Chapter 40: Belgrade
Dagmar was along for the ride as Voldemort headed for the kitchen one mid-morning. The men had all gone outside to enjoy the sunshine, and the women worked on baking bread since their supply was low. Dagmar's mum and Narcissa both had flour down their front. Alecto had gotten some in her hair, turning her prematurely grey. Bellatrix sat a short distance away from the other three at the opposite end of the island. She looked bored, although perked when she noticed Dagmar and Voldemort.
"My Lord." She stood up. "Did you need something?"
To Dagmar's pleasure, Voldemort detoured into the kitchen so that he could take one of the tarts. Dagmar had mentioned wanting one on their way down the hallway. Normally he just ignored her, but Dagmar must have caught him in a giving mood.
"I think we ought to test the Polyjuice Potion to see how long it holds for, now it's aged," Voldemort told them all. "Would any of you volunteer?"
"I will," Bellatrix said right away. "Cissy, give me some of your hair."
"No," Narcissa shot back at her. "I don't trust you at all to behave while looking like me."
"Why not?" Bellatrix's giggle certainly didn't help her case. "It's not like I have any interest in your men, nor does Rod have any interest in you. What's the worst I could do?"
"My Lord." Narcissa turned to him instead. "I respectfully decline to encourage her. She's being annoying enough already this morning, not pulling her weight."
"I am so!" Bellatrix snapped. "I do cleanup with the men. It's not my responsibility to cook. You don't need to put me to work every time I come to the kitchen just to say hello—"
"Bella," Voldemort cut her off in a sharp tone. "If Narcissa says no, you should know better than to believe I'd force her for your entertainment."
Bellatrix deflated, after which Alecto stepped away from the food. She reached up to undo the bun she'd wrapped her hair up into. "I can give you a hair, Bella. If you're okay with it, my Lord?"
Voldemort stared at Bella. Dagmar too could feel the twin stabs behind their forehead and at the nape of their neck. "I suppose Bella ought to make herself useful for something around here."
Looking like she'd been slapped, Bellatrix lowered her chin. Dagmar's mum, Narcissa, and Alecto stayed quiet. Even though Dagmar didn't like Bellatrix much, she still felt a little bad for her to be cut right where it hurt her most.
"The potion?" Voldemort looked at Narcissa.
"Right," she said quietly before going to the ice box.
Narcissa had to bring a few things out before she was able to reach the jar filled with muddy sludge. Voldemort took a seat at the kitchen island while Narcissa ladled a glass for Bellatrix. Bellatrix still looked like she wanted to cry, but Dagmar sincerely doubted she would do that in front of everyone here.
There were two Alectos in the kitchen once Bellatrix had gone through the transformation of becoming her. Even without knowing who was who, Dagmar could tell. The real Alecto still looked forcibly passive about Bellatrix's tongue-lashing, and Bellatrix clearly pitied herself.
"Keep an eye on the clock," Voldemort told Bellatrix. "Let me know how long the potion lasts."
"Yes, my Lord."
Bellatrix slunk off her stool and headed for the front of the house. Narcissa, Dagmar's mum, and Alecto watched after her before gradually going back to dealing with their baking. Voldemort grabbed another tart from the jar before returning to the library.
I thought she was your favourite, Dagmar said to Voldemort after he'd closed the door.
She is when she earns it.
Voldemort passed the table by for one of the shelves behind it. Still idly chewing on the tart, he brought the long, thin box back down that he'd been previously occupied with. Voldemort waited until he was done eating and had wiped the crumbs off his hand before opening the box back up. He sifted through the wands therein. There was also a piece of parchment folded inside, on which Voldemort had been documenting what all types of wands were in there. He kept on with his work.
What're you doing that for? Dagmar asked.
Just good to know what we have on hand.
What about Potter's?
Voldemort had hesitated with it earlier when he came across it. His hold on the wand almost bordered on tender.
Not sure yet, Voldemort replied, having paused at its mention. It might prove itself useful. It might not. I don't even have need for my own wand at the moment, so long as we have these runes on us.
Ja, Dagmar said. Wonder what ever became of mine.
I could ask Shacklebolt next time we see him. My best guess is that Draco has it.
Something curious had started to happen in that while Dagmar couldn't control her body, her emotions physically manifested again. Her dejection resulted then in an achy chest. The more Dagmar was awake, the more she really felt that time had passed since last seeing Draco. It had been over two months. Considering that she'd never spent more than two weeks away from Draco in all of their relationship, this felt like far too much. She missed him horribly. She missed having anybody to talk to other than Voldemort, really.
