Special Thanks to what. a mongoose for her excellent beta work!

Chapter Sixteen: Morsmodre

"The day misspent,
the love misplaced,
has inside it
the seed of redemption.
Nothing is exempt
from resurrection."
-Kay Ryan

Hailey lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Always a light sleeper, her nights had been especially fitful the past few weeks. Ever since she had entered the campaign for Minister for Magic it seemed as though her life had been nothing but a series of upheavals and disasters. Throwing off the duvet, Hailey padded to the window on bare feet. The darkness was beginning to lose its hold, though it would be some time yet before the sun rose. The south gardens were wreathed in fog. Despite the hour she felt awake, restless, agitated. She slid a silk dressing gown over her nightdress and slipped into the hall.

Despite Asterdale's size it felt tight and cramped. Coming to a decision, she stepped into the second floor drawing room and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the vase on the mantle. She lit a fire with her wand and tossed the powder into the flames. 'Jasper Hodge's residence!' The fire burned emerald and she stuck her head into the flames.

She would have felt rude for waking the stable master at such an hour, but she knew he would be offended if she saddled her horse herself. Jasper proudly (and rightfully so) claimed the stable as his domain, sneaking in and fetching her horse would be as rude as if Jasper had barged into her office and rearranged the furniture.

Jasper lived in a modest house on the Asterdale's grounds, near the stables. The man had cared for the family's horses since Hailey was a young girl and had instructed her in riding. Before she had been sent away to Beauxbatons Academy he had been a frequent companion, when grief kept her father locked up in his study for days on end and she had no one but the house-elves to talk to. He had also lost family in the war. Hailey was concerned about him living all alone, but never let it show. As a Squib, Hailey knew he would be offended at any question of his independence.

'Jasper?' she called.

A door opened and Jasper poked his head out. He was wearing a nightshirt and stocking cap. 'Miss Hailey! What a surprise!' he shuffled forward. 'Is everything quite all right?'

'I'm sorry for calling you at this hour, but I was wondering if you would be so kind to saddle up Aria, of course I wouldn't mind-'

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. 'Nonsense! What do you think you pay me for? It'd be good for you to go for a ride, I don't think I've seen you on a horse all summer,' Jasper shooed her away. 'Now, off you trot. Get yourself a nice hot cup of tea and I'll have Aria ready for you in a tick.'

Back in her bedroom, Hailey found a cup of tea and a slice of pumpkin bread waiting for her. How Mipsy did it, besides prodigious amounts of elven magic, Hailey would never know. From her wardrobe she selected a pair of slim riding trousers, a blouse and her riding boots. Horseback riding was one of the rare instances it was considered acceptable for a witch not to wear robes. Hailey changed and braided her hair between sips of tea and bites of bread. The fog brought with it an unseasonable chill, and Hailey grabbed a cloak on the way out the door.

In Hailey's opinion, there was no finer home than Asterdale, built in the mid-nineteenth century back when the first Bonaccords had immigrated to England, Asterdale had been a gift from her great grandfather to his new bride. Portkeys had not been invented then, nor had the Floo Network been Seraphine Bonaccord had felt distinctly homesick. Therefore, to bring a small piece of France with them, Asterdale had been constructed in a faux-chateau style. The home was massive; with fifteen bedrooms, five parlours, three studies, a library and an enormous ballroom, it was a beautiful estate. But there were times where it felt too large… or rather too empty, with just Hailey, her father and Jasper living there (and the house elves, of course).

Hailey wrapped her cloak tighter around her body, boots crunching on the pebble path. Through the fog she could see the soft orange and pink glow of sunrise. Hailey passed the aviary which was beginning to awaken with the trills and birdcalls of dawn. It had been rumoured her great grandmother had kept a phoenix there, though Hailey thought a collection of Fwoopers and Jobberknolls was much more likely.

True to his word, Jasper and his sheepdog were waiting for her outside the stable with Aria. The grey mare fluttered her wings, eager to be off. Jasper gave Hailey a boost into the saddle and helped her fasten the leg straps. Given that the saddle had to secure a rider during flight, it was of a different design than those used on wingless horses. A series of interwoven straps held each leg in place, though all Hailey had to do was pull one cord to undo it all, in case she needed to bail off in an emergency. A Sticking Charm was also woven into the saddle. Once on the horse Jasper made a few last minute adjustments, tightening the strap that ran under Aria's belly and pronounced her ready.

Jasper tipped his hat to her, 'If you run into any trouble at all, Miss Hailey, shoot up some red sparks and Mona and I will be there in a jiffy.' At the sound of her name Mona lifted her head off her paws and wagged her tail.

Hailey ensured her wand was secure in her arm holster, then turned Aria and set off at a sedate pace down the path. She had too much on her mind for a brisk ride. Her recent conversation (though parts felt more like a confession) with Professor Snape at the Hogsmeade station weighed heavily on her. While Hailey did not appreciate the fallout Zora Lynch's expose had on her campaign, a perverse part of her was grateful for it to be out in the open. Perhaps she was one for self-flagellation,though she would rather believe that it was her honest nature.

Or maybe she was relieved her chances for becoming Minister had been dashed. Hailey bit her lip. She did not want to believe it was true. She wanted to be Minister, more than she had wanted anything in a long time. Yes, if she had won the election it would have placed her in incredible danger (Dugald McPhail, who had been Minister for Magic during the War, had lost the use of his legs during an assassination attempt) but it would be worth the risk for the chance to make a difference, to play a part in the war against Voldemort. She had been too young to fight during the last War, but now she was grown. She may not be able to join the Order of the Phoenix, she couldn't duel to save her life, but there were other ways to fight.

She had told the Order she would support them any way she could, but a part of her wished she could take the words back. She had made a similar promise to Harry Potter, although Professor Snape had heard those words and interpreted it to mean she gave her permission to be abducted and spirited to the Order Headquarters. While it was proper for Ahlgrim to rule on Harry Potter's hearing, the unusual circumstances surrounding the incident could have opened her up to possible ethical violations. Had she not uncovered Dolores Umbridge's crimes she may have been facing a hearing of her own.

