Chapter 17: Stains

"Son of a bitch."

He mumbled to himself as hot coffee dribbled down the front of his off-white healer's robes.

Healer O'Malley flicked his wand deftly, watching with dismay as the vast majority of the coffee disappeared, leaving behind the faded remnants of the dark liquid.

He quickly re-applied the stain-proofing charms to his robes, chastising himself for letting them lapse in the first place.

Picking up his pace, he made a hard left, determined to show up on time to his next appointment.

Healer O'Malley squeezed his way past a handful of nurses who were frantically gathering all the blood-replenishers they could find and continued briskly on his journey.

Still muttering to himself, he turned into the private room at the end of the hall.

"You're late." The impatient voice of the young witch admonished.

O'Malley felt himself bite his tongue, holding back a somewhat sarcastic retort in an effort not to irritate the ornery metamorphmagus.

"My apologies, Miss Tonks." He said, ignoring the copper taste of blood that was beginning to pool in the back of his mouth as he forced cheerfulness into his tone.

The Black Heiress seemed to see through his faux apology, affixing him with a frown, causing him to squirm under her gaze, making healer O'Malley feel as though he had to justify his tardiness.

"There was an attack on the ministry's grain reserves this morning."

His patient took on an annoyed expression.

"I wasn't aware that that attack had need for healers. " She said, unconsciously rubbing her chest where he knew an ugly, black, scarred patch of skin to reside.

He winced slightly. She was right; the attackers were massacred.

Miss Tonks had been close to death when she had been admitted nearly a month ago, the poison that had laced Bellatrix Lestrange's dagger had seen to that.

Healer O'Malley weighed his answer carefully, not wanting to upset the dangerous witch.

"We received three patients from the incident." He stated hesitantly, hoping the ambiguity of who the survivors were would slip past the sharp young witch.

His attempt to get one past her failed, he noticed as he eyed the witch in front of him with caution as her hair started cycling through a flurry of colors.

He had been excited when he had been named as Miss Tonks' attending healer.

He had taken his two daughters to the champion duelist's seminal victory against Igor Dankov in London a few years back.

The three watched in awe as Nymphadora Tonks, Britain's rising star, demolished Siberia's legendary duelist in under five minutes.

His daughters, particularly Kiera, had been ecstatic to find a female role model in a male-dominated sport.

The young woman eyed him neutrally for a long moment, staring at him in consternation as if she was trying to solve some complex equation.

Coming to a conclusion, she offered him a wicked smile; "I'll give you a thousand galleons for the names of the surviving assailants, as well as five hundred galleons for the names of the deceased Death Eaters."

He bristled at her attempt to bribe him for confidential information.

' She's deranged.' He thought; idly wondering if the insanity of Bellatrix Lestrange was a familial trait.

While he couldn't tell Kiera and Mary that he was treating their young hero, he had been excited to procure an autograph, even if he had found his introduction to the young star to be underwhelming.

His excitement at the opportunity to treat the young star had waned as soon as he'd met her.

She was insecure, delusional, and prone to mood swings, he had dismissed his patient's claims without hesitation, referring her to a mind healer soon after the attack she had survived.

Her unstable attitude made her actions no-less heroic; earning her an Order of Merlin, Second Class for her troubles.

After Auror Moody and his patient had defended Lady Bones' residence from the onslaught brought on by Bellatrix Lestrange and her thugs, they had come back spouting nonsense about dead dark lords.

"Miss Tonks, you know I cannot do that."

Despite the impropriety, he could at least empathize with her - he could understand wanting to take retribution - even if he found her violent intentions to be barbaric.

The Hogwarts defense professor looked like she wanted to retort but bit her tongue instead.

Deciding to get on with it, healer O'Malley offered his patient a soft smile.

Sensing his next set of instructions, her mood changed on a whim as a sly smile tugged at the attractive witch's lips while her body began to shift once more.

Slowly she began to unbutton the front of her tightening blouse, causing him to stare momentarily at her exposed, and now abnormally large breasts.

His stare caused her smirk to turn into a victorious smile.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk - doc." She said wagging her eyebrows wildly. "Does your wife know you stare at other women?"

He rolled his eyes at her antics, long since having gotten used to them.

