Anastasia couldn't have known, but the last month of 1940 would be the beginning of her damnation. It would lead the misspoken words, the wrong decisions, the harsh actions. But at the time, she didn't know – so she had no problems at all with contributing with a little blood for Tom's projects.
He had been immensely excited with his relative discovery. He hadn't had the opportunity to do anything at all with this knowledge since it happened but he was working on it, she had been assured. Little Bethany Jenkins's father worked at the Public Registers Office in the M.o.M – and she hadn't missed Tom commanding Ragnar to approach the first-year Gryffindor. The words Morphin Gaunt would soon reach the girl's ears.
But he, of course, wouldn't be satisfied with only knowing his bloodline, so he went for hers. He had decided that they couldn't be close relatives, as they didn't look alike – but he had admitted that somewhere in between they were related. Anya couldn't see how different they were from each other. They had both black hair, the same face shape and similar lips.
She drew her runes after one week, under the watchful gaze of Tom. He needed to point out every imperfection in the runes traced with her blood and she was nearly snapping at him, after all, she was only the model to one artist, not an artist herself.
That made her think back on Laws. Their first nude-modelling session had been a bit awkward – the Ravenclaw obviously uncomfortable with her bare body. Anya hadn't minded too much, except for the cold. She had casted warming charms over herself in their second session, and Laws had seemed a bit more relaxed that time. Since then, things had gotten a better, and they had fun talking over the painting process.
"You are giggling." Tom said in the middle of the abandoned classroom they were using.
She was kneeling in the middle of her own blood, her hands dirtied by the liquid – and giggling. Well, that was a sane picture. "I was thinking about the girls."
Tom nodded to her, and she continued to work on the thyth letter. "I think this is enough." He announced some minutes later, circling around the runes to have the full image of it. "You know the words."
Anya got up to her feet, cleaning her hands in her handkerchief. She closed her eyes and began the enchantment. Soon the blood began to move, and her name was drawn with it.
Anastasia Lynda Donbyre. Funny how a name Tom had invented was still considered her name – she was fairly sure there was no Donbyre family around nowhere. The thread born from her name stopped growing not two seconds after its birth.
She stared at its end. There was no name being formed – no blood relative to recognise. She was a muggle-born.
"Whoever my parents were – " She noted, with some slight bitter tone in her voice. " – they must have been terrified by my first bout of magic. It makes sense you know." She looked up Tom, his face was pale and his expression, stricken. She felt weird. As if she wasn't worthy in his eyes. Anya was used not valuing much to others: as an orphan among families, as a witch among muggles, as a woman among men. But Tom had always valued her – he wasn't the best at expressing it, but they kept the balance equilibrated. But now, he had magical relatives and she – well, she didn't.
But then, the stricken expression vanished from his features, and he adopted a very reasonable face. "No, it doesn't make any sense at all. Because they weren't terrified, you see. They were proud of the beautiful baby girl they had – and they would be much prouder, knowing the gifts you have inherited, Anya. You can't be a mud-blood. You are a seer and a parselmouth – such abilities can only be developed in descendants of others seers and parselmouths. This ritual can only show living blood-relatives, Anya, you see?"
"You meant that I am the last scion of my family – whichever it is. I don't know, Tom. Families dying out has become less rare phenomenon – but still, it's less than common. If your theory is true, what horrible thing has happened to my family that I have become the last survivor of it?"
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
It was December, and the impeding attack of the Dark Lord's forces unto the Hogwarts Express was the only thought in Anya's head. She knew this time her first-term grades wouldn't be nearly as perfect as hers in the former years – but she couldn't bring herself to care. Both Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore had confronted her over it, and she could only blame it on the extra schoolwork brought by the electives (that had been her answer to Dumbledore) and the mourning of her parents (that had been response to Slughorn).
"I have been living with Mr. Riddle for years." She had told her Head of House. "The last time I saw my parents it was in the Christmas before coming to Hogwarts. This time of year reminds me I cannot expect a letter from them this Yule."
Lying through her teeth. Sometimes she wondered how it was possible that Dumbledore had never mentioned them living in an orphanage to Slughorn. But then, why would he?
