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Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision:

I'm no longer going to be listing those who favorite/follow the story at the top of each chapter. This is being done for only one reason: some people don't want anyone knowing they're reading my work. So they alert instead of favorite it.

I want to be sure this is clear - I still appreciate every single review, favorite and alert that I receive, on this story or any other.


Though I had made mention of the possibility of seeking the aid of the Malfoys in Isabella's education, I ultimately decided on another individual. It would, after all, be imperative that she not only learn her place within society, but that she also have a proper understanding of certain social mores. Lucius had always placed his loyalty to his family above all else. Commendable in some situations, though when it came to the living heir of the Dark Lord such a division of attention would be detrimental.

With this in mind, I dispatched the owl to another of my comrades. While he lacked a wife, he would be more than capable of educating Isabella on the finer points of the world in which she would be assuming a place of high honor.

Another matter drew my thoughts once the owl had flown from my line of sight. The task of procuring for her a wand in order to train her lay before me. As she had pointed out, Isabella had been left without magical training. Though the couple she was left with were squibs, they had little knowledge of the wizarding world. Pure-bloods both, they were still outcast. They would have known how to explain her small bursts of accidental magic to neighbors for a time, but not how to harness that ability. Pitiable though it was, I only had a limited time in which to hone her skills.

Resting my elbows on the ornate desk allotted to me in this domicile, I steepled my fingers, resting the tips of my forefingers against my lips as I weighed my options. Ollivander was right out. Nor did I trust any German wandmakers, and I did not know that I should trust any French ones. While that left me options in Spain, I did not wish to explore those any more than I should choose to return to the Americas to obtain a wand for her.

Still pondering the possibilities, I allowed my eyes to slowly fall closed, lulled by the sound of the crackling logs in the fireplace. My attention was so intently focused on the sounds the embers made as they popped that I did not realize I was no longer alone until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Years of battle-honed instinct were impossible to suppress. Thought did not enter into my actions as I rose from the desk, toppling the chair in my haste. I slipped my wand from its sheath and twisted the hand that touched me in an unnatural direction with my unoccupied hand. I had never been one to rely solely on my magic when faced with a physically inferior opponent. Despite my innate knowledge that she and I were alone in the manor other than the elves, my wand was at Isabella's throat as my body pressed her into the wall. Even as my mind began to clear from the natural instincts which had overpowered it, taking in the terror in her eyes, I recognized that she was not choosing "flight" in her response to the situation.

I had barely begun to step away and lower my wand before I regretted the decision. Her eyes changed from frightened doe to angered cobra. The minute change in my position was enough to provide her an advantage, one which she quickly pressed. The left hand she had raised in a signal of surrender as my wand had gouged her neck lowered to grasp my right wrist. With my attention focusing on my wand arm, I did not note the shift in her hips that would have alerted me to her moving one of her feet behind mine. She pushed just hard enough to cause me to lose my balance, my left hand reaching back to steady me against the desk. Deft fingers swiped along my wand hand, taking advantage of my unusually unsteady position to relieve me of it. I blinked, and opened my eyes to see my own wand pointed at me.

"I might not know the right words to say to make this thing work magic, but I do know how to use a pointy stick to poke someone's eye out, Uncle."

I was taken aback for a moment. She would do well in hand-to-hand combat, certainly. An image of her breaking young Malfoy's nose as that upstart Mudblood had once done took root in my mind. I could picture the complete shock on the inept wizard's face as the heir of the Dark Lord broke his snout and caused blood to pour down his usually pristine face. I nearly giggled at the thought of it. He would, of course, stumble backwards and land on his arse unceremoniously. My mirth at the image was great enough to prevent the scowl that usually came when I recalled the utter disdain with which he had viewed the Dark Lord in later years. Still, I could not help but chuckle at the thought of her presiding over a meeting of the Death Eaters, using her fists as means of reflecting her mercurial moods rather than the magic her father had employed. Such openness from me shocked her, and her hold on my wand loosened. I snatched it from her hand as her grip slackened, sheathing it quickly. Still chuckling, I held up my hand as she took a deep breath presumably to berate me.

"Forgive me, Isabella. I simply find great amusement in your... resourcefulness. However, as a primer to your education..." Her eyes were narrowed as she watched me carefully. She stepped back from me, allowing me to stand straight. I could not help the smirk spreading on my face as I turned my hand about in the air, producing a bluebell flame. Though she had seen me open doors, she may have assumed there was some type of Muggle sensor involved. She had been too long among them. Her thoughts were bound to be limited by their own sense of reality.

