Flight of the Stars
Rated T
By DarkLadySwan
Disclaimer: "Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life." Truer words have never been spoken. Unfortunately, the literature on which this fanfic is based doesn't belong to me, nor do the characters. However, they do allow me to ignore life, which is almost as good.
A/N: A huge thank you to FitsofRage, Alice Phoenix Burke-Fawley, amdryden16, Emilie Berger, Scaevus, annalena2006, and anonymousvoice for following, Aimee Gneiting, amdryden16, Emilie Berger, annalena2006, belle mirage, and Coho Commanche for favoriting, and AnneLM, amdryden16, Fipsie (Guest) (I'm so glad you've liked it so far! And thanks for telling me, I wasn't aware that there was a difference in how dates are presented between America and the UK. That's pretty cool! Thanks for reading!), alannalove1990, Natalie (Guest) (I guess we'll have to wait and see… Don't tell anyone, but you hit it right on the nail, haha. Thanks for reading!), willaguirre, Fabler9, and Natalie (Guest) (again) (Yeah… they're not happy. Especially Cecily. You too!) for reviewing!
Note: Sorry this chapter was a bit late, but it's much longer than normal, so I hope you enjoy it!
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See, I have to burn your kingdom down
"Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine
Chapter 25
The moment he stepped inside, he knew he wanted everyone in the manor dead.
He couldn't say why he felt so strongly, even despite his knowledge about them. It was just a general feeling, an instinctual response, almost, as if something inside of him were urging him to do it. He had a few qualms - many, in fact - but this was something that had to be done. His eyes grew hard in determination, and he closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Their drawing room was quite easy to find. He simply followed the sound of elegant laughter, the clinking of silverware. As he gazed around the expensive hallway, with gold-flaked wallpaper, golden candelabras, and polished side tables, his lip twisted in disdain. Hatred. Loathing. He wanted them all dead. Every last one.
If he had to sacrifice his humanity to accomplish this, then so be it.
Their shock upon seeing his entrance was quite satisfying, especially when they noticed the almost identical similarities between him and the younger of the three Riddles. His father was every bit as arrogant as he had expected, and his grandparents were no less so. His eyes narrowed. How dare they sit here and dine, without a care in the world, when they had been the reason his mother had collapsed on the steps of Wool's Orphanage, pregnant, half-dead, without a penny to her name?
He absentmindedly fingered the ring he'd obtained from his worthless uncle, and his grandmother glared at him, her eyes flicking between him and his father, who was staring in shock. "Who are you?"
Tom Riddle smiled, for once genuinely amused. "I should think you could figure that one out, Madam."
His father stood up, fury in his eyes. "Listen. I have no idea how you found us, but if you don't leave, I will phone the police. They'll be here shortly."
"Oh, you'll phone them," Tom drawled. "How utterly barbaric."
His father started. "Excuse me?"
"I don't like to repeat myself."
"Leave, or I'm calling the police!"
Tom laughed. "No, I don't believe I will. You must have figured out who I am by now?"
"Yes," his father growled. "You're the son of that - that witch," he spat, "and believe me, I want absolutely nothing to do with you."
"Did you think I came here to beg for a home? A place in your family?" Tom laughed again. It was so utterly absurd. "That is about the last thing I want."
"Then what do you want?" his grandfather asked quietly.
"I wish to kill you. That is all. You needn't worry. It will be quick, and relatively painless."
His father paled, and lunged for the phone. Tom let him, slowly pulling out the wand he'd stolen from his uncle. This way, when the Ministry used a spell to determine the wand origin, he wouldn't be the one blamed for his father's murder.
It was all so simple. So very simple.
"What - what is that?" his grandmother stammered. "Are you in - in the occult?" Her haughty face pulled up into a revolted shudder.
Tom shrugged lightly. "Close enough. I am a wizard. Your son can attest to that." He sent a cold smile in his father's direction, who spat at him again.
"Again? You Muggles are all the same."
"M-Muggle?"
"I won't tire you with the details," he said carelessly. "And get off the telephone, dearest Father. You bore me." He waved his wand, and the phone jerked out of his father's grip, suspended by the wire. He heard the operator's voice on the other end. "Operator. Operator. Sir, are you there? Sir?"
Tom smirked as the fear on their faces grew and grew. Oh, how he relished this.
He turned casually to his filthy, snobbish grandparents. "I suppose I'll do you first," he drawled, "for raising a son like this in the first place."
They said nothing, frozen in fear. The room was illuminated by two flashes of green light, and they slumped to the floor, the light leaving their eyes. Something inside him tore. His father screamed, and he turned to him, his mouth twisted. "Now, Father. I'll attend to you."
"Please," his father said hoarsely, "What do you want? Money? Connections? I'll give you whatever you want! Just spare me, I beg you!"
Muggles.
Tom stared at him in disgust. "How pathetic. Listen to yourself, you fool. Is that truly what you think I want? I despise you. I really do." He pointed his uncle's wand at his father's chest. "This is for my mother."
His father's eyes widened.
"Avada Kedavra."
It was so . . . easy.
Another flash of green light, and his father fell, his mouth open in his last remnants of fear, his eyes pale and glassy and open in the starkest terror imaginable. Only they couldn't feel terror, anymore. They were as dead as the body that held them.
Tom spat on his father's corpse, then took a good look around the once-magnificent room, its embossed wallpaper now stained with blood, the corpses of his father's line littered about the room like dominoes. They were the same, really. So easy to tip. And yet, so high and mighty when they were all aligned in a row, so carefully balanced. He smirked, at all of their pretentious wealth, their airs, their preposterously extravagant luxury. Little good it did them now.
