Hogwarts Express, September 1st, 2013
Delphini sits on the train, absent-mindedly making small talk with her friends. Thinking about what she has learned through the memories of her mother that she managed to peruse before having to leave.
Thinking about the fact that Mother has been buried in Hogwarts grounds for all these years, without her ever knowing about it.
Thinking about the fact that her ashes have been buried with those of Father, and of how he would have hated it but Mother would adore it. Like she adored him.
Aunt Cissa was right about that decision, she thinks, since it was to her that befell the responsibility of her sister's burial. Delphini suspects that she decided to have them burned and buried together as much because Mother would want nothing more as she did it to spite her dead Father. Aunt Cissa had never forgiven the Dark Lord for trapping Draco in his cause, for blackmailing them all with his life, for destroying the happiness she had managed to build for her family.
Delphini is proud of her. She knows Aunt Cissa is the reason she is more than an omen, more than a means to an end. She is the one who insisted in calling her little bird, instead of precious augurey.Aunt Cissa is the reason she was allowed a childhood, and a happy one at that. Aunt Cissa kept Euphemia's claws at bay, kept the entire world at bay for as long as she could. They all guard her, but she knows it's the lioness in white that drives them all to do it. For the lioness in white understands that the little bird steadies her ice-eyed husband and son; that taking the little bird in only makes her pride stronger.
Aunt Cissa let her keep her true nature, and the gifts of her parents. She allows her darkness, though she makes sure there's some light to her. She kept her in the nursery, behind charmed doors, and under the veil, despite the dark magic embedded in such objects. It's all blood magic, she knows now. She has seen it in her Mother's memories. It was one of the clearest memories in the vials. Her mother's mind always seems sharp in the memories of her, even if many are blurry and on the verge of incoherency.
Delphini happily lets her mind drift from the compartment to the vision in the Pensieve.
Mother is sitting on the bed, humming a lullaby while she's cradled in her arms. Judging from the looks of her mother and the size of her, these must be her first days of life. In this memory, she is a tiny thing of pale skin and ebony curls that cling to her scalp, with a blueish hue to her eyelids, deep asleep under watchful grey eyes, the same shape as hers.
Her mother raises her head, looking towards the door. The Dark Lord wandlessly opens it, and his familiar slithers inside before he can, rushing to Mother's side. Delphini could swear that the usually expressionless serpent looks curious as she raises her head high in the air, shifting her body so that she's looking down on the child, her head nearly perched on Mother's right shoulder.
Little Delphini mews as Mother rearranges her in her arms, allowing Nagini a proper look. The serpent lowers her head, her dark forked tongue tasting the air between her and the infant, then moving closer, so close that her tongue displaces the curls on the baby girl's forehead. Little Delphini does not mew; instead she burrows into her mother's embrace, as if comforted by the snake's caress.
Only then does the Dark Lord approach the three of them, hissing Delphini's introduction to his familiar. Nagini climbs onto the bed, and leisurely settles herself, wrapping her body around Mother and her just once, her head on Mother's lap, under the bundle made of the pearl blanket that keeps the infant warm. Delphini's eyes open wide, as if reacting to the language of snakes, and they immediately turn from emerald green to ruby red, acknowledging Lord Voldemort's proximity.
"Unwrap her, Bella, I need her blood," Father orders, his voice perfectly even, his crimson eyes fixated on his daughter.
Delphini's blood had frozen in her own veins at the request, but her parents seem perfectly calm. She wondered if Father was controlling Mother's will, but the memory is so vivid, everything is so sharply focused…her mind was perfectly sound that day, she knows it.
Lord Voldemort holds a vial in his long-fingered hand. It's dark and quite small, but no less ominous for it. He uncorks it, keeping both vial and stopper levitating mid-air, and uses his wand to quickly cut across his left index finger. He lets a couple of drops of his own blood run from the cut and drip into the vial. It seems darker, thicker, and Delphini yearned for the possibility of touching it, for she is certain that it would be cooler as well, but it drops nonetheless. First a tear from the end of a pale white finger, then a round red sphere travelling through the air between finger and vial, then a splotch on dark glass. He heals the cut on his skin, wordlessly, and the skin stitches itself back together, leaving no seam behind.
Bellatrix Black unwraps her child before Lord Voldemort, unquestioningly, exposing the lace and cotton white garment that covers the small body. Delphini's hands are fisted tightly, just under her chin. Mother's gestures are so smooth, so precise, that Delphini is sure her parents have discussed whatever is happening here, that no matter how dark this ritual may be, she will not be harmed.
"Hold her arm out, Bella."
Mother does, carefully pulling on her tiny wrist. Then Father holds her small pink hand in his white one, and she automatically opens her palm to wrap it around his thumb. Lord Voldemort hesitates momentarily, as if debating whether or not to allow his own daughter the gesture, whether or not to allow himself the feel of her. It's a fleeting thing, but it's there, Delphini could see it, and she can see it as many times as she likes. Still, he uses the thumb to slide her fingers open and his wand to open a minute slash on her fingertips. Her blood drips bright red, pooling inside the vial, mingling with her father's. Her skin is mended and her body is covered again before she can even cry, and Mother is quick to soothe her when she does.
When she is settled and asleep, Mother wordlessly extends her hand, raising her eyes to Lord Voldemort with such adoration that Delphini wondered if anyone was ever looked at like that in the history of the world. Her blood joins theirs, and the vial is quickly corked and safely stowed within the folds of Lord Voldemort's smoke-like robes.
