A warm breeze blew through the glassless window, relieving the coldness usually occupying Bellatrix’s cell. Bellatrix smiled to herself as she leaned against the cell wall. The dementors hadn’t yet diminished her happiness that came with yesterday’s news. Her shackles seemed lighter, her hunger wasn’t bothering her as much as usual, and she was too excited to fall asleep.


My Lord has risen. He will be soon coming to rescue me, and I can return to his duty.


Last night, during a fit of blurry, terrifying nightmares swarming with dementors, Bellatrix awoke abruptly. Immediately, she knew why. Her left forearm was burning; her Dark Mark was clearer than ever and had turned the darkest black.


She jumped up and laughed maniacally, listening to her laughter echoing in her cell over and over again. This drew the attention of a dozen more dementors than her usual guard, and when they had reached her door, their presence caused her to fall back into the frightening nightmares she had just awakened from.


Now, however, it was hours later. The cold of the cell woke her, but only her usual guard of dementors remained, so she was free to stay awake and think.


How she longed to serve him. This cell had separated her from him for over fourteen years. But soon, she would be free. Free to arrive at his side the moment he summoned her. Free to kiss the hem of his robes the minute she arrived. She ached to hear his cold, powerful voice deliver speeches and instructions.


Most of all, she knew she would be honoured beyond all of the other Death Eaters. She knew she was the most loyal follower of the Dark Lord. Unlike the many others, she had been enduring Azkaban. She didn’t attempt to get out by reporting names to the Ministry. She didn’t protest her sentence during her trial. She took her imprisonment as a necessary sacrifice to her Lord.


Two hundred hostile faces glared down at them. The dementors placed Bellatrix into one of the four chained chairs and tightened the chains. Barty Crouch Jr sat to her left, and her husband, Rodolphus, and his brother, Rabastan, sat to her right. Barty was pleading with his mother and father, struggling against the chains, to avoid his Azkaban sentence. Rodolphus was cowering in his chair, looking more nervous by the minute. Rabastan’s face was blank. He seemed to think all was lost, and accepted Azkaban as the end to his life. Bellatrix, however, was sitting straight and tall, taking her imminent imprisonment in Azkaban as a mark of her loyalty to the Dark Lord.


Bellatrix watched disinterestedly as the jury raised their hands in unison, like a triumphant wave drowning its victims. Barty began to scream to his mother again. Bellatrix got up from her seat slowly with the others. She looked up at Crouch, into his livid face. He truly believed he could triumph over the Dark Lord, she thought.


“The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us in Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone are faithful! We alone tried to find him!” she shouted.


Now the Dark Lord has risen again. And he would free Bellatrix, and welcome her back into his inner circle more vehemently than before.


She ached to serve him again. She had been imagining his return again and again, making her thirst for his presence even more. Becoming his follower was the best decision she had ever made. It gave her life purpose, meaning, and fulfilled her desire to work towards pureblood domination. She felt thankful for how she first found out about the Dark Lord.


Bellatrix sat in the back of Transfiguration with a long letter in her left hand (hidden under her desk) and a ruffled quill in her right hand. McGonagall was droning on about their imminent N.E.W.T.s, but Bellatrix paid no attention. Her plans for after Hogwarts did not concern N.E.W.T. exams. The alliance she longed to join did not care about your score on some petty, Ministry-manufactured exam. The group that she craved to pledge her loyalty to was secret, determined, and soon to be very powerful.


Bellatrix had learned about this group from her mother’s older brother, Sergius. Bellatrix and Uncle Sergius regularly exchanged letters, which led Uncle Sergius to reveal his alliance with a group that aimed for pureblood domination. The letter Bellatrix had clutched in her hand described the leader of this group himself, whom Bellatrix had been itching to know about for months. She read the lengthy scroll feverishly, soaking up every fact and detail her uncle had divulged. They called him the Dark Lord and he was the most commendable person Bellatrix had ever heard of. She longed to meet him, to finally become one of his followers. When she reached the end of the letter, she yearned to know more about the Dark Lord. She knew that she would treasure this letter as the first time she discovered the him.


McGonagall began a lecture about Conjuring Spells, but Bellatrix ignored her. Under her desk, she touched her wand to the letter, which hid the words until she chose to read them again. She tucked it into the pocket of her bag that contained his past letters, which were far less exciting and informative than this one. Uncle Sergius had kept his letters very vague, to preserve the secrecy of the group, but he also wanted to tell Bellatrix everything he felt he could, because he knew what a valuable member she would be. Pretending to be taking notes, Bellatrix began to write a response to her uncle. She thanked him profusely for letting her know about The Dark Lord, and closed the letter, as she always did, with “Please let me know when I can join you.” She had been closing her letters like this for a year and a half, but Uncle Sergius still felt that she was too young to be a follower of the Dark Lord.


