A/N: A bit of a hopeless one. Don't worry, this first set of chapters only serve as Andry's origin story. As ever, we trudge on. TW/CW: Torture, Brutality, Carrows.
...
June 5, 1998 - The Last Class
Dumbledore's Army was dead.
Oh, sure, sometimes a crude message would scrawl itself across a corridor in red paint—LONG LIVE THE RESISTANCE—but no one paid attention anymore. The fear had settled too deep. The Carrows had won.
Neville Longbottom had returned to class. That should have been a victory, a spark of defiance. But Andrael saw the way he moved, stiff and silent, the fury in his eyes dulled beneath exhaustion and pain. Despite anger that would burn to the touch, he did not speak. He did not look at anyone. Perhaps this was its own form of defiance, a last attempt to take back his power.
His co-conspirators were gone, vanished into the walls of Hogwarts or fled into the outside world where, with any luck, they might live to fight another day.
In their absence, the school had begun to relax. The Carrows still roamed, but there was less need for sudden bursts of cruelty—fear had done its job. The rules were loosening, not because the regime was softening, but because they no longer needed to tighten their grip.
The students had adapted. Many praised the Dark Lord openly now, their voices bright and eager. They had learned the script, recited it well enough that they almost sounded sincere. And really, who was to say they weren't? Survival had a way of making cowards out of the brave.
The examiners had arrived for the fifth- and seventh-year OWLs and NEWTs, bringing with them a taste of normalcy so jarring it was almost absurd. Students whispered about practicals, reviewed theory by candlelight, clutched their textbooks like lifelines. There was something grotesque about it. As if any of this mattered anymore.
Andrael barely noticed.
She moved through the days like a specter, untouchable, unshaken. Fear in the eyes of others did not unnerve her; it amused her. She no longer flinched when someone avoided her gaze in the corridors. She did not feel guilt when younger students hurried to get out of her way. She had no nightmares. No regrets.
The only thing that brought her anything close to joy was magic. Not the games the Carrows played, not the power they pretended to wield, but magic itself. Casting a spell and feeling the energy flow through her veins was the only time she felt alive.
There was a distinct sense of before and after. Though she had been trending towards this person all year, the day an Unforgivable came from her wand had ended any illusion of who she once was.
She hadn't written Akira Ungaku in months. He would not want to hear from her like this. There was no way she would visit him once she graduated. Indeed, every remnant of her past self seemed useless.
Her violin, once her pride and joy, once integral to the essence of Andrael, lay untouched in her lab, collecting dust.
Priorities changed.
The thought almost made her laugh as she sat in yet another Defence class, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. It was the final class. There would assuredly be one last memory to be made in this room.
And for the first time in as many months, Andrael was no longer afraid of what would happen.
What was the worst that happened… She died?
What did she have to fear from death anymore?
Amycus Carrow dragged his wand lazily across the desk, the tip spitting small sparks as he paced before the seventh years. His grin stretched wide, hungry and delighted.
"We've been through much together, haven't we? Some of you might even be ready for the outside world, our glorious new regime. Make no mistake, what lies beyond these walls isn't no finished product. You will be called upon to shape it as our Dark Lord wishes. All my goal has been this year is to turn you into what He needs. And some of you might actually meet that standard."
There was silence.
"You lot think you've learned something this year. That you understand power." He stopped suddenly, slamming his hands down on the teacher's desk. "Until you gaze upon the Dark Lord's face, until you kneel at his feet, you will NEVER understand power. I can only hope you receive that honour eventually. Yet perhaps… I will try one more time to impress a lesson upon your thick skulls."
With a flick of his wand, the classroom doors locked. A faint shimmer spread across the walls—wards to prevent interference, or escape. The students stiffened.
Amycus turned, gesturing to a crate at the front of the room. Alecto, perched in the corner like a crow, nudged the lid open with her boot. Inside, two dozen identical wands lay stacked like kindling. "This," Amycus announced, "is a game. The final lesson before your exams. You might call it... an advanced test of skill. Of strategy. Of nerve."
