Isabella stood in the middle of the dirt road. The skies were clear and she dripped water onto the path, her black dress soaked through.
Villa Petrroci reared up before her, shockingly bright against a clear blue sky. The massive doors which had once stood as twin guards had been blasted away. One of them was an unrecognizably charred lump while the other one hung limply on its hinges.
Isabella walked up the path, terrified to see what might be inside. She gently touched one of the doors, which groaned as though in pain and swung forward to admit her. The walls of the villa rose up, stained with scorch marks and crumbling in more than a few places.
The courtyard was empty. The only sign of the chickens which had once clucked and strutted here were a number of feathers strewn about the ground. The earth had been churned up, as though a great many people had run through. A few strange men lay here and there. Isabella went to one of them and nudged him with her foot. They were dead.
In the middle of the yard, lying on her face, lay Great-Aunt Guilia. Her white hair was tucked under a kerchief, as though she had run from the kitchen, and she still held her wand pointed towards the door. Blood was pooling underneath her. Florean's body lay near the entrance of the stables, his round face surprised and his wand halfway out of his pocket.
She found Lorenzo's body in the stables, propped up against the door of a stall. The winged horses were kicking, trying to break out of their stalls, spooked by the attacks and the stench of death.
Isabella stumbled across the yard and into the kitchen. Here, it seemed, the women of the house had been trapped. Marta's body was near the door, and her arms were flung open as though attempting to forcibly stop the attackers from entering. Aunt Luisa lay crumpled in the middle of the floor, her face frozen in a horrified mask. Aunt Elena was slumped in the back corner, her hands over her face as though warding off the death blow. All three women were wandless.
Running through the courtyard, which was painted red with feathers and blood, Isabella thundered up the staircase and into the house.
It had been ransacked. Doors were thrown open, furniture overturned and bookshelves toppled. The attackers had been looking for something. Or someone.
Upstairs, there were a large number of the enemies' bodies lying, one on top of the other, outside Grandfather's study. They seemed to have been blasted backward by some great spell. Isabella clambered over them, not caring it she stepped on them, desperate to reach the study.
Leonardo Petrroci lay slumped over the desk; his wand still pointed towards the door. The leather-bound books that had resided in the shelves all around the room had been thrown off the walls. They lay on the floor, so many pages with so many words that seemed so meaningless now.
She stepped carefully to his side, touching her grandfather's shoulder. He did not stir. His face was pale, drained of blood, save for a dark trickle that had dripped from his mouth in a dark line. This was not the result of a killing curse. Leornardo Petrroci had died from the effort it cost to cast his final spell, the spell that killed all those men outside.
Isabella wandered over the house, feeling in a daze. It was like walking through a nightmare.
The door of the nursery hung ajar. Isabella went up to it an gently pushed it open.
Here were the children. They lay about the room, like marionettes with cut strings. Juliet lay near the door, her arms outstretched in a vain attempt to protect the little ones behind her. Adalina, Noemi, Paolo, Peppe - even little Pallas was unnaturally silent in his crib. Tonio sat slumped against the cabinet, as though he had slid down it when the killing curse hit.
A small noise came from the cabinet. Isabella drew her wand and pointed it towards the door above Tonio's head. She slowly advanced, keeping her wand at the ready. Gently, tenderly, she picked up Tonio's body and set him aside. Then she unlatched the cabinet, held her breath, and pulled it open sharply.
Something flew out at her, screaming and pummeling her with small fists. Isabella dropped her wand and seized the thin wrists, holding the tiny child away. Beatrice's face was screwed up and she continued to scream for her mother.
"Beatrice! Beatrice, it's me!" Isabella shouted over the child's cries. "It's Bella!" All at once, Beatrice seemed to recognized her, for she buried her face in Isabella's dress and clutched her knees tightly, sobbing.
"Hush, hush," Isabella murmured, picking the girl up and holding her close. "It's going to be - " But it wouldn't be all right. This room was filled with the dead, and nothing would every be all right ever again. Isabella couldn't take anymore. Holding Beatrice close, Isabella ran from the room, flew down the stairs, and sprinted across the courtyard. She stopped in the doorway and looked back.
"Isabella," someone said. She turned and saw the Minister, Basilio de Piero, standing less than a foot away. "I'm so sorry for your loss." He lay a hand on Isabella's shoulder, the one Beatrice was not crying into.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice cracking. "They were supposed to be protected, the villa was protected..."
"We believe the Fidelius Charm was broken," Basilio said.
"No one knew except - " Isabella stopped, realizing what he was saying. "No. No, no one would have... Not our family..."
"We found Caesario's body in Assisi," Basilio told her. "He had been tortured. A few hours before, the revoltoso had broken into the Academia. They used the Cruciatus Curse on Valentino and Rosina, but Tina escaped and brought the Professors to save them. The revoltoso were outnumbered and fled. Then this."
"Are they all right?" Isabella asked quietly.
"Valentino and Rosina? Yes, a little shaken up, but alive," the Minister nodded. "They don't know what's happened yet."
"The Ministry is sorry for your loss," he continued. "Please, if there's anything we can do..."
And everything clicked. Grandfather had not simply taken Isabella to the Ministry so many times that summer for no reason. It had been no accident she was left alone for long stretches of time. Just as it had been no accident that Basilio had found her. Leonardo hoped they would become a couple. He had groomed Signor de Peiro for his role as Minister, so clearly he had liked him. Perhaps even hoped the dashing young Italian would take over the Petrroci family when Leonardo himself was gone. And Isabella would stay at home, tending the family affairs.
"It's too late," Isabella said aloud. "The House of Petrroci is ended."
"No, it's not," Basilio assured her. "You'll see, everyone will move back in and repairs can be made..."
"Not the Villa," Isabella cut him off. "The House. It is no more. This is the end of the greatest, the oldest of Italian families."
"But you still have family alive..." he frowned, confused. "I don't - "
"Bella!" she turned towards the familiar voice. Terry, sopping wet with brown hair plastered to his forehead, ran up the path. Basilio frowned as the younger man drew closer.
"Bella, I'm so sorry!" Terry gasped. "After everything else - "
"Who's this?" the Minister interrupted rudely.
"This is Terry," Isabella told him. "From England." Terry had stopped, confused by the different language. When he saw the tall, dark man standing next to Isabella with his hand on her shoulder, he visibly paled.
"I think you should leave," Isabella told Basilio.
"But - "
"Leave. Now." The Minister frowned, but stepped back with a bow and disapparated.
"Terry..." Isabella said, turning back to him. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find the words. He took two strides and held her in his arms. Beatrice squeaked as she was trapped between the two, both of whom were very wet.
The wind picked up, pushing against the remains of the doors until they slowly, achingly swung shut.