That she could forgive. The Order had every reason to believe Harry Potter was the victim of a conspiracy. They did not know whom to trust. Less forgivable were the Headmaster's actions during Professor Lupin's hearing. When she had confronted him about rigging the Wizengamot selection he had not been at all contrite. He merely stressed the importance of having a Defence professor he could trust and added that he had acted in accordance with the "greater good."

Hailey had not been impressed.

'The "greater good?"' she had scoffed. 'The world is full of villains, none who think themselves as such. Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named believes His actions serve the betterment of wizard kind.' It had been a cruel thing to say. Hailey would have felt a greater measure of remorse had her words managed to phase the Headmaster at all.

She urged Aria into a canter. While she had berated the Headmaster for his handling of Remus Lupin, both as a professor and when he was a student, the Headmaster had remained patronising. His endearments, usually welcomed from a wizard she thought of as a grandfather, had only made her scowl. Perhaps he had always treated her that way and she had simply never noticed. If the Headmaster had no qualms about manipulating her to his own ends when she was Supreme Mugwump and Wizengamot Elder, Hailey could only imagine his behaviour had she become Minister for Magic. Beneath her she could feel Aria straining, her feet eager to fly across the ground, wings eager to take to the sky. Hailey spurred her on and Aria shot forward like an arrow from a bow. A verse from Quiverlance's The Tyrant came to mind.

We seek not to rule
Search not for a golden throne,
Stiff-backed, unyielding and firm.
We wish not to reign
Search not for the crown
which weighs heavily on her brow.
Our desires are much more meagre,
our wants much more small.
The Queen's ear is our goal that is all.

The comparison, silly as it was, brought a smile to her face and Hailey further amused herself by casting the Headmaster in the role of Alfonso, the ambitious advisor to Queen Rosalina and, after a moment's thought, Professor Snape as the enigmatic Captain of the Guard, Dragomir.

The Headmaster had pressed her to reveal what Professor Snape had said when they were alone in her office, but she had refused. He had said Professor Snape's anger and biases prevented him from painting a clear picture of what had happened that night. Hailey had said nothing; the Headmaster had biases of his own. Besides, in spite of everything, Professor Snape had spoken on Remus Lupin's behalf. Hailey thought it pointed to a great strength of character.

Aria charged ahead at a gallop and Hailey leaned forward. The horse unfurled her wings and leapt into the air. Before her hooves began to fall she flapped her wings and surged upward. Hailey urged her to climb higher and they emerged above the trees just as the sun crested above the eastern hills. She patted the horse's side. 'I daresay this view was worth waking up at this hour, wouldn't you agree, Aria?' The whole valley was laid out below them, the rolling hills, whispering brooks and rustling trees, Hailey felt as though the whole world was before her.

The Tyrant was famous for its ambiguous characters and its inconclusive ending. As the curtain fell, the audience could debate if Queen Rosalina believed Dragomir's dire warnings of Alfonso's plot, or if Alfonso had been successful in framing the young soldier for the assassination attempt. An attempt that, rather than kill the Queen, had slain her son.

To Hailey, what was not unclear was her position going forward. She was not going to let the Order or Albus-bloody-Dumbledore push her around. Hailey did not doubt she and Albus would be able to mend their friendship in time, but she knew she could never again trust him implicitly. The thought brought with it a sense of loss.

But, as she basked in the warmth of the newly-risen sun, Hailey did not let herself dwell on that loss. Instead she felt a sense of purpose and renewal. There was no chance of her becoming Minister, the thought still stung, but she bolstered herself with the knowledge that she would still fight against Lucius Malfoy. Fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and His Death Eaters. She would fight them and their intolerances in the International Confederation of Wizards, she would fight them in the Wizengamot and she would fight them with the Bonaccord wealth at her disposal.

Then, from the direction of the front gate, a shower of red sparks. What in the world? As far as she knew, Jasper and Mipsy were the only ones awake. She pulled on the reins and turned Aria toward the sparks.

Pierre Bonaccord had not been a paranoid wizard, the sort who cast so many charms and wards that not only was his home unplottable but even family and guests would be unable to find it. Still, Asterdale was by no means defenceless. Besides the standard Muggle-repelling charms, there were hosts wards to protect those who lived there and their valuables.

Still, recent events compelled her to draw her wand. As she got closer she could make out two figures in red robes- Aurors? As well as her father and one of the house-elves. Not wanting to unduly startle the Aurors she set off a shower of green sparks and made a slow descent a good hundred metres away.

Hailey loosened the straps securing her to the saddle and swung off Aria as the group approached. With one hand she held onto the reins, in the other she held her wand loosely at her side. She recognised the grey-haired Auror as one of the ones who had dragged Albus away from the disastrous speech before the Confederation. The other Auror, a young man with long brown hair held back in a ponytail, she did not know.

'Mugwump Ahlgrim-' the older Auror began the same time his partner greeted her with, 'Elder Ahlgrim-' the older Auror glared at his partner.

'I'm Auror Dawlish, this is Auror Williamson. We have been charged with escorting you to the Ministry. Mr Scrimgeour has requested your presence.'

The Head of the Auror Office? While they both worked on the same floor, their paths rarely crossed. She knew him more by reputation than by personal acquaintance. He had struck her as a wizard who was cautious and prudent, but unafraid of being downright ruthless if he thought it necessary. He had been an exemplary Auror until a Dark wizard's curse had given him an intractable limp and a position behind a desk. For Rufus Scrimgeour to call her at such an hour, something terrible must have happened.

'Miss Hailey! Is everything alright?'

At the shout the Aurors raised their wands. But, it was only Jasper.

Hailey swiped a lock of hair from her face and forced a smile. 'I'm fine,' she passed over the reins to him. 'Would you please see to Aria? I'm being called away.'

Jasper frowned, bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern. 'Of course.'

Her father, a cloak thrown over his rumpled nightshirt, looked similarly worried. Mipsy huddled behind him, her eyes wide and ears flattened against her head.

'What happened?' Hailey asked, striding to them.

Dawlish scowled, 'Our orders are to bring you to Scrimgeour, not answer questions.' Abruptly he glared at Mipsy. 'Elf, your master gave you an order, now go.'

