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Darkness Within The Light	By : crimson96 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8759 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 33
- 34
- 35
Chapter 34: The Darkest of Men

Grease dribbled between Harry's fingers as he raised his fist toward the roof of the Burrow, trying to catch the white eagle's attention. As Orion spread his wings and made an awkward, flapping descent, Harry opened his fist to reveal the piece of gristle he had saved from dinner. Strong talons gripped his forearm, and Orion struck with precision, taking the meat without harming Harry's hand. Satisfied, the eagle allowed Harry to stroke his wings and chest.

"You should send that bird back to Malfoy."

Harry craned his neck to see Ginny standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest.

"I like having him here." Harry scratched Orion's neck, causing the eagle to close his dark, beady eyes and tilt his head to one side.

"I don't. He eats the gnomes and leaves bits of them everywhere! I should be able to walk in my own garden without stepping on part of an arm or a leg."

"Maybe if you fed him something better, he wouldn't have to eat gnomes," Harry countered. In truth, he had planned to send Orion to Andromeda's house, perhaps with a letter for Draco. He had drafted several versions of the letter in his head, discarding each before committing it to paper. However, he wasn't about to discuss Draco with Ginny, and given how she was behaving, he somewhat enjoyed the thought of her stepping in Orion's leavings.

"I shouldn't have to feed him-" Ginny's response was cut off as Hermione came out the front door, carrying a folded paper in her hand.

With a sigh, Harry eased Orion off his arm and then wiped his greasy left hand on a handkerchief from his pocket. "If it's more of Skeeter's nonsense-" he began.

"It's not the Prophet, it's the Quibbler," Hermione said, unfolding the paper and holding it out to him. "There's an article about the murder in Nocturne Alley, and I should warn you that it has pictures." When she said the word "pictures," her nose wrinkled, and her mouth twitched as if she wanted to spit something out.

Harry took the paper and gazed at the moving image on the front page. A smiling young woman with a dark complexion and a head of intricate black curls winked at the camera and draped her arm around the shoulders of a golden-eyed lioness. The big cat twitched her ears and head butted the girl's jaw, reminding Harry of Janus' cat, Socrates. The headline above the picture read "Creature Attack in Nocturne Alley."

"Let me guess," Harry murmured. "The Quibbler staff thinks it's the work of a crumple-horned snorkack."

"No, it's a smooth-horned snorkack this time. They say you can tell by the shape of the teeth marks." Hermione reached across Harry to turn the page of the paper, revealing a full-page photo showing Jett splayed out on the cobblestones, her empty brown eyes staring into the distance. A gaudy silver earring hung from her left earlobe, sequins sparkling against the dark background of her hair. One arm lay at her side, and the other was flung upwards so that the hand rested near her head, its fingers curled into a claw. The fingertips looked wet and dark, as if she had drawn blood from her attacker or perhaps clutched at her own wounds in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. The pale pink robe she wore was torn down to her waist, offering a view of the gash that ran from her rib cage to her left hip bone. Harry could see something wet and shiny through the gaping wound, and as he watched, dark blood seeped through the fabric of the robe and trickled onto the cobblestones. A few seconds later, the moving picture reset itself, and the slow creep of fluids began again.

"Teeth marks?" he repeated, swallowing back bile.

Hermione pointed to the dead girl's neck, where a second wound dripped.

Harry frowned, puzzled. "Janus was sure it was Moreaux! Phillipe was there, I know it, I talked to the other girl, Tawny..."

"Maybe a sectumsempra spell like the one you used on Malfoy?" Ginny mused, standing close to Harry and leaning forward to look at the picture.

"No. That leaves a clean cut like a sword wound. This girl was torn apart!" Harry closed the paper to hand it back to Hermione, but Ginny took it from his hand.

"He could be an animagus," Hermione offered. "That would explain how he's hiding."

Harry shook his head. "Janus never said anything about Phillipe being an animagus. And if he could change into a creature that powerful, why didn't he do it before, with me and Draco or with Ginny and Ron?"

"It's the difference between a fight and a slaughter," Ginny said grimly. "That girl was on her own, helpless." She closed her eyes and touched the picture of Jett and Tawny on the front page. "If I had taken the time to finish him properly..."

"It wasn't your fault!" Harry said vehemently. "It was Moreaux's, or Lucius Malfoy's, if that's who let him out of Nurmengard."

"The question is why isn't anyone putting him back?" Hermione murmured. "I haven't seen so much as a wanted poster. The Prophet never mentions him. The Quibbler blames his work on a mythical creature. Someone doesn't want him to be found."

"Now you sound as paranoid as Janus." Harry smiled at Hermione, but the joke felt flat.

"I'll bet Draco knows something about it," Ginny said. "Think about it! He pretends to be your friend just long enough to lure you to Malfoy Manor where Lucius and Phillipe try to kill us all-"

"You know nothing about him!" Harry snapped.

"None of us do, not really." Ginny rolled the paper, stuffed it into her front pocket and folded her arms across her chest. "I know one thing. Getting the lot of the Malfoys in Azkaban would make the world safer. At least we'd know for sure if they're the ones pulling Moreaux's strings."

Harry took a step toward Ginny and met her eyes. "Draco isn't going to Azkaban!"

"That depends on whether the Wizengamot looks at the Dark Mark on his arm or listens to his partner in crime," Ginny replied.

"Ginny, that's enough." Hermione took her by the arm and pulled her toward the house.

