Perfect Enemy by TATU

Keep yourself away

Far away from me

I'll forever stay your

Perfect enemy

August 30th, 1979

Ivy was back in the blank-walled room.

It was more or less as she'd left it after her interview; empty aside from two chairs and Hazel's yearning voice calling her name every so often.

The only difference was that there was now a small, round table in front of her. A tea spread had been placed atop it, complete with sugar cubes and a porcelain jug of milk. Since she'd entered the room to find a cuppa being prepared just how she liked it -they'd taken her preference upon arrival- she'd been fighting the urge to down it in one gulp.

Due to its enticing fragrance and Rodolphus'slove potion comment, she suspected that the Veritaserum had been infused with elements of Amortentia. But she wasn't sure she cared. And, really, what was the harm? She'd taken an antidote in the lavatory a few minutes earlier, so she would be immune to the effects anyhow.

Making a split second decision to consume the entire cup, she did so greedily, enjoying the warmth it spread through her.

Ivy had just finished wiping her mouth when the door opened.

A tall, slender man with ginger hair stepped through the door, bearing a much jollier countenance than Ms. Parkinson held. It was complete with dimples and a broad smile that made his light brown eyes sparkle. Although, there was a large, nearly healed cut on his forehead.

"I've met you before," Ivy returned the teacup to its saucer. "You tended to my mother when she was in St. Mungo's last year."

"'Fraid not." He chuckled lightly and took the chair across the small table. "That would've been my brother, Fabian. I'm Gideon. Prewett. But good to meet you…" Glancing down at his clipboard, his face fell. "Ms. Selwyn."

By the way his mouth flattened into a hard line, she was certain that they were thinking the same thing: she and her fellow Death Eaters were only a Portkey away from ambushing his home a month ago. She'd bet anything that they were responsible for the cut on his forehead.

"Well, why don't we begin?" His tone was surly and his gaze drifted to her empty teacup, then to his prepared one, which he took a long drink from. "I'll be asking you a series of questions. Are you ready?"

"Quite."

The redhead conjured a quill and peered at his clipboard. "This requires absolute honesty. Do you want to be honest with me?"

No. "Yes."

Prewett narrowed his eyes and appeared to check off a box. "Do you intend to be honest with me?"

No. "Yes."

"If you were offered this position," the examiner made another checkmark. "Would you tell anyone about our work?"

Yes. "No."

"Would you swear to it?"

Yes. "Yes."

"Would you keep your word?"

No. "Yes."

Prewett paused to finish his cuppa, before pouring himself another. Scrutinising her with thinly veiled derision, he sipped his tea in silence. Perhaps she should have been more concerned with the way he was looking at her, as though he didn't believe a word she was saying, but she was more focused on the Veritaserum setup.

The whole thing was terribly clever.

The Department of Mysteries probably didn't even need a backup plan for if someone chose not to drink the tea; the concoction was irresistible. Even she, who knew what was in it, wasn't able to refrain. The examiner, too, seemed unable to resist something so seductive. Though, she was sure he'd also ingested an antidote beforehand.

"Do you believe yourself to be a trustworthy person?" Prewett read off his clipboard.

No. "Yes."

"If you were offered this position," he ticked another box. "Would you work hard?"

Yes. "Yes."

"Are you a Death Eater?" He asked as though he was inquiring about the weather.

"No." Ivy kept a straight face. "Why do you ask?"

"I knew it!" The examiner dropped the clipboard in his lap and ran a hand through his flaming hair. "Bloody Lestrange."

Rodolphus was a prick, but for once, she was glad to have him in her corner. Without his warning, she would be in some incredibly deep shite right now. "Sorry?"

"Oh, stuff it," Prewett heaved a tired sigh. "This has Lestrange written all over it."

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're on about," she smirked. "Are you quite alright?"

"Merlin's beard." He rubbed his eyes irritably. "The mind games really do never end."

"You're one to talk." Ivy inspected her manicured nails. "Am I a Death Eater? Really?"

"It's not often that I get to have someone like you in this position."

"And what position is that?" She looked up at him slyly. "Drugged by a government official, perhaps?" When he fixed her with a particularly contemptuous glare, she let out a short laugh. "I won't tell if you won't."

"Not like I've got a choice," Prewett drawled.

