they had it coming all along, how could you tell me that i was wrong?

[Nigella Blanchflower]

Four people were slumped around the dining room table at the Blanchflower house. Dribble still sliming their lips, their heads lolled grotesquely over their untouched dinner plates- only their wine was disturbed. Inanna, the matron, had spilled her wineglass all over the white table cloth and her own lily-pink robes. A young woman with dark green eyes and brown hair walked into the room. She wore a maid's outfit. Looking around at the murdered family, she uttered a tiny snort of a laugh. It was ridiculous. Just like that. They were all dead. Suddenly she felt sick. Like she was going to be sick- but no. She was changing. Her hair loosened and turned a flaxen shade. Her eyes became a dull brown and her body wasted away until she became a gaunt shadow of a person. The blond grinned.

It had taken forever to brew that polyjuice potion, but she had done it, in the attic. It wasn't terribly difficult. Oh, no need to be modest, she told herself. It was an especially difficult potion, and I made it all by myself. That was a testament, she knew. A testament to superiority of a pureblood. Purebloods were not only superior to to halfbloods and mudbloods: the overcame even the most talented of blood trators. She peered at her dead mother, and filthy mudblood stepfather. Her two traitorous siblings. It was sick, seeing them there, enjoying dinner like a family. They hadn't suspected a thing.

She looked down at her ridiculous clothes. With a wave of her wand (Oh let the ministry come! I won't go down without a fight.) her clothes were the clean, deep purple robes of a proper witch, not some servant. Their family wasn't old and fancy enough to have house-elves but they had employed a couple of feeble-minded muggles. Nigella could've given them the day off, sent them away. But there really was no point. She cursed their innards with a burning poison and took the identity of one. Then she poisoned the drinks of all the Blanchflowers (and the two filthy Corks!).

She threw her mother's body from the chair where it sat. There was a fresh bottle of wine somewhere.... "Accio wine!" Nigella poured herself a glass and took a bit of the steak her deceased mother had left behind. "Mmm," she said, "delicious."

[Sicila O'Dair]

“Knock knock! Anybody home?” A cheerful male voice rang suddenly through the empty silence of the house, heralded only briefly by a squeak as the front door opened. “Hello? Inanna?”

Cale Abelard was by no means a tall man of any measurement. Only just barely over five feet with russet hair and hazel eyes he could easily have been mistaken for a teenager if one were looking at his back. Of course the corners of his eyes and lips were lined and creased from age, and even behind his ordinarily pleasant demeanor he had a certain tiredness about him, a weariness that one could suppose came from his job. Let him be the first to assure hopeful applicants at being an Auror was a fulltime job.

“Anybody home? Mind if I let myself in?” A long-time family friend of the Blanchflowers, Cale and Inanna had gone to school together and when she’d married he’d been the first in line at the wedding to wish her the very best. Of course he had never really particularly cared for the husband, a strict and (Cale thought) often temperamental man that had clearly had a negative impact on the children – I mean, really, Slytherin? – nevermind that Inanna herself had been in Slytherin (Cale had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, of course, but the pair had been good friends during their double classes), and so for Inanna’s sake he had held his tongue. He didn’t want to say he’d predicted the divorce, but hey. He’d predicted the divorce.

This new chap though, well! As his own father was from a half-blood family himself, Cale couldn’t say no to the dear Inanna marrying a Muggle-born, bless him. The man couldn’t think of anything wrong with it, really. Blood sorting only got in the way.

“Really sorry I’m late, I hope I haven’t missed dinner!” After hanging his cloak (a bold purple that matched his robes), Cale started for the dining room where he knew the family would likely have gotten started without him. In an event that had become rather a tradition, the unmarried Auror had taken to coming over rather frequently after the wedding for supper or just to catch up after work.

And so it was this way that he found them all.

[Nigella Blanchflower]

Nigella worked her way through the entire plate. She nibbled on the asparagus and finished off that delicious steak. She'd cooked it, after all. It was a shame the idiots had started guzzling wine before they had a chance to try her food. She wanted to give them a good last meal and they ruined it for themselves. What could you really expect from filthy blood traitors? The probably wouldn't even have appreciated the delicate and complex flavors she had prepared. Simple people always crave simple art, simple music and simple food! It would be quaint were it not so disgusting.

For desert, she grabbed an apple from a platter on the table and crunched into it- and that's when she heard the voice. Who the hell is that? Her eyes grew wide and she cocked her head to listen. Whoever it was had let himself in. It was probably the damn ministry coming to snap her wand in half. She wasn't about to let that happen.
“Anybody home? Mind if I let myself in?” Nigella laughed in her head. Abelard. That nitwit couldn't catch a damn cold. A blood traitor if she ever knew one, and a failure (Hufflepuff, failure, same difference) at that. She drew her wand up and looked him square in the eye as he stepped into the dining room. The look on his face was priceless.

"Stupefy!" she cried, pointing her wand directly at his chest and the spell hit, right on target.

[Sicila O'Dair]

The Auror had only moments to take in the scene, half-moments, a split hair-raising second in which his wide eyes saw it all: Bodies, a set dinner table, spilt wine, the clock steadily ticking on the wall, and Nigella, oh, Nigella!

It left him reeling, gasping, and the only thing that saved him, the only thing was that stupid little trinket he carried around in his pocket. Was it cliché? He would suppose so later, at some future time perhaps when he was sitting around a table with other friends he would reflect on how horribly formulaic it was: the villain shoots the hero only the bullet is stopped by the hero’s bible.

Or, in this case, a little charm.

The spell flung off him, shattering into a wall and he could feel the charm in his pocket grow hot, the metal burning his skin. No time for that now! He dug his hand into his pockets and almost paled – his wand, did he leave it in his cloa—no, and there it was, his fingers wrapped tightly around the cool maple wood. Its touch reassured him. For some reason he could not fathom, his hand shook a bit; he shook this off. It was not like this was the first time the Auror had faced trouble.

“Nigella,” the wizard started to say with a bit of pleading in his tone, and then stopped himself. Was he going to reason with her? The scene said enough! His brow darkened and he snapped his wand harshly at her, crying, “Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!”

[Nigella Blanchflower]

Oh crap.

As the spell ricocheted off the Auror's chest Nigella felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was a fool for thinking an active Auror wouldn't walk around without some kind of protective charms and counter-jinxes on him. Any responsible Auror would prepare for the worst. She didn't have time for this crap. His blood-traitor lips would cast a spell at any moment, rendering her incapable of fighting. She clutched her wand tightly and prepared herself to counter anything he might through at her.

Expelliarmus!"

Nigella's brain was wiped clean as her wand rocketed out of her hand. She felt terribly vulnerable. Naked. She didn't like that feeling. Hm. So what if she didn't have a wand. She'd tear this moron apart with her own bare hands. Unfurling her fingers as if they were claws, Nigella lunged forward. Her hair flew behind her, and she opened her mouth, thinking she would bite him. Bite his throat out.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"AAAAGH-ck" Her mouth snapped shut and her arms and her legs snapped into place. The sound she made when she fell was like a log hitting the ground. It hurt. Bad. All of the awful things she would do to that fool whenever she got out this body bind cycled through her head. Awful, unmentionable things. She tensed and flexed. Damn.

And that's how Nigella Blanchflower, the last true blood purist of the ancient and proud house of Blanchflower came to be arrested. When she came to trial she was found guilty of six counts of murder and one count of attacking an Auror. She was sentenced to Level One at Furiae. Not terribly shocking seeing as she murdered two people as well as her entire family...