57.Dancing with Ghosts

1st of May 1994, Sunday (Next Day)

Juno

She felt weak, as if all the strength had drained away from her limbs. ‘Textbook case of Magical Exhaustion,’ her mind supplied helpfully. Her throat felt dry, like she had swallowed a mouthful of ash. It tasted like it, too. Birds were chirping in the distance, but her ears found the noise irksome. Then, the memories returned with full force, and she cursed herself inwardly. 

She should have used her Portkey instead of fighting. 

The next thing she did was murmur, “Effugium.”

The expected pull behind the navel never came.

Juno’s heart sank.

“Trying to escape is useless,” a cool, feminine voice said. “Your Portkeys are gone—I searched you myself. You cannot Disapparate from here, either.”

Her worst fears had come true, then. A part of her was afraid of what she would see, so she kept her eyes sealed tight. 

“Why have you kidnapped me so brazenly?” Juno asked icily, despite dreading the answer. 

“Kidnapping?” the woman tittered. “I did no such thing. It’s only right that I get to see my daughter. Come now, little Juno. Don’t be shy, open those lovely eyes and look at Mummy.”

Sighing, Juno reluctantly obeyed, pushing her eyelids open. 

She was in some sort of unassuming expanded tent, lying on a cot. Beside her stood a woman with heavy-lidded grey eyes and a thin mouth. 

Her hair was long and curly, but it looked feeble, as if it would fall off at the slightest tug. The once-beautiful face that Juno had seen in the family photos had gone gaunt, no different from a skull with skin. The dress hugging her body was inky black with frills and lace, as if the woman were a widow going to her husband’s funeral. 

Wasn’t that her grandmother Druella’s mourning dress?

From her left hand, the Lestrange and the Black signet rings glinted in the dim lamplight hanging above. Juno’s rings.

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Juno said, the words sounding more like a curse than a greeting from her lips. ‘The woman I want to kill the most in this world.’

Her mother’s lips thinned as she leaned in with a frown. A hint of manic madness appeared in her eyes.

“Call me mother,” she demanded. 

If looks could kill, Bellatrix Lestrange would be dead. Juno could not feel her wand. In fact, weakness spread through her whole body, as if someone had removed all of her bones. She could not even feel the thrum of magic that should have been running through her veins. 

Her head throbbed as Juno shoved all of her anger and unwillingness somewhere deep inside the recesses of her mind—they would be of no use here. But even her mind was sluggish, and her Mind Arts felt fragile, like a piece of long-rotten wood ready to crumble at the slightest touch.

“Mother,” she said, forcing a smile. It probably came out awkward and stiff, but Bellatrix nodded in satisfaction. Juno blinked her eyes, trying to squeeze out a tear or two and look as innocent as she could. “I don’t feel too well.”

“I fed you a Magic Draining Solution,” Bellatrix said with a cloying voice. Her manic smile sent shivers down Juno’s back—and not because it was filled with yellow teeth that stank of rot and decay. “Don’t worry, it’s merely that others fear you running amok. Once I’m certain you’ll behave properly…”

Juno cursed inwardly. Magic Draining Solution was an obscure, hard-to-brew potion. Magical Exhaustion in a bottle, it was called. As its name suggested, it turned the body of those who drank it into a sieve, unable to hold or use magic. 

No wonder she felt weak. The ashen feeling on her tongue had to be the cruel draught’s aftertaste. Yuck. 

But such a potion was not all-powerful. It had once been a potion researched to restrain dark wizards in prison, but it was scrapped from use very quickly. Not only were the ingredients rather rare, but it was hard to prepare, making it far more cumbersome and expensive than other methods of restraint. Furthermore, the Magic Draining Solution would last twenty-one days at most, and each next use would see it half as effective as the last.

There was no known way to dispel the effect other than waiting it out.

“I’ll behave,” Juno promised lightly, even though the words burned on her tongue. 

It sounded like an acknowledgement of her defeat. But perhaps it was, how else would she call being captured and taken by the enemy she loathed? 

“Good girl,” Bellatrix crooned, her eyes lighting up with glee. “You take after your mother, don’t you? A Heart-Rending Curse and Rupturing Curse without hesitation. Grimsby perished on the spot, and Johnny the Ruckus has returned headless. You didn’t even hold back, darling.”

Juno scoffed. “Why would I? They tried to attack me.” 

Bellatrix only lifted her head and cackled louder. “As expected of my daughter!”

The sound was raspy, sounding much like the rattling of bones. 

‘My success has nothing to do with you!’ Juno wanted to scream. But she buried her frustrations deep down.

“When can I return to school, mother?” she asked instead, her voice soft and childish.

“Return to Hogwarts?” Bellatrix’s eyes darkened with something dangerous. “Why would you do that, darling? We just reunited.”

She knew then that the wrong words would get her in trouble. Juno knew when to advance and when to retreat. Just the memory of the previous fight filled her with regret.

Fighting at the Three Broomsticks had been a mistake, thinking herself skilled enough to handle any foes that came her way. If she had jumped out through the window, the patrolling Aurors and teachers would have quickly come to her aid. 

‘I traded my freedom for hubris,’ she thought bitterly. But as bitter as looking at her own mistakes felt, Juno forced herself to look back and reflect. ‘It would not happen a second time’  

But for now, finding a way to escape took priority. 

Swallowing, Juno lifted her eyes to meet her mother’s suspicious gaze, forcing her face to twist into a self-deprecating smile. “I have yet to complete my magical studies.”

