CHAPTER 35 - The Six Frumps
03 April 1994 - Lord's Study - Castle Basilicus, 6:19AM
"Ssshe'sss ssso preccciousss!"
Lord Gaunt couldn't help the beaming smile of agreement as he gazed lovingly at the small bundle in his arms. His daughter, in his utterly biased opinion, was a perfect vision.
A warm-bisque complexion was offset by thick tufts of ink-black curled over a small head, complimenting doe-eyed crystalline blue orbs that blinked contently at her father's observation. A small rosebud mouth raised into a small smile at the sound of her father's coos, eliciting gargles of contentment.
"Indeed ssshe isss, my Lady."
He angled his daughter higher, allowing his ancestress a better gaze from her position in the massive gilded frame behind his desk. Achlys Gaunt tittered in responding delight, ichor-like eyes glistening as she softly hissed a veela-song lullaby at her descendant. Her familiar Valeria - nestled in the luxurious royal purple coif adorning the witch's head - mirrored her mistress' sentiments, the Egyptian asp sweetly hissing compliments at the baby.
Achlys' dulcet tones turned even softer, causing the newborn's eyes to begin closing in contentment. A self-taught Parselmouth, the Prince Emeritus possessed a natural affinity for magical languages, catching the attention of the Hydra when she simultaneously commanded every serpent carving and portrait in the Slytherin girls' dorm to ambush the room of her enemies Corisande and Cosima Lestrange - daughters of Gaius Lord Lestrange.
The siege had lasted for almost the entirety of the night, resulting in the twins being infirmed for almost two weeks in the Hospital Wing. The subsequent trauma earned both girls a lifelong affliction of ophidiophobia, making the rest of their tenure in the Serpent's nest a most delightfully miserable one.
Upon her ascension to the Throne and gaining unfettered access to her ancestor's memoirs of his many travels across the globe, Achlys taught herself Mermish, Gobbledegook, Troll, and Veela-song, experimenting with all in an effort to effectively incorporate Parseltongue. Amazingly enough she succeeded with the latter, creating a series of spells whose effects are outlawed in the bulk of wizarding Europe.
The former Prince even experimented with Animagery, achieving the form of an occamy by her Sixth Year and attempting to grant it the gift of magical multilingualism. Though admittedly, she'd spent quite a bit of time using Perpetua's form to prank her Consilierii Aurelius Kolumbiko and Eoghan Bones, giving the latter a near heart attack in the Prefects' Bathroom when she'd snuck out of his knapsack to expand to fill the entirety of the room.
The Prince Emeritus inevitably caught the attention of the Unspeakables, personally recruited by Control to join the Creatures Division. She eventually rose to become its Director (aka Number 5) and creator and curator of its expansive inhuman languages catalog, still in use today.
As diligent as ever, Achlys maintained her copious research notes in a self-made journal she kept in the Lair's Library, which eventually caught the attention of Jocasta Flint during her tenure as Prince.
Much like her enterprising muse Jocasta pushed the boundaries of her own experimentation, giving rise to the Dark Lady Echidna.
"Are you quite finissshed?," a snide voice interrupted. "SSSome of usss would actually like to sssee the babe for ourssselvesss."
Achlys glared in the direction of the newcomer, Valeria rising to hiss-snap at the one who'd dared interrupt her mistress. A beat passed before the witch stepped aside with a keen grumble to allow her aunt into the frame.
Snickering, the strikingly tall form of Valdis Gaunt peered down eagerly, hissing sweet nonsense at the child whilst making outrageously silly faces. The witch cackled loudly in utter delight at the baby's responding gurgles, her own blue orbs sparkling in sheer glee.
Quietly observing the interaction, Tom once more mused on his ancestress' intensity, an almost physical force that seemingly pressed down on one's person. That the effect was so well captured in a painting spoke to the magnitude of its strength. He'd assumed it was a manifestation of a powerful Legilimens' ability, though the witch had neither confirmed nor denied in that brazenly teasing manner of hers.
A Consiliarius Emeritus for Danica Malfoy's Prince Administration, Valdis was a powerful and fearsome warrior, a vested member of the Knights of Albion who quickly rose from a Knight Banneret to a Knight Commander and ultimately retiring as a Knight-Dame. Along with Thibault Longbottom, she and her army led a historic siege against Castle Black that saw the destruction of the venerable manse and her brutal execution of Lord Sagittarius, marking the end of the War of Roses and Theron Lord Nott's schemes to dismantle the Wizengamot and become a mage-god amongst his peers and the muggles alike.
The memories of Valdis' various battles (stored in Unbreakable phials in her statue overseeing her burial crypt) provided inspiration for Tom in establishing the Knight of Walpurgis, adopting several of her vigorous training drills. Her mastery of offensive enchantment and close-range swordsmanship - simultaneously, no less - made for an awe-inspiring sight, the effects all the more impressive with her use of (self-taught) Parseltongue.
"SSShe isss an absssolute delight," said Valdis, blowing a raspberry at the now chortling babe. "And her name fitsss perfectly."
"Athanasssia Baljjjah Gaunt," supplied a deeply rich voice. Another imposing figure emerged into the frame to stand between the two witches. He stepped closer to the frame's edge, revealing the smiling form of Morsus Gaunt.
He stood almost a head taller than Valdis, who was considerably taller than the average woman. Dark cropped hair framed a pale and handsome face, complemented by well-groomed stubble and sparkling signature-Gaunt eyes. Dark and deeply sumptuous robes of brocaded velvet draped his stately figure, accompanied by a rich emerald green robe bearing embroidered silver serpents that shimmied about to and fro. A mithril pin fashioned into the crest of House Gaunt adorned his right breast, placed above a pin depicting a crowned Tudor rose coated in glossy black obsidian.
The latter marked not just his loyalty to House Tudor and King Henry VII and VIII's collective reigns, but his sole status as Umbra Regis - enforcer of the King's will in matters that required utmost discretion coupled with lethal force.
"SSShe sssuitsss the name well," Morsus said quietly.
"The immortal firssst light of dawn," Tom whispered.
"Powerful…essspecccially for our Houssse." Morsus turned and looked Tom directly in his eyes, expression bearing a noticeable gleam of paternal pride.
The erstwhile Lord had been the most receptive to Tom when he'd reclaimed his birthright and reentered the wards of Castle Basilicus, pleased to see that the last of his bloodline hadn't succumbed to the frightful debasement that successfully brought his House to its knees in near extinction. A former Knight of Albion himself, the erstwhile Commander Gaunt more than understood the disastrous end wrought by obsessive inwardness, zealous self-righteousness, and unchecked violence, having to ultimately dispatch his own great-great-granduncle for succumbing to these whims.
The rise and fall of the Dark Lord Ekrizdis - long-lost Polydorus Gaunt, brother of Priscus - should have served as the ultimate warning.
Unfortunately, Azrael Gaunt had been as stubborn as he was foolish, leading all of his house towards their doom. Morsus' painting had pleaded with his descendant several times, the two having shouting matches that could be heard through all of Castle Basilicus.
"WE ARE GAUNTSSS!" Morsus had bellowed furiously. "The very exxxissstenccce of our Houssse isss a tessstament to our greatnesss! We needn't…debassse ourssselvesss to demonssstrate our sssuperiority! Essspecccially in the league of the absssolute filth that isss the dregsss of Houssse Carrow!"
Azrael's stubbornness had refused to see his ancestor's reason, and in a pique of rage, magicked the man's portrait into silence whilst banishing him to a locked frame within the bowels of the family manse.
As with these things, Morsus had been absolutely right.
"Will you feassst in her honor?" asked Valdis excitedly, eliciting amused snorts from her nephew and niece.
"A lovely meal for our family will more than sufficcce," was Tom's diplomatic response. Libra's parents had already come to see their newest granddaughter, lavishing praise on the mother and babe alike. Sameer - chosen as the girl's godfather - was already planning a massive celebration at their Tazirbu homestead in the wake of him swearing the Godfather's Oath during the summer.
"Isss the mother well?" They all turned in the direction of the softly whispered question, spoken by Priscus Gaunt. The erstwhile Lord sat in a smaller frame to the left of the one occupied by his descendants. Though he was rather handsome, he appeared more apparition than flesh, even as a painting. His inky robes resembled ether, though they were made of the finest acromantula silk befitting the scion of an Ancient and Noble House. Among the less talkative of Gaunt ancestors, Tom took care to pay extra attention to the man when he offered words of wisdom.
A Princeps Emeritus (1217-1220), he was noted as one of the first British wizards to master a wandless and Parsel-enhanced Patronus Charm (a runespoor he named Thrithika), at the tender age of 14. He'd demonstrated prodigious magical talent with all manner of esoteric charms and potions, successfully inventing a few of his own. Like his descendant, he too caught the attention of the Department of Mysteries, eventually becoming a Senior Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries and inevitably the Director of the Death Division.
"SSShe isss well," Tom replied with a smile. His wife had been overjoyed by the birth of a healthy bouncing baby girl, though she'd expressed some minute disappointment at the child not being the male heir the House required. Tom - gazing in sheer wonder at his daughter - had reassured her that it didn't matter, and it never would. She'd seemingly believed him, content to snuggle with her husband and their newborn.
"I am mossst pleasssed to hear that." With that Priscus assumed quiescence. The remaining Gaunts oscillated between quietly conversing amongst themselves and admiring the softly snoozing newborn.
Suddenly, a vesper bat Patronus flashed in and spoke in Severus Snape's rather irritated voice, before slowly dissipating away.
"I could have sssworn there wasss a ward in placcce to prevent that from happening," said Valdis irritably.
"I altered it to allow friendliesss," was Tom's response.
"SSStill I-"
"Oh pleassse," Achlys interrupted snidely. "Asss if you never tinkered with the wardsss around here. Or wasss it another Auntie of mine who reconfigured the mail-owl ward to exxxchange Cupid-gramsss with Danica Malfoy all d- YEOWH!" She jumped in alarm as Valeria hiss-swore in outrage, rubbing the burning spot on her arm from a glaring Valdis' wandless Stinging Hex. "That bloody hurtsss woman!"
Ignoring yet another one of their petty spats, Tom eschewed summoning Mab as he made his way to the Master Suite to prepare for his day, cradling his sleeping daughter warmly.
DADA Classroom - Hogwarts, 6:47AM
Brows furrowed, Professor Scrimgeour diligently graded his Third Years' assignments, eagle owl quill scribbling the necessary notes and corrections.
He was, as always, pleased for his trifurcated thoughtstreams. The primary was dedicated to reading through the various responses on detecting and repelling a vampire, barely resisting the urge to wince at some of the more…creative responses. The secondary was solely dedicated to the recent disaster of the Death Eaters' escape from the Ministry, whilst the third cataloged and stored all relevant data from the second to be more deeply assessed at a later time.
The most poignant within his secondary mind was the death of Minister Fudge.
He'd died the night before, finally succumbing to the extensive acromantula venom poisoning that resisted any and all measures of extraction, neutralization, and the most powerful healing potions St. Mungo's had at its disposal. The damage to the man's organs had been quite severe, and it was only thanks to Madam Umbridge's advanced stasis charms that Cornelius did not immediately perish in the Ministry proper.
Per the order of succession outlined in the Ministry's Charter, Amelia Bones was next-in-line to serve as Interim Minister before the upcoming election.
'Seems like Fudge will be getting his wish after all.'
It was not lost on Rufus that the erstwhile Minister's assignage of Praetor Maximus to Amelia Bones has been both strategic and self-serving. If she succeeded in capturing the Death Eater escapees with her expanded military powers, Cornelius would have basked in the glory of her accomplishment and cemented his reputation as a worthy peacetime Minister. Had she failed, Fudge would have diverted all of the blame from his shoulders onto hers, keeping his reputation intact whilst she bore the brunt of the public's anger and disapproval.