Now, she sat on a loveseat in the common room, drinking tea with the almost thirty girls Dorea had managed to gather. Her friend loved those things, Anya – not so much, but at least it was a useful way to make herself remember the girl's names. Most them were shrewd, or gossipers, or too naïve for her liking.
Anya had rushed into the seat at the side of Athena Rosier – a seventh year that had less interest for gossip than even herself – as soon as she saw it empty. Dorea had sat by her side.
"So, will you be going back home this Yule?" Anya asked the large group, over her cup of hibiscus tea. That was the only subject she had with all those girls reunited – making sure the less number of them were at the Hogwarts Express when it was attacked.
"But of course! There is the Selwyn Ball to attend – don't tell me you weren't invited, Nastya?" Laelia Burke questioned, with false sympathy. Anya could hear her muttering "Is fame that fickle?" to Igraine Yaxley.
"As it happens, my sisters and I won't be attending the Ball this year." Callidora announced. "These are dangerous times, and it's unsafe to go strolling out there."
"But with the porkeys it should be perfectly safe! We will be portkeying out of King's Cross to the manor, and from there to the other manors." Clemency Rowle reasoned. "Unless you think Hogsmeade will be attacked again?" The girl paled.
"Well, if that is the case, Nastya will always be ready, won't you?" Brianna had said, with some venom but too many chuckles to be truly poisonous.
"Of course, Brianna, but Ally wasn't wrong in her saying. Hogwarts has always been the safest place of Britain – with the exception of Gringotts, but I doubt any of you wishes to spend Yule with goblins – and with the addition of aurors in Hogsmeade is even more secure. Manors can have strong wards, but wards can be broken. Besides, the Hogwarts Express travels a little too close to Yorkshire."
"I will stay as well." Dorea informed them. "Great Ganilly is not very much to look in December. What about you, Nastya? I suppose we will have our first Yule together!"
"Probably. I still have to speak with Tom, but I don't see what reason we would have to go back."
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
She was at the Great Hall, surrounded by familiar faces. "Tom!" One voice called, and she saw a head of auburn hair approaching. "Thanks Merlin! Are you alright?"
"Perfectly fine, don't be overdramatic – you are not a Malfoy." The melodious voice she knew so well.
"I couldn't believe when I saw the Prophet. Oh those poor children. At least the train could bring back safely most students." That was a feminine voice, and her hands were pressed over a newspaper. In front of it, photography flashed, and she saw blood.
Blood and children.
Her sight changed, and she was once again seeing a newspaper with flashing photographs of blood and children – but this time there was train burning among them. The newspaper closed, and one of the hands who held it passed to the person at the left. The right hand grabbed a chalice – and she saw a reflection on it, black hair and indigo eyes.
At her side, a gasp. The melodious voice spoke again: "Sad, isn't it?"
The person at the side cried out: "They are all dead!" She knew this voice, but it was so sorrowful she couldn't identify.
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Anya woke up screaming. Thanks Merlin she had placed silencing charms over her bed.
What in the name of Morgana and Merlin was that?
They had been alive – most of them. But then, they had died. And Tom – Tom had been in both, but in different roles. How could those two things happen one after other? There would be two attacks – one after the other? One year and another year?
Anya shuddered. There had been so much blood. So much death and sorrow. She couldn't sleep. The people she saw dying – they were still alive! They were still asleep, under the same of roof of this damned castle she lived in. They were children, and she knew they would die – all of them would die, and she couldn't not do anything.
She had received that power to do the difference. If she saw things that couldn't be changed, why did she saw them? Why did she saw deaths and nothing less grievous if not to stop them? What's the use of knowing something if this knowledge cannot be used to anything at all? Information that cannot have a purpose is just a waste of space brain.
But she knew the future. She knew what was coming. She must be able to change it.
Anya got out her bed and reached for her divination instruments.
She needed to know more.
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Tom knew something was terribly wrong when he was unable to find Anya during the whole Saturday and half Sunday. Dorea had informed him over Sunday breakfast that the witch hadn't showed up in their rooms last night neither. He had send students around the whole in search for her – almost like a manhunt, truly – but nothing.
