CHAPTER 2

31 May 1993 - Longbottom Manor, 7:34AM

(20 Days till Azkaban)

Purposefully ignoring Madame Longbottom's pointed glare at the side of his head, Lucius Malfoy elegantly nibbled on a palet breton biscuit before washing down the buttery delicacy with a small sip of plain black Earl Grey.

"...Lucius," said Regulus with a hint of irritation. "Please, do try to be serious." Lord Malfoy merely quirked a patrician brow in response as he continued sipping his tea, feeling oddly piqued to make a nomenographic jibe regarding the man's estranged older brother.

"Am I not? We are committing an act that is tantamount to high treason, and as the least…amiable to this entire conspiracy, I believe young Marcus here should be made readily abreast of the great risk he is incurring by our little undertaking." He paused to take another delicate sip of his tea. "And that is to say nothing of him not surviving this excursion to begin with." Regulus and Marcus just glared at the man as Snape delicately coughed into his tea. Harry and Lily huffed in matching irritation, both wondering if it wasn't too late to convince Tom that maybe Lucius Malfoy wasn't a necessary resource for their little endeavor. The man had been irritatingly chipper since his divorce from Narcissa Black, more inclined towards teasing than before. Save Severus and Tom, it was driving everyone else mad.

"Well Lord Malfoy, I am quite 'abreast' of the fact that our little conspiracy could result in all of us ending up in Azkaban if we're lucky. I was merely suggesting, as one is apt to do in these settings, if there's another strategy we can at least attempt before breaking out four highly dangerous and murderous Death Eaters?" Harry winced at his friend's acerbic tone, feeling quite bad that he'd even succeeded in convincing the older boy into joining their little Azkabal, oaths and all.

"Marcus," said Harry quietly, "we know what we're risking. And you know why we're taking this risk. The Dark Lord isn't dead, not by a long-shot. If we're to have any hope of permanently defeating the bastard before he murders us all, we'll need to go through with this…little conspiracy. As I said before, you're the only one of my friends I trust to help us with this, and you know I would never have asked this of you if your help truly wasn't needed. Please Marcus." The older wizard stared unblinkingly, not breaking contact with Harry's imploring eyes for a whole three seconds. Finally, he nodded and sighed in acquiescence.

With a delicate clearing of his throat, Tom took that as his cue to begin the discussion for their To-Do List.

"Firstly, which aurors are we going to impersonate on this jaunt? I know very valid concerns have been shared regarding Sirius and Kingsley, but unfortunately, I can confirm the date we have picked for our mission coincides with their assigned guard duty accompanying the Minister and his Undersecretary on their semiannual check-in of Azkaban."

Harry frowned fiercely at the mention of his godfather as Lily's lips thinned. They'd gotten into a huge argument the day prior when the topic of Lord Black had arisen. Harry had been incensed, his ire motivated by the unquestioning love and loyalty he held for the man. So strong had been his anger that his accidental magic had erupted every window in The Keep's kitchen nook in tandem with his yells. Unphased at the ensuing damage he'd stormed up to his room and locked himself inside, refusing to speak to any other adult about the issue.

Lily had been angry and frustrated by his reaction, but the true source of her discontent was that she too was unwilling to further compromise the man whose reputation had already taken a hit thanks to her ex-husband's enduring idiocy. In addition to the personal affection she held for Sirius (whom she considered a little brother), she was loathe to upset the dynamic between her son and the closest thing he had to a father. However, her hardwon Slytherin sensibilities of ruthlessness and pragmatism posed a very uncomfortable conundrum.

Fortunately, both mother and son were spared the difficult decision.

"Worry not dears," said Cassie in a girlish sing-song tone. "I have taken care of that end." She eagerly bit into her larger-than-norma raspberry macaron, moaning in delight. Augusta resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response, even more so given the metamorph's current form of a buxomly brunette Jayne Mansfield squeezed into suggestively shape-hugging muggle apparel.