"My lord," Mother starts, her eyes on her Master's, "why do you need my blood for this? You're so powerful, and she'll be so powerful, what do you need my magic for?" She sounds preternaturally nice, truly amazed by the child that she holds in her arms, amazed by the mere notion of her, let alone her physical existence. She knows it won't last much, but her mother is calm and collected like she never was before, or would be again.
"Because I want her to be safe in her quarters, even if we are not there to protect her. I'll bind our magic to her blood, and it shall live for as long as she does."
"But you'll live forever, Master, and she won't need my protection for long…" At that, Mother lowered her eyes to the porcelain features of her daughter and the delicate shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, as if already missing these hours, these easy hours in which her mind does not run and bite and scream.
And because of it, Bellatrix misses the shadow that crosses Lord Voldemort's crimson eyes. Delphini knows that they had less than a year to live in this moment, and for a second she believed her father knew it too.
The memory ended there, but the Pensieve did not push her up and out, for there was another within the same vial. One of her parents charming the mahogany doors that have kept her safe within her chambers for nearly two decades, using that same vial, then using the remains to bind the veil to her protection. Not that she can let her mind drift through them now. There's too much going on here, in the present, for her to dwell on the past.
Specifically, Sigmund is talking Radagast into pranking James Potter. The insufferable boy is a couple of compartments down the carriage, talking too loudly about his father, and the things he has accomplished, and all that he, himself, will accomplish by the mere virtue of being the Chosen One's son.
"Boys, let him be. He'll get himself into far more trouble if left to his own devices," she tells them.
"Come on, Delphie! You, of all people, are willing to pass on the chance to school that brat?" Sigmund is halfway up from his seat when Delphini uses her magic to sit him back down. "Merlin's beard, Delphini! We're not even in Hogwarts, yet, are you really that keen on getting detention the first Saturday of the year?"
Syrianna bursts out laughing at that, wiping a tear of mirth before she apologises, a knowing glint to her eyes.
"Sorry, Sig. I forgot your parents actually enforce that abhorrent rule," she says, tossing her dark hair over her shoulders.
"What, yours don't? It's the bloody law!"
"The law doesn't really apply in our houses. Out and about, sure," Freya explains, "but under the roofs of certain families, well… the law is a bit more pliable, isn't it?" She winks at her twin brother, who chuckles.
"Only because both your parents can do magic," Sigmund murmurs in his exasperation, "and because you're spoiled rich brats!"
"Oh, don't be so sour about it, Sig," Radagast appeases, "we're not that rich." He laughs, unworried. It's the sort of banter they indulge in only when it's just the five of them, the sort of banter they call friendship and safety.
"Remind me again of how your lucky arses get to practice actual magic instead of sticking to theoretical studies all summer long, and I'll charm an electrical kettle to chase you all over the castle."
They laugh, thinking on the mayhem such an object caused once, in Sigmund's kitchen. Some of them wonder about just how much trouble they could get into for actually charming one to chase Filch.
X
The Great Hall is submerged in excited chatter. Everyone has heard the rumours about the Triwizard Tournament, some students have even heard of plans, actual plans they weren't supposed to know of, but it's not their fault if their parents bring the work home, is it?
Headmistress McGonagall says nothing about the matter before the feast, but she gets up halfway through dessert, and the hall falls silent almost immediately. She takes the floor, demanding their attention with nothing but her gestures. When everyone is quiet, and all eyes are on her, she speaks.
"Hogwarts will be receiving guests this school year," she starts, allowing the murmurs to grow for a moment before continuing, "Wizarding Europe has decided to retrieve one of its oldest traditions, and the responsibility to host it has fallen upon our shoulders. I expect you, all, to prove worthy of it."
She hasn't said it yet, but the Great Hall is quickly filled with the noise from a thousand conversations.
"Oh, settle down! Proving worthy means behaving in all matters and in all instances, and there will be no leniency this coming year," she says, eyeing a selected group of students across the hall, Delphini and Teddy included, "since Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament once more!"
That does it. There's not even the possibility of silence after the announcement, though they all lower their voices just enough to hear of the other school's arrival on October 30th, just a day before the Tournament starts.
There's an eerie crescendo to all of this, Delphini thinks. It seems that whether or not Father lived to see it, the year of her sixteenth anniversary was destined for something. Her namesake stars apparently paving the way for it. Delphinus shines the brightest in September and the Pleiades are best seen in October. Delphini is well aware of what happened the last time October 31st was considered of significance by her Father. The fact that the tournament will start on that very day bodes nothing good as far as she is concerned. But she has no plan, no instructions. She has a letter, and a prophecy, and a box full of memories, but nothing palpable, and she is secretly glad about it. Though she knows something awaits her inside Gaunt Shack, she has no true intention of bringing it to light. Maybe, just maybe, if she does nothing, if she remains still, nothing will happen. Perhaps she can just see the calendar change and hope everything turns out fine.
Except things are not fine to begin with, for there are words gnawing their way through the crowd and all the way to her ears.
The rumours begin to run again, clinging to the usual targets in their sticky paths of prejudice and hatred, numbed by the years but ever present. The world has kept revolving around the sun, has done so for fifteen years since the fall of the Dark Lord and his minions, yet the hatred endures, living still.
Among the conversations, it's easy for Delphini to pick up scraps here and there, and even easier to listen to the students' thoughts. The rumours are all too alive, she realizes, this won't be an easy year for her, nor for any student unlucky enough to share a surname with a Death Eater. They're quick to list them all. All those sons and daughters to the Dark Lord's servants, dead, pardoned or locked up in Azkaban, it matters not. Grandsons and granddaughters as well, cousins, brothers, sisters, they are all the same in the rumours. It matters not that fifteen years have passed, it matters not that the children in this hall were mostly born after the war had ended, it matters not that some have befriended children born to the other side, it matters not that some families were ripped apart by the war and stitched back together by such children.
