“I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.”

 

Mark Twain

 

The rain was merciless against the vast windows, a solitary building on a solitary plot with nothing but miles of dead lands and swamp. What had once been a spectacular structure was nothing more than a broken-down and tattered building, bereft of any touch of humanity. Lightning cracked and thunder roared, yet an eerie silence rested like a blanket over the crumbling mansion. 

It didn’t remain silent for much longer. Two pops could be heard within the walls as two men materialized. They stood in silence for a bit, gathering their bearings. Aside from the obvious difference in age, both men were very nearly completely opposites. The younger man with his flaxen hair and statuesque body was the epitome of wizarding aristocracy; the older man with tattered robes carried himself with marginally less grandeur. “Sage, must you always pick this horrendous place?” The younger man grumbled irritably.

“Now, now, you know as well as I that secrecy is of the utmost importance. Who would think to look for you in a place like this?” He conjured a table with two chairs and ushered the young man to a seat. “Come, there is much that needs to be discussed before you need to go back.”

“The ascension begins soon, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, a little earlier than I expected.  We’ll find out more soon enough, but that is not why you are here. I need you to free yourself somehow or to fake your own death.” He gave the younger wizard a look of pity. “What, you didn’t think you’d be sitting in Azkaban while I sorted out everything out here, did you?” Sage laughed when he encountered the patented glacial glare.

“I don’t intend on killing myself to get out. In fact, I don’t plan on leaving Azkaban at all. Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure it out later. Now, are they ready?”

“From what I can tell, yes, they are. It’s the final year for the change to occur and it’s time they became indoctrinated into the Brotherhood. Our numbers have dwindled since the last war; we need good strong warriors.”

“They will make the mark and we’ll find out soon enough. Their results are out next week. Now I must get going. Voldemort doesn’t appreciate the art of being fashionably late.”  With a pop, Sage Weasley disappeared. 
 

~*~*~*~

At a glance, the dining room seemed to be set up for a formal affair. Its high vaulted ceilings were lit with large crystal chandeliers, bathing the room in a soft, sunny light. A large oak table seating fourteen was at the center of the room. Deep forest green curtains with silver trimmings hung over the huge French windows, overlooking a vast rose garden. At sectional intervals, pillars bearing the house crest were placed with statues or vases alternately adorning their tops. The table itself was devoid of everything, save for the twelve people seated at it. The thirteenth stood quivering at the doors of the room, his black cloak tattered and doing little to cover his bony body. Lanky brown hair covered his pale, gaunt face. Flat brown eyes bore out from sunken sockets as he bit his lip in an attempt to stop it from betraying his emotions. Overall, he made a pathetic picture; weakness oozed from his pores along with the stench of rapid perspiration.

“Where is she?” hissed the man at the head of the table. His stature was slight but the menace was there in his every movement.

“I… I…I can explain, My Lord.”

“Silence!” he roared. “I don’t want your pathetic excuses; I just want to know where she is.”

The small man made an audible gulp, knowing there was no way out of this. “She’s dead,” he muttered. And so am I, he thought as he saw the violence gleaming in the red eyes of his master. Well, sod him. Might as well die telling him what I think of the bleeding wanker. I’m a bloody Gryffindor, damn it! “And I am not in the least bit sorry. I know this will be the last thing I say, so let me tell you exactly what happened.” He stood stronger and his eyes took on a hard glint. “She was approaching me. Unbeknownst to her, I was ready. She thought I was there to protect her, but no, I wasn’t.” His eyes now shone with a manic gleam. “I raised my wand.” His breathing became harsher as he started to relive the woman’s death. “First I immobilized her, and then I used the ancient Conjuration of Decay.” He laughed; it was a brittle sound coming from a broken man. “I watched her body rot in front of me; watched as she screamed, as all that pale skin became black and putrid. You wouldn’t even recognize her anymore,” he added nonchalantly, with a twirl of his wand. He looked directly at the Dark Lord, eyes glittering before he added with malice, “Then again, you might share certain rotten characteristics, shall we say?  I know telling you this will end my life, but beware, Voldemort, your time is coming. It is close and you will die. I die knowing that you will, too.”

The cold fury on Voldemort’s face didn’t startle him anymore. He didn’t even feel the killing curse hit him; he was already dead, dead on the inside.  Voldemort turned to the remaining people at the table, his fury palpable. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said. “No one betrays me and gets away with it.” With a whirl of his cloak, he was gone. The rest took a deep breath. Sage had watched as the feeble little man grew a spine right in front of his eyes. Gryffindor is as Gryffindor does, he mused. At least there was a redeeming quality about the rodent; he honestly hadn’t thought the man had it in him to perform the task.

“Let this be a lesson,” mimicked Lestrange. “I mean, honestly, the man knew he was going to die. It’s not like Voldemort went on a deadly rampage and gave him a horrible, untimely death.”

“Or used the decaying spell,” muttered Sage.

“That was your wife he killed, Lestrange,” Dolohov said.

“I am aware of that; I shall forever be indebted to the rat. Bella was not her namesake and, as of late, her eccentricities were getting to be too much. Given time, I would’ve done the job myself.”

“Yes, yes, but he really did it? That lousy little rat really killed Bella?” Alecto Carrow asked with impatience.

“Yes, she is quite dead,” answered a random voice.

“Quite dead? How is it possible to be quite dead? Either you are or you are not,” squeaked Alecto.

“Oh, shut up, you silly woman. I don’t have time for you right now,” Sage snapped.

One by one, they shuffled out until Sage was left with Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange.  “Well, gentlemen, what can I help you with?” He asked, one red eyebrow quirked.

“How is Lucius?” Dolohov asked.

“And why do you think I would know, Antonin?” Oh, he enjoyed playing with these so-called powerful wizards.

“I have my ways, Sage.”

“Oh, really?” Sage inquired. His tone brooked no further argument and Dolohov knew it.  Dolohov gave him a glare before Apparating away. “I wondered if he’d stay longer. It was almost too easy,” he said to Lestrange. Rodolphus gave him a measuring look. “Anything you wish to add?” Sage asked, noticing it.

“You are in dangerous territory, Sage. I won’t be the one to do it, but someone will figure out the game you are playing and it won’t be pleasant when Voldemort finds out.”

“Unless you tell him, Lestrange, it won’t happen.” His demeanor changed as he went from lounging to sitting up ramrod straight.  A cold glint came into his eyes that made Rodolphus shiver. “If I do find out that you snitched, Lestrange, there won’t be enough of you remaining to bury, and that’s after the little provision I’ve already made.” Rodolphus had no doubt the older man would carry it out. There was something about Sage that kept even Voldemort from punishing him.  In fact, Lestrange didn’t even know why Voldemort had Sage in his inner circle. It seemed like the Dark Lord was furthering his own demise by allowing it. 

“He won’t find out from me, Sage, as you’ve made quite certain,” he said bitterly.

Sage grinned evilly. “Yes, that was a bit of genius on my part, wasn’t it?”

“Genius? Even Voldemort wouldn’t do that!” Lestrange said, aghast. 

“C’mon, Rodolphus, it’s only a tongue,” Sage said drolly. “After all, shouldn’t that be the price for tattletales?” Lestrange gave him one last glare before disappearing in a swirl of black robes. Sage sighed; he was truly getting too old to continue playing these games.

~*~*~*~

“Failed?” The blond boy said incredulously. “How the fuck can they say I failed when I changed right in front of them!” Grey eyes narrowed to slits. Draco Malfoy glared at the parchment that informed him of his failed attempt at becoming an Animagus. He let out a roar of pure frustration. “They have to be fucking blind not to have seen me change!” Shoving a hand through his platinum blond hair, he glanced down at the parchment again, not believing what it said. There had to be a mistake, and he was going to make sure that it was corrected. Turning to his Floo, he called upon Skye Larkin, a Ravenclaw who should’ve been a Slytherin in Draco’s eyes, but it was a flaw to overlook. His head was swirling in a mass of green flames before it stopped and he was in the fireplace of Larkin Manor.

“Skye, get your flaming arse over here,” he snapped.

“Malfoy, I see your charming personality has not deserted you at all.” The tall boy laughed, his bright azure eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite humor.

“Stuff it, Larkin. I have something to ask you.”

“Oh, then, by all means, ask away.”

“Have you gotten your Animagus papers?”

“Yes, I have. Bloody wankers said I failed. Even a blind man could’ve seen the change!”

“Apparently we had the same blind man because I failed, too.”

“Step inside then, Malfoy. I have Blaise coming ‘round in a bit. Actually, he should’ve have been here already.” Just then, they heard a muffled squawk.

“Larkin, there is a head in your fireplace that is quite big and it won’t let me through!”

Draco snorted. “My head is not big, Zabini.”

“It ruddy well is from my perspective. Now either get in or get out. I’m spinning so much I think I’ll have shrunk like those Muggle clothes in the machine thing that Kiara and Cass swear by.” It took him a moment to get back into the flames and Floo in. Following him was Blaise Zabini, a scowl on his perfect features.

“Only the pair of you can make a Floo ride entertaining,” said Skye shaking his head.

“He said my head is big; it isn’t!” pouted Draco.

“Awww, ickle Malfoy is having a fit.  You’d think I was talking about his other head.”

“Fuck off, Zabini, and if you were, then you would have been correct.”

“So I take it all of us failed, when it is clearly apparent to us that there is no way we could’ve done so.”

“Larkin, are you sure you are a Ravenclaw?”

“I have my doubts. My inner Hufflepuff has been dying to come out lately,” he said somberly.

“C’mon, we need to figure this out. How, when there is no way we could have failed, the Ministry said we did? One of us could be a mistake, but three? That’s no coincidental mistake.” Blaise’s eyes burned their frosty green. The unusually pale color almost made his irises look white.

Blaise was dangerous. Out of all the Slytherins, the six-foot-six tower was a menace. His mane of glossy black hair was the kind that witches paid exorbitant amounts to get, paired with the high cheekbones on a face that was all planes and angles, gave him a hard, aristocratic look. Right now, the tower was vibrating with ill-concealed anger. Blaise Zabini did not fail and the Ministry was going to have to do some explaining. 

“Calm down, Zabini, we can sort this out. We’ll head over to the Ministry tomorrow like it says on the parchment,” Skye said, using a placating tone. His mother would color him twenty shades of blue if one of her precious vases was broken and right now, Zabini was perilously close to one of them. Draco looked at Blaise, knowing his anger was justified. The three had never failed, and for the Ministry to suggest that they did was an abomination and a blow to their prides.

Out of the three, Skye had the calmest temperament. It didn’t mean he didn’t get angry--he did, and his temper was just as cold as his eyes. He didn’t match Blaise in height, but more than made up for it in presence. The fine bones of his face screamed royalty and the twin dimples on both his cheeks gave him a boyish charm the dark Slytherin lacked.

He gave a deep sigh, and flopped himself down with catlike grace onto a chintz sofa of the palest gold. “Why does it feel like something doesn’t add up?” Skye remarked.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Blaise said, agreeing with him.

“No, it doesn’t, but there also has to be a reason for it. What did you turn into, Draco?”

“A silver dragon.”

“Blaise?”

“A green dragon.”

Skye gave them a grin. “Three guesses on what I am and the first two don’t count.”

“A dragon,” Blaise said softly as his icy green eyes turned chartreuse. “Why would they fail us for turning into dragons? We don’t pick the animal; the animal picks us. Admittedly, I didn’t think magical creatures were animals you could turn into.” They turned to Draco who looked to be far away. His normally vibrant grey eyes were vacant and hard lines had formed around his bow-shaped lips, the only sign that he was in deep thought.

“Draco, do you have any insight on this issue? The peg-legged hamster churning your thought wheel seems to be working in overdrive,” Skye said.

Draco shook from his reverie. “Fuck off, Larkin. I may be wrong about this, but have you ever thought about the Blood Scythe Brotherhood?”

“I thought it was a myth,” Blaise said, a frown marring his features.

“And what did the myth say?” Draco asked.

“That they were a Brotherhood of warriors, selected for their skill, strength and intellect. They were protectors of the wizarding world, selected by their Animagus forms, which were never revealed…” Skye said, giving them a pointed look.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It makes sense, though.”

“It is plausible, but according to the myths, they were cold blooded and trained to kill. Controlling such raw power was something the Ministry couldn’t do and had them deregulated,” Skye said.

“I always thought that they were something that people made up because they wanted a fantasy to save them from their dreary existence.”

“Ever the cynic, Blaise, you know as well as I we’ve all at some point wished for someone to help us with the nose-less tyrant.”

“No. I have never wished that, Larkin, because I know that if we don’t do it, it’s not going to happen. Potter thinks that if he finds all the Horcruxes, then it will be the end of Voldemort. He is wrong and we know this. Voldemort has gained power because of his supporters and, like any regime, if it doesn’t have followers it can’t last. Let the witless wonder find the Horcruxes; it’s his destiny to do so, but who will take care of the filth Voldemort has spawned? Don’t you think that your father, or even mine, for that matter, would take Voldemort’s place? Lucius would salivate at the thought and Draco knows this. In order for the peace to return to this community, we need to eradicate everything Voldemort has spawned.”

“So what do you suggest? Because let me tell you, us banding together like the Three Musketeers will not get the job done.” Skye grinned at Blaise. 

Draco coughed, trying to hide the laughter that was threatening to burst out. He remembered when Kiara brought up the Muggle reference. She had said the three men reminded her of the musketeers, which, of course, had the Philistines about all things Muggle clamoring for an explanation. The idea of them donning tights and capes and running about shouting ‘all for one and one for all’ was just too ridiculous.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Let’s just go to the Ministry, see why we failed, see if there is any stock in our theories and then move on from there.” Draco’s logic, as always, prevailed.

“I agree. We should wait and see how it goes before we don our capes and tights.” Skye said, his lips twitching. Blaise grinned; the idea was funny.  Just then, the flames erupted again in the Larkin fireplace.

“Zabini, if you don’t get your arse home right now, I’m sending Cass in after you!”

“Quick, hide me!” Draco and Skye laughed. Seeing Blaise cower was not something you saw every day. However, the slight woman in the flames seemed to manage it with alarming regularity.

“No way, mate, that’s all you. I’m not taking on that hellfire.”

Blaise glared at his friends. “I’ll get you both back for this.” He turned towards the flames and shouted, “I’m coming, woman!”

“Oh, you did not just call me woman; your arse is so mine, Zabini!” The hellfire’s voice and eyes promised pain before she vanished from the flames.

“Blaise, is there anything special you want in your casket?” Skye asked innocently. Growling, Blaise turned to the fireplace and Flooed out.

“He is so whipped.”

“At least she can control him. Merlin help us all if Blaise became uncontrollable.” Draco nodded in agreement, his mind wandering off to what the Ministry would say. His gut told him he wasn’t wrong about the Brotherhood, and if that was the case, how was he going to deal with it? How were any of them going to deal with it?

“Skye, hypothetically speaking, if the Brotherhood was real and they wanted us, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I’d say fuck, yeah.” The blankness in his cobalt eyes told Draco everything he needed to know.

“I thought so.”

“What about you, Malfoy?”

“I’d just about say the same thing.”  They knew they would do it. It wasn’t a question of if, more of a question of when.  

~*~*~*~*~

“The bleeding Ministry has lost it. I mean, there is no way they couldn’t have seen the change!” hollered Ron Weasley as he threw tantrum after tantrum over his results. Hermione winced as another book flew from the desk. Ron’s anger was so palpable that it made him lose control over his magic. Things had been flying all over the place since the results came in.

“It’s probably a mistake. I mean, the Ministry did ask to see you tomorrow?” she volunteered, and then balked as he turned on her.

“You think I didn’t change, don’t you? You think I couldn’t do it.” His voice was a soft, dangerous whisper.

“No, Ron, that’s not what I think and if you insist on being pigheaded about it, that’s your choice, but I’m not sitting here and waiting for one of those flying objects to knock me out,” she huffed, and stalked out of the room. He turned his blue eyes on Harry, who had thus far managed to stay out of the line of fire.

“I think that the Ministry fucks up on a regular basis, and you should just go and find out what’s going on tomorrow.”

“Harry, the change was real--I know it was--and there is no bloody way they could’ve missed it. Something is not right about this and I want to know what it is.” Harry looked at the taller boy, whose cerulean eyes were burning with a fury few had witnessed. Deep auburn locks curling around the nape of his neck and his forehead were being shoved this way and that by hands repeatedly going through them. He was stalking the length of the room and looked like a barely contained tiger.

Harry didn’t know what it was, but there was a change in his friend, a darkness that seemed to emanate from his pores. Ron seemed so much more than the boy he had once been. He vibrated with strength and power. It was so raw and energized, Harry got the feeling that if anyone got to close to him, they would be singed. “I need to think,” Ron announced and stalked towards the door. It opened with an unseen force as the tall boy strode through it.

“Well, that went well,” Harry muttered before going after Hermione. He had an awful case of the munchies now.  Conveniently, he found her sitting in the Weasley kitchen. “You know he is just upset, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t help but feel like something isn’t right about it. Actually, right about Ron.”

“You’ve noticed it too, then?”

“It’s hard to miss it. It’s as if he is surrounded by this blackness that we can’t seem to penetrate. I feel so alienated from him. He’s changed, Harry. I don’t know how or what happened, but he has changed.” Harry came around to give her a hug.

“It’ll be okay. Ron is still Ron in there somewhere.”

“I just want my friend back because whoever this person is, I don’t recognize him at all.”

“Isn’t this cozy?” drawled a voice from the door. “Typical of the two of you. Have you thought about supporting him through his transition rather than wanting the old Ron back?” Ginny Weasley stood in the doorway, a replica of her brother only more feminine, but just as tall and just as deadly at the moment. “Has it occurred to either of you brainless twits that he now stands taller? That his confidence levels are through the roof? Ron is surer of himself than I have ever seen him and with you two as friends, I am sure it has been a hard trek. The brains of Gryffindor and its very own Wonder Boy,” she sneered. 

“I’m sorry, Ginny. We just didn’t think-”

“That’s it, Hermione. You don’t think when it comes to Ron, you just accept! I don’t have time for this, I’m late already, but you two, as dear as you are to me, had better lay off Ron.”  With a flip of her titan curls, she walked off, leaving the pair to contemplate.

 

"Pacifism is objectively pro-Fascist...' he that is not with me is against me.' "

- George Orwell.

Layzelle Manor was resplendent; huge crystal chandeliers hung from the cathedral ceilings, and breathtaking murals of demons and angels waged in battle graced the walls. Grecian pillars with carved vines held the dome shaped roof up. Ginny stepped into the house, looking for her friends.

“Ginny, in here,” came a voice, sounding very much like Cassandra Lauzerte.

