Lena could hear her own heartbeat as she watched Remus read Astris' account. He was completely focused on it, but there was minimal change to his expression as he learned the history of Hecate's Orb. Lena didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

At last, Remus finished reading and looked at her.

"The Orb," he said slowly, "is Hecate's heart."

Lena nodded. "Which explains why I heard a heartbeat every time I used its power."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, simply staring at her. After awhile, he asked, "I thought you were done with all of this."

A small lump starting to form in her throat, Lena quietly said, "That's what I tried to tell myself. But last summer, when we were doing that first job for Markellos, I met one of them."

"One of who?"

"The Orkístike." She quickly told Remus of her first meeting with Theodora in the restaurant bathroom. When she finished, he was frowning.

"So why did you lie, and say she was just interested in the Medallion?"

Unable to meet his eyes, Lena stared down at her lap. "Because I was scared," she whispered.

She heard Remus release a sound of aggravation. "Lena, when you're scared of something, you can tell me! You're supposed to tell me – it's part of being with some–" He came to an abrupt stop. He was silent for a moment, before softly saying, "You meant scared of what I'd think, didn't you?"

Lena didn't answer.

Remus came over and sat down in front of her, resting his hands of the sides of her legs. "You think I wouldn't love you because of something like that?" he asked gently.

"No," replied Lena, her eyes still fixed downwards. "I was scared that you would wish you didn't."

"Lena," Remus began to say, but she cut him off.

"It tears you up inside, Remus. Makes you feel like your heart is being ripped apart, every minute of every day. And if I was the cause of that–" Lena broke off, shuddering.

There was a pause, then Remus softly cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "You're afraid that one day I might think of you the way you think of Voldemort," he said quietly. "Or how I felt about Sirius for twelve years. I understand. But you wanting to know more about this power–" he lightly touched her chest with his other hand, "– inside of you isn't a terrible thing, Lena. I would never think badly of you for learning about the Dark magic you're bound to."

Sighing, Lena reached up and gently removed Remus' hand from her face. "It's more than that," she said. She bit her lip. "Remus, there is something inside of me that is wrong, and it's not the Nekrosía. It's something that's been there much longer; it's the reason why I first took the Orb." She let go of his hand and buried her own in her lap, closing her eyes. "Sometimes, when things don't go the way I want, I just want to burn everything. Destroy it. Make people suffer. Because if I do that, then I'm not weak. I want other people to feel small." She opened her eyes, looking directly into Remus' eyes. "I like other people feeling small. Feeling tiny, insignificant, stupid, useless. I like being better than them." She pointed to the documents on her desk. "That's why me researching this stuff is bad. Because it allows that sick and twisted thing inside of me to feel vindication. What Astris wrote – that after centuries, I, and I alone, am the person worthy of carrying on this legacy of death and defying the laws of nature – is dangerous for me to read. Because when I'm told that I'm the rightful successor to a woman who was worshipped as a goddess, there is a part of me that believes it."

Once again, Remus just stared at her. Then, after a long moment, he said, "I think it's time to tell you that I haven't been entirely truthful with you either."

Lena blinked. "What?"

He took a deep breath. "You remember when Valeriya first came here last summer and we talked? I wasn't honest with you about what we discussed."

Leaning back against the wall and folding her arms, Lena said, "Go on."

"Valeriya told me she wasn't happy about our relationship. Not because of who I was or anything I'd done, but for the simple fact that you actually loved me."

"Why?" asked Lena, confused.

"She was terrified of what you might do if you ever lost me," answered Remus.

Lena gripped her arms slightly tighter. "You mean, if you died?"

Remus nodded. "She said if I was killed, revenge on those responsible for my death wouldn't be enough for you. She thought you would completely lose control of yourself and become a monster."

"A monster?" Lena raised an eyebrow. "What, like Voldemort?"

Remus hesitated. "Not exactly," he said carefully. "She was more referring to what you just spoke of – that something inside of you. You see, Lena, Valeriya thinks the main reason Voldemort taught you Occlumency was to make that something only a part of you, instead of an entirety."

Lena's stomach twisted. "Why would she think that?"

