Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR rules all, and all of this is based off of characters and situations created by her and later exported by Bloomsbury and Warner Bros.

I'm trying to be someone else today

I'm fooling everyone

But me this way…

Insane, by Sugarcult

Prologue: An Unmentionable Dilemma

As though unaware that the magical world was celebrating with happy toasts and abundant feasts, the house on the end of Cairn Street in Hogsmeade stood silent. It was a funny little shack, which definitely suited the funny little wizard that lived inside. Townspeople about Hogsmeade called thin, gangling Taurus "Tuck" Crockford a bit eccentric even for a wizard. For one thing, nobody knew quite what he did, although he appeared to have some sort of job. He left his house every morning promptly at eight and was not known to return until the stars shone bright over the dimmed lanterns. Sometimes, but very rarely, he had visitors, and they were usually recognised Unspeakables. But Tuck Crockford wasn't registered as an Unspeakable, was he?

It was a mystery that kept the citizens of Hogsmeade on their toes when the main gossip topics had died down and the boring lull had set in. Shopkeepers would usually gather at the Hog's Head over a pint of the local brew, and speculate on what exactly it was that took up all of Tuck Crockford's days. Lately, with Voldemort at the peak of his empire, the strange gentleman was all but a ghost in the eyes of the townspeople.

And with the events of the past forty-eight hours, it looked as though it would be a long time before Tuck Crockford came up as a topic of gossip.

Lying in his sleigh bed now, Tuck was content not to mind, for he had other things to think about. Urgent, secret things that were only hinted at, even in the darkest, farthest alley. For Taurus Crockford was not an Unspeakable anymore.

He was an Unmentionable.

Although he was taller than most, with a lanky sort of air about his thin bones, Tuck had the amazing ability to slip from one's notice and appear as just another passing stranger on the Underground. Perhaps he appeared to most as one of those irritating people that appears as though they know more than they will ever let on. He was a genial fellow at all times except very early in the morning, and was well-liked in the Department of Conspiracies (which was the most guarded secret of the Department of Mysteries). Of course, there were only six people in the Department of Conspiracies altogether, and most of them had been friends since the Hogwarts days. Friends or not, they were always the slightest bit suspicious of each other.

The sudden clatter of dishes downstairs told Tuck that his wards had been breached yet again, but he didn't move. For one moment, the world could go on without him.

"TUCK! Get your lazy rump in gear!"

Okay, so maybe the world could only go on without him for exactly thirty-two seconds.

Knowing that his moment of rest had been too good to be true anyway, Tuck unfolded his long frame from the bed and threw a robe on over his pyjamas, which looked suspiciously like his clothing from the day before. He didn't even want to know how his hair looked—he didn't think he'd had time to so much as run a comb through it for at least thirty-six hours. Sighing irritably, he pushed it down and headed downstairs to the smell of coffee and eggs. Somebody was preparing a full English breakfast, and judging from the pangs in his stomach, he needed it.

"Oh, good, there you are."

Tuck stood for a moment and surveyed the scene taking place in his normally-empty kitchen. Hugh Filihurst, another Unmentionable, was standing over the stove and humming mildly to himself as he prepared the eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, tomatoes, and, oddly enough, pickled cucumbers. Foodstuffs flew about the kitchen in a furious whirl, the pears on the counter tap-danced to the rhythm of Hugh's humming. Although Tuck wanted to demand why the odd little wizard was humming, he turned instead to the regal wizard sitting at his breakfast table, and the person that had addressed him. "Hullo, Don," he said through a yawn. "I trust you slept well."

"Not a wink, Tuck, not a wink." Don Kempworth poured another cup of coffee and passed that to Tuck, who yawned his thanks. He sniffed the coffee before taking a drink. "I've just in from the site of attack, and we've got a whole day of analysis ahead. Some very interesting findings."

Although Tuck felt like putting his head on the table and going back to sleep for another good three days, he nodded and sipped his coffee. Hugh continued to hum, completely oblivious to his co-workers' presence. "Anything in the paper?"

"The scores from yesterday's Quidditch matches, and a lot more on the celebration that's taken our civilisation by storm," Don offered, holding up The Daily Prophet. The cover was flashing a large picture of a gravestone with "You-Know-Who" written on it, and the headline promised, "Harry Potter Saves All—More on The Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Clueless," Tuck muttered. "Absolutely clueless!"