Bellatrix reflected on his past letters as she chewed on her quill, appearing to have taken interest in McGonagall’s explanation of the Inanimatus Conjurus spell. Uncle Sergius’s letters grew longer and more detailed with time, and Bellatrix became quite pleased that her uncle admired her enough to give her so much information. Though her interest in classes was often feigned, her interest and trustworthiness expressed in her responses to Uncle Sergius were genuine. Bellatrix knew that this group was the right place to be, and she was quite happy she had someone from the inside helping her join the Dark Lord’s followers. She signed the letter and rolled it up. The bell rang, and she left her seat and headed straight for the owlery, eager to answer her uncle.


She sighed and lay down on the stone bench in her cell. How she craved to serve him! Being a Death Eater was even better and more rewarding than she had imagined it would be when she was in school. She knew that her return to his inner circle would be honoured most highly and being a Death Eater would be more fulfilling than ever before. She stretched out as far as her tiny cell would allow, and fell asleep, with the image of her Lord’s formidable frame floating through her mind.

“Stop it!” Andromeda whispered, grinning. Ted had levitated a note to her, but kept moving it this way and that, so she couldn’t catch it. She looked up at Professor Slughorn, but he was still turned towards the board, writing notes about the effects of Shrinking Solution.


Ted looked up at Professor Slughorn too, gave his wand a small flick, and let Andromeda catch the note. He winked at her and hastily pretended to copy the notes when Professor Slughorn turned around.


Andromeda rolled her eyes. The note read:


Psssst.
When is that
Transfiguration essay due?


She wrote ‘Tomorrow’ underneath his message, crumpled up the scrap of parchment, checked that Professor Slughorn had turned around again, and chucked it at the back of Ted’s head.


He turned to face Andromeda. She stuck out her tongue at him. Ted grinned at her and read her response before pretending to take notes again.


The girl sitting next to Andromeda glared at her for a few seconds, and exchanged looks with the girl on the other side of her. Andromeda was used to this. The aisle separating the Hufflepuff desks from the Slytherin desks was more like a deep trench. Nobody crossed it, and nobody bothered with what was on the other side.


Andromeda ignored this, though. She and Ted tossed notes to each other in Potions almost every class since the beginning of the year.


Slughorn had turned towards the board again, and Ted had another note ready. This time he let it soar right into her hand.


She unfolded the second note. It read:


And what
exactly was that
essay even on?


Andromeda smiled to herself and replied ‘Animagi’ before crumpling the note and throwing it back to Ted, who caught it this time but-


“Miss Black! Please refrain from throwing things around my classroom,” said Professor Slughorn. The whole class was staring at her.


The bell rang.


“Oh, dear, is class finished already? Twelve inches on the side effects of Shrinking Potions! Due Tuesday!” Professor Slughorn yelled over the noisy crowd leaving the room.


“Thanks a lot,” said Andromeda sarcastically, now among the crowd heading to the Great Hall for dinner.


“At least he didn’t take any points off you,” Ted reminded her, slightly jostled by the crowd in the dreary dungeon corridor. “So … first Hogsmeade trip this weekend. I can’t wait. You’ve got to show me everything. We have to make sure I try butterbeer.”


“Of course, Ted. You made me promise.”


While most of the third-years were visiting Hogsmeade for the first time this Saturday, Andromeda had visited several times before. Her mother had taken Andromeda and her sisters to Gladrags Wizardwear for robes countless times. She’d also been to the Three Broomsticks for the butterbeer and Honeydukes for sweets. Ted’s parents, on the other hand, were Muggles.


Andromeda found Muggles to be interesting. She often had Ted explain things like electricity and Muggle post. She would sneak peeks at the odd Muggle Studies textbook someone had left in the library. She had gazed interestedly at some Muggle parents shopping in Diagon Alley before her mother whisked her away to Gringotts.


Her mother was the reason she kept her interest in Muggles quiet. The Black family was, and had been for generations, obsessed with keeping the family pureblood. Anyone who married a non-pureblood was removed from the family tree. They looked down on Muggle-borns, which they considered to be just as bad as Muggles. This is why Andromeda hadn’t even told her mother that she was friends with Ted.


Lost in thought, Andromeda was surprised that they had entered the Entrance Hall. Students were coming down the marble staircase, joining the crowd slowly making its way through the doors of the Great Hall. Andromeda and Ted followed the crowd to dinner.