It matters not that they are only children, as it had mattered not before.
"It's not like there's a piece of Lord Voldemort around," she hears, somewhere behind her, not far from where she sits, "they can't bring him back. Plus they needed Potter for that, and he's not a student here anymore."
"His son is. Blood is blood, right? And there is that Malfoy boy, who supposedly has Voldemort's blood." The response is ushered, but the girl, for it is a girl's voice, seems certain about it. "That's why his mother is so sick, haven't you heard?"
And then the rumours truly rise, in minds and voices alike, spreading from that point behind her back, all around, infecting the entirety of the Great Hall.
Dessert tastes bitter in Delphini's mouth, the portion she has eaten already turns in her stomach, threatening to come up. She swallows her nausea, forcing her mind to shut. She raises walls, locks gates, creates wide open skies of stars over dark peaceful seas, finding her peace in the void, in the silence. In the cold.
She finds her peace, and she keeps her red rage inside, locked in that corner of her mind where the darkest parts of her linger, chained to the back wall. She cannot make sure that these foul rumours die here, right now, even if she can silence them for a while. She cannot tell the truth, not here, not like this, for it will endanger her family, and she is not there to protect them.
But retaliation is dear and near to her heart, and vengeance tastes too good in her tongue and is quick to erase the bitterness.
Her right hand slithers inside her robes, grasping for her bone white wand. Quietly, being absolutely still, she sets her mind free, and sets it to hunt. It's an agile thing, skipping from mind to mind, barely disturbing the surface, like a bird drinking from a pond mid-flight. A thing turned vengeful when it finds the stickiness of filth left behind by the rumours about Scorpius and Astoria. At that, she strikes. A tight grip on her wand and a silent scream in her mind, and the student chokes, stutters, bangs a knee on the table, spills a drink. A hundred minute misfortunes, simple little things going wrong, yet they cast a shadow of something ominous, something larger, something crouched in the dark, waiting.
Then, she locks her mind inside itself once more, settling it, cooling it. Again, she chains the rabid, dark beast that lives inside her, establishing control. She fears it still, fears the day she might lose control, fears the day it might escape and run wild, but she will not deny it, as she will not deny what she is.
She is dark, not of the darkness. She is vengeful, not cruel. She is Delphini, not the Augurey.
X
Hogwarts, September 7th, 2013
Delphini is busy dripping honey on her toast exactly until it reaches the crust when Teddy sits by her side and pokes her on the ribs, which earns him a smack on the hand with long sticky fingers. Radagast and Freya don't even bother, but Sigmund laughs openly while Syrianna chastises both Teddy and Delphini for ruining her book with specks of honey and crumbs.
"It's Saturday, Syri. You can drop your books for breakfast," Delphini tells her.
"You really should drop your books while you can. It's only been a week and I'm already sick of books," Teddy adds, running his fingers through is blue hair, making a mess in the process.
"Teddy," Syrianna says, with her sternest, most professorial glare, "you have OWLs this year. You're supposed to keep your nose in a book at all times. I'll help you make a schedule-"
"No, thank you! There's absolutely no need for a studying schedule. I'm surviving this my way, which is slightly chaotic, alas, but it works." He has an impossibly smug smirk on his face, but he is not so conceited as to not help Syrianna clean her book.
"You're a Prefect, Teddy. Try not to be obvious about the fact that you haven't got a clue about what you're doing," Delphini teases, using her best eye roll.
"Zip it, Delphie, you're just jealous that you are not a Prefect."
"I'm too good for it, and that's final," she answers, taking a bite off her toast.
She had missed this during the summer. These easy hours with Teddy and her housemates, messing about during the weekends, swimming in the lake while it's warm enough, walking about the grounds, writing home together in the library.
First years always stare for the first few weeks, but they get used to it, just like those before them did. Delphini Lestrange is not a student to be messed with, but she has a small pack of people that are allowed to laugh with her, and, what's more, at her. Delphini Lestrange walks far past the line of misbehaviour every so often, but is never quite caught. Delphini Lestrange is a mean Beater that plays Quidditch in a reckless and merciless way, yet does not land players in the Hospital Wing just for the fun of it. Delphini Lestrange is in the good graces of the faculty simply because she is the top student of her year, some say the best the school has seen in a long while. Those are the other things they'll get used to about her, as her charm tangles them in her web of grace and poise.
She notices Teddy's attention drifting away. He isn't paying attention to James Potter tough, who is too busy being loud, too busy showing off to his friends, bragging about his flying, or of how he'll make Gryffindor's team this year, just like his father did. She is secretly happy when a bunch of older students challenge him to play with them. She has seen them play; they'll teach him a couple of things about Quidditch. And boasting.
But Teddy couldn't care less. His thoughts are entirely focused on a blonde beauty sitting amidst a bunch of redheads.
Weasleys, she thinks, internally rolling her eyes. They seem to behave like a pack at all times. There's never just one of them.
Among the red though, there's a long and soft mane of pale blond hair. Not silvery blond like that of the Malfoys. No, this pale blond has golden undertones playing in the light, apparently having figured out how to capture sunlight in its locks. The girl is more than simply beautiful; she's a stunning creature, even if she's only thirteen. She is pale, but there's an appealing tan undertone to her skin, unlike Delphini, who has shadows of pink and blue to her complexion.
