"Death Eaters?" exploded Ned, "What do you mean Death Eaters?"
"I'm pretty sure she means the wizard-KKK," said Rupert, stuffing a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth at once. Ellis, despite her terrible night, found this to be a more horrifying event. He chewed thoughtlessly as if it didn't matter that a vomit or toilet water bean was mixed in with the rest.
Felix snorted and then laughed outright, "They do dress like them."
"Why do you eat them like that?" asked Ellis, disgusted.
"For fun. Want one?"
Ned shoved Rupert's arm away, sending a few beans flying through the air. A cat scurried out from under the bed to snack on them, "Well, did you kill anyone?"
"No."
"Dad doesn't know?"
"I don't think he does."
"Ellie, I'm going to shake your hand." Ned grabbed her hand giving it a firm handshake and then clapped a hand to her shoulder. "Not sure what drove you to go with Pothead, but, I approve. Well done, mate. We'll put in the request for an Order of Merlin right away."
He turned to his friends, jostling her, "My own sister—fighting Death Eaters, boys!"
"Here, here."
Ellis laughed and shook her head, "You're all very strange."
After a long, arduous tour of Hogwarts with Hibbs, Ellis ended up going to the Gryffindor dorms with Ned and his friends. They smuggled her in, making such a commotion that the idea of secrecy was lost almost immediately. It wasn't as if the Gryffindors minded as much, though a few had thrown up a light protest. Ellis' common room had not been breached in centuries and despite Ned's best efforts to gain access, she refused to let him in.
Carlisle, who had not been with them, emerged from the bathroom. He took one look at her, turned a putrid shade of green as he realized he was wearing little more than a towel around his waist, and fainted. Tim shot to his feet, hesitantly approaching him to check if he was alright.
"Should I revive him?"
"And see it happen again? Yeah, go ahead."
Rupert shot off his bed, throwing himself at his trunk, "Let me get the camera."
Felix was only two months younger than her. His birthday passed during the first week of term, making them the same age. Had he been born a few weeks earlier; he would have been part of her class. He crossed from his bed to come sit next to her on Ned's, handing over the most recent issue of the Daily Prophet. The concert attack was still the main news, but there was a little blurb on the bottom about Mr. Mulciber's trial—the sentencing hadn't happened yet, but Ellis knew once it was made public, whatever social capital she within her House would wither up and die.
"My mum's been saying that it's like Grindelwald all over again," Felix muttered quietly. "He's recruiting werewolves and giants from the continent. Making Inferni too if the rumors are true."
Felix's parents were both German, but they had been children during the last war and were evacuated to Hogwarts in the same manner as her own mother.
"Inferni?" she repeated, shaking her head tightly. Necromancy was a Dart Art that even Ellis, who typically viewed no magic as off-limits, would never perform. Magic could not give life to the dead. "The Ministry should simply say who he is—they must know. Calling him Lord Voldemort or the Dark Lord, as if he's more than a man, only serves to make him seem invincible."
"Bet I could kill him," said Ned, throwing himself next to them. "Course, I gotta level up first. Find myself the Deathly Hallows and then take him one-on-one."
"Don't forget to find the Hopping Pot first," said Ellis, blandly. "If you becoming the Master of Death is our only hope, I'll go get the Dark Mark tomorrow."
Utterly betrayed, Ned said, "Order of Merlin revoked."
Now awake and having come to terms that Ellis was in the dorm room, Carlisle regained his usual confidence. He shook out his blond hair, sending droplets of water everywhere, and said, "Ellie, love, close your eyes. I don't want our first time together—"
Carlisle was cut off by a pillow hitting his head.
Ellis stood from the bed, announcing it was time for her to go to her Dueling Club. She was the President and being late set a bad example. They had a few new members among the second-years—all terrible duelers. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall were their advisors and alternated weekly on who oversaw their meetings.
She was halfway down the stairs when Ned called after her.
"Ellie," said Ned, watching her closely. He hadn't said anything while she was scolded by a crying Hibbs after recounting all that happened. It had seemed that he was a bit shocked to hear that she'd snuck out, let alone that she was in the middle of a Death Eater attack. "Are you alright, though? They didn't hurt you or anything?"
"No," she said, softly, smiling at Ned. "Not at all."
"Good. You're a better witch than anyone I know, so those buggers didn't stand a chance."
"Thanks, Ned."
He saluted her, before turning back and running up the stairs, shouting that he needed his broom, because his first game was in a week and Potter would kill him if he didn't catch the snitch.