The ceiling showed a cloudy sky, which somewhat dampened the warm atmosphere given off by the candles hovering over the students. Chatter and the chink of knives and forks filled the air.


“Bye,” said Andromeda, turning towards the Slytherin table.


“Bye, Dromeda.”


She watched him walk towards the Hufflepuff table as she sat down. Bellatrix, Andromeda’s older sister, glared at her from across the table. Luckily, Lucius Malfoy sat down next to Bellatrix and started chatting with her, saving Andromeda from the nasty remark Bellatrix was sure to have up her sleeve.

---

Later that night, Andromeda sat curled up in a large green armchair in the Slytherin common room. She was trying to finish her Charms essay, but she was having trouble paying attention to The Standard Book of Spells Grade 3. Abrupt bursts of laughter kept interrupting her concentration. Lucius was telling a loud story about humiliating a Muggle-born second year to an even louder audience surrounding him.


Andromeda glared at the avid listeners. Lucius’s boasting voice made her cringe. It was disgusting, the joy they were getting from humiliating a Muggle-born. She didn’t understand how so many of her fellow Slytherins could get so much pleasure from victimizing innocent people. Who cares if someone’s parents are Muggles? That’s not a reason to resent them.


Andromeda couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up, packed away her half-finished essay, and left the common room. She took a walked down a small flight of stairs and opened the door labelled Third Years. Then she climbed into her drab green bed and fell asleep.


Ted was tossing dozens of crumpled notes to her, but before they reached her, they turned green, and then burned to ashes. Ted became frustrated. “Why aren’t you catching them?” Ted kept repeating. Andromeda was panicking, jumping around, trying to catch the notes. She looked up at the board. Bellatrix was the teacher, and she was writing out instructions on how to use Muggles in potions. When she saw Andromeda’s horrified face staring at her, she just laughed and laughed.


Andromeda woke abruptly, with laughter ringing in her ears and her stomach grumbling. She turned over, looked out of the window and saw that she had just missed the sunrise.


Eager for some breakfast, she dressed and left the common room right away and was greeted by a surprise when she reached the Entrance Hall.


Ted was walking by the archway leading down to the dungeons and stopped when he saw Andromeda. “Great, you’re up! I think Filch is letting people out in about ten minutes,” he said quickly, checking his watch.


Andromeda smiled. “Maybe I’ll even have time to eat breakfast,” she replied sarcastically.


They walked into the Great Hall together. It was almost empty; only about a dozen people were seated. The Slytherin Table was empty.


Andromeda sat down and started buttering a piece of toast. Ted stood next to her awkwardly.


“Oh, just sit. No one’s around to bother us. I’ve always thought this ‘house tables’ thing was rubbish anyway.”


“I think you’re right.” He sat down next to her and helped himself to some bacon. “So- shall we visit the Three Broomsticks first? Or Honeydukes? Which do you like better? On a scale of one to-”


“Tonks.” Bellatrix had arrived. “I don’t remember asking if any Mudbloods wanted to sit at our table.”


“Bellatrix! Come on now, don’t be so-” Andromeda protested.


“No, it’s okay, I’ll just leave-” said Ted, getting up from his seat.


“No, don’t go-”


“I’ll meet you in the Entrance Hall.” He gave Andromeda a small smile and headed towards the door.


Andromeda shot Bellatrix a nasty look and followed Ted out of the Great Hall.


She caught up to him in the Entrance Hall. “I’m really sorry,” she mumbled.


“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything.”


“But - I feel, kind of…I don’t know…responsible, I guess…”


“What? That wasn’t your fault at all…listen, don’t feel guilty for other people’s attitudes. Don’t feel bad about being a Slytherin. You’re my best friend, and no Sorting Hat can mess that up.”


Andromeda looked up at him and nodded.


“Come on, let’s go before the queue gets too long,” suggested Ted. They started walking towards the front doors. “We can have the rest of our breakfast at Honeydukes.”


Andromeda chuckled at his joke as they reached Filch. Andromeda was surprised by how relieved she felt. What did she expect? That Ted would blame her? Not talk to her anymore?


Maybe she just needed know that it was all right to be in Slytherin. Maybe she needed Ted to be the one to tell her.

Dear Draco,

I know you’ve only been at school three days, but I thought I’d send you an owl anyway. How are your classes so far? Not too hard I hope. I heard about Severus getting the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. I know you think that class is useless, but I’m just happy for Severus as he’s been wanting the job for a while now.

Things are pretty quiet here, your father is keeping busy. Bella stopped by this morning, she sends her best. I send my best too, and I hope things are going well.

