"Alright, have a twirl, then," Jacques said. "Let's see if it turned out right." He was a slight man, with a thin boyish face and shiny blond hair that he kept smoothed back. His left arm was sore due to the tattoo he had recently gotten there- the infamous skull and snake.

"How do I look?" Samantha asked, turning left and right to show off her new form. She was tall, medium build, messy black hair, thick glasses, and currently male. Before she drank the Polyjuice, she had been slightly shorter than average, pretty, vivacious, with chestnut hair and soft brown eyes.

Jacques frowned in thought. "Your spine is too straight," he said. "Potter is stooped, like this." He slumped slightly to demonstrate. "Quidditch player in Hogwarts, you know. Spent too much time hunched over a broomstick."

Samantha bent her back a bit. "And now?"

"Perfect."

"Alright. Visuals check out. Now for the hard part."

Jacques sighed and smiled. "The voice. Hit me with your best shot, love."

She grinned a crooked grin, a specific character tic of the subject she'd been practicing ever since the brewing began. "Wotcher, Sirius. Good to be home. Where's Lily?"

He shook his head. "The accent, dearheart."

"What?"

"Way too cockney. At the start of the sentence it was in the country, then it moved to London to start its career. I mean, you sound like Michael Caine, if anyone."

"Who?"

Jacques sighed. Purebloods. He was half and half, but knew better than to admit it now that he had picked his side. "Never mind. Remember, it's more of a middle class, Cornish dialect. He's from Godric's Hollow."

"Wotcher, Sirius. It's good to be home. Where's Lily?"

"And how many aitches does 'home' have?"

Samantha nodded sharply. "Wotcher, Sirius. It's good to be home. Where's Lily?"

Jacques nodded absently and smoothly took on a rough London accent reminiscent of Black. "Hey, James. She's just out back. Where have you been, mate?"

Samantha gave the crooked grin again. "Dumbledore's had me patrolling half of bloody Scotland. Not a Death Eater in sight."

"Must have known you were after 'em, eh?"

"Or they decided that it was too rainy to be out causing trouble. Show's they're smarter than I am."

Jacques raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "You got it. The vocal rhythms, the mannerisms, the look, the voice... You're set."

She laughed, a strangely feminine laugh coming from a man's throat. If he hadn't known the man was a Polyjuiced woman, he would have instantly labelled him as light in the loafers. "I'm feeling good about this. We're going to pull off the big one, Jacques. I can feel it."

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close. "I love you."

"Even in this body?" she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He slipped a hand down the front of her trousers. She sucked in breath.

"Oh, wow," she breathed after a while.

"That's how I feel every time you come to me," he whispered in her ear. "Am I not the luckiest man in all of Britain?"

"We have less than hour before I change back," she hissed urgently. "Let's use it."

Later, after the hour was up and she was herself again, they lay in Jacques' bed holding each other, with the blanket strewn haphazardly over their legs.

"After we pull this off," Samantha murmered, "you can be a lady and we'll do this again. Just to be fair about it."

"You are so beautiful when you get all perverted."

Sirius was leaning up against the gate of the Prewett Estate, casually smoking from a long cherrywood pipe, when the call came in over the mirror.

Sirius blew a stream of purple smoke and shook his head. Only three people in the world were connected into the mirror network, and all three knew better than to contact him when he was pulling security.

"Better be important, boys," he muttered. He tapped the smoldering tobacco out of the bowl, dug into his jacket pocket to take out the mirror.

Sirius looked at himself in the mirror and said, "I solemnly swear every fucking day."

He sighed as his reflection dissolved away to be replaced by James' face. That spell had seemed so funny in 7th year. One of these days he would have to sit down with Remus and change the incantation.

"Wotcher, Sirius."

Sirius rose one eyebrow in surprise. "Hey, James. What's up? I'm pulling guard duty right now."

"I'm going to need to break off my patrol and come back to the headquarters to pick up the Roland Darvey file."

"Why?"

"I just saw him give three known Death Eaters a couple of bags of gold. I'm tailing him, but I need to get in there and get out in a bloody heartbeat."

"Might have some trouble with that," Sirius reflected. "Since the place is on lock down till McGonagall sorts out the Longbottom's new hiding place."

"Damn it, Padfoot, I don't have the time! Darvey is moving. If I can Apparate in, grab the file, and Apparate out in under a minute, that would be perfect."

Sirius scratched his neck. "Just go through the channels, James. You're out with Richard Whiskay, right? He's good enough to keep tabs of Darvey while you grab the info."

"Whiskay got Counfounded in a skirmish just before I came across Darvey's meeting. I Stunned him for his own safety and stashed him under an Oak tree."

Sirius smirked. "Are you serious?"

"Yes! Now come on, bend the bloody rules and let me in there for the file!"