"You're right about that."

He couldn't exactly tell anyone that she was lying, because in order to out her as a Death Eater, he would have to out himself as an Order member. Or, face the consequences of slandering a very wealthy society lady, while also putting his occupation at risk.

"So," she clasped her fingers. "How did I do? Well, I presume?"

"Passed with flying colours," he bit out each word. "Should I even bother with the other half of the exam?"

"Probably not," Ivy said snarkily. "But I want this job. So if you'd please, it would be much appreciated."

Prewett clenched his jaw and closed his eyes.

Taking a breath, he leaned forward and stared directly into her eyes.

As he attempted to breach her mind nonverbally, she realised that her method of resistance had progressed from juvenile visualisation of walls to something more abstract. There was still a labyrinth of sorts guarding her mind, but now, she didn't even need to focus to repel the examiner.

Ivy flicked him away like a flea and leaned forward herself. Perhaps it was unnecessary, but she had employment to earn.

Some effortless part of her tunnelled straight into the depths of his light brown eyes, though it was nothing like when she had performed Legilimency on Severus in fifth year. Back then, it had required all of her energy and attention, to the point that she could hardly move or take note of her surroundings. This time, she infiltrated Prewett's mind with ease and retained full control of her body.

His consciousness was a fortress, and she could tell that it wouldn't have been easily accessed had she not caught him off guard. However, she had little interest in violating him, so she retreated without so much as a glance into his mind.

The room was silent aside from Hazel's quiet whispers, and she poured herself another cup of tea. Sipping it with a hum of appreciation, she waited for him to say something.

Eventually, he pursed his lips. "You've had quite a lot of practise, haven't you?"

"As have you."

"Why didn't you do it?" His voice was curious, loathing temporarily forgotten.

"Why didn't I do what?" She drained the teacup and returned it to its saucer.

"Why didn't you look into my mind? You had the advantage. The opportunity to gain intel for your master."

That was one question Ivy had no answer for. "Are we done? I'd really like to know whether I'm hired."

Prewett squinted at her and jotted something down on the clipboard. Then, he got to his feet, smoothing down his robes. Approaching the door, he stepped out of sight into the corridor.

It was a moment before Ms. Parkinson entered the room, examining the clipboard he'd apparently passed off to her. "It appears that you exceeded our expectations."

Not for the first time, she wondered how the Order was going to achieve anything, as their moral code frequently blocked their own self-interest; Prewett easily could have altered her exam, but instead, it seemed like he'd just employed her.

"It also appears as though," Ms. Parkinson went on. "You have a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. I've never seen Gideon so much as frown before and he looked quite displeased after such a brief interaction with you… That being said, I think you'll fit in well. The job is yours."

Ivy wanted to pump a fist, but figured that would be too childish for her first occupation. Getting to her feet, she gave her new boss a firm handshake.

Ms. Parkinson proceeded to lead her into the black-tiled corridor, escorting her in the direction of the lifts as she debriefed Ivy on when she was expected to start.

On the way to the exit, she spotted Prewett and Lestrange engaged in what was probably a very interesting conversation. Prewett was raging under his breath, face as red as his hair, while the dark-haired wizard leaned up against the wall, evidently enjoying himself very much.

September 22nd, 1979

"This is the worst stag night I've ever thrown," Severus grumbled.

"It's the only stag night you've ever thrown." Regulus tittered as they seated themselves in a dark corner of the Hog's Head Pub. The place was far livelier than he'd seen it, though this wasn't saying much. "My only request was to get pissed, and we're working on that as we speak, so I'm not complaining."

"Still lame though," he scowled. "I can't believe the Three Broomsticks was so crowded; been going there for years and I've never seen it full. Have you?"

"Once or twice. Really, mate, I'm not bothered. Besides, the liquor here has a really pleasant dusty aftertaste."

Severus snorted. "I have always enjoyed drinking dirt."

Regulus grinned.

Withdrawing a small square of parchment from his pocket, he rested it flat on the table. He was enjoying whatever magic Ivy had worked that allowed them to write notes, even though they'd only exchanged what number drink they were on. His 3 had faded from the other side of the parchment, while Ivy's sloppy 6 was still potent on the front.

"Who do you think'll pass out first?" Regulus mused aloud.