Write back soon,

Love,
Mum


Narcissa Malfoy tied the letter to the leg of her screech owl and watched him fly out of the open window above the kitchen sink. She sat down at the tall polished table and looked up at the clock. Noon. The day had been just inching by, like most days had been lately.

She was alone now, save Bella’s and Lucius’s short visits, and couldn’t leave the house, now that the Ministry finally believed that her husband was a Death Eater. She had stayed fairly content without Lucius around. She still had Draco. That is, until this past summer, when Draco, her only son, had joined the Death Eaters.

She was heartbroken. It was to be expected, of course, that Draco would join up eventually. But Narcissa had kept the tiny hope that he would side with her, and stay out of the thick of things. She knew he had more of a heart than his father. She had hoped that this would be enough to keep him away from the Dark Lord’s inner circle. But he did what was expected, what was honoured, what his father thought was right.

Lucius didn’t mind that Narcissa wasn’t a Death Eater. She didn’t have to be right in the centre of the action. And Narcissa didn’t mind being married to a Death Eater. She wasn’t against pureblood domination; she just didn’t care enough to join the Death Eaters. Narcissa and Lucius had a good marriage and their difference of involvement with the Death Eaters was never a problem. But Narcissa couldn’t help slightly resenting Lucius for Draco’s decision to become a Death Eater.

Lucius wanted Draco to join. Narcissa did not. Lucius had always talked about how great it would be when his son was old enough to be a Death Eater. Narcissa never said anything. She quietly disagreed with Lucius. She felt Draco would decide for himself, and that he would choose not to join. He was not a killer.

Draco had to choose between joining and not joining, between his father and mother. Draco and Lucius did not see it this way. Only Narcissa felt the competition of the decision. Only she felt the loss.

Narcissa woke suddenly from the noise coming from downstairs. She put on her dressing gown and walked down the large sweeping staircase. Upon entering the entrance hall, she saw that the source of the noise was her husband and son.

“Mum! Mum, look!” Draco held out his left arm, revealing a snake intertwined through a skull. It was a brighter and darker black than Lucius’s Mark. “I’m truly in. The Dark Lord’s really pleased. He kept saying how much potential I have during the ceremony.”

Narcissa didn’t know how to react. She wanted to be happy for her son, wanted to share the delight glowing in his face. But she was also crushed, almost betrayed. Her son, who she thought had had too soft of a soul, entered the inner circle of the Dark Lord’s followers. She hoped he wouldn’t. She tried talking to him, hinting to him that he shouldn’t join them, but her efforts were lost on him, and now he was lost from her.

“Oh my…Draco… I-I’m so proud…” she lied. She reached out and held him close to her for a moment, inwardly saying goodbye to her son as she knew him. He was only a boy, barely sixteen, now he would be learning advanced Dark Arts, and torturing and killing people. Narcissa knew Draco wouldn’t be up to this. Who knows what he’ll be like in a year, a few months, maybe he’ll change within weeks…

When Draco got his Dark Mark, he was only home as much as his father, and Narcissa’s time at Malfoy Manor became anxious and lonely. Now that he was at school, she could send him regular owls. It comforted her that they could at least keep in touch, but she knew her anxiety would increase with every owl that he took too long to answer.

Narcissa knew that Draco could not kill Dumbledore. For one, it would be a very hard thing to do. No matter what the Dark Lord said, Dumbledore was a powerful wizard. He would not be easily fooled into traps or trickery. He is also well-protected beyond Draco’s, and perhaps the Dark Lord’s, knowledge.

Besides, Draco wouldn’t be up to it. He was not a killer.

Lucius could kill.

Bella could kill.

But Narcissa knew that her son was more like his mother, and could not kill.

Narcissa got up from the table and paced the very clean kitchen floor. He wouldn’t kill Dumbledore. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore. Then the Dark Lord will kill him. This thought entered her mind several times a day. Her reaction to this horrific thought was to pace until she was dizzy, take a sleeping potion, and nap on the couch in the parlour for a few hours.

Back and forth she paced, her thoughts a never-ending cycle. Back and forth. Back and forth. Five-year-old Draco’s happy face entered her mind. The table got nearer. The sink got nearer. She saw Draco’s triumphant face, showing his mother his fresh Dark Mark. Back to the table. Back to the sink. She imagined him, pointing a wand at Dumbledore, trembling. Back and forth. Back and forth. The Dark Lord’s angry face thrust itself into her thoughts, raising a wand, opening his mouth to cast-

Narcissa tripped slightly and grabbed hold of the sink. She pulled a vial of lavender liquid out of her robes and drained it.

Sleep was spreading through her quickly. She stumbled into the parlour and fell asleep on the black velvet of their finest couch.