Summer break was coming to an end and Lindsay looked forward to the vibrant activity of Hogwarts. She'd just finished breakfast and was flipping through her favorite muggle newspaper. She set it aside and picked up the first issue of her subscription to The Daily Prophet. She read the most fascinating article on the second page.
An illegal hippogriff fighting ring has been apprehended by Ministry aurors, who were tipped off by an anonymous informant. The wizards responsible for the illegal activities were badly beaten, but were unable to identify their attackers. They claimed to have been attacked by several very large warlocks. Aurors believe the battered hippogriffs turned on their abusers. The rescued hippogriffs will be held in Ministry custody until healthy enough to join the herd at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The apprehended wizards will be held in custody while awaiting trial.
Next to the article was a picture of a hippogriff that shared the same unusual coloring as Stampy. Lindsay smiled broadly and set the paper down, "Good going, Hagrid."
Today's agenda would be house cleaning—the entire house. She had plans to spend a long weekend with a friend, and the mindless chore of cleaning would keep her busy until evening and keep her mind off of the fact that she was alone. She even tried some of the cleaning spells that Molly had taught her with a small measure of success.
Shortly before ten in the evening, Lindsay received a call from her friend canceling their plans. Her sister had gone into labor earlier than expected and needed a caregiver for a few days. Lindsay's friend lived near a lovely city park and impromptu music performances were common on weekends. Older musicians were usually performing in the early morning hours; typically jazz and folk. Younger musicians began gathering in the afternoon and the music became harder and more driven as evening approached. Lindsay decided to make day trips. She'd leave very early and take her violin. She wasn't particularly good at playing jazz and hoped to catch someone willing to give her lessons. The jazz players tended to favor Friday mornings.
Friday promised to be a good day. The sun was shining and there was no rain in the forecast. Lindsay spread a blanket on the grass and set her things down next to her. She and a few dozen others were waiting for the first musicians to begin playing. Younger people were lying on the grass and enjoying the sunshine, some had babies and toddlers with them. Older people had brought folding chairs and sun shades, a few had little dogs sitting on their laps or next to their chairs.
What happened next was so fast and so unexpected that even Lindsay's photographic memory had difficulty sorting it out. There was a blur of activity. Dark figures appeared out of thin air. People began to scatter even before the screaming started, some fell dead on the ground still clutching a beloved pet or an infant. Jets of differently colored light streaked through the air. A small group of people ran across Lindsay's blanket. She had just managed to put her hand on her violin case when her sight went black.
Lindsay woke to screaming. Her head was pounding. Her sight was blurry as she raised her hand to the back of her head. She wasn't sure what happened, but surmised that someone must've kicked her head while trying to run over her. She winced as her hand touched a large lump. The screaming stopped suddenly and fiddle playing began. The sound of soft whimpering to Lindsay's immediate left drew her attention, and she saw a short-haired woman not much older than herself standing next to her. The woman appeared to be standing, but something didn't look right to Lindsay's bleary eyes. On Lindsay's right stood a boy aged not more than fifteen or so. He was struggling frantically against leg restraints that Lindsay couldn't see.
Invisible restraints! Lindsay's heart began to race. Her head swam as her pulse quickened. She could move her arms, but not her legs. She blinked several times trying to clear her vision. She suddenly realized that looking down was actually looking up. They were being held in the air upside-down. She looked down, in the correct direction this time, and saw at least six people dressed in black and some wearing hoods. Her long hair hung over her face and obscured her vision a little, but that didn't matter once she glanced at the seventh person. She'd never seen him before, but she knew exactly who he was. His high-pitched nasal voice rang unopposed in the large darkly lit room.
Lord Voldemort paced in the center of his followers commanding their attention for his every move, his every utterance, no matter how insignificant. Next to Voldemort sat an elderly man holding Lindsay's violin. Voldemort circled the man like a hunter around his prey. Lindsay recognized the old man; he was one of the musicians that were preparing to perform just before the commotion started. His hands were shaking so violently that Lindsay could see them with her slightly blurred vision and from her vantage point of at least ten feet in the air. Voldemort was harassing the man about his poor playing, and how his skills were subpar even for a muggle. His poor excuse for music was an assault on Voldemort's refined wizard hearing. Voldemort's followers laughed when they were expected to, cheered when they were expected to, and fell silent with just a glance from their master.
Voldemort commanded the old man to play again, with a warning that it had better be pleasing to hear. The elderly musician began playing a cheerful Irish reel. The man was so nervous that he was making mistakes. Voldemort winced with every sour note. Abruptly, Voldemort flicked his wand and both the violin and its bow flew out of the man's hands and hovered in the air next to him. "Avada kedavra," said Voldemort lazily, and the poor man fell over, out of his chair onto the floor in a slow but gracefully moving heap. "Knott, remove that!"
Lord Voldemort looked up and Lindsay avoided making eye-contact with him. "Let's see," he muttered. "Who'll be next? Ah, you!" said Voldemort as he waved his wand at Lindsay. She fell to the floor, landing hard; but managed to break her fall by using her palms. She was careful not to injure her arms and hands because she suspected he'd want her to play for him. "Up!"
"May I have a minute to collect myself, sir? I'm a little dizzy," said Lindsay.