Mipsy squeaked in terror and buried her head in the fabric. Mipsy had once offered to beat Alastor Moody with a frying pan when she had thought he had caused Hailey harm, to see such a change in her house-elf was disturbing. 'No, you gave Mipsy an order,' her father corrected as he knelt before Mipsy. 'But in this instance I concur, you may go.' The words had barely left his mouth before Mipsy disappeared with a pop.

'Take care, Hailey,' her father looked as if he wished to say more, but conscious of the Aurors he stayed silent.

She nodded and followed the Aurors outside the gate and the boundaries of the Anti-Apparation wards. Dawlish seized her arm and with Side-along Apparation brought her to the Ministry Atrium, which was empty save for Ernie the Watch Wizard and a witch from Magical Maintenance. Bypassing the elevator they took the stairs to level two.

There, it was confirmed that something dreadful had indeed occurred. Despite the early hour, what appeared to be every Auror in the Ministry was gathered in the Auror Offices. Hailey had felt a twinge of embarrassment for her disheveled appearance when they had entered the building but, at the sight of the grim Aurors, it vanished and Hailey berated herself for being ridiculous.

'Auror Dawlish, Auror Williamson, thank you for bringing the Elder here safely.' Hailey spun around to see Rufus Scrimgeour limping towards her. Scrimgeour dismissed the Aurors with a wave of his hand and lead her into his office, closing the door firmly behind them. It was a modest room, with Scrimgeour's desk occupying the majority of the space. Scrolls and parchments were stacked neatly on his desk and the wall was covered with maps, rather than photographs or art. It was a space designed for business, not comfort.

Hailey crossed her arms over her chest. 'All right, Mr Scrimgeour, what happened?'

'At approximately three fifteen this morning the Dark Mark was cast near Hogsmeade. Aurors were called to investigate and found the body of this wizard,' Scrimgeour grabbed a photograph off his desk and handed it to her, 'under the Dark Mark.'

Hailey studied the photograph of the elderly wizard. It was not anyone she recognised, which brought a surge of relief. The lighting of the photograph was poor, but Hailey could see what appeared to be small cuts scattered across his face.

'His wand was on him but Priori Incantatem revealed only the usual domestic spells, nothing defensive or offensive. We have no witnesses as of yet, but we are accepting the evidence of what it is: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed returned.'

Something about the whole situation felt wrong. She had not imagined the Ministry would find out like this, she had been dreading another attack like the one on King's Cross to proclaim His return to a disbelieving public. This murder was more in line with His actions before the War, solitary murders of individuals chosen at random or for reasons unknown to the Ministry. Except He had set off the Dark Mark, unquestionably linking the killing to Him and His followers.

Hailey did not mention her misgivings. Voldemort had returned months ago and the Ministry was finally admitting it. While that knowledge would cause much fear and lead to economic ramifications- shopkeepers raising their prices, leery investors and such- a frightened but informed and prepared public was entirely preferable to one blissfully ignorant.

Then there was the matter of her campaign. Rather than alarmist nutter, she had just been proven to be Cassandra. Lucius Malfoy's credibility had been dealt a horrific blow, one she thought it unlikely he would be able to recover from. Malfoy had staked his entire campaign on the promise all was well and would continue to be so. Hailey thought that compared to such a colossal lie, her past crime would take on the aspect of a youthful indiscretion. Hailey looked at the photograph, uneasy with the idea of benefiting politically from a man's gruesome death. She passed the photograph back to Scrimgeour who returned it to his desk.

Seeing the dead man brought another emotion to the forefront: fear. She had known the danger she was putting herself in when she became a candidate, but seeing the dead man made it all too real. There was no question there would be more victims of Voldemort's War, the only question was who and how many. The myriad of wards and defences around Asterdale suddenly seemed rather meagre.

Scrimgeour noticed the direction of her gaze and moved to lean against his desk, blocking her view of the photograph. 'We will keep you abreast of any developments. As far as I am concerned, Fudge is out of the picture. He was wise enough to let me act in whatever matter I see fit.' Hailey wondered if Cornelius Fudge's sudden solicitous nature might have been brought about with a few threats, but decided she didn't have it in her to care. 'We need someone who is here and doesn't have both hands tied behind their back,' Scrimgeour gave her a pointed look. 'Even if the election is not for several more weeks. Can I count on you?'

'Of course.'

He appeared doubtful. Hailey did not blame him. Scrimgeour was a man of action, he would have preferred to have someone like Amelia Bones at the helm rather than a legislator who valued negotiation and compromise. There was nothing she could do about that, however. She had to put her best foot forward and be firm and act decisively. 'I will speak to Madam Bones and reinitiate the Wartime Survivors Fund so a payment can be made to the victim's family when you have identified him.'

Scrimgeour frowned, 'As noble as the Fund was, I am concerned about diverting any Galleons from the DMLE, especially at a time like this.'

Hailey knew her family would be able to cover such an expense in the short term, until the Ministry could reorganise and rearrange its priorities, or until alternative funding could be arranged. 'I completely agree. I will personally take care of the Wartime Survivor Fund.'

He nodded distractedly, his mind immediately moving on. 'We need to ensure your safety. At this stage your death would be unlikely to benefit Malfoy politically, but it would certainly spread panic and undermine confidence in the Ministry. That makes you a prime target. And that is how things stand before the election.'

Scrimgeour spoke of the election as if it was a sure thing. While her chances were certainly much improved over what they were yesterday, Hailey did not want to be overly confident.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. She needed to be prepared to address the public immediately after the Ministry's announcement. She needed to inform Alice Ruggles, her campaign manager, of what had happened as well as giving word to Clark and speaking with the Order. It was possible they might know the wizard who was murdered.

She also needed a shower. But she could hardly leave the Ministry during a crisis like this.

'Auror Robards will accompany you to a secure location. He'll also ensure the delivery of any messages you may need to send.'

Hailey protested, 'I cannot simply leave-.'

Scrimgeour chuckled darkly, 'I insist. You have a campaign to run. I do not wish to work with Lucius Malfoy or that imbecile Allgood.' He limped to the door and held it open for her. 'One of our concerns at the moment is keeping you and the other candidates safe. Aurors have been sent to watch both Hubert Allgood and Lucius Malfoy.'