Scrimgeour was impressed by the Slytherin-ness of it all.
'Though I certainly wasn't expecting a job offer out of all of this.'
While Dolores would retain her role as Senior Undersecretary due to her experience, Amelia had directly requested Rufus' assistance in coming on as a Co-Senior Undersecretary to provide the relevant 'tactical and operational support' she would need in this new and completely unexpected phase of her career. It would provide him with both the visibility and maneuverability within the Ministry to be effective, and to be quite frank, a part of him missed the politicking of it all.
And though he did enjoy enriching the minds of Wizarding Britain's future, Rufus was self aware enough to realize that the breadth of his knowledge was best-suited for OWL and NEWT-level students.
He was planning to discuss it with Dumbledore later in the week, but his mind was made up - he'd be inevitably returning back to the Ministry of Magic.
'It's going to take months to get the Aurors back up to form.'
Rufus couldn't help the wince.
The Auror Corps was in complete disarray, and Scrimgeour knew it would take the combined effort of himself, Amelia, Shacklebolt, and Alastor (once discharged from the hospital) to bring them up to par once more.
Rodney Montague was dead, having succumbed to his grave injuries in St. Mungo's. The curse imbued in Hrod - a combination of a Blood Poisoning Hex and Anti-Healing Jinx had dealt too much damage to his organs, and despite the advanced stasis charm Senior Auror Varens had utilized to allay Rodney's injuries, the organ damage and depth of injuries had been entirely too great for him to overcome.
Learning of his Heir's passing had been the final straw that broke the camel's back, leading to Lord Montague's own demise. Upon hearing the news delivered by Director Bones herself, the grieving father threw a considerable fit and succeeded in breaking every bone in his body due to his Bone-Breaking Curse affliction, swiftly killing him. As it stood, Graham was now Heir Apparent, with aunt Telema serving as House Montague's Regent until his ascension on his seventeenth birthday.
'It's a miracle Black survived.'
The man was currently in a deep healing coma, expected to awaken within a month. While his injuries had been less extensive than Rodney's, they still carried enough severity to warrant an extended stay in one of the exclusive private wards of St. Mungo's. His grievously injured arm had required amputation to stave the spread of Hrod's curse, and he was due for a magical prosthetic replacement. Lily Evans was working with Healer Molly Hooper on the best options to accommodate the man, with the former (secretly) planning on incorporating Parselrunes to maximize the seamlessness of the replacement arm.
Lord Black's godson had been spent every free minute he possessed to be by the man's bedside, granted special permission by the Headmaster to do so.
'Though he's not the only student who has been granted that provision.'
Lavender and Saffron Brown would be spending the next half week at home, preparing for the funeral of her elder brother Tristan. The auror had bravely laid down his life for his grandmother, bearing the brunt of a vicious trio of acromantula who practically tore him apart. Acacia was as grief-stricken as she was furious, baying for the blood of the Death Eaters who'd cost her eldest grandson his life. She was calling for a formal censure in the Wizengamot against House Potter, as it was James' Seneschal who'd wrought havoc with the Acromantulas.
She wasn't the only one.
Daimon Lord Avery was leading a similar charge, with rumblings of Lord Greengrass desiring to do the same. There were also whisperings that House Selwyn was planning to support the bid for formal censure, but Scrimgeour was clever enough to surmise that it was a means to deal a decisive political blow to House Potter and not because the notoriously Dark-aligned House cared one hoot about the innocent victims of a Death Eater.
Unbidden, the visage of Corban Yaxley flashed in Rufus' eye, eliciting a sneer.
By some unfounded miracle, the long-suspected Death Eater had survived the attack and even saved two of his team. Lord Yaxley was currently recovering in St. Mungo's, and to Scrimgeour's irritation, was being considered for an Order of Merlin (First Class) for his 'tremendous act' of bravery. Like Bones, he was convinced the Selwyn stooge had some involvement in the mad Death Eaters' schemes, though it wasn't obvious exactly what role he'd played. While Corban's actions did suggest that he wasn't involved in Obediah and Thorfinn's mad escape plan, Rufus still wasn't entirely convinced that he was completely innocent.
Old habits and all that.
In fact, all of the aurors present for the Death Eaters siege were being considered for Order of Merlins for their acts of bravery in the face of the Ministry's siege. There was to be a private ceremony in the wake of Minister Fudge's funeral to commemorate the slain aurors. Aurors Dawlish, Thistlewood, Thicknesse, Brown, and Montague (despite being a Trainee) were posthumously nominated for the Maximilian Crowdy Medal of Valor, and would be receiving the award during the post-ceremony for Fudge's funeral.
A brief flash of Pius and John's mangled and brutalized corpses filled Scrimgeour's mind, before a shudder banished them away.
There'd barely been enough flesh on to identify their remains, and their heartbroken families were still reeling at their deaths. Poor Marietta Edgecombe's grief was twice-over, losing her beloved godfather Pius and both parents in one fell swoop. She was currently in the school's Hospital Wing in a catatonic state, having to be soothed by a potent Draught of Peace after a hysterical nervous breakdown.
'Hopefully, all of this madness will be over soon.'
Inevitably, his mind drifted to the schemes he'd help cook up to ensure just that.
A Little Over Four Months Ago…
"But first, more refreshments! TWEAK!"
POP!
WHOOSH!
As the unique elven displacement magic faded away, Rufus sharply tamped down his initial shock and panic to thoroughly assess his new surroundings.
He was seated in a conference room of sorts, though an exceedingly unusual one whose walls were made of dark and lightly shimmering marble, surrounded by impressive and teeming bookshelves.
The conference table at which he sat was flanked on either side by ornate high-back chairs bearing brass snake-head finials that suspiciously looked to be moving. Seated across from him were the pair of Professors Evans and Snape, the former looking entirely too amused for his enjoyment. On Rufus' left was Lord Malfoy, draped in sumptuous sleeping robes whilst elegantly sipping on his tea and looking entirely nonplussed.
Across from Lucius was another blonde man, though this one bore short and stylishly spiked golden locks offset by impishly sparkling dark brown eyes. He wore a crisp white shirt and a thin blood-red tie, covered by a high-collared light tan trench coat. To his right was Harry Potter, who seemed to be taking everything in considerably better stride than expected.
In fact, he looked right at home.
To the left of the man was Marcus Flint, who leveled an apologetic gaze at the DADA Professor and his would-be mentor.
But even all of that didn't hold the bulk of Rufus' considerable attention.
What captured his keen eyes was the head of the table.
Specifically, the throne.
It was an incredible edifice carved out of solid basalt, inlaid with glowing lines of silver filigree and with thick green silk cushions to provide comfort. But the most impressive – and intimidating – thing about this throne was what sprang out from its back: an impossibly massive nine-headed serpentine hydra, each magical snake possessing huge emeralds for eyes and bearing varying expressions of amusement and irritation.
The entire thing looked like the throne of an ancient serpentine deity of antiquated myth.
And currently sitting on the throne - as if born to it - was Tom Riddle!
"Lord Gaunt…it seems you have me at a disadvantage." Rufus had regained use of his limbs and, as subtly as possible, allowed his wand to slip into his grasp.
The man snickered, the sound oddly serpentine and sinister against Rufus' ears. It didn't help that the hydra mimicked the sound perfectly, sending a tangible shiver up the DADA Professor's back.
"My apologies for the hubbub, Scrimgeour, that was never my intention with this . As such…there is really no need for that wand." He leveled a significant look at the man's obscured hand, causing Rufus to stiffen. "And please, call me Tom. We're all Slytherins here after all."
Scrimgeour snorted before leveling a significant look at Marcellus Frump. "Are we?"
Frump laughed in complete delight, before shaking his head vigorously. The Caretaker transformed entirely, the lean and grumpy-faced man with a perpetually sneering expression disappearing as another took his place.
A veritable bombshell came to the fore as short dark-hair thickened to long silver-blonde waves that tumbled to a small and delicate waist. Greenish orbs lightened to cornflower blue, becoming cat-like and beguiling as long dark lashes grew to frame them. Thin lips became a dark red pout as a sharp nose softened into a more feminine and gentle shape. Gone was the frayed wool suit; in its place was a beautiful and alluring black gown of gossamer satin, draped silk, and a fetching brocade velvet corset.
Though she wasn't wearing her true face, Rufus' legilimency (due to their limited time at Hogwarts) was more than familiar with the coquettish tilt of her smile, the intensely penetrative weight of her gaze, and the imp-like effervescence of her mood.
"Cassie Black?!"
The witch tittered in delight while sing-songily replying: "In the well-formed flesh!"
She struck a sensuous pose before blowing a flirty kiss in Rufus' direction, causing an unbidden flash of pink to bloom on his cheeks. He faintly registered Malfoy and Evans snickering in the background whilst Snape snorted into his tea.
Giggling, Cassie gracefully slipped into the seat directly to the left of Tom's, clapping her hands in delight at the tray of fancy raspberry pasties Tweak popped into the room.
"I don't mean to be dramatic and all…" said Rufus with as much quiet dignity as he could muster. "BUT WHAT IN MERLIN'S SAGGY Y-FRONTS IS GOING ON HERE?!"
Thirty-Two Minutes Later…
It was a lot to take in.
The faces of his fellow Slytherins observed him with varying degrees of curiosity, though there was a tad more amusement than Rufus would have liked. Whilst his ever-discerning mind absorbed the sheer mountain of information dumped on his proverbial doorstep, he set about getting some additional answers to hurry the process along.
"I'm curious Cassie…" the witch offered him a bright smile. "How did you come up with his 'Marcellus Frump' persona? Is he even real?"
"Oh yes!" And with that, she gave him a condensed rundown of the real Marcellus Frump's history. The two had become close friends with each other in the 60's during her tenure at the Magical Pitié-Salpêtrière Institute. His academic and magical brilliance was impressive even then, all a result of natural intelligence and diligent self-study. He supplied a cache of rare (and highly illegal) potions ingredients to the hospital, whose already limited supplies had been stretched quite thin in the Grindelwald Conflict years. Some of said potions were Cassie's own creation for her personal use.
"Metamorphs…possess a unique physiology. Our metabolisms typically run twice as fast as the average magical athlete, requiring a much-higher-than-average daily caloric intake. We metabolize Dreamless Sleep, Pepper-Up, and Invigoration Draughts twice as fast as the average magical, so we require higher doses in a specialized balance to encourage effectiveness and prevent poor side effects. Skele-Gro is nigh ineffective due to our chimeric nature, and Polyjuice Potion has the opposite effect on us; we cannot self-transform for the duration of an hour of the standard dose. My ability is the main reason why I became fascinated with the Healing Arts to begin with, as it was the most legal means of exploring biothaumaturgy. Granted it involves a bit more alchemy than not, but still."
Waving off that thought, she continued her tale. As she reached the end, her expression saddened. "Unfortunately, despite all the good Marcellus was able to do here in England, he could never escape the many ghosts of his grief. When the Dark Lord was vanquished in 1981…Marcellus…took his own life. He was a skilled potioneer in his own right, and created an overpowered Draught of Peace. He died in his sleep at his flat in Plymouth. The place was under a Fidelius, I was the sole Secret Keeper and thus I'm the only one who knows of its existence and address."
Rufus blinked as he processed that story, before turning to the Hydra.
"...So…Prince of Slytherin…how come I've never heard of this?"
The nine serpents exchanged brief glances before Ka leaned down and said:
"There was great interest in you during your Second Year. Your intelligence was readily obvious."
