Xxx
It didn't take long for Draco to work up the courage to confront her.
It was a pitiful performance, his face pale and sweaty, his hands shaking as he tried to work himself up into an entitled and indignant rage.
"I am not weak," he started after barging past her into her house. She stared at him coolly, feeling muted about the whole situation.
He was shivering from the cold, it seemed he sat on her doorstep for a while, likely talking himself up for this confrontation.
She remained silent, rolling her eyes and closing her front door with a small click. His words and his demeanour were two different things.
To her he looked nothing but weak. Useless. She could hear the Dark Lords assessment echo across her mind. She jerked her head trying to rid his voice, his thoughts as one would an annoying insect.
"And I don't need your help. I didn't ask for it. I am a Malfoy, a man now and fully capable."
She remained silent, staring at the fuming boy, amused by the tremors going through his body. She could almost smell his fear.
"This was a ploy, a way for you to push me down and get ahead. I- I could do it you know. K-kill someone. I am loyal to the cause. I am not useless. I deserve to be here. I deserve this mark." His words and countenance were at odds. He tried to be a man, a Death Eater but all she saw was a scared child.
She let the silence drag on, finding the smallest amusement in how he stuttered, faltered at her muted reaction.
"Y-you better back off you know. Or else I'll-well-I'll come after you. Yeah- you'll have to watch your back because I'll be on you, waiting for the chance to prove myself." He tried to sound brave. He was terrified, his entitlement and lifetime of privilege warring with his survival instinct.
His whole life Draco had been protected, offered immunity because of his father. He always got what he wanted without working for it. He was reasonably bright and with Narcissa's input he was a reasonably good person fundamentally- sure he was a spoiled, prejuidiced, and annoying little shit- but he was grey enough that he found straight murder, no matter the circumstances, unpleasant and unthinkable.
Now that his father was stripped of his power and influence and he had yet to fully realise his protection was gone. When he did, it was often too late.
Luckily for him, she felt nothing towards this interaction. Emotionless, like she was a mere observer to passing circumstances.
She shrugged, turning away from him to enter her kitchen. "You can try Draco, but we both know you will fail. Why run from it?" She asked coolly, rapping her wand against the kettle.
She took a deeper than usual breath as the brief flare of magic left her wand, a small flash that had the water boiled unusually fast, even by magic standards.
Draco deflated, the fight going out of him as he sat heavily on the couch. "I am not weak," he said sounding so dejected she felt something-pulling deep in her chest. She squashed it.
"Not everyone is killer. Focus on what you are good at. Make friends who matter to you and to the cause. Be a snake like your father. And leave the fighting to the grown ups." She was cold as she said it.
"Be thankful Draco that you are not in my position," she said quietly, preparing them both cups of tea.
He accepted his tea reluctantly, his face red and his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. He was frustrated, angry and confused.
He was also a little grateful.
Xxx
As her magic grew in power so did her paranoia and fear. The Dark Lord had explained the consequences of his actions on her, but she did not truly understand it.
How could something so terrible make her more powerful? If it was simply a matter of brief but memorable and unbearable defilement, a fundamental invasion of privacy, a brush of true madness- well she imagined many more wizards would risk that for a taste of power.
Cassiopeia liked to think she understood theoretical magics on a very fundamental level. However this latest development made her realise that she understood very little about the origin of magic, and how it was tied to witches and wizards. What was it that made them so different from muggles? What dictated power?
There was precious little written on the subject, in the past she would have sought out guidance to such a complicated topic. However she did not think that Professor Flitwick would be willing to discuss this with her, and she could hardly walk into St Mungos to strike up a conversation with Lionel Spavin- her old boss and mentor.
She loathed to ask the Dark Lord, after their incident he had rather left her alone to her relief. He seemed preoccupied with something else, obsessed with some mystery or another. She really did not care what it was, in fact she was delighted he was so preoccupied. It was wonderful really- whatever it was it took his attention off of her and took him away on long research trips where no one would hear from him for days or even weeks.
She briefly considered asking Snape. He had a surprising depth of knowledge regarding dark magic, but she did not think it was in abundance to her. He was a passable curse breaker, but he lacked the innate understanding of the flow of magic that was required.
In fact, she reckoned there were few in Britain who could answer her questions- perhaps a few unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries- they would be a hassle to find though, she would have to declassify the files, find their identities- on a hope there was a specialist.
Dumbledore would have known- but he was long dead. Perhaps she could discuss it with his portrait? She dismissed that idea almost immediately- she did not want to spend unnecessary time at Hogwarts, and she would rather not discuss this with Snape- who would inevitably be a party to the conversation. If she were being honest, even in death Dumbledore still frightened her a little. It would be the very last resort to go there.
She unlocked her office door in the Ministry and slumped into her chair, staring at the pile of paperwork on her desk. Leads for missing muggleborns and wanted fugitives. Running a fascist organization was a lot of paperwork and she could feel a headache building.
Her mind wandered- how did magic work? How did it feel before her possession? It was always present, beneath her skin, tied into her will. She remembered being a child and simply wishing things in and out of existence. She hadn't felt the flow of power then, it wasn't channeled or controlled- it just was. She first felt it when she received her first wand.
How marvellous that had been- in Ollivanders shop, testing out different wands, hoping each each piece she tried would choose her. Afterall- that's what he always said- "the wand chooses the wizard".
Ollivander.
She sat up.
Ollivander might know. He was still alive- in the Malfoy Manor, in the cellar turned prison. She was down there frequently enough to look after the prisoners to know he was still alive.
She glanced at the clock. It was still early in the morning- most of the household would be asleep. She could sneak in, have a quick chat, and sneak out without anyone being the wiser.
