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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

1st September 1969

Autumn arrived on a breath of coal smoke and the music of a steam engine – the hiss, the whistle, the impatient snort. Nothing thrilled Bella more than the bustle, the shouting, the laughter and the jostling on the platform.

‘I cannot think why you chose to dress like that,’ her mother remarked, her gaze as cold as her tone.

Her father had stayed at home; he hated crowds and felt awkward around strangers, preferring the quiet of his greenhouse among the pots of moonflowers. The full moon had passed, and the flowers had begun to wither; petals that only days ago had shimmered with pearly light now fell and crumbled into grey ash. It would be nearly a fortnight before new buds appeared.

Druella Black, impeccable as ever in a deep blue dress and veiled hat, looked at her eldest daughter with open disappointment. Bella had expected as much, which was precisely why she’d dawdled at home, hoping her mother wouldn’t wait for her at Platform 9 and 3/4. Yet here she was, gaze fixed with revulsion on Bella’s coal-black dress that fell to her ankles. The only adornments to this nun-like outfit were a collar of black lace and obsidian buttons along the narrow sleeves.

‘One would think you were bound for a funeral rather than school,’ Druella observed. ‘Your taste is appalling. Do you realise that colour drains the life from your face? You look ready to faint. And that skirt, dragging along the ground! That length went out of fashion when the Cleansweep was considered a fast broom. If you wanted to make a fool of yourself, you might as well have worn a sack.’

‘Next time I will,’ Bella murmured through gritted teeth.

‘There will be no next time. Fortunately, this is your final year. By next autumn, I shall be spared the embarrassment of appearing in public with you. Not that your sister is much better. Andromeda –’ Druella’s voice cut into a hiss – ‘if you do not immediately straighten your back, I shall strap a red-hot poker to it.’

Andromeda startled and pulled her shoulders into perfect alignment. The threat was absurd, of course. Where, after all, was one to find a red-hot poker in the middle of King’s Cross? But unlike Bella, Andromeda saw little point in defiance.

Druella’s expression softened only when her gaze fell on Narcissa. At least the youngest had never been a constant source of mortification. Cissy’s golden curls fell in loose waves over her shoulders, catching the autumn sun. Her dress, in muted emerald, fell modestly just below the knee, proper for a young lady, yet not so modest as to suggest the Blacks were old-fashioned. A belt of deep-green velvet drew the eye to her narrow waist, and a delicate silver bracelet showed off the elegance of her wrist. She was perfection itself, and Druella regarded her with quiet pride.

‘Is something the matter, my dear?’ she asked. ‘You seem a little downcast.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’ A gentle smile bloomed on Cissy’s face. ‘Everything’s perfectly fine. I only regret that I must be parted from you and Father for a whole four months. You will write to me every day, won’t you?’

‘Of course, my darling!’ For a fleeting moment, Druella considered whether the occasion called for moist eyes and a trembling lip, but she reined it in at once, seeing no sense in spoiling her make-up.

‘Dear Mrs Black, what a pleasure seeing you again!’

A wizard with an expansive smile was making his way towards them. Trotting at his side was a thin, pinched-looking wife, whose expression grew even more sour when her husband bowed over Druella’s hand and kissed it warmly.

‘Who is this charming young lady beside you? Your daughter? Surely not! You’re joking – she must be your younger sister!’

Druella laughed, her voice taking on that tinkling tone she reserved for men. Narcissa smiled politely.

‘I hear your eldest is in her seventh year. How time flies!’ his wife said coolly. ‘You must be past forty now, mustn’t you, dear Mrs Black? Ah, we women age so quickly…’

‘I feel no signs of ageing at all,’ Druella cut in, her smile vanishing in an instant. ‘In our family, the women keep their looks for many years. It’s a pity not everyone is so fortunate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see my daughters to the train.’

She seized Narcissa firmly by the hand and drew her into the crowd. Bella followed, gesturing for her bewitched suitcase to trundle after her. With a sigh, Andromeda wheeled a trolley piled high with her own and Narcissa’s luggage.

***

They had almost reached the far end of the train, but every compartment they passed was already full.

‘You see what comes of your endless dawdling!’ Druella snapped.

‘You didn’t have to wait for me,’ Bella muttered, but her mother was no longer listening. Like a pirate captain sizing up a merchant vessel before boarding, Druella was scanning the carriages for somewhere to seat her daughters.

‘Mum, look – a real witch!’ a high, excited child’s voice piped.

Bella turned to see a boy pointing at her. He could have been three, or five, or six; she had never mastered the art of judging children’s ages.

‘Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!’ the woman beside him exclaimed. Presumably, she was the boy’s mother. ‘I’m so embarrassed. The thing is, Andy’s never met any witches or wizards before. We’ve had no time to get used to the idea, because my elder daughter, Julie, only got her Hogwarts letter this summer. He didn’t mean anything by it. You do look wonderful – really elegant – with such a vintage style …’

Only then did Bella realise what had struck her as odd about the woman. The short haircut gave her a boyish look, but the scarlet dress – scandalously short, barely skimming the tops of her thighs – along with heavily lined eyes and lashes clotted with mascara, shattered that impression at once. A Muggle! Bella’s mouth curled into a contemptuous sneer, and the woman faltered mid-sentence.

To Bella’s surprise, Druella was studying the stranger with interest. Lady Morgan, please don’t let Mother decide that Muggle fashions are worth imitating.

‘There are seats further down,’ Bella said curtly, swinging her suitcase up and striding along the train. She didn’t so much as glance back to see if her mother and sisters were following. She had no desire to speak to anyone. Her face was burning, as though a desert wind from the Sahara had replaced the mild autumn breeze. Vintage style … as if her mother’s judgement hadn’t been enough! By what right did that painted Muggle comment on her appearance?

A camera clicked sharply nearby. A Muggle with an impressive moustache and a colourful shirt was enthusiastically photographing his daughter. The girl posed proudly in front of the Hogwarts Express, already dressed in her school robes. Perhaps she was Julie; perhaps another first-year. Even after the child had climbed aboard, the Muggle kept at it, his camera snapping greedily at the witches and wizards on the platform.

‘We’re like animals in a magical zoo to them, aren’t we?’ a familiar voice said behind her.

‘Exactly,’ Bella replied without turning. ‘Hello, Evan. Got a cigarette?’

By the time they’d finished smoking, the engine driver had already blown the whistle for departure. Evan took her suitcase and carried it into a compartment. His younger sister, Gwendolyn – known to everyone simply as Lina – was inside with Rod Lestrange.

‘You look amazing,’ Lina said.

Apparently, from her point of view, the vintage black dress wasn’t such a disaster after all. Bella wasn’t so sure. Truth be told, she had always had a rather odd taste in clothes.

Rod said nothing, staring fixedly out of the window. Bella nudged him with her elbow.

‘Hi. How were your holidays?’

‘Bloody awful,’ he muttered, getting to his feet and stepping over other people’s legs to leave the compartment.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked Evan Rosier.

‘Oh,’ Evan said with a dismissive wave of his hand, ‘worked all summer.’

‘I thought he’d be used to that by now …’

Everyone knew Rod and his elder brother, Rabastan, had a rather eccentric father. The hardships of wartime had marked his own childhood, and he was convinced that children should be hardened to life from the earliest age. Every summer, while other pupils enjoyed their holidays, Rod and Rabastan were put to work packing parcels at the Owl Post Office or shelving books in Flourish and Blotts. Their father claimed it would prepare them for adulthood and let them earn pocket money, since, naturally, he didn’t give them any. Things only improved in August, when they went to their mother’s estate and could at last enjoy a little peace.

‘This time was utter rubbish ‘cause he was working for his own dad,’ Evan said.

Bella slouched back in her seat, slipped off her shoes and plonked her stockinged feet on Evan’s knees. Druella hated it when the two of them got this casual, cousins as they were. Cousinage est un dangereux voisinage, she always said. Bella almost wished her mother could see her now; it would drive her mad.

‘Where was he working? The solicitor’s office?’

‘Nah. Election campaign.’

Bella knew all about this year’s Wizengamot election. She was the only one in the family to actually read the Daily Prophet’s front page. Her father went straight for the back pages with short stories, crosswords, and tips on magical plants. Her mother couldn’t care less about politics, though even she’d heard about the election. That summer, you couldn’t walk down Diagon Alley without drowning in campaign posters and calls to vote for one candidate or another.

‘The Knights of Walpurgis didn’t get to run, did they?’

‘’Course not. Some of the signatures on their nomination papers were fake.’

‘Not exactly a shock.’

‘Yeah, but the thing is, they really were fake, because Rod, who’d been collecting them, didn’t check the signers’ Apparition licences.’

‘Yikes … that’s a disaster.’

‘You’re telling me. His dad chucked the papers in his face and called him a total moron for making life that easy for the Ministry. Imagine how happy they were not to have to invent an excuse to throw the thing out! They haven’t spoken since.’

‘Poor guy.’

‘Wouldn’t be half as bad if Rod wasn’t killing himself to prove he’s not a failure. Me? I don’t even try. And guess what – no one gives me grief.’

‘Yeah, because we’d all be old and grey before you ever did anything,’ Lina said. ‘Who promised to help me with my herbarium and didn’t lift a finger all summer?’

‘That’s your project, not mine,’ Evan said. ‘Sis, you’re supposed to be learning for yourself. If you’re always leaning on other people …’

‘Oh, shove it!’ Lina threw a magazine at him.

The compartment door slid open, and Narcissa appeared, followed by Lucius Malfoy, a blond fifth-year. She dropped into a seat with a groan.

‘I’ve nearly gone mad today!’

‘I thought you’d cramp up from all that smiling,’ Bella said.

‘I need a drink tonight,’ Narcissa announced, crossing one leg over the other to show off her slim knees. ‘I’ve earned it.’

‘Oh no!’ Evan gasped. ‘Cissy, tell me you’re not going to drink alcohol! I’m sure that’s your dreadful big sister’s bad influence.’

‘We’ll see who gets drunk first,’ Bella said. The next moment, she squealed with laughter as Evan started tickling the soles of her feet.

The train rattled on, wheels clacking over the rails. Lucius, wearing a faintly superior smile, was telling everyone about his summer in Germany with his father. They’d gone on frightfully important business, the sort he wasn’t at liberty to discuss. He clearly expected someone to press him for details, but nobody did.

Later, Rod came back. He seemed calmer now. Dropping into the seat beside Bella, he began showing her photographs he’d taken over the summer while staying with his father in Derbyshire: ducks flapping their wings as they flew to roost; a dog running through a field, bouncing comically in the tall grass; a broomstick leaning forgotten against a stone fence. There were plenty of photos, but they were all of animals and landscapes.

‘Don’t you ever photograph people?’

‘If as much as someone’s shadow falls across the picture, I’ll be burned alive along with the camera,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘And honestly, that wouldn’t be so bad.’

***

That evening, the Sorting seemed to drag on forever. Golden plates gleamed under the light of hundreds of candles, and the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall had deepened to a dusky blue, with the first stars beginning to appear. Bella’s thoughts kept drifting to the bottles of Firewhisky hidden in Evan Rosier’s trunk. When would the feast start? She needed a proper meal first, otherwise she’d be drunk in no time …

‘Staunton, Ann!’

‘Oh, look, there’s another Muggle-born,’ muttered Ted Wilkes.

‘You can always tell Muggles by the shape of their nails,’ Timothy Avery declared. ‘My dad says so. Or by the smell.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ Evan said, pulling a face.

‘There are more of them this year, haven’t you noticed?’ Ted went on. ‘Nearly a third of the first-years.’

‘Too many,’ Bella agreed, recalling the children she’d seen on the platform.

‘This is just the beginning,’ Ted said darkly. ‘In seven years, all those Muggle-borns will graduate and start taking our jobs.’

It wasn’t an idle gripe; Wilkes was genuinely worried. Some families had wealth and connections; others didn’t. Ted’s mother was a Medwitch at St Mungo’s, raising him on her own. He wouldn’t be left to fend for himself, because Slytherin graduates always looked out for their own, but even so …

‘I just don’t get where they’re all coming from. Some Muggle epidemics or something?’

‘The Ministry’s just letting more of them in now,’ Rodolphus said, with the weary expression of someone who’d spent all summer repeating himself while handing out leaflets to potential voters. ‘Politics. They used to send Hogwarts letters to the most talented. Now it’s anyone and everyone. The Ministry wants obedient sheep, that’s all there is to it.’

Up at the staff table, a chair scraped as the Deputy Headmaster rose to make his speech. Headmaster Dippet had lately taken little interest in the running of the school; leadership had passed entirely to “young Dumbledore”, as people still called him out of habit. Nearly ninety now, he was still considered a young man, at least compared with Professor Binns.

‘If he becomes Headmaster, this place’ll be crawling with Muggles,’ Avery muttered. ‘He loves them – practically snogs them.’

Dumbledore began to speak. Bella was starving, and everything was starting to get on her nerves. She closed her eyes, picturing the bottles of Firewhisky waiting somewhere in the dark. The sharp, oily burn on her tongue, the molten heat sliding down her throat … a healing draught of sorts, one that let you forget everything for a while.

Chapter Text

‘If there are no further questions, we’ll move on to –’

Bella raised her hand before Professor Lyons could finish. His magnificent mane of silver hair – the only leonine thing about him – trembled in irritation.

‘What is it, Miss Black?’

‘Professor, I’d like to know why you gave my essay a “Poor”. I think that’s unfair.’

The handful of students present – only four seventh-years were taking the subject – watched her with interest, clearly expecting a scene. Bella and the Muggle Studies teacher had disliked each other from day one. Last year, their mutual antipathy had escalated when Lyons pushed for her expulsion after she’d yawned in his lesson (true, she hadn’t slept well the night before). When the Headmaster asked why she’d been so rude, Bella had answered truthfully: she’d been bored. The row that followed had been spectacular.

Lyons sighed, leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers.

‘Why do you think your grade was unfair?’

‘Because I worked on that essay all summer and read an enormous amount for it. “Poor” doesn’t reflect the effort I put in.’

‘I’m not saying you didn’t work hard. But your paper rests on faulty premises. You’ve cherry-picked only the facts that support your argument and ignored the rest. For instance, your claim that Muggles are mass murderers by nature is an unsubstantiated prejudice.’

‘Really? About a hundred and ten million people dead in wars in the twentieth century alone, that’s prejudice in your book?’

‘Yes, the number is large,’ Lyons said indulgently, ‘but you’re ignoring the fact that there are a great many Muggles. As a proportion of their population, it’s only a few per cent.’

‘So, if Muggles kill millions, but there is still plenty left, then everything’s fine?’

‘Of course not! In an ideal world, there would be no killings at all. But we live in the real one, Miss Black. Muggles themselves recognise they’re on the wrong path. They’ve founded the United Nations, signed treaties limiting nuclear weapons… What can we boast of?’

‘Let me guess – we don’t wipe out a few per cent of our population on a whim?’

‘I might remind you of the war with Grindelwald,’ Lyons said, smiling as he savoured her discomfort. ‘Hasn’t Professor Binns told you the death toll? Work it out as a proportion of the total wizarding population, and you’ll be shocked.’

‘Dragging every argument back to Grindelwald is a cheap trick,’ Bella muttered.

She was furious with herself. Lyons had trapped her like a child.

‘Very well, let’s leave Grindelwald out of it,’ the teacher said, with infuriating condescension. ‘In the last five hundred years, the magical world has seen several major conflicts, the destruction of entire families in the Goblin Rebellions, the reckless slaughter of magical creatures … We’re no less prone to violence than Muggles, only the scale is different.’

‘Exactly! The scale is different! There are so few of us that the death of even one wizard is too many. That’s why the Grindelwald war was such a shock. But Muggles are so used to their numbers that they think nothing of killing a few million of their own …’

‘Our own, Miss Black. Muggles and wizards alike belong to the species Homo sapiens.’

‘I don’t think so. I think we’re different. And when a species that exterminates its surplus members gets into our world, it brings its habits with it …’

‘We’ve had this debate before,’ Lyons cut in. ‘Muggles do not get into our world, that’s inaccurate. It’s Muggle-born witches and wizards who enter the magical community, and they have the same right to be here as you do.’

‘Not the same.’

‘That’s not for you to decide, Miss Black.’

‘Why not? I’m part of this world. I was born a witch!’

‘So were they, believe it or not. And if we compare grades in magical subjects, some of them have better results than you. The question is, who is more worthy to be named a witch?’

Bella almost choked with outrage.

‘Do you think it all comes down to grades?’

‘Not just grades, of course. School is only the beginning of life’s journey. There are professional achievements, creative contributions… But as a general principle, it does.’

‘So only the best in their field deserve to call themselves witches and wizards, is that it?’

‘I never said that,’ Lyons replied, realising too late that he’d gone too far. Bella pounced at once.

‘In that case, you could be replaced by any Muggle. They know Muggle Studies better than you. At the very least, they’re practitioners, not theorists.’

‘This… this…’ Lyons spluttered. ‘Miss Black, that’s outrageous! I wasn’t attacking you personally.’

‘Didn’t you just say that some Muggle-borns are more worthy of being called witches than I am?’

‘I didn’t mean you specifically! It was a general remark.’

‘Oh, I see. When you insult me, it’s a “general remark”. When I –’

Lyons was breathing heavily now, one hand pressed to his chest.

‘Miss Black, I refuse to continue in this tone. Please leave the classroom.’

‘Why should I leave?’

‘I SAID, GET OUT!’

His face had turned beetroot-red, his lips bluish and trembling, flecks of spit flying from his mouth. When he fell silent, the room was so still that the faint buzzing of a fly battering itself against the windowpane could be heard.

‘Please,’ Lyons murmured weakly, gesturing towards the students. ‘Water…’

A Ravenclaw boy leapt to his feet, conjured a glass, and filled it with water using Aguamenti. The others sat watching Bella with open interest.

‘Are you still here?’ Lyons asked faintly, his hand still pressed to his chest.

‘I’m going,’ Bella muttered, sweeping her things into her bag. The blood was pounding so loudly in her ears that she barely heard whether Lyons said anything else. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she strode out and slammed the door behind her.

***

Of course, she knew this quarrel wouldn’t simply blow over. The only pity was having to waste such a fine September evening on a summons to the Headmaster’s office. The script was one she knew by heart: Lyons would complain first, then Dippet would launch into his usual lecture, and finally she’d be handed yet another pointless punishment, costing her several more pleasant evenings. If she’d been a boy, she’d simply have been given a few strokes of the cane – it would have saved everyone a great deal of time. But at Hogwarts, they thought girls required a more diplomatic approach.

This evening, however, things took an unexpected turn. Dippet must genuinely have been unwell, because instead of the Headmaster’s office, she was called to the Transfiguration classroom on the third floor.

‘Good evening, Bella!’ Dumbledore greeted her warmly as she came in. ‘I’m very pleased to see you. How was your summer?’

‘Fine. Professor, could we go straight to the point?’

‘I can see you’re in a hurry. May I at least offer you a cup of tea?’

She shrugged and sat down without waiting for an invitation, but caught, out of the corner of her eye, the fact that Dumbledore had left the door half-open. A wizard of the old school, he never allowed himself to be alone with a young lady behind closed doors.

A few brisk flicks of his wand, and a silver tray appeared on the desk, complete with a jug of milk, jam, and little cakes. Dumbledore poured the tea into porcelain cups with practised ease.

‘Thank you,’ she said reluctantly, taking one of the cakes. It smelled good, and dinner was still a long way off …

‘Do help yourself. They’re from the village where I spent my childhood. Quite delicious. Every time I’m in that part of the country, I buy a couple of boxes.’

Bella’s hand froze mid-air with the half-bitten cake.

‘It’s not Muggle-made, is it?’

‘No,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘The cakes are from a wizarding bakery. Can’t you tell from the taste?’

She sighed.

‘I can’t. What exactly are you trying to tell me by this, Professor? That a cake is a cake, whoever bakes it; tea is tea, clothes are clothes, a home is a home; Muggles and wizards alike are made of flesh and bone, with the same red blood in our veins; that we all feel pain, sorrow, joy, love, therefore we’re all the same and ought to understand one another, love will conquer all, blah, blah, blah?’

Dumbledore stared at her in astonishment for a few seconds, then laughed.

‘Bella, you are a remarkable student. No one else could spin an entire theory from a single small cake.’

‘It’s not hard,’ she replied, finishing it and reaching for another. Cakes were good, and she was hungry. ‘I’ve heard it all so often I can recite it without thinking. So, if you’re planning to persuade me to love Muggles, I can save you the trouble, sir.’

‘And who said I was going to persuade you?’

‘Isn’t that your job?’

‘No, Bella. I teach Transfiguration, not rhetoric.’

‘You’re also a member of the Wizengamot …’

‘You do me too much honour by taking such an interest in my career. But very well, let’s not beat about the bush. I have a proposal for you. Would you like two extra free hours each week, to use for N.E.W.T. preparation, or simply to rest?’

She hadn’t expected that at all. Her hands clenched into fists.

‘Do you mean you want me to drop Muggle Studies? No! I’ve put years into it. I want to take the N.E.W.T. Is Lyons pushing for this?’

‘I won’t deny that Professor Lyons has a certain prejudice against you,’ Dumbledore conceded. ‘But I’m not asking you to give up the subject, only to study it on your own. You’re quite capable; your essay shows as much. Yes, I read it, and I have plenty of comments, but you clearly worked hard. To spare both you and Professor Lyons the strain, I suggest you skip his classes for the rest of the year and prepare for the exam independently.’

‘Are you worried Professor Lyons will drop dead next time we argue? Don’t be. It’s all theatre. He clutches his chest every time he can’t think of a reply. Nothing will happen to him.’

‘I’m less concerned about Professor Lyons’s state of mind – though naturally that too – than I am about yours, Bella,’ Dumbledore said gently.

‘Why should you be?’ she demanded, her tone defiant. ‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Tell me, why did you choose Muggle Studies in the first place, back in your third year?’

‘Because you should know your enemy,’ she said firmly.

‘Exactly my point. You are seeing enemies everywhere, Bella. Your world is a battlefield, where everyone is either an ally or a threat,’ Dumbledore said gravely, peering at her over his odd half-moon spectacles. ‘You’re always on edge, ready to attack or defend. It must be exhausting. I’d like to give you a little peace, if I can.’

Now he was prying into her state of mind. Everyone – from her mother to her teachers – seemed to think it was their duty to set her straight.

‘Professor, why don’t you just give me my punishment so I can go?’

‘There will be no punishment.’

‘Then I’ll go anyway,’ she said, getting to her feet.

Dumbledore rose at once.

‘Thank you for the talk,’ he said politely, opening the door for her – not that it had been shut in the first place. ‘In any case, try to rest a little, won’t you?’

‘I’m not tired,’ she shot back and left.

***

Rest, however, did find her. In mid-September, a notice appeared on the common-room board announcing a Hogsmeade weekend.

It had rained all week, but the skies cleared just in time for Saturday. They could have gone to Honeydukes or the Three Broomsticks, but after so many years, those places had lost their charm; it hardly seemed worth wasting the day there. Instead, their little group decided on a picnic at the edge of the village, on a small, wooded hill. After a short search, they found a pleasant clearing, lit a fire, and began roasting sausages.

The air was crisp, and the blackcurrant liqueur sent a gentle warmth through their veins. Rodolphus Lestrange had vanished somewhere along the way, leaving six of them on the hill. Bella was cutting sprigs of hawthorn bright with red berries and trying to weave them into a wreath. Progress was slow, even with a wand. Meanwhile, Lucius was magnanimously allowing the girls to experiment on him. He had grown his hair long of late, and now Lina and Narcissa amused themselves by arranging it into elaborate styles, fastening it with ribbons and coloured clips.

The air was so clear they could pick out every detail for miles: the dark rooftops of Hogsmeade, the owls winging towards the post office, the faint smoke drifting up from kitchen chimneys. The lake glittered so fiercely in the sunlight that it made their eyes ache.

Evan was idly strumming his guitar.

‘Let’s sing,’ he called to Bella.

‘What?’

‘The sad one,’ Ted Wilkes suggested.

‘All right …’

The “sad one” was an old ballad Bella had learnt a few years earlier. Rosier began to pick out the first melancholy notes. Even in bright sunshine, the tune seemed to carry a quiet foreboding. The strings murmured with a faint rustle like fallen leaves underfoot; then the bass notes came in, rich and velvety, giving her cue to sing.

As I was walkin’ all alane …

Bella liked that line especially. She always paused at the end, letting the “alane” hang in the air. For a heartbeat, it was as if that were the end. Nothing else would follow, and the unknown walker would wander the heather moors alone, until he returned home in peace. But she knew, and they all knew, that the moment was gone, and here it came:

I heard twa corbies makin’ a mane …

From that instant, nothing could be undone; misfortune had entered the world. All that remained was to walk towards whatever waited ahead:

The tane unto the t’other say,
“Where shall we gang and dine the day?”

“In behind yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair …”

Evan’s playing broke off abruptly, and Bella, puzzled, fell silent too. Someone was coming up the winding path from the foot of the hill. It was Rodolphus. About a hundred yards away, he stopped and waved. Evan rose to his feet.

‘Time to go,’ he said.

Chapter Text

Everyone bustled about, gathering up dishes and blankets. They all came down the hill to Hogsmeade together, but once in the village, Lina and Narcissa announced they would rather go to Honeydukes. It was hard to say whether they genuinely weren’t interested or simply didn’t want to be drawn into something dubious.

Bella went with the boys. She didn’t know exactly where they were headed, but she could guess why, and with every step, her anticipation grew. After wandering between neat little houses, they slipped into an unremarkable yard behind a greengrocer’s shop. The alley was deserted; all Hogsmeade seemed to be dozing, savouring the last of the autumn warmth.

Rod opened a door to reveal a perfectly ordinary hallway. A worn rug covered the flagstone floor, and a row of pots filled with ferns stood beside a mirror. A wizard she didn’t know met them on the threshold. Try as she might, Bella couldn’t make out his face, which meant he was using a Distraction Charm.

‘Wands here,’ he ordered, and pointed to a large box. Then he carefully checked each of them with a Secrecy Sensor before allowing them upstairs.

The first floor held a spacious room, papered in an old-fashioned floral print and crammed with mismatched chairs. It was already full. Apart from their group, almost all the Slytherins from sixth and fifth year had come, along with a few Ravenclaws and about a dozen older boys who had already left Hogwarts. Bella was the only girl in the room.

Despite the crowd, the atmosphere was strangely hushed. If anyone spoke, it was in whispers. A cat was dozing on one of the chairs; Bella sat down beside it. Nearby, Lucius was fussing with the picnic basket, trying to shove it under his chair. There was a ripple of laughter behind him. Evan clapped him on the shoulder and pointed out the ribbons and hairclips Lucius had forgotten to remove. Blushing scarlet, he hastily began tugging them from his hair.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something—or for someone. Suddenly, the door opened, and two wizards came in. One of them might have been the guard from downstairs, or perhaps not; under the Distraction Charm, it was impossible to focus on their features for more than a second. Quickly and methodically, they cast Imperturbable Charms on the windows, walls and ceiling, then took up identical positions on either side of the door, hands clasped in front of them.

Rod waited by the door as well. Bella noticed the tension in his posture. The arrival of the final guest, however, completely escaped her. There was no crack of Apparition, no green flare in the fireplace. One instant, the space in the middle of the room was empty, and the next, a man was standing there, slowly peeling off a pair of black gloves.

***

Even if Bella hadn’t yet guessed who she was here to meet, the reaction of the others would have made it obvious now. Everyone who’d been sitting sprang to their feet at once. Chairs scraped across the floor. The cat, startled by the sudden noise, shot from her place like a streak of lightning and hid under an armchair by the window. Rod, who was standing closest, dropped to one knee, kissed the stranger’s hand, then took his coat and gloves.

The newcomer waved a hand for them to sit.

‘Enough of the ceremony,’ he said. ‘We haven’t much time.’

Bella drank him in as hungrily as she had ever looked at anyone. Of course, only babies hadn’t heard of him. But it was one thing to see blurred photographs in the Daily Prophet or read descriptions painting him as something between a werewolf and a madman, and quite another to see him in the flesh, and at such close quarters.

The first thing that struck her was how handsome he was. His looks were dazzling. There was nothing feminine in his features, no softness, no fragility, yet neither did they have the usual harshness of a man’s face. Soft and hard, alluring and repellent, no human word quite fitted that impossibly perfect face. He could have been a god of ancient Greece, descended from Olympus on a whim to walk among mortals.

The newcomer spoke quickly, clearly and precisely, looking each listener in the eye. Apart from his voice, there was no sound in the room; it was as if everyone held their breath in his presence.

‘So, this summer, we lost the election. You all know that …’

Bella glanced at Rod. He stood behind the Dark Lord in silence, eyes lowered, but the pallor of his face and the bite marks on his lower lip betrayed how raw the subject still was for him.

‘To be honest, we expected nothing else. Whatever we did, there wasn’t the faintest chance they’d let us into the Wizengamot.’

Rod let out a faint breath. Bella saw a touch of colour return to his cheeks. Clearly, he’d been bracing for a veiled reproach, and instead had received something like forgiveness.

‘You might ask why we did it at all. Why go through all that effort, all those humiliating new conditions? Just to get two or three of our supporters into the Wizengamot? Was it worth it? Bloody hell, of course it wasn’t!’

It was so unexpected that Bella nearly jumped. Judging by the sounds around her, she wasn’t the only one. It was almost unbelievable that he should swear, yet it instantly made him seem human, as if until now he’d been a figure in a painting and had suddenly stepped out of it, flesh and blood.

‘So, who was it for?’ The Dark Lord began to tick off each point with a light tap of his toe on the floor. ‘For the moss-backed bureaucrats in the Ministry? For that pack of fat cats in the Wizengamot? Or for the dried-up mummy of the Minister Eugenia–Nobody–Wants–to–Shag–Her–Jenkins?’

The audience broke into laughter and applause. The Dark Lord looked at Bella and, to her astonishment, addressed her directly.

‘Forgive me, my dear,’ he said, looking her straight in the eyes. ‘I was a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I… erm…’ She was so taken aback that she stumbled over the words, acutely aware of every eye on her. ‘Of course not!’

‘Thank you,’ he said gravely. ‘I’ll mind my language in the lady’s presence from now on. So, are we doing this for the Minister Eugenia–I–Shan’t–Repeat–What–I–Just–Called–Her–Jenkins? No! Then for whom or for what are we doing it? What do you think?’

A few hands went up. It was like a school lesson, but a strange one, the sort where you were allowed everything a normal teacher would never permit.

‘You!’ The Dark Lord pointed at a Ravenclaw boy. He sprang to his feet.

‘To set a precedent, so they can’t refuse us on some made-up excuse –’

‘No,’ the Dark Lord cut him off before he could finish. ‘The Ministry will refuse anyway. Other ideas?’

Before she knew it, Bella had raised her hand. He nodded to her, and she leapt up.

‘For ordinary wizards,’ she said, her voice pitched unusually high with excitement. ‘They may not care about politics, but they’ll still have heard something about the election. It matters to them to know the Knights of Walpurgis respect the law and use legal means.’

‘Bravo!’ The Dark Lord clapped sharply. ‘Exactly! Yes, we do this for ordinary wizards. For those who’ve grown used to their opinion meaning nothing, to their word counting for nothing, to their worries mattering to no one. For those who are forced into silence…’

A sharp sweep of his hand punctuated each sentence.

‘For those raised in slavish obedience. For those taught from the cradle to make themselves invisible. For those who skulk from Muggles like rats into their holes. For those thrown into Azkaban for the slightest offence. For those with less freedom than wild beasts. At least, beasts can run where they please, while we are penned into hidden scraps of land!’

Bella drank in every word. In front of her, Wilkes was gnawing at his nails, never taking his eyes off the Dark Lord.

‘We must be their voice,’ the Dark Lord went on, his tone now lower, heavier, like the growl of waves pounding on rock. ‘Wizards are weak and cowardly; they cannot speak for themselves. But they are our people, our flesh and blood. We exist to be their words, their hands, their hearts. That is why we set an example, why we beat our heads against the stone wall, why we defy the Ministry, why we challenge the Wizengamot. However much they oppress us, we will not retreat. We will never stop!’

Bella stole a glance around. Dozens of eyes were fixed on him. Gooseflesh prickled along her arms.

‘The Ministry will do anything to strip wizards of their voice,’ he continued. ‘Instead, it drags in more Mudbloods to be its obedient soldiers. The Ministry lies to everyone, claiming Muggle-borns are just the same as we are!’

Bella clenched her hands. It was as if he were reading her thoughts, voicing the very argument she’d had with Professor Lyons only days ago.

‘Many worthy wizards,’ the Dark Lord said with disdain, ‘still harbour the illusion that if we greet Mudbloods with kindness, if we teach them our ways, they will in time become just like us. It is a vile, disgusting lie. THEY ARE NOT HUMAN!’

‘True! That’s right!’ Ted Wilkes shouted, then subsided, abashed.

‘Don’t be shy!’ the Dark Lord said approvingly. ‘Yes, Mudbloods are abominations, a mistake of nature, neither Muggle nor wizard. Cunning and sly, they have only reason, while we have intellect. They can pretend to be human, but inside them lies the urge to destroy and corrupt. Do you know the Muggles themselves fear and hate the Mudbloods? Do you think they burned them for centuries for no reason? That is why the Mudbloods strain every nerve to please the Muggles. They are the vanguard, forcing their way into our world to bring their masters after them. Why? To kill, that’s why! To enslave, that’s why! To rape, that’s why! To kill our souls before they kill our bodies!’

His voice was ragged with fury.

‘The Ministry wants us, in the end, to become the Muggles’ tools, their slaves, their instruments for waging war more efficiently, killing more effectively. Our men will be their soldiers! Our women will bear their brats! A Muggle-lover runs Hogwarts – why? Because slaves do not need an education! All they require is a few simple spells, enough to obey the orders of their Muggle master! Is that what you want?’

‘No!’ Bella shouted at the top of her voice, elated to hear others take up her cry. ‘No!’

‘But tell me who is our true enemy? The Mudbloods? The Muggles? Wrong!’

He snatched out his wand and swept it through the air. A blazing green word flared before them:

FEAR

It was followed at once by others, hanging in the air and bathing their faces in an unearthly light:

WEAKNESS
SLAVERY

‘Ourselves,’ the Dark Lord said, and the quiet words crashed like thunder after the storm of shouting. ‘We are our own worst enemies, because we are weak. What should we do? How do we clear the mess we’ve inherited? We did not create the Statute of Secrecy. We did not draw the noose that strangles anyone who dares to want freedom. But what are we to do about it?’

He swept his wand again, and the words in the air shifted, reshaping themselves into others:

COURAGE
STRENGTH
FREEDOM

‘We have only one road ahead of us,’ the Dark Lord’s gaze travelled slowly around the room. ‘It is the road our ancestors once abandoned through cowardice. We did not choose it, but now we must walk it. It is our burden, our duty, our mission. But we can bear this heavy load. I know it because I have walked this path for many years.’

Though his voice was calm, it thrummed with a barely contained passion.

‘Do you think I’ve never been afraid on this path? I was scared shi –’ He broke off mid-word, flicking a glance at Bella. ‘– Terrified,’ he amended quickly.

A ripple of laughter passed through the room.

‘You must understand,’ the Dark Lord said, his tone sharpening, ‘that our enemies know nothing of human feeling. They are incapable of pity and honour. There is no cruelty beyond their reach.’

Those who had been laughing fell silent. A chill crept over Bella’s skin.

‘I am scared,’ said the Dark Lord, ‘because I am human. I feel pain because I am human. I feel bitterness because I am human, and I watch my countrymen selling their freedom for scraps from the Ministry’s table. But there is only one way to master fear: stand up and fight.’

‘I have come here because you are the future,’ he went on, speaking now as if it were life and death to make them hear him. ‘I need those who have not yet learned to fear. Yes, my road is no stroll in the park. It is a damned hard road, and an easy one to die on. What did you expect? To follow me is to give up your life, to look death in the face, to long for it, to live it, to breathe it…’

The silence in the room was absolute.

‘In return, you will gain a prize greater than any other: a meaningful life and freedom stronger than death.’

He fell silent. For a moment, it seemed that was the end. But then Ted Wilkes, with a crash of his chair, sprang to his feet.

‘We stand with you!’ he shouted.

The room exploded. Voices rose in a dozen shouts at once. Bella’s chest ached with a sweetness edged with pain. Somewhere deep inside, she knew there would never be greater happiness.

After that, everyone spoke at once, flinging questions, reaching towards the Dark Lord, each desperate to be heard. Bella felt as if she had just stepped from a dungeon into the open air, drained to the bone, yet happy. When, at last, she followed the others to take her leave, she dropped to her knees for the first time in her life and kissed the cool hand with its heavy black ring. Her cheeks burned, and even had she wished to speak, no words would have come.

Then, quite suddenly, the Dark Lord was gone. There was no green flare, no crack of Disapparition. It seemed the night had fallen in the room, though the autumn sunlight still poured through the window. Surrounded by so many people, Bella felt an abrupt loneliness and was chilled to the bones in the warmth of the room.

The cat, which had at last ventured from its hiding place, sprang onto the windowsill and began to wash itself.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

26th August 1970

At the end of June, Bella came home from Hogwarts for the last time, with her graduation certificate and a half-empty suitcase. Unlike Cissy, she never hauled around much clothing, nor did she hoard stacks of books like Andromeda. She preferred to travel light and to be free of unnecessary clutter.

Her mother was waiting eagerly at home. As it turned out, she had grand plans for Bella. Now that her eldest daughter had come of age, Druella was quite ready to fulfil her maternal duty – namely, to extract from Bella all the advantage she could.

On the very first day, Druella whisked her off to the seamstress to order new dresses. Bella didn’t object: all her thoughts were on finding the right moment to talk to her mother about matters of real importance. After the seamstress, they stopped in at a sweet shop. Druella nudged her towards the counter.

‘Pretend you’re choosing something… Gulping gargoyles, not that!’ She snatched a box of Alihotsy-flavoured fudge from Bella’s hands. ‘His grandmother died of an Alihotsy allergy – they never touch the stuff!’

‘Who are “they”? Whose grandmother? Could you please explain what’s going on?’

Druella waved her hand, irritated.

‘Leopold Tuft’s mother was in here just now. We’re going to theirs tomorrow. I wanted her to see that you make your choices carefully… and you grabbed the first thing you saw!’

‘I don’t even eat sweets – I don’t care what I take! Who are the Tufts?’ Bella was certain she’d heard the name somewhere. ‘Why are we going to see them?’

‘You probably don’t remember Leopold. He was in Ravenclaw, four years above you. He is a very serious and clever boy, working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation. His grandmother and father were both Ministers for Magic. With a family like that, he’s bound to go far!’

‘Mother!’ Bella didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. ‘You want to introduce me to Leopold Tuft? Why?’

She tried to recall the boy, but all that came to mind was that his ears stuck out.

‘Because you need to think about your future,’ Druella said with significance. ‘You need a reliable, promising husband. At your age, I was already engaged.’

‘Only because Dad was afraid to say no to you… I don’t want to get married.’

‘Merlin’s pants!’ Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘First of all, no one says you have to marry straight after school. These days, nobody does that. Second, no one has proposed to you yet. And with that temper, they never will!’

‘Good for them. Because I have other plans,’ Bella said, stepping out into the street with the box of fudge she’d bought anyway. ‘I’m going to serve the Dark Lord.’

‘Keep your voice down!’ Druella hissed, glancing around. ‘There are people everywhere. What do you mean, “serve”? Have you gone mad?’

‘It’s my choice,’ Bella said with dignity, ‘and I’m not going back on it.’

‘It’s your folly! I knew you’d get these ridiculous notions! Forget it at once!’

‘Why?’

Druella stopped dead in the middle of the street, so furious she no longer noticed the people around them.

‘Because it’s no place for a girl from a respectable family! Those Knights of Walpurgis could be in Azkaban any day now! Playing at politics never did anyone any good! So what if my own brother’s involved? That’s his problem if he’s no sense in his head. But I will not have you going to their meetings, rubbing shoulders with werewolves and Merlin knows what else! Do you think I went through all that, bringing you up, staying awake night after night, only for you to end up in prison?’

‘Mother, you’ve always slept perfectly well.’

‘Don’t you dare talk back to me!’

People nearby edged out of their way.

‘Don’t think for a moment I’m going to listen to this nonsense!’ Druella concluded sharply. ‘Tomorrow we’re going to the Tufts.’

‘Don’t think for a moment I’m going to listen to your nonsense,’ Bella shot back. ‘Tomorrow I’m not going anywhere.’

***

From that day on, she didn’t get a moment’s peace. If Druella wasn’t hauling her off to meet yet another ‘suitable young man’, she was shouting or sneering. Once she realised that mocking the Dark Lord got a much bigger rise out of Bella than making fun of her directly, she switched her aim to him instead.

‘I was at school with him, you know. Believe me, I know exactly what sort he is! Straining every sinew just to scrape together a shred of respect. A penniless upstart, a bastard, a liar! I wouldn’t trust him for a Knut …’

Bella would clap her hands over her ears rather than listen. Luckily, her mother never tried to force her. She’d been wary of her eldest ever since the day Bella, aged six, had faced a whipping for disobedience – and, looking her mother dead in the eye, had said with absolute certainty, ‘I’ll kill you.’ Druella had believed her. After that, she stuck to barbed remarks where Bella was concerned, though she still kept her other two daughters in an iron grip.

Whenever the two of them clashed, the rest of the family tiptoed about, hoping to go unnoticed. Bella’s father barely left the greenhouse. At the sound of footsteps, he’d shrink into his chair until the moonflowers hid him completely.

Still, by the end of July, Bella had had enough. She waited until her mother was out, then threw her clothes into a suitcase, carefully packed her box of potion ingredients, her set of knives and her scales, and walked out without telling anyone where she was going.

Truth be told, she didn’t know it herself. She’d never been friends with other girls. The only person she felt any real connection with was Evan Rosier, but he still lived with his parents, and Bella wasn’t in the mood to put up with any more adults.

There was only one option left. After half an hour picking her way through the maze of back alleys off Knockturn Alley, she found the building and climbed the narrow stairs to the attic. The stairwell stank of cat urine and was so narrow that if anyone had been coming down, they’d never have squeezed past. Her levitating suitcase kept bumping into the walls.

The doors here had no numbers, but she recognised the one she wanted by the drawing of a Horklump – a pink, bristly mushroom philosophically devouring earthworms it extracted from the soil with long, sinewy tentacles. She knocked, and Rod Lestrange opened the door, shirtless and half-asleep.

‘Hi,’ he said with a yawn.

‘Hi,’ said Bella, setting her suitcase down. ‘I’m staying here for a bit, all right?’

‘Uh… okay,’ he said, still looking stunned, and stepped aside to let her in.

***

Rod had his mother to thank for the attic flat. She was the one who’d given him the money for the rent after he’d finally fallen out with his father.

‘Why don’t you live with her? She’s got a big estate,’ Bella asked, as they sat by the open window with tea and sandwiches.

Outside stretched a patchwork sea of Knockturn Alley rooftops, as far as the eye could see. The place was teeming with life; not even the rain and slick tiles stopped the locals from darting about the roofs as if they were paved streets. Some of the locals hadn’t set foot on the ground in years; their whole lives played out up here.

‘We don’t really know each other that well,’ Rod said with a shrug. ‘Only saw each other now and then during the holidays. Honestly, she’s never been particularly fond of me. My brother gets on with her better.’

‘Where are your dogs? Didn’t you bring them?’ Bella asked, glancing round the tiny room, which held little more than a wooden bed, an old wardrobe, a table and two chairs. Behind a pair of side doors, a green-tinged claw-foot bath was snoring in its sleep.

‘Had to leave them at home,’ Rod said, sounding regretful.

‘Why?’

‘There’s nowhere to walk them here, and the place is crawling with gargoyles… Look, there’s one now.’ He pointed to a hunched stone figure on the edge of the nearest roof. Bella had thought it was just a statue–until, right before her eyes, it sprang to life, grabbed a pigeon stupid enough to land too close, and ate it, bones and all.

‘They’d be after the dogs all the time.’

Bella agreed it would be awful.

***

In the evening, as the red sun slipped behind the roofs, Knockturn Alley came alive for its own peculiar day. The narrow streets below blazed with light; music and singing drifted up from taverns and shops. But although Bella had left her old world behind, she hadn’t yet adjusted to the new one. She hovered between the two, lingering on the threshold. It was time to decide.

When Rod made up the bed for her and began settling himself on the floor for the night, Bella stopped him. She sat on the edge of the bed in a long nightdress, her hair in a plait. The shutters were closed; the room smelled pleasantly of wood and clean linen.

‘Have you ever had sex?’ she asked.

Rod dropped the pillow he was stuffing into its case. Bella watched, surprised, as his face turned scarlet.

‘Well… yes,’ he said, aiming for a casual tone, though his eyes stayed fixed on the pillow.

‘I haven’t,’ she said.

He made a small, non-committal sound.

‘I’d like us to have sex now.’

His blush deepened further.

‘Why?’

‘To piss off my mother. I want her to be utterly disappointed in me. I’m not going to be a respectable young lady who saves herself for a decent young man.’

‘I take it I don’t count as a decent young man,’ he said with a faint, crooked smile.

‘Of course not. My mother wouldn’t let you over the doorstep. She’s convinced your whole family are practically terrorists.’

‘She’s not the only one who thinks so.’

‘Well? What do you say?’ Bella pressed.

‘Merlin… fine, if you’re certain. Just – are you really sure about this?’

‘What’s there to think about?’

‘I mean, why me?’

‘Do you see anyone else here?’ she snapped.

Rod finally set down the wretched pillow.

‘All right… give me a moment.’

‘Fine.’

She left one candle burning and lay back, staring at the ceiling where shadows danced in the flickering light. Rod had almost certainly lied about having done it before; she could have guessed as much from the size of that Horklump on his door. Pure fantasy. Still, there was no one better around.

She was a little nervous herself, though in theory she knew exactly what to expect. Everyone did these days. They weren’t like her mother’s generation of hypocrites. Even so … Well, at least it shouldn’t take long.

She closed her eyes and waited.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Bella to realise that getting into the Dark Lord’s service wasn’t nearly as easy as she’d imagined. She’d asked her uncle, Colin Rosier, for help, and he’d even promised to put in a word for her. But over a month had gone by since then, and her uncle was forever “too busy”, fobbing her off with empty promises and ignoring her letters and Floo calls. Her anxiety grew by the day. What if the Dark Lord didn’t want her, and her uncle was keeping quiet so as not to upset her?

Not that she’d exactly been bored while she waited. She’d spent the whole time in the Knockturn Alley, where life was like nothing she’d ever known. The locals – the “night folk” – kept apart from the “day folk”, meaning the ordinary witches and wizards who worked at the Ministry, sent their children to Hogwarts, and read the Daily Prophet. This street and its warren of side alleys ran to the opposite rhythm: it slept through the morning and woke late in the evening. Space was in short supply, so everyone had learnt to live vertically. Rooftops doubled as roads, balconies as theatre boxes for the endless street spectacles, and, best of all, no one here cared in the least who she was.

In the back lanes, robes hung out to dry on ropes strung right over the pavement and enchanted never to sag in the rain. Their owners had no fear of theft: the garments could defend themselves and might well strangle a would-be thief. On one street corner, banned books were on sale. Bella was delighted at first, until she found out the real reason for the ban – the readers tended to die of boredom.

Shop windows displayed jars of shadows (labels cheerfully announcing: Fresh, collected today!) and stockings wrapped in black paper, charmed against the evil eye. Shadows were genuinely helpful: they kept you cool in hot weather and helped to go unnoticed in a crowd. If you were short on cash, you could even sell your shadow on the spot and make do without until a new one grew. The stockings, however, were so poorly made they unravelled not just under an evil eye, but at the very first glance.

This was the world Bella stepped into each day from the attic, usually to buy milk for pancakes (best not to ask what creature it came from). Pancakes were Rod’s domain; thanks to his eccentric upbringing, he knew how to do all sorts of things. Bella’s mother had once tried to teach her household skills, so she could one day be a proper mistress and manage the house-elves. But Bella had never shown the slightest talent or interest in cooking, let alone cleaning or any other drudgery, which she associated entirely with school punishments. Rod was a godsend in that respect – he could cook, knew the price of everything, and somehow managed not to spend all their money in one go.

Her mother, meanwhile, had not given up hope of getting her back and sent owls at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes they brought Howlers, vainly trying to shout down the racket of Knockturn Alley; sometimes there were long, tender letters in which Druella promised never to say another unkind word to her if only she came home. Now and then, there were letters from her father or sisters. Bella was sure they’d been dictated, with her mother checking every line. Even so, once she found a pencilled note in the corner of a letter from Narcissa: I envy you so much; another time, from Andromeda: Whatever happens, don’t come back.

From time to time, Evan Rosier dropped by, and the three of them had a marvellous time roaming the Knockturn Alley, playing poker, drinking cheap wine or having duels. Bella had always loved a good duel. She’d been sparring with Evan for as long as she could remember – first with sticks, when they were children, then properly with wands. The speed, the danger, the thrill — all of this gave her a true taste for life, and in those moments she felt most alive.

Rod never joined in; he wasn’t much of a fighter, truth be told. But as a companion, he suited Bella perfectly. He was easy-going, undemanding, and equally good for wandering the streets, talking nonsense, or simply keeping her company in silence. He had one infuriating habit of calling her “Beauty” – his translation of her short name into English – which drove her mad. But apart from that, he didn’t get in her way, and for a man, that was already quite something.

Besides, they were sleeping together, though Bella saw it more as an experiment. The first time hadn’t especially pleased her. Still, there hadn’t been much blood, and on the whole it had felt more peculiar than painful. Now she was exploring the subject further, wondering what exactly it was that sent people out of their minds. She liked cuddling in bed and kissing, and the sex itself was moderately enjoyable – less than a dance, a fight or a hot bath, but more than brushing her teeth. So, where was all that pleasure people never stopped talking about?

She was determined to find out. The thought of being frigid was dreadful – something from her mother’s era, when women were expected to lie still while a man did unspeakable things to them. Bella had made up her mind: she was going to reach orgasm, whatever it took. She just needed more practice.

***

On the whole, she and Rod got on well enough. That lasted until the beginning of August, when they had their first proper row. That evening, they were sitting by the open window, smoking and flicking ash onto the sill, where a cluster of Pygmy Puffs promptly devoured it. Evan Rosier had been with them earlier, but had left not long before.

‘Why did Evan say you “ought to be in Thornhall anyway”?’ Bella asked, recalling a scrap of their conversation. ‘Anyway – despite what?’

Rod grimaced.

‘Oh, nothing… The other day, an owl brought a letter from my father, inviting us both to dinner on Sunday. But I’ve already sent a note declining.’

‘Wait, you did what?’ she said, appalled.

‘I declined,’ he repeated, looking baffled. ‘I don’t want to go. I’ve no wish to see my father. So what?’

It was as if someone had thrown boiling water in her face. Did he truly not understand?

‘Are you serious? I’ve been waiting over a month for a chance to speak to anyone from the Knights of Walpurgis! Your father is the Dark Lord’s closest friend, his most trusted adviser! I need to meet him, and you just turned his invitation down? Just like that?

‘Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t speak to him at all. I know you’ve been trying to get into the organisation, that you wrote to old Rosier – but serving the Dark Lord isn’t women’s business.’

‘Oh, really?’ she said, her voice low and dangerous. ‘So in your opinion, women aren’t the same as men?’

‘I didn’t say that. It’s just – Beauty, listen –’

‘Don’t call me that!’

‘– you’ve no idea what you’re so desperate to get into. You think it’s all thrilling and romantic, but it’s a filthy business. You’d have to do things most people in their right minds wouldn’t touch.’

‘Like mixing with werewolves?’ she said, recalling her mother’s words.

He looked confused.

‘What’s that got to do with anything? And that’s nothing compared to what could happen.’

‘Then why did you take me to meet the Dark Lord last September?’

‘Because I was an idiot,’ he sighed. ‘I wanted to impress you.’

‘Well, you did. Now bear in mind: if you won’t help me, I’ll track him down myself.’

‘How?’ Rod gave a short laugh. ‘Do you think the Dark Lord’s address is listed in Who’s Who in Magical Britain?’

‘Don’t you worry – I’ll find a way!’ she snapped, stubbed out her cigarette and went into the bathroom. When she came out half an hour later with her hair wet, the room was dark, and Rod was pretending to be asleep. Bella lay down too, right on the far edge of the bed.

‘All right,’ she heard his voice in the darkness, ‘I’ve already written to my father to say I’ve changed my mind and we’ll come after all. Happy now? Will you stop being cross?’

‘Depends on how you act from now on,’ she said coolly, but shifted a little closer.

Chapter Text

Choosing an outfit for a visit to Rod’s father took her, surprisingly, no time at all. Once upon a time, it would have been sheer torture. Bella had neither Narcissa’s refined taste nor her unfailing instinct for what was appropriate, nor her knack of producing the perfect look for any occasion. Usually, she either grabbed the first thing at hand or else spent whole days rummaging through her wardrobe, only to end up with laughter behind her back — as on that wretched day at Platform 9 and 3/4.

Now, without house-elves at her disposal, things were much simpler: clean clothes equalled suitable clothes. Rod had taught her a few laundering charms, and Bella was rather proud of how well she’d mastered them, discounting the odd mishap. (How was she supposed to know you mustn’t wash black and white together?) That day, the only clean thing left was a teal silk dress – the one her mother had bought for a visit to the Tufts that had never happened. Sleeveless, with a sharply defined waist and a full skirt to the knee, it had been described by the dressmaker as having “an elegant, feminine silhouette.” Her mother would scarcely have believed her eyes to see Bella in something which, for once, didn’t resemble a sack.

Thornhall, the Lestranges’ place in the Derbyshire woods, was far busier than she’d expected. Bella had imagined a quiet family dinner; instead, there were at least thirty guests. The company was a mixed bag – older guests with their wives, a scattering of her former classmates, and a few, like Lucius Malfoy, who hadn’t yet graduated from school. She picked out Ted Wilkes, ill at ease in what was surely a rented suit; Evan Rosier, sporting a brightly patterned, loosely knotted neckerchief; and Tim Avery, constantly mopping his brow.

A broad-shouldered young man came over, a dark-haired girl on his arm. Striking cheekbones lent her face a faintly Asian look. They were Rod’s elder brother, Rabastan, and his girlfriend.

‘Hi.’ The girl tossed back a spill of curls and held out her hand. ‘I’m Elianta – Ella, for short.’

‘I know.’ Bella smiled as she took it. ‘You graduated from school three years before us. The younger students always remember their seniors, never the other way round.’

‘Oh, I remember this one all too well,’ Ella said, nodding at Rod. ‘The first time Bast and I kissed – out in the meadow by the Forbidden Forest – he leapt out from behind a bush and yelled, “Rabastan Flobberstan has a troll in his van!” You don’t forget something like that.’

‘That was my finest poem, you know,’ Rod put in. ‘I’ve never come up with a better rhyme.’

‘Don’t worry. Sometimes a single line is enough to show the genius’s signature.’

The first strike of the gong rang through the house, announcing that dinner was nearly ready.

‘Come along,’ said Ella. ‘I’ll show you where you can powder your nose and so on. I don’t suppose you’ve been here before.’

A little taken aback, Bella followed, glancing about her with curiosity. Thornhall wasn’t large, but it had the warm, settled air of a place lived in by the same family for generations. The faint clink of crockery came from the dining room as the house-elves finished their preparations. Dogs wandered in and out among the guests. Glancing back, she saw Rod already crouched to pet one of them – he’d plainly missed having his dogs about.

Yet there was something odd about this place. Only when they reached the first floor, Bella realised what it was: there was not a single portrait on the walls. Where most wizarding families displayed paintings of their ancestors, here, there were only landscapes. Rod had once mentioned the strict rules in his family: no pictures of people, no personal letters, diaries or notes of any kind unless strictly business. Lestrange Senior, being a barrister, had argued countless cases before the Wizengamot and knew all too well where “playing at politics” could land you. In this house, they lived as if ready for arrest at a moment’s notice, treating all papers and photographs as potential evidence in court.

Ella led her into one of the guest bedrooms with an adjoining bathroom.

‘You can straighten your stockings here, have a smoke, or just sit in peace if you’ve had enough of everything,’ she explained, and, as if to prove her point, produced an ashtray before settling herself on the windowsill and placing one slim, high-heeled foot on it. ‘Want one?’

