Harry Potter and The Beauty of Magic Chapter 4 (The Stories of The Past) (Patreon)

Narcissa

"If you were hoping to see the guest of honor and learn about his travels, I am afraid you're going to be disappointed," Narcissa Malfoy drawled, fingers brushing the triple rope of pearls around her throat.

"I predicted Uncle Rosier would be inebriated an hour ago," Bellatrix Lestrange replied. She turned away from her sister to examine the crowd with narrowed eyes. "Anyway, he was just the excuse to throw a party and I daresay you've done a fine job, tiresome as I find the majority of these idiots."

Narcissa accepted the compliment with a nod. "I know, and it's worth it for the publi—" she stopped when Bellatrix made an impatient noise.

"Fuck, Cissy. I was just starting to enjoy myself."

Like a ship bearing bad news, Walburga Black was sailing across the room towards them. Though their aunt was supposedly mourning Uncle Orion, her expression was haughty rather than bereaved. She wasted no time with pleasantries. "Where  in Merlin's name is my son?"

"It's lovely to see you too, Aunt." Bellatrix smiled with teeth. "Did you try under the bar?"

A vein pulsed in Walburga's forehead. "I am not in the mood for your cheek today. It is imperative that he befriend some of those debutantes."

"I'm sure he will emerge, Aunt. And he was chatting with one of the Wilkes sisters earlier." Narcissa raised her hand at a floating tray and helped herself to more champagne, wishing it was hard liquor.

Their aunt's scowl deepened. "Since Orion's untimely death, I have reached the conclusion that I cannot rest soundly at night until Regulus is married and there are two boys in the cradle to inherit the Black fortune. None of us are getting any younger. I daresay the same fear must plague  your father-in-law, Narcissa."

Narcissa blanched with dismay. "Aunt, really—"

"For Merlin's sake, leave her alone. There are enough sniveling little brats in this world without any of us adding to it," Bellatrix cut in crisply. She took the champagne glass from Narcissa and finished it.

Regulus

Regulus Arcturus Black, heir to the Black fortune, was huddling in a corner of the ornate ballroom near several potted palms. "I hate parties," he muttered to Barty Crouch, Jr., who was picking through a plate of canapés.

"Don't be absurd," Barty flattened his strawlike hair with no success. "The Malfoys throw the best ones. Blackberries aren't even in season, look!"

"Having a father who's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wards off bloodsucking girls better than any charm," Regulus sighed. "I don't have your luck. Look. Hester Wilkes is already planning on how to redecorate Grimmauld Place once I marry her daughter."

"Which daughter, though?" Barty's good mood couldn't be tempered. "Gemma and Evan Rosier vanished an hour ago. Oh right, aren't you and Julia a thing now?"

"A thing? We had dinner twice. She's nice."

"You could do worse than 'nice'," Barty said. "Cheer up. I'm going to Imperius Matilda Bulstrode into propositioning Severus." His skill was such that a slight twitch of his wand and the chubby girl began to stride towards Severus Snape, expression glassy.

"Stop, Barty. What's the use?" Regulus' voice was an exemplar of patrician boredom, and he tried to hide his discomfort, shifting from one foot to the other. Barty had only been Marked last week, but he already seemed like someone else. They were distracted by a commotion near the door, and Barty released the spell with a shrug.

"Do you feel...  different  ?" Regulus asked him, as they joined the crowd pushing towards the foyer. "You know, now. Since you got  it."

"I feel glorious," Barty whispered. "I've never felt more... free. Hasn't it made you feel that way?"

Regulus couldn't say it had. The crowd was quieting down—he craned his neck to see uniformed Aurors at the entrance. Out of the group, he only recognized the broad-shouldered figure of Edgar Bones, a pureblood Auror notorious for marrying a mudblood.

"Bones, this is a  private  party. Can your business not wait until Monday?" Lucius Malfoy stood next to Cissy with a sneer on his pale, narrow face.

Bones didn't smile. "No. We lock up dangerous criminals at all hours, Malfoy. We have arrest warrants for you, for Rodolphus Lestrange, and one for your guest of honor, Grayson Rosier."

"What are the charges?" Cissy's voice could have frozen water in July.

"Involvement in the murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett." He redirected his attention towards Lucius, ignoring the shocked murmurs from the group. "Will the lot of you come quietly or not?"

Edgar

"I can't believe you, Edgar!" The subject of the attack groaned, looking up into his sister's irate green eyes. It was common knowledge that you couldn't set foot in the Ministry without tripping over a Bones, but tonight, Edgar Bones dearly wished his younger sister wasn't legal counsel to the Auror Department. Instead of replying, he took a sizable gulp of coffee, eyes tearing up as scalded the back of his mouth.

"Do you know what  time  it is? I now have to deal with irate attorneys and Bagnold's assistant wants to know what's going on. Not to mention all of this!" She levitated a pile of paperwork towards him. "When I got those warrants signed I didn't think it was for  tonight! This is bullshit, Edgar. Bullshit."

"Why don't you sit down, Amelia," Rufus Scrimgeour called from across the room. Despite the hour, the Auror office was nearly as well-lit and staffed as it had been at noon. "Have a danish."

"Stop bribing me, Scrimgeour. How the hell are we going to deal with this?"

Edgar shook his head and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "You saw the picture of Gideon and Fabian's bodies. I'd swear on our mother's grave they were involved. Several tippers reported seeing Malfoy, Lestrange, and Rosier around the Prewetts' flat the day of the murder, and they practically walk around trumpeting support for You-Know-Who."

"And think about their records," Frank Longbottom added as he refilled coffee cups. "We practically need a separate room for all the Lestrange files."

"I'm here to fulfill the description of my job and give you my advice, so here it is: this was  stupid." Amelia was unappeased. "This will turn into a PR nightmare in about ten seconds and Edgar made himself even more unpopular with the purists."

Rufus scowled. "This job  is  a PR nightmare, but we can blame goddamn mother-loving vigilantes for half of it. After the Aethonan Club bombing and Orion Black's death, it obviously looks bad to arrest prominent purebloods, but we  know  these are Death Eaters, we  know  the Prewetts made themselves mighty unpopular with them and we have to do our jobs."

Edgar gave Frank a sideways glance. The Aethonan Club bombing two months ago had been a botched Order project—at the time, destroying the club where society's finest went to drink and plot Muggle killings had seemed to be a good plan. Of course, they hadn't counted on anyone being in the building, especially Sirius Black's father.

"I'm sure the vigilantes thought they were helping," Frank remarked dryly. "And I'm happy to talk to Gladys Gudgeon in PR if you want, Amelia."

"I'm going to go talk to Malfoy." Edgar stood up suddenly.

Amelia didn't bother to look up. "You can't. His attorney is downstairs getting ready."

Ignoring her, Edgar strode in the direction of the holding cells, followed by trainee John Dawlish, who looked ready to fall asleep on his feet. He waved Dawlish away as he reached #4 and entered alone, slamming the door behind him.

Sitting on the cell's lone chair, Lucius Malfoy looked bored with his surroundings. "I would like a glass of ice water and my attorney."

Edgar scowled. "You get your attorney when we say so and you can forget about drinks, Malfoy. Believe it or not, the we don't revolve around your money here."

Lucius smirked. "Edgar, I only contribute to  worthwhile  organizations. Needless to say, the Auror department does not make the list.  I want my attorney."

"What did you do to Gideon and Fabian Prewett? "

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Edgar gritted his teeth and slid the photograph of the twins' mauled bodies across the table towards Lucius. "This is life in Azkaban we're looking at here. Your associates Rodolphus Lestrange and Grayson Rosier were also involved."