“And it has nothing to do with… returning to that mongrel boy?” 

“Mongrel boy?” Juno echoed.

“The Potter brat,” Bellatrix spat the name like a curse. “He’s a blood-traitor and the whelp of a Mudblood besides. Associating with his ilk is the height of disgrace!”

“Disgrace?” The young witch smiled sweetly. “I merely wanted to recruit Potter to my side because he showed promise and talent.”

Her mother sneered. “Consorting with filth like this is disgraceful, Juno.”

“Yet Severus Snape was your colleague,” Juno murmured, blinking in confusion. “Unlike Harry and his Muggle-born mother, his father was an actual Muggle without even a sliver of magic, yet you worked by his side.”

For half a minute, Bellatrix Lestrange stood there, speechless.

“Snape,” she said at last, looking as if she had swallowed a lemon. “Snape was… useful. Quite talented at Potions and knew his place.”

“Potter is quite talented, too,” Juno said. “And he is very reasonable and can be useful to me.”

“He’s the enemy,” Bellatrix hissed out.

A lesser witch would have nodded her head in acknowledgement and agreed. It would have been the wise thing to do in this case. Play the part of obedient daughter until Bellatrix lowered her guard. 

But something deep inside Juno refused to bend, not in this.  

“He’s just a young boy,” she said coolly. “He can be convinced and recruited.”

Her mother’s face twisted into a snarl. 

“You don’t get it, darling,” she crooned, but her tone was distorted by anger this time. “This… boy harmed our lord greatly. He shattered our cause and almost destroyed everything!”

“There are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests.”

Bellatrix hissed, jerking away as if burned.

“You open your mouth, yet Arcturus’s words come out. I knew the old thing could never raise a child properly. You don’t get it, do you, darling?”

“Teach me, then, mother,” Juno said sweetly, smiling for good measure.

Bellatrix’s eyes darted around, as if afraid someone else was listening in on the tent. She even waved her wand, and the chirping of the birds outside was replaced by a soft buzz. 

Then, she leaned in, looking solemn, all traces of madness receding from her eyes. Her breath stank of… potions and herbs and something cloying; a poor attempt to hide her bad breath.

The next words sent Juno into a daze.

“Harry Potter killed your father.”

“I… what?” Juno murmured, blinking in confusion.

“Harry Potter killed your father,” Bellatrix Lestrange repeated patiently. “The death of a father is a blood slight, dearest, the kind that screams for vengeance above all else. Above reason, above loyalty, above mercy. Even that shrivelled relic Arcturus should’ve drilled that into your pretty little head.”

“Rodolphus Lestrange has not yet died,” Juno noted lightly. “And he certainly had never met Potter, nor had he died to him. My… father was last seen a month ago in Kent, setting Muggle houses on fire.”

Had her mother lost her wits?

She hardly looked normal, but she was lucid. Mostly. Azkaban… Azkaban did not forgive so easily—even Sirius had taken the finest healing a wizard can receive in Saint Mungos for over two months to recover, unlike Bellatrix Lestrange.

“But that cretin Rodolphus is not your father,” Bellatrix sneered. “As if I would ever let that pathetic man’s seed take root in my womb. I’d rather hex myself barren and remain childless. How else do you think nearly a decade of marriage proved so fruitless?”

Juno nodded obediently, indulging her mother. “Who is my father, then?” 

“Lord Voldemort, of course.” Her mother hugged herself, shaking with glee. “They forced me to marry Rodolphus, but that simpering fool could not even defeat me in a duel, and he wanted me to have his children?” 

Juno’s skin only crawled as her mother cackled hysterically. Bellatrix Lestrange had totally lost it in Azkaban, she decided. The woman’s calm was merely a shell to hide the madness underneath.

When speaking to madwomen, it was prudent to be cautious. 

“The… Dark Lord is my father?” she asked, trying not to sound too derisive.

Her mother shook, blushing. “Of course.” A girlish giggle slipped out of her thinning lips. “Who else is worthy of that honour? The most powerful witch should, of course, pursue the most powerful wizard. The Dark Lord is your father, and you will respect him as such.”

“Of course.” Juno forced her weak body to stand up. “But would the Lestranges suffer line theft? Would the future Lord Lestrange endure being cuckolded?”

“What Rodolphus doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bellatrix purred like a cat that had just caught her prey. Then, she laughed, but it was darker this time, more dangerous. “And if he did? What could he possibly do? He might whimper like a beaten dog or wail in impotent rage. It’s all useless. The weak suffer, as they were born to. But the strong—oh, the strong take what they want. It has always been this way, darling.”

“Yes, mother.” Juno averted her gaze, reluctant to face the obsessive glint in the older witch’s eyes.

Yet a cold, bony finger slid underneath her chin and forced her head back up. 

“You inherited his Parseltongue, too.” The crazed witch paused. Lucidity returned to her eyes. “I saw you taming those small snakes in the crib. Have no doubt, Juno, you’re the next heiress of Slytherin. With the purity of Black running strong in your veins, you shall be unmatched.”

Juno’s breath hitched in her throat.  

“What of the bloodline tapestries?” she prodded. “They are hard to fool.”

“Hard to fool, yes, but not impossible for a powerful witch like me,” Bellatrix sniffed. “I had to burn half of the Lestrange tapestry and use magic to correct it. It does help that your great-great-great-great-grandmother was a Lestrange, so there’s a trace of bloodline and family magic.” 