"Indeed," continued Mara. "You demonstrated sufficient cleverness in your 'information-gathering schemes', especially against Desdemona Avery." To the group's surprise, two spots of pale pink bloomed on Scrimgeour's cheeks.
"Your ruthlessness was well noted, especially against the fools who dared interfere with your plans." Nidhogg's impossibly deep growl held a keen note of approval.
"And you showed quite the skill in gathering a group of like-minded allies even in the face of little camaraderie," supplied Jormungand quietly.
"You also showed enough appreciation for the basis of Wizarding traditions," said the runespoor in three-part harmony. "Unlike some we can name!"
All three heads glared balefully in the direction of Lily Evans. The witch sniffed before turning her unblinking eldritch green glare onto them, staring intensely at each head.
"What?" asked Tisiphone snootily. "No crude unladylike retort?"
"...No," the witch replied quietly.
Too quietly.
"Then what?!" snapped Alecto, eyes narrowed as the witch continued her intense survey.
Lily sneered. "...Just deciding which pair of your heads will make the warmest set of matching slippers." Marcus choked on his tea.
"Why you insssolent little-"
"Ladiesss…" Tom hissed warningly, glaring disapprovingly at each of them as Nidhogg chortled gleefully in the background. "Pleassse, now isss not the time."
Lily blushed and murmured a soft apology as the Runespoor muttered the same. Pleased with the Furies, Emeritus Riddle gave a gentle scratch to each of their heads and caused them to give a Delilah-esque titter, shocking most of the room's occupants who were well aware of the serpent's notoriously temperamental-at-best nature.
Rufus quietly cleared his throat. "Again…why didn't I hear of this Prince position despite, from what I'm hearing, there being interest?"
"Because," Delilah hissed snidely. "You were utterly lacking in anything resembling any form of charm or subtlety!" Most were surprised at the boomslang's disdain, shattering the long-held belief that she liked everyone.
Rufus looked scandalized. "I have plenty of charm and subtlety!"
Delilah scoffed before sneering. "Oh please! You marched right up to Diadema Goshawk and Rudyard Tripe and declared - before the entire Common Room mind you! - that you knew, without a doubt, that they were the ones running an illegal Pepper-Up and Calming Draught potions ring among the Upper Years!"
"I was right!" sputtered Scrimgeour.
"That's not the point!" snarled Delilah.
"Hem-hem." Rajah's rumbling bass interrupted the impending argument. The mighty basilisk leaned forward to look Rufus directly in his eye. The man, unsurprisingly, felt his nerves ratchet up being eye-level with a magical snake who was perfectly capable of killing him with one look.
"Like the Exemplar of Charm, I too found you unworthy of consideration for the Throne. You were utterly lacking in ambition - a True Vision - to shape Slytherin House and the rest of Wizarding Britain to your will."
The wizard-in-question bravely quirked a brow. "I cannot imagine occupying the third most powerful position in Wizarding Britain demonstrates a lack of 'vision' to shape the world to my will."
"True," replied Rajah diplomatically. "However, it was never by design or choice. You rose to such heights by dint of brilliant and overwhelming competence. You were continually promoted into higher-ranking positions you did not want simply because no one else was remotely as qualified." Rajah leaned closer, expression penetrating. "But I imagine if you'd had any choice in the matter, you would have never risen above the rank of low-level field investigator as your ambitions have never sought anything else beyond sussing out the many puzzles of your peers and foes alike."
For once, Rufus was stunned speechless.
Smirking, Rajah resumed his initial position. "Carry on, Emeritus Riddle."
Nodding, Tom continued.
"As you're already aware of Azkabal's schemes, Rufus, we require your assistance in wrapping up…a few loose ends."
The recovered DADA Professor blinked. "And how exactly did you presume that I would want to be involved with this little conspiracy of yours?"
Riddle snorted, the action somehow still elegant. "As already established, you possess a most keen and penetrating mind, utterly relentless in your pursuit for the truth in all its forms. Upon your discovery of the Chamber of Secrets fiasco the previous year and the Dark Lord's enduring persistence, I was more than certain you'd conduct your own…investigation as to how that was possible. Especially when piqued by the mention of…horcruxes."
He paused to evaluate the man's expression, Legilimency picking up the ever slight bob of this throat.
"A cause for concern, as I am certain you are well aware of Lord Gaunt." The brevity of his tone was not missed.
"Indeed," was Tom's reply, taking a delicate sip of his hyssop tea.
"And did you gain clarification on these horcruxes from your…house guests?"
"Unfortunately not, and that was after a most thorough interrogation of each member by Severus and I. It is not bragging when I admit that he and I are two of the foremost Legilimens in Wizarding Britain. Were there any…secrets to be sussed out pertaining to the Dark Lord's use of horcruxes, we would have discovered them. I am of the mind that the use of that accursed blood quill the year prior was a mere ruse to throw off anyone who may have discovered its existence or worse, fallen under its thrall. As it stands, we are aware of his connection to a certain region in Silesia thanks to key memories of Bellatrix Lestrange, and the potential existence of another…Anathemagic spell that gave rise to the Dark Lord and his kill-squad."
The ex-Chief Auror succeeded in swallowing his dread, keeping his expression perfectly blank.
"It seems like you have everything in hand…what in Merlin's name do you need me for?"
A few beats passed as Lord Gaunt stared intently and unblinkingly at him, unnerving Rufus enough to believe he may have been legilimized. Finally, the Prince Emeritus divulged the nature of the Dementor scourge and the impending apocalypse should the Ministry fail to deliver on its end of the contract.
Scrimgeour's eyes widened infinitesimally as he digested the breadth of all those horrifying details. It spoke to the strength of his emotion that his expression even changed. Suddenly, he turned to Cassie and asked:
"If you'd indulge my curiosity, what was your purpose at Hogwarts? Surely the presence of Snape and Evans was more than enough to serve as Riddle's eyes and ears within the castle."
The witch savored another bite of her patsy before answering the non-sequitur:
"Because Severus and Lily are Professors, and thus have greater strain on their time than a lowly Caretaker would. In addition to an additional set of eyes and ears privy to nearly all of the business pertaining to the Hogwarts' student body, my role afforded me near unfettered access to the castle to suit our purposes. Especially in an information gathering scheme pertaining to all manner of exciting things." She wiggled her eyebrows cheekily, the expression greatly exaggerated due to her metamorphmagic abilities.
"And did you find it Cass?"
She cooed delightedly. "In a manner of speaking, Tom-dear!" And with that, the witch stuck her hand straight down her rather ample bosom and retrieved a thin sliver of parchment, causing many eyes to widen at that brazen action as Marcus and Harry turned matching shades of bright pink.
Chuckling at her antics, Tom quickly scanned the note. "A reference?"
"A reference to a citation to a blurb regarding another reference to the actual source material. And that took me weeks of trawling through the Restricted Section of the Library, sneaking in here to read through some of Salazar's memoirs, and mucking about in the Room of Requirement, which, might I add, has it out for me! Damn thing kept configuring itself into a bloody junkyard!"
Riddle chuckled. "Well my dear…you did lure Jared Mulciber in there only to trap him in a veritable mountain of Tentacula sap, ensuring he missed his OWLs and nearly failing out of Hogwarts. The sap is notoriously difficult to clean and sticks in the worst of places, I think the Room may hold a grudge."
"Well then," she sniffed. "The disgusting little sneak shouldn't have been spying on the girls' Quidditch locker rooms."
"I fully concur," he replied in an indulgent tone, causing his friend to giggle in delight.
"May I ask what was on the parchment?" interjected Regulus.
"It pertains directly to your mission," Riddle replied, tucking the item in question into an inner pocket. "Which, I can assume, is going well?" Regulus snorted derisively.
"As well as can be bloody expected given the damned landmine you dropped me into!" They all noticed the distinctively thick Liverpudlian accent he was using, presumably to help 'stay-in-character' as Johannes Konstanin - a Hungarian expat whose family moved to Liverpool so mum and dad could avoid arrest by the Hungarian aurors for running a highly illegal 'immortality-imbuing artifacts' scam. Johannes was running a similar gambit with 'vitality-extending artifacts', allowing him enough cache to schmooze with the undead.
That, and a topical scent-altering body balm so Elizabeth wouldn't recognize that the newcomer was the Gilderoy Lockhart of old.
"Oh," Tom replied, tone noticeably blasé. "And what might that be?"
Black sneered. "Nothing much, just a bloody coup between Elizabeth Báthory and Oszkar Ghyczy - grandson of the famed János Ghyczy and primary challenger for old Lizzie's rule! Oh, not to mention, he's also a bloody vampire too! Which means, I've spent the past months in a vampire fortress castle hoping to Merlin, Circe, Hecate, and the entire damned pantheon that my bloody heart rate doesn't go above a certain pace before I end up as a midnight snack between two equally pissed off vampire factions. And to really spice things up, there's supposed to be a damned summit headed by Vlad-bloody-Dracul to resolve tensions! The 'Prince of the Damned' and Liz's main loverboy in peace talk negotiations, can you imagine what that's like?! Not to mention Liz is extra peeved because of a bloody thief mucking about her court!"
"A thief?" interjected Severus. "In a literal vampire lair? Who would be so brave to risk that?"
Regulus took a hearty bite of pumpkin patsy. "Ugh, some wanker named Talbot Adler. He's right brazen that one, wanted for grand theft across Europe for several hundred thousand galleons and multiple rare artifacts. If he's caught by our Aurors he'll definitely be doing time in Azkaban given his charge sheet, same in France, Germany, and Spain too. There's a red notice on his head by the Srebristite Streli, the Balkan Alliance's version of the muggle INTERPOL. Not only that, I've heard whisperings that Le Milieu has a bounty on his head, and that Le Croquemitaine - their chief assassin - is on a bloody warpath to retrieve him."
The Prince Emeritus took a hefty swig of his tea. "Quite frankly, he ought to be more careful. His assistant Robin Caffrey is missing, last seen with some broad named Calisa Farsymon who-"
"What?" hissed Cassie urgently. "What did you say?!"
"Calisa Farsymon?" Regulus replied with wide eyes. "Um…yeah, Adler mentioned Caffrey was romantically involved with her before he disappeared."
Cassie's expression grew uncommonly sharp. "Did you, perchance, also hear the names Clara-Fay Simons, Ariana McFlossy, Maia Frasco-Lyns, Francila Samos, and Marysa Califons?"
Regulus blinked. "Um…Ariana McFlossy sounds familiar…yeah, Adler mentioned that she was cousins with Calisa, a whole 'blonde-bombshell' dynamic-duo thing going on. I haven't heard him talk about her again."
"L'Agent Provocateur…" His aunt's lips thinned significantly as she and Tom exchanged tense looks.
"Who in Merlin's name is that?" asked Rufus impatiently.
Tom sighed. "In the previous war Cassie and I were absolutely convinced that the Dark Lord had successfully acquired a Veela as part of his arsenal. It wasn't obvious at first, but a uniquely frustrating pattern soon established itself as confirming mine and Cassie's suspicions."
He leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"It first started with the sudden resignation of Derry Everleigh in late 1971, then manager of the Public Information Services Office. Said office holds the locations of the homes of Wizengamot members. Not the specific address mind you, but a general approximation of the area the manse is located. Derry's resignation was proceeded by Isolde Fenwick, then Isolde Avery, sister of Daimon Lord Avery whose been in league with Death Eaters though I don't believe he bears a mark. I didn't find it a coincidence that after her appointment, the Death Eaters discovered then attacked the home of the Dearborns. As some of you may know, Daimon's family specializes in warding, specifically, highly advanced ward-breaking. Draw the necessary conclusions."
He paused to take a sip of tea as the others not in the know digested that tidbit of information.