Lucius glanced at the photo without emotion and pushed it back towards Edgar. "Rodolphus is absorbed by scholarly pursuits and I by philanthropy. The fact that you profile me for simply expressing purist values is disgusting. I have always wondered why people place you in positions of responsibility time and again when it is  clear  that you are ill-suited for it."

Their faces were scant inches apart now. "This isn't  profiling . We  saw you  scouting the area."

Lucius' grey eyes glittered. "Really, if  you  feel the need to dilute your blood through marrying filth, so be it, but I think—"

Edgar felt his arm wrenched backwards by a spell.

"Lay a finger on my client and I  will  have you suspended for misconduct, Bones." Like Malfoy and Lestrange, Elliot Avery was still wearing dress robes. "We've sorted it out. Mr. Malfoy will be leaving immediately." With parting smirks, they were gone.

Edgar collapsed against the wall outside the cell, silent for a long minute with fury and misery. "How the hell did he get here so fast?"

Rather than Dawlish, it was Rufus who answered. "Avery? His only clients are the Black, Malfoy, and Lestrange families."

Edgar struggled with ways to express his displeasure and eventually prodded the sleeping Dawlish with the toe of his boot. "And the alibi?"

Rufus snorted. "Having dinner with his wife at Trois Sorcières, with multiple eyewitnesses and waiters to confirm it. But  that  was unacceptable, Bones. You're too damn personally steeped in this murder—I understand you were close to those twins, but if you can't handle it without jeopardizing your safety I will put you on desk duty and give this case to Proudfoot, Merlin help me. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Edgar muttered. "Crystal."

Emmeline

Emmeline Vance got the summons around midnight—she found clothes and ran a comb through her tangled dark hair with the easy practice of someone who had done this many times. When she reached the Longbottoms' cottage, people were already crammed on sofas. Lily gave her a tentative smile and James patted her hand as she sat down. She noticed that the conversation changed around her—it was  frustrating. Only Sirius greeted her with a normal wave and went right back to building a tower of Exploding Snap cards with pictures of naked women.

"So," Dorcas said, looking up as the Aurors entered the room. "Do we have leads? What's going on?"

Edgar exchanged a look with Frank and cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent. Emmeline sat up straighter and leaned forward. Benjy's lips were pressed in a thin line. You could feel the absences of Gideon and Fabian like a physical wound.

"Well, the DMLE doesn't have much," Edgar admitted. "Muggle authorities are stumped, of course—the door was locked from the inside. But we saw Malfoy, Rosier and Lestrange around the area and picked them up tonight."

Emmeline's hands were in fists. "Did they—"

"Of course not," Alastor Moody growled. The maze of bandages where his eye used to be made him look scarier than ever, if possible. "The Prevention of Terrorism Acts don't let us hold for longer than a few hours, and they had lawyers ready."

"That's why the legal way doesn't always work," Sirius said. "Some of these people just think they're above the law. As I've been saying, we have to hit  them  where it hurts."

"We're not going to attack their families, Sirius," Remus said wearily. The past full moon had been rough, and he had a cobweb-like pattern of scars on the side of his face that were still healing. "See how Dumbledore feels about that, why don't you."

"This is unproductive," Alice's voice was firm. "We  will  bring the Death Eaters who did this to justice, and it will be within the legal framework if possible. In the meantime, it would be better to do reports." There were general noises of assent. Emmeline could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Sirius sighed. "I've been keeping an eye on my brother—he's not doing anything, but I'm certain he's been recruited. Jamie here has bigger news though."

James looked up. "Wha-? Oh, yeah, looks like Barty Crouch Jr. has joined up. Guess he's pissed enough at the old man, or little Reggie developed some powers of persuasion that are new."

Frank frowned and wrote it down. "That should go to Dumbledore," he said. "Other news?" People began their reports.

"Emmeline?" Alice asked, hesitantly.

"I've been working on the eavesdropping devices Fabian and I started... I have the plans. He wanted to call them stretchable ears or something silly, but the notes are good. I also have an idea for a project involving a way to take down wards quietly, but it needs development." She could feel the tension alleviate in the room as she reported.  See!  She wanted to scream,  I'm not fragile!

Alice made a note and turned to Dedalus Diggle, who wanted to discuss self-defense classes in Hogsmeade. However, the biggest news came from Mundungus Fletcher, once Frank had confiscated several silver spoons from inside his jacket.

"There's been a buncha shipments of illegal potion ingredients comin' in," he said reluctantly. "Stuff from Bulgaria or Brussels or summat. Don't want to bother myself wiv it—that's five years in Azkaban if a day for Erumpent horns wiv no license."

"That's terrifying," Emmeline said. "Think of how much they could blow up with just one or two Erumpent horns."

"Or us, if we get them first," Sirius interjected.

Edgar

They finally shooed everyone out so that only the Aurors remained.

"You're a bloody idiot, Bones," Moody snarled, taking a swig from his flask. Edgar had to admire his restraint—the man had clearly been itching to say this for hours. "You really thought you could barge into a party and just  take  them? For the love of Merlin's bal—" he glanced at Alice and changed his mind "—Merlin's beard, there could be repercussions for this."

"Anything else?" Edgar said wryly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Must have been nice to get that off your chest, Alastor."

"What's done is done," Alice sighed. "I'm curious as to what this potion smuggling ring is all about, though—it's best to watch and wait at this point before we take it to Dumbledore. Dung can keep an eye on it. I'll part with some of Aunt Enid's silver spoons for that."

"The real issue is the kids. James and Sirius are too hotheaded," Frank said tiredly. "Watch and wait is good for the rest of us, but they're itching for a raid and we can't have them going rogue."

"A bunch of easy victories would be nice," Moody said, "But if wishes were eyes, I'd have both of mine."

Narcissa

Narcissa had almost finished cleaning up the party—or more accurately, supervising the house-elves—when chimes rang out throughout the Manor, signaling an arrival by Floo. She hurried to the entrance hall.

"Oh, you didn't have to wait up," Lucius drawled. It was their little joke. She always waited up.

"I hope Elliot wasn't still drunk when he arrived," Narcissa replied, moving forward to dust the last of the ash from his shoulders. "I fed him a triple dose of that quick sobriety potion. He'll have an enormous headache tomorrow."

A chuckle escaped Lucius as he kissed her, arms snaking around her waist. She pulled away with a sigh. "What a dreadful night. I'm devastated  and  I had to write Rita Skeeter a large check to cover for all this unpleasantness."

"You've thrown worse parties," he said with a straight face. "Remember that dinner party when Walburga—"

Narcissa covered his mouth with her hand. "I should have left you to rot in the holding cells. Horrible man." She turned on her heel and climbed the stairs to the master suite, Lucius following and loosening the collar of his dress robes.

He poured himself a glass of scotch. "I don't understand how they were  completely  off the mark. Myself, Rodolphus, and Uncle Grayson? That couldn't be further from the group that took care of the Prewett problem."

Narcissa sat at the vanity and began pulling pins out of the elaborate twist of hair on her head. "Perhaps they were hoping for some press. All of you  were  around the flat at that day, and the DMLE is understaffed enough that they shouldn't waste resources."

"I suppose so," he frowned, walking towards his closet. "Dolohov and Rookwood had better keep low profiles for the time being, though."

Narcissa made a noise of agreement and went back to examining her reflection, placing the tips of her fingers on the skin at the corners of her eyes.  What if Walburga was right?  she thought with a rush of panic. She  was  getting old. Claudia Nott was expecting, Leonora Parkinson was expecting again. Maybe there was something deeply wrong with her. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture the blood.

She forced her eyes open.

Regulus

It was a typical morning at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place: Regulus woke up in the library due to Kreacher the house-elf shaking his arm. "Whattimeisit," he croaked. There were ink stains running down his sleeves.