Not getting the reaction she wanted, Tonks pouted softly before rearranging her anatomy to a more proportional size.

"Thank you." He said evenly.

She rolled her eyes, her face contorting back into an expressionless mask as he slowly ran a few standard tests on her cursed scar.

The dagger that had impaled the young woman had been laced with a poison that had rotted the flesh on her chest, causing it to appear a sickly gray.

Without prompt treatment it would have killed her.

Poking the damaged skin lightly, he looked back up at the young professor hopefully.

"Do you feel that?"

For a moment he saw a flash of fear in her eyes, and he was reminded that despite what the Prophet had been saying about her, he was still dealing with a young woman not even ten years older than his youngest daughter.

"No." She said, her vacant voice a near whisper.

His expression softened, the remnants of the poison were still affecting her nervous system, and while he never expected the flesh to fully recover, he had remained optimistic that with treatment his patient's nervous system would begin to repair itself.

Moving his way over to the still-healing dagger wound, he waved his wand quickly, idly noticing the somewhat worried look on Miss Tonks face.

While he certainly didn't believe their claims that Voldemort was back, it was hard to ignore the threat that Bellatrix Lestrange, at the very least, seemed to present.

Dumbledore's impassioned speech on the floor of the Wizengamot about defending the Isles from threats within her own borders re-affirmed that belief and had shifted the national spotlight away from corruption and back to security.

The early morning attempt on the nation's food supply had legitimized Dumbledore's words.

He gave a relieved sigh as he read the results of the test, causing his patient to perk up slightly.

"The wound is healing nicely, Miss Tonks."

His patient stared off distantly for several long moments, causing him to call out for her once more.

"Miss Tonks?"

She turned to him, her face full of emotion.

"Thank you." Her voice was laced with sincerity, causing him to pause momentarily before offering her his own smile.

"Anytime, Miss Tonks."

As he left the room he found himself baffled at his patient, whose mood, much like her hair, seemed to change on a whim.

The conference room was far too large for the event, he mused to himself as he allowed his eyes to dart around the room.

The room at the Gelded Griffin was used primarily as a breakout room for the larger conferences that frequented Diagon Alley's classic hotel.

The four of them could have had this meeting in a much smaller room within the Three Broomsticks, but he supposed it was oddly appropriate for his brothers.

"Thank you for coming." George greeted, firmly grasping his hand as he did so.

Fred repeated the gesture, as Charlie shot an amused glance towards Bill, only to see him offering Fred a casual hug.

"Thanks for bringing him, Bill."

' I've been set up.' Charlie thought amused despite himself.

Fred continued by greeting him more formally.

He always groaned at the phrase 'identical twins,' having learned long ago that while they may look similar, the pair had two distinct personalities.

"Thank you for inviting me." He exclaimed courteously, deciding to play along, for now.

The twins shared a quick glance, before Fred offered them a smile.

"It's Bill you should be thanking."

Simultaneous looks of gratitude were shot towards his older brother, who smiled kindly at the praise.

"He believed in our vision." Fred continued confidently.

"His belief led you to us." George finished, slightly less confident than his older brother.

He groaned as he realized what this was.

"We're offering you an opportunity to invest in our vision." Fred's voice oozed charisma while his body language expressed a certain sense of self-confidence, no doubt honed through years of pitching George's creations to their guinea pigs.

For years the twins had insisted to their mother that they were going to open their own joke store someday, and for years mum had had conniptions over their post-Hogwarts plans.

Personally, he had always suspected it was more of a way to wind her up than a proclamation of future intent.

As Fred jumped into his pitch, Charlie chanced a glance at Bill, who looked rather bored by the whole thing.

Bill's interest perplexed him; what did they do to sell their careful older brother?

The presentation was good, he admitted as he found himself interacting with his brothers as they bounced energetically around the room, playing the enthusiastic showmen, asking for his help in demonstrating several products, laughing at the whimsical reactions they inspired.

Hesitantly he took a bite of the proffered taffy; he briefly tasted a hint of cherry on his tongue before he felt his stomach stir.

Suddenly he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach into a bucket that had appeared on the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he continued to heave until he saw Bill offering him another piece of taffy.

Grasping it desperately, Charlie waited for a break in the vomiting before forcing it down.

