Note: Third and final part of today's update and the conclusion of this slightly separate arc. Forewarning – it does walk a little on the dark side…


Chapter Fifty-Two

Familial Ties

Considering that they were muggles who, in spite of everything, were absolutely determined to believe that magic didn't exist, the Dursleys had proved remarkably easy to protect. Hestia pondered the family's mixed fortunes as she stood in the small kitchen of their safehouse, stirring her tea with her wand to keep it warm whilst her mind was too preoccupied to drink. On the whole, they had borne their sudden upheaval remarkably stoically, and to Hestia's relief they never asked awkward questions. In a way, she was thankful for their resistance to magic which kept them in the dark, but at other times their ignorance exasperated her. She could not keep an eagle eye on them all the time, and since they refused to talk about magic, she could never be sure if they would recognise a threat when they saw one.

Her colleagues in the Order's hastily improvised muggle protection scheme had asked her on occasion why they bothered to protect the Dursleys when it was obvious that there was no love lost between them and Harry. After a few particularly trying instances early on in their tenure as tenants of the Order's surveillance, Hestia had wondered the same question herself. Ultimately, she came to the same conclusion every time her patience was on the verge of wearing thin. No single muggle life was less important than any other. If they gave up their charges like lambs to the slaughter, then they were no better than You-Know-Who himself. So despite the trials, tribulations, and very pointless arguments, Hestia stayed true to her vow to keep the Dursleys safe.

Petunia seemed to have borne the upheaval and the ever-present magic in the background far better than the menfolk of her household. Perhaps it was because she had been around magic, off and on, since childhood, and whilst she might not want to acknowledge such a fact, she was slightly more used to strange happenings than most. The woman was no longer the screeching harpy that Hestia had observed at various momentary intervals during Harry's younger years; she had withdrawn into herself almost completely since their move. This was probably due to her realising her own mortality, of seeing just how dangerous the world on whose edge she lived was. Dudley was also far quieter and far more adult in recent months, although the quivering lip of the spoilt child was still hovering just below the surface. Hestia had the most trouble with Vernon; arguments that were all but contradictions of each other and reiterations of the words that they had exchanged a hundred times. Hestia was a patient woman and she would never turn her wand on an unarmed muggle, but the dark thought of a silencing spell had crossed her mind on more than one occasion before Petunia had managed to bring her husband down from his self-inflicted state of ire. It was safe to say that Vernon brought out the worst in Hestia with his intolerance, and she in him with her representing a power that he feared since he could neither understand nor control it.

Hestia shook her head. The Dursley family had far more links to magic than they liked to admit, and a knowing voice in the back of her mind told her not to be at all surprised if Dudley went on to produce magical children in time. The way in which magic ran through the bloodlines and appeared suddenly in some families but was totally absent in others was a random science that never failed to fascinate; it led to the ultimate questions of 'where do we come from?' and 'what is the source of all magic?' Hestia finally took a sip of her tea, remembering to remove her wand before she poked herself in the eye with it. She had made it a custom to drop in on the Dursleys once a week, to check up on them, and normally she would be satisfied with a cursory visit, but today, both she and Dedalus had felt that there was something odd in the air, a sense of something about to happen.

Hestia was a practical-minded witch with a sensible head on her shoulders, and she knew that most of her contemporaries would not believe her when she told them that she had studied divination, but she had indeed studied it, and enjoyed the experience. True, she did not set much store by the more farfetched methods of soothsaying, but like the questions of the origins of magic, Hestia found the mysteries of the unknown and the yet-to-come fascinating from a scientific point of view. Today was a day of foreboding, so the tea leaves had said this morning, and this time, Hestia was inclined to agree with them. She listened to the faint noise of the television in the living room, trying to divine what was being watched. Having come to the conclusion that it was one of the seemingly endless streams of talent programmes which muggles enjoyed so much, Hestia returned her attention to her tea, and she began to read the residue for the second time that day. For the most part, she could not make out any shapes in the murky dregs, but she was almost certain that she foresaw the truth revealed.

She snorted. Such a thing would truly be a miracle; something of sense in their troubled times, with politicians and the Ministry spouting propaganda that was about as useful as an umbrella in a desert. When she was resorting to looking for the truth in her crockery, then there was something very wrong in the world. All the same, she couldn't get the foreboding feeling of something about to happen out of her mind.

It was in that very second that it happened. Above what sounded like a drunk Australian singing opera with morris dancing backing vocalists, Hestia heard the shimmering roar of a Floo fire, and a split second later a shrill scream. She rushed into the living room, not quite sure what to expect but with her wand outstretched and ready for battle. The Dursleys were pressed into the corner of the room furthest from the fireplace, where the last flames of a magical fire were casting an eerie emerald flicker around the dimly lit room. A figure was curled up on the hearth rug where it had evidently exited the grate, and it looked up as Hestia approached cautiously.

"Camilla?"

"Hestia?"

There could be no mistaking her old classmate, despite the thirty-odd years that had passed since they last saw each other. True, Hestia and Camilla had belonged to different houses and different social circles, and they had never been good friends, but they had studied charms together for seven years, and Hestia never forgot a face.