"Alright, you got it. Five minutes from now, come to Northern Gate. I can get you in just this once."

"Thanks, mate."

"Alright. Cheers, mate."

"Cheers."

As James' image dissolved, Sirius dropped his customary grin and relaxed his face into a look of concern. Five minutes. More than enough time. He took out his wand, checked for anyone suspicious nearby, and cast his Patronus- a silver Hyena. He gave it very specific directions to give to Dumbledore.

"Wotcher, Prongs." Sirius grinned easily. He had a face that was designed for cocky cheerfulness. He was dressed in muggle clothes, to avoid arousing suspicion from muggle passers by. Sirius was wearing a black leather jacket over a torn up white t-shirt, with tight black jeans and Doc Martens completing the ensemble. A minor charm kept his shaggy hair stuck up at uncouth angles. He took an absurd pleasure in how ridiculous his outfit looked, and treasured every wince and sigh his friends gave when they saw him. When Alastor Moody had taken him out to research muggle attire, they had unfortunately stumbled upon a Sex Pistols concert. No one could convince him that he didn't blend in with ordinary muggles.

"Sirius. Thanks a lot for this, I mean it," Samantha said. The body was perfect, the voice was spot on. The stance and the balance were both in line with the real Potter. Now it was time to stop thinking and be the role. "Let's go."

"When did you get the mirror back?" Sirius asked casually. "I thought you lost it Tuesday?"

Samantha shook her head. Damn, it didn't take Potter long to notice it was gone. "Found it again yesterday."

"Where was it?"

"My swag bag, near the bottom."

Sirius snorted. "Always the last place you look."

"Come on," she said. "We're low on time."

Sirius nodded as he lifted his wand to turn off the wards in his sector. "In quick, James. And get back out as fast as you can. Dumbledore would chew me up and spit me out if he found out I was breaking protocol."

Samantha mimed tipping a hat to him, then sprinted across the lush grass of the yard to the Manor. It was working. She was inches from the beating heart of the Order of the Phoenix, and no one suspected a thing. She laughed her feminine laugh here where no one could hear her.

When she wrenched open the servant's entrance to Prewett Manor and rushed through the kitchen, somebody hidden in the corner behind the door Stunned her in the back.

She was leaned up against a wall. Stone, by the feel of it on her head. She couldn't shift her arms from her sides, nor move her legs at all. She recognized the spell as Petrificas Totalus.

It was dark. It was damp. She was sore on her head from the grit on the wall digging in. She was suddenly sure that she was about to die. They had caught her and there was no way out. Jacques couldn't get in to save her- not here, where even the Dark Lord would think twice before challenging the wards.

She couldn't see, and she was about to die. Her last sight on earth was going to be the kitchen area of Prewett Manor, the dulled wooden floor and tarnished sink. The thought was impressively depressing.

"This is me, then, is it?" a familiar voice said. It would be familiar- she had studied it enough over the last four months to know it when she heard it. James Potter was in the room with her. "My own personal doppelganger?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "He had you down cold, too."

"Well, I hear that imitation's the sincerest form of flattery. Is he awake?"

"His eyes were closed when I cast the Body Bind," a third voice. "Asleep and awake look the same."

"Hmm. Ennervate!"

A warm, surging flow of magic rushed through her from her head down to her toes. If she had been asleep, that would have woken her, alright.

"Unchanged, see?" the third voice said. "But undoubtably awake."

"I think that if this interview is going to go anywhere, then he'll need to be able to actually, you know, talk."

"On it," Sirius said. He conjured up ropes that bound her tight enough to hurt. The force of the spell toppled Samantha off the wall, and she picked up a few scrapes because she couldn't control her fall. Her limbs loosened in the bonds- the Body Bind was gone. She strugged against the ropes for a moment, then stopped, breathing hard.

"Hi," James said. "Please to meet you. My name's James Potter, but I suspect you knew that already. Now how about you be a sport and tell us all who you are, and why you felt the need to adopt my handsome features?"

She just laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and didn't say a word.

"Um," the third voice said. "Prongs."

"Yeah? What is it, Pete?"

"Have I ever told you how attractive you'd be if you were a girl?" The third voice, Peter Pettigrew, sounded like it was holding back laughter.

"What are you..." James trailed off. "Oh, Merlin's nut."

"Hour's up," Peter remarked. "Anybody recognize the face?"

"Nope," Sirius said.

"Yes," James said. "Samantha Colgrave. She's Amelia Bones' niece. She's been spending a lot of time with Lily and me this last couple of months."

"Seriously?" Sirius asked. "Well, bloody hell. So it is. Didn't recognize her in your duds."

"And she's a Death Eater now? Or what?" Peter asked.