Voldemort's emotions eclipsed Dagmar's. His lingering irritation from talking to Bellatrix in the kitchen returned. Dagmar's mind started wandering, as it was liberally wont to do these days. Dagmar stuck on Draco. She didn't like to make herself sad if she could manage it, so she reminisced more on moments that made her happy. That naturally gravitated toward the more private ones between them. Dagmar became aware that Voldemort needed to swallow more frequently. Dagmar's blood warmed, settling in her lap.
Stop it, Voldemort told her.
I'm not doing anything.
Well, it's not me making us feel like that.
Dagmar shrugged mentally. I miss my fiancé.
Voldemort left it there, but Dagmar could feel his irritation growing. It moved in tandem with her own frustration. Eventually, Voldemort exhaled through their nose. Would you like some time alone?
Dagmar felt their cheeks warm with her embarrassment. Oh, I don't know.
Well, you're getting it. Take care of it. I can't focus.
Dagmar was probably meant to feel relieved by Voldemort retreating away inside of them. She felt a little gross to be given permission like that for something so private, although it wasn't exactly new as they adjusted to sharing a body. Voldemort let Dagmar tend alone to things surrounding the bathroom.
This was a little different. Dagmar had allowed sex to become a basic need for her when it was available essentially on demand from Draco. Without Draco here, it was entirely selfish. It was also awkward to be given permission from the spirit of a seventy year old man to touch herself.
Perhaps the most embarrassing part of it all was that that wasn't enough to deter Dagmar. Her lap only grew heavier at the thought of some kind of release. Ignoring her uncertainty, she slunk over to the couch.
Dagmar started with Draco's head being between her legs as the best imaginary aid to help her along. There were certainly enough times Draco did that solely to extinguish the heat that came up on her like the tide on a beach. Dagmar exhaled shakily to so clearly see the steeliness that came over Draco's eyes whenever he grew particularly pleased about what he did for her. That changed to the softer expression he got whenever the tables were turned. Dagmar ran her fingers back through her hair the same way Draco might. Then, Dagmar just felt empty without him inside of her. She felt alone without weight on top of her, or a warm body beneath her, or a grip on her hips from behind.
Her tremble worsened as everything she thought about circulated in her mind. Dagmar couldn't even settle on just one to get her to the end. She didn't have to. A sigh like relief was the only sound she dared make in such a full house. The library wasn't exactly a private place. Next time everyone sat a meeting, Dagmar and Voldemort alone would know what had happened on this couch.
As the glow of orgasm receded, shame crept in. Dagmar didn't know why she felt so bad about it. It wasn't like she was the only one in this house doing that. She couldn't imagine anyone upstairs practiced celibacy, and there were two married couples. Mr. Malfoy had even let Narcissa keep Mr. Nott as a boyfriend. And yet, Dagmar fended off weight in her chest and tears in her eyes as she curled up facing the back of the couch. She just felt so dirty.
Dagmar ended up falling asleep. She didn't expect to be brought back awake by a quiet knocking at the library door. Dagmar wasn't the only one. It was Voldemort that lifted their head, blinking before rubbing an eye.
"Yes?" he said. Their voice was gravelly.
"It's me," Bellatrix answered. "You still wanted to know that the potion wore off?"
Voldemort stretched before getting up. He picked some sleep from the corner of their eyes on the way to the door. He opened it.
Bellatrix studied him. "Did I wake you?"
"How long did the potion last?"
"A little over three hours."
Voldemort grunted, and Dagmar understood what he meant by it. She hadn't realized they were asleep for that long either. "All right."
Bellatrix nodded, but lingered. A ghost of Voldemort's previous annoyance crept up on them.
"Is there something else?" he asked her.
"I was hoping to speak with you, but I can come back if you were trying to sleep—"
"Just come in." Voldemort moved out of the way for her. "I'm already up."
Dagmar understood Bellatrix's hesitation. This wasn't a good mood to catch Voldemort in. If she had something to request, she'd already put herself at a disadvantage. Even walking away and trying again later when Voldemort wasn't perhaps so grumpy would only serve to annoy him.
Still, Bellatrix walked in. She rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs while Voldemort closed the door.
"What is it, then?" Voldemort folded his arms.
