Chapter Six: And All Their Sorrows in Your Face

Chapter Six: And All Their Sorrows in Your Face

"Pos de chantar m'es prez talentz

E faran li mal siei vezi."

-Guillaume IX, Duke of Aquitaine

The shriek of the Manor's alarms tearing along his nerves wakes Lucius from a sound sleep. There is no moment of disorientation. Ten years as Malfoy of Malfoy Manor have accustomed him well enough to the wards that he is able to pinpoint the location of the disturbance in the few seconds it takes him to grab his wand and shake Narcissa awake.

"What is it?" she murmurs, the sleepy look vanishing from her eyes as she notices the tension in his face and body.

"Someone's trying to force the front gate," he says. "Take Draco and go to your Aunt Walburga's. If I don't contact you within the hour, go to the Riviera property and stay there until you hear from me."

Narcissa nods and slips out of bed. She pauses only to grab her wand and slide her feet into a pair of shoes.

Lucius waits until she has returned to the bedroom with a surprisingly silent Draco and both of them have Flooed to Grimmauld Place before pulling on shirt and shoes and Apparating to the gates.

Lucius is more than half-expecting to be met with a contingent of Aurors intent on bringing him to Azkaban. If that is the case, he plans to kill as many of them as he can before dying himself. He cannot protect Draco and Narcissa from Azkaban, but if he dies at his own front gates and takes half a squadron of Aurors with him, his widow and his son will be still be provided for, and the power of the Malfoy name will survive in the circles that it must survive in.

Even as he finishes Apparating, he is readying curses and drawing as deeply as he can on the wards themselves, preparing the Manor's final and most brutal defences for a sudden attack.

He casts Lumos silently as he arrives, and the scene that meets his eyes nearly causes him to lose his grip on the wards.

Bellatrix is doing her best to force the front gates of Malfoy Manor, while behind her Rodolphus is fighting a losing battle with the forces that the Manor calls up on its own. Streaks of magic flare wildly through the air, deflecting off of the shield that Rodolphus is barely maintaining. Both of them are covered in blood; both seem to be in some pain.

When she sees him, the relief on Bellatrix's face is nearly palpable, and Lucius fights back the sudden rage that grips him at her audacity. She is clearly in trouble, and she has just as clearly brought that trouble down on him and his.

"Lucius," she calls urgently, "hurry! They're right behind us." Lucius' hand tightens furiously around his wand.

"Who is right behind you?" he asks coldly, resisting the urge to blast her with the defensive magic that is coiled tightly around him.

"Shacklebolt," Rodolphus pants, "and about half a dozen others. They caught up with us in Sussex; we barely made it here."

"Much good it will do you," Lucius says, voice gone soft and deadly with anger. Something of the look in his eyes seems to penetrate Rodolphus' thick skull, and the man shrinks back slightly, but Bellatrix is too far gone in rage and fear to notice.

"Open the damned gates!" she demands.

"I think not," Lucius says. "You've brought the Aurors down on me, Bellatrix, to the house where my wife and my son sleep. By rights, I should let the Manor annihilate you where you stand."

The first of the Aurors appears behind her.

"Throw down your wands!" Kingsley Shackebolt's voice is unmistakable. "Do it now! You're surrounded! Malfoy, don't move!"

"Let us in, Lucius!" Bellatrix demands.

"Don't you do it, Malfoy!"

For a long moment, everything seems frozen, the seconds defined for Lucius by Bellatrix's harsh breathing, by the hiss and crackle of magic against Rodolphus' shield, by the witch-light reflecting from the faces of the gathered Aurors and the feel of his wand against his palm and fingers. He is safe from curses as long as the gates remain locked. The Manor does not allow stray magic onto its grounds, and unless the Aurors make a concerted attempt to break through the wards, they will not get in either. He has no plans to give them a reason to do so.

"Lucius," Bellatrix shrieks again, "open the gates!"

"Don't move, Malfoy!"

Lucius smiles.

"Auror Shacklebolt," he drawls, putting on his most casual expression, "I'm glad you're here."

"Oh, really?" Shacklebolt's face is a mask of scepticism.

Rodolphus is still fighting his losing war against the Manor's defences. Bellatrix is watching Lucius and Shacklebolt intently. The expression on her face makes Lucius glad to be behind the wards.

"Indeed," he says, ignoring both Bellatrix's stare and Rodolphus' increasingly desperate struggles. "I wish to lodge a complaint against these two for attempted burglary."

"Burglary?" Shacklebolt's eyebrows shoot skywards.

"You traitor," Bellatrix gasps.