“What now?” she asked with forced calm, trying not to think of her mother’s words. If they wanted her confused and pliable to suggestion, they would fail. Mere words would not shake Juno’s conviction. 

“Now we wait, while you rest,” Bellatrix murmured. She rubbed her right forearm lovingly. “Your Father is on the cusp of his return, and once he comes here, you shall be his rightful heir. We’ll deal with Potter soon, too.”  

Then, her mother laughed as if she were privy to a joke nobody else knew. She took up a paper roll and threw it on the small tea table beside Juno’s cot.  

Juno made no move to look at it or pick it up. Her body still felt weak, and she felt naked without a wand. 

The tent flapped open, and the muffling spell broke with a loud Pop!  

Bellatrix frowned, turning at the newcomer. 

“Wife,” he acknowledged, his voice grim. “Our plans to leave the Isles have been thwarted.” 

Juno’s eyes settled on her father. Rodolphus Lestrange looked… old. Too old for a wizard, not even fifty, even if he had spent a decade in Azkaban. Streaks of grey hair, a shallow face, and tired eyes. 

“Oh?” Bellatrix’s hands were clasped behind her back. It would have been an innocent gesture if Juno had not seen her squeezing a wand in her fingers.

“Garlish got caught as he tried to leave for France the Muggle way,” Rodolphus said. “Brent got kissed by a dementor, too. The Ministry has partially activated the old nationwide array meant to keep Grindelwald’s men from sneaking in and out. Every witch and wizard leaving the Isles must register now, because of the werewolves.”

“Useless,” her mother spat. “Surely you’re not merely here to report?”

The man scoffed. “Of course not. I’m here to see my daughter—”

“CRUCIO!” Bellatrix shrieked.

The wand was stabbed right into his chest, and he had no time to move, let alone resist. Rodolphus collapsed into a convulsing heap, and Juno winced as screams of agony echoed across the tent.

Her father writhed and screamed, as Bellatrix Lestrange merely giggled louder and louder as she kept the spell up. 

Juno opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

What would she say? ‘Mother, stop?’

She did not want Bellatrix to stop. Juno wanted Rodolphus dead as much as she wanted her mother dead. 

It felt like an eternity had passed until the Cruciatus was released. Rodolphus Lestrange was frothing from the mouth, his eyes rolled up to the point where only the bloodshot whites were visible.

He barely twitched.

“Did you kill him?” Juno asked lightly.

“No.” Bellatrix frowned, tilting her head as she looked at her wand, as if trying to decide whether to finish her husband off or not. “He’ll live. In two or three months, he’ll be as good as before… I think.”

She levitated the twitching heap that was Rodolphus Lestrange and gave Juno a smile full of yellow teeth. “Don’t stray too far from the camp, darling,” she crooned. “You killed one of their filthy mutts earlier, and the rest might try to nip at you when Mummy’s not watching. You’d better rest for now.”

Words said, her mother disappeared through the tent’s flap, leaving Juno alone.

She forced her tired body to move, cursing her mother. All her limbs were as heavy as lead, as if she had run two dozen laps around the Great Lake hungry.

“Rest?” she murmured. ‘I wouldn’t need to bloody rest if you didn’t kidnap me. I wouldn’t need bloody rest if you didn’t force a Magic Draining Solution down my throat!’

But Juno didn’t dare complain. Not out loud. What if someone was listening? What if there was some sort of Eavesdropping Jinx in her tent?

The Dark Lord is your father.

The words were meant to unnerve her. To keep her confused. A confused witch was nearly powerless, unable to muster her will, intent, and magic for complex or powerful spells. It was a standard tactic, one that House Black often employed on their captives. Arcturus had shown her the treatise on ‘Subduing Prisoners and Breaking Captives’ written by Corvus Black four hundred years ago. 

But… the seed of doubt was planted, and Juno could not forget the words. 

Parseltongue was indeed the ability possessed by the Gaunt branch of Slytherin, and Voldemort was the acknowledged Heir of Slytherin. Juno felt so intimately welcomed by the Chamber of Secrets that the place felt like home more than anything else. 

Could it be true?

Could she really be Voldemort’s daughter?

The Lestranges had married a Sayre—the Irish branch of the Gaunts—five hundred years prior, and her grandfather had said that it was the sliver of Sayre blood that had awakened her Parseltongue.

Juno bit the inside of her cheek.

Bellatrix was trying to confuse her.

She had to be.

But what if… what if it was true?

Once the idea took root, it wouldn’t go away. The coincidences were just too many to ignore. Rodolphus Lestrange looked nothing like her. Worse, there had been at least two Lestrange marriages in the last three centuries with House Black, and neither had resulted in an offspring with the gift of Parseltongue.

It was easy to test, too. There were lineage potions that could track cognition and blood kinship. Meant to recognise bastard children, they were not precise beyond the level of second cousins, but confirming parentage would be simple enough. Yet deep down… Juno could see it happening. ‘Bellatrix has always been the proudest of Cygnus’s daughters,’ Cassiopeia had told her once. Too proud to let an inferior wizard father children on her, yet too prim to try and break the wedding arrangement. A farce, a sham marriage. 

And Rodolophus Lestrange was in no way exceptional compared to her mother.

Juno swallowed hard and forced the thought to the back of her mind. Even the tattered Occlumency made it almost effortless, like closing a door on something unpleasant. She wasn’t going to let Bellatrix’s madness worm its way into her head.

She had other woes to consider. Escape. 

