Bindweed Hall

A/N: I know this is long. Oh, god, it's long. But bear through it - this is the home stretch, plotwise. Feel free to review, and thank you, THANK you, for reading this far.


North in Hollywyck the storm was arriving. At Bindweed Hall the storm was already in progress.

The tall woman strode through the rain and the wards one by one. She was stopped at the gate.

"Who goes there?"

"Tisiphone Gibbs. I'm expected inside."

The guard – a greasy young man not long out of Hogwarts – squinted at her. "Hey! Bert!" a second guard came over. "She says she's Tisiphone Gibbs. I never met her before, 'ave you?"

Bert looked her over. "I've not seen 'er, but heard of 'er. Tall, skinny, dark hair, eyes like gimlets…"

"Are you done?" she asked sharply.

"… Stick up 'er arse," finished Bert. "Yeah, seems to be her."

"She got past the wards," the first guard muttered.

"Then what question is there?" the woman demanded.

"Er…" the first guard hesitated.

Burt rolled his eyes. "Oscar, don't call me over for tripe like this." He paced away and Oscar let Tisiphone Gibbs in.

"If you don't mind, Miss, the walk's a bit flooded. I'll guide you around the puddles."

"Thank you," she said coolly.

They approached the house. A few spare windows were lit against the darkness. The lanterns by the front door gave an illumination to great stone walls covered with twining stems – vines of every sort, nearly naked against the mid-autumn storm. A lightning flash – perfectly timed – illuminated the great stone building, and the words above the door: Mai Lasciare.

Oscar saw Tisiphone Gibbs looking at the words, and grinned. "Italian. 'Never Let Go.' Me old family motto."

She looked at him with something like confusion. "Your family motto?"

"Yep – the Matins, that's us. And here you are, Miss Gibbs."

She did not thank him. She had once again assumed coldness. She tugged on the door-pull, and after a moment the door was opened.

The black-clad doorman frowned. "Are you – Miss Gibbs?"

"I'm in disguise," she answered, "as my cousin Calliope."

"But that's – why are you still in disguise?"

She rolled her eyes. "If Circe's told me once, she's told me a million times – Calliope is related to me, so Polyjuice Potion I take to look like her will last longer than if I'd been some random stranger. But I suppose you've never heard her Potion lectures, have you?" Seeing that the doorman still hesitated, she said, "I'm warning you, my patience is running thin and this rain is pouring thick and fast –"

"Yes, Miss Gibbs, of course, come in, Miss Gibbs."

And then Calliope stepped over the threshold of Bindweed Hall.

The entrance hall was large and wide. Thick tapestries covered the stone walls, blanketing the heat in. Above the great fireplace, an old portrait of a bearded man with a white ruff studied the assemblage. Around him stairways led to the upper levels, and – there – a stairwell down. That would be where to go…

She peered into the study, where there were people – they must be Death Eaters – still gathered around a radio, listening and talking softly. The light was dim. Everyone walked around wearing black, making them hard to spot. Likewise, once she took off her cloak, her pink blouse would make her a walking bullseye.

'It had to be pink. Of course. Thank you, Tisiphone. Priorities. Find the library. Find the dungeon. Dungeon first,' she thought. She made for the stairwell down – but was intercepted when a man came out of a passage. He saw her.

"Is that Miss Gibbs?" he asked. He was short and bald, and one hand constantly stroked the other, which seemed – metallic? And his voice carried – Calliope could have hexed him for it. "It is! It is Miss Gibbs! All dolled up, fresh back from the Ministry. You took your time. Where did you go exactly?"

"I Apparated with my cousin and she commanded the location," she answered shortly, crossing her arms. But people had come out of the study and were looking at her, starting to ask after the trial they'd heard on the radio.

This was not working. Calliope's ideal plan had been, 'In and out like a shadow,' and if it needed more detail: 'Like a shadow in the night.' She tugged slightly at the medallion of the High Priestess.

"Is that really Miss Gibbs?" someone asked. "I'd heard you was a bit more –" he reached for her chest and she recoiled. "Don't touch me." She straightened up. "Pardon me, but I have my own business to attend to."

"Oh, but there's someone here who's been waiting to see you!" began the fat, metal-handed man.

"Who, Turpin Rowle?" she asked impatiently.

Then a woman's voice said, "No."

Calliope stopped.

And the metal-handed man said, "Madame Lestrange, in fact."

Deep breath. Perfect calm. She turned around. On the stairwell, coming down, was Bellatrix Lestrange herself. Calliope knew the face, because she was so like her sister Andromeda – so familiar from the wanted posters. She was staring at her, with frank and open interest.

"Yes, Tisiphone," Bellatrix said. "Do let me talk to you." She descended the stairs and moved towards Calliope. Somehow, that simple action carried the entire energy of the assembly with her. Was it because she was, without question, the highest-ranked Death Eater? Calliope wondered. Or was it something more erotic, as the breathtaking robes and corset seemed to suggest?

'I am going to stop this train of thought right here,' Calliope thought as Bellatrix stepped in front of her, black eyes sharp as flint. "Tisiphone?" she asked.

'Occlumency.' Calliope thought, and clammed her mind up like a shell. 'I have no emotional association here at all.'

"Yes, milady?" She gave a deep curtsy. Never can be too formal…

"Good to see you found your way back, my little Fury. What took you so long?" Into Calliope's pause she added, "You were last seen Disapparating with your cousin in hot pursuit. What followed?"

"She tackled me. We Disapparated together. We fought. I… killed her."

"Really? Well-done." Bellatrix lifted her eyebrows. The small man with the metal hand trotted off downstairs – now Calliope wished she could follow him, but Bellatrix was talking to her again. "The trial was interrupted today."

