Notes: Thank you as always!

Warning: This is an extremely dark and violent chapter with multiple character deaths.


Chapter Fifty-Two: Weakness in the Blood


Hermione was impressed with how quickly Tom soldiered ahead with the business of settling affairs at Castle l'Etrange. Armand Malfoy's shocking revelation about his ancestor had shaken and hurt him; that she could tell, but to his credit, he was keeping the worst reactions to himself. He was intimately aware of how any additional show of paralysis or distraction about Malfoy's revelation would harm his standing with the people he led.

He took Hermione, Regulus, and Andromeda aside privately late that afternoon, after the group had explored the castle thoroughly. "The stories about the younger brother, Rabastan, are true," he said. "He is in an isolated manor house. I do not know if it's curse damage or a disease, but he is mad and witless, according to documents here. He's unfit to rule, but someone must assume authority over this castle," he said quietly. "Lady Bellatrix will not be that person. She attempted to murder Hermione in her very first year at Hogwarts, and she created a situation that led to my being tortured by Amycus Carrow for something I had not done."

Hermione was pleased that Tom now blamed Bellatrix for that. Ultimately, the fault lay with the rapist vassal of Lestrange, of course, but Bellatrix could have hidden the body after she had exacted justice. Instead she had allowed it to be found, with the intent of having others blamed for the killing.

Regulus understood what Tom was implying. "You want my family to produce the sons of Dirk Cresswell and present them as Lestranges by blood."

Tom nodded. "I am sure that your guess about his parentage is correct and he was another son of Rodolphus Lestrange's father."

Andromeda spoke up, frowning. "Lord Thomas, there are many who will not accept such a claim, with no proof to support it. Among them is my niece, Lady Adelaide." She gave him a hard look.

Tom winced; he had forgotten that she was Adelaide's aunt.

Hermione spoke in agreement. "We claim to support the rights of witches," she said. "I think she should be named the heir as well."

"I understand why you say so," Tom said, looking pained, "but I don't think she can be trusted. She has never supported us, even at Hogwarts. It's important to have a loyal ally in a position like this, and her history disqualifies her from that."

They sat in thought. Finally Regulus spoke up, "She should still be offered it. Let's offer her a betrothal to the older Cresswell as well. He would be the ally you want, and her marriage to him would quiet any objections that the inheritance of this fief was a fraud."

"Would she accede to it? Would he, for that matter?" Tom asked. "What do they know of their background? Did anyone in your family ever tell them?"

"My lord father finally did," Regulus said. "They were nervous but excited to avenge their father, and the younger was glad to support the elder's claim. As for Lady Adelaide, I think she'd take the offer and leave administration to him. From what I know of her, her chief goal in life has been a noble marriage, and… recent events… have likely been devastating to her."

Tom considered that. "It would be another overture to Lucius Malfoy, who can't possibly like having her—or her mother—in his castle with the betrothal to Draco off. All right. We will do that."

That night, he and Hermione wrote and sent the letter to the Malfoys of Godric's Hollow.


After sending the letter to Godric's Hollow, Tom retreated to a private room in the Lestrange castle. Hermione wanted to go to him, but he shook his head and closed the door. It hurt… but she consoled herself that Tom needed some time alone to take in what he had heard that day. So much of his identity was invested in being the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and he had convinced himself that Slytherin's work had been to protect Hogwarts from the incoming wave of Normans. This must be quite a shock to him.

She located the library and took a seat in an isolated corner. The Lestrange family had a grand library, but it was smaller than the one at Parselhall. She picked up a book but found it difficult to concentrate on reading, so she brought out the extra item that she had brought with her to this castle.

Hermione had not thought much about the Athame of Morgana since Tom had given it to her in December. It had meant a lot to him to give up such an artifact, certainly, but she had never harbored any such dreams as he had—and ultimately, his renewed confidence and affection was the greater gift. Then, too, learning almost immediately that the woman who had placed it in that cave had turned into a tyrant had seemed to render the entire legend irrelevant. Still, there was something about the story that troubled her.