"As for Derry, he'd apparently eloped to Wizarding Barbados with 'the love of his life', a young blonde fling by the name of Marysa Califons. Not a week later, Derry's drowned body washed up on the beachy shores. As for Isolde, she became the Assistant to the Head of the Magic Administrative Services Office, a less than lateral move if I ever saw." He sneered at the mental visage of the witch and her damnable brother.
"That was followed by Basil Hobday's disappearance, an employee for the Portkey Office," Tom continued. "He was responsible for coordinating the Portkeys for the Auror Department, working very closely with the Chief Auror and the DMLE Director to do so. On the day he was meant to issue out upgraded emergency Portkeys to the Aurors, he disappeared with some 'blonde bombshell' called Clara-Fay Simons to take a holiday in Bath. That day…the Clash at Kenmare occurred, one of the most devastating casualties - civilian and Auror alike."
Cassie gripped his hand in a measure of comfort, a gesture Tom returned.
"I spoke with his brother Hilliard, who led me directly to the man's location at a couples spa retreat. I arrived to find Basil cooking in the bathtub, made to look like a freak accident with the Water-Warming Charm."
"How convenient," Lily sneered.
"Indeed.
"It was the same case with Maia Frasco-Lyns in 1974, another damsel who just so happened to be 'swept off her feet' by Jensen Killick, then Head of the Department of Magical Games. Days later was the Attack on Holyhead, which was doubly egregious because scores of Muggles somehow evaded the bevy of Notice-Me-Nots and Muggle Repellant charms and ended up in the stadium as victims in one of the biggest breaches of the Statute of Secrecy in recent history. Killick was found a few days later in a rundown flat in Knockturn, having suffered a sudden heart attack and dying in his sleep."
"Another most convenient end," Severus said quietly.
"Precisely. Then in 1976 there was Calysa Farsimon, who was spotted having a pint with Healer Desmond Plunkett. Desmond was in charge of the Primary Potions Facility at St. Mungo's. That same day, several Healing potions ended up damaged and ruined and thus were not usable. A considerable amount of civilians died as a result."
"And thus, I can imagine, the pattern repeated with Ariana McFlossy," supplied Rufus. "Identify a susceptible male target, isolate and seduce them, then watch as disaster ensues."
"Exactly so, Rufus," murmured Tom.
There was a pregnant pause.
"How did you know the effects on these men were caused by a Veela?" Snape asked curiously.
"Because," replied Cassie. "Of the uncommonly high amounts of dopamine and oxytocin in their systems, which lingered for days even well after their deaths. With little to no evidence of them having engaged in the…necessary act to release said hormones in their systems. Only exposure to a potent dose of a Veela's allure would incur such an effect per my research." The purebloods looked confused at the strange muggle terms, but Lily and Severus' expression lit up in understanding.
"So extended post-coital bliss essentially. The high amounts together more than likely acted as a powerful vasoconstrictor and a vasodilator…a tango of high and low blood pressure, ultimately tiring the heart and lungs. And… another key organ."
"Precisely, Lily."
"Um…what are domapeen and oxytox?'' asked Flint confusedly.
"Hormones released in the act of…coupling." The elder Black wiggled her eyebrows cheekily, causing the Eighth Year to blush fiercely. "I learned of this during my apprenticeship at the Pitié-Salpêtrière. Ah, the French, they really do focus on blending knowledge of the magical and muggle. Anywho, there were autopsy records of two similar cases occurring during the Grindelwald Conflict; a faction of Grindelwald-aligned French acolytes had turned up dead, lethal amounts of those same hormones present in their system with damaged heart and lung tissues. It was the same with a group of Nazis who'd been Imperiused into attacking the French Ministry. They'd failed of course, but only a Veela could inspire such an effect. There were rumors that it was an agent of L'Inconnu - the French Unspeakables - called La Dompteuse, but nothing was ever confirmed."
Cassie shrugged nonchalantly as she eagerly polished another raspberry patsy.
"So it seems certain key people - not too senior enough to raise significant alarm bells - but strategic enough that their elimination would help further a cog in the Dark Lord's schemes." Tom nodded approvingly at Harry's musings. "And all this was done by one person? A Veela? I mean, based on the little I know about them, they possess an allure that draws a lot of natural attention, how did she escape notice?"
"Trust me, she did not go unnoticed."
They all turned at the snarled whisper. Lord Malfoy looked utterly livid, a testament to the strength of his emotion that he wasn't able to mask it with usual composure.
"Malfoy?" asked Regulus concernedly. "Are you alright? What do you mean?"
"I mean, that the Veela agent of the Dark Lord was my ex-wife!" And with that, he slashed his wand through the air with Flagrate, spelling out each of the aliases listed. Another sharp slash all saw them rearrange into the same name: Narcissa Malfoy.
Tom and Cassie looked equally flabbergasted, before their faces settled in understanding. The names associated with each false identity had to have been hidden under an Occluding charm to evade detection. Unless the individual already knew Narcissa Malfoy was a Death Eater and also knew that she was a Veela, they'd never make the connections.
"Blimey!" exclaimed Marcus, eyes wide in disbelief. Harry wasn't too far behind.
"I know House Black has produced a considerable amount of prodigal talent, but you never told me that your family had, by some impossible miracle, also produced Veela." Tom's tone was teasing as he leveled his gaze at Cassie.
"Trust me dear," she sighed. "We do not have any Veela in my family. It's more than likely that Narcissa partook of a highly illegal potion created with the ovaries, adrenal glands, thyroid, and hypothalamus from a live Veela. The potion confers a powerful allure and irresistible beauty in its drinker, making a witch like Narcissa all the more dangerous. My grandniece was well beyond impetuousness in her youth with serious sociopathic tendencies. Possessing a Veela's abilities would make her significantly worse."
"Seriously mate," Regulus said with a wince in Lucius' direction. "I honestly don't know how you survived being married to that."
Lord Malfoy snorted. "Occlumency and a general disinterest in all of her antics. Amortentia to fulfill House duties helped as well." The disdain wasn't hard to miss in his tone. Lily, surprisingly, felt some pity for the man.
"Do we intend on crossing this newest bridge?" asked Severus.
Tom sighed. We'll circumvent it for now."
Calling for Tweak to provide more snacks and libations, Team Azkabal began brainstorming the next phase of their many layered scheme. The best plan would have to return the necessary Death Eaters back to Azkaban to stave off a Dementor Armageddon, decisively complete Frump's arc, and prevent the discovery of all their involvement in the whirlwind scheme. Despite the security measures built into the Lair, they would all be subject to an extra layer of memory security spells.
Nothing could be left to chance.
As the group brainstormed on, Harry idly commented that the entire plot was starting to feel like some grand convoluted play. "Would give Shakespeare a run for his money!"
'Eureka!'
"You know Potter," said Rufus with a quiet intensity, "you are exactly right."
Around Three Months Ago…
"CUT!"
There was a shimmer as an array of Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment Charms evaporated to reveal a scowling Rufus Scrimgeour. He was sitting behind a small table upon which sat a script book containing all the dialogue his co-conspirators were meant to recite to pull off this particular feat. "For Merlin's sake, keep your head in the game, Cassie!"
The metamorphmagus growled in irritation, shifting her borrowed Berith Selwyn form to a long-haired green-eyed version of Valerie Hobson. "Well I'm sorry, I'm just not used to such awful things!" She harrumphed whilst folding her arms tightly across her person, pouting fiercely.
It took considerable effort for Scrimgeour not to groan, but the limits of his patience had been tested many times over the course of these past weeks. He and his newly forged Slytherin allies were currently housed in a spare dungeon located deep within the bowels of Longbottom Manor, expertly magicked by Hoskins to represent the expansive interior of the Grand Foyer in the Cloke Mansion - former home of the Frumps.
Cassie was playing Berith Selwyn, the Left Hand of the Dark Lord and Imperius Grandmaster. He was currently threatening Mycroft Frump (a metamorphed Regulus based on a photo Cassie had acquired) into joining forces with You-Know-Who. Lily, Marcus, and Severus were under a unique variant of the Parsel-enhanced Glamor Charm making them resemble the terrified forms of Melinoe, Marcellus, and Matthieu respectively. The Imperiused forms of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange - each magicked to look like their 1974 selves - stood over the three glamoured Slytherins, threatening them with all manner of horrific Cruciatus torture if they failed to comply.
It had been quite tasking with plenty of takes already, and everyone's nerves were wearing rather thin. Even the proverbially bubbly Cassie seemed weary, thin lines of exhaustion around her eyes.
"C'mon Scrimgeour," said Regulus tiredly, rubbing soothing circles into his forehead. "We're really giving it out all here."
"I really cannot imagine this being any more difficult to execute, as it seems fairly straightforward to me."
They all froze at the icy tone, as threatening as it was condescending. A shimmer formed as an array of Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment Charms evaporated to reveal a stone-faced Tom Riddle, demeanor utterly unyielding. It took significant effort on his part to not kill all of these fools who were wasting his precious time he could be using to do anything else more beneficial.
Of course, this wasn't Tom.
This was Thomas; a cold, calculating, and nigh psychopathic facsimile of Tom. His Capacity for Empathy was a fledgling 3%, with all other emotional feelers completely deadened. It was deeply unsettling to witness as he seemed more automaton than human, enough to set all of the room's occupants on high edge as a cord of dread ran high and tight. Lucius, upon witnessing this Personality in action, had discreetly asked Dobby to keep a close eye on the man and incapacitate him if need be.
As with these things, utilizing this unique psychic identity was a necessity to grant Riddle the mental capacity required to cast and maintain an infallible Imperius.
Two of them in this case, as the forms of Rodolphus and Rabastan were completely under his thrall.
A beat passed before Riddle turned to Scrimgeour, expression completely unblinking. "Must we tarry?" A dangerous serpentine lilt filled his tone, causing a few choice hairs on Rufus' neck to stand. Regardless, the man nodded once .
"Alright, let's take it from the top! Cassie, really feel the psychopathic wrath. Allow it to fill you, so you may put the fear of Merlin in your victim!" The witch glared fiercely before resuming her Death Eater form: a man taller than Tom who was bald, with a goatee-style favored by Regulus, donning darkly austere robes favored by Severus, and carrying a fashionable walking stick similar to Lucius' own.
Scrimgeour clapped his hand in attention before resuming his obscuring charms, pleased to see Riddle do the same. "Quiet on the set…AAAAND…ACTION!"
Almost Two Months Ago…
"I must say dear, this was a most unexpected surprise!"
Eleanor Burke tittered as the brief kisses Scrimgeour delicately placed on each cheek before resuming the seat. They were currently taking tea in the parlor of her petit château in Nottinghamshire. Though not of the mainline Burke family, Eleanor had been favored by then Herbert Lord Burke for her affection and camaraderie with his sons Elias and Tassos. While Herbert did not get along with his brother Caractacus (Eleanor's father), he did not allow their acrimony to affect the relationship with his favorite niece.
It was Herbert who'd arranged for her to acquire the Secretary to the Chief Auror role, along with encouraging her to accept Crowley Fenwick's courtship, the two marrying upon their Hogwarts graduation. Crowley had taken on the Burke name, and together, the two bore three daughters. The eldest - Sarah - worked as an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries in a respectably senior role. The middle, Mildred, lived her days as a pampered housewife of Hamilton Boot and mother to Everard, Beatrice, and Marden. Eunice, the baby of the family, served as the star Chaser for the Appleby Arrows, earning a record-breaking 3200 points in the recent season.
Though both she and her daughters were completely ineligible to inherit the currently unoccupied House Seat, she still possessed enough social cache and privilege to enjoy her upcoming golden years.