“Hey, guys,” Ginny said breathlessly. Walking into the large living room, she found both girls spread out on low-lying cushions of moss green. Cassandra had her brownish-red hair piled atop her head and secured with a quill, and her attire gave no impression that there was a female in there anywhere. The huge Muggle sweatshirt and jeans she was wearing dwarfed her completely, but wisdom and innocence shone through her hazel eyes. The pensive expression on her face told Ginny that right now the girl was in thinking mode. Kiara was sprawled beside her, probably counting ways to kill Blaise Zabini, the bane of her existence, as well as the reason for it. A tall and lanky girl, she didn’t make Ginny feel awkward about her height because at 5’7”, she was no dwarf herself. Long dark hair spilled over her shoulders and fawn-like chocolate eyes gave her a look of purity. Ginny snorted - the thought of those two as chaste? HAH! “You look so innocent sitting there, one would never think you could get up to half the stuff you do.”

“That’s the idea, silly goose,” Cass said, grinning.

“I think I want to disembowel him using tongs,” Kiara speculated.

Cass rolled her eyes. “She’s been thinking of ways to kill Blaise ever since this morning when he wouldn’t tell her about the failed Animagus test.”

“Blaise failed?”

“Ya-huh. So did Draco and Skye.”

“No way! So did Ron,” Ginny said, slightly disturbed by the coincidence.

Kiara shot up from her cushion. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, he’s been acting all out of sorts lately, but it’s not exactly bad. He’s just a lot more quiet and brooding. When you look at him you just want to keep your distance. There is something menacing about him,” Ginny answered, not sure why she was telling the two Slytherins this to begin with.

Kiara narrowed her eyes speculatively. “Who else reminds you of that description?”

A realization dawned on Cass’s face. “You don’t think it’s true?” she gasped.

“It has to be. All of it doesn’t make sense otherwise.”

“I suppose you're right, but I just don’t see the connection.”

“So that explains his tetchy mood.”

Ginny looked at the two girls. They would always do this, start their banter and go off into their own world while everyone else around them would fade into the woodwork. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Oh, um, well, you see, it’s the Blood Scythe Brotherhood.”

“The what?” Cassandra was looking at Kiara; the blood had drained from her face, rage sparkling in the warm brown eyes, her hands tight fists, the whites of her knuckles showing.

“Kiara, don’t blow it. You don’t know if he is hiding anything from you.” The apprehension made Ginny wonder what the girls were talking about.

“Will one of you please tell me what the fuck is going on? And why is Kiara pulling a scary madwoman act?” Ginny realized it was the wrong thing to say, especially when all eyes turned to her. They had murder written in them. Everything about the girls’ body language told Ginny to run like hell.

“Kiara Layzelle, you stop it right now or help me Bael, I’ll make you regret it!” There was that subtle change in color in Cassie’s eyes, the hazel burning a bright yellow. But Kiara couldn’t look away from Ginny. “Kiara, stop it, you’re scaring her.”

“She isn’t …” protested Ginny but it was an outright lie: the other girl was terrifying her.

“Shut up, you twit!” snapped Cassandra, then, just as rapidly as it had come, the rage left her and the fiery depths turned into molten chocolate.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost it like that. Trust is the most important thing in a relationship to me, without it there is nothing to build on,” Kiara said softly.

“No prob, Bob, just better control. You know you need better control.” They were smiling merrily again as if nothing had transpired. Ginny shook her head, wondering just who she was friends with; the about-turn of Kiara’s moods made Ginny question if the other girl was bi-polar. Cassandra and Kiara were an enigma to Hogwarts; they had transferred in but no one knew quite from where. It wasn’t Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but their knowledge was unparalleled. Even Hermione had a hard time keeping up, especially with Cassandra--the girl was like a magical encyclopedia. When asked they smiled blandly and replied “home schooled”. Kiara excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts and, rumor had it, dabbled quite a bit in the Dark Arts herself. Both girls were caught making Layla, a sixth year Hufflepuff, do their bidding and she wasn’t even under the Imperius Curse. As far as Ginny knew, there was no other way, but there was no proof otherwise. What troubled her was that neither girl seemed in the least bit sorry for anything they did.

“I’m still interested in what that was all about,” Ginny said finally, the Gryffindor stubbornness rearing its ugly head. She saw a look pass between the two girls and resolutely decided that she was going to get to the bottom of the mystery that was otherwise known as Cas ‘n’ Kiara. Kiara cocked her head to the side, looking her up and down. It made Ginny uneasy, she felt like she was being sized up by a predator.

“And why should we tell you anything?” Kiara mused.

“Because it’s what friends do, they share.” Ginny's words showed a confidence she wasn’t feeling.

“My friend already knows everything there is to know about me.”

“Quit being anal, Kiara, she has a right to know, especially when you decide to go postal on her,” Cassandra warned.

Kiara pouted. “Spoilsport,” she teased, sticking out her tongue. Then, turning those inscrutable eyes onto Ginny, she said, “So you want to know what that was all about. Well, I don’t think I am quite ready to divulge that to you, but given time maybe I will. As for the reason for my little spastic bout, well, I think you should know about it because I think it involves your brother, too.”

“How on earth could anything to do with you lot involve Ron? No offense, but he really doesn’t like Slytherins.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Slytherins don’t like him either,” piped up Cass. Ginny had to grin; the girl’s bubbly personality and quirky way of talking was an ice breaker. “But you have to admit, your brother has been acting more like one of us than a Gryffindor.”

“What we are trying to say is that they may have been chosen to be a part of the Blood Scythe Brotherhood. We don’t know for sure and that is probably why Blaise wouldn’t tell me anything, but I know it. They have been chosen and there is no turning back from this brotherhood.” Ginny didn’t like the sounds of it. For Ron to have anything in common with a Slytherin? It just didn’t seem plausible. However, the changes in him were undoubtedly of a Slytherin nature.

“He’s going to the Ministry tomorrow,” Ginny thought out loud.

“So are the boys,” Cass said, then turned to Kiara. “Oh, no you don’t, Layzelle, that look means trouble.”

Kiara looked at her with widely open eyes. “I’m innocent!”

“The hell you are,” muttered Ginny.

“Kiara, I know you, and you’ve got the I’m-up-to-no-good-face.”

“I was just thinking.”

Ginny gasped. “A thinking Slytherin, will wonders never cease?”

“Keep it up, Carrot Top, and my thought patterns will take a decidedly violent turn.” Kiara smiled sweetly.

Deciding not to test her luck, Ginny thought it best not to push the already over-the-edge girl further. “So what were you thinking?” she asked instead.

“I think that we should help.”

“With what?” Ginny asked skeptically.

“With what undoubtedly is the reason the Brotherhood is being called upon again: safety of the wizarding world, of course.” She said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

“Of all the times to come up with a harebrained idea, she chooses now,” deadpanned Cassandra.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Ginny interjected.

“Sure, doesn’t mean we’ll take it,” Cass replied nonchalantly.

“Look, we can snipe all night long and still get nowhere, none of what we have is concrete. Why don’t we just wait until they get back from the Ministry to figure out what it is exactly and then work on helping? Believe me, I would like nothing more than to exterminate the waste that Voldemort has left around. I will join you in this venture, but let’s just see where it goes before jumping the wand.” Ginny was deadly calm about it; she knew she would fight alongside the girls but she wanted it to be absolutely certain that the Brotherhood had started again. After all, she had a bone to pick with Lucius Malfoy.

“One day won’t hurt any, Kiara. Give them a chance to prove our speculation right.”

“Okay, they have one day, then I’m donning the leathers and getting to work.” With that, she got up and flounced out of the room.

“Is she always that impulsive?”

“Ya-huh, this one time, she decided to… Well, never mind, that falls into the ‘Things about Kiara that I will never repeat’ category. A word of advice though, don’t push Kiara too far, you have no idea what she is capable of. I don’t know what your beef is with her, but as her friend I can assure you, you don’t want Kiara as an enemy and even worse, you don’t want me as one.” Those sparkling eyes were a cold slate gray, forcing Ginny back a few steps. What the fuck am I getting myself into? she thought, staring at the petite girl. Cassandra gave her an eerie grin. “Don’t worry, Gin, we aren’t that bad.”

Ginny shook her head. “Nutters is what you are, both of you, bloody nutters. But I like you, you are honest about yourselves to a degree and I really would rather you as friends than enemies. There is already enough hate in this world, we don’t need to add to it. We need to work together to end it.” Cassandra smiled, eyes now a warm honey.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “We will work together to end this.”

~*~*~*~

Ron arrived at the Ministry with a black cloud surrounding him. His mood soured even more at the sight of the other three that were approaching from the other side.

“Weasley,” nodded Skye, his cerulean eyes revealing as much as a black hole would.

“Larkin,” Ron returned curtly. He took in the other two of the group. Malfoy looked like an icicle as usual, but he seemed to be preoccupied with something. Zabini was looking at him with a peculiar glare; something about those acid-green eyes was unnerving as they sized him up.

“You failed, didn’t you, Weasley?” he asked. Ron immediately stiffened. His dislike for Slytherins, while a lot less than his Hogwarts years, was in no way abated.

“No, I did not,” he gritted out. “The bloody Ministry officials are just blind as bats.”

“I concur,” Blaise said, throwing the Gryffindor off track. “Shall we, then?”

“Oh don’t gape, Weasley, we are all here for the same thing,” Skye said, grinning. The mood around them was tense, but they all had the same agenda and it would be foolish to ignore the tentative olive branch handed out by Zabini.

They made for a dramatic image walking into the Ministry, each breathtaking in his own right, but it wasn’t their looks that had people parting for them, it was the inherent danger that surrounded them. Their black robes billowed about them as they stormed to the registration offices. “The bleeding apocalypse is here,” muttered a Ministry official as he cleared their path. Indeed, they looked like the four horsemen of the apocalypse: Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. Draco, pale as Death; Ron with his deep red hair was War; Blaise with his black hair and towering height was Famine; and Skye, light of skin and eyes and with a royal demeanor, was Pestilence.

“May I help you?” simpered a secretary who was way past her golden years.

“We are here to see whichever idiot it was that failed us on our Animagus tests,” Draco said tersely.

“Well, hmm, I don’t know who that would be.”

“Excuse me?” Blaise said, his patience not doing him any favors.

“Well, we don’t have records of any that failed this time.” They looked at her blankly. Huffing, she said, “What I mean is that no one failed their tests in the past four testing dates.”

“This feels like the fucking twilight zone,” muttered Ron. Skye took a look at his compatriots and decided to intervene before one of them turned the secretary into something foul. Smiling at her, he could see the effect immediately. She straightened up a bit, adjusting the horrid flower on her lapel, which rather looked as if a raccoon was stuck to her bosom.

“All my friends and I would like to know is why we got letters informing us of our failed status.”

“Well, let me just take a look, then. What was your name dear?” she gushed.

“Skye Larkin.” He watched her flick through parchment after parchment with a puckered brow.

“That’s odd; I don’t have any Skye Larkin in my books.”

“What about Malfoy?” Draco asked.

“No, no Malfoy, either,” she said, flipping through her pages again.

“Let me guess,” Ron interrupted, “you don’t have Weasley or Zabini in there, either?”

“Oh my, aren’t we astute,” snickered Draco.

Ron glared at him. “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

The secretary looked a bit apprehensive then hurriedly said, “No… I don’t know what happened, lads, but you are not on this list. If you would like to file a complaint, I’ll be happy to handle it.”

“Well, Mary fucking sunshine …”

“We’ll come back some other day. Thanks for all your help, hon,” winked Skye, interrupting Ron and dragging the other boy away with visible force.

“Let go of me, Larkin,” growled Ron, as he shrugged the other boy off. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“I think you need to calm down before you get into trouble.”

“I just want to bloody know which one of them I need to decapitate.”

“I don’t think they know what’s going on, Weasley. This is a lot bigger than the tests,” Blaise said, his voice soft. Ron took a moment to look at the other boys.

“What is it that you aren’t telling me? You obviously know something about this that I don’t,” he snapped.

“Well, we don’t know anything per se, Weasel King, we‘re just speculating, but I don’t think we are wrong. All the evidence proves we probably have the right idea.” Draco hissed, his patience wearing incredibly thin.

“Oh joy, now they’ve turned into amateur detectives. Unspeakables, watch out!” Ron said sarcastically.

Draco stepped forward, his body tense with poorly masked frustration. “Weasley, you can choose to believe us or not, I really don’t give a fuck. You can join Potty in his quest for Horcruxes or you can go and take a flying leap over the bloody Atlantic and imitate a migrating bird. The fact remains, you are still one of the ones who failed--that’s what’s important. Either get that through your thick skull or let childish prejudices that have long since lost their appeal control your logic. I don’t care.” Color tinted his pale cheeks as the cold air whipped about. A crowd had gathered around them, watching with avid fascination as the two boys squared off. The sparks around them were flying and you could cut the tension in the air with a blunt knife. “I don’t like you Weasley, and I am under no illusions that you feel anything but hatred for me or my friends. What you fail to realize is that, I am a Slytherin; I will do whatever it takes to get what I want. If that means I have to work with Muggle-loving Gryffindors, so be it.”

Ron gave the Slytherin a penetrating look, bright blue eyes flashing icy fire. “Take your superiority and shove it Malfoy,” he spat. “You’ve got one thing correct; I don’t like you. You happen to be an infuriating egotistical maniac who believes in blood superiority without fully being aware of what it is. One concept you seem to find incredibly hard to grasp, is that, just because I happen to be a Gryffindor, does not mean I don’t know how to get what I want. You are nothing but a shadow of your father; a miserable little wannabe bad boy.”

“Enough!” Blaise said harshly. “Will the pair of you grow up? You know absolutely nothing about each other short of what your parents have told you.” The normally silent man was shaking with anger. “We need each other to solve this, whatever it is. I suggest you talk this out or bash it out, but do it somewhere relatively more private.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve come to blows,” muttered Skye, then, noticing the crowd, said, “I agree with Blaise, I think we should take this to a more secluded area.”

“Draco,” Blaise said in a warning tone.

“Where to?” he asked, without looking away from Ron.

“Kiara’s. No one is there at the moment.”

“Even Hellfire is out?” Skye asked.

“I think so, but we won’t be bothered there. Weasley, it would be advisable for you to join us; however, if you choose not to, then that’s your prerogative.” Ron gave them all a hard look. He knew that they were right: whatever it was, it involved them all.

“Yeah, I’m in,” he said, then muttered, “No sodding way he could’ve missed my change. Hell, no one in the vicinity could’ve - they were all covered in soot!”

Skye had to laugh. “Way to go, Weasley. At least all I did was light one of their robes on fire.” Ron gave him a weird look, his cobalt-colored eyes were sparkling with some of his old mischief.

“Hot for your official, Larkin?”

“You know it.” Skye winked, giving Ron’s arse a slap.

“If you two lovebirds are done, can we proceed?” Blaise asked.

“Sure, Kiara, still got that leash around your neck?”

“I think she has it somewhere more delicate,” Draco said, grinning.

“Keep it up, you lot, I’ll be sure to mention it to her,” Blaise said, walking away with as much dignity as he could muster.

“You wouldn’t,” said Skye, aghast. “We’re supposed to be your friends!” Blaise laughed maniacally as the quartet left the Ministry.

“I have never been especially impressed by the heroics of people who are convinced they are about to change the world. I am more awed by those who struggle to make one small difference after another.”

Ellen Goodman

Ginny Weasley was getting more and more irritated by the minute. Aside from having been woken up by the hell beast that was Kiara’s owl, she was listening to Molly Weasley rant. Eyes flashing, she turned to her mother. “Mother, I am eighteen years old and you have no right to tell me who I can and can not see,” Ginny said. She was clad in all black; her long red hair hung like spun copper down her back.

“Ginevra Weasley, those girls are nothing but trouble. I forbid you to go see them.” Molly Weasley was having one of her famed tantrums, rivaled only by her daughter, who was not in the least bit amused at her mother’s tirades. “We don’t know anything about them; we don’t know who they are, where they’ve come from, nothing! They are evil, you mark my words. They will hurt you and fling you aside.”

“Well then, it’s a bloody good thing that I haven’t decided to set up house with them, isn’t it? I will go to the Grille, Cassandra and Kiara will be perfectly normal girls, and we will have a wonderful girl’s day out.” Or at least I hope that’s how it will be, she added to herself.

Ginny was furious. First, Harry had accosted her and demanded she not see the girls, but Hermione had taken care of that little problem by silencing him with a charm. Then, she had to put up with her mother telling her that the Layzelles and Lauzertes were evil, with no hopes of redemption. Although Ginny wasn’t too sure about them, she owed it to herself and to the tentative friendship she had with the girls. She recalled how they met and realized that it could’ve gone horribly wrong.

One year ago, during their Hogwarts days.

Ginny was rushing towards her Charms class when someone’s foot brought her crashing down to the hard stone floor.

“You fucking idiot!” she cursed at the person.

“Now, now, Weasley, you don’t want to anger the guy who has you on the floor, do you? I could get particularly nasty with you.” Jacob Ferguson grinned. A maniacal gleam in his otherwise dull blue eyes told Ginny he was up to no good.

Buggering hell, she thought as she noticed her wand lying a few feet away. “Bugger off, Fergie,” she said as she reached for her things.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he taunted as he thrust her back on the floor with a flick of his wand. “Did I say you could leave?” he asked as he walked over to pick up her wand.

Ginny felt the first real sensations of fear. “What do you want, Fergie?”

“A nice little romp with the Gryffindor princess wouldn’t go amiss, but I suppose I’ll do with a kiss,” he said.

“Like hell, you wanker,” she snarled.

He walked back. Leaning over her, he grabbed the front of her robes and dragged her up by her lapels. Ginny twisted and turned, trying to get him off of her, and then brought her knee up to his groin. His howl of pain told her she’d hit the mark, but he wouldn’t let go of her. Fear rose in Ginny like a tidal wave.

“You’ll pay for that, you silly little bitch,” he gasped and brought his mouth down on hers. Ginny clawed at his face, making him curse with renewed vigor. Just when she thought that the miserable creep was going to get his kiss, she heard a chilling voice.

“No, she won’t. But you will,” said a voice from behind them.

A moment later, Jacob had been blasted off Ginny with such force it made the girl stagger. She was chilled at the sight; they looked like death incarnate. It was the new girls, Cassandra and Kiara, with their eyes--those scary, freaky eyes. She first saw Cassandra with her eyes turning to the grayish white color of storm clouds. It would be one thing if it were just her iris; no, it was her whole eye. The entire bleeding thing was swirling.

Then there was the other one. Oh god! Ginny thought as she caught sight of the brownish red eyes. An unseen wind seemed to swirl about them as the girls strolled towards the sprawled boy. Calmly, Cassandra flicked her wand over him, binding him magically.

“You know, Bubba, the next time, try asking a girl for a kiss. You’ll be shocked, they actually say yes.” Then she scrunched up her face as her gaze flickered over him. “Ew, maybe not.”

Kiara just gave him a pointed look as if to say, “You aren’t fit enough to kiss my arse let alone my face.” Only in Slytherin could such utter contempt be clearly expressed in one look.

Abruptly, those freakish eyes turned to her. “He wronged you; you may see him burn as he should in the fiery pits of hell or you may grant him life.”