Why would Ceridwyn leave this in that cave? Hermione mused, turning it over in her hands, a contemplative frown on her face. The Gaunt legends suggest that either she or her mother was a Seer and made a prophecy that the one who recovered it would restore the line—but that does not make sense. The artifact itself must hold some virtue for it to have any relevance or influence in that. Otherwise, the prophecy—if there was one—would only become true because the person who retrieved it was determined to restore the line, and succeeded. There is nothing about this athame that I have been able to detect that suggests it holds a "strength to rule" or even "strength to triumph" spell.

And in any case, the magic of the cave itself was there before Ceridwyn placed the athame there at all. What I think must have happened is that she put it in a site that was known as a place of purification, a place where heroes, kings, and druids went ritually, and the legend of the cave mixed with whatever was the original story about the athame. Hermione sighed; her thoughts were back at their starting point. Why had the dispossessed princess placed her grandmother's last artifact in such a remote spot, so very hard to access? What was this object's real virtue or significance?

She pointed her wand at the athame, casting a series of diagnostic spells. Most of them revealed nothing. This blade is magically powerful, Hermione thought with a frown. There is something extremely strong upon it. I am just not using the right spell to identify it.

She closed her eyes, running a single finger down the smooth surface. Suddenly, instinctively, a thought occurred to her—a dark thought, but an exciting one. She knew it was correct even before the spell she cast to test it caused the knife to glow a dark, menacing red.

This blade is cursed, Hermione realized, but it is a curse that doesn't harm people. This blade has magical powers, but the curse thwarts and negates them. No one can use its magic. For now, it is just a blade, truly—but why? Where did this curse come from, and how can it be broken?

Hermione realized that she would not have an answer to this tonight. She sheathed the athame and put it back in her pack.


Tom brooded alone. He would have welcomed Hermione's loving support in any other situation, but not for this.

If I had known, he thought bitterly, I never would have used the locket. It would have been some other object. Perhaps an object associated with the Gaunts… but no, the later Gaunts were just as bad. Slytherin must have gone to Normandy, told Malfoy everything he knew, and arranged a bargain with him to allow his son and daughter to remain "wed" to each other in exchange for his help. He did not begin that tradition, but he certainly did not prevent the family from continuing it.

It meant everything to me to be a wizard, a Gaunt, and an heir of Slytherin. Now I know that the later Gaunts were glad to pay homage to Armand Malfoy, many of the earlier ones were menaces, and Slytherin conspired with Malfoy out of spite against his former friends.

I have literally housed part of my soul, the very essence of myself, in an object that used to belong to someone who invited Malfoy himself to rule here. I have done that, and there is no way to withdraw it and send it to some other artifact. Hermione is right. I must make the locket "mine" in my own mind now. I cannot stand it otherwise.

My Slytherin blood is tainted with treason against my people. My Gaunt blood is tainted with incest and tyranny. I would rather have no Muggle blood at all. Who am I now?

Tom sighed heavily, leaning against the back of the chair on which he sat.

Malfoy will pay, he suddenly decided. Malfoy did not have to tell me that. It served no purpose. He did it to upset me after what was, in truth, a great victory for me. It was yet another act of spite. It was true—that I will grant—but it was an act of bad faith, just like his filthy name in his filthy tongue.

At length Tom considered just how he would make Malfoy pay. Ultimately, of course, his plan was for Malfoy to die by Tom's hand. Or Hermione's, he thought. He has wronged her too. He liked the poetic justice of that, but he still wanted to make Malfoy suffer for his arrogance before his death.

Suddenly, with a dark, grim clarity, Tom decided what he was going to do. Mother would hate the idea of it, he thought, but Mother is in a cursed sleep because of Malfoy. I am the Regent of Hangleton.

He rose from his chair and opened the door, his handsome face impassive, as he strode down the hall of Castle l'Etrange. He saw Hermione in the hall, emerging from the Lestrange family library, a look of concentration on her face.

"Tom," she said, smiling compassionately at the sight of him. "Are you all right?"

He paused as he met her, leaning over to kiss her. "I'm fine, my love," he murmured, caressing her. "I will be back… later."

She drew away, suddenly concerned. "Are you all right, Tom?"

