SCENES OF TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP.

Narcissa's delicate frown deepened as she glanced at the alarming headline on the newspaper Lucius held. The crisp sound of her pouring tea clashed subtly with the morning's uneasy silence.

"How are the children this morning?" Andromeda inquired, her voice cutting through the quiet.

"Maya was still fast asleep when we checked on her," Damon responded, his tone laced with residual concern.

"Draco and Luna too," Narcissa interjected softly, stirring her tea. "I'm sure they'll be up and about soon and none the worse for wear. When I think what might have happened..." she shuddered, a dark look in her eyes at the thought of what could have happened to the kids.

Damon nodded, his mind replaying the harrowing moments from last night. Terror had seized him at the first blast of the explosion, regret gnawing at him for not leaving the party earlier to be with the children. His heart hadn't calmed until he had seen Maya—safe yet smeared with ash and mud. Even back at the safety of Malfoy Manor, under layers of protective enchantments, he had fought the urge to watch over her as she slept. It had taken Maggie, Lexi, and Elijah's considerable persuasion to convince him—and Klaus—to leave her side.

Now, in the calm morning light, he acknowledged their wisdom. Maya was fine, asleep in her room, needing no vigil. Yet, the shadow of 'what if' lingered—what if Andromeda hadn't kept her cool? What if Maya had panicked? What if… A myriad of dreadful possibilities had loomed over them, yet fortune had spared them the worst. Damon exhaled; his gratitude immense yet mingled with an unshakeable tension.

"They're all safe, that's what truly matters," he finally said, but the shadows of last night's chaos whispered still in the back of his mind.

Lucius, finally setting aside the paper, broke into his thoughts.

"Despite Skeeter's dramatic flair, and the expressive nature of her article, last night's events didn't escalate as terribly as they might have," he remarked dryly.

Narcissa, her voice sharp with a mix of relief and criticism, replied,

"It was quite bad enough as it was. I'm sure Skeeter had no need to dramatize it as much as she usually does!"

"How bad was it?" Damon asked. "How did it even happen?"

"A lot of injuries according to the message Ted sent me," Andy replied, "Most of the injuries were caused when people panicked and tried to get away from the flames, broken bones, concussions, and the like as they were pushed and shoved in the chaos. There were burn injuries as well of course, and a significant number of people suffering from smoke inhalation. St Mungo's is overwhelmed, and the ministry have had to set up triage locations to handle the sheer amount of people needing care."

"I spoke to Amelia briefly," Narcissa added once her sister was finished, "No deaths have been confirmed so far, but officially not everyone has been accounted for yet, and it might take the rest of the day for them to confirm that. An investigation has been launched. They suspect arson—the stadium caught fire too easily, and it spread unnaturally across the campsite. Rufus Scrimgeour thinks it was deliberate, possibly even the work of a group."

"It won't be easy for them to discover the culprit, or culprits, not unless someone confesses." Lucius commented.

"Why not?" Klaus demanded. "If they were set by magic, surely the investigators will be able to determine who."

He'd learnt enough about magic to know that each individual had a unique magical signature, like a fingerprint, the investigators could just use that to determine who was responsible. He wanted to know who had set those fires, and once he did, the Ministry wouldn't need to worry about a trial, because he'd tear them into pieces for putting his daughter in danger.

"Unfortunately, so many people used magic to fight the fires, that the signature of whoever set them will be lost in the muddle." Narcissa explained, "It would be impossible to satisfactorily distinguish whose magic lit the blazes from the magic of those who fought them."

Lucius nodded, his expression darkening,

"And likely, that was part of their plan, especially since no Magical Fire Unit was deployed. The arsonists knew only unprepared Aurors, and untrained civilians would be battling the blaze."

"Which was a grievous oversight." Narcissa's face set into a look of stern disapproval, "Ludo Bagman has been suspended pending a full inquiry. For an event of such scale, not having a Magical Fire Unit on standby is inexcusable."

"There should have been a fully stocked Healer's tent as well," Andromeda chimed in, her tone underscored with concern, "Which there wasn't according to Ted."

"Amelia will ensure everyone who should be is held accountable for their actions, or inactions as the case seems to be." Narcissa stated, "And I'll ensure the Wizengamot won't allow for anything less than full accountability either."

