed. That this war may soon be over."
"To the future," the others followed his example.
One by one they gulped down their drinks. None of them detected the small addition they got into their drinks. While the Dark Lord would certainly notice the influence of an Imperio spell and there was always the chance of other heavy influence spells and potions being detected, Snape hoped that this low-powered compulsion potion would go unnoticed. It wouldn't allow him to force his comrades into something completely alien to their nature. They wouldn't commit suicide or betray their master. However, he had something different in mind, something he had only to ascertain to happen.
"I think it would be a good idea to meet again in three days' time, right before the Halloween celebration. We could arrive together at the ceremony," Snape suggested calmly.
"A show of cohesion," Travers already liked the idea.
"Indeed," Snape nodded curtly.
"Yeah, a good idea," Goyle agreed.
"I'll be there too," Gibbon promised.
Step one of plan 'how to arrive at the unknown lair' was accomplished, Snape observed silently. The potion would make certain that they didn't change their plans. Three Death Eaters ready for transport. More would have been better but also more dangerous. Three had been the number they agreed upon.
Your taxi is waiting, Steward Cullen.
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Voldemort's Lair (T-48)
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He hated this job.
He had no wish to see the prisoners again, to hear their screams. Their hopeless eyes were haunting him in his dreams. His father would call him a weakling. His mother would call him a disgrace to the family. Ophelia would do neither. For a short moment his eyes became dreamy and a smile played around his lips. She was more than ten years his senior. She was in a completely different league, both socially and… everything.
She floated where he stomped. She sipped where he slurped. She had grace and manners where he behaved like a cowherd. She was beautiful, had intellect and wit while he…
Oh, Merlin, I got it bad, Marcus Flint realized. I can never show her. I would become a complete laughingstock.
With a sad sigh he pushed the thoughts away, tried to obliterate the picture of her in his mind and walked on. He hated his job. He hated being here. But he had promised to watch over Andromeda Tonks, promised it to her. It was the least he could do: stand true to his word. His shift would only begin in another four hours, but he visited her from time to time between his shifts. Her condition had dramatically improved over the last two days, he had noticed. Since the Dark Lord discontinued her potion, she got better with every visit. In a way he pitied her because of that. If the improvement continued like this, she would completely be in her right mind when the time came to sacrifice her.
Andromeda Tonks had only two more days to live, everybody knew it. Most liked the idea, hated her for being a blood traitor, and assumed that she more than deserved it. He however, felt none of that. Perhaps he had spent too much time around her. Perhaps it was because he knew from his time in the Slytherin Quidditch team that at least mother and son of the Malfoy family still loved her and would certainly mourn her death, especially such a gruesome one. Marcus sighed. It was time to be honest. Most of all he hated the idea of the woman being sacrificed because it troubled Ophelia.
Sometimes he didn't just hate his job, but his current life.
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"She won't betray us. She can't really tell anybody."
Marcus Flint stopped as he heard the ugly laugh. He knew that voice. It belonged to Thorfinn Rowle. As a senior Death Eater the man could have avoided getting allocated to this duty. However, he had a reason to follow this 'call', a reason that vegetated in cell five as every prison guard knew. Mel Polkins was a Canadian Muggleborn. After finishing her education at some school in Toronto, she decided to life in the home country of her father for a while. As a Muggle, he had no idea about the dangers in doing that. With no premonition she arrived at Britain only to get Rowle's unhealthy attention within her first month of work at a small apothecary.
For a while he stalked her. Some said he even courted her despite her blood status. Marcus didn't believe it. However what he believed was the story about how he lost his temper after being rejected. He abducted her and held her prisoner. The Dark Lord allowed it to happen as long as he did his job well. Nearly every day he visited the poor girl, barely an adult. He had tortured her in the beginning, careful not to blemish her pure skin. Marcus remembered her screams all too well. Her face belonged to those that harassed his dreams.
After a while the screams stopped, and her eyes lost every light. They dulled to that lifelessness he had seen before in others. With her youthful vitality gone, Rowle started to lose interest in her. It was only a question of time until he killed her – or until he offered her to one of the younger Death Eaters for a bit of "Pomp and Circumstance". Apparently today was the day to pass the reins.
