Some stuff is mine. The rest is J. K. Rowling's. I am not trying to claim ownership of anything that isn't mine, so I will stop there.
In Ralassar, the corpses of woodland animals like deer and rodents were scattered in a circle too wide to be visible from the ground. The activity in the house central to the terrible circle was too much for these animals. Humans could withstand it, just about, but no one had yet tried. No true human had come within a mile of the house for some time.
The house itself was tall and skeletally thin, like its single resident. It was built from dark wood, dampened by the snow that lay close by. The house looked simple but was surrounded by potent enchantments and it would have been a job to damage it. Inside it was hot – unbearably so.
Lord Voldemort was sitting in a straight-backed chair, watching a man in the corner of the room. The man would break soon. Voldemort had not even needed to use magic with this one after he brought him here. The man was weak, and Voldemort hated him. He often hated things, and always had; it was partly this which had made him what he was.
'Mostly public relations, you see… I don't know much of what goes on…' Rare words from the prisoner. He did not speak often now. Usually it was repeated from what he had said at first, before he knew who he was talking to. That was when he had been the most useful. Even then he had not been much help. Maybe he really didn't know anything of use. But Voldemort had not even considered letting him go.
The Ministry of Magic was busier than usual. They were concerned about the disappearance of one of their members. It was a far cry from when Bertha Jorkins had gone missing; with the supposed return of the Dark Lord, everyone was on edge. Arthur Weasley was attempting to deal with a couple of Russian wizards who had arrived uninvited by Floo powder. They claimed to have seen the missing man, but weeks ago; it would probably be too late to investigate.
It was already too late for Ludo Bagman, as he lay on the cold floorboards of the house. It was almost over.
Fred and George Weasley, chuckling at their own genius, were sitting in the library at Hogwarts. It was not usually a place that was graced with their presence, and they were unfamiliar to Madam Pince, who was glaring at them as they laughed rather too loudly for her liking. But they were unaware. A scheme had presented itself to them, and they were making the most of it.
Up in the common room, their absence went unnoticed by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Andromeda. Harry and Andromeda were, for once, apart, giving each other a chance to catch up with their other friends. Andromeda was sitting with Hermione, and Harry with Ron.
Hermione had found that she and the striking but unusual-looking Slytherin girl had a lot in common. Both of their mothers had been Muggles, though Andromeda's father was a wizard; both were intelligent and excelled in Transfiguration; both had felt left out of their friendship groups more than once. But they were different enough to enjoy each others' company and Hermione was glad she'd found another girl on her wavelength.
While the girls discussed their futures and hoped-for careers, Harry and Ron were on the rather lighter subject of Quidditch. 'Since Wood's been gone, practice has been so much more fun,' said Harry. 'I mean, he was a good Keeper and everything, but he was a bit obsessive.'
'Percy-like,' noted Ron.
'Exactly,' said Harry.
'What's this about Percy?' Andromeda asked. The girls had rejoined them.
'How do you know Percy?' Ron looked surprised.
'I think we must be talking about a different Percy,' said Andromeda, 'as he's my owl.'
'You've got an owl called Percy?' Ron spluttered. 'Why, oh why did you choose that name?'
'That isn't his real name,' she explained. 'It's short for Perseus. Perseus, in Greek mythology, killed Medusa the Gorgon and on his way home, rescued a maiden from a sea monster…'
'Called nothing other than Andromeda!' finished Hermione triumphantly. 'I've been reading up on mythology. It's very interesting, you know,' she defended as Ron looked at her incredulousy.
'Hermione, with the amount of extra homework you've been doing, how do you find time to know everything about mythology as well?'
'I don't know everything. Actually, the story of Perseus is very well known.' Ron decided to give up. Hermione and reading together were a force to be reckoned with.
In the forest on the edge of Ralassar, the prisoner of Voldemort had reached the end. He had slipped too far into unconsciousness to return. The search for Ludo Bagman continued, but it would prove to no avail. He would die before what would have been sunset, if the sun ever showed in this tiny, hopeless, ravaged place.
I was going to leave this note with another chapter but I forgot, so:
Graìnne is pronounced Graun ya or thereabouts. It's the Irish version of Grace.