Bellatrix leaned across the table, hands gripping the dark cloth covering its surface. Lucius suppressed a heavy sigh; his dark-haired sister-in-law had always adored theatrics. He knew what came next, as well: she would rise slowly from her seat at the dinner table, inching her face towards whatever attentive prey—or, rather, terrified listener—at the age of four sat trembling across from her.

“But I did not believe my sister’s affirmation,� Bellatrix breathed. “No, Scorpius. I did not trust, not even in my traitorous family.� She flicked her eyes pointedly at Lucius. “The Dark Lord did not think twice, but I… I knew that all could not be right. So I approached the crumpled, would-be corpse…�

Scorpius recoiled visibly as his great-aunt walked her fingers slowly towards him, her eyes following intently. He did not bother to keep his tremors in check. The fear had gripped the child as Lucius had known it would. Bellatrix was all too skilled at her craft.

“The cheering fell silent as I shoved my pathetic excuse of a sister aside and fell to my knees beside the limp form of Harry Potter,� she whispered, withdrawing her hand ever so slightly.

Scorpius ceased all movement. His eyes grew wide, and a blazing, fiery beacon seemed to ignite behind them. Like every Death Eater child, he knew the historic twist of fate that came next in the story: the tides had turned, and instead of the ultimate failure, all had fallen into place. The ensuing moments underlined every ideal that Scorpius had learned from birth, and the discovery of Harry Potter’s near escape was a monumental example for any child to remember ceaselessly “constant vigilance.�

“I stretched out my hand and grasped his shirt,� Bellatrix continued, eyes glazed over, as if it were not all an act to relive the events of six or so years past; her hand made a fist in the air above the elaborately carved Christmas goose. The glow of the candlelight danced in her eyes. Then… smack! She slammed her fist on the table in front of Scorpius, who yelped in terror and delight.

“Yes, my boy, I discovered his false play! I, and I alone, unveiled his attempt to pretend as my disloyal sister fell back in shock!� she said in a carrying voice. Others around the table paused in their meal to roll their eyes, cough nervously, or watch her impassioned monologue.

“Isn’t that enough?� Lucius asked tiredly, unable to bear any more as Bellatrix took a deep breath to continue. “We’ve all heard it in full many times over, even young Scorpius here.�

Bellatrix appeared highly affronted at the interruption, but she relaxed back in her seat, settling her robes and tossing her hair in a nonchalant fashion. “But of course, Lucius,� she said stiffly. “You would object. Unlike the rest of the family, you persist in defending her. Why, anyone could have mistaken a living boy for a dead one. In fact, it is not remarkable I did not repeat her error?�

Several pairs of eyes narrowed and fixed on Lucius, who sunk slightly in his seat. Bellatrix, in the height of her dramatic mood, did not smile.

“It was an honest mistake,� Lucius mumbled with a distinct air of having repeated himself a million times over to no avail. He glanced at his little grandson across the table, hoping to see—but no, his eyes were narrowed, too, and he played with his fork stubbornly, as if embarrassed of his aging grandfather.

Losing his composure, Lucius stood rapidly. “I pray you, excuse me. I feel slightly out of sorts this evening.� A few people nodded knowingly. Lucius forced a smile and ducked his head in turn, adding, “To the Dark Lord.�

Bellatrix smiled broadly at the standard evocation of their leader’s name. “Yes, to the Dark Lord… Good night, Lucius.�

Lucius did not hesitate to continue directly to the door, pausing for a fraction of a second at Bellatrix’s words. Enough was enough. He was off to retire to his room, but that evening, he would not brood or mope as he usually did. If everyone had forsaken him—Draco, his sister’s family, his grandson—then it was high time he joined his traitorous wife.


* * * * *


“Harry! Yer alive! He’s alive!�

“Silencio!� Lord Voldemort shouted.

Bellatrix dragged the boy to his feet, her wand under his chin. She withdrew his only weapon from his robes and tossed it to the side. He did not fight but merely stood limply against her tense form, his eyes fixed solemnly on Lord Voldemort.

“It… it cannot be!� Narcissa said shrilly, a keenly desperate tone in her voice. “I knew not, my Lord, I swear! Please!�

“Avada Kedavra!� Voldemort roared. Narcissa’s body fell to the earthen floor with a dull thud. Lucius yelped and rushed to her side. Bellatrix released a shrill, screeching laugh.

“How is this possible?� Voldemort hissed, striding towards his captive. “Your mother’s protection is destroyed.�

“Not entirely,� Harry said, a simple smile reminiscent of Dumbledore’s on his face.

Voldemort smiled cruelly. “If twice was not enough, I suppose I can continue using the Killing Curse until the spell does the trick.�

Several Death Eaters laughed. The ring of spectators closed in. Bellatrix threw the boy to the ground at a glance from her master.

“Now, Harry, before we return to business—and we shall, do not mistake me; if you are immune to Avada Kedavra, there are other, slower ways to kill you—you will tell me why you are not dead.� Lord Voldemort spat out the last two words, his voice dripping with venom. Bellatrix withdrew, joining the ever-tightening ring.

“Tom, I could explain, but you still wouldn’t understand,� Harry said calmly.

Voldemort’s snake-like visage contorted in a spasm of fury. The boy! How Voldemort loathed him, and not simply because of his repeated escapes: no, as much as everything else, the resemblance of his nature to Dumbledore’s was almost too much to bear.

“Legilimency it is,� he said vociferously, raising the Elder Wand.

Harry eyed it without fear. His gaze, which remained fixed on the legendary wand, was contemplative more than anything else, almost quizzical. “Still not working properly, is it?� he inquired softly.

The Dark Lord took another step toward Harry, who was now at the center of a circle of stationary Death Eaters. He did not lower his wand. Bellatrix waited for him to unleash the Cruciatus on the insolent boy between them, but the spell did not come. Voldemort’s face betrayed nothing but a calculating gaze.

“Not entirely, it would seem,� Voldemort spoke unhurriedly, “but only because you live. Tell me, what other protections have you invoked? I am anxious to lift them.�

“It’s too late for that,� Harry said. “If the wand in your hand can’t do the job, none can.�

“This wand is unstoppable, Harry,� Voldemort corrected. Suddenly, he laughed coldly.

Several Death Eaters started. One glanced towards an adjacent clump of trees with interest and retreated into the shadowed woods.

“Come, come, Harry,� Voldemort said loudly. “You are among friends. Please elaborate. It is folly to suggest that I—a wizard who has ventured into magic so intricate and unfathomable that Dumbledore did not dare attempt—armed with the Elder Wand—which I took effortlessly from Dumbledore’s corpse—should not be invincible.�

“You’re wrong, Riddle,� Harry returned evenly. “Dumbledore did dare, but he knew better.�

“Do not pretend to be wise,� Voldemort said evenly. “You have been lucky, yes, and accidents have saved you from death many times over, but that, however, does not make you a learned man any more than it does a particularly crafty sewer rat!�

“Accidents?� Harry demanded, voice rising. “Accidents? Was it an accident that my mother’s sacrifice saved my life? And was it an accident that I dueled you in the graveyard and lived to tell the tale? Was it accidental, Riddle, that I came willingly here tonight and that you could not kill me once again? Were these accidents?�

“YES! Accidents!� Voldemort cried frenetically. A shudder ran around the ring of supporters as he whirled on his heel and began to pace around the length of the circle.

“So go ahead, Riddle,� Harry said loudly. “Kill me. There’s no one here to stop you. As you said, you’re among friends, if you could call your band of thugs ‘friends.’ Go ahead.�

“I intend to,� Voldemort cried, stopping where he stood. “I certainly intend to.�

“My Lord!� a voice from outside the circle cried.

Scuffling, followed by a volley of curses, a bang, and silence greeted Harry’s ears. Lord Voldemort turned slowly in the direction of the disturbance. “Yes, Nott?�

“I’ve got someone here! I think it’s a Weasley—you should see the hair!� Nott called gleefully, shoving his way past his fellows to the center of the circle.

“A guest? Ah, well,� Voldemort said, resuming his satisfied tone. “Escort the prisoner to us.�

Nott bowed slightly, bobbing his head in excitement. With a wave of his wand, the floating form of Ginny Weasley, tied up with magical ropes, drifted through the gap in the circle.

Harry’s eyes widened fearfully, but he did not attempt to get to his feet; at least a dozen wands were trained on his head. Nagini hissed from her magical cage not far away, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who looked intensely uncomfortable with their current assignment.

Nott brought Ginny to a halt a few feet from Harry. She revolved slowly in a circle as if suspended from above. Her toes could almost brush the ground, but her body was frozen in its position: only her eyes signified life. They were fixed on Harry with a look of intensity that drove Voldemort to lower his wand and laugh.

“All too perfect, Nott,� he cried. “I am pleased.�

“Yes, Master,� Nott said, bowing once more. He strolled past Harry to take his place, grinning in satisfaction as he muttered, “Pretty thing, isn’t she?�

Harry looked murderous, but he only flinched slightly; several other wands were now aimed at Ginny’s heart.

Voldemort approached the girl at a leisurely pace. Once he was close enough to touch her with his wand, he raised his arm and, murmuring several incantations under his breath, waved the Elder Wand in a sweeping, lasso pattern.

Released from her bindings, Ginny fell to the ground. Nagini’s hissing increased as the weakened girl stumbled to her feet. She started towards Harry but stopped short as if an invisible wall blocked her path.

“She put up quite a fight,� Nott called out. Several Death Eaters jeered. “Unfortunately, I caught little Miss Weasley by surprise!�

“Yes, Nott,� Voldemort said in a quelling tone.

Ginny swiveled to face the Dark Lord. She seemed to lose heart as she beheld Voldemort smiling at her maliciously.

Just as Voldemort began to raise the Elder Wand, Harry called out, “It won’t work, Voldemort.�

Voldemort prepared to reply but changed his mind. “Crucio,� he said firmly.

Ginny fell to the ground, but she merely tensed, waiting for pain that did not come. As Voldemort twitched his wand, her body jerked from side to side, but she did not cry out.

Lord Voldemort’s frustration boiled over: he drew back his wand with an enraged roar. Nagini began spitting angrily.

“You can’t hurt them anymore, Riddle,� Harry said triumphantly. “I died to save them. I know you’re familiar with that sort of protection.�

“You are not dead! Silence!� Voldemort yelled.

“Your wand cannot harm me, Riddle. You are not its master. Though you took it from Dumbledore’s body, the Elder Wand chose a new master long before. Instead of killing Dumbledore yourself, you brought about his murder indirectly as all cowards do—�

“It does not matter! I killed Severus Snape hours ago.�

“Once again, you can’t understand. Dumbledore died at a moment of his choosing, planned expressly between him and Snape months before! Severus Snape was never on your side. He served Dumbledore faithfully to the end.�

“What does it matter? He is just as dead, and I hold the Elder Wand!�

“Snape loved my mother, Lily Potter, and he was against you form the moment you threatened her! Dumbledore’s death was not a murder, and Snape was not the master of the Elder Wand: it was Draco Malfoy.�

Voldemort did not speak for a moment. Then, jerkily, he called, “Where is Lucius? I can easily remedy this. Your death is only delayed, Harry—�

But Harry shook his head and continued, “At Malfoy Manor, I disarmed Draco and took his wand. If I’m right, the wand in your hand knows its master’s been defeated, so I am the master of the Elder Wand.�

Ginny seized her opportunity to speak. “Harry!� she began urgently, only to fall silent under Avery’s spell.

“You? The master of the Elder Wand?� Voldemort repeated distastefully. “Well, in that case, I shall use other methods to destroy you. Goyle, step aside…� With a wave of his wand, Voldemort summoned Nagini to his side. “We will begin by feeding the girl to Nagini, who seems to have developed an appetite since our guest’s arrival.�

“No!� Harry yelled, distress tainting his voice at last.

“You object?� Lord Voldemort asked lazily.

“I will do anything if you spare them—not just Ginny, but all of the people you’re trying to destroy—�

“Anything? This is a tall order, Harry, even for such open-ended compensation. The time for bargaining is past.�

Nagini hissed. Lord Voldemort prepared to unleash her.

“Stop! Please! Not Ginny, please!�

“How odd… I seem to recall your mother begging me using similar words…�

“Anything. Anything, I swear it—�

“Even an Unbreakable Vow would not satisfy me, Harry, though I admit it would be a shame to spill pure blood, even that of a pathetic blood traitor…�

Bellatrix called from her place in the circle, “My Lord! Recall your designs for the future! For Hogwarts!�

“Oh, yes, Bellatrix, I remember,� Voldemort allowed. “Your little project will not go overlooked.�

“Thank you, my Lord…�

Voldemort waved his wand, and Harry was pulled roughly to his feet. The prisoner staggered slightly as the Dark Lord nodded to Bellatrix and said in a cold voice, “Well, Harry, I have had a change of heart. I will spare the two of you for the time being.�

Harry’s face was dumbstruck. “Spare—�

“Yes, Potter, you unintelligent boy, both of you. As you have just said you would do anything—quite touching, naturally—I am willing to consider a bargain. I choose the terms. You accept, or Nagini consumes you both. In exchange, I promise never to hurt you or your precious friend,� Voldemort finished.

“The terms?� Harry demanded instantly.

Ginny shook her head violently. Goyle sent her a menacing look.

Harry forced himself to concentrate only on the adversary contemplating him bemusedly. “The terms?� he repeated.

Voldemort smiled. “You would swear an Unbreakable Oath, of course… the terms would be thus: that you would never seek to oppose my rule again, that you would uphold my leadership through obedience, and that you would aid me in preventing others from overthrowing me.�

Ginny was crying now: unable to leave her invisible cell and unable to speak, she seemed ready to lose control of any remaining shred of composure she possessed.

“Done,� Harry said in a resounding voice.

Ginny clutched her head and wept soundlessly. Harry did his best not to look at her as a wave of excitement and shock ran around the ring of Death Eaters.

“Excellent. Bellatrix, approach,� Voldemort commanded. “You shall perform the spell.�

Bellatrix stepped forward reverently, raising her newly obtained wand. Her sense of glory and honor seeped from her pores, disgusting Harry with its intensity as she waited for the moment to cast the incantation.

Harry and Voldemort knelt, clasping hands. The Dark Lord gripped with force, pouring all his ill will and hatred into their interlocked fingers. Harry seemed equal to the grip; in his mind, he fixed Ginny, safe and sound, in the forefront. Voldemort had promised never to harm her. This condition burned into his every thought, and as he clasped hands with his nemesis, he mustered all his mental strength and focused intently on Ginny and the Dark Lord’s promise. Voldemort’s eyes were greedy as he nodded to his most dedicated supporter, directing her to commence. Harry set his jaw determinedly as he kept his eyes glued to the connection between the hands that never should have met.

Who could have thought that happiness or elation existed? In a world where cruelty and spite had the final word and rebellion against tyranny had slipped gradually into nothingness, such emotions seemed archaic and obsolete. Love seemed a bite of a foreign, unfamiliar-tasting fruit sampled in a dream long ago, and comfort was just as remote. Even as life grew within her with beating heart and kicking feet, Ginny knew nothing but leaden depression.

So often, she felt the weight of her feeling of deadness hit her like a rockslide, sudden and potent in its crushing force. She might be anywhere when it happened: sipping tea, turning over in her massive and ridiculously ornate marriage bed, watching Lokie the house elf light a small fire with purpose and skill. Most frequently, it occurred when she wandered the polished, lonely halls of the Zabini mansion.

Blaise would call her dead mood hormones, of course. He would recommend this potion or that, or tell her to owl somebody in his usual patronizing manner. That was his way: even if she didn’t express her deep-cutting hurt, he sensed it acutely and exploited it, making her feel dull and weak. He would laugh coldly and run a finger across her cheek in a possessive, self-satisfied way, saying in a low voice, “One more month, and the nightmare will be over. Then your excuse for being an utter pain in the arse will be gone.�

It was Ginny’s first pregnancy, and she loathed every minute of it. It was nothing like the bliss her mother described: she felt ugly, not beautiful; used, not treasured; dull, not special; bovine, not regal; labored, not leisured. She detested the unwelcome changes to her body just as she loathed the changes that had rocked her world. In Ginny’s mind, even the baby was guilty of cruelty: it was the child of a handsome murderer who would soon inflect itself upon her. In her worst moments, Ginny imagined with horror the life that her unborn child would one day lead. When these dark moods swept over her, she wanted to destroy every part of herself, including the growing being within her body, but for some reason, she never could.

In the end, she was not truly suicidal. After all, she did not map out elaborate plans to end her misery as she went through the day. She did not hurt herself physically to inflict pain on her already belabored body. The truth was that she did not need to; her thoughts were torturous enough.

As Ginny sat in bed, she ran this familiar course of dismal thinking. Her nap had been utterly unsatisfying: she felt restless, rather than rested. Her good humor was beyond reach, as usual. She surveyed her house elf, Lokie: middle-aged and generally silent, she was dutiful and on-task and suited Blaise’s varied moods. Ginny liked her, too, as she took specific care of her mistress. Having an elf attending to her was still an unfamiliar feeling: Ginny had not grown up with such a luxury, and she had helped Hermione distribute SPEW badges during her impressionable school years. It only followed, then, that she should treat Lokie generously; naturally, Lokie responded with a quiet loyalty and a caring pair of hands.

Lokie stroked the fire of her masters’ bedroom deftly, squeaking over her shoulder, “Mistress should rise soon. ’Tis already past five and the Malfoys will arrive for dinner before six.�

Ginny only grunted and leaned back against the soft expanse of silken pillows.

The house elf approached the bed sympathetically. “Lokie has orders to ready you, mistress,� she added.

