Synopsis: AU. In a world where Sybil Trelawney is never born, the prophecy remains, but goes unheard. How different will Harry Potter's life be growing up in a world where Voldemort won? How long until a brilliant young man is noticed by the ever more brilliant Dark Lord?
Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Grainger, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Luna Lovegood.
AN: Hi everyone! So this update has at least been faster than the usual. Right? Riiight? That's gotta be worth a review. Hope you enjoy. This chapter actually required a lot of time and energy as a lot of things have to be tied together right. Hope you enjoy?
Chapter 16
Voldemort considered the boy's slumped, unconscious body with an expression that was a world away from the dispassionate assessment he usually gave. Truthfully, he was furious and confused in equal measure; said confusion only fanning the flames. This was his private study; the office adjoining to his bedroom – his bedroom for Salazar's sake – and until moments ago, another living soul had never entered this space. It was warded in three magical languages; protected in every conceivable sense. Protections tied to both blood and bone magic; some even darker. It should have been utterly impossible for someone – particularly a child – to apparate within. If indeed, apparration was what had occurred.
He towered above the boy, considering him. Potter was pale, his skin a sickly colour that spoke of magical exhaustion. Had he planned this? He recalled the bewildered expression on the young man's face just before he fainted – fainted, how pathetic – and decided that unlikely. Not only did he doubt the child had the capability to break his wards, no matter how clever he thought himself, he also didn't think Potter would dare. When the boy looked at him, they held the same fear and admiration as all his people. He was more fiery than most, perhaps, more daring in their recent interactions – but not in a way that spoke of open rebellion.
As he evaluated the situation, Potter began to stir, his eyelids flickering and a small groan escaping his pale lips. Voldemort lifted his wand lazily, sending the child back into an unconscious stasis. It would not do for him to wake up here, before Voldemort had decided what to do with him. As the boy twitched and relaxed again, he noticed the locket hanging loosely about his neck, and beneath it, an angry red mark marring the child's skin.
Of course, Voldemort noted with irritation. The boy might not be capable of this – not yet, an unwelcome voice in his mind chimed – but his Horcrux was. Tied to him as it was, his wards would do little to prevent it's magic forcing entry as it had. Tied to his strength, it was capable of great feats of magic indeed.
What remains to be seen, Tom thought as he eyed the boy critically. Is whether it's actions are tied to the boy's will, or mine.
It was a thoroughly uncomfortable thought. If the boy could somehow manipulate his own magic against him, then he would become perhaps the only wizard alive capable of damaging him. Once more, he was filled with an irrational, instinctive desire to make Harry Potter disappear. Only the memory of the fates, their musical divinations dancing in the forefront of his mind, stayed his hand. Harry Potter was a threat, but a necessary one. Perhaps even a useful one, one day. It would also be a shame to dispose of one with so much potential; the boy was talented, powerful and charismatic. Traits Voldemort wasn't entirely sure he condoned in others, but were likely necessary to the health of his empire. He needed such virtues in his generals, so long as they knew their place.
Somehow, he thought as he levitated the child out of the room, and apparated them into the parlour, he imagined teaching such a boy his place would be harder than anticipated. Especially as said boy became a man, and the naivete that kept him from fully realising the odd position he occupied in the Dark Lord's world left him.
Still, for now, he was just a child. A scared, exhausted child. Voldemort had never had much patience for children.
Harry came back to reality with an uncomfortable jolt, as the world suddenly became bright and loud. He vaguely noted that someone must have ennervated him, for that was no natural way to enter the waken world.
He was bewildered as Professor Snape, looking unusually grim and stern, pushed a vial into his hands and ordered him to drink. He eyed it sceptically, but a particularly vicious glare had him gulping it down eagerly.
"That's disgusting," Harry struggled not to wretch, coughing to clear the foul taste from his mouth. But the weight he had not yet noticed wearing on his bones seemed to lighten, and the headache that had been fogging his mind in the brief moments he had been awake cleared immediately. Not poison, then.
He became aware that he was laid across a sofa in the middle of a grandly decorated receiving room. Sofa might be too small a word for the piece of furniture, actually, as it looked as though it was more for admiring than sitting on. He also became aware, with a growing feeling of trepidation, that standing before him were a handful of Death Eaters, and Lord Voldemort himself. His life had always been a bit strange, especially recently, but this was taking the cake. He struggled to pull himself into a sitting position and bowed his head awkwardly.