She only had Herbology that morning, a class defined by her and Barty partnering up because neither minded getting their hands dirty. Ellis didn't have much love for plants, but she did enjoy the effort it took to keep them alive. There was something precious about it that pulled at some latent instincts she had.
But, her afternoon involved an different set of skills.
The Dueling Room was on the ground floor, nestled in a corner far from the Great Hall. According to Professor Flitwick, it sat empty since her father graduated from Hogwarts as the Dueling Club had disbanded. Ellis started it back up in her second year and it grew slowly.
There were only fourteen full-time members across fourth, fifth, and sixth-year. Numbers tended to peter-out after fourth-year when they started competing professionally. The second-years were always eager to join and fight, but they were all enthusiasm and very little skill. They showed up for the first few meetings and then dropped like flies.
The room was a long rectangular chamber with high, arched ceilings. The stone walls were littered with scorch marks and faint scratches, echoes of the countless spells and clashes over the years. Along one side of the room, tall windows let in natural light during the day.
The centerpiece was the elevated dueling platform, a sturdy, worn wooden stage about a foot off the ground. It was enchanted to absorb the force of spells, providing a safe space for practicing their dueling techniques. Around the edges of the room, old wooden benches were arranged in rows for spectator.
Shelves along the back wall were lined with an assortment of dueling essentials: enchanted dummies that moved unpredictably to simulate opponents, and a collection of protective gear ranging from traditional dueling robes to sturdy leather gauntlets, countless books on techniques—some of these were purchased by Ellis. A small, enchanted chalkboard hovered nearby, keeping track of practice schedules, match results, and tips for spells.
"No," said Ellis, immediately upon spotting the extra people in the room. Remus Lupin looked wildly uncomfortable as if he had been dragged along against his will. Lily Evans was there as well chatting in the corner with Marlene McKinnon and Mary Macdonald. "Out. Get out."
"You can't kick us out," said James Potter snidely, "This is a Hogwarts Club and we're Hogwarts students."
"I'm President of the Club, so I can do anything I want."
"Professor McGonagall gave us permission."
"I'm revoking it."
James looked over at Remus, expression seeming to say "See, I told you she'd say that," and then laughed in her face. Ellis went cold all over, anger flaring so rapidly she was sure she'd burn someone if they touched her.
"Potter, I'd rather not have you and dogs barking and pissing all over the place, so kindly pick yourself up by the bootstraps and leave before I make you leave."
Sirius quickly came to James' defense, "That's a whole lot of words, Selwyn. Don't you get tired of—"
"I'm surprised you understood any of them," said Regulus, blandly. Sirius froze and turned to look at the back of the dueling room where Regulus was standing in the doorway. "I was always under the impression that you were hard of hearing, Sirius. Mother always had to yell to get your attention."
"Oh, this is gonna be good," said Marlene McKinnon, ruffling her shaggily cut blond hair. She was shorter than the other two girls and had rainbow-pattered sleeves sticking out beneath the loose arms of her school robes. Ellis noted that she had taken to wearing muggle clothes beneath them as was increasingly popular among some of the students—a secret signal of which side of the war they were on. "Black Family Reunion."
Sirius grinned, "That happens every morning for mum and dad."
"Gross," Marlene laughed, scrunching up her nose, though she leaned over to give Sirius a high-five.
"Why are there so many people—" Amelia Bones sucked in a mouthful of air as she came to a sudden stop behind Regulus. "We've been invaded."
Professor McGonagall arrived right behind her. "Invaded indeed," said Professor McGonagall as she stepped into the room, her tone lined with authority. Her steely gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on each student.
"Professor," Ellis started, her voice clipped and professional, "the Dueling Club is members only. "They—" She jabbed a finger toward the Gryffindors, knowing she sounded like a petulant child. "—need to go."
"That's why we're joining the club," James interrupted smoothly, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. "To become members."
Ellis turned on James, fire in her voice. "This isn't a joke, Potter."
"Scared?" James shot back, his grin unfaltering. "You could use the competition, I think."
Before Ellis could retort, Regulus stepped forward, his voice quiet but cutting. "It's not competition if one side is woefully underqualified, Potter."
"Enough," Professor McGonagall said sharply. She stepped forward, her piercing gaze sweeping across the group. "If you wish to stay, you'll abide by the rules of this club. Petty squabbles and unnecessary disruption will not be tolerated. That said, joining a club in your seventh year is... unusual. If you're serious, you'll need to demonstrate that you're here in good faith."
