And here we are at the beginning of another epic, novel-length story. "The Hogwarts Six and the Darkest Wizard" is the sequel to "The Brightest Witch and the Darkest House"; noting it here since there wasn't enough space in the title. It could be read as a standalone though, since the first few chapters will recap the major events in our heroes' first three years of Hogwarts - except for the secret ones, that is.

This starts at the end of Harry's third year and will go through 4th, 5th, and 6th year. The only AU point is Hermione being replaced by a darker, more ambitious muggleborn OC in the previous book, resulting in Harry making some friends in Slytherin, and changes snowballing from there. The first chapter introduces the current situation, while the second chapter will introduce our heroes. It will be an epic story, with epic action, epic magic, and epic plots. Romance too, though no epic sex since it isn't allowed.

Enjoy!

Dislcaimer: did the Death Eaters act in the muggle world during the first war without blowing the Statute of Secrecy despite the average wizard's total inability to blend in? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter: it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is totally free and for fun.

xxxx

"...the Minister's wounds appeared to be creature-induced according to the memories Headmaster Dumbledore shared with us, and we did, in fact, find signs of mostly healed organ failure due to Manticore poisoning." At that, Hippocrates Smethwyck looked up from his notes at the wizard in question and inclined his head respectfully while ignoring his nominal superior's annoyance. The fairly young Healer had always had talent in dealing with creature-induced injuries and if all went well, he'd soon rise to a higher position when some... older staff were rotated off St. Mungo's. Nobody could handle dealing with magical emergencies forever, but Smethwyck was young enough to still want to do it and capable enough to pull it off, if he said so himself. And if he could make his name in this case with the Minister with the Head of the DMLE and the Chief Warlock present... "It hadn't been injected via a Manticore's sting though as the injury didn't match such an attack, and as Mr. Fudge didn't die outright I can only assume the venom had been diluted or otherwise reduced in potency."

"Yes, yes, we know how Manticore stings work, Hippocrates." Healer-in-charge Andromeda Tonks said impatiently. Tall, dark-haired, no-nonsense, with great skill when it came to countering Dark magic, and the bane of all young Healers' existence. "If you want to be in charge of your own hospital ward come next year, you'd better exchange verbiage for efficiency." Hippocrates Smethwyck gulped at that, while Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, Amelia's own were rolled upwards in exasperation, and Cornelius Fudge remained on his hospital bed, unconscious and unresponsive.

"Yes, well, the Minister's injury matched the bite marks of some nonmagical species of rodents, none of which are poisonous to begin with. In my opinion, the poisoning was foul play, the bite only a red herring." Amelia Bones snorted loudly at that, tossing her prematurely greying red mane in a practiced move calculated to display the maximum amount of annoyance. Of course there was foul play involved; the Minister of Magic had been poisoned with Death Eaters at the scene, both pardoned and otherwise. Being in her position was hardly easy to begin with and the way things were going, she'd lose what color in her hair she'd left before the night was out. Throwing a glance at her old classmate, she snorted again. If twelve years in Azkaban had not managed to turn Sirius Black's hair grey, she doubted Andromeda call-me-Tonks Black would need dyes before she was ninety. "Which brings us to the real danger to the Minister's health, which is not a poison at all." Smethwyck finished, drawing everyone's attention once more.

"What first caught our examiners' eye was the Minister's unconsciousness. Despite everything, he had not been injured enough to remain in that state - not after Headmaster Dumbledore's familiar had provided him with Phoenix tears. All diagnostic charms pointed to a bad reaction to the shock of the attack. They still do." The Healer shook his head, shifted through his notes and continued. "That was when the Minister caught on several magical diseases from patients in a neighboring ward. In fact, he caught on all of them; the chances of that happening are astronomically tiny with all the precautions we usually take. Cures were administered in a timely manner... to one of which Mr. Fudge developed a very rare allergic reaction. We shifted him to another ward for treatment... and one of the nurses slipped and fell on him, resulting into multiple fractures despite the mild impact."

"Which was when I had him checked out for curses." Healer Tonks interrupted again. "The one we found on him was powerful, vindictive, and very Dark."

