disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, just Arabella and her story.

I am so sorry for not updating sooner. It's been hard to write with everything going on in the world and also with jkr - but that will also never stop me from loving this fandom, the people I've met through HP, and the world itself. Those of you that reach out and review and find ways to say that you still love HP, I love that, I love YOU! That's the HP fandom legacy! That and the actor's that put their all into these characters and give us a childhood worth looking back and remembering fondly.

I'll try my best to do better updates in the future. I cannot guarantee anything but I will certainly try. I hope you all like this chapter.

The Long Game

Two men appeared out of nowhere on the moonlit hill, their wands were drawn fifty or so feet away from each other. Their gazes were unwavering, a slight breeze flowed through them, and they smirked at the familiarity. Neither of them aimed to kill, maim perhaps depending on their moods, but they stowed their wands away and embraced each other tightly. It was good to be near family, after all. They began walking down the rough lane where overgrown grass blocked their path, wild animals were spotted nearby, and old trees grew together, roots and branches twisting and colliding.

"I thought Crouch had a house-elf?" asked Dolohov, looking around with apathy.

"The family did," replied Rabastan as he spotted a coyote near the outskirts of the estate. "Probably drowned itself in butterbeer since it failed the family."

"Ever seen one, then? Someone with no soul?"

Rabastan shook his head and said, "Where would I have gotten the time to see Crouch or someone in his condition?"

"Haven't seen him since Azkaban then," Dolohov stated.

"We were sentenced years ago, weren't we?" Rabastan said in a low voice. "The last we ever heard was that he broke out of Azkaban with his father's help and then infiltrated Hogwarts as that idiotic Auror."

"Good for him," said Dolohov, nodding and sounding rather impressed. "I was worried about him when he was in Azkaban, how he used to cry and scream like a pathetic little girl. Wanted to finish him off myself."

Rabastan hummed, agreeing with his friend. After their trial, after they had been put away on the accounts of a child barely able to keep her head on straight, he too doubted Crouch's loyalties to their Dark Lord. But all was forgiven when they had learned how he broke out of Azkaban and immediately sought out their Master. It reaffirmed his position within their ranks. This was the man, after all, who helped them with the Longbottoms and Anastas. It's a pity what happened to him in the end, but pity was not something Rabastan had particularly extended to those outside of blood.

Tall iron gates and great grey stone surrounded the estate. The iron gates squeaked open as they approached, and the handsome, dark manor grew out of the darkness. Gravel crackled beneath their feet, and the only source of light came from the grand oak front doors that swung open.

"Boys," greeted Augustus Rookwood with a slight incline of his head.

"Hardly," huffed Dolohov.

They greeted each other tightly as Rabastan stood by the entrance, thinking of his own brother.

"Have you contacted the others?" Rookwood asked as he grasped Rabastan's shoulder tightly.

"Yes, Konev is currently hiding in Bulgaria with a handful, and there are more on the way," Rabastan told them. "We've managed to do a better job hiding this time around."

"I never thought we would have to resort to cowering like this again," said Rookwood, shaking his head and sighing. "From what I've gathered from my sources, the Ministry of Magic are currently hunting us down, but only the three of us."

"They are unaware of our numbers," snorted Dolohov, moving towards the dark hallway. "They think we're weak, distilled… Any news of the Inner Circle?"

The Inner Circle, the Dark Lord's most loyal and trusted followers, the ones he placed higher than the others. Every Death Eater bore His marks, but not every Death Eater can be as trusted as those of the Inner Circle. Rabastan, Rookwood, and Dolohov found themselves amongst his most trusted for various reasons that they had proven numerous times over the years. Dolohov for his lack of mercy, for committing atrocious acts without hesitation, for putting up a fight rather than surrendering to that mangled Auror, for his creativity and imagination that brought glee to their Dark Lord. Rookwood for his various connections within the Ministry. Even after all these years, they still had followers in high-ranking positions that understood the necessity of their cause and why they needed to purify the Wizarding race before it becomes extinct. Rabastan, of course, did not need to flaunt his credentials. He can merely point towards St. Mungo's for those that doubted him. The Dark Lord never did. He welcomed Rabastan back with open arms and knew the Lestrange name meant power and excellency. He simply wished his brother was here as well, to see them survive, thrive, and continue their cause.

"Lucius has turned on us – again," Rookwood added with a sneer. "As for the others, there has been no news. They're either captured or dead. I do have, however, an interesting bit of news that could be of some use to us. That is, if we were to play the long game."

"Long game?" inquired Dolohov.

"We would, of course, not act or retaliate for a while. As far as the Ministry is concerned, I have gone abroad, and my estates are all closed to those not of blood, which is just me at the current moment. Any Aurors or Order of the Phoenix members that try and enter my home will severely regret their actions."