As always, the two made pleasant conversation as they enjoyed their tea and pastries, before delving into the matter at hand.
"Here you are." Eleanor handed Rufus a discreet brown envelope, imbued with a special variant of the Notice-Me-Not charm. Said envelope contained verified copies of the autopsy reports of the Frumps after the attack in Upper Flagley. It had been presumed that all the Frumps - excluding Marcellus - were dead as five corpses had been recovered.
"Is all in order?" Eleanor asked after a few moments.
Rufus allowed his expression to go blank, before a charming smile illuminated his leonine features.
"All's in order."
About a Month Ago…
"Augusta, I implore you to be reasonable!"
Regent Longbottom growled furiously. "Their deaths are mine to command, especially that filthy bitch Bellatrix!"
Lord Gaunt took a deep calming breath. "As already established, she was under a severe Legilimens' manipulation that created the false Miss Demeanor and Bellatrix Lestrange Personalities to do the Dark Lord's bidding! Bellatrix Black was not-"
"Was it not her wand that cast the Cruciatus against my precious Frank?! How dare you?!"
Tom leaned back in his seat, slightly raising his arms in supplication. While he was more than capable of deflecting any attack the enraged witch sent his way, he was still a guest in her home and didn't want to break into bad form.
"Augusta. Please understand that Bellatrix Lestrange, Bellatrix Black, and Miss Demeanor are technically three entirely different people. Black was trapped in a psychic iron maiden for the past two decades, an unwitting passenger for the acts of terror wrought by Lestrange and Demeanor. The core memories, the memories that she accepts as her own and make her the person she is … those memories stop sometime just after her 17th birthday. For all practical purposes, she is an 17-year-old girl in the body of a 43-year old woman whose body is suffering the physical aftereffects of twelve or so years in Azkaban. And whatever she knows about the intervening period consists solely of information she learned through osmosis from co-existing with the artificial personalities created to control her. She has absolutely zero emotional context for anything that she did or that was done to her during that gap of roughly a quarter-century."
"That absolves her of nothing!"
He paused to take a sip of tea, mentally repeating calming mantras.
"Additionally," he continued. "Per the impending Dementor Apocalypse looming over our heads, we need to keep at least one of the Lestrange boys alive to return to Azkaban."
The Gryffindor sneered in outrage. "Those filthy Lestrange brothers do not deserve the peace of merely rotting away in Azkaban."
"Trust me Augusta, I am well aware that Rodolphus and Rabastan are not innocent victims in any sense of the word. Their Death Eater Personalities are mere extensions of their true selves, and thus I wouldn't care if they were gutted like carps or left to rot in the dankest bowels of Azkaban. But as I keep saying, the impending Dementor scourge necessitates we return at least one-"
"You swore me an Unbreakable Vow Riddle!" The witch looked and sounded visibly hysterical, knuckles whitening as she gripped the chaise upon which she was seated.
"I'm well aware but-"
"Unless you want us both to become squibs, you cannot - will not - break that Vow to me!"
"I am not intending to-"
"THEY WILL ALL DIE!"
"Merlin'sss sssake witch, LISSSTEN TO ME!" Augusta jerked at the harsh sound of the Parseltongue, freezing like a prey would in the midst of a frightening predator. Lord Gaunt's eyes were flashing dangerously, the strength of his magic practically pressing in on her at all sides as he seemingly loomed over her. "We have to return at least one of the Lestrange brothers because there's a bloody Lament Configuration in the heart of Azkaban which will summon more Dementors if we don't!"
Regent Longbottom choked, color rapidly draining from her face as her eyes widened in horror.
Taking pity on her, Lord Gaunt deftly cleared her airways with a non-verbal Anapneo, for which the witch shakingly nodded her gratitude. She summoned Hoskins to deliver a bottle of Blishen's finest and two tumblers. The elf immediately acquiesced, and once he popped away Augusta poured herself and Tom two hefty fills.
"You…you're certain of this?!" she desperately asked between sips.
Tom grimaced, but nonetheless nodded. Augusta knocked back the entirety of her drink in one sure gulp, causing the man's eyes to slightly widen as she poured herself another.
"...W-Was it…solved?" she asked shakingly.
A shudder tickled down Lord Gaunt's spine as recalled exactly what he'd seen down the Dementor hole. "Yes." He took a small sip of his whiskey. "Into the Lazarus Cage."
A horrified moan escaped Augusta's lips, before she downed the entirety of her glass and poured herself another.
Both well aware of the Anathemagic spells and their corresponding sigils, Lord Gaunt and Regent Longbottom more than understood the Lament Configuration and its many…intricacies and implications.
Created by the dark wizard Philip LeMarchand (a noted inspiration of Erasmus Wilkes), the general form of the Configuration was a small hand-sized puzzle box, created from the flesh and blood forcibly taken from still-breathing victims. The bones of the hands and feet served as the frame, the skin from the torso and skull served as the sides. Each side required the flesh from a unique individual, as did the bones. Inscribed in each fabric of stolen skin were a unique set of Verbis Diablo runes and another set of runes whose names were never even meant to be thought of, much less spoken.
It was the same for that which existed in the deepest bowel of Azkaban, only much bigger.
Flesh and bones from scores upon scores upon scores of innocent victims captured by Ekrizdis, stitched together by hairs forcibly taken from a unicorn. The blood of the victims was used to mark the necessary runes, before configuring the Circe-forsaken box. It served as a door — or a key to a door — to another dimension or plane of existence, facilitating a bridge through which beings could travel in either direction across the schism.
For all eternity.
The Lazarus Cage was a unique schism that created a pathway to the Dark Wild and more specifically, to the Underrealms of Hadrearah - under dominion of the Seventh of the Eldest gods. In this realm dwelt the festering sentient remnants of once-living entities whose collective pneuma - that which is regarded as a being's soul - had degraded beyond the bestial to become the anti-soul.
Anti-souls hungered for manna of what they'd lost, and thus sought to devour the essence of innocents, gorging themselves on the emotions of terror and misery they produced as a prelude to the feast of the soul.
That Ekrizdis had been able to summon thousands of their number and control them spoke both to the strength of his ability and the depths of his depravity.
"What are we going to do?" Augusta whispered after a few tense moments.
"Well," sighed Riddle. "We swore an Unbreakable Vow that you would be allowed your revenge against the Lestranges that would result in their deaths once our fishing expedition was complete. However, given the nature of our Vow, we did not specify the manner in which they would die, and thus did not verbalize that into the spell. I am…strongly hoping that said loophole will afford us the flexibility we now require to ensure Dementors don't lay siege to the entirety of Wizarding Britain."
Oh?" Augusta snorted. "And just how in Merlin's name do you hope to achieve that? Seems to me that if I kill them, I live long enough to enjoy before the Dementors destroy us. If I don't kill them, then we both may die at the Vow killing us. How do you propose we escape between the rock and the proverbial hard place?"
"As luck would have it…"
As if on cue, the Floo flared as Regulus Black - still in his Johannes Konstantin form - entered the parlor, accompanied by another lean man whom a discerning muggle film buff would have recognized as a blonde Laurence Harvey. Said man carried a carpet bag which held a very important item they would need concerning their little 'Bella-problem'.
"Excellent timing you two." Tom stood to greet them, with a shaky Augusta not far behind. "Come, we have much to complete."
Almost Two Hours Later…
"Well…this was certainly unexpected."
Regulus and Lily gave matching snorts at Severus' statement, though none of them disagreed. Cassie (morphed into a long red-haired Marla Landi) sat on a throne-like chair against the room's wall, content to observe the proceedings. From his position near Dungeon 3's entrance, Lucius Malfoy stared at the scene with an unreadable expression. To his right stood Scrimgeour, eyes calculating.
Standing over the sobbing form of Bellatrix were Tom and Augusta, the latter of whom had just cast the Tabula Rasa (taught to her by Regulus) at the weeping witch, otherwise known as the 'Death of Personality' Curse. Per Tom's assessment of their Vow, using the spell to 'kill' the Bellatrix Lestrange Personality would satisfy the parameters of Augusta having her revenge. Since neither had received a warning tug on their respective magic nor been turned into squibs yet, they figured their 'cheat code' had worked.
Worked so well in fact, that upon dissipation of the spell's brilliant blue light, the witch had begun scratching desperately at her chest. She succeeded in ripping open her shirt to reveal a pulsing blood-red wolf tattoo, which squirmed violently beneath her chest.
Bellatrix's screams had turned guttural with pain and desperation as she clawed at her chest, screaming for the others to help her as Lily cast a modified Petrificus on the flailing witch. Suddenly, the tattoo gave an audible howl before contracting and bursting off her chest in a spray of blood-red ink, horrifying her captors who thought her chest had exploded. Lucius had paled significantly, feeling his own Merlin-be-damned tattoo throbbing beneath his chest, as though it could sense its comrade's demise.
As if that wasn't shocking enough, the corresponding kill count tattoo on her left arm did the same, now resembling several thin, well-healed scars.
Allowing a few moments of calm to pass, Riddle approached a slumped over Bella and softly incanted "LEGILIMENSsS", conducting an evaluation of the witch's mindscape. Once complete, he declared that not only was the haughty and murderously calculating Miss Demeanor gone, so was the criminally insane and hysterical Bellatrix Lestrange. All that remained was a deeply traumatized 17-year-old in a body more than twice that age, weeping from sheer shock at her current condition.
"Bellatrix," Tom said gently, using his Peisinoan Ability to lull her mind a touch. She sagged, tears ceasing. "Why don't you just tell us what you remember?"
Wrapping her arms tightly around her person, the witch slowly began her tale.
"I remember after getting my OWLs and getting placed on the Auror track…Mother and Father let me know that they'd set up a marriage contract with Rodolphus Lestrange." She shuddered, rubbing her arms furiously. "He was a cruel brute, even back then. I begged my parents, begged them, but they dismissed me."
She whimpered, swiping at the tears on her cheek. "I remember going to Professor Slughorn, I was desperate, and he said that he'd asked you for help, Lord Gaunt."
"Tom, please."
She shakingly nodded at his kindness.
"I remember meeting with you…speaking with you…you were so much kinder than I'd been led to believe, much smarter than any of the adults I was used to. When you said you could help me, I believed you. I was so hopeful that day, I thought…I thought everything was going to change and-" She burst into sobs again, flinching at the sight of the handkerchief Tom conjured for her. Muttering her thanks, she loudly blew her nose before continuing.
"But then, a few weeks later, Cissy comes to me, saying she has a 'ceasefire' present for me. We'd been arguing so much about, well, everything. She'd become disturbingly obsessed with the whole anti-muggleborn movement and-"
"What do you think of muggleborns?" interjected Lily, expression sharp as she gazed at the former Right Hand of the Dark Lord.
Bellatrix fidgeted. "I…I've never cared about that," she replied, dark eyes surprisingly earnest as she gazed into Lily's eldritch own. "Muggleborns have magic just like any pureblood or halfblood, they deserve to live their lives as they please. Certainly never thought they or their muggle families should be killed for simply existing."
Lily stared unblinkingly for a few moments, before nodding once.
"Continue, Bellatrix." The witch nodded at Tom's soft command.
"As I was saying, Cissy gave me a gift in the form of a book called Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide." Regulus and Lucius' gaze sharpened considerably. "She said it would help me with my Occlumency, I needed to be a Level Three for the Auror Program. I…I know you'd promised you'd help me Tom but I thought learning a little on my own couldn't hurt. I was diligent with the reading, did the mantras and meditations every night. At first I'd have these odd blackouts…I thought I was just nodding off into a nap. I'd wake up and everything would be fine, and Cissy…Cissy said that was normal. Then came the strange headaches…I started losing my temper so easily, I'd fly into a rage at the smallest thing. I was a Prefect so…I guess… no one really questioned me about it. According to Cissy, that meant my Occlumency was getting better."