The cellar of the Malfoy Manor was a small room, once used to house dark artefacts and expensive bottles of wine. Since the war it had been repurposed as a dungeon- a small and miserable place. There were a few inhabitants, people unlucky enough to grab the personal attention of the Dark Lord. She and Wormtail were the only two visitors to the dank place- she visited weekly, ensuring the prisoners were reasonably well kept, bathed, and as healthy as expected. She gave them food and water, had polite conversation with the few who would talk. She hoped to provide human contact that did not come with torture or interrogation. She understood what isolation could do to a human mind.
Wormtail did the daily visits- bringing them sustenance that could hardly be called food, and ensuring they were alive. These were the only people who were respected less than him, and she was sure he took great joy in lording it over the prisoners. It was pathetic, but there was very little she could do about it.
She warded the door after her just to be safe. She did not want any interruptions for this conversation.
"Mr Ollivander?" She called softly.
"Lumos" she muttered, wincing as the light flared to life with a blinding intensity. "For fucks sake," she growled, blinking away the spots in her vision.
She settled with grabbing a torch from the wall, leaning as far back as possible as a veritable fireball erupted from the end of her wand. She cursed once more, glaring at her wand. This was getting ridiculous.
"Mr Ollivander?" She called once more, approaching the corner she knew him to hide in. The only other person in the damp cellar was Mr Fortescue, the ice cream shop owner who had run afoul of the Dark Lord early on. He had been their first guest. She wasn't sure what the Dark Lord wanted with the man, but she did know it had something to do with some historical knowledge, a hobby of his.
Garrick Ollivander was leaning against a wall, his eyes squinting at the bright flames and blinking away the sleep. He looked like he had just woken up.
"Miss Lestrange." He greeted, "is it already Sunday? It feels like we just saw you a few days ago." He said, his voice sounding tired and papery.
She smiled at him. Florean Fortescue never spoke to her, he sat in the corner and watched quietly whenever she visited. But Ollivaner was always polite and receptive to company.
"Not quite Sunday sir, it is Wednesday and it is mid November. Forgive me that I do not know the exact date- didn't quite manage to glance at the calendar on my way down."
She concentrated on her magic, trying to restrain it as she conjured two simple plates of food-a ploughman's lunch- and a steaming carafe with a set of mugs. She pushed the plate over to the man, and motioned Fortescue to take one as well.
Fortescue did not move, his eyes narrowed on her. She fought the urge to roll her eyes- but she couldn't blame him. She could remember a time in her life when she refused to eat food that was offered to her. She tried to feed them fatty foods, nothing too rich or heavy. She hoped it would be enough to stave off the worst bits of starvation they faced at the hands of Wormtail.
"Would like some Coffee Mr Ollivander? Or some tea perhaps?" she asked kindly.
"A good strong cuppa will do Miss Lestrange if it is not too much trouble." he said politely, "My old bones are not what they used to be, and this cellar has a bit of a bite to it." he fished a piece of bread and slathered it in butter.
She kept up empty chatter as the man ate and drank his tea, and she was pleased to see Fortescue had reluctantly reached over to take his plate before retreating to his corner.
She told them about the weather, how it was nearly winter and it was looking to be a bitterly cold one. She shared with them what little news she could, enough stories to let them continue to have hope, and to feel some connection to the outside world.
It wasn't until he had finally eaten his fill and reclined with a fresh cuppa did Ollivander speak. "Thank you kindly Miss Lestrange. Now what do I owe in return for this kindness today?" he gave her a shrewd look and a sharp smirk.
She sighed and gave him a sheepish look in return. Ollivander was one of the few people she did not have to put on a show with. She was not the feared Left Hand of the Dark Lord, she was not the vicious Death Eater. He somehow always made her feel like a child. The same child who stood in his shop at 11 years old, eager for a wand.
"I have questions sir. Theoretical questions about magic." she started.
He nodded, "perhaps I can assist." he said, urging her to continue.
She hesitated, suddenly nervous and uncertain of herself. Where should she start? Should she remain theoretical, ask for general information? Or should she tell him how it relates to her, the specifics.
"I want to know- I guess- how does it work? With a wand? More than that-how does magic flow from a person, through a wand, into the world?"
He gave a low tired chuckle at her question, taking another sip of his tea. "My dear child, I am flattered you think I would know such things. Those are the questions us-enthusiasts let's say- have been trying to answer for centuries. To put it simply, nobody really knows."
She shook her head, refusing to accept that as an answer. "You may not know for certain Mr Ollivander, but you strike me as a very well read and obsessive man. Those questions must have propelled you into relentless study, decades of it. You make wands sir, you must have some inkling of how it works." She said, leaning forward eagerly.
Ollivander chewed on his response for a while, leaning back and staring at the ceiling as he thought of the best way to respond.
"Something happened to you." He mused, still staring up at the ceiling. "Your magic has changed, something fundamental."
She remained quiet, watching the wheels turn in his head.
"I can hear it, sense it in your magic. You and your wand are no longer in sync, there is a strain in the relationship."
"How do you know?" she asked quietly, amazed at the man's words. Was she so obvious?
He gave her another wicked smile, his eyes regaining a little of the old mischievous glint they once had. "I have spent my life with wands Miss Lestrange, learning them, understanding them, crafting them. I created your wand, I brought you together, choosing from all the thousands in my shop, the one you were best suited for. I have a remarkable aptitude at finding pairs Miss Lestrange, and understanding when things do not fit."
"You think we no longer fit?" She clutched her wand close to her, feeling a little afraid for it. She had already destroyed one, losing this one seemed unthinkable.
"Tell me what happened Miss Lestrange, and maybe I will understand enough to answer your true questions."