"You're confirming that the Minister has been intentionally cursed?" The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement asked, taking notes of her own now. It was one of the reasons she'd come to St. Mungo's after all. The other was yet to be decided, but she had her suspicions. "How bad is it, is the Minister's life in danger, and how soon will he recover?"

"You misunderstand, Director Bones." The regal, dark-haired, dark-robed Healer-in-charge said in her cultured, always-calm, always-superior voice. "The kind of curse we found on Mister Fudge comes from major Dark Magic, where a death is involved. It won't kill him, but it will make him wish he were dead. Conventional Healing magic can't cure it either." With a deft flick of her wand, she cast a complex diagnostic charm and scowled once more. "There is no concrete, documented evidence, but I have seen this curse once before myself. Before becoming a Healer, that is." The dark-haired witch's expression had become positively murderous now, intimidating Healer Smethwyck into taking several steps back. Dumbledore didn't seem to be affected though, and Amelia was made of sterner stuff. Not only did she receive death threats from the families of Dark witches and wizards she'd comvicted on a regular basis, but she'd faced that exact scowl from her old classmate back in '71 when Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black had come to Hogwarts to visit her sister and... convince her not to marry muggleborn Ted Tonks. The future Death Eater had left the castle empty-handed. Also, thouroughly cursed.

"So it would not hold up in court then." Amelia mused. A pity. Better evidence would have given her a reason to search the primary suspect's property thoroughly, and even if Lucius Malfoy turned out to be innocent of the attack on the Minister, he would certainly be guilty of other things. Amelia hated all those who'd been allowed to go free after claiming the Imperius, but her own morals and adherence to the Law prevented her from hunting them down. On the other hand, the Ministry needed a fair, incorruptible Department Head more than it needed another witch hunt. "Out of curiosity, what was Mr. Fudge cursed with?"

"He wasn't." Andromeda Tonks said. "He imbibed, or was force-fed, blood from a slain unicorn." Even Dumbledore's usual amusement vanished at that announcement, and for good reason. Magically-speaking slaying a unicorn was as dark and foul as human sacrifice, except the unicorn's own magic retaliated by cursing its blood; the only part of the unicorn one needed to harm it to retrieve, and the most magically potent. No wonder the Minister couldn't be healed.

"I see." Amelia said in the end. Yet another heinous act she had to let go unpunished due to lack of evidence, but at least the rest of the medical report had been detailed enough. "Thank you for the information, Healer Smethwyck, Healer Tonks. Now excuse me; I need to deliver it personally to the Ministry given the delicate nature of the case." She stalked out of the Spell Damage ward, wordlessly greeted the two Aurors standing guard at the entrance, and mentally prepared herself for memory-sharing. In a high-profile case such as this, simple parchmentwork would not do. At least all persons involved were magical and of-age this time.

"One moment Amelia." Dumbledore said from right behind her, somehow catching up to her in his stately walk. She resisted the impulse to pick up speed just to annoy him - it probably wouldn't work - and waited to see if her suspicions would be proven correct. "There is a manner of some importance to discuss before your return to the Ministry tonight."

"Indeed? Does it pertain to the workings of the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock? Is there some magical catastrophe or major arcane development the Ministry should be made aware of, Grand Sorcerer? Or has Hogwarts become the scene of yet another major crime, Headmaster? Because it can't be about the ICW; you're the British representative so they'd have contacted you directly." She finished rather waspishly. Normally, she wouldn't be so short with Albus Dumbledore. The man was an impressively powerful wizard and had done much for wizarding Britain... except this time he was about to ask of her something she'd wanted to avoid ever since she understood how the Ministry really worked.

"It's about the function of the Ministry itself." He confirmed in all seriousness. "Amelia, Cornelius can hardly continue in his position as he is. You know Lucius Malfoy and his supporters will be rallying to place their own candidate in office. Losing the Ministry's support will be almost as big a blow to their side as it will be to ours. Cornelius had always been easily influenced, certainly, but he supported fully nobody but himself. We cannot afford a Minister that will be actively in league with former Death Eaters."

"And what do you suggest then? What is your great plan to prevent this?" As if she didn't know. Dumbledore didn't make assumptions that you were at his side. He let you assume that he assumed even as he used familiarity, influence, and your own beliefs to steer you exactly where you were "supposed" to be. Even though his plans did benefit wizarding Britain and did oppose the Dark, Amelia hated being manipulated. Especially when the manipulator was right.