"Indeed it was."

"Why didn't you make sure you knew exactly where your cousin and the Muggle were, before you acted? Why did you leave them to be a threat?"

"It was Circe and Proteus. They wanted to move fast. And the trial date couldn't be changed either."

"Hmph. I can't blame them for eagerness. And now, we won't have to worry about that Muggle at all, any more."

"Good to know." 'Oh god, please let Benny be right, please let Mark be alive, please please please…' "But why do you say that?"

"Haven't you heard?" Bellatrix's eyes widened as if she was sharing a juicy piece of gossip. "The Dark Lord wants to meet the Mudbuck."

'Calm, Calliope, stay calm, you are the picture of unconcern.' "Impressive, for a Muggle. And what does the Dark Lord want?"

From downstairs there came a short scream, muffled by stone, cut off suddenly.

"He's just fair curious." Bellatrix smiled. "I'm very much looking forward to that meeting, aren't you?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

"Good, good – of course I'll save you a seat, right by me." Abruptly, "Why are you still wearing the face of that dunglicker?"

Calliope swallowed, and shrugged. "I took an extra dose of potion." She held out the empty flask she'd taken from Tisiphone. "More than I should have, maybe. Figured it was better to keep looking like this a while longer, rather than… less… you know."

Bellatrix Lestrange, the murderer, torturer, nightmare incarnate, was narrowing her eyes. "Ah. And why not take an antidote?"

"Unless Circe had some brewed up around here…?" 'Oh god please don't let her have planned that far ahead,' she thought, the idea stabbing her in the stomach.

"I don't think so... Check the laboratory," Bellatrix commanded. Someone ran off to do her bidding. She took out a knife, curved like a smile. Calliope didn't break her eye contact with Bellatrix, but she saw its gleam.

"It's a good thing that your cousin isn't here. You know what I'd do if she were here?"

"Oh," 'What would Tess say?' "You would put her in her place. I bet."

"Absolutely." Bellatrix's smile was curved like the knife. "I'd take that girl, and I would take some mud – good, thick, foul stuff – and I would stuff it in that slut's mouth, and stuff, and stuff, until she swallowed."

Her lips were red, and Calliope could feel her breath. She swallowed. "That's nasty." She tried to make it sound like a compliment.

"I mean, why not, right?" The Death Eater looked around to the others for approval. "I bet that when her Mudbuck comes, mud is what he tastes like. So she must like it, don't you think?"

Calliope nodded.

"That would be to start." Bellatrix toyed with the knife. "I think that later, then…" she made the knife dance along Calliope's waist, a swift tickle of silver, "I would cut her open, and look inside her. Play doctor! You know what I'd look for?"

She just shook her head.

"For any filthy mud-babies that might be lurking inside her. She may need a few abortions courtesy of that Mudbuck, don't you agree?"

"You are a sick and twisted woman!"

Silence, thorough and complete.

Somehow Calliope managed to laugh; it was horrid awkward laughter, but she could talk through it, make something up. "Honestly! My cousin is the most frigid prude that you ever saw. I doubt she's ever gotten a screw in her life, let alone with that Muggle. I mean, come on, she probably wears a chastity belt."

"I see." Bellatrix wore a rather confused expression, but she looked at least partially amused. "Well, too bad for her. In your case, we've also got the reverend. He's in the dungeons."

Calliope was taken aback until she remembered Tess' words: "Circe promised she'd cook something up to help Jan… give him his mind back, clean his blood of the Muggle taint, whatever had to be done."

"Good, excellent. He's unhurt, I hope." ('With an attitude like that you will inspire terror in the multitudes.')

"I wouldn't promise that. From what I was told, he's still raving. But he's been restrained, he won't hurt himself." She leaned closer to Calliope and whispered in her ear, "And of course, there are restraints that you can put on him, if you like."

Calliope nodded, as if she was contemplating the suggestion, she would definitely use that for later, thanks for the tip. She whispered, "I'd like to see him." She cleared her throat. "I'd like to see him. And the Muggle."

"As you wish, my little Fury."

Calliope did a curtsy – good manners were never a bad idea. "Thank you for your time, milady."

Bellatrix smiled, and walked away. Calliope did not heave a sigh of relief, because things had only just begun.

"Goyle! Show Miss Gibbs to the dungeons. And Crabbe, is there any of Goshawk's potions in the laboratory? No? Crying shame. You'd better wear off that Potion quite quick, dearie!" she called to "Tisiphone." "Because I wasn't kidding, when I talked about your cousin."

Calliope did not even respond. A large man with grey hair and dull little eyes set into his head approached her. "So you wanna see the dungeons, Tisiphone?"

"Yes, I do, and I don't want any small-talk." She snapped. Yes. Be angry. Tisiphone would be angry. Don't be scared of Bellatrix. Be angry at her (now that she's walked away and is no longer twitching her knife at your stomach). Be angry at everyone.

Goyle scowled. "As you wish, my lady."

He didn't talk for the rest of the walk to the dungeons, though out of sullenness or dullness Calliope didn't know and didn't care.

"I hope that the Muggle is here, too," she said sharply. "I want to interrogate – taunt him." Where was a thesaurus at a time like this?

"Oh yes," Goyle answered. "He's here. Him and –"

"OH!" she exclaimed.

"What?"

"Oh… nothing… I thought I saw… a rat…" Calliope had just realized what Bellatrix had meant about the mud.

"There ain't no rats around here," Goyle answered, confused, "Except for Wormtail, naturally. Anyway, that Muggle and yer uncle, Mr. Ollivander, they're both here. All locked up with the loony priest."