He became aware of a strange feeling, as if he were somehow growing colder than before. He didn't feel anything. It wasn't numbness, exactly; it was more the absence of happiness.
This must be it.
Tom stared at his ring with growing enthusiasm, tracing the strange rune on its surface. It seemed immortality would finally be his.
He already had the diary Horcrux. He would need to research much, much more before he created his next. If anything went wrong, he could blow his chances at immortality entirely. And what good would a single Horcrux do him if he died an early death?
He suddenly noticed red on his hands. Blood. Lots of it. It had stained his uncle's wand, too. Of all the things to have stained, it had stained the wand that had killed them in the first place, the weapon capable of so much destruction and terror.
He found he couldn't help it. He stood there, on the ruins of his father's kingdom, and laughed.
Tom awoke with a gasp, cold sweat drenching his face. He lay his head back on the pillow, staring up as he calmed his breathing. Meticulously, he counted the spots on the ceiling. It settled him. It was habit, now.
Always the same. Always. Every single night since that summer, he had dreamed of that exact memory, in vivid detail, down to the last candelabra. It had been truly horrible, at first, and he would lie awake for the rest of the night, unwilling to fall back asleep. He was used to it now, but sleep still didn't come any more easily.
He still didn't regret it in the slightest, even after his Horcrux had been destroyed - Salazar, he was still furious about that - but it was not easy for him to forget the feeling of his soul ripping apart.
Tom glanced at the clock, and cursed under his breath. Four in the bloody morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, so he climbed out of bed, changing into some comfortable clothes and slipping out of the door that led to the woods. It really was a quite convenient door, and it ensured he wouldn't wake Hermione.
The door clicked shut behind him, and he automatically scanned the woods for threats as he made his way over to the dense forest and the graveyard of trees. This was his favorite time, when the night was thick and cold, and the stars provided just enough light to see by. It was the one time he didn't have to put on an act.
Thick clouds overhead threatened rain, however, and they obscured the stars completely. The trees rustled in a downdraft, still light but promising a cool front. Well, if it did end up raining, he wasn't far from the house. Rain was relaxing, anyway. He smiled as he thought of that night in the Forbidden Forest, when Hermione had been completely scared out of her wits. Why was she coming to his mind so often tonight? Merlin, he really must be tired. He suppressed all thoughts of her, clearing his mind.
He realized he had walked over to the edge of the forest, and he gazed down at the graveyard of fallen trees, in ashes from the experiments of their newly-obtained power.
The Elder Wand was so much stronger than either of them could have ever dreamed. Just touching it filled him with a sense of power, of might, like he could conquer the world. They were, in essence. Hermione was annoyingly cautious about it, and kept it in a locked chest somewhere he couldn't find it. He supposed he could just use Legilimency on her, but it would be too much of a bother. Anyway, she would bring it out when they had need of it. Like when they obtained the Cloak of Invisibility.
He walked through the forest. When he turned around, he could not see the tiny house at all. That was fine by him. He wanted some time to think, such a rarity these days. It was eerily silent, though. Most nights, the birds were already awake, and their songs reverberated through the otherwise quiet forest. Tonight, he could have heard a leaf fall on the ground. The slight wind masked all other sounds that might have been heard.
The forest opened up into a small clearing, where he approached the small pond that he was accustomed to visit in his nighttime walks. It was quite beautiful, its waters dark and swirling, mesmerizing ripples appearing at occasional times. They seemed to tell stories in their depths, as if they held all of the knowledge of the world. He shook his head in disgust. What was the matter with him tonight? This was getting ridiculous.
He suddenly realized he wasn't alone.
Tom heard her footsteps before her small intake of breath. Hermione slowly walked toward the pond, her lips parted, her eyes dark and fascinated. He smiled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
She nodded. "Is it magical?"
"I haven't checked." He changed the subject. "It's nearing the end of summer. We need to finish this, and quickly."
Hermione spoke, her eyes never leaving the pond. "Oh, absolutely. I need to find a book on genealogy; there are quite a few in the Hogwarts library. Why don't we go tomorrow?"
"We?"
She frowned at him. "I don't want to go by myself."
"Well, you still owe me a duel. If I win, you go. If you win, I go."
Hermione grinned. "That sounds good. How about now? We're both awake, anyway. Wandless?"
"Wandless," Tom agreed, already moving into position.
Soon she was facing him, opposite the small clearing, with only the pool and a few birds as witnesses. He fought back a yawn, forcing his mind to stay alert, and they bowed to each other.
You might as well prepare yourself, she taunted.
Tom smirked. I don't lose easily. He moved into the standard duelling stance, noticing her doing the same. Her stance was identical to his. She's practiced, he noted. I can't underestimate her.
He nodded to her, she nodded back, and then she sent a spell toward him, which he blocked. They slowly circled each other, her back perfectly straight, his more casual, both scanning each other warily.
Then he sent a spell at her, she blocked it, and he was caught up in the whirlwind of spells that encapsulated them both. The night was completely silent, save for the cold downdrafts, which were picking up, and the flashing of their spells back and forth and back and forth.
He barely dodged a small fire dragon, which disintegrated into ash that was blown away in the wind. "Impressive."
She smiled modestly, but he knew she was swelling with pride. "I've been working on that one."
"Ready?"
Hermione sent a jet of red light toward him in response. Tom blocked it easily, then threw her a disparaging look. "Stupefy? I thought I had taught you better."
She laughed, and soon they were once again rapidly sending spells at the other. It was completely exhilarating. He reveled in the near-misses, the whistle of the spells through the air - there was something charming in the sound - and the harsh wind against his face. Her end of the bond was filled with determination. That was what he had first hated about her, before hatred had grown into respect.