"Take the Minister's position yourself." He raised a hand to delay her own streak of heated arguments. "One moment please, hear me out. I'll rally Tiberius Ogden, Marchbanks, Crouch, Diggory, Weasley, all our supporters in the Ministry, the muggleborns, and those who don't want to see a Dark, Pureblood regime. It'll be tough, but we'll get the neutral Houses to support us in the end. You get the position, hold the Ministry together for a couple of years until we can solidify our alliances, and then we can put another candidate forward and you can return to expertly running the DMLE as you have so far."

"An interesting plan." She grudgingly agreed. On the surface, it gave everyone but the Dark Pureblood Houses what they wanted... but politics were never about the surface. On the other hand, she didn't have a better plan either. "Out of curiosity, why don't you run for the Minister's position yourself?"

"I am content at Hogwarts." Bullshit. And thinly-veiled bullshit at that, given his multiple positions beyond it. "Besides, far too many people would not stand for it; we'd have a civil war on our hands again." Closer to the truth, but Amelia was no longer a student in awe of her famous Headmaster, or a rookie Auror training under one of Dumbledore's best friends. She could now see an evasion when it was staring her in the eye, twinkle or no.

"Very well, Dumbledore." She said in the end. "Two years. And don't expect me to be a figurehead covering for secret, unsanctioned, anti-dark societies. Not unless we get another Dark Lord anyway."

xxxx

"Hey Amy, long time no see." The black-haired, silver-eyed, no longer emaciated man said from his hospital bed. "I knew you couldn't come to St. Mungo's without dropping in to see an old flame."

"Save it, Black." She replied. "You still are six years younger and not nearly as good-looking as you think you are." Wasn't that the truth? A first-year Sirius Black had flirted with the Seventh-year girls back in the day... at least until his cousin had hexed him. Andromeda Black had been the only Slytherin owed a favor by every single Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girl in her year. "Besides, what's that I hear about a girlfriend?"

"Shhh!" He glared at her for a moment, then looked around the room to confirm nobody else had heard. When no member of the Jones family turned up to hex him, all of them clustered around the occupied bed at the far end of the room and too busy talking to the recovering youngest member of their family, Sirius Black exhaled in relief. "Do you want to get me permanently banned from all the Holyhead Harpies' games? Gwenog Jones can be really mean when she wants to be."

"Well, you did kidnap her baby sister." Amelia smirked. Here was one miscreant that wouldn't be repeating his criminal misadventures any time soon.

"Baby sister? They're twins!" Of course, that made it even worse. "And I didn't kidnap Hestia; I stumbled into her while trying to capture Pettigrew and avoid getting Kissed by the Ministry's ugliest girl scouts for a crime I did not commit and was not even tried and convicted for!"

"I'm sorry, Sirius." She said, her good mood at getting some concessions out of Dumbledore evaporating at the enormous injustice done to one of the few wizards she'd ever genuinely liked. "I was only a senior Auror at the time; I didn't have the political clout to do anything against Crouch." Which showed just how messed up politics were when that same man would be supporting her bid for office in less than a week.

"If you're so sorry then give me a kiss." He asked boldly, eyebrows twitching suggestively. "Maybe Gwenog will see and stop hounding me about pursuing her sister."

"Will you stop joking for one minute?" She hissed back. "We only have ten minutes before Dumbledore has cooked up enough interference in the Ministry for me to arrive mostly unnoticed, and there is something important I have to tell you."

"Important huh?" He thought about it for a moment, eyebrows lowered comically into a narrow 'V'. "You aren't seeing somebody else, are you?" Amelia slapped him. Hard. One of the Jones women looked up, saw Sirius holding a hand to his reddening cheek, and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Shut up and listen." She whispered. "I usually don't share information about open cases but this one stinks to high heaven and it's about Remus Lupin." Black's jaw fell open almost to his chest. Certain he had his attention, she went on. "Before he was cursed, Fudge was about to put a Kiss-on-sight order out for your old friend for mauling those escaped Death Eaters in his werewolf form... or so Lucius Malfoy and his allies claim. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was quick to back them up, which should come as no surprise since one of their most senior Executioners is Walden Macnair." Sirius growled. She ignored him. "Somehow they got Amos Diggory to agree, probably because Harry Potter and his friends had been at the scene and in danger of being attacked as well."