"I don't want to get into any trouble." A younger voice reciprocated. It belonged to Siggy – actually Sigurd Rowle, Thorfinn's nephew. He was a worthless, spineless and sycophantic piece of shit, a bully, happy to torture but frightened like a hare if someone showed a backbone. As bad a wizard as Marcus was – like him Siggy had to repeat one year at Hogwarts and his NEWTs were even worse, which was quite an achievement – he didn't even have Marcus' muscled frame to intimidate others. Because of this he had started to visit Muggle Orphanages to indulge in his perverted cravings. Without his uncle's protection a few of his comrades would already have shown their displeasure several times in the past. Even for Death Eaters there were limits – at least for most of them.
However, their voices didn't come from cell five, Marcus noticed, suddenly feeling very ill. He hastened down the corridor. Four, three, two… the voices came from Cell one.
Andromeda Tonks was in cell one.
"The Dark Lord…"
"The Dark Lord lost all interest in her," Thorfinn Rowle growled darkly. "He needs her alive in two days, nothing less but also nothing more. I'm not certain she'll even notice. Her mind isn't actually at its clearest these days." His rumbling laughter made Marcus even sicker.
"Miss Nott…"
"Miss Nott has nothing to say about the matter," Rowle interrupted his nephew again. "She is a woman, not even one of us and she should really learn her place and shut up before someone decides to teach her manners." He snickered, apparently imagining those 'lessons' with him as her drill instructor. Marcus knew of Rowle's preference for the Caedo Disciplinae spell, a spell usually used to discipline children in pureblood families, a somewhat weaker variety of the Crucio without the long-term mental repercussions. He had used the spell quite freely on Miss Polkins in the beginning. "Enough of this nonsense. Stand watch while I taste her goods." Again this sick laughter, Marcus noticed with a slight tremble.
I have to stop them. He nearly rushed in. However, two facts stopped him from doing that. First, he wasn't the brightest, but he was able to assess his own abilities quite well. He knew that he alone didn't stand a chance against both Rowles. His Slytherin trait of self-preservation told him not to jump into action like a Gryffindor. The second reason not to do so was the opportunity to get favour with the woman he adored. If he warned Ophelia about what was going on, she would be thankful, wouldn't she?
"Hello, you filthy bitch," he heard from the cell. "Aren't you a poor little girl, so alone and all? Uncle Rowle will keep you a bit of company."
Marcus whirled around and run.
.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
"Open, open, do hurry up," Marcus Flint whispered furiously. At last the door opened and his jaw slacked. Apparently Ophelia Nott had been sleeping. She wore her nightdress and a, only partially closed, dressing gown. She looked fabulous with her hair down and without any makeup.
"What?" She snarled.
Marcus Flint was regretfully unable to answer. He could only stare, his eyes certainly not on her face.
"My eyes are up her, you pig." Ophelia snarled; her voice was sharp enough to whip him back into a modicum of self-control.
"Sorry, Ma'am, I didn't want to stare," he apologized feebly.
"I'm not interested in your apologies," she huffed indignantly. "What do you want?"
He paled, suddenly remembering the reason of his visit, of his hurry. "Madam Tonks…"
"What about her?" Ophelia Nott asked, feeling a fist clenching her heart. Despite her anger she knew that Flint was a nice boy all in all. Unlike her he had no choice whether to take the mark or not. He wasn't really Death Eater material. His expression augured ill.
"Thorfinn Rowle… he's with her right now."
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"You're completely worthless, nephew," they heard Thorfinn's voice as they entered the prison's corridor. Ophelia had barely taken the time to transfigure her dressing gown and slippers into a robe and shoes, before she rushed ahead, her wand blazing. Marcus hurried to follow her, anxious to protect her should a fight erupt – something he absolutely expected to happen.
"No, not Silencio, you idiot," Thorfinn scolded him. "A gagging spell is more fun. You want to have her screaming without hurting your ears. Silence is boring."
They heard clothes ripping as they rushed towards the door as well as suppressed female screams. Marcus felt vomit rising in his chest as he saw the scene in front of him. Andromeda Tonks' wrists and ankles were bound to the table, her dress ripped open. Thorfinn Rowle had doffed his robes and dropped his pants which were now flapping around his knees. His nephew was watching the show with wide, eager eyes. Now he turned around as he heard the arrivals. His hand started to lift his wand but before he had a chance to act, Marcus made good use of his well-developed muscles.