He turned around and grinned at her as he unlocked the door. "Helluva family reunion, eh?"

"I wish to speak to him alone." 'Yes, be angry at Mark. He was an idiot, you deserve to be angry at him.'

"Hey, Muggle pig!" Goyle yelled into the darkness. "Here's a lady caller – the Fury, ye heard of her? In ye go," he said to Calliope, giving her a bodily shove inside, and closing the door behind her.

Closing the door, closing out all light.

She panicked momentarily, before she remembered, 'Wait, I have my wand again.' She took it out. "Lumos!"

The dungeon was wide and low-ceilinged, and someone – Mark was there, Mark was alive, standing up, with one hand still on the wall of the cell.

"Mark," she whispered. She stepped towards him, reaching out her hand, before the wand light fell on him more brightly, and she saw that there was a bright red wound on his temple, and dried blood had collected around his eye and chin. And he was glaring at her, with sheer, undisguised hatred.

She stopped. He said, in a low voice, "So. You came along to see what they did to me." He gestured to himself. ('What happened to his shirt?') "Are you happy?"

It was just like that illusion – she tightened her grip on her wand – no, this was real. "Mark, it's me, Calliope – I'm here to…"

But her words died when she saw the cruel smile on his face. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" He was walking towards her, making her back up. "You murderer. You killed her, I swear I'll kill you, I don't care if you're a witch—"

Someone else in the darkness was calling, "Don't you dare hurt her! Mr. Printzen, I am warning you!"

"Stop it." She stood her ground. "Mark, it's me, you know me, look at me." She took his face in one hand. "Look – at – me."

He looked up into her eyes, and some of his hatred quailed. "Prove it."

The black cord hung heavy around his neck. She reached around her own neck, and pulled out her cord, her eyes not leaving his face. The medallion dangled between their faces. "Julietta Fell gave this to me. The High Priestess – and you got the Hanged Man, please, Mark, it's me."

"Oh." He stepped back, his face white with shock.

"Listen, it was Tisiphone who was impersonating me the whole time. She took Polyjuice and they think that I'm her, Mark, don't look like that, it's all right."

"I thought you were – " his voice was only a whisper, before he stepped forward and hugged her, tightly, "dead."

She was at a loss for words. Touching his bare skin was doing funny things to her heart. 'Don't think about that,' she thought automatically, but she still murmured, "I thought they made you forget me."

He drew away from her. "They told me she killed you. Oh, my God…"

Then a voice from the darkness said, "Pardon me, but is that Calliope or Tess?"

Calliope turned. Could it be –? "Lumos Maxima!"

The wand's light now illuminated the entire chamber easily. And there he was, sitting in the corner, holding a piece of paper for a wand, and shielding his eyes against the light.

She ran to him, hugged him, tightly. "Uncle, I forgot about staying with you, I only just remembered today, it's been the most insane day, but Uncle, things will be different this time, because I swear I'm going to get you out of here, I will!"

"Don't worry about promises right now," he said gently. "I'm glad to see you again, and you have your wand back, I see."

"Yes." She held it out. "I won it from Tisiphone, but Uncle, I'm glad you taught me wandless magic, it's come in so useful. So thank you."

"Why do you call her Tisiphone now?"

Her smile vanished. Mark had approached to join them, though he kept at a distance. "You can come closer," she said to him. To her uncle she replied, "She betrayed us to the Death Eaters. Tisiphone is how Bellatrix Lestrange calls her; let that be her name, then."

"What exactly happened?" Mark asked. "In brief."

"In brief, I think she had a second mental breakdown. It started as revenge, revenge on you and Andrew. It's a load of complicated poison, but because you were involved with me, and Andrew and Hector became involved with each other, and it was all corrupting our family, she hated that."

(If Mr. Ollivander wondered why Hector and this Andrew fellow were 'involved,' he gave no sign, and Calliope was grateful because that would have been a tad awkward.)

"And then you donated your blood to Januarius Fell, and drove him mad, and she blamed you for that, too. But Circe Goshawk promised she could fix Mr. Fell up, somehow. And that, and revenge, was enough for Tisiphone to participate in the scheme: she impersonated me with Polyjuice, and Proteus impersonated you, and –"

"Circe was a backup you," Mark supplied.

"… Yes, I suppose, and Linus was already under Imperius."

"He was?"

"Yes. Turpentine cast Imperius on him. A while ago."

"I knew it…" Mr. Ollivander muttered.

"What happened after the Ministry? I told your uncle everything up to that point."

"She Apparated to Hollywyck, and I followed her. Her potion wore off, and we fought. I won. Didn't kill her. I fell asleep and… um… had a weird dream that told me how I could find you. Don't look like that."

Both of the men were giving her funny looks.

"I swear it made sense then. Anyway, I took a few things from her, enough to pass as her. And I tried to pull together a plan, and came here. No idea what's happened to Linus and the others."

"Did you just leave her there?" Uncle asked.

"No! Oh, no. She was Stunned, I tied her into a bed so she wouldn't be able to move when she wakes up. And there's a guard. She will be fine, but I want the law to find her. I've done enough, I think."

Mr. Ollivander stared. "Little Tess… It cannot be." He shook his head. "I'll think about it later. Perhaps someone was mistaken."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Uncle," Calliope said, sighing. "Right now we're focusing on getting you two out of here. The Dark Lord…" She fell silent. She heard another voice, a whisper, but growing louder now in the silence:

"Tess? Tess, is that you?"

"Make that the three of you," she muttered. "Is that who I think it is?"

"It's Januarius Fell, a reverend, and a friend of Tess," Mr. Ollivander replied. "He is quite mad. He's recently fallen into a depression."