The duel continued until the sun peeked above the horizon. He was streaming with sweat, she was too, and both were completely worn out. He grimaced even as he dodged another half-hearted spell. "Truce?" he asked reluctantly.
Hermione sighed and nodded. "Truce. Merlin's beard."
"Why, disappointed you didn't win?" His pride was hurt as well, but he wouldn't tell her that.
She glared at him, and Tom sent a mocking smile her way before making his way back to the house. Perhaps he could get a little sleep.
"Wait, Tom-" she ran up to him, catching his arm. "What does this mean for the trip to the library?"
Tom gave her his best charming smile. "Why, we go together, of course. Just like you wanted. And we'll finally be able to locate the Cloak of Invisibility."
Hermione's eyes glittered in anticipation. "I can hardly wait."
"Merlin!" Cecily exclaimed, pacing back and forth. "I mean, I know she couldn't have told us, but time travel?"
"I know you feel betrayed," Oraia said in a small voice, "but it's not exactly something that she'd feel inclined to tell people, I think."
Cecily ignored her. "I knew something was up, but I never expected something of this magnitude!"
Abraxas was lounging on a chair, his legs hanging over the arm, seeming completely unaffected by the whole thing. "See, the way you're acting is explanation enough."
Cecily whirled on him. "And you!"
"Me? Whatever did I do?"
"Why, you're sitting there, acting all high and mighty! Why aren't you more concerned, or betrayed or, I don't know, doing something other than sitting the wrong way in that stupid chair!"
Abraxas shrugged. "My dear Cecily, there's no right way to sit in a chair. The way we're supposedly supposed to sit is simply the way society's forced upon us."
Cecily's face was murderous.
Abraxas, who found it all highly amusing, continued, "And time travel? We have Time-Turners for this exact reason. Even if it's the farthest back anyone's been known to travel, besides that one dame who went to the Middle Ages for Merlin knows what reason, it's hardly the most unusual thing to happen in my lifetime."
"You're a load of rubbish."
"That's a good one. I'll add it to the list, Cily."
"Oh, do shut up, for once! And anyway, we may be her Knights, or whatever," Cecily snapped, "but first and foremost, we're her friends! Or, at least I thought we were."
"Honestly, Cily, don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?" Lucretia asked, not unkindly. "Sure, she's not from this time, but the question shouldn't be why she lied to us; it's why she came here in the first place."
"Lucy's right," Oraia said. "There are more important things, and she probably would have told us when she was good and ready. Merlin, can we all please stop fighting? We need to move onto Phase Two, anyway."
"Oraia Greengrass, speaking the plain and simple truth as always," Abraxas grinned.
Cecily glared at Oraia, then looked around the room, seeming to take in the tension from the other Knights. She shook her head in amazement, or disgust. "How can you all just accept it that easily? She lied to us, maybe not about being Muggleborn but certainly about everything else! This is serious!"
"Yes, and you know what else is serious?" Oraia said sharply. "The Knights of Walpurgis disbanding because we're all fighting over this! So for the love of Salazar, please let it go, Cily! Griping about it won't change anything."
Cecily started; it was the first time Oraia had spoken that strongly to her. "Ugh, I need a walk." She stormed out of the room.
Oraia shuddered, and Abraxas wrapped a comforting arm around her. "Don't worry. She'll come around. She always does."
"You spoke up," Lucretia said, beaming. "I'm proud of you."
"I just hate seeing her like this," Oraia said sadly. There was a pause. Abraxas opened his mouth, and she beat him to it. "Before you say it, no, I'm not a Hufflepuff."
"Now, how did you guess?" Abraxas laughed.
"I know you too well, you git," she said playfully, punching his arm. "I just knew you'd never let me forget about being a hatstall."
The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a bit. Then Oraia stood up abruptly. "Well. Enough moping. Are we ready to start Phase Two?"
"We need Cecily, and the other Knights," Lucretia said.
"The Knights are around here somewhere, and Cily needs to cool down a bit," Abraxas said. "It won't be entirely safe to approach her at the moment." The two girls nodded hurriedly. "Besides, she's got an article due this evening, on the Minister's new plan for more pureblood privileges."
"I hadn't heard about such a plan," Lucretia frowned.
Abraxas smirked. "There isn't such a plan. It's entirely fictional. However, the Daily Prophet has no idea it's all a ruse, and neither will anyone else. It'll create such excitement in the pureblood circle, especially within the politically powerful Twenty-Eight, that he'll feel bound to sign it into act-"
"-and thereby causing massive dissension among the half-bloods and Mudbloods," Oraia finished. She smiled slowly. "My, but I love how our Lady thinks."
Lucretia sipped a glass of wine that she had probably conjured for the aesthetic. "Phase Two has begun, darlings."
Abraxas nodded. "Let's go recruit some allies, shall we?"
Once they had met up with the rest of the Knights, they formed a pretty sizable group. Abraxas had received a message from Cecily - a tensely worded message, but a message all the same, which he took to be a good sign - that she was working on her article, so he needn't worry about her. He did, of course, but that was beside the point.
Abraxas shook his head and faced the Knights, putting on an overconfident air. "Now, remember, to get in, you just need to show the Mark. They'll let you in right away."
"We know; you've told us about five times now," Cromwell rolled his eyes. "But how do you know all of this?"
"Yes, isn't it supposed to be top secret or something?" Dorian asked.
"That's for me to know and you to. . . not know."
"Oh, that's no fun," Osmond pouted.
"I bet the Mudblood found out somehow and told him," Macnair said. "She's good at that."
"Walden, what did I tell you about speaking?" Dolohov hissed.