A few students exchanged wary glances. Andrael did not move.
Amycus plucked a wand from the crate, twirling it between his fingers. "Each of these wands contains a curse. But here's the fun part—" He grinned. "You don't know what the curse is."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"Some of these wands will cast a harmless jinx. Maybe a Tickling Hex. Maybe a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Others..." His grin widened. "Others contain curses far worse. A Blood-Boiling Hex. A Bone-Shattering Jinx. Maybe even—" He waggled his eyebrows. "—something deadly. The point is... you won't know until you cast it."
A stillness fell over the class.
Amycus began pacing again, savoring the moment. "Each of you will take a wand. Each of you will point it at your partner. You will cast it." His voice dropped, almost gentle. "Or you'll both suffer."
Silence.
"Ah, but here's where it gets interesting." He clapped his hands together. "You can refuse to cast, of course. Maybe you think you're noble. Maybe you think your partner will hold steady, won't give in. But if one of you casts the spell while the other hesitates—" He turned suddenly, pointing at a random Gryffindor in the front row. "The one who hesitates gets hit with both spells. No mercy."
Seamus Finnegan paled.
Amycus chuckled. "So, my little warlocks, what do you do? Do you trust your partner not to cast? Do you risk getting hit with something far worse? Or do you strike first and make sure it's them, not you?"
No one spoke.
The air was thick with dread. Amycus leaned forward, his voice syrupy, conspiratorial. "And here's where the best of you will shine. Because let's say you're clever. Say you're persuasive. Say you can bluff. Maybe you can convince your partner to hesitate. Maybe you can talk them into taking the hit for you. After all..." He smirked. "Only one of you has to cast the spell."
The weight of it settled in the room. The gamble was clear. Hesitate, and you could lose everything. Cast first, and you might be safe—but at the cost of someone else. The game was one of trust, manipulation, and raw, animal survival.
"Should both of you have uncast wands at the end of two minutes, you will both endure the hex of an unclaimed wand for as long as I see fit. Depending on what you pull… Well, you'd be very lucky indeed to come out with just that."
Amycus stepped back and waved at the crate. "Go on, then. Choose wisely."
The students hesitated, but under Alecto's sharp glare, they began moving forward one by one, each collecting a wand. Andrael took hers without hesitation, turning it over in her fingers.
The game had begun.
The moment Amycus gave them the instruction, there was a shuffle, a frantic scramble as students locked onto the safest person within arm's reach.
Andrael watched it happen, amused.
She could see them calculating. Hufflepuffs clung to each other, desperate to avoid the worst. Ravenclaws weighed their options, trying to choose someone who would at least be competent. The Slytherins barely hesitated, their partnerships already decided long before Amycus had spoken. Even the Gryffindors, those few who remained, made quick, quiet choices.
And Andrael stood there, untouched, unclaimed.
They were afraid. Not of her losing, but of her winning. Of what she might do.
She smirked.
A long pause stretched in the room as the last stragglers paired off, leaving only one other person standing alone.
Daphne Greengrass.
Of course.
Daphne's mouth tightened as their eyes met. It was not hesitation, not quite, but something close to resignation. She had been waiting to see if anyone else would take the risk. No one had.
Andrael tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering in her expression as she stepped forward. Fine, her smile said. If no one else will have us.
Daphne rolled her shoulders, adjusting her grip on her wand.
"Looks like it's you and me, then."
Andrael ran her fingers along her wand, her Sight thrumming through her veins. Shadows clung to the wood, but nothing terrible. Nothing she hadn't done before.
Daphne's wand, though—oh, that was interesting. Andrael flicked her eyes to her, watching the slow curl of her fingers around it, the tension in her wrist. The spell coiled inside like a sleeping snake, waiting for a command.
"Cruciatus," Andrael murmured.
"What?"