Instantly the puking stopped, and he found himself back to normal.

"Skiving Snackboxes." George said, more than a hint of pride in his voice.

"Three sickles each and they come in seven flavors!" Fred added. "That's a 33% profit margin." He finished smugly.

Molly Weasley spent years griping about the loud experiments coming from the twins room in the middle of the night, the never-ending detentions, and the cavalier attitude Fred and George took towards their studies.

His brothers had always been smart, even if his mother was too dense to see it.

"And you made these?" He said.

Fred must have heard the disbelief in his voice. "Of course he did!" The older twin exclaimed proudly. "EVERY product we will sell will be a Weasley creation."

It was hard to ignore the passion in Fred's voice as he spoke.

Charlie thought for a second.

"How will you reproduce these on a large enough scale?"

George beamed with pride; "I can reproduce all six of our products on a large enough scale to sell, it's a relatively simple production that is teachable, so as we expand I can focus my time less on production, and more on research and development."

Fred nodded in agreement; "we've been selling our products across Hogwarts, taking advantage of our foreign guests to cultivate an international audience."

Correctly sensing that his odds were increasing, Fred pushed forward; "we hope to open a stand in Diagon Alley by the end of June, while opening a second stand in Hogsmeade for weekends when students will be around."

"Don't forget the owl service." George chirped in; always slightly more extroverted when Fred was taking the lead.

"Right-o smart twin!" Fred quipped.

"I thought I was the good-looking one?" George shot back, sounding put out.

"Don't be daft!"

The scene caused him to laugh, giving him an opportunity to catch his senses.

"Between permits, inventory, and staff I'm not sure what I could offer would make much of a difference."

His voice carried his genuine disappointment at the lost opportunity.

To his surprise, the twins didn't look the least bit concerned, neither did Bill, for that matter.

"Don't worry about the staff." George quipped. "We can operate the stand over the summer, I'm sure Ron and Ginny would jump at the chance to earn some pocket money while we save up to hire a staff."

"And we have other investors that are taking care of the permits." Fred added.

Charlie glanced at Bill.

Seeing his brothers smug smile, Charlie saw a problem with the timeline.

"Getting the permits by June isn't possible. Not without friends in the Wizengamot." He deadpanned.

Bill's smile widened, and it suddenly became apparent to him.

That girl Bill spent so much time with, the one who had invited him to that evening's heavily shrouded meeting, the duelist, Nymphadora Tonks.

She voted the Black and Potter seats in the Wizengamot.

The triumvirate of Black, Greengrass, and Potter had been surprisingly active in the Wizengamot of late, making news on the continent for forcing through Britain's new anti-corruption measures, as well as the increased defense budget.

With the passing of the late Lord Black, the votes he had controlled had become a lot more aggressive as of late.

"We already have the permits." Fred said smugly, glancing at Bill briefly, confirming his suspicions.

"How much did Bill pledge?" Charlie asked happy that his brothers may get a shot at their dreams so early in their careers.

The twins glanced at each other before answering in unison.

"Five thousand galleons."

Charlie groaned, not surprised at the generous amount before assessing his own finances.

"Twenty-five hundred galleons. That's what I can give you."

It was Fred that answered; "then we can give you ten percent." The handsome twin said with a smile.

Fleur took a hard left into the girls lavatory, narrowing her shoulders to avoid a vaguely familiar girl with brown hair, tired hazel eyes, and a kind smile as she did so.

She flicked her wand and exhaled heavily at the results of the ' hominem revelio' charm.

She was all alone.

Twirling a strand of platinum hair with her ring finger, she began briskly pacing the length of the narrow bathroom anxiously, nervous despite herself.

She paused to take in her appearance in the ceiling-length mirror, scrutinizing herself for the slightest of imperfections.

Her face turned to a look of disgust as she caught sight of her heather robes before tapping them with her wand.

' I could have sworn I'd already done this.' She thought as her robes straightened themselves out.

Her eyes moved to her hair, causing her to frown again.

Removing the elastic that held her hair in check, Fleur let her fingers run through her just-past shoulder length hair, making sure to remove any vestiges of the single braid that had tied it all together just moments before.

Taking some time to calm herself, she admired the chaos of her straw mane, before practicing her most charming smile, and tapping her cheek with her wand.

