Thank you Aetzfeder for reviewing!

You can check out the playlist and moodboard for this chapter on my profile page.

IX. At Daggers Drawn

Ginny quickened her pace as she walked through the main hall of the Ministry of Magic, navigating through the busy employees. Upon reaching the fifth floor, she encountered two guards, both sporting stern expressions.

"Your identification, please," one guard demanded, his tone gruff.

She reluctantly handed over her wand, barely concealing a grimace. This was her first visit to Governor Cressida Warrington's office without the accompaniment of an Auror or a member of the Governor's staff. She knew coming here alone might present challenges.

"Entry denied," the guard declared, after a brief examination of her wand.

"I'm here to see Governor Warrington," Ginny replied, her voice firm.

The two guards shared a glance, their expressions openly mocking.

"They're getting more creative with their stories," one guard remarked to his colleague, his voice laced with irony.

"Seems we've got another galleon chaser," the other sneered, eyeing her disdainfully.

Ginny was ready to retort when the lift doors parted, revealing Cormac McLaggen, Mrs Warrington's deputy secretary. He stopped before the scene, raising a curious eyebrow at the guards, as if expecting an explanation.

"Valour and vigour, Mr. McLaggen," the first guard said with exaggerated formality.

Both had lost their mocking smiles and stood upright in formal positions.

"Is there a problem here?" Cormac inquired, his gaze heavy with disdain.

"Merely an unverified visitor attempting unauthorized entry, sir," the second guard responded.

"Have you checked the admissions list?" Cormac asked.

Both guards exchanged another uncertain look.

"In that case, you must have noticed Miss Weasley here on the list?" Cormac continued, looking at both as if they were slow to understand.

"Our apologies. It appears we weren't informed that—"

"I hear there's a demand for cleaners in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Continue ignoring the rules, and I might just expedite your reassignment," Cormac countered, his voice laden with threat.

The guards nodded, clearly embarrassed. In Pureblood society, hierarchy was strictly observed, with high-ranking Purebloods like McLaggen wielding considerable authority over those of lower status.

"Follow me," said Cormac, turning to her.

Ginny quickly followed him, reassured by his intervention. She felt deeply out of place, acutely conscious of not belonging. She had attempted to dress the part, donning one of her finest outfits - a navy-blue tailored suit given to her after Fleur's first pregnancy. Ginny looked more mature in this formal attire, yet her demeanor betrayed her true feelings. Her discomfort was palpable at a glance.

"Governor Warrington will join us shortly; her earlier meeting ran a bit long," Cormac informed her, guiding Ginny into the office reserved for Mrs Warrington and her team.

Upon entering the meeting room, Ginny immediately found herself the subject of three scrutinizing gazes. She tensed, her discomfort increasing with each passing moment.

"Allow me to introduce Ginevra Weasley," Cormac said, preceding his own seating. "As I relayed in our previous gathering, Governor Warrington has appointed Miss Weasley as a Consultant for this bill.

"Valour and vigour," Ginny greeted, her voice hesitant.

She took her seat as indicated by Cormac, managing a nervous smile for the others who continued to view her suspiciously. The woman next to Ginny clutched her handbag and deliberately placed it on the far side of the table, making Ginny's smile falter.

"Meet Katrina Street-Porter, Governor Warrington's press officer," Cormac said, gesturing towards the woman seated beside him.

A woman in her thirties waved at her, her long, shiny red nails looking almost weapon-like.

"Agbert Ruthdower, our financial controller," Cormac continued, indicating a ginger-haired man with rectangular glasses and distinctively prominent teeth.

"And this is Mandy Brocklehurst," he finished, indicating the woman next to Ginny, who gave her a scornful look."Expert in employment legislation."

The door to the meeting room burst open, and Cressida Warrington entered the room, escorted by two Aurors. She sported an extravagant hat in purple, coordinated with her handbag. She seemed to enjoy dramatic headwear. Upon her entry, the staff members stood immediately. All eyes turned to Ginny, who remained frozen in her seat. As the attention intensified, she abruptly rose to her feet, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. In her haste, she clumsily knocked her wrist against the table, eliciting a wince of pain that mingled with her mortification. They seemed to have codes entirely unfamiliar to her and with each passing minute, the situation grew more awkward.

"Please, take your seats," Cressida commanded authoritatively. "Thank you for being here. Now that we've gathered, let us begin."

With a flick of his wand, Cormac directed the Quick-Quotes Quill, which promptly straightened and positioned itself before a blank parchment.

"As you are aware, our current labour laws are outdated, and it is my goal to modernize them. We have three months to draft and present a bill to the Wizengamot," Cressida explained. "The timing is tight, and I'll need your full commitment."

Her enchanted eye whirled in its socket, scrutinizing each person in succession.

"As you can imagine, a change of this sort will attract criticism and resistance," Cressida continued.

Her calculating expression proved, however, that she seemed undeterred by the criticism she mentioned.

