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Prologue (i): The Family
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When Lucius Malfoy married, he did so to uphold his family's honor and reputation, which was the most that was expected from someone of his wealth and social status. But he also did it for love, because unexpectedly, he had grown to care for the woman who stood with him at the altar. She was agreeable to him in her habits and character. Moreover, she saw the side of his personality that he rarely showed to others, and not because he had purposely done so for her, out of a sense of duty or obligation. Rather, it was because she had looked for it herself and discovered it there, like a hidden treasure, while he had done the same for her. She had allowed him into her heart; Lucius, likewise, had allowed her into his, and they became friends. He did not think of her blood when he gave her his vows and slipped the ring onto her finger.

They were surrounded that day by a crowd of the noble and affluent, the families of the wizarding world who had kept close throughout the centuries by adhering to ancient customs. Weddings of their sort were always lavish, and were held when the newlyweds had come of age and secured a respectable position for themselves in society. From the onlookers' point of view, the pair was perfect. Cygnus and Druella Black breathed a sigh of relief to see their last daughter leave to start a proper life, her radiant happiness healing wounds from past troubles. Lucius's mother watched with her head tilted to the side, admiring the way the couple's light clothing made their faces glow. Lucius's father sat in his spot at the front row, arms crossed, musing that Lucius had been lucky to find another blonde like him.

The Malfoys had known that their son's marriage would be something like this one, a union that provided family gain and showed the pure-blood world a new alliance. They had searched over the years and asked questions, but in the end their son's gaze led them to Narcissa Black, the youngest of three daughters, the only one who was still unmarried.

+ + + +

At the first glance, there seemed little about Narcissa that one could call extraordinary. In some sense, it was a plight typical of that of a youngest child's. On her own, there were plenty of things that people admired about her: Her hair was soft and blonde, much like Lucius's himself, and her features held a beauty that was cool and gentle, much like her manner.

But when she stood in relation to her sisters, everything about Narcissa seemed to pale. First there was the passionate spirit of Bellatrix, the oldest, whose hair hung in rich, black waves and whose dark eyes held both nobility and ferocity. In school, she had quickly gained a reputation as a spitfire, who knew the nobility of the Black family and relished it, as one relishes in a bountiful feast, occasionally throwing around their food. Bella dueled with a stunning combination of power and glee, laughing while she danced around her enemy's hexes, then dealt the final blow with such decisiveness that the battle instantly ended with her victory. She could be set off by almost anything, and once she was in motion, the world seemed to bend to her will.

Andromeda Black was of a different sort. She was Bellatrix's near identical in appearance, but her regally-etched features were offset by a clarifying calm which both grounded and sharpened her. She was the ice to Bella's fire - she possessed a firm, cool authority, which grew prominent in later years when she became a prefect. She never doubted her goals, and pursued them with a dedication that bordered on ruthlessness.

But in addition to her drive, Andromeda possessed something that Bellatrix didn't: benevolence. That was why Narcissa had felt closest to her as a child. With Bella, playtime usually meant holding her figurines while she reorganized her shelves, hearing her yell "Mend it, you stupid!" whenever Narcissa dropped them. Her comb would always find a tangle in Narcissa's hair to yank, and any cut or bruise would first be treated with a scolding before she healed them. If Narcissa showed the slightest weakness or insecurity in front of her, Bella would pull it out and throw it back into her face. Once, Bella had let slip that Narcissa was an illegitimate daughter of the Selwyns and that the Blacks had adopted her out of pity, which explained why she looked so different from them. It was only weeks later, when Bella caught Narcissa heaving a trunk into the fireplace to set off in search for her real family, that she revealed the truth and sank to the floor in a fit of laughter.

But where Bella wounded, Anna healed. When Narcissa was a child, Anna had always been the one she could come to with a worry or an idea and receive a kind listening ear. She kept Narcissa's doodles amongst her masterful sketches and guided Narcissa's shaky hand to trace her perfect cursive. Long after Bella had run off in boredom, Anna would remain with Narcissa in the garden, sitting in the grass and talking away an evening. Narcissa loved to watch the stars and see Anna's slender hand trace the constellations.

"I was named after the galaxy Andromeda," she had once said. "According to Greek legend, she was the daughter of Cassiopeia, who considered herself to be more beautiful than anything in the universe. But the gods got angry at her vanity, and so they chained her daughter Andromeda to a cliff as a sacrifice. But before Andromeda could die, Perseus came to save her."

Narcissa, who was then nine years old, gazed up in wonder. "Is there a galaxy with my name up there too?"

Anna smiled. "No. Our parents named you after the narcissus bloom. It's very beautiful."

Despite her sister's praise, Narcissa felt something tick inside of her. It was a tradition in their family to name children after celestial bodies, one that, as far as she knew, was rarely broken. "But why did they name me after a flower?" she said.

Anna shrugged. "Because that's what you were to us. A beautiful bloom that never wilts. A flower is life in its gentlest and purest form. It breathes and emanates the energy it stores deep within, just like you."

With a wordless spell, she conjured a bloom out of thin air and handed it to Narcissa, who smiled. She loved watching Anna do magic. For some reason, it was different from way that Bella and her parents did it, which was choppy and nonchalant. Even in the simplest of tasks, Anna never seemed like she was controlling the objects around her to do her bidding, but rather bringing them to life, enticing them into motion by her presence.

Out of all her magical talents, the things Anna loved and knew the best were plants. The walls of her room were laced with flowering vines and her favorite gifts to friends were herbs and enchanted blooms. Even in her early years at Hogwarts, her bookshelves were already filled with encyclopedias and manuals. Oftentimes she took them down and showed Narcissa the pictures, pointing things out among the then-daunting paragraphs.

"Remember, Cissy, all life has a place," Anna would say. "Whether it's the biggest tree or the tiniest bug that lives in the earth, everything plays a role in keeping the world in harmony. All of it's important."

Anna's passions eventually steered her towards medicine, which she supplemented with her great skill in potionmaking. It was an unusual choice for their family, since the Blacks were mostly known for their spellcasting, but Andromeda's skill grew so pronounced that their parents hurried to approve.

But while Bellatrix pursued glory and power in her birthright, and Andromeda carved a path of her own, Narcissa remained like a petal in the wind, never quite finding a place to settle. By the time she started school, her sisters were in their third and fourth years and had left her weighty legacies. Anna had secured an apprenticeship with the school nurse and was taking advanced supplementary classes in Herbology. Bella was a member of the dueling club, where she knew the most advanced spells and held the longest winning streak.

Narcissa, however, didn't have any burning passions or prominent talents. The only thing she was willing to call a skill was that she could do reasonably well at anything she applied herself to, but this had always seemed more like a burden than a blessing. It often left her with a feeling of nonfulfillment, trying on one hand to learn everything she could, but at the same time feeling like she could never dig to the bottom of any of it.

She didn't compete to reach the top of her classes, fearing that it would only lead to embarrassment if she slipped up later on. Instead, Narcissa tried to befriend the people around her, figuring that even if she'd never live up to her sisters' success, she would at least be known for her kindness. At the same time, she kept her honor, steering clear of unwelcome types her parents had warned her about.

But the more time that passed, the more Narcissa noticed that the school seemed divided. Each House was like a solitary entity, with its own legends and traditions, which formed a bond between its members that transcended any friendship. Although everyone wore the same uniform, Narcissa was soon able to tell people of the Houses apart simply by how they behaved and who they stuck close to. If someone entered a study chamber filled with people they didn't know, they would sooner sit with people of their own House than others. If a Gryffindor had to choose between collaborating with a smart Slytherin next to them in Transfiguration class or saving a fellow Gryffindor from failing, they would do the latter. And no matter how the Sorting Hat had sung about the virtues of cooperation and companionship at the beginning of the year, once classes started, everyone seemed to forget about them.

About a month into the term, Narcissa's Potions instructor announced a special project: To brew a serum that would dye fabric. Fortunately, Andromeda was taking a class on magical herbs, so Narcissa asked her to lend her a library book she had been about to return. It was clearly meant for a higher-level student, but Narcissa quickly found the plant she had been looking for - a flower that could change its color to blend with its neighbors. Narcissa gathered some samples from Anna's stock and brought them to class, and instead of following the textbook's procedure, she followed one she had written up for herself. As a result, Narcissa managed to finish her brew earlier than anyone else and demonstrated to the professor a liquid that could dye any color one wanted. Little did she know, some of her classmates had caught on to what she had done. After class, she overheard a group of Ravenclaws talking.

"Looks like she had a fun time cheating, didn't she..." said a girl.

"She thinks she can bend the rules just because her name's Black; no doubt, that's where Slytherin's headed these days," a boy replied. "I heard that one of their great-uncles got a paper published that he basically copied off a classmate's notes. But the real students of Hogwarts will always be the ones who work."

Narcissa was too stunned to speak. She looked askance at the group, where the boy stood at the center, casting her a cautious glance. But before she could begin to think of a response, there was a rush of air as a tall figure stepped in front of her.

"And you would do better to remember the rules you cite before using them against other people," said a voice. "Outside readings are only forbidden if you copy from them. Now get to your next class, and if I ever hear you saying something like that again, I'll make sure your Head of House knows. Go on!"

The students broke apart, drifting off into separate directions. Moments later, a hand lowered itself onto Narcissa's shoulder and whisked her off to the side. Anna could be terrifying when she wanted, comforting when you needed it most. She pulled Narcissa to a vacant corner and sat down with her on some steps. Narcissa was shaking.

Andromeda put her hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Don't listen to him, Cissy."

Her voice was deep, soothing. Gently, Andromeda tilted her sister's chin up till their eyes were level. Even then, her gaze held a kind wisdom that transcended her years, and Narcissa found herself staring back, helpless in its power.

"Is… is it true?" Narcissa whispered. "Our great-uncle - did he really-"

Andromeda silenced her with a shake of the head. "I don't know. Cissy, it was almost a hundred years ago. It doesn't matter. What matters now is that you're here, you did honest work, and you deserve credit for it. There's nothing wrong with what you did. You used a text that was more advanced than what everyone else was reading and managed to make sense of it. You were creative and resourceful, like a true Slytherin. I'm proud." She smiled. "Promise me you won't be upset. If anyone bothers you again, just come to me and I'll handle it."

Narcissa shook her head, trying to steady her shakes. "No. It's all right, Anna, I'm fine... I am." But despite her willful focus, the tears were already spilling down her face. She bowed her head again and began to sob, cheeks burning with shame and anger. "Th-that… stupid Ravenclaw!" she blurted. "He already thinks I'm dishonest and he doesn't even know me! He says it's all because I'm a Black. What's wrong with that?"

Andromeda gave a shrug. "Some people have prejudices they can't let go of. They think that just because someone in a family did something bad, the deed trickles down to the children. Or if someone was noteworthy, then that blesses them for life. Same with the houses. It's true, some people in Slytherin were dishonest. They were cruel. But you can say the same about any of the others. None of those stigmas are true. You are your own person. You don't have to continue anybody's legacy; you can make yours. Remember that, okay?"

Narcissa wiped her cheek with her wrist and nodded. Andromeda gave her a pat and walked with her to her next class.

Narcissa's dismay did not abate, however. She thought over the incident, and finally she decided to return the Herbology book to the library and never do any extra research again. She found Bella reading at a table in the common room, for once not surrounded by a posse of upperclassmen. Tucking the book timidly against her chest, Narcissa approached. "Bella?"

Bella lifted her gaze from the book. "What, Cissy? I'm working."

"Do you know where the library is?"

Bellatrix scowled. "Go find it yourself! You're not at home anymore, you're at school. You can't honestly thing we're going to hold your hand and baby you for the rest of your life. Stop clinging to people and use your own brain, for once."

Narcissa stomped her foot. "Bella, I mean it! This is Anna's book and if I don't get it back for her on time, then the staff will yell at her!"

Bella let out a laugh. "Getting you to be her servant now, is she? Maybe you can try some cooking classes with the House-Elves next. I'm sure they'll be happy to have you join them someday!"

Narcissa's face reddened. "Fine! If you don't help me, then I'm never going to talk to you again. You're always mean to me and you do nothing but push me around! I hate you. And I hate this place. I'm going to go to the Sorting Hat right now and ask it to put me somewhere else, because I don't want to be in Slytherin with you anymore!" She slammed the book down onto the table and turned away, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Frowning, Bella stood up and pulled Narcissa's hands away from her face.

"What's the matter? What's wrong with you?"

Narcissa bowed her head. "I hate it here! People are stupid and mean!"

"Who's mean?" Bella pressed. "Is it me? Is it one of those first-years?"

"Yes!" Narcissa pushed away from her. "This stupid boy said I cheated and all I did was use a book to help me make a potion, but he said it was because I came from a wealthy family and that I thought I was better than everyone else. And now everyone's going to hate me!"

Bella drew back. "Who said that?"

Narcissa recounted what had happened through her sobs. She didn't dare look Bella in the face, expecting at any moment to be grabbed and verbally smacked. But when she mustered the courage to look up, she saw that Bella's eyes were wide with anger.

"And?" she said. "You hexed him, didn't you? Closed that filthy mouth of his on the spot for talking about our family?"

Narcissa swallowed. In the shadow of her sister's fury, she felt strangely shamed. "I… I…"

But Bella did not wait for her response. She grabbed Narcissa by the arm and pulled her out of the common room, forgetting all about the book and the work she was doing, shoving aside passersby who got in their way. She pulled some strings, asked around, and tracked the first-year boy down by the Quidditch pitch, where he was fooling around with a group of friends. Without preamble, Bella approached the group and held up her wand.

"I'll teach you to run your mouth, you maggot of a first-year!" she said. "Insulting my sister! Dishonoring our family!"

She uttered a hex, and seconds later, the boy stumbled back with a cry, red hives erupting on his skin. The other boys jumped away as he fell to the ground, arms and legs twitching as if struggling against some invisible force. Then suddenly he seemed to lose control and began to rock from side to side at an eerily rhythmic pace. Bellatrix was doing something strange with his body, moving the fingers of her free hand to make it go where she wanted. Narcissa watched in silence, torn between horror and awe. Several heads in the vicinity turned, and in almost no time at all, an entire crowd of onlookers had assembled around them, gasping and pointing as the boy rolled around in the grass.

All of a sudden, a scream pierced the tides of voices.

"BELLA, NO!"

Narcissa's blood chilled. She turned, just as Andromeda appeared from the top of a hill, her robes billowing as she descended towards them. When saw the boy, Anna's jaw dropped. "Have you lost it?" She snatched the wand from Bella's hand and ended the spell, turning to her in fury. "You think you're back in dueling club where you can just wave your wand like a stick and do whatever you please? This is borderline expulsion! What if a professor saw you?"

Bella returned her gaze with a sneer. "Let them see!" she said. "Let them see how a first-year learned his lesson. Let them come and lock me in the dungeons. But they'll never insult my sister!"

Andromeda looked down at Narcissa, her face marked with such shock and disbelief that Narcissa felt herself pale. Without a word, Anna turned away and rushed over to the boy. She knelt down beside him and said some soothing words, then cast a spell to make his body airborne. She whisked him off to the hospital wing, several other students following behind.

Bellatrix watched them leave indifferently, and when they had fled off into the distance, she crossed her arms. "That'll show him. Brat of a Ravenclaw. He'll know better than to mess with us now, right Cissy?"

Bella's manner was brute, direct. Normally, it was something Narcissa feared about her, but in that moment, it reached out to her with a surprisingly gentle touch, lifting a sadness that constricted her heart. For the first time, Narcissa felt weak with love for her oldest sister, a flood of gratitude that filled her with warmth. Her face broke into a smile.

"Thank you, Bella."

Bellatrix winked. She looped her arm around Narcissa's own and steered her back towards the castle. "Let's go, Cissy. We have more important things to attend to than these low-lifes."

Together they walked away from the scene, heads held high.

+ + + +

From that point on, Bellatrix became nicer. She still snapped at Narcissa every now and then when Narcissa asked a silly question or made an unbecoming blunder. But this time her smirks were goading, her jostles bracing. She took Narcissa into her company at meals and events, and soon, the sisters were rarely seen apart. At Bella's side, the world no longer seemed daunting or stifling. All the people and places Narcissa had once been too apprehensive to approach seemed to lay themselves out before her in splendid invitation.

Soon, Narcissa found herself surrounded by friends and gained contacts from almost every big family her parents talked about. Their connections were ones that transcended the Hogwarts Houses, because they were steeped in blood itself. And within their fold, Narcissa never again felt lost. She attended their parties, was drawn with them into professors' inner circles, and was enveloped in their community to such a degree that she stopped noticing all the other students that filled the castle, walking around like nameless space-fillers.

But for some reason, Andromeda never returned to her central place in the picture. She and Narcissa still spent time together at home and at school, and Anna still sent her enchanted cards for her birthday. But by the time Narcissa reached her fourth year, and Andromeda her sixth, she finally noticed how distant Anna had grown. She barely spoke at family meals and answered their parents' questions to the bare minimum. She spent increasing amounts of time alone, writing letters to people they didn't know. On the rare occasions that Bella managed to pull a few words from her, they were curt and unrevealing.

Marriage proposals came steadily during the summer before Anna's final year, promising faithful engagements before she finished school. But she turned a cold shoulder to them. Meanwhile, Bella married Rodolphus Lestrange, whom their parents had long been pointing out for her, and left the family house with honor. Blacks married young, so Anna's passivity struck Narcissa as odd. She was left wondering, for a while, if Anna's time would come at all.

In the end, it did.

One year later, Andromeda Black did choose a husband, but he was someone not of their order, someone such a far cry from their sphere of relations that even his name was outlandish to their ears. A Muggle-born, Ted Tonks.

The shock that descended upon the Black household came with the suddenness of a thunderclap. Druella threw dishes. Cygnus spent hours in his study with Andromeda, the door locked to contain his fury while he scolded her, tried to reason with her. But Andromeda would have none of it.

Though Narcissa was barred from these conversations, she still listened through the door, gleaning what information she could from her sister's shrill, passionate voice. Anna had met Ted in her fourth year, and they had become friends. He was a Gryffindor, but he was kind and fair to everyone, and had only one demand of a friend - that they never betray his trust. It didn't matter to him that Anna was a Slytherin. He didn't care for her wealth or her inherited glory. All he wanted from her was her love, and in return he would give her everything.

The voices of parents and daughter wracked the large, empty house for weeks. During that time, Narcissa got almost no sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, wincing at every beat of footsteps that passed by her door, feeling her skin tingle as if the tension within the household had taken on a tangible form. Her parents used every tactic they knew of, calling to the nobility of the House of Black - toujours pur - and the loyalty that was demanded of every family member. Narcissa knew it. It had been imprinted on her since childhood, sewn into the very fabric of her life, and now her heart seemed to beat with the rhythm of those words, like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage. Keep the blood alive. Keep the blood alive.

But Andromeda was relentless. She had all of Bellatrix's power and emotion, but was using it against the family, which in her parent's eyes was as good as mutiny. And mutineers were thrown into the sea. The resolve with which they did it came to Narcissa like a slap in the face. Why didn't they care? Wasn't the girl who stood before them the same one they had cuddled as a child? The same girl whose white, slender hand rested on Narcissa's shoulder in their family portrait, who stood beside Bellatrix under her parents' proud, protective gazes? And yet here they were, fighting her, as if overcome by an ancient monster that slumbered deep in their souls.

Narcissa knew, in a sense, that their parents were in the right. Blood was a bond that couldn't be broken. What could a Muggle-born ever understand about their heritage? What more could his appreciation of magic amount to than a shallow wonder, when she and her family had been steeped in its traditions their entire lives? Families like the Blacks had worked for centuries to hone and preserve their abilities. And all the Muggle-born did was win a gamble of nature. Ted might have loved Andromeda for who she was as a person, but he'd never appreciate her for all the rest, because he'd never know. By marrying him, Anna was turning away from everything that had raised her, incorporating herself into a completely new fold - with someone whose relatives they'd never know, someone whose way of life was a complete mystery to them.

But even so, Narcissa wondered.

She watched how weeks of stress and scorn tore through her sister like a fire, stripping away her former temperance to leave a cold, irritable vestige of the person she used to be. Even in the rare moments when she and Narcissa were alone, Anna never quite managed to return the light to her eyes. They remained dreary and distant, and as the tension between her and their parents heated, Narcissa fearfully withdrew from her contact. She removed herself from the fray, shutting herself up in her room and waited for the three raging demons to abate.

Finally, one morning, Narcissa woke to the sounds of calm conversation in the drawing room. She crept over to the doorway, but instead of going in, she lowered herself to her knees and listened. At first, it seemed that Anna and their parents had finally found a ground for rapprochement. But what Andromeda said instead was worse than anything Narcissa had so far heard: The wedding had been planned, after which she would go to live with Ted in his new house.

Druella replied that she didn't have to worry about the wait. She could leave that very moment.

For a long while, the room was silent. Narcissa leaned as far forward as she could, so that she could see the fireplace and Andromeda standing before it. From Narcissa's position, neither Cygnus nor Druella could see her, but to Andromeda she was in plain sight, a tiny figure ducked beside the doorway, the light from the hallway just barely tracing her horror-stricken face.

The two of them locked eyes.

Narcissa didn't know what she felt as she looked at her sister's face. Anna, her rock, her helper, was leaving without so much as a backward glance, without even bothering to say goodbye to her. Narcissa bored her gaze into Andromeda's, willing with all her might that she'd stay, that she'd think it over, that she'd do it for Narcissa's own sake, even if for nothing else. But for all the effort Narcissa made to transmit the message, it seemed to dissipate in the air somewhere before it reached her sister. The dark eyes hardened, the momentary connection between them severed, and without a word, Anna stepped into the fireplace. She threw up a cloud of Floo Powder and disappeared in a burst of green flames, which cracked and hissed till they swallowed her completely.

As soon as her last embers dissipated in the air, Cygnus turned away and swore. Druella stormed right past Narcissa into the dining room, where the Black family tree was laid out on the wall in a fabulous mural, and blasted Anna's miniature from its place on the younger branches. The explosion rocked the house and rattled the walls. Narcissa turned away, eyes welling with tears, but she quickly suppressed them before her parents could notice.

Now, she was truly alone.

+ + + +

As with other blood-traitors in their family, Cygnus and Druella neither mentioned Andromeda after the incident, nor, likely, even thought about her. Her portraits and possessions were thrown from the house, along with all other traces of her presence, as if she had never been among them at all. From now on, Narcissa only had one sister. Bellatrix.

But long after her parents had moved on, Narcissa hadn't. In the months and years that followed, she still lingered in memories of the event, which spun round and round with stunning clarity in her restless mind. She thought of Andromeda's straight posture, her proud, resolute expression as she met her parents' gazes. She saw Anna's face, pictured the curves and contours she had known her entire life, and welled with a sudden, gnawing loathing for her sister. Because Narcissa had loved her.

Anna's friendship was pure and kind. She had been the only one who understood Narcissa's quiet nature, the only one who seemed to share that segment of her spirit that searched for beauty and joy in the world, which Narcissa herself could never explain. But with Anna gone, it was as if that part within her had died. The fact that Anna had chosen to leave, to choose a love that would break her away from her own family, tore something from Narcissa's heart, leaving behind a knot of confusion and sadness. And as much as she wanted to forget, as much as she wanted to follow her parents' example and let Andromeda go, she couldn't.

The blackened hole in the web of branches peered out at her like a malevolent eye, stilling her mind into penitent silence.

Keep the blood alive… Keep the blood alive...

+ + + +

+ + + +
The last years of Narcissa's girlhood went by quickly and quietly. She finished her seventh year at Hogwarts with the marks her parents expected of her, and for the next several months, drifted from travels to social gatherings. Then, in 1976, her parents informed her of Lucius Malfoy's proposal. Needless to say, they would give it their blessing. Lucius, as they told her, was a man of culture and pride. He had been a prefect at Hogwarts, always socially affluent, and earned people's favor not only through his name, but through skills and manners he had clearly been born with.

It was the marriage Narcissa needed, the one that would secure all the happiness and success her parents had implicitly promised her. But now that the moment was upon her, Narcissa was washed over by a feeling of happiness and relief, far different from the simple satisfaction she had associated with marriage in the past.

She agreed to the proposal without a moment's hesitation, and in the coming days, her joy seemed to carry her aloft above her parents, who busied themselves with the formalities of the engagement, preparing for the day she would officially meet her husband. Because Narcissa had already met him.

+ + + +

At first, Lucius Malfoy had been little more to her than a name. He had been one year above her at Hogwarts, a prefect, a perpetual symbol of an influential elite. No matter where or when Narcissa saw him, Lucius was always surrounded by a circle of people, discussing something lofty and important. He seemed to know everyone by name, down to the shyest first-years who had hardly been at the school for a week. Though Narcissa knew she was no less worthy of Lucius's attention than any other Slytherin girl, she couldn't ever imagine being close to him. Stoic intimidation appeared to be his nature, and he seemed slightly repulsive for it. But due to the relatively small community of the Slytherin House, there was no getting around the fact that everyone, at some point, had to know everyone.

Narcissa became aware of his attention to her in her fourth year, and it had made her uncomfortable at first. They seemed worlds apart, even opposites, and she was both puzzled and frightened that he should take interest in someone who had neither the same ambitions nor his fabulous record of triumphs. Behind the notoriety that came with her name, Narcissa was an average student, who took notes and read textbooks, wanting nothing more than to do her best in every class. She lingered at the fringes of social gatherings, calmly watching while her sisters burst forth into the spotlight. By all accounts, Lucius's eyes should have been on them, on the girls who could give him an advantage in his life.

But as time passed, Narcissa began to notice his eyes drift away from the shining center stage to find her, who had nothing to offer but her adequacy, and linger in puzzlement as if he had seen something he hadn't noticed before. And at the same time, Narcissa grew more attentive towards him, and she found herself hoping that, somewhere behind those deep grey eyes, there lurked a soul that could someday find room for her in its depths.

+ + + +

In Narcissa's fourth year, Lucius asked her to the Christmas dance, which was open only to seventh, sixth, and fifth years, and their escorts. It was the first time he had pointedly approached her alone. Before that, their interactions had taken place in public, even as they began to grow more aware of their mutual interest for each other.

That evening, the Great Hall was a wonderland of white and silver, chandeliers draped with crystals and flakes of snow drifting from the ceiling. The arches of the roof reached up and disappeared into an enchanted panorama of the winter sky. Narcissa and Lucius entered the crowd of people, greeting friends and professors, and once the necessary formalities were over, they took a side table to themselves and waited for the official dance to begin.

Having Lucius so close to her was both exciting and terrifying. They didn't speak much for the first few minutes, quietly drinking and smiling and occasionally glancing at the people around them.

Somewhere from the depths of the crowd emerged Andromeda, surrounded by a group of fellow sixth-years, like a jewel amid the snow. She wore a long, cream-colored dress that offset her dark brown curls, and made her look as if she were gliding rather than walking.

The group passed by their table, and Andromeda's eyes found Narcissa. She gave a smile, which Narcissa returned.

"Andromeda seems to keep good company with the prefects," Lucius commented, as Andromeda disappeared into the fold of dresses and suits. "She's with Sheldon Montague, Eleanor Reeves, Edward Tonks…" He narrowed his eyes to glimpse the people in Anna's company. Hardly any of them were Slytherins, much less in Narcissa's year, and so she barely recognized them. But Lucius seemed to know everything about them, from what they were notable for, even down to what school clubs they frequented.

Lucius began to recount stories, talking slightly faster than usual, though Narcissa captured his every word. When he finished, she gave an astounded sigh. "How do you know all of that?"

Lucius gave a flustered smile. "I don't know. I suppose I just… do." He shrugged. The gesture was so comical coming from him that Narcissa chuckled. "My father was the same as me. He looked for connections everywhere. He transferred from Durmstrang in his fourth year, and by the end of his second week at Hogwarts he already had letters of recommendation for advanced classes. He always said that a name can only get you half a reputation. The rest you have to make yourself."

Narcissa smiled. "I suppose that's true."

