April, 1995.
In the quiet of the night, Rose woke with a start, her heart pounding loudly. She lay still, staring into the darkness of her room, trying to shake the remnants of yet another nightmare. But the images clung to her mind like a thick, suffocating fog and turned her stomach.
Rose was walking through the Cornwall manor, the air around her thick with an unsettling silence. The grand staircase loomed before her, its banister cold and unwelcoming. This time she descended, her bare feet making no sound on the polished wood. The manor was dimly lit, shadows dancing eerily on the walls, cast by unseen sources of light.
As she walked on, a sudden chill ran down her spine, and she noticed glistening on the floor in front of her. She bent down, her fingers brushing against the sticky liquid—blood. Her heart skipped a beat and a lump formed itself in her throat. The trail of blood led her forward, each of her steps growing heavier with dread as she tried to walk around it but, as if forced, she kept stepping in the cold thick liquid.
She followed the crimson path through the silent corridors, the walls creaking around her as the portraits on the walls stared down at her with hollow eyes, their faces twisted into expressions of contempt and malice. The scent of metal hung in the air, mixed with the musty smell of old wood and decay.
The trail led her to the dining room. As she approached, she heard the faint murmur of voices, their tones hushed and unintelligible. The door swung open of its own accord, revealing the gruesome scene inside.
A group of men was gathered around the long, ornate dining table. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods, and their voices a low, menacing chant that reverberated through the room. The air was thick with tension, the very walls seeming to pulse with a most sinister hum. Candles flickered uncontrollably on the table, their flames casting a sickly, greenish hue over the figures.
In the center of the table lay a body, its identity obscured by the blood-soaked cloth draped over it. The sight of it made Rose's stomach turn, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead and fingertips. She wanted to turn away, to run, but her feet felt numb.
At the head of the table stood a cloaked figure, taller and more imposing than the rest. It raised a hand, and the chanting immediately stopped. Silence fell over the room. The cloaked figure slowly turned to face Rose, and she felt an icy chill around her heart.
The figure's hood fell back, revealing the face her own father, but his eyes were void of the warmth she knew. They were cold, calculating, and filled with a darkness she had not seen in her worst nightmares. His lips twisted into a cruel smile as he raised his wand, pointing it directly at her.
Rose's breath caught in her throat. She tried to move, to speak, but her body refused to obey. From her father's lips her own voice rang out, a harsh whisper that cut through the silence like a sharp knife.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light burst from the wand and Rose jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat and her breathing ragged. She moved to sit up in her bed and her hands were trembling as she ran them through her hair. The room around her was lit up with the first rays of morning light, but the nightmare still lingered, its claws digging deep into her mind and stomach.
She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet touching the cool floor. She needed to clear her head, to shake off the lingering terror. She grabbed her dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around herself before slipping out of her room.
She found herself standing outside her father's study. The door was closed, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway from under it. She hesitated for a moment, unable to push the door open and step inside.
A cold hand touched her shoulder, and she screamed, spinning around to face the intruder. But there was no one there, only the darkness and the silence. She backed away, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Rose practically ran to the stables, still only dressed in her nightgown and her discarded boots and cloak from the previous day. A light drizzle from skies kept her mind sharp, but she still couldn't shake the cold sensation from her shoulder.
It was a dreary Sunday, the sky overcast with thick, gray clouds that promised the return of rain at any moment. Rose was on top of Emir, galloping all around the sprawling grounds. The rhythmic thud of Emir's hooves against the earth was a welcome distraction from the thunderstorm in her mind. She couldn't shake the persistent question that had been haunting her for since she jolted awake: was her father a supporter of The Dark Lord?
Rose rode for hours, stopping to rest only once Emir would refuse to go any further, her thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and suspicion. The lush, green landscape of the estate blurred into a haze as she wrestled with her tears. Her father had always been a man of secrets, but the idea that he could be a Dark Wizard was almost too much to bear. She needed answers, but the simplest thought of asking him filled her with dread.
As the skies opened above her, Rose returned to the manor. She walked into the grand dining room, where lunch was already laid out. Her father and brother were seated at the table, their faces rather ordinary. For Rose, the meal passed in a tense silence, the clinking of cutlery being the only sound in the room that came from her. Her appetite was nonexistent, but if the food on her plate was left touched, questions would follow and she would have to break her quiet.
As the rain stopped, Rose retreated to the gardens. The vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges usually brought her a sense of calm, but today they only seemed to mock her with their tranquility. She wandered aimlessly, her mind a maelstrom of conflicted thoughts and emotions. Should she ask him? And what if her suspicions were true? It made her stomach churn.