Abraxas smiled coldly. "Yes, I'd listen to your friend, Macnair, unless you want a repeat of the Chamber?" Macnair paled. "Yeah, I thought not. Respect for the Lady, please. Anyway, here's the plan-"
"Did I leave the cauldron lit?" Winston asked suddenly.
"I don't think so," Abaris replied.
Abraxas drew a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. "Here's the plan. We'll all split up, to recruit different people. Try to pick people you think you can convince easily. These are all rebels, anyway, so you shouldn't have much convincing to do. Just be careful what you say; you don't know who's a spy. And I'll deal with Fenix."
They all nodded, and following Abraxas's lead, they Disapparated, appearing in what, to them, just looked like a dark alley. They were in the middle of two run-down Muggle drug stores, and a single feebly flickering street lamp provided the only light for miles. The Knights glanced around them, confused, and Lucretia jumped as a rat scurried out of a hole in the bottom of one of the shop's walls. This was about the last place anyone would ever expect anything secret to be.
Abraxas was very, very glad he had told them to dress nicely.
He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his tie, and ran his hands through his hair before motioning for the Knights to stay behind them. He put on an easy smile, and knocked three times, then once.
A panel swung open in the wall. "Password?"
"A Study in Scarlet."
The panel closed, and a door opened in the wall. They all filed in, one by one, and the door closed behind them. Abraxas smiled. Everything was going perfectly.
The nightclub was completely packed with elegantly-dressed people. Many held glasses of wine, and tables were gathered around the sides, the middle of the floor open for dancing. He glanced over at Lucretia, whose mouth had fallen open in complete and utter delight.
A woman in a short, curled hairstyle and a tight red dress, one which Cecily would have found quite indecent, walked up to him, kissing both cheeks. "Abraxas Malfoy, is it not?"
"Ah, Madam Ballerti! Precisely the woman I wanted to see," Abraxas exclaimed. "I must say, you look quite lovely this evening."
Madam Ballerti smiled. "Oh, you're too kind, darling. Would any of you like refreshments? Please take a seat. My, but there are quite a few of you. Make yourselves at home, my lovelies. Fenix will see you shortly." She winked at him and flounced away.
They all took a seat around a large circular table. He let the swing music fill his head as a server carrying a wine bottle filled each of their crystal glasses in turn with lush, red wine. He took a sip, and frowned. It tasted fresh, like it had just been pressed that year. Wine that hadn't been aged? What a travesty.
A little while later, Madam Ballerti returned to their table, putting a hand on Abraxas's shoulder. "Fenix will see you now, sugar."
He wondered how many new terms of endearment she would come up with before the night was over.
Abraxas rose, gave a reassuring grin to Oraia and Lucretia, and followed Madam Ballerti through the closely packed tables, past the bar, and over to the very back. She unlocked a door that looked as if it were gilded in gold, of all things, and he followed her up the winding stairs to what he could only assume were Fenix's rooms. Fenix wouldn't live here, of course, but she also wouldn't deign to show her face to people unless it was an emergency, or there was a lot of money involved. Mainly in gambling, which she liked to watch, according to all of the accounts he'd read of the woman. She did love her pleasures, but was strangely reclusive. He'd pulled a lot of strings to get an audience, and had dropped his name more than once.
He just hoped it was enough.
Madam Ballerti knocked on the heavy oak door that must lead to her sitting room. "Fenix, the boy's here to see you."
"Bring him in," a voice drawled. Madam Ballerti opened the door.
Fenix was reclining lazily on an armchair, examining a ring with a stone that looked absurdly large on her rather small hand. About middle-aged, her sleek brown hair lightly touched with grey, she was completely bedecked in jewels, from the heavy necklaces that draped down her chest to the rings and bracelets, all studded with jewels of varying sizes. She looked strangely tiny, though. From all accounts of the woman, she was described as terrifying and intimidating, but she couldn't be more than five feet tall. Abraxas knew he couldn't let his guard down, though. Fenix had far too much power, political and otherwise, for that to be safe.
Madam Ballerti stood by him patiently. "You can go," Fenix waved, and the other woman retreated, closing the door behind her. Fenix finally looked up, and Abraxas's eyes widened despite himself; her eyes were as cold as ice.
"Well? Why are you here?"
Abraxas swallowed, and forced himself to meet her gaze. He had never known a woman with a stare that cold, and he was going steady with Cecily Parkinson. His voice was calm when he spoke, though. "You know why, Fenix. I need your help."
"My help, hm? Help is costly."
"That's not a problem," Abraxas said.
Fenix regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes, you're the Malfoy boy, aren't you?"
Abraxas started. "Wait, how do you-"
Fenix smiled and pulled out a wand, which she used to summon a wine glass from a side table.
So she wasn't a Muggle. Strange. That wasn't in any of the accounts he'd read. Of course, he didn't know her terribly well, and those accounts had very little information whatsoever. The only times he'd been anywhere near her had been when Hermione had asked him to deliver her a letter, requesting an alliance. He'd given it to Madam Ballerti and gone on his merry way, quite pleased with how things had turned out. And then, when he'd been given, again by Hermione, the task of receiving an answer, he had researched as much about Fenix as he could. There wasn't much to research.
He hadn't known she was a witch. Now that he knew, he could see it in her bearing; the casual orders, the arrogance, the expectancy in her gaze.
Huh. Well, this certainly changed things.
"Yes, I am a Malfoy," Abraxas said, allowing some arrogance to slip into his voice. "Abraxas Malfoy."
"Interesting." Fenix smiled and took a sip, the red contents magically refilling themselves. "Very interesting. And what do you need my help for, may I ask?"
"Tell me, Fenix, what do you think of the Ministry?"
"The Ministry?" Fenix frowned. "Well, I don't really care one way or the other, I suppose, why?"