They fell into silence, and continued to watch as people appeared and disappeared in the plethora of faces. That was when Narcissa saw Bellatrix. She cut through the crowd in a dress of shimmering black, like a shard of night sky that had fallen to the earth. Out of all the colors in existence, black was the only one that framed the full scope of her beauty, melting with her hair and eyes, making her skin stand out almost pure white in contrast. When Bella's eyes landed on Narcissa and Lucius, they narrowed slightly and a sly smile crept up her lips. Narcissa lowered her head and blushed. From a look like that, she knew that there would be a lot of talk in the girls' dormitory that evening.

As Bella left, Narcissa lowered her head with a sheepish smile. "I must be the only fourth-year here," she said.

"Not true. Payton McLaggen brought his girlfriend and she's a fourth-year. He mentioned her in the Slug Club." Lucius smiled "At any rate, it's just a formality. If they had really banned fourth-years, I wouldn't have gone."

Narcissa's eyes widened. "Really?"

Lucius nodded, and she felt herself blush.

Soon the music began to play, and couples began to step out onto the dance floor. Lucius rose from his chair and held out a hand to Narcissa, and together they went to join them. As always, the dances started off in a formal fashion, with slow, metered music. Students did their best to keep their rhythm without bumping into each other, making for an atmosphere of concentration, which was nevertheless broken by an occasional chuckle when someone slipped up.

Narcissa had taken dancing lessons when she was younger and could keep with the music fairly well, but she was surprised at the grace and ease with which Lucius moved. Whenever she felt like she was falling behind, he'd give her a hand, and they would regain their tempo like before. Throughout the dances, his face remained hardly a wand's length away from Narcissa's own, where it seemed like every emotion was transmitted with unusual, stunning intensity.

Among the flurry of spinning dresses, Narcissa caught occasional glimpses of her sisters. Andromeda was dancing with the Gryffindor boy who had escorted her, wearing the same expression of enchantment that Narcissa felt on herself. They seemed oblivious to what was going on around them, though the others in their midst were cheering and clapping. On the other side of the room, Bellatrix danced swiftly and elegantly, doing one song with one boy then switching for another, after which she bounced back to the refreshment tables and spent the rest of the time chatting. The joy of her sisters' presence, the beauty of the Great Hall, and the thrill of moving to the music all swam round in Narcissa's mind, throwing her into a trance through which she could perceive only beauty in her surroundings. She and Lucius danced for what felt like days, keeping strong till the lights had grown dim and the music slow.

At half past midnight, the Great Hall darkened, the sheet of white clouds dimming into a starry night sky. The music waned into long, deep notes of saxophone and piano. Gradually, the Hall began to empty, with only a few late-stayers lingering on the dance floor, finishing up a last song or conversation. By the time Narcissa had regained enough awareness to look around, she saw that she and Lucius were one of the few people left. After a brief sweep of the room, she caught glimpse of her sisters again, who she suddenly noticed were in close proximity for the first time that evening. Andromeda's escort had left to get drinks and Andromeda herself was walking in search for a place to sit, when she passed Bellatrix, who was leaning against the wall. Andromeda stopped. Bella said something to her, and Anna replied, which elicited a short, sharp conversation that ended with Anna walking away in a huff.

All of a sudden, the haze of wonder and delight seemed to dissipate. The starlight was no longer dazzling, the music no longer lulling. A tension rose in the air, which Narcissa could not explain or pinpoint, but it seemed to be somehow connected to Andromeda's stiff posture and the way Bellatrix's sneer turned into a cold look of enmity as she watched Anna leave.

The colors of reality flooded back in, and Narcissa turned back to Lucius, whom she had forgotten for the space of a second. No longer in a trance, she once again felt meek and nervous before him. "I… I want to leave," she said.

Lucius frowned. He seemed to notice the shadow that had fallen over her face, but Narcissa refused to say more. He looked over to the spot she had been staring at, where Bellatrix was still standing with her company. The group had closed into a tight circle and was discussing something in hushed voices. He turned back to Narcissa.

"All right, then. Let's go."

Narcissa felt him take her arm and whisk her out of the room. There were a few people scattered about the corridors, either gathering into groups or sneaking off to be alone. Lucius led her on till they were far out of sight, bringing her to an empty corridor where he waited for her to regain her composure. When she did, she lifted her head, and the minute she saw Lucius's concerned gaze, she rushed to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just don't like it when my sisters fight."

Lucius nodded, and Narcissa relaxed when she saw he wasn't upset. Far to the contrary, his face had fallen back to the look of quiet admiration he had worn for most of the evening. "Then perhaps we can take a walk?"

He held out his hand, and a moment later, Narcissa took it.

They started on a long-winded route towards the Slytherin common room, passing arched windows that gave a glimpse of the moonlit grounds. The darkness stripped everything bare - the trees, the snowy grass, the frozen surface of the lake. Narcissa felt Lucius's hand clasping hers and met his gaze every so often, which made his face light with a smile. And suddenly, his titles and honors became like vague abstractions. His family, ancient and reputable, seemed far beyond the stretches of their world. She only sensed Lucius's presence beside her, and for one of a rare few moments in her life, she felt that it was one she wanted to keep by her side, something infinitely more valuable than anything an outside image could have given her.

+ + + +

Lucius was the only person Narcissa told about Andromeda's betrayal. The year that Anna left, Narcissa returned to Hogwarts for her sixth year, still dazed, still feeling as if she had been plunged into an alternate reality. She kept remembering that final look Anna had given her before stepping into the fireplace. It was a stare that said everything: hurt, betrayal. But nevertheless, pride. It was a stare Narcissa saw several times afterward in her dreams, in the time leading up to the start of the new term.

In those dreams, Andromeda would appear like a ghost from a black mist, dressed in the cream-colored dress she had worn to the Christmas ball. Only now the dress would be torn and ragged, covered in the dust of Floo powder. Anna's eyes, tired and sunken, would suddenly light up as she flashed Bella's crazed smile.

"You let them do it, Cissy. You let them bury me. After all I did for you, you repay me with nothing - a shallow care for my sisterly love. But the ghosts you keep won't stay hidden forever. One day it'll all come back - I'll come back - and when I do, I'll make sure YOU take my place!"

And each time, Andromeda would lunge forward with her arm outstretched, fingers curling like claws, and each time Narcissa would pull away in disgust, narrowly escaping their grasp, and let her sister plummet through the darkness.

Once she returned to Hogwarts, Narcissa managed to distract herself with schoolwork, and the dream did not return. But her shaken state did not abate. She became wary of her housemates, wondering if any of them knew what had happened. Their passing stares seemed suspicious, their every question two-sided. Every time she saw someone looking at her, it seemed as if they could see Anna in her mind, and that charred spot on the family tree that had missed her picture by inches.

Lucius seemed to notice something was wrong, though Narcissa avoided the subject for months, before she finally couldn't hold it in any longer and confessed what had happened. Part of her still feared that mentioning Andromeda would summon her back like a ghost, rekindling her parents' fury, only this time directing it at her. Because however much they praised her constancy and good behavior, Narcissa had always felt that she had been putting on an act. However many pureblood names she recited when she mentioned a recent party, Narcissa had always felt that it could slip away at any moment, leaving her to drift off into a lonely, shameful existence.

Narcissa spoke until she had told Lucius everything, withholding only the shame and anger she felt inside herself. But Lucius figured out the rest on his own. And he reacted in a way she didn't expect.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and drew closer. "Anyone who would choose something over you or your happiness is a fool," he said quietly. "And if your sister failed to see that, then she is the biggest fool of all. But her life and her choices have no reflection on you. If she's gone, so be it." He fixed his gaze on hers. "Because I will never leave you."

And he didn't.

He remained at her side for the rest of the year, and slowly, Narcissa moved on. She found herself becoming more drawn to him than ever, but the feeling was tinged with sadness, because she knew that it would be the last year they would spend together. Summer was fast approaching, and Lucius was finishing his classes, writing farewell letters to professors, and tying up loose ends in his organizations.

Finally, on the last day of the term, Narcissa met Lucius in the Slytherin common room to leave for the Hogwarts Express. Having graduated, Lucius would move on to get a job and begin his independent life. He had already changed out of his school uniform and was dressed in crisp, businesslike attire. His long blond hair was tied behind his head, which made him seem older.

Narcissa, in contrast, felt silly with her Hogwarts robes, her girlish braid, and her cluttered trunk, containing remnants of a world which was starting to grow too heavy a burden for her. Her school years had gone well in almost every aspect: She had earned good marks, had gained a wealth of magical skill, and became known for her wit and grace. But she had done nothing spectacular, nothing noteworthy, and had failed to define a path for herself as her sisters had done. Instead of stretching her parents' boundaries, Narcissa lay complacently in their hands like a flower - admired, but nevertheless pruned. On occasions of endearment, they still referred to her as their 'blossom', that old favorite term they had used since her childhood. But as of late, Narcissa had started to despise it.

She and Lucius walked to the platform, joining the crowds of students at the fringes of the Hogsmeade station. Narcissa looked out at the hills that stretched beyond the platform's walls and took a deep breath of air.

"So, this is it." She looked over to Lucius, a smile twitching on her lips. "The common room is going to be awfully quiet without you."

"Not by much," Lucius said. "You'll still have the people in your year. And your cousin Regulus will be starting too, won't he? He might need your help finding classrooms."

Narcissa smiled. "I hear he's already excited to be in Slytherin."

"Just make sure you're not in the room when Severus and his friends try to test out new spells. And most importantly, if you need someone to study with, make sure he's not more handsome than me."

Narcissa tilted her head. "What makes you so sure I'm searching?"

Lucius chuckled. "Well, I can't say I won't worry… I know I'll think about it at least a few times at work."

"So, you already have your job?"

Lucius nodded. "I'm going to be one of the Minister's personal staff. Aside from his duties to the country, he has to make sure the Ministry itself is running smoothly. So he needs regular reports from each department, which will be managed by me and the other Junior Undersecretaries."

Narcissa smiled. "I wouldn't have expected any less from you."

Lucius gave a shrug. "It wasn't my first choice… I originally wanted to apply to the International Office of Law, but for some reason my father wanted me to become one of the Minister's staff instead. There was a specific department he requested for me."

"Which is it?"

To her surprise, Lucius lifted his eyebrows. "I don't know. All I know is that they accepted me last week… and sent me this." He pulled a small golden key from his pocket and placed it into Narcissa's hands. It was fairly heavy for its size, but it bore no special markings. After turning it over a few times, Narcissa handed it back.

"That's strange," she said. "Maybe it's for the Department of Mysteries?"

"I don't think so. If that happened, then they'd have sent me all sorts of forms and binding contracts making me swear to keep my secrecy. My letter didn't tell me anything other than that I was accepted and that I'm to report to the Main Atrium next Sunday."

Narcissa smiled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll do splendid."

The sounds of chugging grew louder in the distance, and Narcissa turned to see the Hogwarts Express appear from the hills. The gleaming train approached the platform and slowed to a stop, and the doors to the compartments slid open. She turned to Lucius. "I guess we should be going."

Her tone was calm, but still Lucius caught the trace of sadness behind it. "This doesn't have to be goodbye," he said. "I'll write to you. Every Junior Undersecretary has their own owl. Five days a week, I'll be sitting in London, filing claims, writing letters, thinking of you." He smiled. "It's not like I'll really be leaving. You'll still have me, just in words. And maybe after you finish school, you can come visit me."

Narcissa lowered her head. "I've thought about that. But my parents will probably get me some tutors to teach me more advanced magic. They've already started to make plans."

"Do you have something in mind for a career?"

"I don't know. They said I could become a good curse-blocker… but I think I'll just become a teacher. It might not be exactly what they want, but I suppose they'll be happy with it."

"They have every reason to be proud of you, Narcissa," said Lucius. "You're one of the brightest Slytherins. You can do anything you set your mind to."

Narcissa smiled. "But what's the use? My parents still get the last word. I know they want to help me make a good life, but I feel like they're only trying to keep me with them for as long as possible. And I know I can't leave them… They'll keep me here to finish my studies, then they'll find me a husband like they did for Bellatrix… and you'll be moving on, making your own life in that Ministry of yours." She looked up at him, finding his grey eyes, the last pair that still looked at her in patience and understanding, not scrutiny or possessiveness. "I'm glad for you, Lucius. But I don't think we'll be able to see each other. Our lives are going to be completely different, and I can't do anything to change it. I'm not like you… I - I'm not like my sisters."

She turned away, her gaze trailing downward.

But a moment later, she felt Lucius slowly take her hand. She looked up, and he enclosed it in both of his own, pressing it against his heart.

"No. You're not."

He waited till Narcissa's eyes were fixed on his before continuing. "You are not Andromeda or Bellatrix, and you shouldn't ever be. Whoever they were, whatever they did, it should be of no concern to you. You are more than what they were. And I am more than who my father is. We'll put them all behind us." He kissed her hand gently. "Marry me."

And so Narcissa said yes to Lucius before she had said yes to her parents. But the formal process, as he explained, would take longer. Before he officially proposed, Lucius would have to gain a footing in his new Ministry job and settle things with his parents. They had already begun to peruse the matter of his marriage, and when Lucius voiced his preferences to them, they would no doubt give their approval. And as soon as they did, he would send Narcissa a letter.

+ + + +

At last, Lucius arrived at the Black residence on the spring of 1976. He greeted Narcissa with a bow, then looked up at her with a smile.

He was accompanied by his parents, who Narcissa already knew were named Abraxas and Polymnia. Polymnia was tall and slim, her dirty-blond hair tied neatly to the side. One of the strands near the front was colored a dark brown, adding a touch of well-mannered eccentricity. But the person from whom Lucius had inherited most of his looks was unquestionably his father. Abraxas stood half a head above his wife, with the same pale blond hair and hardness of expression as his son.

His manner was, if possible, even more refined. After shaking hands with Cygnus and bowing to Druella, he extended a hand to Narcissa and gently brushed his thumb across her fingers.

"Lovely. I must confess, had we known such a beautiful, mannered girl was already the object of our son's interest, we would have acted immediately. From what Lucius has told us, I profess that there would have been no better match."

Narcissa's parents agreed. Cygnus and Druella got along well with the Malfoys, and before long it seemed like they had been close friends for their entire lives.

The Malfoys would come to visit frequently in the subsequent weeks while preparations were made at their manor for the wedding. Narcissa often passed by her father's study to hear Cygnus and Abraxas talking over drinks. For some reason, the thing she best remembered Abraxas saying, in his simpering, lighthearted tone, was: "Oh, yes, it is indeed imperative that one knows their history!" This would be broken by loud laughter and the clink of goblets.

Indeed, both men did know their history, for they always seemed to be debating some fine philosophical point or recounting old family tales. Meanwhile, Lucius would show her photographs of his family and home, and the more Narcissa learned about them, the more she felt like she was tapping at the surface of something vast and intricate, with more mysteries than explanations.

At last, at the end of the month, the work at the Malfoy Manor was finished and the three Malfoys paid their final visit. Polymnia gave Narcissa a blue stone pendant that matched her eyes and Abraxas stood her and Lucius shoulder-to-shoulder, stepping back to observe them.

"Splendid! Exemplary! Of course, Cygnus, they will have to rehearse some things before the ceremony, but I believe everything at the Manor is in order and ready to go. Now!" Abraxas swept his arm towards the fireplace. "I invite you all to take your first look at our residence. Come!"

From all that Lucius had told her, Narcissa knew that Abraxas was a man who knew what he wanted. He never held a steady job as Lucius did now, but rather frequented the social scene with his wife like an old decoration, the centerpiece to an elaborate feast table, which everyone had grown so used to seeing that they overlooked its deciding power. Throughout their lives, he and Polymnia had played the roles that benefitted them, which led many to question their true motives, and indeed, whether or not they knew their own motives themselves. But at the same time, beneath that sly smile, Narcissa often saw a hardness of resolve in Abraxas's eyes, an intention or purpose that was clear to no one but himself, his sole constant, the answer to everything.

+ + + +

Six years later, that same man would be dying in bed of dragon pox, in a dark room of his distant house. Narcissa and Lucius would arrive, dismissing all the doctors once they said there was nothing more they could do. Lucius kept walking in and out of the room, but Narcissa remained stuck to her chair, not taking her eyes off of the sick man. And in his feverish daze, Abraxas would reach out blindly to her and open his hand, revealing an empty palm, but for some reason Narcissa would find herself unable to pull away her gaze, absurdly expecting to find something clutched there.

"Lucius…"

Narcissa froze. Abraxas thought he was speaking to his son. She turned to the door, wanting to call Lucius over, but right then Abraxas gave a loud cough, and she turned back.

"If you would please," Abraxas continued. "The key."

Narcissa's breath caught in her throat.

"You have it now… Take me there… Show it to me!"

The door creaked as Lucius entered, hurriedly coming to Narcissa's side. He had missed Abraxas's final words by seconds. Moments later, Abraxas began to cough louder than ever, until his energy had drained and his head fell back onto the pillow. His hand went limp over the side of the bed, and several minutes later, he went still. Abraxas's request had died with him.

Gasping and trembling, Narcissa would relay what he had said, and Lucius would comfort her, saying that Abraxas had been raving and that his words meant nothing. But Lucius didn't seem to wholly believe himself.

+ + + +

The opinion Narcissa would hold then, at twenty-seven, was much the same as the one she held now, at twenty-one: There was something more to the Malfoys than met the eye. Perhaps they weren't aware of it themselves. But Narcissa had seen it the moment they appeared together - Lucius, Abraxas, and Polymnia - all standing with their lazy haughtiness, facing her straight-backed parents, who were proud and traditional, yet plain for all to see.

She saw it most of all in Lucius, in that focused, contemplative way he could look at someone, and in the way that his emotions sometimes glimmered out from his face without him realizing it. In the sum of those moments, she had seen in him a kindred soul, someone she loved more than the faceless set of descriptions her parents had recited.

And so, at the altar, as she prepared to say her vows, Narcissa wasn't thinking of Lucius's parents, or of hers. She wasn't thinking about her friends or her sisters, but only about him, and the proper, peaceful life they would lead. And that, she supposed, was all she ever wanted.

+ + + +

In the weeks following the wedding, Lucius took complete ownership of the Malfoy Manor from his parents, who left a few final gifts before departing. The regal mansion was once again humbled by the presence of a young family, which filled its ancient walls with the warmth of new life. Lucius made some renovations for comfort and convenience. Narcissa's touch added a softness that balanced the elegant furnishings, gracing them with some of her old possessions and pictures. She melded her identity with the backdrop of his, and together they made it their home.

On Lucius's part, he had fulfilled his father's ambition. He had made a good marriage, had secured a respectable career, and was on his way writing the next chapter of the Malfoy family. It had been what he had intended to do all along, the goal he had pursued since childhood. He hadn't wanted to simply please his father, but to surpass him, and transcend society's stale expectations of him.

But something had happened in the process that he didn't expect. Lucius had found the embodiment of those dreams in a person he truly cared for, one who completed some unfinished puzzle in his heart. There was nobody else in the world he would rather have at his side, no one he would rather lay down his life to protect.

To Narcissa, her new home became her haven. It was a place she felt she belonged in, one where she could finally be free from the weight of her past. She was building a new future now, together with someone she truly loved. Nothing, she decided, would ever tear them apart.

...

Narcissa was at peace.

For a while, it lasted.

Until the day came when the world they built came crashing over their shoulders and brought the proud family to its knees, shattering the remnants of their legacy and leaving them dangling by a thread over the inferno of their own destruction.

…

And Anna returned.

But not in the way Narcissa had thought she would.

---

Prologue (ii): The Order
+ + + +

No one knows when magic began. Some say that the very first humans were wizards, while others claim that a small number of people had gained the powers later on and passed them down genetically. Still others believe that both wizards and Muggles appeared at the same point in time, separated from the very beginning by the difference in their abilities. It was a question that occupied historians for centuries, yielding many attempts to trace wizarding history as far back in time as human intellect could allow. But all these efforts were in vain. No one could solve the mystery of magic's beginning, and no one ever would.

And yet, the more that wizards learned about their powers, and the more distinct their society grew from that of the Muggles, the more they began to treasure the documents of their world.

Located many miles beneath the streets of London, far beyond the bustle of everyday life, lies an enormous wing of the Ministry of Magic known as the Department of Origin. It serves as the Ministry's informational store, housing all of its documents and records. But it also contains relics of wizardkind as a whole, including copies of published works, runic ciphers that were used in the past to create spells, and the records of ancient wizarding families, whose affairs were so closely intertwined with the history of the times that it could well be said that they wrote it themselves. Standing inside the underground library, staring up at the enormous arched ceiling and surrounded by such a wealth of information, any visitor would feel enticed and empowered. For all the wizarding world's secrets, all of its knowledge, were within arm's reach. Even the things that might have been worth forgetting.

But in order to inherit the future, one must first be burdened with the past.

Lucius Malfoy, one of the Department's lucky personnel, knew this better than anyone else.

Lucius didn't work in the actual library of records; he was a Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and his special job was to preside over the business of the Department of Origin, serving as its bridge of communication to the rest of the Ministry. But on occasion, he was allowed to roam the archive in his leisure, looking at artifacts in glass cases and wandering among the rows of bookshelves.

His position was the kind that was rarely bestowed, even among the well-to-do. He had gotten it because of his father, who had the necessary connections and had secured it for him when Lucius finished his education at Hogwarts. During the years that led up to his marriage, Lucius went to the Ministry to report for work every day. He didn't do it for the money, but rather, to be surrounded by the government elite and bring honor to his family name. But the longer he worked in the Department, the more he realized that he was also doing it for the knowledge.

Being the descendant of an old pureblood family, Lucius naturally had a reverence for history bed into him. But it was only here, in the archive, surrounded by ancient books and scrolls, that he realized the true depth and fragility of the entire wizarding enterprise. It was here that he realized just how limited their world was, seeing everything that wizards knew, everything they were, laid out before him in material form. Lucius was a proud man by nature, but being in the archive made him unusually humble and quiet. On the days when he had business there, he often stayed for hours, lurking at the study tables in the aisles and reading the newer books that were still in circulation.

The front of the archive was designed to accommodate visitors like him in fair comfort, with spacious floors and large stone fountains that produced the sounds of cascading streams. The titles were also relatively recent, all of them written in modern languages. But the deeper one went, the denser and stranger the collection became, until finally, somewhere near the middle, the visitor would encounter a glittering, transparent wall that forced them to stop. They would then be left to stand, while the walkway snaked on through the city of bookshelves, plunging into the archive's innermost depths. There the texts became undecipherable, the artifacts priceless. At the very end, it was said that there was a gathering of relics as old as humanity itself, down to the first strokes people painted with fingers and brushes.

The only people who were allowed past this boundary were the archive's keepers, and theirs was a position of prestige on par with the Unspeakables. Lucius couldn't begin to imagine what a person would have to do to become one of them. The keepers were all old witches and wizards, who had likely been with the Department for decades and presided over their own section of the library. They weren't confined to secrecy like the Unspeakables, however, and enjoyed telling visitors about their domain, which they knew inside and out. They were the archive's perpetual guardians, and could often be seen walking among the collections like ghosts.

During his time of employment, Lucius had grown particularly friendly with one of them. He was an elderly wizard by the name of Bradbury, who had spent most of his life as a scholar. While other Ministry workers wore stylish hats and shiny badges, this man wore plain, brown robes, for the fruits of his labor lay within.

Lucius had been introduced to Bradbury on his first day of work. Fresh from Hogwarts and ready for a shining career, Lucius had been walking with one of the other undersecretaries towards the lifts on the first floor. He had already met the Minister of Magic and his future colleagues, and had finally discovered which department he would be working for. He still wasn't sure why an informational archive was called the Department of Origin, but he figured that if it was worth finding out, he would.

Lucius and the man approached the lifts, where an old, slightly-hunched wizard awaited them. Lucius's companion stepped forward and shook his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Bradbury. This is Lucius Malfoy."

Bradbury extended a hand and Lucius shook it. Giving the other undersecretary a nod, Bradbury motioned Lucius towards the nearest lift and followed him inside. They descended to the Department of Mysteries, the deepest that the public lifts would go, and emerged into a dim, black corridor with a single door on the far end. To the left was the staircase that led down to the Wizengamot courtrooms, and to the right was another long wing. Bradbury led Lucius to the right, where they came upon another series of lifts.

"The Department is only accessible through these," Bradbury said. "It's a bit deeper underground, so the lifts are separate."

He opened one of the doors and motioned for Lucius to enter. Inside, Bradbury removed a small golden key from his pocket, identical to the one Lucius had received upon his acceptance, and inserted it into a matching keyhole in the wall. Instantly, the lift dropped like a dead weight, taking them down to Level Eleven.

Lucius stood calmly with his hands behind his back, expecting a basic file room, but the minute the doors opened to reveal a vast, underground palace, and Lucius's gaze swept over the innumerable quantity of bookshelves, his face unconsciously adopted a look of childlike awe. Seeing this, Bradbury smiled.

"Ah, the young."

He stepped around Lucius to take the lead, leaving him somewhat flustered.

The keeper proceeded to give Lucius a general tour and showed him the sections he would use most frequently. But Bradbury also seemed to take an interest in Lucius himself, and from that day on, he took him under his wing. And indeed, he was one of the only people whom Lucius ever allowed to do so. Bradbury presided over the section of familial records, and on occasion, he let Lucius venture beyond the protective boundary. There, Bradbury revealed a stunning creation - a series of vaults for all the ancient wizarding families of Great Britain. Each vault pertained to a single family, much like the vaults at the Gringotts bank, only instead of material possessions, these held information. In order to open them, one had to either be a keeper or a member of the family itself.

Naturally, there was a vault dedicated to the Malfoys, but Lucius still found himself amazed when he saw the name carved above the door. He knew the vault was ancient; it had to be at least as old as the Ministry itself, and likely contained things that many of his ancestors had never seen. Back when they were alive, Malfoys could afford to seclude themselves from the majority of society. Power and influence ran in bloodlines, but those days were quickly fading for a different future, one in which society was diluted and fast-paced. And in order to survive in it, Lucius knew he would have to play a delicate balancing game: Reap the benefits of the new culture while hanging on to the traditions of the old.

+ + + +

His first three years at the Department of Origin passed by in peace. Lucius contently fulfilled his duties and felt no interest in the business of other departments, save for what made good conversation in the lounge. He rather liked the fact that he was privy to a section of the Ministry that most of the other workers took for granted, mentioning it only when they were getting something 'filed'. There was something calming about having everything down on paper, and something satisfying in the slow way the keepers worked, contributing to their collections from time to time and exchanging items with other countries. Lucius saw it as a sign of personal belonging that he could spent an extra few hours in his department at the end of the day and not feel like he was working overtime.

But in the months that followed his marriage, the atmosphere at the Ministry began to tense. In October of 1976, there was a sudden spike in crimes against Muggles, many of which showed traces of Dark magic. Inferi began to be spotted in desolated towns, and several wizards' homes were raided by unknown suspects, who left threats of death and torture if the victims did not comply with their terms. Rumor had it that a Dark wizard was on the rise, and the sinister forces of the world seemed to be stirring up in response to his presence. Lucius had heard these rumors even at Hogwarts, but at the time the unrest had been so distant that the issue never lingered long in his mind. The flaunting, Dark-tolerant attitude that had taken over many of the younger Slytherins had seemed like a cliquish fad, much like people inflated their enthusiasm for foreign Quidditch teams after reading a few fan articles.

But as winter approached, the evidence began to solidify. Holiday celebrations were clouded by searches and interrogations, and the Ministry began to circulate pamphlets and posters to inform people about safety precautions. There was no outright panic, but as the months wore on, the situation visibly worsened. While Narcissa sat at home, Lucius was caught in the midst of a bureaucratic breakdown, receiving daily news of dead Ministry officials and failed captures.

It was sometime then, towards the beginning of January, that a new face appeared in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. New recruits were steadily being taken in by the Ministry, filling the places of workers who had been stationed on the field. But Lucius and the man didn't cross paths for weeks, until one day, a knock came on Lucius's door. Lucius, who was writing a letter to Minister Minchum, looked up in annoyance and prepared to send the unlucky visitor away.