Bella stepped closer and took a cigarette from the silver case.

‘You’re pretty,’ Ella said, glancing at her sidelong. ‘And that dress really suits you. I was wondering who it was meant for …’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was my mother who made it.’

‘I see,’ Bella replied vaguely. She had never spoken to the daughter of a seamstress before. ‘Well… I’m glad you like it.’

‘Listen – you’re a Black, aren’t you?’ Ella suddenly asked, taking a long drag on her cigarette. ‘One of those Blacks?’

Bella nodded in silence.

‘Wow.’ Ella raised her eyebrows. ‘Can I ask – what for troll’s sake do you want with all this?’

‘What exactly is “all this”?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Ella rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not here just to have dinner. This isn’t an ordinary get-together – it’s a fair. Everyone’s here to offer something, and everyone wants something in return. The problem is, you already know what you’re willing to give, but you can only guess at what you’ll get back. Annoying, isn’t it?’

Bella’s head began to ache. She couldn’t make out where Ella was going with this, and it was starting to irritate her. Why did all Ravenclaws talk in riddles? No wonder Rod could barely cope even with his mother, who had also been a Ravenclaw graduate.

From downstairs came the second strike of the gong, summoning the guests to the table. Ella hopped off the windowsill.

‘Right, time to go and be good girls. Just don’t forget,’ she called after Bella, ‘before you sell your merchandise, make sure your buyer’s not paying in leprechaun gold!’

***

At dinner, Bella found herself seated beside the master of the house, Lestrange Sr. Luckily, Ella with her cryptic hints was well away at the other end of the long table. Directly opposite Bella sat a man with a peculiar face. It might almost have been pleasant, were it not for the oddly slanted lower jaw, as if someone had sliced a piece off with a razor. The flaw didn’t stop the wizard, Dolohov by name, from showering her with compliments and smiles; only his pale blue eyes stayed cold, and their gaze made Bella’s skin crawl.

The place at the head of the table remained empty. Lestrange Sr. explained that the Dark Lord was occupied and had asked them to dine without him this time. Bella’s heart gave a jolt. So they usually did dine with him? And Rod hadn’t even mentioned it! She was almost certain now that he’d kept it from her deliberately.

Her eyes found her uncle, Colin Rosier, seated a little further along. He looked unpleasantly surprised to see his niece there. Perhaps they were in alliance. Possibly, Uncle Colin had never passed her request on to the Dark Lord. Maybe he, too, thought that joining the Knights of Walpurgis was “not women’s business”?

Bella had expected the conversation at the table to be serious, but instead it was the usual social chitchat. The younger guests were in the spotlight: people asked questions about their school years, their N.E.W.T.s, what they planned to do next … Not everyone was questioned, though. Everyone seemed to know all there was to know about Evan and Rod already, so attention shifted to Wilkes and the other newcomers whose parents weren’t among the Knights. Occasionally, someone addressed Lucius Malfoy, but his father, a haughty wizard with pale, almost platinum hair, always answered for him. Malfoy Sr. behaved as if he, not the Dark Lord, presided at this table. Lucius merely nodded along, never daring to contradict him.

Bella found the small talk dull. She replied politely whenever Lestrange Sr. addressed her, but kept trying to steer the conversation towards matters that interested her.

‘Eight N.E.W.T.s!’ Lestrange Sr. said approvingly. ‘An excellent result. So Potions was your favourite subject at school?’

‘Yes. I even thought of devoting myself to creating new poisons. But in the end, I chose another path.’

‘Is that so? Splendid! And which other subjects came most easily to you?’

Bella took a sip of wine before answering.

‘Probably Defence Against the Dark Arts, especially combat spells. I’ve always been a good fighter. By the way, I wanted to ask – what do you think of the next march for Squib rights? Is it true the last one was cancelled because of the …’

She broke off, realising she didn’t know what to call the organisation. The Knights of Walpurgis? Too formal, and the name still stung with the memory of the lost election. “Our lot” or “the lads”, as everyone here seemed to say? No. That would sound as if she already belonged, and she didn’t.

While she was still groping for the correct term, Dolohov cut in.

‘You say you’ve always been a good fighter, Miss Black.’ His voice was even, almost bored, but there was a glint of interest in those cold eyes. ‘With whom did you duel, exactly?’

‘Usually with Evan Rosier, my cousin,’ she said shortly. ‘And the DADA teacher often picked me as his partner when demonstrating techniques.’

‘That’s all?’ Dolohov made no attempt to hide his disappointment. ‘I see.’

Whether it was the tension that had gripped her all evening or the wine she’d drunk, something in his tone scorched her like a brand.

‘And what exactly do you see?’ she demanded, her voice sharp and carrying.

‘From what you’ve just told me,’ Dolohov gave a crooked smile, ‘I deduce that your “good fighter” business most likely means a few squeals and shoves, and then everyone runs off to their dormitories to have a good cry.’

Bella nearly choked on her outrage. Who did he think he was to speak to her like that?

‘Tony,’ Lestrange Sr. said reprovingly. ‘That’s enough.’

‘Just a moment,’ Dolohov murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Well then, young lady? Am I right?’

‘No. You know nothing about me, yet you think you have the right to judge and mock. And what about you? Could you even knock my wand out of my hand – or are you afraid of getting a proper thrashing?’

A hush fell over the table.

‘If the young lady would forgive me such discourtesy,’ he said with a smile, ‘we could arrange a duel. Then we’ll see whether I can knock your wand away.’

‘Tony, you’ve had far too much to drink!’ Aunt Evelyn – Colin Rosier’s wife – broke in sharply. ‘Leave the girl alone! Come here, darling,’ she beckoned Bella, ‘sit by me. Pay him no mind.’

But Dolohov ignored her, his gaze still fixed on Bella.

‘Well? Are you afraid?’

‘No.’ She laid down her knife and fork, moving with deliberate slowness so her hands wouldn’t betray her nerves. ‘A duel it is, then. When and where?’

‘Now. In the garden.’

The room erupted, everyone talking at once.

‘Don’t do it!’ Rod warned.

He reached for Bella’s hand, but she pulled it free, her eyes locked on Dolohov.

‘I accept.’

‘No!’ Rod burst out. ‘You can’t! You don’t understand… Father!’

For the first time that evening, he turned to his father.

‘I’m sure, my dear,’ Lestrange Sr said calmly, ‘that Miss Black knows exactly what she’s doing.’

‘Tony, leave her alone!’ Uncle Colin shouted, but Dolohov only laughed.

‘Calm down, I don’t eat babies on Sundays. Just a couple of spells, that’s all.’

He got to his feet and came round the table to pull back Bella’s chair.

‘I’ll need time to prepare,’ she warned as she rose.

‘An adversary won’t wait for you to prepare,’ Dolohov shot back. ‘“Now” means “now”.’

***

They stepped out into the garden together. The sun had already dipped behind the treetops, dusk draping the flowerbeds in a lilac haze, and the cool air raised gooseflesh on Bella’s bare arms. There was no time now to berate herself for the rashness of her agreement; all her focus was on the ground beneath her feet, the grass, the trees, the clumps of dog roses. Please, just no holes dug by garden gnomes! Breaking a shin before the duel even began would be a dubious achievement.

High heels were useless for duelling. On the move, Bella transfigured them into sturdy lace-up boots, fastening the laces with a flick of her wand. Another flick transformed the dress into trousers and a shirt. The unsuitable teal colour remained, but there was no time to fix that. A final sharp motion twisted her hair into a tight knot. She had just turned to announce she was ready when the first spell was already streaking towards her chest.

She twisted aside just in time: the red beam slammed into the hedge, blowing a gaping hole through it. She darted away, and a second blast shaved the tops off the grass where she’d stood only moments before. Dolohov attacked without a word, moving with blistering speed; it was almost impossible to respond, let alone widen the gap between them. Without warning, he began firing from left and right, toying with her, forcing her to sprint across the garden — yet so far, not a single shot had struck her.

She desperately needed the element of surprise. When the next spell slashed past her, Bella didn’t dodge away – she charged straight at him instead. Ducking low, she counter-attacked at close range for the first time. Dolohov swerved just in time and lashed back, but she was already gone. She sprinted past him, crossed an open strip of grass, and vanished into the trees.

Here it was easier: the light from the house no longer reached this far, and Dolohov couldn’t see her. He tried to close the distance, but now Bella kept him out in the open, firing off quick Expelliarmuses. After each shot, she had to shift position at once to stop him hitting her in return. All around her, branches and leaves were ripped apart, whirling into the air.

A few splinters grazed her neck; her shoulder and arm were wet and cold, but pausing to check her injuries would have been fatal. Using the ragged shrubs for cover, she crawled to the stone wall, took careful aim, sent another spell, and almost hit the target. Certain that Dolohov would strike back, Bella flung herself aside, but all was quiet. Until now, he’d answered every attack at once. What had changed?

She looked round and froze. Dolohov was nowhere to be seen.

Gasping, Bella cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, then instantly dropped to the ground, rolled, and pressed into the grass ten feet from where she’d been. Cool air brushed her flushed face as something like a great fan unfurled above her: a Detection Charm, sweeping across the garden. Invisible, Dolohov was sending it to scour the grounds for her.

She rolled onto her stomach and began crawling towards where the last curses had come from. She had to get closer, strike at the source. But he had probably guessed her intent, for he stopped and seemed to melt into the dusk. Bella’s throat tightened: he could be anywhere now, even right behind her. She couldn’t lie still for long; sooner or later, he’d find her. Should she risk her own detection spell? It would give her away at once.

Lady Morgan, what now?

Her heartbeat thudded in her temples and fingertips. The damp grass chilled her front; a sharp pebble was digging into her side. Bella eased it free and flicked it away. She hoped Dolohov would strike at the sound, but he didn’t. The garden lay in ominous silence. Somewhere close by, a twig snapped. Bella shut her eyes, keeping still, willing herself not to breathe. All right. He was just trying to draw her out …

‘Miss Black, the duel is over,’ his voice came, calm and clear. ‘Come out.’

From the direction of the house, where the onlookers were gathered, applause broke out, but Bella kept her eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. A faint glow, just off to one side from where the voice had come … Yes! That was him.

She sprang to one knee and hurled an Expelliarmus with all her strength. Almost at the same moment, a red beam shot back and slammed into her stomach, knocking the breath clean out of her. The force flung her backwards; her knee twisted sharply with a bolt of pain, and her wand flew from her hand and vanished into the grass. Hissing in agony, she groped blindly for it.

Then a white orb burst above the garden, flooding everything with daylight. Bella saw Dolohov pushing himself up from the ground. The Dark Lord stood beside him, clapping in delight like a child seeing a puppet show for the first time.

‘Now it’s over for certain!’ he declared. ‘Thank you, that was brilliant! Did everyone see? She got Tony!’

Dolohov stooped to pick up two wands, then came over and offered her his hand. She gripped it and, with a groan, hauled herself upright.

‘Not bad,’ he said with a grin. ‘So why didn’t you believe me when I called it a day?’

‘Because an adversary won’t be so noble as to end the fight first,’ she rasped.

Dolohov laughed so hard he choked. When the Dark Lord came up, he addressed him as casually as if they were old friends.

‘You hear that? She’s already lecturing me about adversaries! What do you think?’

Bella bent to kiss the Dark Lord’s hand, but he caught her swiftly by the elbow.

‘Miss Black, what’s this for? You lasted fifteen minutes against Tony. At your age, I wouldn’t have lasted ten. I’m so impressed, I ought to be kissing your hand!’

***

The Dark Lord escorted her back to the house. Only when she stepped into the circle of light and chattering onlookers did she realise how dreadful she must look. Her hastily transfigured clothes were torn, spattered with blood and mud, and well past the help of any Reparo. One boot had vanished entirely; the other had split along the seam.

‘Child!’ Aunt Evelyn swept Bella away. ‘Upstairs with you at once! Lady Morgan protect us, just look at you!’

In the guest bedroom, Bella at last stripped off the filthy rags. While she waited for a house-elf to fetch clean clothes and shoes, she soaked in a hot bath; then, gritting her teeth against the sting, she healed the bruises and scratches lacing her skin.

When she returned to the room, wrapped in a dressing gown, her aunt had gone. A new green dress and fresh stockings lay on the bed; Ella stood beside.

‘I thought you might want a hand getting dressed,’ she said.

‘I can manage… well, all right, help me,’ Bella conceded, padding barefoot across the floor. Only now did she feel the full weight of the ache in every limb.

‘They’re already waiting for you downstairs,’ Ella said, helping her to get into the dress. ‘You’re the heroine of the day. The Dark Lord’s utterly enchanted.’

There was an odd note in her voice.

‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Bella asked, keeping still as Ella fastened the buttons down her back.

The older girl’s eyes held a mixture of pity and thinly veiled irony.

‘Remember what I told you? This is a fair. You’ve just shown off top-quality goods – and now they’ll never let you go.’

Chapter Text

After the duel with Dolohov, Bella believed herself ready for whatever verdict the Dark Lord might pronounce, or so she thought. Least of all she expected to find herself back at school.

Not, of course, at Hogwarts. The place she entered that September looked nothing like a school of magic. It stood on the grounds of a derelict Muggle factory somewhere in the north of England. Bella neither knew nor cared what it had once produced. Any passing Muggle would have seen nothing but a high fence marked “No Entry” and a scatter of empty buildings with broken windows.

Wizards, however, saw something quite different. Inside the vast, echoing workshops, amid rusted beams and gutted machinery, an “Anti-Hogwarts” had taken root: laboratories, classrooms, training yards, even a range for testing spells.

Officially, the school had been founded because the Dark Lord had long wished to mould a generation who would form the nucleus of his future organisation. This “golden cohort”, destined to govern the country once victory was won, was to be thoroughly trained to rule over the grey masses. Uncle Colin claimed the idea had first occurred to the Dark Lord back in the 1940s, when Dumbledore refused him a teaching post at Hogwarts.

Whether that was a joke or not, the curriculum bore no resemblance to Hogwarts. Here they learnt to cast and counter explosive spells; to brew poisons and antidotes; to forge documents and detect forgeries; to follow a target and to shake off pursuit; to set protective wards and to break them. There was no library, only a single room holding forbidden books from the Dark Lord’s private collection. Mulciber Sr. taught mental magic and the basics of magical medicine; Lestrange Sr. dealt with magical jurisprudence; and combat spells were Dolohov’s domain.

***

Combat drills took place in a bright, airy room on the ground floor. To Bella, it might as well have been a torture chamber. The lessons always began harmlessly enough: warm-up, new spells, a bit of practice. Then came the proper fight, and every time she was a partner for Dolohov.

Not so much a partner as a punching dummy. At first, she thought he still bore a grudge from their duel. Later, she realised this was his way of showing favour.

Her stomach knotted before every match, cold sweat sliding down her spine, especially when Dolohov gave her a formal bow and murmured, “Shall we?” Once, his first spell shattered her right arm, but he wouldn’t let her stop or heal it. He transfigured something into a splint, strapped it on and said,

‘Well? What are you waiting for? Wand in your left hand and carry on! Your adversary won’t wait for you to mend a fracture.’

Dolohov spoke of “the adversary” as if they were someone he knew well – tireless, pitiless, never hungry, never ill, never late. Before long, the whole “Anti-Hogwarts” had its own saying: if anyone asked for a delay, the rest would chorus, “The adversary won’t wait for anyone!”

After the first month, the pain lost some of its sting. Bella still feared it, but she now knew she could endure it. Something worse, however, was on its way.

One afternoon, Dolohov kept her back after class. Once the others had gone, he shut the door quietly, crossed the room, and gripped her hands without warning, slamming her against the wall.

This time it was real panic – the same she had felt that night in the dark garden, when it had seemed the invisible Dolohov was breathing down her neck. Only now he truly was there, leaning his full weight into her, crushing her against the cold stone. Bella’s heart fluttered like a trapped bird; her throat was dry. She fought him, kicked at him, tried to wrench herself free, but his fingers clamped on her like iron.

At last, a sound tore from her throat – not a scream, but a thin, almost squeaky note, a voice she had never heard from herself before and never wished to again. To her surprise, Dolohov released her at once. She barely stopped herself from bolting for the door; the only thing holding her back was knowing he still had her wand.

‘Well now,’ he said. ‘Seems we’ve found your weak spot.’

She said nothing. She never cried, no matter how strong the pain, but she was very close to tears now. When he moved his hand, she flinched.

‘I’ve been to war, girl,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve seen what men do to women when nothing stops them. In close-quarters combat, you may face someone stronger and heavier than you. In his eyes, you’ll be prey — and you need to know how to deal with that.’

He handed back her wand.

‘Here. You’ll feel better with this in your hand. Now – what’s the first rule of close-quarters combat?’

‘Don’t get into one,’ she said hoarsely.

‘Exactly. Keep a stronger adversary at spell range. If you can’t … then you’ll have to use the strength of the weak.’

‘I’m not weak,’ she muttered. The words sounded absurd.

‘Never think like that,’ he said. ‘The overconfident die first. The survivors are the ones who know they’re weak and stupid.’

‘Like yourself?’

‘I see you’re feeling better. From now on, your training’s half an hour longer than everyone else’s. Be ready.’

Those extra sessions were the worst. She had to unlearn the instinct to fight head-on; strength and stubbornness only got in her way. She had to yield, follow the adversary’s movement. If he pulled her down, she was to go with it, twisting his arm. If he seized her by the throat, she had to step closer to break free. Dolohov showed her how to use his weight against him to slip a hold; how to strike for maximum damage without breaking her fingers; how to use her thighs and knees to free herself when she’d already been thrown to the ground …

‘Don’t beg,’ he told her. ‘Don’t cry. Save your strength. This isn’t the way of a princess – it’s the way of someone who’ll be dead otherwise.’

Chapter Text

At the beginning of April, Dolohov announced that they were to prepare and carry out a ‘course project’. It sounded like something out of school, and at first, Bella felt a twinge of disappointment. But then Dolohov slammed a large folder down on the desk at the front of the classroom. Pasted to its cover was a photograph of a thin, bespectacled man with a pronounced bald patch on his head.

‘Your target is William Meadowes from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He’s been gathering evidence for several criminal cases against our people. Your task is to plan and execute his elimination. He’s been under watch for some time, so we know all his routes. His movements are predictable, which should make your job easier. He’s not an Auror, just an ordinary civil servant; he doesn’t think of himself as a target and is unlikely to put up much of a fight. But that’s no reason to get complacent. Treat him as if he were a strong adversary.’

It was, undeniably, an exciting assignment. Until now, they had only taken part in small operations under supervision and – truth be told – under the cover of William Travers. Breaking up a Squib demonstration was child’s play when you had numbers on your side, masks on your faces, and they had no wands. There had been one real skirmish with a Ministry patrol that had Apparated to the scene. That had been trickier, but the patrol officers had proved to be as young and green as their attackers, and had been disarmed and bound without much trouble.

At last, a real test! Bella was itching for a fight, eager to prove there was a reason she had been kept on in this school.

The folder’s contents were thorough. Meadowes lived in Sussex, a mile from the nearest Muggle village, with his wife and their eleven-year-old daughter, Dorcas, who was due to start at Hogwarts that autumn. Harming either wife or daughter was strictly forbidden, so as not to draw undue attention. For the same reason, Meadowes was to be intercepted somewhere away from his home. It was known that, on his way back from work, he would stop first at a Muggle shop in the village, then take a path home through the woods.

They decided to build their plan around that last detail. Wilkes and Rosier went down to Sussex, scouted the area, and noted with satisfaction how quiet and deserted it was. The Muggle village sat at the foot of the hill, and apart from the Meadowes family, no one ever used the path leading up. They chose Friday evening for the operation, when Meadowes’s wife would be busy cooking supper. Sometimes William stayed late at work, and no one thought anything of it. So, if he failed to appear on time, his wife was unlikely to worry, and the attackers would have plenty of time to vanish from the scene.

***

Bella remembered that evening in vivid detail: the trees were dressed in young leaves, soft and smooth, like the emerald skin of some small creature. It had drizzled all day, the sky a heavy mass of cloud. She reached the agreed meeting point by broom but braked too late and crashed straight into a tall beech. According to the plan, she was meant to stage an accident, and it had worked out even better than she’d hoped. In a torn robe, clutching the broken pieces of her broom, she looked every inch the hapless victim of a risky flight. Sitting on the grass beside the path, she made a show of mending the broom, while in truth keeping a sharp watch on everything around her.

At about half past five, Meadowes appeared on the path. Bella gave a little start – she wasn’t supposed to know there were any wizards in the area. Meadowes, however, greeted her with a mild smile and asked if she needed help with a Reparo. She nodded gratefully, slipping into the same lilting tone her mother always used when speaking to men.

‘Oh, I’m so glad I’ve run into you! I lost control and … well, you can see what’s happened.’ She spread her hands helplessly and let out her mother’s rippling laugh. ‘Do you happen to have any Spellotape, or something like that? Otherwise, I’ve no way of getting home – I never quite mastered Apparition. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be stuck here till morning!’

The story was hardly convincing, but Meadowes was no Auror, and a flustered young witch in the woods stirred no suspicion in him. He examined the broom and shook his head ruefully.

‘I’m afraid Spellotape won’t fix this. But you can come to ours, it’s just up there, on the top of the hill. My wife will be delighted. You can have supper with us, then take the Knight Bus home. Much safer than flying on a broken broom.’

Bella launched into thanks, her chatter masking the sounds from behind him. Meadowes must have caught something, for he began to turn, but it was too late. A Stunning Spell dropped him to the ground.

‘Perfect,’ muttered Evan Rosier, bending over him. He checked that Meadowes was properly unconscious, then hoisted him up and levitated him through the undergrowth to a small clearing they had picked out in advance. Vanishing the broom, Bella hurried after him.

***

The others were already waiting in the clearing: Rod Lestrange, Ted Wilkes, Tim Avery, and Walden Macnair. Dolohov stood a little apart, arms folded across his chest.

‘Check his pockets,’ he reminded them. ‘An extra wand never hurts. See if there’s anything else worth having.’

Evan dumped Meadowes onto the ground like a sack of coal. Macnair knelt and went through his pockets, coming up with a wand, a wallet, and a sealed pack of Muggle cigarettes. He handed the wand and wallet to Dolohov, turned the cigarettes over in his hands, and, seeing no one paying him any attention, slipped them into his own pocket.

‘Good. Now you can kill him.’

Bella had already raised her hand, like a schoolgirl waiting for her turn, but Evan was quicker.

‘Let me do it!’

He cleared his throat as if about to answer a question in class, wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, and drew a deep breath …

‘Watch it, you idiot!’ Dolohov barked. ‘Can’t you see how many people you’ve got in your line of fire?’

Evan flushed and let out a long breath. He was clearly nervous. No wonder he’d forgotten the first rule Dolohov had drummed into them: before casting a Killing Curse, make sure none of your own are in the way. Mistakes happen; hands slip. It is better to practise now than in a real fight, when there will be no time to think.

He stepped a few paces to the side, far enough to have only Meadowes in his sights, and took another deep breath.

‘Avada Kedavra!’

Bella leaned forward, observing him eagerly. They had never used the Killing Curse on a human before, only on dummies and small animals like toads and rats. A brilliant green flash, the low hum of the curse slicing the air – and …

Nothing. Meadowes jerked as the green light struck him, gave a choking gasp, opened his eyes, and tried to stand up.

‘Fucking Salazar – Stupefy!’

The man slumped again. Evan shot Bella a look.

‘What are you staring at? Get over here and help!’

His hands were trembling. Served him right – that would teach him not to show off. Bella stepped forward, calm and deliberate, took up a duelling stance, checked the line of fire, raised her wand just as she’d been taught …

‘Avada Kedavra!’

Meadowes’s body arched like a bow; a thin thread of blood ran from his mouth. But he was still breathing in harsh, ragged gasps.

Bella could hardly believe it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

‘Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!’

With each curse, Meadowes jolted like a doll stuffed with rags, yet he clung stubbornly to life. Evan looked across at Dolohov.

‘Sir, we can’t do it – please, you have to help us!’

Dolohov only gave a dry smile.

‘Kids, I’m not doing your work for you. It’s not my fault you can’t concentrate. Get on with it.’

***

The sun was sinking, and the clearing was falling swiftly into shadow. By now, the whole thing looked less like a training exercise and more like some grotesque, bloody stage-play. One after another they tried to kill Meadowes, but the stubborn old man kept breathing. Blood bubbled in his nose and mouth; his fingers clawed feebly at the earth. His suit, pressed crisp only an hour before, now hung on him like a filthy rag. And still, Meadowes lived.

The drizzle returned. Dolohov conjured himself an umbrella and glanced at his pocket watch. Bella heard an odd sound behind her and turned – Ted Wilkes was being sick.

‘Shall we just wait for the Aurors?’ Dolohov asked casually. ‘With a heartfelt confession, you might get a shorter sentence in Azkaban, mind you.’

No one spoke. Bella could feel the rain running down her face, but she was too exhausted even to lift a hand and wipe it away.

‘Let’s strangle him,’ Macnair suggested, licking his lips nervously. ‘It works for Muggles.’

‘Then do it,’ Rosier shouted. ‘Go on!’

‘No, I was only saying.’ Walden stepped back. ‘I don’t know how.’

Evan swore hoarsely. Rod, standing beside him, gave a small shake of the head, as though an idea had just struck him, and stepped forward. Crouching beside Meadowes, he took him by the ear, tilted his head back and a little to the side, and found the pulse in his neck. Then he drew a hunting knife from its sheath, gauged the angle, drove the blade deep beneath the jawline in one swift movement, and pulled it straight out again.

A pulsing jet burst from the severed artery. The first spray hit Rod full in the face, drenching him in blood. Tim Avery gave a startled cry and leapt back, out of the arc of the fountain.

A pungent metallic stench filled the air. Meadowes twitched, his legs scrabbling weakly at the ground, but within seconds the spray weakened, dwindling to a dark red trickle, and a moment later even that was gone. In less than a minute, Meadowes lay motionless on the wet, blood-soaked earth, like a shapeless heap of rags, and moved no more.

Chapter Text

An hour later, they were sitting in a pub in Knockturn Alley. It was dark and filthy, but just now that was an advantage. The barman took their order without a word: five shots of Firewhisky – and the same again straight away.

It felt as though the evening would never end. The job was done, but Dolohov was far from pleased: instead of making it quick, quiet and clean, they’d wasted time, botched the Killing Curse, and left a bloody puddle in the clearing. In the end, he’d had to transfigure and bury the body himself – he no longer trusted his students with that sort of work – leaving them only to clear away the traces. Fortunately, the rain, lashing down in sheets, washed everything away.

Exhausted and miserable, they had barely managed to Apparate to the pub, but after a few cigarettes and a couple of Firewhisky shots, things began to feel a little easier. Only then did they realise how hungry they were. They ordered fish and chips for the table. Bella was certain she wouldn’t manage a mouthful, but the moment the smell reached her, her stomach growled, and she fell on it like a starving wolf.

After supper, warmed by her third Firewhisky, she leaned against Rod’s shoulder and closed her eyes, listening as the others talked over the night’s events. Though the rain had washed the blood away, Rod’s clothes still carried the tang of iron.

‘You know, it was even sort of fun, in its way,’ Macnair was saying. ‘Only now Dolohov’s going to take every chance he gets to give us hell. “The adversary won’t wait for you to master the Killing Curse!”’ he mimicked.

Bella drifted off to the sound of his voice, but only for a few minutes. Something seemed to shove her from the inside, and she surfaced from her doze. Everything was exactly as it had been: Rod hadn’t finished his cigarette, and the barman was still pulling a pint for a customer. Yet it felt as though years had passed. The fog of drink had lifted in an instant. As so often happens in that odd shift from sleep to waking, her mind was suddenly clear. She remembered everything.

They are murderers now – all of them. How could that be? What would happen next? Would they be arrested? Perhaps the Aurors were already on their way? She had to act – now! Her legs twitched under the table; she wanted to leap up and run for her life. But where? The Auror Office? No, they’d throw her in Azkaban, and the rest of them will go with her. Home? Her parents wouldn’t help. Hogwarts?

And then she thought of Dumbledore. At the end of her seventh year, he had called her to his office. By then he was already headmaster, Professor Dippet having died not long before. Dumbledore had looked at her sadly, without reproach, over the top of his half-moon spectacles, and said:

‘I think I can guess what you’re about to do. I’m afraid I can’t stop you. But remember this: there is no path you cannot turn back from.’

***

Bella got to her feet, muttering something about the loo, and headed for the door. But in the front hall, instead of turning left, she shoved open the heavy outer doors and stepped out, gulping down the fresh air. Around her, the night market was in full swing, the stall lights glimmering on the wet cobbles. She had taken only a step when someone grabbed her by the shoulder from behind.

Dolohov’s lessons hadn’t been wasted. Her body reacted on its own, drink or no drink. Catch the wrist, twist downwards, step forward – the attacker, pulled off balance, staggers – a sharp kick to the knee …

‘Merlin’s bollocks! What are you doing?’ Rod doubled over, hissing with pain.

‘Sorry. It’s your fault – you shouldn’t have grabbed me!’

‘I only wanted to ask … oh, bloody goblin’s mother, that hurts … where were you going?’

‘I …’

Her tongue felt thick, refusing to form the words.

‘I’m out,’ she forced at last. ‘I’ve had enough. I’m leaving the Knights.’

Rod straightened with an effort, leaning back against the wall. The market lights scattered red and blue patches across his face.

‘Come here,’ he said. ‘Go on, I’m not going to shout it down the street.’

Bella stepped closer, leaning in to hear – and the next second the wall seemed to lurch in front of her eyes: Rod had slapped her, hard. For a moment she saw nothing for the pain. Then she drove her forehead into his face – something crunched in his nose – sprang back and raised her wand.

‘How dare you!’ Her voice shook with fury. She could have understood it from Dolohov. But him!

‘Sorry,’ Rod mumbled thickly, clamping a hand over his broken nose. ‘Had to bring you to your senses somehow.’

‘Lady, is he bothering you?’ slurred a drunk who had just staggered out of the pub. ‘Want me to sort him out?’

‘Hey, I’m the one who needs help here!’ Rod protested, tilting his head back to stem the blood. ‘She’s hit me twice already, and I’ve only hit her once!’

‘I’ll defend the lady,’ the man declared, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. But he stumbled and nearly fell over.

‘Get lost!’ Bella snarled. ‘I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help! Get out of here before I kill you!’

‘All right, all right.’ The drunk backed away.

Bella was shaking. The market had gone still; traders and customers alike were staring. In Knockturn Alley, no one passed up a bit of a scene.

‘I’m coming over now,’ she warned. ‘Stay still. And keep your hands where I can see them.’

‘Of course.’ Rod raised his hands and attempted a smile. Bella drew closer and slumped wearily against the wall beside him.

‘Give me a cigarette.’

He lit the tip for her with his wand.

‘You need to calm down,’ he said quietly, probing his broken nose. ‘You can’t just walk away. The Dark Lord doesn’t accept letters of resignation. Get a grip on yourself if you want to stay alive, all right?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, taking a deep drag. Her hand holding the cigarette trembled. ‘The Dark Lord is merciful and noble … he understands that people are weak!’

‘Yes. And that’s exactly why anyone who tries to leave now will end up in Azkaban for murder. We’re all bound together now – haven’t you worked that out yet?’

‘The Dark Lord isn’t like that. He’s not perfidious!’

‘You can believe whatever you like. I’m just asking you – don’t do anything right now. Wait a few days, give yourself time to think it over …’

‘Fine, but don’t ask more than that.’

‘I won’t.’

The pub door banged open.

‘What’s going on?’ Evan’s voice called. ‘What’s taking you so long?’

‘All good,’ Rod replied. ‘We’re coming.’

***

That night, Evan Rosier didn’t go home and stayed over with them in their flat in Knockturn Alley. After everything that had happened, none of them fancied being alone. On the way back they’d bought three more bottles of wine from the night market, and once home, they drank until they dropped wherever they happened to be – anything to avoid thinking or feeling at all.

By the next morning, after a proper sleep, Bella felt much better. Not physically – after running about in the rain, a bottle of wine, and sleeping in her clothes, she smelled like a tramp – but inside she felt fine. She washed, changed, pinned up her hair, and when she went down to Diagon Alley for the Daily Prophet, she calmed completely: there wasn’t a single word in the paper about Meadowes’s disappearance.

That meant that even if his wife had gone to the Ministry, they clearly didn’t consider it serious. After all, couldn’t a grown man be held up somewhere? Most likely the Ministry expected him back before Monday – a little guilty, a little sheepish, as befitted the occasion.

The weather was clear and bright. Bella brought Evan and Rod coffee and croissants, and they had breakfast by the open window, tossing crumbs to the pigeons. Life was sliding back into its familiar track. She even felt faintly embarrassed about last night’s scene. Honestly, what had she been thinking, getting herself into such a state?

On Monday, the Daily Prophet finally reported the disappearance of a Ministry employee. The Aurors questioned a Muggle woman who had sold Meadowes a pack of cigarettes on Friday evening. Only then did it become clear that he hadn’t taken himself off on an impromptu holiday but had vanished somewhere between the Muggle village and his own house. By then, however, valuable time had been lost: the May rains had done their work, and the trail was gone.

Dolohov stressed that they had been saved only by sheer luck, after they had made a complete mess of things. At Anti-Hogwarts, Mulciber Sr., noticing their lack of focus in his Legilimency class, asked what had happened and flew into a rage when he heard the details.

‘This is outrageous!’ he exploded. ‘I pour my energy into teaching you the most complex spells, accessible only to the chosen few, and Tony sees fit to squander you like common foot-soldiers. You could have been arrested on the spot! I’ll take this to the Dark Lord tomorrow – you’ll see, he’ll have Dolohov removed from teaching. This must never happen again. And now, please, take your meditation cushions. We’ll have a thirty-minute breath-awareness session to reduce stress …’

‘Isn’t Mulciber caring?’ Evan snickered as they smoked behind the building after class.

‘He just doesn’t want someone to fall apart and do something stupid,’ Rod shrugged.

‘Oh, absolutely!’ Evan grinned. ‘We’re the golden cohort! A valuable tool to be kept in one piece until it’s paid off its worth.’

‘Enough!’ Bella stubbed out her cigarette and Vanished it with a flick of her wand. ‘You heard him – the Dark Lord simply didn’t know about this operation. Dolohov planned it entirely on his own initiative!’

Evan rolled his eyes.

‘Bella, do you really believe that?’

‘Of course,’ she said. But even to her own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

***

Her doubts were finally dispelled the following Sunday, when they dined at Thornhall with Lestrange Sr. This time there were no other guests, and the room, scented with flowers drifting in through the open windows, was steeped in homely quiet.

Bella told Lestrange Sr. about Mulciber’s threats.

‘Well then,’ he asked with the faintest of smiles, ‘has Dolohov been dismissed, or is he still teaching you?’

‘He’s still teaching us.’

‘There you are, then. Mulciber can say whatever he likes, but Tony would never have acted like this without the Dark Lord’s approval.’

‘But why did he need it? Meadowes could have been eliminated by others …’

‘How do you expect to learn anything without doing it yourself? I’d hazard a guess the Dark Lord noticed his younger followers had begun treating their role as a sort of amusement. High time you were shown a little of real life. Mulciber, incidentally, is right about one thing: you’re far too valuable for such tasks. But how can you order others to dirty their hands when you’ve no idea what it feels like?’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her gravely.

‘I believe the Dark Lord chose that particular assignment for you quite deliberately. Against a younger or more agile wizard, you might not have managed it. But this way, Meadowes’s disappearance serves as a warning to those younger, more agile types – is it worth crossing the Knights of Walpurgis? At the same time, it shows how you behave under pressure: who takes the initiative, who freezes, who rises to the occasion. Some, I must say, were a pleasant surprise.’ He nodded towards his son, as though only just conceding he might be good for something after all. ‘And someone’s conduct, I fear, has disappointed the Dark Lord.’

‘I know,’ Bella said quietly. ‘I let him down.’

She remembered the moment she’d wanted to run from the Knights and shivered. Thank Morgan she hadn’t told anyone but Rod.

‘You see, this operation had several hidden purposes besides the obvious one,’ Lestrange Sr. went on. ‘Solving several problems with a single move – now that is what I call an elegant solution.’

‘Forgive me, sir,’ Rod cut in sharply, ‘with all due respect, we killed a human being. I killed a human being. Do you call that “an elegant solution”?’

‘My dear, I understand it was hard for all of you,’ Lestrange Sr. said gently. ‘But there are unpleasant things which are nonetheless necessary. You must learn to keep your composure.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Rod said. ‘I think I’ll go and practise now.’

He dropped his knife and fork onto his plate, got up, and left the room.

Lestrange Senior massaged his temples and turned to Bella.

‘Forgive me. I fear I’ve not raised him well enough. Rod is prone to hyper-emotional reactions, which I’ve never managed to eradicate.’

‘I understand. It’s all right.’

She was firmly on Lestrange Sr.’s side. Was it really acceptable for Rod to behave like that? Killing Meadowes had been a severe trial, yes; she herself had nearly cracked. But a whole week had passed. Was it possible to brood over something like that for an entire week?

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

31st August 1972

Bella was waiting for Narcissa at a small table in a Diagon Alley café. She set her bag on the chair beside her, adjusted the wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face from the fierce summer sun, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and closed her eyes. The air was heavy with the scent of ice cream and sun-warmed cobblestones.

A voice roused her from her half-doze.

‘What can I get you?’

The young waitress regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain – a look Bella had grown accustomed to over the past few months.

‘Mineral water and strawberries. That’s all, thank you.’

The girl moved off, though not without glancing back over her shoulder.

‘Sis! Lady Morgan! I’ve not seen you for ages – except for your picture over there!’ a familiar voice trilled.

Bella turned. There was a poster with her own face on the brick wall behind her. Smiling, proud, with her head slightly tilted and black hair cascading to her shoulders, she seemed to beckon to the onlooker. ‘Join the Knights of Walpurgis’, the bold script urged.

‘They’re everywhere now,’ Bella said drily. ‘Never mind them. Let me get a proper look at you.’

Narcissa’s embrace was like a breeze on a sweltering day. Bella had almost forgotten how beautiful her younger sister was. In the two years since they’d last met, the delicate porcelain doll had grown into a poised young woman – the same fragile blush in her cheeks, the same golden curls, but brighter, lighter, like a flame.

‘Why are you grinning like that?’ Bella asked, half amused.

‘Because life is beautiful,’ Narcissa replied with a secretive smile. Then, unable to contain herself, she blurted, ‘Because there’s someone I care about! I’ll tell you later. First, the big news – Mother says you can come home!’

‘Really? What’s brought on such generosity? She swore I’d never set foot there again.’

‘You don’t know?’ Narcissa’s eyes widened. ‘Andromeda’s run off with a Muggle-born – a Ted Tonks. Now you’re not the worst black sheep in the Black family.’

***

It was strange to return home after more than two years away. Everything was the same, and yet everything had changed. The rooms seemed smaller. The old cherry tree in the garden had been cut down. Father had acquired another bookcase for his flower-growing books. New pale green curtains hung in the library.

Bella was served coffee in the front drawing room, as though she were a stranger, an unfamiliar guest. But that feeling soon faded.

‘So, how are you, my dear?’ her mother asked. ‘Satisfied? You’re famous now. Your picture’s on every street corner. I only hope the sign doesn’t change to “Wanted”.’

‘They’re not my pictures. I’m just a symbol. It’s the movement that matters.’

‘But everyone sees you. And the Aurors aren’t blind, either. They’ve already asked me about you, but I keep telling them you don’t live here, and I know nothing about you.’

‘You’re always so caring, Mother.’

Druella pretended not to hear the irony. Bella, though, was unsettled by the news. She had known the day would come when the Aurors would take an interest in her, even if it was only as a precaution. But when it became reality, an unexpected chill swept over her.

‘You’re heading for trouble,’ Druella said coolly. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You chose this way of life – just don’t drag Narcissa, me, or your father into it. And what about Rodolphus? What does he think? When are you getting married?’

‘You’ve never liked him, Mother. Why the sudden urge for me to marry?’

‘Because if he’s dragged you into this, the least he could do is make a respectable woman of you.’

‘These days it doesn’t matter to anyone.’

‘You’re deeply mistaken, my dear. If only you knew what’s said behind your back …’

‘I couldn’t care less what narrow-minded people with their old-fashioned morals think.’

‘Your morals, I suppose, are far more advanced,’ her mother said, dripping with sarcasm.

‘I don’t sleep with all the Knights, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I’m not bothered. Do whatever you like, so long as no one finds out. Just think how gossip will tarnish Cissy’s reputation. Who’d marry a girl with a sister like that?’

‘So I’m the only disgrace, am I? And Andromeda running off with a Mudblood is perfectly fine?’

For a moment, Bella thought her mother might strike her – such fury flashed in Druella’s eyes. But she only hissed through her teeth:

‘Don’t speak to me of that filth. She no longer exists to me. Do you want children?’ she asked suddenly.

‘No. I’ve made up my mind – I won’t have any.’

‘Good for you,’ Druella replied. ‘After all your sacrifices, they only grow into ungrateful swine. Believe me, it isn’t worth it.’

***

Bella had long since decided she would never marry. That would be the end of all her plans and dreams. To be shut up within four walls, drawn into a life she neither understood nor wanted, condemned to live out her days in one long, continuous lie …

She had seen the habit of self-deception often enough among the other wives and mothers of the Knights of Walpurgis – all of them, in fact, except for Rodolphus’s mother, who had divorced her husband years ago. The rest carried on as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. The key was not to think. It was rather like the enchanted stepladder that her father’s house-elves kept propped up beside the mops and buckets. A marvellous invention – you set it against the wall, climb up, and on the last step it flips itself in mid-air so you can go higher still. But there was one catch: you mustn’t think about how it works, or what spells have been laid on it, or you’ll come tumbling down with it.

In order not to think, these women had devised all manner of distractions. Some had children and became consumed by motherhood. Others cultivated roses, bred Kneazles, took up painting, or poured their fortunes into fashionable clothes. Each one seemed perfectly cheerful, able to chatter for hours about her chosen pursuit, but there was always hidden desperation in their eyes.

At first, it had irritated Bella. Later, she grew used to it and even began to understand. Most of all, she knew that if she had yielded at the start and not insisted on taking an active part in the cause, she would be doing the same now. She’d be happily embroidering a sampler or spending hours choosing the trim for a new gown – anything to drown out that familiar, icy dread: eleven o’clock at night, and he still wasn’t home. Midnight. One. Two. And you had no idea what shape he would be in when he returned – or if he would come back at all.

Children made matters far more complicated. Bella knew that, as a pure-blood witch, her duty was to have as many as possible, with so few wizards left in the world. Ted and Lina Wilkes were a perfect example: barely a year married, and Lina had already given birth once and was pregnant again. They were even renovating their house to add extra nurseries.

But for her, pregnancy would be a disaster. One day, she told herself, there might be time for that – but until then, it had to be avoided at all costs.

Rod had suggested using condoms from the start, but Bella had rejected the idea with indignation: she would not allow him to resort to some Muggle perversion. They used barrier charms instead, but once their studies at the “anti-Hogwarts” began, it became apparent that something more reliable was needed.

Finding the recipe for a contraceptive potion was simple enough. Her hands had missed the feel of potion knives; it was time to put her skills to use again. One bright September day, she stepped into the apothecary shop on Diagon Alley and handed her list of ingredients to the man behind the counter.

‘So, let’s see … Myrrh, pennyroyal, rue, wormwood, willow bark, hawthorn flowers, mandrake juice …’ The apothecary moved quickly along the shelves, setting jars and boxes on the counter. ‘Brake, buckler-fern root, marjoram, wolfsbane, moonflower petals …’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Bella cut in. Her father had an entire greenhouse of moonflowers, and he probably wouldn’t mind sending her a few plants on the quiet, without her mother knowing. Fresh petals would be far better than powdered.

‘All right,’ the apothecary nodded. ‘What else have we got? Hmm…’

He glanced up at her, adjusting his spectacles.

‘Excuse me, miss … May I see your marriage certificate?’

It was so absurd that she didn’t even understand what he meant.

‘Why?’

‘Your list includes silphium. (1) It can only be sold legally to married women. (2) This is for a birth-control potion, isn’t it?’ He lowered his voice and gave her a greasy smile.

‘That’s none of your business,’ Bella snapped. ‘Give me the list back. I’ll go to another apothecary.’

‘As you wish.’ He slid the parchment back to her. ‘But they won’t sell it there either, you can trust me. Do your parents know what you’re buying?’ he called after her with a smirk.

Bella stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled. Rod, waiting outside, looked down at her empty hands in surprise.

‘Nothing?’

‘Not the ingredients I actually need,’ she said shortly. ‘We’ll try another shop. You can do the talking this time.’

But the successive attempts failed as well. At the mention of silphium, every apothecary grew suspicious. It turned out they wouldn’t sell it to unmarried men either.

‘We’ll come back tomorrow,’ Rod suggested, as they stood in the cobbled street bathed in a deep violet sunset. ‘I’ll borrow a marriage certificate from someone.’

‘No point. In two or three months, we’ll be needing this all over again, and I’m not going to forge documents every bloody time. Lady Morgan!’ She stamped her foot in desperation. ‘You’d think I was asking for a dark artefact instead of a bit of dried plant.’

‘There’s a bloke in Knockturn Alley,’ Rod said. ‘I’ll get the address. We’ll go in a few days.’

***

The man they were after, as it turned out, lived not far from their flat. An unmarked door opened from a narrow courtyard into a dim hallway with slatted chairs, peeling walls, and a half-dead palm tree in a pot. If Rod hadn’t been so sure a Healer worked here, Bella wouldn’t have taken a single step inside.

But there he was in his office – a stocky, bald man in a pale lemon robe, sleeves rolled to the elbow, thick black hair covering his tanned forearms.

‘You, lad,’ he stopped Rod, who was about to follow Bella in, ‘wait outside. I need to speak to the young lady alone.’

Rod hesitated, but Bella nodded. ‘It’s fine. Go on.’ She knew she could handle it herself if anything happened.

When the door closed, the Healer sat down at the table and lit a cigarette, apparently unconcerned about smoking in front of his patients.

‘Want one?’ He held out a cigarette case.

‘No,’ Bella said curtly.

With the cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth, he pulled a notebook and pen towards him.

‘Name’s Bob, by the way. So, what seems to be the problem?’

‘No problem at all. I need silphium. I hear you’ve got it.’

‘Hold your horses, love – I’ve still got to take your history. How old are you?’

‘I’ll be nineteen in November.’

‘And how long have you been with that chap?’

‘We’ve known each other since we were kids.’

‘I meant intimately.’

Bella felt heat creep into her cheeks.

‘About three months.’

‘And what are you using for contraception?’

‘Barrier charms.’

‘Saint Asclepius,’ he muttered. ‘Do you know what people who rely on those charms are called?’

‘No.’

‘Parents!’ He laughed, blowing smoke through his nose. ‘They’re called parents, love!’

Bella stared at him, unsmiling. Bob sighed and stubbed out his cigarette.

‘Just so you know, barrier spells are the third most unreliable method, right after the calendar one and coitus interruptus. When was your last period?’

‘Mid-August.’

He scratched his chin, swivelled in his chair, and fetched a bottle and a glass from the cupboard.

‘Rinse your mouth. Spit it out here. Don’t swallow.’

The liquid was like water – tasteless and odourless. Bella didn’t want to think about how many women had spat into that glass before her. But the liquid stayed clear, unchanged. Bob waited half a minute, tipped it into a flowerpot, and put the glass away.

‘You’re not pregnant, that’s good. I’ll give you a potion …’

‘No, I’ll make it myself.’

‘I wouldn’t advise brewing a contraceptive potion on your own. They’re tricky.’

‘I got an “Outstanding” in Potions at Hogwarts.’

‘Oh, an “Outstanding” at school!’ he snorted. ‘All right, but you take full responsibility for the outcome. Three Galleons for the consultation and the silphium. Cash only, no cheques. That’s it. Off you go.’

Outside, the damp air of Knockturn Alley, heavy with the stench of rotting apples, felt fresher than tobacco fog in Bob’s office.

‘Where have you dragged me?’ she snapped at Rod. ‘Is he even a real Healer? I didn’t see a diploma or a licence anywhere.’

‘Ella says he’s reliable.’

‘Ella?! She’s the one who gave you the address? Why in Merlin’s name did you tell her?’

‘I didn’t tell her anything. I just asked where to get silphium.’

‘And she worked out the rest on her own. Brilliant. Thank you so much.’

Bella was fuming. The thought of Ella, that brazen little upstart, smirking at her supposed naivety, was almost more than she could bear.

Still, Ella seemed to be the only person who actually knew Bob. (Naturally, someone like her would have been using his services for years!) When they ran into each other later, Bella managed to thank her through gritted teeth before asking:

‘So… is he really a qualified Healer?’

‘Of course he is,’ Ella said brightly. ‘He was in my mum’s year at the Healer School at St Mungo’s.’

Catching Bella’s raised eyebrow, she laughed.

‘My mum wasn’t always a seamstress, you know. She only ended up there because she got expelled for having me out of wedlock … And Bob, he finished his training and even worked at the hospital for a while, but they sacked him for giving women abortifacients. That’s forbidden under the Healer’s Oath.’ (3)

‘Did his potions work?’

‘Seems so – they wouldn’t have struck him off otherwise. Now he does the same thing, just under the table. Contraception, termination, you name it. Don’t worry – he’s the real deal.’

Two years had passed since then, and Bella, who still bought silphium from Bob regularly, had yet to find herself in trouble. He was the real deal indeed.

Chapter Text

Bella spent her first night back in her old bedroom. That strange yet familiar sense of a secret life after dark returned to her: tree-shadows crawled across the walls, and it seemed as if the walls themselves were slowly pressing outwards. A faint, unsettling chill drifted in through the open window, carrying the scent of fallen leaves, woodsmoke, and late-blooming phlox – their sweetness heady and strong, as it always was before rain.

The stars outside were astonishingly large and close; it felt as though she could reach out and touch them. As a child, Bella had often imagined she had fallen to earth straight from the sky. Her name, given after a bright star in the Orion constellation, only encouraged the fantasy. She liked to think her earthly mother and father were merely adoptive, and that her real parents lived somewhere out there among other suns and planets.

The door opened softly.

‘Are you awake?’ a familiar voice said.

Bella didn’t answer, only shifted under the covers. Light footsteps crossed the carpet, and a moment later Cissy slid in beside her – just as in the old days, when they would lie whispering and giggling under the same blanket long past midnight.

She knew exactly what her sister wanted to talk about. Narcissa had been itching all day to tell her about the man she had chosen. In truth, Bella had guessed long ago. It hadn’t required any great powers of deduction. Still, she put on a show of surprise.

‘Lucius? You must be joking!’

‘It’s true! He’s been keen on me for ages. Of course, I didn’t pay him much attention … well, perhaps a little, but nothing serious. He used to make me laugh, with all that ridiculous grandeur and mystery he wraps himself in. But this summer we saw each other often, and we talked for hours. He understands me so well! Sometimes it feels as though we’ve known each other forever.’

‘And what does Mother think of all this?’

‘Oh, she can’t stand him!’ Narcissa laughed. ‘When she found out who I was seeing, she was enraged. Everyone knows his father’s mixed up with the Knights of Walpurgis, and she wouldn’t hear a word in his defence. But honestly, you and Andromeda have done me a huge favour. After your escapades, my chances of marrying anyone respectable are shrinking by the day. Give it a bit longer and Lucius will be not the worst option. If you pull off something even more scandalous than those posters with your face all over them, I’ll have Mother’s blessing for the wedding in no time.’

‘Hmm. I’ll see what I can do. My sister’s happiness is sacred to me,’ Bella said, giving Cissy a playful jab in the ribs.

Laughing, Cissy sat up and began whacking her with a pillow. Through the open window, the great autumn stars looked down in perfect silence.

***

In truth, the whole idea of the posters had arisen quite by accident.

The sting of the 1969 election defeat still echoed painfully through the movement. In its wake, the Knights of Walpurgis lost the bulk of their sponsors: people are reluctant to trust losers, and even more unwilling to give them money. Yet money was as vital as air. No political movement can survive on pure enthusiasm. In reality, it requires a constant flow of funds for propaganda, logistics, bribery, and other means.

The movement worked like the giant squid from the depths of the Hogwarts Lake, drawing streams of Galleons through itself, fuelling its growth and stretching its tentacles ever further. Someone had to keep those streams flowing, which was why the Dark Lord needed Abraxas Malfoy – the man who managed the businesses he had bought for a song and turned into goldmines. To outsiders, it looked as though the money was conjured from thin air. But by now, even the Dark Lord’s financial dexterity, coupled with Malfoy’s considerable fortune, could no longer meet every demand. New donors were essential – people willing to invest now in return for privileges later, when the Dark Lord came to power.

To court these donors, the Knights of Walpurgis hosted events in two distinct styles. The first were the official soirées: respectable, tedious affairs with polite speeches and guests arriving with their wives. As the Dark Lord remained unmarried, it was usually the Notts who played host on such occasions.

The second type lay at the opposite extreme. They were private parties where the drink flowed freely, golden dust hung in the air, and pretty girls were on hand “for the atmosphere”. Wives, naturally, were not invited. But the Dark Lord was, and he always appeared with a dancing partner. That partner was Ella.

Why he had chosen her in particular, no one knew for sure. Bella had only seen them go out together once. Ella had been wearing a dark blue dress, nipped in at the waist with a long, flowing skirt. It modestly covered her chest and shoulders, yet left her entire back bare, revealing a tattoo of a thistle with a thorny stem. With the Dark Lord at her side, Ella was always an instant hit, though it brought her no pleasure whatsoever.

‘If you knew how much I hate these slutty parties!’ she burst out once. ‘You can’t imagine the disgusting feeling when a pack of old lechers drools over you like you’re a fresh cut of meat. And all you can do is smile sweetly, so they’ll part with their gold for the cause!’

‘I doubt anyone would dare lay a hand on you with the Dark Lord there,’ Bella remarked. ‘And he wouldn’t overstep himself, because he’s a true gentleman.’

‘Well … not exactly for that reason,’ Ella said with a sly smile. ‘But you’re right. At least, it’s safe next to him. That doesn’t stop you feeling as though you’re being pawed at with their eyes.’

‘I’d be thrilled to be in your place,’ Bella said fervently. ‘It’s for the common cause – and a chance to be at the Dark Lord’s side!’

‘Of course you would,’ Ella snapped. ‘But no one’s forcing you to go, are they? You’re a Black. And me? I’m nothing. These damned parties are ruining my life – and not just mine. My mum’s losing clients because gossip’s spreading like woodlice.’

‘If you hate it so much, why not refuse? You haven’t even taken the Oath.’

‘And then what? Rabastan’s already had words with the Dark Lord over me, but nothing’s changed. If I walked away, no one would stop me – but what then? Go back to my mum’s workshop? I’ve no money for training. No, Bella, for me it’s all or nothing. And if I leave, I lose Bast as well. They’d probably wipe every memory I have of him. Some things matter more than politics – though why I’m even telling you this, I don’t know.’

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand and turned away.

***

Then Ella vanished for a time. She stopped showing up at parties; in fact, she was nowhere to be seen. The secret came out quite by chance when Bella called at Thornhall on an errand and was astonished to find Ella there.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Living,’ she said calmly. ‘Temporarily, until Bast and I decide where to settle after the wedding.’

‘You’re getting married? Congratulations!’

Ella only flicked her hand. She looked pale and drawn. Without finishing the exchange, she headed upstairs to her room. Bella followed – the situation called for at least a pretence of concern.

‘What’s happened to you? You haven’t been poisoned, have you?’

‘Do they forbid thinking at your Anti-Hogwarts?’ Ella snapped, taking a glass of water with lemon. ‘I’m pregnant, you silly girl. And I feel bloody awful. If I’d known it would be like this …’

‘Should I congratulate you or commiserate?’

Privately, Bella saw little cause for celebration. How could Ella be so irresponsible as to get herself pregnant now, with the fight only just gathering pace?

‘Best pity yourself,’ Ella muttered. ‘At least this is a way out of the game. The Dark Lord won’t be hauling Rabastan’s lawful wife around wherever he pleases. And nobody’s interested in pregnant women – old lechers want them young and trim.’

She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed.

‘I am sleepy all the time. I can barely stay on my feet –’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I hope you feel better soon.’

‘I just hope I don’t end up throwing up at my own wedding,’ Ella said as Bella was closing the door.