"Demonstrate?" Ellis asked, rounding on McGonagall with barely contained fury.
"With a duel," McGonagall said crisply, her expression calm but firm. "You are the President of the Dueling Club, are you not, Ms. Selwyn? Surely you can evaluate whether they will be an asset or a hindrance."
After a pause, Ellis said, "I can." She wore a tight, seething smile.
"We've all been here since second-year, so it's only fair that they prove their skill rather than waste our time," said Amelia Bones, speaking up. She was a skilled dueler herself, and Ellis loved it when they were paired against one another.
Of course, no one mentioned the blatant fact that Ellis had let Regulus join without throwing up a fuss.
After some conversing between the seventh-year Gryffindors, Sirius was sent up as their champion. Ellis let out a rather heavy breath but folded her cloak on one of the empty chairs. McGonagall put up the shield charms that ensured their stray spells wouldn't accidentally strike one of the students. They were a strange sight. Sirius in his ripped t-shirt and jeans, Ellis in proper dueling leathers.
She walked to the far end of the platform, turned on her heel, and bowed. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You have manners, Black. Use them and bow."
Sirius sucked in his cheek, throwing James a dark look only to receive an encouraging nod back. He bowed stiffly. Ellis caught a glimpse of his wand. It was, fittingly, black and boxy in its shape.
The duel started with little warning.
Their wands flashed like blades through the air, spells jetting out in sparks of light across the room. Some bounced against McGonagall's shield missing their mark, others dissipated mid-air as they danced around one another.
Ellis felt every nerve in her body come alive as she ducked Sirius's volley of hexes. A flicker of scarlet light sizzled past her ear. She countered with a nimble swish of her wand, aiming a Stinging Hex that struck at Sirius's shoulder and forced him to pivot aside.
His eyes narrowed in concentration, and he made a wide cutting motion with his wand. A golden lash of fire shot from its tip. She had to respect the bravado, though it left him open for the barest moment. That was all the time she needed.
With a precise jab, she sliced his incoming jinx down the middle. Two arcs of gold fizzled harmlessly against McGonagall's protective barrier, but the impact reverberated through the room like a crack of thunder.
Sirius recovered fast. He spun on one heel and launched a wordlessExpelliarmus. Ellis recognized the slight shift in his wrist. She parried it. He sent a bright red stunner zipping past her shoulder. She felt its heat where it brushed her dueling jacket.
In the hush between spells, Ellis could almost hear Amelia Bones murmuring something about her temper. Sirius's hair hung in his eyes as he hurled a second stunner. This one Ellis deflected with an elegant upward sweep.
Ellis heard a goading whistle and cheers from the Marauders and felt her gut twist. With a whispered incantation, she cast a shimmering wave of blinding light toward Sirius, forcing him to shield his eyes. She used that moment to close the gap between them.
Her wand flicked forward for a quick jab.
The spell had left her wand before Ellis could stop herself from casting it. The terrible part of having a wand built for dueling is that it often acted, even if she herself was still contemplating what to do.Transmogrifian—illegal in the highest degree and fatal if used on a person.
Luckily, she had the sense to not aim directly at Sirius. The dummy behind him contorted and began to twist around itself, folding smaller until it had torn itself apart. Gasps of horror filled the room, and Sirius turned a pallid shade of grey. Sirius' gaze lingered on it for a moment. "Not fooling around, huh, Selwyn?"
Though Professor McGonagall should have stopped the duel immediately, she chose to let it continue.
His wand twisted in the air with a flourish. She had come to expect what spells he used by now. Stupefy was a favorite. Protego, a necessity. Petrificus Totalus. Impedimenta. Levicorpus. Expelliarmus. He did manage to catch her off guard with a rather terrible blasting charm that threw her against the back wall and then to the ground. Her nose cracked audibly, iron spewing into her mouth.
One of the dummies sprung to life, launching itself in the path of Sirius' spell while another flung itself at his legs, knocking him off balance. Ellis' next spell conjured a bundle of twisting snakes that crawled over his body, slipping into the sleeves of his robes and wrapping themselves around his ankles.
She had at least ten more at the ready, but he bellowed, "FINITE," blasting away the enchanted items and making the snakes disappear in a cloud of smoke.
NoxObscura.
Black smoke filled the dueling room, blocking all their vision and she threw two spells into the mist. The first missed, but the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. Sirius toppled and Ellis let out a harsh breath, dragging her sleeve over her face to mop up the blood seeping into her mouth.
