Crucible of Fire

(A/N: I know good and well that there's no way I can finish this story before Book 7 comes to make it obsolete. But I wanted to start the story before Book 7, to see if it might give me an incentive to finish it.)

(Disclaimer: Not JKR, and not making money from this story. It's Jo's universe, but I reserve the right to tweak it as necessary.)

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"Crucible of Fire"

by Paracelsus

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Prologue: Maneuvers

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2 March 2012 – Year 13 P.V.

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She tossed a handful of dirt into the grave and stepped back, her head lowered respectfully. It was a slight risk to be at the funeral, but not much, she judged. All the mourners were sympathizers (in all meanings of the word) – and, thanks to Polyjuice Potion, even that risk was reduced. So, while some might suspect who she truly was, of course, they wouldn't act on it – and there was no way she would miss her own sister's funeral.

Goodbye, Cissy. You and I were the last of the true Blacks, Bellatrix Black Lestrange thought. But we held fast, didn't we? To all that made us what we are. And I promise you, I will never let go.

There would more Blacks, someday. Immortality gave her plenty of time, after all: time to remarry, to bear Pureblood sons and daughters for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. But that was for the future, after her position was secured… after her work was done. And there were other possibilities…

Her eyes slid over to the blond man standing at the foot of Narcissa's grave. Not a muscle twitched in his stony face as he gazed at the casket. The Officiant gave him a nod, and the blond man raised his wand. Dirt rapidly began to fill the grave, until it was level with the surrounding sod. A final wave of the man's wand covered the grave with a slab of fine Italian marble. Narcissa Black Malfoy, it read. Toujours pur. An escutcheon with the marshaled arms of Malfoy and Black was the slab's only other decoration.

I'm not the last of the bloodline, though, Bellatrix reminded herself, watching him. And he may yet come to equal his father… perhaps, one day, surpass him.

The blond man nodded once, curtly, then looked at Bellatrix. She approached him, took his arm, and said quietly, "Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy gave another curt nod. "Let's get out of here," he murmured, ignoring the other mourners waiting to come forward and offer condolences. Bellatrix tightened her grip and Side-Along Apparated them out of the cemetery.

*

Malfoy Manor's polished elegance was due, in no small part, to the fact that it was of relatively recent construction. All its rooms, wings, and furnishings were in the same style, tastefully coordinated. By contrast, Abbey Lestrange looked as though it had been assembled from several different periods – as indeed it had been. The original 12^th Century manse had had additions every couple of centuries, with the solarium among the most recent.

It was in the solarium that Draco and Bellatrix materialized. She let go his arm immediately and slightly raised her hand. A house elf promptly appeared before her. "Refreshments for our guest, Mimsy," she told the elf, who bowed and vanished.

She had timed her Polyjuice dosage to a hairsbreadth: already she felt her features begin to resume their normal form. Bellatrix gave no moan of pain: it would be beneath an immortal to do so. She waited until the transformation was complete before turning to her nephew, who was looking around the solarium with a slightly befuddled expression.

"Abbey Lestrange is the headquarters for my organization," she told Draco, and the young man blinked several times as though clearing cobwebs from his eyes. "Yes," she added with a satisfied smile, "I keep it hidden under a Fidelius Charm, and I am my own Secret Keeper."

"Ah yes. The one person you trust," noted Draco softly.

She gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment. "But I hope I will be able to trust you as well, nephew," she added with a half-smile. "I meant it when I said 'welcome home'."

Draco didn't seem swayed by the sentiment. "'Welcome'? I was under the distinct impression that I was under a death sentence if I came home." He gave a delicate sniff of contempt. "The Ministry was after me for my part in Dumbledore's death… and the Dark Lord was after me for not completing it."

Bellatrix bowed her head a moment at the mention of her Master's name, before looking Draco in the eye. "You did fail to kill him…" she began.

"I did not fail! I was interrupted before I could succeed!" Draco spat the words as though they stung his mouth. "I had Dumbledore at wand-point, didn't I? All the Death Eaters who were at Hogwarts admit that. But Snape wanted all the glory! As always!" He stopped abruptly and drew a deep, shaky breath. It was though he was wrapping himself in a shroud of calmness, steadying himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft once more. "Only Mother's death could have brought me back to England. Otherwise I'd still be in South Africa, overseeing the family interests there."

Black and Malfoy family interests, thought Bellatrix. "I think you'll find that much has changed in your absence," she said, as Mimsy arrived bearing a tea tray. "It's been almost fifteen years since Dumbledore's death, and your part in it – if you can call it that – was never officially established. I think we needn't worry about the Ministry." She accepted a cup of tea, made just the way she liked it, and took a swallow.

"As for Our Master," she went on, "sadly, he too is gone. But his ideals still live – and there's much for you to do here."

Draco likewise accepted a cup of tea from the house elf, but didn't sip from it. "I have the Malfoy estates," he said after a moment. "I'm the head of the Malfoys now, and I have responsibilities."