The wizard that stepped in was tall and dark-haired, dressed in gray robes that swept the floor behind him. He met Lucius's stare unflinchingly, with nearly the same businesslike coldness. This surprised Lucius, and managed to keep him silent as the man stopped before his desk.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Unless the name on the door has changed, yes," Lucius replied.

The man was neither fazed nor humored. He brought out a folder and set it down. "A case from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It concerns your department."

"Go on."

"Last week, a witch by the name of Fredricia Smith filed a lawsuit against her relative, Preston Smith," the wizard said. "The lawsuit concerned the fortune of a certain Elaine Smith, a wealthy heiress, who passed away the month prior. Among her possessions is a golden cup, which was passed down the female line of her husband's family. Elaine's husband was Dagan Smith, and the goblet in question was previously in the possession of his mother, Hepzibah Smith. The goblet went missing shortly after Hepzibah's death, after which Dagan and Elaine sought to locate it, and finally managed to do so in 1950." Here, he paused, pursing his lips. "They returned the cup to their house, but in the months that followed, their marriage grew strained and they ended up resolving to divorce. But Dagan passed before it was legalized, and Elaine followed just a year later. In her will she expressed her wish that the goblet remain the sole property of her family forever, and that it be given to no one except a direct blood relative. This is where the problem lies."

The man opened the folder to reveal a booklet of papers.

"Fredricia and Preston Smith are the closest surviving relatives of the Smith family. Fredricia is Dagan's cousin, and claims that because she is a female, the cup must belong to her. Preston is Elaine's nephew, and argues that he is more closely related to Elaine and therefore has a greater right to possess it as an heirloom. The Wizengamot must determine which of the two has the rightful claim to the artifact. Due to the complexity of the matter, we require substantial historical evidence and family records from the archive. Specifically, we require records of the transfer of the cup and an analysis of the Smith family tree to determine which of the two claimants is the rightful heir. If it is neither, then the Department of Magical Law Enforcement asks that the cup be declared an ownerless artifact and be transferred to a secure place, preferably the archive itself."

Lucius flipped through the papers without comment, then set the folder aside. "I will investigate it. For now, if that is all, you may leave."

"Very well," said the man. "You may deliver any relevant documents to my office. My name is Hesperus Rex." The man turned, his robes swishing behind him, and left the office.

Later that day, Lucius went down to the archive with the folder the man had given him. He looked around the visitor area for a keeper, and right then, noticed a pale blue glow coming from one of the tables. Bradbury was sitting there, a multitude of books and parchment rolls lying open around him. The light was coming from an enchanted orb that floated beside his workstation, containing several glowing strands that twisted around each other. The keeper himself was hard at work, writing something with his quill.

Lucius started to walk past the table, not wanting to disturb him, but moments later Bradbury noticed him of his own accord. "Ah, Lucius. I hope everything's all right up there?"

Lucius approached the table. "Mostly... The rebels are popping up everywhere, and they're getting more violent by the week. Minchum's stopped trying to convince people they have nothing to worry about. And if he thinks that this will last a long time, then it surely will, without doubt..." He looked around the quiet room and gave a sigh. When his gaze trailed back to Bradbury, he gave a faint smile. "It must be relieving, being down here."

Bradbury chuckled. "One would think. But it can be surprisingly unsettling to sit on the sidelines, doing your research, while the future of your world hangs by a thread. And yet... your work must go on. It might seem that the rebels are smashing relics and overturning traditions, but in reality, nothing is destroyed in this world. Everything that seems lost always comes back, in another form..." Bradbury lifted his hand to the glowing strands, making them bend and twist. Up close, Lucius saw that the strands weren't floating randomly -- pairs of them spiraled around each other, connected by tiny ribs. Looking at them seemed to put Bradbury in a state of contemplation, and he began to write some more.

After a moment, Lucius allowed himself a step closer. "If you don't mind me asking, what is your research about?"

"Magical heredity," Bradbury replied. "It's an old project; I've been on it for a few years now. There's too much jargon involved to go into the details, but I'm attempting to investigate how certain qualities pass down by blood."

Lucius looked around at the books the keeper was reading. Some of them were written in other languages, even runes. "If you should ever need assistance, I would gladly listen to your ideas."

Bradbury smiled. "I would be very glad to receive it. However... you must have come here today for a different reason." He eyed the folder tucked under Lucius's arm.

"Ah..." Lucius took it into both hands. "I've received a case for the Wizengamot. Two members of the Smith family are disputing over an heirloom, and I need to get some information from their vault."

"The Smiths? Yes, I'm familiar with them." Bradbury gave a slight cough. Despite the warm lighting, Lucius noticed that he looked a little pale.

"Are you well?" Lucius asked. "I could ask another keeper to take me, if you're not able. It would be no trouble."

But Bradbury shook his head. "Just sat for too long, is all. A little stroll won't hurt."

He rose from his chair and beckoned for Lucius to follow, leading him down the familiar path to the family vaults. Bradbury stopped before the Smith door and placed his palm on it, and the slab of stone slid away to reveal a small library with a wooden worktable in the center. "Here we are. The collection is small, but you should still be able to find what you are looking for."

Lucius, to whom the vault seemed quite expansive, frowned. "Why do you say it is smaller?"

"The Smith family is not originally British," Bradbury explained. "Our collection is limited for those families who have a longer history somewhere else. In the case of the Smiths, their British ties emerged only in the late twelfth century, when they became connected with the Hufflepuff line."

Lucius looked at the keeper in disbelief. "The Hufflepuffs?"

Bradbury smiled. "Yes. The last bearer of the Hufflepuff name was a woman by the name of Krista, who married a man named Smith. Krista was the daughter of Helga Hufflepuff's brother, which makes all subsequent generations of the Smith family partially related to her. The Smiths are, in fact, the only surviving relations of the Hufflepuff family, since Helga had no children."

Lucius nodded in understanding. He was a Slytherin, but that hadn't stopped him from reading about the histories of the other Houses. And he knew that though Helga Hufflepuff was thought of as the most carefree and innocent of the four, her life was arguably the most complex.

She had been born in a small village in Wales, a rare sort of community that held a mix of wizards and Muggles. They existed in harmony, each group fulfilling its own role in securing the survival of the population. At the time, there were no centers for formal magical education, so wizards in usually developed only the skills they needed for survival - healing, potionmaking, and culinary arts. They were still dependent on Muggle skills, like hunting, planting, and building.

The Hufflepuff family held a position of power in their community, and as a result, Helga had connections to distant parts of the country and was able to gain wizarding acquaintances - most notably Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin. Like them, Helga displayed exceptional talent at magic, and at a young age had mastered more skills than any other wizard in her village. When she inherited her parents' estate, she unified the entire village under her guidance. She even planned to marry one of the village men, with whom she had been in love for years, and live her life quietly. But the more time she spent in the company of her wizard friends, the more Helga became occupied by the affairs of wizardkind. She had done a great deal to benefit Muggles, and had figured that creating a school of sorcery would be her chance to benefit wizards. The Founders' grand goal was to create a school that would combine all branches of magic into a single curriculum, and give wizards a broad, formal education for the first time in English history.

In setting out on the project with her colleagues, however, Helga stayed true to the principles she learned growing up. She despised the lazy attitude prevalent among wizards at the time, who saw magic as a complete replacement for labor. Moreover, Helga denounced magical elitism, for she had been raised with respect for Muggles and sought only three things in her students: hard work, honesty, and loyalty. The seeds of righteousness.

But as Helga spent more time away, the home she had once known began to change. Relations between the wizards and Muggles grew tense, for with Helga's new notoriety as a school founder, the wizards of the village had adopted a lofty air. Hogwarts had allowed them to enhance their powers to the point where they could do most of the Muggles' jobs for them, leaving the Muggles as second-rate helpers. Unhappy with this treatment, the Muggles in the village revolted, raiding the Hufflepuff manor and burning wizards' homes. But many Muggle bystanders also perished, including the man Helga had loved. Legend had it that she had been so heartbroken that she was never again the same. A shadow fell over her usually sunny countenance, and she never married.

Now, Lucius looked around at the books in the vault, and turned to Bradbury with a question in his mind. "But what of the families with a mixed ancestral background? Their records would be scattered about the whole globe, would they not? How would you know in which country to store it?"

A twinkle appeared in Bradbury's eyes. "You ask the right questions. But there is no simple answer. Yes, it's true that most wizarding families have a more complicated past than their living descendants might think. Each country, however, holds only the records that date back as far as a family has lived there. This fools people into thinking that they are purely of one heritage, when in fact, there may exist older files in some other place belonging to the same lineage, possibly even under a different name. We've already found that many families based here in this Department are not originally English. Even your name - Malfoy… it sounds French. I suspect this is more than a coincidence, but of course, we must investigate further before we can draw any conclusions."

Lucius frowned. "But then, you might as well argue that no family is originally from anywhere. Nearly every group of people migrated at some point in their history, so technically it's impossible to determine where any family, or any people for that matter, originated. The farther back in time you go, the more closely connected all families become, which would mean that in the end, everyone is a descendant of one person - the progenitor of the entire human race." At this, he fell silent, befuddled by his own trail of thought. But Bradbury gave a nod.

"Yes, this is the problem of regression. Though it is found in two dimensions: one is the history of humanity as a whole, which is investigated mainly by Muggles, and the other is the history of wizardkind." Bradbury fixed his gaze on Lucius. "Magic, as you know, is an inherited power. That means that every magical individual must have magical ancestors. But what happens when we examine the ancestors of those ancestors? Were they magical too? Our expectations tell us they had to be... but the further back one goes, the more difficult it becomes to prove it. A popular theory is that, much like all human lineages eventually converge back in time, all the wizarding families of the world in fact stem from a single magical ancestor."

Lucius nodded. "Which would leave wizards with one ancestor and Muggles with another... I'm familiar with it..." But now, after trailing off, he frowned. "But there is something I haven't been able to understand. Magic is obviously very diverse. Is it really possible that magic in all of its forms could have originated in just one person? I know it's just as equally a fact of experience that certain talents are concentrated in specific families. The Bulstrodes were great potioneers, the Ollivanders wandmakers. If there really is only one progenitor of magic, then they would have had to be good at all those things, wouldn't they?"

"Not necessarily," said Bradbury. "The various features of magic could very well have appeared later on. The important thing is the initial spark, the moment someone was born with the right conditions in their body for any sort of powers to emerge. Those powers would then be passed on to that person's children, perhaps with several new powers as well, and as the lineage continued to reproduce, their magic would expand."

"But how can someone pass down more magic than what they have?"

Bradbury smiled. "Wizards have a rather metaphorical way of speaking about these things. We typically regard magic as something that fills up a person, like liquid, and it follows that the more concentrated or diluted it is, the stronger or weaker the person's powers are. But this model breaks down when we try to apply it to real-life scenarios. In this respect, Muggle science surpasses ours. They've experimented with heredity more intensively than we have, and as a result they've uncovered many of its mysteries. Magic is what they would call a gene. The human body possesses certain genes, which are passed down through families and determine one's physical characteristics, such as eye color and hair."

Lucius nodded.

"In much the same way, there is a gene in the body that bestows magical power. It can express itself in any way, whether it be an exceptional talent at one thing, or excellence in many. Aptitude can, of course, vary, and can sometimes run in families, but possessing the magical gene enables any wizard to access all forms of magical power to one extent or another. There are people who believe that there are many versions of the magical gene that grant specific powers. But there is, I think, one fact that points to the existence of one gene: We often observe that many Muggle families also produce wizards, and very versatile ones at that. If there were many magical genes responsible for granting specific powers, then the Muggle-born would have had to have a bit of all of them, which is highly unlikely since they had no wizarding ancestors to begin with. The simplest way we can explain this is that their Muggle ancestors had elements of the single magical gene within themselves. If this is so, then it would also imply that wizard and Muggle lineages are historically connected."

Bradbury trailed off, and when he did not speak for another few moments, Lucius frowned. "But… surely there must be a reason why one lineage possessed the fully-formed gene in the first place and the other didn't. It is, after all, what makes us wizards."

Bradbury shrugged. "For now, we have no reason to believe it is anything but a matter of chance." He folded his arms behind his crooked back and looked towards the exit. "The field of heredity is very intricate. Wizards haven't had as great a need for it as the Muggles have, but I believe that now, more than ever, it is time for us to develop it into our own science. We must use all the knowledge that previous generations have left us. If we don't, then we will never properly understand magic, and as a result we will never properly understand ourselves."

He turned back to Lucius, who was standing by the table, not saying anything.

"I'll leave you to your work, then," Bradbury said. And with a faint smile, he left.

+ + + +

Sifting through the Smith vault proved to be a massive undertaking that lasted five days. After Bradbury left him alone, Lucius spent the rest of that day searching the shelves for useful books and jotting down information. Each of the following mornings, he arrived at the Ministry of Magic with an armful of papers, stolidly passing his chattering colleagues and proceeding to the lifts.

While he was down in the vault of the Smiths, Lucius felt as if time had died. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night, or indeed if the outside world was even there behind the closed door. No matter the hour, the chamber remained silent and chilly, the only stirs of life being the scratches of his quill and the crinkle of pages. Skimming through the volumes of memoirs, family trees, and legal records, Lucius felt strangely like an intruder in a cemetery, poking around the headstones of people he didn't know. He began to understand why most of the keepers he saw were old - he couldn't imagine the resolve it would take to detach oneself from the outside world and embrace a life among the relics of the past.

On the sixth day, to his great relief, Lucius finished his work and went up to Hesperus's office to deliver it.

The man looked up as Lucius entered, placing the folder down on the desk in the exact same manner as had been done to him.

"You work swiftly," Hesperus said. "That is good."

Lucius inclined his head politely.

Hesperus began to flip through the pages of handwriting and clipped notes. He did not send Lucius away, and Lucius did not make a move to leave. After a moment, Hesperus looked up nonchalantly. "It is fortunate that Fredricia Smith came from a wizarding family, otherwise her case would have been twice as difficult for us to solve. We would have had to consult Muggle databases, as the wizarding records alone would have been useless."

"If Miss Smith were not a pure-blood, then her claim to the artifact might not even have been legitimate," said Lucius slowly. "Those who are farther removed from a family's point of origin have less of a guarantee of inheritance than those who are closer. It is a simple mechanic of genealogy."

Hesperus raised an eyebrow. "And if the closest living relative is from another family?"

"Then, provided no prior arrangements were made, there would not even be a question of inheritance. It would have no genealogical justification."

Hesperus studied him for a moment. "I see that the Department of Origin provides its workers with a rather… sane perspective."

"I only deal with that which may be logically proven," said Lucius.

Hesperus gave the slightest of smiles. "In that case, I am pleased to be acquainted with a man of reason."

The corners of Lucius's mouth twitched upwards in response, and he found himself returning the gesture.

That same day, Hesperus forwarded the Smith papers to the Wizengamot for an official ruling, and the case of Fredricia Smith was resolved. The goblet was declared an ownerless object and was sent to the Department of Origin to be classified as property of the Ministry. From that point on, Lucius and Hesperus forged a casual partnership. They began to seek each other out at meetings and visited each other to debate over issues of the day. These discussions were professional and restrained, but before long, both men became certain that they held similar views on magic, society, and the world at large.

Hesperus soon stopped transferring cases to Lucius through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and began to deliver them personally. Through Hesperus, Lucius helped solve a number of other disputes concerning wizarding assets, and as the two of them began to work more closely together, Hesperus revealed to Lucius an idea: to use the archive as a storage place for records pertaining to the rebel hunt. The uprising had intensified to such a degree that the Law Enforcement workers were having trouble keeping track of all the people they dealt with. Moreover, it was not uncommon for Ministry outposts to be raided, and all of their documents destroyed. Lucius agreed eagerly, and with Hesperus's help, he began to gather a collection of records and dossiers. Questions of whereabouts and affiliation, which would have taken weeks to prove on the basis of shaky testimonials and befuddled witnesses, could be solved in a single day using the files they stored in the Department of Origin. Soon, Hesperus's colleagues from Law Enforcement began to visit the archive and retrieve information, filling the archive with unprecedented activity.

This filled Lucius with both pleasure and pride. For the first time in its long history, the archive was serving a socially-vital cause and was doing so on his initiative. Hesperus had lifted him from his murky, theoretical world and showed him the application of his specialty. And now, Lucius would take the rest of the department with him. He dreamed of a day when the mountains of informational treasure would be brought forth from the darkness of obscurity, saved from their sure doom of being trampled by the passing years. He, Lucius Malfoy, would give the Department of Origin a place in the modern world. No fragment of wizarding knowledge would ever be forgotten. It would be passed on, just as Bradbury wanted, and be treasured by society forever.

But as Lucius opened the doors to the archive for others, his own need to visit it diminished. It was only a month later that he went down on an urgent errand, and by chance, bumped into Bradbury. The wizard was tired and puffy-eyed, but nevertheless looked pleased to see him. He led Lucius to the section of dossiers, waited for him to get the ones he needed, and guided him out of the boundary. On their way to the front of the archive, they stopped.

"I've left some books in your vault that I think you'll find interesting," Bradbury said. "You can come take a look at them any time."

Lucius lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Thank you, Mr. Bradbury. But... aren't you still working on your research?"

"I've gathered everything I need. It's taken a long time, but I think I've finally gotten my theory right."

"Are you going to publish it?"

Bradbury chuckled. "Perhaps… when the time comes." He took a long look around the room, gazing up at the tall stone walls. "Books are important, Lucius. But one shouldn't get too immersed in them. Don't forget that there is an entire world above the archive that needs your involvement. It is the world of change and loss, yes, but also the world of joys and mysteries. The kind of truth books offer is but a reflection of it. The inner truth, the one that sustains you, is the one you get from living."

Lucius met the keeper's gaze in silence. There was a long pause, then he adjusted the folder in his arms. "I suppose… I should be going. There will be a Wizengamot hearing soon. They're trying suspects."

Bradbury smiled. "Good luck, then! May the be rebels be brought to light."

"Thank you, Mr. Bradbury." Lucius inclined his head to the wizard and left the archive. He proceeded up to the courtrooms, where the full Wizengamot council had assembled, and several people were chained to the chairs before the tribune. Harold Minchum had doubled the number of Dementors in Azkaban and was resolved to imprison every person who was even slightly connected to the rebellion. But the trials became more drawn-out as a result.

Lucius presented the papers to the Minister and took his seat beside Hesperus in the observer area. The hearing was long and monotonous as expected, but those whose dossiers Lucius had brought - Yaxley, Dolohov, and Travers - were cleared with the least hassle.

His conversation with Bradbury kept surfacing in his awareness over the days, and finally, Lucius came to the Ministry early one morning to visit to the archive. The study tables in the front section were empty, and the only other people there were a couple of Wizengamot members. Looking around, Lucius finally saw another keeper walking past and approached him. "Excuse me. Is Mr. Bradbury here?"

The wizard stopped in front of him, frowning. "You're Lucius Malfoy, aren't you?"

"Yes."

The man gave a pause. "Bradbury passed away. His section of the archive has been closed while we remove his possessions."

Lucius felt a stab of shock. "What? No... How?"

"He's been sick for a long time. It's a wonder he didn't retire… But he always loved his work, that Bradbury..." The keeper's gaze trailed off into the distance, then he looked back at Lucius, pursing his lips. "I'm sorry."

He walked off. Lucius was left standing there, blinking numbly. He looked around at the empty tables, then after a while, he turned back to the lifts.

When Lucius came home that evening, Narcissa remarked that he looked unusually tired. Lucius gave a nod and withdrew into his office. He stayed there for the rest of the night, reading a book of runes he had gotten from the archive, letting his gaze plunge into the glyphs. But the image of Bradbury never left his mind. He kept picturing him standing in the front room, hands clasped behind his back, immersed in thoughts that no one would ever know.

+ + + +

+ + + +

By springtime, the dark wizard called Lord Voldemort had made rapid advances. The strain on the Ministry proved so great that normal business came to a halt and the government began to focus its efforts solely on crushing the rebellion. But the more time that passed, the more the reins of control seemed to be slipping from their hands. A clan of giants started a riot in the north, trampling their way through entire towns, and their battle with the Aurors left a flattened trail of destruction that stretched for miles. Workers from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes barely managed to clean up the mess before another group of giants attacked from the other side of the country, sending them into a scramble all over again. Snippets of the chaos began to leak into Muggle newspapers, and the Muggles' concern grew to such an extent that the Excuse Committee began generating fake storms and fires simply to distract them.

The people responsible for the chaos revealed themselves as the Death Eaters. Signs of their presence were everywhere, but oddly enough, no one ever saw their faces. No eyewitnesses ever recalled seeing anything but cloaked figures, or hearing anything but maniacal laughter before their attackers fled in a puff of smoke. This made it even more difficult to track them down, for they seemed countless in number. People began to suspect their neighbors and friends, and the cloud of nervous chatter eventually reached the Ministry itself. Once amiable workers grew distant and withdrawn. Overt aloofness was considered just as suspicious as hyperactivity, so most people lingered in a limbo between the two, drifting around as if they had been dosed with the Draught of Living Death.

Lucius gauged the level of strain in affairs by Hesperus's behavior. On a particularly bad day, the man's office would be swamped with papers, and owls would be flying in and out of his window in a feathered frenzy. Lucius hardly had time to share more than a few words with him during the day, but even so, all that anyone ever talked about was the news.

On April 22nd, Lucius left on his lunch break with the Daily Prophet in hand and made his way to the dining hall. The room was tense and hushed. People stood around with looks of deep thought and worry, many of them also reading the headlines. Lucius sat down at a free table and summoned a cup of tea. A few minutes later, Hesperus emerge from another hallway, and after frowning at the newspapers in everyone's hands, he sat down across from Lucius.

"What is it?"

"Dementors," Lucius said. "Everywhere. They managed to break out of Azkaban."

Hesperus waved his hand. "Then the Prophet is two days behind. There's no point in reading it anymore; we're the ones make the stories anyhow. It all depends on how fast our Aurors can react to it. There could be hell breaking loose this very moment and we won't know until tomorrow, when people start seeing the bodies." He lowered his voice. "I would advise you to be on your guard. The Death Eaters are advancing towards London and there's word that they might try to attack the Ministry next. The Minister has already issued an order for us to be on the lookout for suspicious activity within the collective."

Lucius nodded. "I am aware." The Senior Undersecretary had in fact given him the report a day ago and ordered all the Junior Undersecretaries to relay it to their respective departments. Lucius had complied and informed the Department of Origin's head keeper, though he found the measure completely unnecessary. All it did was introduce suspicion to places it didn't belong. Even he, who had always commanded a reasonable amount of respect in the Ministry, was starting to feel people's gazes linger on him a few seconds longer than usual. And now, as Lucius looked around the room, he noticed other wizards looking away from him and whispering something to their companions.

Hesperus, who seemed to have noticed this as well, leaned closer to Lucius. "Not everyone takes kindly to those who remain calm," he murmured. "I am not suggesting that you should change anything that you are doing, but make sure it does not arouse anyone's suspicions. Do you understand?"

"Naturally," said Lucius.

With that, they fell silent. There was a shifting to chairs from the other side of the room, and Lucius looked askance to see a wizard head towards them. Lucius recognized him only vaguely; he remembered seeing that cloud of red hair on his visits to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where the man was always talking animatedly with someone. He was also one of the ones who didn't panic, and like Lucius, seemed more immersed in his work than ever.

The man stopped by their table and fixed his gaze on Hesperus.

"I don't know how long you intend to persist with your schemes," he said quietly, "but I'm warning you, Hesperus. If you take a single step into that file room again, you will regret it." Not waiting for a response, the man turned his eye on Lucius. "And as for you, Malfoy, I would be a little more careful of whom I associated with. Stealing files from the Department of Law Enforcement might ruin your credibility with the Minister."

Lucius rose from his seat. "You dare suggest I am working against the Ministry?"

"I am merely suggesting that if you do not wish to make enemies, you will desist," the man replied.

Lucius's eyes flashed. "And you would do to remember who you are speaking with. I am a Junior Undersecretary and my responsibilities far outweigh your childish paper-pushing."

The man met his gaze with an equally sharp look. "Then you should take care to fulfill them," he said. And without another word, he went off.

Lucius sat back down, still fuming. He saw that Hesperus was sneering.

"Arthur Weasley," he said, when the wizard had left the room. "He works in Law Enforcement, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. But lately he's also been meddling in the affairs of the Wizengamot. He is very disheartened that Muggles are perishing in the conflict and is pushing for greater measures to be taken for their safety."

"It's impossible," Lucius snapped. "Favoring the Muggles would mean slackening defenses of wizards, which would only lead to more deaths. Unless that is what Mr. Weasley wants."

Hesperus inclined his head. "The contradiction is clear to anyone who uses simple logic. But Mr. Weasley still persists with his opinion. He has a particular contempt for me because I took some dossiers from the Law Enforcement's file room. Apparently he doesn't like being an object of suspicion." He trailed off, then narrowed his eyes. "But you see the danger such people pose to our society? In favoring Muggles, they seem to refuse their responsibilities to their own kind."

Lucius was silent. He stirred his tea in spite, though his expression made it clear that he agreed with every word.

"And such people are everywhere," Hesperus continued. "They are dangerous especially now. While honest witches and wizards are fighting for their lives, they are the ones hindering their work and supporting our collapse. But I think I may have something that can be brought to the Wizengamot concerning Mr. Weasley and a few others. I will need you to look over their files." He rose to leave before Lucius could say anything.

When Lucius returned to his office, he found a stack of thick folders waiting for him at his desk, and his heart sank. Each person would take days to investigate, possibly even weeks. Lucius lifted the top folder and read the name: Arthur Weasley.

Lucius opened the folder and began to leaf through it. Mr. Weasley had an active career, starting as a humble secretary in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and gradually rising to be its head. Lucius knew that the Weasleys were one of the 'lenient' pureblood families, but Arthur had made his love for the Muggle world plain from the very beginning. In any normal time, Lucius would have simply brushed this sort of person aside with disdain, but now, Mr. Weasley's actions seemed nothing short of traitorous. What right had he, in such a time of crisis, to favor Muggle security over their own?

After just a few minutes of thinking, Lucius managed to convince himself the worst about Arthur Weasley, and came to hate the man despite never having known him. But no matter how closely he examined his files, Lucius couldn't find any evidence that Arthur had broken the law, and was forced to put his dossier aside. Over the next few days, he examined the other files likewise, but had little success.

Shortly after, Lucius went on a day off and stayed at home with Narcissa. In the peace of the Malfoy house, the mayhem at the Ministry seemed trivial and distant, and Lucius almost succeeded in clearing it from his mind. But that night, an urgent owl arrived with a letter summoning him to the Ministry at once. Moments later, Lucius Apparated into the Main Atrium and found that it was in chaos. Workers were scurrying around from all directions and shouting, their panicked owls circling through the air. Some people rushed for distant hallways with their wands upheld, while others ran out the same way, their possessions and office furniture flying after them.

One man passed by Lucius with a box trailing after him, and Lucius grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"There's been a break-in," the wizard replied. "A group of thieves breached the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and they're making their way down. We don't know what they're after, but we're taking all the precautions we can until enough Aurors get in. Get to your office and save everything that's valuable!"

Lucius's heart skipped a beat. He rushed for he lifts and ascended to the first floor, dodging the other Junior Undersecretaries and officials on the way to his office. But moments later, he bumped sharply into someone's shoulder and found himself turning to face the person he least expected and desired to see -- Arthur Weasley. Upon recognizing Lucius, the frantic expression on Arthur's face transformed into rage. He grabbed Lucius's robe and pulled him aside. "Look at what you've done, Malfoy!"

Lucius felt a flutter of shock and pried his hands away. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You let them in!" Arthur shouted. "While everybody else was keeping up their guard, you let them in to your department! You gave them a free ticket into the Ministry!"

"How?"

"The files you gathered! They were frauds, all of them! Not one dossier in your little database was assembled by Ministry workers. You gave the thieves a reason to keep coming into the archive, and I'll be damned if they're not about to go back there now!"