"All Lestrange properties have been closed off as well," added Rabastan. "Our manor in France cannot be found in any Ministry records."

"Antonin?" inquired Rookwood.

"The only piece of land connected to me has been seized through that idiot cousin of mine," sighed Dolohov. "If I ever get my hands on Thorfinn ever again…"

He made a gesture in the air as though he were going to strangle his cousin to death, and Rookwood looked highly amused.

"What is your interesting bit of news, then?" asked Rabastan, bringing the conversation back on track. "Is this to do with your informant?"

Rookwood shook his head. "As far as you're concerned, my informant is happy simply supplying us information for the greater good from the shadows. He'll be recruiting like-minded wizards from within the Ministry. We need not worry about overtaking powerful wizards when the time comes. They'll already be on our side. No, my little tidbit of information involves a certain pureblood family we're all too familiar with."

"Spit it out then," snipped Dolohov, ever so patient.

Rookwood's smile widened. The silence was suddenly broken by a slight clatter coming from the depts of the manor. Rabastan and Dolohov looked at each other, quickly drawing their wands, while Rookwood began striding down the hallway. Lines of pale-faced portraits followed them in silence, their frowns deepening as they entered the next room.

A fire roared beneath a handsome mantle framed by carved wood in the drawing-room. Lavish and ornate furniture was scattered around the room in disarray. Dark curtains stretched from the ceiling to the floor, torn and dusty and fading in colour. Next to the fire was a singular dark and luxurious velvet chair with a small marble table, a chunk chipped off on the edge. As Rabastan drew closer towards the fire, the heat relaxing his muscles, he was able to make out the figure engulfed by the chair.

Barty Crouch Jr. was staring at the cream soup on the table, his fingers lightly resting on the surface. He had a thick mop of straw-coloured hair with freckles along his nose and cheeks in his youth. Now his face was empty and gaunt, cheeks hollowed, hair thin and grey, skin waxy and stretched over his bones, devoid of light. He was not the boy Rabastan once knew, desperate to prove his worth.

"This is your news?" said Dolohov, disgusted.

"No, this is just helping out an old friend."

Crouch looked up at the sound of Rookwood's voice with blank eyes. He was incredibly still and distant as Rookwood picked up the stone with his wand and placed it on the table. As Rabastan watched Crouch's trembling fingers scoop up the soup, he was filled with a strange sensation. He never knew that a soul was so needed for the human body.

"Didn't know you were sentimental," Dolohov sneered with a smirk.

"Hardly," Rookwood told him with a roll of his eyes. "But I will admit, I did admire his conviction and his loyalty to our Dark Lord. After all, using his mother to break out of Azkaban and killing the old man was no small feat. I was quite surprised and pleased when I found out. We can use him for the time being, this house is tied to him, and when the occasion calls for it –"

"Dispose of him and have the house transferred to us," finished Rabastan.

"Consider it his last service to the cause."

"Very well. What's your news then if it's not him?"

"Ah, yes, my little juicy bit of information," said Rookwood, clapping his hands together. "If my sources are correct – and they usually are, if I may add – then we might have stumbled upon something quite delicate. Another branch of our world's oldest and formerly noblest family, boys: House Black."

Rabastan and Dolohov looked at each other.

"As far as we are aware," began Rabastan carefully, "and by we, I also mean the world, one of the last scions of House Black was Sirius Black, thus making his daughter the sole survivor of the family's name. Every possible member married into another well-known family."

"And I'd rather eat dung than champion for Malfoy or his pathetic son," stated Dolohov.

"You are not alone in those sentiments," said Rookwood, twisting his lips. "However, I have found another member of House Black hiding in Bulgaria. I have instructed Konev to keep an eye on them for the time being until we are able to formally meet."

"And they are?"

"Speak plainly. You are among friends again," instructed Rabastan.

"Very well," said Rookwood. "From what I've gathered, Cygnus Black, Bellatrix's grandfather, had two sons. Pollux Black and Marius. One was a noted Wizengamot member, and the other was a –"

"Squib? We're getting help from Squibs now?" drawled Rabastan. "Have we fallen so far? What has become of us?"

"We're not getting help from Marius, the man's dead. But rather, his Squib son is more than happy to join our cause and has promised that his only son shows some magical talent, despite being a mere toddler."

"Talent his father and grandfather lacked," said Dolohov. "What does this Squib want in return?"

"For his son to be acknowledged as the true heir of House Black and penance for his father's banishment. He sees the current branch as why his father has suffered all those years, and we get a better version of Malfoy's son, honestly, without any embarrassment and betrayal."

Rabastan looked at Dolohov again, his mind churning with ideas.

"And he wrote to you, this Squib?" he asked.