"We intend to petition the Wizengamot to ratify the removal of restrictions on 239 professions traditionally reserved for Purebloods," Cressida announced satisfactorily, a resolute glimmer in her good eye.

Ginny saw the others exchange uncertain and alarmed glances.

"Madam Governor, perhaps it would be wiser to start with a gradual change," suggested the a woman named Mandy. "Starting with entry-level jobs, for instance, so as not to be too disruptive."

"Disruption is exactly what I intend. Do you realize the billions of Galleons we lose annually due to our constrained resources?" Cressida asked, her magical eye fixating on Mandy, visibly annoyed.

"Twenty-seven billion and six hundred million, to be precise," Agbert noted, his finger tapping a ledger that materialized out of thin air. "A significant loss."

"I only wish to ensure we are being realistic, Governor. Should we open roles to them, there's a concern these… individuals may lack the essential skills and competencies for such positions," Mandy stated in a deceptively conciliatory tone.

She deliberately paused before saying 'individuals,' giving Ginny a pointed look. Her cheeks flushed anew, not with embarrassment this time, but with irritation. This woman was trying her patience. From her arrival, she had felt evident hostility from her and had chosen to ignore it. However, her passive-aggressive jabs were becoming tiresome.

"This is a long-term gamble, Mandy. I'm well aware that this transformation won't happen overnight," Cressida stated.

Ginny struggled to keep up as they debated complex issues. She felt utterly out of place in this setting, and the feeling was only exacerbated by the occasional glances that Cressida's employees cast her way.

Hermione, Ginny mused, would probably have felt more at ease. Ginny, however, experienced a profound sense of inadequacy. How had she, a humble saleswoman from a modest background, found herself at the same table as a Governor, discussing issues that far exceeded her expertise? The answer struck her at once.

Draco Malfoy.

Her life, though far from perfect, would have continued on its uneventful course had she not crossed paths with that man.

Ginny felt a sense of dread at the thought of having to summarize the meeting for him. Grasping the conversation between Cressida and her staff had been a challenge. Their jargon was all gobbledegook to her. Should she take notes to remember it when Malfoy inquired about the details? Or would doing so raise suspicion? A frown creased her forehead as she pondered her next course of action.

The words that Mandy, that thorn in her side, had uttered came back to haunt her. She had implied that people from her background were intrinsically lacking in competence. Perhaps there was some truth to her words, Ginny acknowledged a heavy sense of dejection. Instantly, she felt guilty for having such crippling self-doubt. Why was she assailed by waves of insecurity? She had always taken pride in her confidence, a trait that she now found herself questioning.

Confronted with a world so far removed from her own, she felt utterly inadequate. Ginny was so immersed in her inner turmoil that she failed to perceive the attentive gazes of the room's occupants

"Miss Weasley? Are you still with us?" asked Cressida Warrington's penetrating tone.

Ginny snapped back to reality, her mouth parting slightly in bewilderment. By now, her face had probably flushed to match her fiery locks.

"I... I'm sorry, what was that?" Ginny stammered, attempting to regain her focus on the conversation.

At the end of the day, Ginny rushed towards the door, relieved. She was eager to leave that place and return to familiar ground. Passing by, Ginny briefly thanked Cressida, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with Agbert Ruthdower, her financial controller.

"See you next week, Miss Weasley," Cressida called after her, accompanied by a wink.

Ginny left the office and headed down the corridor towards the lift. As she passed the two guards who had stopped her earlier in the day, they said nothing. One of them shot her an especially unfriendly look, which the young woman chose to ignore. She called for the lift, impatiently tapping her right foot.

The doors swung open abruptly, and a flurry of flying parchments surged out of the lift, zooming down the corridor. Ginny stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. Before the heavy lift doors could close, a hand suddenly shot into the gap, halting them. Mandy Brocklehurst stepped into the lift, glaring openly at Ginny with marked hostility.

So typical, Ginny thought with a sigh as the lift started descending. Without warning, Mandy slammed the emergency stop button.

The lift came to a sudden halt.

"Have you ever heard of Raki the Rodent?" Mandy asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she glanced sideways at Ginny.

"I beg your pardon?" Ginny asked, her voice laced with confusion.

"Raki was an exceptionally clever rat who one day decided to disguise himself and venture into the city of Rina, a city teeming with cats. The city boasted the realm's finest delicacies, and Raki was intent on claiming his share of the bounty. He earned the favour of a prominent feline in the city, who took it upon herself to show him around the royal palace—a haven for a feast, especially the prized cheeses."

Mandy pulled a small compact mirror from her handbag. She began to apply a deep pink lipstick to her lips, her eyes fixed on the mirror.

"Raki believed that his disguise was foolproof, thinking that he could pass as a cat by imitating their behaviors. The truth, however, was that his costume was ludicrous. Yet the city's cats found amusement in allowing him to roam as though he was one of their own. It was their sport, you understand. It was all in good fun, you see," she continued, pursing her lips to check the lipstick's application.

