Chapter 23: Fire and Fury

"She's lying to me, my lord."

He furrowed his brow at his servants tone.

"She's the headmistress of Hogwarts." Voldemort started, doing his best to keep the rising anger from his voice, he didn't like being questioned.

"Unless you have cultivated a better asset, she must remain, at least for now."

"If you don't believe you can trust a spy, they must be killed." She countered, throwing his own words back in his face.

The confidence of Bellatrix's statement caused his anger to come bubbling to the surface once more as the magic fled the room taking up residence in his body, causing sparks of black and purple to cackle wildly in the air.

In front of him Bellatrix took a small step back, the self-assured look still gracing her beautiful features.

Her lack of fear nearly pushed him over the edge once-more - it hadn't been that long ago the legendary Bellatrix Lestrange would listen without question.

" Why question greatness?" She had once said.

' What happened?'

The chimes on the ornate grandfather clock, the last proof that the large home had ever belonged to a filthy muggle, caused him to assess his options.

Flicking his wrist, he idly noticed Bellatrix flinch slightly at the gesture, causing him to smile as he checked the time.

' I still have some effect on her.' He thought cruelly.

Long before Hogwarts, Tom Riddle used to partake in a game with the other orphans at Wools.

The object was for an individual to occupy a small hoop on the ground at the top of the hill for as long as possible.

A dozen or so boys would stand at the base of the hill and on a whistle they would race up to the top and fight over who would get to stand in the hoop.

There was no physical prize for this feat, the reward being the dominance of your peers in a show of strength.

The dozen or so boys quickly found out that of the twelve of them only 3 were powerful enough to control the hoop for any length of time, causing the group, as a whole, to become discouraged.

The strangest thing began to happen - slowly the children began to gravitate towards the kids more powerful than themselves until the twelve individuals had separated themselves into three groups, each supporting a different champion.

One day Andrew lost his bid to control the hoop for the tenth time in a row - frustrated another boy challenged Andrew's power.

' 12:00, October 31 st .'

It had been over a decade since Potter ripped his soul from his body, ruining years of careful planning and forcing his exodus.

' Trelwaney, DuPont, Potter.' They were to blame for his current state.

If DuPont's arithmancy had been more accurate… if Trelwaney hadn't made that preposterous prophecy… if Potter hadn't existed… He'd have full control of his emotions - his magic, and his servants.

Deciding to give in to his anger, Voldemort dropped the subject, a new idea forming in his mind.

Andrew had answered his servant's challenge by breaking an opponent's clavicle and winning the next several rounds, the show of strength reaffirming his unquestioned position as the alpha.

' The world has forgotten.'

In his efforts to stay unnoticed and build his base he had allowed himself to show weakness, he couldn't allow that to continue, the time had come to reassert himself.

"I want you to gather as many Death Eaters as possible and meet me at the clearing in the woods east of Godric's Hollow in a half an hour."

' Show them your might and regain control.'

A cruel smile formed itself as Bellatrix's hand instinctively caressed her wand as she fought to contain her excitement.

"Will dragonhide armor be necessary?" She longed for battle, he could see it in her eyes.

' Violence placates her.' He reminded himself. 'Keep her happy and the rest will fall in line.'

Humans were so simple.

"Yes."

She let out a hearty, cruel laugh, disappearing with a crack.

A half-second later the Dark Lord found himself in a familiar garden underneath a large gazebo.

Voldemort felt a calm wash over himself as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black midnight sky.

Standing in the arched, open-air entrance he scanned the perfectly manicured shrubbery of Regents Park, taking in the fountains and red roses, the perfectly straight gravel walk-ways leading off in every direction, connecting this gazebo to a maze of landscape and benches.

A sense of Déjà vu overcame him as he briskly made his way through the empty park and to the large muggle lodge located to the north of where he had landed.

He had done this before, except twenty five years ago it had been himself and a handful of the old guard, celebrating the birth of a pureblood.

The lodge hadn't been here then, he mused as he approached the square, bland structure covered in fluorescent lights.

He stared at the building in disgust for a long moment. 'Muggles have no taste.'

With a flick of his wrist a towering oak appeared out of the air, providing him with a proper vantage point providing him with a view of the lodge's main exit, as well as the drives leading to and from the building.

A smile rested on his face as he prepared for the fun part, eager to unleash a months' worth of aggression and frustration.

The bland structure glistened in light as Voldemort took a calming breath, determined to enjoy his evening.

" Fiendfyre!" He yelled unnecessarily, savoring every syllable as the flames leapt from his wand, attaching itself to the side of the lodge.

He repeated his actions several more times till the whole building was ablaze, filling the air with the smell of zinc and sulphur as the steel and plastic burned around him.

The melodic tone of screaming greeted his ears like an old friend, drawing his attention to the large group of people congregating at the entrance of the lodge in a frenetic panic, desperate to escape the wicked flames and suffocating smoke.

Mercifully he allowed them access to the cool autumn air, the area began to fill with hunched over survivors coughing violently, trying to catch their breath.

He smiled, it would be so easy to apparate into the crowd and kill them all.

Voldemort let go of that idea and steadied his wand instead; it had been too long since he had hunted from distance.

Spells were most effective in close-quarter combat, fizzling out as they traveled across the open air.

The trick was training your stamina, learning to control the flow of magic from your wand, hoping to maintain power.

The process was akin to training ones muscles.

Picking off a target from a ways off favored precision over power; allowing the aggressor the safety of distance as he carried out his deed.

' Jahannam.' He thought, honing in on a half-dozen targets as a number of small, black flames shot from his wand, burrowing into the flesh of the muggles outside the burning lodge, tearing deep into them before setting their bones ablaze.

The howls of the victims rose above the other screams as sirens off in the distance assaulted his senses.

Taking aim at another group of muggles more than two-hundred meters away, Voldemort unleashed a barrage of flesh melting hexes, watching in delight as the flesh and blood of his victims began to form a grotesque pool of carnage on the ground.

He let out a hearty laugh as some of the emergency responders appeared to spot him, pointing towards the tree he had erected and heading his was at a run.

' We can't have that.' He thought, twirling his wand above his head in a circle.

A large wall of cursed fire formed around the hundreds of muggles who had congregated in the area, causing a mass-panic as the finality of their situation began to sink in.

' Imperio.' He thought, taking aim at his target.

He felt the muggle succumb to his power instantly as Voldemort conjured a knife in the small child's hand.

' Kill as many as you can.'

Aggressively the toddler began to attack, plunging the knife into the abdomen of his father before turning the knife on those surrounding him.

Voldemort watched in fascination as the boy emotionlessly plunged the knife into the neck of a third muggle before finally eliciting a response from an adult.

He left the boy to himself, turning his attention to the mass of confusion to his left.

A flick of his wrist and several dozen green snakes with diamond shaped heads appeared; biting, paralyzing, and killing people at random.

He laughed loudly at his own antics; savoring the feeling of control he had over the environment.

Outside the original circle of flames were various groups of men dousing the fire with water, trying to rescue their fellow muggles from the creeping death.

He watched in curiosity for several seconds.

' Do they really think that will work?'

Fiendfyre wouldn't be so easily defeated.

As more and more people joined the rescue attempt, Voldemort conjured a second, larger circle of flames engulfing the entire area in inescapable madness.

Voldemort watched the chaos he created for several minutes before relinquishing control of the flames, allowing them to devour everything in sight, sealing the fate of the remaining muggles in the vicinity.

The flames would burn as long as there was magic in the air to feed off of, the city, if he were to guess, would burn for days.

Voldemort didn't have much time to relish his victory as his periphery caught a streak of red from off to his left.

He moved his head slightly to the side to avoid the onslaught, the spell landing harmlessly on the trunk of the tree.

The auror's had arrived.

' Their response time is abysmal.' He'd brought madness to London three blocks from the Ministries doorsteps and it had taken them four minutes to respond. Voldemort laughed, they were handing him victory.

He turned his full attention to the dozen auror's in plum colored robes scattered out around him.

' Smart positioning.'

His enemies each stood just out of sight of one another, making it difficult for him to hone in on any single group of aurors.

As his eyes roamed to his far right he caught a familiar sight.

