Pop—
The air, displaced by two simultaneous Apparitions but not yet given time to crack into a sharp report, was scattered and dispersed by the gale howling across the mountaintop. The sound dwindled into something like the soft hiss of a slow leaking balloon.
The two figures who appeared at the summit turned simultaneously. They stood at the mountain's crest and gazed out over the landscape spread below them.
It was a lovely vista despite the hour and the weather—Ottery St Catchpole lying in the valley below, small and peaceful and entirely unaware of the darkness looking down at it.
From that height, the village appeared as a scattering of toy houses, miniaturized by distance into something charming.
Countless shafts of moonlight slanted through the broken cloud cover above, falling in columns across the rooftops and fields below, illuminating patches of the landscape in silver while leaving others in deep shadow.
Both men were searching the view for a specific structure—the "meticulously swept broomshed" that the workers' meeting had been held in, which they had only just departed through the Floo connection.
But the distance between mountaintop and village, combined with the clarity yet deceptiveness of the moonlight, rendered that solitary little structure at the village's edge completely indistinguishable from the surrounding buildings and outhouses.
It was a single wave among the rolling swells of an endless dark sea—impossible to pick out by sight alone.
The two gentlemen withdrew their gazes from the valley and turned instead toward the nearer objective—the house that rose on the neighbouring hillside like a black pillar driven into the earth.
They could easily have Apparated directly to its doorstep in an instant. Yet without a word between them, both men fell into step and walked.
"I should have said something sooner, Lucius—"
Though they were descending a hillside in blustering wind and patchy moonlight, every step Adam took was steady and sure.
"I heard what happened after the Battle of Diagon Alley." Adam's voice was chatty, as if they were strolling through pleasant countryside on a summer afternoon. "The Dark Lord took your wand."
"Whatever do you mean by that?" Lucius Malfoy's expression remained entirely emotionless.
His gaze stayed fixed on the stone house ahead of them. Beneath that pale gaze, however, concealed beneath its grey surface like something lurking in deep water, ran a thread of unease that Malfoy would not permit himself to allow to surface.
"The Dark Lord chose my wand. That is a mark of his trust. I doubt you could understand what that means to those of us who serve him unto death—it is the highest of honours to be chosen in such a way."
"Ah, forgive me—" Adam said it pleasantly, without a trace of actual apology in his tone. He glanced at the walking stick grpped in Lucius's right hand. His smile was perfect.
"Then whose wand are you currently using?"
A shadow of cold displeasure finally crossed Lucius Malfoy's face.
"My wife's, Narcissa's wand. There is nothing improper about it—the Dark Lord has not forbidden me to acquire another wand."
"Evidently not—" Adam gave a gracious, accepting nod.
A fiercer gust of wind came driving into them both from the northeast. Lucius and Adam were forced to stop in their tracks, raising their arms against the sudden blast.
The wind subsided after several seconds, leaving the air temporarily quieter by contrast. They walked on.
"I suspect the Dark Lord may not fully understand the reason himself—" Adam spoke with easy, self-assured fluency.
"I have heard what occurred at the Dark Lord's resurrection ritual in the graveyard— and I have also analysed what transpired at the conclusion of this recent war. The wand of that Harry Potter appears to resist the Dark Lord's own.
The Dark Lord seems to believe that Watson's power was nothing to fear. But he does not understand where Potter's power truly comes from. He believes he overcame the protection the boy's mother sacrificed herself to provide—and yet something went wrong again.
So now he is urgently seeking answers in that prophecy held in the Department of Mysteries."
Adam held forth at his leisure, but within Lucius, only wariness rose.
He did not know this man who had joined their ranks midway through recent events particularly well. And yet these words Adam was speaking so freely were the kind that one did not utter carelessly.
'He's noticed something. This is a test.'
The level of Lucius's vigilance climbed another notch.
"I must caution you against speculating about our Master's wisdom and power—"
Lucius placed each step on the slick wet grass with care, exactly as he navigated the second half of his life as a man continuously walking on thin ice—every move and word demanding that much more pondering.
"Whether Bryan Watson or that Harry Potter, both survived the Dark Lord's hand by sheer luck. The accident at the conclusion of the Battle of Diagon Alley may very well have been a contingency laid in advance by that cunning Dumbledore—"
"Oh, heh—Lucius, you are every bit as clever as they say—" Adam shook his head with an expression of genuine-seeming amusement.
"I only thought—that among all those who serve the Dark Lord, you are the one of greatest practical intelligence. That is precisely why I chose to share these particular thoughts with you."
"I appreciate the flattery," Lucius replied. The words were polite, the tone was a door closing.
They were inside the Lovegood property now—having passed through the wooden gate.
The anxiety behind Lucius's eyes deepened. But not a trace of it could show on his face.
The man walking beside him was a profoundly sharp and perceptive wizard. In some respects, Adam was more difficult to cross than even the Dark Lord himself.
