Three Hours Later
Somewhere in the middle of the ocean was an island.
A black pebbled beach stretched for miles in either direction, the curvature just barely visible. Here, the beach was a gentle slope, but further down the shore, it grew into a steep, craggy mess of steep cliffs. No doubt to take advantage of the easier approach, a small dock had been built here. A twenty-metre yacht in a state of significant disrepair knocked against the pier as waves rocked it back and forth.
A path led from the dock deeper inland, winding up a small hill and ending at an ornate metal gate. Rather than a fence on either side, a dense wall of wood and leaves stretched as far as the eye could see. Solid at the base, the wooden wall had growths of living branches and foliage jutting out from it, giving the impression of a miles-wide, squat tree. Beyond the gate, a path wound into the dark forest beyond.
Before the gate were stationed a pair of statues. The creatures they depicted looked as if they were fragments of some sculptor's fever dream. Part avian and part troll, they were slightly larger than a person. A vicious gleam in their jewelled eyes made them seem prepared to lunge out and eviscerate any intruders fool enough to approach.
The air split, and a figure appeared before the gate. A square-jawed, serious witch with brown hair pulled into a tight bun pocketed the Portkey that had brought her here. Then, she turned to the gargoyles.
"I've come as instructed by Lord Cygnus," said Sacha Cottier.
Then, she settled in to wait.
Behind Sacha, the waves had picked up. They crashed against the black shore with a vengeance, reminding her of the rumours that the Blacks kept sea monsters as pets. She glanced over her shoulder, looking out over the ocean as she had several times since her arrival here minutes ago, but encroaching clouds had cast the expanse into darkness, making it impossible to discern whether or not shapes writhed in the waves.
This island was a legend, a location kept so secret that many speculated whether it was really located in the Isles at all. Despite House Black frequently hosting guests and galas here, visitors all either arrived via Portkey or Floo. There wasn't a soul outside the family that knew where this place was. No doubt its identity was protected by some great spell.
'Perhaps a Fidelius,' she thought, a wry smile forming on her lips as she recalled her own reason for coming here.
Arranging for Harriet Potter's kidnapping from the Ministry hadn't been the most difficult job in her life, but it was certainly among the most stressful. And she'd pulled it off—never mind all the help she'd had from insiders. After passing the girl off to the muggle traffickers to confound any attempts at tracking Harriet's magical signature, she'd had to Obliviate her fellow mercenaries and cover up the rest of her tracks, a process which took the better part of a day.
She wrinkled her nose at the motorboat, wondering what would be said were it known a wizarding house as old and pure as the Blacks had worked with muggles. Though "manipulated" was a more fitting word when the criminals had likely been under the Imperius. The only way they could have navigated to this hidden island, after all, was if they'd been under the control of a wizard who could pierce the protections. A servant of House Black.
Finally, it was time for the last part of her job. It was the most unsavoury part to be sure, but she was a professional and intended to see it through. Besides, the nature of her payment meant she could only get it once the job was complete.
Just as Sacha began to wonder if they'd forgotten about her, the gate swung open, revealing two black-cloaked figures. Over their chests a part of the Black family crest had been embossed: three silver crows that peered out with eyes of blue gemstones.
The one on the left spoke. "Lord Black is expecting you. Follow us."
Without another word, they turned and headed up the path, Sacha hurrying to follow.
'The Blackguard, huh? Normally they'd send a house-elf. Afraid I'll try something? Cygnus must not trust me yet.'
The gate slammed shut behind her.
The winding path took them steadily upwards. The island that the Blacks laid claim to was home to a forest as ancient as any she'd ever seen. Huge, twisted trees loomed overhead, casting the earth into darkness. A few paces off the road to either side, a deep, unnatural fog wound through the branches, obscuring the depths of the wood. If she stepped off the path, there was no doubt in her mind that she would grow lost very quickly.
They walked for the better part of an hour, Sacha growing increasingly annoyed with her employers as her legs began to burn. They could have given her a Portkey straight to the castle, but no, instead she was forced to slog through the woods like a muggle.
In the eyes of the Blacks, however, perhaps she was no better than a muggle. A criminal mercenary like her was outside the bounds of social convention, after all. She was lower than a peasant.
'Until I complete the job, that is,' she thought, suppressing a smirk.