Peg-leg, heavily scarred, sporting a nasty smirk and a magical glass eye. The rumors had been true; Alastor Moody had come out of retirement.

Casually Voldemort batted away the attacks of his enemies as he narrowed his stance and entered into a crouch, his wand at the ready, he felt a smile fueled by anticipation cross his face.

Without hesitation Voldemort's wand entered a complicated dance, flinging spells in every direction as he dipped and dodged his way towards his opponents, pressing his advantage while pushing them deeper into Regent's Park.

"You've made a mistake Moody!" He yelled, dismembering one of his auror's with an absentminded flick.

The grizzled auror gave him a determined growl, squaring his shoulders.

At his peak the great Alastor Moody wouldn't think of taking on such a defensive stance.

Athletic, graceful, powerful, and a natural leader, Alastor Moody thrived in battle, relying on might to decimate his opponents.

Over time his speed and athleticism had been torn from him limb-by-limb, forcing him to change styles.

The change had left him vulnerable.

Voldemort sent a killing curse towards the grey-haired wizard, watching as a conjured slab of granite barely saved the man's life.

He remembered Alastor Moody, the annoying fifth year who thought he could beat him in the pits. He couldn't then and he couldn't now.

Rather than wait for Moody to respond, Voldemort moved to the side before taking aim at the remaining auror's.

Setting his wand in motion, Voldemort sent a trio of disemboweling curses their way, shredding through the torso's of the ministry's defenses, leaving the pristine lawn covered in blood and innards.

' Four left.' He told himself, before quickly amending his count; 'four and Moody.'

Lose of limb hadn't dampened Moody's anticipation as Voldemort was forced to duck a streak of haunting green light that was headed his way, before summoning another auror into the path of a second light.

' Enough of this.'

Turning his attention to the final three auror's, Voldemort unleashed a trio of killing curses in their direction, leaving him alone with the legendary auror.

"You're a lucky one, Alastor." His voice was laced with the arrogance that came with assured victory. "Your life will end at the wand of Lord Voldemort."

Around them the fire that had started at the muggle lodge had spread to the surrounding buildings as emergency services desperately tried to contain his destruction.

Roots sprouted out of the ground, surprising the dark lord as they wrapped around his waist, holding him in place, a small smile on the grizzled man's ugly features.

"You still talk too much, Tommy." He gloated, invoking the filthy muggle nickname instilled upon him by the nuns at the orphanage.

Voldemort let out an enraged scream, his magic shredding through the roots, freeing him from their grasp.

" Crucio!" He hissed.

Angry red attached itself to the legendary auror as Moody screamed in agony, twitching violently on the ground.

The longer he held the curse, the more intense the screaming became, the more violent the twitching got as a spindly spiders web of capillaries and veins made themselves visible across the man's body.

Suddenly the screaming stopped, leaving a twitching mindless mess lying convulsing silently on the lawn in front of him, drool hanging from his mouth.

Voldemort contemplated ending it all before deciding against it; tonight was not the night for mercy.

Pleased with himself, he cast the dark mark, and disappeared.

He landed just uphill from the clearing in the woods in a field of daises, a sense of euphoria flooding his senses.

Calmly he descended the hill, his feet plowing a path forward through the dandelions and tall grass, his senses picking up over two-dozen magical signatures in the clearing ahead.

His arrival was met by Bellatrix; looking like Azrael himself outfitted in black dragonhide leather, her hair tied back in a tightly held ponytail, her face shining with a deadly focus.

Her smile twisted into something menacing as she took him in, shuttering at his power.

' That's better.'

"Auror's responded to a disturbance in London."

He smiled, relishing the opportunity that presented itself.

"Alastor Moody is no longer a concern to us."

"He's dead?"

Her voice oozed excitement at the prospect; the auror had been a problem for far too long.

"He'll be joining the Longbottom's in St. Mungo."

Bellatrix cackled devilishly as they entered the clearing.

Around him voices stopped, leaving Voldemort keenly aware that he was the center of attention.

"Rookwood has set the wards." Bellatrix added quietly so just he could hear.

' Good.'

"Antonin?"

His battle with Potter had left him near death and unable to partake in most activities.

' Clever bastard.' Potter's spells had proven to be impervious to normal methods, leaving his friend to heal naturally over time.

"Disappointed that he cannot attend, my lord."

The reverence was back in his most faithful servant's voice.

"He still has his play things, correct?"

"Yes my lord."

At least there was that. A bored Antonin Dolohov unable to partake in attacks left a trail of bodies in his wake.

"Approve any plans he may have for them, let's keep his spirits high."

"Of course, my lord." Bellatrix added without hesitation.

He turned his attention back to the crowd before him.

"My friends!" He said with the potent mixture of charm and confidence perfected long ago by Tom Riddle.

He hadn't felt this alive in decades; power coursing through his veins as his servants gave him their undivided attention.

It had been thirteen years since Godric's Hollow had destroyed him, ripping him from his body and sending him to purgatory for a decade.

Yet he had persevered where others had failed, he had conquered death.

"Leave no survivors, leave nothing standing!"

A set of roars erupted from the crowd at his proclamation and he felt the excitement beginning to build - he was Lord Voldemort once more.

"Leave the Potter house." He added in a deadly calm.

His tone settled the death eaters down significantly as they prepared for what was to come.

"You know what to do!" Bellatrix snapped, sending his troops into an organized frenzy as they arranged themselves into six groups of four and disappeared.

Seeing she had things in hand, Voldemort disappeared with a smile, intending to greet the auror's with force.

The opening near the bridge was quiet, the screams and smoke obscured by a thick line of trees separating the valley and the river from the small hamlet in western England.

He worked quietly, carving the necessary glyphs into the perfectly square pieces of obsidian.

Finished with his carving, he banished the mithril knife before taking a moment to admire his work.

Two cubes, four runes a cube.

So simple.

So destructive.

Voldemort's senses perked as the magic around him shifted ever-so-subtly.

' They're coming.'

The subtle shift in magic provided him a quarter second advantage on his enemies.

The cubes glowed pearl white as magic flowed through his fingertips directly into them.

Thirteen magical signatures, that's what it took to ignite Rookwood's magnum opus.

He tossed the cubes on the ground, apparating away right as the first group of auror's arrived.

The cubes began to shake on the ground as Voldemort was joined by eleven other auror's.

Sensing a dozen more enemies in route, Lord Voldemort smiled before taking a bow and disapparating once more, reappearing a safe distance away.

From his perch on the clock tower above town square he eyed the chaos, a euphoric delight coursing through his veins.

A loud explosion shook the earth as the small cubes ignited, vaporizing everything in its path.

' I've missed this.' The chaos, the destruction. It made him feel whole.

His instability had left him wary of a raid, but this morning he had felt… different.

' Samhain, perhaps?' Magic was fickle and unpredictable at the best of times, soul magic was far from best of times.

Below him buildings burned as the 18 or so death eaters partaking had their fun, serving their purpose.

Around him Jugson, Travers, Rookwood, the Flints, and Bellatrix waited patiently for the real battle.

"Enemies to the north!" Travers shouted, disrupting his melancholy.

Even with his relatively good eyesight he was having trouble seeing through the thick smoke, he couldn't see his enemies, being forced to rely on the assessment of his men.

He heard Bellatrix let out a loud cackle before disapparating ahead.

The reason for her glee became apparent a moment later when he caught sight of the vestiges of Dumbledore's vigilante group hurling curses their way.

An athletically built woman with jet-black hair, piercing violet eyes, and high-cheekbones led the resistance; a tall, well-built red-head standing beside her.

' Nymphadora Tonks and William Weasley.'

The opportunity to eliminate two of the three biggest threats to his power at the same time nearly overwhelmed him before an alarm in his subconscious alerted him to nearly two-dozen new threats.

' Bellatrix can handle her niece while Jugson and Travers should be able to preoccupy Weasley for a few minutes.'

"Jugson! Travers!" He yelled, grabbing their attention at once. "Help Bellatrix."

The pair nodded before disapparating with a slight *pop.*

Voldemort pointed towards the approaching auror's, motioning for his remaining death eaters to stay put.