'But as I am the only candidate to hold a press conference saying You-Know-Who has returned, I am especially in danger, and you brought me here,' Hailey finished.

Scrimgeour nodded grimly. 'If you ask me, I don't think Allgood needs any protection, and truthfully the Auror who is with Malfoy is there to keep an eye on Malfoy himself, rather than protect him from harm. But we mustn't be accused of favouritism,' Scrimgeour said sardonically.

Hailey was thankful Scrimgeour came straight out with his suspicions about Malfoy. 'Is someone at Asterdale with my father? You know the Death Eaters often retaliated against-'

'Your father will be moved to a secure location. One of your house elves packed a trunk of your belongings. Asterdale has its share of wards and protective spells, but it's too vast to effectively patrol without-'

'Devoting too many of your resources,' Hailey had been about to make the same observation. 'Tell me where to go, and I'll go. I only ask that you have someone check in on Clark Brown and his family, when you can, they live in Dorset.' Hailey wrapped her arms around herself, feeling sick. 'I'm sure you have considered it, Scrimgeour,' she said, 'but for this wizard to be the first You-Know-Who has ordered murdered, the death He uses to announce His return, the wizard has to be someone important, someone significant.'

Scrimgeour's lips were pressed into a thin line. 'I agree, but who we consider to be important and who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named considers important are two vastly different things. We're following a few leads, but I suspect he was someone involved in the Dark Arts who offended He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or failed Him somehow. It is was not unheard of for us to recover the bodies of Death Eaters from some remote field. He was not above murdering His own servants.'

'Avada Kedavra!'

Mordred Avery fell down dead, his soulless eyes staring at Severus.

The Dark Lord's anger still not spent, He strode forward and delivered a vicious kick to Avery's skull.

Severus winced at the unmistakable crack, but he kept his mind clear, only letting his frustration and anger bleed through.

The other Death Eaters stared, shocked, not by their Lord's display of violence but, that Avery, who had just confessed to murdering a wizard and casting the Dark Mark above the body (to 'show the world the Dark Lord's magnificence'), could bungle things up so severely. Severus was grateful no one noticed Avery's blank expression and the flattened effect of one under the Imperius Curse. Further frustrating the Dark Lord was Lucius being unable to respond to the summons, as he and his family were under guard.

'Does anyone else have anything they would like to confess?' the Dark Lord screamed, unhinged in His fury.

And because he knew that the Dark Lord expected it, Severus let some of his fear bleed through as well. It was not difficult. He could only hope the Dark Lord never learned of Severus's involvement, or of Victoria Fraudaire's.

There was a hill outside Hogsmeade with a picturesque view of the village, of the cosy houses and shops, darkened and quiet at the late hour. Behind his pale Death Eater mask, Severus's nose itched. Avery stood nearby, levitating the corpse and awaiting orders.

'Set it there,' Severus said pointing to the crest of the hill.

Avery obeyed.

'Now give me your wand.'

He turned the stick of ivy in his hand, getting a feel for the wand. There were a handful of spells that could not be cast while under the Imperius Curse, spells requiring strong investment of feeling from the caster; such as the Patronus Charm or any of the Unforgivables. The Killing Curse was by no means the only spell that could kill a person, a fact that the Death Eaters took full advantage of. Morsmodre, the incantation to conjure the Dark Mark, was another such spell.

Severus reviewed the instructions in his head before giving Avery his next command, 'When I give you your wand you are going to Apparate back to your home. You will not answer the door to anyone. If Aurors come to your home you will flee by any means necessary that do not result in the direct or indirect harm of another person. When you are summoned by the Dark Lord you will tell Him you murdered this man and cast the Dark Mark. You will tell Him you did it because you wanted to honour Him and did not want the Dark Lord to hide in the shadows like a criminal, that you wanted to begin His glorious work. You will swear loyalty to Him and when He tortures you, you will beg for mercy and forgiveness.'

For a split second there was a flicker of fear behind Avery's eyes before they became unfocused once more.

'You will profess your loyalty till your dying breath.'

Severus looked up at the night sky, the millions of stars shining calmly down on him. Tonight he would bring the uneasy peace pervading England to an abrupt halt.

But it had to be done.

He pointed the wand upwards and cast the spell, 'Morsemodre!' There was a howl of wind, a flash of green fire. And there, among the stars, a profane blight.

After wiping Avery's wand of prints, he handed it back to the wizard who disappeared with the crack of Apparition. He took a steadying breath and cast his next spell and rose a metre into the air. With a sweep of the borrowed wand he obliterated his own set of footprints.

Down in Hogsmeade a shriek carried over the air and seconds later the dull drone of a caterwauling charm erupted. The Aurors would arrive soon. Severus spun in the air and vanished.

'Remind me why I am doing this again?' Victoria groused as she made some minuscule adjustment to the plunging neckline of her robe and ran a hand through her hair.

Severus had lost track of how many times she had asked that question, but still dutifully reminded her. 'Because I paid you an obscene amount of money and because the fate of England depends on it.'

'Dementors don't take Galleons.'

He rolled his eyes from where he leaned against the wall. 'Trust me. Should Avery, by some miracle, manage to escape, he's not going to turn you over to the authorities.'

Victoria thumped the trunk containing their corpse with the toe of her boot. 'This bloke's family might though,' she said, with a disgusted face.

Severus snorted, 'You overestimate Muggles.'

''Ey! All I know is I 'ave an expired bloke in my trunk, forgive me for being a mite concerned.' Victoria used her wand to curl her eyelashes and then stepped back from the mirror with a self-satisfied nod. 'Alright, I'm ready.'

The walk to The Grey Jackal was made in silence, save for Victoria rehearsing compliments and coquettish phrases under her breath. Several buildings away from the tavern, Severus headed into a cramped alley leaving her to enter alone. Severus resisted the urge to pace. His gambit was solid. He planned for every eventuality, and though risky, it also had a reasonable chance of success. What made him apprehensive was Tory; having to depend on someone else, trust them to do their part. But Severus did not have a choice. Simply abducting Avery off the street was too hazardous, and Avery didn't trust him enough for Severus to simply request a meeting and expect Avery to come alone.