Lucius was unable to respond. It took a few seconds for the meaning of Arthur's words to sink in, and by the time it did, Lucius's face had gone as white as a sheet.

No…

His surroundings began to spin. A moment later, Lucius blinked, and once again he became aware of Arthur Weasley's angered face in the center of his vision. Lucius curled his hands into fists, and without a word, turned away and ran for the lifts. His worst fears had been confirmed. He had to see the keepers. He had to inform them of the situation, if they even knew yet.

Heart hammering, Lucius entered the nearest lift, fumbling for the key in his pocket, and rushed down to the Department of Origin. When he stepped into the archive, what he saw both shocked and sickened him. It was deserted. There wasn't a single keeper in sight. The fountains had stopped playing, plunging the space into a deathly silence. Lucius went up to the boundary point, lifting his hands to search for the wall, but they passed through empty air. The library's most valuable inner collections were standing in complete vulnerability, without even the most rudimentary Shield charm to protect them. Lucius rushed around and began to cast every enchantment he could think of, preventing books from being removed, stabilizing glass display cases, and trying to recreate at least a fragment of the impenetrable barrier that divided the archive. He was in the midst of an incantation when he heard the boom of a closing lift behind him.

Lucius spun around, drawing his wand in reflex, and saw that one of the intruders had walked in. He was wearing a black hooded cloak and a strange silver mask that obscured his face. Lucius backed away, tightening his grip on his wand. He didn't know how he would hold off a group of attackers in an enormous library, or how long his spells on the items would even last. But as he stared into the ghostly mask, a strange feeling of defiance mixed with daring swelled within him. If he was to die, then he would at least not do it in shame.

The cloaked figure advanced. Lucius continued to back away, his wand upheld, till he felt himself bump against the very barrier he had created. He was cornered.

Right then, the intruder's mask vanished in a puff of smoke, and with a shock, Lucius recognized Hesperus.

"Lower your wand, Lucius," said the man in a humored tone. "You have nothing to fear. The Dark Lord values wizarding history above all else. Your precious books are not the object of our quest."

Lucius lifted his wand higher. "Where are the keepers?" he said. "What happened to the shield?"

"The keepers have been detained. As for the spell, we managed to deduce its workings a long time ago. And gradually, we eliminated it."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "So you were helping the thieves all along?"

"I am simply helping my kin. My brothers and sisters by oath. Family always helps family, as I am certain you can appreciate."

"And what is it that your family plans to do here?" Lucius said. "Surely you wouldn't have gone through so much risk and trouble to search the Ministry for a random valuable object. Or perhaps you had something in mind already?" He sneered. "Yes, I see now... those family fortunes were what you were after. All those cases you used to forward to me concerned disputes about heirlooms in one way or another. Disputes which might not even have happened. All that mattered was that you could use the Ministry's credibility to transfer the items from Gringotts. Then you used my trust to gain access into the archive, which compared to a bank would be quite easy to break into."

Hesperus smiled.

"A game well played indeed…" Lucius continued. "But you have made a grave error in revealing yourself to me. I can overpower you before you can do so much as utter a single hex. Whatever you meant to steal will either be recovered in a day's time or snatched out of your hands before you can cross the Floo barrier. In the meantime, I will take a prize of my own. I'll bring you to the Minister myself and say how I apprehended the perpetrator of the crime who so conveniently fell into my hands. Then who knows… one day I might soon be sitting in his place."

This was more boasting than anything, but even so, his words did their job. Hesperus's smile waned, dipping into a sour grimace.

"You misjudge me, Lucius. Do you think I am so ignorant of the Ministry's power that I would come here as a common thief? I say again, it is not gold we want. It wasn't the archive that I sought through my acquainting with you, nor did I do or say anything to you with the intention of masking my true purpose. The Death Eaters have a goal in mind that transcends material gain, and I was placed inside the Ministry to protect the identities of my comrades while they carried out their tasks. But what I did not expect to find among the ranks of the Ministry's fools was a man who walked the same path of righteous belief as I, who showed the seeds of true authority and was capable of impressing change. But his talents had sadly been put to waste behind a desk, serving people with different goals, and so he did not realize how much farther he could have gone."

At this point, Hesperus's face suddenly grew serious, and his voice acquired an imploring edge. "I am here to make you an offer, Lucius," he said. "Join us. We need people like you - people with the right perspective of the world - to take power. I know you are one of them because I have seen that even though you work out of necessity with Mudbloods and blood-traitors, you remain uncorrupted yourself. You keep to the true faith of the wizarding enterprise. Join us, Lucius, and one day you will no longer have to mask your pride. You will not have to fear for the existence of this archive, for it will no longer be in harm's way. Our history will be recognized as the true chronicle of humanity, and the Muggles will pay for the blasphemous crimes they waged to suppress it. Don't you see? We will raise all wizardkind above them as their rightful masters. We will give you the power to defend what you treasure."

A chorus of bangs and screams echoed overhead, and Lucius's gaze flew up to the library's domed ceiling, which shook from the force of the blasts on the floors above. The battle had reached the Department of Mysteries. Only minutes remained before its tide would sweep downwards. The seconds ticked by with painful lucidity, and Lucius could hear nothing but the hollow beat of his heart as he stared back into Hesperus's eerily calm face.

Finally, Lucius found his voice. "What are your terms?"

"A lifetime of servitude to our Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is a terror to behold to his enemies, but most merciful to his followers."

Lucius adjusted his grip on his wand. He felt himself lower it gradually, and after a spark of hope and relief, he pocketed it. "I accept."

Hesperus bowed his head. "Then come."

He turned for the exit, and Lucius followed him out of the archive. They ascended to the Main Atrium level, where they took a series of twists and turns and arrived at the front lobby. The room was in shambles. Statues were crumbling from the blasts of oncoming hexes, which singed the air with brilliant bursts of color. Fires had sprouted at various points among the desks, eating up vast stores of information and infrastructure. But no one paid them any mind. Everyone's eyes and wands were fixed on the myriad of exits that branched off to other corridors, where wizards in dark robes and masks were rushing in. Lucius and Hesperus plunged into the thick of battle, crossing unnoticed to the other side, where a large congregation of the black-cloaked figures was huddled together. The light from the curses reflected off their silver masks as they turned towards the new arrivals. Seeing Lucius with his Ministry badge, they all brandished their wands at him, but Hesperus held up a hand to stop them.

"Peace!" he called. "This man joins us."

The wands were lowered. One of the masked figures spoke up, voice artificially deepened and distorted. "Wilkes and Rosier have retrieved the artifact along with all the hostages. But we're greatly outnumbered. We've been forced away from the upper floors, and we'll be unable to resist the Aurors before long."

Before Hesperus could respond, someone else spoke up: "I still say we finish this! We've already gained enough ground; if we hold out a bit longer we might be able to weaken the Ministry ahead of time-"

"No!" hissed another. "We were specifically told to leave after we got it! We must find a way to leave while we haven't suffered any casualties."

"But the exits and Floo network are blocked! How do we escape?"

At this point, the masked figures all turned to Hesperus, who smiled. "We do not escape," he said. "The Dark Lord does."

Slowly, he pulled back the right sleeve of his robe and revealed a strange tattoo. It was an emblem of a black skull, its mouth open and a snake coiling out of it like a tongue. The image pulsed and moved with eerie fluidity. Hesperus pressed his forefinger to the skull's face, and Lucius thought he could hear a faint, raspy laugh.

Seconds later, a black cloud was thrown up around the group of people and obscured them from view.

The same thing happened to the other Death Eaters in the room, as well as the rest who were scattered about the Ministry building, attacking or retreating, many of whom were in the midst of heated duels. They all vanished in a puff of black smoke, as if they had been nothing more than ghosts, and by the time the fog cleared around them, they were gone.

Moments after the cloud blocked Lucius's vision, he felt himself being whisked away by a rush of wind. The distant noises of battle escalated into the screams of a hundred voices, and he felt as if his body was being forced through a narrow tube, bending and twisting unnaturally. It was like Apparition in slow motion - he felt every sensation, heard every sound, as if he were passing through hundreds of worlds on the way to his destination.

At last, the compressing force around him vanished. The screams stopped, and Lucius was no longer snaking through unintelligible space, but floating through cool evening air. Moments later, his feet touched grass, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees.

All around him, dozens of Death Eaters were being dropped on the ground. In addition to the group he had traveled with, there were many more who had participated in the raid, but their masks made them indistinguishable. Hesperus was the only one whose face was uncovered, and in the dim twilight, Lucius saw him smile.

"A variation of Side-Along Apparition, courtesy of our leader," he explained. "Unpleasant, but foolproof."

Hesperus rose and dusted himself off. Lucius did the same, and scanned the vicinity around them. They had landed in an empty meadow, bordered by a slip of shadowy forest in the distance.

Up ahead there was a glimmer of light, which turned out to be a large bonfire. As Lucius followed Hesperus towards it, he began to distinguish three figures standing in front of it. Two of them were masked, but the one who stood in the middle had his hood pulled so low over his face that Lucius could see nothing but darkness. His robes seemed to melt with the night, as if they were made of the same material as the mist that had transported them.

Hesperus bowed before the figure in the center and kissed the hem of its robes. "My Lord."

A whisper, high and wispy as a snake's hiss, answered him. "Hesperus… has the mission been completed?"

"Yes, my Lord. The Cup has been retrieved."

On cue, two figures broke from the crowd to approach Hesperus's side, stooped low in clumsy bows. They brought forth a golden goblet and placed it at the figure's feet before retreating. In the darkness, Lucius recognized the gems and emblem of Hufflepuff's Cup, the same one he had declared ownerless property all those months ago. The figure seemed pleased, and with a sweep of its long robes, enveloped the goblet somewhere within their folds.

Hesperus remained kneeling in the grass. "In addition, information about the remaining Order members has been found. We are now in the position to obtain contacts from within."

"Excellent."

There came a pause, and Lucius felt the figure sweep its gaze over the party of Death Eaters. Though he could not see its eyes, he could almost hear them moving in their sockets.

"I see we have new recruits," the figure said. "Or are they hostages?"

"No, my Lord," said Hesperus. "These are the recruits. All of them exceptional and worthy of entering your service."

"Then there is no time to waste. Why don't we begin the introductions?" The figure waved a wand, and Lucius felt his feet lift the ground. He was carried over to the figure and dropped just a few steps away, hunching over slightly.

"Your name?"

Up close, the voice was no less chilling, though from its slightly deepened tone Lucius deduced it was male.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said.

"A Malfoy? Very good. It is always pleasing to have the support of noble blood."

Suddenly, a female cackle sounded from beside him. The figure turned to the person on his left, sounding amused. "Do you know this man, Bellatrix?"

"Yes, my Lord!" replied the woman. The mask vanished from her face to reveal dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes, and with a flutter of surprise, Lucius recognized his wife's sister. The last time Lucius saw her had been nearly two years prior, when Narcissa had introduced them. Bellatrix had changed since then. The stoic regality had fled from her features in favor of a gleeful madness, which revealed itself when she flashed her trickster's smile. Her hair hung in scraggly strands down her shoulders, and her formerly deep voice had begun to play up to the tones of her master's.

"Lucius is married to my sister," Bellatrix said. "A fine family, my Lord - I have never seen two people more worthy of each other, or happier in all respects, than the heir of the Malfoys and the heiress of the Blacks."

Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgment. The figure turned to him with new interest.

"Ah, so you are family… All the more reason for you to join, then. But I am surprised that you did not show support for our cause earlier. I suppose being surrounded by blood-traitors does take its toll."

The Death Eaters laughed. Bellatrix smiled at the hooded man, passion shooting through her wan appearance.

Feeling the need to redeem himself, Lucius straightened. "I-I assure you, my relations with Mudbloods and blood-traitors were only what my position demanded of me. Though I worked with them, I never mingled with them, and if I had been given the chance to join you earlier, I would have done so without the slightest-"

The figure held up a bony hand to silence him. "There is no need to justify your actions. I value resourcefulness in all its forms and I am pleased to see that you are respected in their society. We need men like you, who have both power and the knowledge of when to use it." There came a pause. "What is your affiliation in the Ministry?"

"The Department of Origin," Lucius said.

At this, he thought he heard a slow chuckle. "Most fitting…" Spidery white fingers emerged from within the shadowy cloak, turning over the wand as if in thought. "What is your allegiance now, Malfoy?"

Without a pause, Lucius understood. "To you."

Somewhere within the hood, a smile turned a lipless mouth.

"In that case, you shall address me as Lord."

In all his life, Lucius had never saluted anyone; his pride had never allowed it. But right then, by some unseen power, he felt himself bend of his own accord into a courtier's bow, right hand crossed over his chest in utter reverence, as one compelled by no less than a divine power. "My Lord."

"Rise, Lucius, and take the oath."

Lucius did as he was told. The figure lifted Lucius's left arm and pressed the tip of its wand to his skin. A moment later, Lucius felt the spot sear with white-hot pain, as if molten lava had been poured over his skin. But it didn't stop there - the pain seeped into his flesh and blood, radiating from the wand's point of contact and circling systemically through his body. Soon, Lucius felt a channel open in his mind, and suddenly became aware of a sea of presences behind him, as if he had been connected to a vast, living web of which this person was master. Finally, Voldemort withdrew his wand, and Lucius clenched his fist, suppressing the urge to groan.

Voldemort motioned out to the side, indicating for Lucius to take the spot beside Bellatrix. As Voldemort went on to question the next recruit, Bellatrix tilted her head towards Lucius and smiled. "Can you feel it?" she whispered. "His soul within you… His call… It's divine. We are more than family now, Lucius. We are one. Perhaps you can tell Narcissa to join. Then she'll understand…"

"Narcissa hasn't heard from you in a while," Lucius said. "How long have you been among the Dark Lord's order?"

"I joined a few years before your marriage."

"And you didn't tell Narcissa all this time?"

"The Dark Lord's plans call for extreme care and attention! Naturally I had more important things on my mind than bragging to other people." She shook her head, then returned to her former calm. "If you had known, Lucius… the things we achieved these past few years have been remarkable. They would not have been possible if the Dark Lord did not have his genius, or his faithful followers, such as I."

Lucius looked around at the crowd of masked figures. "Who else is here?"

"Those of whom you know?" Bellatrix lazily cast her gaze towards the sky. "Let's see... there's Travers and Yaxley who helped fight the Aurors. Avery and Mulciber joined before they even left Hogwarts; the Dark Lord has them go after Mudbloods. Severus Snape is here, too. I remember he used to be a tiny little thing, but he's grown into a very capable wizard."

Lucius gave a curt smile. "And Rodolphus? He is here as well, I presume?"

At the mention of her husband, Bellatrix snorted. "Oh, he joined with me. I made sure of that. He thought I was wasting my time, you see, that I was allying myself with a cause that would collapse in a matter of months. But when he saw the Dark Lord and learned of his plan in all its majesty, he quickly saw the error of his ways…" She turned back to face the crowd of Death Eaters, signaling that there was to be no further conversation between them. Voldemort had accepted five more recruits, all of whom were branded and cloaked, then joined the ranks of masked soldiers. Lucius had been the only one Voldemort invited to stand at his side.

With his army complete, Voldemort stepped forward and spread out his arms. "My brethren!" he called. "Tonight we have achieved a tremendous victory. Now more than ever, wizardkind realizes our true power. But our mission is not complete. There remains one more obstacle to our total domination: The Ministry of Magic. As you have seen, it is still very powerful, and has many supporters among the people. But we have taken vital steps to ensure its dissolution. Once the Ministry falls, there will be nothing more to stop us. And then, I promise you all, you will have your reward."

The Death Eaters cheered. Many of them sent sparks into the air, which hissed and exploded in multitudes of colors against the night sky. The booms echoed in Lucius's mind, alternating in intensity like a mind-numbing trance.

+ + + +

Lucius was staggering upon his arrival home. He Apparated directly into the sitting room, where Narcissa was reclined on the couch, reading a book. She smiled at him. Seeing this picture of warm, typical life, Lucius felt an unexpected exhaustion overtake him. He collapsed onto the armchair.

Such a thing was not unusual to Narcissa, who had long gotten used to his late hours. But on this evening, she noticed that there was a grayish tint to his skin. Even his pale blonde hair seemed to have dulled.

She studied him without comment for a few moments, one finger curled beneath her chin. "You seem tired," she said at last.

Lucius nodded mutely. The mark on his left arm was still burning. He could feel the enchantment still working in him, embedding its identity into his.

"There was an infiltration at the Ministry," Lucius said. "A group of thieves broke in through the Law Enforcement floor."

Narcissa's hand crept up to her heart. "Lucius…"

He held up a hand to stop her. "As far as I know, they are all gone. The Aurors are cleaning up the mess. Nothing important was stolen."

Narcissa nodded, but still did not seem reassured. "Is that all?"

Lucius knew it wasn't.

He shifted his position, but the pain of the Mark did not recede. "There have been rumors for a while that one called the Dark Lord is rising to power."

Narcissa nodded.

"And today, I saw those rumors confirmed. He has indeed risen. And he is gathering a following."

His wife stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I saw him with my own eyes. We spoke. And he told me his vision. It is not at all that of a terrorist, but of something more… he wishes to better our place in the world, so wizards will no longer have to hide behind the Statute of Secrecy and play to the societal norms of Muggles. He awaits the day when the Statute will be abolished and that Muggles will recognize our power. I was among him and his followers at their meeting. I heard them all speak, and I found that many of whom we know have already allied themselves to their cause. The Lestranges were there. Your sister, Bella."

Narcissa's eyes widened. She had not heard from Bellatrix in months. Her sister's letters had grown infrequent, but she had never attached a significance to it.

Lucius paused again, weighing his words. "Narcissa, we have been found worthy," he said. "The Dark Lord promises to be most merciful to his followers. In return for our friendship, he promises great rewards to come."

"And the price?"

"Our service… and our loyalty." He pulled up his sleeve to show her the Dark Mark. A look of blank horror flickered over Narcissa's face, but it was gone a moment later. The longer she looked at the tattoo, the more it seemed to transfix her.

Narcissa sat still for a while, not speaking. Lucius did not take his gaze away from her in anticipation of her reaction.

It was a long time before Narcissa gave it. Her expression was unreadable at first, then slowly she lowered her gaze to the floor.

"Our world really has changed..." she said quietly. "It's not the way my parents said it used to be. They used to tell us so many stories about our ancestors, how they traveled and leaned and wrote to people. Sometimes I get the feeling that life was simpler back then. Wizards knew that they had a place in the world. But now we're secretive, and we're so good at it that it seems we're losing touch with the world. And with each other." She paused. "If he really means to help wizardkind... then perhaps... all of this really will lead to something new."

"I have no doubt," Lucius affirmed.

Narcissa looked at him. "I trust your judgment." She touched his hand, then stood up and left the room.

And that was that.

Narcissa never questioned him about his choice. She never asked him about what he was doing when they weren't together and didn't utter a single protest about it. And at times, it gave Lucius a strangely disquieted feeling.

He told himself that it was for the best, that soon, because of his actions, Narcissa would get the peace and happiness she deserved.

For a while, that was enough.

+ + + +

In the subsequent years, Lucius became one of Lord Voldemort's favorites, rising to the rank of people like Hesperus and Bellatrix. Lucius possessed a bloodline the Dark Lord honored, and a loyalty he prized. In return, Lucius found that his influence was greater than it had ever been before. His post as Junior Undersecretary was now merely a formality. With the help of the Death Eaters, who possessed a strong web of connections even in the Ministry's circles, he began to influence opinions and sway the Ministry to Voldemort's cause. On the official side of business, the Death Eater infiltration was considered to be a failure, and the Ministry was once again deemed to be safe ground. Old suspicions didn't quite die, but now, empowered by support and sense of purpose, Lucius found it easy to evade scrutiny. With Hesperus at his side, Lucius planned the movement that would overthrow the Ministry once Voldemort took power. And when he did, there could be no doubt that the Malfoys would have everlasting glory.

By 1981, Lucius had completed several missions for Lord Voldemort himself, retrieving memories, Imperiusing officials, and sending Aurors on false trails. One night, after a day of chasing and plundering, Lucius Apparated back to the Riddle House, the Death Eaters' current headquarters. He bowed before Voldemort and handed him some intercepted letters, after which the Dark Lord began to pace about the room.

"Very good, Lucius… you have been a most faithful follower. I am not disappointed in you."

Lucius bowed again. "It is my pleasure and purpose to serve you, my Lord."

"We are nearing a crucial point in our effort," Voldemort said. "Soon, we will make our final strike, and then the country will be under our control. But this does not mean that any of us can forget what we had to do to get there. As a worker of the Department of Origin, I am certain you can appreciate the importance of remembering the past."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied.

At this, Voldemor's high voice acquired a grave, drawn-out tone. "I am glad that you are not like many of my other Death Eaters, who often allow themselves to be blinded with power and make foolish mistakes that compromise their missions. You have a rightful wariness, which prevents you from emulating them. You understand that power does not come from just anywhere. It must be sought. Salvaged from the ever-spinning storm of time, which threatens to eat away all knowledge that we do not hold on to. You understand that knowledge, if it is to endure, must be preserved." Voldemort fixed his gaze on Lucius. It felt like being held captive; the red eyes seemed to screen him from the inside out, holding his mind open like a book. "I wish to entrust you with an important item, Lucius. Something that is very dear to me, but alas, something that I can no longer utilize, for I must move on to bigger things."

Lucius bowed. "Of course, my Lord. I would be honored."

Voldemort reached into an inner pocket of his robes and produced a small black book. "This is an old journal of mine. I kept it when I was a student at Hogwarts. I pass it on to you now, in the hopes that you will glean much use and knowledge from it."

He handed it to Lucius, who felt somewhat puzzled. The rational part of him knew that Lord Voldemort was human, but still he couldn't fathom that this otherworldly being standing before him had indeed been a man, and what more, a student. Lucius flipped through the pages of the diary, but found to his surprise that it was completely blank.

"Not all knowledge can be expressed in words," Voldemort said, as if in response. "Simply declare yourself, and all will be revealed."

Lucius sat down at a nearby desk, keeping the diary open. After a moment of deliberation, he took a quill and began to write on the page: Lucius Malfoy.

Moments later, writing appeared:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

HEIR OF SLYTHERIN

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Lucius looked up. Voldemort was looking at him too, half-cloaked in shadow.

"Yes, Lucius. I am the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin, through the line of the Gaunts. It saddens me to see those of noble wizarding blood die out, exterminated by the ruthlessness of Muggles and their supporters. Salazar Slytherin was one of the few wizards of his time who realized the dangers that Muggles and Muggle-borns posed to wizarding society. But the other founders did not agree with him, and so, he took matters into his own hands. He built the Chamber of Secrets and entrusted it to his heir, who would one day return to Hogwarts and remove unworthy students from the school."

"And that heir… is you?"

"It is," said Voldemort. "But as you understand, I am no longer able to concentrate on Hogwarts. That is why I need you to keep this diary safe. On its own, it is very dangerous. But it contains an enchantment by which the Chamber may be opened, which will activate itself once it is brought into the school."

"So you wish for me to smuggle it into Hogwarts?"

"Yes," said Voldemort. "But only upon my command. For now, our mission is to capture the Ministry. Once the Ministry is in our clutches, we will focus on purging the wizarding world of Muggle-borns, starting with the school. But I stress that we must wait until the Ministry is ours."

"When do you expect that will be?"

"Very soon," said Voldemort quietly. "There is one final thing I must do. When it is done, I will send for you."

And with that, the Dark Lord walked off. In the following months, Lucius felt an air of foreboding and excitement grow among the Death Eaters, as if they could feel that the deciding day was almost upon them.

On October 31st of that year, Lord Voldemort set out to strike against his last, most dangerous enemy - a baby boy by the name of Harry Potter. The Death Eaters, including Lucius, knew little of their leader's motives, for they were not let in on the secret of a prophecy that had been made hardly a year ago, overheard by Severus Snape. Lucius only knew the details of what was supposed to happen: Voldemort would kill the boy. Then, in the days that followed, the Death Eaters would throw up a revolt of a larger magnitude than ever and overthrow the Ministry in one fell swoop.

But then, things went more wrong than any of them could have possibly imagined.

Lord Voldemort did set out to kill the baby. But upon casting the fatal curse, his body was obliterated, and Harry Potter survived. The Dark Lord was extinguished by a power far greater than anything he possessed. And in a single stroke, the Dark Order was beheaded, leaving its body to thrash and disintegrate in the chaos it had created. The Death Eaters were dazed and scattered. Many of them, like Hesperus, were killed by Aurors in an attempt to evade capture, the last minutes of their lives spent dueling in fanatic rage. Others were thrown into prison without a trial, like so many animals that had escaped their cages. But still others, like Lucius, had retained enough of their former societal roles to be caught in the administrative mayhem that followed. In a matter of days, they were rounded up into the Ministry's custody and taken to the Wizengamot for questioning.

Lucius watched as many people he knew, and many others he didn't, were tried before the court. Their fates varied. Some were condemned to death, others given life sentences. Those who had families put up the longest fights, for the most part.

In the end, Lucius was one of the ones who managed to get off, claiming that he had been acting under the Imperius Curse. He told the story of how he met Hesperus, and given the fact that the man had been a high-ranking and powerful Death Eater, it seemed likely that he should have placed the curse on Lucius, for he had had ample motive and opportunity to do so. There was evidence that Lucius had done good for the Ministry before, which cohered with his account, and swayed a few key individuals in his favor. Thus, Lucius was released and was allowed to re-immerse himself in society, on the condition that he relinquish his Ministry position.

But there was more to Lucius's choice of defense than convenience of explanation, because for a short while, Lucius actually came to believe in it himself. During his time as a Death Eater, he had felt like the whole world around him had been transformed. For the first time, he had been in a position of power and influence that no Malfoy before him had ever known, and it felt as if he had tapped into some ancient power of his bloodline, one that called him to fulfill some noble destiny that all his ancestors had been striving towards.

But then, without warning, the trance broke. With the death of his master, the veil he had thrown up before Lucius's eyes had vanished, revealing the world exactly as it had been before. The shock and emptiness Lucius had felt inside himself was indeed disenchantment, for he had been given a dream he had never dared to contemplate and had seen it broken in almost the same instant. The Dark Lord's vision had bewitched him, but its power surpassed what any Imperius Curse could ever do, because Lucius himself had come to believe in it with all his heart. It had passed before his eyes like a brilliant comet, and now the colors of the real world seemed dull in comparison.

After his official pardoning, Lucius gradually settled back into his former way of life. He rehabilitated his family's image, donating a large sum of money to the Auror office and proclaimed his support for a number of causes and charities. He appealed to the new Minister to remain a government employee, and after some administrative deliberation, was made a Hogwarts school governor, a position that would come in handy when his son reached school age.

But though his status had been more or less restored, Lucius was never again the same. The person he had been before the war had perished in the Department of Origin, among its books and fountains, the day he had accepted Hesperus's offer.

No longer affiliated with the Department, Lucius was barred from entering the archive without permission from one of its high-ranking officials. And this circumstance did not bother him, because he no longer wanted to. He entered the game of politics and played it well, encircling himself with power, trying to tie together as many strands as he could of the promised world he had been robbed of. But each time he came close to mending some fragment of it, it would unravel in his hands like a lifeless replica, as impotent and meaningless as all the efforts of man.

---

Interlude: Mind's Eye
+ + + +


"Helga Hufflepuff had a golden goblet.
It shimmered with the bright gleam of pink gold,
Red-golden like her hair,
As great a beauty as was she, the stories told.
But the cup, with shining gems impressed,
And mighty gleaming badger crest,
Did stand empty till her final rest.
For she filled it not with wine,
Rather filled her heart with pine,
For love, for joy, for days gone by.
For things unsaid in youth, which long remained suppressed.
Till the day of very last, when she lay upon her bed,
She held the empty goblet overhead,
And spoke - 'My cup doth run over, I am spent!'"

- Author unknown.

So runs a poem which was written after Helga Hufflepuff's death. Out of all the relics left of the legendary witch, the cup remains by far the most enigmatic and alluring to historians. It was said that in the presence of pure heart and good company, the cup had the power to fill itself with any drink the holder desired, and was frequently seen at Hogwarts during Hufflepuff's time as co-founder. But many years later, when she fell ill, she left the school and took the cup with her.