"Because when she first met you, she could see that you were angry and full of hate. You had a clear potential to become something terrible, someone who lived only for destruction and pain. But you kept that rage inside of you under control – the way Voldemort had trained you as an Occlumens was specifically designed for you to compartmentalise your thoughts and emotions, to stop you becoming overwhelmed by it all." Remus appeared to be trying to suppress a grimace as he finished, "He was trying to stop you from becoming a monster."

Closing her eyes, Lena let her head fall back against the wall as she tried to process what Remus had just told her. She had always assumed Voldemort had taught her Occlumency from such a young age because it was something she could learn without a wand. Now, she was being told he'd had an ulterior motive. But was it because he was worried that an out-of-control Lena could prove a threat to his power and plans, or had it been more altruistic than that? Had he truly wanted what was best for her? Had he genuinely cared for his young pupil?

The urge to hit something, break something, swelled inside Lena. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't this man, who had been a monster to everyone else, have had equally little compassion for her? He should never have interfered the night Bellatrix punished her for accidently interrupting one of the Death Eaters' meetings. He should have allowed Bellatrix's abuse to continue until she went too far, and either killed her daughter or turned her into an irreparable, destructive force. At least then she wouldn't have had to deal with an impossible internal war for the rest of her life.

But because he did save her all those years ago, Lena had become the woman she was now. The one that Remus loved. The friend that Maggie and Rolf adored. The older sibling Harry never had to turn to. And as she thought of them, the violent feeling inside Lena subsided.

She opened her eyes. "Why didn't Valeriya ever tell me any of this herself?" she questioned. Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Lena hadn't finished. "And why didn't you tell me once you knew?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably. After a few seconds of silence, he replied, "In your aunt's case, I think she didn't want to give you reason to feel any more affection for Voldemort than you already did. And as for me?" He ran a hand through his hair. "The same reason you didn't tell me about the Orkístike: fear."

Lena's heart sunk. "Of me?"

"No!" exclaimed Remus, looking horrified. "No, never of you. I mean fear of myself – of what I might one day potentially do to you. That I could be the cause of you doing something unthinkable." He put his hands on her knees. "You said it yourself, remember? When you showed up at my shack all those months ago – if there was any impediment to us being together, you would destroy it. And what greater obstacle to love is there but death?"

To someone who didn't know Lena, it would have sounded ridiculous – trying to destroy death itself because it had stolen what she loved most. But for the two people sitting in the study, it was a possibility that could not be ignored.

"Hecate tried to bend Time to her will for the love of Phorcys," murmured Lena.

"And it destroyed her," said Remus quietly.

Neither of them said anything else for thirty seconds or so. Then Lena broke the silence.

"How can you stand being with me?" she whispered. "Doesn't it suffocate you? Don't you find it oppressive, the way I feel about you?"

To Lena's surprise, Remus laughed. "Sweetheart, I never thought anyone would love me half as much as you do – let alone someone I adored too. As soon as I understood how werewolves are seen in our society, I thought I would lead a solitary life, especially after the deaths of my parents and everything that happened with James, Lily, Sirius and Peter. So understand this, Lena: there are times you will frustrate me. Infuriate me. Bring me to the brink of insanity. But you will never make me wish I didn't love you."

A warm feeling spread throughout Lena, and she launched herself forward and hugged Remus tightly. He returned the embrace with equal strength. They held each other for a full minute, then Remus released her.

"Now," he said, "what are we going to do with this whole Hecate business?"

Lena cocked her head. "Do?"

Remus nodded. "Yes. Are you planning on retrieving the Orb and taking over the world tomorrow, or do you need another week to formulate your religious edicts as humanity's new divine ruler?" He was struggling to hold back a grin.

Lena tried to glare at him, but the smile on her face made it difficult. "Shut up."

"No, seriously, you're going to need idols made in your likeness so people can have them in their houses to worship you at– Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder where she had smacked it. "Is that your idea of godly punishment?"

Lena shook her head. "You are such an arsehole," she told him.

"I must be," said Remus with a smirk. "Because you have said so, and your judgement, of course, is infallible."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Absolutely not," said Remus, scooting over so he was sitting beside her. "I'm not going anywhere."

Two nights later, Lena and Remus were at Maggie's small, rented cottage in Pembrokeshire, having dinner with her and Oliver for Maggie's nineteenth birthday. As neither Maggie nor Oliver were particularly enthusiastic cooks, they had ordered take-away from a small Thai restaurant in the town – both a new and positive experience for their guests.

