Tyrant Rising

by Midgards Ormen

A savage beating by Vernon unleashes Harry's latent magic, transforming him into something not of this world. Over twenty years later, something has begun to stir in Wizarding Britain. Already locked in a seemingly endless war between light and dark, the witches and wizards of Britain now face a threat unlike any they could ever have imagined.

1. The Approaching Swarm

Chapter 1: The Approaching Swarm

Author's Note: Hello my, hopefully, rabid readers! Tis I! Obviously. If you're new: welcome, if you're a returning reader: welcome back. And yes, I ripped that off from Dumbledore. This is a story idea I had several years ago (2014!) and wrote out about 15 pages of before hitting a wall in how I was going to progress beyond the initial setup. Now I actually have a reasonably good idea for how to do that and figured, what the heck? Despite hitting a wall, this is one of my more favoured little pieces I've written, largely due to the action sequences.

Now, fair warning, this story is violent and very gory, so if you're squeamish or easily freaked out by that sort of thing, I would advise giving it a miss. There are also mentions of severe abuse so heads up for that too.

If you're a rabid fan of Lethal Injection, 1. Wow, I had no idea you actually existed but that's certainly nice to know, and 2. Don't worry, that will still be my first priority. Although I do have an idea of how I want this story to progress, I can't guarantee that I will actually be posting anything beyond this chapter, and, if I do, it certainly won't be on any kind of regular schedule. Unlike Lethal Injection (where I could change some names and call my crossover characters OCs and it would be a normal Harry Potter fic), this story is a major crossover with Warhammer 40K. Despite this, if you don't know anything about Warhammer 40K, don't worry, all will be explained as the story progresses.

There are some differences between this world and canon (besides the Warhammer 40K components) in that I've increased the population of the Wizarding World for reasons that I hope will become clear as the story progresses. And I have created some Wizarding settlements other than Hogsmeade, so, despite it being referred to as 'the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain' in canon, there are others in this story. Anyway, that's enough from me, so read, enjoy, and review.

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Warhammer.

28th October 1988

Little Whinging,

Surrey

The violent slamming of a heavy door jerked eight-year-old Harry Potter from his fitful sleep. His eyes snapped open, the startling emerald of his irises rapidly consumed by the terrified darkness of his dilating pupils. The painfully thin boy scrambled from his bare mattress, huddling into the deepest recesses of his cramped cupboard home, down under the first few stairs. A sinister rumble began to grow steadily louder, accompanied by an ominous series of thudding impacts, coming closer with each passing moment. Soon, the rumble resolved itself into a snarled series of profanities and black oaths, a vicious tide of invective damning the "ungrateful bastards on the board," the "stupid bitch of a CEO," and most often "that damn BOY!"

Uncle Vernon was very angry. And from long experience interpreting his Uncle's furious rantings, Harry knew exactly why: he didn't get the promotion he wanted. Harry had learned that whenever Uncle Vernon was angry, it would mean a great deal of pain for him. Harry futilely tried to squeeze himself further under the stairs, away from the small line of light outlining the cupboard door, as if that would somehow protect him from the coming onslaught.

In his heart, Harry knew it was a futile effort, he had lived with the Dursleys far too long to hold out hope for anything even approaching a reprieve. His fears were confirmed moments later when the door to his cupboard was ripped off its hinges, revealing his purple-faced uncle, veins throbbing visibly in his forehead. Behind the bent form of his irate Uncle, the cheerful yellow flowers covering the wallpaper greeted Harry warmly, their spread petals seemingly basking in the light slanting through the window over the front door.

A great, slab-like fist thrust into the dark cupboard, sausage-like fingers seizing a fistful of Harry's baggy shirt, yanking him closer to the door, dirty fingernails leaving stinging scratches through the worn fabric.

"Come here, Boy!" The obese man snarled at his nephew, releasing his shirt only to grab him by the throat instead, dragging him out into the hallway with a single hard yank that wrenched the small boy from his feet. The force of the pull sent Harry's head slamming into the opposite wall, the impact phasing the cheerful flowers, not at all, but causing galactic constellations to burst into existence behind his eyes.

As he rebounded off the wall and landed heavily on his back, Harry saw black splotches begin eating away at the edges of his vision and a comforting heaviness began tugging insistently at the edges of his consciousness. Harry forced himself to stave off the encroaching dark: bitter experience had taught him that failure to do so would make the beating far worse. Struggling to his feet, Harry was met with a meaty fist to the stomach which smashed the air from his lungs and sent him back down to his knees, gasping in a futile attempt to recover the life-saving oxygen. An instant later his frail chest impacted with Vernon's leather-clad foot with an audible crack of breaking bones.

A groan tried futilely to tear itself from Harry's oxygen-starved lungs as the impact cracked several of Harry's ribs and sent him slamming down onto his back. Looking up, Harry saw his uncle's enormously fat foot raised over his chest, a sadistic gleam in his piggy little eyes as he prepared to crush his nephew, and closed his eyes.

He did not close them in acquiescence, however, no nihilistic acceptance of his cruel fate had overwhelmed the young boy. Instead, he closed them for a wish, a heartfelt, desperate wish made with every fibre of his being. Every iota of his hatred and fear hardened into crystalline focus upon a single dream, the darkest, most fervent desire of his battered heart: he wished he could hurt the Dursleys, to make them feel every ounce of the pain they had filled his life with. And, because Harry Potter was no ordinary eight-year-old boy, something happened. That same something the Dursleys had sought to stamp out long ago, when they first began their abuse of the boy. The something they had feared every waking moment for seven long years. Magic.

The previous week, Harry had been left alone in Number 4 Privet Drive when the Dursleys had been forced to rush their 'poor Diddums' to the hospital for a bout of nausea. In the rush to ensure the health of their overweight offspring, neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia had remembered to lock Harry's cupboard. Taking advantage of his rare bout of freedom, Harry had snuck up to Dudley's room to see if he could steal some time on his cousin's computer. Along the way, his attention was captured by a small figurine Dudley had demanded his father purchase, assemble, and paint for him during one of his many fits of fleeting fancy. The figure was of a powerful alien beast - a Swarmlord, Dudley had called it - from a game called Warhammer 40,000.

By the time the figurine had been completed, Dudley had already lost interest in the game, finding it far too time and thought intensive, but Harry couldn't help but admire the creature. It had seemed a beast of supreme power, a law unto itself that need never fear the persecutions Harry himself was subjected to every day of his young life, and Harry had found himself dreaming of how different things could be were he to have such power. Perhaps it was the recent nature of the experience, or perhaps it was simple chance, but it was upon this admiration and idle imagination that Harry's magic seized.

Time seemed to halt within the small confines of Number 4 Privet Drive, as the small, frail body of Harry Potter warped and shifted, expanding rapidly as his limbs thickened, and his pale skin became bone white chitin as impenetrable as the darkness on a starless night. His body shot upward as six chitinous chimneys forced themselves from his back, a stream of ebony fumes spurting from each one, as noxious and toxic as the most potent nerve agent. Legs contorted as soft, human feet formed into fearsome hooves flanked by razor-tipped talons, a second pair of arms sprouted from his torso, his teeth became serrated daggers, and a sharp crest erupted from the top of his head. A long, sinewy tail snaked its way into existence, the end split into a pair of curved spikes, like ivory scimitars covered in wicked serrations.

Thicker chitin plates studded in spikes covered his back, chest, thighs, cranium, and the back of his clawed hands, colouring each the rich hue of freshly spilt blood. The eyes of the beast that was once Harry Potter snapped open, glowing slit-pupiled emeralds of vengeful fury as four chitinous swords, crystal jutting from each blade, materialised in his hands. Vernon Dursley's eyes widened with horror as he witnessed his - suddenly former - victim's transformation. Desperately, he tried to halt the descent of his foot, but too late. A dull thud echoed through the abrupt hush pervading the hall as Vernon's foot impacted the impenetrable armour that covered the beast's chest.

For an instant, there was absolute silence. Vernon's mouth and throat spasmed repeatedly, as if something was trying to force its way out. Based on the wide, fear-crazed state of his popping eyes it was probably a scream. Then, the beast moved. One moment the monster was laying on it's back Vernon's foot resting on its chest, almost as if he had vanquished the creature, the next it was standing, it's back hunched over and its head pressed tight against the ceiling, crest having punctured effortlessly through it and into the room above, and Vernon was being held a meter off the floor, the monster's bifurcated tail grasping him by the back of the neck. Blood streamed from where the serrated spikes dug into his flabby neck, the pain seemed to bring Vernon out of the horrified paralysis that had gripped him since his nephew's transformation.

"AHHHHHH!" The obese man thrashed and screamed, trying desperately to escape from the horror in front of him. His pudgy arms flailed, desperately trying to grasp onto something, anything, he could use to tear himself from the thing's grip, his legs kicking futilely in an almost comical manner, trying in vain to reach the floor.

"RAARRRRRRRRGH!" The beast roared back, drool leaking from between its rows of gleaming teeth, before sending its swords scything towards its erstwhile tormentor. The swords grasped in its upper hands slashed downwards, one slicing away Vernon's left arm, the other effortlessly cleaving through his right ear and most of the corresponding shoulder. A crimson fountain sprayed from Vernon's stumps, transforming him momentarily into the world's most macabre water feature, the cheerful yellow flowers glistened wetly as they were watered for the first time since they were papered over the walls.

The lower two swords stabbed upwards, tearing their way through the man's prodigious gut until their tips erupted from what remained of the top of his shoulders. Vernon's eyes rolled wildly, too far gone in pain and terror to scream, even as his mouth opened so wide his jaw threatened to dislocate, his fat tongue lolling and his lips pulled back in a rictused mask. With another terrifying roar, the beast wrenched its arms apart laterally, using its swords to tear the vile man into two uneven chunks of quivering flesh and drenching the hallway in a tidal wave of foamy blood and a splatter of ruined organs.

The lowest of the cheerful flowers were drowned in the deluge, the rest gleaming in the light slanting from the window, their petals shining with crimson dew. The toxic fumes issuing from the monster's spouts were beginning to form a cloud covering the floor, almost half a meter deep and already beginning to flow through the cracks under the doors.

One of these doors sprang open in front of the creature, revealing the massive form of Dudley Dursley, barely managing to fit into the doorway. The boy had been attracted by his father's screams, the only one he had ever heard scream like that before was his freakish cousin, and even that only when his father was beating him. Dudley couldn't comprehend that anything could possibly be enacting similar torture upon his dad, his dad was, after all, the strongest and the best. He was the man Dudley someday hoped to be. That was why he took such joy in beating up his worthless cousin, it made him feel just like his daddy.

Dudley froze upon seeing the monster, unaware of the tide of poisonous gas flowing around his legs, he did, however, notice the wet red thing on the floor, slowly emerging from the mist as it flowed out into the kitchen. It wasn't a wet red thing, Dudley suddenly realised, it was two wet red things, laying end to end across the hallway. As more of the mist cleared away, he could see they weren't entirely red either, the parts resting against the walls were a mix of gold and red, changing to pink and red, and then a very dark black.

Dudley Dursley had never been the brightest boy, and the horror of what he was seeing rendered his already slow mind even less effective than usual, as such, it was several moments of confused staring before he recognised what remained of his father.

"D-D-Dad?" The boy whispered, tears beginning to form in his piggy eyes. Upon hearing the soft exclamation, the beast took a menacing step forwards, uttering a low growl and flashing its sharp fangs. As any boy would when faced with a blood drenched demon that had apparently just eviscerated their father, Dudley screamed in abject terror. Unfortunately for him, this was the wrong thing to do as the monster was galvanised into action, and began to thunder down the, for it, extremely tight hallway toward the boy. Dudley stumbled backwards, his many chins jiggling as he desperately tried to escape from the grim and bloody death advancing towards him. His attempted flight was interrupted by the arrival of his mother, who swooped in and clasped him in a hug, as of yet oblivious to the monster in her hallway.

"Dinky Diddy Dums, what's wrong? I heard those screams and roars, were you watching those dreadful horror films again, Sweetums? You know I said you should wait until you're a little older." Petunia fussed over him, attempting to comfort him, but confused as to why he was trying desperately to back away from her, then she noticed his eyes weren't even focused on her, rather they were gazing, transfixed, at something through the gap under her arm. Curiously, she turned, following his gaze. She was met with a strangely knobbly wall she couldn't remember ever seeing in her kitchen before, then her eyes strayed upwards, they saw the crimson spiked armour, the powerful neck, the teeth, and, finally, the glowing emerald eyes.

