AN: Oh gosh, it's been a while. Here's chapter 4! Still setting up some more plot lines 3

...

August 22, 1997

The Ministry of Magic had fallen August 1st. It had happened just as Andrael predicted, a scant three days after the death of Harry Potter. Scrimgeour was dead along with countless more. It had happened so suddenly that no one had had time to react.

All the aurors who had resisted were either dead or under the Confundus Charm or Imperius Curse. Pius Thicknesse had been established as the new Minister of Magic. It was obvious that he worked for the Dark Lord. It was obvious that he was a willing participant.

The Ministry had started a Muggle-born Interrogation Committee headed by none other than Dolores Umbridge. Everyone left under the Ministry's employment knew enough to keep their mouths shut. Executions and murders of prominent figures in society happened daily. It was a constant worry of who or whose family members would be next on the butcher's block.

The Daily Prophet was under the Death Eaters' influence as well. They printed purist pro-Voldemort propaganda, and offered bounties for members of the Order of the Phoenix who were on the run. The dementors patrolled Diagon Alley. The streets were nearly deserted.

Muggle killings were commonplace. The British Parliament had called a state of emergency, citing a shadowy terrorist group killing citizens indiscriminately. Of course the wizards knew the truth. Death Eater recruitment skyrocketed, and many showed their Dark Marks in public like a badge of pride. So many in fact, that even a few muggle papers had written about the new tattoo that seemed to be an up-and-coming fad.

The Dark Lord had finally shown his face two weeks after the Ministry fell. He made it clear to the world that the political, martial, communicative, diplomatic, and bureaucratic powers of Magical Britain belonged to him. There were whispers of a council, an inner circle of Death Eaters that ran the world from the shadows.

Many wondered if the Dark Lord would stop with Britain. Voldemort could push eastward and try to take the European mainland. He wielded enough forces and power that such a crusade had become feasible. Andrael thought personally that the Dark Lord would look to consolidate and centralise the power he already controlled.

Fear ruled the British Isle. Neighbours were suspicious of each other, actively avoiding people in the streets. Any words of dissent were quieted quickly; no one knew who was secretly a rat or a spy. A pervasive darkness had spread to the hearts of the masses. Resistance was futile, resistance was inconceivable.

The Order of the Phoenix still existed, but only as a mere shadow of itself. Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Nymphadora Tonks had large prices on their heads for having resisted during the initial power struggle. Faces like Remus Lupin, Andromeda Tonks, Arnett MacMillian, Corsican Abbott, and Augusta Longbottom, had conspicuously quieted and then disappeared. The Order and their allies had largely gone quiet, presumably taking stock in their hideout.

And at Hogwarts… Well, the future was dark. Severus Snape had been established as the new headmaster, carrying on the legacy of the line unbroken. The Carrow twins were slated to take over the jobs of Defense Professor and Muggle Studies Professor respectively. But there was a glimmer of hope for Andrael and her classmates.

The Dark Lord had always valued the quality of Hogwarts's education, and his choice in the remaining professorial staff reflected it. The Heads of House, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, and Horace Slughorn, remained consistent. Presumably, Voldemort trusted Snape to handle the meddlesome four. The rest of the staff remained largely unchanged as well.

But Minerva McGonagall staying at Hogwarts was extremely… interesting. Andrael alone knew that the Transfiguration Professor was the Head of the Order of the Phoenix. The rest of the world seemed to believe Alastor Moody was leading the operation. Perhaps she had truly taken Andrael's advice and asked for some much needed help.

But this was additional evidence that Snape wasn't evil. If he was, he would have just alerted the Dark Lord to the fact that the Heads of House were active members and assistants of the Order. That one thought was the only thing getting Andrael through this summer. That one thought, that she would perhaps have an ally, was the only thing that kept her determined to join the Death Eaters.

Andrael was sitting in her usual spot behind the counter in Magical Music. Business had slowed since the fall of the Ministry. There were no more porchside stories. Customers rarely stayed for long, preferring to owl their repair jobs to the store than come in person.