It was almost as if she had disappeared from the school grounds.
Then, he remembered. A cavern under the lake – a dream like scenery – out of the school grounds. But not out of Hogwarts.
What he found there was quite like the Anya he remembered – but it was similar looking. His Anya had silky dark hair a bit down her shoulders, mischievous rich green eyes, fashionable robes, and her lips were rosy just like her cheeks. He was quite found of his Anya.
This girl's hair wasn't silky – it defied gravity – her eyes were the same green, but there was also a lot of red – irritated by scratching and crying he would said – her robes could still be fashionable – if the last fashion was torn fabric that's it – her lips were more reded by blood running out of bite marks than by a blush. She saw him at the moment he arrived.
"Tom – you must go! The children, I can stop it…I know I can." Her words were mutters, but he understood them after all. "We must, Tom. Is my duty, you see it?"
She didn't sound as crazed as she looked, he had to admit, although her words were quite nonsensical. But he was also sure she hadn't lost her brain or anything that drastic, as he had feared for a moment.
She was only hysterical. Duty apparently – yes, he always thought she was a bit too honourable for a Slytherin.
Her breath was short – frustrated – and she walked on the tip of her toes – anxious and thoughtful. Well, there was some reason to be there as it seemed. He grabbed her shoulders, to stop her from jumping around.
Her eyes stared at him – only half crazed. With that he could deal, he supposed. Her eyes suddenly fogged over and closed, and he knew she was having a vision.
Her body shook, and her fingernails dig on his arms while he held her closely. Her mouth opened in a scream, a heart-wrecking howl that spoke of pain and terror, and lasted so long he couldn't believe she still had breath. When she couldn't howl anymore, her teeth bit her lips in an attempt to shut it down, and her nails moved down his arms, leaving bleeding cuts on his flesh. And then her mouth closed and her eyes opened again.
For a second. He could see the fog taking over the corner of it once again. Her eyes were begging to make it stop.
He kissed her.
It tasted like blood, and there was no surprise there he supposed. But her lips were quite good, if not a bit more brittle than what they usually should be. She was not struggling against his arms nor scratching them, so he supposed the visions had ended.
He let her go.
"Are we going to London at Christmas?" Were her first words to him.
"That depends. I need to go to Gringotts and discover more about the Gaunt's possessions – I was fairly sure that we would be able to defend ourselves from whichever attack that Grindelwald's sends on us. But if your visions –"
"You don't need to worry about my visions. You remain unscathed either way, of that I assure you. We will go to London, then." She seemed back to sanity again, so he allowed her to walk back her instruments, which she immediately began to pack with a wave of wand.
She looked her own appearance on her scrying glass, and with a another wave of wand her hair seemed silk again, her lips were rose of rouge, her robes in the last fashion and her eyes just green – not even mad. She still had dark bags under the eyes, but those were ever present in the last months.
"Are you feeling better?" He inquired, her breath was still a bit short, and only her toes touched the floor.
"Ask me that when the war is over. Until then, continue to give me kisses." She said, approaching him once again, her bag floating behind her. He smiled, and he almost could see the mischievous gleam on her eyes again when raised tilted her chin up.
His lips downed on hers, and her hands wrapped around his neck as his held her waist. For a moment, there was just them, under the Great Lake, the winter light illuminating their forms as they kissed – it was a press of lips just, but there was some kind of power in it.
Then he got tired of it, he wanted more power. She groaned when he nibbled her lips, and she opened her mouth to his tongue. Tom discovered he liked the way her head moved to his ministrations, she met up with him in half of the way, and he pushed. He liked the way she almost breathlessly took it, it was oddly satisfactory. He liked her that way, and he also liked her smirk against his mouth when they caught their breaths.
"What is so amusing to you, Anya?" He had asked.
"I don't smirk because I find things funny, Tom." She answered, her tongue dashing out that mouth to lick his lips. He caught it and gave her one last kiss, a bit more than a peck.
And they went back.