Petunia Dursley's mouth opened, but what would have escaped it no one will ever know, with a single slash of a sword the creature sliced through her abnormally long neck, as another cleaved through her son at the waist. The cuts were so swift and the blades so sharp, the corpses remained motionless for several long moments, before, with a sickening squishing of flesh sliding wetly against flesh, Petunia's head toppled from her neck, and Dudley's torso fell forwards, his legs crumpling backwards, the impacts shaking the floor slightly.

The monster that had once been a boy called Harry Potter threw it's head back and roared its triumph to the ceiling, a victorious surge of toxic fumes spraying from each of the spouts on it's back. The creature never noticed the soft sizzling of rapidly blackening bacon atop the lit stove, but once the coincidentally highly flammable fumes, contacted the open flame the beast certainly noticed the result.

With a roar even louder than that the beast had uttered, an enormous fireball consumed No. 4 Privet Dr, blowing the windows into shining showers of razor sharp glass and sending bits of wood and roof tiles raining down all around.

So bright and loud was the explosion, that no one even noticed the smoking form of a slightly blackened 5 meter tall monster smashing its way through the rear of the blazing ruin and loping off into the trees beyond the formerly pristine white picket fence. By the time the onlookers' eyes had recovered from the dazzling brilliance of the house's explosion, the only sign the creature had ever been there were a series of deep clawed hoof prints torn into the Dursley's once immaculate grass.

Same Time,

6:00 pm, 28th October 1988,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Scotland

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had lived for a very long time and, as a result, his vast life experience rarely failed in preventing a mistake. Consequently, many believed the man to be infallible, and rarely did anyone question his plans, but, despite his experience, Albus Dumbledore was still but a man. Unfortunately, when he did make a mistake, the consequences tended to be orders of magnitude worse than those made by other people. One such mistake was made painfully obvious to the venerable wizard when the instruments responsible for monitoring the wards around Number 4 Privet Drive exploded, sending shards of metal and bolts of ruined magic flying through the air. Without a thought for the damage done to his office Dumbledore twisted, reappearing in the street before the Dursley residence, or rather, what was left of it.

The moment Dumbledore saw the ravenous flames greedily consuming the exterior of the house, he felt his aged heart plummet down into the depths of his buckled-boots. There it was welcomed into an icy embrace of dread, the likes of which he had not felt since the fateful duel between his brother, his lover, and himself that had altered the course of his life forever. Pulling out the Elder Wand he had once yearned so desperately to possess, and now despised for the ruination it had brought upon the man he loved, Dumbledore waved it through the air, snuffing out the flames and allowing him to rush to the smoking husk of the house.

Upon reaching the door, he waved the wand once more, reducing the door to dust which floated away gently through the smoke-filled air. What met his eyes brought the ancient wizard to his knees: where there had once been a house there was now only a desolate plain of scorched earth and shattered mortar. Any trace of the family that had once lived there scoured away by the unimaginable heat of the blast. A ragged hole gaped in the still-standing rear wall, before with a tortured groan of charred wood and tearing mortar, it too collapsed into a smouldering heap of rubble.

"I'm sorry, Lily and James. Your son, the person you valued more than anything else in the whole of creation, the one you gave your lives to protect. Dead! And it's all my fault! I am so, so sorry." Dumbledore whispered, tears streaming down his crooked nose and splattering across his flamboyant purple robes, as his shoulders shook with grief and rage. Rage at himself for not raising the boy, as a part of him had wished to, rage at the world for its cruelty, rage at whoever had robbed the world of an innocent boy who had already lost so much.

How long he knelt there weeping, Dumbledore would never know. Eventually, however, he forced himself to his feet. His wand rose, and he began casting diagnostic charms upon the wreckage, seeking to ascertain the identity of the perpetrator so he could vent his fury as he hadn't since before the end of the war with Voldemort.

In response to Dumbledore's spells, a ghostly trail arose, causing his piercing blue eyes to narrow slightly in confusion. The trail was merely a short straight line, roughly the width of a hallway, yet, according to the spell he had cast, it ought to have revealed Harry's movements over the past four hours. Surely, a boy of Harry's age would have moved more in such a long period of time? And where was the trail of the assailant who had caused the destruction before him? Unless they had used a battery of highly complicated charms to erase their magical signature, there should have been at least some trace of the witch or wizard who had wrought ruination upon the Dursley home.

The wand flickered again, and the trail disappeared, replaced by several glowing patches of mist: one, at the beginning of where the trail had been matched what he would expect for an eight-year-old wizard spending a protracted period of time in one place. The other, at the other end of the trail, was completely different. For starters, it was enormous, some sort of incredibly powerful magic had been performed in that spot. Dumbledore reached out with his finely tuned magical senses, if this was the source of the explosion that had destroyed the Dursley home it would have to have been a very powerful dark curse. Any such curse would have left traces that not even the advanced charms the individual had used to hide the rest of their presence could completely erase.

Traces he could use to find the caster of the magic, and when he found them he would show them exactly why Tom Riddle had feared to set foot on the Hogwarts grounds, even at the height of his power. The swirl of vengeful magic which had begun to pull at his beard and robes stilled when he recognised the magic, it wasn't destructive, it wasn't even dark. It felt almost like the trace his deputy headmistress left whenever she transformed to or from her feline form, but far more powerful than any animagus transformation he had ever witnessed.

Whoever had transformed in that spot, they had changed into something exceedingly powerful, certainly it was nothing any muggle would ever have seen. As it turned out, Albus Dumbledore, although he didn't know it, had just made another mistake; for, while no muggle had ever seen a living example of the beast, the Swarmlord had in fact been created by them. After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, he finally turned and waved the Elder Wand in a wide flourish, removing all memory of his presence from the surrounding onlookers. Albus knew he would have to inform the Wizarding World of the tragic loss it had suffered today. For he was certain that, no matter what the world may become in the coming years, it was going to be a far lesser place than it would have been had Harry Potter still been living in it.

Over the next few days, the world of Wizarding Britain entered into a state of mourning, unmatched since the war with Voldemort. Ceremonies were held across the country to commemorate the loss of the Boy-Who-Lived. The Minister of Magic himself gave a speech in front of Gringotts in honour of their departed saviour. Dumbledore also gave a small sermon on the importance of valuing life and making the most of every moment with one's friends and family, rather than squandering them with petty feuds.

Over time, the Wizarding World would move on, but, secretly, few of them ever truly believed their saviour to be dead. Most thought that, like Voldemort, he had gone into hiding somewhere. Little did they know that, as they were memorializing his death, Harry Potter was actually very much alive, but any saviour they might have had was truly gone.

Three Days Later,

3:30 am, 31st October 1988,

St. James's Park,

London

Whooping cries of exhilaration split the tranquil silence of the night as several teenage boys skateboarded down the formerly peaceful pathways of St. James's Park. Their parents thought them asleep in their beds, and they were riding high on the exhilaration of freedom and disobedience. Their leader was a tallish boy of about 15, his brown hair painstakingly gelled and styled, his black jeans artfully torn, exactly the right amount of a rock group's band shirt showing from under his immaculate leather jacket. His lips were quirked in the self-assurance only a 15-year-old boy who believes he is the object of every woman's desire can muster. Blissfully unaware of precisely how obvious it was that he spent hours every morning making it look as though he didn't care how he looked. The boy's shouts stopped abruptly when, while judging the distance for a particularly foolhardy stunt, he noticed a hunched figure moving through the trees toward the towering facade of Whitehall.

"What's the matter, John?" The boy's friends were quick to notice his sudden silence. Something about it worried them: John was never silent. Even in class, he was always grinning and making sardonic commentary under his breath, no matter how frustrated it made his teachers.

"There's someone there." Even hunched over in the dark of the night, the figure was still enormous, easily the largest person any of them had ever seen; as one, the boys stepped closer, trying to see the features of the giant. It was concealed by the darkness between two lampposts, each step was accompanied by the loud sound of something hard impacting on pavement, and a dark mist seemed to be spreading out along the ground before it. The boys looked over at each other nervously, was the figure wearing hobnailed boots or something?

"Does... Does that sound like a horse to you?" Tyler asked his friends, running a nervous hand through his untidy blonde locks. His other hand tugged nervously at his blue denim jacket, as if tempted to pull it tighter around him like a blanket.

"Mate, just because your little head got all the brains, that doesn't mean you shouldn't at least use your eyes. Do you see a horse anywhere, Dumbarse?" Peter tried to maintain a casual tone as he bantered with his friend, but the slight tremor of his voice belied his attempts. Despite being the tallest of the group by a head, Peter always carried himself hunched forwards, as if trying to hide among his shorter companions. To compensate for his spindly frame, he made adept use of his biting wit to ensure he stayed one of the tormentors rather than the tormented.

"At least I get to use my lower head sometimes, 'Millimetre Peter'." Tyler teased back, momentarily forgetting the figure still advancing toward the group.

John hadn't forgotten about the figure though, and he stepped forward to make the challenge his adolescent pride demanded, "Hey, Mister, what're you doing out here this late?" The figure made no response to the query, continuing its slow progress, drawing inexorably closer to the pool of light cast by the nearest lamppost. The boys felt the first prickles of fear raising the hair on the back of their necks. Some vestige of the days when their ancestors had cowered away from predators at every turn warning them not to disturb whatever hunter they had stumbled upon.

After a few moments, the complacency of civilisation banished the warnings of the past and John called out, voice shaking, but filled with bravado, "You here to report us, Mister?" The boys laughed among themselves, each trying to pretend they weren't terrified. Then the figure stepped forwards into the light, and the boys screamed, all pretence forgotten in the face of the creature before them. The monster straightened, looming high, higher over their heads, it's crest moving upwards toward the bulb of the lamppost, nearly six meters off the ground. In the seconds before the crest punctured the glass and extinguished the light, the boys saw four wickedly sharp blades appear in the creature's quartet of arms, then, with a screeching of shearing glass and metal, darkness consumed the boys and the monster. Moments later a blinding flash of bone and crystal silenced the boys' screams, and their bodies fell to the floor, each slashed into two pieces.

Harry was moving toward power, his new instincts were driving him toward the power, seeking to find and consume its source, he needed biomass. Needed to begin reproducing, creating soldiers and breeders and carriers for his mission, to continue perfecting his genetics, to evolve. His instincts drove him onwards, pausing only to consume the valuable biomass of his most recent kills, heading toward a red phone booth that stank of the power he craved. Upon reaching it, Harry somehow managed to cram his enormous bulk into the small box, which seemed to expand around his massive body as a female voice enquired as to his business in the Ministry of Magic that day. In response to the question, Harry roared, a blood-curdling sound that woke the slumbering primeval fears of all creatures, memories of hours spent huddling in the dark, hiding from certain death in the jaws of an apex predator.

"Thank you, please take your badge and be prepared to surrender your wand for inspection." The voice answered pleasantly, as a badge emblazoned with the words "Being of Unspeakable Horror, RARGH" clattered down into the small receptacle beneath the phone. Moments later, the box began juddering downwards into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

Same Time

3:50 am, 31st October 1988,

Ministry of Magic,

London

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody nodded goodbye to the bored official sitting behind the desk in the Ministry atrium as he walked toward the apparition point, on his way to his heavily warded home. The clattering sound of the lift descending from the streets above rang through the almost empty room, shattering the sleep-laden silence. The official didn't bother raising his head, it was probably some worker arriving for a late shift. Moody, however, felt a prickling on the back of his neck.

Why would a Ministry worker be using the lift? And, if it wasn't a worker, who would be coming to the Ministry at this time of the night? Something didn't feel right. Perhaps it was merely his ever-growing paranoia, as some of the new recruits had been muttering when they thought he couldn't hear them, but, as Moody had growled into their faces, his paranoia was the reason he was still alive when so many other aurors weren't. Moody flicked his wrist, and his wand dropped into his waiting hand. Simultaneously, he ran across the room and vaulted over the official's desk, catching the startled man in the chest with his wooden leg and bowling the man over, chair and all, to land flat on his back.

