A/N: One note on the chapter--Millicent Bagnold is the only Minister JKR listed before Fudge who is close to the time period this story takes place, though she was not appointed until 1980. However, I felt it was better to use an actual canon character rather than make a total new one, so for the sake of the story, I have placed her as the current Minister.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters, places, and all related things are copyright to JKR.

Chapter 11: An Offer of Life and Death

Everything was happening too fast—he could feel his heart pounding, his head throbbing, but he stubbornly ignored both. Regulus didn't even try to hide the sense of excitement that rose inside him as the nearest house burst into orange tongues of flame that danced bright against the enveloping darkness. High above, streetlights shattered and rained shards of hot glass all over the pavement; with a great scrape and groan of metal, the heavy steel poles came crashing down into the earth. Horrible cheers filled the moonless night, and the wind whipped his robes as the green-gray sky churned overhead.

Regulus glanced around and estimated there were about sixty of them, hooded, black-attired, and masked. He had never been in this large of a group before, and noticed the significant change in fearlessness and daring that accompanied the increase in numbers. Jubilant laughter rang out, clear and chilling in the dead air as the procession cleaved a path of destruction forward and left one in their wake. From the rear of the throng their master watched, silently, as the scene unfolded, observing his servants' enthusiasm amusedly. Occasionally, Voldemort would contribute a flick of his wand; there would be a great thunderous bang that drowned out all the others, and a passing structure would collapse in a violent torrent of rubble.

Every few minutes or so, a cluster of the Death Eaters would Disapparate to a different section of the city, for it had been decided that doing so was the most effective way to wreck havoc over a large area as quickly as possible before the authorities realized what was happening. As another collection of five figures vanished in a flurry of black cloth, Regulus noticed that the night had grown suddenly cold, and he looked back. Not far off in the distance he spied a heavy blanket of fog drifting slowly and eerily after them. He heard several faint screams as multiple dark and hooded shapes glided in and out of sight amid the white ocean of swirling mist.

"Wouldn't be a party without the dementors, eh?" A gruff-voiced man beside Regulus said, elbowing him in the ribs a little harder than was necessary.

Regulus didn't reply. He pictured the hideous creatures floating noiselessly in the gloom, searching for the terrified and unsuspecting Muggles whose souls were filled with the things the dementors hungered for and which the prisoners they guarded had not—happiness and hope. Regulus shivered at the thought of their rotten, decrepit hands reaching out, their awful rasping breath, and what would happen next; he forced his sight and mind back to the task at hand.

A pale green light reflected off the silver masks of those around him, and he knew without peering up that someone had fired the Dark Mark into the sky. By this time the commotion they were raising had attracted a good deal of attention from the neighbors; all around people still dressed in their nightclothes emerged from doorways or stared out of windows, their tired faces showing nothing but fear and confusion. The new audience was not unnoticed by the Death Eaters, who immediately welcomed the bystanders with a storm of multicolored curses. Then, a shrill screech of rubber against the road sounded through the din, and the droning wail of approaching sirens filled the evening.

"Stay," commanded Voldemort as some of the Death Eaters glanced around uncertainly. "Their lack of magic makes them weak; they can do nothing to hinder us."

Regulus barely caught sight of the police car as it rounded a corner ahead. In the next moment, it was careening backward, the helpless driver not even getting a chance to begin to comprehend what was going on before his vehicle smashed into the side of a tree at the end of the street. The cruiser rolled onto its side with a dreadful crunch of metal and glass. The lights and siren persisted, but there was no further movement from within the crumpled mass. Again, Voldemort raised his wand as a second car bounded after the first, a fire engine and ambulance in tow, and the emergency vehicles swerved down a side street, seemingly to have not seen the perpetrators or the ruin they had caused.

A cacophony of reverberating CRACKs signaled the return of the others, and Regulus prepared himself to Disapparate with the next group. Detaching itself from the rest of its companions, the new batch of dark-clad figures turned on the spot and was gone.