Before the group could delve deeper into their grim discussion, the soft patter of small feet interrupted them. Maya entered the room, her movements sluggish, her face still bearing traces of fatigue. Damon's protective instincts surged, and he almost suggested she return to bed, but he held back, knowing she also needed nourishment.

"Morning," Maya mumbled softly, her voice tinged with sleep.

As a chorus of warm greetings washed over her, Maya shuffled to the chair next to Damon. A bowl of porridge topped with vibrant summer fruits materialized on the table just as she settled into her seat.

"Where's everyone else?" she asked, spooning a bite of her breakfast, her curiosity peeking through her tired eyes.

"Dora's on duty, and Ted's still at the campsite, helping heal those who were injured last night," Andromeda responded, her tone carrying a mix of pride and concern.

"Rebekah and Anna stayed behind too, to assist with the injured. They both have past nursing experience," Klaus added, "They can't heal anyone, but they can help out in other ways. Elijah is buried in his correspondence," he continued, a slight smile touching his lips as he thought of his brother's diligence. "And everyone else seized the chance for a lie-in."

"How are you feeling?" Damon asked, his voice tinged with concern as he observed Maya spooning her porridge slowly, the signs of exhaustion still evident on her face.

"Tired," she replied, her voice muffled slightly by her meal.

"Maybe you should have tried to sleep some more," he suggested gently, his eyes softening with fatherly care.

She shook her head, her expression turning disgruntled.

"I had a funny dream; it woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep again."

"A nightmare?" Damon's brow furrowed slightly, apprehensive about the impact of the previous night's events on her.

"No, just weird. I was in this house, like an abandoned one, and I could hear all these voices, but nothing was clear, like when you hear people through water. There was no-one else around though, then I woke up and I couldn't get back to sleep again." As Maya recounted her dream, her gaze drifted away, as if trying to pierce the veil between the present and the ethereal fragments of her dream.

Damon was relieved it hadn't been a nightmare but remained uneasy. In their world of witches and magic, dreams weren't always just dreams. He glanced at Klaus, who also wore a troubled expression, mirroring his concern.

"Sometimes dreams are our subconscious trying to tell us something," Andromeda suggested thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she pondered the possible meanings hidden within Maya's words.

"And sometimes they're just dreams," Narcissa interjected, her tone pragmatic yet not dismissive. She gave Damon and Klaus a knowing look, her eyes sharp. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Unless you have any seeing ability, dreams are oftentimes just our brains jumbling memories and facts together in our mind in a way that seems logical, even when it's weird."

The tension that had momentarily gripped the room seemed to dissolve a bit with Narcissa's words, allowing a brief moment of peace as they each pondered the mysterious nature of dreams in their magical world.

As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the manor's ancient stones, Ted, Rebekah, and Anna portkeyed back, their faces etched with exhaustion and a sombre gravity. Without hesitation, Andromeda whisked them away for a much-needed freshening up, while Narcissa, with her usual efficiency, arranged for restoratives: tea and hearty food for Ted, and blood-bags for the two weary vampires.

They reappeared in the parlour within twenty minutes, cleaner but still visibly worn. Ted, sinking into a plush armchair, gratefully accepted a steaming cup of tea and a plate piled high with food, pushed towards him by Andromeda's insistent hands.

"Where are the kids?" he asked, his voice hoarse with fatigue.

"Outside in the garden." Narcissa replied promptly, her gaze wandering towards one of the windows that looked out over the garden. "I believe they're racing each other on their brooms. Kol and Severus are watching over them."

Ted nodded but his next words cut through the room's subdued calm.

"Barty Crouch is dead. Whoever set those fires killed him and his house-elf. They found her body too. According to Dora, the consensus is that the fires were lit to destroy the evidence."

The room fell silent, the gravity of the news sinking in. Damon, recognizing the name but unable to place it, was still puzzling over it when Lucius chimed in.

"It's probably a good thing we were all at the Ministry party last night. Madam Bones can vouch for us."

Narcissa shot Lucius a withering look but held her tongue, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Who was he?" Elijah asked, his brow furrowed.

"The former head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Narcissa explained, taking a delicate sip of her tea. Her calm demeanour contrasted the storm brewing in the conversation.

"He was a bastard," Andromeda blurted out, her voice low but fierce.

"Meda –"

"I'm sorry his dead, but I hated him when he was alive, and I see no reason to pretend he was a saint just because he was murdered. He was a bastard, he didn't deserve to be murdered for it, but he still was one."

