Bait and Bleed - An AU War RPG

*Sirius had crowed when Moody had told him to come along for the raid. He's less inclined to do so now, though. It's with no small amount of trepidation that Sirius stands, wand out, at the doorstep. Getting through the wards was simple enough and he's trying to stay sharp, but it's hard not to be distracted by how horribly familiar everything is. He's never even been to this particular manor but he's seen others like it, and there are certain similarities between it and Grimmauld Place that he can't ignore. Some men are dragged back to childhood memories by the taste of a dessert or a father's aftershave; Sirius is taken back to his childhood by the sight of gothic doorknockers and the distinct dry, papery smell of an immaculately clean and ancient house full of too many silent and still rooms, as if the whole place were kindling and ready to go up in smoke. It's not pleasant, to say the least.*

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*Gideon is no novice and he knows how to act on a raid: professionally, impersonally, meeting politeness with politeness and shouted abuse with. . . well, still politeness. Still, he heard about the fight in Diagon Alley and, although Arthur didn't tell him everything, he's no idiot and can infer that the owner of this home has had a crack at Molly, or the kids, or both. So there is a certain madcap glee dancing around in his eyes, even if he looks the picture of professionalism otherwise and ready to conduct himself as an Auror ought to.

Still, the short silence after Moody knocks is broken by a tiny snort of derision, directed at the peacock. He could not be less impressed, or less intimidated, by this bloated old relic of a house--for all it might be filled to bursting with Dark artifacts.*

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*Those artefacts are exactly why Arthur is here himself. Well. Officially, on paper, they're why he's here. And it is true that premises with pronounced anti-Muggle sentiments tend to have anti-Muggle objects, and the best way to fool a Muggle into hurting his or herself is to give them something that looks perfectly ordinary. Just last month on a raid they'd turned up a box of batteries that'd been jinxed to shock whoever tried using them. (Arthur may or may not have kept a few to tinker with.)

On paper, that's why he's here, and he's perfectly within his jurisdiction. In reality, he couldn't pass up the chance to get one over on Lucius Malfoy, and he's doing a worse job than Gideon of concealing his excitement, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as they wait for the door to be opened, trying very hard not to smile.*

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*The door opens, but it's not opened by either of the Malfoys. They don't do that, as a rule. Instead, a tiny figure clad in a pillow case tugs it open and stands there looking up at them - Dobby the house-elf, pitiful and cowed and clearly anxious as he looks between the four men who, he knows, have no business being here that will make his masters happy.

That anxiety only seems to multiply when he sees Sirius. He knows Kreacher, he knows the Blacks, and he'd recognize one of them anywhere - and if this is not a Black he knows, that leaves very few options that won't get him punished. Green eyes wide with apprehension, he reluctantly steps aside to let them in - if they got past the gate, they have business here, whether he likes it or not.*

Who may Dobby say is calling?

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*The wards tell her they have visitors, but Narcissa knows only two types can enter the grounds without Lucius or herself allowing it; family and... comrades, or Ministry officials. The former seldom knock, and irritation washes through her as the sound of brass on oak echoes through her home.

Buttoning her son's romper to his chin, she scoops him up into her arms where he gleefully grabs a fistful of her hair. Swiftly traversing the halls to her husband's study, she steps inside quietly, Draco's happy burbling the only fanfare for her entrance.*

We have uninvited guests.

*She knows she needn't say more.*

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*Now that he's been let into the house, Sirius summarily ignores the house-elf and represses the urge to kick the damn thing. It's not Kreacher, after all, despite the resemblance; this house-elf hasn't resented him since birth and sought to make his life as miserable as possible as payback for Walburga. So he ignores the thing rather than answer it's question, and it's almost a mercy.

Sirius steps past Dobby into the hall, wand raised and looking around, a sensitive Ministry-issued Dark Detector in hand and already clicking.*

How do we want to divide up the house, then?

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*Rightly so; Lucius knows exactly what that means, and in an instant he's on his feet and crossing the room, snatching up an ancient, twisted dagger lying on the mantlepiece. It's goblin-made and illegally obtained, to say nothing of cursed. He only keeps it around because he rather likes keeping it around, he's never used it, but that will mean nothing to the Ministry.

Quickly striding about his study, he collects a small armful of artefacts that he'd rather not be seen, and sets about stashing them in a vault hidden behind a portrait. As he does he snarls over his shoulder, furious.*

This never would have happened before Crouch took office.

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*As they step into the manor, Arthur fails spectacularly at keeping the glee from his face. He looks around, not remotely surprised by the pale stone and rich carpets and grey-eyed portraits going back centuries - and he's less surprised by the sterility of the place. It's fine, it's worthy of a museum - but there's no warmth at all. He thinks all the more fondly of the Burrow in comparison - well done, Molly.

Absolutely chipper, he draws his own wand, shrugging.*

I'm game for however you lot want to do it. I just want to see his face.