"Yes," he said. "I am. I just need to do one last thing before bed. I hate asking you to spend the night here, all things considered, but we have to claim this place by conquest…."

"Of course we do," she agreed. "I understand about things like that, Tom." Suddenly, she hugged him again. He was startled but embraced her, her warmth spreading to his body from the closeness. "I am so happy about doing something good for Adelaide," she whispered. "Even though she was unkind to me for no reason, I feel sorry for her. She was raped and impregnated by the rapist, and then her own father sided against her and her mother. She has lost so much… she has had two betrothals end, and it must be very difficult for a young woman who expected to make her way in the world by marriage."

Tom was less enthusiastic about being kind to a past adversary, but he supposed that this had always been a difference between him and Hermione. It is not even a bad thing, necessarily, he reflected. It is what enabled her to forgive me for everything I did to her. He hugged her back. "I just hope that she—and her mother—cooperate and accede to our offer. And that this half-blood Lestrange-by-blood, this Cresswell, or whatever his surname is now, does the same."

"I'm sure they will. It is extremely generous, really."

That does not guarantee anything, Tom thought, but he did not say it. He squeezed Hermione tightly once more, then released her with a smile. She continued on the way to the bedroom level of the castle.

Tom, however, turned and headed for the great hall. Once inside, he Disapparated.


In the humid summer night air, he gazed around the site. The gates of Malfoy Manor loomed in the distance, impenetrable except by one with Malfoy blood, but he was not interested in that place. Now that he had come to it at last, he regarded the castle with scorn. Parselhall was larger than that—though of course, the original structure that became Parselhall had been built much earlier.

Tom turned aside, pulled his cloak close, and kept his wand in hand as he approached Malfoy's fields on the outskirts of the village. Malfoy, it appeared, did not feed his immediate subjects from these crops. The ramshackle huts and shacks that housed Malfoy's enserfed field workers—which looked to be the overwhelming majority of Muggles here—had small gardens of their own. The fields that the Muggles tended during the day had magically warded walls surrounding them. There was enough behind those walls for Malfoy's household and some of the vassals that lived very close, but little more. That observation brought some relief to Tom as he contemplated his plan.

This is war, he told himself as he gazed around, looking for a witch or wizard sworn to Malfoy. People have done things like this in war from time immemorial.

A person appeared from around a corner of the walls. "Who are you and what are you doing?" snarled a wizard's voice as he stormed toward Tom. "There is a curfew tonight, and I am enforcing it! His lordship will have your head—"

Tom did not bother to bandy words. This was Selwyn; he recognized the voice now, and Selwyn would do perfectly for Tom's purposes. He slashed his wand through the air, felling the wizard with a stupefying spell.

Tom approached Selwyn's supine form and crouched next to him. He threw off the hood of his cloak, revealing his features to the startled—and now frightened—man. "I don't observe Malfoy's curfews," he hissed in a voice barely above a whisper. "I am here for a different reason." He gazed at the walls a few feet away, then stared intensely at Selwyn's wide eyes. "You can get inside there," he observed. "You can, and that is what you are going to do. You will be quite useful."

Selwyn was helpless as Tom dragged him to the gates, cut his palm open—perhaps unnecessarily bloodily, Tom thought as he pressed the other man's hand to the gate to open it, but this was only the beginning. He threw Selwyn onto the ground and closed the gate behind him. The verdant fields and orchard of Armand Malfoy stretched out, protected by stone walls. Inside, four magical torches blazed away at each corner, guarding the almost-ripe crops. So close to harvest, Tom thought smugly.

"You are named Selwyn," he murmured in a low voice to the terrified wizard. "A fine old Saxon name. Your family used to sit on the Wizengamot with mine… with the Blacks… with others. And yet you chose to serve the usurper, who dissolved the Wizengamot rather than joining it like all the others who migrated to England over the centuries."

Selwyn did not respond. He could not, being frozen by Tom's spell.

"You are a blood-traitor," Tom snarled fiercely. "Your 'lord' believes that that word belongs to him, but it does not. You have betrayed your kin and your ancestors. For that…." Tom smiled malevolently, drawing a cursed knife from his belt. On the ground, Selwyn's eyes opened even wider. He tried to cry out, but he could not speak.