She curled into herself a little, pulling her legs close to her body and wrapping her arms around them. She felt suddenly afraid to tell the man, to reveal the awful thing it had happened. It wasn't like he was the first one to know, she had already told a few people. Yet somehow, telling it to a stranger seemed personal, another invasion of privacy.
But she needed answers and he was her best bet.
"Possession." Her voice was small as she said the word, hoping she would not have to explain further.
From the pale look on Ollivanders face he understood her well enough.
"You poor child." He said softly, putting his tea down with a clink, "And since then, your magic has been unstable?" He asked quietly.
She nodded.
"I can give you only theories Miss Lestrange. Explain how I visualise and understand magic- but you must understand that magic is highly personalized and variable."
She nodded once more, sighing a little as she relaxed. It was better than nothing.
"Why some people are capable of magic and others are not is a mystery to the world. Muggles and Wizards are biologically the same, and yet some of us possess the ability to channel magical force. I believe it is generated within us, acting like a functioning human system while others believe we manipulate the magic that is in the world around us. There is heated debate about what makes one more powerful than other- what factors go into that raw power and innate ability.
Wands are a conduit to that power, it taps into it and gives it a direction. Over time it creates channels, as your body adapts to using those channels, steams of power become set in stone. But a wand is not a necessary component to conducting magic- children are filled with magic and they often perform unpredictable and powerful feats while growing up. Wands are also not universally used in the world- there are many cultures, schools in the world that have no use for wands- viewing them as handicaps. Instead of relying on a conduit, they learn how to channel their own magic, control it and wield it, and bring it into the world.
But the human body can only take so much, it can be overloaded. They can be stretched beyond repair, disfigured and cracked, leading to madness and often death. We normally see this happen in times of stress, when one is forced into an extreme situation where they perform great feats of magics."
"But that is internally generated. What about external forces?" she asked quietly, her stomach flipping in anxiety.
"The body can only conduct so much power. Most die quite painful deaths, and those that survive are rarely left in a fit mental state. It is rare to meet someone who has survived so not much is known about all of the side effects of such dark magics. The magical channels can be stretched to some extent to accommodate the extra magics, but people are not meant to channel so much power. Not without causing permanent and irreparable damage to themselves."
She felt her skin itch with fear and irritation, growing impatient with the man's lecture. It was interesting of course, but it was hard to see what pertained to her exact situation. "So what does that mean for me?" She asked, trying to take deep calming breaths. She could hear the flames beckoning her into madness.
He sighed, "I imagine your magic is more powerful than ever before. But it is also likely in shorter supply than before, you will feel the effects of exhaustion must sooner and with magical exhaustion comes a tiny bit of madness that can and will grow the more you push your limits. You will need to learn to control your magic, the flow of it, to limit it and I am afraid there are few in the country who have the understanding to help teach you."
She could see the fatigue in the man's eyes, in his body language as he spoke. The conversation had taken a lot from the elderly man and he wouldn't be much more use to her now if she kept pressing. Besides she suspected he had told her all that he could.
"Meditation Miss Lestrange. That is all I can suggest. Try to understand your magic and control it. And be careful in exerting yourself." he said, slumping back against the wall and pulling his legs close to him to stave off the chill in the dungeons.
She cleaned up the remnants of their food and drink and left quickly, her mind turning with the new found information. Ollivander had told her what she feared the most, the consequences of her demand had cost her dearly, perhaps even everything.
Xxx
She scowled at the letter in her hand, her mind racing.
It was from Snape, who somehow managed to slip the missive into her robes at some point in the last two days.
Sneaky sod.
She burned the note with a sigh. She owed him two favours and it appeared he was calling in his first one.
She left their visit till late, when she was not likely to be missed at work or by her mother. It also gave her the privacy to stare at the school from the gates for longer than was strictly appropriate.
Emotions. Being at the school brought back strong emotions, ones she had been trying to deaden herself to.
She wrapped herself tighter in her cloak and started the trek up the hill to the castle. It was fully winter now and she could feel the bite in the Scottish air. The castle was asleep, the only lights coming from suspended christmas baubles as she entered through the front.
Her walk up to Snape's office was uneventful and it wasn't long before she found herself knocking at his door.
Despite the late hour Snape appeared wide awake and alert. His eyes ran over her quickly, glancing past her before he let her in. Always a careful man Snape- worried about discovery.
She slumped into a chair, her eyes flicking around his office curiously. "Couldn't find a decorator? Never took you to have the same exact tastes as Dumbledore once did." She said it cruelly, hoping to hurt the man for reasons that were a little unknown. She wanted to lash out, to get a rise out of him and this seemed like an easy way to do it.
Snape gave her a hard stare but remained silent.
The office was nearly identical to its previous inhabitant- the only difference she could see what the portrait. Dumbledore snoozing in his frame fast asleep. She stared at it for perhaps a little too long before turning back to the man who killed him.
"What can I do for you professor?" She asked finally. She did not want to be in Hogwarts, that close to a portrait of Dumbledore for longer than necessary.
"A favour. One that you owe me." He said evenly.
She nodded. leaning forward. The sooner he called those in the better she would feel. "Anything you need Professor."
"In a few days your mother is going to receive a sword to place in your vaults for safekeeping. Some parties may request to examine said sword- do not let them."
She eyed the man carefully, her thoughts racing as she took in the implications of his request. Her eyes also lingered over a display case where the sword of Gryffindor was gleaming brightly.
He was going to give them a forgery. Interesting.
"Done." It was an easy enough request, she suspected Bellatrix would not have checked the authenticity of the artefact anyways. He was being careful though, and she respected that.
He relaxed a little, though he was still giving her a searching look, looking for something. She was not a fan of the look and she sniffed, rising out of her chair, intending to leave before he could act on whatever thing he was thinking about.