Tom was equal parts amused and confused. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on achieving that?"

Cassie tittered. "Already achieved dear; I've schemed to put together a little…soirée at Madam Rosmerta's for tomorrow, an appreciation luncheon of sorts for all the aurors and the good work that they do. It wasn't difficult to get her to agree; a great PR move on the eve of the perfidious Lockhart's arrest (Regulus snorted), and an increased influx of business to boost her coffers. The DMLE has readily signed off and every auror is mandated to attend."

"Every auror?" asked Tom curiously. "From my understanding, Alastor Moody is slated to retire and Rufus Scrimgeour is resigning, on account of his injury severely limiting his functional capacity as Chief Auror." His nose then wrinkled as if he'd smelt something particularly foul. "I've heard…whisperings that James Potter is being considered for the position."

Shock reigned.

"Tell me you're joking?! After the stunts he's pulled?! Him cursing my mother?! What madness is this?!" Harry looked keenly outraged, his expression mirrored by most of the room's occupants.

"I have to agree with young Harry here," replied Malfoy quietly. "The Chief Auror position is an exceptionally powerful role within our government that requires a particular combination of intellect, foresight, and…pragmatic flexibility to recognize less traditional methods of strategy and the wherewithal to use them properly. As we all know, these are qualities that James Potter doesn't possess in any capacity." He turned to look at Harry, "No offense."

Harry snorted. "Trust me, none taken." Internally, he mused on the similarities between the Chief Auror position and the Prince of Slytherin mantle. Then, he wondered why a man like Scrimgeour - as Slytherin as one could seem - had never held the position within his former House.

"You are both correct," replied Tom. "From what I've heard, James was the Minister's first choice, given the man's status as the father of the Boy-Who-Lived. It is purely propaganda on the man's part, especially in light of Jim Potter's…joint defeat of Slytherin's basilisk. He believes it would please public opinion and satisfy enough of the old guard to keep the relative peace in the Wizengamot. Even in spite of Potter's newfound alliance with Yaxley that led to the…recent events of last Christmas." Harry felt his temper flare slightly, before a deep Occludic breath calmed him once more as Tom continued on.

"I've also heard that Amelia Bones is pushing back against him and is advocating for Kingsley Shacklebolt to get the position. Fitting really; he's exceptionally competent, well-liked across all aisles, and is a true-blue political neutral - made easy by his last name. Quite frankly he ought to be a shoo-in, but Fudge has always been rather fond of having 'celebrity connections'." His contempt for the Minister's fabled brownnosing was quite clear in his expression. "As it stands, I'll do everything on my end to help sway the scales in Kingsley's favor. An act which would be exceptionally more difficult if the man is compromised in our little Azkabal."

"You've all made sound points. Hence why Kingsley and Sirius will be replaced by Potter and Yaxley as the auror guards for the Minister. I'll also be walking away with quite a bit of hair from every active duty auror, so it'll be the perfect opportunity to test the effectiveness of the modified Polyjuice Potion Regulus here so easily absconded with." She cheekily wiggled her brows, causing her grand-nephew to chuckle good-naturedly.

"You are certain Cassie? As far as I know any guard shift changes for aurors require prior sign-off by the head of the DMLE and the Chief Auror, especially when it concerns Azkaban and especially when they're to be accompanying the Minister of Magic. You have all that accounted for?"

"Naturally," the witch sniffed haughtily. Tom chuckled and nodded in appreciation. The room's remaining occupants marveled at how she would accomplish such a feat, but then they remembered that Cassie was a Slytherin metamorph, highly skilled in covert operations primarily within the wizarding underworld.

"Moving on," said Regulus. "Tom, you mentioned we would be needing alternate wands. Is that still the case?"