So Andrael tended an empty shop. She worked on simple and complex repair jobs in the greater store as there was no one left to present a facade of neatness to. Ungaku had disappeared to the back again; he had been spending most of his time working on large instruments, letting Andrael deal with customers.

Both Ungaku and Andrael knew that to stay open, their store could not afford to turn people away based on their ideologies. All it took was one stray word from a Voldemort-sympathiser, and the dark mark would be suspended above their doorstep next.

But Akira Ungaku, pacifist as he was, had morals. They had both realised quite quickly that the musician would not be able to bring himself to deal with purists. So it fell on the Slytherin to deal with her brethren. If it kept the shop open, Andrael would do it.

The door opened, bell tinkling. A well-built man entered the shop wearing a dark grey cloak. He looked to be nearly six feet, towering over Andrael. His heavy footfalls made the floorboards creak beneath his feet as he strode towards the counter.

"Hello, sir," Andrael said calmly. "How may I help you today?"

He removed his hood, and Andrael fought to keep her face neutral. Her fingers twitched, but she refused to go for her wand. It was Rowle, one of the Death Eaters from the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. He had been the one to fire up at her while she was hidden in the rafters. Putting a bland smile upon her face, she prayed that he wouldn't recognise her.

"I am here to pick up and inspect the repair job on my lyre." Rowle's voice was low and gravelly. "The name is Rowle."

"Of course, sir." Andrael was an expert in customer service. She stood, leaning under the counter to where they stored the outgoing repairs. She rose a minute later with the case.

Opening it on the counter for the repair tag, her eyes caught on the instrument. It was the mysterious lyre that she had been working on a month earlier. It made sense now why the patron had been delayed; Rowle had been involved in taking over the country. It also meant the initials T. R. obviously stood for Thorfinn Rowle, not Tom Riddle.

He asked her to detail the repair job. Casting her mind back a month, she explained to him how she had refurbished the cradle, and replaced the tuning pegs. Rowle was actually extremely intelligent. He was also well-versed in musical repair terminology, and they had a lively discussion about the pros and cons of different tuning pegs.

It was an exercise in normality. If Andrael couldn't pretend that this simple conversation was routine, she would never last within the ranks of the Death Eaters. Treating Rowle like any other customer was easy enough, but it was glancing at his hands that was hard. His sleeve had rolled up slightly as they were talking, revealing the barest hint of a Dark Mark beneath.

She explained to Rowle about her choice in string replacement and the tone quality of different registers. He lifted the instrument out of the case, examining it closely.

"This is in near-mint condition. Well done." It was high praise from the Death Eater. "Did you repair this instrument yourself?"
"Yes, sir." She said, smiling despite herself. But smiling was good, it was natural.

After holding up to the light for a minute more, he set it back down on the counter.

"Do you play an instrument yourself?"

"Of course! But I prefer bowed strings to lyres."

"Fair enough," Rowle said. He trailed a finger along the wood, before picking it up again. Strumming his fingers over the strings, the lyre sang. It really was a beautiful instrument, and Rowle could play. So the murderer had one redeeming quality.

But he was still a murderer.

And then the door opened a second time, bells tinkling in their now-permanent minor chord. A woman entered the shop, another face straight out of Andrael's nightmares. She was a woman who carried herself with the bearing of a princess, with long, thick, shiny dark hair. Her face had a strong jaw, heavily lidded eyes with long eyelashes, and a thin mouth, currently twisted into an impatient scowl. She looked better now, more refined. Perhaps now that she was no longer on the run, she could make time to take better care of herself.

Yet Bellatrix Lestrange was not alone. A tall, sallow-faced man dressed all in black entered behind her, annoyance etched into his features. Severus Snape stood in the shop gazing at the instruments displayed around them.

It was only then that Andrael realised how much time had passed. They had been discussing the repair for nearly a quarter of an hour. Rowle's companions had likely grown impatient waiting for him. Or at least one of his companions had.

