The alleyway behind the Aldwych Theatre was unremarkable at first glance—narrow, damp, and littered with the usual debris of London's backstreets. A faded sign for a long-defunct hatmaker hung crookedly above a rusting drainpipe, and a battered dustbin leaned against the crumbling brick wall. It looked like a dead end, the kind of place you'd hurry past without a second thought.

"This way," Sirius muttered, brushing past Ellis, who was craning her neck to inspect a graffiti-covered wall.

At the far end of the alley, they stopped in front of a wrought-iron staircase that led nowhere. The steps were old and weathered, the metal warped in places.

Sirius stepped onto the first stair and the faint buzz of magic filled the air. The staircase creaked, but as he climbed, the air around him gleamed, and the world seemed to tilt slightly. By the third step, he was no longer in the grimy alleyway. Ellis, James, and Lily followed until they were standing before what could only be described as a ghost of a building—a tall, elegant structure made entirely of translucent, pearlescent stone.

The building flickered faintly as if it were struggling to remain there. Enchanted lanterns hung on either side of a grand set of double doors, which were carved with intricate gargoyles that shifted every few seconds. There was a pair of silver-plated knights holding spears on either side of the doors. Above them, a glowing sign floated in midair, its lettering shifting between English and Ancient Runes: The Veil & Verse.

When they approached the door, the spears fell with a clang, the knights moving to block their entry until James pulled out his wand. Four ribbons appeared mid-air and then floated toward them, wrapping around their wrists in neat little bows. As soon as they were tied, the knights shifted back to their original position and the doors opened. Tickets, realized Ellis, reading the tiny script on the ribbon.

The interior was a complete contrast to the cold, rainy alleyway they'd left behind. The air was warm and charged with the unmistakable hum of magic. The space was enormous, with ceilings so high they seemed to disappear into shadow. Floating platforms and staircases crisscrossed the room, leading to various levels of the hidden theater. Wizards and witches were scattered throughout, their voices a lively murmur.

Above her, enchanted chandeliers cast a warm, flickering glow, while the walls were alive with shifting murals—stormy seas, enchanted forests, and constellations that rearranged themselves into strange, fantastical creatures. The center of the theater was dominated by a massive stage, which seemed to hover slightly above the ground, its edges fringed with softly glowing runes.

She didn't talk as much as the Gryffindors and Sirius Black was doing a fine job excluding her from the conversation or outright insulting her when the chance came up. Ellis didn't really care. She had hit him once—the muggle way—after he pranked her housemates so badly that Maisie Burke cried for hours and skipped class for two days. Since then, she was promptly placed on his hit-list. Of course, it probably didn't help that she frequently and loudly mentioned that he was a terrible brother. Regulus once told her that Sirius was resentful of her and Ned's relationship, when their own was so terrible.

"Is that man a vampire?" asked Ellis, blinking as she watched a tale, pale man gnawing at a girl's neck as they entwined around one another. Her face was twisted with ecstasy, the kind that left her pupils blown and—oh, Ellis flushed and looked away quickly.

Lily, who had turned to look, flushed as well before she shifted closer to Ellis as if to shield her from the sight. Ellis was only a year younger and knew what sex was. She wasn't inexperienced in that department, but public displays of affection were a foreign concept to her. Even her parents, who were an anomaly among pureblood marriages, had never kissed in front of her. Though, the way they looked at one another was a thousand times worse than any kiss would be. Her and Ned would gag and cause a fuss whenever they caught such glances.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, before deciding against it.

The lights dimmed, and a collective hush fell over the theater. Ellis felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. A soft, enchanted mist began to swirl across the stage, catching the light in iridescent patterns. The hum of the amplifiers deepened, resonating through the floor, and then—CRACK!—a burst of light filled the room, and the Howling Hexes appeared, silhouetted against the glare.

The first note was raw and powerful, reverberating through the crowd and settling deep in Ellis's chest. The crowd erupted, a roar of cheers and sparks cast into the air in bursts of colored light.

The stage was a riot of movement, with lights casting shadows that danced across the walls. The beat was infectious, and even Ellis, usually too cool to be impressed, was grinning and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Sirius whooped, throwing an arm around James' shoulders.

Ellis found herself swept up in it despite herself as she joined in singing along. The lead singer, Sorcha Lynch, was a striking witch with iridescent hair that changed color with the tempo and commanded the stage like a general. She caused a fuss with the Ministry after claiming that Irish wizards ought to be allowed to act with the IRA for Irish Independence. Her house had also been attacked last month after the cover of the Hexes most recent album featured a Death Eater mask with the eyes crossed out in bleeding red-ink.

Ellis allowed herself to forget the tension that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface, caught instead in the euphoria of the crowd.

When the final note of the first set rang out, the crowd dissolved into thunderous applause. Sorcha Lynch bowed deeply as she addressed the audience. "We'll take a short break to catch our breath," she said with a grin, her voice amplified by the enchanted speakers. "Don't wander too far—we've got more magic in store."