Saved from replying to Ginny, Harry started toward the pond, where Orion was circling, on the hunt for gnomes, rats, or whatever else he could catch. Harry's stomach churned, making him wish he had skipped dinner. After all he had seen, the picture from the Quibbler shouldn't bother him, but he couldn't force it out of his mind. The more he replayed the moving picture in his head, the angrier and more restless he became.

I didn't fight a war just so people like him could run loose!

He kicked a stone into the pond and watched the ripples until they disappeared, leaving the surface as smooth as before.

Is that all the difference I've made?

The prospect of doing nothing while waiting for the trial seemed suddenly unbearable. He felt an irresistible urge to be doing something, anything, to get closer to finding Phillipe Moreaux. He could only think of one person who might know more about where to start.

With a glance back at the door of the Burrow, he drew his wand, but found himself hesitating. Seeing Janus again would be strange after last night, and he wondered how long the visit would last before Janus found some way to get rid of him. No, he decided, this time he would get real answers, and he wouldn't let himself be pushed away or distracted with stories.

He raised his wand, and a moment later he was standing in the forest, reeling as much from the prospect of confronting Janus as from the apparition. Thinking of how he had embarrassed himself yesterday still made his cheeks burn.

... this is where I want to be. With you.

Why had he said that? As he started toward the house, his mind tormented him with reminders of his own behavior. There would be none of that today, he promised himself, unless Janus started it, in which case...

Something caught his ankle as he approached the house, and he stumbled, catching himself on a tree trunk. At first he thought that Janus might have set the wards to keep him out, but when he felt another thump on his calf, he looked down to see Socrates. The Siamese mewled loudly, ran to the front door, and began scratching. Harry joined him on the stoop and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he put his ear to the door and heard only the wind in the trees.

He wrapped on the door with a fist. "Janus?" he called. "Janus!"

The cat weaved back and forth between Harry's legs, making plaintive sounds. Harry tried the doorknob, cast Alohomora, and tried it again, to no avail. "He said whatever he was doing wouldn't take long!" he muttered, watching Socrates scratch at the door with renewed effort. Frustrated, he slapped the door one last time. "Janus! Where the hell are you?"

The evening sun sat low on the horizon as streaks of pink and yellow traced across the sky. A small pop in the air signaled the arrival of a visitor to the scene. The beautiful display by nature brought Janus to a stop, and he turned on the spot, making sure of his location and also taking in this majestic artwork from the heavens. It was indeed a breath-taking sight, a view so glorious that it could cause the darkest of men to pause, momentarily.

Janus wondered if Moreaux was watching the same sunset, not realizing it might be his last. The anticipation made Janus' mouth go dry, and his hands shook slightly, as if he were about to meet a lover. He had played out Moreaux's final moments in his mind in so many different ways that they all blurred together in a stew of dark fantasy. At times, he had imagined himself showing mercy and putting Moreaux down quickly with the killing curse, destroying him like a rabid animal. In his more grandiose imaginings, Janus burst his enemy in an explosion of flame and spark, and when his mood was blackest, he enjoyed devising scenarios in which Moreaux died in agony over a period of days or weeks.

When the confrontation finally came, Janus didn't know what means he would use, only what end he desired. The uncertainty only heightened the anticipation, sending near-electric thrills through his body. In his mind, Moreaux suffered every possible death at Janus' hands, and the need to choose just one was almost painful.

Janus turned, with his back now to the western sun, and brought his gaze down upon the small village of Kettlewell, as it nestled in the late day shadows. Far above him, a soft cry came as Artemis landed upon his shoulder. With two fingers he petted the owl, and the bird returned the admiration by scrubbing her beak against his cheek. "I need for you to be my eyes, old girl. Be watchful for me." The owl took flight as Janus began his walk down the hillside and into the village.

Entering the village by the cobblestone road, he walked by several houses, some of them with boarded up windows. While he made his way past the houses, front doors and windows slammed closed, and residents drew their curtains. "Wonderful hospitality," Janus mused as he continued his walk.

Eventually, he came to the business area of the main street. His feet instantly stopped as he spotted The Olde Kette Pub. The windows and door to the establishment had police barrier tape across them, warning everyone not to disturb the scene. Janus' eyes flickered from the yellow tape across the door to the red and white tape that formed an x-shape across the large front window. The colors of the tape reminded him of two large sticks of peppermint candy at Christmas, and the morbid comparison made him smile until he noticed an additional detail. Centered just above the intersection of the barrier tape a splash of dried blood had stained the window. Janus sighed and mumbled to himself as he began his walk once again, looking for some type of inn to stay in and a location where he might find information.

A short time later, he had finished checking into a small bed and breakfast, and he unpacked his small bag into the closet. Janus then secured his wand in the handmade holder that slipped around his right wrist. He then made his way back downstairs, and after asking the innkeeper a few questions he thanked her as he walked out into the cool, late summer's air. His destination was the only pub that was still open in the village.

Janus stood under the wooden sign as it swayed gently in the evening breeze. He admired its beauty and its tradition of rich English heritage. "Richard the Lionheart. Coeur de Lion," Janus said to himself as he smiled at the sign. "The Red Lion."

When he studied the stylized lion on the sign, the image of Tawny in her red robe flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. He would visit her soon, of course, and regale her with all the grisly details of Moreaux's final moments. She would shake with relief and weep with gratitude, proving that Harry and Arthur were wrong about revenge being empty. Strangely, thoughts like these came as an unwanted distraction, like a ringing telephone during dinner. What he craved was focus, and as his fingers wrapped around the door handle, he imagined squeezing Moreaux's throat.