"Definitely Theya," Severus said. "Then Ivy. Meadowes will probably be the one tucking them into bed."

"She does have a stomach of steel."

He recalled her out drinking every seventh year on their last night at Hogwarts. In fact, his last memory before blacking out was of her winning a drinking contest. He, unfortunately, had passed out in the tub of his shared Dormitory, wearing nothing but a shoe -which didn't belong to him- on his cock.

"Who out of us'll pass out first?" Regulus asked.

"You, clearly. You're a lightweight - worse than a lightweight. I'm surprised you're still conscious, since you've had, what? Three drinks already?"

He raised a middle finger. "Speaking of, do you think anyone is coming to get our orders?"

"I doubt it," Severus craned his neck for a peek at the bar counter and did a double take. "Is that Dumbledore and- fuck, what's her name?"

Following his gaze, he located his former Headmaster to find that he was half of an unusual pairing. Dumbledore was seated at the counter beside a skinny witch with thick glasses who appeared to be around Regulus's age.

"She was a Ravenclaw." Severus spoke slowly, evidently trying to discern her name. "In the year above me. Pretty Divination-crazed, from what I recall."

"Like Ivy was?"

"Worse."

Regulus sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Last name started with a T," Severus appeared to be thinking very hard.

"Trelawney?" He offered.

"That's it." He nodded, before giving an indifferent shrug. "What do you want to drink?"

"Dealer's choice."

As Severus departed to ensure that they indeed got pissed, Regulus wiped the length of his sleeve along the table, effectively ridding the surface of dust. While he did so, a disjointed 7 appeared on the parchment. He snorted, thinking that Ivy was in for it tomorrow.

With any luck, he would be too.

Hearing raised voices, his attention was drawn back to the bar counter.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched the Trelawney woman get to her feet in a mess of tears. Snatching up her jumper from the back of the barstool, she fled the pub with a resounding: "You'll be sorry!"

"What the fuck," Regulus said under his breath. Catching Severus's eye, he watched him return with not two, but six hovering drinks. "Blimey, you're really committed to getting me sloshed."

"This is the only stag night you're ever going to get." Severus waved his wand and the drinks lowered themselves onto the wood. "I Scourgify'd the tankards when the barkeep wasn't looking. Lucky distraction, that Trelawney. Bit of a nutter, though."

"Yeah, what was that about?" He grabbed one of the beverages and downed it, feeling the Firewhiskey burn on its way down.

"Sounded like she was interviewing for a position on staff." Severus grabbed a drink as well and took a long swig. "I think it's safe to say that she didn't get it."

"Hm." Regulus eyed the bit of parchment as drunken handwriting appeared. Watching each letter as it came, his eyes went wide when Ivy finished her sentence: I want to snog you. And maybe more. Meet me after?

Grabbing the parchment, he hurried to stuff it in his pocket.

"What was that?" Severus raised a brow as he finished off his drink.

"Nothing." He tried to think about anything other than snogging Ivy, as he was rather unwilling to sport a stiffy while in the same room as his former Headmaster. "We've just got some catching up to do."

September 23rd, 1979

Regulus really regretted having his stag party the night before. It was the only date he'd been able to work out with Severus, as he was out of the country with his apprenticeship so often, but he wished that he'd fought harder for a night where he didn't have to work the next morning.

Groaning, as it was all he could really do aside from vomit, he got back to his feet.

Averting his eyes from the filthy toilet bowl, he flushed the loo and trudged back to the storage room of Borgin and Burkes.

Longbottom looked up from the black candlesticks he was polishing to give Regulus a look of disgust. "What's wrong with you?"

"Stag night," he grumbled.

Joining him at one of the mismatched tables, it was all he could do to not lay his throbbing head down. Grabbing a dirty cloth with one of his gloved hands, he half-heartedly grazed it along a candlestick.

"Are these going to kill me if I take my gloves off?" Regulus asked irritably. "The only thing worse than this headache is steeping in my own fucking hand sweat."

"Quit your whinging," Longbottom snapped. "You did it to yourself… No, the candles won't kill you. They're designed to give light only to the holder when in darkness."

Casting the cloth aside, he removed his gloves to massage his temples. "You've got to be taking the piss. The candles do that? Borgin said that's what the Hand of Glory was for!"

