After many angsty chats with friends, and being nominated for the Quicksilver Quills “ Best Post Hogwarts Fiction, I’ve finally decided to get into it and polish this chapter.
Thank you to LexiGirl for nominating me!
Prologue
The robe swathed shadow leaned delicately over the wooden crib, pausing ever so slightly to look shiftily through the eyeholes in the mask that hid his face from view. Then, without further apprehension, he reached in and picked up yet another precious bundle; something that would no doubt finish off the quota his master had insisted upon, no matter what the conditions.
With his precious cargo held tightly in his hands, he leapt silently out of the second story window narrowly missing the balcony, but never loosing his grip on the bundle.
He agilely jumped from rooftop to rooftop, stopping only once at a brick wall to utter an unintelligible incantation under his breath.
The mass of blankets in his arms caught in the light of the full moon, and somewhere he heard the painstakingly loud scream of a distraught woman.
He slid silkily through the hole he had scorched through the wall, and disapperated into the night, leaving only the sorrowed sobs of a lonely witch, and the fading cries of a baby.
* * *
A witch suddenly sat up bolt upright in bed. She ran her fingers through her hair, still disturbed from the remains if her dream she’d pulled herself out of moments before.
She still felt the residual emotions from the dream, and shook her head as if to rid her mind of them. She looked uneasily around the room, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her long, silvery hair fell down around her shoulders, lank and unkempt. Her once glossy fringe was greasy and clumped together.
She swung her legs out from under the covers with difficulty, and set them slowly on the floor unsure whether they would support her.
She scrambled in the darkness for a few moments, desperate to find the bedside light. The light flickered for a moment, and then shone steadily, illuminating the room and the red-haired man lying fast asleep in the bed next to her.
Her crutches were leaning against the dresser, less than three feet away. She pushed her arms into the sweaty bedclothes around her and stood up, her legs shivering slightly in the cold night wind coming in through the nursery window.
She slowly made her way across the wooden floor, so cold at night that they sent shivers running up her feet and legs. She had only just laid her hands on the tops of them when she turned sharply towards the bed.
The wizard murmured in his sleep, shifted position slightly, and then fell deeply back into slumber. She turned back towards the door stopping to snatch her wand off the oak bedside table, and then continued her journey to the nursery, joined to the main bedroom of their newly decorated apartment.
She shifted her weight on her crutches and pointed her wand at the doorknob on the door.
“Alohomora.”
She swung into the room, apprehensive. She got a bad vibe as she rounded the corner and stumbled quickly down the split-level stairs to the crib. She felt a shiver pass over her, and goose bumps mottle her skin as it crawled under the still evident effects of the dream. A single glance confirmed her worst fears.
She let out an ear-piercing scream and her crutches cluttered loudly to the floor, waking up the dozing wizard in the next room
* * *
Bill Weasley woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Something awful was happening, and Fleur screaming only alarmed him more so. His wife was so strong, hardly showing emotion now she was older, hardly as frivolous these days. When she was younger, and when Bill had first met her, she was an attractive young teenager with a fiery temper to match, always dissecting every little detail, and scrutinizing everyone she met, making a hasty first impressions.
He smiled fondly as though picturing the memory clearly in his mind. He shook out his long, unruly red hair, a trademark of his Weasley heritage; all of his five brothers and lone sister, not to mention many relatives were cursed with the same fiery hair.
Fleur's screams had reduced to heart wrenching sobs, and Bill quickly clambered into a robe and slippers and shuffled sleepily into the nursery. It was probably nothing. Fleur had these panic attacks daily, and ever since that prophecy her grandmother had made some six months before on her deathbed, she had been paranoid and jumpy like a cat.
* * *
Fleur stared at the empty crib, as though not seeing it. No, it's absolutely couldn't. It just couldn't. Why her poor defenseless baby girl? She didn't possess any power the Dark Lord, or she knew of.
