#nox.plotdrop018

it's nothing short of baffling that, despite everything that's happened, she manages to smile. wide & true & completely savage, her teeth fully bared ; it only serves to infuriate bellatrix all the more and the rough tug that she gives her earns a gasp of agony that still doesn't quite wipe it from her face. "i'm sorry," she pants, streaks of bubblegum pink beginning to weave their way through ginger hair, "i'm sorry, auntie. i just had to see it for myself."

the noise that bellatrix makes isn't human. it isn't even close - is, instead, as haunting and as surely deadly as a banshees wail - and she reaches for her knife, again, the sharpened blade glinting in the moonlight, and nymphadora tonks, refusing to cower, thinks of her son but braces herself for the end : 

an explosion of red sparks. everything happens so fast : the knife soars into the sky, clattering into the underbrush. bellatrix, catching the brunt of it, lets out a strangled yelp and loosens her hold. rodolphus careens backwards, an arm pulled protectively over his eyes. the silence is deafening, and lucius malfoy - wand held high, shoulders back, expression clear - does not need to raise his voice to be heard when he says, firmly, "enough."

it's the bravest and stupidest thing that she's ever seen, all the more impressive because of who it comes from. outnumbered the way that they are, he buys them moments. bellatrix, bemused by this unexpected show of courage, actually laughs, high and mighty, so sure of her own imminent victory-

and then, the order descends.

TONKS doesn't waste a single moment. taking advantage of the utter chaos of their arrival without pausing to see if they're friend or foe, she tears herself away from BELLATRIX'S slackened grip and - for good measure - makes sure to push back into her, once free, knocking her to the ground. she goes down, hard, reaching and grasping and trying to tear, her fingernails like claws only managing to harmlessly graze the others skin as she puts distance between herself and the duo. she'd still only be a sitting duck if it weren't for LUCIUS, but there has never been a truer case of better late than never - by the grace of some higher power, she actually manages to catch her wand when he throws it to her, just in time to stun the first of the death eaters to gather their wits about them and try to grab her. 

"TRAITOR-" RODOLPHUS roars, firing a killing curse that flies so close to LUCIUS that it's a miracle it misses entirely. he ducks beneath the next, throws a quick protego up against the red tinged hex that the other tries after that, and then throws his own curse back at him - a vicious dance that the two continue as the moonlit graveyard, once so terrifyingly quiet, explodes into a world of neon and noise. 

a masked MULCIBER is a bit behind when it comes to wands but doesn't hesitate to go for brute force when GRACE materializes at his side - caught immediately off guard, she lets out a high pitched scream when he wraps his arms around her middle and lifts her entirely off the ground, a round of forceful kicks earning her a couple of swears but little give to his grip. she's lucky that dumbledore's army have also made their debut and that MOIRA is there to help with a quick thinking petrificus totalus! forcing the man's limbs to immediately snap into place at his side - and slightly unluckier that she isn't able to stick the landing, tumbling roughly to the ground. 

she is dragged up to her feet again by the scruff of her shirt as ARTURO rushes past, managing to stun another death eater before they have time to react and finding himself almost immediately engaged in a duel with ALECTO. she goes in for the kill, too, quick & deadly, but the curse she fires towards him collides with a headstone and forces the two girls to duck and cover when the granite explodes in a heavy shower around them. he isn't given even a second to check that they're alright, forced to parry three more jinxes that she shoots off in quick succession before he gets a chance to counter with just one of his own. his jelly legs jinx isn't exactly ministry sanctioned, but it lands true - she goes down, still firing off erratic curses that fly wide & dangerous, and he is freed to jump back into the fray. 

MOIRA is clipped by a piece of falling debris. it's a fairly gruesome - and horribly dazing - head injury and she goes down, too, though GRACE is there to return the previous favor. she drags the other in behind the cover of another headstone and puts immediate pressure on the gash, deciding that it might be better if they both sit this one out. 

"i didn't think you were coming!" TONKS calls to KINGSLEY, catching the death eater that bears down on him from behind with a stunner to the face. he responds in kind, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her out of the way of a vivid purple jinx before making sure that the caster is tongue tied & leg locked, left helpless on the spongy, hallowed ground. "we almost weren't," he tells her, grimly, though not even this can wipe the smile off her face - her sheer relief so joyous that she just can't hide it. 

quickly scrambling to her feet and already clutching the elder wand tight in her five fingered hand, BELLATRIX finds her path ahead blocked by ABERFORTH. she knows from experience just how fearsome a warrior the most unassuming dumbledore can be, so she doesn't even give him a chance to prove it - the knockback jinx she throws towards him is so powerful that it sends him flying back by several yards, knocking him out cold when he collides with the wall of an ancient mausoleum. she doesn't have time to savor the victory. her only goal, now, is to get to VOLDEMORT'S resting place - nothing else matters. 

