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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"Tom! Why in God’s name—"
"I killed Malfoy’s crops," Tom said roughly. He turned his wand over in his hands, glaring fiercely at the rug. "I used Selwyn as the blood sacrifice and performed that Celtic ritual—if you remember?"
"Tom!" Hermione was clearly appalled.
"I don’t regret it," he said, his words cold. "I would do it again. We now have one less enemy to defeat, and Malfoy has lost his entire harvest."
"Tom," Hermione said once again, "why did you do this?" She reached for him and pulled him to face her. Her warm brown eyes pleaded. "Why? What purpose in war does this serve? He will just take food from someone else. Was it vengeance for what he told you?"
"And what if it was?" he rejoined harshly. "Even if he does take food from others, he lost his harvest due to a Celtic death magic ritual. It’s what he deserves, considering how much contempt he has for my blood."
Contempt that, even now, you return for his blood. Hermione gazed at him, recoiling ever so slightly. "Tom, this is not a noble act."
"Vengeance runs in the blood of this country," he retorted. "I would do it again."
She pulled away entirely, folding her arms over her chest. "Go to bed, Tom," she said sharply. "There is nothing to be done about it tonight, but you need to go to sleep."
"You’re just angry with me."
"I am," she admitted, "but I am also worried for you." She regarded him with a serious gaze. "I studied the Athame of Morgana this evening and thought about your ancestor who placed it in that cave. She drank of the potion before she placed it there; you drank of it before you took the athame out. She mastered a fierce, deadly magical creature; so did you. She created a Horcrux to safeguard her life until she could have children; so did you." Tom looked away from Hermione. She reached for Tom’s chin and turned his head to face hers. "She nursed grudges, gave in to pointless vengeance and cruelty, and became a tyrant."
Tom turned away once again, breathing heavily. Neither of them said anything for several seconds until he spoke. "But I won’t."
"Please don’t. Please. I love you. I can’t bear the thought of that happening."
He kicked off his shoes and leaned back on the bed, not saying a word. He thought about what she had said. Yes, it was important not to let himself be destroyed by the necessities of war—but he was not close to that. He was glad that she cared so much about him, but her thoughts must have turned to this because of what she had been doing this evening. He wondered what, if anything, she had discovered from her examination of the athame—but tiredness was claiming him. He would ask her another time.
Castle Draconis, Godric’s Hollow.
With a swish of her wand, Bellatrix directed all the possessions that she had brought with her to Lucius’s castle into her pack. There was not much. She had had to flee Castle l’Etrange with little more than the clothes on her back. Adelaide had a bit more, since she had left Hogwarts with some time to prepare.
She was still pouting and sullen, Bellatrix observed. It was annoying, but it was to be expected. Adelaide’s mind had been warped by everything that had happened to her, obviously. Under normal circumstances, it was impossible that Adelaide Lestrange, pureblood and noble, would consent to such an insulting arrangement presented by the two people she had hated in school. For her own good, Bellatrix had to prevent her dear daughter from making a decision that Bella was certain she would regret for the rest of her life.
So the Riddles and my blood-traitor sister and brother-in-law do not mind letting her be lady of the castle, Bellatrix thought. If that’s the case, then they can just accept her without a degrading marriage. She can have her inheritance without having to call an inferior her "lord."
"We leave now," Bellatrix said to Adelaide. She held out a hand to her; Adelaide had not yet learned how to Apparate.
Scowling, Adelaide grasped her mother’s bony hand. The two disappeared with a pop.
They landed at the doorstep of a stone house that was familiar to Adelaide, but only vaguely. It took a moment for her to remember where this was.
"Mother," she said nervously, "what are we doing here? This is where Uncle Rabastan and his elf live...."
Bellatrix gave her a dark, pointed glance. "You should be able to guess, daughter."
Another moment passed, and then Adelaide’s eyes widened with horror. "Mother!" she exclaimed. "How could you—"
"Do you know why he is in this condition in the first place?" she replied repressively. "Your father did it to him—his own brother."