"Yes, without a doubt. We cannot afford to have any spell we utilize be tracked by the DMLE. The wands I will be acquiring will be non-registered with the Trace, and automatically self-destruct upon completion of our mission. We have exactly two hours and seventeen minutes based on the calculations that I shared with my supplier. Once the clock strikes…well…" Everyone thoughtfully mused on that. While that amount of time seemed plenty, anything could happen when Dementors were involved. Marcus was especially nervous since he would be one casting the Patronus Charm while Riddle, Malfoy, and Black sequestered the prisoners. Grimacing into his hyssop tea, he was suddenly struck by the desire for something stronger.

"The super portkey is complete?"

"Yes Reg," replied Lily. "Tom and I have worked on that for the past two weeks, and it's finally done. We've come up with a complimentary schema that'll allow the explosive parameters to be integrated into the cuffs. Since they are already undetectable by almost all means, it'll be one less thing to worry about carrying into that Merlin-forsaken place." Lucius was impressed, though still nervous about the prospect of having to wear the item. Riddle would be presenting he and Marcus with their own to wear for the mission, ensuring both that the items could be removed from their person at any time and would not be used to intrude upon their minds and thoughts. Still…

"What about Thief's Downfall?" Cassie asked as she eagerly bit into a cream-filled danish. "Are the cuffs impervious to that as well? I imagine it'd be rather inconvenient should they reveal themselves and draw uncomfortable questions."

"Tom and I have that portion complete," replied Severus. "It required a bit of alchemical finagling to ensure its compatibility to the cuffs' material, but the final solution ought to be completed shortly. Thankfully Lucius acquired so much of the potion…somehow." Lord Malfoy rolled his eyes at his friend's cheek.

"I still can't believe you got a floor plan of bloody Azkaban." Marcus' sarcastic muttering caused Harry to snort in his tea.

"Quite uncommon indeed Marcus, but one of the many benefits conferred by my employer." The younger wizard haltingly nodded at that, his curiosity further piqued at exactly what Lord Gaunt's role entailed in the Department of Mysteries.

"And the dungeons are ready?"

"Yes."

Augusta's response to Regulus' question was as curt as it was unyielding, causing a few of the room's occupants to exchange uncomfortable glances. Tom was not one of them, since he had been the one to approach the formidable dowager with their mad little plan. Lord Gaunt knew her hatred of the Lestranges would ensure her compliance in offering the dungeons of Longbottom Manor.

That, coupled with her desire for revenge would ensure that the Death Eater trio responsible for her son and his wife's current condition would meet their ultimate demise once his interrogation was complete.

There could be no room for loose ends.

1 June 1993 - Gringotts Cairo Branch, 1:17PM

(19 Days till Azkaban)

With a flourish Tom completed his fifth Sudoku set, internally pleased when the charmed paper illuminated at his correct completion of the puzzle. With eagerness he began working on the sixth, sipping on his aqua vitae-infused fizzy lemon water.

Never let it be said that Gringotts skimped on refreshments for their VIP clients.

He currently sat in the office of Skull-Crusher, the Account Manager for House Gaunt's primary vault in the vaunted institution. Normally they would meet in the London branch, however scheduling constraints demanded that they meet in the Cairo office. He and Libra were meeting her parents for a long overdue family lunch at Cyra's favorite restaurant, followed by a shopping trip for the ladies whilst the men played catch-up at the Kolumbiko Estate wherein Sameer would join them.

BANG!

Brow quirking at the dramatics, Tom Vanished his puzzle and stood, politely greeting Skull-Crusher upon his door-rattling entrance. The surly goblin merely snarled in response, revealing a row of sharply jutting teeth that was rather terrifying on his already bestial face. Coupled with a long pointy nose, beady black eyes, and a ruddied bald head, the small-statured being truly embodied the fiercest of the goblin visage. His overly crumpled and ill-fitted suit bore quite a few loose strings, along with the most unsightly bloodstains macabrely dotting his necktie.

'Dramatics.'

