Author's Chapter Notes:

1- I tried but couldn't remain a 100 imune to DH canon so some of it will be incorporated here but it'll appear in my story more as vague references than anything else. Still, spoiler alert!

2- I don't live in Germany nor have I ever visited Berlin (though I plan to) so some of the information about the city might be a little inaccurate or vague, sorry for that.

3- The vocabulary you need to know

Kriegsakademie Prussian (Potsdam) Military Academy
Obergruppenführer Senior Group Leader
Totenkopf "Is the German word for "death head" or "death's head" and is used to describe a military insignia featuring a skull above crossed bones."

4- The parts in italics happened in the past (in this specific case earlier that same day)

After Ginny trekked the last few steps leading out of the underground tube station she had to stop for a few moments to get her bearings. It had been an eventful day, to say the least and now, roughly twenty-six hours after she'd been standing in this very spot, the magnitude of the changes that had taken place in that period of time were finally catching up to her. Not that anyone would be able to tell. Externally, the only difference to be noted was in the black leather bag hanging from her left shoulder. It was fuller. The mass of rumpled, stained fabric stashed away in it now had been on her body in the form of a pristine charcoal uniform. The plastic bag filled to the brim with ashes had been her brother.

She had kept a stony façade and brisk steps, careful not to falter in front of the recruits as she'd made her way through the corridors of the Potsdam Military Academy. Ginevra Gaunt had become a living legend amongst her juniors in the Walpurgis Youth after being assigned as the Obergruppenführer of the Protective Squadron, and her unexpected appearance on her old haunting grounds had caused quite the stir--or as much of it as there would be amongst the most disciplined young recruits in the recent history of the wizarding world.

As a Kriegsakademie graduate herself, Ginny knew that any behavior that deviated from the strict rule code of the institution would be severely punished; she had experienced the place's very own brand of tough love in the past, and for once she was glad for it. She had needed a place to regroup undisturbed before facing her superiors and the Spartan accommodations, originally designed to house the 18th century Muggle army, gave off a sterile vibe that always worked wonders on her frazzled nerves.

Ginevra had been doing this job for over three years now. Before starting on her new position, she'd been the head of the Totenkopf , the elite extermination division of the Coalition's army, the most brutal of them all.

You wouldn't see her or one of her men in the battlefields. No, the heat of the fray hardly agreed with the glacial ruthlessness of their unit. They were employed only for the jobs that the other, lesser, soldiers couldn't stomach.

Jobs like the cold-blooded murders of former allies, who hadn't even realized the depth of their loyalty, had been in check, until it was too late. But His Lordship appreciated a thorough job; there shouldn't be anyone left to tell the tale or seek revenge. And so Ginny and her troop killed indiscriminately: wives, children, house-elves.

They were also responsible for all sorts of intimidation--whatever pressure needed to be applied to achieve a certain goal, to wipe away everything that might stand between them and their targets.

Ginevra was a seasoned pro who'd learned that all the Philosophy classes she had attended in Kriegsakademie were worth dragon dung when it was time to rest your head on your pillow every night. That all the magical and Muggle thinkers in the world couldn't come up with an ideology that would justify some of your most atrocious behavior.

That the almost Pavlovian conditioning the recruits were treated to and the blind obedience to orders they were taught wasn't much help when it came to rationalizing your actions to your conscience. That the only thing that would get you through in the end was finding your own inner sanctuary and keeping it hidden in a place deep down where none of the ugliness you created or were exposed to could taint it.

Today, that remaining little corner of peace she had left had been shattered. After her…victim had finally expired and her mission was accomplished, Ginny had felt uncharacteristically hollow. She wasn't fanatical in regards to their cause, but she'd always taken her duties very seriously, and once the initial wave of shock of having taken a life had finally worn off, the undeniable power behind the action had started taking a hold of her. Then, after some more time had passed, it had, quite frankly, become mechanical. She was still deeply invested and involved with the thought process behind their killings, the vast plotting that went into it, the tactics, the weapons, the spells, the assigning of each soldier for a specific mission that would agree with them, but as she rose in their ranks she had distanced herself from the actual act of extinguishing a life, become almost desensitized to the outcome that all of her planning would ultimately lead to. Today had been a harsh wake up call.

And so she'd sat on the cold stone floor of the torture chamber, staring blankly ahead, until one of the squib servants came in to collect the body.