"I had heard the rumor..." she muttered. "I didn’t think it was true...."
"Did you still think it was untrue, after your vile father tried to harm us for the death of that scum who raped you?" Bellatrix said, no mercy in her words. Adelaide shrank away, eyes fluttering shut, not wanting to be reminded of that. "I am giving poor Rabastan a merciful death, after all. I will use the Killing Curse. It is a kindness, if you look at it the right way—and my daughter, it is for you. I will not suffer any rivals for your rights, even one who is witless. If the Riddles are willing to place a half-blood bastard line on the high seat of House Lestrange, who is to say they would not place an idiot there?"
"He’s helpless," she murmured, looking down at the ground.
"Which is why I am being merciful. But if you do not want to see it, you may remain near the door. Inside."
Adelaide shuddered as they entered her uncle’s manor house. She watched as her mother, cloaked in black like an angel of the apocalypse, stalked upstairs to Rabastan’s room.
Armand Malfoy could scarcely believe his eyes. His crops, his precious field, lay dead and rotting. The body of Selwyn lay on the ground, drained of blood. The heraldic symbol of the rebellious Riddle family was scorched into the field, glowing in green outline, a magical insult that Malfoy—despite his best efforts—could not eliminate.
What this was, Malfoy did not specifically know, but he could guess well enough. Riddle had performed some kind of filthy barbarian ritual on his field and orchard, fueled with Selwyn’s blood. In fury, he kicked Selwyn’s corpse.
"Lucius," he muttered to himself. "I must summon Lucius at last." The existence of a plan calmed his fury somewhat. He took a deep breath and returned to Malfoy Manor.
Adelaide huddled in the corner, eyes averted, trying to make herself invisible—or, failing that, as small and insignificant as possible. Nearby, Bellatrix loomed over Frank and Alice Longbottom, who sat in their own chairs, stricken with stupefying curses.
"I know that you know who they are!" she roared, slashing her wand through the air. A red streak appeared across Mistress Longbottom’s face. "They were raised in this pathetic little village, and now they are wards of the Black family—of which you are a part! You placed them there."
"My lady," the mayor said, "we did not. We don’t know who took them in—"
"Liar!" Bellatrix brought her wand wide in an arc. Both Longbottoms collapsed to the floor, twitching and suddenly screaming. In the corner, Adelaide muffled a cry.
"P-please," Longbottom gasped through the pain. "I—know—nothing."
Bellatrix snarled bestially, rage flowing through her veins. "You are in league with Riddle too, are you not? What was your promised reward?" She slashed the wand once again, causing them to double into themselves in agony. "My daughter is the rightful heir of the fief, not some filthy-blooded bastard-spawn!"
"Mother!" Adelaide cried out as Mayor Longbottom’s twitches suddenly increased in frequency and appeared to cease to be to any degree under his control. His body flopped on the floor as though it were a puppet.
Bellatrix lifted her curse momentarily and gazed at her victims. The wizard lay on the floor, slack-jawed, saliva dribbling from his mouth. Nearby, his wife also lay bonelessly, though she did not appear quite as far gone. Bellatrix breathed deeply, attempting to calm herself. It would be no good if she reduced them to gibbering insanity without learning what she had set out to discover.
"You," she said coldly. "You know something, do you not? What are the names they use now?"
"Don’t... know," muttered Alice Longbottom, shaking her head repetitively. "Don’t know...."
"Then who took them in? Which Blacks?"
"Lord Arct... Arctur...." She struggled to say the name.
"Lord Arcturus," Bellatrix said. "Of course. He is dead. I assume they are in Lord Orion’s service now."
Mistress Longbottom did not want to confirm that, but Bellatrix raised her wand threateningly. The witch flinched and nodded.
