I Am Determined To Prove A Villain (blanketforts Day 20)
Title: I Am Determined To Prove A Villain
Rating: Mostly G. One bad word and some violence
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2604
Prompt: Completely unrelated to the prompt. Sorry. This was the only day I could squish this bit of plot in :(
Notes: Peter and Lily go to see Richard III, but there are Death Eaters in the audience and things aren't about to get complicated... Title and quotes from Richard III. I've taken one small liberty with history. There was a performance of Richard III at the National in 1979 but not until October. And I've not checked the actual cast list, for obvious reasons.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20
Waterloo Station was eerily quiet. With such a limited service running, the usual commuter rush had vanished. There were only the pigeons fluttering in the roof, and the crackle of a radio from the tea stand on the great concourse. It was cold, the clear roof shadowed with snow, and Lily shivered and pulled her smart coat around her more closely as she left the Floo office in the south-east corner of the station. The click of her heels echoed, and she found herself scanning the concourse, warily, her wand not far from her hand. She didn’t quite trust quiet places any more.
But here was Peter bustling over the bridge, waving cheerfully. He was wrapped in a long beige coat and a faded red muffler. He beamed when he saw her and waved again.
Lily clicked along the station to join him. “Evening.”
“Alright, Lily? I’ve got the tickets, and we’ve got ages. How far is it? I have a map.” He brandished it.
Lily rolled her eyes. “Do you apparate everywhere, Pete? It’s really close. Follow me.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he said and shoved the map back into his pocket.
As they had time to spare, Lily took them through the Shell building and then down onto the riverbank. She didn’t like the warren of underpasses that led directly from Waterloo. There were too many corner and too many shadows.
On the embankment, the snow had been cleared away. The tide was high and Lily could see flecks of ice in the river shining in the lights from the buildings.
“About Prongs,” Peter said hesitantly.
Lily’s mood plummeted. “I’m not interested.”
“He means well. Really.”
“Then he has to talk to me. Himself. Not ask you.”
“He didn’t,” Peter said sharply. “I’m his friend.”
“Then leave it. He has to start trusting me or-” She took a breath and stopped herself. “I really don’t want to discuss it, Pete. James and I have to sort it out. I need a few days to be sure I won’t start screaming at him the moment we try to discuss it. So, Richard III.”
Peter sighed and then shrugged. “Fine. Do you know what it’s about, then?”
“Peter!”
“What?”
“It’s famous.”
“So what’s it about then?”
“Um.” Damn. “There’s this king and his brother, I think. Er. And the brother schemes behind everyone’s back until he becomes king and there’s a battle at the end. And it’s Shakespeare, so probably everyone ends up dead.”
“Famous, is it?”
“Oh, shut up, you.” Lily laughed.
Peter chuckled, and shifted his shoulders slightly. They had to walk under another bridge, and she knew he was readying his wand, just in case.
They came out in front of the bold, concrete blocks of the new theatre with no incident. They both paused to look at it, lit up against the night sky.
“That is the ugliest building I have even seen,” Peter said, with a note of awe in his voice.
“It’s supposed to be striking,” Lily offered. “It’s modern architecture.”
“I think I prefer old-fashioned. Bar’s open - you want a drink?”
Lily grinned, following him in. “Yes. Then you can tell me all about what’s going on with you and Emmy Vance.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Peter said flatly.
They left their coats in the cloakroom and went through into the bar. Everyone seemed very smart, and Lily was glad she had worn her smartest dress. She smoothed the brown crushed velvet over her knees nervously.
“Chin up,” Peter murmured. “You’re a Gryffindor. What are you drinking these days? White wine?”
“If we’re being posh. Dry.”
“Nab a corner, then.”
There were no spare seats but there was space enough for her to lean against the wall and study the people around her. They seemed to be a mixture of young people, in flowing, decorative outfits, and stiffly dressed older enthusiasts. Behind her a woman with a nasal voice was talking about the patriarchial lexis.
