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When Dark Falls by MithrilQuill

CHAPTER 1: FAMILY TIES  next



The Knight bus came to a sudden, screeching halt before the Abbott household and several young women came off carrying large packages. It was not yet dark, but the cloudy, gloomy atmosphere made them hurry inside. None of them noticed the circle of masked men that was tightening around the house.

“Should we come back another day?” one of the Death Eaters asked.

“The more the merrier,” another responded, “It’ll help get the message across better this time.”

Lights went on in the kitchen sending a cheerful glow out into the foggy street. The Death Eaters drew closer, they could now see the occupants of the house and their many guests opening boxes, passing presents along, and setting the table. Their laughter could be heard through the window, and through the glass it did not seem at all strained. But it was.

Hannah was doggedly avoiding her father’s gaze, trying to lose herself in the senseless chatter of her cousins. Little Amelia was going to Hogwarts for the first time this year, and they were all trying to pretend that it wasn’t the worst time to be starting at the Wizarding School. Hannah did not think that her aunt would have sent the girl if she had a choice.

It was her aunt who broached the subject. “Weren’t you going to wait for your friends and spend some time at Fortesque’s, Hannah dear?”

Hannah tried to sound casual as she responded, “Didn’t really feel like ice cream.”

“Hannah, darling-” her father began.

“Besides,” she added forcefully, “Susan said she was going to be late and I can’t stand Ernie alone, not when he has an excuse to discuss textbooks and studying habits.” She forced her lips into a smile and added an extra flourish to her movements as she set the last heaping tray of food before her youngest cousin.

Her father was still shooting her worried looks, but they sat down to eat without further comment, all the seats occupied but one. Hannah busied herself with carving the chicken, levitating everyone’s pieces towards their plates just the way her mother used to.

“Stop mutilating your vegetables, Amelia,” her older sister scolded. Hannah’s face fell into the first genuine grin that evening and she closed her lips tight in concentration, staring at the young girl’s plate. She was aware of her Aunt’s intent stare as she moved the girl’s vegetables around without her wand willing them to take on a very familiar shape.

Amelia gasped at the tiny vegetable model of Hogwarts in her plate and then dug her fork into it with much more relish, declaring that she had dismantled Trelawney’s tower room and the whole subject of Occlumency with one fell swoop. Her cousins’ giggles faded into the background when Hannah noticed the wetness in her father’s eye. She knew he was remembering an identical vegetable Hogwarts in a much more cheerful gathering seven years ago.

She heard a faint thud from the front yard and saw her father’s head jerk sharply. His sister clutched his shoulder with one hand, a fork raised protectively in the other, but when nothing followed the noise they went awkwardly back to their food as if nothing had happened. Moments later Hannah’s father was standing, his wand outstretched before him, his warning cry ringing in the air around them.

The grown-ups began muttering protective enchantments. Hannah’s hand closed around her wand. Amelia was halfway off her chair. And then the little girl was on the floor, eyes staring sightlessly at the chipped paint in the ceiling, dead. Hannah’s wand flew, casting charms around the room, but it was too late.

The few second warning had not been enough. No one could outrun a killing curse. Even Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was beginning to stumble. Hannah watched them fall, one by one and still her heart beat deafeningly in her chest. She cast curse after curse, her magic growing darker in intent, but still her family fell. At last, one of her stunners hit a Death Eater square in the middle of his masked face and he fell.

Her back pressed against her father’s she tried to match his spelling speed, but it was impossible. Her father was the fastest man with a wand. And still he fell, leaving an earth-shattering thud and a terrible emptiness behind her.

Her wand flew out of her hand, but she did not care anymore. She fell, her eyes fixed on his, willing him to be alive. Her hands ran feverishly over his mouth and neck and chest, looking for a sign, a hint.

No one stood between her and the masked Death Eaters now, and no incantation made its way past her lips. And still she was painfully, inexplicably alive. Why was she alive?

A jeering voice answered her unuttered question. “The Dark Lord sends his regards with this gift. You are no longer held down by family ties, no longer bound to people who stubbornly defy his power, people who do not deserve the name of wizard. You have been cleansed of the filth that plagued your life and now nothing stands between you and your rightful place in our ranks.”

He raised his wand, but he did not have time to conjure the Dark Mark. A feeble green mist hung suspended from the wand for a moment before the raging storm in Hannah’s heart came spilling through. Plates and forks and knives and pieces of chicken went flying. A howling wind shook the house. Hannah leapt to her feet and flames leapt out of the fireplace, reaching for cloaks and masks. The world fell into step with her violently thudding heart.