The significance of the goblet to Hufflepuff's life remains one of the many mysteries surrounding the witch, who, despite her warm, company-loving nature, kept her secrets close to her chest and rarely voiced her innermost thoughts. It is said that she originally created the cup as a gift for an admirer, but after his unexpected death, she kept the cup for herself and never left it unguarded.

Before her death, Helga bestowed the cup to her niece, Krista, who studied its properties with her relatives in great detail. Perhaps the most illuminating glimpse of the goblet's nature is given by Rodrick Smith, who remarked that where before the goblet had filled with any sort of drink, now it had been modified to fill only with a thick, dark liquid, but not like wine of any sort. Rather, it was the liquid of memory - the memory of the holder - which would fill and fill until it seemed to become as wide and deep as a sea, a Pensieve through which the user could glimpse their past.

"In a single moment, I saw everything -- all of my greatest joys, all the troubles and sorrows that had plagued me most - all of them so vivid with sensation that it felt like I was experiencing them all over again. It was as if I were on my deathbed and glimpsing my life flashing before my eyes."

The cup was passed down through the female line of the Hufflepuff family, but eventually vanished from historical records. Its current whereabouts are unknown.

- Excerpt from The Hogwarts Founders: A History of the Four, vol 2.

+ + + +

With the fall of the Dark Lord in 1981 came the end of an era. In the years that followed that fateful October night, the wizarding world slowly began to stir awake from its nightmare. The only remnants of Lord Voldemort's reign were a crumbling house in Godric's Hollow and a boy with a lightning scar on his forehead.

By the time Lucius's and Narcissa's son had reached early childhood, it appeared that the family's troubled times were finally behind them. No longer under the scrutiny of the Ministry, Lucius felt free to pursue his interests at work again, and Narcissa restored contact with old friends, many of whom had also barely pulled through the interrogations. Aside from a few artifacts locked up in their manor and the Dark Mark that Lucius always kept hidden, no evidence remained that the Malfoys had once supported Voldemort.

Still, the plight of the past several years had changed them. Lucius used his influence as a school governor to monitor current events, cavorting with prominent Ministry figures and making sure his opinions were represented in the Wizengamot council. Narcissa kept out of the public eye, staying close to her circle of friends, no longer harboring an interest for what lay beyond it. For she had seen the world and it had chilled her. Now she knew that there could be no conciliation between pure-bloods and the rest of wizardkind, and knew the fate that would await them if they ever stepped out of their bubble of seclusion. She regretted that she had ever doubted her parents' principles, and had ever dared to think that the world could be anything else but what they had defined it as. The principles of society were etched permanently in blood. The only people that could ever understand her were those that shared her situation and heritage, and Narcissa vowed that from that point on, she would stick to her own no matter what.

Their son grew up amid a peaceful time. His hands traced the branches of their family tree mural, and he eagerly listened in whenever his parents had a long-winded conversation about a relative or distant ancestor. He easily absorbed their lessons about magic and society, because those principles were already reflected in his life. He had never laid eyes on someone who wasn't a wizard, and couldn't imagine why anyone would place a magic-deprived world over this one.

By the time Draco Malfoy turned eleven, Lucius began to consider sending him to Durmstrang. Lucius was acquainted with Igor Karkaroff, who had also been pardoned in the Death Eater trials and had been reinstated as the school's headmaster. No doubt, Draco would find a good place at Durmstrang in light of Abraxas's legacy. But Narcissa had refused.

"Lucius, think about what this would mean!" she said. "Bulgaria is unimaginably far. Are you ready to say goodbye to your son for years at a time and only see him during the summer?"

"Narcissa, you have to understand," said Lucius. "The curriculum at Hogwarts is completely influenced by Ministry politics. The governors constantly press for requirements to be changed and classes to be restructured. They want to turn the whole school into a bastion for progressive education. Look at their Muggle Studies curriculum. Just this month, Beckett wrote a proposal to make it required for all students up to their third year, and it was only by a narrow margin that the rest of the council denied it. In the meantime, they think nothing of cutting subjects like Dueling, which is a basic skill that every wizard ought to know!"

"Is the curriculum at Durmstrang so different?" said Narcissa. "After… the Dark Lord... haven't all schools in Europe done some reforms to ease suspicion?"

"Yes, but I think Durmstrang will be the last to go under. It's one of the few schools left that still teaches the fundamental concepts of magic, not the prepackaged wandwaving nonsense that our Ministry tries to substitute for it. Durmstrang has a solid curriculum in the Dark Arts. They truly teach the students what they are, and the objective risks and uses of each branch of magic. But most importantly, they teach the students history." Lucius looked Narcissa in the eye. "I want our son to grow up to be not only a great wizard, but one who's proud of his magic and knows what it means to possess it. He must know the genealogy of wizarding blood and the philosophical justification for its importance. But he won't be able to do that if he's surrounded by a pro-Muggle crowd, which will only teach him that magic was historically dangerous and that it's a good thing for wizards to dilute it in their bloodlines. He will be made to disregard his abilities, to want to suppress them, when he should in fact be cultivating them."

Narcissa gave a smile. "You're talking like a politician, Lucius. Can't you see that Draco is already everything you want him to be? He is proud, he keeps his honor, and is fair and just to everyone. What you fear is impossible."

Lucius shook his head. "I say he's still too young to know what's good for him. He spends too much time fooling around with his friends. He is rash and easily swayed. He has no idea what the real world is like."

Narcissa looked askance. "I'm not so sure..."

There was a moment of silence, then the parents met eyes. Narcissa pressed a hand to her chest. "Lucius, just think for a moment. Suppose we send Draco away to Durmstrang. Then what? He'll be in a completely different world. He'll have abandoned all his friends, all the places he's familiar with. He won't get to see us for years. I won't get to see him for years, and neither will you, and don't pretend that doesn't matter." She lowered her chin, gazing up at him matter-of-factly. "Think of why Abraxas left Durmstrang. He knew that he needed English connections, didn't he? But put Draco in Bulgaria, and he'll sever all ties with England. When he graduates, he'll be getting job offers from the Bulgarian Ministry, he'll have made Bulgarian acquaintances, and try after all of that to convince him to come back to his family's house, in a country he'll long have left behind. Is that what you want?"

Lucius let out a long sigh, looking down at the Hogwarts letter. Narcissa learned forward and folded her arms on the desk.

"If he goes to Hogwarts, he'll be in Slytherin. If he goes to Hogwarts, he'll have all his friends and family with him. That's what Draco needs. He doesn't need an elite curriculum to teach him anything, because he'll discover it all by himself. You put too little faith in him. Everything he needs to be happy, he already has." She reached out and touched Lucius's hand. "We went to Hogwarts, didn't we? And if I recall, it was enchanting."

A smile tugged at Lucius's lips. "Those were different times, Narcissa."

"Draco is not a child of those times. And we shouldn't try to force him to be. Look how many Malfoys went to Hogwarts. And look at all the things they've achieved! Things that still linger in people's memories today. The point isn't to despair that their glories can't be repeated, but to take up their spirit and win even more today."

Lucius considered this for a while, then nodded slowly. A few days later, he mailed their reply to Draco's acceptance letter and confirmed his son's admission. Draco Malfoy would be attending Hogwarts.

+ + + +

By the time Draco turned eleven, he had heard so many stories about school that he couldn't wait to enter it. His family on both sides had a long legacy of excelling at Hogwarts, and Draco was utterly resolved to continue it. Moreover, he decided that he would follow in his father's footsteps and become the head of his own social sphere, surrounding himself with equals.

And so, when Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express that September day, he did so with the intention of meeting as many people as possible, if not to befriend, then at least to know, so that he could establish a respectable place in the pecking order. He knew from rumors that Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, would be among his first-year group. Draco knew that there had been sense in the Dark Lord's aims, but nevertheless, he was intrigued at the prospect of meeting his vanquisher. Someone who could deflect a fatal curse from the most powerful wizard in history had to be a great wizard himself, so a friendship with Harry Potter would doubtlessly prove interesting. And possibly, Draco hoped, mutually rewarding.

After parting with his parents on the platform, Draco boarded the train and walked down the aisle, venturing all the way to the back where the first-years were. They were a nervous lot, unlike the older students, and slightly rowdier because of it. Draco began to scan the crowd for a person he could talk to, and by chance, his gaze alighted upon a girl, one of the few who was not sitting alone, head bent passively in surrender to fate. Quite the opposite. She strolled with calm authority, eyes inspecting the interior of the train, as if looking for something that was out of order in it. Hardly a second had passed, and already Draco knew that she wasn't someone who would be told what to do. She took her time, observing various points as she passed by, then noticed an opened compartment and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, I believe you're in my seat!" she said to somebody.

Draco heard a shuffle, and the person inside the compartment grunted in response: "It's not yours if you keep leaving it!"

"For your information, I was doing someone a favor," said the girl. "And besides, my books happen to be in there, and if you look closely, you'll see I've written my name in them, so that would make this my compartment."

At that point, Draco had approached the compartment door, close enough to see who the girl was talking to - a stout, beady-eyed boy. Draco smiled.

"Crabbe!"

The boy looked up, and his face broke into a smile. "Oi, Draco! I was wonderin' when you'd show up." He lifted himself from the seat.

"Where's Goyle?" Draco asked.

"I thought I saw him somewhere in the back."

"Well then what are you skulking around here for? Let's find him."

"Thank you," the girl cut in. Her arms were crossed. Crabbe gave her a scowl, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes, and he hobbled out of the compartment. Despite getting what she wanted, the girl turned again to leave on her errand, and on her way out she stopped before Draco.

On occasion, his father could tell someone's family simply by looking at them. Despite his efforts, Draco had not quite mastered it, but something in that moment compelled him to try. He began to study the girl's face in detail. She was definitely not a Black; her hair was too light, and her features were too soft to be compared to those in his mother's family tree - stoic and regal. It struck him that she might be a Rosier. He recalled seeing some relatives of his grandmother, Druella, who had brown hair and perhaps the same sort of eyes…

Draco decided that he had been staring too long to remain silent, so he spoke up, asking a question that only a pure-blood could respond to: "You're from Evan's side, aren't you?"

The girl frowned. "What are you talking about? I'm from London. My parents live in Bromley."

That hadn't been the response Draco was expecting. Feeling heat rush to his face, he lowered his gaze. "Never mind..."

The girl looked at him in puzzlement. Then she walked off, her hair bouncing in neat, puffy bunches on her shoulders, and the meaning of her words rushed in like a flood. She was a Muggle-born. Draco began to walk away from the spot, moving quickly, as if distancing himself would erase that moment from the history of time. But his cheeks still burned with shame. If his father had seen their exchange, he would have laughed.

Nevertheless, Draco was able to regroup. He looked into some compartments and met several other first-years with whom he had things in common. He reunited with Crabbe, who had found Goyle and completed their trio. Together, they worked their way through the back section of the train, peering into compartments and talking to every first-year they met. Draco knew that he could be separated from any of them when he was Sorted, so he played it safe and talked to as many people as possible, repeating his introduction, offering to hear theirs. Some shied away when he approached with the two bigger boys by his side and spoke about his family, but others listened in curiosity, sometimes even respect.

The Muggle girl, in the meantime, seemed to be following the same line of thought. She flitted in and out of the compartments like a seasoned matron, a team of one, a smile of ever-present greeting glowing on her face.

And so, by the end of that day on the train, nearly every first-year at Hogwarts had met Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

+ + + +

Hours later, the train arrived at the Hogsmeade Station and the first-years were taken to the castle. From there, they were led by Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat was perched on top of a stool. Draco stood among the crowd of students as the headmistress led the Sorting ceremony. Crabbe and Goyle were made Slytherins, but many others he had gotten to know on the train had been whisked off to other Houses. A few seconds after Goyle had taken his seat, McGonagall cleared her throat and called out another name.

"Granger, Hermione!"

There was a rustle of robes behind him, a flash of familiar brown hair, and Draco saw the girl from the train step up to the pedestal. She sat down on the stool, looking excited, but focused.

So that's her name, Draco thought. The revelation was utterly useless to him now, but nevertheless he registered it.

McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the girl's head, obscuring the top half of her face. Though nobody saw it, Hermione had closed her eyes.

Draco waited.

The hat did not speak.

It sat on her head for what seemed like an eternity, its leathery folds creased into an expression of deep thought. After a minute had passed, Draco felt a flutter of shock. The girl was a hatstall. The Sorting Hat rarely took more than a minute on any person, so whenever it did, it always meant something significant.

Maybe I was wrong, he thought. Maybe she's a half-blood. There's no way she could be a--

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The table to his left erupted in applause. The girl's eyes flew open and she descended with an elated rush, all smiles, disappearing into the crowd of pointed hats. For some reason, seeing that expression on her face made him grumble.

A few minutes later, his own name was called.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco bowed his head in acknowledgment and meandered to the stool. At the sight of his blond hair and pale skin, many faces in the Great Hall seemed to flicker with recognition. Draco smiled.

He saw a shadow descend over him as the hat grazed the tip of his head…

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table to his farthest right began to applaud. With a smile, Draco rose and walked over to his new House table. He had neither expected nor wanted to be Sorted anywhere else, but the speed with which the hat had placed him made him ponder. He watched as several others were Sorted, and noticed that for each student, the hat took its time, often three seconds, sometimes five. But his own Sorting had hardly lasted for the space of one. The hat hadn't even said what qualities it saw in him that the founder of Slytherin House would have admired.

Was I really that easy? Draco wondered. He thought back to the girl Hermione, and felt a flare of irritation. What made her so special?

He went to sit next to Crabbe and Goyle, and a while later, another name rose above the cheers.

"Potter, Harry!"

The Hall stirred with a rush of whispers.

"… Potter, did she say?"

"… The Harry Potter?"

People around him twisted and turned in an attempt to see the stool. Draco glumly tapped his finger on the table. Moments later, McGonagall placed the hat over Harry's head, and the hall fell silent.

Two seconds grew to five.

Eight.

Ten.

Finally, the hat's mouth opened: "GRYFFINDOR!"

The roar of applause this time was perhaps the loudest. Draco found himself sneering. Of course the famous Harry Potter, vanquisher of dark wizards, would be sorted into the House of the brave and bold. He had no idea why the hat had taken so long to decide.

Several others were Sorted, and then Ronald Weasley was called up. He sat down on the stool, and the hat just barely grazed the top of his flaming-red hair when it shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Relief washed over Ron's face, and he went to sit with the Gryffindors, who by now were mad with glee. The last few students were Sorted, and finally the feast began.

Over the first weeks of the term, Draco branched out into his Slytherin first-year group and solidified his ties with them. But occasionally, he mingled with people he had met from other Houses. And whenever he ended up in a double class with the Gryffindors, his gaze would find the brown-haired girl Hermione.

At first, he had tried to consider other options, but eventually, the facts began to point overwhelmingly in favor of his earlier conclusion. There could be no doubt that the Muggle girl really was who she was, for she did not even try to hide it. And from that point on, Hermione changed for him. Draco observed her in class with disdain, rolling his eyes whenever she piped a response to a professor's question, wondering how long it had taken her to figure out something that to any wizard would have been second-nature. Still, her arrogance wasn't entirely unjustified, for it did not escape his attention that she was better at magic than most of her classmates. She mastered spells quickly and seemed to have a genuine knowledge of the material. Draco half-expected the Gryffindors to fawn over her just like they fawned over Harry, but to his surprise, he noticed that almost none of the first-years seemed to like her. They acted either cynical or intimidated.

On Hermione's part, it was the sort of treatment she was used to. In her old school, she had been readily dubbed a know-it-all, though for some reason the other girls in her class had never pestered her about it. When they whispered, they did so from afar, never daring to express their disdain to her face. Now that Hermione was a witch, she understood why. She had frightened them. Even then, she had displayed telltale signs of her powers without knowing it, making pencils budge on her desk and causing wind to pick up when she was upset.

But now, she was surrounded by people who could do the same things. Hermione figured that it would be easier to make friends with them, but many of the people she met had either gone to a different House or were repelled by her. Ron and Harry, the two boys she had met on the train, had struck her as goofy, but kind. She was secretly comforted to have them in Gryffindor with her, but to her surprise, they adopted the same distrustful attitude towards her as did many of her other housemates. Ron never hid his displeasure when she made a witty remark, and though Harry was more reserved, he did not speak up for her. And so, during her first month at school, Hermione became one of the few students who did not love the famous Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy was another, but for a different reason.

It wasn't because that Harry hadn't shaken his hand that day on the train. It wasn't because he had gone to Gryffindor, whose persona of glory only enhanced his own. It wasn't even because Harry had chosen to befriend the Weasley boy instead of him. The reason was so simple and clear to Draco that, for a long time, he suppressed it, for fear that it was so obviously written upon his face that it would take only a moment's closer look to pry it from within him - envy.

Envy at the fact that Harry had succeeded where he had failed, which was in winning the school's love and respect. And Harry had done it without even trying. Friends and admirers clung to him like nettle leaves, and teachers fawned over his every accomplishment, which in reality were on the same level as everybody else's. His Sorting had blasted the Gryffindors straight to cloud nine, for with the Boy Who Lived on their side, they were practically blessed.

But in an ironic twist of events, the incorruptible Harry Potter, who to the Gryffindors stood for all things true and righteous, ended up falling prey to the same tradition that his house was notorious for: drawing a distinct line between his friends and his enemies. From the beginning, Harry had made it clear with whom he got along and with whom he didn't, and increasingly often Draco found himself fulfilling the role of the latter. He did it first in retaliation, then let it consume him to such an extent that he could do nothing else. He sought every way to crash the Gryffindors' parade, every chance to wake them up to the real world in which only he seemed to live. But his actions only fueled their fire - the midnight duel; the Remembrall. Every little thing Draco did to put Harry in his place ended up working out, somehow or other, in Harry's favor. It was as if the universe itself was eager to prove him wrong.

There was only one time when it seemed like the Potter and Weasley duo had gone too far. It had happened at Halloween, when a mountain troll had somehow found its way into the castle. That day, Hermione Granger had been driven to tears by her own classmates and had been hiding from them in the bathroom, when the troll wandered inside. Harry and Ron went looking for her, and found the troll smashing sinks while she hid in a corner, unable to escape. Tales of the events that followed varied, but it was known that the boys had ended up knocking out the troll and saving the day. Only this time, they were caught in the act by Professor McGonagall, who deducted a large amount of House points and issued detentions. With their Gryffindor pride in shambles, and having ruined the clean record of their volatile classmate, it finally seemed that Potter and Weasley would learn their lesson.

But what happened instead was more shocking and infuriating to Draco than anything else. The girl became their friend. For the rest of that year and onwards, Harry, Ron, and Hermione existed as an inseparable trio, sharing notes, stories, and triumphs. Never had Draco seen a union that was more perfect, more impossible. All their motives were instantly justified, all their deeds fabled. Their futures were sealed, and so - whether Draco liked it or not - was his.

His former interest towards Harry Potter was eaten up by a poisonous spite, which spread to swallow his friend Weasley, and stopped at its pinnacle of focus in Hermione Granger.

She was everything his parents had taught him to avoid, the kin of a society that had repressed wizardkind for millennia, and was supposed to be ignorant of everything that had to do with magic. She should never have shared their talents and certainly should never have been accepted into their fold. And yet there she was, the shining star among them, brimming with happiness even as she coldly beat them at their own game. She did not seem to care what anyone thought of her; she proceeded with a relentless drive towards her goals and for the first time had friends who supported it. And so Draco hated her. He hated her and her blood as the inevitable consequence of his parents' lessons, but also, paradoxically, because they had let him down with her. Because she had ended up being the Mudblood, and that injured and outraged him more than anything she could ever do to him.

As the year passed, Draco's thought circled around Hermione without him realizing it. Everything he despised in people he managed to find in her -- her smile, her stance, the boldness of her attitude. In her very existence he saw the embodiment of the world's unfairness, and he fought incessantly to resist it. He fortified himself, conditioned himself, and with nothing else left to see in them, declared the Gryffindors his enemies.

But still, Draco couldn't shake the feeling within him that something was wrong. Because everything was.

The Granger girl should have gone to Ravenclaw. She should have split off with some other friends who were of her own kind, and Potter and Weasley should have remained alone, their borrowed glory dwindling as their lack of ability belied their charm. The girl should never have joined their group, for they had rejected her, hadn't they? They had made it clear to her that she was disliked, that they were bothered by her very existence, and had even said so to others on several occasions. Saving her life was hardly a sign that they had changed their opinion of her; much less was it an invitation to join their group. But she had.

And that made them formidable.

+ + + +

As time passed, little changed. Soon, the mutual enmity between Draco's crowd and Potter's no longer needed justification. It built upon itself.

One year later, Draco was walking through Diagon Alley with his father. The new term was only a few days away, but for some reason, the baskets of new items and the glittering coins that spilled from Lucius's palm held none of their former charm. All Draco could think about was Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, who soon would ruin another year for him.

Draco stared glumly ahead as Lucius walked through the street, then made a sudden turn to enter the dimmer, narrower lane of Knockturn Alley. The familiar sign of Borgin and Burke's appeared on a corner, and Lucius approached the shop door, holding it open.

"Touch nothing, Draco."

"I thought you were going to buy me a present," Draco said.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom."

Draco felt a flash of anger. "What good is that if I'm not on the House team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous… famous for having that stupid scar on his forehead… Everyone thinks he's so smart… Wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick--"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," Lucius cut in. "And I would remind you that it is not… prudent… to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear… Ah, Mr. Borgin."

Lucius turned as the shopkeeper approached, and the men began to talk. Meanwhile, Draco busied himself with the objects on display, his mind still buzzing. He saw a withered hand on a shelf and began to inspect it. Mr. Borgin looked over to him with a smile.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory! Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or plunderer, Borgin," said Lucius.

"No offense sir, no offense meant…"

Lucius cast Draco a brief glance. "Though if his grades don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for."

Draco felt another flare of anger. "It's not my fault," he retorted. "The teachers have their favorites, that Hermione Granger…"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam."

Draco turned away with a scowl. He was ashamed, but more than that, he was scattered. He knew that Hermione Granger was preoccupied with success, but for some reason that hadn't urged him to best her. Had he really been afraid she would beat him? And possibly even find a ground to poke fun at him? Suddenly, Draco felt very stupid. He had allowed himself to slip before someone who was supposed to be inferior to him. Perhaps her talent had only been a projection of his weakness...

+ + + +

Draco's thoughts continued to circle as he followed Lucius out of Knockturn Alley. They stepped back into the blinding sunlight and headed for a Quidditch supply store, but Draco continued to protest.

"… it won't do any good, I've told you, what's the point of me having a broomstick if I won't even be able to use it?"

"Enough, Draco," Lucius snapped. "There are more effective and less impudent ways of getting what you want than whining. Allow me to demonstrate."

He led Draco into the shop, where he summoned the nearest shopkeeper and pulled him over to a deserted corner of the store. And he ordered seven Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones - six for the members of the Slytherin team, and one for Draco, their new Seeker.

Draco watched as Lucius thrust a bag of Galleons into the speechless shopkeeper's hands. "Send the broomsticks to Hogwarts immediately, along with a letter that reads thus…"

+ + + +

Vengeance.

Spite.

Old hate that never died.

That was all Lucius knew now, all he operated by. The Dark Lord was dead, but Lucius Malfoy was alive and well, and he would make them all pay for the way his kind had been shamed…

He was standing in the middle of Flourish and Blott's now, facing Arthur Weasley and his family of likewise-redheaded children. Lucius hadn't seen Arthur in person since he had left the Ministry, but from the first glance, he saw that the man hadn't changed a bit. His family was a gangly bunch, huddled close to each other like a den of ferrets. And today, there were two others accompanying them. The first was Hermione Granger, who needed no introductions. Up close, Lucius quickly matched her stern, attentive face to the characteristics Draco had given her. And beside her was Harry Potter, the shining hero who had saved them all. How fitting that the Weasleys should have befriended them…

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Lucius said, looking at Arthur with a smile. "All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?"

Arthur did not respond. Lucius looked down at the youngest girl, Ginny, who was clutching a cauldron full of books. He reached in and pulled one out, examining the tattered cover. "Obviously not… Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Arthur's face flushed. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."

Lucius's eyes tailed over the Granger girl's parents, who were standing in the distance in plain, Muggle clothes. He sneered. "Clearly…" Lucius let himself turn, and unnoticeably, slipped the thin spine of Lord Voldemort's diary into the large Potions text. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower-"

But before he could continue, someone rammed into him at full speed and tackled him into a bookshelf. Lucius fell back, barely opening his eyes before he felt Arthur Weasley's fist ram into his face. Lucius eagerly retaliated, grabbing Arthur by the collar to punch him back, and the two men began to brawl amid the mess of falling books. The people around them backed away and gasped, before the enormous Hagrid stepped in and pulled them both apart. Lucius regained his footing, dusting himself off, and took his walking stick back into his hands. He went back to Ginny and proffered her Potions book.

"Here, girl, take your book. It's the best your father can give you." He slammed the textbook into the girl's cauldron.

Within a few months, Ginny Weasley would be possessed.

The whole school would be plunged into terror.

And Lucius would be in his office, safe from scrutiny, smiling at the results of his work.

…

But he was a fool…

+ + + +

… Yes, a fool! thought Draco Malfoy. He had been a fool for not listening to his father. He had been a fool for letting down his guard and not seeing the simple answer when it had been staring him in the face. If Potter had wheedled his way into the team through sheer dumb luck, then he, Draco, should obviously have countered back and showed him the way it really was to be done: through deliberate choice. Lucius hadn't stopped at buying a single broom for Draco after all; he had donated them to the entire team, showing them that his son's presence would benefit everyone.

And only now did Draco realize the perfection of his father's logic, as he strolled out onto the lawn of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with the Slytherin team, grinning broadly. Who knew that so much could be changed with such a simple move? From now on, he would play his game with much more cunning.

From now on, everything would be different.

The procession of green-clad Slytherins marched into the field, meeting the confused party of Gryffindor players. Even from a distance, Draco saw the Gryffindor captain's eyes widen in surprise, and saw Marcus Flint smile as he held up Professor Snape's permission slip and read it aloud.

"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker."

The Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, squinted at the note. "You've got a new Seeker? Where?"

Draco stepped forward, and the Gryffindors gawked at him.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" asked Fred Weasley.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

The Slytherins held up their broomsticks. The brooms were sleek and black, bearing a pristine, never-used glow. Flint began to recite the details and capabilities of the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, when in the corner of his eye, Draco noticed two other people making their way to the field. It was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Upon seeing the Slytherins, their expressions clouded.

"What's happening?" asked Ron. "Why aren't you playing?" He looked at Draco. "And what's he doing here?"

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Draco said. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron looked down at the brooms, and his expression became streaked with awe.

"Good, aren't they?" said Draco. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." He smirked as the Slytherin team began laughing behind him. He saw Harry's eyes narrow, saw Ron's face drop into the same furious expression as the rest of the Gryffindor team's, and right then, Draco felt like things were finally going his way.

But there was one Gryffindor who wasn't fazed. Hermione Granger crossed her arms, and she looked at Draco, narrowing her eyes. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," she snapped. "They got in on pure talent."

Draco turned to her, and for an instant their gazes met. Spite bubbled up inside of him.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

The Gryffindors erupted with rage. They lunged at him as one, a flood of red robes and brooms, and the Slytherins rushed to pull Draco back. Ron Weasley took out his wand and shouted a hex, but the spell he cast backfired, and everything drowned in a chorus of laughs…

+ + + +

One year later, Draco was still laughing. He had just come out of Care of Magical Creatures class, where the oaf-professor Hagrid had been sobbing the whole time over his prosecuted hippogriff. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had lingered behind to comfort him, and Draco kept casting backward glances as he walked to snicker at the sight. He reached the castle doors with Crabbe and Goyle and waited, watching as Hagrid finally went back into his hut. The trio of Gryffindors approached them.

"Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" Draco said loudly. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

Harry and Ron both turned on Draco and prepared to lunge. But someone else got there first. Moments later, a hand struck him across the face with a stinging blow, and Draco felt himself reel to the side. He looked up, opening his eyes in horror to find Hermione Granger standing hardly a foot away from him. Her eyes were narrowed in fury. Ron tried to pull her back, but she broke away from his grip and pointed her wand at Draco.

For a minute, Draco stared at her dumbly. His gaze flitted around the field, then he stepped back and turned away. "Come on." He beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and they followed him into the castle.

Three seconds later, Draco regretted it. 'Come on.' Was that really the best he could do? He hadn't even given her a glare! He could have acted like it hadn't hurt, or taken out his own wand for God's sake and taunted her. Anything would have been better. But no. His eyes had just slipped down like a boy slapped by his mum. Granger probably thought he was weak... forget about Potter and Weasley, they'd probably torment him about it until seventh year.

Draco quickened his speed again, though by now he knew it would do nothing to make him forget. Fleeing only made the memory stronger. Soon, Hermione flooded his mind, and the longer Draco pictured her face, the more his own began to redden.

+ + + +

Third year passed into fourth. While Draco was at school, Lucius spent the months getting his business done at the Ministry, paying visits to Cornelius Fudge, donating money, and carefully counterbalancing the influence of Albus Dumbledore.

But then one day, without warning, his left arm began to burn. Lucius lifted his sleeve to find that the Dark Mark had darkened and was beginning to pulse with movement, just like it had done thirteen years ago. The message was almost too wild to believe: The Dark Lord was alive.

And yet, the signs had been everywhere. People from all over the world were coming together for two monumental events -- the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament -- which could provide the perfect distraction for a Death Eater gathering. Was it really a coincidence that both were happening in the same year, in the very same country? No, it had to mean something…

Amid the chattering crowds leaving the World Cup Quidditch Pitch and celebrating Ireland's victory, no one noticed Lucius slip away. Several others followed suit, and in the outskirts of the grounds, a crowd of dark, masked wizards coalesced. Lucius felt a strange premonition pulse through him as he conjured the silver mask over his face and lifted his hood. He stepped forward to take the lead, and the other Death Eaters wordlessly followed, as he lifted his wand to levitate the family of Muggles into the air.

They marched towards the campsites, and slowly the merry, excited atmosphere dwindled into a mess of screams and smoke. Tents collapsed, and people rushed about, some attaching themselves to Lucius's group and others staggering away at the sight of the floating bodies. Minutes later, Lucius heard a loud rush of air, and looked up to see something large, glittering, and green spread across the sky. The contours assembled into the image of the Dark Mark, which hovered over the campsites with its deathly grimace.

And right then, Lucius felt a flicker of fear.

No one had seen the symbol in the sky in thirteen years. During the war, it had always been conjured to commemorate a triumph of the Dark Order, and so it rightfully caused a panic whenever wizards saw it. But what if it had been a joke? No doubt, some Death Eater had cast it to cause a greater panic. Lucius knew that he would be much safer if he ran, if he disassociated himself a little while longer. If Voldemort was truly back, he would no doubt forgive him for all the errors he had made.

But for once in his life, Lucius was wrong.

…

So fatally wrong...

+ + + +

Scarcely a year later, Lucius was standing in a ring of Death Eaters in a dark graveyard, cloaked in black, watching his resurrected master pace around them. Voldemort, now flesh and bone once more, stopped before him and met his gaze.

"Lucius, my slippery friend. I am told you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius… Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay… but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," Lucius said. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me-"

"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? Yes, I know all about that, Lucius… You have disappointed me… I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course… You are merciful, thank you…"

Lucius gave a bow, closing his eyes, and did not open them until he heard Voldemort move on to the next person. The other Death Eaters around him stood still, their silvery faces winking in the twilight.

+ + + +

For a long time, Lucius had wondered why the Death Eaters wore masks.

Back when he had been a Junior Undersecretary, he had seen it as a political tactic, a way of using fear and uncertainty to break the Ministry's morale. When a Death Eater wasn't torturing or killing, he could be holding the door for you or bringing you your letters. And when you least expected it, he would strike you.

When he had joined the order himself, Lucius saw the masks as a clever way to maintain discipline, directing Death Eaters' loyalties not to each other, but to their master. The feeling that Lord Voldemort and no one else was privy to your identity forged an intimate bond between you and him, one that was wholly independent of his relations to his other followers. It made each Death Eater feel valued and useful, causing even the lowliest, newest recruit to bow low and declare himself the Dark Lord's most faithful servant. It didn't matter what jobs he fulfilled or even if he could cast a proper curse. It was true because he felt it. The Dark Lord's acceptance made him feel valued, to want to please him, and also let him know that if he failed, he failed not only his comrades, but foremost, the Dark Lord himself. Which was why many Death Eaters who snitched or defected disappeared off the face of the earth before the Ministry could get to them.

But now, isolated, thrown back into a world he thought had been a relic of his past, Lucius uncovered the final truth. The Death Eaters wore masks to link themselves together. This was the very thing their leader desired.

Because when you were part of an army, you could do anything.

No matter who you were or what social position you occupied, once you put on the mask, you were transformed. You were no longer an individual, but part of an indivisible whole, which instantly magnified you power and influence. And it had nothing to do with your skill level; it changed the very way you carried yourself and the way other people saw you. Wearing the cloak, you became the image of Lord Voldemort himself, and became enchanted in simply playing the part with your comrades. This was how Voldemort kept his army together while sending them to do his bidding. This was why the Death Eaters were so terrifying. When no one could see your face, everything was permissible.

Ironically, it was also the reason why Lucius had fallen.

From the day he had joined the Death Eaters, he had plunged deep into their fold, fulfilling his master's orders without reserve and devoting himself to them as if to a second life. All of it had been done to convince himself that the real mask wasn't the one he put on for his master, but the regular face he had to wear everywhere else. That the real Lucius Malfoy didn't exist - that he was just a temporary body, a vessel that carried an entity melded with hundreds of others in the Dark Lord's service.

But no matter how much Lucius liked to pretend otherwise, he wasn't. He did exist, and had existed on his own for all those years when he thought Voldemort was gone. While the Dark Lord flew around as a mere wisp of essence, Lucius had to face the daily grind of human existence, making compromises with his enemies, rationing his distaste for pro-Muggle policies, and agreeing with the other governors simply to make a hearing pass smoothly.

And now, for the first time, Lucius realized that life was more grueling of a punishment than death. He stood alone before the Dark Lord, in a dark room of the Riddle House, just like he had done all those years ago. Only now, Lucius felt a tension in the air, an invisible rift that separated them. And Voldemort knew it. He could smell fear.

A high hiss issued from within the shadowy cloak.

"Where is the diary, Lucius?"

Lucius met his red-eyed gaze.

"My… my Lord?"

"The diary I gave to you fifteen years ago, which you were to guard with your very life, if necessary, and wait until my command to utilize. I give the command to you now. It is time to open the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts once more and begin the purging of Muggle-borns. Where is the diary?"

Lucius froze. "The diary is… it's been… taken from me."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, a painful hand plunged into Lucius's mind, prying open his memories and scanning through them.

The bookshop. The cauldron. Ginny Weasley. Albus Dumbledore, with the tattered diary on his desk, smiling up at him. Dobby, the house elf, freed from service and blasting him backwards...

"… You have betrayed my trust, Lucius," hissed Voldemort. "You believed me dead. You sought your own gain in defaming an old enemy and disposing of an incriminating object that would reveal your association with the Death Eaters. You sought to bury the past. Why, one could almost say you wished to renounce me-"

"Never, my Lord!"

"Silence! Crucio!"

+ + + +

Haze.

Flashing.

Red and black, sharp and dull, knives and needles, alternating with dizzying frequency and blinding light. Lucius was sprawled on the floor like a broken toy, feeling every inkling of his master's rage burn like fire inside of him. He couldn't even hear himself scream; he was sure that at any moment, the world would simply explode.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped.

Lucius was lifted to his feet and made to stand. In the haze of his still-swimming vision, the cloaked figure looked like an apparition, a demon of his mind that had come alive to possess him.

"Freedom has spoiled you, Lucius," the figure said. "It has taken your focus from the goal of the Dark Order and put it instead on your own selfish interests. But now, I hope, you have seen the error of your ways."

"Yes, my Lord…"

"I have an important mission for you. You shall lead the Death Eaters to the Department of Mysteries and use your knowledge of the Ministry's inner workings to recover a prophecy about myself and Harry Potter. The boy escaped from me last year due to my own negligence, but now I see a way in which we can proceed more intelligently. Harry Potter will no doubt come to you if the life of one of his closest friends is threatened. When he does, he must be captured - but not killed. He is to be brought to me alive. Do you understand?"

"Yes my Lord."

"Then proceed. And may your faith never waver…"

+ + + +

Bangs of curses mixed with screams. Sounds of battle echoed all around in the vast confines of the Department of Mysteries, where in the center of a large room, a single beam of skylight shone down on a tall stone archway. In the space beneath the arch, there was a glittering veil of ghostly auras that swayed like tangible fabric in the air.

Once again, the Ministry had been infiltrated.

But this time, Lucius was on the other side of the battle. He whipped his wand through the air and cast a flurry of spells, fighting away Aurors and dodging Death Eaters who dueled in furious blurs around him. Finally, his eyes locked on the glass orb in Harry Potter's hands, as the boy was trying to heave Neville Longbottom up the stone steps to the exit. Longbottom's legs were convulsing from the effects of a curse, which prevented him from standing straight and made Potter's journey slow and labored. Lucius lunged at them, but Harry held the orb out of the way, and before Lucius could grab it, Harry threw it to Neville. Seconds later, a spell blasted Lucius back into the air and he landed on a stone dais.

Lucius tried to sit up, brandishing his wand at Neville, but right then, Remus Lupin jumped between them and fired a blast of light at him. Lucius barely managed to deflect it, blasting the Auror aside, when he looked back at Neville and saw the glass orb fall from his pocket. It struck the tip of his shaking foot and sprang high into the air, sailing over the steps, then with a loud crash, it exploded into hundreds of tiny shards that sprinkled over the stone floor.

Lucius's gaze stuck to the spot as the contents of the prophecy evaporated in a white mist. And with them, so did his final hope for forgiveness. Now, everything was over.

Lucius sat motionless on the floor, looking down while his surroundings flashed and thundered. From behind, Bellatrix give a scream of triumph. Someone else screamed in anger and agony; surely the world was ending. Then, a chorus of frightened voices echoed through the chamber: Voldemort had come. He was dueling Dumbledore.

Walls shook. Statues crumbled.

And in the end, everything went silent. Voldemort had vanished. Minutes later, the doors to their chamber were thrown open, and the Death Eaters who were still fighting froze in their tracks as a new crowd of people approached.

"There! Over there!'

"It's them!"

"It can't be!'

Ministry staff poured in by the dozen, flooding the dark chamber in a tidal wave of wandlight. In his delirium, Lucius felt himself smile… He was saved…

Hands lifted him to his feet. Someone picked up his wand from the floor. In the haze of flickering light around him, Lucius saw a crowd of faces… Aurors.. saying something to him… motioning towards the stairway that led to the exit. In the corner of his eye, Lucius saw several hooded figures struggling to get to their feet, hands waving as they attempted to flee, and he pointed weakly at them. Yes, yes, look - over there, there are still a few more of them, perhaps you can get them. I can help, I am a Ministry employee, I arrived in the nick of time, how fortunate that I managed to hold out -

But before Lucius could make a sound, a sudden weight fell over his body, lowering his arms to his sides. A Stunning spell hit him seconds later, and he was levitated into a horizontal position, assembled into a line of Death Eaters that drifted after the Aurors like a black caterpillar.

Something was wrong.

They were after him.

And only then did Lucius realize what had happened and where he was. The shock flooded him like a rush of cold water, and Lucius's frozen eyes followed the moving roof, watching the stone archways pass by as they ascended from the Department of Mysteries. A door opened, and suddenly the bright light of the Main Atrium spilled over everything, bathing the roof and walls in flickering fire, washing over him and revealing the thin silvery strings that bound his ankles and wrists. And right then, Lucius felt a faint, irrational panic flicker in his mind. His wife. His son.

So far away…

(Do you, Lucius Malfoy, take Narcissa Black to be your lawfully wedded wife…)

…fading, blurring... slipping away...

(I do…)

…swallowed by a howling torrent of darkness, and extinguished.

+ + + +

Gone.

Ruined.

Hundreds of miles away, Draco Malfoy lay on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, looking up at the ceiling.

He had read the Prophet. He knew what had happened. Something had gone wrong, and what was supposed to have been his father's triumph had ended up a failure.

But not only for him.

In that moment, Draco felt as if his entire world had collapsed around him. Voldemort had returned, but his family wasn't in the position of honor it was supposed to be. It was because the Dark Lord was angry, because Lucius had cavorted far too long with the side of the good, mistakenly thinking that he would find security there. But he had been wrong. He had allowed himself to be fooled, just as Draco had been fooled a long time ago.

But Draco was wiser now. He alone saw the lie behind Harry Potter's guise of gallantry. And he swore that he would make them pay.

All of them.

Draco lifted himself from the bed and stood up. He would go straight up to Potter. He would make him sorry for the day he had crossed his path, that he and his friends had ever dared to laugh in his face, and that they had ever made him think, for a single moment, that there was something more to them. To anything.

…

…

…

"You are a wizard, Draco. A pure-blood Malfoy. Heir to untold riches, bearer of a fabled legacy. Don't forget that."

…

"Never heard your parents say Mudblood, eh? I don't see why they bother to hide it from you. It's just a word. I'm not afraid of people thinking I'm low-class; if I see 'em for what they are, I call 'em what they are."

…

"I believe Professor Snape has taken a liking to you. He's even written to your father, and from what Lucius told me, Snape has high hopes for your future. And you said that the teachers don't appreciate you, what nonsense!"

…

"Granger with Krum - I don't believe it either, Draco! He probably doesn't even know she's a Muggle. Though I honestly don't think I'd ever mistake her for a pure-blood!"

...

"So, it's true? The Dark Lord's really returned? But then, that's good for your family! He'll get your father out of prison, and then everything will be all right! Right?"

…

"Stop. Don't speak. Turn around slowly. I have orders from the Dark Lord himself to take you with me. He's making you a Death Eater. The Malfoy family's carelessness has caused it to lose favor in the Dark Lord's eyes, but he's decided to give you the chance to redeem it. If you succeed, your deed will begin the creation of a new world, one where all past wounds will be healed and all your and your ancestors' struggles rewarded. It will be your triumph, Draco. Your dawn..."

---

1. Hermione Takes Her Leave
+ + + +
The summer after fifth year came almost unnoticeably. The elated buzz at finished O.W.L. examinations and the sacking of Dolores Umbridge was overshadowed by news of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, which became the hot topic of conversation as the students boarded the Hogwarts Express. Fortunately, for all that the Ministry had done to discredit Harry and Dumbledore, they finally ended up admitting the truth in their stories, which had immediately turned Harry into an object of interest.

Hermione spent the train ride home in a compartment with her friends, reading excerpts from the Daily Prophet.The newspaper was now avidly recounting what had happened in the Ministry's underground floors. Hermione had been knocked out in the middle of the battle by a curse from Dolohov, so she hadn't seen how the prophecy had shattered or how Bellatrix had defeated Sirius. But the paper talked about what had happened afterwards, and included pages of defensive tips and witnesses' recollections of the previous wizarding war. About an hour into the ride, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had tried to ambush Harry in the walkway and had been hexed by several D.A. members from a neighboring compartment. Hermione grimaced when she caught a glimpse of the three boys hours later, swollen and green-skinned and staggering to the Slytherin section.

She could guess the reason for Malfoy's spite. All of the Death Eaters that had been part of the Department of Mysteries attack had been imprisoned, including Malfoy's father. Their names were being printed everywhere now, unmasking them as Death Eaters once and for all, though by now it made no difference. With the Dementors gone from Azkaban, it was only a matter of time before they would be broken out too. And then the real trouble would begin.

With all of that leftover commotion swimming in her mind, coming back home seemed surreal. Minutes after she, Harry, and Ron had met up with the group of Order members on the Muggle side of the platform, and had said goodbye to Harry as he left with the Dursleys, Hermione's own parents had arrived to pick her up. She had climbed into the backseat of their car, waited for her father to put her school trunk into the trunk of their Ford Fiesta, and peered out at the streets of Muggle London on the drive home.

The Grangers lived in a quiet neighborhood in the borough of Bromley, south of the lively London City. It was the place Hermione had lived for her entire life, and she knew the area like a mental map. Being in her family's house had always been reassuring, and in her first summer after Hogwarts, there had been moments where she could almost forget that she went to a school of magic.

But now, that was no longer true. Now, Hermione knew about wizarding wars, about the Hall of Prophecy, and the Order of the Phoenix. When the unusual spell of mists and cold weather descended over London a few weeks later, Hermione often caught glimpses of a Dementor's black cloak flitting behind the clouds. She saw the signs of Dark magic in the two murders that were reported later in the month, and from footage of the damage, she could guess the curses that the wizards had used in their duels. And she knew, long before Cornelius Fudge had made his statement in the Daily Prophet, that Lord Voldemort had returned.

Hermione had told this to her parents the very evening she had come home from school. Simply saying it gave her a feeling of dread, but what had unexpectedly made her feel worse were the puzzled looks of Drs. Herman and Hattie Granger, the London dentists, who hardly remembered the name.

Had she been raised by wizards, and been surrounded by people who were ready and planning to fight, Hermione figured she wouldn't have been as afraid. But it was here in Muggle London that the true nature of the crisis hit home for her. Voldemort's return meant darkness and uncertainty. It meant that the people she saw fiddling with their umbrellas and holding out their hands for taxis were being confronted with a danger they were powerless against. And it meant that she, as soon as she left the house, would leave her parents defenseless.

One week into July, the mists that the Dementors had brought on began to condense, causing occasional storms of showers that pattered on the windows. Hermione spent most of her time inside, helping her mother around the house and reading. One day, news suddenly came that the Brockdale Bridge had snapped in half, dropping dozens of cars into the Thames River. It had been a brand-new bridge, one that the papers had been praising only months before, and when Hermione turned on the television, she found everyone baffled.

Over the next few days, the streets became crowded with barricades and news reporters. Finally, that Saturday evening, the Prime Minister appeared before the press to make a public statement, and Hermione sat in the living room to watch it. Hattie was making dinner, and Herman had gone to buy some whiskey. Hermione was switching her attention from the Minister's speech to a letter she had received from Mrs. Weasley. Ron's family had taken to inviting her to the Burrow every summer holiday, which usually filled her with joy and anticipation. But today, those feelings seemed out-of-place to her. Hermione had her quill and parchment ready on her lap, but she couldn't think of what to write. Should she mention the bridge? Should she stay at home for a few more days, at least until everything calmed down?

Minutes into her pondering, the front door to the house fell closed and Herman stepped inside. "I'm home!" he called. He entered the kitchen, placing down a paper bag, and entered the living room. "Hermione. That thing you gave me… a Pocket Seekerscope, was it?"

"A Pocket Sneakoscope," she said.

"Yes, that... Well, it started buzzing when I left the store. I wasn't doing anything to it; it was just sitting in my pocket. It stopped by the time I got to the car. Does that mean something?"

Hermione winced. "You must have met a Death Eater in disguise. That means they're walking on the streets now... they must be planning the next attack." She ran her fingers through her hair and frowned down at her blank parchment.

Herman approached the sofa and sat down beside her. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. It only happened once. Mine never goes off when I'm at work, and I don't think Hattie's ever has on her shift either."

"That's right," came Hattie's voice from the kitchen.

Hermione sighed. "Still, the Sneakoscope only goes off if someone nearby is up to something. You won't always have time to react to it." She looked at the television, which was showing footage of metal scraps being salvaged from the water.

Herman frowned. "Has the Prime Minister been on yet?"

"He just finished. He blamed the failure on cheap materials and he's promised to do a thorough inquiry of the engineers. But he probably knows that the Death Eaters are behind it. You see, each time a new Prime Minister is elected, the Minister of Magic introduces themselves. So he knows that there's a wizarding world."

Herman lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, so, the wizards are telling him what to say?"

"They're probably helping him. The Ministry of Magic has an Office of Misinformation that steps in when Muggles see something to do with wizards. They make sure Muggle authorities know what to say, and they modify witnesses' memories to make them recall things differently."

Herman whistled. "Sounds like a thorough job. But it must be hard for them, doing all that work to stay secret and having to fight dark wizards on top of it."

Hermione smiled. "They've had to keep secrecy for a long time, though. I suppose they're used to it."

Herman nodded slowly. He leaned back in the couch, putting his hands behind his head and gazed off at the curtained windows. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we still knew about wizards. Our whole history could have been different. We might've never needed cars, if we could use brooms. We could have gone to space early, or invented more efficient energy sources. And we definitely would have perfected medicine. Wizards with their herbs and potions, us with our X-rays and surgeons..."

Hermione smiled. "We'd be unstoppable."

"Exactly!" said Herman. "It's just the fanatics on both sides who ruin everything."

Hermione twirled her quill in thought. Minutes later, Hattie called for dinner, and the two of them rose and went to the kitchen. It was a cozy space, with wooden cabinets, framed pictures on the walls, and window above the sink. Their dining table only seated four, for the Grangers had never needed room for many guests.

Hermione and her parents ate for some time in silence, then Hattie looked up. "So, Hermione. Are you leaving for that Burrow place again?"

Hermione nodded. "I got Mrs. Weasley's letter today, but I'm not sure when I'll leave. It doesn't seem like now is a good time."

"You'll be safe there, though, won't you?" asked Hattie.

"Of course. The Order of the Phoenix put up protections all around the house, so we'll be fine."

Hattie frowned. "Order of the Phoenix, that's…"

"That's the group our headmaster Dumbledore created. They're people who stage attacks against the Death Eaters independent of the Ministry."

"The anti-Death Eaters," Herman put in cheerfully.

"Ah. And the Weasleys are a part of it?" asked Hattie.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, then you probably won't have anything to worry about. They must all be very experienced."

"And the Weasleys a good lot," Herman said. "I like them. That Arthur is a bit odd, but they always look out for each other, don't they?"

Hermione lowered her gaze. "Still... I'm worried about you two. If the Death Eaters are ready to take down a bridge to hurt innocent bystanders, they're bound to do something even worse next. And I don't want that to happen to you."

Hattie gave a smile. "Don't worry about us. We'll be all right."

Herman nodded his agreement. "Yeah. With all the gadgetry you've given us, I'd say we'd be able to hold off a few of those Death Eaters on our own, won't we?" He looked over to Hattie, who rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Hermione said. "I'm thinking I should at least put up a Caterwauling Charm. That way, at least, if someone tries to break in, you'll know about it."

"If it makes you feel better, I suppose, then have at it," Herman said. "But what would the Death Eaters want from us? Aren't we Muggles? We don't pose a threat to them because we can't do magic, and we can't give them any information because we don't know anything."

Hermione gave a somber smile. "But that's it. You're Muggles. The Death Eaters aren't doing all these things just to take over the Ministry of Magic. They're deliberately after Muggles and wizards who respect them."

Herman frowned. "But at the very least, that's manners. Surely there's nothing wrong with being cordial to each other, especially since we're practically neighbors."

"The Death Eaters don't see Muggles as equals," Hermione said. "They have this theory called blood purity, which says that the more magical ancestry you have, the more of a wizard you are. It's complete rubbish, of course, but that doesn't stop them from coming to the conclusion that Muggles are inferior and need to be eliminated. And if Voldemort takes over, that's what they'll start doing."

Herman and Hattie exchanged glances. But moments later, Herman's face spread into a wide smile and he began to chuckle. "After centuries of religious prosecution, the wizards strike back? It's almost like a bad spell of karma..."

Hattie pursed her lips. "It's a shame they're not in touch with our history. We'd be able to teach them what these kinds of things lead to."

"Nah, I think it's something they just have to learn for themselves," Herman said. "Besides, if the Death Eaters hate Muggles already, they probably won't be open to taking wisdom from us."

"Still, do they really not remember anything about what happened in this past century?"

"Their world moves at completely different pace than ours. What might be defining of us at one point might not apply for wizards until a century later."

Hattie shook her head. "I find it hard to believe that conflicts in our world and the wizarding world don't have the slightest effect on each other. Wizards have schools like we do, they have a ministry almost like ours, and they have entire buildings and gathering places that are right in the middle of our cities. We're connected. And until people learn to appreciate that connection, we'll be stuck creating problems instead of solving them."

Herman shrugged. "I understand, but I'll say it again, wizards don't have a use for our solutions anymore. They're in their own world, and if we tried mixing it together with ours again, it would make a mess that people would never get over. If wizards and Muggles had never separated from the beginning, now that's another question. I certainly think the world would have been better. But now, it is how it is. Wizards don't need what our society offers. Do you think after Hermione finishes Hogwarts she'll go on to be a bank intern?"

"No, but I wouldn't want her to completely forget everything she's experienced here."

"Hermione is a witch."

"She's a girl who has an understanding of two worlds. And it's people like her who have the power to inspire both sides to be open-minded."

Hermione quietly listened to her parents' exchange, gazing around the room. There were magnets on the refrigerator, some of which she remembered had been there since her childhood. But most of the space was now crowded with unfamiliar papers and sticky notes -- Robertson to confirm appointment, work late on Tuesday…

Finally, Hermione finished eating and excused herself. She went to collect her things from the sofa and approached the stairs. As she walked up to her bedroom, she heard her parents' laughter rise up from the kitchen.

"Imagine if someone knocked on the door right now and heard us talking about this..." Herman muttered.

Hermione lingered at the top of the stairs, wondering if they would say anything else. But they switched the subject, and finally, Hermione left.

Her bedroom was a clash of two worlds. Spellbooks and classic novels stood beside each other on the shelves, a wall clock ticked away above a moving photograph, and a faded Gryffindor tapestry came into view when she closed the door.

Hermione looked around for a moment, feeling a calm settle over her, and sat down on the carpet. She finished writing her acceptance to Mrs. Weasley and folded up the letter, then began to read an issue of Transfiguration Today that she had left on her desk.

"Hermione's a witch."

"She's a girl who has an understanding of two worlds."

Hermione leaned back against her bed and flipped through the pages of diagrams and incantations. And for some reason, she found herself wondering which of her parents were right.

+ + + +

To say that nothing strange had ever happened to Hermione Granger before she got her Hogwarts letter would be a lie. Despite her rational, down-to-earth nature, the girl had a knack for getting into odd predicaments that she could never explain to anyone else. When she visited the city with her parents, Hermione would eagerly point to glimmering signs and shop doors that neither of them ever seemed to see. At school, when she eagerly reached for her pencil, it would move itself a few inches closer to meet her hand. And when she turned on the radio at home, she often caught strange conversations, advertising things like self-soaping dishcloths and potions to heal bothersome ailments. She had stopped believing in magic and fairytales as a young child, but now, it seemed as if those things had been transplanted into her very life.

As Hermione grew older, she gained enough sense to stop mentioning these incidents to people around her, though secretly she wondered whether she was going mad. Then, on the morning of her tenth birthday, Hermione finally got her letter. It had happened at breakfast, when the three Grangers were sitting in their dining room. The day had been fresh and breezy, and her mother had opened the window to let in some air. A few minutes into their meal, Hermione heard a loud screech, and looked up to see a gray barn owl soar into the room. Herman's hand jumped, spilling coffee over his sleeve, and Hattie jerked back in her chair. Hermione sat still, frozen with shock, as the owl landed at the center of the table. It ruffled its feathers and walked up to her tamely, depositing an envelope beside her plate. Then it fluttered off and perched itself onto the refrigerator.

After a long pause, Herman looked at his daughter, attempting a smile. "What's this, some sort of pigeon post project for school?"

Hermione shrugged mutely. She turned the envelope over in her hands. The address on the back, written with a green calligraphy pen, read:

Miss H. Granger
The Kitchen
36 Oakwood Drive
London Borough of Bromley
Greater London

A chill gripped her from inside, but nevertheless, she opened the envelope and took out the letter.