"Seven, Master Regulus!" Kreacher's voice was urgent. "Master Regulus cannot miss the breakfast with Miss Julia Wilkes and Miss Georgiana Wilkes and the Mrs. Wilkes. Kreacher's Mistress would be very unhappy with Master Regulus."

Kreacher was holding a tray with tea and sandwiches in one knobby hand and a freshly ironed shirt in the other. Regulus rubbed his eyes blearily and looked at the piles of scrolls around him.

"I wish I could get out of this," he said glumly. "Mother wants me to marry one of them."

Kreacher studied his face unblinkingly. "Kreacher thinks Master Regulus deserves a real lady, like Miss Bella or Miss Cissy."

Regulus wasn't sure how even someone with a very active imagination could consider Bella a lady, but he nodded. This was what the heir to a fortune  did, he told himself. Ignore disowned relatives. Have expensive hobbies. Support the Family and the Dark Lord. It would be a lie to say that the prospect hadn't been exciting at one point, because it was everything Sirius had hated.

But now the future of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black rested entirely on his shoulders, as Walburga liked to remind him on a daily basis. It was proving exhausting.

Emmeline

When Emmeline discovered that her access to the Time Room had been revoked, she did the reasonable thing and marched into her supervisor's office. Augustus Rookwood was peering at a scroll, face scrunched with concentration, but he looked up immediately when she walked in.

"Have a seat," he said. "Tea? Pumpkin Juice?"

She shook her head. "I'm ready to get to work, but my keys aren't working."

"I know."

"Well? Am I sacked or something?"

He sighed. "Of course not, Emmeline. There's just some Department protocol that has to be followed here. We revoke time room access for Unspeakables at any level for two weeks following the death of a family member or friend. We know that Fabian Prewett was in your year and House and that you were close—he's your emergency contact in your personnel form."

"That's absurd," she snapped. "I keep work strictly separate from my personal life, Augustus."

"But the nature of the work we do  is  personal," he said, adjusting the glasses perched on his pockmarked nose. "We're human. This isn't a character judgment. But time? Death? Unspeakables have tried to meddle with these things before when dealing with grief, with disastrous results." He picked up the scroll again. "You were thinking about some independent research on wards, weren't you? Try that," he said kindly. "Or take a break for a few days. Sleep. Eat something."

Emmeline got to her feet and left, walking through the atrium in a daze. She had gone through the wreckage of the flat with Molly and she had found the ring.

Would she have been able to resist? The Time Turners were just sitting there. 97 turns. It would have been so simple, to alert Dumbledore, to contact Moody, to go back and do  something . So simple. But there were always dimensions that you didn't think of, which was why there were rules. She felt a rush of gratitude for Augustus' understanding.

Narcissa

"How many miscarriages did you say?" They were in Narcissa's parents' townhouse, sitting in her old room. The Healer waved for her to get dressed.

Narcissa sighed, glancing at the pink and white upholstery around her. "Three. The first one—I didn't even know I was pregnant until it happened. That was three years ago. And then the one last year and one the year before."

"Mmm," the Healer flipped through the parchment stack. "Well, Mrs. Malfoy, you seem to be in fine health. Some women simply have a harder time conceiving and carrying to term. From looking at the medical records, I can see that women in your family have had trouble in the past."

"That's hardly hereditary."

"Maybe not, but who really knows? It seems to be a phenomenon these days in the older pureblood families, possibly due to an unhealthily high rate of intermarriage."

"You  dare—"

"I assure you my opinions are not politically motivated. They are simply from observation. I'll prescribe you tea with black cohosh and a few other potions." She stood up. "I can see myself out."

Narcissa watched her move towards the door with unhappiness and dislike, and was surprised when the Healer turned in the doorway to look back.

"You must stop blaming yourself for what has happened, Mrs. Malfoy. I often find that a woman's emotional state is as important as anything else."

Narcissa didn't respond. When she finally left the room, her father was standing at the foot of the stairs, scratching his short beard thoughtfully and examining a stack of wooden crates. Cygnus Black looked younger than his fifty years, still muscled from days as a dueling champion. He glanced at his youngest daughter with concern.

"Cissy, are you quite well? I thought I saw a Healer in the hallway."

She managed a smile. "I'm fine. At this rate, I'll become a hypochondriac like Great-Aunt Lycoris. What are those crates?"

He took her arm. "Are you curious or trying to change the subject?"

"Both."

"Potion ingredients from Brussels back channels—not for the art collection, obviously. They're just being stored here for a few weeks as a favor to your sister. Come, shall we have some lunch?"

Edgar

"All right, settle down, everyone." Rufus levitated papers off a chair so Edgar could sit. All the Aurors were gathered for the afternoon meeting. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Is it that you killed another potted plant? 'Cause if so, Gladys says to tell you we aren't getting any more." The quip came from Eve Savage, Edgar's temporary partner while Moody was recuperating from losing an eye. Her tan face was far too cheerful for someone running on four hours of sleep.

"Coffee isn't water or plant food... sir." That came from newest trainee, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to, trainee," growled Moody, cracking his knuckles on the table. "Let's get this shit over with, Rufus, Gawain."

"First, what's going on with that missing girl in Dundee? Her parents are sure it was Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters my arse," Edgar responded with annoyance. "The note is a forgery. If she got mixed up with a bad Knockturn crowd, it's not our lookout. Pepper and Aubrey are trying to pass Hitwizard work onto us. Eve and I told them to stuff it."

"Fine." Gawain Robards, Rufus' deputy and partner, paged through the meeting notes. "Alice? Frank? You said you had something to report."

Frank frowned. "We've received a tip-off that shipments of illegal potion ingredients from Brussels are circulating London. It's likely Erumpent Horns, unlicensed, and Venomous Tentacula seeds."

"Fantastic," Robards murmured. "Just what we need on top of everything else."

Rufus cleared his throat. "What's going on with the Prewett murders?"

Eve sighed. "Dead-ended since we had to let those scumbags go. I wish we could get a better idea of the curses used on the bodies. Smethwyck and the other Healers have never seen them before."

"That's odd," said Robards. "Smethwyck has seen everything. Maybe we should bring in an international consultant."

"I don't want anyone outside the Department involved right now," Rufus said crisply. "This case is enough of a media circus as it is." He didn't look at Edgar. "Shacklebolt, Dawlish, you're on research for this. Help the Healers with whatever they need."

Someone cleared his throat from the door and the Aurors looked up, suddenly silent. Bartemius Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stood there, arms folded. Not a hair was out of place on his neatly combed head or toothbrush mustache.

"Good afternoon. As all of you read the news, you will have realized that the legislation to allow Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses in pursuit of the Death Eaters will appear before the Wizengamot this afternoon and will almost certainly pass. I am here to instruct all of you in when and where the use is appropriate."

Edgar smiled. Gawain and Rufus exchanged a significant glance, and Alice's lips were pressed in a thin line. This debate was the most common one in the office, and while he strongly believed that the Aurors needed to fight fire with fire, others were less sure.

"Point one, sub-point A," Crouch began to drone. "Using Unforgivables on a noncombatant is strictly forbidden..."

Emmeline

"I'm hungry."

Emmeline yelped and lunged for her wand, knocking over the inkwell. She let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Sirius peer around the doorway at her. He grinned.

"We have a front door, Sirius. You could knock, fucking idiot."

"But after Marly showed me the fire escape entrance, how could I resist?" He pushed tousled hair out of his face. "So what are you making for dinner?"

"Learn to cook," she told him. "Just because Lily puts up with your freeloading doesn't mean we all have to. Anyway, Dorcas is cooking and she'll be home in a few minutes. Marlene isn't coming."

