THIS BOOK IS A NON—COMMERCIAL FAN BOOK MADE FOR FANS AND IS NOT ENDORSED BY, AFFILIATED WITH OR ASSOCIATED WITH WARNER BROTHERS, J.K. ROWLING OR WIZARDING WORLD.

THE EPILOGUE

Part 1 – The Shadow Army

A Shady Host

An unprecedented heat hailed upon Great Britain that summer, where very high temperatures had been recorded all over the country. Every evening, after the opening notes of the seven o'clock news, the journalist took a few minutes to enumerate the names of the people who died because of the scorching heat.

So he thought.

The Ministry of Magic, main governing body of the magical community of Great Britain, aimed to ensure the community not to be exposed to British Muggle (or non–magical) citizens. This mission recently required some extra efforts as those who supposedly died because of the heat, had actually been murdered.

Despite the summer weather, the magical community stood in constant alert as many strange attacks occurred all around the country in the recent weeks; and every crime scene had in common to leave a pool of blood and, sometimes, mangled bodies behind; so the actual Minister of Magic, Douglas Walter Atkins, acted in order to have the crime scenes and the memories modified or erased.

Notwithstanding the number of attacks, clues remained rare. But the investigation led the Ministry to focus and lean on a little county in South West England called Whiltshire.

In that small town, like many others across the country, the overwhelming sun, parching and yellowing laws and burning the dead-lying flowers in their windows boxes, forced the inhabitants to retreat into the relative coolness of their homes.

This was an old and medieval city, where descendants of ancient wizarding families aimed to live peacefully. For this very reason, most of them, sheltered as they could from the heat, would stare at this group of young wizards that sometimes passed by, with a disapproving eye.

At The Conqueror, the local pub, inhabitants often gathered and complained about this little group and the lot of unpleasant events they were related to, even if nobody could have ever been able to expressly pick them

On a sunny late afternoon, a drowsy silence laid over the quaint main square where a charming little church was proudly standing with an old oak tree. Under that very oak, a thirteen years old young man was sitting on a shaky bench.

He wore a partly opened white shirt, black trousers with as equally black dragon-leather shoes. With his pale face and his rather sharp chin; his sleek white–blond hair and his cold grey eyes, Scorpius Malfoy seemed to be impatiently waiting for someone. He was discreetly holding a thin wooden stick in his right hand.

Scorpius suddenly leaped when a girl, slightly older than him and named Edwina Flint, appeared from the other side of the square. Her curly brown hair, falling on a rather casual face, swayed up and down as she walked toward him.

'Hello Flint,' coldly dropped Scorpius.

'Sorry, my mom didn't want me to come, I had to sneak out.'

'... Any news from the others?'

'Hm ... they should arrive any moment now.'

She was right. Few seconds later, two young men arrived on the main square: one was pig–like faced, when the other one was tall, rather charming and clever. They were respectively called Ian Fawley and Mordred Sayre.

'You also both were about not to come?' asked Scorpius, annoyed.

Sayre didn't bother answering and Ian followed.

'I think we should talk,' Flint said, once everyone had carefully settled on the shaky bench.

'What would you like us to talk about?' asked Sayre, even if he already knew the answer.

'Aurors are interrogating everyone around ... no doubt they'll end up figuring everything: we should tell them ... we should tell them what we know ... about Peakes.'

As she expected, their faces tensed and an embarrassing atmosphere took hold upon the small group. Ian gave an anxious look at Sayre and Scorpius showed a strained face.

'We talked about it already, and we agreed on not talking about it ever again,' said Sayre, relatively calm. 'You do know what the consequences would be Edwina, for both of us.'

'But ... they're surely going to trace us back, and soon catch us! It was none of our faults, so why wouldn't we tell them what happened?'

'We just can't do that Flint,' Sayre said.

Flint's eyes searched for support that ended up not arriving, so she decided to give up for this time.

The conversation then drifted to less important subjects, such as Quidditch and the next ministerial election which would take place in November.

They talked until twilight, and when the sun set on the horizon, igniting clouds and throwing a red glowing light on the picturesque main square, the four of them parted.

Sayre took a path, so did Flint and Fawley. Scorpius, left alone on his shaky bench, stood up, walked by the church and took the adjacent avenue.