“Or did she? ” A little voice murmured insistently in the back of her mind. “your grandmother, a fine Veela herself foretold such an event. ”
“Yes, ” that persistently annoying voice reminded her. She had told her to always be on her guard, and she’d failed miserably. She failed herself and her daughter. Bill, who was constantly in contact with his family and The Order, had warned her something like this would happen.
Voldemort was recruiting, as he had put it. His one blunder nearly thirty-something years ago was he was going after fully grown witches and wizards. Their minds were made up, and it was very hard to convince those fair few. Children on the other hand, their minds could be molded, shaped and destroyed with the loving touch of evil.
Yes, Bill had indeed tried protecting their apartment with Stealth Sensing spells, but alas, their magic was not what it used to be.
Their magic was the strongest they had ever seen it when they were falling in love, and up until Fleur's trust had been broken in Bill for that tiny miniscule moment, Lord Voldemort had seen the weakness and struck. Fleur came away crippled but still determined to fight for the cause. So many great wizards had died fighting Lord Voldemort, and it was their trust in each other and their love that shone like a beacon of hope, and helped Fleur begin the excruciatingly slow road to recovery.
But now, as Bill walked slowly up to Fleur and slipped his arm around her shoulders and her hand into his, they both stared aimlessly out the broken window, its fly screen protecting sliced and floating outwards in the warm breeze of the July night.
Millicent woke up with a start, covered in a feverish sweat. Her bedclothes were tangled and soaked, half hanging off the floor. She pushed herself up right and leant over to switch on her table light. She fumbled clumsily for a moment, and then blinked stupidly for a moment in the harsh yellow light.
The light lit up her room, showing her toy box, half closed, bursting with stuffed animal plush toys and multi colored hippogriff figurines lying on the floor. Her bed was encased in a rainbow mosquito net, which fitted in nicely with Millie's extravagant personality.
She got out of bed, careful not to slip on the newly polished floor in her stockinged feet, and tiptoed over to her wardrobe, trying not to alert her parents to the fact she was out of bed after-hours.
She had just got her arms into her dressing gown when her mothers crutches could be heard thumping slowly down the hall way. She slowly slunk out of her room, and slid gracefully down the hall, her hair catching in the light of the moon through the window.
Her silvery locks mimicked not her father, but the silken tresses of her mother. She wound a finger around a lone curl nervously as she padded down the hall.
At nearly five Millie had been through enough scenarios to rival even her Uncle Harry. Her life had changed dramatically when her grandmother had died.
She remembered her mother’s face when Aunt Gabrielle had come out of the candle-lit room, her face drawn and streaked with the memories of tears. Her mother face had not yet given in to grief, and was holding herself stiffly, her lips forming a thin line. She had gone in her eyes pausing shortly on Millie, four, then she too, passed through the doorway into her grandmothers room to bid her her finally goodbye. When she had come out her face was shining with freshly shed tears, and her father and walked over and caught her in a hug, his coarse hands stroking her silvery hair.
As Millie stood with her back pressed against the wall the window opened of its own accord and something reached out and grabbed a fistful of Millie’s hair, dragging her head back to see into the eyes of a Death Eater’s mask. His eyes were a light ice blue, so piercing Millie couldn’t help but look into them, so deep and full of secrets.
“Tell your wretch of a mother that The Dark Lords quota has almost been fulfilled. There’s only one child left to be acquired.” He bared his yellowing teeth at her, and the air that had not already been cut of by her necklace was not befouled with the smell of death.
Millie wrenched herself free, and flattened herself against the wall in horror. She stared open mouthed at the now closed window, her eyes disbelieving.No. That hadn’t just happened had it?
Suddenly her mother's scream sliced through the air and Millie’s head whipped to the side so fast her necklace broke free and swung through the air to land in the moonlight by the window. She took off at a run towards her sister’s room, not noticing it starting to glow, her feet slipping on the floorboards.
The necklace was in the shape of a lightning bolt.