Ginny was aghast. She couldn’t allow him death, not for a kiss; in fact, she didn’t think the issue was deserving of anything more than a good hex. She didn’t know why she believed that the eerie girl in front of her could do as she said. It wasn’t a heat of the moment type thing. This girl would well and truly kill for such a small offense. Jacob Ferguson would cease to exist for getting frisky. In that moment, Ginny felt a chill unlike any other, a cold paralyzing fear. They would do it.

“I choose life,” she said formally. Glancing at the other boy, she saw his face. He had the same fright on his face as one who was facing a lifetime in Azkaban. He knew as well as she what he had come so close to losing.

Kiara nodded in affirmation. “One of the most heinous crimes to me is a man, or a boy, for that matter, taking what is not offered freely by a woman.” She cast another glance at the terrified boy before walking back to Ginny. “I’m sure someone will find him in a little while. Why don’t we get on to class? Flitwick won’t be happy if we are late again.”

Cassandra walked up to them, grinning. She turned to Ginny. “I understand what you just saw probably freaked you out, but, really, we’re harmless.” She was smiling so beguilingly Ginny almost believed her. Almost.

Present

It had taken six months before Ginny met both girls browsing the aisles of Flourish and Blotts. They had smiled and asked her to join them for some ice cream and that was that: the beginning of a new friendship, one that would change all their futures.

“I’m going, Mother, I’ll see you when I get back.” Ginny grabbed her things and strolled out of the front door, glad that no one else had tried to stop her.

Kiara and Cassandra were not having a productive morning. They were both at each other's throats about their most recent venture.

“Kiara, how can I put this mildly without offending your sensibilities? Oh, wait, I can’t. You are a moron.” Cassandra fumed.

“Why, because I think that we should tell Ginny everything?” Kiara retorted.

“She wouldn’t understand. Why do you want to alienate the one girl who is willing to be friends with us?”

Kiara whirled around. “ I will not lie and connive her for friendship. She will deal with us as we are. No pretenses. I value loyalty, Cassandra, and I refuse to give anything but. The first step is trust.”

“But, Kiara …”

“Enough! We need to trust her a little bit. If she can’t deal with it then she isn’t worthy of our friendship.”

Cassandra seethed. “This is why we don’t have friends. You don’t tolerate anything! Everything is in absolutes, and it can’t be. You have to give a little, Kiara.”

“Let’s get going,” Kiara said, her eyes vacant.

“I can’t persuade you to change your mind, then?”

“No, this needs to be done,” Kiara said.

Acquiescing and seeing no other alternative, Cassandra followed the other girl out. “Those trousers make your arse look huge,” Cassandra snickered.

“This, coming from you, sounds a lot like envy, Miss-My-Arse-Is-Flatter-Than-Compressed-Pancakes,” Kiara retorted.

“Oh shut up. At least it’s well within the realm of being an arse, unlike that monstrosity you carry around.” The two girls continued their bickering as they walked down the large spiraling staircase, just as the front door opened.

“I thought you said they weren’t home,” hissed Ron as he watched the two scariest girls he’d ever met walk down the stairs. It wasn’t that they were scary looking--far from it. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He knew they weren’t above using spells and curses to get their way--he’d seen it first hand on the Hufflepuff--but she was just one of the students. There were many who had fallen before the two Slytherins. “Figures one of them would be dating the scariest male I’ve ever met,” he muttered under his breath. He caught the shorter one's giggle; she was looking right at him with those strange, yet scarily beautiful, eyes of hers, unlike the other who had eyes for no one but Zabini. A strange feeling told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave of welcome as they all approached the center of the dome shaped room.

“Blaise, what brings you and your merry brothers here?” the tall girl asked, her gaze finally moving to settle on him. “And why have you brought him here?” With a flip of her hair, Kiara turned to Blaise again. “Awww, sweetheart, you’ve brought me an ickle Gryff to play with!”

Ron gulped as Kiara walked towards him. Her gait was like that of a panther’s. A lascivious smile spread over her face. She raised a finger and traced it down his face, making him shiver. He wasn’t quite sure if it was in pleasure or revulsion and he didn’t think he wanted an answer. Then she burst out laughing. “C’mon, Weasley, don’t look so scared, I don’t bite.” She grinned, looking like an innocent child, and then she ruined it again. “Unless asked nicely, of course.”

“Kiara, stop it. That’s the second Weasley in as many days that you have scared,” Cassandra said, joining the group.

“Yeah, I know, innit great?” Kiara laughed.

“As much as I enjoy Weasley’s discomfort, we do need to discuss things with him, so if you could keep him alive until then, I’d appreciate it, Kiara,” Draco said, bending down to give the girl a kiss on her cheek, and then turned to give another to Cassandra.

“No problem, just tell me when you guys are done. Feel free to use one of the studies, Cass and I were just on our way out.”

“We were?”

“We are. And Larkin, keep your grimy fingers away from my chocolate, or else I’ll hunt you down and have you served on a silver platter to Cass’s Rottweilers.”

“Where are those brutes, anyway?” Skye asked

“Oh somewhere around the house,” Cass said and breezed out of the front door, laughing.

“Cassandra! Kiara! Come back here! You did not leave those man-eaters out!” They were gone, their laughter still ringing in the room.

“Why are you so afraid of those dogs? You have a wand, remember,” Ron said, a quizzical expression on his face.

“It’s not the dogs I fear. It’s what Cassandra will do to me if I touch her dogs with my wand that scares me.”

“Larkin, why on earth would you want to touch a dog with your wand?” Blaise asked.

“You sick, sick, bastard Zabini,” Draco said, shaking his head.

“So are we still going to tell her?” Cassandra asked, apprehension clearly written on her face.

“We are. She doesn’t get the gory details, she gets just enough to satisfy her curiosity. I like her. She has spunk, even though it’s more often than not misdirected.” Kiara’s eyes softened at the apprehension she saw on Cassandra’s face. “Don’t worry, hon, if I didn’t think she could accept us I wouldn’t tell her.”

“It’s not her acceptance, Kiara, it’s just… I don’t know, I get a strange feeling about it. It feels like it’s meant to happen, but at the same time …” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Kiara sighed; their lives were such a jumble. “Let’s just see where it goes. If you think that you don’t want to go through with it, we’ll stop right then and just talk about flying monkeys or something.”

Cassandra laughed. “Flying monkeys, Kiara? You couldn’t think up anything else?”

“Shut up or else we’ll be late; we’re going to The Grille.”

Ginny found Kiara and Cassandra sitting in a secluded alcove at The Grille. Both girls seemed to be arguing about something. She could see Cassandra roll her eyes; it seemed to be something she did quite often in regards to the other girl. They spotted her and waved her over. Smiling, she decided it would be safe. Her mother had nothing to worry about. Or did she? she thought as she caught the look in Kiara’s eyes.

“Welcome, Ginny. I suppose your parents weren’t too happy that you chose to hang out with us?” Cassandra asked.

“Well, it’s not that ...” she trailed off as she caught the other two grinning. “Oh whatever, it seems you guys enjoy causing trouble.”

“No, we don’t, it just follows us where we go,” Kiara said. “So what would you like to order?” She cocked her head to the side. A waterfall of dark hair cascaded to one side. Looking at her, Ginny wondered just of what she was capable.

“A green devil, thanks,” she requested.

“Good choice,” Cass said. “I think I’m going to have the same, with those funny little nut things they have.”

“I don’t like little nuts,” Kiara said, pouting.

“Isn’t that something you should be discussing with Blaise?” Ginny asked.

“No, he’s got adequate nuts, thank you very much.”

Ginny flinched; they were having a conversation about Blaise Zabini’s nuts. “Too much information, Kiara,” she grimaced.

“Oh you’re about to get a whole lot more, just not about Blaise. You wanted to know more about us, so you will. We shall wait like civilized people for the drinks to come and then I will tell you a story.” She could see the trepidation written all over Cassandra’s face, which was a direct contrast to the serenity and sense of purpose on Kiara’s. Their drinks arrived, an icy and deadly concoction of gin, limejuice, green crème de menthe, and sprigs of mint.

“Keep them coming,” Kiara said to the waiter, who nodded and scurried off. Then she turned to Ginny. “So you want to know more about us. Do you think you could handle it?” Ginny was uneasy. The way she put it made it seem like it was a horror story.

“Oh but you have no idea how horrific it can get,” Cassandra said softly.

“We can stop, Cass.”

“No, no, we won’t stop. I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

Kiara gave her hand a squeeze and then turned to Ginny. “I won’t ask you to keep it to yourself because even after I do tell you, people wouldn’t believe you.” She pierced Ginny with a direct gaze. “Are you up for a story, ickle Gryff?”

“Yes, I am. You don’t require it, but you have my word that I won’t betray your confidence.”

Thus, Kiara began, “What do you know about demons?”

“Not much; just that they are evil beings that cause mayhem and mischief wherever they go.”

“There is a lot more to them, but you don’t really need to know everything. There are two kinds of demons: Eudemons, which are the good kind, and Cacodemons, who are evil to the core. The word ‘demon’ itself is derived from the Greek word ‘daemon,’ which means genius or intelligence. Humans don’t really have a conception of true demons. To them, demons are just those evil spirits or, as some other people believe, demons are the children of angels and mortals. You are a smart girl, so I doubt I have to tell you why I am informing you of demon lore.

“Our parents believe in Demonolatry. For many years, they were bereft of children, so they turned to the other world for guidance. They wanted someone to carry on their legacies. They didn’t know what they were dealing with when they started out, but they figured it out soon enough, just not early enough in the game. The despicable men that our fathers are, they offered our mothers to the demon princes Mammon, Prince of Tempters and Asmodeus, Prince of Vengeance. It was possible then because they had performed a ritual for children, except they forgot to read the little clause that said the child would be hell’s spawn. Our mothers won’t talk of their time with the two demon princes--it’s not something they wish to relive, apparently--but they bear a tattoo that can only be given to one who is possessed. So that tells us just how much fun their time with the demons was.”

Ginny was aghast. She didn’t think it was possible, but it explained their strength, that innate badness that was Kiara and Cassandra. “So you are demon daughters?” She couldn’t believe she was asking this.

“Part human, but essentially, yes. We were raised in the old ways and spent most of our time with our birthfathers, who also took it upon themselves to educate us.” Kiara grinned. “And what an education it was. Being half demon, we also have certain qualities that human witches lack.”

Ginny was astonished, but she knew it to be the truth. It was in the way the girls acted, the things they knew, the things she had seen them do. “How come you were allowed into Hogwarts?”

“We are part human, and being demon doesn’t mean we go all scaly, nor do we have big, bulbous green eyes or anything,” Cass said disdainfully, making Ginny feel like an idiot.

“I appreciate you telling me this, but why when you could’ve just ignored me?” It was a question that she had to ask. Why now, after all this time, did they feel the need to share?

Kiara gave her a deep, searching look. Ginny thought she saw a flash of vulnerability, but it was so fleeting, she thought she imagined it. “After our discussion yesterday, it would’ve have been very wrong to have included you without your knowing what you were getting into.”

It was so simple and Ginny had to respect it. “You have told me what you are and I accept. Now can we get on with getting smashed?” the Gryffindor joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Cassandra let out a scream of laughter. “To demon princesses,” she said, raising her glass.

“Yes, to demon princesses,” clinked Ginny.

“To friendship,” amended Kiara.

They had settled themselves in a large study. It was decorated in somber greens and browns. Even though the colors didn’t seem to match, they suited the room. He studied the other three boys--no, men--with him. Blaise was lost in his own thoughts, Draco seemed to be lost in his own little world, and Skye was staring at him with a curiosity that made Ron feel uneasy. “Well, what is it that you wish to discuss?” he snapped.

Draco took his time. He wasn’t sure how the Duke of Weasels was going to handle this. In fact, he wasn’t sure that the Weasel would even buy into the story, but he had to try. He turned his flint eyes on the redhead before choosing his words. “There was a society in wizarding history that was bred, raised, and trained to protect the race from those that wished it harm. They were known as the Blood Scythe Brotherhood, trained killers who did what they had to do to keep the peace in our world. For the sake of privacy, they had only one telling feature, their Animagus forms. They are now nothing but legend, something that we either hear in passing or wistfully think about in hopes of a redeemer. According to the records, the society was disposed of after the Ministry was created and the bureaucrats decided they couldn’t control such raw magical power. The Brotherhood had, by then, become a law unto themselves, impossible to catch, and with the lack of telling signs, it was hard to figure out who they were during the day.” Draco’s gaze was steady as he finished his explanation.

“Oh joy, a killing spree,” Ron deadpanned.

Skye chuckled. “Well-said, Weasley.” His cobalt blue eyes sparkled with something that didn’t quite make Ron feel all warm and fuzzy.

“Why us and why now?” he questioned.

“Well, the why now should be apparent, but why us, I’m not sure. Actually, I don’t even know if this is a correct theory yet,” Draco answered.

“Supposing this is true, what are we supposed to do? I mean, running rampant, shouting ‘Off with your head’ probably won’t go over too well with the Ministry,” Ron said.

“Oh, I’m sure, but someone at the Ministry and at Hogwarts knows about this, and I think we need to locate him before we can even begin to contemplate a plan of action,” Blaise replied, finally joining the conversation.

“Okay, I suggest we research the Brotherhood before we go to Hogwarts. Knowing everything about it will give us an edge and it will also make sure that whoever is behind it can’t dupe us,” the blue-eyed Gryffindor suggested.

“I’m impressed, Weasley. You are beginning to think more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor,” Draco drawled.

Ron snorted. “Hardly, Malfoy. Being in Gryffindor doesn’t mean act first, think later, just like being in Slytherin doesn’t mean Death-Eater-in-training.” Ron surprised himself with his thinking. The other three seemed to have the same idea.

“What brought about this change, Weasley? Last time I checked, you still thought Slytherin was a synonym for evil,” asked Malfoy nonchalantly.

Ron shrugged. His time after leaving school had shown him that not everything was black and white. The amount of Death Eaters in the other houses numbered just as many as in Slytherin.

“No point in holding on to childish beliefs, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled. “Touché, Weasley.”

“Aw, isn’t this sweet. Now on to business. I have an idea when it comes to research,” Skye interrupted.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Granger should help us with it.” There was a stunned silence before a chorus of voices shouting, "No!" erupted. Skye held up his hand before the others could get in a word edgewise. “Hear me out. She is undoubtedly the best at it. We don’t have the patience nor are we as thorough as she is. Cassandra and Kiara could probably help out, but I have a feeling that they are up to something with Ginevra and will probably tell us something in their cryptic manner and flounce off.”

“Wait, Ginny? What could she possibly have to do with them?” Ron asked quizzically.

“Oh I think you should ask your sister about it if you want answers,” Blaise said. “I doubt it is our story to tell.”

“I agree with Skye,” Draco interrupted before they could carry on about Ginevra Weasley’s misfortune. “Granger’s brains are wasted on the research she is doing about the Horcruxes,” Draco said. Ron looked at him speculatively. “C’mon, Weasley,” he drawled, “you didn’t think we knew nothing of it? In fact, I’d bet the Death Eaters know about it as well.”

Ron sighed. This was the moment for him. If he carried on and divulged information now, there was no turning back. His eyes turned stony. If he was betrayed in some way by these men, he would kill them all; there was no question in his mind. For now, he was going to trust them. The overwhelming evidence was in their favor. “The search for the Horcruxes is proving to be fruitless. We can’t seem to get anywhere with it and Harry keeps running off with half-baked ideas that will get him and those with him killed. Hermione is trying her best, but Harry seems to think that what she comes up with can’t be plausible.”

“Chances are, Granger has found the right information but Potter won’t follow it. Voldemort is, if anything, a smart man. He wouldn’t hide the Horcruxes somewhere impossible to reach. It would be somewhere within sight and probably close to his person,” Draco reasoned.

“That’s pretty much what Hermione came up with and suggested Harry do. He seems to think it involves a journey of great adventure and peril.”

Blaise snorted at the idea. “It probably does, but not the kind of adventure Potter thinks, and it sure as hell won’t be his brains that get him through. Probably his blind luck.”

Skye gave them all a look. “I may not be a fan of Potter, but he is a very powerful wizard. I’ll admit he got to where he is because of Weasley and Granger, but even without them, a bit later, he would’ve managed.”

“So what are you suggesting, Skye?” Zabini sighed.

“I think that maybe he needs a push in the right direction. He will defeat Voldemort, but that doesn’t mean he has to do it alone.”

“And who do you suggest helps him with this quest?”

“Parkinson.”

“You have got to be joking!” Ron exclaimed as he thought of the Slytherin diva.

“I am not. Parkinson may not be up to par with the other girls, but she would definitely be a help to him. She knows the ins and outs of the Death Eaters. She knows how to use her guile to get what she wants, and she’ll be able to think before they leap. Potter can be the brawn of the quest, but Pansy can be the brains. We all know she can do it.”

“I agree with Skye. We need Granger and Potter needs someone with half a brain. Pansy would fit the role.” Draco said.

“Hold up,” Ron said. “You want to trade in Hermione Granger for Pansy Parkinson and you think that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Thinks He Knows Best, is going to let Parkinson, of all people, help him?” He clearly thought they were nutters. He knew Harry wouldn’t allow that to happen; the boy’s hatred for the Slytherins ran too deep.

“Well, what do you propose? You can’t allow him to go at it alone and we need Granger,” posed Malfoy

Ron thought for a moment, his mind working on finding all plausible solutions before making a suggestion. It was a lot like a chess game to him. He needed to figure out how to manipulate the players on the board to the best of his advantage to ensure his win. He gave them a calculated look. “I suggest that we add another two people to the mix, make sure that Harry isn’t alone with Parkinson, and give them all a false, but believable, reason as to why Hermione and I won’t be with him.”

“The idea has merit, but who would you use and will Potter accept?”

“Luna Lovegood and my brother, Bill. Bill is a curse breaker. Harry was going to need his help anyway, and Luna is one of the smartest witches around. She’ll make sure they all work together. As to Harry accepting, well, he doesn’t have to, really. I already know he is going to throw a tantrum and rush off on his own. I think the other three should follow him. Shouldn’t be too hard once we place a tracking spell on him.”

Skye laughed. “Weasley, you would’ve done well with Slytherin.”

“Well, that solves one issue, but brings up a whole slew of others. Will the other three accept? For that matter, will Granger willingly help?”

Ron smirked at the gray-eyed wizard. “Of course she will help. Nothing gets Hermione going like a challenge. We simply have to tell her it’s impossible to do and that even she, with all her skills, wouldn’t be able to get the information we need.” They looked at Ron with glints in their eyes. The young Gryffindor was proving to be a lot more capable than any of them gave him credit.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. You don’t win as many chess games as I do without manipulation and strategic planning.”

"If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair."

- Samuel Johnson

Once again there was a gathering; once again Sage was annoyed. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle for him. He had other things he needed to get working on, and Voldemort with his many meetings was not helping. It seemed he was being addressed. “I have some disturbing news, Sage,” Voldemort said, his gaze steady on Sage.