"Remus would never...!"

"Don't interrupt." She shut him down before his growing anger could cause a scene. "All of that became moot when the detection spells at the Department of Magical Transportation showed Mister Lupin Disapparating from Scotland in the early hours of the morning in a northwestern direction. As no destination was revealed, his arrival point had to be beyond the area monitored by the British Ministry."

"But there is nothing within normal Apparition distance in that direction!" Sirius said, almost panicked. "Do you think he..."

"I do not believe Remus Lupin commited suicide." She calmed the younger, brash wizard down. "If he had, the bloodline monitoring spells of the Lupin family would have notified us." She gave him a small smile. "No, I believe your old partner in crime was somehow warned of the manhunt and made his escape."

"Thank Morgana's soggy knickers!" Of couse Sirius Black would swear on something like that.

"On to less pleasant matters." This time, she cast several privacy spells around the two of them, the matter being far more delicate. "Do you remember any additional details about your escape from Azkaban?"

"Other than those I gave to the Aurors that interrogated me, you mean?" He grimaced as if he'd bitten something sour; remembering his years of unjust imprisonment could not have been easy. "No." He finally said, shaking his head. "I did not immediately notice that a wand had been left inside my cell so I can't tell you how it was sent or by whom. Though I can speculate."

"Really now?" Her raised eyebrow was not nearly as effective without her monocle. Sirius Black however was not amused.

"Dementors are bloody blind, Amy. As good as their ability to sense emotions is, they can't notice small objects at a distance and wands are just that." He snorted. "I'll bet half the reparations for unlawful imprisonment the Ministry isn't going to pay me that some dark pureblood bastard finally noticed that little fact, took out a few old family wands from his vault, and sent them to everyone of Voldemort's inner circle in Azkaban via short-distance, self-delivering letters. The Ministry had started using those for memos instead of owls back in '81. Give it over a decade for the 'old guard' to get used to the idea and it fits. Bet they turned them invisible too, so the half-dozen trouble-makers you exile to the island from your Department to serve as the 'human element' of the prison didn't see a thing. Of course, they'd have been too busy drinking to notice even if they had been visible; only way to stand working in the place without quitting."

It made sense, Amelia thought. With the huge uproar in Pureblood circles after that "Dark Wanker" pamphlet someone distributed in June of '93 made some serious claims of You-Know-Who being a half-blood that wanted to destroy the noble Houses by inciting civil war, sides were being chosen and important people were moving in the shadows. She had now several appointments to make, and a prison's security to improve... if the various opposing sides in the Ministry let her. With any luck, they'd avoid another breakout as serious as the one led by Bellatrix Lestrange...

xxxx

Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-two. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-three. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-four. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-five. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-six... ah, another pause.

Counting the searing, soul-scorching blows against him was the only respite the prisoner had left. If he stopped, he'd have to listen to the words. And if he did that, his captors would have won. Not that they hadn't, given the prisoner's current state, but he wanted to prevent their total victory. Resisting the indoctrination minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, keeping his mind as his, was his only desire that still survived. His prison, the place of his horrendous torment, sustained him as it contained him. He was not free to move, speak, sleep, eat, drink, or even think complex thoughts, except in the very brief respites when his jailors changed a worn and spent torture implement for a new one. He was also not free to kill himself or go mad, every second of his long-lasting torment shoving only the thoughts they desired into his mind. Who 'they' were he no longer knew, and had no time enough to properly remember. He only had time to lament the fact that there could be only two outcomes for his personal hell; they would either reform him in their image, or his punishment would con...

No! He could already feel the pointed, searing, scalpel-like instrument of torture descending. No! No! No! No! No!

Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-seven. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-eight. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-nine...

xxxx

"That old goat-fucker!" Macnair swore crudely, to no-one's surprise. "He did something, I know it! I had everyone in the Department lined up, Diggory's own signature in the execution order, and somehow the werewolf slipped through our fingers! Damnit! Never before I've lost my quarry! I'll gut him like a fish! Like one of his smelly brother's goats!"

