Book 4: Astoria Greengrass and the Curse of Quennell Park
Song rec: "My Silver Lining" by First Aid Kit

It was tiring on the arm to always be on guard. Astoria's wand was so finicky that the idea of switching to her left hand did not even occur to her as her wrist grew sore. She made her way across the front gardens with a measly Wand-Lighting Charm. The gardens were not meant to be enjoyed from this angle, running out of the woods. They were designed and trimmed to greet visitors at the gate with colours of the season. Quennell had made his way through some of them, though, and they were shrivelled and dead.

Once she passed the Splinched limbs that she could do nothing about, Astoria considered her options for dealing with the dead bodies in the ballroom. She could Shrink them and bury them outside. She could Transfigure them each into a small bone, like Crouch Jr had supposedly done with his father's body. She might Vanish them all, but that was extraordinarily hard to do, and she wouldn't feel at peace with that, even though they were some of the worst people in the world.

Astoria was much better at Shrinking things than Transfiguring them, so she settled for that option before she walked through the open doors of her empty home. The echoing had been there for months since Father had begun to clear out the rooms. It followed her, reminding her that she was alone and that her house might never be occupied again. She ignited the chandelier in the entrance hall. She thought it would make her feel better, but it only brought her attention to the holes the Death Eaters had Blasted through her walls for the fun of it. The damage to the main level had gone unnoticed as her family fought for their lives. It was yet another thing for Astoria to discover alone. Behind the staircase, the mouth of the dark hallways opened mazes to her. She peered down the east wing, the place where she had "died." The stench of smoke would cloak the rest of the house in time.

She stepped in the ballroom that held so many memories. Every visitor remembered their time at Quennell Park. The ballroom had seen so many celebrations before it had seen tragedy. It missed its music, its family. Astoria lit what lights were still intact to do her ugly job and groaned.

There was nothing left for her to do. The door of the back balcony had been shattered in battle, and hundreds of sinewy black roots had crawled in from the woods, splitting the floorboards and reaching like tentacles in the room. The bodies of all eight Death Eaters were gone, and not a drop of blood remained. The Earth had taken them back of its own accord. Astoria ran out of the room and up the staircase. Up, away from the roots of the ravenous Horcrux.

She turned on as many lights as her wand would reach. The more time that passed, she knew, the more obvious her magic would be to the Ministry. She could be arrested for casting underage magic, and then what? Astoria had never once thought to contact the Ministry about the emergency because there were Death Eaters there, too. There was no help anywhere. She only had so much time left to use magic at Quennell Park before the adults' remnants would fade, and her Trace would show.

"Nott! Nott! Where are you? I know you're in here!" she shouted.

Astoria had never dealt with an Obliviated person before. She had read that some variations of the spell affected both prior memories and the ability to learn new information. Draco had once told her a rumour that one of his D.A.D.A. teachers had Obliviated himself so badly that he was committed at St Mungo's.

"Nott!" she yelled, using an Amplifying Charm as her father had done.

Nott Sr came limping down the west stair. He held his wand and his Death Eater's mask with both hands, like he wasn't sure of what to do with them. It was the first time Astoria had seen his face without Azkaban numbers under it. His aged features would not have resembled Theodore's even if they were young. Theodore must have taken after his late mother.

"Good gracious, how do you know my name?" Nott said.

So he still knew his name. That was a promising sign of the rest of his faculties.

"Oh, you're about that age, young lady! You must know my son, Theodore, is that right?"

"I…"

"I am named after my son, you know!"

Ah.

It was in Astoria's favour that Nott had messed himself up, but if she had to work from square one, it would only get harder and harder to make it out alive.

"Something dreadful must have happened here! Do you know anything about it? I saw you out in the garden, didn't I, Miss?"

Nott's wide, curious eyes and air of concern made Astoria seethe.

Something dreadful. Your people murdered my family, you stupid old man.

"There was an explosion," Astoria coughed. "You don't remember anything?"

"No, I don't. I hate to say it, young lady, but I'm not even sure where I am. It's such a grand house. I almost couldn't stay outside. I was wearing this mask, and I thought perhaps I had been at a masquerade party here? There was a lovely ballroom…"

Masquerade. Okay.