If Bellatrix was not lying, the Dark Lord would return in body soon enough, which aligned with what Juno knew from her aunt. 

She had to escape before that came to pass—or at least before Voldemort returned to the British Isles. Slipping out of her mother’s grasp might be hard and daunting, but escaping from the clutches of a dark lord? Impossible.

As for dealing with Harry… it was a pipe dream. Bellatrix’s dismissive words did not worry her at all. 

Her friend was not a fool and would quickly prepare once he knew she was taken. He kept his true strength close to his chest, and even Juno had only caught glimpses of it. Harry Potter was far more dangerous than many could imagine. Even without Nyx… and only she knew of Nyx and her ability to meld her scales over his skin, bolstering his defences. 

Her eyes flicked to the table where the Sunday Prophet lay. Forcing her weary limbs to move, Juno picked it up.

MURDER AND MAYHEM IN HOGSMEADE.

The more Juno read, the greater the tightness in her chest.

‘…Rosmerta Fenwick perished under a Killing Curse… Bellatrix’s daughter and accomplices… previous feud and a forced collection of debts… silencing witnesses, significant evidence with Juno Black’s Wand… wanted order.’ 

She had merely stunned Rosmerta, not killed her.

They wanted to frame her, Juno realised.

The men who had captured Juno had killed the stunned Madam Rosmerta with her wand and left it as evidence. And the Ministry had been quick to pin the blame on her shoulders because it was convenient.

With her and her accomplices missing, it looked like an escape from a murder scene. The debt owed was a motive for murder. Killing Rosmerta was presented as silencing witnesses. With the corpse of their headless friend and Grimsby’s wand destroyed, all the blame pointed at her.

Getting ‘witnesses’ to clear her name would be even harder, considering the same witnesses are accomplices who worked under her mother. 

‘Insidious,’ Juno admitted. And the longer she was ‘on the run,’ the harder it would be to clear her name. It seemed even the Ministry lusted for the wealth of House Black and Lestrange. She knew the likes of Fudge and his cronies—they would not miss this opportunity to bury the final noble scion as herself, not when such a convenient thing fell into their greedy hands. In his shoes, even Juno might have done the same—a lone witch, not of age, with murderous parents was an easy scapegoat. Those gaps in the yearly budget would not fill themselves, after all.

Even the public would believe it. ‘The Daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange Goes Mad!’

She tossed the Sunday Prophet away. Juno bit her thumb as something bothered her about the article; there was no mention of the Carrow twins. Had Flora and Hestia survived? A pang of guilt hit her, and Juno hoped they were unharmed.

Then, she noticed the bronze shackle on her right leg. It did not chafe or feel uncomfortable, merely like a layer of cloth. She tried to pry it off, but it didn’t budge—she was too weak. It did not impede her movements, but it did not have to. Her eyes flickered to the tiny keyhole near the hinges. Juno knew what this was—a tracking mark that could only be removed by key. Indestructible to nearly anyone.

No wonder her mother was content to leave her roaming. Her location was exposed, her name was wanted across the country, and her magic was completely drained. 

Juno did not feel despair. Merely regret at her own hubris. 

This had been the most bitter lesson in her life. But she would learn. The mistakes today would not be repeated. Revenge was the last thing on her mind now. She knew she had been outplayed and outmatched here, even though it stung to admit it. Once Juno escaped, she would return to Harry and swallow her hubris. 

If he had been there that day in Hogsmeade… they would have never taken her.

She dragged her feet to the tent’s flap and peered outside. It was a forest glade, filled with dark brown and green tents, merging colour with the surroundings. Scores of wizards and witches dressed in rough Muggle clothing flocked between them.

Many looked scarred, dispirited, but not out of place in the forest. A third looked savage to the point of being dangerous, and a man with a grey mane saw her and gave her a wide, toothy smirk. 

Juno recognised that face—she had seen it on an old wanted poster before. Fenrir Greyback.

Swallowing, she retreated into her tent. A weak witch who had lost her magic had no chance to escape a camp of werewolves.

Her mother and her cronies were doubtlessly somewhere in the encampment, too.

She closed her eyes and settled on the bed as she crossed her legs in the lotus position, trying to feel her magic. Trying to get a sense of her surroundings and her body.

There was always a way out. Juno pressed her mind to the utmost, trying to focus and phasing out the noise from outside. Soon enough, she could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat, pulsing steadily in her ears.

After what felt like an eternity, she could feel the magic flow into her body… and flow out as if her skin were a sieve. 

‘Stay in!’ she roared in her mind, willing all her being to follow the command.

For half a heartbeat, the magic flowing through her flesh paused. Then, the moment passed, and the meagre power drained away in an instant. 

Juno collapsed on her bed, heaving heavily. Her head felt as if it had been struck by a bludger.

It was an insignificant effort, and Juno felt exhausted by it. It had been difficult, but not impossible. She didn’t need to regain her magic completely, however. 

She did not need it all. Just enough to try and Disapparate to the border of Black Manor and step into the Fidelius. That would see her safe. But even that seemed impossible—at her current rate, Juno might as well give up and wait the potion out. But what if they fed her another dose, then? What if they figured out how to smuggle her out of Wizarding Britain?

Clearing her mind, she tried again, only for her head to pulse with pain. She slumped on the cot, feeling powerless and tired. It was of no use. 

Just as Juno was ready to give up, a voice, old and patient, echoed in her mind.

‘Sometimes the thin line between failure and success is just a little faith in yourself.’