"Erm. . ." Bellatrix said quietly as she thought. "I can't ignore that you've been unhappy with me lately. I haven't done anything against you, is the thing. You know I never have—that I've always put what you need first. So I don't understand why you're so upset with me. Am I doing something wrong? I've just been bored like everyone else while things fall into place. You haven't told me to do anything, so it's not like I'm shirking duties. I'm pulling my weight, no matter what Cissy says."
Voldemort grew annoyed again. Dagmar had to admire Bellatrix's bravery to confront him.
"You are who you are," Voldemort eventually replied. "Most of the time that's a good thing for me. I can't stand your behaviour lately, though. You're so rash. You throw that all over this house. It's almost as if you haven't learned at all from what you did to set us all back. I think I forgave you prematurely for instigating everything in Bergen."
"No," Bellatrix said quietly. "You didn't. It's not the same thing. Cissy's my baby sister, of course I tease her. I just haven't had a chance yet to show you that I learned my lesson. There hasn't been anything for me to do."
"I'm not responsible for your entertainment. Go play that Muggle game with the men if you're bored. I don't want to hear bickering in the kitchen anymore. It's grating on the nerves."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I'll have something for you to do eventually," Voldemort said. "I don't need anyone's help at the moment other than Hildegard's. Just stay out of my way until I say otherwise. Learn some patience while you're at it. You used to have so much."
"It's hard when Bjorn feels so close to us now." Bellatrix paused. "Isn't it?"
"Yes." Voldemort nodded. "Which is why I need you to temper yourself, Bella. If you botch things for me a second time, there will be no forgiveness."
"I certainly wouldn't deserve it." Bellatrix's expression pulled downward. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I'll be better."
"I know you're capable of it. Perhaps that's the most frustrating thing."
"I'll stop disappointing you."
"Go on. I have things to do."
"Yes, my Lord." Bellatrix headed for the door. She hesitated with her hand on the knob. "You missed lunch. Would you like me to put you a sandwich together or something? There's fresh bread just cool enough to cut. You'd like it."
"I'd appreciate that."
With something to do, Bella left. Voldemort returned to the head of the table. He went back to work while Dagmar grew bored again. At least when her mind wandered off, it wasn't in the same direction as last time.
What? Voldemort asked.
Hm? Dagmar snapped back to attention.
You're thinking.
About all I can do lately, Dagmar replied. Was just trying to imagine how a conversation like that would go between Draco and I. I can't imagine us talking to each other that way.
Draco didn't answer to you, nor you to him.
I guess. I thought you two were more friendly than this, is all.
We're usually better. She was always the first one I'd think of if I needed anything. That ended in Bergen.
Don't feel like you can trust her anymore?
For certain things, certainly. I just wish she'd think further ahead. The things we're doing right now require more discretion than she's accustomed to. She was doing good while we searched for Norheim. I don't know what happened.
Potter happened.
Dagmar didn't mean to sound like she held that against him. Personally, she didn't blame him for this at all. Potter was as much a victim of how the cards fell as Dagmar was, she reckoned. She wondered how Potter thinking he'd killed her had affected him.
It always comes back to Potter. Voldemort exhaled heavily through their nose. Bella knew I had something in mind when it came to him. I went through a lot of trouble to return to physical form in a manner where Potter couldn't hurt me merely by touch. I don't know if that protection is still intact. This is your blood, but my soul. I don't know which is stronger.
Right.
As far as Dagmar could tell, Voldemort hadn't done any planning at all about what to do with people like Potter or Dumbledore. All she saw was his focus bent toward finding Bjorn. That was all any of them talked about in the Death Eater meetings.
Another knock came at the door. Bellatrix entered along with a plate when Voldemort invited her in.
"Thank you," he bid her. Dagmar felt their mouth salivate as Voldemort looked at the sandwich. Their stomach had started to rumble. "Would you tell Hildegard I need her?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort set his quill down and moved everything aside so that he could eat. He was in the middle of chewing when Dagmar's mum poked her head in.
"Bella said you wanted me?" Dagmar's mum closed the library door.
Voldemort nodded. "How do you feel about going to Belgrade tomorrow?"
"I'm ready whenever you are," Dagmar's mum replied. She folded her arms against the top of the chair closest to Voldemort. "You haven't thought of anything else we need to consider?"