"Calm down, Walden." Lucius admonished, trying to stop the other man's tirade before his wife poisoned him for upsetting the peace and quiet of the Manor. "We all have our issues with Dumbledore; one werewolf more or less is small change." Dumbledore subtly throwing suspicion on Lucius for the attack on the Minister was far more important now. "If you're so annoyed by this one escape, why don't you call in your old friend Greyback? Lupin's one of the people he'd hunt down for free, is he not?"

"Yeah, you're right." The burlier, darker man said with a sharp nod. "We'll see how the wolf likes being hunted. Attacking our mates, will he? Well, Greyback will take him out and his mates, see if he won't."

"How are the Lestrange brothers?" Lucius asked the table at large. Juvenile though Macnair may be, he still brought up the occasional good point. That and his thirst for the kill had seen him in the Dark Lord's inner circle and was why Lucius still kept him around.

"They both survived." Yaxley replied, pulling a loose strand of blond hair back into the ponytail he favored. Lucius had no idea why; an open face made him no favors, what with his blunt features and nasty smirk. Maybe it was an affectation from his days as an Auror, carried over to his new job as a low-rank Hit Wizard. "Since nobody is certain whether they are werewolves now or not they haven't been sent back to Azkaban, which is a plus. The bitch has them in high-security cells in the Ministry till the next full Moon, however." The 'bitch' is how Yaxley always referred to Amelia Bones, his boss. After his severe demotion under her tenure in the DMLE Yaxley hated the woman, which Lucius found odd. They had narrowly escaped being sent to Azkaban after the Dark Lord's fall, after all. Perhaps he considered it a personal betrayal from one he'd once seen as a fair and accomodating boss? No matter; that he did hate her was the only important fact at the moment, since they were organizing opposition against her.

"I do not believe we could smuggle or break them out successfully, Lucius." Nott said in his oily, alarmingly friendly manner. The small, darkly dressed and usually quiet man nibbled on one of the butter cookies Narcissa had provided, throwing crumbs everywhere. Probably deliberately, Lucius thought. Nott was a snake, not a rat, but he always envied Lucius' bigger, shinier, cleaner manor. Narcissa disliked him immensely for that very reason, and always did her best to have the house perfect whenever he came calling. His responses seemed juvenile but were always deliberate and concealed something much darker than envy behind that silly facade. "We'll have to find other sources to help us track down our escaped fellows. Lord Selwyn perhaps?"

"Lord Selwyn had always been the consummate politician, never coming out in the open. He even had neutral leanings, despite his grandson's actions." Lucius argued reasonably. "Why would he help us now?"

"Because his grandson is dead." Nott said with that odd smile that always reminded Lucius of the less scrupulous but smarter assassins.

"Really?" Yaxley interjected, putting his quiet discussion with Macnair aside temporarily. "I had not heard anything."

"Oh, it was kept quiet. Very very quiet." The small man licked his lips - another one of his nervous tics. "Torn apart by Inferi, poor sod. Maybe by Bellatrix's own hand, though there is no evidence. Given the situation, the DMLE would not want to upset the populace any further, even if the victim were a convicted Death Eater."

"So Lord Selwyn could be a potential ally, if we handled him right. But also a potential enemy, if Bellatrix was proven to be responsible and he cared enough to do something about it." Lucius thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No way to tell. Better to deal with more immediate matters until we have more information or resources. Our other main subject is Fudge's successor."

"Oh not again!" Macnair groaned, while Yaxley scowled and Nott remained silent. "We've been talking about that every day since Fudge bit the dust, or close enough as makes no difference."

"That's because an at least neutral Minister is a crucial requirement for our maintaining our hold on the Ministry." Lucius said a tad bit angrily, walking stick rapping sharply against the table's crystal surface. Macnair had not a single subtle bone in his body and was growing rather bored of all their talks. Maybe if the new Minister prevented him from killing as he so loved to do, he'd care more... but by then it'd be too late. "If we don't present our own candidate, Dumbledore will ram someone on his side down our throats and will slowly start reforming the Departments. Everything we've done to undermine the Ministry's cohesion and authority over the past twenty years will go down the drain and the relative independence we've maintained for all Noble Houses will begin to diminish. The old fool wants to do away with everything 'old and parochial' to use his own words, and he will use Amelia Bones to do it!"