"Tell me you didn't buy it."

Regulus pressed his fingers into his eyes.

Longbottom laughed loudly, the sound making his head throb. "I wondered who finally bought that thing. It's been here for ages; no one's been thick enough to spend two hundred Galleons on a severed hand. Til you, anyway."

"No wonder he threw in the candle for free," he mumbled. "I thought I was getting a deal."

"Did he tell you that you've excellent taste as well?" When Regulus didn't respond, he grinned all too happily. "You're not very bright, are you?"

"Piss off. I thought it would be useful."

"Any of these candles would be useful. And they wouldn't have cost you two hundred Galleons. More like fifteen."

"I'll hurl on you," Regulus threatened. "If you don't shut up."

"Like I haven't heard that before," Longbottom rolled his eyes.

"Who the hell else threatens to vomit on you? You do realise that's abnormal, right?"

"Of course I do," he fixed him with a pointed look. "Sirius, actually, has threatened me with that on multiple occasions."

At the mention of his brother's name, Regulus's stomach churned.

This was enough of a disturbance to make bile rise in his throat again.

He leapt up, running for the lavatory while Longbottom cackled.

September 24th, 1979

Sitting on the edge of Theya's desk, Ivy fiddled with the latch on her satchel. There were cheese and pickle sandwiches inside, as she'd brought them for lunch, but the thought of ingesting them was making her nauseous.

With a grumble, she withdrew the sack lunch and placed it on the surface of the wood. Sliding it over to Theya and Doe, she got off the desk with a huff. "I can't eat this, you two have it."

"What is it?" Doe took her spot on the desk, as though she'd been waiting for the opportunity. Folding her legs, she dumped the sandwiches out unceremoniously.

"What's wrong with them?" Theya took her feet off the desk and set aside her parfait. Sucking on the spoon, she eyed the lunch suspiciously.

"Nothing," Ivy fiddled with her white hair. "I'm just hanging out my arse."

"Still?" Doe rolled her eyes. "It's been two days."

"No, it's been a day. Today is the second."

"Semantics," Theya said around the spoon in her mouth. "But good to know that I did my job right."

"Please," Doe scoffed. "All you did was pass out with your head in the loo. I'm the one who rinsed vomit out of your hair. Did your job right, my arse."

Ivy laughed.

Theya took the spoon out of her mouth and pointed it at her haughtily. "Like you've got anything to chortle about. You started crying because you couldn't get the curry chips on your fork."

"At least I didn't flash my tits at the pub owner."

"Actually," Doe interjected. "That was me. And it wasn't just the pub owner."

"Oh, right," Ivy giggled. "There were two other women, weren't there? And-"

"Shh!" Theya cut her off. "I think I hear Mr. Madson."

The front office of the Floo Network Authority went silent.

Listening closely, Ivy heard approaching footsteps from out in the corridor.

"It's him," Theya hissed. "Scatter!"

Doe jumped off the desk as Ivy went for her satchel, and they knocked skulls hard. Theya frantically tried to clear her desk, and in doing so, knocked her parfait all over the wooden surface. The three of them hurried to clean, using the sleeves of their robes to wipe it away until it occurred to Theya that they could just Scourgify'd it.

By the time the door to the office opened, the three of them were out of breath and only somewhat covered in yoghurt.

Mr. Madson stepped through the door, eyes bouncing to each of them. "All right?"

"Yes," Theya smiled.

"Quite," Doe added.

"Good to see you," Ivy said quickly.

"And you," Mr. Madson gave a polite smile, though it faltered upon looking at her. "Apologies - have we met?"

Theya let out a sound like she was trying not to laugh.

"Once or twice," Ivy shot her a look.

Today was her first day of work, but before she started, she'd made a habit of visiting Theya for lunch a few times a week. Doe had recently begun joining them, as she was newly employed by the Apparition Test Centre due to one of their employees getting splinched. Despite how often Ivy frequented the office, Mr. Madson never remembered her, but always remembered Doe.

"I'm Ivy Selwyn," she added. "Just began in the Department of Mysteries."

"Ah, that's right." He nodded, though she was certain he'd already forgotten her name again. "Well, we'd all best get back to it, eh?"