"He's here because of Tisiphone – they'll probably kill him now that she's… well, we can't have that. Is he dangerous?"

"He can't cast any magic, but I've tried to talk to him and he's unresponsive," said her uncle.

She nodded. "I'll try, anyway. If he's difficult then he may give us all away."

"Wait – " Mark interrupted. "We're definitely bringing him along, then?"

"Yes, are you objecting?"

"No, but I'm taking into consideration the chance that he may attempt suicide again after we save his life."

"I'll risk it." She approached the minister carefully, her wand slightly lowered. "Januarius Fell? Can you hear me?"

He turned his face away, then looked at her from the corner of his eye. "It's not Tess."

"No. I am not Tisiphone. I am Calliope. But you can trust me. You see?" Again, she held out the medallion. "Julietta gave this to me. Do you see it?"

He turned slightly towards her. "Y… yes, I do."

"What is it?"

"It's the High Priestess. Second enigma. Secrets, mysteries, initiation."

"Yes. Good. That means I'm a friend. Now, do you know where you are?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Not Hell. Not Limbo."

"That's right. And you're not even dead."

"But in prison."

"Close enough. Januarius, I'm going to help you escape, but I need your complete cooperation, do you understand? Do you understand?"

He remained stubbornly silent, and Calliope was aware of Mark coming up behind her. She whispered, "Don't say a word…"

"I don't want to leave," Januarius said at last, in a forceful rush.

"Why not?"

"I want to die."

'Of course. I not only have to be a spy and impersonate my psychotic cousin and play the dashing heroine, now I have to be a psychologist too.' "Why do you want to die, Januarius? The world is beautiful, your sister is alive and safe, there's so much to live for."

"My debt."

"What debt?" she asked, event though she knew the answer.

"The life-debt that I owe… to that intractable Muggle standing over your shoulder." He opened his eyes and turned his head the other way, glaring sidelong now at Mark, but still talking to Calliope. "How am I supposed to pay back a life-debt to a Muggle? Muggles have no honor. I didn't want the debt; I'm incomplete, corroded, corrupted, until it's paid off, but I have no way to pay it…"

"Listen," Mark cut in, loudly – Calliope shushed him, and he lowered his tone but still spoke fiercely, "You keep talking about how you can't pay me back, the debt's unpayable, I'm telling you, it's not. Right in front of you is the way to pay me back, but you're so caught up in your own angst you don't even see it. Do you hear me, Januarius Fell?"

The reverend clenched his eyes shut. "Yes, I hear you."

"If you help Calliope, her uncle, and me to escape, your debt is quit, do you hear? I will consider it to be entirely repaid, and you will owe me nothing any more. Okay? Do we have a deal?"

Januarius opened his eyes, and looked Mark in the face. "You… you would accept those terms?"

"I'm offering them, yes, I would accept."

"I accept them as well," Calliope volunteered.

"Sounds quite reasonable," Mr. Ollivander added. "I'm sure anyone else would agree."

"Then, yes," Januarius said, straightening up. "We have a deal."

As Mark and Januarius shook hands, Calliope stood up. "Januarius, do you have your wand?"

He shook his head. "Destroyed. Death Eaters."

"I'm very sorry to hear that." 'So I'm the only one here with a wand. All right.' "By the way, Uncle, I think this should go to you." She drew out the medallion of the Hermit and gave it to him. "Can you see what it is?"

He studied it. "It appears to be the enigma of the Hermit. Very nicely rendered. Thank you. But what is it for?"

"Just… just in case. Anyway, we have to move as quickly as we possibly can, because Voldemort wants to meet Mark, and I –"

Januarius winced as if he'd been hit. Mr. Ollivander stared at his niece. "You said his name!"

"Yes."

"Huh." Mark interrupted, "So… Voldemort. Meeting me. That's not good, what is your plan then?"

She took in a deep breath. "Well," she said, "This is the improvisational part."

"The 'fun' part."

"Exactly! Great way to look at it. First…" she checked her wristwatch, "I've got to leave here soon and go to the gallery to find… some things… and to get a more concrete idea of the grounds. I'll come back here –"

"Under what pretense?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"That's where you come in…" And she continued to explain the plan, explain the precautions she'd taken, and the messages she'd sent, and the route (though very vague and uncertain) that they were going to take. And when she was finished,

Januarius sighed, "You're mad,"

Mark said, "I don't think I understand it, but it sounds cool and I trust you,"

And Mr. Ollivander said admiringly, "Calliope, you are braver than your mother."

"Heh, heh," she laughed nervously, "I'm not brave at all, I'm just not letting myself think about what I'm doing."

ooo

Part one of the plan was a complex simplification.

Calliope was, at that moment, disguised as Tisiphone, who was disguised as Calliope.

She would drop the Calliope-disguise by disguising herself as her cousin, and try not to think about it too hard.

People had often said that Tisiphone and Calliope looked alike, and for once she was glad of that. Bone structure, complexion and eyes… that counted for a lot. But there was yet more to be done.

She didn't trust herself with the Illusion Charms without a mirror, so her Uncle applied them with her wand.

"There…" he muttered, after a time, lowering the linden wand. "That's done…"

"Is it enough?" she asked.

"I'm trying to figure that out myself." He frowned. "I'm sorry, but this is very strange, to try and shift my two nieces' faces. It doesn't look quite right yet…"

"No, it doesn't," said Januarius, louder than necessary. Over their shushes, he strode to Calliope. "If you're trying to look like Tess, you have to realize that her brows are like this –" and he covered her forehead with his hands. She felt his magic settling, a rather unsteady effect, but with strength behind it. "And her nose looks like this –" he tapped the bridge with his fingers, "and her hands are altogether different." He took her hands and turned them over in his own, removing the calluses of bowstring and violin and replacing them with Tisiphone's bonier hands.