"Okay," said Lena, digging into her noodles, "I'm definitely investigating the Thai options in London next time I'm there." She glanced at Remus thoughtfully. "Alternatively, I could just buy you a recipe book for your birthday next month."

Remus, swallowing his mouthful of red curry, shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that."

"So you actually do enjoy cooking?" asked Maggie. "You don't just do it because Lena's lazy?"

"Rude," muttered Lena.

"I suppose you could call it a pleasure born out of necessity," said Remus. "Also, I spent a lot of time unemployed and living in a shack, so it's nice to have more control over what I eat than just picking which type of tinned soup I'll have."

"Fair enough," said Maggie.

Remus looked across the table to Oliver. "Any news on whether Silverton will be fit for the match on Friday?" he inquired.

Oliver snorted. "Considering he still only has a total sum of two and a half fingers across both hands, I'd say he's still a little way off."

Three weeks ago, Stuart Silverton, the Keeper for Puddlemere United, had been the recipient of a new pair of Keeper gloves from his fiancé – the issue being that when he put on the gloves, they had started eating his fingers. Revenge, the word was, for his infidelity with the secretary of the official Puddlemere United Fan Club. The Healers at St. Mungo's had been trying to grow back his fingers, but the process was slow-going.

However, what it did mean was that Oliver had finally played his first games of professional Quidditch, and had proved a great success. Remus had read in the sports section of the Daily Prophet there were already rumours that if Puddlemere didn't promote him to the regular line-up for the next season, there were several other clubs willing to offer it.

"So how are you feeling about your chances against the Wasps?" asked Remus.

Oliver swallowed a mouthful of his chicken. "Pretty good. Their Chasers have been on pretty poor form this season. Their Seeker's the main concern."

"Speaking of Seekers," said Maggie, "how's Harry? The next task is next week, right?"

Lena awkwardly looked down at her plate, and Remus could tell she was feeling guilty that she hadn't responded to any of Harry's letters since December.

"I'm sure his friends are giving him all the help they can," he said. "And in Hermione Granger's case, I'd imagine that's quite a bit."

"I wonder who would have been Hogwarts Champion if they'd held the tournament last year," mused Oliver. He looked at Lena. "Well, probably you."

"What makes you think I would have entered?" asked Lena, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't exactly need the prize money."

"No, but it would have been great opportunity to point out how much smarter and more talented you were than everybody else," Maggie pointed out.

Lena shrugged. "I'm sure I would have enjoyed finding ways to complete the tasks," she admitted. "But I don't think such a public arena would suit me."

"That's understandable," said Oliver, nodding. "The way that Skeeter woman's been going after Harry is awful. "

"She'd be right at home with the Muggle tabloids," remarked Maggie. "Sensationalist, factually inaccurate..."

"I suppose a press industry with integrity is too much for any society to ask for," said Lena wryly.

The four of them continued to complain about the Daily Prophet as they finished their main courses. Once the plates were empty, they cleared the table and Oliver brought over a large chocolate cake. Remus' eyes lit up at the sight of it – which did not go unnoticed by Lena, who covered her mouth as she snickered.

The candles on the cake were lit and they sang 'Happy Birthday'. Maggie blew them out, and the love in her eyes was unmistakable as she pecked Oliver on the lips.

Remus smiled to himself. It was all so normal – friends gathering for dinner to celebrate a birthday, talking about work, eating cake. But of course, said friends were a professional Quidditch player, a werewolf, and the daughter of two convicted felons who had become the heir to an ancient and powerful Dark sorceress.

'It might not be everyone's idea of normal,' thought Remus. 'But it's our normal."

Saturday 11 March, 1995:

Lena nervously watched Healer Ghali as the older woman studied the contents of the three small cauldrons in front of her. A drop of Lena's blood had been added to each, and she was about to find out whether the Moramortis had done its job.

Finally, after a few minutes of waiting, Healer Ghali spoke. "Well, it's good news."

Lena let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Really?"

Healer Ghali nodded. "The Nekrosía remains present but inactive, and your own magic dominant. And the Moramortis doesn't appear to have affected your health in any other way – well, with the exception of what we discussed last year. I assume you haven't had a period since you started taking it?"