"Let him." A new, cultured, high-pitched voice said from behind him, and Lucius turned to see a newcomer far easier on the eyes than any of his friends and acquaintances. Then again, he might be biased; he'd always loved his wife.

"What did you say, woman?" Yaxley retorted angrily, forgetting his place in his hatred for the Head of the DMLE. Lucius was about to draw his wand and teach the rude man a lesson about proper Pureblood manners when a tiny shake of that beautiful, golden-haired head had him sitting back in his chair. His wife did not need him to win any fights for her. She was his equal with a wand, even if she rarely chose to prove it.

"Let him." Narcissa repeated as she approached with a silver and platinum serving tray heavy with sweet drinks, Firewhiskey, and deliciously smelling pastries. "Amy has always been a fighter, not a politician. If Dumbledore wants to effectively put her in charge of his faction in the Ministry, it is a mistake we must take advantage of. She never knew how to compromise; not back in Hogwarts and not in her carreer in the DMLE. She was always quick to speak up, too, rarely bothering with subtlety. With her a Minister, every time one of the Neutral Houses would ask for favorable treatment, every time they try for an understanding, every time they attempt business as usual, she'll deny them and push them further and further away from Dumbledore. And with that big an enemy, the unassociated Dark Houses will rally to our cause even faster." She smirked, and Lucius' breath caught in his throat at how beautiful she was when she plotted. It had been one of the reasons he'd married her after all, the other three being wealth, shared beliefs, and love. Oh yes, Lucius knew how lucky he was.

Murmurs of agreement came from all over the table as his wife brought everyone breakfast, and then took up her place by his side. "And if you're still planning on that little reunion of yours in the World Cup, what better way to show a new Minister's competence, or lack thereof?" She smiled. "Further destabilizing the Ministry was one of the initial reasons for it, was it not?"

xxxx

Wormtail shivered as another Dementor glided before his dark cell's door, the fiend's unnatural aura rifling through his thoughts and devouring another memory of the good, easy days he'd had in Hogwarts and the Weasley house. His hands and feet, their inexpertly regrown by the prison's single physician, ached at the supernatural cold and Wormtail stumbled and fell.

Only he wasn't Wormtail anymore, was he? His back ached even in human form, his tail as a rat lost in... he couldn't even remember. Probably during the same day he'd lost the bones in his hands and feet, the one day he could not recall even before being sent to Azkaban. The physician had told him the only reason he hadn't lost a limb was because humans didn't have an equivalent to the rat's tail, but there was still some damage in his lower back. Then he'd given him only the minimal dose of Skelegro to rebuild his bones - no reason to waste more on someone with a life sentence - and sent him to this dismal, oppressive, always freezing cell. Pettigrew looked up at a subtly glowing stone stuck on the cell's ceiling well beyond his reach. There was no enchantment or defensive spell that prevented an Animagus from shifting form or exiting a place, and the horror stories of magic-suppressing manacles permanently welded onto every Azkaban prisoner were just that; horror stories. Those facts did not prevent a competent enchanter from spelling an object with the Animagus-Reversal spell, however; every time Peter had tried to shift the stone had zapped him, forcibly and painfully reverting him to human while raising the alarm. And every day he tried he was given no food for that day and the next.

It was horrible, so very horrible. Stripped of all good thoughts and feelings however, deep down Pettigrew was beginning to believe he deserved it. It was not fair! He'd never truly had friends! James Bloody Potter and Sirius Bloody Black only kept him around to make fun of him. Lily had never given him a second glance, and Remus... well, the wolf had been an idiot, hadn't he? His opinion didn't count. What reason had he not to hand them over to the Dark Lord? Not that the Death Eaters had been his friends; far from it. But at least they were honest. Not even Harry, Ron, and their friends had spoken in his favor, protected him when the Aurors came calling. In fact, they'd practically revealed him in their attempt to find and uncover the story of Sirius Black. So now Pettigrew was reduced to throwing pebbles, bones, and the odd piece of junk at the enchanted stone that kept him prisoner more than his cell did. To no avail, of course; charming all bars, walls, and security measures unbreakable was standard procedure since physical force was the only option most prisoners had left.