Perhaps he should have involved the Order, even now he was assailed with doubt on that point. The way things stood, it had the potential to become a disaster frightfully fast. But no, Albus would never approve of what they were doing. Already he and Victoria had broken numerous laws and what they were going to do to Avery was nothing short of murder. Severus pictured standing in the Order Headquarters at Grimmauld Place, arguing that he had a brilliant plan to ensure Ahlgrim would win the election. All it required was for a witch to seduce Mordred Avery. Imagining their reactions, especially McGonagall's, brought a chuckle to his lips, which he suppressed. No, it was something he and Victoria had to do on their own.

A short while later the doors swung open and he heard laughter. Tory and Avery were walking arm in arm. Severus pulled out his silver pocket watch and arched an eyebrow, impressed. He would wait, give them a head start and let her get Avery into position before Severus burst in and ruined their little 'dalliance.' He waited until the sound of footsteps and laughter faded before he emerged and headed in the opposite direction, ignoring the calls of merchants and peddlers hawking their wares.

He avoided Borgin & Burkes. The proprietor, while not a Death Eater himself, was quite sympathetic to the cause and was an observant and loud gossip to boot. Instead, Severus went into Asphodel's Apothecary and perused their selection of erumpent fluid, Acromantula hairs and hippogriff feathers. He left twenty minutes later without purchasing anything and wound his way back to Fraudaire's Specialty Goods. Tory had given him a copy of her key, so Severus was able to let himself into her store and climb the stairs to her flat above the shop. He pressed his ear against the door, but heard nothing. With his wand at the ready, he cracked the door open.

There was no sign of Avery or Tory in the sitting area, which was not a surprise. Tory hadn't invited Avery back to her flat for tea. He heard low voices from the bedroom and crept to the door.

Severus debated how to best make his entrance. He had hoped Avery already had his Dreaming Draught and would be unconscious.

'I can be quite clumsy,' Victoria raised her voice enough so that it carried clearly through the door. 'I cannot believe I spilled the entire bottle of wine!'

He bit back a curse. No Dreaming Draught meant Fraudaire had shut herself in her bedroom with a man who, despite his poor choice in assignations was quite dangerous. There was only so long Victoria could stall before Avery became frustrated, or even worse, suspicious.

'Are you sure you don't want any of this wine?' Victoria wheedled. 'It's really quite good.'

There was a rustling noise and the bed creaked. 'No, the only thing I want is you.'

Severus made a face. Plying Avery with more alcohol wouldn't work and Severus was not going to wait for Fraudaire to try. Not with Avery talking like that. Which left him with the option of kicking in the door and taking Avery by surprise and force. Severus despised direct confrontations, usually they were reserved for people who were unable to invent better alternatives.

Severus blast open the door and stopped on the threshold. He was not sure who was more shocked, Avery or himself. Severus lowered his wand.

Tory sat with her legs crossed on the duvet, fully clothed, taking a long pull from a bottle of wine. Avery was on the bed. Severus arched an eyebrow, 'He let you tie him up?'

She smirked and raised her bottle in a toast, 'Never doubt me, Severus. It was a fight to make 'im keep 'is trousers on.'

Avery looked between the two of them in drunken befuddlement. 'Look Snape,' he said, his hands twitching in as much of a placating gesture he could manage with his wrists tied to the headboard. 'This isn't what it looks like. I didn't know she was yours!'

Victoria threw her head back and laughed, sloshing wine across the bed. 'Oh please, Severus wishes 'e could land a bird like me.'

Avery blinked. 'I actually thought you were a whore.'

'Look Snape,' Victoria scowled around the lip of her bottle. 'Can we get this show on the road?'

Logic was slowly worming its way into Avery's addled brain. He glanced at them again, his face turning pale. 'Let me go Snape, we can forget this ever happened. Just please don't tell my wife. Linnaea would kill me.'

Severus pointed his wand at Avery. 'No, she won't. The Dark Lord however, will. Imperio!'

A spineless weasel like Avery was quickly overcome by the spell and a second later was sitting placidly on the bed with vacant eyes.

Victoria shuddered. 'This is tantamount to murder.' To comfort herself, she tilted the bottle back.

Severus grabbed the bottle. The last thing he needed was a drunk co-conspirator. 'It is precisely murder,' he said calmly. 'Murder of an adulterous, abusive Death Eater. I assure you it won't keep me up at night.'

''E 'as a little boy.'

'Who will be much better off without him.'

'They might go after 'is family.' Victoria pointed out.

Severus glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 'Linnaea Avery and her son left England eight hours ago. By now they ought to be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. The Dark Lord's reach is extensive, but He will not be able to reach them in America.'

She was silent for a moment. ''E 'it 'is wife?'

Severus nodded. Linnaea had tried to hide it, but he saw the bruise on her face that morning.

Victoria climbed to her feet. 'All right, let's go 'ang the bastard.'

Inside Victoria's flat, Severus made short work of pulling a pile of blankets out of a large trunk and depositing the body inside. He had just shut the lid when Victoria appeared.

She eyed the trunk with distaste. 'That is a family 'eirloom.'

'Not your family's, ou bought it at a rummage sale.' The initials J. C. were etched above the latch.

Victoria shrugged. 'Well, it was somebody's 'eirloom. Now what?'

Severus considered the narrative he needed to craft. 'Go to the second-hand robe shop and buy a set. Nothing fashionable, but nothing dingy either. Get him a pair of serviceable boots. And don't forget socks.'

'I gave up burgling years ago, Severus,' Victoria informed him with a pout as she puffed nervously on a cigarette. 'No more stealing, no more special errands, just me minding my little shop.'

'And yet, here you are.' Severus gestured to the unlit alley where they stood, adjacent to a nondescript Muggle building.

'For as much gold as you're giving me, I'd go anywhere. Just want you to know I'm not 'appy.' She exhaled the smoke in a long stream, putting Severus in mind of a restless dragon.

'I thought you stopped smoking those.'

