Another two weeks seemed to fly by, and Harry was not sure how late it was, but it had to be just past midnight. Neville had gone to bed, along with just about everyone else in Gryffindor. He was the last man standing, or rather sitting. He was finding it somewhat odd: The more advanced his Occulemency and Legilimency became, it seemed like he needed less sleep than usual. His study of the phenomenon had confirmed that it was the former more than the latter: Sleep was something that the brain required, partly to help sort and store memories subconsciously. However, Occulumens, with their mind already better sorted and organized, tend to need less sleep. It left Harry with an extra two hours that he was not sure what he could do besides reading, study, and train.
He felt the presence slip into his mind, and knock politely against his mind shields, which immediately rose to their full strength until he recognized the presence, "Lady Hogwarts," he said, "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
"A pleasure as always Harry," she replied, "I apologize for taking so long, but I wanted to make certain preparations for this meeting. However, we should get down to business. How may I be of assistance?"
He took a few minutes to explain what it was he was trying to do, how they had need of a place to train in secrecy, how he feared their betrayal. "It is an old muggle saying, "three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead," she laughed, "but it doesn't work when it has to be seventy can keep a secret if sixty-nine are dead."
"Are you asking for an opinion or advice Harry?"
"My girlfriend asked me that same question once," He replied, "Both. Give your advice, then your opinion."
"My advice would be to seek one in your employ who has worked within these walls. His knowledge of its secrets rivals that of the Weasely and even the Marauders before them. My opinion is that you take too much upon your young shoulders. Remember those who stand with you, remember that they will help you, but you must first allow them to." He had no answer to that. He was already delegating a lot: Remus and Blake were both doing a lot to get things set up, and he had spared no expense in getting things done right the first time.
"Find a place, where you can be alone and Fawkes will come to find you. I hope that you trust us both enough to take a short trip with him?" She disappeared from his mind and he looked around the Common Room. It was late; the fire in the grate was more ashes than flame. He looked around the empty common room, "Fawkes?" he whispered.
There was a blaze of flame and the phoenix appeared before him. It bowed its head to him. Uncertain Harry bowed back. "Care for Magical Creatures has nothing on this," he thought, as he met the creature's gaze. The twinkle in its eye betrayed an intelligence, greater than that of any mere bird. Immortal, timeless, "You're supposed to take me somewhere?"
He walked to the edge of the table with a thrill and hopped onto Harry's shoulder. The flames enveloped both of them, and they were warm, just comfortably warm. It took a matter of moments before they reappeared on what looked like the castle grounds. He looked around and realized that things were different: The sunlight had no warmth; the Forbidden Forest did not… smell right. However, what was definitely wrong was the small cluster of trees along the shore of the lake.
What was even more out of the ordinary was the young woman leaning with her back against a tree, her face turned up towards the sun. She was tall, taller by at least five or six inches, with a long braid of raven black hair trailing down her back. She pushed off the tree and walked towards him.
Harry, however, already had his wand in his hand and upraised, "Stand your ground!" he called, "Who are you and where am I?"
She laughed, "Your paranoia would do your "Mad-eye" Moody proud. We have already met. Do you not recognize the sound of my voice?" she teased.
"Lady Hogwarts? Rowena?" he lowered his wand. At least that explained the preparations part of things. She nodded, "Then where are we?"
"Within one of the many paintings that actually adorn the roof of the Great Hall," she smiled, "the enchanted ceiling conceals this painting from the eyes of all - magical or otherwise. It has been my home, these many centuries."
He realized her existence must have been truly long and incredibly lonely, "Rowena, I have to ask: Why do you help me?"
"For any number of possible reasons," she replied, "but the simple truth is that I can no longer in good conscience stand idly by as Albus Dumbledore leads the Light further into shadow."
That came as a surprise to Harry, "You think that the headmaster has been corrupted by evil?" He was walking towards the edge of the lake, staring across the water. It was moving the wrong way, moving out towards the center of the lake instead of lapping at the shore.
"Harry you must accept that the world is not merely black or white. Light and Darkness are but the extremes, and neither can exist without the other. However, Albus Dumbledore is not the beacon of light that he once was." They were walking along the edge of the lake now, "He has been so focused on the big picture that he is now tripping over what is directly in front of his nose."
