CHAPTER 16
04 September 1993 - Hogwarts Infirmary, 9:21AM
The silence was deafening.
While peace and quiet was the Hogwarts Matron's preferred setting in the sanctum of her Infirmary, this particular brand of quietude was simply gut-wrenching.
The sniffling witch stood vigil in front of the fourteen beds that carried the victims of the explosion on the Hogwarts Express. Their faces were perfectly peaceful, eyes closed as though they were merely sleeping. Their bodies were cocooned in clean white robes, arms crossed in an 'X'. A sprig of ivy had been placed in-between their crossed arms, as a token of good luck on their journey to the afterlife.
It'd been a while since she'd venerated the olde ways, but Poppy Pomfrey (née McLaggen) never forgot the ancient funerary rites her foremothers had drilled into her head since she was a little girl.
'These poor souls… children… what kind of monster would do this?!'
During her Apprenticeship with Helbert Spleen at St. Mungo's, a much younger Poppy had seen her fair share of child-related injuries. Careless or overly excitable children accidentally breaking one (or more) of their limbs, rubbing too much of their mum's Sleekeazy in their hair, falling off training brooms and breaking their nose or teeth, self-erupting Boils Hex, and other such things.
One of the most memorable she'd ever witnessed had involved a young Patricia Rakepick. Little Patty's accidental magic - in a pique of childish excitement - had unintentionally magnified the volatile effect of a stack of Exploding Snap cards, resulting in a small bomb. The poor girl's hand had obliterated, along with large patches of skin burned off her face and chest.
As gruesome as that incident had been, Patricia had healed and been made whole. The witch was currently a Head Curse Breaker at Gringotts Bank, after a successful stint at Hogwarts as a DADA Professor.
'But not these poor children,' thought the Matron forlornly. 'They'll never get that chance.'
Pomfrey began crying in earnest as she wrapped her arms around her form, unable to tear her gaze from the deceased.
Kate Olney - Gryffindor, Class of 1999.
Viola Richmond - Slytherin, Class of 1999.
Vincent Crabbe - Slytherin, Class of 1998.
Anthony Rickett - Hufflepuff, Class of 1997.
Maria Glossop - Ravenclaw, Class of 1997.
Conrad Vaisey - Slytherin, Class of 1996.
Justine Britnell - Gryffindor, Class of 1996.
Bobby Lattimer - Hufflepuff, Class of 1994.
Andrew Derrington - Unsorted.
Susanna Forester - Unsorted.
Jason Cleavers - Unsorted.
Sebastian Dovers - Unsorted.
Gerald Bellend - Unsorted.
Malcolm Vintner - Unsorted.
Before Poppy realized she was sobbing, the despairingly loud sounds echoing off the Infirmary walls. She barely registered that she's fallen to her knees, too overcome by the strength of her roiling emotions. Being a Healer necessitated having basic Occlumency shields, enough to suppress natural reactions to gory injuries. It was especially critical when actually healing as to not make any errors when dealing with the human body.
In the face of all consuming grief inspired by nigh unspeakable tragedy, some shields just couldn't stand up against the barrage.
A warm arm suddenly wrapped itself around Poppy's body, guiding her to a comforting shoulder. Gentle tutting and soothing coos from a vaguely familiar voice hummed against her ear, attempting to lull her anguish.
From his vantage a few steps behind the pair, Albus Dumbledore could only pensively watch the sight before him.
A grieving Madame Pomfrey was tucked firmly into Tom Riddle's side, with the latter trying (and somewhat succeeding) in comforting the former.
When he'd first encountered the young boy in the crumbling and desolate edifice of Wool's Orphanage, Albus had been as equally fascinated as he was perturbed.
Young Tom possessed power, that much had been obvious. It'd been wrapped tightly around the boy, like a mighty serpent coiled inward to protect him from harm.
Or strike out and kill an enemy.
Anger was also there, a slow-churning bitter resentment that spoke moreso to the boy's own self-loathing regarding his circumstances than any true hatred for his fellow orphans. The treasure chest of 'trophies' the boy kept hidden in his ramshackle excuse for a closet was a testament to that.
Curiosity was also there; manifested into small and curious tendrils attempting to brush against his Albus' mind. The older wizard had registered the faintest hissing that accompanied the surprisingly subtle probes, content to just survey.