"My Lord," he said, reverently.
Voldemort seemed to have little time for formality, as he looked coldly at the boy. Harry chanced a look at the Death Eaters around him and was relieved to recognise at least three faces – Lucius, Bellatrix and Snape. Relief might be too strong of a word for Snape, but 'not terror' didn't have quite the same ring to it. Voldemort began to question him almost immediately.
"Explain the events of this evening," he ordered, simply.
Taking a steady breath, Harry did exactly that without another thought. He told them about how he had been trying to find some peace, how he had been tricked and where he had come to be. As he began to recount how the locket had begun to grow hot, Voldemort swiftly interrupted him.
"The three rebels you encountered. Describe them," Voldemort said simply, his eyes still unnervingly impassive.
"The girl, the contestant from the IDC, she's called Nymphadora McKinnon, I know that much."
A small, indrawn breath drew his attention, and the stricken look on Bellatrix' face was enough to make him hesitate for a moment.
"And, erm… The woman at the base. She, well she looked quite a lot like you, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix was shaking her head furiously, her face passing between rage and disbelief. Harry felt a flicker of fear in his chest; he had never seen Bella look as crazy as she was rumoured to be.
"Lucius," came the silky voice of the Dark Lord. Harry noticed for the first time that Lucius too, looked deeply disturbed. "Take Bellatrix and track down your niece. Do not return until you have her."
"Niece?" he blurted out, unthinkingly.
Bellatrix, who's wild anger had been searching for a target, met Harry and in a flurry he found himself pinned to the sofa with a furious Bella straddling him, her wand at his neck and her eyes feral.
"If you breathe a word of this, you filthy half-blood!" she screeched. She was almost unrecognisable to him.
His previous fear seemed to melt away in the face of how utterly indignant he was. Harry's eyes hardened, his mouth set in a firm line and his expression flashed dangerously. At sixteen, Harry was hardly thought of as a threat by a room full of Death Eaters, but he did not handle disrespect well. In a moment, he had stood so quickly that Bellatrix fell to the floor and he had trapped her wand hand beneath his foot. He glared down at her. True enough, she was likely a better duellist than he, but she hadn't expected the reaction and wasn't thinking clearly.
"I would never do anything to shame you or your family, Bella. And you fucking well know it," he seethed.
Bellatrix, as crazy as she was, seemed to deflate at this. If there was anything more terrifying than seeing her angry, it was the sudden vulnerability in that moment.
The Dark Lord chose this moment to interrupt.
"If we are quite done with this display," he said, displeasure evident, and Harry quickly released her with a sheepish look. Bellatrix rose elegantly to her feet, and with a nod to Lucius, left the room without further comment. Harry watched after her, concerned.
"My Lord-" Harry began, seeking answers to sudden burning questions.
"Severus, take Potter back to the castle and make sure he stays where he ought to," Voldemort cut him off.
Harry stared at him, daring not to argue with him now. Not when he looked like this. On the surface, he merely looked his usual, perfectly attractive self. Fitted, dark clothing, unblemished skin and flawless features. His aura though, was screaming danger and power in a way that made Harry want to fall to his knees right there. It wasn't hard to understand how this man had come to rule the wizarding world. Still.
"My Lord, I- I don't seem to have my wand," Harry continued softly, daring himself to speak.
Prepared for anger at his further interruption, he got worse. The Dark Lord gave him only an acerbic smile, and shook his head.
"My, my, Mr Potter," came Voldemort's smooth, amused tone. "Tricked with a port key like an imbecile, and you couldn't even hold your wand. I thought you were supposed to be impressive."
It was like a blow to the stomach.
He said little else as Severus took him by the elbow, and lead him from the room.
Draco Malfoy had never been more grateful for his years of etiquette training. He had once sworn that he would never forgive Madam Violetta, his childhood governess, for her endless nitpicking and criticism. The witch had spent years correcting his posture, forcing him to stop eating again and again to correct the way he held utensils, and scolding him endlessly for anything she deemed an inappropriate display of emotion. However, if it were not for her, then he was sure there was no way he'd be able to resist fidgeting, blushing or even stuttering as Hermione Black entered the restaurant that night.
