Fredrick examined the small article thoroughly before he sealed it and sent it to his editor. He still could not believe his good fortune. Every society writer wanted to cover this wedding, and he, the youngest of them all, was chosen by, of all people, the family of the bride. Of course, his pure-blooded status did not hurt his case at all, considering how many half-bloods and Muggle-borns turned to journalism because they could not get into a job at the Ministry.

The interview with Cygnus had been, to say the least, enlightening. One of Fredrick’s tricks of the trade was the use of large quantities of alcohol to learn a bit more about his subjects, and the Black patriarch had been an easy target. At first, the man had been reluctant to share anything further than his glee over finding such a stellar suitor for his daughter. However, after being plied with generous quantities of elf-made wine from his own family’s cellars, the truth behind it all finally came out.

Isla was a problem child. Not only was she openly defiant of her parents’ societal views, despite a myriad of consequences, she had been known to consort with a Mudblood boy—and not even a rich one, at that. Her father found her behaviour shameful and embarrassing, and Fredrick was hard pressed not to agree.

He vaguely remembered Isla from Hogwarts. She was a very quiet girl, four years below him and in Slytherin, whilst he had been in Ravenclaw. Her older brother, Phineas, though, had been in his year and a friendly acquaintance. The Whitlatch family was not wealthy or overly influential, so the Black clan tended to overlook Fredrick and his kin.

However, when it came to blood purity, none were finer than the Whitlatches, whose line, though humble, was nearly as honoured as that of the Blacks, the Longbottoms, the Malfoys, or even the Potters. This was why Fredrick had been Cygnus’s ideal choice to cover his daughter’s wedding; he could be trusted to see things the ‘right’ way and to focus on the ‘important’ topics.

It had been surprising to learn about Isla’s fascination with Robert Hitchens. Apparently, this man had somehow bewitched her into taking part of a sordid affair. Cygnus had been certain that it was a ploy by a filthy Mudblood to get a hold of the Black family fortune. Why else would a young lady from a respectable background commit such a serious lapse in her duty to both her heritage and her status as a member of the upper crust of British wizard society? Fredrick could completely understand her father’s concern.

His conversation with Phineas on the matter had been enlightening in a whole new fashion. The brainwashing by Hitchens must have been going on for years, because Phineas had caught Isla spending time with this chap a number of times. He had managed to keep this dark secret from coming out, especially amongst the other members of Slytherin House. But a rather nasty and very public incident had catapulted this undesirable occurrence into the forefront.

At age eighteen, Isla tried to run away from home. She had claimed that her Robert was going to take her away from her oppressive father and the rest of her bigoted family. The attempt had even succeeded for a few days—at least it had until Cygnus found out where she was. There really were not too many places for her to hide, considering Isla had been forbidden to learn Apparition at Hogwarts. Giving her propensity of running away, it was not surprising. If she wanted to travel, she was relegated to walking anywhere that someone else was unwilling to take her.

Cygnus had found her in a rather dodgy part of Muggle London, wandering around lost and bewildered. He had dragged her home immediately, and from Phineas’s account, had beaten her soundly for her defiance.

Fredrick noted the manner in which Phineas related the tale very carefully. He had openly agreed with his father’s choice of disciplinary action, but judging by the tone of his voice, he did not sound half as proud of it as he said he was. It lent Fredrick to believe that there was far more to this tale than he was being told. The true story was not the wedding; it was the events leading up to it that had precipitated Cygnus Black to marry his youngest daughter to a man renowned for both his cruelty and the mysterious death of his first wife, Priscilla.

With any luck, some of this could come forth after the wedding. Fredrick knew that the Blacks would probably want to keep it under wraps, but like any reporter worth his salt, he would not stop until he could find a story that would make him famous. He hoped that the ceremony would serve to be just as educational.


To see the finest witches and wizards in all of Britain gathered in one place was a thing to behold. Even Fredrick, who was accustomed to rubbing elbows with the crème de la crème in his line of work, was impressed by the show put on by the Black family. Every nook and cranny of the Notts’ ballroom was decked out in some form of lavishness.

The walls were draped in green silk, which shimmered when touched by the sunlight streaming into the windows. White roses, a symbol of purity, sat at every entrance in mass quantities to let any and all know that this event was only for the best that society had to offer. Fine, goblin-made candelabras sparkled with a sheen that could only come from hours of labour by Pring, the Black family house elf. The candles themselves cast an ethereal glow about the room along with a heady aroma of honey.