"Konev was following a lead, and the Squid has provided evidence that he is indeed Marius Black's son, including pictures of their family, letters from Cygnus and his daughters – women do have soft spots, not even the pureblood ones are immune to it – as well as trinkets bearing the Black family's crest in pristine condition. I will also add, the Squib, Pollux, does bear a striking resemblance to Regulus and Sirius. I knew this was not just some desperate proclamation the moment I saw his picture."

He reached into his pocket and extended the photograph towards Rabastan and Dolohov. It was a still photo of a man with grey eyes, dark hair, and a pointed face. He didn't have the particular aristocratic beauty of Regulus or Bellatrix, but there was something handsome and haughty about him. His gaze was sharpy, his voice pointed, cheekbones high, lips curled, and curly hair slicked back. He could pass off as a lesser brother of Bellatrix or Narcissa.

"He certainly has the look," mumbled Dolohov. "But we need to see if the boy has any magical capabilities, or this was just a waste of time."

"Agreed," Rookwood told them. "Konev will assess the situation and report back to us. But I will say, I am rather hopeful. If this is true, then we have a legitimate boy that the old purebloods can look towards once we dispose of Black's daughter. Finally, House Black's reputation will be reinstated when he takes over."

"We can train the boy before then," added Dolohov. "Have the father take the ancestral seat on the Wizengamot. No, better to have the son do both. We'll give the Squib some gold to shut him up."

"We grow our army, local and overseas, in the meantime," said Rabastan. "We know we still have supporters scattered about the continent. With so many in the Ministry and many having influential voices, taking back our power will be easy enough. We have to be patient, and we have to make sure this child is legitimate. We have to, as you said, play the long game."

"What's the boy's name?" Dolohov asked of Rookwood.

"Leo Pollux Black."

After careful deliberation and days of pacing up and down the halls, hours spent muttering to herself and the soulless heads lined against the walls, hours of pestering Harry with her concerns for the job and the baby and the future of what was at stake, Arabella finally made her decision. She woke up early Tuesday and signed the contract. The decision wasn't something she took lightly, as evident by the marks on the carpet where she stomped her feet. She flip-flopped between, "I've got this!" to "I can't, it's too much…" to "Maybe for a bit, couple months of trails and that's it." But in the end, she knew she wanted to do this, needed to do this if she was being absolutely honest with herself. Everything Kingsley said, everything she told Harry, she knew that she was finally pitting herself on the right path by signing this contract. A path where maybe one day she could wake up, go to the mirror, and not hate the person staring back. She couldn't sit by any longer and let the world pass her. She couldn't be part of the new world Harry and Kingsley were creating while still holding onto the old where Remus and Bellatrix were. She will not let another Arabella Black happen, no matter what sweet words Harry told her.

She left Grimmauld Place earlier than Harry, toast clinging in her mouth, and made a small detour…

"Mornin', Black," said the ever so cheerful Healer Murphy, looking up at her from a thick file. "Keep it down, will you? Just got most of them asleep."

"I'll try," Arabella whispered hoarsely as she made her way towards the end of the ward. Most of the occupants seemed asleep. Mr. Williams, the man diagonal from Nymph and who based his head against the wall the first time Arabella visited, was sitting up and staring at her eerily as she walked by. His gaze caused the hairs on Arabella's arms to stand up. She was grateful to slide the white curtains behind her, giving her and her cousin some privacy.

Nymph was awake, or what Arabella thought her version of awake was. She was staring at the ceiling, her fingers clutching the metal headboard. She looked washed and dry, but she was still pale and lifeless, her chest barely rising up and down with each inhale. Arabella wondered if she was capable of sleep or if she'll ever be capable of speech. She took a seat on the empty chair next to the bed, leaned forward, and tucked a strand of hair behind Nymph's ear.

"I'm going to be starting a new job today," she said quietly. "I'm not sure if I'm the right person for the job, but I'm going to try. Best I can, you know, just try…"

Arabella sighed and licked her lips, wondering how fruitless this all was.

"I'll be helping out Grace Chin, helping with trials and all that stuff. Maybe I'm just some sort of placeholder until the right person comes along, but… I don't know. Blink if I'm the right person for the job."

Nothing happened, but Arabella knew that, and she asked anyways.

"I should get going, don't want to be late, but I miss. A lot. I know you need this and that you need to grieve and that Remus being gone is –"

She choked on her own words, looked down, and composed herself for a second.

" – everything sucks and I miss you."

Arabella picked up Nymph's hand, gently caressed it, and kissed it, her tears now on her cousin's limp hand.

"Blink if you miss me too."

Nothing happened, and Arabella huffed, the cruel joke not lost upon her.

As she left the ward, tears wiped from her cheeks, she saw Frank and Alice Longbottom, staring at an enchanted window with a peculiar look.