***

When Bella came downstairs, she heard the voices of Lestrange Sr. and the Dark Lord drifting from the drawing room. She hurried in and, bending low, kissed the Dark Lord’s hand. As always, a searing rush of joy shot through her, like lightning striking her heart. He brushed his fingers gently through her hair.

‘What a pleasant surprise!’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m very glad to see you.’

‘I’m glad to see you too, Master,’ Bella replied with childlike sincerity.

‘Have you been upstairs to see Ella?’ asked Lestrange Sr.

‘Yes. She’s still unwell.’

‘I hope she’ll soon adapt to her new condition,’ the Dark Lord said distantly. ‘Ella is a fine girl. I’m truly pleased for her and Rabastan, and I shall be glad to give a name to their first child. But for now, we have a problem.’

‘I know, my Lord,’ Bella said. ‘You need a companion for the parties. I’m ready, if you wish.’

‘Thank you, my dear. I never doubted I could rely on you. I only want to picture how you’d look in the proper guise … Do you mind?’

She inclined her head in silence. The Dark Lord gave a flick of his wand, and a soft ripple, like a breath of warm wind, swept over her. Her clothes shifted and reformed into an evening gown of shimmering silk, much like those Ella usually wore.

The men exchanged a glance.

‘Bella, you are as charming as ever,’ Lestrange Sr. said courteously. ‘But –’

‘It’s not your style,’ the Dark Lord finished.

‘Yes, something different is needed here,’ Lestrange agreed. ‘Harder. More aggressive.’

‘Dark colours, clean lines –’

‘Something in the spirit of Spanish Mannerism, but without enormous collars. And the colour should be either black or burgundy.’

‘Could you choose something? I trust your taste completely.’

‘Of course.’ Lestrange smiled at Bella. ‘Would Friday suit you, my dear, if I arrange an appointment with the seamstress?’

‘Yes, certainly,’ she said, and with a wave of her wand restored her clothes to their usual form.

‘What’s this?’ the Dark Lord asked with interest, pointing to the envelope Bella had left on the table before going up to see Ella.

She felt a flicker of embarrassment.

‘Nothing special, my Lord. Just some photographs.’

Rod had taken them last week when he and Evan Rosier visited the Wilkeses. The baby had been put to bed under the house-elves’ watch, and the rest of them had spent the evening in the garden, joking, playing games, and taking pictures.

Bella wore a simple dark dress with fitted long sleeves that flattered her figure. In the photographs, she was laughing, spinning so that her skirt flared around her legs, leaping, dancing, beckoning to someone in jest. Rod had shot two rolls of film, but hadn’t had time to develop them, so he’d given them to Bella to take to the studio. She had picked up the prints earlier that day, before coming to Thornhall. Those were light-hearted, homely pictures, but as the Dark Lord took them in his hands, Bella suddenly recalled the family’s ban on photographing people, and wished she’d never left the envelope lying there.

‘Well, well,’ the Dark Lord chided softly, catching her thought. ‘Were you planning to hide something from me?’

She felt a flicker of shame.

‘Of course not, Master.’

She waited, tense, for his reaction. The Dark Lord drew a stack of photographs from the envelope and leafed through them quickly. Evan, Ted, Lina barely earned a glance from him. Instead, he gathered every shot of Bella and fanned them out across the table.

‘Ray,’ he called. ‘Come and look at this. Remarkable.’

Lestrange Sr. studied the images in silence for a long while.

‘Very fine indeed,’ he said at last. ‘As they say, love is the only thing that truly sees.’

The Dark Lord raised his gaze to Bella.

‘Tell me, would you mind if we used these for our posters? I’ve been searching for an image that would draw new followers like a magnet.’

‘Of course,’ Bella said, flushing with pride and gratitude. ‘Everything I have is yours, Master.’

‘My wonderful girl,’ he said with a rare, gentle smile. ‘There’ll be no shortage of interest – young men will always come for beautiful young women. Thank you for your trust.’

When Rod found out what had happened later that night, he flew into a rage.

‘What possessed you? Why did you hand those pictures over?’

‘Why would I hide them from the Dark Lord?’ Bella protested. ‘He liked them, and your father praised your work. The Dark Lord wants to use them for posters to attract new people. It’s a great honour!’

‘Sometimes I think you are really –’ He broke off, waved a hand, and walked away.

‘Really what?’ Bella shouted after him. ‘Say it!’

But there was no reply.

***

On the first of September, they saw Narcissa off to Hogwarts for the last time. On the platform, their father held both daughters in his arms for a long while, as though unwilling to let them go. He had grown thinner and older in the past two years, like his beloved moonflowers, blighted with mould.

Druella kissed Narcissa goodbye on the cheek but deliberately avoided Bella.

‘Remember what I asked,’ Narcissa whispered, one foot already on the carriage step.

Despite having already graduated, Lucius Malfoy accompanied Narcissa on the Hogwarts Express, planning to Disapparate from Hogsmeade later. When Narcissa settled into a compartment beside him, her mother’s face darkened with fury – but by then the train was already pulling away.

Half an hour later, strolling along Diagon Alley, Bella spotted one of the same posters with her face on it. This one looked pitiful: someone had tried to rip it down but had only managed to tear off a corner and scrawl “Voldemort’s slut” across it in furious letters.

A street photographer loitered nearby, looking bored. Bella called to him:

‘You there. Take a picture of this wall, and make sure the poster and the writing are clearly visible.’

‘What?’ His eyes darted from the poster to Bella, widening as recognition set in. He froze, as if half-expecting a squad of Knights of Walpurgis to emerge from the shadows. ‘I didn’t write it! I swear! I didn’t even see who –’

‘Did I ask?’ Bella’s voice was calm, almost pleasant, which only made it worse. ‘Just do it.’

His hands shook as he pulled the cover from the camera, fumbling with the mechanism. He took the shot in a single, hurried click, glancing around like a trapped animal. It was clear he couldn’t decide which was more dangerous – refusing her or obeying.

‘Excellent,’ Bella said with satisfaction. ‘Print the photo and send it here.’ She jotted her mother’s address on a scrap of paper. ‘And have it ready today.’

‘I swear I will!’ he beamed, relieved to have escaped.

Bella moved on, picturing her mother’s face when she saw what now adorned her eldest daughter’s portrait. After that, she’d be praying to every god she knew that Lucius would marry the younger one as quickly as possible, before the same shadow fell on her too.

The wedding’s as good as in your pocket, sister!

As for herself, Bella felt neither anger nor shame. Someone was trying to provoke her, to throw her off balance, as Dolohov would say. They thought they’d found her weak spot yet hadn’t the courage to hurl the insult to her face. All they could do was to scratch it on a wall.

She would turn what they meant as an insult into a badge of pride. Better the Dark Lord’s slut than a queen among the dull, grey ranks of ‘respectable’ folk.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

7th February 1975

‘We shouldn’t move to open resistance until we’ve exhausted every legal recourse,’ said Lestrange Sr.

Rain pattered monotonously against the window ledge, a ceaseless tapping that made Bella feel she might lose her mind.

The winter had been unusually mild: not a single flake of snow so far, but rain had fallen almost every day. The drains in Knockturn Alley were choked with rubbish, turning the neighbouring streets into foul, sluggish canals. Rats, driven from their flooded cellars, had taken to the upper storeys, scurrying along staircases and out across the roofs, where gargoyles, made restless by the mild winter, lay in wait. Even Diagon Alley had begun to flood. In Thornhall, the garden soil had dissolved into a clinging, black mire.

Indoors, the atmosphere was scarcely brighter. What was meant to have been a simple family supper had turned into an impromptu council of war. Tempers at the table were running high, and the relentless rain outside only sharpened the tension. Rod and Bella sat in silence opposite one another; they had no part in the altercation, yet it was far too late to rise and leave.

The dispute centred on the new Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, appointed by the Wizengamot a month earlier to replace Eugenia Jenkins. A former Gryffindor, Minchum had begun with surprisingly liberal measures: he legalised the sale of silphium – a decision for which Bella was personally grateful – proposed an electoral reform and decreed that detainees awaiting trial would henceforth be kept in the Ministry holding cells rather than in Azkaban.

It was that last reform that had brought him trouble. Minchum claimed he wished only to shorten transportation times, but the Wizengamot erupted in outrage. Now, anxious to prove himself no weakling, he had turned to a tried and trusted tactic: an uncompromising crackdown on the Knights of Walpurgis. Dementors in Azkaban had been doubled, and, according to a source in the Auror Headquarters, mass arrests were already being planned.

‘We must eliminate Minchum,’ the Dark Lord said. ‘I will not be addressed in the language of ultimatums.’

Then something quite extraordinary happened: Lestrange contradicted him in front of witnesses. Bella had never seen the like.

‘Tom, listen … You underestimate how useful Minchum could be to us. He’s pushing through a bill to lower the voting age to seventeen. The young are on our side. If we wait until the next election, we could take at least a quarter of the seats in the Wizengamot.’

‘And in the meantime, am I to sit idly by while my people are arrested?’

‘No one’s been arrested yet. It’s a game of nerves. Minchum’s bluffing. He needs to pacify the Wizengamot somehow. This campaign against us will flare up and die down, as it has many times before. And if it comes to anything, we have every means of protecting our lot.’

Lestrange knew what he was talking about. As head of the legal defence team, he challenged the Ministry’s rulings and brought libel actions whenever the press dared to name members of the movement outright. He was described, with studied delicacy, as “a notorious barrister whose name is often linked with that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” The latter was the formula Minchum had decreed for journalists when referring to the Dark Lord; to print the name Voldemort was now punishable by a heavy fine.

‘He wants to erase even my name! And I’m expected to stand by and watch, am I?’

‘No one ever died from not being called by name.’

Bella could hardly believe her ears. Such brazen insolence! And judging by the way the Dark Lord blanched with rage, he hadn’t expected it either.

‘If I may –’ Rod began, hoping to break the tension, but both the Dark Lord and Lestrange Sr., without so much as glancing at him, said in unison:

‘No!’

‘Tom,’ Lestrange went on evenly, ‘we shouldn’t move to open resistance until we’ve exhausted every legal recourse.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I see. Well, in my view, this is one occasion when you might reconsider your stance.’

‘And why would I do that? Because you say so?’

‘Because the cause demands it.’

‘I thought I was the one who decided what the cause required.’

Bella scarcely dared to breathe. The Dark Lord hadn’t raised his voice – he never did with Lestrange – but the air was so charged it felt as though sparks might leap across the table at any moment.

‘I suggest we convene the Inner Circle tomorrow,’ Lestrange said, making an effort to steer the exchange back to reason. ‘Let’s hold a meeting –’

‘No. We’re not in the Wizengamot to waste time talking. I’ve already made my decision.’

‘You’re forgetting Tony and Colin may have views of their own.’

‘They’ll do as they’re ordered.’

He gave deliberate weight to the last word.

‘Oh, will they,’ Lestrange replied curtly, flicking a glance towards Rod and Bella. ‘Perhaps we should continue this later. We’re not alone.’

‘You began the dispute in front of them,’ the Dark Lord reminded him. ‘Well, finish it. There are no outsiders here. What would you wish me to say instead?’

‘For instance, “They’ll do as I ask.” Or “They’ll support me.” “They’ll agree with me.” You’ve never had any trouble choosing your words.’

‘I’m not having trouble now. I said exactly what I meant.’ The Dark Lord leaned across the table. ‘Ray, you’re playing the kingmaker a little too much. Please slow down, unless you want us to have a real fight. All right?’

He rose abruptly. Rod and Bella were on their feet at once. Lestrange Sr. remained seated for a moment, holding the Dark Lord’s gaze, then rose slowly and said:

‘I shall certainly think over your words … my Lord.’

The last two words landed like a slap. The Dark Lord flinched.

‘Just don’t –’

He broke off, turned on his heel, and left, slamming the door behind him.

***

The next day, Rod brought the news: the Dark Lord was moving from Thornhall to Headquarters.

‘Are you upset?’ Bella asked.

‘More anxious than upset – though upset as well. You see, the Dark Lord has lived at Thornhall for as long as I can remember. I was four when he arrived. To me, that’s a lifetime. I grew up with him.’

‘I envy you so much!’ Bella said sincerely.

‘It really wasn’t bad. He was never harsh or cruel with us. Even stood up for me against my father when I brought home dreadful marks from Hogwarts. Rabastan and I taught him to play Gobstones, and he taught us glass marbles and knife games. We had plenty of fun when I was small and life was quieter. And now … I feel the same emptiness I did when my parents divorced.’

‘Well, it’s not quite the same,’ Bella said sensibly. ‘The Dark Lord needs his own space. He can’t live in a friend’s house for the rest of his life. And to be honest, your father did everything he could to drive a wedge between them.’

‘I hope they’ll make it up. It’s not their first falling-out. They’ll sort it out somehow.’

Bella doubted it, but she kept that to herself. In any case, she was due at Headquarters that day, and she wanted to see what kind of mood the Dark Lord would be in.

***

Two years earlier, when Headquarters was only just taking shape, Bella had pictured a castle. Where else could the Dark Lord possibly live? She’d imagined something out of her History of Magic textbook, like Nurmengard: a vast fortress deep in a pine forest, snowy mountain peaks looming behind it …

In reality, Headquarters was situated in one of the most unlikely places imaginable – a Muggle district, concealed right under the Ministry’s nose, only a stone’s throw from King’s Cross Station. The location had been the Dark Lord’s own stroke of genius. To his mind, the best hiding place was never in some distant forest or cave, but in the thick of a crowd. A Muggle neighbourhood was the last place anyone would think to search for pure-blood rebels.

Few wizards had any interest in what lay behind the station: sprawling old warehouses, derelict depots, and rusting rail tracks, most of them long abandoned. Among them stood a forgotten railway museum, its access road an overgrown strip of track. Inside, the hangar still held old steam locomotives with tarnished brass domes; on the walls, yellowed railway maps and faded photographs of long-dead engineers still hung in their frames. The site had long since been removed from Muggle maps, though courting couples and adventure-seeking teenagers still stumbled in from time to time. No one bothered to chase them away.

A small square separated the museum from the nearest street. It was lined with shabby little shops selling bric-a-brac: battered Muggle books, crockery, second-hand clothes, and tobacco. Benches and kerbs were taken up by the homeless: swollen-faced, ragged, clutching bottles, cigarette fags, and grimy bags of treasured possessions. But it was all a disguise. In truth, these were members of a magical surveillance team – well-organised, disciplined, and razor-alert.

Rod had once been among them, sitting on the pavement. Colin Rosier had made him work his way through every stage of initiation, starting from the very bottom. Bella still remembered passing through the square and barely recognising the filthy, blue-lipped tramp as Rod – only the briefest wink had given him away. The potion for drifter’s stench clung no matter what you scrubbed with. Fortunately, Rod hadn’t been going home at the time – he’d been sleeping rough on a cardboard, with a bundle of rags tied with a string for a pillow. After a few days, he’d claimed, he started to like it. Said it made him feel truly free.

The sheer audacity of placing Headquarters in the heart of the Muggle world was its best shield. Behind the museum lay a drab courtyard shaded by sprawling chestnut trees, the perfect spot for the concealed entrance, ideal for Apparating and Disapparating: unseen, unheard, unphotographed. Dolohov liked to say that, in their profession, paranoia wasn’t a flaw but a skill.

Sometimes Bella thought the train hangar was more than a base – it was a symbol. The Ministry was like an old locomotive: still capable of belching steam, but with no driver and no direction. The new world was a train gathering speed just beyond its walls. The echo of wheels, the tang of coal and smoke gave the sense that time had looped in on itself. They were back on the platform, waiting for the train that would either carry them to triumph – or derail and destroy them.

***

The movement Bella had joined almost five years earlier was at once simple and bizarrely complex. It began as a group of like-minded school friends dreaming of remaking the world. It had since grown into something more like a living organism – inconsistent, excessive, contradictory, at times absurd, at times downright wrong. Yet it endured.

At its base were the rank-and-file members, organised into grassroots units. They were ordinary people who, once recruited, carried on with their daily lives but occasionally carried out small tasks. The younger ones might be invited to “have a bit of fun”, i. e. to don masks and go harass Muggles. Others passed on gossip about neighbours or colleagues, copied Ministry documents on request, delivered or collected parcels without asking questions, or offered someone a shelter for a night or two.

Members of the grassroots units never knew one another; each knew only their unit leader or liaison, so that if arrested, they could reveal as little as possible. Above them were regional coordinators for the Midlands, Wales, Scotland, and so on. All of them were nominally reporting to Avery Sr., who had recently stepped back, passing most of his authority to his son, Tim.

At the very top sat the Inner Circle – a group of the Dark Lord’s school friends and classmates. It was they who, thirty years earlier, in their fourth year at Hogwarts, had dreamt up the Knights of Walpurgis and shared cake and wine in an impromptu ritual. Back then, they had little idea of what they would be fighting for (‘We were very young and very drunk,’ the Dark Lord said), with only a vague notion of “freedom” as their guiding ideal. What they eventually created was a force that inspired both fear and awe among other wizards. The Inner Circle – the first Knights – decided everything within the movement. They were the Dark Lord’s closest and most loyal followers, and the only ones with the privilege of calling him by his first name.

Among the Inner Circle, the rank-and-file members were often regarded with indulgence, or even contempt. Colin Rosier, for instance, called them simply “the rabble.” And while it was the rabble’s noisy anti-Muggle raids that shaped the public’s impression of the movement, the real work happened elsewhere.

Behind the façade of a chaotic, brutal, seemingly primitive force lay a decision-making machine. For anything more complex than arson or assault, there was the combat group – small but efficient. Its core consisted of Dolohov and Travers, with Dolohov hand-picking the rest, mostly people he had trained himself. The group handled everything from eliminations and kidnappings to interrogations, working quietly and methodically. Masks, which Dolohov considered “idiotic”, were unnecessary in this unit because no one was left to witness.

Finally, there was the intelligence unit, known simply as the Office. Information poured in there from every direction: from grassroots leaders, the agent network, sympathisers, and open sources (which always provide up to ninety per cent of intelligence). The Office doubled as the movement’s press and propaganda arm, producing leaflets, posters, and favourable articles in the papers.

The Office was run by Bella’s uncle, Colin Rosier, who held court in the middle of it all – always in a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a cigarette clamped between his teeth, perpetually chewing something from nerves, loud and restless like an overgrown fledgling owl.

The rest of the Inner Circle also had their own lines of responsibility. Nott Sr. handled relations with sympathisers in the Wizengamot; Mulciber Sr. oversaw the use of ‘tools’ – outsiders put under the Imperius Curse; and Abraxas Malfoy controlled the cash flow.

At the Ministry, no one could name the movement leaders with certainty, though everyone had their suspicions. Formally, Rosier, Notts, and Malfoys were respectable taxpayers with clean records. There was nothing to accuse them of. Only the Lestranges bore the brunt of public scandal.

And at the heart of it – and in the shadows – was the Dark Lord. The press did not mention his name, but there was not a living soul in Britain who did not know it.

***

Because there was always a shortage of people at the very top of the movement, the first graduates of the Anti-Hogwarts became the subject of fierce competition. Dolohov set his sights on Evan Rosier, determined to bring him into his combat group.

‘I don’t even know how to cast an Avada properly,’ Evan protested. ‘You know that.’

‘I’ll teach you,’ Dolohov said with a disarming smile. ‘Besides, both Travers and Talbot have already voted for you. They’ve seen you in a fight.’

In the end, Evan gave in. What followed was a blazing row between Rosier Sr. and Dolohov. It stopped short of an actual duel, but from that day on, Colin Rosier never addressed Dolohov unless strictly necessary. He also stopped speaking to his own son, wounded in his pride: by agreeing so readily, Evan had robbed him of the chance to appeal to the Dark Lord. Now it was too late.

Even so, Evan proved a perfect fit for the combat group. The youngest among them, he was quickly adopted by Travers and Talbot, who alternated between teasing, lecturing, and drilling him. Fortunately, Rosier had an easy-going nature; he took it all in stride and laughed along. The group dubbed him “Kiddo”, a name that stuck so firmly that even when younger recruits arrived, Evan remained Kiddo.

Bella, too, had hoped to join the combat group. Her results were excellent – she had matched Evan Rosier’s final marks in martial arts – but Dolohov refused. The Dark Lord had other plans for her: she brought money into the movement and was to keep doing so.

Once she had been chosen as the face of a propaganda poster, she became the Knights’ showpiece – a kind of display doll. Yet from the very beginning, Lestrange Sr. had been firmly against taking Bella to the “slutty parties”.

‘You are too valuable,’ he told her when she first stood before the mirror in her new guise. ‘You’ll accompany me to small, private meetings where only the most serious donations are discussed.’

She wore the outfit he had chosen for her: dark, fully covered, more like armour than a dress. The narrow cuffs around her wrists looked like vambraces, and the voluminous skirt was embroidered with black silk, as if even the pattern itself was made of pure darkness.

‘Don’t smile,’ Lestrange instructed, fixing his gaze on her reflection. ‘More aggression … that’s it, good. You need to inspire both desire and fear. A cocktail of emotions, that’s what hooks them. Contempt suits you better than a smile. This is your element, exactly what we need.’

‘Will it work?’

‘Trust me, it will.’

‘You’ve done this before,’ she suddenly realised. ‘You’ve already created an image for someone else.’

Lestrange didn’t answer, only allowed himself the faintest smile. Most likely, he meant Ella – who else could it have been?

In general, he treated Bella with striking kindness and care. He would answer her questions patiently, explain why a thing must be done a certain way, tell her who the people they met were, what they wanted, and how the movement might use them. Such long, frank conversations were unusual in a family where, for generations, women hadn’t even been recorded on the family tree. In place of their names and portraits, there were only flowers: beautiful, but silent.

Yet despite his efforts, Bella still felt like a silent mannequin when she fastened on earrings worth half a Ministry official’s yearly salary or stood on a platform while a seamstress – Ella’s mother – fitted her with yet another dress. Each evening gown could only be worn once before being ostentatiously sold at a charity auction for St Mungo’s Hospital. The whole point was to create the illusion that the Knights had money to burn and accepted donations only out of benevolence, to give donors the satisfaction of contributing to the cause.

The movement paid for all business expenses, but Bella was expected to reimburse them from the donations she had raised for the Dark Lord. If there was one thing the movement excelled at, it was counting money. Her life was now measured in figures: two, five, ten thousand Galleons … She was an asset expected to earn her keep. Even the word ‘report’ made her stomach turn.

She usually worked in tandem with either the Dark Lord himself or Lestrange Sr. The latter hadn’t lied: her beauty did make a powerful impression, especially when she was angry. The more disgust and hatred she felt for the wealthy fools she had to entertain, the more vividly she imagined Cruciating them, skinning them, cutting off their fingers, slitting their bellies, the stronger was the effect. The longer they stared at her, smiling vacantly as if drugged, the more readily they signed cheques and agreements which Lestrange Sr had always ready at hand.

In the end, her role was simple. Bella was a battering ram, the one who smashed the gates so the assault could pour in. And battering rams, like flowers, are never given names of their own.

Chapter Text

The day after the quarrel at Thornhall, Bella appeared at Headquarters and went straight to the Dark Lord. His study, situated on the second floor, was as restrained and purposeful as its master. This austere room, with walls lined with bookshelves, resembled more the command centre of an army than a throne room. The windows, like those in the Slytherin dormitory, were illusory: the view beyond them bore no relation to reality.

Now, in winter, a fire blazed in the grate, and the air was almost stifling. As always, the room carried the pleasant scent of cinnamon and apples. When Bella entered, the Dark Lord rose to greet her. She kissed his hand, and he drew her chair closer to the hearth. She felt a twinge of embarrassment at being attended to by him, yet he had always conducted himself like a perfect gentleman. She was about to begin her report on her work in January, but he stopped her.

‘We can discuss it later. I wanted to ask you something else … Tell me, have you studied Occlumency?’

‘Yes, my Lord. Mulciber taught us,’ she replied, a little surprised.

‘What exactly did he teach you to do?’

‘A mental block. Just a simple wall.’

‘Let’s see how you do it.’

She did not wait for a flick of his wand or the utterance of a spell. She knew the Dark Lord was a natural Legilimens – he needed neither. Even so, she was unprepared for what happened next.

He broke through the wall she had thrown up in her mind so effortlessly as though it had never existed. The world spun before her eyes; memories, sensations, and snatches of conversation spilled from her with dizzying speed.

The Sorting Hat insists that she is a Gryffindor by nature. She threatens to tear it into ten little hats if it doesn’t send her to Slytherin …

Meadowes dies, choking on his own blood …

Rod photographs her dancing in the garden …

Lestrange Sr. stands beside her and tells her she must not smile …

She enters a room where men in black robes rise to meet her…

***

She came to her senses with something soft beneath her head. The Dark Lord was supporting her, carefully tipping water from a conjured glass to her lips. Once he saw she was awake, he summoned a house elf and ordered tea and something sweet.

When the elf had set down the tray and gone, the Dark Lord said:

‘Very poor. You’ve no idea how to defend yourself. I saw every face clearly and heard every word spoken at the last meeting. That is not acceptable.’

‘I’m sorry, Master,’ she whispered. She felt so wretched that she hadn’t even the strength to be ashamed. Her head was still spinning from the forced Legilimency; she could barely sit upright. It was as if she had been turned upside down and shaken like an old, threadbare sack.

‘No need to apologise. It isn’t your fault. The fact that Mulciber, despite all his boasting, is a dreadful teacher is, sadly, a constant. I shall teach you myself. You carry far too much valuable information; no one else must have access to it.’

The Dark Lord would teach her himself! The flare of surprise and pride was so sharp that he felt it.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘But I must warn you – I’m a poor Occlumens. I can’t even keep up a proper wall, let alone send an opponent into the fog. The only thing I know well is counter-Legilimency. I tend to think, in this as in many other fields, you either attack or defend. Still, I shall do everything in my power.’

He inclined his head.

‘Well, shall we begin? This time, let’s take it slowly. Tell me when you’re ready.’

***

She returned to Knockturn Alley late in the evening, so exhausted she could barely summon the strength to take off her shoes. Rod was waiting for her with dinner — very timely, as after Legilimency she was always as hungry as a wolf, and today even more so. Outside, the rain was falling steadily, but the little attic room was warm and cosy.

‘What kept you so long?’ he asked, ladling hot potato-and-parsnip cream soup into bowls and generously scattering it with finely chopped pickled Murtlap tentacles. Bella breathed in the rich aroma with delight. What could be better in weather like this? Through the steam rising from the soup, the candlelight seemed almost purple.

‘I was with the Dark Lord. He’s teaching me Occlumency now!’ she announced proudly, starting to eat. ‘You could do with a few lessons yourself.’

‘I know,’ he said, sitting down opposite her. ‘Colin Rosier’s teaching me, but it’s not going so well so far. How is it with the Dark Lord?’

‘Hard,’ she admitted frankly. ‘It’s like being opened up like a tin of sardines. I don’t think I’ve a single coherent thought left. My head’s still foggy. I even blacked out for a bit.’

‘Oh, is it really that bad?’ He set down his spoon. ‘Why did he decide to teach you right now?’

‘What’s the point in waiting?’ She took a blissful sip of the hot, spicy soup. ‘I go to meetings with important donors. The Dark Lord said the details of those meetings are far too easy to pick out in my memories. If I’m ever arrested, I need to be able to block them.’

‘Are those memories still so clear?’

The question caught her off guard.

‘I think so … Or maybe not. Actually, the last few months are a bit of a blur. It feels as though everything’s been muddled since he stirred all my memories up.’

‘I see,’ Rod said, his tone unreadable, before quickly changing the subject.

***

The next morning, she woke before dawn. No sound came through the closed shutters. The silence was so deep, so unnatural for Knockturn Alley, that she guessed at once: the rain must have turned to snow during the night. Sleepily snuggling deeper beneath the blanket, she reached out to hug Rod, as she always did – but he wasn’t there. Where could he have gone so early? But the thought never had the chance to form fully before sleep claimed her again.

When she next opened her eyes, the pale winter light seeped into the room. A damp chill came from the open window; outside, snowflakes drifted soundlessly down. Rod was sitting on the windowsill, his wand in hand. At first, Bella thought his clothes were dusted with snow, but when she rubbed her eyes, she saw it was something else. Touching his temple with his wand, he drew out fine, silvery strands and shook them away without care. They fell onto the windowsill, the floor, his clothes – and slowly vanished, like snow melting in the warmth.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked with a yawn. ‘And why are you removing so many of your memories?’

He started at her voice, but answered calmly:

‘Look over there, and you’ll understand.’

She turned towards the door, squinting, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

‘What am I meant to see –?’

A warm breath of air brushed her face.

‘Obliviate.’

…

She blinked in confusion. The pale winter light seeped into the room. A damp chill came from the open window; outside, snowflakes drifted soundlessly down. Rod was sitting on the windowsill.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked with a yawn.

‘At Rosier’s. I’d borrowed his Invisibility Cloak and had to return it in a hurry. He’s inviting us to the dance on Saturday.’

She felt so drowsy she thought she might have nodded off for a moment, even with her eyes open.

‘Well … all right. Why are you sitting there?’

‘Just getting some fresh air,’ he said, rising to close the window. ‘I’ll tell him we’ll go, shall I?’

His clothes and the floor around him were spotless. Only a few stray snowflakes, blown in on the breeze, were slowly melting in the warmth.

Chapter Text

Since then, something in her life had shifted. Bella continued to work with Lestrange Sr., who remained as attentive, as polite, and as talkative as before. Yet she felt as though a thin, transparent veil had settled between them: almost imperceptible, but impossible to ignore. It seemed he no longer trusted her, though she had done nothing to warrant it.

She felt the same distance from Rodolphus. He began to communicate with his father much more, but a slight chill seemed to have developed between him and Bella. The Dark Lord had summoned him several times to test his ability to protect his memories and had rifled through them just as thoroughly as Bella’s. But he had not offered to teach him, and even Bella, rarely quick to notice the subtleties of human relations, could not fail to see it.

Obviously, she concluded, it was the result of the Dark Lord’s anger. Rodolphus’s family, once so close to him, had lost his trust through their arrogance. But she had that trust. The Dark Lord trained her every day and knew literally every memory she possessed. She was like an open book to him – and she could not say she disliked it.

From then on, she lingered longer and longer at Headquarters. After her sessions with the Dark Lord, they would talk. March came, and the illusory windows showed spring landscapes with snowdrops and crocuses. They were, of course, imaginary – there were no such flowers anywhere nearby, just as there were no forests or mountains on the horizon. But the illusion was as vivid as everything the Dark Lord created, so much so that Bella could almost smell the young grass and the warm, sunlit earth.

At first, the Dark Lord worked with her in the evenings, but later, as his schedule grew heavier, the lessons shifted to the dead of night. He would summon her at two or three in the morning, and they would finish at dawn, when the owls arrived with the first letters. The house-elf brought hot chocolate for him and tea for Bella. She sat on a stool, slightly lower, so she could watch him without being in the way. Sometimes he told her amusing stories – he liked the sound of her laughter. He rarely smiled himself, but in those moments his beauty was even more striking, as though lit from within.

At other times, he seemed very weary, and then her heart ached. The entire vast machinery of the movement – complex, co-ordinated, precise – depended upon his will. He was its heart, beating without pause. The lives of hundreds rested on the mere wave of his hand. Bella could scarcely imagine how he bore such a burden. And yet Lestrange dared to argue with him, as though blind to the weight the Dark Lord carried every day!

Sometimes, when the mood took him, the Dark Lord shared his own thoughts, plans, and ideas with her.

‘To conquer death,’ he said once, ‘is the highest and most desperate challenge in the history of mankind. People have always feared it, even wizards. How many theories, religions, and obsessions have sprung from this fear alone! All our culture rests upon the terror of death and the awareness of life’s fragility.’

He smiled – briefly, but with a clarity that seemed to come from within.

‘Imagine what it would mean to cross that threshold, how the world would change for the one who had become immortal. But I believe I have succeeded. I even want to give the movement a new name. “Death Eaters” would be better than “Knights of Walpurgis”. We truly conquer death: we savour it, drink it like wine, tame it, make it close and familiar –’

‘What a beautiful image!’

‘When you truly draw near to death, you begin to sense what it really is. But that requires intimacy. You must not merely witness death, not even inflict it, but feel it physically.’

He fell silent, as if listening to his own thoughts.

‘It is difficult to explain, but death is real. It passes by, and that is no metaphor. When you stand close to it, an abyss of absolute emptiness opens beside you, and you find yourself upon its very edge. You can sense the Gate opening somewhere. This, too, is no metaphor, but reality. There is a Gate, and what precedes it is a space alien to us, beyond us, for which our language has no words. Yet it exists. There is something beyond the Gate, too. I have not yet passed through, but I am certain it can be done – one may enter and return. “The Paths of Death” are not poetic fancy. One day, I shall cross them and emerge on the other side.’

A cold shiver ran through Bella. The morning birdsong in the illusory forest outside the window, the rustle of branches in the wind – all seemed to belong to another world, too warm, too simple, too human.

‘Would you come with me?’ he asked, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Would you be unafraid? Would you follow me down the paths of death?’

In that moment, there was nothing she feared.

***

Over the next month, the Dark Lord tested almost all the graduates of the Anti-Hogwarts, just as he had tested her. But he chose not to teach anyone else.

‘Why did you choose me?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Was I the worst?’

‘On the contrary, you are the best,’ he said. ‘You are special, Bella, and you mean more to me than the others. I trust you more than anyone else.’

She had never been so happy in her life. It was only a pity she had no one to tell. Rodolphus grew gloomy whenever the Dark Lord was mentioned. Evan laughed at her. They all saw things from their narrow perspectives, unable to grasp the vastness of the Dark Lord’s vision.

There was no one she could confide in. Bella had no friends. Ella, who might have filled the role, was too busy with her older child and pregnant again. Perhaps it was for the best; Ella would only have said something hurtful and spoiled her mood.

And yet, everything had seemed so bright! She had been happy for nearly three months … until it all went sour, swift and cruel.

***

During those three months, the Dark Lord had become her bread, her water, her air. And yet now she was seeing him less. He must have taught her all he had wished, for now he summoned her only when he found the time – and that was happening ever more rarely.

It might have looked as though he had lost interest in her. But that was impossible. He had told her she was special! Most likely, he was occupied with greater matters. After all, even though there had been no arrests as Lestrange had predicted, and the plan to eliminate Minchum was abandoned, the atmosphere remained taut with tension.

Bella lived now from one meeting with the Dark Lord to the next. The rest of the time, she drifted like a dreamer. Anything that forced her out of that dream filled her with loathing: business, conversations … and Rodolphus.

She did not understand how she could still endure his presence. He did not value her. He mocked her. He dropped hints that she sometimes missed the obvious, as though there were a screw loose in her head, as if she were deficient, incomplete. The Dark Lord, by contrast, treated her as an equal, confided in her his most secret thoughts. How could Rod dare to sneer when their Master spoke to her as if she mattered? Every one of his sarcastic smiles was like spittle on something holy.

Her whole body recoiled from him. She searched for conflict in every word, every careless gesture, as if hunting for an excuse to release the fury that churned inside her. After they had sex, she fled to the bathroom immediately. The very idea that a trace of him might still cling to her skin filled her with horror. What if the Dark Lord summoned her? What if she came before Him defiled, stained with Rodolphus’s touch? She scrubbed herself until her flesh was raw, until she felt clean enough to stand in the Dark Lord’s presence. Rod noticed, of course, and soon he stopped touching her altogether.

They lived like that for months – two bodies in the same bed, divided by an invisible wall. Only in dreams did the wall dissolve, and they would wake briefly in each other’s arms. But as soon as consciousness returned, they recoiled, retreating at once to opposite sides so as not even to brush against each other’s hands.

Bella suspected Rod sought diversion elsewhere – he often slipped out in the evenings and returned late. So what? Let him. It was nothing to her. They had never once spoken the words ‘I love you’. They were not husband and wife, not lovers – only two people sharing a space out of convenience, bound by habit and inertia. Her soul already belonged elsewhere, consumed in the fire of devotion to the Dark Lord. No trust had been broken. There was no one to betray, and nothing to regret.

***

And then Rodolphus left her. It happened so casually, as if he were only heading off to Headquarters. He moved about the room, tossing his things into a pile, and kept talking:

‘Honestly, I don’t see why you’re so worked up. You’ll be better off without me, won’t you? Evil, cruel, selfish – what else was it you called me? Oh yes: convinced I’m the cleverest man alive, using cheap irony just to humiliate you. Forcing you into bed, suggesting some filthy thing I’ve picked up from a porn mag. But when he does the very same, suddenly it’s not vile at all – because he’s the Dark Lord, and I’m not.’

‘Don’t you dare! He would never… we never… How can you defile him with your disgusting fantasies!’

‘Oh really?’ Rod raised his brows in mock surprise. ‘So he hasn’t shagged you even once, for all your efforts?’

‘Crucio!’ she screamed, but he dodged neatly and slipped out, protecting the door behind him with a shield charm. Smart of him, otherwise the whole place would have gone up in flames.

When he crept back a few minutes later, Bella refused even to glance at him.

‘Beauty, listen,’ he began. ‘I went too far. I didn’t mean –’

‘Get out.’ Her voice was so low with rage that it was nearly a growl. ‘Get out before I kill you.’

A silence, then the sound of the door closing. She was alone.

***

For the first few days, she thought Rod would come back once he’d cooled off. But of course, she would never forgive him. Not for what he had said about the Dark Lord, nor the tone in which he dared to say it. That was beyond forgiving – and beyond forgetting.

But he did not return. When their paths crossed at Headquarters, he greeted her with the calm indifference one shows a passing acquaintance. She had wished so often for him to vanish from her life – so why did his absence bite so sharply now? Once he had brought her tea, made her soup, untangled her thoughts when they grew confused, comforted her in illness, lifted her from her familiar descents into gloom. Now there was no one left to do any of it.

Lestrange Sr. behaved as though nothing had changed: still polite, even solicitous, as if she had not severed ties with his son. Yet Bella felt something inside herself had splintered. She began to make mistakes. Two meetings with important sponsors in a private club failed: at one, she blurted out things better left unsaid; at the other, she stood up and walked out, unable to bear the weight of their stares. She asked to have several other meetings cancelled. She had no strength, no desire to face anyone.

All that remained to her was the Dark Lord’s summons. And even those grew scarce. He was too occupied and did not call for her until the end of May.

She hurried to Headquarters, nearly running, but the moment she entered his study, she sensed something was wrong. The Dark Lord rose to meet her as usual, yet he did not invite her to sit. He remained standing, his face unsmiling, his eyes fixed straight on her.

‘Bella, what is happening to you?’

‘Nothing, Master,’ she said quickly.

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m fine.’ Bella’s gaze faltered.

‘If that is so, why do I see no new contributions?’

‘They’re coming, it’s just –’

‘Just what? Is Lestrange treating you badly?’

‘No. He’s fine. But –’

She drew a breath, and the words tumbled out in a rush:

‘I miss you, my Lord. I think of you constantly. If only I could see you more often …’

She shut her eyes, as though bracing herself to plunge into icy water.

‘I love you.’

***

A long silence fell. Bella opened one eye cautiously. The Dark Lord stood with his back to her by the illusory window. From the length of that silence, it was plain he would not kiss her back, as she had unconsciously hoped. And yet, foolishly, hope lingered.

‘You do me a great honour,’ he said at last, his voice smooth but distant. ‘I truly value your feelings. But you must understand – I cannot reciprocate them. I am, in fact, surprised you even permitted yourself to imagine otherwise.’

He turned to face her.

‘Bella, have you ever seen me place personal desires above the cause we serve?’

‘No, Master,’ she whispered.

‘Or lose myself to sentiment while the fight still rages, while our enemies strive to destroy us?’

‘No, my Lord.’

‘Then why are you doing this?’

She could not answer.

‘Perhaps I’ve been too indulgent with you. Have I given you any reason to think I treat you differently from the rest?’

‘Yes!’ she wanted to cry. ‘You said I am not like everyone else!’

He heard her thoughts, of course.

‘I did indeed say you were special. It would be a pity if you misunderstood me. I meant your talents – which, incidentally, I’m beginning to doubt.’

‘Forgive me, Master,’ her voice cracked. ‘I was wrong.’

‘It’s nothing. Such lapses are common at your age. But I want you to prove to me that you can do better. You will handle the meetings with Ferguson and Daymond alone. Perhaps your partnership with Lestrange has truly run its course. You need greater responsibility – and less time for idle dreams.’

A knock sounded at the door.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I have a meeting with my Inner Circle. I’ve no more time for you. Perhaps later.’

He flicked his wand; the door swung open, and the Inner Circle filed in: Lestrange, Dolohov, Malfoy, Rosier – all the senior men. Her presence did not go unnoticed. She felt their eyes on her, bowed her head to hide the tears, and slipped quickly out.

Already beyond the door, she caught Colin Rosier’s voice:

‘Still forcing her memories out, are you? Tom, if you’ve got doubts, better we speak openly than spy on each other through the children.’

She heard the words but could not grasp their meaning. Her vision swam. Even after the door closed behind her, she did not leave. She stood there, waiting, praying for him to come out, to call her back.

How long she waited – an hour or two – she could not tell. She was feverish, her thoughts scattered, her whole body consumed with a single longing: to see him again.

At last, the door opened, and they emerged together, laughing. Presumably, the candid talk had gone well. The Dark Lord held his gloves in his hand – he was going out. Lestrange Sr. draped his cloak over his shoulders with careful reverence and held the door wide for him.

‘Please, my Lord.’

Something in the intonation was odd, almost intimate. The Dark Lord laughed, and for an instant their eyes met. Then the whole company moved towards the exit.

‘Time for a drink, to seal our understanding,’ Dolohov said merrily.

No one noticed Bella.

Chapter Text

The next day, she went to the Office to collect the dossiers on Ferguson and Daymond, barely holding back her tears. What had she imagined? What had she expected? Could someone so far above all others ever return her feelings like some naïve schoolboy? It was her own fault she had humiliated the Dark Lord with this love of hers, this crude physicality. He had been gentle with her – he had every right to be far harsher.

But those thoughts brought no comfort. She felt so drained she could scarcely move her legs. Her heart ached with longing, then suddenly hammered against her ribs like a deranged clock. More than once, she had to stop to catch her breath.

Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of hope still lived: perhaps it was all a mistake, which might yet be put right. But her pitiless reason told her otherwise. After what she had done, there would be no more midnight conversations, no more Occlumency lessons, no more trust, no more sharing of ideas. Nothing. She had destroyed it all herself.

She had at least hoped she would not run into Rodolphus. The Office door, as always, was buzzing with enchantments. It admitted her in after usual inspection, though she still feared one day it would not recognise her and would burn her to ashes. Of course, as if to spite her, Rod was there, speaking with Colin Rosier. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, a backpack slung over his shoulder as if ready to set out at once. When the door opened, his face lit with sudden joy, but within a heartbeat it froze into cold indifference.

‘Oh, it’s you? Hello,’ he said carelessly, turning back to Colin at once. ‘I think I’d better go. What’s our deadline?’

Rosier Sr. glanced at the calendar on the wall.

‘June tenth. The fifteenth at the latest.’

‘Where are you going?’ Bella asked.

Rod did not answer, as though he had not heard. He slipped his wand into a narrow pocket sewn along the leg of his jeans. Colin gave him a hard look.

‘You’ve forgotten something,’ he muttered.

Rod glanced down at himself, as though remembering.

‘Ah. Rings.’

Muggle men, as they had been taught, wore no jewellery save a wedding band or a tie pin. Rod, however, like many wizards, wore silver rings. Bella’s heart sank as she watched him slide them off, one by one, and hand them over to Colin.

Colin inspected him once more, then nodded.

‘That’s better. They know who you are, but there’s no need to draw attention. Off with you now. Merlin be protecting you.’

A chill passed through Bella. You did not say such words to someone you expected to see again next morning.

Rod walked past her as if she were invisible. The door opened and closed behind him. At last, Uncle Colin turned to her and sighed, his great belly swaying.

‘Listen. I’ve spoken with him,’ he said, stressing the word so there was no mistaking who he had in mind. ‘You’re my niece, and I can’t allow you to be deceived like this. The Dark Lord has promised you’ll be given no further reason to hope for … anything. As for the rest –’ he nodded at the door through which Rod had vanished, ‘I trust the two of you will sort that out somehow.’

***

Days went by, and Rodolphus wasn’t returning. Bella had no idea where he was. She suspected Northern Ireland, judging by the Muggle clothes. The Northern Irish wizards, who fought for independence from the British Ministry of Magic, worked in small groups alongside Muggles. Officially, the Knights of Walpurgis condemned them – any cooperation with Muggles was anathema. Unofficially, the Dark Lord was willing to lend support to anyone, so long as it vexed the Ministry.

The fragile truce in County Armagh had just collapsed. The Muggle government dispatched armed forces and a detachment of the SAS, and the Ministry of Magic joined with two full squads of Aurors. Even so, the campaign dragged on. The wizarding wing of the Irish Republican Army was not idle. Newspapers reported that a vast shipment of enchanted traps had been smuggled into Armagh, now inflicting steady losses on the Ministry of Magic forces.

Whether Rod was there or not, Bella couldn’t be sure. No one told her anything. She tried to bury herself in the files Uncle Colin had passed her, but it was useless. Her mood was so black she could barely function. Twice, she bungled important meetings, leaving with nothing but polite promises. Her error rate was climbing dangerously close to the critical level.

On the fifteenth of June, she went to the Office to fetch more materials. As she stepped inside, the door opened behind her.

‘Back again, you rascal!’ Colin boomed. ‘We thought at last we were rid of you.’

‘Keep dreaming,’ Rod answered cheerfully.

Bella’s heart lurched, beating so hard she thought it must give her away. She could scarcely stop herself from running to him. Instead, she emerged from the filing room with a folder in her arms, trying not to smile.

But Rod, catching sight of her, said at once:

‘All right, I’ve still to report to the Dark Lord. I’ll be back later.’

And with that, he was gone. Her joy collapsed in an instant, as if doused with a bucket of cold water.

***

Upon returning home, she collapsed onto her bed, unable to summon the strength to rise.

They had once shared this little room. Outside the window, the street was noisy, just as it had been then. All the routes they had once walked together, she now trod alone. Not a single photograph remained from the time they had been together, for it had been forbidden. Once there had been two of them, but she herself had erased one from her life. Sometimes, waking in the middle of the night, she thought she could hear him breathing beside her – but it was only the sound of the wind outside the window. The loneliness was unbearable. There was no one left except –

Bella sprang from the bed and began dressing in haste, without turning on the light.

Sister!

She still had a sister.

Chapter Text

Everything in Malfoy Manor was brand new: spotless, gleaming, immaculate, without the faintest patina, scratch, scuff, or repair. It was this, at first glance, that betrayed the Malfoys as nouveau riche. Abraxas Malfoy, master of the estate, knew that some things gained in worth with age. Yet he could not help himself: his whole being revolted at the idea of paying extravagant sums for worn old relics when one could purchase something new, clean, and flawless.

In Malfoy Manor, sculptures gleamed with untouched whiteness, tapestries blazed with the freshness of their dyes, and picture frames glittered with freshly laid gold leaf, as though they had only just left the gilder’s bench. The Malfoy ancestors in the portraits gazed down with frigid superiority, all uncannily alike – whether through bloodline, or because the painter had taken more care with silks and jewels than with the lines of their faces.

As Bella walked through the hall, she felt the portraits following her every step with disapproval. Doubtless, they thought she was leaving dirty footprints in her wake. But the instant she saw her sister, all that was forgotten. She flung herself into Narcissa’s arms like a traveller collapsing on the threshold of a warm house after a long trek through snow and storm.

In the elegant mistress of the house, dressed in evening silks, one could still glimpse the same girl who had once fought pillow battles with Bella and whispered her secrets to her as they lay together under the same blanket. Narcissa clung to her so tightly, as though she feared Bella might vanish.

‘Oh, hello,’ came Lucius’s voice.

Bella felt a rush of relief that Abraxas Malfoy was not at home. The last thing she needed was his caustic remarks and poisonous gossip, which would spread across the entire Headquarters by morning. She caught sight of herself in a mirror and winced: eyes red and swollen, shoes unpolished, dress creased. She looked as if she had spent the night on the pavement.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We could have dined together,’ Lucius chided lightly. ‘If you’re hungry, I’ll have the house elves bring something up at once –’

‘No, it’s fine.’

She had no wish to sit at the long dining table of Malfoy Manor, making forced conversation. Bella bore Lucius no ill will, but at this moment, she wanted no company but her sister’s. Narcissa seemed to read her thoughts.

‘My dear, I think Bella and I shall have tea in the small sitting room. It will be more comfortable there.’

Lucius took the hint at once but did not seem displeased to be left alone.

‘As you wish, darling.’

He kissed Narcissa softly. The two of them, too, seemed more at ease with old Abraxas absent.

***

Bella never touched the tea. When she and Narcissa were left alone, at first, she struggled to speak. Then words poured out in a torrent, as if some invisible barrier had fallen. Everything bitter and painful that she had kept locked inside, once spoken aloud, seemed to lose its weight, turning into mere lines in a book.

‘Cissy, I thought if anyone could understand me, it was the Dark Lord. I was ready to give him everything – to die for him! And he … he made me see that my feelings were improper. I’m so ashamed, it hurts so much!’

Her sister listened intently, her grey eyes – the same shade as Lucius’s, but warmer, softer – fixed on Bella’s face. Narcissa hardly moved; only the faint glow at the tip of her cigarette in a long holder flickered now and then. Now that they were alone, Narcissa’s smile was gone: her face had hardened, the features sharp, deliberate, almost rigid. It was clear she weighed every word, as if some silent calculator ticked away inside her mind.

‘So, when did your Occlumency lessons become less frequent?’

‘About a month ago. The frequency went from three times a week to one, and then they stopped altogether. Does that matter?’

‘Yes. You say the Dark Lord tested the others, too?’

‘Everyone of our age.’

‘Of course. I think that after his quarrel with Lestrange, the Dark Lord began to suspect his whole Inner Circle of conspiracy. But since those are his old friends, their status in the movement is too high for him to plunder their minds at will. So, he chose to extract information from the younger ones. The impression he gave, that there was something between you and him, was also a way of punishing the Lestranges, of humiliating them – the rumours had already spread. But as soon as the old guard was ready to reconcile, he stopped. What do you say?’

Bella was so drained she had no strength left to argue. She only said wearily:

‘It wasn’t like that at all. The Dark Lord chose me because he thought I was talented, someone he could rely on. And I let him down.’

Narcissa sighed.

‘All right, all right, sis. Of course, it was like that. You know best.’

‘Exactly. I don’t know where you get your baseless assumptions from.’

‘I wouldn’t call them baseless,’ Narcissa replied calmly. ‘You don’t know a great deal, sweetheart. And what you do know, you don’t always understand clearly.’

‘If I don’t know, then you don’t know, too. You’re not in the movement – you don’t even visit Headquarters!’

‘I don’t need to. I have my own sources.’ Narcissa gave a mysterious little smile. ‘You’re right, these are only my assumptions. But the fact remains: the Dark Lord did behave very demonstratively with you – and it was calculated so that someone other would notice. How far he was willing to go, we don’t know and never will, because the show is over. And you, sweetheart,’ – she smiled sadly – ‘you’re just collateral damage.’

‘Stop it,’ Bella begged. ‘You weren’t in Ravenclaw. Can’t you talk like a normal person? What conclusions am I supposed to draw from all this?’

‘That you have nothing to hope for with the Dark Lord.’

‘I’d already guessed as much, imagine that.’ Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette, the bitter smoke mingling with the lighter, floral haze from Narcissa’s. ‘But what am I to do now? How am I supposed to live?’

‘That’s a difficult question,’ Narcissa sighed. ‘You chased a ghost and lost what you had. Isn’t that so?’

Bella nodded grimly.

‘What a fool he is!’ Narcissa burst out.

‘The Dark Lord? You have no right –’

‘We’re not talking about him anymore. I meant Rodolphus. I thought better of him, and he’s shown himself a stupid, irresponsible fool!’

‘Why?’

‘Because he dragged you into the movement – and now he sulks over what it led to. Pathetic! Running back to his mother, nursing a grudge against the whole world …’

‘You don’t understand. It was all my fault.’

‘You’ve made mistakes, too. But he should have been honest with you, not thrown a fit and stormed out, slamming doors like a boy of twelve. Do you want me to talk to him?’

‘Well … can you?’

‘Yes,’ Narcissa said firmly. ‘Right now. I’ll go and knock some sense into him – he needs it badly.’

Bella caught her hand.

‘Cissy, wait! It won’t work. He won’t listen to you.’

‘Let him try!’ Narcissa’s eyes flashed, her face suddenly the very image of their mother in one of her fits of rage. ‘I’ll show him what it means to hurt my sister!’

She clapped her hands sharply as she strode out, ordering the house elves to ready her travelling cloak.

‘Cissy,’ Lucius called, ‘are you going somewhere?’

‘Yes, my dear,’ she replied in a high, singsong tone that was also oddly like their mother’s. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Do you need me with you?’

‘No, thank you. I’ll be back soon.’

They Apparated together: Bella to London, and Narcissa to Berkshire, where Rodolphus’s mother lived.

***

Several hours passed, and at last, tired of waiting, Bella decided to go to bed. She had already put on her nightdress and plaited her hair when there came a knock at the door – a familiar signal, but so soft that, had she been dozing, she would not have heard it.

For some reason, she was afraid to open it. She even thought of pretending to be asleep. But that thought frightened her still more, and she quickly pulled on her dressing gown, tangling herself in the sleeves, stripped the protective charms from the door, and opened it.

Rodolphus entered and stood there. He had not removed his street cloak and, it seemed, had no intention of staying long. He looked at Bella without a smile.

‘I came because I promised Narcissa. Go on then – say what you wanted to say, and I’ll be off.’

But Bella could not gather her thoughts. She began to speak in a broken rush about how wretched she felt, how everything was falling apart, how she had failed the Dark Lord’s task and could not mend it …

‘So, is that what you need me for?’ he broke in angrily. ‘To do your work for you?’

‘No! You don’t understand, that’s not the point. I just … I can’t bear it anymore.’

Rodolphus stared at her in silence for a moment, then stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

‘I know how you feel,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘It’s hard – unbearably hard – to love someone who doesn’t love you. It’s insulting, unfair, humiliating … and so painful it feels as though your heart is splitting apart.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly it. But how do you know?’

He gave a soft laugh.

‘Well, Beauty, one more little logical step … You’re such a clever girl.’

A sudden thought seared through her, hot as fire.

‘So, do you feel the same? Because of me?’

‘Bravo! You hit the mark. Dolohov would be proud.’

For the first time in her life, she didn’t even take offence at his mockery. Instead, she felt something strange – as if her stomach were twisting tight and her whole body wrung out like wet linen. She wanted to do something, anything, to make the feeling stop. She lifted her hand awkwardly and smoothed it over Rod’s hair.

‘I’m so … sorry,’ she said thickly, as though forcing the words out.

He brushed her hand with his lips.

‘Me too, Beauty. So – shall we make peace?’

‘Of course.’ She wrapped both arms around him now. ‘I missed you.’

He buried his face in her hair.

‘I missed you too.’

***

Much later – it must have been about two in the morning – she lay in bed, drained and exhausted, with Rod’s arms around her and her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts drifting lazily towards sleep. Then she remembered what she had meant to ask.

‘Are you asleep?’

‘Almost.’

‘Will you come with me to a meeting at the business club in three days? I’m afraid I won’t manage it alone.’

‘All right, I’ll go. But I want a favour from you, too. You’ll have to teach me Occlumency.’

‘You can do it already.’

‘Not well enough. And I failed the last test completely, because I was anxious and tired. Either way, it’s dangerous.’

She hadn’t wanted to speak of Occlumency; it was associated with the Dark Lord in her memories. But perhaps it would be better to replace those memories with new ones? Maybe that was the way out.

‘All right,’ she said.

The meeting at the business club turned out to be one of the strangest she had ever attended. Bella hadn’t even bothered to dress up: she wore a plain dark dress, dropped a little belladonna into her eyes to dilate the pupils, and twisted her hair carelessly into a knot.

Behind the massive doors leading into the club from Diagon Alley, a house elf met them and announced that everyone was already gathered. Rod, holding Bella’s hand, led her down the long corridor to the conference room, their footsteps echoing against the ebony-panelled walls. Just as the house elf reached for the door handle, Rod stopped him and turned to her.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ she answered brightly.

Then, sharply, as though signalling the start of a duel, he said:

‘Well then – fight!’