Should she ask them if they needed her assistance? Go for her wand? Call for Ungaku? Andrael inhaled quietly, and gently set the repair form on the counter, busying herself with the last parts that needed to be signed. Her best move was to wait.

Rowle turned to look at the newcomers, an angry frown crossing his face for the barest hint of a second, before he spoke.

"I told you to wait outside, I'd only be a minute," he barked at the woman, who was edging closer, taking in the shop and its wares with a predatory air.

"But you were more than a minute," she said matter-of-factly, whipping her head around to lock eyes with Rowle. A dangerous smirk tugged at her lips. "I was getting rather… bored of waiting."

The hairs on the back of Andrael's neck stood up.

"Well, that doesn't mean much. You have the patience of a toddler," Rowle sniped back, returning the lyre to its case with loving hands.

Bellatrix hissed angrily, hand going to her wand (30.5 cm, Dragon Heartstring, Walnut) in an instant. "You dare mock me?"

"I don't know, did I?" Rowle had his wand (23 cm, Phoenix Feather, Yew) up as well. For a tense second, Andrael was terrified they would start fighting in the middle of the store. And if they did, well… She would have no idea what to do.

"Bella, Thorfinn." Snape waved his wand lazily, a few insistent sparks drifting in between the two of them. "We don't have time for this." His voice was as deliberate as ever, and both pulled away, glaring.

Andrael knew the exact second that Snape realised she was behind the desk, his gaze meeting hers. His brow furrowed slightly, the only indication of recognition, before he went back to his usual state: observing.

Yet it was enough. Silence was unfortunately no longer an option, not when she'd been recognized.

"Madame Lestrange, Professor Snape. Welcome to our humble music shop. How may I be of service?" Andrael was impressed that her voice was so steady. Maybe she was getting better at this double-agent thing already.

Both turned their full attention to Andrael.

To be the object of Bellatrix Lestrange's gaze was an uncomfortable feeling. She imagined it must be like what a rabbit feels like when it gets caught in the gaze of a particularly vicious fox. But still, Andrael did not flinch, resisting her natural fight or flight tendencies.

"Perhaps you could be." Bellatrix's voice was acrid. "What's your name, girl?"

"Cassowary. Andrael Cassowary." She shifted so the woman could see her nametag.

"Cassowary. I don't recognize that wizarding name…" she trailed off menacingly.

"The girl is a halfblood, Bella." Snape said, face impassive. "I have the misfortune of having to teach her for a final year."

"Oh?" She stared at Andrael with a bit more interest, and slightly more derision. "And what do you think of Severus, Andrael?"

So Bellatrix was intent on causing trouble. She wondered if the woman would have done the same if she had responded as a pureblood. Andrael gathered her thoughts to give an acceptable answer, without missing a beat.

"Professor Snape is a brutally efficient teacher. I cannot say we've always seen eye to eye, but I have always respected him," she said slowly.

There was still no change in Snape's expression, though her neutral and diplomatic answer likely irked him. A stab of annoyance coursed through her. She was searching for something, anything to validate her theories. A brick wall would be more helpful than the man was being right now.

"His opinion of me, I'm afraid, is naturally far worse. I've been told I'm much more trouble than I'm worth," Andrael continued conversationally, smiling even though she didn't feel like it.

Bellatrix laughed, a familiar high-pitched cackle. Visions of a lightning-struck tower and a burning hut crept into her thoughts, unbidden.

"And what sort of trouble does one get into these days?"

"You know, the usual. Sneaking off to places students shouldn't be, overhearing a few words no one was meant to, a few acts of Slytherin revenge taken too far," she said, flippantly. "All I know is that it certainly can't be my winning personality that makes him so contrary."

Bellatrix laughed again, peering over at a stony-faced Snape. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I like her, Severus. She gives a rather accurate description of you, doesn't she?"

There was a brief silence.