She was at the center of a blazing inferno.

The flames ate their screams as easily as they ate the cloaks and masks and flesh. Every plea, every scream of horror, every sound of pain resounded loudly in her mind. The flames took the bodies of her loved ones, they took the entire house around her and reached out to lick at Hannah’s own skin, but she was powerless to stop them. And then she noticed a tall, thin masked man standing guard outside and she was after him. She cried out – an incoherent cry of pain which turned into a flying, burning arrow. He twisted in the air and disappeared. Hannah’s magical arrow vanished and she fell.


“My Lord,” the Death Eater gasped, clawing at his mask, “It burns my Lord… almost… they are dead, my Lord!”

“Good,” Voldemort hissed dismissively, “At last. Why have the others not returned yet?”

“D-dead, My Lord!”

Voldemort rounded on him, the snake, Nagini, began to slither closer. “And the girl?”

“Alive my lord, she is alive.”

“Good. She will join us soon. Go bring the boys, both of them – now!”

The frightened Death Eater stumbled away, still gasping but alive.



Blaise’s fists were clenched as he stared at the intruder. His mother stood behind him, a restraining hand on his shoulder. He fought with his anger for a few moments and won. His voice was low and menacing when he spoke, no hint of fear or disappointment in it.

“How dare you Apparate inside this house without permission as if you were dropping in on Mudbloods or Muggles?”

The masked man took a nervous step back, but recollected himself quickly and his answer came out as a derisive sneer. “I am here on the Dark Lord’s orders, boy!”

Of course he was, did he think Blaise was a fool? He had been expecting this for weeks now, ever since his seventeenth birthday. He had spent hours and hours thinking and long nights discussing it with Mother, but they had not found a solution. There was no solution to be found. No way of getting out of this. The war had begun and anyone who didn’t choose a side had that decision made for him.

“The Dark Lord does not order his servants to show disrespect to Pureblood households.” Aveline Zabini said coldly. Her hand left Blaise’s shoulder and she rounded on the man, her wand outstretched.

“Mrs. Zabini,” the Death Eater said, fear showing in his voice for the first time, “The Dark Lord demands your son’s presence immediately.”

“My son will present himself before the Dark Lord when he has had time to dress and ask for his mother’s blessing. Leave my house - Now!”

The man turned tail and ran out the door. Blaise watched him turn on the spot and vanish just by the gate. Even after the Death Eater had disappeared he did not turn around. He did not want to look his mother in the eye. After what felt like an hour her hand found his shoulder again and she turned him, gently, to face her.

“You still have a choice, son. You know that I can make us disappear completely. It will not be easy, but-”

“But what will our life be, then?” Blaise said, “Who will I be? Who will benefit from my bold refusal? Who will know about it? The only thing we will give to this war will be our own misery and, eventually, two dead bodies.”

“I can buy you time…”

“I’ve already waited for too long, Mother, and now one side has chosen me, and I can’t say no.”

“But you would, if you didn’t have me to-”

Blaise grabbed both her hands and let his eyes meet her deep brown ones. “If I didn’t have you, I would be nothing.”

Something frighteningly vulnerable stared back at him out of those eyes and he had to look away. Aveline Zabini was not supposed to possess even a hint of vulnerability. He fixed his mind on his best robes and then waved his wand at the nightclothes he was wearing, which immediately transformed into the black green-lined robes.

“Go, then,” she whispered from behind him.

Blaise turned on the spot and landed before the gates of Malfoy Manor with swirling robes. It was an emaciated Draco who showed him in. Staring at the back of Draco’s head Blaise remembered how much he had pitied the boy only last year. And here he was, doing the same thing, because he too had a mother.

A door opened and Draco faded into the sea of Death Eaters and then there was the ugly, slit-nosed face of Voldemort. Blaise’s body stiffened all of a sudden and endless seconds passed before he could force it to obey his mind’s command and bend before the revolting creature that now controlled his fate. “My Lord,” he murmured and knelt.

“Ahhhh,” The Dark Lord said, “So you are here at last. Aveline’s son, are you not?” Blaise did not find the expected reproach or anger in that voice; the Dark Lord seemed…amused.

“My Lord,” Blaise said evenly.

“Stand! Stand and let me look at you.” He fingered the cuff of Blaise’s robes with his long, talon-like fingers. “My Death Eaters were beginning to wonder if you would come, but I knew that Aveline would not let you out of her sight looking anything less than a prince.”