"How are you?" He asked lowly, causing her to pause.
She tensed, her mind stuttering and she heard the distant roar of flames and cries of anguish echoing in her ears. "I am professor. And I must be leaving." She could feel oblivion was close, the madness was rearing its head. She was working on stabilizing her magic, but it was difficult to break lifelong habits that she was only recently becoming aware of.
Magic was like breathing, using her wand was natural, something she did without thought or care. Now she was trying to be deliberate, but it was like being aware of every breath she took, to control how much air was in her lungs at all times. She slipped, frequently, and the madness was growing. She had overdone it with the Apparition to the school and she could feel the exhaustion that was amplified by her memories.
"Something has changed in you." Snape said, causing her to pause at the door. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, centering herself and pulling herself away from the flames that were always beckoning, always calling her.
"I am going mad Professor. That's what has changed." she said quietly, glaring at the slight tremble in her hand as she said it. She knew it was true, but it was still hard to say aloud.
"I told you once, that I was on your side. That has not changed Lestrange."
She scoffed a little, closing her trembling hand into a fist. "The last time I asked for your help I ended up owing you two favours- one now. That is hardly being on my side." She felt the foreign feelings of rage, fiery and hot flashes as they bolted through her system and she could feel the heat from the phantom burning pub licking her skin.
She closed her eyes and took an even deeper breath. "You cant help me Snape,"
"I can't if you do not tell me what is wrong. You need allies, you have isolated yourself and someone in your position can not afford to be an island."
She gave a short laugh, "Coming from someone who has holed himself up in Hogwarts, rarely leaving his fortress. Fat lot of good you are to me." She pulled open the door and left, finding it all a little overwhelming, being in that office, in that place. She needed to go, to get out, and she feared she would suffocate or lose control if she did not.
Xx
It was late December when she finally broke with her routine. She felt a great aching chasm, a strong and terrifying emotion that filled her whole being, it made her skin crawl and it clawed up her throat until she could no longer breathe. Her heart raced and she was covered in a cold sweat and she had to get out, get away, and do something with the nervous energy that flooded her system.
She tried a few different things. She punched her heavy bags in her personal gym until her hands ached and were bruised despite the wraps and gloves she wore.
When that didn't help the overwhelming emotion she went quickly dressed in dark muggle exercise clothing from her boxing days and went to a muggle track to run without interruption or recognition. She sprinted until her legs burned and her lungs seared. She ran and she cried out through the pain and exhaustion. Eventually her legs gave out and she collapsed on the track, pounding her wounded fists into the ground as yelled until tears streamed from her eyes, blurring her view.
And still the chasm grew and her heart pounded and she couldn't breathe. She felt full of something foreign it was suffocating her. She felt as if a poison had taken root in her soul and was breaking her apart from the inside.
When it was clear exercise wasn't going to help she went to a pub. It did not take long for the spirits to go to her head and she felt the warm fuzziness begin to take hold on the edges of her consciousness. Normally the alcoholic dulling brought her peace and a numb disconnection. Unfortunately his time it dulled everything except the aching pain in her chest and the choking emotions. She slammed another shot glass to the bar as she glared at the bar keeper when he refused to fill her next one.
Not that she could hear him properly. It was like she was underwater. Everything was muffled, having to compete against the roaring flames and anguished cries that echoed in her ears.
She threw her glass with a grunt at the barman who very narrowly ducked, paling as it shattered against the wall where his head was.
"Thas'it- Out!" He yelled and she was only too happy to oblige, throwing him a rude gesture and stumbling out of the establishment.
She gasped as she walked through the cold night air. It was raining, thick heavy drops that burned her skin. Her chest ached, a shooting pain and her lungs felt like they were constricted. Was she dying? She wished she was dying, she hoped that it was finally her time. That it was a bloody heart attack.
She didn't know how she ended up there, only that she walked for what seemed to be forever in the rain on shaking legs. She didn't even realise what town she apparated to until she stood in front of the house.
She was soaked from the cold winter rain. She stood silently out front, just within the property boundary but not daring to go any closer.
She likely wasn't welcome here anymore. It was dangerous for both her and the sole inhabitant of the building to be together. There was a war going on and she was spared only by virtue of her blood.
There was a light on in the kitchen. The house was otherwise dark, devoid of the life that normally filled it.
She took a deep shuddering breath, feeling the emotion overwhelm her.
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the house where she spent half of her life. She had been happy here, in the Tonks household. It hadn't been easy and she had been a difficult kid, but she was loved unconditionally here. Andromeda and Ted had shown her that time and time again, even if she had been thick headed about it.
The door opened and she sighed as warm arms wrapped around her frigid shoulders gently leading her into the house.
Even now, despite the risks, Andromeda still welcomed her home.
She broke, surrendering to the emotion just as Andromeda led her to the couch. She clung to the woman, the woman who was so much like her mother in appearance, and yet so fundamentally different. Through her tears she could pretend the warm loving creature before her really was Bellatrix.
She curled up next to Andromeda like a child and clung to the woman who remained silent through the breakdown. Andromeda petted her hair, her shoulders, her back, reassuring the girl that she was there, she was present.
She was exhausted by the time her tears dried and her sobs silenced, relieved that the emotion had been alleviated at least enough to breath. She didn't move though, relishing the warmth and unconditional acceptance Andromeda gave her.
It was late, the middle of the night. Her aunt must be exhausted. But she made no move kicking her out. She remained present.
"Why couldn't she be more like you?" Cassiopeia asked quietly, snuggling closer to her aunt.
Andromeda sighed, tightening her grip on the girl. "I fell in love with a remarkable man and he has a way of showing people a better, kinder world." She felt the older woman shrug and sigh. Ted was out in the world, alone and in danger. It was raining and she hoped he was somewhere dry and warm.