"Stay down." Moody growled at the official, ignoring the stream of wheezing obscenities the man choked out at him. Crouching, so that the heavy marble of the desk was between him and the slowly descending lift, Moody trained his wand at the place where the lift doors would eventually open, and waited. The lift finally lowered into sight, and a lesser man than Moody would've screamed at the horror visible through the glass panels.

Beside him, the official did.

"Sweet Merlin's saggy left testicle!" Moody swore under his breath, the creature in the lift was clearly an apex predator, and the fact that it had gained entrance to the Ministry proved that it must also be intelligent and magically powerful. Ducking back down beneath the desk, Moody grabbed the official's robes and yanked him down too, silencing him with a spell before sending a silvery patronus towards the auror department, calling for reinforcements. Turning to the shaking man next to him, Moody growled "Listen to me, I'm going to lift the spell. When I do, DO NOT scream. Under ANY circumstances. If that Thing doesn't already know we're here, the last thing we need is for you to ring the dinner bell before reinforcements have a chance to arrive. Wait for my signal and then start blasting every damn spell you know that might hurt it. Understand?"

The official was shaking so much Moody couldn't tell if he nodded or not, but he chose to assume he had. Moody removed the spell, and together they waited, listening to the lift's slow descent, and, finally, the clattering of the opening doors.

"Level One, Ministry of Magic Atrium." In the dead silence of the room, the voice of the lift rang out loudly, followed by a thundering, clattering footstep, and a deep, low growl.

The beast had arrived.

Same Time,

10:55 pm, 31st October 1988,

Auror Office

Amelia Bones had graduated from the Auror Academy two years earlier, under the tutelage of the legendary Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, as some of her fellows had taken to calling him.

Unlike her compatriots, Amelia didn't think that Alastor was losing his nut, she knew that he was the greatest auror they'd ever had, and that his constant vigilance was one of the main reasons he held that title instead of a gravestone.

Amelia had every intention of being paranoid herself, she was going to run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement someday, after all.

She was jolted from her pleasant daydream by a sudden outpouring of silvery light.

Looking up, she watched a bear made of silvery light burst through the ceiling, loping through the air in a parody of its natural movement even as it floated toward her. Halting in front of her, the bear spoke in the voice of her mentor.

"To any and all aurors currently in the building: there's something in the Atrium. Bipedal. Approximately 5 meters tall. Looks Armoured. Four arms. Big swords. Bring as many people as you can and sound a general alert. I don't know how this thing found us, or how it got in, but I've got a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get. NOW GET A MOVE ON! I don't want to be stuck handling this fucker by myself!" Amelia jumped at the rebuke and quickly shouted to any aurors who hadn't heard the commotion to get their arses moving towards the atrium.

That done, she sprinted into the head auror's office and slammed her hand down onto the emergency button, sending an automatic buzz to every auror badge in Britain. Help summoned, she turned in place and apparated into the atrium.

She was met with a scene of utter carnage.

The monster Moody had described was standing in the centre of the atrium, one hand holding the limp body of an auror off the ground as its jaws swiftly devoured it. Two other hands were flashing faster than she could follow, using its swords to deflect the hail of spells being sent its way by the other aurors. The fourth hand was efficiently dismembering any wizard foolish enough to stray within reach, while the creature advanced towards the nearest knot of aurors, sheltering behind the check-in desk.

Even as she watched, a foolish young black haired auror attempted to apparate behind the beast in order to take it unawares, only for the beast's arm to swing back, slicing through the man's legs so quickly and effortlessly a trail of vaporised blood followed in the sword's wake.

The auror collapsed, clutching the stumps where his legs used to be, his scream barely had time to tear itself from his lips before his head was seized by the creature's bifurcated tail and half-crushed, half-bisected with a terrible cracking of bone and a wet schnikt.

Six plumes of thick smoke were gushing from chimney-like protrusions on the creature's back, slowly carpeting the atrium in a dense mist. Fortunately, the size of the atrium seemed to have so far prevented the cloud from reaching past the ankles of the aurors engaging the beast. Every swing of the creature's swords stirred the growing cloud, drawing trails of ebony darkness around the monster and giving it the appearance of a nightmare emerging from the mists of sleep into reality.

Abruptly, the creature's tail lashed out once more, seeming to latch onto thin air; and, for a moment, Amelia thought it was merely an expression of emotion from the beast. Then, she noticed the blood that appeared to be trickling down mid-air from within the tail's grip, the disillusionment charm faded as the auror flickered back into existence, her hands futilely attempting to pry the creature's claws from around her throat. Without bothering to look at its captured prey, the creature thrust the woman's face into one of the trails of smoke erupting from its back. After a few moments the tail released and the woman collapsed, skin blistering, mouth foaming, and her eyes bulging and leaking a mixture of blood and brain fluid as she convulsed and clawed bloody trails in her throat and chest.

The knot of aurors continued to send dozens of multicoloured bolts of magic toward the advancing monster, ranging from simple stunners to a particularly nasty-looking Entrail-Expelling Curse. In their midst, she saw the unmistakable figure of Moody, sending curse after curse at the beast, pausing only to transfigure nearby pieces of rubble into lions, wolves, and even elephants to attack the creature. The monster didn't even slow down, slicing the transfigured creations to ribbons without breaking stride. Within moments, it had finished devouring the slain auror and stretched out its hand toward a sword it had left buried in the wall. The sword yanked itself from the enchanted stone, leaving the body it had been pinning to slide down into a boneless heap, and smacked into the creature's palm, joining its fellows in their macabre dance of dismemberment.

"Moody! We can't stay here! We need to pull back and figure something else out, nothing we're doing now is working!" Amelia yelled at Alastor before sending a Bombarda Maxima at the ground in front of the monster, hoping to disrupt its footing enough to create a gap in its otherwise impenetrable defence. The creature swatted the sizzling bolt of crimson magic away with one of its swords, sending it sailing off to impact with the last vestiges of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, atomizing it.

Neither Moody nor Amelia had waited to see the results of her spell, the former giving a growl before nodding his assent and turning to order the other aurors to fall back to the lift. Amelia's shout and spell, although ineffectual, had caught the attention of the beast, and it turned toward her, it's flashing arms still deflecting spells carelessly, as it studied the latest arrival with intelligent eyes. An odd influx of emotions flashed through her mind before she shook herself and, swearing, apparated behind the desk with her fellow aurors, appearing just in time to see a scything blade of bone carve through the air where she had been standing moments before.

A sharp pain in her arm caused Amelia to look down; a cut, roughly half an inch deep from the feel of it, had been opened on her arm. Clearly, she hadn't been quite fast enough. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Amelia conjured a simple bandage and wrapped it tight around her arm, staunching the bleeding.

Turning her wand toward the creature that had wounded her, Amelia cast a series of Bombardas and Reductos, which were deflected by the spinning blades without causing so much as a scratch. From beside her, a jet of poisonous green light erupted, streaking toward the creature only to impact against one of the spinning weapons.

On impact with the spell, the crystal protruding from the blade of the sword began to glow. Milliseconds later, the weapon was slashed toward the retreating aurors and the light arced out in a wide slashing beam of energy, sizzling through the air. Swearing, the aurors ducked, but one, an older woman with frizzy hair caught between white and platinum blonde, wasn't quite fast enough, and was knocked off her feet.

She landed on her back with a dull thump, her hair limp and her eyes staring glassily up towards the ceiling. Amelia turned to look at the source of the spell, and found Moody's grisly face staring grimly back at her.

"We need to go to the Department of Mysteries. Nothing we can do is stopping that monster." Moody told her, the barest hint of remorse shining in his one dark eye, as it glanced towards the woman his spell had inadvertently killed.

"Why don't we just apparate out? We could leave it here without anyone to kill! Come back later with a plan, maybe some new spell to destroy that thing. Hell, we could get Dumbledore, surely he could do something about that monster!" Amelia argued, her voice rising even as she continued sprinting towards the lift.

"Because if we leave now the thing might escape! Go back out into muggle London maybe! Imagine the harm it could do! Even the muggles will realise that thing is not of their world, there'll be no keeping the Statute of Secrecy if it's slaughtered thousands of people!" Moody growled back at her. As he did so, he turned back towards the creature and waved his wand in a complicated pattern. In response, the stone of the floor rose up and formed a dome around the creature, trapping it within.

For a moment, everyone in the atrium paused. Could it be over? Was the thing trapped?

Then there was a white flicker of movement and a chunk of the dome fell away, sliced effortlessly free by the monster's blades. The creature stepped through the hole, unscathed. If Amelia hadn't known better, she'd have sworn the beast was smirking.

Then it charged.

The monster crossed the atrium with a speed that revealed it's earlier efforts as merely toying with its opponents, each gargantuan stride eating up several meters of ground as it pounded toward the panicked aurors. Its prey fled into the golden lift and frantically smashed the button for the 9th level as the beast stalked towards them, its speed only increasing as it realised its prey was attempting escape. One sword was flung forwards toward the desperate aurors, and the freed hand swept down to grasp the body of the downed woman, lifting it up to the monster's mouth. Amelia managed to summon her strongest shield spell to block the flying blade and, although it sunk in, to the hilt, the shield held.

With a flick of her wand, the sword spun around and flew back toward the creature, which caught the blade in its tail, holding the weapon almost delicately. A moment later, the lift doors closed to the grisly crunching of bone as the woman's skull was squished between the abomination's jaws.

As the lift descended the sound of shearing metal erupted from above them. The monster was carving its way into the lift shaft. There was a clatter of metal as the severed sections of gate fell to the floor, and the lift shook as something heavy landed on the roof. The aurors only had time to glance at each other in horror before the first blade appeared, carving through the magically reinforced metal ceiling of the lift as if it were made of tissue paper.

KILL! A voice roared, causing several aurors to flinch at the sudden outburst of noise.

"Everyone! Cast your strongest shield! NOW!" Bellowed Moody as he threw himself down onto the floor of the lift and took his own advice, a shimmering silver shield appearing above him as his fellows did likewise. Amelia looked to the side as her own glimmering gold dome appeared above her, the display by the gates shined with a glowing number 8, only a few more seconds left before they arrived outside the Department of Mysteries. Returning her gaze to the roof of the lift, Amelia watched as the metal was peeled back to reveal the hideous maw of the monster pursuing them. It's emerald green eyes glowing with predatory hatred and its mouth stained red with gore. The beast roared at them, sending a single blade hissing down through the air toward their combined shields. The shield, composed of over a dozen different spells from some of the most powerful wizards in all of Great Britain, cracked like glass. A spiderweb of fractal lines spread across the surface of the shield, but the sword was deflected, veering slightly away to screech along the shield's surface.

FEED! This time, Amelia realised that the word had been uttered inside her mind, and none of the aurors around her were likely to be screaming 'feed' through legilimency. Before her mind could fully come to terms with what this development meant, several things happened.

The doors of the lift opened. The shield shattered. The aurors scrambled out of the lift, and the beast dropped into the space they had vacated only moments before with a thundering crash of hooves on metal. Seconds of frantic sprinting later, and they had reached the black door at the end of the corridor, the thundering steps of the demon close behind them.

"Death Room!" Moody yelled as soon as the last member of the group had barrelled through the door. The door promptly slammed shut in the monster's face as the walls began spinning. When the walls came to a halt the door directly in front of them flew open, even as the one to their left was blasted off its hinges to slam into the opposing wall, crushing the two unfortunate aurors who had stood in its path to a pulp.

Charging through the door in front of them, the aurors found themselves in a room filled with stone benches, descending toward a stone arch in the centre, with a fluttering sheet hanging within it.

"Get to the Veil!" Moody ordered, "But DO NOT pass through it!"

There was no time to question the strange order, the group sprinted down toward the veil with the roars of their pursuer ringing in their ears, the slowest of their number cut to ribbons by the creature's slashing weapons. When they finally reached the arch, the group threw themselves around it, fully expecting the creature to simply bull straight through the structure and slice them all to shreds. Moody had condemned them all to death, but that was a certainty anyway, they could not stop the creature, they could hardly even slow it down.

But their deaths never came.