The trees parted, and she caught her first glimpse of it, looming over the landscape like a great dragon—Castle Black.
She swallowed as they cleared the woods and it came fully into view. The keep was not built for aesthetics. Of all the Noble and Most Ancient Houses, the Blacks valued function over form the most.
Castle Black had none of the delicate, spiralling towers or ornate stained glass of Hogwarts. It didn't have the Malfoy Estate's extravagant marble pillars and flying buttresses, nor the Longbottom's glass greenhouses and beautiful gardens.
It was a fortress. Built from great solid slabs of dark rock, Castle Black looked as though it might have been chiselled from the hill upon which it sat. Each its four wings were the size of a manor home, and the circular central tower was larger and stood far taller than the quadrants adhered to it—a behemoth of a building at least thirty storeys in height and thrice as wide as it was tall. Four of the largest trees she'd ever seen sprouted up from courtyards in between the castle wings. Other than that, the only visible decoration was the hundreds of gargoyles perched along the roof. And even then, they weren't for decoration—they were a defensive measure. Further down the hill, separating the forest from the castle grounds, stood a great wall dotted with watchtowers.
In its own way, it was beautiful. Beautiful in its stark power. The air here crackled with magic, forcing her to wonder how many wards were latticed around her surroundings.
'It's a good job You-Know-Who never roped in the Blacks,' she thought dazedly.
The Blacks were one of the only families that could afford to remain neutral during the war a decade ago. Sacha now understood one of the reasons they managed it so comfortably—a fort like this would give Hogwarts a run for its money. Even if he'd somehow located this island, the Dark Lord might not have been able to break through such thick protections. She'd pierced plenty of wards in her day, but how would she even begin to dismantle something on this scale?
The moment her mind wandered in that direction, a freezing chill gripped her heart as what seemed like thousands of hostile eyes gathered on her.
'It senses my intent!' she realized, hurrying to clear her mind of any thoughts concerning breaking the warding scheme of Castle Black.
Apparently it wasn't only defensible, the bloody building was sentient.
The guards led her through another gate that passed under the walls. Beyond lay rolling, open fields. A Quidditch pitch lay directly across their path to the castle, but they didn't head that direction. Instead, they took a left, walking for another few minutes along the wall up to the northern wing of the castle. Along the way they passed by a giant stone stable, out the windows of which occasionally jetted iridescent gouts of flame. She might have thought dragons resided within if not for the sound of bestial neighing echoing out over the grounds.
They finally reached the northern wing, and the large double doors swung open for the Blackguard.
Inside, the castle was luxurious. Not ostentatious—she'd seen ostentatious, and this wasn't it. This was tasteful décor. Ornate witchfire lanterns and chandeliers lit up the interior at regular intervals, soft rugs spread out underfoot, and gleaming statues stood by tapestries depicting historical battles, both muggle and magical. After all, three hundred years ago there was little distinction between the two societies.
As she moved through the entrance hall and into an adjacent corridor, Sacha passed door after door that led into various drawing rooms and unused chambers. She started to grow aware of just how empty the place was. Not empty of furnishings or decoration, but of people. She couldn't find a speck of dust or a single object out of place. This wasn't just house elves at work—the place didn't feel lived in. Not in the slightest.
It was a well-known fact that the main branch of the House of Black comprised only one person: Cygnus Black, the widower. He had three daughters, all who married out of the family. His eldest, Bellatrix, should have had a wizard from a cadet branch marry into the main line and thus preserve it, but she was ejected from the family by the previous lord, Pollux Black, in a public debacle nearly two decades ago. The name of Black was stripped from her, along with any inheritances she might have claimed.
'Does the deputy line not live here? Cygnus' brother? Perhaps his family is in another wing. I'd almost feel pity for one man living alone in this entire wing if it weren't for how bloody rich he was.'
She was eventually guided down a flight of stairs and into a dungeon. Dozens of heavy doors with tiny barred windows occupied the walls. One of them was slightly ajar, and she peeked in to see a bare stone cell.
'So this is a prison. Typical.'