"But perhaps you have not fully understood us. The Death Eaters are the finest wizards this country has to offer. Each possesses formidable power and considerable independent intelligence. It is only that beside our great Dark Lord whose abilities transcend ordinary measurement—we appear dim by comparison."
The reply was airtight, defensible from every angle.
"Oh, heh—humility is a virtue, certainly," Adam said, lowering his voice now as they drew nearer to the house. "But humility taken too far curdles into affectation, my dear Lucius—"
Near the yard now, Adam lowered his voice. He stared at the house with cold eyes.
"I am quite certain that no one among the Death Eaters but you could have conceived the scheme of using those half-wits—hardly cleverer than Flobberworms—to lure Bones out from her layers of protection. And yet I confess to a small puzzlement—"
Standing at the garden gate, Adam turned and looked at Lucius with a pleasant expression.
"This plan was your idea. So why have you seemed so remarkably... disengaged this evening?"
"Those people are no different from Muggles. They disgust me—"
Lucius had anticipated this question. He answered without a ripple of emotion.
"The Dark Lord understands this about me—that I am ill-suited to dealing with base-born rabble of that particular sort. That is precisely why he brought you into this aspect of the plan, is it not?"
He withdrew his wand from the concealed compartment in his walking stick.
"Come, then. Let us go in and determine whether this girl truly did, as you suggested, stumble into the gathering deliberately."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Adam's eyes.
The vast majority of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters were mere thugs who revelled in violence and cruelty for its own sake. Among them, those capable of keeping their reason and composure fully intact under pressure—men like Lucius Malfoy, who could strategize were genuinely rare.
Adam had made a deliberate effort to nurture a deeper alliance with Lucius. But Lucius seemed to regard him with constant wariness.
Adam drew his own wand as well. Having concealed himself with a Disillusionment Charm, he gave the wooden door handle a light, exploratory tap with his wand tip.
"How very at ease they are," he murmured, finding nothing at all.
Lucius understood immediately what he meant.
The wizarding world was, in practical terms, in an open state of war.
Ordinary wizarding families in the countryside, unconnected to the Ministry and its protections, lived every day in fear—dreading the hour when they might receive unwanted visitors.
And yet the Lovegood household, sitting on this exposed hilltop within easy reach of anyone who knew where it was, appeared to have left itself entirely, completely unprotected.
The wooden door swung open without a sound at his gentle push, opening onto a garden full of strange plants that rustled and shifted in the breeze.
A brief inspection of the garden and the ground floor revealed no traps at all.
Click—Click—Click!!!
Mr. Lovegood had not retreated to his bedroom for the night. He had simply stopped—mid-work, mid-thought perhaps and fallen asleep with his face resting against the cluttered worktable by the window.
His white hair spread across the papers beneath his cheek. His breathing was deep and regular, undisturbed by dreams. Behind him, operating entirely on its own magical momentum, a bizarre printing press busily spat out coloured pages with enthusiasm.
Click—Click—Click!!!
The pages accumulated in a growing pile, some sliding to the floor and drifting away in the gentle air circulation.
Adam picked up one of the sheets from the floor with two fingers and held it at an angle to examine it by the moonlight flowing through the window. His expression turned bewildered.
He set the page down without comment.
Like ghosts, the two men drifted up to the third floor through the silence of the sleeping house and opened the door to Luna's bedroom.
On the large bed lay three females of different ages.
A young girl of only a few years was curled in her mother's arms, a naive smile resting at her face. The mother's arm encircled her daughter, and judging from her deep, even snoring, she too was sleeping soundly.
The last was Luna herself.
She lay on her side facing the window, positioned closest to the curtains that moved and parted in the breeze. The wafting curtains parted now and then to let moonlight fall across her cheek.
Without the peculiar, scattered, dreaming character she wore while awake, Luna in sleep possessed something refined. An unguarded stillness.
Her desk held spellbooks and Hogwarts holiday assignments alongside a small, handmade miniature garden. Lucius bent and narrowed his eyes to examine it.
Adam moved closer to stand beside Lucius. The two men stood over in silence for a moment.
It seemed the girl's presence at their gathering had been nothing more than a chance accident.
But—
Adam turned from the desk. His expression went cold. Fixing his gaze on the girl lying in the moonlight, he slowly raised his arm.
Lucius's face shifted. He seized Adam's wrist at once.
'Since when did Death Eaters learn to go soft?'
Lucius read the question in Adam's eyes as it was directed at him.
'Don't forget John Cena, who is at the foot of the hill. The man is already committed to our purpose and could be further useful. Killing his wife and daughter now would not be wise.'
Lucius's lips moved subtly.
Adam's eyes wavered. His gaze moved slowly from Lucius's face to the sleeping girl and back again.
At last, he lowered his wand.
A soft wind moved through the curtains, stirring the room and both men vanished from the room.
Moonlight, clear as still water, continued its slow movement across the bedroom walls. The curtains drifted.
In that restored silence, the girl on the bed had already opened her silver eyes.
————————————
For More Chapters; patreon.com/FicFrenzy