MARIETTA doesn't belong on the front lines, never has & never will ; she was meant to be there in a healing capacity, as agreed, but the death eaters are non discriminative. a wild killing curse cast by ALECTO earns a fearful shriek when it narrowly avoids hitting her, and the safety she finds cowering behind a gravestone doesn't last. the crucio that hits her in the back knocks the wind right out of her lungs, the pain she feels so excruciating and so singular that all she can do is whimper and curl in on herself, every bone in her body breaking, every organ failing, every-

"expulso-" her salvation comes not a moment too soon, the death eater that held her beneath his wand sailing through the air with the force of DRACO'S expulsion curse and crumpling at the base of a tombstone in the distance. they don't get up again. he moves as if to offer her a hand but doesn't get the chance to make good on the motion as another death eater, seeing what just happened, attempts to hit him with a purple jinx that neither are familiar with. he throws a shield up to deflect it and then throws himself into the duel, his wandwork enviable, but MARIETTA stays hunched down on the ground, desperately trying to catch her breath. 

the WEASLEY BROTHERS are not a well oiled machine, exactly, but they're doing their best. back to back, they clearly aren't on the same wavelength - both of them trying to look out for the other, throwing up a shield at the same moment, knocking a stunner from one that might have sailed true with well intentioned expelliarmus from the other - but all it takes is for one of their combatants to drop like a sack of potatoes for them to be able to turn their full attentions to the other. THORFINN is one of the best the death eaters have, but luckily enough, they finally find their rhythm. he catches NED along his wand arm with a ribboning curse, but ARTHUR takes advantage of that momentary victory with a tongue tying curse that soars beneath his arm and hits the intended target. he's long perfected wordless magic, of course, but the next crucio is sidestepped with ease, the next stunner sent wide with a well timed shield, and NED hits him square in the chest with a spongy knees curse that ARTHUR immediately follows with a stunner of his own. 

elsewhere, JUSTIN stumbles and falls over the edge of an ivy covered grave as he backs up and attempts to put distance between himself and one of the masked death eaters. his clumsiness might've doomed him if it weren't for MINETTE throwing a protego between him and his assailant, the yellow hex hitting the shield instead of him and - against all odds, a freak and most opportune sort of accident - hitting the caster in the chest. they both watch in amazement as the silver mask that the witch had worn is forced off of her features by the insect mandibles that begin to grow in, her skull painfully growing and shifting before their very eyes. her wand falls to the floor and she reaches up to touch her changing face, letting out a terrified scream that quickly turns into the frantic chkchkchk of a beetle as she realizes what is happening. 

the errant spells that fly this way and that have miraculously avoided it to now, and no one else seems to be paying it any mind, but LUNA makes sure to douse the fire beneath the still bubbling cauldron sitting on makeshift altar and, after only a moment of deliberation, pushes it over. the thick, black liquid inside is stubborn and doesn't initially seep into the soft ground below, but when she is forced to take momentary cover beneath the table as LUCIUS & RODOLPHUS duel their way past her, she coaxes it into doing so with a simple auguamenti, correctly deducing that whatever it is, it's best they don't have to deal with it later. 

SEAMUS catches the red sparks of a stunner directly to the face. his nose instantly breaking and squirting blood everywhere, he's dazed before he even hits the ground. NELL uses a tripping jinx on the death eater that hits him and then proceeds to physically kick him in the face - knocking him out with a sickening crunch - as they rush past and fall at his side, deciding that it's better to ask forgiveness than it is permission when it comes to a mid battle episkey. 

a not nearly incapacitated enough ALECTO, still struggling with the countercharm for her legs and making sure to keep firing at random every now and again, hits ROSHANA with a curse that causes her skull to instantly balloon when the auror gets a little close for comfort. she gives up entirely when she realizes that AMYCUS is feet away, redirecting her efforts into attempting to break HERMIONE & VIKTOR'S focus while he works on taking them both down, relentless in his approach. it's a mark of how skilled the two are - and how good of an unexpected team they make - that they manage to sidestep curse after curse thrown at their feet and deflect the hexes and jinxes that AMYCUS employs, though they realize how much of a game it is to them both when he succeeds in circling them out of his way. all he'd needed was a clear path to his sister, now achieved, and with an almost bored flick of his wrist he shoots off a blasting curse that breaks VIKTOR'S arm on impact and reaches to grab ALECTO'S outstretched hand. for what it's worth, HERMIONE accepts the defeat. instead of rushing the carrow twins in vain she rushes to VIKTOR'S side, instead, hunkering down to try and set his arm and protect him from the curses flying around their heads. 