It was a small, expensive establishment on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It catered only to a specific, pureblood clientele and was the sort of place where asking for a price would be seen as terribly uncouth. It was candlelit and the tables were small, but the crystal glasses and gold trimmed plates were enough to indicate it's class. Around them, many a witch was dressed finely, in richly made robes, and elegant jewellery. Many of them were even attractive; years of grooming, and money going into the upkeep of their pristine appearances. Still, they all paled in comparison to this witch, as she entered the room.
Hermione was wearing a knee length blue dress, with an elegant shawl that showed enough skin to be breathtaking, whilst not being tacky. At her throat, a beautiful silver pendant, encrusted with a small sapphire. Her hair fell in rolling locks to her bosom, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Still, it was her eyes that caught his attention; warm and wild in equal measure.
As Draco stood formally, pulling out her chair for her and giving her a chaste kiss on her hand, he thought about sending Madam Violetta some flowers. Without her, he surely would have fallen over his own feet. As he returned to his own seat, his mind raced as he attempted to find something to say.
"Hermione," he began. "May I call you Hermione?"
The smallest blush crept onto the witches cheeks, as if she were a shy maiden at her debut. Draco reminded himself that Hermione was a dangerous witch, a magical force to be reckoned with, and revelled in being able to draw such a reaction from her.
"I think that would be appropriate, considering the setting, Draco."
He nodded, offering her a warm smile and was saved from speaking by a waiter offering them wine. They both accepted, and he drank deeply, hoping it would give him courage.
"You look beautiful this evening," he said, and added a little too quickly, "the dress, I mean."
Hermione dropped her gaze, and quickly touched her fingers to her neck. "Yes, well, I got it recently. I was shopping with Bellatrix today."
Draco, stunned by the mental image this gave, laughed. "Auntie Bella went shopping? Has Diagon Alley recovered?"
A mischievous smile lit up Hermione's features. "Not yet, but I'm told it should live."
"Fortunate for the alley," he added, dryly.
"Is it though? Bella took a strong liking to a particularly gloomy clothes emporium. I believe more shopping may be on the horizon," she said with a devilish smile. "I'm not sure if it will be so lucky a second time."
Draco, feigning a saddened look, took another drink. "A shame indeed then. At least she didn't set anything on fire, I suppose."
Hermione gave him a level look, which had him laughing into his glass again.
"She didn't?" he exclaimed.
"Oh she did. Someone stuck me with a pin. My dear Mother is a bit protective, it seems," she shook her head with an exasperated expression.
"Well, I don't blame her then. I'd certainly have a similar reaction if some careless oaf were to cause you pain." It had been half meant as a joke, but had come out quite zealous. Hermione blushed again, giving him a tentative smile and he cleared his throat sharply.
"I didn't think you were a big fan of fashion," he said, hoping to redirect the conversation onto safer ground.
It was the wrong thing to say. Hermione's eyes looked hurt for a moment, before cooling considerably.
"No, I didn't mean-" Draco began, and failed. "I only meant, you've never shown an interest."
"You mean because my clothes are ugly?" asked Hermione, matter-of-factly. Her tone was cold, and if he didn't mistake it, angry.
"No," Draco responded, his tone firm. "There is honestly nothing about you I would describe as ugly."
The conversation stalled again at this, but the ice around her seemed to melt and after a moment they strayed into the easier terrain of talking about classes. As time passed, and their meals were served, the conversation flowed faster and faster. He learned she hated divination, and he confessed some mildly embarrassing anecdote about wanting to be a seer as a child. She told him about how she had wanted to be an explorer, and had spent a week in the orphanage gardens with a small spade, trying to dig to the other side of the world.
Now and then, he'd throw in something regarding pure blood customs, to at least justify the meeting. He'd almost forgotten several times that it was for this purpose that he'd managed to arrange the date, and several times he was distracted by some small expression, or her laugh. He'd be reminded that this witch would someday be his wife, and was temporarily struck silent with awe. She was the only witch he wanted at his side, but the thought of forcing her into a marriage she may not want was enough to keep a constant feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.
They were halfway through dessert when everything turned to chaos.
Draco had been in the middle of a story involving him, Harry and Blaise trying to prank Bellatrix by transfiguring her hair pink, when a patronous had burst into the restaurant.