"About a year and a half ago, Malfoy considered seizing my mother's lands by a punitive tax," Tom hissed. "When I learned of it, I considered a ritual to lower their value. Do you know what it is, Selwyn? Destroying enemies' crops in war is a long… tradition…" he said darkly, "and not even unique to wizards. But while Muggles often use fire, that is temporary, and can even enrich the soil so that the crops grow again the next year stronger than before. Wizards, however—my ancestors—had a way of preventing that." He smiled, white teeth gleaming sinisterly in the night air. "Malfoy may drink the blood of unicorns, but he also has to eat. Whatever will he think when he learns that his food has been blighted and destroyed so close to harvest—by an ancient druidic ritual fueled by blood?"

Finished with his little speech, Tom glared fiercely at his victim as he uttered the ritual words in Gaelic. "With the life's blood of my enemy, I curse his land. I curse the food that grows upon it. May the cycle be interrupted, may the eternal circle break, and may it not renew again until I so will it."

A sliver of a crescent moon hung in the sky. In the faint moonlight, his face was angular, pale, and stark. His pupils gleamed scarlet as he brought down the knife.

Selwyn was unable to scream. Tom ignored the impotent thrashing and gazed out at the crops. A fell, clammy breeze that stank of death rippled across the enclosure. In a matter of seconds, leaves shriveled black; stalks decayed and crumbled; fruits, pods, and gourds rotted and turned to slimy, ill-smelling liquid.

The life's blood of one wizard was more powerful than that of one Muggle. In the ancient days, according to the books Tom had read, the druids had typically used Muggle sacrificial victims in their wartime rituals to defeat rival clans. That weakened the impact and decreased the amount of land that would be affected. As it was, this enclosure was just small enough that the blood of one wizard was enough to blacken everything in it.

Tom gazed down at Selwyn, who lay dead in a pool of his own blood—though that was rapidly soaking into the ground. In the distance, a dead branch snapped off a fruit tree and crashed to the ground through the remains of decayed grass. Tom rose to his feet, staring across the enclosure at his handiwork. He felt a disconcerting mix of emotions. He had just performed an ancient war ritual of the people he so honored—the one aspect of his ancestry that had not been tainted in some way by later hypocrisy or blood-treason—but at the same time, he did not feel proud of this, and he could not understand why. Selwyn had attacked his home; he deserved death, and Malfoy definitely deserved to starve….

Would he not just take the food his Muggle subjects grew for their families— Tom banished that thought. Even if the Muggle serfs did suffer a bit, they would have a better life very soon, once Malfoy was dead.

He raised his wand and took a deep breath as he cast a new spell. Another breeze rippled across the remnants of Malfoy's crops. A green glow appeared above the dead plants. Tom managed a grim smile. Anyone looking down upon this place from a higher vantage point would clearly see the circular emblem of House Riddle burned into the dead field, glowing green. When Malfoy saw this, he would have no doubt of who had done it.

Tom gave it one last look, then Disapparated.


Castle Draconis, Godric's Hollow.

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy entered the secret, magically secured wing of the castle where Bellatrix and Adelaide were staying. Lucius held in hand a letter that he had just received from the Regent of Hangleton, which had kindled a hope in his heart that had been absent for a long time. Bellatrix would surely like the news that her estranged former husband was dead and could threaten her and her daughter no longer. And the offer that the Riddle-Black coalition had presented was quite generous. Narcissa agreed with him about that. It certainly would not have been acceptable for their dear Draco to wed the offspring of a half-blood bastard, but Adelaide had been destined for spinsterhood after losing two betrothals due to scandal. Even in the best-case scenario for Lucius and Narcissa—the scenario in which the winner of the war left them be—they knew that she did not have a bright future. This changed things.

Bellatrix and her daughter glared at their hosts as they entered the private room. Narcissa scowled at her sister in return. She loved her sister, but to tell the truth, she was sick of her. The sooner Bellatrix was out of this castle, the better for all concerned.

"Sister-in-law," Lucius began, "we have received important news tonight. It is very good news, for a change."

Bellatrix attempted to force the sneer off her face. "Indeed? What is it, then?"