“I see,� Ginny said dully. She took a breath and forced a tight smile. “I suppose it is time I left my bed.�

With difficulty, she swung her swollen legs out to the edge of the bed. Her distended belly made the quotidian movement a slight challenge. As she placed her feet on the floor and eased onto them, Lokie departed with a crack, returning only a moment later from Ginny’s cavernous dressing room with a lustrous, silvery set of maternity robes. The soft but metallic color was hardly Ginny’s favorite, but the fabric felt heavenly on her skin and draped loosely in a flattering manner. Consequently, the outfit pleased both her and her snobbish husband.

In no time, Ginny was properly presentable, her red hair drawn back into a sophisticated-looking bun. In order to brace herself, she smoothed her features with calm resolve and followed Lokie into the hallway.

Blaise was already at the bottom of the grand marble staircase, which dominated the foyer with its carefully cultivated magnificence. To Ginny’s surprise, Malfoy stood chuckling beside him. The two appeared to have been conversing for quite some time. They were a well coiffed pair, Ginny observed, each with hair perfectly positioned, nails perfectly manicured, and robes perfectly pressed. At least Blaise’s hair was naturally flawlessly arranged; Ginny felt some satisfaction in knowing his head did not feel like a wax helmet to the touch as Malfoy’s did. No, Blaise was too statuesque and sculpted to need wax or any trick of the wand to embellish his style. Ginny often felt plain beside him, knowing his dark skin was incomparably clear and smooth while her own was freckled, though certainly soft. Her pregnant belly made her feel ugly and cumbersome, and such thoughts about her elegant husband depressed her. At least our children will be attractive, she thought drily as she contemplated him from the top of the stairs. As a girl, it had always been her habit to think on the bright side, but the years had hardened her. That his appearance had a Veela-like effect on the female world did not content her; rather, being in close proximity with him for so much of the day heightened her irritation.

One hand on the stately banister for support, the other over her stomach out of habit, Ginny began her descent. The sound of her approach alerted the others to her presence.

Malfoy adopted his usual smirk. He had not changed much, at least not on the surface. Ginny did not care to probe any deeper. He raised the champagne glass in his hand in a mock salute. “Ah! The mistress of the manor,� he called, his voice not altogether free of a jeering tone.

“You’ve emerged at last,� Blaise noted, looking her over, his expression bemused. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.� He chuckled to himself, as if he’d made a distinctly clever joke.

Malfoy let out a guffaw.

How uncouth, thought Ginny. She pushed her disgust away and tried to look the part of Mrs. Blaise Zabini, her usual unachievable goal. “I needed some rest,� she said in a carrying voice, hoping to silence the pair. “Living and breathing for two can be rather trying.�

“I imagine so,� Malfoy said dismissively.

Ginny looked around as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I see I’m not the last to arrive, at any rate.�

Draco frowned. “My wife should arrive shortly,� he said. “She is with little Scorpius at the moment. He’s nearing his first birthday, you know.�

Blaise spoke up, “Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t progress into the next room.� He offered Ginny his arm in his formal style. She accepted it with as much grace as possible. Her back was sore again, but she did her best not to lean on him all the same.

Draco trailed after his hosts, examining this and that. “A fine tapestry,� he put in once; later, he mentioned, “Ah, yes, I recall that portrait very well. Gave my cousin a fright when we stayed here that summer…�

Blaise paraded his tottering wife into the large receiving room, seating her promptly on a cushioned couch so as to free his arms. He assumed a comfortable stance, arms crossed delicately, as Ginny dropped heavily into her chair.

Malfoy laughed derisively. “Like an elephant, isn’t she?� he commented mockingly.

Blaise snorted in laughter. Ginny stared into the fire, biting back her reply. In times past, she would never have wasted an opportunity to launch a retort, but in her depressed state, she preferred to speed along the arguments to their conclusion.

When she did not lash out with a caustic reply, Malfoy dropped the subject, as Ginny had hoped. “I had an odd experience at work today,� Malfoy said, seemingly changing the subject, eyes darting deviously back and forth. “It was after you’d gone home for the day, Blaise. It’s a shame you missed it, really.�

“Did you get a tip of sorts or something along those lines?� Blaise inquired, motioning to a house elf in the shadows.

Ginny knew she hated the story before it had properly begun. Malfoy and her husband worked in the Ministry’s Loyalty Department. Strictly speaking, neither needed to work to get the money, but the Dark Lord had strongly expressed his desire that all his supporters do their duty in running and reshaping the wizarding world in accordance with his designs.

“Hardly,� said Malfoy. He turned his gaze to Ginny. “No, it was quite strange. We received an anonymous letter of complaint. I’m surprised whoever it was didn’t send a Howler. It was quite a scathing letter, you see.�

“How so?� Blaise asked curiously.

“Well, as your wife might be interested to know, it was a letter denouncing our actions against Percy Weasley,� Malfoy said, still looking at Ginny, as if anticipating a strong reaction. Now she understood: he clearly had decided to bait her more indirectly in order to incite her anger.

Blaise’s interest was indeed piqued. “That is odd. We’ve only received letters praised us on that point so far.�

Ginny bristled but remained silent. She forced herself to recall that reacting would only make matters worse.

“That’s what I said to Barkley! I had him read it to me out loud. Boy, what a laugh we had,� he said, chuckling at the memory. “It was totally preposterous.�

“I gather you saved it,� ventured Blaise hopefully.

“Never fear,� Malfoy replied. He laughed again. “The last line had us going for five full minutes… Went something like, ‘Though your despicable families had no honor to begin with, you’ve sunk to a new low. Percy Weasley was twice the man you’ll ever be!’�

Blaise cracked a rare smile. Malfoy, seeing this as encouragement, delved on.

“And Barkley had a great line just then—oh! What was it? Oh yes: ‘He’s also twice as dead as I’ll ever be.’�

Blaise laughed in genuine amusement. When the two did not display any sign of ceasing their cruel laughter, Ginny lost her resolve at last. Breathing sharply, she jerked to her feet. This sudden movement did not escape Blaise’s notice.

“Upset, my love?� he crooned, reached for the drink the house elf bore on a tray over its head. Ginny seethed. He used that phrase when he wanted to truly infuriate her.

“So it would seem,� Malfoy tittered, taking a sip from the glass he chose off the tray. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say her face’s redness rivaled that of her hair.�

Ginny released a frustrated growl and whipped her wand out of her sleeve, lumbering towards their guest. She was ready to hex them both for their despicableness, for their audacity to toy with her as if she existed solely as the object of their scorn. It drove her mad to sit there and listen as she did. She hesitated briefly, torn between hexing Malfoy or her husband first—

“Expelliarmus,� Blaise said lazily, just in time to spare himself a set of nasty boils. Ginny’s wand jumped from her hand to his own. He pocketed it suavely, tipping his head to Malfoy. “I learned to be quick with that one early on in our marriage,� he said seriously to his guest. “She can be nasty when she gets angry.�

Malfoy looked mildly uncomfortable, as if recalling some moment of discomfort from ages past. He shrugged haughtily. “I am glad of it,� he said, voice stiff. After a tense moment, he let out a short bark of laughter which Blaise returned.

At that moment, a house elf entered the far end of the room with Eloise Malfoy—formerly Eloise Lestrange, Malfoy’s not-so-distant cousin, Ginny recalled with disgust—in tow. She took in the scene severely, noting the smug, mirthful men lounging across the room from one another and the splotchy woman, standing rigid and glaring from one wizard to the other. “I apologize for my delay,� she said, unprompted. “I do hope I haven't kept you waiting long.�

“Not at all,� Malfoy said. He grinned maliciously. “We’ve been quite entertained. Ginny is an endlessly amusing hostess.�

Eloise sniffed disapprovingly and approached, ignoring the tray of drinks. Ginny felt her rage increase as the witch drew nearer. This woman stood for everything Ginny loathed; to top it off, Eloise was Bellatrix’s personal favorite. Looking at her features devoid of any amiability, Ginny began to feel sick. She could no longer bear the strain; the cruel treatment combined with her already plunging spirits was too much.

“I feel rather ill, actually,� she announced, endeavoring to parallel Eloise’s coldness of tone.

“What a shame,� yawned Malfoy. “Do rest up, then. Blaise so desires a healthy child or two to make his marriage worthwhile.�

Blaise shook his head, amused. “Go on, then,� he said to her, waving a hand lazily. His nonchalant gesture did not match the possessive intensity in his eyes as he watched her turn away.

She nodded curtly and moved quickly out of the room, shutting her ears off as Malfoy resumed his earlier tale.

Lokie was waiting just inside the door. In her mistress’ relatively short absence, the house elf had tidied Ginny’s side of the bed and prepared a cup of warm milk. A powerful longing to be held and cared for swept over Ginny. She wanted to see her mother, to hear the gentle words of consolation she craved but only received on occasions few and far between.

More than anything, though, she wanted Harry.

In another, happier life, they would have been together, completely inseparable, she was sure of it. They were meant to be so, and that was what she could not stand more than anything else. But he had abandoned her and their glorious future, and for what? To protect her? It was devastating to recall that final night of hope. They had fought so much…

But Ginny would not take back what she had said either, given a Time Turner. Her beliefs were firmly in place. That fact did not assuage her, though; it only perpetuated her anguish.

She preferred not to dwell on that other, dreamy life. It only pained her more. The past is dead, she thought. Lokie lead her into the adjacent room to change.

Just as she reached the doorway, the child within her leveled a violent kick at her kidneys. Ginny paused, rubbing her side. This child… what would become of it? Raised in a world run by Death Eaters, how could its future possibly be bright?

It occurred to Ginny that she need not hate the child before she had seen it. With chagrin, she realized she would love it unconditionally, even if it had light, chocolate-colored skin and dark eyes. A stranger’s baby, not a love it child it would be, but the newborn would still claim a part of her soul.

For the first time in months, a tender feeling trickled into her heart as she imagined her baby. In the end, she noted, it would still be hers, and if she poured enough of herself into the child’s heart… maybe it would turn out less like its heartless father. Maybe there was hope for the future.

Ginny managed a wry smile as she disrobed. Malfoy’s words about her marriage danced in her mind. She thought darkly, I, too, desire a child to make my marriage worthwhile.

They could never quell the rebellion in her heart. It would survive the siege, and she would instill her spirit into her child’s being so that someday… dawn would break again, to end this terrible night.

* * * * * *

The Hogwarts dungeons were a familiar place to Harry and Ginny: Potions lessons and so forth had brought them down there with regularity. The rooms had always been cold and dank, and they did not vary much as far as night, day, or seasons went. But never had the rooms felt so frigid as they did that night; never had they felt more cell-like.

Harry and Ginny lay on their sides, each tied. The Death Eaters who had deposited them possessed their wands, so they could do nothing but wait. Neither prisoner had the energy to find a way into a seated position.

Ginny stared blankly at the back of Harry’s head, stunned at the incomprehensible events of the past few hours. It did not seem possible that she had been in the midst of a heated battle only hours before; she had dueled and escaped more than a few Death Eaters before stumbling into the forest to take cover.

At the time, she had felt and inexplicable pull to plunge deeper in, so she had, not questioning her instincts. After some aimless stumbling, she had been hit by a spell that had knocked her to the ground, kicking the breath out of her. Nott, her attacker, had subsequently approached, wand ready to bind her with rope. Before he had succeeded, she had managed to kick him over and scuffle to her feet. His binding spell hit her shortly after.

And then, in the clearing, a nightmare had unfolded. Encased in an invisible cylinder, she watched in horror as Lord Voldemort had coerced Harry—turning his protective, noble instincts against him, of course—into making an Unbreakable Vow. Her screams had been soundless, her shock insurmountable.

How easily they had failed! All the efforts of the Order had been undone in that single moment. Ginny could not comprehend it. And as Harry had stepped away, she had caught a glimpse of his face—blank. It was as if he could no longer show any feeling. She wondered if he felt as numb as she.

Of course, they had been tied up and thrown promptly in the dungeon. Lord Voldemort had ensured them their situation was only temporary; it also only involved the dungeons because part of the wall at the top of the stairwell spiraling into the bowls of the castle had caved in. The Death Eaters had only just called off their force of giants, one of whose wayward clubs had dealt the castle wall a heavy blow and caused the convenient fissure to appear. At any rate, Ginny knew they would not be left in their current position long; their guards would retrieve them once Lord Voldemort had rallied his supporters, giants included. Lord Voldemort’s proclaimed hour of judgment approached, now that Harry had presented himself as commanded and promptly submitted himself to his enemies. Ginny did not doubt that Lord Voldemort wanted to present his conquered adversary at precisely the right moment. What better way was there to eradicate in an instant all joy and hope?

The silence became oppressive. Ginny took a breath and said, “Harry.� She cringed at the sound of her voice: it resembled that of a victim of a Dementor’s kiss.

He turned his head slightly, giving her a view of the side of his face. She waited for him to speak, beginning to squirm in an effort to rearrange her limbs into a seated position. She glanced at him again and felt a shock as she realized the reason for his silence: there were tears sliding down his stone-like cheek.

“Oh, Harry,� she said miserably, scooting nearer to him. Normally it would have bothered her to see him cry without a funeral march playing, but as he rolled onto his back, she lay her head on his chest and stroke his dampened face.

“I’m so sorry,� he said at last, voice weak.

“I know,� she soothed, holding his gaze. “You never wanted to make the vow.�

To her surprise, he grimaced and shook his head. “No, Ginny,� he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save the others. Fred—�

“It wasn’t your fault,� she said flatly, looking away. An unpleasant taste was on her tongue. “He died in the fight of his choosing. Better that than ending up alone and ruled by Death Eaters.�

“How can you say that?� Harry demanded. “Even if you’re alone and times are hard, you’re alive. You’re free.�

“Free?� Ginny flared up. “If he had lived, would he be free right now? Maybe. How about in an hour? No, he would be submitting himself to enslavement, thanks to the horrible vow you just made.�

Harry’s face hardened, clearly irked by the sudden and unforeseen turn in their conversation. “You know I had no choice.�

“Don’t by ridiculous,� Ginny spat. “You had a choice, and you chose to abandon all our chances. And for what? To save me? How could you be so blind, Harry? You haven’t saved anyone. In fact, I’d wager you effectively just did the opposite. You’ve condemned us, Harry, every one—�

“Stop it!� he yelled, forcing himself to sit upright. “That’s not true. I did what I had to.�

“No, no, no!� Ginny yelled back, though their faces were hardly a foot apart. “We had a fighting chance before, but now… Have you thought this through to conclusion? Don’t you realize the significance of your actions? With you as Voldemort’s slave, chaining all the rest of us, our future is in the hands of the Death Eaters!�

“I know it looks bleak, Ginny, but there will always be hope. There will always be rebellion, even if I can’t be part of it. Remember the DA?� he insisted.

A brief scuffling sound outside the door caused the two to pause momentarily. Ginny did not bother to look, preferring to glare at Harry until he looked back at her.

Quietly, she argued, “Yes, but how and when will the rebels have enough strength to undo what you’ve just done? In a year? Ten? A hundred?�

“I don’t know!� Harry whispered hotly.

“And what about killing Voldemort himself? Wasn’t that your job? Your mission, ordained by Prophecy and assigned by Dumbledore? I don’t know how you can remember Dumbledore without shame. Voldemort’s practically invincible now!�

“No, he’s not! He made himself Horcruxes, Ginny; he broke off pieces of his soul. But we destroyed them all…�

“Then why’s he still living, breathing, and killing?�

“Well, we didn’t get to kill the part left unsplit in him—or the part in Nagini, his snake, for that matter, though we got rid of the one in me—�

“Hang on,� Ginny interrupted, but Harry barged on.

“So really, he’s not at all invincible, and I think he knows it.�

“He’ll just make more Horcruxes, then.�

“Not too many, though.�

“Why not?�

“I’d wager he’s gradually becoming aware of how unstable his existence already is.�

Ginny made a noise of exasperation. “You don’t make any sense. And your noble intentions have just empowered him to rule unopposed, so—�

“No! I won’t allow it.�

Ginny sighed heavily. “Just listen to yourself. How will you stop him? You just swore you’d support and obey him to your last.�

Harry simply shook his head, eyes livid.

“What I don’t understand,� Ginny said quietly, “is why you felt compelled to save me if you’ve somehow placed magical protections over all of us.�

Harry glared at the floor, pressing his hands into the floor in frustration. “There is no way for me to know just how this protection will work. First of all, it’s spread over a huge group of people, one that includes anyone who has every openly defied Voldemort. Second of all, for all I know, Nagini is a separate issue entirely. What if only spells are blocked? How can I be sure that the Death Eaters can’t just pull out Muggle weapons and shoot you all?�

Ginny frowned, skeptical. “Shoot us?�

“Or poison you! Or something,� Harry said irritably. “There isn’t exactly a rule book that governs how sacrificial protection works.�

Ginny let out a frustrated breath. The words coming out of his mouth were ridiculous by her standards. Whatever angle she chose to look at the issue, she saw the same terrifying prospects. She averted her eyes; looking at Harry was suddenly unbearable. In her mind, he had betrayed them all to a fate worse than death. A blazing thought scorched through her mind.

“You’ve failed them,� she murmured tonelessly.

“Sorry?�

“Them,� Ginny repeated, her voice rising. “Dumbledore, the Order… Sirius… your parents… everyone.�

Her accusation left Harry dumbstruck. He looked like a piece of statuary, as if he had been turning slowly into stone and only just realized it, now that it was too late.

Ginny’s voice became thick with bitterness. “Well, at least you’ll live to rot for a hundred years. Hopefully one day you’ll figure out that you never should have made that vow.�

The words hit Harry like a heavy punch to the gut.

Before the conversation could continue, heavy footfalls on the stone steps reached their ears. One of their captors was approaching. Letting the silence stand, Ginny moved slowly away from the person she had once loved more than life itself.