The middle-aged man hadn't seen her as he rolled in a steel gurney and placed it near the table where the corpse was lying. He grunted with the strain of trying to move the Viking-sized man without the aide of magic.

On some level Ginny realized she should offer to help the poor bastard; it would only take a flick of her hand, after all, but the only thing she could focus on was a memory of her and Ron mock wrestling in the Burrow's backyard during Christmas break her third year, as her hulking brother taught her how to avert unwanted attention by the Hogwarts male population. She had only been able to throw him down when he lost his footing because of the snow.

A sharp intake of breath let her know her cover had been blown. She must look quite wretched if a man who hadn't blinked in the face of a mangled corpse had been startled by her appearance.

"I'm sorry, miss, I thought there wasn't anybody left." He groveled pathetically, " I should have knocked before coming in. I will put it back right away, miss, just give me one second." The balding squib resumed his grunting now attempting to roll the body back to the table.

"No, it's okay. I'm done here," she said, slowly rising from the floor, her muscles straining painfully. She must've been there longer than she'd realized. As she bypassed the man who was now closing the zip on the body bag, he stopped her with a disgruntled tone. He obviously wanted to be there as much as she did.

"Excuse me, miss."

"Yes?" Ginny asked flatly.

"Do you have any instructions about the disposal of the body? The usual thing is cremation, but sometimes people ask me to cu…"

"Stop," she hissed, visibly paling.

Ginevra didn't have the slightest interest in what disturbing ways previous victims had been handled; subconsciously, she realized all the other political prisoners she'd sent to Nurmengard had been exterminated, but she'd never cared for the post-mortem procedures. Now the undignified, impersonal manner in which they must have been treated was suddenly affecting her. She needed to get away.

"I'll be in the women's barracks taking a shower. Please have the ashes delivered there after you...finish."

"As you wish, miss." The man bowed unnecessarily, as she was long gone before he'd finished speaking.

When Ginny came out of the bathroom, an enormous grey eagle owl was perched on top of a thin army cot, the only piece of furniture in the otherwise bare room. Even if she hadn't seen that specific bird before she'd be able to guess whom it belonged to simply from the haughty way its alert eyes observed the uncouth surroundings.

"Lucky for us we're both leaving soon," Ginny commiserated with the bird as it extended its leg agreeably.

So unlike Pigwidgeon, who would've nipped her hand as soon as she approached, probably figuring her finger was a tasty treat. The redhead highly doubted that the Malfoys's main owl had ever known one day of starvation in its whole life, however, so no such untoward behavior was displayed.

The owl waited patiently as Ginny read its master's note and wrote a quick missive of her own, letting him know she would run one more errand and then go meet him. As soon as the parchment was secured the regal bird spread its massive wings and took off in a perfect straight line, shooting up like an arrow through the skylight window.

The city hadn't changed much after she'd moved back to England, and even though she kept a posh flat in Prenzlauerberg, it had been a couple of years since she'd crossed the barrier that separated the modern station of the line U2 of the city underground from the romantically tinged Neoclassicism of the Schinkel-inspired Academy building.

The two "realities" were kept apart with the same glamours used on Platform 9 and ¾ and King's Cross station. The only difference being that instead of just risking plowing head first into a wall, you actually have to jump on the train track and walk into the tunnel, driving across quite clearly the point that you're required to have a bit more of a backbone to study in the Potsdam Military Academy than to attend Hogwarts.

Her hesitation in walking to the apparition point that'd allow her to get to the Malfoys's secondary residence in the district of Charlottenburg, however, had more to do with Ginevra feeling unsettled about the impeding meeting than with her need to allow her surroundings to sink in.

Yes, she'd had time to deal with her personal issues and yes, it had overall been a flawless job, but even though she'd managed to gather massive amounts of relevant information on the Resistance's efforts, Ginny had, ultimately, failed her superiors.

Either Ron had never been aware of it or he'd managed to Obliviate himself before he was captured; whatever had been the case, the simple truth was she was going to have to meet Lucius Malfoy and tell him they still had no idea where Harry Potter was hiding.

Now that was something to look forward to, Ginny thought bitterly, as she was engulfed by the crowd of pedestrians.

"Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm so sorry about the hour, but your husband asked me to stop by as soon as I had news," Ginny started as soon as the tall blonde opened the door. Malfoy Manor was protected by dark, ancient magic that couldn't be replicated anywhere else, regardless of how strong the caster, so in their little refuge away from home the family was being forced to keep a somewhat low profile, which meant no magical creatures in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood.