“Is that so, my Lord?” Sage returned his gaze evenly.

Voldemort visibly flinched. He needed to find a way to get rid of this upstart, but it wasn’t in his power to do so right then. He had seen Sage Weasley fight; the ferociousness and the underhanded tactics he used — yes, Sage Weasley was undoubtedly his only adversary at the moment.

This was a man that would use his own blood to further his mission. He knew firsthand Sage was responsible for young Ginevra to come by his diary. Sage knew full well the repercussions that would come about if the diary had been written in. To give the diary to such a little child – Voldemort was pleased at the time, a fine sacrifice by one of his own; but now, now he thought there had been an ulterior motive. Sage also knew what would happen if the diary had been destroyed. When Voldemort found out that Lucius had given the diary to Ginny, he had expected it. What he had not expected was that it was Sage’s idea.

He turned back to the man with the inscrutable blue eyes. The man was an enigma, even to Voldemort. “There has been word that Lucius has been managing to escape his cell in Azkaban.” Voldemort waited and watched Sage’s every reaction. Nothing but an icy calm surrounded him. There wasn’t a hint on his face as to what he was thinking, let alone whether he was guilty of the act or not.

“And why would you presume to think that I would know something about this?” Sage asked drolly.

“It has come to my attention that you have been meeting with him,” Voldemort said.

“I wonder,” Sage said, his eyes landing on Antonin Dolohov, “how you came about such preposterous information.” He saw the Death Eater return his gaze with venom. It couldn’t have been Lestrange his curse made sure of that, which left Dolohov. Sage would have to do something about him before the night was over.

“Is it true, Sage?” Voldemort asked again. Sage felt him trying to get into his mind. He very nearly scoffed. Did Voldemort think it was that easy to read him? Subtly he started feeding him fake memories; there was no memory of him meeting Lucius Malfoy at anytime since his incarceration. He could feel Voldemort’s search get frantic as he shuffled through Sage’s memories. The Dark Lord was a skilled Legilimens, but Sage was just as skilled at Occlumency. If Snape could do it for so many years, Sage most certainly could.

After what seemed like an eternity Voldemort finally stopped burrowing in his mind. He seemed deflated. He could find nothing there that would implicate Sage.

“Satisfied?” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “My Lord.” Sage could see the conflicting emotions on Voldemort’s face. For a man famed for his visible control of emotions, Voldemort was doing an abysmal job. There had to be something that was bothering him. Sage would worry about that later. For now he had to make sure he made it out of this unscathed.

“For the moment, but beware, Sage, you are treading on very thin ice,” Voldemort sneered. Then without turning to the other two Death Eaters, he disappeared in a swirl of dark robes.

Sage breathed a sigh of relief, and then turned to Dolohov and Lestrange. A maniacal gleam shone in his eyes. Both men recognized it for what it was: blood lust. “So tell me, Dolohov, what makes you think I’ll let you walk out of this alive?” Sage asked, as he calmly checked his nails.

“It wasn’t me,” were Lestrange’s first words.

“You still have your tongue, Lestrange, not to mention I said Dolohov.” Sage smiled enigmatically.

Dolohov bristled. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Lestrange had the silly urge to snicker like a schoolgirl watching a bully pick on the weak kid. He could see Dolohov shake. Before the other man had twittered to Voldemort, Lestrange had warned him not to do it. He was well aware of Sage Weasley’s capabilities. Anyone who thought they could best him was sorely mistaken. What was Dolohov, when the man was insolent to Voldemort himself?

“Of course you didn’t,” Sage said as he walked over to them. He smiled as he noticed Dolohov take a step back. The first sign of weakness in a man, he thought. These pathetic fools, did they really think he would kill them for this? Maim? Maybe, but not kill.

“Don’t do anything rash, Sage,” Dolohov warned. “If you harm me, Voldemort will know there was some truth to the accusation.”

Dolohov shook at the chilling smile Sage gave him. “What makes you think I fear Voldemort?” Sage asked.

Dolohov knew he didn’t. The smarmy bastard didn’t fear anyone or anything.

“There was once a wise man who said, ‘We have more to fear from the bungling of the incompetent than from the machinations of the wicked.’ In this case, you disqualify from both. You aren’t incompetent or wicked. You are merely mediocre, and half the time, fail at that too.”

Then, before Dolohov could retort, Sage was uttering his curse, the same one he had used on Lestrange.

Within seconds Dolohov buckled under the searing pain that was assaulting his head. It felt like sharp shooting needles were attacking him at every point. He clawed at his face, as if in an attempt to scratch it off.

Sage smiled as he watched the other man thrash about in pain. He watched as blood started dibbling from his mouth, watched as his whole body arched up as a bolt of pain scorched through his entire being signaling the curse was complete.

“There, there, Dolohov, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sage asked in comical concern.

“You sick bastard,” Dolohov spluttered as the last spasms of pain went through him. “What did you do to me?”

“Oh, nothing too drastic. In fact, it isn’t even as close to the pain that I could’ve caused you. I think I was rather lenient, don’t you, Rodolphus?” Sage asked rhetorically, a charming smile gracing his weathered features. “Now, I must tell you what you are in for. Too bad I don’t have someone for a demonstration.” He paused for a moment as if pondering his choices, then added, “No matter, you will find out yourself if you betray me.”

“Find out what?” Dolohov asked in a panic. He looked over at Lestrange, who could only give him a pitying look that said, ‘You’re so screwed.’

“Hmm, nothing too bad, you’ll just lose your tongue if you even think about telling anyone of my activities. If you believe letting Voldemort search your mind to find out anything about me, or Lucius, for that matter, is a possibility, forget it. You will lose your mind. And I don’t mean in the ‘you’ve-done-gone-cuckoo’ way, either. I mean in the combustible manner.”

Rodolphus was in hysterics. He had warned Dolohov, but the fool chose not to listen to him.

“You mean … No! You can’t!” Dolohov said, horror-struck.

Sage bent down to him. “Oh but I can,” he smiled frighteningly. “You’ll be surprised at what I can accomplish. The pain you felt today will pale in comparison to what happens when you betray me.” Getting up he smiled innocently at both men, “Now, I must be off, gentlemen. Cheerio!” he said cheerfully before departing.

“He wasn’t serious, was he?” Dolohov asked Lestrange.

“You fool, Antonin. Not only was he serious, but you have effectively signed up for daisy duty. How often does Voldemort search our minds? And you did just tell Voldemort about Sage’s activities. Don’t you think Voldemort will look for more information next time we meet?”

Dolohov paled even further, Sage Weasley had just set a timer for him. The next time Voldemort met Dolohov – he was dead.

::~*~::~*~::

Lucius was waiting with impatience, his foot tapping out an erratic rhythm on the cold stone floors. Sage is going to get me killed! he fumed. He knew it was a major risk leaving and getting back to Azkaban. His doppelganger wasn’t all that strong and wouldn’t last for much longer. Just then, the large wooden doors at the end of the room swung open and Sage Weasley walked in with a massive grin on his face.

“Finally!” whispered Lucius. “What took you so long?”

“My esteemed Dark Lord had a few things he wanted to discuss with me,” Sage answered with a derisive snort. “I can’t wait till someone finally makes that miserable excuse for anything living pay. On a happier note, I just signed Dolohov’s death warrant. ”

“What?”

“He tried to inform Voldemort of our activities. I solved the problem. He should’ve known better than to try and cross us,” Sage said with a harshness Lucius had come to expect of him.

“What want a Chocolate Frog for it? It’s something I told you we needed to take care of a long time ago,” Lucius sneered.

“Well, you could’ve done it if you felt it was so imperative.” Then Sage let out a laugh, “Can you imagine his face if you Apparated to him in the middle of the night, mid-romp?” He laughed even louder.

Lucius grimaced at the thought of catching Dolohov in flagrante delicto; sometimes Sage was too easily amused. “Well, now that you have managed to firmly plant that foul image in my head, we must discuss the Brotherhood.”

Sage sobered instantly. “Yes, about that. They met today; I observed them at the Ministry.”

“You know who they are,” Lucius stated.

“Well, one of them was hardly a surprise, Lucius, unless you doubted your son’s abilities.”

A pained look came over Lucius’s face as he thought of Draco. “No, I never doubted him,” he said softly. “Draco has been my one pride and joy amongst all of this. You know this better than anyone.” He shook his head with a smile. “He tried to protect me, you know, during his fifth year, but then it wasn’t in Draco to kill. He made me proud by not killing Dumbledore. He didn’t succumb to the darkness that was within him then, and he won’t now that he has to embrace it.” Shaking out of his reverie he asked, “Who were the others?”

Sage looked at him pointedly before answering, “Ron.”

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?” Lucius asked.

“No, Merlin, I swear I thought it would be one of the older ones, not Ron.”

“Why not? I can understand why you’d think Charlie--he does work with dragons. But what’s wrong with Ron taking the family position in the Brotherhood?”

“Are you blatantly being a moron, Lucius? Ron is best friends with Harry I’m-A-Twat Potter.”

“It seems you are being obtuse, Sage, not me. Once in the Brotherhood, your loyalties above all else are to the Brotherhood. There is either intense love or intense hatred towards your fellow brothers, but in either case, the loyalty does not change. They are blood-bound. You know this, I should not have to explain it to you,” Lucius said, his voice cold.

Sage sighed. “I know this, but Ron, he was always the one with a childish innocence about him. Smart as a tack, that one, but everything was so black and white for him. It always has been. I don’t know how we’ll be able to help him through this change. He doesn’t even like the other brothers, least of all Draco.”

“I had my suspicions it would be Ron, because of his intense hatred for Draco. It was as intense as the hatred we once shared.”

“Aww, Luc! You love me!” Sage said in a high falsetto.

Lucius gritted his teeth. “Sage, you are impossible at times! What I am saying is they will overcome it. We will help them.”

Sage nodded. “Now the other brothers, you won’t believe this – Blaise Zabini and Skye Larkin.”

“Zabini and Larkin; interesting. I had a sickening feeling it might be Longbottom or, even worse, Potter.”

“Now, now, Luc, we disliked the boy solely because of his woe-be-me attitude. It had nothing to do with his caliber as a wizard. And he is powerful, my friend, very, very, powerful,” Sage admonished.

“What are you talking about? You disliked him because he didn’t catch on to the diary quick enough and almost lost you your niece. If I recall correctly, at the time, you called him a fairy with shit for brains who probably took it up the arse.”

“No, I did not. I distinctly remember saying he was a pansy, not a fairy, and that he was thick as a plank,” Sage said with vehemence. “Need I remind you that you were furious enough with him yourself; you almost Avada’d him.”

Once again Lucius found his lips twitching. “Yes, well, he damn near deserved it for being such a fool. Now about Larkin and Zabini, could be worse, I suppose.”

“I suppose” Sage mimicked. “Zabini is frostier than a snowman without the added ruthlessness that comes with being a Brother. Everything Draco has ever said about the boy tells us so. What were his thoughts on Larkin?”

“He liked Larkin well enough but said he wouldn’t want to duel him. Apparently, the boy is incredibly lethal with a wand.” Lucius sighed. “At least we know who they are. Now all we need to do is kill me in Azkaban, so we can get on with helping them figure out who they are and what they are capable of.”

“I can get started on that. I wonder how Arthur would react if he saw me again?” Sage grinned cheekily.

“Don’t rock boats yet, Sage. We still have a lot of explaining to do to the boys. Let’s hope they understand.”

“You have given up a lot for the Brotherhood to succeed, and it will finally pay off. You know the wizarding world will never forget what you have done--when they find out,” Sage said in a rare moment of caring.

The blond wizard snorted. “I don’t care if they find out or not. The wizarding world is so blind, it wouldn’t be able to see a cosmic blow-up even if Merlin himself pre-ordained it.” His eyes took on a distant look, thinking of everything he and his family endured, and thinking of everything he put his family through just so that the Brotherhood would survive. Sighing, he looked at Sage. “You’ve lost just as much. It’s part of the package. Hopefully the new generation will make sure it doesn’t happen again. We won’t be shunned for who and what we are again, not by our kin or the Ministry. Let’s hope the boys are receptive of us, all is well, and I can go on my merry way and continue being a prat for fun.”

Sage snickered. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while and you know this.”

Lucius grumbled, “When I agreed to this job I didn’t think I would be giving it so much of my time, not to mention putting myself in jeopardy each time I met that half-blood idiot.”

Sage’s eyes softened, then hardening his voice, he said, “We joined that idiot for a reason and you would do well to remember it.”

“Safety of the wizarding world blah, blah, blah. I get it; doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Think they will figure out they need to go to Hogwarts?” Lucius asked.

“I’m sure they will, and even if they do not, we will give them the hints they need. For now we need to keep a close eye on them. It has come too far for them to bugger it all in their naïveté. I never did understand why we had to leave all the information at Hogwarts.”

“What do you propose? I’m certainly in no position to do it. Potter is such a pain in my arse!” Lucius snapped with atypical heat.

“Luc! Ranting about Potter again? I thought we had moved on from that, do keep up.” Sage admonished.

“Sorry, the boy gets on my last nerve. Everything is so two dimensional for him, just like his father. I wish he could, for once, utilize everything he has at his disposal. It bothers me that he doesn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sage asked sharply.

“Oh c’mon, Sage, you know bloody well how to kill a person using mind control. That scar and the connection it gives Potter with Voldemort could make it so that Boy Wonder doesn’t even have to go anywhere near Moldy-Voldy.”

Sage snickered. “Did you just call him Moldy-Voldy?”

“Shut up,” Lucius snapped, his lips twitching in a small smile. “Anyway it is all moot. Once the Brotherhood is fully functional, it doesn’t matter what happens with Voldemort. Anyway, back to what I was saying, what do you propose we do?”

Sage looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, “Keep a close eye on them at all times, which is easier said than done. I don’t have the time and you, well; you really need to get out.”

“I’ll do it.”

Sage looked skeptical. “When? Really, Luc, do try and get out of jail. It would make my life so much easier.”

Sage grinned as Lucius gave him a glare. “Why would I want to get out?” he asked dryly. “Especially when the food there tastes so wonderful.”

Sage laughed at this, then noticed a far off look in Lucius’s eyes as he thought about the losses the other man had to endure to maintain his façade. “I have worked too hard and too long to let anything get by me now,” Malfoy said, turning to his partner.

“Soon. Have some patience; it will all be over before we know it,” Sage said in comfort.

“Fine. You know I hate all this secrecy, but soon, we shall be out in the open again. The hunters will once again hunt their prey.” The excitement that laced Lucius’s eyes would’ve made stronger men shudder.

“Soon,” nodded the older wizard, his eyes cool, cold, and hard. “Now I must be off.” With a pop, he was gone, leaving Lucius pondering.

::~*~::~*~::~*~::

“Excuse me, sir, do you think I have childbearing hips?” asked a very sloshed Kiara as she tottered on her heels for a good two minutes, trying to regain her balance. The old man looked at the willowy girl in front of him, wondering how to answer that tactfully. Just then, he saw two other girls tottering behind her.

“Kiara, come back here!”

“But, Gin, this nice man was telling me if I had childbearing hips!” Kiara hollered back, completely immersed in the idea of childbearing hips.

“No, he wasn’t, he valued his life.” Ginny smiled apologetically to the grinning man while dragging the other girl. They joined Cassandra who was looking into a beauty shop with a wild gleam in her eyes. She groaned. “What are you thinking, Cassandra?”

“Orange!” she screamed as she darted for the doors. Letting go of Kiara, Ginny raced after the short girl before she could enter the store. “Lemme go, Ginevra! I want orange hair!”

“No, you don’t,” said Ginny, grabbing Cass by the scruff of her neck and pulling her towards Kiara. “KIARA LAYZELLE!” she shouted as she saw Kiara approach another old man.

“So you think I need to be a bit wider, then?” Kiara asked, trying to turn to her side and coming back full circle. The man laughed and reached for her hips.

Before he could, Ginny slapped his hands away and glared at him. “Leave her alone, can’t you see she’s pissed?” she snapped at the man who looked shamed. Just then, she saw Cassandra walk back into the beauty store and let out an almighty scream.

“Ow! Don’t shout so loud; you’ll scare off the fairies,” Kiara said, squinting hard into thin air.

“Well, your best friend has just decided to go in and get orange hair.”

“Why? Orange is not a color one dyes one’s hair, it’s a fruit!” Kiara added with a passion the fruit didn’t deserve.

“Well, let’s go and get her before she does.” Ginny said, wondering why she was babysitting the two drunks. Who knew demon daughters couldn’t hold their liquor? Just as they approached the beauty shop, Kiara let out a blood-curdling scream. Through the window they could see a witch working on Cassie as she grinned into a mirror in delight. After a couple more minutes, in which Kiara wept profusely over the atrocities that were being committed on her best friend's hair, Cassie stepped out with a mop of flaming orange hair.

“Cass! You have a fruit on your hair! You’ve gone and become an Orange Medusa!” Kiara squealed.

Cassie glared at her friend. “It’s a color and it’s not a fruit and you can’t call it that.” She pouted, glaring murderously at Kiara. Ginny rolled her eyes and took hold of both their hands, pulling them towards the Floo terminal. Standing in line was another hassle for the redhaired girl as she tried to keep a hold on both the bickering girls. Soon it was their turn. Grabbing some Floo powder, Ginny got both girls to Floo home and, shouting “Layzelle Manor,” followed them. Landing unceremoniously on a thick Persian rug, she turned to look for the two girls and found them still bickering over the orange hair.

“I’m telling you: it is a color and a fruit!” Cass stomped her foot.

“No, it is a fruit.”

“Color and a fruit!”

“Oh for the love of Merlin, shut up!” hollered Ginny. “Kiara, it’s both. Now sit down and shut it.” Then, turning to Cass, “That goes for you too!” Both girls sat quietly, giving her huge doe-like eyes. “Oh don’t look at me like that,” huffed Ginny. Never again! I am never getting either of them drunk ever! she fumed to herself.

“What in the name of Merlin is going on in here?” came a voice. Ginny turned and found herself looking into a pair of very agitated silver eyes. Malfoy? She thought irrationally as she appraised the blond wizard. Dear Merlin, when did he grow up? she asked herself. Hard gray eyes were narrowed dispassionately, his wide sculpted mouth set in a grim line, and hair that looked like spun silver carelessly flopped above his forehead. Draco Malfoy no longer looked like the scrawny scared boy she remembered from her Hogwarts days. “Weasley, if you are done, could you please answer the question?” he demanded with impatience.

Ginny blushed crimson, before raising her hand in the general direction of the two girls. Then she gave a long-suffering sigh that spoke volumes about her day before beginning, “These two decided to get drunk. They couldn’t handle the liquor too well and after a lot of hee-hawing, we finally managed to get back here.”

Draco gave her a strange look. “Did you just say ‘hee-hawing’?” Ginny gave him a glare as she plopped down on the couch next to Cassie, who was blowing bubbles. Blowing bubbles? She whirled back around to the orange-topped girl. “Cassandra, where did you get those?”