With a single heave of his broad shoulders, he smashed his ham-like fist into Sigurd Rowle's face, instantly breaking his jaw. The man stumbled back, while Marcus following him step by step. A punch into the stomach followed. Siggy would have vomited onto Marcus' shoes, only his broken jaw didn't allow that to happen. With a hateful snarl Marcus lifted Siggy's head with his left and punched him again in the face with his right fist. This time he broke his nose and left cheekbone. With a sickening crunch Siggy's head was smashed against the stone wall. With a low moan he went down and hit the floor face-on.
Had Marcus been able to watch what happened in the rest of the room, perhaps he would have acted. Perhaps he would have tried to stop Ophelia if only because of manly sympathy. However, he was too occupied with Siggy and nothing stopped Ophelia from doing what she wanted.
Realizing her arrival, Thorfinn Rowle turned around. He opened his mouth to say something. In a second he would start to yell at her, Ophelia just knew it. He would begin to insult her, perhaps offer her to take Andy's place or say something equally macho-dumb-like. She had neither patience nor time for such a shit. She already had nearly taken Andy's place once before if not for her brother's success in abducting the woman. Ophelia noticed how Rowle fumbled to raise his wand and to lift his pants at the same time, time she didn't intend to allow him to take. Barely able to restrict herself from simply killing him – something the Dark Lord wouldn't tolerate as only he was allowed to kill inner circle members – she decided to do the next best thing. She took his wands away, both of them.
Being a woman and without the dark mark often prompted the others to underestimate and belittle her. Today it worked to her advantage. Rowle simply misjudged the danger she presented. Ophelia's first spell was a focussed Lancea through Rowle's lower arm. It wouldn't do permanent damage, wouldn't keep him from doing his job after getting patched up. But it hurt like hell and took him out of the fight. The arm instantly lost all strength and his grip around the wand loosened. The piece of wood clattered on the stone floor. The second spell was far more vicious. A cutting curse towards his groin ended all of Rowle's dreams about female company forever.
"Ah, you bitch," he groaned, clutching the wound with his left hand, his right flaccidly hanging down.
Andromeda watched the scenery in panic and confusion. Marcus gulped and Rowle stared, as Ophelia pointed her wand towards the piece of flesh on the ground that formerly belonged to Rowle.
"Incendio!" She snarled, a vicious smile on her lips.
"You…" His pain forgotten for a moment, Rowle stumbled towards Ophelia only to be stopped by Marcus' strong hand. Without any remorse, Ophelia pointed her wand towards Rowle's bleeding wound and another Incendio ended any ideas he could ever have about some regenerative healing helping him as magic cauterized the injury. And contrary to her, Ophelia assumed, Rowle would know nothing about the wonders of Muggle plastic surgery. The pain was too much this time and he lost consciousness, only Marcus' grip preventing him from hitting the ground like Siggy had done.
"Take this piece of shit away, Marcus," Ophelia coldly commanded. "And make certain that he'll survive." Marcus nodded; his face pale. He would be in serious trouble if Rowle died. "And, Marcus," she stopped him again. Her face softened a tiny bit. "Thank you." He nodded curtly and dragged Rowle away, leaving Ophelia to take care of Andromeda.
Hopefully the Dark Lord will more amused than angry about the incident, Marcus mused on his way. This will hurt.
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The Burrow (T-24)
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"I want to be part of the attack team."
Albus Dumbledore's demand caught them by surprise. They had met at the Burrow out of safety. The chances were simply too great that someone would notice a meeting this size, especially including both Albus and Amelia. Cullen had just finished his explanations, including how he intended to get a small attack team into the lair, a team whose duty would be to occupy the full force of Voldemort's troops, at least for a few minutes, and open the way for the bulk force.
Amelia stayed silent and thoughtfully watched Albus and Cullen. This was his decision. Amelia had more than enough on her plate like organizing her task force of dozens of Aurors, most of them without knowledge of the impending attack until the last moment. Following Snape's suggestion, she had organized them in little teams, officially for reacting to all kind of expected trouble. As Snape had reminded her, Voldemort had been in favour of "Halloween Festivals" in the form of Muggle hunting, Muggleborn bashing and Blood-traitor killing in the past. A few of such "activities" were actually planned, as far as Snape knew, but only as a distraction from the main event. However, it was a good excuse to keep all active Aurors on duty and ready at a moment's notice.
A few days ago, Amelia held a few meetings with different groups of Aurors, to prepare for Halloween. She had been accompanied by a very tight-lipped Kingsley – in truth a polyjuiced Cullen. While she still intended to make a full scan of the Ministry with a squib-scout like Marius Black, Amelia wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any bad eggs among her forces. She absolutely hated the idea of losing men to "friendly fire" because of changes in allegiances in the middle of the fight. They found three "Easter eggs" among her men and Amelia personally organized something for them.