The crowd began to stir, voices rising as people moved to explore the theater or queue for refreshments.

"Drinks?" asked James.

"I can go get them," said Ellis, eager to escape the somewhat stifling pressure she felt to make conversation.

"Can't you're underage," Sirius reminded her. "You can carry them. I'll buy. What'd you want, Prongs? Evans?"

Ellis scowled but didn't argue, knowing full well Sirius would find some way to make it worse if she objected. She didn't mind being the pack mule—anything to avoid having to stand in awkward silence while the others chattered. James and Lily listed off their orders and as Ellis turned to leave, James shot her a thumbs up, looking at Lily with an eager expression. Sirius wanted to give them a moment alone, realized Ellis. He might have been a bad brother, but at least he was a good friend.

Ellis followed Sirius as they weaved through the lively crowd. She kept her eyes straight ahead, determined not to let Sirius bait her into another argument. Still, she couldn't help but scowl at how easily he moved through the crowd, while she kept muttering 'watch it' to everyone who bumped into her.

The bar was tucked into a corner of the sprawling theater. Behind it, rows of colorful bottles were lined up on floating shelves. A bartender—a stocky wizard with a silver-streaked beard and a wonky eye—was expertly juggling a shaker and a wand.

They squeezed into a free spot, waiting for the bartender to make his way down to them. Ellis would have been content to wait in total silence, but it seemed that Sirius had something on his mind. He glanced at her several times until she snapped at him to just say what he was thinking. Merlin, Regulus was more like him than she originally thought.

"How is he?" Sirius asked the question as if it physically pained him to acknowledge Regulus' existence.

"Ask him yourself."

"You think he'd answer?"

"I don't know."

"Aren't you his friend?"

She shook her head, troubled by the topic he'd chosen to bring up. "What gave you that idea?"

"This isn't an interrogation, Selwyn. I'm just trying to make conversation."

"If you want to talk about Regulus, you know exactly where to find him. Or maybe ask Lord Voldemort." Sirius winced at that. "They're best friends at this point."

"Is that why you stopped writing him? I told him to quit talking about it—what girl wants to hear about him wanking off to the Dark Lord?"

Ellis blinked in surprise. Regulus mentioned her letters too, but she hadn't thought much of it. Most of the time, his responses were so short that Ellis was always left with the impression that he was annoyed by the fact that she wrote to him at all.

"Did Regulus talk about me?" She suspected that he had. She didn't know how to feel about that, but it felt important to find out why.

"No."

"You know a lot about me, Black. More than I'd like."

He shrugged easily, eyes dancing with mirth at how easily riled she was. Ellis didn't do well with teasing. It made her defensive and angry and feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum that she couldn't contain. "I'm a Legilimens."

"And I'm a goblin," snapped Ellis, irritation growing.

"Fancy that," he said, grinning widely. "And here I was thinking you were a troll."

A few sparks flew from the tip of her wand as a man next to her got a little too close to comfort. Sirius shifted, letting her slip in front of him. Seeing that Ellis wasn't in the mood for banter and that making her angry would only lead to his own temper flaring, Sirius sighed. "Reg left his letters lying around a few times and I read them," he said. "They never had anything worth messing with him about, but our dear old hag of a mother didn't like that he had unworthy friends."

Unworthy? Her? Her veins felt like ice. If Ellis had heard such a stupid thing said within the halls of Hogwarts, she would've found Walburga Black and wrung her neck with her bare hands. Merlin forbid, she sat on the Wizengamot and had the power to order a raid on their house. She'd send the witch to Azkaban and snap her wand in two for the mere suggestion that she was unworthy of anyone.

"What did she do?" she asked tightly.

Sirius sucked his cheeks in, tapping his fingers against the bar, contemplating how much to tell her, but Ellis wanted—needed—to know.

Sirius let out a sharp breath, leaning forward as if bracing himself. His fingers stilled, curling into a loose fist before relaxing again. For a moment, Ellis thought he might shrug it off, deflect her with some biting insult. But when he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, tinged with a bitterness she could feel in her bones.

"Regulus is weak," he started, with a cruel coolness as if he were speaking about someone else, not his own brother. "You blow at him, and he bends—my mother knows that. She's obsessed with purity. So obsessed, in fact, that she got herself betrothed to our father when he was in his first year, and she was in her fifth—sixth, maybe? Father was the heir, but there's no mistaking that my mother is in charge. He's like Reg. He'll do whatever she says and hide away in his study for days to avoid her. He doesn't deal with her or us or anything, really.

"But Reg... Reg gets along with him; I suppose." Sirius shook his head as the bartender arrived to take their order. He repeated it, dropping a few sickles on the counter. As the bartender disappeared to make their drinks, he turned back to her. "Anyway, he must've mentioned something about you, and, well, next thing I know, she's locked Reg up until he learned who was 'worthy' of the name Black. Took Kreacher, too. Burned all your letters. I don't think I need to mention what came after."