"Are you done yet?" this from Mark, who looked distinctly annoyed.

"It's a very good likeness," Uncle admitted.

"Almost." Januarius pressed her cheekbones with his thumbs, but more gently this time, as if he was sculpting. "There." And the question occurred to Calliope, surprising: Was he in love with Tisiphone?

"It's finished," her uncle said with a tone of awe. "You're a perfect likeness."

"Good," she said. "I'll be back soon. Thank you, Januarius, but stay quiet."

Before she left, she used her wand to set alight the torches in their brackets. At least they wouldn't be in darkness.

She closed the door behind her. Took a deep breath. Dark and claustrophobic as the prison had been, there wasn't the deception.

And – she looked down. Though she hadn't wanted to mention it in front of any of the men, she was considerably less buxom than her cousin, and didn't know any spells to alter that.

'If only I had been more of a shallow, image-conscious teenager,' she thought ruefully.

Well, no time to lose, so she let it go, resolving that if anyone so much as stared, she would slap and then hex them for lechery. 'Yes. Very in-character.'

Her debt to settle, first.

She was cold and haughty when she asked for directions to the library, and so escaped questioning. She almost managed to convince herself she was not afraid, and she managed not to start the first time she saw a mirror.

As Calliope moved down the passageway and passed Mr. Goyle – thanks heavens he didn't recognize her – she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and there was nothing. Only a painting, a portrait of a man with a white beard and ruff beside a table with quills and –

Wait a minute.

The man fit awkwardly into the frame, and was clearly trying to squeeze between the table in the foreground and the curtain in the background. The original, she realized, was a still life. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you following me?" she whispered.

"Madam, can't a painting take a stroll in his own house as he pleases?" came the gruff, but not unfriendly, reply. "Why be so alarmed? I'm only a humble, harmless painting."

Calliope glared at him sidelong. 'He knows. He knows I don't belong here.'

"Why do you look different from when you entered the cellar?"

"You mean the dungeon?"

He waved an impatient hand. "Pish-tosh! I built this house with a big hearty cellar for wine and cheese and meats, and what do my descendants do? They take the food out and put in prisoners and call it a 'dungeon!' Fine, if you insist, it's a dungeon. And you looked different coming out of it, but you didn't change your garb… unless there's another young lady in there that I missed."

"No, no, I'm the same person, despite how I look."

"I see. You don't want to share. Fair enough. I can tell, you're not of the strange folk who come and go, flashing their bodkins. No, I won't tell anyone – but you've piqued my curiosity, if I may be frank."

"Who are you?"

"Melanthios Matin, master of Bindweed Hall, alive 1353-1470, at your service." He bowed.

"So you're familiar here…"

"Know every stone on the property."

"And every painting?"

"Naturally."

"You can help me," she said quickly, but softly. "I'm looking for a painting. A portrait, a recent addition – it has a teenage girl and two little children, a baby and a toddler. And it's frozen…"

He nodded and gestured excitedly. "I know it! The very one! I knew someone would repair it some day!"

"Can you take me to it? At once?"

"Of course! But –" as he led her, moving from painting to painting and checking to see that she was caught up, he kept talking, "why did you look for it in the cellar? Or dungeon?"

"I wanted first to talk to the people in the dungeon, the prisoners –"

"Blackguards!" he cried, with such force that he upset the table where three wizards were playing cards. "Sorry, gentlemen, sorry, sorry…"

"You don't like the prisoners?" she asked.

"Jove, no! Prisoners? In my house? Captors and torturers feasting at my tables? It makes my colors run cold – figure of speech, you understand."

"I do!" Calliope felt an idea bloom. "My lord Matin, what if we struck a deal?"

Matin agreed to the deal, and explained about the house and its history as she stalked through the library. The library was almost entirely dark – but she'd gone in by a secondary door. In the center a few lamps were lit, and Calliope could hear voices. A soirée seemed to be in progress. She passed books of astrology – here was morals, ethics, philosophy, social philosophy –

"There it is!" Matin said in a stage whisper.

Calliope peered forward, squinting – and realized she could see the painting. There was a frame, a part of an oak frame broken off – just on the wall that she was moving along.

"Do you see it?" said Melanthios. "Do you see it ahead?"

She did, and in a few strides she was standing in front of the painting. Dizziness gripped her, but it was almost a rapture, to feel the sensation of spinning. She would soon be free. She stared at the canvas. Benedicte watched over little Linus and little Calliope playing on the couch, a perfect scene made of strokes of light and dark – forever.

She reached out and touched Benedicte's forehead.

Melanthios blanched. "What are you doing? The oils in your hand will –"

Benny in the painting blinked, shook her head and straightened up. "Whoa! What happened? What did I miss?" Linus and Calliope in the painting woke up.

"All right," Calliope took out her bag, and tapped the back of the painting. "I'm going to take you away now – I'll take you home, but first you have to be in the dark for a while. All right?" When Benedicte and Linus assented, she tapped the frame with her wand, took it from the wall, and packed it into her small bag.

"Well," she said, sighing with relief, "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Matin."

She looked up, and was surprised to see him quite crestfallen in Intermittent Still Life with Exploding Snap Cards. He gave a sigh. "Of course, anything to maintain harmony."

"What is the matter?"

He shrugged. "I – it's a silly thought, but the girl and the children seemed so pleasant, I thought that if they should wake up, we could be – they would make a good addition to a household."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing – " he shrugged, and gave a little smiled. "The life of a painting. Real life thunders on, past us the memories, and there's nothing we can do to change it. They already have a household, I know. Go and return them to it."