"What are you doing here?" asked Hestia incredulously, but before Camilla could answer, the bundle that she held so tightly and carefully began to howl, and it was only at that moment that Hestia recognised it as a baby. She held out her arms to take the child and allow the other witch to get up. Camilla gave her dusty robes a cursory brush down before taking her tiny travelling companion and cooing to it.

"Excuse me," came Vernon's voice from behind them, and Hestia knew without looking that his moustache would be bristling in anticipation of a good argument. She had really been around this family for far too long. "Who are you, and why are you in our house?"

"It's a long story," said Camilla, finally succeeding in getting the baby to quieten down. "I needed help and this was the nearest fireplace."

"Erm… Right."

Hestia turned to see the Dursleys looking utterly confused and more than a little scared. Vernon was opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out, no doubt trying to formulate some sort of bracing command but failing to think of something fitting in the circumstances. Dudley had gone a pale shade of green.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" asked Petunia faintly, resorting to the muggle cure for all ills. Tea was really a remarkable restorative, Hestia knew from her own experience, and she often thought that the simple brew was far better than most medicinal potions available on the market. Camilla was evidently of the same opinion, for she nodded wearily. The Dursleys filed out of the room, visibly glad to be leaving the presence of such strange goings on.

"Muggles, I take it?" asked Camilla. Hestia nodded.

"Important muggles," she said. "Your child?" she added, indicating the baby. Camilla shook her head.

"My goddaughter." She sank into a sagging armchair and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, cradling the baby in one practised arm. "She's an orphan, Hestia. She's got no blood family left. Her mother was murdered before my eyes and I would have been next. I've no wand, I just flung myself into the fireplace and prayed. I didn't know I was going to end up here." She paused and swallowed. "I know we never saw eye to eye, Hestia, but I've never been more pleased to see a familiar face in my life."

Silently, Hestia released the other witch's grip on her goddaughter, allowing her to crumple into her rapidly oncoming grief and misery.

"Her father was a Death Eater who turned his back," she explained through muffled sobs. "We knew it was only going to be a matter of time, but everything happened so suddenly. Her mother had only just turned twenty-three for crying out loud. And Daniel, my Daniel, my son… What have you done?"

Hestia wanted to say something, anything to try and relieve the intense picture of despair that was being painted in front of her, but she had no idea what to say that would not sound clichéd. She knew as well as anyone else that Camilla had married a Death Eater and that he had been killed, and that her son had taken up his mantle. The life that Camilla had led was so far removed from her own that she could not imagine the other witch's feelings. She had never lost a soulmate, much less a child, and now it seemed that Camilla had lost far more than that.

The roar of the fireplace prevented either woman from speaking again, and both looked towards the flames with alarm. The figure that beagn to materialise in the flames was unknown to Hestia, but she did not need to guess twice to work out who it was.

"Oh Merlin, he must have caught the tail of the Floo," murmured Camilla. "Get Susie out of here."

"Camilla, you're wandless,"

"Susie's more important. Go!"

Hestia ran for the living room door and closed it behind her, screwing her eyes tight shut and trying desperately to think of what to do now. Her immediate thought was to get everyone out of the house and somewhere else.

"Hello, Mother," came a disarmingly mild voice from the other side of the door, and Hestia was spurred into action. She ran into the kitchen with Susie beginning to grizzle in her arms, causing the gathered Dursleys to jump out of their skins.

"We need to leave. Now."

"Now listen here…" began Vernon, his face turning a worrying shade of purple. "I will not…"

"Vernon," warned Petunia, but it was too late. Already buoyed up on adrenaline and worry, Hestia finally snapped.

"Mr Dursley, if you want to be murdered for no other reason than the fact you happen to exist, then by all means stay here; I don't care. I've been charged with keeping this child safe, and I am going to do so."

Vernon paled, and Hestia turned on her heel, stalking out of the kitchen towards the front door, but it was locked, stuck fast. She tried to open it with magic but it was not going to budge, however hard she tried. Daniel had sealed them in the house, and Hestia knew that it was the newborn in her arms that he wanted.

A thundering crash came from the living room, followed by a low groan, and Hestia's blood ran cold. Since she couldn't carry out Camilla's first wish of bringing Susie to safety, the only way she could afford her protection was to face he who threatened her head on.

"What's happening?" asked Petunia, coming out into the hall and casting a worried glance at the living room door.

"We can't leave the house," said Hestia. She handed Susie to Petunia, who did not seem as alarmed by the gesture as she might have expected. "Stay in the kitchen, all of you, and don't come out."

"What are you doing?"

But Hestia didn't answer. She drew her wand once more and advanced towards the living room, opening the door a fraction and peering around to view the scene within.

If there was one Death Eater who could prove the common perception that they were all evil to the core and incapable of human feeling, then it was Daniel Rosier. The expression of glee on his face was disturbing as he advanced towards Camilla, who was slumped against the far wall.

"Daniel," she murmured, but the pain that filled her voice was not physical, simply pure mental anguish. "Daniel, what happened to you? What happened to my sweet little boy? Did we really raise you to be a murderer? How many times did your father warn you not to follow in his footsteps? How many times did I warn you?"