"Castle l'Etrange has fallen, and Lord Rodolphus is dead. Your kin the Blacks control it for now, and they have made a very generous offer to you—and especially your daughter." He gave a courteous nod to Adelaide, who—in contrast with her mother's bitter cynicism—actually looked up hopefully.

"My 'kin the Blacks,'" Bellatrix repeated skeptically. She eyed Lucius. "Who sent that letter? That does not look like Andromeda's hand."

Lucius grimaced. "This is from the Regent of Hangleton—"

Bellatrix snarled. "The half-blood! I knew it! He controls my castle, doesn't he? Not the Blacks at all! It's Riddle and the Mudblood!"

Narcissa glared at her. "They have an alliance with our family, Bella! You know that! They state that they made this agreement on the recommendation of Lord Regulus—and, yes, Andromeda. They have shown immense respect for our family, because the agreement they offer is that Adelaide will inherit the fief—"

Adelaide gasped. "Really, Aunt Narcissa?"

"Yes," she said. "There is a stipulation, of course, but it is not a hardship. You may know—I am certain that your mother does—that you have cousins on your late father's side, because your grandfather Lestrange sired a half-blood bastard in addition to your father and your mad uncle. He is dead now, but the stipulation is that you would have to wed the elder of his two sons."

Bellatrix snarled again, spittle flying from her mouth. "Those half-blood wretches! I knew it! The blood-traitors in our family have been hiding them all along to undermine her, Narcissa, and now they make their move, as I feared! How can you support this? How can you send your own flesh and blood, a pureblood witch, to the bed of a half-blood bastard's spawn—"

Narcissa was out of patience. "Because no one else will touch her!" she roared. Adelaide shrank back in shame. "I am sorry, niece," Narcissa said in a slightly kinder tone, "but you know it better than any of us. It is an injustice, but so it is."

"This man—this wizard," Adelaide said quickly, "was his mother a witch? Who is he?"

"His mother was from Hogsmeade, so, yes, she was a witch," Narcissa said.

"Then our children would be pureblood. Mother"—she reached imploringly for Bellatrix—"this is more than fair. I would have preferred my husband to have purer blood himself, but… at least he would be of my blood. Please—I don't want to live like this for the rest of my life, on relatives' charity!"

Bellatrix glared at her daughter. "You do not even know his name. You know nothing about him. You think you like this idea because you are desperate. You deserve so much more than to be on the leash of a half-blood and a Mudblood, bound to a stranger whose blood is not as pure as yours! You never would have consented to this before we came here, and you know it. Life in hiding has affected your thinking." She rose from her seat and stared down Narcissa and Lucius. "What else does Riddle say?"

"That is all," Lucius said coldly, rolling up the parchment. "Rodolphus was killed by the basilisk of Salazar Slytherin, which Riddle now has in his possession, and they—in consultation with Lord Regulus—have made this offer to your daughter. I advise you to think better of it, sister. You attempted to kill Riddle's wife. They would have had every right to order your death and declare your progeny attainted."

"Whose side are you on?" Bellatrix exclaimed.

"I am on our family's side," Lucius shot back, "which is why I urge you to calm yourself and think about this in a reasonable light." He gazed quickly at Adelaide, then back at Bellatrix. "Your daughter approves of it, and she would be affected much more than you."

"She has lost two betrothals, has had to leave Hogwarts to run from her own despicable father, and has been hiding in this castle, unable to step outside and see the sunlight except from that tiny window!" Bellatrix roared, pointing at said window. "She would approve of anything! I will not consent to an arrangement made under duress, Lucius, and that is what this is."

Adelaide flushed deep red, humiliated at being spoken of in this way to her face.

"Then she will be cut out entirely!" Lucius exclaimed. "They'll give Castle l'Etrange to the bastard line outright. Is that what you want?"

"No," Bellatrix said coldly, "it is not."

"Then think better of this offer," Narcissa snapped. "I have nothing more to say right now. Think about what you have heard, Bella, and think about it realistically." She glanced quickly at her niece. "I take my leave."

With that, she and Lucius left the room.


Castle l'Etrange.