Ginny remained silent, watching the woman with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"Eventually, the powerful cat grew tired of Raki. He left him at the foot of the palace, at the mercy of the city's other cats, without his protection. At that point, the cats did what they do best when they see a crude, disgusting rat that doesn't know its place and has ventured too close to their territory," Mandy continued disdainfully.

The woman examined her reflection from all angles, clearly pleased.

"The lesson of the story..." Mandy began.

She paused, pretending to think.

"Actually, there's no lesson to this tale. Raki was torn to pieces before the story concluded," Mandy declared, her voice laced with malice as she tucked the mirror into her bag.

She turned to Ginny, giving her an imperious look.

"If I were you, I'd know my place and be content with the scraps that suffice for your kind," she sneered.

She pressed the emergency button again, and the lift resumed its swift descent.

"Your kind isn't welcome here. And unless you're entirely idiotic, you'd do well to remove yourself before it's too far gone," she murmured.

The lift came to an abrupt halt, and the doors swung open. Mandy cast her one final haughty look before exiting.

Ginny hurried out of the lift, navigating her way through the people entering. Her steps faltering and arms hanging limply, she made her way to the Ministry exit, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. A lump rose in her throat, and she was consumed by a wave of disquieting unease. She fought back tears as she pushed through the crowd, overwhelmed by anger, frustration, and humiliation.

Instinctively, she felt an urge to defend herself against such overt attacks. Yet, rationality cautioned her to remain silent and avoid further conflict. She accepted the harsh reality that she would never be treated with the same respect as Mandy Brocklehurst. This injustice had long been an accepted part of her life.

As Ginny stepped out of the Ministry, she froze at the sight of a masked figure—a Death Eater. The woman silently gestured with her hand, pointing towards something beyond Ginny's vision. Slowly pivoting, her eyes settled on a carriage that seemed all too familiar. She muttered under her breath, acknowledging the futility of seeking any respite.

With a heavy sigh that echoed her unspoken despair, Ginny dragged herself towards the imposing carriage. It stood out against the other, more austere carriages with its lavish decadence. The carriage mirrored its owner, exuding an aura of imposing sophistication and undeniable pretentiousness.

As her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the carriage handle, Ginny hesitated, a fleeting impulse to turn back tugging at her resolve. With a resolute breath, she attempted to dispel the discouragement that had clouded her since departing the Ministry.

he gripped the handle, hoisted herself into the carriage, and cautiously closed the door behind her. Thick, crimson curtains draped the windows, concealing any glimpse of the outside world. Draco Malfoy sat opposite her, his aristocratic features perpetually sculpted into an expression of disdain. Ginny's gaze darted away, unable to endure the silent condemnation in his icy grey eyes. In any other circumstance, she would have reveled in the opportunity to challenge his haughty superiority. But today, she doubted her ability to withstand Malfoy's belittlement after the demoralizing day she had endured. Her fingers dug into the plush seat, a silent testament to her internal struggle.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, her voice laced with defeat.

"Do what, precisely?" Draco asked, his tone edged with thinly veiled indifference.

"All of this. I'm not meant to be here. I don't belong," she confessed, her complexion drained of color.

Admitting this in front of Malfoy was irksome, yet she found herself unable to conceal her emotions. Much to her surprise, he erupted in laughter. Ginny looked up, bewildered by his reaction. She was aware of his unpleasantness, but his mockery revealed the depth of his vileness. He likely took pleasure in the thought of her public humiliation before the Ministry staff. His laughter eventually subsided, and he regained his serious demeanor.

"Are you truly so naive, Ginevra?" he asked, his disdain apparent.

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise. Hearing her full name from Draco Malfoy's lips felt jarring, almost alien to her ears.

"What did you expect? A warm welcome with open arms, accompanied by scones and mead?" Draco asked sternly. "This world is unforgiving. Even for people of reputable standing."

"That's easy for you to say!" Ginny snapped back. "You have no idea what it's like for me. Everyone fawns over you, bending to your every desire."

She fought to restrain tears of frustration. Draco appeared momentarily taken aback by her unexpected outburst, pausing to think before he spoke again.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

She shot him a confused look.

"Are you pretending to actually care about the answer?" she retorted, her tone dry. "Why?"

"Because my interests are also at stake," Draco stated matter-of-factly. "So, what happened?"

Ginny didn't answer.

"Did they lock you in a cell? Torture you? Force you to watch as your family was torn apart?" he asked, a note of irony in his voice. "Or perhaps they tied you to a stake to burn you alive?"

Ginny's horrified expression did nothing to move him.

"Well?" he persisted.

She shook her head, a flush of embarrassment sweeping over her as her concerns suddenly seemed trivial.

"None of that, I assume? Just as I suspected," he remarked coldly. "Don't you think that perhaps you're overreacting just a tad?"

Now he was taunting her, and Ginny's fist clenched involuntarily. She found this unbearable. She refused to stand there and allow this man to continually belittle her. Not after the awful day she'd had. He found her dramatic? He had yet to see anything.