It's cold in here, isn't it cold? Can't you feel this, Arabella, can't you feel how cold it is? Can't you hear me calling for you? Can't you hear my voice? I miss him, I miss him so much, why don't you miss him like I do? Why are you leaving? Don't go, don't leave me, I'm trying, I'm trying, I'm trying… Without him, it's cold and I miss him and I miss him and I miss him so much…

Walking into the Ministry of Magic made Arabella's insides squirm, as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to push her off. The Atrium was bustling with wizards rushing in every direction and shouting at each other across many heads. Arabella joined the stream heading towards the lifts and noticed many people staring at her, as though they couldn't quite place her face correctly. She did her best to ignore them, act as though she couldn't feel the burn of their eyes behind her neck, but it was getting harder and harder to do so when they began whispering to those nearby. Most of them were older than her, some the same age as Mr. Weasley or Andromeda, and yet they lacked maturity and grace.

Pointedly trying to ignore them, Arabella looked around the Atrium, noticing the differences. The last time she was there, it was darker, and around every corner seemed to be a terrible wizard she recognized. It was lighter now, and if there was a dark wizard, she couldn't tell. She hated that. It scared her, not being able to recognize if the person standing beside her in the lift was a Voldemort sympathizer or not.

The grilles slid shut as Arabella crammed herself between two older witches, and the lift ascended slowly, chains creaking all the way. The older woman on her left kept sneaking glances at Arabella as several people got off on their level and entered the lift.

"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamont Administration Services."

"It's not nice to stare," Arabella whispered harshly towards the older woman before stepping off.

She went the opposite way of the Auror Headquarters towards a set of tall mahogany doors that read OFFICE OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT in gold letters.

She took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.

The room was an open and empty area with five desks scattered about and three doors along the opposite side. Old clippings of the Daily Prophet and other newspapers and magazines were plastered along the walls and floors, and bits of parchment tossed all around. It looked as though they were hurrying to remove traces of whoever was here last and did a tired job of it. Her blood ran cold as she remembered that the last department head was Corban Yaxley, and he had threatened to murder a Muggle-born simply because rain was pouring in his office.

She slowly walked around the space, glancing at the desk and walls, before heading towards the dark doors. The door in the middle had a golden plaque while the others on either side were empty.

GRACE CHIN
Head of the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement

"She must already be here," Arabella whispered to herself. She took out the contract, held it in her hand tightly, and knocked.

The door creaked open, and she pushed against it. The office was quite spacious with a grand and already cluttered desk, an enchanted window of a cobblestone alley, and a leather sofa to the right of the door. The walls were lined with empty bookcases, a bulletin board, and there were already two people there. Kingsley was sitting on the edge of the desk, dressed in gorgeous golden robes and speaking softly towards the woman in the green and yellow accent chair. She was quite pretty with rosy cheeks, sleek black hair tied back in a neat bun, ruby lips, and black and white robes flowing around her. The moment the door opened, she stood up and walked around the desk with a sort of elegance Arabella associated with Andromeda and McGonagall.

"Arabella Black, I presume?" the woman asked kindly, extending her hand.

"Grace Chin? Nice to mee you."

"Likewise. You can call me Grace since we'll be working very close together. Kingsley has filled you in on what you and I will be doing. Are you ready to start?"

Arabella's eyebrows raised slightly. "Yeah, sure."

Grace smiled widely, her dark eyes shining. "Fantastic. Kingsley, please ask Robert to send the Aurors along. I'm expecting the best of the lot."

"I am the Minister now, you know," commented Kingsley, his eyes following her as she sat behind her desk.

"Precisely why you're the best for the task. He'll have to give us his best when you're asking."

Arabella gave Kingsley the contract and a small smile as he left the office, grumbling under his breath.

"Now, let's cut to the chase," began Grace, clearing her desk a bit. "Kingsley informed me that you are pregnant – yes, he did tell me –" she added as Arabella's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "I assume you wanted to tell me yourself, however, he did, and this will not be a problem at all. But since it is just the two of us, we will have to be diligent and swift. Sit, please."

Arabella did as she was told, slightly queasy all the same.

"I know I am technically your boss, but I will be doing the same work as you and the same amount of work as you for the time being. We have many Death Eaters and others likewise to prosecute. Due to the nature of these crimes, it is not just the Wizengamot that will be present for the trials, but also the department heads and the office of the Minister. Robert Trenholm will be providing a few Aurors to help us gather witnesses, but the rest of it is up to us. I have already sent out letters to members of the Wizengamot, they will be here in a few days, and we will be briefing them on what is expected of them and a few points on the upcoming trials."

Grace paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in. She already looked exhausted, the weight coming down on her, and Arabella knew it was only going to get worse.