Damon recalled where he had heard the name before and understood Andromeda's hostility towards the man. If someone had thrown a member of his family into jail without a trial, he'd probably hate them too. Narcissa nodded in agreement with her sister, but for the benefit of the rest of the room, who looked quite bewildered at the normally kind Andromeda's vitriol towards a dead man.

"Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; he was in charge of it during the war." She took a sip of tea before continuing, "He was tipped as the next Minister of Magic. He was a great wizard, powerfully magical –"

Andromeda let out an angry hiss, and Narcissa tipped her cup towards her sister.

"I don't, didn't like the man any more than you do. He was a bastard yes, but he was powerful, and power-hungry. He was never a supporter of Riddle, always very outspoken against the Dark side, but that didn't make him a good person." She sighed, "It's difficult to explain to people who didn't live through it."

"We've lived through plenty of would-be dictators," Elijah replied, "I'm sure we'll be able to follow along easily enough."

"Riddle was powerful, some would say he was the most powerful Dark Lord in history. It was a time of great fear in this country. Imagine if you will, that he was powerful now. You have no idea who his supporters are. You don't know who's working for him and who isn't, you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves."

Lucius shifted uncomfortably, settling slightly, when Narcissa placed a calming hand on his arm as she continued.

"You can't trust anyone. You're scared; for yourself, for your family, for your friends. Every day, more deaths, more disappearances, more reports of people being tortured, brutalised… The Ministry of Magic is in a shambles. They don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the muggles, but muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere… panic... confusion… that's what it was like during the war."

Narcissa's sigh was heavy, her eyes reflecting the horrors she remembered. Her description of what it had been like, reminded Damon of Mystic Falls when he'd been human, of Europe when he'd fought against Grindelwald, New York during Son of Sam. The culprits and the methods might have differed, but the experiences and the emotions felt by those who'd lived through such horrors were all too similar.

"Times like that, can bring out the very best in some people, and the very worst in others. Crouch's principles may well have been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. But as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Riddle's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers – powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. People were handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Sirius included."

"Bastard," Andromeda muttered again, her expression dark. "He knew people were under the Imperius, forced to do terrible things, and he still gave the orders anyway. He didn't care about the collateral damage he caused, as long as he got to tell the public another Death Eater was dead or imprisoned."

Ted caught his wife's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

"It was a dark time." He said.

"That's no excuse!"

"No. It's not. But not everyone has the courage to stick to their convictions in times of darkness and danger."

"Bah! Crouch was just as much of a power-hungry bastard as Riddle, and he was using the war as his springboard into the Minister's seat." Andromeda's eyes flashed darkly. "It was never about good intentions with him, it was about what decisions would earn him the most support on his way to the top."

"You're not wrong." Narcissa cut in before Andromeda could continue with her rant, she looked over to the rest of them, "Crouch fought violence with violence. He even went so far as to authorise the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. He became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark side. It earned him a lot of popularity, plenty of people thought he was making the correct decisions, doing what should have been done from the start. Witches and wizards everywhere were demanding he take over as Minister for Magic."

"What happened to prevent it?" Damon asked, "Why didn't he become Minister instead of Fudge?"

Narcissa's lips twisted.

"When Riddle disappeared, many assumed it would only be a matter of time before Crouch got the top job. But then something happened…" Her voice turned cold and grim, dark shadows entered her eyes. "Crouch's own son was caught in the company of a group of Death Eater's who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban."

"Don't mince your words now, Cissa." Andromeda instructed, bitterness in her tone, and a chilling look in her eyes, "don't feel you need to hold back for my sake."

"What about my own?" Narcissa's replied steadily, sorrow underlying her words. She shook her head and continued without waiting for an answer from her sister. "It happened after Riddle's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. A group of Death Eaters attacked an Auror and his wife, Frank, and Alice Longbottom, Neville's parents."

Damon thought of the young boy he'd met, only a day older than Maya who was being raised by his grandmother. Maya had told him what she knew about Neville's parents, it wasn't much, just that they'd been attacked, and were in St Mungo's, would never get out. The thing he remembered with the most clarity, was Maya telling him, that Draco had confided in her that his aunt was responsible for their fates. He understood now, the little byplay between Narcissa and Andromeda.