Victoire, they have named her. Born on the second anniversary of her parent's demise, it seems oddly fitting to Delphini that Teddy's attention would be split between the two of them. Where Delphini is the darkness and the moon, that girl is sun made flesh.
When Victoire turns her head towards them, there's a pair of big blue eyes to her perfectly oval face with high cheek bones. She still has the roundness of childhood to her features, but her Veela ancestry is plain to see.
Inside her chest, a little something twitches, hurting just a little. Delphini doesn't think on it long though, because Radagast's dark blue eyes are on her, and he has that awkward little smirk that makes her struggle about smiling back. She does anyway, and her right hand flies up to gather a couple of loose curls behind her ear, which earns both of them the barest hint of pink on their cheeks.
X
She sits quietly in the Headmistress' office, not long after lunch. Professor Slughorn had stopped by their spot along the table and told her that her presence was required elsewhere. She's waiting now, looking at the portrait behind the high chair, from where a man with moon-shaped glasses, a long silver beard and a kind smile observes her. Headmaster Dumbledore, she knows.
He seems to be highly interested in her. She remembers his frame from previous visits to this office, although she has made sure to keep at bay as much as possible. But this portrait didn't stay asleep like the others. Well, as asleep as they can pretend to be. No, Professor Dumbledore was simply not in his frame the other times she was here. She wonders why, but her thoughts are quickly derailed, for she feels another pair of eyes on her.
There is another portrait paying attention to her. A much younger man, with a hooked nose and runny black hair. He does not look at her with kind eyes, Headmaster Snape never does. His eyes are fixed on her, she can feel them burrowing into the back of her head, even when she tries to ignore him. Almost as if he's trying to use Legilimency to get into her mind. This portrait never pretends to be sleeping when she's here. It will either stare at her menacingly the entire time she's here or leave its frame soon after she comes inside. She wonders if the portraits know of her secret, if they too have made the connection Mrs. Tonks made. She hopes not, and gulps as she swallows the memory of that night.
When she tires of Headmaster Snape's inquisitorial glances, she asks his portrait what on Merlin's beard is bothering him, turning to him as she throws her hair back and then pulls it over her right shoulder. She stares at him, square in the eye, her eyebrows an interrogation mark on her forehead. She could swear the portrait shivered at her way, but he gives her no answer.
The click of the opening lock behind her interrupts her tête-à-tête with the greasy haired man, and draws Delphini's eyes to the figure clad in tartan and a green cape entering the room.
"Good evening, Miss Lestrange. I trust you have enjoyed your first week back."
"I have, thank you," she couldn't keep the small smile off her lips if her life depended on it, "I hope you have too." She has to clench her mouth shut and stop her nose from scrunching. Headmistress McGonagall is an intrepid Quidditch enthusiast, and she is all for Gryffindor, which shan't earn Delphini any leniency on the matter at hand.
This first week of school, Slytherin and Gryffindor opened hostilities with an absolutely out of control Quidditch match. There was some sort of mix up with their practice schedules and both teams were assigned Wednesday afternoon. Since none were keen on giving up the field and both teams were short on players, because try-outs aren't until October, the rules of the Quidditch match that ensued were distorted past recognition on what turned out to be a free for all fight on broomsticks with flying balls as weapons. Punishment has been doled out in hefty doses, including searching for the Quaffle on foot together, and taking turns trying to find the Golden Snitch, that no one could quite catch since Gryffindor's last Seeker graduated and Slytherin's was knocked off his broom and senses early on.
Delphini isn't quite sure why she's the only player here, so her brain starts picking itself apart, looking for other reasons. There's an entire series of pranks no one can prove she's the author of, but then none so serious that would warrant a scolding by the Headmistress herself.
"You should know that I have been made aware of your true parentage."
That was not the opening statement she expected, and hearing it feels like having the floor pulled from beneath her feet. She nearly chokes on her breath, her tongue fighting her mouth, her throat suddenly dry.
"Mrs. Tonks wrote a most disturbing letter a few weeks ago. I have taken my time to digest it, and I conferred with Potter regarding the claims it contained. He assured me that you were fully aware of it, which is why I'm having this conversation with you."
She is calm and collected, her remarks hold no threat to Delphini, but the hairs at the back of her head rise nonetheless.
"You conferred with Potter about my parentage?"
She sounds far more hesitant than she would like to, on the verge of stuttering actually, but she is quite simply jarred. This is not how she had imagined the news would be received, at all. It's just her and the Headmistress, there's no one here to take her away.
At that, her mind is quick to shake the fog off, for there may be someone at Malfoy Manor right now to take her family away, to ensure that she returns to nothing and no one. Her biggest fear swallows her whole for a second, and she lets it, only to come bursting out of the monster's belly, her mind sharp, her senses heightened, her body ready.
"Have you disclosed this information to anyone else?" Now she sounds far too aggressive and that is enraging in itself, for if she is to escape this unharmed she must regain control.
"No, I have not," Minerva answers, sternly, "nor do I have any intention of doing so. I dislike that I've been kept in the dark about such grave matters, but I understand the motives, all things considered. A secret shared by many soon stops being a secret."
The room falls silent. She does not trust Headmistress McGonagall, even if her mind reads true. Delphini isn't sure where Headmistress McGonagall intends to lead this conversation, so she takes the bellicose path, for turmoil seems to be her element.
"And now that you know precisely who I am, the question is, I guess, will you judge me for my blood? Will you judge me for my father? Will you deny me a proper education because of him?"