Cassie gave her a look that said, 'are-you-stupid?'. “Magic, duh!” and promptly went back to blowing bubbles. Draco couldn’t help but snicker; Ginny Weasley was cute all riled up.

Her lips gave an adorable little twitch. Rounding on him again, Ginny glared with murderous intent. “Find something funny, Malfoy?”

“Not at all, Weasley,” he answered. Then, “Did you know your lips twitch when you are angry?” Draco asked. “There, just like that,” he added with an impish grin.

Ginny huffed and turned her nose at him, resolutely trying to ignore him. This just made Draco smile wider. Ginny felt her own lips twitch in response. The whole situation was bordering on absurdity.

“Draco, where the hell did you disappear to?” came the annoyed voice of Skye as he trooped into the room followed by a very irate Blaise Zabini. “Weasley …” he trailed off, noting the look Draco was giving him. “Is here,” he finished lamely.

“What?” Ginny exclaimed. “A Weasley can’t be here?”

“That’s not what he said or implied,” said Zabini in his cool sotto voce.

“Where did you lot disappear to?” came a third voice behind Blaise, one that Ginny would recognize anywhere.

“Ron?” She queried with one eyebrow raised. “What are you doing here?”

“What? A Weasley can’t be here?” mimicked Skye.

“Shut it, Larkin,” Ginny growled. She remembered him from her Hogwarts days. Skye Larkin, cute as a button then, cute as a button now.

“Gin, what are you doing here?”

“What is the big deal about a Weasley being in this bloody house?” snapped Draco. They all turned to look at him as if he had grown a second head. “Well, house of supposed Death Eater and all, you can’t blame me for asking.” He shrugged.

“You invited me,” supplied Ron.

“They invited me,” Ginny grumbled, waving at the two girls who were now trying to catch the previously mentioned bubbles.

“Oh, right, okay then.”

“What?” Ginny asked incredulously. “ No long speeches on the evils of associating with Slytherins? Or how they are going to corrupt me?”

“That would be the pot calling the kettle black,” Ron said with nonchalance.

“What are you doing here, anyway? And why would Malfoy, of all people, invite you?”

“Um, Malfoy right here,” Draco miffed. Ginny ignored him and continued to look at Ron who was shuffling about in his place.

“She’s turning into her mother right here!” whispered Skye to Blaise as they watched the drama unfold.

“Business,” Ron answered succinctly.

“Excuse me?”

“Leave it, Gin, I’ll explain later.” Turning to Blaise, Ron said, “I’ll leave for now and talk to Hermione tonight. I’ll owl you with her decision. Better yet, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fair enough, but don’t take too long. I don’t think we have too much time left.” Blaise nodded and walked over to Kiara, who was still immersed with bubbles.

“C’mon, Gin, we’ll talk when we get home.” The authority in Ron's voice left no room for arguments, and she followed him to the fireplace.

“Well, then, I’ll be taking my leave, too. Catch up with you guys tomorrow,” Draco said, following the Weasley siblings to the fireplace. Cute arse to boot! Draco thought as the youngest Weasley made her way into the fireplace. For a redhead, he amended to himself.

“I’ll be go-”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” interrupted Blaise as Skye decided to leave as well. “Take Cass to her room. I’ll make sure Kiara gets to bed.” Skye grumbled, but walked over to Cassie, taking her by the arm and dragging her out of the room. Blaise smiled as he heard Cassie ask about the semantics of orange being a color, a fruit, or both.

He turned to Kiara, her ferocious personality hidden somewhere behind the alcohol. Acid green eyes softened as he reached up to push a wayward lock of chestnut off her forehead. Kiara grinned up at him, before yawning and promptly shutting her eyes. Smiling ruefully, Blaise give her a soft kiss. “Love you, sweetheart,” he said softly before lifting the dozing girl and carrying her up to her room.

::~*~::~*~::~*~::

“Mom, will you please just let it go?” Ginny was exasperated. She and Ron were seated at the Weasley kitchen, with Molly Weasley bearing down on them like a ton of bricks. Ginny noticed Ron hadn’t said a thing from the moment their mother had asked them to join her in the kitchen. He was lounging on a rickety chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes shut, and arms crossed over his broad expanse of chest. In fact, he was so still, he looked to be sleeping.

“No, Ginevra, I will not let it go. My children are off cavorting with those good–for-nothing Slytherins. I have no idea what they brainwashed you with, but I won’t tolerate it. I have raised you better than that!” Molly Weasley was not taking her youngest children’s association very well. The moment Ron and Ginny had Flooed in, she pounced on them with questions as to where and what they were up to. It had come as a bitter shock to her when she found out that not only Ginny, but Ron was with them as well.

Ginny glanced around the kitchen; Harry and Hermione had at some point joined in. She saw disapproval in Harry’s green gaze and contemplation in Hermione’s eyes. “How do you think we feel? After everything Malfoy and Zabini have done to us in the past?”

“I wasn’t aware Zabini had done anything to you,” snorted Ginny.

“Not directly,” her mother acquiesced, “but his association with Malfoy shows that he agrees with what the boy has to say.” Boy? Ginny thought back to her brief encounter with the blond Slytherin. The look in those cold grey eyes was anything but that of a boy. “They are all going to become Death Eaters if they aren’t already!” Molly finally yelled.

Ginny stiffened. She gave her mother a hard, withering glance before saying, “Say what you will, mother, I am not rescinding my friendship with the Slytherins, and it will be a cold day in hell before I let you, or anyone else, dictate who I can and can’t associat with.” Molly whimpered before she left the room, giving her children one last watery look.

Harry pounced the moment Molly left. “How could you, Gin?” he asked, frothing at the mouth. “That’s your mother you were talking to in that manner.”

“That’s right, Harry. MY mother. It would serve you well to remember that.” She was beyond angry. The way her mother acted, the way Harry was acting, and the complete lack of confidence that they showed in her judgment pissed Ginny off to no end.

“They are Slytherins, for Merlin’s sake!” Harry shouted. “Do they have the both of you under some kind of spell? Or are you that stupid that you would just go and play right into their manipulative hands?”

“Harry!” Hermione said, aghast. She knew he held grudges but this was ridiculous. She also noticed a pair of cerulean eyes open at that statement.

“No, Hermione, they need to be told, someone needs to open their eyes at how outlandish their behavior is. They are supporting Slytherins, the same Slytherins that killed my parents!” He ranted on, oblivious to the chill that had started in the room.

“Voldemort killed your parents, Harry, not the Slytherins,” Ginny said. Harry looked at her with scorn and started to bluster on.

“Harry, stop!” Hermione said, noticing Ron was looking right at the messy haired boy.

“No, Hermione, let him continue,” Ron said, his voice ethereally soft. “Tell me, Harry, how stupid am I?” he questioned, malice burning deep in his azure gaze.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just …”

“Oh no? Then correct me if I am wrong here, but didn’t you say ‘are you that stupid?’” Ron threw the words back at him.

“Quit being so pigheaded, Ron,” Harry snapped.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “So now I’m stupid and pigheaded?” he asked. The chill in the room was getting worse. Hermione realized that she could almost see her breath coming out in puffs, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away from Ron. “Get out of my sight before I do something you’ll regret, Harry,” Ron warned quietly.

“You’ve changed, Ron,” Harry said, ignoring the other wizard.

“Now!” he shouted, just as a window splintered, then another and another, till all the windows were nothing but jagged caverns. A look of fear crossed Harry’s eyes as he quickly shuffled out of the kitchen.

Silence descended around the kitchen as the occupants stood immobile. Blinking, Hermione got to her senses, pulling out her wand and muttering Reparo at all the windows. “There, all fixed. Now who would like some tea?” she asked, walking to the kettle. Ron grinned, the temperature of the room rising again as he took his seat.

“I’ll have some, thanks, Herms.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “You’re not mad?”

“No. I plan on reserving judgment till you tell me everything that happened.” Ron heaved a sigh of relief.

Ginny walked towards her brother, giving him a hug. “He’ll come around at some point.” she said. “ He has to, because he can’t do this alone. Now you were going to tell me what you were doing at the Layzelles.”

“Yes, well, that will take a little explanation. This will concern you too, Hermione, so let’s take this into your room.” The three trooped up the stairs and into the girls' room, finding comfortable spots to sit in. Both girls turned to Ron, looking for an explanation.

Sighing, Ron began, “You both know that I was told I failed my Animagus test, but what you don’t know is that I didn’t. I changed right there and caused the examiner’s robes to catch on fire.”

“What?”

“How?”

“I turned into a red dragon,” he supplied to their questions. Both girls were looking at him, astonished. Before they could say anything, he continued, “I went to the Ministry because I knew I hadn’t failed, and when I got there, Zabini, Malfoy and Larkin were approaching. We had all gone there for the same reason, so Zabini extended an invitation to join them. The Ministry said we weren’t even recorded as having taken the test, let alone failing it.”

“But then why did you get a Ministry letter?” Hermione interrupted.

“I don’t know. Anyway, we left even angrier. Then Malfoy said he had some clue about all this and that we should probably discuss it in a safer place, which is how I ended up at Layzelle Manor.”

“I’m guessing they also changed into some odd creature, or perhaps dragons themselves?” Hermione queried. Ron nodded. “There is a myth somewhere about dragons. I think I can find it, hang on.” Hermione got up to scrounge through her books before finding Magical Myths. Ron turned to Ginny while Hermione was looking the information up. He knew she knew what was going on, especially if she had started hanging around Cassandra and Kiara.

“Here we go-” Hermione said, reading a little passage from her book.

“Is it about the Blood Scythe Brotherhood?” Ron interrupted her.

“Yes. So I take it Malfoy was talking about this, then?”

“Yes, it was the only thing that made sense.”

“Can you trust them? I mean, this whole thing is pretty out there. Not that I am disputing it,” she rushed on because his eyes had taken on that hard glint, “but because it is Malfoy and Zabini, and even Larkin to a certain extent. Let’s not forget the whole born killers bit.”

“Hermione, we haven’t been in touch with them since school ended. They haven’t become Death Eaters yet, and I doubt they would have been chosen even if their allegiances were with Voldemort.”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupted. “Have you thought that the bias that is fostered between the two houses is a result of parents filling their children’s heads with stories of their days in school and them getting it from their parents, and so on and so forth?” Privately Ginny didn’t think Draco would bow before anyone, let alone a half-blooded wannabe Dark Lord.

“I’ll admit some of it is just that, but, Gin, they haven’t been nice to us either.”

“I think we can forgive what went on when we hadn’t even hit puberty yet, don’t you think? I mean, we weren’t exactly the poster children of goodwill, you know,” Ron added.

Hermione studied them both with something akin to admiration. “Listen to you two, you sound so mature.”

“So you’ll help us, then?” Ron asked.

“Of course, in any way I can, but what do you expect me to do? I turned into an otter, remember?”

“No, not in that sense,” he replied, looking at her pointedly.

She returned his look, understanding what he meant, and also understanding what it meant. “I don’t know, Ron. What about Harry and the Horcruxes? I can’t just leave that.”

“I’m not asking you to. We just need a little help understanding this better, and who other than the smartest witch since Minerva McGonagall would suit us better?”

“Think about it, Hermione,” Ginny added. “If this Brotherhood is legit, think about how many people it will help, not to mention what it would do to Voldemort.”

Ron looked pensive for a moment then chose his words as he best knew how. “On a chessboard, we assume that the king is the most important piece. When the king is left defenseless, what happens?”

“Checkmate.”

“Exactly. A king without his pawns is useless. This, however, does not apply to Voldemort; Voldemort is more like the queen, the most powerful piece on the board, and also the one that can be regained if lost by the pawns. Voldemort without his Death Eaters is nothing, but with his Death Eaters, even if he is destroyed, there is a chance he will be brought back, or his followers will create something or someone else just like him. If the Brotherhood can stop him from ascending, we can give Harry a clear path to destroy the Horcruxes and, finally, Voldemort himself.”

“But we can’t just let him do it on his own.” Hermione protested.

Ron’s eyes glittered with glee. This is nothing but another chess match, he thought. All I have to do is make sure the pieces are in place to my advantage. “I have thought about that. To destroy the Horcruxes, we are going to have to break the curses around them. It would serve Harry better to have an experienced curse breaker with him than two people who really don’t know what to expect.”

Understanding flashed in the brunette's chestnut orbs and her body stiffened as her eyes took on a hard look. “How long have you been planning this?” she asked sternly.

“This would be my cue to leave.” Ginny grinned. “Be gentle with him, Hermione. We blame it on his being dropped too many times as a child.” Before Ron could retaliate, Ginny scrambled out of the room, giggling madly.

Ron looked at Hermione with a rueful grin. “Since this afternoon.”

“What makes you think I appreciate being one of your well-orchestrated pawns?”

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” Ron said without a bit of remorse. His demeanor had changed from the joking boy to something Hermione didn’t quite recognize. “This is a war, and I intend on winning it by any means necessary. I am well aware that the Horcruxes are important, but I am also aware that what we have to do is even more important. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t some self important tripe I’m spouting, but the cold, hard truth.”

“Why do you want me? Between Larkin, Zabini, and Malfoy, you have enough brainpower to figure this out.”

“We want you because of your intellect and because you have an outsider's view. It was also Malfoy’s suggestion that you do the research. We would all help you, of course, if you do decide to take this up.” Then he sighed. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You’ll probably pull up the same information that Malfoy did. It’s almost impossible to get all the facts about this thing.”

Hermione smiled, knowing what he was trying to do. “Well, if you’ve already decided that, then I guess you don’t need my help.” She smiled innocently. Ron growled, which made her laugh. “ I may not be as brilliant as you are when it comes to chess, Ron Weasley, but I am the smartest witch of our generation for a reason and you’d best remember that.” She smirked.

His sapphire eyes flashed dangerously. “Is that right, Ms. Granger?” he asked huskily as he prowled towards her.

“That’s right, Mr. Weasley,” she said, desperately hoping it didn’t come out as a squeak. Her eyes locked on his as she angled her head to look up at him. Slowly, he bent his head and brushed his lips against her, a slight whisper of a kiss that said more than words could.

“Get some sleep, Hermione. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more.” Bringing his finger to trace down her cheek, he left her standing dumbfounded.

"The line between good and evil is permeable and almost anyone can be induced to cross it when pressured by situational forces."

Philip Zimbardo

 

Samhain 1982

A silent weeping could be heard in the corner of the dark dungeons. Two pentacles were drawn on the cold hard floors. Dark red candles lit at each point were the only source of light; they threw shadows on the two forms laying spread eagled in the middle of each pentacle. The smell of melting wax and fear mingled together formed an altogether unpleasant aroma. Two men were poised above the forms, ceremonial daggers with jewel crusted handles glittered in their hands in the dim light. They held their hands above the prone bodies, fear evident on both faces – they knew their death was coming.

“Mammon, Prince of Tempters, with this offering, I summon thee,” Claude Layzelle yelled in his most robust voice. He swung down with the blade, slicing open his sacrifice’s chest.

“Asmodeus, Prince of Vengeance, with this offering, I summon thee,” Francois Lauzerte said after his partner and mimicked his actions.

Blood started to pool around them as they continued with their chant, slicing at their sacrifices with each summoning. Howls of pain reverberated through the dungeons and the weeping became louder. The cacophony of sounds built to a crescendo as both men became manic in their movements.

The candles flickered for a bit, then with a whoosh, shot up in the air, bathing the entire area in light. Calmly walking out from the fires were two men who looked rather put out.

“What is it?” asked Mammon, as he tiptoed around the blood. He looked around disdainfully at the mess the two men had made. Pieces of flesh were littered about; the forms were barely recognizable as human.

“Human sacrifices?” asked Asmodeus as he kicked a piece of flesh out of his way. “How archaic. Someone should’ve told them about the ‘Guide To Summoning Demons, By Demons’. It has much more up-to-date information. Chickens work just as well, you know, and make much less mess. Tell me did these poor Muggles know what you selected them for? I didn’t think so.”

Mammon moved around to face the two men who were slack jawed. “Well, you summoned, it must’ve been for a reason. Don’t just stand there like overbearing dolts,” he snapped. Humans, he would never understand them.

Claude Layzelle finally got his bearings straight, he was not expecting these two, in fact he was expecting something a lot more fearsome. This he could handle, they looked barely older than twenty-five. “You were summoned because we want you to father our heirs.”

Mammon started at him for a bit, and then looked at Asmodeus before they both started cackling gleefully. “You lack the appropriate body parts for this, human?” snickered Mammon.

“You’ve been summoned, demon. Do not mock me!” Claude said with a cockiness he shouldn’t have been feeling.

Suddenly both demons stopped laughing; instead, they were now sporting two very scary, very evil smiles. Claude could see the hellfire starting to simmer around their bodies. The energy that started radiating from them reached the two men – it hurt.

“You dare order us around, mortal?” Asmodeus whispered in a cold and chilling voice.

Within seconds Claude found himself slammed against the hard walls of the dungeon, held by an unseen force. He could feel the crunching of bones as his ribs started contracting. The agony of it was unbearable. Claude lost all delusions that these were weak and feeble demons.

“I am Asmodeus, one of the four Princes of Hell, the reigning prince over the Eastern Regions, and the ruler of seventy-two legions of demons; you dare tell me what to do?”

“Please, my Lords, he did not mean to insult you,” came the breathy voice of Lucia Layzelle. Her eyes were overflowing with tears, lips quivering with fear as she spoke to the enraged prince.

“Oh hell, weeping women are such a cheap trick to pull,” Mammon said. “Let go of him, Asma. Let’s see what we can do about his request and then be done with it.”

Asmodeus looked murderous, but complied. “Speak, mortals, tell us what you want.”

“We want heirs,” said Francois, finally speaking. “Not just any heirs, ones that will join the Blood Scythe Brotherhood.”

“What makes you think we know anything about this Brotherhood?”

“You do, because it was under the inception of the four Princes of Hell, by order of Bael, ruler of the Nether Realm, for protection of the mortal world after the Fall,” Francois said.

“For that answer, mortal, we shall grant your request.” Both men looked gleeful. “However, what shall you offer in return? Be careful what you say here, mortal,” Mammon said with warning.

In their euphoria, both men made a mistake, and answered, “Anything.”

“It is done,” Mammon and Asmodeus said together.

Claude and Francois clutched their arms in pain, as the mark of the demons burned itself into their skins.

“Now, let’s get to the fine print,” Mammon said with a smile. Claude and Francois knew they were not going to like what was to come next. “We will father your children as you asked. In return, you will not know who they are for the first fifteen years of their lives. They will live and school with us in the old ways and in the Nether Realm. Your wives will be the vessels in which they are borne and will stay for the first two years. They will join the Brotherhood when the time comes, but not in the capacity that you see them joining. You see, the Brotherhood does not have any women in it.” Before they could say anything Mammon held his hand up. “I know, I know, incredibly Draconian, but the law is the law. You see, your heirs will be girls,” Mammon finished.