"No," replied Lena with a small smile, despite the familiar uncomfortable twinge in her stomach. "And I can't say I miss them."

Healer Ghali chuckled. "I can understand that," she told Lena. "Unlike most women I know, I'm counting down the days until I hit menopause."

Lena looked at her curiously. "I never asked – do you have any children?"

"No," answered Healer Ghali, "but I have nine nieces and nephews, so I get about as much interaction with children as I desire." She hesitated. "Forgive me for asking – it's really none of my business – but the man who was sitting with you in the waiting room–"

"Is my partner," said Lena, knowing where the Healer was going with this, "and is well aware of my infertility. We had that discussion right at the beginning, and we're both okay with it."

"Right," said Healer Ghali, nodding quickly. "Good. I just..." She cleared her throat. "I'm just glad to hear you're doing well with that side of things too. From a medical perspective, I mean – your emotional well-being, obviously, plays an important role in all of this."

"Of course," said Lena. "Don't worry, I didn't think you were crossing a line or anything."

"Great," said Healer Ghali, relieved. There was another pause, then she asked, "So you'd say, generally speaking, you're happy?"

Lena considered this for a moment, and the memory of the previous day sprung to mind.

"Come on," said Lena, tugging Remus up the steps of the Musée d'Orsay. "There's less than an hour until it closes!"

Remus reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled towards the entrance. "You know," he said, "we could just go home early. In fact, I would have been just as happy to spend the day at home with you." He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I wouldn't have minded if we hadn't even left the bedroom."

Lena rolled her eyes. "We have sex practically every day – more, sometimes. That's why we're doing something more special than that for your birthday."

"We have been to Paris before," he reminded her as they went inside the Musée. "Several times."

"We were working then," argued Lena. "Today's been your first time to actually see the city."

"And it's been wonderful," said Remus patiently. "The Eiffel Tower, the Notre-Dame, the Arc de Triumph–"

"Triomphe," Lena automatically corrected him.

"–but I don't exactly know much about Muggle art," continued Remus, ignoring her interjection, "so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to get out of this."

Lena smirked. "So consider it a learning experience, Professor." She grabbed an information brochure. "Now, who shall we start your education with, the Realists or the Impressionists?"

"Well, if we've got less than an hour, why don't you just show me your favourites?" suggested Remus.

Grinning, she took his hand again and set off. "Then to the Monet collection we go!"

They spent at least half an hour dwelling over Claude Monet's paintings of gardens, water lilies, haystacks, and the Parisian cityscape. Well, dwelling in the sense that Lena eagerly offered her analysis of each artwork and the wider artistic style of Impressionism, while Remus nodded and said, "Yes, dear."

Once they'd finished with the Monets, they wandered through the rest of the gallery.

"There's certainly a lot more naked women in Muggle art than in Wizarding," Remus commented quietly.

"I suspect the sentience of the artwork prompts most Wizarding artists to think twice," replied Lena drily. "Come on, we should get going, the Musée is going to close in–" She stopped when she realised he was no longer walking beside her. "Remus?"

She looked around and found him standing a few metres away, staring at a painting by the artist Vincent van Gogh. She walked over and stood next to Remus, smiling when she saw his wonderstruck expression – the first time she'd seen it since they'd entered the Musée.

"You like this one?" she said softly.

Remus slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off the painting.

"It's called 'Starry Night Over the Rhone'," Lena told him. "By Vincent van Gogh, a Dutch painter who lived about a hundred years ago." She studied the piece for a moment. "Personally, I prefer 'The Starry Night', but I believe that one's kept in New York now. Of course, I've only seen prints of it, but I think it just captures something completely transcendent–"

"Lena," said Remus, "please stop talking."

She blinked. For about half a second, she took offence to his request. Then she understood. Sometimes, a picture was worth a thousand words. So instead of saying anything else, Lena simply put her arm around Remus and rested her head on his shoulder, taking in 'Starry Night Over the Rhone' with him. And in that moment, she knew if a hundred Dementors were to suddenly descend upon them, she could keep them all at bay.

"You know what?" said Lena. "I am." She glanced down at her arm, where Healer Ghali had drawn her blood for the tests. "So, regarding the Moramortis: I assume I still need daily injections?"

