Chapter Nine: The Nuptials of Narcissa

The Drawing Room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had been magically extended to cathedral proportions; the chandelier glinted overhead with the light of a thousand candles, and the crystals cast rainbows on the walls. Elegant, golden chairs, decked in flowers, had been arranged in the room to make an aisle down the centre, and rose petals were strewn along the path. Two Christmas trees stood either side of the full length window, sparkling and shining against the blackness without.

Regulus was in his finest dress robes and acting as an usher, guiding guests towards their seats. Aunt Druella was already sitting in the front row, along with her slimy son in law, Rodolphus Lestrange, saving a space for Uncle Cygnus. Lucius Malfoy - the groom himself - was standing before the Christmas trees, waiting nervously. His best man was his father, Abraxas Malfoy, and Sirius could only assume this was because Lucius had no friends of his own.

Sirius himself had been stashed away in a dark corner, in the furthest seat away from everybody, hidden by a candlestick. He was not allowed to greet the guests or take part in the festivities … as if he would want to. He only wished there was a glass of champagne he could swipe. Sitting here alone and hating everyone would be a lot more fun if he could get tipsy while he did it. This was an awful way to be spending Christmas Eve - and he cast his mind back to last year, throwing snowballs at James's house and singing around the piano. He would have had John, his pet puffskein, for a year tomorrow - only John was with James right now, as Sirius still did not trust Kreacher (or Regulus) not to do something awful to him if Sirius brought him home.

The door to the Drawing Room opened again, and Canopus, Sirius's second cousin, walked in with his parents, was greeted by Reg and sent to sit on the right hand side of the aisle. Then came another Cygnus (this one a third cousin once removed) and the twins, Nigellus and Belvina, who were somehow related to Sirius through their great great grandfather. Sirius started to wish for something a little harder than champagne. But worse was yet to come: Mulciber, and Avery and Rosier and a whole load of Slytherin slime whose dads were in the Knights of Walpurgis all arrived and sat to the left. (Sirius had been wondering how, with a family as inbred as theirs, Reg would know whether to direct someone to the bride's side of the room, or the groom's. But it seemed Reg was keeping things simple - anyone with the last name "Black" went to the right, no matter how distantly related, any open followers of Voldemort to the left.)

Mulciber turned in his chair, caught sight of Sirius - hidden in the darkest corner - and smirked. Sirius stuck two fingers up at him and then tried to move the candlestick so the Slytherins were blocked from his view. He should just count his blessings that Snivellus was a half blood, who would never be invited to a society wedding like this in a million years. He didn't think he could cope if Snape was brought into his home.

The door opened once again, and Walburga and Orion came in, swept up Reg and went to sit in the second row behind Narcissa's parents. This must mean everyone had arrived, all guests had been greeted, and it was time to get this whole freak circus started.

With a nod from the celebrant, at the front, the stringed quartet began to play - striking up the familiar notes of the traditional March of the Goblin Bride by Ludwig Lotharssohn - and the door opened for a final time, with Narcissa now processing slowly down the aisle, leaning on her father's arm, and carrying an ostentatiously large bouquet. ('Gauche' Sirius heard Remus say in his head, 'tasteless and tacky,' Sirius silently replied, and smiled to himself).

She wore a long, sweeping gown of silver and had Christmas roses woven into her hair. For someone who was supposedly having the happiest day of her life, she looked remarkably like a woman with a bad smell directly under her nose, like she'd just trod in dung… but then Narcissa always looked like that. Bellatrix walked behind her, clutching a small bouquet of her own and wearing dress robes of puce (which did not suit her at all - and Sirius wondered if Narcissa had chosen them especially to ensure her sister did not outshine her on her wedding day). Of Andromeda, of course, that was no sign.

After what seemed like an eternity of stately processing (and Sirius hoping she would fall over with every step) Narcissa eventually reached the front. She handed her bouquet to Bellatrix, without so much as a backwards glance, gave her father a cold peck on the cheek and was then left alone, beside the Christmas trees, with Malfoy. They smiled at each other. The type of smile a wolf might give… only that was an insult to Moony.

'Ladies and Gentleman,' the celebrant said in a fruity, sing-song sort of voice, 'we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…'

Sirius snorted. Walburga turned in her seat and glared at him.