"I think it'll be fairly straightforward." Voldemort took another small bite of the sandwich. "We have an advantage in that we know exactly what Bjorn looks like. If we see him, we'll know he's ours. It might become more complicated if he has adoptive parents, but we'll assess that once we locate him. We may need to brush up on memory modification in order to get him cleanly out of there. I don't want to draw any attention to him going missing."
Dagmar's mum's mouth worked, and her eyes misted a little. "I can't promise that if I see him I'll be able to pretend he's not someone I know."
"That's fine. If I thought it would be detrimental for you to show your part as the grieving mother, I'd have someone else come with me. We don't want Magdalena to think we're merely there to steal a child. He is our son. He was taken from us. We want him back."
"Ja," Dagmar's mum barely whispered.
With that set in stone, Dagmar noticed that Voldemort grew antsy. His focus slipped as he continued what he was doing. He was quiet at dinner. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself in the evening. It was only a little bit past eight o'clock when he decided to lay down on the couch in attempt to sleep.
Are you nervous? Dagmar eventually asked.
More anxious, Voldemort answered. This is the closest any of us has ever come to finding him. Then again, we'd hoped we did when we found Norheim in Paris. We already knew that Norheim hadn't enrolled Bjorn at Beauxbatons, but a beggar child going missing among the vagrants would have been an easy miss for the authorities. It's bittersweet, really. I didn't want to see my flesh and blood degraded to that. It would've been such a waste of talent—a waste of life.
Wouldn't it be more of a waste if he'd made something of himself? Dagmar replied. If you take his body, whoever he is will be gone anyway.
Your mother intends to carry him again.
I don't see how reducing Bjorn to a chubby little poop machine is an improvement.
Voldemort laughed quietly aloud at that. He'll flourish again. Your mother won't let a moment of his next life be wasted. I can assure you of that.
It'll be weird to see her with a baby. Dagmar went along with what Voldemort said to avoid any hint she knew about something else being in store for him. It'll be hard not to feel like I'm being replaced.
You'll be free to have your own relationship with her again once I'm out of here.
I'm still not sure if that's what I want.
Then don't complain about being replaced.
If Dagmar had control of their eyes, she would've rolled them to express her annoyance. You always know just what to say.
Voldemort laughed again, for he'd probably achieved what he'd wanted with it. Dagmar certainly didn't feel like talking to him anymore. She wasn't one to feel jealousy, since it wasn't really necessary in her life. Her relationship with Draco made Dagmar feel secure, and she'd only ever been an only child. There was no need for her to compete.
Even though Dagmar's mum didn't actually intend to start over with Bjorn, Dagmar still felt sour at the connotation that her mum might try again with a new child. She didn't want to feel like such a screw up that her mum actually gave up on their relationship. It cut enough to make Dagmar cry. Voldemort fell quiet, and Dagmar just thought he was disgusted at it. When Dagmar sniffled, she found that she had control of her body. Voldemort had fallen asleep.
Dagmar tossed for a while before resigning to get up. The house wasn't silent yet, but had started to go quiet as everyone settled in for the night. Dagmar slipped upstairs as quietly as she could and snuck to her mum's room. The bed was empty, but there was a torch lit in the bathroom.
Water sloshed. "Er, hello?"
"It's just me," Dagmar said.
She crawled into the empty bed and closed her eyes. She hadn't yet fallen asleep when her mum pulled the drain in the bath and came out in a robe. She sat between Dagmar and the edge of the bed. Dagmar could feel her mum's hesitation when she ran a hand over Dagmar's shoulder.
"Sleeping here?" she asked.
"If it's okay."
"Of course it is."
"You look really nice with short hair."
Her mum had just washed it, so it was starting to go wavy while it dried. The ends looked fluffy. Her mum softened with a smile. "Thank you."
"At least people will be able to tell us apart now."
"Ja. It was only going to get harder as you got older."
Dagmar nodded mindlessly, turning her face more into the pillow.
"Are you doing all right with that?" her mum carefully asked. "Lys said she told you."
"Somebody had to, I guess." Dagmar eyed her mum out the corner of her vision. "Did Dad know?"
"What we are? Ja."
"He didn't think it was weird?"
Dagmar's mum shook her head. "When I asked if it made him want to run away, he said he just wanted to marry me. We'd been talking about it. I thought he ought to know who he was with before we took that step."
"Were you ever planning on telling me?"
"I was going to when I could remove Voldemort's soul from you." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, jenta mi. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to scare you. Your dad and I were the adults in your life. We were supposed to protect you. We failed."