"Yeah," Doe headed for the door. "I expect I'm due back any moment now."

"Me too," Ivy followed her. "It's been a pleasure."

Following the former Ravenclaw into the black-tiled corridor, they scurried towards the lifts.

"It's been a pleasure?" Doe teased. "Who talks like that?"

"Reginald debriefed me on some professional sayings that he thought might be flattering."

"I think you're better off acting your age. You sounded ridiculous." Reaching the lifts, Doe set off down the left corridor in the direction of her department. "Cheers!"

As a lift arrived, Ivy waited for a few witches and wizards to leave it before passing through the wrought golden grilles. Encumbered by other staff, she remained squished in the middle as the grilles shut with a loud crash.

The chains rattled as they went on their way, and by the time they reached Level Nine, she was the only one left in the box.

As the lift clattered to a stop and the grilles began to open, she held in a sigh.

"Rodolphus," she said only somewhat unpleasantly.

"Ivy," he grinned widely. "I was just on my way to find you."

"Ms. Parkinson sent you to fetch me?"

"Yes and no," Rodolphus said. "She was called off to deal with a crisis, so I offered to finish giving you the tour. Figured you might prefer me to holly jolly Prewett, the bumbling twat."

"How thoughtful," Ivy said wryly.

"I'm nothing if not gracious."

Truthfully, she would've preferred the redheaded Order member. At least she wouldn't have needed to pretend to like him. Not that she did much pretending with Rodolphus; she was known in most circles for being grumpy and sour, so she didn't have to be overly friendly. She did, however, need to be civil, which was the part she struggled with.

"Where did you leave off on the tour?" Rodolphus stepped forward to block the grille that tried to close.

"Ms. Parkinson was going to show me the Portkey Office, then the Department of Mysteries."

"Ah. No need to waste your time with Portkey Office; it looks like every other office and the work isn't exactly noteworthy." Rodolphus began down the corridor, indicating for her to follow. "All you need to know about it is that it's on Level Six… Pettigrew used to work there."

Ivy stepped out of the lift and into the cold hallway, catching up to him easily as he was walking at a most leisurely pace. "Used to?"

"He was let go two days ago as I understand it."

"Why?"

"No one will say." Rodolphus led her towards a single black door at the end of the corridor. "Confidentiality and all that. But I think we both know what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"July 22nd," he lowered his voice. "Do you really think it was the Order's first choice to Portkey directly into a forest in the middle of nowhere?"

"He tampered with it?"

"Something like that."

"Has the Order made the connection?" Ivy asked quietly.

"Well," he halted before the black door. Peering past her down the corridor, he folded his arms and continued in a hushed tone. "Yaxley works there, so I'm sure he pawned off the responsibility onto him."

"But Pettigrew was fired, surely that's evidence against him."

"No one wants to think," Rodolphus analysed her critically. "That a longstanding member of their organisation is a traitor. I'm sure coincidences are easily rationalised."

Ivy narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

He wasn't looking her over in the flirtatious way he usually did; instead, it seemed like he was trying to discern something from her demeanour. It was a little unsettling, when she recalled that he'd been the one to discover Wilkes and Rosier's bodies, as well as her knickers. However, if he'd discovered her name embroidered into them, she couldn't fathom why Bellatrix would warn her that she was under suspicion.

No, she was being paranoid; it was a poorly kept secret that Rodolphus enjoyed seducing taken witches for sport.

"Anyhow," Rodolphus opened the black door. Leading her into the room of twelve identical doors, the walls spun for a moment before settling. "This is the Entrance Chamber."

Ivy's gaze locked onto one of the handleless entrances, as Hazel's sweet, soft voice wound its way to her ears. Approaching the door, she stood before it. "I need to know what's in this room."

He walked to her side with raised brows. "Why?"

"Call it curiosity."

"You'll need to do better than that to get an honest answer."

"Aren't you supposed to be giving me a tour?"

"Since I am, this may be your only opportunity to learn what's in there." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rodolphus watching her. "We Unspeakables aren't a chatty bunch, and seeing as you have the lowest security clearance possible, I don't believe anyone else will be willing to elaborate. So I ask again, why do you need to know what's behind this door?"

Ivy turned to him with a scowl. "Because someone is calling to me."

Rodolphus frowned. "You can hear them? From out here?"