As the afternoon wore on, the sky darkened further, and a light drizzle began to fall once again. Rose stood by the fountain, staring into the rippling water, lost in her own mind. The rain soon intensified, the drizzle turning into a downpour. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and decided to head back to the house.
Inside, she discarded her soaked riding boots in the entrance hallway and made her way up the grand staircase. The manor was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the windows. As she reached the landing, she heard a strange noise coming from her father's study. It was a low, murmuring sound, almost like a chant, followed by a sudden, sharp crack.
Her heart pounding, Rose crept down the hallway, her footsteps silent on the thick carpet. She pressed her ear to the study door, straining to hear. The chanting continued, accompanied by a faint rustling sound. She took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open a crack, peering inside.
Her father stood at his writing table, his back to the door. Theo was beside him, his wand raised, a look of intense concentration on his face. Rose watched in horror as her father pointed his own wand at a small garden bird on the table. With a flash of green light, the bird fell lifeless, its tiny body hitting the table with a sickening thud.
Rose screamed, unable to contain her shock. The door creaked open further, and both her father and brother turned to face her. Theo's expression was a mix of surprise and guilt.
"What are you doing?" Rose shouted, her voice creaking with anger and fear. "What have you done?"
Theo glanced at their father, who nodded. "Leave us, dear boy," Mr. Nott said in a stern voice.
Theo hesitated, his eyes flickering between Rose and their father, before he lowered his wand and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Rose stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the lifeless bird. "Is this what you teach him? Dark magic? Is that what you've been teaching me all this time?"
Mr. Nott sighed, silently putting his wand away. "No, the magic I've taught you is different. You have a gift, an affinity for a type of magic that Theo doesn't possess."
Rose's eyes blazed with fury. "And what kind of magic is that? How do I know it isn't dark magic too?"
Her father stepped closer, his expression one of weary resignation. "It's powerful and rare, but not dark. It's not the same as what you saw just now."
She shook her head, unable to accept his words. "And how can I believe you? All this time, you've been hiding things from me, teaching Theo these... unnatural spells. How can I trust that you haven't done the same to me?"
"My dear," he said, his voice rising with frustration, "You need to be able to protect yourselves. And sometimes, for me, that means making difficult choices."
Her anger boiling over, Rose marched to the fireplace, ripping the painting off the wall above the mantlepiece. Behind it was a symbol she had hoped never to see—a Dark Mark carved into the wood, intertwined with a Celtic knot.
"Difficult choices?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Were the Knights of Walpurgis just a front for dark wizards? Tell me!"
Mr. Nott hesitated, his face pale, but it was all the information she needed. She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't be here."
Before he could stop her, Rose turned and fled the room, her heart pounding in her chest. She angrily laced her boots back on and secured her cloak, ignoring the curious glances of the portraits, and ran out into the storm outside. She didn't stop until she reached the cottage, heaving and sweating.
Puck appeared at her side, his large eyes filled with concern. "Miss Rose, where is you going? It's not safe—"
"Don't try to stop me, Puck," she said, her voice firm.
"But Master said—"
"Puck, move out of the way." she snapped. "That's an order."
Puck hesitated, looking torn, but eventually stepped aside. Rose grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the fireplace. With a trembling voice, she called out the only place she could think of.
"32 Portnall Road, London."
As she tumbled out of the fireplace and into in Maggie's kitchen, she felt a rush of relief, she was safe. Maggie rushed into the room with her wand out, her face a mask of nonchalance.
"Rose! What in Merlin's name—" But as she took a step closer to an already weeping girl, her face softened. "What happened?"
Rose collapsed into her friend's arms. "I don't know, Maggie," she whispered. "I just don't know."
The rain had stopped by the time Rose had settled down in Maggie's room. The colourful room was a stark contrast to the cold day Rose had. Maggie had brought them both a glass of gin each, and they sat on plush windowsill, the crackling of a record played in the background only adding to the normality of Maggie's home.
Maggie looked at Rose with a mix of concern and curiosity. "So, are you going to tell me what happened, or just sit here like a someone tried to murder you a minute ago?"
Rose flinched at the analogy. She then took a deep breath, the words she had been holding back tumbling out in a rush. She told Maggie everything: the fight with Amelia, the nightmares, the dead bird, the dark mark, and the fight with her father. Maggie listened intently, her eyes widening with every word.
"And you think your father is a Dark Wizard?" Maggie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know what to think," Rose replied, her voice trembling.
"Look, I can bet my life that my Father has used that spell at least once in his life." she frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. But Rose couldn't understand the comparison, Maggie's father was an Auror before he settled for a desk job. "Why do you think it makes him evil?"