Hugh shuffled over to the table, carrying three plates and smiling idly. "How can you possibly grin at a time like this?" Tuck demanded crossly, taking his plate from his co-worker with a nod despite his harsh words. He twisted a ring on his finger as he glared. "And I don't even want to know how you bribed Uwila to get through the wards. I've kept them specifically spelled to keep you out!"

Hugh, as short as Tuck was tall, just gave him a grin, showing every flashy white tooth. "You've got too much of a soft spot for that owl, but she's intent on spilling all of your secrets, if you must know." They made for an odd party of three sitting there at Tuck's table, but nobody cared enough to comment. Three tired men, whose age had sprung upon them in the past two days, in rumpled robes, looking far too tired. "And I'm grinning because Voldemort's finally gone! Our plan worked!"

Don glowered Hugh into silence. "It did not work! There was no body there, confirming Voldemort's death! He may be weakened, but it was supposed to kill him, not send him into the…" He trailed off and shook his head, still scowling. "If anything, our plan backfired. Congratulations, gentlemen, we messed up."

Tuck rolled his eyes heavenward. "If this isn't a great topic to discuss over breakfast, I don't know what is," he muttered, feeling like a sullen adolescent once again. Intent on getting as much breakfast into his empty gullet as possible before they were called off on another one of Don's wild goose-chases, he tucked an entire piece of buttered toast into his mouth. Swallowing, he turned to Don. "Look, Don, did you find any evidence that—"

"Oh, bundles of evidence. We're up to our necks in evidence. However, the fact remains that it didn't work! It was supposed to be eliminated—along with Voldemort! Instead, it blew up the house!" Don slammed one fist on the table, but his dining companions did not jump. They were far too aware of his temperament not to know that the punch had been coming. From the briefcase that never seemed to leave his side, Don withdrew a series of parchments covered in spidery handwriting. "We had wands recording when it happened—"

"Finally, some good news," Tuck interrupted with his usual mutter. "Look, Don, there's no reason we should look at that today. We can do the analysis tomorrow, and you really should get some rest after we go into London. You and Sheila need to be strong—"

Hugh tucked a tomato into his mouth and talked around that. "Besides," he commented, "it's no use burying yourself in work to help you forget James."

Tuck glared at his co-worker, who could have been beaten by a sledge hammer in the subtlety arena. "I have half a mind to put a silencing charm on you and save Don the trouble." As Tuck was never a violent wizard by choice, one knew to be quiet when his voice dropped to a low whisper. Hugh, however, had been ignorant of that fact for several years, which was probably why his nose didn't sit quite straight and his eyesight seemed to be going bad. "Look, Don, I know he's not very tactful, but he's right. You're running yourself to the ground, and James's funeral is in two days. It's not healthy."

"There's still a mystery to be solved!" Don protested.

"And your brain will be far too exhausted to understand anything if you keep this up!" Tuck snapped, spearing one of the eggs and mopping up the mess with his toast. "Look, Don, Sheila must be worried—I doubt you've been home since it happened. We'll check about London after you check in at home, like we planned last night, to see if Sirius ever checked in. He must have survived Voldemort's torture, because he was coherent enough to lend Rubeus Hagrid that blasted motorbike of his yesterday morning."

"Voldemort's torture?" Hugh demanded, momentarily forgetting Tuck's threat of a silencing charm. "Tuck, are you mad? Sirius wasn't tortured—he was a double-agent!"

Tuck sent him a look that would stop a giant in its tracks. "And I'm the son of a monkey's uncle."

Between the pair of them, Don nodded tiredly. "Tuck's right, Hugh. I'm not entirely sure what's going on right now, but I know that Sirius is just as loyal as any of us. In fact, it should be our main priority to find him. The findings can wait—he's a fellow Unmentionable, and he may not be very stable right now."

"I just find it awful suspicious," and Hugh's tinny voice raised, "that Voldemort would draw information out of him that quickly. Three days! We see neither hide nor hair of Sirius in three days, and suddenly Lily and James are dead. Suspicious, isn't it? And according to Hagrid and other witnesses, he was on the scene…" As he spoke, Hugh used a forkful of scrambled eggs to punctuate his point, stabbing it viciously in first Tuck's and then Don's direction.