"So what am I supposed to do? Take over from him?" Harry asked with a sarcastic smile.
"I pray that it does not come to that," she replied with absolute seriousness, "But to defeat Voldemort, you may have to."
"I'm getting tired of having every fucking thing just dumped on my shoulders," he growled, "Why? Why me? Because I survived some damn curse as an infant?" he picked up a fistful of pebbles from the shore of the lake and sent one skipping across the surface, "Because I'm the child of some damn prophecy?" he threw another stone, "Because of that," he hurled another, "I'm supposed to do clean up for every lazy bastard out there?" Another stone went skipping across the lake.
"More wrist, less fingers," she advised. He looked at her blankly for a moment. "More wrist, less finger and they should go a little farther." He eyed her critically for a moment and then took the advice, and to his surprise found the stone skipping a half dozen times. He stared at her, wondering why the almost random change in topic.
"You can change the world, Harry," she replied sending a stone skipping across the surface of the lake, "You are being given a unique opportunity."
"Give it to someone who wants it then," he replied, "I don't want it. I never asked for it."
"Alas," she replied with a weary shake of the head, "There is a fine line between coincidence and fate. And you actually walk that line, which is why you are the one who receives this opportunity." Harry gave her a look that stated clearly she should cut the dramatics and get to the point, "Think Harry! If fate gave this to Draco Malfoy, what would he do? Would Dumbledore be able to do the right thing? Perhaps for wizards, he could. But could he act for the greater good of the wizarding world? Look at those you call friends or allies You treat all as equals whether their blood is pure or not! Wizard, Goblin, or House Elf! You have your friends making overtures to Centaurs and Werewolves! They follow you because they believe you! They share your vision and they understand it: Not just to the defeat of Voldemort! But to do more! To reshape the wizarding world into what it is supposed to be!"
"But what is the price?" he countered, darkly, "Who has to suffer? Do I have to be the one to choose who lives or dies?" He looked across the placid surface of the lake, shielding his eyes from the glare of the picture's setting sun, "My destiny, my fate, why is this mine?"
"Perhaps…" she shrugged, "I could give you some platitude about honor, duty, loyalty, but I think you would throw it back in my face. I do not know the future." She stood, "Harry, I have… existed for so long that I have no doubt I've forgotten some of what I have seen in the past. However, one thing I have seen and learned is that there is no such thing as predestined fate. The future will be what you choose to create."
He stood and stretched and she smiled, gently, like a benevolent mother, "It has been, an interesting conversation, I should let you get to bed for a proper night's sleep." She waved to one of the drawn trees and Fawkes swooped down and landed lightly on Harry's arm, "Good night Harry."
"Rowena," he said suddenly, "One last thing: The Residence can be found within the Bedrock of the Castle."
"I was wondering why Myrtle could not find it," she admitted, "But I did not want to pry into your affairs.
"Ask and if I can answer, I shall," he said, "Loyalty and honor, means trust and openness must exist between all parties involved. Tell the ghosts if you have. I believe you know which can be trusted. Good night Rowena." The phoenix seemed to weigh nothing as it rested there for a moment before taking Harry in a whirlwind of flame to deposit him back in the Gryffindor Common Room. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised at the lateness of the hour and thought for a long moment about where to sleep that night. He shuddered at the thought of sleeping alone, something he had not done willingly since… Fleur entered his life. He apparated to the residence where he had planned to sleep only for him to fall victim to an ambush the moment he walked through the front door.
The first slap took him off guard, "Harry!" A second slap to the shoulder, "James!" and a third, "Potter!" followed in rapid succession. He caught her hand before she could slap him again but it was too late to stop her. She went off in French, a verbal tirade of abuse that he had little difficulty in figuring out once she had pointed at the clock several times.
"Ummm…" he flicked the braid of hair over his ear "Oops?" he said sheepishly. Fleur was not a happy witch. He knew she was about to go off again. Again in French and he was not sure he could handle that. The low burning fire had lent a strangely pleasing fragrance to the room. That, however, was nothing compared to Fleur. She was wearing one of his shirts, and it barely covered what was important. The sight was more than a little distracting. "Is that my shirt?" he asked suddenly.