'Marriage is a commitment made to one another under the eyes of the law and with the grace of magic. It is a precious oath…'

Malfoy was wearing his green, youth wing robes - with the coiled serpent on the breast pocket - and he had his hair combed into the very precise side parting that all the little Voldemort-wannabes seemed to favour … Though Sirius could not help notice that Voldemort himself was not present among the guests. Clearly Lucius Malfoy was not important enough to his master that his marriage to one of Society's purest daughters would warrant the Dark Lord giving up a few hours of his own time to attend. Sirius snorted again.

'Do you, Lucius Abraxas, take Narcissa Lyra…'

Between the Christmas trees, the bride and groom affirmed their vows and exchanged their rings. The celebrant raised his wand above his head. 'Then I declare you bonded for life.' A shower of silver stars fell from his wand and spiralled around the couple's entwined hands. The whole room burst out in applause, Aunt Druella dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief and Sirius wished harder than ever for a stiff drink.

…

They all processed out of the Drawing Room, once again to the swelling notes of Lotharssohn, milled around awkwardly while a photographer took portraits of the happy couple, and then headed into the (magically extended) dining room where they feasted on oysters (slimy), caviar (crunchy) and veal with a golden flake filigree ( definitely gauche). There was a toast, which came with champagne (the first thing to have gone right today) and then interminable speeches that lasted forever. (Sirius used this time to surreptitiously replenish his champagne with his wand, he kept his glass topped up throughout his Uncle Cygnus's speech, Lucius Malfoy's speech and Abraxas Malfoy's speech and by the time they were done, his head was pleasantly muzzy.)

After the speeches came pudding - Christmas pudding in brandy butter, and Sirius nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle… but he pocketed it without complaint, and laughed heartily when Mulciber nearly choked on the wishbone, which had been baked into the pudding for luck.

And then most of the guests were left in the dining room with party favours and the string quartet, while the Black family and the Malfoys went back to the Drawing Room (which had, by now, been cleared of the golden chairs). The door was closed with a very firm click, and - with a wave of her wand - Walburga dimmed the candles so the lights were low and the shadows deep. 'Cygnus, I believe you should do the honours,' she said.

It started to rain outside, the drops pattering against the window pane, and Sirius felt a shiver go down his spine.

Uncle Cygnus raised his wand and pointed it at the tapestry which bore the entire Black family tree. Near the bottom was his own name, with that of Aunt Druella's, and from them a line which led to Narcissa. It was Narcissa's name which Uncle Cygnus pointed his wand at.

Beside Narcissa's name was Bellatrix's, already linked with Rodolphus Lestrange, and then - in the middle, where Andromeda should be - there was a little charred hole. Sirius stared at the burn mark, wondering when his turn would be… and another shiver went down his spine.

'Narcissa and Lucius - Notare Nuptias! ' silver sparks shot from the tip of Uncle Cygnus's wand and hit Narcissa's name. For a moment, the silver threads in the tapestry seemed to come alive and wriggle and then a line weaved its way across from Narcissa, and the threads started to form themselves into the shape of Lucius Malfoy's name.

After a moment, the wriggling and weaving died down and there was Malfoy, recorded on the Black family tapestry and with a space underneath for any obnoxious offspring he may sire.

Sirius's father then took out a copy of Pense's Peerage and handed it to Malfoy snr. 'You can make the record, Abraxas.'

Malfoy took a seat at the writing desk, took a quill, dipped it in ink and then leafed through the pages until he found his son's entry.

Sirius wished he had brought his champagne with him. He glanced around the room, wondering if he could sneak out, and caught his Uncle Alphard's eye. Alphard winked at him, and beckoned him over to the dark corner he was lurking in. 'Here,' he pulled Sirius behind the Venomous Aspidistra plant, reached inside his cloak and then - to Sirius's delight - pulled out a hip flask. 'Firewhisky - want some?'

'Yes!' He took a glug on the flask, the whisky burned his throat and made his eyes water. The quill scratching away in the book suddenly seemed very loud. 'What's he doing anyway?' he asked his uncle, handing back the flask.

'Updating Pense's to record the marriage… a very solemn occasion. And always the signal to break out the firewhisky.'

'So won't all the other copies be outdated now?' He thought of his own copy, up in his room (always on his bookshelf no matter how many times he tried to lose it) and wondered if he could expect a brand new edition as a Christmas present tomorrow morning.