Don leaned over and thumbed through a pile of parchment sitting on the corner of Tuck's table. "Do some reading. Veritaserum, Hugh. Only two wizards competent enough to brew it—and one of them confirmed sighted in a group of Death Eaters. Pictures, named in at least four statements, the whole kit and caboodle. This Potions Master's as good as guilty. Had a young apprentice we'll need to question—pardoned by Dumbledore, of course." He looked hard at Tuck, and the other man nodded imperceptibly.

Hugh's eyes flitted easily over the sheet of parchment thrust at him. "I'm sorry, but this just doesn't match up."

"Neither does a betrayal on Sirius's part. Eat up." Tuck packed the last of his magically disappearing breakfast firmly between his jaws and stood up to retreat upstairs. "I'm off to shower and change. Be down in twenty minutes—and make sure Don goes home, Hugh." Sprinting easily up the stairs like the leggy runner he had once been in days past, he left his co-workers to their breakfasts and hurried to start the day.

*

A bitter wind blew through downtown London, but neither Tuck nor Don seemed to notice as they slid through crowds. They were both dressed in pinstriped Muggle suits, and looked as impeccable as the stock-brokers that walked alongside. Still, neither paid that much attention to the attire around them. Their eyes were too busy searching faces, while neither really appeared interested. It was a trick that years of field work, working with both the Aurors and the Hit Wizards over at the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. While Unspeakables really didn't do that much fieldwork, preferring instead to solve the mysteries from a desk, Unmentionables were all over the place, and usually in the most surprising places. Nobody could ever recall meeting a bona fide Unmentionable, but half of the wizarding population had seen erratic Don Kempworth and laid-back Tuck Crockford. They were as faceless as the next man's brother.

"See any sign of him yet?" Don asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"No, chances on the dog food are pretty low today, I've heard," Tuck replied in a conversational voice, holding a rolled newspaper out to Don. Don, scowling perversely, took it, but did not look through it. "But I will keep you informed when my sources fill me in." He tucked his gloved hands into the pockets of his long overcoat, which could double as a cloak with a simple swish of the wand.

They passed by a coffee vendor, who ignored them until Don ordered two black coffees. Once the currency was clutched in his fist and the coffees warmed the hands of the agents, the vendor went back to ignoring them. Had he been asked hours later, Don and Tuck would be nothing more than a pair of suits.

"This is the section of London where he grew up," Tuck said to Don as they found a spot along the wall to loiter, passing off as regular businessmen discussing a deal over coffee. "Since we haven't seen Pettigrew since the Potters were attacked, I'd wager that he's here, looking for Black as well. What does a boy do when everything's lost? Escape or go back to the beginning."

Don eyed the passing Muggle cars. "It wouldn't be hard for Black to flee the country," he observed. "He's as good as the rest of us."

Which is what worries me, Tuck thought as he took another swallow of coffee. "I don't think he would have fled yet. They slapped a lock on the Apparation points, remember? And he's got to be innocent," he remarked, waving the hand occupied by the coffee at Don to emphasise his point. "Why bother showing up on the crime scene if you're innocent?"

Don snapped his fingers, trying to think. "Well, and I'm not saying that he is guilty, but he could be throwing off the trail. Officials won't even think to look for him here. When you're guilty, it's never prudent to return to such an obvious place. Black was with the brightest of the lot—and they know that."

Don's words did make sense, Tuck agreed queasily. Unlike Hugh, however, he would not believe that Sirius Black was capable of such outright betrayal—of all of them. Instead of answering Don's observations, he scanned the crowd and nearly splashed coffee down his front. There was a crowd gathering on the street corner, and this did not bode well with all of the experience Tuck had gained in the Muggle world. "C'mon!" he snapped, hauling on Don's shoulder. Taking one last gulp from the rejuvenating, vile liquid, he flung the styrofoam cup into a nearby waste receptacle. "Trouble!"