She's being too harsh, and she knows it, but if she gets suspended somehow, even if she does get expelled and ends up depriving herself of an education, then she'll be closer to being home, and to being sure that her family is safe. There's another possibility on which she dares dwell, but that involves certain expulsion for invading the Headmistress's mind forcefully, not to mention having half the Ministry come looking for her, and that means endangering her family anyway, as well as giving up any chance to retrieve the things she keeps in the Chamber. Minerva McGonagall reclaims her attention from the plotting to the present.
"Let's be clear here, Miss Lestrange," she hesitates momentarily, because she now knows that it is not right to address her as such, "your actions inside this school and on the grounds that surround it are much more of a liability when it comes to being expelled than whoever your parents are." Her lips become thinner, a straight line across an absolutely serious face. "I suggest you ask your cousin how I judged him."
That strikes her to the core. Draco never talks of the year he spent running back and forth between Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor. He holds Headmistress McGonagall in high regard, she knows that, but he never told her exactly why. She understands now.
"You let him return. You made it possible for him to graduate despite..."
"Despite his role in all the terrible things that happened here at Hogwarts the last two years of the war. I gave him the only permission to come and go every morning and every evening this school has ever issued. I didn't know why he had to do so; I now presume it had something to do with you. What I did know was that he would be safer sleeping in his own bed at night. The year of '99 was not easy inside these walls for those that stood with Potter, let alone for those that stood against him. The Malfoys managed to stand somewhere in the middle at the end, one could only imagine what that year would have been like for Draco had he stayed with the other students."
There's not much Delphini can say to that. She keeps a tight leash on her wrath, on her will to destroy something just so that she can get outside, just so that she can get home and be assured of her family's well-being. She allows her mind to tentatively reach the Headmistress's mind, probing it gently. An invasion is out of the question, but a simple scouting should do no harm. The Headmistress is no Occlumens, and there are no lies to her words when Delphini gently peruses her thoughts.
For reasons that Delphini does not understand, Minerva McGonagall has not set the entire Ministry for Magic on her family, has not alerted the whole of Wizarding Britain to the blood that runs in her veins, and she cannot fathom why.
As it turns out, she need not take the bellicose path, not yet at least. There's no one coming for her, no one coming for her family. Her body is still charged with adrenaline, pumped over and over by her running heart, but she calms her mind, subdues her fight, and silences the tune of wrath that played already in her head.
Headmistress McGonagall speaks again, bringing her mind to focus, despite the rush in her veins.
"I have high hopes for you, Miss Lestrange, more so now. It would bring me great joy to see you live up to them. You could truly be the start of something new."
Delphini sits up straighter at that, keeping her throat from gulping. The hidden truth in that statement has cold fingers running up and down her back. But she alone heard the prophecy, there is no way for the Headmistress to know about it. Not even her family knows what the orb sang to her, so she forces her dread down.
"I will not hinder you because of your blood, and I shall not disclose your true ancestry to anyone, unless you wish me to. Do you wish me to inform the faculty or any professor in particular?"
"I do not, Headmistress. I don't think that would end well." She hides a little smirk, thinking of Professor Trelawney, who is scared stiff of her anyway, thinking of Professor Longbottom, so hesitant when she's about him, thinking of Professor Slughorn and of how quickly he'd dissolve Slug Club for the remainder of her time at Hogwarts, just so that he would not have her in his ranks without actually denying her the position.
"Well, then, this matter is settled. That being said, you heard the announcement the other day," her tone becomes pedagogical, like when she's conveying the most important details during a Transfiguration lesson, "the Triwizard Tournament is returning to Hogwarts and I'm counting on your considerable influence over the House of Slytherin to keep events such as those of last Wednesday from happening. I need not tell you how important it is that we do well this time around. It has been banned twice already, and I would not see it banned a third time on my watch."
"Thank you, Headmistress, for trusting me." Their eyes meet meaningfully as she speaks, and Minerva bows her head, acknowledging all the things Delphini conveys with her eyes that cannot be put into words.
Now that the matter seems to be closed, Delphini is in a hurry to leave. She wants to write home, maybe even make a call through the Floo Network. She knows that there are no Aurors coming for her family, but her mind won't settle down until she hears from them. But as she moves to stand and ask to be excused, Minerva delivers another piece of unexpected information, taking a deep breath before she speaks, as if she has just decided to broach the subject.
"I have something else for you, Miss Lestrange. After talking to Potter, I decided that a letter to your family was in order. Mrs. Malfoy wrote back, with a request."
Delphini hates herself for holding on to the arms of her chair so tightly. Her façade keeps faltering before this woman, and she does not like the feel of it. But her aunt has written back, so she composes herself, crossing her ankles and tucking her feet to the side of the chair, and she listens to Minerva.
"Your aunt wrote to me, asking that, now that I know about you, I show you to the burial place of your parents. Would you like me to?"
The floor could have come apart beneath her and swallowed her whole and she wouldn't know. The sky could be falling on their heads and her mind wouldn't register it. Her head is nodding before she can say a word, her yearning clear for the Headmistress to see.
For those two particular portraits on the wall to see. Headmaster Dumbledore, who she can see from where she sits, does not seem surprised by any of this, and Delphini suspects that he has been brought up to speed, or that he somehow already knew. Headmaster Snape, on the other hand, who has been making incredulous noises behind her all along, has just left his frame in such a tempestuous manner that she can hear the other Headmasters and Headmistresses on his way complain of his lack of finesse.