Nott entered, a bounce in his step. He took no notice of the obvious breach between the two prisoners. “Showtime,� he announced cheerfully. He pulled Harry to his feet and quickly released the spell binding him. “Don’t try anything,� he warned, jabbing Harry in the back. To Ginny, he said, “Someone will fetch you soon enough. Until then, sit tight, beautiful.� He grinned widely and herded Harry out of the room.

It took Ginny a minute to allow the words she had just exchanged to sink in. The conversation played over in her head, muddling themselves into an incomprehensible jumble as she mulled over the confusing wash of feelings coating her consciousness. Random, distressing phrases bubbled in her mind, filling her with both fear and dread: the words she had spoken were so weighted, now that she recalled them in context. Then she realized that they were probably the last she would say to him for a long time.

An emotion akin to remorse pinched her and gave her pause. Harry, whom she had always loved, had seemingly betrayed her, but he had done so out of love and loyalty, as contrary as that seemed. She did not resent his protection; rather, in this moment of panicked loneliness, she grasped at it, burning it into her memory as proof of their connection. What she resented were the repercussions, which a moment ago had seemed crushing.

The longer Ginny spent alone in the dungeon, the longer the deed itself pulled her focus. Harry. She loved him fiercely. It was foolish to suggest this tragedy could have changed that fact so suddenly. She wondered if they would ever be truly reunited.

Feeling the perpetually cold stone against her skin, Ginny thought she knew the answer to her own question: no. It was over. Done.

It was only then that desolation cut through her heart like a knife. She dropped her head miserably against her chest, feeling so hollow and lifeless. If the Death Eaters cut me open, she thought, they will find nothing. She could not even cry, for the dead feeling growing within her was too great: she had no emotions left. Only the haze of her waking nightmare remained, leaving her cold in the dungeon, hardly breathing, her eyes glazed over.

How Draco hated Christmastime!

It was an unfortunate time of year: not only did the occasion require him to scrounge for a gift for his implacable wife, but he also had to seclude himself with people whom he generally disliked: his relatives. Though six years had passed since his mother’s unforgivable betrayal, Draco still felt uncomfortable and distrusted in the presence of his fellow Death Eaters, a number of whom counted themselves among his family circle. Marrying Bellatrix’s niece, his cousin Eloise, had been a necessary strategic move that had only solidified his redeveloping reputation.

His marriage had been difficult to secure in the first place. In the year after the fall of the Order of the Phoenix, Draco had pointedly curried favor with the Dark Lord in an effort to regain some of his dignity. This work was somewhat successful, which led Draco to personally reach out to his comrades and make clear his loyalties. This, too, had been successful; it led to Draco’s meeting Eloise, a pureblood woman ten years his senior. She was Rodolphus Lestrange’s neice, born to his younger brother—a man who lacked the capacity to step out of his infamous brother’s shadow. The uneventful life of the lesser Lestrange brother had already concluded by Draco’s birth, due to an unfortunately fatal encounter with a vicious warlock. Eloise had inherited her father’s inferior position in the Dark Lord’s esteem. Neither she nor her father was a Death Eater: her father had never successfully impressed the Dark Lord. At the time of the Dark Lord’s assumption of power, her situation had been similar to Draco’s: she had had ground to cover in order to establish herself. The marriage had suited them both, as it united their ancient lineages, pleased their superiors, and symbolized a step in the proper direction.

The elite branches of Eloise’s family, of course, had no respect for Draco, despite his best efforts to win them over. While he had publicly estranged himself from his father and repeatedly proven his loyalty—in particular, by working diligently at the Ministry and rising through the ranks—the Lestrange family did not truly welcome him. Lucius’s isolation in the Malfoy Manor did not satisfy them, as he and Draco still lived under the same roof. This proximity did not impress any self-respecting Death Eater. On the contrary, his situation rendered him a consistent recipient of hostility. Consequently, Draco preferred to avoid associating with Bellatrix and her lot on an intimate level. Christmas was usually the exception to this rule.

In years past, Draco had suffered through the dinners, the celebrations, and the jeering, but this year, he refused to subject himself to their disapproval. He had gotten enough negative attention lately, so he was keen to evade the company of his family. To avoid a communal Christmas, Draco had talked Eloise into taking a second honeymoon to the Scottish countryside. It was close enough to home that they could leave four-year-old Scorpius behind in good conscience. It was also just far enough that Draco could avoid contact with his disgraced father or cruel extended family.

Draco could not help but congratulate himself for successfully evading the Lestrange clan as he stood by the large window of his bedroom, which framed an excellent view of the countryside as it sloped gently away from the house into a picturesque, snow-covered dale. Eloise was dressing in the next room, which afforded Draco a moment of silence as he contemplated the white tableau before his eyes. This holiday was precisely what he had needed: an uneventful, predictable interlude in his normally chaotic life.

Draco retrieved his mug of cinnamon tea from the small table beside him and sipped it demurely. This was indeed a much needed escape, but not just from the derision of Bellatrix and her lot. In some ways, what Draco appreciated most was avoiding from his father’s withered spirits.

Publicly denouncing his parents had been traumatic enough, but Draco’s trials did not end with a statement. The Dark Lord had seen fit to leave Draco saddled with his father, under the pretext of having Draco keep an eye on him. What that translated to was an uncomfortable hostility as the alienated pair continued to split Malfoy Manor between them, avoiding one another save for at meal times. Lucius clearly felt abandoned, but Draco had no desire to reach out to a man who had lost the drive to redeem himself. Draco could not bear the awkward silence and unspoken accusations. For this reason, a trip to the north was a complete relief.

Eloise emerged from the dressing room in a sleek silk robe. Draco turned to look at her, regarding her regally clad form dispassionately. Marriage is boredom, he thought, noting without surprise his wife’s obvious disinterest in him. There’s no fire, not even heat.

“Good morning,� Eloise said at last in a distant tone. She approached the mirror opposite the large window and began teasing the knots out of her hair with her fingers.

“Good morning,� Draco repeated, turning his back on the scenery as he sipped his drink. “The sky’s clear today.�

“Naturally,� Eloise sniffed. “Of course the weather is decent the day after Christmas. That’s to be expected, I suppose.�

Draco shrugged. He did not particularly care.

“Have you already arranged for breakfast?� Eloise asked vaguely, her eyes glued to her image in the mirror.

“Yes. I imagine the food will arrive soon,� Draco said. Not permitting himself to sigh, he set his mug back on the little table.

“Good,� Eloise commented, and they lapsed into silence again.

As grateful as Draco was for having avoided a Death Eater Christmas, he had to admit to himself that his holiday in the countryside was extremely dull. He really had nothing to do other than observe his wife as she coiffed herself before the mirror—well, it was either that or watch the snow fall. The more he contemplated his state of boredom, the more he realized how much it reflected his marriage on the whole. Everything was mundane, meaningless. Draco missed the days of skipping History of Magic to have illegal, bewitched snow fights outside Hogwarts Castle. Crabbe and Goyle would run around stupidly as Draco laughed. What imbeciles they always were, Draco recalled. And they had always done precisely what he wanted them to do, never second-guessing his commands. On top of it all, Draco had always gotten away with anything and everything.

How times had changed! One of his old cronies was dead, and the other seemed keen on working his way into the Ministry and had no time to pay attention to Draco. Draco did not miss the company, but he was undeniably miffed at the loss of petty influence he had once enjoyed.

A quiet knock sounded from the ornately carved bedroom door. “Enter,� Draco called in an elevated tone, ready to eat a hearty breakfast. Perhaps he could convince Eloise to take a sleigh ride? He mulled over various ways of presenting the idea, wondering if she would bother listening to his suggestion. On principle, Eloise set her own plans for her husband and herself and executed them without consulting Draco’s mood.

A young house-elf entered, trailed by a series of platters floating in a neat line behind him. Eloise ceased adjusting her hair but kept her eyes locked on her reflection as the dishes settled themselves onto the table in the corner. “Excellent timing,� she said in a pleased tone. “Do sit down, Draco.�

Draco obeyed without thinking, settling comfortably into one of the plush chairs. Eloise joined him in a moment, and they began to eat in silence.

Marriage, Draco thought pessimistically as he chewed, not looking at his wife. I wonder if my parents had the same experience. The boredom is overwhelming.

Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by a second knock. “Come in,� he called, expecting more food.

Another house-elf entered this time, but the platter he presented to Draco carried only a small envelope. Draco placed his fork on the table with a frown and began reading the letter.

“What is it?� Eloise asked, pausing as she ate. “Something work-related?�

Draco’s frown deepened. “No,� he said stiffly. His eyes raced back and forth over the short message, scripted in Bellatrix’s gothic script.

His wife raised her eyebrows curiously.

“Actually, my father is dead,� Draco said sharply. “It appears he took his own life sometime after dinner last night.�

Eloise pressed her lips together. “That is an unfortunate turn of events,� she said in a diplomatic voice, resuming her meal.

Draco let out a frustrated breath. “I quite honestly don’t know what to call it,� he said. Just a minute ago, he had been dwelling on the irritation his father caused him, but the sudden loss of his childhood role model left him unsettled.

“Frankly, it does not matter,� Eloise advised. “The Dark Lord will not be terribly interested. You should take care of this business quietly and then move on.�

“I’m not sure matters will be as uncomplicated as you say,� Draco said irritably. “Our house-elf brought Bellatrix to the body first, and of course she did not waste an opportunity to regale the other guests of Manor with the tale of the latest shame brought on the Malfoy family.�

Eloise did not seem terribly interested in this development. “Well, I suggest you write the obituary immediately, then, to separate yourself from Lucius once and for all. That way any story intended to embarrass us will stop circulating.�

Draco nodded. That was really all this event—which would normally blacken the day—came down to: another potential blight that forced Draco to do some heavy damage control. Feelings of intense aggravation at his father’s decision clouded his mind. How selfish, Draco thought cantankerously. And to top it all off, I’ve lost my appetite. There’s nothing like death in the morning to fill one’s stomach.

Eloise continued to eat as Draco pulled his wand out from his robes and summoned ink and parchment. Writing immediately was wise; he might even be able to get his obituary into the Evening Prophet.

“Lucius Malfoy, aged 50,� Draco began, his head bowed over the parchment. “Deceased Christmas Day.� As he penned the words, a wave of agitation washed over Draco, preventing him from continuing. His feelings on his father’s death were too complicated to truly grapple with: on the one hand, he strongly disliked the wraith that Lucius had become; on the other, Draco mourned the loss of his only remaining family. This notion troubled him.

No matter how hard Draco tried, he could not bring himself to see Eloise as family the way his parents had been, and little Scorpius lived in a world suspended between his struggling parents and a legion of Death Eaters. The child had no love for his grandfather, and he was old enough to sense that his parents were not infrequently the subject of scorn. There was no trust or respect in Draco’s family, and though he and Lucius had lost their ability to connect, these news gave Draco a prickly feeling of isolation.

“Do you have writer’s block?� Eloise said sardonically.

Draco forced himself not to glare at her. “No. I know exactly what to say,� he retorted. He set his quill to the parchment once more, allowing the cruel but necessary vilification of his father to take shape. This was what the world required of him, and he did not hesitate to supply the damning article. As Draco wrote the last phrase, he realized dully that he had gotten what he wanted at last: he was free from his father’s dead weight. No more uncomfortable silences, he thought. Though this concept should have pleased him, Draco felt a touch of depression as he set down his quill.

* * * * *

It was a pitiful reaction, but Draco felt strangely safe as he waited in the broom closet next to Slughorn’s Potions dungeon. His father stood stiffly beside him, electing for discomfort. Draco was too tired to even bother to put up a dignified front: he had hunkered in and collapsed onto an overturned bucket.

Lucius did not look frazzled, angry, and exhausted as Draco did. His thoughts were elsewhere. Draco forced himself to ignore his father’s distant expression, for he knew the reason: the Dark Lord had made it clear that their status as traitors was as dangerous as ever. Narcissa’s monumental lie had seen to that. Avery had escorted them down here, jeering all the way at their continued misfortune.

Draco could almost envy his mother’s position: she had permanently withdrawn from the conflict, in a sense. To her, it no longer mattered how the Malfoy’s luck fluctuated on a seemingly daily basis.

At the same time, Draco could not comfortably embrace the freedom in death. He was not sure he totally believed in the concept of eternal rest or spiritual peace. After all, as a fledgling Death Eater, he was firmly trained to fear death and to consider life—however hellish—to be far superior.

So, despite his precarious situation, Draco consoled himself: he retained his life, if not much else. At this particular moment, the cramped nature of the make-shift cell he shared with his father gave him a small amount of security. As long as the dank walls confined him, leaving him to brood with his foot in a spider web as he watched the strip of flickering light underneath the door, he felt he could breathe in a calm manner. Sure, it would have been preferable to have a wand with which to illuminate the closet, but Draco did not fear the dark. On the contrary, he was well acquainted with it.

Draco knew Lucius did not share his relaxed mindset: on the contrary, his father was acutely aware of the fact that they had been lumped in with the rebels. Their detainment in the decrepit broom closet only put them on par with those about to be judged. Lucius hated sensing uncertainty in his future, so he brooded; that, at least, was Draco’s assessment. His father had always been a man of action, despite his growing powerlessness.

After a time, Avery returned to collect them. Draco kept his arms flat against his body, as directed, and followed the line of captives as it took shape around him. Lucius stared straight ahead, waiting to leave the castle so that the suspense would end. The pair of them looked distinctly out of place among the others, who craned their necks furtively to glance around for friends and family. Some called out to each other, but the Death Eaters herding them upstairs—past the gap in the wall where the giant had knocked it in doors—quickly silenced them.

Draco was not far from the front of the line, so before long, he was marching across the pockmarked lawn towards the Dark Lord. He could spy a table at their apparent destination. Official-looking boxes covered its surface, and a mess of papers had fallen off the table and lay in a heap on the ground. A few wizards who looked increasingly panicked were sorting madly through the files. They wore Ministry robes, Draco noted, and they clearly had not seen a battlefield before.

The Dark Lord hissed orders to the Ministry employees. They were visibly terrified, but they obediently stopped sorting.

The front of the line halted as it reached the table, not far from which the Dark Lord stood, a cruel smile on his face. Draco perceived that he was in a terrific mood; that sort of triumphant expression was one Draco had rarely witnessed on his master’s face.

Harry Potter stood at his master’s shoulder. Like Lucius, he stared straight ahead. Draco guessed smugly that he preferred not to pick out the faces of his friends from the crowd, knowing how deeply they loathed his betrayal. Potter remained unmoving until the Dark Lord turned to instruct him, at which point he stood forward to speak.

Inattentive members of the crowed jumped as Harry’s voice, magically magnified, called out a cross the grounds. Draco smirked. How typical. They had clearly not focused on the doom at hand.

“Attention,� Potter said firmly. “It is time to move forward. I urge you once again to accept what has been done.�

An angry rumble coursed up and down the line. Death Eaters stationed along its length cast Silencing Spells with great rapidity. Draco sighed. He doubted Potter would be able to curb the crowd’s anger. His first speech had already turned them against him, one and all.

Potter continued in an inflectionless voice, “It is time to receive your judgment. The Dark Lord promised to show benevolence, but those of you who struck out anyway have tried his patience. Kindly approach in turn. You will be sorted into groups, but do not fear: the Dark Lord has assured me that he will uphold his promise to be forgiving.� Potter sent his new master a pointed look.

Draco swallowed uncomfortably. He was not entirely sure that the Dark Lord’s definition of “forgiving� matched his own.

The line moved forward slowly. Draco strained his neck to see around the person in front of him—Dean Thomas, he registered at last—to peek at what was to come. Nothing particularly noteworthy met his eye: as Potter had stated, the prisoners were forming groups. Draco spotted four growing huddles. It all seemed harmless enough, no different than any other sorting ceremony. It occurred to him that joining one group would likely offer more advantages than the others, but he had no way of knowing which it was. Even if he were clued in, he could not influence his fate.

As Draco drew near the front, however, he relaxed, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides. He should have known they would divide based on blood status.

Seamus Finnigan reached the front the line. Draco could tell by the officials’ obvious discomfort as they rifled quickly through papers that he was staring them down.

“Satisfactory,� once called at last, relief evident in his voice. The other gestured to the group on the far left.

As a wiry man Draco didn’t know approached the table, Draco noted how ridiculous he felt. He was being sorted all over again, like a child. The idea was preposterous. He forced himself to recall that it would be all over soon. The moment that he was free to leave, as he was certain he would be in due time, Draco planned to scheme his way back into good standing.

“Mudblood,� pronounced one of the officials.

The Dark Lord looked pleased. “This little skirmish has proven an excellent source of uncaught criminals,� he commented audibly.

The wiry man did not glance at him; he merely progressed with his jaw set proudly to the group farthest to the right. Only a few others stood there so far; by comparison, this last group seemed weak and forlorn.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood calmly before the table. The Ministry officials scurried about, not daring to lock eyes with him. After a pause, one said hesitantly, “Undesirable.�

Draco looked on with fascination as Shacklebolt approached the group next to the Mudbloods. It became apparent as Draco took stock of its members that known individuals involved with the defunct Order of the Phoenix were in this category. In short, the most traitorous and dangerous of the batch stood there. Draco hoped not to number among them; these were clearly the wizards the Dark Lord considered his greatest enemies, those who had possessed enough temerity to defy him during both of his reigns of terror.

Arthur Weasley joined Shacklebolt, Hagrid, McGonagall, and others. Draco could not help but feel a little clammy as the line before him thinned. Despite his security in blood, he could not shake the fear of ending up in this group. Had his mother’s betrayal earned him a place among them? Draco clung to the hope that it had not.

Dean Thomas now stood for judgment. More quickly than Draco had anticipated, the second wizard called, “Questionable.�

When prompted, Dean joined the middle-sized group between the people of satisfactory blood and undesirable character. His condition was obvious: his magical heritage was uncertain.