"Please be honest with me," Abraxas said, sitting down on a chair opposite her. "I need to know I can trust you."
"I'm not going to go blabbering back to them, if that's what you mean," she said. "Whatever you say in here will stay in this room."
"Thank you. You know of the Lady Persephone, yes?"
Fenix smiled. "Vague rumors."
"And of Lord Voldemort?"
"Less vague." Fenix's eyes grew a sudden spark. "Why, do you mean to tell me they're connected in some way?"
Abraxas held back a smile. He'd known that would get her interest. The woman loved gossip almost as much as money. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. In fact, they're working together."
"On what?" Her sultry face held the same restrained eagerness he'd seen in Cecily, when she was telling him about her latest article.
He shrugged casually. "A revolution. Against the Ministry. Are you in?"
Fenix threw back her head and laughed. "Dear Merlin. Well, I don't suppose I have anything better to do. Everything's been so dull, lately. A revolution might be just what I need to entertain myself."
Abraxas smiled, but inside he was panicking. There was no way it could be this easy. No way. She must have some trick up her sleeve. Maybe she was secretly a Ministry official or a mole, and he'd completely blown it.
"Oh, do relax, boy. I'm not going to bite your head off."
He realized his shoulders had tensed, and he relaxed them deliberately. "Well, then, that's settled, isn't it?"
"Why do you need my help?" Her eyes were like a hawk.
"We need money," he said bluntly. "There's the Malfoy treasury, of course, but we need that for maintaining the grounds, and we don't want to blow all of it on a whim. You're far richer than even we are, and we could really use that. Also, you're skilled in running an underground. Someone wouldn't know it from the outside, but I suspect half of the people down there are magical, and they're all wanted for something."
Fenix smiled, delighted. "You're the first person to figure it out. You're smarter than you look."
"Er, thanks, I think."
She waved a bejeweled hand. "Are you saying you'll need the underground too, then?"
"As well as your advice, and anything you can offer in the form of poison."
Fenix smiled, a dangerous smile that made him shiver. "So you know of that? I knew someone would find out, eventually. Yes, I can give you my help. But," she continued, as apparently he was showing too much excitement on his face, "I'm bored of money. I want something more."
That sounded ominous. He swallowed. "Like what?"
"I want you to marry my daughter."
Abraxas's mouth fell open. He tried speaking, but it felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach. He finally stammered, "I'm sorry, what?"
Fenix studied him coolly. "You come from a very well-respected pureblood family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and you're not one of those boorish brats like the Macnairs' son. I believe you'll do quite nicely. My daughter is, truly, a very lovely girl."
He felt panic rise in him, and he stared at the woman, all of five feet tall, whose smile held a flicker of triumph. "Who are you?"
Fenix tilted her head. "Just a mother who's looking out for her only child's best interests. And I believe you've met my daughter already. Cecily Parkinson?"
Abraxas gaped. She had to be joking. Cily? None of it made any sense! True, her parents were never around, always vacationing somewhere, but surely she would've said something! Unless. . . "She doesn't know."
"Know what? That she's the daughter of the leader of the wizarding mafia, or that she's now betrothed?" Fenix had a knowing smile on her face.
"Hey, wait, I haven't agreed to anything!" Abraxas stammered. Now that he was looking at her, he wondered why he hadn't made the connection earlier. They had the same fire to their eyes, the same strong cheekbones. Even if Fenix's nose was just a bit longer, the more he held eye contact, the more she looked like her daughter. Or her daughter looked like her. Which made him realize. . . "And Fenix isn't your real name, either, is it?"
"No, it's not. And you will agree." Fenix winked at him. "Break the news to my darling Cecily gently. About both. She doesn't take well to secrets."
"Believe me, I know," Abraxas muttered. His head was reeling, and he had the strange urge to bolt. Marry Cecily? For political reasons? He didn't even know if they knew each other well enough yet.
Oh, he loved her. There was no doubt about that. But marriage?
Fenix patted his cheek. He felt strangely small, even though he was so much taller than she was. It was an odd feeling, and did nothing to help the churning in his stomach. "Dear boy. I'll give you some time to think on it, yes? Either way, send me an owl by next Saturday. If I get no response, I'll assume the deal is off."
He nodded numbly, and exited her apartments, a million thoughts flying through his head at once.
Abraxas hurried downstairs to see the Knights conversing with various people. At least their jobs were easy. Oh, how he wished that had been his job. Marriage to Cecily Parkinson? Merlin's beard. He didn't even have a ring yet.
And what if she said no? He couldn't help that. He had no idea how she would react. He knew she loved him too, but they had only been together for approximately half of a year. That was hardly any time at all. And for politics?
If Abraxas knew Hermione right, and he thought he did, she wouldn't force him to do that. He was bound to their cause by the Mark, and gladly at that, but just because they were working together didn't mean he had to follow Fenix's every whim. Salazar, what would Cecily think?
The Knights looked up, almost in unison, and he gave them a short nod. They gave their goodbyes and followed him out of the nightclub, completely ignorant of everything that had spiraled out of his control upstairs. Merlin, but he'd thought he had her! She had just been toying with him. He ran his hands through his hair, forcing himself to remain calm, and when they stepped outside, he breathed the chilly night air gratefully.
He cleared his mind. He didn't want everyone to get splinched when they Apparated. Marriage would be nothing in comparison to a lost arm or leg. As one, they Apparated back to the Riddle House.
Cecily was washing dishes when Abraxas entered the kitchen. She claimed it was cathartic for her, for some reason. He didn't think he'd ever understand her. The more he got to know her, the more confused he became.
"Oh, there you are," she said acidly. "Did you have fun?"
"Er, no, actually."
"I'm glad to hear it."