Paying no heed to the racing traffic, they sprinted out into the street and immediately shoved through the crowd. Seemingly from nowhere, they had produced a pair of billfolds with nondescript warrant cards and were shouting, "Step aside! Excuse me, sir, ma'am, step aside!"

People stumbled into each other as Don and Tuck nudged and shouldered their way through, still waving the billfolds. "What's the big idea?" a teen yapped as Tuck pushed him to the side.

"Official business. Disperse immediately!" Don's voice boomed above the crowd, and several people slunk away guiltily. They reminded Tuck of dogs with their tails between their legs, but he didn't give that thought too much credit. He was busy shoving through the crowd. "Go about your business! No use loitering here!"

"We were promised a show," muttered the insolent youth that had protested Tuck's actions a moment ago. Still, he was slinking off with the rest of his people, so Tuck ignored him and swivelled his head about, trying to find the source of such a show. He moved close enough to Don to mutter, "What's going on? Any idea?"

Don's eyes were dark as he swept the roadside for any signs of danger. "It's something magical, but that's all I can tell you." Years of being Unmentionables usually lent them warnings that something was about to occur, and judging from the fact that the hair on the back of Tuck's neck was standing out straight, it was going to be something large. "I think it's coming from the north, but I'm not sure." Don's sixth sense was honed more finely from his years as a Hit Wizard and political bodyguard, so Tuck had learned long before to follow his friend's instinct.

Tuck trained his eyes on the area to the north. "Say, why aren't there any cars on the road?" he asked in a low tone as they broke free of swarming mass. "Isn't that road usually quite busy at this time of day?"

"Usually." A vertical line appeared between Don's bushy eyebrows as he nodded slowly. Hands tightened on wands, discreetly kept in pockets, and the two men began to hurry north. To outsiders, they appeared to be nothing but in a large hurry to reach an office building on time. "Would you agree with me if I voiced my feelings that something is about to happen?"

Tuck didn't answer, his attention focused on the street ahead. Long legs ate up the distance quickly, and they arrived on the scene, billfolds out and ready to disperse any crowds. However, they quickly tucked these back inside jackets and pulled out their wands when they realised that Sirius Black stood, facing Peter Pettigrew, in the middle of the intersection. With wands drawn. In broad daylight.

The question that immediately struck Tuck was, "Which one is the mouse?" Rail-thin, twenty-two-year-old Sirius Black was only a few away, his wand aimed at plump Peter Pettigrew, who, although the same age, looked much younger. They were in the same position, backs rigid, shoulders heaving, anger blazing as an equal force between them. Tuck, who had never seen shy, timid Peter Pettigrew voice something louder than a polite tone, stared for the shortest of instants. There was no telling which man had initiated the duel, and which was the prey.

Don never hesitated. "Black! Drop the wand!" he hollered, and started to charge out into the street.

"Don't come any closer, Don!" Sirius snapped, his voice hoarse, as though he had not managed to sleep in days. Judged on the events of the past week, he probably hadn't. "This traitor has to die! Azkaban's too good for him!"

Don stopped, but that may have been a result of Peter's next words.

"I'm not the traitor here!" The blubbering image of Peter Pettigrew that sprang to mind was from the year previous, when Tuck had hexed the young man for sneaking up on him during one of Lily and James's frequent barbecues. "It's him, I tell you! Betrayed us all! James and Lily, Sirius, how could you?"

"I never!" Sirius growled, wand hand shaking so badly that Tuck worried he was going to fling off sparks in front of the Muggles. "Mind telling them who the real Secret-Keeper was, Wormtail?"

"NEVER!"

History was made then, on an abandoned street of London as Muggles and wizards looked on. A number of things could have picked this moment: the building tension, the fact that both men had been strung taut, almost to breaking points, the undeniable reality that death of two very dear friends hung like a second shawl over the foggy air. In one screamed curse, everything exploded loose, flinging mayhem everywhere.

Only the luckiest Muggle could have survived such a situation.

When the first wave of fire came, Tuck was thrown backwards, plowing painfully into Don. Only quick reflexes saved either of the pair, for they rolled as soon as they hit the ground and each immediately sprang to his feet. The resulting tremor from the explosion was enough to send Tuck to his knees. Fighting bleeding knees, a pounding head, and a very, very dry throat, Tuck struggled back onto his feet. Being lankier, he was able to reach the street, and Sirius, first. Coughing on the smoke, he found his co-worker kneeling, shocked, at the crater that surrounded the area where Peter Pettigrew had been standing.