"I don't think I need to stress just how important these trials are. I'm sure you of all people already know. If we do not prosecute these people properly, anything they do in the future will be on our hands. You-Know-Who is gone, but these people are still just as dangerous as they were a year ago, and we must make sure they are locked away for life. We either do so, or we will have failed. I know this is a lot to ask and a lot of stress, but –"

"I get it," offered Arabella, feeling as though she needed to talk. "These aren't small-time criminals; these are the worst of us. We can't… we can't allow anyone else to get hurt, not if we can stop it."

Grace smiled again, warmer, genuine. "You read my mind."

Two of the best Aurors were helping them out, Francine Redburn and Nazem Moussa. Grace gets Francine and Arabella's paired up with Nazem. He was friendly, handsome, had dark tattoos against his brown skin, stylish hair slicked back with mousse and a smile that could make anyone swoon. She was glad he was there with her. Based on Arabella's observations, Francine was serious, straight to the point, and never smiled in her presence. Nazem made her feel better, cracked jokes, and kept her updated on what the Aurors were up to, specifically one certain Auror.

"Potter tried getting Trenholm to send him here again today, but he put his foot down – again," Nazem told her, shrugging as he leaned against his chair across from her. "Didn't want you kids fraternizing with each other when there's work to be done."

"We wouldn't –"

Nazem gave her a pointed look and glanced down at her. Her cheeks turned red as she shuffled papers around, determined not to meet his eyes.

"That was ages ago. Before we both started working here. Now help me with these letters or I'll send you back to Trenholm."

Now more than ever, she was glad for his company, for his nonchalant approaches as they began making house calls two days after starting the job. Her insides were twisting, and bile kept rising to her throat in ways the pregnancy never pushed her. The task was simple enough – gather as much information as possible, enough to put the Death Eaters away without a shadow of a doubt. But in actuality, it drove her mad. Who would want to relive those memories, especially to her? The worst part to Arabella, the part that kept her from leaving her bed, was that she was going to interview her classmates.

Grace, Francine, and Nazem thought it would be better, easier for them to open up to someone they went to school with rather than wizards more than twice their age. Arabella didn't see it that way. She saw it as another way for them to confront someone who left them behind, who was on the run while they were left to fend for themselves, stuck in the same castle as Death Eaters disguised as teachers and students.

"I thought we could start with these two," said Nazem, throwing a coat over his shoulders. "They're both your year, one's a Gryffindor, and their Mum's a member of the Wizengamot. Should be easy enough to get one of them to testify, both would be better."

They Apparated to the outskirts of Tutehill, one of the larger wizard villages in the country. The house was easy enough to spot. Isolated, but not alone. Still part of the town, but a bit standoffish. The tudor house was made of dark bricks and panels with a lively garden in the front but not covering the driveway or path. Trees were surrounding the plot, and birds were singing as they approached. Everything about the house seemed deliberate and organized. Nothing was out of place, and nothing didn't need to be there. Just as they were a few feet away from the door, it opened immediately.

The woman was a bit shorter than Arabella, but that did not stop her from having a fierce aura. Her skin was a bit darker than Nazem's, her black hair had bits of white framing her face, and she stared at Arabella, looking her up and down, assessing her with uneasy light brown eyes.

"Well… you're Arabella Black."

"Er – yes," Arabella told her. "And, um, this is Nazem Moussa."

Nazem raised a hand behind her and waved.

"You must be Mandira Patil," Arabella added uncertainly.

The woman inhaled sharply, pursed her lips, and said, "Yes, I suppose I must. Fine. Come in."

She led them down the hallway and into the living room. One side was covered with books, and the sofas were arranged neatly, nothing out of place. Arabella looked towards Nazem for a moment, worried, panicked, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

"I've heard a lot about you," said Mrs. Patil, choosing the loveseat. "My daughters, of course, and Miss Brown. You may have a seat."

Arabella did so, silently grateful as her ankles were killing her. She and Nazem sat together on the long sofa."

"Your letter was vague," Mrs. Patil carried on. "I expected more. I know you wish to speak to my daughters, but I will need to know what you will be asking them beforehand. They are… they are still recovering, and I do not wish for you to hinder in their recovery."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Patil –" began Nazem.

Mrs. Patil shot him a glare. "Before I am a member of the Wizengamot, before I am anything else, I am a mother, and my duty is to my girls and their wellbeing. Of all people, I expected you to understand, Miss Black."

Arabella's lips twitched upward. Something about Mrs. Patil's declaration, something about her voice, it stirred something within Arabella. She would be a mother herself soon, a thought that still scared her, and she hoped that she would have reacted the same way – protective and strong.

"I would never do anything to hurt Parvati or Padma. I just want to put those people away, the people that hurt them and countless others. I consider them friends, I lived with Parvati for six years –"

"But you do not know them," stressed Mrs. Patil. "There must be other people you can bother, others that will be more than willing to testify. Why must it be my daughters? Why must they be the ones to relive what those monsters did to them?"