As he was walking, clouds had lit off and the blazing sky had turned dark and star–sprinkled. Scorpius, troubled, held his wand tightly along the way. At the end of the avenue, he crossed a bridge under which a small river was flowing in a whisper. Scorpius quickened his pace and turned around at every suspect noise: he had the annoying and justified feeling of being watched. He walked for few more minutes through the shadows and felt fully reassured at last when he engaged into a wide lane, bordered by high hedges leading to an impressive wrought iron gate. Scorpius shot a last look behind him and, as he was walking toward it, waved his wand at the gate which turned misty and blurry as he got closer, and turned back solid after he got through it. He then walked on the cracking gravel, passed in front of a beautiful garden to face of a handsome manor house, arising out of the darkness. Its doors opened by themselves before him when he came closer.

In the dimly lit large hallway, a house–elf was waiting for him: she wore a black ash sarong far too large for her frail body, a clumsily made bun holding few brittle hair and large, bulging and gloomy dark eyes.

'Did the Master's Grandson have a good time with his friends?'

Totally ignoring her, Scorpius went through the sumptuously decorated living-room in the darkness, but when his foot touched the bottommost stair, all lights switched at once and a voice rose behind him.

'Where have you been? You shouldn't be out that late with everything going on.'

Surprised, Scorpius slowly removed his foot from the stair and turned around to face a young woman, slightly older than him.

She had beautiful, deep and intense cold grey eyes, long blond hair and a serene face. All of which gave to Cassiopeia Malfoy something fascinating, endearing and tragic.

'Where have you been?' Cassiopeia repeated, a bit louder.

'Give it a rest Cassy, as if I didn't know you go out as well sometimes; as if I didn't know who you go out for,' Scorpius taunted, insisting on his last five words.

'I — don't know what you're talking about,' she answered, too hastily.

'You really don't?' Scorpius asked, taking a great delight out of the slightly worried tone of his older sister's voice. 'But tell me, Cassy, why do you like him?'

'Shut up...' Cassiopeia snapped, coldly and upset.

Satisfied but concerned, Scorpius turned his back to her, climbed up the stairs and disappeared behind his bedroom's door.

Since the beginning of the summer at the Malfoy manor, Cassiopeia frequently reminded her younger brother of his reckless behaviour during these troubled times. In return, he started to become more aggressive and concealed. Moreover, Scorpius would sometime stay lying on his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling with a stern face, and empty and terrorised eyes.

From that moment on, the rather amusing holidays at the manor became quite dull.

Scorpius and Cassiopeia use to play hide and seek through the vast estate, chasing after the pure–white peacocks in the French style garden or swimming in a little lake nearby. After that, they would explore the house, from attic to basement and find plenty of interesting and strange objects such as a bewitched flute playing some over–powering ominous songs, a dried and pickled dry hand, broken broomsticks, vaguely glowing portkeys, old bows, piles of obscure and anonymous books and tarnished jewelleries. They also found cursed amulets, heavy grimoires full of dark and powerful spells, a solid–gold chess games probably unused for centuries, trunks overflowing with Middle–Aged, partly moth–eaten clothes. There were also rusty broadswords, goblin-made armours, antique and probably priceless wax-sealed parchments.

But since Peakes' attack and death, Cassiopeia's daily life became intensely depressing as she felt more alone than ever. She struggled every night not to fall asleep in fear of the awful nightmare she would have as soon as she closed her eyes. For this reason, Cassiopeia remained in a constant state of exhaustion as she spent her time playing chess with her grandfather Lucius, and reading every single book she could lay her hand upon.

Her father, Draco Malfoy, was officially on holiday abroad, but was in fact working for the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic, on a secret mission in Egypt. On the other hand her mother, Astoria Malfoy, heiress of a colossal fortune, filled her time hosting and attending dances along with other social gatherings. Consequently, the two Malfoy kids, not old enough to be properly introduced to the world, ended–up in the Malfoy manor like every summer.

Generally speaking, Cassiopeia didn't really like the manor, with its stuffy and pompous manners. Her younger brother and she, having lived for almost ten years in a favoured surrounding, had spent a considerable part of their childhood mingling in a background where all were convinced that being a pure–blood wizard made you practically royal.