The ethereal creature, a falcon, swept into the room causing the witches and wizards seated to rise to their feet and exclaim. Wands were drawn, and shouts of alarm were heard. Hermione had her wand out several seconds before he did; there was a reason she was the second in their year at duelling. Draco had no sooner drawn his wand, when he lowered it. A slightly tinnier version of his Father's voice emitted from the creature, filling the space.
'Draco, take Hermione and get to Malfoy Manor immediately. There is danger. Go.'
With a single look of assent from her, he grabbed her hand, and apparrated from the restaurant.
Harry was silent and brooding as Snape escorted him briskly to Gryffindor tower. He had expected the Professor would leave him at the portrait, perhaps after some acerbic warning about not causing trouble. Instead, he was mortified as Snape took him by the elbow, and led him through the common room. He was literally pulled through the room, fighting the angry, flushed expression and ignoring the numerous eyes that followed him as the room stilled to a stunned silence. He was taken up the stairs and into his dormitory. The Professor did not release him until he was at the foot of his bed.
"What the fuck was that about?!" Harry demanded, through gritted teeth. He was at the end of his tether today. He felt drained, and his emotions felt as though they had been stomped on by a heard of elephants.
The lashius caught him by surprise, and a nasty one at that, but he didn't give the Professor the satisfaction of seeing a reaction. His hand went for his wand, only to remember it wasn't there. Harry paled, his hands balling into fists. He was normally a playful, laid back individual but the way the last day had made him feel utterly helpless, grated on him.
"You will watch your tone, Mr Potter," drawled Snape with a vicious smile. "Our Lord demanded I make sure you stayed in your proper place, and I believe your bed is the correct place for a wayward child."
Harry was infuriated. "I did nothing wrong! They took me!"
Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, and Harry half expected another lashius, but the response was far worse.
"Mr Potter, are you forgetting that less than twenty-four hours ago, you were drunk in a lake making a mockery of the Dark Mark? That less than fourty-eight hours ago, you were alone in an alleyway-" he paused here, sneering. "-dallying – with a stranger, a grown wizard? And that all pales in comparison to the fact that because you wanted to go sulk by the dark forest – and because you were so naive as to accept an unknown object from an unknown stranger without even running a basic diagnostic spell, you were taken. And you could have been killed."
Harry had never seen Professor Snape look this angry before, and although he had no particular connection to him, his words were biting enough that he felt shame filling his stomach.
"I- I didn't-" Harry began, but Snape swiftly interrupted.
"You are fortunate to have been blessed with your Mother's wits, boy," Snape ground out. "But you have your damned Father's arrogance and foolhardiness and it will kill you like it killed him if you do not grow up and discipline yourself."
Harry, bristling at the mention of his traitor parents and already furious and ashamed, scoffed. "I don't give a fuck about my blood-traitor Father or my mudblood Mother!"
The slap took him by surprise.
It wasn't particularly hard, not enough to bruise or knock him over, and he'd certainly had worse in his life. It stung though, and the shock of this combined with the already intense emotions coursing through his body made his eyes water. He furiously blinked those tears away. Snape was talking again.
"Muggle-born she might have been, Potter, and on the wrong side. But your Mother was a brilliant witch, and if you ever live up to be half as good as she was, I will be very surprised," he hissed.
Snape said nothing further as he whirled around and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry groaned as he heard the door lock.
"What the actual fuck was that?" he whispered to himself, as he sat down on the bed and wondered why karma was after him today.
When Hermione appeared directly into the receiving room of Malfoy Manor, her first thought was that she was grateful that she had been dressed well when whatever emergency was happening, happened. It was one of those mad, irrelevant thoughts that always pops into one's head when they're nervous or when the unexpected happens. Although Narcissa and Lucius had been quite accepting of her adoption into the family, she was still nervous around them, and imagined if she'd been wearing the sort of comfortable, oversized robes she wore when she was studying then she'd be even more so.
Lucius wasn't there when they arrived, but Narcissa was. She looked calm, but stoic. She nodded at them, from where she was standing by the fire. When Draco opened his mouth, she silenced him with a small gesture.