She choked back a sob, wearily accepting the Calming Draught Severus passed to her. Slowly drinking the entirety of its contents, she relaxed enough to continue.
"I remember going to my second meeting with you Tom, but then…all of a sudden…I made up my mind that I hated you and everything you stood for. It was so weird because before that I remember wanting to ask you for help, wanting you to confirm if this book was really helping me and if the state of my mind and emotions were normal."
Tom's lips thinned. He realized that had the witch listened to her intuition (and somehow overcome the dark compulsion of Rookwood's text), he would have been able to detect the psychic brainwashing and put a stop to it, teaching her to shield her mind from future manipulation.
Miss Demeanor would have never come to exist.
"But I never did!" she keened, tearing up again. "I remember telling Slughorn awful things…basically told you to piss off in the worst way. The gaps in my memory were getting worse but I passed all my NEWTs, got five O's too, so I thought it was perfectly alright. I graduated, and then…then Rodolphus and I were married!" The disgust and despair were obvious, eliciting sympathy in all the room's occupants. Cassie rose from her seat to come cradle the kneeling witch, who stiffened before sobbing into her grandaunt's arms as she gripped the older witch like a lifeline.
The elder Black succeeded in calming her, prompting her to continue.
"Just after my wedding night (she shivered violently), I remember Cissy coming into my room and idly asking me if I still had no interest in joining the Death Eaters. It was so bizarre…I remember his strange feeling of complete dislocation, as if part of me was sitting on the bed and the other part of me was pushed straight off a cliff into a dark abyss. It felt like I fell forever, before finally, chains wrapped around me and kept me trapped. All I could remember was a voice…my voice… proudly exclaiming that I would become the greatest of the Dark Lord's servants. After that, nothing.
"You truly remember nothing of the last quarter-century?" Rufus asked pointedly.
Immediately, Bellatrix nearly burst into tears at the sudden realization of just how long it had been, how much of her life had been stolen away. Cassie cooed and rocked her gently, reaching into jacket pocket to retrieve more Calming Draught she practically poured down the younger witch's throat.
"I … I don't remember what happened," she began. "But I know much of what happened. I just … wasn't there for it. It was like a long and vivid dream that I continue to recall clearly even after waking up." She shuddered. "A long, violent, frightening … and occasionally… disturbingly…erotic dream." She shuddered very violently at that as her expression grew noticeably green. Severus and Tom exchanged sharp glances at that, having bore witness to the memories tied in with Rookwood's command matrix to 'satisfy Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange equally.'
It was sickening to say the least.
Bellatrix cried some more into Cassie's shoulders, before focusing her attention on Augusta. Shocking them all, she disengaged from Cassie and prostrated herself before the Longbottom Regent, head bowed low in supplication.
"I know you absolutely despise me, and you have every reason to." Her voice was shaky but no less resolute. "It's not enough to say it wasn't me because…it was still my wand and magic that did those horrible things to Frank…your only son." Augusta twitched violently, her knuckles whitening against her wand. "I can't ask for your forgiveness because…I don't deserve it. I can only bear your judgment, and pray to Hecate that all things considered, it is fair." The witch's head dipped even lower, touching the ground.
The tension in the room skyrocketed, with nearly everyone frozen in trepidation. Augusta continued to stare, visibly starting to shake as a myriad of emotions - including furious ones - cycled through her face. The tip of her red oak wand had turned violently red, and in expectation of a potential offensive reprisal, Tom, Lily, and Regulus readied their forms.
A beat passed…
"HOSKINS!"
POP!
"Yes, madam?"
"Prepare the third guest bedroom on the second floor for Miss…Black here. Ensure the security wards are all up to par so she cannot leave." Bella's head jerked up, eyes wide in disbelief. She wasn't alone, as many of the room's occupants gawked. "Prepare a warm bath and a small, nutritious meal, preferably a filling vegetable soup."
Hoskins gaped for a beat, before closing his mouth with an audible clack and snapping away to do his Mistress' bidding.
"Lily? Regulus?" The two jerked out of their stupor at the sound of their names. "Please take the witch to her temporary quarters."
At Tom's responding nod, the two Slytherins came on either side of a still-shellshocked Bellatrix, who recovered enough of her wits to shakingly repeat "Thank you!" as she was slowly escorted away.
Ignoring all of the dungeon's occupants, Augusta marched straight out and into Rodolphus' cell.
Around Two Weeks Ago…
A lone figure ensconced in magical shadow sat in front of a large table in a grimly-set dining hall.
The table looked rather dilapidated; rusted candleholders bearing melted-over candles, the mess of a spoiled and rotten feast spread across the entire surface, emphasized by the remnants of decayed floral centerpieces. Dusty and moth-ridden drapes framed the background, the distinct buzz of doxies heard in the background. Sickly yellow light from an unseen source filtered into the room, though that did little to allay the macabre sight.
Still, that wasn't the most intriguing aspect of this scene.
On either side of the singular man were the bound figures of the Death Eater escapees.
To his left were Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, bound, gagged, and filthy, eyes blown wide in fright as they stared out helplessly. Beside them was Bellatrix, who looked infinitely more deranged as spittle flew out of her Silenced mouth. To Frump's right were the bound and gagged forms of Dolohov and Rookwood, both of whom stared listlessly ahead.
The shadow cast over Frump fell away, and the man began his tale.
"My name is Marcellus Frump, the youngest son of La Famille Frump. I was born in Paris after the Grindelwald war, and, for the most part, enjoyed a rather idyllic childhood despite being descended from a family of…less than reputable origin. My siblings Mycroft, Maxime, Melinoe, Margeaux, and Matthieu were the collective center of my universe, and though they were by no means perfect, I loved them deeply and dearly. After the passing of my parents Morland, Mycroft took the mantle of our care. He pushed me to pursue all my scholastic interests and desires, that learning does not make one learned: there are those who have knowledge and those who have understanding. The first requires memory and the second philosophy. Though I never achieved my OWLs or my NEWTs, I heeded Mycroft's words dearly."
He paused to take a sip of water from a glass that he nonverbally summoned.
"Our smuggler business saw us settle in England, and we made our home in the old Cloke Mansion in Upper Flagley. We settled quite nicely into our new neighborhood. We donated regularly to the St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards, paid for the upkeep of the staff and residents alike. I daresay we made quite the impression." His expression suddenly became mauldin. "A little too well."
He took another sip of his water.
"One day, a monster named Berith Selwyn - aka Mr. Sinister - came to my family's home." His expression took on a strange mix of rage and terror. "The Dark Lord had decided that La Famille Frump was to become a means to an end for the Dark Lord, tilting the scale to support his violent campaign to victory. He threatened us with all manner of violence, demonstrated his capability with the Imperius on Lucius Malfoy as his mastery of the darkest arts. He vowed that if we disagreed, he'd succeed in destroying us all."
Marcellus' expression grew noticeably proud. "Mycroft refused, vowing that our family would never lower itself to become 'un pantin bête' of the Dark Lord's circus. 'En haut comme en bas' has been our long-standing raison d'être, even through major wizarding conflicts. Our family didn't bend the knee for Grindelwald, and as such weren't going to bend it for this Dark Lord. Unfortunately…that turned out to be a mistake. Christmas of 1974 came, and with it came the Dark Lord's vengeance. Whilst Erasmus Wilkes unleashed those heinous Nutcracker toys and Mr. Justinian incapacitated the remaining civilians, Berith, Rabastan, and Rodolphus broke into our home and held us hostage."
His eyes became keenly haunted.
"They tortured us for hours with the Cruciatus and a myriad of other dark wretched spells. I can still hear my family's screams…" He took some seconds to compose himself.
"I barely survived, and it took what little strength I possessed to make my escape. Faced with my own mortality opened my eyes to other prospects, away from the violence that destroyed my family and nearly succeeded in destroying me. I called in some favors, and sought to do good with my life. The following year, I served as a caretaker at muggle St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, leaving behind a lovely monetary grant that allowed the esteemed institution to expand their in-house hospital services. A few years later I arrived at Wool's Orphanage, a once dilapidated edifice that's now one of the premier boarding homes for the least fortunate children of society. That was followed by almost a year at St. Jerome's Church in Godric's Hollow, submitting myself to the ways of the holy. I was then inspired to become a Healer, and I have Herbert Spleen to thank for my knowledge of the Healing Arts."
He leaned forward in his chair, eyes penetratingly intense.
"I then recall hearing of the Dark Lord's vanquishment by the Boy-Who-Lived, believing it would bring me joy. Alas, it was not to be so. I'd spent so many of my days passing happiness without seeing it, without looking at it. Even if it passed my gaze, I would not have been able to recognize it. But I let time become a dear friend as I waited and planned my revenge."
A malevolent glint shone in his eyes.
"Berith Selwyn escaped my wrath, and I loathe not have not been the one to drive the blade into his heart. But the others you see before you here…they were well within my grasp. I discovered the existence of yet another Death Eater last year, Gilderoy Lockhart. I stole his secrets for his explosive rune schema and modified Polyjuice Potion, and like the man, found my inspiration to become the Hogwarts Caretaker as the perfect cover to execute my plan. I called in the favors owed to me by three associates, and together, we pulled off the greatest breakout in modern wizarding history. Do not fret over my compatriots; I have ensured that you will never find them."
His wand suddenly appeared in his hand, casually twirling it about.
Too casually.
He cut a vicious glance to each Death Eater, green-gray orbs burning with the prospect of violence to be unleashed upon his enemies.
"I have achieved my goal, these filthy Death Eater swine are now in my possession."
He smiled.
"And now...I bid farewell to kindness, humanity and gratitude. I have substituted myself for Providence in rewarding the good; may the god of vengeance now yield me his place to punish the wicked!"
"AAAAND CUT!"
Rufus allowed the Charms that had concealed his presence to lapse, and he strode forward to collect memories from the befuddled Rodolphus and Rabastan before they had a chance to forget what they'd observed.
"Excellently done Cassie! You hold much promise for the stage."
She giggled appreciatively, morphed into platinum blonde Valerie Hobson. Once complete, she strode over where Tom - who'd lapsed his own Concealment Charms - was seated, and once close enough, leaned over and whispered a specific psychic passcode.
The Thomas Personality lapsed into quiescence, bringing Tom to the fore. Nodding gratefully at his friend, he lifted the Imperius Duo on the brothers, allowing the serpentine hold of his Peisinoan Ability to fade from their minds. Once complete, he cast his strongest Parsel-enhanced Somnus at the pair, causing them to keel over dead asleep.
"Are we all done here?" grumbled Regulus, who'd shifted from the maniacal Bellatrix Lestrange back into his undercover form.
"All done. I will handle the…editing, so to speak. Tom, Severus, you two can help as needed." Both quirked an amused brow at the man's commanding tone, but nonetheless nodded in acquiescence.
"Thank Merlin," moaned Cassie tiredly, rubbing circles in her forehead. "I need to get a very hot bath and something deep fried, preferably smothered in chocolate."
Present…
'Right on time.'
Banishing the homework parchments away with a deft flick, Scrimgeour welcomed his guest.
"Miss Clearwater, thank you for acquiescing. Please, have a seat."
Penelope nodded magnanimously before sitting in the chair directly facing the professor. From his assessment, he surmised that the Head Girl possessed some form of Occlumency, though to what degree he couldn't be absolutely certain. He also noted the way she made note of every viable access point within the classroom, something he'd expect out of an auror. Based on the manner in which she'd folded her arms in her lap, Rufus was certain she could unholster her wand in 3-5 seconds if need be.