The bell tinkled above Janus' head as he entered the small, cozy building where a pair of customers sat talking to the barman. Three sets of eyes quickly found him as the conversation abruptly ended. Janus smiled at all three and bade them good afternoon. He watched as the barman raised an eyebrow in curiosity from the end of the bar, where the couple sat with dinner plates half-empty.

"Fine evening to you, sir!" the barman greeted as he made his way over. Janus returned the greeting with a nod and a sincere "hello" to the man. A broad smile appeared as Janus greeted him. "Ah, American!" He grinned, wiping his hands on the white apron that draped around his large waist. "I was just telling Basil and Evelyn how I always do seem to have the most interesting of guests come into my pub."

Janus chuckled in return. "Yes, I suppose that I am a bit of a fish out of water here."

"My name's Samuel Watson," the large man behind the counter said as he extended a small, grubby hand toward Janus.

"Ward, James Ward," Janus replied as he returned the man's smile.

"Nice to meet a new face, Mr. Ward."

Janus held his hand up as he flinched at the use of his surname. "Please, Mr. Ward was my father. It's James." The words came out sounding harsher than he had intended, and he forced a smile to soften them.

"Oh, sorry," Samuel said as he chuckled. "Guess you're not quite old enough for 'mister' yet, eh?"

"Yeah, you're right about that, Mr. Watson."

"Oh, posh! Call me Sam," he said, waving a hand at Janus. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Basil Sinclair and his wife, Evelyn." Janus rose from his seat at the bar and curtly nodded at the couple. "Basil there is a retired writer. He loved to write murder mysteries."

"Police capers, Sam," the man with the wire-rimmed glasses chimed in. "It's merely the product of an over-productive imagination."

Janus could feel the blood race through his veins as he tried to keep a calm demeanor. "Really? Quite fascinating! I'm a bit into-"

"What can I get for you, James?" Sam interrupted.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I do need to order something, don't I?" Janus flashed a half smile at Sam. "I've eaten enough fish and chips, but I've always heard about haggis. Is that on the menu?"

A slow smile spread across Sam's face. "A brave soul," the man said as he clapped his hands together. "My mum taught me everything there is to know about making haggis."

"Please, amuse me then," Janus said as he leaned forward on the counter. His glance shifted toward Basil. "Excuse me, Basil, but you said that you wrote crime stories?" He watched as the man nodded while chewing his food. "I suppose then that you must have some theory or idea about what happened here?"

The fork dropped and clanked off the plate, and the retired writer calmly wiped his lips free of any crumbs of food. Janus watched as he took a large drink of tea before he spoke. "Well, I'm not an official police officer, but yes, I do have my ideas, not that they matter to anyone. What business is it of yours, Mr. Ward?"

Janus rubbed the knuckles of his left hand before bringing his gaze back to the man. "I was curious, seeing as we both have a similar interest. You write crime stories, and I investigate actual crimes. I was hoping that perhaps your insight would be helpful in trying to understand what happened here."

"You! A bloody Yank? Investigating a murder in Britain?" Basil snorted, his eyes narrowing toward Janus. "I'd say that you were out of your jurisdiction. Shouldn't you be patrolling the streets of New York or wherever it is that you come from?"

"Actually, I've never been to the Big Apple." Janus chuckled. "I work in a special division within the Secret Services. We work hand in hand with our brothers over here. You know Scotland Yard, MI5, and other law enforcement agencies." Janus got up and walked over toward the couple, making sure that the older man had a full view of him. He reached inside his duster jacket and brandished a black wallet that he quickly flipped open to reveal a gold star.

"WTF? Never heard of it." Basil replied, scrunching his nose as Janus placed the wallet back inside his duster. "Sounds like rubbish to me."

"W…T…F," Janus repeated, drawing out the syllables of each letter as his mind raced for an official-sounding acronym. "Watchmen's trade federation. It's the name of the special division that I am a part of," Janus said sitting back down at the bar, closer to the couple.

"Alright, I'll bite," the man said as he pushed his plate away, clearly not interested in his dinner anymore.

"Basil, no!" His wife pleaded while tugging on his arm.

"Evie, please. This character has my curiosity now. A mysterious man in a long coat, claiming to be from a secret government organization walks into a pub asking questions about a murder, and you expect me to send him on his way?"

"Shame on you, Basil Sinclair!" Evelyn sassed as she rose and walked around the bar. "I don't know who you are," she began as she made her way past Janus. "Our little village has had enough trouble as of late; please don't make things worse for us here. Joe was a decent man! If you're another tabloid writer-"

"I'm not, cross my heart." Janus winked and ran his index finger across his chest, tracing an "x".

Looking unconvinced, she snorted and turned to look at her husband. "Alright, Basil, stay and have your fun with the young man. I'm retiring for the evening." With that, she opened the door and walked out of the establishment.

Janus waited while Basil looked past his shoulder. Seconds later, after the pub door slammed shut, Basil spoke. "So, now that my wife isn't here to butt in, let's get down to brass tacks. Who exactly are you, assuming for the moment that I believe your WTF story?"

Samuel waddled over to both men, placing the plate on the table in front of Janus. "Might as well tell him. Once old Basil sinks his teeth into ya, he's like a bulldog."

Janus sliced a small piece of the haggis with his fork and tentatively placed it onto his tongue, closed his mouth, and chewed carefully, savoring the distinct flavor before swallowing. "And here I thought haggis would be nasty, Samuel. This is actually quite good."

"Thank you. It is an acquired taste. Not everyone's keen on it," Samuel called from behind the counter.

Janus turned his attention back to Mr. Sinclair, who waited impatiently, his hands crossed and index finger tapping constantly on the counter. "Well?"