Andromeda did not ask, but Cassiopeia could not hold it back any longer. She was vulnerable, empty and confused. She had tried to do what the Dark Lord commanded, to crush her weakness, to be strong. But in the end, she caved and told her everything.
Andromeda remained silent as she listened to her story. About Draco and how he was too pure to kill. How she tried to protect him and the price she had to pay. She told her about the madness, how she could feel it beckoning, always at the edge of her mind and the changes to her magic. She spoke about her conversation with Ollivander. She told her about the awful things she had tried to do at the Dark Lord's behest. Her attempt to kill her weakness, finish it and the weeks of numbness that followed.
"I wish that I could spare you Cassiopeia. I wish that you were mine." It was said sincerely but it left her feeling hollow and alone.
Wishing did them no good in war. It did not change reality.
"I am trying to protect him you know, Ted." She felt Andromeda stiffen, showing the first bit of unease during her visit.
"I put a bounty on him, he is to be brought to me alive and unharmed. I employ only the most incompetent Andromeda. You have to believe me, I am doing all that I can to protect him."
She nodded, holding the girl closer, "I do believe you Cass, I believe you are trying your best."
"You should have gone to Marseille. Both of you." She tried to not make it an accusation.
"Ted refused, not while his daughters were on the front line. He is trying to help in the ways he can."
She felt a little warmth at her words, enough to cut through her irritation with the man. Daughters. It was plural.
"I didn't know. I hope you know that, they kept it from me that they brought you in for questioning. I fired the clerk who hid it from me. If I had known- I would have stopped it, or at least mitigated it."
"I know." was all Andromeda said.
Andromeda had been brought in shortly after Ted disappeared for questioning. The woman, Umbridge, who led the questioning had tortured Andromeda. If she could get away with it, she would've killed Umbridge then and there when she found out. But not even she was that powerful to make a strike against a staunch ally of the new regime. Not yet at least.
Cassiopeia did not find out about it until very recently. She couldn't hurt Umbridge but she did hurt the clerk who had hidden it from her at Umbridge's behalf. It was moments like those where she felt the most hopeless, what use was she if she couldn't even save the people she loved the most?
"I have to go now. It's dangerous and i've been gone for too long." She said, reluctantly pulling away from the woman, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. It was a balm being back home.
"Have you seen your sister?" She asked, clutching onto the girls hand.
Cassiopeia shook her head, "is everything alright?" she asked, feeling suddenly afraid for Dora. Had she missed something else? She had also put a bounty of Dora's head to be delivered to her directly, alive.
Andromeda smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulder. "You should see her, I will tell her to send you her location. She isn't up for much travel these days."
"She isnt- are you sure she is alright?" she asked, feeling a flash of concern. What could be wrong that she wasn't up for travel.
"Trust me. Keep an eye out, I will tell her to reach out."
They hugged once more, Cassiopeia clutching the woman tightly. "I love you Andromeda."
"And I love you Cassiopeia. Stay strong and stay safe."
Xxx
She didn't see her sister until Christmas, months after their last meeting after her possession.
Her visit with Andromeda during her minor mental break down chased away most of her shadows temporarily but she could feel them creeping in. When one was totally surrounded in a den of snakes, it was hard to feel anything positive for long.
It wasn't Dora who reached out to her but her former solicitor and friend Mira Lima who left her the address during one of their intelligence drops. She was heartened to know at least Dora seemed holed up in a stable safe house, and was involved with Lima's freedom network.
It was Christmas Eve when she visited. The Dark Lord had been out of the country and unreachable for a week, and he had warned them he wouldn't be back until the new year. Narcissa was busy planning the Christmas Day celebrations and her Mother was helping Narcissa. Her absence would go unnoticed so long as she was back in time for the party on the following day.
She had nipped into the muggle world and bought Dora a few presents, some records from new Muggle bands she thought she would enjoy, and her favourite sweets. She also bought them each a bottle of mulled wine to share.
Seeing Dora froze her in her steps in shock. More specifically, it was her protruding belly that made her stop.
She was struck by the strong jolts of emotion that ran through her. Love and rage. Fierce protectiveness and awe all fought for dominance as she hesitantly reached out to touch Dora's hand.
In that moment she was struck with an epiphany, a realisation so powerful she almost collapsed under its weight. The Dark Lord had been wrong when he told her about family, when he told her about her weakness. This wasn't weakness, this was strength. Purpose. It was her reason to stay alive, to fight and sabotage, to hope for a better world. A world that was worthy of her niece or nephew.
She had never met this child but she was already in love with it.
"I guess I will have to drink both of these bottles." She said lamely, holding up the wine. Dora laughed and pulled her inside quickly.
"When is it due?" she asked, helping her sister sit on a shabby couch. They were in a house in the countryside, not far outside of a medium sized muggle village in Yorkshire. It wasn't a Lestrange property but one she suspected was purchased with Lestrange money.
"He is due late March or Early April." She said, wrapping an arm around her belly, smiling wistfully.
He. She was going to have a nephew.
"And where is that husband of yours? You shouldn't be up and about in this condition." She scolded lightly setting her presents aside.
She wasn't expecting the tears that followed and she felt a flash of anger. Who dared hurt this remarkable woman? This mother? The rage grew as the story came out. The father apparently who had left her alone, to fight he said but she saw what it was. Cowardice.
She loved this child as fiercely as she hated her husband. She would never forgive the Wolf for abandoning Dora, in the middle of a war no less, when he found out the news.
She stayed for longer than she should have, fussing over her sister, trying to cheer her up and going over her plans, committing them to memory. She needed to ensure she was safe, protected and away from her Snatchers. Especially since she refused to leave the country and only reluctantly took a step back from the front line.