'I 'ave, all right?' Victoria gazed at the cigarette in her hand. 'Mostly. It 'elps steady me nerves.' She shifted her weight back and forth, her borrowed Invisibility Cloak rippling over her bare shoulders, not looking steady at all. 'Don't even have an 'older,' she grumbled. 'I must look like an uncultured troll.'

Severus plucked the cigarette from her and took a long drag, the nicotine hitting his bloodstream and uncoiling the tension in his shoulders by the slightest margin.

'I've done enough for you,' Victoria continued. 'The Vablatsky affair was fun enough, but what 'appened at Brahms's was 'orrid. Gave me nightmares for weeks.'

Severus dripped the cigarette to the ground and extinguished it with his boot. He glanced at his watch. Like his clothing (long black mackintosh, black trousers and white shirt) it was Muggle in design. He pulled out his wand. Rather than his wand of African Blackwood, it was a short hazel wand; one of the two Victoria had procured from Chastain, a French wand maker. The magic was sluggish, but adequate. It was time. 'What happened at Brahms's was the fault of your other clients.'

Victoria scowled, then threw her hood up and vanished.

He twirled the borrowed wand in his hand. The building was empty of Muggles, but he knew it likely the building was being guarded by other forces, namely security cameras. Luckily, a large burst of magic would render the electronics inoperable. He considered a few spells, discarding each in turn before settling on one suitable.

The alleyway had already been warded with a Muggle-Repelling Charm and a Notice-Me-Not spell, so Severus felt confident in casting his decided spell. 'Expecto Patronum!' With a wave of his wand, Severus directed the Patronus to jump through the wall and into the building. He guided it throughout the building, making sure it was explored in its entirety.

'Nice Patronus,' Victoria's voice came from somewhere by his side. 'Truthfully I was expecting a bat.'

Severus rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wand cancelled the spell. Victoria's boots thudded behind him as they ascended the steps to the building's front door. He tapped the door handle with his wand. 'Alohamora,' and pushed the door open. He had not been inside before, but knew enough that the room they sought would likely be in the back. The building was entirely dark, until the door closed behind them and Victoria ventured to light the area with her wand. He passed the front desk and headed down a long hallway. He ignored the plain wooden doors he suspected lead to offices, until he came upon a metal door at the end of the hall. The door was wider than the others, and Severus knew they had found the right place. He pushed the door open.

'What is this place?' Victoria asked. Satisfied that they were alone in the building she pulled back her hood and looked about the room nervously.

The rectangular room was larger than he had expected, though considering the size of London he should not have been surprised. On one side of the room, stainless steel cabinets housed all manners of instruments and bottles. Stainless steel pervaded the place from the two slabs in the centre of the room to the wall, where a couple dozen small square doors dominated the other side of the room. It smelled of chemicals, and a stench less pleasant. The wavering light of Victoria's wand did not make the room any more comforting. Severus moved toward the door and flipped the light switch, illuminating the room. Victoria cast 'Nox' before her magic could disrupt the electricity.

She stepped further into the room and wrapped her arms around herself against the unnatural cold. 'I don't like this place, Severus. What are we doing 'ere?'

In response, Severus strode to one of the doors on the far side of the room and swung it open with a flourish. He then grabbed the heavy slab inside and dramatically pulled it out. 'We are here… for this.' Before them, under a white sheet, lay what was unmistakably a human corpse.

To Victoria's credit she did not vomit. She did, however, turn an unflattering shade of green and held the sleeve of her robe against her nose. 'You were serious? About the dead body?'

Despite the circumstances, Severus could not help but feel a small stab of amusement at seeing Tory so discomfited. 'Have you ever heard me make a joke?' He pulled the sheet back to examine the body: Middle-age woman, blonde, no signs of trauma.

'You're going to steal that body?'

Severus pulled the sheet back and pushed the slab back into the compartment, shutting the door. 'No, she won't do.'

Victoria rolled her eyes. 'Of course, you 'ave such exacting tastes.'

He pointed for her to start opening doors. 'I need a male corpse, middle age to elderly, preferably one injured or disfigured in some way.' If it came to it, Severus could inflict the necessary injuries himself. But he suspected that it would not appear as realistic, and was unsure if such manipulation would be detectable by Aurors.

The silence was punctuated only by Victoria muttering curses under her breath.

After searching half a dozen bodies Severus finally found one that would serve his purpose.

'He'll do.' Severus pulled a shrunken cloak out of his pocket and resized it. He pulled back the sheet. 'You know what size robes he'd wear?' In Severus' experience witches had an innate sense for that sort of thing.

Victoria shielded her eyes. 'I don't need to size 'im for a bleedin' condom. I've seen more than enough.'

Severus wrapped the cloak around the body. He grabbed a wrist and prepared to disapparate.

Victoria took a step towards him. 'Not my flat-'

But he was already gone.

Linnaea Avery started at the pounding at the door. Her son Todd was sleeping fitfully in his bed. She smoothed his fringe from his forehead and rose to answer the door. Todd's fever had finally broke around four o'clock that morning. Her husband Mordred had scoffed at her concern and told her to stop fretting. 'A fever and some sniffles never killed anyone,' Mordred had snarled as he had left, slamming the door behind him.

Mordred never said where he spent his long hours away from home and Linnaea was not foolish enough to ask.

She knew her husband was a Death Eater. And she knew he would kill both her and Todd if she ever told anyone. Linnaea knew, because her husband had told her so.

She had lived in constant fear since her husband had made that declaration on their honeymoon. Linnaea knew her story would not have a happy ending. One day Mordred's temper would get the better of him, or she would try to leave and he would kill her. Or Mordred's dark alliance would reap disaster for them both.

Instead she had shifted from the impossible to the possible. Her one and only goal was ensuring Todd's safety; nothing else mattered. But every solution seemed destined to fail. The one small rebellion she allowed herself was the handful of coins she had squirreled away behind the loose brick in the chimney. Mordred tracked her every movement, every coin she spent down to the last Knut. As Diagon Alley's principal greengrocer Mordred knew exactly what items cost. Still, Linnaea had managed to scrimp here and there. Maybe Hestia Jones had a sale at her bakery or she would buy Todd robes from the second-hand shop and claim they were new.