"Very well then," he lamented as he sighed and placed his fork down upon the plate. "I am a problem solver, Mr. Sinclair. My problem right now is finding a man, a certain man who might have been in this village on the night Joe McGuire died. To do that, I need to understand what happened, or 'whodunit', if you prefer. So, what do you say?"

Janus sampled another forkful of food as he waited on the man's answer. Basil made to clear his throat before he began, as if readying himself for a long speech. "I know the police chief here in the village, and also the head of the police force in this district. They said that what happened to Milo and old Joe is the damndest thing that they've ever seen. It was as if the killer just disappeared, like magic. He didn't leave behind a single scrap of evidence."

"Magic, huh? Like pulling a rabbit out of the hat kind, or the black candles and pentagrams stuff for the kids whose daddies didn't -"

"No, no! Neither!" Basil quickly said interrupting Janus. "Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?"

The edge of Janus' lips twitched as he began to smile, but he forced his face to neutrality as he asked. "Do you?"

Basil licked his lips, looked around the room, and leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "What I believe is that this village is haunted."

"Haunted?" Samuel spoke up as he turned toward the two. "We all know that's a bloody load of bollocks!" He spat behind the bar. "That's all part of that overactive imagination of yours! As if a ghost could kill someone. I ought to run you out of here for such nonsense. It's disrespectful, is what it is!"

Basil groaned and rolled his eyes. Clearly, the two men had already had this same argument so many times that both knew the script by heart. "But, Sam! The flash of light, the marks on the bodies, the lack of evidence!"

"What light?" Samuel asked. "Ruddy hell, Basil, that imagination of yours has run off now. It was stormin' that night. It was more than likely only the lightning flashing across the sky." Samuel flung the damp towel from his shoulder, down onto the counter causing droplets of water to splash onto Basil's glasses. "If you ask me, I think old Milo wasn't all that he said he was. Had a few skeletons in his closet, he did, until one of them killed him. I reckon someone slipped into the Kette and caught Milo off guard while Joe wasn't around."

"And how do you explain Joe's death then?" Basil asked as he wiped his glasses clean and pocketed the handkerchief.

"Simple. He had a heart attack. Couldn't take the strain of seeing a man with his throat cut open, sittin' in his pub. We all knew that old Joe drank too much anyway, so his heart was bound to tick its last tock."

"Codswallop!" Basil muttered. "Both men were murdered!"

"Gentlemen, please, enough banter," Janus said, rising from the bar. "I'm not interested in ghost stories, not unless the ghosts can point me in the direction of this man." He unfolded a piece of paper with Phillipe Moreaux's picture and laid it on the counter for both men to see. Wearing a loose, black-and-white striped jumpsuit, Moreaux stood in front of a stark concrete wall. Something out of the frame caught his attention, and he peeled back his lips in what might have been a smile or a snarl, exposing crooked yellow teeth. His eyes swung toward the camera so that he seemed to be looking out of the page, and then the image reset itself, repeating in an endless loop.

"Why does the picture move?" Basil asked as he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"It's the latest technology in mugshots, but that's really not important right now. This man, Phillipe Moreaux, is very dangerous, and he's a threat to anyone who comes across his path." Janus banged his fist upon the counter, causing his glass to shake.

"Heaven's mercy!" Basil muttered as he touched his forehead with his fingers and then the edges of his chest.

"We've been tracking him for some time now, but he is very skilled and has thus far eluded us." Janus stopped as he looked at the remains of his haggis and pushed the plate away. "Word reached us about what happened here, but we also had good confirmation that he was spotted in London and also in a manor just outside of London. Needless to say, he escaped." Janus sighed and took a long drink from his glass. "That's when I came here. My goal is to understand why he killed here. Perhaps I am missing something about the man." He took another drink from the glass, emptying it. "A moment ago, you mentioned a name, Milo?"

Samuel chimed in before Basil could speak. "Oh yeah, Milo Mycroft! Poor sod. He moved to the village a few months before the murder happened. Struck up a friendship with old Joe. Went by there almost every day to have a drink, he did."

"Family?" Janus quickly asked, as he slipped out a pencil and paper from his duster pocket.

"Ugh…I think he was married, but I never saw his wife. Guess she was the homebody type."

"Perhaps so. What happened to his wife when he was murdered?" Janus asked as he scribbled onto the paper.

"When they went to tell her about poor Milo's death, she wasn't at home," Basil piped in. "It doesn't look like anyone's living in the house, now."

"Odd, don't you think?" Janus looked up at the two, a distant fire burning in his eyes. "You said he moved here. Where is his house?"

"Yeah, at the end of the lane," Samuel said, pointing at the window. "Last house on the left as you go out of the village toward the hill."

"I see. Tell me, have you seen him?" Janus said, tapping the photograph.

Samuel nodded slowly. "Once, now that I think about it. It was the day after old Joe and Milo were killed."

"And you?" Janus asked, rounding on Basil.

"I-I…think I may have seen him once or twice," he stammered. "Late in the evening, after nightfall. I was taking the rubbish out, just a few nights ago, and I remember seeing him walking along the lane. I thought it was a bit odd how he looked."

"Odd?" Janus questioned. "Come on, out with it all!"

"Y…yes. He had on a long robe, almost like a Halloween costume. I...I had thought about saying something to the man, about how ridiculous he looked, but I decided not to."

"Where was he walking to? Which direction?"

"It was toward the end of the lane." Basil waved a hand, which had started to tremble.

Janus finished writing and folded the paper and photograph up. "It's probably a good thing that you didn't say anything to him. Otherwise, you'd be dead right now."