"THERE-" MCGONAGALL cries, holding her own against two of the masked figures but making little progress forward beneath their onslaught. he's right there-" she shouts, neatly avoiding the sickly green of a killing curse and hitting the witch who cast it with impedimenta, using the opportunity she now has to lift her free hand and point towards the gravestone of merope gaunt, "someone-"

whatever command she was about to give never comes. ex pupil RABASTAN makes sure of it, and MCGONAGALL crumbles with an anguished scream beneath his crucio. he holds her there, buying time, as BELLATRIX cuts through the wix that apparated in with a near clinical precision, each one that falls heavy to the ground another step towards the dark lord and towards their escape-

"EXPELLIARMUS-" too late. by the time she realizes that the disarming charm is aimed at her, the elder wand is already arching through the air. the shadows swallow it whole, same as they did her knife, and her hand stings from where the spell collided with skin. she cradles it close to her chest as she turns - wide eyed, wandless, but never helpless - to face GINNY.

"you," she spits, so much cold hatred injected into her tone that it makes the real weasley shudder.

"me," she quips back at her, features devoid of the levity her words call for, "sorry i'm late."

she sees the differences, now. too few freckles / too muddy an eye color / too flat an accent. the imposter wasn't a perfect copy. just good enough to fool her. GINNY adjusts her grip on her wand, slowly, and BELLATRIX works her jaw. 

her fingers ITCH to wrap around her slender throat. to hell with the potion, to hell with it all, she'd give it all up for the chance to squeeze the life's breath from this blood traitors lungs and watch the light dim behind her eyes and she takes a half step forward, just a tiny step, far from fearful of the wand that she raises a half inch higher, sure that she can reach her before she finds it within herself to speak the killing words or before the rest of them know what's happening, sure she can end this gnats existence before anyone can even try to stop her-

"BELLATRIX," RABASTAN yells, a warning, and they look, as one, towards him. 

MCGONAGALL is still down - not a threat, not anymore, but the rest - the majority, at least - are winning. the last of the death eaters, the ones who haven't apparated away, are falling, one of by one, easily dispatched. they're going to azkaban. they'll be rounded up by dawn and transported with armed guard to the prison, and BELLATRIX realizes with a start that this will include them, too, if they don't do something. their attentions are turning. she has seconds. 

her mad gaze flits back to GINNY who realizes, too slow, what is about to happen. she pulls back her wand arm, fires a leg lock, a body bind, a jelly legs, a bat bogey hex - everything and anything that she can think of, the neon of the spells hitting the ground at her feet, soaring past her head, clipping the outcrops of stone as she takes off running and GINNY pursues. she dodges and weaves through the last of the tombstones that lay between them, throwing herself towards the dark lord with no care of the landing and bundling him into her arms. RABASTAN reaches down to grip her shoulder, turning on the spot, and they disappear with a pop as GINNY, cursing, comes to a skidding halt. 

it's over. except…

just two continue to battle, blind to the fact that it has already been won. LUCIUS & RODOLPHUS are locked in a dangerous game, each of their moves carefully calculated to avoid a deadly disaster. each curse is thrown without a word utter between them ; a flash of red, a gleam of green, every now and again an explosion of purple that sparks at their feet or a streak of blue that sails past their ears, each one spelling out the end. they're holding their own. evenly matched. they have been, the whole time. 

it all happens in slow motion. RODOLPHUS' eyes flicker to where he last saw his wife and widen, imperceptibly, as he realizes that she is gone. this minor distraction is a golden opportunity that LUCIUS takes full advantage of, his killing curse almost, almost sailing true - though it misses by inches. it hits another gravestone which in turn becomes another inanimate casualty of the fight, erupting with flames of green. RODOLPHUS reacts instinctively. LUCIUS, so confident of his win, has left himself open and vulnerable ; the deep red of the spell that flies beneath his arm and hits him square in the chest is nothing like the crimson of stupefy or expelliarmus. it's nothing like anything that any of them have seen before but he staggers under it all the same, his expression clouding in his confusion. he tries to gather himself. visibly struggles against some unseen consequence of the curse. holds his wand up - his arm quivering - and opens his mouth, but instead of words, what spills out is a gush of deep, dark blood. 

he crumbles, instantly. RODOLPHUS takes only a second to admire his own handiwork before he disappears with another pop. 

