[IC] Finite Incantatem [AU Harry Potter RP] – ALWAYS OPEN!

[McHaggis]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Ronan Findley
The sound of rustling papers and a mug being placed down on the desk with a heavy, tired hand was all that escaped the quiet parlour in Aldenberg Manor, the plush chairs all vacant except for one. Ronan's good leg was twitching uncontrollably, in equal parts due to exhaustion and frustration; from one too many all-nighters, pouring over maps of Death Eater mansions but mostly the frightening lack of information on the Dark Lord's activities.

For the past few weeks, all was silent when it came to Voldemort, and that was more worrisome than anything else. Thankfully – which was a rather morbid thing to even think of – the now-vast ranks of his followers were as prolific as ever in their killing and hunting and general evil. Twelve Muggleborns attacked. Five killed. Five sent to Azkaban. The other two...

Well, they'd disappeared. They were beyond the reach of The Ashes, but certainly not the first to vanish – one there, three elsewhere... it was maddening, like a jigsaw puzzle he couldn't fit together. The thought of them itched at the back of his mind, the mystery an almost painful annoyance – not because he was worried for their lives, but the why of it confused him.

After peering out the large window at the sunset, he nodded to himself. While he forced himself to his feet and limped over to the door with the help of his cane, he opened it with a wave of his wand and hollered, “Meeting's starting in five!” to whoever might have been nearby. Everyone else? He hoped they'd get there on time. Ronan slowly made his way back to his seat at the round table, rubbing at his forehead.

1st December, 1999 - Cunningham Residence
Luther Cunningham

"Lilly McKinley, please rise," boomed the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - Lucius Malfoy, also Minister of Magic. The witch in question rose from her seat in the center of the room. Lilly wore a prisoner’s attire; she had previously been in Muggle clothing, but they were taken from her when the Death Eaters had captured her. She is rather small, only 5’4” (1.6 m), and the Death Eaters didn’t care to give her properly fitting clothing, so the sleeves went well past her hands; the pants were far too long, forcing her to pull them up or else trip over them when walking. Overall, the impression one got from her was of a frightened child, and in a way thats exactly what she was. She was anything but a child however, having finished her seventh year at Hogwarts a full ten years prior.

Everyone in the room stared intently at the Chief Warlock, waiting for what they all knew would inevitably come next. “Ms. McKinley, you are charged with failure to register with the Muggleborn Registration Committee, in addition to evasion from the Ministry of Magic in relation to this charge. The Wizengamot has found you guilty of both charges, and consequently have sentenced you to a lifetime stay in Azkaban,” announced Malfoy. Lilly sank to her knees. “No!” she cried. “Please, don’t send me to Azkaban! It’s not my fault my parents are Muggles!” A wave of laughter erupted from the Wizengamot, as they looked down at this pathetic display.

Meanwhile, a man struggled against two guards at the entrance to the room. “Let me through! That’s my sister!” pleaded Luther Cunningham, although he knew it was useless. He had failed his sister, and now she would spend the rest of her life in Azkaban, and there was nothing he could do about it. He attempted to shout out to her, but she couldn’t hear him. “LUTHER! LUTHER!” she cried, wishfully hoping that he could do something - anything - but to no avail. “LUTHER!”

Luther woke with a start. There was a banging on the door. “Luther! Get up you fool! Or are you still too miserable about your pathetic little sister to perform your duties?” the voice said with a chilling laugh. Luther sighed. He glanced at the picture in the open locket on his table, and a beaming, laughing Lilly returned his gaze. He closed the locket and put on his robe, stuffing the locket inside, as the banging on his door continued. “Quit breaking my door down, I’m coming!” he demanded angrily as he walked to the door and opened it. A greatly amused Bellatrix Lestrange pushed her way past him even before the door had been fully opened. “Well at least you answered this time; perhaps you’re finally getting over it?” she laughed. With a look at Luther’s unamused face, she went on, “Perhaps not. Anyways, we’ve located another Muggleborn that thought they could hide from us. William Keiper. Avid supporter of those filthy Ashes. The Dark Lord expects you to join the raid. Be there at noon, and not a minute after.” “And If the Dark Lord finds that I am absent?” Luther prodded, although he already knew what the reply would be. “Oh, but you won’t be absent, Luther!” Lestrange exclaimed, clearly enjoying every bit of this encounter. “We both already know that. See you then, my poor, miserable, heartbroken friend!” With a final laugh, she made her leave, and a disgruntled Luther sat back down on his bed.

Some ideas work themselves out over the course of weeks, while others spring to life in an instant, just begging to be executed. The idea that sprang from Luther’s head as he sat on his bed was of the latter kind. The Ashes! That’s it! I don’t have to work with the sick people that ruined Lilly’s life, I can join the Ashes and help end the Dark Lord’s reign! He leapt up in a hurry, grabbing his wand and making for the door, his mind racing all the while. Surely they could use a spy. Why wouldn’t they? They could use all the help they can get! As he opened the door, he paused. “But how to make them trust me?” Luther pondered. Why should the only people remaining to oppose the Death Eaters trust someone they think is their enemy? Instantly he knew the answer to his problem. I’ll go warn Keiper of the danger he’s in. Surely then they’ll have reason enough to trust me! What’s that witch’s name… Jia Shang? That’s it! Supposedly she has a cell phone - whatever that is - and every Muggleborn around can contact her with it. In return for saving him, surely I can persuade Keiper to pass on a message? Fair enough repayment, I’d say, for saving him from a life in Azkaban! Luther strode out the door, closing it behind him, with renewed resolve in his heart. I’ll make them pay for what they did, Lilly!

Later that day, Bellatrix, with a small gathering of Death Eaters behind her, blew open the door and rushed into William Keiper’s cottage. A moment later, the assembled Death Eaters heard her scream, ”WHERE IS HE?!” The Death Eaters rushed into the cottage, and Bellatrix yelled at them to spread out and search the entire premises. “Search every room! Every corner! He MUST be here!” Luther smiled to himself and looked Southeast, where he knew that Mr. Keiper was already several hundred miles away with a cousin in Germany. “Let’s just hope he held his end of the deal,” Luther thought.