I did not attempt to fight the smug grin that graced my features as her jaw dropped slightly. My other hand reached up to her chin, pushing her mouth closed once more. "Magic requires neither wand nor speech." Her raised eyebrow let me know she did not fully believe me. She would learn with time. "Also, ladies do not let their mouths fall open, no matter the amount of surprise." Her hands move to rest on her hips, her shoulders thrust backward in defiance. Taking in her stance, I raised an eyebrow as I also noted the clothing she had chosen to wear.

I simply shook my head as I turned from her, snapping my fingers softly to call an elf to the room. Decisions about a wand might be able to wait a short time, but a proper wardrobe required immediate attention. Dubh may have been one of the most accomplished elves in seamstress magic that I had ever had the fortune to know – she had saved me enough trouble of buying Bellatrix new clothes by altering them well enough – but Isabella would need more than her mother's cast off clothing.

"Master calls Eitri?"

"Yes. Have Dubh prepare Miss Swan for departure." As expected the order was met with a slight displacement of air as the elf departed.

"You don't have to talk to them like that." Her voice relayed her ire clearly.

I turned back to her slowly. Surely she was not daring to correct me on proper haviour. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a scowl firmly in place. In that moment, were it possible, I could have sincerely killed my wife for sending her daughter to live with squibs. She appeared every inch to be a sanctimonious outsider. It might take a great deal more time than I had anticipated to prepare her for the role she was expected to fill. She could certainly not step up to her place among the wizarding elite while holding to the ideas of Muggles.

"You are not yet educated in the ways of this world in which you now find yourself." Her raised eyebrow caused me to chuckle gently as I took her hand and placed it in the crook of my elbow. "Oh, I've told you tales, yes." I guided her to the door. "But none of those tales have prepared you fully for life among the elite – which is where you now find yourself. They are servants." My voice was no more than a hiss as I reprimanded her. I waved my hand to open the door, escorting her into the hallway. "They expect to receive orders, not requests."

Her silence afterward was not that of a person insistent on the veracity of their own position. Her scowl was not that of a child petulantly believing they had been wrongfully chastised. Instead she appeared to be contemplating the reality of the situation. Upon arriving at the stairs, she turned to face me as Dubh took her hand to lead her up to her chambers to prepare.

"I suppose you're right." Not yet familiar with her daily mannerisms, I could not determine whether she was wholly sincere. "That might have been what Renée's mother was trying to teach me by taking me to those high-scale restaurants. The waiters always looked at me with disdain when I requested something, whenever I said 'please' and 'thank you'. I always just thought they were being snooty."

Gracing her with a gentile smile, I motioned for her to allow Dubh to lead her away, releasing her hand. "You have much to learn yet, Isabella, for magic is not the only area in which your education is lacking." The twitch in her facial muscles revealed a good deal more than she would have liked. It did, however, let me know that she at least held her own insights in high regard. That would serve her well. "I will teach you, and will have others to educate you as well. In less than a year, we will have you prepared for your proper place." She smiled radiantly at me then, and I took in her features as any unmarried socialite would have. Her beauty would need guarding from an outside source until she had learned enough to protect herself. Even then, it would be prudent to have a bodyguard around her at all times. Watching her ascend the stairs, I began considering carefully which individual could be trusted with such a task.


The chime sounding at our entry had an olive-skinned woman stepping from behind a curtain. She bustled quickly towards the front of the store, her eyes immediately taking in Isabella's dress. Her disapproval of such old-fashioned attire was clear.

"If you're quite finished, madam." The disdain in my voice was equally transparent. Her eyes snapped to my face, widening as she recognized me. Her demeanor immediately changed as she dipped into a full curtsy.

"My apologies, sir." As she straightened, she kept her eyes downcast. She was careful to keep her features neutral as she took in Isabella's attire. She realized that we represented "old money" – older fashion was an affectation among our social circle. It was not, however, one that Isabella could afford coming into the social circles she would be entering within the next few months. "What would madam be needing today?"

"Mademoiselle." She nodded, bobbing a brief curtsy to acknowledge the correction. Assumptions were not a problem when Mudbloods did not run rampant through the magical world. Aristocracy was recognized and the hierarchy was unquestioned. Muggle lovers brought with them their ideas that wizards were 'backward' in their ways, and the thought of it overrunning our world sickened me. "My niece requires modern garments fitting a woman of her station."

The clerk nodded, turning fully to Isabella. Walking in a circle as she assessed what she needed, the clerk turned from us after several moments of silence. Clapping her hands once, she seemed to summon a veritable army of assistants. Elves appeared quickly, each having a separate assigned task. One carefully took Isabella by the hand, leading her to a tailor's stand. Tape measures magically assessed her form as the seamstress prepared the tools of her trade.