Since the defeat of Lord Voldemort and the rise of what «real» wizard families called with distinguished repugnance «mixed marriages», a greater pressure weighted upon these family descendants, influencing them to make some «proper and suitable» matches. Unfortunately, the heavy burden of traditions concerned the two Malfoy as well, and if Scorpius considered, without having given this idea much of a thought, that a union with a «real» witch was self–evident, Cassiopeia felt for this pure–blood mania an aversion that often tented toward hatred. She particularly hated these theories because the boy she was madly in love with since primary school was not a pure–blood wizard and would therefore be, for the most obvious reasons, unequivocally rejected by her family.

Days scrolled slowly over the Malfoy manor under the ruthless sun, and since Cassiopeia partly blew up the house during one of her crisis, she was now shut in her room, and had to spend all her time there alone.

The bedroom itself was depressingly hopeful.

Here and there, some small elements allowed the wandering visitor to know more about its inhabitant. A picture of her parents, a bouquet of blue hyacinths, some Hogwarts posters on the wall and an old class picture on her bedside table were trying to brighten this grim and greyish room in which she would now have to live permanently.

In the following days, Cassiopeia's mood went from extreme to another. At times, she was overflowing with energy, pacing optimistically around the room again and again; at others, she stayed on her bed, lifeless and withdrawn into herself, without the strength to wake enough energy to cry. During these moments, her face was often contracted into a sad and bitter smile as she thought about her future.

What if she'd never be able to go to Hogwarts? What if he would never be able to see her again? Naturally, when she thought about him, a clear face came to her mind and, right after that, a weird and sneaky picture formed in her head of him marrying a faceless stupid girl, wearing her beautiful white dress. This picture would have made her cry, if was she had enough energy to; but also would have made her think about her own future, if she had any.

Cassiopeia would lie lifeless and desperate, stuck in a kind of deep apathetic phase for days. It sometimes reached the point to make her consider Death as well–wisher, a gentle and helpful friend she somehow refused the helping hand, without even really knowing why. She would stay that way for days, indifferent to the day and night cycle that passed upon her.

At times, she was interrupted in her dark thinking by strange noises she thought she heard, but guessed she was so dramatically hoping for something to happen she would have invented them.

She wasn't.

One night as the household was sleeping, Cassiopeia was partly dragged out of her torpor by a tremendous noise that came out from somewhere in the house. Barely sleeping, she could hear

bestial and frightening voices in the living–room, followed by a heated fight. She heard explosions which made the entire building quakes on its base, several collisions against the walls, many crushed glass noises — and silence.

A few hours later, concerned about not seeing her grand–father coming to see her in the morning. Cassiopeia found the strength to stand up and discovered her door room wasn't locked.

The eyes of pale–faced portraits on the walls followed her as she was walking through the grand corridor. She wondered if what she heard the previous night wasn't one of these nightmares she had almost every time she closed her eyes, but when she arrived in the living room she knew it wasn't.

Dark ashes, thick black hair and pieces of glass were lying around on the wooden floor. The windows were broken, the magnificent Persian carpet was ruined, the grand marble chimneypiece was cracked, and walls were damaged. Portraits had been viciously slashed and, many smaller precious things were broken.

At the other side of the living–room, Cassiopeia's heart sank when she saw her grandfather, slightly injured. He was scrambling with his walking stick, embellished with a silver snake head at its top.

'What happened here?" asked Cassiopeia, staring at the wrecked living room.

'I — nothing,' Lucius answered too hastily. 'I must go to the Ministry to ... see someone.'

Rapidly, Lucius walked up to Cassiopeia, dropped his waking stick and grabbed her both shoulders.

'Keep a close eye on Scorpius, and do not leave the house. Your wand is hidden behind Nicholas Malfoy's portrait, third floor. I strengthened the manor's protection charms so I think it wouldn't be necessary, but anything was to happen, you have the permission to use all the magic you can, and every spell you may know to protect your brother and yourself.'

Cassiopeia was stuck and shocked by what she just heard: if she really was allowed to use magic, it would only mean the situation was particularly critical. Before she could even react or say anything, Lucius has disappeared.

It was about seven in the morning when he arrived at the Ministry. Even if he hadn't been there for years, he felt like nothing had changed: the Atrium was still as huge as splendid, with its highly polished wooden floor, its black tiled walls and its gilded fireplaces where dozens of wizards emerged from every second. This great flood of people went up along the hallway which led to a large fountain. At the top of that fountain, stood a composition of golden statues formed with a noble–looking wizard and witch, a centaur and a house elf. Water was shot from both and wizard and witch's wand, the centaur's arrow and from the house elf's ears into the pool, releasing a constant and soothing lapping.