But Alphard shook his head. 'Pense - poncy bastard - linked all the books together. Some special enchantment. What gets changed in one, magically gets changed in all the others.' He took a sip of firewhisky and passed the flask back to Sirius.

Sirius thought about this as he drank (his head felt like it was packed with cotton wool now, and the room was spinning, but in a very pleasant way) 'What if I go upstairs and scribble out Malfoy's name in my book?'

'Then you'll have a scribble in your book. It won't affect the others - you can only undo a change in the copy the change was originally made in.'

'So to get rid of Malfoy…'

'You'd have to get your hands on the book Malfoy snr is writing in. Nothing else will undo the changes.'

'What's going on here?' an angry voice hissed, seemingly from nowhere (though, after a moment, Sirius drunkenly realised it was coming from the other side of the Aspidistra). Walburga suddenly loomed in front of them, her face furious, but she was - for once - keeping her voice low, as she tried not to make a scene in front of the Malfoys.

'I'm getting my nephew drunk, Walburga,' Alphard said. 'Firewhisky?' he cheerily offered the flask to her. She slapped it from his hand.

'You're both a disgrace to the name of Black - out here, at once.' And - under her thunderous gaze - they both meekly shuffled out from behind the plant and once again joined the throng. But - spinning though his head was - Sirius had been given something very interesting to think about and was very eager to try something out.

…

The chance arose once the recording of the marriage was over and the doors to the Drawing Room were thrown open to the other guests, and the string quartet had struck up again. As people mingled, and danced and drank their champagne, Sirius edged his way to the door, smiling and nodding at anyone who looked his way, and then backed into the hallway and fled up the stairs.

He closed his bedroom door with a click, and then - after a moment's consideration - locked it with his wand, just in case. Then, with trembling hands (he really was quite drunk at this point), he took down his own copy of Pense's Peerage from the shelf.

He flicked back to the beginning of the book - not the very beginning, where people were likely to open it and see - but one of the earlier pages: wizards from the 1400s… no one was likely to check this part of the book. Then he took out his quill and, with the tip of his tongue clenched between his teeth, he began to draw a very crude picture in the top corner of his chosen, obscure page (it was the type of crude picture which would make Pete tut, and inform Sirius he was obsessed… but why shouldn't he be?)

He chuckled to himself in satisfaction, when it was done, and then closed up the book and returned it to the shelf - where it sat innocently and unremarkably, as if it had never been disturbed.

Now for the fun part.

He unlocked his door, poked his head out to check Reg or Kreacher weren't hanging about, and crept back down the stairs. The party was still in full swing in the Drawing Room, the light's blazed inside, and Sirius could hear the chatter and laughter and music. But he kept to the shadows and tiptoed his way down to the library.

It wasn't much of a room - truth be told - just a few bookshelves and a leather reading chair. Walburga was being grandiose - as always - when she called it a library. He scanned the bookcase until he found it - the recently returned copy of Pense's Peerage (it rather stood out, as it was the only book not covered in a thick layer of dust … the Black's were not big readers). He took it down, opened it up, leafing through until he found his obscure page and… there it was! His crude drawing - balls and all - right in the corner … and in the corner of every copy of Pense's Peerage up and down the country. And the poncy purebloods had no idea! And would probably never even find it…

He laughed in delight, and decided the first thing he would do when he got back upstairs was put his own copy of Pense in his trunk to take back to school… he was going to have a lot of fun with this book, and keep it in a place his mother could never get her hands on it!

Delighted by his own mischief, he traced a finger lovingly over the drawing, while humming March of the Goblin Bride to himself quietly. Then he closed the book with a snap and put it back on the shelf. He didn't want to get caught and found out right away.

He heard voices, just as he left the library, and quickly ducked into a dark alcove to hide. It was Lucius Malfoy and Mulciber's dad, he could see them reflected in the window at the end of the hall, misty in the candlelight and blurred with the raindrops from outside.

'I flatter myself that he has noticed me, but I would not expect him to be free to attend the wedding. He is an important man, with much to do - I have no doubt he wishes myself and Narcissa well, but alas…'

'Tonight is an important night for him,' Mulciber's dad said. 'He has plans.' It began to rain harder, the drops now battering against the window panes, making them rattle. 'Tomorrow we shall see why he could not be here tonight.'