[Jig]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor Grounds
David Howell

It was cold. It shouldn’t have been any great surprise, being December, but David’s teeth nonetheless chattered. It probably had something to do with the fact he was wearing shorts out, despite the light dusting of frost that had been greeting the English mornings for the whole of the past fortnight. He didn’t own any proper trousers - he found them repressive, and, frankly, had no idea where he might procure a pair nowadays anyway. It was cold, though. Perhaps next year, he would re-think the trousers thing: looking down, he noticed that his exposed ankles, clearly visible over the tops of his shoes, were tinged with a dull grey-blue.

The grounds of Aldenberg Manor were curiously still. There was something eerily impossible about the sterility of the environment. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had something to do with the magical protections on the manor and its grounds. It was just as well: it was very flat land, especially around the lake, and the sweeping winds one might expect would have driven anybody indoors, proper trousers or no. Even inside, the manor was oddly unnatural. David’s experience of magical manors was, naturally, rather limited, and he only had his time at Hogwarts with which to compare it. Even Hogwarts, for all its spires and dwarfing massiveness, had a quirky backward warmth to it. Aldenberg Manor, despite being smaller and theoretically cosier, felt devoid of something by comparison. It didn’t help that those things that make a house a home had been utterly removed for reasons of security, and the blank spots where portraits had resided up until the past few years gave the place a cold, empty air that couldn’t quite be remedied by a fireplace or people.

David preferred it in the grounds. Apart from anything else, he couldn’t be seen outside.

His target, or subject, was a tree. Every once in a while, if he could stomach it, he would face up to the old Sycamore, wand in hand. Everybody had to practice, and David was painfully aware that he had to practice more than most. He raised his wand, and muttered the incantation under his breath:

“Diffindo.”

A pale red jet of light threw itself out of the tip of his wand and into one of the tree’s branches, with a distinct but unimpressive cracking sound. The branch fell from the tree with a crunch and a dull rustle in the frosted grass. Excited, he hopped over to it and rolled it over with his foot. It was a clean break, exactly as pla- oh. The bottom half was anything but a clean break: it looked like a bear had torn it off the tree directly. Presumably, he’d sliced through most of it, and gravity had done the rest. That wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t rely on gravity to keep him alive.

With a heavy heart, he stepped back to have another go, he raised his wand, and- a bell rung from the manor. Turning instantly, he began to trudge to the building, shivering slightly. It really was very cold.

[Kirah]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor Grounds
Kyle McCarthy

Kyle was cold, but he had on thick winter robes and a warming charm kept the coldest fingers of the winter away from him. Charms had never been Kyle's strong point, but he had of course spent his years at Hogwarts knowing that when he finished he'd be diving head first into a war. He considered himself lucky, even then, that he had finished school. Kyle pushed that thought from his mind and went back to what he was doing. What he always did when he had time, and that was stand outside on a small island in the middle of a lake and practice surviving.

He bent over and looked at the spell book, one he had nicked from a Death Eater years before. The spells ranged from terrifying to only slightly disturbing. Kyle couldn't figure out why he could never get the spells to quite work for him. He had even used Siobhan's wand once, and that had produced awful results, albeit better than anything he had done with his own wand. For the umpteenth time Kyle wondered if there was in fact something wrong with himself. He was an excellent jinxer and hexer, and while his Charms were weak they were better than this nonsense. His protego and patronous were extremely powerful. He could even turn into a Panther, but there was this range of spells that he just couldn't cast.

Kyle prepared himself mentally followed the moves carefully and was about to cast when a bell rang across the grounds. A meeting. He sighed, waved his wand and the practice stuff returned to it's storage place. The book he slid into a pocket in his cloak, but the cloak showed no signs of having any such book with it's folds. Once at the manor Kyle went straight to the Dinning room. He gave a greeting to those already inside the room before taking his usual seat.

[Corsair]

The Ashes - she couldn't have come up with a more appropriate name for this collection of castoffs. Whoever had come up with the name had intended to evoke imagery of the Phoenix arising from it, but all she could see was a last ember, the glow all but faded. This war was all but over, and The Dark Lord had won. There were times Jia wanted them to call it quits just so she could have a drink.

She slammed her fist into the bag, twisted into a kick that set it to swinging. She wasn't much of a fighter in hand to hand, but keeping options open was important. Plus she didn't know many better ways to work off this black depression other than reducing a Death Eater to ashes. A smirk tugged at her lips as her mind came back to the word, maybe that was what they were really trying to evoke. Maybe Voldemort would win, but they'd make sure all he reigned over was ashes.

That was what she wanted, anyway. She had a feeling her fellows weren't on the same page as her in that department. Aldenburg - the thought sent a surge of anger through her, which became a quick one-two strike on the bag's center - was only a little better than the Slytherin scum she'd known in school, trading overt hatred for this faux-Victorian aristocratic condescension. Working with the man was bad, living with him was worse, and having to be grateful for using his house just about turned her stomach.

Although...a chuckle came out of her, and she lowered her hands. There was a certain comedy in him being in a position where he had to work with her. If he made her angry, she must make him apoplectic. She peeled off her gloves and stepped away from the bag before drawing her wand and flicking it, envisioning the result. A moment later the heavy bag had turned back into a creepy, dead oak tree. She flicked her eyes at her watch and grimaced - meeting, wonderful.

"Tergeo." She tapped her wand to her t-shirt and jeans, the sweat flowing out of them and leaving her dry. She strapped her wand holster back onto her shoulder, then pulled her denim jacket over it. Practicality of a bulky robe in combat aside, she had developed something of a fondness for making sure that Aldenburg remembered that he was working with a mudblood, and wearing muggle clothes was just another part of that. Jia turned and headed for the house, her seething anger subsiding as she pulled her cold, focused detachment to the fore. Petty acts of irritation against an asshole colleague aside, it was time to work.