On the far side of the room, a blond woman was standing with her back to Lily, her hand on someone’s arm. The man she was with was hidden by the crowd. She looked oddly familiar and Lily frowned, trying to place her.
A young man with long dark hair, barely more than a boy, worked his way through the crowd, and handed the woman a drink. She turned her head to thank him, diamond earrings catching the light, and Lily recognised her.
Narcissa Black, now Malfoy.
The young man laughed and tossed his hair back, displaying the line of his face. Lily’s first thought was Sirius, then, a breath later, Regulus.
The crowd shifted a little and she lost sight of them. When she could see them again, they were moving away. She could see the back of the man with Narcissa now. His long hair flowed down his spine, as pale as Narcissa’s, and he moved with a slow, dangerous grace.
Peter pushed back through the crowd. “Sorry - they’re about to begin - what’s wrong?”
“The Malfoys are here,” Lily said. The world was clear and focussed around her. “And Regulus Black.”
“Are you sure?” Peter asked sharply.
“Positive.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Well spotted.”
“What’s going on?” This wasn’t just a pleasant evening at the theatre any more.
He looked at her thoughtfully, then leant close enough to whisper. “I can’t tell you here. If we get through this in one piece, I’ll explain afterwards.”
“Peter.”
“Trust me.”
She bit her lip, tasting her lipstick. This was Peter. If she couldn’t trust him, who could she trust. “Okay.”
“Good. Let’s go in. Keep your wand close.”
Lily felt her eyes widen but forced the worry down. She was Gryffindor, as much as any of them.
The theatre was only dimly lit. There was no stage, only an open space beneath the banks of seats. There seemed to be no stage sets, merely mounds of boxes, covered with rough cloths.
“The backstage people are on thump,” Peter said confidently, as she gathered up her long skirt to squeeze down the row to their seats at the back of the Upper Circle.
“Strike.”
“Yeah, that. It’s why we got the tickets so cheap.”
“We?”
He smiled at her blandly. “Emmy and I.”
“Right.”
They settled into their seats. Lily began to look round, trying to spot the Malfoys.
“They’re in the stalls,” Peter breathed. “Can you see anyone else?”
She began to scan the theatre, slow and careful. “The Lestranges - below us in the corner.”
“Got them. The Parkinsons are a few rows down to our left. Back of the dress circle.”
“Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Lily said, stomach curling in dismay.
“Two sides in every war.”
“Good. Are they here officially?”
“No,” Peter said, smiling wryly.
The lights were beginning to dim. Lily sat back, frustrated, and let her wand sit comfortably in her hand. The smooth weight of the willow felt more reassuring than ever.
The audience were settling into silence. A pipe began to play, a thin stream of music. As the music faded away, a spotlight appeared on an actor in the middle of the stage, his head bowed.
“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried….
If only, Lily thought. This was famous. She ought to be enjoying it. Instead she stared into the dark auditorium, tense for trouble. Beside her Peter was equally on edge. She could feel the muscles banded in his arm where it brushed hers.
As Richard reached, “Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,,” the door cracked open and a latecomer slipped in. He was a tall man, long-haired and bearded like half the Wizarding world, and there was something familiar about the way he walked, though she couldn’t place him. Lily wrapped her fingers around her wand until they throbbed.
Peter sighed and then relaxed a little.
Lily watched as Richard quarrelled with Lady Anne and the queens made their entrances. The world on the stage was one torn apart by too many years of war and she found herself wondering how long it would be before she saw such a world fall down around her.
Queen Margaret was crying out, “O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites…”
From the audience, dark figures were beginning to rise. Lily could see the stage lights shining on their blank masks.
Below her a female voice said, low and amused, “Avada Kedavra.”
Green light flashed out and Margaret stumbled in mid-word before she crashed to the stage.
Lily shot to her feet, grabbing her wand, not sure what she could do. Beside her, Peter seized her arm, nails digging in, and hissed, “Wait.” Then he reached inside his coat, dragging something out. Lily felt feathers brush her cheek.