Abraxas rolled his eyes and made his way over to her. "It was stuffy, and the entire place was filled with pipe smoke so thick you could barely breathe." He walked over to her. "And you know what the worst part was? The wine wasn't even vintage."
Cecily laughed. "Merlin forbid the wine not be 1905 Sauvignon. Well, I'm sure we have some lying around in our stores somewhere. Did you talk to Fenix, at least?"
"I did," he said carefully.
"And?"
He drew a deep breath. "Well, we have a deal."
"That's excellent. With all of your terms?"
"All of our terms."
She attacked another plate with vigor. Her hands were covered in foam. "And what did she want in return?"
"That one requires a rather long answer," he said uncomfortably. "Er, first off, Fenix isn't her real name."
"Is her name Divinia Parkinson?"
Abraxas stared. "How did you know?"
"I've known for a while," she shrugged. "She thinks I'm stupid. It's the only way I've managed. What did my dear mother want?"
He got the next words out with difficulty. "For me to marry you."
Cecily stopped washing, letting the soapy plate slide onto the pile. "Oh."
"I tried to convince her otherwise, but the woman simply wouldn't budge. The only reason she wants it is because I'm a Malfoy; she didn't even know who I was before I introduced myself, and-"
"Is the idea of marrying me so revolting to you?"
"I - what?"
Cecily turned around, drying her hands on a dish towel, her eyes fiery. "Does the idea of marrying me so revolt you that you'd risk jeopardizing the mission, for the sake of your feelings?"
"No, Cily, that's not it at all!" Abraxas said hurriedly. "You know how I feel about you. It's just that we barely know each other, and-"
"And what?" She looked strangely vulnerable, but her eyes never left his. "It might be for political reasons, but we love each other. Don't we?"
She never ceased to amaze him. "But I don't have a ring. I need to propose to you properly. You deserve that much, at least."
Cecily smiled, her eyes full of warmth. "Oh, enough with what's proper. Propose to me, right now."
"I - what?"
"For Merlin's sake, Abraxas!" She tossed the dish towel onto the counter. "You can get that silly ring later. Propose to me, right now, in the kitchen."
Abraxas laughed. He picked up a tiny, stainless steel paperweight that was holding the shopping list in place, and transfigured it into a simple ring. She hastily removed her apron, and smoothed her dress. He took her hands in his, and drew a deep breath.
"Cecily Parkinson, I've been completely besotted with you since you first sat next to me in our first year." Cecily smiled, blushing. "I might not have realized it, since I know I've been a complete rotter to you on many occasions, but I love you, so much, and want absolutely nothing more in the world than to spend the rest of my life with you." He was surprised at how easily the words came. He got down on one knee and prayed that his tie was straight. "So. . . will you marry me?"
Cecily sniffed, and he suddenly realized that she was crying. "Of course I will, you adorable, silly boy."
Abraxas slipped the ring on her finger, and she pulled him up, and she kissed him and he kissed her and he pulled her close to him, afraid that if he let go, she'd disappear into mist. He'd never felt more happy in his entire life. He thought he might explode.
Something banged on the kitchen door. They jumped, and their heads turned to the door. "I'll check it out," he said.
He walked over to the door, one hand on his wand, and threw it open. The Knights came tumbling out, as if they'd been leaning on it, a few even falling to the floor. "Um. . . congratulations!" Avery grinned cheekily.
The whole thing was so absurd that Abraxas started laughing. "Have you been eavesdropping the whole time?" Cecily hurried over and put her arm around his waist, a fond smile on her face.
"It started out as just me," Avery confessed, still on the floor. "Then more people joined in. I think everyone's here."
As if that was their cue, they all scrambled to their feet, and gave their hearty congratulations, patting him on the back, and hugging Cecily, and he loved them all so very much. They were the brothers he never had.
Lucretia, Oraia, and Cecily were all hugging and crying. "I just knew it'd happen!" Oraia exclaimed. "You two have been starry-eyed for far too long now."
"Oh, darling, we need to start planning your wedding!" Lucy said. "Dresses and champagne and dancing and a big white cake. I know how much you love nature, so we could even have it outside, and. . ." Her voice faded as they walked down the hallway. The boys gradually disappeared one by one. He was about to head upstairs and write his parents the news, when he heard Cecily call, "Oh, Lucy, just one moment!" and she ran back down the hallway toward him and jumped in his arms, kissing him again. He kissed back with as much vigor as he could put into it, and she tangled her fingers in his hair.
"I love you," she murmured.
Her breath was hot, and he kissed her again. "I love you too."
She kissed his cheek, his lips, his forehead, then smiled at him, planting one last kiss on his nose before jumping down and going after Lucretia.
Abraxas stared after her, then gave an amazed laugh. Merlin, how had he gotten so lucky?
He headed upstairs to give Fenix his answer.
The man gave a grunt of disgust and threw down last month's paper. Cecily Parkinson. Who did that brat think she was, praising the Minister like that? It made him sick just to read it. One would think that the Daily Prophet would see through it, because that was all it was, he realized. A farce. Surely most people would see through it, too.
Of course, he was far more intelligent than most people. All of them were such bores. Such sheep. They just believed everything they read, everything they saw, without checking otherwise. Which meant it was so easy for them to be manipulated.
What was this Cecily Parkinson playing at? Surely she didn't love Minister Spencer-Moon that much, or hate him that much, to write such a glowing article simply singing his praises. And this other one about the Minister granting more privileges to purebloods? He was doing no such thing, but there were riots just this morning, half-bloods and Mudbloods filling the streets. Spencer-Moon had tried to reassure them, but almost as if it was planned, the head of almost every Sacred Twenty-Eight family, excepting those of the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, had requested an audience with him. The man suspected that they were going to convince him otherwise. Pureblood families were powerful, both magically and politically. They could make Spencer-Moon step down, if they so desired.