"Alright," Cullen nodded slowly. "I could really use your abilities in there. But you have to accept that I'm the leader. No solo runs on your part. Severus, Harry and I have important tasks to perform. You would be there for our support, not to interfere."
"I understand," Albus agreed. Neither Amelia nor Cullen was certain about that but it had to be enough for now.
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Malfoy Manor (T-3)
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"Good afternoon."
Severus Snape led his guests into the blue salon. He decided on using this room because it was far brighter and more welcoming than the more traditional smoker's lounge that was Lucius Malfoy's preference. The mood of the salon would help his guests relax and distract their mind from the evening event. It would be easier to ambush them as well.
Gibbon followed him into the room, in silence and with barely a nod as a welcome. Equally silent he accepted the glass and gulped down the content without really noticing its nature. Snape had detected the changes in the man since rumours started to spread about the exact nature of today's ritual. The creation of a Horcrux, the idea of splitting your own soul and do something so completely against the natural order of things – that was strong stuff even for a Death Eater. Gibbon belonged to a traditionally Anglican family and while he wasn't a deeply religious man, some things had been ingrained into his heart. Regarding Muggles as some kind of cattle was compatible with his belief – actually it wasn't too different from how his great grandfather had thought of slaves from sub-Saharan Africa. This Horcrux matter however was something completely different.
Snape knew that look. He saw it once fifteen years ago in the eyes of Regulus Black, this sad look of morals and belief clashing with loyalty and political views. Goyle was too dumb and Travers too fanatic to ever have that look however. It made Snape a tad sad that they intended to sacrifice all three of them tonight. Perhaps there was a way to rescue Gibbon at least – but perhaps not.
"I hate this… waiting." Gibbon said after a while. The four Death Eaters had barely spoken a complete sentence and each was dwelling on his own thoughts. It wasn't difficult to assume that they were pondering the rest of the night. With Goyle he wasn't certain however as he could only be pondering his last meal's content and trying to digest it.
Perhaps it was time to start the real task, Severus thought. "I wanted to show you something, Gibbon." The man only nodded, happy to get a distraction, whatever it was. Putting his glass down, he followed the Potion Master and left the room. Calmly they walked down the floor, Snape enforcing his Occlumency not to let anything slip. At last they entered the huge and a bit confusing library of the manor. It was very appropriate for a little ambush.
"So, what did you want to show me?" Gibbon asked, raising a single eyebrow.
Snape actually sighed and looked somewhat sad. "I'm sorry my friend."
Gibbon narrowed his eyes in confusion. Before he had a chance to react, he heard some unknown voice spelling one of the words he hated the most: "Imperio!"
.
"All three are cared for," Snape informed Cullen thirty minutes later. With Sirius polyjuiced as Gibbon, it had been a piece of cake to put Goyle and Travers too under an Imperio. They got a special dispense from Amelia Bones to use the spell tonight. Not that Snape actually cared. He had the feeling that he wouldn't have to ponder legal repercussions tomorrow.
The rest of the attack team had gathered in one of the endless number of salons of the Manor, waiting for the signal. Apart from Snape there were eight persons present. Two of them would apparate with each of the four Death Eaters. Three of them had special tasks at the ritual meeting. The imperiused Death Eaters would start a distracting attack at a prearranged signal. The rest would have to wait in the room Snape had chosen for their arrival, for the battle to start. Then and only then, would they try to support the main players of this little game of chess.
The plan was simple yet efficient. Snape only hoped that it would be enough.
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Voldemort's Lair (T-1)
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It had hurt and more than a bit. Hearing about her little intermezzo and especially how she (man)handled the man/matter, the Dark Lord had luckily reacted with no small amount of humour mixed into his rage. Certainly, he had made generous use of the Crucio on her, long enough for her to lose control of her bladder right in front of the whole inner circle – not one of her proudest moments. But she survived and she would only have few scars as a reminder of the ordeal. He had even allowed her brother to take care of her, not that Theo had more than a passing knowledge of healing spells or potions. Luckily Severus had been there too, carrying on with the task of treating her.
Only later did she learn that Marcus Flint had organized the help, a little thank you for not spilling his name under the Crucio. Ophelia knew, like Marcus, that most other Death Eaters would have used every opportunity to steer their master's wrath towards a different target. Betrayal came easy to them. Ophelia however had endured her punishment alone.