And he sent her inside, alone, closing the door behind her.

Bella felt as if she had been plunged into a stormy sea. Ten pairs of eyes turned on her – and she was alone, without support, without a partner. Anger flared up in her chest, and she needed an outlet. Ignoring the greetings, she strode to the empty chair, sat down with her back straight and chin lifted, glared at the men watching her and said curtly:

‘You may sit down, gentlemen.’

When they had obeyed, she fixed her gaze on the one who appeared to be the most important.

‘The Dark Lord is not pleased with how little you have done for him as yet.’

It was outrageously bold. As she recalled from the file, the men present were only considering whether to support the movement – they were not obliged to do so. But it was too late to retreat. Besides, she hardly cared how the meeting ended. She wanted only one thing: to get out as quickly as possible and deal with Rod. Perhaps that was why her tone was so severe – and it worked. None of them dared object.

Half an hour later, she left the club with a cheque in her purse. She spotted Rod almost at once – he was sitting by the window in a café. The place was practically empty; closing time was near. The waiters were already turning chairs upside down, and an old witch was levitating a mop, bucket, and rag into the hall.

Striding to the table, Bella intended to slap him, but he neatly caught her hand.

‘So – did you deal with them?’

‘Yes! But how dare you?!’

‘How much did you raise?’

‘Six thousand,’ she said, ‘and another thousand each month.’

He smiled, satisfied.

‘Merlin, I wound you up well! I didn’t expect that myself.’

She wanted to call him a bastard – but instead she leaned across the table and kissed him on the cheek.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

24rd December 1977

A westerly wind whistled fiercely outside the windows, bending the branches, tearing away the last bedraggled leaves, flinging handfuls of icy rain against the panes. Until then, December had been so mild that, here and there, the first snowdrops had already broken through the soil – deceived, mistaking the false warmth for spring. But on this Christmas Eve, the weather had suddenly turned foul. Draughts moaned down the chimneys, making the flames shiver, lean sideways, and scatter sparks across the hearth rugs.

The Christmas party at the home of Millicent Bagnold, the Deputy Minister for Magic, looked casual at first glance. In truth, every guest had come with an agenda – a petition, a favour to ask, a discreet mission to carry out. People hurried to strike bargains, to cultivate acquaintances, to settle matters before the holidays. Almost no one ate, but everyone drank copiously. House-elves moved deftly through the throng, balancing trays of cocktails and champagne flutes. The women mostly flirted; the men slipped away one by one into adjoining studies, onto the balcony, or into the conservatory to confer beyond inquisitive ears. For many, the holiday season had not yet begun at all.

‘Dear Millie,’ Lestrange Sr. said gallantly, bending to kiss their hostess’s hand. ‘You look wonderful, as always. Allow me to introduce Miss Black.’

Bella played her role by habit, without effort. Among the guests, everyone knew exactly who was who. Those were the days of a fragile truce, one that could have shattered at the slightest breath. Some hastened to speak to Lestrange, others smiled and shook his hand on the sly; others avoided him altogether or, if they did greet him, were dry to the point of rudeness. Among the latter was a sharp-featured woman with cropped hair and a monocle – Amelia Bones, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Lestrange thought highly of her. ‘Amelia and I have often found ourselves on opposite sides of the barricade,’ he said, ‘yet, however different our positions, my respect for her remains unchanged.’

The Head of the Department – Bartemius Crouch, a middle-aged wizard with a too-precise parting and a thin, bristling moustache – did not even trouble himself to nod, regarding Lestrange with frank and unvarnished contempt. If anyone was ready to break the truce, it would be him. His opposition to the movement had long since passed beyond professional duty; it resembled nothing so much as a vendetta. Crouch was a rising star of magical politics, a staunch supporter of the hard line, and a likely candidate to succeed Harold Minchum as Minister for Magic. Lestrange, however, did not waste so much as a moment’s courtesy on him.

After scarcely an hour, Bella’s head throbbed with the din of chatter and the endless pretence. She slipped into the library, which looked deserted, and discovered that one of the deep armchairs was already occupied. Curled in it was a thin, fair-haired boy in formal robes, no older than fifteen. He was buried in a heavy tome, leafing through its pages with fierce concentration, oblivious as dust settled across his sleeves. At the sound of footsteps, he gave an impatient sigh and pushed himself upright in the armchair, but obstinately kept his eyes fixed on the book.

‘Do you mind if I sit here too?’

‘Not my house.’ He shrugged without looking up from the page. ‘Sit where you like.’

His tone – a little haughty, almost adult – suggested either cheek, awkwardness, or both at once. Bella sat down opposite him, curious.

‘We haven’t been introduced, I think. My name is Bellatrix Black.’

‘Bartemius Crouch. Junior,’ he muttered, as if the name tasted sour. He flicked his eyes up for a second – and froze. Even in the dim light of the room, lit only by the lamps and the glow of the fire, she saw colour rush into his cheeks.

‘Is that you on the posters? I mean … I’ve seen them …’

So she was a celebrity among sulky schoolboys now. A triumph indeed, as her mother would have said.

‘I am,’ Bella said evenly, without the hint of a smile. She lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. ‘And you’re the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?’

‘Yeah,’ he growled, his face twitching, eyes flashing with sudden anger. ‘Everyone knows that. That’s all anyone cares about – that I’m Crouch’s son!’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘Course I don’t!’

‘I don’t like it either, when people only care about me being the poster girl.’

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled quickly. ‘Didn’t mean to … y’know …’

‘It’s all right. Don’t worry. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.’

‘My father hates you anyway,’ he muttered.

‘And you?’

He only shrugged, saying nothing. But the silence was eloquent enough.

‘So, you’ve run away from them all, too?’ Bella asked. His refusal to meet her gaze annoyed her, but at the same time, she felt an urge to crack that armour of teenage stiffness which reminded her so much of herself long ago.

He gave a slight nod.

‘Everything’s just rotten, isn’t it?’

He must have been waiting a long time for someone to listen, or perhaps that evening he had drunk alcohol for the first time in his life and loosened up. Whatever the reason, young Barty suddenly burst out. He babbled, pouring everything out in a rush, despite Bella not asking a single question. Told her that his father cared only for marks, that no one at home ever listened to him, that every conversation with adults turned into a lecture on responsibility and the need to think of the future; that plenty of people tried to befriend him, but only because of his father; that in truth, nobody wanted him; that he could not bear to live as a shadow, an appendage to another man’s name. He wanted to be himself, not merely “Crouch’s son”.

All of it sounded like the ordinary woes of any teenager. It would have been quite unremarkable, if not for who his father was. The boy was right: it was precisely his being Crouch’s son that drew attention to him. And that was what might make him valuable.

‘So you want to be special?’ Bella asked at last, hearing steps and voices somewhere down the corridor. ‘Want to be yourself, not the embodiment of your father’s wishes?’

He nodded fervently, colouring again.

Some blank paper, a quill, and a porcelain inkwell were on the table beside the window. Bella took a sheet of paper and swiftly wrote down an address in Knockturn Alley in her neat, assured hand.

‘Send an owl and come. We’ll talk there.’ She folded the note into quarters and handed it to him.

He accepted it carefully, as if it were something precious.

‘Now go. Best if we’re not seen together.’

***

To tell the truth, she had not expected an answer. But, strangely enough, the next day after Christmas an owl did arrive.

Barty had not yet sat his Apparition test, and there was no fireplace connected to the Floo Network in the Knockturn Alley flat, so he came on foot from the public fireplace in Diagon Alley. Standing by the window, he stared in wonder at the slate-grey roofs, dusted with the first snow, and the footprints of passers-by criss-crossed between the frozen figures of gargoyles capped in white.

‘Why don’t they move?’

‘Gargoyles are cold-blooded,’ Bella explained. ‘In summer, in the sun, they’re lively and quick. But now you could grab one by the legs and smash bricks with it, and it wouldn’t even stir. When the blood cools, they harden.’

‘No way,’ Barty said, eyes lighting up. ‘That’s really cool.’ He reached for a book that lay on the chair beside him, marked with a folded slip of paper. ‘Oh! So I’m not the only one who’s into poetry!’

‘Give it here,’ Bella said quickly, embarrassed. She was always faintly ashamed of her interest in literature, when all her energy ought to have been devoted elsewhere. ‘Which poets do you like?’

‘Chinese ones from the Tang and Song dynasties. But I’m miles off being able to read them in the original.’

‘You know Chinese? Incredible!’

‘I’m just learning,’ he said, looking a bit awkward. ‘It’s actually straightforward – proper logical. Everyone thinks Chinese is impossible ’cause of the tones and all the weird characters, but once you get used to it, it’s not that bad. The best bit is you can read it and still get what it means, even if you’ve got no clue how to say the word out loud. Can you imagine any European language letting you do that? No chance. It’s brilliant.’

Barty could go on for hours about languages and poetry. He had a shockingly deep knowledge – the kind you’d rarely find even in adults twice his age. Bella realised with a start how much she’d missed that sort of conversation. The Lestranges were no fools, and in politics and history they often saw further than she did – but it was useless to talk to them about novels or poetry. They had neither the time nor the inclination to read it.

But Barty caught every thought at once, picked up on odd associations, threw in unexpected allusions, and could rattle off whole poems from different authors and eras by heart. She hadn’t even noticed how much she was enjoying herself until hours had passed. Barty seemed transformed: he was animated, met her eyes directly, smiled, and the dimples in his cheeks made him look like a different boy altogether. It wasn’t until about eight o’clock that Bella noticed the time.

‘What did you tell your parents?’

‘Said I was off to Bob Perkins’s. He’s in my year – we don’t even talk, really – but Mom’s so chuffed I’ve got friends that she never questions it. And Dad …’ He gave a crooked half-smile. ‘He doesn’t care. He’s hardly ever home anyway.’

***

Back at Hogwarts, Barty wrote to her almost daily: long letters about school life, funny incidents, scraps of thought about everything under the sun. Bella passed the letters on to the Office, where they were carefully analysed and added to the Crouch dossier. There was no question of recruiting young Barty yet – for now, the boy was only being watched, cautiously, from a distance.

One day, he sent her a poem:

In morning light,
your silhouette –
a night bloom folds its petals.

‘That’s because you seem mysterious to me,’ he explained in his note, ‘like you’re dancing in some kind of moonlit haze. Grey days, boring adult stuff, everyday life – none of that’s you.’

He and his mother went to the seaside for the summer, but in August, he began slipping into Knockturn Alley again. At home, he told them all he was visiting the Perkinses. Old Crouch would have gone mad if he’d known where his only son was really sneaking off to.

‘Doesn’t your father care who Perkins is?’ she asked.

‘All he cares about is how many O.W.L.s I’ve got,’ Barty said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Later, in darker days, Bella often remembered those conversations – how they talked without pause, tumbling from one subject to another, hurried, eager, interrupting each other; how they laughed, quoted favourite books, tossed comparisons back and forth like a ball. And then, little by little, she had begun to tell him about the Dark Lord. Finally, at the end of August, just before his return to Hogwarts, she took the risk and invited Barty to a general gathering of the movement.

***

The Golden Cohort was expected to be in place from early morning, and they spent the whole day under the sun. From the crest of a Welsh hill, the view opened out across a vast, bowl-shaped valley, with distant mountains misting on the horizon. A sheltered hollow on one of the slopes provided cover enough to conceal several hundred people from prying eyes – and that was all they needed. The Office had set alarms across the valley; on the hill itself, Muggle-repelling charms and Apparition detectors were cast.

Sitting on the grass near the steep incline, Bella gazed down at the Muggle buildings far below, clear in the sharp air. A railway ran a few miles off, and the wind carried the shrill whistle of locomotives up to the hilltop. From here, the train looked like a toy creeping along the tracks.

Just like that, she thought, we are slowly creeping into war.

In the evening, she went down into the nearby Muggle town with its unpronounceable Welsh name to meet Barty. By the time they climbed back up to the hill, it was already dusk, the full moon shining like a silver mirror, and the hollow was filled with masked figures. Barty wore a long cloak with the hood pulled low.

‘Make sure no one sees your face,’ Bella instructed. ‘You stand out too much.’

Travers came over to them.

‘Who’s this?’

‘He’s with me.’

‘Do you have permission?’

‘Yes.’ Bella produced a slip of parchment signed by Colin Rosier.

‘Good. Then he’s your responsibility.’

They skirted the edge of the valley in search of Rodolphus. He was sitting under a hawthorn bush, cigarette in hand, watching the crowd. Barty too was staring, taut with nerves. It was plain he had never imagined the true scale of the movement, and the sight left him stunned.

Bella, meanwhile, found her eyes wandering to the hawthorn branches. As a child, she had loved picking the berries, sweet and tart. But it was too early now – they would not ripen until September.

***

Everyone had been waiting a long time. The Dark Lord still had not appeared, and the tension grew heavier, almost unbearable. Then a sound swept across the valley; the crowd stirred as though a sudden gust of wind had rushed over the hill. A bright green spark flared in the air, swelling quickly until it became a great sphere of emerald mist. The sphere parted – and through the veil the Dark Lord stepped. As always, he was alone, unguarded, unaccompanied. The entire crowd dropped to their knees as one. Bella tugged at Barty’s robes, and after a moment’s hesitation, he joined them.

The Dark Lord raised a hand, signalling that they might rise. A stir ran through the hollow – the swish of robes, the whisper of branches – and then silence fell so deep that the crackle of every torch could be heard.

He stood utterly still until the hush was absolute. Then his voice came – quiet at first, measured, deliberate. Gradually, it rose, fiercer, filled with fire. The Dark Lord spoke of honour, of duty, of courage, of the truth that no greater love exists than to sacrifice oneself for one’s own people. His gaze seemed to meet every pair of eyes at once, binding them all. In those moments, they were as one, more than they had ever been before.

‘Listen to me, follow me – and I will make you invincible. They say I have no family … but here it is!’ He flung his arms wide. ‘All of you gathered here tonight – you are my family, my brothers and sisters.’

‘That’s what we are,’ Bella’s mind echoed. ‘Brothers and sisters.’

Then his voice fell away. The silence was so absolute it seemed they might hear the wings of a moth brushing the torchlight. And then, softly, almost casually, as though he were offering tea across a table, he said:

‘I promise you this: obey my voice, and from now and forever I will be your Lord, and you shall be my people. Do you agree?’

‘Yes!’ the crowd roared back.

Bella cried out with the others, tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned. Barty stood with his head bowed, silent – but she knew, knew beyond doubt, what he was feeling.

Chapter Text

When it was all over and the Dark Lord set off for Headquarters, the others soon Disapparated as well. The hollow emptied and darkened. In the moonlight, Bella saw Evan Rosier striding towards them through the tall grass, pushing the stems aside with his hands.

‘So, what do you think?’ he asked. ‘The old man knows how to rouse a crowd, doesn’t he?’

‘Don’t call the Dark Lord an old man! And why aren’t you wearing a mask?’

‘What for? Everyone knows me anyway,’ he laughed.

‘Let’s go back to ours,’ Rod suggested. ‘Have a drink. Barty, don’t they expect you home yet?’

‘No. I told my mother I’d be back late.’

‘No hurry,’ Evan said, stopping near the cliff. ‘Just look at it – beautiful, isn’t it?’

Down in the valley, lights flickered. The Muggle cars on the highway glittered like strings of moving necklaces.

‘I could just fling out my arms and fly – no broom, nothing. Like a bird,’ Evan said dreamily.

They lingered a while longer, gazing into the night, then Disapparated.

***

On the way home, they bought a chicken pie for supper and a bottle of Firewhisky. It was probably the first time Barty had tasted anything so strong – his cheeks flushed and he began speaking more freely, almost like an ordinary boy. For some reason, he addressed most of his questions to Evan.

‘Have you ever been in a real fight? What’s it like?’

‘During the fight itself, you feel nothing. There’s no time to think. But before …’ Evan paused. ‘It’s a state where everything around you – the wind, the moss under your feet, the clouds overhead – becomes part of you. And you know something’s about to happen. Not a thought, not a guess – a pure, calm certainty, as if someone had whispered it in your ear. Do you see what I mean?’

‘I can’t even imagine,’ Barty sighed.

‘You’ll feel it one day, be sure of that. You’re from an old family, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘There you are. It’s in our blood. Our ancestors,’ he nodded towards Rod, ‘were fighting on the left flank of the Norman army in the Battle of Hastings. Picture it: you’re in the saddle on the slope of Senlac Hill, ranks of horsemen on either side. All is silent; only the horses snort as they stamp and shift, clouds of steam curling from their mouths. In that moment you don’t see, you don’t hear – you are everything around you: the slope, the October grass, the sun climbing above the horizon –’

Bella listened in amazement. She had never guessed Evan could sound so poetic. He spoke as though he truly stood there still, in the morning mist of the eleventh century.

‘And then Duke William gives the signal. The trumpets sound. You squeeze your knees; the horse breaks from trot to gallop, and the whole line surges forward, rolling down the slope like a great iron ball, gathering speed. Ahead, the Saxons have locked their shields, long-axes raised …’

He smiled and swallowed his Firewhisky in one gulp.

‘You feel it, don’t you, Barty? Can’t you hear it – the thunder of hooves, the ground shaking under the weight of cavalry? Think of it: the Lestranges fought under English banners for centuries. Rod, when did your lot split from the Muggles?’

‘After the Battle of Bosworth. Roland Lestrange refused to serve the Tudors.’

‘So there you are – six centuries of war. And my line fought even longer – seven, eight centuries. And then, bang! The Statute of Secrecy, the Ministry, endless rules and bans. The warriors turned into caged slaves. Look around, Barty. Weekdays at work, beer or Quidditch at weekends, and that’s life. That’s what they want us all to be. There’s no place left in this world for the likes of us. And you can see that already, can’t you?’

Barty sat frozen, eyes wide, staring at him.

‘All right,’ Evan laughed suddenly, breaking the spell. ‘Enough of that, or we’ll all start weeping into our drinks. Let me give you something better. Ever seen a fire serpent?’

‘I want to! What’s that?’

Evan rose, stretching his back. ‘Needs more room. The roof will do. Bella, will you help me?’

They climbed out onto the roof, scattering gargoyles as they went. Bella flicked her wand, and a long tongue of fire lashed out, hissing past Evan’s boots. He bent his knees and leapt aside so swiftly the flames missed by inches.

Again, the fire cracked across the tiles, so close it singed the air around his hair, but he only grinned at Barty and dodged away. Bella sent the flames faster, thicker, until they weren’t a ribbon but a roaring wall that lit the whole rooftop. Evan dived, twisted, spun out of reach – until at last he jerked with a hiss of pain.

‘Troll’s bollocks, you actually hit me!’

‘Minus five points from Slytherin,’ Rod called lazily from the window. ‘Come here, I’ll patch you up.’

‘It’s fine, I’ve got it,’ Evan muttered. He was already bending over, wand pressed to his thigh where his trouser leg had split, and a red blister was swelling. With another flick, he sealed the fabric, then clambered back through the window, limping slightly. He caught Bella’s hand to steady her as she climbed in after him and poured fresh Firewhisky all round.

‘That was brilliant!’ Barty burst out, flushed with excitement.

‘Brilliant?’ Evan waved it away. ‘That’s nothing. Just a warm-up instead of coffee in the morning. The trick’s doing it blindfold, by sound alone.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To your health, Barty!’

***

Young Crouch looked genuinely happy. And no wonder: a boy with no friends at school was, for the first time, among adults who treated him kindly, almost as an equal. Bella’s heart sank, though she could not have said why. When Barty finally packed up to go home, she walked him to the public fireplace. The moment she returned, she rounded on Evan.

‘What was all that nonsense – telling him he’s born to fight, that he’ll feel something there?’

‘Come on, I was just saying what he wanted to hear. Those library dreamers are always wishing for power they’ll never have. Just look at him.’ He jabbed a finger at Rod. ‘Our fearsome Dark wizard, and he can’t even handle a Bowtruckle … Ow!’ He yelped as Rod’s boot found the burn on his thigh. ‘All right, all right! I take it back. I’m sure you’ll manage a Bowtruckle after all.’

‘That’s not the point,’ Bella pressed. ‘Why are you egging him on?’

‘So he’ll keep coming back, what else?’ Evan gave her a look of surprise. ‘He’s head over heels for you. He’d crawl out of his skin to impress you!’

‘How d’you figure that he’s in love with me?’

‘It’s obvious. I’d wager he’s got a poster of you hidden somewhere in his room, carefully tucked away so old Crouch doesn’t find it.’

‘I don’t want you trying to recruit him! He’s not for that. He’s clever, educated, nothing like both of you …’

‘Oi!’ Evan protested. ‘I’m educated too! I know loads of letters. I can even write my own name!’

‘Just leave him be, all right?’

‘It’s fine,’ Rod cut in calmly. ‘No one’s talking about turning your Barty into a frontline fighter. He’s far too valuable an asset. Wasn’t that the reason you brought him here?’

For some reason, those words struck even harder because they were true. As much as she wanted to protect Barty, she was still doing everything she could to recruit him – it was her job, after all. “Young men would always come for beautiful young women.” Just so, Barty had come, as if under a spell. And now, whether Bella liked it or not, she would be responsible for whatever happened to him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

25th June 1979

‘I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: there is no underground movement of so-called Dark wizards. Not until someone produces real proof!’

Lestrange Sr. drew himself up at the rostrum and fixed the audience with a hard stare. The Wizengamot courtroom was crammed to the rafters – a gathering of this size hadn’t been seen in centuries.

A week earlier, Lestrange had secured an open hearing. Now, along with the Wizengamot members, a hundred visitors had crammed into the benches. The press was penned in a separate enclosure. The rank-and-file Death Eaters sat in the back rows, posing as ordinary onlookers, though they looked more like a large, unusually well-drilled gang of hard cases. Tim Avery was marshalling them. Bella knew another three dozen were waiting outside in the corridors and the Ministry Atrium.

A cordon of wardens in black uniforms divided the public from the Wizengamot. To Bella’s left and above, rows of elderly witches and wizards sat in their dark cherry-coloured robes, the letter W embroidered on the breast. Bartemius Crouch Sr. presided. Minister Minchum was absent, unwilling to watch his rival’s triumph played out on the political stage.

However, at the moment, Crouch hardly looked triumphant. His face was blotched scarlet with fury, and he barked at every turn.

‘Lestrange, stop playing the fool! If this movement doesn’t exist, then who are all these young men you keep defending in our Department’s hearings?’

‘Oh, Merlin,’ Lestrange chuckled, taking off his spectacles to polish them with a handkerchief. ‘If every Hogwarts brat with too much energy and too few brains were to be counted a Dark wizard, your Department could fill Azkaban for the next decade without breaking a sweat.’

‘Do you mean to say you’ve never heard of so-called Death Eaters?’

‘Heard of them?’ Lestrange slipped his spectacles back on and skewered Crouch with a look. ‘Of course I’ve heard of them. I’ve even read about them in the papers – sandwiched between a celebrity scandal and tomorrow’s horoscope. Some “movement” that can’t even be named without sounding ridiculous! Death Eaters – what’s that supposed to mean? Do they carve death up with a knife and fork? Roast it, perhaps, with mint sauce?’ He spread his hands, mockery dripping from every syllable. ‘Alas, none of my acquaintances can answer these burning questions, as I’ve yet to meet one of these supposed monsters. Where are they, those dread sorcerers? Show me one – just one!’

Laughter rippled through the hall.

‘Look in the mirror!’ someone shouted.

‘If I look in the mirror,’ Lestrange retorted at once, ‘I’ll only see an old wizard, worn out from trying to keep a grip on reason amidst this tide of absurdity. Permit me a brief digression. When I was a boy, my father and mother swore blind that a manticore lived in the broom cupboard, ready to eat me if I so much as touched a broom without permission. Later, I grew up, gained experience, and found there was no manticore in that cupboard at all –’

The courtroom roared with laughter.

‘So,’ Lestrange straightened abruptly, his tone suddenly razor-sharp, ‘once upon a time we all believed in monsters under the bed, and some bogeymen – Death Eaters, or whatever name you please – lurking behind the curtains. But isn’t it time we grew up? Isn’t it time we stopped letting the Ministry bully us with fairy tales? The Knights of Walpurgis are a legal movement, keeping strictly within the bounds of open political struggle. The only true monster in this room is the Ministry itself – a dictatorship cloaked in the pretence of law!’

The courtroom erupted. In the back rows, his supporters broke into loud applause; journalists scribbled furiously; camera flashes went off in bursts.

‘Silence! Silence in the courtroom, or I will have the public removed!’ Crouch thundered, hammering his gavel. ‘Lestrange, enough of your antics. If you have anything of substance to say, say it now. Otherwise, I shall strip you of the floor.’

‘Excellent. Let us turn to substance. That is where I intended to begin, had you not been so preoccupied with your Death Eater fantasies.’

He shuffled his papers.

‘Today the Wizengamot is asked to consider draft Regulation 18C (1), allegedly designed – I quote – “to prevent acts that threaten the security of the magical community, and the activities of organisations and/or individuals who pose such a threat.” Its provisions would allow Aurors to detain so-called dangerous individuals without a court order and send them straight to Azkaban without charge.’

A hush fell. Only the scratching of quills in the press box and at the clerk’s desk could be heard.

‘And what does that mean in plain language?’ Lestrange pressed on. ‘It means any witch or wizard, guilty or not, could be seized at any moment, without trial, without warrant, without process, without indictment, without even the right to a defence. All it takes is the label “dangerous” – and you may be dragged from your home, your work, the street, and thrown into Azkaban for as long as the Ministry pleases.’

‘Don’t be absurd!’ Crouch cut in. ‘The procedure for issuing a warrant is already established.’

‘Indeed,’ Lestrange said coldly. ‘But what does it look like in practice? Here, in black and white: a warrant is issued by a Special Committee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Yet the warrant is never shown to the detainee, because it may contain – I quote – “information constituting a secret of the Ministry of Magic”. Meaning the prisoner won’t even know why they’ve been arrested!’

‘There is a right of appeal.’

‘Oh, there is,’ Lestrange sneered. ‘But to whom? To the very same Committee! With no lawyer, no right to call witnesses, and no access to the charges. What sort of appeal is that? If this Regulation passes, all it will take for an arrest is the Committee’s belief that it has sufficient reasons. These so-called reasons are not open to scrutiny. And notice: no limits of age or gender. Even children may be swept up in this net!’

‘No one is going to persecute children. And in any case, the Regulation is temporary. You’ve read it.’

‘Temporary.’ Lestrange raised his brows. ‘You repeat the word as though it carried some spell of reassurance. You temporarily introduced patrols in Goblin districts in response to a supposed terrorist threat. It was to last three months. Yet for four years, Goblins have been unable to walk the streets without being subjected to humiliating checks and searches. So, tell us, Mr Crouch, how long will this new “temporary” state of yours last?’

‘Stay on topic! You have one minute left.’

‘This bill,’ Lestrange’s voice rose, cutting through every murmur, ‘tramples upon the Habeas Corpus Act (2), which protects citizens from unlawful imprisonment –’

‘Now you quote Muggle law. Hypocrisy!’

‘I remind you this Act predates the Statute of Secrecy and therefore still applies in our world. But even that is beside the point. Honourable members of the Wizengamot!’ His eyes swept the courtroom. ‘Do you not see the door to tyranny this Regulation throws open? After this, no one will be safe. This is the road to dictatorship in its worst form!’

‘The debate is concluded!’ Crouch bellowed, slamming the gavel so hard the desk shook. ‘This is nothing but propaganda! No one intends to persecute the innocent. The Regulation is aimed at criminals and terrorists, such as you and your associates! We move to the vote. Who is in favour?’

A silence so deep fell that a single scratch of a quill carried through the room. Then, slowly, hands went up across the courtroom. Bella looked to the upper row: Dumbledore sat there in silence, his hand unmoved.

‘Who is against?’

Fewer hands this time. Dumbledore raised his.

‘The bill is carried. By procedure, it will be signed by the Minister, entered in the record, and come into force on the first of July.’

Lestrange, who had stood all this while with bowed head and closed eyes, sighed. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost weary, yet it carried across the courtroom:

‘In all my years of practice, I have never seen such brazen contempt for the law. Well … you wanted war. You shall have it.’

***

His words were met with stamping feet and a roar of approval from Avery’s men. Their shouts thundered against the stone walls until the whole courtroom shook. Lestrange descended from the rostrum with deliberate calm. Across the courtroom, Dumbledore made his way down the steps slowly, not even bothering to gather up the hem of his robes; his face was grave, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Outside the courtroom, the journalists swarmed, some mobbing Crouch, the others pressing in on Lestrange. Bella caught fragments of his voice rising above the clamour:

‘The Ministry and the Wizengamot have at last shown their true face … Wizarding Britain is sliding headlong into the abyss of despotism … But we shall fight on. We have no intention of surrendering.’

‘Smile,’ Rod muttered suddenly in her ear.

Before she could react, he turned her towards the crowd of reporters. A camera flared, flooding the corridor with a harsh white light.

In the Atrium on the eighth level, a mass of young Death Eaters was already waiting. They greeted the Wizengamot members with shouts, whistles, and a heavy, menacing chant. Bella recognised the song – she had heard it often enough. Unlike most of the Death Eater elite, she did not mind spending time with the rank and file. She liked their rough chants and torchlit marches, things that those from the leadership dismissed as crude. Usually, she would have joined them gladly, but not today.

The Wizengamot members, flanked by wardens, hurried towards the exit. Visitors arriving through the fireplaces shrank back against the walls, frightened by the crowd. Bella caught sight of Tim Avery weaving from group to group of supporters, clearly passing instructions.

At last, surrounded by reporters, Lestrange emerged. He was greeted with cheers, applause, and raised fists. Among the rank and file, he was genuinely revered. Time and again, he had defended them in court on charges of rioting or attacking Muggles. They called him ‘our barrister’ and believed him capable of anything.

The fact that the movement had suffered a devastating defeat that day had not yet sunk in. Lestrange gave a smile, raised two fingers in a V for victory. But as he drew level with Rod and Bella, he whispered, almost without moving his lips:

‘Help me get to the fireplace.’

Bella gripped his arm at once. His fingers were as cold as ice. Rodolphus took his father’s other side, making the support look casual, and together they steered him forward. The three of them stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a burst of green flame.

***

As soon as they returned to Thornhall, Lestrange seemed to lose all his strength. With Rod’s support, they half-carried him into the drawing room and lowered him carefully into an armchair. Bella fished the small vial of potion from his pocket, conjured a glass of water, and measured out the exact number of drops. The sharp, acrid smell of the tincture filled the air. Rodolphus, gripping his father’s wrist, checked his pulse while Bella helped him swallow the potion. In the sunlight pouring through the window, his lips looked almost blue.

‘I’ll fetch a Healer,’ Rodolphus said. But before he could move, his father opened his eyes, fixed him with a steady look, and rasped:

‘No Healers. What we need is a party.’

‘What?’

‘A party,’ he repeated, forcing the word out through his breath. ‘We cannot afford to show weakness. We’ll hold a reception and make it clear to everyone that this was no defeat. On the contrary, we’ll present it as a moral victory. Do you understand? As many guests as possible, as much publicity as possible. Have the statement ready tonight so it’s in tomorrow’s papers.’

Rodolphus faltered.

‘But Father … are you sure you’re well enough?’

‘Of course.’ Lestrange pushed himself to his feet with effort. ‘Don’t worry– I’m already better. When Rabastan returns, send him to me at once.’

Chapter Text

The Lestranges had only three house-elves to their name: Connie, her husband Brownie, and their young daughter Dinky. That was nowhere near enough to manage a feast on such short notice, so the family had ordered everything in from a restaurant in wizarding London.

Bella went upstairs to change. Connie had laid out a dark emerald gown with open shoulders and long satin gloves reaching past the elbows – the Mark had to stay covered. For one thing, not everyone at the party was one of their own; for another, even among the movement, it was considered bad form to flaunt the Mark in public.

It had appeared on her arm only a year earlier, when the Dark Lord decided it would be convenient to brand his chosen and, at the same time, keep in contact with them. Admittedly, it was handy enough: through the Mark, one could Apparate directly to his side, feel his summons, or summon him in turn. A pity, though, that the design was, to put it mildly, less than elegant. Even Lestrange Sr, after peering at the skull that seemed to be vomiting a snake, had merely remarked: ‘Well … it makes an impression.’

‘Leave the old man alone,’ Evan Rosier muttered when the Dark Lord was out of earshot. ‘He scratched it out as best he could. Art’s not his strong suit.’

Even Bella had to concede that if the Dark Lord had handed the design to someone else, it might have turned out better. But what was done was done, and it was yet another reason to keep the thing hidden beneath her clothes.

The guests began drifting in around seven: the Notts, the Goyles, young Mulciber with his wife. Around eight, Rodolphus slipped away and returned with Rita Skeeter and several other journalists in tow.

Rodolphus had always been indulgent with Rita, their former classmate from Ravenclaw. From time to time, he even lunched with her to swap titbits of news. Bella, however, had never stomached the woman. At school, Rita had been a quiet, bespectacled swot, the model A student. All the more striking, then, was her metamorphosis into a glib-tongued reporter who thought nothing of peddling gossip. Well, everyone scraped by as best as they could …

All the same, Bella was quietly relieved to avoid her that evening. Instead, Evan Rosier drifted her way.

‘Merlin, the old Lestrange was on fire today! When he said, “Who are the Death Eaters, show me even one?”, with the whole family Marked, I nearly died laughing … Oh, and Rita’s here! I’ll go say hello.’

Within seconds, he was hugging her, and Rita left a vivid smear of raspberry lipstick across his cheek.

‘Evan, you haven’t changed a bit! What are you up to these days?’

‘The same as always – lazing about, wasting my life.’

Well, if serving in the combat group counted as lazing about … but what would Rita know of that?

‘Rita,’ Evan was already dragging her towards the dance floor, ‘come on, I’ll teach you a brilliant dance. It’s called the samba. How high are your heels? Three inches? Perfect. That’ll do.’

Splendid. Everyone was occupied: Evan dancing, Rita thrilled. She’d get no information out of him, but she’d certainly enjoy herself.

***

The noise was swelling, and outside the windows, the sky had already deepened into night. What had started as forced gaiety was slowly turning genuine. It wasn’t only Bella who seemed to have shaken off the weight of uncertainty that had dogged her all year. The tension in the air was ebbing away: things were clear now, out in the open. The Ministry and the Wizengamot had declared war. Well then, war it is.

She stood at the window, breathing in the sweet scent of elderflower and sun-warmed earth. She wanted to laugh, to dance, to live. No one knew how much time was left.

Luckily, Ella had slipped into the role of hostess with ease. She moved tirelessly about the drawing-room, smiling, enquiring after children and wives, laughing at jokes, introducing strangers, keeping up a steady flow of small talk. Bella was spared the effort of conversation, and that suited her perfectly.

Evan had vanished for a while and reappeared with yet another girl – Marcia, or something like that. Impossible to remember them all. Evan himself barely managed, and to cover the lapses, he relied on a handful of pet names: sweetheart, darling, love.

The guests kept arriving. The protective charms on the front door had been stripped away on purpose, and the door itself stood wide open. It looked defiant and faintly unsettling. Around eleven, Bella went in search of Rodolphus. She found him in the library with Rita Skeeter. Rita sat curled in an armchair, scribbling frantically into a notebook, while Rodolphus, balanced on the armrest beside her, leaned close and murmured into her ear. When he noticed Bella, he gave a slight shake of the head, indicating he was busy.

By midnight, Tim Avery stumbled in, plastered with mud and dust, dead on his feet.

‘The Dark Lord wanted a public show straight after the trial, to demonstrate we won’t be cowed into silence. I’ve been Apparating up and down the country. One more jump and I’ll be sick. Eight raids in one night – can you believe it?’

‘Merlin, no wonder you can hardly stand.’

Bella steered him into the dining room. Mulciber and Nott, deep in a corner, barely glanced up before returning to their muttering.

‘All right? Nothing serious?’

‘Near enough,’ Avery muttered round a mouthful of tartlet. ‘Patrols nearly had us three times. They nabbed one poor sod in Leicester – I’ll get Rabastan to file a protest in the morning. And in Liverpool, two idiots went out without masks. I only hope no one clocked them. I’ll wring their necks myself tomorrow!’

‘And the outcome?’

‘Nothing to write home about,’ he said, chasing the pastry with a gulp of wine. ‘Bit of noise, a few Muggles scared witless, a couple of houses torched. Let the Ministry tally it up. The Obliviators will be busy till dawn anyway. It’ll be splashed across the papers come morning.’

He yawned so wide his jaw cracked.

‘I’m done in … When’s the meeting with the Dark Lord?’

‘Seven.’

‘Bloody hell!’ He shuddered. ‘Then I’m off. I need at least a few hours’ sleep.’

***

Almost at once, the Wilkeses took their leave – they had to hurry home to put the children to bed. One by one, the other guests began to drift away. The Malfoys went too, Lucius guiding Narcissa by the elbow as though she were made of glass.

Evan asked if he might stay the night with his new girlfriend, and the house-elves hurried to prepare a guest room for them. Rodolphus, having seen Rita Skeeter to the door, returned at last.

‘Tired?’ he asked, brushing Bella’s hand with his fingers. ‘Shall we dance? I’ve hardly seen you all evening.’

The musicians had been on the point of packing up, but Rodolphus persuaded them to linger. Bella couldn’t remember the last time she had danced so freely – slow, sweet, losing herself in music that stretched like treacle. Perhaps this was the last time, she thought.

By two o’clock the last of the guests were gone. After so many hours of noise, the silence felt almost oppressive. The dining and drawing rooms, stripped of chatter and laughter, seemed suddenly cavernous. The elves darted about, clearing plates and whisking away tablecloths. A clerk from the restaurant appeared with a bill as long as Bella’s arm, and Rodolphus scrawled out a cheque without so much as a glance.

Light still burned in the study: Lestrange Sr. and Rabastan showed no sign of finishing their work. Connie bustled back and forth with trays of tea.

At last, all was done, and it was time for bed. Rodolphus led the way with a candle, Bella trailing after him with her eyes half shut from exhaustion, and little Dinky trotting behind.

From Evan’s room came unmistakable noises – the creak of a mattress, muffled gasps and sighs. His new conquest was clearly a passionate one. Rodolphus glanced at Dinky, who looked uncomfortable hearing such things, and muttered:

‘How many times have I told him to put a Silencing Charm on the door?’

A flick of his wand, and the noise was cut off.

In their room, the window was open wide, letting in cool night air, damp with the scent of leaves. On the table, a bouquet of freesias had already begun to shed its petals. Dinky fussed with the bedclothes and started to help Bella with her dress, but Rodolphus, setting down the candle, dismissed her.

‘Off to bed with you. I’ll see to it myself.’

He began unfastening Bella’s gown, kissing her shoulders as he went. She gave a weary protest:

‘It’s three in the morning, and at seven we’re due before the Dark Lord.’

‘All the more reason,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘not to waste the time sleeping.’

***

As it turned out, Thornhall hadn’t been the only place awake that night. By dawn, a special edition of the Daily Prophet was already spread across the table at Headquarters, devoted entirely to the previous day’s events: an editorial, an expert commentary, an interview with Crouch, reports of attacks on Muggles, an official statement from the Knights of Walpurgis, and a lavish account of the Lestrange reception, with particular stress on its “victorious atmosphere”.

Rita had not been permitted to bring a photographer to the party, so the only images came from the courtroom, but they were good: Crouch, pulling a face of undisguised disgust; Lestrange, speaking with fiery conviction; and one large photograph of Bella, captured just after the session – laughing, bold and defiant, half-turned towards the lens. Rodolphus wasn’t seen behind her, as if he had vanished into the crowd.

By midday, the story had already run through several reprints. The Ministry had clearly sifted through every line. But those to whom the message was truly addressed had understood it from the very first page.

No one was giving in. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and the challenge taken up.

Chapter Text

The briefing room at Headquarters – a cramped space, taken up almost entirely by a massive table and its surrounding chairs – was already full by seven o’clock in the morning. Nearly everyone was yawning; Avery had given in, his head pillowed on his folded arms. The bright sun was pushing through the half-drawn green curtains, and before long, it would be blinding.

There was a low murmur of voices, the rustle of parchment, the occasional crackle of the Daily Prophet fresh from the print. Lestrange Sr. was scribbling rapidly into a notebook. Colin Rosier, inseparable from his cigarettes, smoked one after another; his wand lay beside him on the table, obediently sucking in the drifting smoke in thin, snaking streams. Bella thought that Uncle Colin had grown conspicuously plumper over the years, nerves driving him to constant eating. He could barely walk twenty steps without wheezing, but even now, a plate of sandwiches sat within his arm’s reach.

Bella leaned back in her chair, eyes shut. Two hours’ sleep had been all she managed, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Her eyelids felt raw and gritty, and she would have given anything for the chance to drift off again.

She and Rodolphus were newcomers here, admitted to the Inner Circle only this year, together with Timothy Avery and Nott Jr. The reason for their admission was apparent: the old guard was running thin. Lestrange endured on sheer willpower; old Avery had bowed out altogether, ceding his place to his son; Colin Rosier was slowly destroying himself before their eyes; Mulciber was always unwell. Only Dolohov and Abraxas Malfoy remained in good shape: the former through daily training, the latter thanks to a sharp, frosty disposition that preserved him like vinegar.

The Inner Circle needed fresh blood. Being part of it was a great honour, but also a tremendous responsibility. Bella felt unworthy of it. She had done her utmost to impress the Dark Lord, yet this morning she hadn’t the strength even to hold herself upright.

The door banged shut. Conversation died at once; chairs scraped as everyone rose. The Dark Lord entered. With the smallest gesture to dismiss the ceremony, he moved silently to his seat and sat down. Only then did the others follow suit. Lestrange Sr, without rising, looked up briefly from his notebook to push Bella’s chair in for her.

‘Well,’ said the Dark Lord. He never wasted breath on preliminaries. ‘First, regarding yesterday. Ray, it was a fine performance in court.’ He brushed Lestrange’s hand with his own. ‘I knew it was a lost cause, but you gave it everything.’

‘Thank you,’ Lestrange murmured, with the faintest smile.

‘However,’ the Dark Lord’s gaze swept coldly across the table, ‘what I warned you of four years ago has finally happened. When I urged direct action, you pressed me to cling to mostly legal means. We waited for the Wizengamot elections – and here we are. Elections no longer matter. In less than a week, when Regulation 18C comes into force, we will be outlaws in name as well as fact. What do you say to that now?’

‘All right, all right, you win,’ Colin Rosier muttered, even setting aside his sandwich for once. ‘I’ll admit as much.’

Dolohov raised both hands in mock surrender. Abraxas Malfoy inclined his head, saying nothing. The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair.

‘It’s nice when you agree with me, for a change,’ he said drily. ‘Things have shifted beyond recognition. Only months ago, we were still convinced we could keep our hands clean, thinking that judges, laws, and newspapers could shape reality for us. It’s a pity it took a crushing blow to strip away that illusion. Now, we must decide what comes next. I want to hear from each of you. Ray, you begin.’

‘I can only speak on the legal consequences,’ Lestrange said wearily. ‘The Regulation passed yesterday is no longer a threat but an open declaration of war. If we once believed we could negotiate with the Ministry after securing influence in the Wizengamot, that’s now off the table. Crouch is certain of himself. He expects to crush us by the year’s end.’

He pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose.

‘Accordingly, I would advise, first, that we immediately tighten security, especially for our families. Second, we must prepare our rank-and-file people for arrests. They must understand that from now on, we will not be able to pull them out of prison, and they must know how to act if detained. That’s all.’

The Dark Lord inclined his head. His eyes slid over the table, measuring each face.

‘And the rest of you? I am listening.’

A house-elf entered the room quietly, carrying a cup of hot chocolate. A light steam rose above the surface.

‘I suggest we accept the challenge,’ Dolohov said, pouring himself some tea. ‘If we settle for a truce, we’ve already lost. But we must not act now, when the Ministry is braced for a blow and has mobilised everyone capable of holding a wand. Let them grow tired of waiting. We’ll strike when they think they’ve won and drop their guard.’

The Dark Lord leaned forward, lacing his fingers and resting his chin on them.

‘That’s nonsense, Tony,’ said Malfoy, seated on his left. His tone was cold, edged with irritation. ‘Do you see an army here? Are you and I going to storm the Ministry? Negotiation is our only chance.’

‘No,’ Rodolphus said suddenly.

Everyone turned. No one had expected him to speak in front of his superior. But Colin Rosier, chewing with his mouth full, merely waved a half-eaten sandwich in the air as if to say, “Let him speak, I agree”. Crumbs tumbled down onto his shirt, already smeared with sauce and scraps of egg.

Bella looked away. She couldn’t bear to see her uncle like this. Once, he had been vigorous, sharp, full of energy. How had he sunk to the point where, even in a meeting with the Dark Lord, he couldn’t keep from stuffing his mouth?

‘We – that is, the Office – agree with Dolohov,’ Rodolphus began. He didn’t bother with the notes in front of him, as if he’d gone over them countless times already. ‘But not entirely. The Ministry is stronger than we are at present, so we can’t just wait – we need to wear them down.

‘The Ministry will act in the old way: raids, arrests, searches. We can answer with terror. A hundred small strikes at once. They won’t be able to respond everywhere; their forces will be spread too thin. We need to create controlled chaos, seize the initiative. They won’t last long if they’re forced to react every day. That’s our plan.’

Colin leaned towards him, still chewing, and jabbed a finger at a point in the notes as though reminding him of something.

‘Ah, yes,’ Rodolphus nodded. ‘The strikes should be odd, unpredictable. Everyone expects us to attack a Ministry patrol. But no one expects an explosion at a cauldron factory, or a fire in a broom warehouse. The impact could be serious. If several ingredient stores were blown up at once, the apothecaries would be paralysed for a week.’

Mulciber listened intently, though he only pricked up at the mention of ingredients. Avery shrugged, as if to say it was all just theory, and winked at Bella. Dolohov leaned forward so sharply he sloshed his tea, then cleared the spill with a flick of his wand.

‘All right, fair enough – that’s clear. But what does it give us?’

‘The Ministry will be forced to work around the clock. Once they’re drowning under the sheer weight of events, the initiative will pass to us. At the same time, through sympathetic journalists, we’ll criticise their every move, highlight their blunders and their failure to keep control. It won’t yield instant results, but little by little, it will turn public opinion. People won’t endure living in constant fear forever. When it becomes impossible to leave home in the morning without wondering if you’ll come back, people will start to dream of the day we take power and restore some kind of order.’

‘I’m for it,’ said Dolohov, unexpectedly. ‘There’s something to it. I won’t claim it’ll be easy to carry out, but at least it’s unusual. Tom, what do you think?’ He turned to the Dark Lord.

‘It’s an interesting approach. We could finally make use of the werewolves and giants McNair’s been tending. They’ve been of little value so far. And the more we employ outsiders under the Imperius, the safer it is for us.’

‘What exactly are we meant to gain from this chaos?’ Abraxas Malfoy sneered. ‘Create order out of anarchy? More likely, we’ll throttle ourselves in the tangle. There are simpler ways. Already, thanks to your raids, we’re outlaws.’

‘Of course, Cassie,’ Dolohov shot back. ‘Why not pack your bags and run abroad, as you seem set on doing?’

‘I don’t consider it necessary to answer to false allegations.’

‘Then shut up.’

The Dark Lord clapped his hands lightly.

‘Let’s get back to business. Tony, what about the second and third combat groups?’

‘Nothing encouraging. The second, under Travers, is at least formed. But the one the Kiddo is supposed to command is a disaster. We are short of qualified fighters. No men to take.’

‘Unfortunate. We’ll consider later who else might be drawn in. Now, let’s discuss security. We’ve worked at this for three months. As far as I know, every Inner Circle household is either secured, or families have been moved to safe places. The same goes for the laboratory. From now on, any of you who must appear in public is to do so under a disguise. Best of all, avoid outside contact altogether.’

‘What about those with school-age children?’ asked Dolohov. ‘Travers’s younger daughter’s still at Hogwarts. He’s hidden the rest of the family, but what about her? Will it be safe to let her go to school on the first of September?’

‘I don’t believe Dumbledore will permit children to be questioned or arrested,’ said Lestrange Sr. ‘As long as he remains Headmaster, Aurors won’t be allowed near the school. But to keep him from turning against us, I would strongly advise against any operations at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade.’

‘Very well,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘I was considering disposing of him, but you’re right – the next Headmaster might not be so scrupulous. We must protect the Slytherins, so let Dumbledore be for now. I’ll deal with him myself when the time is right. Now, what about our safe houses and everything else?’

‘We’ve got more than a dozen safe houses we can use if needed.’

‘Cassie, what funds can we rely on at present?’

Malfoy thought for a moment.

‘About three hundred thousand.’

‘In total?!’ Dolohov burst out. ‘That won’t last us long in wartime. By my reckoning, we should have at least double that.’

‘Since when have you been handling our finances?’ Malfoy replied icily. ‘Need I remind you, I report not to you, but –’ he inclined his head slightly towards the Dark Lord ‘– to the Master.’

‘So official,’ Dolohov sneered, but the Dark Lord silenced him with a small gesture.

‘Details, Cassie.’

‘All our funds have been moved to numbered accounts in the Goblin bank in Zurich. Only you and I have access to them. The personal accounts of everyone here are being transferred as well,’ he shot Dolohov a sideways glance, ‘even yours, Tony. Control of our companies has been shifted into investment funds owned by offshore structures, mainly in the British Virgin Islands. These funds cross-hold each other’s shares.’

‘Who’s the ultimate owner?’ Dolohov asked with mock sweetness. ‘You?’

‘The ultimate beneficiary is me,’ the Dark Lord cut in. ‘No matter the name it’s filed under. Malfoy’s reports satisfy me. The budget may look meagre, but most operations demand little in the way of expense.’

‘What about my people?’ Dolohov asked. ‘They have families to feed.’

‘Mine scrape by on pitiful wages, too,’ Avery muttered.

‘The lab’s running around the clock,’ Mulciber added. ‘Ingredients don’t fall from the sky.’

‘Safe housing and forged papers aren’t cheap either,’ Nott Jr put in.

‘Funny how lively you all get when it comes to money,’ the Dark Lord said with a mocking smile. ‘For now, all expenses are to be cut to the bone. We’ll have to make do. Once we seize power, things will ease up for everyone. As for donations from sympathisers … Bella, could you continue, with heightened precautions, of course?’

‘Yes, my Lord. It’s just … If I may, I’d like to be moved to a combat group.’

The Dark Lord’s brows rose in surprise.

‘How are you going to manage both? We still need the money.’

Bella dropped her head. It stung. The others would be on the front line, while she would be squeezing donations from the rich Purebloods. However much she told herself it was necessary, it felt no less bitter.

‘Timothy.’ The Dark Lord’s gaze fixed on Avery. His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. ‘I am deeply concerned about your people. Discipline has fallen apart. Your raids achieve almost nothing. Half the time, the Ministry doesn’t even realise anything has happened, and that defeats the whole purpose. The point isn’t to chase Muggles around the countryside; there are millions of them, you’ll never scatter them all. The aim is to stretch the Ministry thin, force them to send out patrols and Obliviators, keep them running in circles. So do whatever you like, even send them a bloody owl beforehand if you must, but it must be seen. Without publicity, it’s a waste of everyone’s time.’

‘My Lord, we –’

‘Don’t interrupt me.’

His voice dropped into something colder, sharper.

‘I do not like what I see happening among your lot. Too many of them seem to think parading around in masks is the essence of what we do. They ignore orders, act on their own, and stir up trouble whenever it suits them. How many of yours were arrested yesterday?’

Avery said nothing.

‘They can’t even keep their mouths shut,’ the Dark Lord went on, his tone darkening further. ‘I’ve read the reports. “Talkative” doesn’t even begin to cover it. You need to drill it into their skulls that suffering for the cause isn’t just honourable; it’s their duty. Even if someone lands in Azkaban, the sentence will be short – two, three years at most. Their families will be provided for. They need to know they won’t be abandoned. Cassie will arrange the funding.’

Malfoy let out a quiet sigh and looked at the ceiling.

‘However,’ the Dark Lord said, lifting his gaze back to Avery, ‘they must also understand this: any breach will be punished without mercy. Everyone must know that talking under interrogation is a death sentence. Disobedience, defiance, and ignoring orders will have the same consequences. They are to fear us more than all the Aurors combined. I’ll send someone from the combat groups – Evan Rosier, perhaps – to get your lot in order. It should have been done long ago.’

‘My Lord, I can manage it myself. I don’t need anyone sent in.’

‘I think you do. Are you saying I’m wrong?’

‘No, Master,’ Avery lowered his eyes.

‘Great.’ The Dark Lord leaned back slightly. ‘That covers the minor matters. The Anti-Hogwarts project will have to be shut down, because we can’t guarantee its security anymore. The remaining students must be distributed among our teams.’

He paused, absently turning over the gold locket he’d taken to wearing lately, the one with the letter S engraved into its face.

‘Now, to the broader picture. I like Tony’s point: if we settle for a truce, we’ve lost before we begin. Also, I liked the notion of controlled chaos. That will be our foundation, with a few adjustments. Tony, how often can we manage operations with the forces we’ve got?’

Dolohov shrugged.

‘Depends on how complex they are. If medium-scale, maybe once a fortnight. I’m not talking about scattering Muggles, as you understand.’

‘Can it be done more often?’

‘It’s possible,’ Dolohov said slowly, ‘but not worth the risk. It’s dangerous. The intelligence won’t be ready. I’ll misjudge the planning. The group will go in unprepared, and it’ll end in disaster. It’s not as simple as “go in, kill, leave.”’

‘Fine, I take your point,’ the Dark Lord replied, unbothered. ‘We’ll do it your way. The priority is to grind the Ministry down. Don’t let them catch their breath, while keeping our own losses to a minimum. That means we target Muggles more often; they’re the easiest mark. More noise, more bodies. Use your imagination.’

He stirred his cooled chocolate absently with a spoon, as though discussing the weather.

‘We need an emergency response plan,’ he went on, his tone still casual, though his eyes were sharp. ‘If Aurors try to arrest any of the Inner Circle, or anyone from the combat groups, the lab, or the Office, we’ll strike back immediately. We won’t hit the Aurors; we’ll target their families. Let them learn that touching us means putting their loved ones in the line of fire. I want them shitting blood at the very thought of crossing us!’

His palm came down flat on the table with a soft thud.

Silence followed.

‘That’ll do for now,’ the Dark Lord said at last, his voice calm again. ‘Any questions?’

Nott Jr. cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously. ‘Yes, my Lord. If … well, if something happens to you – if you were to be killed – surely there is a plan, isn’t there?’

It was turning into a morning of awkward questions and awkward answers. But to everyone’s surprise, the Dark Lord laughed.

‘I can’t be killed,’ he said lightly. ‘It isn’t physically possible. But you’re right: we’ll need a plan in case I … vanish. I’ll give instructions when it’s time. You’re all dismissed.’

Chairs scraped, pages rustled, cups clinked. House-elves hurried in to clear away what was left of breakfast.

As Bella passed, the Dark Lord stopped her with a glance.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, studying her face. ‘You seem upset. Very well, I’ll grant your request. I do owe you for what happened four years ago.’

‘You owe me nothing, Master.’

‘Even so,’ he said quietly, ‘I mean to make amends. I’ll allow you to join the combat group. Evan Rosier is short on people; if he’ll have you, I won’t object.’

She barely kept herself from sprinting out of the room. Of course, Evan wouldn’t turn her down!

Today, she thought, her chest tight with exhilaration, is going to be a good day.

Chapter Text

That evening, they had to move. The flat in Knockturn Alley, where they had lived for nearly nine years, was no longer safe. Bella, still warmed by her earlier talk with Evan Rosier, who, of course, had agreed at once to take her into the combat group, was so elated she almost forgot to feel sad. Only sometimes, as she folded her things and caught the distant clicking of gargoyle beaks outside the window, or the singsong cries of ‘Fish! Fresh fish!’ from a rooftop nearby, would a wave of nostalgia catch her off guard.

This noisy, muggy, oddly vibrant world would no longer be hers. She and Rodolphus had never truly belonged here – few did, unless they’d been born and raised in Knockturn Alley – but they’d been happy enough all the same. It was a strange and dangerous world, often repellent, yet somehow, more often than not, strangely beautiful. Even the stomach-turning stench of melted snake entrails wafting from the market seemed, for once, almost bearable.