"I suppose," he ground out, finally.

Rowle gave a low chuckle, counting out galleons from an expensive-looking change-purse.

Bellatrix lifted a box of magical saxophone reeds, and assessed them critically. With a sniff of disdain, she replaced them on their shelf. Still studying the display, she spoke again.

"And once you graduate… Any plans?" Bellatrix's thinly veiled implications were obvious.

"Nothing yet, Madame Lestrange. I'm waiting to see what offers will be made to me upon receiving my NEWT scores." Once more, diplomacy was key.

"You know, we might have a place for someone like you…" she mused, her predatory smile back.

"Bella, she is still a student," Snape interjected, rolling his eyes. He spoke as if each word was a chore. "The Dark Lord has agreed that we will not accept any wizards until their graduation."

Bellatrix ignored him, turning to spit acid at her other companion.

"Are you done, Rowle?"

"One moment." He handed the payment to Andrael, who sifted through it with practised ease. She marked off a box on the form, and signed the bottom with a flourish. Presenting it to Rowle, she handed him a quill and motioned for him to do the same. Bellatrix had discovered a tube of cork grease, and appeared to be fascinated with its strong peppermint scent.

Rowle signed the scroll, gathering up the casings to his lyre. A graceful motion of her wand duplicated the document. She carefully levitated the fresh copy on top of Rowle's case.

"Thank you for trusting us with your instrument," Andrael said in her best customer-service voice.

"Thank you for treating it well," Rowle said, solemnly.

He turned to leave the shop. Bellatrix perked up immediately, following him onto the porch. The whirlwind of chaos that had been the Death Eaters left with the pair.

Snape hesitated, idly finishing reading the back of the packaging for a self-playing flute. Setting it back down on the display case, he too, made his way towards the door.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Headmaster Snape." Andrael called at his retreating form.

He turned back around, and just outside of the view of his companions, glared daggers at her. She raised an eyebrow in return, immune to his vitriolic tendencies after so many years. With a small smile on her face, she turned back to her work.

The tinkling of the bells on the door struck their minor chord, signifying his departure.

She watched the three regroup. One after the other, they pulled the hoods of their cloaks back over their heads. Crossing the porch, they returned to the flagstones of the Alley, and set off in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron and the London exit.

She exhaled a breath that she didn't know she had been holding. Summoning her notebook onto the counter beside her, Andrael magically raised the quill that Rowle used just a moment before, and began to write. She tried to get Bellatrix Lestrange's exact wording down on paper before it slipped her mind.

Now why had Snape glared at her? He was the one who had darkened her doorstep. Annoyed perhaps at her insults, or the mention of his new position. Annoyed at her, or what he had done to receive the insults and the promotion? And it was rather curious that he had feebly attempted to dissuade one of his own Slytherins from taking the mark.

It's because he isn't evil, Speculative whispered, compellingly.

Andrael scrawled her thoughts in the margins as well, continuing to build her case.

He was good at what he did, that was for sure. But Snape was a double-agent. Of that, Andrael was still sure.

Yet now, he was a spy without a handler. McGonagall believed him evil. Dumbledore had likely given him instructions to carry out after his death, but much of those plans would likely have revolved around Harry Potter. There was no ministry to defend anymore. They were likely rewriting the Constitution of Magical Britain as she wrote.

I'm bored, and the world is still messed up. We should make a move soon, Slytherin whined.

We need to wait. They won't let us enter their ranks without NEWT scores, said Rational.

But thousands will die while we play the waiting game, would you rather that? Slytherin hissed.

There's nothing we can do. We might as well prepare and make the best of the next year, since we're stuck at Hogwarts, Rational muttered.

Andrael had never seriously considered dropping out of Hogwarts to begin her crusade, but she couldn't deny that Magical Britain was only getting worse. She could only hope that she would be able to glean information from the castle. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Snape, and the Carrows all trapped under one roof… that was practically begging stray bits of knowledge to be overheard by a nosy Slytherin with aspirations to be a spy.