"Yeah, she's with Remus. Maybe he won't die a virgin," he said. "And splendid. I missed eating Dorcas' specialty... isn't it eggs for every meal?" He picked up the notes in front of Emmeline and whistled. "These eavesdropping devices are sophisticated, Em. The magic is neat. Gideon and Fabian really knew what they were doing." He sighed wistfully. "Imagine what Prongsy and I could have done with these stretchable ears at school."

"Listened to Snivellus in the shower, prob'ly," Dorcas Meadowes called out as she entered. She tossed a pile of groceries on the counter and began pulling out bowls.

Emmeline smiled and turned back to the notes. "These rubbery ears are so conspicuous, though. We need something smaller that can be slipped into Death Eater homes."

"I wish muggle devices worked around magic," Dorcas sighed, cracking the eggs. "Technologically, they're so far ahead of us. Dad was telling me that a few years ago, there was this big deal in America where the President bugged a hotel and—"

"Bugged." Sirius and Emmeline stared at each other.

"But that's it!" Sirius was jubilant. "Bugs. Prongs and I must have hundreds of those Zonko's spiders running around. Do you think we can adapt the spell? We can have the ears here, and use a Protean Charm to listen to the bugs." They spent the next hour looking through Gideon and Fabian's precise notes, and when Dorcas finally dished up the eggs, they were tired but satisfied.

Dorcas poured wine generously. "What's going on with the ward removal project, Em? Or is that top-secret Department of Mysteries stuff?"

"No," Emmeline sighed. "It's harder than I thought it would be. There are some spells used in Time-Turner sand that I'm trying to extract and modify. Protective wards are always keyed to a timestamp, you see, so if you could undo that you'd start to weaken them. Do you have anything like that in Curse Breaking?"

Dorcas shook her head thoughtfully. "It was all about direct assaults on the protective curses when I was. They weren't shaped to be  quiet, y'know? Just effective. I'll get my books for you, anyway. Freeloader here can finish the eavesdropping ears or whatever you want to call them."

Regulus

Regulus' teeth were chattering and his palms were damp with sweat when he took his seat at the end of the long table next to Barty. When he had taken the Mark months ago, there had been contagious excitement and high hopes. Bella, for once, had been almost proud and almost affectionate. Now it had changed: there was a lot of blood, a lot of meetings, and a lot of groveling.

People came to the Dark Lord for different reasons. Regulus understood that and tried to accept it. Bella, burning with passion. Lucius, power-hungry. Brutes like Crabbe and Macnair. The old guard—Rodolphus and Nott, allies of the Dark Lord since before Regulus had been born.  And me?  Restoration and honor, Bella had promised. He took a deep breath and tried to quell the waves of nausea.

As if by an invisible signal, the group suddenly hushed. Seconds later, Rodolphus entered with the Dark Lord himself, a pale, thin man with a large snake around his shoulders like a shawl. Regulus's mouth went dry. Beside him, Barty was leaning forward with eagerness.

"Good evening." The Dark Lord took his seat and the rest of them watched expectantly. "The Prewett problem has been solved, and the Aurors have lost the scent. They are... running back to their kennel, tails between their legs." Everyone chuckled.

He raised a white hand and received pin-drop silence once again. "I have heard from Rodolphus that the new recruits are training well. I am pleased. Tonight, there are several individuals in the town of Tinworth that need to be... addressed. Yaxley and Nott will take a team of new recruits afterwards."

Regulus sunk lower in his chair as the meeting continued, feeling a lead weight in his stomach. ("Don't you want  glory?" Barty had asked that afternoon. "I just want to restore our family," Regulus had replied. "And then get back to fixing the library.")

"One last thing..." The Dark Lord murmured. "I am in need of the services of a particular creature this week. A house-elf. One that is reasonably clever and incredibly,  unquestioningly  loyal. Who can offer this?"

Barty elbowed him. Trembling slightly, Regulus raised his hand.

Edgar

"I don't like it," Alice said grimly to Edgar as they exited the lift and moved towards the atrium. She offered him a stick of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum before cramming one into her mouth. "Look, I trust all of us, but wartime measures never just  stay  wartime measures. And you know as well as I do that this came from Crouch, not Bagnold."

"Whether it came from Crouch or Bagnold, it's about time. Are you really telling me that I should only be able to use  Impedimenta  to stop a Death Eater who's shooting  Avada Kedavra  at me? We need every advantage we can get... and this isn't even an advantage. This is an attempt to level the playing field."

She pursed her lips. "What comes next? Sending people to Azkaban without trial? What about interrogation with Unforgivables? It opens up a lot of doors I'd rather not open."

Edgar squeezed her shoulder. "All of those things are a hell of a lot more likely to happen if they win than if we do. I'll take anything I can get at this point."

Emmeline

"Your turn, Em." Marlene stood up with a groan and tossed Emmeline a sheaf of parchment with notes. "I've been listening to these bugs for two bloody hours and I've got nothing. Patroclus Nott is cheating on his pregnant wife... haha. But nothing about the Death Eaters. Not a word."

Emmeline sighed. "It was a long shot, anyway. If I were talking about Death Eater business, I would put imperturbable charms around everything. I'll take a turn." She closed the books on protective charms and looked up to see Sirius enter.

"I brought you flowers, Marly," he said, holding out a wilting bouquet of blue geraniums. "They're for you too, Em. Payment for dinner, if you will." He added a mocking bow.

"You're not my type," she said automatically.

"Of course I am," he grinned. "Charming, handsome, clever... well, what is your type, then?"

"Redhead, I guess," she said absently. They froze and stared at each other, horrified.

"Oh, fuck, Vancey, I'm so sorry." Sirius flopped down on the couch, looking embarrassed. Marlene's hands were covering her mouth and she watched them with wide eyes.

"No, that was so inappropriate of me. I can't even... I'm just used to being flippant about everything." Emmeline looked blankly down at the pages of notes in her lap, interspersed with Marlene's doodles.

"You're holding up like a champ, you know," Marlene said.

"It's thanks to you two and Dorcas, really. Lily and James treat me like I'm made of glass."

"Shh," Marlene said suddenly. "I think someone's talking in one of those." Emmeline scrambled through the fleshy rubber ears and held one up in triumph—it was the one connected to the spider planted in the townhouse of Sirius' uncle, Cygnus Black. She pressed it to her ear, eyes narrowed, and then grinned.

"Someone owl Edgar. The Blacks are the ones smuggling in illegal potion ingredients from Belgium."

Edgar

Rufus scowled at Edgar. "So let me get this straight. A source—who you won't even reveal to  me—has told you that the illegal shipments of we've been trying to find are stored in the Black townhouse in Mayfair?"

"Yes," Edgar said crisply. "Amelia's getting the warrant written up. Frank can vouch for my source, Rufus. Trust me, you  really  don't want to know."

"Fine," Rufus cracked his knuckles on the desk, face clouded. "Take Pepper and Aubrey with you—two hitwizards should be plenty. Though isn't Cygnus Black the art collector? I don't expect much resistance there."

"I have the warrant," Amelia burst in and thrust it into Edgar's hand, out of breath. "You owe me—under twelve minutes is some kind of record, I'm sure." She looked at him sternly. "Don't screw up."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Edgar told her, pocketing the warrant. "The sooner this is done, the better." With a parting salute to Rufus, he hurried to collect Pepper and Aubrey.

The six-story townhouse in Mayfair was enough to make Pepper and Aubrey gawk for a moment, but Edgar just rolled his eyes and banged on the door. An ancient elf answered it to inform them that regretfully, Master Black was not home.

"That's fine," Edgar said with a grin. "We have a search warrant to search and seize illegal goods, so we'll just do our work. Pepper, Aubrey, stay out on the steps, please. I'll head inside."