Thornhall was different. Their guest bedroom had now been made their permanent home, and the contrast was stark. Silence settled over the old house, broken only by the soft click of claws and the slow, drowsy sighs of the dogs who spent their days sprawled across rugs and sofas. They neither guarded nor hunted, served no real purpose at all – but the Lestranges, irrational as it was, had always adored these sun-faded, useless bundles of fur.

The air at Thornhall was cool, carrying faint traces of books, flowers, and furniture polish. Bella was grateful for the house-elves; from now on, neither she nor Rudolphus would have to waste time on cleaning, cooking, or any other trivialities. All their time, so precious now, could be given over entirely to the cause. And yet, this was not her home. Not really. There wasn’t a single corner of the house that felt as if it belonged to her, and she doubted it ever would.

Later, old Lestrange summoned her to his study. He looked better than he had in weeks; he must have rested. Opening his cigarette case, he drew one out, but Bella caught his hand at once.

‘You can’t! You know what the Healer said.’

‘I remember,’ he said mildly. ‘But how much time do you think I’ve got left? I’d rather not deny myself one of my few pleasures.’

‘Do you think you’ll die soon?’ she asked bluntly. Most people would have flinched at such a question, but Lestrange had always liked her for her refusal to dress hard truths in softer words. When they were alone, like now, neither of them bothered with polite pretence.

‘Yes. If I make it to next spring, it’ll be a miracle.’

‘But the Dark Lord can save you!’ she protested, fierce in her certainty. ‘He can heal with a single touch!’

Lestrange smiled faintly.

‘There are things, my dear, even he cannot command.’

‘Do you regret you won’t live to see our victory?’

‘Oh,’ he looked at her with a flicker of genuine curiosity. ‘Do you think it’ll take longer than a year? If this drags on, we’ll be drained. I’ve told the Dark Lord as much. It’s like living next door to a giant. He doesn’t have the strength to tear the house down, and besides, we’ve got magic. But having him there would still be an endless strain, a constant bleed of energy. Sooner or later, either we bring him down or he destroys us. The only question is who lasts longer. What do you think?’

‘I’d say we need to use what Dolohov calls “the strength of the weak”,’ she said after a pause. ‘You can blast a giant with spells all day long, and it’s nothing but insect bites to him. Or you can find the spring he drinks from and poison it. That’s exactly what the Dark Lord intends: strike at what is indispensable for our enemies. They can hold out for a while, but once the threat reaches their homes, they’ll have no choice but to retreat.’

‘Aren’t you afraid the same might be done to us?’ he asked, a faint smile playing at his lips.

She shrugged.

‘It’s war. We all know what we’ve signed up for.’

‘You’re strong,’ he said softly. ‘But I’d still urge you to protect yourself better. You know I’ve never interfered in your life before, but –’ He hesitated, then drew a breath. ‘The time’s come for me to ask you to marry my son.’

Bella froze. That was the last thing she’d expected.

‘Why now? What’s the point?’

‘The risk of arrest can’t be ruled out, my dear. As Colin Rosier likes to say, we live in a country where any decent person stands a fair chance of ending up in Azkaban. No matter how skilled or fast you are, one day your enemies may be more so. If you’re married, at least you can’t be forced to testify against each other in court.’

‘What if Rod doesn’t want to?’

Lestrange looked genuinely taken aback.

‘Why on earth wouldn’t he? To be perfectly honest, it never occurred to me to ask. But I’m sure he’ll do as I say.’

***

Bella hadn’t made herself a wedding dress. It would have been absurd to wear white, with a veil and orange blossom – symbols of innocence – when marrying a man she had already shared a bed with for nine years. Besides, she disliked bright colours, so she was wed in a black gown embroidered with silver thread. Her bouquet was made of roses so darkly red they looked almost black.

They had agreed on a modest ceremony, but even so, there were over a hundred guests. Everything had to be done in a rush, before the new Regulation came into force and gave the Aurors an excuse to arrest the lot of them on the spot. Preparations took barely three days, and the Lestrange house-elves outdid themselves to make it possible.

A Ministry official had come to conduct the wedding. He was plainly terrified of everyone present, though the promise of free food and drink seemed to steady him somewhat. When he began mumbling through the vows they were meant to repeat – something about eternal love and loyalty – Bella cut across him:

‘I’ll say it myself.’

She turned to Rodolphus, taking his hands in hers.

‘I choose you as my lawful husband, and I swear to help, support, and protect you, whatever lies ahead …’

There was no point pretending. She would not swear to a love she did not feel. The man she loved was sitting in the front row, watching her. Over the years, she had learnt to live with that constant ache, soothed only by rare, fleeting sparks of happiness whenever the Dark Lord smiled at her, spoke to her. Even that longing had dulled now, settling into a quiet, lucid sadness.

Rodolphus, it seemed, felt much the same. In his own vow, he, too, neatly sidestepped the part about love and fidelity. They smiled at one another like friends who understood each other without words.

‘I declare you bonded forever!’ the old official announced at last, sounding profoundly relieved to have survived the ordeal.

A silver ribbon coiled around their joined hands. Like so much else in the ceremony, it was pure formality. For the past two centuries, no one had married under the full wizarding rite devised by Aurelius Brittus, which bound husband and wife not only in life but in death, to wait for each other in the beyond and pass through the Gate together. Modern folks were far too rational and far too wary for that. Life is long; people change. Honestly, who would want to be greeted in the afterlife by an ex you’d much rather forget?

The secular Ministry ceremony was infinitely more convenient. Everyone quietly accepted its hypocrisy, with all the solemn promises of eternal faithfulness, even if the couple divorced within a year, and the silver ribbon, which carried no magic at all.

There was polite applause, and fireworks shot up into the warm evening air. The Dark Lord was the first to offer his congratulations, followed by the families. That was the first time Bella had met Rodolphus’s mother: a calm, reserved witch with fair hair already streaked with silver. Bella had the unsettling impression that her new mother-in-law was looking at her with something very like pity.

Her own parents were there, too. Her father’s eyes had shone with tears as he led her to the groom, and now he was weeping openly. Her mother, by contrast, remained perfectly composed; she did not shed a single tear. She merely said, ‘Congratulations,’ in her dry way, then leaned closer to whisper:

‘Do you realise this dress is a bad omen, and, worse still, in dreadful taste?’

Well. At least some things never changed.

When the time came to toss the bouquet, Bella aimed straight at Evan Rosier – and hit her mark, despite all his frantic attempts to dodge.

‘Betrayal!’ Evan cried, holding the bouquet at arm’s length as though it might sink its teeth into him. ‘This was a setup! I’m taking this to the Wizengamot!’

‘Happy to testify,’ someone in the crowd called out, laughing.

‘Careful, Evan,’ Dolohov added with mock solemnity. ‘By tradition, that means your wedding is next.’

Then came the dancing, and everyone admired what a handsome pair they made. One of the Selwyns was overheard remarking, ‘Our lot has style, whatever anyone says.’ Thankfully, there were no ancient rites, no consummation of the marriage, no scattering of grain and silver for wealth and fertility.

‘Well, how do you feel about your new status?’ Ella asked curiously as they stood outside the wedding tent, smoking between dances.

Ella had filled out a little since her marriage and had grown her hair longer, but otherwise she’d hardly changed. Her youngest, four-year-old Ralph, had been entrusted with carrying the wedding rings in a silver box, but promptly dropped them. One ring had rolled all the way under the bandstand and had to be retrieved with an Accio. Now Ralph was playing happily with his older brother Reggie and the Wilkes children in front of the tent, entirely unconcerned about his earlier failure.

‘Just the same as before,’ Bella said with a shrug. ‘If I was supposed to become magically obedient to my husband, ready to follow his every command – well, I don’t feel it. All that’s happened is another flower’s sprouted on the Lestrange family tree, and that’s it.’

‘We’ll have to see what sort of flower you are,’ Ella laughed. ‘My money’s on a sundew. Nice dress, by the way.’

‘Thank you. How did you feel at your own wedding?’

‘You won’t believe this,’ she said, drawing in a lungful of smoke, ‘but I spent half the day looking for my father in the crowd.’

‘Why?’ Bella stared at her. ‘You’ve never even met him!’

‘I know. It was a completely ridiculous hope that he’d find out somehow and come to see me, even after all these years. Of course, he didn’t. How could he? He was,’ she smiled wryly, ‘a Muggle.’

‘What?!’

Ella gave her a look of faint amusement.

‘Yes, imagine. During the war with Grindelwald, he had served as a liaison officer for their army in our Self‑Defence Forces. (1) My mother met him while he was being treated at St Mungo’s, where she was training at the Healers’ School. After the war, he stayed on in our world, even found work. Everything was fine until she found out she was pregnant. He put on this grand performance of being delighted, then one day left the flat – they were living in Diagon Alley at the time – saying he was off to buy the Daily Prophet … He never came back. A perfectly ordinary, stupid story, isn’t it?’

Bella nodded. What came after hardly needed explanations. A single mother with a half‑blood child, in the 1940s … No wonder Ella’s mother had been thrown out of the Healers’ School and forced to make her living as a seamstress.

‘When the Dark Lord comes to power,’ Bella said firmly, ‘there’ll be no more of that.’

‘No more of what, exactly?’ Ella asked, arching a brow. ‘Young, foolish girls won’t go on believing pretty lies about love?’

‘At the very least, Muggles will stop using them as sex objects.’

‘Oh yes,’ Ella said dryly, patting Bella’s shoulder, ‘because naturally only wizards will do that. I’m glad you’re so positive, though,’ she added with a quick smile. ‘But you’ll have to excuse me, I’d better go check on the children, make sure they’re not turning each other into rabbits with elemental magic. Ralph! I see what you’re doing there!’ she called, striding off towards the playground, where, sure enough, a fluffy white rabbit was already hopping about among the children.

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Evan Rosier was off circling England, inspecting grassroots units. When he came back, he looked tired and furious.

‘Merlin’s sake, Bella, I swear they’ve scraped them out of a troll reserve! Utter disasters, the lot of them. Well, not anymore. I’ve sorted them.’ He flung himself into a chair, rubbing his eyes. ‘Started in London. Those idiots were the worst – sitting there smirking, convinced they’re Merlin’s gift to the cause. So, I nicked their wands and told them, “Right, time for a bit of roleplay. You’re under arrest. I’m an Auror, let’s see how long you last.” Picked the cockiest bastard of the lot and asked his name. He gives it. Then I say, who’s your unit leader? And guess what, he blurts it out, grinning like it’s some quiz! So, I thank him ever so politely and say, “Avada Kedavra.”’

Bella laughed. ‘That simple?’

‘Of course! You should’ve seen their faces. Staring at me like Stunned flobberworms, couldn’t get a word out. I told them straight: “If you babble like that under a real interrogation, your own people will deal with you exactly the same way.” Sent them home to stew on it. The next morning, I go back and get perfect discipline. The rest of the units were a walk in the park after that. Word travelled fast.’

‘Avery must have loved that,’ Bella said dryly.

Evan gave her a look. ‘I couldn’t give a toss what Avery loves.’

***

The new security measures were choking Bella. Every time she set foot outside, she had to drink Polyjuice Potion and cover herself with layers of protective charms. Business meetings were dwindling too, because the donors were jumpy, and when she did attend, she was flanked by guards. Even those trips were becoming rarer, because Evan was claiming more and more of her time.

Abraxas Malfoy was furious when he heard the Dark Lord had approved her for the combat group. ‘Working with donors, Bella,’ he’d snapped, ‘that’s where the real war is fought! Instead, you’re running off with those blockheads, what for? To look back proudly at a burnt-out apothecary?’

She hadn’t dignified that with an answer. Malfoy’s opinion meant nothing. She was exhilarated. At last, the precise, intricate, almost elegant world of combat operations lay open to her. Every strike began months in advance. The intelligence team would first pick apart the target: if it was a person, they charted every habit, every route, and every defence measure; if it was a location, they mapped patrol schedules, wards, entry and exit points, escape routes, and hundreds of other details.

Only then came the planning. Dolohov moved his three combat groups like chess pieces. Evan’s unit was still green, though, and rarely deployed: they lacked cohesion and proper experience. Apart from a few emergency callouts via signal medallion, July and early August were spent in endless drills.

It was driving Bella mad. She craved action. One evening, Evan caught her mood.

‘Tell you what. Fancy going along with Avery’s lot on a raid the day after tomorrow? It’s nonsense, of course, but you might enjoy yourself. And you’ll get to see how frightfully disciplined they are now, thanks to my re-education,’ he added with a vicious grin.

***

The evening of the raid was clear and stiflingly hot. The target was a pedestrian shopping street in the centre of a small town in southern England. Everyone had gathered for the pre-operation briefing already masked, so Bella barely recognised anyone, except Avery, who clapped her cheerfully on the shoulder as he passed.

They went over the plan one last time, heads bent over a detailed map of the town centre, confirming who would go where and do what. Avery, grinning, tapped the parchment with his wand and called it his ‘general’s map’.

‘Right, that’s it. Let’s move.’

Bella had never had to Apparate directly into a crowd of Muggles before, and a tight knot of nerves coiled in her stomach. But she landed cleanly, her boots touching the pavement within a foot of the intended spot. Around her, with sharp cracks and soft pops, the others arrived one after another. Within minutes, the street was blocked off by a chain of masked figures, appearing as though conjured out of thin air.

The Muggles nearest them flinched at first, startled, but were not frightened. There was confusion rather than panic. Some even drew nearer, trying to get a better look at strangers.

‘What’s this, Pete? Some kind of film shooting?’ a female Muggle asked, tugging at her husband’s sleeve.

‘How the hell should I know?’ he muttered.

An elderly Muggle gave a dark snort. ‘Film, my arse. Look at those bloody masks. They’re Satanists, that’s what they are!’

A few of the younger ones laughed, craning their necks to get a better look. One teenager even started edging closer, but his friends grabbed his arm and dragged him back. A ripple of uneasy murmuring spread through the crowd. Nobody understood what was happening.

Avery raised his wand high and flicked it sharply, giving the signal.

The first spell cracked like a whip, shattering the windows of the nearest shops. Glass rained down in glittering sheets. The second, a bright white jet, slammed into the heart of the crowd. A scream split the air. The crowd recoiled, stumbling back in shock. One Muggle hurled himself forward as though to fight, but a spell caught him squarely in the chest and threw him sprawling onto the ground.

The chain of masked figures began to advance, slow and steady, driving the Muggles back with bursts of magic. Those on the flanks set fire to parked cars; others blasted shopfronts, sending shards of glass cascading across the pavement, flashing cold in the light of spellfire.

Panic finally took hold. Muggles ran, screaming, knocking each other over, abandoning bags, prams, and shopping trolleys. Smoke billowed thick and acrid from the burning vehicles, the stench of molten plastic hanging in the humid air until everything blurred in a dizzying haze. Those who tried to escape into side alleys found themselves herded back by Avery’s men, who waited there like silent hounds.

Bella moved forward through the chaos, kicking aside the debris and wondering why Muggles didn’t fight. There were dozens of them! They didn’t have magic, but if they’d rushed at the wizards all at once, they could have crushed them with sheer weight, ripped wands out of their hands. They had plenty of things to use as weapons: bottles, tins, broken glass, umbrellas, and heavy bags. One good blow to the head, and a wizard is just as soft and defenceless flesh as anyone.

But perhaps, Bella thought coldly, if Muggles were capable of uniting, they wouldn’t be Muggles. These creatures lived by instinct, by fear, by shadows of their own making. They’d taught themselves to be afraid: on their ridiculous ‘tellies’, as they called them, they spent hours staring at moving pictures of zombies, aliens, monsters, and believed in them as though they were real. They worshipped fear, nurtured it like a beloved pet.

Well, tonight they had a surprise gift. Let them learn what it means to be truly afraid.

***

Within minutes, the street dissolved into chaos. A young female Muggle was running blindly, sobbing, black streaks of mascara smeared down her cheeks. Someone darted into a phone booth and yanked the receiver to call the police. Bella levelled her wand and blew the phone to pieces. Another Muggle dropped her shopping bag and, as if utterly unhinged, tried to gather the apples rolling across the pavement. No spell was needed here; the crowd knocked her down and trampled straight over her.

Something surged up inside Bella, something sharper than fury and brighter than rage. She felt joyful, exhilarated, and inspired. She wanted to do something terrible and make it beautiful.

Up ahead, a department store, already closed for the night, loomed across the street – a vast block of blue glass, serene and immaculate amid the surrounding nightmare. Through the gleaming facade, Bella glimpsed neat rows of shelves, mannequins, and bright posters, all perfectly undisturbed. That calm would not last. Panicked Muggles were already hammering on the locked doors, smashing at the windows in a desperate bid to hide inside. Bella paused, studying the expanse of glass. If she shifted the formula of the Blasting Curse just slightly …

She raised her wand and tugged Avery’s sleeve.

‘Look.’

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the department store roared from within. A violent wave of air burst outwards, and every window in the facade exploded in the same instant. Bella swept her wand up, and the cloud of shards and glass dust obeyed, rising high into the air, suspended above them in a vast crystalline dome. Unfurling like a chrysanthemum, it caught the last light of the sun and shimmered like diamond frost. For a moment, she wished she could hold it there forever. Even the Muggles froze, staring up in stricken silence at the strange, dazzling canopy.

Then Bella let her hand fall.

The glass rained down. In less than a breath, the crystal waterfall slammed into the crowd. Screams split the air. Muggles bolted blindly, colliding, stumbling, falling; the pavement ran slick as thin red rivulets spread between the paving cracks.

The masked chain opened to let the wounded Muggles scatter past. The allotted time for the raid was ending anyway, and sirens were already rising somewhere beyond the smoke.

Avery lifted his wand.

‘Morsmordre!’

Above the shattered facade, where only twisted frames remained, a colossal green skull flared into being. From its jaws uncoiled a serpent of emerald fire, writhing against the violet evening sky. Its glow clung stubbornly to the air, unshaken even by the wind.

Avery blew his whistle, signalling for them to leave. In the chaos and smoke, the masked figures vanished one by one, leaving no sound, no trace, no shadow, as though they had never been there at all.

***

Bella barely remembered the celebration with the unit coordinators after the raid; a haze of euphoria blurred everything. Her nerves were still thrumming, her body light, as though she’d stepped out of her own skin. People laughed, shouted, clinked bottles around her, but it all felt distant, unreal.

There were ten of them, among them a pair of siblings: the Carrows. Alecto Carrow, a thickset girl with cropped hair, instantly rubbed Bella the wrong way. She was loud, intrusive, and kept trying to strike up an intimate, conspiratorial conversation, as though Bella had nothing better to do than collect other people’s secrets over the smell of roast meat and cheap beer.

Half of the present were women, more than Bella had expected and far more than she’d ever seen in the upper ranks. Here, at the bottom, there were Half-bloods too. The official rhetoric demanded purity, but the movement was far less scrupulous when talent proved helpful. ‘The Dark Lord himself decides who counts as Pureblood,’ the saying went at Headquarters.

Bella sat with Avery for a while longer, waiting for the observers to return. They were left behind at the scene disguised as Muggles. It was nearly an hour before they appeared, reporting that everything had gone flawlessly. Obliviators and investigators from the Ministry had already swarmed the place, joining Muggle police and ambulances. No doubt, the Muggle papers would blame the raid on the Irish Republican Army.

By then, the party was in full swing. Beer sloshed, someone started dancing, voices rose loud and drunken in the sweltering heat. Alecto had drifted off to one side but kept watching Bella, elbows on knees, tattoos twisting with the flex of her arms.

Suddenly, she leaned forward, her voice carrying across the noise.

‘Did you ever think of playing for the other team?’

Bella blinked, surprised. ‘I don’t play Quidditch.’

Alecto let out a laugh so violent she nearly spat her beer. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she gave Bella a slow, deliberate smile.

‘You’re so pretty,’ she said, drawing out the words, ‘and sweet. So … chaste. Be honest – you don’t actually like being married, do you?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Bella said sharply, rising to her feet.

‘I had a girlfriend once,’ Alecto went on, her gaze raking Bella from the boots up. She sat sprawled wide, taking up space, tongue flicking across dry, unpainted lips. ‘She had it good with me. Really good. But she left after I beat her up. Bloody hysterical, she was. Like an augury, screaming the place down every night.’

‘I never understood people who run away because of that,’ Bella said coldly. ‘I’d just kill you.’

For a moment, Alecto stared at her, lips curling, and then laughed, low and hoarse.

Bella didn’t stay to hear more. She turned on her heel and walked out, cutting through the heat and the stench of beer, the din of laughter and shouting. She didn’t want the noise, the smoke, the sticky smell of burnt meat and cheap alcohol. She wanted just to keep the memory to herself, to cradle the vision still burning behind her eyes: the crystal dome suspended in the evening sunlight, dazzling and perfect, seconds before it fell.

***

It was dark and quiet in Thornhall; everyone was asleep, but Rodolphus wasn’t home. At first, Bella wasn’t too worried. He often stayed overnight at Headquarters these days, working around the clock. But tonight, he had promised to be there. Something urgent, she guessed.

She couldn’t bring herself to wait passively. She longed to tell him about the crystal dome, the rain of glass, the whole evening that still trembled inside her like a drumbeat that wouldn’t fade. Cigarette in hand, she stepped out onto the terrace. Through the tangle of wild grapevines, the moonlit path stretching from the stone fence to the house lay sharp and clear.

It was close to midnight when a familiar figure finally appeared at the far end of the path. But Rodolphus was walking strangely, slow, heavy-footed, head bowed, as though exhausted or unwell. Bella ran to meet him as he reached the steps and froze: his face was grey and lifeless.

‘What’s happened?’

‘I ran into trouble.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I went to see MacPherson, the editor-in-chief of the Evening Augury,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘Took Talbot with me, just in case, though I didn’t expect anything to happen. I thought MacPherson was reliable, on our side. We went under Polyjuice Potion, of course. From the start, something was amiss. MacPherson was jittery, wouldn’t look us in the eye, and kept leaving the room on excuses. I said to Larry, “Let’s go. Something’s wrong.” But the Aurors were already there.

‘I managed to get out, but they grabbed him. There was no time to call for help. They Disapparated with him straight away.’

‘Have you told the Dark Lord?’

‘Yes. He said we’ll try to get Talbot out, but I don’t believe it’s possible. It’s all my fault. He went there because of me.’

Bella didn’t know what to say. It was his fault, really. If Rodolphus hadn’t been so sure of MacPherson, Talbot would never have walked into the trap. But there was no sense in saying it now. He looked half-dead on his feet, and by the time he reached the bedroom, he collapsed onto the bed without a word and fell asleep. Bella undressed him, pulled the blanket over him, and shut the window against the creeping cold. Then she lay beside him, her arm resting lightly across his chest.

In her memory, the crystal dome shattered and fell into darkness.

***

Three days later, the news came: Lawrence Talbot had died under interrogation at the Auror Headquarters. Officially, the cause was “cardiac arrest”, but everyone knew what it meant: death under torture. Since the passing of the Regulation, Crouch had quietly authorised the Aurors to use any methods they liked.

Rodolphus stopped coming home entirely, working twenty-four hours a day as if trying to erase his guilt through exhaustion. Talbot had left behind elderly parents, a younger brother, and a pregnant wife, all already spirited away to safety. Of course, the movement would make sure they had everything they needed. But that offered little comfort.

The Dark Lord reacted with icy composure. Dolohov, however, made a public scene, right there at Headquarters. Talbot had been his man, and Tony took the loss personally.

‘Who do you think you are?’ he bellowed at Rodolphus. ‘Is the Office some kind of bloody aristocracy? Heavenly beings? And we’re just butchers to be ignored, even sacrificed, so you can cosy up to another damned scribbler! When will you get it through your thick skulls that not everything in life comes down to your pretty speeches? Answer me, you bastard!’

Rodolphus met his fury in silence.

‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he said finally. ‘You’re right. It’s my fault, and mine alone.’

‘Oh, bravo,’ Dolohov spat, bowing with mock solemnity. ‘So noble of you! Shall I throw myself at your feet now? From this day forward, you get no one from my group without the Dark Lord’s explicit order. You want men? Find your own. If one of your precious eggheads gets their brains blown out, maybe then something will finally sink into you!’

Revenge from the combat group came quickly. One morning, the Evening Augury staff arrived at work to find the building blasted, the stones scorched and cracked. MacPherson’s body hung from a lamppost outside the entrance.

The press’s reaction was divided. On one hand, the Death Eaters had murdered a fellow journalist. On the other hand, MacPherson had betrayed his contacts and broken professional trust. Some sympathetic writers cut ties with the movement entirely; others, less cautious or more ambitious, stayed in line.

But revenge brought no satisfaction. No matter how many enemies you kill, the dead on your side won’t come back.

Chapter Text

Thornhall, where they had lived, no longer existed – at least, not on any map. To an outsider, even the name of the estate would have meant nothing; it had been wiped from records and from memory alike. The reason was simple: Thornhall was now hidden under a Fidelius Charm.

The choice of the Secret Keeper had been debated at length. Whoever held the secret had to be utterly trustworthy, not to be broken even under torture, and inconspicuous enough to escape suspicion, yet close at hand to admit any newly trusted guests when needed. The Dark Lord offered himself for the role, but old Lestrange refused.

‘Don’t you trust me,’ the Dark Lord laughed softly, ‘or is this just your way of finally getting rid of me?’

‘I simply don’t intend to make a Secret Keeper of a man with “WANTED” written across him in letters the size of Hogwarts,’ Lestrange replied. ‘I’ll do it myself. I hardly ever leave the house these days, except to go to Headquarters. If anyone wants the secret out of me, they’ll have to find me first.’

***

That summer, Bella corresponded with Barty Crouch only rarely and very cautiously. He begged her to meet him, but each time she refused; it was far too dangerous. By early August, however, his letters had grown so desperate that Bella decided it was safer to see him than to risk him doing something reckless before his seventh year.

Barty was given a narrow scrap of parchment with the address, date, and time written in old Lestrange’s hand. Half an hour before the appointed time, Bella was already waiting for him in Thornhall’s garden. The day was clear and warm; bright yellow flowers with dark hearts – black-eyed Susans – lined the stone path.

The moment Barty stepped out from behind the trees, the dogs bounded towards him. He froze on instinct; like most wizards, he was uneasy around dogs. But when they realised he wasn’t planning to scratch their ears or offer them treats, they lost all interest and flopped back into the shade of the terrace. If dogs truly possessed any protective instinct, no one had bothered to inform these two.

‘Hello,’ Barty said awkwardly.
Bella smiled as she looked at him. He’d grown and was more handsome now: his straw-blond hair had grown long, freckles scattered across skin so pale it almost glowed. She led him out onto the terrace, where wicker chairs stood around a small table and a pitcher of lemonade sweated gently in the sun.

‘How are things at Hogwarts?’

‘The same as always,’ he muttered. ‘Top of the class. I’ll be Head Boy this year. Even my father’s pleased with me, can you believe it?’

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do after you graduate?’

‘Father wants me to train as an Auror.’

‘And you?’

Barty frowned.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It would be useful for us,’ she said calmly. ‘Having someone inside the Auror Office never hurts.’

She didn’t bother to mention they already had people there.

‘What’s stopping you?’ she asked instead. ‘Afraid of the entrance exams?’

‘More afraid they’ll find out I know you.’

‘As far as I know, they don’t use Legilimency for the Auror entrance tests. Besides,’ she smiled faintly ‘who’d ever suspect you? You’re the son of the Head of the Department.’

He flinched.

‘There it is again! “You’re Crouch’s son” … Merlin, I wish I were nobody.’

He kept glancing towards the windows, as though half-expecting someone to be listening in.

‘It’s such a beautiful day,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe we could go for a walk?’

‘Not a chance. The house may be invisible, but the woods around it are watched.’

‘Oh,’ he said, guilty. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

‘Something on your mind?’ Bella asked, lighting a cigarette. ‘You seem out of sorts.’

‘No, I just –’ Barty drew a deep breath, like a man bracing for a dive into cold water. ‘Is it true you can be congratulated on getting married?’

His gaze dropped to her hand, where a thin wedding band caught the sunlight as she held the cigarette.

‘Congratulate me if you like,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Or don’t. It’s just a legal formality, anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘So Rodolphus and I can’t be made to testify against each other in court.’

‘So, you don’t love him?’ he blurted, flushing scarlet, as though someone had doused him in tomato juice.

‘And now, little Barty, that’s none of your business.’ Bella tapped him lightly on the nose, but seeing how his blush deepened, she sighed and added, ‘All right, I’ll tell you. No, I don’t love him, just as he doesn’t love me. We’re friends and comrades. The common cause matters more than anything else, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he said at once, sounding far more cheerful, and bent over his glass of lemonade to hide his face. ‘I wish I could join you… in the cause, I mean. I can’t stand watching you take all these risks while I sit back, and I can’t even argue with my father when he spits on your name.’

‘It’s better that you can’t,’ she said firmly. ‘Remember this, Barty: our work demands patience and silence. Consider it a training. Every day you endure him, you’re practising both.’

When she said “Our work”, Barty’s eyes lit up.

‘Are you all right? All of you?’

‘Mostly.’ She hesitated, looking away. ‘Although we’ve just lost one of ours. He died under interrogation at Auror Headquarters. His heart couldn’t take the Cruciatus.’

The smile vanished from Barty’s face.

‘He was tortured?’

‘What did you think?’ Bella exhaled smoke, her voice flat. ‘Since your father took over the Department, the Aurors don’t even pretend to be ashamed of using the Unforgivable Curses.’

‘He said he’d never –’

‘Do you believe him?’

Barty’s jaw tightened. He shook his head and stared at the table.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For everything he does. For being his son. You’ve no idea how much I hate him! Every time I look in the mirror and see his eyes in my face, I want to claw them out.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ Bella said softly. ‘Your father is who he is. You are you. You’re seventeen now, you’re an adult. You choose your own path.’

‘I already have,’ he murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

***
At Headquarters, no one objected to involving Barty in the cause, but they were in no hurry to push him into anything dangerous. Barty, however, was burning to be useful, and he’d eventually come up with an idea. His father kept some of his work papers at home. If someone told Barty precisely what to do, he could get hold of them.

‘You don’t need to fetch anything,’ Rodolphus warned sharply. ‘Absolutely not. That’ll draw attention straight away. Better tell me this instead: is your house under a Fidelius Charm?’

‘No. It’s just been taken off the maps. There are protective spells on the front door, but I know how to deactivate them to let guests in.’ Barty gave a crooked smile. ‘Mum still hopes I’ll bring home friends … or a girlfriend.’

‘Can you make sure no one’s there but you?’

‘Easily. The day after tomorrow, Mum’s off to the women’s club. They’re planning a charity fair, so she’ll be gone for hours. And I’ll send Winky on an errand.’

‘Perfect. Deactivate the spell and wait for us,’ Rodolphus said, winking. ‘At last, you’ll have real friends coming over.’

At the appointed hour, Barty sent Winky off to hunt for a book he knew perfectly well Flourish and Blotts had never stocked. Then he unlocked the front door, as if to water the flowers in the garden. In reality, he let in two intelligence men concealed under a Disillusionment Charm. They slipped inside, checked the entrance to Crouch Sr’s study for detection spells, opened the desk drawers with meticulous care, rifled through the papers, made their copies, and returned everything exactly as they’d found it.

Within fifteen minutes, it was done. The two men slipped away just as quietly, leaving no trace behind. There was nothing particularly significant in those papers – Crouch never kept anything truly sensitive at home – but it was a start.

By the end of August, Barty came to say goodbye before leaving for Hogwarts. He looked older than he had a month ago: the softness of youth had faded from his face, his cheekbones standing out more sharply beneath pale skin.

‘I’ve been wondering,’ he began. ‘Do you think I could join the movement?’

‘Are you sure you want to?’ Bella asked quietly. ‘Barty, this isn’t something you walk away from. It’s forever. You surrender your will to the Dark Lord, and from then on, you no longer belong to yourself.’

‘I know,’ he said steadily. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Even so, you have to finish Hogwarts first. And then, if you haven’t changed your mind by that time,’ she added after a pause, ‘I’ll speak to the Dark Lord. If he agrees, you’ll be sworn in.’

‘Thank you,’ Barty said fervently. He took a step towards her, hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more, or perhaps even kiss her, but didn’t dare. He turned his gaze aside and muttered instead that it was time to go.

Bella walked him out. The sun was already sinking low, spilling gold across the stone path, the bushes, and the clusters of black-eyed Susans, which bent under their heavy blooms. Barty raised a hand in farewell and walked away without looking back.

Watching him go, Bella was struck by a sudden, piercing clarity: whatever happens in the years to come, whoever he becomes, she will always remember him like this – a fair-haired boy walking away among the golden flowers, into the fading light, towards the setting sun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

7th September 1979

They learned the name of the Auror who had tortured Talbot almost immediately. But deciding how to take revenge sparked a heated debate in Headquarters. Only the old guard were summoned; none of the younger members, Bella included, were even allowed in the briefing room. Those who happened to pass when the door opened, catching brief snatches whenever the Silencing Charms broke, said it sounded like people were yelling at each other inside. Eventually, the Dark Lord made the final decision, but Dolohov insisted on postponing the operation until September, when there would be no children in the house, since they'd be off to Hogwarts.

And now here Bella was, on a damp, grey September morning, walking past a grocery store in a quiet Muggle town. The rain had stopped just after dawn. Wet leaves clung to the lawns and glistened on the pavements. The paint on the swings by the playground shone slick and peeling. Puddles lay scattered over the paving stones, their surfaces trembling with scraps of broken sky.

Her own reflection wavered in one of them, but it wasn’t her face at all. The Polyjuice Potion had turned Bella into a fair-haired young Muggle with a sharp nose and narrow cheeks. Her hair coiled in tight curls. Large glasses with cream rims kept sliding down her nose; the woman whose strand she’d used had been short-sighted. Thick mascara clumped her lashes, pale pink gloss shone wetly on her lips, and a modest wedding band circled her finger.

At the bus stop nearby, a dark-haired teenager sat sideways on a damp wooden bench, hands stuffed into his pockets. It was Evan Rosier, though no one would recognise him under the Polyjuice Potion.

Bella strolled along the row of shops, glancing idly into windows, playing her part. After a while, she ducked into a phone booth, lifting the receiver to her ear and pretending to dial. Through the smeared glass, Bella kept watch on the street.

There she was – the surveillance target. Dorothea Barker stepped out of the grocery store with two heavy paper bags clutched in her hands. The dossier from the Office taught Bella everything she needed to know about the woman. Dorothea was forty, a Mudblood, the wife of the Auror who had overseen Talbot’s interrogation and tortured him to death. It was Dorothea who insisted on living in a Muggle town, feeling more at ease among her own kind. A soft-edged housewife with a fondness for cooking, she liked ice cream, Celestina Warbeck’s songs, romance novels, and recipe magazines. Her children had left for Hogwarts a week ago, and she missed them terribly. She dabbed on night cream before bed, set her hair in rollers, and gossiped readily with neighbours. She was friendly, talkative, and just naïve enough to fall into the trap.

Bella stepped out of the booth and walked on ahead of Dorothea. Then, halfway down the street, she let herself stumble. One hand caught the wall; she pitched slightly forward, knees buckling, as if her legs could no longer hold her. Slowly, she slid down until she was half-crouched against the bricks.

Behind her came the quick tramp of feet, a startled breath, and then a voice.

‘Oh goodness, are you all right? What’s happened?’

Bella let her eyelids flutter open, her voice barely a whisper.

‘I think I’m fine,’ she murmured faintly. ‘It’s just … I’m pregnant.’

The day before, she had gone over the memory of Ella in those first months again and again.

‘I feel awful,’ she murmured now, echoing Ella’s words. ‘If I’d known it would be like this …’

‘Oh, you poor thing!’ Dorothea exclaimed at once. ‘I fainted, too, especially with my eldest. Come on, let me show you the way. God forbid you collapse again! Where do you live?’

‘I’m not from here,’ Bella said weakly. ‘I was here on business. I need to get home, but my husband’s working and can’t come for me. I tried calling a taxi, but no one’s answering, and there’s nothing free on the street …’

‘Nonsense,’ Dorothea said briskly. ‘Come to mine. It’s just around the corner. You need a sit-down, and I’ll ring a taxi for you in the meantime.’

Bella put up a token protest, but Dorothea brushed it aside, scooped up her shopping, and took her firmly by the arm. She chattered as they walked, questions tumbling out one after another, and half the answers supplied by herself:

‘Morning sickness, is it? I was just the same! I’ll tell you a trick: keep a cracker by your bed and eat it before you even sit up. Works wonders, trust me! And food smells – oh, they’re murder! I used to send my husband out of the house so I wouldn’t have to breathe in his dinner!’

As they turned into a courtyard of a cosy house with windows draped in white curtains, the same boy who had been waiting for his bus strolled past them on the street.

On the threshold, Bella brushed Dorothea’s sleeve with the tip of her wand, hidden up her cuff, and whispered:

‘Imperio.’

Warmth surged from the crown of her head down to her palm, light spilling through her veins. Dorothea froze, her expression melting into a blissful, vacant smile. Bella guided her inside, cast a swift glance back at the street, and quietly shut the door.

***

Dolohov was already waiting when they arrived. He helped both women out of their coats, slipped Dorothea Barker’s wand smoothly from her pocket, and led her into the living room.

The Auror’s wife stood in the middle of the room, looking around with polite curiosity. This space, familiar to her down to the last crocheted doily and family photograph on the wall, had been transformed into something like a makeshift photo studio in the short time she’d been out shopping. The windows were shuttered tight; a bright lamp blazed overhead. One wall was draped with plain fabric, a reflector umbrella stood open beside it, and a camera rested on a tripod. Rodolphus was fussing with the equipment, chewing his lower lip in thought.

Bella had only learned two days ago that her husband would be the one taking the photographs, and she still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed. Did he have nothing better to do, or did no one else know how to handle a camera? More likely, Rod felt he owed it to Talbot’s memory. And the Dark Lord always favoured those who didn’t shrink from dirty work, no matter their rank.

‘How lovely of you to come straight to the house,’ Dorothea said brightly. ‘I’ve been meaning to have a proper family portrait taken for ages! Though this isn’t the best time, really. My husband’s not home, and the children have gone back to school. If only you’d come last week …’

‘You’d better go use the bathroom,’ Bella cut in smoothly.

‘Please, keep your voice down,’ Dorothea said awkwardly, glancing at the men. ‘Excuse me, I’ll be right back.’

As soon as the door closed behind her, Dolohov growled:

‘I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Bloody hell, she’s a woman!’

‘The Dark Lord said –’ Bella began, but he cut across her.

‘I know what he said! Just because we agreed doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it, right?’

It infuriated her. They were the old guard, and yet not only did they bicker, giving the Dark Lord headaches, but they also questioned his orders as if they were up for debate.

‘It’s an unpleasant necessity,’ she said coldly. ‘Our enemies need to learn that anything they do to one of ours will come back on their families.’

‘Who told you they’d learn anything?’ Dolohov shot back, sarcasm sharp enough to cut. ‘People don’t draw lessons. They never had, and they won’t start now.’

‘The Dark Lord doesn’t think so.’

‘Oh, I know!’ he snapped. ‘He’s only said it a million times. Stop parroting it like you’re a broken record.’

Before she could retort, Dorothea returned, freshly washed, lips slicked again with lipstick.

‘I’m so embarrassed you’ve come, and there’s nothing here,’ she said. ‘Let me at least make some tea for you.’

Dolohov grimaced as though with a toothache and, with a flick of his wand, lifted the Imperius. The woman flinched at the sight of strangers.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

She fumbled frantically in her pockets for her wand, which, of course, wasn’t there.

‘Mrs Barker,’ Dolohov began, ‘we’ve got nothing personal against you. But a month ago, your husband tortured one of our comrades to death during interrogation. We have to do the same to you.’

‘This is some sort of a sick joke … Stop it!’ Dorothea gasped, stumbling backwards towards the door. But Bella was already there, arms folded across her chest, watching her calmly.

‘You can’t do this!’ Mrs Barker shouted. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong!’

She bolted for the window, but Dolohov’s voice rang out behind her:

‘Imperio.’

Dorothea froze mid-step. Her face slackened, softening into a calm, blissful smile once again. Obeying Dolohov’s command, she returned to the centre of the room, smoothed down her hair as though preparing for a portrait, and glanced questioningly at Rodolphus.

‘Don’t you want to lift the Imperius?’ Bella asked.

‘No,’ Dolohov replied curtly.

‘Then what’s the point? She won’t even understand what’s happening.’

Dolohov spun round on her.

‘Why are you still here? Your job now is to keep watch with the Kiddo. Go and do it.’

‘I can stay and help.’

‘I don’t need your help. Must I say it twice?’

Bella gave an angry, derisive snort.

‘Yes, sir. Understood, sir,’ she said crisply and strode out, heels clicking hard against the floor.

‘Shall we begin?’ Rodolphus’s voice asked behind her back.

‘Yes,’ Dolohov said. ‘Crucio.’

Dorothea Barker’s ragged, animal scream tore through the room. The magnesium flash popped. The first shot was taken.

Bella stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her.

Chapter Text

As soon as she stepped out, all sound ceased, because a Silencing Charm had been cast over the living room. In the kitchen, the same boy sat at the table, a battered paperback open in front of him. His hair was already growing lighter before her eyes: the Polyjuice Potion was wearing off. Bella felt the familiar prickling in her fingertips, followed by the sharp sting in her eyes and a brief wave of dizziness. She pulled off the heavy glasses, her vision clearing instantly. The tight curls were gone, replaced by long dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She began plaiting it quickly, pinning it neatly in place.

‘Is everything clear?’ she asked.

‘All quiet,’ Evan replied, lifting his gaze from the book.

‘Dolohov’s furious,’ she said, jerking her head towards the living room.

‘I can imagine. I don’t even want to know what’s happening in there. I’ll stick to reading, thanks.’

‘I don’t see why a simple order from the Dark Lord causes such a –’

‘Bella!’ He clapped his hands over his ears. ‘Leave it.’

She only shrugged. Until she’d begun working with the combat group, she hadn’t realised how sensitive they were. Here he was – the perfect specimen of old-fashioned upbringing, where they drilled into you from early years that a true gentleman must never harm a woman or a child. The Dark Lord ridiculed such mouldy beliefs, and Bella agreed with him wholeheartedly. An enemy was an enemy, whoever they might be. They wouldn’t spare your loved ones – so why play at being noble?

To pass the time, she filled the kettle, set it on the hob, and got cups from the cupboard while stealing glances out of the window. When she stayed quiet, Evan slowly lowered his hands.

‘Speaking of our task,’ he said, ‘I wanted to ask you something … Could you have a word with Regulus? I’m worried about him.’

Regulus Black was Bella’s younger cousin. Fresh out of Hogwarts, he’d sworn his oath barely a month ago. There’d been no time to train or prepare him properly, so despite Dolohov’s protests, he was shoved straight into the combat group.

‘What’s wrong with him? He hasn’t even been on an operation yet.’

‘No, and he won’t be for at least six months. He’s nowhere near ready. It’s not that he can’t fight. I just … don’t like how he is. If I’ve got it right, things are pretty grim at his home.’

Bella remembered the old Black ancestral house on Grimmauld Place, where she’d been only a handful of times despite her paternal aunt living there. It was a dark, oppressive place where daylight hardly reached, and the corridors were lit day and night by hissing gas lamps. Severed house-elf heads stared down from the walls, eyes bulging and glassy: her great-great-great-aunt Elladora had been far too sentimental to part with her faithful servants even in death.

Fortunately, Elladora had died long before Bella was born, but plenty of other lunatics still roamed the place. Aunt Walburga had a reputation for being hysterical even by Black standards, and those standards were very lax. Druella regarded her husband’s side of the family with open disdain and referred to them as Natural Nutters, NNs for short. Since she didn’t bother keeping the nickname private, it was hardly surprising that she and her daughters were anything but welcome at Grimmauld Place.

‘That house has always been a nest of lunatics,’ Bella said flatly. ‘No wonder the elder brother, Sirius, bolted out as soon as he could. But Regulus … he’s sane, and that only makes things worse. His father died earlier this year, his mother’s still recovering, and now the whole mad household is clinging to him. Sirius had it easy. He slammed the door behind him and never looked back. Typical selfish bastard.’

She made the tea and washed cups carefully, because a Mudblood had been drinking from them. She even scalded them with boiling water, making sure there wasn’t the faintest trace of someone else’s mouth left behind.

‘Looks like Regulus is breaking down,’ said Evan. ‘It’s a phase, happening to everyone sooner or later. There’s just no time for him to go through it properly right now.’

‘What do you want from me? To play his nanny?’

‘Merlin’s beard, some nanny you are! Just … talk to him, will you? Give him some kind of support, I don’t know. You’re his cousin, after all.’

‘We’ve barely exchanged a couple of words in our entire lives.’

‘What a warm, loving family you’ve got,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, look who’s talking! I remember you screaming at your own father when you were seventeen. You were ready to fling yourself off a cliff rather than join the movement.’ She gave him a sidelong glance as she poured the tea. ‘I was jealous, you know. You were handed on a silver platter what I had to fight for, and you turned your nose up at it.’

‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘I hated all of it.’

‘If you’d really refused,’ she asked, ‘what would’ve happened?’

Evan hesitated, thinking it through.

‘Not much, really. No one would’ve forced me. But I’d have had to cut ties with my parents, Lina, and all my friends. I couldn’t do it.’

‘Instead, you could have a chance of a normal life,’ Bella teased. ‘Could’ve been married by now, had a child –’

‘I could have been a father,’ he said suddenly, no trace of humour in his voice, staring past her at the wall. ‘There was a girl, back in the spring … You know, I was a wreck about it. She wanted to keep the baby, and I was against it. Rod knew. He even tried to talk me round. Said we’d hide her, hide the child, make it work somehow. But it was too bloody risky. If she got caught pregnant or with a kid, they’d have dragged her in, questioned her, and forced her to give me up. In the end, I convinced her to come with me to Bob’s for an abortion draught. She drank it, and that was that.’

‘You utter piece of shit. Ever heard of contraception?’

‘Everyone screws up at least once,’ Evan said flatly. ‘If you must know, that’s why I don’t do long-term relationships. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s life. This way, the girls can swear during interrogation that we were just a chance encounter. Met, danced, slept together, that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘I’d rather stay alone for the rest of my life.’

Bella rolled her eyes. For Merlin’s sake, how men loved to wallow in self-pity!

‘I can’t live in constant fear for my family, like Travers,’ Evan went on, clearly hitting a nerve he couldn’t leave alone. ‘He’s hidden his wife and kids, shows up at home once a month for an hour at best. Terrified of being traced. When we took his daughter to Hogwarts this year – bloody hell. I’ll tell you the full story later, but it was practically mountain paths to get her there,’ he laughed. ‘This time, only a third of Slytherin even made it onto the Hogwarts Express. The rest had to find their own way. There were probably more plainclothes Aurors on Platform 9 ¾ than passengers.’

He reached out and took a sip of tea.

‘Something’s happening inside the school, too. Half the House is in the hospital wing.’

‘What’s new about that? We fought too.’

‘Not like this. Not so often, and not this brutal. Now, the younger ones have to be protected when walking to the Great Hall or classes. That’s never happened before. As for Slughorn –’ Evan gave a humourless laugh. ‘The old Slug won’t lift a finger. Pretends it’s nothing to do with him. He’s scared, the bastard. They’re saying this’ll be his last year as Head of House. Wants to retire before he has to deal with any of us.’

He paused suddenly, tilting his head.

‘They’ve been in there a while …’

He got up, padded down the corridor, and opened the living room door.

‘Do you need to swap?’

‘No, nearly done,’ Dolohov’s voice came back.

Bella moved in behind Evan and glanced over his shoulder.

Dorothea Barker lay sprawled on the floor. A faint, blissful smile still clung to her lips, as though she were lost somewhere far away in some quiet, peaceful dream. But each breath now came in ragged, shallow gasps. Her skirt had ridden up, showing thick stockings; her mascara streaked down her cheeks in black smudges. Rodolphus, crouched beside her, was adjusting the focus for a close-up.

‘Right. No pauses now,’ Dolohov muttered, lifting his wand. ‘Crucio.’

The woman no longer had the strength to scream. Only a hoarse, broken wheeze escaped her throat as her body jerked and twisted, her legs spasming against the floor. The shutter clicked repeatedly, capturing every contortion, until she finally went still.

‘Done,’ Dolohov said curtly, lowering his wand and flexing his hand. ‘Bella, Evan, clear this up.’

Rodolphus switched off the light and began packing away the camera. Bella silently transfigured the body into a neat pile of bones and slid them into a cardboard box to bury elsewhere. Evan moved methodically through the rooms, erasing every trace of their presence.

When they stepped outside, the house was silent again, clean and undisturbed, as though nothing had ever happened. Only two forgotten grocery bags still stood in the hallway.

***

An hour later, the photographs were ready and laid out across the table at Headquarters.

‘You can look, but don’t touch,’ Rodolphus warned. He was wearing gloves.

Everyone crowded round, leaning over to examine the damp prints, still glistening after the fixer fluid and washing. The images were crystal clear, perfectly framed, and without a single wasted detail. Dorothea Barker’s body arched, her mouth wide in a silent scream. The absence of sound made it all the more chilling.

‘Excellent,’ Bella murmured.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ Evan muttered under his breath.

Rodolphus detached the strip of developed film from where it hung to dry.

‘This is for your report, sir,’ he said, handing it to Dolohov.

Then, still gloved, he sorted through the stack, selecting several of the sharpest shots, and slid them into a thick, plain paper envelope. On a separate sheet, in block capitals, he scrawled: FOR TALBOT. With a flick of his wand, the handwriting morphed into an unrecognisable form, and he tucked the note in with the photos. Sealing the envelope, he addressed it to the Auror Headquarters and to Harold Barker.

‘Will you send it by owl?’ Evan asked.

‘No need. I’ll deliver it myself.’

He pulled a small bottle of Polyjuice Potion from his pocket, along with a glass vial containing a lock of fair hair. A paper label on the vial read: Male, 45, 5’9”, fair, grey, balding.

Rodolphus dropped the hair into the potion, gave it a brisk shake, and downed a generous gulp in one go. He shuddered violently.

‘Merlin’s balls, I’ll never get used to this stuff.’

Before their eyes, his features began to ripple and shift. His hair lightened, thinning across the crown until a bald patch spread from the back of his head. His jaw receded slightly, his shoulders stooped; in less than a minute, a completely different man stood before them – short, hunched, restless-looking.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, shortened his trousers with a quick flick of his wand, turned his robe into a creased grey cloak, and added a shabby cap. Sliding the envelope into his pocket, he picked up Dorothea Barker’s wand.

‘It will come in handy if I have to register the wand at the Ministry. If there’s time, I’ll stop by Flourish and Blotts.’

He and Bella kissed briefly at the door. Kissing a stranger whose skin smelled of familiar aftershave, knowing it was still her husband beneath the unfamiliar face, was a peculiar feeling.

‘Be careful,’ Bella murmured. ‘Lady Morgan protect you.’

‘And you too,’ he said with a faint smile.

***

Ten minutes later, the man in the rumpled grey cloak slipped into the Ministry. In the Atrium, he merged seamlessly into the flow of employees hurrying off to lunch, dodging the registration desk with practised ease. Taking the lift up to the second level, he stepped into the corridor leading to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and, moments later, stopped at the secretary’s desk.

Sweaty, fidgeting, and constantly dabbing at his forehead with a checkered handkerchief, the man launched into a frantic complaint about his neighbours. Merlin bear witness, those dreadful people gave him no peace! Every night, they deliberately blasted loud music, depriving him of sleep; they’d even shifted their fence to steal half his garden. As if that weren’t enough, they were cursing his house. His hair was falling out, the flowers were wilting, and his money was vanishing with magical speed. Surely, he insisted, his neighbours were dangerous Dark wizards, and so it was his civic duty to report them directly to the Head of the Department.

Such tiresome but harmless eccentrics wandered into the Ministry at least once a week, and the secretary knew exactly how to deal with them. Smiling sweetly, she coaxed the man into writing a formal statement about his neighbours’ crimes and promised she would deliver it to the Head herself.

Once the visitor calmed down, he bent over the paper, scratching away with his quill. While he was busy writing, the secretary turned back to her work and so failed to notice the moment he slipped a thick envelope into the stack of documents waiting in her inbox. Moments later, his statement completed, the man left.

The secretary, relieved, tore up the complaint without hesitation and tossed the shreds into the wastebasket. A glance at the clock told her she had five minutes before her break, just enough time to process the incoming mail. Without bothering to read any of it, she logged each letter, stamped them with a date and number, including the inconspicuous envelope, and with a casual flick of her wand sent everything whirring off to the respective desks. Then she vanished into the lavatory to fix her hair before heading to lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, Auror Harold Barker returned from his own break. He lingered a while in the corridor, swapping jokes and Quidditch gossip with his colleagues, before finally sitting down at his desk. He pulled the fresh stack of mail towards him and reached for the top envelope, assuming the lab had finally sent through the long-promised results.

It took him two full minutes to comprehend what he was looking at, and another two to convince himself it wasn’t some grotesque joke. His throat seized when he tried to call for help; only a choked sob escaped him. By the time a colleague noticed and rushed to his desk, knocking over a chair in alarm, Harold Barker was white-faced, trembling violently, the envelope still clutched in his hands.

Within half an hour, a team of investigators was dispatched to the Barker residence. The photographs were sent straight to forensics. The pale, shaking secretary, dosed with a calming draught, gave her statement and described the odd little man who’d left the complaint. They went looking for it, hoping to match the handwriting, but found nothing but a handful of ashes in the wastebasket. The paper must have been charmed to self-destruct.

A cursory search of the Ministry followed, but no one expected much, and they were right. The man in the grey cloak had vanished without a trace. In truth, he had ceased to exist the moment he left. By now, the shabby cloak had reverted to an ordinary robe, and the man himself, with a completely different face, was standing by a rain-streaked window at the Dark Lord’s Headquarters, smoking in silence and watching the cold autumn drizzle run down the glass.

Chapter Text

31st October 1979

At midday on the eve of Samhain, Evan Rosier gathered his team on the old Anti-Hogwarts training ground. The day was grey, a thin sheet of frost clinging to the cracked concrete. Empty hangars from their former school echoed with each footstep. There was something unnerving about this place – familiar, yet abandoned.

‘You’ve gone completely bonkers, Kiddo,’ muttered Jugson. ‘Merlin’s beard, what’s this outdoor drill? And the message arrived half an hour ago – are you joking? Couldn’t you have warned us in advance?’

‘There will be no drill,’ said Evan Rosier, buttoning his jacket.

‘What? Really?’

‘There will be an operation. I wasn’t allowed to give prior notice – that’s a personal order from the Dark Lord. Not even the old guard is involved. I don’t know the details myself; we’ll find out on site. Everyone dressed warmly as instructed?’ He unfurled a large map of Essex. ‘We’ll meet in this little wood. Look carefully and memorise. I’m not permitted to pass the map on either; it will be destroyed after the operation.’

‘Is this so serious?’

‘Well, the old man loves to obscure things. That’s all, let’s move,’ he urged, before Bella could remind him again that the Dark Lord must never be called ‘the old man’.

The clearing between two hills where they Apparated was carpeted with a crisp layer of fallen leaves. Roughly twenty people had gathered: their own group, a handful of intelligence men with Rodolphus, and six grassroots recruits clustered around Tim Avery. None of the older Inner Circle was in sight.

Bella was keen to learn what this secret, sudden order, issued not by Dolohov but directly by the Dark Lord, might mean. Since Regulus and the rank-and-file Death Eaters lacked combat experience, she assumed nothing too dangerous lay ahead. Still, it didn’t feel routine, and a thrill ran through her. Let’s get on with it!

Evan Rosier studied intently a sheet of paper he had pulled from an envelope. Rod, catching Bella’s eye, held out a flask.

‘Fancy a hot coffee?’

At least she could see him now … He had spent the previous week holed up at Headquarters, unwilling to waste time on Apparition.

‘Well then?’ Evan asked. ‘Are we ready to set off?’

‘Yes. The village is tiny; there’s only one bus that runs to the nearest town. It departed this morning with two passengers. No one else has left the place. We’re watching both routes. There’s no communication out there – we’ve cut the telephone and power lines.’

‘Right. When does the bus return?’

‘About eight o’clock this evening.’

‘Excellent, we’ve got plenty of time. Where are our vehicles?’

‘Just beyond the village, on the far side.’

‘All right, then. Let’s begin. Everyone, pay attention!’