"And who is helping with the birth? You can't very well walk into St Mungos in that condition, not as a wanted woman" She asked, handing Dora another cup of herbal tea.
"Molly will help, she comes around almost daily to check up on me. And mum of course is here as well. I never thought a woman could fuss more than her, but you appear to be even worse Cass. It's an interesting look on you." She teased lightly.
Cassiopeia huffed, smiling as she adjusted a pillow for Dora and took the cup of tea out of her hand so she wouldn't have to reach.
"Well somebody has to look after you. I will find you a healer, someone we can trust to help with the delivery. Perhaps Theo." she mused.
Cassiopeia was plotting as she tended to Dora, already formulating plans in how she could visit, how she could help, which healers could be on hand for the delivery, and how she could hurt her no good husband without upsetting Dora too badly.
"I think your mate Lima has someone in mind. A muggle born who is on the run, she was a trainee healer who went into hiding. She apparently helps with any injuries that come up in their line of work."
Cassiopeia ran through her mental list of fugitives. She knew of the girl, hardly out of Hogwarts. "I would feel better if you were in the hands of someone a little more qualified than a trainee. I am sure she is adequate at patching up war wounds, but childbirth is another thing entirely."
"Don't worry Cass. I am in good hands, and I will somehow grow even bigger." she frowned down at her growing belly.
"You shouldnt be alone Dora." She said softly.
"I am not, Molly and Mum are brilliant. And you can visit me whenever you like. It's not like I am moving around very much." she said
"Go to one of my houses across the Channel. I can arrange it for you, get you the right papers and you can disguise yourself. Please." She knew she would never leave, but she had to at least try.
She was already shaking her head before she even finished talking. "I can't leave Cass, not while Remus is out there fighting, not while all my friends and family are at risk.
She tried to tamp down her frustration. She wished more people used her bloody safe houses across the channel. At least she knew the location of her current safe house. She would be able to direct her men around it, minimise the risk of detection. She could help keep her safe.
They said their goodbyes reluctantly with Cassiopeia promising to visit whenever she could.
It wasn't long after leaving did she hear the news.
Harry Potter had escaped a trap in Godric's Hollow and the Dark Lord was back from his travels and he was livid.
Narcissa's Christmas party was subdued as the Dark Lord ranted and raged in the periphery. Everyone in the household retired early except for Bellatrix, who put herself into the path of him, trying to soothe him in any way that she could.
She did manage to steal away to the Cellar with some leftovers and a spot of wine for the Manor's inhabitants. A Hogwarts student, a sixth year girl, was their latest guest. She was a queer girl, but she seemed to be handling her capture fairly well, likely because she wasn't there for any particular interrogation use. She was collateral, a bargaining chip to control her father who was printing unfavourable stories about the government.
Boxing day was an even more uncomfortable affair- an obligatory office party for her Snatchers and Watchers. It was well attended by those who were not on active duty and by a fair amount of Death Eaters mainly because of the copious amounts of free alcohol that was available. Her employees were the dregs of society, but they could be easily swayed with booze.
Cassiopeia's plan was to stay for as long as was required of her, enough to say her hellos and shake hands. But she was keen to slip away and perhaps visit Dora for a bit.
She was forced to change her plan as she met the first of the wives of her soldiers. Women who were meek and obedient, who wore long gloves and very careful makeup tastefully covering up the faintest hints of bruises.
She recognised the body language and the fear as they watched their husbands drink, the careful way they spoke and interacted with others. And the way the wives came together, sheltering each other, looking after one another.
It disgusted her and she wandered over to the group of women who were hanging off to a corner where they all were enjoying their reprieve.
The women quieted as Cassiopeia approached, most averting their gazes and pulling in on themselves. She narrowed in on one woman in particular. She seemed stronger than the others, a leader amongst the wives, someone whose spirit wasn't quite shattered.
"I don't think we've been formally introduced. I am Cassiopeia," She omitted her last name, holding out her hand to the brave woman who dared to meet her eyes.
"Madam Lestrange, I don't believe so. I am Leonora Simmons, you work with my husband Anthony Simmons." She was amused when the woman addressed her formally and she shook her hand warmly, trying to come off as open and inviting to the women around them.
"And who are your friends? And please, no need to be so formal. Cassiopeia will do." Leonora led the introductions and Cassiopeia examined each woman critically, noting their carefully hidden injuries, their habits, and connecting it to their husbands. She was also alarmed at how young most of the women were, all around her age or younger and married to brutish men whom were some 20 or in one case 30 years their senior.
She was kind to the women, careful to remain open and non threatening. She held banal small talk that she normally found so boring, and tried to lure the women in with pleasantness. When they tried to regurgitate the government held propaganda to her, she would politely change the subject. She wasn't curious about what these women thought they should say, she was curious about their lives.
It took some time but she would casually remark on a small bruise every now and then, one that would become exposed. She feigned ignorance, pretending to believe the stuttered excuses and would quickly change the subject to something lighter when a woman started to become too flustered. Leonora caught on to her quickly and she hovered, standing protectively near some of them and changing the subject herself a few times to interrupt Cassiopeia's sly questioning.
It was a dance that continued for most of the night, a careful back and forth and soon she had won most of them over at least a little. They were warily optimistic about her, or at least no longer openly afraid of her which was a move in the right direction.
"Oh, I can't tell you how nice it is to speak to other women. It's such a boys club around here and they can be so droll. If I had known they were hiding such wonderful wives I would have insisted on meeting you lot earlier. We should get together, my aunt Narcissa knows the most wonderful brunch place in Diagon Alley. We should make this a thing, get together, have some girl time." She smiled widely, her face aching and she was inwardly cringing. The last thing she wanted to do was to have girl time, but these women needed her help.
The women were quiet, each glancing at each other, unwilling to be the first to reply. Her smile didn't budge when she saw a few clutched each other subtlely and wilt away. Instead it sharpened as she turned to see what had given the group of women the reaction.
"Ah Simmons and Harris. You never told me you had such wonderful wives." She bantered with them good naturedly. Both men looked uncertain, torn between anger at their wives for daring to interact with their boss, and unease at the possibility of being embarrassed.
"They are pleasant." Harris said uncertainly.
"Indeed, I was just saying how I would like to make this a more common occurrence, talking to your wives. I just love getting to know them." She said this loudly, getting the attention of a few others who were nearby who paused what they were doing to look at the scene.
"Oh well you know, my Leonora is a very busy woman Madam, I am not sure she could fit more into her schedule." Simmons challenged her stepping a little closer to her. He was feeling threatened and was acting in the only way he knew how- with intimidation.
She could see Leonora, the bravest of the women shrink under the gaze of her husband, her face flaming with embarrassment.
She took a step closer to Simmons, entering into his personal space and meeting his challenge head on. "Nonsense," she delicately picked at his uniform, plucking a non existent piece of lint off of his robes, "we are already becoming fast friends, and I am sure you can take over a little bit of her work. I can arrange your schedule so you can help out at home more. If she is too busy to meet up with friends, then I do believe you are overworking her. You should take better care of your wife Simmons." She said pleasantly, her tone edged with a warning.
"I will have a chat with her after this then mum." He bit out coldly, glaring at his wife who wilted further.
"Your wife is my friend now Simmons. And I care for the well being of my friends. If I hear one word, or see any signs of neglect- well I will be forced to intervene." She curled her fist in his robes, jerking him forward so she could whisper the threat lowly in his ear. She pushed him back and patted his shoulder roughly, a smirk firmly in place. "Do we have an understanding?"
The man was furious, she could see that. He wanted to hit her, and she watched in amusement as his hand curled into a fist. She hoped he did hit her, she would take great joy in battering this man. He was saved by his friend, another man whose wife was in the group behind her putting a hand on his shoulder. The man gave her a deadly stare but muttered in his friend's ear, "it's not worth it mate."
"Listen to your friend. We wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself." she said lowly, still smirking at him.
That pushed him over the edge and he swung at her, the alcohol clouding his better judgement and she nearly whooped, grabbing his wrist and twisting him around using his arm as leverage. "You bleeding cunt" he yelled, struggling beneath her.
She tutted loudly, before looking catching Leonora's wide terrified eyes.
"Such language to your superior officer. I think I'll teach your wife this move Simmons," She drawled before twisting his arm a little more until she felt the satisfying pop of his shoulder being dislocated. She let go of him when his cry of anger turned into a high pitched scream and he dropped to the ground heavily.
She stepped over him, kicking him a little as she approached his wife who stared at the scene in horror. "It isn't much really, you don't even need to be particularly strong. It's all about leverage." She smiled at the wives who were staring at her with a mix of admiration and terror, all of their faces pale.
The party was now silent except for the cries coming from Simmons and Cassiopeia's good natured conversation with the women.
"So how does Sunday work for everyone? I am thinking perhaps 10:30 but can be persuaded for 11. I know just the place."
The party ended shortly after that, when she wrestled the acceptance of a weekly meet up with the battered women. She felt her warning was heard throughout her men, but they were idiots, so she would be watching. Waiting for one of them to make a mistake and lay their hand on their wives.
She spent the rest of the evening at Dora's house, recounting the story of her night and listening to Dora complain about all of the inconveniences of pregnancy.
Xxx
She was lounging on Dora's sofa, flipping through a book the day before New Years Eve. She found that being near Dora and her son helped chase the darkness away. While she was there she could almost forget the madness that lingered at the edges of her mind. She could pretend that all was well and that they were not in the middle of a war.
Dora didn't mind the company. Despite Andromeda's and Mrs Weasley's best efforts, neither woman could sneak away for too long without drawing suspicion. She had Watchers observing the Wealseys and she could not guarantee the Dark Lord or Bellatrix had not placed anyone on Andromeda without her knowledge. When it came to family, neither of them truly trusted her enough to know any details. She found it offensive truthfully. After everything she had done for the Death Eaters, she found it ridiculous they thought she couldn't be trusted. They weren't wrong of course, she definitely could not be trusted, but she really had not given them any reason to believe that.
Dora was dozing off on the opposite couch, her head lolling to the side, her own book loosely held in her hand, dangerously close to slipping to the ground. She sighed, tossing her own book aside and went to look over the shelves for something to do. She was bored, unwilling to go back to reality, and she felt that Dora needed all the sleep she could get.
She wished she were a better cook, then perhaps she could use this time to prepare a meal. Instead she looked over some board games and puzzles that she was gifted over Christmas, wondering if any were interesting enough to play when she woke up.
She jumped when she heard the front door open and spun around, her wand up and her eyes wide. There was a loud clatter as bags were dropped and she was faced with Molly Weasley whose lips were pursed, eyes narrowed as she pointed her own wand at Cassiopeia.
Neither woman moved, each uncertain of the others' motives.
The sound woke Dora up with a start and she quickly sat up to take in the scene. "Oh-hullo Molly," She muttered, her voice still filled with sleep.
"Alright there Tonks?" She asked cautiously, moving slowly into the house fully, nudging the bags out of the doorway so she could kick the door closed.
"Course," She yawned and stretched out on the couch, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the arm. She was already starting to fall back asleep.
Cassiopeia flipped her wand up, raising her hands in surrender hoping to placate the Weasley woman who was giving her a deadly stare. Molly was a terrifying woman, possibly one of the most terrifying people she had ever seen.