Amelia, who was crouched just next to the opening of the arch, and had expected to feel the sharp bite of a blade bisecting her body, slowly opened her clenched eyelids. The monster was gone, the only thing she could see in the chamber, other than her cowering compatriots, was the fluttering fabric of the veil.

"The beast's gone." Moody panted, with absolute certainty.

"Where?" Amelia asked.

"Nowhere we'll ever be hearing from, and that's all that matters. If we're lucky, the Veil's lived up to its name and the thing's dead, if not? Well, some poor bastard somewhere's about to have a really bad day." Amelia nodded her head in grudging assent, she hoped the creature was dead, but so long as it was never seen on Earth again, it didn't really matter.

A Really Bad Day,

Wolf 1061d,

13.8 Light Years from the Sol system

Ha'raak spread his arms wide, the bone blades jutting from the ends of his arms glinting darkly with the purple blood of his vanquished foe as he roared his victory to the approving screeches of the watching females. His challenge for the right to be considered by the strongest female of the pack had pitted him against the most energetic young bloods, but it was his final fight against the grizzled Chief Warrior that had pushed him to his limits. One of his horns had been cracked and the armour covering his back bore several deep grooves from the blades of his vanquished opponent, but he had emerged victorious! He felt as if he were growing as the magnitude of his accomplishment settled upon him, the faces of his pack falling away beneath him as he grew to dwarf them all. Even the Chieftaness seemed to have shrunk, staring up at him with an odd expression. It wasn't approval, arousal, or even awe as he had dreamed of seeing in his wildest imaginings: it was horror.

A strange coldness was spreading from his chest, robbing him of the warm glow of victory that had suffused his body since the Chief Warrior had gasped his submission moments earlier. Looking down, Ha'raak saw a strange bone growth had sprouted from his chest, dripping a purple liquid that he dimly recognised as his own blood.

What's more, his feet appeared to be hanging high off the ground, almost level with the heads of his nearest pack mates. The approving screeches around him had transformed into whimpers of terror. Twisting his head around, Ha'raak couldn't stop a horrified chirp from slipping between his teeth

He was face-to-face with a monster holding a bone sword in each of its four hands. It was one of these blades that had been thrust through his chest and hoisted him off the ground as easily as he might lift a hatchling.

FEED! A terrible voice roared in his mind as the creature's jaws opened wide, wide, wider, until they filled his rapidly darkening vision. The last thing Ha'raak saw was the sinuous red tongue reaching out to wrap around his skull. The last thing he heard was the cracking crunch of teeth punching through the armoured shell around his head and the screams of his pack as they swiftly joined their new champion.

Twenty-Three Years Later,

11:00 pm, 31st October 2011

Poole, England,

Sol System

Hermione Granger sighed, trying fruitlessly to rub the exhaustion from her eyes as she struggled to focus on the intricate mechanism laying on the table in front of her. The mechanism was surrounded by pieces of carefully crafted goblin-steel and vine-wood that had previously been one of the Granger Mk. 4s she had finally finished designing three months earlier. Her own, as it happened.

Although a great improvement over the Mk. 3s, they were far less likely to explode when overcharged for one, the Mk. 4s were still far from the ace-in-the-hole she had hoped they would be when she had first started tinkering in technomancy a decade earlier.

A soft scoff from the sofa next to her broke her from her concentration. Glancing over, she saw Ginny Weasley rolling her bright-brown eyes.

"Ron may be a prat, but he's right about you needing to take a break sometimes, Hermione." The redhead informed the bushy-haired brunette matter-of-factly as she pointedly put her feet up on the table, obscuring Hermione's view of the mechanism she had been tinkering with.

"Isn't it amazing enough that you managed to make a Muggle goon fire magic bullets? Why do you have to keep working yourself into the ground trying to make it better? Take a minute to rest and recognise what you've already achieved before you get back to working on improving it, girl."

Hermione huffed irritatedly, which she knew Ginny would recognise as her being reluctant to concede a valid point.

"The mechanism for carving the runes into the bullets is still too slow and delicate, if you pump more than a Bombarda's worth of magic into it while you're charging them the damn things are still more-than-half likely to overload, even if they won't explode anymore. And the bolt is still susceptible to jamming if dirt, blood, or anything else gets into the firing mechanism." She ran a hand through her already wild mane of brown hair as she listed the faults with her creation, although she was surprised she ran out of issues to catalogue so quickly. "Also, they're guns not goons, Ginny." Despite having used the devices for years now, some of the purebloods still struggled with the proper name for the machines, referring to them simply as 'metal-wands.'

"Goons, guns, what's the difference?" Ginny waved off Hermione's correction with an impatient movement of her hand, nearly spilling her butterbeer. "That's not the important thing anyway, what's important is that you took a hundred-year-old Muggle weapon and turned it into the first mechanical magical weapon in history. Something the Death Eaters still haven't managed to copy I might add," Ginny nudged Hermione affectionately as the girl struggled to contain her smirk at the reminder. "So what if they're not perfect? They work, that's what matters." Ginny finished her short speech with the warm smile that had always brightened Hermione's day back in Hogwarts.

"It was quite a challenge managing to convert the Lee-Enfield." Hermione admitted.

"Exactly! And you've improved the Grangers so much since your first model! So, take a break and crack open some Firewhiskey with your girl so we can get that stick out of your rather fine arse for once." Hermione couldn't help grinning at Ginny's words, even as she swatted at the redhead's shoulder for her crass remark.

"Orrrr we could watch the latest news about the Jormungandr Nebula and not wake up hungover for duty tomorrow?" Hermione countered, getting an exaggerated groan from the other woman, even as she reached for the TV remote.

"Fine," Ginny sighed, blowing out her cheeks comically and allowing herself to fall back into the plush cushions of the sofa. "I still don't understand what's so interesting about a cloud of gas in space."

"It's not just 'a cloud of gas in space,' Ginny." Hermione corrected absently as she searched for the correct channel. "It's the first nebula that's ever been discovered moving on a specific trajectory rather than expanding outwards, we still don't know what created it, or how it's moving so fast through space!" Hermione's eyes shone as she spoke about one of the few interests she allowed herself outside of the ongoing war in the Wizarding World. "We're not even sure where it came from! It's like it just popped into existence on the edge of the Solar System three years ago!" Hermione was just concluding her impassioned extolling of the virtues of the Jormungandr Nebula when she finally managed to find the correct channel. A dark-skinned American man was sitting in a comfortable looking chair across from a reporter as he described the latest developments regarding the nebula.

"The Jormungandr Nebula is a phenomenon that seems completely separate from everything else we've learned about the universe." The expert explained in a deep smooth voice, like melting chocolate.

"Damn," Ginny murmured, surprising Hermione for a moment before she continued, "he's got one hell of a voice, hasn't he?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't help nodding in agreement.

The reporter was in the middle of a question when she turned her attention back to the telly, "-think we can expect Jormungandr to reach us?"

"I'd say at its current rate of speed we can expect Jormungandr to reach Earth in about six months, so mark it on your calendars people." The astrophysicist pointed to the camera with a warm smile as he spoke.

"What do you think we'll see when Jormungandr reaches Earth?" The reporter asked, so smoothly it was almost as if he hadn't been fed the question through his earpiece.

"Exactly what will happen depends on precisely what gases are composing this nebula, opinion is so far divided on what the primary composition of the cloud is, the light absorption spectrum seems to shift slightly as the nebula moves. What it boils down to is the greatest light show of any of our lives, one that'll probably last about a week until the Earth's orbit passes through the edge of the cloud."

"So, there won't be any danger?" The reporter probed.

"Apart from people crashing because they're too busy staring, no." The expert answered, half-jokingly.

"I wonder if there are any magical effects from passing through a nebula?" Hermione wondered aloud as the reporter prepared to wrap up the interview, thanking the expert for his time.

"Sinistra will know, you can ask her at the briefing tomorrow." Ginny was clearly far less interested in the possible influence of a nebula on magic than Hermione. Hermione nodded, glancing around the small flat she and Ginny shared in the town she grew up in. Her parents' house was actually only a fifteen-minute walk away, but she had sent them into hiding in Australia years ago.

During the initial skirmishes following Voldemort's return, the Death Eaters had been eager to cause as much destruction to Muggle property and life as possible. However, as it became clear that the conflict was not going to be a swift, decisive campaign as the first war so nearly had been, both sides had come to an unspoken agreement to avoid the attention of the Muggles, lest they be drawn into a conflict with the vastly numerically superior non-Magical population.

As a result, both sides had taken to keeping safe-houses in primarily-Muggle towns and cities, knowing they would only be attacked if the other side was certain a high value target was inside. Regardless, Hermione and Ginny's flat was as heavily warded as any official Order stronghold: Hermione had even painstakingly learned the Fidelius charm so they could stay as safe as possible.

"Do you know why we're having this briefing tomorrow, Ginny? We weren't supposed to be having anything apart from Sinistra's presentation until Thursday." Hermione asked, turning her attention away from the telly now that the portion of the program she was interested in had ended.

"Why're you asking me?" Ginny countered, sounding genuinely confused. "We both know you're much closer to Dumbledore than I am."

"Yes, but you're far more involved in operations, Miss Combat-Ace, or did the other aurors start calling you 'Bloody Weasley' just for the hair?" Hermione accentuated her point by running her fingers through the fiery-red hair in question.

"I just wish it would stop the idiots trying to hit on me, can you believe Wilkes actually asked if I wanted to get a feel for how unyielding his wand is in the lift the other day?" Ginny made an exaggerated retching sound as she finished speaking, a disgusted sneer twisting her soft pink lips. Hermione, however, burst out giggling, bending over clutching her stomach to try and contain her mirth before glancing through the curtain of bushy brown hair that had fallen over her eyes at the movement.

"He didn't!" She gasped out through her laughter.

"He did!" Ginny was trying to look grumpy, but in the face of Hermione's mirth it was hard to ignore the humour in the situation. "If you think that's funny, you should've seen his face when he had to explain why his wand kept going limp every time he tried to cast a spell to Bones." Her sneer had transformed into a full-blown smirk by the time she finished speaking.

"You actually gave him a limp wand!?" Hermione descended into a fit of uncontrollable laughter before holding up a weak hand, "Please, don't answer! This is hurting!" Ginny graciously waited a minute for Hermione to collect herself before answering.

"Yes, I did, and it serves the tosser right for trying to proposition me, especially doing it in such a half-arsed way! At least try to come up with something original."

"Now that's just unreasonable! That'd require he have at least two brain cells to rub together." Hermione's wicked grin belied the innocent tone of her words.

"Merlin knows Wilkes doesn't! I just hope he doesn't make a nuisance of himself to those American transfers next week." Hermione nodded in agreement, it had taken years of negotiation for the notoriously standoffish MACUSA to consent to sending even two aurors to assist in the war against Voldemort. Dumbledore's intelligence suggested that they were only doing so now because Voldemort's agents had begun to make significant inroads with the already Muggle-phobic Wizarding community in America.

"They're both women, right?" Hermione asked, somewhat despairing at their chances of Wilkes not being a boorish arse. Although she'd never met the man, she'd heard more than enough about him from Ginny to know he was even worse than McLaggen had been when he'd briefly pursued her in her 6th year at Hogwarts.

"Scamander and Kowalski, yeah. They're meant to be some of the best, I mean they'd have to be with a lineage like that." Ginny was clearly excited to meet the renowned auror pair.

"Then at least they'll have no problems jinxing him properly if he does get out of line." Hermione reassured, glancing up at the clock on the wall to see it was already past midnight. "I'm going to head to bed, we do have to be up early for that briefing tomorrow, even if we don't know what it's about." Ginny nodded her understanding, although she was now occupied with disassembling and cleaning her own Granger Mk. 4 and so didn't meet Hermione's eyes.

"Hey, Gin?" Hermione asked, pausing in the doorway out of the sitting room.

"Yeah, Hermione?" Ginny looked up, concerned by Hermione's tone.

"Whatever the briefing is about tomorrow, promise me you'll be careful? I have a bad feeling about this." Ginny's emotive eyes became warm and soft at Hermione's words.

"I will, 'Mione, promise." Hermione nodded, smiled, and left the room, leaving Ginny alone in the sitting room of their flat.