It couldn't last, Linnaea knew that. Sooner or later Mordred would find out what she was doing and there would be hell to pay. But Linnaea could not bring herself to stop her petty and futile mutiny, to do so would have meant giving into despair completely.

The knock came again, rapid and impatient. 'Coming!' she called, just managing to bite back her irritation as she opened the door.

Her visitor was a boy Todd's age, wearing a robe streaked with dirt. She thought the boy was likely another student of Mrs Galbraith's, an elderly widow in Ottery St Catchpole who taught the young children their maths and letters.

The boy had a parcel in his hands which he began to thrust towards her, when he stopped. 'Hey lady what happened to your face?'

Linnaea started to raise a hand to her cheek before she stopped herself. With Todd being ill she had not bothered covering the bruise with concealing charms and cosmetics. She crossed her arms over her chest instead. 'I tripped. Todd can't play- he's ill.'

The boy shook his head violently. 'That ain't why I came. I was told to give you this.' The boy held up the box again.

Linnaea took a wary step back, eying the innocuous brown-paper parcel with distrust. 'Who sent you?'

'Dunno,' the boy said, bounding inside without an invitation.

Normally, Linnaea would have simply been irritated by his lack of manners and wonder where his parents were, but the world had changed that summer and danger lurked everywhere. She glanced towards the staircase that lead to her son's room and made to stop the boy, but he darted into the kitchen with single-minded focus. Linnaea was about to shout something cross when she realised the boy's goal was merely the biscuit tin on the counter. He dumped the box onto the table and grabbed two chocolate biscuits.

Cramming the first into his mouth, the boy hopped onto a stool. 'She was rich, had blonde hair and her nose was kinda-' he pushed the end of his nose up with a finger, 'snooty.'

Linnaea blinked in surprise. The description of the nose was slightly off, but Linnaea could certainly see how it would remind a boy of a pig, the witch certainly had a habit of turning it up at people. Still, she had no idea what Narcissa Malfoy could possibly want to give her. She grabbed a copy of last week's Daily Prophet, flipped it to the society pages and pointed to a photograph from the Bloxam-Runcorn wedding. 'Is this her?'

The boy squinted at the picture, then nodded. 'Uh huh.'

Besides the fact both their husbands were Death Eaters, the two women had nothing in common. Narcissa was an affluent witch of society while Linnaea was the working-class wife of a green grocer. Lucius doted on his wife. Mordred… Their husbands had been contemporaries in Slytherin and Narcissa had been in that House as well. Linnaea had been a Hufflepuff: hard-working, loyal and ignored.

Her eyes strayed to the box and to the boy, who was munching on his third biscuit. She was about to chide him for being so greedy, but then she got a better look at him. He was pale, his dark hair was stringy and he had a peaked look to him. One that reminded Linnaea uncomfortably of a stray dog. 'Where's your mother?'

'Me mam? She's dead.' The boy said it as if it really didn't bother him, which made Linnaea think his mother had been gone a long time. She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and took out a cauldron of squash soup and a ham sandwich that was meant to be her lunch from the ice box. She dished out the soup, hit it with a Heating Charm and set it in front of the boy, who tucked in with enthusiasm. He paused for a moment to shove the package towards her. 'You gotta open that. The witch said she'd give me a whole Galleon if I gave you the box, but she said I have to make sure you open it. Then I have to go back to Twillfit and Tatting's. A whole Galleon!'

Linnaea could think of little reason Narcissa would have to contact her, and even less reason to do so in such a roundabout way. Then she thought of a very good reason Narcissa would have to do both. Heart thudding in her chest she grabbed the package and sat down across from the boy. She unwrapped the parcel which contained a letter, a book, a bag and a stoppered inkwell. With trembling hands she broke the wax seal on the letter.

Dear Linnaea,

We may not know each other well, indeed that fact is something I regret. But when I think of your son Todd, I see my own son Draco. We would do anything to keep them safe. We barely know each other, but women in our position need allies- the entire world is against us and our families.

It is with a heavy heart I pen this letter. I do not have all the facts at this time, but I know enough to know I cannot remain silent.

Your husband Mordred was given a task- you know the sort- and was not successful. He was not injured, but I fear his failure will bring retribution from either the Ministry's Aurors or the one he serves. Mordred's failure has placed you and your son in great danger.

The paper was shaking in her hands. Linnaea looked up from the letter. The boy, unaware of the dire tiding remained occupied with his sandwich. Todd was upstairs, sleeping and in tremendous danger. If the Aurors discovered what Mordred had done or had failed to do and came to them first it would be Azkaban for her and an orphanage for Todd. If the Death Eaters got to them first…

Anxiously, Linnaea glanced to the hearth, the loose brick in the chimney where she had hidden away the only tangible pieces of hope she had left: a pitiful number of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. She doubted it would be enough for a Portkey out of the country.

You and Todd must leave immediately and without delay. Take only what you can carry. The inkwell is a Portkey and at precisely two o'clock it will take you both to Marseille where you can charter passage elsewhere. Move quickly and stay safe.

-Narcissa

Linnaea reached for the other items included with the letter. There was a book- A Beginner's Guide to Quodpot- and a velvet bag. When she lifted the bag into her hands she heard the musical clink and jangle of coins. Heart soaring she tore the ribbon off and peered inside.

Galleons.

Enough Galleons to chart passage for Todd and her overseas, far away where they could never be found. Enough Galleons to rent a simple room and for food until Linnaea could find work.

It was enough.

Linnaea clutched the bag to her chest and burst into tears. Her entire marriage to Mordred felt as if she had been trapped in a dark cave. But now the boulders blocking the way had been removed and high above her she could see golden sunlight. The climb would be arduous, but she knew she was strong enough. For Todd she was strong enough for anything.

She ripped off the gold wedding band and threw it into the sink. It clinked and rattled down the drain. Linnea threw her arms around the boy- making him drop his sandwich in surprise. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you!'

He squirmed out of her grasp. 'Geroff me, lady!'