The horror was slow to permeate, but once it did, Ellis couldn't stop it from showing up on her face. She had heard from her parents' what sort of abuses they were subjected to when they disobeyed as children—Ellis always felt that they were exaggerated in an effort to make her feel fortunate.

But an affinity for Dark Magic wasn't born out of curiosity, but necessity. She thought of Regulus, sitting in the library until night fell, studying healing spells in their second year. The annoyed curve of his mouth when he spoke of Sirius' propensity for punishment. What sorts of punishments, she had asked, but Regulus refused to say.

Sirius nodded grimly and asked her, "Why do you think I left? Not everything is sunshine and rainbows, love."

"I didn't think it was."

"No," he agreed, "but your parents love you and ours owned us."

"Can't you talk to him? Make him…" She didn't know what to say. Make him run? Take care of him?

"No," said Sirius, with a deep sense of grief. "He won't hear anything from me. I never thought to ask him if he'd come. I just had to get out and it didn't seem like such a loss to leave him behind."

She hated Sirius Black for saying that. Ellis had been a lonely child, who liked magic more than people. It made it hard to make friends. People's little lies would leak out, their annoyances and pain, and their discomforts. Ned, for the longest time, was the only comfort she had in the world. He'd play with her and teach her as much about the world as she could.

Didn't it mean something to have a brother? Shouldn't that have been enough for him to extend his hand toward Regulus? Ellis learned to unlearn much of the things she thought she knew for Ned. Regulus might have done the same if Sirius had loved him more.

"But, he loved you."

Sirius scoffed, "No one in my family knows how to love."

"You could have taught him."

"Wasn't my burden to bear, was it?"

"Was he really a burden?"

"You're not going to be able to save him," said Sirius, in a way meant to comfort her, but Ellis thought that it was unkind. That he was unkind. "You can try as much as you want, but he'll…he'll always pick them. What happens to him, it's his choice."

Save him? Ellis didn't have such lofty goals. Regulus would never be allowed to abandon the path that he chose, but part of her wanted to know that he regretted it. Wanted there to be another choice, not just for him, but for all of them. Death crept along every corner of their common room.

Having a choice implied there were other options. Choice implied that Regulus could have said no and suffered no consequences. The reality was that Sirius' departure made it impossible to avoid getting the Dark Mark.

Or maybe, he was right. Regulus had always supported the Dark Lord. He clipped out little articles about him and tucked them away between the pages of his notes, he talked about blood purity as if it were a class they all took together, he read and devoured books about the Dark Arts, hoping a day would come that he could leverage the knowledge.

But, people changed, didn't they? Her mother had been an ardent supporter of Grindelwald until reality forced her to flee her native France. Her father believed in blood purity too until it was a muggle doctor that spared her mother another devastating miscarriage. What did Regulus know about the world? He barely lived in it.

"Drink this," said Sirius, passing her one of the shots he was stacking in his palms, nudging her hand toward her mouth. "And cheer up. You were always Reggie's favorite snake. Probably still are."

"I don't want to drink."

He shrugged, plucking it out of her hands and tossed it back, "More for me, then."

Ellis followed Sirius back through the maze of witches and wizards, the drinks precariously balanced in his hands as he navigated the bustling crowd with infuriating ease.

She wasn't sure when she first noticed them. At first, it was just a sense—something off about the way certain figures moved through the crowd. They weren't cheering, laughing, or jostling like everyone else. Instead, they seemed to glide, their heads turning sharply, scanning the theater with predatory precision.

Her eyes snagged on a flash of dark fabric. It was ordinary enough in the wizarding world, but something about it set her nerves on edge. Her heart skipped a beat when she glimpsed something else beneath one figure's hood—a sliver of silver, shaped unnervingly like the edge of a mask.

The cloaked figures seemed to multiply the further they moved. Ellis caught glimpses of more masks now, unmistakable beneath the flickering light of the chandeliers. They were looking for someone—or something. Hunting.

Death Eaters.

Her breath hitched as she reached out, grabbing Sirius by the elbow. He twisted around, startled, his brow furrowing in irritation.

"Sirius," she said, her voice low and urgent.

"What?" he snapped, clearly unimpressed by her familiarity.

She nodded toward the figures. "Sirius, look."

Following her gaze, he spotted one of the cloaked shapes. His expression hardened in an instant. His jaw tightened. "What the hell are they doing here?"

"I don't know. Can you send a Patronus to the Ministry…to warn the Aurors?"

"James can. Evans too," he muttered, irritation flickering across his face. "Haven't managed to cast one myself yet."

"Then we need to find them."

He turned back to her, suspicion shadowing his features. "And how do I know you're not leading them there?"

"What?" she stammered, her chest tightening at the accusation.

"Bit of a coincidence, don't you think?" he said, gesturing vaguely toward the Death Eaters. "James and I sneak out all the time and nothing happens. We bring you along, and suddenly we've got a bloody welcoming committee. What'd you do? Tip them off?"

