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A/N:**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**
Chapter 7: Accident & Accidental:
September 15th, 1976;
There is an existential concept that is said to be as old as humanity, an irksome law for all intents and purposes, that is portrayed as the personification of Scarlett Sage Potter's life; a law which haunts her every move and remains hidden behind a corner, lurking, and waiting for the perfect moment – or in Scar's case, the worst possible moment – to pounce and wreak havoc. The aforementioned, accursed law ruling Scar's life with an iron fist is called Murphy's Law, given the epigram: anything that can go wrong, willgo wrong. During her horrid childhood, whenever she had bouts of accidental magic, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, her relatives would be the ones to witness the unfeasible feat. Escaping the graveyard after the Third Task, the curse managed to impact with Scar when she was a hairsbreadth away to her freedom with the corpse of her beloved and recently deceased boyfriend. During Umbridge's crusade, when Dobby warned the D.A. of her impending arrival, out of the forty members, only Scar had been unlucky enough to get caught by none other than her nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Many other examples could be stated, but the most crucial one would be regarding the ill-fated prophecy that shaped and ruined her entire life; out of the two nominated children born as the seventh month dies, Voldemort chose Scarlett Potter.
Suffice to say, Murphy's Law had an unhealthy, a disturbing, and a gruesome addiction to the Girl-Who-Lived, and as it appeared, travelling to the past didn't change a thing. In fact, the accursed and irksome law managed to fetter itself to the rechristened Lady Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin before her imminent birth.
For that reason, when Scar went to leave the apothecary at Diagon Alley, the arrival of a horde of Death Eaters didn't surprise her in the slightest. In all actuality, while the myriad of denizens cowered in fear, or ducked behind some solid stationary, or for the particularly few brave souls who brandished their wands and charged headfirst into the fray, those in close proximity to Scar found themselves astonished and bemused when the hooded figure didn't even bat an eyelash. Instead, they were shocked to hear her mutter to herself in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation, "Why am I even surprised?!"
Naturally, out of every single day of the week, and out of the twenty-four hours in a day, the Death Eaters would end up attacking on the exact day and the specific time she so happened to be in the Alley. Fantastic!
Scar kept her purchases on the counter since it was best to not allow any outside magic to interfere with magical ingredients meant for brewing, and if anyone were to see the face beneath the hood, they would have quailed in fear, for Scar had a sinister grin on her beautiful visage and she was practically palpitating with excitement; oh how she had missed the thrill of dueling, the thrill that came with the expression: kill or be killed. Call her crazy, but Scar had long ago accepted the fact that her life would revolve around wars and capturing the scum of the earth.
Exiting the apothecary, ravaged eyes scoped her surroundings: shattered windows, thick crimson seeping into the brick tiles, moans of agony pervading the air combined with screams of terror and wailing children. Scar could hear the raucous laughter coming from six hooded figures, their faces covered with the customary silver masks and they were elegantly brandishing their wands, jets of light ricocheting against the stores and a few stragglers while they fought against four Aurors. Scowling, the redhead noticed that there were three Aurors down and the Death Eaters remained standing, and it hit her like a ton of bricks – they were toying with them.
"REDUCTO!" Scar shouted, the spell blasting into a Death Eater that was halfway through articulating the Killing Curse. There was a moment of astounded silence as every single person in the vicinity turned to gape at the damage her spell caused; the unfortunate Death Eater's torso had a large puncture wound where his heart was situated and in slow motion, he collapsed onto the ground, dead. Musing over the sudden shock that permeated throughout the alley, Scar deduced it to be the first time a Death Eater had been purposely killed instead of being bounded and carted off to Azkaban – a bloody moronic move in the redhead's opinion.
The four Aurors and the five Death Eaters simultaneously whipped around to stare at Scar, and her smirk grew wider;there was a new player in Magical Britain.
Taking advantage of their motionless shock, Scar expertly wielded her wand and threw three consecutive curses – a blasting hex aimed at another Death Eater's head, barely sparing a second glance at the chunks of brain matter, skull, blood and flesh that splattered onto the brick tiles and those in close proximity to him; a bone-breaking hex was directed at the third Death Eater's clavicle; and an Entrails-Expelling Curse was aimed at the fourth, not even the slightest bit repulsed as the scum's organs and intestines littered the floor. Absentmindedly, Scar hoped that the parents had the foresight to hide the gory sight from the children. The three sequential spells were done fluently and in rapid speed, and the three aforementioned Death Eaters dropped like flies before they could even take the time to blink.