What was she playing at, indeed.
He scoffed into his cup of coffee. He didn't like the Minister, far from it, but the Minister had granted him a secure job, which was all he could desire, or so Spencer-Moon seemed to think. The man was planning on running next year, anyway, so it wasn't as if it would be the end of the world, but he did like to be right with everyone else when it came to politics. Which meant he needed to find out what this Parkinson girl was up to.
There was one relatively foolproof way to do it.
Roger stood up, grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment. He was quite glad Irma cleaned up in here; he found he was much messier than he liked to be. She always made sure everything was easy to reach at a moment's notice. It had gotten him out of quite a few scrapes.
He scribbled a note onto it, then gave it to his owl, who flew out of the window and out of sight.
He smiled. That ought to do it.
The plan was fairly simple. Tom would distract whoever was in charge of patrol, while Hermione would sneak in through the wards in her Animagus form. He'd join her later in the library, and they'd research Ignotus Peverell's genealogy.
"Are you ready?" Tom asked her. She smiled at him and took his hand, shouldering her book bag, and they Apparated to the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione saw trees, so many trees, and heard birds chirping. She gazed around her at the familiar setting. Somewhere close to here would be the clearing where they'd linked for the first time, and they were only a few feet from the place where they'd almost died because they'd kissed in a thunderstorm. It hadn't been the brightest idea, but she didn't regret it.
On the one hand, it had caused her to be caught up in his machinations in a far more tangled web than she had originally planned for herself. That single kiss, the one occurrence in their alliance that was completely unplanned, had changed everything, complicated all of their schemes, and had resulted in an entrapment with each other; one that was beneficial to them both, but an entrapment nonetheless. Neither could leave. He couldn't leave because she was vital to his uprising to power, and she couldn't because . . . there was a reason she had kissed him. Unexpected on either end, and she hadn't decided yet whether this was good or bad for her.
However, it had also strengthened the link between them, and not just the magical one. With their alliance at first existing as purely political, and now as something neither of them were willing to define, it had been reinforced so that it was stronger than ever. Even without the Vow, neither would be able to betray the other.
Hermione had no idea whether he had felt anything at all from it. Dumbledore had said he was unable to love, that he was a psychopath. Well. If he wasn't able to love, then he was a better actor than she'd originally thought. He was using her, that much was obvious, but what baffled her was the extent to which he was taking it. Sure, it had been quite imperative that she learn Dark magic, and politics, and diplomacy - Merlin knew she needed to work on that - but he was putting in far more effort than was necessary to their success. He'd gain power, yes, so much of it, but was it truly worth it to spend so much of his valuable time schooling her Machiavellian tactics?
She'd soaked it up, of course, but that was beside the point.
He probably thought it'd be better for them to be safe than sorry, but even so. . . Well, he was confusing. She'd known that from the beginning.
She took her wand out of her bag with her other hand, and attempted to close the fastening with her wand in her hand. She couldn't seem to get a hold on it, so she put her wand in her mouth to free up her hand. That almost worked, but it kept slipping.
"If you did that in an attempt to make yourself more attractive, it's not necessary," Tom said dryly. She blushed furiously, removing her wand from her mouth as though it were iron-hot, and he laughed.
"Oh, just help me close this," she scowled, but to her annoyance, she had to fight to keep a smile from appearing on her face. He could probably tell from the bond that she was amused, anyway. He reached behind her and looped shut the strap that held the two sides of her bag closed, his fingers brushing her arm. Her heart hammered, and she finally threw up her hands and walked a safe distance from him. "Gah! This bloody forest does things to people!"
"Why don't you go on and shift," Tom smirked. He truly was evil.
She shot one last glare at him and closed her eyes, tuning in to the second heartbeat that she'd grown so used to. Allowing it to dominate her first heartbeat, she slowly changed into a red fox. She scampered back and forth, swishing her tail, and let her eyes become accustomed to the lack of red and green.
Alright, she thought through the soul bond. Whenever you're ready, I suppose. She had to fight to keep her fox instincts from taking over. She thought she heard a mouse skitter, and her eyes swung over to where - no, focus, Hermione!
"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," Tom muttered. "Go on."
Hermione padded casually through the forest, her large ears perking up at the slightest sound. Passing easily through the wards - she was, after all, a fox, not a person - she scampered over to the greenhouses, her nose tilted up at all of the strange smells. The plants in Greenhouse One must be mandrakes, and those over there - focus! Focus. No new smells. Mind on the mission.
She hid behind a large plant as one of the teachers passed, then finally made it into the large oak doors, where she changed back into her human form and headed over to the library. She absentmindedly messed with her hair as she breathed in the nostalgia, the feeling of finally being at home. It was exactly as she remembered.
The library was even better. When she entered the large, high-domed room with its thousands upon thousands of books, some flying between bookshelves, others with their pages turning in midair, she wanted to laugh and cry at once. She settled for silence, but rejoiced in her heart.
She chose their table at the back to wait for Tom, and he arrived a little after she did. Thankfully, since there was no one in the library, not even the librarian, they were allowed to talk freely.
"Salazar, that man was stubborn," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "It certainly didn't help that he had no idea who I am. Probably a new hire. I had to spend about five solid minutes to convince him I was 'worthy to enter our fine halls'." He made a disgusted noise, and Hermione grinned.
"Sounds like he was able to knock you down a peg."
"Why would I have need of that? I'm perfectly humble."
She laughed, and he sat down, still displeased. She pushed a book toward him. "I found this one. It's a good place to start."