DRACO reaches his father first. untouched by the horror of what he's witnessing, he operates purely on adrenaline and rushes forward, falling heavily to the ground and dragging LUCIUS into his arms. he lies at an unnatural angle - his legs twisted uncomfortably, half of his body now propped up by his son - but he doesn't seem to notice and certainly doesn't protest, if he does. "no, no, no-" DRACO mutters, so unsure of what to do with his shaking hands. he looks for a wound to cover, a place to apply pressure, anything at all to tell him where he should be focusing his efforts, but there's nothing to be found. GINNY kneels beside them and he looks to her, helplessly, insists, "he's okay. he's going to be okay." her eyes two shining saucers, her face draining of color, he doesn't need her to respond to know what she's thinking and he turns his focus back to LUCIUS, trying to prompt him into agreeing, trying to make him tell her, "do you hear me, dad? you're going to be okay. tell her you're fine. tell her you're okay. you're alright, aren't you?"

it's horrifying. it's unending. he coughs and he splutters, blood pouring from his orifices, each breath a pained and desperate gasp as he tries and fails to fill his lungs. he struggles to speak. doesn't make words, not as they know them, anyways. whoever created this curse wanted the person hit by it to suffer, plain & simple, and suffer he does. "HELP HIM," DRACO shouts, turning his attention to the frozen wix around them when it becomes clear that his father cannot reply, the despair in his voice spurring a few of them into action while the rest just watch on, glassy eyed. KINGSLEY & MARIETTA join them on the ground but neither of them know what to do or where to begin, either, even with all of their field training. they exchange a hopeless look that DRACO sees and with a noise of dissent, he picks his wand up from where he let it clatter to the ground and begins to recite every healing spell he's ever heard, one after the other. it's a miserable chant.

"i'm… sorry…" LUCIUS rasps, so quiet that they can barely hear him. he smacks his bloodstained lips together, his adam's apple bobbing as he tries, in vain, to swallow down the blood that fills his throat. DRACO stubbornly refuses to look him in the eye, goes so far as to flat out ignore the way that LUCIUS reaches out, his whole body trembling, now, and scratches weakly at his arm. he's so desperate to fix it that he won't allow himself to experience it, either, stumbling over the word of a spell an going back to the start of them all, trying his hardest to hold his wand steady as he goes. GINNY, her lashes wet with tears, can't stand to watch. she takes his searching hand and holds it tight with one of her own and his bloodshot eyes flicker towards her, look at her, through her, see only what he wants. her heart clenches when he babbles, "nymphadora… i'm sorry…"

it's no use. there's nothing to heal. no torn skin to try and knit together again, no broken bone to set and mend ; this blood flows from somewhere deep within, much too deep and much too devastating for DRACO'S magic to reach, now. his chest heaves. the effort that it must be taking for him to draw in breath is unimaginable, but he fights to do it anyway. tries to clear his throat, again, with a thick, wet cough, his next inhale accompanied by a sickening rattle turning over at the back. 

"DRACO…" she murmurs, reaching for his wand. he fights it - bottom lip trembling, his eyes shining, he refuses to even look at her as she forces his hand to still and continues to mutter healing spell after healing spell beneath his breath as she coaxes it from his grasp. she gives LUCIUS' hand one final, comforting squeeze and then presses it into DRACO'S. he clasps it between both of his own and finally, finally, forces himself to actually look at his father ; his gaunt cheeks, his ashen skin, the vivid crimson of his life's blood starting to slow.

"please…" he begs, directly, a mournful plea, "please."

"i'm… proud…" the ground, the three of them, they're all soaked in red. he must be running out. he has to be. but he forces himself to speak anyways, to bare his bloody teeth in a sad and woeful smile, to use the very last of the strength in his body to lift his other hand and graze DRACO'S cheek, a loving gesture that he's too weak to follow through on. "proud of… my son…"

his whole body shudders. one last, heaving breath pushes past his gorp lips and his chest sinks, his eyes dimming, his hand falling to his side, his grip slackening. peace, at last.