Before Draco could conclude the likely fate of the Questionables, the Ministry wizard nearest him motioned for him to approach. Draco’s fears of undesirability immediately resurfaced. To maintain his composure, Draco assumed his usual haughty look and waited impatiently.

The two Ministry wizards were at a loss. It occurred to Draco that they probably did not possess any files on Death Eaters. This thought pacified him slightly.

Potter approached the pair as they moved to put their heads together. Tapping one on the shoulder, he interrupted the consultation and said something in a low voice. The wizard cast a frightened glance at the Dark Lord and nodded.

The other turned to Draco and stated, “Satisfactory.�

Draco let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding in. Shoulders straight, he marched over to the group at the leftmost end of the spectrum.

The rest of the sorting of rebels was a blur to Draco; he barely noticed when his father joined him wordlessly, followed shortly after by the rest of the Weasley clan. Molly Weasley wrung her hands, Draco saw, as she kept her eyes trained on her husband, who stood motionlessly in the Undesirable group. A pang of self-satisfaction touched Draco as Hermione Granger was directed almost instantaneously to the Mudblood heap.

The line emptied after a time, and Draco’s legs became unbearably stiff. How he longed for a long bath back at Malfoy Manor! Sitting down to rest for a few moments was out of the question, he decided; a seemingly pardoned Death Eater should stand tall among blood traitors.

Potter spoke momentarily to the Ministry officials, gesturing at the Questionables once or twice. They nodded repeatedly and began to clear up their files, returning them to neat stacks in order to properly stow them in boxes. They bustled about as the silent masses looked on.

Potter consulted with the Dark Lord. Once again, he prepared to act as spokesman. Draco thought he could guess what would come next.

After a minute, Potter’s magnified voice echoed over the crowds, “Thank you for your cooperation. If you will only listen for a few more minutes, any questions you have will be answered.

“To the group marked ‘Satisfactory:’ your wands will be temporarily held by the Ministry. You are to walk free once this day ends, and you are at complete liberty to tend to those who are injured or dead. You may return home, but you must remain within the country. In two weeks, please present yourself at the Ministry with a magically signed statement of allegiance, and your wand will be returned once the Ministry catalogues its official pardoning of your actions.�

The crowd around Draco took great interest at these words. Draco wondered if there existed any way to speed up the process and regain his wand before the rest. He hoped he did not require personal pardoning form the Dark Lord; he was sure that, as a Death Eater, he would be subject to different forms of forgiveness.

As if to answer his question, Potter resumed: “No statements will be accepted before that time. When you present your paper, please be sure you have signed it properly so the Ministry can put it in the archives. Remember that you will still be monitored in the coming months. Additionally, the Dark Lord has told me he will come up with a system to receive a full pardon, to be unveiled soon.�

Draco did not like the sound of that, but he pushed this uneasy thought away. As long as a full pardon was obtainable, he would secure one and somehow rebuild his reputation.

“Now, to the Questionable group: your status is pending further investigation. You may go about your lives as well, but your wands will only be returned when the Ministry has gathered enough evidence to support your blood status.

“To the Undesirable group,� Harry said in a monotone. He paused before continuing, “You will be detained by the Ministry. Your fate has yet to be decided. The Dark Lord has promised fairness, but your level of defiance is high enough that there must be consequences.�

Molly Weasley looked horrorstruck. Draco felt George Weasley push past him to comfort his mother.

Potter, too, bore a pained look. At a quiet command from the Dark Lord, he turned to face the last group. “To the rest,� he began, presumably to avoid the term ‘Mudblood,’ “you are to be banished from the magical world. Your wands will be broken or given to true wizards and witches. You will not be harmed, but you will not be allowed to stay.�

Molly Weasley was in tears now. Draco removed himself slightly from the knot of people forming around her.

“The fireplaces in the castle have all been connected to the Floo Network, and each has been stocked with powder. That is all. You may leave.� Potter’s voice was utterly mechanic as he finished. He let his chin droop, not wishing to watch as the crowd began to disperse.

Draco turned abruptly to find his father was not a foot away, standing listlessly. Draco approached him, resigned.

“Let’s not be the last ones out of here,� he said irritably, nudging his father. When Lucius made no move to depart, Draco grudgingly grasped his sleeve and pushed past those in his way, maneuvering himself to the first fireplace he reached as he entered the castle. His father followed him stiffly, ignoring the protests of the people whom he shoved. When Lucius did not immediately take the initiative to transport himself out of the castle, Draco tossed some Floo Powder into the flames and gave his father a push.

Malfoy Manor was deserted, a fact for which Draco had never been more grateful. He turned to his father. “I’ll have some food prepared,� he said.

Lucius settled into a high-backed arm chair and sank down. He took no notice as one of their few remaining elves entered and exited.

Draco sighed and took a seat. At least they would no longer play host to inconsiderate Death Eaters who reveled in his misfortune. The only problem Draco faced was his wandlessness. “I’ll draft my letter in the morning,� he said aloud. “Maybe they will accept it early. We’re different from the rest of the lot, after all.�

“Don’t be ridiculous,� Lucius said cuttingly.

Draco looked up sharply. He had not heard his father speak in what felt like ages. “Pardon?�

“We are no better off than blood traitors in their eyes now,� Lucius said in an icy voice.

“I refuse to settle for that,� Draco said stoutly, “so why should you? Besides, you’ve always gotten by in the past.�

“I fail to see the point anymore,� Lucius responded dully. His resigned tone alarmed Draco. Of all the lessons his father had taught him, playing the game to survive had been the most important.

“Well, I do,� Draco disagreed. “It’s just a matter of showing the right face. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?�

“I want no part of it,� Lucius muttered.

Draco felt repulsed by his father’s behavior. This was not the man he had grown up revering and fearing. “In that case, you’re on your own,� he said angrily, standing and leaving the room. He did not much care if he had just isolated himself completely. If Lucius was not going to help him regain their former power, then it was time Draco freed himself from the dead weight of his parents’ betrayal.

As a girl, Hermione had enjoyed fantasies of Australia. She had read a book on its majestic natural beauty at the age of eight, pleasing her parents with her voracious appreciation of their birthday gift. Since the book had only four hundred and sixteen pages, she had gobbled it up in no time at all. This experience had left Hermione’s mind spinning with breathtaking images of mountains like jagged promontories in a waving sea of green. Picturing the vastness of the landscape had filled Hermione with solemn contentment. For months she had chattered—much to her parents’ amusement—of becoming a tree-dwelling hermit, immersed in the solitude of the untamed wild.

Those dreams seemed infinitely far from Hermione’s mind now: living in Melbourne in a sea of people among whom she did not belong filled her with a desperate loneliness and a potent fury at the pointlessness of her displeasure.

Hermione had never minded living among Muggles before. Though she was not truly one of them, she felt an affectionate connection to them, as if they were all childhood friends with whom she had long since separated. In a way, this was an accurate view of her neighbors, as she had grown up among their kind and fiercely defended their wellbeing among a people entirely unknown to the average Muggle.

Times had changed, and Hermione had, too. Expulsion from the wizarding world had made her a misfit by all counts. Australia, England, Argentina… it didn’t matter where she settled down. She was an unwilling outcast and no change of scenery could change that.

She was, however, also a secretly plotting outcast, in whose chest beat a rebel heart.

She taught English to teenagers in a local private school. Often she sensed her students’ uneasiness at her fiery gaze during discussions of Macbeth. She did not care; if they noticed her simmering rage at the murder of the rightful king and the rise of the usurper, it mattered not.

Her job should have stimulated her intellectual side, but it merely appeased her tumultuous temper. Magic occupied her thoughts, all of which blazed with an unwritten manifesto of rebellion. Students with a merely mild interest in the devastating power of words could only supply her with a small amount of consolation or satisfaction in her reduced state. Her greatest joy at her desk was in slashing through poorly written sentences and covering the pure, white paper with a crimson scrawl of abuse.

Grading papers could only occupy so much of Hermione’s “free� time, but she assigned as many written projects as her students could complete without a legion of vociferous parents breaking down her door. Hermione only avoided such confrontations because she knew they would only result in underscoring her powerlessness and frustration. There was nothing to be done.

“There was nothing to be done,� she said pointedly to her mute students. “Caesar would not heed the warning of the prophet. How does the text illuminate his impending doom, class?�

Hermione waited impatiently. How frustrating it was to let others answer the questions when she knew they would fall short!

Owens, a sharp but impertinent boy, tried an answer: “He ignored all the warnings and walked right into the trap.�

Hermione looked unblinkingly at the boy. “Evidently. That much we have already discussed. But can you tell me, Owens, what led Caesar to ignore his wife’s dream and the beggar’s cry?�

“Deafness?� Owens said in a falsely serious voice. A suppressed chuckle circulated the room.

“That is incorrect. Caesar clearly acknowledges and rejects all warnings,� Hermione explained flatly. She sighed inwardly before continuing, “No, class, let us examine Caesar’s fatal flaws, the faults in his character that led to his downfall and that of his society: his arrogance and misplaced trust. Note the tone of his fearful wife Calpurnia: “Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day.� And of course, Caesar met his doom at the hands of his fellows. He blindly assumed that no ill would come of his decision and disregarded all evidence warning him of danger.�

“At least he didn’t live to see it play out,� Owens suggested.

Hermione silenced him with a glance. “An accurate statement,� she coolly affirmed. “Let us examine the death scene more closely—�

But at that moment, the bell rang, and Hermione’s students closed their books with a collective snap and began to shove their things into their bags. Hermione watched them file out dispassionately. Her mind had already drifted to a more engrossing discussion she had had the day before over the phone. Penelope had delivered some upsetting—though not altogether unexpected—news: Neville had been arrested. As she locked her classroom and made for the parking lot, Hermione recalled Penelope’s words.

“It seems they finally got wind of his undocumented work,� she had reported gloomily. “I’m guessing something minor tipped them off, and the investigation team stumbled upon his whole network of ex-wizard communications.�

“I do hope they handle him gently,� Hermione had commented anxiously. “I would hate for him to be harmed on our account.�

The traffic on the highway was light. Hermione was grateful to finish teaching early on Thursdays, for the premature end to the school day meant time left to spend scheming about her future. Her current project entailed helping Penelope in her personal endeavors. She had other projects, of course, but her progress had long since come to a standstill. After all, Hermione’s kind neighbors the Wilkinses were no nearer to regaining their old identity than she.

Moving into the little house across from her bewitched parents’ had been a masochistic move. Hermione sighed as she contemplated the truth of the matter. Without a wand, Wendell and Monica Wilkins’s belief in their identity was unassailable. An emotional confession on Hermione’s part would do nothing; only magic could reverse the work she herself had done.

At least I get to have dinner with them once a week, Hermione reflected sadly. A torrent of emotions always accompanied thoughts of her parents. In hindsight, she knew she had made the right decision to alter their memories—she had done so for their own protection—but that knowledge did not spare their daughter’s crushed spirit.

Despite all the misfortune in her life, Hermione never ceased fanning the rebellious flames in her heart. They would not die.

Penelope wanted to see her daughter Olivia, a seven-year-old she had known but for a second. Contact with Neville had helped her sneak messages to the girl, but the whole business had been unsafe and unreliable and therefore infrequent. With Neville out of the picture, Penelope needed a new plan of attack.

Hermione forced herself to fixate on thoughts of Olivia as he arrived home, not permitting any glances across the street. Once inside, she checked the clock. Good, she thought. She should be awake by now.

Penelope picked up almost instantly. Hermione supposed this expeditious response grew from her friend’s lack of people with whom to correspond.

“Glad you called,� Penelope said, not waiting for an introduction.

“I just got home,� Hermione said warmly. “I hope you’re doing well.�

“All right. Still worried about Neville,� Penelope admitted.

“Yes, I know,� Hermione sighed sympathetically. “But he can take care of himself. Let’s hope.� She knew Neville would do his best, and after all, there was always a certain degree of sacrificial protection keeping him safe. Hermione hoped with a pang that such protection was acting on another of her former classmates.

Ron. The burning in her heart grew unbearable. She forced herself once more to focus on the conversation.

“Agreed,� Penelope was saying. “I’m just glad I have you to talk to. Otherwise I’d go mad.�

Hermione sighed again and chuckled lightly into the phone. “Likewise,� she assured her, praising the day she had gotten into contact with her fellow exile.

“If only you were still in England with me…� Penelope said wistfully. “But I understand. I just wish you could help me draft this letter.�

“Letter?� Hermione inquired.

“Well, with covert means gone, I’ve decided to launch a personal campaign against the Ministry to get permission to see my daughter,� Penelope said in a firm tone.

“I see!� said Hermione. “I wonder if they’ll even read it.�

“I plan to send a fair few,� Penelope confided conspiratorially. “And I hope they’re listening as we speak. With Neville taken in, I suppose there’s no need to disguise our words.�

“Agreed,� Hermione said, an idea forming in the back of her mind. “I may write some letters of my own.� How ideal it would be to gain permission to have a wizard undo the spell on her parents! It was worth a try.

“Excellent. In the meantime, would you mind helping me arrive at the proper phrasing?� Penelope asked.

“Of course,� said Hermione. “Proceed.�

* * * * *

“I’m so sorry, Ginny,� Hermione whispered, wrapping her arms around her old friend. “Fred was a great wizard.�

Ginny nodded, face hardened as she watched George bury his face in his twin’s shoulder. Hermione stroked her hair, wishing there were other words of comfort she could offer, but though she searched, none came to mind.

Everything had spiraled out of control. Harry had retrieved Snape’s memories, but where he was now Hermione could only guess. Most likely he had taken off for Dumbledore’s office, but he had done so in such a quiet fashion that Hermione had not seen him slip away. She hoped he would garner useful information from Snape’s convoluted mind. Hermione wanted nothing more than a swift conclusion to the destruction.

After a time, Hermione extricated herself from her friend’s cold arms, taking a step away from the Weasley huddle. Neville came by to pat Ginny’s shoulder with somber formality. His forehead was lined, but not merely with sorrow: Hermione detected a fierce streak of defiance in his expression. She hoped he would not do anything rash.

Hermione strolled silently away from her friends, taking stock of the dead and wounded. Voldemort’s ceasefire was temporary; this she knew. Even if the battle did not last much longer, Hermione could sense that the assault would continue elsewhere in a different form. If the fight didn’t end tonight, Hermione could not guess as to how far into the future the struggle would extend. This thought depressed her profoundly. They had pushed themselves to follow Dumbledore’s clues, searching for Hallows and Horcruxes in a tireless frenzy, only to arrive unprepared at the most important battle of her time.

Oliver Wood pushed past Hermione, heading outside to collect more bodies. Hermione stepped out of the way, finding herself up against a wall. Though she knew she should seek out Madam Pomfrey and offer her assistance, she found she had no energy left in her body. A wave of lethargic stupor had washed over her limbs, and even though her mind urged activity, Hermione felt her legs bend as she slid down the wall into a seated position, her right shoulder leaning heavily on the sturdy wall of the Great Hall.

She studied the ancient stones. They had been placed artfully, interlaced with spells cast by wizards she had studied and even worshipped since she had first learned their names: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. She wondered if they had known even then, those omnipotent four, that the seeds of centuries of strife had been woven into the very spells they had cast. The battle today was a mere continuation of the doom put in place by those four—particularly by the two latter.

How disconcerting, disappointing, and depressing. Hermione raised her left hand to touch the stones. She wanted to reassure herself that the beatified founders had implanted wisdom in the walls, too. For many minutes—she knew not how many, for the time seemed to slip away as she sat there, a lone stationary figure amidst the bustling activity—she did not move from her place on the floor, examining the stones closely, tracing the patterns around their edges.

An unexpected announcement jolted her back into the present. The voice of Lord Voldemort, boomed over the grounds, echoing off the high ceiling of the Great Hall: “It is done. The battle is over. Brave rebels, come out. The fight has come to a true end. Your leader has surrendered. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.�

There were audible gasps all around the room. Hermione herself could not believe it. She took a heavy breath and pushed herself to her feet.

“Harry Potter came to me, like a coward, and gave himself up,� the cruel voice announced. “As I promised, I will be merciful. Come outside, and I shall spare the deserving. Submit yourself, and you shall be rewarded.�

Hermione walked quickly towards Ron, her thoughts in a confused jumble. Had Harry been captured? What had happened with Snape’s memory? Was it true? Was everything lost?

Ron materialized beside her as the crowd began to push toward the doors. She grabbed his arm, eyes searching his.

“I didn’t see him,� Ron said quietly, moving forward with the crowd in exodus.

The reluctant masses buzzed, an electric current running around the group. Was it a trap? They had no choice but to file out onto the grounds. Ron and Hermione found themselves near the front of the group as they fanned out before the growing delegation of Death Eaters. Hermione searched the cloaked group carefully, looking for what she feared most to see.

“No!� shouted Neville from behind them.

Hermione gripped Ron’s arm, fearing he would explode as he too yelled, “No!�

Harry stood, head high, at Lord Voldemort’s side. The pair, framed by a host of Death Eaters, regarded the rebels silently. The cruel victor stood tall, an icy smile on his face as he surveyed the mass of students, teachers, and other resisters arrayed before his eyes. At his elbow was Harry, whose face was surprisingly stiff. Hermione could detect no signs of magical influence on her friend. She suddenly understood: he had made this choice of his own free will. This was no trick.

A wail rose from the crowd, followed by several angry yells. The Death Eaters raised their wands and cast a series of Silencing Spells. Voldemort waited until the last dissenter had been quieted.

“Here he is,� Voldemort proclaimed. “Harry Potter has abandoned the fight. You, too, must succumb. There is no future for your resistance.� Nagini hissed in agreement, slithering into sight at Lord Voldemort’s feet.