Feeling her breath freshen, the Beauxbatons Champion returned her attention to her hair, softly touching it with her wand, watching as the strands straightened themselves, making itself manageable, but nowhere near perfect.

Taking out the first thing she ever enchanted - an ornate golden hairbrush - and admiring it with protective eyes, she ran he comb through her mess of tangles.

Her thick, unruly, blonde hair, she mused, had inspired her obsession with charms long before her first year at Beauxbatons.

Sick of laboring over her appearance, a seven-year-old Fleur had taken her mother's advice and, with her help, began researching ways to make life more manageable.

Her first issue, she had realized, had been her hair. Specifically, how difficult it was to manage.

Her first solution had been potions, a quick application to a normal hair brush could undo her knots in moments, but she realized she lacked the patience for such a delicate art, and had moved on to charms, quickly discovering one which she could apply to her hairbrush.

Her mastery of the simple charm had led her to pursue other ways to improve her life through magic.

Sometime during her second year she had become annoyed with having to apply the individual charm to her brush every morning, leading her to research a more permanent solution.

Her hairbrush, a creation that took most of the summer before her third year, was the result.

Satisfied with her appearance, Fleur took one last look at herself in the mirror before exiting the loo and heading towards her destination.

"Fleur!"

The dark-haired woman exclaimed expressively as she stepped into Septima's private quarters.

The soon-to-be eighteen-year-old met the older witch in the center of the room, grasping her tightly, letting her embrace linger as she took in the smell of honey and vanilla that assaulted her senses.

"I'm so proud of you." The older woman gushed.

Fleur felt herself flush despite herself as she smiled into the taller woman's shoulder.

When she had discovered Gabrielle missing at breakfast the previous morning she had been worried sick; that worry faded, leaving rage in its place as she prepared for the second task to begin.

It had taken her nearly fifteen minutes to rescue Gabby from the bed of that freezing lake, and despite assurances that the "hostages" were never in any real danger, the whole event had enraged her nonetheless.

"Merci."

"What did your parents have to say after your victory?"

She affixed her false smile as the Runes professor asked about her family.

"They were proud, the whole school was." Her parents had been beaming with pride all afternoon, going out of their way to fawn over her accomplishments, embarrassing her in front of the international media.

Septima nodded enthusiastically. "You were inspiring."

She suspected Septima was using her for information on her family, and the weight of that suspicion had been giving her fits.

' Am I being paranoid? What value did she provide? Should I stop seeing her?' All those thoughts had crossed through her mind before she had finally determined that she did not care.

"Are you still planning on taking a position with your father's firm?"

The pair had spent months like this; meeting privately, first in her old quarters, then in the Deputy Headmistresses quarters after the woman's promotion, exploring Fleur's hopes and dreams, occasionally learning something from the private, older witch.

The impropriety of the relationship helped her cope with the anxiety and desperation that had become her oldest friend.

"I prefer the offer from Gringotts's, but father is skeptical of Britain's safety at the moment."

Finance would never satisfy her in the long-term, and the offer from Gringotts's wasn't going anywhere.

After the recent attacks her family worried enough about the safety of her and Gabby while they were guests at this wretched castle, living in this dreary place full-time during a time of such uncertainty would give her father an aneurism.

Fleur would never forget that boy interrupting the Yule Ball, yelling about a bloody witch in the garden.

The fact that the witch had survived had been a minor miracle, given her condition.

When she regained conscious, the Hogwarts defense professor had been emphatic in her claims that the attack on their head of magical law enforcement had been directed by a dead man.

The memory brought a question to the forefront of her mind.

"Do you remember the first war, Septima?"

A flash of rage seemed to cross her professors attractive face at the question - catching Fleur off-guard - before a kind expression settled across her sharp features.

"My family was killed in a battle between Death Eaters and a vigilante group looking to stop them." The warding expert began.

' That explains the rage.' She thought to herself.

"It wasn't all bad." Septima added, seemingly trying to convince herself more than Fleur.

"After my family was killed I was taken in by a widowed pureblood and her son, I'd been an only child before."

Her voice was contemplative and tinged with sadness as she drifted off, lost in thought at the unpleasant memory.