"My wand isn't terrible, but yours has a Cruciatus."
Daphne's grip tightened. Barely—but Andrael noticed.
"You've never used it," she continued, tilting her head. "But it's there. Alecto's lesson, maybe? An extra bit of fun for the lucky winner?"
Daphne's mouth was a thin line.
"How sure are you?"
"Oh, Daphne. I would recognize that spell anywhere." She chuckled.
The first pair was called to the front of the room, Crabbe and Goyle. The moment Amycus's hand dropped, they both cast. It was laughable how they staggered back in unison, Crabbe with tentacles growing from his arm, Goyle's mouth becoming decidedly more insectoid.
She could see frantic Ravenclaws muttering quickly, the display making the spells all that more real.
Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot were next. He was coaxing her off the ledge.
"...trust me. I'm not going to cast. You don't have to cast either. We can just wait."
"I…" Hannah was hesitating.
Terry held out a hand to her. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She took his hand, trembling. The time ticked down, the class watching with bated breath.
There were only thirty seconds left when Terry reached up to scratch his nose, forced to use his wand hand since his other was in Hannah's.
The motion was all it took for the girl to blast him.
Terry cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder.
"I'm sorry! I- I didn't— I didn't mean to!" Hannah covered her mouth, terrified. She had started to cry in panic. "It was a mistake! I—"
Alecto cackled, plucking Terry's wand from where it had fallen.
"Cast the other."
"No! I don't— I can't!"
"Cast it on him or I cast it on you." Alecto hissed, shoving her forward.
Hannah hesitated.
Terry looked up at her, teeth gritted.
"I'm so sorry." She said, shaking her head.
"Hannah, please—"
But Hannah Abbott cast the spell.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then a sting swelled on Terry's forehead, red and ugly. That was all, the spell a simple Bee-sting jinx.
Hannah laughed in terrified relief through her tears as she was sent back in line.
Terry was shoved to the side and magically silenced. He could go to the Hospital Wing at the end of class with the rest.
"Do you want to cast it?" Andrael asked quietly. "Do you want to become a monster, like me?"
Daphne didn't answer.
"From experience… I mean, it changes you." She smiled at that. "It becomes easier and easier to turn dark once you start."
The next pair had been chosen, Neville and Seamus. Both boys dropped their wands and crossed their arms. At the end of two minutes, they were tortured by the Carrows, both wielding stinging hexes like knives.
"Would you rather I do it?" Andrael tapped her wand against her palm. "We both know how this goes. If we refuse, we get worse. So what's it going to be, Greengrass?"
Daphne exhaled through her nose. "If I say I don't care, will you pick?"
"Oh, but you do care," Andrael said, amused. "You're just trying to decide which is worse—casting it, or feeling it."
Daphne's silence was telling.
"I'll make it fast," Andrael offered. "Efficient. Better than whatever they'd do to you if you hesitate."
Daphne looked at her, conflicting emotions on her face.
"You want to torture me."
"It's me, or them. If you can pick me, knowing you'll have to look me in the eyes tomorrow, I'll make it hurt a lot less than they will."
Pansy and Millicent stepped to the front.
The moment the timer started, Millicent handed Pansy her wand and squeezed her eyes shut. They had already decided who was going to be taking the blows.
Millicent clasped her head, screaming, as leeks sprouted from her ears. The second was only a Jelly-legs jinx, and she collapsed to the ground, unable to support herself. Amycus sniggered.
Outside of his sight, Pansy affixed the man with a furious glare. Silently, she helped Millicent up, and the two retreated back in line. They stayed like that, Pansy's arm fiercely around Millicent, supporting her solidly, daring anyone to say anything.
"Greengrass and Cassowary."
They slowly made their way up, the crowd parting.
Alecto flipped the hourglass and the timer began.
"Me or them?" Andrael asked, her wand high.
Daphne stared at her for a long moment. Then, at last, she nodded.
"Fine," she said. "Get it over with."
