The Purge

I'm baaaaack. Sorry about the wait, guys, I've been really, really busy lately with the graduate program I'm taking (just have an internship to go through in Spring and then I can finally enter the job market…*nervous yay*). On top of that, I've fallen headfirst into some other fandoms; Hetalia, especially, is a fandom pit from which I doubt I shall ever emerge. So don't expect another update anytime soon (the initial draft of this has been sitting in my folder for about a year and I just kept putting off finishing it until a bit of inspiration struck).

Warning: Deep talks between parents/parental figures and teens.

Why so Silent, Good Messieurs?

It was Christmas night. The residents of Grimmauld Place had just finished a sumptuous dinner and were beginning to settle in for the night after the conclusion of their celebrations. Two people, however, had gone to sit in the study and talk for a while. As Harry finished telling Sirius an ever-so-slightly modified version of events of the last term, a question he'd been meaning to ask finally arose in the conversation.

"Sirius, was my mother homicidally insane?" Harry said casually.

"Your mother was the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful witch it has ever been my pleasure to call my friend," said Sirius.

Harry quirked one eyebrow up, as if to point out that Sirius had not answered the question.

"She may have been somewhat…zealous, I suppose. Especially after the Death Eaters murdered her parents. Of course, she always had a particular dislike for bullies. Frankly, everyone was surprised when she finally gave your dad a chance, considering the lot of us acted like a bunch of absolute berks for so long."

"Did she ever do anything…how do I put this? Did she ever cross the line in terms of legality…or humanity?"

"Well, there was the time when she found out that some of the junior Death Eaters had used Dark magic on her friend Mary Macdonald. That was around the time her friendship with Snape fell apart."

"Mary Macdonald?"

"Yeah, she married Andrew Bones. She's one of the people who was rescued from that bastard Gibbon, under mysterious circumstances."

Harry couldn't help but feel as though Sirius was giving him a scrutinizing look. Like Sirius knew why Harry was asking all these questions. Harry had to give his godfather some credit; he wasn't exactly the credulous sort, especially not to the level of other members of the Order of the Phoenix.

"But, as I was saying," Sirius continued. "Lily did not like what happened. Even after all these years, I doubt that little pillock Mulciber can sit the right way on a potty after...let's just say it was reportedly very unpleasant."

"Can't you tell me what my mum did to him?"

Sirius was very nervous as Harry watched him. There were certain things the older wizard had no desire to relive, even though they hadn't happened to him, personally. But, with those eyes, those hauntingly familiar and terrifying eyes that had once promised a fate worse than death for anyone who dared cross the one who possessed those eyes, it was all Sirius could do not to scream out the information amidst pleas for mercy.

Sirius may have cared about Lily as if she were a sister, but even he couldn't deny that she could put the fear of God into any man that crossed her. And he'd hoped – perhaps rather naively – that whatever madness followed her wouldn't be passed down to Harry.

A fool's hope, that.

Tracey smiled at her reflection as she held up the floor-length dress in front of her as she looked in the mirror. Not dress robes, but an actual ball gown, just like she'd wanted. Her parents definitely came through for her on Christmas. It was dark purple and had a tasteful amount of sparkles. And, of course, it went perfectly with the necklace her boyfriend – she still blushed when she thought about that – had sent her.

"You're going to look splendid, dear," her mirror said to her.

"You really think so?" said Tracey.

"Of course! Just remember to go easy on the sweets this week so you don't lose that figure of yours, and you'll knock 'em dead."

"Cheeky mirror. I thought we got rid of the sass charm on you."

"Some things are hard-wired, my dear."

Tracey rolled her eyes at the tactless enchanted mirror and set her dress back up on its hanger. She then picked up a small hand mirror and called out the name 'Daphne.' The Blacks weren't the only old family to possess two-way mirrors, after all. Tracey saw Daphne appear in the glass and had to hold back a giggle as she saw the other girl was wearing a green face mask.

"Hey, Trace," said Daphne. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Daph. I see you're getting a head start on primping for the New Year's ball."

"Facials are relaxing," Daphne said defensively. "It's not like I need any sort of treatments to have perfect skin. My sheer radiance is completely natural."

"Oh, of course. In regards to the ball, have you got your gown ready?"

"I don't know why you insist we wear gowns instead of dress robes."

"Times are changing, Daph. And, besides, you must admit that gowns are much more flattering than robes."

"Point taken. Anyway, was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes, as it happens. You were doing some research on spells that turn people inside-out, right?"