Suddenly, Pettigrew's enhanced senses picked up the sound of something hard, light, and probably wooden falling in the middle of his cell. Coming out of his endless sobbing, pitiful even in his own ears, he stared at the icy stone floor. And stared. And stared. And stared. Because he could not believe his eyes; it was a wand! Tripping over his own feet in his mad scramble, he ignored the aching jaw and the couple of missing teeth from his impact with the stone floor, and picked up the instrument of his salvation. Old, worn, and brittle, perhaps, it was still oddly warm to the touch and it still responded to him, if barely. Badly matched it might be, it was his ticket out of here.

"Reducto!"

Even more oddly, welcomely warm in his hand as he cast the first spell with it, the wand sent a narrow, weak, silver-blue beam upwards. Weak was exactly how Pettigrew had wanted it, though. A strong Reductor curse might have drilled a hole through the ceiling, opening his cell to every Dementor patrolling the bleak skies above the prison and the soon-to-be escapee could not have that. Reducing the enchanted stone that kept him imprisoned in his human body to fine dust however was just dandy. With a broad smile Pettigrew shifted to his animagus form, prison clothes and wand melding into his new form.

A split second later, the rat had fallen unconscious. A few seconds after that he faded from sight, and was never seen again in the island prison.

xxxx

"Do you know why you're here, Halfblood?" The old, raspy voice boomed, obviously amplified. Dolores Umbridge opened her eyes but saw nothing but darkness. She scanned the area around her blindly with her hands, but found nothing but empty stone floor. Then she screamed, for someone she could not see hit her with a strong, nonverbal pain curse. At least it had not been the Cruciatus.

"I asked you a question, Halfblood. Answer. Or do not." The unseen interrogator paused, allowing for tension to build. Dolores knew the technique well. "It is all the same to me in the end. You will get a sore throat and maybe permanently twitching limbs, I will get a decent workout. And you will still talk." Knowing very well that everyone broke under torture in the end, and having no particular reason not to reply beyond somehow having been abducted from her home in the middle of the night, she did talk.

"I have no idea." She croaked, and hated it. Why did her 'just-out-of-bed-and-coffeeless' voice have to sound like her unknown assailant had cowed her into submission?

"So, you do possess enough faculties for coherent speech. I had been wondering, you see." The old, raspy voice fell silent once more and Dolores seethed. Who was he to speak to the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister like that?! Well, obviously someone rather powerful, to have thus abducted her. "That is good." The voice started up again. "Or at least shorter. We'll see. Do you know what important events took place earlier tonight, Halfblood?"

"No." One-word answers drew less attention to oneself and annoyed one's torturer and abductor less often, Dolores knew from experience. Of course, she'd gained that experience on the other side of the equation.

"Oh, nothing much. Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts again. A werewolf bit the scions of an old Noble family and endangered students, and Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was assaulted and is in St. Mungo's in critical condition." Umbridge gasped. She couldn't help it; her recently flourishing carreer relied on the Minister too much for her not to. "Yes, I thought that might catch your attention. Don't worry; my sources say the Minister will not be recovering. And it isn't the most important piece of news either." Now the old man growled angrily in the darkness. "No, that would be my grandson's premature, undeserved, very violent death."

Dolores Umbridge remained silent. It was the smartest thing to do, no matter how much she wanted to rail against fate... if those news were the truth.

"Do you hear that, Halfblood? The son of Orford Umbridge and Gwendolyn Selwyn is dead." The old man cackled. It contained not a trace of mirth and more than a bit of madness. "The same Orford Umbridge that did not have enough ambition to become more than a glorified floor-mopper at the Ministry, who was denied my daughter's hand for that, who went on and married a filthy muggle bitch and had a squib son... and you." The old man's -Lord Selwyn's- rage echoed against the walls in his amplified voice and Dolores gulped. "The same Orford Umbridge that you made vanish, along with all those stupid enough to ask you about him - good job by the way."

More silence followed, for over ten minutes. And then...

"Which brings us to our current predicament, Halfblood. I without an heir and too old to make another, you with your false claims of relation to my House. Both of us with a revenge to take, and supporters of similar beliefs. Do you understand, Halfblood?"