A single finger bounced soundlessly as it struck the asphalt.

"I didn't do this!" Sirius gibbered to Tuck in a wide-eyed panic. "I didn't throw that spell! That wasn't me, I tell you!" He grabbed onto the Unmentionable, blue eyes blinking hurriedly in the debris of the spell. Both were coughing from the smoke that the spell had kicked up, but they were still managing communication. "He's…he's…" Words simply failed Sirius Black then, and he clung to Tuck like a lifeline in the middle of an ocean of confusion.

"Only got a finger left," Don observed, voice harder than Tuck had ever heard it in their long years of association. Sirius looked up at the chief Unmentionable, something akin to instinctual panic buried in his stare. "Get some bonds on him, Tuck." Don's own eyes were steely as his wand trained on Sirius, still clutching to Tuck. "Drop your wand, Black."

Too shocked to do much else, Sirius let go of his wand. It bounced and rolled until it lay next to the finger. Once he was certain that Sirius was unarmed, Don sheathed his own wand. "Check my wand, I swear! I never cast that spell! You've got to believe me, Tuck! I didn't! I never!"

Just as Tuck slowly unwound the grip of the gibbering man, the air filled with the sound of popping! all around. Men and women in dark robes appeared on every street corner, in broad daylight, and immediately began to converge on the site. "Aurors," Tuck groaned silently. "How did they…?"

"Get back, get back, you!" Before Tuck could even think of finishing his question, he was being shoved to the side with an unnecessary force. He let out a yell of protest, but was blocked by the hand of another Auror over his mouth, also intent on shouting instructions. Somebody had effectively twisted both hands behind his back, rendering him unable to defend himself. "Get away from him, Muggle! Pigeon, get a memory charm on these two! Get people working on the other survivors! We've got code blue, everybody! I repeat, code blue!"

Over his shoulder, Tuck could see Sirius's shocked expression as two Aurors wrestled him to the ground. "I didn't!"

"Memory charm?" Don demanded, full of indignation at the way the two Unmentionables were being manhandled away from the site. By now, somebody had managed to slip a pair of Muggle handcuffs onto Tuck, despite his struggles. "Just wait one minute, you—!"

"Sir, I will ask that you not complete that sentence," a young woman Auror snapped at him. She looked fresh out of Hogwarts, despite her authoritative voice. "What you have witnessed here is nothing but an exploded gas pipe that was set off by a careless pedestrian lighting his cigarette. There is nothing to be alarmed about." As the two Unmentionables watched, abject horror resplendent on both faces, she pulled out a wand.

Tuck reacted first. "Pigeon, drop the wand." At least, that was what he hoped this young sprite of an Auror was called. Sergeant Blue-in-the-Face had referred to her as such, hadn't he? Struggling against the cuffs, he tried to explain. "We're wizards, not Mugg—"

Don apparently had other ideas of how to deal with incompetent Aurors. "Drop the wand, you sodding son-of-a—"

"Obliviate!"

Not ten feet away, wearing only a set of magic-blocking handcuffs to show that he was now considered a criminal, Sirius Black watched as his last hope sacrificed their memories and futures at the hands of an inept Auror.

It wouldn't strike him until much later, when he was locked down in a filthy, rotting cell on an island that nobody wished to visit, that the force of the memory charm had been a tad stronger than necessary. Only years later would he suspect that perhaps the Auror had indeed meant to force such a strong spell on the pair. That would later send him into a labyrinth of unanswered questions full of doubt and distrust of character. Questions like, "Why did they handcuff Tuck? Why wasn't I given a trial? Why didn't they check my wand?" Eventually, the word "Why?" would drive him mad.

Right now, however, he was left without such doubts. Three full days of unresolved vengeance, anger, despair, and tragedy flew from him as he threw his head back and did the only thing a man at the end of his leash could do in such an unjust situation: he laughed.

-- And so begins the story that will redefine conspiracies everywhere. Review and enjoy! Shout-out goes to Joyce! - SD