#secondtonaught

It had been over an hour since she’d arrived at the library, and yet she was barely a paragraph into her essay. It was for Charms, one of her best subjects, but she just couldn’t make herself concentrate long enough to actually write the damn thing. Her mind kept wandering, for some reason hell-bent on replaying those last moments she’d been with her mother.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? She’d barely remembered that night at all for the first few weeks; it had just been a blur of lights and shouting. Probably her mind protecting her from the pain, but then why had it stopped? Why was she picturing it so vividly now?

She felt like her throat was closing up, like she couldn’t get enough air, and she forced herself to swallow back the sob that wanted to escape. She was in the library, for goodness sake, she needed to calm down. Needed to do her damn essay.

Glancing around to ensure that no one had noticed, that she hadn’t actually sobbed aloud, her gaze fell on Barty Crouch, scribbling away at some assignment a few tables over. She hadn’t seen him at all since… since it happened. She wondered humourlessly what condolences he would offer. He had been rude about her mother, after all—would he remember that, when he told her he was oh-so-sorry for her loss?

Would he even be sorry?

No, that wasn’t fair, she reprimanded herself, turning back to her work. Just because he was a Slytherin, and a pureblood, that didn’t mean he was on the other side. She was fairly sure there was a former Slytherin or two in the Order, after all. Charms. That’s what she was concentrating on.

A moment later, though, she glanced back up, her lips pressed together in thought. Of all the Slytherins, he was probably the only one she was on speaking terms with. More importantly, though, he was a seventh year, was in the same house and year as those she knew to be Death Eaters. Might he know something incriminating?

Her brow creased. She couldn’t just ask him. He might well be friends with them, and even if he wasn’t, it was very unlikely that he’d tell her anything. She would have to… what, try and trick him into letting something slip? That seemed hard, and subtlety wasn’t exactly Daisy’s strongest suit… Still, it was worth a shot, right? And doing something, even just fishing for information, it would help take her mind off her mother for a little while.

The full moon safely out of the way, Tom had taken Fenrir aside, for a moment, and had informed him, in that quiet, yet assuming, assertive way he had that had drawn Fenrir to him in the first place, that he was to test the newest wave of Death Eaters. He was already satisfied that they were made of the right stuff, but Fenrir's particular brand of sport was, he felt, a good hazing for new recruits. In the throes of brutality, there was no finesse, no subtle torture, just pure fear and pain, and Riddle felt that it exposed exactly what kind of a person each youngster was. 

Fenrir had said exactly the right number of "Yes m'Lord" and "No, m'Lord" like some bloody servant, (which he supposed, he was supposed to be) and then left, meeting Marie and Theo, Apparating them back to the pack. He'd sent the boy an owl, and then prepared. He wasn't going to prepare prey, he'd just see if Barty could locate his own prey - appropriate prey. 

There was a running track four miles to the west from where they were, but it remained to be seen whether Crouch would be able to actually find it, or if he'd head straight for Hogsmeade. Ideally, he'd like to see him do it without magic, but he wouldn't insist on it. 

He looked up at the moon. It was almost 7PM, and if his tutee didn't arrive soon, prey would be more scarce, and he wasn't really intending on making a scene. With the curfew in place, and the threat of Death Eaters, no-one wanted to be caught out late, alone. 

Pandora whined, by his side. Marie crouched to pat her, and Thane paced, irritated. "When's he s'posed to get here?"

Daisy didn’t have anything against wizarding clothing per se, but it was too damned warm to be wearing robes this time of year. Muggle clothing was infinitely better during the summer, and that was all there was to it. Her stepmother had disagreed, though, absolutely insisting that Daisy wear her robes when visiting her father at the Ministry.

It was just as well; her wand never fit properly into any of the pockets in her muggle clothing, and she was loathe to leave the house without it. Certainly she couldn’t actually use magic, except for in life-threatening situations, but one ought to be careful these days.

She tugged at her sleeves, pushing them back up her not-tanned-enough arms—Merlin, why didn’t the sun shine more often?—as she made her way through the back roads of London. The city was terribly busy; tourists milled about on every corner, holding up foot traffic, the denizens of London brushing past them as best they were able. A few of the tourists gawked at her as she passed, puzzled by the robes she wore, but those used to the city and its sometimes oddly dressed inhabitants barely blinked an eye.