He had never been more pleased to be a Level 7 Legilimens and Occlumens, capable of hiding his shock at Tom Riddle's own natural Mind Arts abilities.
All at the tender age of 11.
Nonetheless, the Transfigurations Professor had gone through his planned spiel for explaining the boy's strangeness and what it all entailed. He was pleased to see curiosity win out on the boy's uncommonly angelic face, though he'd refrained from asking the plethora of questions burning through his mind.
From then on, the older wizard had been content to merely observe the boy. He'd been latently disappointed (and rather disquieted) when he'd been Sorted into Slytherin like almost all of his Gaunt ancestors before him. To his surprise (and mild horror), the purebloods of the boy's House had outright rejected him for being an "impoverished mudblood who didn't know his place". They'd made his life a complete hell, and to Albus' shame, their actions had granted him a small bit of comfort that Tom would not be following down the path of his ancestors and his House's founder. His friendships with Myrtle Warren, Rubeus Hagrid, and Nobby Leach had compounded that comfort, signaling that he neither believed nor would follow in the bigotries that were so strife within the Serpents Nest.
The petrifications in Tom's Third Year had taken Albus for a tailspin, even moreso when those bizarrely frightening events had ended in Myrtle Warren's unfortunate death. Regardless of his many suspicions, there had been no proof of the Slytherin boy's involvement with the Heir of Slytherin and Chamber of Secrets.
A shift had occurred during Riddle's Fourth Year, marked by his newfound friendships with Tassos Burke, Cassiopeia Black, and, to Albus' grave concern, Erasmus Wilkes. While the lattermost was of gravest concern, it seemed that Tom had somehow been able to curb the worst of his sociopathic tendencies. Abraxas, Cantankerous, Cygnus, and the rest of their ilk still treated Tom poorly, though with noticeably less vitriol than they used to. Something had changed, and Tom Riddle was the fulcrum upon which said change had occurred.
The young Riddle had continued to surprise him upon his graduation, ignoring politics in favor of pursuing multiple masteries whilst traveling around the world. Albus could still recall the memorable Wizengamot session when he'd claimed the Gaunt lordship. Abraxas Malfoy was forcibly removed from the court after incurring a plethora of fines as a result of flying into a fit of violent rage at "the filthy mudblood besmirching the Gaunt name!"
With his new position of power from the infamously bigoted Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt, Albus had still expected a reversal of Tom's character to start mirroring that of his house.
Yet and still, Tom continued to surprise him by establishing the Youth Liaison Program, which had done a considerable amount of work to support the muggleborns and few halfbloods that would otherwise be discarded by Wizarding society,
With these tumultuous thoughts tumbling in his mind, Albus continued to quietly observe the scene before him.
At this point, Poppy's wails had wound down to pitiful sniffles as she held on tightly to Tom's arms. The man rubbed soothing circles into her back as the witch slowly attempted to set herself to rights.
"M-m-my apologies Lord Gaunt," Pomfrey shakingly said. "I…I've never lost my composure like this before."
Tom wryly smiled. "This is an unprecedented event Madam, your reaction is entirely warranted." An elegant wriggle of his fingers manifested a handkerchief out of seeming air, passing it along to Poppy who gratefully nodded.
"I…I just struggle to understand who could have possibly done something like this? I know the Death Eater escapees are monstrous killers, but…but they've never gone after just children before!"
An imperceptible emotion flashed in Riddle's eyes. "Indeed they are, but, given the recent Azkaban escape…we really cannot be too certain. Almost a decade locked away with those wretched wraiths may have warped their already wicked minds into something considerably more vile than we would otherwise give them credit for."
Pomfrey sniffed. "W-W-what are we going to tell their parents? Their families?"
"We'll tell them the truth. To ensure that their children's lives were not lost in vain, and that…despite the cruelty of monsters in shortening their marked time on this earth, that time held meaning that is worthy of being celebrated." He adjusted the Matron in his arms so he could look directly into her forlorn eyes. "Because that's what gives our lives true meaning…to know that our days are numbered." A few beats passed before the witch nodded once, seemingly comforted by his sagely cryptic statement.
Poppy's expression cycled through a few emotions before settling on one. "I'd like to say a Rite of Passage for them." Tom's brow (and Albus') quirked. "It's…it's rather old-fashioned and almost entirely out of practice, but…I want to honor them, so I can take comfort in knowing they'll have peace in the next life, whatever that may hold for them."