"I do not know all the details, and your Father is yet to return. All I know is that Harry has been taken from the grounds; the wards alerted your Aunt, and then they received an urgent call from our Lord. Your Father called you back here in case there was some sort of threat," she said it all in a succinct, almost cold way. However, Hermione was good at reading people, and she could see the worry in her eyes. She knew she was fond of Harry, he had a way of worming his way into the coldest of hearts.
"Where is he?!" demanded Draco, his composure immediately slipping away.
"I do not know, Draco," his Mother reiterated, soothingly. "We will have to wait for your Father to return."
"We have to go find him," Draco announced, his tone already assured. "We need to leave now."
Although her own stomach was in knots with concern, Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Draco, there is nothing we can do but wait. We don't know where Harry is, and if your Father and my Mother are already searching, then there is little more we can do to help. We're only sixteen."
Narcissa nodded, through her concern, a look of approval.
"But-" Draco began, then deflated. He was no Gryffindor, and he understood she was right. "Fuck Potter, you better be alright," he whispered, sitting down heavily as Hermione took a seat beside him.
Time passed. According to the ornate clock in the corner of the room, it had only been twenty minutes, but to Hermione it felt like hours. Harry was her best friend – her brother, really – and she didn't know where he was, or if he was hurt. Harry was clever and talented, quicker with his wand than anyone, but he was still just a kid and his temper could be a problem. Or if he acted recklessly. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand and worried her lip. Narcissa gave her a consoling smile when they made eye contact. The minutes were dragging on.
Finally, Lucius arrived, and not alone. With him, came her Mother and in her arms, the immobilised form of a girl with black hair and deeply frightened eyes.
"Lucius?" Narcissa demanded, as they all rose to their feet again. Narcissa looked livid, assumably that they had brought some sort of fugitive into their home.
Lucius expression was grim, and Bellatrix did not even spare a glance at Hermione.
"Mother?" Hermione asked tentatively. "What's going on? Is Harry okay?"
Bellatrix finally looked away from where she had been glaring at the stilled young woman and to her adoptive daughter. The look on her face frightened Hermione, and her eyes widened. If she didn't trust Bella so implicitly she would have drawn her wand.
"Potter is fine, Hermione. He was fortunate to escape when my little niece here, captured him," she spat, her expression wild.
Narcissa's whole countenance shifted, from confused to shock, and then finally anger.
"Niece?" she demanded. Narcissa approached the young woman, looking into her eyes and taking her in, before she shook her head. Something like sorrow hung in the air between them. "Nymphadora. She's alive."
"Alive, and a member of the resistance it would seem," added Lucius coldly. "Along with her Mother."
Narcissa whirled around to face her husband. "Andromeda is also alive? But how? She-" Her expression darkened again, growing almost as terrifying as her sisters. "She betrayed us."
Lucius nodded grimly. Draco had paled and was conspicuously silent throughout the interaction. Only Hermione seemed to have no idea what was going on.
"Can someone please explain to me what on earth is going on?" she demanded. At the uneasy expressions of those around her, she said in an equally demanding tone. "Am I not a member of this family also?"
Bellatrix's frosty expression thawed ever so slightly. "Of course, my darling."
Her Mother gave her a brief rundown of the events of the night. That Nymphadora had tricked Harry into taking a portkey, that Harry had somehow – and this was unexplained – managed to escape to the Dark Lord's residence where he had been questioned, and that he had revealed the identities of his captors, the resistance.
"Harry is very lucky," Lucius said gravely. "It could have been much worse."
Hermione nodded, relieved that he was alright, if no doubt shaken up. She pressed on.
"Who is Andromeda, and why did you think she was dead? And this is her daughter?" she asked, connecting the dots.
Narcissa took over. "Andromeda was – or it would seem is – our sister. We were close as children, happy even. But during the war, Andromeda was… confused. We found out she had a lover that was muggleborn, and of course she had to leave him. Well, unfortunately she was..." Narcissa trailed off, seeming unsure how to continue.
"Knocked up," Bellatrix offered, easily.
Narcissa gave her an exasperated look, but continued. "Yes, well. Yes. Our parents were furious, of course. We thought they'd kill her, but Bellatrix prevented them doing so, calling it a childish mistake. They accepted this, but our Father. He was..." she trailed off again.
"A very cruel and ruthless bastard," Bellatrix added again.