"One moment, sir," the elf croaked with alarm. Moments later, Cygnus Black had emerged from the depths of the house, face contorted with rage. He drew his wand; the hand that clutched it was heavy with rings.

"What the hell is going on here? My wife and I are private citizens. Show me your justification for a search warrant."

Edgar drew his wand. "Under the Prevention of Terrorism Acts, we don't need justification if granted a waiver by the head of the DMLE. I think you know why we're here, Mr. Black. Step aside, or I'll have to arrest you."

"I don't bloody think so," Black growled, lunging forward.

Regulus

By the time Regulus reached the Mayfair townhouse belonging to his aunt and uncle, the path and steps to the door were packed with reporters. He forced his way through, flinching when a large, red-taloned hand gripped his arm.

"Regulus Black," Rita Skeeter said, eyes gleaming with excitement. She turned to the floating quill beside her. "Regulus Black, age sixteen, of diminutive stature, long-lashed eyes dark with melancholy, is surveying his surroundings with dismay... Tell me, Regulus, how do you feel about all of this? Was Cygnus Black's death caused his heart problems? Or can we chalk it up to  Auror brutality ? Why was he resisting arrest? Was he involved in smuggling? Is there anything you'd like to say to the Auror department?"

Regulus squinted in the flashing lights. "I, er,  what?"

"GET OUT!" Everyone froze. Bellatrix had emerged at the top of the stairs, face contorted with rage. "You're trespassing on private property.  Get.  Out." She slashed her wand menacingly, causing one photographer's camera to explode in his hands.

"Th-th-that was property of  The Daily Prophet!"

"So send me a bill," she snarled. Within minutes the foyer was clear except for the Hitwizards taking notes. Regulus finally saw his uncle's body crumpled gracelessly at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by a tape line. Bellatrix's eyes were red with weeping and she stood frozen, arms folded, glowering at everyone. Aunt Druella sat on the stairs, face ashen. Narcissa was forcing her to drink some tea.

"What happened, Bella?" He twisted his sleeves nervously.

"Edgar Bones  happened," she spat with venom.

Edgar

"Don't bite my head off, Bones," Rufus said crossly to Edgar once they had shaken off the last of the reporters and reached the Auror department. Rufus ushered Edgar into his office and slammed the door. "But did you attack Cygnus Black unprovoked and did you use any Unforgivables?"

"Absolutely not." He gritted his teeth. "I went to arrest Black and confiscate the smuggled goods that we  knew  were being stored there, as per the plan. The idiot refused to come quietly or allow us to search the townhouse.  He attacked me first. I retaliated, attempting to disarm and Stun him. And it's hard to believe, but the next second he was dead. I  did  try to revive him. He had a bad heart, Rufus. I didn't kill him."

Rufus scowled and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "Edgar, you unfortunately have a reputation for losing your temper when dealing with Death Eater suspects. We have the complaints to prove it. How many times have I told  you to be careful?"

Edgar's voice rose. "We're dealing with seasoned killers, Rufus. These people barely deserve justice. How do you expect me to smile and simper and pretend things are fine?"

"I expect you to do your job. The papers are going crazy and there's going to be an inquiry. You'll meet with Crouch tonight. For the love of Merlin, don't back talk him and above all, don't lose your temper."

"Am I about to be suspended over this?" He was outraged.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Rufus said grimly. "But you're on desk duty for a month and I'm pulling you from the Prewett cases."

"What!"

"That's an order."

Narcissa

Elliot Avery was nothing if not thorough, and going through the will's minutiae took hours. When he finally began sealing the documents, Narcissa excused herself with a headache. She was accosted by a nettled Walburga on her way out of the library. "My dear, departed brother was an odd one, wasn't he? I'm sure you'll enjoy all the art, but I daresay he would have wanted it to stay in the family, and the way things are looking, who knows if there'll even be more Malfoys?"

"Mother, are you making a challenge to Uncle Cygnus's will?" Regulus asked from behind her. She hadn't even heard him approach.

Walburga's beady eyes flicked towards him. "Don't be silly, darling," she chuckled, mounting the stairs.

"Cissy," he began, turning towards her with concern. She gave him a tight smile and went off in search of Bellatrix.

Bella was hunched over the table in the stuffy breakfast room, beautiful eyes bloodshot. "Whiskey?"

"It's noon," Narcissa said mildly.

She shoved a glass towards Narcissa anyway, letting it slosh over the brim, and turned back to peeling an orange with a wicked silver knife. "Noon on the day when we buried the only decent man this family ever produced, Cissy. And, pardon my language, you just need to tell Walburga to go fuck herself. She's thinks you're a pushover."

"I'm not," Narcissa scowled.

"I know that—I've seen you reduce multiple people to tears without raising your voice. The problem is that you give Walburga's authority a level of respect it doesn't deserve."

"Well, maybe." Narcissa sighed, searching vainly for a change of subject. "Do you think Regulus has been acting odd lately?"

"He's always odd," Bellatrix snorted.

"I meant more that he looks underfed and tired. I keep sending him hampers, but I doubt he eats them."

"Forget Regulus,  you  look tired," Bellatrix said critically. "Cissy, consider what your life could be like if you gave up trying to have children. It's going to kill you. If Malfoy really cared about you, he'd stop putting you through hell to get his heir."

She set the glass down, staring incredulously at her sister. "I'm not trying to produce heirs. We want to start a family. Is that so impossible for you to understand?"

"Children are shackles," Bellatrix said, voice harsh. Her gaze softened slightly. "And all of it has hurt you so much, Cissy. I hate that I can't fix your grief." She traced her initials into the glossy wooden table with the knife. "But Bones... him  I can fix." She smiled and began humming to herself, making Narcissa shiver.

Regulus

Regulus could feel the start of a headache creeping from the back of his head to his temples, and sank down in the furthest armchair. Avery had finally left, the documents were signed, and he was now the sole owner of all the Black family property. The parlor was dark and smoky as always, and he could dimly see the golden threads of the tapestry glinting on the opposite wall.

"—if she weren't your  family," Lucius was saying sharply to Bellatrix as they strode in, cigarettes in hand.

"Family or not, Walburga's a hag," Bellatrix sniffed. "Oh, sorry," she said unrepentantly upon realizing that Regulus was in the room. Rodolphus entered and closed the door behind them with a click of finality. At six and a half feet tall and nearly twice Bella's age, he towered over the group.

Bellatrix rounded on him immediately. "When are we doing something about Bones? I'm tired of  waiting."

"That is what we need to talk about," he said gravely. "I have spoken with the Dark Lord, and Bones will be taken care of this month. Lucius and Regulus are responsible for the entire family."

Regulus froze. He could hear the clock ticking in background. Blood roared in his ears. "What?"

"Excuse me," Bellatrix hissed dangerously, hands balled in fists. "Regulus and Lucius  are responsible for taking care of Bones?"

"Along with Rookwood and a few other, yes. The Dark Lord wishes to entrust a valuable possession with us and requires our presence. He would prefer if you were not involved, because the DMLE's suspicions are—"

Rodolphus couldn't even finish the sentence before she launched herself at him, looking nearly deranged in her fury. "This is  my father," she shrieked. "And I will tear Edgar Bones to shreds with or without His permission, Rodolphus!"

Regulus examined the embroidered cushion next to him, wishing for the hundredth time that day that he could just vanish. Rodolphus had grabbed Bellatrix by the shoulders and was whispering in her ear. Lucius looked like the cat that got the cream.

"Fine!" she cried, wrenching herself out of his grasp. "Fine!" She stormed out of the room, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind her with so much force that the wood chipped slightly. They could hear the tinkle of china and glass breaking in the hallway.

"Regulus, were you saying something?" Rodolphus asked, as if this was an ordinary occurrence. He lit a cigar.