Slamming the office door shut and activating all its security measures, Skull-Crusher shuffled his way to his desk. Tossing his briefcase aside the Goblin hopped onto his chair and set about adjusting his seat until he was a solid two inches higher than Tom's taller form, allowing him the perfect angle to sneer down at his client.

"So, why are you here today, Lord Gaunt?" The goblin's tone was rather contemptuous, with just enough civility to be passably polite. Tom quirked a dignified brow in response.

"As is indicated on your personal schedule, my purpose for being here should be readily obvious, Account Manager." The goblin glared at the use of his administrative title.

"Oh? You think I sit around all day ogling a sheet of paper with my daily tasks, Gaunt? What, you don't think I have a secretary for such tasks?"

"Well, considering most goblins consider administrative assistance to be beneath the breadth of their abilities, I can imagine you handle all such administrative tasks on your own, Crusher." Narrowed goblin eyes met his statement, their obsidian shade growing increasingly flinty at his client's ever-increasing rudeness.

"Is that so, Riddle? Well, considering the previous state of your accounts, I am certain you're familiar with all that which naturally lies beneath." Tom's jaw ticked in agitation.

"Considering you had to rely on magic to superficially hoist yourself up to a level I can easily overcome whilst seated, I am more than certain you are innately comfortable with everything that dwells near the bottom, Skull." The goblin's expression turned puce in outrage.

"Stick-wielding simpleton!" Tom hissed angrily.

"Thick-headed troglodyte!" Throat-Slicer snarled in a fury.

"This coming from a useless Cumberworld!"

"You've got some utter nerve, you Dalcop!"

"Better that than a Shabbaroon as sullen as yourself!"

"This coming from a Fustilarian as fantastically foolish as YOU!"

The tension drew tight between the two furious foes, their eyes flashing with promised violence to be unleashed on the other.

A beat passed…

Before the two burst into raucous laughter!

Skull-Crusher hemmed and hawed heartily, slamming his gnarled hand against his desk as tears ran down his face. Tom was equally lacking in composure as he retrieved a handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. This continued on for a few moments, before their laughter eventually died down into giggles.

With an elegant flourish, the Goblin reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a wand. A most curiously strange wand too. Not wooden wands as any wizard would expect, but rather one made out of the purest silver, with its center embedded with a green emerald so massive its sole worth would single-handedly crash the current economy for precious jewels, muggle and magical alike.

Muttering a spell in his native tongue (which would sound like gibberish to any onlooker not named Tom Riddle), he waved the wand a few inches above his form, transforming his visage entirely. His ill-fitting suit repaired itself into an immaculately bespoke three-piece suit in a most fetching baby blue shade.

But even more remarkable was the effect on the Goblin's physical appearance.

Black eyes transformed into normal light gray irises. His savage angular face softened into a more human-like visage complete with a more human-like complexion - pale and lightly freckled in Skull-Crusher's case. A thick tuft of auburn hair sprouted atop his head, pomaded in a style reminiscent of the muggle film actor Clark Gable. A thick handlebar mustache appeared, curled up neatly and quite endearingly on each end. Pocketing his wand, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his favorite brass manacle and affixed it over his right eye.

At shedding his false form, Mr. Camembert - Vice-President for Occult Espionage for Gringotts Interdimensional - pocketed his wand and smiled rather amiably.

"You've gotten really good at that old friend! Fustilarian, a real zinger! Let me guess, Henry IV, Part 2?"

Camembert giggled good-naturedly. "The very one!" He leaned conspiratorially. "I'm in the process of acquiring a 1st edition copy for my collection, very exciting!"

Tom's eyes lightly widened. "Indeed? Lucky old sod. I imagine you're only getting one copy for yourself and no one else?"

The Goblin chuckled. "Hm…possibly. I could secure you a copy, should you make it worth my while?" He wiggled his bushy eyebrows cheekily as Tom rolled his eyes.

"Worth your while? What, did single-handedly possessing the only known alchemically sound formula for infinite production of orichalcum in the known multiverse not help?"