The distinctive growl of Head Auror Alastor Moody permeated the air as he cast a full body-bind curse on the remaining two Death Eaters, and just as he began berating his Aurors for freezing in battle, Scar's intensified hearing – a trait that came with her Animagus form – heard the peculiar sound of tormented screams and she immediately pursued the aggressor, wanting to spare the victim further pain from the Unforgivable she was personally and unfortunate enough to be extremely familiar with. Left, right, straight, left, and finally, ravaged orbs located the victim writhing on the ground near the back entrance of Knockturn Alley.
The Death Eater chuckled maliciously, his wand flourishing the practiced movement of the Killing Curse, "Avada Kedav-"
Quickly morphing into a combative stance, Scar recalled the spell she created before the Horcrux Hunt after her diligent self-studying in Arithmancy. She waved her wand in intricate yet flawless movements and boomed out, "SPECULO INCANTAMENTUM!" The deathly neon-green jet sped toward the twitching victim, but before it impacted with the man's chest, due to the potency of magic Scar used to fuel her spell, a large oval domed mirror blocked him from view, and the green light rebounded, hitting the castor in the chest, killed by his own spell… how fitting.
With a simple flick of her wrist, the conjured mirror made to deflect the vilest of curses vanished, and she ambled toward the filth. Scar yanked off the silver mask, cocking her head to the side in confusion, for she didn't recognize the identity of the wizard. Shrugging blatantly, the redhead turned to face the other wizard and was pleased to see that he wasn't suffering from violent aftereffects, but all the same, she offered him her hand, "You okay, Sir?"
"Y-Yes, thank you," the man stammered out breathily. "How can I ever repay you?"
Waving her arm nonchalantly, Scar smiled, although it remained hidden from the wizard, "Just take care to yourself next time. We're living in dark times, Sir." Wandlessly, she summoned his wand and handed it over and just as she went to depart, a strangely familiar voice yelled out, "Henry! Oh, Henry! What happened? Are you hurt, were you harmed?"
Ravaged eyes widened at the peculiar stuffed vulture sitting atop the hat that was commonly worn by one person in particular. Before the wizard – Henry, could utter a word, Scar cast a non-verbal notice-me-not charm on herself, returned to the apothecary, and grabbed her purchases before Floo traveling to the Headmaster's office, the entire journey spent in a daze. So preoccupied in her stupefied state, she failed to hear Albus Dumbledore repeatedly yell out her name in alarm, unable to catch her attention as she successfully departed through his griffin gargoyle and into Gryffindor Tower.
Minutes trickled by, and Albus stood rooted on his spot, gaping incredulously at his closed office door, unable to decipher why the time-traveling witch was in a state of disarray. In fact, Albus was oblivious in regards to how long he stood in the middle of his office, adopting a statuesque stance while unfathomably staring at the closed door and mulling over her bizarre behavior, and the only reason he was snapped out of his stupor was due to the distinctive roaring of the embers from behind him, followed by the familiar guttural growl of his old friend, Alastor.
"Albus? Something interesting about that door?" he growled, slumping down onto the empty seat. What with their long-term friendship and the many Order meetings that took place in the Headmaster's Office, Alastor made himself right at home, his beady eyes scrutinizing the jolted behavior of his old friend and ally as he retook his customary seat opposite to him. Smiling jovially, Albus' eyes twinkled at the sight of the paranoid Auror, "Alastor, what brings you here on this fine day?"
"If only it were so fine! There was an attack at Diagon, Dumbledore," it took a lot to surprise Alastor Moody, and seeing the color drain from Albus' face as his eyes, devoid of their customary twinkling, nervously flickered in the door's direction definitely surprised the paranoid Auror. Deciding to mull it over on his own time, he continued with his report, "Six Death Eaters. Bastards were toying with us. Unfortunately, I lost two of my Aurors, and another is at St. Mungo's, and I would have lost a damn lot more if it weren't for a cloaked witch. Killed four out of six in less than a minute, gave me the upper hand to catch them off guard and cart them off to the Ministry."
A grave expression took over Albus' visage and he leaned forward, "Killed? She killed four wizards?"