Next Day,

6:00 am, 1st November 2011

Ministry of Magic,

London

Amelia rubbed her neck, trying to soothe away the prickling sensation of being watched that had been dogging her for the past week. She resisted the urge to glance behind her, knowing that she would see nothing there, but still the sensation refused to fade. When the niggling sensation had first started, she had employed a number of measures to ensure she wasn't actually being followed by someone under an invisibility cloak or disillusionment charm and had found nothing, yet her senses continued to tingle in warning.

Maybe I'm just getting paranoid, like Moody? She mused, she'd been head of the Auror office for sixteen years and they'd been fighting a bloody stalemated war against Voldemort for the past ten: it made sense that the strain would get to her eventually.

Regardless, she had no time to muse on her possible paranoia at present, she had a briefing to deliver. Taking a deep breath, and indulging in a quick sweep of her surroundings to see if, this time, she might find something to explain her unease, Amelia stepped out of her office to begin her presentation.

Looking at the people assembled in front of her, she was pleased to note that she recognised almost all of the faces that gazed expectantly back at her. Most were her own aurors -ranging from her grizzled former mentor, Alastor Moody, to fresh-faced youths barely a month out of the academy - there were a pair of somber-faced wizards from the Department of Mysteries she didn't recognise, as well as Dumbledore's second-in-command, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the resident genius, Hermione Granger.

There were a few other hangers-on scattered about the room, mostly high-ranking Ministry officials and the occasional Hit-Wizard, as well as Aurora Sinistra: a capable, dark-skinned witch who had originally been due to give a presentation on the possible effects of the incoming astronomical phenomena on magic of all kinds, only for the present crisis to supersede her.

"Alright people, listen up." Amelia began, never one to mince words in a crisis. "You're here because, last week, we lost contact with Lambstead."

"'Lost contact' in what way, exactly?" Hermione Granger asked, giving Amelia a good idea of what it must have been like to teach the muggleborn prodigy.

"In every way, Granger. No Floo calls, no patroni, no owls. No one's come out, and no one who's gone in has been heard from again." A ripple of unease went through the assembled crowd at Amelia's words.

"Not even Voldemort himself could wipe out an entire Wizarding village without a single cry for help escaping." Kingsley Shacklebolt noted in his deep slow voice.

"We're not sure the village has been wiped out, Shacklebolt." Amelia pointed out, although it sounded like a formality, even to her. Taking out her wand, she waved it at the map that dominated the wall behind her, causing Lambstead to take on a soft glow as that section of the map expanded and became more detailed. "We'll be inserting a team via portkey on the outskirts of the village," another gesture of her wand and the indicated area began to pulse red.

"Mad-Eye-" the grizzled auror grunted, "-you're in charge of this team, your experience could prove invaluable." Moody nodded, his magical eye spinning to check the entrances to the room as he fingered his wand. "Weasley," the redhead sitting next to Granger immediately snapped to attention, "I want you for second in command on this op." Ginny nodded immediately in acceptance of the order, glancing over to Moody who gave her a rare nod of approval.

"Wilkes, Boot, Thomas, Tonks, and Bell will fill out the rest of the squad." Turning to Shacklebolt, Amelia asked, "Does Dumbledore want to add anyone to the mission?" She decided not to mention that Tonks and Weasley were more or less shared operatives between her and Dumbledore, with the former leaning more toward Dumbledore, and the latter more toward Amelia.

"I will discuss it with him, but I believe he will wish to add Black, for his tracking capabilities if nothing else." Under any other commander, there would have been a discontented murmuring among the assembled aurors, but for Amelia Bones the men and women gathered remained silent.

Although Sirius Black had been exonerated for his supposed betrayal of the Potters to Voldemort during the Pettigrew Affair almost two decades ago, much of the Wizarding World had grown up knowing him only as the second in command to Voldemort, and such prejudices were difficult to overcome, even with evidence.

"Very well." Amelia agreed, as if she had any choice. Under ordinary circumstances, a Minister having such control over the affairs of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would've been unthinkable, but neither the circumstances nor the Minister could be considered anything even approaching ordinary.

Turning back to her audience, she concluded, "I want the team to head out as soon as you're all prepared, that should be enough time for you to talk with Dumbledore and get his additions prepped to join the mission, yes?" She asked Kingsley, who nodded sombrely. "Very well then, dismissed."

As one, the aurors stood and began to file out of the briefing room, those designated for the coming mission congregating around Moody for initial instructions before going to check their gear and prepare for whatever surprises may be waiting in Lambstead.

"Bones." Kingsley's voice stopped her before she could return to the mountain of reports awaiting her at her desk.

"Yes, Shacklebolt?" She asked, even though she already had a pretty good idea of what the man wanted.

"Dumbledore would like to speak with you about the details of the situation in Lambstead, as soon as possible." She wanted to say that they didn't have any details on the situation in Lambstead, but she contained herself.

"Of course, I'll head over in a moment. Is he in his office?"

"Yes, the Minister appreciates your consideration." With that, Kingsley left the room, leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts. Apart from Granger and Sinistra, who were talking about some 'nebula' which Amelia vaguely remembered as some sort of astronomical phenomenon that was due at some point in the future. Deciding to ignore the intellectuals, she set off for the Minister's Office, her hand fiddling with the handle of her Granger Model 2, a Muggle Webley revolver that had been converted to fire Granger's runed bullets. The ammunition needed to be pre-carved, and they were even harder to make than the Mk. 4s, but as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she had been on the short list to receive one.

Initially, she had been sceptical about the weapons, thinking a wand more than adequate, but over time she had come to appreciate the benefits of the hybrid devices. Although much more limited than a wand, the projectiles could travel much faster, and the magical drain for using the Grangers was far less than that of casting the comparable spells from a wand. Not to mention they had decimated the Death Eaters when they were first introduced due to most shield spells not blocking physical projectiles.

Idly, she pulled the weapon from its holster, checking the action and popping the cylinder out to inspect the chambers. All were loaded, 4 with bullets with explosive rune clusters and 2 with piercing runed bullets. Spinning the cylinder she lined up an explosive round with the firing pin and popped the cylinder back into place before returning the gun to its holster. The quick inspection hadn't taken longer than 15 seconds from start to finish, but, combined with her earlier musings, it had managed to pass enough time for her to arrive outside the Minister's office, even having taken the long way around.

"Come in, Amelia." A kind voice spoke from within the office, before she could knock. Amelia still hadn't figured out how he did that, she'd even checked for a detection ward on and around the door, but had found nothing. Shaking off her thoughts, she pushed open the door and walked into the well appointed office.

The room looked like a cross between the former Minister's office and what she remembered of the Headmaster's Office from her time at Hogwarts. A filing cabinet that she was certain had been magically expanded enough to house a small family stood in one corner, underneath the empty portrait that connected with the Muggle Prime Minister's office.

The opposite corner held an ornate golden perch where a magnificent phoenix slept peacefully, and behind that a set of shelves filled with rare books and strange gadgets she couldn't be bothered trying to guess the function of. The centre of the room was dominated by a large oak desk with a pair of comfortable armchairs in front of it. Behind the desk was an ornate chair, in which sat the venerable figure of Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

She was unsurprised to find Shacklebolt already inside, standing in front of the desk, although he turned to leave when she entered the room.

"Black will be joining your mission." He informed her simply before making his way out of the room, closing the door behind him with a respectful thunk. That was bound to cause some tension on the team, but Moody and Weasley were both professional enough that she trusted them to keep the others in line.

"Would you care for a sherbet lemon?" Amelia turned to find a bowl of sweets floating behind her, glancing at Dumbledore, she was unsurprised to see he didn't even have his wand out.

"No, thank you." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, a great man he may undoubtedly be, but that didn't stop him from being damn infuriating at times. Regardless, there was no one else she'd rather have leading the fight against Voldemort. "Shacklebolt said you wanted to speak with me about something?" She prodded, hoping to convince the aged sorcerer to get to the point quickly so she could have some time to talk to Moody before he left for his mission.

"Indeed I do, please, have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to one of the comfortable armchairs in front of his desk, his eyes twinkling merrily. Reluctantly, she did so, silently discarding her faint hope that Dumbledore merely wanted to pass down some specific instructions for the mission. Moody would be leaving any second now in any case, if he hadn't already. Sighing inwardly, Amelia took the proffered seat, ignoring the fact that the unpleasant sense of being watched had only intensified since she entered the office.

"So, what was it you wanted to discuss, Minister?" She asked as she sank into the soft cushions of the armchair.

"I wished to ask for your impressions regarding the Lambstead matter." Dumbledore informed her, his piercing blue eyes gazing at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"My impressions, Minister?" What impressions did he think she had? They didn't know anything about Lambstead yet, that was the whole point of sending a team to investigate.

"I understand you performed an inspection of the Lambstead base last month, I hoped you could enlighten me as to your thoughts on the base and its preparedness." Amelia blinked, it was sometimes easy to forget that Dumbledore had more or less led Wizarding Britain through two wars even before Voldemort's return.

"I would say that the Lambstead base was as well protected as any of our outposts, other than the Ministry, Diagon Alley, and Hogwarts of course. In particular, Vance, Johnson, and Goldstein were all solid aurors, they had my complete faith as squad leaders." She hadn't meant to refer to them in the past tense, but she couldn't help but feel it was probably warranted.

"What of the other squad leaders? It was my understanding that there were a dozen squads stationed at Lambstead." Dumbledore's tone was merely curious, but Amelia had a growing suspicion regarding what the man was fishing for.

"I do not believe any of my aurors would have sold out their comrades, or the people of Lambstead." She couldn't help the coldness that seeped into her tone as she spoke, not that she tried particularly hard. "Sir."

"Nor do I, Amelia." Dumbledore assured her, a hint of steel entering his voice. "It is my belief that at the very least, our forces in Lambstead have been eliminated. I can think of no other possible scenario where they wouldn't have managed at least some form of communication with us over the past week." Amelia nodded reluctantly, they both knew that Voldemort was not one to take prisoners, if the base had fallen, her aurors were dead.

"All I wish to determine, is what sort of opposition our enemies faced in taking Lambstead. I understand that the war has made talented commanders a rare commodity, and I must admit I somewhat hoped that may have played a part in its sudden fall."

"Why?" It startled her that any leader would hope for incompetence in his subordinates.

"Because, if, as seems to have been the case, our forces were led capably and trained adequately, then what does that imply about the adversaries who were able to dispatch them so swiftly they didn't manage a single cry for help?"

That, Amelia thought to herself, is a very good question.

10 Minutes Earlier,

6:45 am, 1st November 2011

Outskirts of Lambstead,

Lancashire

"Well, this isn't insanely creepy." The normally cheery voice of crack Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, was sombre as it rang out across the strangely deserted road leading into Lambstead.

"Stow it." Was the only answer Moody gave, his magical eye completely still as it stared at the deserted village in front of them. "We need to get a message to Dumbledore."

"Never thought I'd see the day Mad-Eye Moody called for help before even getting into the mission." The words were heavily laced with bitterness, turning, Moody was met with the scowl that forever twisted the otherwise handsome face of Sirius Black. Once a cheerful, roguish young man, Black had emerged from over a decade in Azkaban to find his Godson dead and himself still mistrusted by the majority of the Wizarding World. It was no wonder he was bitter.

But, that didn't mean Moody could tolerate it on a mission.

He indicated the village with a jerk of his grizzled head, "What do you see, Black?"

"It's a village, an empty one." Black was at least professional enough to keep his anger out of his voice when directly addressed by a superior officer.

"Well you want to know what I see when I look at it with this?" Moody jabbed his finger toward his magical eye, which had begun spinning agitatedly, checking every direction again and again.

"Don't tell us there're mounds of corpses in the houses or something, Mad-Eye." Tonks' words were only half-joking.

"Nothing." Moody growled. "Not 'nothing out of the ordinary.' Nothing. Just a shadow where the village should be. No trace of magic. Just darkness."

"So it has to be powerful dark magic." Wilkes this time, the man was magically powerful and excellent in a fight, but his arrogance usually prevented him from seeing anything beyond his initial conclusion.

"Weren't you listening, Wilkes? If you weren't more muscle than brain between those tiny ears of yours you'd have heard Moody say there aren't any traces of magic. Dark magic, especially powerful dark magic, leaves traces that are almost impossible to erase. It'd take years to hide anything as big as cloaking an entire village." Weasley's tone was professional, but she was clearly anything but fond of the younger man.