Engaging in a few minutes of inane and polite conversation regarding the Ravenclaw's day, pending NEWTs, and future career prospects, Rufus got to the matter-at-hand.
"Now you may be wondering why I asked you here."
The witch smirked. "The thought had crossed my mind."
"Indeed." He leaned forward, expression severe. "Tell me Miss Clearwater, have you noticed anything…strange about our newest Caretaker?"
Surprise briefly flitted through her eyes. "Mr. Frump?"
"Yes, Mr. Frump. I have noticed a few most peculiar…idiosyncrasies with our Caretaker and wanted some additional confirmation. As the Head Girl, I imagine you cross paths with the man quite frequently during your rounds. Was I correct in that assessment?"
"...Um…you very much were, Professor."
Rufus nodded. "And those…oddities, Miss Clearwater?"
She frowned for a few moments in thought before resolving her expression. "Well…now that you mention it…"
Great Hall, 12:22PM
Though he gave the impression of thoroughly enjoying his slow-roasted chicken stew (and he was, the elves had done excellently as usual), Albus Dumbledore's attention wasn't only focused on his lunch.
The unique facet of his Legilimens ability - formally known as the Spectator's Gaze - ensured that not only was he constantly and consistently aware of every single person within his expansive gaze, he was also cognizant of their surface-level emotions.
It was an intense and dizzying rush of mental and psychic information, which, through years of self-tutelage and lessons from Nicholas, Gellert, and Elphias, he'd learned to filter and isolate based on importance.
For instance, he'd gleaned Penelope Clearwater and Robert Hilliard's palpable nervousness as they eagerly reviewed their notes for their upcoming NEWTs. Though, interestingly enough, Penelope's was subtly muted in the manner one would expect from an Occlumens. Likewise, Gryffindors Percy Weasley, Sean Ogbourne, Mallory Norden, and Steven Osterley were doing the same with feelings of poignant irritation, frustration, exhaustion prevalent from the Head Boy, who was vociferously arguing with Steven that his conclusion on Inanimate Conjuration spells to mimic live creatures, did in fact contradict the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance and thus was invalid.
Albus could feel the excitement emanating from the Weasley Twins, like the sparks from an enchanted firecracker. Knowing the two boys as well as he did, the Headmaster expected all manner of hijinks to ensue. Though, admittedly, they'd done a considerable job at directing their efforts towards those of an enterprising nature and less of the indiscriminate bullying they were once fond of.
Grief and tension were also present, a thick cloud of it hanging over a significant portion of the student body. He could understand, given the absolute tragedy that had befallen the Ministry of Magic and the violent, bloodsoaked escape of Death Eaters Rowle and Prewett. On instinct his bespectacled gaze landed on Jim Potter, whose despondence practically barreled into Albus' psyche. The Potter Heir was understandably heartbroken about his godfather's betrayal, a man he'd genuinely trusted and cared for who'd so thoroughly duped his family for almost a decade. James had been similarly devastated, and Albus couldn't help but feel sympathy for the man's ever growing misfortunes.
On cue Albus recalled Lily Evans' noted distaste for the man, though he'd chalked it up to her Slytherin sensibilities grating against Obediah's heavy-handed geniality. He'd chalked it up to Hufflepuffian overachievement and the young man's own innermost ambitions to create more for himself. But alas, it'd been a clever mask hiding a violent and vicious Death Eater.
'Lily was right after all, the man kidnapped her sons and ex-husband, with intent on murdering them to use House Potter for his own twisted gain.'
A plot young Harry, somehow, succeeded in thwarting. Scanning the Slytherin table, his eyes landed on the boy in question. He was surrounded by his friends, expression alight in genuine amusement as he helped a giggling Luna Lovegood create waffle towers the girl eagerly took bites from. He was also excitedly chatting with Eurus Kolumbiko about the Herbivicus Charm and its more unconventional applications towards sentient plants, a conversation Blaise contributed to. Harry also kept up with quidditch chatter with Draco Malfoy, who split his time trading friendly banter with Ginny Weasley regarding the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
While the younger Potter's emotions also carried the distinct mutedness of an Occlumens, they were no less earnest. In fact, Dumbledore had always been struck by the boy's sincerity, a core aspect of his being that persisted despite whatever mask of aloofness or indifference he wore when around others he neither knew nor trusted.
Miss Lovegood - whom Albus was convinced possessed some form of empathetic Legilimency - had made a passing comment about it once, conveniently within the Headmaster's vicinity. The curious little witch had also made a rather astute comment about his mood once, though he'd been confused by her odd reference to bumblebees.
Nonetheless, all of that didn't hold Albus' attention.
The sensation of keen disdain emanating from Scrimgeour towards Frump was more than palpable, it was stifling. The Caretaker sat at the edge of the Hufflepuff's table, regaling the Firsties with his own improvisation of Babbity Rabbity.
Rufus visibly scowled.
The ex-Chief Auror's Capacity for Irritation typically functioned at a tangible 38%, providing a powerful cover for the more subtle emotions a discerning and powerful Legilimens (like Albus) could discern.
He'd expressed concern about the Caretaker around the Hallowhain upon learning of the man's magical ability, especially in light of his ability to cast a fully corporeal Patronus.
Rufus' concern had grown to suspicion, often exchanging tense glances with Marcellus in passing. The DADA Professor, unlike the rest of the staff the Caretaker had charmed, thought the newcomer wasn't who he presented himself to be.
Albus disagreed, considering most of the students seemed to hold a general indifference or a general like for Frump, which was miles above what most possessed for his predecessor.
Plus, Dumbledore had done his due diligence pertaining to Frump; the man's background and prior employment had checked out, and, admittedly, he was a strong proponent of second chances. Marcellus' personal tragedy spoke to Albus' own, as did the desire for redemption. He'd known Frump was magical, but both had decided to keep that aspect under wraps as a Caretaker was a role traditionally occupied by a Squib.
A chorus of laughter suddenly erupted from Frump's section, causing Rufus to actually growl.
Audibly.
Dumbledore frowned. 'I need to have a talk with him about that.'
6:26PM
"What do you mean a duel broke out?!"
Percy swallowed, steeling his nerves in the face of the Deputy Headmistress' increasing ire.
"I mean Professor, that a duel broke out between Mr. Frump and Professor Scrimgeour." The witch's eyes goggled. "I was on my way to speak with Professor Sinistra about the Astronomy final when I ran into a group of Firsties insisting that Professor Scrimgeour confronted Frump in the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower, lobbying all sorts of accusations at the Caretaker being a fraud! The situation devolved quickly into a few…choice insults before spellfire broke out."
Almost on cue the glowing form of a Marsh Harrier flew in, speaking in Penelope Clearwater's voice and confirming Percy's news.
With a poignant growl McGonagall unholstered her wand before summoning Curly. "Take Mr. Weasley and I to the Astronomy Tower immediately!"
In a flash the trio arrived at their destination, faced with absolute bedlam. In the middle of the main classroom atrium were the furiously dueling pair of Frump and Scrimgeour, the two men exchanging a fierce flurry of non-verbal and seemingly quite lethal magic.
Against the wall closest to the entrance were a large group of students who gawked in varying degrees of shock and awe. Shielding them was a glowing blue shield dome emanating from a palm-sized bean-shaped object made of what looked to be glass. Penelope Clearwater stood in front of the object behind the shield, expression grim as she stared at the ensuing spectacle, with wand at the ready.
"Miss Clearwater," said McGonagall. "I see you have part of the situation well in hand." She leveled a significant look at the shield and its corresponding source.
Penelope blushed demurely. "I arrived with the situation already at hand, Professor. Figured I could keep the students safe."
"And how are you maintaining the shield?" the Transfigurations Professor asked curiously.
"A node stone inscribed with the runic equivalent of Protego Orbis and Protego Horribilis, drawing on the ambient magic of the castle to power itself via tactile connection to the floor. It's part of my Charms NEWT project."
The Professor looked suitably impressed. "Take 15 Points to Ravenclaw for a practical and effective means of keeping your fellow students safe." The Ravenclaw softly murmured her thanks as Percy's gaze grew inquisitive, wondering why his girlfriend had never shared her making such an item with him.
Grimacing, Minerva cast Sonorous at her throat and bellowed: "SCRIMGEOUR! FRUMP! ENOUGH OF THIS! STOP AT ONCE!"
"YOU HEARD THE WITCH, FRUMP! YOUR TIME IS UP!" He lobbied a series of Bonebreakers at the Caretaker, who expertly deflected them before launching Bludeogners, Stingers, and Acid Hexes, forcing Scrimgeour on the defensive. He soon recovered, amping up his spellfire with Cutters.
"YOU'RE ALMOST DONE HERE FRUMP! I WON'T HESITATE TO END YOU!"
"HA! YOU FOOL! IT IS NECESSARY TO HAVE WISHED FOR DEATH IN ORDER TO KNOW HOW GOOD IT IS TO LIVE! AVIS OPPUGNO!"
A tiding of magpies burst from Frump's wand, which he multiplied into a swelling black cloud with a non-verbal Gemino. A yell of "CAW!" saw the birds repeat the command in rising volume as they swarmed the Professor, suitably distracting him. He quickly fished two palm-sized objects out of his coat pocket, angling closer to the large viewing window that encircled the Astronomy Tower classroom.
It was excellent timing, as Scrimgeour dispelled the screeching birds with two fierce slashes of his wand, expression contorted into fury. "CONFRINGO!", he bellowed, followed by several Mactasses and Incarcerous at his target. To his mounting frustration, all were deflected.
"YOU ARE TRAPPED, YOU FOOL! HOW DO YOU EVER PLAN ON GETTING OUT OF HERE?!"
Frump tipped his head back and laughed, the sound booming and boisterous. "HOW WILL I ESCAPE? WITH EASE! HOW DID I PLAN THIS MOMENT? WITH PLEASURE!" He quickly cast a nonverbal Impervius around his person before bellowing "SONOROUS!", making sure to emphasize the first syllable. As such, the Voice Amplification Charm became the Glass Shattering Curse, eliciting a high-pitched shriek that caused many - Scrimgeour included - to double over in pain.
The entire room was soon enveloped in shimmering blackness as Frump let loose a small bomb of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, before bellowing something indecipherable.
There was a blinding flash of red light followed by impossibly loud sizzles of electricity and the pungent hair-raising smell of brimstone. A small concussive wave emanated, knocking back Scrimgeour and the students as every pane of glass shattered and every non-ensorcelled fixture exploded.
"SUCTU EVANESCO!" A sound like a loud vacuum cleaner sounded as Penelope, McGonagall, and Percy cleared out the dust to see the sheer amount of damage and disarray Frump had caused as he, by some miracle, either Portkeyed or disapparated out of the castle, a notably impossible feat. Penelope dispelled her shield, tucking her node stone into her robes pocket as she set about checking to see if the students were injured. Most were in shock, many were amazed, a few were patently horrified.
Suddenly, Headmaster Dumbledore appeared into the room, having been apparated in by Nitwit.
"I detected the use of an unauthorized Portkey, what is going on here?!" That he was furious was an understatement, his magic flaring out potently as his grip tightened on his wand.
"It's Frump, Albus!" cried McGonagall. "I saw the whole thing! He dueled Rufus and then…he's gone!" The man's bespectacled eyes widened in disbelief.
"Minerva's right Albus," grunted a somewhat recovered Rufus, coming to stand beside the Professors. "Albus, we need to check the Caretaker's quarters immediately! I confronted him before he had time to return, we may be able to find out what in Merlin's saggy y-fronts is going he was doing in this castle!"