A small smile lifted Riddle's lips as crystalline blue eyes crinkled. "May I join you in speaking this rite?"
"You…you know the rites?"
"Indeed," was the simple answer.
"Then of course!"
Albus chose this point to make his presence known by walking to stand on the opposite side of the Matron, who blinked in shock at his appearance. If he noticed Tom's lack of a reaction, he didn't comment.
"May I join you both?" asked Dumbledore quietly.
"Oh! Of course, Headmaster!" exclaimed Poppy. Tom only nodded once.
"Thank you Madam. In the mother tongue?" asked Albus. Poppy nodded once as Tom successfully resisted the urge to snark back at the old man's asinine question.
Together, the three softly cast Lumos before beginning the funerary hymn that ebbed and flowed throughout the entire Infirmary, the effect compounded by the lyrical Gaelic flowing from their tongues. At some point, Fawkes flashed in to land on Dumbledore's right shoulder, lending his magical trilling.
Though Tom succeeded in not crying like Albus and Poppy, even he couldn't deny the strength of emotion elicited by the ancient firebird.
The Lord's Study - Malfoy Manor, 1:14PM
"And you are absolutely certain of this Dobby?"
The dutiful elf nodded once.
"Yes Master, I thoroughly checked the tunnel where the…incident occurred." He blinked once at Lucius' furious growl. "There were no traces of Narcissa Black's magic, nor were there any traces of her new elf's magic." While Gena's magic was considerably less…hostile than Mowgli's had been, she couldn't fully cloak her presence from Dobby's own considerable abilities.
One didn't become the Eight-Centuries Champion of the Interdimensional Servitude and Skullduggery Games without being the best.
"Was there anything else you ascertained from your investigation?"
"No sir," replied Dobby quietly. "There was a significant amount of physical damage done to the scene, too much for me to glean any tangible intel. All I could surmise was that a series of improvised explosive devices were used at strategic weak points in the Express, all detonating simultaneously upon entering the mountainside tunnel. I assume whoever did it was exceptionally skilled at Transfiguration and Potions, most impressively so." He delicately cleared his throat at the look his Lord leveled his way. "Regardless, we can presume that the attacker perished in the explosion, since there is…I mean… were Anti-Apparition wards built into the Express to prevent such an event from ever occurring - from magical and house elf alike."
"For his or her sake they'd better hope that they're dead." Icy gray eyes flashed in a fury as he angrily sipped at his Kir Royale. "Keep me apprised of any and every update Dobby. You are dismissed."
Bowing dutifully, the elf vanished with an inaudible pop.
Pouring himself another hearty glass of Kir, Lucius allowed himself to slowly recline backwards in his throne-like chair, taking considerable effort to not hurl the entire pitcher of his favorite cocktail clear across the room.
What should have been a routine journey to Hogwarts had ended in absolute disaster that was still unfurling.
Lord Malfoy had been reviewing contracts for some of his muggle holdings in his study when he'd felt the ashwinder symbol on his cuff grow alarmingly hot as he felt the mental equivalent of an SOS beacon flash in his mind. It'd accompanied a brief flash of the Prefects Cabin in the Express, before everything abruptly turned black.
That had been followed by a flurry of mental conversation from Evans, Riddle, Cassie, and Severus all asking what the hell was going on, before a frantic Lottie - Draco's nanny elf since he was in shortpants - had popped into his study begging him "to come to the Infirmary immediately!"
A horrified Lucius had met with the sight of their family Healer Felicity Fancourt (Ravenclaw, Class of 1911) scanning an ashen Justin Finch-Fletchley whilst the bloodied and bruised pair of Neville and Draco flanked the bed protectively. It'd taken quite some time and a quite a bit of yelling, but the two boys had given Lucius a comprehensive rundown of the events that had led to their arrival in the Manor.
It'd taken a considerable amount of mental effort to calm the torrent of emotions that had erupted at the boys' description of the sheet chaos set upon the Express. Both Heirs believed that it was the doing of the Death Eater escapees set about getting their revenge against the Wizarding World. To Lucius' shock, Longbottom had absurdly insisted that Theo No-Name had something to do with the explosion and the subsequent horde of Dementors that had attacked the vulnerable children.