"At present, yes," said Healer Ghali. "We are currently working on a new version that would only have to be taken once every six months, but we're still quite some way off from perfecting that."

"Well, I'm just grateful there's a treatment at all," said Lena. "I'd have been dead almost a year ago without it, and considering this past year has been the best in my life, that really would have sucked." Her expression became uncharacteristically earnest. "Thank you."

Healer Ghali smiled warmly. "Lena, the research we did for creating the Moramortis actually led to a number of breakthroughs for treating and potentially curing several other blood-related maladies. I won't be so insensitive as to thank you for being sick, but please know that your condition has been the catalyst for helping many others fight theirs."

A small lump formed in Lena's throat. Finding out the stupid mistake she'd made when she was eleven had actually had some sort of positive consequence was surprisingly emotional. "That's... that's wonderful," she said hoarsely.

Healer Ghali finished the check-up and started to walk Lena back to the waiting room. On their way, however, the Healer was suddenly called away because of an emergency, so they bid each other a hasty goodbye, and Lena entered the waiting room alone. Her entrance was immediately noticed by Remus, who quickly stood up to greet her.

"How did it go?" he asked, concern written across his face.

Lena smiled at him. "It's all good," she replied, resting her hands on his biceps. "There hasn't been any deterioration or anything. I just need to keep taking the Moramortis."

At once, his worry was replaced with relief. "Great," he told her, putting his hands on her waist. "That's great news."

"Yeah." She tilted her head to the side. "How would you feel about an early lunch?"

Remus chuckled. "I would feel very pleased about that."

Lena picked up her bag which she had left on the seat next to Remus and put its strap over her shoulder. Then she linked her other arm with Remus'.

"Fantastic," she said. "Let's go see what's on offer in the realm of Swedish cuisine."

After Lena's trip to the IHO, she and Remus started working again. The jobs they were offered took them all across Europe, and in some cases even a little further. They, amongst other things, retrieved an ancient magical hammer from Norway, a cursed emerald pendant from Ireland, and a set of enchanted medieval robes from Turkey; they evicted a troublesome poltergeist from a cathedral in Portugal and captured a runaway Erumpent in Morocco; and they persuaded two brothers who owned a chain of apothecaries in Croatia that the little old witch they'd been pestering was not, under any circumstances, going to sell them her farm. Consequently, they spent little time at the Lestrange Estate over the next three months, as the Swiss house was usually more central to their work.

Another consequence of being on the continent more frequently was that it was easier for the Orkístike to find them. Remus had seen the mysterious Theodora at a distance several times, but was yet to actually meet her. Lena, the first time they'd noticed her watching them, had gone up to speak to her alone. Apparently, it had not been an exactly friendly exchange, as Lena had not been as appreciative of the Orkístike's 'gift' of murdering the Vettori family as Theodora had expected her to be. Subsequently, they had not spoken to each other since, which suited Remus fine. The more Lena stayed away from cults obsessed with the Dark Arts, the better.

One Saturday night at the end of June, Remus and Lena returned to the Swiss house after three days of working in Austria.

"You know," said Lena, unlocking the front door, "I think that might have been one of the most pleasant jobs we've had."

Remus stared at her incredulously as she pushed the door open. "I was almost eaten by a Chimaera, Lena."

"Well, yes," conceded Lena as he followed her into the house, "but wasn't Vienna just such a beautiful city? The architecture really is stunning."

Remus shook his head, but couldn't stop the corners of his lips turning up. It was such a Lena-ish response to an immensely stressful and perilous last twenty-four hours.

They reached the living room, where Lena collapsed into the sofa, yawning.

"Merlin, I'm tired."

"That's what happens when you go for nearly fifty hours without sleep," said Remus disapprovingly, sitting down beside her. "I told you to wake me last night after I'd gotten a few hours so you could get some rest, but no, apparently I'm not to be trusted to keep watch on a stakeout."

Lena, who was kicking off her boots, shrugged. "You might have missed something that I wouldn't."

Remus shook his head again. "Control freak," he murmured, then planted a kiss on her nose.

She smiled, tucking her legs underneath her on the sofa, and shuffling closer to Remus' side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, and Lena brought one of her arms across his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a little while in a comfortable silence. Then Lena glanced at her wristwatch.