"This is difficult," Bellatrix said as an aside to Adelaide, utterly ignoring the damaged witch and wizard before her, as well as her daughter’s manifest horror at what she was seeing. "Castle Black is a fortress. However, I am of their blood. It may be...."
She finally noticed the expression of horror on Adelaide’s face and turned back to the Longbottoms. "Of course, this is disgusting to you," she said, deliberately misunderstanding the real reason that Adelaide was upset. "I am sorry. I will take care of it at once." With an evil smile on her face, she slashed her wand in a three-part zigzag twice, flooding the little cottage with green light.
Castle Draconis, Godric’s Hollow.
Lucius’s roar of dismay echoed through the great hall. "He is here?" he exclaimed to the house-elf.
The creature trembled. "Yes, your lordship," it whimpered.
Narcissa turned to Lucius with alarm in her eyes. "I could kill my sister! Honestly, Lucius, I could this time! I could even kill myself," she muttered. "I should have protected Adelaide! She could not have wanted to run away with Bella. To think that we could all be safe at Castle l’Etrange right now...."
"We cannot deny him," Lucius said. "He can get in through a blood ward. At least we have the Mudblood Potter." To the elf, he said imperiously, "Let him in."
As Lucius and Narcissa took their seats, the elf scampered away to the grand doors. It snapped its fingers, causing them to open by magic, revealing the white-robed High Lord of Wizards in Britain, Armand Malfoy.
Armand strode forward, pushing the elf aside as though it were nothing more than an object in his path. "Lucius," he announced as he reached the high seat, "I bid you stand."
Reluctantly, Lucius and Narcissa stood in the high lord’s presence. They tried to avoid looking at his face. That red glass orb he used as an eye was deeply disturbing.
"As you may know, grandson, we have suffered a setback," Armand said somberly.
"We"? Lucius thought. You presume much, Grandfather.
"The half-blood and the traitors in the Black family"—he gave a disdainful sneer to Narcissa—"have murdered Lord Lestrange and taken over his castle. You and I must plot together how we can recover it and have our rightful revenge against the rebels. I have an idea for this, which relates to Draco’s marital prospects as well."
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look. Whatever could he mean by that?
"This is a personal slight against me as well," he intoned, "since Rodolphus assisted me in a crucial magical matter to preserve my life through these difficult times. I require your assistance now in this endeavor."
They did not have a shadow a doubt that they knew exactly what he was talking about. Lucius considered his words before speaking. "My lord," he said, "I think I know what this endeavor is. It is the mixing of a special potion, is it not? A potion with a principal ingredient that is... challenging... to handle, no?"
Armand’s single human eye flashed red. "You know of it, then."
"Yes," Lucius said. "But I am not sure that I have the skills to mix a potion of this degree of sensitivity. I would instead volunteer the family potionmaker, a witch from the village named Lily Potter."
Armand recognized the surname, and in a flash, he remembered that a Potter had married a witch from this village, a witch of no background. "That is a Mudblood," he said through clenched teeth. "You propose a Mudblood to make my potion? Lucius!"
"She is a very talented Mudblood," Lucius pleaded. "Grandfather—"
Armand leaned forward, eye flashing furiously. "You are a coward, Lucius. You merely do not want to make the potion because you are superstitious and believe the English lies about the supposed "curse’ that comes from handling its main ingredient! I stand before you now, having drunk it for years. Do I look cursed to you? I order you and Lady Narcissa to come to Malfoy Manor at once to serve me."
"Draco needs to learn how to rule," Armand said. "He will be placed in charge here. If the half-blood Riddle can be a regent, Draco certainly can. We will confer about my plan for him, and then, after all the arrangements have been made, we will crush this rebellion that we face and bring peace to the land once again."
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged desperate, defeated glances. If only Bellatrix had not acted the fool!
"Bring the Mudblood, after all," Armand reconsidered. "She may be a useful hostage, since young Potter fights with the Riddles."