"Is she needing something for a particular occasion, my Lord?"

Isabella turned sharply, a pin sticking her. As her squeal shocked the elf recording her measurements, I managed to hide my smirk from the elf escorting me to a chaise. "Isabella, you must stand still." Once I was comfortably seated, I pulled off my gloves slowly, finally addressing the seamstress. "She needs a full wardrobe. She has never been fitted before..." I allowed my voice to trail, permitting Isabella to contradict me. She did not, and I graced her with a genuine smile. It was a test I had not been certain she would pass. "So she is unfamiliar with the process. Your elves may need to coach her a bit." Looking down, I crossed my legs, laying my gloves over my knee. My movements were very precise, and it did not escape me that the seamstress seemed to be fixated on each one.

When I finally looked back to her, she curtsied once more. She kept her eyes downcast as she asked her next question. "Will milady be needing feminine garments as well?" Isabella's shocked gasp and reddening skin caused me to stifle a sigh. I would need to explain to her when it was considered appropriate for such things to be discussed in front of a man, apparently. I hoped I would not need to go into detail as to which men before whom it was only to be discussed. I simply nodded in answer to the question. "Very good, my Lord."

The next several hours passed in a flurry of fabrics and designs. I only looked in Isabella's direction when directed to do so by the seamstress. Swatches of material were laid before me repeatedly. Changing colors liberally, I marked the ones of which I approved. Isabella fidgeted continuously, eliciting small huffs of aggravation from the seamstress and her elves. I cleared my throat in an effort to stifle her movement. The subtle chastisement worked briefly, but as she began her restless movements once more, I called one of the elves over to me.

"If she moves again..." I looked up to see Isabella leaning in my direction as I spoke softly to the elf. Allowing the smirk to form on my face, I handed a long hatpin to the diminutive creature. "Feel free to stick her to keep her in place." The elf's ears drooped as she considered the punishment she would likely receive, but she took the pin, grasping it firmly and approaching the tailor's dais with resolve. For the remainder of the fitting, Isabella managed to refrain from her nervous shifting about.

Finally pleased with the numerous measurements she had taken, the seamstress quickly fashioned a floor-length slip. A quick flick and swish of her wand had the garment resting on Isabella's form, the dress she had worn laid gingerly across the arms of one of the servants. I allowed myself a small grin when Isabella did not react audibly to the spell. Various shoes were brought out and placed at the base of the tailor's dais. All were a basic tan, causing Isabella to frown.

"Never you mind about the color." The seamstress swept her wand through the air once more causing the shoes to fit themselves around Isabella's feet. "They will match whichever garment they are chosen to accompany. That's the magic that's woven into them when they're crafted." Seeing my niece's head shoot up, I shuddered inwardly. I finally understood why father had so dreaded shopping with mother when new fashions were crafted. "Simply choose styles with which you will be comfortable."

She nodded, returning her full attention to the footwear before her. She quickly discarded several styles which caused her some discomfort. Once she had settled on several choices, she insisted on wearing them and walking around the store. Though the behavior confused me – and by the quizzical tilt of her eyebrow, the seamstress also – I made no move to stop her. I shook my head gently at her antics as she sashayed through the establishment.

The elves had brought me various materials to consider for cloaks. One bore the weight of outer linings, the incredibly thick material threatening to topple the small elf. Another held bolts of material intended for the inner linings while a third carried a box filled with various clasps, both jeweled and plain. I leisurely selected several, waiting for Isabella to make her decisions on the footwear.

After several hours going through the process of choosing the proper garments for her, we left the establishment. I had been careful to conceal the price of the venture from Isabella. Such details were not necessary for someone of her status. After all, she did have me to handle such matters for her.

The sun was beginning to fall in the sky, bringing with it late afternoon heat. Without much thought, I cast a cooling charm on myself. When I tried to do the same for Isabella, it became clear my effort was unnecessary. Without magical training she had still been able to hone her skills adequately enough that she was able to cast such a charm. Placing her hand on my forearm as I looped her arm through mine, we walked sedately down the boulevard.

"Tell me, have you ever been hot in summer?"

"Hm? Oh, not since I was very young. Grandmother Higginbotham – Renée's mother – taught me how to keep cool in warmer weather when I was able to walk on my own." I nodded, hoping she would continue without prodding. "She kept saying these words and making a movement with her hand whenever I began to sweat, and suddenly I wouldn't be warm anymore, just comfortable. When she was out one day, and I started to get warm, I just concentrated on the way I had felt after she had said the words, and I was comfortable again." She shrugged a bit. My curiosity was piqued. Drosisteíte was not a charm I would expect a young child to possess the magic to cast accurately, much less without any training or a wand to focus their ability. "After that, Arizona summers were never a problem for me."