Dagmar shrugged. "I can't really say you didn't do everything you could. I mean. . .Dad. . ."
"I hope you don't take it the wrong way if I say I hate that he did that." Dagmar's mum's voice thickened a little. "I mean more that I hate things reached that point. It didn't even matter in the end that he died. That's the worst part."
Dagmar's eyes blurred. "It really cocked me up when I learned he wasn't my biological dad. Uncle Håkon told me what happened for you and Dad to stop talking to them. Agneta apologized to me."
"That was nice of her, I suppose."
"She said she was a bitch to you, but that she wouldn't feel bad if you'd turned out to be using dad. I told them we had a good family and that you two were definitely in love. It was never about Dad's money."
"Well, I'm glad they don't hold me against you. It wasn't my decision to cut contact with them, or anything like that. They could certainly make a case based on that anyway that I took your dad from them."
"They know they pushed him away because they didn't accept you." Dagmar paused. "They treat me like a niece. Nobody even knows that Dad wasn't my dad except for Håkon, Ella, Agneta, and Mathias. Nobody questions it."
"That's good." Dagmar's mum ran her thumb where her hand laid on Dagmar's arm. "Erik was such a good dad. It became so easy to forget that you weren't his by blood. If I'd lived in Tromsø to start rather than went there later, you would've been his. I know that's a bit silly to say since obviously you'd be a different person, but maybe you can appreciate the sentiment."
"How come you and Dad didn't have more kids?"
"If we could've found Bjorn back then, we would've had two of you. I couldn't really ignore that you would both need extra attention. You were certainly traumatized by everything that happened before we left here. Bjorn might've been even worse off. He was taken from us. I don't know what happened, so I don't know how much that affected him."
"What're you going to say tomorrow if you see him?"
"I don't know," Dagmar's mum replied in a whisper. "I've thought about it for fifteen years. You'd think I would've come up with something by now, wouldn't you?"
Dagmar sat up to hug her mum when she started crying. Her mum's head grew heavy on her shoulder. Dagmar still tried to avoid her mum's spine when she rubbed her back. Although she'd gained a little weight since leaving Azkaban, it still wasn't enough to make for a healthy amount of fat. She felt so little to Dagmar. It wasn't right. It should be Dagmar that had done something stupid with her relative youth, who needed comforting and help. Not the other way around.
That Dagmar experienced no resentment over that turned her quiet. She laid back down while her mum took a nightshirt back into the bathroom to change out of her robe. Her mum extinguished the torch on her way back out. Plunged into night, Dagmar watched her mum's silhouette move around to the other side of the bed.
"Night," Dagmar told her when she settled. "I love you."
"I love you too, jenta mi."
Dagmar curled up against her back. Like that, she was finally able to sleep. She would've liked to wake up as herself, but Dagmar came to when Voldemort was already up and about. He, Dagmar's mum, Narcissa, Alecto, and the one named Yaxley were all in the kitchen. While Narcissa ladled out more Polyjuice Potion into two canteens, Dagmar's mum worked on retrieving hair from Alecto and Yaxley.
"It should be a four hour flight or so to Belgrade," Voldemort was saying as he looked at the small map he had of the Balkans. "It's hard to say how long this trip might take overall."
"Are you sure you don't want anyone to come check on you?" Yaxley asked. "Not that I don't think you can handle yourselves. It would be for our peace of mind more than anything."
"No." Voldemort glanced up. "I thought about it, but the only three people on this island who aren't Wanted are you, Alecto, and Amycus. It would be a little strange if Hildegard and I's doubles showed up, wouldn't it?"
"Fair enough."
"I have Rookwood's leftover coins from when he was in Belgrade in case we have to spend a night. We have enough Polyjuice Potion to spare. If we don't make any progress by morning, we'll have to return. Expect us around noon tomorrow at the latest."
A couple pairs of footsteps came down the stairs. Voldemort glanced over his and Dagmar's shoulder to see who it was. Dagmar wasn't surprised to see Bellatrix and Rodolphus.
"We wanted to come see you off, my Lord," Rodolphus said. "I'm sure I don't have to say we both wish we could come with you. This is a very important day."
"If we happen to come back with a third, you'll be able to share in that. I would honestly be satisfied for now just to finally know where Bjorn is. Retrieving him might take more than just Hildegard and I. We'll assess the situation and then go from there."
"As you wish, my Lord," Bellatrix replied.
Dagmar could tell she was holding back on how her personality usually manifested. Voldemort seemed to appreciate it. "Come see us off."