[McHaggis]

1st of December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Siobhan MacFusty

The manor's library, grand and perfectly clean though it was, still felt dusty. Just sitting at one of the long benches reminiscent of her school years made her nose itch, and the musty, leather-bound tome of 'Hogwarts: A History' turned every second breath into a wheeze.

Or, it could've been a seasonal cold clogging up her sinuses and making her eyes water. Either way, it didn't lessen her dislike for every inch of Aldenberg Manor. Not all purebloods needed fancy furniture and decadent decorations to show their power, and Siobhan knew that first hand. The expensive, extensive collection of literature was better than Clan MacFusty's had been, no doubt about that, but she would take her old ramshackle mansion any day.

The bookmark, a ribbon of the four House colours, had been placed on the page for Rowena Ravenclaw, presumably by Ronan – perhaps even before Dumbledore had died. Outlined in black ink (and she was sure Albert would throw a fit if he knew) was the founder's diadem and the note beside it read, 'Voldemort has this.'

Something about the Horcruxes, then. Her 'boss' – even though The Ashes operated under a disguise of equality – had informed everyone about them and yet equally kept them a huge secret until they were obtainable. If Siobhan were to guess, it was because of the ominous lack of information on the items, disheartening for the months of work the previous search team had put in before their untimely demise. She closed the book before she could think too much on it, leaving it out on the desk as she turned to walk towards the parlour with perfect timing.

A bell rang, but she didn't need it. Punctuality was key. If McGonagall had been around in her thoughts to hear that, the older witch would've torn her hat off in glee. Siobhan had always been late to her classes, but when it came to meetings about survival, she tended to be a bit more serious. Wandering into the room with a jaunty wave at Ronan, she took a seat next to Kyle, caring very little if it was meant for someone else or not.

“Hey, you,” she greeted cheerfully, adjusting the wand tucked behind her ear.

1st December, 1999 - Approximate Location of Aldenberg Manor
Luther Cunningham

Luther began to lose hope that he would ever find one - it was rather silly, really, to expect the Ashes to use such an insecure method of communication as an owl. But how else would he ever be able to get his letter in? A Patronus certainly wouldn't work, as he hasn't the slightest clue of where to send it. Nor would the Floo Network, or his own owl. No, only an owl that has been given the Secret could ever deliver a message to Aldenberg Manor. But where on Earth would he find one of them?

Just then, Luther sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Could it be? Yes! An owl just appeared out of thin air, surely it must be the Ashes' owl! And what luck, he's heading straight towards me! Luther waited until the owl was right above him, not taking any risk lest he misses and scares it away. Luther drew his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

He waited for a moment, then another. Did he miss? Another moment. Success! The bird began to drop out of the sky.

"Arresto Momentum!"

Just before the owl became fresh fertilizer, it came to a stop and gently floated to the ground. Luther walked over to it and crouched down. "Sorry pal, but I need you to deliver a letter to the Ashes. Think you can do that for me?" Luther comforted. "Finite," he murmured, and the owl got up, again able to move. It pecked Luther, glaring angrily, then held up its foot expectantly. Luther tied the letter to the owl with a piece of string, and as soon as he finished the owl flapped away. Luther watched until it disappeared behind the wards, then he stood up. Visualizing Tottenham Court Road, Luther took a few steps and Disapparated. Curiously, not a single Muggle noticed the man that had just appeared amongst them out of thin air.

[Kirah]

1st of December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Kyle McCarthy

Kyle had stood when Siobhan, and any other woman, came into the room. He may believe them as equals, but he was a guest in Albert's manor and had no desire to threaten the generosity of the man. Kyle gave Siobhan a warm smile, and a hello. She was the only he ever gave a warm smile to. For the most part Kyle was too serious for that, but Siobhan was all of his childhood, his innocent days, the time when the biggest fear was a bad grade. Even then there was the danger looming of Voldemort, but he was a distant threat then. Siobhan was a warm reminder of a life lost, of a potential future however minute the chances of that future was. For Kyle Siobhan was his cause.

Kyle wondered what this meeting would give them. Probably nothing, just like the previous meetings. Nothing but bad news. He remembered a saying "No news is good news" and how much of a lie that was. To hear no news was hearing someone else failed to report in, another person dead and gone. Kyle waited for the hammer to drop. To hear another name, another family gone. It didn't even matter who the people were anymore, they were dead, maybe even killed by his own family. His own sister behind the wand. His smile disappeared. He was glad Siobhan sat next to him, her warmth reminded him of those still living, those they still fought for.

[Jig]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Albert Aldenberg

“Meeting’s starting at five!”

Aldenberg looked up from The Daily Prophet. It was all propaganda and trash nowadays, of course, but it was always worth knowing what propaganda and trash were being circulated. That, and the crossword. Even in these dark times, the sanctity of a good crossword could not be tarnished.

He folded the newspaper, and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. Dusting himself down, he stood up and walked to the window to survey the grounds. The sun was just beginning to set, and he could just about make out McCarthy on the duelling strip in the lake, and, a little way way, the David muggle was doing his own practice. Well, he wasn’t an actual muggle, of course, but one couldn’t just call him a ‘Mudblood’.

There was no way they had heard Ronan’s call, all the way outside. There was, naturally, a proper way of doing things that had been (as usual) disregarded, and so, with something of a huff, Aldenberg pulled the lever at the top of the stairs on the way to the dining room: a great bell in a very small tower atop the manor began to ring out. Meetings were important - why else have them? Therefore, it was vital that everybody attend, and, ideally, punctually. It was something of a shame he couldn’t punish the sin of tardiness with detention here, as he was renowned for as a Professor at Hogwarts.