"Goodbye, dear sister," he says quietly. She glares furiously at him before turning to face the half-dozen Aurors now surrounding her.

"Throw down your wands!" Shacklebolt orders again. "Now, damn you!"

Bellatrix curses him shrilly and defiantly. Rodolphus takes a firmer grip on his wand. Lucius raises one eyebrow.

In the moment before either side can start hurling curses, he strikes.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus reel under the sudden onslaught of defensive magic. Rodolphus' shield flares briefly as Bellatrix adds her power to it; the next instant, it crumbles inward with a violent explosion of light.

Lucius uses the least aggressive of the Manor's defences against his in-laws, mainly because killing them in front of the Aurors will do him as much harm as letting them through the gates would have. Even so, fresh wounds open on Bellatrix's face, and Rodolphus cries out in agony, neither of them able to summon enough concentration for spell-casting.

Shacklebolt, after one last, uncertain glance at Lucius, hurls Silencio, Stupefy and Petrificus Totalis at Bellatrix in quick succession, while beside him the other Aurors hasten to restrain Rodolphus. Spells fly through the air, bouncing and rebounding off of the Manor's wards.

Between the Manor's defences and Shacklebolt's Aurors, it is only a few seconds before Bellatrix and Rodolphus are lying bound on the ground side by side. The quiet look of triumph that Shacklebolt directs at the captured pair does not bode well for their future.

Lucius waits. Better to alleviate any remaining suspicion now than to be called upon later by a second team of Aurors. After a long, narrow-eyed stare in his direction, Shacklebolt approaches the gate.

"Burglary?" he asks again, in tones of deep contempt. "It looks to me as if they were seeking refuge."

"They were trying to force my front gate," Lucius snaps, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice, "and seeking is not finding. My wife and my heir are upstairs sleeping. Do you really think that I would let two wanted fugitives take shelter under the same roof?"

The look the Auror slants at him is both suspicious and considering.

Lucius rolls his eyes.

"Merlin's beard, man! I had more than enough time before your arrival to have let them in if I'd been planning on doing so."

A long second passes; then two. Lucius is beginning to feel uncomfortable, despite the wards between himself and the Auror. Then Shacklebolt nods once, curtly.

"Come on, then," he says to his waiting team. "Let's get these two back to Headquarters."

A few of the Aurors cast furious glances at Lucius before Disapparating, but it is the look on Bellatrix's face that sends a shiver of fear down his spine.

He shakes it off, but does not turn his back until the road in front of the gate is empty once more.

***

"It's hopeless," Shacklebolt says. He looks grimmer than Moody has ever seen anyone look, with the exception of his own reflection. Shacklebolt and Frank Longbottom had been friends and Quidditch team-mates at Hogwarts less than six years earlier and had also gone through Auror training and the entire war as partners.

"They're sure?" Moody asks.

Shacklebolt nods. "I spoke to the Chief Healer this morning. He says that their chances of recovery are nonexistent; that the Lestranges used Crucio on Frank and Alice until their minds disintegrated. There's not enough cohesion left along the neural pathways for any sort of magical repair; there's nowhere for the Healers to start. They'll be made as comfortable as possible, of course." He makes the word 'comfortable' sound like a curse.

"Of course," Moody echoes. He'd taken on seven trainees from that particular Hogwarts class. Now one is dead; a second is on the run, framed for the murder of the first. Two more have been tortured into insanity. The three still living are nearly as battle-weary as Moody himself. He can't help but feel a moment of sharp, bitter grief at the inevitability of war and death and the unceasing appetite that both of those entities have for the young.

"What about the Lestranges?" he asks, forcing the grief back to its habitual dull ache. "Have you gotten anything out of them?" Feud with Crouch or no, he is still Chief Auror; this is his investigation, even if he has been forbidden to act as primary on it.

"Nothing worth repeating," Shacklebolt says, "but that Muggle who shot them is awake." He pauses, and a glint of weary humour resurfaces in his eyes. "I don't suppose there's any way we could award him the Order of Merlin for that? First Class?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you can make him Minister of Magic. Couldn't be any worse than the incompetent cow we have now, or the mad bastard certain to come after her." He grins like a jackal at Shacklebolt's startled expression. "You've got to learn to control your reactions better than that, lad," he notes. "What did he have to say, then?"

"The Lestranges were definitely after Black," Shacklebolt says. "Bingham – that's the Muggle – says that Bellatrix kept asking about her 'traitor cousin'." He frowns. "It seems she was asking about Pettigrew, too. For some reason she apparently seems to be under the impression that he's still alive."