Hermione felt a punch in her shoulder as Neville burst past her, launching himself at his enemies. A trio of Death Eaters descended on him, disarming him. They forced Neville to the ground before Lord Voldemort with a thud. He remained there, struggling and panting furiously.

Lord Voldemort sniffed. “And who is this?� he whispered. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?�

Bellatrix took a step toward her master, laughing darkly. “It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?�

Hermione gave Ron a frightened glance. He looked at her, speechless. Would they kill him? The two could not intervene without support.

“Ah, yes, I remember,� Voldemort stated. “But you’re a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?�

Neville staggered to his feet, glaring. “So what if I am?� he countered.

“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom,� Lord Voldemort said. “Harry here would love for you to join him.�

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,� said Neville. “I will never betray Dumbledore’s Army!�

Ron joined in the cheer, only to be silenced quickly. Hermione shifted her weight impatiently. There had to be some way to regain the upper hand…

“Very well,� said Voldemort, displeased. “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head be it.�

Before Voldemort could gesture to his minions to force Neville to his knees, a sound of shattering glass pierced the night. Hermione watched in awe as the Sorting Hat found its way to Neville.

“There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,� laughed Voldemort. “There will be no more houses, only Slytherin. Such a noble symbol should serve for all. Am I correct, Harry?�

Harry flinched but did not answer.

“He agrees,� Voldemort announced. Hermione watched in confusion as Voldemort waved his wand, placing the Sorting Hat on Neville’s head, freezing his captive with a Body-Binding Curse. Voldemort paused, saying, “Neville here is going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me.�

Without warning, pandemonium erupted on the grounds. Neville’s hat erupted with flames, though most of the crowd did not notice: centaurs and house elves flooded the scene, as Death Eaters scattered, yelling to one another. Hermione jerked Ron’s arm and pulled out her wand, preparing to jump into the fight.

Suddenly, Neville’s limbs jumped into action. Hermione could barely glimpse him through the panicked crowd, but before she could figure out what had transpired, Neville discarded his flaming hat and unsheathed the sword of Gryffindor, sweeping it around and decapitating the unsuspecting snake at Voldemort’s feet.

Ron pulled Hermoine to the left, pushing for an escape, but she resisted, straining to see Neville. Voldemort let out a shriek, screaming over the noise to his uncoordinated supporters.

“Come on!� Ron cried.

“Wait!� said Hermione firmly, holding her ground. As she watched, Lord Voldemort turned to Harry, gesturing wildly. Harry snatched the Elder Wand and shot a spell at Neville, sending the sword flying. Hermione gasped. Neville stumbled as Harry descended, pushing his old friend to the ground and point the Elder Wand at his own throat.

“STOP!� roared Harry’s voice, magically magnified. “STOP!�

In the sudden dip in noise, Voldemort yelled to his supporters, who swiftly formed a perimeter around the captives, disarming as many as were within their range. Goyle hunkered around, collecting fallen wands and transporting them to his master.

“Do not move or I will kill Neville!� Harry called, his voice deadened.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. This must be a nightmare. Bellatrix disarmed her as she hesitated. She cackled and moved to her next victim.

The house elves and centaurs did not halt, yelling wildly as they raced towards the trapped rebels. Voldemort let out a shriek from his position, and a wave of Death Eaters turned and simultaneously shot bright orange hexes in the direction of the approaching attackers. A translucent wall formed within an instant, cutting off both groups deftly. The first wave of centaurs and elves did not have time to slow before they crashed into the wall, crumpling against it as if it were made of unyielding iron. As the rest fell back, Death Eaters aimed curses through the wall, taking down any unlucky enough to be near the front. The rest fell back, howling in a panic.

“Do not move!� Harry called in the same toneless voice. “I will kill him if anyone so much as lifts a finger.�

Shocked silence descended over the rebels as their rescuers ran, repelled by the sudden counterattack.

“Good,� Harry said at last, releasing a sigh. “Now listen. The battle is over. Your wands are in the Dark Lord’s possession. Please do not attempt to resist again, as I do not wish any of you to be harmed.�

Voldemort nodded to his new second in command, and Harry returned the Elder Wand, helping Neville to his feet and giving him a light push towards the rest of the group. Hermione stepped forward and held out her arms to catch him as he stumbled towards her.

“Excellent, Harry,� Voldemort said, regaining his composure. “The fight is truly over. Bellatrix, assemble a team to pursue the half-breeds.�

Bellatrix saluted and motioned to those nearest her.

Voldemort pointed the Elder Wand at his own throat and spoke, “No more. You have tested my patience enough. My supporters will incarcerate you until Harry and I can organize a proper system of punishment. Once again, I urge you not to disobey. That is all.�

Hermione steadied Neville on his feet. She turned to Ron. “Stay with me,� she said urgently to him.

He took a step closer to her and nodded. Rookwood appeared before them, smiling evilly at Ron. “Sorry about your brother,� he said, laughing to himself.

Ron bristled, but Hermione restrained him. “Not now,� she begged as Rookwood trained his wand on them.

“Yes, listen to your girlfriend,� Rookwood advised. “Let’s move. You’re headed for the dungeons.�

With Rookwood driving them, Ron and Hermione entered the castle and descended into its depths. Rookwood pushed them in the direction of one of the Potions classrooms and opened the door with a flick of his wand. “Get in,� he commanded.

The pair obeyed, wondering what would become of them. The door closed firmly behind them, making Hermione jump slightly. She looked around the classroom and was relieved to find that they were not alone.

Percy sat on a desk, rubbing his temples, as George worked to remove Ginny’s magical bindings. They did not give, though he tugged with both hands. “Nobody has a wand?� Hermione asked rhetorically. George grimaced and gave up.

The newly-imprisoned troop wandered listlessly around the dungeon. Mostly used to store broken cauldrons—those rendered useless by burns, bursts, or melting—it reeked of abandonment. Hermione resumed a seated pose, her hands limply in her lap. Their captors had not deemed it necessary to bind them—or perhaps they had not thought of it—and opted instead to herd their prisoners to holding cells in small groups. Despite the freedom of her arms and legs, Hermione felt as though her hands were tightly tied.

“I don’t believe it,� Ginny said at last. “This wasn’t meant to happen. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.�

Once again, no one replied. They had all been mulling over the same thought, and hearing it out loud did not bring any more clarity to their minds.

“Did he make a speech?� Ginny asked loudly.

“Who?� Ron said.

“Harry. Our savior. The Chosen One,� Ginny responded scathingly.

Percy endeavored to explain—albeit confusedly—how Harry had been presented, how Voldemort had revealed his surrender… how Harry had come walking out to stand beside the Dark Lord, announcing that the fight was over, urging everyone to obey. To Percy’s complete shock, his sister laughed loudly at his words.

“So he walked freely forward? Unbound?� she said, eyes flashing.

“Yes,� Hermione confirmed, unsure as to Ginny’s point.

“How odd. Why only a moment before, he was tied as securely as I am, lying flat on the floor next to me,� she said mockingly.

“What do you mean?� Hermione said sharply.

“Harry didn’t just surrender,� Ginny said sarcastically. “No. I was caught by a couple of Death Eaters, so I saw it all firsthand. He was working on cornering Voldemort, showing him that in surrendering his life, he simultaneously placed protection over us all. Then everything went wrong.� She frowned, not certain of her own assessment.

“Go on,� Percy urged. He, Ron, George, and Hermione had crowded around her, listening intently. “So he gave himself up. Surrendered. We know that much.�

“Well, you can probably guess what came next: a few threats, the usual,� Ginny said, trying for an offhand voice. “And of course, Harry wouldn’t have that. Naturally, he threw caution to the winds, and even though they couldn’t hurt me—even then—�

“What?� George cut in.

“They tried the Cruciatus, but I barely felt a tingling in my toes,� Ginny relayed.

“I see,� Hermione said seriously. Her mind was working at lighting speed. “Go on.�

“Harry lost all control,� Ginny went on bitterly. “He forbid Voldemort to hurt me. And Voldemort started to look all pleased with himself, so he said they could strike a bargain.�

“What kind of bargain?� Hermione probed.

Ginny sighed. “An Unbreakable Oath.�

Ron groaned. “How could he? I explained about them before, so he must have known—�

“Oh, he knew,� Ginny interrupted. “He chose it freely and wholeheartedly. Thinking Voldemort would keep up to his side of the bargain—which was never a part of the Oath—Harry vowed never to cross him. Ever.�

“But how could he?� lamented George. His face was anguished.

“He believes he’s saved us all, for the time being,� Ginny said darkly. “Maybe he thinks Voldemort will just keel over one of these days. And I can’t believe how well it played out. He just walked out like he’d decided not to fight and recommended that everyone else ought to do the same? Voldemort must have taken Felix Felicis this morning.�

“He can’t just keel over,� Ron pointed out. “He’s got Horcruxes, remember?�

“Horcruxes?� Percy said, horrorstruck.

Ron and Hermione summarized their quest for Voldemort’s secret tools of immortality, detailing sinister lockets and swords imbibed in basilisk venom.

“And once you kill all the bits of his soul he chopped off, the only part left is inside of him. Ta da! He’s mortal,� Ron explained.

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. “It appears you left something out.�

“Really?� Ron said skeptically, clearly regarding himself as the expert.

“Harry mentioned something—before when we were locked in here,� she began slowly. “How said there was a bit in him, too, but that he had destroyed it.�

Hermione gasped audibly. “Now it all makes sense!� she cried. “He literally surrendered his life, and consequently the Horcrux in Harry was destroyed, allowing him to persevere! The protective magic Ginny mentioned should work just like the one Harry received from his mother, but on all of us who resisted, not just one particular person.�

“Blimey,� muttered George.

“But the job’s still not done!� Ron moaned. “You-Know-Who himself is still out and about.�

“Too late,� Ginny said flatly. “In case you haven’t noticed, the man for the job just quit. And I don’t want to know what’s to happen to all of us.�

“Not much, I think,� Hermione shuddered. “They can’t kill us… at least not easily or by their usual methods. They can only enslave us.�

“Superb,� said Ron theatrically.

“He did say he wanted us purebloods to be a part of his world,� Percy mentioned. “That probably means they won’t strip us of our wands permanently.�

“Unfortunately, some of us aren’t purebloods,� Hermioen said softly.

“At least you’re genuinely untouchable,� Ginny offered.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Ron mused, “I wonder why they could touch us at all. Harry said his mother’s sacrifice prevented You-Know-Who from even doing that.�

“Well, obviously those circumstances were very different,� Hermione stated in a matter-of-fact voice. “The issue was purely between Harry and Voldemort. In this case, the protection covers hundreds of people—maybe more, I really can’t know its full extent… perhaps only those who rebelled are truly protected—and, on top of that, our protection acts against a large pool of enemies.�

“That’s bound to have an effect,� Percy agreed soberly. “The magic must be diluted. If only such deep, ancient power had been studied and explained… At least their wands can do no harm. Ginny said she barely felt tingling when they tried the Cruciatus on her.�

“Then that’s that,� Ron said.

“Yeah,� said George in a bitter voice. “I just wish Harry had turned himself in a little sooner, to save Fred.�

The others sat quietly for a few minutes, not looking at one another. The presence of the people lost seemed to fill the room, making the prisoners feel uncomfortably crowded. Hermione wished there were windows, to create even the illusion of free, open space.

George spoke at last, his voice resigned. “Well, in Fred’s memory, I swear I have no intention of giving up now.�

“Me, neither,� Ron said forcefully. “Harry shouldn’t have made that Oath, but Merlin’s Beard—I’ll swear one of my own.�

“There’s no need to make it official,� Ginny snapped.

“We’re wandless, anyway,� Hermione reminded them.

Percy nodded. “All the same, though… We know the truth. That has got to count for something. Fighting back is going to be nigh on impossible, but we’ll find a way.�

“We have to,� Ron agreed. “And I think Harry knows that. No matter what happens, he still believes in the DA. Even if he can’t fight back himself.�

“It’s all right, Ginny,� Hermione said gently, noting the scowl on her face. “Whether or not it was right, it’s done now.�

“They don’t appear to be coming back any time soon,� Percy said. “Perhaps we should try to sleep? It’s been a while since any of us has closed their eyes.�

The others murmured their assent. Silence covered the group like a blanket of fog, hovering all around and preventing them from speaking any more. As they sat or lay down to wait, their exhaustion crept out from its tucked-away place and pulled them under until, one by one, they were all asleep—except for Hermione.

She sat stiffly against the smooth stones of the dungeon wall, thinking. She knew her future was bleak: as a Mudlbood, nothing was guaranteed. She might be subjected to the Dementor’s kiss, but at the very least, her wand would likely be broken. She was exactly the sort of person who was unfit to live in Voldemort’s Utopian society. They would surely dispose of her somehow.

Her knowledge kept her awake long into the night. She stared at the ceiling, watching the torchlight dance sporadically across the ancient but resilient stones.

“Meeting in five, sir,� Cooper said affirmatively, calling from the door. Harry did not look up. He did not wish to behold the frosty expression on the man’s face. His own memories plagued him enough as matters stood; he didn’t need the accusatory glares of his fellows. He preferred to keep his eyes glued to the inoffensive pattern in the wood of his desk.

Expressions of contempt were easier to manage than the unchecked gloating of his other coworkers. Actually, Harry thought grimly, I think I can handle it. I got used to the treatment in school. No amount of experience, on the other hand, could properly arm him against the faces of loathsome disappointment of those who considered him the greatest traitor of all history, magical and otherwise. He could not stand meeting the gaze of those who once shook his hand in the street and thanked him. Those wizards of a lost generation… the incapacitated men and women deprived of their last hope. Yes, he decided. It’s the heartbreak I can’t bear. Every day felt like Judgment Day. In his darkest moments, Harry found himself picturing himself in hell, toiling among the others deserving of condemnation. Or was he in purgatory? Despite the bleakness of his situation, he was surviving.

Cooper knocked again. Harry scrambled to gather the necessary papers in a futile attempt to hide the fact that he had been brooding rather than preparing himself. Cooper poked his head around the door. “Minister?�

“Yes, I’m ready,� Harry said impatiently. He slid the stack of papers into the crook of his arm and followed the older man out of the office. Harry wondered vaguely if his assistant had pictured working for an eighteen-year-old antichrist when he had applied for a Ministry position ten years before. Of course not, he answered his own question. That was another lifetime.

As they walked, Harry attempted to straighten the documents he carried, eyes fixed on the back of Cooper’s head. Meetings. He hated them. Conducting official gatherings always filled him with deep frustration. All he did was relay Voldemort’s instructions. Playing Minister was truly pointless, but the Dark Lord had commanded him to act as his mouthpiece. It was a clever but cruel method to keep the population in check, and Harry could not help but begrudgingly admire its effectiveness. As Minister, he had essentially been stripped of his own voice, and consequently his ability to obey his conscience had evaporated. In response, most would-be resisters found themselves at a loss. Once they had treated him as a rallying point; now they regarded him as a dictator. Never had Harry felt less like a leader than the day he had assumed office.

Harry preferred not to dwell on the tragedy of his position. If he suffered, so be it. He had chosen the only avenue presented him, and he refused to regret having done as much.

At last Cooper rounded the final corner. Harry was grateful for the absence of trips between floors; confinement in the lift with his inferiors was one of the more unpleasant aspects of his day.

The conference room was full, the department heads waiting nonchalantly around the table. They gradually lapsed into silence as Harry placed himself at the head. They did not seem bothered by his presence, and yes—Harry glanced around—they all bore gloating expressions. There was no avoiding the irritation in this room, Harry reminded himself. The men and women around him were the victors. His cause had failed, had lost.

Harry had been bracing himself mentally for this meeting; it was one of those unpleasant formal sessions with the complete set of department assholes. As those in attendance adjusted their papers and turned to face him, Harry cleared his throat.

A dozen smirks greeted his eyes. Bellatrix leaned back in her chair, ripping up a piece of parchment. Umbridge sat heavily in her chair, her little hands folded on top of a bulging file marked “Justice.� Blaise looked aloof as he regarded Harry from his place at the far end of the table, but then that was to be expected.

Harry sighed internally. “Good afternoon,� he began dully. “The Dark Lord would like to express his pleasure with your efforts to restore order. His primary objective for today’s meeting is to discuss his thoughts on how deserving wizards can obtain pardons.�

Several people around the table nodded in appreciation.

“The plan caters to the younger witches and wizards,� Harry said, “but all who are willing to submit themselves will be given a chance.�

“Humph,� said Bellatrix, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Too generous.�

“The Dark Lord considers assimilation one of the top priorities for those of noble descent,� Harry continued. “That is why he will be encouraging marriages and procreation in pureblood families. Young adults will be expected to rise to the occasion within a year. Those already married should produce a child to show their allegiance. Those too old may volunteer to serve the Dark Lord in some other fashion. In fact, he expects all loyal servants to show their support through service in some form.�

Umbridge sneezed loudly, causing the person next to her to jump slightly. “Of course,� she said in a simpering tone. “And I expect as leaders, we ought to set the example for the impressionable masses.�

“The Dark Lord wishes his supporters to comply with his plan as a token of loyalty,� Harry went on, ignoring his former professor.

“Including the marriage and everything?� Blaise asked in a silken voice.

Harry eyed him curiously. Who could Blaise be possibly interested in other than his reflection? “Yes,� he said cautiously.

Bellatrix smacked the table. “An excellent plan,� she said in a carrying voice. “The pureblood genes shall flourish. No longer will they be tainted by the filth of worthless Mudbloods!�

“Or half-breeds!� Umbridge cried.

Harry sighed. He gestured to Cooper. “Let us adjourn.�


After lunch, Harry retreated to his office to spend some time alone. It was absurd that he could possibly desire more time alone with his thoughts, but the alternative was far more undesirable. He gazed around the room. At least the paintings were mostly vacant.

A knock at the door interrupted Harry’s moment of silence. “Yes?� he called.

