A young woman popped into existence alongside a country road. Only by the moon's light was she distinguishable from the surrounding darkness. It had been months since the few street lamps in the area had ceased to work. Despite the warmth of the late summer evening, she wore a black cloak that fell to her feet. Its hood shadowed her face though there was no one about to recognize her.

Through the sparse wood rising on the knoll before her, she could see the bulk of a large house at its crest. Not a single light shone from within. However, she knew this did not indicate vacancy. Only a desire for utmost secrecy.

She pulled a wand from inside her garb. Her head moved slowly from side to side, ensuring that she was alone. "Lumos," she muttered. A small light expanded from the wand's tip. Her hand trembled as she held it out from her.

"Mortpresage," she hissed. A glowing, green column of smoke erupted from its end. Wriggling and expanding, it wound into the shape of the dark mark. It sent a thrill through her. People had learned to fear this sign. Power emanated from its very appearance. Being able to conjure the sign gave her that dominance. Potential swelled around her, and the prospects were titillating.

The insects continued to whir, and nothing happened as the mark faded. She was about to repeat the signal when a popping noise stilled her motion.

Another cloaked figure appeared beside her. Its tall stature and broad shoulders suggested that it was a man. His voice confirmed it in a moment. "Expelliarmus."

The young woman allowed the wand to be taken from her. It had barely left her fingers before her new companion grabbed her left arm and yanked back her sleeve. She lost her balance and stumbled toward him. The light from her own wand lit her forearm. Just below the crook of her elbow, a skull with a snake twisting from its mouth began to glow.

"Follow me," he said gruffly and released her. He did not return her wand but tucked it into his own cloak. It seemed as if he knew his way well enough for the moon to be his only lighting. He walked quickly, his footing sure, and the girl had to scramble to keep up. He wound his way up the path, through the trees. It was a steady climb upward, and soon the girl struggled to keep up. A stitch built in her side and her lungs began to burn as her breath emerged in painful gasps. But she never allowed herself to fall more than a few steps behind him.

More than once, she thought of requesting a moment's rest but determined not to look weak, she pushed herself forward. Her back was damp with sweat by the time they crested the hill and stopped before a large iron gate.

Her guide withdrew his wand. By its light, she could read the words embedded in the gate's scroll. Tantum Purissimo. He muttered a few words and placed his hand, still grasping his wand, against the gate. A bluish light flared beneath his fist and the gate sprang open without a creak. He swept through.

For a moment, the girl hesitated, as she craned her neck to stare up at the dark manor before her. Was the Dark Lord possibly here, right now? What if he were bringing her to him?

"We haven't all night," the man growled.

She steeled herself and hurried in after him. The gate clanged shut behind her. Her guide was already halfway along the rounded drive, and she had to sprint to catch up.

At the door, he again muttered a few words beyond her hearing. The heavy wood swung open easily, as if it weighed no more than a wisp of hair. She'd barely cleared the entrance when it slammed behind her, making her jump into her guide.

She felt the swish of his cloak as he swept around to look at her. But the darkness inside was more profound than out, and she could not make out his expression.

"Give me your hand." He sounded exasperated, but not entirely unkind. Speaking normally, his voice had a deep, youthful quality. She wondered if he weren't as old as she had first thought.

She wasn't sure how he could see but she extended hers. He took it and turned again to lead her along, through the foyer. His hand dwarfed hers, but it was smooth and supple. As he led her forward, his grip became so tight that her hand cramped painfully, but she didn't dare protest. Their footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged entry, his even and long, hers pattering to keep up, until they were muffled on the carpet-lined stairs. They climbed a curved stairway and turned from the landing into a dimly lit corridor. The walls were lined with sleeping portraits, though it was too dark for her to distinguish who occupied the frames. She followed him down it and around a corner to a shorter, slightly better lit corridor.

In the light of the torches, she saw that the double doors to which he led her were of old, stained oak and had been carved with twining vines. Among these, on each door, the motto on the gate was repeated.

He let go of her hand and opened the door for her, holding it until she had preceded him through. The room appeared to be a study. Three of the walls were lined with ceiling-high shelves of books that rose beyond the light of the candles. A large desk, where the candles rested, faced outward from the corner. Drapes had been drawn over the window at the focal point of the wall facing the doorway. She could see little beyond the small circle of light.

"Thank you," murmured a lilting voice. The girl started, not having seen the woman engulfed in shadow at first. Now she emerged from the darkened end of the room into the light. She wore draping cranberry robes that swooped low, but tastefully, over her well-endowed chest. A long wave of auburn hair fell over her shoulder, accenting a high, alabaster forehead, delicate cheekbones and small, dark eyes that seemed to glitter. Her thin, pink lips turned downward as if she were perpetually displeased. Her face was chillingly pretty. The girl could not decide whether the woman before looked kind or cruel, and the balance always trembled.