Fleur sat with her head in her hands, despairing over her lost child. Why Wendy? Such a young child, no powers, no protection; no real worth to the worth except her family’s mental health. She sighed deeply, her palms of her hands digging hard into her eye sockets, as though to rid her eyes of the vision on seeing her daughter’s bassinet, empty, and Wendy… lost to the Dark Lord.
Bill stared at his wife. There was nothing he could do for her. At least not of yet. An idea formed in his head, and with a brief hug to his wife, which she did not return, he strode out of the dark room and walked promptly into his first born daughter.
Her eyes were wide and luminous, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Bill uttered a cry of surprise and rushed to envelope her is a tight bear hug.
“What is it Millie? What did you see?” He frowned at her silence. Something was not right.
Millie gazed up at her father. She rocked back and forth on her heels and opened her mouth quavering.
“Daddy...” She leapt into his waiting arms and he held her close.
“Daddy,” she began again, “Daddy I saw him! He came for me and breathed the stench of death all over me.”
Bill broke the hug and held Millie at arms length, staring into her brilliant blue eyes. “Millie….honey, it was just a nightmare. Go back to bed.” Bill pushed her in the direction of her room, but Millie stood her ground.
“Dad.”
“Being grown up now are we?”
“Dad. ”
“Millie. ”
“Why won’t you believe me? Are you calling me a liar?”
“Millie…” He trailed off helplessly, running a hand through his short hair, making it stand on end awkwardly. He crouched down to her level and stared her in the eyes.
She stared defiantly back at his, the resemblance to her Uncles Fred and George was striking. He looked away before talking.
“You know your mother and I are involved in certain… activities are we’re constantly on alert to the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort, and listening to little girl’s nightmares aren’t helping the situation any more than your mother being out of action. We just don’t have time for these things…especially in light of recent events.” He turned around and stared down the silent hall where Fleur was lost in thought.
Millie followed his gaze. “Dad, what’s wrong? Is Wendy sick again? Why did Mother scream? Did she hurt herself?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth and her eyes grew wide.
She ran down the hall slipping slightly on the floors and ran down the stairs to her sister’s basinet.
She took in the sight of the gaping window and her distraught mother.
“Mother, where’s Wendy? Where is she?” she demanded of her mother, her hair falling around her face. She distractedly brushed it out of the way and leant further in.
“Well?” Fleur looked up and her eyes were so sunken that Millie stepped back in fright.
“It’s happened then,” she said, “they’ve finally gotten her.”
Lord Voldemort lowered his hands from his face and looked upon his followers gathered around him in a circle.
“It is done then?” He asked, focusing on Lucius Malfoy, and Lord Voldemort was pleased to see him squirm under his gaze.
He bent into a low bow, his blond hair sweeping forward and touching the floor. He stood up abruptly and reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a tiny, sleeping Wendy Weasley.
“Indeed it has, my Lord.” He stepped forward and presented her to his Master.
Lord Voldemort ran one long, skeletal finger down her tiny, smooth cheek and smiled maliciously, his eyes glowing dangerously.
His plan was in action
A/N: I’d like to take this opportunity to explain the usage of * * * and the < h r > formatting tag.
* * * refers to the same characters, but a change in time or place.
< h r > refers to a different set of characters, time and setting. Please, if you notice me slipping up in this particular use of formatting, do not hesitate to review, or PM me @ Lurid on MNFF Beta Boards.
I must also give thanks to LexiGirl for her Nomination for Malicious Intentions in the Quicksilver Quills “ Post Hogwarts Fiction thread. I am eternally grateful, and it has inspired me to finally stop procrastinating and fix this little Fic up.
Thank you to all my readers who have remained faithful!
Malicious Intentions by Lurid
Chapter Notes: None of my Chapters would be beta'd without the lovely, wonderful and fantastic Lori (OhISee) as my Beta. Thanks hun, for sticking with me! *huggles*