Fleur felt tears welling up in her eyes, and with slight trepidation she leaned in, pressing her lips lightly against Septima's.

"Eyes up!" He snapped in annoyance; his trademark scowl the focal point of his otherwise bland face.

The man gave him a clueless look, blinking twice in confusion.

"Damn French." He mumbled to himself. Perplexed as to how the dark lord expected him to train imbeciles who couldn't understand his basic instructions.

"You." He called, pointing at a younger death eater with brown hair who appeared to be switching between French and English intermittently.

The young man glanced up, before standing tensely at attention, waiting for his orders.

"You speak French?"

"Yes sir." The boy answered quickly.

"Translate for me then."

The new recruit nodded respectfully, following a step behind his trainer.

"Tell that dimwit to tighten his grip!"

" Resserrez votre emprise" The boy ordered, causing the recruit to glance between the boy and Snape before nodding his head resolutely.

Severus sighed as the French Auror's second attempt wasn't much better than his first, the bone-splintering curse only coming a few centimeters closer to hitting the impossibly large target.

"Worthless bastard." He mumbled again; silently raising his own wand and firing off a single bone-splintering curse, watching impassively as it effortlessly tore through the dummies faux abdomen.

Snape moved silently through the various death eaters training side by side with a select group of French aurors, assessing the current level of the dark lord's newest recruits.

He watched quietly as a pair of recruits tried to outduel a third who was calmly dodging their meager attempts.

' They're not anticipating his movements.' He thought as the lone recruit finished off his counterparts with a laugh.

"You!" He snapped towards the laughing Death Eater, grabbing his attention.

Silently, Severus stepped into a dueling stance before motioning for the cocky little shit to begin his attack.

He didn't have to wait long before the brunette opened with a couple of familiar cutters.

Severus calmly stepped out of the way of the first few before deflecting a pair of piercing curses and going on the offensive.

He watched silently as he continued to hurl stunners at his opponent, making sure to aim, as the recruits had, directly at him instead of anticipating his movements.

Left, forward, backward, right.

The pattern was the same as his duel with his previous opponents.

The smile on his opponents face grew as he continued his dance, avoiding Severus's second year spells.

Left, forward, backward…

Anticipating his next move, a twisted smile crossed Snape's thin lips.

"Crucio!"

He verbalized his spell, anticipating his opponents moves and aiming slightly to the right.

The dark red spell found it's mark, hitting the man in the chest, forcing out an excruciating scream.

' Weak.' He thought in disgust.

' None of them compare to Potter.' He thought with disgust.

More often than not, over the past few weeks, Severus found himself comparing his charges to a fourteen-year-old.

Ending the spell, he hit the man with a silencing charm, not willing to let the fools whimpering disrupt his teaching.

Turning to the small group that had assembled, Snape began his questioning.

"You!" He snapped, pointing to a larger death eater standing off to the side. "What did this idiot do wrong?" He finished, pointing towards his whimpering opponent who had begun violently shaking silently in the center of the half-circle.

"He got hit with an unforgivable." The large man said bluntly, causing the crowd to laugh while Snape growled in frustration.

' I hope he dies first.'

The thought caused a savage smile to spread across his face.

"He was cocky and predictable." A second voice cut in.

' At least someone was paying attention.'

Severus turned towards the witch who actually appeared to give a damn, offering her a brief nod of approval.

"Predictability leads to death." He stated bluntly, before turning to the fat man once more.

"You must learn to fight through the pain!" He snarled, his voice amplified by magic.

"If you can't fight through the pain, you will die."

His statement was blunt and certain; causing the trainees to pause.

"It's not possible to fight through the Cruciatus Curse."

Occlumency prevented him from rolling his eyes at the common misconception.

' It's only impossible for the weak.'

He scoffed at the young witch who dared to question him.

Why was he wasting his time training these fools?

Potter could do much more than fight through it; with Moody as his trainer, the boy had learned to properly cast the spell for himself.

"If a fourteen-year-old can do it, then you need to be able to do it."

An idea popping into his head, Snape smiled before leveling his wand at the witch who had questioned him.

"It seems I have identified a gap in your training."

A panicked look crossed the stern woman's face, causing Snape to smile widely.

Allowing his mind to fill with hatred, Snape snarled; "Crucio."