"Oh, never mind, dear. And I think I've already told you to call me by my first name? Mrs. Malfoy was Lucius's mother, may Morgana have her soul," Narcissa said, guiding Ginny to a white leather ottoman.

Of what Ginny recalled from her few visits to their English property, it had all been done in a heavy gothic style, and while the room she was currently in looked no less expensive, the oppressive feeling was substituted for clean lines and light colors. Lots of leather, glass and steel, the decorations seemed to be in sync with the town.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm not sure if that would be proper…"

"Come off it, Ginevra! You're no different from the other children, now." Ginny did not miss the underlined condescension on that "now". "Why shouldn't I treat you accordingly?"

"Aunt Cissy, your bloody son asked me to…"

A tall dark man rushed into the room, displaying all the familiarity with the Malfoy matriarch Ginny knew she'd never feel comfortable engaging in, even if they stayed friends for the rest of their lives. The older woman acted in a very open manner, but there was something so detached and prohibitive about her ways that just didn't allow Ginny to relax around her. She'd known motherly warmth firsthand, and Narcissa Malfoy was definitely not the textbook definition.

"Oh, hello there, Gaunt. Did I know you were coming over?" Blaise Zabini asked in the same rambunctious way, not allowing his obvious surprise at her presence to break his stride.

"Well, Zabini, seeing as you aren't the master of the manor, I don't see any reason you should," the redhead retorted, immediately feeling more at ease. Blaise had been the first to welcome her into their midst. He chalked it up to his Italian candidness; Ginny personally thought he'd been just trying to bed her. For whatever reason, they had forged the closest thing she had to a friendship these days.

"Feisty!" He chuckled, reading the playfulness behind her words. "Do you see, Aunt Cissy, what we blokes have to deal with nowadays?" Blaise asked, throwing a casual arm around the older woman's bony shoulders in a way that, Ginny would bet her last galleon, would've gotten him slapped by Narcissa where he anyone else. "They don't make them like you anymore!"

"They never did, Blaise. She's one of a kind." A cold drawl came from the doorway, dispelling the jovial ambiance Blaise's arrival had created. Recognizing a veiled threat when he heard one, Blaise became stiff as his best friend walked into the room and pointedly took a seat directly across from where the dark-haired man was hovering above Narcissa.

"Now if you'll be so kind as to unhandle my mother?" Draco sneered.

"Oh, of course, sorry Aunt Ciss'!" he said in one of the few awkward moments starred by Blaise that Ginny had ever witnessed. Malfoy was really the life of the party, wasn't he?

"And what are you doing here?" He turned on her with a vicious glare. All manners that one- Ginny thought. Apparently his mother had noticed the blonde's lack of tact as well, for she quickly berated him.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, behave!"

"My sincerest apologies, Mother," he conceded, all fake pleasantness. "So, Ginevra." His voice was polite enough, but his eyes were filled with so much contempt Ginny was a little taken aback. "What brings you by?"

"I came on your father's bidding,"

"You don't say!" Draco commented flippantly. Used to warding off bullies she chose the effective path of ignoring his taunt.

"to alert him of the completion of the mission he assigned me." Ginny offered grudgingly. She couldn't very well be rude to Draco in his own house, but she also wouldn't bow down to his will like everyone else seemed so eager to. As little as she'd volunteered, the weight of what she'd left unsaid, the true depth of her words sunk in on all the four people, and Blaise, not a big fan of uncomfortable silences, blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Ding-dong the wizard is dead!"

"Blaise Emanuel Zabini, that was most distasteful." Narcissa sounded scandalized, while Ginny fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. All of them knew there was no love lost between the Weasleys and the Malfoys and that the only reason she was chiding Blaise was for propriety's sake. Hypocrisy truly was the best social lubricant.

"Now, why don't you come to keep me company in the drawing room, honey?" she proposed in a tone that left no room for argument. Blaise was on his feet before she'd finished speaking. "Draco, you children should go up to Lucius' study and discuss whatever it is you need to."

"Aw, Aunt Cissy, why am I getting left out?" Blaise whined sullenly as he followed the imposing socialite out of the room.