Dumbledore’s words. 

Juno gritted her teeth and focused again.

Harry (same day)

“It’s not looking good for Juno,” Amelia Bones said with a sigh. “The wand with a Killing Curse is incriminating evidence… and I heard Grimsby’s widow has filed charges for premeditated murder, hoping for a hefty compensation from the Black estate. Rosmerta’s mother has also done the same, and the charges will probably go through in the next three days. The motive, opportunity, and ability all line up too handily—and the Wizengamot is probably going to hold the trial for the murders soon.”

“But Juno was captured by Bellatrix,” Harry said darkly. “She can hardly attend the trial to clear her name while tied up at god knows where.”

“That’s why she has twenty days to report to the Ministry; otherwise, the trial will be held in absentia. Perhaps the Ministry hopes for it.” The Deputy Headmistress rubbed her monocle. “Do you think Juno is innocent?”

“Of course,” Harry said without hesitation. “Even if she did kill them, it would have been self-defence. Who the heck escapes while dropping their wand? Those men were there not to help her escape, but to kidnap her. I know Juno—the accomplices that the Prophet mentioned don’t exist.”

No other accomplices than him, that was. But even then, Harry was the criminal, and Juno was the accomplice. 

Amelia gave a curt nod. “I suspected as much.”

“Can the DMLE be trusted to find Juno?” Harry asked despite suspecting the answer.

“If Bellatrix truly has her, no,” came the wry reply. “They haven’t found her in over a year, so I doubt that will change quickly. Of course, even if they did find her, it would be quite dangerous to Juno.”

“How?”

A shadow crossed Amelia’s face. “Bellatrix killed over a dozen Aurors and Hit Wizards in the last year, scores of squibs and quite a lot of Muggles. If Juno is captured by the Aurors, she might never make it out to stand trial in the Wizengamot. An Auror who had lost a friend will say she resisted during ‘arrest’ and…”

“I can imagine the rest,” Harry murmured, remembering how Fudge had ‘dealt’ with Barty Crouch Jr. He had been accompanied by Aurors then, and they hadn’t said a word. “Can something be done?”

“I’ve written to Headmaster Dumbledore,” said Amelia. “The owl should reach him in the next two days, but I don’t know if it will be of any use. His attention has been set on the turmoil on the continent as of late. Even if he could help, it might not be of any use. Albus’s tracking skills are good, but outmatched by the seasoned Aurors and Hit Wizards who work that trade for a living. He holds no office in the Wizengamot, so expect even less legal help from him. At most, he could serve as Juno’s witness for the defence during her trial.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Harry bowed his head, turning to leave.

“Mr Potter,” the older witch called out. “I know you might be angry now, but I suggest you exercise caution. If you find a way to locate Juno, I will aid you, and, of course, see her name cleared in the Wizengamot to the best of my ability. But this is no child’s play—Bellatrix Lestrange and her band of Dark Wizards are seasoned killers and would not hesitate to do away with you.”

Harry gave a tight nod and slipped out of the office.

“How was it?” Diana was the first to greet him outside, stepping from the small crowd of friends. 

Ron and the Weasley twins were here, and so were the rest of the Defence Association.

“Hopeless,” he said with a long, tired sigh. “The Ministry will likely try to harm Juno instead of helping her.”

“Once she gets to the Wizengamot, it will be a piece of cake,” Damien Greengrass said. Even Draco nodded along reluctantly. “We have Greengrass and Malfoy. Carrow and Selwyn. Abbot and Bones, Weasley and Diggory. The Lovegoods and Patils have little influence in the Wizengamot, but they can’t be ignored. Nott and Burke can be convinced, and so can many others.”

“It’ll be hard to convince Dad,” Fred murmured, a heavy frown settling over his face. 

George elbowed him. “Hard but not impossible—we’ll do it. So count on us.”

“I can try and get my mother to help,” Luna added, looking hesitant. “She has some pull with a department head.”

The rest of their friends were nodding, promising to help in any way they could. 

At that moment, Harry finally felt a sliver of hope. As Juno had predicted, the study club had already grown into something… more. Almost without thinking, his eyes found Ron’s. This wasn’t his Ron, not really, but he was glad for his presence here regardless.

Harry straightened up. “It’ll not be easy. The crux of the matter is getting Juno out of her mother’s hands and into the Wizengamot safely—Professor Bones said some of the Aurors might try to just kill her off instead of ‘capture’ or ‘rescue’ because Bellatrix killed a lot of Aurors.”

Many of them grimaced.

“That’s assuming she can be found, so…” Harry trailed off.

“We already tried using Scrying,” Hestia said, still looking miserable. “It failed.”

“There’s a veil of some kind clouding Juno’s presence. No doubt the effect of an artefact or ward.” Flora’s face twisted, her eyes bloodshot—both sisters looked worn to the bone. Whatever magic they had tried had seen them all exhausted. “All we can tell is that she is still in Britain but nothing else; not even a direction.”

Diana frowned. “Surely there’s something we can do.”

“You mean something like infiltrating the hideout of murderers that have evaded the DMLE for over a year and taking away a hostage from right under their noses?” Anthony Goldstein asked with a dry smile.

“…Oh, forget it,” the Muggleborn girl huffed, cheeks puffing out in frustration. “I just can’t stand feeling so… useless.”

Padma gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Harry only felt strangely hollow. No, not hollow. His magic was prickling underneath his skin, hot and bubbling, as if ready to erupt.  