Even the dungeons of Castle Black was something to behold. Smooth black granite covered the floor like liquid, and arched pillars at regular intervals made the place feel like a Roman estate. Where the pillars met the ground, clusters of magical plants grew, sprouting from gaps in the floor and climbing up the pillars. The plants were long, ropey things with purple vines that swayed ever so slightly, along which were dotted hundreds of beautiful, ivory flowers. The petals emanated a charming, lilac-tinted light. It was the only source of illumination in the dungeons.
Her feet ground to a halt as she stared at the plant.
"Merlin's cock," she breathed, even as her mind started churning at a top speed.
She took a step back. All she had left were fragments of knowledge from her old Herbology lessons at Saint Jordan's, but Sacha still had no trouble recognizing the most dangerous plant in the world.
'That's Violet Obitus! The Blacks brought it into their own bloody home?! How are you supposed to deal with it?' She fingered her wand, whipping her head around to find that she'd already passed by several arches covered in the plant. 'Does fire kill it? D-Did I already breathe in its spores? Merlin, did I breathe in its bloody spores?!'
She clamped her mouth shut and held her breath. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but the rest of her told her to stick it out and get her reward. The Blacks wouldn't kill her. They had no reason to, and they needed her. They must have neutralized the plant, somehow.
Harmless. It was harmless. Right?
'Why aren't the bloody Blackguard saying anything?!'
Her two escorts stood a few paces ahead, waiting for her as they nonchalantly stood inches from the deadly plant. She couldn't read their expressions under their hoods, but she imagined they were mocking.
Squashing the fear deep down, her feet started up again, though she flinched as she skirted around the innocent-looking flowers.
'If I feel myself getting drowsy, I'm running out of here, payment or not. And then I'm ordering a crate of Invigorating Draughts. Either way, I have a sleepless week to look forward to.'
Whatever dreadful technique this family used to control such a plant (and use it for something as simple as interior lighting) Sacha didn't dare imagine.
After another minute, they reached a blank section of wall between two arches. Sacha stood as far from the viny pillars as she could while one of her escorts placed a hand on the wall.
The wall shimmered, a portion of it vanishing to reveal a metal door. The guard stood aside, gesturing for her to pass through.
She tried the handle and opened the door, finding herself in a sizable suite of rooms. It could have once been a warden's chambers, but it had since been converted into a sort of laboratory. In one branch off to the side was a cauldron and a number of potions supplies, but most of the rooms were taken up by dozens of sturdy stone tables. Vials filled with multi-coloured fluids lay on the surfaces, along with animal specimens on trays in various stages of dissection, preservation charms layered on them to prevent them from rotting. In the far room across from the door, a large ritual circle had been engraved.
The place looked like a storm had just swept through. Several of the tables had been overturned or shattered to rubble, chairs were toppled, potion vials shattered on the floor and spilling their sticky contents out over the paved stone. Two house-elves were at work cleaning the mess, though they studiously ignored her. The door shut as the two Blackguard entered, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the portal in a clear message: she wasn't to leave.
Okay. A little menacing, but whatever.
"The guest has arrived, Lord Black."
She immediately spotted her employer. Cygnus Black sat at an untouched table in the first room, inspecting some sort of strange, half-destroyed statue the size of a large dog. On a nearby table rested two lumps covered by bloodstained cloth. A bare foot stuck out of one of the cloths, and Sacha suddenly had a very clear picture of what happened to the muggles who'd arrived in the yacht.
Lord Black was as sickly-looking as ever. He glanced up after the Blackguard's announcement, stormy eyes scrutinizing Sacha like he might a somewhat distasteful stain on the floor. Nothing she wasn't used to.
The man had promised her status as a vassal of House Black should she complete her two tasks. That entailed a chunk of land out in the country as well as a lump sum of Galleons. So far, she'd completed the first mission to the letter. The Girl-Who-Lived had been hand-delivered to Castle Black. The three mercenaries she'd brought with her to the Ministry had been Obliviated and sent on their merry way, along with that psychopath Micah, and the remaining necessary cover-ups were resolved. Now, only one thing was left for her to do. The final camouflage—the Fidelius Charm.
"A mercenary? You hired a mercenary for this task instead of one of our vassals?"
The unexpected voice startled Sacha, and she whipped out her wand on reflex, whirling about to face the threat. What she saw startled her worse than the Obitus. Much worse.
In a dark corner by the bubbling cauldron emerged a figure she'd completely missed on her first glimpse of the chamber. Standing there was a skeleton.