"Sirius wins," announced Amelia Bones.
"W—What?" asked James.
"Do you need your eyes checked, Bones? He's the one on the ground."
"I used an illegal spell," Ellis muttered, mouth pinched. She knew the moment she thought it, she would lose, but the look of abject terror on his face was too good an opportunity to pass off. "I would've been disqualified in a real tournament."
"But, in real life…"
Rennervate. Sirius jolted awake. Ellis stepped back and bowed shortly and made her way off the dueling platform.
"Oi, Ellis," said Hesper Borgin, one of the Slytherin second-years, looking at her with bright eyes. "That was wicked cool."
Ellis smiled briefly.
Sirius rolled his eyes as his friends pestered him about his strategy. He didn't seem to be paying attention to them at all. Rather, he was watching Regulus with a somber look.
"Episkey," murmured Regulus. Her nose snapped back into place with a sharp, painful jolt. Another spell cleared away the blood, and a final sent a cool rush over her face, easing the pain and bruising. Ellis glanced in the mirror behind him, surprised to see she looked no different than when she arrived.
"It's a waste of talent for you not to be a Healer."
He paused and tilted his head at her. "Do you think so?"
"St. Mungo's is calling," she said. She could not imagine Regulus Black in lime-green robes, but there were all those radio-dramas about healers that Helena liked to listen to. Most of them ended up with the main characters shagging in the apothecary. "It's not crooked, is it? I don't want to end up looking like Professor Dumbledore."
He smiled faintly. "It's a bit pointy."
"My nose isn't pointy."
"A bit. Just at the end."
Her hand rose to it, "No, it's not."
With the matter of the Gryffindors joining settled, Ellis put them to task doing the grunt work of teaching the second years the rules of dueling. It forced them to quickly learn the rules themselves, including Rule 27 which explicitly listed the Spells, Hexes, and Jinx which were outlawed on an international level.
Professor McGonagall, who was not impressed by her knowledge of the Dark Arts, issued her a detention and took twenty-points from Slytherin for casting the curse. Ellis thought it was unfair, but she kept quiet, knowing that she would hear worse from her father when Professor McGonagall inevitably wrote to him about it.
At the end of the meeting, Ellis reminded everyone that they would have the first set of duels next week to start the season on their Hogwarts' Dueling Competition.
Everyone began to shuffle out of the room, though Regulus remained while Lily Evans wandered over to her. Ellis bit the inside of her cheek. She had nothing against her, but she wasn't sure why these Gryffindors simply assumed that she would throw her arms out and welcome them into her life.
"Ellis—"
"Selwyn, Evans. We aren't friends," she said sharply. "What do you want?"
Lily looked momentarily taken aback. "We just need more practice. All of us. Karkaroff's class is one thing, but I think we all realized that things are going to be very different outside of Hogwarts and—"
"You don't need to explain it," said Ellis, shaking her head. "I'm not mad at you. But, becoming friendly with Gryffindors sends a certain kind of message that will make people believe the wrong things about me. I might not call you a mudblood, but don't think I'm wary of using that word when I have to."
Her face shuttered, a hint of fury hiding behind her eyes. "I don't have any expectations when it comes to Slytherins."
"Good," said Ellis, firmly. "That'll keep you alive."
Lily's shoulders drew together. Ellis wanted her to go away. She thought back to Petunia's comment about Snape. Had she not learned what it was that they all were? The lengths they were willing to go to keep themselves afloat.
"You're very different at school."
"Hogwarts might feel like home to you, but it's not that for me." Ellis shifted uncomfortably. "I have a home outside of here."
"So do I."
Ellis didn't know what to say to that. She was sorry that she no longer knew how to live without a mask. That she only knew how to push and hurt, but what else could she do, but try and protect herself in the only way that she knew. Ned was strange like this too—always wanting to be with his friends, trusting them with his problems, throwing himself in harm's way to do the right thing. Maybe they assumed that Ellis would welcome the danger they presented with open arms, but she was not very brave.
"It isn't just a word," said Lily, before turning away. "Not when it's capable of killing."
"We're all capable of killing. Some of us more than others, but that's the difference between us. You would die for the people you love, and…well, I don't see any reason for me to die when I could just as easily get rid of the problem."
Lily left with a contemplative look on her face that Ellis hoped meant she was contemplating all the ways to never speak to her again. She sighed, rubbing the knot at the back of her neck. She was coiled so tight with tension that she felt one wrong would likely crack her in two. She waved her wand, setting the benches straight and repairing the fallen dummies.