She let him go and the boy straightened his robe with such a serious, affronted expression, Linnaea had to smother a fit of laughter behind her hand. It sounded strange and foreign to her ears.

The boy shot her a swift, piercing look, one that looked wholly out of place on his young face. His black eyes were narrowed, as if he wasn't sure if she was having fun at his expense or not.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour and rang twelve times. Linnaea only had two hours to pack her and Todd's entire lives into trunks. She pushed the rest of the sandwich into the boy's hand and ushered him to the door. 'Off you trot!'

The boy waved at her energetically. 'Terrah then!' And then he was flying down the stairs and dashing around the corner. Off to collect his one whole Galleon from Narcissa Malfoy.

The dense crowd of shoppers in Diagon Alley was something Severus never enjoyed, but without the advantage of his height and menacing scowl to clear his way the experience was beyond aggravating. More than that, actually. Being back in the same body he had as a boy made him feel distinctly vulnerable. Severus pushed his way through the throng towards the direction of The Leaky Cauldron, when a hag with a trolley nearly ran him over. Severus scowled and took advantage of his de-aged state to yell a lengthy and creative list of invectives at her while she stood there dumbly. He turned and nearly bumped into Molly Weasley and her brood. 'Such language!' she gasped, 'why I never!'

Severus ducked into the crowd. While he doubted she would recognise him, he knew the Weasley twins were well familiar with Ageing Potions.

He managed to avoid meeting anyone else he knew, though by the time he reached the second hand robe shop he was in a particularly vindictive mood. The shop was overrun with families preparing for the first of September, but in that instance he was grateful for the confusion of frustrated mothers and harried shop girls; it allowed him to slip into a changing room unnoticed.

After he pulled the curtain shut, Severus allowed himself a brief moment before he pulled out the Ageing Potion and disrobed. There were certain advantages to using a De-Ageing Potion to disguise himself rather than Polyjuice. Ageing Potions could not be taken indefinitely, but there was not the one hour time limit. He knew Linnaea Avery would be suspicious and had figured the guise of a boy her son's age would be the one most suited to allaying her fears.

Removing Mordred Avery's wife and son was but the first step in Severus's scheme to ensure Hailey Ahlgrim was the next Minister for Magic, but it was also perhaps the riskiest. Severus had meticulously plotted out every step, but one thing he could not account for was the unpredictable nature of human emotions. Linnaea could have declared she would stand by her husband, she could have disbelieved 'Narcissa's' message or she could have utterly fallen apart with grief. Severus had doubted the Avery's marriage could have possibly been a happy one. The bruise on Linnaea's face had not surprised him. But sometimes that was not enough to drive a woman away. Sometimes they could shout and curse and the woman would still stay and not because they had been trapped, but because in their twisted sense of morality it was the right thing to do. No matter who it hurt.

Scowling, Severus uncorked the phial of Ageing Potion and downed it.

It was sensation similar to ingesting Polyjuice Potion, only far more uncomfortable. Painful actually as his body went through an entire adolescence of growing pains in a matter of seconds. Severus braced against the wall, a wave of nausea swelling up in him. The rapid back and forth would be a tremendous tax on his damaged kidneys. Severus clamped his mouth shut and breathed slowly through his nose. The biscuits had been a poor idea, but he figured the best way to deflect suspicion was to behave in the most harmless way possible. Which, if one was an eight-year old boy, was to eat chocolate biscuits until it made you sick. Already he could hear Poppy lecturing him. His renal system was on the decline and marching steadfastly towards outright failure.

Only that morning Pomfrey had insisted on giving him a full exam. Afterwards her lips had been pressed into a tight frown. He had taken a downward turn since the start of the summer, something Pomfrey had obliquely blamed on stress. Severus thought the repeated bouts of the Cruciatus Curse from both the Dark Lord and Sirius Black a more likely culprit. She had added two potions to his regime of tonics that lined the bottom shelf of his bathroom cabinet. But perhaps most concerning was how she had enquired after his research. In the past, she had maintained the potential damage his experimentation could cause was a greater risk to his health. Today however, they had a frank discussion about his current efforts. Poppy told him that she'd wager his kidneys could function at their current level for another three years.

Three years was a better verdict than he had been expecting. With the war Severus was about to force out of the shadows, and his tenuous position as Death Eater and spy for the Order of the Phoenix, he had decent odds of not making it three years no matter what his kidneys did.

Still, her support of his research had been such an about face that he had used Legilimency to discover what she wasn't telling him. Pomfrey's three year estimate had been so optimistic as to be an outright falsehood. One year was what she expected.

At that point, after berating her for lying to him, Severus had put forth his idea for another avenue of treatment. A stop gap really, that could be utilized if… or rather when he ended up in renal failure. But Pomfrey had looked at the glossy, still pictures in the muggle textbook with horror. 'It's bloodletting!' she had cried. Severus had corrected her, haemodialysis was simply a method of extracorporeal blood filtration, but Pomfrey would hear none of it.

The wizarding world was capable of tremendous feats, but because they were so reliant on their magic, they were only focused on miraculous cures, not incremental improvements in treatments. It was a dated notion that held them back. A cure for lycanthropy had been searched for since the very beginning- a cure that would remove the lunatic bloodlust and prevent the transformations. For centuries Potion Masters and Mistresses had laboured in vain for a cure. Then Damocles Belby decided to tackle only the mental transformation and ignore the physical transformation entirely; fifteen years later the world had the Wolfsbane Potion.

Severus only wished he had thought of it first.

He reached into the pocket of the blue child's robe he had been wearing and pulled out a set of shrunken clothes. He restored them to their original size and quickly dressed. Though he would not be rendezvousing with Victoria till after dark, there was still much to be done. He swept out of the shop and made his way to The Leaky Cauldron and the muggle city that lay beyond.

As a general rule, Severus preferred solitude to crowds. But in the press of muggles who had no chance of recognising him, who were all absorbed in the petty melodrama of their own lives, Severus felt as alone as if all of London had been emptied and abandoned. There was a certain security in being ignored and one could not be much more ignored than in the crush of London. A sea of people unaware that if Severus's plan was successful, the facade of peace that enveloped England would come crashing down.