Narcissa and Alecto started on breakfast, while Yaxley went back upstairs when they came to the foyer. Voldemort and Dagmar's mum each threw an extra cloak on before slipping their feet into their boots. Dagmar felt like she was swimming in all of her and Voldemort's clothes, although she guessed it would become more comfortable once they transformed into Yaxley. He was half a head taller than Dagmar, and apparently had much larger feet. The boots nearly slipped off with each step down from the porch.
It made Voldemort come to a stop with a grunt. "I'm going to take mine now. What's an extra ten minutes between here and the beach?"
"I think I'll do the same," Dagmar's mum said. She was having the opposite problem Dagmar and Voldemort were. Alecto had the same size feet, but she was shorter than Dagmar and her mum. Her cloak came up short, and the arms only reached just shy of her wrists.
Dagmar braced herself for the transformation. It was just as uncomfortable as she remembered it being when she and Draco tested theirs for Potions class almost a year ago. Thinking about him and how naive both of them were before her dad died sunk Dagmar's spirits. She'd adjusted to sharing a body with Voldemort, but it hit her all over again how far things had come. Dagmar would give just about anything to go back to simpler times. She appreciated more now than ever that her mum hadn't involved her in this until no choice remained.
Her low mood was mirrored in Voldemort as his own anxiety crept up. Rodolphus was right. This was a very important day. As far as Dagmar had heard, this was the last lead they had on finding Bjorn. Now that Magnus was dead, they couldn't double back to him and see what other information they might shake loose.
Dagmar's mum and Voldemort each mounted brooms on the beach and took off. Dagmar was glad for this part that she didn't have control of her body. She grew nervous enough. She didn't much care for flying, and Voldemort being comfortable with it meant he took more liberties in what altitude they reached. He also quickly topped the broom at its highest capable speed. Dagmar could feel in the wind how quickly they were moving. The Greek mainland was soon beneath them.
They touched down after a couple hours for a brief rest. Voldemort took another small sip of Polyjuice Potion to elongate its effects. Through the course of conversation, Dagmar learned that they were close to Sofia, the capital of Muggle Bulgaria. Dagmar's mum and Voldemort reoriented themselves for a straight shot at Belgrade.
Rookwood had left detailed instructions on how to reach the school where Magdalena was. It was in the middle of the city, so Rookwood couldn't fly in any easier than he could've used the floo network. He'd been told in the wizarding section of the city about a Muggle bus station out in the suburbs that acted as a connector for magical folk. They would even store his broom there to avoid any strange looks while he commuted.
Dagmar's mum and Voldemort didn't land this time as they debated where Vrčin was in relation to the nearby Danube River. Hovering over the river and facing west, they figured they saw it. Things started lining up even more as they gradually neared. They came down in some woods and walked out. Sure enough, there was a building with several commuter busses parked in rows out front.
"There should be a scruffy looking man around here somewhere. . ." Voldemort told Dagmar's mum as they lingered at the property's edge. His focus fell on someone. "Think he looks promising?"
He seemed to know what they were after when they approached. One look at their brooms, and he spoke a price. The man then gave them a piece of paper with pictured instructions on how to reach the wizarding district. He sent them on their way.
Dagmar had been away from the general public for long enough that she felt weird to be back in it. Voldemort was quite blasé about it, although Dagmar's mum kept half an eye on the rest of the people on the bus. Nobody else paid them any mind. They just went about their business. Dagmar wondered if this was a common thing for Voldemort to do when he went around Europe looking for Bjorn.
The bus took a little over an hour to reach the district of Stari Grad. Voldemort pocketed the instructions they'd been given in Vrčin and relied instead on Rookwood's. It being a Sunday morning, church bells rang through the city in every direction. Dagmar was pleased that Voldemort looked around so that she too could take everything in. They were in what looked to be an older part of Belgrade. The buildings were white like Dagmar would expect somewhere like Greece. A lot of them were topped with onion domes. It was probably an accurate thing for Dagmar to feel as though she was sandwiched between the Mediterranean and the old Soviet Bloc.
Voldemort referred frequently to Rookwood's instructions. Rookwood hadn't bothered much with street names as much as landmarks. Voldemort pocketed the paper when they came up on a decrepit looking church. A wrought iron fence surrounded its courtyard. Kids spanning the ages of preteen to older teenager loitered about inside.