Unless he insists on watching me make the potion, Lucius thought, a drowning man suddenly thrown a rope, I will make her do it and tell Grandfather that it is my work. He turned to Narcissa, whose shrewd, intelligent face showed that she had the same idea. They nodded to each other.
Armand Malfoy adjusted the eye patch that covered his red glass eye. It was an irritation to wear it, but he was going to be among Muggles, who would be taken aback. That in itself would not matter to Malfoy but for the fact that some of the Muggles included the king’s personal staff and advisors—and possibly the monarch himself, if he had an audience.
With his single human eye, he gazed at the nervous young wizard beside him, as they waited in the king’s residence. Neither of them spoke. This wizard was frightened of the great lord, and Malfoy had nothing to discuss. He did not need to strategize with this fellow, a lowly knight, about what to say to the king. That implied that they were equals. He would speak, of course, and this wizard would follow his lead.
On Armand’s orders, Lucius had summoned two of his vassals to take up residence at Malfoy Manor: Macnair and Dolores of Umbridge. It was through Lady Umbridge that Armand had negotiated this tentative alliance with the fellow before him. He had seen instantly that, despite her cruel nature, she could sound as sweet as honey if she chose. Apparently, the young man was taken in by that.
The seneschal emerged. "His Majesty will see your lordship—and Sir Percival."
Next to Malfoy, Percy Weasley’s young face relaxed in relief. He knew the king. Stephen liked him, too—at least, as well as a monarch could even know a knight. That was a surety against any ill intent by Malfoy, he assumed. He and Malfoy followed the royal seneschal into the king’s little audience chamber.
The monarch was clad for fighting rather than court. It was apparent that he wished the audience with these two wizards to be brief and to-the-point. The wizards bowed, Percy enthusiastically, Malfoy with more than a hint of resentment.
"It has been many years since you were here, Lord Malfoy," the king observed.
Armand nodded tightly. "Yes, Your Majesty. I have had to keep order among my own people, and it is a difficult task."
"We are given to understand that the reason for your presence today is that order among people of magic has broken down."
Malfoy assented. "Yes, Your Majesty, unfortunately it has." He pointed to his eye patch. "I myself suffered this injury at the hands of rebels. My chief vassal, Lord Lestrange—yes, Your Majesty, one of your people"—for Stephen’s eyes had flickered with awareness of the provenance of that surname—"was killed recently by an organized group of rebellious nobles, who are using fearsome beasts in their unlawful revolt. After his death, his widow, an Englishwoman"—Malfoy deemed it best not to mention Bellatrix’s Rosier blood—"has been on a rampage through the countryside, murdering at will, in a misguided attempt to install her daughter in the family seat."
Percy gave Malfoy a look of surprise. He had known about the death of Rodolphus Lestrange at Riddle’s hands, but he had not known about Bellatrix’s deeds.
Stephen considered what he had just heard. "What is it that you want from us, Lord Malfoy?" he finally asked. "Our war seems to be finally at its end, though we are still finding it difficult to restore order. I am not sure that we have the men to assist you, especially if it involves black magic." His lips curled briefly.
Percy had done good work on the Muggle king in his service, informing him that there was a difference between ordinary modern magic and malevolent sorcery from the heathen past, and that most wizards and witches disclaimed the latter. However, the king did not understand the subtleties of the distinction. To him, any magic used against his allies—or to undermine virtues and ideals in which he believed—was "black magic."
"What I want, Your Majesty, is very simple. I seek the assistance of your wizardly knight’s family and allies in my endeavor. I merely wish your royal permission, since people would interpret the presence of a king’s knight in such an alliance to imply your agreement with my goals."
The king gazed at Percy, then back to Malfoy. He seemed surprised that this was all the great lord wanted. "As you wish, in that case," he said. "Sir Percival, I give you permission to negotiate any alliance or contract with Lord Malfoy provided that you keep your oath to me."
Percy bowed deeply. Beside him, Malfoy suppressed a smirk.