“There’ll be no study session for today,” he said. “If you have time and energy to spare, go to the library and see if you can dig out some esoteric method of uncovering a person’s location.”

“Leave the Forbidden Section to me,” Damien said confidently, thumping his hand against his chest. “Slughorn gave me a pass last month.”

“I’ll consult with my family grimoire,” Draco murmured before leaving.

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion.

The hallway quickly cleared as all D.A. members dispersed, disappearing down both ends of the hallway. All but Ron Weasley, who stayed behind, leaning on the wall.

“Can I help you, Ron?” Harry asked with forced calm.

“Err—not really,” the red-haired boy said, rubbing his nose awkwardly. “But you have the look of the twins when they’re about to do something… big. So… need any help?”

Harry took a good look at his former friend. Ron Weasley was no longer gangly, but broad-shouldered, and the dark school robes failed to hide the body brimming with strength underneath. An entirely different Ron Weasley than the one he was used to, though just as reliable. Perhaps even more reliable, as there was steel in his gaze. Even his posture was ramrod straight, shoulders not sloping, and chin lifted high. 

“I’m fine,” Harry said in a low voice. “I’ll just do some searching of my own—nothing too dangerous.”

“Alright.” Ron clapped his shoulder. “But—err—just so you know, you can count on me. No matter what.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Even if it’s dangerous?”

“I’m not afraid of fighting,” the red-haired boy said confidently. “And… I trained for so long, you know—nearly two years now. I even got the hang of Silent Casting with your help, if only with three spells. I’m good enough with a wand not to drag you down.”

That he was. Merlin, he was far better than Harry could have ever expected. He studied hard, did his homework on time, and even practised extra magic with gusto when they met. Even the body training he did was quite thorough to the point where Harry would admit he was not a match, despite the easy gains. A sliver of shame stirred deep inside him on behalf of his friend, but Harry quickly pushed it aside. This Ron was better because he had earned it through grit and sweat. Perhaps life had forced him to stand up on his own feet, but he had done it and then some. 

All because Harry had not approached him. In his previous life, had his presence made his friend self-assured to the point of complacency?

“Thank you,” Harry said, pushing down his feelings. “The offer means more to me than you know.”

He did not say anything else. Ron’s willingness to help this time was enough. He might have changed, but deep down, Ron Weasley remained the same good friend who was willing to help.

This time, Harry would not drag him into senseless danger. 

‘What now?’ Nyx asked in his mind. 

The serpent slithered underneath his skin, wiggling with greater anxiety than Harry felt.

‘Now we try a few tricks,’ Harry returned. ‘And if that doesn’t work, I have some people to visit.’ 

In a quarter of an hour, Harry was deep beneath the school, deep in the Chamber of Secrets.

His gaze took in the clever decorations and the pale light for a long moment, and then he eased himself on one of the black leather sofas deep into the chamber.

His thoughts returned to the attack for the hundredth time. Perhaps it was luck, but the timing was impeccable. They had considered all routes, and it was not merely Juno who was attacked, but her reputation and good name. That was not the lone deed of some newspaper correspondent, but it stank of something else, something deeper. It stank of the Ministry putting their greasy fingers where they did not belong. It wouldn’t be the first time that cesspit of corruption wielded the Daily Prophet for unscrupulous purposes, and Harry doubted it would be the last.

Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the frustration brewing in his chest. Juno was as clever as she was cunning. She would probably play along with her captors, and her own mother would not harm her.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but worry. The weight of the unknown was… terrifying. It wasn’t as bad as the time in his final school years last time, when he did not know when Voldemort or his cronies would attack, but it was still a fear that put his mind on edge. 

If something happened to Juno, he would not forgive himself. 

Worrying was useless, however. Juno had nobody—nobody who would help her in this, not without ulterior motives. As usual, the Ministry of Magic could not be trusted. Only Harry was here, and the burden fell on his shoulders. He had to be smart about this. 

The deputy headmistress had promised to help, but even she had a lot on her plate.

“Wally,” Harry spoke aloud, weaving all of his will and intent into his words. “Come to me!”

For half a heartbeat, the silence hung in the air. The pang of disappointment came swiftly but not unexpectedly—only a master could wield absolute command over their elf and summon them—

Pop!

An elf crumbled into a heap of limbs on the tiles before him. 

Even with the white and black butler suit, Harry barely recognised Wally.

The usually refined elf looked like skin and bones, as if something had sucked out all the meat from his body. 

“M-Master H-Harry,” the elf wheezed weakly as it tried to stand up. “Mistress i-is being d-d-drained.”

Just like that, the elf slumped on the floor. 

It was not dead, but the pink skin had gone deathly pale, and the rise and fall of its chest was uneven. Each next breath was weaker than the last. 

Harry frowned. At this rate, Wally would soon die.

Nyx slithered out of his skin and curiously nudged the fallen elf with her scaly snout.

‘What’s happening to the long-ears?’

‘Something is draining Juno—and probably the elf’s own magic,’ Harry said darkly. ‘I doubt the aim is to kill the elf—most wizards don’t even think of them. Probably a way to keep Juno unable to escape.’

An elf without magic would quickly die.

‘Can’t you help him?’ Nyx asked. ‘His food is tasty.’

Harry frowned down at the fallen figure—he had no idea how to deal with people, let alone an elf about to die from a lack of magic. Worse, even if he rushed to the Hospital Wing with the elf, it was at least minutes of a mad dash. Harry had the stamina, but the elf might not even survive the trip as fragile as he looked.