She nodded. "Thank you. Don't tell anyone –"

He nodded, putting a finger to his mouth. "Now. Don't thank me until I've told you about…" he looked around. "Can you see anyone? There's a painting down the hall of Mont St. Michel, we'd be safer there. Come on."

Standing in the foreground of an elegant landscape in France, the one-time Master of Bindweed Hall explained to her the secret passage out onto the grounds from the basement, and the ancient waterway that connected the well to the River Wharfe. And he made sure that she was only doing this in order to take off some of the tarnish that his family house had acquired – the tarnish of holding innocents captive and hosting madmen.

Calliope promised him to keep the family secrets, and redeem Bindweed Hall at least a little. In return, Melanthios Matin promised not to tell anyone else about her.

With all that said, he bowed and left, returning to his portrait in the entrance hall.

Calliope lost no time. 'I have to return to the dungeons,' she thought, 'And I'll get Uncle and Mark and Januarius out of there and we'll be all right.' She felt clearheaded, capable. She hadn't been able to think this clearly in months. Benedicte's shadow was gone. And she had her wand. Slowly, more and more possibilities occurred to her. She was a witch! With her magic and her wand she could accomplish anything…

Then she turned a corner and heard people talking. She remembered that this part of the library had been more open, big enough for a few people to stand around and talk. She peered through the shelves: a small party was in progress. And there was a tall man speaking with an arrogant grace, boasting.

"Turpentine," she whispered. He went on,

"It ended badly. I'll be the first to admit. But we've done the damage. And the shock and confusing ending will ultimately only help. The judge, the jury, the audience across England – all of them are now convinced that it's possible for Muggles to steal magic. That any Muggle-born wizard they've known for years could simply be a thief. That idea, my friends, is going to change everything. That little crack is soon going to widen into a chasm."

"I'll drink to that," someone else said. There was a clink of glasses.

"To Presumption," Turpentine said in a laughing voice.

"To Presumption," they echoed, chortling and chuckling. There was a pause, wherein presumably drinks were consumed.

"But Turpentine," asked another voice, an older woman's voice, "how did you know for sure that the Mudbuck would take the bait?"

There was Turpentine's laugh. "I was hoping you'd ask. It was classic psychology at work. Well, I've met the Muggle a few times before. The very first time we met, I encountered him alone, at first, and of course I overpowered him. But soon that wretched Ollivander girl interrupted. And she tricked me, that minx. She coaxed me into making an exchange – her for the Muggle. I chose her –"

"Why?" Asked someone else.

"Because, Yaxley, I needed her for my experiment! I've only explained it a dozen times."

"Hey, all's well that ends well," a man's voice put in, calmingly. "Turpentine, go on."

"Thank you – anyway, I remembered that encounter. I remembered what I knew of him – he has some souped-up code of honor that he must abide by, and of course it's clear as day he's besotted with that witch. So I set it up like an echo of our first meeting. A hostage exchange situation. Last time, he'd been traded for his darling Calliope – and I knew how much he'd regretted that. Oh, I knew. This time, he got to make the choice himself. The most melodramatic sacrifice possible – and a chance to atone for his greatest failure? Easy money."

Calliope found her hand was already on her wand. She thought, 'Well that explains that, now that we've had our nice little exposition hour over, we are leaving now.'

And she tried to retrace her steps, but by the time she wound her way through the stacks and found the right door –

"Tisiphone? Is that you?"

She'd walked into sight. She turned. "Oh. Hello."

"Whatever are you doing here?" The speaker was an older woman, who had graying hair drawn up. Probably the mistress of the house, just judging from how she stood in the library among the guests.

"Oh, just looking for… books. On economics," she added. "And I found the books, so I will just be going, now…"

"But Tess, we must have a drink!" Turpentine waved her into the circle. "Thorfinn! A glass." A wineglass was shoved into her hand.

"To Tisiphone," Turpentine raised his glass. "To her impeccable performance."

In the name of irony, she raised her glass, and took a drink with the rest – it was a savory and full red, with a tart finish. Keeping her face impassive – she didn't dare smile – she began to move towards the exit again. "Thank you, but I really must be going now…"

"Oh, come now, Tess, I'm sure that you want to tell all of your dramatic part in the tale!" Turpentine took her by the shoulder ('Don't wince, or recoil, or grimace') and drew her into the little circle. "She was quite the star of the day, weren't you, Tess?"

"Yes, you all heard me on the Wireless, I'm sure," she said delicately.

"It's been rather an exciting day, hasn't it?" asked someone.

"Yes, rather. I would like to just go home… and lie down…" she took another drink of wine, but a small one, and quietly shrugged off Turpentine's hand.

"What, no question and answer session?" Turpentine laughed. "I thought you'd want to boast to the world…"

"Yes, well, I'm more tired than I thought I would be."

"Are you sure?"

An idea took root – a curiosity. Her natural Ravenclaw instincts prompted her, and she took another tiny sip. Slowly, "Actually, I have a question, for you, Turpentine."

"Oh?"

"You were supposed to never use Unforgivable Curses. But my cousin? You had him under Imperius for – how long? Why did you break that rule of yours? And when?"

Turpentine's face lost its smile, and she could see that he wanted very much to sneer or scowl – but he was almost as good at controlling his face as she was. "Well, since you asked, Tisiphone…" he took a drink, "It was an impulse decision. Try not to die of shock," he added to the assembly, who tittered good-naturedly, "It was just a day after Calliope was released from St. Mungo's. Linus Ollivander, for some pointless reason, was visiting the Obliviator's and Paramnesiac Office. And he and I spoke… and he ended by saying that he wasn't afraid of me. Of me! That arrogant, pompous chit – so I Imperiused him then and there. He said I had no more control over him. But," he chortled, "he was the one sending owls to me daily, at least – telling me of everything that went on in his life, your life – all I had to do was think of it, and he would tell me. That's how we were able to plan all this, with me controlling the strings of one particular puppet."