"There was a party, yes," Astoria stalled. "That is when the explosion happened. It was Dark magic."

"It was what now?" Nott asked.

"Dark magic. You know. Bad magic."

Nott shook his head vigorously.

"Er, how old are you, young lady? Were you hurt? Where are your parents?"

Astoria narrowed her eyes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, you look like you've been hurt or crying. And you've been pointing that stick at me like you're afraid. I can help you look for your parents. I'm certain they made it out if someone with my old bones managed to. They're probably young and in shape."

Astoria quickly sized up Nott's mental condition. So her wand was a "stick," and he was acting as though he were a good person.

"Can you still Apparate, Nott? Do you remember how?"

"'Apparate?' Is that something I should know?" he chuckled, unable to control himself. "I must have taken quite a hit to the head. Perhaps I'll remember soon."

"Hm. Can I see those things you're holding, Mr Nott?"

"Certainly. But they must have been the party trinkets. I doubt they will help."

As he handed off his mask and wand, he hissed in pain, gripping his left arm with his palm. Astoria watched him closely.

"How long have you been hurting there?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I must have been burnt. You're not burnt anywhere, are you?" he asked sincerely.

Astoria had several burns that paled in comparison to the pain from her concussion.

"No," she said.

"Good. I'll have a look at what's happened here," he said, lifting his sleeve. "…Well, that's odd."

Nott grew more distressed the longer he looked at the Dark Mark, which, to him, was an ugly, painful tattoo he could not make sense of. Astoria pursed her lips, improvising quickly. Although he could not Apparate, she would still need an adult to get to safety, and he was all she had at the moment.

"It's exactly as I thought!" she exclaimed convincingly. "You're the Marked One!"

The jangling thoughts he had left in his head made as little sense to Nott as to Astoria, so to her relief, he decided to listen to her.

"Sorry, I'm the what?"

"The Marked One! You can use Light magic like me!" she said.

"I… can?" he asked as all the wrinkles in his forehead crunched. "What? What are you talking about?"

"It must be how you found the wand in the first place!" Astoria duped him. "Here, take it back and say, 'Lumos.' You'll see!"

She handed the wand off to him again like a wailing baby, and he had no choice but to take it. Astoria took advantage of his general state of confusion to get the old Death Eater on her side before he started making any decisions for himself.

"Lumos," he said. "Oh! It lit up! Who did you say you were again?"

Astoria couldn't use her real name once she left Quennell Park, so she wasn't about to give it to Nott. She had no decent way to explain how they were both magic users without him trying to use it independently.

"I'm your fairy godmother," she said.

Her choice of words was purposeful. She had recalled Flora's commentary on the term used in Muggle motion pictures. "Witches" were usually fiends in the Muggle consciousness; it was magic from fairy godmothers — whatever the hell those were — that saved the day in children's stories. With no ability to Apparate between the two of them, no broom, and no Floo powder, Astoria and the old Nott would need to traverse Muggle territory. She could use his memory loss, age, and talk of "fairy godmothers" to seem helpless and in need of transportation.

"Godmother! You're fooling me. How old are you? Is this some sort of illusion?" he grumbled, rubbing his temples.

"No, the Marked One would be able to see through such an illusion…" she played along. "I am over three-hundred years old."

In another situation, with another person in front of her, Astoria would have given herself away by laughing at her own ruse. Nothing was funny about this. The man in front of her had taken the easy way out of his crimes as a Death Eater, when only hours ago he could have murdered her and her family. He was her friend's father, which was the hardest part of it all, because she had to ensure the old man's safety. Able to quickly name ten ways Nott Sr had made Theodore's life miserable, she also had her own reasons to hate him now.

It was late July, so Astoria knew the sun was due to rise on Quennell Park about twenty minutes after five o'clock. There was no light yet. Nott Sr had some magic to relearn, and she had a grudge to ease if this was going to work. She walked behind him, taking him to the east wing. They were only one floor up, so the damage was quite severe. Astoria knew that most things damaged with Dark magic could not be Mended, so anything that had been damaged by the explosion would need something stronger. She thought back to the books she had studied with Rhiannon and the twins in place of Umbridge's useless class.