"Yes, I can," she crossed her arms. "Now, what's in there?"

"My, my." He took a step into her personal space, blue eyes roaming over her. "You get more fascinating by the minute."

It was all she could do to not break his nose. Instead, Ivy took a pointed step backwards. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"That's the Death Chamber," Rodolphus cocked his head. "Inside, there's a… veil, of sorts."

"A veil," she echoed. "Can I see it?"

"'Fraid not. The only person who could grant you access is the Death Handler. While he can be lenient with rules, he doesn't give out favours lightly."

"And who is that?"

"Me," he smirked slyly.

"Figures," Ivy scoffed. "What's behind all the other doors, then?"

"All sorts of things," Rodolphus said. "We've got the Love Chamber, a Hall of Prophecy, the Librarian's Corridor, a Time Room, the Space Chamber… Once, I was even allowed into this room where they keep a tank of brains."

Ivy couldn't tell if he was taking the piss. "With those, the Death Chamber, the entrance to the lifts, and the door leading to where I interviewed, that's nine doors accounted for. What about the other three?"

"I believe Prewett is the Handler for a chamber of magical artefacts, but he despises me, so I've never been able to get confirmation on it. I've got my guesses about the others, but they're just guesses."

"I suppose I'm not allowed into any of those other rooms either?"

"Nope," he laughed. "Not without explicit authorization. But you'll likely see some of the Librarian's Corridor; our last Administrative Assistant was occasionally sent to fetch books for the Handlers. Other than that, I believe you'll be looking at a desk all day."

Ivy pondered this. "And what exactly is keeping us from talking about all this forbidden knowledge to those outside of the Department? It can't merely be trust, otherwise everyone would know about the work done here."

"Maryanne has her ways."

"Does that mean Ms. Parkinson is the Head of the Department?"

"Yes."

"Why was she interviewing me, if all I'll be doing is staring at a desk?"

"Maryanne enjoys her control," Rodolphus told her. "Quite a conniving snake, that one. And terribly popular throughout the Ministry. I'd recruit her for our cause, in fact, but I can't be certain that I wouldn't wind up in Azkaban for trying; she's as fond of Prewett as she is of me, so I don't believe it's worth the risk."

"Again, it begs the question," Ivy said. "What's keeping your mouths shut about the Department of Mysteries? I presume by conniving snake, you mean that she uses blackmail?"

"Maryanne can sniff out weaknesses like a bloodhound; she uses what she knows will work. Sometimes it's blackmail, sometimes it's the Unbreakable Vow. She's just as likely to exploit honesty and loyalty as she is to appeal to someone's baser instincts. Of course, that level of tyranny is only for those who reach a certain level of security clearance, such as being a Handler."

"What'd she use on you?"

Rodolphus smirked and adjusted the collar of his robes. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would," Ivy replied dryly. "That's why I'm asking."

"How unfortunate that I'm not willing to divulge. I could be persuaded, however, if you give me something in return."

"You say that as though I care enough to bother." Rolling her eyes, she glanced around at the identical doors in the dim, blueish-white light. "Would you like to fill me in on how I'm supposed to know which door leads where?"

"You'll figure it out eventually," Rodolphus grinned.

"You're not going to tell me?" She arched a brow. "What happened to a lady should never have to find her way on her own?"

"That's purely circumstantial, and right now, I think it'd be more fun to watch you figure it out. Now, let me show you to your desk."

September 29th, 1979

Regulus took a bite of his beans on toast, staring with unfocused eyes at the back of the Daily Prophet. He and Ivy's habit of each reading one side of the paper, then relaying the interesting bits to the other, had never yielded very captivating results. Though, he blamed this on the editors of the Daily Prophet, since they rarely reported anything of note.

"Anything good?" Ivy flipped down a corner of the paperto look at him.

He had to squint to see her properly, as she'd chosen the chair directly in front of the open window. Despite the Haven being fairly obscured from the sun, the morning light had somehow managed to peek through the trees, slide through the kitchen window, and blind him.

Regulus averted his eyes and swallowed his food. "Nothing."

"Me neither," Ivy folded the paper and tossed it aside.