Asmodeus could barely contain his laugher. The rage on both of their faces was truly comical to him. He’d never believe that a human face could naturally turn that shade of magenta without magic involved.

“You tricked us,” Claude said, his voice hoarse.

Asmodeus looked at him skeptically. “What were you expecting? Truth and honesty? You should’ve called upon the White crowd then.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mammon said. “They will never know that this is why you wanted them. The story they will get is that you couldn’t father any heirs and asked us to do so. Are we clear?” he asked. “Good.”

“Oh please don’t,” whimpered Lucia. She turned to look at her friend Marie Lauzerte, who was still huddled in a whimpering ball.

Tearfully Marie gave Francois a pleading look, wide blue eyes were red rimmed from all her crying. It all seemed for naught, their husbands held a resolute look and it didn’t seem as though their wives' pleading was going to change their minds.

“Stop with your whining woman and move it!” spat out Claude, he despised the weakness that oozed from his wife. She gave him a glare, but it was a little late in the game.

“Take them,” Francois said. The disgust quite evident on his face.

It would not have done demon kind any good to see two of their princes show pity. The image of demons being the epitome of evil would forever be tarnished.

Mammon gave both women a pitying look before he spoke to the two men. “I despise you,” he spat with as much venom as he could muster, which happened to be quite a bit. “Remember this day mortal, you are going to rue the day you decided to call on us. This is my promise to you.” Pale eyes were flashing dangerously as he said this.

The defeated look that both men held, told the dark prince that they had already come to this conclusion.

“Ladies, we promise no harm shall come to you in the time you are with us,” Asmodeus said to the two women cowering in the corner. He reached up to them, taking a hand in each of his, and pulled them forward. “Your husbands will pay for this, not by our hands, but at the hands of those they want spawned. You have our word.”

Lucille and Marie wiped their tears, they gave their husbands one last pleading glance before leaving with the two demon princes. Their fates had changed their story, what they came back as would be a far cry from what they left as.

::~*~::~*~::~*~::~*~::

Present

“Mammon!” hollered Asmodeus as he lounged on his dais, long dark hair draped over his shoulders. His normally brilliant brown eyes were orbs of fire. A face that was all planes and angles was set firmly. Overall, he was a picture of barely controlled anger. He got this angry whenever he thought of the night of Samhain nearly nineteen years ago.

“For the love of Lucifer, will you tone down your yelling? It’s waking up the entire Nether Realm,” drawled another voice.

“If you had answered when I originally sent you the message, I wouldn’t have resorted to yelling,” Asmodeus replied. The blond demon grinned, his lavender eyes twinkling with something akin to lust. Both demons were almost identical in their looks, save for their coloring. Both had long limber bodies with skin of burnt gold, almond-shaped eyes fringed with the thickest of lashes, mouths sculpted for poetry, and a curtain of hair that begged to be played with. Where Mammon was blond with his pale lavender eyes, Asmodeus was dark with amber eyes.

“Well, you shouldn’t send me such tempting messengers,” he said, licking his lips in a suggestive manner. Asmodeus got up from his lounging position and walked over to his friend. Bending slightly, he licked off a drop of blood from the other demon’s lips. “You missed a spot.”

The Prince of Temptation shuddered at the touch of Asmodeus’s lips. Bringing his hands up to grasp the dark hair, he brought the other man’s lips crushing down on his. “There, all taken care of,” he said after releasing him. “Now, why has the Prince of Vengeance decided to request my presence?”

“We have a small problem.”

“Cassandra and Kiara,” Mammon said. His eyes softened at the mere mention of their daughters.

“Yes. It seems our wayward heirs have decided to take on mortal problems.”

Mammon snorted. “They are mortal, Asmodeus.”

“Yes, but they are also part demon. We can’t allow them to use their skills to fight mortal wars.”

“I know. I remember when we promised to leave the mortal realm to its own devices. Bad idea to begin with. Look at what they’ve done with it. So what have the two done this time around?”

“Nothing too drastic yet, but they will. You have Sight, use it!” Asmodeus snapped.

“Simmer down, Asmodeus. You need to control that temper of yours a bit better. Sooner or later, it’s going to melt what little brain cells you have.” Lavender eyes glossed over as swirls began forming. Soon there wasn’t a trace of color as Mammon’s eyes turned into a smoke-filled haze.

“Damnation,” Mammon whispered. “They know not what they are starting.”

“We need to do something,” Asmodeus said as he started pacing the long length of the room.

“We can’t. We promised not to get involved in mortal affairs. Also, remember why they came to be. We promised their fathers that they would join the Brotherhood when the time came.”

“I know all that, but we made sure it wasn’t possible. Remember, they are female; they can’t join the Brotherhood. They will get involved in mortal affairs of their own accord.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment, then added, “Furthermore, we aren’t getting involved in mortal affairs; we are simply getting involved in our daughters' affairs. There is no stipulation since the Fall that says we can’t help our own kin,” Asmodeus reasoned.

“Asma, the thing they are trying to destroy is being helped by others whose powers they can’t even fathom! We need to take council,” Mammon decided. “I will not allow this to happen, because if it does, horrors that the mortal realm hasn’t seen since, well, ever, will reign over the earth.” The dark beings that dwelt in the Nether Realm were the things of horror stories, things that mere mortals couldn’t grasp.

“And who do you want to seek council from?” Asma asked. He wasn’t sure anyone in the Nether Realm would be willing to help. They were all still nursing ills since the Fall. Mortals were given weapons forged with the strongest of demon magic to help them with their battles. It was no longer a demon problem.

“Bael, Lucifer, Aastaroth. I’m not really sure,” Mammon said abstractly.

“Mammon, have you thought about this? Don’t let your heart rule over your head; you are no longer part of the White crowd,” Asmodeus said warningly.

“And I do not wish to be part of the White crowd.” Mammon glared, and then continued with his ruminations. “They were given the tools, the scythe-wielding brothers who could protect them. What did they do with them? Shunned and hid them like some sort of dirty little secret.” Mammon’s eyes flashed, as his fury rose like a tidal wave. “No! I don’t want to save mortal necks, Asma. I couldn’t care less what happened to them. I do, however, want our daughters safe.”

“And safe they will be.” Vengeance had spoken. His eyes started burning brighter as the flames within consumed them. A thin line of fire started to surround his body until even that grew large and flames licked this way and that. Asmodeus stood proud in all his hellfire glory. His voice became deep and thunderous as he started to speak, “Today, I take an oath. Rulers of the Nether Realm, hear my oath and bear witness. I, Asmodeus, Prince of Vengeance and Demon of the First Hierarchy, son of Bael, pledge to protect Cassandra and Kiara, daughters of this realm, from any peril, be it mortal or immortal. For those that oppose this, I invoke, by my blood, Bael’s Bane.” Asmodeus’s oath reverberated throughout the Nether Realm. The very foundation on which it was formed shook, as the meaning behind the words of the prince was understood. The Prince of Vengeance had spoken, Bael’s Bane was invoked, and there was no separating mortal from immortal.

“Asmodeus, you fool!” Mammon hissed. “Have you any idea what you just did?”

Bael’s Bane – the most horrifying curse a demon could utter. In fact there was only a handful that could use that curse because it was blood-borne. Bael’s legions were now blood bound to obliterate those that would harm the demon daughters and, by association, those with them. Mammon was flummoxed. War was going to rage again and this time, it would literally be hell on earth.

Asmodeus grinned with relish. “But of course! I am now oath-bound to protect our daughters.”

“What, of the mortal affairs?”

“Well, now, I’m sure even mortals know what Bael’s Bane is,” Asma mocked.

“And how do you think Bael himself will take to your little proclamation?”

“Why don’t you ask me yourself, Mammon?” said a chilling voice. Bael was an imposing figure. His frame aside, there was an innate intelligence that shone through his obsidian eyes, and a menace reverberated from deep within him. His mere presence was enough to shake lesser demons.

“Well, come on in, Father,” drawled Asmodeus as the tall man glided in. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get here.” There was hardly any distinction between them except for their eyes. Bael’s eyes burned with fire and ice, although, at this point, it was more fire than anything else.

“You insolent fool!” he spat out. “How dare you involve yourself in mortal affairs and wake up the entire Nether Realm. Not since the Fall have we felt such an oath.” Then he grinned. “I knew we had raised you right!”

“You are not upset that I have invoked Bael’s Bane?”

The older demon’s eyes dimmed a bit. “I don’t want to have to use

The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.

Charles Dubois

 

The cell was dank, dreary, and incredibly chilly. Not that one would expect a prison cell to be the height of luxury. The moans of the other prisoners left Lucius feeling slightly less than cheerful. He knew that in a few cells down from him was a wizard who was wrongly accused of being a Death Eater. The man’s agonizing descent into madness resounded in the halls in the form of bone-chilling howls.

Azkaban twisted a person’s mind, bent and reshaped it so that it became nothing but a grotesque parody. Lucius knew he had strength; his mind was not as weak as many of the ones in Azkaban, but even a formidable mind as his would, in time, break down and join the rest in what he referred to as the twisted kingdom. He would not allow himself to become a shell of a man. If Voldemort couldn’t do it, Azkaban sure as hell wasn’t going to get that satisfaction. He was brought out from his ruminations by cackling from the cell next to his.

Next to him was a batty old woman who could give the nuns of the chattering order a run for their money. She yammered on incessantly about anything and everything. Today’s topic was her role as a concubine during the Spanish Inquisition. It didn’t seem to bother her that if the story was, in fact, true then she would be older than Hogwarts's dirt.

“I was the most beautiful one, you know,” she said in a wistful tone.

Lucius gave her an incredulous once-over. Scraggly bits of what could have once been brown hair flopped about hopelessly on a rather bald head with liver spots. Sunken cheeks made an already large nose even more pronounced. She was wearing what once might have been a robe, but now made a burlap sack look like the pinnacle of fashion. From beneath the sack spindly legs protruded, which, if broken, would probably make formidable sticks. “I’ll bet,” he muttered dryly.

Instantly she shot across the cell with a speed one would not associate with such a brittle frame. She grabbed onto the railings closest to where he was lying. Her dull blue eyes became manic, darting frenziedly. She flicked her tongue over dry and horribly chapped lips; her acrid breath made Lucius recoil in disgust. She furthered the infliction while whispering, “So, want to give us a hand job, then?” all while spreading her legs open.

Lucius sprang away from his bench faster than most people would think was humanly possible. “What!” he gaped at the woman who, for all intents and purposes, should’ve been a relic. “No, have you lost your bloody mind?” Then he rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, “What am I saying, of course you have. Everyone in this godforsaken place is a nut job.”

He didn’t know the reason behind her imprisonment. He, frankly, didn’t care; what he did care about was that he didn’t turn into something like that. More than that, he feared it was exactly what he would become: a bumbling fool who couldn’t discern reality from imagination. All of a sudden urgency gripped him; his restlessness started clawing at him, scratching and biting to get out. He wouldn’t go down in Azkaban, not if he could help it, and by all that was blessed by the darkness, he could.

His breath was coming out faster, sweat beaded on his forehead. A glazed look had come into his eyes. No longer were they the color of bright silver, but they were glowing blindingly white. The stale air around him charged with life as it crackled with sparks of electricity. “Glowy!” squealed the mad lady, but Lucius was past hearing. He had begun to ascend, his ascent towards the killing edge that made him a part of the brotherhood. The rage that fueled them and made them oblivious to everything but their goal was thrumming through his blood. He used his emotions to fuel it further. Voldemort and what he had sacrificed in order to be a ‘loyal servant’, the pain and suffering that he, his family, and his friends went through because of him. His love for his only son who was going to go through his changes with a guiding hand, the loss of his wife whom he had loved, Sage and the friendship he shared with the older man. He channeled his emotions into his rage, fueling it with two strong and opposing emotions, love and hatred. His vision darkened into blackness, the maelstrom within him rising to a crescendo, drowning out everything. He had only one goal – to escape.

 

 

---

 

 

 

The reds and gold of the room were bothering him; it seemed they were there to mock him. Everything from the pale chintz sofas to the deep burgundy drapes. Who knew Lestrange was a closet Gryffindor? There was a merry fire cackling, radiating warmth and good cheer. Voldemort was pensive. The whole plan went wrong. He was informed of the demon princes' arrival by one of their own. He was told that it would be hard to subdue them and to use caution, which was why he had decided to send Snape. Even Voldemort knew that Snape was a dangerous adversary, as quick with his wand as he was at chopping roots finely for his potions. He wasn’t expecting the blood bath that he got.

Well, as far as his plans were concerned, those were shot to hell, literally. The meddling demon princes made their ridiculous vow of protection – Bael’s Bane the single most horrifying weapon known to man or demon. You died a mortal death, then the high lord of hell came out to play, and he had centuries in which to perfect the art of torture.

He sat nursing a dark brandy, alternately glaring at Lestrange who was seated on the sofa and scowling at the cheery fire place. Finally he settled on glaring at the fireplace, in hopes of diminishing its cheer.

Lestrange watched Voldemort in the dim light. He knew the man was enraged, but he couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted from Lestrange. No doubt with Lucius gone Lestrange was next in line, but Voldemort rarely told everyone all his secrets, or his plans for that matter. He was a paranoid little twit and rightfully so. Voldemort made him nervous. Aside from Sage Weasley and Lucius Malfoy, Lestrange didn’t know anyone who wasn’t nervous around the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. He no longer remembered if it was fear that drove him to Voldemort or belief in his ideologies.

There was a time, many moons ago, that he thought Voldemort was right, but, repeatedly, his belief system had been brought down. One of the smartest witches to grace the wizarding world was a Muggleborn, so how did having pure blood make one superior? To boot, Voldemort himself was a half-blood - Lestrange didn’t understand this at all. However he had made his bed and had to lie in it. He wondered how life would’ve been if he had chosen a different path, one that wasn’t filled with fear and hatred, one where he needn’t hide and could live his life peacefully. Sighing, he got up and moved to the decanter to pour himself a shot of fire whiskey. All these thoughts were moot; survival was the name of the game now.

“Tell me Lestrange, how well can you maneuver around the wards at Malfoy Manor?” Lestrange looked up startled out of his reverie. He noticed a weird gleam in those red slits Voldemort called eyes. He pondered his answer, but knew he couldn’t lie to the nasally challenged arse that he called his master; he simply wasn’t as good at blocking his thoughts as the others were. Lestrange was first and foremost a Slytherin, which made it imperative that he look out for number one – himself. The idea of answering with complete honesty made Lestrange’s skin crawl, because he knew he wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“Well enough, My Lord,” he answered neutrally. He watched Voldemort pull out his wand and mutter the incantation to call his followers. This was in no way a positive sign; Voldemort didn’t call them for chit-chat. In fact the only time he did call was when he wanted something done or he needed something. Within a few moments the Lestrange living room would be full of those that had been called. This wasn’t good. This was in no way good, Lestrange thought.

“I have a plan,” Voldemort cackled. It was truly a disturbing sight to see what was tantamount to a giggle on anyone else.

Oh sod it! He has a plan; why couldn’t he have asked for a cup of tea instead? Lestrange fumed silently.

“I want vengeance, those meddling fools thwarted my plan and I don’t like my plans thwarted, now do I?”

“No, My Lord,” Lestrange replied, wondering what the old coot was on about. He knew Voldemort had been dabbling in demonology, but he didn’t know how far the man had gone. In fact he didn’t want to know because he was pretty sure the answer would only serve as the straw that finally broke the proverbial camel’s back.

Pops were heard in the adjoining receiving room, as three Death Eaters calmly walked in and kneeled before Voldemort.

“My Lord,” they chorused.

“Rise my loyal soldiers,” Voldemort intoned, then sharply looked around. “Where is Sage?” As if on cue another pop was heard and in walked a much harried Sage Weasley. “Ahh, Sage, so nice of you to join us,” Voldemort said with poorly masked glee.

“I had a few important things to attend to before I arrived,” Sage informed him calmly. Nothing could be read in those icy blue eyes. Not by looking at him could you tell that Sage was nervous about the weird look of happiness in Voldemort’s eyes.

Voldemort bristled that Sage had the audacity to say something else was more important than Voldemort’s summoning. It was time someone reminded him who was the leader here. Without a moment’s warning, Voldemort had his wand pulled and was uttering, "Crucio," with a smile on his face. He watched Sage almost buckle, then right himself up again. Voldemort increased the power behind the curse, only to have Sage grin at him. It was a grin that made him look possessed, and eerily reminiscent of Voldemort himself at his happiest.

Finally in this battle of wills Voldemort let down his arm; he was very nearly panting with exertion, fury evident in the manner with which he held himself. He had a white-knuckled grip on his wand. It made Lestrange wonder why the thing hadn’t broken from the force. “Need I remind you that when I call, you must respond promptly?”

Sage continued to grin in a maniacal manner. “You know I’m such a slut for authority, and your punishments are such a delightful sin,” he added with a lick of his lips.

Voldemort glared, but knew the time would come when this insolent fool would get what was coming to him. Grandly he turned around and addressed the rest of the Death Eaters. “Today, my loyal servants, we get our revenge on those who have wronged us. Let it be known that an action against me will not go unpunished,” he said while surveying the crowd.

“What do you mean?” Sage interrupted, Lestrange winced; he didn’t know if Sage had a death wish or if he was just plain stupid. One simply didn’t speak to Voldemort in such an impudent tone

“I will forgive that interruption, Sage, because I know you are eager to serve, which is why you will be the one to lead this little excursion I have planned,” Voldemort smiled evilly.

Sage felt uneasy. A deep sense of foreboding welled within him; he knew that Snape had been gravely injured the night before and that a number of Death Eaters had come to a horrific and bloody death, while others were left wishing they were dead.

Voldemort enjoyed the look of unease on Sage’s face. There wasn’t many a time that he had seen it and it was gratifying to know that he still had the power to make a man of Sage’s strength nervous. “Last night a number of our own fell at the hands of two rogue wizards; I want them revenged. Severus Snape and his group have all suffered greatly and the deed will not go unpunished.”

Random muttering went through the crowd; Snape injured was something new, which would explain why he wasn’t present. After killing Dumbledore the man had firmly earned his place back within the ranks and the Potions Master was not a wizard to be trifled with. Who would be fool enough to injure him and a group of fully-trained Death Eaters?

“It has come to my attention from sources that the beget of those rogues is none other than Cassandra Lauzerte and Kiara Layzelle. Those girls are not to be harmed. I have plans for them and will deal with them on my own, however,” he added with intense delight, “I want all those that are near and dear to them killed.”

The murmurings rose amongst the gathered, Lestrange looked straight at Sage to gauge his reaction, but the older man wasn’t giving anything away. His face was set in a stoic expression, lips hardened into a line and eyes narrowed to slits. “Who is it that you want killed and, furthermore, why?” Sage asked without preamble.

“I want them killed because it is the only way I can hurt those girls and break their morale. Their fathers have invoked Bael’s Bane against any that harms the girls physically.” There was a collective gasp when Voldemort said, “Bael’s Bane.”