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
That kiss had been the beginning of many. She hadn't told anyone, to tell the truth, she didn't have anyone to tell to – anything involving Tom was not be shared with other houses, and it wasn't as if she could go to the Slytherin boys. Brianna would be a bad choice, she could get quite jealous of others and Anya knew that although the girl flirted quite a lot, she had never kissed anyone (the whole Slytherin would know the day Brianna Gagwilde had her first kiss, the girl would make sure of that). Dorea, although she had long declared to be hunting for marriage wasn't quite interested in romance.
Even though Anya wasn't sure her relationship with Tom was quite a romance. Their first kiss together had been under a lake home to a colony of merpeople and a giant squid, after Anya had spent two days without slept, food, bath or brushing teeth; obsessing over her sight gift which was showing her the death of several. Their kiss had had the only purpose of stopping her of seeing more blood being spilled, and she had just injured the same person she had kissed. She had no illusions of why Tom had done that. He hadn't felt more attracted for a crazed version of her. But a vision could be stopped if enough attention of it was redirected, and a kiss was rather distracting.
The second kiss they had shared – that one Tom had given her because of fondness and relief, she supposed, and because she had asked. She was quite glad she had had time to apply a few cleaning charms and healing charms between the first and the second. The settling hadn't been more romantic, although the cavern under the lake was quite beautiful, no one could ignore a bag of floating divination instruments.
Their third kiss had happened because they enjoyed the second, and since then, they were enjoying which one a bit more. They were taking time to discover what gave them more enjoyment – they weren't the best kissers in Hogwarts, of that she was sure, but they were learning. And maybe one day, they would be. Or maybe they wouldn't be – but they would know to give kiss which would be the best to the other. For now, that was enough. She didn't care much about romance.
They had chosen a cabin for themselves in the Hogwarts Express, and Tom had placed many protective charms over it. Anya had placed protections over many other cabins in the train, silently wishing for their occupants' well-being. She hadn't explained her visions further to Tom, and he, surprisingly, hadn't inquired about them.
They didn't have any need to make excuse for housemates, as they were mostly alone. Of the Blacks, only Lucretia was at the train as she would be visiting her fiancée this year. Charlus and Fleamont Potter were also at the train, despite Anya's failed attempts at stopping them – Charlus had told her he had family matters to resolve. She had instructed him in being more careful than ever.
Anya felt as if she had already failed – despite her efforts, there were too many children in the train. Perhaps her advices would have been more effective if she had stayed behind in Hogwarts as well. But it had been the first time her visions had given her an option. She had taken awhile to recognise it – Mistress Myradd had talked about it though, hadn't she? Her divination teacher had mentioned that Cassandra Vablatsky was able to choose between courses of actions.
She had seen it. She could understand her visions. Tom and her could go to London, and watch many die around them; or they could stay at Hogwarts, and be the causers of even more deaths. It had been an easy choice – one she hadn't told Tom she had to make. Tom wouldn't have risked one second of his life for others, even though she saw him unharmed after all. So she had been vague, he didn't need a reason to refuse to go to London, if he knew he wouldn't be suffering anything. He didn't need to know her reason to go to London.
She thought about all of that as her mouth reflexive responded to the lips over hers. They were kissing, enjoying themselves a bit. Her arms were around his neck, while his hands held her over his lap, her legs over the bench. Anya hummed, moving her hand to Tom's hair, playing with his dark strands.
She felt absent-minded over all those kisses, which left her breathless. Glancing over the scenery, she could see the Cheviot Hills covered by snow, meaning they had just reached Northumberland. Anya pushed herself out of Tom's lap, taking her wand out of its holster, her eyes frozen at the window.
Tom looked over the scenery as well. "In less than a half an hour we must be reaching Durham." He drawled, taking over her wand in hands with a nod – and reaching for one of his books. Anya knew she should be distracting herself as well, but she couldn't her calmness as Tom was doing with his. Even considering the fact less people should die with their presence, many were still going to end up dead – and the risks were too great to trying to prevent it.
And then, there were the questions: What if she was wrong? What if her visions weren't options, and everyone died nevertheless? What if neither of them survived? She was relying over a thing that was a bit more trustful than a dream? – how could Tom trust her when she knew she didn't?