Bella glanced at Avery, who looked oddly pale, his brow furrowed as though his stomach hurt. He gave a faint sniff.

‘The point of the operation,’ Evan began, a trace of pride in his voice – this was the first time command had fallen to him rather than Dolohov – ‘is to sweep the entire hamlet beyond this wood, gather every resident, and load them onto the prepared transport. We’ll issue a false alert, something about an approaching hurricane and an urgent evacuation. Your job is to check every house so that no one is left behind. The village is minuscule, just two streets, so it won’t take long. If necessary, you may use Imperius, or Confundus.’

‘What if the Muggles ask who we are?’ a voice from Avery’s group piped up.

‘Tell them you’re a special unit. No details. Honestly, I doubt they’ll bother asking. When someone shouts “Urgent! Immediate! There’s no time left!”, most people just obey.’

Regulus raised his hand as though still at school.

‘Where exactly are we taking the Muggles?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Evan shrugged. ‘Further instructions are in the next envelope. I’ll open it once everyone’s aboard.’

‘Why are we doing this in the first place?’

‘Honestly? I’ve no clue. Just a direct order from the Dark Lord. That’s all. Let’s move!’

A few minutes were spent casting concealment charms; their clothing now resembled a Muggle military uniform. In some places, the illusion was crooked, a mottled green pattern creeping over hands and faces. Yet the effect would only be noticed by someone staring too closely, and people seldom look hard at things they fear.

***

They came out onto the road. A large but neglected house with broken panes and an overgrown garden stood to the left. It was clear no one had lived there for years. To the right, there was a signpost reading “Houghton, 2 miles”. The village was tiny indeed: there wasn’t even a church, which Muggles usually like to set at the centre of a settlement. Gardens lay empty, leaves on the trees had already turned yellow, and here and there, like ghosts of summer, a few weather-worn Michaelmas daisies still clung on.

At some doors, pumpkins had been placed – even here, the modern American habit of Hallowe’en had taken root. Black-paper cut-outs clung to windows: moons, owls, spectres with bulging eyes. Beyond the last houses, the sea sighed, grey and creased, like some tired, lumbering beast.

When the siren wailed, doors slammed and Muggles hurried to their thresholds, craning out of windows in alarm. Evan raised his wand to his throat, and his voice, amplified, boomed through the narrow streets, echoing from wall to wall:

‘Attention! Attention! Storm warning! A hurricane is bearing down, and an emergency evacuation has been declared! Keep calm! Take warm clothing, money, and documents, and leave your homes immediately. You will be taken to a safe location!’

Before repeating the message, he turned to the others and gave a curt nod. Bella tugged Regulus’s arm – they were to work together.

‘Quick!’

Trouble broke out at the very first Muggle house. At the door, where a heap of rubbish lay, Bella hesitated: should she smash her way in or not? No one answered her knock, and she didn’t want to frighten the occupants too soon. At last, the door creaked open, and a dishevelled female Muggle in a woollen jumper stood on the steps.

‘Emergency evacuation,’ Bella blurted, struggling to remember the words. ‘A hurricane is coming. Did you hear the announcement?’

‘I … heard something,’ she said, ‘but my baby had just started crying, and I couldn’t make sense of it.’

‘Gather your things. You’ll be taken to safety. Once the danger has passed, you’ll be able to return.’

‘Yes, yes,’ the Muggle nodded helplessly, though she didn’t move. ‘Sorry, I just can’t think straight. The hurricane … No wonder the lights are out. Johnny! Johnny!’

From somewhere deep inside the house, a young Muggle came running.

‘Johnny, hurry up, we have to evacuate! Don’t take anything, just put on something warm! My God, we still have to dress Liz and the baby … And our dad’s gone into town … What if he gets caught in the storm?’

From the bedroom came a shrill cry.

‘Oh my God, I’ve got to take a bottle of milk, and spare nappies, and a potty for Liz … Forgive me, but she’s such a fussy one, she’ll never use anyone else’s potty. Where are the nappies? Liz! Get dressed, quick, we’re going out! You’re a big girl; you can dress yourself!’

Bella stepped into the house. A tiny Muggle in pyjamas and rabbit-patterned socks stared at her.

‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.

‘She’ll be right back,’ Bella replied through clenched teeth. She didn’t like brats at the best of times, least of all Muggle ones. ‘Come on, get dressed. We’re all going out together.’

‘I don’t want to go out! I’m hungry! And I need to wee,’ the little one announced solemnly, plonking herself onto the potty.

Bella was on the verge of shrieking. Fortunately, Liz did not stay seated for long: she sighed, got up and began tugging on her pants. The potty was full. Bella had no idea what to do with it; after a moment’s hesitation, she flicked its contents away with a sharp wave of her wand.

Waiting for Liz to get dressed was torture. Bella had to coax, persuade, even joke – until at last the little one grew fascinated by her earrings. While she reached for the glittering trinkets, Bella tried to tug a pair of warm trousers over her. Blimey, how hard her clothes were to fasten! A faint, sweet, warm smell rose from Liz, tinged with urine.

‘Miss, where are you from?’

Johnny, now dressed, stood nearby, watching with maddening interest. She could have done without him.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ Bella snapped. ‘The army.’

‘But your uniform looks weird. No branch wears that, and I know them all!’

‘Use your brain,’ she muttered, still wrestling with the coat clasp. ‘It’s a special unit, you fool.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said smugly. ‘That’s not how you do it. Look, it’s like this.’ With surprising dexterity, he slipped his sister’s coat on. ‘Miss, do you have kids? Probably not, ’cause you can’t do anything.’

He was interrogating her, wasn’t he?

‘No,’ Bella said curtly.

‘Yeah, thought so. You’re in the army – no time for nappies. What was that thing you were holding when I came in?’

Bloody persistent little brat!

‘A magic wand,’ she replied flatly, unable to think of anything else.

Johnny laughed.

‘Got it! You won’t tell us, because it’s a secret weapon, right?’

‘Exactly. That’s all, let’s move.’

The female Muggle reappeared, cradling the youngest one in her arms. Regulus carried a bag of nappies and a potty; Bella hauled Liz; Johnny trotted along on his own. By the time they reached the far edge of the village, they were already fifteen minutes behind schedule.

Four grey and green-coloured lorries stood at the assembly point. The place was noisy: Muggles calling to one another, rummaging for forgotten belongings, demanding to know what would happen to their animals. The wizards guided them firmly but calmly towards the lorries, promising that another vehicle would arrive for cows and chickens.

‘Bella, quicker!’ Evan shouted. ‘Two more houses to clear!’

He ushered Johnny into the back of a lorry, then Liz, handed over the bag of supplies and turned to their mother, who was still hesitating with the bundle in her arms.

‘Come on, I’ll hold the baby a moment, then pass her to you, ma’am. Regulus, give us a hand.’

Regulus helped the female Muggle clamber into the vehicle. Bella noticed how Evan held her offspring – carefully, supporting its head with his palm so the weight rested along his forearm.

‘Where did you learn to hold them like that?’

‘I’ve a whole bunch of nieces and nephews,’ he said with a brief smile, passing it back to its mother. For a moment, he paused, as though lost in thought.

‘Where exactly are we taking them?’ Regulus asked quietly, as if he had read Evan’s mind. The words hung in the air.

Strangely enough, Bella was wondering the same. She didn’t like carrying Liz, but when she handed her into the lorry, she felt a hollow tug inside, as though something important had been taken from her. A knot formed in her stomach.

Where are we taking them?

She drew a breath, shook her head, and marched resolutely back towards the village. No point mulling it over – an order was an order. It simply had to be carried out.

When the Muggles were seated on the benches, the group secured the canvas tarpaulins, reinforcing them with camouflage, muffling, and binding spells. The drivers, all under the Imperius Curse, were grinning blissfully. The cabins had been magically expanded within, so everyone fit comfortably and none felt cramped.

Evan slid into the seat beside the driver of the first lorry and tore open the next envelope. After a moment’s study, he gave the signal to move.

The convoy rolled onto the road and gathered speed. Empty orchards, doors hanging ajar, and abandoned belongings flashed past the windows. The first phase of the operation was complete.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t been on the road for long when Bella drifted into sleep. She woke with a jolt as the lorry ground to a halt, and Regulus, looking irritated, yanked at the door.

‘How does this blasted thing open?’

He pulled out his wand and muttered:

‘Alohomora!’

No one paid him the slightest attention. The driver, a Muggle under the Imperius curse, didn’t even flicker an eyelid.

The lorries had stopped on a dusty track that wound along the coastline, climbed a hill and disappeared round a bend. The air was sharp with salt and seaweed, and the damp wind cut to the bone. A small knot of people had gathered near the first vehicle. Bella’s eyes darted at once to the familiar figure standing a little apart: the Dark Lord, speaking with Rosier. His robe was heavy and warm, yet he had left his hood down, brushing wind-tossed hair from his face now and then with a gloved hand.

At his side, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, stood a house-elf. Bella blinked in surprise: it was Kreacher. Of all Grimmauld Place’s inhabitants, he was perhaps the only one she had ever been glad to see. When she was still a child visiting her aunt, he would always slip her the sweetest little cakes.

Kreacher’s face lit up. Beaming, he bounded towards them, sand spraying from his broad, worn feet.

‘Master Regulus! Miss Bella!’

Though long past his youth, he greeted them with the eagerness of a pup.

‘What are you doing here?’ Bella asked, astonished.

Kreacher puffed out his chest.

‘Master Regulus lent Kreacher to the Dark Lord for a most important mission! At first, the Dark Lord was going to take one of the elves from Headquarters, but Master Regulus begged him to choose Kreacher instead!’

‘Did he really?’ Bella scratched him behind the ear. ‘Well, that’s quite an honour. I’m pleased for you.’

Nearby, Avery was briefing his men.

‘I’m staying here, and you’ll go on with the Master. Do your jobs properly, don’t make me look bad in front of him!’

Those chosen to go further looked tense. Small wonder: rank-and-file members only saw the Dark Lord once or twice a year, at a distance. He terrified them. One corpulent man in his forties kept fiddling with his cap.

‘Timothy, you’re not coming with us, are you?’

‘I’ve got business here,’ Avery cut in quickly, his voice tight. ‘But I am sure you’ll manage well enough. If all goes smoothly, you’ll earn yourselves a promotion.’

‘Right, then we’ll –’

The Dark Lord, after nodding once to Evan, glided silently to the first lorry and climbed into the cab. Regulus bent down to pat Kreacher on the head.

‘You go too. Do whatever the Dark Lord tells you, then return home, all right? No need to wait for me.’

Avery’s men and the house-elf climbed into the vehicles. The convoy rumbled away; in moments, the last lorry had vanished round the bend.

Avery watched them go, dragging his hands down his face. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he had not slept a wink. Evan clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Wonder what they’ll be doing over there?’ Regulus muttered.

‘How should I know?’ Evan shrugged. ‘The old man doesn’t report to me. Attention!’ he barked, raising his wand. ‘We’ll rotate guard and watch. Who wants the first lookout?’

Rodolphus, omnioculars in hand, stepped forward.

‘Me.’

‘All right. Bella and Regulus, you’ll take the guard shift. The rest with me. There’s a spot up the hill where we can warm ourselves.’

They set off up the rocky path. The climb was steep and treacherous. When they reached a small plateau among the scrub, Rosier stopped.

‘Bella, over here.’

With a brush, he painted a streak of bright red lacquer across her wrist. Bella flicked her hand to dry it faster. It was a signal mark.

‘If it starts to pulse, someone’s coming. If it’s Muggles, deal with them yourselves. If it’s Aurors, press the mark, and we’ll come for support. Use Disillusionment Charms, and don’t freeze solid out here. Changeover in an hour.’

Bella glanced up. The lookout post that Rodolphus was climbing to sat right on the cliff top. From below, it would be invisible, but from there you could see for miles.

She pulled her robe tighter, cast Disillusionment Charm over herself and Regulus, perched on a dry stone with her knees drawn up, and settled in to wait.

***

Waiting was dull. Despite Warming Charms, the damp sea air seeped straight through her clothes and clung to her skin. To kill time, she paced the plateau, listening to sand squeak and gravel crack beneath her boots. Under the charm, she could not see her own body, and she guessed Regulus’s position only by the faint crunch of tiny stones.

‘Bella?’ came his low voice.

‘I’m here. Are you cold?’

‘No … I just want to talk.’

She flicked hair from her face, annoyed. Of course, that was why Rosier had paired Regulus with her. He thought she might prop up her cousin.

‘I’m feeling a bit off,’ Regulus said. ‘I know they’re only Muggles. But we herded them into those machines like cattle … Why? There isn’t even a hurricane!’

Bella looked out at the sea; from here it lay flat as a plate.

‘When I took the oath,’ Regulus went on, ‘I imagined it would be different. I thought we were part of something grand, something holy –’

‘Are you disappointed?’

‘I don’t know. It isn’t what I pictured.’

Anger simmered in her chest. First, the little Muggle brat and her potty, and now she was expected to babysit her cousin.

‘Well, it’s a pity the Dark Lord didn’t arrange some personally meaningful, entertaining task for you,’ she hissed. ‘I’m bored too, if that helps.’

‘I’m not bored. More … unsettled. Frightened, even. Why would the Dark Lord want these Muggles? How does it serve our cause?’

‘I’ve no idea. If we need to know, he’ll tell us.’

‘It drives me mad, being kept in the dark all the time. Why should I obey orders when I don’t even know their purpose?’

‘Treat it as training. You’ve surrendered your will to the Dark Lord. The oath never said he owed you explanations.’

‘I know. I’m just … sick at heart.’

She almost groaned. Another complaint!

‘This is war, Reggsie, not a playground.’

‘I’d still like, at the very least, to understand what’s happening,’ he pressed.

‘When Kreacher comes back, you can ask him,’ she said wearily. ‘Leave me be.’

Regulus fell silent. She couldn’t see his face under the Disillusionment Charm.

***

The changeover, as usual, came without warning. Bella felt as if half the day had crawled by. The wind scorched her cheeks like fire. She followed Evan up the ridge, only lifting the Disillusionment Charm when they reached the top.

Another plateau opened before them – hidden from the road and sheltered a little from the gale. One side dropped sheer into a precipice above a strip of sandy beach; the other sloped in jagged steps towards black cliffs where the surf thundered and flung up plumes of white spray. Out beyond the cliffs and water lay something else: a small island, or what looked like one, faint on the horizon.

A handful of gnarled trees clung to the plateau, and between them a tent had been pitched in haste. In an iron cauldron, a magical fire blazed with bright blue flames. Beneath the canvas, tea was poured, and sandwiches were passed around. Someone pulled out a flask of Firewhisky, but Rosier barked:

‘Oi! Put that away! We’ve an Obliviate coming up. Mix that with a drink, and you won’t even remember your own mother’s name!’

Regulus flinched.

‘Wait. Will our memories be wiped?’

‘Yes. The order was in the last envelope.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Evan snapped, clearly tired of the constant questions. ‘The operation’s classified. No one’s supposed to know where we are. Probably that’s why.’

Regulus shifted uneasily.

‘What’s going on over there?’ He jerked his head towards the shoreline where the lorries had vanished. ‘When are they coming back? Where’s my house-elf?’

‘Enough! Nobody here knows!’ Evan shot back. ‘Ask the Dark Lord if you want answers.’

‘I will,’ Regulus said hotly.

A few men laughed. Regulus bit his lip and turned away.

Bella ducked into the tent and dropped onto a folding chair. The warmth made her unbearably drowsy. Rodolphus came up, settled a blanket over her shoulders, tucked it close, then suddenly crouched before her and hugged her knees.

‘Want some tea?’

She shook her head. Tea would’ve been welcome, but it meant needing the loo – and that meant going outside. She couldn’t just piss against a rock like the men; she’d have to find proper cover, and in this wind, she’d catch a chill in seconds.

‘Then rest,’ Rodolphus murmured, his lips brushing her cheek before he slipped away.

Chapter Text

She fell asleep almost at once, but it seemed to her she had only dozed for an hour. When she opened her eyes, it was already dusk, and the tent lay empty. The fire still burned, bright and smokeless, and beside it sat a man with a cigarette. Blinking the sleep away, she recognised her husband. Rodolphus looked spent, as though he had not slept for days.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Some are wandering along the coast, but there’s nothing to see there. The rest are on patrol.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Half past four.’

‘Oh no, I’ve missed the changeover!’

She sprang to her feet, but Rodolphus caught her by the elbow.

‘Don’t be in a hurry. They’ll be back in half an hour. They chose not to wake you up.’

Yawning, she stepped outside. From this height, the sea looked heavy and still, like liquid mercury. Even the sound of the waves was muffled and indistinct. Figures trudged along the wet sand below. A flicker of turquoise caught her eye: it was Avery’s jacket.

‘Why didn’t Timothy go with his lot?’

Rodolphus drew on his cigarette.

‘Haven’t you a guess?’

She shook her head.

‘Think about it, Beauty. They told him to round up the ones who’d stepped out of line, the ones not worth sparing. Everything’s been prepared already: money for the families, and gratitude letters saying they “died a heroic death in the service of the Dark Lord”. Avery knows it all. That’s why he looks as if he’s about to hang himself.’

‘You mean … they won’t be coming back?’

‘No.’

‘What about Kreacher?!’

‘No one’s said a word about him.’

‘I hope the Dark Lord just wipes his memory,’ she murmured, hugging herself against the cold. ‘The elf’s done nothing wrong.’

‘Are you not even asking what’ll happen to those Muggles?’

‘That’s the last thing on my mind right now!’

‘Really?’ Rodolphus flicked the fag end to the ground and vanished it with a sweep of his wand. ‘There were children among them.’

‘Whelps,’ she corrected. ‘Children are for humans. Does it matter to you?’

Rodolphus gave her a sideways look, shrugged and walked away. Bella pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her thoughts kept circling back to Kreacher’s fate, but she told herself it would all become clear once the Dark Lord returned. She decided not to tell Regulus for now – he had already had a tantrum earlier.

As for the Muggles, she felt nothing. Their numbers ran into the billions; what difference did a few dozen make?

***

After half an hour, the three of them – she, Evan and Regulus – took over the guard shift. No one bothered with Disillusionment Charms anymore; night was closing in fast. Regulus sat hunched on a boulder, his back turned on the others.

Evan suddenly stiffened.

‘Reggsie, come over here!’

Regulus rose and shuffled across, hands shoved into his pockets. In the fading light, he looked so like Sirius it was unsettling.

‘Tell me, what were you just writing?’ Evan asked.

Regulus blinked.

‘Nothing.’

‘So it was my imagination, wasn't it? Show me what you’ve got in your pockets.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because I’m your commander, and I’ve told you to. If it’s personal, I won’t read it. All right?’ Evan stretched out his hand.

Regulus stood firm.

‘I’ve nothing to show you.’

With a snap of his wand, Evan summoned the contents of Regulus’s pockets: a wand, a handkerchief, a packet of sweets, a pencil, and a crumpled sheet of paper. He snatched up the paper and looked at it closely, casting Lumos with his wand. On one side were numbers, likely a receipt from Flourish and Blotts. On the reverse, there was a roughly pencilled map, and beside it, the name of the very village they had been in today.

‘Why did you do it?’

Regulus said nothing.

‘So, you’ve heard the Dark Lord will wipe our memories and decided to cling to secret information. Do you think he’s so stupid he won’t see it when he looks into your head? Who were you planning to pass it to?’

‘No one! I just wanted to remember – to find out what it was all about –’

‘Where else have you written it?’ Evan pressed. ‘On your arm? On your clothes?’

‘Nowhere. Leave off.’

Evan struck him hard across the face.

‘Drop the tone! Strip. That’s an order. And shove your Black-style pride up your arse while you’re at it!’

Regulus glared, then ripped off his robe and hurled it down. Evan crouched in the wandlight, turning out the pockets, running his fingers along the lining.

‘Jumper,’ he ordered briskly. ‘Shirt. Boots. Socks. Trousers.’

Regulus obeyed, left barefoot in his underwear against the freezing wind.

‘All clear,’ Evan muttered through gritted teeth. He straightened up and struck Regulus again – this time with his fist, full force. Regulus staggered, nearly falling. He was shaking all over from the cold and pain, blood streaming from his broken nose.

‘Thank all the gods no one else saw it but us,’ Evan snapped, his voice trembling with fury. ‘Otherwise, you'd have been torn apart alive. Get up and get dressed. Now!’

At the sound of footsteps, he turned sharply, then relaxed.

‘Rod, is that you? Come here!’

There was a crunch of gravel, and Rodolphus emerged from the darkness.

‘What’s all this?’ he asked, with only a flicker of interest, as if bloodied, half-naked boys were simply part of Evan Rosier’s daily routine.

‘Can you wipe the last fifteen minutes from his memory?’ Evan asked. ‘I’m not certain I’d manage it cleanly.’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘He’s done something the Dark Lord wouldn’t want to see,’ Evan said grimly, and gave a brief explanation under his breath.

‘Fine,’ said Rodolphus. He waited until Regulus had finished dressing, then stepped in front of him. ‘Look me in the eye.’

Regulus had no strength left to resist. Rodolphus touched his temple with his wand. Regulus flinched, then looked around in confusion.

‘All right,’ Evan said quickly. ‘You’ve got a nosebleed from exhaustion, that’s all.’

‘I’ll take him to the tent,’ Rodolphus said, steadying Regulus by the arm. He muttered to Evan: ‘Give me the note. I’ll destroy it.’

Paper crackled. When the two had vanished into the dark, Evan turned to Bella.

‘Can you delete this memory in us both so that the Dark Lord won’t find it?’

Of course, she could. The Dark Lord himself had taught her memory charms. But she was not accustomed to hiding anything from him.

‘Bella, this isn’t a joke.’ Evan gripped her shoulder. ‘If the Dark Lord learns what Regulus did, your clever little brother won’t be leaving this place alive. Understood?’

She hesitated. She didn’t want Regulus dead, but fury burned in her, too. Because of his stupidity, she now had to deceive the Dark Lord. How had it come to this?

‘Fine,’ she said at last. ‘But it’s the first and last time.’

‘Thanks, sis,’ Evan murmured.

She performed the spell quickly. All she felt was a light dizziness. Was she briefly asleep while on shift? … But she had no time to think of it, because from below, along the path, someone was climbing towards them in the dark.

A man. In a robe. Alone.

***

Bella barely had time to take in who it was before her legs carried her down the slope of their own accord. Running in the dark was treacherous: she stumbled, slipping on loose stones. The Dark Lord climbed slowly, pausing often, as though each step weighed on him. When Bella reached him, he was still only halfway up the path.

‘Master!’ she gasped from anxiety. ‘What’s wrong with you? Are you ill?’

He looked at her as if he had to remind himself who she was, then gave a faint shake of the head.

‘Everything’s fine.’

Yet he leaned on her outstretched hand. Together, they moved slowly upwards. Evan tried to step forward to help, but the Dark Lord stopped him with a gesture.

When they reached the tent where the fire burned, those inside sprang to their feet. Conversation died; a heavy silence pressed over the clearing. Everyone saw at once that the Dark Lord had come back alone. No one dared ask after the others.

As they walked, Bella kept glancing down the path, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kreacher’s white towel in the gloom. Nothing. She told herself he must already have gone home. Regulus had ordered him to return once his task was done, and a master’s word was law for a house-elf. Surely all was well; he was probably already back at Grimmauld Place.

She helped the Dark Lord step beneath the tent and sit in a folding chair. Now that the firelight touched him, Bella saw how greatly he had changed. Even in the wavering glow, his face looked unnatural, like a porcelain-white wax mask that had been held too near the flame and then snatched back. It was still beautiful, but warped, blurred at the edges. His lips were pressed into a thin line. What had happened in these few hours to make him so?

Rosier sent a spray of green sparks up from his wand. Soon, the man who had been on a lookout came picking his way down from the cliff top.

‘All right. The operation is finished,’ the Dark Lord said, his voice low, almost lost in the wind. ‘All that remains is to erase everyone’s memory, and then we can go home. Evan, is the map destroyed?’

‘Yes, Master. Burned at once.’

‘Good. Come to me one at a time.’ He turned to Bella. ‘There was chocolate somewhere.’

She darted into the tent, found a flask of hot chocolate, poured it into a mug, and carried it back.

‘Here you are, my Lord.’

When his eyes flicked up to her, she caught a glimpse of something dreadful: his whites were laced with crimson, as though every tiny vessel in his eyes had burst. He dropped his lids again at once, looking utterly drained, on the verge of collapse. His long, pale fingers closed clumsily around the mug. He took a deep draught, then, with his free hand, drew his wand –

***

Bella shook her head. The world swam before her eyes; she almost lost her footing. Someone caught her by the elbow. All around stretched a dark, untamed landscape. Nearby, a blue-flamed fire hissed and crackled, and the Dark Lord was seated beside it. Far off, the sea roared.

‘Keep calm,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘Everything’s all right, it was only the memory erasure. The operation is over.’

What operation? She glanced around. Evan and Rodolphus stood close by, looking as dazed as she felt.

‘Everyone else has already gone. You may go home as well,’ the Dark Lord said. ‘Thank you for your service.’

Bella searched his face. It was uncanny – like a porcelain-white wax mask that had been held to the fire and snatched back just in time, still beautiful yet warped, blurred at the edges. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked ill, unable to hold himself upright, as though he might topple from the chair at any moment.

‘Are you unwell?’ she asked softly. ‘Shall I help you Apparate to Headquarters?’

‘I am fine,’ he answered curtly. ‘Go on. Good night.’

‘May I stay, my Lord?’ she ventured. ‘I could help –’

‘I said no!’

She recoiled a step. She had not expected this. The Dark Lord had never raised his voice to her, not even in anger. Now his eyes blazed with such ferocity they seemed blood-red in the fire’s light.

‘Do not argue with me,’ he said, more controlled. ‘I will manage. Go.’

She bent and kissed his hand. It was cold as ice. As they turned away, Bella could not resist one last look.

The image burned itself into her memory: the rocky slope, a tiny island of fire in the boundless dark, and the figure of a man – exhausted, half-seated, half-slumped in a folding chair – like a broken doll, abandoned by everyone.

Chapter Text

It was already late in the night, October had long since slipped into November, yet Bella still couldn’t fall asleep. She sat up in bed, a blanket draped over her shoulders, sipping a mug of hot tea and listening to the wind battering the window. Rodolphus was awake too, sitting beside her and smoking. Even the little magical radio wasn’t sleeping – it blinked with a green eye, crackled, and strained to bring distant voices to life.

‘You’re tuned to Radio Magic Ultra, and I’m Robert “Beau” Symonds. I’ll be with you until six. Tonight, we’re talking music and mayhem. First up, the latest headline: Chuck “Tomato” Parkinson has been arrested by officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, suspected of ties to the Death Eaters. Yesterday, a crowd of fans picketed the Ministry Atrium in protest and were promptly detained for causing a public disturbance – ’

‘Bloody idiots,’ Rodolphus muttered. ‘If Tomato’s a Dark wizard, then I’m a dragon-tamer. They’ll grab anyone just to prove they’re doing something. Maybe we should hand him a certificate saying he isn’t part of our movement?’

‘The Department claims Mr Parkinson’s lyrics show “clear signs” of Dark influence – too much swearing, references to drink and dodgy potions. Tomato, for his part, denies everything. He’s been temporarily placed in Azkaban but managed to send a short comment to us via his legal representative – ’

‘So via Rabastan, then,’ Rodolphus said.

Rabastan was the only member of the family still operating legally, protected by his status as a barrister. He’d taken over the family bureau, but no one knew how long he could keep the precarious status quo afloat.

‘Who exactly is this Tomato?’ Bella asked indifferently.

She needed something to occupy her mind; the anxiety about the Dark Lord was growing stronger by the minute. Had he managed to Apparate, or was he still out there on that shore? Could his condition have worsened? Could he have collapsed? If she knew where he was, she’d head straight there despite the prohibition. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall a single landmark that might point her in the right direction. All she could do was wait until morning – and she wasn’t sure she’d manage to sleep at all.

‘A bluesman,’ Rodolphus said. ‘One of those whose music you usually don’t care for.’

‘“I’ve given up the booze – they don’t sell it in Azkaban,” Beau Symonds was reading Tomato's comment in his refined, aristocratic diction. “There’s no dope either. It’s all new to me. Shout-out to everyone listening. Hope I’ll still be playing for you soon.” Thanks, Chuck. We’re also looking forward to your return. Right now, we’ll be playing Parkinson’s latest release: “Road to the Sky” – ’

‘I don’t want this,’ Bella reached for the radio’s knob.

‘Hold on! “Road to the Sky” is worth a listen. There’s nothing decent on the other stations anyway, unless you’re in the mood for Celestina Warbeck, of course.’

‘Fine. Anything but Celestina.’

To her surprise, she rather liked “Road to the Sky”. Perhaps it was a flicker of sympathy for the unknown Tomato. The music and lyrics weren’t particularly original – musicians of that sort always sang about more or less the same things. But the track hooked her after the first few chords, and then a husky male voice slipped in:

I stood on the road to heaven – never thought I’d leave so soon.
I lost someone at midnight, drank alone under the moon.
This road is paved with silence, with names that echo the night,
Old bars, empty glasses, and friends who slip out of sight.

Up there, the brothers wait – there's a place for one of us.
But I’m still down here, wanderin’ through shadows and dust.
They say salvation’s waiting, joy that forever will stay,
But the road to the sky starts in pain and cuts through my soul every day –

Tears welled up for no apparent reason. She didn’t even know where such dreadful, desperate melancholy had come from. Perhaps it was the extra glass of tea, or the mix of anxiety and fatigue. Rodolphus gave her a soft, comforting pat.

‘Beau Symonds, by the way – he’s brilliant,’ he said, trying to change the subject. ‘Listen to his diction, will you? Hugely popular. Though if he keeps needling the Ministry, they’ll have to take him off the air.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Saw him at the Inkwell.’

‘What’s the Inkwell?’ Bella kept her eyes shut, hoping not to cry again.

‘It was a bar in the basement, right downstairs from the radio station. Not far from where we used to live in Knockturn Alley. Remember when you’d sneak out at night to see the Dark Lord?’

She nodded. The memory stung.

‘That’s when I started going to the Inkwell. I didn’t want to be alone. Nice place. Shame they shut it down last year, supposedly for drug dealing. Partly true – you could get anything there whenever you fancied. But really, they closed it because people talked politics far too much.’

‘Our lot used to meet there, then?’

‘Everyone did. Frank Longbottom, Gideon and Fabian Prewett – those are Aurors, Molly Prewett’s brothers. Do you remember her? The Gryffindor from our year … Nowadays, they’d arrest me on sight, but back then, things were calmer. We’d argue ourselves hoarse, sometimes nearly drawing wands, but it stayed civil, mostly.’

‘Why did you bother talking to them at all?’

‘I wanted to understand them, and for them to understand us … But that’s all in the past now. There’s nothing left to discuss on either side.’

***

Later, Rodolphus headed to the bathroom. The radio murmured:

‘Let's move on to the other news. Muggle sources report a mass disappearance of villagers on the Essex coast. Over a hundred people left their homes without any explanation, abandoning pets, half-eaten lunches, and unfinished chores. Two residents who travelled into town that morning returned to empty houses and could not account for where their families had gone.

Muggle experts speculate the incident may involve experimental weaponry, possibly of Soviet origin. The theory is bolstered by the recent discovery of a Soviet submarine in the North Sea a few days ago. Alternative hypotheses include secret training exercises, evidenced by a convoy of military lorries spotted on the highway, or a contact with an extraterrestrial civilisation. (1)

No wizard disappearances have been recorded so far, but the Ministry of Magic urges caution and is monitoring the situation closely. Now, the news from the Alchemical Club, which today opened a new laboratory for the study of –’

She sat back and reached for a cigarette. Her own pack was empty, so she took one of Rodolphus’s – a touch weaker than hers, but it hardly mattered. With a dry rustle, a slip of paper slid out of the cigarette pack. Bella lit the tip of her wand and saw a fragment of a word HOUGH –, scrawled hastily in crooked block capitals, as if jotted down in the dusk.

The sound of running water stopped. A minute later, Rodolphus emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a dressing gown.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

He glanced indifferently at the paper.

‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Looks like I scribbled something down for myself, but I’ve no clue what it should mean. Probably nothing important.’

He plucked the note from her hand and tossed it into the fireplace. A lick of flame caught the edge, and within moments it was gone – reduced to ash.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31

26th November 1979

That day, even the sky seemed to hint that something was about to happen. From early morning, it had shifted through every shade of lilac, and by evening, it was blazing a vivid pink. The sun sank behind mauve clouds. According to the newspapers, the rare spectacle was caused by a Saharan sandstorm, driven northwards by a southerly wind that had carried the dust all the way to the British Isles.

‘The Sun forming a square with Mars and Jupiter increases the likelihood of conflict and accidents, stirring up an impulsive urge to act,’ the resident astrologer muttered on the radio as Bella brushed her hair in front of the mirror. She had just returned from training, taken a bath, and was now feeling pleasantly tired. ‘Purple clouds under these conditions symbolise fire hidden within water – a pre-storm force. They indicate a good time for decisive action, but not for negotiation or diplomacy. It's a highly charged, dramatic period that –’.

She didn’t bother listening to the rest. Pulling on her coat, she set off for Headquarters.

A warm wind had swept desert sand across London, leaving the streets coated in a reddish-brown film. Along with Bella, the sand slipped through the enchanted doors that separated Headquarters from the courtyard lined with chestnut trees. Inside, it was warm and quiet. From the entrance, she turned left into the Office. She was meant to meet her husband there before they set off together for Sedgeton Park – the estate belonging to Rodolphus and Rabastan’s mother, where Rabastan’s family had been staying of late. It was no longer safe to remain in the large but poorly defended house, so they’d decided to relocate to Thornhall. Bella and Rodolphus were to help Ella and the children make the move.

Lately, leaving the house had become increasingly complex. One could only appear in public under the cover of a Disillusionment Charm or Polyjuice Potion, and usually had to carry a secrecy sensor, in case someone silently attached a Surveillance Charm to you. These precautions were meant for members of the Inner Circle mainly, but even ordinary Death Eaters were already beginning to feel the pressure. Two weeks earlier, Aurors had arrested Vitellius Tindall of Scarborough, caught carrying an illicit wand that had been linked to a criminal case. Worse still, his arrest compromised an entire unit in Scarborough.

For that, Timothy Avery, who was responsible for grassroots units, had been disciplined harshly by the Dark Lord. Someone even claimed the Cruciatus Curse had been used. Everyone was taken aback – Avery was still part of the Inner Circle, albeit one of the younger members. The Dark Lord had never been so severe with someone so close to him. Yet Bella was firmly on the Dark Lord’s side. What else was he supposed to do when words failed, and people couldn’t do their jobs properly?

However, the worst of it, and far worse than any arrest, was that Tindall had been taken in on an anonymous tip. He was just an ordinary bloke, working in a cauldron factory, having a fiancée, and officially without any ties to the movement. According to a source embedded in the Auror Headquarters, his name had never once come up until someone reported it using the Ministry’s Death Eater identification hotline.

Of course, it might’ve been a disgruntled workmate or an ex-girlfriend. But there was another possibility: Tindall was being watched. It had happened before. And no, the Aurors weren’t involved – the source in their office was categorical about that.

So, who was it?

***

The doors to the Office swung open just as Bella reached for the handle. Most of the staff had already left for the day: the lamps were still lit, but the desks stood empty, the safes locked, and the filing cabinets neatly shut.

Only at the far end, in a brightly lit room behind a glass partition, did the work continue without pause. There, huge, enchanted spools with rolls of paper rotated steadily, pausing from time to time, while self-writing quills flickered into life and stilled again. This was how the Office monitored its key surveillance targets and their conversations. Later, analysts would comb through the recordings, sifting out what was useful from what was mere idle chatter. Before Colin Rosier’s upgrades, it had all been far more cumbersome. The Office agents had to infiltrate the target location (sometimes requiring a separate mission) just to cast a Listening Charm on an object and then return to extract and replay the recording.

Bella found her husband in Colin Rosier’s study. Colin Rosier had put on even more weight of late – he barely fit into his armchair anymore, which had to be magically enlarged. His fingers resembled sausages, and heavy pouches sagged beneath his eyes. Yet, amid the mountain of paperwork strewn across his desk, there sat a plate bearing sharp pickled Murtlap tentacles and a heap of fried potatoes. A cigarette smouldered in the ashtray. The door stood slightly ajar, so nothing especially sensitive was being discussed. The loud argument carried out to the landing suggested the conversation inside was more of a row than a briefing.

‘Ah, just in time!’ Rodolphus called out the moment Bella entered, clearly hoping for backup. ‘Take a look at your uncle! Does he look alright to you?’

‘Exactly! Say it!’ Colin huffed. ‘Tell him to leave me be! Still wet behind the ears, grown up with my son, and now he dares to lecture me!’

‘You remembered you have a son, haven’t you?’ Rodolphus retorted. ‘Perfect timing! Shall I fetch Evan to knock some sense into you? Do you remember how you used to be? You always had two backup plans up your sleeve in case something went sideways. Now you can’t even sit through a full report! Your hands are shaking, your robes are splattered in grease. Didn’t you teach me: “If you can’t hold the front line, at least hold yourself”? And now, look at this junk you’re eating five times a day,’ he jabbed a finger at the Murtlap and chips. ‘It isn’t just clogging your gut, it’s turning your brain to lard! What’s next?’

‘Next,’ said Colin through a mouthful, ‘you’ll stop bellowing and we’ll get back to work … Bella, my dear, sit down. Ignore this ruffian. Fancy a bit of Murtlap?’

She shook her head. Sitting beside Uncle Colin, she felt faintly nauseous just from the smell. The entire Office reeked of grease and garlic.

‘Where’s Snape’s dossier? I’m asking you – where the hell is it, you bloody git?’ Colin snapped, pawing through the papers.

‘It’s right in front of you,’ Rodolphus shot back, pointing at one of the files.

‘Right, right,’ Colin muttered, wiping his fingers on his already stained shirt. ‘So, what’s the story with Snape, then? We had high hopes for him.’

‘Not anymore.’

‘Why not? Looks like a clever lad to me. Sent from up there, isn’t he?’ He nodded toward the ceiling, referring to the Dark Lord’s personal office. ‘Was it all a waste of time?’

‘Depends how you look at it –’

Bella barely remembered the name. She’d first seen Severus Snape back in his third year, on his first visit to Hogsmeade. The “Golden Cohort” used to meet with Slytherin students there fairly regularly – to get a sense of the mood at school, hear what Dumbledore was up to, find out whether the other Houses were picking on Slytherins, and whether anyone outside school might be due a good beating.

Back then, Snape had been a scruffy teenager – sullen one moment, irritable the next. He never met anyone’s eye and seemed mortified by his own appearance: bitten nails, a threadbare cloak, and a general air of poverty and neglect. Yet he held a strong opinion on every subject, no matter how trivial. It was as if he expected nothing good from life and had adopted a defensive stance from the outset. No wonder he’d had few friends, even among the Slytherins. Six years on, it seemed little had changed.

‘He’s genuinely talented,’ Rodolphus said grudgingly, as if even saying the name left a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Mastered Encryption Charms in a day. He’s an excellent Occlumens for his age. But he’s bloody arrogant. Always asking for the reasons behind orders. Just the other day, he let a surveillance target get away, then calmly claimed – I quote – “it was a training subject”. Said he wouldn’t have made the same choice with a real target.’

‘So give him a real assignment,’ suggested Rosier, thumbing through the dossier. ‘Let him trip over his own cleverness.’

‘I did. Can you believe it? The little bastard didn’t trip. He pulled it off flawlessly. Not a single mistake.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘I don’t know what to do with him,’ Rodolphus admitted. ‘He can’t be an analyst – says routine work isn’t for him. He can’t recruit or run agents – he’s got no people skills whatsoever. He’s talented, but like a grain of sand inside a clock: no benefit, and liable to jam up the whole mechanism.’

‘Has he ever been to the Hog’s Head?’ Rosier asked, cracking open a bottle of beer. ‘Might do him good, if he’s so desperate for what he thinks is proper work.’

‘Oh, Merlin. He’ll get ideas – start seeing himself as some sort of superspy and drafting his memoirs.’

‘At least you’ll get some peace and quiet.’

‘What’s so special about the Hog’s Head?’ Bella interjected. ‘That’s the pub in Hogsmeade, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly!’ Colin wheezed, a laugh rippling under his chin. ‘Crammed with riff-raff. You hear every sort of rubbish there. Ninety-nine per cent of it is nonsense, but the trainees don’t realise that. They come out wide-eyed, convinced they’ve uncovered something vital to report to the Dark Lord – only to be brought crashing back to reality. It’s excellent training. Teaches you not to take information at face value.’

‘It worked on me,’ Rodolphus said with a nod. ‘When I was a trainee, I heard there was a plot to overthrow the Minister of Magic. I ran in here, totally wound up, trying to explain it all to Colin – while he was practically crying with laughter. Turns out the masterminds were a local nutcase and his drinking buddy.’

‘There’s your answer, then,’ Colin said. ‘Send Snape to the Hog’s Head and enjoy a bit of peace. We can’t sack him, and we can’t shuffle him off elsewhere – he’s one of Tom’s own appointments. At least, he won’t annoy you that way. And now, if that’s all, kindly bugger off so I can eat in peace. I’m starving!’

Rodolphus gave a look of theatrical disgust, but Colin waved him off. ‘Go on. Off with you.’

While Rodolphus buttoned his coat, Bella moved to the mirror by the exit. Normally, it reflected anyone approaching the Office from outside, but if you stood still for long enough, it began to echo what was happening inside the building.

She paused there, gazing at her reflection with a faint frown: dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, drab grey trousers – when you’re waiting for a summons every minute, you hardly prance around in a skirt – a short coat, and a knitted scarf. The only thing to set her apart from a Muggle passer-by was the thick, tightly braided plait that fell down her back.

***

Rain speckled the street, turning the layer of reddish dust into sticky mud.

‘Fancy a walk?’ said Rodolphus. ‘Been cooped up all day – seems a shame to waste the evening.’

They passed the railway museum and wandered into a small square that separated it from the street. A homeless man dozing on a bench stirred and sat up the moment he spotted them.

‘Oi! Got a ciggy?’

Rodolphus paused, rummaged in his coat pocket, and asked under his breath, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Someone’s watching under an Invisibility Cloak. Over there, by the phone box,’ the man muttered.

Rodolphus pulled out a cigarette and handed it over.

‘Just one?’

‘Looks like it,’ the man said, then added loudly, ‘Got a light?’

‘Cheeky sod,’ Rodolphus said aloud, tossing him a matchbox. Then, under his breath, ‘How long’s he been there?’

‘No idea. Clocked him a few minutes back. Didn’t get the chance to pass it on yet.’

‘Right. Make the call. We’ll try and draw him out. If he stays put, keep an eye on him here.’

They strolled to the right, past a shuttered row of shops.

‘Is he moving?’ Bella murmured, glancing sideways across the road.

‘Looks like it. Don’t stare.’

The mud sucked at their shoes; the pavement was nearly empty – in this part of town, the magical folk mostly came for the station. The odd car glided past, tyres whispering over the wet road. Around the lampposts, the light shimmered faintly in the damp air.

Rodolphus slipped an arm around Bella’s waist and slowed his pace. His hand slid down to her hip, then began to move with deliberate intimacy. Bella swatted him sharply, but he didn’t even blink – instead, he began unfastening her coat.

‘Have you gone mad?’ she snapped aloud. ‘We’re in the middle of a bloody street!’

‘There’s a good spot just down there,’ he answered. ‘No one’ll see a thing.’

To their left, a narrow alley opened between two buildings – dimly lit and deserted, save for a few overflowing bins. Light glowed from the windows above, and somewhere nearby, a television hummed. Bella and Rodolphus veered into the alley. He pressed her back against the wall, tilted his head as if to kiss her. Bella slipped out her wand, keeping her gaze focused on the street.

Where was their pursuer? Had he caught on?

The curtain of rain shimmered under the lamplight, as if something unseen had disturbed it. In wet weather, people under invisibility cloaks can be glimpsed more easily. Their pursuer had paused, apparently hypnotised by the scene before him.

Bella raised her arm, seemingly to loop it around Rodolphus’s neck – and fired. A sharp red beam burst from the wand tucked in her sleeve, striking the hidden figure and sending him sprawling. The invisibility cloak slipped aside, revealing a very young man in a Muggle jacket with a hood.

Before he could move, Bella was on him, twisting his arm behind his back.

‘Looking for someone, love?’

He kicked out and cried in a high, panicked voice, ‘Help!’

She silenced him with a flick of her wand. His mouth moved, but no sound came. Footsteps echoed behind them, something clanged – Rodolphus passed her a set of conjured handcuffs. Bella locked them around the boy’s wrists as he struggled, then tightened her grip on her wand.

A tall figure stepped into view at the mouth of the alley. Bella spun round, ready to strike, but the man raised his hands in recognition. It was Woodford, one of Travers’s group.

‘Need a hand?’

‘We’re fine,’ Rodolphus said. ‘What’s the situation?’

‘All clear. Seems he was working solo.’

All four of them Disapparated at once. A heartbeat later, they reappeared in the courtyard of Headquarters, right by the very door they’d walked out of. This time, someone was already waiting on the steps.

‘The Dark Lord wants the boy brought to him directly,’ Travers said, taking hold of the cuffed spy. ‘You may go now. If anything comes up, we’ll call for you.’

Chapter Text

Sedgeton Park had always appealed to Bella. Even now, in the waning days of November – the darkest, dullest part of autumn – this pale stone house still gave off a sense of warmth. Light glowed in every window, and even the attic flickered faintly. Outside, tall, ancient beeches lining the drive bowed and creaked in the wind, and the air hung heavy with the scent of damp leaves and raw earth. A wreath of bright magenta heather had been fastened to the front door.

The estate itself might have earned Bella’s affection, but its mistress most certainly had not. Some twenty years earlier, Jane Lestrange, née Howard (she had resumed her maiden name after the divorce), had walked away from both her sons, leaving them to their father while she chased her own pleasures. And that, Bella thought, was not how a Pureblood witch should behave. Her mother-in-law might appear respectable now – more than respectable, in fact. She didn’t even bother dyeing the grey in her hair, as if making some point about authenticity. But Bella did not doubt that, in her youth, Jane Howard had been as affected and insincere as she could be. Women like her always tried every sordid little shortcut life had to offer, until one day, when no one wanted them anymore, they suddenly remembered they were 'noble blood'.

And noble it was indeed. In the sitting room, above the warmth of the hearth, hung the Howard family crest: gules, a bend argent between six cross-crosslets argent. The Howards were an old family, older even than the Blacks. Before the Statute of Secrecy, they’d been peers of the realm, and the Muggle branch still bore the title Dukes of Norfolk.

If Rabastan had been born into that house a century earlier, he wouldn’t have dreamed of marrying someone like Ella – the illegitimate daughter of a seamstress. But times had changed. The Dark Lord had shown everyone a new way. One day, when their side prevailed, they would build a new society, built on the foundation of equity and justice, ruled not by money or pedigree, but by bloodline and personal merit –

Someone called Bella’s name, pulling her from her thoughts. The house buzzed like a disturbed hive; house-elves darted through the corridors, arms laden with neatly folded clothes and towering stacks of books. Ella was coming down the stairs, a pair of toy broomsticks tucked under one arm.

‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she said, lifting a hand in greeting. ‘My head’s about to explode.’

Together they went upstairs into the younger boy’s bedroom. The place was a war zone. Four-year-old Ralph, rather than tidying the mess of scattered toys, was howling in distress and chasing after an enchanted pony that was now galloping down the hallway.

‘I told you we can’t take it with us!’ Ella called after him. ‘Grandad’s house hasn’t got the room for it. And the dogs will be terrified!’

‘I want it, I want it!’ Ralph screeched.

‘That’s enough!’ Ella snapped. ‘You know your auntie here is a Dark witch, don’t you? She’ll turn you into a Flobberworm if you keep that up!’

Naturally, that only made things worse. Ralph threw himself on the floor, red-faced and kicking, howling louder than ever. With a sigh, Ella took out her wand.

‘Petrificus Totalus!’

The boy’s limbs snapped stiff, and he lay motionless, eyes shut. Calmly, Ella levitated him onto the bed and turned back to Bella with a weary shake of the head.

‘It’s the only way to calm him down,’ she said with a sigh.

‘I know,’ Bella nodded. ‘My mother used to do the same. I’ve spent half my childhood like this … Listen, could you stop using me to frighten the kids?’

‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,’ Ella replied with a sweet smile, flicking her wand so that the toys on the floor floated neatly into the chest. ‘But you are really a Dark witch, aren’t you? So I’ve only half-lied. Why does it bother you if they’re a little scared? You can’t stand it when they touch you anyway.’

Bella, in fact, detested being touched by children. Lately, the mere presence of them gave her a feeling of creeping unease – vague, but terrifying in its finality, as if some disaster loomed just out of sight.

‘Where’s Reggie?’ she asked to change the topic.

‘Oh, he’s a clever one, unlike his brother. Packed up his things and went off to draw. Still, two kids are hell – you’ve no idea.’

‘Other women have more,’ Bella remarked, watching a toy bear snort and climb into the chest. ‘Lina Wilkes is about to have her fourth.’

Ella rolled her eyes.

‘I don’t see what there is to be proud of.’

‘What do you mean? For a witch, having children is part of serving the greater cause. A woman’s body is a battlefield. Didn’t you know witches who die in childbirth end up in Valhalla, like –’

‘And what do they do in your Valhalla?’ Ella cut in. ‘Serve men who boast about how many skulls they’ve smashed? No, thanks. Why don’t you just have a baby yourself?’

‘I’ve got more important work. But after the war I’ll definitely –’

The words left a metallic, unpleasant taste on her tongue.

‘You should’ve seen the look on your face!’ Ella laughed, thrusting a pair of children’s trousers at her. Bella recoiled in disgust, which only made Ella giggle even more. ‘Alright, I won’t torment you. Better take this chest and levitate it downstairs.’

***

Once Rabastan’s family moved into Thornhall, things became appallingly cramped. All the guest rooms were taken, save the one in the far end – the one with the old apple tree just beyond the window. That was the Dark Lord’s room, and it stayed locked, awaiting his return.

The noise was even worse than the crowding. Someone was always running through the upstairs gallery or thundering up and down the stairs. The constant patter of small feet was enough to drive Bella mad. Alas, she wasn’t permitted to keep the little monsters under Petrificus Totalus all day.

Seven-year-old Reggie was still manageable, but Ralph shrieked or howled whenever the slightest thing went wrong. The next morning, Bella was forced to mind them so the house-elves could get on with their work. Meanwhile, Ella remained in bed. If motherhood was such an ordeal, why did she have the luxury of lying about until midday?

After Bella conjured a wooden fort in the garden and taught the kids how to storm it, she felt as though she’d spent the day on the training range with Dolohov. But it still wasn’t enough for Ralph – he wanted to go for a walk. Bella tried to explain they weren’t allowed beyond the garden: the Fidelius Charm ended there, and bad people lurked in the woods. But Ralph didn’t understand or didn’t believe her and promptly threw a tantrum. The threat to turn him into a Flobberworm didn’t work this time either. When Bella finally cast Silencio on him, he kept screaming, only now in complete silence. His face turned so red it looked ready to explode, tears poured down his cheeks, and he clung to Bella with wet, clammy hands … Disgusting!

If Ralph had been her own child, she’d have given him a sound spanking by now. But Ella was firmly against raising a hand to children. No wonder they were spoiled brats! Ralph only calmed after Bella promised to let him play with a magic wand. Naturally, she didn’t give him her actual wand, but one of the spare ones. The game ended with a scorched carpet and smashed crockery in the pantry (a minor inconvenience, fixable with a few flicks of a wand). Still, she’d ended up spending far too long with the children and didn’t realise the time until half past one, when she remembered she was supposed to be at Headquarters.

Luckily, Ella appeared just then, yawning broadly and still in her dressing gown.

‘Look at you! It seems your maternal instincts have already kicked in,’ she remarked.

Had Bella not been in a rush to leave, she would’ve had plenty to say to that.

***

At Headquarters, Bella went first in search of her husband to get the latest news – and stumbled upon a tense scene. Almost the entire Office had crowded into the corridor just outside its doors. Colin Rosier stood in the middle of the gathering, wheezing heavily like a beached whale. His striped shirt hung open, exposing a huge, ballooning pale belly with a hollowed navel ringed by a few dark hairs.

Young Ted Nott stood opposite him. Recently appointed as the Dark Lord’s personal secretary, he was still basking in the pride of his promotion – but today, there was no trace of that pride. His smile was faintly apologetic, and he kept glancing awkwardly between the floor and the ceiling, clearly doing his best to avoid Rosier’s gaze.

‘The Dark Lord has ordered me to convey that, as of now, your appointment as Head of Intelligence is revoked. You’re to hand over your duties to Rodolphus by this evening. After that, you’re free to return home and rest.’

He shot a glance at Rodolphus, who stood rigidly at Rosier’s side, then dropped his gaze again.

‘Really?’ Rosier rasped, voice hoarse and gravelly.

He leaned forward slightly, and Bella now saw that he was propping himself up on a cane – evidently, his legs could no longer support his weight without it.

‘Then why didn’t Tom come and tell me himself, eh?’

‘He’s very busy,’ Ted muttered. ‘And also – if I may – it’s just a formality, really, but could you refrain from calling the Dark Lord by name? It breaches protocol, and might give the wrong impression –’

‘Boy,’ Rosier growled, ‘I was in the same bloody year as your Dark Lord. In the dormitory, I slept in the bed next to his. Close enough to hear him wanking at night. And. I. Will. Call. Him. Exactly. What. The. Fuck. I. Like!’

Bella nearly choked with outrage. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rodolphus caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of the head. Nott had gone a sickly shade of green. Rodolphus leaned in to murmur something in Colin’s ear, but the older man shoved him away with a furious wave of the hand.

‘Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do! I know better than you, lad!’

Tall, gaunt Fred Weegan, one of the Office’s analysts, glanced briefly at Bella, then at the others who were pretending to pass by casually, though their ears were firmly trained on the row.

‘Please. Let’s take this inside,’ he said quietly.

‘Absolutely,’ Rodolphus replied at once. ‘Ted, are we done?’

‘Yes,’ Ted croaked.

‘Then thank the Dark Lord and inform him that his orders will be carried out precisely. Ask whether I might be permitted to see him later today. For now, we need a word in private.’

He pulled open the Office door and half-steered, half-dragged Colin inside. The others filed in behind. As the door shut behind them, it melted seamlessly back into the wall – a clear signal that the department was now closed.

Bella caught Ted before he could retreat.

‘Mind telling me what that was all about?’ she asked. ‘And don’t play dumb! This is Headquarters; gossip flies faster than broomsticks here. Everyone will know in half an hour anyway.’

‘If you only knew how much I don’t want to talk about it,’ Ted groaned. ‘Anyway, yesterday the Dark Lord interrogated that boy you and Rod caught. Turns out he’s with something called the Order of the Phoenix.’

‘The – what? What rubbish is that?’

‘I barely understood it either. Apparently, it’s some underground group Dumbledore set up to oppose us. The boy had just joined them. He’s a Gryffindor – of course he is, they’re all Gryffindors there. Same year as your cousin Sirius. Sirius was the one who brought him in.’

He lowered his voice, glancing around the hallway.

‘He worked at a little eatery in Diagon Alley. Got curious about the owl that delivered orders for food five times a day.’

‘Oh no,’ said Bella, her stomach knotting. ‘Don’t tell me Uncle Colin –’

‘Luckily, he couldn’t trace the owl very far – it’s enchanted. He never saw the customer and hadn’t a clue what was going on. Still, he grew suspicious. It’s a Muggle area, and no wizard’s registered here on the Floo network. So he started sniffing around and was about to tip off Dumbledore, just in case. Fortunately, he never got the chance.’

‘Is that true? If he passed anything on, Headquarters is compromised!’

‘It’s fine. The Dark Lord went through his memory thoroughly.’

Bella winced at the thought. She still remembered how sick she’d felt after a forced Legilimency session – and the Dark Lord had been gentle with her. There would’ve been no such mercy for an enemy. The boy must be incredibly lucky to be breathing by now.

‘The old Rosier was fired anyway,’ Nott concluded.

‘Serves him right,’ Bella snapped. ‘I’m not going to defend him, even if he is family. His idiotic obsession put everyone at risk. And what he said about the Dark Lord –’

Her anger, which had begun to subside, flared again.