The little man gasped as his hand slid over his throat.

"Thank you both, gentlemen, for your time and information. If you see Moreaux, don't question him or try to apprehend him. Come and get me. I'm staying at the Nags Inn at the opposite end of the lane."

Janus paid his bill and left the two men in silence. His mind constantly turned over the information regarding Milo Mycroft, desperately trying to connect the two men together. The small voice in his head told him where the answers to his questions would be found. His eyes narrowed toward the lone house that sat by itself from the lane. "That's the one."

A soft hoot came from the tree branch above, and Janus looked up. "We're in the right spot, Arty. Find him for me." The owl hooted and flew away toward the last house on the left.

Janus rubbed his eyes as his body began to tire from the day's progress. "Be careful, old girl," he whispered as he walked back up the lane, toward the Nags Inn where he would rest and wait. His muscles ached from being tense with anticipation. Unable to resist, he took the photo from his pocket and held it in front of him while he walked. His eyes glazed over as they fixed on Phillipe's face, imagining it bursting into flames or turning blue with asphyxiation. A cobblestone caught the toe of his shoe, and he reeled, windmilling his arms to catch his balance. Sheepishly, he put the photo in his pocket and glanced around to make sure no one had seen his near-fall. Finding himself alone on the darkening street, he grinned with relief.

"Careful," he murmured to himself. "I'm too close to slip up now."

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the darkness above the large circular room and watched the Unspeakables below as they tried to give food and water to Lucius Malfoy. When one of the Unspeakables offered a meal tray, Lucius batted it away from his face, spilling the contents of the tray onto the man's robe. Lucius swore loudly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. The Unspeakable quickly stepped away and began to ascend the long flight of stone steps that led to the exit of the room.

"He's in a right, ill mood, Minister. Are you sure you want to be alone with him?" Auror Westbrook asked as he stood beside Kingsley.

"Would you not be the same, if it were you down there?" Shacklebolt angled his chin as he glanced sideways at the auror. "Lucius won't try anything with me. He knows that it would be suicide if he did." Shacklebolt stepped to the side as the Unspeakable made his way past, giving Kingsley a curt bow before slipping past the two and out of the room.

"Sir, beggin' your pardon, but I strongly urge you-"

"Urge what?" Kingsley snapped, rounding in front of the aged auror. A few tense seconds followed before Kingsley spoke up. "Your name's Westbrook, isn't it?" Not allowing the auror to answer his question, he continued. "I recall posting you to this duty."

"That you did, sir."

"You have a wife, and a son, if I remember correctly. He's attending Hogwarts, or will be once the rebuilding is completed?"

"Yes, Minister."

Kingsley smiled as his large hand grasped the auror's shoulder. "Does he want to grow up and be like his father? To become an Auror?"

"Aye, sir. He's a very bright lad. Already studyin' up on it."

"I see," Kingsley muttered, the smile quickly fading from his face. "Let me urge you. Don't presume to tell me anything. I'm the Minister of Magic!"

"But, sir, leaving you alone with a dangerous prisoner is a breach of protocol. I couldn't-"

"Couldn't what? Do you actually know Lucius Malfoy? Or do you just know his name? I know Lucius better than any Auror alive." Kingsley's eyes narrowed as the wizard before him began to blabber his apologies. "It would be such a shame for you to have to tell your son that his father was fired because he couldn't follow simple instructions from the Minister. Now, leave me!"

"Others will follow your footsteps more readily than they will your advice, Minister," Lucius extended a chained hand forward as Kingsley descended the final step and stood facing Lucius Malfoy. A small smile toyed at the edges of Lucius' lips. "I couldn't help but overhear your minor spat from above."

A soft grunt escaped Kingsley's throat as he stepped forward. "All part of the job, I'm afraid."

"Ah, indeed! And, how is the job? Capturing plenty of evil wizards, are you? Or, is the job providing you with plenty of sleepless nights as you worry about your greater good? It is such a difficult position to be in, is it not, Minister? Especially when one has no help." Lucius cupped his hands together, and opened them, palms facing outward toward Kingsley.

Unmoved by Lucius' taunt, Kingsley sat down on the stone step beside him. "You should know all about my job, right, Lucius? You were so well associated with Fudge."

Lucius tilted his chin upward. "I only helped to guide Fudge on certain matters. I won't allow myself to be held responsible for the man's shortcomings and poor decisions."

"The man was an ass, Lucius. You don't have to pretend around me."

"Well…" Lucius began, shifting his eyes to glance at Kingsley, yet still holding his chin upward. "Perhaps we finally agree on something."

"I suppose there is a first time for everything," Kingsley said. He shook his head as one final thought of the former minister flashed through his mind. "Which brings me to my reason for being here, tonight."

Lucius slowly lowered his chin, and gazed over. "Yes, why are you here? Or have you missed my sparkling personality?"

A soft, tinkling music echoed in the room as Lucius scanned around for the source. Reaching into the breast pocket of his vest, Kingsley pulled out a gold, circular watch that was attached to his pocket by a gold chain. The tinkling music stopped playing as he opened the outer lid.

"A Muggle trinket?"

"Family heirloom, Lucius," Kingsley replied as he pocketed the watch. "Midnight. A clear conscious never fears the final midnight."

"Meaning?" Lucius asked as he waved his hand in the air.

"You don't know what day it is, do you?"

Lucius' eyes slightly narrowed. "No, I don't, as my calendar is in my study."

"Today is your special day, Lucius. The trial."

"Really?" Lucius snorted. "And I haven't even had my last dinner?"