He disappeared, reappearing at his perch on the clock tower, providing him with a clear view of the auror's spreading out across the city to battle his servants.

Immediately his wand went into motion, hitting a handful of auror's with killing curses, spreading chaos among the ranks.

The auror's recovered quickly before disposing of most of his remaining men then turning their focus to Rookwood and the Flints.

Pointing his wand at the black night sky, he gave it a handful of twists and twirls ending with a downward slash.

A moment later a thick, violet bolt came crashing down from the heavens, electrocuting a half-dozen or so auror's.

Behind him Bellatrix was in the midst of a fierce battle with Nymphadora Tonks while Bill Weasley had killed Jugson and was exchanging spells with Travers.

' Impressive.' Jugson had been no pushover.

Voldemort paused to watch as Bellatrix chose to take a bone-breaker to her non-wand arm as a way to avoid a well-placed killing curse.

The ability to think strategically during a fight was a valuable commodity in a war.

' How talented are you, Nymphadora?'

In many ways the threat of Dumbledore had kept him focused over the years, the very real thought that the ancient warlock could kill him had pushed Voldemort to his limits.

With him gone he felt a void within him.

His hope that Nymphadora Tonks would turn out to be a credible threat waned as Bellatrix opened up a deep wound on the metamorphmagus's bicep, severing a portion of it from her body.

Next to her an impressive Bill Weasley had just finished off Travers with relative ease, leaving him alone to double up on Bellatrix.

' Maybe the two of them together?'

Silently he apparated directly in front of the younger man, startling him briefly, causing him to take a step back.

Weasley's eyes hardened, a determined look settling over his tanned face as he began his brutal attack.

Calmly Voldemort deflected the incoming horde.

' An ambitious attack with an unusual combination of spells, a clear testament to his prowess as a Gringott's curse breaker.'

A curse-breaking apprenticeship with the reputable bank would have made him an important ally.

' Can he keep himself alive?'

A jet of green leapt from his wand before being met with a flock of birds.

"Very good Mr. Weasley."

A dangerous growl emitted from his enemies mouth and was quickly followed by a trio of killing curses of his own.

A sense of thrill overcame him as Voldemort found himself laughing as he danced out of the way of the light. Deciding to show off, Voldemort cast a quick curse at an attacking Nymphadora Tonks forcing her to dodge and restoring balance in the other fight as Bellatrix shot off a few well-placed spells while he conjured a boulder to intercept the boy's latest curse.

Around them the village had been turned to ash, the only remaining structure being the house at the end of the lane.

A sense of thrill overtook him as he began animating the ash and flaming debris in the village into a fiery golem standing thirty meters high.

The child's eyes remained calm, his wand already in motion.

"Aquamenti Scutum!"

He watched with approval as the smaller water golem crippled his fire golem.

He ended the spell, banishing the remnants at Weasley who transfigured the debris into a flock of sparrows, sending them back his way.

"Dumbledore taught you well!" He yelled approvingly as he slaughtered the birds.

A cocky grin came across the red-haired man's face.

"I expected more from you, Tom."

He felt his temper roar, his wand in motion once more.

A disappointed look came over his face, Weasley had had potential he thought as his rotting hex connected with the man's leg.

A spell of his own design, the hex would rot each appendage individually before falling off.

There was no counter-curse.

"I expected more." He said as Weasley screamed while his leg rotted from the inside out.

The pathetic man couldn't even muster up a defense as he approached.

"They say redheads are kissed by fire." He said, taking pleasure in noticing that Weasley's expression had shifted from self-assured and cocky, to desperate and afraid.

A thought and the man was covered in a thick, black, oily substance - if he left him now he would suffocate slowly over several hours.

Voldemort didn't have that kind of time.

"Would you like to be kissed by fire, William?"

' Incendio.' He thought, setting the tar up in flames.

The screams caused the battle next to him to stop as the girl let out a pained sob, deflecting one of Bellatrix's spells as she did so before taking aim at him.

"You're out numbered." He stated. "Leave now, girl."

Bellatrix shot him a glare but he ignored it.

Nymphadora Tonks looked conflicted.

He sighed. "I won't give you another chance."

With a look of sorrow the younger woman retreated.

"My lord?" Bellatrix asked respectfully, a far cry from how she had been speaking to him an hour earlier.

He ignored her as he made his way towards the end of the lane.

"Fiendfyre." He said calmly, directing his wand at the old Potter Cottage several meters off in the distance.

They watched quietly for a moment as the cursed flame destroyed the house.

"You'll have an opportunity to finish the fight, my dear."

Bellatrix gave him a trusting look before raising her own wand.

"Morsmordre!"

She turned back towards him with a smile.

"Of course, my lord."

He hummed softly as he caressed the pearl-white flower, using his dragonhide covered forefingers to hold the underside of the petals, he used his other hand to cut the prickly green stem.

A thick, clear sap oozed from the fresh cut, Marcel was once again grateful for the gloves protecting him from the venomous substance coagulating near the base of the stem.

He enjoyed clear nights like this in his moonseed garden, harvesting the beautiful flower's deadly gift in the calm, early-morning air.

The soft echo of boots hitting stone brought his attention forward, a small smile on his lips despite the interruption.

"Master." Though his face was obscured, he recognized Stefan's slight Parisian accent and tell-tale high pitch.

"The Dark Lord attacked muggle London and Godric's Hollow an hour ago."

The old necromancer let out a frustrated sigh.

The news was troubling, if not expected - Voldemort's condition had made his actions increasingly erratic of late.

"What do we know so far?" He asked calmly, his attention back on the delicate flower in front of him.

"The wireless is still short on details, Master DuPont. So far there have been at least 80 confirmed dead across the two attack sights, Alastor Moody is reported among them."

Those numbers, he knew, didn't include death eaters or muggles.

"Have you heard from your cousin?"

The other man paused briefly, his hand rubbing the pocket on his hip subconsciously.

"It was a last minute ordeal, the dark lord attacked muggle London himself while another two-dozen death eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange, joined him afterwards in Godric's Hollow."

Voldemort wasn't normally so unpredictable when leading an attack, preferring measured certainty over anarchistic chaos.

"How many death eaters were lost?"

Stefan's voice was overcome with frustration. "Fourteen either dead or captured, including Clarissa's intended."

' Is Voldemort bothered by the losses?' Thirteen years ago he would have known the answer to that question.

The Voldemort he had agreed to help accepted losses only when they were unavoidable, lately he had shown a blatant disregard for the well-being of those who serve him.

"Thank you Stefan."

The younger man bowed to the necromancer respectfully before leaving him alone in his garden once more.

There was always the possibility that Voldemort and Bellatrix had planned the attack themselves, leaving the others in the dark till the last minute to avoid leaks.

' That's the best case scenario.'

He dismissed that thought as soon as it entered his mind - the dark lord was too paranoid to confide in Bellatrix Lestrange, believing that she was chasing his power.

' What led him to lead a last minute attack?'

' Paranoia? Instability? Anger?'

All made sense. Absent was the cold, calculating, ruthless leader he had come to respect as a wielder of magic; replaced by an emotionally-driven psychopath, the result of an experiment guided by ego.

' One that I helped him carry out.' He reminded himself, casually rubbing his recently-healed clavicle.

" Our revolution is about restoring balance and pushing the boundaries of magic!" Voldemort had once passionately exclaimed to him.

" No man, woman, or child who practices magic should have to live in fear of persecution! No practitioner of magic should have to restrain themselves for fear of exposing themelves to muggles! We are the height of evolution, our place is at the top of the food chain!"

The charismatic young dark lord had given a voice to the whispers and desires found in pubs and private studies across Europe.

' Maybe we pushed too far?' The thought lingered unpleasantly in his mind. By rule he didn't reminisce on the morality surrounding his experiments; in the quest for the advancement of society, sacrifices for the greater good were necessary.

' He pushed.' Marcel reminded himself. 'Had he limited himself to three…'

Yes, that was it.

He stared absentmindedly at the horizon as the first vestiges of daylight began to make itself known.

Voldemort was on the verge of losing control of his cause, he knew that better than anyone.

' How do I survive this war?' He thought to himself, running his mind through various scenarios.