"And in the Black Otter, you made him believe the memories you fed him just like that. How clever." She took another drink.

"Oh, yes. It was quite a thrill. I think more people should be using the Unforgivables like that. It's all about creative application of power. You didn't need any Unforgivables, though, did you Tess?"

Calliope tilted her glass, smiling tightly. That had been her last hope regarding her cousin. "No. I guess I didn't."

He smiled down at her, and his grip tightened on her shoulder. She wanted desperately to shove him off and run away, but would Tess do that? Or would she tolerate his – advances? Calliope settled for mere squirming, mentally applying various methods of torture to Turpentine.

"She was the one who approached me, you know," he said to the assembled crowd. "She said that her brother had told me about my attempt to blackmail them. Seems so long ago! And she wanted to try and make me – what was it that you said?"

"I honestly don't remember."

"I think I do; 'See reason before I made the biggest mistake of my life.'" He laughed. "The nerve of her! She actually tried to threaten me. But I took it in stride. I saw potential in her. And I told her so –" he said in a low voice to Calliope, "and you didn't like the idea very much at first, did you?" he turned to smile at her but she took another sip so she wouldn't make eye contact. "And I sent a little birdie named Circe to coax her along the way. And look where that road has led us, now!" He slapped her on the back. "One of us."

Calliope nodded, smiled, and took a tiny sip of wine. "Yes, very good, very good. Now, this has been lovely, but I really must be going. I'll stop by some other time."

Calliope closed her ears to the words of the other Death Eaters, and only gave Turpentine the barest of nods to acknowledge him. Then, finally, she left the library.

Part two of the plan, commence, now.

She passed by the dungeons and heard complaining inside. A guard approached her. "Miss Gibbs, your uncle is putting up a right ruckus. He wants to talk to you."

"What about?" she asked coolly.

"What you done to your cousin. He says he wants to teach you a lesson."

She smirked. "Oh, I'm sure he does. Fine, I'll humor him."

Thus she entered into the dungeons with the full blessing of the guards, and the door was shut tight behind her. Now to just find –

Something was wrong. The two younger men were standing awkwardly by Uncle. He was sitting on the ground, his face to the wall, hunched over – was he crying? She touched his shoulder. He turned to her, wiping away tears. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry – no, no injury, I'm fine. I just – remembered her, as clearly as if she were here and talking to me. Then I remembered her death, all at once, the grief was so fresh –"

"You mean…" she started.

"Yes! Benedicte! Calliope, you wonderful girl, you've broken the curse!"

He hugged her, which he had done rarely even before his capture. She hugged him back.

Mark, uncertain, congratulated her. But when Calliope looked at him, she almost didn't hear his words for her heart beating so hard, excitement and happiness and fluster and confusion and affection that begged to be expressed all blossoming within her, without pause. She couldn't meet his eyes, and wished more than anything that her hair was loose so she could hide behind it.

She was in love. The love that had been forgotten, buried, sublimated for months was now demanding her full and complete attention.

'Good god,' she thought, 'if this was how Mark felt whenever he saw me for the last three months, how did he survive without saying something?'

Mark said, "Um…"

She looked up. The three men were staring at her oddly.

"Are you okay?" he finished asking.

"Fine! Um… give me a minute."

Deep breath, facing the wall. She was the commander, the member of the Order of the Phoenix. And besides, she couldn't try any romancing in front of her uncle and Januarius. 'When this is all over,' she thought, 'I will tell Mark that I love him and – why be so shy? – we'll think about love when this is over.'

She turned back. "I think I know how to get out of here… I'll, I'll just do that, shall I?"

She heard Januarius ask Mark, "Is she always like that? Seems a bit off, if you ask me."

Following Matin's instructions, she went to the eastern corner and whispered the words "Mai Lasciare" as she waved her wand. The passage opened: a crude set of stairs revealed themselves. They led into the garden and the three men followed her into the open air. All that Uncle took from the cell was the heavy cloak that the Death Eaters had given him for a blanket, and he put it on as they stepped outside.

The mists were heavy, and the air smelled of the countryside. They walked in single file, following Calliope's wandlight.

"We are looking for a well," she whispered to them.

"I want a wand," Januarius grumbled.

"I dealt without a wand for two whole months, you can deal without one for a few hours," Calliope whispered back.

"But I can't do magic!" he complained, louder.

"Be quiet!" Mark hissed.

"But I need to protect myself!" And now his voice was really too loud. Mark clamped a hand over his mouth, and whispered fiercely, "You promised that you would help us escape, and being loud enough to carry across the garden is not helping."

Someone touched Calliope's shoulder. She turned – it was her Uncle. "Guide the light over there," he pointed. "I have an idea.

"I've been watching this tree for the last few weeks out the window," he explained. "If you can help me…"

He led her to a silver birch, which stood out when hit by the light of the wand. It was bare of leaves, but healthy and strong. Mr. Ollivander approached the tree almost reverently and ran his fingers along the bark and lower branches, as if looking for something.

Calliope looked from the tree to Januarius, who was being half-dragged along by Mark. "Uncle… are you really thinking…"

"Yes, I am," he answered. "Use your wand to break off – this branch, right here, if you would be so kind."

She used a Severing Charm to break off the branch – a straight but supple line, which she could tell at once would make a good wand.