Quickly, Cygnus spotted Fredrick, much to his dismay. How was he supposed to learn anything about this mysterious secret about Isla if he was stuck listening to the old man tell tall tales of his constant administration of punishment to his daughter for her impudent behaviour? That was hardly relevant anymore; he knew that already. “Whitlatch, my boy!”

Fredrick cringed at the sheer volume of the hail. Now everyone knew that he was there, and it would not be a stretch to realise that he was another reporter, only more incognito than the others in attendance. People always told the best secrets when they were not afraid of them being shared, and Fredrick had a talent for inspiring the confidences of others.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Fredrick tried to sound as servile as possible, though it did mildly turn his stomach. He really did not like this man.

With a grin, Cygnus said, “Come! I’d like you to interview my future son-in-law. Dorian should be able to give you some excellent fodder for your article.”

If there was one man in the world with whom Fredrick had no wish to interact, it was most definitely Dorian Nott. He had been a Slytherin as well, two years above both Fredrick and Phineas, but that did not keep everyone in the whole school from knowing him by name. Several ‘accidents’ had become legend, which stemmed from conflicts involving Dorian. Not the least of which was when he tried (and failed miserably) to curse some half-blood Gryffindor boy, who ended up casting an Itching Jinx in a very sensitive area.

But most marked of all of Dorian’s infamy was his cruelty. Many times, accusations of him inflicting harm on younger students surfaced. None of them could be proven, so no consequences had been handed down. Everyone knew who was responsible, though. And this was the man to whom Cygnus was dragging him by the arm. Certainly Phineas would have known all of this, yet he let his father marry off his baby sister to a veritable monster.

Dorian did not look like an intimidating chap. He was balding, even at age twenty-nine, overweight, bordering on fat, and had a flair for peacockish clothing. His matrimonial robes were actually uncharacteristically tame in colour with a sedate hunter green.

“Ah, Whitlatch. I remember you from Hogwarts.”

And there it was, the reason why so many had been afraid of Dorian. It was this look in his eyes, a sort of insanity that made one nervous—damned nervous. Not willing to show his general distaste, Fredrick inclined his head. “Nott.”

Typically, this was the point where Fredrick would start asking questions, but at the moment, he really preferred to be as far away from Dorian as he could get.

After a few moments of silence, Dorian asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me questions or something?”

Fredrick smiled as blandly as possible. “Oh, yes. Certainly. I just wanted to make sure that they were concise enough in my head before I ask. The readers deserve the best questions with the best answers.” His smile broadened almost genuinely as he spouted his rehearsed line, reserved for when he had absolutely nothing to say at the moment.

“I see.” Dorian scanned his watch, obviously already bored with the conversation. “We should be starting right about now.” He gestured toward his manservant, who nearly sprinted toward the antechamber on the East side of the ballroom. It was the place from which the bride would enter for the ceremony.

When the manservant returned, he nodded and said, “She’s ready, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Ignoring everyone else, Dorian swept to the reciprocal chamber on the West end of the hall to ready himself. Though it was rude at best to walk off in the middle of a conversation, Fredrick was not at all disappointed to see Dorian leave.

The assembly bustled to get seated, and, as per Cygnus’s orders, Fredrick had been granted a seat in the centre of the second row. He had asked for this particular accommodation for the purpose of ‘providing an adequate vantage point in order to properly cover the wedding’. Really, though, Fredrick just did not want to sit in the back, far away from the conversation between the Black family members. That was where the truly interesting gossip would take place.

The Minister stood between the two entrances. From their respective chambers, the bride and groom would walk down carpeted aisles to processional music and converge at that spot. From there, the Binding Ceremony would begin. The musicians in the back of the room were ready to begin.

When the dulcet tones of the harp floated across the audience, all turned in anticipation to see either the bride or the groom. After a few seconds, Dorian began his slow, deliberate march forward, but Isla had not yet emerged. Soon, whispers started to run through the crowd, alight with speculation. Now this was interesting.

Fredrick knew that if there was a story to be written about this day, it was definitely inside that bridal chamber. Since no one was looking at him at all, he surreptitiously pulled out his wand and cast a quiet Disillusionment Charm, rendering himself invisible. It was time to do some detective work. He picked his way through the wedding guests, careful not to betray his presence.