Anyone who knew their history knew exactly what that entailed. While many believed it to be myth, the older wizarding families knew it was more than that. After seeing his Death Eaters suitably scared Voldemort carried on with malicious glee, “My intelligence tells me that they are friends with your niece and nephew, Sage. Why, just yesterday they were dining together. Your nephew, Lestrange, has been friends with them since their days at Hogwarts,” Voldemort smiled again. It was truly hideous to see a man with his visage smile so much. This would be it, this would be a true test for Sage Weasley: would he be able to kill Draco Malfoy and the youngest Weasleys? “Sage, I want you to take care of this for me, immediately. Take Lestrange with you; between the two of you, the wards at Malfoy Manor shouldn’t be a problem.” Then he gave a truly horrendous cackle, one that sounded like nails on a chalk board to the rest of the occupants of the room. “Kill everyone at Malfoy Manor, or be killed yourselves,” Voldemort said with bone-chilling finality. Without waiting for a response from the others, he Apparated away in a flurry of robes.

Immediately after his departure the murmurings rose to full-blown shouts, with everyone having their own input. This was Voldemort’s inner circle. Unlike his new followers they were beginning to question everything that came out of his mouth, only to find it incredibly lacking.

“Enough!” Sage shouted, and then his cold hard eyes surveyed everyone. “Who here objects to this?” There was silence following his question, but he knew from the way everyone shifted their gazes that even though they thought it was wrong, they weren’t going to speak up; they weren’t going to stand against the Dark Lord’s direct orders. “No one? Good. Lestrange and I will deal with it. Antonin, care to join us?” he asked with devious pleasure.

“Sage, you don’t mean to just kill off so many purebloods in one go?” Alecto Carrow interrupted uncertainly.

Sage looked at her, his mouth sliding into an evil smirk, “But Alecto, it’s what your esteemed Dark Lord has instructed of me. Why would I act any differently?” Malevolence oozed from his pores; he was thoroughly disgusted with the inner circle, especially since they all seemed to doubt Voldemort but didn’t want to do anything about it.

“N…N…No,” she said hesitantly, “but it seems wrong to kill our own.”

Sage snapped, “Seems wrong? Seems fucking wrong, Alecto?” Mistaking his outrage as impertinence on behalf of Voldemort, Alecto began to shiver. Sage was looking furious -- no, that wasn’t it. There was a cold anger surrounding him, and his pupils seemed to glow with an unearthly light; it damn near made her piss herself. “Until you plan on doing something about it, Alecto, I suggest you grin and bear the orders given. I will kill as ordered and any that try and stop me will suffer the same fate,” he finished venomously. There wasn’t a sound from the other occupants of the room as they all looked at Sage with unabashed fear. At that point, Lestrange began to wonder who the Death Eaters feared more – Voldemort or Sage Weasley?

 

---

 

“As the Euclideans would have it, irrationality is the square root of all evil,” Pansy Parkinson stated to the room full of ex-Hogwarts students. It was a well-lit room; large bay windows covered three walls, all offering different, but just as impressive, views of Malfoy Manor. Pansy was seated on a pale blue sofa that gave her a view of all three windows. At one time in her life she had wistfully thought of being the lady of this manor, but those dreams had died the moment Draco Malfoy opened his mouth. He was, is, and will continue to be a prat - Pansy had reconciled with that a long time ago.

“What?” the prat in question asked, looking at her as if she had lost her mind. He was sprawled languidly alongside Skye and Blaise. The others in the room seemed to be giving similar looks of their own, save for Ron Weasley. Now there was a change Pansy had never seen coming. He looked like a sleeping tiger, or should that be lion? The clear blue eyes were half closed; he was smiling in a way that made Pansy feel very uneasy. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his arms were crossed above what was an admirable chest.

“I think what Parky is trying to articulate is that we’ve all lost our heads,” he drawled out, lazy smile firmly in place. Pansy bristled at being called Parky, but managed not to bite out a retort because the King Weasel had understood her.

“Hang on, how does what she said translate to us losing our heads?” Skye asked with a mischievous grin. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to say ‘you’ve lost it’ rather than this whole spiel?”

Pansy glared at the blond who was sitting with his elbows perched on his knees. His look was one of absolute interest, as if what she were saying was riveting to him. However, Pansy knew the look in his eye: it was one of trouble. He was pulling her leg and she knew it.

“Must be a Slytherin thing, you know, saying one thing, but meaning another,” Ginny Weasley chimed in. She was sitting next to her brother, daintily sipping tea.

“Hey!” chorused the Slytherin contingent.

“We resent that,” Cassandra said while popping a piece of bubble gum.

It finally dawned on Pansy; they were all taking the mickey out of her. Her glare intensified, only now it was directed at all the occupants of the room.

“Caught on, have you?” Hermione asked in a tone that was so dry Pansy was wondering if she could taste dust. She looked around the room at all the faces and never once imagined that this lot would ever work together towards a common goal; it went against their very natures. Maybe the proverb " The enemy of my enemy is my friend," held more stock than people knew.

They had told her about their so-called plan, one she wasn’t going to partake in, not now, not ever. It was beyond ludicrous to even contemplate it, because even if she agreed, Perfect Potter might have something to say about it and Pansy knew it would be less than complimentary. However, at this point, she couldn’t reject them completely either. They weren’t telling her the whole truth and it had to be something of great importance that they were hiding from her. “Give me time, I can’t give you an answer at this moment,” Pansy said finally.

Before any one else could speak up Blaise did, “We can’t let you leave without an answer. If you would like, take the time and stroll around the gardens to contemplate it, but within the hour we need an answer.”

No one else spoke up, but the questioning look in their eyes said it all. Blaise gave Draco a pointed look, Draco shrugged and looked at Ron who in turn nodded and looked at Skye who also seemed to give his version of acquiescence because they turned back to her with almost synchronized timing.

Quietly she got up and walked towards the door. She stopped and then turned towards them. “When we all started out with this meeting, Malfoy said we would never get along. No one was willing to work as a team, but from where I’m standing you seemed to have formed a pretty solid team already.” Nodding abruptly she turned and left, her heels clacking loudly until they were almost silent in the distance.

Blaise couldn’t have cared less if Pansy agreed with them or not, his dream from the night before was weighing heavily on his mind. It showed too, because he seemed to be spacing out and Draco and Skye kept nudging him back into the conversation. There was silence in the room as everyone got lost amongst their own thoughts; it was a true sign of how much the last few days were weighing on them that a room full of nemeses was sitting in silent contemplation without any snipping or bloodletting.

Finally it was Hermione who spoke. “I can’t just sit here and think about it,” Cassandra snickered. Hermione glared at her, but the other girl snickered even more.

“What do you want to do then, Granger?” Skye asked lasciviously.

“Not you, Larkin,” Hermione answered back. “However if Malfoy doesn’t have any issues with it, I’d like to take a look at the library, since that is what you wanted me here for, isn’t it, research?”

Draco looked up. His mind had been whirling with thoughts and he had failed to notice the conversation going on around him. “I don’t have any issues?” he asked quizzically.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Ginny grinned, as she got up to stretch in one long, languid movement.

Draco gave her a once-over under hooded eyes, taking in the long, supple body and flame-red hair falling in heavy curls down her back.

“Continue looking at my sister like that, Malfoy, and you’ll have more than issues to worry about,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

Draco winced at the cold, hard look Ron was giving him; it was one that promised immeasurable amounts of pain. He underestimated this Weasley, underestimated him by far. Sighing he turned to Hermione. “No, Granger, I don’t have any issues with you perusing the library, I’ll take you to it now,” he said, getting up.

“Wait,” Blaise said, “Let Kiara do that, I need to talk to the three of you,” he added, nodding to the other boys.

Kiara gave him a pointed look, not quite liking the idea, yet noticing the hint of desperation in Blaise’s eyes. “C’mon, Granger, I doubt what this lot will have to talk about is going to be all that interesting anyway,” she said. Then, without another word, the three girls walked out of the room.

Ginny looked around and found all four of them looking at her expectantly.

“What? I hate the library,” she said.

“I’m sure you’ll find something to read in there, Ginevra,” Draco said blandly.

Knowing they weren’t going to share in her presence just irritated Ginny more. They were meant to be a group, and they needed to work together. Though that wasn’t strictly true, she thought, as she noticed the similar looks she was getting. What surprised her was that Ron was one of them. She understood the look of “you’re an outsider” coming from Malfoy and his cronies, but not from Ron. This whole brotherhood business was drawing new lines of loyalty and Ginny didn’t like it one bit. Maybe not now, but in a few months Ginny could see Ron picking his “brothers” over her if it came down to it. She didn’t know how she knew this with certainty, but she did. It wasn’t fair to Ron; he really hadn’t done anything to warrant her derision, but she was sure. A gut feeling told her she was right.

“Oh, fine,” she snapped, then glared at each one of them before flouncing out of the room.

It seemed in the course of that interaction the four of them had taken up residence on four different sides, almost imitating north, south, east and west. Ron finally moved from his stretched out position into sitting with his elbows on his knees. “What gives, Zabini?” he asked without prelude.

Blaise smiled. Trust Weasley to just cut through the bull; he sort of appreciated that in the man.

“What?” Ron continued. “You didn’t expect me to think that you got rid of the females on a whim, did you? There are many unfavorable things that you are, Zabini, but a chauvinist is not one of them,”

“Even if Zabini doesn’t have anything to share, I do,” Draco said in complete seriousness. “You know, up until three days ago I was living in relative ignorance; my biggest worry was not turning out like my father and joining Voldemort. Now I find myself in a whole different position. The fate of our world, so to speak, lies on our shoulders. Makes a bloke look at things in a different light,” he said, pointedly looking at Ron. To this, all Ron did was grin and nod his head. “Since I figure we are all in this for the long haul, I need to share a dream.” Draco noticed Ron and Blaise look at him sharply at this.

“Awww, Malfoy wants to share his dreams with us, I’m touched,” Skye said in a high falsetto.

“Shut it, Skye, I think he’s serious,” Ron snapped.

“Hey, don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I know we are all stressed here, a little comedic relief wouldn’t go amiss, you know,” Skye said, getting up. “I understand the enormity of this situation. We know fuck all about it, yet we are meant to be the elite that protect the wizarding society. Do any of you think you can take on a room full of Death Eaters? Hell, we wouldn’t know where to begin. We don’t know what we are capable of, let alone know what we are truly meant to accomplish. The absurdity of this situation is not lost on me, Weasley, and the seriousness of it, even less so,” he finished while glaring at Ron.

“Enough! I hope to Merlin that I don’t have to spend my time refereeing bouts between the three of you. Merlin, you sound like a bunch of women haggling at the fish market!” Blaise said, his lips thinned into a hard line.

“And you know about haggling women in fish markets, how?” Ron asked in all seriousness.

Blaise groaned. “Merlin, can we just get on with Draco’s dream.”

Sighing Draco gazed out of the window, taking in the vast forest that surrounded the eastern borders of the Malfoy lands. “I had a dream, in which Lucifer came to me.” He turned to the others and saw nothing but intrigue, no insults or jokes that he had lost his marbles, so he continued, “He said that the time had come for me to take my place as the leader; that the fate of the world rested on our shoulders; that if one of us was to fail, we would all fail. Apparently it is my job to make sure we don’t fail,” he laughed cynically.

“Draco Malfoy, Savior. Has a nice ring to it; not as nice as Draco Malfoy, Git Extraordinaire, but nice all the same,” Ron said.

Draco glared at him, only to see humor and understanding burning deep in the other wizard’s eyes. They didn’t seem to question that Draco would be the leader; he seemed to take control of the situations naturally.

Ron found it odd that it didn’t bother him. “Since we’re sharing dreams I might as well share mine,” Ron carried on. “I was visited by Asmodeus. He said I would take control of my destiny and the fate of the world. He also said there has been a Weasley in the brotherhood since it was made. He said to ‘trust those like you.’ I’m assuming it meant you three,” he finished, gesturing at the other three with his hand.

There was silence in the room for a while as the others swallowed the latest bit of information. It was becoming all too real, and the time to back out of it seemed to have passed. The way they thought about each other seemed to have altered. It bothered Ron that he found a closeness with the same people he had been brought up to hate. Admittedly it was childish, and they had all done things over the years that didn’t make them proud, but they had been kids. Now, however, they weren’t children and their decisions would have bearing on the rest of their lives.

Subconsciously, Ron knew the dynamics had changed the moment he walked into the Ministry with them; he just hoped it was the right thing to do. “He didn’t give me a name. All he said was the time for me and mine is coming, and that I would not be alone.”

All three turned to look at Skye, who just gave them a blank look. “Sorry, I slept peacefully, no dreams for me,” he said with a slight hint of bitterness. “What does it mean? I didn’t get a visit from anyone; does this mean I no longer have to worry about the wizarding world?” His pale cornflower blue eyes were blank, a sign that he was shielding his thoughts, but the look didn’t disguise the sharpness of his voice. He should’ve been dancing with joy that he no longer had to worry about all of this, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Over the course of the past few days, something in him had changed. If he was honest with himself it had changed a while before that, right around his Animagus test. He felt an acute sense of loss at the thought of not being able to join the other three in this quest to save the world. Pathetic Larkin, he thought to himself. You’re a Ravenclaw, for fuck’s sake, think about it rationally. He realized he was silently berating himself because he couldn’t fight with them – it made him feel even stupider than he thought was possible.

There seemed to be an undercurrent of hurt laced in Skye’s voice as he spoke; the others caught on to it and didn’t understand why they felt it as their own. “Doesn’t mean a damn thing, Skye, we are in this and that includes you,” Draco said with absolute confidence. He looked a lot like an avenging angel, his beauty not lost on Skye: the face of all planes and angles taught with tension, silvery white hair framing the chilled mercurial eyes, eyes that right now were hardened in rage. His stance looked protective; it almost made Skye laugh. Who would have ever thought that he would need protecting?

“Draco’s right. You are a part of this, and if those demons have anything to say about it, then they can kiss my fine arse,” Blaise added, for once those icy green eyes were anything but cold. They burned with an emerald fire, giving his chiseled face an even more depraved look.

“It doesn’t matter what you think. I think the dreams were a telling sign as to who is supposed to be a part of this and who isn’t,” Skye said. Even as he said it, he felt like he was breaking off a part of himself; he didn’t think it would hurt, but it did – it hurt like a bitch.

“You are a part of this, Larkin, deal with it,” Blaise said harshly.

Skye smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Finish your meeting, I’m going to go and find the girls,” Skye said as he got up.

Draco followed suit to keep him there, but it was Ron who spoke up. “Let him go,” he said quietly.

“Weasley, if you can’t be helpful, then shut the fuck up,” Draco said heatedly. Really, what the hell was the idiot thinking? Draco knew intrinsically that Skye was a brother, just like he knew that Ron was, although the latter irked him beyond reason. What he didn’t know was why the blathering fool who was going to be with them for the foreseeable future was ignoring what they knew was an absolute.

“I will not shut the fuck up, Malfoy, this isn’t about someone’s little hurts and owwies,” Ron said, making little quotation marks as he said ‘owwies.’ “So he didn’t get a dream, maybe his demon was off having the time of his undead life with go-go dancers wearing grass skirts. Maybe the demons we got are the boring sort who think of duty or whatever it is that made them come to us, more important than go-go dancers, I don’t fucking know. The fact remains he turned into a fucking dragon and he is whinging about a bloody dream!” Ron was very nearly frothing at the mouth; his anger was palpable and seemed to exude from him in huge waves. The others just gaped at him as if he was the one wearing a grass skirt. “What?” he snapped irritably.

“Did you just say ‘owwies’?” Skye asked as he looked at Ron in wonder. “I’m not running, Weasley. It seemed to be the easier course of action, rather than put you lot in a tough spot.”

“Eh?” Draco said dumbly.

“What he means, Queen Pixie, is that it would’ve saved us the trouble of kicking him out of the room,” Blaise supplied with a grin, his mood a lot more cheerier once he found out that he wasn’t alone in the prophetic dreams department.

Draco scowled. “Zabini, shut it.”

“Queen Pixie? Oh this sounds interesting,” Ron said, leaning forward in his chair conspiratorially, all thoughts of Skye forgotten. As far as he was concerned it wasn’t something that even warranted further discussion. Now Draco Malfoy and this Queen Pixie business that was important.

“Well, see, one night before the start of our sixth year, Draco here consumed a rather large quantity of alcohol,” Blaise continued with a wicked smile on his face. Ron found it disconcerting. The man enjoyed others' suffering; there was no doubt about it.

“Zabini…” Draco warned dangerously, but Blaise was just grinning like a madman. Skye seemed to be sharing his sentiments because he was coughing and trying desperately not to laugh. Queen Pixie was definitely more important than his issues.

“Well, he got utterly smashed, then started prancing around in a horrendous pink tutu screaming, ‘Voldie, beware, Queen Pixie is after your scaly arse,’” Blaise finished, full-out laughing. He jumped over the couch with an agility Ron didn’t think a man of his size could possess because Draco had lunged for the dark-haired wizard after giving a feral cry. Skye was wiping tears of mirth off his face, and, as Ron surveyed the scene, he realized with a pang, that they were just three guys who shared a history. He could easily see himself, Harry, and Hermione sharing a good laugh like this after tense situations. He realized then that he hadn’t truly been fair to Harry recently, and promised to amend that the moment he got back home.

“Wait a sodding minute, Weasley, did you say that there has been a Weasley with a brotherhood since it started?” Skye asked abruptly, his hands were waving about in the air like a stranded monkey. The sudden change of topic seemed to leave the others reeling. Really, what was it with Ravenclaws and their penchant for single minded quests.

Ron nodded perplexed, wondering where the Ravenclaw was going with this. As it was, he had a hard time keeping up with the jumping of topics.

“Think about it, if there has been a Weasley, then it means there had to have been a Malfoy and Zabini too!” Skye crowed excitedly. It was the break that they needed and these morons weren’t connecting the dots.

“And a Larkin,” Draco added pointedly.

Skye nodded absentmindedly, his mind working hard to figure out how they could find more. He got up and started pacing the room with fervor.

“This means that someone from our families is still a part of the brotherhood right now. Well, not mine or Larkin’s; they’re dead. However, the same doesn’t apply to Draco and you,” Blaise said, all hints of laughter gone.

Draco froze at this. The only other living Malfoy was his father. Realization dawning on all of them, they turned to look at Draco. “No, my father can’t be one,” Draco denied with vehemence. He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed, “Abso- fucking -lutely not,” he repeated, as if that would make it any less true.

“It makes sense, though he may not know it, or he may have and chose to do nothing about it,” Ron said softly. He knew this jarred Malfoy. He may have been a git who spouted his father's words as a child, but that wasn’t the man Ron was looking at now. Draco was still a malicious bastard, but he wasn’t evil.

“No,” Draco denied, shaking his head. He didn’t want Lucius Malfoy to have any part of this, because if he did, then it meant that there was a whole side of his father that he knew nothing about, and he was quite content in hating the sides he did know. “Who in your family would it be, Weasley? You have a brother that works with dragons, correct?” he asked, taking the heat off of himself for a minute.