Camembert scoffed good-naturedly. "Yes yes, Gringotts Interdimensional thanks you for your inestimable contribution of the Slytherin Formula to its successful multi-branch Operations in the multiverse, for which you've been granted the singular boon of 'Most Valued Earth-Realm Investor' in our esteemed institution." His expression turned crafty. "And that's to say nothing of your quarterly investment returns to your exclusive VIP accounts."

"...Just the Slytherin Formula?"

The goblin harrumphed. "And the Lestrange Formula as well, the only known alchemical equation for sentient self-replicating orichalcum in the multiverse. Though I still hold you responsible for the irreversible damage to what was our most expensively outfitted research laboratory. Damned metal ate its way through eighteen whole floors!"

"Oi! Any responsibility incurred on my behalf starts and ends with providing the formula. How your scientists use or misuse it and what damage it causes falls to them." The wizard sniffed imperiously.

The two stared intently at each other with matching narrowed eyes…before erupting into chortles.

Soon, the conversation between the two compatriots steered towards more casual topics as Camembert summoned a light repast of tea and pastries for them to enjoy. They discussed Tom's recent nuptials, the current state of the Wizengamot, the recent run of races at White Turf, the newest theater productions in Athens' Peror Alley, and Camembert's great-great-great granddaughter's recent enrollment at The Craes Fra Conservatory for Choral Cultivation. "Just like her great-grandmother, we are all so proud of her!" To any onlooker, the conversation would be deemed strange at best, especially given the historically tumultuous relationship between wizardkind and the goblin race. In fact, if any member of the British Ministry had bore witness to the bizarre exchange, Lord Gaunt would have been branded a traitor of wizarding society per the Peace and Arbitration Charters established post-Goblin Rebellion that specifically outlined permitted wizard and goblin relations.

If he were lucky, Lord Gaunt would only be tossed ass-over-teakettle into The Veil for the numerous violations his current conversation posed.

And that's to say nothing of the goblin's true form and appearance - a most dapper (if anachronistically dressed) achondroplastic dwarf.

"So," Tom said after a hearty sip of his orange blossom tea, "were you able to acquire the wands?" Banishing his teacup, Camembert removed his wand and summoned his briefcase, which had also transformed from its worn cheap maroon leather into a rich ochre-dyed hide of Hungarian Horntail. A muttered spell saw it pop open and swirled his wand once more. A small velvet box around three inches in length levitated out, floating to soundlessly land in front of Tom.

With a hissed verbal command the box opened, revealing much larger interior dimensions than what the box's exterior would suggest. Four wands were laid on a plush black velvet lining. Save for their cores (which had been replaced with tiny little flecks of gemstones embedded within), the wands were identical to those of its future users.

For Lucius Malfoy - 18 inch elm with an emerald gemstone.

For Regulus Black - 12 ¼ inch blackthorn with a pearl gemstone.

For Marcus Flint - 10 ¾ inch red oak with a diamond gemstone.

And for Tom - 13 ½ inch yew with a garnet gemstone.

"As previously discussed, the wand cores have been replaced with its corresponding user's birthstone pre-harvested on their specific birth days and times, allowing for a much more flawless channeling of their magic. The gemstones provide a unique cloaking feature that will successfully mimic the wands of the individuals you will be posing as, established by a symbiotic bond between your Polyjuiced appearances and the wand proper. This will allow for the successful bypass of regular and advanced detection spells that Azkaban utilizes. Any spell cast is rendered undetectable and untraceable, so you should all be covered on that end. They are timed, so the very second one takes hold of it, the countdown begins for its use until it self-destructs, 2 hours and 31 minutes per your calculations." The goblin's expression wrinkled in concern. "You are certain you don't require additional time?"