Long years of practice keep Moody from reacting. Still, he wants to smile. Bellatrix Lestrange would have no reason to ask after Pettigrew were the man innocent.

"Has she said anything to you about Pettigrew?"

"The only things she's been saying to me," Shacklebolt says dryly, "are unprintable. I've put an order in for Veritaserum and hopefully it will get here soon. The din in the interrogation room is deafening." He rolls his eyes. "I thought the Blacks were supposed to be well-bred. She's in there screeching and cursing like a fishwife, and while we were at school, Sirius--" He stops.

"At any rate," he continues, the pause barely noticeable, "I'm not certain how long it will take for the Veritaserum to arrive, but in the meantime, Crouch and the Minister are on their way up."

"What do they want?" Moody asks suspiciously.

The Lestranges have all sorts of valuable information that will help take down the rest of the Death Eaters. If Bellatrix says what Moody suspects she will, he might be able to exonerate Sirius Black with her testimony alone. At the very least he will be able to get the Dementors pulled back to Azkaban post-haste.

The Lestranges are quite possibly the most important capture of the war in terms of information. Unfortunately, their publicity value is nearly as great, and Moody doesn't trust either Crouch or Bagnold to consider the former after realizing the latter.

"No idea," Shacklebolt admits, which takes Moody's suspicions up a notch or two. "Crouch owled fifteen minutes ago, but the only thing his message said was that he and the Minister would be by shortly."

"Of course they will," Moody says, irritated. "Did they say how long they'd be?"

"Half an hour."

"Good," Moody says. "I need to speak to Bellatrix before Crouch and the Minister arrive, and I need you to warn me when they do."

Shacklebolt slides an eyebrow upwards.

"Might I ask why? Sir?" The title is deliberate; a reminder to Moody that he has both responsibilities and restrictions on his shoulders. Neither changes the fact that the Dementors are after a man who might be innocent, though; or the fact that Moody is sworn to uphold the law, not to do whatever is politically convenient for his superiors.

"You can ask," Moody growls.

Shacklebolt stares narrow-eyed at him for long moments. Finally, he nods.

"They're in room four."

"I need privacy," Moody warns him and watches the hesitation come sweeping back over the man's face. He can't help but smile. Shacklebolt has learned his lessons well: no one is above suspicion.

"I'll keep everyone else out," he says finally, "but I'll have to be watching, sir."

"Fine," Moody says. "Don't get in my way."

***

It takes Shacklebolt less than thirty seconds to clear the interrogation room of everyone but the Lestranges. Moody, waiting in the hall, is fairly certain that the pair of Aurors standing guard inside are glad to escape the din. He can hear Bellatrix swearing as the door opens, her voice raised to a pitch and profanity that he hadn't ever thought to hear a woman achieve. Thirty seconds after that, Shacklebolt lets him into the room and slips into the corresponding observation post, which is actually a closet with Video Omnes cast on it.

Both Lestranges look up as Moody comes in. Rodolphus settles back into his seat as though he had been contemplating physical attack despite the chains securing him magically to the chair. He looks uncomfortable; his face is as white as parchment.

Bellatrix, upon seeing Moody, stops hurling threats and insults. She lounges back into her chains as if holding court, her face relaxing into bored, sneering lines that almost conceal the glitter of fear and rage in her heavy-lidded gray eyes. The arrogance raises Moody's hackles, but at least she's no longer shrieking.

Moody sits down in the chair opposite them, and gives Bellatrix a hard look.

She laughs, a throaty, smouldering sound. "Come to scare me, Alastor?" she asks. "To tell me that I'm a naughty girl and ought to mend my ways?"

"I won't waste my time," he says. "Crouch is on his way to see you two; who knows what sort of shape you'll be in after he's done."

"Dear Barty," Bellatrix says. "I've heard so much about him. I simply can't wait to meet him." There is a dreadfully eager look on her face for an instant, strong enough to cover even the lurking fear in her eyes, but she is wandless and chained down, and the room is warded against any form of magic to be doubly certain.

"You'll get your chance soon enough," Moody promises her. "Right now, though, you have to deal with me – and I want to know about Peter Pettigrew."

"So, even the great Auror is curious about the little rat," Bellatrix laughs softly. "My blood-traitor cousin would give almost anything to lay his hands on Pettigrew, you know. Will you beat him to the punch, Auror?"

"Pettigrew's alive, then?" Moody asks, careful to keep any hint of interest out of his voice. "Lucky for him. Black was a dangerous opponent even before Voldemort took him on as an apprentice."

The last sentence has precisely the effect he'd hoped it would.

