I do not own Harry Potter

Chapter Thirty Six – Never Let Them Tell You

That night, Maia sat up late in the Common Room, long after the other students had left. She abandoned the usual armchairs she and Draco claimed, and crossed the room to sit beneath the dark window, casting herself in the green-tinged shadow of the Black Lake's murky depths. She wanted to hear the peaceful, constant swish of the water against the panes of glass. She wanted that constant, if she had no other constant left.

She had not had a chance to speak to Cousin Harry. She did not even know if he would be compelled to compete, though as it was a magically-binding contract, she could see no way out for him.

But why would he put his name in the goblet?

Or, more worryingly, had he put his name in the goblet?

Then she remembered the spectre, walking behind Karkaroff like a second shadow, like an axe hanging over his head. She had Seen it. Karkaroff was not long for this world, and he had bought Death to Hogwarts. Death for Harry?

But who had put Harry's name in the goblet, if not himself?

Karkaroff seemed the most likely candidate. He was a former Death Eater, still Dark, if in fear of the Dark Lord, if eager never to re-join his service.

But Karkaroff's fear would hold him back. Why would he act against Harry? It didn't make sense. Not when she considered how he had spoken to her just a few short hours before. Not when he thought that she was working for the Dark.

Sweet Merlin, would they think that she, or at least the House of Black, had put Harry's name in the goblet?

She caught her breath at the thought and clutched at her throat. Again, she wondered when she had become this faint, this fearful. It was Hallowe'en night and here she was, looking over her shoulder like a frightened muggle. But she didn't know what to do, and she didn't know where to turn.

She stood up abruptly, crossed the floor to one of the desks, and pulled an inkwell and sheaf of parchment towards her. Dipping the quill into the ink, she stopped with her hand poised over the paper.

Dear Aunt Cassiopeia?

To my most honoured Head of House?

And with a tight knot in her stomach, she knew then the letter she really wanted to write...

My Father...

But she couldn't write that.

She would never get to write to him again.

...

Maia stared at the blank sheet of parchment, before finally taking a deep breath and began to write...

To my most honoured Head of House,

I write briefly to inform you that the school champions for the Triwizard Tournament were selected this night, and that our ward, Harry James Potter, was somehow selected as a fourth champion. I do not know how such an unexpected occurrence came to pass. I should say that I do not believe he entered himself. I remain suspicious, naturally, and shall question him further as soon as the opportunity arises. However, he appeared shocked and as though he had not expected to be called upon.

I can only begin to comprehend what may result from this, and shall send this to you at first light by the fastest owl, to give you as much time to prepare as I can.

She paused, wondering if she should tell Sirius about the Seeing now, and shook her head. It wasn't a safe time to write that. She couldn't guarantee that someone, somewhere, wasn't watching the post. More than that, she didn't want to speak of the spectre haunting Karkaroff, without mentioning their strange conversation.

Though, more than anything else in that moment, she wanted to go home and hold her mother and beg for absolution and reassurance that she wasn't Dark. That she wasn't bad.

She saw Karkaroff's half-hidden fear when he spoke to her...

Saw Avery doubled over on the floor...

And heard him insult her parents again...

Shaking her head, she returned her quill to the paper.

Until an opportunity to speak in person arises, I remain your humble servant and an obedient Daughter of your House.

Yours in blood,

Maia Violetta Black, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

...

"You haven't told him."

Maia looked up, shaking herself. She wrapped her robes tighter around her shoulders as the sharp sea-wind blew over the edge of the cliff face, carrying with it the chill of the water and the harsh smell of salt.

Her hair whipped round in front of her face, and she brushed it away, holding it back with her free hand. "Who's there?" She looked around, side to side, trying to find the voice.

Her gaze rested on a tree, and she saw him sitting up in one of the highest branches. He jumped down, gracefully, his dark hair falling into his face. For a moment, she thought she saw a rope hanging behind him, but it was gone before she could truly register it.

The young man straightened up. He held himself tall and proud. "I told you to tell him, I told you to pass on the message."

"Regulus Black?"

"Yes. And I told you to pass on the message. You forgot."

"I thought that I would never speak to him. I hoped never to speak to him. Why would I remember it?"

"You speak to him now, you know he's your father now. You have to pass on the message."

"That he has to continue your work? That he has to finish what you started?"

"Yes."

"He won't like that, Mr. Black."

The young man looked away, back towards the tree. "Tell him that I died for it, and that it was a good cause. Tell him that he'll work it all out, one day, soon."

She sighed, pulling her hair back away again as the wind roared louder around them. "Can't you tell me more? He won't like this message, can't you tell me everything?"

He looked back round at her and laughed, "You know we can't do that. You're a Seer. You of all people should know that's not how it works."

The wind grew louder and stronger still around them, and she felt herself staggering backwards, closer and closer towards the edge of the cliff...

Just as she was about to stumble, just as she was about to fall, a warm hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her up towards him. Face to face, she could see just how alike he and his brother looked, or must have looked, when they were young and free and rich and handsome.

"You can't go yet, I have one last message for you, from your father."

Her eyes widened, but when she tried to speak, all she could do was chock back a sob.

"He said to say, that you must never let anyone tell you, that you are anything less than what you are."

Then the wind howled again, and he let go.

And she fell backwards, tumbling, head over heels...

Until she sat up at the desk with a gasp.

...