In the dining room, he greeted Ronan with a curt nod, and took a seat next to him. They did not speak: often, there was no need and, presently, there was nothing to discuss. Whatever Ronan’s news was would not be a secret, and therefore it would come out in good time. In the silence, he looked at his pocket-watch. Not late, but not necessarily early either.

They trundled in, one after another. McCarthy was first, and then the gentlemen stood for Siobahn (with the exception of Ronan, whose condition excused him). More modern communities perhaps didn’t bother with the formalities, but Aldenberg was keen that the manor, his home, upheld them - or, as many of those traditions that he could drag with him.

One of those traditions, and one that he did not feel should be especially beyond their order, was not traipsing mud into the dining room. Aldenberg’s face, normally stony and unmoving behind a well-kept but thick beard, flashed irritation as David trudged in. The boy’s skin was basically grey from the cold.

“Excuse me,” said Aldenberg to the table, as an apology, and then again, to David, as an instruction. He marched the muggle boy outside.

“It is December.”

“It definitely is,” replied David, in his normal jokey tone, undermined by a slightly weak smile - it did nothing to soften Aldenberg’s gaze.

“Look at your fingers: you are almost frozen.”

“It’s not so-”

“Please go to your chamber, get some dry clothes, light a fire and warm up. Quickly,” a thought occurred to him, “Can you light a fire?”

“Yeah, I can light a fire.”

“Good man. Don’t worry; we won’t start without you.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Quick, then,” he said, pointing the boy in the direction of the east wing, and, as he scurried off, called after him, “Incendio, remember.”

When Aldenberg retook his seat at the table, those present may have spotted a gentle but irritable shake of his head.

[Corsair]

Jia entered, schooling her features into a neutral expression. Personal feelings aside this was important, so she just took her seat in silence, momentarily locking gazes with each member of the Ashes as she entered and as the few others followed. She had never gained the sense of noble camaraderie with these men and women that she had with the Order. None of them inspired her or had her admiration, just a grudging respect, and she suspected they felt more or less the same about her.

"Aldenburg." She acknowledged their host with a curt nod.

[Doused]

Tanya inhaled and let the cold air flow through her until her bones felt thoroughly chilled. She then exhaled with a small shiver and looked around the garden. The weather was perfect outside, and she intended to enjoy every moment of it, unless something better came along of course. That's how Tanya had always lived her life; always moving forward, never looking back. Moment to moment. For instance, one moment she had been running from death eaters, and the next she was a member of the Ashes. Deep down she knew it wasn't always the most responsible way to live, but it certainly kept things interesting. And now she was here, outside of a fancy mansion attempting to practice her jinxes. If it were up Tanya, she'd be back inside exploring every nook and cranny of the building's endless rooms, but it would probably be easier without the all-seeing Aldenberg staring her down.

Squatting down in front of a manicured hedge, Tanya rolled up the sleeves of her robe and pulled her wand out from her jeans. She'd start with something basic. Tanya pointed her wand at the hedge.
"Engorgio!"
The hedge remained still. Confused, Tanya looked at her wand and then back at the hedge. Why was nothing happening? She began inspecting her wand when movement and a soft rustle of branches caught her attention. Tanya slowly looked back up and found that her spell had worked after all. Crawling up from behind the hedge was a caterpillar now the size of a small dog. The insect had a pale yellow color to it with black spots on top and short bristly hairs sticking out all over.
"Well, that answers that," she said with a satisfied smirk. "Now. Do I let you run free good sir?"
The caterpillar blinked its beady eyes and started to crawl away from her.
"Hey! Where are you g-" A loud bell interrupted her and she instinctively snapped her head towards the noise. Turning back, she found herself staring at an empty hedge. "Oh boy." Tanya stood up and circled the hedge and then spotted it skittering off the path and out of sight. She started to follow it, but a second thought stopped her. This could be interesting later on.

With that, Tanya slipped her wand back into her pocket and meandered back to the mansion as though nothing had happened. The meeting hadn't quite yet started, but it seemed she was the last to arrive, which of course suited her just fine. She entered the room and gave a small wave and a "hiya everyone" to no one in particular. Without waiting for a response, she plopped down in a chair as close to the door as she could find and began bouncing her leg unconsciously.

[McHaggis]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Ronan Findley
Reclining slightly in his seat, Ronan surveyed the room. “Is everyone here?” He tucked a few errant strands of hair behind his ear, jabbing his wand at the door carelessly to shut it. “It matters little, either way – I'm sure anyone who hasn't gotten here yet will hear it from one of us.”

“The 1st of December – a grim anniversary, I'm sure you know. A year since the fall of Albus Dumbledore... and with it, the break-up of the Order.” He rifled through the papers on his desk absently, eyes flickering towards Jia for a few moments. “Those with fond memories of our sister organisation will be pleased to know their work was not in vain, and we have confirmed the locations and natures of three Horcruxes through notes they have left behind.”

“The first of them–”

A loud thump could be heard on the other side of the large, ornate windows and Ronan's hand instinctively jumped toward his wand; however, he only stalked over to it, opened the curtains and peered at the interruption; a small black owl, a note firmly attached to its leg. Dazed, it pecked at the glass, begging to be let in.

“You going to let it in, Ronan?” he heard Siobhan ask – one of those people who wanted to save all the little creatures of the world. Most healers were, save the ones in Voldemort's employ.

Leaning over, careful not to lose is balance, he nudged the window open and picked it up, holding it at arm's length as he peeled off the note. Skimming through it, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, but he read it aloud to the audience dutifully:

“It would be best for me not to disclose my name here, as it may easily be intercepted. All that you need to know however, is that I am a high-ranking Death Eater and I wish to join your cause. I don't expect that any of you will trust me, but Mr. Keiper certainly must have, or else you wouldn't have been expecting this letter...”