Without a word, Ginny moved toward the carriage door and pushed the handle forcefully. The door swung open, and she recoiled as a violent gust of wind hit her face. Her eyes widened in sheer terror as she realized they were suspended high in the air, far above the ground. Having misjudged her step and expecting to find solid ground, she was poised to exit.

A scream of terror escaped her as she clung desperately to the carriage, narrowly avoiding a plunge into the abyss. From her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of the skeletal creature's immense wings unfurling gracefully.

Ginny suddenly felt an arm grasp her waist and pull her back, away from the opening. Draco had drawn her to him, holding her firmly to prevent her fall. The carriage's movements became more abrupt as it took a tight turn. Draco snapped the door shut, a decisive move that halted the fierce windstorm invading the coach's interior. Frozen with fear and shock, Ginny clung to his arm as though it were her lifeline.

"By Voldemort's grace, what possesses one to be so utterly foolish and reckless?" Draco said with scorn.

He maintained his grip on Ginny's waist as he spoke, as if anticipating her to plummet into the void if he released her prematurely.

"It seems to be quite your trademark, doesn't it?" he commented, his voice dripping with ennui.

He was so close that his breath brushed her ear as he spoke. Too frightened, Ginny barely listened to him. It took her a few moments to realise that Draco was still holding her by the waist, and she pulled away, feeling foolish and ashamed.

"That's precisely your problem," Draco continued, looking at her with a mix of impatience and condescension as he adjusted his shirt. "You're always so impulsive, acting without thinking. That could have been your undoing. Or perhaps that's what you wanted."

He concluded his remark with a contemptuous smirk. Ginny didn't respond, feeling embarrassed. How had she missed their ascent? They were now hovering over London's skyline. Draco straightened his collar, giving Ginny a look of thinly-veiled irritation.

"Is your tantrum over?" he asked.

She gave a reluctant nod, feeling self-conscious.

"So, am I to understand that you wish to terminate our little arrangement?" he inquired, his voice silky smooth.

Their arrangement was anything but 'little,' Ginny thought. Yet, she held back from voicing this thought aloud.

"You clearly hold the Ministry's leniency towards your brother's family in low regard," Draco continued, his disappointment feigned.

Ginny remained silent again. She had staked a lot on this deal with Draco Malfoy. If she managed to fulfil her end of the bargain, he could have the mention of Treason removed from Bill's administrative record. Her brother's life and that of his family would drastically improve. Victoire could attend a proper school. The weary, strained face of Bill came to her mind, and Ginny was overwhelmed with guilt. He only wanted the best for Fleur, Victoire, and their unborn child.

"To forgo such a significant opportunity over trivial workplace nuisances would be truly regrettable," Draco added.

He was well aware of which emotional chords to strike to ensure her capitulation. Ginny had committed the grave error of divulging personal information to him, a decision she now bitterly regretted. He had pinpointed her secret desires and would not hesitate to coerce her into serving his ends.

"I'll do it," she finally whispered, her voice hardly louder than a murmur.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that," Draco feigned, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Ginny lifted her gaze to meet his, locking into his grey eyes.

"I'll do it. I'll go on," she said with a more assured voice.

"That's what I wanted to hear, Ginevra," he affirmed, draping his arm over the back of the seat and settling more comfortably. "Let's start with a rundown of your first day then."

After some time, Draco drew back the curtain that had been obscuring the window and peered outside. Ginny realized that the night had already set in.

"It seems we've reached our destination," he announced.

He knocked twice on the carriage window. Moments later, the door opened to reveal the Death Eater who had confronted her earlier, outside the Ministry.

"Until next time, Ginevra," Draco remarked, his gaze lingering on her before he looked away.

Ginny required no more encouragement. She swiftly exited the carriage without uttering another word, feeling a sense of relief to be on solid ground again. The Death Eater closed the door behind her and proceeded to climb onto a bench between the carriage and the imposing Thestral. The creature trotted with languid grace, vanishing around a building's corner and leaving Ginny staring in bewilderment.

With heavy, dragging steps, Ginny made her way onto the main avenue. Upon arriving at her flat, she took a deep breath, letting go of the day's accumulated stress. She absentmindedly murmured 'good evening' to Hermione, whose worried expression was likely due to Ginny's pallor. Ginny headed towards her bedroom and quickly locked herself in. She wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Now, she couldn't stop the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes. She brushed them aside in a flurry of motion, falling onto her bed. Startled by a sound, Ginny's attention turned to the window she had left ajar from her morning departure to the Ministry. Their apartment, perched atop an unstable building, featured a skylight that opened onto a section of the roof. A dark-furred cat had crept onto the rooftop, peering intently through the window's ledge. Even though the opening to the roof was too narrow for a human to squeeze through, it was common for creatures to slip in.

"You'd probably judge me too," Ginny muttered, addressing the animal that returned her gaze with detached interest.

After a brief hesitation, Ginny placed her hand on the cat's head, gently scratching behind its ear. The cat responded with apparent enjoyment.

"No, you're different, aren't you?" she said, her face breaking into a smile.