"Yes." Dolores Umbridge said, only her sixth word in the past half-hour. Inwardly, she was rather pleased with how her abduction had turned out.

xxxx

Bartemious Crouch apparated to the limits of his old manor's Anti-Disapparation Jinx with barely a sound and started walking towards it at a swift pace. His eyes did not linger on the small muggle village he went through, not being the least bit curious about the comings and goings of the three hundred or so filthy muggles that lived less than a mile from his family's ancestral home. He had far more important things to do than reiterating his disgust at the nonmagicals, or seeing his already low expectations of them fall even lower.

For one thing, he had to mentally prepare himself for the World Cup. As one of the Ministry's few people with enough talent in Charms to personally create Portkeys as well as being the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd soon have to leave England and travel all over the world, setting up thousands of Portkeys spread over five continents. And that was no mean feat, if he said so himself. Unfortunately, his carefully arranged travel plans might soon be upset by other issues.

Cornelius Fudge's inability to continue as Minister would barely affect the preparations for the World Cup, but have far more greater impact on the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. While Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had already agreed to participate in the revival, hardly anything else had been decided. Unless Fudge's replacement was actually competent, the negotiations would be left up to that inexcusable idiot, Bagman. It could not be helped; he simply couldn't coordinate the arrivals of a hundred thousand foreign wizards while also dealing with another major undertaking. Personally, he was hoping for Amelia Bones to take Fudge's place. Not only was she competent enough for the job, if a bit too soft for his liking, but Dumbledore would owe him several favors for his support. The old sorcerer was burning quite a bit of political capital to get his preferred candidate in place for...

"Excuse me, sir!" A too young, too high-pitched, worried voice said. "Could you help me? I am looking for my father and..."

"I am sorry miss, but I cannot help you." Of course he couldn't. She was muggle, obviously a tourist, and indecently dressed in a too-short, white cotton blouse and a pair of jeans cut so far above the knee they might as well be knickers. They were certainly tight enough. The whole image insulted his sensibilities, his traditions, and his sense of propriety to such an extent that only his strict adherence to the Statute of Secrecy prevented the blonde girl from being Cruciated on the spot.

"But sir!" The girl was persistent, and whiny. He bounced after him in her sandals, searching that garish orange satchel of hers for something. Probably muggle money; she thought she could buy his compliance; typicaly muggle. "My father has been missing for a long time and nobody will help me find him!"

"Of course not!" He finally shot back, his patience at an end. "You're what, twenty-five? Twenty-seven? How does someone at your age misplace a family member, woman? Tourists!" The girl stood there, poleaxed. And she was a girl; stronger evidence at how slowly muggles matured compared to wizards he'd never seen. Maybe she was from the Colonies. The muggles at the other side of the pond appeared to be especially immature. "Grow up, stop behaving like a five-year old, and maybe someone will finally help you. Good day!" He turned around to continue on his way, paying no more attention to the stupid muggle girl.

"Imperio!"

"Good, old prejudice does make one blind, does it not?" The girl said sweetly as she strutted into his field of vision while he tried to fight off the mind-numbing Nirvana of the Imperius Curse. She'd finally found what she'd been searching for in that ugly bag of hers, and it was a wand. She fixed him with large, almond-shaped, lavender eyes, then came closer and draped herself all over him. "For your information, Crouch, I am forty-three. And my cousin is not the only member of my family with a NEWT in Muggle Studies. How do you think the anti-muggleborn expeditions I led were so very successful?" She whispered in his ear as he stood there rigidly, then giggled. "Plus I am looking for someone, though he's not quite a father to me. Still close enough to confuse any warning charms you might have had, no? And since I was not planning to hurt you just yet, a Cave Inimicum spell would not have detected a threat, see?" Then she playfully licked his ear and he shuddered. But her Imperius Curse was too strong for him to fight.

"And now Crouch, be a good boy and invite me through your house's defenses, will you?" A very well disguised Bellatrix Lestrange commanded and he had to obey. "We are going to have a good time, you and I, before I leave for the continent. Why, you'll so enjoy yourself you'll make me a Portkey to Albania free of charge. You might even come with me; the Dark Lord likes presents so very much."