"Exactly," smiled Bellatrix. "Be the head of the Malfoy family, nephew, that's all I ask. Be the public face of the Pureblood cause. Show the world the importance of blood. Simply by existing, you argue our case better than any broadside. You would be following in your father's footsteps…"

The cup in Draco's hand slapped onto the table with a resounding clatter. "My father's footsteps," he said in clipped tones, "led to a grave in Azkaban. He was quite mad when he died, you know… didn't even recognize my mother, at the end. That's what serving Voldemort got him…"

"You dare speak his name?!" snarled Bellatrix. In that moment, raw fury blazed in her voice, her posture, her face – and her eyes sparked with something not quite sane. Involuntarily, Draco took a half-step backward.

After a moment, she continued. "Lucius Malfoy was a true servant of the Dark Lord," she said icily, "giving all that he had. He fought for Our Master's cause in the halls of power – as well as on the battlefield. And he was an exemplary Pureblood wizard. May I remind you that, when he was your age, he was already a husband and father? How have you spent the last fifteen years?"

Draco made no reply.

Bellatrix's expression softened; her voice turned persuasive. "But you are home from exile now, nephew. Whatever happened in the past, it is mostly forgotten now… there's nothing that can stop you from claiming your rightful place in our world. Come, I don't ask you to join my Commando squads. I ask you to be Draco Malfoy, noble, wealthy, influential – an advocate for traditional wizarding ways."

Slowly, Draco took a seat. His eyes seemed to look on something from long ago… then they sharpened on Bellatrix's face. A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. "So, O Dark Lady," he said, "you want me to be your Sinn Fein."

Bellatrix pursed her lips. "I seem to recall hearing about that… some Irish wizards mentioned it, something to do with their Muggle government…"

"Yes, you could say so." The smile continued to hover at his mouth… a secret, sardonic smile. "Well, it sounds like an excellent suggestion. I'll need to be brought up to date with your current contacts in the Ministry, of course… and we'll have to discuss what new laws would advance our agenda best. But… but yes, Auntie, I have to agree with you. I think we'd both benefit from my being more in the public eye."

*

He's not stupid, Bellatrix told herself once Draco had left. He hopes to use this to his own advantage. But we need a public face for Our Lord's great cause. For the moment, his advantage and mine are the same.

Leaving the solarium, Bellatrix walked swiftly down the hall, stopping at a massive wooden door bound with iron. She pressed her hand on the knob for a second; the lock responded to her touch. The door opened into a cavernous room, with a large polished desk overflowing with parchment. Cauldrons bubbled in one corner, her private Potions lab; in an intricately carved fireplace, a roaring fire gave light and warmth.

From this room, her sanctum sanctorum, she controlled her followers, those who believed in the cause of Blood Purity – and who, knowingly or not, helped spread the gospel of the Dark Lord Voldemort. From here she issued her commands to her most loyal acolytes, the Death Eaters (as she still called them in her mind); and from here that she received their reports.

As she'd told Draco, much remained to be done. It would still take many years to cleanse the wizarding world of the taint of mud, and blood was still frequently the cleanser of choice. But she humbly acknowledged that her Lord had been mightier than she: she must be canny about who was killed.

Were it not so, the blood traitor Weasley and all his kin would have been executed long since.

Weasley. It galled her that Weasley should be teaching at Hogwarts – teaching Defense against the Dark Arts, no matter which wizard actually held the post. Bellatrix would have liked nothing better than to purge the school of the Mudloving fools who reigned there; she was still debating whether Weasley should be dealt with first or saved for last. Someday, she promised herself, someday soon.

For the present, she needed to extend her influence over the school – or, at the very least, receive reliable intelligence about what was happening there. But she didn't want to compromise any of the Pureblood students… and besides, their information couldn't yet be fully trusted. Her other attempt to date, to place a disguised Speaking Glass in the Great Hall, had not been a success.

Therefore, Draco's first assignment had been aimed at Hogwarts: to influence the Board of Governors, and have them replace the Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts with a Wizarding Traditions course. She'd even outlined the arguments Draco would use, couched in nicely reasonable terms. The Muggle Studies class had never been popular, but more to the point, it was useless: true wizards didn't need to know about Muggles, and the Mudbloods should be pressured to give up that lifestyle forever. But for that, they needed to be shown the proper lifestyle – hence, Wizarding Traditions.

Wizarding Traditions, as upheld by old wizarding families. Culture, as dictated by heritage. All subtly reinforcing the truth of Pureblood superiority.

Bellatrix strode across her study, pausing to bow respectfully before the fireplace before moving on to the cauldrons in the corner of the room. She gave one of them a judicious stir. The Solution would be ready in a day or two, and she'd already arranged for its delivery. Bellatrix had waited years for an opportunity like this, to infiltrate Hogwarts in secret; now her patience was rewarded, and the opportunity must not be wasted. The Solution would give her all the time she needed.

With my right hand, I strike at the Ministry's weak points – and eliminate the Mudlovers who infest our world. With my left hand, I bring up young Draco, charming the masses and the Ministry fence-sitters, manipulating them to react just as I want. When the moment is ripe, I take Hogwarts for my own, to train future generations of true Pureblooded wizards.

And under my heel, I crush all those who would pit themselves against the glory of the Dark Lord and his Lady.