"Has one of the prisoners been acting up?"

"Called me a 'stupid cunt' and said he plans to rape me bloody when he escapes."

"Tsk, tsk. That's no way to talk to a lady."

"Yes, you'd really think they'd have learned by now. But, I'm not upset. Just going to get him out of the way so that his poor manners do not begin to infect the others."

"And the fact that some of the spells I've discovered will keep him alive for hours while still being inside-out?"

"Just icing on the cake. Speaking of which, we must have tea together soon. I can even invite the other girls. We can have a pleasant chat…and then get rid of a few more prisoners."

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do. Day after tomorrow suit you?"

"Splendid, my dear. See you at, what, four-thirty?"

"Perfect. Ta!"

With that, Daphne disappeared from the mirror and Tracey returned to admiring her gown. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Tracey, my girl, may I come in?"

"Of course, Dad," she replied.

Walter Davis peeked his head in the door, smiling at his daughter.

"Your mother is still up and about," he said. "Keeps going on about pudding."

"I think that's why my new friend Luna likes Mum."

"Yes, I noticed that you've suddenly gotten a whole host of new friends." He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Tracey, is there something you need to tell me."

"No, Dad."

"Because, if there's anything bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Dad, I'm over it. Daphne and I, we both got help."

"Tracey, you are my little girl. You were being hurt at school by that unlamented little sod Malfoy. Why did you never ask me to help you? I would have burned Hogwarts down to the bedrock had I known what was being done to you."

She looked away from him.

"Because I was ashamed," she said softly. "I didn't want to admit it happened, because that would have made it real. And, if it was real, I would have disgraced our family by not being strong enough to fight him off. I couldn't stand the thought that I'd embarrassed you and Mum, or that I was being pitied for being weak."

"Tracey, for Merlin's sake, you were assaulted! In what world would that have ever been your fault? The only thing I feel about the situation is a raw fury at the bastard who hurt you and the thugs he had to help him. Well, that and a gratitude towards whoever got rid of them. If I ever find out who tortured Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle to death, I am going to shake that person's hand and find a way to get him an Order of Merlin."

Tracey's eyes filled up with tears and she ran into her father's arms and hugged him. Ever since she'd come home for the holidays, they had skirted this conversation relentlessly. Or, rather, she had. She had been so afraid of what her family would think of her, she tried to avoid the subject at all costs. But, now, knowing what her father truly thought of the matter made an enormous difference. It was fitting, perhaps, for Christmastime that Tracey realized just how fortunate she was to have a father who genuinely loved her as much as hers did. She could only shudder at the thought of what would have happened to her if her father had been a brutal traditionalist who treated her like chattel, as she had seen in the case of many of the Death Eaters she had killed.

"Oh, and, Tracey dear," her father said after the prolonged silence, "do be more mindful of your guests in the basement. One of them managed to chew his own arms off to escape his manacles and was nearly able to make a bid for freedom. Lucky thing I happened to be passing, otherwise we would have had to do a bit of damage control."

Fairy lights twinkled from the elaborate hedges and topiary lining the walk up to the grand entrance of Davis Manor. Snow was falling, dusting the dark coats of the arriving guests so that they almost resembled clear night skies (tiny dots of white on rich black, blue, or purple, depending on what color one perceived the night sky to be). Entering the hall, one could see festoons of holly, pine, ribbons, and other seasonal ornaments dripping from and clinging to columns, bannisters, paintings, lintels, and other normal surfaces for holiday decorating. Christmas trees remained proudly in place, not to be taken down until sometime much farther into January.

But Harry Potter quickly steered himself into the ballroom with the other guests. Golden light glittered off the rose gold marble floor and the shimmering baubles that floated around the ceiling, shining out of the high windows that encompassed the room. While Harry had visited Tracey's house before, he had yet to set foot into this particular room, as his focus at the time had been more on exacting horrific tortures on their Death Eater captives. Now, though, Harry was actually very happy that he had been welcomed to such an event. His past experience with the Yule Ball the previous year had made him rather leery about gatherings of this kind, but now that he was a little older and somewhat more confident, he felt that he might be able to actually enjoy himself rather than sit at the back of the room and sulk.

Seeing Tracey practically glide into the room, smiling at him as if he were a normal human being and not a psychotic mass-murderer, concluded for Harry that this was definitely looking to be a pleasant evening.

"Hey," Tracey said as she came over to him.

"Hey," Harry replied. "You look great."