It threw her completely of tack, "Yes it is." She answered, "What of it?"
"I don't recall saying you could help yourself to my wardrobe," he teased. She blushed, and Harry grinned at her, more than a little playful, "You should probably give that back," he said with mock seriousness, "It is my favorite shirt." It was clear from the way she was standing that he was not getting that shirt back, "Give, it back. Now," he commanded.
Halloween was less than a week away and their relationship had moved forward, in a series of fits and starts. He was definitely more affectionate, even in public ever since the Hogsmeade visits. She had asked and he had answered, stumblingly, halting but honestly: It just felt right: Time, place, everything had just felt right. She could not deny that the change was subtle but it had happened and things were slowly moving in the right direction as far as Fleur was concerned. Of course, the Veela in her was completely convinced that it should have moved in this direction more than a year ago. However, that was the Veela, not Fleur.
She could only recall seeing the same fire in his eyes on one occasion before when they had gone for their first swim together at his mansion. The way he was looking at her was enough to set a fire alight in her soul, "but is it safe for me to take this off?" she teased him, effortlessly stepping out of his reach, "I don't think that I should." Her hand rested at the base of her throat and trailed down with agonizing slowness.
"Oh I think you should," he said, advancing suddenly. She laughed, and again moved back, drawing him deeper in. his eyes locked with hers, but he seemed to follow her every move. She licked her lips, and to him, it was the invitation. He stalked forward, like a jungle cat on the prowl, as her fingers toyed idly with the top button of the shirt, "I have to ask," her voice had changed, soft and velveteen in its smoothness, "is it the shirt you want? Her fingers undid the top button with practiced ease, "Or what's in the shirt?"
He stood a bare few inches away from her, before he answered, "Both!" His kiss caught her lips, slightly off guard as he pushed up against her, forcing her back first against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. She grabbed on to him, locking her arms around his neck as his hands wandered down her back. They were in perfect synchrony with each other. No words, no gestures, nothing but the sound of their labored breaths between kisses as she effortlessly hooked her legs around his waist.
His kisses ran a trail along her cheek and ran expertly down the side of her neck. He found that sweet spot at the base of her earlobe and she took a sharp breath. She could feel his smile as he nipped that spot gently and sucking every so lightly, leaving her shuddering in pleasure, "Where did he…" Harry did it again, and her train of thought promptly derailed.
His strength came as no surprise to her - she had seen him working out and joined him, and continued her own physical training - but he held her without magic and simply carried her into one of the residences many empty bedrooms. Though nobody had been in it for months, Winky had kept it dust-free and the bed neatly made. Neither of them could have cared as they collapsed atop the surprisingly firm mattress that bounced them apart.
Fleur laughed and he smiled at her, wolfishly. She was quicker off the mark, straddling him. His hands grasped her hips and snaked their way up her sides, along her ribs, running along her back as she leaned down and kissed him soundly, using her teeth to pull playfully on his lip.
He was caught up in a firestorm of emotions, as he felt his toes curl in pleasure he could feel her doing her best to restrain the Veela. With a start, he realized that she was experienced in this. Definitely way more experienced than him, and he had to wonder why she kept the Veela so contained when this was what they do best. It was as if she was reading his mind, "If I let it out Harry," she whispered, nuzzling his cheek, "It won't stop. It is not a lover, it is a predator, a hunter, and it will have you as its prey."
His hands wandered, circling under her arms, to cup her breasts through his shirt, "It's a part of you," he whispered, her sapphire blue eyes holding his emerald gaze with hypnotic ease, "You can't deny it forever, Fleur. You shouldn't." Dim light from a single lamp illuminated them to each other. "Let it out." Her blond hair was a mess. "Please." His hair, she noted was as wild and untamed as ever.
She smiled, sat up, her back arched as she stretched, letting the shirt rise to reveal what seemed like miles of smooth, light, alabaster skin. His hands moved up her taut stomach. He could feel the firm muscles beneath the skin but all he could do was revel in the feel of her skin and the way she shuddered in pleasure as he tweaked her nipples lightly.
He simply made her ache with longing and desire. Months of patience, planning, careful seduction had led to this moment. She could no longer tell whether it was what the Veela wanted, what she wanted, or what they both wanted. But she knew this: She loved him. She had to have him. Tonight.Now. There, was no going back.