Hesitantly, he drew the yew wand.

Pointing the tip to the elf’s belly, he willed his magic forth.

To his surprise, the elf’s breathing grew easier. But it was not enough—the frame was still skin and bones. As soon as the yew wand moved away, the elf’s breathing started to weaken again. But Harry estimated it wouldn’t kill him in the next few hours.

‘So are we going yet?’ Nyx prodded excitedly as she slipped under his skin.

‘No, it’s too early. I’ll take a nap first—it’s going to be a long night.’ 

2nd of May 1994, Monday (Next Day)

‘The last target was boring,’ Nyx complained. ‘And you talked with her for too long, and she quaked like a frightened hare from start to finish!’

Slipping out of school was easy if you could evade the prefects and the caretaker. All you needed to do was leave Hogwarts’ grounds and Disapparate. It should have been harder to pull off without the invisibility cloak, but with a mere Disillusionment Charm, he left unnoticed.

‘This one might be more to your taste,’ he said.

Harry, clad in dark green battle robes, strode down the driveway and paused at the familiar gate nestled between manicured yew hedges on both sides. He paused in front of the gate. Something in the corner of his mind told him there was danger here.

Enchantments protecting the manor, perhaps. Or was it an Alarm Charm?

‘Are we going to fight?’

‘Unlikely,’ Harry murmured darkly. ‘Go in and check.’

Nyx disappeared into the shadows, slipping through whatever protections effortlessly. 

Still, he was ready for a fight. With robes of basilisk hide and Nyx protecting his skin, he would be quite hard to harm, unless he did something extremely foolish… or got bathed in spellfire and more dangerous magic. But he had chosen this time of the night deliberately—he was awake and rested, while any potential enemy here would be tired, still sluggish from sleep. 

Five minutes later, she returned. ‘One long ears, two two-legs, and one little hatchling. All of them are asleep.’

Harry nodded, satisfied—it was just as he had expected. A House Elf, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, and their little daughter—there was no ambush here.

He took a deep breath, palmed his wand and let happiness fill him. “Expecto Patronum.”

An ethereal horned serpent erupted from the tip of the wand, swirling around. “Narcissa, I’m at the gates, waiting for a meeting, as promised.”

Nyx hissed with excitement as the Patronus disappeared into the distance. 

A part of him was almost tempted to pour his anger into the yew wand and blast off the gates at the entrance. In fact, his magic was all too eager, simmering underneath, ready to erupt at the slightest chance. 

But that’s what brutes with more anger than sense would do. It would be easy to force his entry into Malfoy Manor, but the implicit threat and offence of these actions would not be something that would be well-received. It might very well lose him his ally of convenience.

Of course, Harry was ready to fight. Despite their ‘alliance of interest’, he did not trust Narcissa Malfoy or her husband.

But on the small chance she could be of help, Harry was willing to try.

Five minutes later, a dishevelled Lucius Malfoy in fluffy brown robes came to the entrance, holding his wand like a torchlight and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Potter?”

“In the flesh,” Harry said dryly. 

“Keep your cowl down, then. I shouldn’t see your face—my skills in Occlumency are not… sufficient.”

Harry swallowed his retort as the realisation struck him. Lucius Malfoy already feared having his mind searched—Voldemort’s return was nearer than he had feared.

“It’s half past midnight.” The blonde wizard closed his eyes and murmured something under his nose, and the gates opened. “With your letter, we thought you’d come tomorrow.”

“I aim to surprise.” The more you prepare, the less I trust you. 

Eventually, Mr Malfoy relented and bowed his head as he pushed the side door open. “Very well, come in.”

“Much obliged.” Harry gave him a wide grin and followed inside the manor grounds.

As soon as he stepped through the gates, he could feel a wave of magic washing over him. These had to be Malfoy Manor’s protections.

But… they felt flimsy to him.

Lucius Malfoy’s grey eyes darted around cautiously. His haughty demeanour was nowhere to be seen, replaced with something more subdued, looking much like someone walking on thin ice. Perfect. The more careful Malfoy was, the less likely he would be to pull off something funny. Especially not with his newborn daughter here.

“You’ll have to excuse our poor hospitality, Mr Potter,” said the blonde wizard with a well-polished smile that didn’t reach his eyes as they entered the foyer into a vast living room that could fit at least fifty people. “We were caught… unawares. Regretfully, there’ll be no refreshments at this hour.”

Harry’s lips twitched in amusement. Someone was definitely irritated at having his beauty sleep interrupted.

“I assume you know your wife and I have a deal,” Harry said as he seated himself on a tapered chair. 

“He does,” Miss Malfoy’s voice came as she came through the door, her hair impeccable, and she slid into the living room in a night robe of silver satin. 

The robe was thin, its fabric so dangerously transparent that it left nothing to the imagination. He swallowed heavily as his eyes slid down to a long, pale leg that slid from the gap of the robe. Why was it so hard to tear his gaze away?

Sucking in a sharp breath, he pushed away all of his emotions with titanic effort and settled his gaze on Miss Malfoy’s face.

A shadow played at the corner of her mouth, too pale to be a smile, but enough for Harry to know she was satisfied. She meant to unbalance him with this, just like last time, he realised.

Otherwise, Mr Malfoy would not have looked so nonchalant about the whole affair. Or perhaps he didn’t care. 

“I’ll speak frankly,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Bellatrix has Juno. This should be quite an issue for you, too.”