After what seemed an age of weaving through the tourists, Daisy reached the narrow, decrepit street on which the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic stood. The red phone box was exactly where it ought to be, right next to the ancient dumpster, just in front of the graffittied wall. However, there was one thing—one person rather—most definitely out of place.

Daisy stopped short a few metres away from the visitor’s entrance as she realised there was a muggle inside of it. Very clearly a tourist, to judge from her ‘I heart London’ t-shirt and massive Union Jack hat, the woman looked exceedingly puzzled as she dropped a coin into the machine and tried to dial her number, only to have the coin roll out again.

Daisy watched the woman repeat this routine, and then repeat it again, before coming to the conclusion that she might be here a while. Funny, that a muggle could have stumbled across the phone box; wasn’t it supposed to be charmed against them? With a quirk of her lips, she wondered what would happen if the woman accidentally dialled the code that activated the lift. It was funny, for some reason, to imagine a muggle wandering around the Ministry of Magic.

She had heard the excellent news, but he was nowhere to be found. As Bellatrix turned the corner she spotted him instantly and rushed to where he stood. "Show it to me, show it." yanking his arm forward, she lifted his robe and traced the mark with feather like strokes. 

Location: Trafalgar Square

Time: Almost 11:59 P.M

That was the last time he bought a drink recommended by Sirius. Never again. Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing his hair back with a tired sigh before he stared around blearily. Maybe I should just go home. He gave the thought a good deal more consideration that he probably should have, but his warm buzz had already deteriorated into a foggy exhaustion and all he wanted to do was roll into bed and sleep for a day.

Somebody bumped into him and he twisted right into a barely covered rack of what had to be double D’s. Merlin’s beard I’d die if witches dressed like muggle teens all the time. He lifted his face, a smile on his face and managed what he hoped was a calm ‘Heeeey’ but by the way her lip curled and her eyes narrowed he suspected he just sounded like a stoned jackass. She turned back to her friends, and Peter savored the memory of her perfect breasts for a moment as he pushed deeper into the crowd. Order business. That’s why I can’t leave.

He had responsibilities. Someone had to save those beautiful muggles from certain death, and he was just the order member to do it. He snorted at his own thoughts and tugged at his jacket, checking to make sure his wand was in place. It was. He yawned, and turned slowly. He knew James was likely with Lily, but he had no idea where Sirius and Remus had gone. Not seeing his friends (or anyone else for that matter) Peter aimed for the small alley a few yards away.

It took him about five minutes to weave through the throngs of people, but once he reached the alley (apart from the drunken couple fucking deeper in the shadows, it was much calmer and quieter. Pitching a round shoulder against the dirty brick, Peter let his head dip to rest against the rough surface. Just for a few minutes. It would be fine. Christmas was fine. They’d be fine now. He knew it was probably the liquor talking, but he was too warm and tingling to really argue with it. So with one hand in his pocket wrapped around his wand, Peter nodded off, his countenance going slack as he contented himself with a brief little doze as only a rat could manage in the midst of such noise and excitement.

Everything became white noise. A low hum that enveloped him like a giant ball of cotton closing around him. A sliver of drool escaped one side of his mouth as the sedative-like effects of the alcohol and food pulled him down into the numbness of sleep.

BOOM!

It was now or never. Everyone else was watching the quidditch. They were going to try it, to really, actually do it.

Severus could hardly breathe around the hurried drags on his cigarette. His heart was pounding with excitement and he hadnt let go of his wand since he’d snuck away.

The theory he had known for aeons, but to actually do it. To actually, actually perform it? To finally get a chance to do something he’d dreamed about for so long…it was beyond imagining. He caught sight of the other boy and practically ran after him, catching the crook of his elbow. “Crouch.” There was only a hint of the passion he felt in his voice.

He tried to keep the anticipation out of his voice, tried to seem like he wasn’t on the verge of some kind of mad grin. “I’ve got the books.” He hoisted the bag a little and flicked the cigarette butt away eyes glittering bright and alert.

The books were Dark, some cursed, some from the Restricted Section, but all containing the blackest spells magic had to offer. And they were going to cast them.

"There’s mice in the transfiguration classroom. We could use them…I thought we might start with the Big Three." The big three…the unforgiveable curses…Severus had cast these before, on flies, on the odd pigeon or rat. But it was still a thrill, and what’s more, it would impress his young companion, encourage him to delve deeper if he even needed the persuasion. And then they could try some of the combative curses he had found. Ones that he had imagined using on Black and Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew.