July 31st - 5:27am - Greenwich, London.
The Millennium Dome. To British Muggles, variously, an extortionate waste of time and money, a statement for the new Millennium, a political masterpiece, a political disaster... To Severus, it was simply huge and incomprehensible. He had Apparated, as agreed, to the central stage area around which various gantries, tents, curious fabric cones and enormous, vaguely humanoid sculptures were arranged in no particular order. From his left hand dangled a small bag, and he toyed with the fastenings restlessly while his right hand was held protectively against his chest, avoiding the small, hard shape of the floostick which he'd strung onto a chain around his neck. Poppy had resisted his demands that she remove the framework of pins and spars that had been protecting it, right up until the last minute, when he had fixed her with a level gaze and said "the Dark Lord doesn't have a mediwitch to look after him, Poppy. Take it off." Now, he flexed his fingers carefully; they were stiff and a little sore, but they responded. They would just have to do.
No time to worry about it now; Lucius would be here soon, and he still had to get ready. He knelt down, shaking the contents of the bag onto the stage in front of him - a small stone bottle, the lens - deep red and gleaming dully through a layer of gauze, and his wand, disguised to resemble that of Voldemort. It might not pass close inspection, but Severus had no plans for close contact with any of the Death Eaters. Not the sort they'd survive, anyway. He threw the empty bag behind a girder and gathered up the wand in his right hand, grasping it tentatively, and the bottle in his left.
Ah, almost forgot... Reaching up, he separated a single strand of hair from its neighbours and tugged it free, twining it around the tips of the fourth and middle fingers of his right hand, murmuring under his breath.
Lucius Apparated into the building, slightly late due to some last minute Ministry business that couldn't be avoided. He scowled at his surroundings. He didn't like Muggle architecture, which seemed to him to be soulless and cold, and he didn't like the idea of conducting an ambush in unfamiliar surroundings. The only consolation was that it would be equally disorienting to the other Death Eaters when summoned here. It would take them several moments to come to terms with the absence of gravestones and all the traditional window dressing of a Death Eater meeting.
Then they would assume they were there for some sort of attack.
They would be right, of course, though not entirely accurate about their role in the attack, being rather more victim than aggressor.
"Severus? Where are you?" His voice echoed in the large space, coming back at him from all directions. Idly, he began calculating how to turn that to their advantage and further disconcert their opponents.
It had begun. The final confrontation was coming, and there would be no place to hide from the coming storm.
"Up here..." Severus lowered his wand and relaxed a little. It was only now that he wasn't alone in the vast dome that it became apparent just how large the space was. Lucius seemed calm enough. Severus wondered if that exterior implacability was genuine; the older Slytherin was so good at presenting that urbane veneer that it was hard to tell when it was reflected within, and when it was mere show. He waited for Lucius to approach, worrying at the wax seal of the bottle with his thumbnail until it disintegrated.
Voldemort's robes, or Minerva's approximation of them, felt strange - thin and insubstantial, and he shifted uneasily. Were they good enough? If the Inner Circle were still loyal, they'd come, and they were Slytherin. They hadn't got as far as they had, unless they were people like Crabbe Senior, who'd established himself by bulk and brutality alone, without some modicum of perception. He stared at the wand again, looking for flaws.
He waited until Lucius was closer before addressing him again. It seemed somehow wrong, shouting across the empty space - the disorienting echoes took a while to die away, and some superstitious corner of his mind peopled the shadows with unpleasant creatures that might be attracted by the noise.
"The call will have to be strong, if we're to pull them from as far North as Inverhope." He shot Lucius a cautious look. "Am I to use the Lens on your Mark, or mine?"
"As you're to be His Lordship... I think it would be better if it were to be used on mine. Not that I am at all happy at the thought of volunteering, but we can't run the risk of you being incapacitated." Lucius' lips twisted at the thought that he had just admitted he was expendable. It as not a comfortable feeling. Barely six months ago he wouldn't have cared one way or the other, as long as Voldemort fell, but the gaping loss of his wife had begun to heal, and life was becoming interesting again.
It was the sort of thing that fate would take as its cue to extinguish him.
Severus studied Lucius for a few seconds longer, surprised but trying to conceal it, making sure. They'd both been through worse, far worse, but it wasn't like Lucius to volunteer for anything that put him at a disadvantage. His reasoning was sound enough, though, and Severus nodded.
"Just as you say. And then... It must be out of sight when they arrive. How many do you think will come?" There had been fifty, Lucius had estimated when they'd first discussed the idea and Severus, for all his arrogance, was starting to wonder if he'd over-reached himself a little here. No. Cunning would, of course, win out. And failing that, he and Lucius knew quite a wealth of unpleasant curses between them. The others would have a fight on their hands, at least. Privately, he hoped that Peter Pettigrew would be amongst those who answered, though it didn't seem likely the little rodent would be far from his master's heel. Live or die, hexing Pettigrew repeatedly in the face would make up for all.
Lucius shrugged. "Who can say? Almost all of them, I'd say. No one refuses to come when Called, and if they suspect it isn't a real Call they will have to come to investigate and punish whoever is behind it. Either way, I think we can guarantee a full guest list for this morning's performance." Lucius moved his wand in his cane, checking that it would come free easily when needed. "You will be delighted to know that I've left a signed pardon for all the members of the Order if they happen to use an Unforgivable. Assuming we live long enough to need that sort of thing." Lucius grinned like a shark. "I think that evens things up between the two sides nicely, don't you?"
Severus returned the smile, mirthless. "You are a prince among men," he assured him sincerely. There had, after all, been a lot of princes, and some of them were not very nice at all. He regarded the little bottle apprehensively, pushing the stopper free. He was no stranger to Polyjuice and the seemingly infinite variation in taste and appearance. Flavius Visconti's had been a golden ochre, sour beneath the flavour of almonds and, for some reason, boot-polish. Voldemort's had been nothing like that. He made a face, like someone regarding a spoonful of unpleasant medicine. "If you're ready, then?" He nodded towards the lens, in its wrapping of gauze. "Once I take the potion, we'll send the Call immediately. It's not as stable as Polyjuice should be - the blood is old, and V..." He couldn't - it was ridiculous, but the idea of saying the Dark Lord's name aloud sent a shiver through him. "The Dark Lord is not human. Once it wears off, I'd imagine things are going to get quite exciting."
"Let us hope it gets truly exciting for others, then, and not ourselves. I've still got a case of the good brandy left. It would be a shame to die before that was finished." He cocked an eyebrow at Severus. "So, shall we?"
"I haven't anything better to be doing." Severus steeled himself and raised the bottle in a salute. "Slainte mhath." He drained it, swallowing before the burning cold could make him gag, and stowed the bottle with the empty bag, exchanging it for the sullen weight of the Lens. This was the second time he'd used Voldemort's blood in Polyjuice, so he was prepared for the change. It was impossible, though, to ready himself for the feeling that came with the new form, and he let it fill him, not resisting it as he had when he'd tested the deception on the werewolf, Charles. It was heady, Dangerous.
When the strange, yawning sensation of change had ended, he raised his hands to his face and closed his eyes against a wave of vertigo. Everything was distant, unimportant. He almost laughed aloud. Did I honestly think this would be difficult? He held up the Lens, his expression imperious.
"Lucius? Your arm."
The tone was hard and commanding, as if it were really Voldemort that was standing before him. His first response, inculcated by long years, was to bow and to say 'yes, my lord'. He stifled it; there would be no more of that. Not even to the real Dark Lord. He held out his arm, and braced himself.
Admiring the bloody gleam at the heart of the stone, Severus laid it over the Mark and trained his wand on it. This would hurt, he imagined, and a half-smile slid across his face. The burst of magic was not instantaneous; Severus allowed it to build for a long moment before pouring it into the lens, waiting until his wand was almost vibrating in his hand. Light seared across the short distance, firing the dull red crystal into brilliance, making Lucius' arm appear as if it was bleeding.
"You really don't have to look as if you're enjoying that quite so much," Lucius said through gritted teeth.
"You're absolutely right," Severus murmured, trying out the voice, half appalled, half delighted at the sound. I don't have to. Behind him, at the foot of the stage, he heard the first sharp report of an Apparition, and moved slightly so that his body would mask what he was doing.
Lucius right hand moved to his wand. It was hard to concentrate through the pain, but experience allowed him to clear a portion of his mind, waiting for the moment to strike.
Enough. The lens was growing hot in his hand; Severus closed his fingers around it, at the same time cutting off the summons, and turned to face the growing congregation. Apparently Dark wizards don't require pockets, he thought, and gritted his teeth over another hysterical cackle of laughter. The Apparitions were slowing now, some last stragglers arriving at the back of the group, a few curt, overlapping cracks echoing in the waiting silence. When all was still, Severus folded his hands behind him, regarding his servants with a proprietorial air, and carefully spread his fingers, keeping them concealed behind him, and felt the thin snap of the strand of hair.
In the War Room, a tiny twist of silvery substance, suspended by a single hair, was suddenly released and drifted down into the clear liquid beneath. There was a instant of complete stillness, then the liquid erupted into boiling crimson light.
"Good. I see that at least some of you have kept your nerve." How many? Not fifty, certainly, but more than he'd expected. He eyed the assembled Death Eaters, seeming to mark who stood close and eager, who hovered nervously at the back. Thirty-two. "We are close, so close to our final victory and yet..." He let the word dangle delicately, now focusing on the stragglers, warmed by their fear. "And yet. There are some who place their own safety before the realisation of our great Cause." His voice, which had been honeyed and contemplative, turned icy. "And before their loyalty to me."
Lucius smirked. That kind of rhetoric was typical of the Dark Lord, and though the faces before him were masked, he could read their nervousness in the line of their bodies and their shuffling feet.
Severus prowled to the edge of the stage, seeming lost in thought as he examined the tracery of markings on his wand. Most of the wizards were clustered loosely in front of him, seeking safety in numbers, but there was a knot of four... no five of them who had arrived on the far side of some sort of large noticeboard, which still partially masked them. First, get them together. We don't want to be fielding curses from all directions. He wondered how many of them had felt a prickle of discomfort as they materialised, triggering an array of subtle traps, and eyed the stray group with deceptive mildness.
"Believe me when I say that those who have faltered now will not be forgotten. Indeed, they may find that even death is not a refuge from my displeasure." A satisfying ripple of unease passed through the crowd. "Come closer. I would have my faithful near, tonight." A languid gesture of summons dispelled any remaining traps; it wouln't do for he or Lucius to set one off by mistake.
Severus was obviously enjoying himself. Lucius only hoped he wasn't going to go too far with the amateur dramatics. Now would be a really good time to start killing people.
There was a reluctant shift amongst the Death Eaters, those at the back pressing forward, closing up the ranks, those at the front edging hesitantly towards the stage. There was a tension in the air, and it was clear that the presiding thought amongst the masked figures was someone's in for it.... Severus turned slightly, making eye contact with Lucius, then spun on his heel and paced the edge of the stage, finally coming to a halt at the opposite side so that, between them, he and Lucius had the group in their sights. A gaudy mechanical clock hung over an archway, half way between the stage and the improbably large, stylised figures that were apparently part of the exhibits. Severus glanced at it, a brief flick of his eyes. Another minute, at most, and the traps he and Lucius had prepared would begin to fire.
"My devoted Bellatrix... loyal, even in death..." He stopped, a chill breaking through the warming rush of power as surely as a handful of snow down the back of his neck, and he grasped desperately for that warmth and certainty that Voldemort's blood had offered, suddenly lost. You don't have time. Use it. Use it or you might as well give up now. When he continued, the bitter venom that laced his words was genuine. "Bellatrix has warned me that all is not well. There is a traitor in our midst. The traitor. Here amongst us." He let that percolate through the Death Eaters for a moment, then commanded "Unmask. All of you. If he is here, he will not escape."
Lucius barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. The traitor was certainly in their midst, right before their noses. He swept his mask off, allowing his hair to ripple free across his robes. "There can be no more loyal servant than myself," he declared.
There was something so absurd about the statement that Severus was startled from his impending fugue. He caught hold of the surge of contemptuous amusement and let it lift him. "Your devotion is without compare, Lucius. As you seem compelled to keep reminding me."
The minute hand trembled, then ticked forward. There. Severus watched with ill-concealed impatience as mask after mask dissolved into smoke. Some faces he recognised, some were strangers. Two, he noted, were students of the year before last. These last he regarded with particular interest, trying to glean anything from the surfaces of their minds that would suggest they had taken the Mark by coercion. He could find nothing to save them from being condemned with all the rest. But still...
"You. Bulstrode. Hooper. The cauldron is in there." He pointed one bone-coloured finger towards a strange, bulbous tent to their left. "Go and fetch it." Another worried ripple amongst the faithful. The cauldron that Voldemort had been using to turn wizards into squibs had been seen by few, but rumours had a habit of circulating. Severus watched them go. They'd be immobilised as soon as they entered the tent and, whether or not Lucius approved, he'd find another way to deal with them. "And until they return," he now addressed the others, almost conversationally, "we will wait. Polyjuice does not last forever. The one who brings me the traitor's wand will be rewarded." And the first of the Polyjuice traps should be taking effect right about... now..
The effect was electric. Several figures wavered, taking on the shape and form of Snape. Their neighbours hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, so Lucius helpfully provided the necessary momentum. "Get him," he shouted, and then all hell was let loose. The victims, unaware of their changed appearance, were unprepared, but even neophyte Death Eaters were jumpy and paraniod. As their fellows went for their wands, so did they, managing to get off a couple of lucky hexes. Lucius cast without regard for who he was hitting, sending powerful stunning spells arcing through the crowd to bring down one, two, three targets.
A moment later, several strong Confundus charms erupted in the midst of the spreading, duelling group. Those fortunate enough to be on the periphery had already backed away, variously trying to get a clear shot at the Polyjuiced intruders or to place themselves safely out of range of the chaos. Severus felled one of them with a Sagitta debilitas and then followed it up with a hissed Praestringere that left another of the retreating wizards stumbling in a circle, his hands over his eyes. A Confounded Death Eater, staring about herself, dazed and blinking, suddenly turned on her neighbour, wand thrust in his face, screaming "TRAITOR!"
Not to be outdone, Lucius added his mite to the confusion, picking out targets one by one and hexing them into unconsciousness. A flick of a wand saw one man fly through the air, to land on his back, legs waving feebly, wound round with invisible ropes, arms pinioned to his sides. Another flick, and a woman was caught, poised to hex and a curse on her lips, then falling to the ground. A slicing hex whizzed past his ear, and he dismissed it with a casual twist of his wrist, casting Protego to deflect any further stray curses.
Riding the sensation of invulnerability, Severus noted with clinical interest the moment when the tide of battle turned from Death Eater versus Death Eater to focus on Lucius and himself. The Polyjuice, he was sure, had not yet dissipated; the savage delight at watching the Death Eaters firing hexes blindly amongst themselves could have originated with Voldemort or in his own mind, but the hand that clutched his wand was still the Dark Lord's hand. Still, there had been a cry of "We've been tricked!" from amidst the crowd, and though it had taken a minute or more to sway the others, that had marked the end of the deception. Of thirty-two Death Eaters, some twenty-one were still on their feet and fifteen of them were clear-headed enough not to be repeatedly cursing the Polyjuiced fallen.
"I think," Lucius said, eyes glittering with unholy amusement, "that we have been - as Pettigrew would say so charmingly - rumbled. This is about to get fun." He shook his robes back from his hand, his wand held at arm's length before him in the approved duelling position. "May I suggest that we hex to kill at this point?"
Severus slashed his wand downwards, raising a Declinare as something blue and crackling devoured the air in front of him, and took a step backwards, taking stock from behind the temporary shield. "Outstanding idea," he managed, a little out of breath, and readied himself. Of those who remained, it seemed fitting that the majority were of Voldemort's Inner Circle - what was left of it. The Carrow siblings, Mugson, Gibbon, Rabastan Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood. No sign of Pettigrew, disappointingly enough. Travers, Dolohov, Yaxley, Mulciber... Family reunion, he thought, a little wildly, and brought his left hand, which had all this time been closed around the lens, forward and up, hurling the crystal into the air over their heads. Both Carrows and the youngest Lestrange followed the motion and raised their wands, expecting the object to rain curses on their heads, and Severus took the opportunity to throw a Killing Curse towards them, not waiting to see who it hit.
There was a snarl from their opponents. "What do you think you're playing at, Lucius? Fancy being the next Dark Lord, do you?"
"Not at all, Dolohov," Lucius replied. "I wouldn't want to mar the perfection of my profile."
"You dare insult the Dark Lord!"
"I dare more than that." Lucius cast Avada, the green flash of the spell flickering harmlessly over Dolohov's shoulder as he ducked out of the way. Lucius swore. He couldn't afford to miss like that.
Apparition out of the dome was impossible. Severus had seen to that, not wanting to lose any of the carefully lured Death Eaters if the plan went astray. Apparition within the tent, though... he'd made a careful circuit of the strange building earlier, and now he visualised the platform to his right, where the enormous fibreglass figure of a crouching adolescent provided an imposing, if disturbing, temporary shelter, and Disapparated.
Their opponents scattered, eyes scanning the Dome to see where Snape had gone to, whilst trying to keep a watch on Lucius at the same time. Lucius shifted towards the back of the stage, slipping into the shadows, and obscuring their aim.
Severus watched Lucius fade back, taking careful aim at Augustus Rookwood from the platform. The acoustics of the dome had worked in his favour - the echoes of his reApparition had resounded from every direction, giving no clue to his location. He doubted it would be long before they tried the same trick, but his superior knowledge of the surroundings would give him a temporary advantage. Amycus Carrow lay motionless amidst a sprawl of unconscious bodies; his curse had struck home after all. Better get moving, before it occurs to someone to use Enervate on the others and we have to start from the beginning...
"Avada Kedavra!" he snarled, and ducked behind the sculpture, feeling a protesting twinge from his hand. Not yet...
The curse struck amongst the herd, scattering them like sheep, and Lucius took the opportunity to strike. His shot hit Dolohov, who staggered, a look of surprise on his face, then fell forward in slow motion. Lucius didn't wait to see what their reaction would be, but apparated, not moving from his position and blinking back onto the same spot an instant later. He swiftly cast a disillusioning charm, and watched them look round nervously to see where he'd gone.
One all, Severus, he thought. Now it's your turn.
Several brittle reports notified Severus that his surmise had been correct. No good staying there any longer - there was no knowing who might appear on the platform next. The ache in his hand was growing more insistent as Voldemort's uninjured bones started a slow, unsteady metamorphosis back to his own, and an indescribable sensation in the middle of his face hinted that the Dark Lord's state of pronounced noselessness was about to be dramatically reversed. With a silent curse, he vanished, reappearing on the far side of the dome between a cluster of towering blue and white cones.
There - a flicker of black as someone edged around the base of one of the cones. Severus darted across to the construction - some sort of tough, shiny fabric - and followed the figure, his bare feet making almost no noise on the strange, slightly rough flooring. It was Rabastan, who seemed to be stalking someone. Severus continued after him, at a distance. There was always the chance the Death Eater was about to hex one of his fellows, and that would save at least one hasty Apparition. He sighted along his wand, waiting. What if it's Lucius? Better to be safe than sorry. He opened his mouth to deliver the killing curse.
And then you can go back and tell Bellatrix that you killed her brother-in-law.
"Petrificus Totalis!"
Lucius made a note to have a firm word with Severus when this was all over about the desirability of taking out one's opponents effectively. There was no one else he could think of in this crowd that would be casting such an anodyne spell. This really wasn't the time to get sentimental, especially if it put him at risk.
He apparated twice in quick succession, flipping into existence long enough to fire off a couple of hexes at two blurred targets, and then out again, fetching up against the far end of the stage. He looked back to see what damage he had caused, but couldn't tell for certain who he'd hit or to what extent. "I don't suppose," he said, sounding as relaxed as if he were at a tea party, "any of you bastards would consider surrendering, would you?"
He moved again, sheltering behind some large object of unfortunate proportions and hideous hue as several curses thudded into the spot he had just been occupying.
The last of the Polyjuice wore out in a sudden rush, and the sensation of all-consuming confidence with it, but Severus couldn't prevent a brief smile. Lucius Malfoy. Duelling for his life, but still charming as ever. He Apparated once more, this time ending up on a circular gantry near the roof of the dome, overlookng the collection of misshapen buildings. A hex hit the metallic railing to his right and shattered, sending arcs of glittering blackness in every direction. Splinters pattered onto the gantry, but Severus was no longer there, catching his breath in the shelter of a bank of dull grey panels on the far side of the walkway.
A movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see a shape blur into existence some ten feet from him. This time he didn't hesitate. The killing curse struck the Death Eater, one he didn't recognise, squarely in the chest and sent him sprawling before the sound of his Apparition had faded away. Severus drew back behind the lifeless screens, listening.
The body fell, landing wetly between two figures that didn't spare it a glance, too intent on searching out their attackers and looking after their own skins. Lucius glanced up, trying to spot Severus in amongst the appalling Muggle paraphenalia but couldn't spot him.
"Are you sure you don't want to surrender," he called out again, a shielding spell firmly in place. "I can recommend Azkaban. The sea air is delightful at this time of year."
Mulciber told him what he could do with his offer.
"I don't think that's physically possible," Lucius replied, "though I hear you've tried it a couple of times."
He barely flickered out of sight before the spells hit, then counter-attacked from their flank bringing down Travers into a crumpled heap. "Am I going to have to do all of the hard work," he muttered to himself.
On the far side of the gantry, as if in answer to Lucius' question, another body tumbled limply through the air, undoing the efforts of a Muggle cleaning company by thoughtlessly distributing its innards over a patch of once-pristine floor. Severus looked over the railing and shuddered - the Death Eater had been another of the newer ones, short-haired and perplexingly androgynous. A closer look now would very likely solve that particular mystery, but his curiosity wasn't that strong.
There was a low, open-throated roar of power; Severus snapped his head back, his vision filled with crimson light, and felt something as sharp and searing as a handful of razor blades, skim past his face and splash across a girder behind him, bubbling the paint like acid. Alecto Carrow had appeared on the opposite side of the circular gantry, her face distorted with rage. With a feral growl, he sent a Malleus Necros thundering across the space towards her. The air twisted as if superheated and Carrow, already mouthing another curse, was blasted backwards over the railing, graceful for perhaps the first and last time in her life until she crashed onto the wreckage of something boxy and electronic, her chest oddly concave beneath her scorched robes, acid green sparks spilling from the end of her wand.
Lucius, distracted by Carrow's end, nearly missed the ripple in the air that signalled the arrival of someone apparating in. Mulciber, always one for getting his hands dirty, appeared from nowhere, blasting off another slicing hex, and allowing his momentum to carry him forward to crash into Lucius. They swayed together for a moment, and then fell backwards, landing heavily on the ground. Lucius's breath was forced out of him by the rough landing, coupled with Mulciber's attempt to use his wand to carve his way through to Lucius' spine. "You always were a useless ponce," Mulciber said, lips drawn back in a grimace. "Swanning around as if you owned the place..."
His invective was cut off by Lucius applying knee to groin in an utterly unsportsmanlike manner that was the product of six years of hard-fought quidditch matches. Mulciber should have remembered his reputation for playing dirty when the occasion warranted, which was any occasion when he wanted to win. "I think you'll find," he gasped, following the blow with another one and forcing Mulciber to the side, both struggling to free themselves long enough to cast, "that I swanned round like that because I bloody did own the place." He kicked again, harder, and Mulciber's eyes crossed with pain.
His father would turn in his grave if he saw his son brawling in such a vulgar manner, and then urge him to finish the bugger.
Mulciber tried to roll back on top, and put his entire weight on Lucius' wrists, trying to make him drop his wand. One of his companions, trying to be helpful, cast something, something that slammed into Mulciber, who opened his mouth to scream, took two breaths, and then collapsed, pinning Lucius to the ground. His breath stank, almost a weapon in itself. Lucius scrambled back, holding him as a shield, dishevelled and undignified, until he was safely behind a pillar. He wiped his hand across hs brow, bringing away blood. It didn't appear to be his.
Severus crouched against a girder, trying to massage the feeling back into his right hand, which was tingling aggravatingly. There was the sizzle of a curse from the ground below, and the breathless grunt of a falling body. That's not Lucius, he told himself, firmly. A moment later, a frustrated string of invective from below confirmed it, as someone failed to hit their target. Giving up on his right hand for now, he transferred his wand to his left and blinked - the world looked strangely flat and there was a dull heat masking his face where Alecto's curse had clipped him. He put a hand to his cheek and it came away sticky with blood, then moved it slowly in front of his right eye. Nothing.
Well that's just sodding perfect. Rising, he took one quick, cautious look over the walkway railing, then drew back and Disapparated, reappearing by the base of the mechanical clock. His glance had shown three Death Eaters near the stage; it was hard to tell from above, but he'd identified Jugson and Gibbon, and a third he didn't know, back to back, trying to cover the whole area with their wands. The six confounded wizards and witches had been reduced to two - by one another or by Lucius, he wasn't sure, and the two of them were standing over a fallen comrade, staring raptly at his face in case a dose of Polyjuice was about to wear off. Which left... hadn't Yaxley been amongst the crowd? He didn't remember seeing him go down.
He quickly reviewed his options. Avada might not work. His accuracy was impaired and, even if he hit one of them, there'd be two more taking aim or Disapparating. Just stay there for a minute. The three of them together was too good an opportunity to waste.
"Fluosyrtis," he whispered, his wand trained on the ground beneath them.
Lucius was bloody, dishevelled, and his knee was aching. He was also fairly pissed off with life. It fell short of the sort of killing rage that could fuel the Dark Arts, but a tetchy Lucius was still a Lucius who was inclined to hurt people. He gripped his wand more tightly, and prepared to make someone suffer.
The spell was barely more than a grey curse - an inconvenience, or perhaps a prank that might entertain a young Slytherin with some time on their hands. But what it lacked in vicousness, it made up for in several interesting ways. Firstly, it was silent. Secondly, it demanded little accuracy, spreading over several metres. And thirdly, once it took hold, it moved fast. Beneath the three wizards, solid ground turned suddenly to sucking quicksand, dragging them down enthusiastically before any of them could move to Apparate. That little half-turn grew rather hard to execute when buried to the shins in the ground...
Drawing back his wand, Severus ended the spell and watched the quicksand start to thicken. Jugson had managed to get one leg free, and was now alternating between tugging at his other one and flailing his wand around, growling "Protego every few seconds. Gibbon had kept his head, and was crouching over the solidifying ground, trying every counterspell he knew. The Death Eater Severus didn't recognise, a heavyset man with thinning blond hair, had sunk further, thigh-deep in the ground. Of the three, he had been the one almost facing the clock tower, and now he thrust his wand towards Severus,
"There! Avada Kedavra!"
Lucius took advantage of the distraction. "Dissevero!" It was a nasty hex, once created to remove infected flesh, and now used to remove wand hands. The caster looked at his stump stupidly for a moment, shock paralysing his mind and delaying the onset of pain, and then it hit home, and he screamed. It was almost a kindness to stupefy him.
From his lurking place, Severus shot his ally a lopsided, grateful look, and ventured closer, using the stylised sculptures as cover. At this distance, he was fairly sure of a clear shot at Gibbon, now that the other Death Eater had slumped over, his legs still trapped. "Somnus!" Gibbon gave a little sigh and fell awkwardly forward; there was a nasty little snapping sound that suggested his ankles weren't meant to bend that way, but Severus couldn't find it in himself to feel particularly sorry for the man. Jugson, in the meantime, had given up on pulling himself free and was trying to look in two directions at once, his state of mind not helped by the heavy body resting against his leg.
He seemed to come to a decision, and, as Severus raised his wand again, twisted jerkily round. There was a crack and then, distantly, a screech of pain. Jugson had disappeared, but his left leg was still wedged firmly in the ground, embedded half-way to the knee.
"That must have stung," Lucius said conversationally. "Is that the lot?"
"I haven't seen Yaxley anywhere..." Severus glanced around cautiously and made his way over to where Lucius was standing, wondering how long it would take Jugson to pass out and stop his noise. "The place is sealed; he can't have left. Let's get the wands off this lot and then we'll track him down."
"And this was the best that His Lordship could produce..." Lucius nudged one of the bodies disdainfully with his foot, before bending and checking for wands. Anyone sensible would have a spare. Anyone paranoid might have two, and the Inner Circle tended to paranoia. "I expected better."
"Once, perhaps. It's all falling apart, Lucius. Would you have rather they were more of a challenge?" He didn't wait for an answer to that one, accio-ing wands from the various dead and unconscious figures lying around the stage. "Not everyone came. He must have kept some of them near enough not to answer the call. I daresay they'll acquit themselves well enough." Focused on trying to wrestle a wand from Amycus Carrow's tightly closed hand, he didn't see the flicker of movement from the shadows at the far side of the dome.
"In an odd way, I think I would. It makes it all rather meaningless otherwise." Lucius sighed. He may have abandoned the cause of Pureblood superiority; it didn't mean he didn't still believe it in his heart of hearts.
Jugson's howls of pain tapered into whimpering, then silence. Severus won his small battle and tossed the wand onto the growing pile, glancing at Carrow's open-eyed expression of surprise and wondered absently if there was time for realisation before the curse took hold. "Speak for yourself. I think that I'd prefer to keep the rest of my face, given the choice." He resisted the temptation to put his hand to his eye, dreading what he would find.
Behind Lucius, the black-robed figure slipped round a twisted construction of unidentifiable purpose, and raised his wand.
"Well, when you put it like that..." He straightened, hearing a sound behind him.
Yaxley, grinning malevolently, had his wand trained on Lucius' back. "Throw your wand down, Malfoy. For old time's sake, I might even let you get away..."
Severus turned slightly so that he could see the Death Eater, but made no move to abandon his wand; instead he transferred it to his right hand and gripped it meaningfully, ignoring an unhealthy little crunching sound.
Yaxley sneered. "You too, Snape."
"And we give you our wands, and we all live happily ever after, do we?" Lucius said. "I doubt you can take two of us at once."
"Perhaps not. But that'll be small consolation to one of you, won't it?" Yaxley shrugged. "Snape - exile from the Dark Lord's favour seems to have brought out your sentimental side. Not very Slytherin, is it? Why don't you put that wand down? Or I could spread friend Lucius's brains all over the floor there, if you like?"
"It's a tempting offer, though I notice there was no mention of letting me go." Severus glanced at Lucius. "What do you think, 'friend Lucius'?"
"I think Yaxley couldn't find his arse with both hands, let alone hit my head at this close range. I think you should kill him, where he stands." Lucius grinned, reckless to the last, and prepared to cast blind.
Severus mulled this over for a moment, then nodded. "Very Slytherin." Snaking his wand out at the Death Eater's outstetched hand, he hissed "Fervoris Fulmineus" and sprang to his feet, preparing to cast again.
Lucius dropped to the floor as soon as Severus' hand moved, rolled, and apparated away in a blur of movement, coming up behind Yaxley, slightly to his left.
The killing curse that had been on Yaxley's lips died as a streak of white lightning earthed itself in his wand and sent threads of light coruscating up his arm, but he didn't fall. Staggering back a few steps, he threw a half-formed curse - a twisted mass of sizzling colour and noise - towards where Lucius had been and turned as he heard the Apparition-sound behind him. A pall of boiling smoke was rising from his flesh, and the wand seemed to have melted against his hand.
"Traitors," he grated, still trying to cast.
"Well-spotted," Lucius drawled. "Stupefy!" Yaxley fell face forward onto the concrete, his head making a horrible wet sound as it struck. "And let that be a lesson to you - always stupefy and bind people before starting negotiations. Really, Yaxley, it's the sort of thing you should be learning at your mother's knee."
There was a thick, gristly noise, and the fallen Death Eater's arm, which had been bubbling with heat, ruptured. The blood that flowed briefly was blackened and smoking.
"All right?" Severus stood over the unconscious man, debating whether or not to try and retrieve his wand. There didn't seem much point, really; the flesh was so badly melted that it had flowed over the handle.
Lucius flicked his hair over his shoulder, settled his robes into place, and let out a long breath. "Fine, though, I seem to have scuffed my boots. Really, that's disappointing - they're new, and they assured me that the anti-wear charms were foolproof. I shall have to have words with them about that." He moved forward, and carefully placed a bootheel on the stump of Yaxley's wand, shattering it into pieces. "Best be safe, eh? I'm getting too old for sudden surprises, and would like to get older. So, I say again, is that the last of them?"
"That's the last of them. I'll contact the War Room and let them know. The attack should already be underway, but I'm sure they're desperate to hear news of our survival." He rolled his good eye, the other masked by drying blood. "And then the survivors should be suitably incarcerated. If you need to..." Draco hadn't been among the ones who'd answered the call, but that didn't mean he was safe. "I can tidy up here," he amended. He caught sight of the blond Death Eater's severed hand, the wand still clutched in it and nodded at Lucius, not trying to impinge upon his defences, but allowing a quiet flick of gratitude to pass outside his own. "Thank you."
"Yaxley was right, you are getting sentimental." Lucius shrugged. "It's not as if you didn't return the favour - that's an impressively nasty hex by the way."
That elicited a grin. "I suppose I shall just have to live with it." He eyed his wand, from which the disguise was fading in a slow, limping fashion. "Fulminant shock. One of my own..." He gestured enthusiastically, miming the wand arc. "You should see it at full strength - it can turn internal organs to soup." A pause, then, "I probably shouldn't be inventing Unforgiveables, Minister. Shall we forget I said that?"
"Said what? I seem to be going deaf in my more mature years." Lucius scanned the debris, and the bodies left lying in their wake. "Not bad, not bad at all. I think I should exercise Ministerial privilege though, and get a couple of low-ranking Aurors in to look after this lot. For some reason, I feel all noble and ready to dash to the rescue of our fellow members of the Order, preferably in ways that will read well in tomorrow's Prophet, followed by watching Potter off His Lordship, dipping into Hogwarts wine cellar - if there's any of it left - and finding a pretty woman with whom to spend the next week in bed. Possibly," he paused, struck by a thought, "possibly, two pretty women. What do you say?"
Still got those potions I gave you, then? Severus diplomatically kept the remark to himself and regarded the carnage quietly, thinking. Finally, he looked up. "I want Rabastan left alive. And Millicent Bulstrode and the Hooper boy... Do what you want with the rest. The wine sounds good, though." He flexed his right hand - it was complaining, but it was still working. Close enough. "Hogwarts, then?"
"As I say - sentimental." Lucius shrugged. It was no matter to him. "Hogwarts, after I've issued some instructions via floo, to the Aurory about our guests, to the house elves to have the burgundy opened so it can breathe, and to my secretary so she can set them making the Orders of Merlin we're going to merit."
"Tell her I want an anti-dust charm on mine. I've got enough problems with the House Elves as it is." Taking out the Floostick that hung from a chain around his neck, Severus clicked it open and began to issue a terse report, reflecting that no-one made priorities like a Slytherin.
Lucius glanced up at the ceiling. This, then, was what the future looked like, assuming there was a future that made it beyond that day. He really must ask Call-me-Tony what the hell he was thinking of when he allowed this monstrosity to be built.
Muggles really were odd creatures.
Written with the magnificent loosheeus. Don't mess with Slytherins.
No time to worry about it now; Lucius would be here soon, and he still had to get ready. He knelt down, shaking the contents of the bag onto the stage in front of him - a small stone bottle, the lens - deep red and gleaming dully through a layer of gauze, and his wand, disguised to resemble that of Voldemort. It might not pass close inspection, but Severus had no plans for close contact with any of the Death Eaters. Not the sort they'd survive, anyway. He threw the empty bag behind a girder and gathered up the wand in his right hand, grasping it tentatively, and the bottle in his left.
Ah, almost forgot... Reaching up, he separated a single strand of hair from its neighbours and tugged it free, twining it around the tips of the fourth and middle fingers of his right hand, murmuring under his breath.
Lucius Apparated into the building, slightly late due to some last minute Ministry business that couldn't be avoided. He scowled at his surroundings. He didn't like Muggle architecture, which seemed to him to be soulless and cold, and he didn't like the idea of conducting an ambush in unfamiliar surroundings. The only consolation was that it would be equally disorienting to the other Death Eaters when summoned here. It would take them several moments to come to terms with the absence of gravestones and all the traditional window dressing of a Death Eater meeting.
Then they would assume they were there for some sort of attack.
They would be right, of course, though not entirely accurate about their role in the attack, being rather more victim than aggressor.
"Severus? Where are you?" His voice echoed in the large space, coming back at him from all directions. Idly, he began calculating how to turn that to their advantage and further disconcert their opponents.
It had begun. The final confrontation was coming, and there would be no place to hide from the coming storm.
"Up here..." Severus lowered his wand and relaxed a little. It was only now that he wasn't alone in the vast dome that it became apparent just how large the space was. Lucius seemed calm enough. Severus wondered if that exterior implacability was genuine; the older Slytherin was so good at presenting that urbane veneer that it was hard to tell when it was reflected within, and when it was mere show. He waited for Lucius to approach, worrying at the wax seal of the bottle with his thumbnail until it disintegrated.
Voldemort's robes, or Minerva's approximation of them, felt strange - thin and insubstantial, and he shifted uneasily. Were they good enough? If the Inner Circle were still loyal, they'd come, and they were Slytherin. They hadn't got as far as they had, unless they were people like Crabbe Senior, who'd established himself by bulk and brutality alone, without some modicum of perception. He stared at the wand again, looking for flaws.
He waited until Lucius was closer before addressing him again. It seemed somehow wrong, shouting across the empty space - the disorienting echoes took a while to die away, and some superstitious corner of his mind peopled the shadows with unpleasant creatures that might be attracted by the noise.
"The call will have to be strong, if we're to pull them from as far North as Inverhope." He shot Lucius a cautious look. "Am I to use the Lens on your Mark, or mine?"
"As you're to be His Lordship... I think it would be better if it were to be used on mine. Not that I am at all happy at the thought of volunteering, but we can't run the risk of you being incapacitated." Lucius' lips twisted at the thought that he had just admitted he was expendable. It as not a comfortable feeling. Barely six months ago he wouldn't have cared one way or the other, as long as Voldemort fell, but the gaping loss of his wife had begun to heal, and life was becoming interesting again.
It was the sort of thing that fate would take as its cue to extinguish him.
Severus studied Lucius for a few seconds longer, surprised but trying to conceal it, making sure. They'd both been through worse, far worse, but it wasn't like Lucius to volunteer for anything that put him at a disadvantage. His reasoning was sound enough, though, and Severus nodded.
"Just as you say. And then... It must be out of sight when they arrive. How many do you think will come?" There had been fifty, Lucius had estimated when they'd first discussed the idea and Severus, for all his arrogance, was starting to wonder if he'd over-reached himself a little here. No. Cunning would, of course, win out. And failing that, he and Lucius knew quite a wealth of unpleasant curses between them. The others would have a fight on their hands, at least. Privately, he hoped that Peter Pettigrew would be amongst those who answered, though it didn't seem likely the little rodent would be far from his master's heel. Live or die, hexing Pettigrew repeatedly in the face would make up for all.
Lucius shrugged. "Who can say? Almost all of them, I'd say. No one refuses to come when Called, and if they suspect it isn't a real Call they will have to come to investigate and punish whoever is behind it. Either way, I think we can guarantee a full guest list for this morning's performance." Lucius moved his wand in his cane, checking that it would come free easily when needed. "You will be delighted to know that I've left a signed pardon for all the members of the Order if they happen to use an Unforgivable. Assuming we live long enough to need that sort of thing." Lucius grinned like a shark. "I think that evens things up between the two sides nicely, don't you?"
Severus returned the smile, mirthless. "You are a prince among men," he assured him sincerely. There had, after all, been a lot of princes, and some of them were not very nice at all. He regarded the little bottle apprehensively, pushing the stopper free. He was no stranger to Polyjuice and the seemingly infinite variation in taste and appearance. Flavius Visconti's had been a golden ochre, sour beneath the flavour of almonds and, for some reason, boot-polish. Voldemort's had been nothing like that. He made a face, like someone regarding a spoonful of unpleasant medicine. "If you're ready, then?" He nodded towards the lens, in its wrapping of gauze. "Once I take the potion, we'll send the Call immediately. It's not as stable as Polyjuice should be - the blood is old, and V..." He couldn't - it was ridiculous, but the idea of saying the Dark Lord's name aloud sent a shiver through him. "The Dark Lord is not human. Once it wears off, I'd imagine things are going to get quite exciting."
"Let us hope it gets truly exciting for others, then, and not ourselves. I've still got a case of the good brandy left. It would be a shame to die before that was finished." He cocked an eyebrow at Severus. "So, shall we?"
"I haven't anything better to be doing." Severus steeled himself and raised the bottle in a salute. "Slainte mhath." He drained it, swallowing before the burning cold could make him gag, and stowed the bottle with the empty bag, exchanging it for the sullen weight of the Lens. This was the second time he'd used Voldemort's blood in Polyjuice, so he was prepared for the change. It was impossible, though, to ready himself for the feeling that came with the new form, and he let it fill him, not resisting it as he had when he'd tested the deception on the werewolf, Charles. It was heady, Dangerous.
When the strange, yawning sensation of change had ended, he raised his hands to his face and closed his eyes against a wave of vertigo. Everything was distant, unimportant. He almost laughed aloud. Did I honestly think this would be difficult? He held up the Lens, his expression imperious.
"Lucius? Your arm."
The tone was hard and commanding, as if it were really Voldemort that was standing before him. His first response, inculcated by long years, was to bow and to say 'yes, my lord'. He stifled it; there would be no more of that. Not even to the real Dark Lord. He held out his arm, and braced himself.
Admiring the bloody gleam at the heart of the stone, Severus laid it over the Mark and trained his wand on it. This would hurt, he imagined, and a half-smile slid across his face. The burst of magic was not instantaneous; Severus allowed it to build for a long moment before pouring it into the lens, waiting until his wand was almost vibrating in his hand. Light seared across the short distance, firing the dull red crystal into brilliance, making Lucius' arm appear as if it was bleeding.
"You really don't have to look as if you're enjoying that quite so much," Lucius said through gritted teeth.
"You're absolutely right," Severus murmured, trying out the voice, half appalled, half delighted at the sound. I don't have to. Behind him, at the foot of the stage, he heard the first sharp report of an Apparition, and moved slightly so that his body would mask what he was doing.
Lucius right hand moved to his wand. It was hard to concentrate through the pain, but experience allowed him to clear a portion of his mind, waiting for the moment to strike.
Enough. The lens was growing hot in his hand; Severus closed his fingers around it, at the same time cutting off the summons, and turned to face the growing congregation. Apparently Dark wizards don't require pockets, he thought, and gritted his teeth over another hysterical cackle of laughter. The Apparitions were slowing now, some last stragglers arriving at the back of the group, a few curt, overlapping cracks echoing in the waiting silence. When all was still, Severus folded his hands behind him, regarding his servants with a proprietorial air, and carefully spread his fingers, keeping them concealed behind him, and felt the thin snap of the strand of hair.
In the War Room, a tiny twist of silvery substance, suspended by a single hair, was suddenly released and drifted down into the clear liquid beneath. There was a instant of complete stillness, then the liquid erupted into boiling crimson light.