It's all but a detail in the back of her mind though. Her attention completely focused on Minerva's lips, eager to know when she shall be shown to her parents graves. It's a longing she cannot quite explain, a deeply implanted need in her soul, almost the physical missing of a part of her. She knows there will be no cool yet soft touch, no smells of roses and smoke and iron, no hands of long fingers. She knows there are no bodies left, and yet, she yearns for them. For the parents she never truly met; the parents she loves and hates all at once, admires and fears in equal measure. For the two shades of darkness that explain her own nature in its purest state.
"I'll be waiting for you tomorrow, then, after breakfast. You're free to go now, Miss Lestrange, try and stay out of trouble."
She doesn't offer any sort of reply, merely blinks in astonishment. This, too, is not how she expected it to be. She takes her time getting up and ready to leave. By the door, she turns her body slightly, looking over her shoulder. There's one loose end to be taken care of, properly tied so that no one can follow the thread to the centre of the labyrinth.
"What about the portraits?"
Not just Dumbledore and Snape, she thinks, looking up to the walls covered in former masters of this castle, they all know now. How many of them have other portraits elsewhere?
Minerva McGonagall nearly smiles, though there's a glint of worry to her eyes. She is quick to reassure her.
"They are bound to the service of the Headmasters of Hogwarts, and to keeping their secrets. They will not speak of this. Ever. I wouldn't have talked to you in this room were it any other way."
X
Forbidden Forest, September 8th, 2013
Delphini and the Headmistress have just stepped into the woods, and already the light seems to dwindle. It's the thick canopies of the tall trees, hiding the ground from the sunlight, keeping it moist, trapping the cold.
"You'll do well to pay attention from here on, Miss Lestrange. We have charmed the path to your parents' graves, and those that do not know about them will get lost. Even those that might know what's in here will find themselves walking in circles. You must know precisely where you're going in order to stay on this path."
Delphini nods, making sure that she commits every detail to memory, every turn, every tree, every rock that marks the way. There is no real path, there's not even a creature's trail to follow. They walk deeper and deeper into the woods, wands at the ready should any creatures cross their way.
It feels like they have been walking for over an hour, though Delphini can't quite tell for sure, her mind to busy memorising their turns. The light is scarce now, the air seems a bit different here, it's colder, and there are no birds chirping about. Only silence.
She lets her mind carefully slip into the thoughts of the Headmistress, and learns that she hasn't come here since the day of the burial. Why would she, anyway? She learns that this eerie feeling had been in the air then as well, and that Minerva disliked it then as much as she does now.
She comes back into her own mind, fighting a little smile. This feeling, eerie as it may be, does not scare her. It's familiar in its darkness.
Suddenly, there's a clearing amidst the woods. They walk into it apparently out of the blue. The light isn't as faint here, there are fewer branches blocking its path from the sky up above. Still, it's only a simple clearing, the same as so many others in this forest.
Until she sees a flat stone in the centre of it, where nothing grows on the ground. The earth is absolutely barren around it, even the wind that manages to permeate the woods seems to blow the leaves away from the stone.
An unmarked grave, she understands, or as close to it as they could manage. A bunch of goody two-shoes couldn't just bury someone and leave without some sort of marking, she figures. It probably never even crossed their minds to simply Vanish the bodies into non-being.
"I will give you some privacy, Miss Lestrange, but I'm afraid there isn't much to see," Minerva hesitates minutely, and Delphini can feel a twinge of regret in her thoughts, "I'll wait for you just outside the clearing, come meet me when you're ready to leave."
"Thank you, Headmistress." She makes good use of her manners, bowing her head in recognition, hands crossed before her body, when, in fact, she is looking for a way in. The second her eyes and the Headmistress's meet, she plunges inside Minerva's mind, looking, searching, rushing before she takes too long, before Minerva realizes the extent of her powers. She just wants to know this one thing before the Headmistress leaves.
She finds it quickly enough, perusing through the memory and then leaving the mind undetected. Her parents' bodies were burnt in a pyre, right here on this clearing, where the flat stone lies. The two of them, she sees in Minerva's memory, fused together by the raging flames, their bones cracking with the logs, their conjoined ashes buried neatly in a small grave, under an unremarkable stone.
Minerva blinks several times, as if trying to shake a disturbing thought, raising a hand to her forehead. Then she leaves, silently, without ever looking over her shoulder. Delphini watches her do so, standing very still, her hair and her robes waving in the breeze that manages to reach her through the trees.
She walks to the stone, despite the urge to run that has taken over all of her but for the minute amount of self-awareness that forces her to walk. The Headmistress can still listen to her steps, can still hear her altered breathing, and she will not give her the tinniest insight into herself.
The stone is the size of a large book, not so flat now that she can observe it properly. There are no man made markings on it. No runes, no letters, no carvings of any sort.
She casts all sorts of Silencing spells, ensuring her privacy, though not daring to abscond herself from view. Headmistress McGonagall knows exactly where she is, and Delphini somewhat trusts her not to pry.
She kneels in front of the stone, feeling the damp soil through her robes. She places both hands on the stone, focusing on the sharp contrast of her pale porcelain skin against the dark grey of the rock. She lets her fingers caress it, and even if it is cold, it is not familiar. There's no magic to it, nothing happens when she touches it. This is merely a place where her parents remains are, the stone nothing but a way to find them in the clearing. She lets her weight press her palms to the slab, feeling every crevice, every point, the once sharp edges now dulled by time and weather. Sudden wet specks appear on the rock and on the backs of her hands, and there's a small delay between skin and brain that has her wondering about rain before her brain catches up.
Tears.
In the perfect silence of the clearing, feeling a sort of cold that fails to soothe her, she admits the unthinkable with every tear she spills.