Arabella quietly got up, walked around the coffee table, and sat next to Mrs. Patil.

"I thought the same thing once, a long time ago," she said softly. "I was barely taller than this table, I was in St. Mungo's, and Dumbledore asked me to relive something for him. It was terrible and fresh, and I didn't want to. I thought he was metal, who in their right mind would even want to see it? I could barely stop shaking. He asked me the same thing again years later, and I finally understood why."

She tentatively placed her hand on Mrs. Patil's shoulder.

"Your daughters are very brave. They joined a –" Arabella let out a small laugh " – teenage rebellion that was willing to take on Voldemort –"

Mrs. Patil and Nazem winced at the name.

" – and his Death Eaters. Parvati and Padma were wonderful. But as Dumbledore told me years ago, numbing the pain will only make it worse when you finally feel it. I know the kind of pain they're facing, and I know what it's like to live with it. It eats away at you until you think you deserve it – deserve to live with that in you, have it consume all your thoughts. I cannot guarantee this will ever make them or you better, but –"

Her voice hitched in her throat – Sirius's grin flashed in her mind, his awful singing in the distance…

" – it's a decent first step."

"Better to deal with it now than when you're my age," Nazem offered with a small shrug.

Mrs. Patil's face did not give anything away as she got up and left the room. They could hear her footsteps ascending the stairs and then a knock.

"You're good at that, aren't you?" said Nazem. "All that talk about understanding –"

"I don't completely," Arabella said quickly with a frown. "I mean, it's still different than what I went through, but I do get bits of it. I don't – I don't know –"

"So you weren't just manipulating her, you actually get it –"

"I wasn't – don't say – that –"

"Wrong choice of words, sorry," Nazem told her, seeming to mean it. "Wrong word, wrong word, sometimes my mouth movies before my brain… It's just, I don't know, seeing you work was… interesting."

"I wasn't working her," Arabella mumbled. "I was telling her what happened to me, and I just tried to understand. If that's working her, then… the Ministry has a messed up view of what talking to people looks like."

Nazem smiled at her and nodded. "You're not wrong. A couple of months ago, everything felt so different but also the same. Being in the department was maddening. My old partner bought into all that pureblood crap –"

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' Sick thing was, I thought I knew him. He was my partner for a long time. I knew his wife and his kids, and then one day he finally tells me what he actually thinks of my mother."

Arabella winced. "I'm sorry."

"I'm a pureblood, but it's not like people who think like him are known for their progressive views. He just finally felt comfortable enough to tell me what he thought, surrounded by Yaxley and all those other pricks. You should have seen the department with them in charge. A lot of people stopped caring about justice and decided to just work for You-Know-Who's betterment."

"But it's changing, right? I mean, the people working there now, it's different than what it was a year ago, right?"

Nazem shrugged. "I thought I knew Nicholas."

It didn't look as though he had anything else to add to that statement as Parvati Patil entered the living room. Arabella stood up quickly, her knees popping, and gave her a small smile. Her hair was longer and tied back, there was a small pink scar on her neck, and dark circles under her eyes.

"Ma said you wanted to talk?" Parvati said briskly.

"Yeah, about Hogwarts and –"

"Let's go outside," she cut across. "Just you. It's too stuffy in here."

She led Arabella through the kitchen and outside the backyard. There were more trees and a vegetable garden surrounded by a wooden fence.

"Padma didn't want to come down," Parvati told her. "I think she would have if you were here yesterday, but last night wasn't… well, you get it. I've seen you in that state."

Arabella signed. "I guess. I thought I did better at hiding it."

"Lav didn't pay much attention. I heard you now and then. Is that what you wanted to talk about, yours and my sister's bad dreams?"

Arabella heaved another sigh. The thought of visiting students was different than actually doing it, and talking to Parvati rather than her mother was much, much harder.

"Trials are coming up. There's, um, there are a lot of Death Eaters to – er – prosecute. The Ministry wants to do this thoroughly. Gather as much information as possible and make sure there are no holes. The Carrow –"

"It wasn't just them," gritted Parvati, her arms crossed and her eyes upon the ground. "It was –"

She broke off, and silence washed over them. Her eyes drifted from the backyard to the house and then to Arabella. Her eyes were blazing. She looked angry and defeated.

"They'll never go away, and you know that, I know you do. You can try and throw those Death Eaters away, cut off their heads, and more will replace them. They'll keep coming back, turn their kids into them, how many times have we seen that –"

"Parvati –"

"You should have seen their faces, how much they enjoyed it," snarled Parvati, hot tears in her eyes. "It wasn't just the Carrows. It was the students – our so-called peers torturing us, laughing… You gonna cut their heads off, too? Sentence them and hope for the best? Pretend as if there aren't more of them out there? It won't work. You can put everyone away. They'll just keep growing and growing until it's only them."