"Mr Nott, don't step so close to the drop-off," she huffed as he peered over the ledge of the charred floor and into the sooty disaster below. "Please move your wand — like so — at the edge of the floor and say 'Regenerati.'"

Eager to see what else he was capable of, Nott obeyed, and thankfully, the floor was repaired as well as it could be. The water damage from the rain Astoria had brought was another story and would require dozens of Hot Air Charms per floor. She had Nott repeat the spell along all the walls in each damaged room, up above them, and in the window frames. Then she ushered him up to the third floor to do the same.

"Regenerati… Regenerati… Say, Miss. Whose house is this? Where is everyone from the party? Did they get out safely? How did you know I was here? Er, Regenerati."

Astoria decided to give him her great-grandmother's last name, since there were not any of them left in the country, and Nott would likely forget anyway.

"This house belonged to the Springhouse family. Four died from Dark magic. The rest managed to evacuate. They lost track of you, though, and thought you had died. I knew you were here because the forest speaks to me. I appear as you wish me to, and I have not seen my true reflection since I was very young."

Nott grew a sad look.

"Four… from Dark magic…? That's terrible. I couldn't use this wand to stop the explosion or anything?" he asked.

Astoria grimaced, "It was not your time, Mr Nott."

Still gloomy, he said, "I suppose if you appear as I wish you to, I'm thinking of my son. He's really about that age. I only have the one. I'd like to find him and tell him I'm all right. His name is Theodore."

"We can certainly do that. As the Marked One, you have other responsibilities first."

"Right…" he said, looking back at his arm as they went up to fix the fourth floor.

"You must never directly touch that Mark. It burns you because it contains Dark magic. You were the only one to withstand the blast directly. Your survival of Dark magic means you have been Marked, and I am to guard you for the time being."

"Do you have a name?"

Astoria's nails dug into her palm and said, "My name is Grace."

"My name is Theodore Nott."

"Yes, I know."

"Who set off the explosion?"

"A Dark wizard named Lofthouse."

"Lofthouse… Lofthouse… what's his first name?" Nott thought hard.

"Xavier Lofthouse."

"Hmm… I feel like I should remember that! Did he get away?"

"No, I got him," Astoria said frigidly. "Fix that window."

When they were finished with the upper levels, Astoria took Nott downstairs. The main floor had seen the most fire, but she vaguely feared the roots of the forest would shoot up from the ground and take them to the Horcrux after what she had seen in the ballroom. She stood on the last stair for quite some time, studying the floor with aversion bubbling in her stomach. She had no idea how well Quennell could control his Horcrux. Ultimately, she made Nott go first. She wasn't above that. Nothing happened to Nott, so she followed. After fixing the front rooms, they would have to walk in the ballroom to finish the job. It would be best to leave the roots alone.

"What's happened to the floor here?" he asked.

Astoria did not owe Nott an explanation. The floorboards were still cracked and splintered in snakelike trails, but the roots themselves were gone, back to feeding the tree. Astoria shined light in the cracks, trying to ensure nothing was trapped beneath the floor. There wasn't a trace of what had happened.

Blood of the foe…

"Mr Nott, point your wand at the floor. You can use a different spell here that's less draining," she concluded. "Say 'Reparo.'"

"Reparo," Nott said, and the floorboards joined back together and returned neatly to their places. Astoria moved on.

There it was, ground zero, where her father had last seen her. The stench stung her nose, and she did not recognise anything. The house was only bones and stone here, and in certain places, they walked more outside than in. There was one corner that dropped off completely into the cellar. There was nothing left of Lofthouse's body, and Astoria was glad for it, because he would have killed Adamina in the same exact way. She wondered how Adamina was doing now with her broken jaw. If another spell would have done the trick without hurting her, Astoria would have used it. She hoped Adamina was not thinking of her as a hero. Quite frankly, Astoria was still angry with Adamina for thinking her relationship with Draco had been the downfall of Quennell Park. Whilst Astoria directed Nott in the sequence of repairs, she at last had a chance to consider what had really happened that night.