"You are anxious." Tom remarked. "Taking on account the considerable amount of times you have seen a similar setting, shouldn't you feel more confident?"
"I am aware of death of over fifty students. Shouldn't I be doing something to prevent it?"
"I believe the actions of seers are usually ruled by the idea they are unable to mutate fate. How can you be responsible for death only because you are aware of its occurrence? We all know death will happen; only most of people have less information about it than you. Is very similar to a fatal disease, be a doctor or an uneducated pheasant, one cannot prevent it from killing – only to lessen its effects."
"Smallpox was one of the deadliest diseases on Earth once." She pointed out.
"It's still very harmful." He said, without looking out of the words in his book.
"Never a wizard died of smallpox, however. Can't you see? There must be a way of preventing it. Maybe it's unknown to us, just like the cure to smallpox is unknown to muggles, but it must exist." They were at the Penine Chain by now – Anya held her wand tighter.
"I should never have mentioned smallpox." The annoyance was strong in his voice, but she had to speak.
"It happens with most diseases that infect muggles. We have the solution in magic. These can be stopped, Tom –"
"Let them die, Anya!" He shouted, his face rising from the book, angry. "They hardly matter, don't you see? They are war victims – you can try to prevent death, but war will always create it, much more than your visions can show."
The witch stopped, staring at the wizard in front of her; he almost seemed like a vile creature, cold and uncaring – frozen in his nonchalance. "One day, I might see your death. Would you like me to prevent it, then?" She asked poisonously.
He looked back to his book, refusing to answer. She returned her gaze to the window; the snow washed the hills outside.
The first man appeared not much latter – hair blonde and small stature, she could see his eyes from that distance, they were pale blue and almost innocent, although his face wasn't much. He wore the white robes of Grindelwald. His eyes stared into hers, even though he was a mile away.
"They are here." She whispered, standing up to her feet.
A moment later, the train stopped and a scream was heard. Something exploded not very far away. She rushed to the door, but a hand held her wrist before she could open it. "You are a Slytherin. Act like it." Tom ordered. She looked down his direction, he still held the book in hands, but his wand was also in it.
"Stop with all this nonsense, Anya." He commanded, never taking his eyes of the damned book.
"People will die. I won't."
"You are not a Gryffindor, for heaven's sake. Only because they called you Hestia of People it doesn't mean you have to answer to every desperate scream."
"I am not at risk." She freed her arm from his grip with a hard tug. "Remember, you will live as well."
"I wasn't scared of that, you must be aware." She shrugged in response and walked past the doorway.
The Palladines hadn't reached that part of the train, but there were several terrified children in the cabins. They would break into the train by the front, the aurors would be fighting against the troops outside. She could feel the anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards up, in nine square miles range. Another explosion shook the train and she threw one cabin door open – inside of it, six second years stared at her, in fear.
She was at most one year older than those children, probably less, and she had been younger than them last year in Hogsmeade. But that didn't matter, because she was sure of her safety and of her battle skills – as few they were. Those kids weren't ready for more than a friendly duel in classroom.
"Get to the back of the train, they are coming through the front. Bring everyone you see with you. Search for a seventh-year, in two miles from the end of the train – to west, you must be able to apparate."
One of them looked at her in suspicion. But before the boy could speak anything, a girl in ponytail elbowed him. "She is the Girl-Who-Protected, Sebastian! Thank you, Ms. Donbyre!"
And then they left, and Anya repeated the same order to many others as she ran through the corridor. Everytime she opened the door of one of the cabins she could see the images of the aurors fighting against the palladines. Everytime, there seemed to be less aurors.
The screams seemed closer now, and as she looked into the next wagon, she could see two white-robed wizards dragging students out of their cabins. The door was locked with a strong locking charm.
"Deprimo!" She shouted, digging a large hole through said door. In such an enclosed and crowded space such like the Hogwarts Express, explosions and fire should be altogether avoided for the safety of the others. Thankfully, despite her pyromaniac fame, her book of spells didn't include only those. "Diffindo." An over-powered severing charm cut through one of the soldier's robes, relieving the man of one arm. "Petrificus Totalus." And the man was immobilised. He would bleed to death, she supposed. She didn't care.