Molly Weasley was of highly mixed feelings about her audience before the high lord. Her husband’s antecedents had forfeited their title by refusing to swear loyalty to Malfoy due to his pureblood supremacism. Through the years, the family had taken great pride in the resulting reduction to being simple, honest yeomanry. Although she was not a Weasley herself by blood, Molly, like the good wife that she always assured herself she was, had identified thoroughly with her husband’s family, which meant that she shared this pride. A deep part of her was repulsed by the idea of making an alliance with Malfoy now.
However, Percy—her favorite child—was vouching for Malfoy’s good intentions. "He has brought Lord Lucius into his household, and he tells me it is to prepare him for the high lordship," Percy had explained earnestly to his mother. "Perhaps Lord Malfoy has realized that he is an old man and is facing death. That can make someone reassess quite a lot."
Percy had been very impressed with Lord Lucius’s vassal, Lady Umbridge, who had actually made the initial overtures to him. Here, too, Molly had been uneasy. James Potter had told them that this woman had been one of Lucius’s torturers after the failed rebellion in Godric’s Hollow. However, Percy was adamant that it could not be so. Lucius Malfoy had many staff who worked for him. Why would a titled vassal have done the dirty work, especially a lady, instead of a lowly male commoner who was tasked with administering justice? Molly did not like to disbelieve their family’s longtime ally, but Percy’s argument made sense to her.
And most importantly, Percy had hinted of extremely wicked acts on the part of the Riddle-Black alliance, which Malfoy would explain in detail at this audience, as well as a great opportunity for Ginny. Molly was not the brightest of people, but even she could make a guess at what that meant. Armand Malfoy was likely going to offer a betrothal for Ginny to a son of one of his vassals—or perhaps even the vassal himself, if he had any who were single. Since it seemed that there was no hope of a marriage between her and Potter’s son—he was apparently adamant about his relationship with that eccentric Lovegood’s daughter, and now fought beside the Riddles, to boot—it was distinctly possible that James Potter was displeased with the Malfoy overtures because of that selfish consideration. It was another reason to believe her own son instead of him, Molly assured herself.
Lucius emerged through one of the doors at the head of the great hall. "His high lordship, my grandfather, Armand Malfoy."
Percy, Molly, Arthur, and Bill Weasley stood in respect as the high lord assumed the high seat. Molly smothered a gasp at the sight of his magical eye. What had happened to him? What kind of magic had the rebels used that would prevent him from healing such an injury? He was wrinkled and thin with age, and instantly Molly felt a rush of sympathy. He was certainly facing down death, she decided, and what kind of people would take violent advantage of a feeble old man who was dying? Molly recalled some of the stories she had heard about Riddle’s noble family, the Gaunts. Apparently the apple does not fall far from the tree, she thought.
Malfoy regarded them with hungry interest. "Sir Percival," he said. "I thank you for bringing your family before me."
"We have much to discuss," Malfoy intoned. "Lucius, order the house-elves to bring chairs for the Weasleys so that they may be comfortable." It was a concession; Malfoy would have preferred to make them stand, but he knew that some of them would require persuading. This was a painless way for him to endear himself to them—and he observed, with pleasure, that the three older Weasleys were all surprised and flattered, to varying degrees.
Once the elves had provided chairs for the Weasleys—hard, lacking cushions, but nonetheless better than standing—he began to speak.
"I understand that your son has done the Muggle king good service," Malfoy said. "I also understand that your family has supported him in the Muggle war that his female cousin insisted upon waging."
"Yes, your lordship," said Arthur nervously.
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed. "Although it seems that the Muggle war is finally winding down, there is still anarchy and chaos throughout the countryside, and it is not limited to the Muggle nobles. I myself now face a rebellion from House Black and House Riddle. They have murdered Lord Lestrange and unlawfully taken his castle. Furthermore, young Riddle used a monster in this raid: a basilisk."