“Can’t be Charlie; his Animagus is not that of a dragon. Come to think of it, I don’t think he even has one,” Ron said. He pondered this. He knew it wasn’t anyone in his immediate family, but he had a legion of cousins; it could be any one of them. “Could be a distant cousin or something,” he added as an afterthought.

Blaise found himself looking at the tapestries on the far wall of the room. He didn’t know why they had caught his eye, but there was something about them; they seemed to have a story to tell. “Draco, what is the point of those tapestries?” he asked.

“You can’t be serious; you want to talk about the décor?” Draco asked, annoyed.

“No, but it seems there is something about them, as if they tell a tale. I just thought you might know, that’s all,” Blaise said, shrugging his shoulders. His gaze once again focused on the dark, swirling colors.

“If you must know, they tell the tale of a war fought long before our time, when the realms were separated - The Fall, as we know it now.”

“Interesting,” Ron said, “Isn’t that when the first brotherhood was started? If I recall Malfoy said something about them turning into a myth. The Fall is considered a myth by most today.”

“Draco, don’t you have family history books somewhere?” Skye asked, rapidly working out how to connect the whole story. The Fall, separation of Realms, the brotherhood, demons ... Demons! “That’s it! Remember in Binns's class, fifth year, he was talking about how the wizarding world was shielded by the Dark courts as well as the Light? Then something happened and neither court trusted the other. The Light realm started to lay claim on the mortal realm as did the Dark. There was chaos for over a century until the foundation of a secret society that would serve the Dark courts and protect the mortal realm. The Light courts agreed so long as there would be no involvement from either courts on mortal activities, it would be up to the society to keep the peace,” Skye said. By now, he was just voicing his thoughts out loud. He knew he was missing an integral part of the story, just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hermione would know,” Ron said, “She also, I think, still has all her notes from Hogwarts. If Binns talked about it she would have it.”

“Library,” Draco said.

“Library,” Blaise concurred once again, grinning.

“Library,” Ron nodded.

“Library it is,” Skye finished resolutely.

They were on the cusp of a discovery that would alter their futures forever; the point of no return, so to speak, and instead of dread or a heavy weight on them, all they could feel was a bubbling excitement. Something big was about to start and it was going to come like a cyclone, with the four of them firmly seated in its eye.

 

 

 

“Without an understanding of myth or religion, without an understanding of the relationship between destruction and creation, death and rebirth, the individual suffers the mysteries of life as meaningless mayhem alone.”

-Marion Woodman

 

Hermione was absolutely dumbfounded at the sheer size of the Malfoy library. It was tastefully decorated, with three mahogany tables set up in a row facing large French windows to one side and a set of comfortable blue couches surrounding a low glass table on the other. She could’ve spent days on end in the darkly decorated room with its walls of books.

Kiara and Cassandra watched in rapt attention as Hermione started in on her supplies. Hermione pulled out some parchment and quills and quickly set about making notes on what they already knew. The girls watched as small, perfect script began to fill up the parchment under Hermione’s methodical break-down.

Ginny, finding herself bored, decided to find the books that Malfoy said she would find interesting. It seemed the Malfoy library contained first editions of everything from Merlin’s Magical History to Spell Casting for Dummies. It wasn’t until she came to the last aisle that she found a book that had a picture of a man and a woman in a position that didn’t seem physically possible. “So that’s what Malfoy was talking about,” she mused out loud. Cheerfully whistling, she made her way back to the table that they seem to have taken over.

After a while, the only sounds came from the rustling of pages and the scratches of quill on parchment. Hermione made her way to and from the shelves, randomly muttering incomprehensible gibberish. Each time she went to the shelves, she came back with even more books than her previous trip until the other girls couldn’t see the brunette behind the towering walls of books that she had surrounded herself with.

Opposite her, Ginny was equally engrossed in a book entitled Wanton Wizarding Women. For some reason, it made her giggle insanely at sporadic intervals.

Kiara and Cassandra had taken to sitting next to her. Whereas Cassandra had a large tome in front of her that she was diligently reading, Kiara was gazing off into space with the most peculiar look on her face.

“This is getting me nowhere!” Hermione wailed, barely stopping herself from flinging the book across the table.

“Granger, are you doing all right behind those books?” Cassandra asked, genuinely surprised that she could harm a book, let alone throw one.

Systematically Hermione moved them off to the floor and found the three girls sitting around her, raising their eyebrows questioningly.

“All these books are giving me is what we already know: a secret society to protect the Wizarding world, blah, blah, blah. It doesn’t tell me what they should expect or where they came from or anything. It’s just so bland,” she huffed, slumping on the table with her hands holding her head up. She looked absolutely put out.

“I don’t think you’ll find a lot of that information in any of the books,” Cass said, popping a Pepper Imp into her mouth.

Hermione looked at her, then nodded. They wouldn’t have it in books; it would be word of mouth, one generation teaching the next. That made more sense, especially if they were meant to be a secret. “Maybe so, but there has to be some sort of record somewhere,” Hermione said, frustrated. “Everything has a record; it’s how we know of history.”

Ginny looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe that is the problem. We aren’t looking back far enough.”

Kiara snorted. “I’m pretty sure the information isn’t in Wanton Wizarding Women.”

Ginny giggled. “No, but it makes for interesting reading. However, my choice of literature, and I use the term loosely, is not the issue.” She turned to Hermione. “Maybe the reason you aren’t getting any information is because you are looking for the Brotherhood. Why not look for acts in history that might have brought it about?”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. The answers were there, she just needed to figure out how to get them. Abruptly she got up and raced towards the shelves located further back in the library.

“Is she always like that?” Kiara asked.

Ginny shrugged. “Sometimes. The thing about Hermione is that she’ll never give up. There has to be an answer to everything and she generally finds it. It’s an admirable, yet incredibly annoying, trait a lot of the time.”

Just then, Hermione returned with even more books piled high in front of her. Cassandra got up to help her put them down. She was intrigued with the first title that she saw: The Book of Malfoy. Something about the book made her skin crawl. It wasn’t until she had looked at it closely that she realized what it was; the fine script of the title was written in red – blood red.

Kiara had moved around to sit next to Ginny; they were scrutinizing Ginny’s book now, alternately giggling and giving mock exclamations of shock. She was glad Kiara had taken to Ginny Weasley. She liked the irascible redhead with her mischievous smile, in a way she reminded Cassandra a lot of herself. She wasn’t all smiles and roses; the girl had a dark streak that practically sung to her demon half. There was a rich darkness to her that was like a siren’s call to any who were remotely connected to the shadow realm.

“They seem to be getting along well,” Hermione mused. Her dark brown eyes were shining with intelligence. It didn’t go unnoticed by her that Ginny seemed to get along fabulously with the Slytherin girls. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the proximity.

Cassandra smiled shrewdly. “Does that bother you?”

The question took Hermione aback. “No, why, should it?” she asked, clearly startled.

“No, just wondering if you thought we were stepping on your territory, so to speak.”

Hermione wasn’t a fool; she knew there had to be a reason for Cassandra to have asked that question. “You believe I don’t like you.” It was said as a statement of fact.

“Well, I know you don’t have the warm fuzzies for us. By the same token, I don’t believe you hate us, you might not like us on the principle that we are Slytherins, but that just comes from seven years of indoctrinated bias.”

Hermione felt a little weird at the other girl’s candour. She almost felt guilty for her lack of warm “fuzzies”, as Cassandra put it. Had she ever truly given any of the Slytherins a chance? Admittedly a lot of the Dark wizards came from Slytherin, but a number of them were from the other houses too. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, all had Death Eaters rise from their ranks. These days it was hard to tell who was really on your side and who wasn’t. Knowing this, she knew she had to clear something up with the Slytherin.

“I don’t know you well enough to dislike you, but you are right, I don’t have warm fuzzies,” she scrunched her nose at the impropriety of the word, “for you. However, what we are working on is bigger than my feelings or even my Gryffindor sensibilities.” She turned and gave Cassandra a hard look. “I promise that I will help with as much as I can. However,” her eyes narrowed, “if I find that you or any of the others have double-crossed us or used us in a manner that I don’t like? I will find you and make sure you know exactly how many of the Restricted Section curses and hexes I have mastered.”

Cassandra was suitably impressed with her speech; she knew Granger was smart and probably could out-curse the Death Eaters if she put her mind to it. She didn’t want to test the other girl’s capabilities, because the look in those cold chestnut eyes spoke volumes about the dangerous witch and her definition of pain.

“I am impressed, Granger. Do your little Gryffindor friends know how much knowledge you’ve been gaining over the years?” Cassandra asked with an impious smile.

“Knowledge doesn’t come with labels of dark and light, it’s just knowledge, the intent behind the use of it is what counts,” Hermione returned.

Cassandra nodded knowingly, then turned to look at the other two girls who were still engrossed in the book. “Let’s hope you remember that,” she said softly.

Kiara looked up from her giggle fest only to see Hermione and Cass having what seemed to be a rather intense conversation. She very nearly got up when she noticed the look in Hermione’s eyes, but then Cass had smiled and nodded so she let it go. She could feel that there was more to the smart Gryffindor than she let on, almost as if she had been dabbling in things best left alone.

“What are you two going on about?” she asked as they came towards the table.

They looked at each other. “Nothing,” they answered in unison, looking a bit shifty.

“Nothing what?” Ginny asked, turning away from her book. It was getting to be rather disturbing, especially since she started wondering if a certain Malfoy could pull some of those positions.

Hermione moved to sit and pulled the first book from her pile, The Book of Malfoy. She looked at it peculiarly, recognizing the lingering effects of an old spell. The red script stood out brilliantly against the rich green leather of the book. She gently traced the edges of the book, itching to find out why it was blood bound.

“I wouldn’t open that if I were you,” Cassandra said, popping back in her seat. “I think it has rather painful repercussions for any that aren’t of the Malfoy bloodline.”

Hermione scowled. She wasn’t an amateur when it came to handling books, she knew very well that opening a book that had lingering blood magic could be dangerous and in some cases fatal. “I am aware of the effects of blood magic, Lauzerte,” she said coldly.

Cass raised her hands as if to ward off an attack. “All right, all right, all right,” she said backing off. “Jeez, defensive much?”

“Umm, guys, do you mind doing that later? I think we have a bigger problem coming,” Kiara said, looking incredibly disconcerted.

“What problem?” Hermione asked,

“Can’t you hear that?” Kiara said, agitated. There was a slimy feeling in the pit of her stomach and it was uncoiling like a snake ready to strike.

“Hear what?” Ginny asked, looking around her. Cassandra and Hermione shared similar looks of “huh?” as they too looked around.

“That!” Kiara exclaimed.

“Well if you’d shut up for a minute we might be able to,” Hermione snapped as she concentrated, trying to figure out what it was the dark eyed girl could hear. That’s when she heard it, a slow humming that seemed to be getting closer. By that point all four girls could hear it in the silence of the library. The sound got louder. Things within the library started to rattle, slowly at first then with alarming alacrity as the winds picked up. The books started flying around in what seemed like a strong gale. The girls ducked and grabbed onto the side of the table, gripping on for dear life – death by whizzing book didn’t seem like a fitting way to go.

“Bloody hell, isn’t there anything we can do?” Ginny hollered, with her red hair whipping her face. It seemed the conversation was moot because the others didn’t seem to have heard her. Ginny panicked; it was such a rapid action that it could be nothing but a magical storm. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that whenever it hit it was going to be lethal.

Just then, there was a brilliantly blinding light that had them shielding their eyes. A loud crack was heard as the light struck the middle of the table. If someone had been looking at the room from the outside they would have seen the entire library bathed in a brilliant white light.

Soon after, the light, the winds and the humming sound seemed to die down, and once again the peace in the library was restored.

There was a deep groan coming from the table, which had all four girls gingerly looking up from their positions on shaky legs.

“Everyone all right?” Cassandra asked. She was the last one to get up, and the lack of noise coming from the other girls made her a bit nervous.

“We are,” Hermione answered, which had the little girl exhale a sigh of relief. “But I don’t think he is,” she finished. Cassandra quickly got up to see what or rather who was on the table. There was a curled up figure on the table. It was hard to see anything but the splayed out blond hair, thanks to the extensive coverage the robes provided.

“That was my wife’s favourite book,” Lucius Malfoy said, looking at the cover of Wanton Wizarding Women from beneath the hood of his robe, before promptly passing out on the table.

---

 

 

 

The boys were making their way quickly through the Manor halls when they heard the commotion. “What the hell was that, Malfoy?” Ron asked, immediately thinking about Hermione and Ginny.

“I don’t know,” Draco answered quickly, picking up the pace.

Under different circumstances, Ron would have appreciated the rich yet welcoming décor of the Manor, but right now his only thoughts were for his family. He raced behind Draco, matching his speed down the twisting corridors.

Blaise and Skye looked at each other before following suit. Whatever it was it didn’t sound good.

As they approached the double doors of the library, the roar seemed to have died down, but that didn’t stop them from dashing in.

The girls turned to look at the door of the library; it seemed the cavalry had arrived. The door burst open and in ran four very stressed looking boys.

“Are you all right? We heard some commotion,” Blaise asked, looking particularly at Kiara.

“Gin, Hermione?” Ron said, looking at his girls.

They had formed a line in front of the table, hiding everything behind them from view of the boys. Each girl carried a look of absolute shock and this worried the boys even more.

“Cassie?” Skye asked, worried why none of the girls seemed to be answering them.

Ginny was looking at Draco, she knew he had figured out who was behind them the moment he walked into the room. The telltale hair was all over the table after Lucius had fainted, and probably peeking out from behind them. His faced had closed off; the ice prince of Slytherin was back. His eyes were as clear as chips of diamonds, and just as hard.

“It seems Azkaban is short a prisoner,” he said with a razor sharp smile. He made his way towards the table, his mind in turmoil. On the one hand he was ecstatic that his father, the man he had looked up to, the man he had so wanted to be like was out of prison. On the other hand he was furious and terrified at the same time that his father would once again force him into the ranks of Voldemort, jeopardizing everything that he had with his brothers. Lucius didn’t look any worse for wear. He was wearing the Malfoy robes, his health hadn’t seemed to have suffered. Even his hair is shiny for fuck’s sake! Draco thought irrationally.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his. Looking down, he saw the youngest Weasley giving him silent support, her tawny eyes full of understanding and sympathy. He didn’t know why, but she seemed to have given him a sense of calm. He could handle this, and he squeezed her hand back.

Ginny didn’t know what possessed her to hold his hand, but she felt that it was probably what he needed most at the moment. She had some understanding about one's fears coming out to bite them in the arse, and the look in his eyes told her that this was one of his.

“He needs to be moved,” Ron said, looking at Lucius speculatively. “I don’t think that is terribly comfortable.”

Hermione’s eyes rounded on the red head; he was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets and was looking at Lucius. There wasn’t anything that resembled hatred or even anger at the man in his facial expression. “Since when do you care about his well-being?” she asked sharply.

Ron gave her a Gallic shrug as he had become prone to do. “The man is passed out cold on a table; he isn’t a threat to us yet. We can restrain him now and ask questions later,” he said reasonably. Blaise and Skye seemed to agree with this, but they all turned to look at Draco for his response.

Draco nodded imperceptibly. His father would be easier to control if he was bound and the Slytherin in Draco couldn’t discount the use of Veritaserum to find out the information he knew they needed. However, before Lucius could be moved, two things happened simultaneously - an ear-splitting clap reverberated around the Manor together with a bone chilling scream. There was a shocked silence in the room until “Malfoy, please tell me that was your doorbell,” Ginny squeaked out, tugging on his sleeve.

 

---

 

Sage Weasley smiled coldly, as he and the rest of the Death Eaters Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He breathed in the night air, lightly scented of eucalyptus and something that was purely numinous. Behind them loomed Malfoy Forest, large and foreboding. The tall trees hid everything within the forest from view; the only attestation of life came from the cacophony of howls that were heard intermittently.

Before they could breach the wards the thunderous explosion of them breaking resounded in the air along with the scream of absolute horror.

“What the hell was that, Sage?” Lestrange asked. He was feeling apprehensive about this raid; for some reason, it spelt trouble. Sage wasn’t acting like himself, especially if he was willingly going in to kill Lucius’s son and his own niece and nephew. “I don’t like it. Something is incredibly wrong here,” Lestrange reiterated nervously.

Dolohov looked at their surroundings. The Malfoy forest always gave him the chills. It was a place that was bursting with wild magic. Even when Lucius invited them over, he had expressed that anyone who ventured into that forest might find themselves in a very perilous situation, where the least of their worries would’ve been losing their lives. He noticed a pair of glowing white eyes looking out at them from within the trees, but just as he blinked they were gone. Spine-tingling chills raced up and down his back. It wasn’t until he felt the trickle that he realized he was sweating profusely. A howl echoed from within, making a number of them jump.

Sage almost laughed out loud. These were the fearsome Death Eaters of Voldemort, afraid of a bloody forest. He walked up to Dolohov, like a cat stalking its prey, forcing him to move back towards the forest. “Scared, Dolohov?” he asked, white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Dolohov could’ve sworn that his canines elongated when he smiled, looking like some sort of grotesquely beautiful animal.

“N…N…No, I’m not scared,” Dolohov stuttered with all the brass he could muster.

Sage grinned cheerfully. “Good, because I would hate for one of Voldemort’s key men to piss himself for fear of flora and fauna.”

Flora and fauna, my arse! That forest is living and has teeth, very big, very sharp teeth. Dolohov seethed silently.

Even though Sage knew he was hunting his own, the excitement building within him didn’t falter. He could feel those like him close by; he could sense their anxiety and taste their thrill. This would be a test for them, to see if they were truly capable of doing what their heritage demanded – kill. “Let’s go. It seems someone has taken down the wards for us. I’m sure you all know the way in,” he said as he mock ushered them towards the main house.

“Do you really want us to kill on sight?” Carrow asked hesitantly.

Sage turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling with malice. “My dear, this is a hunt. If I recall, you were always very good at taunting your prey before you tortured it. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your taste for blood, Alecto,” he crooned. Turning to the others he smiled; it was eerily reminiscent of Voldemort when he was coming into power, when he had convinced them to join his ranks. “Let the games begin.” With that remark, Sage turned on his heel and walked towards the house, his robes billowing behind him.

“Is it just me, or is everyone else having a really bad feeling about this?” she asked the remaining Death Eaters.

“It seems similar to the feeling I had when I became a Death Eater actually,” Lestrange said unsmilingly.

“And what a stellar decision that turned out to be,” she said sardonically.

There was a collective groan; they all knew the results of the particular move.

Lestrange rolled his eyes, wondering if he was doomed to work with morons. “Let’s just go and get this over with,” he snapped and followed Sage. Grumbling, the rest of the Death Eaters followed disconsolately, wondering if they were going towards their doom.

“If I die tonight, I’m coming back to haunt Voldemort for the rest of his undead life,” Alecto spat venomously as she trailed behind the rest of them.