When she reached out to the cat, she was surprised to find it compliant and receptive to being held. It wore no collar to speak of. She spent several minutes stroking the cat, her anxiety diminishing with every passing second.

"I hate him," Ginny confided to the cat. "He's the one who's put me in this mess, and he seems to relish it."

Pouring out her frustrations to the cat was more therapeutic than she could have imagined. Having a non-judgmental listening ear was pleasant. Soon after, the cat grew restless in her hold, seemingly tired of her laments. It leapt gracefully onto the dresser beneath the window, then slipped away into the dark night.

Ginny sighed, feeling a slight sense of comfort return as she sat down on her bed, fixing her gaze on the wall in front of her. Her attention was drawn to a photo hanging on the wall, taken on Victoire's third birthday, showing Bill, Fleur, and their daughter in a joyous embrace. Ginny's heart warmed as she watched her brother toss his daughter into the air and catch her, both dissolving into hearty laughter. Fleur watched the playful pair with a tender gaze.

Unwittingly, she had become a player in a perilous game. However, she was certain of one thing: she would go to any lengths for her family.

/

Hannah Abbott had never believed in miracles, with good reason: her life had never given her cause to. It had been unassuming.

Her parents instilled in her the virtues of discretion and politeness, teaching her never to raise her voice or openly express her opinions. An ideal guidebook for a Half-Blood witch navigating a hostile regime.

Hannah married young, at the tender age of seventeen, which surprised those who knew her. Hannah was never considered particularly pretty, educated, or interesting, and she would be the first to admit this. However, she was known for her loyalty, helpfulness, and skillfulness with her hands.

She met Terry, her husband, in the magical creatures shop where she worked. At the counter, he complimented her eyes, comparing them to those of a salamander. Enough to make a sixteen-year-old girl blush, one who had never received male attention. For weeks, he returned to see her every day during her lunch break. After a month, Terry finally gathered the courage to ask her out.

Things moved quickly between them. They married six months later in a modest and discreet ceremony. Hannah had always dreamt of a large family. She longed to see a bevy of adorable children running joyfully around the garden of a countryside cottage. A dream vision that Terry also shared, to her great delight. She left her job at the shop, preferring to embrace her role as a full-time housewife, while Terry worked earnestly to support them.

Soon, they encountered a significant obstacle - they struggled to conceive. This was perfectly normal, everyone reassured Hannah. Pregnancy could take time, and there was no cause for concern. The first year passed, and all their attempts were unsuccessful. A second year passed, then a third, and finally a fourth. Still no success.

With each new disappointment, Hannah felt her world crumbling as she slipped into a quiet depression. The once attentive housewife became a sad, demoralised woman, convinced she was the cause of their repeated failures. Terry finally managed to save enough money for a consultation with a specialist.

The Mediwitch, cold and austere, greeted them without bothering to mask her disgust upon reading their blood status in the file. She was particularly harsh when she began to examine Hannah for her tests, touching her as if she were a piece of meat. Throughout the ordeal, Hannah remained silent, focusing solely on the outcome. The result was all that mattered to her.

"We couldn't identify anything," the Mediwitch finally announced to the couple, coldly. "Often, infertility has no identifiable cause."

Hannah's face crumbled. Under the table, Terry placed a reassuring hand on her knee.

"Surely there must be a solution?" he persisted with the Mediwitch. "Treatments to help us conceive."

"There are some solutions, indeed, but the criteria are very strict. I'm afraid you don't meet the conditions," the Mediwitch replied curtly, cutting him off.

She had crushed all their hopes with a single sentence. Hannah felt a lump form in her throat.

"You don't meet the conditions," essentially meant the regime had no intention of helping Unbloodeds to procreate. Before leaving St. Mungo's, Hannah excused herself to Terry, citing a pressing need. Once secluded in the bathroom, she broke down, tears uncontrollable. She lost track of time, locked in the stall, sitting on the toilet, staring into space, tears cascading down her face. She heard murmurs from the other side of the stall and the echoing voices of two women.

"And they had the audacity to ask for treatment," one of them remarked, clearly astonished.

Hannah recognised the Mediwitch's voice.

"The laws are too lenient towards them, if you ask me. They've forgotten their place," the other voice responded disdainfully.

"Sometimes the universe corrects itself," the Mediwitch said. "May Voldemort continue to prevent these individuals from propagating their vile offspring."

Hannah's heart shattered within her chest.

Yet, a month later, against all odds, Hannah discovered she was pregnant.

"A miracle," Terry rejoiced. "A sign from the universe," Hannah thought, elated.

When they returned to St. Mungo's for their first prenatal appointment, the Healer's jaw dropped at the news of Hannah's pregnancy. Life seemed to regain its meaning for her. She found her good spirits again, and the following months were the happiest of her life.

"Terry," Hannah gasped, abruptly halting, breathless. "I... I think my waters have broken."

Terry's expression of astonishment quickly turned to outright panic. They had prepared for this moment dozens of times. Hannah, however, was not as alarmed, despite the pain twisting her lower abdomen. She was ready to welcome her son, to hold him in her arms, and whisper to him how much he was awaited and loved.