Ronan trailed off for a moment, eyebrow quirked, before continuing,

“If you choose to hear what I have to say, I will be at the Luchino Caffe on Tottenham Court Road in London at three hours past midnight. Coffee (if you so fancy) is on me. Bring as many members as you'd like if you doubt my intentions, I have no plans for anything but conversation.”

Crossing his arms, Ronan limped back over to the table, putting down the note. “Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all,” he said sarcastically. “It seems like we have more pressing issues to attend to than the Horcruxes, strange as it may seem to say that. Opinions on this anonymous 'friend' of ours?”

[Corsair]

"Really." Jia said, her voice dry as sand. She ran the implications over in her mind, and she liked little of it.

"Owl communication needs to stop. It's not secure. That letter could have contained any number of curses or traps. I've said this before and I'll likely say it again." She drew out the small, battered flip-top device and set it on the table. "Get a fucking cell phone!"

Wizardry communications were ludicrous, and their ignorance of or refusal to adapt to modern technology was more than merely inconvenient, it was deadly. "Who, in the name of God, sent the owl? The Fidelius Charm is not an impervious defense! None of you are children, use your heads." She let out her breath, her eyes blazing. A moment later she was ice again. "Aldenburg Manor is compromised. Even if this one is in earnest he was able to find and intercept our owl. We need to abandon this base."

She let the hang in the air for a moment. "As for the traitor, it's an opportunity we can't pass up. We have to do this. I'll make contact, my being a member of the Ashes is public knowledge." She'd made sure of that. "The rest of us should lay a trap. Those of you who aren't well known stake out the location early, make sure there's not a bomb or pack of dementors. The rest hold back as reinforcements."

[Jig]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Albert Aldenberg

“Excuse me, Jia,” Aldenberg’s voice was slow, and measured, although he stunned the room by speaking so soon into a meeting. His English accent was almost perfect, but a few tonal oddities made him sound simultaneously calm and a little alien. Nevertheless, just behind his beard, a face could be seen that appeared to be sucking on a lemon, instead of its usual stoic frown, “But I’m afraid that this is a Lohengrine Black. Nobody has been communicating outside the official channels with this little chap - Siobhan, would you let him back out, please? Thank you. Lohengrine Blacks are native to these very grounds: they are naturally attracted to the magical history of this place. I expect this one strayed a little too far. This is not a common occurrence, in my experience.”

The door opened: a sheepish David entered with a hurried “excuse me” and took a seat, bringing with him a faint smell of burnt leather. Albert didn’t ask, beyond welcoming him into the room.

“You must remember, my lady, that this manor is protected by numerous enchantments to detect and block magical threats, supervised by all of us. In addition, everybody in this room is equipped with a sneakoscope,” he turned to the room, reminded of previous discussions of a similar nature and of a previous life as a teacher of the incorrigible, “that they have been instructed to keep on their persons at all times. The manor is secure, and, if we take no risks, so are we.

“This telephone,” he continued, saying the term a little unsteadily, “Is a risk. I think I explained to you that the manor does not cooperate with muggle technology - like Hogwarts,” he added, helpfully, to illustrate his point. He picked up and dwarfed the phone with one large hand, gingerly using the other to pry open its screen. With one glance at its unnatural, blue-tinged light, he snapped the thing shut and half-placed, half-dropped it on the table, “We cannot rely on it, and your friends,” he smiled at Tanya and David, without actually opening the floor to them, “Seem to get by without the merits of the telephone, such as they are. Shall we drop this for now?

“As for the letter itself,” Apparently, Aldenberg had indeed decided to drop the matter for now, “This is foolishness. We cannot simply meet an unidentified enemy agent at a location of their choosing on the assumption that there is no ambush waiting for us. Opportunity though it might be, there will be other opportunities. If we meet our anonymous friend, whose letter I note we have not been expecting to my knowledge, there may well be no further opportunities of any kind.”

He paused. He didn’t remember ever having spoken so much at a meeting, but, then, he didn’t remember the last time he had heard a suggestion quite so preposterous.

“As I recall, we were called for a meeting,” he turned to Ronan, “I would suggest that we continue as planned.”

2nd December, 1999 - Luchino Cafe, Tottenham Court Road, London
Luther Cunningham

Luther heard Big Ben chiming the midnight bells in the distance as he entered the cafe where he would soon be meeting a representative of the Ashes - who, he suspected, wouldn’t have any intentions of speaking to him on friendly terms. No, he would likely have a wand in his face immediately. What about the Muggles that are in here, however? Although most wizards aren’t likely to care about the Statute of Secrecy given the state of things, but Luther would rather avoid any breach of the wizarding world’s most important law where possible. But the key question is how? Of course! I’ll just Confund them; if no Muggles are present, no Muggles will witness anything undesirable.

Luther drew his wand, and as the Muggles began to notice, he aimed at each one in turn and murmured, ”Confundo.”

One by one, the Muggles began to pass Luther, mumbling excuses as they do so. “Oh dear, I’m going to be late for work!” he heard the barista say as she rushed by, leaving the espresso maker running. Luther chuckled, and with a flick of his wand, a cup floated under the flowing stream, and with another flick he turned the machine off and drew the cup towards him. Luther took a sip as he sat down, and returned his wand to his pocket.

It was only midnight of course, and Luther had said for them to be there at three. He had a feeling, however, that they would come early, either to scope the place out first or to be waiting for me before I even arrive - Hell, thats what I’d do - so he probably wouldn’t be waiting three hours. Nevertheless, he would definitely be waiting for a while. Good thing I have this coffee to keep me awake, he thought as he took another sip of his drink, and settled down in his booth for a long wait.