"I don't see him," Dagmar's mum whispered to Voldemort.
"If he's here, he might just not be outside," Voldemort replied. "I wasn't much for the outdoors either. If there's a library, that's where we would find him."
"How will we get inside?"
That question seemed to answer itself. A couple of young women Dagmar's age had been eyeing them from where they sat on the front steps. The two conversed with each other without taking their gazes away. One of the women stood up and headed back inside the church. The other one stared.
The church's front door opened again. The first woman reemerged along with an older one. She crossed the courtyard to where Dagmar's mum and Voldemort stood. When the woman approached, she said something to them in what Dagmar guessed was Serbian. It sounded similar to what Dagmar had overheard between Luca and Professor Parasca if they ever chatted in their native tongue.
"Sorry?" Voldemort replied. "Do you happen to speak English?"
The woman blinked. Even with the fence, she stood about ten feet away. "Yes, I speak English. I was telling you that this is a private facility. If you're searching for a church service to attend, I'll be happy to direct you to whichever best serves your faith."
"We came to visit the school, actually." While Voldemort spoke, Dagmar grew nervous for this woman. Voldemort came off as so non-threatening when he wanted. Yaxley normally had a rougher demeanour to him, which Voldemort had disengaged in favour of a more meek persona. "We're looking to speak with someone named Magdalena. Is she here?"
"Who's asking?"
"My name is William, and this is my wife Mary," Voldemort introduced them with the fake names they'd come up with. "Perhaps to cut directly to the chase, her son was kidnapped fifteen years ago. The kidnapper was caught in Paris, but he never divulged where the boy was. He was known to have travelled through the Balkans. We asked at Durmstrang, but they never saw him there as a student. We're looking into alternative schools."
With the slightest hesitation, the woman approached the fence. Her dark hair turned a lighter golden brown when she stood in direct sunlight. She studied Voldemort and Dagmar with dark eyes.
"I'm Magdalena," she told them. "I'm the Headmistress here."
"Could we possibly come in?" Voldemort asked. "It would mean so much to sit down and see what you might know."
To be so close, Dagmar's mum had started to fight with herself again. Her eyes were red with irritation from holding back her emotions. She wasn't doing a good job about it at all. Magdalena's pity eclipsed the suspicion she'd first come out to them with.
"Come over to the gate," she said. "I'll see what I can do for you."
Dagmar's mum wiped her eyes in a constant manner, sniffling as she followed Voldemort and Dagmar into the courtyard. Magdalena pressed her lips together as she studied her.
"I'll make you some coffee." Magdalena led them toward the building. "Or would you prefer tea?"
"Tea, if you wouldn't mind." Dagmar's mum sniffled again. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make this uncomfortable. It's just been such a long road. It's hard not to feel excited when this might be the end of it. At the same time, we're used to being disappointed."
"I'm sure."
Magdalena placed a hand briefly on Dagmar's mum's shoulder. The women on the front step had moved to the side, still eyeing them all. They looked more curious now than anything. Dagmar doubted outsiders came in very often. The students were probably more used to watching people walk by on the pavement, content to ignore them all.
The outside of the building had been unremarkable. Inside, even Voldemort slowed his step a little. The building's walls were a rich mix of bright white and deep red. Two massive chandeliers hung from the rafters. The seating in what had once been the chapel looked comfortable. If the style wasn't so old, Dagmar would've thought it was all new. Students loitered, treating the area like a combination common room and study hall.
"My office is this way," Magdalena said.
They all headed to the right, then to the left down a corridor. Near the middle, Magdalena directed them into a nicely sized room. She closed the door behind them all and pulled a wand out of her pocket. With a flick at a kettle, it started its own way toward a boil.
Magdalena took a seat on one of the two couches facing each other. A coffee table separated them. "I suppose the way we could start this conversation is by me asking if you're aware how the education system works here in the Balkans."
"Vaguely," Voldemort replied as he too sat along with Dagmar's mum. "We're aware that Durmstrang is quite selective when it comes to blood status."
"That's beginning to change," Magdalena said. "The old Headmaster Karkaroff was very ardent about it. The new one, not so much. If you take a tour around here, you'll notice that there are fewer young students than old. Durmstrang will accept any student now that has a family history there. It's still not as open to magical talent as I'm sure you're acquainted with if you're from Britain, but it's some sort of progress."
"So is it only Muggle-borns and the like that you take?" Voldemort asked.