Cooper entered quietly. “Important development,� he stated, jaw set. “Longbottom in Communications is suspected of illegal contact with Mudbloods.�

Harry’s heart sank. Those reports were the last he wanted to hear, because the moment they reached his ears, he was responsible for seeing them taken care of.

“Watch him,� he said finally. “We’ll need to build a solid case against him.�

“Yes, sir,� Cooper replied. “And Corner, his associate?�

“Conduct a low profile inquiry,� Harry directed. “If he’s involved, too, it should become clear soon enough.�

“Yes, sir,� Cooper said. He did not leave.

Harry sensed his hesitation. He knew what the man was waiting for: a sign, an indirect order, a smile, anything. Harry could not give Cooper what he hoped for. Though his mind searched tirelessly for a loophole, he had none. Internally, he scanned his options incessantly, grasping at straws, desperate to find a way to get a message out or to inhibit his master’s designs… but such draining frustrations merely left him with an unpleasant headache.

“You may go,� Harry said in a low voice.

Cooper resumed his usual hardened expression and departed.

Unbreakable meant unbreakable.

Harry’s sense of uselessness had pervaded since the day of his inception as puppet-Minister. He had spoken to the wizarding population, his subjects, in a scripted address. As Voldemort’s words had poured forth from his lips, dripping with bile, Harry had battled with himself internally, seeking a nonexistent solution, a way to deliver a message of rebellion to his listeners, but none came.

None ever would. At the end of the day, he was a wandless mass of blood, bones, and flesh, with a core slowly rotting from the inside out. It did not matter that Harry was the master of the Elder Wand, for he had a master of his own who kept the wand for himself. Harry was lucky to get to cast a spell for a special occasion. The Dark Lord preferred not to share his wand.

He was useless. He could do nothing to stay Voldemort’s hand, though the fire of his resolve to protect and save his fellows survived. As each day continued the assault on his deadened spirit, however, his faith slipped away. Nothing would change. Voldemort couldn’t kill them, so the killing was truly at a standstill. In Harry’s lowest moods, he even caught himself thinking they were better off this way.


* * * * *

Harry watched them go, his body utterly devoid of life. The people with enough luck to walk away—at least for the time being—drifted into the castle. Harry pictured them shuffling towards the fireplaces, heads bowed in submission and hands cupped to receive their dose of floo powder. Like souls in purgatory, Harry thought, recalling a painting his overbearing Aunt had once shown him. “Now this is art!� she had said with a sniff. “Sinners where they belong.�

Death Eaters queued for orders, which Voldemort gave directly; Harry’s only use was to act as the Dark Lord’s outward face. Voldemort’s supporters split into teams as Harry watched. The majority went to parcel off the shell-shocked wizards who would soon find themselves excommunicated from the magic world. At King’s Cross, Harry could imagine how they would be shoved onto the Muggle Platform, the gate sealed behind them. Those Death Eaters who would not participate in this process headed toward the group of Undesirables. These Voldemort wanted to deal with personally.

Harry waited for a lull in Voldemort’s commentary to his second-in-command. He had made his choice for a reason, and he intended to see it through. “What now?� he questioned, standing at his master’s shoulder.

Voldemort looked at him and released a high, cold laugh. “So ready to do my bidding!� he marveled. “I intend to dispose of my enemies, naturally.� He reached for the wand in Harry’s hand.

Harry sensed a constricted feeling in his chest. “No,� he said through gritted teeth. “You said you’d let them live.�

Voldemort sighed but did not lower his arm. “Now, now, Harry. Surely you understand. I promised not to hurt your beloved, but I made no such promise about your comrades. Besides, these wizards have defied me categorically. They have sought to undo me for decades. I cannot allow them to continue, whereas I am confident that the younger, more impressionable lot can adapt with time.�

Harry shook his head angrily.

Voldemort looked displeased. “Come now, Harry. I require the wand.�

Harry only gripped it more tightly, though he began to feel an uncomfortable pang in his heart, as though it were threatening to merely stop beating at any moment.

“I will not tolerate much more of this,� Voldemort warned. “Recall that I only need to give the order, and you will obey me or face death.�

Harry took a breath. There was nothing he could do. He stared at the wand in his hand, a terrible feeling consuming him: hatred. He fixed his eyes on the Elder Wand, observing its shape, its color, its length. The Deathstick indeed. It was his wand, but since he belonged to Voldemort, it was his master’s wand, too. How odd it was to think that they had begun with mysteriously connected wands, only to end up sharing the same wand… the Wand of Destiny.

“I no longer desire you to hold the wand,� Voldemort said decisively. “Return it to me.�

Harry begrudgingly stuck out his arm, like a frustrated child. He wondered that Voldemort had allowed him to hold a wand at all. He supposed it was simply so he could accomplish things without using his own hands.

Voldemort accepted the wand and stalked across the grass to the newly formed line of remaining prisoners. Arthur Weasley stood at the head. Elder Wand in hand, Voldemort looked quite at ease. Harry followed him worriedly.

“Ah,� Voldemort said smugly. “A long line of defiance stands before me. At last, the pathetic remnants of the Order of the Phoenix shall perish.�

Bellatrix materialized at the Dark Lord’s side. Her eyes shone with a manic glee. She asked in a crisp voice, “Shall I make them kneel?�

“Yes,� Voldemort murmured. Arthur fell swiftly to his knees, as if kicked from behind.

Silently, Voldemort raised the Elder Wand. Harry looked on in horror.

“Avada Kedavra!�

With a blinding force, the spell burst from the Elder Wand, but instead of cutting through Arthur’s chest, it ricocheted off his body and flew backwards into the sky. Everyone within range dodged its path, throwing themselves heavily to the ground.

Harry was the first to roll to his feet and assess the situation. Arthur had been knocked down, but he was otherwise unharmed; the person behind him helped him awkwardly to his feet, where he stood, breathing in great gulps as if his lungs had opened for the first time.

Voldemort, furious at having fallen to the ground twice in one night, violently repelled any attempt to help him to his feet. Harry watched him rise in an uncoordinated stumble. Before he could restrain himself, Harry let out a delirious shout of laughter.

“SILENCE!� Voldemort shrieked. Harry obeyed instantly. “Why are you laughing?�

His reply permitted, Harry said loudly, “You can’t hurt them, remember? They’re under a protection stronger than any oath.�

Voldemort growled angrily, his eyes ablaze. Realizing his hands were tied, he turned on his heel and stormed away. “Escort them to Azkaban,� he screamed as he departed.

Harry turned urgently to Arthur. “I’m sorry—I had no choice—�

Arthur nodded curtly. “I understand,� he said quietly, trying for a smile as Death Eaters swooping in to pull the prisoners away.

Feeling magically reassured that his rash decision had not been in vain, Harry watched them go. Their hands bound behind them, they fell into a line. Once again, Harry was reminded of the old painting of sinners in purgatory. He supposed such a description was not far from the truth. There they were, villains readying to meet their doom. To picture it, Harry had only to adjust his view of what heaven must be, for he knew he would be there soon: a Death Eater’s paradise, complete with angels swathed in black robes and serpentine tattoos on their forearms.

Loitering outside the Leaky Cauldron had always been one of Lavender’s favorite things to do when bored in London. She would lean against the dusty window and fold her arms across her chest. Tom never minded; he was an old friend of her father, and he liked nothing better than to recount embarrassing stories of Lavender’s visits as a young girl. Nowadays, she derived pleasure in thinking that in her leisurely position, she enjoyed one of the most unique experiences available to a visitor in the city: she could observe anything and everything on the block—whether a rude pedestrian or an overly engrossed couple—as closely as she liked. To the Muggle world, she was an unperson as long as she stood close to the Leaky Cauldron.

Lavender had never really been bothered by the intrusive or unwarranted nature of her actions. Just as her world was fantastical and unimaginable to Muggles, so was theirs to her. She did not feel as though she observed real people going about their lives as she stared across the street; rather, she viewed the ordinary folk traversing her field of view as actors on a stage, carrying props and delivering scripted lines.

Lavender spent little time considering the significance of her own form of people-watching. In the end, she simply needed some way to pass the time as she waited for her lunch mates to appear. Passive observation seemed wiser than any other activity that came to mind. This way she could at least dull her discomfort and her unshakable anxiety. I’m too young to be a mother, Lavender thought with a sigh. Just look at what it’s done to my nerves!

The combination of watching the scene before her and recalling her domestic situation made Lavender rather depressed. She hated feeling down, but even after three years of crudely disguised chaos she hadn’t settled into her new life. She couldn’t help thinking of Hermione Granger, who was doubtless living in a shithole somewhere among the same sort of ignorant people that milled about on the other side of the street. Lavender could not help hoping to miraculously spot her old classmate’s unflatteringly bushy head among those bobbing jauntily through the crowd. Of course, she dreaded such an impossible encounter as well. After all, she and Hermione had never been close, and Lavender internally feared what she assumed would be a confrontation. Lavender, after all, had effectively led the life Hermione would have wanted and carried it out while the unfortunate Muggle-born rotted in isolation.

On the whole, Lavender preferred not to think about Hermione.

Instead, she forced herself to cultivate interest and excitement in the prospect of lunching and—if she had her way—shopping. After all, it was not every day she could escape caring for her two baby boys of fifteen months. Luckily, her excitable babies had a pair of affectionate grandmothers who readily carved time out of their schedules when Lavender needed some time off. Whatever the circumstances of the twins’ birth, they enjoyed unabated adoration from their grandparents.

At last, Lavender spotted Parvati approaching, emerging suddenly from the tangible border of the crowd, which flowed across the street without so much as a backward glance. Lavender admired her outfit: she always knew how to dress in Muggle fashion, sporting a fabulously draped pink chemise and perfectly tailored denim jeans. Of course, Lavender knew that the only reason the clothes fit her so perfectly was Parvati’s adept knowledge of tailoring charms, but she suspected most Muggles just wrote her off as having “that sort of body, the one that fits all the clothes in the department stores.�

“Happy New Year’s Eve!� Parvati said in a singsong voice. “I brought your present.�

“And I have Hannah’s,� Lavender responded, not to be outdone. She smiled at her friend, feeling her gloom rapidly ebbing away. “I’m so glad we decided to do this.�

“Lunch will be wonderful,� Parvati agreed. She rolled her eyes girlishly. “And I wouldn’t say no to a stop in some of Diagon Alley’s stores. Oh! I can’t express how much I’ve been looking forward to some solid time with my girlfriends.�

“I understand completely,� Lavender assured her. “I doubt Hannah will be in the mood to shop, however, so let’s strive to be accommodating. Just keep reminding yourself that her salary is considerably smaller than yours.�

Parvati shrugged. “She can at least poke around, just for the fun of it,� she said. They were silent for a moment. At last, Parvati commented, “Well, I don’t see why we’re standing out here in the cold.�

The two had only just seated themselves at a table for three when Hannah appeared at the door. To Lavender’s surprise, Luna Lovegood followed their friend in and approached their spot by the fireplace. In times past, seeing the oddball appear might have caused Lavender irritation, but she found as they waved to one another that she was glad to share a Butterbeer with Luna. They had known the same hardships. One could find comfort in banding together.

“Hello!� Hannah called. “Hope you don’t mind. Luna visited me this morning—it was quite unexpected; she just appeared in my office—so I invited her along.�

Lavender smiled and pulled out her wand to Summon a fourth chair. “Not a problem,� she said. Parvati chuckled to herself.

The new arrivals took their seats, one plumping tiredly down and the other lowering herself in a birdlike fashion. Lavender took stock of their appearances: Hannah wore her professor’s robes with dignity and evident pride; Luna wore an odd assembly of contrasting patterns—most notably, a scarf with miniature dancing camels—and bizarre shell earrings. Lavender guessed that some creatures likely called the orangey shells home, as there were streaks near the rounded openings.

“Well, Happy Christmas,� Lavender exclaimed as they settled. A cheery mood pervaded, lending Lavender a feel of lighteatered ease she did not normally enjoy. “I regret not having had the foresight to buy an extra gift.�

Luna smiled sanguinely. “Do not blame yourself. Not all of us can foresee as clearly as a Dinklewrat.�

Parvati giggled. “Indeed.�

Hannah smiled kindly. “Actually,� she put in, “Luna is expected a gift of her own to shown up not too many months from now.�

Lavender’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s fantastic!�

“Yes, congratulations!� Parvati said.

Luna nodded. “I’ve only just learned.�

“Dean must be ecstatic,� Lavender said.

“Yes, he is,� Luna agreed. “He’s had a rough time this past year. He frowns frequently and tends to toss about in his sleep.�

“I’m sorry to hear that,� Hannah said, adjusting her robes. “His work must be so depressing.�

“What is he doing these days?� Parvati inquired. “Is he with the Ministry? I haven’t spoken to Dean in ages…�

“Oh, yes,� Luna confirmed. “He works for the Wizengamot. Of course, justice isn’t very just, from what I can tell, especially with Dolores Umbridge in charge.�

“That must be a difficult job,� Lavender speculated. “I don’t think I would have the stamina to drag myself to work every day.�

“He manages,� Luna commented. “I try to help him by mixing Pixie powder into his tea to give him more energy.�

“Very thoughtful of you,� said Parvati. After a pause, she asked, “Does that work?�

Lavender shot her a look.

“I think so,� Luna said. “But of course I can’t do very much on days when he has to prosecute an old friend.�

“That’s terrible,� Lavender murmured.

“The worst was when he inherited Percy Weasley’s case,� Luna confided. “Whoever received it originally resigned mysteriously after they refused to proceed. Poor Dean had no choice. I don’t think he slept one wink for months.�

“Too much Pixie powder?� Parvati asked.

“He prosecuted Percy?� Lavender asked quickly.

“Yes,� Luna said with a nod. “He was nearly sent off to St. Mungo’s. Some of his coworkers thought he was going to take his own life.�

“I should hope not,� Hannah said. A somber moment passed. “You must have been his lifeline.�

“The case closed back in September,� Luna remarked. “Of course, it was terrible for Dean to watch an old classmate receive a death sentence, but at least the waiting and struggling was over. But I didn’t mind caring for him. I will never forget how kind he was to me after Ollivander and I were rescued from Malfoy Manor.�

Lavender shook her head. “Why doesn’t he just quit? Honestly, if it’s that depressing…�

Luna turned her eyes on Lavender. “Would you quit? If you knew it was hopeless, you would probably choose to do so. But then there’s the matter of consider who would replace you. At least Dean can trust himself not to abuse the prisoners in court. Besides, he is not at liberty to quit. Umbridge cleared his blood status, but really we’re all at her mercy.�

Lavender shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, I hope things work out for him,� she mumbled. “And I hope he doesn’t end up prosecuting Ron any time soon.�

“What do you mean?� Parvati probed.

“He works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,� Lavender explained, but I have an uncomfortable feeling that he has some sort of sideshow going on. It would destroy Molly to lose a third son, to say nothing of her husband. Still, Ronald always seems to be up to something.�

“That doesn’t sound good,� Hannah said, shaking her head.

“I think we can all agree,� said Parvati, “that it’s a full-time effort, staying out of trouble. I feel like I’ve been walking a tightwire for the last three and half years.�

“Agreed,� said Hannah. “I have to admit, I feel fairly secure at Hogwarts. Despite the obvious changes since we left school, it’s easy to pretend that the horizon isn’t so dark and gloomy.�

Tom approached their table, spotting Lavender instantly. “Hello, ladies,� he said. “Can I get you anything?�

“Good to see you, Tom,� Lavender said. Fearing he might begin telling an embarrassing story, she continued immediately, “How about some Butterbeers for the moment?� She motioned to her companions. “Enough to go around?�

“Certainly,� Tom said, inclining his head. “But don’t you run away before you and I get a chance to chat, Little Lav.�

Lavender smiled and watched him retreat to the bar.

“You mentioned Hogwarts,� Parvati said to Hannah conversationally, “and I realized we haven’t really had the chance to question you. Do elaborate.�

“Oh, well,� Hannah said, blushing slightly at the rapt attention her friends paid her, “the structure has been altered quite radically. Slughorn carried out all of the Ministry’s recommended reforms in the first year. Of course, I’ve only been teaching since September of this year, so everything feels very routine already.�

“No Sorting?� Luna asked.

“To begin with, no,� Hannah said. “But when the students reach their third year, there’s a sort of induction ceremony for those who would have been Slytherins in the old days. The students chosen form a sort of elite group.�

“How surprising,� said Parvati. “And the classes?�

“Of course, the curriculum has undergone restructuring as well,� Hannah went on. “History of Magic and Muggle Studies are unrecognizeable in their current form. Even our experience as seventh years was far less extreme. Oh, and Divination has been removed all together.�

Lavender and Parvati gasped.

“How could they?� demanded Parvati. “That class shaped my Hogwarts education.�

“Well, the higher-ups didn’t much care for the subject material,� Hannah said sheepishly. “And of course with Umbridge back on track, she personally rid the school of all its Divination teachers. Trelawney was a thorn in her side from all those years ago—and Firenze, of course, is a half-breed.�

“I hate that woman,� Lavender spat.

“Which one?� Tom said from behind her.

“Dolores Umbridge,� Luna clarified, twirling her wand in her hair.

“Oh, her,� Tom said darkly. “I wouldn’t shout that quite so loudly if I were you. She came in her the other day. She was so irritated when she spilled her drink on herself that she threatened to send a Ministry health inspector over.�

The group retrieved their Butterbeers from the tray in Tom’s hands. He scuffled away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

“I feel as though I’ve painted a completely black picture o the situation at Hogwarts,� Hannah said after a while. “To be honest, the discipline and watchfulness can disturb me at times, but on the whole, the kids are no different than we were. Resilient little creatures! And though he complies with all the decrees that the Department of Education sends along, Slughorn has been a decent Headmaster. He is not at all the dictator that Snape was during his short time.�

“Good riddance,� Parvati said in a firm tone. “Snape got what he deserved.�

“Well, I’m glad to hear that Hogwarts hasn’t become a little Azkaban,� Lavender commented. “After all, the twins are almost fifteen months old. I have to start worrying about their education!�

Hannah and Parvati laughed. Luna smiled tranquilly into her lap.