This time Narcissa didn't look offended. "Yes. He killed the muggleborn. Andromeda was devastated, but she did what was proper. We arranged a marriage for her to cover the scandal, which she went along with. Although Andromeda was a ghost until the day the child arrived. Then Dor-Nymphadora became her whole world. She was a very bright, happy thing. We thought she was better, but she was becoming more and more outspoken. She didn't like our Lord, or the Dark. We kept her away from other purebloods more and more, concerned she'd bring shame to the family – or worse, put herself in danger – by declaring her allegiances. Her husband, a prominent American pureblood, grew tired of her antics and left her. She only got worse then."
Narcissa took a deceptively deep drink of wine from a goblet, and continued. "When the war was won, we thought it was over. That she'd accept our side and get on with raising little Nymphadora, who was five or six at this point. But then out of nowhere, she announced she was remarrying. A pureblood this time, but a very prominent blood traitor. Fallon McKinnon," Narcissa paused again, sighing deeply.
"We didn't get there in time. She had already told Mother and Father, and Father had been furious. According to our Mother, he had attacked Andromeda, killing Nymphadora in a rage. Mother had tried to prevent him killing Andromeda, but could not. According to Mother, when he saw the bodies of his daughter and granddaughter, even his old, horrible heart couldn't take it, and he took his own life then and there."
Hermione had gone very still. It was one of the most harrowing things she had ever heard, and she hadn't even known it about her own family. She shook her head, lost for words.
"But- but that's not true then? They're alive?" Hermione said, trying to find some silver lining to this.
Lucius nodded. "Now instead of having a dead Father-in-law, sister-in-law and niece – It would seem it's just the dead Father-in-law and two traitors."
Bellatrix shook her head and clenched her fists. A vase exploded nearby.
The young woman, Nymphadora, had somehow changed her hair from black to dark blue despite her stasis. Hermione looked at her for a long moment.
"It's not her fault," Hermione said suddenly, firmly.
"What?" demanded Bellatrix. "This girl tried to hand your best friend to the resistance."
Hermione nodded, trying not to waver her in her resolve. It was obvious there was some familial connection here. Narcissa looked at her niece with some old, buried longing. Bellatrix with an anger that could only be born of attachment. Even Lucius looked unsure of himself. Hermione knew in her heart that once, her family had loved this woman, when she was very small.
"She would have been what, five or six then? I doubt she had a choice. It's not her fault that they took her."
Bellatrix opened her mouth, then shut it again. Then growled. "It doesn't matter. She committed treason, and I would be very surprised if the Dark Lord does not order her execution when he's finished questioning her."
"You can persuade him," Hermione implored. "She's your niece, Mother. She's our family. The resistance might have brainwashed her, but look at her-" she gestured. "Look at her eyes, they're like yours. Look at how defiant she looks, even as she must know how bad the situation is and was when you caught her? She's our family. Her mother made a choice, but what if she never had one. So she's been brainwashed – she deserves a chance at least."
Hermione had a soft heart for those close to her, and although she did not know Nymphadora, she had embraced this family entirely. She was also an empathetic and intuitive person – and understood what products they were of their environment. Perhaps if she had been raised by the light, with someone like Albus Dumbledore in charge, she'd be out there with the infamous Order of the Phoenix, trying to take down the Dark Lord – as ridiculous as that thought seemed.
"Imagine it was me or Draco that they had, Mother, Aunt Narcissa. Wouldn't you hope they'd do the same."
Lucius considered the idea, while the sisters seemed deeply torn. Draco remained silent, but moved to stand at her side. Non-verbally expressing his support.
"No one was harmed, and she is a member of our family. Perhaps if we can get her to turn on the light, the Dark Lord can be persuaded," said Lucius, thoughtfully.
Hermione after noting that Nymphadora was unarmed, lifted her wand and unfroze the girl, who stumbled slightly before backing off from them.
"Nymphadora, my name is Hermione, I'm your cousin and we need you to listen to us," Hermione began carefully, addressing the frightened woman.
A resolve seemed to set in as the woman squared her shoulder and lifted her chin, her dark hair shifting to red. "Hello Hermione. I am Nymphadora McKinnon, a member of The Order of the Phoenix. You are not my family, and I will die before I turn on the light," she spat.
"Well. Shit," said Draco.
Hermione agreed.
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