The actors had faltered, but now they continued with the play, as if all was planned. One of the attendants knelt beside the felled actress, shaking her shoulder. Lily could see how wide the actors’ eyes were and the quaver in their voices. Then audience were stirring and muttering, as if unsure if the light had been planned.
Another voice rang out from the audience, smooth and rolling. “Mark, mark, the end of an age. Cower. Cower, fools. The Reign of Walpurgis begins in this hour. Cower before you die.”
The attendant felt for the actress’ pulse, and then looked up, his eyes wild. “She’s dead! Rosemary’s dead!”
“As you all will die!” the women below cried out triumphantly.
“I beg to differ,” a male voice said firmly from the back of the theatre. “I’m afraid I cannot allow this sort of behaviour.”
Lily recognised that voice and her heart began to beat more rapidly, hoping.
The latecomer was on his feet, and now she knew him, even before he lifted his wand and cried, “Expecto Phoenixem!” A beam of golden light shot from his wand, spreading into a broad beam across the auditorium.
Beside her, Peter echoed the cry, his voice merging with others from across the theatre. Golden light cobwebbed through the dark air, merging into one above the stage. Where the beams met a winged form took shape, bright as fire.
Lily glanced at Peter, not sure how to help, and drew in a breath. He too was masked, his round face hidden behind a sweep of fire-hued feathers. She could see his eyes through the mask, and his mouth below it, set with effort.
She could now see that the woman below was Bellatrix Lestrange, her dark hair flowing freely from behind her mask. She twisted in her place, thrusting her wand towards the latecomer, hissing, “Avada-”
The phoenix dived, wings trailing light. It struck Bellatrix with a flash, and then swooped through her and up again. She screamed and staggered back, and her wand burst into flames. Bellatrix threw it down, howling with rage, and her husband dragged her back, shoving her behind him as he raised his own wand.
Finally, with the sight of tangible flames, the audience panicking. The theatre filled with screaming crowds, battling towards the doors. Peter scrambled up onto his seat, balancing against Lily’s shoulder. Light still shone from his wand.
The phoenix was diving again.
On the stage, the actor playing Richard had cupped his hands around his mouth and was bellowing, “Remain calm. Please, ladies and gentlemen, stay calm. There are emergency exits through the stage doors. This way, ladies and gentlemen.”
The phoenix dived towards the other end of the auditorium. Lestrange raised his wand, pointing at the actor.
Lily beat him to it, screaming, “Levicorpus!”
As the green light arched down, the actor soared off the stage, costume flaring around him. The light splintered into the stage beneath him.
Lily squeaked the counterspell, dropping him to the ground below. He stumbled to his feet and ran.
Lestrange swung, looking for her, and she ducked down into Peter’s shadow, hoping whatever he was doing included a shield of some sort.
The phoenix swept down, leaving sparks dancing before her eyes, and both Lestrange brothers went crashing into the row below, surrounded by flames. Then the apparition was away again, swooping down.
Lily saw Narcissa Malfoy, her silk dress black with soot, drag Regulus down between the seats. The phoenix hovered over them, sending light flaring across the theatre. The audience had all gone now and she was the only one left not wearing a mask.
Rodolphus Lestrange pushed to his feet and bellowed, “Retreat!”
“Cissa!” Bella wailed in protest.
The members of the Order of the Phoenix were drawing towards the place where the phoenix waited, wands held high.
Lestrange swore, and he and his brother bundled Bellatrix between them, dragging her towards the door.
“They’re getting away!” Lily hissed.
“Let them run,” Peter said, his voice shaking. “They’re defanged.”
A hooded figure peered up from between the seats.
“One of them’s got a wand!” Alice Longbottom shouted.
Lily levelled her own wand as everyone broke into a run. Below her, she saw Narcissa rise to her knees. She flung her arms around her husband and cousin before seizing Regulus’ wand from his hand as he stared around wildly.
Then, with a crack that sounded like the sky breaking, they apparated.
“Fuck,” one of the masked men said in disgust. “Radcliffe’s dead and we didn’t even catch one of them.”