Tom lightly grimaced. "Yes, I am certain. I have already incorporated an additional 14 minutes of extra time that should account for our escape to provide additional coverage. It should…it will be enough." Not entirely convinced, Camembert nodded all the same. He'd been absolutely delighted when Tom had shared his plans to break out the Death Eaters from Azkaban Prison. As the VP of Occult Espionage, the goblin had come up with a plethora of potential ideas to successfully abscond with the criminals, one of which involved temporarily transforming the four wizards into Dementors and have them simply walk the prisoners out. "It'll be brilliant Tom, with just the right amount of pizzazz to make it memorable!"

Lord Gaunt, thankfully, had shot that idea down.

"And once you've captured them?"

"Level 5 Interrogation," Tom replied, closing the box and tucking it into the mokeskin-reinforced inner pocket of his dress shirt. "There is critical-level information that I require, and as much as I would like to rip their respective minds to shreds, there is a level of coherence needed to ensure they are able to share that which they know. Especially Rookwood." His expression twisted into a snarl, mimicked on Camembert's own. While Tom's reason was due to the man being an Untouchable (and therefore oath-required to be killed onsite by an Unspeakable upon his escape from Azkaban), the goblin's reason was due to… The Incident.

Capitalized for its brazen egregiousness, The Incident referred to then Jr. Unspeakable attempting to covertly legilimize Throat-Slicer (real identity Mr. Doolally, Vice-President for Accounts) during a joint visit with Number 9 and Saul Croaker (Number 2) to the bank to check on the Department of Mysteries' vault.

Naturally, disaster had ensued.

Throat-Slicer had viciously threatened to skin all three Unspeakables alive for Rookwood's indiscretion, well within his rights due to established precedence granted by the Goblin Charters and the Wizengamot. It'd taken every shred of diplomatic finagling the two senior-ranked Unspeakables knew to get them all out alive, before further hard-wrought efforts to ensure that the Goblin Nation wouldn't declare war on all of wizarding Britain. A junior-level Unspeakable himself, it had been Tom Riddle's influence (drawing from his preexisting yet unknown camaraderie with Gringotts Interdimensional) that the Goblins had charged an outrageous 175,000 galleon fine in lieu of blasting the entire Unspeakable department from the face of the earth.

In hindsight, that particular episode should have alerted the Unspeakables to the trouble Augustus Rookwood posed.

"Thank you for this old friend, I do appreciate it." Tom respectfully bowed his head before repeating his thanks in the goblin's native tongue, who repeated the gesture with a pleased smile. Exchanging a few more bits of casual conversation the two bid each other goodbye, making plans to catch-up once Tom succeeded in his mission.

Retrieving his wand, Camembert swished it over his form and resumed his Skull-Crusher alias, before apparating to his identical office in Gringotts London.

Taking a few moments to properly get into character, he wandlessly conjured a small mirror to ensure his snarling expression was extra aggressive and contemptuous, befitting the next client he had to tolerate for the next half hour.

Tiberius Nott was as truly an abominable an ass as one could be, and Skull-Crusher wished the Death Eater scum was one of the prisoners Tom would be thoroughly interrogating.

Knockturn Alley, 9:08PM

Corban Yaxley was a snorer.

A very loud snorer.

With lips curled in disgust Cassie - wearing the man's form - quickly redressed into her own clothing, before directing his borrowed garments to scatter across the bedroom of the man's private entertainment flat, making sure to cleanse them of all traces of her with his wand. Hidden near the outskirts of the wizarding village under an impressive array of privacy spells, it served as the perfect means for dallying in all affairs of the flesh with younger witches and wizards.

Especially if the participants were unwilling to participate, a small tidbit Corban had eagerly revealed to Cassie in his attempts to seduce her. The witch sneered in aversion, barely allaying her true desire to curse the degenerate into the afterlife.

Her little plan had been completely successful. Posing as a newly hired barmaid to assist Madame Rosmerta, Cassie had worked her magic at the luncheon, serving the tampered food and refreshments with the skill of a seasoned waitress. She'd been greatly amused at Sirius' flirtation, briefly wondering if she should reveal her true identity just to experience his shocked reaction. While she and the current Lord Black hadn't been as close as she and Regulus, he was still her grand-nephew.