Magdalena shook her head. "Any are welcome. Some students I have were registered because their parents protested against Durmstrang's stringent admittance requirements. A few of those transferred to Durmstrang after Karkaroff died, but some decided that alternative education suited their children best. There are a few purebloods here, as a result. Myself, Caturix, and Withypoll also see the adoptees and orphans of this region. Durmstrang wouldn't take adoptees because their blood heritage couldn't be verified as pure. As for orphans, they're just generally seen as inferior. My school, along with Caturix's and Withypoll's, all double as orphanages."
Dagmar felt Voldemort suppress a sneer. "I see."
"Their lives are quite the struggle, at least to start." Magdalena sighed as she stood up again to start preparing tea. "It's hard to be rejected so soundly from society like that. My students must work twice as hard in their education to get so much as a second glance from prospective employers outside of the Balkans. I understand why, to an extent. The alternative schools aren't moderated as heavily as the Russian Ministry oversees Durmstrang. My students must go out of their own way to take the standardized testing."
"It certainly makes one appreciate how things are, back home."
"Indeed." Magdalena dropped a bag into a teapot. "Let's discuss your son. He was kidnapped? Is it insensitive to ask what happened?"
"Well," Dagmar's mum said quietly, clearing her throat after. "When Bjorn's father left me, he took him. We found him in Paris, but Bjorn wasn't with him anymore. He mentioned something about maybe having gone to Bucharest, but he'd had his memory wiped so that he would forget everything. It's been a terrifying search. I'm worried that in the end all we're going to find—if anything at all—is an unmarked grave."
Magdalena's brow knitted with a grimace. Dagmar wondered if she had children and could sympathize, or if she just felt that way in general about any orphans she may have raised. "Do you know what Bjorn looked like? Is he old enough for you to have known?"
"Even at the age he was taken, he looked so much like his father." Dagmar's mum accepted a tissue that Magdalena offered. "Dark hair and eyes. He'll be tall, probably over six feet."
"And how old is he?"
"He just turned seventeen on the twenty-first of December."
Magdalena hummed. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't have anyone here that fits that description. I have a couple seventeen year olds, but one's a girl and the boy is coming up on eighteen next month. I can still show you pictures of all the older teenagers, if you like. Bjorn's father may have obscured facts about him. It's also common to have children show up here without any information at all. I consult with a friend of mine in that case to estimate their ages."
"That could be the case." Dagmar's mum sniffled. "He seemed vindictive. He did all that he could to keep me from finding Bjorn again, even if he didn't actually want him in his end."
Magdalena gave them each a cup of tea before leaving the office to fetch the pictures. Dagmar grew nervous as she thought over how her mum had described Bjorn. The physical description was fairly humdrum, although Dagmar knew somebody in her life that just turned seventeen on December twenty-first. Luca had told Dagmar and the rest of their friends that he was adopted.
Dagmar used Occlumency as a precaution to hide any sort of emotional response from Voldemort. She thought again about the first time she'd ever met Luca. She felt like she knew him. Was it not him she recognized, but Voldemort? Is that what Voldemort looked like as a teenager?
It didn't surprise Dagmar in the slightest that none of the kids' pictures struck her mum and Voldemort as the boy they were looking for. Magdalena looked disappointed, but not nearly as much as Dagmar's mum did. The feeling even seeped in on Voldemort.
"I didn't suspect he would be here," Magdalena said. "I think I should send you Caturix's way. He sounds like a much better fit. The memory thing. . .Caturix plays around with that. He tries to find ways to magically improve it, but he's very capable of doing the opposite. I wouldn't put it past him if the price was right. He also only teaches boys, and he's located less than a hundred miles north of Bucharest."
"I think we know where his school is," Voldemort replied. "It certainly sounds promising."
Dagmar's mum extended a hand as the three of them stood. "Thank you so much for your help."
"I was happy to offer it." Magdalena smiled at her. "I'll send an owl ahead so that Caturix knows to expect you."
Although Dagmar's mum perked up as Magdalena escorted her and Voldemort back out to the gate, Dagmar prematurely braced herself for what would come of them finding no Bjorn with Caturix. For the first time in a while, Dagmar actually wanted to fall asleep.
She didn't know what to do with what she'd just realized. Dagmar only hoped that she'd be able to keep it to herself while she tried to figure that out. Maybe Luca wasn't in any danger because of what Dagmar's mum intended to do during the transition of Voldemort's soul, but everyone between here and him certainly would be.