The latecomer cleared his throat and said mildly, “A great many Muggles live who would otherwise be dead. Now I believe we should move on, before the Aurors or the Muggle police arrive.”
A woman Lily couldn’t recognise snorted. “Maybe Crouch will have a heart attack at the sight.”
“Good riddance,” Alice Longbottom said. “Who’s got the portkey?”
“McKinnon,” Peter said. “When she stops blathering.”
“You can’t talk, Pettigrew. At least I didn’t drag my date into this.”
“Lily’s alright. I was meant to be with Emmy. Wasn’t my fault she’s still sleeping off the Confoundment from the other night.”
The latecomer coughed again. Lily darted a sideways look at him, and he smiled at her kindly. It was him, then. His beard looked strange, flowing from beneath the mask.
McKinnon dragged out a long glove and dangled it in front of them. “Grab on, everyone. Including you, mysterious girl.”
Lily grabbed a pinch of fabric, feeling other hands settle around hers. Then they went whirling away.
When they landed the first thing she noticed was the cold. She gasped as her arms flared into goosebumps and blinked at the world around her. They were in a farmyard, deeply covered by snow. Above them the stars shone brightly between the mountains. She could see a set of familiar, impossible lights a mile away, across the lake.
“Hogsmeade farm,” Peter said softly. “Our Headquarters.”
“Watch yourself, Pettigrew,” McKinnon said sharply, tossing the glove away. “So, what are we going to do about you, mysterious girl?”
Lily set her chin. “My name is Lily Evans.”
“Marlene McKinnon. How much do you know?” Her dark eyes were narrowed behind the feathers.
The latecomer said, “I don’t think you need worry yourself, Miss McKinnon. I rather suspect Miss Evans will be joining us shortly.”
Lily turned to face him. His eyes were twinkling and she smiled back, reassured by the sight, before she asked, “Will I? First, I’d like to know just who you are?”
Professor Dumbledore lifted the mask away from his face and met her gaze. “Welcome,” he said, “to the Order of the Phoenix.”
Rating: Mostly G. One bad word and some violence
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2604
Prompt: Completely unrelated to the prompt. Sorry. This was the only day I could squish this bit of plot in :(
Notes: Peter and Lily go to see Richard III, but there are Death Eaters in the audience and things aren't about to get complicated... Title and quotes from Richard III. I've taken one small liberty with history. There was a performance of Richard III at the National in 1979 but not until October. And I've not checked the actual cast list, for obvious reasons.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20
Waterloo Station was eerily quiet. With such a limited service running, the usual commuter rush had vanished. There were only the pigeons fluttering in the roof, and the crackle of a radio from the tea stand on the great concourse. It was cold, the clear roof shadowed with snow, and Lily shivered and pulled her smart coat around her more closely as she left the Floo office in the south-east corner of the station. The click of her heels echoed, and she found herself scanning the concourse, warily, her wand not far from her hand. She didn’t quite trust quiet places any more.
But here was Peter bustling over the bridge, waving cheerfully. He was wrapped in a long beige coat and a faded red muffler. He beamed when he saw her and waved again.
Lily clicked along the station to join him. “Evening.”
“Alright, Lily? I’ve got the tickets, and we’ve got ages. How far is it? I have a map.” He brandished it.
Lily rolled her eyes. “Do you apparate everywhere, Pete? It’s really close. Follow me.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he said and shoved the map back into his pocket.
As they had time to spare, Lily took them through the Shell building and then down onto the riverbank. She didn’t like the warren of underpasses that led directly from Waterloo. There were too many corner and too many shadows.
On the embankment, the snow had been cleared away. The tide was high and Lily could see flecks of ice in the river shining in the lights from the buildings.
“About Prongs,” Peter said hesitantly.
Lily’s mood plummeted. “I’m not interested.”
“He means well. Really.”
“Then he has to talk to me. Himself. Not ask you.”
“He didn’t,” Peter said sharply. “I’m his friend.”