Draco's responding 'please-don't-ask' look had ensured Lord Malfoy didn't pursue Neville's line of inquiry.
Nonetheless, the elder Malfoy was still horrified and furious at the attempt on his Heir's life. And the overly dramatic and destructive means could only mean that his wretched ex-wife was very much involved. It fit her modus operandi perfectly, and it was exactly the kind of disaster Mowgli had attempted to incite before Dobby had put the little beast out of his misery. He'd shared his hypothesis with his fellow Azkabal conspirators, and to his internal relief, all were willing to take his concerns seriously. This entire event was absolutely unprecedented in the 164 years the Express had been in operation.
As with these things, Lucius had put out feelers in his own network to see if there were any clues as to whom else may have orchestrated such a mad and demented plan in cahoots with the psychotic ex-Lady Malfoy.
Sighing, the tired wizard downed his beverage and poured himself another. 'Well, if nothing else works, I can always let Evans have a go at Cissy.'
He sneered evilly at the thought, knowing that the ex-Lady Potter was baying for Narcissa's blood since the last time she'd discovered the witch's botched three-time attempts on her sons' lives.
And now having a glimpse of the muggleborn's true ability, Lucius was confident that there'd be nothing left of his loathsome ex-wife to lead back to anyone, least of all him.
Office of the DMLE Director - Ministry of Magic, 4:06PM
"What an absolute boondoggle!"
Amelia Bones all but flung the reports folder away, groaning as she reclined back in her chair. She was sorely tempted to ask one of the Department elves to bring her a tumbler of Firewhiskey, but she was technically still on the clock.
The disaster with the Hogwarts Express was still ongoing, and there were still more questions than answers. Her Aurors had yet to find the true cause of the explosions, all completely destroyed in the ensuing fracas. Oddly enough, Sirius had insisted there was a particular aroma of pumpkin pulp and sandbox seed dust that lingered over the entirety of the train.
Eyewitness testimony and signed statements from Proudfoot and Robards had confirmed that there had been no Death Eaters on board to initiate the explosions that had utterly destroyed the Express. Said train was still in the tunnel, the entire area magically sealed off as a crime scene.
Fourteen dead…Amelia swallowed back the sudden wave of sadness that attempted to consume her.
Civilian casualties were always particularly tragic, especially in the advent of the last Blood War. But it'd been much easier to…compartmentalize the bulk of those deaths due to them being adults, proper adults who'd died with the chance to at least defend their person.
That was not the case here.
Amelia could only sigh at the memories of the deceased, all currently housed in the Hogwarts infirmary. They would be released to their families the following morning, and the already too-exhausted witch was not looking forward to that event. One of her few respites was the knowledge that Susan was still alive and whole, only suffering a few broken bones. Amelia had never been more relieved to get a call from St. Mungo's, grateful that her niece's emergency Portkey had worked as intended.
"And that still doesn't explain the Dementors…" Another shudder raced through the witch, this one much stronger than the last. About a fifth of the horde stationed in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts had abandoned their post in pursuit of the Express. Amelia had initially believed they may have sensed the presence of the Death Eaters, but all evidence suggested otherwise. As such, there was no other reason for them to pursue the Hogwarts train.
In an attempt to suss out the truth, Alastor (with Amelia's approval) had attempted to communicate with the foul beings to learn why they'd abandoned their post. Disappointingly, that endeavor had yielded no answers, only offended Dementors. Amelia shuddered once more.
Sighing those thoughts away, the Praetor Maximus set about reviewing the uncompleted items on her to-do list. She was about halfway through updating her tasks when someone knocked at her door.
"Yes?"
It was her secretary Annabel Oakes (Hufflepuff, Class of 1954). Her usually kindly expression was knitted in worry. "It's…it's The Voice m'am. He's en route to your office…and…he's accompanied by the Head of Department of Mysteries." Sighing, Amelia nodded once in dismissal.
A flash of her wand - 12 ¼ inch fir with dragon heartstring - summoned her eagle Patronus. "Please go to Shacklebolt and have him summon the Response Squad to assemble in my office, stat." Hippolyta cawed and flew off to deliver her message.
"Maybe it's not too late for that drink."
05 September 1993 - Sorting Feast, 7:57PM
The sudden sound of quiet applause startled Cedric Diggory out of his reverie, just in time to see little Eugene Warmsley scamper to the Hufflepuff table.