Upon arriving at St. Mungo's in the dead of night, Hannah was placed in a modest room in the wing reserved for lower-ranking wizards. The pain was unbearable. She tried to breathe, following her husband's instructions.

"It hurts," Hannah lamented, tears in her eyes as two Healers busied themselves around her.

"You're in labour, love. What did you expect? A walk in the park?" one of them said irritably.

"Can we give her something for the pain?" pleaded Terry, gripping Hannah's hand.

"Can I get a raise?" mocked the other Healer, imitating Terry. "We do this every day; let us work, will you?"

The ensuing hours were agonizing. The dilation wasn't sufficient to start the process, but the contractions grew more intense with each one. When a Healer informed them that the baby was showing signs of distress, Hannah cast a terrified glance at Terry.

"Push," the Healer instructed.

Hannah complied, but despite her efforts, her cervix didn't open any further. Around her, she heard noisy commotion. The acute pain made it difficult to keep her eyes open. At last, the Healer consented to cast a spell to alleviate her extreme pains, judging it to be time. Hannah sighed with relief as the pain began to subside and become more bearable.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hannah observed someone entering the room and whispering to the Healer. She was unable to hear what they said. A sense of unease washed over her as she noticed the Healer pause.

"What are you doing? Why are you stopping?" Terry queried, confused.

"Another birth has begun, and I'm needed there. That patient takes priority," the Healer responded, devoid of any empathy.

Ignoring Hannah's protests as she tried to sit up, the Healer left the room. Terry gently took her by the shoulders in a soothing gesture, casting a pleading look towards the remaining Healer.

Time appeared to stretch endlessly as Hannah waited, with the Healer periodically checking her cervical dilation. After a seemingly endless wait, the Healer returned.

"We must perform an emergency C-section. The baby is in fetal distress," she announced, having examined Hannah. "An extension spell would be too dangerous at this stage."

Hannah remained in a daze throughout the C-section. Despite the conjured veil in front of her, she could see everything through the thin fabric. The bloodied instruments that the Healer placed on the table. The reddish splatters going in all directions. Finally, Hannah witnessed them removing the baby from her womb.

Then nothing.

"Where is my baby?" Hannah asked, her voice strained. "Why can't I hear him? Why can't I see him? Terry! Where is our baby?"

She continued to scream Terry's name; he too was consumed by panic and confusion as the Healers hurriedly attended to the newborn.

"He's choking on amniotic fluid and can't breathe. We need to take him," the Healer announced urgently.

"Terry, Terry..." Hannah moaned, tears streaming down her face.

The wait felt excruciating. Hannah lay motionless, filled with dread, while the Healer stitched up her incision.

It was several hours later when they received another visit. Hannah's heart sank as she noticed the Healer had returned alone. Before she could say anything, Hannah understood from the look on her face.

"We couldn't save him," she declared, her tone reflecting a hint of sympathy for the first time.

Hannah let out a gut-wrenching scream. Terry leaned in to wrap her in his arms, tears streaming down his face. They had lost their baby. Their little miracle.

Alfie.

That was the name they had intended for him.

They were given one last chance to see him, and Hannah wept uncontrollably as she cradled her lifeless son, wrapped in a blanket, his complexion ashen.

She remained in the hospital for three days. However, Terry wasn't allowed to stay. On the night before her discharge, Hannah found herself aimlessly wandering the maternity ward's hallways, her steps directionless.

She walked past a dozing guard, unnoticed. She noticed light emanating from a partially open door. Hannah saw a woman sitting on her bed, beaming as she held a baby in her arms, softly singing a lullaby. Hannah stood, captivated by the scene. The woman suddenly looked up, locking eyes with Hannah, who tensed.

"Did you just give birth as well?" the woman asked with a smile.

Hannah nodded, unable to find her voice. The woman softly murmured to her baby.

"What's his name?" Hannah asked in a small voice, observing the baby's hair sticking out from the delicate woollen blanket.

"Jacob," the woman answered proudly. "Jacob Thorfinn Rowle."

"You! You shouldn't be here," the guard suddenly barked, roused from his slumber.

Hannah jolted and hastily followed the man, her gaze lingering on the woman and Jacob before returning to her stark and austere room.

Going back to their cottage without their son was her life's hardest ordeal. Hannah locked herself in the nursery they had completed just a few weeks before the due date. They had been so happy, back then. Ready to welcome their little ray of sunshine.

Hannah ignored Terry's calls through the door. Although she understood he was in as much pain as she, bearing his pain was too overwhelming for her. It felt insurmountable. Could anyone ever recover from such a tragic loss? This question lingered unanswered in her mind.

After the loss of their child, Hannah became but a shadow of her former self. She slipped back into the depressive state that had followed her for years. Terry seemed powerless before her distress. A part of her began to harbor resentment towards her husband. He began to move on, trying to cope with his grief. How could he act like this? As if he'd already forgotten? Hannah could never allow herself to live as before. It was an insult to their little boy.