DRACO, still clutching his fathers hand, sobs in spite of himself just the once. it's all it takes. GINNY doesn't hesitate. she wraps her arms around his shoulders, refusing to be shook off even when he tries his very best, even when he tells her, firmly, "no," holding him tight and holding him close until he's finally ready to give in, entirely, and buries his face into the curve of her neck. they stay there like that, his father between them, until her shoulder is wet with warm, fresh tears and his whole body stops shaking. they stay entwined until they're forced apart, the protective wreath of her arms a shield between him and the rest of the world, the reality of which he doesn't know he's ready to face-

and slowly but surely, the last of the storm clouds hanging high above them drift away, allowing the moon to shine bright over the end scene.

ROUNDUP OF DAMAGES, INJURIES & FATALITIES :

the graveyard is destroyed. the department of magical accidents & catastrophes have their work cut out for them once the sun rises on the scene between the repairs and the need to explain - in terms that muggles will understand, of course - what happened to the local council. there were no witnesses despite the close proximity to a small town, so no need for the obliviation office to step in, but the lightshow and damage being the result of a group of rowdy teenagers setting off a box of fireworks will take more than mere suggestion to ingrain in their minds.

the death toll sits at four - lucius malfoy and three death eaters. bellatrix, rodolphus and rabastan lestrange, amycus and alecto carrow, thorfinn rowle and mulciber junior managed to escape the scene, though the reinforcements managed to incapacitate and subsequently round up six additional death eaters who were transported to azkaban in the early hours.

aberforth dumbledore, no longer a spring chicken, suffered serious injury at bellatrix's hand. he's transported to st mungo's immediately and will remain there only until he checks himself out against all advice to the contrary.

arthur weasley is shaken by the days events but thankfully unscathed.

arturo de la rosa sustained some minor injuries and is advised to recover at home, but proceeds to work anyways.

draco malfoy suffered some minor injury during the battle, but nothing nearly as devastating as his loss. he follows to st mungo's, anyways.

eleanor diggory is badly shaken but relatively unscathed.

ginny weasley is shaken, but unscathed.

grace moody sustained some minor injuries but will be able to recover at home.

hermione granger suffered some minor injury over the course of the battle but can rest and recoup at home.

justin finch-fletchley sprained his ankle when he fell but has his choice of heading to st mungo's or having this seen to by emergency mediwix on the scene. either way, a few shots of skele-gro over a few hours should see him right.

kingsley shacklebolt is unscathed and leaves arturo and a trusted team to take care of the apprehended death eaters - he has bad news to break.

luna lovegood suffered some minor injury over the course of the battle but is welcome to return home after a once over by the mediwix on scene.

marietta edgecombe is badly shaken by her time beneath the cruciatus but can be treated for shock on the scene. per usual, a stiff drink once she gets home is the best medicine they can prescribe her.

minerva mcgonagall is badly shaken by her time under the cruciatus but has a school to take care of. she takes the advice of a strong drink but returns to hogwarts in the early hours of the morning.

minette merrythought suffered some minor injury over the course of the battle but is welcome to return home after a once over by the mediwix on scene.

moira graves will need stitches for her head wound and is advised to stay at st mungo's for observation purposes - the worry is a concussion, and the mediwix will feel better if she's under their watchful eyes.

ned weasley suffered moderate injury in the form of the gash along his arm but refuses treatment from the mediwix that arrive on scene and instead heads home. he'll take care of it himself.

nymphadora tonks crashes once the adrenaline of the fight wears off and is taken straight to st mungo's despite her protests. the gnarly wound on her hand and the other injuries she managed to pick up along the way are easy enough to deal with, but she'll have to stay overnight for observation.

roshana cresswell will need to spend a few days in st mungo's following her ordeal ; the emergency mediwix that arrive on scene countercharm the curse that she was hit by but are concerned by the long term effects it may have, even if she's up and walking within the hour.

seamus finnigan's nose was set right by eleanor diggory, but he should probably have it seen to be an emergency mediwix anyway, to be safe.

it’s quite something, the gathering. in their sore thumb mindset, tempest is convinced that everyone is looking at them with a needling suspicion. there’s a buzzing in their ears and they’re trying to breathe normally but their skin feels too tight. they were, as soon as they heard, reminded of the scene at the department of mysteries, and it re-surfaces again with bile at the back of their throat. so much effort went into repressing, denying, and downplaying, and it’s undone in a breath. now they wonder how they ever had the courage and arrogance to face ginny. every moment since then should have been painted entirely with guilt. now is not the time for introspection but they can hardly help it — what does it say about them? a headache builds in their temples, spreading rapidly towards the back of their head, like their brain is being slowly squeezed by a pair of hands

they don’t usually mind speaking up in front of a crowd. if anything, they are more likely to embrace it, but this particular crowd have a power emanating from them, tangible in the air. tempest’s usual unaffected bluster is noticeably missing, though they are working hard to put on a front that doesn’t give away the nervousness shaking through every inch of their bones. they fidget absently with penelope’s ring on their index finger and it works to clear their mind. the strange but familiar faces of the weasleys help as well, in a grim way, the marring of despair acting as a shot of clarity into their bones.