"They were tortured for information about Riddle's whereabouts." Narcissa continued, her voice went quiet, but they all caught every word. "Tortured into insanity. They are both in St Mungo's Hospital and will be for the rest of their lives."

"They were both very popular." Ted said, "I think the fact that it happened just as people were finally beginning to believe the horrors were over, that they were safe again, was what infuriated people the most."

"The Ministry was put under a great pressure to catch those responsible," Narcissa glanced at Andromeda once more, and looked away again. "Our sister, her husband, her brother-in-law, and Barty Crouch Jr, were all arrested for the crime."

"Crouch Sr," Andromeda sneered the name, "gave them a trial at least."

"Not much of one." Lucius spoke up. "It was a show trial, at best. More of an excuse to distance himself from the boy, and show everyone how much he hated him, than anything else."

"Was he guilty?" Damon asked.

"Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan. They were all utterly devoted to Riddle, willing followers who would have committed any depravity he asked of them." Narcissa replied, a pained tone in her voice, "I have no doubt they were guilt, whether Barty Crouch Jr was or not, I don't know. There was never a hint of him being a willing follower before Riddle's fall, he may just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"Not that it matters anymore. He died, about a year after he was sentenced to Azkaban. He was in Reggie's year at Hogwarts, barely nineteen. Crouch's wife died not long after their son passed away. But that's the reason; one moment he was a hero, poised to become Minister for Magic… next, dead son, dead wife, the family name dishonoured, and a huge drop in popularity. After his family died, Crouch got some sympathy, maybe enough time had passed, or people felt like justice had finally been done. Rather than the vitriol it had been before, people started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray –"

"Because he's father was a cruel bastard, who didn't give a damn about his wife or his child, beyond what they did for his image!" Andromeda interrupted, angrily.

"That was the consensus, yes." Narcissa agreed. "The general conclusion was that the father never cared much for the son. So, Fudge, bungler though he was, got the job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-operation. He was still as obsessed with catching dark wizards as he was before. He made plenty of enemies, during the war and afterwards, any one of them could have wanted him dead."

Draco leaned against a gnarled tree, his brows knitting with curiosity.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Maya's eyes flickered open, meeting Draco's gaze. He wore an expression of amused perplexity, quite the contrast to Luna, who looked on with serene acceptance—a typical response from her. Luna didn't demand explanations; she embraced the mystery of the moment.

"I've been trying to make sense of these cold spots I felt last night when I pulled the water from the ground," Maya explained, her voice tinged with a mix of fascination and frustration.

Draco's forehead creased.

"Cold spots?"

"Yes. They were unlike anything I've felt before. I wasn't sure if they meant something, so I thought I'd see if I could sense them again."

"Any luck?" Luna's voice was gentle, encouraging.

"A bit. I can still feel them, but I can't figure out what they are."

Luna's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.

"Maybe if you try following them, we can uncover their secrets."

Draco shrugged, his earlier amusement shifting to intrigue.

"Why not? We've still got time before dinner. Which way?"

Maya pointed decisively towards the horizon.

"The strongest sensations are coming from that direction."

The trio trekked across the lush expanse of the Malfoy estate. As they approached a stone wall, Maya's steps grew more determined.

"Just beyond that wall," she murmured, pointing.

"That's the Malfoy Family cemetery," Draco said, his voice dropping to a hushed tone as reverence washed over his face.

Passing through the cemetery gate, Maya approached the nearest grave. A chill seeped through her, distinct and unsettling.

"The grave—it's a cold spot," she whispered, a knot of confusion and unease tightening in her gut. "Do you think every cold spot I sense is a grave? Because there was at least a dozen in that field last night."

Luna placed a comforting hand on Maya's shoulder.

"You might be sensing more than just the graves," she suggested, her voice ethereal yet sure. "Bones buried in the earth—they speak to those with certain gifts."

"But why now?" Maya's voice cracked, betraying her rising panic. "I'm only fourteen. My necromancy powers shouldn't emerge for at least another year."

Luna's gaze was unwavering, wise beyond her years.

"Some doors, once opened, cannot be shut."

Draco and Maya exchanged a glance, a silent agreement that Luna would elaborate. They knew her well enough to trust that she would reveal all in due time, as much as she understood it herself.

"The resurrection stone. It will only work for a true-necromancer, for anyone without that innate ability it's nothing but a stone. When you summoned your mum, you unconsciously used your abilities. You opened the door; you won't be able to close it again."