“I really must go visit them again,� Parvati exclaimed. “They must miss their Auntie terribly.�

Lavender rolled her eyes. “I think they are a little young to miss anything other than the Bertie Bott’s you brought over last time.�

“Are we going to order food anytime soon?� Hannah asked. “I’m developing a pang in my stomach.�

“Not to worry,� Lavender said. “I’ll call Tom over.�

* * * * *

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,� Parvati murmured from over Lavender’s shoulder. She waved her wand at the set of tiny white roses on the boudoir. The blossoms floated gently and obediently nestled themselves in Lavender’s intricate twists and turns of hair.

Lavender studied herself in the mirror. She was indeed beautiful; everything about her looked perfectly coiffed, perfectly arranged, all perfectly perfect. Her voluminous white dress, her hair piled artfully on her head, her makeup and her nails all looked ready for a wedding. Parvati had genuinely outdone herself, to her great pleasure. The moment Lavender had said she was in need of a wedding stylist, her dearest friend had immediately insisted that, for old times’ sake, she allow Parvati to paint her nails, do her hair, and of course pick out the dress. And here they were, admiring her craftsmanship. Everything looked stunning—even the modest engagement ring on Lavender’s finger.

“Just you wait until Ron sees you,� Parvati continued, her voice kind. She knew this was a tough day for everyone, but despite the upsetting back story, Parvati wanted the bride to remember this day with a wistful smile. As her best friend, she felt Lavender was entitled to happy memories.

“How much longer?� Lavender asked absentmindedly, touching her face with her bejeweled hand. The movement seemed more strenuous as usual, as if her engagement ring weighed her down.

“Oh, maybe half an hour,� Parvati said, purposefully casual. “I’m quite sure your dad will fetch you soon.�

“Are my flowers here?� Lavender asked, taking a breath and allowing herself to relax. She knew Parvati meant well, and she, too, wanted to enjoy the wedding. It wasn’t a dream ceremony, though: they had only had a few weeks to plan it all, and every venue they asked was double-booked. So many weddings all at once! one hotelier had exclaimed in his apologetic note. I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you within the time frame you’ve requested. Have you tried the Green Dragon?

“Right here,� Parvati said, passing the bouquet. Lavender admired the miniature roses with a semblance of happiness. It must have taken Parvati hours to shrink each and every one and assemble them.

“I had better fix my own makeup,� Parvati said critically, watching her reflection as she turned her face from side to side. “Any blush that may have been on my face this morning has all but disappeared.�

“Don’t be silly! You look splendid,� Lavender chastised with a giggle. Though her Hogwarts memories were at least one year old, her memories were fresh. She still felt like a schoolgirl in many ways.

She rose carefully, mindful of her dress. A rip could easily derail the joyous occasion. It had been her mother’s gown, after all, and they would both be devastated if the fabric accrued the least bit of damage.

Nothing was ideal about the wedding, in truth; it was on a Thursday, and only after Ron had evoked the memory of his father had the owner of the Green Dragon consented to pencil them in. At least they had gotten August, per their request. The month pleased everyone, including the Ministry. On the other hand, the Green Dragon could hardly accommodate the entire scope of Ron’s and Lavender’s families, so they had both been forced to limit the guest list to their closest family and friends. Some relatives had sent angry letters: Ron’s Aunt Muriel, for example, had been so rude as to send a Howler. Lavender had burst into tears. The stress was overwhelming: a wedding with someone who did not truly love her and a deadline with consequences attached already loomed over her head. Ron had done his best to comfort her, of course, but that had never been his forte, and his helplessness had only worsened the situation.

Others had been more understanding in their notes. They saw the situation for what it was: a bargaining chip to redeem young couples in the eyes of the Ministry from “past indiscretions,� as the Loyalty Department would have it. Besides, they noted, it was difficult to attend a Thursday wedding anyway.

“Wipe that frown off your face this instant!� Parvati commanded. “As imperfect as today is, it is still your wedding day. I have worked my arse off to beautify it, and I intend for you to enjoy it.�

Lavender smiled gratefully. “You’re right,� she said, slightly cheered. She glanced in the mirror once more. “Do I look ready to you?�

“Ready?� Parvati scoffed playfully. “You are the very image of a blushing bride.�

“That she is,� said a deep voice.

Lavender whirled around to spot Ron in the doorway. She could not help it; a contended smile crossed her face. He’s going to marry me, she thought, her heart skipping a beat.

Ron smiled back. “You look amazing,� he said genuinely.

Parvati clucked angrily. “You’re not supposed to be here! Go take your place up front. Mr. Brown will be here any moment.�

Ron looked sheepish. “Sorry, Parvati. I’ll go in a moment.� He gave Lavender a look. The heaviness in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Parvati,� Lavender said suddenly, “would you mind getting me a glass of water? I’m rather parched.�

Her friend looked a little taken aback, but she nodded and stepped out of the room.

Ron approached her, his hands reached uncertainly out towards her. She took them and allowed him to pull her into a friendly hug. He held on longer than usual, laying his cheek on the crown of her head. Lavender kicked herself mentally for enjoying it.

“Are you feeling all right?� she asked his shoulder, her forehead leaning delicately against him.

“I guess so,� he said quietly.

Lavender braced herself mentally. In a level voice, she said, “You don’t have to do this, Ron.�

Ron pulled away and held her arms’ length. He looked at her stubbornly, eyes bright against his pale, freckled skin. “Yes, I do,� he stated.

Lavender sighed and returned his gaze. “Are you ready to go in then? As Parvati made clear, it’s nearly time.�

Ron hesitated. Lavender knew he was stalling. She reached up to touch his cheek gently, using the hand that did not bear a ring. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He seemed frustrated with himself but she could tell he was trying his hardest not to show it.

“Listen,� Lavender began, ducking her head. “I know you don’t love me, Ron.�

He clenched his jaw.

Lavender tried again: “I understand how you feel. If it didn’t mean hope for the future, neither of us would be here today. This is our way to get by, as unfair as that is.�

“I know that,� Ron said forcefully, opening his eyes to stare down at her. “I do care about you, though,� he added. A twisted grin touched his face. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stand marrying you.�

Lavender laughed. He had always had that gift of breaking tension with a tactless comment. She found it endearing. So had Hermione, she recalled. This thought sobered her.

“Today means a lot to me,� she said. “I care deeply about you, too.� She bit her lip, hearing the asymmetry between her comment and his. “But Ron, I know I can never replace Hermione. Believe that I understand that.�

Ron looked anguished, but he nodded.

Lavender paused before continuing, “I don’t think the future we used to imagine has disappeared forever. We just need time to rebuild our lives… wait for the stars to realign…� She chose not to mention how often she had pictured this very future—well, the one in which she was his bride—while a student at Hogwarts. She was no longer that girl in so many ways, she realized. Dark times had forced her to sober up.

“To figure out a way to the other side of this mess,� Ron agreed.

“And Ron, I promise you that… that…� Lavender’s throat closed unexpectedly. She pressed her lips together firmly. A voice in her head chanted, Don’t ruin the makeup! Don’t ruin the makeup! The moment passed, and Lavender continued, “Merlin willing, I will step aside when that day comes, that day when you are reunited. I swear it, Ron,� she finished, voice trembling. She was glad, despite the agony of saying the words, to have finally given them voice.

Ron stared at her, a plain expression of gratitude on his face. Lavender forced a smile. He smiled back, and in a swift gesture, he swept her against him and kissed her. It was not a passionate kiss, but a soft kiss of as much love and affection he could muster. Lavender thought vaguely that he had never been very good with words, but physically, she understood him perfectly.

He retreated after a short time. She could hear him breathing quietly, and he looked saddened. She hoped her kissing was not to blame. He did, on the other hand, appear calmer and more prepared.

Ron stepped back, examining her. “Thank you,� he said simply. The twisted smile returned as he looked her up and down. “I’m afraid you’ll need to redo your lipstick, though…�

Horrified, Lavender whirled to look in the mirror, hands gravitating towards her face. She let out a gasp; he was right. She could not get married with lipstick untidily smudged on her face. She glared at Ron in the mirror. He chuckled and wiped his mouth with his hand. How typical.

At this moment, Parvati burst in with a cup of water. She shot Ron a disapproving look. “Move along,� she commanded. He raised his hands in defeat.

“I meant no harm,� he joked. To Lavender, he said in a pleasant voice, “See you in a bit.�

“See you,� she repeated breathlessly to his reflection. He left with a chuckle, his hands shoved in his pockets and his step lighter than Lavender had seen in ages.

Once he had disappeared, Lavender turned her attention to her face, carefully composing her features. She had gotten a little carried away. It was difficult, knowing she cared more for Ron than he did for her. Hers was an endless struggle of suppressing feelings, but sometimes she slipped up. Letting her affection show was a mistake… But how unfair it was, to be marrying a person for whom she cared a great deal and to never be allowed to show her heart to him! Lavender wondered if their arrangement could possibly be harder on her than it was on him. Of course not, she told herself harshly. And let’s stick to the task at hand! It did not matter, anyway; she had to finish getting ready for her wedding.

“Here’s your cup of water,� Parvati said grudgingly. “I hope you’re still thirsty.�

“A little, yes,� Lavender consented, turning to smile innocently at her friend.

Parvati let out a little scream, followed quickly by a second. “Your… your lipstick! Oh no! and—ugh! Now my arm is all wet…�

Lavender laughed freely. “Don’t worry, it’s just water,� she consoled.

“That may be, but the greater crisis is on your face! Ack! I knew I should have kicked him out. Now where has that blasted lipstick gotten to?�

Blaise tossed aside the roll of parchment he had been perusing, closing his eyes momentarily to relieve them of strain. There was positively nothing duller than a full day spent toiling behind a desk, or so Blaise concluded. Despite the fact that he had a spacious office all to himself and had not experienced any magical weather problems in at least a year, he wanted out. Reading files, penning reports, and conferring with the members of his department brought little color to the monochrome of heading the Loyalty Sector of the Department of Magical Law.

In taking the long view, Blaise supposed he had succeeded in all the important ways: he had risen quickly to the top of one of the Ministry’s newest divisions, and he was already a father nearly twice over—propagating the noble Zabini genes. Consequently, the Dark Lord had yet to find a source of displeasure with him. By any estimation, the world was his oyster.

Nevertheless, if the Dark Lord were to set aside his recommendation that his followers prove their loyalty through public service, Blaise would turn over his identification badges in a heartbeat—though he did derive some satisfaction from his excessively high level of clearance. Though he wisely kept his sense of individuality in check, Blaise was plagued by a desire to abandon propriety for more interesting pursuits.

Ultimately, he knew that even if he could invent some pretext for going his own way, such a move would be catastrophic to his designs.

Blaise still felt entitled to a day off. In fact, he would take one as soon as he received the message that would give him grounds to drop everything and leave…

As if responding to his thoughts, a hasty rap on the door pulled Blaise’s focus back to the present. “Yes?� he said, not bothering to raise his voice.

Barkley stumbled into the room. “Owl from your wife, sir,� he said breathlessly.

Blaise extended a hand, into which his assistant promptly placed a small note. As Barkley departed, Blaise scanned the memo, smiling in a pleased manner when he read: Mistress going into labor. Moving to St. Mungo’s immediately.

He crumpled, tossed, and quickly forgot the piece of parchment as he stood to leave. He robed himself in his travelling cloak in a leisurely fashion and strolled out of his office. He did not bother to arrange his desk. Barkley would see to the mess, of course.

Blaise toyed with the idea of walking the journey in order to prolong his freedom, but he knew this would be a misstep. Once he reached the Atrium, he extricated his wand from its sheath and Disapparated.


The lobby of St. Mungo’s was crowded with invalids. Blaise noted haughtily that whatever the severity of their injuries, they were each and every one imbeciles. It would not have surprised him to learn that only fifty percent of admits had actually encountered misfortune not of their own making. Blaise could not decide into which category to put pregnant ladies.

Wading through the sea of nonsensical parents and blabbering fools, Blaise forced his way into the lift. A small boy with a putrid boil on the back of his neck stood wedged beside him. Blaise resisted the urge to cover his nose.

With some difficulty, Blaise located his wife’s room and entered, unannounced. Ginny lay in a metal bed with tangled sheets, flanked by Blaise’s choice of fine Healers. She gripped the railings of her bed fiercely, breathing hard.

“Have her propped up, will you?� one Healer muttered over her shoulder.

“Yes, sir,� her young assistant replied, stepping forward. Blaise frowned. This was not one of the members of the staff he had preapproved.

“One moment,� he ejaculated, raising a hand. “Who is this upstart?�

“Reynolds is sick,� the first Healer explained. “I replaced her with an equally qualified candidate.�

“I was not informed,� Blaise said.

“Please, Blaise,� Ginny said. “Is this really necessary?�

“Most definitely,� Blaise said. “Hold your tongue.�

“Mr. Zabini—� the second Healer began, setting aside his wand.

“I will not have common riff raff laying their hands on my wife,� Blaise stated, using the soft, dangerous voice he reserved for confrontations.

“Unfortunately, our team is rather hard pressed at the moment—�

“I could care less.�

“Blaise!� Ginny yelled. “Drop it.�

He turned to her, smiling cloyingly at her reddened cheeks. They really did clash horribly with her hair. “Whatever you ask, my darling.�

Ginny let out a frustrated snarl. “Why did you even come at all?� she demanded.

“I have to assure the safe birth of my second child,� Blaise said, extending a lazy hand to stroke her forehead. She gritted her teeth and endured the insult in silence.

“We need to proceed,� the second Healer informed him.

“Fine,� Blaise stated. “But I don’t want this halfwit here handling the baby once it’s born.�

Ginny suddenly released a wail of pain. Blaise stepped away abruptly and nodded to the team. They swooped in without hesitation, positioning her arms and legs and tossing out words of encouragement.

“What are you doing here?� an icy voice demanded.

Blaise swiveled to behold a wrathful Molly Weasley in the door. Her face was as red as her daughter’s, Blaise noted with an internal chuckle.

“Standing witness,� he replied.

“Get out!� Molly commanded. “She won’t get through it if you’re here gloating.�

Blaise supposed she had a point. With a shrug, he said, “As you wish.�

“Good riddance,� Molly muttered, giving Blaise a push in the direction of the door.

Unruffled, Blaise strolled into the hall without so much as a wave. The situation was all together perfect: he had no cause to stay or return to work, which meant he was at liberty to enjoy a drink at the pub of his choice.

His satisfaction, however, was doomed to be short-lived. He had barely taken a seat at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron—between two depressed-looking wizards—when Tom the barkeep handed him a note.

“Owl just arrived for you,� he said, stepping away as quickly as possible. Blaise watched as Tom glanced about. He probably expected Draco to show up; the pair often took a drink together.

Blaise examined the note with an inward sigh. As usual, he did not bother to speak to Tom. He did not even acknowledge his presence. If Draco were here, he thought, he’d lord it over these cretins. “Just get me a shot of something sour,� he requested softly, toying with the note for a moment before opening it.

Before Tom could follow through, Blaise set the parchment aside, having read its contents. “I’ve changed my mind. Give me something rich. Perhaps some burbon?�

Tom obeyed with a nod. Blaise resisted the urge to ask him to pick up the pace. That was Draco’s job. He was the right sort of drunken companion: he would toss out every pompous remark under the sun, amusing Blaise to no end. Despite their differences, they were suited to one another, and Blaise appreciated his company.


Blaise made his way back to the Ministry in due time, a buzz of sadistic satisfaction beginning to tingle in his fingers. He knew he should call for Draco. They were co-workers, after all. He might even have received the same memo… but if not? Blaise didn’t mind. He would enjoy the task at hand on his own.

He made the trip impatiently, climbing stairs and pushing through doors with authority. He prided himself on knowing how to access even the most hidden corners of the Ministry with ease. Of course, he could truthfully claim as much only due to his prized level of clearance.

Blaise eventually found himself face to face with a uniformed guard, sitting attentively outside a door. “Identification?� she asked in a clipped tone.

Blaise flashed his badge quietly and waited for the guard to grant him access to the room beyond.

After a moment, he nodded and passed his wand over the handle of the door. At last! A chance to do something fun, Blaise thought as the door swung open.

He removed his cloak and surveyed the small cell. It was really more of a holding room, in the center of which the captive sat bound to a sturdy chair.

“Good evening, Ron,� said Blaise.

Ron scowled at him.

“We meet again,� Blaise observed softly. “This happens to be your third stint in a Ministry cell in 29 months.�

“Lucky me,� Ron said. He looked around, bored.

“It appears you cannot keep your tendencies in check,� Blaise continued. “Though you’ve walked away before, I doubt you’ll be as lucky again.�

“What did I do this time?� Ron said, allowing his head to loll backwards.

Blasie shook his head and chuckled. “As you well know,� he said, “your disloyal conduct has caught our attention. In fact, members of your own department reported that you were found trespassing on classified information.�

“Shocking.�

“Their report further states that you destroyed valuable documents—�

“They were important? Good.�

“—and you proceeded to incapacitate the employee who found you.�

Ron sniggered. “So dueling is illegal now?�

Blaise leaned casually against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “No,� he said, not raising his voice in the slightest. “But we only pretend to need excuses to lock up idiot blood traitors like you.�

Ron’s hands balled unconsciously into fists. “Should I just confess, then?� he asked, angling his head so he could lock eyes with his questioner.