We passed the next several moments in silence, her fascination with the magical shops written plainly on her face. I chose not to chastise her for being so open with her emotions. There would be plenty of time to explain why she needed to guard her enthusiasm carefully.

When we arrived at our next destination, she seemed reluctant to enter. Though the cause of her apprehension escaped me, I opened the door, escorting her inside. A short, somewhat pale man descended a ladder. He approached slowly, sensing quite rightly the strength of magic in us both. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to disentangle her hand from my arm and lead her to the counter.

"Are you certain she needs a wand, sir?" His voice shook as he looked up at me. Though I could not be entirely certain whether that was due to awe or age, I preferred to attribute it to the former.

I gave him a brief nod. "She will need one to finish her schooling. They require one."

"Very good, sir." Turning from us slightly, the merchant reached for various boxes. He mumbled to himself as he discarded several of the wands I recognized as appropriate for a novice witch. After several minutes he lined up seven boxes along the counter. "Each is unique, and while one may work, please try each to find the best match."

Whatever the cause of her trepidation as we had entered the shop, all trace of fear had left Isabella. She stared at the line of boxes in fascination. I stood behind her as her fingers tripped lightly over the clear cases. I was a bit surprised at her immediately discarding both yew and walnut wood wands. I merely raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to interfere with this process. Still, that decision left her with only four boxes, two of which were hawthorn. The implications of that choice were quite clear.

"One of these." Her voice was clear and decisive as she pushed the other two boxes back a bit, opening the hawthorn boxes. She held one hand over each. The wandmaker jumped back a bit as one of the wands flew into her palm much more quickly than the other. He was clearly astonished by the choice.

"Rarely do I see that wand choose someone of your age." Though his voice was firmer than when we first entered, it still quivered a bit. I felt a hysterical giddiness trying to overcome me. I wondered if this sentiment was the same that had seemingly overtaken Bellatrix on numerous occasions.

"Oh?" Isabella was genuinely curious. I had never discussed with her how wands were made, that the components of the wand could affect the use and character of the magic flowing through it. The elements from which the wand was crafted indicated quite clearly traits about the wand's user. Isabella was sure to learn this over the course of the next year – people would make quite a few assumptions about her based on her wand alone.

"The core is a unicorn hair on the one, a thestral hair on the other." He frowned a bit, turning from her to look at his shelves. "I wonder, if you would indulge me..." His voice trailed off as he placed another case on the counter. Returning the wand that responded more slowly to its box and setting it to the side, she opened the new case. She closed her eyes as she took the new wand in hand.

"Something isn't quite right." Her voice was barely a whisper yet it sounded quite clearly in the charged atmosphere of the shop.

His eyes were wide as he took in the implications. "The core and the wood do not both match what you need."

I raised one eyebrow before taking the alder wood wand from her hand, replacing it in its case. "Construct her one with the elements that are best suited to her." The wandmaker bowed his head in acceptance of the commission. "For the time being, she will train with this wand."

"It will certainly suit her for now. Will she be needing a sheath?" I nodded, and he escorted us over to a case with various ladies' wand sheaths. "Plain, or adorned?"

I considered briefly for a moment providing her with a showy sheath for special occasions in addition to the unadorned one she would require for daily use. I decided the decorated sheath would be unnecessary until she had the finished wand in hand. "I should think plain just now. Should she wish something more cultured later, we can certainly discuss that once the other wand has been prepared."

He gave one brief nod, waving his hand over the cases with the plain choices. "As you wish." Several sheaths were placed on the counter, with straps of varying lengths and thicknesses. "Right or left?"

Isabella looked to me when I did not answer immediately, only to find my gaze resting on her. "Which is your writing hand, Isabella?"

"Oh!" Her pink-tinged cheeks would be endearing to potential suitors, something else I would need to mention to her bodyguard. "Right."

The wandmaker pulled two sheaths from the stack, each a standard black leather. I blanched slightly as I realized Dubh would not be aware of how to fasten a lady's dress over the sheath and still allow access so that she could draw her wand from her thigh if she were wearing a sleeveless gown. A concern for a later time, I concluded as I handed over the payment for our purchases and a generous amount towards the commissioned wand.

He bowed his thanks. "Whom should I owl at its completion?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange." The heady rush of power filled me once more as I watched his skin pale. "I can trust your discretion in this matter?" He was quick to provide his assent. It was gratifying to know that my name alone could still terrorize. I suppressed the urge to cackle madly as we exited the shop, Isabella's hand once more in the crook of my elbow as I guided her through the streets.