"Dear Miss Granger," she read aloud. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please be available on Saturday, September 23rd at 12:00 p.m. to discuss your admission. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."

She looked back up at her parents, and saw that they were staring back at her with identical expressions of incredulous humor. Slowly, Hermione shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.

"Well… it's got the room right. See?" She pointed to the back of the envelope.

Herman chuckled. "Witchcraft and wizardry, eh? Sounds awful dodgy. Are you sure you didn't fill out any forms in school?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why would they send you an acceptance if you never applied?"

Hermione shrugged.

"It could just be an advertisement," Hattie said. "By the sound of it, it seems like they're training people for the circus."

"Let's find out." Herman gestured for Hermione to continue. "Do open that supply list, let's see what it says."

Hermione took out the second paper and read the list of items. When she got to the list of textbooks, which bore strange titles like The Standard Book of Spells and A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, her parents' eyebrows perked. When she got to the classroom equipment, which included cauldrons, a telescope, and a wand, Hattie nearly spit out her tea. And when she read the very last line, which informed the reader that first-years were not allowed their own broomsticks, the laughter that had been breaking through Herman's composure finally burst out, and he buried his forehead in his hand.

"Blimey, they've got everything covered! No broomsticks, one wand, a couple of pointed hats…"

"That doesn't seem like a school for the circus," Hermione pointed out.

"And they want us to be available Saturday at twelve, do they?" Herman checked his watch. "Pretty specific, these people…"

"Maybe… maybe this could be real," Hermione said. "The letter seems authentic."

"Well, whoever these people are, they certainly don't seem to understand the school system," said Hattie. "They can't just interrupt an eleven-year-old in the middle of her primary education and pull her off to learn magic."

"We don't even know if they're state or private," said Herman. "But from the sound of it, it looks like they're private…"

"Then it must cost a lot of money," Hattie said.

"And money for what? Learning some so-called spells instead of mathematics and science?"

Hattie restrained a chuckle. "Maybe they have a curriculum for those too."

Herman lifted his hands. "You know what? There's no point in even arguing about this. We can get everything straight with a phone call." He looked at Hermione. "Did they give a telephone number of any sort?"

Hermione searched both papers. "No, it doesn't look like it."

Herman cracked another smile. "So they say they'll contact us, but they don't give us a number to answer to. That's strike two for Hogwarts."

"Maybe we're supposed to send our questions by owl," Hermione said. "They sent an owl here, so maybe they only do physical mail."

Herman shrugged. "If you'd like to try, then be my guest."

Hermione looked at the refrigerator, where the owl was preening its feathers. She stood up and held up her arms, but Hattie slapped Herman's shoulder. "Herman, what are you thinking? That bird's come from God-knows-where! It could have diseases!"

"Then we've been infected a thousand times over, because it landed right on our table."

Hattie pursed her lips. "All right. Fine. But wash your hands after, Hermione!"

Hermione nodded. "I will, don't worry." She stood up on her toes and bent her wrist to make a perch. "Here, birdy-bird. Come here… to me, little fellow..."

The owl looked down at her and let out a long, deep hoot. After a moment of deliberation, it fluttered down and settled onto her hand. Hermione brought it down and approached her parents. "What should we write?"

Herman rubbed his chin. "First of all, I want to know about their curriculum. I want to know what their core subjects are, what their advanced program is, if they offer A-levels, and where their graduates move on to. Then, I want to know how exactly, they got our address and got it into their heads to invite you. Finally, I want to know their location and their cost. In fact, I'll write the letter myself." He got up and left the kitchen.

Hattie and Hermione cleared the table, after which Hermione went to the owl again and began to observe it in more detail. The bird was surprisingly tame, and did not flinch when she stroked its feathers.

"I'll name you Ernest," she said. The owl clicked its beak, and Hermione giggled.

After a few minutes, Herman emerged from his study with an envelope in hand. "I have no idea what their address is, so I'll leave you to decide what to write on the back of this." He handed the envelope to Hermione. "But if they respond to this letter, then I'll be willing to give them a chance."

Hermione tenderly held the envelope up to the owl's beak, and the owl snatched it with a firm, practiced grip. She walked over to the window and held him out to the open air, and with a screech, the owl took off. It soared high over the rooftops, slowly shrinking into a tiny dot, before finally vanishing into the clouds.

She waited for the owl all week, but it didn't come back. Nevertheless, Hermione hung on to her letter, and that Saturday, she pulled her parents into the living room at the designated time and waited for someone to knock on the front door. Herman kept an eye on his watch throughout. At the exact moment that it struck twelve, there came a loud bang, and smoke began to puff out from the fireplace. Though the gray cloud, Hermione saw a figure step out of the opening, and when the smoke cleared, she saw it was a tall slender woman, dressed in an elegant green robe and a pointed black hat. She stepped down from the fireplace and straightened herself, calmly dusting off the cinders.

"Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I do hope I haven't frightened you, but I find that when one enters the water quickly, it is an easy matter of getting accustomed to it."

Herman and Hattie rose, and one by one, shook hands with the puzzling woman. Hermione, who was left for last, approached her, doing her best not to gape. The woman had a stern face, which nevertheless softened when she smiled.

"You must be Hermione. Splendid. I must say, you and your parents are one of the few I've encountered who prepared such a quick, diligent response to our letter. Usually, we prefer to have someone from the school deliver it by hand, but your birthday falls right on the third week of term, and I had to make special arrangements for my absence. Another option was to send someone from the Muggle Liaison Office, since they usually deal with the matter very quickly, though I confess that being confronted by a squad of Ministry workers during tea-time isn't the most pleasant introduction to the wizarding world. I prefer long talks, quiet afternoons, and a slow, bracing introduction into your new state of affairs."

McGonagall looked to Herman and Hattie, who did not respond. But it seemed that her snappy, professional manner reassured them.

After a moment, Herman spoke. "And what, if you don't mind me asking, is this new state of affairs?"

McGonagall folded her hands in front of her. "That your daughter has magical abilities and has therefore been accepted to Great Britain's only school of magic, which if I may add is one of the finest in Europe. She is invited to begin her education there so that she may master her abilities and become a part of wizarding society."

Hattie blinked her startled eyes. "Magical abilities?"

"The only magic we've ever seen from our daughter is her finishing several days' worth of homework in a single weekend and still having time for chores," Herman said, with a chuckle.

McGonagall smiled. "Yes, your daughter definitely seems like a bright young lady. But no, Mr. Granger, I am talking about a different sort of magic." With that, she reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a long wooden stick. Her expression turning businesslike again, she flicked it at a nearby lamp, which immediately shrunk and contorted until it became a wine glass.

Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth. "That's incredible!"

Herman and Hattie were equally befuddled. McGonagall flicked the stick again, and the lamp returned to its original state. "That is a branch of magic called Transfiguration, which as you have seen, involves transforming one object into another. There are other branches of course, such as Charms, Potionmaking, and Herbology. All of these subjects are taught at Hogwarts, and are within the reach of your daughter just as they are for any witch or wizard."

"But… how can I be magical?" Hermione said. "I've never done anything like that before!"

"My dear child, no one is born knowing how to turn lamps into goblets! The abilities of magical children always manifest themselves in simple, subtle ways. Have you ever made a book budge on a table by just thinking about it? Have you ever caused lights to flicker when you were upset, or gained unusual speed and strength when you were frightened?"

Hermione stared at the woman in amazement. All of those things had happened to her. As if reading her expression, McGonagall nodded. "Then you have shown all the typical signs of a wizard becoming aware of their powers. And at any rate, even if you had dismissed those experiences as insignificant and didn't care to remember them, there cannot be a doubt that you are indeed a witch. There is an enchanted quill at Hogwarts that records the names and birthdates of each magical child born in Great Britain. The quill does not make mistakes. Each of those children, when they turn eleven years old, are sent letters from Hogwarts inviting them to begin their magical education. This is a crucial step taken by Britain's Ministry of Magic, which ensures that magical children do not grow up without knowing how to control their abilities. There is nothing more dangerous than letting an inexperienced wizard walk free, especially in a Muggle society. They may set things on fire without meaning to. They could injure people and themselves if their temper gets out of control. A magical education will teach you to channel your powers into doing productive things and will prevent them ever escaping you without your command."

Herman nodded slowly. "All right, then. So if our daughter is magical… then how did she get her powers? You said that this quill records the names of magical children the very minute they're born. Would follow that magic is hereditary?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Then does that mean we're wizards too?" Herman waved his hand at the lamp, but nothing happened.

McGonagall smiled kindly. "It would appear that you are not, considering that you are now adults and have hitherto lived completely normal lives. In the case of Muggle-born wizards, whose parents are both non-magical, it is almost certain that a relative -- perhaps even a distant ancestor -- possessed magical abilities which failed to show up in later generations until now. Whether you have magical abilities or not, one of you, perhaps both, possess an unexpressed magical gene that though a gift of fate has resulted in magical abilities finally being expressed in your daughter."

Hattie looked at Herman, exchanging proud smiles. "Well, what do you know?"

"We're not completely useless after all," said Herman.

Hermione burst into giggles, covering her face with her hands. When she looked up, McGonagall met her gaze. "The letter guarantees your place for the autumn of next year. The reason we have sent it one year early is because you come from a Muggle family, and will therefore need time to adjust to the wizarding world and settle your affairs in the Muggle one before you leave for school. If you choose to accept, that is."

Hermione looked at her parents, then back to McGonagall. Her smile faded for an inquisitive expression. "What happens if I don't?"

"Then there might very well be a problem. In the Ministry's eyes, you are a registered witch, and if you decline a magical education, then you are at risk for reasons I mentioned before. If you still choose to decline, then the Ministry will nevertheless send you special textbooks that will teach you basic methods of controlling your powers, to make sure that you don't accidentally harm anyone. Without proper development, your abilities will never manifest themselves beyond what you have already performed, but in this case you will at least know how to control when you want to use them, which will hopefully never be in front of Muggles again. Bear in mind that the Muggle Liaisons Office keeps watch over all magical incidents and catastrophes, and that using magic in front of Muggles is a violation of wizarding law - which, being magical, you are automatically subject to."

Hermione swallowed. McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Now I must ask you. Do you wish to accept your place at Hogwarts, or decline?"

Hermione was silent. She thought of her school - of the kids who whispered behind her back, the tough-looking girls who never dared to approach her, of Mrs. Woolbright, whose eyes twinkled whenever Hermione asked a question… the ringing bells, the bustling cafeteria…

"Don't pay them any mind, Hermione. Twenty years from now, you'll be on top of the world, and they'll be watching you on television from their apartments. And I'll remember the golden girl who sat in front of every class, who took all the opportunities she could get her hands on, and never settled for anything less than her potential. Keep that inside of you, love, and never tell yourself you can't do something."

It was a while before Hermione looked up. When she did, she found McGonagall's face as patient as ever, and gave a smile. "I accept."

McGonagall bowed her head. "Very good."

Hattie stepped forward. "But… surely there has to be some compensation for Hermione to abandon her school here. From what I've gathered, she won't be learning any mathematics, any sciences, or anything else that children her age are. Or is there some sort of supplementary curriculum at Hogwarts that teaches Muggle-born children these things?"

"No, Mrs. Granger, the curriculum at Hogwarts deals entirely with magic. Wizards have no need for Muggle technology and therefore do not need to learn Muggle science, while the principles of logic and mathematics are already woven into many Hogwarts subjects, such as Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Accepting one's place at Hogwarts means that one has resolved to integrate themselves into the wizarding community for the rest of their lives."

Hattie frowned. "Is that so?" She looked at Herman and gave a nervous laugh. "Who knew, when we woke up in the morning we'd be forced to make a life-changing decision."

"If it helps in any way, I'll point out that we will not be kidnapping your daughter," said McGonagall. "She will still return home for the summer, and for the Christmas and Easter holidays if you wish, and will be able to write to you as often as she pleases. She will not be any dumber than a Muggle child; she will only be trained to think in a different way. The knowledge imparted by the Muggle school system is, after all, meant for people who live in the Muggle world. In entering Hogwarts, Hermione will discover a completely different society, founded upon principles and customs that are entirely different from what she is used to, and will therefore have opportunities that a Muggle will never know."

After a period of pursed-lipped deliberation, Hermione's parents looked down at her in unison. "Well, Hermione?" said Herman. "It's your choice. Do you really want to be a witch?"

Hermione was silent. After a moment, McGonagall spoke up. "I recognize that such a decision is difficult to make from one's sitting room. If you wish, I can take the three of you on a walk through Diagon Alley, and you will get a glimpse for yourselves what wizards are like."

Hermione nodded. "That would be brilliant."

McGonagall stepped back towards the fireplace, removing a small leather sack from an inner pocket of her robes. "Then come with me. We will be traveling by Floo Powder, the same way I arrived." She beckoned towards them, and the three Grangers hesitantly approached the fireplace.

"I would prefer it if the three of you went first," McGonagall said. "Since only one of you is magical, you will all need to travel together, because the incantation won't work if a Muggle says it." McGonagall withdrew the wooden stick again and pointed it at the pile of logs. She muttered something, and instantly they burst into flames. Hermione and Hattie yelped. The woman turned and proffered the leather pouch to Hermione. "Now just take a handful of this, drop it into the flames, and wait until they turn green. When they do, they won't be of any danger to you. Just step into them and state very clearly: 'Leaky Cauldron.' Don't worry about where that is or what it looks like. You will arrive in a small hotel room. When you do, stay in place until I arrive."

Hermione peered into the pouch, which was filled with dark black powder, and scooped some into her hand. It felt cool and silky. "How does this work, exactly?"

McGonagall steered her forward. "There will be time for questions later. Off you go."

Hermione waited for her parents to come up beside her and looped her arms through theirs. She approached the flames, wincing at the heat, and dropped the Floo Powder into the rack of logs. Instantly, the flames turned a bright emerald green. The heat vanished, though the fire still gave off the smell of smoke. Fanning her face, Hermione stepped inside, tugging her parents along, and the three of them ducked their heads to fit into the fireplace.

"Now!" said McGonagall.

"Leaky Cauldron!" Hermione shouted. Instantly, her surroundings vanished. An invisible force pulled her upwards through the chimney, bouncing her around the walls like a ping-pong ball. The low hiss of the flames rose to a deafening roar, and the world around her became a senseless mess of whirling color. At last, the spinning stopped, and Hermione felt herself fall vertically down a dark, narrow tube, and land on a hard stone floor. Her parents landed beside her moments later, coughing.

"My God, what a day…" Hattie fanned her face. She and Herman looked windblown, but upbeat.

Together, the Grangers rose to their feet. This fireplace was larger, and tall enough for even Herman to stand upright. Hermione was the first to step out, emerging into a sunny guestroom. There was a bed, a drawer, and a mirror, but other than that, the space was bare.

Moments later, there came a loud bang, and McGonagall landed on her feet in the fireplace. She emerged, tucking the Floo Powder pouch back into its pocket. "Now then. Follow me and I will show you downstairs. The Leaky Cauldron is a famous pub, but it also doubles as a hotel for people who are passing through town. It's right in the middle of Diagon Alley."

McGonagall led them out of the room and down a short flight of stairs, where they came upon a dim, lively pub. Some people seemed to recognize McGonagall and greeted her, but McGonagall cut all conversations short. They stepped out into the daylight, and Hermione was confronted by the most unusual shopping street she had ever seen. A curvy cobbled road snaked through a medley of buildings, which had funny tilted roofs and windows that displayed assortments of strange objects. The people that populated the street were dressed in similar variations of McGonagall's outfit, with colorful robes, some hats, and baskets dangling from their arms. It was as if she had stepped into a children's storybook.

McGonagall led the way through Diagon Alley, keeping Hermione at her side to point things out to her. "Thia is a robe store, where you'll get your school uniform... That store sells Quidditch supplies... That stand over there sells the Daily Prophet..." McGonagall somehow managed to explain what all of those things were before their shops vanished from view. "And here is Ollivander's wand store," she said, pointing to a square black building. "This is where you will get your wand. We won't do it today, since ideally you should wait until a reasonably short time before you learn how to use it. Wands are dangerous in careless hands. But if you wish, we may stop at Flourish and Blott's to buy your textbooks."

Hermione beamed. "Yes, please! That would be wonderful!"

She turned towards the bookstore, whose windows showed a tempting interior of shelves, but McGonagall pulled her back. "Not just yet, Miss Granger. We have to convert your currency first."

"You mean wizard use a different money system?" said Herman.

"Yes, but the conversion is quite simple. If you have enough money on hand, then I can show you today, but if not, then we can simply come back another time."

"How much do the books cost?" ask Herman.

"Each one is about ten to twenty pounds."

Herman looked through his wallet. "I have forty."

Hattie looked through hers. "I have thirty."

"Do you wish to buy some today?"

Hermione looked eagerly up at her parents, who gave in. "All right," said Herman. "But textbooks only."

McGonagall led them to Gringotts, the wizard bank, where Hermione learned about Knuts, Sickles, Galleons, and goblins. Then they proceeded to Flourish and Blott's, where Hermione took out her supply list and searched for the books that seemed most intriguing. If Diagon Alley made the wizarding world seem surreal, then the book shop brought it down to earth. Hermione was elated to learn that there was a real theory of magic, that there were encyclopedias cataloging magical plants, and manuals outlining the principles of spells. Simply holding the books in her hands and sweeping her palm across the pages gave her a rush of excitement.

On their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, McGonagall took the three of them out for lunch and bought Hermione the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. By the time the Grangers got back to their living room, their minds were spinning. McGonagall promised she would be back in one year, close to the start of Hermione's term, and left them an address to which they could write if they ever needed anything. And then, with her final best wishes, McGonagall departed.

For the rest of that day, Herman sat on the telephone, cancelling Hermione's enrollment in school and withdrawing her from the clubs and programs she had partaken in. Hermione thought about calling some of her classmates to let them know she was leaving, but decided that the situation would be too complicated to explain. She wasn't particularly close to any of them, and she figured that keeping quiet would be better than lying.

The rest of the Muggle school year passed by, and Hermione spent it with her parents, accompanying them to work and playing games with them in the evenings. She felt nervous and excited to be unhinged from her usual routine, but the net that had caught her was loving and comforting. She enjoyed being with her parents in the hours she usually wasn't, as if the extraneous parts of her life had been snipped away to leave only the two people she cared about most. Finally, summer came, and Hermione received another letter from Professor McGonagall offering to take her to Diagon Alley for the rest of her school supplies.

Hermione read the letter aloud in the living room, and once she finished, Herman clapped his hands. "That's it! Next stop -- the wizarding world!" He stood up from the couch, brandishing an ink pen in the air.

"Oooh, Herman, watch out!" Hattie jumped out from behind a table, lifting a pencil with one hand and a spellbook with the other. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Herman spread out his arms and pretended to drift away into the air. "Aaah!" He walked around the room, making whooshing noises, then turned around to face Hattie. "I haven't been vanquished yet... Lumos!"

Hattie leaned back as if struck by a brilliant beam of light and began to spin around. Hermione doubled over, laughing till her face grew red.

That night, she went up to her room and stacked her textbooks into a pile on her desk. She thought about what core her wand would have, what kind of sky the enchanted ceiling of the Hogwarts castle would show, and how soon she could get a real moving photograph with her parents. She turned on the radio and turned the dial to a wizarding program, letting the announcer's words wash over the room.

"Gilbert's Wonderful Self-Stirring Cauldron! Just mix the ingredients and watch your potion brew! It's a breeze!"

+ + + +

Throughout her years at Hogwarts, Herman and Hattie continued educating themselves about wizards, not wanting to be unsavvy in the world their daughter was entering. In several comical instances, Hermione walked in on the pair of them sitting on the couch with her spellbooks, following the text with their fingers and trying to pronounce the words.

"A Blast-Ended… what now?" Hattie squinted, leaning in closer. "Oh, Herman, this looks dangerous." But she kept flipping through the pages, too interested to put it down.

Herman, who was busy studying Hermione's third-year Potions textbook, lifted his eyebrows. "It says here they'll be making sleeping potions this year. That sure might come in handy with some of the lot we get at the practice, don't you think?"

Hermione, who was then almost thirteen, had been watching from the doorway. When her parents noticed her, they looked up at her with innocent smiles, and she giggled.

But as much as Hermione liked living with her parents, the Muggle world soon began to seem limiting. After spending months in school doing magic and learning about wizarding culture, she would come home feeling awkward and out-of-place. Her hand would fall to her pocket in search of her wand roughly a dozen times a day, and she had to make a conscious effort not to let slip any wizarding terminology when she was talking in public. With her parents, at least, she didn't have to worry about hiding anything, but as she grew older, and they saw her hard at work on an intricate essay or organizing boxes full of squeaking, flashing, moving objects, Hermione felt a slight sheepishness wash over her. They could do little more than ask her what she was up to, or whether it was comfortable writing with a quill instead of a pen. Sometimes, if they were feeling adventurous, they would help her unpack or ask her about what she was learning. But every year that took Hermione deeper into a witch's life took her a little bit further away from them.

+ + + +

The day after her dinnertime conversation with her parents, Hermione owled her letter to Mrs. Weasley and prepared to leave for the Burrow. After breakfast, she finished packing her trunk and went to the fireplace. Her parents came to see her off, watching as she scooped up some Floo Powder from a drawstring pouch.

"Bye, pumpkin," said Hattie.

Herman smiled. "We'll miss you."

Hermione managed to smile in return. "I'll miss you too. Goodbye!" She leaned down and backed into the fireplace. When she straightened to full height, the darkness of the chimney dropped around her, and the low opening of the entrance blocked her view of her parents.

There was so much she hadn't told them. She had never explained how she had helped Hagrid with his Buckbeak case or how she had watched Veelas and leprechauns dance in the air at the Quidditch World Cup. How elated she had been when Vikor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball in her fourth year, and how heartbroken at the fact that Ron hadn't. How proud she had felt during Dumbledore's Army meetings, how difficult it had been to produce her first Patronus, and how terrifying it had felt to see Lucius Malfoy appear in front of Harry in the Department of Mysteries, explaining the existence of a prophecy between him and the Dark Lord. Other people had been with her during those times, and she hadn't even been thinking about her parents in half of them. Much less did it seem possible to share all of those little details during her dwindling time with them.

But now, Hermione wished she could.

---

2. Draco the Chosen One
+ + + +

At that moment, a hundred miles away, the same mists that had hovered over London drifted over a vast, barren moor, where the Malfoy Manor rose up like a giant black fortress. The land around it was drab and featureless, but up close was a ring of green -- mazes of tall hedges, smooth stone walkways, and large gardens.

Inside, the beautiful house was empty and quiet. It had been cleared of Dark objects after Lucius's arrest, but now the darkness seemed to have infected the very air, permeating the furniture and the polished stones of the walls. For days, the Ministry workers had searched its hundred rooms, hauling out chests and artifacts, casting preventative enchantments around vacant areas. They had worked placidly, reciting to the inhabitants their warrants and decrees, and it had made Draco Malfoy smirk. He found it incredibly funny how the Ministry still bothered raiding houses when their entire organization was about to go under. With the Dark Lord returned, the beginning of a new world was fast approaching, and he would get to see it happen firsthand.

The only mar to his family's otherwise secure position was his father's imprisonment. Voldemort had been highly displeased when Lucius had failed to retrieve the prophecy, and so he had left him and nearly all the other Death Eaters involved in the mission to be captured. They were now in Azkaban, biding their time until they were broken out. Initially this had filled Draco with despair, but as he later found out, the Dark Lord's punishments carried an opportunity for redemption. Just days after coming home from Hogwarts, Draco had been visited by Travers, who had brought him news of his initiation as a Death Eater. In addition, Draco had been given a special mission which he would carry out during his sixth year at school, a mission that would mark the turn towards Voldemort's victory. For the first time, Draco felt like he had been given a purpose. After a lifetime of waiting for the world he had been promised, he finally had the chance to bring it about with his own hands.

That morning of July 11th, Draco entered the dining hall for breakfast with the latest Daily Prophet in hand. The room was tall and vast, with a long feast table that stretched nearly from one wall to the other. The walls were colored a deep emerald, and painted with the white, wispy branches of their family tree, which featured the still-life miniatures of their relatives and ancestors. Against this backdrop, the figure of his mother sat alone, a little off-center, reading a book with a cup of tea beside her. There were some platters of food in front of her, and a clean plate for Draco.

Draco sat down across from her, giving a smile. "Good morning, Mother."

Narcissa looked up at him. "Good morning, Draco. I've already finished; you may take what you want."

Draco spooned some food onto his plate. He ate a little, then opened his issue of the Daily Prophet, hoping to start a conversation. "Getting creative, aren't they, Mother? Bridges and storms… But I think there's no point in hiding. I think it would be much more interesting if the Muggles knew what they were dealing with. Most of them lived their entire lives not knowing there were wizards, so if we're about to take them over anyway, we might as well tell them, don't you think?"

Narcissa kept reading. Draco ate in silence, then after a while, he spoke up again. "You know, Mother, I think the Ministry is losing its grip on things. If some of, you know, our people were to infiltrate, I imagine they wouldn't even notice. I bet that's why they're causing all this chaos in the city. To distract them."

"And I think," said Narcissa, not taking her eyes from the page, "that if the Ministry were an organization that a sixteen-year-old could figure out in the space of a few seconds, they would not be able to put up the fight they are doing now."

Draco paused, then settled back into an irritated silence. Narcissa didn't like to talk about the Death Eaters or his mission. Instead, she acted as if it was just a regular summer before the start of school. And despite Draco's high spirits, he couldn't pretend that it didn't irk him. His mother was always on-edge whenever there was some sort of trying period in his life, tensing like a lioness waiting to snatch her cub from harm's way. In his second year, when word had spread that the monster of the Chamber of Secrets was attacking students, Narcissa had been ready to take Draco home - and when she found out that it was Lucius's careless move that had started the whole affair, she had exploded at him. In Draco's third year, when Buckbeak the hippogriff had injured his arm, Narcissa told him that she hadn't slept for two days for worry that he had been permanently damaged. And at the end of his fifth year, when he had emerged from the Hogwarts Express shaking off the aftereffects of the hexes that the D.A. members had shot at him, her skin had turned as white as the steam that billowed out from the locomotive's smokestack.

In all those times, Draco had found her reactions more funny than bothersome. They were just a mother's doting concerns for her only child. But now, Narcissa seemed to have surpassed her own capacity for grief. Over the weeks that he had been home, she had grown pale and weary, and moved about the house like a ghost. And for once, it made Draco scowl. He looked back on their relationship, and suddenly, all of her coos seemed like doses of sedative charms, all her hugs like enveloping wings ready to whisk him off to some dark, lonely alcove of the world where he would be safe. Perhaps a bored and friendless hermit, but safe.

Draco finished eating, then rose from his chair and stomped out of the dining hall. He went into the drawing room, a vast space with dark leather furniture and large carpet. The centerpiece was a large crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, glistening with light from the long windows. Draco settled into his favorite armchair and propped open a book he had left there, losing himself in the text for a few minutes. Then, he heard some footsteps, and looked up to see Narcissa enter the room.

"Your aunt Bellatrix will be coming for you today," she said. "She wishes to relate some things to you."

Draco gave a nod, then lowered his gaze back to the page.

"And afterwards, you will see to it that all the guest rooms on this floor are cleaned-"

Draco looked up in horror.

"-and that the clutter has been removed from all of the others. You will also check to see that the first floor is clean and dust all the paintings on the second."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't the house-elves be doing that?"

"You will not make faces at me, Draco, when I am talking to you. And you will remember that we don't have unlimited staffing."

Draco grumbled. Indeed, they didn't. The Ministry workers had confiscated most of their house-elves before they left, on suspicion of 'dangerous habits'. Really, it was likely because they thought the elves had had access to the family's store of Dark objects and could potentially be capable of using them against people. (Draco knew this wasn't entirely false, but it wasn't as if it applied to all of them.) At any rate, most of the elves that had worked the main floors were gone, and the only ones left now were the strange ones, the ones who worked in the basements and had hardly seen daylight.