A fantastic view of enormous buildings and skyscrapers sprang up before his eyes as he appeared in the middle of the dim deserted street. From somewhere close behind him, Regulus heard Rosier remark with a snort, "Bloody Muggle contraption—Apparition puts it to shame." Regulus turned around and saw the Dark wizard gesturing toward an incoming airplane, its blinking lights growing bigger and brighter as it descended on its way to land. But it was his fellow Death Eater's wicked grin that really got Regulus' attention, and it soon became clear that the other three with them shared similar thoughts.

"Rip it out of the sky!" one of the Carrow siblings called with a wheezy laugh.

The same sense of awful excitement thrilled inside Regulus as the craft continued in its approach. Moving as one, the Death Eaters lifted their wands; for an instant it seemed as if nothing had happened, but then, the flying transport gave a vicious wobble, stalling in midair high above. With a sound of failing engines, the plane's nose dipped suddenly, and the whole aircraft followed suit, plummeting to the ground like a giant rock. The area trembled with the impact as the winged vehicle connected with the earth, obliterating all buildings in its way as its momentum dragged it onward, hot sparks flashing out as its underside scraped against the tar.

Their purpose of destruction now fulfilled, the five gathered again to Disapparate, but before they could, a series of firework-like bangs made them start, and the night was filled with black shapes materializing around them. Wands were lowered as they recognized the arrivals.

"We've finished with East End for now," Nott said, spotting the questioning looks from Regulus and his small group. "The others have gone ahead to West End; something about intercepting the last train leaving Charing Cross station—" There was a pause as he quirked an eyebrow at the burning wreckage of the metal bird in the distance. "Trying to outdo us, are you?"

"Trying?" Rosier asked, a note of teasing in his voice. "I think we've succeeded in that direction—" He broke off abruptly, and he gave an involuntary movement with his left arm. Regulus didn't have to wonder what the matter was—he felt the familiar burning sensation on his own forearm. The now larger cluster of Dark witches and wizards exchanged quick glances as they readied themselves to obey the summons.

"Back and forth, back and forth," one of them drawled, tipping her head from side to side as if to emphasize the words. "I hope it at least confuses those stupid Ministry rats."

The rippling surface of the Thames glowed with the portending green light of the skull and twisting serpent that hung suspended in the air high above. The harsh wind had grown even bitterer, and lightening played in the sickly clouds over their heads as the whole of the Death Eaters stood from their vantage point overlooking the mighty river. Ahead was a clear view of the Hungerford bridge which led out from the mouth of Charing Cross station situated on the opposite side of the water, and running steadily upon its tracks was a final departing metro train, its front lights glaring through the unnatural darkness. A few of the robed figures shifted with anticipation.

"Patience," hissed Voldemort as he paced behind the prone line of masqueraders. Black fabric swished after him as he prowled, and between his long white fingers he twirled a dark yew wand. "We shall let it come closer before we strike." As the yellow-headed train drew nearer, he moved around to stand in front of them.

Regulus took the moment to peer over his shoulder; far underneath them on the street tiny shapes scuttled about, and he saw many of them stop to point incredulously at the shining Dark Mark emblazoned against the horizon. Among the panicked Muggles the teenage boy thought he glimpsed a few green cloaks, which the Ministry of Magic employees often wore while on duty. Aurors and Obliviators no doubt, though they seemed not to have realized that the criminals they were searching for were directly above their noses, concealed on the building's high rooftop.

They would not remain oblivious for much longer, however; the masked assembly raised their wands in unison as the Dark Lord issued the command, and the seconds seemed to drag on as they directed their malice toward that lone snake of metal. A trumpeting horn flared out as the train lurched suddenly, and there was a grating scrape as the wheels were forcibly yanked off of their guiding track. With a sharp veer to the left, the long vehicle burst over the edge of the railing and skimmed the top of one of the flanking pedestrian bridges before plunging front first into the murky depths below. The water rushed into the compartments and quickly swallowed the heavy train, which was lost in the inky waves.

"—One of the worst attacks in history—"

"—Is it true they've brought dementors?"