It was well-attired, wearing a black tunic trimmed in purple, a silken scarf tucked into its collar, a circlet of obsidian, and a regal cloak draped around its shoulders that lightly brushed the ground. But it was still a skeleton. Shreds of muscle and sinew still clung to its grey bones, and where all flesh had rotted away, Sacha saw threads of dark magic binding it together. No light emanated from those sunken eyes, but rather a deep, endless darkness like the ocean at night. She knew immediately that this thing was no simple undead.
It took a step forward. She took a step back.
Sacha had seen horrors. She'd fought vampires, goblins, and wizards of dark and light. She'd murdered innocents, committing horrors of her own in the name of as mundane a thing as money. But this—this was a creature of utter Dark. Whatever drove it was the sort of magic that was best left buried and forgotten in the tomb of Atlantis. The sort of magic that had ended civilizations. It was evil.
She let out a choked scream, levelling her mightiest spell at the thing.
"EXPULSO!"
She turned to run, hoping the spell would at least distract it long enough for her to escape—but the explosion never came. Her strongest, Auror-level combat spell simply fizzled out. Something caught her feet an instant later and she fell, knees striking the ground painfully. She tried to scramble away, but her shoes didn't budge, glued to the floor.
"What's the matter?" it asked, stepping closer. It sounded genuinely curious. "Something on my face?"
Sacha clenched her jaw to stifle her cry of fear, letting out a choking noise as she cast every countercharm she could think of to dispel the magic adhering her in place. Nothing seemed to work. She slashed down with her wand, severing the straps on her boots and tugging her feet free. She dashed for the door in her socks.
See, this is why I don't like mercenaries," huffed the thing with its horrible voice, waving a finger in her direction.
Her shielding charm came too late, and Sacha found her body in the grip of a powerful spell, immobilizing her a pace from the two guards. They hadn't budged an inch.
"I believe, Father, in specific cases, mercenaries can be more trustworthy than a bonded house," said Cygnus, slowly rising from his seat at the table. "After all, a transaction is simpler to understand than bonds of loyalty and blood. Besides, I didn't want to deplete our more loyal vassals of their magic. And she will be our vassal in the end anyway."
The skeleton snorted in disbelief. "You're giving her land?"
"Contingent on her completion of the Fidelius. If she fails, we will select another."
Finally, a part of Sacha—the part that wasn't screaming in animalistic terror—latched on to their conversation.
"Y-y-you're s-still giving me th-the l-l-land?" she asked, teeth chattering.
"Of course. We made a deal, did we not?" said Cygnus, approaching her and pulling a vial from the pocket of his robes, uncorking it. "Here, a Calming Draught."
The magical bonds loosened enough for her to move her arms. She accepted the vial (firmly looking anywhere but at the Abomination) and took a whiff to confirm it was what he said. Peppermint and a hint of lavender. It smelled like the same potion the kind matron at Saint Jordan's gave her after she panicked her first time riding a broom.
She downed the mixture in one motion, beyond grateful for the calm it forced on her frayed nerves.
"I-I'm better now, my Lord," she shakily said, meeting Cygnus' eyes (looking anywhere but at the monster).
'It's his father,' she thought. 'He called it father. Dear Merlin, that creature is Pollux Black. He died eight years ago. What in the hell sort of world have I entered?'
"Good," said Cygnus. "Then you may give your proper greetings to the true Head of House Black."
The last of the bonds slipped away, and Sacha immediately took a knee, bowing in the direction of Pollux.
"Oh, don't say that," said Pollux, brushing off the introduction. "True Head? You're the one doing all the work nowadays, Cygnus. Why, I often feel like I'm nothing more than dead weight!"
He paused, as if inviting a response. Cygnus coughed into his hand.
Sacha spoke woodenly, her eyes glued to the floor. "Sacha Cottier of House Cottier greets Lord Black."
Pollux hummed in response, the sound resonating from somewhere in his chest cavity. It set her teeth on edge.
"Perhaps we can move things along, Father, Cottier," said Cygnus. "The process has been explained already. Are you prepared?"
"Y-yes, Lord," she said.
"Father, if you would apply the potion, we can begin the ritual."