"Very good, Weasley." Moody had to admit he didn't particularly like Wilkes either. Realising that none of the others had sent a message to Dumbledore yet, Moody sighed before raising his wand and firing off a patronus toward the Ministry. It would take at least 20 minutes for it to reach the Ministry, and perhaps another 2 to find Dumbledore given the number of protections around the Minister's Office, but it was by far the fastest method of sending a message. Bar sending one of his aurors, of course, but Moody didn't want to be a man down before they even entered the strange magical dead zone in front of them.

"Black, get your furry friend out here. I want to know if you can smell anything our eyes are missing." Black nodded sharply, his anger abandoned in favour of professional efficiency, something Moody admired about the man. Moody watched, his magical eye fixed on Black, as the man's body shifted and shrunk, transforming into an enormous, bear-like dog, as black as his family's reputation. He was always fascinated watching the magic of the animagus transformation, similar to - yet entirely distinct from - that of normal transfiguration.

"That always freaks me out." Boot muttered to Wilkes, shuddering slightly as Black began to sniff the air, occasionally putting his nose down to follow a scent on the ground for a few moments.

"The transformation? Or the fact that the backstabbing bastard turns into an omen of death?" Unlike Boot, Wilkes made no effort to keep his voice down.

"He was exonerated, Wilkes. You do know what the word means, don't you? Or is it too many syllables for you to handle?" Tonks' hair had turned red with suppressed rage. As she and her mother were the only family Black had left who weren't Death Eaters, he had become something of a cross between a surrogate father and an uncle to her after her father's murder at the hands of Voldemort's followers.

"I'd say he only thinks with his cock, but it's probably too small to fit even the few brain cells he has in it." Bell spoke up, surprising Moody somewhat. She was a quiet woman, off the Quidditch pitch at least; she was known to be one of the mouthiest chasers in the unofficial auror league, as well as one of the best. Weasley didn't try particularly hard to conceal her smirk as Wilkes turned red at the slight.

Shouldn't have tried to hit on every female member of the squad in the week before the mission. Moody couldn't help but think to himself, even as Black transformed back and seemed prepared to make a report. "What've you got?" He asked before the animagus could open his mouth.

"Death. A lot of it, decay too, whoever did this didn't clean up immediately." Black's voice was sober, Moody ignored Wilkes' swearing, it was an understandable response.

"Anything else?" Meaning, any idea who did this.

"Nothing I've ever smelt before, there were a lot of them, though." Black's fingers were tight around his wand. Whatever he'd smelt, it was making him even more uneasy than he'd been already. Wilkes gave another scoff, muttering something about not trusting the word of a traitor, Tonks opened her mouth to respond but Moody cut them both off.

"Cut the shit people, we're going in. Wands out." Moody ignored Black's rolled eyes, they'd all had their wands out even before they apparated, but it paid to be too careful. "Weasley, Thomas, you're our right flank. Black, with me up front. Bell and Tonks, you're our rear guard. Wilkes and Boot, that leaves you two on the left." Moody gestured as he spoke, demonstrating where he wanted each of his squad members to go.

The group slid into formation with the mechanical precision of expert training and long experience, the Ministry Order -what the militant Ministry regime had been called since Dumbledore took the lead and it merged with his 'secret' Order of the Phoenix- didn't have an elite shock troop division, not that Moody hadn't been lobbying for one for the past decade, but if it did; this team would be the cream of the crop.

The aurors were close enough to clump up in order to cover each other's backs should a firefight break out, but spread far enough apart that they couldn't all be taken out by a single overcharged exploding curse. Moody raised his hand, lifting two fingers and then pointing them toward the boundary of the shadow that concealed the village from his magical eye. As one, the group slipped through the barrier and into the unknown.

The unknown turned out to be as desolate and unnerving as it had appeared from beyond the shadow's reach, at least as far as Moody's mundane eye went. To his magical eye, it was as if he had stepped into the heart of a dementor breeding ground: he was surrounded by impenetrable darkness. The sensation of the tool which normally gave him complete awareness of his surroundings being so blinded was more disquieting than Moody would have expected, he could feel a shiver of unease building at the base of his spine. Then he squashed it. He was too old and too experienced to let the loss of a single advantage unsettle him.

Looking around, he was a little surprised to find the rest of the squad having similar reactions. Wilkes was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in a way that he clearly thought made him look alert and prepared, but only made it seem as if he desperately needed to pee. Tonks' hair was slowly bleeding white from the tips, Boot was tapping his wand against his thigh in a way that was liable to blow his foot off someday, and Bell's head was swivelling, checking the surroundings constantly, too fast to get a proper look at anything. Thomas' hand had strayed to the inner pocket of his robes, his thumb moving as if stroking something, probably the man's sketchbook.

Weasley seemed to be handling it better than the others, although perhaps that was just because she didn't have an almost uncontrollable physical tell like Tonks. The only giveaway for her unease was the way her eyes darted around a little faster than normal, and the fact that her hand was on the strap keeping her Granger Mk. 4 slung over her shoulder.

Unease like this was toxic, let it fester for too long and even the best aurors would crack when the real pressure came. Time for a little team-building.

"Damn, I haven't seen a party this empty since the 'I Had Sex With Wilkes and it Wasn't a Terrible Disappointment' convention." For a moment, there was utter silence. No one moved. If he hadn't known better he would've sworn Weasley had stopped breathing.

Tonks cracked first, her hair flashed bright bubblegum pink as she stuffed a fist in her mouth to keep from cracking up. Weasley had to cast a silencing charm to stop any sound from escaping as she burst out laughing, leaning against Thomas for support, he seemed torn between amusement and sympathy for his comrade. Bell was grinning broadly, and her frantic scanning of their surroundings had slowed to a more normal pace, Boot had placed a comforting hand on Wilkes' shoulder, although he was also making a poor attempt at concealing a smile.

Wilkes, as Moody had expected, was wearing a cocky grin, clearly he already had his comeback prepared. The man had his faults, but it couldn't be said that he wasn't capable of taking a joke, especially one at his own expense. Something about the unshakable ego, Moody suspected, but it made the man a congenial enough companion when he wasn't trying to fuck anything with breasts.

"All too busy trying to get a repeat performance, Mad-Eye. Unlike you, I don't hex anyone who tries to go down on me because I think they want to bite my cock off." Wilkes' response got a few snorts from the other male members of the team, while the women simply rolled their eyes, although Tonks was smirking a little at the jab at her old mentor.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see who's laughing when you're Nearly-Dickless Wilkes." Moody grumbled, team refocused, it was time to get back to the mission. "Now, enough standing around." He pointed toward a small pub a short way down the street, "Weasley, Thomas, Wilkes, Boot, check out the pub. Bell, Black, Tonks, and I will stay outside and keep watch, in case whoever did this hasn't left."

The group advanced quickly down the street, converging on the pub in mere moments. Once at the door, Weasley took point, motioning Thomas to take one side of the door and Wilkes the other, while Boot stayed back to cover the angles. As soon as they were in position she lifted her wand and vanished the door. The second the entryway was uncovered Wilkes and Thomas dived around the corners, protected by Boot's shield charm and with their wands at the ready.

Grangers were useless in small confined spaces -apart from the Model 2s of course, but none of the squad members were anywhere near important enough to warrant one of those - so it was wands only for this insertion.

Once Wilkes and Thomas were inside, Boot and Weasley quickly followed, the four fanning out to check every inch of the room for traps, assailants, or evidence of the previous inhabitants. In less than a minute, the group gave the all clear.

"All right, we're moving into the building. Bell, Thomas, get your Grangers out and cover the street from the windows. Anything moves that isn't running and screaming for help you put a round through its head." The team nodded in assent, quickly ducking into the small inn. Moody paused, inspecting the sign before sighing and stepping inside himself, conjuring a new door to replace the one Weasley had vanished.

The Slaughtered Lamb, huh? Moody couldn't help wishing the owner had thought of something a little less ominous to call their pub.

5 Minutes Earlier,

6:57 am, 1st November 2011

Outskirts of Lambstead,

Lancashire

Bellatrix Lestrange had been a beautiful woman once, had revelled in that beauty, delighting in the desire she kindled even in the hearts of those who knew she was a monster. She'd even allowed Longbottom to feel her breast, delighted in the tenting of his sleepwear and the horrified betrayal in his wife's eyes before she unleashed the Cruciatus Curse.

It had been her vice long before she discovered the intoxicating pleasure of inflicting pain, before she fell under the spell of the one man who never desired her. Who desired only power. Her Master, the Dark Lord. She had tried everything to light that desire for her in him, but she had never succeeded, although she was certain she had been getting close.

But that had been before Azkaban. Before twenty years of soul sucking monsters had made her exterior match the darkness within. No longer did men - or women for that matter - find their eyes trailing along her curves even as she prepared to eviscerate them. She had looked more spectre than succubus upon her escape from that fortress of despair.

Now, with over a decade passed since she was freed by her Lord, and with the help of a few black rituals - black in nature and Black in origin - she was once again as beautiful on the outside as she was twisted inside.

As if to accentuate the point, she walked forward, away from the group of Death Eaters she had been tasked with leading to investigate Lambstead, swaying her hips to emphasise her curves even more than the tight dragon-leather trousers she wore did already. She took a moment to enjoy the way Montague's eyes followed the movement of her arse as she sashayed toward the seemingly deserted town of Lambstead.

Montague had been watching her for weeks, whenever he thought she wasn't looking. His desire was delectable, she was certain he had touched himself thinking of her on at least one mission already. He was the sort of man who would've feared the wrath of her husband, had she not tired of him and choked the life from his frail body the moment she was released from her cell. Two decades of ceaseless moaning from an adjacent cell on top of an already lacklustre marriage would do that.

Almost. She thought with a shiver of anticipation, Almost time. He'd make a move soon, she was sure of it. She wondered if he'd have the balls to try and rape her, she hoped so. The rapists were always more fun to toy with, and her Lord would be even more understanding of her indulgence if she could pass it off as self-defence.

Pretending to be lost in thought, she raised a finger and twirled it in one of her curly ebony locks, following it down to run a trail between her sizable breasts, displayed perfectly by the tight, low-cut duelling bodice she wore. She grinned inwardly when Montague stifled a groan, given that she still couldn't see any evidence of his arousal through his tight duelling robes, she doubted she'd be able to get any pleasure from toying with his body. That didn't mean she couldn't enjoy his screams as she slowly tortured him into insanity.

Perhaps, after this one, she would be ready to garner the Dark Lord's attention? To finally claim the prize she had thrown away her life, her future, and her freedom to pursue. Then they could toy with the fools who thought themselves worthy of a dark goddess, heir to the ancient family of sorcerers as black as their name, together.

Or at least, she would be heir, as soon as she murdered her vile blood-traitor of a cousin, and her snivelling turncoat of a niece. They would be the most satisfying of all to make desire her even as she flayed the flesh from their bones. The thrill of making them compromise their basic morality on top of their decency would make it all the sweeter.

For now, she needed to get on with the mission her Lord had bestowed upon her, it wouldn't do to upset him by dawdling.

"Montague." The way he jerked when she said his name sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine, the look of panic at thinking he had been caught in his supposedly subtle lechery almost addictive.

"Yes, Madam Lestrange?" He masked it quite well in his voice, but she was far too used to playing with her food to be fooled.

"Have you seen something? You seem to be quite…" She paused, enjoying his discomfort, "stimulated."

"No, Madam Lestrange, I am merely awaiting your pleasure." He clearly thought he was being clever with his little double entendre. She almost considered beginning her torture then and there for how awful it had been.

"In that case get your useless arse in gear and move into the village with the rest of these fools!" She barked, suppressing a sigh when he jumped as if scalded and hurried on into the village. It was no fun if they didn't have at least some spine for her to snap before she broke their mind. She'd give him an opportunity to act at the end of the mission, and if he didn't take it she'd simply butcher him and tell the Dark Lord he fell in battle with the Order. He'd know she was lying, but it was the little formalities that showed you cared.

Following her underlings into the village, she was surprised to feel a tremor of fear beginning to slither its way up her spine. It reminded her of the effects of dementors, but more subtle. Just like the effects of the dementors, however, it didn't make her scared, it just made her angry.