"Er. Bones has a couple of children, right?" Regulus coughed into his fist with nervousness. "Killing them seems... excessive."

"It needs to be done to set an example. They are half-bloods, anyway... the product of his marriage with a mudblood."

"Now, cousin," Lucius drawled with deceptive mildness, though Regulus could feel the undercurrent of malice. "You aren't  questioning  the Dark Lord's orders, are you?"

His palms felt clammy. It was suddenly hard to breathe. "No. No, of course not."

Emmeline

Emmeline squinted at the runes in front of her, tapping one with her wand so that it shifted slightly. She made another mark on the floating parchment in front of her and went back to tracing runes out of time-turner sand.

"You should go home," Augustus Rookwood said from behind her. He was standing at the entrance of her cubicle, holding two cups of tea. He handed her one. "It's almost nine, you know."

"I'm so close to a breakthrough, Augustus. I can feel it, you know?" She rubbed her eyes and accepted the cup gratefully.

He smiled, making his pockmarked face much less foreboding, and took a seat on the other rickety chair next to her desk. "I do understand what it feels like. Is this the independent project you've started? Do you have all the materials you need?"

She nodded and handed him the parchment where she was copying out runes. "Taking down wards and protective spells isn't difficult in itself, really. It's keeping it silent that I want to figure out. Usually there's some kind of cracking or popping which can trigger other alarm spells. Time-turner sand might be the answer."

Rookwood frowned thoughtfully. "What applications are you thinking of for this?"

"Er—curse-breaking? My friend is a curse-breaker at Gringotts and it would increase safety precautions. And, of course... it would be a huge advantage for Aurors and Hitwizards."

"It would be. Not to mention an enormous disadvantage for the unsuspecting party."

"Well, the Death Eaters damn well deserve it," she said fiercely.

"They do... But you've never been interested in war magic before, Emmeline," he said quietly. "I always thought you were interested in researching time in the abstract. But perhaps we deal too much with esoterica in this Department, when times call for practicality. Were you very close to those Prewett twins?"

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I don't mean to pry," he said. "But you've been working to death since then and I've seen this among researchers before. When Croaker lost his mother to a brain tumor he studied nothing else for three years."

"Oh. Well, Fabian and I were going to get married." She hadn't said it in so many words before. It was easier than she had thought it was going to be.

Something she couldn't place flickered across Rookwood's face.

Narcissa

Narcissa pinched the stem of a fanged geranium with a gloved hand, frowning and willing it to behave. It withdrew its teeth reluctantly, and she adjusted the pot before moving on to the orchids. The Manor's greenhouses were a refuge from everything: the reporters, the piles of condolence cards, the tears.

Lucius strolled in and sat down on one of the wooden benches. "Can you add Cornelius and Mildred Fudge to our table at the St. Mungo's benefit?"

Narcissa sniffed. "Fine. But if you think you're grooming him for Minister, think again. Everyone knows Crouch is Millicent Bagnold's golden boy."

"But everyone is so often wrong," Lucius remarked delicately, snatching his hand away from a venomous tentacula. "I would rather not put my dragon eggs in one basket, as the saying goes. Now, Edgar Bones..."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," Narcissa said, biting her lip. She had already heard the news that morning at Lestrange Manor. Furious at being passed over for Lucius and Regulus, Bellatrix had screamed herself hoarse and destroyed a whole suite of rooms.

Lucius frowned. "I thought you would be pleased. It's an honor."

She examined the underside of an orchid's leaf for bugs. "Bones deserves to die, but this is just some ridiculous test. He's an  Auror. Regulus is sixteen. You could both be killed or captured—don't you think the Ministry is expecting something like this?"

"Ah, so now you've become our tactician."

Narcissa turned to glare at him—she only enjoyed his condescension when it was directed towards other people. "Certainly not," she said icily, "But even a child could tell that the Aurors are just waiting for you to misstep. Need I remind you that you promised—"

"What I have  promised  you is that I will not take unnecessary risks," Lucius interrupted curtly. "However, that discretion lies with me. You don't get to determine what assignments I—"

"Of course not!" Narcissa cried, slamming down a watering can. "How could I presume that! No, I'll just  sit here, plan your social events, heal you when you come home burnt and bleeding, a-and eventually identify all the corpses."

He stood up—to leave, she thought, she hoped—but then moved to stand behind beside her. She stiffened, feeling his hand on her arm. "Narcissa, you're being unfair."

"Am I?" Narcissa whispered miserably, leaning against him. From here, they could see out into the sloping lawn, past the fountain to the trees they had planted, one for each baby.

Regulus

When stressed, Regulus reverted to making lists.

Pros: Nice hair. Nice teeth. Intelligent enough to hold an interesting conversation. Good family.

Cons: Too deferential?

Pros: Blood-traitor. Murdered(?) Uncle Cygnus. Sends a strong message to Aurors/DMLE. Possible promotion. Children are half-bloods.

Cons:

Regulus stared at the list in front of him gloomily. His eye caught the broomstick standing in the corner and exhaled with a sigh, trying to suppress how much he missed Slytherin Quidditch. Perhaps he should have returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year, but what would have been the point? He had taught himself past the NEWT standard, and the real world was here. He was certainly busy enough.

Busy torturing Muggles? That seems worthwhile, Regulus. He scowled. The voice in his head sometimes sounded surprisingly like his irresponsible older brother.

Regulus yelped in surprise as a  crack  resounded throughout the room—he spun around, wand out and gasped to see Kreacher, trembling on the floor of his room and dripping wet.

"Kreacher? What happened?" Regulus had delivered him to the Dark Lord that afternoon, as requested, and it was past midnight now.

The elf tried to bow and stumbled. "Kreacher will tell Master Regulus if Master Regulus wants to know. Kreacher did as Master Regulus t-told him to. Kreacher went with the Dark Lord." The elf's bloodshot eyes darted around the room with panic, and Regulus felt his previous hopes—that the Dark Lord would be pleased—plummet. Something had gone terribly wrong.

He sat, frozen, as Kreacher recounted the tale of being abandoned on an island and dragged under the icy water by white hands. When the elf was finished, he stared off into the distance for a full minute. What kind of locket could be so dangerous and so valuable to the Dark Lord that he would protect it with Inferi?

But the most important thing was that Kreacher was safe. Kreacher was  safe.

"Kreacher," he said slowly. "Go to your cupboard and rest. I need you to stay hidden in the house, please, until I tell you otherwise. Don't show yourself around guests at all—even family.  Especially  family. I'll take care of you."

Kreacher was a pitiful sight now, pointed nose dripping green mucus. He bowed and vanished with another crack. Regulus stared at the parchment in front of him. The list of Julia Wilkes' characteristics seemed absurdly foolish and he crossed it out with disgust. He curled up in the chair, entirely at a loss. Everything felt wrong, because the Dark Lord had tried to  kill  Kreacher for a piece of jewelry.

Edgar

Edgar checked on the children first before going to the master bedroom. Bertram had fallen asleep reading again; the book had to be extracted carefully from under his head and placed on a side table. By night, the twins looked deceptively angelic. Melissa was clinging onto the tattered rabbit they had given her years ago, and Clara was tangled in blankets.

Callista was reading in bed, chestnut hair falling in her eyes. "The DMLE will issue a statement that I was acting in self-defense," he told her. "Crouch is pissed, though."

"I knew it," she said calmly. "Edgar, he'd had two previous heart attacks. It wasn't your fault."

He cleared his throat, sitting down to take off socks and shoes. "I'm wondering if you and the kids should take a vacation."

"Go into hiding, you mean?" Callista closed the book with a snap. "No. Absolutely not."

"It's not safe here for you anymore."