Passing by that fountain, Lucius remembered his plots and questionable deals from the time when he was well–connected with the Ministry's highest officials. He walked by several safety cordons and followed the stream of Ministry employees heading toward the lift hall where about twenty lifts convoyed people to every department of the Ministry.

By chance, Lucius dove into a crowded lift before it set in motion with a metallic lurch. Wizards and flying memos were getting in and out every time the lift stopped, but Lucius wasn't paying attention. Lost in his thought and torn with anger, he jumped when he heard a cool and feminine voice saying «Department of Mysteries».

He then rushed out of the lift and walked as fast as he could through the disturbingly sinister and poorly lit corridors until he arrived in front of the door he was looking for. Lucius took a moment to think, and finally decided to drop in, unannounced.

The office was spacious and lavishly furnished: old black leather books with fragile golden bindings were on display in a dark bookcase. A gaunt hand and a solid silver candlestick were well laid out on the black marble fireplace and an impressive mahogany desk in the middle of the office. Behind that desk, an old man had to stand up to see who came into his office. Relatively tall, he had long, silvery hair tied in a neat braid that hanged down to his lower back. When he saw Lucius, an unpleasant smile shaped his wrinkled face.

'We need to talk, Yaxley,' Lucius said, as calmly as he could.

'Lucius, what a — lovely surprise. I was quite sure you'd come to visit me today.'

'This is not a curtesy visit, Corban. Tell him to stop wandering around my house,' demanded Lucius, plainly.

'... Even if I would do that, I'm not sure he would listen: you killed some of his friends last night. But you know the only way to make everything stop.'

'I told you ... I told you I don't want to take part in this anymore!'

'That's yet necessary.'

'I refuse and I want you to leave my family alone!' yelled Lucius.

'It seems like Al Hossein is more difficult to get than we expected...' Yaxley muttered more to himself, totally ignoring Lucius. 'However, we'll need a safe place when we put our hand on him, and your house will be this safe place.'

'I refuse to take that shady host in my house,' repeated Lucius, unyielding.

A tensed silence thickened between the two of them during which Yaxley stared at him with his unpleasant smile but also, surprisingly enough, soft–hearted and disconsolate eyes. He walk around his fine desk and stood right in front of Lucius who was both surprised and suspicious of Yaxley's attitude.

'I know you're not willing to stand against us Lucius, you know rather well what the consequences would be if you did so.'

'I am not afraid of death Corban, not anymore,' Lucius said in a low voice.

'... I know you're not Lucius, and I admire that really. But I ask you to take the good decision. Remember our agreement Lucius... Scorpius, and especially the sweet Cassiopeia — Lucius' face lost all composure — do are charming and interesting children, aren't they? You'd better remember our agreement Lucius ... besides, we sworn never to injure pure–blood wizards, as they constitute the grounding of the necessary New Order which will soon arise from the former one, but ... maybe we'll have to make an exception. That would truly break my heart, as every drop of pure blood spilled is a huge and tragic waste ... please, take the good decision. I like you. Be careful.'

Yaxley came back to his desk, and the office's door squeaked behind Lucius.

Acknowledging the dialogue had reached its end, he was about to leave when Yaxley resume talking.

'One last thing, I can still rely on your support for the election, can I?'

'... Of course' Lucius said, gnashing.

He then furiously walked away.

Lucius wandered a bit in the Ministry's corridors, thinking about how he could extricate himself from the desperate situation he was in.

It seemed like, in the eyes of the ancient wizarding families, to whom pure–blood mania and resentment were entrenched, he was seen as directly responsible of the Dark Lord's fall. His wife Narcissa had to pay the ultimate price for her betrayal during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Lucius suffered countless murder attempts while in exile in Paraguay, and was reduced to suffer the humiliation and the extortion of a big part of his wealth to live in a semblance of safety.

One thing was now certain: he hated them all ever since, with their so called superiority and the hysteria enclosing the purity of their blood.

Desperate, Lucius tried to re–establish useful contacts within the Ministry, but most people he met refused to see him and every time it happened, he brooded about the fact they personally owed him their career, or actual position. He still could recreate a small network of people, including Hamish MacFarlan, assistant director of the Department of Magic Transportation and Basil Quartz, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports who assured him of their support. It was then a bit relieved that Lucius came back home at lunchtime.