Pollux turned to his bubbling potion, raising his hands and making a few quick, precise movements. Several streams of liquid emerged from the cauldron, crossing the room and falling upon the engraved ritual circle in a controlled manner, until all the engravings had been coated in the shimmering potion. It was silver.
"Leave us," ordered Cygnus, and the elves popped away, the Blackguard respectfully departing through the door with a bow.
Cygnus led her to the circle, pointing to the centre and ordering her to sit. She did.
Five minutes later, Cygnus and Sacha stood at the centre of a glowing circle of powerful magic. Sacha herself powered it, aware that she was about to part with a chunk of her magic forever. The thought pained her, but it wasn't enough to change her mind. Not only because changing her mind now would probably mean she'd be killed.
Though she was only in her mid-thirties, she'd dealt with enough danger for a lifetime. No more. If her magic was the price, so be it.
A former hit wizard, Sacha had always aspired to be an Auror. She'd joined the Army Corps because she thought it would give her a leg-up when the time came for her to try joining the more prestigious Auror Office. After a few months as a hit wizard, she learned that, with her NEWT scores, it was unlikely she'd even be allowed to take the Auror exam despite her talent at Defence. Her education had simply been too limited.
Disillusioned with the system, she quit and pursued the path of a bounty hunter. It was the next closest thing to being an Auror, but hounding petty criminals and debt dodgers for a handful of Sickles each day got old quickly. And the more dangerous criminals and monsters? Well, no one ever went after them. Sacha wasn't stupid enough to try.
So, when bounty hunting proved too difficult and unreliable a method of getting paid, she became a criminal herself, leveraging her knowledge of law enforcement and the criminal underworld to her advantage. Monetarily speaking, this was her most lucrative "job," but Sacha couldn't help but feel that her entire career path had been a downward slide from her high aspirations as a teenage witch. But she was done after tonight. As a vassal to a Founding Family, she'd have status equivalent to low-ranking Ministry official, but it would be more secure than a mere job. A vassal was for life.
"…I, Cygnus Black, Secret Giver, relinquish this Truth to Sacha Cottier, Secret Keeper. Let this Truth be purged from all minds. Let it be a void unto the world itself."
He spoke in Latin, but she knew the words. It was important that she understand the ritual as well as Cygnus, or it wouldn't work. She'd studied the instructions he'd given her every night for three days. She'd studied it harder than she studied for anything.
There was only one final phrase, and the spell would be complete.
This final line couldn't be too long, as that held a higher risk of the Fidelius backfiring. Nor could it be too short and risk a misinterpretation by the magic. It would certainly run out of control in that case, sapping her of all her magic and then failing catastrophically. Cygnus Black, who'd worked with such rituals before, had devised a secret that was the perfect length—a careful balance of ambiguity and specificity.
Supposedly.
Cygnus spoke in English. "Harriet Lily Potter has been taken in by the House of Black."
A blinding light erupted from the ground, and what looked like millions of white, gossamer-thin threads flew out from the epicentre of the ritual around Sacha, vanishing into the ceiling, walls, and even diving back down into the floor.
Sacha felt the portion of her magic that had been powering the ritual disappear, slipping forever beyond her grasp. She gasped as she felt it go, swaying where she sat.
Over half her power, gone. Like it was never there. Her core ached.
"A new Secret has been veiled from the world," said Cygnus, turning to Pollux, who had watched the entire thing from a seat across the room.
"Fascinating," breathed the skeleton. He stood and wandered forward, fingers clacking against his jaw in thought. "This is the fourth time that I know a Fidelius Charm has concealed part of my memory. Even knowing this, I cannot tell what sort of memory is missing. Tell me Cygnus, is it vital that I know the secret immediately?"
"No, it is not. Do you remember the test you proposed?"
"Ah, yes. There is a document you will show me."
The pale man pulled a parchment from a pocket in his robes, where it was summoned by Pollux. "Can you understand it?" asked Cygnus as his father opened it to read.
Sacha blankly watched as the skeleton's grey fingers danced over the text on the parchment. She knew what the contract was—a document detailing the magical guardianship of Harriet Potter. The girl herself had signed it, likely fooled into it by Micah.
Pollux glanced it over (though it was hard to tell with his empty sockets). "It appears to be a contract detailing the conferment of a magical guardianship. Everything… seems to be in order. What am I missing?"
He paused.