"Thanks, so do you."

Tracey took Harry by the arm and led him about the room, quietly whispering about the potential targets in attendance for the party. Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were not present, as Lucius had become incredibly paranoid lately and was refusing to set foot outside Malfoy Manor. That bought him and his wife a little extra time to live – not much, but Harry and his team were more focused on the easy pickings at the party.

While Harry and a couple of his teammates still wanted to ensure that all Death Eaters suffered horribly for their crimes, the fact was that this was still war and the herd needed to be thinned quickly. Eliminating some of the lesser Death Eaters and their sympathizers swiftly and efficiently would go a long way to destabilizing much of Voldemort's base support and leave him without as many underlings to do his grunt work. The more politically powerful and magically skilled Death Eaters were the ones Harry and his team sought to make suffer, as they were the ones who ran the operation, but the support base needed to be wiped out, as well.

Tracey briefly pulled away from Harry to step over to the refreshment table, where she picked up a glass of champagne and quickly dropped something into it which dissolved instantly. Smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Tracey carried the glass over to a large, hulking man nearby. She chatted amicably at the man as she offered him the glass, completely ignoring the perverted leer he was giving her. The man, whoever he was, downed the drink, not suspecting anything.

"Slow-acting poison," Tracey said quietly to Harry when she returned to his side. "I have enough for at least a dozen people."

"Are you campaigning for the title of the new Lucrezia Borgia?" Harry replied softly.

She gave him a wry smile and lightly prodded his side with her elbow. The two of them then resumed taking their turn about the room. They noticed the presence of Neville Longbottom and his formidable grandmother. There was something decidedly different about Neville, now; he was walking taller and seemed, if only slightly, more sure of himself. They also spotted Daphne, who had also clearly taken note of Neville's new confidence and apparently liked what she saw, if her determined stride over to him was any indication.

"Perhaps we could have at least one dance," Tracey suggested. "Before any unfortunate incidents occur."

"I must warn you, Miss Davis, that my dancing skills are rather poor," Harry replied.

"That is simply due to lack of practice. Which is something easily remedied."

Tracey took hold of his hands and led him out to the center of the room as the first dance began. Harry was still not a very gifted dancer, especially considering he'd been to one dance in his entire life prior to this and had not bothered to participate in most of the evening's main activity, but Tracey was very patient with him and gently reminded him that most of the people in the room were either friends or else would be dead by sunrise.

The peaceful, normal, nonviolent moment was, sadly, not to last.

The lights in the ballroom flickered out as the house began to shake. Many of the guests began to scream and panic. Tracey clutched Harry's hand.

"They wouldn't attack like this," she said in disbelief. "Not right now. They're too weak."

"Greetings, my fellow witches and wizards," a foul voice echoed through the room. Voldemort was here.

Harry was momentarily struck that he hadn't sensed Voldemort's presence, until he remembered what happened on Halloween. Whatever link he'd once had to Voldemort's mind was severed. It made Harry feel less polluted, no longer having that tie to his archenemy, but it was also something of an inconvenience to not be able to sense when Voldemort was close by.

"It is, indeed, I, Lord Voldemort," the snake-faced Dark Lord continued. "I felt it was time to make my return known, at last, and to punish those who would dare to defy me. At present, several of my loyal followers have infiltrated this gathering, so rife with mudbloods and blood-traitors as it is, and they will attack when I give the order. However, I am inclined to be merciful. I know that Harry Potter is also here. Surrender him to me and I will spare your lives, this night.

"You have one hour."

As the other partygoers screamed and ran about frantically in the wake of Voldemort's demand, Harry just turned and smiled at Tracey, though it was difficult to see in the darkness.

"You know what, Tracey," he said calmly. "I've decided I'm going to stop playing 'Who Should I Kill First?' in my head and just go with what feels natural."

Author's Note: Fans of my other fic, 'He's Not Dead Yet,' will undoubtedly note that I made Tracey's parents very different in this. That's because it's boring to do the same thing over and over, as I'm sure many fanfiction writers will agree. It's a small thing, but I wanted to cut off any comments about the different portrayals before they arose.

My thanks to the person who reminded me that Harry has, in fact, had detention with Umbridge. I forgot about it when I wrote Umbridge's brief POV in another chapter in which she bemoans the fact that she hasn't been able to give Harry detention. It's a small problem, but, to cover the plot-hole, please regard that as Umbridge being upset that she hadn't been able to give Harry a detention recently.