"Good. I see that at least some of you have kept your nerve." How many? Not fifty, certainly, but more than he'd expected. He eyed the assembled Death Eaters, seeming to mark who stood close and eager, who hovered nervously at the back. Thirty-two. "We are close, so close to our final victory and yet..." He let the word dangle delicately, now focusing on the stragglers, warmed by their fear. "And yet. There are some who place their own safety before the realisation of our great Cause." His voice, which had been honeyed and contemplative, turned icy. "And before their loyalty to me."
Lucius smirked. That kind of rhetoric was typical of the Dark Lord, and though the faces before him were masked, he could read their nervousness in the line of their bodies and their shuffling feet.
Severus prowled to the edge of the stage, seeming lost in thought as he examined the tracery of markings on his wand. Most of the wizards were clustered loosely in front of him, seeking safety in numbers, but there was a knot of four... no five of them who had arrived on the far side of some sort of large noticeboard, which still partially masked them. First, get them together. We don't want to be fielding curses from all directions. He wondered how many of them had felt a prickle of discomfort as they materialised, triggering an array of subtle traps, and eyed the stray group with deceptive mildness.
"Believe me when I say that those who have faltered now will not be forgotten. Indeed, they may find that even death is not a refuge from my displeasure." A satisfying ripple of unease passed through the crowd. "Come closer. I would have my faithful near, tonight." A languid gesture of summons dispelled any remaining traps; it wouln't do for he or Lucius to set one off by mistake.
Severus was obviously enjoying himself. Lucius only hoped he wasn't going to go too far with the amateur dramatics. Now would be a really good time to start killing people.
There was a reluctant shift amongst the Death Eaters, those at the back pressing forward, closing up the ranks, those at the front edging hesitantly towards the stage. There was a tension in the air, and it was clear that the presiding thought amongst the masked figures was someone's in for it.... Severus turned slightly, making eye contact with Lucius, then spun on his heel and paced the edge of the stage, finally coming to a halt at the opposite side so that, between them, he and Lucius had the group in their sights. A gaudy mechanical clock hung over an archway, half way between the stage and the improbably large, stylised figures that were apparently part of the exhibits. Severus glanced at it, a brief flick of his eyes. Another minute, at most, and the traps he and Lucius had prepared would begin to fire.
"My devoted Bellatrix... loyal, even in death..." He stopped, a chill breaking through the warming rush of power as surely as a handful of snow down the back of his neck, and he grasped desperately for that warmth and certainty that Voldemort's blood had offered, suddenly lost. You don't have time. Use it. Use it or you might as well give up now. When he continued, the bitter venom that laced his words was genuine. "Bellatrix has warned me that all is not well. There is a traitor in our midst. The traitor. Here amongst us." He let that percolate through the Death Eaters for a moment, then commanded "Unmask. All of you. If he is here, he will not escape."
Lucius barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. The traitor was certainly in their midst, right before their noses. He swept his mask off, allowing his hair to ripple free across his robes. "There can be no more loyal servant than myself," he declared.
There was something so absurd about the statement that Severus was startled from his impending fugue. He caught hold of the surge of contemptuous amusement and let it lift him. "Your devotion is without compare, Lucius. As you seem compelled to keep reminding me."
The minute hand trembled, then ticked forward. There. Severus watched with ill-concealed impatience as mask after mask dissolved into smoke. Some faces he recognised, some were strangers. Two, he noted, were students of the year before last. These last he regarded with particular interest, trying to glean anything from the surfaces of their minds that would suggest they had taken the Mark by coercion. He could find nothing to save them from being condemned with all the rest. But still...
"You. Bulstrode. Hooper. The cauldron is in there." He pointed one bone-coloured finger towards a strange, bulbous tent to their left. "Go and fetch it." Another worried ripple amongst the faithful. The cauldron that Voldemort had been using to turn wizards into squibs had been seen by few, but rumours had a habit of circulating. Severus watched them go. They'd be immobilised as soon as they entered the tent and, whether or not Lucius approved, he'd find another way to deal with them. "And until they return," he now addressed the others, almost conversationally, "we will wait. Polyjuice does not last forever. The one who brings me the traitor's wand will be rewarded." And the first of the Polyjuice traps should be taking effect right about... now..
The effect was electric. Several figures wavered, taking on the shape and form of Snape. Their neighbours hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, so Lucius helpfully provided the necessary momentum. "Get him," he shouted, and then all hell was let loose. The victims, unaware of their changed appearance, were unprepared, but even neophyte Death Eaters were jumpy and paraniod. As their fellows went for their wands, so did they, managing to get off a couple of lucky hexes. Lucius cast without regard for who he was hitting, sending powerful stunning spells arcing through the crowd to bring down one, two, three targets.
A moment later, several strong Confundus charms erupted in the midst of the spreading, duelling group. Those fortunate enough to be on the periphery had already backed away, variously trying to get a clear shot at the Polyjuiced intruders or to place themselves safely out of range of the chaos. Severus felled one of them with a Sagitta debilitas and then followed it up with a hissed Praestringere that left another of the retreating wizards stumbling in a circle, his hands over his eyes. A Confounded Death Eater, staring about herself, dazed and blinking, suddenly turned on her neighbour, wand thrust in his face, screaming "TRAITOR!"
Not to be outdone, Lucius added his mite to the confusion, picking out targets one by one and hexing them into unconsciousness. A flick of a wand saw one man fly through the air, to land on his back, legs waving feebly, wound round with invisible ropes, arms pinioned to his sides. Another flick, and a woman was caught, poised to hex and a curse on her lips, then falling to the ground. A slicing hex whizzed past his ear, and he dismissed it with a casual twist of his wrist, casting Protego to deflect any further stray curses.
Riding the sensation of invulnerability, Severus noted with clinical interest the moment when the tide of battle turned from Death Eater versus Death Eater to focus on Lucius and himself. The Polyjuice, he was sure, had not yet dissipated; the savage delight at watching the Death Eaters firing hexes blindly amongst themselves could have originated with Voldemort or in his own mind, but the hand that clutched his wand was still the Dark Lord's hand. Still, there had been a cry of "We've been tricked!" from amidst the crowd, and though it had taken a minute or more to sway the others, that had marked the end of the deception. Of thirty-two Death Eaters, some twenty-one were still on their feet and fifteen of them were clear-headed enough not to be repeatedly cursing the Polyjuiced fallen.
"I think," Lucius said, eyes glittering with unholy amusement, "that we have been - as Pettigrew would say so charmingly - rumbled. This is about to get fun." He shook his robes back from his hand, his wand held at arm's length before him in the approved duelling position. "May I suggest that we hex to kill at this point?"
Severus slashed his wand downwards, raising a Declinare as something blue and crackling devoured the air in front of him, and took a step backwards, taking stock from behind the temporary shield. "Outstanding idea," he managed, a little out of breath, and readied himself. Of those who remained, it seemed fitting that the majority were of Voldemort's Inner Circle - what was left of it. The Carrow siblings, Mugson, Gibbon, Rabastan Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood. No sign of Pettigrew, disappointingly enough. Travers, Dolohov, Yaxley, Mulciber... Family reunion, he thought, a little wildly, and brought his left hand, which had all this time been closed around the lens, forward and up, hurling the crystal into the air over their heads. Both Carrows and the youngest Lestrange followed the motion and raised their wands, expecting the object to rain curses on their heads, and Severus took the opportunity to throw a Killing Curse towards them, not waiting to see who it hit.
There was a snarl from their opponents. "What do you think you're playing at, Lucius? Fancy being the next Dark Lord, do you?"
"Not at all, Dolohov," Lucius replied. "I wouldn't want to mar the perfection of my profile."
"You dare insult the Dark Lord!"
"I dare more than that." Lucius cast Avada, the green flash of the spell flickering harmlessly over Dolohov's shoulder as he ducked out of the way. Lucius swore. He couldn't afford to miss like that.
Apparition out of the dome was impossible. Severus had seen to that, not wanting to lose any of the carefully lured Death Eaters if the plan went astray. Apparition within the tent, though... he'd made a careful circuit of the strange building earlier, and now he visualised the platform to his right, where the enormous fibreglass figure of a crouching adolescent provided an imposing, if disturbing, temporary shelter, and Disapparated.
Their opponents scattered, eyes scanning the Dome to see where Snape had gone to, whilst trying to keep a watch on Lucius at the same time. Lucius shifted towards the back of the stage, slipping into the shadows, and obscuring their aim.
Severus watched Lucius fade back, taking careful aim at Augustus Rookwood from the platform. The acoustics of the dome had worked in his favour - the echoes of his reApparition had resounded from every direction, giving no clue to his location. He doubted it would be long before they tried the same trick, but his superior knowledge of the surroundings would give him a temporary advantage. Amycus Carrow lay motionless amidst a sprawl of unconscious bodies; his curse had struck home after all. Better get moving, before it occurs to someone to use Enervate on the others and we have to start from the beginning...
"Avada Kedavra!" he snarled, and ducked behind the sculpture, feeling a protesting twinge from his hand. Not yet...