"Aye," Alastor grunted. "Shocked the bloody bastards. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Albus. We're losing a lot of lives due to our leniency! They slaughter us without remorse while we try capturing them for a fair trial," he spat, disdain coloring his face. "Whoever that witch is, she follows the correct code. Kill them filth, show no mercy, and let me tell you, the only reason I managed to restrain the last two was because they were stumped over the fact that somebody opposing them went directly for the kill!"
The wizened Headmaster closed his eyes and dragged a weary hand down his face; he had always been a believer of second chances, of allowing the sinned to practice redemption, but hearing Scarlett's gruesome tale of what befell her and the bleak future awaiting them if she never traveled back in time, his stubborn beliefs were beginning to weaken. Alastor's voice brought him back to the present, "-used a mixture of light and dark spells. If she hadn't defended us and killed those filths, I would be worried. She's formidable I tell you. I'd be damned if I don't manage to snatch her up and have her join the Auror program. But that's not all, Dumbledore. She saved Lord Longbottom's life!"
"What? What happened, Alastor? Tell me," Albus probed, ignoring the battle waging in the recess of his mind. Lord Henry Longbottom was a dear friend to him and a fellow Order member, and his near demise shook him.
"Just as I was about to get a name from her, she fled, don't know where. Next thing I know, Augusta appears supporting a shaking Henry. According to him, after Michaels released him from the Cruciatus, bloody scum cast the Killing Curse. A conjured mirror banished the spell backward, effectively killing him. Ironic, eh?" Alastor was definitely enjoying the new conundrum. The Ministry would no doubt be in a state of uproar over the fact that there was an unknown vigilante killing Death Eaters instead of arresting them.
Hoping for a negative response, Albus inquired, "So we have no way of identifying the anonymous witch?"
Grunting in annoyance, Alastor growled, "Henry managed to catch a wisp of crimson hair, other than that, we've got no way of identifying the witch."
Before Scar's height could surpass the stove, she had rigorous training in the art of cooking to feed her anorexic horse of an aunt, her obese whale of an uncle and her pig of a cousin who aspired to become as obese as his father. Unable to see past the stove, the redhead was forced to stand over a stool and meticulously cook meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, lest she burned anything and got punished and starved for days on end. But as the years went by, Scar came to enjoy cooking and found her skill was particularly adroit when it came to baking, therefore, it came to no surprise when Scar found out that she was a progeny at Potions despite her snarky professor and his vitriolic comments and unwarranted hatred towards her person. Despite the uncanny similarities between the Muggle and Wizarding art, brewing potions were more complex, and one must practice absolute caution and patience, for one miniscule misstep could cause an explosion, or worse.
But practice makes perfect, and Scar was confident in herself and the innate skill of potion-making she inherited from her mother, which was why the Girl-Who-Lived found brewing to be very meditative, a moment of clarity where she could clear her mind and process the myriad of thoughts buzzing around after a hectic day.
Currently, Scar had ensconced herself in the dungeons after her departure from the Headmaster's Office, humming tunelessly as she carefully concocted the neutralizer for the Cruciatus Curse. It was an intricate potion and failure to concoct it correctly would lead to catastrophic results, however, with the innumerous amount of times the redhead suffered from the aforementioned Unforgivable, Scar could brew it blindfolded. The tranquil ambience gave her the perfect opportunity to mull over this morning's events; she saved Lord Longbottom's life, Neville's grandfather, and it was completely unintentional. The first life she saved, and it was purely accidental.
Recollecting the disastrous incident of Hagrid's first Care of Magical Creatures lesson after returning from the epically failed summit with the giants, Neville informed the amphibian in pink that the reason he could see the Thestrals was due to the fact that he had witnessed his grandfather's death. Obviously after today's events, it was glaringly clear that Neville never met his paternal grandfather, meaning he witnessed his maternal grandfather perish.
Could it be… was she meant to visit Diagon at that exact moment… was it not in fact, her horrible Potter Luck rearing its ugly head, but Fate guiding her into saving the first casualty?
Scar wanted to scream, she wanted to yell, she wanted to bash her skull against a hard surface, and she wanted to lie down onto the cool floor and cry her heart out. She had been too lax in her mission, arrogantly certain that she had until after graduation to save lives and that she should focus on the current and future Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Realizing that Neville's grandfather was meant to die today and survived due to – as McGonagall stated after she and Ron saved Hermione from the mountain troll – sheer dumb luck, was a bitter pill to swallow and Scar felt abysmal. The second she landed in the past, Scar should have studied and memorized her Dumbledore's meticulously written notes and observed the plethora of memories regarding the demise of Magical Britain's populace, as well as the raids Voldemort instigated in the Muggle World.