"These are all yours," murmured Regulus, looking at the trophies stacked on one of the shelves on the far wall.
"I'm the current United Kingdom Dueling Champion," said Ellis, as if it embarrassed her to admit such a thing. "My mother wanted me to represent France, but father told me he'd disown me if I did. I'd probably do well on my own, but…"
"Out on the streets? I don't think you own a set of robes that sell below a hundred galleons."
"My uncle would take me in. He likes me."
"You've met him?"
Ellis threw him a strange look, though she knew what he meant. Her uncle was a Death Eater—that was an open secret that they all conveniently ignored on Christmas. "Why wouldn't I? He's my uncle."
Regulus opened his mouth to answer, no doubt to tell her where his allegiances lay, but decided against it. Ellis had asked him to join the club as a cover for their little lessons.
As Regulus had kept his side of the deal in secretly tutoring Michael Ainsley, she had no choice but to honor their agreement. Michael already knew a bit of Latin from singing in his church choir. He'd entertained a thousand questions from her about that and even Regulus seemed to be slightly intrigued despite the sickly look he constantly had on his face during his tutoring sessions
Ellis climbed back onto the dueling platform, gesturing for Regulus to join her as she took a seat. She took her wand out—13 inches, Aspen, phoenix feather, and unyielding. It had been the third wand that Ellis tried. It was white like ivory, twisted at the hilt like a unicorn's horn, and coming to sharp point at the other end. Mr. Ollivander told her that it was "capable of incredibly advanced magic in the right hand." A duelist's wand and it was.
"Put your wand next to mine and close your eyes."
He did so without asking why. Ellis had always liked Regulus' wand—though he spent a few weeks grumbling after Evan made fun of him from having a unicorn hair core. It was unembellished save for the subtle ridges at its hilt and rather long. Elegant. He had long fingers too, like a pianist. Ellis wondered if he knew how to play.
Last year, he had come back to Hogwarts pale and gaunt, looking as if he were two steps from joining the Bloody Baron as Slytherin's ghost. Now, he looked different. More like himself, but still restless. He'd grown taller, taller than Sirius—she was sure his brother hated it. The grief was gone. Numbed, maybe.
The sharp edges of his defensiveness seemed softened. Handsome, but he'd always been.
"Selwyn?"
Ellis cleared her throat. Her cheeks burned with a sudden wave of self-consciousness. She picked up both wands and shuffled them, swapping hands without warning. Each one felt entirely distinct. Regulus's wand was oddly lifeless, as if it would do nothing if she waved it. Her own wand ran hot across her palm—always thrumming, always itching to be used.
"Don't move your hands and don't open your eyes, and don't guess. Is—"
Regulus let out a breath, his lips thinning in faint amusement, "Is there anything Ishoulddo?"
"I never had to teach anyone before," admitted Ellis. "I'll prepare bett—"
"No, it's fine. I didn't mean anything by it."
She nodded and tried to still herself, hoping he didn't notice her nerves. "Is your wand on the left, or right?"
Regulus tilted his head slightly. His brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed tense. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his lips tightened. "I don't know."
"Try clearing your mind. Do you know how to do that—Occlumency training?" He nodded sharply, staying perfectly still, eyes closed. "Focus on the magic," she said. "It should feel like your pulse. Once you sense it, you should know which wand is yours."
She wasn't fully sure how to teach him. Had her mother taught her? Or simply ensured that the skill she had as a child never died? Ellis could still make the flowers in the garden blossom without her wand. Could still jump off her broom and float, not fall. She liked doing small tricks like that.
Regulus exhaled and shook his head, opening his eyes. "I'm not sure."
"It might be easier if you knew what my magic feels like," said Ellis. "Put your hands out."
Regulus did as she asked. She gathered her magic into her palms and placed them against his, willing him to feel the current that coursed beneath her skin. His magic, when it met hers, felt cool—like water soothing a fresh sunburn—dark and deep and somehow endless. Hers was a bright, steady warmth, like sunlight that could comfort just as easily as it could blister.
Regulus swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the place where their hands touched. "Your hands are cold."
Despite the differences in their magic, Regulus seemed to run hot. "They always are."
A faint tremor moved through him, but he held still, absorbing the sensation of Ellis's power flowing into his own. Ellis watched him carefully, counting every slow breath, every subtle flicker of his eyes.
"Do you feel it now?"
"Yes," Regulus murmured. His voice was distant, as if part of him had wandered deep inside himself.