She sighed. "Muggleborns aren't safe  anywhere  in this climate. You are an Auror, and your family is one of the most prominent political families in this country. If I'm not safe here, what does that mean for muggleborns who don't have money or connections or friends?"

He gaped at her. "I'm not going to keep my wife and kids in danger to make a  political statement."

"We're not in any more or any less danger than anyone else," she said flatly. "I'm won't leave my job and friends. The kids have school."

"Then I'll come with you. We'll all go away together. Callista, there is  nothing  I care about more than this family."

"We both know that's not true. No—calm down, Edgar,  sit down. I don't mean that you don't care about us. But there are other things—the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix, and they need you here. We're not leaving. This is bigger than us." She smiled at him. It was the same sunny smile in the wedding picture on his desk at work.

"Bigger than us," he echoed tiredly.

Emmeline

The morning had been bad—Emmeline had been plagued by nightmares and felt stupid and sleepy. She lingered over her coffee in the break room and finally made her way to her desk. Maybe today was for reviewing, rather than experimenting. Humming to herself, she undid the lock on the drawer with her research on wards and then stared at it, aghast. The drawer was empty.

Slowly and methodically, Emmeline went through every other drawer, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest and the feel of rising panic.  This didn't happen in the Department of Mysteries. People were collaborative. People didn't steal research.

She stood up shakily and went to find Rookwood. He, at least, would be able to give her some perspective. But Rookwood's office was empty and dark. Emmeline got herself more coffee and slowly moved back to her desk, fighting the urge to vomit on everything. She re-opened every drawer, and when she got to the first drawer, all her research files were in order, exactly as she'd left them.

They were there. Had it been there all along? Or had someone replaced them while she had been out for five minutes? This was some Alastor Moody-level paranoia.

"Everything all right, Emmeline?" Broderick Bode was glancing at her with concern.

"Oh. Yes, definitely."

I'm going crazy, she told herself. She let out a nervous laugh and then covered her mouth.

Regulus

"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction—" Regulus slammed  Magick Moste Evile  shut with a noise of frustration. His hours of searching had been fruitless, but at least he knew what he was looking for.  Horcrux. The wickedest of magical inventions. An object linked to immortality. All of it screamed Voldemort.

"There you are." Barty wandered in, hands jammed in his pockets. "Are you reading  that  again? Didn't we read it together in second year?"

"I'm trying to do research," Regulus replied, rubbing his eyes. "But I'm dead-ended everywhere. I'm about to start on Rodolphus' private collection now."

"What are you researching? Is this for Bones?"

Regulus felt the back of his neck prickle unpleasantly, as it tended to when he was reminded of what needed to be done with Bones tonight. "No, it's another... assignment. Academic work. You know, on cursed objects and death."

"Most people don't worry about that until they're at least a hundred," Barty laughed. He sat down, thin face bright with eagerness. "Are you excited about Bones? You know, you could get promoted for this if the Dark Lord is pleased."

"I suppose." He was growing tired of the game—of the promotions within the Dark Lord's ranks dangled elusively in front of him, of having to kill for respect and affection from his own family, of the whispers of  failure, failure  that followed him. "I just—I don't know how to do this. I still think about the other people that we, you know..."

Barty fidgeted impatiently. "They're not  people. They're traitors and scum, Regulus. God, I would be  thrilled  to do this for the Dark Lord. All of this nonsense is because you've been cooped up in Grimmauld Place too long with your books."

"I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams," Regulus murmured, turning a quill over in his hand.

"Let's not model our lives on Hamlet," Barty advised. "Did Narcissa send another hamper of sweets? I'm starving."

Edgar

After dinner, Callista folded laundry on the couch while Edgar helped Bertram with his homework. The twins played by the fireplace, giggling to each other in their private language. "It's kinda weird, having you home this early," Bertie said, chewing on the end of a pencil.

Edgar winced. "I'll be better about it, kiddo."

Callista turned towards him, brow creasing slightly. "Did you hear—?"

There was silence, and then a popping noise.

And then they everywhere at once, flooding the house in black capes and silver masks. Edgar let out a roar of fury and dove for his wand. The house was layered in protective wards.  How could they have gotten in?  "Callista, GET THE KIDS, GET OUT!" He was firing spells towards them. It was too late to call for help, but at least the kids would make it, because that was how the world worked. Even now, even in war.

There had to be some decency left.

But then he turned, and  there they were. The twins, lying next to each other, matching puzzled expressions on their frozen faces. Bertie, fingers still clutching the pencil and eraser. Callista,  his  Callista, slumped over on the couch. He was alone.

The urge to rush to them and scream for a million years was strong, but training took over and Edgar started to run, hotly pursued out the back door and into the garden by two Death Eaters. He pushed aside grief, turning to fire Killing Curses at his pursuers. He spun slightly, and then tripped. A moment later, he was struggling fruitlessly against conjured ropes.

"People always underestimate the usefulness of a trip jinx," the taller one said, in a familiar drawl Edgar would have recognized anywhere.

Edgar coughed, tasting bile in his mouth, and spat hard in the direction of his captors. "Go fuck yourselves."

He could feel air leaving him in gasps, and scorching pain filled his lungs. He had brought this upon the babies and Callista, he could have been more careful, he could have done so many things differently... But at least, he realized with something close to relief, he wouldn't be away from them for long.

Regulus

Regulus was trying not to throw up.  You can't do anything foolish until you get rid of that horcrux, he reminded himself again. Bones deserved to die. Bones deserved to  die. He wouldn't think of the cold, lifeless bodies of the children. He tried to remember his pro/con list.

"Cowards," Bones was whispering. "Killing babies and women, hiding behind... money... and... masks." Regulus could tell that each word was an effort—the man was bleeding severely now from their curses and tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. There was something embarrassing about this weakness from an Auror, Regulus felt. They should have just killed him quickly.

"Finish the job," Lucius said.

Regulus' hand was shaking as he drew his wand. "Avada Kedavra." And then, silence.

Emmeline

A roaring in her ears dulled out most of the eulogies, and all Emmeline was left with were fragments. "Exemplary kindness." "Bravery in the face of..." "Stalwart friend."

After the funeral, they crowded into Frank and Alice's cottage, numb and silent. Lily sobbed into James' shoulder and Sirius sat alone at the scrubbed kitchen table, chain smoking silently. Emmeline sat in a corner with Marlene and Dorcas. Now, more than ever, she wished Fabian were there, with his ill-timed jokes and quiet support.

Professor Dumbledore entered the room and everyone looked up. "Frank, I think you should read the letter Edgar left for us."

Frank blew his nose and slowly unfolded the parchment. "To my fellow Order members," he read, "I want to apologize for whatever foolishness led to this state of affairs. Perhaps it wasn't my fault at all, but I am not stupid enough to think that what happened today with Cygnus Black will go unavenged, which is why I'm updating all my letters. I hope you will all believe me when I say my actions were truly in self-defense. Contrary to popular belief, I don't place myself in situations with purist lunatics for fun."

Moody looked discomfited. Lily buried her face in her hands, but Emmeline sat frozen. Frank continued. "I've always hated speechmaking (well, if I'm dead, I suppose I'm not speaking, per se!), so I'll be brief. What you are fighting for is important. Keep faith in that, and keep faith in yourselves. Don't let a trifling thing like my death stop you or scare you. I chose an occupation that I always knew was dangerous, and I hope I died doing some good."

Sirius tried to light another cigarette, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't. Frank hadn't finished yet. He cleared his throat. "P.S. If someone could take care of the fire crab, that would be excellent. Callista and the kids don't like Wallace and would be more than pleased to pass him on."

They sat for a long time, listening to the tree branches tap against the windows.