Before she could answer, Sirius's raised voice drew attention. Heads turned. Dark masks shifted toward them. If the Death Eaters hadn't been paying attention before, they certainly were now. Sirius Black was recognizable to any pureblood, whether he liked it or not and his voice was nauseatingly loud. She saw the tip of a wand emerge, pointed directly at them.

Ellis didn't hesitate. Snatching the drinks from his hands, she hurled them over the heads of the nearest crowd. Sirius blinked, startled. "What the—"

"Incendio!"

The liquor ignited midair, flames roaring to life and catching on the cloak of the nearest Death Eater. Screams erupted from the crowd as panic rippled outward. Ellis raised her wand, aiming at the ceiling.

Sanctumalefis, she thought.

A pale, shimmering barrier cascaded outward, sealing every threshold and exit. The light warped along the walls, locking the concert hall in a luminous cage. The enchantment spilled over the chaotic scene, casting eerie clarity on masked faces and terrified ones alike.

A flicker of movement caught her eye—a hand slipping beneath a cloak. Ellis spun just as the figure drew their wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Her voice cracked like a whip, and the Death Eater's wand flew from their grasp, skittering across the floor. They froze for a moment, then snapped their masked head toward her.

Fear coiled in her stomach, but she didn't falter. Her wand remained steady.

The Death Eater lunged for their wand. Before they could reach it, Sirius's voice rang out. "Stupefy!"

A jet of red light struck the figure square in the chest, sending them crumpling to the ground. For a heartbeat, the theater held its breath.

Then chaos erupted.

Death Eaters shed their attempts at secrecy, wands raised. Jets of light exploded across the room, accompanied by the deafening crack of spells. Concert-goers screamed and scattered. Some drew their wands to defend themselves; others scrambled for cover or apparated out in bursts of sound and smoke.

In the madness, Ellis turned, searching for Sirius—but he was gone.

A Death Eater lunged at her, wand raised, but Ellis moved quickly. Her arm whipped upward, deflecting their curse with a flick of her wrist before countering with a flurry of her own. Her spells came sharp and precise, a relentless wave of pressure that forced her opponent to stumble back. A final, well-aimed strike sent them crashing into a pillar, their wand spinning out of their grasp.

Two more Death Eaters closed in, attempting to pen her in, but Ellis was already moving. She turned the momentum of their attacks against them, ducking and weaving through the onslaught with practiced ease. Her wand was a blur of motion. She didn't hesitate, driving them back with calculated ferocity. She didn't often have a chance to use her full repertoire of spells, most were deemed illegal for use in an official competition by multiple ministries around the world. Ellis didn't have to follow any rules when her life was on the line.

The taller of the two aimed a curse at her feet, but Ellis sidestepped it, twisting her wand in a tight arc that sent a retaliatory burst his way. It struck home, blasting him off his feet and into a table that collapsed beneath the impact. The second Death Eater hesitated, clearly underestimating the fury she unleashed. Ellis didn't give them time to recover, closing the gap with a decisive spell that left him sprawled on the floor, frozen and defenseless.

She whirled around, her breath coming in quick bursts. The flickering light of the enchanted chandeliers reflected off her sweat-dampened face and the smooth, emotionless masks of her enemies. But even with three down, the fight wasn't over.

Two different voices bellowed "REDUCTO!"

The curses flew in different directions and the canopy overhead exploded as the curses rammed into the floating structure. Wood splintered and rained overhead, scattering to the ground around the arc of the shield charm Ellis threw up.

A Death Eater lunged forward through the cloud of dust. They were quicker than the last few, their wand already raised as they hurled curses at her in rapid succession. Explosions erupted around her as she shielded against them, shards of stone and wood flying in every direction. She slipped a few curses of her own through the assault. Ellis advanced, her gaze locked on their mask, her strikes growing faster and more precise. She didn't give them room to breathe, forcing them back step by step.

But then the floor beneath her trembled. A massive explosion erupted just behind her, the force sending her sprawling forward. She hit the ground hard, her wand skidding out of reach. Pain shot through her side, but she gritted her teeth, her mind racing.

She rolled over, bile rising as her head spun. Her arm ached as if something were eating at the flesh, but when she looked, there was only a gash, stretching from her wrist to her elbow. Cursed marks revealed themselves slowly at times. She'd need to see a healer. But, her wand? Where was her wand?

Before she could recover, the last Death Eater was on her, slamming her down with a weight that knocked the air from her lungs. Their mask loomed above her, cracked and sinister, revealing the shadow of a beard. Gloved hands pinned her shoulders.

"Wanna have some fun?" he breathed, heavy frame pinning her to the ground.

Ellis struggled, clawing at their grip, but they pressed down harder. Her free hand scrabbled across the floor, searching for her wand, but it was out of reach. By now the crowd had dispersed and the explosion left them alone in a dark corner of the theater. She could see the flash of spells in the air over his shoulders. Most of the lights had gone out, chandeliers scattering the ground.

"Scream. Go on, sweetheart."

It wasn't bravery or even fear that held her tongue, but pride. Ellis wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid, nor would she lower herself to beg for mercy.

"DO IT!"