Ellis nodded, relieved and pleased in equal measure. "That's magic."
She pulled away first and gestured back to the wands.
Regulus closed his eyes and, this time after she shuffled them, he chose without hesitation, picking up his own wand.
Things after that progressed rather quickly. Ellis's detention had served her well in attempting to uncover the mysteries of the second-floor lavatory given that she had been forced to organize and alphabetize old school records under Mr. Filch's supervision. She liked the man—he had the right idea about disciplining mischief-makers and Ellis had always thought that Hogwarts would undergo a vast improvement if he was left in charge of the task. She pulled aside all the ancient construction planning for the plumping in the school and stumbled across the student records, collecting anything she could on the Greengrass family to try and figure out how they might have become cursed in the first place.
Alchemy soon grew to be her favorite class and often, Ellis lingered afterwards to pick at Professor Dumbledore's mind.
"Please bring your favorite jam to class next session and I leave you with some words of wisdom for the weekend—Nettels. Billywig. Gossmer."
"I suppose that's the secret to the Philosopher's Stone," muttered Regulus, rolling his eyes as they left class. "Jam."
"Maybe it is."
"Don't entertain the fool."
"Do you hate jam? Has it done something terrible to you?"
"What does it matter?"
"You should have an opinion on anything that goes into your mouth."
He looked at her and then exhaled loudly. "What is a normal person meant to say to that?"
"That you like blueberry jam."
"What kind do you like?"
"Apricot."
"Then I like apricot."
She had a feeling that they had moved away from the issue of jam and were wading the waters in something more dangerous.
Though Regulus had no reason to, he had taken to following her to the Hospital Wing after their Friday classes. He always seemed to find himself trailing after her, his bag slung over one shoulder, and a practiced nonchalance masking his interest.
The Hospital Wing had become something of a second home to her. Helena's blood sample was stored securely in a vial enchanted to keep it fresh and untainted, sitting alongside a neat stack of books Professor Dumbledore had recommended, including some muggles ones that required her to learn what felt like a new language.
A wizarding microscope stood on the desk, a functional blend of brass and polished wood. Its lenses caught the light faintly, and the runes along the base operated to make it work. It could detect magical signatures and trace lingering spells in organic matter but had yet to be modified to detect the Dark Arts. She'd need to charm the lenses herself. She heard that one of the Aurors in her father's office had Dark Detectors hidden all over and wondered if it was worth asking him to send her one.
"Why are you always following me?" grumbled Ellis, feeling that she'd far too much of Regulus recently. He was everywhere. Her Dueling club, all her classes, save for Care of Magical Creatures, the common room. She was half expecting to go to her dorm room and find him sleeping in her bed.
"You never tell me to leave."
He smiled faintly when she glowered at him. Ellis opened up her notes, slapping his hands away when he reached for some of the papers she left loose. She hated nothing more than the order she created to be disrupted. It was a trait she had inherited from her father. Her mother's office was a mess, though she claimed to know where everything was and anytime Ellis entered the room, she had the sudden urge to clean.
"A binding spell?" he asked, reading over her shoulder.
"If I can isolate the curse, bind it to something, and then destroy that, wouldn't it cure Helena? A potion would be ideal, of course—it could benefit a lot of people and I'd be very rich, but it may be that the quickest way to break a curse might be to break it. And if I create a spell that specifically targets the magical anchor in blood maladies, then it could adapt to differences in the curses like that of a maledictus."
"I can't say if it's possible for magic, but you can bind a soul to an object," said Regulus.
Here, he frowned and looked deeply troubled, sickly almost. Ellis tilted her head, bidding him to continue.
"It's something terrible, but it…" He trailed off, mouth pressed into a deep frown. "It's not worth the price it requires."
"Then why would anyone go to those lengths?"
"Immortality," said Regulus, shaking his head. "Even if you were to fear death, the life you would live afterwards would be cursed."
Ellis scratched a quick note to herself. "Dark to undo Dark might not work, but if you don't mind finding whatever book it was you read that in, I'd appreciate it."
He sat watching her for a while as he usually did. Occasionally, he would annoy her with questions, pester her until she got angry and then laugh when she did, which was almost always. Sometimes she wanted to ask him to leave, but then she'd wonder if he'd be stuck with Snape and his group, if he and Barty were fighting, if Evan was being as cold to him as he was to her and held her tongue. It was better that he stayed at her side, where she'd know for certain that he wasn't somewhere doing something that would make her hate him forever.