“bewdley.” their voice is drowned out by the frantic planning of the order and the da who, now that tempest is paying proper attention, have barely noticed that she’s there. their voice has croaked with the effort, and the urgentness of the situation rushes in like the tide. they reach out to the closest arm, practically smacking ned on the arm, reaching further towards dudley dursley - anyone. anyone who’ll speak louder, who will command the room better, than she can at the moment. “i know where -” 

dudley is the one who notices her struggled presence, bringing his fingers to his lips to let out a sharp whistle that works in silencing the room. all eyes turn back to the two of them, tempest looking like a deer in headlights with their hand still on his bicep. 

"she didn't say," he lies with a well practiced ease. he's unsure why he withholds that particular truth ; it compromises nothing more than he already has to share this, too, but something within him demands to hold this card closer than all others. to stay quiet.

the acceptable time to backtrack and tell them all that he has learned after all passes with several solemn ticks from the grandfather clock at the corner of the office. he knows they don't believe him. he can see it in their eyes - accusatory gazes leveled across a walnut table, though they lack the proof they need of his continuing duplicitous nature to put voice to their silent condemnations. he does not wilt beneath their scrutiny, his chin held high. this doesn't convince them.

"... well," kingsley says, slowly ; the only one of the four to trust him, completely. this has always been the case, and now he gives him even more grace. another long moment in which to speak if he has need to that he ignores. "thank you, lucius. we'll gather the order, tonight. we'll discuss everything you've told us and we'll devise a plan... arrange a safe house, perhaps, or-"

"it's not that simple, kingsley," he interrupts, earning himself a hiss of disapproval from his niece, "you may have forgotten her threat upon my son, but i haven't. if i don't give her what she wants then she has made it clear that she will kill him-"

"we'll arrange for him to join her. he'll be under our protection-"

"it isn't enough!" his poise cracks with the smack of his two palms against the table as he rises to his feet. nymphadora jumps, in spite of herself - he can see her at the corner of his eye, though he's entirely too focused upon kingsley to care about the righteous rage that he's inspiring within her, "it doesn't matter where he is. she needs neither wand nor blade to harm him, anymore - what she plans... it's already in motion."

"and you believe th-" aberforth scoffs, his derision silenced by the chilling, "unequivocally," that lucius answers before the question has even finished being asked.

"we can't allow this," kingsley tells him, almost pleading, near begging him to understand their limits, to see that it's too tall an order, too steep of a cost.

"i won't sign my son's death warrant," and he knows, in that moment, that they see him for who he is. that they understand, too. he is a man without limitation. there is nothing he will not rise to. there is no price he will not pay.

stalemate.

tense silence doesn't get the same chance to stretch, this time.

"it strikes me that this could be a very fortuitous turn of events for us, shacklebolt," aberforth says, darkly, "a chance for us to do what we've never managed before, if we had the means."

all eyes turn to him. suspicions, too.

It’s only as he gets closer to his destination, stomach rumbling with the hope of still making the feast with his daughter that instincts really start to prickle. The storm gets worse with each step and the chill starts to feel almost sinister, brows drawing together in unease. Something is wrong. A voice in his head urges him to look up and horror strikes when he does. The Dark Mark lingers in troubled skies, bright and menacing, and hovering over a building that’s all too familiar.

“GINEVRA…”

He’ll be ashamed to admit later that for a moment, body freezes in hesitation. It’s only a brief pause, barely half a minute, though it seems to last forever. It’s as if time stops with him. All he can do is stare, naively hoping the sight before him might dissipate. He clings to the false hope this is no more than a nightmare; a scene some boggart has conjured before him, bringing to life a nightmare he’s sure he’s seen before. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

But it is.