His fingers dug into her cheeks, squeezing them together to try and force the sound out. Ellis' throat locked tight. He leaned in close, breath slipping through the cracks, hot and heavy. His wand pressed into her neck. "Don't want to? I'll make you scream, Selwyn."

At the sound of her name, she jerked her head to the side, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could on his fingers. Iron coated her tongue, and he let out a loud cry, wand clattering out of his hand to the floor. She moved quick, grabbing it for herself and aiming it at him.

"Crucio."

He fell on her and then away as his body began to contort, pain causing his limbs to twitch and spasm and then a terrible scream ripped through his mouth. Ellis scrambled to her feet, looking for her wand and found it a few feet away. She swept it into her grip and pocketed it, holding tight to the other wand.

She didn't have to torture him long. Another Death Eater arrived and immediately turned their wand on her. A volley of curses sailed through the air, sparking against shield Ellis put up. She returned them with her own and they danced back and forth wildly, waiting for the other to slip and make a mistake.

A severing charm slipped through the Death Eater's barrage, slicing through their defenses. The spell hit them square in the chest, and a wet, sickening sound followed. Blood splattered across the floor, and Ellis nearly gagged at the sight. But there was no time to dwell on it—another attacker was already closing in on her.

A streak of red light flashed past her ear, narrowly missing her but finding its mark on a Death Eater approaching from behind. The force of the stunning curse hurled them backward, their body striking a nearby pillar before crumpling to the floor. A shout echoed from above as a curse flew downward, striking the edge of the alcove and sending chunks of stone flying. Ellis ducked, covering her head as debris rained down around her.

Before she could recover, a hand grabbed her and yanked her deeper into the alcove. She twisted, ready to defend herself, nearly stabbing her wand into the chest of her captor. But then he spoke. "Are you hurt?" he asked, shaking her sharply. His mask was plainer than the rest, black and unadorned save for a few runes etched with silver into the surface. "Are you?"

"M—my arm."

He cursed beneath his breath. With a swift wave of his wand, the shattered glass on the ground rose up and transfigured into bandages that coiled around her arm and held the wound closed.

He turned his back on her and though Ellis knew she should raise her wand and curse him as she had done the others, she found that she could not move. Did she know him? He knew her. Care enough to help her. It wasn't her uncle. He had weathered hands with knobby fingers and a raspy voice from an old curse wound on his neck. No, she suspected that this was worse. He was young. Her age. Maybe one of her classmates. The realization froze her in place.

His foot pressed into the side of the Death Eater's face, knocking off his mask. Ellis did not recognize the man on the ground. Crouching, the man turned his face over and then looked back at her over his shoulder, "Did he know who you—"

"Yes."

"Obliviate."

Her breath stole away. Heat rushed through her like wine and her throat was suddenly dry.

"Do you have your wand? Can you fight?"

"Y—yes."

"We need to go." He swept his cloak off his shoulders and rose. His hands were gentle as he clasped the cloak closed at the base of her throat and smoothed her hair beneath the hood. Her wand slipped between the folds into a hidden pocket. "Don't let anyone see your face."

His hand intertwined with hers, holding impossibly tight. She thought to ask who he was, but she was terrified of the answer.

"Careful," the masked man said, his voice low and urgent, as he pulled Ellis forward through the chaos. The theater was now a battlefield of shouts, spells, and the crash of debris. Ellis's injured arm throbbed with every step, but his grip was steady. Warm.

They rounded a corner, and his hand slipped from hers. Too late, Ellis realized that he was leaving, and she could not stop him. She wasn't in the main hall, but somewhere unfamiliar. Quiet as she could, Ellis crept forward, wand drawn. The corridor was dark and narrow; every sound amplified in the suffocating silence. The walls pressed in on her, the dim light barely illuminating the path ahead.

A noise ahead—a sharp intake of breath, the scrape of boots on stone. Ellis froze, the stolen wand trembling as she pointed it toward the sound. Shadows shifted, and suddenly a figure emerged from the darkness, a wand trained directly on her. The man stepped closer, his face barely visible in the faint light, but she recognized him immediately.

Ellis' terrified gaze clashed with Sirius Black's.

"Selwyn?" he asked. It took Sirius a heartbeat to lower his own wand, and even then, he looked tense, almost disbelieving.

Her mind whirled, the adrenaline surging at the possibility that he might see her as a Death Eater. The panic made her movements jerky as she swept the hood back from her cloak before he could decide she was a threat.

"I—I stole it off someone," she lied, shakily. Her voice wavered, betraying how close she was to the edge. She yanked up her left arm, wincing as a fresh stab of pain radiated from the bandaged wound. Blood soaked through, bright and alarming, and she fumbled to unwrap it. "And I don't have the Dark Mark. I didn't call them here, I swear."

She expected Sirius's expression to harden at any moment, to see suspicion flare in his eyes. Instead, confusion and a flicker of concern crossed his features—he actually seemed startled by just how terrified she was of him.