Tom cracked open the door to the bedchamber that Hermione had chosen. He glanced quickly at himself in the mirror and was shocked at how haggard his face was. The light in his pupils was still resolutely scarlet, too. Hermione gazed at him in surprise.

"Tom—what is the matter?"

Tom sat down on the mattress, breathing heavily. He stared at the rug on the floor, which was offendingly devoid of any designs that he could identify as Celtic or even Old English. He turned to Hermione. "Selwyn is dead," he said, surprised at how cold his voice sounded. He attempted to put some warmth into his words as he spoke to her. "I went to the village of Malfoy Manor, and he was there."

"Tom! Why in God's name—"

"I killed Malfoy's crops," Tom said roughly. He turned his wand over in his hands, glaring fiercely at the rug. "I used Selwyn as the blood sacrifice and performed that Celtic ritual—if you remember?"

"Tom!" Hermione was clearly appalled.

"I don't regret it," he said, his words cold. "I would do it again. We now have one less enemy to defeat, and Malfoy has lost his entire harvest."

"Tom," Hermione said once again, "why did you do this?" She reached for him and pulled him to face her. Her warm brown eyes pleaded. "Why? What purpose in war does this serve? He will just take food from someone else. Was it vengeance for what he told you?"

"And what if it was?" he rejoined harshly. "Even if he does take food from others, he lost his harvest due to a Celtic death magic ritual. It's what he deserves, considering how much contempt he has for my blood."

Contempt that, even now, you return for his blood. Hermione gazed at him, recoiling ever so slightly. "Tom, this is not a noble act."

"Vengeance runs in the blood of this country," he retorted. "I would do it again."

She pulled away entirely, folding her arms over her chest. "Go to bed, Tom," she said sharply. "There is nothing to be done about it tonight, but you need to go to sleep."

"You're just angry with me."

"I am," she admitted, "but I am also worried for you." She regarded him with a serious gaze. "I studied the Athame of Morgana this evening and thought about your ancestor who placed it in that cave. She drank of the potion before she placed it there; you drank of it before you took the athame out. She mastered a fierce, deadly magical creature; so did you. She created a Horcrux to safeguard her life until she could have children; so did you." Tom looked away from Hermione. She reached for Tom's chin and turned his head to face hers. "She nursed grudges, gave in to pointless vengeance and cruelty, and became a tyrant."

Tom turned away once again, breathing heavily. Neither of them said anything for several seconds until he spoke. "But I won't."

"Please don't. Please. I love you. I can't bear the thought of that happening."

He kicked off his shoes and leaned back on the bed, not saying a word. He thought about what she had said. Yes, it was important not to let himself be destroyed by the necessities of war—but he was not close to that. He was glad that she cared so much about him, but her thoughts must have turned to this because of what she had been doing this evening. He wondered what, if anything, she had discovered from her examination of the athame—but tiredness was claiming him. He would ask her another time.


Castle Draconis, Godric's Hollow.

With a swish of her wand, Bellatrix directed all the possessions that she had brought with her to Lucius's castle into her pack. There was not much. She had had to flee Castle l'Etrange with little more than the clothes on her back. Adelaide had a bit more, since she had left Hogwarts with some time to prepare.

She was still pouting and sullen, Bellatrix observed. It was annoying, but it was to be expected. Adelaide's mind had been warped by everything that had happened to her, obviously. Under normal circumstances, it was impossible that Adelaide Lestrange, pureblood and noble, would consent to such an insulting arrangement presented by the two people she had hated in school. For her own good, Bellatrix had to prevent her dear daughter from making a decision that Bella was certain she would regret for the rest of her life.

So the Riddles and my blood-traitor sister and brother-in-law do not mind letting her be lady of the castle, Bellatrix thought. If that's the case, then they can just accept her without a degrading marriage. She can have her inheritance without having to call an inferior her "lord."

"We leave now," Bellatrix said to Adelaide. She held out a hand to her; Adelaide had not yet learned how to Apparate.

Scowling, Adelaide grasped her mother's bony hand. The two disappeared with a pop.

They landed at the doorstep of a stone house that was familiar to Adelaide, but only vaguely. It took a moment for her to remember where this was.

"Mother," she said nervously, "what are we doing here? This is where Uncle Rabastan and his elf live…."

Bellatrix gave her a dark, pointed glance. "You should be able to guess, daughter."

Another moment passed, and then Adelaide's eyes widened with horror. "Mother!" she exclaimed. "How could you—"

"Do you know why he is in this condition in the first place?" she replied repressively. "Your father did it to him—his own brother."

"I had heard the rumor…" she muttered. "I didn't think it was true…."

"Did you still think it was untrue, after your vile father tried to harm us for the death of that scum who raped you?" Bellatrix said, no mercy in her words. Adelaide shrank away, eyes fluttering shut, not wanting to be reminded of that. "I am giving poor Rabastan a merciful death, after all. I will use the Killing Curse. It is a kindness, if you look at it the right way—and my daughter, it is for you. I will not suffer any rivals for your rights, even one who is witless. If the Riddles are willing to place a half-blood bastard line on the high seat of House Lestrange, who is to say they would not place an idiot there?"

"He's helpless," she murmured, looking down at the ground.

"Which is why I am being merciful. But if you do not want to see it, you may remain near the door. Inside."

Adelaide shuddered as they entered her uncle's manor house. She watched as her mother, cloaked in black like an angel of the apocalypse, stalked upstairs to Rabastan's room.


Malfoy Manor.

Armand Malfoy could scarcely believe his eyes. His crops, his precious field, lay dead and rotting. The body of Selwyn lay on the ground, drained of blood. The heraldic symbol of the rebellious Riddle family was scorched into the field, glowing in green outline, a magical insult that Malfoy—despite his best efforts—could not eliminate.

What this was, Malfoy did not specifically know, but he could guess well enough. Riddle had performed some kind of filthy barbarian ritual on his field and orchard, fueled with Selwyn's blood. In fury, he kicked Selwyn's corpse.

"Lucius," he muttered to himself. "I must summon Lucius at last." The existence of a plan calmed his fury somewhat. He took a deep breath and returned to Malfoy Manor.


Hogsmeade.

Adelaide huddled in the corner, eyes averted, trying to make herself invisible—or, failing that, as small and insignificant as possible. Nearby, Bellatrix loomed over Frank and Alice Longbottom, who sat in their own chairs, stricken with stupefying curses.

"I know that you know who they are!" she roared, slashing her wand through the air. A red streak appeared across Mistress Longbottom's face. "They were raised in this pathetic little village, and now they are wards of the Black family—of which you are a part! You placed them there."

"My lady," the mayor said, "we did not. We don't know who took them in—"

"Liar!" Bellatrix brought her wand wide in an arc. Both Longbottoms collapsed to the floor, twitching and suddenly screaming. In the corner, Adelaide muffled a cry.

"P-please," Longbottom gasped through the pain. "I—know—nothing."

Bellatrix snarled bestially, rage flowing through her veins. "You are in league with Riddle too, are you not? What was your promised reward?" She slashed the wand once again, causing them to double into themselves in agony. "My daughter is the rightful heir of the fief, not some filthy-blooded bastard-spawn!"

"Mother!" Adelaide cried out as Mayor Longbottom's twitches suddenly increased in frequency and appeared to cease to be to any degree under his control. His body flopped on the floor as though it were a puppet.

Bellatrix lifted her curse momentarily and gazed at her victims. The wizard lay on the floor, slack-jawed, saliva dribbling from his mouth. Nearby, his wife also lay bonelessly, though she did not appear quite as far gone. Bellatrix breathed deeply, attempting to calm herself. It would be no good if she reduced them to gibbering insanity without learning what she had set out to discover.

"You," she said coldly. "You know something, do you not? What are the names they use now?"

"Don't… know," muttered Alice Longbottom, shaking her head repetitively. "Don't know…."

"Then who took them in? Which Blacks?"

"Lord Arct… Arctur…." She struggled to say the name.

"Lord Arcturus," Bellatrix said. "Of course. He is dead. I assume they are in Lord Orion's service now."

Mistress Longbottom did not want to confirm that, but Bellatrix raised her wand threateningly. The witch flinched and nodded.