Reality hits hard and in an instant, the man is racing forward, tearing up the stairs of the apartment block. “Ginevra!” It’s more a roar than a shout. A desperate yell that’s begging for a reply that doesn’t come, and the scene only gets worse as he gets closer, reaching her front door. Feet stop moving when the firm hand of an Auror settles on Arthur’s chest. They push him back with a quiet “sir, please, you can’t go in there”. Had he been in the right frame of mind, he might’ve apologised. He might’ve explained the situation better. There isn’t time for that now though and instead, their arm is shoved away like the touch burns, long strides still trying to take him towards Ginny's front door. “That’s my girl in there!” His protests are uncharacteristically loud for a man normally so soft-spoken. He swiftly steps around another approaching Auror, hands all but ripping the crime scene tape that’s attempting to block his entrance away. It isn’t in his nature to be rude or aggressive, but can anyone really hold the fear of a loving parent against someone?

The inside is no better than the outside. There’s no reassurance to be found in overturned furniture, a broken lamp and “Merlin,” he breathes out shakily, erratic movements finally stilling because “is that blood?” Horrified question isn’t directed at anyone in particular. Perhaps because a part of him does not wish to hear the answer. Heart thuds heavily against chest, blood pumping so loud that head throbs, an overwhelming panic threatening to come over him. Arthur finds himself almost thankful for the palm that comes down on his shoulder from behind. It grounds him, snapping him back to action and when he turns, he’s greeted by a familiar face. “Arturo, where is she? Where is my daughter?”

“Mr Weasley…” Arturo’s somber expression momentarily has Arthur wanting to cover his ears, too afraid of what he might hear. It was strange how the body reacted to shocks. He ignores the urge, swallowing hard at the lump forming in throat.

“Please.” He pushes for a faster response and when he gets it, he doesn’t know whether to be relieved  …  or terrified.

II. "FLESH OF THE LOVER," she held her own hand over the cauldron, now, silver blade pulled from the depths of her dark skirts held flush against pale skin. there was no trace of fear to be found in her expression. just... excitement. an eagerness that had her alight from within. "willingly sacrificed. i will revive my master." she splayed her fingers out over the surface of the cauldron and took just one steadying breath before she sliced upwards through the smallest of the fingers on her right hand. the knife cleaved through tissue & bone with ease, and the offered finger fell into the cauldron, turning the contents a bright, burning red.

III. "BLOOD OF THE SACRIFICE," and everyone around them held their breath as bellatrix stalked forward, again, a glass vial held in her right hand and her blade held tight within her left. she struggled, still, but rodolphus was too strong ; he held her close with one arm, pinning one of her own, forcing her to hold out her other hand and using his to force it open, unflinching when her nails dragged along his skin. "forcibly taken," she leant in close, her words for them alone, "you will restore your equal." she pressed the point of the knife against her palm with enough pressure that blood instantly beaded, and before she could react, slashed downward. she gasped at the pain, her cries a useless protest that fell on deaf ears as bellatrix collected her now gushing blood and returned to the bubbling cauldron. tears now streaming freely down her cheeks, warm blood dripping from the gruesome wound onto the soft ground below their feet, she could only watch in horror as bellatrix upended the vial, turning the potion a frightful and fathomless black.

they clearly don't appreciate the intrustion. she looks to him, now, with obvious disdain. rodolphus seems poised to say something, probably dismissive, but a dainty hand on his arm silences him. "are you?" she asks, scornfully disbelieving, "i didn't tell you to use the mark."

"you didn't tell me not to, either," lucius points out, "i couldn't risk suspicion turning towards me, could i?"

she laughs, softly, though he doesn't really get the joke. "of course. fitting, nonetheless."

his expression clouds. a long, tense moment passes them by - tick, tock - before he admits, unhappily, "i don't understand."

"consider yourself forgiven, lucius," now she just sounds bored, both of him & of the conversation. it's clear that she feels all of this went without saying, and her patience runs thin now that she is forced to vocalize it, "you've done a great service at great personal cost. welcome back to the fold."

forgiveness. it tastes like copper, though against his better instincts, his heart soars.

"i told you-" he sounds unsure, now, and it infuriates him, "i'm-"

"you're done when i say that you're done," there's no arguing with her, now. or there is, there could be, but he doesn't know if he even wants to. her grip tightens on rodolphus' arm, though he gets the impression that this is a cautionary measure for herself - not for him. "our lord will want to thank you personally."

bellatrix is an enemy he cannot afford. still, he has the kind of allies that could protect him, if only he let them. if only he didn't want, for just a moment, to once again go along with what was easy - to fall back into the line that he already knew, the one that provided him so much power and influence that he didn't need a single soul other than himself to keep the people that he loved and himself, safe.

it's weakness. it always has been.

but it's familiar, all the same.