"Might be giants as well, I heard—"

"The Aurors are overwhelmed!"

"—A train derailment happened a few moments ago—"

"I know, Cromwell, I know," Millicent Bagnold snapped, flustered, as she strode hastily down the vast hallway that led to the Ministry of Magic's underground atrium. Ministry employees buzzed chaotically around her, awaiting orders, delivering news updates, and firing off questions much too rapidly for answers. The enormous fireplaces that dotted the length of the walls blazed with a constant flurry of green flames as various witches and wizards arrived and departed, and the charmed paper airplanes zoomed through the air in all directions, carrying their urgent messages beneath their official seals.

A short, bald wizard pushed his way through the crowded hall toward the Minister and the ring of people that revolved about her. His small round face flushed and his glasses askew, the man had to raise his voice to be heard over the pandemonium.

"Crash!" he called. "There's been a plane crash in north London! Flattened a whole line of buildings—"

Bagnold cursed under her breath at the unwelcome announcement. "Merlin's beard, this is ridiculous," she said, momentarily at a loss for words. "How many of them are there? They've managed to hit just about the entire city within a few minutes."

"He's with them Minister," the diminutive wizard swallowed, and the talking hushed considerably as many of the others turned to look at him with nervous eyes.

"Barty," said Bagnold, addressing the Head of Magical Law Enforcement after a brief pause. "Whatever Aurors you can spare I want sent to Downing Street immediately in case the Death Eaters target the Muggle minister. Make certain someone from the Department of Misinformation accompanies them to explain the situation."

The workers scurried off to carry out their designated orders, and the Minister glanced around the area to see if anything else had been neglected. Her gaze flickered upward toward the ceiling where the city of London lurked above.

"Someone double check the security enchantments; we don't want any more surprises here tonight."

"Minister!" a hoarse voice shouted, and she spun around to spot a trembling figure rushing out from one of the hundreds of roaring fireplaces. His robes were covered with a fine layer of soot and his face was sickly pale. His fellow employees stepped out of his way as he stumbled forward.

"What's the matter, Adair?" Bagnold asked, watching concernedly as the frightened man halted in front of her; he opened and closed his mouth several times before finally speaking.

"—It was awful—" he choked out suddenly. "The dementors were everywhere, and not many of us knew how to cast a Patronus….we were trying to calm down some of the Muggles when—" He stopped, as if the very words pained him.

"Yes?" the Minister urged him on. "What is it?"

"We were surrounded; they formed a circle around us."

"The dementors?"

"No, Death Eaters—they got most of us before we could do anything, and then…You-Know-Who came—" He broke off again and turned even whiter. Bagnold reached out and placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, and her grave eyes met his. She swished her wand with her other hand, and a wooden chair appeared out of nowhere.

"Sit down," she said, indicating the new seat. "When you're ready—"

"You don't understand," the wizard gripped her arm hard, giving her a look that showed he thought chairs were trivial matters at the moment. "There's no time! He only let me live to deliver a message."

The Minister froze. "A message?" she repeated. The hall had fallen deathly quiet.

"He requests that you meet with him…personally," the man answered. "No harm will come to you, though you may bring as many Aurors with you as you see fit."

"You can't be serious," one of the green-robed workers scoffed.

"If you choose not to honor his wish," Adair continued as if no one had interrupted, "then the rest of the captives the Death Eaters are retaining will be killed."

Bagnold released her hold on him and drew back, brow furrowing as she considered the new predicament. "If I go, who will come with me?" she said after a period of silence, peering expectantly at the others at her side. "Even if I did trust his word, it would be foolish to go alone."

The remaining Aurors exchanged wary glances.

"How many are held hostage?" one of the witches inquired.

"About thirty-six Muggles, but I don't know how many Ministry employees," Adair replied, breathing a little steadier now. The witch mumbled something, evidently annoyed at the thirty plus lives at stake should the Minister decide not to leave.