[Corsair]

Jia sighed to herself and pulled her phone back, sliding it back into her pocket. Aldenburg wasn't entirely wrong, the manor got horrible reception, but she'd take poor communications over easily intercepted communications any day, and the Owl Problem was still a problem even if no one had sent it. "Your reliance on the Fidelius charm will be our undoing, Aldenburg. He Who Must Not Be Named knows elements of magic that you and I have never even dreamed of, and has access to every horror and wonder they ever concealed within the Department of Mysteries. Secrecy is a far greater tool for our defense than any charm. The Death Eaters breached Grimmauld Place," She paused a moment, images of that terrible battle momentarily flashing through her mind. "Which had every protection as this base and more, wards raised by Dumbledore himself."

She held up a hand to forestall his retort. "But more importantly, I assume -nothing-, Aldenburg. I intend to take every precaution imaginable with this meeting, but the possibility of gaining an agent within the Death Eaters is one we cannot pass up. Unless you plan to offer your services to the Dark Lord - an approach I doubt would have much success - we have no other possibilities for gaining an operative."

Jia paused a moment, drawing her wand and tapping it into her glass. "Aguamenti." She took a quick drink, then continued. "There are a number of boltholes I have arranged around Britain that we can use for interrogating this Death Eater. They're under the basic array of wards. I go in wand drawn, order the Death Eater to submit to a full-body bind, and then I'll apparate him to my apartment in Glasgow for a proper interrogation. If he doesn't cooperate I'll kill him." She paused a moment. "All in favor of exploiting this opportunity rather than letting it pass us by?" She raised a hand.

[McHaggis]

1st December, 1999 – Aldenberg Manor
Siobhan MacFusty

Gently, Siobhan ruffled the feathers of the dazed owl and set it out the window on its way, rolling her eyes. Sometimes, she believed that the Ashes and the Order were just opposite sides of the spectrum, neither of them right. While Dumbledore's pacifistic ways hadn't always worked, neither did she feel the uncompromising violence of the new organisation was any better.

“Aye... but... My vote is we investigate the claim of this supposed turncoat, as peacefully as possible,” she said, closing the window again and then the curtains before returning to her seat beside Kyle. “We go to this Tottenham Road, we secure the area... I could even take some of our emergency portkeys if necessary. The Death Eaters are far from stealthy. If there's too many of them for us to take out, I guarantee we'd know about it.”

Staring at Ronan, Siobhan nodded to herself. “I say we don't enter with our – ah, guns-a-blazing?” After a slight pause over the Muggle saying, she continued, “We ask him his name. We chat, if not over important, top secret business, we show him that we're interested in an agent – Merlin knows it's been too long since we've had any fresh information on the Dark Lord's whereabouts. Then, we offer to take him to one of Jia's 'boltholes', and discuss matters further there.”

Ronan chimed in quickly, “I would like the location of the safehouse beforehand, so I can be present for the... discussion.” He tugged absently at his collar, stretching out his almost-immobile leg. The Floo would not be a fun experience. “More importantly, however, killing him on the spot for non-compliance would be worthless. Depending on whether we agree on going or not – I personally am for it – if he refuses to accompany you to Glasgow after a peaceful 'chat', you should bind and capture him. We want information, not a corpse.”

[Kirah]

1st December, 1999 - Aldenberg Manor
Kyle McCarthy

Kyle didn’t answer right away. He hated to say it but he agreed with Albert, but going into what could easily be a trap was something he didn’t like the idea of. Then again having a source of information from inside the Death Eaters was unbelievably valuable and turning down the opportunity was tantamount to handing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named the world.

For what Kyle believed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had already won. The only group fighting him was a small group of extremists hiding in an old manor. To think they had a chance against the greatest wizard of all time was comedic, Kyle didn’t smile though. They needed someone. Jia was right. More than Albert was. Siobhan wanted to go to and Kyle could not let Siobhan go by herself.

“We have to go.” Kyle raised his hand. Albert only said, “You have my opinion.”

“It’s too important if this is a legitimate reach out, and if it’s not like Ronan says we might still get information. I’ll take some of Delight’s polyjuice and do some recon. I’m too well known amongst the death eaters. If I spot spies around the place I’ll try to take them out too. More than one Death Eater is better than none.” They could go over plans all day if they wanted, but if Kyle wanted to get an early look at the cafe he needed to get going as soon as possible. Kyle didn’t think it necessary to say that he agreed with Siobhan and try to do it as peacefully as possible. Everyone there knew he’d agree with her.

1st December, 1999 - Aldenberg Manor
Eric Friedman

As Eric walked into the manor, he looked at the sky and sighed. He knew the meeting had already begun - he spent too much time talking to his Ministry insiders. He entered the meeting room ready to apologize for his tardiness, and he heard Kyle saying something about drinking Polyjuice and doing recon; for what, he didn’t know. “Sorry I’m late, I was meeting with my insiders,” he apologized to Ronan. Turning to Kyle, he added, “Care to fill me in?” as he walked to his seat and sat down next to him.

After he was brought up to speed, Eric looked down at the table for a moment as he thought it over. Albert did have a point. We have no idea who this person is, and we would be meeting him at a location of his choosing. It is very reasonable to suspect that this is a trap, and if it were to be one, we’d be walking right into it - Jia was beyond persuading otherwise on the matter, and both Kyle and Siobhan would be going as long as the other was. However, Jia is right. There is no doubt that if we don’t meet this man, we won’t get another chance to gain an agent so close to the Dark Lord. And Siobhan was right even more so than Jia. The man invited us to conversation, not to force him to comply with us, or else be killed. He’d likely appreciate the fact that we are open to having a conversation with him, as opposed to just dragging him off to some secret location where we can interrogate him. Eric nodded to himself, his decision made.

“I agree with Siobhan,” he said slowly, looking up. “He must be high up the ranks if he’s concerned about his identity being revealed. The Death Eaters don’t even know the names of the low-ranking members, so he’d have no reason to be afraid to give his name… not that he’d be any use to us in that case, anyways.” Eric paused, looking around at everyone in attendance, before continuing: “I will go with Jia to talk to this supposed ‘friend’. He says he wishes to have a chat, so a chat we shall have. Not only will I be able to offer a friendly chat to him more so than Jia - no offense, Ms. Shang - but I can Obliviate all the Muggles in the cafe. Nobody will ever know about our meeting besides us.”