"Sir?" repeated Voldemort. He laughed heartily. "But of course you may have a moment. I am a gentleman after all." Voldemort's tone and manner vacillated continuously between menacing, genteel, and downright deranged. Even if Voldemort's behavior had been consistently refined, and Lindsay knew nothing about him, she would still identify him as dangerous. The very air around him felt electric. He exuded power, a dark power that was unmistakable. One would have to be completely senseless not to notice it. But there was something else about him; a charisma that was equally unmistakable. It surfaced for only short periods, but Lindsay suspected that he was able to consciously control it when the mood struck him and that made him all the more terrifying.
In her short time among magical kind, Lindsay had developed a sense of them, a feeling of their magic; some were much harder to detect than others. It wasn't so much a sense of how powerful their magical abilities were, but more a feeling that they weren't muggles; although some did radiate potency. Minerva was one of those who gave the impression of potent ability.
Albus, like Voldemort, electrified any space he occupied. Lindsay sensed it the first time she met him, but was distracted by the magical storm outside her home and thought that the cause of the electrical sensation. Albus was also charismatic, but his charm was subtle and he radiated a gentleness that almost equaled the sense of power that his person conveyed. Albus was warm, kind, and generous, but also aloof. He kept everyone at arm's length, for self-preservation perhaps, but this tendency only endeared him more. People were drawn to Albus like moths to light. Voldemort was repellant.
"You've had your moment, now get up." Lindsay did as she was bidden. She was careful to keep her head down and avoid eye contact with anyone in the room. "Are you also a...musician?" asked Voldemort facetiously. His worshippers snickered softy.
"I am," said Lindsay. She deliberately kept her reply short and simple, and hoped that Voldemort would take it as a sign of respect; a sign that she was aware of her inferiority. She kept her eyes averted to the floor and observed the movement of his feet in the hopes that she'd be able to react appropriately if he moved suddenly. The tactic would work with a violent muggle, but was pointless when dealing with a wizard. Lindsay clung to her rationale like a life raft.
"Play," ordered Voldemort. The violin and bow floated toward her, and she chose to play the same reel as the old man. Voldemort began clapping in time with the tune, and his followers did the same. He moved away from Lindsay and conjured a large elaborate throne. He sat on it with theatrical refinement. "Lucius!" bellowed Voldemort and Lindsay stopped playing. He rose from his thrown with cat-like agility and was at her side hissing in her ear. "Did I tell you to stop playing?"
Lindsay chose an oblique answer. "You spoke, so I stopped."
"Aren't you the mannerly one," said Voldemort sweetly. Bizarrely, he began passing his hand over Lindsay's tangled hair, smoothing it. "Play," he repeated, "and don't stop until I tell you to." Lindsay raised her bow and began playing without saying another word. Her eyes still averted to the floor. Voldemort returned to his throne. Lucius Malfoy was standing next to it waiting for his orders. "Pick one."
Lucius raised his walking stick and immediately chose the boy. He flung the boy down onto the cold stone floor with such force that he was momentarily dazed. Another Death Eater stepped forward and roughly pulled the boy to his feet. The boy cried out and lifted his leg, clutching his injured knee. His face and nose were bloodied from the fall. "Dance," ordered Lucius.
"I can't," replied the boy. "My leg--"
Lucius pulled his wand from its hiding place inside his walking stick and cried, "Crucio!" The boy fell to the ground. His body contorted in ways Lindsay had never thought possible; and she'd seen psychiatric patients who were capable of some bizarre and disturbing gymnastics. Lucius relented and the boy lay panting; saliva and blood dripped from his mouth. "Get up!" commanded Lucius knowing full well that the boy was unable. An amused grin crossed Lucius' features as the boy tried and failed several times to rise. The other Death Eaters laughed and jeered.
Again Lucius told him to stand, and this provoked the boy's temper. "I can't!" the boy shouted. Lucius sliced the air with his wand and a deep gash appeared on the boy's face. Grim realization finally dawned on him, and he began to beg for his life. "Please, my mum is sick. I'm all she has." Lucius slashed him again. "Please let me go to her. I won't tell anyone." Lucius slashed the boy each time he spoke.
Voldemort was showing signs of discontent; fidgeting and twiddling his wand. He was bored. Lucius crucioed the boy again. He screamed for only a minute or two before going unconscious. The extreme sensory overload of the Cruciatus Curse combined with blood loss was too much for him. He laid silent on the stone floor, eyes half shut, while his body continued to writhe and twitch.
"Avada kedavra," said Voldemort. He was so bored that he practically yawned the words. "Very nice, Lucius, but you're out of practice."
"Shall I remove it, my Lord?" said Lucius.
"No, that's not a task befitting your station. McNabb, remove that!" Voldemort's eyes traveled across the faces of his followers. "You three," he said and pointed at them. "Finish that one." He flicked his index finger toward the ceiling. The largest of the three, a great hulking man, grinned salaciously as he brought down the woman, the last remaining muggle, from the ceiling. He threw her over his shoulder and took her into an adjoining room. There he stripped her bare and threw her on a garish red chaise lounge, which he enlarged to make himself more comfortable. The woman struggled very little, but the men still beat her. They took turns with her.