The most likely outcome would be his own death, either at the hands of a government or Voldemort he did not know.

His thoughts turned to the bracelet kept under ward and illusion in his study. It would be a shame to have to use such a creation so early in his life.

' Is it avoidable?' He did not know, the world was becoming increasingly volatile, he wasn't sure who would emerge from the flames.

' Potter.'

The boy was ruthless with the talent and political clout to match, if anyone could secure peace for his remaining years it would be the boy.

' The young Lord won't stand in the way of magic.' He was confident in that, his great grandniece had told him as much before her boyfriend disappeared.

Gathering the basket of flowers still at his feet, the elderly necromancer made his way to his study a letter already penning itself in his head.

' Left or right?' He thought to himself, immediately discounting the tunnel straight-ahead of him.

He stood quietly for several moments, tapping his foot on the hard ground of the small chamber as he thought, a fresh piece of parchment floating in front of him, mapping his route as he explored.

Getting lost with Daphne a week earlier had led him to reach out to Remus for advice on making a map.

What he had received in response was Moony's handwritten manual on the creation of the Marauder's Map; a manual he had devoured greedily.

' Or do I go to potions?'

Harry found himself in an unfamiliar situation as he pondered the decision in front of him, unsure of what to do.

He was supposed to be in potions class brewing an advanced shrinking solution; but with Terry missing, and Lily no longer there to keep him company, Harry couldn't find the motivation to sit through ninety minutes of Snape.

Lily's bubbly personality and passion for astronomy had carried over to potions which had, at least in part, been passed along to him. While he would never be a potions master, under Lily's tutelage he had been well above average.

The dip his marks took as a result of her murder were stymied by Terry's vast knowledge on the subject, courtesy of his mother Melisa.

With both gone he had nobody in class to help watch over his work.

' Not potions.' Not after the attacks from the night before. Potions would only stir up emotions he didn't need to deal with that today.

So he found himself here in the cramped, dank torchlight of the Chamber of Secrets, free to explore as he wished without Daphne's chirping to distract him.

The situation itself - parked in front of Salazar's chamber, debating which route to take- was a distraction from the thought that just about everyone he had ever cared about was dead.

' Or has been tortured into insanity.' He added solemnly, his mind conjuring images of Mad-Eye Moody.

That realization had darkened his mood considerably. It was a cruel twist of fate to spend the first few years of your life alone in a state of neglect, only to discover friendship, family, and self-worth right before having it ripped away from you piece-by-piece.

The 'Daily Prophet' published two separate editions that morning; the normal periodical followed by a special report outlining Voldemort's attack on London, the death of Alastor Moody, as well as the attack on Godric's Hollow, his childhood home that had left eighty innocent people dead.

The timing of the attack hadn't gone unnoticed, taking place exactly fourteen years after a magical anomaly had ended Voldemort's first reign of terror, leaving him an orphan.

" Is The-Boy-Who-Lived a Target?" The prophet had speculated.

' If they only knew.' Voldemort didn't like threats to his power, with Dumbledore and now Moody gone, he represented the biggest threat to the dark lord.

He glanced at the piece of parchment floating in front of him in wonder as a detailed map of his surroundings had appeared, detailed in a thick, black ink.

Transfiguration and a penchant for trouble hadn't been James Potter's only talents. He had, according to Sirius, been the best in their year at Arithmancy as well.

The arithmetic formulas contained within the Marauder's manual, he was ashamed to admit, were several years beyond him.

He watched the burgeoning map in ignorance of how it worked as he took the tunnel to the right, his movements appearing in great detail on the piece of parchment in front of him.

The tunnels in this part of the chamber were more like corridors in a well-maintained home with its rich mahogany floorboards and beige painted plaster walls covering the stone and grime of the pipes while ornate torches lit his path forward. The air even smelled pleasant, like lavender with a subtle touch of vanilla.

The grandiose nature reminded him of Tom Riddle's study, with its large, well-crafted wooden desk, silver candlestick holders, its chairs and loveseats upholstered in deep emerald velvet.

Without much thought, Harry cast several diagnostic charms on the vast corridor.

He scratched his wrist absentmindedly in between jotting the results of the diagnostic in his journal as he began to read over the results.

After several long seconds, he felt his mind begin to wander, the results of the diagnostic charm momentarily forgotten

' I wonder if the map can be charmed to show protections on a given room?'

The Marauders had thrived in the complicated fields of arithmancy, spell creation, transfiguration, and even dueling.

Unfortunately they lacked interest in wards and wide-area protections.

" For all his brilliance James couldn't cast so-much-as an anti-apparation ward." Sirius had told him seemingly a lifetime ago.

He missed his godfather's ability to listen; to allow Harry to rid himself of all his doubts and frustrations.

" Your mother, on the other-hand - she could do anything."

Lily Evans had been a kind, brilliant, fiercely loyal child who was transitioning into a kind, brilliant, loving mother prior to being viciously cut-down by Voldemort.

" Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything"

The words - her last - plagued his nightmares for years afterwards, leaving him confused and alone in the dark cupboard under the stairs.

He'd spent many sleepless nights alone with the spiders, taking solace in the fact that the terrified woman from his dreams - a woman he wasn't sure even existed - had cared about him.

He'd often wondered what kind of people his parents would have become, what kind of person he would have become had Trelwaney not uttered those words that had been sure to seal his fate.

" Neither can live while the other survives."

If she hadn't uttered that phrase, if they hadn't been overheard by Voldemort's spy, then he probably would have received a card for Samhain this morning instead of a sad reminder of what could have been.

He fidgeted uncomfortably - the corridor was free of protections, he could roam unencumbered.

' Uncharacteristic.' He thought to himself as he scratched his wrist once more. Voldemort liked to hoard his secrets, he didn't strike Harry as the type of man who allowed people to live once they were discovered.

A familiar voice in the distance grabbed his attention.

"Stir counterclockwise Neville!" The cheerful voice of Hannah Abbott echoed off the walls as she reminded her nervous boyfriend from somewhere just ahead.

He found the source a moment later - a small enclave with a familiar portrait of Josephine Flint, the eighteenth century potions mistress that he recognized from Snape's room.

' What the hell?' He thought to himself, putting his eyes up to their correspondent on the potions mistress, granting him full view of the class he was supposed to be in.

"Careful, Longbottom." The condescending voice of Severus Snape called out as he approached the couple's station.

"Adding the spider's legs before waiting a full fifteen seconds will cause that cauldron to melt. I know your family can afford it, but Dowager Longbottom must be losing her patience with your incompetence by now. Your father, if I remember correctly, had a knack for potions; unfortunately you have Alice's idiocy."

Neville took on a nervous expression, the boy's grandmother, Harry knew, was an ornery old bitch. He could almost hear the voice of Augusta Longbottom in his mind:

" Frank never melted a cauldron!"

"Don't let him get to you." His former Herbology partner said softly, placing a small hand on Neville's before rubbing her shoulder against his.

A peace came over the chubby boy with kind eyes at the caring words, and Harry suddenly felt guilty for peeping in on such a private moment.

Pulling away, Harry made his way back down the corridor with caution, half expecting to be assaulted by a delayed set of wards.

Instead he felt nothing but another itch on his wrist. Giving it a scratch he made his way deeper into the chamber, lost in thought.

' What else can I see?' He wondered. There was little chance that Slytherin had dedicated this much effort to spy on just one room.

His mind drifted back to his and Daphne's last trip in the mythical Chamber, which had ended with the pair escaping out an exit near the Gryffindor common room.

' What else can I access?'

Was this the secret that the name of the chamber alluded to? The ability to spy on the castle unhindered?

He caught a flickering out of the corner of his eye and paused, his eyes finding a spot on the floor.

Crouching down and bringing himself to floor level, he let out a sly smile. A thin band of clear magic was shimmering in the torchlight.

Flicking his wand back into his hand, another flick told him that the simple ward muted sound outside of a certain area.

Hesitantly he crossed the ward line to be greeted by a soft, rhythmic humming that got louder the closer he got to a portrait of a large meadow and a dancing girl.

A small grin came across his face as approached the portrait, curious to see what he would be looking in on this time.

