It was a quiet night at number 20, Ingram Street, the little house nestled in the cosy neighbourhood of Forrest Hills. Even with the faint sounds of the bustling city part of Queens, silence coated the streets. A hooded figure appeared suddenly with a soft popping sound, the hood swiveling as she surveyed the empty road. Another taller, thinner hooded figure appeared in the same manner as the first did, waatching as she flicked their wrist under her long sleeve to dispel all light.

"This house here," she whispered, nudging to the little house in front of them.

"Thank you Watson, for your service to me."

"Anything for you, my Lord. I will keep guard, yes?"

"I doubt I would need someone to keep guard for me, but if it silences your fears." He took off for the door, knowing that despite the darkened windows, the house was full with his next victims. Watson followed suit, muttering under her breath as she tore down the protection spells shrouding the house and replaced them with her own. The second figure unlocked the door easily with a flick of his wand and walked in, reaching out with his mind to sense where the residents were. He motioned for his partner to stay back, not wanting her to get caught in the crossfire. She was a vital source of information to him, after all.

He walked through the hall into a quaint living room, his robes sweeping the floor. Despite the dismal lighting, he could make out the edges of the sofas, and a crouched silhouette waiting for him. Without a word, the man sprung to action, aiming his wand at the hunched person, who dodged the blinding green light by ducking behind the sofa. The room filled with shots of piercing lights bouncing around. The figure's hood slipped off, revealing his sickly pale head. The man gasped at the identity of the hooded wizard: apparently he hadn't thought of that. With an evil smirk and a flick of his bony, pale wrist, the man was struck with a blinding green and that was that. He fell dead to the floor, his face contorted in terror.

A scream tore through the air behind the murder and he turned, relishing in the horrified expression on the woman's face. "No..." she whispered, trying to process what had happened. "No, no no not him, no." Her face morphed into anger, her greens eyes blazing with fury as she gripped her wand until her knuckles went white. The pale man didn't say anything, merely waited for her to move. She moved, swinging her fist at his horrible face in a surprising move. It didn't help that she was skilled in Occlumency, so he had no way of knowing she would go for hand-to-hand combat. His wand waved through the air again and the woman was sent flying back, her wand clattering against the wooden floor. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached for it, but he blocked her. "Accio wand!"

It went soaring through the air back into her grasp and she countered with her own attack. There was no doubt that she was a skilled fighter.

But all mortals meet their match one day. The man raised his wand. "Crucio," he whispered. The room filled with screams of pure agony, of pain tearing one apart at the seams. The wizard wasn't affected. No remorse or sympathy crossed his features as he marched towards her, his face blank as her green eyes pleaded with him. He stopped the curse, leaving her panting on the cold floor. "Tell me. Where are they?"

"I..." she gasped, trying to find the strength to speak. "I don't know what you mean." He raised his wand and she flinched. For a split second the wall in her mind came down and he caught a flash of a short, mousey man.

"My, what a surprise. I thought they would have chosen you as their Secretkeeper, but alas. I will talk to Pettingrew myself." He gave her a sickly smile. "And now, for your son. Avada Kedavra."

With one last scream she fell dead, destined to the same fate as her husband. The man turned to the stairs, his robes slithering over the wooden planks as though they were made of snakes. He opened the door, his wand ready to kill. A young Italian woman in periwinkle robes, froze at the sight of him, trying to keep the two-year-old in her arms from seeing his nightmarish face. Then, with a faint popping sound, they were gone, leaving only the imprint of her determined eyes on his mind. Fury boiled up inside of him as he realised the child had escaped between his fingers. A legilimens, supposedly stronger than him, gone like the wind. He howled in frustration, igniting the wooden furniture and storming out of the house.

Watson was waiting for him when he stalked out. "What happened?"

"The child got away."

Watson stopped. "How? You killed his parents, how did the child escape?"

"There was another woman who apparated him out." His anger spiked and the house behind him burst into flames, fuelled by the putrid fury welling up inside him.

Watson was the one to calm him down. "Did you get the information you needed?"

The man sighed, pulling his hood back up. "Not yet, but I know who to ask." With that, they vanished, the only trace of them ever having been there the flaming house with the corpses inside.

꧁꧂

The witch gasped as she apparated in the room, her heart breaking as the little boy in her arms shook as he sobbed. Everyone looked up from where they were pacing, planning and thinking, fear lacing all of their expressions. A tall, dark-skinned wizard moved towards her, concerned for her and the toddler she was hugging. "Maybelle-"

"Not now, Aaron." Her voice shook as she hurried out of the room. She needed to get somewhere quiet, somewhere away from where he could hear their thoughts and feelings. Somewhere she can try and calm him down.

She reached the staircase and sat down on the lower steps, trying to readjust the two-year-old clinging to her periwinkle robes. He refused, gasping for air as tears streamed down his pale cheeks. There was no way anyone could calm him down, not after he'd heard the screams of his mother being tortured and then murdered. And those were only the external noises. Who knows what he heard in their heads.

Aaron soon appeared above her, his arms crossed in the folds of plum robes. "Maybelle," he asked carefully, "what happened?"

Her legs shook as the image of the murderer flashed across her mind. The ghostly pale skin. The snake-like slits for nostrils. The piercing red eyes that saw straight through her, that saw her fear. "He came. They're gone. They're gone, Aaron." The realisation suddenly hit her. They were gone, forever, and that left the trembling boy in her arms under her guardianship.

Aaron sat down besides her, not knowing how to comfort the two of them. "Were there any signs of Elizabeth?" He asked.

Elizabeth Watson, his wife. The traitor. Maybelle clenched her jaw. "She betrayed them. She was their Secretkeeper and she betrayed them. She betrayed us."

Aaron's usually powerful aura crumbled as he realised what his wife had done. "Why? Why would she have done that?"

"For security." She turned her eyes to the man's. "We're fighting against the most powerful Dark wizard, just this small band of Aurors and other witches and wizards. She'd rather betray us out of cowardice rather than risk her life fighting for what's right." Maybelle looked back down at the toddler. His heartwrenching sobs had quietened down to small sniffs and hiccups, but he still held a firm grasp to her robes. "Well, I'd better send an owl to Ben and tell him what's happened. Oh, and Aaron?"

"Yes?"

"Send Dumbledore to the Potters. I think they're in serious danger."