"At this point," Bagnold sighed in defeat, "we don't have enough people left to pick and choose who is worth saving. The Ministry can't afford another huge loss in numbers if we still hope to win this war." She faced the hesitant Aurors, an expression of grim determination on her features. "I will discuss this matter no further; I shall go. Those of you willing to accompany me may do so."

Chilling laughter split the night air as dark shapes materialized out of nowhere, and the government representatives froze, the seven Aurors pointing their lit wand tips at the masked strangers cautiously; but the Minister motioned for them to hold as she faced the six Death Eaters, and though the sense of fear was present in her chest, her tone rang with authority.

"Show me directly to your master. I am not in the mood for games tonight," she stated simply. The two foremost figures bowed mockingly toward the witch as they replied.

"Such is our intention," one answered curtly, before turning with his companions and tromping back along the ruinous streets in a mazelike pattern, seemingly just for the purpose of irritating his followers. Bagnold said nothing, however, her gaze fixed on the passing scenes of desolation with increasing displeasure. She soon averted her attention forward as her escorts slowed, and she looked upon a fresh cause for concern.

Spread out before them in the center of the road was a vast ring of Death Eaters, and it was into the middle of this circle that the six leading figures brought her and the Aurors. Bagnold was not at all surprised to find herself face-to-face with the terrified mass of huddled Muggles and Ministry workers, constrained in place by their captors' raised wands. Nevertheless, she did not like the fact that she and her bodyguards had just been shoved into the same situation, and felt a twang of discomfort at the illuminated weapons that were pointed at her back. Beside her, the seven Aurors that had dared to join her glared at their enemies, though they were not foolish enough to attempt anything against them. Outside the black-garbed lasso, no other signs of life could be seen, and Bagnold hazarded a guess that the area itself had been charmed to repel unwanted intruders.

"So our special guest has arrived after all…"

Bagnold visibly jumped as the smooth cold voice spoke, and she stifled a noise as Lord Voldemort stepped forward from the opposite side of the circle; whether her failure to notice him had been due to her own distraction or the doing of Dark magic, she did not know, but it no longer mattered. There was no turning back now. She felt exposed and unprotected without her wand, and her right hand itched to dive into her cloak pocket to retrieve it, but something told her doing so would only complicate the circumstances. A shadow of fear crossed her face for a second, but then it was gone.

"I confess, my dear Minister," continued Voldemort softly, "I half excepted you to decline the invitation."

Another brief flash of emotion showed upon the witch's drawn features at his last word, but again she forced her countenance into one of indifference. "I would hardly call it an invitation," came her clipped reply, though she carefully kept her voice under control.

"I offered you a choice, which you accepted out of your own freewill, did you not?" His red eyes were watching the Minister closely, as if daring her to say otherwise. When she did not speak, however, he went on, "Eight years it has been…."

Again, he paused, but Bagnold maintained her silence.

"Eight long years of terror and death," the words were barely more than a hiss, and yet all those present stood still, as if rooted to the spot, clinging upon each sound. Even the Death Eaters, who rose up like stone sentinels, wands still raised, listened with bated breath as their master began to move back and forth slowly in front of the eight Ministry members. Voldemort's unblinking gaze never wavered from that of his addressee. "Such is the reality of war, as you well know."

A shrill yell emerged from the herd of hostages as one of the frightened Muggles shouted out, overwhelmed by the night's events and possessing no hope to comprehend what was taking place. A few of the Death Eaters focused their lit wand tips on the wailing woman, who was quickly hushed with the resounding bang of a Silencing Charm. An Auror on Bagnold's right, having mistaken the figures' intention to be more malevolent, charged forward suddenly, brandishing his own wand. By the time he had realized they had only purposed a Silencing Charm, however, it was too late to correct his mistake. In a single fluid motion, one of the masked shapes had redirected its aim, and a bright green streak of light rushed through the air, striking the unprepared wizard square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground and moved no more.

Bagnold utterly failed to quell her cry during this demonstration, and she called out in fear and fury, "Liar! You gave your word no damage would befall us here!" The other six Dark Wizard Catchers stared about nervously as they retained their protective positions by her side.