"Is that her?" came Lily's voice. Her relief at seeing Ellis was immediate, followed by horror as she caught sight of the gruesome wound. "Oh, god, your arm!"

Ellis glanced down at the angry, bubbling infection. The flesh around the gash looked swollen, shiny with pus. She could feel Sirius's gaze flick between her face and the wound, his guarded posture slowly giving way to alarm.

James appeared, wand in hand, and took in the scene. "Padfoot, time to go, mate."

A jolt of urgency crashed over Ellis. The barrier. If she left, it would fall apart, letting Death Eaters escape. But when she tried to protest, Lily latched onto her hand. James grabbed her other arm, and Sirius gripped James's elbow and with a CRACK they were gone.

They apparated twice before finally landing on a muggle street lined with picturesque houses. Each one looked identical to the last, save for the arrangement of flowers planted in the front yard. Ellis stumbled away and clutching the streetlight, vomiting up everything she'd eaten for the day. As she heaved, Sirius wandered over and awkwardly patted her back until she was done. He kindly vanished away the mess.

Light spilled in the doorway of the house and a tall, thin girl with a long neck and blonde hair trapped within a web of velcro rollers emerged at the front door. There was a faint resemblance to Lily that was confirmed when Lily lurched forward and hugged her tightly, seeking a source of comfort that would not come. Petunia Evans did not hug Lily back, but grabbed onto her shoulders and pulled her away, staring at her with an incredulous expression. Another woman joined them, older, but bearing the same thin, frame as the other two girls. She was blonde as well but had vivid green eyes and a kind face.

"Lily?" she asked and then caught sight of the rest of them, James and Sirius propping her swaying body up. "Good heavens," she cried, "Come inside. Come in!"

Mrs. Evans was a nurse and her husband, who had a shock of red-hair and freckles the stretched across his sharp features, worked with the Royal Air Force. While James and Lily distracted the chattering man, Mrs. Evans and Sirius saw to her wound. She could barely hear them over the sound of her heart echoing in her ears.

"What curse was it?" asked Sirius.

Ellis blinked at him. "I didn't see it."

Mrs. Evans ordered Petunia to bring her medical kit. "We'll need to clean it out," she said, eyes full of pity and fascination. "It's infected."

"It's a wound caused by magic," said Sirius, gentler than she expected. "We need to deal with the curse first."

Now that the adrenaline had left her system, Ellis felt it more acutely. There was something dark and ugly slithering into her blood. She wanted to claw at it with her fingers. She felt like an animal caught in a trap, ready to gnaw its own leg off. The venom of its bite mounted slowly: pain upon pain upon pain.

Sweat beaded down her neck. Every fiber cried out to sever the limb to spare herself the burn. She tried to flex her fingers but couldn't move them. "My wand," she gasped. "Give me my wand."

Sirius reached for the brown, gnarled—"No," cried Ellis. "No, I need mine. Pocket."

He searched through the cloak until he took out an ivory wand of flowering aspen wood. It was twisted at one end like a unicorn's horn and reached a sharp point at the other, as a much a weapon spell-less as it was in her hands.

Warmth flooded her as Sirius pressed the wand to her hand. Her world emptied of everything else except the rotting slither of darkness crawling beneath her skin. She felt that she could feel her skin curling back, the flesh tearing away until only bones remained. Ellis, uncaring of the pain it caused, drew her wand into the bloody gash and guided every ounce of her magic through the wood, into her flesh, down deep to her bones, choking out whatever blackness there was invading her blood.

Black smoke billowed upward from the wound. Time passed slowly. When the smoke cleared, the swelling and pus were gone, though it still wept with blood.

And the pain stopped. What a sweet relief it was for it to stop.

Ellis tried very hard not to cry, but she must have failed because Mrs. Evans was patting the top of her head, murmuring softly.

"I'll put on some tea," said Mr. Evans, clearing his throat. Petunia arrived with the medical kit, her face ghostly and twisted with a deep horror. She kept stealing glances at Lily, trying and failing to imagine the depths of dangers that existed in the wizarding world.

"Should we wrap it?" asked Mrs. Evans, unsure of what to do.

"It should be safe to do that now," said Sirius, crouching down. He, very gently, picked up her arm. "Dark Magic doesn't heal entirely, but it's susceptible to the same kinds of things that other wounds are."

Mrs. Evans nodded and began to dig around in her kit. She pulled a few bottles out and a strange roll of bandages that was made of a fabric Ellis hadn't seen before. She didn't know what half the bottles were. The names were foreign to her and complicated. Cotton balls, sliver tweezers, strange blue gloves that looked as if they were made of rubber.

"I want to go to St. Mungo's," said Ellis, suddenly very afraid. "Can't we go to—"

"It's okay," reassured Mrs. Evans, perhaps sensing why her fear arose. "Alcohol kills the germs, so there won't be an infection. Iodine does the same thing. It's like potions, but our kind."