"Harry must be about to start his final task," she commented.

Remus smiled. "I'm sure he'll do fine after all the extra coaching you gave him that last time we caught up with him at Hogsmeade."

"I hope so." She paused, before adding softly, "He's going to be a great wizard." She closed her eyes. "And a good man."

Remus silently watched Lena as she drifted off to sleep. She looked unusually peaceful.

Gently, as so not to disturb her too much, he hooked one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs and picked her up. Then he slowly made his way upstairs to their bedroom, careful to not let her long limbs knock into anything.

As a heavy rain drowned the Yorkshire moorland that was shrouded by the darkness before dawn break, a loud crack cut through the roaring wind and a lone, cloaked figure suddenly appeared in the otherwise empty place. But the emptiness was an illusion; the man had been to the Lestrange Estate enough times to know exactly where it was situated.

Man. Lord Voldemort smiled wryly. Could one who had returned from such obliteration be simply a man? Surely not. He had become more than that, more than human – although he didn't doubt that a certain long-bearded old fool would claim that he was less.

Igniting the tip of his wand, he held it out and approached where he remembered the Estate's gate to be. He waved the wand in a complex pattern, curious to see whether it would work and reveal what the owner had concealed.

The Estate remained invisible. Of course it did – this was no ordinary witch who had cast the protective enchantment over it. Voldemort knew that better than anyone.

Putting his wand in his pocket, he held his hands out in front of him, his long fingers twitching as if feeling for something. Where was it?

The air around his fingertips suddenly changed. Voldemort closed his eyes, a smile breaking across his face. There. Magic – a most distinctive signature. Oh, how well he remembered his first proper meeting with its wielder...

Friday 25 January, 1980:

"My Lord, the Bones family holds such influence in the magical community," Evan Rosier was saying. "If the rumour Rookwood heard is true, and there has been a disagreement between two of the brothers, we should capitalise on this rift, and establish contact quickly. It would be invaluable to have him as an ally to our cause."

"Don't be an idiot," Bellatrix cut in disdainfully. "Whatever argument there has been, it won't have anything to do with blood purity. The Bones family have been well established as Blood Traitors – one of them is almost certainly in Dumbledore's group of nuisances. The smartest move is just to remove them from the equation all together."

A derisive snort escaped Severus, and Lucius rolled his eyes.

"You see, Bellatrix," said the Malfoy, with the air of a patient parent trying to explain something to a difficult child, "the problem with massacring entire families of magical blood is that it does somewhat taint the reasonability of our cause."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at her brother-in-law. "Our cause," she hissed, "is to reinstate the pure of blood to our rightful place, no matter what! If someone betrays their own kind by not joining that fight, they don't deserve to live among us when the war is won!"

Before Lucius could respond, Voldemort raised his hand."Enough," he said quietly, and the eyes of all the Death Eaters sat around the long dining table of the Lestrange house turned to their leader. "I agree with Bellatrix that there is little point in trying to recruit a member of the Bones family." The woman sitting directly to his right smirked at Lucius. "Nevertheless," he continued, "I believe that killing the whole family – at least, at this point in time – would be equally unwise. For now, we should simply keep–"

He was interrupted by a smashing noise. Immediately, nearly every Death Eater jumped to their feet and pulled out their wands, turning in the direction of where the noise had come – the kitchen.

Bellatrix had risen too, but she appeared less suspicious, and more murderous. Her fists were tightly clenched as she muttered, "Forgive me, my Lord. It seems the child is out of bed." She drew out her wand. "Please excuse me while I deal with her."

Voldemort nodded, and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Bellatrix usually kept her so well out of sight that he sometimes forgot she and Rodolphus had a daughter.

As she stalked off, he directed the room's attention back to the matter of the Bones family. But only half a minute later there was another disruption as this time the sound of multiple things smashing permeated the dining room.

Stony-faced, Rodolphus began to rise. However, Voldemort halted him with a gesture, and stood himself. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. What in the name of Salazar was that child doing in the kitchen?

He left the dining room and walked down the short hallway that led to the kitchen, guided by the sound of an angry Bellatrix. Just before he entered, there came a loud yelp.