While the Badgers were doing their best to maintain the positive attitude and general high spirits associated with their House, the grief-filled tension still hung heavily over the entire school. Many were still very much shaken by the experience (with quite a fair few still healing from the ordeal), and Cedric was certain that he'd be having nightmares about the explosion for the next few months at least.
Several theories abound regarding the cause of the Express' demise.
Many believed the Death Eaters had bypassed the aurors and the train's security measures to use overpowered Bombardas, before apparating out when their task had completed. That Rita Skeeter was peddling the exact same theory in the Prophet went without saying.
Some believed the Dementors had gone rogue and decided to kill the children for sport, using some Dark Magic to derail the train so they could feast on its occupants' souls.
A smaller few believed the operational magicks of the train had malfunctioned, causing it to explode and the ensuing large volume of magical feedback had drawn the attention of the Dementors (as highly magical creatures).
Surprisingly, quite a few insisted that Theo No-Name was somehow involved, having done something nefarious to the train to implode it. Unbidden, the Prefect's eyes wandered over to the Outcast, who was sat at the farthest edge of the Slytherin table staring listlessly in the direction of the Head Table. Cedric's lip lightly curled on seeming reflex, but that soon melted away at recalling the incomprehensible sight of the Slytherin's massive Thestral Patronus that succeeded in beating back four of the soul sucking beasts.
Unbidden, Diggory felt a tendrils of pure fear curl against his mind in recollection at those foul creatures…
Burrowing into his mind…
Dragging forth his worst memories…
His father's angry screams as he haltingly stuttered through his reading assignment…
His father's disappointment when he didn't perfectly complete his Seeker's drills…
His father's snide dismissal at his desire to become a Curator for the Department of Magical Artifacts in lieu of becoming Lord Diggory once the House reached Nobledom…
Someone was laughing…who was laughing?…
Cedric's reverie was once more broken by the sound of the Headmaster giving his final announcements.
"I am pleased to welcome Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. In light of current events, Professor Scrimgeour has expressed his eagerness in shaping your young minds to reach their fullest potential." A sharp nod from the leonine-like man was the only response to the wave of polite applause.
"Secondly," continued Dumbledore. "We have a new Caretaker joining us this year!" An excited murmur sounded throughout the vaunted hall. "Mr. Filch has recently come into an unexpected inheritance, and decided to spend the remainder of his days "exploring what the Americas have to offer" with his beloved Mrs. Norris. Allow me to welcome his replacement - Mr. Marcellus Frump!"
The shadows in the farthest corner closest to the entrance melted away to reveal a youngish man wearing a most curmudgeon expression that somehow worked on his angular face. A well-groomed stubble framed paper thin lips, complimented by a pointy-tipped nose and surprisingly penetrating large greenish-gray eyes. He was dressed in a manner the muggleborn students would describe as 'scruffily posh', wearing a three-piece suit in faded and frayed shades of warm charcoal and navy blue. Nodding once at the Headmaster and sneering at the rest of the students, Frump retreated back into the shrouded corner from whence he came.
"And lastly," said Dumbledore, tone considerably more somber than before. "Tomorrow's morning classes will be canceled in lieu of a memorial for the students whose lives were lost in the recent tragedy. A memorial plaque will be placed in the foyer just outside the Great Hall for you to pay your respects, should you desire it. With that: Nitwit, Oddment, Blubber, Tweak!"
The appearing feast looked as bountiful and scrumptious as ever, but like many others in the Hall, Cedric was doubtful that he'd have enough of an appetite to stomach any of it.
Later that Night…
Silence reigned in the Room of Requirement, which, at Cher Ami's request, had self-configured to mimic the Astronomy Tower at night. The massive viewing window allowed the cool illumination of the twinkling stars above to filter through, complimented by the scant light of the waxing gibbous moon. A gentle breeze occasionally fluttered through the room, further strengthening the aura of relaxation said ambiance was meant to inspire.
The door suddenly opened to admit the smaller form of Lady Witherington, who could only smile wistfully at the rendition of the Star Tower as she entered the room proper.
"Good to see you're still standing."
The younger witch snorted. "Thought that was obvious during the feast." She plopped herself down on the massive plush rug beside her friend, gratefully accepting the bottle of butterbeer passed to her. Relaxing her form, she took a hearty sip before tilting her head backward to stare at the stars above.