She had said the last aloud without realizing it but he agreed with that sentiment. There was no going back. "If it wants me," his fingers trailed, almost languidly across her nipples, "it can try its best to have me," His hands slid down and out from beneath the shirt, "That predator can prey on me for now, but eventually, I will make it my prey."
She wondered for a moment just how far along his relationship with Hermione had progressed, wondering at how one so young could seemingly find every place she could possibly be sensitive. Admittedly, she was not that much older than he was, but still. The way he used his hands to caress and stimulate had every nerve aflame. She could not help but wonder how good the sensations would be if their positions were reversed, with him on top, her perhaps blindfolded… perhaps even restrained.
Her mind lost its tentative grip upon reality for a long moment as one of his free hands found that damn near sacred spot on a woman and caressed it, ever so gently. "Propago iucunditas solvo quis est intus!" she was barely able to complete the incantation, releasing the block that kept the sexual aggression and the abilities of Veela to prolong the pleasure of such encounters in check.
He grinned up at her, as a wave of magic radiated from her. He had read about the blocks that Veela parents placed upon their children, limiting the influence of their Veela aspect upon others and upon their children. To release the block was something only mature, adult Veela could do. A full Veela, with no control over that aspect of their personality, was what some believed to be the origins of the myths and legends of the Succubus.
He grabbed the shirt and she laid her hands over his, "I thought," she whispered, her voice simply dripped with suggestions, hints, promises, lust and desire, and everything else he could imagine, "this was your favorite shirt?"
"I'm more in love with the woman, wearing the shirt."
Fabric ripped as buttons scattered across the room.
He rose up, catching her in a kiss that seemed to drag her down onto the bed but she could feel it. He had some idea of what he was supposed to do, but it was there, palpable in his aura: He had never gone this far. All he had was instinct to guide him. His fingers grazed her nipples and gave them a gentle pinch that made her shudder.
"Just relax," she murmured into his ear, "I'll be slow and gentle," she slid back along his legs and wrapped her fingers around him, and gently stroked him as he lay back, eyes closed. His hands were clenched she noted, beyond nervous. She continued to stroke him slowly for a long minute before she bent low over him and gave him a long, slow gentle lick that had him shuddering in pleasure.
She smiled softly, and if he had seen it, he would come to recognize that smile as the one that blended sexy and evil together. For good reason: the predator wanted to play with its food. Say what you want about Veela, but when it comes to the art of pleasure, they are unmatched at making the most carnal of acts also the most erotic and memorable.
She raised her free hand, grasped one of his, and simply held it, channeling her Veela magic. It was so simple a gesture, but it sent a wave of confidence through Harry while making it the most erotic, naughtiest yet somehow the most sensual moment he had ever experienced.
Her lips touched him at that moment as she slowly sucked him, her tongue playing with him inside her mouth. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. She seemed to know he was watching as she caught his gaze. She never stopped what she was doing. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity as she took him deeper into her mouth
She drew it out, making the experience a long, slow and incredibly pleasurable one for him as her magic seemed to sing through his veins for what felt like several long slow hours of pleasurable agony, which was actually only a few minutes before she stopped playing with his manhood and began to kiss her way up his body. They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, "Was that pleasurable?" she purred.
Harry was lost for words. He had never seen or been with a succubus, but it was clear why Veela could be mistaken for those demons of legend. He wasn't sure that he trusted himself to put his feelings into words. ThenHarry had always been a proponent of "Actions speak louder than words." He said nothing, but cupped her cheek, gently and drew her in for a long, gentle, and deeply sensuous kiss.
Fleur couldn't help but moan as he kissed her. It had come as a bit of a surprise considering what she had been doing just moments before. Most men would not even consider kissing a woman who had just gone down on them, let alone a woman who had the taste of their pre-cum on their tongue. His inexperience, she realized, was probably going to make him a far superior lover and perhaps a better man as well.
They had moved, shifted together, without breaking their kiss. He was hesitant about taking the lead, but she moved with him, gently encouraging until he was on top of her, her legs locked around his waist. She could not deny that she ached, that she wanted him to take her. "That was amazing," was all he said, but she could read the nerves, "I'm not, experienced," he said haltingly, "but I'd like to return the favor."