His shifting weight caused the leather on his chair to squeak loudly in the otherwise empty office.

Flipping the worn page of the delicate journal lightly, Lucius continued in silent contentment, finally happy to have the opportunity to read his father's sprawling journals.

He had had a somewhat strained relationship with the severe man, and he was ashamed to admit that youthful arrogance prevented him from seeking out his counsel while the man was still alive.

For years after his father's death, he had meant to read through the journals that documented most of Abraxas Malfoy's life, only to be pulled into another tedious project. It wasn't until he had taken it upon himself to catalogue the patriarch's study at Malfoy Manor that he had been reminded of his desire to learn more about his late father.

He had been reading for nearly an hour when a throw-away paragraph caught his attention.

Lucius adjusted the light emitting from the lamp on the wall before re-reading the previous paragraph, trying to ensure that he had deciphered the untidy scrawl in front of him correctly.

Poor penmanship, Abraxas Malfoy's secret shame. A defect he refused to let his son carry with him, forcing him to write endless lines in a multitude of fonts, demanding that his son master them all.

"… even after receiving re-assurances on safety from customs, I quietly questioned the coloring of the Horntail's lung, which appeared, at least to my eye, to be a sickly bright yellow. However, after consulting with our researcher, it was determined that the lung was safe for consumption."

Lucius's eyes drifted back to the top of the page.

' March 10th, 1975.'

A cold fury passed through him as he re-read the passage for the third time.

Bookmarking the page in his father's journal, Lucius made his way over to the westernmost corner of the room, confidently stepping through the wall and into a dimly lit corridor.

Picking up his pace, Lucius found his way to a small, cramped room filled with row upon row of ledgers.

Making a way towards the proper row, Lucius picked up the appropriate ledger, flipping several pages before allowing his eyes to settle on the date he was looking for.

' 3/10/75, Bellatrix Lestrange, Customs.'

She woke up with a start, her eyes shooting open as she sat up suddenly in her four-poster bed.

Her silver nighty clung to her tightly as she wrapped her arms protectively across her chest.

After several agonizing moments, Astoria felt her breathing begin to steady.

Glancing about her area, she calmed slightly when she noticed the emerald curtains surrounding her bed were still securely closed, protecting her from the prying eyes of her classmates.

' It was just a dream.' She told herself, only half-convinced.

Closing her eyes, Astoria took a couple more deep breaths before reaching over to her nightstand and grabbing her yew and dragon heartstring wand.

She sighed involuntarily as the comforting warmth of her wand enveloped her, easing her worries slightly as she regained control of herself.

' But what if it wasn't just a dream?' The uncomfortable thought found itself burrowing deeper and deeper into the recesses of her mind, filling her with dreadful thoughts.

' Brown hair, a girlish laugh, surprise, a familiar face, and a feeling of horror as she is enveloped in light and her mind fades to black.'

Astoria allowed the comforting feeling of the cool wood between her fingers to calm her as she tapped the lamp above her bed, causing her to squint in displeasure as the area surrounding her bed came alight.

Taking a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, she grabbed the journal and quill sitting on her nightstand, before quickly checking the time.

' 2/17/1995, 4:45.'

' Not exactly an ideal start to my Friday.' She thought as she sighed in displeasure, wondering if she would be able to catch anymore sleep before breakfast.

Fingering her quill and opening to the first blank page in her dream journal, the younger Greengrass sister tried to clear her mind like Harry had shown her, desperate to remember something new from the nightmare that felt so real.

Giving up a few minutes later, the third-year Slytherin let out a cute harrumph before she began to write down what she could remember of the mysterious nightmare that continued to plague her dreams.

"Good afternoon, Ambassador."

The polite, if formal, greeting shook Lucius from his thoughts as he offered the man in front of him a polite smile.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Minister Boucher." Lucius replied with a slight Parisian accent.

The Immigration Minister's eyes narrowed slightly, but his facial expression remained neutral.

' As if he had a choice.' He thought to himself.

After putting the idea in Minister DuPont's head, it had taken less than a day before Boucher had quit ignoring his missive's and had given him time on his schedule.

"I have reviewed the proposal endorsed by your Wizengamot and our Minister of Magic, and against my advisement, Minister DuPont has decided to proceed with the proposed agreement between our countries."