"lucius," she stands, sneering, but there is a tiny hint of surprise to be found hidden in her tone, "still coming to heel after all these years."

"spare me your jibes, bellatrix," his lip curls. arrogance personified, even now. "i presume there was a reason for your call."

"there is," her eyes narrow, but instead of elaborating, she continues, "though in light of recent events, you might forgive my suspicion of your enthusiasm."

though tiresome, this line of indirect questioning is not unexpected. bellatrix has never been the most trusting of individuals. she's also never liked him - he recalls a particularly murderous wedding gift with just his name on it that no doubt she remembers more fondly than he does, and considering what he's heard of the last few weeks... well, it's no wonder she doubts him. he would, too.

"my frequent displays of cowardice aside, i am and have always tried to be our lord's most faithful servant," his words have been long rehearsed, but are not strictly untrue. not even close. "i've been weak. i don't deny it. but i resolved a long time ago that if my lord had need of me, again, i would come... and i don't see him here, now."

she barks a laugh. "my lord is otherwise engaged-"

"our lord is quite frequently engaged, from what i've heard-"

"he's a busy man."

he tuts. "barely half of one, if the rumors are to be believed-"

"bite your tongue, lucius."

"and you, i've been told, have been depos-"

"ENOUGH!"

bellatrix draws her wand in one, fluid motion, and with the realization that he has succeeded in touching a nerve, lucius now holds his hands up, palms out. a sign of peace not a moment too soon. she brandishes her wand at him the way a petty criminal would a blade, and he knows well enough, by now, not to test her restraint.

they stand like that for a long moment - his gaze unblinking, her chest heaving - before he dares speak again, proceeding with crucial care, "i answered your call, bellatrix. i just want honesty from you, now. if i'm not here to serve our lord, what is it, exactly, that you want?"

one answer is, of course, him : dead. that's a rather simple fact. he knows it must be difficult for her to fathom letting him go, now, when it would be so easy - his wand too far out of his own reach to retrieve before she saws the killing words, the moors so dark and lonely that she can almost guarantee no one will find him this side of memorial weekend. narcissa would never forgive her, but how long as it been since she's cared what her sister thinks of her?

he realizes how serious this all must be when she lowers her wand, again, though she doesn't go so far as to tuck it away. he's not quite off the hook, then.

"as loathe as i am to stoop to this level, i find myself requiring something that only you are fit to provide me," and oh, she really sounds disgusted. with herself, yes, but mostly with him. he knows how much she hates this. "what you've heard is correct. the dark lord has returned, but he is... less than what he was. i intend to make him whole so that he might finish what he started, and together, we'll retake the death eaters from that... usurper."

he puts down his hands. it takes a great deal of quite uncharacteristic bravery for him to say, after a beat, "and what makes you think that i'd help you with that, bellatrix?"

"you just called yourself a faithful servant." incredulous.

"to our lord," it's an important distinction. "not to you."

"am i not the closest thing?" he can't help his wary glance towards her wand as her voice rises, though all he sees is a tightening grip, "i am his mouthpiece. his most loyal lieutenant. does he not act through me?"

"you-" and merlin knows he plays a dangerous game, here, but lucius considers it worth saying when he tells her, plainly, "have nothing that i want."

it's a wonder she doesn't strike him down right there. she thinks about it. he can tell from that particular set of her mouth, the angry flash in the deep depths of her eyes - but then, if she did, who would she have to extort in his place? it becomes very obvious very quickly that she deals, not in loyalty, these days, but fear. "what about what you need?" her voice is low. dangerous. "a promise of safety?"

unsure, now, he answers, "i'm quite safe where i am."

"it's not for you," the corner of her lips twitch, "what about draco?"

his blood runs cold. "what do you mean?"

"i'll kill him, lucius," it strikes him as a promise. not a threat. "the boy is nothing to me. less than. i don't need a wand to strike him down. he can be dead by morning. or you could stop it. spare my sister the grief. you just need to do exactly what i say, for me... and for our lord."

and the worst part is that he knows this was always her plan. she's too sure of herself. her words ring too true. she didn't call to ask him for a favor that he could willingly refuse and it didn't matter if he'd agreed with immediacy. if hate was what she had for him, there had to be a stronger word for what she felt towards her nephew, and she knew better than anyone the kind of visceral reaction that threatening him would inspire.

it's not even a question, anymore.