Expelling a long breath, the redhead reduced the flames and made herself comfortable; she had an hour wait before extinguishing the flames completely and imbibing the neutralizer. She made the decision to order nutrient potions by owl as she wanted to get a head start on the mission she had arrogantly abandoned and didn't want to waste any further time brewing potions. Suddenly, the door blasted open and ravaged eyes snapped over to the doorway, only for them to widen at the sight. Scar's blood boiled with fury when her orbs took in the long, thick, shining black hair, thin lips, dark, heavy-lidded eyes and strong jaw; Bellatrix Black! The one she swore vengeance to as well as an agonizing death!
"What are you doing here? Leave! My fiancé and I want some privacy," Bellatrix sneered haughtily, and from her expression, it seemed like nobody ever disobeyed her or questioned her. Arching an eyebrow in response, Scar barely spared a glance at the mute Rodolphus Lestrange who ambled toward the storage cupboard for ingredients. "Do I look like one of your minions that you can command around? If you are so bothered by my presence, then you should be the one to leave, seeing as I was here first, Black," she sneered in return, spitting her name out with hatred.
Sapphire eyes narrowed in anger and Bellatrix fingered her wand, "I am a Daughter of the Noble of most Ancient House of Black, a Pureblood traced back through many generations to before the Founder's time! How dare you speak to me that way you filthy blood traitor!"
"Oh?" Scar got off her chair and kept her wand at the ready, "And how, pray tell, am I a 'blood traitor' as you so eloquently put it?"
"Emrys-Slytherin in Gryffindor," Bellatrix sneered as though Scar was being purposely dense.
The redhead threw her head back and chuckled darkly before glaring malevolently at the deranged bitch. "See, you and I, we have a different opinion on what a blood traitor is. You're an unbalanced, psychotic and sadistic bitch, you are a stain to the esteemed House of Black just by existing and spouting off your immoral beliefs," she took immense pleasure in watching Bellatrix's face flush red with apoplectic anger. "I'm not one to be easily trifled with, Black! You may be a Daughter of the House of Black, but I am the LADY Emrys-Slytherin, the Lady of two Noble and most Ancient Houses that are archaic and thought to have been extinct before I came along. Do. Not. Test. Me!"
Rodolphus hesitantly approached the deranged psychopath he was to wed, "Bella, dear, let's work on our potion and leave. Ignore the bint. She's not worth it."
"Language, Heir Apparent Lestrange," Scar snapped without disconnecting her warped eyes from blazing sapphires, which was a smart move, for Bellatrix Black waved her wand and uttered a bone-breaking hex aimed at Scar's leg. She easily sidestepped it, ravaged eyes turning into slits as she took a page from Hermione and muttered, "Avis. Oppugno."
A flock of canaries attacked a shrieking Bellatrix at the speed of a bullet; Bellatrix was a formidable opponent and a ruthless dueler, but thankfully, she had yet to reach her full potential and Scar's little spell managed to run her out of the room as she yelled profanities at the top of her lungs and vowed threats.
There was a beat of silence after the deranged bitch's loud departure; not one to turn her back to lethal Death Eaters, Scar shifted her orbs to blue-grey ones that were identical to Rabastan's and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rodolphus sneered at her before turning his back on her and returning to his workstation. Shrugging, the redhead retook her vacant seat and patiently waited for the neutralizer to finish stewing. Rodolphus, like his younger brother, was devastatingly handsome with identical entrancing eyes, but while Rabastan had an air of ebullience, was laidback and had eyes that shone with mirth, Rodolphus was more somber, cultivated and rigid with a perpetual sneer on his handsome face.
Already having had decided to save Rabastan's soul, Rodolphus Lestrange on the other hand, was an anomaly to the redhead; she had yet to socialize with the Heir Apparent, but the undeniable truth was that the elder brother already had the Dark Mark branded onto his arm. Scar knew it was all theory, but she had a peculiar feeling that marrying Bellatrix Black made him equally deranged and set him too far astray to the point of no return, bringing his younger brother down with him. It was a bloody huge risk, but the Girl-Who-Lived learned long ago that she should always trust her instincts, and right about now, at this particular moment, her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that separating the Lestrange brothers from Bellatrix would give them a chance to be saved, no matter how miniscule it was.