She smiled.
Andrael cast her knee reversal hex on Daphne. She cried out, the unfamiliar limbs causing her to crumple to the ground, distorted.
Bending down, Andrael plucked the wand from her shaking hand.
Daphne had crumpled to the floor, hands clenched into fists against the stone, her breath coming quick and sharp. She didn't speak. Didn't beg. But her eyes—God, her eyes—pleaded. They were hollow and shining, full of everything she refused to say aloud.
Please don't. Please, not this. Not from you.
Andrael hesitated for only a moment. Then she forced herself to smirk, tilting her head as if amused.
"You know what comes next, Greengrass."
She spoke the incantation, and magic lanced through her.
The spell hit Daphne like lightning, and she arched violently, a choked sound slipping from her throat. Her fingers spasmed against the stone. The muscles in her neck tensed, her shoulders convulsing—but she didn't scream.
Andrael was impressed.
She held the spell, feeling the way it burned through her own veins, the way her magic surged like a beast finally let loose. It was almost intoxicating, the power of it. The way it made her heart hammer, the way the world around her seemed to sharpen into something too clear, too real—
She let go.
Daphne collapsed. Her breathing was ragged, her arms trembling. Her wand lay discarded at her side, fingers twitching like she meant to reach for it but couldn't quite make herself move.
Andrael crouched beside her, resting her wand lightly against her own knee. "That was nothing," she murmured. "I went easy on you."
Daphne didn't respond. She only turned her head, half-lidded eyes locking onto Andrael's.
Andrael almost wished she hadn't looked.
Because there was no hatred there. No anger. Just quiet resignation.
Andrael exhaled slowly and stood, placing the spent wands back in the chest.
Using her own wand, she muttered the countercurse to her earlier jinx, and hauled Daphne back in line.
They didn't speak as Theo hexed Blaise, as Malfoy bluffed a Ravenclaw into letting him torture her, as a pair of Hufflepuffs sobbed under the Carrows' wands.
Finally, the last pair had gone. The classroom was silent.
They were finally… free.
Amycus Carrow strolled to the front of the room, looking over the students with his usual sneer of contempt. He clapped his hands together once, slow and mocking.
"Well, wasn't that just inspiring?" he drawled. "A fine display of discipline, skill, control. Or, at least, from those of you who aren't completely useless." His gaze flickered over the room, lingering on the students still shaking, the ones who had crumpled to the floor, before settling into a smirk.
He paced leisurely, arms clasped behind his back. "Your NEWT is next week. It's your chance to prove whether you're worth the parchment your name's written on. If you fail—" he stopped, tilting his head as if considering, "—well, then you'd best hope our Lord has no use for worms like you."
His expression darkened. "If you think I was harsh, remember, the Dark Lord has no patience for weakness. For hesitation. The world is changing, and those who refuse to change with it—" He snapped his fingers. "Extinguished. Like a candle in the wind."
Silence. The students barely breathed.
Amycus grinned. "So study hard, little maggots. Make something of yourselves. Maybe, just maybe, you'll be useful to the future."
He turned for the door, but threw one last look over his shoulder.
"Oh, and for those of you who think you can skulk through these exams without showing proper loyalty…" His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. "There are worse things than failure."
With that, he swept from the room, leaving behind only silence and the lingering chill of his words.
Daphne had retreated to join Pansy and Millicent, the three of them taking the latter to the Hospital Wing. It was a trek they all knew well by now.
Andrael didn't follow them. She had no need. She had emerged unscathed.
Everything seemed pointless.
She was going to ace all her NEWTs already so there was no need to study. She had no friends to hang out with. Nothing was exciting, nothing was interesting.
Her steps were automatic as she made her way through the twisting corridors of the dungeons. Ducking into the common room, she headed for the tunnels. Where she was meant to turn left to get to her dorm, she continued on straight, into the maze. She didn't really know where she was going, but her feet knew the path. They always led her to the same place.