“Then leave it. He has to start trusting me or-” She took a breath and stopped herself. “I really don’t want to discuss it, Pete. James and I have to sort it out. I need a few days to be sure I won’t start screaming at him the moment we try to discuss it. So, Richard III.”
Peter sighed and then shrugged. “Fine. Do you know what it’s about, then?”
“Peter!”
“What?”
“It’s famous.”
“So what’s it about then?”
“Um.” Damn. “There’s this king and his brother, I think. Er. And the brother schemes behind everyone’s back until he becomes king and there’s a battle at the end. And it’s Shakespeare, so probably everyone ends up dead.”
“Famous, is it?”
“Oh, shut up, you.” Lily laughed.
Peter chuckled, and shifted his shoulders slightly. They had to walk under another bridge, and she knew he was readying his wand, just in case.
They came out in front of the bold, concrete blocks of the new theatre with no incident. They both paused to look at it, lit up against the night sky.
“That is the ugliest building I have even seen,” Peter said, with a note of awe in his voice.
“It’s supposed to be striking,” Lily offered. “It’s modern architecture.”
“I think I prefer old-fashioned. Bar’s open - you want a drink?”
Lily grinned, following him in. “Yes. Then you can tell me all about what’s going on with you and Emmy Vance.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Peter said flatly.
They left their coats in the cloakroom and went through into the bar. Everyone seemed very smart, and Lily was glad she had worn her smartest dress. She smoothed the brown crushed velvet over her knees nervously.
“Chin up,” Peter murmured. “You’re a Gryffindor. What are you drinking these days? White wine?”
“If we’re being posh. Dry.”
“Nab a corner, then.”
There were no spare seats but there was space enough for her to lean against the wall and study the people around her. They seemed to be a mixture of young people, in flowing, decorative outfits, and stiffly dressed older enthusiasts. Behind her a woman with a nasal voice was talking about the patriarchial lexis.
On the far side of the room, a blond woman was standing with her back to Lily, her hand on someone’s arm. The man she was with was hidden by the crowd. She looked oddly familiar and Lily frowned, trying to place her.
A young man with long dark hair, barely more than a boy, worked his way through the crowd, and handed the woman a drink. She turned her head to thank him, diamond earrings catching the light, and Lily recognised her.
Narcissa Black, now Malfoy.
The young man laughed and tossed his hair back, displaying the line of his face. Lily’s first thought was Sirius, then, a breath later, Regulus.
The crowd shifted a little and she lost sight of them. When she could see them again, they were moving away. She could see the back of the man with Narcissa now. His long hair flowed down his spine, as pale as Narcissa’s, and he moved with a slow, dangerous grace.
Peter pushed back through the crowd. “Sorry - they’re about to begin - what’s wrong?”
“The Malfoys are here,” Lily said. The world was clear and focussed around her. “And Regulus Black.”
“Are you sure?” Peter asked sharply.
“Positive.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Well spotted.”
“What’s going on?” This wasn’t just a pleasant evening at the theatre any more.
He looked at her thoughtfully, then leant close enough to whisper. “I can’t tell you here. If we get through this in one piece, I’ll explain afterwards.”
“Peter.”
“Trust me.”
She bit her lip, tasting her lipstick. This was Peter. If she couldn’t trust him, who could she trust. “Okay.”
“Good. Let’s go in. Keep your wand close.”
Lily felt her eyes widen but forced the worry down. She was Gryffindor, as much as any of them.
The theatre was only dimly lit. There was no stage, only an open space beneath the banks of seats. There seemed to be no stage sets, merely mounds of boxes, covered with rough cloths.
“The backstage people are on thump,” Peter said confidently, as she gathered up her long skirt to squeeze down the row to their seats at the back of the Upper Circle.
“Strike.”
“Yeah, that. It’s why we got the tickets so cheap.”
“We?”
He smiled at her blandly. “Emmy and I.”
“Right.”
They settled into their seats. Lily began to look round, trying to spot the Malfoys.