Parvati snapped away from Arabella and rubbed her eyes viciously.

"I used to hope it happened to me rather than Padma or some first-year," Parvati continued, her voice thick. "Imagine getting your acceptance letter and – and – those – they're supposed to be teachers and that greaseball git let it happen –"

"I know," Arabella whispered, placing her hand on Parvati's shoulder.

The scar was shining under the sunlight: I must obey authority.

"Lav won't even talk to me," Parvati's voice was barely above a hush. "I've sent her so many letters, and I even tried going to her house, but her parents kept telling me she wasn't ready. Ready for what? I'm supposed to be her best friend. What the fuck is she now ready for?"

Arabella squeezed her shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a while. The sky turned from a bight blue to light violet, clouds now dark, and stars appearing in the distance.

"I'll speak at the trial, whenever that it," Parvati said softly, sniffling. "I saw the Carrows torture students, I saw other students torture students, and I saw many Death Eaters at the battle. I can identify them. When do you need me to come in?"

"We haven't set a date or time yet, but it will be soon," said Arabella. "Thank you for doing this, Parvati."

Parvati nodded and said, "Every D.A. member was offered a spot as an Auror. I was thinking about it, joining up with you lot. My dad says it's all over now; the war is over, and we don't need to dwindle on it anymore, and we'll be over it one day. I don't think I agree with him."

"You've done enough in the last couple years to warrant a spot in the Auror Department," Arabella carefully told her, "and to also not do anything. You've done enough, Parvati."

Parvati winced and shook her head.

"I jump at every little noise my parents don't seem to hear and… if I don't do anything, I think I might go mad. Does it ever feel like we've actually won?"

Remus had a son for a while, and sometimes he would fall asleep on the kitchen table, crumbs in his trim mustache.

"No, not when we've lost so much."

They visited other students the next day. Some were willing to give them the information without any hassle, some were even ready to kick Death Eaters' teeth in.

"The only one-way ticket for them," Ernie Macmillian proclaimed in his living room.

Others were less than willing to appear at the Ministry. Zacharias Smith's father did not want Ministry officials to know that his son had fled, pushing first-years out of the way, while Lavender's parents pointedly told her the same thing they told Parvati.

"I'm sorry, Miss Black, she is simply not ready," whispered Philippa Brown, wringing her handkerchief. "Please understand that we simply want to be left alone at this moment."

"Can I at least see Lavender? Is she alright?" Arabella pleaded with the woman.

"I'm sorry, Miss Black, this is not the time. I wish you the best, but you will have to do this without Lavender."

She closed the door behind her, and Arabella heard a faint sob.

"I didn't think we would have much luck with the Browns," Nazem told her as they exited the property, kissing gates creaking shut behind them. "From what I've gathered about what happened to the girl, they're probably going to keep her in for a while. How about we visit this last one and call it a day?"

They made their way back to London within the hour and travelled by bus. It was getting dark as they walked along the sidewalk in the suburbs. The playground was slowly emptying, bikes were abandoned in their pathway, and lights shone from windows. The area seemed like a picture-perfect neighbourhood. Nothing extraordinary would ever occur here. It reminded her of Privet Drive, how mundane everything seemed to look.

The house was small and seemed to have been wedged between two houses that were larger than it. There was a small red car in the driveway and ceramic cats on the lawn. When Nazem rang the bell, Arabella noticed that one of the neighbours was watching them, peeking through the curtains.

The door opened with a soft click, and an older woman with wispy blonde and large eyes hair opened the door.

"Yes?" she squeaked out.

"Mrs. Clemens? My name is Nazem Moussa, and this is Arabella Black. I wrote to you a few days ago about your son, Alfred –"

"I'm sorry, but he's not here anymore," the woman spoke up, her eyes shifting left and right. "He's not feeling well, and he didn't want to participate in this."

"Ma'am, this is rather important. If we could just come in for a moment to explain –"

"I don't think that's possible. I'm sorry I cannot help you."

She closed the door before Nazem could say another word.

"Well, at least we managed to get most people to testify," he commented on the sidewalk, glancing back at the Clemens house. "It would have been nice to have gotten everyone, but all things considered, I think we did a decent job."

Arabella stared across the street at the empty playground. With darkness falling around them, she could see the cars in the distance, hear the honks as a calm wind breezed through them. The last time she had seen Alfred was at Hogwarts, his legs and lower torso crushed, and all he wanted was to be brave like Cedric.

My fault, something in her head whispered.

She turned around, headed back towards the door, and pressed the doorbell. Immediately, she pushed it again, and again, and again, and then began pounding on it with her fist. The neighbours were peering at her through their windows, wondering who could be making such a noise at this late hour, but Arabella did not care. She pressed the button and knocked for who knows how long until it finally opened.