"Warren, Flint, Montague, Parkinson." She snarled, causing all four of her lieutenants to pale dramatically, that was good, but not the reason she had called them. "Ignore your fear, there is mental magic at work here." She was about to continue her rousing pep-talk, when a low-ranking Death Eater whose name she hadn't bothered to learn came running up to her.

"Madam Lestrange!" The woman gave a short bow, "I've found an Order detachment, and…" She looked up, eyes gleaming from behind her skull mask, "Your niece and cousin are with them."

Bellatrix's mood shifted instantly, "Oooh, good girl." Stepping forward, she vanished the woman's mask, "What's your name?" She reached out a hand, stroking the other woman's cheek as she pressed her chest ever so slightly against her.

The woman gulped, and it was difficult to tell whether it was arousal or fear, but either was fine for Bellatrix, "Daphne Greengrass, Madam Lestrange."

"Well then, my Little Flower, we'll be having a nice long talk after this mission." Bellatrix leaned in, her lips mere millimetres from the younger woman's ear, "If you're right, it'll be very, very pleasurable for you." She nipped at Daphne's earlobe, worrying it gently between her teeth before pulling away. "If you're wrong," she continued, her voice not changing from its seductive hush as she increased the pressure of the wand she had moved under the girl's chin, "it'll still be pleasurable… just not for you."

Stepping back, she turned to the other Death Eaters under her command. None of them were looking at her, or Greengrass, although Parkinson was giving the other girl a sympathetic look out of the corner of her eye. With a wave, she re-conjured Greengrass' mask, once again hiding the blonde woman's elegantly aristocratic features behind the featureless skull mask all low-rankers were forced to wear.

"We're going to be crashing the Muggle-lovers' little party, I don't want any of them leaving this village alive." She grinned wickedly, twirling her wand expertly between her fingers, "And if any of you lay so much as a jelly-legs jinx on my cousin or niece, I'll flay you alive with your own intestines." She desperately wanted to laugh at the delicious fear wafting from all of them, but she wouldn't risk warning her prey that she was coming, that would ruin the surprise.

With an imperious wave of her wand, she gestured her underlings to follow Greengrass down the street, stopping just down from a small pub on the left side of the road.

"Fan out, surround the building, Greengrass, Parkinson, you're with me out front. Warren, Flint, Montague, each of you pick a side and take a quarter of our forces, I don't want any of that Muggle-loving filth slipping through our grasp." She had with her forty Death Eaters, most of them low-ranking cannon-fodder, but there was always a surplus of bodies to serve the Dark Lord. Especially when he could reanimate as many as he needed should he feel the urge to do so.

She waited a minute for the others to get into position, as much as she despised having to make use of such useless peons, it wouldn't do for one of the scum to slip away before she had a chance to kill them.

Speaking of useless peons, it would appear the others had finally managed to position themselves, a plain-masked Death Eater was jogging over to her from Flint's position. He had always been the slowest of her lieutenants.

The Death Eater opened their mouth to speak—they weren't particularly broad or curvaceous so she wasn't sure if it was a man or a woman and didn't particularly care—but was interrupted by their head exploding in a shower of gore.

"We've been spotted! Attack!" Bellatrix screeched, vanishing the blood and gore before it had a chance to reach her. "Cursed Muggle abominations." She muttered. Those infernal perversions of magic the mudblood Granger had created were irritatingly effective, for all their repulsive unnaturalness.

Flourishing her wand, she cast a delayed explosive charm on the door to the inn. The spell had originally been created to aid in the mining of rare magical minerals used to create everything from powerful magical artefacts to self-stirring cauldrons. It had just as quickly been co-opted by the Blacks for less benign purposes.

Her momentary preparations made, Bellatrix blew the door to splinters with an expertly aimed Reducto, splinters which promptly exploded, filling every inch of the entry to the building with fire and concussive force. A little shock and awe never went amiss, after all.

"Advance! Or you won't even make it to the Dark Lord for him to show his displeasure with cowardly warriors!" Her words galvanised her underlings, jolting them from their awe at the sheer destruction she had wrought with only two spells. In a rush, the Death Eaters flooded into the building, a myriad array of sickly lights glowing at the tips of their wands, death in a dozen flavours ready to be meted out to their cornered foes. Unfortunately, those within the pub had their own gourmets of gruesome death, and they weren't shy about serving their confections.

One advancing Death Eater's torso exploded with the telltale CRACK of a Granger, as two more were pierced straight through in unison with another CRACK. Three more were blown to smithereens by a precisely placed exploding curse, and two others were sent careening over into a bed of hastily transfigured spikes by the shockwave. Bellatrix saw Flint collapsing backward, a fist-sized hole of atomised flesh gaping in his chest, while another Death Eater's skull was pulped by the severed head of one of his compatriots.

"Excellent combination, cousin!" Bellatrix shouted, recognising the style of the last attack. "I may have to steal that trick for myself."

"Go get buggered by a troll, you inhuman bitch!" Came the expected response.

"Oh, you'd know all about bitches, wouldn't you, Sirius? You are quite the dog, after all!" Bellatrix cackled back as she deftly parried a piercing hex that would have painted the wall with her brains and conjured a raven to intercept the familiar green light of a killing curse. "Trying to kill your dear Auntie Bella, Nymphie? Naughty, naughty, I should put you over my knee!"

The aurors were holed up behind the bar and a series of magically transfigured marble barricades. Clearly, whoever had spotted the Death Eaters' approach had warned their compatriots and given them time to fortify before taking their shot. A flick of her wand and one of the marble barricades transformed into a cloud of ravens which swarmed around the burly auror who had been sheltering behind it. The man was skilled, however, and with an elegant flourish the ravens transformed into lions —typical Gryffindor move— which leapt at her, only to be sliced to pieces which shifted into steel spikes and flew back toward their creator.

The man deftly side-stepped the spikes, a disdainful sneer twisting his lips as he opened his mouth to deliver some scathing repartee, which was when the Intusuntus Curse she had slipped into the field of spikes impacted with his chest.

It was never clean when the internal organs suddenly decided they wished to be external, and this was no exception as the man exploded in a shower of blood and viscera that had never been intended for the light of day, his skin splitting open around his bones and compacting into a tight ball in the centre of what used to be his chest.

"Wilkes!" Screamed a distraught voice, turning, she was forced to spin away from a trio of killing curses cast by a reddish-brown haired man who had been taking cover behind the barricade adjacent to the man she had just killed.

"Keep your head, Boot!" A familiarly rough voice bellowed, and sure enough Bellatrix saw the form of Mad-Eye Moody vaulting over his own barricade to knock Boot out of the way of a series of retaliatory spells which would have turned him into paste. She was about to focus her attention on Moody when she noticed an almost colourless spell heading for the ground beneath her feet. Leaping away she watched the floor where she had just been standing liquefy into molten lava that would have instantly incinerated her feet and set the rest of her on fire had she stayed still a moment longer.

"Someone's been dipping into the family archives, Sirius!" She called in a sing-song voice, firing back a playful Crucio that she knew wouldn't connect. Behind her, a Death Eater staggering backward under a ceaseless barrage of spells flying from the wand of a short red-haired woman she recognised as the youngest Weasley stumbled into the pool of lava. His scream was cut off almost instantly by a cutting curse to the throat that severed his vocal cords, leaving him to burn to death in agonised silence.

"Moody!" The Weasley shouted, "We need to get out of here, we can't hold them off forever!"

Interesting, Bellatrix mused, casting a killing curse at Weasley to try and snuff out one of the centres of gravity in the opposition forces, only for the other woman to block the curse by transfiguring a spire of rock to take the impact. The Blood-Traitor acts as if they don't have any reinforcements nearby, despite this being nominally an Order stronghold.

Apparently, the Order hadn't just created some new means of blocking magical communication, or discovered the Death Eater spies who had been operating out of the village for the past six months.

Regardless, they couldn't allow the filth to escape their clutches so easily.

"After them! Corral them into the main square, there we can surround and slaughter these fools!" Devoid of talent and power they may have mostly been, but her underlings were nothing if not obedient, instantly leaping after the retreating aurors as they followed Weasley out the back door, Moody and a tall, dark-skinned man covering their retreating comrades before following them out the door. One of her underlings had the clever idea of blasting the wall open, allowing him and a dozen of his fellows to rush out in a tide of black cloaks and ivory masks after their fleeing quarry.

Directly into an intricate runic array which promptly fried the lot of them with a million volts of blinding white electricity.

"FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR BITCH!" Bellatrix screamed as she watched almost half her remaining forces collapse, corpses smoking from electrical discharge. Apparently, the Weasley had picked up a few tricks from her mudblood whore. With a wave of her wand, half of the corpses wrenched themselves to their feet, moving in unnatural, jerky motions as the magic that reanimated their bodies forced locked muscles into action. A twist of her wand and a mental command sent her newly created inferi loping after the retreating auror members, staggering their way through a second array, heedless of the fire that leapt up to consume their robes and the flesh underneath.

The ambush had just gone from a rout of the Order to a life or death struggle for both sides. Although still outnumbered, the aurors were inarguably better trained than the rabble she had brought with her on what was supposed to be a simple scouting mission to a backwater encampment. Still, she wasn't going to order a withdrawal until she had killed at least one of her familial disgraces, it was a matter of professional pride.

With a snarl, she stalked after her retreating foes into the slowly lightening darkness of dawn.

Same Time,

7:22 am, 1st November 2011

Outside The Slaughtered Lamb,

Lambstead

"Weasley! You magnificent cunt, I could kiss you!" Sirius called, firing a pair of cutting curses and an exploding curse at their pursuers as the group of aurors hustled their way down the alley away from The Slaughtered Lamb. He was more than a little surprised that he didn't receive a tide of invective for his crass compliment. "Weasley? Everything alright?"

He knew it wasn't Wilkes, they were all well-trained to compartmentalise the loss of a comrade long enough to deal with the crisis at hand, time enough for grief when they were away alive.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just thought I saw something." She was staring into one of the small side-alleys branching off from the one they were currently engaged in retreating down.

"A Death Eater something?" Sirius asked, transfiguring the cobblestones behind them into a thick granite wall and reinforcing the change with an Imutius Charm to prevent anyone from reversing the transformation. It wouldn't stop a witch of Bellatrix's calibre long, but it would help.

"No," Weasley answered slowly, vanishing stone in the shape of the same runic array she had used outside the pub and bending down to tap it with her wand, charging it. "It was white, white and red. Like bleached bone and freshly spilt blood."

Something about her description struck a chord in Sirius, as if he had heard the same description somewhere before. This was neither the time nor the place to try to chase down a memory, however.

"It doesn't matter, if it's not a Death Eater it's not an immediate threat. We need to keep moving." Apparently, Weasley had been thinking the same thing. Together, they continued their retreat, covering the rear of their comrades having taken over the rear-guard from Mad-Eye and Thomas, allowing the former to take the lead.

"Do we know where this alley goes?" It was a legitimate question, the fact that it probably irritated Moody was only an added bonus.

"Away from Lestrange and her lackeys, that's what's important right now, Black." Moody sounded irritated, but, then, he always sounded irritated.

"She might be a psycho bitch, but she isn't stupid. She was right about them overwhelming us if they manage to get us into the town square, Mad-Eye." Good old Nymphadora, Merlin, he was so proud of her, sassy and tactically sound at the same time. And he'd thought she wasn't listening to his lessons.

"These coven-towns are rabbit warrens, only a handful of streets lead all the way to the town centre. What are the chances that we're on one of those instead of one of the dozens of alleys that go…" Thomas' voice trailed off as their pounding feet lead them around a corner into a large square with a statue of a handsome wizard —the long departed Lamb for whom the village was named, presumably— holding a staff in the centre. "Somewhere else." Thomas finished lamely.

"Pretty fucking good, apparently." That was his Nymphadora again, he wondered if Harry would've picked up his bitterness so easily, or if he would've been sunny, like his mother. Shaking his head, Sirius locked the thought away with all the others. Harry was gone, had been even before he'd escaped from Azkaban in a misguided attempt to save him from Pettigrew.