“They’re in the stalls,” Peter breathed. “Can you see anyone else?”
She began to scan the theatre, slow and careful. “The Lestranges - below us in the corner.”
“Got them. The Parkinsons are a few rows down to our left. Back of the dress circle.”
“Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Lily said, stomach curling in dismay.
“Two sides in every war.”
“Good. Are they here officially?”
“No,” Peter said, smiling wryly.
The lights were beginning to dim. Lily sat back, frustrated, and let her wand sit comfortably in her hand. The smooth weight of the willow felt more reassuring than ever.
The audience were settling into silence. A pipe began to play, a thin stream of music. As the music faded away, a spotlight appeared on an actor in the middle of the stage, his head bowed.
“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried….
If only, Lily thought. This was famous. She ought to be enjoying it. Instead she stared into the dark auditorium, tense for trouble. Beside her Peter was equally on edge. She could feel the muscles banded in his arm where it brushed hers.
As Richard reached, “Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,,” the door cracked open and a latecomer slipped in. He was a tall man, long-haired and bearded like half the Wizarding world, and there was something familiar about the way he walked, though she couldn’t place him. Lily wrapped her fingers around her wand until they throbbed.
Peter sighed and then relaxed a little.
Lily watched as Richard quarrelled with Lady Anne and the queens made their entrances. The world on the stage was one torn apart by too many years of war and she found herself wondering how long it would be before she saw such a world fall down around her.
Queen Margaret was crying out, “O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites…”
From the audience, dark figures were beginning to rise. Lily could see the stage lights shining on their blank masks.
Below her a female voice said, low and amused, “Avada Kedavra.”
Green light flashed out and Margaret stumbled in mid-word before she crashed to the stage.
Lily shot to her feet, grabbing her wand, not sure what she could do. Beside her, Peter seized her arm, nails digging in, and hissed, “Wait.” Then he reached inside his coat, dragging something out. Lily felt feathers brush her cheek.
The actors had faltered, but now they continued with the play, as if all was planned. One of the attendants knelt beside the felled actress, shaking her shoulder. Lily could see how wide the actors’ eyes were and the quaver in their voices. Then audience were stirring and muttering, as if unsure if the light had been planned.
Another voice rang out from the audience, smooth and rolling. “Mark, mark, the end of an age. Cower. Cower, fools. The Reign of Walpurgis begins in this hour. Cower before you die.”
The attendant felt for the actress’ pulse, and then looked up, his eyes wild. “She’s dead! Rosemary’s dead!”
“As you all will die!” the women below cried out triumphantly.
“I beg to differ,” a male voice said firmly from the back of the theatre. “I’m afraid I cannot allow this sort of behaviour.”
Lily recognised that voice and her heart began to beat more rapidly, hoping.
The latecomer was on his feet, and now she knew him, even before he lifted his wand and cried, “Expecto Phoenixem!” A beam of golden light shot from his wand, spreading into a broad beam across the auditorium.
Beside her, Peter echoed the cry, his voice merging with others from across the theatre. Golden light cobwebbed through the dark air, merging into one above the stage. Where the beams met a winged form took shape, bright as fire.
Lily glanced at Peter, not sure how to help, and drew in a breath. He too was masked, his round face hidden behind a sweep of fire-hued feathers. She could see his eyes through the mask, and his mouth below it, set with effort.
She could now see that the woman below was Bellatrix Lestrange, her dark hair flowing freely from behind her mask. She twisted in her place, thrusting her wand towards the latecomer, hissing, “Avada-”
The phoenix dived, wings trailing light. It struck Bellatrix with a flash, and then swooped through her and up again. She screamed and staggered back, and her wand burst into flames. Bellatrix threw it down, howling with rage, and her husband dragged her back, shoving her behind him as he raised his own wand.
Finally, with the sight of tangible flames, the audience panicking. The theatre filled with screaming crowds, battling towards the doors. Peter scrambled up onto his seat, balancing against Lily’s shoulder. Light still shone from his wand.
The phoenix was diving again.