The man's partner was a bit faster on his feet however, and this one didn't waste a second sending a entrail-expeling curse in her direction. She protected herself with a protego. "Avada Kedavra." This one wasn't there do play apparently, she barely was able to dodge this time.
"Deprimo." She answered, but the man deflected it. One of the kids attempting to run into the wagon she just left was almost hit by it. She shifted to allow those children to walk pass her, and looking up she saw the soldier's lips moving to cast a curse she knew she wouldn't be able to dodge.
"Stupefy." The man felt unconscious onto the ground. Behind him, was the caster of the spell. Charlus grinned at her. "Scamander taught it to me when dad died. Said it could be useful."
She thanked him, and with a severing charm, slashed the unconscious Palladine's throat. Charlus looked at her, a mixture of awe and horror. "Dead they don't come back to haunt us." She offered as an explanation, walking past him. "What will I see in the next wagon?"
"Nothing. They took out everyone that was still alive; I think they plan to use us as hostages. I sent Fleamont to the back of the train as soon as I saw them approaching the front." The Gryffindor explained.
"Good. You should go now, it's a two miles run out of the wards." It was a dismissal, but Charlus didn't quite understand that, considering the way he took her wrist. Why did her wrists attracted so many hands?
"I'll only leave with you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Charlie! You are the Head of the Family, you have an obligation. What will Fleamont do without you? My parents are dead! Tom is a cold bastard – I don't need to respond to anyone, but your brother needs you. Go!" He stared at her, those green eyes peering on hers. He shook his head.
She pushed him through the doorway, and sealed it shut.
Anya looked at the two bodies around her. The man without one arm was still alive, bleeding too slowly in his frozen body. She cut through his neck skin as well, and red tainted his neckline.
There was only one more wagon, and just as Charlus had told her – it was only filled by corpses. She counted twelve, of several ages. She didn't know the name of any of them – but she remembered many of those faces filling their cheeks with food at the Great Hall. Then she saw one she had shared some classes with, a Gryffindor boy with mud-coloured hair, Percival Pratt. He was Charlus's roommate.
She stepped down the train, and her vision was invaded by known images of gore. She had seen them so many time, she almost could tell where all the actors of that scene were supposed to be. A willowy woman in white robes would be fighting a stocky man in grey auror robes, an elderly white robed man behind the Stocky would kill him. Willowy would ran through the snow, and drag a ginger girl in pigtails that had tried to run – she would relieve the girl of her wand, and then, cut out her left leg.
A huge woman in auror robes would be taken down by a bleach haired young man, with classy features. A beautiful girl much similar to the bleach man would be stupefied by a bald auror. Bleach would fall into Bald with a scream, and revive Beautiful. Beautiful killed Bald with a knife.
Bleach was attacked by a swarthy auror, blood-splattered. Swarthy began to fight both Bleach and Elderly, while Beautiful went to fight other aurors. A group of ten Palladines held circa of fifteen students under the cruciatus, and more would come.
They would kill all the muggle-borns and light-affiliated students they found. They already were, she noticed, flinching when two killing curses hit a sixteen year Ravenclaw girl and one fourth-year Gryffindor. There were others bleeding to death;
All that was happening in less than a minute, as she knew it would. She didn't need her eyes to take that visage, she had it engraved on her mind. She was aware another group of Palladines would invade the train, even before they decided to do so. She was the only thing between that group and the Hogwarts Express.
Leading that group, was the gold blonde small man she had seen still in her cabin. She knew the man's robes had been white, but now they were completely crimson. He had looked very elegant before the beginning of the attack – but now, he looked wild.
She wondered herself how she might look. Knowing about the upcoming battle, she had dressed herself in non-restrictive wool robes, with tight long sleeves and a one layer skirt. A leather overcoat for extra-protection – all in pale beige, making her less of a target in the snow and more easily confounded as a Palladine (which was useful, because aurors rarely tried to kill, but Grindelwald's forces were murders – their curses were more lethal). Her robes should be tainted just like Gold's – her boots and her gloves certainly were.