"Are you comfortable with that? You don't have to if you don't want to." She was surprised at his concern, his care for her needs. She had mistakenly lumped him in with every other teenage boy she had shared a bed with. All of them had been concerned about their own needs, sometimes neglecting hers, but not him. In all fairness, he seemed surprised at her surprise.
He smiled. In the low light of the bedroom, he might have blushed ever so lightly, "You may have to coach me a little," he smiled slightly, embarrassed, "or a lot," He leaned down to nuzzle that accursed sweet spot with light kisses, "I want to."
"This is just one of the reasons why I love you so much."
He sat there for a second, dumbfounded; did she just say what I thought she said? He looked at her, more serious than usual.
He tensed for a moment and then willed his body to relax, "Say that again?"
She had felt the wave of tension, gone almost as fast as it had appeared, "Quoi? J'taime, Harry. I love you. You know that. You know that I felt something for you months ago. It never went away."
"But you didn't fight for me then," he said quietly, "Why?"
"The Veela in me would never have settled for second place. And the witch knew that there would be no taking you away from Hermione." There was a hint of tears in her eyes, "I had hoped that I would have a chance in the future, but I had my doubts. Then with what happened…"
It was true, what she had said so long ago: They were damaged, both of them. That damage had brought them together. "Not your fault," he whispered, "Not my fault." They hugged each other tightly, and Harry hoped that the moment could last forever. She leaned back, wiped away a tear, and gave him a naughty smile.
"Now, I think there was talk about me coaching you in the art of orally pleasuring a woman." She said. They flowed, somehow Harry able to read her intentions so that she was on top. He could not help but look up at her. Blonde hair cascading about her face, the small smile that graced her face, what seemed like miles of alabaster white, smooth skin, the perfect swell of her breasts. "Perfect," he murmured.
He could smell her, what could only be described as the essence of her. Some are clueless, some have an instinct for it, and some have a little bit of both. Harry was in the last category, taking his time, and her advice. He worked his way along her inner thigh, getting slowly closer to her. She moaned, her eyes closed in pleasure. He was so close he could feel the heat emanating from her as she grew more and more aroused under his ministrations.
His tongue flicked out, and he tasted her. A sweet and slightly salty flavor, he let his tongue travel the length of her and her breathing became faster, her moans more frequent and audible. She put her left hand upon his head and urged him to go deeper. He did. From what he could tell her other hand was busy playing with her breasts and nipples. His tongue lashed her repeatedly and he found that incredibly sensitive spot, almost by accident. His only clue was the way her hand tightened its grip upon his hair.
That instinct came to the fore as he sucked hard on her clit and her moan came to a stop as her body tightened and then seemed to explode as he gave her an orgasm, the first of many that night as Harry made an interesting discovery: Some women are capable of having multiple orgasms. He was, in a word, relentless. He simply refused to stop pleasuring her, enjoying every moment of her pleasure, with her.
Finally, in a near desperate act, she wretched herself off his face and rolled aside. A little too far, and perhaps a little too fast as she went off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. Not that she cared. Her muscles twitched and she found it hard to sit up, and next to impossible to contemplate standing.
Fortunately, Harry had her in his arms and back on the bed within a minute, just letting her bask in the afterglow. She seemed to have an inner radiance to her. Something he had not seen before. "Harry," she stretched, arching her back like a cat, "Take me," she said huskily. Two words, a simple request that thrilled and terrified him.
She was lying in the middle of the bed, and he slid between her legs and moved in to place when he paused. She watched him hesitate and then she smiled as he kissed her and then began trailing kisses along her neck, collarbone, and the continued even lower down. 'He learns fast!' she thought as he tweaked her nipples gently and continued on lower.
He teased her for several long, agonizing minutes. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. He was. She gave a sharp cry as the orgasm she had fought against finally overwhelmed her, leaving her in the throes of pure pleasure that had every muscle, nerve, and inch of skin tingling in pleasure.
That was precisely what he had been waiting for: So lost in her pleasure, he ran his manhood along the slick opening and pushed into her, ever so slowly. Her eyes widened, as he maintained a steady pressure and literally drove himself into her. It had the desired effect as it set Fleur off, as another orgasm rocked her body, "Dieu!" she gasped, "Mon Dieu!"