"It's alright Molly. I mean no one any harm. I am just here to see Dora." She slowly put her wand away. She was disheartened to see Molly's did not waver.
"And how can we trust you?" Molly hissed, her eyes narrowed.
Her face twitched, the question landing with a sting of pain. She wasn't wrong though, Cassiopeia had done very little to show she could be trusted. "I reckon there isn't much I can do to prove that you can Molly. You have to believe me." She said, understanding very keenly she wasn't giving her much to go on.
Dora grumbled, reluctantly opening her eyes to look at the scene properly. "Oh for Merlin's sake Molly, Cass is fine, I invited her here." she crossed her arms and tried to snuggle deeper into the sofa.
"Dora, if you're that tired perhaps you should go to bed." She said softly, finally taking her eyes off Molly and her wand.
"You go to bed." She retorted irritably, turning her head into a throw pillow.
"Your-She is right, if you are tired you should be resting in bed. Come, let's get you there and then I can put away the groceries and put together a meal for you when you wake up." Molly's voice was soft as she turned her attention to Dora, finally lowering her wand.
Cassiopeia stayed back as Molly fussed over the girl, feeling awkward and split between staying to allay her fears or leaving to make her more comfortable.
She was still hovering uncomfortably, torn between her options when Molly returned from putting Dora to bed for a midday nap.
The women stared at each other, Cassiopeia desperate and Molly wary. "I really do mean no harm." she said softly.
"For now." she said sharply, glaring at her. "Until you receive orders." she sniffed, putting away the groceries she purchased for the cottage with more force than necessary.
"It's not like that Molly. I am trying." She said helplessly, knowing that there was really nothing she could say to convince the woman.
"Tell that to Ottery St Catchpole. We watched it burn, helpless as dozens of Muggles were murdered by you. Nothing was left of the high street by the time you were done with it." Her voice was murderous as she spoke.
Cassiopeia paled as she listened to the woman talk. She had tried to repress the memories it brought back, the roars of the flames, the cries of the muggle around her. She could feel the madness pressing once more against the edges of her consciousness.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything to make the woman understand the horror of that night when a sharp burning pain flared on her arm. She hissed, clutching it angrily.
If possible Molly's look turned even darker. "Better get going, your master is calling." She said cruelly.
"Molly- please"
"No. She may trust you but I don't. I am watching you Lestrange, closely and if you dare harm a hair on that precious girls head, then I will personally see to you." Molly's voice was cold and serious and Cassiopeia knew then that Molly could do it. If she thought Cassiopeia was a danger to her family, she would kill her.
"I'm sorry Molly. I hope one day you can believe that," she said sadly before disapparating away to her summons.
She gasped as she stood outside of a house that was decidedly not the Malfoy Manor. She took a moment to compose herself, wrangle her emotions under control before summoning her mask. She followed the sounds of shouting and questioning, sighing deeply.
She walked into the house, the front door wide open into a perfectly round, brightly coloured kitchen. She followed the voices upstairs to a workroom and saw two Death Eaters questioning an older man with shoulder length grey hair and mismatched robes. He was doubled over as one of the Death Eaters, Travers, tortured him.
"What's the story." She growled, glaring at both Travers and Selwyn, the other Death Eater.
"This'n reckons Harry Potter was here. But he ent here no more is he?" He snarled at the man, shooting another stinging hex at him.
Cassiopeia's blood ran cool. That was two Harry Potter sightings in the last few days and she wondered if it meant something. She looked around the building, it looked like a printing press of some sort and half of the room was collapsed on itself, some spell gone wrong it seemed.
She ignored the two Death Eaters questioning the man, who clearly remembered nothing. They reckoned he was lying, but she suspected something else had happened.
Memory charms were not difficult to perform, and the Granger girl, the muggleborn one, was clever. Her own parents seemed to vanish completely, up and moving to another country as far as she could tell without any mention of a daughter. The work of a memory charm surely.
This was the man whose daughter was being held for collateral at the manor. Perhaps he had tried to save his daughter by capturing Potter- but was outweasled by the boy and his friends. They were a slippery bunch indeed.
She cast a human revealing charm confirming her suspicions. There had been three people here outside of the present company.
"Potter was here." she said sharply cutting off the questioning. "No point in talking to him, his mind has been wiped. Just- get him out of my sight." She sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. She would need to tell the Dark Lord, and she dreaded his reaction, especially after the Christmas Eve debacle.
The longer she waited the angrier he would be, and after ensuring the boys were briefed on their next steps- bringing the man to Azkaban, she left them to deliver the bad news.
Xxx
a/n Happy New Years etc etc. I am still alive I promise. I really struggled with this chapter, re writing parts of it three times and I still am not sure I completely like it, but hey ho here we are. Being put through the mental strain, the constant darkness, the hostile environments, and recovering from a total violation like possession would lead anyone to being a little unstable and mad. Cassiopeia is trying to do less magic here, relying more on physical action for two reasons- one I think she just finds it more satisfying, fueling a little of the blood lust that was always there with her, and two it is less terrifying. After talking to Ollivander she is confused and wary- desperate to remain sane and to keep herself from losing herself entirely. We see a whole panic attack, a small mental breakdown that could have ended differently if she had not subconsciously sought help. Seeing Dora is really what gives her energy though, hope and something solid to focus on. A reason to continue that she was beginning to lack.
Sorry about the last update chapter mix up. I tend to post this as soon as I finish writing, then like the next day I proof read it on my phone (which always leads to me catching errors I glossed over while proof reading on my computer) and then editing them and sending out an updated chapter. I mustve pressed the wrong button and overwrote a chapter- it should be fixed now.
Hope you enjoyed and as always comments and reviews are appreciated!