Daniel laughed, and the harsh sound grated on Hestia's ears. She decided to make use of his distraction and flung open the door, flinging a random curse at him. Daniel was well-trained in magical combat, however, and he blocked the spell and disarmed her in one lazy motion. He turned away from his mother and regarded Hestia with interest.

"An interesting choice for the cavalry," he said, "but I can deal with you later."

Hestia tried to back up towards the door, knowing that there was nothing she could do to help Camilla or anyone else now that she had no wand, but she had only taken a few steps when Daniel petrified her and she landed awkwardly on the sofa. He returned his attention to Camilla, and Hestia could only watch helplessly.

"Oh, Mummy dearest, you have no idea, do you? Glory, that's what awaits us. Eternal glory, which you tried to keep from me. You betrayed us, you and Rowle and his little wife, and those who go behind my master's back must pay the price."

His grin became terrifying and he leaned in to Camilla's face.

"Just like my sweet sister. She could have answered the call too; she could have shared my glory, but no, she ran away, like a coward. She ran all the way to America, but she couldn't run forever. I found her in the end."

"Alexandra… Your own sister… Oh Daniel… How could you?"

"Very easily," he replied. "Like this."

Hestia could not close her eyes as green flashed through the room, but she knew that Camilla Rosier was dead in her heart long before the curse had hit. Even in school, Camilla's family was of utmost importance, family above everything. Daniel's ultimate betrayal had destroyed her.

"And now to finish the job," said Daniel matter-of-factly. He paused, and looked down at Camilla's body, at the tears streaks falling from glassy, lifeless eyes. For a split second, something human flickered in his face, and he reached down and closed her lids. He turned to Hestia, walking towards her leisurely. "Where's the baby?" he asked plainly. "I can't promise not to harm you if you don't tell me where she is, but I'd far rather finish that job before I get started on another." He paused. "Why am I even asking? I know she's somewhere in the house, and it is hardly of palatial proportions."

Hestia saw something out of the corner of her eye as Daniel raised his wand, and before he could cast the dreaded curse, there was a resounding thwack and he fell to the ground. Dudley stood behind him, a cricket bat held tightly in his hands. Gradually he released his grip and held out one shaking hand to help her up. Able to move again, Hestia looked down at Daniel's body grimly.

"Is he… Is he dead?" asked Dudley.

Hestia remained silent. If Daniel was still alive then she would still be under the effects of his curse. No, Dudley's blow had killed him, there was no doubt of that, but she knew that to say as much to the boy would not be a good idea. She bent down and feigned taking his pulse, picking up her wand where he had held it as she did so.

"No," she lied through gritted teeth, aware that she was not at her most convincing. "Just stunned."

Dudley looked relieved and Hestia stood once more. They looked at each other for a moment, something of a newfound understanding passing between them.

"Thank you," she said. "You saved my life."

"Don't mention it," muttered Dudley. He looked over at Camilla's body. "Is she dead?"

Hestia nodded sadly.

"Go on, Dudley, I'll call someone to get this mess sorted out," she said. "It shouldn't take too long. I know I can't exactly tell you to forget about it, but try not to think about it. You're remarkably courageous."

Dudley shrugged and left the room, still visibly shaken from what had just occurred. Hestia took a few deep breaths, she was barely composed herself, and cast her patronus, speaking a succinct message to the rabbit and sending it to Dedalus. She came out of the living room, unable to be in the presence of so much violent death any longer, and she locked the door before going into the kitchen. Vernon and Dudley were standing outside on the small patio, seemingly oblivious to the cold of the night. Petunia was seated at the kitchen table, humming softly to a still-grizzling Susie. Hestia sat opposite her.

"I take it that she has no family now," said Petunia.

Hestia shook her head.

"I thought as much." She paused and gave a sad sigh. "I love babies. Babies are easy. You feed them, you wash them, you sing to them, and they love you. They can't tell you what they need or want, but you understand them perfectly. But then they grow up, and as soon as they can speak, you stop understanding them. I've brought up two babies, and now look where they are. Where did it all go wrong? I'd give anything for another chance, third time lucky." She shook her head. "But all babies grow up."

She held out Susie to Hestia.

"That's why you've got to take her somewhere far better than here before I get too attached." She touched Susie's hand and her tiny fingers enclosed around Petunia's larger one. "Good luck, little one."

The doorbell sounded and Hestia went to answer it. She explained the situation to Dedalus and Tonks as best she could, but she felt a sudden desperation to be out of the house. Luckily, her colleagues seemed to understand her feelings and she stepped out into the gloom as they entered to take care of everything. She looked down at Susie, at the young orphan whose care had been entrusted to her, and whose entire family, birth and adopted, had been murdered in cold blood. It was a dark, dark world that she had been born into, and Hestia could only pray that it would get better, and soon.


Note2: Well, I wanted to bring the Dursleys back into it somehow… We're back with the main action next chapter, but I was having fun exploring the contrasts between two totally different sets of Death Eaters – Bellatrix and Daniel who love what they do and accept their calling whole-heartedly, and Rowle, who hates every minute of it.