She misses them, craves them, longs for a universe in which they were allowed to see her grow. It's absurd, but that does not rob it of truth. It's paradoxical. She craves them, she misses them, but this simple stone in a clearing, the void of life that surrounds it, gives her the most peace she has known since the night in the Chamber, and the night in Rowle House, and the night with Andromeda. She craves them as much as she fears them. Wants them to live as much as she fears their return.
That hurts her the most. Because she is thankful, in a way, that they are dead, that they never had the chance to raise her. She was given a childhood in return. She was given a family because of it.
She doesn't know how long she stays there, kneeled on her parents' grave. This is all that remains of them, and she hates it and she is glad. A pile of ashes in the ground, under a rock, and she loathes it and she is grateful. Dead and buried that they are, she misses them. Dead and buried that they are, she hopes to never change that.
For her family is neither dead nor buried, and she would not have them in the world where her parents lived.
X
Hogwarts, September 27th, 2013
Time is slow and drags like molasses on a spoon. Delphini counts the days, one by one, watching them pass as nothing unusual happens and never in her life has she been so happy about the unchangeable routine of breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, Quidditch practice, homework, dinner, more homework, and sleep.
Days go by and she does not return to her parents' grave, though she has leave to do so. She doesn't find true comfort in it, not the kind Teddy seems so fond of. Days go by and she does not leave her dorm at night to wander the halls, to look upon the stars up atop the Astronomy Tower, nor to talk to the Bloody Baron. Nights go by and she sleeps unhindered, the scent of rose ever present, her bare feet on the cold stone floor soothing her just before she burrows into the cosiness of her bed. Nights go by and she does not visit the Chamber.
She is carefully letting the days go by, as September dies and October approaches. As Delphinus fades in the sky and the Pleiades start to shine their brightest, and nothing happens for it.
Delphini laughs with her friends, exceeds in the classroom, gives her mischievous side a rest and is made Quidditch Captain for it. Professor Slughorn is truly happy and proud when he extends her the silver badge that she'll display on her robes this year, after a Potions lesson. She is fearful that he recognizes her abilities to lead people as worthy of distinction, but quick to remind herself that she will not act upon them. Not the way Father intended her to.
"I'm sure you'll make House Slytherin proud, Miss Lestrange," he says, all puffed up as though he's the one being distinguished, "and this year you'll have the chance to make Hogwarts proud, seize it." He smiles, holding on to that bit of information for a little longer. Delphini knows he will tell her anyway, but she knows how to play the game of flattery.
"How so, Professor?"
"The Quidditch Cup shall include Durmstrang and Beauxbatons' teams as soon as they arrive, so it will be quite the year!"
She smiles openly, liking the sound of that. The last time there was a Tournament, Quidditch was all but forgotten. There will be many more matches this year then, something to keep everyone busy in between Tournament tasks, she guesses. In her mind, she's already adjusting their training schedule, but Professor Slughorn is not done with her yet.
"I've been wondering, Miss Lestrange, about your future. Such a brilliant mind, such skill, what would you like to do when you leave Hogwarts?"
Delphini fights the gulp in her throat. She doesn't really know what to say. She wants to keep studying magic, or a certain kind of it, but she knows that a supposed Lestrange admitting a keen interest in the Dark Arts will not be well received. So she lies. And she covers the lie in flattery,
"I'm not sure yet, Professor. I'm quite fond of Potions, I may focus on them."
"Hmm, I see. You're a talented potion maker, no doubt," he says, mote to himself than to her, "I noticed that you've kept all your subjects but for Muggle Studies, and that you've taken up Alchemy this year? Quite a vast area of interest."
"Well, you see, sir, I can't imagine myself in a Ministry position. I'd like to keep studying, I just don't know what. Yet…"
She lets her voice falter, not finishing the sentence because she does not like to think of the future. Her future still seems a rather dark one, and she is far too afraid of its possibilities.
Delphini doesn't have to keep lying about what she would truly like to do though, for Professor Slughorn is suddenly anxious to send her on her way to the next class. Her mind picks up on the spike of fear in his, and her own heart drops to the floor when she's allowed a figment of his thoughts.
She isn't the first brilliant student to think a Ministry job dull and bellow her skills. Her father had admitted it thinking the same to Professor Slughorn decades earlier, and the fact that that precise memory is the first thing to pop up in his mind is disturbing for the both of them.
X
Malfoy Manor, October 7th, 2013
Narcissa holds a letter in her hand, comfortably leaning against her husband on the sofa by the fire. The library smells of wood and paper, and Lucius smells of sea, and she is perfectly content.
Delphini hasn't stopped writing to them this time, and that assures Narcissa about her own letter. She is not without worries though.
Her little bird writes, but something feels amiss. She is keeping something from them, Narcissa knows, and she and Lucius have spent many evenings wondering about what truly happened at Rowle House and about the content of the vials.
Narcissa has spent an even greater amount of time thanking their lucky starts that Andromeda's letter caused no real harm. Her precious girl will not be shunned by Minerva, and the faculty will be kept in the dark about the true to Delphini's green eyes.
She can only hope that no one else shall make the connection. Not many people at Hogwarts remember Lord Voldemort in his youth, when he was a handsome and brilliant boy. She figures that, if Slughorn has not made the connection in all these years, over the dining table of the lavish dinner parties he likes to host, he isn't likely to make it now.
So Narcissa allows herself the singular happiness of reading yet another letter from Delphini in Lucius' arms. Even if the Tournament never quite ceases to plague her mind, the memories of last time far too vivid still. Even if she dreams, every now and then, of Delphini lost in a labyrinth. Of her little bird tied down, surrounded by shadows.