"Please, I beg you, leave us alone," Mrs. Clemens whispered tearfully, her eyes darting towards her neighbour's houses.

"I want to see Alfred," Arabella told her.

"I – I told you, he's not here, and – and frankly, he is not your concern –"

"Fine, then. How is he? Did Madam Pomfrey help him or did any Healers come by?"

Mrs. Clemens grimaced, looking appalled at Arabella's words.

"My Alfred will be fine. Now, please, leave us alone."

"Mrs. Clemens –"

"Why can't you just go!" she exclaimed tearfully. "Haven't we been through enough?"

She slammed the door in Arabella's face with a sob, leaving her completely shaken. Nazem tugged on her sleeve, and they began making their way towards the sidewalk, away from the house, away from the whole street…

"I just need a moment," Arabella whispered.

They had returned to the office. Grace and Francine were gone, off somewhere with more luck than them. The desk Arabella had picked out on her first day had the least amount of burn marks, and it had more papers and letters on top of it, waiting for her. She placed her head on it, nestled in her worn-out arms, and took deep breaths. She knew Nazem had left the office, probably gone back to the Auror Department, but she did not expect him to send someone in.

She knew it was Harry the moment he touched her shoulder and whispered her name. She moved her head towards him but did not lift it. They hadn't seen much of each other in a while, with her going in early and him coming back late. Seeing each other on the staircase when one was half-asleep seemed more like a formality, and it didn't count in Arabella's books, but that's the whole point of all this, right? Building a new world. For them. For everyone else that deserved not to live in fear. He was already doing it, been doing it for a while now. She was trying her best to catch up, listen to students telling her what life was like at Hogwarts without them, how the Carrows and Snape treated them, how there was darkness in their mind, how they know nothing will ever be the same, and she wonders how anyone her age or even younger will ever be the same.

And then she looks at him, takes a moment to see him. Taller than he was a year ago, shoulders broader, face lined and older than what he should be at eighteen, but those eyes – by god, those eyes were quicksand and the smile cement tying her down.

"I'm assuming Nazem sent you?" she asked.

"Trenholm was looking the other way, and I finally managed to sneak out of there," he told her with a small smile. "I get why everyone's working to the bones, but I think a few minutes wouldn't kill me. Moussa said I should come and see you as I was on my way. Is everything alright?"

Arabella sighed and sat up. "I'm pregnant," she said, her voice exhausted. "And everything somehow seems worse because I'm pregnant."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and she couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes, hot and prickled.

"I can't –" her voice was unbelievably small. "I – I go to these houses, I see these parents, these mothers try and protect their kids, and they can't because this world isn't safe. And – how can I – how can we protect a kid, our kid, how can we give them a safe childhood, how can we make sure no one breaks into the house one night or goes after them or gives them nightmares or –"

"That's not something we can promise or foresee," Harry told her, reaching out and clasping her hand.

"But what if that happens?" Arabella searched his face, pleading for the answer, the false answer she wanted to hear. "What if someone does go after them? Some sort of sick lunatic that wants to hurt them? What then? I don't know if I can do this again. I'm so tired, Harry."

"The best we can do is protect them and fight for them," Harry told her earnestly. "We have to do what we can and be brave for them."

Arabella signed and nodded.

"Maybe we should go away, you know, leave this all behind and live in some secluded mountain. What do you say?"

Harry gave her a small smile.

"You don't mean that."

"I don't," Arabella replied instantly.

"But it does sound nice. We should do it one day, get a place of our own. Away from all of this."

The future was so tangible, so real with Harry and without –

Not now, a soft voice whispered in her mind. Think about him later. Yearn for him tonight before bed. You have all the time in the world to think about Remus. Your heart has one thought, one desire, but for now, live in this small brief moment where tears are not clinging to your eyelashes. How many will you get before the man in front of you finally wakes up?

"It's a date," Arabella whispered with a tight smile.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think :)

So I know there's a town named Tutshill, but I added an 'e' and made it a separate wizard town *shrugs*.

Obviously, I do not agree with anything that comes out of a Death Eater's mouth. I'm just trying to write what they would likely say. I am excited to hear what you guys think of that storyline. Different branches of House Black wasn't properly explored in the books and I hope to do a bit of that going forward.

There hasn't been much Arabella/Harry in this chapter. I'm trying to do a bit of a slowburn for the time being as neither of them are ready to jump back into it at the moment. I want to explore them as separate characters for a bit before getting them back together.

I think I mostly wrote this chapter the way I did was to show mothers and motherhood to Arabella, someone that is still terrified of becoming one so soon. I don't think I intentionally set out to do that, my original plan was way different, but it just ended up that way. Happy accidents, I guess :) The original plan was for more student-Arabella confrontations, but I think we'll still see some of that in the coming chapters.

Thank you for staying with me this long. I will try my best not to keep you waiting so long ;)