[Kirah]

Collaboration: Kirah, TheMaster99, McHaggis

December, 1 1999 - McCarthy Manor
Mia Dubois
Mia sat against a wall in a basement. She wasn’t clear on where said basement was. In fact if asked she’d be able to say that the basement was cold, slightly damp, and somewhere in Europe. The possibilities from there were endless. Mia also knew that the basement was part of a larger house, and that house belonged to a family of stout supporters of You-Know-Who. That was more than enough information for Mia.

It had been a day, maybe two since Mia woken up in the basement. She couldn’t be certain as there was no source of light in the basement other than a small square from the door’s window. The door didn’t lead outside so that was not a good source of information or time keeping. She supposed that would be another descriptor for the basement - Dark. Just like the hearts of those who owned the basement.

It had, Mia was sure, been several hours since she had last seen the daughter of the house, and apparently only child of one Mark McCarthy. Maggie McCarthy. Mia had no idea what Maggie was short for, she didn’t even consider the idea that it might be short for anything. Mia wasn’t short for anything, unless she had decided at that time to be too short to reach the top shelf. Right now, Mia had made herself small. Not entirely on purpose, but in an attempt to get as far away from Maggie as she could. Mia had not since then gone into the appearance she found most comfortable. The one she called her ‘normal face’. This was for a simple reason. Mia had learned at an early age that certain appearances made her feel certain ways. She had also learned that those appearances could feel different if something happened to change her association with them. Mia had no desire to lose the association of comfort she had with her normal face and thus was not reverting to it.

There was a click of boot against cement. That was the harbinger of Maggie. Mia pulled her resolve back around her. Maggie had been attempting to use Imperious on Mia. For some magical reason Mia could not fathom it had not been effective. Mia had been able to keep most of her identity secret. Her name was still her own, and to Maggie, Mia had only spoken in French. There was a second set of footsteps and Mia heard Maggie speak.

“I doubt she’s important enough to call the Dark Lord, but she is a Metamorphmagus.” Mia felt a bit of relief wash over her. They had not called You-Know-Who, yet. She was safe for now. If this could at all be considered safe.

That relief disappeared as the second person responded to Maggie. “Didn’t the last one turn out to be a part of the Order? History could be repeating itself – especially if you feel the need to send a Killing Curse at her.” A muffled chuckle followed.

The door opened to reveal Maggie standing there with the other voice. The other voice belonged to a blond man, long and lanky and particularly unhealthy looking, like he hadn’t had enough sleep in weeks. Despite peering into the darkness of the basement, perhaps in morbid curiosity, he avoided looking directly at Mia, instead surveying the dank conditions with a frown.

Mia resisted the urge to stoutly announce she was in fact not part of the Order. Not that the order was around anymore. She had never considered herself part of the Order, and definitely not part of the Ashes. Both groups were too violent for her pacifistic nature.

“Que voulez-vous? Qui êtes-vous? (1)” Mia asked. She didn’t expect an answer. In fact she hoped she wouldn’t get an answer. Mia had figured out Maggie didn’t know French, but if this other person did in fact speak French, there went that method of keeping silent.

Maggie glared at Mia. She hated the small woman. As much as Maggie was capable of hate, which to be quite honest is not a lot. What irritated Maggie was the girl wouldn’t speak in English, and for whatever reason had been quite capable of resisting her attempts at controlling her. So far Crucio had been very effective in that Maggie had learned the girl was a Metamorphmagus. The girl had been unable to control her form while Maggie had tortured her.

“So, opinion?” Maggie asked the man. Mia could hear the disdain for asking the question roll off of Maggie. The man seemed fairly unaware of that. Mia wondered which of them ranked higher in You-Know-Who’s army. She had a sneaking suspicion it was the man, and that Maggie hated that.

“She’s French,” the man said dryly, definitely oblivious to Maggie’s ill-temper as he smiled at her. He rubbed at his chin theatrically as he considered the question. “I say we wait, and ask around for someone who can speak it. I for one want to know who she works for, and I’m sure it’ll make for a great report to the Dark Lord if I tell him, ‘Yes, we captured a witch, but she was tortured into insanity long before we could get anything out of her.’”

“I’ve been gentle.” Maggie huffed. If the lighting were better Mia would have sworn she had seen Maggie roll her eyes even. Mia wondered if that was gentle what un-gentle looked like. Mia could not repress that shiver of horror. A flick of Maggie's wand and an unspoken word brought pain to Mia’s body. Every nerve in Mia felt like it was on fire. Mia let out a scream and it was dispelled. “Well gentle-ish.” Maggie said shrugging. Maggie took a step out of the dungeon.

The man exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if there was an itch there from Maggie’s use of Dark Magic. “Very kind of you, Mags. Surprised you aren’t Inner Circle yet, with that viciousness.” Shaking his head, he followed her out, studiously looking at the ceiling. “Excuse me for a few minutes, right? I’m going to hunt down a Frenchy. I think Cunningham can speak it.”

“That works.” Maggie said her shoulders tense at the long hated nickname. Mia wondered as the door shut how Maggie hadn’t completely snapped. It seemed the man picked at Maggie’s weakness, but for some reason Maggie put up with it.

---

Cunningham Residence

Luther had barely been home for a minute - he had just gotten back from the raid on Mr. Keiper’s home - when there was an impatient knocking on the door. What could she possibly want now? He went and opened the door, and was surprised to see Alistair was his visitor, and not Bellatrix. “Hello, Alistair. What brings you here?” Luther greeted, as he stepped aside to let him in.

“We’ve captured a Half-blood, and we think she might have been in the Order,” Alistair answered in a genial tone as if he was talking about the weather. With a sly smirk, he continued, “Oh, and did I mention? She’s a Metamorphmagus. Just to put the icing on the cake.”