Looking inside, he saw there were several items of broken crockery strewn across the floor. Bellatrix was standing on one side of the kitchen, her wand outstretched and her lips curled in a furious snarl. On the other side was a little girl, clutching her left arm to her chest and glaring at her mother. Neither of them noticed his presence.

"How dare you embarrass me like that?" Bellatrix was saying angrily. "You know you have to stay in your bedroom when your father and I have a meeting!"

"I was thirsty!" snapped the girl, letting go of her arm, revealing a painful-looking red mark upon it. "I just wanted a cup of water! I didn't mean to knock over the bowl."

Voldemort had to admit he was a little surprised. It appeared that Bellatrix had hit her daughter with a nasty Stinging Hex, which would usually be more than enough to make a young child cry. But instead of looking upset, the little Lestrange girl simply looked furious.

"Don't be so pathetic," said Bellatrix disgustedly. "You can survive one night without water."

The moment her mother said the word 'pathetic', something shifted in the girl's expression. It was no longer just mad – she stared at her mother with unbridled hatred.

Her tiny fists curled, just as her mother's had upon hearing the noise in the kitchen. "Don't call me pathetic," she said quietly.

Bellatrix laughed. "Or what?"

A sudden chill descended over the kitchen, and the hairs on the back of Voldemort's neck stood on end. An odd sense of déjà vu came over him, and he was unable to tear his gaze away from the little girl with a look of such pure detestation on her face.

And then every cupboard door and drawer flew open, and every utensil and piece of crockery zoomed out. Some crashed into each other in mid-air and shattered into pieces. Others ricocheted around. Bellatrix had to throw herself to the ground to narrowly avoid a knife of which her head was in the way. It embedded itself in the wall behind her. But every item, every broken shard, gave the child – who hadn't flinched in the slightest – a wide berth.

In the aftermath of this display of rage, Voldemort could hear exclamations coming from the dining room, where they had undoubtedly overheard the cacophony. But he ignored them, his attention entirely focused on the young Lestrange, in whom, for a moment, he had seen a reflection of his child-self. It was undeniably unnerving. But also exhilarating.

"You little–"

He was brought out of his trance by the sound of Bellatrix scrambling to her feet. She violently slashed her wand at her daughter, and a purple jet of light shot towards the child.

Voldemort didn't wait to see whether she could block it herself. He flicked his own wand, and just before the purple light reached her, it stopped, suspended in mid-air. Both mother and daughter's heads snapped to the doorway as he waved his wand again and made Bellatrix's curse disappear.

Bellatrix gasped. "My Lord!" She bowed her head. "I am so sorry for this further disruption to your meeting. I–"

"Quiet," he commanded, his eyes still fixed on the girl, who was staring up at him with a mixture of fascination and wariness. He studied her face. Even at such a young age, there was an undeniable physical resemblance to her mother. But her striking, intelligent, blue-grey eyes made a marked difference.

Voldemort flicked his wand once more, and one of the still-intact golden goblets that was lying on the floor was Summoned to his hand.

"Augamenti," he murmured, filling it with water. Then he beckoned for the child to come over to him.

She hesitated for a moment, then carefully made her way to him, avoiding the broken shards on the floor. When she reached him, he wordlessly held the goblet out to her.

Her expression was still mistrustful, but she gingerly accepted the goblet from him. "Thank you."

He nodded slowly, before asking, "What is your name?"

"Lena," she replied.

Lena Lestrange. It certainly was a name that rolled well off the tongue.

"I think, Lena," he said softly, "it is time for you to go back to your bedroom." An idea occurred to him. "Perhaps you would like some company on your way back up there?"

She arched an eyebrow, looking slightly confused. "Your company?"

"I should like to speak with you some more," he explained. "If that would be agreeable to you, of course."

Lena glanced over at her mother, who was watching with a stunned expression. She looked back at Voldemort. "All right," she said simply.

He followed her out of the kitchen. Standing in the hallway were Rodolphus and Lucius, whose faces were just as shocked as Bellatrix's.

"You can go back in and tell everyone that our meeting is over for the night," he told them. Looking even more confused, Lucius began to speak, but was silenced by Voldemort calmly but firmly saying, "Go."

He could see that Lena was watching the exchange with great interest. He suspected she wasn't used to seeing her parents and uncle ordered around. She was probably enjoying it.