The curse struck amongst the herd, scattering them like sheep, and Lucius took the opportunity to strike. His shot hit Dolohov, who staggered, a look of surprise on his face, then fell forward in slow motion. Lucius didn't wait to see what their reaction would be, but apparated, not moving from his position and blinking back onto the same spot an instant later. He swiftly cast a disillusioning charm, and watched them look round nervously to see where he'd gone.
One all, Severus, he thought. Now it's your turn.
Several brittle reports notified Severus that his surmise had been correct. No good staying there any longer - there was no knowing who might appear on the platform next. The ache in his hand was growing more insistent as Voldemort's uninjured bones started a slow, unsteady metamorphosis back to his own, and an indescribable sensation in the middle of his face hinted that the Dark Lord's state of pronounced noselessness was about to be dramatically reversed. With a silent curse, he vanished, reappearing on the far side of the dome between a cluster of towering blue and white cones.
There - a flicker of black as someone edged around the base of one of the cones. Severus darted across to the construction - some sort of tough, shiny fabric - and followed the figure, his bare feet making almost no noise on the strange, slightly rough flooring. It was Rabastan, who seemed to be stalking someone. Severus continued after him, at a distance. There was always the chance the Death Eater was about to hex one of his fellows, and that would save at least one hasty Apparition. He sighted along his wand, waiting. What if it's Lucius? Better to be safe than sorry. He opened his mouth to deliver the killing curse.
And then you can go back and tell Bellatrix that you killed her brother-in-law.
"Petrificus Totalis!"
Lucius made a note to have a firm word with Severus when this was all over about the desirability of taking out one's opponents effectively. There was no one else he could think of in this crowd that would be casting such an anodyne spell. This really wasn't the time to get sentimental, especially if it put him at risk.
He apparated twice in quick succession, flipping into existence long enough to fire off a couple of hexes at two blurred targets, and then out again, fetching up against the far end of the stage. He looked back to see what damage he had caused, but couldn't tell for certain who he'd hit or to what extent. "I don't suppose," he said, sounding as relaxed as if he were at a tea party, "any of you bastards would consider surrendering, would you?"
He moved again, sheltering behind some large object of unfortunate proportions and hideous hue as several curses thudded into the spot he had just been occupying.
The last of the Polyjuice wore out in a sudden rush, and the sensation of all-consuming confidence with it, but Severus couldn't prevent a brief smile. Lucius Malfoy. Duelling for his life, but still charming as ever. He Apparated once more, this time ending up on a circular gantry near the roof of the dome, overlookng the collection of misshapen buildings. A hex hit the metallic railing to his right and shattered, sending arcs of glittering blackness in every direction. Splinters pattered onto the gantry, but Severus was no longer there, catching his breath in the shelter of a bank of dull grey panels on the far side of the walkway.
A movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see a shape blur into existence some ten feet from him. This time he didn't hesitate. The killing curse struck the Death Eater, one he didn't recognise, squarely in the chest and sent him sprawling before the sound of his Apparition had faded away. Severus drew back behind the lifeless screens, listening.
The body fell, landing wetly between two figures that didn't spare it a glance, too intent on searching out their attackers and looking after their own skins. Lucius glanced up, trying to spot Severus in amongst the appalling Muggle paraphenalia but couldn't spot him.
"Are you sure you don't want to surrender," he called out again, a shielding spell firmly in place. "I can recommend Azkaban. The sea air is delightful at this time of year."
Mulciber told him what he could do with his offer.
"I don't think that's physically possible," Lucius replied, "though I hear you've tried it a couple of times."
He barely flickered out of sight before the spells hit, then counter-attacked from their flank bringing down Travers into a crumpled heap. "Am I going to have to do all of the hard work," he muttered to himself.
On the far side of the gantry, as if in answer to Lucius' question, another body tumbled limply through the air, undoing the efforts of a Muggle cleaning company by thoughtlessly distributing its innards over a patch of once-pristine floor. Severus looked over the railing and shuddered - the Death Eater had been another of the newer ones, short-haired and perplexingly androgynous. A closer look now would very likely solve that particular mystery, but his curiosity wasn't that strong.
There was a low, open-throated roar of power; Severus snapped his head back, his vision filled with crimson light, and felt something as sharp and searing as a handful of razor blades, skim past his face and splash across a girder behind him, bubbling the paint like acid. Alecto Carrow had appeared on the opposite side of the circular gantry, her face distorted with rage. With a feral growl, he sent a Malleus Necros thundering across the space towards her. The air twisted as if superheated and Carrow, already mouthing another curse, was blasted backwards over the railing, graceful for perhaps the first and last time in her life until she crashed onto the wreckage of something boxy and electronic, her chest oddly concave beneath her scorched robes, acid green sparks spilling from the end of her wand.
Lucius, distracted by Carrow's end, nearly missed the ripple in the air that signalled the arrival of someone apparating in. Mulciber, always one for getting his hands dirty, appeared from nowhere, blasting off another slicing hex, and allowing his momentum to carry him forward to crash into Lucius. They swayed together for a moment, and then fell backwards, landing heavily on the ground. Lucius's breath was forced out of him by the rough landing, coupled with Mulciber's attempt to use his wand to carve his way through to Lucius' spine. "You always were a useless ponce," Mulciber said, lips drawn back in a grimace. "Swanning around as if you owned the place..."
His invective was cut off by Lucius applying knee to groin in an utterly unsportsmanlike manner that was the product of six years of hard-fought quidditch matches. Mulciber should have remembered his reputation for playing dirty when the occasion warranted, which was any occasion when he wanted to win. "I think you'll find," he gasped, following the blow with another one and forcing Mulciber to the side, both struggling to free themselves long enough to cast, "that I swanned round like that because I bloody did own the place." He kicked again, harder, and Mulciber's eyes crossed with pain.
His father would turn in his grave if he saw his son brawling in such a vulgar manner, and then urge him to finish the bugger.
Mulciber tried to roll back on top, and put his entire weight on Lucius' wrists, trying to make him drop his wand. One of his companions, trying to be helpful, cast something, something that slammed into Mulciber, who opened his mouth to scream, took two breaths, and then collapsed, pinning Lucius to the ground. His breath stank, almost a weapon in itself. Lucius scrambled back, holding him as a shield, dishevelled and undignified, until he was safely behind a pillar. He wiped his hand across hs brow, bringing away blood. It didn't appear to be his.
Severus crouched against a girder, trying to massage the feeling back into his right hand, which was tingling aggravatingly. There was the sizzle of a curse from the ground below, and the breathless grunt of a falling body. That's not Lucius, he told himself, firmly. A moment later, a frustrated string of invective from below confirmed it, as someone failed to hit their target. Giving up on his right hand for now, he transferred his wand to his left and blinked - the world looked strangely flat and there was a dull heat masking his face where Alecto's curse had clipped him. He put a hand to his cheek and it came away sticky with blood, then moved it slowly in front of his right eye. Nothing.
Well that's just sodding perfect. Rising, he took one quick, cautious look over the walkway railing, then drew back and Disapparated, reappearing by the base of the mechanical clock. His glance had shown three Death Eaters near the stage; it was hard to tell from above, but he'd identified Jugson and Gibbon, and a third he didn't know, back to back, trying to cover the whole area with their wands. The six confounded wizards and witches had been reduced to two - by one another or by Lucius, he wasn't sure, and the two of them were standing over a fallen comrade, staring raptly at his face in case a dose of Polyjuice was about to wear off. Which left... hadn't Yaxley been amongst the crowd? He didn't remember seeing him go down.
He quickly reviewed his options. Avada might not work. His accuracy was impaired and, even if he hit one of them, there'd be two more taking aim or Disapparating. Just stay there for a minute. The three of them together was too good an opportunity to waste.
"Fluosyrtis," he whispered, his wand trained on the ground beneath them.
Lucius was bloody, dishevelled, and his knee was aching. He was also fairly pissed off with life. It fell short of the sort of killing rage that could fuel the Dark Arts, but a tetchy Lucius was still a Lucius who was inclined to hurt people. He gripped his wand more tightly, and prepared to make someone suffer.
The spell was barely more than a grey curse - an inconvenience, or perhaps a prank that might entertain a young Slytherin with some time on their hands. But what it lacked in vicousness, it made up for in several interesting ways. Firstly, it was silent. Secondly, it demanded little accuracy, spreading over several metres. And thirdly, once it took hold, it moved fast. Beneath the three wizards, solid ground turned suddenly to sucking quicksand, dragging them down enthusiastically before any of them could move to Apparate. That little half-turn grew rather hard to execute when buried to the shins in the ground...
Drawing back his wand, Severus ended the spell and watched the quicksand start to thicken. Jugson had managed to get one leg free, and was now alternating between tugging at his other one and flailing his wand around, growling "Protego every few seconds. Gibbon had kept his head, and was crouching over the solidifying ground, trying every counterspell he knew. The Death Eater Severus didn't recognise, a heavyset man with thinning blond hair, had sunk further, thigh-deep in the ground. Of the three, he had been the one almost facing the clock tower, and now he thrust his wand towards Severus,
"There! Avada Kedavra!"