"Pouting is most unbecoming for a young man of your standing, dearest," she preached automatically in a way that confirmed to Ginny this must have been about the millionth time Narcissa had proffered those words. If she ever decided to divorce Lucius, the blonde could have a bright future as a beauty pageant judge.

"Don't worry, Zabini. I'm here on official business, and the information I have is classified and should be delivered to Mr. Malfoy only."

At Ginny's offhand comment, Blaise and Narcissa stopped their retreat, both ready for the argument that didn't take more than a second to come.

"I am my father's representative in his absence, Weaselette," Draco stated as Ginny knew he would. In his letter to her Lucius had warned this might happen and had firmly instructed her to keep her lips sealed, even to his offspring. She'd never been more pleased to follow an order.

"I'm his son and heir and what he knows, I know. I realize your breeding didn't prepare you to deal with the old bloodlines, but you'd do well to remember your place in the grand scheme of things."

Draco's little tantrum might have had an impact on Ginny, had she not heard a variation thereof from him every single day since she turned twelve. As it was, she almost relished it, for she had just the right answer in the tip of her tongue.

"Well, it would appear you're mistaken, Draco." She'd started using the first name she knew he hated and considered a disrespect when coming from those he saw as beneath him. Some tricks never got old.

"Whether your father has you in his confidence is of no consequence to me. I haven't pledged my allegiance to the Malfoys. And while I have the utmost respect for your parents, your temporary mild discomfiture matters very little to me," she said in a snotty manner that would've put Pansy Parkinson to shame.

Turning triumphantly to her hostess, who was the closest that Narcissa Black Malfoy would ever look to a gapping fish; Ginny used her last card in the little 'humiliating Draco' game she had planned for tonight.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Narcissa, but I think I will come back at a better time."

Playing right into her hand, the statuesque blonde rushed to smooth things over. She had been married to Lucius Malfoy for over twenty years; she knew not to go against his orders.

"No, no please, Ginevra, stay."

"Let her go, Mother." Draco sneered spitefully, too convinced of his own self-worth to realize that in this specific scenario he didn't have the priority when it came to his parents.

"Draco, off to your room right now!" Narcissa scowled, livid. Draco practically growled back at her, and Blaise, prone to nervous laughter, broke out in giggles that got him scolded as well. "You too, Blaise."

When neither of the astonished men moved to comply, the blonde woman shrieked, pointing towards the stairs leading to their private quarters. "Don't make me repeat myself, young men!"

Looking thoroughly bewildered that his mother would treat him like an unruly young child in front of company, over a sodding Weasley, no less, Draco mumbled indignantly as he stomped across the room heading to the foyer, where he picked up a random robe, put it on haphazardly and left, almost causing the front door to come off the hinges in his outrage.

Blaise, who had finally reigned in his own inappropriate demonstration, stared befuddled at both women for a split second before shrugging and taking off after his best friend.

Probably accustomed to her son's outbursts, even though it was plain to see she was extremely mortified by this latest one, an ashen looking Narcissa Malfoy turned apologetic eyes on her guest.

"I'm so sorry, Ginevra." And the young woman was surprised at the genuine feeling behind the words.

"It would displease my husband greatly to know we were the reason you didn't perform a task he assigned." And now she understood what all the groveling was about. Lucius Malfoy had that effect on people.

"Stay. Lucius must be coming home very soon. And excuse my son; it's partially my fault, really." The Amazonian woman made a small pause as if she was giving the other woman space to disagree, but Ginny wasn't going to.

Narcissa's coddling and pampering of her only heir had been notorious in the Hogwarts Great Hall; she'd sent her son as many Honeydukes combos as Molly Weasley had sent Howlers.

"I've raised him to understand his place in the world and to never be afraid to step up to the responsibilities trusted to him by his noble origins." Ginny wanted to gag; even Lucius's stern treatment of the boy was starting to seem justifiable if that was the way Narcissa always dealt with her son's faults.

"He is having a hard time adapting to a different ranking system."

"I understand that your son was mostly raised in a time of peace, and that such sensitivities weren't really instilled in him," Ginevra started, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "But in this setting he's a soldier, and he needs to start acting as such," she continued seriously. Someone needed to drive the critical state of affairs home to Narcissa; maybe she could get it through Malfoy's thick skull.

"I'm not the first one displeased by his insubordination, and I'm afraid that at some point he'll step on the wrong toes and others won't be so lenient."