He gestured for her to keep moving. "Lead on."

Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer, then she turned around and kept walking. And they went upstairs to her bedroom together.

Together. That was how it was supposed to have been – Lord Voldemort and Lena Lestrange, together.

Then Lily Potter had sacrificed herself for her son, and all the plans he'd had regarding Lena and himself had gone up in smoke.

When his body had been destroyed that night, leaving him with a broken, incorporeal existence, his initial thought had been to return here and see her. But then he had imagined her expression when she realised that his great plan had been thwarted, and that he had failed. She would have been disappointed in him, perhaps even disgusted by the state he had been reduced to. So he had fled Britain, and it was another ten years before he had seen her again.

He hadn't known what to expect when he'd returned to Hogwarts four years ago. He had tried to find out what he could about Lena from Quirrell, when he had first happened upon the foolish wizard – but as he had been a Muggle Studies teacher at the time, the man knew little of the girl. All he'd been able to discern from Quirrell was the Lena had been sorted into Slytherin, was an exceptional student, and had been accused – but not found guilty – of attacking another student with Dark magic within her first few weeks at the school. All in all, it had sounded promising.

He'd recognised her the moment she'd walked into the Great Hall that first night back. He saw her in Quirrell's mind, tall and thin with long, dark hair and cheekbones almost protruding out of her face. Cold and restrained. How desperately he'd wanted to use Legilimency, to reach out and just touch her mind...

But he hadn't dared. It had been ten years – he no longer knew as he once did. Instead, he watched her through Quirrell eyes. For months. He kept his distance, afraid if he got too close that she would know. That was the most frightening thing – that she would discover his presence, and she wouldn't be happy to see him. Angered by his abandonment, disgusted by his parasitical nature. So he decided to wait until the Philosopher's Stone was his, and he was whole again... And then Harry Potter, the loathsome boy, had delayed that reunion once again.

No longer. He had returned, fully. It was finally time to reach out to her, to embrace her as the daughter that should have been his. After nearly fourteen years, they would be together again, an unstoppable force.

Voldemort frowned. The magic imbued in the Protective Enchantment felt.. stale. It hadn't recently been checked. So she wasn't inside the estate tonight. In fact, she had been away from it for some time.

He tapped his fingers against the barrier, irritated. Where was she?

Suddenly, he felt something he hadn't noticed before. Carefully, he inspected Lena's enchantments again.

Blood Magic –her own unique take on it. She would know if someone tried to break through the barrier because it was linked to the blood running through her veins. Ingenious.

'And an answer to the complication of her absence,' thought Voldemort, smiling once again. If he could not speak to her face-to-face at this moment...

A message would have to suffice.

A sudden searing pain in Lena's left arm jolted her from sleep. Sitting up, she blearily looked around the bedroom, her eyes adjusting to the rays of the rising sun that were shining through a small crack in the window's curtains. She was alone in their bed, an oddity that did not escape her notice – Remus was very rarely up before her.

She refocused her attention on her left forearm, which was still stinging with a lingering pain. She blinked. There was red on it, like blood – but she wasn't bleeding. It was as an inscription made using her own blood, but it had not broken the surface of her skin..

Then her mind finally made sense of the red lines. They were letters: nine of them, forming two words.

Hello Lena.

Lena's heartbeat came to a still as every inch of her body and mind froze.

She didn't know for how long she had been immobilised when Remus burst into the room, ashen-faced and clutching a letter in his hand.

"Lena," he said hoarsely, still distractedly staring at the letter. "I've just received a letter from Dumbledore, and–" He let out a long, rattling breath. "Fuck, I don't know how to tell you this, but–"

As he looked up at Lena, he stopped, finally registering her motionless state.

"Lena?" he said, sitting down at the foot of the bed. "What–"

At last, Lena's heartbeat returned and she looked over at Remus. Her wide eyes met his concerned ones, and she spoke.

"He's back."

Fun fact: It's been exactly 2 years since I began this story. I reckon 250000 or so words is pretty good for 2 years.

Well, that brings us to the end of the GoF section of To Be Human; hope you enjoyed it! Thank you to everyone who has read/followed/favourited/reviewed this story, I appreciate it so much - and I hope you stick around for the next chapter, the beginning of the Order of the Phoenix segment :)