Gold couldn't see her though. Not if she wished to free those students. She disillusioned herself, and made her body float a little over the snow. The aurors were losing, there weren't more than ten on the field by now. And they were overpowered by many.
Another explosion shook the train, and then she saw it. They were twenty-four, she could count those heads. Students. Upperclassmen mostly, but leading them was none other than Tom. Her Tom. He seemed so powerful, blasting curses left and right. His curses drawn blood of those soldiers near the train, and caused death.
His eyes washed the scenery, and stopped at where was her disillusioned form. She smirked, at nodded at him, even though she was aware he couldn't see her. She pulled her body above the snow, and with a confringo spell, Beautiful was exploded to death. Anya raised a wall of fire around the remaining children, but she could see only four of those would be able to live – that, if she managed to take them out of there.
She had seen two of those girls in her visions. Gryffindor crying in the snow. One of them had light brown hair and chocolate eyes, her skin olive, her face bony – Augusta Urquarth. The other had dark brown hair and dark blue eyes, her cheeks rosy and her face soft – Euphemia Twonk. There was also a boy with freckles and blonde hair she believed was a muggle-born named Cameron, and a bushy dark haired girl that was also a muggle-born, Willis.
She took them into her hands, disillusioning their forms and pulling them through the snow. Their legs were weakened by the cruciatus curse, and their minds slowed by the pain. She kept pulling and pushing, avoiding looking at the other children's bodies and dodging curses. Her illusions were weakening, five weren't as easy to maintain as one. A sixth year blonde Hufflepuff saw her form struggling in the snow, and left his position to run in aid.
The Palladine he had just fought wasn't as unconscious as he believed though, and Anya only had enough time to drop her illusion and scream a blasting curse into the soldier direction; the Hufflepuff looked in fright to her. She smiled and pulled Willis and Cameron to her, leaving the two pure-blood girls a bit behind.
"Tenebre flammare!" a voice shouted. Immediately, a wall of fire was raised through the two muggle-born forms – burning those children alive.
It was fire, undying fire, burning meters above her. So similar to Hogsmeade, but this time, she didn't control it. The wall had miles, she could see. And she also could see their reason behind it. The wards had been breached in the west side, but by raising the wall they isolated themselves from the aurors.
Across the flames, she could see the two girls' faces, terrified of the wizards and witches in white robes that surrounded them – they had immobilised the with the Full-Body Bind Curse. One of them was the golden blonde man, he smirked at her.
"Anastasia Donbyre. Hestia of People. The Girl-Who-Protected. Not so funny when your spells are turned against you, eh? It's a pity you couldn't protect these two." He said, hitting Augusta's stomach with his foot, the girl groaned.
"My name precedes me? I fear I don't know yours, Goldilocks."
"It's Bastian Vasala."
"Never heard of it."
"Well, we should rectify that, shouldn't we?" His wand was on Euphemia, merciless. The girl's eyes were flooded by fright. "Avada Ke-"
"You don't want to kill these girls, Vasala."
"It's a Urquarth and a Twonk – mud-lovers both of them, you can be sure I want."
"What can the Dark Lord do with two more corpses? He has no use for them. But he wants me – he has spies on me, I know. Take me to him, leave this girls alone."
The man smirked at her. "You might think yourself as intelligent now. Anastasia Donbyre, you have no idea how stupid you are. Very well, I accept the exchange."
"Swear on your magic that you will free Augusta Urquarth and Euphemia Twonk alive, and allow them to return to their homes."
"I, Bastian Vasala, swear on my magic to free Augusta Urquarth and Euphemia Twonk alive and allow them to return to their homes if Anastasia Donbyre comes without struggle with us, leaving her wand behind." The magic settled itself, validating the vow. "Now, why don't you roll your wand away, sweetheart?"
Anya did as the wizard commanded. He was laughing. He waved his wand just once, and the wall changed itself, englobing her into its clutches, and releasing the two younger girls from the Palladines' hold.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. "You have no idea what awaits you, sweetheart." The whisper was deadly, and she felt the wards breaking around them at the same moment a she felt a tug on her stomach.
The Palladines apparated, taking her with them.