X
Hogwarts, October 30th, 2013
There's a perfectly silly grin on Hagrid's face when Madame Olympe comes inside the Great Hall, her height quieting the students for merely a second, before conversation explodes again right behind her. The Beauxbatons students follow her in their impeccably fitted blue uniforms. Their varnished shoes polished until they mirror their surroundings, shaming Hogwarts' plain flats to their unfashionable place. They carry themselves as if they own the floor, with such a graceful countenance that even Headmistress McGonagall is forced to hide her appreciative smile by taking a sip of her goblet.
Durmstrang is not without grace, but they claim the floor they step. They have a belligerent posture, wrapped in their furs, stern faces that seem to judge their peers at all times, and find them lacking. Their Headmaster is curiously smiling, but Delphini sees the façade for what it is. He, too, is a man with clear intentions that has learnt to soften his edges, if only because of his predecessor's ill reputation. He, too, knows how the game of flattery is played.
The newcomers take their seats among Hogwarts students, in small groups, sprinkling the tables with blue and fur-lined-red, and the Great Hall is submerged in excited chatter, riddled with accents and foreign languages. No matter the language, the subject is the same. The will-be champions. There's a sixth year Gryffindor taking bets, not the least concerned about being discreet; his enchanted quill continuously writing, jotting down knuts, sickles and galleons, but also chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, Bertie Bott's beans, and enough Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes articles to give Filch and his cat a stroke then and there.
There is another pervasive subject, of course, and Delphini can feel countless eyes on her. She can hear the thoughts in the room. It's a cacophony of languages, but the rumours are there, spreading. Her name comes up the most often, but so do all of the children of Death Eaters, all of them soiled by the war and the Tournament of '94, even if most of them weren't even born then. They never had a word to say about the families to which they were born, but the shared mind of the room seems to hold their surnames against them.
Once their hunger has been sated, Headmistress McGonagall stands by a tall and ornate box, that readily dissipates into thin air when she uses her wand to tap it, revealing the Goblet of Fire. Its blue flame is bright and high, the very centre of it shining white, closely resembling the dancing mists inside the globe of prophecy. Delphini shivers, but so does most of the room.
"You all know what is at stake in this Tournament. Glory," McGonagall announces, with her wand to her neck, making her voice resound all over the Great Hall, "your name by the side of those of former champions." She lets silence rule for a few seconds before continuing. "Now that all and every champion shall stand alone in these tasks. There is danger to them, you know that, and you'll require magical excellence to surpass them. Only those of age may cast their names into the Goblet of Fire, which shall return three pieces of parchment to us tomorrow."
There's uproar at the announcement. The underage students seem to feel robbed of their fair chance, but the Ministry officials are adamant about the rules. There will be no exceptions, and a considerable amount of students is forced to change their bets, for their candidates won't even be allowed near the Goblet, courtesy of the age line cast around it.
Delphini feels an odd sort of pride that her name had gathered so many, but she is immensely alleviated by the age rule. If she is banned from competing altogether, she has no need for all the lies she would have to use to justify not entering the Tournament.
For she has absolutely no intention of risking the sight of Lord Voldemort at the end.
X
Hogwarts, October 31st, 2013
The Goblet burns green and pink and red and yellow, spitting a piece of parchment at the end. There's an angular writing to it, and McGonagall announces the first champion.
"For Durmstrang… Alina Yusupova!"
A tall girl in red and furs rises, walking predatorily to stand behind the Goblet, as the room cheers. She has piercing, almond-shaped, dark blue eyes and long brown hair, waving down her back as her hips sway.
The Goblet burns in vivid colours once more, and Alina's skin captures all of them, as her eyes reflect the flames and the second piece of parchment that flies out and floats to the Headmistress's hand.
"For Beauxbatons, Louis-Auguste de Noailles!"
The room cheers once more, as a pompous boy takes his place on the dais. His light brown hair all waves, his eyes judging the world from atop his nose, holding a dangerous glint.
When the Goblet burns a third time, calling forth a Slytherin to represent Hogwarts, tensions suddenly run high in the Great Hall. It is a fleeting thing, there for barely a moment, but Delphini watches as students and teachers alike sit straighter, their backs tensing, hands that clench, breaths that stop, laughter that dies just outside the lips.
When Silverius Travers stands, tall and proud and so unmistakably regal in his posture, the hall erupts in cheers and clapping, but no one forgets the silence. He carries himself with a composure that few could mimic, his dark brown eyes already measuring his opponents.
The war is over, but never forgotten. This generation may not bear the Dark Mark, but they carry the same names, and there's a shadow to all of them, a stain to these surnames, dark and deep and clinging, reaching up from the grave and out of prison.
The other champions are happy, though. Slytherins bring something else to the table, they know. Their ruthless ways a formidable challenge in the art of playing the players. The boy in blue eyes him carefully, but the girl in furs has a smile hidden at the corner of her mouth. Delphini can see her thoughts plainly, and the girl from the cold thinks Travers worthy of the fight.
She doesn't realize that she has not taken a decent breath since the selection began until her lungs seem to expand as the flame of the Goblet extinguishes. There's a weight off her shoulders, now that there is no possibility of a fourth champion.
Now that there's no chance of her name being called out. Now that so many students exchange looks, as if they expected her to somehow circumvent the system and enter the Tournament anyway. Now that the stars to her name are finally fading in the night sky.
Author's Note: This one got a little away from me, but oh well. Let me know what you think about it, I'll get back to you.