Mrs. Evans settled Ellis's arm across her lap and carefully tended to the wound. Ellis shifted with discomfort, her free hand balling into a fist. Steadily, Mrs. Evans disinfected it and then wrapped a strip of gauzy fabric around the injury, making sure it was snug. Ellis winced at the pressure, biting back a low groan, but the bandage soon felt secure, and some of the sharp sting began to fade. Once finished, Mrs. Evans set the supplies aside and advised Ellis to keep the arm still and rest as much as possible.

"The Trace," said Lily, suddenly. "Is the Ministry going—"

She should have mentioned it when the topic of her being underage first came up, but she didn't know how to Apparate in the first place, so it hadn't seemed important. Ellis hadn't been born in the United Kingdom; she spent most of her childhood bouncing between her mother's native France and the Isle of Fenn.

It was the French Ministry that monitored her magical activity—if they even did so. The Trace could only detect that magic was being used near an underage witch or wizard. And given that Ellis lived in a wizarding town surrounded by constant magic, she doubted they bothered to keep a close eye on her.

"No, no they won't know," murmured Ellis quietly. She thought about all that during the long trek to Hogsmeade, coming up with answers to every hesitation that cropped up, but Death Eaters—she had failed to consider them.

"We had a take-away for dinner," said Mr. Evans, appearing in the living room with a tray in his hand. There was a kettle of tea and several cups on it, along with some food. "There's a bit left over, and I've heated it up for you."

Ellis, feeling slightly more coherent, looked around curiously as Mr. Evans plated up the food for them.

The living room was illuminated by an overhead light with a soft, warm glow. It didn't seem to be enchanted, nor fueled by fire as most light in Ellis' house was. Elektricty or something of that sort. Pale-yellow wallpaper covered the walls, dotted with small patterns of roses. A large, plush sofa took up most of the back wall, its cushions covered in a floral print that clashed only slightly with the wallpaper. Several matching chairs flanked it on both sides, their cushions neatly pressed. An oval-shaped wooden table stood in front of the sofa. Ellis noticed a stack of magazines on it.

Framed photographs were arranged on nearly every flat surface, but these did not move or wave as wizard photos did. They were still and silent. Ellis found her attention drawn to one in particular: a much younger Lily, grinning as she stood next to her sister. Both looked about seven or eight, Lily's red fringe hanging into her eyes.

In one corner of the room, a large box-like device caught her eye. It rested on four short legs and had a glass front. Next to it was another curious contraption that looked like a wooden case with knobs and a turntable—Ellis couldn't be certain what either object was. A small side table stood near the sofa had a telephone. Ellis recalled seeing one in her Muggle Studies class.

All of it—couch, chairs, trinkets, electronics—appeared perfectly ordinary, yet Ellis had never felt more out of place. It was all strangely static. It was as if someone had stripped all the motion and noise from a wizarding house and replaced it with silence.

When she was handed her plate, she realized she had no idea what she was being fed, but manners had been engrained into her since childhood. Never would she insult her host in their own house.

"Spicy," commented Ellis after her first bite of the curry, but she was suddenly starved, and it was delicious. James ate with a similar enthusiasm. Sirius was surprisingly more hesitant than either of them. Conversation trickled in and out between the scraping of their spoons against their plates and Lily, very honestly, admitted that they had snuck out of school to go to a concert. Her parents seemed to know about Death Eaters, because they gasped and began to scold her.

Ellis watched them closely. This was the closest she'd been to muggles in a long while, likely since childhood when her mother attempted to make her go to primary school in a twisted social-experiment that she could discuss with her colleagues at work. They were very ordinary. Uninteresting.

"Are you going to finish that, mate?" asked James, watching Sirius push around his food.

Sirius made a vague gesture that prompted James to take hold of the plate. His shoveled some of the rice and curry onto his own plate and then offered her the rest. Though Ellis would likely have to scrub her tongue tomorrow at the thought of sharing with Sirius Black, she was still hungry.

"I know those two," said Petunia, suddenly. Her face was pinched into a tight expression. Despite the late hour, Ellis appreciated the look of disgust she aimed at the boys. "But who are you?"

"Ellis Selwyn."

"What house?"

"Slytherin."

"Like Snape?" asked Petunia snidely. "I can't believe she'd make that mistake—"

"What house are you in?" asked Ellis, prompting the girl to shut her mouth immediately and turn a furious shade of purple.

"I don'tneedmagic."

"She's one of the good ones," said James, trying to diffuse the tension. His face turned thoughtful and then he leaned across the table, looking at her with wide eyes. "How many do you think you got? I reckon about nine or ten on my part."

"I wasn't counting."

"Sirius?"

"Six."

"I got more than six," said Ellis, promptly. "Definitely more than six."

Petunia, not liking that she was being excluded from the conversation, said, "Lily's never spoke about you before and I can't imagine that there's such a thing as 'good ones' in Slytherin. Even if that freak, Snape, was always following her around like a lost puppy, he still went and said those things to her."

"Snape is a half-blood. The only way he could make a name for himself in Slytherin was to adapt to the extremes. His mother was from a respected pureblood family and married poorly. Not only because the man was a muggle, but an uneducated, drunkard as well."