Bellatrix Black was toxic, a plague that could suck out any remnant goodness in a person and warp them to her will.
Extinguishing the flames, Scar conjured twenty vials and filled them with the neutralizer. With a mere flick of her wand, she packed her utensils and started cleaning out her station and cauldron before turning to leave. Pausing briefly on Lestrange who was adamantly ignoring her presence, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, "Word of advice, Mr. Lestrange, I'd terminate the marriage contract with Bellatrix Black if I were you."
Hands instantly stilled in dicing bat spleen and Rodolphus slowly turned around to face the enigmatic Lady Emrys-Slytherin, the sneer perfectly intact on his visage, "I wouldn't talk about such matters so openly, Emrys-Slytherin. You have no right to interfere in my life and that of my bride-to-be."
"Perhaps," Scar rebutted, not one to stand down so easily until she got her point through. "I do apologize for intervening in a matter that is obviously none of my business, but think of it as a… friendly warning. Bellatrix Black is a pestilence, unlike her sisters and her cousins, insanity is rapidly taking over her, and I promise you, she will tarnish the Lestrange name, she will bring about extinction to the Noble House of Lestrange, of that, I am sure. Anyways," she brushed off imaginary lint from her skirt and ignored the shocked expression on his face, his sneer all but vanished. "I have overstepped my boundaries, I shall leave you be-"
"Wait!" he yelled after her, and not waiting for her to turn around, he haughtily drawled out, "You arrogantly claim of what the future might bring before it has yet to occur. Are you a Seer?"
Instigating eye-contact, Scar smirked, "Maybe. Maybe not." Realizing that Rodolphus wouldn't let it go so easily and might end up stalking her or forcing the answer out of her, she dragged a hand through her crimson locks and sighed wearily, "Look, Lestrange, I don't know about you, but Bellatrix clearly doesn't love you. Most marriage contracts do not begin or end with love, of that, I understand, but she won't give you an Heir. Her interests and disturbed adoration lies completely with Voldemort, and never you."
Interesting… he didn't flinch or show any outward reaction to the Dark Lord's name… hmm.
Not waiting for a reply, Scar left the elder Lestrange to ponder over the veracity of her words in the empty classroom.
September 16th, 1976;
Ever since his near death experience, Henry's beloved Augusta had been smothering him to the point of suffocation, not that he blamed his formidable wife… if it were the other way around, Henry wouldn't give her a moment of reprieve either, not that he could ever imagine a Death Eater foolish enough to poke the dragon and suffer the end of her wand. Yes, Lady Augusta Longbottom was a dragon, a formidable witch, and a ruthless dueler; his Heir, Franklin was a year from graduating Hogwarts and beginning his Auror training and he still feared angering his mother and suffering her wrath.
Finally allowed a moment alone, Lord Henry Longbottom shuddered, remembering the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus Curse, of having every nerve on fire and the continual aneurysms he suffered, the blinding pain and then… he was allowed a reprieve, a nanosecond where he had been given the chance to greedily suck in a last breath of fresh air before the lethal green light shot toward him and his life flashed before his very eyes. He thought of his beloved Gus and how he would never hold her in his arms, he thought of his son, Franklin, his pride and joy, his Heir, the thought of not being able to watch him graduate, become a skilled and respected Auror, get married and have children… those thoughts were more excruciating than the tormented pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and just as he was about to welcome his unfortunate death, the deadly green light disappeared from his line of vision by a conjured mirror, and the next thing Henry knew, his hazel orbs connected with the corpse of his would-be murderer.
The events that followed were all in a blur. He distinctly recalled expressing gratitude to his savior right before Gus arrived in a frazzled state. Henry owed his savior a life debt, one he was adamant in fulfilling; despite the fact that his savior was fully sheathed in a hooded cloak, her voice was mellifluous and notably female, and just as Gus demanded his attention in the form of a suffocating hug, a flash of crimson passed before his eyes.
According to the Daily Prophet, Lady Emrys-Slytherin had crimson locks, and although Henry didn't share his suspicions with Alastor, he knew… he knew the identity of his savior.