"I…I recognize some of those constellations. Is this the night-"
"Yes," her friend replied quietly. "This is the night before…before things really went to hell." A flurry of unspoken emotions gathered between the two like a storm, before dispersing as they went unaddressed.
"I remember that…" The Past spilled forth between the two friends like ichor, before both succeeded in reeling it back in.
"I still can't believe you ended up with the Potter Twins practically in your lap!"
Cher Ami snorted. "I know. Quite the bit of luck there, but admittedly, it makes me extremely nervous. Usually when a boon like that is incurred, it comes with an offset that's almost always some form of absurd disaster."
"Ugh, honestly let's hope not. We already have a plethora of absurd disasters we need to successfully curb, so let's not look a gift Abraxan in the mouth." Lady W. knocked back a hefty gulp of her drink before asking for a thick set of pillows, pleased to feel them appear directly behind her back. While she was not of Rowena's House, she could very much appreciate the gift of the Founder's incredible skill in creating such a room.
Together, the two Time Travelers enjoyed a few moments of calm peace before reviewing their itinerary for the remainder of their Hogwarts year. The topic of Marcellus Frump arose, a new wrench in their plans since he'd not existed in the previous timeline. As the eldest of the two with the most access, Cher Ami vowed to keep a very close eye on the new addition. Last thing they needed was another Death Eater traipsing through Hogwarts and engaging in all manner of schemes.
"Do you think we'll have another Buckbeak scenario?" The younger witch's mouth thinned.
"Probably. We just have to find some way to make sure Lavender doesn't end up losing her arm like an idiot. Neither of us is in her Creatures class, so it'll be a bit of a challenge."
"True," replied Lady W. "Still…I'll see what I can do on my end. Do you think they'll have us near the Forest with those loathsome creatures?"
Cher Ami shivered. "I don't doubt it at all. Bureaucracies tend to not be the brightest in situations like this." Her friend snorted but otherwise didn't respond.
Some moments passed before the older witch spoke: "Was…was it difficult, casting the Patronus? When the Dementors appeared on the train?"
Lady W. hesitated for a few moments. "A bit. I…I hadn't been confronted with that in what felt like eons. I'd forgotten just how…wretched all of it was." She shivered unbidden, wiping furiously at her eyes. "But in the end, I did what needed to be done, and my magic made sure I succeeded." She snorted to herself. "If you see Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode making any weird faces at me, you'll know why. Too bad oaths to prevent them from blabbing about what they saw." She rolled her eyes as Cher Ami shamelessly giggled.
Another full hour passed as the two conspirators continued their planning, before finally landing on the topic of the fourteen that had perished in the attack. It was almost double the casualties in the previous timeline when the Express had been attacked by Dementors.
"Do you…do you think we'll ever escape these demons of our shared past?" Witherington made no attempt to wipe the tears that fell from her tired eyes.
"...No," replied an equally tearful Cher Ami. "We'll just learn to live above them."
AN 1: Poppy's reaction is rather intense, but she does spend most of her days caring and healing these children like they're her own. I would imagine if fourteen of their number (even those yet to be Sorted) died in a tragic accident, Pomfrey's reaction would be emotionally distraught. In AD, Poppy is Hecuba's first cousin, and therefore is cousins to Cormac and Greg.
AN 2: Tom's quip regarding 'the meaning of life' is directly pulled from the Ancient One in Dr. Strange, as played by Tilda Swinton in the Marvel film equivalent. Cher Ami's quip regarding 'living above their demons' is also a quote from the Ancient One, of the same film.
AN 3: There's no other character I can think of (save McGonagall herself) who would have a fir wand than Amelia Bones. Per HP wand lore, fir wood came from the most resilient of trees, producing wands that demanded staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners. Fir wands favored owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanor. They were poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive, called 'the survivor's wand' as its owners were known to come out of mortal peril unscathed. Fir wands were particularly suited to Transfiguration. Casting-wise, I'm thinking Connie Nielsen (Gladiator).
AN 4: Lily and Narcissa will have a clash, which will be in Book 4. Should be such fun *maniacal laugh*.
AN 5: I plan to have quite a bit of fun with Marcellus Frump, so stay tuned! Casting-wise, he'll be played by Jonny Lee Miller in his role as Sherlock Holmes (ELEMENTARY).