He watched in mild disappointment as he was greeted by Professor Sprout grading essays on Mandrake roots.

He let out a sigh as his eyes were drawn to his occupied hands once more.

' Why am I scratching my wrist?' He thought to himself as his left hand, of its own accord, dug his nails deep into his right wrist, the patch of skin covering the vein red and raw from the scratching.

His mother was completing her mastery in charms at the time of her death, he knew that much.

Daphne had expressed an interest in obtaining a mastery in charms not that long ago, thinking she would spend her final year at Hogwarts working towards obtaining that while starting her defense mastery.

Her evolving obsession with Malfoy and Lestrange had caused her to put thoughts of formal education on the back-burner until her lust for revenge was satisfied.

' Malfoy.' That was another situation that needed to be dealt with, he had half a mind to corner and question the boy in an unused classroom himself.

Magwood, Rosier, Atwood, Morningstar. The four had been plotting revenge with Daphne, he knew it.

' Better me then them.'

He and Daphne's social stations, and reputations had begun to earn them admirers from all walks of life - from purebloods like Rosier and Morningstar, to halfblood's like Atwood, Hopkirk and the Creevey brothers.

All had their own reasons for seeking them out, the only similarity between the growing numbers of people vying for their influence was a chance to be closer to power than they already were, hoping to ride their coattails to success.

"Henry!"

The shrill voice of an unfamiliar girl drew him from his thoughts once more.

"Quiet Lucy! Do you want to get caught?"

The boy's voice was full of mischief as Harry approached the statue of a griffin.

Looking through the eyes he was greeted with two half-dressed sixth years in an empty classroom.

' Nope!' Harry thought, pulling away, unwilling to become a voyeur to a pair of Gryffindors.

As his left hand broke-away from the griffin he was surprised to see droplets of blood on the stone statue.

' What the hell?' He thought suddenly aware of the scratched off layers of skin on his right wrist.

' What's going on?'

Waffles. James Potter had loved waffles, according to Sirius.

His thoughts drifted as the familiar fog returned as he continued on his journey.

Harry, to that point, had never had waffles - the Dursley's having never bothered to treat him to such a delicacy while Hogwarts didn't traditionally serve the sweet, syrupy delight.

" He especially liked it with fried chicken!"

" Chicken?" Why chicken?"

Sirius shrugged. "We picked it up in America after graduation while traveling through the south!" He stated enthusiastically. "Musicians needed something to eat after their late-night shows and they didn't know if they should eat supper or breakfast, they came up with this as a way to satisfy both cravings!"

A crunching beneath his feet drew his attention back to the corridor in front of him.

' When did it get so dark?' He thought as he lit his wand.

Beneath him and extending a hundred meters out was a dried up snake skin.

' What the hell?'

Looking down he was horrified to see his the blood-soaked fingers on his left hand tearing away at the flesh on his right wrist.

Suddenly he felt light-headed from the blood loss.

' How long have I been bleeding?' He cleared the thought from his mind as he cast a healing spell on his wrist.

The spell disappeared upon contact as blood continued to flow from his vein.

' Potions would be over by now…' He found his mind begin to wander once more before clamping down on his occlumency.

' I missed something.' Somewhere a subtle curse had been placed on him.

He fumbled with his wand finding it hard to concentrate due to the loss of blood.

' Shoes.' The thought entered his mind as his diagnostic fed him the answer.

Too weak to remove the curse, Harry removed his shoes and felt the fog begin to lift from his mind.

Stumbling down the corridor he began to recognize his surroundings, quickly making his way back to the second floor girl's bathroom.

' Tom's room.' He thought. If he made it to Tom's room he could grab a blood replenisher.

The thought stayed with him for a moment until he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Blood-stained white shirt, black cloak, matted hair and an open wound on his wrist. He was too weak to clean up his appearance and too far from Tom's room to make it unnoticed.

He could, however, make it to his and Daphne's room.

' I hope she has replenisher.' He thought.

Dizzy, he stumbled through the tight passageway passed the wards protecting their abode.

Entering the dark room he wrote off the soft thump in the distance as a figment of his imagination, clumsily making his way over to Daphne's store of potions, desperate to replenish the lost blood and close the wound.

Offhandedly he noticed Daphne had used the rest of her polyjuice potion before grabbing the blood replenisher, downing it in one go.

Feeling his strength beginning to return, he bandaged his right wrist tightly before lying on the soft, dark brown leather couch, falling asleep before his head hit the cushion.

He moved gingerly through the sparse kitchen to the equally spartan dining room, attracting the attention of his young prisoner.

Boot eyed him with worry, his freshly pressed dark brown robes matching his eyes and glasses.

Antonin waved him off before the boy could help him. He wouldn't allow himself that embarrassment.

"The dark lord's punishment lingers, Sergei?"

He scowled. Potter had done significant damage to his torso, weeks after the conflict, the pain lingered.

He had underestimated the child and it had nearly cost him his life. Leaving him instead with the embarrassment of defeat and the sense of humiliation he felt whenever he was summoned to his lord's side.

His face wore a sad grimace. "I am powerless against him, as you well know."

This was a fact. Sergei was an ill-tempered, physically intimidating man, but that was it. Sergei used his fists on his victims in lieu of his wand.

A sorrowful nod was the only response the cruel man received. Terry was well-aware of these things

Two months ago Terry would have questioned his lingering injuries and the inconsistencies in his ever-evolving story.

A sheep occupied the chair of a once intelligent child.

Antonin took pleasure in the sad, broken expression marring the boy's exhausted features.

His prisoner lived because Sergei allowed him to live. He lost hope because Sergei allowed him to lose hope. He obeyed Sergei because Sergei protected him from the wrath of the dark lord.

For Terry to see his captor, his friend in such agony after a meeting with his lord caused the boy to lose hope.

' If Sergei couldn't stand up to the dark lord, who could?'

The bitter irony almost made him smile.

He couldn't keep him, not anymore, the dark lord had no further use for the boy.

A shame, really. The child was a masterpiece, he couldn't let that go to waste.

Fortunate for him, the dark lord agreed.

Sergei stared back at Boot with his sad, hopeless eyes.

His ability to manipulate had returned to him effortlessly, refusing to be dampened by the slow insanity forced upon him at Azkaban.

He allowed a bit of hope to return to Sergei's eyes, causing Boots expression to mimic his own.

"The dark lord is willing to let you earn your freedom though, my boy!"

Genuine joy crossed the boy's face, for the first time in months the boys smile seemed hopeful.

"Are you willing to earn your freedom, my friend?"

"Of course!" Terry's joyful response came before he could finish the question.

Sergei gave the boy a toothy grin. "I'm sure Marci will be glad to have you back."

His captive hadn't mentioned the French tart in months yet at the sound of her name now gave room to hope. A determined look enveloped the child's bespectacled face as Sergei began describing what needed to be done with measured enthusiasm.

Sergei, the reluctant captor. He always wanted a happy ending for his guests.

"Would you like another lump of sugar, Harry?" He imagined a slightly seductive undertone to her voice and nearly blushed.

"Yes, Headmistress." He said with a confident smirk, shaking off his initial thoughts as Septima Vector scowled him playfully.

"In private it's Septima, that goes for you too, Daphne."

Harry had always marveled at the attractive woman's ability to effortlessly switch from playful to serious at the drop of a knut.

"Would you mind ordering some more bacon, Septima?" Daphne chimed in, changing the subject as she eyed his overstuffed bacon sandwich with mirth. "Some of us were feeling greedy this morning."

Septima smiled kindly before fixing him with another faux glare, obliging his girlfriend.

Underneath the table Daphne's hand found his as they ate in a comfortable silence.

Almost instinctively he started comparing Headmistress Vector to Headmaster Dumbledore.

Under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore, students had regularly been rushed off to the headmaster's private office, forgoing centuries of protocol by allowing students access to something so personal.

Hermione had been the one to point out Dumbledore's lapse in established procedure after a meeting in first year.

" I was expecting to meet with him in the standard engagement office but he directed me towards his personal quarters instead!"

As headmistress, Septima Vector had taken it one-step further, inviting a different group of students to have breakfast with her in her private dining room on Saturday mornings - a spot on his calendar that had been previously reserved for his meetings with Daphne, Theo, and Terry.