"This is difficult," Bellatrix said as an aside to Adelaide, utterly ignoring the damaged witch and wizard before her, as well as her daughter's manifest horror at what she was seeing. "Castle Black is a fortress. However, I am of their blood. It may be…."

She finally noticed the expression of horror on Adelaide's face and turned back to the Longbottoms. "Of course, this is disgusting to you," she said, deliberately misunderstanding the real reason that Adelaide was upset. "I am sorry. I will take care of it at once." With an evil smile on her face, she slashed her wand in a three-part zigzag twice, flooding the little cottage with green light.


Castle Draconis, Godric's Hollow.

Lucius's roar of dismay echoed through the great hall. "He is here?" he exclaimed to the house-elf.

The creature trembled. "Yes, your lordship," it whimpered.

Narcissa turned to Lucius with alarm in her eyes. "I could kill my sister! Honestly, Lucius, I could this time! I could even kill myself," she muttered. "I should have protected Adelaide! She could not have wanted to run away with Bella. To think that we could all be safe at Castle l'Etrange right now…."

"We cannot deny him," Lucius said. "He can get in through a blood ward. At least we have the Mudblood Potter." To the elf, he said imperiously, "Let him in."

As Lucius and Narcissa took their seats, the elf scampered away to the grand doors. It snapped its fingers, causing them to open by magic, revealing the white-robed High Lord of Wizards in Britain, Armand Malfoy.

Armand strode forward, pushing the elf aside as though it were nothing more than an object in his path. "Lucius," he announced as he reached the high seat, "I bid you stand."

Reluctantly, Lucius and Narcissa stood in the high lord's presence. They tried to avoid looking at his face. That red glass orb he used as an eye was deeply disturbing.

"As you may know, grandson, we have suffered a setback," Armand said somberly.

"We"? Lucius thought. You presume much, Grandfather.

"The half-blood and the traitors in the Black family"—he gave a disdainful sneer to Narcissa—"have murdered Lord Lestrange and taken over his castle. You and I must plot together how we can recover it and have our rightful revenge against the rebels. I have an idea for this, which relates to Draco's marital prospects as well."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look. Whatever could he mean by that?

"This is a personal slight against me as well," he intoned, "since Rodolphus assisted me in a crucial magical matter to preserve my life through these difficult times. I require your assistance now in this endeavor."

They did not have a shadow a doubt that they knew exactly what he was talking about. Lucius considered his words before speaking. "My lord," he said, "I think I know what this endeavor is. It is the mixing of a special potion, is it not? A potion with a principal ingredient that is… challenging… to handle, no?"

Armand's single human eye flashed red. "You know of it, then."

"Yes," Lucius said. "But I am not sure that I have the skills to mix a potion of this degree of sensitivity. I would instead volunteer the family potionmaker, a witch from the village named Lily Potter."

Armand recognized the surname, and in a flash, he remembered that a Potter had married a witch from this village, a witch of no background. "That is a Mudblood," he said through clenched teeth. "You propose a Mudblood to make my potion? Lucius!"

"She is a very talented Mudblood," Lucius pleaded. "Grandfather—"

Armand leaned forward, eye flashing furiously. "You are a coward, Lucius. You merely do not want to make the potion because you are superstitious and believe the English lies about the supposed 'curse' that comes from handling its main ingredient! I stand before you now, having drunk it for years. Do I look cursed to you? I order you and Lady Narcissa to come to Malfoy Manor at once to serve me."

"Draco—"

"Draco needs to learn how to rule," Armand said. "He will be placed in charge here. If the half-blood Riddle can be a regent, Draco certainly can. We will confer about my plan for him, and then, after all the arrangements have been made, we will crush this rebellion that we face and bring peace to the land once again."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged desperate, defeated glances. If only Bellatrix had not acted the fool!

"Bring the Mudblood, after all," Armand reconsidered. "She may be a useful hostage, since young Potter fights with the Riddles."

Unless he insists on watching me make the potion, Lucius thought, a drowning man suddenly thrown a rope, I will make her do it and tell Grandfather that it is my work. He turned to Narcissa, whose shrewd, intelligent face showed that she had the same idea. They nodded to each other.