Just as he thought to leave the two person dining set in search of gillywater, a fluttering sound caught his attention. Leaning to the side to peer past his girlfriend, he watched as a small screech owl flew directly through the window. The owl dropped a folded piece of parchment onto the table, then circled the high ceiling once, before taking Fernando's perch in the corner.

"Is that your owl?" Ivy blinked.

"Never seen it before," Regulus grabbed the parchment.

Unfurling it, he found two elegantly written words: Peter Pettigrew?

Turning it over, he found nothing else, no signature or marking of any sort.

"Er…" He held it out to her. "I have a feeling it's from Lily Potter."

"Evans?" Ivy snatched the slip out of his fingers and scanned it, before breaking into a wide grin. "Have you got a quill and ink? Another scrap of parchment?"

With a nod, Regulus got to his feet and left the kitchen, rounding the corner to enter the sun-filled sitting room. Making for the coat rack beside the door to the garden, he located his cloak and dug inside the left pocket, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. Pushing past the black candlestick -he'd gotten rid of the Hand of Glory- and the sack of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder that Ivy had gifted him, he grasped the materials he'd been looking for.

Going back to the kitchen, he returned to find Ivy giggling.

"What's so funny?" He passed her the Self-Inking Quill and parchment.

"Pettigrew," she spread the parchment out and wrote a large YES. "Is finally going to get what's been coming to him."

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden burning sensation pierced his left forearm. With a gasp of pain, he rolled up his sleeve urgently. Laying eyes on the Dark Mark, he watched the serpent squirm, scalding him as it moved.

"Is it the Dark Lord?" Ivy got to her feet and pulled up her own sleeve. "I don't feel anything."

"He's calling me," Regulus hissed. "Fuck!"

"Only you?" She paled. "Why?"

"Hell if I know!"

Clutching his searing Mark, he turned on a heel and hurried back to the sitting room with Ivy nipping at his heels. Fumbling with the coat rack, he released the injury to swing his cloak around his shoulders.

"Will the Dark Mark allow me to Apparate out of here?" He asked feverishly.

"I don't know," Ivy paced. "Try - waiting will only make him angry."

Regulus withdrew his wand and twisted on the spot without another word.

Suctioned into darkness, his mind raced fearfully.

He couldn't fathom what had brought this on - what he might've done to make the Dark Lord call on him personally. It was possible that other Death Eaters were being beckoned as well, but he had little time to ponder this before his surroundings appeared again.

Regulus could hardly grasp what he was seeing, as he had landed in a bloody bedroom.

The walls were a soft pink -at least, the areas that weren't splattered with red- and on a very small bed before him, laid a mutilated child. She was face down and didn't appear to be breathing, with gashes marring every centimetre of her skin.

A look to his right told him that he was not alone.

Lord Voldemort was blocking the door, while pressing a scraggly-nailed finger into Ariadne's Dark Mark. Her skin was covered with blood, hair matted with sweat, and her dark eyes glowed with pride, leading him to believe that she'd just completed her initiation.

But he couldn't think of that right then, as when he locked onto the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes, he could feel the reptilian man trying to access his mind. Letting him in as Ivy had taught, he allowed his master to see the thoughts of an eager servant.

Stepping forward, he knelt in the blood-soaked carpet and bowed his head.

"You may go," Lord Voldemort spoke in a low hiss.

As Ariadne left the room, sweat moistened the back of Regulus's neck.

It was a struggle, trying to conceal his true thoughts from the Dark Lord. He could feel thin, cold fingers combing through his mind, though he didn't know what the search was for. Remaining where he was, kneeling submissively, he awaited further direction.

After a moment, the Dark Lord spoke again. "Rise."

Obeying immediately, he straightened and kept his voice calm. "How may I be of service?"

"I have need of a house elf." Lord Voldemort watched him unblinkingly - unnervingly.

That was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

Even so, he was in no position to refuse. Or to ask why - to even think about why, as the majority of his focus was on keeping Lord Voldemort where he wanted him; scouring his mind a few layers below the surface. He was holding him at bay there, letting him review the inklings of a spoiled pureblood heir who sought only power and blood.

"Kreacher!" Regulus shouted.

The sickly-looking house elf appeared with a sharp crack. "Yes, Master?"

"My Lord requires use of you." He spoke grimly, as an unpleasant feeling crawled up his spine. "Do as he bids."