Blaise contemplated the question for a moment. “Well, I have all day to myself, so I’d prefer it if you’d prolong the fun… for my sake.�

Ron laughed. “I’m sure you have nowhere better to go. Bet even the bartender at the Hog’s Head can’t stand the sight of your pathetic face.�

“I’d much rather pass the time here,� Blaise repeated, his voice completely level. “It’s either that or put up with your sister’s screams.�

This comment caused Ron to sit rigidly upright in his chair. “What?�

“She’s tied to a bed at the hospital, moaning for me to come back,� Blaise lied casually, examining his fingernails.

Ron’s hands began to shake in earnest. “You left her there alone?�

“Why would I stay?� Blaise wondered aloud. Finally, he thought triumphantly. Ron had taken the bait at last. “She doesn’t look her best, even with her hair all wild.�

Ron attempted to throw himself forward, but the magical ropes binding him held him in place. “You’re disgusting,� he spat.

“I’m sure,� Blaise responded. He was just warming up to the task of torturing his brother-in-law. “Unfortunately for you, I get to do what I want with my property. It’s one of the perks of being a Death Eater.�

Ron bit his tongue to keep himself from hurling any more insults at Blaise. They both knew there was no real purpose to their meeting, and Blaise would evidently write up whatever he saw fit. Their confrontation was entirely for Blaise’s enjoyment.

Blaise waited for a reply. When none came, he shook his head. “Disappointing,� he said. “It’s as if you don’t want to hear what I have to say.�

Ron chuckled quietly. He had made up his mind.

“Too bad,� Blaise murmured. “I guess I’ll hold on to my news of Granger, your old Mudblood pal.�

“What?� started Ron.

Blaise shrugged.

Ron struggled with himself for a moment. “Tell me,� he said at last, his voice resigned.

Blaise suppressed a smile. “Well, I have a few acquaintances in Exile Management—you know, the Mudblood Control Department… Milicent, for one…�

“Get to the point,� Ron burst out.

“So impatient,� Blaise noted. “Well, at any rate, Granger seems keen on breaking her agreement of peaceful silence. She has taken up a sort of letter-writing campaign, sending us a deluge of pleas. It’s pointless, of course, because we have no intention of ‘lending her a wand,’ even if she swears she only needs to cast one spell.�

“Which spell?� Ron demanded.

Blaise stared at him for a moment. Though the detainee remained bound and faced an ugly set of prospective futures, none of this seemed to bother him anymore. Ron’s face was transfigured into a mask of childish hope. Only his eyes betrayed his desperation, his vulnerability.

“Something about reversing a Memory Charm,� Blaise said, shrugging his shoulders as he took a step away from the wall. “But naturally, Millicent—who has other cases to attend to—has no intention of playing along. As if her real scheme could not be more obvious! And to think all the professors thought she was so clever…�

“You prancing idiot,� Ron seethed. “She just wants to help her parents!�

Blaise sighed delicately. “It never ceases to amaze me that you blood traitors think we harbor any sense of obligation towards Undesirables. After all, her parents are Muggles… nobody… just simple, inferior creatures. And they are doubtless happier not knowing they ever had a daughter…�

Ron made a move to stand once more, but his efforts were as futile as ever. The tumult of rage ran down his spine in a tremor as he sat, incapacitated, in the presence of the man he hated most in the world.

“You know,� Blaise went on after a moment, “you might learn some self-control in prison. I’ll wager you do. And on top of that, your little brats will happily grow up without such a pathetic excuse for a father. Perhaps they’ll aspire to a much nobler life. Don’t you worry—I’ll take them under my wing, once they’re out of school. By then, they’ll be desperate for a parental figure. After all, their mother was a mere bed-warmer, and their father was a worthless wreck—�

“I’LL KILL YOU!� Ron roared, his features twisted in agony. Every tendon in his body visibly strained against his bindings as he writhed like a madman.

“We both know I’m right,� Blaise said, raising his voice for once—so he could still be heard over the captive’s yells. “The only purpose your wife serves is to appease your appetite!�

“GET OUT! I’LL KILL YOU!� Ron raged. “I’LL KILL YOU!�

“I suppose I’m done here,� Blaise observed in his usual velvet tone.

“GET OUT!� Ron yelled, throwing his head back violently.

“I’m going,� Blaise confirmed. He raised his hand in farewell. “I’ll be in touch, brother. Shall I tell Ginny you say hello?�

Ron merely howled in fury. Blaise turned away with a soft sigh and donned his cloak. “Cheers.�

Once in the stairwell, Blaise paused. Leaning against the wall, he felt a spasm seize his body. He gripped his sides and laughed until his eyes grew damp.

When at last the feeling passed, he checked his ornate pocket watch. He had spent enough time here; that was for certain. He would put forward Ron’s name for prosecution in the morning. No need to write a full report. In the meantime, Blaise was famished.

It occurred to him that his time would be better managed if he stopped by St. Mungo’s on the way home. After all, he had chosen a name for his second child after much deliberation, but there was no guarantee that Ginny would not make any official statements disregarding his decision. She did seem to relish in every opportunity to frustrate him. Despite her stubborn ways, Blaise enjoyed keeping her. She was radiant on the average day, and he derived an intense pleasure from having her on his arm at Ministry functions. She was exactly the treasure he required. Even her resistance to his occasional attempts to torment her gave him great happiness.

She was a fiery Veela of a woman, and, in his own way, Blaise loved her. Indeed, he coveted her. She was his most valuable possession.

Squaring his shoulders, Blaise set a course for the hospital, repeating mentally the name he had prepared for his son: Claudius. Claudius Zabini. It was a regal name.

Blaise removed his wand from his cloak with satisfaction. Today had been an excellent day.

* * * * *

The long corridor stretching between the entrance hall and the receiving room was far narrower than Blaise remembered. The paintings that lined the walls regarded him apprehensively, observing his incessant pacing up and down the length of the room. Only his mother’s portrait at the end of the line—across from his father’s—watched him without a trace of disdain: her expression was nearer to polite disinterest. Blaise let his eye wander over her face as he paced from one end—the entrance hall with its grand staircase and macabre chandeliers—to the other—the room decorated classically with silk cushions and marble fireplaces.

The corridor probably seemed smaller simply because Blaise had spent little time within the confines of his own home. A small boy strutting out to attend Hogwarts at age eleven perceives depth and size differently than an eighteen-year-old a few months out of school. In between his initial exit and recent return, Blaise had rarely entered the Zabini Manor. His mother had never exhibited a strong attachment to the place; after all, she had lived in six other palatial homes during her married life. Blaise was fairly sure this was the grandest of all. Why else wouldn’t she have moved on to the next marriage?

No answer came to Blaise. He didn’t consider his parents sentimental, and consequently, neither was he. Emotional attachment was out of the question, and therefore, not the answer. Blaise pushed such trivial thoughts out of his head, his feet coming to a stop at the doorway leading to the grandiose entrance hall. He was as far away from his parents’ portraits as the room would allow.

Blaise knew the real reason the room felt too small. It was as plain as day: his last hours as a free agent were about to end.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Blaise moved to conceal it. A grosser misstep could not be imagined on the brink of a meeting with a room full of Death Eaters. It would not do to present himself to the Dark Lord mulling over such traitorous ideas. At the same time, he couldn’t help it. His mother’s free spirit cried out against the move he was soon to make. Blaise disliked inhibitions—and that meant loyalties to a group of any kind. He had always been detached, removing himself slightly from his comrades with ease. He never sought close companionship unless it suited his mood or meant an advantageous step. Like his mother, he trusted only himself and had his own agenda. Other people—Death Eaters included—merely fit into the framework of his life when he placed them there.

Blaise released a frustrated sigh and threw open the door to the front hall. By comparison, this room felt much too large. Its high ceilings and endless windows made him feel shrunken in size. There was a reason for this, too. His ancestral home was enormous… and completely empty.

Just the Lord of the Manor and a few scuttling house elves, he noted. How dull.

Blaise wondered at this observation. He never sought companions. He did not remotely miss his departed parents, who had never invested much attention in his pursuits. Nonetheless, he felt at a loss in such a vast network of abandoned corridors and empty corners. Perhaps he felt bored with no one to manipulate; perhaps he wanted someone around as a means to achieve his ambitious goal of irrefutable influence.

Either way, Blaise felt unsatisfied with his present condition. That he would soon receive summons to swear his loyalty nagged at him. In the current climate, however, Blaise had no choice. To get anywhere, he needed the mobility and freedom of a Death Eater. He’d been absent for most of the battle nearly two months past; the professors had shuttled him out of the castle. He had managed, however, to sneak back in near the end. He applauded himself for making such a strategic move on such short notice.

It was tiring, throwing his hat in with the Dark Lord. Of course, Blaise felt no sympathy for the Order. His beliefs were generally well aligned with those of the average Death Eater. It was the bondage, not the ideology, that he found so utterly distasteful.

Just as he turned to go upstairs and find a new hallway in which to wander, one of his house elves entered the room through a side door, bearing small, silver platter. On its surface was an envelope. Blaise accepted the letter from his servant at a leisurely pace, savoring his remaining moments of loyalty only to himself.

He was summoned, as expected. He ordered the elf to see to the owl that had delivered the note and went to find a cloak.


The old Riddle house was in a rather degraded condition, Blaise observed as he made his way in. The building was a crumbling monument, subsiding slowly into its own foundation. An echo of grandeur from another era permeated the walls, but the effect was more depressing than impressive. Blaise wondered why the Dark Lord would choose a decrepit old house for the site of his gathering. He supposed it didn’t matter. The Death Eaters, their friends, and followers milled about, smirks on their faces as they regarded one another.

Blaise scanned the room with interest. The guests glided about slowly, speaking in soft tones to one another. Tracing the pattern of movement around the room with his eyes almost led Blaise to believe that they were adhering to some unspoken choreography. At the end of each round, a given Death Eater would pause silently to examine the large, black door at the far end, which stood ominously closed. Blaise guessed that the Dark Lord and his ceremony waited on the other side.

Blaise made curt small talk with the other guests, but he held his ground. Even the smallest rebellion against the current gave him some measure of symbolic freedom. He let the others come to him, and he listened quietly as they gloated and elaborated. When he grew tired of a conversation, he took to staring at the converser’s shoulder. As he began to tune out Millicent Bulstrode’s voice in a similar fashion, he noticed Draco and Lucius sitting tensely in the corner farthest from the black door. No one spoke to them. Blaise wondered how long it would take Draco to realize how troublesome his problems were.

Before Blaise could lock eyes with his old schoolmate, the room grew silent as a tomb. Blaise heard only the creak of hinges long left unused as the black door opened. Swiftly and thoroughly, Blaise cleared his mind. As the other guests began to glide forward, making no more noise than a host of Dementors, he squared his shoulders and followed.

Once he had crossed the threshold, he felt instantly transported to the Slytherin Common Room: the decorations, the colors, and the furnishings all suggested Salazar’s majestic style. It would have been a spacious room if not for the cumbersome table which ran from one end to the other. The overall effect was one of distinct familiarity; in fact, Blaise could have sworn he had seen that very table before.

The Dark Lord sat regally in a tall, peaked chair clearly intended to evoke a throne. He watched silently as the group settled around the table, seemingly satisfied with their attendance. Blaise felt the weight of his gaze as his eyes rested on him, probing, every so often.

Nobody gestured for Blaise to sit in a specific seat, but he knew better than to take the one nearest him. Once again, the guests engaged in an unspoken but nevertheless predestined plan, taking seats that fit their station without further ado. The Dark Lord loved hierarchy, Blaise knew. The seasoned members already knew precisely which seat to take. The new ones were meant to guess and realize their insignificance.

Indecision in the faces of some of the guests instantly broadcasted their status. Blaise knew better than to stand and wait until only a few places remained; he liked this sort of game. He strode past those lingering near the door and seated himself near the far end of the table. He had to gamble either way, but ultimately his choices were few: he had neither Death Eater status nor fear of their power, so he sat himself as close to the elite as he thought prudent. As he arranged his robes in his lap, he felt once more the gaze of the Dark Lord and wondered if the extreme end—suggesting unworthiness in the presence of authority—would have been a smarter move. No, he decided. One must always give others reason to believe in one’s worth. Cringing servility will not win any favors.

At the moment of his choosing, the Dark Lord rose. He regarded the group, many of which kept their eyes fixed on the table. Blaise chose to look attentive and turned his face toward the Dark Lord, who smiled. “Friends,� he began silkily, “Welcome to the new era. Our new era.�

There were some noises of approval from around the table.

The Dark Lord went on, “I have gathered you here this night to reward you. We have achieved full control, and in a decent interval, no less.� He paused. “The Dark Lord is pleased.�

Bellatrix, who sat at his right hand, looked ready to burst with ecstasy.

“I reward those who show loyalty,� the Dark Lord continued. “For this reason—and since we are on the eve of my reign—I would like each of you to stand when called and make an oath of fealty. In this manner, we will set in stone the future of our noble society. I will reward each of you accordingly. Those of you swearing loyalty for the first time…� He smiled. “Some of you will receive Dark Marks afterwards.� He turned to Bellatrix and inclined his head, saying, “You may begin.�

Bellatrix rose proudly to her feet, beaming with satisfaction. “My Lord,� she said with reverence, “I have served you faithfully and ceaselessly. I swear to do so until the end.�

“You have proven loyal,� the Dark Lord concurred, “despite your past blunders. And let us not forget that it was you who correctly judged your traitorous sister in the moment of our victory.�

Bellatrix bowed her head and extended her branded wrist in a gesture of respect.

“Consequently,� he continued, “I shall reward you. What do you require of your master?�

“Only that I may serve you as best it pleases you,� she said immediately.

The Dark Lord looked mildly amused. “A selfless wish… I shall devise a use for you, as you have asked…�

“Thank you, my Lord,� Bellatrix said exhultantly, sitting once more.

Turning his gaze to the next person, the Dark Lord said, “Rise.�

The ceremony proceeded. It seemed to Blaise that his new master could grant anything. He graciously promised positions of influence, vaults of gold, and acres of land without the slightest hesitation. No request made him frown and decline, but as he progressed down the table, the requests grew noticeably less ostentatious, more humble; the members of the group knew their positions well, and they asked accordingly.

When at last all of the guests nearest the Dark Lord—many of which were Death Eaters—had had a turn, Lord Voldemort turned to Blaise, who sat at the edge of the inductees. “And now, let us hear some new vows,� he said softly. “Rise.�

Blaised obeyed, standing unflinchingly. His mind acutely focused, he spoke, “I have long anticipated this moment, and I join your honored ranks with pride. I swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, and should I break my vow, I will gladly forfeit my life.�

The Dark Lord adopted a curious expression. “Very interesting,� he commented, regarding Blaise’s well-composed face. After a moment, he announced, “I accept your pledge. For your commitment, you may proceed with your request.�

Blaise had not truly considered for what to ask, despite the copious amount of time given him to decide. Surprisingly, he had an answer ready, though he had not expected or realized it. “I would like to have—for my own—Ginevra Weasley.�

The Dark Lord’s surprise matched his own. “A fascinating choice,� he noted. “A blood traitor? Nonetheless, I grant your odd wish. And what an idea you have just given me!� He lapsed into silence, eyes temporarily unfocused.

Blaise bowed his head as Bellatrix had done.

“You shall receive the Dark Mark, Blaise Zabini,� concluded the Dark Lord at last. “I look forward to your service.�

Blaise resumed his seat, allowing himself a smug feeling. Nott, his young classmate, stared at him from across the table with a mixture of jealousy and admiration.

As the ceremony continued, Blaise reflected on his sudden decision. He had money and property enough, to be sure, and he did not particularly desire a strenuous Ministry position. True, he had always felt an infuriating attraction towards the girl, but she was a blood traitor and would never have submitted to his desires. It gave him a distinct measure of satisfaction to possess her. Though she was ignorant as of yet, she was undeniably his, and he was at liberty to do what he would like with her.

Blaise recalled his boredom of that afternoon. Finally, a solution! Taking Ginny for his own would instantly eliminate any ennui or irritation.

Blaise resumed his focus as the Dark Lord neared the table’s end. Only Lucius and Draco remained. Malfoy Senior rose slowly and faced his master. “I have sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord in the past,� he said clearly. “My allegiance has not changed. I know you are displeased with my family, but I wish to beg your forgiveness.�

The Dark Lord looked pensive. “That is a weighty request,� he stated. “Your family has proven disloyal time and again. Your wife has already been justly punished, but you remain to bear the burden of the rest.� His eyes flitted to Draco. “That said, you were once my closest counselor, Lucius. Though you have lost your good repute, I will repay your history of service by pardoning your son.�

Lucius did not object to the Dark Lord’s assessment of his fidelity. He seemed grimly pleased as he regained his seat.

Draco rose, the last guest at the table. “My Lord,� he said, “though I have only been a Death Eater for a short time, my loyalty is unwavering as any of your other followers’. I swear to renew that pledge and prove worthy of your trust.�

“Well phrased,� the Dark Lord pronounced. “I accept your gesture. Since your father has just secured for you a new lease on life, you may ask for a reward.�

Draco paused. “I would like to ask that honor be restored to he who still wears the name of Malfoy with pride and respect so that he can better serve you.�

“You forsake your family?�

“They have forsaken you. I will not.�

The Dark Lord paused. “So you choose loyalty to me over your disgraced family? So be it. Request granted.�

Blaise stared at his former classmate. It was a clever move, abandoning Lucius. A respect for Draco’s strategic reckoning lodged itself in Blaise’s mind. He has enjoyed cavorting with Draco in the past, but only now did Blaise acknowledge how much they had in common. Neither liked authority but both played the game. They were both self-serving, ambitious assholes.

Blaise suppressed a smile. Perhaps he wasn’t chaining himself to the Death Eaters. A mere affiliation, he decided… Only time would tell. He smiled to himself as he stood be the first to receive the Dark Mark.