Ivory Stretton, Imogen's mother, and old witch Jugson were the ones with the idea to attack the Greengrasses. Ivory could have considered the assault long overdue, since the Greengrasses were notorious blood-traitors. Or she could have picked up the idea from her daughter, who was certain to have told her stories of having to share a room with Slytherin's Blot. Imogen had seen the friendship between Astoria and Rhiannon over the years, especially as it had become public with their band, Pariah. Did that make it Astoria or Rhiannon's fault? Absolutely not.

It could not have been clearer in Stretton's memories that she was acting without orders. Rabastan Lestrange, who had advised her against it, was the closest connection to the Malfoys. The plan to attack Quennell Park had not been born at Malfoy Manor, no matter what Adamina thought. There had not been a Lestrange or Malfoy present that night, and the motley crew of people whom Stretton recruited each had their own interests that had nothing to do with Astoria personally. Three of the attackers were merely bounty hunters in it for the money. The two whom Gracie had shot in the head were fairly new recruits, and although Astoria had not discerned their inner motives, they likely just wanted to make a name for themselves. Nott, Mulciber, Lofthouse, and Flint had been Death Eaters for most of their lives, but something had happened very recently that had stripped them of their rank. Ivory Stretton brought Kestrel Gibbon along to "avenge" her father. Patrick Jugson came because his mother had given them Renshaw's location. That was how it all went to shit.

Renshaw's group was going to be the last to arrive at Quennell Park. Renshaw's things had arrived in the post before them, but no one thought much of it, since a Squib and two Muggles weren't expected to make it on short notice. How foolish they all had been.

In trying to wrench the blame from her own shoulders, Astoria could not help but place it on others. She clearly remembered the night Mrs Malfoy had told her mother to leave the country. That had been Christmas Eve in 1995. Well, the remnants of July 1997 were dawning upon Quennell Park. There was no excuse for the delay, except Mr Greengrass had wanted his daughters' O.W.L.s to be from Britain, from Hogwarts. And he wanted to save their possessions, of course. He made sure all their valuables left the country before they did. And whose idea was it for Renshaw and Gracie to live unguarded in a predominantly Muggle town? Gracie hadn't had a drop of Occlumency in her brain, and everything Renshaw had told her about the protective enchantments to make her feel better swirled about freely.

If he hadn't married out of Wizarding society…

Astoria shook the unwanted thoughts out. Renshaw and Gracie had been murdered because of that same breed of ideology. Astoria's Occlumency would not have stopped Lofthouse, either, so there was no point in feeling that way.

"Everything's looking good, Grace. What a beautiful place this is," Nott called from one of the restored rooms.

Astoria stepped into the room, answering to poor Gracie's name. This had been the place where Draco had heard Astoria crying over Philippe at the Christmas banquet. If only her problems now were as simple as crying over a boy.

"You should have seen it before the damage," she said.

Nott looked in awe at the repairs that magic had made. Astoria could not imagine why a blood supremacist like him had willingly erased his knowledge of magic. Upstairs, she grabbed Uncle Faunus's big suitcase, covered in stickers from his travels. It hurt to hand it to Nott, but she wanted to take it with her.

"Point your wand here — no, here — okay, make a figure eight and say, 'Capacious Extremis.' No, no, you've done it wrong."

"Well, Grace, why don't you do it? I can't remember a lot of things," Nott protested.

"Because I can't right now, all right?" Astoria said. "Keep making the figure eights until I say."

It worked the second time. Whilst Astoria packed food, toiletries, and the clothes her family had left for that day, she tested what other memories Nott had left. He remembered that he lived in Falmouth, Cornwall, but couldn't think of his address. He told Astoria that an automobile had murdered his wife and asked quite seriously if it had involved Dark magic.

"Er, no, not Dark magic…" Astoria said as sympathetically as she could manage. "The automobile probably had a driver."

"I see. My wife's name was Rupilia. And Yaxley, that was her maiden name. And I do believe our marriage was arranged… Yes. But you wouldn't know it! No, you wouldn't know it. I loved her very, very much. Such a splendid woman. Bookish. She read to Theodore all the time. He liked her voice a good deal more than mine, see! Our son Theodore, he was reading encyclopaedias at six years. Our Theodore. We were always so proud."