Harry smirked, that would be an interesting nickname, but he figured he should set about earning it. Instinct was the only guide he needed as he began to move. There was no real tenderness, no slow romance. Neither of them minded or cared as she wrapped herself around him in the primal act of love.
Her nails dug into his shoulders and he felt them as they cut red furrows into his back as she dragged them down, on either side of his spine. It was as if she was somehow trying to pull him, faster, harder, and deeper into her. Every nerve was flamed by lust as they brought each other closer to the brink, following some flow of sexual energy. Sweat coated them both, dripping from her body.
"Maintenant!" she gasped and he understood. He drew himself back, almost completely from her, and then entered her with a single hard stroke that plowed into her until he was fully encased in her. He moaned in pleasure as the velveteen silkiness squeezed him as together they climaxed, their combined pleasure powerful in a way mere words are inadequate to describe.
Hours later, he awoke with a start. The room smelled of sweat and sex, and it took him a long moment as it all came flooding back, everything that had transpired that evening or more accurately, this morning. He looked at the still sleeping woman next to him, one leg sticking out from underneath the blanket, her hair a mess, splayed across her pillow. Nothing… nothing in the world could compare with what he had experienced. She was exotic, beautiful; desirable…there were just no words to describe her, or how he felt, or how she made him feel. For the first time since Hermione had been taken from him, he actually felt truly alive. Not just alive but he now had a reason to do more than fight, but to stay alive and live. Griphook had been right, all those months ago: It does get better. He had been going through the motions, to keep a promise he made to an echo. Now things were different. He had a reason to fight and she was lying next to him.
He glanced at his watch. It was too early to get up and yet too late to go back to sleep. Looking over at Fleur his lust flared. She stirred in her sleep and he slid down next to her, relishing the feel of her cool skin against his own. It was like silk on silk, like heaven. His mind replayed everything that had happened. His… inexperience, innocence even, was something that Fleur had taken great delight in stripping away from him, one agonizing layer at a time. The things she had shown him, the things they had done to each other. It made his blood rise and he looked at his watch again, "Propago iucunditas," he nuzzled her neck.
She could feel the heat of his breath, the feather-light kisses, and felt herself stiffen involuntarily. She had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it, especially educating him in the finer arts of pleasuring a woman. He had proven to be an incredibly quick study. She had unleashed that Veela within and together, had given each other incredible pleasure that had almost knocked him unconscious at one point. "Solvo quis est intus," she felt the blanket covering her back pushed lower, kisses flowing down her spine.
She rolled over and caught him in a kiss, one that he returned, eagerly, hungrily, "You just can't get enough…"
"Predator becoming prey," he challenged between kisses, "So soon? I expected more of a… challenge."
"Love to be your challenge," she practically cooed as he kissed his way down her body. Her skin tasted sweet and salty, musky with desire, "but you seem to have, something else in mind…"
He laughed, "Ladies before rouges," he said, he kissed her stomach and continued to work his way lower, leaving her hands clenching the sheets in pleasure.
He skipped his regular morning workout, knowing that he had enjoyed a thoroughly different workout that had lasted through most of the early hours of the morning. Fleur was seemingly unaffected by all of it, and he could not help but wonder how much of that was her and how much was the Veela. All he knew was that he ached in places he did not think were possible. However, it was a good kind of ache. He had half a mind to drop in Madame Pomfrey with a case of "Extreme sexual exhaustion," just to see how she would cope with it.
Fleur had left after nothing more fortifying than a cup of shared coffee with him. Though Goblins rarely take a deep interest in the lives of their non-goblin employees, the relationship between their Ursh-kai and Fleur was no secret. Many recognized the difference in her, the way she moved, there seemed to be more life, more energy in her step.
Bill Weasely had joked on more than one occasion that humans who hung around the goblins for too long began to adopt a number of goblin traits: Not being a morning person would top the list. However, as she moved, she gave off the unmistakable wave of positive energy that buoyed everyone, both human and goblin that came within ten feet of her. "Far too many shiny happy people this early in the morning," he grumbled good-naturedly as she passed him with a smile and a nod.