"Aah. I see. I cannot know, can I? The two parties in this contract remain complete unknowns, even though I'm certain I just read through the entire document. Allow me a moment to peruse my thoughts."
Saying that, Pollux froze where he stood, turning as still as a statue. Sacha forced herself up, trudging over to a chair and sagging down while breathing a sigh of relief. She felt remarkably sluggish, but she'd sleep it off. With her magic and life now maintaining the spell, she was now indispensable to House Black. If she died, then Cygnus would become both the Keeper and Giver, and his own magic would be needed to power it. That was a sacrifice he'd never make. Perhaps they could get rid of her after she passed the Secret on to another proxy, but until then, she had utter immunity. She had leverage. She could work with leverage.
She was now painfully diminished as a witch, but that had always been the plan. Retirement. A plot of land, all her own, and enough money to easily last the next forty years, not counting her savings. She could start her own family. Sure, any children of hers would end up vassals of the Blacks, but there were limits in place on what a noble family could ask of their vassals. It was leagues better than being a tenant in Diagon, or (Merlin forbid), an outcast who could only live with creatures like the dwarves or the wood fae.
And all she'd needed to do was kidnap the saviour of wizarding Britain and hand her over to an undying aberration of nature.
'Try not to think about it.'
"Good. Very good," rasped the terrifying voice of Pollux Black, regaining sapience. "I cannot divine the secret even with the fullest application of my Occlumency. Reveal it to me now."
Cygnus turned to Sacha. "Say it."
"Harriet Lily Potter has been taken in by the House of Black," she stated, keeping her eyes focused squarely on her feet. A twinge of magic raced across her scalp as she spoke.
"Ahhh," sighed the skeleton. "Yes, indeed. The memory returned instantly."
"And the girl is now asleep upstairs," continued Cygnus, casting a sidelong glance at his father. "So it seems she has been 'taken in' in truth."
"On a contingent basis," snapped Pollux.
"Of course," Cygnus said, face impassive.
'What in Merlin's name are they talking about?' she wondered.
At that moment, Pollux turned to her, and she froze like a fly stuck in amber. Despite his seemingly easy-going personality, Pollux still radiated a profound sense of wrongness.
"Sacha, you said your name was?"
"Yes, Lord. Sacha Cottier."
She hurriedly stood up, not daring to sit while Lord Black addressed her. Her body seemed to be on a delay as she moved, like it was a second behind her instructions.
'Was the Fidelius supposed to have a physical burden, too?'
"You've done well for a lowborn witch. My commendations. Everyone involved with the mission has been Obliviated or disposed of, correct?"
"Yes," she said, flicking her eyes over at the two corpses nearby. They were the final threads, but House Black had dealt with them.
"Excellent. You may die now."
The words spilled out so casually that it took Sacha's brain a moment to catch up. By then, it was too late.
Pollux Black appeared in front of her so quickly that it seemed he teleported. He reached out with one of his terrible, clawed hands, grabbing her throat and lifting her as easily as he might a doll.
"Ah—ghrk—!"
Flailing, she managed to snap her wand from its holster and into her hand. Just as she was bringing it up to cast Relashio, a powerful shock pulsed from her attacker's palm and into her body, paralyzing her. Her wand clattered to the floor like a discarded stick, her arms falling limp at her sides.
The monster might as well have been a construct of steel. Pollux brought his free hand forward, lifting a finger and touching it to the centre of her collarbone, at the base of her neck. His grip loosened slightly as he readjusted, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, and she was able to suck in some much-needed air.
"Y-your word!" she gasped out, eyes wildly searching for the man who employed her. "You're nobles—your word!"
"Ah, yes," said Cygnus, stepping around his father to take his seat by the table he'd been at when she first entered. As he spoke, he prodded the warped statue with a finger. "A useful myth, isn't it? The idea that nobility must keep their word."
"But—ghk!—you argued—disagreed about hiring me—"
"All a façade," he murmured. "To put you at ease. Father's presence has an unsettling effect on people. We didn't want you mucking up the Fidelius on purpose."
But it didn't make sense. She couldn't die. If she did, the Fidelius would pass to Cygnus.
"Had you been wise enough to demand a contract prior to accepting this job, you just might have survived, as young Micah did. But no, a lowborn witch would hardly expect the lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House to lie to her."