In the end the Dark Lord had forgiven her, partially because he respected her viciousness, and partially because he accepted her explanation. It wasn't only female solidarity about such a heinous attack, in her case it was something more personal: "It could have been me. Without my brother abducting her, I would have been in that cell as a prisoner. I've no doubt Rowle would have tried to rape me too. And there would have been nobody to defend me."
He didn't really understand, being a man and one without any other feelings than hate and disgust in his heart, but he had accepted and lessened the punishment. The watching Death Eaters had been reluctant to show any emotions. It was no secret they liked to see women put in their "rightful places", chauvinistic pigs that they were, but on the other hand Rowle didn't hold many friends among them and more than one of the more insane ones flinched thinking about the loss of body parts. At least Bella hadn't been there. She certainly would have congratulated Ophelia. Not a soothing thought: that a madwoman like Bella would be proud of her. Ophelia shuddered.
That was a mental picture she could live without.
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It had been obvious, at least to her. Gibbon's behaviour had been weird these days. He belonged to the immensely small number of Death Eaters she liked to have around. Perhaps because of this she knew him well enough to notice the small signs. Most other wouldn't notice. It wasn't like he was unrecognizable. He hadn't spoken or moved differently, didn't appear to be under drugs or alcohol; his voice hadn't slurred and he wasn't giggling maniacally the whole time. It had been far more unobtrusive.
Gibbon mentioned the meeting in Malfoy Manor twice and how nice it had been and that he expected to be invited again. He seemed determined to spend the hours before the ritual at Malfoy Manor, unwilling to change that schedule. Right now he would be there together with Travers and Goyle. Ophelia hated the former and despised the latter. One brutal and clever, the other brutal and dumb – in the end the intellect made no difference, it only influenced their ways of torturing and killing any target they set their eyes on. Gibbon was different but he would be with them this evening – and with Severus.
Severus – somehow he had influenced the dynamic trio to be his guests tonight, Ophelia was certain of it. Not using an Imperio, she would have noticed. However, there certainly were potions to make good use of. Or perhaps it had been a compulsion spell. What could be the reason of such a deed? The only one she was able to think of was to…
They were part of a plan to free Andromeda. Ophelia nodded. Yes, this had to be it. Severus was planning something to free her.
What to do however with this piece of information? It would have been her duty to warn the Dark Lord or at least to speak about it with her brother. Should she stay silent? Her punishment would be harsh should anybody realize her knowledge and her unwillingness to part with it. Obviously Severus wasn't simply planning to free Andromeda from her cell. It would have been easier to do this in advance, several days before the ritual. Perhaps it could even have been organized without unveiling his participation in the rescue.
No, they're planning some big attack, Ophelia mused. They're planning to take HIM down tonight, like Halloween fifteen years ago.
It was her chance to get rid of this weak and disgusting band of thugs, to have a free life at last.
Now she had two decisions to make: How much risk to take tonight and what to do about her brother?
Should she go away to be safe? Stay in her room at the lair? Help the attackers in any way? The Slytherin in her told her to leave right now. It would be safer this way, diminish her chances to get caught in the crossfire. However, to help the attackers wouldn't only sooth this annoying feeling of affinity with poor Andromeda. It would certainly also help her social and legal standing after the political climate changed. While she never took the mark, she still had strong connections to the organization and had more than once supported the Dark Lord. "I had no choice," was an awful weak excuse for a grown woman.
And her brother? She loved him in a way, not as much as twenty years ago but still. However, he was responsible for this whole mess. As the head of the family, he forced her to participate and more than once tried to use her as a bargaining chip in his worthless political manoeuvres. She should save him. She could do nothing and watch him being sentenced to Azkaban after tonight's defeat. Or she could do something… decisive, changing the dynamics in House Nott and break free of her bindings. It would certainly be good for her nephew as well. Theo Nott junior already showed far too many signs of growing into the same kind of worthless scum as her brother and father before him.
He always had a weak heart. It would be awful but completely understandable should the exertion and excitement of the battle prove too much for him to handle.
Decisions, decisions, Ophelia groaned. Luckily she had never been as weak-willed and indecisive as her dear brother.
She grabbed a bottle from her trunk. Time for a little visit.
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A/N
The song I used is the one from the game "Dragon Age: Inquisition".
The sentence about both wands is stolen from the film "Sin City".
Regretfully I own neither.