"Very good, very good," her Uncle muttered as he took it in his hands. He muttered a few quick spells of preparation, of readiness, of channeling, pacing away into the mist. When he reappeared in the circle of light, he held it out to Januarius.

"Here," he said.

Januarius stared at it, but Mark asked, "Did you just make a wand?"

"I made the beginnings of a wand," Uncle answered. "More spells, a core, preparations – and of course, should it choose him – and I know it's not perfect," he went on as if to himself, "but it has the life of the tree still within it. Not the same magic as a finished wand, but it may work."

Januarius pushed Mark away, and reached out a trembling hand. He took the branch, and muttered, "It chooses me. I know it."

"Then, it will do for little magics… if not exerted. Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you."

As Januarius said "Lumos," and made a tiny light against the darkness, Calliope said, "Good, detour over?"

"I think so," Mark answered. "Man, if only we could make these trees into Ents – we'd have perfect allies."

"Ents?" Uncle asked.

"It's a Muggle… thing…" Calliope mumbled.

They resumed the hunt for the well, Calliope's light leading the way. Their feet sunk into the mud as they passed the herb garden, still growing strong even now. Then she spotted a shape ahead in the darkness, a low shape between three trees. With a gasp, she gripped Uncle's sleeve and ran towards it. It was the well, but it had a heavy cover over its top. Shriveled tendrils of morning glory clung to it, and it was cold to the touch.

But Calliope was a witch, and she had a wand. She carefully began to levitate the top off of the well.

"Remind me," she said to no one in particular, "someone has to replace this when we leave…"

A door opened, and shut.

"Tisiphone?"

The cover fell back onto the well with a slam that echoed throughout the garden.

"Nox!" Calliope said with the same force as if it had been a swearword. Her light went out at once. "Down, men, down, down!"

"Tisiphone," came the call again, "are you out here?"

Turpentine.

"What do we do now?" Mark asked.

After a too-long pause, Calliope said, "I don't know…" at the same time that Turpentine called, "I know you're here, Tisiphone. Come out and talk to me. Now. Or I shall come and find you."

She squinted in the darkness. "Is he alone, or is someone with him – I can't tell –"

"He'll be alone," Mark answered.

"How do you know?" she turned to him.

"After what Bellatrix Lestrange said, he wants to prove himself. He's alone."

She glanced out towards the dim silhouette of Turpentine.

"Tisiphone, I shall start looking…"

"No!" Calliope called out at once. "I'll meet you there."

"What are you doing?" Mark caught her sleeve.

"Just wait a minute!" Calliope called. In an undertone, "I can't just delay, he'll know and he'll come looking and find you –"

"He may find us anyway!" Uncle reminded her.

"And you're looking like yourself again," Mark reminded her.

"I'll fix that. And he won't find you if I hide you –" she looked around. Three trees loomed above the, just visible in the lights from the house.

"Uncle," she asked, squinting, "what trees are here?"

"Tall ones?" Mark offered half-heartedly. (Januarius had returned to praying the rosary.)

Uncle only needed to glance. "Oak, and ash, and thorn. Why?"

"Men, up. Each man to a tree."

"What?" Uncle protested. "Are you –"

"Mark, you said something about the trees being Ents. Don't protest, I'm going to do something kind of like that."

"Transfigure us into the trees?" Januarius asked, deadpan.

"Are you talking to someone out there?" Turpentine called.

"You must be imagining things!" she called back. And to her infinite relief, she heard the door open again, and another voice – too low to make out the sound – but someone else had come and was talking to Turpentine.

"Maybe he'll go back inside," she muttered. Could it be true?

"No," Uncle said, "he won't give up on finding you. He'll not go inside. What are you thinking of doing?"

She turned back to the men. "This is something that a friend of mine showed me. Take a tree – and I'll Transfigure you –"

"The most dangerous and tricksy branch of magic we studied at Hogwarts –" Januarius cut in, speaking very fast.

"Hush," Mark snapped, "If anyone can do it, Calliope can. All right? All right. Now take a tree."

Calliope recalled the mnemonic for the spell that Fleur had taught her – Fleur knew this spell, had used it to rescue Calliope. This was a lucky spell for Calliope – if spells could contain luck.

'Stop it, Calliope, no past or future, just now, and they need you…'

Januarius was staring ahead, his back to the hawthorn tree, still clinging to his makeshift half-wand. Uncle lay against the ash tree like it was an old friend, and Mark stood against the oak as though it were the mast of a ship, and he its captain.

"Change me first," Januarius said flatly.

And Calliope was standing in front of him, with her wand out, before she realized what he meant, and she leaned closer to him and whispered, "Look, I know that you want to die, but I promise you, my magic will not hurt you, and don't you start to think that it will. Arborcon hominus."

And Januarius seemed to fall into the wood of the thorn tree. The spell had wrapped him up tightly, and it was – not quite as difficult as Calliope had thought. But it was draining – a spell that devoured magic.

She moved on to Uncle. He said nothing, but merely nodded to indicate that he was ready. Soon there was no trace that there was a man there – the ash tree was all that stood.

That left Mark.

Turpentine called her again, but she ignored him.

She stood in front of Mark, her wand out, focusing on the spell – and being more distracted than she would like, by his bare chest, and the way he was looking at her, and this was all going to go wrong, Turpentine would know and find them and – she closed her eyes, she had to focus – focus on –

"Calliope?"

She opened her eyes. Mark was looking at her. He said, low but clear, "I trust you completely."

They stared at each other for an instant. Then she touched him – grazed his shoulder, kissed him – it was magical – and broke off. She took a deep breath.

"Arborcon hominus."

And the oak tree pulled Mark into its embrace as he closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her magic.