Prologue
East London
April 30th, 1986
Marion Gardner exhaled heavily, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her earlobe as she stirred the bubbling pot of stew. In the living room just a few feet away, the familiar jingle of an advertisement for dishwashing liquid rang out.
"Gemma!" Marion yelled as she tossed the wooden stirrer down on the kitchen counter and stalked into the living room of the tiny first-floor apartment. "What did Mama say about watching the TV? You have to ask Mama first! If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times! Besides, you've already been watching for a whole hour today and that's more than enough, young lady, do you hear me?"
"But Mama!" the girl whined, pouting. "I want to watch! Why don't you let me? You're so mean. I hate you!"
Marion felt her legs go weak for a second as her daughter's words slammed into her, sucking the air out of her lungs. I hate you. Who would've known her six-year-old could be capable of such horrible words? She must have seen it on the TV shows—where else could they have come from? The TV shows! Rage surged into Marion, filling the empty space Gemma's words had left. Crossing the room in two strides, she ripped the TV plug out of its socket and flung it to the floor. It crashed down on the cheap wood. Gemma burst into tears. For a few seconds, Marion stood perfectly still, staring fixedly at her bawling daughter. Then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, ignoring the nasty smell of burning food and her daughter's crescendo of cries.
If she had so much as turned her head for a second, she would have seen the two men in long black cloaks loitering at the window just outside her apartment. One was blond, stocky and solid. The other, a tall and distinguished-looking gentleman, had brown hair shot through with streaks of silver.
"Well," Nott Sr. said to his young companion Thorfinn Rowle. "If it isn't the Mudblood brat and her filthy Muggle mother. Tonight at midnight Rowle, at this very spot. I'll bring the girl."
The two Disapparated with a sharp crack. Back in the living room, Gemma was still lying on the floor, pounding the ground with her fists and sobbing as though her heart had been broken.
The neighbourhood was silent. Its windows were dark, most of its occupants having retired to bed quite some time ago. Crack! The noise cleaved the night in half as Nott and Rowle reappeared next to the Gardners' window. Trailing loosely behind Nott was a little girl of five or six, who removed her hand from his the moment they arrived. She was not the kind of child whom adults cooed and fussed over. No, she was altogether an unremarkable little girl—pale skin, brown eyes, brown hair. Yet if one were to look closely, an odd chill to these otherwise ordinary features became apparent. The edges of her mouth were forever upturned in a smirk, or perhaps a sneer of distaste. Her eyes would have been far more suitable on that of someone ten times her age. Flat and expressionless, they gazed dully upon the world.
"All right now, Belladonna," Nott warned as they stepped towards the front door. "Remember what I told you. Be very quiet, now." The door unlocked itself in response to Rowle's Alohomora. They entered, padding along silently through the dark, cramped hallway. Nott was in front, his sharp eyes darting about. Belladonna walked in the midle. Rowle brought up the rear. A few seconds later, a small yellow light flickered on at the tip of Nott's wand. Belladonna ground to a halt. She pointed at the door Nott had just walked past. "That one."
"You sure?" Rowle muttered. "Looks like a toilet to me. Door's mighty small." Belladonnna pointed to the sign tacked onto the wall. It read: GEMMA'S ROOM. DO NOT ENTER! The lopsided skull-and-crossbones was barely visible in the glow of the Lumos. Nott opened the door. For a moment, all three stood at the threshold as though transfixed by the sight of the Muggle-born witch. She lay peacefully on the tiny bed, red hair spread all over the yellowish pillow. One arm clutched a battered teddy bear close. Then the spell broke, and Rowle raised his wand. A blinding flash of green light filled the room. Belladonna flung one arm up to shield her eyes—but not before she saw Gemma fly up into the air, limbs jerking in a twisted dance. After the light had faded and Belladonna could see again, she found Gemma lying in a limp heap on the edge of the bed, her face obscured by a curtain of hair.
Rowle strode over and lifted the girl into his arms, taking care to not let her skin touch his bare hands. He Disapparated with a crack. Nott immediately set about the rather trying task of putting the necessary glamour charms on Belladonna.
"Where's the little girl going to go?" Belladonna asked suddenly. Her unnaturally flat tone once again made Nott shiver a little.
"Go?" he snorted, carefully disguising his disquiet. "Why, she's dead of course; Rowle'll take care of the corpse. We don't need it lying about."
Dead?" Belladonna frowned. "Rowle won't be very nice to her, will he? He's always so cross, always in a hurry."
"Why should you care?" Nott demanded, prodding Belladonna's hair with unnecessary force. It remained brown. Perhaps slightly more reddish than its original hue, but still resolutely brown. "That thing Rowle removed is nothing but a filthy Mudblood. You, on the other hand…you are a pureblood. Like me. Like Theodore. And you are daughter of the most powerful dark wizard our age has known… you should never concern yourself with filth and scum like that Mudbloood. Do you hear me?"
Belladonna jumped a little at the tone of his voice. Sharp, but somehow restrained. The calm before a storm—one that she knew all too well. Every single time she heard it, Teddy would end up locked in the basement for hours, his screams echoing through the Nott mansion.
Nott shoved an ornate silver mirror with the crest of his House engraved upon it into her hands. "What do you think?" Belladonna stared at it. A girl with hazel eyes, red hair and a smattering of freckels splashed across her nose and cheeks stared back at her.
"Dreadful," she replied, squeezing the words out past the lump in her throat. "I bet all these Mudbloods look like that. Filthy Muggle blood, turning them all ugly."
Nott laughed, a dry rattling sound. Getting to his feet heavily, he turned to leave. "You be good now," he warned. "Don't let that Muggle woman get wind of anything."
Belladonna nodded slowly, eyes wide and solemn. "How long do I have to stay here for?" she asked.
Nott gulped. He'd been deliberately avoiding this part of the plan. "Well, " he hedged, "as long as your Father says you have to, I suppose?" Belladonna did not take kindly to that. "How long?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes as her voice rose several octaves.
"You can't expect me to know, can you?" Nott snapped. "I'm going to go now, but I'll come back if I need to. Good-bye, Belladonna." He vanished.
Sitting on an unfamiliar bed in a cheap little apartment, miles from the grandeur of the Nott family mansion where she had grown up, Belladonna shivered a little. She pulled the thin blanket around her bony knees and curled up against the headboard. If anyone had been there to see her, they would have found her just like any other terrifiedchild.