Honestly, if they'd been having this talk four years ago Ginny could've cared less. But ever since her first mission as a Totenkopf and the mess it had created she'd been feeling a certain obligation to make amends with the smug Slytherin. Not that she had been wrong, she had just been following orders, or that he deserved her consideration, but she couldn't seem to shake off this sense of responsibility for the way he'd turned out.

Plus Blaise was one needle short of tattooing the bloke's name on his ass, and she had a soft spot for the rowdy playboy, so she would be magnanimous and at least warn his family that Draco's cantankerous attitude was leading him to an abyss.

"Draco needs to decide if he wants to fall in line or be run over by the train."

"Trust me, Ginevra, I know." Narcissa frowned apprehensively, and Ginny was sure this was the most emotion she had seen the woman display in the whole time she'd known her. Maybe there was such a thing as honor among thieves.

"I keep telling him that his father's position on the inner circle will only take us so far and that he has to start pulling his own weight. Some of the other families can afford to take a neutral stand, but the Malfoys have always been the most loyal supporters and the Dark Lord will not take well to any changes."

The blonde woman's voice conveyed pride for their long standing tradition, but her eyes let through a certain bitterness that Ginny guessed was directed at the woman and her family's lack of free will utterly crushed under the weight of their name and the sins of their fathers.

"But Draco seems immune to my every plea. Maybe you could talk to him?"

Ginny's open expression of mixed horror and bafflement at that prospect caused Narcissa to quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose, but Camilla Zabini told me the wonderful effect you've had on her boy."

Now here was the Narcissa Malfoy everyone knew and envied. She would not be deterred from getting her way even if she had to use guilt. Her appeal would fall on deaf ears with Ginny, though. They might have both been born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but that was where the similarities between the two men ended. Blaise was no saint by any means and he could be as mulish as the next guy when it came to taking advice, but Draco was simply unyielding. The redhead had enough on her plate already, thank you ever so much.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but recruiting isn't my expertise," she started cautiously, as to not ruffle any feathers. These society ladies could get vicious when they felt they were being pretermited in some way. When the other woman was about to object, Ginny promptly cut her off in the politest way possible. "At least not in any way you would appreciate, and your son could benefit from. My favor to Camilla was personal. Plus, I can't really see Draco welcoming any meddling from me."

Not entirely convinced, but recognizing a rebuttal for what it was, Narcissa opted for a different approach.

"What's a desperate mother to do, then?"

Ginevra contemplated the other woman's options in silence for a minute.

"We both know the reasons for Draco's newfound rebellion against his destiny." When Narcissa nodded the redhead continued, "I have tried fruitlessly for the last three years to smooth things over with him but to no avail. It is most unfortunate that a personal ruse has made him feel such antipathy for Our Lord's ways and Voldemort has done his best to be tolerant and look the other way,"

Good news first.

"But his patience is wearing thin."

Then the bad.

"Oh, don't say that!" the blonde begged in a high-pitch in tangible agony. However Malfoy construed this hold he had on people Ginny had absolutely no idea. The man was intractable, plain and simple; whatever caused this adoration was beyond her. And from intelligent people, too. Blaise, Professor Snape, even Voldemort himself--otherwise he'd just have had Draco killed off instead of pushing so much for him to take a bigger interest in the Coalition.

"But there's surely something Lucius can do? Or someone who could put in a good word for him?" Narcissa asked, sending Ginny on a new spiral of thought. All people who could intervene on the blond git's behalf already had done so, that was exactly the problem. The time for talking was over.

"And say what? Voldemort is a very busy man so he delegates, but your son shouldn't delude himself into believing he's unaware of what's happening. He knows everything, he sees everything. And everyone but Draco seems to realize that. No one wants to be caught lying on his behalf."

"So there is no hope?" she whispered, disheartened, finally seeming to grasp the quicksand her son was in.

"Our Lord is merciful to those who deserve it, to those who can redeem themselves in his eyes."

Ginny abstained from pointing out the Malfoys were the greatest example of that.

"Draco doesn't need to be on the front lines, he doesn't even have to be an especially active agent. But he needs to show some sort of improvement."

The other woman sighed wearily, displaying a soft vulnerability that made Ginny understand why so many men were willing to bend backwards to be her shinning knight.

"I know you children don't always see eye-to-eye, Ginevra, but Draco is very lucky to have a friend like you looking out for his best interests."