Kingsley glanced at the scattered remains of the meal. "Yes, you have. Though you chose to have it tossed onto the ground."

Lucius' eyes quickly looked down at the remaining bits of food that were on the floor, before he brought his gaze back to Kingsley. "And I suppose you are the priest who will hear my last confessions?"

The smile toyed at the edge of Kingsley's lips. "If you wish me to be, Lucius. You may be more correct than you know."

"Oh? Explain yourself then," Lucius said in his best demanding tone.

"Think about your situation, and it will come to you."

"Don't speak to me in riddles, Shacklebolt! You dare to keep me here locked up after I was attacked and rendered unconscious in my own home. You feed me scraps and keep me chained as if I'm some wild animal! You tell me, Minister, what have I done to deserve such treatment?"

"All for your protection, Lucius. Also to make sure that you would still be here for your trial. We wouldn't want you to disappear on us, now would we?"

"And what are you doing about Draco, Kingsley? Hmm? How have your efforts been in finding my son? It will be his trial as well," Lucius huffed.

Kingsley sighed deeply before answering. "Yes, I know that all too well." He took another deep breath before he continued. "Should Draco not be present today, then he will force me to hunt him down at all cost. Should it come to light that someone is helping to hide Draco, they too will be held responsible for their actions."

"And if he shows?" Lucius queried.

"Then Draco will be held to stand trial for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

"I see," Lucius said, nodding his head. He stood up, slowly walked to the dais, and gazed into the soft light of the veil. Carefully, he turned to face Kingsley, his shackles clinking together as he pivoted, while the soft glow of the veil eerily glowed on Lucius' pale skin and silver hair. "You still have not told me exactly why you are here."

Kingsley stood to his full height and inhaled slowly, as he stared into Lucius' eyes. "Don't try to play games with me, Lucius," Shacklebolt said as he walked toward the dais. "I'm not some young, inexperienced auror that you can easily intimidate. I know your methods." He began to slowly pace around the veil, as Lucius stood rooted in his own stance on the other side of the round, stone platform. "I've often asked myself how many times you've thought about stepping in there," Kingsley said as he jerked his chin up at the veil.

"Why? Would it make your job any easier if I were dead? What is it you fear? That I'll tell the Wizengamot how you allied yourself with me? Or that I'll recite the list of all the witches and wizards who died in tragic 'accidents' after I named them as Death Eaters?" Lucius scoffed as he let his hands fall in front of his body. Smiling, he continued, "Perhaps you fear that some of those unfortunates who died by your orders were not Death Eaters at all, but merely people whose continued existence inconvenienced me."

Ignoring Lucius' barb, Kingsley folded his hands behind his back, and continued to walk around the veil, slowly making his way to where Lucius stood. "I was curious to see how much time it would take before you might consider meeting those unfortunates on the other side." Kingsley stopped, leaned forward, and whispered into Lucius' ear. "Joining those unfortunate souls and your dead master." A small smile spread across his dark features. "Have you considered it? Do the dead call out for you to join them?" The smile quickly faded, only to be replaced with a tight-lipped scowl, as Kingsley stepped in front of Lucius.

"To the contrary, Kingsley, there hasn't been a single moment that I have contemplated that. Death comes for us all at the end. It is our one final destination." Kingsley stood, shaking his head side to side. "I am, as I am, Minister," Lucius coldly whispered.

"As am I, Lucius," Kingsley growled. "The true nature of my reason for being here..."

Lucius' eyebrow slowly arched upward, disappearing behind a lock of silver hair. "Yes?"

"You and I have a lot of history together. A history that goes back to our days at Hogwarts."

Lucius scoffed as he brushed past Kingsley, his manacles jingling with each step. "Spare me your sentimental lessons from the past, Kingsley. We chose our paths and allegiances a long time ago."

"It doesn't have to continue to be that way, Lucius," Shacklebolt urged, a note or pleading mixed into his voice. "You have no friends left. There are no more allies for you to turn to. Your master is dead, and this time there will be no escape from Azkaban for you. The Wizengamot will sentence you, and the dementors will perform their kiss."

Lucius thrust out his chest, as he sat down on the large stone. "If it is my fate, then so be it."

"Arrogant fool," Kingsley whispered as he paced around the veil for a second time. "I have the power to save your life!" He held his hands in front of him, palms open. His eyes drifted to his left hand, "On one hand, Lucius, I can be forgiving, merciful, benevolent." The gaze in Kingsley's eyes hardened as he looked at his right hand. "On the other," he continued as his hand balled into a strong fist. "I can crush and destroy your life with one swift stroke." Kingsley stood holding his right fist in the air, like a statue, before finally releasing it, and continuing his slow pace. "Do you really want to die for a dead wizard who would've killed you at the first sign of weakness?"

Lucius sat and continued to stare into Kingsley's eyes as the man continued speaking. "Your information has been extremely useful in assisting the Ministry with capturing those wizards and witches who were loyal to Voldemort."

Kingsley swiftly crossed the space between them, sitting himself down on the stone beside Lucius. "I can persuade the Wizengamot to see things my way, if you allow me to."

"Leverage over the Wizengamot?" Lucius questioned.

"Call it a method of friendly persuasion," Kingsley countered. "But, in order for it to work, you must swear a binding oath to keep the nature of our agreement secret. At the trial, you will confess to your doings under the command of the Dark Lord without mentioning our arrangement. You will then throw yourself on the mercy of the Wizengamot."

The muscles on Lucius' jaw tightened. "I, Lucius Malfoy, beg for mercy?" Lucius asked as he stroked the stubble on his chin. "And how do I know that you will keep to your word, if I agree?"