Astoria nodded periodically at Nott. It was difficult to judge what items she would actually need on the trip. There were odds and ends left over from her family that seemed impossible to do without now. Uncle Faunus's pipe. Her mother's hairpin. Her father's silly beard comb, which she definitely wouldn't need, but…

It was the hardest to leave her parents' room. She saw their blankets strewn all over the floor, and a candle was still burning from when they had first awakened to the emergency. She put it out.

"Do you remember your parents?" Astoria asked for the hell of it.

"My parents… why, yes. I do."

Astoria happened to know about Nott Sr's parents from the genealogy records that his father had taken great strides to make public. His father went by the fitting name of Cantankerus and was the author of the Sacred Twenty-Eight books. Nauseatingly, Cantankerus's wife's maiden and married name was the same. However, Nott couldn't think of his parents' names, remembering them only as "Mother" and "Father."

"You know, I do think my family had some magic after all!" was as close as he got to any genuine recollection.

On their way back downstairs, Astoria came across something glinting on the floor. It was Rhiannon's Foe-Shard, dropped in the chaos. It seemed so tiny that it was a wonder how Rhiannon had discerned any Death Eaters at all. She probably felt quite scared not to have it in a new country after what had happened. Astoria picked up the frame, and Nott saw it.

"This looks like a portrait miniature. Why aren't there any subjects painted?"

"It's defensive magic. Your enemies will appear when they are nearby," Astoria said, thankfully spotting no one in the glass.

That meant they could head out soon. She left the suitcase with Nott and changed into the clothes she would have worn to her new home that day. So much for that. Since Nott was in that ridiculous Death Eater get-up, she made him put on the outfit her grandfather had left. Astoria was comfortable enough to walk in front of Nott by this point, and it was fortunate that she did, for when she opened the front doors, Quennell was standing right on the threshold in all his glory.

"Egad!" Nott exclaimed, dropping the suitcase onto his foot.

Quennell bowed and removed his hat for Astoria, as if they were still on those terms. Nott shuffled past him with a hand over his mouth, and Astoria shut the door. Just as she was thinking that there would be no way to stop more Death Eaters from coming, Quennell gave her a hard look.

"Are you leaving me? I will use my magic to protect the house."

His whisper was hot in her ear.

"Protective enchantments did nothing at all to save us," Astoria responded.

"The blood I received from the fallen foes will hold Quennell Park," he uttered.

"Oh yeah? You'll use that blood to come back to life again with your Horcrux tosh and help me?" she challenged. "Why didn't you protect us with this trick when it mattered?"

Quennell gave her a very disapproving look, and said, "I have no assisting potions to regenerate my Horcrux; thus, it has taken much blood for me to do merely this."

He placed his hand on the front doors with a solid smack. A collection of roots shot up from below the front terrace, coiling round him and merging with the wood on the double doors. It was not pleasant to watch.

"So this will protect the manor how?" Astoria asked in a high pitch.

"In the event that the forest is breached, which I do not foresee happening, there will be a blood offering required before entrance to the house by any means."

"I'm sorry, that's it? Any Death Eater would be willing to make that — they could hurt Muggles and do that! Look at me, I scraped my knee and I have a blood offering!"

"My dearest, it will take eight separate sacrifices of magical blood to get into the forest," Quennell revealed rather indifferently. "I see my former self in those Death Eaters and wish nothing less than their destruction if they dare to draw near again. However, there is no way for them to know the price of entry without trial and error, and it is unlikely they will try. If I recognise someone in our family, of course, they will enter with no such sacrifice."

"Oh, is that right," Astoria scowled.

She tried not to think very much about the eight Death Eaters' bodies that the forest had already taken. It was a challenge to discern between what was necessary and what was Dark. With her security stripped and only a few days' worth of food on her, the distinction would continue to blur. Quennell looked at her closely.

"And what of this despicable wizard—?" he asked, incensed.

"His son needs him to be a father for once," Astoria said firmly. "I'd like to give him that chance — you know, the one you didn't take. I've already made up my mind not to harm him."

"Very well," Quennell said. "Y-You have, of course, always known best…"

Astoria shifted her weight uncomfortably and bade Quennell good riddance.

"I'm going to catch a train and try to contact someone I do trust. As you said."

Quennell rubbed his flat, hanging eyelids in disconsolation. He only responded, "Please come back to me," and faded into the air.