Now half the quartette was missing, something Daphne attributed to Malfoy, a view she was starting to spread among her group of friends.

Daphne had been making wise use of her new comrades, an attribute that was starting to rub off on him.

"How have you been handling your transition to headmistress?" He asked casually, having hardly had the opportunity to speak to his mentor since classes had started back up.

She gave him a tired smile, for the first time he noticed the purple bags under her eyes.

"You tell me!" She said, letting off a bark of laughter.

Harry had the distinct feeling that the retort was meant to make him smile, but her laughter was hollow and the spark of ever-present amusement in the witch's eyes appeared dull.

Green met green as he and Daphne exchanged looks - Dumbledore's "disappearance" hadn't occurred until just before the start of classes, leaving Septima no choice but to continue her teaching duties in addition to those of Headmistress.

"Has the board found a suitable replacement for your classes?"

Septima grimaced. "Bill Weasley."

A rush of mixed feelings had greeted him upon learning of the great cursebreaker's death. The loss of a talented, natural leader so soon after losing Dumbledore had shook Tonks's confidence and depressed the twins.

On the other side of the galleon he remembered the eldest Weasley son's attempts to seize Harry's land for himself. With him dead that problem had seemed to solve itself while erasing an item on his ever-growing 'to-do' list.

A large eagle owl knocking on the oversized window behind them interrupted further conversation on that topic.

As soon as the owl was inside it swooped down in front of him, talon outstretched.

Curious, Harry unwrapped the parchment while the owl ate his bacon sandwich.

From the corner of his eye he saw Daphne shoot him a satisfied smirk at the owl's antics.

"Damn bird." He mumbled.

"Karma, Harry." Daphne chided annoyingly.

The owl responded by pecking at his hand, drawing blood.

"DuPont, DuPont…" He whispered, mostly to himself.

' Where do I know that name?' He frowned as he came up blank.

Daphne eyed him with interest; "Minister DuPont, Harry?"

' No. That's Francis DuPont.'

"Marcel." He said absentmindedly.

"Interesting." Septima's tone was more calculating than he was used to.

Across from him an unfamiliar look raced across the headmistresses face before settling into her usual, pleasant mask.

"Why's that?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Your lack of knowledge when it comes to modern history is frightening."

He bit his tongue. 'Stay focused.' Now was not the time to revisit that argument.

"French necromancer. Massive Voldemort supporter. The ICW exiled him to South America after Voldemort disappeared. Since his return he's been helping him."

' Horcruxes.' Highly skilled necromancers may know about horcruxes.

"He wants to meet."

' There's one left… maybe?' The opportunity in front of him couldn't be ignored.

' Why would Voldemort's followers abandon him?'

Septima offered him an interesting look; "what are you going to do?"

"I have to meet with him."

He did. Harry couldn't pass this up, Voldemort couldn't flee from death forever.

Daphne nodded in understanding. She would be there with him, he had no doubt.

Septima gave him a worried look. "He's dangerous." She said, placing a warm hand on his. "If you need help preparing for your meeting, I am here to help you in any way I can."

It said a lot about Septima Vector that she didn't try to talk him out of it, he often thought that she would have made a good wife for Sirius.

Thinking of Sirius caused him to pause - the old dog would have acted impulsively, he couldn't afford such missteps.

"What can you two tell me about him?"

" You decided to make your presence known after all."

The husky, female voice had sounded so familiar, but left her mind blank.

" It took me a moment to find you."

The second voice contained a familiar confidence that had been easy to identify; she'd hear the melodic voice of Septima Vector in her dreams for the rest of her life, she was sure of it.

Fleur pulled her head out of the pensieve, silently making her way towards the merlot she had left breathing on the countertop as the recording replayed itself in her mind once more.

" Is there anything in particular our lord would like me to pay attention to?"

Her words were so ambiguous, Fleur couldn't decipher who Septima had been referring to.

' Maybe she's going on about Lord Yaxley?'

The thought filled her with a spark of hope - had she been wrong about Septima?

The woman had practically been raised by the family after her own had been massacred in the last war. Septima very well could be working with Lord Yaxley.

A fleeting hope poked through a hole in her heart for just a moment before being crushed once more.

' The Yaxley's supported the dark lord throughout the first war.'

Who cares? There was a war, one side defeated the other, time to move on, the war had ended over a decade ago.

She wasn't so ignorant as to believe either side had been completely innocent during the conflict. Not all the dark lord's supporters were evil, nor were all of Dumbledore's good.

' There isn't currently a Lord Yaxley.' Fleur reminded herself, her fleeting hope retreating within herself momentarily.

' There are countless lords in Britain.' Septima could be referencing any number of them.

There was Lord Diggory, and Lord Goldstein, and Lord Boot…

' Maybe she's talking about Harry?' Her affection for the prodigious boy was obvious, and he was a lord.

' Twice over.' She reminded herself.

The combination of wealth and power - both magically and politically - was overwhelming.

' If he survives Voldemort he could shape our world for the next century.'

For the better or for the worse she did not know, but the Delacour family would be well-situated when the time came.

She squashed the vane tinge of jealousy she felt towards Daphne Greengrass as she sipped her wine.

The previous November she had amused herself with the idea that Harry would leave Greengrass for her alluring little sister.

A year later that fantasy made her laugh.

A man like Harry needed a witch that would demand he become his best self - Gabriel didn't have the necessary attitude to push someone like Harry to greatness, Greengrass did.

' So do I.' Perhaps even more-so than Greengrass.

She refocused, shifting her thoughts back to the conversation her first fly had brought her.

Septima might be Bellatrix Lestrange's spy. That had been her hypothesis. If Fleur was working under this assumption, then the lord they were talking about would be Voldemort.

Her theory had sounded so promising at the time, her lover - the dark lord's deadly spy.

' What if I'm wrong?'

What evidence did she really have?

A couple looks? Some coincidences? A gut feeling?

And now part of a conversation.

Circumstantial evidence that wouldn't be worth upending both Septima and Harry's lives, all of which could be explained by her own boredom.

She couldn't risk their relationship. Harry was too important to alienate.

' I need proof.'

The realization frustrated her to no end as Fleur polished off the last of her merlot, stumbling towards the small wine rack in her modern townhome, grabbing an unopened bottle before stumbling back to her table and pouring herself another glass, desperate to delay her problems for another couple of hours.

He whistled a jaunty tune as he ascended the winding path leading from Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade.

As he walked towards his destination, Anthony's whistling became increasingly labored.

His heavy breathing filled the calm December air with a thick plume of carbon dioxide as the chubby fifth year Ravenclaw paused to enjoy the view of the Black Lake to the north and the quaint village to the east, his attention being drawn to the dazzling red 'Hogwarts Express' sitting patiently in Hogsmeade station, waiting for a batch of students fresh off exams and eager to get home for the holidays.

Reaching into his leather bag, he pulled out a compact camera. Taking a moment to find the perfect angle, he snapped several pictures, a content smile dancing on his normally arrogant face.

It would have been much easier to relax in a thestral drawn carriage, but then he wouldn't be treated to the best view in Scotland.

Putting his camera away, Anthony took his time as he began his descent towards Hogsmeade - he was in no hurry, after all.

Michael had come to the conclusion midway through first year that Anthony, being the most cleanly and organized of the first year boys, would be in charge of holding a cabin on the Express for the group.

The only thing that had changed in the years since was his motives for arriving early.

' Please review WR1295 in preparation for Tuesday's vote.'

He smiled as he re-read his father's brief note for the hundredth. Returning home meant his real education continued.

While not particularly wealthy, the Goldstein family retained their historical vote on the Wizengamot, with that came a degree of power.

' Especially given our new independent streak.'

Leaving the safe confines of Dumbledore's Liberal Party to vote as they wished had made the Goldstein's a relevant power in political circles once more.

"Mr. Goldstein."

The gruff voice interrupted his stupor as a frown settled on his lips.

"Professor Avery." He greeted his Charms professor with a reserved respect.

One of the benefits of his family's independence in the Wizengamot had been Lord Malfoy's including him in his son's tutoring with the reputable former auror turned professor Daniel Avery as a way to curry favor with his father Antonio.