For the rest of the afternoon, they pored over what seemed like hundreds of books. The volumes, out of which they'd bled every last morsel of possible information, were stacked in high towers around them, and still they read, and read, and read. The sky outside faded to a deep blue, then to purple, and finally black. When she glanced out of the window, she could see the constellations twinkling like diamonds, and the moon shone silver. Hermione's eyes grew heavy, and she forced herself to stay awake. She was growing soft. She had stayed up far later than this when she was studying at Hogwarts, and that subject material had been abundant. No matter that they had found nothing yet. They would.
And they did. Hermione's head was about to drop onto the thick tome she'd been reading. Well, not really reading. She'd been rereading the same line for the past thirty minutes, and she was certain she was about to fall asleep. The steady wind outside was doing nothing to stimulate her, either.
"I found something," Tom said quietly.
Hermione had to blink several times before it fully registered, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She stared wearily around at the piles and piles of books surrounding them, creating a sort of fortress. "Hm?"
"I found something," he repeated. "It says the Cloak was last seen in Godric's Hollow, although the wizard who possessed it is unknown."
And suddenly, everything clicked.
Godric's Hollow. This was the same Cloak in which she'd spent her years at Hogwarts roaming the castle's corridors with Harry and Ron. Harry. Harry Potter. "The Potters," she whispered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The Cloak is possessed by the Potters," Hermione said excitedly, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. "Of course, that's where Ignotus Peverell is buried! How could it have slipped my mind?"
"How would you feel about a short visit, tomorrow, to a little village of no consequence?" Tom asked.
"Just as a holiday, I'm sure."
He shrugged lightly. "We need the break."
Hermione grinned. "We can pick up a souvenir there too?"
"Of course."
They met each other's eyes across the table and smiled. If this worked, when this worked . . .
Two Hallows down. One to go.
Cecily hummed to herself as she swept the kitchen. It was annoyingly dirty. She'd underestimated the mess that twelve young men could make when under no supervision whatsoever. Some of them - no, most of them - were lazy to the point of complete chaos. She didn't mind terribly. She had almost nothing to do, and growing up as the elder sister in a family of four, she had found herself cleaning up after her younger brother on more occasions than she could count. This really was no different.
She sighed, resting on the handle of the broom. She glanced down at her Dark Mark, half-hidden by her sleeve. Tom and Hermione had been gone for so, so long. She was beginning to wonder if they were ever coming back. She shook her head in an attempt to clear those unwelcome thoughts. She was being ridiculous. Of course they were coming back. It was a difficult job that they had to do, and it was just going to take a while. But how long until the Knights ran out of tasks, and there was nothing left for them to do to prepare for their return? What then?
She clenched her jaw. She was still angry at Hermione, very angry, but she was trying to suppress it for Abraxas's sake. It was so very hard to be agreeable, but was it worth it? Why should she follow "the Lady", her close friend, who had lied to her about something as enormous as this? Not only did it change her trust, it changed Hermione's possible motives as well. She must've run into trouble with the Ministry in her time, for her to be so adamant that they be taken down. Shr frowned, and tried unsuccessfully to clear it from her mind. How could she trust her?
She couldn't.
Cecily plopped down on a nearby stool, again letting her eyes wander over to the ring resting on the fourth finger on her left hand. She smiled. Abraxas had just insisted on getting a proper one, however much she had said she liked the other one just fine, so he, accompanied by Dorian, Abaris, and Rufus, had gone shopping. The result was this lovely gold, diamond-studded ring that made her heart skip every time her eyes fell upon it. Oh, she loved him so dearly. She couldn't wait for their marriage. It was only four months away. She hadn't wanted anything extravagant, and they needed none of those Muggle caterers, so it would be fairly quick to plan.
She startled as she heard a rapping at the kitchen window. She frowned and rose from her seat, walking over to the window to see a large, nondescript owl, marked with a Ministry insignia. She paled, then shook her head, taking the note that was attached to the owl's leg. It was probably nothing. Nothing at all.
She straightened out the note, and she grew more and more incredulous as she read.
Cecily Parkinson -
You will not have heard of me. That is quite all right. Please believe me when I say I mean no harm by this note, and if I have disturbed you, a thousand apologies.
I have been keeping up with your articles in the Daily Prophet. They are quite fascinating. You truly have a way with words, Miss Parkinson. I have no loyalty to the Minister, believe me, so do not be afraid when I say I know exactly what you are up to. And I wish to offer my help.
If you wish to accept, meet me on the fifteenth, at nine in the morning, at the Leaky Cauldron. Don't be late.
Yours sincerely,
Roger Selwyn
Cecily read the note three times. "How strange," she murmured. "I've never heard of this man in my life."
She read the note again, and her eyes widened. Roger. Wasn't that the man who'd been having an affair with Irma?
The Ministry official?
The Ministry official that they had blackmail on?
Huh.
She scribbled a note back, telling him she would be certain to be there, and sent the owl flapping away. She stared after it, contemplating. This could go one of two ways.
She could be able to get him on their side, and perhaps bind him with the Vow. He wouldn't be an official member, but his access to the Ministry would be invaluable to them. Absolutely invaluable.
On the other hand. . . she had no idea who this man was. He could have completely lied about his identity, and she wouldn't know. She didn't think that he would harm a member of another Sacred Twenty-Eight family, especially a family who was placed higher socially than his, but she didn't know if he was even a Selwyn.
This could just be a trap.
Well. If it was a trap, she would be ready. She was Cecily Parkinson, and Merlin hang her if she allowed someone to take advantage of her in this way! She would go in, and she would be ready.
Her eyes hardened, and she gripped her wand. She would be ready.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Join our discord (just remove the spaces): discord. gg/ qrcpqj XMhf
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