Rather than responding to his mother, Draco kept quiet, waiting till Narcissa had left the room to roll his eyes in exasperation. Finally, he closed the book and got up to leave. He wound his way through the hallways, peeking into the guest rooms that he passed by. There were seven of them, and they were all spacious and sumptuously decorated. But so few people had stayed overnight with them that when Draco was young, he had taken to playing around in the rooms and pretending they were his. He had even carved designations into each of the doors: Draco's Monday Room, Draco's Tuesday Room. But the inscriptions would always be removed days later, much to his disappointment.

Draco gave each guestroom a brief once-over, glimpsing elves scrubbing floors or wiping dust from furniture. At the end of the corridor he reached another staircase. The steps on the right led up to the first floor and the ones on the left led down. After a moment of deliberation, Draco went left and descended to the basements.

The manor technically didn't have a unified basement level, only a number of underground rooms that were connected to different parts of the house. The rooms were relics from decades past, ones that the owners had replaced but were too fond of to destroy, or rooms that had hastily been moved during renovations and forgotten about. Over time, the enchantments acting on them had started to corrupt, making the rooms morph and connect with each other in random ways. These rooms were also cleaned, though less thoroughly, and had their own small group of house-elves stationed there.

The first room Draco entered was an old tea room, familiar to him from his many excursions as a child. It had a five-hundred-year-old tapestry and a fireplace that no longer facilitated travelers. The Ministry workers had swept through it diligently, so there were definitely no elves here. Draco passed through the doorway and entered the next room, a bedroom, glancing around and listening in for any signs of movement. Apart from a large, lavish bed and some commodes, the room was filled with lots of other furniture that didn't belong there, like stacked-up chairs and writing desks. Draco began to walk through it, looking around.

"Hello?" he called.

His voice echoed through silence. Draco began to search, looking in the small gaps beneath the furniture and pushing aside curtains. "If you can hear me, I order you to come out!"

But there was no response. Draco spent a few more minutes scouring the room, before finally affirming himself that there was no one inside. Still unwilling to give up, he moved on to the other rooms, ignoring steep stairs and corridors that had narrowed almost to shoulder width. Finally, he reached an empty wine cellar, and noticed a doorway near the far right corner that hadn't been there before. He eagerly went through it, ascending some steps, and came into a very dark, very musty drawing room. It appeared to be close to ground level, for it had a row of windows near the ceiling, but the glass was so dirty that the daylight that came through it was orange.

At first, all Draco could make out from the shadows around him were some unidentifiable lumps, but when he took some more steps inside, he realized that nearly everything in the room was covered in curtains. From the couches and armchairs to wardrobes, every surface had sheets of fabric lying over it, as if the whole room were some unfinished art project.

Draco cast the Lumos spell, making a ball of light appear at the tip of his wand, and began to look through the room. He pushed aside curtains to glimpse blank walls and lifted them to expose the dusty seats of armchairs. Some of the cloths were made of silk, others velvet, and they had various kinds of trims and coloring. Soon, beneath his own movements, Draco began to hear a faint rustling. He immediately tuned into it, shining the wandlight into dark corners. Finally, he looked behind an armchair in the corner and saw a small, plump figure sitting on the carpet. It was a house-elf all right, sitting with his legs crossed and dusting a dinner platter.

Draco smiled in relief. "Hey, you. Get up."

The elf did not respond. He was staring at the platter with an expression of utter spite, lifting a rag every so often and rubbing it. The silver surface was polished to such an extent that Draco could have used it as a mirror, but somehow the elf kept finding something wrong with it. He would wipe it for a few seconds and set it down, then pick it back up moments later with a grimace and continue to rub. "Devil's plate, cursed wind drifts…"

Draco snapped his fingers. "I said, get up! Now!"

The elf's ears flicked. He looked over his shoulder to see Draco, and a moment later, the magic that bound him to servitude compelled him to stand. But this came to the elf's such clear surprise that Draco was taken aback.

Still holding the platter against his chest, the elf bowed. "Master?"

"Tell me your name," Draco said.

"Grimby."

"Come upstairs with me. I need you to dust the paintings in the first floor."

The elf shuddered and shook his head furiously. "No, no, no, Master ordered me to clean the platter first! Master said to get the platter perfectly clean and it isn't clean!"

Draco frowned. "Which master? My father?"

"My master, Abraxas Malfoy."

Draco's eyes flew open. "Bloody hell. That's my grandfather!"

The elf began to speak more rapidly. "Master Abraxas ordered me to get the platter perfectly clean before Cygnus and Druella Black arrived for dinner. But the platter is not clean, Grimby will never get the platter clean because even if Grimby tries, the little flakes from the air will keep falling onto it!"

"But that's just an expression!" Draco said. "He didn't mean dust-free, he just meant that there shouldn't be anything on it!"

The house elf clenched his fist around the rag. "But the dust is on it, the dust always gets on it! And each time it does, Grimby has to wipe it again!"

Draco's incredulous frown-lines deepened. "Ever heard of magic, then?"

The elf shook his head again. "Master gave me this cloth to use! Master said to polish with this cloth! Master said nothing about magic!"

"So you've been sitting here the whole time wiping every little flake of dust that fell onto that thing?" The thought made Draco cringe, but he didn't need the elf to confirm it. He looked back at the doorway. "Well, maybe it's good that you were. The Ministry workers probably weren't able to get in this deep... But didn't Abraxas or anyone go looking for you? Ask where you were?"

Grimby shook his head. "I do not remember. I was busy fulfilling Master's orders."

"So busy that you never answered his summons?"

The house-elf's hands clenched tighter around the rims of the plate. "Grimby was following orders! Household law states that orders must be fulfilled exactly as stated by the Master, and the Master stated them in sequential order, so Grimby was obliged to fulfill them in sequential order, but what Grimby did not anticipate was that the cleaning of Master's plate would take an extended length of time, so Grimby was obliged to see to it that the platter was clean before attending to his Master's summons!"

"But that's not how commands work!" Draco said. "It's the newer commands that take priority over the old ones!"

"But in the case of a time-dependent statement, the chronology of the events must be taken into account! Cleaning the platter then setting the table is not equivalent to setting the table then cleaning the platter!"

Draco was about to retort, but then he processed the question and found himself sinking into thought. He remembered Dobby, who would often be in the middle of ironing something for Narcissa, then suddenly Disapparate to fulfill an urgent command from Lucius. That elf had never bothered about the order in which tasks were given. Rather, he had seemed to operate on a system of priorities. And if Lucius commanded something, everything else would have to be put on hold until that order was completed. Then again, Dobby's original purpose had been to be Lucius's personal assistant, so perhaps in the elf's mind, doing something for Lucius took priority over doing something for someone else. Draco had never thought about this before, and now it seemed like a truly complicated issue. Draco looked down at this new elf, (or, more accurately, old elf), who had gone back to absently polishing the plate, and suddenly a new thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute… if you were dusting that thing for a dinner with Cygnus and Druella, then it must have been close to my parents' wedding day. And after the wedding, my grandparents left… so when you never showed up for my father, he probably assumed that Abraxas took you with him. So he never called on you again. That makes sense." Draco crossed his arms. "Still, you never even thought to bring that thing up and ask anyone if it looked all right?"

"Master told Grimby to bring the platter back when it was clean," Grimby said. "But the platter was not clean. The platter never got clean, because when Grimby started polishing it, the dust would keep getting back onto it, and --"

Draco slapped his forehead. "Yeah, yeah, I got it!" Grimby quieted down, and Draco shook his head in exasperation. "God. Can't imagine what it was like having you around... But why did you come in here to polish that thing in the first place? The dining room's ages away."

Grimby didn't seem to process the question. He set his heavy brows over his eyes again and looked down at his reflection in the platter. A moment later, Draco had a flash of intuition. "I know what happened! The room must have shifted while you were in it! It was probably connected to the same corridor as the dining room before." He looked around, finally recognizing elements of their upper floor in the woodwork of the cabinets and designs on the ceiling. "But where did all the curtains come from?"

He looked at Grimby, but the elf was ignoring him and absently rubbing the platter. Draco crossed his arms. "Guess there's no point in asking you. You don't even know if anyone's been in here or not."

Grimby cast a sour glance at the door. "Cygnus and Druella will be here soon..." he muttered. "Any minute, and Grimby is not ready…"

"Cygnus and Druella are dead," Draco said flatly. "They're not coming for dinner!"

The elf blinked in confusion. "But... Master Abraxas was expecting them! He said to get the platter perfectly clean for them, and the rest of the dishes when I finished, but I still haven't finished and now I'll never be finished--"

"Abraxas died too!" Draco shouted. "Almost fourteen years ago! He's not going to care if your stupid platter is clean anymore!"

The house elf looked at Draco in disbelief. His gaze drifted down to the platter again, but Draco snapped his fingers. "Enough! I order you to stop cleaning that thing. Give it to me and I'll show you your new job."

He held out his hands to the elf. Glaring down at the platter, Grimby slowly approached Draco, who beckoned with his fingers in expectation. Grimby held the platter out, fought with himself for a moment, then finally managed to place it into Draco's hands and let go of it.

Draco tucked the platter under his arm. "Great, then. Follow me." He gestured with his finger and turned for the exit. Moments later, he heard the elf fall into step behind him.

They wound their way back to the tea room where Draco had entered and ascended the stairs. Once they reached the ground floor, Draco went to the dining room where Narcissa was still sitting and poked his head inside.

"Mother, I've found an elf to dust the paintings. His name is Grimby."

Narcissa looked up from her reading and approached them. Grimby was standing behind Draco, currently with his hands slammed over his eyes and muttering to himself.

"Grimby, look at me," Narcissa said.

Slowly, Grimby took his hands away from his face and looked up at Narcissa. But his large gray eyes were squinted, as if her blond hair was too bright for him. He closed his eyes again and bowed. "Yes, Mistress Polymnia."

Narcissa sighed. "He'll do. Show him what to do, Draco, and hurry up. Bellatrix will be here soon."

Draco nodded. He snapped his fingers for the elf. "Come on, let's go."

He led Grimby up two more flights of stairs to the second floor portrait hall. It was a wide stone corridor that stretched for twenty windows down, with large gold-framed portraits lining the right wall. They depicted the most recent heirs and relatives of the Malfoy family, who had occupied the house one hundred years back or later. Draco looked down at the elf and pointed up. "See those pictures? I want you to dust the frames. And don't spend an eternity on each one; if it shines, it's good. Got it?"

Grimby bowed. "Yes, Master Malfoy."

"Good. You can get started, then." With a final snap of his fingers, Draco left the room. He hurried back to the drawing room, where his book was waiting for him as before, and sat down on the couch to wait for Bellatrix.

+ + + +

That same moment, a burst of green flames appeared in the fireplace of the Burrow, and Hermione stepped out, her school trunk in tow. The sitting room she had entered was a large, cozy space, with oversized furniture and a myriad of photographs and decorations along the walls. Moments later there came the sound of rushed footsteps, and Molly Weasley entered the room.

"Hermione, dear, hurry in! We've just gotten breakfast ready." Mrs. Weasley took Hermione's trunk from her hands, and with a wave of her wand, sent it floating upstairs to Ginny's bedroom.

Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen, where the dining table was set with a colorful assortment of food. There were currently four people there -- Mr. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and to Hermione's surprise, Fleur Delacour. Mr. Weasley, who was hurriedly chewing with a slice of bread in one hand and a fork in the other, nodded up at her. "Hello, Hermione!"

"Good morning!" Hermione said. She took her seat beside Ginny, across from Ron.

One chair away from him, Fleur flashed a bright smile. "'Ermione, it is so wonderful to see you again. You've changed zo much!"

Hermione could only smile in return. "Really? Thank you, Fleur! It's great to see you, too."

Fleur flipped back a strand of her long blonde hair. "I am spending a few days 'ere to get to know everyone better. After all, ve are going to be family soon!"

Hermione lifted her eyebrows. "You mean… you and Bill are getting married?"

Fleur nodded. Mrs. Weasley smiled, though it seemed strained.

Before anything else could be said on the subject, Ginny quickly spoke up. "So, Hermione, how are your parents? We heard what happened to the bridge. It wasn't too far from where you live, was it?"

Hermione nodded. "It's caused a bit of commotion, but the Muggle Ministry's handling it. And I've told my parents what to watch out for, so I suppose they should be safe for the year."

It surprised her how certain her voice sounded. Hardly an hour ago, she had been pacing around her house in guilt, wondering if she should add anything on top of the Caterwauling Charm lest it prove too little. But now, in the company of her old friends, she felt herself sink into a familiar state of peace. For some reason, the Burrow always made her feel at home, in a distinct, different way than her parents' house did.

Hermione looked around the table, studying everyone's faces in more detail. Arthur looked more tired than she remembered him, but was upbeat and energetic. Ginny was calm and collected, and Fleur was the same as well, smiley and radiant. But Ron... Had his hair always skimmed his eyes that way? It was definitely longer than she had seen it in a while; it puffed up a little at the top and curled slightly at the middle of his neck. He was wearing a dark maroon shirt, his best color, despite his constant complaining at Christmastime when he opened his mother's latest hand-knit gift. Though Ron would hate to admit it, Mrs. Weasley knew how to dress her son. Hermione wondered if his choice today had been unconscious, or if he had finally gotten around to admitting the fact. Hermione thought about jokingly asking him after the meal, but immediately dropped the idea. Since when did she talk to them about clothes? No, the idea was definitely silly. Despite that, she began to feel an unconscious heat rise to her face.

At this point, Ron caught her staring and amiably nodded up at her. Hermione smiled. "Hi, Ron."

"'Ey, 'Ermione." Some crumbs fell from his mouth and he hastily wiped them.

Hermione laughed. Fleur was daintily eating her soup, and Hermione didn't miss how Ron's gaze lingered on her for a second before he took a slightly smaller bite of his bread. The heat vanished, replaced by a cold prickle in her chest. Though Fleur was now engaged, the memories of fourth year still weren't lost on her. But on the bright side, Fleur was but a guest. Soon she would go off to live her own life, and whatever Ron might be feeling about her now, it would eventually have to be replaced by familial friendliness.

"So, what have you been up to these past few weeks, Hermione?" Ginny asked, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Oh, nothing special," Hermione said, grateful for the distraction. "Earlier this month I did some spring cleaning. Well, summer cleaning, technically. I found an old book I used to like and spent the last week rereading it."

Ron gave a laugh. "Figures."

"Which book?" Ginny asked.

"Sherlock Holmes." "What's a Sherlock Holmes?" asked Ron.

"He's a person, Ron" said Hermione. "He's a detective."

Ron snorted again. "Figures."

"Oh, stop it." Hermione gave him a playful sneer. "If you would just read the stories, you'd see they're brilliantly written. Each one is centered around a crime of some sort, which Holmes uses logic to solve."

"Just logic?"

"Well yes, just logic. It's really interesting, of course, because the idea is that the answers are all there, and if you're attentive enough, you can solve the most profound problem. I've been able to follow his thinking on quite a few of them myself, and…" Hermione began to hurriedly explain the plotline of several stories, including the key clues that helped Holmes solve the mystery. Ginny, Fleur, and Mr. Weasley listened in interest, and at the end, Ron gave a laugh.

"Well, that's the only thing Muggles can do for that sort of stuff, isn't it? I mean, they don't know what magic is, so they can't use it to explain things."

"But that's the point," Hermione insisted. "Sometimes making preposterous speculations isn't the answer. The whole message of the stories is that there's always a logical explanation for everything -- even what might seem impossibly complex. You know, a big part of why wizards have been able to remain secret this whole time is because Muggles are good at explaining the unknown. So, in a way, this could really be good for wizards to read, too."

Ron, who at this point had given up in debating her, was now taking her comments only half-seriously. "But maybe that dog that appeared on the moor really was a Dark wizard in disguise. And maybe that Moriarty bloke just Apparated away from the crime scene and framed Douglas. You never know!"

Hermione began to laugh again.

At the head of the table, Arthur briskly dabbed his face with his napkin and stood up. "Well, I'm off! Lots of inspections today, reports to look over. I'll be back as early as I can!"

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Arthur left the room. Moments later, they heard a loud pop as he Disapparated for the Ministry's Atrium.

"Dad's been promoted," Ginny said to Hermione. "He's the head of the new Office for Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a new department that Scrimgeour set up."

"It's because people are taking advantage of all the fear," Ron added. They're selling all these protective objects and spell handbooks that supposedly protect you against Dark magic, but most of them are fakes, and in the worst cases, they can be just as dangerous as Dark items themselves."

Hermione's eyes flickered over to Ron and she smiled. "It must be wonderful for your dad, then! Congratulations!"

Ron smiled back. It was a warm smile, and for some reason it made Hermione's own feel girlish and silly. She dropped her gaze.

They ate in silence for a few more minutes. Once the meal was over, Mrs. Weasley began to clear the table, and Fleur hopped up and left the room. At first, it seemed like she was about to help with the dishes, but moments later, she came back with several stacks of photographs in her hands.

"I would like to show you all some of zese," she said. She sat down beside Ron and placed the photographs down in front of them. She untied the first one and spread out some moving pictures.

"These are ze ones we took while we worked," she said. "Here is Bill with ze goblins. And here is ze pair of us in front of ze Gringott's building..."

For the next couple hours, Hermione watched as Fleur flipped photographs and recounted stories. At first, she listened in interest, but soon it became clear that Fleur liked to go off on tangents, which often led to more stories that were completely unrelated to the picture and stretched on for entire minutes. Mrs. Weasley seemed glad to be busy doing the dishes and scurried away as soon as she was done. By the time the hour had passed, Hermione had seen so many photos of Bill and Fleur that it was starting to seem like they had photographed every second of their engagement. There was Bill going home from work... there they were the day after he proposed...

"And ze way he proposed was zo sweet!" Fleur said. "He left for work early zat day, and later I went into my office and found it was filled with roses..."

By the time she finished the last stack of photographs, it was almost midday. Ginny hurried immediately to her room, and Hermione went to the front door to take a walk outside. She glanced back at Ron, who sheepishly thanked Fleur for the stories and received a warm, dimpled smile in return. Hermione tapped her foot, and Ron went over to join her.

Outside, the Weasley home was surrounded by green meadows and forest. It stood near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and had its own coops and barn house. The large property was enclosed by a simple fence, but was entirely invisible and inaccessible to Muggles. Hermione took a breath of air, enjoying the familiar smell of soil and grass. Ron fell into step beside her, and for the first time, she felt an odd mix of relaxation and anxiousness at his proximity.

She walked a few paces away from the house, searching for a topic of conversation. "So, when are they getting married?" she asked. "From the way Fleur talks, it seems like it's happening tomorrow."

"They're not sure yet," Ron answered. "They want to make it soon, though. Probably next summer."

"Where will the ceremony be?"

"Here. We'll clear up some space in the orchard. Don't Muggles get married in their houses, too?"

Hermione shrugged. "They usually go to a church, or rent out some other public place. Weddings usually need lots of decorations and technology, so it's good to have a place that can automatically provide some of it."

Ron considered this and frowned. "It seems like they miss out, though. They can't make curtains move without wind and wine glasses refill themselves when you're done with your drink."

Hermione smiled. "Well, that's why they have butlers."

"Yeah, but magic makes it easier! " Ron said. "And you don't have to bother with plugs and eclectity."

Hermione began to laugh.

"Eleckerty?"

"Electricity!" she said.

Ron nodded. "Okay. Got it."

Hermione shook her head in comical exasperation. He'd forget in a day.

They walked some more and passed by a group of trees. She glanced at Ron again. "Your mother doesn't seem too happy about Fleur, though. Or is she just having a bad day?"

"She thinks they rushed into it," Ron said. "Bill and Fleur've only known each other for a year, and she doesn't think that's enough time to see if someone's right for you. She doesn't think Fleur really fits into our picture."

Hermione lifted her eyebrow. "And you?"

Ron gazed up at the sky, putting on a contemplative frown. "Well, I think it depends on the kind of contact you have. One year can be enough if you really see the person for who they are, not just have small-talk all the time. And if you can find common ground with them."

"No, I mean about Fleur," Hermione said. "Do you think she fits into the picture?"

Ron gave a ready nod. "Yeah. I like her." But when he looked at Hermione and saw her narrowed eyes, he shrugged defensively. "What? She's interesting!"

Hermione scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure! Especially when she catches you alone and smiles at you in that sisterly way."

Ron's face went pink. "Well, I have to be nice to her, don't I?"

Hermione shook her head and looked away. Scanning some faraway hills, she gave a wry smile. "You know, now that I think about it, I'm glad she's getting married. That way you'll finally stop gawking at her!"

Ron began to laugh. Hermione kept smiling, but moments later, it faded. Had she said too much?

She looked back at Ron, but he didn't seem to have hung on to her words. They walked some more in silence, and Hermione began to entertain the idea of a wedding. She had never been to a wedding before, and right then it didn't even matter to her who was marrying whom. After all, Bill and Fleur wouldn't be the only ones dressed up and dancing. She'd be there too. And so would Ron. An maybe, if things went the right way, he might finally get the guts to ask her to dance.

+ + + +

Back at the Malfoy Manor, a few minutes later, the large fireplace erupted in a burst of green flames. A tall woman with long, wavy black hair stepped out. "Draco!"

Draco looked up, and when he saw Bellatrix, he grinned.

Bellatrix smirked and gestured to him. "Up you get. We have a long day ahead of us!"

"You're going to teach me something?" Draco said. "Curses, or dueling?"

"That and much more," Bellatrix said.

Draco put down the book and eagerly approached the fireplace. Moments later, in response to the sounds, Narcissa entered the room. She approached Bella with the same placid expression on her face. "Bella."

"Cissy." Bellatrix placed her hand on Draco's shoulder. "We'll be going, I suppose. You can expect him back by dinner."

Draco knew that this would leave him with no time to do the rest of his mother's chores. Narcissa did not react, however, and simply nodded. "Very well. Off you go." She turned and left the room.

Draco looked up at his aunt to see her gazing at the spot where Narcissa had been, scowling slightly.

"Is everything all right?" Draco asked.

"She's just being difficult," Bellatrix answered. "She's not particularly fond of this, ah… arrangement."

Draco nodded slowly. "It's like she doesn't even want me to do it. But she doesn't understand. Once I do it, the Dark Lord will be happy. And everything will be better for us."

Bellatrix looked down at him and smiled. "Spoken like a true Death Eater. Now let's go." She placed a hand on his shoulder and held him firmly, and moments later, Draco felt himself Disapparate.

The drawing room disappeared in a spinning blur, which slowed moments later to reveal the interior of a small shack. It had no furniture, just broken windows and a dusty wooden floor. Bella led him out of the door, and Draco followed her outside into a narrow, deserted lane. Draco surmised that this was a far-flung street trickling out from Knockturn Alley, for it had the same black stone walls closing it in on either end. Every building they passed was empty, some with their signs removed and others with their doors standing open, revealing vacant interiors. Despite the dingy surroundings, Draco felt his back straighten and his head lift up in satisfaction. Occasionally, he took glimpses of Bellatrix and saw that she was walking calmly, gazing around lazily, yet brimming with force. At her side, Draco felt like a conqueror.

They walked together for a few minutes, before Bellatrix finally stopped beside a nondescript store and led Draco in. There were several other people there --Yaxley, Travers, and Rowle, who looked up at them in unison as the door closed behind them. Bellatrix raised her wand and cast dark shadows over the windows, leaving only the dim firelight from the candles.

"Now then," she said to Draco. "I think we'll start with the Unforgivable Curses. The basics." Bellatrix made a gesture, and upon her command, Rowle brought out a cage of wild cats. He let one out, and Bellatrix lifted her wand at it. "Imperio!"

The cat walked up to them and sat down.

"Go on and practice," she said to Draco. "Make it walk around the room, or whatever else you want."

Draco nodded and took out his wand. He found that the spell was easy for him to learn; within a few minutes, he could make the cat do his bidding, and even make Rowle and Yaxley budge from their places and move their arms about. Finally, he made the cat come back and sit down in front of him, and Bellatrix gave him an appraising smile.

"You've taken to your father, I see," she said. "Lucius was gifted at the Imperius Curse, too. He could cast it on anyone; probably even on some of us. He helped the Dark Lord quite a lot in the early years."

Draco smiled. He felt on top of the world. He regretted that he had never gotten to know Bellatrix better before; she was the one who really understood him, the one who really brought out his full potential, not like his mother. He stepped back and squared his shoulders. "I'm ready for the next one."

Bellatrix nodded. "The Cruciatus Curse, then. I believe you know how to do it. Go on, raise you wand."

Draco pointed the wand at the cat. "Crucio!"

But nothing happened.

He repeated the incantation, but to no avail. The cat absently flicked its tail, and Draco looked at Bellatrix in confusion. Bellatrix smiled. "Ah, he's still a baby…" The other Death Eaters snickered. Rowle gave him a yellow-toothed smile.

Draco swallowed. "I… I don't know what went wrong. I'm sure I'm in the right mindset. I'm doing the arm motion right, aren't I?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "It takes more than form, dear. You have to mean it." She stepped around him. "Allow me to demonstrate."

Her smile faded and she lifted her wand, but not at the cat. Instead, Draco looked down to see her wand directed at him, and stepped back in confusion. "What? But…"

"In order to cast the Cruciatus Curse, you have to mean it," Bellatrix said. "And you can't mean it if you don't know what it feels like. You think the Dark Lord didn't do the same for me, when he taught me the Dark Arts? No… All of us have felt pain before, Draco. It is nothing new. What you must learn is to master and harness it. Only then can you yourself unleash it. The Dark Arts are not like a tool for you to use. In order to make them do your bidding, you have to truly feel them. Become them." She fixed her dark eyes on his. "I will do it for ten seconds. Tell me when you are ready, and I will cast the curse."

Draco stood still, trying to calm his shakes. He took a breath and gave a shaky nod. "Do it."

Bellatrix lifted her wand. "Crucio!"

It wasn't a wave of pain that hit him. Nor was it a jolt or stab from outside. Rather, it felt as if his entire body had flared up in flames, every bone, every joint, and every muscle suddenly waking up and fighting to tear itself free of its neighbors. The sensations were so overwhelming that Draco hardly felt himself fall down. His vision was blocked out by stars, and for a while he writhed around blindly, unable to tell his own screams from the screams of his mind as it kept registering new angles of the pain -- stabbing, searing, throbbing. Ten seconds later, the storm stopped, and numbness returned to him in a heavy, languid wave. Draco realized his eyes were slammed shut, and that he was lying curled up on the floor.

Slowly he sat up, his vision swimming. Through the colorful cloud, he saw Bellatrix, looking down at him with cold, dark eyes. She waited for him to get up, then with an abrupt hand she turned him around.

"Now do it to the cat."

Draco lifted his wand with a shaky arm. He repeated the incantation roughly a dozen times, but the memory of Crucio had broken his resolve. The cat sat still, unharmed as ever, and eventually, Bellatrix pulled him away.

"Fine. There's no point. You're obviously still not ready."

Draco pocketed his wand. His former enthusiasm had been sucked away to leave a feeling of shakenness and disappointment. Bellatrix put the cat back into the cage, then moved on to other lessons. Draco practiced Occlumency and some other advanced spells, until finally it was sunset and Bellatrix took him home.

They Apparated this time, appearing before the fireplace of the Malfoy drawing room, where Narcissa sat reading. Bella gave Draco a nudge forward and put her hands on her hips.

"I'll be back in a few days," she said. "We have a lot more to work on." With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared.

Draco walked towards the hallway in a huff. Eyeing him curiously, Narcissa rose from the couch and followed him for a few paces.

"What did she teach you?" she asked.

"Nothing in particular," Draco replied, and proceeded to the stairs.

Beneath his angrily churning thoughts, he noticed that the first floor of the house looked better than before. The floors were clean and the glass of every window was sparkling. As he passed a room with its door open, Draco saw a shiny silver platter resting on a decorative table. Grimby the House-Elf was scrubbing the floor, a new, clean rag in his hands and humming gruffly. Draco watched for a moment, then moved on, feeling a sigh escape him. At least he had made one success that day.