Her thoughts continued in this pattern while she repadded a silver flute an elderly wizard had sent in. They circled from Snape, to the Dark Lord, to her upcoming infiltration, to Hogwarts, to a fallen Ministry, to a dead Harry Potter.

It was some time later that the door to the back room opened, admitting Ungaku to the greater shop, whistling a cheery tune. His arms were loaded with boxes, likely containing more repair jobs for her to finish before she returned to school.

"Ah, hello, Andry!" He was clearly in a good mood, a stark contrast to the contemplative depression she was currently experiencing. "Was I correct in hearing customers a little while ago?"

"Yes. A party of three," she said flatly.

"Picking up?"

Andrael nodded.

"Thorfinn Rowle for his lyre. His companions… Well, be glad you weren't up here." Andrael couldn't stop herself from thinking about the fate of the shop again, and what would happen once she was gone. Ungaku would only be able to deal with so many purists and Death Eaters before he just… snapped. Tolerant of most, he absolutely hated people that abused power to discriminate against others. And once he did retaliate, the shop would be burnt to a crisp, the dark mark suspended in the sky, and the world would be one Japanese music master short of what it should be.

"Dark ones?" Ungaku asked, his face clouding over.

"Couldn't have been worse unless the Dark Lord himself graced our doorstep." Snape and Lestrange were rumoured to be two of Voldemort's best lieutenants. Andrael suspected they were good candidates to be members of the fabled Council of Voldemort.

"Andry, who was it?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange and… and Severus Snape," she said, staring at the counter pointedly. If she looked at the flawed grain of the wooden countertop, she could quell the visions of an old man in white falling from the sky amidst a bright green light.

"Murderers, all of them," Ungaku hissed angrily, his fists clenched. "I am sorry that they bothered you today. If I had been here…"

"Ungaku, you can't say things like that anymore! Do you want to be next?"

"Of course not. But I cannot call them anything else!"

"Then don't say anything in the streets. Be absolutely silent for the rest of your life if you have to!" It was all Andrael could do to keep herself from throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. He refused to compromise.

"The rest of my life? How long do you think that they will be in power here?"

"I don't know!" She shouted, and then froze. Andrael was rarely cross with Ungaku. She took a breath, calming herself down. It was good practice for controlling her emotions when she was a spy. "For the moment, this is our situation. I don't know when, if ever, things will go back to normal. But until then, we have to play along. As of right now, I'm not hopeful."

"The Order of the Phoenix is still out there, Andry. The bounties on the members are growing higher every day because they cannot capture them."

Andrael stifled a snort.

"The Order is not who we should be relying on to save us. Their leader died two months ago. Their great hope, the Chosen One, unexpectedly died a month ago. The current management leaves… a lot to be desired. They have no control anywhere. Not the Ministry, not Saint Mungoes, not Hogwarts, not anywhere."

"Who have you been talking to?"

"Insular people on both sides," she retorted. If only he knew that McGonagall was rejecting a quarter of the population from even joining the Order. If only he knew what her alternative was.

"Please tell me you will not give up hope," he said, the concern in his voice evident.

"I won't." She sighed. "But I can't in good conscience believe in phantom phoenixes to come and save our world. Sometimes, you need to make your own fortunes."

"No buts. I refuse to believe that this regime is permanent."

"Don't worry. It won't be." She would die trying to take the Death Eaters down if she had to.

Ungaku either refused to acknowledge her comment, or didn't hear her. It was probably for the best, anyway. He was intently staring out the window at something.

She followed his gaze to the object of his fascination. A cloaked figure was gliding down the street, wraith-like and foreboding. A dementor.

"The Prophet said they would be patrolling wizarding areas for 'public safety,' but I didn't think…" Ungaku trailed off as the dementor grew closer.

It was as if a paralysing cold was creeping over the shop. Andrael could feel her happiness evaporating into the mist the creature brought with it.