' What's he doing out here?'

It was a fair thought, he'd just seen the professor a half hour prior when they had been finalizing their schedule for the holiday break.

' What could be so urgent?'

"Would you come with me?" His tutor's half plead, half command caused him to roll his eyes as he checked his watch.

' I still have twenty minutes.'

"I only have a minute."

His professor nodded. "I only need a minute, I have a message from Lord Malfoy for your father."

He let out a frustrated groan.

' Of course he does.'

On the surface including Anthony in Draco's personal training sessions had seemed like a way to help him with his marks. He had, however, quickly come to realize he and Draco were meant to act as messengers between the two houses.

His professor's gaze wandered ever-so-slightly before an uncharacteristic snarl came across his face.

"Keep it moving, Miss Lovegood!" He snapped as the pair ducked behind a handful of trees midway down the hill.

He hadn't even noticed the strange girl approach.

Turning his attention back to Professor Avery caused him to jump back in surprise as he found a long piece of holly pointed at his head.

His mind barely had time to register the words as the deadly green light of the killing curse hit him square in the chest.

Wand away, Daniel Avery grabbed the boy's body, dragging it back into view of the main path before calmly walking back towards the castle, making sure to pass directly in front of Luna Lovegood once more.

Once inside the castle, Avery entered an unused classroom, making his way to the back of the room he smiled a cruel smile at the petrified clone of himself in the corner as he felt the effects of the polyjuice potion begin to wear off.

A minute later Septima Vector was fully dressed once more, smiling at her success.

Her memory charm wouldn't have held forever, when it failed she didn't need Anthony Goldstein, of all people, remembering her attack on the Greengrass girl. There could be no loose ends.

"How was your potions final?" He asked, his voice a little strained.

She smiled. He was making an effort, it was her turn.

Daphne set her fork down with a shrug. "Exceeds Expectations, at best."

A look of surprise washed across Harry's handsome face while he cut himself a piece of ham to go with his eggs.

Harry thought she was good at potions, that's why she had been able to skip ahead a year after third year. His own lack of interest in the subject had allowed her to maintain that charade.

Her interest in poisons along with Lily's goading had kept her afloat. Daphne's interest in the subject had died with her.

"Snape doesn't exaggerate the jump in difficulty."

He eyed her with a boyish grin. "Maybe I won't take potions at the NEWT level after all!" He said with a laugh.

Daphne couldn't help but notice the similarity between Harry and the picture of James Potter she had seen sitting on his nightstand when he decided to truly let go.

She rolled her eyes but decided to play along. "That would likely be for the best."

The two had fallen into a habit of speaking in hyperbole about the platitudes that ruled their day to day lives, ignoring the little things that made life, life.

Daphne had recommended spending meals focusing on each other.

"I noticed you flying off to the forest the other night." She offered Kreacher her glass for a refill. "How's your progress coming?"

Upon seeing Dolohov utilize a broomstick as a tool of war, Harry had to teach himself how to fight in the air.

Once more, he had identified a deficiency and taken the initiative to rectify it. His determination to be his best-self overriding the mental and physical protests from his already strained body.

Daphne's question made him smile, and her heart skip a beat.

A lot was said about the intensity of Harry Potter's emerald orbs. Less was said about the satisfied, confident look brought out by his sense of accomplishment. It was inspiring.

"I am really making progress." He said, self-assured satisfaction in his changing voice.

Daphne nodded at all the right places and asked the right follow up questions, all the while her mind was back at Greengrass Manor.

It had been nearly six months since that day, this was her first major holiday without her family.

"Fred and George have promised to fly with me in the spring!" Harry said as she once again nodded enthusiastically.

She crushed the impending emotional outburst, saving it for later.

' I need to go home.' It was time. Her mind healer had said as much. She needed the closure.

"Speaking of the Weasley twins…"

Daphne felt her mood begin to sour - here it came, the topic he had been dancing around for days.

"… have you given any consideration to their offer?"

She crushed her rage. They'd already had this conversation, she would be killing Draco Malfoy, not giving him an opportunity to weasel out of retribution.

"You seem to discount the heated meeting Septima witnessed between Lucius Malfoy and my father minutes before my family was destroyed."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, she could see it on his face. But he didn't dare escalate the situation.

"I am not discounting anything." Harry's strong point wasn't conflict de-escalation so his statement had little effect - she grinned. He was trying, she couldn't stay mad at that.

"We have an opportunity to question him. If his family is guilty, then you can kill him."

She took a moment to digest the conversation.

When the topic of mercy was first broached she had been apocalyptic at the idea of letting her family's murders go without retribution.

The fight had lasted the first two days of break before she had calmed to a point where she would hear Harry out.

" We need to get this right."

" What happens after you get retribution? What's next?"

She didn't want to tackle this topic, not now.

Daphne dug her heels into the thick oak floor boards, pushing her chair outwards before standing up.

"I think I'm going to go home today."

His eyes lit up once more, previous topic momentarily discarded.

"I'll fetch my coat."

The offer was sweet, his reasoning sound. But this wasn't something she could do with anyone, not even Harry.

She shook her head, narrowing the distance between the two before leaning in for a light kiss.

Daphne let her hand linger in his as she pulled away, her fingers brushing gently against the palm of his left hand seeming to have a calming effect on him.

"Not this time." She said, mindful of her tone.

She cut-off his protest. "Don't worry." Daphne stated softly as she patted her pocket. "I have my portkey."

If anything were to go wrong she could always portkey away.

Harry's brow furrowed but he said nothing as they reached Grimmauld's apparition point.

She landed softly, her eyes shut.

Slowly her eyelids opened; the familiar, yet somehow foreign wards protecting the property seemed to hum at her presence.

She looked around the room; high arching windows overlooking the rolling hills covering the property. Her neat, orderly desk with two shelves packed with books. Her large, body length, sterling silver mirror - aunt Ophelia's mirror - pushed against a pale purple wall sparkled as though it had just been cleaned.

Daphne's room looked as though she had never left.

"Mipsy!" She called, wondering if the elf was even still alive.

The wrinkly green creature lit up in recognition the second she landed before launching herself at the silver-haired girl.

"Lady Daphne!" Mipsy sobbed. "Mipsy never thoughts she's be seeing you's again!"

Daphne scowled but kept her composure. "Thank you for maintaining the property, Mipsy. Would you put on some tea? I'd like to be alone for a while."

Her elf nodded in solemn understanding before disappearing silently.

She headed over to her desk and picked up a picture of her and Astoria from the Christmas prior, laughing and waving at the camera, Harry off in the background running his hand through his hair as he talked with her father.

For a moment it was like the last six months hadn't happened and she was preparing to meet her mother for tea.

Victoria would ask her about the previous term, she'd answer with a mixture of half-truths and lies; disinterested in discussing her private life.

A tray of tea and biscuits appeared on her desk, shaking Daphne from her thoughts.

Grabbing a biscuit, she noticed her storage trunk sitting in the corner, reminding her of one of the reasons she came here in the first place.

"Mipsy!" She called out once more, summoning the creature.

"Yes Lady Daphne."

"Begin moving the contents of this house to the family vault at Gringotts. Start with my father's study."

Mipsy nodded sadly. "Lord Alfred already beguns that process Lady Daphne."

She nodded knowingly, hiding her surprise behind a layer of occlumency.

' Why?'

"Kreacher!" She yelled.

A second went by before a sickly elf with a toothy sneer appeared. "Mistress Greengrass be calling Kreacher?"

She scowled at the demonic little bastard. "Help Mipsy pack up the contents of the house starting with the valuables. Leave my sisters room for me."

Tears began to swell in her eyes at the thought of her baby sister.

She'd be lying if she said that Hogwarts had been the same without her. Daphne had particularly missed their Thursday lunch dates.

Retribution now filled that void in her heart.

A few flicks of her wand and her possessions packed themselves into her storage trunk.

Daphne stood in her doorway taking a look around her now sparse room, her face void of emotion she shut the door behind her unsure if she could ever return to such a painful place.

She looked out in front of her, down the long hallway that led to her sister's room.