The two men walked away. Sirius waited until they were gone, and let out his breath slowly. For all Malfoy said, he did sound sore about Voldemort not showing… and the Dark Lord had big plans did he? That was worrying… he decided he would write to James and tell him, and tried not to think what news he would wake up to tomorrow. Though he knew he would be waking up to find out more people were dead. And that they had died while his family celebrated.

The wind howled. And then - just as Sirius stepped out from his dark corner - a bolt of lightning streaked through the sky, illuminating the hallway for a moment in its eerie light. A few seconds later there was the rumble of thunder… the rain hammered down harder, the wind howled again… and there was more lightning.

'No!' Sirius ran to the window and stared out in despair. 'No - it can't… that's not fair!' He thumped the window in frustration, staring out the storm and hating the whole world. 'That's not fair!'

…

All the way down in Devon, carols around the piano were interrupted by the sudden storm. 'This isn't very Christmassy!' Mr. Potter laughed, as Mrs. Potter shuddered with every crash of the thunder. 'Well, if the weather's going to do this, I think it calls for hot chocolate and horror stories!'

They sat around the fire, with their chocolate and little marshmallows, and it all felt very snug… though James kept staring rather glumly out of the window.

'Alright - how about the tale of The Warlock's Hairy Heart?'

'Oh no - Monty - it's gruesome.'

'Just right for a night like tonight…' and, with a grin, he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper and began to tell his tale, slowly building the suspense until he reached the grisly finale . '... He told his bride to follow him, and led her away from the feast and down to the dungeon, where he kept his greatest treasure. Here in an enchanted crystal casket was the warlock's beating heart.'

There was another rumble of thunder, and Mrs Potter pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Mr. Potter waited until the last of the growling had died away, before speaking again.

'Long since disconnected from eyes, ears and fingers, it had never fallen prey to beauty, or to a musical voice or to the feel of silken skin. The maiden was terrified by the sight of it, for the warlock's heart was shrunken and shrivelled, and covered in long, black hair…'

'I think it's time to stop, Monty - it's too gory… I don't want little Jimmy hearing this.'

'It's fine, mum…' he tore his eyes away from the storm. 'I've already translated it in Ancient Runes. I know what happens…' He looked out of the window again. Mrs. Potter gave a reproving sniff, but Mr. Potter grinned with delight and continued. 'The maiden shrieked "oh what have you done!"...'

James wasn't really listening. His mind was far away, on the storm - and wondering if he could get his dad to order more Death's Head Hawk Moth's Chrysalises before he returned to school, without Mr. Potter even realising he had done it. He felt almost sick with disappointment, and wondered how Sirius was bearing up. He was vaguely aware of the story continuing, and of his mother making little noises of protest every so often.

'...The maiden lay dead upon the floor and, crouched beside her, was the mad warlock, holding in one bloody hand a great, smooth, shining scarlet heart, which he licked and stroked, vowing to exchange it for his own…'

'...Really, Monty - it's too much.'

He would have to sneak into his dad's study, James decided, and add the chrysalises to the end of his dad's latest Potion's ingredients list. Maybe if he then mentioned to his dad he was short on powdered spine of lionfish or something, and would need it next term, Mr. Potter would put the order in before James went back to Hogwarts. And he should write to Moony… and Sirius.

'... For one moment the Warlock knelt triumphant, with a heart clutched in each hand; then he fell across the maiden's body… and died! ' There was a clap of thunder, and Mr. Potter grinned broadly. 'I told you it was a good one.'

'Well I don't like it. And Jimmy didn't like it either, did you, dear?'

'It's fine.'

'Are you sure you're alright, dear? You keep staring out of the window.'

…

Peter had been alone in his bedroom, when the rain had suddenly hammered across his windowpanes and the lightning had flashed across the sky. He had been sitting cross legged on the bed and muttering the animagus incantation to himself (he still couldn't get it right, and it was easier to practise here, without Sirius shouting at him for getting it wrong).

'Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus,' he had muttered, with his eyes screwed up tightly, and wondering if he could really feel a second heartbeat in his chest or if he was just imagining things. Then he had heard the rumble of thunder, prised one eye open, seen the storm and tumbled off his bed to rush to the window and look out.