The man bowed himself out of the room. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

He disappeared, leaving the two females alone. As uncommunicative as her guide had been, she much preferred his presence to that of the woman before her.

"Tea?"

Unable to speak, the girl shook her head.

"Very well. It's a little warm anyway. Come," the woman gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. "We have some things to discuss."

The girl cleared her throat. "Yes."

"Then sit."

Her body reacted to the command before her mind, and she found herself seated in a comfortable arm chair. The woman swept around to the other side of the desk and settled herself into her own seat.

"I must say, you are very fortunate. The Dark Lord has picked you for a very important task. Complete it successfully, and you will earn your way into his trust. But fail," the woman's voice trailed off into a chuckle. One that sent a shiver down the girl's back. "Well, shall we say the Dark Lord is not one to disappoint. But, I get ahead of myself." The woman picked up a peacock quill and dipped it in her ink. "If we our to build the glorious future that our lord envisions, we must include those who are going to bear, spread and continue its creed. And for that, we need those like you, students who will learn to become leaders in a world of magical might. Hogwarts is the perfect place to begin. But we must target those sympathetic to our cause, at least, at first, so as not to arouse the suspicion of people like—like that Headmaster."

She spat the word, as if contaminated her mouth. "Perhaps you could give me a list of those interested in joining us?"

Licking her lips, the girl began, starting with those eager to become a part of the Dark Lord's forces before adding those who could be swayed either way.

"But we've already started sifting people through. Figuring out who's serious about it and such," she concluded. "Those who prove their loyalty find their way to you."

The woman tapped the quill against her lips for a few moments. "Very good," she murmured. She touched the parchment on which she had recorded the names, and it went blank.

Warmed by the praise, the girl sat up a little straighter. But the woman's next words brought a frown to her face.

"Lily Evans. What can you tell me about her?"

"The Mudblood? The professors think she's brilliant. Hogwarts's golden girl, you know? Severus Snape used to hang about her, but I think he finally came to his senses."

"Indeed. What else do you know?"

"The Professors adore her. She's a member of Slug Club—that's the group of students Professor Slughorn believes are going to be useful connections in the future. She's practically a shoe in for Head Girl. She has dated several of Hogwarts's most eligible young men. Only one who can't seem to get her is Potter." Bitterness made the girl's words brittle.

The woman arched a carefully drawn eyebrow at this tidbit. "Potter? He's friends with the Black boy? And Lupin?"

"Sirius? Yeah, him and Lupin."

"There's another one. Another friend, too?"

It occurred to the girl that this woman was well-informed about these particular Gryffindors. However, given the Black family's dedication to the cause and the Potter lineage, perhaps it was not such a surprise. "Pettigrew? He's considered one of the four, but he's the sycophantic sort. Probably couldn't figure out which end to hold his wand if he weren't friends with the others. He comes across tough when he's around Potter and Black but squeaks like a house-elf if you corner him alone."

The woman's eyes gleamed, and she blotted her parchment in her haste to take notes.

Leaning forward, the girl tried to see what she wrote, but the spindly words disappeared before an entire sentence was complete.

"Does Lily Evans have a boyfriend?" inquired the woman, drawing the parchment closer to herself.

"No. She was dating a Ravenclaw named Calum Dwyre, but they broke up in May."

"Do you know why?"

"Calum was fairly upset about it. He would only say that they just realized that they weren't meant to be."

"Has she been seeing anyone since?"

"Rumor has it Nott and Mulciber walked in on her sh—er—in a compromising position—with Black. But that's only a rumor, and not a well-grounded one." As much as the girl disliked the red-headed goody two shoes, she refused to stoop beyond verifiable facts. However, the woman seemed delighted by all of this information and continued to scratch out a series of notes.

Finally, the older Death Eater looked up and set down her quill. "Your help tonight has been invaluable."

"Is that all, then?" she asked, trying to keep disappointment from her voice. She had expected something more than reporting a list of potential recruits and gossiping about Lily Evans's love life. She heard enough of that at school.

The woman shook her head, and her bangs slipped into her eyes. "No, this was only preliminary business. But your task does pertain to the subjects of our conversation." She leaned forward, and despite the woman's beauty, her long nose and small eyes unpleasantly reminded the girl of a rat, as did the beadiness in her eyes. "The Dark Lord wants Lily Evans and James Potter. And you're going to deliver them to him. From what you tell me, he'll want to see them at the same time. But there are a few other things you'll need to do before then."

The girl smiled as the details of the assignment were laid out before her. Who knew why the Dark Lord wanted to personally meet that Mudblood. But this, this was a job worthy of her.