Astoria followed Nott on the long woodland path to the stone wall at the edge of the property. She very rarely came this way. Usually, she used the Floo Network. The wrought-iron gates had been opened by the Death Eaters. How many times had her father pointed out that there was a "Q" rather than a "G" at the centre of the gate to guests? That abridged legend of Quennell Greengrass was one of his favourite stories to tell. But Father did not know the man, and he had refused to acknowledge that the soul haunting Quennell Park was the idol he spoke of.

"What's happened?" Nott gasped. "The gate — the forest! Is this what that phantom was speaking to you about?"

As they stepped onto the countryside road, the only thing that remained visible of Quennell Park was the gate, which had instantly rusted and became covered in vines due to the enchantment. Behind abruptly overgrown grass, Astoria saw only hilly pastures. There was no forest in sight; there was no home. It would have even fooled a wiser witch than she.

"Speaking of which, Grace, what are Death Eaters? Are they users of Dark magic? Why did that ghost use their blood? Why did they attack? Is it because I'm the Marked One? Will the Springhouse family be able to return home with everything like this?"

Astoria pressed a hand to her forehead. Her impatience was genuine, but it served her well as part of the ruse she had built.

"Yes, the Death Eaters use Dark magic. Lofthouse was one of them. Never mind about the man you saw. I've taken care of everything… Nott! Didn't your wife's death teach you anything? Get off of the road!"

Nott hobbled back in front of her, looking in all directions in profound fear.

"Not everyone uses magic like us, Mr Nott. Put your wand away for now."

"Where are we going, Grace?"

"Battle."

"We're going into battle? Won't I need this wand?"

"No, Mr Nott. Battle. The town."

"I live in Falmouth."

"Yes, Mr Nott, I know. That is clear across the country."

"How do we get there?"

"We are looking for a road called Penhurst Lane."

"I see. That will take us into Falmouth?"

"…Nott, listen," Astoria said, grabbing his arm. "Do you know how to catch the Knight Bus? The bus for wizards? Do you remember anything about it at all?"

Nott was baffled by her question, but Astoria hadn't got her hopes up in the first place. She had never been taught how to catch the bus because, as her father had put it, "We never use that riffraff-ridden earthquake" and "the wrong sort practically live on it."

She looked up and down the road, wishing that simply thinking of the bus would do the trick. It absolutely did not.

"All right. With no bus, broom, chimney, or Apparition, we'll need to catch a train for us to see your son. This is, as you see, a dirt road. To catch a train, we have to first reach a paved road. That will lead us into the town of Battle. It is more than an hour away, since we don't have a broom. Once we're in the station at Battle, I can find a map there, and I'll figure out how far we can travel from there. Muggle trains could be very different from what we're used to."

"Model trains?"

"Muggle trains, Mr Nott. Trains that do not run on magic."

"I see! If we had a broom, this would be much easier. My legs are old."

"My legs are short, so between the two of us, let's try to make it there alive, okay?" Astoria pressed him onward.

The sun at last was beginning to feel warm, and Nott's enthusiasm to see his son made him kick up dirt on the side of the road. They had not yet seen a soul.

"Grace?" he asked warily.

"Yes."

"When you were speaking to the phantom, why did you say that I wasn't a father when Theodore needed me? That can't really be true. I remember so much about him."

You went to prison for attacking children in the Department of Mysteries, you oaf.

"I had to give the phantom a reason not to take your blood, too," Astoria lied through her teeth, and left him no choice but to accept that as the answer.

She stopped at her church to see if anyone was there to help her, but the stained glass was mostly broken, and the vicar's house had been raided. It looked like he and his family had escaped, but since Astoria had not drawn out that memory from Stretton, she could not know for sure. Bitter and helpless as she walked past her family's grave plot, she wouldn't let Nott's feet touch the ground there. She wondered if Quennell reached his nasty Horcrux over to this ground, too, to feed on their deceased.

When they reached Penhurst Lane, the feeling of progress began to dissolve on the long road. Astoria told Nott to use his wand as a compass and to quickly put it away. They headed east on the road. No people yet.

"Grace?" Nott asked again.

"What?"

"Do you know when my Mark will stop burning?"