Voldemort's eyes glittered with malice as he answered coolly, "Did I? Certainly, Minister, I promised you would meet no harm, but I said nothing of your companions." He reached down and withdrew the black yew wand, sliding the piece of wood through his fingers lazily.

Bagnold blinked in disbelief as she understood her blunder in taking words for granted. She eyed the evil wand apprehensively, and the quiet pressed down heavily over all.

Finally, the Dark Lord spoke again, his silky voice more dangerous this time, "Every loss of magical blood is a waste, and regretful." It was ironically clear, however, as he resumed his pacing that he was far from remorseful regarding what had just occurred. "The dwindling of the wizarding race is a most undesirable thing, and it is for the preservation of the magical population that I have requested this parley. The current strife has brought about unnecessary death. You have the power to end it tonight, Minister." Voldemort stopped directly before Bagnold, and his intense stare bore into her own until she was compelled to look away. "I present to you a choice, now at this very moment, to cease your people's suffering. All it would take is a simple truce, and all of the affliction will be no more."

"Truce?" Bagnold breathed, not in a particular rush to trust all of her enemy's words this time. "Under what conditions?"

"The terms would be easy enough; Lord Voldemort is merciful. I shall call off my Death Eaters and the war shall come to a peaceful end. All I ask in return is for you to remove yourself from the picture, to pose no opposition that would prevent me from seizing control over the Ministry."

If the Minister had been surprised before, it was nothing to contest with the look of utter shock that now dominated her expression. For several seconds she only managed to return a blank stare, and she opened her mouth to no avail; no response emerged.

"I-I can't—" She swallowed. "You can't just expect me to—" she stumbled over her words again in incredulity, "—surrender my position like it is nothing."

"If you refuse," said Voldemort perilously, "then you give me no option but to double my assault until the Ministry crumples in defeat."

"It is my job to protect and support the magical population as well as the non-magical one. I won't—"

"Would a true protector condemn her subjects to torment and death?" Voldemort countered. "Such is the fate you are handing them."

"I will not neglect them by giving them up," the witch stated, though her voice quivered. "They will endure and stand strong if given the right support."

"Do not pretend, Minister," said Voldemort quietly. "If given the chance, you would not hesitate to resign from such a—wearisome—occupation."

"I didn't say so."

"No, but you are thinking it."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Bagnold dithered on the spot, evidently taken aback at how easily her mind had been invaded. A muted snicker rippled along the stationary ring of Death Eaters, and a number of unfriendly eyes peered mockingly at the uneasy witch.

"Clearly then, you already know my answer," she replied with controlled asperity. "I see no further reason to prolong this discussion, for its only purpose appears to be my degradation."

"Will you not voice your decision for the benefit of our audience, or shall I do so for you?" The Dark Lord's scarlet gaze flickered over the remaining Aurors with feign interest. "It is inconsiderate to leave your companions in the dark…or perhaps you have abandoned them already?"

The Minister's eyes narrowed and she clenched her hands in a mixture of humiliation and frustration. The ever-present reminder posed by the masked figures and their wands prevented any sort of recklessness on her part.

"My final choice is no," she announced aloud, slowly, not daring to drop her guard by turning to face the Aurors behind her. "I will not sign away the magical government while there is still hope for England—"

"Hope for England?" a Dark Wizard on Bagnold's left scoffed. "I belief it ran out of that a long time ago."

The man fell silent as his master held up a pale, spidery hand.

"We should respect such a faithful conviction, Nott," Voldemort reprimanded dismissively, observing the Minister's agitation with unpleasant satisfaction. "No matter how foolishly optimistic it may be." Shifting back to seriousness once more, he continued with finality, "Very well, so be it. The war commences, except for this time, Minister, you will know it is because of you that it happens. You had the power to avoid such a disaster, but were too weak to use it. Now, you shall watch as your beloved government is leveled to the ground."

And with that, the army of wicked antagonists vanished, leaving the poor witch to deal with the frantic captives and the muttering Aurors.

Well, thanks for reading, and as always reviews are appreciated!

-PurpleArmadillo