There was an oppressive silence that Blaise raced to fill. “I am your servant, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord grinned, a cat-like grin. “Yet you were angered by the manner of my summons. You and your mother found it intrusive. How will you like wearing my Mark, then, I wonder? Will it be-little your pride when I can summon you using your own flesh?”

A long fingernail traced a line down Blaise’s left forearm.
Jeers rose from the circle of Death Eaters. Blaise chose his words carefully, but he did not allow his voice to waver. “My lord, our pride stems from the purity of our blood, the nobility and power of the name of wizard. It would be the highest honor to be in the service – at the beck and call – of the greatest wizard that ever lived.”

Suddenly the room around him disappeared and he was flung into a compartment on the Hogwarts express and Draco’s voice droned on about how useless the school was, and how he had more important things on his mind. The memory was so overpowering that he could feel the seat upon which he had sat a year ago, he could smell Pansy’s excessive perfume. But it was a memory; he had a lived it before and so he knew what was coming. He relived the moment in rising panic, hearing the words that came out of his mouth in a new light, through the ears of a man who would suffer for them.

And as suddenly as it came the memory was gone. Blaise found himself sprawled on the ground panting. His head was throbbing. He could not think or find the right words… Draco’s haunted face met him from across the circle as he stumbled to his feet.

“Yessss,” the Dark Lord said, following his gaze and bringing Draco closer with a hand on his neck. “You are an open book, Zabini; I can see your memories as clearly and easily as if they were my own. You told Draco here that he was foolish to join me, you scoffed at him when he boasted of being in my service!”

“I did not!” the words were out of Blaise’s mouth before he could control them. He allowed himself to breathe, knowing that if he did not measure his next words carefully he was finished. “I said no such thing, my Lord, as I am sure you know. If any of your servants here tonight suspect me of being less loyal to you and your cause then I must set them straight here and now!”

“Shut up, impudent boy, or I’ll kill you myself!”

“Crucio!” the Death Eater that had spoken was writhing on the ground, gasping and trying to hold back agonized screams. Blaise watched, his mind racing to form his next words, until the shriek of pain was uttered and the spell lifted.

“I say of myself now what I said to Draco on the train a year ago.” His voice had gained strength now, “What can I ever hope to give to the most powerful wizard alive? How can I, an unqualified wizard just turned seventeen, possibly hope to serve the Dark Lord? If I had believed myself to be worthy and capable of your service I would have been here, at your feet, long ago and without a summons, but I have no great power to give, no great talent to serve you with. Nevertheless, My Lord, here I am, command me as you will.”

“What say you, Theodore?” Voldemort turned away, ignoring Blaise’s flamboyant self-deprecation, and bringing Theodore Nott into the center of the circle. “What can a mere boy of seventeen give to the Dark Lord?”

“He can give his eyes and ears to your service, My Lord,” Nott said, a hint of a sneer in his voice as he eyed Blaise. “He can give his unerring devotion. Severus Snape has served you well, my Lord, but as a Professor he was removed from the lives of the students at Hogwarts and he will be even more removed now behind the barrier of respect and distance that his new office as Headmaster will demand. I can boast now that I have always stood in the shadow, unnoticed, and there I will continue to stand and I will see and hear what others do not see and hear and I will bring all of that to you, My Lord.”

These were probably more words than Nott had ever spoken in his life, but his unschooled voice seemed to echo in Blaise’s ears.

“Well said, Theodore. Well said. You will watch and listen and you will be my eyes and ears among the students of Hogwarts. That is how you can be of service to the Dark Lord, Zabini. And then you will be able to hold your heads up high, both of you, as any pureblood wizard and follower of Lord Voldemort deserves. Tonight you take your rightful places as my servants!”

Blaise was pushed into a kneeling position, his robes torn roughly to expose his left forearm. There, the Dark Lord carved every tiny detail of the skull and snake slowly. Like an artist taking his time and relishing every stroke Lord Voldemort relished every tiny stab of pain that tore through Blaise’s mind. He stayed kneeling, his arm dripping blood and ink and a burning green fire onto the Malfoys’ immaculate carpet as Nott, too, was marked.

“And now,” Voldemort declared, “you are mine, body and soul. Tell your friends how to properly answer my summons, Draco!”

Draco seemed torn between stepping forward and shrinking back. “When the Dark Lord summons you Apparate and the Dark Mark will make sure you are taken to the right location. When you come into the presence of the Dark Lord you show your respect.”

He crept forward and shrunk to the floor, kissing the hem of Lord Voldemort’s robes. Theodore Nott copied him and then Blaise, every vertebrate in his back protesting, bent even further and kissed his freedom away.


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