Making her way around the bar, she'd skillfully and covertly collected the hair samples of everyone in attendance, even those of Mad-Eye Moody's! While the wizard oft loudly preached about "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!", he tended to be a touch less cagey around service workers, a touch more polite than his standard gruffness. 'Who would've ever thought Mad-Eye would be soft around the waitstaff.' Chuckling, Cassie double checked her garter to ensure all the Unbreakable phials containing the copious hair samples were firmly strapped to her thigh. Corban gave a particularly loud snore, startling the witch before she rolled her eyes.

The man had practically glommed onto her during the luncheon, monopolizing her attention whilst giving her his version of bedroom eyes. He continuously commented on her form; a petite and full-figured brunette with a most impressive bust. It'd taken every bit of her willpower to not gauge out Yaxley's eyes as he'd openly leered at her.

Relying on his lust, it'd been all too easy to play up her innocent and guiling naïveté and allow him to lead her to his 'loveshack' once the luncheon was over, practically pawing at her in the back alley behind Rosmerta's pub. Once they'd crossed the threshold of his bedroom door Yaxley had all but chased her to the bed, burying his face into her hair and inhaling her scent.

That action activated the teeny little sacs containing Ambrosian Aire potion directly into face, rendering him unconscious. A powerful (and undetectable) Class XXX hallucinogen created by Laverne de Montmorency (Ravenclaw, Class of 1841), it created intensely sensate fantasies for anyone who ingested it, tricking both mind and body into believing their imagined illusion was actually occurring.

Cassie could have lived a thousand lifetimes without ever needing to hear Corban Yaxley moan in rapturous delight, grateful she'd thought to ingest the antidote lest she had been equally affected.

Due to its physical effects, the potion ensured its consumer would remain in a deep and satisfied sleep for at least 10 hours. He would awake none the wiser, believing his paramour had done the sensible thing and escorted herself off his premises.

Done dressing, Cassie transformed her visage into a haggard old woman, warts and all. Once she exited the flat she cast Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not Charms over her person, skillfully evading passersby as she briskly walked to the apparition point. Reaching her destination, she started when a piece of parchment appeared in her palm.

It was from Dobby, Lord Malfoy's house elf. His inclusion into their scheme had been quite recent, a consequence of Lucius (purely by accident) revealing his ex-wife's harebrained schemes to murder the Potter twins. He'd even summoned Dobby to provide backup, ordering him to tell the whole truth about the extent of his involvement in saving the two boys' lives, even his (heavily redacted) role of killing Mowgli in his final attempt. Still, Lily had been furious, and it was only thanks to Harry's influence that Lucius hadn't ended up permanently emasculated by a Parseltongue Diffindo.

Narcissa Black, on the other hand, was completely fair game.

Unfurling the missive, Cassie quickly read through the elf's message (his script as elegant as it was formal), pleased at his progress. He'd succeeded in tailing the Ministry attendees, ensuring that all had fallen ill with a serious bout of food poisoning that would last for the next 48 hours, as intended.

Burning the missive to a crisp Cassie focused on her next destination, disapparating in a soft pop.

AN 1: Some expository tidbits to set the stage for Part 2. As of now, Tom Riddle is one of five magicals on the entire globe/Earth Realm to know the true identity of the goblins. He and Mr. Camembert/Skull-Crusher's initial convo is their own version of friendly banter, nothing more.

AN 2: Laverne de Montmorency is a real HP character, a Ravenclaw Potions Mistress who graduated in 1841. She even has her own Chocolate Frog Card! Her name will come up again, along with more expository details on the Montmorency family.

AN 3: Peror Alley is a play on perorally, which means 'done, occurring, or obtained through or by way of the mouth'. Fitting in the context of the theater.