Luther closed the door behind him, then replied, “Okay… so why does this information interest me?”

Alistair chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “She’s French, refuses to speak in anything but French, and we need a translator-slash-interrogator who can actually understand what she’s saying. It’s you, mate.”

Luther paused for a moment, then nodded. “Well, the Dark Lord won’t be wanting to hear about a prisoner who we know nothing about, now, will he?”

“Right. And best make it quick, too, or Maggie’s going to make her into a vegetable before we can get anything out of her.”

Luther laughed. “Who was the fool that put her in charge of the prisoner? Merlin knows she’d do anything to kill - well, anyone.”

Alistair avoided his gaze. “Well, she has good traits, too. Like, with her around, they’re not going to escape, are they?”

“No, they most definitely aren’t,” Luther agreed.

“I’m going to just pretend I didn’t hear it, so I don’t feel the need to tell her. She is my bestie, y’know?” Alistair winked, leaning against the wall. “You can apparate yourself there, right?”

Luther nodded. “Shall we be off, then?”

Alistair drew his wand in response, disappearing with a crack of magic that sounded like thunder. Not the stealthiest of exits. Luther followed suit, and found Alistair and Maggie waiting for him, just outside the manor’s property, when he appeared.

---

McCarthy Manor
“Cunningham.” Maggie nodded, in probably the warmest greeting she was capable of giving anyone.

Luther nodded in return. “Good afternoon, Ms. McCarthy. So I hear there’s a Half-blood that needs interrogating?”

“A Metamorphmagus. No idea about her other than that and she was in the house of a criminal. Kept us from getting the family and doesn’t speak a word of English, or refuses to.” Maggie said, catching Luther up on the very little they knew of Mia.

Luther nodded politely, having already heard half of it from Alistair just a moment ago. “So, where is she?” he inquired.

“In the basement. We’ve got a couple of rooms down there just for guests.” Maggie spoke the word guests with a hint of glee, that meant those who were in the rooms were anything but guests. Alistair rolled his eyes in response, but somehow managed to keep his mouth shut.

Luther wondered how many of these rooms they had. Then, realizing he probably didn’t want to know, he shook his head, dispelling the thoughts from his mind. He looked at Maggie expectantly, waiting for her to lead him to their “guest” - he didn’t know where to go, owing to the fact that he didn’t live there.

Maggie walked up to the manor leading Luther in a somewhat circuitous way to the basement. There was no way for him to be able to guess how many rooms there were. She led him down the steps to the small room that held Mia.

Mia looked up from where she had rested her chin on her knees. That was too quick. Her stomach twisted. This new person with Maggie must be the Cunningham that the blond man had mentioned. She was thankful that her face had been showing nothing but fear since she had arrived in the McCarthy mansion because she couldn’t hide the fear pushing at her right now.

“Que voulez-vous? Qui êtes-vous? (1)” Mia did her best to keep her voice even, but it shook anyway.

“Je suis un ami,” Luther consoled. “Qui êtes-vous? (2)”

“Un ami? C’est crédible,” Mia said sarcastically. “Vous êtes venus ici avec eux. Vous êtes avec eux. Vous n’êtes pas un ami. (3)”

Luther sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Oui, je suis avec eux. Mais je suis différent! Je voudrais joindre les Ashes! Je vous aiderai, mais j'ai besoin de votre aidei, aussi. (4)”

“C’est un truc,” Mia glared at him. “Je ne suis pas un d’eux. Vous ne pouvez pas obtenir information de moi. (5)”

Luther sighed, and sat down against the wall besides Mia. “Je comprends que vous ne me faisez pas confiance. Je n’aurais pas confiance moi non plus, (6)” he said, with another sigh. “Ils ont pris ma soeur. Elle est dans Azkaban, parce qu’elle est Muggleborn. Ma innocente, petite soeur. Je ne lui pardonne jamais. Le Seigneur sombre est un monstre, et je veux lui disparu.” Luther looked to the ground, before continuing, “Je rencontrai avec les Ashes ce soir. Je peux leurs dire où vous êtes, mais il faut que je sache qui vous êtes. (7)”

Mia could see the truth in the new comer’s words. She could tell how much this man hated You-Know-Who. “Je m’apelle Mia. Seulement un d’eux saurai ma nomme. Je doute qu’elle veuille m’aider beaucoup. Nous ne sommes pas separés en bons termes. (8)”

“Je m’assure qu’ils vous aideraient. Vous savez quelque chose que je peux elle dire pour qu’elle me croit? (9)”

“Essayez cette - (10)” Mia then said a string of numbers, completely nonsensically to anyone who doesn’t know what a phone number is, but this string of numbers is the perfect length for a phone.

“Merci beaucoup, mon amie. Je reviendrai pour vous, je vous le promets, (11)” Luther said. He stood up and looked at Maggie, who had been watching the “interrogation” impatiently.

“So?” Maggie asked, she stopped tapping her foot. “What did you learn?”

---

1. “What do you want? Who are you?”
2. “I am a friend. Who are you?”
3. “Friend? That’s believable. You came down here with them. You’re one of them. You are no friend.”
4. “Yes, I am one of them. But I’m different! I would like to join the Ashes! I will help you, but I need you to help me too.”
5. “This is a trick. I am not part of them. You cannot get any information from me.”
6. “I understand that you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
7. “They took my sister. She is in Azkaban, because she is a Muggleborn. My innocent, little sister. I will never forgive them. The Dark Lord is a monster, and I want him gone. I will meet with the Ashes tonight. I can tell them where you are, but I need to know who you are.”
8. “My name is Mia. Only one of them will know my name. I doubt she’ll want to help me much. We didn’t part on good terms.”
9. “I will make sure that they help you. Do you know something that I can tell her to make her believe me?”
10. “Try this - “
11. “Thank you, my friend. I will return for you, I promise.”