On the stage, the actor playing Richard had cupped his hands around his mouth and was bellowing, “Remain calm. Please, ladies and gentlemen, stay calm. There are emergency exits through the stage doors. This way, ladies and gentlemen.”
The phoenix dived towards the other end of the auditorium. Lestrange raised his wand, pointing at the actor.
Lily beat him to it, screaming, “Levicorpus!”
As the green light arched down, the actor soared off the stage, costume flaring around him. The light splintered into the stage beneath him.
Lily squeaked the counterspell, dropping him to the ground below. He stumbled to his feet and ran.
Lestrange swung, looking for her, and she ducked down into Peter’s shadow, hoping whatever he was doing included a shield of some sort.
The phoenix swept down, leaving sparks dancing before her eyes, and both Lestrange brothers went crashing into the row below, surrounded by flames. Then the apparition was away again, swooping down.
Lily saw Narcissa Malfoy, her silk dress black with soot, drag Regulus down between the seats. The phoenix hovered over them, sending light flaring across the theatre. The audience had all gone now and she was the only one left not wearing a mask.
Rodolphus Lestrange pushed to his feet and bellowed, “Retreat!”
“Cissa!” Bella wailed in protest.
The members of the Order of the Phoenix were drawing towards the place where the phoenix waited, wands held high.
Lestrange swore, and he and his brother bundled Bellatrix between them, dragging her towards the door.
“They’re getting away!” Lily hissed.
“Let them run,” Peter said, his voice shaking. “They’re defanged.”
A hooded figure peered up from between the seats.
“One of them’s got a wand!” Alice Longbottom shouted.
Lily levelled her own wand as everyone broke into a run. Below her, she saw Narcissa rise to her knees. She flung her arms around her husband and cousin before seizing Regulus’ wand from his hand as he stared around wildly.
Then, with a crack that sounded like the sky breaking, they apparated.
“Fuck,” one of the masked men said in disgust. “Radcliffe’s dead and we didn’t even catch one of them.”
The latecomer cleared his throat and said mildly, “A great many Muggles live who would otherwise be dead. Now I believe we should move on, before the Aurors or the Muggle police arrive.”
A woman Lily couldn’t recognise snorted. “Maybe Crouch will have a heart attack at the sight.”
“Good riddance,” Alice Longbottom said. “Who’s got the portkey?”
“McKinnon,” Peter said. “When she stops blathering.”
“You can’t talk, Pettigrew. At least I didn’t drag my date into this.”
“Lily’s alright. I was meant to be with Emmy. Wasn’t my fault she’s still sleeping off the Confoundment from the other night.”
The latecomer coughed again. Lily darted a sideways look at him, and he smiled at her kindly. It was him, then. His beard looked strange, flowing from beneath the mask.
McKinnon dragged out a long glove and dangled it in front of them. “Grab on, everyone. Including you, mysterious girl.”
Lily grabbed a pinch of fabric, feeling other hands settle around hers. Then they went whirling away.
When they landed the first thing she noticed was the cold. She gasped as her arms flared into goosebumps and blinked at the world around her. They were in a farmyard, deeply covered by snow. Above them the stars shone brightly between the mountains. She could see a set of familiar, impossible lights a mile away, across the lake.
“Hogsmeade farm,” Peter said softly. “Our Headquarters.”
“Watch yourself, Pettigrew,” McKinnon said sharply, tossing the glove away. “So, what are we going to do about you, mysterious girl?”
Lily set her chin. “My name is Lily Evans.”
“Marlene McKinnon. How much do you know?” Her dark eyes were narrowed behind the feathers.
The latecomer said, “I don’t think you need worry yourself, Miss McKinnon. I rather suspect Miss Evans will be joining us shortly.”
Lily turned to face him. His eyes were twinkling and she smiled back, reassured by the sight, before she asked, “Will I? First, I’d like to know just who you are?”
Professor Dumbledore lifted the mask away from his face and met her gaze. “Welcome,” he said, “to the Order of the Phoenix.”