He gazed up into the pitch black sky, open mouthed, waiting for it to be illuminated again by forks of lightning. His wand lay on his bedside table, and he cast a glance at it, thinking there would not be much point getting up at sunrise and doing his incantation for real now.

A sense of relief washed over him. He tried to fight it down. This was bad - it was a setback - it was the end … and now he wouldn't get stuck for all eternity with the head of a naked mole rat. And, though he knew they were doing this for Moony, he still couldn't help but be secretly pleased it hadn't worked. They had tried - they had failed … and he was pretty sure he hadn't been able to feel a second heartbeat anyway.

Remus would understand. But it was over … Until Sirius made them start all over again. That was the trouble, he realised. If he knew Sirius - and unfortunately he did - there was no way he would let this lie, just let them give up and chalk it all up to experience. He would make them go again and again and again, until they got it right. As long as there was a chance they could help Remus, Sirius would be like a dog with a bone.

Peter groaned aloud at the thought of having to live another month with a mandrake leaf stashed under his tongue, and stared dejectedly at the falling rain.

…

Remus had been dozing on the sofa, when he was woken up by the crash of the thunder (it was only five days until the next full moon, and he was already starting to feel achy and exhausted).

'That one was a doozy,' Mr. Lupin said, looking up from his newspaper and smiling. 'Not a good night to be out flying reindeer. How're you feeling?'

'Fine,' Remus said, though the truth was he was feeling all sorts of complicated and contradictory things. Disappointed - that was perhaps his first feeling. His friends had been through so much, with their mandrake leaves and getting up early every day to chant. They had just been waiting for a thunderstorm - they had been so close to achieving their goals… and now the storm had happened while they were far away from their Animagus Potion and it had all been for nothing. If they had just stayed at Hogwarts this year, then his friends would have become animagi this very night. If only it hadn't been for Narcissa's wedding…

But then, he had to admit he was relieved too. Relieved it hadn't worked before it had gone terribly wrong. Relieved his friends were not breaking the law just for him. And deeply, deeply relieved that Sirius's rather handsome head had not been exchanged, for all eternity, with that of a naked mole rat.

However, right behind the relief, was a gnawing anxiousness at how Sirius would be taking this latest set back, and sheer despair and exhaustion at the thought of them starting all over again, gathering the ingredients, messing around with the mandrake leaves and a slight hope (which he knew would be fruitless) that they would simply decide to give it all up as a bad job and not bother again.

This was rather a lot to try and put into words, however, and his friends becoming animagi was a secret … so Remus went with the rather more simple answer that he was feeling fine, and tried not to imagine what it could have been like in January, to not have to go through the full moon alone.

…

Severus had spent Christmas Eve entirely alone, only venturing out of the Slytherin common room to attend meals and then returning as hastily as he could. As the night had drawn in, and the storm come on, the green light had grown dark and choppy, as if the wind whipped waves of the lake were seeping inside the dungeon, submerging it in water, until Severus had to peer through the murk just to see. The atmosphere was more gloomy than festive, but Sev did not even notice.

He had stretched out on the green sofa closest to the fire, and was surrounded by balls of scrunched up parchment, and scribbled out notes, as he tried to craft his latest spell. Professor Flitwick levitating and then floating Muriel Gimlet had given him more ideas on how to go about creating a spell which would hoist someone up in the air, upside down, and leave them dangling there, pants on display.

He was sure he almost had it, and allowed himself one glorious, gloating moment of imagination: Potter suspended in thin air by his ankle, his stupid glasses dangling from the end of his stupid nose and his robes over his head, as he struggled and fought and everyone laughed at his exposed underpants.

He smiled in satisfaction, and then got back to work. So far he had:

Wingardio Corpus

Written down. He was close to cracking it - he was sure of that. And he just wished he had someone there with him to try it out on.

…

The storm blew itself out overnight, and Christmas morning dawned damp and drizzly in Cokeworth, where - if the size of the pile of presents under the tree was anything to go by - the Pools money was making a big difference in the Evans household.

Lily had noticed it right away, when she had arrived home from school. The front door had had a fresh lick of paint, there was a new carpet in the hallway and a new, far less rickety table and chairs in the kitchen. Her mum smiled more as well, the slightly harried frown line which had lived on her brow for years seemed to have blown away like cobwebs. And - though Lily still didn't approve of the cheating - she was at least glad the money she was winning was helping, and she had sat down at the new table, once she was settled back in, and worked out the Boxing Day fixtures cheerfully enough.