' Of course he has, you idiot.'

"I understand your trepidation, Louis." He started, a touch of sympathy made his words sound that much more sincere. "Minister Nott sees an open borders agreement between our two great countries as a way to strengthen the bonds of trust between our great nations."

Lucius offered the portly man his most charming smile; "Minister DuPont agrees."

' Because I told him to.' He added silently, taking pleasure in the power he wielded.

Lucius and Louis sat motionlessly for several long moments before the other man found his voice.

"Our alliance is of great importance to me, and this country…" The Immigration Minister started carefully. "It is not something that either country should jeopardize."

Lucius nodded slowly in agreement, sensing the man was building to something.

"But the recent attacks by your sister-in-law, Ambassador Malfoy, pose a threat to both our countries national security."

He frowned at the mention of Bellatrix.

"She has been disowned by my wife's family." He said dismissively, not bothering to point out that his wife's family and his family were now on opposites sides of the same conflict. "We strongly condemn her alleged crimes and are working to bring her to justice."

Boucher dismissed his prepared statement casually with a wave of his arm.

"Of course, you do, Ambassador Malfoy." The Immigration Minister added, unconvinced of his statements accuracy. "I just hope your actions match your words."

He tapped his mahogany desk, deep in thought as he re-read the missive passed on to him by a friend, a man he knew to be close to the Dark Lord, weighing his options.

As he read the brief missive for the third time, he felt his desperation subside as an idea began to build itself in his mind.

Not for the first time Octavius had found himself between his fear of Voldemort and his own lust for power.

For all his ancient family's accomplishments, a Nott had never been appointed 'Minister of Magic.'

Lucius Malfoy had known that and had used Octavius's own desire to distinguish himself among his illustrious family as leverage against him.

Increasing a budget here, turning a blind-eye there; that's what Lucius had sold him on, not something this monstrous.

The order, of course, hadn't come from Lucius, but from Lestrange; and Bellatrix had been quite insistent in her desire to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.

His hesitation had earned Octavius a howler from him.

He shuddered at the memory; calm, cool, and deadly; like a serpent preparing to strike its prey.

Not even the Minister of Magic could say no to the Dark Lord.

Calmly, Octavius reached for a quill and some parchment, taking a minute before beginning a letter to his old classmate.

' Dear Lady Lestrange…'

Once-upon-a-time he had worked with a young Bellatrix Black in the Trade Office after Hogwarts, where the most the persuasive witch could ask of him was for some forged documents.

Now she asked for significantly more of him.

Finishing up the missive, Octavius Nott sent it off with an ordinary looking barn owl before taking a moment to enjoy the last of a moderately sized glass of Firewhiskey, savoring the bold burning sensation in the back of his throat.

Carrying on with his original idea, the Minister of Magic flicked his wand, activating his offices privacy wards before making his way back over towards his desk, pausing to unlock an unseen drawer.

Removing the worn, leather journal, Minister Nott began writing a second letter.

' Theodore…'

He took a look around the third-floor students lounge casually, searching for a proper target.

' Bingo.' Terry thought to himself as his eyes landed on Zacharias Smith.

With a devious smile, Terry gently pushed his way into the arrogant hufflepuffs mind, searching for the password to his common room.

A moment later he pulled out of his targets mind before quickly jotting down the password to Helga's common room on a piece of parchment. Quietly he placed the piece of parchment face down on the table next to his leather recliner before turning his attention back to the room at large.

The room was rich with excitement following the semifinals of the dueling portion of the tournament that afternoon.

Quickly Terry glanced around the room debating who his next target would be when he saw a paranoid Draco Malfoy sneak into the lounge before scurrying off to a table near the back corner of the room.

He smiled as he realized he had an opportunity to pry information from Malfoy for Daphne.

Eager to get in the frightening witch's good graces, he reached out softly with his mind and eased his way in.

A small blonde-haired boy shatters a vase in a greenhouse.

" Draco!" An attractive blonde-haired witch with high cheekbones and a haughty expression cries out, the smile belittling her somewhat stern demeanor.

Terry pushed forward, focusing on more recent memories.

Dozens of memories passed through his mind before one in particular caught his attention.