‘He even insisted the Dark Lord deliver the news himself. Too much honour, that!’

‘The Dark Lord lately …’ Nott sighed. ‘He doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s gone so cold, it’s like the air around him freezes. Previously, he wasn’t like that.’

‘He carries a great burden,’ Bella said stiffly. ‘Everyone just keeps piling problems on him. First Avery, now my uncle … None of us deserves the right to see him!’

‘Mm … maybe,’ Nott muttered, avoiding her gaze. ‘Sorry – I need to run.’

‘Oh, of course!’ Bella caught herself. ‘I won’t hold you up.’

But her fury didn’t ease. She went up to train with Jugson, and in a sudden wave of rage, nearly wrecked him, though Jugson hadn’t done anything wrong.

An hour later, tired and slightly calmer, she came back down and saw Uncle Colin already dressed in a street coat and hat, shuffling toward the exit. He looked heavy-footed, bewildered, and suddenly old. Rodolphus was with him. They were talking – either in hushed tones or under a Silencing Charm, because Bella couldn’t hear a word.

She walked past without so much as a glance at her uncle. The first sharpness of her anger had dulled, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d disgraced himself. Until Colin apologised to the Dark Lord, she resolved, she wouldn’t say another word to him.

Chapter Text

When she got back to Thornhall, dusk was already settling. An unusual hush hung over the house. Perhaps the children had been taken somewhere? Feeling happy, Bella peered into the drawing room, only to be immediately disappointed. Ralph was lying on the floor, humming softly to himself as he busily filled a sheet of paper nearly as big as himself with a picture of a house, surrounded by trees that looked vaguely like broomsticks. It was hard to believe this was the same child who had been shrieking that very morning as though bitten by a doxy.

She didn’t spot Reggie straight away. He was perched on the windowsill behind the curtain, gloomily tracing the frame with his finger and looking miserable.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, pulling the curtain aside.

‘Nothing,’ Reggie muttered, his gaze still fixed on the window.

‘Really?’

After some persistent questioning, she finally coaxed the truth out of him. Earlier in the day, Ralph had once again started whining about wanting to go into the woods, and Reggie, who was tempted too, had decided it would be fine. They’d slipped out quietly while Ella was having tea and the house-elves were busy in the kitchen.

The plan had been to dash down to the stream and back before anyone noticed. But the stream turned out to be further away than they’d thought, and they’d stayed too long trying to spot fish. Ralph had fallen in, and Reggie had pulled him out. By the time they returned, both of them soaking wet, the house was in uproar. Now, Reggie was anxiously awaiting his father’s return.

But Bella was focused on quite another concern.

‘Did you see anyone in the woods? Any unfamiliar adults?’

‘No. Just Blackie.’

‘Who?’

‘That’s what we called the dog. He came down to the stream – I think he was thirsty. Ralph was scared at first, but Blackie turned out to be friendly. We petted him, and he followed us home. He’s with Grandad now. Grandad said he hasn’t decided yet, but he might let Blackie stay. He said there are often stray dogs in these woods because Muggle tourists bring them and then either lose or abandon them. Is that true?’

Bella nodded.

‘Can someone really just throw a dog away like that?’

‘Muggles are capable of worse. Let’s go and see your Blackie.’

In the study, a fire crackled in the hearth, and a green‑shaded lamp glowed on the desk. The corners of the room were lost in darkness. A big, bear-like dog was lying beside the armchair. His glossy black fur seemed to swallow the light. He could easily have passed for the Grim of old wizarding tales, if not for the empty food bowl and half‑full water dish beside him.

Old Lestrange, wrapped in a blanket, sat in the armchair, cheerfully scratching the beast behind the ears.

‘Do you think he’s not a stray?’ Bella asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Lestrange. ‘Just look at that coat. Well-groomed, not the least bit afraid of people. But he clearly has no idea how to deal with other dogs – not a shred of etiquette. That’s why he’s in here with me; the others wouldn’t tolerate him.’

‘Dogs have etiquette?’

‘Naturally. A whole system of unspoken rules – how to approach, how to sniff, how to show you’re not looking for a fight. This one hasn’t a clue. From a canine perspective, he’s a complete savage. Probably raised in isolation. He trusts humans absolutely but hasn’t the faintest idea how to get on with his own kind.’

Footsteps pattered in the corridor, and Dinky appeared in the doorway, swaddled in a crisp white towel.

‘Master, the young master Rabastan has arrived.’

‘Tell him to come here. I want to introduce him to our new acquisition.’

Reggie clutched Bella’s hand, desperate.

‘Please, could you tell my dad it was you who said we could go into the woods?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said, shaking him off. ‘Take responsibility for your actions, like a proper man.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late – Rabastan had already entered. He approached old Lestrange and kissed his hand.

‘Father, how are you today? Is this the famous dog?’

‘Indeed,’ said Lestrange, with so much pride in his voice you could think he had personally rescued the dog from the forest.

Rabastan crouched beside Blackie and began stroking him. There was something unexpectedly tender in this gesture, so much at odds with his usual sardonic manner. All Lestranges had a soft spot for dogs.

‘Reggie,’ he said, without looking round, ‘tell me who gave you permission to go into the woods today?’

The boy sighed. But before he could speak, old Lestrange stepped in:

‘I did. I really ought to apologise to Ella. I forgot to let her know, and it gave her quite a fright.’

‘Is that so? I don’t believe you,’ Rabastan said, straightening up. ‘Any proof?’

‘None at all. But you’ve no proof I didn’t – and as we both know, the burden of proof lies with the prosecution.’

‘It lay with the prosecution,’ Rabastan corrected him coolly. ‘Nowadays, no one bothers with such niceties, given the current political climate.’

‘A shame,’ said Lestrange, his playful tone faltering for a moment. ‘Still, the accused – this young wizard – acted without malice, unaware of the level of risk, and under the influence of an authority figure, namely myself.’

‘Not being aware of the risk doesn’t absolve him of responsibility,’ Rabastan countered. ‘And you neglected to mention that the offence was committed as part of a criminal conspiracy, with an accomplice – namely, his younger brother. Not to mention that the so‑called authority figure – I won’t say he’s lying, but he is rather obviously attempting to manufacture mitigating circumstances.’

‘One shouldn’t make accusations without evidence,’ Lestrange replied. ‘And if I may draw the court’s attention to the personal history of the prosecutor, I’d like to mention that, as a child, he also was frequently caught sneaking off without permission. The offence is identical.’

‘But I didn’t get off without punishment!’ Rabastan objected. ‘Funny, you weren’t half as lenient back then.’

‘Well, now I can afford to be. A grandfather is perfectly entitled to be indulgent and forgiving. They’re not my children. I have the right to love them without disciplining.’

‘You’ve spoilt them already. You’re even letting them keep this tramp.’

‘He’s not a tramp – he’s a dignified and very smart creature,’ said Lestrange, scratching the dog behind the ears. ‘Don’t insult him.’

‘We’ll see what Rod has to say when he gets home. He’ll check this Blackie for any concealed enchantments and quite possibly will throw him out. He’s Head of Intelligence now, and we have to do as he says.’

‘What?’ Lestrange raised his head. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, so you haven’t heard yet. The Dark Lord dismissed Colin Rosier and made a very public scene of it.’

‘I see,’ Lestrange said quietly.

‘But let’s finish this case first. Reggie, how do you plead?’

‘Guilty as charged, Your Honour,’ the boy sighed. ‘But I ask the court to take the mitigating factors into account.’

‘That’s up to the court. What did your mother say?’

‘She’s banned us from using the toy broomsticks and said no sweets until Yule.’

‘Fair enough. I won’t appeal for a harsher sentence – I lack sufficient evidence to overturn the defence’s version of events,’ he added, glancing at his father. ‘But from now on, you ask permission from either me or your mother, and no one else. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well. The court considers the matter settled. You are released from custody.’

Bella headed for the door, Reggie in tow.

‘My dear, aren’t you the least bit curious to hear what’s happened?’ Lestrange called after her.

‘I already know. I was at Headquarters today. And I know you’ll side with Rosier – he’s your friend. But I’m too angry to listen to how hard this has all been for him. I’d rather rest before dinner.’

At the threshold, she turned and called for Blackie, but the dog didn’t budge. He merely pricked up his ears, his eyes fixed on Rabastan, watching him intently, almost as if he understood every word.

***

Rodolphus returned late, long after the rest of the house had fallen silent. Though clearly exhausted, he didn’t go to bed. Instead, he made his way to the study, where Blackie had been settled for the night. The newcomer had to be kept apart – the moment the other dogs caught sight of him, they began growling, low and menacing, their hackles raised.

Just as Rabastan had predicted, Rodolphus examined Blackie from nose to tail – thoroughly and methodically – but found no trace of magic. In the end, he concluded that Blackie was precisely what he seemed to be: a domestic dog, lost in the woods and drawn to people by instinct and luck.

‘I’ll send the house‑elves for a proper dog brush tomorrow,’ he murmured, running his fingers through the thick, gleaming coat. ‘He needs a good groom. Look at that sheen.’

‘What about Uncle Colin?’ Bella asked, settling beside him. ‘Did you tell him he was in the wrong?’

‘I doubt it would’ve made any difference. Evan’s with him now. You might not realise it, but your uncle’s in a very bad way.’

There was genuine sorrow in his voice. Rodolphus had always loved Colin Rosier, perhaps more than his own father. At any rate, they’d always understood each other far better.

‘If Colin were still the man he used to be,’ he said quietly, ‘he’d never have made such a childish, foolish mistake. But he’s been slipping lately. Losing focus. I’m to blame too – I should’ve noticed how far it had gone.’

‘What’s that got to do with you? He should’ve pulled himself together.’

‘That’s not always enough. There was no ill will – he’s just ... lost control. It’s a pity the Dark Lord treated him the way he did.’

‘What do you mean, “the way he did”? The Dark Lord was extremely merciful! He didn’t even Cruciate him!’

‘I don’t think he has the right to punish someone from the old guard.’

‘Why not? What makes them so special?’

‘Come on, you know. They’re his peers. His friends. The ones who stood by him from the very beginning.’

‘All are equal before the Dark Lord,’ Bella snapped.

‘All right, all right – if you say so,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Come on. I’m dead on my feet.’

The next morning, Bella didn’t even bother dressing before calling a house-elf and ordering it to bring her the Daily Prophet. The headline nearly leapt from the page:

MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN DIAGON ALLEY

There, in the photograph, was the very same young man from the so‑called Order of the Phoenix they’d captured two nights earlier. His body lay stiff and frozen on a bench beneath a streetlamp. There were no visible injuries. His coat had been buttoned neatly, and a sparkling green ribbon was tied round him, as if he were a gift. Pinned to his breast pocket was a card:

To Albus Dumbledore. Happy Advent.

Chapter Text

17th December 1979

Nearly three weeks had passed since Colin Rosier’s dismissal. Bella hadn’t set foot in the Office during that time, and now the changes struck her with fresh force. Colin’s former study looked almost bare: the desk no longer sagged under files and papers, the bin no longer overflowed onto the floor, and the enormous throne-like armchair had been replaced with a plain seat.

‘It’s so tidy now, I’m almost afraid to touch anything,’ she said to her husband, casting her gaze around the study. ‘Has no one ever told you what an unspeakable bore you are?’

‘All the time, darling,’ he smiled. ‘But I rather like it. I enjoy being boring.’

At the centre of the study, a large table had been set up, upon which lay a sheet of white paper. Names had been pencilled in, with hastily sketched outlines of faces, joined by fine connecting lines. Most were marked with question marks. Only a few were clearly written and underlined, with photographs in place of drawings.

The others had already gathered for the closed briefing: Dolohov, Travers, and Evan Rosier. Strictly speaking, Bella had no business being there, but she’d sensed lately – with a feeling she couldn’t quite shake – that Dolohov, who had always had a peculiar fondness for her, meant to form a combat group under her command once he had the numbers. Most likely, that was why he’d summoned her now – it was high time she learnt to think like a commander, not a foot soldier.

She glanced sideways at Evan Rosier. He didn’t seem especially troubled to be sitting in the office from which his father had been so publicly ejected. In fact, he looked rather pleased – he’d long believed Colin should have stepped down from a position that had clearly been wrecking his health. According to Evan, now that the burden was gone, his father had already started to recover. Bella had to take his word for it: she hadn’t spoken to her uncle since.

‘Let’s begin, shall we,’ said Dolohov once everyone was seated. ‘Right, as we all know, at the end of November we learnt of the existence of the so-called Order of the Phoenix. This is unfortunate, because we don’t know how many people are in this Order, who they are, or what their capabilities might be. But they’re already causing us damage – it was almost certainly they who caused the arrest of the Scarborough unit. I was upstairs today,’ he gestured towards the ceiling, as everyone had grown accustomed to doing lately when referring to the Dark Lord’s personal office. ‘This whole business has made Tom absolutely furious. This is a war between us and the Ministry; Dumbledore could at least have remained neutral. We discussed whether it might be worth eliminating him, but Tom wants him to witness the deaths of his people first and understand clearly what his behaviour has led to. Frankly, I don’t think Dumbledore will understand anything or come to his senses, but either way, we currently have orders to eliminate the entire Order of the Phoenix to the last man.’

‘The problem is,’ said Rodolphus, ‘we still know precious little about them.’

‘Judging by this,’ Dolohov struck a match, lighting his cigarette, and nodded towards the sheet of paper, ‘we know bugger all.’

‘We’ve had very little time,’ Rodolphus explained. ‘We’re stretched thin as it is.’

‘If you’re going to tell us about your problems,’ Dolohov said dryly, ‘I’d rather leave and come back in half an hour.’

Unlike with Bella, Dolohov’s attitude towards her husband had been hostile ever since Talbot’s death. The fact that Rodolphus had now replaced Colin Rosier, who had been Dolohov’s friend, hadn’t improved the situation.

‘Of course, you didn’t come here to listen to our difficulties,’ Rodolphus agreed. ‘So let’s look at what we have as of this moment. First of all, the lad we interrogated in November gave us this name –’

He placed a photograph in the centre showing a young and extremely handsome man whose black hair fell in waves to his shoulders. The youth looked ironically at the camera, a smile flickering across his lips like lightning. Bella noticed the others glancing at her, as if comparing them. Yes, they were indeed very similar – hardly surprising when discussing first cousins.

‘Sirius Black,’ said Rodolphus, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Class of nineteen seventy-eight, Gryffindor. And these,’ he laid three more photographs alongside, ‘are his friends. Snape has been extremely useful in identifying them.’

‘Who’s Snape?’ asked Travers.

‘One of ours who was in their year at school. He knows them well. All four are Gryffindors, were inseparable during their school years, so it’s highly likely they joined the Order of the Phoenix together.’

Everyone leant closer, studying the photos.

‘So young,’ said Travers, shaking his head.

Dolohov read the names aloud:

‘James Potter. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew ... Well, in the absence of alternatives, we’ll have to start with these ones.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Travers. ‘They’re just kids. Perhaps it would be enough to frighten them, make them understand they’ve turned the wrong way?’

‘We have an elimination order,’ Dolohov reminded him, exhaling smoke.

‘Could we possibly not kill Black?’ interrupted Evan Rosier. ‘His younger brother Regulus is in my group. No telling how he’ll react. The lad’s already going through a rough patch. The last thing I need is to test his loyalty.’

‘Hold on!’ Rodolphus covered the photos with his hands, like a brooding hen protecting her chicks. ‘None of them can be touched just now! I’ve already said we have very little information. When we locate these four, we need to watch them as long as possible, so the surveillance team can establish all their contacts.’

‘What d’you mean by “When we locate them”?’ Dolohov demanded indignantly. ‘You still haven’t found them?’

‘Believe it or not, they’re not stupid,’ Rodolphus replied with slight irritation. ‘Not one of them is living at a fixed address. Those who were already in hiding will do it even better from now on. That Advent greeting joke has rather backfired on us.’

‘I said from the start it was a bad idea,’ Dolohov agreed. ‘If Colin had been here, he’d have explained to Tom why it shouldn’t be done that way. We’ve only stirred up a hornet’s nest. The hornets have scattered, and now we’ll be chasing them all over the country.’

‘Unfortunately, Colin isn’t here, and I’m not yet in a position to argue with the Dark Lord,’ Rodolphus observed.

‘Yes, I understand there’s nothing to be expected from you,’ Dolohov muttered.

If this was a barb, it missed its target. After years of living with his father, Rodolphus was used to such remarks. He seemed not to have heard what Dolohov said, but Bella was furious instead. Who were they all to question their Master’s decisions?

‘I think it was absolutely right of the Dark Lord!’ she said sharply. ‘He made it clear to Dumbledore from the outset what our intentions are. After all, he knows best, doesn’t he?’

Dolohov merely shrugged. ‘Think what you like,’ his gesture seemed to say.

Rodolphus waited a moment, but since everyone remained silent, he continued:

‘Nevertheless, we do have one lead –’

He reached for another photo that lay apart, white side up, turned it over, and placed it with the rest.

The slender young woman in the photo wasn’t classically beautiful, but something about her caught the eye. Thick dark hair with a reddish cast accentuated green eyes that looked out directly and honestly, with a hint of laughter in their gaze.

‘This is another Gryffindor called Lily Evans. Muggle-born, nineteen years old. She was in the same year as Black and his lot.’

‘Not bad at all,’ said Evan with interest.

‘Pretty,’ Travers sighed.

‘And they drag girls like this into the war,’ Dolohov said through his teeth. ‘Bastards.’

‘I can’t believe we have to eliminate her –’

‘Perhaps she’s not even in this Order – it’s only speculation –’

Bella snorted contemptuously.

‘Amazing,’ she said coldly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. Everyone fell silent and turned to her. ‘What extraordinary attention to a Mudblood! One glimpse of a pretty face, and you’ve all forgotten what she is. Should we invite her to Headquarters and offer her a position in the movement?’

Rodolphus laughed for some reason. Bella glared at him angrily.

‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, still chuckling, ‘but it’s incredible – you’ve guessed right ... The Dark Lord actually did invite this girl to join us! I don’t know where he heard about her – I think from someone in the Slug Club – but he became so interested in her talents that he was prepared to overlook her background. You know the principle: the Dark Lord himself decides who counts as Pureblood. But Lily Evans refused.’

‘What?’ Bella could only blink. Her face burnt as if scalding water had been thrown at it. ‘The Dark Lord invited her? Really?’

‘At least, that’s what he told me. But since she didn’t agree, it doesn’t matter anymore. So, what we know about Evans –’

Blood pounded so loudly in Bella’s ears that she heard nothing more. The Dark Lord had invited this little Mudblood? Because of her talents? She wondered what they were, exactly!

The shock left her feverish. Only after several minutes could she focus enough to rejoin the briefing. But she only caught the end of Rodolphus’s speech:

‘Finally, the most interesting bit – Lily Evans is currently pregnant. The child is due at the end of July or the beginning of August.’

‘Merlin’s balls, wherever did you learn that?’ Evan wondered. ‘Surely not from Bob?’

‘No. We have our own source at St Mungo’s. Through them, we now receive information about all women who come for prenatal care.’

‘And what do you want that for?’ Dolohov asked ironically.

‘Haven’t the foggiest. It was a request from up there,’ Rodolphus nodded towards the Dark Lord’s office.

‘And who’s the father?’

‘Most likely James Potter,’ he tapped his finger on the photo of the boy with untidy dark hair. ‘They were a couple in their seventh year. But it could be someone else from the group. We don’t know what sort of relationships they have.’

‘I doubt she even knows for sure who the father is,’ Bella cut in. ‘These Mudbloods are like bitches in heat – the more dogs that mount them, the better!’

She didn’t know why she’d said it. The words slipped out against her will, and she fell silent immediately, feeling her cheeks burn. Everyone stared at her in surprise.

‘Sis, are you alright?’ Evan asked carefully.

‘What’s wrong?’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t speak like a lady, and now you’re all faint with shock?’

‘Look,’ Dolohov interrupted, ‘we’re not here to make moral judgements. This information matters. Rodolphus surely didn’t mention it for nothing.’

‘Of course not. This is the most reliable lead we have. Pregnant women don’t vanish into thin air. They must appear regularly at the clinic. This is our chance to track Evans. She could lead us to the child’s father, and if we’re lucky, to the rest of the group. And through them – to the entire Order.’

‘Good thinking,’ Dolohov nodded approvingly for the first time.

‘This isn’t our only avenue, naturally. We’re analysing all of Dumbledore’s connections,’ Rodolphus indicated the network of names spreading from the centre, ‘but we need confirmation. So, these people,’ he circled the group and Evans with his pencil, ‘are off-limits for now! Remember that.’

‘But we can’t watch them forever,’ Travers reasonably observed. ‘Has the Dark Lord set some sort of ... deadline?’

The others laughed at the wordplay.

‘Not yet, but he certainly won’t wait a year,’ Dolohov admitted. ‘I think in about a month we need to conduct at least one operation. Simply to placate Tom, because he’s impatient and will start –’

‘How many times must I ask – don’t call the Dark Lord by his name!’ Bella exploded.

Travers, sitting beside her, flinched. Rodolphus reached across the table, but she pushed his hand away.

‘Calm down, will you,’ Evan began, but Bella wasn’t listening.

‘Colin Rosier has already been told this breaches protocol,’ she shouted, staring directly into Dolohov’s calm eyes. ‘You know that for sure. Why do you continue behaving this way?’

‘To start with, you’ve just breached protocol yourself,’ he replied coldly. ‘You’re shouting at me.’

‘Yes, and you have every right to punish me. But why different rules for different people? Why don’t you follow the rules you’ve established yourselves?’

She was prepared for anything – but not for Dolohov suddenly saying:

‘You’re right. I apologise.’

‘What?’ she blurted.

He leant forward and touched her hand.

‘You’re absolutely right. We have created this system, we’ve taught you all this,’ he nodded towards the younger members. ‘Now there’s no point taking offence when our own rules turn against us. I won’t call the Dark Lord by name from now on. Thank you, Bella.’

He squeezed her hand, then stood up and left, pushing his chair so hard it squeaked across the floor. Travers also jumped up and ran after him – either to persuade him to return or to offer support. Only Bella, Rodolphus, and Evan remained.

‘Well, you certainly gave him what for!’ Evan shook his head.

‘Don’t like it – don’t listen,’ she snapped back.

‘Oh, it’s all fine. You spoke the truth. What’s there to be ashamed of?’

‘Fancy some tea?’ asked Rodolphus. Bella suspected he wouldn’t mind adding a calming draught to it.

‘No. I need to go.’

The outburst had passed, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She was angry with herself for losing her temper. The gossip would certainly start now. And everyone already kept their distance from her as it was ...

She stopped before the mirror on the Office door, waiting for her reflection to appear. She looked like a proper wicked witch – wind-chapped dry lips, red blotches from anger, lines at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t help remembering how after her first duel with Dolohov, many years ago, the Dark Lord had said: ‘I’m so impressed, Miss Black, I ought to be kissing your hand.’ How long ago that was!

She wondered if he’d said such things to that Mudblood Evans too – with her glow of youth that concealed all flaws. ‘Old lechers want them young and trim,’ Ella had once said ...

Bella shook her head decisively and stepped out into the hallway. Nonsense – the Dark Lord wasn’t like that! He’d simply recognised talent in Lily Evans and extended his hand to her, and she’d spat on it. Well, now she would die. And she deserved it full well.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35

25th December 1979

That winter, the rain came down in sheets, as though the sky itself were being torn apart, striking down anyone reckless enough to step outside with such ferocity it seemed bent on breaking their every bone.

On a bleak Christmas Eve, the small party led by Evan Rosier sheltered from the downpour inside the hangar of an old Anti-Hogwarts facility. It was a miserable choice of refuge: the rain hammered the corrugated roof so hard that standing only a pace apart made conversation impossible. The air shook with a monotonous roar, while impenetrable darkness pressed in on all sides, like in the depths of the sea. Only a lantern above the entrance cast a circle of dim light that kept the elements at bay.

They had no intention of lingering. Tonight, a raid was due on the house of Millicent Bagnold – that very deputy to Harold Minchum, in whose home Bella had first met the young Barty Crouch. Both Millicent and her husband, Matthew, had once kept cordial relations with the Dark Lord, but over time, they had drifted away until Millicent openly backed the crackdown on Death Eaters. The murder of an official of her rank was meant to serve as a warning to everyone else: do not take sides against the movement; only those who kept their heads down had a chance of surviving.

The intelligence had already confirmed the way was clear. The Bagnolds’ grand reception had been held the night before, and tonight was meant to be no more than a quiet family supper, with only two patrol officers from the Ministry as guards. Everyone was ready to Apparate at a moment’s notice – everyone except Regulus, who had yet to appear. His absence felt odd, unsettling. The signal medallion he wore, like the rest of the combat group, should have seared his skin to the bone by now. Still, the minutes slipped past, and there was no sign of him. With every moment, Evan Rosier grew angrier.

‘Enough,’ he snarled at last. ‘I’m calling it off.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Bella snapped. ‘We can’t just ignore an order!’

‘What am I meant to do if I don’t know where your bloody cousin is? Maybe he’s snoring soundly at home – or maybe he’s spilling everything he knows to the Aurors this very minute. In that case, we’d be walking straight into an ambush!’

‘I understand that – but do you really think we couldn’t handle it?’

‘I won’t gamble with lives.’

‘Then don’t come begging for my help when Dolohov will be slaying you!’

‘Don’t remind me,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve no idea what to tell him – except that I’m a moron and I’ve packed my group with morons …’

***

At that point, none of them grasped the scale of the problem. It soon became clear that Regulus was neither at home nor at Headquarters. His parents said he had gone out earlier that day and had not returned. Dolohov conceded that Evan had been right to call off the operation. All activity was suspended, and every group was placed under emergency quarantine.

‘Do you think Regulus has been arrested?’ Bella paced the Office, cigarette in hand, like an enchanted doll that couldn’t stop.

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Rodolphus. ‘We’re waiting for information from our source. But it’s Christmas, and there’s only a skeleton crew on duty in the Auror Headquarters. It would look far too suspicious if our contact suddenly turned up asking after detainees … Bella, could you stop scattering ash over my papers?’

She could not have cared less where the ash fell. If Regulus had been taken, he was almost certainly being tortured at that very moment. For the first time, she truly felt the blood bond between them – and it hurt.

‘Write to Barty,’ Rodolphus suggested. ‘If a Black’s been seized, old Crouch is bound to be bragging about it at the dinner table.’

Bella clutched at the idea like a drowning man clutching at straws. Straight from Headquarters, she sent Barty a card, ostensibly from Bob Perkins. The Encryption Charm, to which only Barty held the key, concealed her real message.

The reply arrived within the hour, also on a card, but the decrypted text left her bitterly disappointed. Barty merely noted in passing that he had heard nothing of a Black, before pouring out his grievances in the usual fashion:

‘You can’t imagine how I long to see you. But Father won’t let me go out alone – not anymore. I have to be accompanied by a guard at all times, because he’s afraid the Death Eaters might kidnap me to blackmail him. Ha! If only he knew!

Home is unbearable. I don’t know how I’ll survive the rest of the holidays. Father keeps raving about wiping out the terrorists – that is, you. He’s had enough arrests; now he wants to push Wizengamot into lifting the moratorium on the Dementor’s Kiss. The very thought makes me sick.

I live under the same roof as a madman, but no one notices it! To everyone else, he’s a pillar of respectability, yet his whole life is steeped in hatred. There are rivers, seas, oceans of hatred – I drown in it. Only the thought of you keeps me afloat …’

It was all very lovely, but Bella had no patience for sentiment. The clock ticked mockingly: nearly midnight, and still no Regulus. He had not appeared, nor had he answered the summons through the Mark, as if vanished into thin air.

‘Don’t you think,’ Rodolphus said, ‘that Regulus might have gone over to the Order of the Phoenix? His brother’s there, after all.’

‘No! Regulus would never do that!’

‘Are you sure? Evan said he was going through a rough patch –’

‘Not rough enough to betray his own! Yes, he had doubts, he asked questions – but he would never break his oath. Evan, tell him!’

Evan, who had just joined them and was now sitting nonchalantly at the edge of Rodolphus’s desk, pinning down a file of confidential papers, shook his head.

‘Honestly, sis? I don’t know. No one can ever tell what’s going on inside another person’s head. Whatever the case, I couldn’t vouch for his loyalty.’

***

The next morning, they received confirmation that Regulus hadn’t been arrested. His name hadn’t even been mentioned at Auror Headquarters. After that, suspicions that he had switched sides and gone over to the Order of the Phoenix grew even stronger.

Bella couldn’t bear it. The very idea sullied her somehow, as if a stain on one of the Blacks tarnished them all. She hadn’t been particularly surprised to learn Sirius was an enemy – after years of quarrelling with his parents and storming out of the house, it had almost been expected. As the saying goes, even the finest box of Bertie Bott’s has a vomit-flavoured bean in it. But Regulus had been normal, and that made things far worse.

The only option was to return to Grimmauld Place, to speak with Walburga once more. Bella clung to the faint hope that her aunt might recall some small detail that could shed light on what had happened. She took Rodolphus with her – not so much for support as because she couldn’t bear to go alone.

The heavy foreboding that had haunted her since morning deepened when no one answered her knock. The door was unlocked; Bella pushed it open and stepped inside. The house lay in funereal silence, broken only by distant sobbing. The dim glow of gas lamps did little to drive back the shadows; the hall reeked of damp and mould. When Bella saw the mirrors shrouded in black cloth, her heart clenched.

Walburga emerged silently like a shadow: barefoot, in a filthy dress, her hair uncombed. Her bloodless face, swollen from weeping, looked like a ghostly mask. Without a word, she led them into the sitting room. On the family tree, beside Regulus’s name, a date of death had appeared: 1979.

‘Morgan’s mercy!’ Bella clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘What happened to him?’

Walburga’s lips parted at last, cracking like parched earth on a salt flat.

‘What happened to him?’ she rasped. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask you! How did my son die?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bella whispered.

‘Where is his body?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who killed him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You know nothing!’ Walburga shrieked, her voice the roar of a wounded beast, lashing at Bella like a whip. ‘Regulus was so devoted to the Dark Lord – dreamt from childhood of serving him, swore an oath – and now you can’t even tell me how he died!’

‘Mrs Black, please accept our condolences,’ Rodolphus said, trying to calm her down. ‘We’ll find out what had happened and –’

‘It won’t bring Regulus back!’ Walburga wailed. ‘He’s gone! My wonderful, beautiful boy is gone! One has left me, and now I’ve lost the other. It’s your fault; you didn’t protect him!’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Bella tried to say, but Walburga would hear none of it.

‘Get out! I don’t want to see you here again!’

She trembled as if with fever. Bella opened her mouth to reply, but Walburga snatched up the nearest object – a bronze lion figurine from the mantel – and hurled it at her, shrieking:

‘Be damned, all of you!’

The heavy figurine flew straight at Bella. Her reflexes saved her: she ducked, and it only grazed her shoulder before shattering against the wall.

They had no choice but to leave.

***

At first, it seemed the contact with the figurine had left no mark, yet back at Headquarters, her shoulder began to burn. The pain spread quickly along her arm. Bella bore it in silence, as she always had, until it grew unbearable. When they returned to Thornhall, she couldn’t even undress; Rodolphus had to cut away her clothes, revealing her arm, blackened and swollen down to the elbow.

A visit to St Mungo’s was out of the question. Rodolphus ran for Bob – since the movement had gone underground, he had become a kind of their resident Healer. ‘At least none of us will get knocked up now,’ Evan had joked grimly.

While they waited, the pain worsened until it was almost as vicious as the Cruciatus. Bella cast a Silencing Charm on herself, unwilling to scream – it would have been too humiliating. An entire bottle of pain-relieving draught did little more than a cold compress. The black stain was already creeping across her chest, inching closer to her heart.

When Bob arrived and saw her state, his face blanched. Bella could no longer hold herself upright; she sat in bed propped on pillows. Breathing grew harder, her chest tightening until Bob had to use charms to force air into her lungs. Every movement brought a fresh wave of agony. Bob urged her on, spooned potions between her lips, called her name, shook her, pinched her cheeks, refusing to let her eyes close –

Then everything went dark – and the pain was gone.

Chapter Text

17th January 1980

She came to her senses only three weeks later – in that very bedroom where she had lain unconscious all that time. The air was stifling, so hot it was hard to breathe, yet she still trembled under the warm duvet.

Walburga’s curse had indeed taken hold, and the shared Black blood had made it almost insurmountable. The Dark Lord, who had saved her, said Bella had been incredibly fortunate. Had Walburga shouted, “Be you damned” rather than “Be damned, all of you,” the curse would have focused on a single person, and Bella would have died that very night.

Nothing hurt, but she was so weak now it felt as though her body weighed a hundred stone. She had to relearn everything from scratch: sitting up, standing, and walking. At first, she leaned on Rodolphus; later, she could shuffle a few steps with a walking stick. She had no idea what day it was and couldn’t concentrate on anything. She hated herself for being so helpless while others were out fighting. She would hack off these useless fingers that wouldn’t obey, these legs that wouldn’t feel the floor and stumbled about like wooden stumps – if only it could have changed anything.

Strangely, Blackie never left her side. Rodolphus said that while she had been at death’s door, the dog had lain by her bed the entire time, refusing food, whimpering in his sleep as though grieving. When she began to walk again, Blackie padded behind her, barely lifting his paws. His once-glossy coat had dulled and matted like felt. He looked as though he, too, had been gravely ill, all his usual vigour gone.

While she lay unconscious, everyone else had been leading busy lives. In recent weeks, two patrols had been destroyed, the Portkey Terminal had been blocked, and the main Floo artery had been severed: Scotland had been cut off from England and Wales for three whole days. In the Muggle world, disasters, explosions and disappearances followed one after another. The Ministry was urgently recruiting new Obliviators, as the current ones couldn’t keep up with modifying Muggles’ memories in dozens of locations. Trainees at the Auror Headquarters had their stipends quadrupled, yet for the first time, the annual intake had failed: no one wanted a profession that often ended in an obituary.

Only Bella felt worthless. What sort of fighter was she, if she was learning to hold a spoon again? Evan Rosier visited her, and Dolohov came once. Both assured her she would recover soon. But Bella was panic-stricken that victory might come before she could return to active duty. She needed a chance – just one – to get back into the fight.

At the end of January, as soon as she could walk to the front door by herself, Bella Apparated to Headquarters.

***

Her appearance caused a stir, and many people came to greet her. Some were genuinely pleased to see her, yet she could feel mocking, malicious glances as well.

‘Always was so arrogant,’ someone sneered, but when she spun round sharply, the insolent wretch had already vanished around the bend in the hallway. She could still hex him, and her wand was already in her hand before she forced herself to stop. She wasn’t about to let anyone see how easily she could be provoked.

Neither her husband nor Evan Rosier was there, and with the others, she felt strangely alone. Fortunately, Ted Nott came hurrying over to say the Dark Lord was summoning her. Her heart immediately began to race. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month; when he’d come to heal her, she’d still been unconscious. The longing was so fierce she almost ran – or at least, it felt like running – to his study. In reality, she merely shuffled along, stopping every few steps to catch her breath like a wounded bird. What a pathetic sight she must have made! No wonder they were whispering behind her back. Biting her lip, she dragged her numb, uncooperative body forward until the painfully familiar doors opened before her.

Everything was as before: fire blazing in the hearth, the desk lamp glowing softly. The Lord met her at the door, quickly caught her arm to keep her from kneeling, and led her to an armchair.

‘I am happy to see you, my dear. Will you have some chocolate with me?’

He handed her a cup of hot, sweet drink and sat opposite. Now, with the firelight on his face, Bella could take a proper look at him, and her heart clenched. The Dark Lord looked dreadful, even worse than that evening on the coast. His eyes burned with a red gleam, his lips had almost vanished, and there was something ghostly in his gaze, as though he were seeing too much at once. He was dressed entirely in black, without a single ornament, as though in mourning: even the ring and the locket with an engraved S that he had used to wear constantly now were absent.

‘Yes, my dear, life has battered us both,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘My latest experiment cost me far too much … But it isn’t a big deal. We’ll both manage, won’t we?’

‘It doesn’t matter to me how you look,’ she replied. ‘I will stand by you always, whatever happens.’

‘By the way,’ he remembered suddenly, ‘my condolences about Regulus. I know you weren’t especially close, but still, it’s a painful loss.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. I’ve been told we don’t know yet what actually happened to him. No news at all?’

The Dark Lord shook his head.

‘Personally, I believe Sirius killed him,’ he said. ‘It’s exactly the sort of cowardly move their so-called Order would make. Regulus was so young, so trusting. If his brother had asked to meet him, he’d never have suspected a trap.’

‘I’ve had the same thoughts,’ Bella said in a low voice. ‘Sirius is a disgrace to our family – you never know what he’s capable of. If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him without hesitation.’

‘That’s not what you should be worrying about now,’ he said reprovingly. ‘What matters first is your recovery. May I take a look at you?’

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. His fingers were ice-cold. Bella suddenly noticed how stifling the room was. A normal person would have been faint by now, yet she felt only pleasant warmth. The Dark Lord evidently did as well.

She closed her eyes as he examined her memories. This time it was almost pleasant – as if someone were carefully sorting through her thoughts, placing each one where it belonged.

‘I can see you’re recovering well,’ he said, still sifting through her mind. ‘To be honest, after your aunt’s curse, I expected worse. Such spontaneous magic arises only from strong emotions and is extraordinarily rare. It’s uncontrollable and irresistible. Trying to guard against it is like trying to stop a tsunami with a picket fence. Only true love or hatred can provoke such an effect, but it’s unpredictable, so no one studies it. Why waste effort on something that can’t be reproduced? Now, let’s see what came before that … Oh, did you really get worked up over Lily Evans?’

Her cheeks flared. But the Dark Lord wasn’t angry; he laughed.

‘Believe me, Lily Evans is not worth your attention,’ he said. ‘Yes, she’s got certain abilities, and I did offer her the chance to join us – I don’t like to waste anything useful. But even if she’d agreed, she would never have mattered to me. She’s just a tool, an object to use. How could you even think I might compare her to you? That’s what wounded you, isn’t it?’

Bella didn’t want to look at him. She was ashamed of having given way to her feelings.

‘You’ll always be special to me,’ the Dark Lord said softly. ‘No one has such devotion to me as you do … Speaking of which, I would like to discuss some of my ideas with you. You’ve probably not heard about the Lacombe case, have you?’

‘Of course I have,’ she smiled faintly. ‘You could say even those at death’s door have heard of it.’

***

The trial he mentioned had indeed become a public sensation of late. A young Pureblood Ministry employee, Verena Lacombe, had been dating a Muggle-born wizard, Mick Brenner, for several months. Their relationship shocked acquaintances: between the well-educated, reserved and ambitious Verena and the rather coarse Brenner, prone to vulgar jokes, there seemed to be nothing in common. Yet she had been genuinely in love and had even planned to marry him, despite her parents’ fierce objections.

Everything changed one night when Verena, hysterical, summoned the Ministry patrol via Floo network and confessed to killing Brenner with the Avada Kedavra. The prosecution claimed Lacombe had deliberately and consciously murdered her boyfriend during a row that broke out after intimacy – after all, she had confessed as much. The defence, led by Rabastan, argued that Brenner had secretly been dosing Verena with Amortentia over a long period. Since he was poor in Potions, he had been buying it ready-made in Knockturn Alley and had once purchased a counterfeit. As a result, Verena had come to her senses in the middle of a sex act – and realised with horror that she was in bed with a man she would never have touched in her normal state.

Rabastan insisted that Brenner’s actions essentially amounted to a series of rapes and that Verena acted in self-defence. But the Wizengamot, where most of the judges were men, predictably did not side with his opinion and sentenced Lacombe to fifteen years in Azkaban. The head of the hearing, Bartemius Crouch Sr, even dared to claim that the court had taken mitigating circumstances into account – otherwise, he said, it would have been a life sentence.

The verdict sparked a wave of outrage. Spontaneous protests broke out at the Ministry. Besides demonstrations demanding that all relationships with Muggle-borns be checked for malicious manipulation (these were secretly organised by Death Eaters), there were unexpectedly many women who demanded Amortentia be banned and its use recognised as a crime. Remarkably, the two groups got along very well, which the movement eagerly exploited by spreading propaganda among their new allies. An appeal hearing was scheduled, and Rabastan publicly vowed to seek complete vindication and his client’s release.

‘Excellent – so I needn’t explain to you what had happened,’ the Dark Lord said. ‘The problem is that our society still doesn’t see the real danger Mudbloods pose. They’re seen as harmless. If Lacombe hadn’t trusted Brenner, he would never have had the chance to slip Amortentia into her drink. But the threat remains invisible. And because of that, our actions appear unjustifiably harsh – people believe we’re attacking innocent little lambs. So I’ve been thinking, what if we showed everyone what Mudbloods are truly capable of?’

‘How exactly?’

‘The Lacombe case,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘is a gift of fate, nothing less. But it isn’t enough to keep the public’s attention for long. If only … Do you know the Weasleys?’

‘I do. Arthur and Molly were in our year at school. Both were Gryffindors – stubborn and narrow-minded, like the rest of them. I’ve heard they are married now and live in some hovel with three or four children, but I don’t know any details.’

‘They have five already, and a sixth due any day,’ the Dark Lord corrected her. She was surprised at first, but then recalled that, for some reason, he’d requested reports on all pregnant witches. ‘A completely disgraced family, a stain on the name of wizardkind! Now imagine this: some Mudblood they’d been foolish enough to welcome into their home brutally murders them – the whole lot, children included. Of course, he’ll be under Imperius, but Mulciber can cast it so cleanly that no one will ever prove outside interference. To the public, this Mudblood will look like a cold-blooded, cynical killer who took advantage of the naïveté of Pureblood wizards. That way, we kill two birds with one stone – raise awareness about the threat Mudbloods pose and rid society of a few blood traitors without lifting a finger. Can you imagine the uproar?’

Bella said nothing. It truly could work – and yet … She felt no sympathy for the Weasleys, but they were Purebloods, even if utterly dishonoured.

‘Well,’ the Dark Lord said at last, his tone disapproving. ‘I see even you aren’t ready for such actions. I’ve spoken with Lestrange too – he criticised the idea. I won’t pretend I find the thought of killing Purebloods easy, even the sort who’ve long since demeaned their heritage. But it’s only a matter of time. After our victory, we’ll have to purge society, so we may as well begin now. Do you agree?’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ she replied after a pause.

‘You may go now,’ he said coldly, disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. ‘I should like to see you again in a few days. At this stage, it’s important to keep your mental state under observation.’

***

When she came down to the sitting room, Dolohov and Travers were already there. It was clear they’d only just arrived. Travers, who hadn’t seen Bella since the curse, seemed genuinely pleased to see her – he greeted her with a warm embrace, pulled up a chair for her, and immediately began asking how she was getting on, whether she needed anything. He offered her tea, but Bella declined.

‘I’ve just come from the Dark Lord,’ she said. ‘He shared a new idea.’

‘Oh, and what might that be?’ Dolohov asked with interest.

She gave them a brief account of the conversation. The two men exchanged a glance.

‘It’s a terrible idea,’ Travers said at once. ‘We spill enough pure blood as it is. And this would be an entire family.’

‘Very bad,’ Dolohov agreed. ‘We’re getting far too comfortable with killing civilians. And this one would be laughably easy to trace back to us.’

Bella felt a surge of indignation. A moment earlier, she herself had hesitated – but hearing them criticise the Dark Lord’s judgement so casually made her bristle.

‘You won’t even consider it!’ she snapped. ‘Now I understand why the Dark Lord no longer holds general meetings. Nothing is ever good enough for you; nothing meets your standards. You dismiss every word he says as if it were nonsense!’

‘And why shouldn’t we,’ Dolohov said coolly, ‘if –’

But then he caught Travers’s glance and fell silent.

‘You’re absolutely right, Bella,’ Travers said quickly. ‘We’ll give it some proper thought.’

‘Of course,’ Dolohov muttered. ‘The Dark Lord’s plans deserve careful consideration.’

At least he hadn’t said “Tom” – small mercy. Still, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. Both men had gone quiet, their expressions politely blank, as if waiting for her to take the hint and leave. Only then did Bella notice how cold the room was.

She rose, leaning slightly on her walking stick. Travers stepped forward to open the door for her.

‘Heading home?’ he asked. ‘Shall I help you Apparate?’

‘No need,’ she said sharply. ‘I can manage. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.’

Chapter Text

20th February 1980

Brief though her visits to Headquarters were, they seemed to breathe life back into Bella. She had resumed training – painfully slowly, a faint echo of her former self – but at least she no longer felt like a useless burden. She had converted the attic into a makeshift training room and now spent hours there each day. Every few days, she met with the Dark Lord, who examined her thoughts with careful precision, and after each encounter she emerged feeling stronger, steadier, more of her former self.

Even the weather had turned. The proper frosts had finally arrived, and the garden now lay beneath a soft white blanket. Heavy caps of snow bowed the tree branches, and the stone walls were trimmed with delicate lacework of frost. The children played outside, flinging snowballs for the dogs to catch in mid-air. Even Blackie, who had more or less learned to go along with the other dogs, joined in the game, though he moved slowly and failed to catch a single snowball. He must truly have been gravely ill during the same time as Bella, for the cheerful, beautiful dog he’d once been had faded into little more than a shadow.

As for Bella, she felt a little better each day. Her body was beginning to remember the right movements, her muscles slowly regaining strength. That afternoon, she’d managed a proper warm-up and even a few minutes of fire-rope work, charming the flame to move on its own. It lasted only a few minutes, but compared to the way she’d been dragging herself around of late, it felt like a breakthrough. Sweating, breathless, and sipping water as she cooled down, she was just beginning to catch her breath when a strange sound rose from below – a dull, rhythmic thudding, as though something heavy was slamming repeatedly into a wall.

She hurried downstairs. The hall was flooded with the pale winter light that bounced off the snow outside; the air smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon. Through the window, she saw the children shrieking with laughter in the garden, while Ella watched them from the terrace, a cigarette in one hand and a teacup in the other. The house-elves were bustling about in the kitchen. Bella seemed to be the only one who could hear the sound. As she reached the foot of the stairs, she saw its source.

The door to old Lestrange’s study was firmly shut. Blackie, who had clearly been left outside, was having none of it. He seemed almost frantic – growling, hurling himself at the door, scratching wildly, and letting out strange, low whimpers. At the sight of Bella, he gave a short, sharp bark.

‘You want me to let you in?’ she asked. ‘I’d better check if you’re supposed to be there. You wouldn’t have been left out without a reason.’

Blackie, as if he understood, backed away and sat down, tongue hanging out as he panted. Bella approached the door and knocked.

Silence.

***

After the second knock went unanswered, she clapped her hands. With a sharp crack, little Dinky appeared. Judging by her faintly guilty expression, she’d clearly been sneaking off to play instead of helping her parents and was now trying to make up for it with such frantic enthusiasm that the tips of her ears twitched.

‘Go and see if the old master’s in his bedroom,’ Bella ordered.

Dinky vanished, and barely a moment later, her shrill voice rang out even before her body had finished reappearing.

‘No, young mistress!’

Bella didn’t like this one bit.

‘Stand back. Over there,’ she said curtly, pointing towards the stairs that led to the kitchen.

Both Blackie and Dinky obeyed, staring at her with wide eyes – the dog’s dark and gleaming, the little house-elf’s bright green. Dinky looked frightened; Blackie kept shaking himself in that nervous way dogs do when they’re anxious.

Bella stepped back a few paces, turned sideways, raised her wand, and shielded her face with her elbow.

‘Bombarda!’

The blast sent splinters flying and brought plaster down from the ceiling, but the door held. Well, if even that hadn’t drawn a response from within ...

Someone else had heard, though. Ella burst into the hall like a gale, shouting for the children to stay outside. Her hand, clutching her wand, was visibly trembling.

‘What’s going on –’

‘Don’t come in, you’re in the way!’ Bella shouted.

From the kitchen, startled house-elves came running.

‘Connie, fetch a Healer, now! Brownie, summon the young master from Headquarters! Everyone else, keep out!’

Turning back to the door, she raised her wand again.

‘Bombarda!’

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blackie flinch. The noise must have been agony for his sensitive ears, but he stayed put, trembling. Everyone else had scrambled for cover. Bits of torn wallpaper floated through the air like ash, and the floor was littered with debris, but still the blasted door wouldn’t give. Trolls take the Lestranges and their habit of fortifying rooms like bunkers!

It wasn’t until the third blast that the door finally came off its hinges.

Bella was inside within seconds. At first glance, the scene seemed peaceful: old Lestrange sat in his armchair by the window, looking out at the snow-covered garden. But as she stepped closer, she saw how his body leaned awkwardly to one side, slumped without support.

She heard hurried footsteps behind her – Rodolphus had arrived. Together, they eased the old man down to the floor. Rodolphus dropped to his knees, pressing his wand to his father’s chest. The charm flashed a hot white, making the body jolt. The next moment, the room shimmered with charms like the air during a storm. But no matter how many resuscitation charms he cast, it was no use. The chest didn’t rise. The lungs drew no breath.

Bella lost track of time. It might have been minutes, but it felt like hours. Then someone pushed past them without ceremony – it was Bob. The sudden quiet rang in her ears, and black spots floated before her eyes. The Healer examined the body quickly and stood up with a sigh.

‘That’s enough, lad,’ he said, placing a hand on Rodolphus’s shoulder. ‘There’s no point. He’s gone.’

Rodolphus was breathing hard, pupils wide with disbelief. He didn’t seem to register the words.

‘Reanimation won’t help now,’ Bob said gently. ‘My condolences.’

‘Is it my fault?’

‘Saint Asclepius, no! It was already too late. And truth be told, his heart was in very bad shape. It wouldn’t have taken much to stop it.’

‘But he was taking his medicine … and he’d quit smoking …’

‘If he’d done that ten years ago, perhaps, it could make some difference. But not now. I’m sorry, son, but there are things even magic can’t undo.’

From the corner of her eye, Bella saw movement in the hall and stepped out of the study as quietly as she could, trying not to crunch through the splinters and fallen plaster.

‘Why are you all standing around?’ she snapped at the wide-eyed house-elves and Ella’s pale, frozen face. ‘Take the children upstairs. Connie, your master is dead.’

A high, thin sob escaped the house-elf. Bella twitched her mouth, annoyed. The last thing they needed now was hysterics.

‘Start preparing for the wake and funeral. Do your duty,’ she said coldly and returned to the study, closing what was left of the door behind her.

***

Meanwhile, in the study, things had calmed a little. Bob and Rodolphus had moved old Lestrange’s body onto the sofa. Taking a sheet of parchment from the desk, Bob began scribbling down the address of a Goblin-run funeral company.

‘Very reliable,’ he said. ‘They’ll handle everything properly.’

‘Give it to the house-elves,’ Rodolphus said. ‘Have them summon the Goblins. Although … how are they even supposed to get in? There’s the Fidelius Charm –’ He broke off, sucking air through his teeth with a sharp hiss. ‘Troll’s balls, the house isn’t protected anymore! Alright, I’ll figure something out … Do you think the Goblins will care that we’re wanted?’

‘As long as you’ve got gold, they don’t care about anything,’ Bob said. ‘And if you haven’t, they won’t come. Do you need a death certificate? Because if so, that’s a bit of a problem. I’m not licensed.’

Rodolphus shook his head.

‘He’s either alive or dead. What’s a certificate got to do with it?’

‘Well, inheritance, maybe …’

Rodolphus gave a short, dry laugh.

‘Rabastan’s the lawyer – let him sort that out. Speaking of which, I need to tell him –’ He shook his head again. ‘Merlin, what’s wrong with me? I’m forgetting everything!’

‘It’s the shock. Totally normal. Do you still need me?’

‘No, thanks. You can go.’

Once the Healer had left, Rodolphus heaved the window open. The air was cold and sharp; the snow outside still glittered. He pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket, glanced at his father’s body, gave a humourless smile, and lit up. Then he turned to Bella.

‘Want one?’

Bella came over and took a cigarette, feeling strangely adrift. She’d seen death before – plenty of it – but never this close to home. This time, it had happened in their own house, right before her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say or do. Surely, she ought to offer her condolences? Rodolphus must be grieving.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

‘Don’t, Beauty,’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘You’ve never been great with other people’s feelings.’

‘All right then. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Hold me.’

She stepped in beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. He rested his head against her. Smoke from both cigarettes drifted through the open window into the frozen garden, where the snow glinted like crystal.

‘You know,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ve been preparing for this since I was fourteen. That’s when Dad had his first heart attack. I knew one day I’d have to bring him back. Took courses at St Mungo’s, learned every charm … And it didn’t help. I couldn’t even get that part right.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. You heard what Bob had said. No one could have saved him.’

‘I think he just lied to make me feel better,’ Rodolphus muttered, taking a drag. ‘But it doesn’t matter anymore. Thanks for breaking the door down. And for calling me.’

‘Don’t thank me. You should thank Blackie, he’s the one who raised the alarm. Do you think he knew what was going on?’

‘He’d probably heard something. Dogs pick up on everything. Are you sure Dad was alone? No one else was here?’

‘Of course, I’m sure. You saw it with your own eyes. The door was locked from the inside.’

‘He never usually did that. That’s what’s odd.’

‘No one came,’ Bella said firmly. ‘There was no alarm, and no sign of anyone. Ella and the children would’ve seen. You’re being paranoid.’

‘Maybe,’ he said, flicking away the stub and vanishing it. The outer alarm had started to chime. ‘Ah, that’ll be the Goblins. I’d better meet them and throw up some kind of protection barrier. Time to get a grip on myself.’

When he’d gone, Bella lingered for a moment. She looked down at old Lestrange’s still body. She’d known this was coming – he hadn’t hidden how unwell he was – but it still made her feel unexpectedly sad. The old man had always treated her kindly.

‘May your path be easy,’ she murmured, brushing her fingertips against his hand, which hadn’t yet grown cold.

Chapter Text

Within an hour, the house was bustling with activity. The Goblins had taken the body to prepare it for burial. The door to the study, recently blasted apart, had already been restored by magic. Not a trace of the earlier chaos remained; everything looked exactly as it always had. Only a thin draught of cold air crept from beneath the door – the west-facing window inside had been left open, as tradition required, to allow the soul a clear path to leave the world of the living.

The house-elves had covered all the mirrors in black cloth. Brownie had dragged in an armful of juniper from Merlin knew where and was pacing through every room, fumigating the air. It was said that when the Gate had opened in a house, the smoke of juniper would guard the threshold, keeping the spirits of the dead from clinging to the living. He gave Bella a thorough smoking, too. She coughed and waved him off – why were house-elves always so superstitious? – and headed into the sitting room.

Rodolphus was already dressed in black, his hair roughly cropped in mourning, as tradition dictated. On the table sat a large plate of soul cakes, still warm – Connie had somehow managed to bake them despite everything. Ella, also in black with a broad lace collar, stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, scissors in hand, with little Ralph in front of her. Bella had never seen her sister-in-law look so lost. Though older by several years, this was clearly her first real grief, and she didn’t quite know what she was supposed to do. Strange, Bella thought, how they had all only been pretending at being adults until now.

‘Do you think one lock is enough?’ Ella asked Rodolphus. ‘I don’t want him to look plucked.’

‘Even a few hairs would do,’ he said, waving the matter away. ‘It’s just symbolic.’

‘The Dark Lord will be here soon,’ Bella said. No one responded. Everyone’s attention was on Ralph, who looked on the verge of tears. Rodolphus swept him up at just the right moment – the boy’s chin had started to quiver, his mouth rounding for a loud wail.

‘No, no, no,’ Rodolphus murmured. ‘No crying, little man. Grandfather’s on his way to Avalon now. You wouldn’t want to flood his road with a river of tears, would you? Look, let’s do this instead.’

He picked up a cake from the plate.

‘Pinch off a bit – that’s right – now throw it into the fire and say: “May your path be easy, Grandad.” That’s a good boy. One bit for me too … And you can eat the rest. The dogs can have some as well, naturally.’

Ralph followed the instructions, frowning with the seriousness of a child entrusted with something meaningful. The tears didn’t come. Instead, he solemnly nibbled his cake and dropped crumbs to the floor, where the dogs snapped them up eagerly. Rodolphus held him close, rocking him gently. Then he called Reggie over and showed him how to do it, too.

Bella watched. Perhaps he really could make a decent father – if either of them ever wanted children.

The door banged suddenly, and she flinched, but it was only Rabastan. He came in quickly and took the scissors from his wife.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t get here sooner. I was at the appeal hearing for the Lacombe case.’