The old duelling chamber, hidden deep underground, was a good place to ensure no one bothered her.
A narrow passage gave way to the cavernous ceiling, the ancient magic glowing in dusky greys and browns. The room was cold, its stone walls ancient and worn. A wave of her wand lit the flickering torches with a dim light that barely touched the farthest corners of the space, leaving her shrouded in shadow. The amphitheatre-style seating around the circular arena was empty.
She walked into the center, the stone floor cool under her boots. She ran her fingers along the worn stone of the arena's edge, the faint carvings from long-dead Slytherins whispering from centuries past. honour duels. Blood spilled for pride, for power, for the house. A legacy. The Slytherins of old had used this chamber to settle disputes, to test their strength, their worth. It was a place where power was defined and refined. Where strength mattered more than anything else. It was fitting that it had become her sanctuary.
She had learned to feel the magic now. To understand it like an extension of herself. It wasn't just a tool, it was part of her.
She wasn't a person anymore. She was a weapon. A sword. A monster.
Andrael unsheathed her wand.
For a second, she merely held it, staring at the wood, waiting for the feeling to rise in her again. She didn't need to conjure a target—her mind could create plenty of them.
She took a deep breath and flicked her wrist.
"Expelliarmus."
The spell shot out, blasting a spot on the far wall with controlled force. Andrael smiled faintly.
She didn't feel the usual rush of excitement. It wasn't enough anymore. No spell was.
"Confringo. Scintillarum. Stupefy. Sanguinus. Lumos Solem. Ventus Maximus. Incendio."
She cycled through all of them, fighting enemies only she could see, dancing through the chamber with precise strikes.
Her thoughts wandered back to the unforgivables. For a moment today, the Cruciatus had felt right. It had been almost effortless, like slipping into a second skin. The power it had given her... the control, the authority…
With a breath, she released the wand's grip, her thoughts returning sharply to the present. It wasn't just about curses anymore—it was about control. It was about the feeling of being a weapon, the way dark magic and violence had made her feel like she could carve her own path, one spell at a time.
She caught her breath, and attacked again, her curses turning darker as they slashed the walls.
"Reducto. Saeva glacies. Putrescere. Cruenta spinas. Sectumsempra."
She could feel her hands clench, ice and thorns ravaging the halls, each flick of her wands conducting chaos like a symphony. She hated it. She loved it. And she understood how so many were swayed back in the beginning by this intoxicating power.
Andrael stopped suddenly, the magic fading.
She could cast all of these spells with her eyes closed. This was not a challenge.
But there was one thing she could practice, something that would be useful. She raised her wand again, this time focusing, centering herself on the thought that burned like a quiet fire inside her. Dark magic is power. Power is control. And control... is everything.
"Crucio."
The spell erupted from her wand, coursing through the room, wild and crackling with unchecked energy. She felt it in her bones, that burning hunger for dominance, that rush of power that flooded her senses and made everything feel sharper. Everything in the room seemed to still, the air thickening around her with the pressure of it. Her body trembled with a kind of cold exhilaration, but her focus never wavered. She had to master this. She had to be in control.
But as the spell faded, Andrael felt the familiar emptiness creeping back. The rush was fleeting, and the cold stone walls felt all the colder when the magic subsided.
She stared down at her wand, her hands steady, her breathing calm. She'd used it. And for a moment, that had been enough. But now... she needed more.
She looked around the empty room, at the solitary shadows cast by the torchlight. And for the first time in weeks, she wondered if it would ever be enough. Would anything ever be enough to fill the void inside her?
She cast it again and again into the space, feeling it fade each time as the curse latched onto nothing and no one. This was madman behaviour, but she didn't care, working on her mastery until she could feel nothing but the hatred required to cast it.
That's enough, the Rational part of her mind finally said.
Andrael fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The headspace that spell put her in was… horrid.
Horrid, but necessary.
She was ready for this summer.
In three weeks, her life would begin.