The Truth Behind the Veil ✔️

Capture the Flag

The funeral a week later attracted nearly every wizard in Britain and beyond. Many tears were shed but the Marauders and co stood stoic and waited. Harry grasped onto his mother's blouse and giggled when someone would wave to him. The eight month old simply enjoyed the attention, not aware that one of the most powerful wizards had just been found dead in his study a week prior.

"Now," the Dark Lord said as the month turned to April, "Who is responsible for my mortality?"

"Regulus Black?"

"That was before he died, Goyle, you blithering idiot."

Snape smirked. "Black was friendly with a mudblood in Gryffindor. Fawn Briggs, I believe. They attended Slughorn's Christmas party together once in my sixth year. She's friends with Potter and the rest of his goons."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed at the ebony-haired man in front of him in disdain. "You are only now bringing this up?"

Severus shrugged, again unbothered. He spun a finger, the spoon in his tea stirring lazily. He had nothing to lose.

Bellatrix giggled manically. "Let's kill her!"

"Not so fast, Bella," The Dark Lord cooed. He stroked his bald, pale head thoughtfully. "Killing would not be enough. We need to capture her, and force the truth out of her."

A hiss of excitement slithered through the room, everyone scooting to the edge of their seats.

The Dark Lord's nails drummed in contemplation against the long table. "You do not know where Fawn Briggs resides currently do you, Severus?"

"I do not, My Lord."

*****

"Uno!" Fawn chimed.

It was a Saturday night and the group had all come all together to drink and play games. Sirius growled in frustration. The rest of them looked at her in shock.

"How do you always win!" whined Peter.

"Well she hasn't won quite yet," muttered Lily, slamming down a card. "Draw two, Fawn."

"You bitch!" Fawn exclaimed as she reluctantly grabbed two cards from the diminishing pile.

"How cute, a Muggle game."

Sirius was up as soon as the crack of apparation sounded, slamming Snape into the wall, jabbing his wand under the Death-Eater's chin.

Lily passed off Harry who had been on her lap, to James and had joined Sirius.

Snape only sneered at the pair, eyes flicking about the room lazily.

Remus made eye contact with Fawn from across the round table where the Uno cards were left discarded. There were more coming, they could feel it.

Marlene had grasped Dorcas' arm and the two were pushed up against a corner wall, peeking around it, keeping a close eye on the front door.

Peter was wide-eyed and shaking slightly, but his wand was out and his lips were pursed in determination.

Alice and Frank were having dinner with his mum that night and Fawn couldn't help but feel thankful.

"Ready?" whispered Fawn, slowly looking at everyone.

They all nodded. "Ready."

At least ten masked Death-Eaters apparated into the flat covering every angle of the small kitchen. There had to be at least a few more in the other rooms too. They were outnumbered.

The wand in Fawn's hand vibrated with energy as she thought through every defensive spell she knew, and even those that she didn't.

Everyone of the group except for her and Peter were in the Order. They'd be okay. It was time to fight.

Marlene shot the first spell, sending a Death-Eater hurdling into the front door. After that no one could make anything out in between the flashes of red, green and white.

"Avada—"

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Reducto!"

Fawn ducked as shards of glass from what used to be the kettle went flying. A pained groan came from further along but Fawn couldn't make it out who it was. She could only hope that if it was one of their own, they were okay.

"Fawn, watch out!" Sirius shouted.

She turned her head, barely missing a rogue killing curse, feeling the heat as it grazed past her head.

"That one!" A Death-Eater shouted. "That one's the one the Dark Lord wants!"

"Then—Crucio—grab her, Goyle!" the piercing voice Bellatrix declared.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Fawn spun around to defend herself but it was too late. She fell flat to the floor. Someone stomped on her hand. She would have whimpered if she was able to for her, most definitely, broken fingers.

Ropes magically bound her and soon she had been grabbed and apparated out of the battle-damaged flat.