IV.

It's been two weeks since the boy was brought into the world – two hectic weeks, most of which spent hurrying up and down the stairs, alternating house chores and childcare.

Now he is downstairs for the first time, but he's contented with staying snuggled up to her. Millicent lightly caresses his head trapped in the simple coif, wishing it were his downy black hair.

It's snowing outside, she can see it through the high windows and wonders what her son would do if she brought him close to the glass and allowed him to look at the white flakes slowly falling.

But of course, she has orders.

So she sits on the sofa with the baby in her lap, in the Masters' private parlor.

It's a nice, airy room that overlooks the garden, exquisitely furnished with sofas and comfortable armchairs near the large, roaring fireplace.

Small tables support Chinese vases and sculptures, tasteful pictures hang from every wall – the subtle touch of Mrs. McNair, again.

A long-case clock from the 18th century stands against the wall, like a king before his subjects or a tower ever-watching over a valley.

It's a beautiful piece and Millicent is quite fond of the motto painted on the dial in black, swirling letters that curiously contrast both with its gilded case and its neat numbers: Tempus Fugit.

As she watches it, the clock strikes half past six.

It's her cue.

She stands up, smoothing her skirt with one hand while supporting the baby with the other, then moves to the ballroom.

Usually it's just a huge empty room, but tonight it's filled with rows and rows of chairs where practically the whole New Ministry sits.

Millicent can feel their eyes on them as she walks on without faltering, but she has to fight against the urge to hug her baby and glare at them until they lower their eyes, ashamed of themselves.

She walks between the two blocks of seats, stepping on the dais and approaching McNair as Ulric Savage finishes his speech. When the Master takes the baby from her arms without even glancing at him, she has to use all her willpower not to punch him and take him back.

The audience claps politely and McNair steps forward flanked by his pretty wife.

"Dear friends and colleagues," he begins. "I thank you for joining us in my humble home to celebrate the birth of my first Baseborn, for the glory of Our Dark Lord and our new world."

He raises the child over his head, probably scaring him as he starts squirming. Millicent just watches them, her hands intertwined behind her back.

"I present you Hunter Grindaxe."

Millicent doesn't even try not to shudder as the whole room applauds and her son starts crying – perhaps protesting his begetter's taste.

A bit red in the face, McNair thrusts the bundle back in his mother's arms with a glare. "Keep him quiet, you stupid cow," he hisses.

Millicent cuddles him and rocks him, humming a song while some other Ministry official takes the stage.

When all the speeches are over and the buffet begins, she sits on a chair with her boy, obediently showing him to anyone who comes to see them, or rather study them.

As if they were animals in a zoo – the new race.

Across the room, she sees Theodore Nott idly set his pocket watch.

After a while, she can finally excuse both of them and go back to the attic to feed him.

"Better now, isn't it?" she whispers after helping him burp.

The baby giggles and Millicent can't hold back a smile before placing him in his cradle. For a while, she lingers by his side, mesmerized by the raise and fall of his tiny chest.

She feels guiltily relieved that she doesn't have enough milk and had to feed him with a baby bottle from the start – it makes everything both easier and more difficult.

By half past nine, most of the guests have left and Mrs. McNair has retired for the evening while Master entertains his Death Eater friends in the parlor – she saw the light from the hallway shine on the gravel path and the cloaked figures walk toward the gates.

Slowly, Millicent pulls herself away from her seat between the cradle and the window, aimlessly wandering around the room. The lights are still off, but she doesn't need them.

Once again, she can't help but think about Susan, of all the time they spent in these very rooms – together, in a sense.

It's strange how close she feels to her when, in the end, she barely knew her at all. It doesn't stop her from wishing her baby could have been a girl, so she could have named it after her fellow prisoner.

Up and down she walks, glancing out of every window as pangs of nervousness grip her stomach.

Her son begins to cry softly.

Quiet as a ghost, she comes back to him – it must be around ten by now.

Millicent changes his diaper, then sits on the rocking chair and feeds him the last bottle.

No thoughts cross her mind, it's too busy absorbing every little feeling, every insignificant detail and storing them away, safe deep inside.

After the burp, she starts putting on him layers and layers of clothes she takes from a nearby pile – not an easy task as he's squirming like a little starfish.

One last glance out of the window reveals nothing but darkness.

Millicent swallows hard, then resolutely pushes back all her fears and starts wrapping her son in a blanket.

Cradling him carefully to her chest, she opens the door and quietly slips out. She's very light on her feet, but tonight she's taking extra precautions as she creeps toward the back stairs.

Once the door closes behind them, Millicent quietly lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The descent is actually quite fast – she knows those stairs as well as the attic and even if Mrs. McNair is still awake, she won't hear her.

A few minutes later, Millicent is out of the backdoor and running on the snow-covered lawn.

They are waiting for her under the old oak tree, but she doesn't see them until she crosses the barrier they set up.

They move at the same time, as if they had practiced for hours– Theodore placing a cloak around her shoulders while Percy casts a Water-Repelling Charm and a Warming Spell on her light house shoes.

"What time is it?" she breathes.

"Six minutes to go. Are you all right?" Theodore asks her.

Millicent nods. "The cargo?"

Percy shakes his head. "Didn't make it through."

"It doesn't matter," Theodore cuts in categorically. "Once you're out, there's no going back in. You know that."

She doesn't look at him, preferring to press a quick kiss on her son's forehead. "It doesn't matter. It should be enough anyway."

She kisses her son again, then takes a cuddly toy from a pocket of the apron they gave her to go with her new black uniform and places in the fold of the blanket.

Slowly, she steps toward her old Housemate and places the baby in his arms, briefly correcting his hold.

"His name is Richard Bullstrode," she says, her voice firm and proud.

Theodore nods, then both he and little Richard vanish into thin air.

Millicent blinks once and turns toward Percy.

"If you want to leave…"

"No," she interrupts, moving to stand next to him. "I'll be fine"

There's nothing else to say as two set of eyes stare at the square form of the house.

They're standing so close Millicent thinks she can hear his pocket watch ticking away the seconds.

Inside, among laughter and chattering, the tall-case clock begins to strike the hour.

The explosion shatters the windows in a rain of shards, drowning out anything else.

It's January 31st. The war has begun.

The End

Author's note: so, we came to the end. Perhaps it wasn't what you expected, but I hope you liked it anyway. It's been a lot of fun writing this story.

In case you wanted to know how it really ends, the brief answer is: I don't know.

The long answer is: while I had a couple of ideas for a sequel, they weren't as good as this first part and I have already started other projects. The story really ends here for the moment, though inspiration could strike again some time in the future.

Whether you liked it or hated it, leave a review and let me know