And now she had more Christmas presents than she had ever received before in her life. Her mum hovered around - still in her dressing gown - and took photos of the girls opening all their gifts. 'Go with those big ones,' she directed Lily and Petunia, 'they're both the same, open them together.'

They both reached for a large, square box in shiny paper at the same time, (Petunia frowning and drawing back as her hand brushed Lily's) and unwrapped them to discover brightly coloured bakelite record players. Tuney had a stack of Cliff Richard records to go with hers, while Lily had David Cassidy.

'Thanks, mum,' Lily smiled (she hadn't listened to David Cassidy since she had discovered The Kneazles, and a record player would not work at school - but it was the thought that counted).

'It's us that should be thanking you. What would we do without you? Our little bit of magic! Our fairy godmother! We wouldn't have any of this without you, Lils. Open that one Tuney, go on - it's a good one.'

Petunia had had an expression like she was sucking a lemon (or biting her tongue to keep herself quiet) while Mrs. Evans had been extolling the virtues of Lily's magic, but - directed by her mother - she opened another large, boxy present. It turned out to be a very shiny typewriter; black, with silver glistening keys.

'So you can practise typing, ready for next year, give you a head start on all the other girls.'

Petunia carefully placed her fingers on the keys, she pressed one and a type bar flew up, striking an imaginary piece of paper, and the carriage moved left. She gave a small, strangled cry… her large, pale eyes were staring down at the typewriter but her expression was complicated. Lily could read the greediness there, the pride at having something so big and expensive, that none of her friends would have, and there was delight - almost triumph - that she had a future after all, that she would go to secretarial college and not become a cleaner at the factory… But there was also bitterness that all this came to her through Lily's magic, and envy that her mum owed so much to her sister.

'We got you something special too, Lils,' Mrs. Evans said. 'Me and your dad took the train down to London and went to that funny little street of yours to get you something witchy.'

Lily looked surprised (Tuney looked jealous). 'You didn't have to!'

'Nonsense - we wanted to. And it's only thanks to you we could - you deserve a treat. Go on, dad - go and get it.' She shooed her husband out of the room. 'We had to ask around, asked the barman what a teenager would find most useful… he doesn't have any teeth, you know. You'd think he'd be able to magic some… Here it is!'

Lily looked up - and cried out as her dad brought in a cage with a large and very beautiful snowy owl inside. 'She's lovely!'

'It's been a ruddy nightmare trying to keep her quiet so you wouldn't find out about her,' her dad said.

'What will you call her, Lils?'

'Brunhilde.'

'Funny name for an owl.'

'It suits her.'

And she took Brunhilde out of her cage and held her on her arm. 'We need to find something to feed her.'

'Oh - the pet shop sold us owl treats - here you go…'

She fed Brunhilde a treat and kissed her beak and ignored Petunia's eyes staring at her balefully. The typewriter lay forgotten on the floor.

'Well let's clear this mess up - time for a cup of tea,' and Mrs. Evans bustled off to put the kettle on, and returned with the newspaper, which she handed to Mr. Evans. He rustled it, looked at the front, and then tutted.

'What's up, love?'

'Another ruddy disaster. This one in Nailsworth… whirlwind, would you believe it? Last night. Two streets flattened, fifty dead.'

Lily's stomach lurched. 'Can I see, dad?' She put Brunhilde back in her cage and took the paper from Mr. Evans. It was just as he said: two streets in Nailsworth had been destroyed and the paper was putting it down to a freak whirlwind in the middle of that terrible storm. But Lily knew it would be more than that.

'Is it me or does there seem to be more and more disasters these days?' she heard her mum say, as if from a great distance. Mrs. Evans had hit the nail right on the head, there, though she had no idea of it. There were more disasters these days, only none of them were natural. Lily's ears were ringing. She looked at her family, totally unaware of the real dangers that were out there, and imagined it had been Cokeworth and not Nailsworth which had been targeted last night.

One day it might be. It could be any day, in any town. The Dark Lord would send the giants and then… And all the muggles up and down the country had no idea that this constant threat was hovering over their heads.

She murmured her excuses, left the living room with Brunhilde, and went upstairs to her bedroom - where she sat down and wrote yet another letter to the Minister of Magic, begging her to take action.