" It is no longer a concern." A stern looking Lucius Malfoy said, a sense of finality dripping from voice.

" Astoria trusts me." Draco pleaded, seemingly desperate to please his father.

The older man sighed, his features softening significantly. "The memories are no longer in their library."

Before Terry could push further, a hastily placed set of occlumency shields made their presence known.

Deciding to pull away before he gets caught, Terry pushed the disturbing memory from his mind, deciding to focus on the attractive strawberry blonde headed his way, idly noticing that the piece of parchment he had set down moments before was now gone, replaced with a single gold galleon.

"Sue!" He exclaimed with exaggerated excitement.

"How's my favorite Hufflepuff?"

Susan Bones rolled her eyes in exasperation, ignoring his question. "Have you seen Harry? I have a message to pass to him from my aunt."

Terry kept his face neutral, but inwardly groaned; members of the Wizengamot had been using their kids as intermediaries to reach out to Harry since the latest session resumed after the first of the year.

"He and Daphne went to celebrate their victories." He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

In reality the pair were likely in one of their secret rooms he wasn't supposed to know about, but Sue didn't need to know that.

The Hufflepuff smiled lightly, showing off a pretty pair of pearly whites.

"How do you think they will react, having to face each other in the finals?"

Privately Terry thought a moderated duel in a safe environment between the two would be a nice change of pace for the increasingly violent couple.

Throwing on a thoughtful look, Terry paused for a moment before responding.

"I'm not sure, they're both pretty competitive. I guess we'll find out in a month."

As good as she was, Daphne didn't stand a chance against Harry.

Sensing finality, Sue said goodbye before returning to her friends.

"… she's not been taking it well." The shrill voice of Tracy Davis stated loudly.

Pansy paused thoughtfully for once, carefully considering her words.

Deciding it must be safe to talk to in front of him, the larger girl started.

"Well how would you react if it had been me who had been sacrificed?"

Tracy nodded her head sagely. "It's still hard to think about." The brunette trailed off at this, allowing for the conversation to go quiet for several seconds.

"I heard some of the younger girls say that her sister is even having nightmares. "

Pansy shuddered.

' If Daphne hears them gossiping she'll rip them apart.' He thought, keeping his opinions to himself.

Before he could hear her response, he felt a warmth in his pocket.

Untangling his hand from Tracy's; he reached into his robes before politely excusing himself.

Finding a quiet place in the corner of the common room, Theo read his father's note, a look of consternation on his face.

He understood his dad's precarious position; caught between the dark lord and his duties as Minister of Magic leaving him with an impossible choice.

" Please inform Lord Potter that…"

He paused in shock as he read his father's missive.

' They'll know.' He thought to himself. 'They'll know, and he'll kill us for it.'

Coming to a decision, Theo erased his father's message.

Trying to forget what he had just read, Theo turned on his heal, hoping to find Tracy where he left her.

A noise startled him, pulling Corban from the stack of parchment lying on the desk in front of him.

Taking a look around, he frowned when he realized he had let time get away from him once again, leaving him empty in the bowels of the Ministry.

He groaned in frustration for allowing himself to get absorbed in his work, only to admonish himself for that thought a moment later.

For months he had been looking for an opportunity to impress his lord, only to come up short on ideas.

His older sister had advised him to show some initiative at work, encouraging him to study for the Hit Wizard field test.

" Make yourself indispensable. The Dark Lord always needs skilled spies."

Grabbing his cloak, Corban casually strolled through the halls towards the lift, thoughts of a steak and a pint flooding his mind before an idea sprung into his head.

An excited smile at his lips, he turned around, hurrying back towards the security archives.

The smell of stale parchment assaulted his senses as he stepped into the damp storage space that made up the ministries security archives.

Records of every ward the ministry had enacted lay sprawled out in the rows in front of him.

There was no guarantee the plan would work; some families could afford to hire private contractors.

Somehow, he doubted the family he was searching for could afford such niceties.

' Greengrass… Greengrass… Greengrass…'

Finding the surname printed elegantly on a large, pearl white file near the back of a cabinet, Corban Yaxley grinned victoriously, quickly removing a camera from his bag, he took pictures of all the documents before making his way from the archives, a proud smile on his face.