"I don't see a Dark Mark, Peter, but that don't mean much. Just by trying to sneak in here with my face proves she's picked her side. You can't trust anyone these days..."

No, she thought dully. I guess you can't. It had all seemed so clear cut while she was planning this caper out with Jacques- the whole world was at war, and you had to pick a side. And bringing an armload of the Order's secrets to the Dark Lord would assure them a grand welcome to the winning side. Who would want to be caught in the middle in a war like this one?

"Huh. Well," Peter said. "Now what?"

James sighed audibly. "Now I'll go tell Dumbledore we've caught a live one. He'll take it from there." He paused. "My guess is she's for Azkaban."

His footsteps got duller and quieter as he left the room and walked down the hall.

Sirius nudged her with his boot to get her attention. "By the by. It was a little suspicious that James would lose his mirror to start with. It's not like a Chocolate Frog card, we would never leave one behind the sofa and forget about it. When you called up, it was a bit dodgey. So I ran a little test by you to see if you were real; I made up Richard Whiskay on the spot, and you flunked out. After that, well, we set you up for failure."

She didn't say anything.

"Just saying. You're smart, but you didn't take into account that we can be smart too."

He fell silent. In fact, it was silent down there in the Prewett's cellar for a long time. Samantha had no words, Sirius had spoken his piece, and Peter was as unobtrusive as ever.

Jacques stood in the rank with the other Death Eaters. Jacques was glad of his bone white mask. It kept all emotions hidden. That was invaluable, because he was sure that his thoughts of Samantha would show on his face if it was uncovered.

Samantha, who even now was being introduced to her cell in Azkaban. He told himself that when the Dark Lord was victorious, the gates of Azkaban would be broken forever and his faithful released. He would be there for her, when she was free again. He had to be. And if she had been broken... well, she wouldn't be. But if the Dementors had cracked her mind, then he'd take care of her. Do anything for her. He had to, he was the one who sent her in harm's way

His concern for his lover was put on the back shelf of his mind as the Dark Lord swept into the parlor room of Malfoy Manor with the grace of a living ghost.

Two dozen pairs of eyes followed their master behind skull masks.

"My Death Eaters," he said quietly. "I have summoned you here for two purposes."

Twelve Death Eaters subtly tensed.

"The first reason is demonstrate the rewards of loyalty and competence. Lucius Malfoy, stand forth."

One masked man in black robes stepped forward.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said. "My faithful, my right hand, my strongest servant."

Lucius bowed deeply from the waist, then straightened.

"Lucius was succeeded where many others have failed. Lorenzo MacTogger is dead, slain at his hand. But before finishing him, our own Lucius successfully wrung the names of three undercover Aurors from him, and verified it through Legilimancy. I have elevated to be my second in command. When he gives an order, obey as though it was from my own mouth."

Lucius bowed again, with more flourish than was strictly necessary. The Dark Lord smiled- he had perhaps the most emotionless smile the Death Eaters had ever seen. It wasn't that it was overtly cruel, or obvious insane. It was just empty of all humanity. The mouth moved and teeth were partially exposed, but that was it. Nothing human crossed their Master's face.

The Dark Lord's cold blue eyes swept the room. "And how many here can lay such a windfall at my feet, I wonder."

Eleven uncomfortable pairs of feet shuffled.

"The second reason is to demonstrate the wages of failure. Jacques Colbeaux, stand forth."

He abruptly realized that he should have been worrying about himself, but it was far too late for that. He was glad of the robes. They hid his shaking legs.

He sank to his knees and cleared his throat. "My lord, I am yours to command."

"And how could I command you, Jacques?" the Dark Lord asked. "You are a fool, less fit to carry out my orders than a house-elf."

Nervous titters from his comrades at his back.

"My lord," he said through his shivering lips and a skull mask, "I live only to serve you. I have failed you once, but it will not happen again, I swear."

"You lie," his Master hissed. "You live to serve yourself. Do not try to deceive me, Jacques, for the Dark Lord knows. He always knows."

"M-my lord, please-"

"You took my Mark because you were scared to fight me," the Dark Lord stated flatly. "That was good. It shows you are possessed of some intelligence. Yet despite your wit, you did not have it in you to do your duty. Crucio!"

Ten thousand white hot needles jammed themselves into every inch of his body. He screamed with the high-pitched cries of the damned.

"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

Jacques took leave of the world and knew only unbearable agony. He forgot his own name, he forgot how to speak, he forgot how to stand, and for a few terrifying and confusing seconds, he forgot how to breath as well. All of those details were unimportant compared to the never ending stream of horror coursing through his nervous system.

By the time the Dark Lord was done with him, two hours later, he had even forgotten about Samantha as well.

Lucius Malfoy was charged with getting rid of the body, which he did with professional skill and obvious practice.