Lord Henry Harfang Longbottom; on the fifteenth of September, year 1976, Voldemort sent seven of his followers to instill fear in Diagon Alley; out of the seven, only one (name unconfirmed) separated himself from his fellow Death Eaters searching for an important individual, preferably one belonging to the side of the Light, and he cornered Lord Henry Longbottom in the back entrance of Knockturn Alley; Henry Longbottom suffered under the Cruciatus Curse before he was effectively murdered by the Killing Curse; mortalities include six Aurors, and six bystanders; only three bystanders were wounded and in critical condition excluding Head Auror Alastor Moody; of the seven Death Eaters, only one had been captured and incarcerated; captured Death Eater: Rhys Emerson.
Scar tossed the piece of parchment away from her line of vision, disturbed by the chronicled entry. Albus Dumbledore was bloody precise in his recollection, that's for sure. The records were a goldmine and a helpful commodity to her mission and for the third time that day, Scar wanted to bash her skull against a hard surface for overlooking it. The alarming fact was that, had she not intervened, or had she visited Diagon two days ago like she had originally intended instead of yesterday morning, then twelve would have died, including her godbrother's grandfather, one he never had the chance to be acquainted with.
It was Sunday morning, and knowing that the Headmaster would beckon her to his office, no doubt having heard about yesterday's attack, she bustled over to the kitchen, devoured a measly portion of porridge and a few strawberries, and made a beeline to the Room of Requirement under her Invisibility Cloak. Everything she brought with her to the past had been inserted into Hermione's beaded bag which she carried around with her wherever she went, magically spelled into a pocket she created. Scar left the pensieve in the bag but took out the recordings of all the deceased and date of the raids, chronicled in Dumbledore's distinctive loopy handwriting.
Done wallowing in despair and self-hatred, the redhead thumbed through the parchment, ravaged eyes taking in the plethora of horrible deaths that occurred, had yet to occur and will occur. Warped eyes whizzed horizontally and vertically in rapid speed as she devoured the havoc Voldemort wreaked. Name after name after name, dates, times, places, it was endless, and the more bulletins Scar browsed through, the more nauseated she felt.
Eyes widened in horror at the familiar name glaring back at her;
Gerald Bernard Marchbanks; on the second of June, year 1977, Voldemort appointed Death Eater, Walden Macnair with the mission of murdering the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor as he had managed to survive the curse placed on the position for another year running and was about to successfully return for his third year of teaching at Hogwarts; Walden Macnair led four Death Eaters to Gerald Marchbanks' personal abode at Bromley, London near the wizarding district, Historic Alley; Gerald managed to bring down two Death Eaters before succumbing to, allegedly, Macnair's wand; Walden Macnair is notoriously known for his penchant in gore and dismemberment, and since Gerald's head had been decapitated and hung for the Aurors to see, I am certain it was Walden Macnair's doing.
Scar couldn't stomach the thought of the jovial Defense Professor dying in such a ghastly method. Deciding to take a break and practice dueling, Scar collected all the parchments and neatly arranged them, but just as she was about to insert them into the beaded bag, her hands stilled and her stance froze as warped eyes widened once more.
"Merlin's saggy balls!" she breathed out, her eyes unable to detach themselves from the chronicled name handwritten on the initial parchment, and slowly, one hand rose to cover her gaping mouth. She could not believe her eyes, but cruel jokes weren't the lemon-drop-sucking, eye-twinkling Headmaster's style.
There was no way Scar would be practicing spells; she had a crucial memory to witness.
A/N: New chapter out! Hope you liked it?! XD
I am so sorry that this chapter wasn't a long one, but there wasn't much I could put since the next events belong solely to the next chapter. How did you like the introduction of Rodolphus and Bellatrix? Unlike Rabastan, the elder Lestrange won't be very forthcoming and he will be a pure Death Eater asshole for a while. There will be a lot of conflict with Bellatrix as well – a person Scar loathes with every fiber of her being. It may seem like I made Bellatrix weak in this chapter, but I didn't… she isn't stupid to severely maim or kill a student while at Hogwarts and under Dumbledore's nose, and like I said, Bellatrix is seventeen and has yet to reach her full deranged Death Eater potential. ;)
ALSO; Scar's Animagus Form will be revealed later on in the story.
What did Scar find that shocked her to the core? There will be a HUGE plot-twist in the next chapter, and I cannot wait to write it out! XD
R&R.