"Have you ever thought about being an Unspeakable?"
"My mother says it's a lot of bureaucracy. The Ministry won't approve experiments unless it benefits them. I'd rather be a Curse Breaker, but…" It was a roughish profession, seen as grunt work without any of the privilege and benefits of working in the Ministry. It was considered disgraceful among purebloods to work for goblins.
Ellis didn't mind it. She found goblins to be entertaining. They were always grouchy and kept five-hundred-year-old grudges and had their own secret magic that wizards couldn't even attempt to do, let alone understand. Ellis thought, if given a chance, she might have been able to unlock their secrets.
She uncorked the sample and used her wand to bring out a single drop of blood onto a glass side. Madam Pomfrey had kindly taught her how to use the microscope and Ellis was getting better at identifying what she was seeing and its importance. She had no one to explain the relevance of muggle innovation too and their talk of science—part of her wondered if she understood it all, but Professor Dumbledore would always smile and nudge her in the right direction if she was veering off course during their talks.
Her hair swept over her shoulder, creating a curtain between her and him.
For a few moments, she was left alone, and she could almost forget him. Almost, but never. Almost, but now that he knew and could sense his magic, he was constantly testing the boundaries of her own, pushing and prodding, teasing. She might have made a monster of him.
Regulus stood to stand behind her, a subtle shift that made the air feel charged. She tried to ignore him, focusing on the faint coil of dark shadow wrapped around the field of red on the slide beneath the glass.
When he leaned over her shoulder, Ellis's breath caught, a sudden pulse of warmth spilling over her as Regulus's arm brushed hers. She became hyperaware of everything—the soft fabric of his sleeve against her skin, the slow, steady inhale as he surveyed her with an unwavering gaze.
Regulus reached out, taking hold of the falling locks of black hair. Ellis held her breath as he gently gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and slipped the hair tie from her wrist. His knuckles grazed her neck, sending an unexpected shiver across her skin.
It was so ordinary, so mundane, tying someone's hair, but the touch sparked down her spine. Everything seemed magnified. His precise, deliberate politeness, the faint tug along her scalp as he knotted her hair, the warmth of him at her back, the way he so casually touched her, yet never really touched her.
Ellis, unwillingly, thought to the way he looked when she caught him in an empty classroom last year, a girl—she couldn't remember who—pressed against a desk, the sharp cut of his hips snapping against her back, his hand tangled in her hair. All the while his gaze rested on her in the doorway. She had the sudden thought that he did all this on purpose, in the same way his fingers would sometimes skim her face leaving a burning trail.
"Better?"
Ellis nodded, unable to speak. She cleared her throat and leaned forward again; her vision now unobstructed. Though she was thoroughly fucked in every other sense—if he was this careful with her now, he would ruin her entirely if she let him.
Ellis's grip tightened around her quill. She took a slow breath, willing her heartbeat to steady.
She almost murdered Helena when she returned to the dorms for asking her about their Transfiguration assignment. Maddingly frustrated, knowing exactly why, exactly what was causing her to snap and be upset and knowing that there was no solution except the one she would never pursue—she went to the bathroom, washing her face with icy water, and then apologized when she came out.
Her mother would tell her to find someone, anyone, and a clean broom closet—the one on the fourth floor, west of the charms classroom—and scratch the itch. It was never an easy thing to live with a woman who studied love, but it led to conversations that had aided Ellis immensely when she was awkwardly watching her body change in ways that were frightening. But it also meant that she was pestered a bit more than normal about her love life—or lack of one.
"Let me see it," Ellis said after she'd finally convinced Helena to accept her apology. "I'll check it over."
"I don't know if you should," Helena replied, her tone clipped as she clutched her assignment to her chest.
They were discussing Animagi in class and it led to wild claims of people saying they would turn into tigers or dragons. Ellis was certain that half the class would be mice—common and boring. After looking over Helena's assignment, the two of them walked to class together.
"If I were ever to go through the trouble and end up as arodent, I'd hang myself off the Whomping Willow," said Ellis. A month of holding a leaf in your mouth? How did one brush their teeth or eat? It sounded unhygienic and Ellis didn't think she would ever bother becoming an Animagus.
"I think you'd be a cat—those furless, ugly ones that look as bitter as a widow."
"Widows aren't bitter. They're the happiest women on Earth. They only look dour because the weight of all the galleons they've inherited crushes their spines."
"Aside from that—" Helena reached out and pinched her. "—what would I be? Something sleek, I think. Like a bird."