Kingsley stood up, and stepped in front of Lucius. "If I were not serious about my offer, I wouldn't be here right now, and would let your soul be taken away by the dementors."

"And, of course, it's clear what you gain if I agree." Lucius snorted.

Kingsley stepped back, shaking his head. "Is that the only way that you know to judge everything? By gain or loss? I am trying to rebuild a new world that you and your fellow Death Eaters almost destroyed. If I have to eliminate every single Death Eater to make our world a better place, then so be it. However, I would rather try to make peace than to continue with more needless bloodshed. You, Lucius, can be that olive branch for the wizarding world."

"As I've heard from my sources, you seem to enjoy the continuing of that 'needless bloodshed' that you spoke of," Lucius said dismissively. "Don't try to flatter yourself, Minister. I know that you're as dirty as I am." He finished as he laced his fingers into his silver hair behind his head and smiled broadly at Kingsley.

"Very well, then!" Kingsley snapped as he adjusted the robe around his neck. "Enjoy these final few hours that you have left. When the dementors are sucking the soul out of your body, remember that I tried to give you a chance to live. Think about that as the final pieces of your soul are taken for eternity, leaving you as a frail skeleton of a man." Turning on the spot, Kingsley quickly began to ascend the steps.

"Give my best to your legionnaire," Lucius called from below, as Kingsley was halfway up the stone steps. The comment caused the wizard to stop for a moment as he contemplated turning around and saying something back. "He is so costly, isn't he, Minister?" Lucius' voice continued as Kingsley stood there, his back to the voice below.

"I'll deliver the message personally," Kingsley whispered.

I know that you are as dirty as I am.

Lucius' words hovered in Kingsley's mind like a dark storm cloud.

Dirty? Kingsley growled to himself as he reached and grabbed the doorknob with his large fingers. He's about to see just how dirty I can be. Shacklebolt wrenched open the door, and walked out of the chamber. Auror Westbrook stood to attention and saluted Kingsley.

"Is everything alright, sir? I tried to warn you, Minister, about that old sod down there. He's a bloody snake if there ever was one."

Kingsley's eyes adjusted to the brighter glow of the light coming from the torches that lined the stone corridor. "Yes, everything will be alright, Westbrook," he replied. "It will be even better than alright once that bastard is gone for good!" Kingsley angrily muttered as he pointed at the Death Chamber door. "Send a message to the best aurors in each division. If they are not on special detail at Hogwarts, I want them here within the hour!"

"Yes, sir!" Westbrook shouted as he twirled his wand in the air and watched as the Patronus floated in the air before disappearing through the wall.

"When they arrive, I want them to assemble in the main office. I'll brief them there for their individual assignments. That bastard down there thinks he's going to outsmart me," Kingsley said nodding at the door. "Well, he doesn't know what kind of a man he's dealing with, but he's about to find out." Shacklebolt's gaze drifted over to Westbrook. "Guard that door with your life. No person, unless he's with me, is allowed to go through." Kingsley spun on his heel, his long cape fluttering in the air behind him, as he strode to the elevator lift.

Kingsley stepped past the gate of the lift and was greeted by the pleasant voice of the lift. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic-"

"Save me your speech!" Shacklebolt shouted at the lift. "Just take me where I need to go!"

"Level please?" The cool voice pleasantly asked.

"Minister's office!" Kingsley growled through gritted teeth, as the lift gate and doors closed shut, and the elevator shot sideways through various walls and underground stone. "Have to make a note to replace that damned voice with buttons, like Muggles use," Kingsley muttered as he waited on the lift to reach its destination.

"You present the appearance of a man with a problem," the deep voice came from the area next to where Kingsley stood. "Am I correct, Minister?" Phillipe Moreaux slowly unfurled the invisibility cloak from his head and body. A sneering smile spread across the features of his lips as a mad, evil glint twinkled in his dark eyes.

"Moreaux," Shacklebolt growled. "I should've known you weren't too far away. I thought I could smell your foul stench."

"Little words for a little man, Minister. We need to talk, now."

"Indeed we do," Kingsley said, reaching for his wand, as Phillipe reached for his. "This isn't for you, yet." He waved the wand in the air and spoke. "Lift, emergency halt by order of the Minister of Magic."

"Authorization acknowledged," the voice replied as the lift came to a complete stop. The sensation of motion disappeared, and the walls of the lift seemed instantly closer. The sound of Moreaux's breathing seemed louder, the smell of his unwashed clothing more pungent.

Kingsley allowed his wand to point at the elevator floor, but did not pocket it. "You were supposed to do a job, and that job is still incomplete. The trial will begin at nine, and Lucius is still alive."

Phillipe stepped closer, brushing Kingsley's chest with his own. "I will finish the job when I am ready!"

"You will finish the job, now!" Shacklebolt said as he shoved Moreaux to the other side of the small lift, causing it to sway.

Phillipe began to reach for his wand, as Kingsley brought his wand onto the large man. "Go for your wand, and the last thing that you'll ever see will be my face. Perhaps it hasn't crossed that ego-maniacal mind of yours, but if Lucius is allowed to speak, he can destroy us both. Maybe you should have thought of that instead of going around killing innocent women."

"The whore was nothing but a play-thing," Moreaux said as he smiled and waved his hand in the air. "She tried to play 'kitty' with the wrong man." A low laugh escaped his throat as he finished his words. "She was an unregistered animagus, so I saved you and your people the trouble of dealing with her."

"Enough!" Kingsley said shaking his head to clear away the memory of the girl's face. "There will be no further unauthorized killings!"