And that small show of gratitude made Ginny feel a tightening in her chest. Draco might be a thankless jerk who cared only for his own well-being, but through all her proper breeding and self-imposed distancing, Narcissa Malfoy seemed to be a truly worried mother who was just trying. She remembered what that was like. And now she was getting nostalgic which was an extremely bad idea. The time had come to finish this little interlude.

"Like I've told you before, Narcissa. While I do appreciate some of my colleagues and their families, my ultimate goal is the success of our enterprise." Ginny broke the amiable atmosphere with the return of her usual standard business tone. "Draco would be a nice asset if we could employ some of his especial skills to our cause, that's all."

"Still, I'm deeply grateful for your concern." Narcissa said much more formally, picking up on the redhead's cue

"It's nothing more than the girl's due, right Miss Gaunt?" Lucius Malfoy asked from the foyer, startling both women. He was dressed smartly in a black suit with a grey silk tie, the perfect Muggle businessman, were it not for the dark robes and mask he had draped on his forearm. If anyone passed him by in the building they would guess he was coming back from a costume party. The gash on his forehead told a different story.

He walked into the room and nodded at Ginny as he laid his "work clothes" on the sofa next to Narcissa. She stood up and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips while as inconspicuously as possible feeling him around for broken bones or other injuries. After so many decades with him she knew better than to ask where it hurt. Different from their son, who loved to draw attention to himself and would make a skinned knee sound like leprosy, the senior Malfoy hated any sort of display that made him seem weak. The last big argument they'd had was when Lucius almost lost his left foot because he'd disregarded a huge open wound he'd gotten from a Diffindo charm the night Harry Potter had destroyed the former Slytherin's prefect wand.

After a fifty minute scolding she had Hippocrates Smethwyk floo to Malfoy Manor to nurse her husband back to health. Then she had owled Severus and demanded he schedule a conference with the Dark Lord himself. The former Potions teacher had been reluctant at first but was met with such a pigheaded determination he'd finally caved. Three hours later Voldemort was cackling uncontrollably at the deranged woman who had barged into his private study, without knocking or being announced, saying that if her husband couldn't walk anymore she would hold him personally responsible and there would be hell to pay, "with all due respect, my Lord", she had finally added, remembering who she was talking to and resuming to gracefully dropping to her knees in front of him. He waved off her belated display of reverence and said that Lucius would never set foot, hopefully feet, he amended when he saw her ire rekindling at the mention of Lucius's imaginary dismemberment, for as long as he lived.

So she thought it rather strange he was coming home bruised and battered. Nevertheless, she would keep her cool and wait until they didn't have company to interrogate him

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized while giving Narcissa a grateful look for her sensitivity.

"It's fine. Mrs. Malfoy kept me entertained the whole time." Ginny smiled graciously

"Yes, she is good at that." He patted his wife's hand. "I trust Draco hasn't given you too much grief about my orders?"

From Narcissa's delicate intake of breath he could just about guess what had happened.

"No more than usual." The redhead shrugged, not really interested in causing any more disruptions in the family that night.

"Poor girl!" Lucius laughed heartily as he poured himself a healthy dose of Firewhisky. "Miss Gaunt?" he offered, but Ginny just shook her head. "And I was told Blaise was coming by? You were double-teamed then?"

Ginny had to smile at the man's insightfulness; then again, she guessed he shared a very similar friendship dynamic with Severus Snape.

"It takes little more effort than that to swat an annoying fly to get rid of Blaise's questions." She responded, deciding playing down the situation would be to everyone's advantage.

"Yes, well, the boy has maintained the same attention span he had as a three-year old," he said fondly, resting the tumbler on the fireplace mantel and squeezing Narcissa's shoulder affectionately as he motioned with his head towards the stairs.

"Let's go up to my study then, Miss Gaunt. Narcissa, love, when your son gets home…" The good mood he'd been displaying before seeming to dissipate a little at the mention of his heir.

"I'll tell him to go to you." Narcissa complied obediently.

Chapter End Notes:
The Walpurgis Youth was inspired in an interview by JKR.

"JKR made this comment during the Jeremy Paxman interview on the BBC, Thursday night, June 19, 2003, while looking at some of her notes on the books: "...here is the history of the Death Eaters and I don't know that I'll ever actually need it -- but at some point -- which were once called something different -- they were called the Knights of Walpurgis. I don't know if I'll need it. But I like knowing it. I like to keep that sort of stuff on hand."

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