Lucius took advantage of the distraction. "Dissevero!" It was a nasty hex, once created to remove infected flesh, and now used to remove wand hands. The caster looked at his stump stupidly for a moment, shock paralysing his mind and delaying the onset of pain, and then it hit home, and he screamed. It was almost a kindness to stupefy him.
From his lurking place, Severus shot his ally a lopsided, grateful look, and ventured closer, using the stylised sculptures as cover. At this distance, he was fairly sure of a clear shot at Gibbon, now that the other Death Eater had slumped over, his legs still trapped. "Somnus!" Gibbon gave a little sigh and fell awkwardly forward; there was a nasty little snapping sound that suggested his ankles weren't meant to bend that way, but Severus couldn't find it in himself to feel particularly sorry for the man. Jugson, in the meantime, had given up on pulling himself free and was trying to look in two directions at once, his state of mind not helped by the heavy body resting against his leg.
He seemed to come to a decision, and, as Severus raised his wand again, twisted jerkily round. There was a crack and then, distantly, a screech of pain. Jugson had disappeared, but his left leg was still wedged firmly in the ground, embedded half-way to the knee.
"That must have stung," Lucius said conversationally. "Is that the lot?"
"I haven't seen Yaxley anywhere..." Severus glanced around cautiously and made his way over to where Lucius was standing, wondering how long it would take Jugson to pass out and stop his noise. "The place is sealed; he can't have left. Let's get the wands off this lot and then we'll track him down."
"And this was the best that His Lordship could produce..." Lucius nudged one of the bodies disdainfully with his foot, before bending and checking for wands. Anyone sensible would have a spare. Anyone paranoid might have two, and the Inner Circle tended to paranoia. "I expected better."
"Once, perhaps. It's all falling apart, Lucius. Would you have rather they were more of a challenge?" He didn't wait for an answer to that one, accio-ing wands from the various dead and unconscious figures lying around the stage. "Not everyone came. He must have kept some of them near enough not to answer the call. I daresay they'll acquit themselves well enough." Focused on trying to wrestle a wand from Amycus Carrow's tightly closed hand, he didn't see the flicker of movement from the shadows at the far side of the dome.
"In an odd way, I think I would. It makes it all rather meaningless otherwise." Lucius sighed. He may have abandoned the cause of Pureblood superiority; it didn't mean he didn't still believe it in his heart of hearts.
Jugson's howls of pain tapered into whimpering, then silence. Severus won his small battle and tossed the wand onto the growing pile, glancing at Carrow's open-eyed expression of surprise and wondered absently if there was time for realisation before the curse took hold. "Speak for yourself. I think that I'd prefer to keep the rest of my face, given the choice." He resisted the temptation to put his hand to his eye, dreading what he would find.
Behind Lucius, the black-robed figure slipped round a twisted construction of unidentifiable purpose, and raised his wand.
"Well, when you put it like that..." He straightened, hearing a sound behind him.
Yaxley, grinning malevolently, had his wand trained on Lucius' back. "Throw your wand down, Malfoy. For old time's sake, I might even let you get away..."
Severus turned slightly so that he could see the Death Eater, but made no move to abandon his wand; instead he transferred it to his right hand and gripped it meaningfully, ignoring an unhealthy little crunching sound.
Yaxley sneered. "You too, Snape."
"And we give you our wands, and we all live happily ever after, do we?" Lucius said. "I doubt you can take two of us at once."
"Perhaps not. But that'll be small consolation to one of you, won't it?" Yaxley shrugged. "Snape - exile from the Dark Lord's favour seems to have brought out your sentimental side. Not very Slytherin, is it? Why don't you put that wand down? Or I could spread friend Lucius's brains all over the floor there, if you like?"
"It's a tempting offer, though I notice there was no mention of letting me go." Severus glanced at Lucius. "What do you think, 'friend Lucius'?"
"I think Yaxley couldn't find his arse with both hands, let alone hit my head at this close range. I think you should kill him, where he stands." Lucius grinned, reckless to the last, and prepared to cast blind.
Severus mulled this over for a moment, then nodded. "Very Slytherin." Snaking his wand out at the Death Eater's outstetched hand, he hissed "Fervoris Fulmineus" and sprang to his feet, preparing to cast again.
Lucius dropped to the floor as soon as Severus' hand moved, rolled, and apparated away in a blur of movement, coming up behind Yaxley, slightly to his left.
The killing curse that had been on Yaxley's lips died as a streak of white lightning earthed itself in his wand and sent threads of light coruscating up his arm, but he didn't fall. Staggering back a few steps, he threw a half-formed curse - a twisted mass of sizzling colour and noise - towards where Lucius had been and turned as he heard the Apparition-sound behind him. A pall of boiling smoke was rising from his flesh, and the wand seemed to have melted against his hand.
"Traitors," he grated, still trying to cast.
"Well-spotted," Lucius drawled. "Stupefy!" Yaxley fell face forward onto the concrete, his head making a horrible wet sound as it struck. "And let that be a lesson to you - always stupefy and bind people before starting negotiations. Really, Yaxley, it's the sort of thing you should be learning at your mother's knee."
There was a thick, gristly noise, and the fallen Death Eater's arm, which had been bubbling with heat, ruptured. The blood that flowed briefly was blackened and smoking.
"All right?" Severus stood over the unconscious man, debating whether or not to try and retrieve his wand. There didn't seem much point, really; the flesh was so badly melted that it had flowed over the handle.
Lucius flicked his hair over his shoulder, settled his robes into place, and let out a long breath. "Fine, though, I seem to have scuffed my boots. Really, that's disappointing - they're new, and they assured me that the anti-wear charms were foolproof. I shall have to have words with them about that." He moved forward, and carefully placed a bootheel on the stump of Yaxley's wand, shattering it into pieces. "Best be safe, eh? I'm getting too old for sudden surprises, and would like to get older. So, I say again, is that the last of them?"
"That's the last of them. I'll contact the War Room and let them know. The attack should already be underway, but I'm sure they're desperate to hear news of our survival." He rolled his good eye, the other masked by drying blood. "And then the survivors should be suitably incarcerated. If you need to..." Draco hadn't been among the ones who'd answered the call, but that didn't mean he was safe. "I can tidy up here," he amended. He caught sight of the blond Death Eater's severed hand, the wand still clutched in it and nodded at Lucius, not trying to impinge upon his defences, but allowing a quiet flick of gratitude to pass outside his own. "Thank you."
"Yaxley was right, you are getting sentimental." Lucius shrugged. "It's not as if you didn't return the favour - that's an impressively nasty hex by the way."
That elicited a grin. "I suppose I shall just have to live with it." He eyed his wand, from which the disguise was fading in a slow, limping fashion. "Fulminant shock. One of my own..." He gestured enthusiastically, miming the wand arc. "You should see it at full strength - it can turn internal organs to soup." A pause, then, "I probably shouldn't be inventing Unforgiveables, Minister. Shall we forget I said that?"
"Said what? I seem to be going deaf in my more mature years." Lucius scanned the debris, and the bodies left lying in their wake. "Not bad, not bad at all. I think I should exercise Ministerial privilege though, and get a couple of low-ranking Aurors in to look after this lot. For some reason, I feel all noble and ready to dash to the rescue of our fellow members of the Order, preferably in ways that will read well in tomorrow's Prophet, followed by watching Potter off His Lordship, dipping into Hogwarts wine cellar - if there's any of it left - and finding a pretty woman with whom to spend the next week in bed. Possibly," he paused, struck by a thought, "possibly, two pretty women. What do you say?"
Still got those potions I gave you, then? Severus diplomatically kept the remark to himself and regarded the carnage quietly, thinking. Finally, he looked up. "I want Rabastan left alive. And Millicent Bulstrode and the Hooper boy... Do what you want with the rest. The wine sounds good, though." He flexed his right hand - it was complaining, but it was still working. Close enough. "Hogwarts, then?"
"As I say - sentimental." Lucius shrugged. It was no matter to him. "Hogwarts, after I've issued some instructions via floo, to the Aurory about our guests, to the house elves to have the burgundy opened so it can breathe, and to my secretary so she can set them making the Orders of Merlin we're going to merit."
"Tell her I want an anti-dust charm on mine. I've got enough problems with the House Elves as it is." Taking out the Floostick that hung from a chain around his neck, Severus clicked it open and began to issue a terse report, reflecting that no-one made priorities like a Slytherin.
Lucius glanced up at the ceiling. This, then, was what the future looked like, assuming there was a future that made it beyond that day. He really must ask Call-me-Tony what the hell he was thinking of when he allowed this monstrosity to be built.
Muggles really were odd creatures.
Written with the magnificent loosheeus. Don't mess with Slytherins.