Mar 132007

Title: Fall of the House of Caliphet
Fandom: Potterverse
Characters: Randall Prince, Augustus Rookwood, (Corvus) Rosier, Antonin Dolohov
Rating: M
Warnings: Relatively disgusting violence and massacre
Notes:(MH AU) It amused me to play with the idea of Death Eaters and the stock market. It amused me more to mercilessly slaughter my favourite OC's entire family. Not to say they didn't have it coming, of course.

Randall Prince sat at his desk, looking over some recent deals he'd made in the Muggle stock market. It had sounded, in the last owl, as though those idiots had finally gotten over their holy terror of handling Muggle money, and were ready to deal. He was willing to finance anything that would pay off, in the end, and having the Ministry's restrictions on misusing Muggles and their toys removed would definitely pay off. Rookwood seemed to be offering him an excellent trade, and he and two associates were supposed to arrive to discuss the details any minute, now.

He'd wanted Avery for this job, but Avery was dead. He'd had to settle for Dolohov and old man Rosier, since MacNair wasn't cut out for this sort of work. Honestly, he worried about involving Rosier. The man hadn't been quite right since his family had all killed each other in the wake of his son's death.

Rookwood glanced at the respectable-looking businessmen at his sides and then reached out to knock on the French doors. A second story entrance would attract less attention, and would get them into Prince's office without anyone knowing they'd arrived. Timing, after all, was everything.

Miriam and her two little monstrosities had come down from the country for the week. It would be his birthday tomorrow, and the family always made a big deal about it. They also made a big deal about the fact that he refused to marry and had no heirs. An heir would disrupt the flow of his money even more than that theoretical bastard did. He was certain that Hypolite's boy was none of his doing, and the boy seemed certain of it as well. It was troubling, though, that he'd become a wizard, and ended up in Slytherin. It looked bad.

There was a tap at the french doors, and he stood to let his visitors in. Rookwood's scarred face greeted him as he opened the door. The man's sleazy appearance was just barely offset by the two sober-looking gentlemen who accompanied him. "Masters Dolohov and Rosier, I presume."

The older men's eyes brightened as he greeted them and the trio entered his office.

"Mr. Caliphet," Rookwood began, with a patronising smile, "or should I say Master Yaxley? Were you really so ignorant of your own heritage when you decided to make a pureblood of yourself?" He had leaned back against Randall's desk, and was playing with a heavy leaded glass paperweight.

"Now, now," Rosier scolded, "We're not here to make an honest pureblood of this man."

"Indeed," Dolohov turned a sharp eye on Randall, "We have heard that you can finance some purchases for us. That the virtue of your pure blood led you to make us an offer."

Ah, now they were down to business. Randall reached across the desk, next to where Rookwood leaned on it. "Ah, of course. I have some good information, here. You'll make money hand over fist with it. But, I believe you know what I want. I'm sure it will be taken care of once you've spent the money."

Rookwood plucked the papers from his hands. "These are Muggle means of getting money? These stock cards?"

"Stock certificates. Yes. They represent ownership of a percentage of a company's profits." Randall nodded, nervously. He didn't like the way Rookwood was looking at him. He never like the way Rookwood looked at him, but with two sane and sensible businessmen in the room, he was probably safe.

He heard a knock at the front door. Miriam would get it.

Dolohov looked toward the door of the room, suddenly. "Who's here, Mr. Caliphet? Are you expecting anyone else?"

"No, of course not. It's probably just a delivery." He shook his head confidently. "My sister will take care of it, I'm sure."

"Randall?" Miriam's nasal voice was strong, even through the door and up the stairs. "There are some men here to see you!"

He looked confused. The men he meant to see were already in his office. "There's some mistake, Miriam," he called back, "I don't have any appointments, today. Send them away."

"I don't think they'll go, Randy." Her voice was strained and much closer. "They're just headed up!"

Rookwood threw Randall into his chair, and then slid into the knee space of his desk. "One wrong move, Prince…" The other two vanished into the draperies in dim corners of the room.

The door slammed open, with his sister still clinging to it. Two men in Auror's robes stood in the doorway. "Mr. Prince, we're here with warrants for your financial records. We have reason to believe you've been tampering with the Muggle stock market. You are now under arrest for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and Technology."

"You must be mistaken! I don't deal with… Muggles." The disgust was evident in his voice. Unfortunately, so was the fear.

Rosier slipped out from behind a drape. "Avada Kedavra!"

One Auror struck the floor and two others entered through the French doors, wands drawn. Rookwood, unseen, had hit the panic button he carried as soon as it was evident that this was a Ministry raid. Four young Death Eaters would be here in moments. He just had to stay put and not get hit. That idiot Rosier was going to get them killed, though.

Miriam screamed and ran toward the falling Auror as Rosier lined up his next shot and the second Auror returned fire. Both hits scored on targets, but only one was properly aimed. Both Miriam and the Auror struck the floor, dead.

As footsteps raced up the stairs, Rookwood jabbed Randall with his wand. "Lower the anti-apparition wards. Now."

After three tries, Randall finally made the right gestures, and the wards dropped. Apparitions began to sound off like popcorn around the house and grounds. He stayed perfectly still in his chair, afraid that if he moved at all, someone would aim at him.

The two other Aurors moved to cover Rosier, but were felled from behind. One of Miriam's sons levitated into the room, screaming, as his skin split open and the tissue turned itself inside out, peeling away from the bones. On the other end of the wand was a furious man with shoulder length bright red hair and gleaming eyes. "Rookwood! What kind of massive fuckup is this? What have you done to earn my everlasting displeasure this time, you maggot?"

Randall gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. An eerie keening filled the room, and it took a very long time for him to realise the sound was coming from him. Even if he lived, he would never be quite the same.

The Caliphet mansion burned for two straight days. Glass melted, bones turned to ash. All the residents were presumed dead, along with four Aurors who never returned, and whose bodies were never recovered. No one was certain how many Death Eaters, if any, died within, but seven bodies belonging to the rich, pureblooded families of Europe, were found on the grounds, along with the corpses of three more Aurors.

The Caliphet Massacre, as it came to be called, went down into the archives of the Daily Prophet as one of the Ministry's most spectacular fuckups ever. An entire family of civilians obliterated without a trace, seven agents dead and five wounded, and none of the evidence recovered that they had gone in to seize.

Cleanup on this one would not be pretty.

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