Making a demand? How could she? She hadn't had the standing to make a demand of a noble lord.
"The Charm! My magic—" her voice cut off when the skeletal hand restricted her breathing once more.
"Yes," interjected Pollux Black, voice like sandpaper. "That's why I'm doing this. Fascinating piece of magic, the Fidelius. Knowledge of how to perform it exists only with a few families in the world, and it's only a last resort due to its unstable nature and significant cost. Choose a Keeper from within the family, and you weaken your family. Choose one from without, and you are forever indebted to that individual, unable to kill or silence them lest you invite the burden on yourself."
His finger pressed against her sternum, and a piercing agony overwhelmed her.
"The more people that know the secret, the harder it is to cast the spell," he muttered. "One cannot erase something that is considered common knowledge. Not without an effort on the level of the Statute, I suppose... hundreds of thousands of wizards combining their magic…"
His finger ran down her chest. His touch was light, but robes and flesh split as if before a scalpel. She'd scream if she were able, but she was already on the verge of passing out from lack of oxygen. All she could do was wish for death as the mind-rending pain enveloped her consciousness.
"But you see, though I can't do much about the scale of the secret, I have devised a method to stabilize the magic once it is cast. This way, there is no risk of a Secret Keeper running around and spreading the secret or dismantling the charm. It's a theoretically simple piece of Soul Magic, though dreadfully difficult to pull off. You'll soon see how effective it is."
The pain suddenly vanished, and Sacha realized it was because she'd passed out.
But why was she still able to think? And why could she still hear Pollux Black's dreadful, rasping voice?
"First, the potion. Cygnus gave you a Calming Draught when you entered, which you needed in order to counteract my Aura of Despair. It was laced with an unscented, tasteless potion of my own creation. This drug has the property of temporarily weakening your soul-core connection. You might call it a loosening of your earthly bonds. Harmless on its own, you would have only experienced temporary side effects such as dizziness or a lag between your thoughts and actions."
'Loosening my earthly bonds…? What's he going on about?'
For some reason, Sacha's anxiety was gone. She still felt a vague, background-level fear, but it was muted. Like she was sitting at the bottom of a pool yet could somehow breathe.
Pollux dropped her body to the floor (she didn't feel it) and pulled a strange lantern out from under his cloak.
"From there, it's a simple matter of snipping those last few threads binding your soul to your body."
But that was death, wasn't it?
'Oh right. He's killing me.'
She should really have remembered that fact.
Pollux continued to drone on, but Sacha could no longer make out any intelligible words. Instead, her perspective shifted until she was floating above her head. Disconnected. She was vaguely aware that her body, naked and bleeding out onto the floor, was now a corpse. It stared at Pollux's feet with vacant eyes. She might as well have been staring at a piece of meat on the counter at the butcher's for how much it mattered to her. That body had no more meaning, no connection to her.
And then she saw it. The Tunnel.
It was there, right before her. It had no shape. No form. But it was there. All she needed to do was move into it and leave this world behind forever.
'Yes.'
She tried to enter the Tunnel, but for some reason, it didn't work. She couldn't move as she wished. Looking around, she saw Pollux Black's skeletal fingers clasped around her… her what? She had no shape, no body. He was holding the idea of her.
'Let go,' she asked.
He did not.
A ball of anxiety formed in her formless body.
'Let me in,' she said, turning to the Tunnel. 'Come closer, please. I can't reach you.'
The Tunnel did not answer.
'Please come closer.'
It began to draw away instead. Or perhaps it was her who was moving away from it.
'Don't go. Let me in. Let me go to the Place,' she begged.
But the Tunnel didn't answer. That's when she realized it wasn't moving away. It was shrinking.
'No. Please. Come back.'
It became a mere speck.
'Please!'
. . .
The speck vanished.
A sorrow as deep as the ocean enveloped her. It was a grief without end or beginning. It stained her, spreading throughout her incorporeal form, and ripping away everything that once made her Sacha Cottier. In short order, all memories, thoughts, hopes, aspirations were incinerated in her crucible of grief.
She no longer knew her name, nor did she care to know. She did not notice when she was placed within the Prison. She did not know time, or thought, or memories.
All she knew was suffering, along with one terrible Secret that she would guard forever.