From an alcove above the main floor of the bank, Griphook smiled with a mouthful of teeth before checking the impulse. He turned to watch her make her way to her office, "He may yet save us all Fleur Delacour," whispered the Goblin, "And whether he stands with us, alone, or against us will all depend upon you." The Senior Accounts Manager made his way to his own office and took a seat at his desk. Although it was a little after nine in the morning, Griphook opened the bottom drawer of his desk and withdrew a single bottle of Old Ogden's finest, and poured himself two fingers' worth of the amber liquid. He sipped it, before turning his attention to the parchment and quill before him and started to write.
In his small London flat, Percy Weasely had hoped to enjoy his day off until he saw the note resting on his bedside table. He read the note three times and then burned it. He had been surprised at the level of Death Eater infiltration at the Ministry. They had people everywhere, ranging from the lowliest of the maintenance and cleaning personnel through to the ranks of the Aurors, Magical Transport, International Cooperation, even the Gobstones League, and The Muggle Worthy Excuses Committee.
He had met a number of them on his various trips around England, Scotland, and Wales, even as far as Ireland via a mix of Portkey and Floo to prove his loyalty and his worth. He had "exterminated" a number of Squibs, and even taken out several groups of muggles, always with Peter Pettigrew at his side.
Together, the odd pair walked along the corridor of Riddle Manor. While no longer used as their base of operations, it was still an excellent place to use as a staging ground before setting out on any mission. "It's not always going to be like this Perc," said Peter, "Right now, we're gearing up for a takeover, for war, and it's simply that the ends justify the means. When we are in power, we eliminate the squibs and half-bloods in one fell swoop." Percy stayed silent. He was not foolish enough to swallow the propaganda, and he recognized indoctrination and brainwashing when he heard it. However, he was smart enough to play along, for now.
He might have been more than a little short-changed when it came to money and magical power, but he had put everything on the line and was rightly confident that he had made a commitment to the winning side, or more accurately, the side that would give him everything he wanted. "I know, Peter," said Percy, "What I want to know is how many more muggles and squibs do I have to kill to prove my loyalty?"
They were standing in the same front room where Peter had tended to Voldemort before his rebirth. Flames were high in the fireplace, throwing a pool of warmth, yet somehow the light seemed muted, as if fearful of the shadows. Moreover, there were two shadows in the room worthy of fear: Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Only a few more, Percy Weasely," said Lord Voldemort. He acted on instinct, dropping to one knee before, bowing his head, and missed the faint smile of approval at the gesture, "Rise Percy, rise."Voldemort grasped the young wizard by the shoulder, "I have heard nothing but positive reports of your actions. Peter in particular is impressed by you."
He was lost for words, and noticed the amusement on every other face present, "Thank you, my Lord. I do what I can to help with our cause."
"I know, Percy. You have come to us at just the right time to ensure the purity of our blood, and our kind, thus securing our future but also to take a little field trip. Perhaps you would care to join us."
The six members of the team grabbed a hold of the leather belt turned portkey and it was activated, depositing them in an alley a scant two-minute walk from a certain house, Percy had heard of but never visited: Number 4, Privet Drive, LittleWhinging. "Bella, fetch the squib, Figg, and bring her here." She nodded and headed off down the street, "Percy, let us see what you are made of."
He blinked in surprise, not certain what was expected of him. However, he took a firm step forward, and raised his wand, casting a scanning charm that revealed four occupants in the house. No wizards. There were wards, but only the most basic of magic repulsion wards, some charms and spells, and wards against apparition and portkey. Percy recast his scanning charms, frowning at the result, "My… Lord, there is no presence of anything resembling blood protection upon the building or its occupants."
"No," said Voldemort quietly, "There would not be. What with Potter's emancipation, he no longer calls this place home. Thus the Blood Protection would have faded, and now, you would be hard-pressed to find even a trace of such old magic within the very wood and stone of the building."
A simple first-year Alohomora unlocked the front door and Lord Voldemort led the way, with Peter and Percy close behind him as Crabbe and Goyle circled around the back of the house, in case they tried to run. They didn't. Their entrance had the four occupants of the house by complete surprise, and Peter had all four petrified within moments. Voldemort nodded, ever so slightly in approval and it made him shiver a touch.