The door to the bridal chamber was ajar, so no one would notice it swinging open just enough to let one person slip in. Immediately upon entry, Fredrick heard two voices: one was a soft, female voice, but the other was certainly male and definitely not belonging to any of the Blacks.

“You don’t have to do this, Isla! You know what he’s like.” Whoever was speaking was out of sight, but Fredrick had a pretty good idea who this would turn out to be.

Isla said quietly, “Shh! They’ll hear you.”

Once he was in a better position, Fredrick could finally see this mystery man, and it was not a surprise to find that it was none other than Robert Hitchens. “I don’t care. You can’t marry this bastard. Everyone knows he killed Priscilla, and I won’t let that happen to you.”

Watching with interest, Fredrick noticed the very close proximity between Robert and Isla. There was definitely more to their relationship than simple concern for her safety. The look in Robert’s eyes held so much more than that. That theory was confirmed even more when Isla sobbed and buried her face in her beau’s chest. Not that anyone could blame her, mind. Any sane human being would be upset at the prospect of marrying someone like Dorian.

“Come with me, please. You don’t need to do anything for your family, because Merlin knows they haven’t done you any favours.”

Her head rose, and their eyes met. Fredrick knew that she was silently conceding to an escape, and he could not let that happen without him. He darted toward them, and just as he got a hand on Robert’s arm, the three of them were sucked into the cramped, uncomfortable vortex of Apparition.

They landed in a small room, furnished sparsely with old, cheap furniture. Judging by the state of the surroundings, Fredrick guessed that it was probably Robert’s flat. This was definitely the sort of dirt he had been looking for, but anything of this magnitude was far beyond his imaginings.

Despite his surroundings, Robert was suspicious. He shuffled Isla behind him and withdrew his wand. “I know there’s someone here. Show yourself!”

Damn. Fredrick knew that there was no point in hiding himself, because all Robert had to do was cast a simple Human Detection Charm to give him away. He sighed and cast away his invisibility.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Robert trained his wand straight at Fredrick’s heart, probably ready and willing to curse him to oblivion at the first sign of escape.

Fredrick, as a show of good faith, dropped his wand on the floor and put his hands in the air to show that he had no tricks in mind. “My name is Fredrick Whitlatch, and I’m a society journalist for the Daily Prophet. All I wanted was a better story to write than another boring wedding.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you follow us? Are you working for Nott?”

“Merlin, no!” Fredrick said quickly. “I just wanted to know why a veritable princess would be married off to someone like that. There had to be more to it, and I wanted to know.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

To his credit, Robert was not a stupid man, and Fredrick had to respect him for that. “Listen, I’ve already dropped my wand, and I revealed myself when you asked me to. If I truly intended to harm either one of you, would I have bothered?”

“No, I suppose not.” Robert lowered his own wand. “Can’t you just go back and leave us be? Isla doesn’t need this being bandied about for the amusement of the public eye. She’s had enough of that already.”

Something sparked in Fredrick’s brain. This was far beyond a mere column in the newspaper. This man braved a nest of vipers to rescue Isla from wedding a monster. This would make an excellent novel, though, which would consequentially make him loads more money. There was just one thing that bothered him. “Why are you doing this? What is she to you?”

“Because I love her.” Robert’s expression became hard. “That son of a bitch would never love her as much as I do, and though I can’t offer her much, I can give her that. She hasn’t been loved ever since…”

When Robert’s speech trailed off, Fredrick knew that the other man was about to say something important but stopped himself before he could divulge. Whatever it was, it was obvious that Robert would much rather it not become public knowledge.

Fredrick decided to play this one delicately. “Listen, mate, I really don’t want to cause you problems for either of you. No one else knows I’m here, and I aim to keep it that way. Now, what were you going to say?”

Robert was definitely not willing to trust someone he did not even know, but to the surprise of both of them, Isla came forward from her hiding place behind Robert to address Fredrick.

“Mr Whitlatch, what is it that you’d like to know?”

Her voice was a bit shaky, but what happened after that caught Fredrick’s eye right away. It seemed as if the muscles in the left side of her face convulsed involuntarily. “What the hell?” he said before he could stop himself.

Isla looked like she was about to cry again, and Robert gave him a look that could maim a dragon. “She’s not some oddity for you to gawk at, Whitlatch. Why is it that no one thinks of how it makes her feel when people like you say things like that?”