"Alright people, we have 90 seconds tops before the Death Eaters come pouring out of that alley and straight up our arses." If Wilkes was still here he'd have probably made a comment about not minding a chance to get up Bellatrix's arse, he'd always been one for frank appreciation of a nice set of tits and a finely sculpted bum, even if they were attached to a psychopathic mass murderer. Sirius shook that thought off too, now wasn't the time for grieving for comrades or godsons.

"Do you hear that?" It was Bell, first word she'd spoken since warning them the Death Eaters were coming down the street toward the pub. Sirius stopped, listening hard, debating transforming into the grim to make use of his animagus form's superior hearing. It would be able to tell definitively if there was anything there, but it would waste precious seconds they could use to prepare.

"No time for that now, focus on transfiguring as much cover and as many traps as you can, Bell, Thomas, if you haven't reloaded your Grangers yet do it now, everyone else, high explosive rounds, aimed at the mouth of the alley. Whatever this shadow is that's hiding the town, it's stopping apparition, so at least we don't have to worry about them coming at us from all sides." Moody's gruff orders made the decision for him, the older man was right; immediate survival was more important.

Despite this, he couldn't help asking, even as he transfigured a series of staggered barricades opposite the mouth of the alleyway, "What did you hear?"

"I don't know, it sounded like… horses." Bell shrugged helplessly, "Ponies maybe? I'm not sure. It doesn't make sense, whatever it was."

"Unless Bellatrix's fetishes have got even more fucked up since Azkaban." Weasley muttered, busy vanishing her runic arrays into the stonework on the walls surrounding the alley, the Death Eaters would be watching where they put their feet now after all.

"Jesus, Ginny." Thomas muttered, shaking his head as he focused on transfiguring a pack of dogs with too-large teeth, "You're certainly a lot less innocent than you were when we dated in Hogwarts."

"You know what they say," Weasley quipped back, "always the quiet ones."

That got a scoff out of Bell, "When the fuck were you ever quiet, Ginny? Certainly not when you were on the Quidditch team that's for damn sure."

"Whoever said I was talking about me, Katie?" Sirius and Nymphadora both wolf-whistled in unison while Bell grinned and Thomas just shook his head, Sirius knew he liked Weasley for a reason.

"I was unaware we were hosting a Merlin-damned ice cream social!" Moody barked, his concentration on layering a series of proximity triggered curses onto the front of the foremost barricade, designed to take out anyone who tried to leap over it. Or anyone who got too close to any shrapnel that might come from it.

Sirius was about to make a sardonic, and possibly borderline insubordinate, remark, when the Death Eaters arrived. Unfortunately, it would seem Bellatrix had had enough of walking her troops into ambushes. The walls of the cottages to both sides of the alleyway exploded, showering the courtyard with shrapnel. Mostly chunks of shattered masonry, although Sirius had to duck as a Wizarding Wireless almost took his head off before his shield charm had time to snap into place. Behind him, he heard a snatch of the aged witch who had been hosting the Magi-Muggle Classics Station since he'd been in Hogwarts. She must be almost as old as Dumbledore by this point, if not older.

"And now, for all those lost loves-" He didn't hear the rest as Death Eaters were now pouring into the square from both ruined cottages, spellfire flaring from their wands and crashing against the hastily erected barricades he and his comrades had managed to create. They came on like a wave of darkness, an indistinct mass of white masks, black cloaks, and blacker intentions, vomiting forth an orgy of death and dismemberment in a sickeningly sweet rainbow of colours.

The Order hunkered down, weathering the storm and returning fire with their own, less grisly, but equally effective tools of death. Cutting Curses and Bombardas mingled with magical bullets and the eerie green of the Killing Curse.

Sirius grinned in savage satisfaction as another Death Eater went down, his skin scorched from his bones by a particularly nasty fire curse his Great-Grandfather had been rather fond of. Nearby, he saw two more Death Eaters falling with their throats a crimson mess from the teeth of Thomas' dogs, even as they turned to find new victims. But then both dogs collapsed back into stone. Turning, he saw Thomas falling, blood gurgling in his throat, his eyes wide and white against his dark skin in shock at the suddenness of his demise. Continuing his turn, Sirius prepared to bring vicious death upon the Death Eater scum who had killed such a talented young man, only to freeze.

It wasn't a Death Eater that had killed Thomas. It wasn't even human. The bleached white blade stained with blood that had erupted from Thomas' chest was attached to the arm of a monstrous creature. His subconscious swiftly catalogued the creature's characteristics, even as his conscious mind desperately tried to come to terms with what it was seeing.

The creature stood a little under 2 meters tall at the shoulder, bipedal, powerful legs built for explosive movement tapering off into clawed hooves, with the hips connecting perpendicularly to the spine. From nose to tail it looked to be roughly 4 meters long, with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth at one end and a dart like spike tipping the other. The creature's arms both ended in the meter long blades that had just gutted Thomas like a freshly caught fish. But there were plenty of horrific creatures stalking the dark places of the Wizarding World, it wasn't the beast's armament or monstrous appearance that had his mind struggling to process the sight.

It was as if the world had been leached of all sound, as if he and the creature had been caught in a bubble of perfect silence. Broken only by the song drifting from the Wizarding Wireless laying on the ground between them.

"Why does the sun, go on shining?" The creature was covered in a white exoskeleton with red armoured plates running from its head down it's spine and covering its joints.

"Why does the sea rush to shore?" Like bleached bone and freshly spilled blood, just as Weasley had seen down that alley.

"Don't they know, it's the end of the world?" Like the creature that Bones spoke of when she crawled into a bottle every Halloween.

Suddenly, reality snapped back into place, "CONTACT! FUCKERS COMING IN BEHIND US!" Sirius roared, wand coming up and firing a killing curse directly into the creature's face. He waited for the beast to deflect it with its blades, just as the monster Bones had spoken of had, but it didn't. The curse connected, and the beast dropped dead, its glassy eyes hateful, even in death. Sirius let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, whatever resemblance these monsters bore to the creature that had attacked the Ministry all those years ago, they weren't as dangerous.

His relief was short-lived when more of the monsters started flooding from every alley surrounding the square, first trios, then tens, then tens of dozens, and then hundreds. The aurors clustered together in a tight group, firing Blasting Curse after Blasting Curse into the seething mass of teeth and blades, finesse abandoned in favour of frantic speed.

The Death Eaters were faring little better, their greater numbers meant little against the seemingly endless horde of creatures now swarming the square. Soon, only Bellatrix, her three intricately masked lieutenants, and a handful of the more skilled plain-masked Death Eaters remained, huddled together in a tight ring, not far from the aurors. Separated only by the tide of seething monsters that threatened to carry away both groups.

For a moment, it seemed as if both groups would be able to weather the onslaught, then Boot went down, screaming and tearing at a series of bloody holes in his robes, thrashing on the ground as if he was being held under the Cruciatus Curse. Two of the plain-masked Death Eaters went down as well, writhing in agony just like Boot until Bellatrix silenced them by banishing their still-living bodies into the crowd of monsters bearing down on them.

Instinctively throwing up a physical shield spell to give himself time to discover what had happened to Boot, Sirius started when it rang from a rapid series of impacts, almost like a volley from a squad's worth of Grangers. Looking down, he saw half-a-dozen writhing creatures, like a cross between a leach and a termite with far, far too many teeth. Looking in the direction the things had come from, he saw more creatures had started to filter into the square. They looked like the creature that had killed Thomas, but the arms ending in blades were much smaller and were placed high on the shoulders, displaced by a single arm that ended in something that looked like an organic version of the Grangers he and the other aurors carried.

"What the fuck are these things?" He heard Weasley snarl as she blew ten of the creatures that had originally attacked them to pieces, taking out two of the new monsters in the process.

"They're going to be our fucking death!" Bell half-sobbed, her shield barely turning away the blade of one of the creatures that had leapt at her, sensing weakness.

"We are not going to-" Moody began to roar, only to be cut off by a flash of fire.

Albus Dumbledore, one hand clutching the tail feathers of his phoenix, the other already swinging his wand down to incinerate fifty of the swarming beasts in a single conflagration, stood in the centre of the knot of aurors. Flanked by Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and expert Field Healer, Hannah Abbott. The latter slid to Boot's side in an instant, her wand weaving a complicated series of diagnostic charms over the stricken auror as the others leapt into the fight, strengthening the ragged knot of aurors that had been coming close to fraying to pieces.

"Come out to play, Old Man!?" A deranged voice cackled in a sickening approximation of a mother's cooing tone to her baby. Turning, Sirius saw Bellatrix, her wand coming down to press against the Dark Mark tattooed on her forearm, her eyes rolling back and body jerking slightly in seemingly orgasmic bliss at the sensation. A spell lanced from Dumbledore's wand, scything straight through the creatures that crowded the space between the aged sorcerer and the dark witch, aiming for her arm. Before it could connect, it was swallowed by a shadow that seemed to wrench itself up off the ground in defiance of the ordinary laws of light and darkness.

"Now, now, Minister." Came a high, cold voice, the last word dripping with venomous derision. "I thought you were supposed to be better than attacking a defenceless woman? But I suppose your sister wouldn't agree with that either." Lord Voldemort said silkily, stepping from the shadow of his most faithful servant. Having appeared from thin air without a sound.

"I'm afraid to say that creature beside you is neither defenceless nor a woman, Tom." Dumbledore answered calmly, bringing a sneer to the Dark Lord's face.

Both wizards' wands came up, faster than Sirius' eye could follow, spells tearing from their tips and annihilating any of the creatures foolish enough to get in between the two most powerful sorcerers in the world. The Order members and Death Eaters were forced to go back on the defensive, even as their leaders casually dispatched the creatures like gnats wandering into a wood chipper. Dozens of the creatures died every second, and yet there seemed to be no end to their numbers.

Sirius did notice that the creatures had begun to give a wide berth to the duelling pair however, so at least they had some basic level of cunning. He turned his attention back to the knot of monsters in front of him, only to stop as they scattered, clearing a wide space in the corner of the square almost in an instant. He only wondered why for a few moments. Something slammed into the ground, pulverising cobblestone path and brick house alike and sending up a plume of dust that Sirius vanished with a quick wave of his wand.

Where there had once been only empty space, there was now what looked like a meteorite made of the same material as the creatures that still almost filled the square. The sound of the impact had silenced the myriad skirmishes that had been filling the area with a chorus of blood and death. Even the creatures had stopped attacking, and Dumbledore and Voldemort stood momentarily still.

In the silence, Sirius heard the song drifting from the Wizarding Wireless once more.

"Why, does my heart…" A single blade of bone inlaid with crystal stabbed through the shell of the pod, high on the upper-left side. Amelia Bones: decorated auror and beloved commander, paled, her wand shaking as she started slowly backing away from the object that had crashed into the square.

"Go on beating?" Another blade punched through the pod, this one on the upper-right side. Alastor Moody: practically revered as the greatest auror ever known, the man who had duelled Voldemort and lived to tell of it, swore bitterly.

"Why, do these eyes…" Two more blades punched through the pod, directly beneath the first two.

"It- it can't be! It's dead, it has to be dead!" Amelia moaned desperately, like a child faced with the boogeyman.

"Of mine cry?" The blades moved, slicing a circular hole in the side of the pod before retracting inside once more. Amelia's breath heaved in her chest, the unhealthy wheeze of hyperventilation. Moody had begun a tide of invective broken only by his own ragged gasps.

"Don't they know…" The circle of sliced material shot across the square, flying down a corridor cleared by the creatures and caving in the front of a formerly elegant cottage. A hulking four-armed form was visible in the darkness of the hole left behind.

"It's the end of the world?" The beast stepped from the pod, it's hooves clattering loudly on the largely pulverised cobble of the square, it's swords shining in the dawn sun.

"It ended when you said…" The creature spun its swords so fast it appeared to be holding a dozen blades in each hand. Then it charged, plumes of black smoke rising from the chimneys on it's back.

"Goodbye."

End AN: The song used was End of the World, by Skeeter Davis. I normally don't use songs because I feel they instantly date the story, and have the possibility of alienating some of your readership if they don't share the author's taste in music. I made an exception in this case because End of the World is already a classic, so it can hardly get any more dated, and I felt it gave the final scene a nicely eerie sense of dissonance. At least, I hope it did.

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