Focus. You can't let this happen, Morality whispered. Think of something happy.

She was six years old, standing with her mother and Ungaku in front of the Eiffel Tower, having crossed the Channel for a holiday in France. They were listening to an eighteen-piece Jazz Ensemble play a rollicking rendition of Duke Ellington's Caravan on the side of the street. A cool breeze swept through the city, and the sun was setting dramatically in the distance. Someone was blowing giant bubbles, and young Andrael thought they looked like stars ascending up into the night sky. She leapt into the air, trying to catch one. She missed, and it popped on her nose, soapy droplets spraying across her face. Her mother was laughing, and in her childhood innocence, she felt so free…

"Expecto Patronum!" She shouted, raising her wand high above her head. A large bird burst from the end of Andrael's wand, its powerful legs propelling it forward. The silvery-blue form darted towards the front of the shop, each step of its taloned feet light and purposeful. It circled the two of them once, twice, three times, and took its position by the door as a sentry. Immediately, warmth returned to the shop.

The irony was not lost on Andrael that her patronus was a literal cassowary. It was made all the more strange, because Cassowary was not even her real surname. Her mother had always told Andrael that their name was Cassowary because they were like cassowaries: strong and resilient. Despite the fact that they had no wings, these giant birds had devised a way to move faster than many of their feathered friends.

As for what Genevieve's real last name had been, Andrael did not know. Nor did she know the identity of her father, the other secret her mother had seemingly taken to the grave. It was why she needed to tell the world she was a half-blood; her father's blood status, among everything else, was a mystery.

Her mother's answer, on the occasions that she had inquired, was that she would tell her when Andrael was older. But even the best-laid plans often went awry. Her mother had passed away when she was nine.

Ungaku looked shocked and impressed at her spectral familiar, approaching it carefully.

"Where did you learn to do… that?"

"It was in my third-year, when the dementors were circling the castle grounds. I managed to get the defence professor to teach me, which was no small feat!" She laughed to herself, lost in memory.

"Wasn't that… the werewolf?"

"Yes. Second-best we've had of the six," she said with a smile.

"And who was the best, again?" Ungaku asked, still marvelling at the behemoth of a bird.

"Probably Quirrell," she lied. The best defence professor Andrael had ever learned from had occupied the exact spot Ungaku was standing on, less than an hour earlier. Her cassowary ruffled its feathers, sensing her distress, and sending a wave of calm in her direction.

"He is a beautiful bird, Andry."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, I came out here to tell you that I can take over the counter. You must go and pack. You leave for the castle in a week, correct?"

"Yes, Ungaku."

With a flourish, the music master cast a patronus of his own. He produced a slender, weaselly rodent, who playfully raced through the shop to join her cassowary by the door. Andrael had never seen him cast a patronus before, and raised an eyebrow.

"An old mentor insisted I learn the spell before coming to Britain. I told her that the dementors only guarded the prison, and that I would likely never need it. But as usual, she was correct, and I was not." He grinned, likely receiving a boost of positivity as Andrael had.

"Now go. Pack!"

Dissipating her cassowary, Andrael slipped into the back, and climbed the stairs that led to the two flats above the shop. The first was Ungaku's, but the second had been given to Andrael and her mother. She still resided in the tiny apartment.

Pulling her school supplies out of the closet that became their summer home, she laid everything out on her small bed. Hastily, she began packing everything she owned into her school trunk. Books, robes, violin, potions supplies, telescope, wares from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; nothing escaped her packing frenzy.

She lifted a simple wooden-framed photo from its spot on the bedside table. Andrael traced her fingers over a picture of her, Ungaku, and Genevieve spending that summer holiday in Paris, the sun setting behind them and the Eiffel tower. After a moment of hesitation, she placed it in her trunk as well.

The room was nearly bare when she had finished a few hours later, save a few essentials she would need for her last week in Diagon.

She hadn't yet told Ungaku that she wouldn't be returning the following summer.