"Not only? What's wrong with being a muggle?"

Luckily, Lily returned to the fold before Ellis could list every reason being a muggle was inferior to being a witch. She took a seat on the soft, looking as exhausted as Ellis felt. There was a fine layer of ash in her hair and the makeup she'd put on earlier had smudged and smeared from the sweat built up during the fighting. "We should go back to Hogwarts," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "If they haven't found out we're gone, they will."

"It's late," protested Mrs. Evans, "Nearly two. Sleep a bit and go in the morning—whatever trouble you're in will still be there then."

Lily winced, eyes tightening at the corners. She looked to James, her expression full of blame, but it seemed that James had already come to that conclusion himself. He was bent over, head pressed into the palms of his hands. She opened her mouth and then closed it, expression growing distant.

Lily, Petunia, and Ellis would share a room, Mrs. Evans decided. Petunia's room would go to the boys, though both protested over inconveniencing the elder girl. Ellis thought that putting her out for a night might cure her of the sourness in her soul. As they were hustled upstairs, James seemed to find his voice, levity all but gone as the seriousness of what occurred finally set in.

"I'm sorry," said James, voice so low that Ellis had to strain to hear him. Lily paused as well, gripping the banister tightly. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Ellis would have responded with something dry as cinder and sarcastic like, "It was poor planning on your part, Potter. I can't believe you didn't predict a Death Eater attack."

But James received a gentler response from Lily Evans, "No one blames you for what they did, James."

Ellis showered, changed into a set of night clothes that were too long in the arms and legs, so she had to fold them over several times like a child, and wandered into Lily Evans' childhood bedroom. Her hair had coiled into curls from the shower. She idly thought of what Helena would say if she knew where she was and decided it was best not to think of Hogwarts or House Slytherin for the next century.

Lily Evans' bedroom stood at the end of a narrow hall. It was bright and cheerful with a neat wooden desk in one corner stock-piled with what seemed like an entire storeroom of potions ingredients. There were lots of pictures here too and books spilling out of the shelves, piled atop on another on the ground. Lily and Petunia were arguing in hushed whispers about the sleeping arrangements when Ellis entered.

Petunia turned to her with a nasty look, "I'm sure it's not up to standards, but it's all we have."

Ellis didn't understand these little disparaging comments. It was enough, she thought, that they had opened the door and welcomed her in. Her and her cousins frequently gathered in a single room, casting cushioning charms on the entire floor, layering it with rugs and blankets and slept all together, talking until the early hours of the morning. The Evans were hosting her—there was no need for the constant apologies.

"I can sleep on the floor."

Lily shook her head, "You're injur—"

"Just take it as an opportunity to put me in my place, Evans. You won't get many of them."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that. Though they'd maintained an air of pleasantness early in the evening, there was a tight tension hanging in the air. Ellis was not unwelcome, but she knew that Lily would have preferred not to have her near her family.

"It's a little itchy," she said, mildly.

"Not everyone sleeps in silk pajamas," snapped Petunia. She reminded Ellis of a wet kitten, harmless, but angry. Lily hissed at her to be quiet.

"I meant the bandage. The nightclothes are comfortable, so thank you for lending them to me."

"Nightclothes? Who says that anymore?"

Slytherin, decided Ellis, feeling a bit like the Sorting Hat. Oh, what hell Ellis would've put Petunia in if she were at Hogwarts. She thought it a shame that the girl was just a muggle.

Eventually, Lily and Petunia squeezed into the bed and Ellis was tucked into a makeshift bed of blankets, pillows, on the soft rug. The lights went out and with it all the sound and Ellis, without meaning to, fell into a deep, dark sleep.

Her dreams were cool, dark, and deep like the lull of rushing water. Something slithered over stone, hissing and crying, it's voice like the edge of a blunt knife digging into her ear, "Rip…tear…kill." Cold sunk into her veins, clawing into her.

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

She was in a hall of ghosts. The halls she called home, but the Baron was there, and he was no ghost. He was alive. Black hair hanging over his face, a silver dagger in his hand gleaming like pale fire, blood on his hands. "I will find her," he cried. "I will find her and drag her back her if I must." She turned and Ned was there, but when she tried to reach him, he turned to smoke in her hands. Her father followed. Her mother. "Run," someone cried. "Run, Ellis."

Ellis raced away, shadows chasing at the heels of her feet and she burst out into the green, green world falling to the ground where the dirt gave way to bone.

And power-hungry Slytherin…

She saw the man again, with his mask of shadow, and cloak clipped at the crook of his neck. Water rippled all around them and there was a burn in her throat unlike anything she'd felt. Her mouth tasted of ash. Her blood burned in her veins. She begged and begged and rushed to the edge of the black water, pale hands reaching for her wrist, pulling her below the surface.

…loved those of great ambition.

The man lifted away the mask. The face she saw was her own.

After that, there was only the pain, the water in her lungs, and the vile, black rot eating at her.

She woke to the sound of laughter.