Fredrick was dumbfounded. “I…It just caught me off guard. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“And just what is it that you did mean?” Isla once again interjected herself in the conversation. She gave Robert a look, entreating him to stand down. Though it seemed to displease him, he frowned and let her continue. “I will tell you whatever you wish to know about me. I’m not hiding anything; I’ve had enough of that.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Black, what was that, er, twitch that you had?” Fredrick knew that it was a blunt question, but she seemed willing to answer him.

Isla did not disappoint. “It doesn’t really have a name, and the Healers at St Mungo’s don’t know what it is. Here and there, it will happen. M-my father thinks that I’m faking it.”

“Isla—“ Robert began, but she would have none of it.

“Bob, please. I’m tired of being ashamed of something that I can’t help.” Again, Robert fell silent. “I’ve had this since I was a little girl. It used to be much worse, but by this point, just about everyone knows that there’s ‘something wrong with that Black child’.” The last part was said with a sarcastic sneer, honed by what Fredrick assumed was ridicule by both her family and her peers.

“The professors at Hogwarts were nice enough, but everyone else…” Isla drew a deep breath, steeling her resolve to continue with her confession. “Bob was the first to treat me like a person and not something to be laughed at.” She looked up at him with pure adoration in her eyes.

Fredrick could scarcely believe what he was seeing and hearing. The girl who was virtually royalty was going to be married off to a cruel, heartless man because she had a twitch? It just did not make sense.

“Surely, though, you could have struck a better match than someone like Dorian? Your face could look like a hippogriff’s hindquarters, and you could still marry well with the amount of money your family has. I don’t get it.”

“My father chose Dorian because I told him that I didn’t want to marry anyone but Bob.” Isla reached for her own wand and pointed it at her face, but Robert halted her hand with his own.

“Isla, don’t.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m tired of this.” He lowered his hand and let her continue. “Finite.”

The Glamour Charm that masked her visage fell away, revealing a swollen, purple bruise that covered the entire left side of her face—the side with the twinge. Fredrick was appalled. “Who did that to you?” he asked quietly.

“My father. He said my condition is unnatural and it disgusts him.”

The detached manner in which she said this made Fredrick feel sick. Cygnus Black was an arrogant arse, but this level of cruelty to his own daughter was despicable. “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. What else was he supposed to say?

Isla took Fredrick’s hand. “If you’re truly sorry, then could you do something for me?”

“How could I possibly be of any help?” Fredrick completely out of his domain at this juncture. Every deliberation that he had completely fell away the more Isla spoke.

She smiled tightly, but it was obvious that the bruises pained her greatly. “I want you to tell everyone about this, about my condition. Who knows how many people out there are suffering from this and are being treated like dogs?”

Now this was unexpected, to say the least. Isla was offering him a chance to tell not only her story, but to tell the tale of any number of those similarly afflicted. Every last fragment of the journalist within him screamed for him to accept, but his sense of personal safety, namely from both Cygnus and Dorian, kept him from saying ‘yes’ quite yet.

Robert noted his silence. “You’re afraid of them, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” Fredrick was annoyed that he was being branded a coward for not wanting to cross rich, powerful men. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

“What sort of man lives his life by what others think? But you’re a pure-blood, so you wouldn’t understand, anyway.”

Fredrick could not help but note the tone of loathing when Robert mentioned blood status. Of course, he was a Mudblood, so he would be bitter. “I’m not a coward because I don’t want to be found in a ditch somewhere, Hitchens.”

With a sarcastic laugh, Robert said, “Then you have no clue about how the world really works, do you? Things don’t change by cowering in the shadows, vomiting articles about bridal gowns and how shiny the silver is. For once in your life, do something for someone else but yourself.”

Isla held up her hand to stop Robert’s tirade. “Bob, please don’t.” She again turned her attention to Fredrick. “I can’t promise you that my father or Dorian won’t try to get information out of you, so if you choose to just leave now and speak of this to no one, that’s fine. I was just hoping—“

Burning curiosity won out. “Where are you going?” Fredrick asked.

“To get married.”

Fredrick frowned. “But where?”

The first vestiges of a real smile graced Isla’s face, highlighting her normally pretty face. “I’ll only tell you if you come with us

Robert looked upset, and rightfully so. “Isla, we can’t trust this man. He works for your father.”

“No, he doesn’t. He works for the paper. My father just wanted him because he’s ‘the right sort’.”

