Black Sunday

[wand_wavers]

Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds
Voldemort had waited a very long time for this. This day would be the true beginning of his march to victory. He'd allowed enough time for the populace of the Wizarding world to grow more complacent. Even with the neverending stream of minor attacks planned to unnerve them on a daily basis, his spies reported that many people thought they were safe, that the war would not impact them.
Do breed unnatural troubles
They were wrong. Oh, so wrong. He would strike quickly and fiercely. His army is ready.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute
There is a map of Britain on the wall of the borrowed ballroom. Little lights glow upon it, marking the houses to target. Teams have been assigned, and timelines and checkpoints established.
Blood will have blood
He faces his kneeling minions, his arms outstretched. "Now you shall know carnage, my loyal fighters. You will spare no one. The smallest child, the weakest grandmother, all must die. Their bodies shall be brought back to me, but leave blood. Leave the Dark Mark. Leave blood traitors as witnesses. Leave no doubt that we are ruthless and will do what we want when we want it!" His voice rises to a maniacal shriek and the Death Eaters kneeling before him are silent as the grave.
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
"Arise, Death Eaters," the Dark Lord hisses. "Arise and show no mercy."
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
In clusters the Death Eaters disapparate in a series of pops.
The cry is still, "They come!"
Voldemort smiles and waits. This is a glorious day.

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[a-black-sheep.livejournal.com]

It's the gentle pop that wakes her, eyes dark and sleepy in the dim light from the hallway. It takes her a moment to pin-point what it was - nothing more than the bulb in the streetlamp across the road. Or... perhaps not only that, but if there's something else, she doesn't know what it is. Andromeda Tonks (née Black) wriggles deeper under the blanket, vaguely chilly, and her eyes start to drift shut once more.

Pop.

That was the streetlight in front of her window.

"Ted?" she whispers, as, very slowly, her stomach ices over. "Ted - "

She'd been chilly, she'd been chilly because she'd woken up without the warm, solid weight of her husband's arm around her waist. The light from the hallway is dim and - and he doesn't sleep as well as he used to, what with his back (not that he'll ever admit it), and he gets up sometimes to make himself some of that horrible milky tea he likes, and -

Andromeda's wand is already in her hand as the hallway light goes out with a quiet:

Pop.

The Blacks have always been wealthy - she'd been able to afford this house as soon as the two of them married, and she'd laughed and laughed at the looks on her family's faces when they found they couldn't touch her trust fund even though she'd married a filthy -

The Blacks have always been wealthy, and it's a big house. But Andromeda Tonks (née Black) raised her daughter here, and she knows it better than any. She's in the kitchen in seconds, just long enough to register her husband, the look of surprise as he turns to face a pale mask, white as his old, chipped mug (To The World's Best Daddy), before the light goes out with a quiet:

Pop.

And then:

Green.

And then:

"Avada Kedavra!"




In the quiet glow of Lumos, Andromeda Tonks (née Black) nudges the pale mask aside with her toe, and then spits down on Bellatrix's slack, glassy face.

Then she wraps shaking arms around her husband, and as the light from her wand flickers out, there's a sharp:

Pop.

The house is dark.