“It is,” Mr Malfoy murmured with a yawn. “Bellatrix would never let go of the Black and Lestrange lordships. Both are too valuable to be left in her hands.” 

Harry let out a snort. “I assumed that much. Anyway, I want your sister’s location.”

“I don’t know where Bella stays,” Narcissa said, voice quiet. “You know the Ministry has us on watch, so we’re keeping as clean as possible. It’s been nearly a year since I heard from my sister, at the start of last summer.”

“You would do well to exercise some caution, too, Potter.” Mr Malfoy pulled down the left sleeve of his robe, revealing a pale forearm marked by a skull with a snake crawling out of its mouth. It was deep, rich white and black colour, and the snake moved, twitching and twisting as if alive. “The Dark Lord… has grown more powerful. Soon, his body will be restored. And by then, you will no longer meet me.”

“How soon?” Harry asked, swallowing heavily.

“In under ten days.” Malfoy’s voice was even, bereft of emotion, but the knuckles on the hand gripping his cane had gone pale white. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Wait,” Mrs Malfoy said, lifting her wand. “Focus—”

“Yes, I know, focus my mind, thinking of everything I want to discard,” her husband murmured. “I’m ready.”

“Obliviate!”

Squinting his eyes at the burst of blue light, Harry lowered his wand—the Obliviation Charm had not been aimed at him.

“Dear?” Malfoy blinked in confusion. “Why am I in the—”

“Go to sleep.” Mrs Malfoy placed a finger on his lips. “I’ll return to our bed later.”

Dazed, Lucius Malfoy walked through the door, and soon his footsteps faded up some stairs.

“He trusts you enough to be obliviated?” Harry prodded.

“Of course,” she said with a pained face. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this. When Draco was born and up to Lucius’s trial, I must have done it at least a hundred times. I’ve become quite precise at removing memories. A few minutes at a time without affecting anything else is of no issue.”

Harry’s fingers only tightened around his wand. His eyes did not leave her wand. But she walked forward and placed it on the table before him before retreating. The offering of peace saw him put away his own wand. Mrs Malfoy was of no danger to him without a wand, not when Nyx lurked in the shadows behind her, ready to strike.

Then, she continued with a sway of her hips—all too visible under the transparent satin robe—and gracefully settled into the sofa without a care in the world.

The way the robe’s collar had carelessly slid aside had to be deliberate. Harry swallowed as he felt his pants tighten at the sight, and forced his mind empty again.  

Why had Mrs Malfoy sent her husband to fetch him, then? 

She could have let him sleep in, completely unaware.

Or perhaps there was some other ploy at work here. 

A power play?

A show of unity and trust?

An attempt at seduction?

Testing his self-control?

A sick game between the couple?

All of the above?

Perhaps it was something else, and Harry felt like tearing his hair out. Juno would’ve figured it out in a heartbeat, of course, but he was just left staring, completely stumped.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing himself to look directly into her eyes and nowhere else. “I know House Malfoy has some connections. I want Juno’s location found—Bellatrix would do, too.”

The witch gave him a coy smile. “Call me Narcissa, dear. It’s only the two of us here.”

The silence hung heavy between them, like some sort of twisted game Harry did not know the rules of. Perhaps the first to speak would lose, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can you do it, Narcissa?”

That only earned him a pout. “I can, though it will take time. I suspect they keep deep in the wilderness, away from wandering eyes—Muggle or magical. Rough cabins or abandoned cottages in the woods, or camping out in tents. But finding my niece or sister shall not be easy, not with scores of werewolves that have snuck into Magical Britain.”

Scores?

That was far more than he expected. 

Harry let out a groan. “So that’s why the Ministry has been keeping quiet as of late?”

“Thirty people have been bitten by the mangy mongrels since last November.” Narcissa’s nose wrinkled. “Only four lived past the first full transformation.”

And there had not been even a squeak from the Daily Prophet. But perhaps it was not hard to cover it up, especially if it took place in the Muggle world. A rabid dog attack here or there… 

“Do you suspect they are in cahoots with your sister?” he asked.

“Quite possibly.” Narcissa made a face as if she had eaten something sour. “Greyback and his brutes are in Wizarding Britain, and my sister was one of the few who could rein him in.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said bitterly. “Not only a band of crazy murderers, but unhinged werewolves too.”

“It’s not all doom and gloom, Harry.”  Draco’s mother gave him a smile that was not quite a smile. “The greater their numbers, the more traces they leave behind, and the easier I can find them… if they move together with my sister. I assume you have a plan for when my dear niece is rescued?”

“Plenty of plans,” Harry said vaguely, still not moving his gaze from her eyes. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Narcissa was dangerous—Harry still did not trust her. If she could so easily betray the Dark Lord out of expedience, what would stop her from betraying him when opportunity arose?

“Now, Harry, you’ve come at quite the hour.” Her crimson lips curled in amusement, and she placed a pale finger over them, as if pondering something. “Past midnight is the time for subterfuge and more… carnal pursuits. Do you need my help for something… else?”

Narcissa Malfoy then pulled the collar of her robe even lower.

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak or look, so he twisted, Disapparating with a crack that tore through the Manor’s protections.

Author’s Endnote: I wanted to write more… but trying to squeeze two or three more scenes worth four thousand words was probably going to be needlessly hasty.

Starring: Bellatrix the Crazy and her unwilling daughter, and Narcissa messing with Harry.

The next chapter will probably be quite intense and even longer.