As the Professors strode away, Third Year Hufflepuff Caroline Purvis continued gawking at the aftermath of the melee. Soon, keen anger took over.
"You know," she said to her horrified Housemate Siobhan Templestead. "Just once, I'd like to get through the bloody school year without some secret madman making some dangerous grand escape! JUST ONCE!"
6:49PM
"Here we are! Blimey Rufus is as tough as he looks! Good thing our aims were just slightly off-center to prevent any real damage. Ah, Thank you Tweak dear!"
The elf bowed magnanimously at Cassie Black, who morphed from her Marcellus Frump form into a platinum-haired Gracie Fields. A few quick snaps from the Slytherin Elf saw her cleansed of any Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder she'd used, allowing her to transform her frayed second-hand auburn suit into a chic baby blue tweed ensemble
In her right hand was a sculpture of a small dove, which was charred beyond all measure. A quick snap from Tweak saw it fade into nonexistence.
While it seemed the Portkey had been the cause of Frump's 'Grand Escape', it had actually been a flashy diversion as Tweak - amidst the chaos - had popped in and popped them to the Lair. Azkabal had ensured it mimicked the same means Team Breakout had used to escape from the prison, in order to maintain continuity for their schemes. Tom and Severus had altered it with a few alchemic and runic alterations, so that its magical signature would hide Tweak's own during the act of escape.
"Seems like all went well."
Cassie giggled in girlish delight at Harry's bemused statement. "All's well that ends well my liege!"
She curtseyed in the boy's direction, who was seated on the Throne as the newly ascended Prince of Slytherin. To his right sat Tom Riddle, who wore an expression of fond amusement as he rose to meet his friend. He was the only other member of Azkabal present, as the others were unavailable due to prior commitments, or plausible deniability.
"Thank you again Tweak." The elf bowed at Tom's statement before popping away. Rising from his seat, Emeritus Riddle made his way over to his friend.
"Do you have everything you need dear?"
She ran a teasing hand along her right thigh, checking for the presence of Old Faithful - her magically reinforced Acromantula silk garter belt modified with multiple storage pockets, teeming with all manner of security spells and an Undetectable Extension Charm.
"All set dear!"
Chuckling at her antics Lord Gaunt offered her his arm, which she graciously took before the two bid Harry and the Hydra goodbye. As one, the two friends made their way to the Floo to head to Castle Basilicus, so Cassie could meet the newest addition to the Gaunt Family.
Snickering amusement, Harry bid the Serpents adieu before heading to the Great Hall, eager to gauge his classmates' reactions regarding the spellbinding escape of 'The Count of Monte Frump'.
Office of the DMLE Director - Ministry of Magic, 7:28PM
Hunched over her desk, an exhausted Amelia groaned in frustration at the mounting pile of shite she was expected to deal with in such a short amount of time.
Almost fully recovered from her ordeal, she was preparing to transition into her next phase as Interim Minister of Magic. A part of her lamented at the loss of her position as DMLE Director; it was a position she truly desired and had worked for many years to accomplish, and now, due to bureaucracy, she'd have to leave it behind.
Then, she remembered the only reason she was now Minister was because her predecessor was dead.
She was pleased that Kingsley would be taking her place. He was exceptionally competent, a powerful wizard, and generally well-regarded and respected within the bulk of the Ministry. His partner Jerome Varens was up for consideration for Chief Auror, as was Gawain Robards. Though certainly senior enough, Gawain's personality was a touch more inward and abrasive than would be preferred for the third most powerful position within the Ministry of Magic. While Scrimgeour had been just as surly and irascible, the man was a seasoned and sneaky strategist with exceptional 'flexibility' - the complete opposite of Gawain's rigid straightforwardness.
Her Auror squad was in shambles, and Amelia was well aware that a considerable amount of her time in the next month would be spent working with Kingsley to rebuild the Corps back to fighting form. A wave of sadness overcame her at the number of casualties incurred, expertly swallowing back her bile at the mental image of the corpses of Dawlish, Thicknesse, Savage, Brown, Williamson, Robbins, Thistlewood, Sallow, and Fungberry. Their families had been devastated, taking little comfort in the fact that magic could superficially repair the damage when it couldn't bring their loved ones back to life.
Sirius' survival was miraculous, the man still recovering in St. Mungo's. The severity of the injury meant that he was technically out of active duty for the foreseeable future.
'Maybe he can stay on as a consultant.' She snorted at the thought.
James would more than likely be given more responsibility as a Training Auror, though the irony was not lost on Bones at the devastation wrought by the man's own Seneschal. Nonetheless, Lord Potter was very cooperative, and was fully committed to arresting and trying Obediah for his numerous crimes. At the current time, Prewett and Rowle were at the top of the DMLE's 'Five Most Wanted Wizards' List.
Suddenly, her door burst open to reveal Shacklebolt, who wore an expression that could only be described as horrified amazement.
"What?" she asked urgently, tension ratcheting up. "What's happened?"
"Amelia, we just received an urgent message from Scrimgeour, there's been an emergency at Hogwarts.…you're not going to believe what just happened!
Two Hours Later…
Removing her head from the pensieve, Amelia could only gawk at all that had been revealed, her expression matched by Kingsley, Varens, and Robards.
That Marcellus Frump - ex-Hogwarts Caretaker and a bloody ex-smuggler for the French magical mafia - had been the orchestrator of the Death Eater escape was utterly insane! The corroborating statements from Rufus Scrimgeour and Head Girl Penelope Clearwater regarding Frump's uncommon intellectual brilliance, grasp of high-magical concepts, and consequent adeptness with his wand.
Of course, she had no way of knowing that all she'd just witnessed were accurate memories of well-staged events drawn from the Imperius-addled minds of the Lestrange brothers, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov, all four of whom were currently kept in four separate, heavily warded, and blood-locked trunks in her office. Initial assessments of the men's minds indicated they'd been subjected to the Tabula Rasa Curse, and save for knowing their own names and performing basic human functions, they possessed none of their memories and would be completely incapable of making future ones.
The Lestrange brothers and Dolohov had been beaten within an inch of their lives, faces nigh unrecognizable at the amount of bruising and swelling. They'd incurred several broken ribs and organ damage, most of which had been healed by the Aurors per the bylaws governing prisoner treatment. All had been fed Draught of Living Death before being locked in their respective trunks.
The form of Bellatrix Lestrange had been recovered in the Cloke Mansion, but she was already dead. Though Miss Demeanor had not been involved in the attack at Upper Flagley, she was still a high-ranking Ghost of Silesia and the Right Hand of the Dark Lord.
For Frump, that more than warranted her sequestering.
In truth, the body of Bellatrix was that of a muggle criminal Cassie had, through a series of well-placed bribes, absconded with from HM Prison Ashfield. He was a particularly violent offender with a documented history of crimes against children, and thus the warden had been more than pleased to turn a blind eye. He'd been fed a powerful dose of Draught of Living Death followed by Polyjuice Potion with a strand of Bellatrix's hair. Once complete, Lily fed the transformed man a full dose of an experimental concoction she called 'Draught 36', essentially a very high concentration of serotonin and norepinephrine one would find in an overpowered dose of Amortentia.
Together, the two would cause feelings of intense bliss and euphoria, all while rapidly increasing the heart rate. As the pleasurable sensations spiked so would the drinker's heart rate, before beating itself out of commission. For all intents and purposes, it would look as though 'Bellatrix' had experienced an intense dream that caused her weakened heart - after years of Dementor exposure - to suffer an attack that killed her.
Lily's cleverness didn't stop there; once the drinker died, all of the potion would self-transmute into blood cells, ensuring none would be the wiser upon closer inspection of an autopsy.
It was a most keen application of her Potions ability and her Biochemistry PhD, one which - during her Hogwarts years - would have seen her receive a recruitment overture from the Unspeakables.
Again.
As for Augustus Rookwood, he'd already been transferred to the custody of the Unspeakables, and more than likely would never see the light of day ever again. He too had been subject to the Tabula Rasa, and as such, would presumably be easier to interrogate on the belief of his prodigious Ventriloquist Legilimens' ability made…duller by the Curse. As an Untouchable, him being out of Azkaban warranted him to be executed after Number 9's interrogation.
"So," Kingsley asked after a few moments of tense silence. "What do you propose we do about this?"
Amelia sighed tiredly before resolving her expression. "Our jobs, of course."
The following day would be marked by headline news in The Prophet - courtesy of the ever-eager Rita Skeeter - of the recovery of the Death Eater escapees and the end of the first Death Eater Menace, though Rowle and Prewett were still at large. Marcellus Frump's orchestration of the entire breakout would dominate the entire story, a highly sophisticated revenge plot to avenge his siblings who were tortured and slain by the Death Eaters under leadership of Berith Selwyn aka Mr. Sinister - the Left Hand of the Dark Lord.
Wizarding Britain would be split; some (like Lady Acacia) would herald Frump as a hero who did what was necessary to rid the world of Death Eater swine, and that he deserved an Order of Merlin for his efforts. Others (like Lords Abbott, Ogden, and Smith) would brand Frump a vigilante whose selfish actions had placed everyone at the mercy of the filthy Dementors, and provided the means for Obediah Prewett and Thorfinn Rowle to stage their violent escape from the Ministry.
Many would eagerly discuss House Selwyn's involvement and support of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, though well within the privacy of their homes where no one else could hear them, least of all a member of the notorious pureblood family. Cassilda - and by extension Grandfather - would be furious at their family's invocation in this mad ruse, though it was through their machinations with an Imago Dei variant that brought forth the Berith Selwyn conspiracy to begin with.
As with these things, there would be one sole exception to the hubbub.
That individual - La Veuveblanc of Le Milieu - would absorb all the details of Skeeter's article with an uncommonly frightening intensity, wondering how and why she had not been aware of Marcellus Frump's prodigious magical abilities and impressive capacity for deviousness, having been led to believe that Frump was a pathetic little errand boy who was, at best, a replaceable cog in their organization's noble machine.
She would wonder why Le Caïd - her own father - had kept this secret from her, allowing the former le Fripon to call in his one-time faveur and leave their organization.
She would send a missive to Daumier at Le Procope to prepare a private room for Claude and Sabine Scarabee, as she and her père were overdue for a chat.
She would send an even more discreet missive to La Sentinelle, requesting that she cut her holiday short to begin a most important assignment.
The reacquisition of Marcellus Frump.
AN 1: And so wraps up Frump's storyline for now, and the plot of a Riddle-aligned metamorph infiltrating Hogwarts and making a dramatic escape. Cassie Black will return in some scenes in Book 4, definitely Book 5. The faces she wears are those of actors/actresses from identity theft films; Valerie Hobson (The Great Impersonation), Laurence Harvey (The Running Man), Marla Landi (Across the Bridge), and Gracie Fields (Holy Matrimony). The face she wears in her grand reveal in the Lair is Veronica Lake in I Married A Witch, which, given the Potter Prophecy plotline, has great potential as an amusing spinoff.
AN 2: It's so nice to see the notoriously creepy Gaunts getting along! The role of Priscus Gaunt is Maxence Danet-Fauvel in his role as Tom Riddle/Voldemort (The House of Gaunt). The role of Morsus Gaunt and Achlys Gaunt are respectively played by Matthew Goode and Elaine Cassidy as Matthew and Louisa de Clermont in A Discovery of Witches. The role of Valdis Gaunt is played by Katie McGrath as Morgana Pendragon (Merlin). We may see Valdis and Morsus come again in a supplemental spinoff The Vulgate Tale of The Knights of Albion. TBA.
AN 3: Regulus' 'Johannes Konstanin' persona is a direct homage to John Constantine, fitting for infiltrating a vampire lair for [REDACTED]. What he's seeking will be referenced in Book 4.