"Just like a man of your stature to take the fun out of everything," Phillipe sassed as he ran his hand through his greasy black hair.

"That's it! I've had enough. I knew you'd be nothing but…ahh!" Kingsley began, but shouted in pain as he grabbed his right wrist.

The silver dagger slowly slipped back into the sheath under the sleeve of Phillipe's robe. The razor-sharp edge left a small trace of Kingsley's blood on the edge of the fabric. "Now, you will listen to me, little man!" Phillipe began as he motioned his wand toward Shacklebolt's. The wand quickly drifted beyond Kingsley's reach as it hovered in the air above the two men.

"I will complete the job, but it will be done my way, not yours. Then you will pay me what you owe. After that, you'll never see me again, but you will always have to ask yourself where I am and if I am coming for you."

"Your idle threats don't scare me, Moreaux," Shacklebolt winced as he held his bloody wrist with his left hand. "No matter where you go, I will find you," he said getting back to his feet. "I have resources-"

Moreaux laughed. "Resources you dare not use against me! Say that you did set one of your dogs on me. Imagine the talk we'd have if he were able to catch me."

Kingsley closed his eyes briefly, willing the man away. When he opened them, he forced himself to look directly at Moreaux. "You underestimate the loyalty of my aurors, but no matter. It will never come to that if you do your job. Now, what of Lucius?"

Moreaux slowly smiled. "You did say that you wanted this to be in public, did you not? Bring Lucius into the Atrium."

"Why would I do that? You never lead a prisoner into a public setting like that! It's strictly goes against all protocol!"

"You're the bloody Minister of Magic!" Phillipe growled as he jabbed his finger into the wound on Kingsley's right wrist, causing him to fall to one knee. "Make it happen!"

"Details!" Kingsley gasped. "I must know details. Too many people could be hurt."

"That's all part of the game, Minister. You wanted it like this. Now you pay the price to witness it!" The low chuckle escaped from Phillipe's throat as he apparated out of the elevator lift.

Kingsley summoned his wand, and quickly healed his wounded wrist. The elevator lift continued until reaching its stop. Kingsley stepped out of the lift and into his office, slamming the door as he entered. "No, Moreaux, I will have the final laugh."

Janus moaned and tossed in his sleep as nightmares of his past haunted him in his dreams. A flash of silver, was followed by the feel of his own blood upon his skin, as his parents' screams echoed throughout the countryside until they were silenced. Janus screamed for the demon man to stop, but only found that his actions made him weaker as blood flowed from his wound. Then the demon stood over him, rhythmically rapping the silvery blade on his hand and causing small drops of his parents' blood to fall onto him. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each drop fell with a sharp sound. He winced and shielded his face as…

Janus screamed as his eyes opened in a blind panic. He sat up in the bed, his wand pointing all around the dark room. "Lumos!" The illuminated wand tip lit up the darkened room, revealing ghastly floral wallpaper and a picture of a plump-cheeked farm girl milking a cow. His muscles slowly began to relax as he leaned back against the pillows, causing the ancient bedsprings to groan. Wiping away the sweat from his brow with the neck of his shirt, Janus calmly spoke to himself.

"It was just a dream. Relax. You're fine. Remember why you're here," he whispered into the darkness as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. Gently, he placed the wand across his chest and eased his eyelids closed once more, as sleep slowly began to creep over him. The soft tapping sound from the dream started again, causing Janus to open his eyes. After a few seconds of searching the darkness, his gaze finally found the cause of the sound.

"Arty," he whispered as he got up to let the owl in through the window. The owl gently flew to the bed, and landed on one of the square bedpost. "Have you found him?" The russet-colored owl turned her head in the direction of Milo's house and softly hooted. "Good girl," he said, petting the owl's feathers. "I promise you that when we get back home, I'll get you the biggest rat you've ever had. Go on out, I'll be there in a minute."

The owl flew out the window and into the tree across the street. Janus quickly changed clothes and donned the long duster and floppy-brimmed hat. His eyes quickly scanned the clock next to the bed and read the time.

"Three in the morning," he whispered as he stood still for a moment, while his visions of Moreaux's death danced before his eyes. "As good a time as any for the bastard to die."

Minutes later, he quietly exited the inn and followed Artemis up the lane toward the home that had belonged to Milo Mycroft. "I should've known," Janus softly whispered to himself as he walked past the last business on the lane.

Not wanting to be seen, Janus silently hurried over to a small thicket of trees and bushes several yards to the side of the home. Here, he had a clear view of the front and back doors. He stroked the light stubble on his chin as he thought on which door to enter.

Suddenly, the sound of the back door opening caused Janus to stiffen next to the tree. Stepping out of the door and onto the small concrete landing was Phillipe Moreaux. Janus listened as the man grumbled under his breath. He abruptly stopped his muttering as he glanced over his shoulder toward the thicket. Janus could almost feel the man's dark eyes making him out as he hid among the shadows of the trees. He watched as Phillipe stood there, looking into the area before finally taking his stare away and waving his wand at the house. A soft light glowed over the house as Phillipe spun on the spot and disappeared with a pop.

Janus exhaled as his lungs screamed for air. He stepped out from the trees and walked over to the place where Phillipe had stood. "Hmm. A protection spell or maybe some kind of a sensory charm. Well, I know how to get around those." Waving his wand at the house, he watched as a blue light circled it and disappeared. "Now, let's see what's inside."

He stepped forward and turned the knob. The door silently opened as Janus stood on the threshold. "My time is at hand," he growled as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
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Darkness Within The Light