"The Dark Lord never apprenticed that Muggle-loving blood-traitor," she hisses, sudden fury contorting her face into ugliness. "Precious, brilliant Sirius. You can't even think him a traitor without making him someone's favourite. The Dark Lord apprenticed me, Auror, not my apologist cousin."

"Did he apprentice Pettigrew?"

Bellatrix's laugh is sharp and scornful.

"That fat, useless, cringing little worm? You must be joking. Pettigrew is a tool."

"One that turns in your hand when you try to use it?" Moody asks casually.

He doesn't miss the flash of surprise before she narrows her eyes at him and tilts her head, her anger vanishing as quickly as he'd raised it. The mercurial streak that runs through the Black family seems to have rendered her very nearly mad, but she's no less effective – and far more dangerous – because of it.

"What do you know, Auror?" she asks. "What little bird has been whispering secrets in your ear? Or – Secret Keepers?"

Moody draws a sharp breath, but his next question is cut off by three sharp raps on the door – Shacklebolt's signal for Crouch's approach. He fixes Bellatrix with a warning glare.

"I'll be back," he tells her, "and we will finish this conversation." Bellatrix sneers at him as he slips out the door.

Shacklebolt intercepts before he can get five feet, face intent.

"What's going on, sir?" he asks. "Why all the questions about Pettigrew?"

"Never you mind," Moody says gruffly. "You've got enough on your plate right now, lad."

"Pardon me, sir, but it sounds like this is supposed to be on my plate, too."

The sudden chill slicing through the corridors stops Moody's reply in his throat. He is suddenly battling an upswell of memory: dead faces, dead friends, murdered children; the Dark Mark, green and malevolent over house after house after house...

Shacklebolt's eyes are wide and white in his dark face.

"Dementors," he hisses.

With an effort, Moody forces down the rising tide of memory.

"What are they doing here?" he growls, just as Crouch and Bagnold come around the corner, flanked by a pair of the creatures. Bagnold looks distinctly uneasy, though Crouch's face could easily have been carved from stone. They both nod curtly at Moody before turning to Shacklebolt.

"Excellent work," Crouch tells him. "Which room are they in, then?"

"Four, sir," Shacklebolt says. "Sir, might I ask-"

Crouch and Bagnold sweep past them. The Dementors neither turn nor pause in their advance as they pass. Something about that fact – Moody struggles to push past the Dementor-fog in his mind.

"What are they doing here?" he asks himself softly, even as the door to room four closes behind the Dementors. "What are they-"

The sudden scream that echoes through the corridors is like nothing he has ever heard before. It is high-pitched and frenzied, pleading and writhing with an unbearable agony that resonates and throbs through wordless, begging syllables: a desperate, keening wail that fades as suddenly as it begins, as though the screamer has been yanked away to an unimaginable distance.

"No!" Moody shouts. He turns back to the interrogation rooms in a fury, pulling his wand even as the second gibbering, horrified scream rises and fades again. He blasts the door open without a thought, tearing through the wards as though they were paper and ignoring the Dementors still hovering over the two limp bodies at the table. Crouch and Bagnold turn at his entrance, startled.

"What the hell was that?" he demands, fury overcoming sense and caution in a burning red wave. "What did you just do?!?"

Bagnold takes two startled steps back. Even Crouch flinches away a little in the face of Moody's rage, though he rallies almost instantly.

"The Dementor's Kiss--" he begins, but Moody cuts him off.

"Without a trial?! We hadn't even finished the damned interrogation! Do you have any idea how useful they could have been? How many Death Eaters they might have given up?"

"They would never have said anything-"

"They certainly won't now!!" Moody roars. "They'll never say anything! You and your pet monsters have had no luck finding Sirius Black, so to appease both them and the public, you what? Sacrifice his cousin instead, with her husband as a bonus?"

"They were Death Eaters," Crouch insists. "This was justice." His face has gone red with suppressed temper.

"We never proved it!" Moody shouts. "Not in court, with witnesses, where it matters! That's what separates us from the Death Eaters, remember?"

"That's enough," Crouch snaps. "Do you hear me, Moody? Enough!"

"To hell with you!" Moody says furiously. "This was murder."

"You're relieved of your duties," Crouch says. His lips are white with rage.

"Then I won't have to wear the badge while you tarnish it," Moody snarls. He pulls it out of his pocket and drops it to the floor where it lands with a heavy thunk, then turns and walks away. He can feel the awful silence of that room follow him down the hallway.

***

a/n: first, a big thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed thus far. feedback makes my day.

title borrowed without permission from wilfred owen's Six O'Clock in Princes Street