"Vernon, Petunia, my name is Lord Voldemort. I am sure that you have heard of me from both your nephew and that meddling bastard Dumbledore." He was polite, civil and it was utterly terrifying, 'If I had known you had guests over, I would have adjusted our numbers to ensure that we made up an even number to ensure no one was left unattended." He motioned to the front door where Bella was bringing ArabellaFigg at wand point with a silencing charm already in place. With a shove, she stumbled and overbalanced striking the floor with a crack
"Ah, yes. Harry's babysitter. You spent fifteen years monitoring this house, keeping "tabs" on young Harry to make sure nothing went wrong. But a lot has gone wrong, especially since the second greatest wizard in the world is not here to rescue, since there are no longer any alarms or charms of spells of blood to protect any of you."
He removed the charms, now that the silencing charms and many others were in place on the walls, giving them absolute privacy.
"Please," pleaded the man, "we… you have…"
"Crabbe, Goyle, take a minute to show this filth its place and not to speak out of turn." The two goons introduced their fists to his stomach and face, making a mess of both as blood trickled from a broken nose and he struggled to breathe with four broken ribs. A snap of his fingers and they stopped, allowing him to continue his monologue with the four helpless muggles and the squib.
"Now this," Voldemort cupped Bella's cheek and she shuddered in pleasure, "is Bellatrix Lestrange, one of my most loyal servants and followers. She simply excels at torturing people into insanity. Perhaps she can demonstrate her talents to one of your visiting nephews or nieces?"
She finally spoke, given that a broken jaw prevented her husband from speaking, "Please, why are you doing this? We've done nothing! We don't know you! Any of you! Please…."
"True," he conceded, "Very true. But you see, killing you will hurt Potter and that is reason enough. So now we play a little game. You get to chose, since your husband is unable to speak, what happens to whom. He waved a hand at Bella, "Bella here will be taking turns with Percy, the only good apple in a rotten tree, to play with a curse or two or twenty. You pick a number, and then we shall see what happens," Voldemort smile was filled with evil and cruelty, but first, "You get to pick, whom first?"
She was no longer hysterical, having passed into the state of mind where she fully expected to die in the next few hours. She looked up at them and spat in Voldemort's face. Bella was on her in moments, administering the Cruciatus Curse with sadistic glee. "Well if you don't want to play our game, you don't have to play," said Voldemort, as he patted Bella gently on the arm. She lifted the curse and looked at Voldemort, adoration in her gaze, "Percy, they are yours!"
He took his time, working them over with the Cruciatus curse, followed by a whole battery of other dark and illegal curses that he had read about but never had the courage or opportunity to try. True to his word, it lasted a little over two hours before all four were broken husks of their former selves, and Percy ended them a quartet of AvadaKedevra at close range.
"Well done Percy," said Voldemort, "I will leave you in Wormtail's capable hands to finish this assignment." With that, he left the two wizards to their own devices, apparating away. It was only when the pair were smashing up the place to make it look like a muggle robbery did Percy stumble across something of note. Given his experience in the Ministry, he had cultivated relationships and even contacts in the muggle government and as such recognized passports when he saw them. Idly, he flipped them open and read the names, and blinked, then read them again. Hastily he shoved them into his pocket and went to find Peter.
"Peter! Look!" he thrust the documents into the wizard's hands, "These are muggle identity papers and these say that…"
"This is not the Durselys," said Peter, catching on quick. He took the documents and set them ablaze, reducing them to smoke and ash in moments, "All records in the Ministry indicate that the Durselys still live here!" he thought.
"We need to tell Lord Voldemort!" said Percy nervously, "If he finds out…"It was a long-held belief that Peter Pettigrew was no great wizard and it was true enough: He was a genuinely below-average student. However, a stunner is simple enough to cast when your enemy is facing the wrong way and Percy slumped, nearly bringing down an entire bookshelf on himself. He reached into his pocket for a special portkey, gave it a twist, and attached it to Percy.
The special project had been in need of magical "volunteers," and this was the perfect way to test the perfected blend of muggle science, magic, and alchemy. If it did work, Percy would not have a clue. Not even Lord Voldemort himself would be the wiser! If it didn't there would not be enough left of Percy to identify. He could not lose.