‘We managed,’ Rodolphus said, still holding Ralph. ‘Not like you could have helped. Anyway, Father wouldn’t have wanted you to abandon your client. How did it go?’

‘Acquitted.’

‘Thank Merlin. At least there’s some good news.’

Rabastan cut off a few locks of his hair, then glanced at his brother.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘Exhausted.’

Rabastan gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and lit a cigarette. Dinky scurried into the sitting room with a dustpan and broom to collect the cut hair from the floor.

‘We need to sort out the Fidelius Charm,’ Rabastan said.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Rodolphus replied, setting Ralph down. ‘I’ve no strength left for anything tonight.’

***

The house gradually filled with people. The Rosiers were the first to arrive. Bella even hugged Uncle Colin – after all, life was too short to waste on old grudges. Her uncle seemed pleased to see her as well. He had indeed lost weight and looked much calmer.

Only then did she finally find a moment to go upstairs and change. In her wardrobe, she found the same dress that old Lestrange had once chosen for their work together – a high-necked, full-skirted dress embroidered in black silk on black, like three-dimensional darkness. It seemed only fitting to wear it now.

When she came back down, Dolohov, Travers, the Notts, the Mulcibers, and the Malfoys had already arrived – all but Narcissa. Bella hadn’t seen her sister since last summer, but she wasn’t expecting her now either. Narcissa was six months pregnant, and it was only by miracle that she’d made it that far. All her previous pregnancies had ended at the early stages. She wasn’t leaving Malfoy Manor for anything, because Apparition would be too great a risk. Three months remained, and everything could go wrong at any moment.

Everyone who came brought along a generous amount of food. Since Connie was also cooking like mad, trying to soothe herself in the process, the dining room table was already groaning under the weight of dishes. Several crates of wine had been delivered from Coven & Cask. Rodolphus had decided that, since they’d be spending the night without the Fidelius Charm, they might as well order delivery like normal people for once. There must always be wine at a wake – and plenty of it – because every drop you drink is one sorrow less for the dead to carry with them to Avalon.

Holding a wake in a house now open to every gust of wind (and every passing Auror) was risky, even brazen. Bella didn’t drink, like everyone from the fighting group – rituals or not, there was always the chance of a raid, and they needed to stay sharp. She only moistened her lips with wine and poured a little into the fire, as tradition required.

The Wilkeses brought their children, and they weren’t the only ones. Reggie and Ralph, both completely recovered now, dragged out all their toys, and the house was now filled with voices, laughter, and the swish of toy broomsticks flying through the hall. Dogs wandered around the table, begging for scraps. Plates and goblets clinked. The fire crackled. Altogether, it felt less like a wake and more like a belated Yule or an early Beltane. Conversations, at first hushed and solemn, as befitted the wake, gradually shifted to school memories and funny stories from the old Lestrange’s life. Laughter was soon ringing round the table.

In those stories, the name “Tom” came up often. Aunt Evelyn’s voice suddenly piped up:

‘And where is he? Has he come?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ She clapped her hands. ‘I simply can’t understand how he hasn’t come straight away –’

‘Shush,’ said Uncle Colin quickly, cutting her off. ‘We don’t talk about that,’ and leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

As though hearing her, the front doors opened again. Cold air swept in, and a tall figure in a black cloak appeared on the threshold of the dining room.

The Dark Lord had come.

***

All those seated rose at once. Those nearest hesitated, uncertain whether to kneel, but the Dark Lord had already stopped them with a gesture. Further back, people stared at him with awe and reverence. Lately, even the Inner Circle had seen little of him; the Dark Lord was always occupied, and most of his orders were relayed through Ted Nott. Now, the changes in his appearance struck everyone anew.

Bella’s heart began to race the moment she saw him. She had already started moving towards him, but stopped herself in time, remembering this wasn’t her moment. The Dark Lord came forward and, rather than offering his hand to be kissed as usual, embraced Rabastan first, then Rodolphus.

‘This is a great sorrow,’ he said, meeting Rodolphus’s eyes. ‘I cannot forgive myself for not being here.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. But you’ve nothing to reproach yourself for. Sometimes even magic is powerless,’ Rodolphus echoed Bob’s words.

‘Be strong. I know this must be hard for you.’

‘My grief is nothing compared to yours,’ Rodolphus replied, casting him a glance.

Everyone stood still. The room that had just moments ago been full of laughter and voices now seemed frozen. Only the sounds of children echoed faintly from the hall. The Lord glanced towards the study and said:

‘May I be there alone for some time?’

Once he had gone, it was as if a spell had broken. People began to move again, slowly at first. Murmured conversations resumed, someone popped a cork, and glasses clinked. But Bella couldn’t sit still. Only minutes had passed, and already the waiting felt unbearable. She slipped quietly out into the hall, then on to the study. The door stood slightly ajar.

‘Am I disturbing you, my Lord?’

It was cold inside. Through the wide-open window, she could see the stars and the dark edge of the forest. The Dark Lord stood by the window in complete darkness.

‘You never disturb me,’ he said without turning. ‘Was it you who found him?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘How did he look?’

Bella hesitated. Old Lestrange had looked – well, dead. But that couldn’t be what the Dark Lord meant, not really. After a pause, she answered:

‘Peaceful.’

‘I hope that means he didn’t suffer. Thank you for being there in time.’

‘It’s a great honour to hear you say that. I wish I’d been faster, but I did all I could.’

‘What about the dog?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Do you mean Blackie? He was the one I was thinking of just now. He came to us recently.’

‘Where is he? I didn’t see him.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Bella shrugged. ‘He was outside, but he’s probably come back in. Hiding from the noise, most likely. Shall I go and find him?’

‘No, it doesn’t matter. To be honest, I don’t like dogs. When I lived at Thornhall, I only tolerated them for Ray’s sake,’ he said, and fell silent. After a long pause, he added, ‘I think you should go back to Rodolphus. He may not show it, but his father’s death has hit him hard.’

‘He’d tell me if he wanted me to stay. We agreed he’ll ask when he needs me.’

‘People don’t always say what they feel, Bella. Go. I’d like to be alone.’

She had no choice but to obey. On the threshold, she paused and looked back. He hadn’t moved: black-robed and still, standing at the open window as the wind swept in around him.

***

In the dining room, after the cold stillness of the study, it was so hot that breathing felt difficult. Bella went to find her husband.

‘Are you mad I left?’ she asked straightforwardly.

‘No, Beauty. But don’t go chasing after the Dark Lord again – at least not today, all right? Can you manage that?’

‘Yes,’ she took a deep breath. ‘You’re feeling dreadful right now, I know.’

‘Did the Dark Lord tell you that?’ he asked, smiling faintly.

She nodded.

‘Well, he wasn’t wrong.’

‘What would you like me to do now?’

She really did like this new arrangement of theirs – much easier than trying to guess what sort of behaviour would be appropriate.

‘Dance with me.’

The request didn’t surprise her. In old wizarding families, it was common to dance at wakes, to help smooth the road to Avalon for the one who had passed. However, she’d never actually seen it done. The only funeral she’d attended had been fifteen years ago, when her great-great-aunt Lycoris had died. But everyone there had seemed so ancient (at least to thirteen-year-old Bella) that one attempt at dancing might have turned them to dust.

She and Rodolphus moved into the sitting room. Only a few lamps were lit, casting a soft, amber glow. In the corner, Dolohov and Colin Rosier were deep in quiet conversation. Ignoring them, Rodolphus went to the shelf, selected one record, placed it on the player, and turned back to Bella.

‘Ready?’

She nodded and held out her hand to him.

‘Well then – may his path be easy,’ Rodolphus said, speaking the ritual phrase as he slid his arm around her waist.

She recognised the melody from the very first chords, but this time, the voice was female, deep and smoky. It was a cover by Celestina Warbeck, it seemed. Celestina could have been quite a decent singer if she didn’t usually choose such insipid songs –

I stood on the road to heaven – never thought I’d leave so soon.
Lost someone at midnight, drank alone under the moon.
This road is paved with silence, with names that echo the night,
Old bars, empty glasses, and friends who slip out of sight –

Now the melody sounded tender, almost joyful – not a grim prophecy, but a promise of reunion after a long journey. She and Rodolphus spun to the rhythm, parting and coming together again like two black birds weaving through a stormy sky.

Up there, the brothers wait – there's a place for one of us.
But I’m still down here, wanderin’ through shadows and dust.
They say salvation’s waiting, joy that forever will stay,
But the road to the sky starts in pain and cuts through my soul every day –

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw they had another observer. The Dark Lord stood in the doorway, watching. His face was hidden in shadow, and Bella couldn’t read his expression. She nearly stepped away from the dance, meaning to go to him, but then she glanced at Rodolphus. He gave a slight shake of the head, and Bella stopped. She remembered her promise.

Yeah, the road to the sky,
It's paved with tears we cry.
Still I walk it, still I try,
Till I rise, till I fly –

The final chord rang out, a coda lingering in the air. They stopped, still holding hands. Everyone who’d come to the wake was now gathered in the doorway, watching. Someone began to applaud, then stopped, unsure if it was appropriate.

‘Such a handsome couple,’ said Aunt Evelyn, her eyes glistening with tears.

The Dark Lord was no longer there. There had been no sound of the front door opening and closing, but Bella knew – with that peculiar, exact certainty that requires neither sight nor sound – that he had already gone.

***

The rest of the night was filled with music. Everyone danced now. At one point, Bella caught sight of her mother-in-law, Jane Howard – also in black, wearing a string of pearls. They even greeted each other politely. Bella had made a firm decision to be patient today, and she stuck to it.

After midnight, the guests began taking their leave, inquiring about the funeral arrangements on their way out. Ella went upstairs to put the children to bed. Rabastan stepped outside to see people off. Only Evan Rosier and a few others from the combat group remained behind – they were staying to keep watch through the night, taking shifts until the Fidelius Charm could be recast.

When she finally went to bed and the lights were out, Bella lay still for a long time, watching the shifting shadows of trees glide across the walls. She couldn’t fall asleep. Rodolphus wasn’t sleeping either. After half an hour, he gave up trying and reached for his cigarettes.

‘Wait,’ Bella said, catching his hand. She propped herself up on one elbow, trying to see his face in the dark. ‘Can I ask you something very cynical and inappropriate? Inappropriate even for me.’

‘Go on.’

‘Do you want to have sex?’

He gave a soft, almost surprised laugh.

‘Yes. I was going to ask you too, but thought you’d be angry.’

‘Do you think it’s awful that we want it on a day like this?’

‘No. They say it’s a normal response to death – the need to remind yourself you’re alive. Are you sure you’re all right? Won’t it be too much for you?’

‘I’m alright, even training again, remember?’ she said, sitting up and pulling her nightgown over her head.

Rodolphus reached out and ran his palm gently down her bare back. She closed her eyes and breathed in the warmth of that touch. It had been nearly two months since the curse – and all that time, there’d been nothing between them.

Only later, when they were already drifting into sleep, curled into each other, did she suddenly remember that she hadn’t taken any contraceptive potions for nearly two months.

Chapter Text

21st July 1980

Some people pass away, others are born – and life goes on regardless.

At the beginning of June, three and a half months after old Lestrange’s death, Narcissa gave birth to the long-awaited, much-desired son. Yet the days slipped by, and no one had seen the Malfoy heir yet, for all had been waiting for the naming ceremony. The celebration had been postponed several times, as the weather had turned foul. The start of July was so cold that snow fell in parts of England. At last, a new date was fixed, and this time it was final – Friday, July 26th. The Dark Lord himself was to be the name-giver, and Malfoy Manor was being readied for a grand reception.

As far as Bella was concerned, the ceremony might just as well have been postponed again or cancelled altogether. She’d had quite enough of children already. Yes, this baby was her favourite sister’s son, but otherwise, he was no different from any other squalling creature of that sort.

She herself had been lucky beyond belief. The winter mistake, when she had forgotten the contraceptive potion, had come to nothing, even though Bella never went back to taking it. She has been going without it for five months already, but all was well. Evidently, Lady Morgan had been merciful, and either she or Rodolphus, or both, were infertile. She could hardly wish for anything better just now, and in the future, when the war is won, they would think of something.

A week before Draco’s naming, she returned home worn out after yet another fruitless hunt for members of the Order of the Phoenix. These invisible, elusive enemies irritated the Dark Lord even more with every passing day. Yes, there had been some triumphs, and on the board in the Office several names already gleamed with the word Eliminated written across in emerald ink. But since the end of May, no new inscriptions had appeared.

The combat groups swept relentlessly across the country, targeting the people the Office had identified. Yet the targets slipped away as if bewitched, right from under their noses. The members of the Order acted as though they were immortal: they sabotaged Death Eaters’ operations, informed the Aurors, and did everything they could to throw a spanner in the works.

Dolohov and Rosier blamed the Office; Rodolphus retorted that the combat groups, with all their vaunted training, could not cope with fresh Hogwarts graduates. Every briefing now turned into a storm of mutual accusations. Bella sided with Dolohov and Rosier and sometimes went for days without speaking to her husband.

***

Outside, icy rain was pelting down, though it was the height of summer. Bella was soaked to the skin and so cold she could scarcely hold her wand. The house-elf Connie came to help her change and take away the wet clothes. Some people liked to chatter with house-elves as if they were companions. Bella disapproved of this, though once she and Connie had at least exchanged a few words. In these past months, however, the elf had grown so stonily silent that even Bella felt awkward.

Her husband was at fault again. The day after his father’s funeral, Rodolphus was struck with what he thought was a brilliant idea: he decided to make a house-elf his new Secret Keeper. In his view, it was the perfect solution: elves were devoted to their masters and would not reveal the secret even under torture; Veritaserum did not affect them; their own magic shielded them from the Imperius curse. However, one could become a Secret Keeper only voluntarily, and house-elves formally had no free will, unless …

When Connie had grasped what was going on, she became hysterical. She wept, fell to her knees, clutched at Rodolphus’s robes, begging him not to give her clothes. In vain did he try to assure her that nothing would change, that she would go on living in Thornhall, that everyone would love her as before. The house-elf was in despair.

‘Connie will be disgraced! Could not look her daughter in the eye!’ she cried.

‘Dinky will know the truth, and she won’t condemn you,’ Rodolphus said, trying to calm her. ‘On the contrary, she’ll respect you even more, because you’ve made a sacrifice for your masters! Does it matter what other house-elves are thinking? Besides, it’s Brownie who usually goes to the market, so no one will ever see you clothed.’

But Connie sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. Brownie cried in the corner, dabbing his eyes with a tea-towel, while Dinky pressed against him, terrified. Ella could not bear it and walked out. Rabastan, disapproving of the plan, announced he would not interfere. Formally, Connie belonged to him, but Rodolphus was responsible for the house’s security, and his brother granted him carte blanche, letting him shoulder the moral burden.

When Rodolphus knelt before Connie and held out the clothes, the house-elf let out a shriek, collapsed, and began banging her head against the floor. She did not calm down even when Rodolphus lifted her and tried to rock her like a child. In Bella’s view, it would all have ended much sooner had he not fussed over her. You have to do what you have to do. What’s the point of all this sentimentality? But that was house-elves for you, real drama queens, far too emotional by nature.

In the months since, Connie had resigned herself to her new state but had found no happiness in it. She walked about Thornhall in a neat blue dress with a broad collar and convenient pockets, yet however smartly she looked, it brought her no joy. She now laid out dry clothes for Bella and stood silently by until she could gather the wet ones.

‘How are things with you?’ Bella asked, undressing.

‘All is well, Mrs Lestrange,’ Connie answered tonelessly. As a free elf, she no longer had the right to call her ‘young mistress’.

***

When the house-elf had gone, Bella bathed, changed, and went to the drawing-room. Lamps were already lit, for it had grown dark early. Blackie lay on the rug, muzzle on his paws. Bella sat beside him and scratched him behind the ears, then looked up in surprise to see Ella coming down with the children. They were dressed for going out.

‘It’s lucky you’re home already!’ Ella said with relief. ‘Will you escort us? Rabastan insists I mustn’t travel without protection, and there’s no one else free. If only you knew how tired I am of all these restrictions!’

‘Me too. I’ll help you Apparate in a moment – I just need my outdoor cloak.’ Bella stood up and walked towards the door.

‘By the way, did you have dragon pox as a child?’ Ella asked, lighting a cigarette.

‘Yes,’ Bella stopped, surprised. ‘Why?’

‘We’re going to a dragon pox party.’

‘I see. Don’t worry – it’s fine by me.’

Bella remembered such parties from her childhood. When Andromeda once caught dragon pox, their mother invited all her friends so their children might catch it too. She explained that one could only have the illness once, and for children it was harmless, whereas adults might even die from it – better to have it early.

Bella remembered little of the party itself, except that her mother forbade her to eat any cake for fighting with Evan Rosier. But she remembered all too well the weeks that followed, when her skin turned greenish and broke out in crimson spots that itched like crazy.

‘There’s a dragon pox epidemic just now,’ Ella said, taking a drag. ‘Apparently two old wizards have already died. Some Potters.’

Blackie suddenly sprang up and gave himself a violent shake.

‘Oh, I’ve dropped a spark on you!’ Ella bent down at once to stroke him. ‘Sorry, poor thing!’

‘I wonder if those Potters are related to –’

Bella broke off, thinking quickly. If they really were relatives, James Potter from the Order of the Phoenix might be caught at the funeral.

‘Related to whom?’ Ella asked.

‘No one. Forget it.’

***

When Bella returned in her cloak, Blackie was circling by the door with the children, making it plain he wanted to come out.

‘Be quick,’ Bella warned as she opened the door. ‘Or else I’ll Apparate and leave you in the rain.’

The dog shot off like lightning and went to cock his leg by a tree. Meanwhile, Ella and the children came onto the terrace. Behind the wooden posts thick with climbing roses, the rain poured like a wall, and it was almost dark. Ella slipped a packet of lemon drops into her handbag.

‘These are for Ralph,’ she explained, ‘in case he feels sick after Apparating.’

‘Mummy, give me one!’ Ralph hopped from foot to foot. ‘I already feel sick!’

To prove it, he stuck out his tongue and pretended to vomit. Reggie joined in, and the two of them began making revolting noises, giggling all the while. Ella paid no attention, but Bella’s temper flared. The noise grated on her nerves, and she was furious as well with the dog, who had disappeared into the shadows and still hadn’t come back.

‘Blackie, where are you? I’m closing the door!’

But he was nowhere in sight. The roar of the rain drowned all sounds. Bella cast a Lumos, yet saw nothing except the wet trees and wild rose bushes.

‘Haven’t the foggiest where that hound’s gone … Right, I’ll let him in when I return,’ she said. ‘It’s his own fault if he gets soaked.’

‘Perhaps he saw the deer and ran after it,’ Ralph suggested.

‘Why do you think that?’

‘There’s a deer in the forest that comes up to our wall sometimes,’ Reggie explained. ‘It’s really handsome, with antlers this big!’ He spread his hands wide to show. ‘We leave lumps of salt for it. It’s Blackie’s friend.’

‘You were told not to go near it – and neither should the dog!’ Ella scolded. ‘That deer could easily disembowel him with its antlers.’

‘It wouldn’t! It’s kind!’ Ralph shouted furiously.

Lady Morgan, why must children always shriek like mad instead of speaking in a normal voice?

‘Not everything beautiful is kind,’ Ella said wisely. ‘Now, let’s Apparate, it’s time.’

She took the children by the hands firmly.

‘Will Blackie come back?’ Ralph asked, peering into the rain.

‘Of course,’ Bella said impatiently, also taking his hand. ‘Where would he go in such weather?’

Chapter Text

26th July 1980

Narcissa had changed since the birth of her child. She hadn’t put on much weight, but had become softer, rounder, womanlier. A new kind of confidence had emerged in her – the sort that comes to someone who has faced a difficult trial and won.

The same fair hair still fell to her shoulders, though now not in curls but in smooth, heavy waves. In her pale blue silk gown with its wide sleeves, Narcissa moved like a queen – graceful, composed, as if she could shift the whole world with one hand while keeping the other free for her child. Two professional photographers were capturing her from every angle, their flashes of magnesium lighting up the hall.

Narcissa looked truly magnificent, but Bella was irritated that they still hadn’t had a single moment to talk. Before the ceremony began, Narcissa had been entertaining the women in her private drawing room, but all conversation revolved around pregnancy, children, and other subjects to which Bella could not have contributed even if she wanted to. The room even seemed to smell different now – something nauseatingly sweet, like baby powder.

Bella kept her distance, though fragments of talk reached her all the same. Now she knew (though she hadn’t wished to) that beneath Narcissa’s luxurious gown was a nursing bra with pads to stop milk leaking. Milk! She shuddered at the very thought that something could leak from her own body like that. As if monthly periods weren’t bad enough! At one moment, she had almost managed to drag Narcissa away from a discussion about developmental toys for babies. (What was there to develop when those creatures couldn’t even speak?) But there was no time left for them to talk. The sound of a gong announced the Dark Lord’s arrival, and they had to go and greet him.

A fair crowd had gathered for the ceremony. There were approximately two hundred guests, mostly members of the movement, and Malfoys’ relatives and business associates. The Dark Lord moved through the great hall, surrounded with smiles and glittering jewels, and the throng parted before him like the sea: men dropped to one knee, women swept low curtsies. It made quite a spectacle. At last, the Dark Lord approached Narcissa, who was standing on the dais. He looked at the baby in her hands with the same uncertainty and apprehension as Bella and seemed no more eager to touch it than she was.

Someone nudged Bella aside – it was Evan Rosier. In his hands, he held something the size of a soup tureen, wrapped in ornate paper.

‘Enjoying the show?’ he whispered. ‘Everyone’s falling over themselves to make an impression.’

‘Is that the present?’ She nodded towards the tureen. ‘Good thing you managed to buy it!’

They had agreed beforehand to give a joint present, then forgotten all about it, only remembering this morning. Fortunately, Evan, like a miracle-worker, had somehow managed to procure something at the last minute.

‘At least let me see what it is –’

He folded back a corner of the paper.

‘A silver locket for the child’s first lock of hair.’

‘So big? How much hair is supposed to go in there?’

‘There’s space for a single lock only, the rest is all decoration. Goblins’ work. Lucius will wet himself with delight.’

‘How much did this marvel cost?’

‘You’ll find out when the Goblins send the bill,’ he grinned. ‘I’m afraid to even think about it. Where’s Rod?’

‘Over there.’ She indicated with her chin. ‘We’re not speaking. He thinks it’s my fault that bloody Blackie’s missing.’

‘Hasn’t he come back yet?’

‘No. Rod’s convinced that if the deer didn’t disembowel him with its antlers, then a Muggle car must have hit him on the motorway, and the dog’s lying somewhere dead right now. He says I should’ve stayed behind to look for Blackie instead of going with Ella and the children. As if I have nothing better to do than run around in circles after a stupid dog!’

‘I think Blackie will turn up eventually,’ Evan said soothingly. ‘He’ll get tired of wandering and come back once he’s hungry. Can’t you and Rod make peace for the time being? He could chip in for the present; we’d have had less to pay to the Goblins. By the way, we’re purebearers, did you know?’

‘We’re what?’

‘It’s a new thing. Haven't you heard? Lucius hired a ritualist. The ceremony’s going to be pretty serious, not like in our day, when parents just chucked you in the water, and if you came up alive, you got whatever name they thought amusing at the time. Now it’s all terribly proper. You and I are to carry the baby to the Dark Lord.’

‘Why us?’ she demanded, horrified. ‘What for?’

‘Because we’re pure-blood, related, and childless. Supposedly, it brings a blessing for our own children – maybe it’s contagious, like an infection ... Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t invent it! Conjure yourself gloves if you’re afraid of catching something.’

‘No, no,’ she said, stepping back. ‘You carry it. I’m not touching it!’

At last, Lucius came over, and they handed him the present. From across the hall, Bella caught sight of her mother, but Druella made no move to approach, and Bella avoided her. There were also plenty of guests with children who bore greenish skin marked with bright red rash – evidently, the dragon pox party had been a success.

***

Eventually, a house-elf found them to inform them that the ceremony was about to begin. Some old codger with a long beard – probably the ritualist – pinned white ribbons to their shoulders. Then they were made to step forward before everyone, take a lacy bundle from which faint squeaks emerged, and carry it to the Dark Lord while the orchestra played something unbearably joyous. Bella had never felt so foolish in her entire life.

When they approached, the ritualist made a small cut on each of their index fingers and let a few drops of pure blood fall into the silver basin filled with warm water. A house-elf helped unwrap the infant so the Dark Lord could lower him into the basin. The baby must have thought he was about to be bathed, for he smiled – but as soon as he was pulled out again, he began crying in protest. The Dark Lord spoke in a voice loud enough to drown out the whimpering:

‘Audi nomen tuum: Draco!’

Golden letters floated into the air and wove themselves into the tapestry bearing the Malfoy family tree. From either side, purple fabric trimmed with ermine descended. The canopy discreetly hid the fact that the lineage was rather short – no more than five or six generations – and that barely a century ago the family name had been spelt Malford. (1)

The music played louder; everyone applauded. Little Draco was handed back to his mother. The Dark Lord stepped down from the dais, and Bella followed him with immense relief. Narcissa and Draco disappeared somewhere into the depths of the house – presumably, it was time for breastfeeding, or whatever they called it.

As soon as they descended, the dais vanished, and the hall filled with tables laden with refreshments. The guests drifted towards them. The children were led off to an adjoining room where a separate supper and a pile of toys awaited them, so they wouldn’t disturb the adults. Bored, Bella let her gaze wander over the room. She saw Ted and Lina Wilkes, Mulciber, and Nott. Standing a little apart was Travers, who neither ate nor drank, his gaze constantly sweeping the hall; he was in charge of security that evening. His men, dressed in dark cloaks, were stationed along the walls.

For the Malfoys, the Dark Lord, and the Inner Circle, a separate table had been laid between the columns, decorated with silver-green ribbons. The Dark Lord made his way there unhurriedly, conversing as he went with Colin Rosier. Uncle Colin looked overheated and uncomfortable in his formal robes with their stiff collar, but he seemed genuinely pleased that he and the Dark Lord were reconciled at last. Everyone else, Bella included, held back a little so as not to intrude.

By the columns, they came to a halt. The Dark Lord was saying something to Colin, who was laughing merrily – just like in old times. Evidently, the two of them had forgiven each other at last. The Dark Lord even embraced Colin –

And at that very moment, the explosion rang out.

***
The sound was so powerful it felt as though the spell had detonated inside her skull. A blinding flash tore through the air. Bella was flung sideways and slammed into something so hard it knocked the breath out of her. The air roared like a tornado, thick with the acrid stench of burning and scorched dust. Someone was screaming, but she heard it faintly, as though through a thick layer of cotton wool. A metallic taste filled her mouth.

When she managed to sit up and open her eyes a few minutes later, the hall lay half in darkness – the ceiling lamps had gone out. Every windowpane was shattered, and rain was drizzling in through the empty frames. Shreds of wallpaper floated lazily through the air; the floor was strewn with pebbles and chunks of plaster. The columns had held, though one had cracked straight down the middle. Bella rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself to her knees. Her hands were trembling. Right in front of her, in a puddle of wine, lay an overturned goblet.

The hearing returned gradually. The first thing she heard was a shout:

‘Is there a Healer? Please!’

Then Dolohov’s voice:

‘Everyone out! Seal the gates! No one leaves the estate until we know who did this!’

A terror unlike anything she had ever known clamped around her ribs. Where had Rodolphus been when it happened? Bella struggled to her feet, steadying herself on an overturned table, and limped through the hall, looking about. Most of the guests had already fled; only a few wounded sat dazed and bloodied on the floor.

When she caught sight of a familiar silhouette, her legs nearly gave way with relief. Rodolphus must have been searching for her, too, for he came running. They collided and clung to one another so tightly as if they were going to fuse into a single body. A moment later, Rodolphus loosened his hold.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, scanning her quickly. ‘You’ve blood on your cheek.’

She touched her face; her fingers came away wet. She felt no pain at all.

‘It’s nothing. Just a scratch.’

‘I must go.’ He kissed her quickly, several times. ‘I need to examine the blast site.’

‘Be careful. There might be another spell waiting there!’

‘I know, I know ... Take care of yourself, all right?’

He strode off towards the columns, where a dark shape lay sprawled on the floor. Bella looked around, searching for Dolohov to receive orders. Antonin was just sending Evan and his men outside.

‘Search every floor of the house!’

When Bella reached him, she expected to be sent to the gardens or one of the upper rooms. Instead, Dolohov thrust something into her hand.

‘This is a Portkey. Use it at once – the Dark Lord needs you.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘Yes. He was lucky. Colin Rosier took the full force of the blast.’

Colin? Her Uncle Colin?!

She looked back towards the space between the columns, where something large and dark lay beneath a cloak. Beside it, Aunt Evelyn knelt, weeping bitterly. It must have been she who had screamed for a Healer a moment earlier.

‘Does Evan know?’

‘Not yet.’ Dolohov’s face, dusted with plaster, twisted as though in pain. ‘He thinks his father’s only wounded. I sent him to search the house. Let him keep at it – these are his last moments of peace … You must hurry, the Dark Lord’s waiting.’

‘Am I dispatched there to protect him?’

‘No. He needs another Legilimens. We’re about to check everyone who attended the ceremony. He can’t manage it alone.’

‘But there’s also Mulciber and –’

‘There aren’t many he can trust right now,’ Antonin said curtly. ‘Go.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, gripping the Portkey tightly.

***

She arrived not at Headquarters but at some other, unfamiliar place – a small, dilapidated room where the wallpaper was peeling from the walls. Clearly, no one lived here: every surface lay under a thick film of dust, and the tightly drawn curtains admitted no light, allowing no view of what might be happening outside. It was probably one of those ‘clean’ houses kept for emergencies – a place to hide temporarily, to wait out a raid.

The Dark Lord stood by the window, fastening his shirt.

‘Apologies,’ he said, turning towards Bella. But she was undisturbed by his half-dressed state; all her attention was fixed on whether he was injured. The Dark Lord looked almost as he always did, save for a few scratches and hair dusted with plaster. His robes and the old shirt, soaked with blood, lay in a heap on the floor.

‘Don’t worry – it’s not my blood,’ he said, catching her glance. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. Your help is most welcome. But I must say, I found it interesting that after the explosion, the first person you thought of was your husband – not me.’

His tone was calm, matter-of-fact rather than accusatory, yet a wave of burning shame swept over Bella.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ she stammered, too flustered to meet his eyes. ‘I was dazed. I didn’t know what I was doing –’

He stepped closer, took her by the chin, and looked directly into her eyes. Bella felt the familiar dizziness as her memories unfolded before him. When he had finished reviewing them, the Dark Lord gave a nod of satisfaction.

‘All clear. I’m glad you haven’t broken your oath. As for running to Rodolphus – don’t be ashamed. It’s only natural. “And the two shall become one flesh ...” The man you share the bed with will always mean more to you than the one you don’t. I’m saddened, of course, but not angry. I need you very much right now.’

He let her go.

‘Surely, you understand that the assassination attempt was the work of one of our own?’ he said, pulling on clean robes. ‘No outsider could have entered the manor. One of ours must have cast the explosive spell and triggered it when I was near. He or she had even waited with admirable gallantry until the children were out of the hall. Now, our task is to find out who it was. But interrogating two hundred guests is too much even for me. And just now, there’s no one I can trust except you.’

Bella kissed his hand.

‘Praise the Ladies of Avalon that you’re unharmed! I’ll do everything in my power to help.’

The Dark Lord winced slightly – he disliked it when she invoked gods – but all he said aloud was:

‘Thank you, my dear. I knew I could rely on you.’

The following five or six hours blurred together for her into one long, monotonous, and exhausting work. The stream of people brought in from the Malfoy Manor never ceased. Each had to be subjected to Legilimency. Bella searched their memories for images of the ceremony, especially of what had taken place between the columns at the back of the hall, and for older recollections as well – anything that might reveal a trace of conspiracy. At first, she noticed who stood before her, but after the first dozen or so, faces ceased to matter. She spat out her commands like curses:

‘Closer! Look me in the eye! Don’t move! Don’t look away!’

She had no time for delicacy and barrelled into their minds like a Bludger, brutally and without warning. Some endured it calmly, but most began to tremble, scream, vomit, or try to run away. One even lost control of their bladder. Bella felt like she was working in a slaughterhouse. Lady Morgan, had the world truly run out of people who could keep their composure, leaving only hysterics behind? Her subjects cried out in pain and tried to flee, forcing her to call in already examined fighters from Travers’s combat group to hold them down. Travers himself was absent – the Dark Lord had removed him and ordered him to await judgment at Headquarters.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bella saw Lucius and Narcissa being brought in, but the Dark Lord would not allow her to perform Legilimency on them.

‘The last thing I need is a conflict of interest,’ he said.

Later, Rodolphus appeared. His examination took the longest, but in the end, the Dark Lord pronounced:

‘All clear. You may return to your duties. Tell me, though – why have you brought this?’ He nodded at the sack in Rodolphus’s hands.

‘There’s a rat inside, my Lord.’

‘I already saw that in your memories,’ the Dark Lord snapped, irritated. ‘Do you truly think the best use of my time is examining a dead rat from Malfoy Manor?’

‘It isn’t dead, my Lord. Just stunned. This rat was right beside the explosion site. I thought that if you could look into its memory, we might see the culprit through its eyes. I know animals are difficult to read, but with your unparalleled abilities –’

‘I’ve never reviewed a rat’s memories before,’ the Dark Lord said drily. ‘Very well – leave it. Let it be a new experience for me. Just make sure it won’t escape.’

‘Yes, my Lord. I’ve charmed the sack – it’s sealed tight.’

‘Excellent. Now go on with your work, and we’ll return to ours.’

Bella signalled to the guards. They brought the next subject before her – one of the women who had been gossiping with Narcissa in the small drawing room only a few hours earlier. The woman was forced to her knees and held firmly by the shoulders. Bella lifted her chin, compelled her to meet her gaze, raised her wand, and said:

‘Legilimens.’

As Bella entered her mind, the woman let out a piercing scream and began to thrash, trying to break free. But the guards held her fast, and she was made to endure the whole of it to the end.

Chapter Text

Chapter 41

25th July 1981 – one year after Colin Rosier’s death

It was nearly midday when they entered the village. The North Sea lay just beyond the hill, close enough for the wind to carry the salty tang of seaweed on its breath.

Debham-on-Sea stretched along a single main road, winding between low stone walls and hedgerows. The wind tugged at garlands and portraits of some fair-haired female Muggle in a tiara, strung between trees and lampposts. Muggles bustled everywhere, trimming hedges, whitewashing kerbs, and washing windows. A poster on the notice board declared in bold, big letters:

STREET PARTY – 29 JULY. Music. Tea. Jelly. Coronation Chicken. Join us in the square!

‘Wonder what they’re celebrating?’ Rowle muttered.

Bella shot a sidelong glance at the fair-haired man. Unlike herself, he wasn’t on Polyjuice Potion – not public enough to warrant concealment. Thorfinn Rowle fancied he looked like a Viking. In Bella’s view, if there was anything Scandinavian about him, it was closer to Danish bacon.

‘How did you get through Hogwarts without learning to read?’ she asked, pointing towards the banner above the square, where large letters proclaimed:

ROYAL WEDDING CELEBRATION! CONGRATULATIONS TO PRINCE CHARLES AND LADY DIANA!

She guessed Rowle’s next line before he even opened his mouth.

‘Blimey, so Muggles have a prince?’

‘Yes, and a queen, too.’

He sniggered.

‘You don’t think a woman can rule?’ she asked coldly.

Rowle, stupid as he was, sensed he’d stepped onto dangerous ground.

‘No, I ... Well, why not?’

‘Splendid. Now shut up and stop gawping at the Muggles.’

In truth, she hadn’t chosen this idiot herself. She’d have preferred to work alone – never mind all that rot about team spirit. But ever since she’d had to take over the combat group from Evan Rosier, training halfwits had become her new profession. Jugson and Gibbon were relatively manageable, but Rowle was fresh, hopeless, and inexplicably full of himself. He was afraid of Bella, but not enough to keep his mouth shut.

Never mind, she’ll correct that soon.

In the village square, Muggles were setting up a stage. Folded wooden table frames, decorated with red and white ribbons, lay nearby. On the tarmac, someone had chalked the outline of a crown.

‘Buy gingerbread! All proceeds to the unemployed miners’ fund!’ A thin woman in a spotted headscarf, manning a small street stall with piles of colourful packets, stopped them as they were going towards the stage.

Bella approached, pretending to examine the packets.

‘Hello. How’s trade?’

‘Not bad. Nearly ten pounds since this morning,’ the woman replied, then added under her breath: ‘Everything’s going according to the plan. One target is inside the church, the rest at home. Is it the two of you today?’

‘Yes. One’s surplus,’ Bella said, taking a packet of cookies at random, ‘but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘How’s Rosier?’

‘No change.’

When Bella moved away from the stall, Rowle asked:

‘How d’you know that Muggle?’

Bella covered her eyes with her hand, exasperated.

‘That’s Mervina Rennings from the Office, you dumbass.’

Rowle’s pink, self-satisfied face turned beetroot, but he didn’t dare talk back. Bella, meanwhile, turned left towards the church, above which rose a squat, weathered tower.

‘Stay here,’ she ordered him. ‘But don’t just stick around – pretend you’re reading the notices. Here, chew on these cookies to look busy. Don’t worry, they’re edible, not Muggle-made.’

Rowle obediently popped a cookie into his mouth and stared at a sheet that read:

Celebration choir rehearsal at 12:00. Bring your lyrics.

Bella pushed open the heavy oak door with its wrought-iron handle and stepped inside. After the bright summer sunlight, the church was cool and dim. The air smelt faintly of damp, wax, dust, and old paper. Everything seemed quiet and safe, yet she couldn’t help but shiver.

Once, this area had been overrun by witch hunters, including the infamous Matthew Hopkins. (1) Just a few miles away, Mary Lakeland was burned alive for the crime of killing her Muggle husband with a spell. (2) The Wizards’ Council had confiscated her wand, after which the Muggles had captured her without effort. No one lifted a finger to save her. After all, how could one possibly sympathise with a murderess?

The hearsay was that Mary Lakeland’s ghost still appeared at the site of her execution. But no one ever mentioned her – or the other murdered witches – in the History of Magic lessons, unlike the fictional Wendelin the Weird.

Bella didn’t like Muggle churches. To her, they stank of wizarding blood.

***

A narrow nave, with pews lined up on both sides, stretched before her. On the right, a tall grey-haired woman in a tartan skirt, her spectacles hanging from a chain, sat at the piano. Several Muggles with sheet music in their hands stood besides, droning as best as they could:

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen –

Two small Muggle female twins lost their melody and giggled. The woman at the piano stopped playing. On seeing Bella, or rather, the young red-haired Muggle female whose appearance she had assumed, the woman asked pleasantly:

‘Good afternoon, are you here for rehearsal? Please, do join us! We’ve only just started.’

Her accent was unusual for Suffolk. It was Scottish, hard and chiselled, with a clipped quality oddly reminiscent of German.

‘Actually, I’m here for you,’ said Bella. ‘Are you Elspeth MacKinnon? You’ve been asked to come to the stage.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know. Something about the celebration programme. They said it was urgent.’

The woman sighed.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to the choir. ‘Let’s take a short break. I hope this won’t take long.’

The adults Muggles pulled sour faces, but the twins looked thrilled. As Bella and the musician left the church, the two little Muggles began hopping across the worn stone floor tiles. One of the adults, lowering their voice, told them to behave.

Bella politely held the heavy door open for Elspeth MacKinnon.

‘Thank you,’ the woman smiled.

‘You’re welcome. Imperio,’ said Bella, touching her lightly with her wand. ‘Now, go home.’

***

They headed for a handsome old Tudor-style cottage standing on the edge of the village. Beyond the gate, a garden path began, lined on either side with tall pink and yellow hollyhocks. The front door was painted a deep shade of green.

The MacKinnon family had moved into this cottage from their Isle of Skye house about a month ago, when it had become too dangerous to stay there. Fleeing five hundred miles south and losing themselves among Muggles, where no one would think to look for them, had been a good idea. They’d taken care: dressed like Muggles, lived like Muggles, didn’t Apparate anywhere near the house. They told their new neighbours that the father, Angus, had lost his job ‘due to the cutbacks’, and the family had decided to move somewhere warmer, with more opportunities. The mother, Elspeth, who had been a music teacher before the move, had offered her services to the local church.

The MacKinnons had done everything right, and under other circumstances, they might have remained hidden in Debham-on-Sea for a long time. But their address had been passed to the Dark Lord by a mysterious informant within the Order of the Phoenix – a secret sympathiser who had appeared only last year and whose identity the Dark Lord would not disclose even to the Inner Circle. In the Office, they’d nicknamed him Q – from the German word ‘Quelle’, meaning ‘source’.

Q was a rare find. His information was always detailed and accurate. Thanks to him, the elimination of the Order of the Phoenix members progressed much more swiftly. Beyond the Dark Lord’s orders, there was also a personal motive in this case: vengeance for the terrorist attack the previous year that had resulted in Colin Rosier's death. For a long time, they had searched for traitors within their ranks, but eventually, the investigation confirmed that it had been the Order of the Phoenix behind the operation. However, the method they had used to breach the protected manor and plant the explosive remained unknown.

Q had reported the MacKinnons’ new address immediately after their move, but the Office had waited to avoid exposing their source. Only a few days ago, the operation was approved. It was Bella who suggested carrying it out in broad daylight, when no one would expect danger. Dolohov had approved the plan, and now she was bringing it to completion.

***

Since Elspeth MacKinnon had personally let the guests in, her husband, suspecting nothing, didn’t even glance out from the kitchen, but merely called:

‘Who’s that with you?’

‘Choir members,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘We’re only in for a moment. I’ll fetch the music sheets, and we’ll head back. Where’s Marlene?’

‘Upstairs,’ he called back over the clatter of running water and clinking dishes. ‘Been studying for her exam since this morning. Bit of breakfast, then straight back to the books.’

Standing in the hallway with her wand in hand, Bella listened intently. In truth, the parents were not the primary target. She wasn’t sure how Marlene had managed to convince them to flee, but one thing was clear: they had no idea what their dear daughter had become involved in.

Light, almost weightless footsteps echoed from the first floor. Marlene MacKinnon had evidently sensed that something was wrong. Unlike her parents, she had combat training. As soon as she stepped onto the landing, she opened fire.

But Bella had expected it. She blocked the incoming spell at once and shoved Elspeth forward.

‘Drop your wand if you don’t want me to kill your mother!’ she shouted.

The girl on the stairs met her gaze without fear. Her brown eyes shifted from Bella to Elspeth – calculating, weighing the risk.

‘Drop it,’ Bella reminded her, pressing the tip of her wand harder into Elspeth’s throat. The woman only smiled, vacant and serene.

Marlene pressed her lips together, then slowly extended her arm and let her wand drop at her feet. Rowle was about to lunge forward, but Bella barked:

‘Stop! Don’t go near her!’

Of course, Marlene was waiting for that idiot to come close. She’d been taught the same things Bella had, and she definitely knew how to act at close-quarters contact. Bella could almost hear the gears turning in Rowle’s head, slow and creaky, before he finally used Accio to summon the wand.

The sound of water in the kitchen stopped. Angus appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a tea towel.

‘What’s going ...’

A Stupefy dropped him on the spot. Marlene cried out and sprang towards her father, but Bella pressed her wand more firmly against Elspeth’s neck, and the girl froze at once.

‘Bind them,’ she ordered Rowle. ‘Drag them into the kitchen and make sure they can’t touch anything.’

***

The kitchen was utterly Muggle, with everything in it artificial. The smooth white surfaces of the table and cupboards, the unnaturally uniform floor that was painted to resemble stone tiles, and the glaringly bright red kettle with white polka dots looked like imitations of real objects. The only things that seemed authentic were the flowerpots on the windowsill. Fortunately, Bella didn’t have to deal with the search – that was Rennings' job.

Bella summoned Rennings with a signal coin, and the false cookie seller appeared within a few minutes. Any opportunity to gain access to the home of a member of the Order of the Phoenix presented a wealth of valuable information that couldn’t be overlooked. After quickly scanning the sitting room and kitchen, Mervina went upstairs but returned almost immediately, holding a small mirror.

‘Look what I found in Marlene’s bedroom. I think she uses this for communication,’ she said.

‘Do you communicate with your Order of the Phoenix friends through this?’ Bella inquired, lifting the Silencing Charm from the bound girl.

‘No,’ she replied dully. ‘It’s ... personal.’

Bella leaned closer, peering into her eyes, and flicked her wand. Marlene screamed piercingly and began thrashing against her bonds, trying to twist away, but Bella planted her boot firmly on the girl’s stomach to hold her still. A rush of images from Marlene’s memory whirled across her mind like a carousel.

After about five minutes, Bella straightened up, stretching luxuriously to ease the stiffness in her back from the awkward position, and transferred the memories she had extracted into a securely charmed phial. Marlene lay on the floor, breathing heavily. A sharp smell of vomit hung in the air – the girl had been sick several times during the Legilimency. Bella cleared away the mess with a wave of her wand. Nearby, Elspeth wept silently, desperately trying to reach her daughter with her hands bound. The effects of the Imperius Curse had worn off under the shock, and only now did she fully comprehend what was happening.

Behind her, Bella heard a rustling sound. She turned to see Rowle rummaging through the cupboards. Suddenly, a swift stinging hex struck the back of his head with such force that he yelped and spun around.

‘Stand by the window and keep an eye on the street. Make sure you can’t be seen from outside!’ she commanded before turning back to the prisoners. They were struggling on the floor, attempting to free themselves, but they froze the moment she approached. Tears glistened in Elspeth’s eyes as she looked pleadingly first at Bella, then at her daughter.

The Polyjuice Potion Bella had drunk an hour earlier was wearing off: her fingers tingled, and her hair grew rapidly, tickling her skin. The terror in the MacKinnons’ eyes told her everything – they had recognised her. Once her face had adorned recruitment posters for the Knights of Walpurgis; now it stared down from every wall beneath the word “Wanted”. Every member of the Order of the Phoenix knew that seeing this face meant death.

‘Marlene,’ Bella said matter‑of‑factly, plaiting her hair into a braid, ‘I want to tell you something.’

She stood over the bound girl, almost touching her cheek with the toe of her boot.

‘By the Dark Lord’s order, you are sentenced to death. You’re a Pureblood, but instead of joining the sacred cause, you’ve betrayed your own blood, sided with the enemy, and joined the Order of the Phoenix. People like you have no right to live. If it were up to me, I’d kill you and your parents right now. But the Dark Lord is just and merciful ...’

She took several hairpins from her pocket and began fastening the braid around her head so it would not get in her way.

‘By his grace, you still have a chance to make amends. Repent, atone for your sins, swear fealty to him – and you will be cleansed. For you, this is the only way to save yourself and your parents. So says the Dark Lord.’

This was the absolute truth. The movement was chronically short of people, and the Dark Lord had recently ordered amnesty to be offered to anyone who could prove themselves helpful. Deep down, Bella didn’t believe it would work – she had never seen a fanatic listen to the voice of reason – but the Dark Lord had said there had already been one successful case, probably referring to the mysterious Q, so she had to at least try.

Marlene licked her dry lips.

‘I agree,’ she said.

Her father began to struggle, letting out a muffled, furious roar – he could not speak under Silencio – but Bella did not even glance his way.

‘That’s very sensible of you, if you’re being honest,’ she said with approval. ‘But I suspect you might think you can pretend to agree just to save your parents and then find a way to back out of it. No, my dear. First, you must prove that you are genuinely ready to cooperate.’

Rennings came down from upstairs with several papers and photographs. She held out one of the photographs to Bella.

‘Look what I’ve found. We didn’t know about this.’

‘Morgan!’ Bella examined the image with interest. ‘Very interesting. Well, that matches what I saw in her memories. May I take this too?’

‘Fine. Am I still needed?’

‘No, we’ll manage.’ Bella handed her the phial of memories. ‘Thanks.’

When the door closed behind Rennings, she turned back to Marlene.

‘If you answer a few questions honestly now, everything will be fine. First, name the other members of the Order of the Phoenix.’

‘Basil ... Basil Thorncroft,’ Marlene whispered. ‘And Gareth Morrow.’

‘Those are ones we’ve already found and killed,’ Bella interrupted. ‘Name the living.’

She lifted the Silencing Charm from Elspeth with a swift flick of her wand. Perhaps the mother’s words would help her daughter see reason.

‘Marlene, darling,’ Elspeth sobbed, ‘don’t tell them anything! They’ll kill us anyway, it’s a trap, it’s –’

‘Silencio!’ Bella barked.

Like mother, like daughter. No wonder Marlene’s ended up in the Order of the Phoenix!

‘Alright,’ she said after a brief pause, suppressing her irritation. ‘I’ll give you a second chance. Who, exactly, in the Order of the Phoenix has organised the assassination attempt on the Dark Lord last year?’

‘I don’t know about any assassination attempt,’ Marlene mumbled. ‘We don’t share plans with each other. It’s safer that way.’

‘Lying again.’ Bella nudged her with the toe of her boot. ‘I saw you discussing the explosion in your memories. But it was only a test. In truth, the Dark Lord has already identified the perpetrators – my cousin, the blood traitor Sirius Black, and his friend James Potter. If you were trying to protect them, it was pointless. You’ve only harmed yourself. Last question: where are the Potters hiding?’

‘I don’t know!’ the girl cried. ‘Honestly, I don’t know! They haven’t spoken to anyone for ages, because they don’t trust anyone!’

‘Well, at least you’ve finally told the truth. Isn't it ironic that the Potters’ friends in the Order have no idea about their lives? Do you know why that is? Because you’re all suspicious of one another. It’s quite the charming group you’ve gathered, isn’t it?’

***

Marlene was silent, breathing raggedly, her eyes fixed on Bella. At this stage, the prisoners could be killed on the spot. But Bella fancied a little entertainment.

‘Marlene, of the three questions, you gave me only one usable answer. That means I have every right to finish off your parents right now. But I’ll give you one last chance. See this mirror?’ She crouched beside the girl. ‘Your personal one, isn’t it?’

Bella turned it slowly between her fingers.

‘What if you were to call Dorcas Meadowes here right now?’

Marlene flinched as if she’d been struck.

‘Who’s that?’ she tried to play dumb, but Bella only laughed.

‘Have you forgotten her already? Your closest friend, so close she’s always in your heart … and in certain other parts of your body as well.’

She held up the photograph of Marlene kissing Dorcas. In Bella, it stirred a peculiar feeling. Since meeting Alecto, women like that had filled her with revulsion, but there was always some greedy, almost morbid interest in it, mixed with the disgust. Now, she studied Marlene’s face intently as it turned chalk-white with horror.

‘Dorcas doesn’t know anything ... she’s not in the Order ...’

‘Lying again,’ Bella said calmly. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t harm her. Just call her here, and I’ll make her the same offer I made you. She wouldn’t want your death, would she? If she agrees, you can join our ranks together and live as a couple. With us, by the way, no one interferes in private lives.’

‘Her father disappeared when she was still a little girl, and no one knows what happened to him,’ Marlene said bitterly. ‘She’s convinced the Death Eaters did it. Do you really think she’ll want anything to do with you?’

Well, well. That was interesting. So Dorcas was the daughter of that Meadowes they’d dealt with during a training exercise years ago. They’d long forgotten about it, but Dorcas had grown up dreaming of revenge. No wonder she’d joined the Order of the Phoenix.

‘As far as I remember, she still has a mother,’ Bella observed coolly. ‘And she has you. People do all sorts of things for their loved ones. So, will you call her?’

Marlene was silent.

‘Alright,’ Bella said, rising to her feet and nodding to Rowle. ‘Kill this one.’ She indicated Angus.

The man's eyes bulged with horror as he moaned helplessly, trying to speak. A moment later, a green flash split the air, and Angus fell still, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling.

‘Your mother won’t tell us anything new,’ Bella said coldly. ‘But you can still save her – and your beloved. So?’

Marlene remained silent, tears streaming down her face from beneath her tightly shut eyelids. Bella gave Rowle a silent nod, and he raised his wand. Elspeth MacKinnon, who had closed her eyes and was moving her lips rapidly as if in prayer, died instantly, not even seeing the green light before it struck.

Yet still, Marlene said nothing. Against her own will, Bella felt a flicker of respect. The girl was holding up remarkably well for a blood traitor, and that deserved acknowledgment.

‘Marlene,’ she said, straightening to her full height and gazing down at the girl lying between her parents’ bodies, ‘you have dignity, and I like that. You are not going to die in battle, but you will still die with glory. Now I’ll open the Gate for you and free you from the bonds of life. Hear the final instructions before you set out on your journey –’

She glanced at the window; sunlight streamed in diagonally, illuminating the floor. Her voice shifted to a steady chant:

‘Audi, viator,’ she began, reading aloud from the ancient funeral canon of Aurelius Brittus, almost never used these days. ‘Hic dies supremus est, dies singularis, dies ultimus. Mortales homines sumus, mundi viatores sumus, sed mors non est finis, sed porta –’

Behind her, Rowle coughed.

‘Look, can’t we just skip this?’

Without turning, Bella flicked her wand and heard the dull thump of Rowle’s body hitting the floor under a Stupefy. She didn’t bother to check on him and continued calmly.

‘Audi, nauta. Via, quae tendit sub moenia aeterna Avalonis, nunc te vocat. Post transitum maris procellosi, videbis lumen diei non occidentis. Sit tibi terra levis, sit tibi via facilis, vade in pace … May your path be easy, Marlene. Hold no grudge.’

The green light flared one last time. Silence fell over the room. Bella paused to listen, but no unusual sounds came from outside. If any Muggles had seen the flashes, they’d likely assumed a distant storm was brewing.

She kicked Rowle sharply in the ribs to bring him round.

‘Get up. We’re heading back to Headquarters.’

As they left the yard and closed the gate behind them, they saw the same twin Muggles from the church running down the street. Rowle quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm to avoid being remembered, but Bella didn’t bother.

‘Excuse me!’ one of the little Muggles called out. ‘Is Mrs MacKinnon home? She’s been gone ages, and the parents sent us to check!’

‘She’s home,’ Bella said with a sweet smile. ‘Tell your parents to come and have a look. Now, do you want to see some lovely fireworks?’

‘Yes!’ cried one, while the other wrinkled her nose doubtfully.

‘But it’s daytime ... Will we be able to even see it?’

‘Oh yes,’ Bella assured her. ‘You’ll never forget it. Look.’

She raised her wand to the sky.

‘Morsmordre!’

High above the MacKinnon house, a vast emerald-green skull with a serpent curling from its mouth burst into view and hung motionless in the air. It was visible across the entire village. In the garden next door, Muggles dropped their tools and stared open-mouthed at the sky. So stunned were they by the spectacle, no one noticed Bella and Rowle Disapparate.

***

At Headquarters, Bella led Thorfinn to one of the empty cellar rooms typically used for interrogations, holding prisoners, and disciplinary actions.

‘Why are we going there?’ he asked, glancing around nervously.

‘To avoid interruptions,’ Bella explained, shutting the door behind them. It was charmed – no sound would pass beyond it. ‘So, Thorfinn, tell me: does pure blood deserve respect?’

‘Well ... yes,’ he replied, casting anxious looks at both her and the door.

‘Should the death of a Pureblood witch or wizard be considered a tragedy, or is it a joke worth nothing?’

‘It’s a tragedy, of course, but what’s this about?’

‘It’s about the fact that you interrupted me when I was performing my duty – seeing a worthy adversary through the Gate ... Crucio!’

If Rowle had hoped to escape, it was in vain. The spell struck before he could take a single step. He fell to the floor, his body arching in convulsions, and let out a shrill scream that made Bella's ears ring. A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers.

She counted to ten before lifting the spell. Rowle lay twitching on the floor, trying to reach for his wand, which had rolled away. However, his fingers wouldn't cooperate, especially when Bella stepped on them, shifting all her weight onto that foot.

‘Thorfinn, are you sorry for what you did?’

‘Yes!’ he wailed. ‘Yes, you bitch, let me go, it hurts!’

‘Not “bitch”. How should you address me properly?’ she asked, grinding her heel into his fingers.

‘Yes, ma’am! I won’t do it again! Forgive me!’

‘Good. I see you’re making progress. Now let’s reinforce what you’ve learnt,’ she said, calmly raising her wand. ‘Crucio.’