Dumbledore broke the silence. "A word, Miss Vance?"

Brow wrinkled with confusion, she followed him outside. Dumbledore spent some time examining Frank's potted plants before turning to appraise her with his pale blue eyes. "Miss Vance, the Death Eaters were able to take down the protective spells around the house silently."

Emmeline stared at him. Then it hit her, and her knees buckled. Dumbledore gripped her arm. "Oh my god," Emmeline whispered. "My work, my work was stolen, Professor, you don't think that I betr—"

"I do not," he said calmly. "But I must ask to do something very intrusive and look in your mind myself to confirm that, should you wish to remain in the Order. This is for the sake of the other members."

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat.

His stare was piercing and she  felt  the presence in her mind, ruffling through thoughts like a bird. It took all her self-control not to revert to the Occulumency they had learned in training. Dumbledore broke contact with a sigh.

"Some Death Eater has taken advantage of you terribly. As Alastor would say, you must be constantly vigilant from here on out. Even the Department of Mysteries is no longer safe."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She was shaking. "I, I never—"

"You cannot blame yourself for what happened," the old wizard advised, sorrow bowing his shoulders. He patted her shoulder and left.

Narcissa

Narcissa drummed well-manicured nails impatiently on the table in front of her and glanced at Elliot Avery, seated to her left. "How long can they hold me? They've already questioned Lucius."

Elliot shuffled the parchment in front of him. "At most another hour, under the Prevention of Terrorism Acts. After that, they have to formally charge you with something."

"Oh, splendid," Narcissa sniffed, pulling the fur stole back up around her neck. The questioning rooms were  cold. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long before Rufus Scrimgeour entered. The past weeks had clearly been unkind to the Auror. Loose bags of dark skin hung under his eyes and his muddy blonde hair was far more grey than  The Daily Prophet  let on.

"Scrimgeour, my clients are upstanding members of society, as I have told you time and again," Elliot said, polishing his glasses. "This is some misunderstanding."

Scrimgeour scowled and ignored him. "Mrs. Malfoy, where was your husband on the night of November 18th?"

"At home with me."

"All night?"

Narcissa's lip curled contemptuously. "Yes,  all  night. Are we done? I have a meeting at St. Mungo's."

"No, there's more," he barked. "Several members of your family have been deemed persons of interest in the murder of Auror Edgar Bones and his entire family."

"And why is that?" Narcissa asked coldly. "Because of the timing  my  father's death? How interesting. I recall hardly any effort made by the Auror department to bring  his  killer to justice. Well, investigate us all you want, Scrimgeour, but I assure you that neither Lucius nor any other member of my family touched a hair on Edgar Bones' head."

Elliot smiled sardonically. "Might I remind you, Scrimgeour, that you have no evidence linking any of my clients to this very... er... unfortunate situation with Auror Bones."

Scrimgeour paced the cell like a caged animal. "Mrs. Malfoy, what do you know about a terrorist organization called the Death Eaters?"

"Nothing."

"And do you deny any involvement? Do you deny your husband's involvement as well?"

"Yes," she said sharply. "I tire of having to prove our innocence to you people time and again like some common criminal, Scrimgeour."

He cleared his throat. "Where is your cousin, Regulus Black?"

Narcissa frowned, taken slightly off guard. "At his home, I presume. What, have you not dragged him in for questioning as well in this quest to profile purebloods?"

"He hasn't responded to our summons." Scrimgeour looked as if he was suffering a severe toothache. "You can leave now."

"Good," Narcissa said with a razor of a smile. She inclined her head briefly at Elliot and left, heels clicking on the stone floors.

Emmeline

Marlene was cooking when she got back—floating knives chopped peppers and onions while she examined a pile of heirloom tomatoes with the concerned look of a true herbologist. Dorcas sat at the table, absently flipping through  Transfiguration Today. "Hi Em," she attempted a smile. "Are you okay?"

Emmeline sat down at the table and nodded slowly. "I quit the Department of Mysteries today."

"What?" Marlene spun around, tomato sauce splattering off her spoon. "Well, I'm all for finding fulfilling careers."

Dorcas frowned. "But you've always wanted it, Em. You've talked about being an Unspeakable forever."

"Did I want it for the right reasons? I just wanted to be the best," she said. "It was the hardest thing I could try to do, and I wanted to prove that I could do it. And I love to experiment and research. But look at what's happened." Her mouth trembled. "My research was used to attack Edgar and his family. I can't trust anyone. I can't go back there. It's all ruined..."

"This isn't your fault," Dorcas said fiercely. "Edgar was a bloody brilliant Auror, but you couldn't have single-handedly stopped the Death Eaters from figuring out how to get at him."

"Maybe that's true," Emmeline conceded. "But I want to do something this time that can never be used to harm people."

"So not investment banking with Gringotts," Marlene quipped. She strained the pasta and levitated the dishes haphazardly onto the table.

"I'm thinking Healer training," Emmeline said. "I'll probably be the oldest in the class, but I'm stopping by St. Mungo's tomorrow to get some information. I have the NEWTs for it, anyway."

Dorcas nodded with approval and stood up to get the wine. "Good. Now we should drink to Edgar. And then get wasted."

"Well, it'll be nice to have a girls' night in," Marlene said. "Unless..." They could hear a scraping and bumping noise outside, causing Emmeline and Dorcas to simultaneously dive for their wands. Panic and terror bubbled up in her throat.  Not again. Not today. Not here.

"Calm down! It's me," Sirius yelled through the window. "You blocked the fucking fire escape entrance, Vancey! Let me in—I'm starving."

She smiled for the first time that week.

Narcissa

Curled up on the window seat, Narcissa lost track of the hours. The view of the gardens from here was perfect, and dawn was starting to cast a pinkish glow on the trees and fountain below. The note from St. Mungo's was crumpled in her palm.

"Narcissa?" Lucius called from the doorway. He was still cloaked in black, silver mask in hand.

She rose immediately, noting that his breathing was ragged. "You're back. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he said brusquely, smoothing his mussed hair with a gloved hand and limping towards her. She could smell blood on his cloak, harsh and metallic. No one had been to the nursery in a full year except the elves, but they had left everything exactly as Narcissa had set it up. The rippling muslin curtains, the rocking horse in the corner, the cradle, and the toys all waited expectantly.

She had once accused Lucius of not caring. She had been bedridden and distraught, but she could still remember his face, chalk-white and crumpled with hurt. A flicker of that emerged now, but he schooled his expression back to smoothness and cleared his throat. "Dobby said you were up here. I thought it was locked up. Narcissa, you shouldn't be dwelling on—"

She placed her fingers against his lips. The crumpled note fluttered to the ground. "I didn't want to say anything until I was certain, but—" She had been waiting to say it for so long, yet at the critical moment, speech failed her.

"Oh," he said slowly. "Oh."

Regulus

Regulus would have never believed himself capable of betrayal. He was a victim. He was the overlooked younger brother thrust reluctantly into the spotlight. Sirius had betrayed  him. And yet, as he sat at his desk, he realized that if they spoke of him in the future, it would be about his betrayal. But the past weeks had turned his carefully ordered world inside out. Discovering the truth had brought understanding, but not comfort. Edgar Bones' death was a hollow victory, for a cause that was starting to make him feel ill.

Hopes for admiration and approval—from the Dark Lord, from Bella, Cissy, Barty—seemed like a forgotten dream. It was painfully clear what had to be done.

His room was meticulously organized, and all the books he had been consulting over the past few days had been returned, scrubbed clean of any notes and dog-ears. An old locket had been taken from Walburga's room. No one would suspect what had happened, and Regulus would leave nothing to chance. Carefully, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to write:

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B

He tucked the note in the locket, and walked down to the kitchens to find Kreacher.