The once full walls now lay bare, she noticed, silently marveling at the efficiency of the two house elves.

Astoria's room was painted a pastel green. In contrast to her orderly, largely depersonalized room, her little sister's quarters were a monument to her life.

Pictures of her with her friends, along with posters dotted the walls.

Daphne paused as she reached Astoria's nightstand, reaching out apprehensively with her right hand, grabbing the white gold picture frame closest to her bed.

She stared longingly at the picture of a ten-year old Astoria with a pig-snout snorting wildly at her older sister who was standing less than two meters away, a triumphant look on her face.

Daphne had forgotten about that day from break her first year. Harry Potter had been making the Ravenclaw common room laugh with that gag for weeks, Lily had claimed.

She couldn't allow that, so she practiced for days to get the simple transfiguration perfect.

Astoria had been her willing test subject.

Either her sister had been too young to understand the stupidity of that decision or she had trusted her older sister completely.

' Probably a little bit of both.'

"Lady Daphne!"

The frenetic voice of Mipsy interrupted her.

She stared at the picture for a half-second longer before turning her attention to the small creature.

The elf looked absolutely terrified.

"Lady Death is here! We musts leave!"

' Who?'

"Who is lady death?" She asked, wand in hand.

Harry was right, the estate was being monitored. Her mind drifted back to the feeling the normally welcoming wards gave her upon her arrival, she had attributed it to her long absence in the moment.

"Lady Death is being here."

She didn't have time to unpack that mystery as her diagnostic spell confirmed another magical presence in the house.

"Pack up the rest of Lady Astoria's belongings and bring them to my room at Grimmauld Place."

Daphne ran off, leaving Mipsy to finish packing her sister's rooms.

' Lady Death?'

She rounded the corner, descending the spiral stairs to the large atrium.

"Lady Greengrass!" A delighted familiar voice cackled. "We meet at last!"

It made sense, Mipsy's nickname for the vial witch who had killed her great aunt.

The familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange caused her insides to boil with rage.

She had been waiting for this moment for as long as she could remember, she wouldn't let it go to waste.

Daphne dropped into her dueling stance.

She had played this scenario out in her mind thousands of times, planning the first half-dozen spells she'd fire off when the time came since before Daphne had even arrived at Hogwarts.

'Cannoventus.'

She thought, filling the familiar family atrium with a thick, black smoke.

"Taking away one of my senses Daphne? Very good!" The older woman retorted condescendingly.

She ignored the jibe, remembering the late Alastor Moody's account of various duels with the witch across from her.

"She's a talker. If you find yourself in a duel with her, take advantage of your opening."

Quickly she disillusioned herself, taking the extra moment to silence her shoes before jetting towards the wall closest to where she had last seen Lestrange.

By the time she had completed her journey she was less than five meters from her grinning target.

"Impressive, Daphne." The amusement evident in the older woman's voice as her eyes drifted like an eagle hunting its prey.

"Maintaining one's emotions in stressful situations was one of the first things Ophelia taught me."

She smiled internally at the taunts, refusing to give the woman what she desired most.

'Isoboller.' She thought, dropping her disillusionment charm to start her attack.

The jagged shards of ice erupted from her wand, giving away her position.

The moment Bellatrix moved to melt the ice Daphne made her next move.

'Jahannam.'

Black orbs of fire closed in on Bellatrix from all directions, forcing her out of her comfort zone by making Bellatrix shield.

Seizing the opportunity, Daphne followed up with a mixture of bone-breakers and flesh eating hexes, desperate to land the first blow.

Having taken care of the fire, Bellatrix found herself out of immediate danger, dipping into a familiar dueling stance.

"You've adopted Ophelia's unique style, I see." Bellatrix observed as she batted away the last of Daphne's spells.

Bellatrix's casual comment sounded less like a taunt and more like an observation.

The style had been all she had ever known, having learned from Ophelia's diary after her own father had confessed his lack of expertise in the art of combat.

Ophelia's influence on her former apprentice was apparent during Daphne's next wave of attacks in the way Bellatrix elegantly danced herself out of danger, seemingly simplifying the perilous situation Bellatrix had found herself in.

The off-the-mark spells wreaked havoc on her ancestral home as the deadly light collided with mirrors, tables, and vases sending shards of glass and wood hurling through the air.

Lestrange wore a sadistic smile as she re-purposed the debris to wooden stakes and enlarged the shards of glass to the size of a grapefruit, hurling them her away.

Daphne disappeared the stakes before banishing the glass back at her attacker.

Bellatrix let out a high-pitched laugh. "Very good Lady Greengrass!"

Nearly too fast to comprehend, Bellatrix Lestrange began aggressively firing off bone breakers throughout the room.

Daphne pirouetted around the atrium and into the now-empty dining room, pausing in the doorway to ambush her opponent.

Next to her the wall she was leaning against exploded outwardly, sending her flying through the air, smashing against the far wall, falling to the floor with a sickening crunch.

"Better…..hatred….potential."

The jumbled words came to her as her opponent approached her casually, holding her wand loosely at her side.

Daphne made to move for her wand but found herself unable to as a series of ropes restrained her.

Bellatrix's violent eyes stared right through her for a long moment before offering Daphne an approving smile.

"You're too talented to kill, Lady Greengrass." Bellatrix said, her voice surprisingly soft as she closed the gap between the two. "Your great aunt Ophelia once trained me. Giving me strength when the world kept turning its back on me. I owe her everything for helping me to discover my purpose."

How dare she mention her aunt in such a casual manner, as though she hadn't ended Ophelia's life.

"You probably won't believe me, hell I wouldn't believe me if I was in your situation, but I do regret killing her."

' Lies.' The manipulative sociopath was incapable of feeling emotions such as regret.

A soft smile graced her regal features. "If you ever want to reach your potential send me an owl."

Bellatrix made to leave, but thought better of it.

"The execution of your family was not ordered by the dark lord and was the result of a rogue attack by Lucius Malfoy. I had no wish to see your family dead, there are too few of us remaining as is."

The death eater reached into her pocket, removing a small silver sickle and disappeared without saying anything more, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

"Fred and George got ya workin' this close to the hols, huh?"

The ginger's head snapped upwards, a grin slowly spreading across his rosy face.

"Seamus!" Ron shouted through the biting wind, giving his hand a hearty shake before turning his attention downwards.

"You've certainly grown." He stated to the tiny brunette standing next to him.

Maggie stuck her tongue out at his fellow Gryffindor, Seamus just waved her off.

"It ain't too bad." Ron said, answering his original question. "Galleon and four sickle's an hour to hawk this shit in Diagon Alley." Ron gestured to the various trinkets lying in front of him.

He nodded his head, reaching into his left-breast pocket, removing a flask before uncorking it and taking a sip.

The smooth whisky mixed well with the hot black coffee. He took another sip before offering the flask to Ron.

Ron took the bladder of liquid greedily, his eyes darting to and fro in suspicion.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Nobody knows what's in it, mate. Quit makin' yerself look suspicious."

Ron took a quick pull, his face contorting as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

"Yer such a witch, mate." He said with a laugh, causing Ron to turn red with embarrassment.

"Looks like Mags has wandered off, mate." Ron said by way of reply, pointing towards the candy shop just down the alleyway.

He groaned. Why couldn't she just stay put for once?

"See ya back at school." He said hastily, grabbing his flask back from Ron and running off after his little sister.

"Mags!" He yelled.

He saw his little sister glance back towards him with a smirk before ducking into an alleyway.

Following the mess of thick brown curls, Seamus ducked down the dim alley, the buildings on either side blocking him from the heavy wind.

"Maggie!" He yelled, doing his best to keep the frustration out of his voice as he positioned his wand in his hand, ready to stun her if need be.

Reaching the end of the alley, Seamus took a right before sighing in relief.

A few meters away Maggie was talking to a brown haired boy who looked to be about his age, but wore dirty clothes and broken glasses.

The boy pointed towards him, Mags following his finger, a playful grin making itself known on her innocent features.

"Thank you!" He found himself saying as he approached the dirty boy.

His voice caught the young man's attention as he affixed Seamus with his gaze, causing him to step back in shock at the familiar face.

"Terry?"