'You are not a priority.'

The Healer's words echoed in her mind like a relentless chorus, a grim reminder that the regime had cruelly stolen her baby's life. They had treated him as less than human, denying his fundamental right to exist, to grow.

Her long-suppressed anger towards the regime now flared anew, fueling her each morning. After enduring an existence marked by numbness and mere survival, a fierce emotion now stirred within her—hatred. It wasn't a positive or comforting feeling, yet it propelled her forward.

Days turned into weeks, each more unbearable than the last, and weeks stretched into months. The pain persisted, seeming more agonizing with each passing day, a constant shadow in her life. Nothing appeared to bring back her will to live, except for one solitary beacon of solace.

"You must stop, Hannah," Terry implored, grasping her arm as she headed towards the cottage door, shrouded in her long brown cloak with its hood drawn over her head. "You know this isn't healthy."

She withdrew her arm silently. Many times, he had tried to stop her, to no avail. Why did he think she would listen this time?

"It's dangerous, Hannah. If they catch you…" he warned gravely.

She dismissed his words, having grown indifferent to his repeated warnings. Didn't he understand that she needed this?

"I don't care, Terry," she responded sharply, exiting the cottage. "Please, just let me go."

It was only an hour later that she found herself before an imposing building in Somerset County. Hannah navigated through the darkness, making her way to an opening in the fence she had discovered months earlier. Since then, she had used it to sneak into the private property.

She stealthily approached the window offering a view of the main living room. As usual, she found the small family settled in the living room. A man in his late thirties was by the fireplace, speaking animatedly with grand gestures. A woman sat attentively in a comfortable armchair, cradling a toddler who she rocked gently.

Hannah's eyes widened in surprise as she realised Jacob was taking a few wobbly steps towards his father. He's already walking, she marveled. He was nearly eleven months old now. Tears of emotion filled her eyes. Time was flying by! She had watched him grow, and now he was walking. During her last visit, she had watched him crawl under his parents' admiring gaze. Jacob was such an adorable and alert little boy.

Hannah watched the woman intently as she picked up the toddler and planted a kiss on his golden locks before exchanging words with her husband. She then left the room, heading towards the stairs, much to Hannah's disappointment. She would have liked to watch Jacob a bit longer. Hannah leapt from the windowsill and swiftly circled the house to locate the previously used passage.

Something else caught her eye: a slightly open window. She remained motionless for several long seconds, her mind racing with wild thoughts.

"It's dangerous," she heard Terry's voice already admonishing.

As always, she pushed that little voice aside, locking it away securely in her mind. With determined resolve, Hannah leapt to the window and grasped the sill. Mustering all her strength, she pulled herself up, clinging with her legs to the branches that had grown along the wall—a part of the massive oak tree planted in the backyard.

Hannah felt a sharp scrape on her shin but ignored the pain. She pushed the window wider open and slipped through the gap. Landing in a dimly lit kitchen, she gradually made out the delicate, refined cabinets as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Hearing footsteps, she quickly sought refuge in a neatly organized pantry that contained various provisions, all meticulously arranged on the shelves. She settled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, overwhelmed with apprehension. As the footsteps receded, she remained silent.

Hannah waited patiently for the household to fall asleep. As silence enveloped the house, she cautiously opened the pantry door, tiptoed out of the kitchen, and cast fearful glances around. She slowly climbed the stairs and found herself in a wide corridor lined with several identical doors. She walked down the hallway, stopping in front of a door adorned with a blue plaque. Intricately carved letters spelled out the name Jacob.

Hannah paused for a moment, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob. With a gentle push, she slipped inside, her footsteps barely making a sound. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the details she had only imagined for so long. The room exuded an air of refined elegance, a stark contrast to the cozy simplicity they had created for Alfie's nursery. Bespoke furniture, crafted from rich materials, and exquisite silk draperies adorned the space. She noticed toys and books tidily arranged on a shelf intricately sculpted to resemble a blue dragon. Compelled by an irresistible force, Hannah drew closer to the cot where Jacob lay peacefully sleeping.

With a trembling hand, she reached out, her fingers yearning to connect with the soft skin of the sleeping child. She tenderly brushed his cheek with her fingertips. How long had she dreamed of touching his soft baby skin and letting her fingers wander through his perfect blonde curls? Closing her eyes, she was engulfed by an indescribable wave of emotion. Her voice, barely a whisper, trembled with emotion as she began to sing:

Already night descends
Sleep, my gentle friend,
Goodnight, my sweetest treasure,
Close your eyes in peaceful leisure
Let your head in dreams unfurl,
Upon your pillow's curl.

Hannah then lifted the wool blanket near him, her gaze fixed on Jacob, her heart racing.

Gentle winds, whisper soft,
Cradle his dreams aloft,
Dream on, child of delight,
Through the starry night,
In dreams, let joy take flight,
Till morning light.

Clutching the blanket tightly in her trembling hand, she inhaled deeply, her eyes fixed on the child's peaceful form.