While Cassiopeia and Scorpius were eating, Lucius emerged from the mansion fireplace and joined them around the table.

'Is everything ok?' Scorpius asked, starring at her grandfather whom face was weeping with despair.

Lucius reassured them as he could, and took a moment afterward to gaze his grandchildren more carefully. At that moment, he could feel panic inflating in his chest like a poisonous bubble: what if something would happen to Cassiopeia or Scorpius? He realised, as he looked at them, that they he had no idea about the terrible danger both of them were exposed to. But, in order not to trouble them for now, he hanged a convincing smile on his face and pretended everything was fine.

During the following days, Lucius patrolled around the manor every night, and did his best to make them live rather normal holidays, despite the fact both of them were, from that moment on, strictly forbidden to leave the house.

Scorpius then spent all his time writing to Albus Potter, his best friend, plenty of letters each day. On the other hand, Cassiopeia's mood went worse.

Locked away in her room, she got off only to eat and use the bathroom on morning and evening. Cold and sad and

relinquished, she spent her time reading and crying silently. One night, worried, Lucius decided to knock at her door.

'Cassiopeia, can I come in? I would like to talk to you,' asked Lucius, after having partly opened the door.

She nodded indifferently, seated at her desk with an old black book in front of her. Quickly, an awkward silence settled in the greyish room. During that time, Lucius expected her to say something, which didn't happen, so he entered and sat on the bed. He looked at the room and noticed a dusty pile of letters on the window's ledge.

'I am worried about you Cassiopeia ... maybe they are too?' he said, pointing the window with his finger. 'You should send some news to your school's friends.'

'It is not my school and they're not my friends,' said Cassiopeia with a faded voice that hasn't been used for days.

'I understand, but you do know I was against you to be sent there ... but sending you to Durmstrang was the only way for you to have a magical education, your parents did that only...'

'Only because they care about me,' achieved Cassiopeia, grumpily. 'But it was eleven then, it was an accident!'

'Many people died during that accident Cassiopeia,' said Lucius, in a serious tone. 'People died and you have been yourself seriously injured so yes, I understand your parent's decision.'

'I am fifteen now, and no major incident happened ever since.'

'Because your parents, along with your school's headmaster — Cassiopeia whispered « not my school » between her teeth — did everything they could to maintain you under control, as you perfectly know.'

'I can control it now,' Cassiopeia confessed desperately, as though she was the one she wanted to convince.

'You partly blew up the kitchen one week ago,' Lucius pointed out.

'... Please,' Cassiopeia begged, her eyes bathed with tears. 'Intervene with my parents for me attend Hogwarts this year!'

'I don't think this is a good idea,' answered Lucius, uneasy.

Cassiopeia closed her eyes, a shiver of anger went through her entire body and the window slightly quivered. Lucius discreetly took his walking stick.

'About fifty years ago, when Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster, a werewolf studied in Hogwarts... so why not me?'

'Dumbledore — was an unusual man and a great wizard,' recognised Lucius, as though these words were painful to say. 'But it was another time, you should understand that...'

'Understand what! Understand what!' interrupted Cassiopeia, increasingly furious. 'Should I be doomed or locked away forever! In that ... school or in that room!'

She stood furious, turned to Lucius and the entire room began to quake.

'Calm down Cassiopeia, please ... I understand how difficult it must be for you, but please try to understand that...'

'UNDERSTAND WHAT? UNDERSTAND THAT I SHOULD HIDE AND LIVE CLOISTERED FROM EVERYTHING? I — DON'T — WANT — TO — UNDERSTAND! I'M FED UP OF TO ALWAYS HAVE TO UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING ALL TIME! IT'S UNFAIR! IT'S UNFAIR! IT'S UNF —"

'Somneo!'

Lucius had unsheathed his wand out of his walking stick, and casted a spell that touched her squarely in the chest. For a moment, she looked confused. She then staggered, and her eyes closed slowly. Her face suddenly looked heavenly peaceful and the shadow of a thankful smile appeared on her lips. Her body gracefully and soundlessly fell, and when she touched the floor, the earthquake instantly stopped.

He then dropped his walking stick, carried Cassiopeia back to her bed with difficulty and then, deeply regretting what he just had to do, left the room and softly closed the door behind him.