Her mocking impression of her father’s voice was uncanny in its accuracy, and Fredrick could not help but chuckle. There was a charisma about this girl that made him want to do anything she asked. No wonder Robert was willing to beard the proverbial lion in its den to rescue his love. Though he was certain that it was a bad idea in so many ways, Fredrick knew that he was going to accept—that he was always going to accept. “Fine. I’ll do it. When do we go?”

“Not so fast,” Robert interjected. “How do I know you aren’t going to double-cross us?”

Fredrick could understand his concern. Though he had no intentions of betraying this intrepid couple, he extended his hand. “Wizard’s handshake?”

Shaking his head, Robert said, “Not good enough.”

“All right,” Fredrick said. “I, Fredrick Whitlatch the Fourth, hereby swear that I will not disclose your location to anyone, especially not anyone by the name of Black or Nott.”

“Nice try, Whitlatch. Words are just words. Nothing is holding you to it.” Robert crossed his arms and raised a brow, daring Fredrick to further his promise.

There was only one thing that could keep a secret better than a wizarding handshake, and that was the Unbreakable Vow. Ever since childhood, his father had warned him to never be drawn into one. If it was the only way, then it was the only way, but it did not seem fair that he was asked to do something so drastic just for the sake of a story. It did not, however, mean that he was not willing to do it.

All the while cursing himself as an idiot, Fredrick extended his hand once more. Isla took it, and Robert placed his wand atop their linked hands.

“Do you, Fredrick Whitlatch the Fourth, swear to keep the secret of Isla’s whereabouts until you die?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear to tell her story in order to promote awareness of her condition?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear upon both your honour as a man and upon your life that you will never seek us out after this day?”

Fredrick hesitated, but he still said, “I do.”

With the tap of the wand, Robert cast the spell that would irrevocably tie Fredrick to this promise for good. The feeling of hot snakes coiling underneath his skin made him flinch, but Isla stood still, stalwart and unmoving. He could not help but respect her fortitude.

The spell was over, and now it was time to go. “Where are we going?”

“Gretna Green.”

Where? “What is that?”

Robert grinned. “Scotland. It’s where Muggles go to elope.”

“You’re having a Muggle wedding?” Fredrick could not help the incredulity in his voice.

Isla answered. “Yes, we’re going to have a Muggle wedding. It’s part of Bob’s heritage, and goodness knows I’m not proud of mine. What pride is there in paying homage to a long line of bigots and brutes?”

“None, I suppose,” Fredrick said. She did not cease to surprise him with her wit and wisdom. He had a feeling that Robert was a very lucky man, even despite this whole fiasco. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Robert drew Isla into his embrace and extended his forearm to Fredrick. Once again, they were pulled into the tightness of Apparition.


On 5 July 1873, Robert Hitchens and Isla Black were married in the ‘eyes of God’, witnessed by F. Whitlatch. As per the law, they had to stay in the village for at least seven days for their marriage to be considered legal, but they were far to rapt with each other to leave anyway.

The next day, Fredrick returned to London to his editor’s office. The man was, in a word, angry.

“Whitlatch! Where were you?”

Fredrick shrugged. “Oh, the bride skipped out. I figured there would be no wedding to cover, so I left.”

The editor regarded Fredrick carefully. Though the younger man was a gifted liar, after years in the journalism business, he was equally gifted in sorting out liars. There was nothing to be gleaned from Fredrick’s mannerisms.

Convinced that his employee was telling the truth, he said, “You could have at least written something up about Nott being left at the altar. Gossip sells papers, and you know it.”

“Oh, I will. The story from yesterday will most certainly be told. Make no mistake about that, sir.” Fredrick smiled to himself. He knew no better way to do so than to write the book that he was going to start later that very night and sell it to Flourish and Blotts right under his cantankerous supervisor’s nose.

Providing Cygnus Black or Dorian Nott did not off him for it, that book would make Fredrick a very wealthy man. He could procure the best security that Galleons could afford, and maybe even buy himself an island.

Somewhere, while Robert and Isla considered themselves rich because they had their love, Fredrick wished them luck, because they were going to need it. Dorian was not a man who tolerated being crossed, and he would always be looking for them.

Maybe Dorian would stop after a while, or maybe he would not rest until he exacted revenge on the woman who had jilted and humiliated him in front of every influential person in the country. All Fredrick could do was honour his vow and hope that he was never called upon to test it.