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*Gideon's wand is out, but his posture is relaxed, open. He's anticipating a less-than-warm welcome, but the imposing home and the imposing family it's owned by are blessings, in a way: booby-traps or curse-wielding grandmothers are not a strong possibility, not when there's face to be (presumably) saved.

He fails to completely keep a lid on his grin, and his voice is low, sounding absolutely nothing like a rebuke.*

Now, now, Arthur. We're at work.

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Yes, we are.

*His agreement comes with a bright smile at Gideon; he knows this is just as personally vindicating for him, too, for Molly, and he's glad he's here. (Fabian's absence, on the other hand, is probably a good thing, as fond as Arthur is of him; never mind that he's still tied up with werewolf mess, he's also far too likely to get angry and fly off the handle. Gid's better suited to this.)*

Two upstairs, two downstairs, I suppose?

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*A flicker of worry flashes in her eyes, but she hides it quickly enough. "This" was clearly going to be a visit of a distinctly unpleasant variety, and the easiest way to give Lucius time to conceal the more... interesting artefacts was to provide a distraction.*

Hurry.

*Shifting Draco to her other hip, Narcissa leaves the study, heels clicking evenly on the marbled floors as she reaches the winding stair leading to the foyer. Her voice is clear and cold over her son's happy chatter, easily reaching the motley crew milling about the entrance to her home, looking untidy. And in one particular case, incredibly unwelcome.*

Gentlemen. To what do we own the pleasure?

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*Moody doesn't look at all gleeful to be here in this overly polished mansion, but it's there behind his near-perpetual grimace. He squints up at Narcissa but Lucius is nowhere near her, of course. His voice booms around the entrance, wasting no time.*

We're here by the Ministry's authority, Mrs. Malfoy, and we're going to need to speak with both you and your husband right away so why don't you bring him out.

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*The manor is sprawling but it's more stone and glass than woodwork; sound carries. Lucius hears the summons - called like a dog in his own home, what have things come to - and swears under his breath as he runs through the extensive mental list of things he doesn't want the Ministry to find. It takes another few moments to secure the rest of what's in the study, and that's all he can do; there's no time for the rest of the house, not without looking too suspicious.

He joins Narcissa without too much pause, pale gaze flicking from man to man. Moody - there's no surprise, and he wishes now he hadn't baited him. But the other three are personally offensive where Moody is just irritating. Sirius Black does not exist so far as this household is concerned, and so it's terribly rude of him to be standing in the foyer. The Prewett twin - whichever one it is, Lucius has never bothered to tell the difference between them - might have been alright were it not for the Muggle sympathies. And the Order. And being an Auror. The Prewetts as a whole are acceptable, just not that particular knot of them.

And then, worst of all - Lucius wants to spit curses, he wants to hex him on sight, but he restrains himself and merely raises his chin a fraction, looking down his nose at them, and keeps his voice coolly offended.*

Weasley. Having a holiday, are we? Seeing what an actual house looks like?

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*Normally this would be enough to provoke Arthur, but he just grins up at Malfoy and gestures at the papers Moody has.*

Won't work today, Malfoy. We've got warrants.

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What do you mean, you've got 'warrants'?

*Lucius knows perfectly well what he means, but he's not going to just let them tromp about his house without making them work for it.*

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*For effect, Moody gives the paper a little shake to wave hello.*

We're going to need you to stay down here and not interfere while we search the premises.

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*Sirius isn't interested in any of this sort of jockeying and gloating at the moment, and he looks to Moody.*

I'd prefer the upstairs, if that's all right with the rest of you.

*Without waiting for any sort of response or any sort of partner to join him, he heads for the staircase they've come down, giving Lucius and Narcissa a wide berth.*

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*Gideon is still smiling pleasantly up at Malfoy and his wife--the best way, he's found, to handle this sort of people. His hands aren't quite in his pockets--his wand is out, for starters--but everything about the way he's standing is essentially unconcerned, thoroughly unintimidated. He shrugs.*

Ground floor, then? Alastor, Arthur?

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*Moody slaps the warrant onto a small delicate little table for the Malfoy's perusal and heads off toward the centre of the house.*

Yeah. And someone go with Black.

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*Unable to hide her distaste as Sirius pushes past them, Narcissa levels a look of loathing that would shrivel organs at Moody, then turns on her heel and follows her traitorous cousin upstairs. As far as she is concerned, he only asked Lucius to stay downstairs, and the mere fact that Sirius is in her house is practically criminal, let alone the idea that he'll be actively searching through it.

Her heels click decisively on the stairs as she ascends, irritation audible in every step, Draco curiously silent in her arms.*

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*He can hear her coming, of course, and Sirius is not foolish enough to think that she's coming to give him tea.

When she enters the parlor he's begun tossing, he doesn't look up, just adjusts the sensitivity on his Dark Detector--the entire house seems to be setting it off--and sweeps it slowly and methodically past a series of cabinets. One drawer seems to crackling particularly and Sirius doesn't want to talk to her, but a trapped drawer for Dark artifacts wouldn't suprise him in the least, so he speaks to her stiffly and formally.*

I'll need you to open this.

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