Rose shook her head, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. "He's my father, of course I don't think he's evil. He's always protected us, but how can I trust anything he's ever said after he taught Theo that... that... thing."
"Have you thought about talking to Amelia?" Maggie suggested, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Unlike Rose, it seemed that Maggie remembered without fault that Amelia's uncle was a Dark Wizard.
Rose sighed, shaking her head. "You have no clue what she's been like lately. Everyone's been acting strange."
Maggie bit her lip, a look of concern crossing her face. "And you don't think these are just coincidences?"
"I don't know," Rose admitted, her voice barely audible. "But whatever it is, it can't be good."
"And here I thought I had issues." Maggie tried to lighten the mood with a small smile. "They went to Brazil for three weeks and left me here with a tutor and a maid."
Rose managed a weak smile in return. "Maybe we should run away somewhere."
Maggie stood up, extending her hand to Rose. "There's a pub nearby."
Rose hesitated for a moment before taking Maggie's hand. "I guess it's a start."
They left the house and walked through the quiet, dimly lit streets. The pub was just a short walk away. As they entered, the warm, bustling atmosphere was a comforting change from the tension that had been hanging over Rose.
They found a corner table and ordered a couple of pints. Maggie took a sip, looking at Rose with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "So, what are we going to do now?"
"Fuck if I know," Rose admitted. "I'm so... lost."
Maggie rolled her eyes. "And here I used to be the melodramatic one."
Rose smiled, feeling a bit of the weight lift from her mind. "I don't know how I've survived this year without you."
Maggie grinned, raising her glass. "Well, if you're thinking about that, it's time for more drinks."
They clinked their glasses together, and for a moment, the world seemed a little less terrible. They talked about silly things for a while, reminiscing about their time at school and the embarrassments they got through.
"You know, I've been reading all those letters," As the conversation shifted, Maggie's face darkened. "Ever since school started, and I stayed back... It's like I've lost a part of myself."
Rose looked at her friend with empathy. "I can't even imagine how hard that must be."
"I thought I was just jealous, you know," Maggie sighed, looking down at her arm. "But, Quidditch was the one thing I was really good at, and now that's gone."
"Don't say that.'' Rose reached across the table, taking Maggie's hand in hers. "You're brilliant, kind, funny, and one of the best friends anyone could ask for. You're just a little shit at responding to my letters."
Maggie smiled, her eyes slightly glistening. "Maybe you're shit at writing them."
The morning sun cast a gentle glow on the streets of Mayfair as the two girls walked up in front of Rose's mother's house. The historic home stood with an air of dignified elegance, its ivy-clad walls whispering secrets of generations past. With a final hug and wave, Rose watched as Maggie walked away. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders before turning to face the house. Once a sanctuary of a happy summer, now it felt more like a mausoleum.
She made her way to the library, a room she had always loved for its light, inviting air and the rich scent of aged books. But today, it felt different. The still muggle painting of her parents hung above a short bookcase, a testament to their seemingly perfect union and her mother's rebellion. Rose's gaze hardened as she looked at it. She could no longer see the loving couple; only lies and deception.
Without a further thought, she climbed onto a chair and yanked the painting from the wall. It fell to the floor with a dull thud, the frame cracking under the impact. Rose stared at the fallen portrait, her hands trembling. She couldn't believe she had been so blind, ignoring all the clues her school mates had hinted at over the years. All their words, the conversations about blood and duty flooded her mind.
In a fit of frustration, she began to search the room for more clues, tearing through drawers and rifling through bookshelves. But there was nothing—no dark artifacts, no incriminating letters, nothing that could definitively link her parents to the Dark Arts. Her search felt childish, and each empty drawer only deepened her sense of helplessness.
Exhausted and drained, Rose slumped into a chair. She needed a survival plan, but first, she needed to get her things.
"Magda!" she yelled into the air. The elf appeared mere moments later with a loud crack.
"Oh Miss, everyone is so worried!"
Rose's eyes stung with tears forming. "I'm sorry Magda, I just need you to pack up my things and bring them here. I'm going to stay at Mother's house for the rest of the break."
Magda's voice was filled with concern. "Miss Rose, Master isn't angry. He's very sad because you left."
Rose's heart ached at the thought, but her resolve remained firm. "Tell him I need time."
Magda's understanding silence spoke volumes. "Of course, Miss Rose. I will bring your things right away."
"I truly am sorry Magda, I never meant to worry you."
And with another crack, the elf disappeared. Rose made her way to her bedroom and dropped onto the pillows on her bed. She dreamt of calloused hands holding her own, the fingers gently rubbing circles into her palm and caressing her fingers.