"Who are you?" asked an alarmed voice behind her.

Hannah spun around swiftly, letting go of the blanket, her body trembling as she realized she had been caught. She met the eyes of the woman—Jacob's mother. She wore a horrified expression on her face, looking at Hannah as if she were mad and dangerous.

"I just wanted to watch him sleep. I meant no harm," Hannah explained frantically.

"Stay away from my child!" the woman cried out in terror.

"I would never hurt him. I swear…"

"THORFINN!" the woman screamed, rushing to the cradle to pick up Jacob.

Jacob's cries filled the room as he awoke. Overcome with panic, Hannah raced towards the door and bolted down the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she saw a yellow light illuminate the hallway, and Jacob's father burst into the corridor, wand brandished. Hannah leapt down the stairs two at a time, ducking to avoid the spell hurled at her. The sound of the baby's cries reverberated through the house.

"CALL THE AURORS!" rang out a voice in a scream.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Hannah flung herself through the open window once more, landing with a jarring thud that sent a sharp pain searing through her ankle. Despite the throbbing pain, Hannah gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet, stumbling towards the familiar opening in the fence.

Hannah plunged into the darkness of the night, her heart pounding in her chest, her body fueled by adrenaline. Consumed by fear, she refrained from looking back until she reached the dense woods that fringed the grand estate. She ventured deep into the forest, her stomach twisting in fear.

Had the woman recognized her? Their paths had crossed in the hospital nearly a year ago. If the woman had recognized her, it was all over. They would expose her identity, track her down, and drag her back to her bleak reality. Hannah was aware that a severe punishment awaited her.

'No, I can't go back,' she thought. Not until she was certain she hadn't been recognized. Eventually, Hannah's pace slowed, her heart pounding and breath ragged. With a surge of trepidation, she risked a fleeting glance over her shoulder. To her relief, there was no sign of pursuit. Still, if the Rowles had called the Aurors, it meant they might be searching for her nearby.

Ignoring the persistent pain in her ankle, Hannah continued walking. She pressed on until the weight of fatigue and exhaustion finally forced her to a halt, her legs giving way beneath her. She collapsed against a tree, tears mingling with pain and exhaustion. Lost in the woods, her exhaustion was compounded by terror. She closed her eyes, succumbing to a deep, exhausted sleep.

Awoken abruptly by the sound of voices a few hours later, Hannah tensed in an instant, her body reflexively snapping to high alert. Her eyes widened in shock upon seeing three hooded figures standing before her.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A precious Pureblood, " one of the figures sneered, their voice dripping with disdain.

"She looks a bit rough around the edges for a precious Pureblood, wouldn't you say?' a woman chimed in, her voice laced with amusement.

"There's a place for everyone. Personally, I'm not picky," the first individual responded.

Hannah barely registered their words, her mind reeling with fear and confusion. Were these Aurors? Would they apprehend her? Or would they inflict something even more terrible? Hannah felt utterly exhausted, her ankle throbbing relentlessly. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that gnawed at her very core. She couldn't bear the constant ache in her heart and the torment of her soul any longer.

"Just kill me. I don't care anymore," she whispered faintly.

"Well, that's unexpected," commented a third individual, sounding surprised.

"She's obviously not a Pureblood. Probably just another escapee," the woman interjected.

"Merlin, looks like it's your lucky day," one of them observed, addressing Hannah.

Merlin? Hannah thought, her mind grappling with the unexpected turn of events. Invoking Merlin's name was considered sacrilegious and punishable by law. These individuals were certainly not Aurors.

"Who are you?" Hannah whispered, breathless.

"The Resistance," those were the final words she heard before a spell struck her, casting her into darkness.


Note:

I'd like to take this opportunity to give you a recap of the Sacred 13, since we now know all of them! I'll put "unknown" when I haven't yet given any details.


Family – Governor – Familly Motto


* Denotes an original family, meaning they have been part of the Sacred Thirteen continuously since its inception, with no interruption, following Voldemort's death.

Malfoy* - Lucius – "Purity Will Always Conquer"

Macmillan* - Ernie – "United in the Quest for Knowledge"

Nott* - Theodius – "With Graceful Beauty and Unyielding Bravery"

Black* - Walburga – "Toujours Pur" (Always Pure)

Lestrange - Rodolphus (Governor & Head of the Auror Office), Bellatrix (Prosecutor) – "Through Fear, Inspire Respect"

Parkinson - Pius – "In Pride, We Uphold Virtue"

Cunningham – Gideon – "Through Labour, Everlasting Solace"

Carrow – Adamus (Prophet of the Clan of the Last Days) – "Contentment Precedes Wealth"

Shacklebolt - Kingsley (Ministry of Magic) – Motto Unknown

Rosier - Evan (Head of the Security Section (Death Eaters)) – Motto Unknown

Warrington - Cressida – Motto Unknown

Zabini - Amara – Motto Unknown

Greengrass - Georgius – Motto Unknown


Happy Holidays!