"A vulture, obviously."
She earned a slap for that and decided to add 'abusive' to her description of Helena.
"Maybe, a starling?"
"Please, I'd be a hawk," said Helena. Ellis threw her a look, wondering why she'd bothered asking her. Helena ignored it. "People say that your Animagus shape coordinates to your Patronus, so we'll have to cast one and check. We might be the lucky few who have happy memories to aid us."
Professor McGonagall started class with another demonstration of her animagus form. Ellis found it rather charming that her spectacles turned into visible marks around her eyes. Ellis was still a bit angry with the woman for issuing her a detention, so she spent most of the class flourishing her wand rather dramatically when it came time to transfigure their lizards into armoires, adding a few unnecessary embellishments to the wood that earned her a sigh and five points.
Helena huffed dramatically as the pair exited the stone-walled classroom once the lesson was over. "Show-off," she declared with an exasperated expression. "And you wonder why people dislike you?"
Ellis, clutching a freshly graded parchment in her arms, lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Envy is the root of all evil."
Helena's lips twisted into a half-smile. "Is it, Ellis? Is it really?"
Ellis only offered a bland grin in response.
A bustling group of students brushed past them, and Helena took the opportunity to seize Ellis by the sleeve and steer her down the corridor. "Quidditch practice," she announced, as though it were the most logical transition in the world.
Ellis hesitated, but Helena forged ahead. "Are you coming along?" Helena asked, scarcely waiting for an answer before hauling her in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, lighting the dust dancing in the air. "You might as well fly with me for a bit," she explained. "We're going to lose the Cup with the team we've got. Mulciber and Avery spend more time thinking of ways to knock people off their brooms than how to beat back the Bludgers. Rookwood's only on the team because of his father. Black and I are the only two who can tell twig from handle."
"You should become Captain next year," she offered, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face as they stepped out onto the grounds. The warmth of summer was gone and a fierce wind blew, ruffling their robes. The trees, once green and vibrant, were now turning shades of red, yellow, and orange.
Helena scoffed. "You know they'll give it to Black," she said, shrugging as they trod the well-worn path to the Quidditch pitch. "Three girls in a row? The whole house might combust."
"Should we curse the position then? We probably could make it so any boys that get appointed get some painful growths on their—"
"Tempting," Helena replied with a wicked grin, "but that will backfire on you somehow."
They took the long way to the Quidditch pitch, chatting quietly with one another. Helena asked her about her arm, which was healing as best it could. It no longer bled and had begun to scar over, but sometimes Ellis felt an ache when she overextended it. Her father would be furious with her for not telling him as soon as it happened, but it was best to ask for forgiveness once the danger had passed. Helena's mother had written to her recently and promised to come visit during their first Hogsmeade trip to hear a bit more about Ellis' project, even offering her own sample and some family history on the curse. Helena must've told her father as well, because Ellis had received an invitation to tea at their house over the winter break.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grass, and the faint tang of broom polish and sweat filled the air. Players were already assembling, brooms slung over shoulders and voices ringing out in idle chatter.
Helena stopped at the edge of the pitch, tilting her face to the sky. A few Slytherins were hovering above the field, their green-trimmed robes catching the wind in fluttering snaps. Mulciber and Avery circled each other like hawks eyeing prey, exchanging words that were too low to catch—though from their sideways smirks, it was almost certainly something unsportsmanlike.
"Cheerful bunch," Ellis remarked.
Despite Helena's efforts to get her on a broom, Ellis ended up in the stands, watching as Lucinda yelled at everyone about the new Quidditch plays she dreamed up. The two new chasers were both young and Helena's frustration with them grew as they broke formation to try and score a goal on their own. Teamwork was never Slytherin's strong suit and most of their games were won narrowly, thanks to Regulus' efforts in catching the snitch.
Her eyes found Regulus as he lazily flew laps around the pitch. His posture was effortless—every inch the talented flier he claimed to be. He glanced down at them, a faint smirk curving his lips, before speeding off with a newfound passion.
"Quidditch fan?"
Ellis tensed and turned to find Ludovic Bagman stalking toward her. Ludo, as he was called, was a tall, blue-eyed, blond with rosy skin and an athletic build. He was a superb beater and would likely go professional if the opportunity arose, but he had a rather nasty vice in his gambling habits. And he owed half of House Slytherin money. He had an outstanding debt of 150 galleons with Barty alone, so she couldn't imagine how much he'd squandered from the rest of them.
Barty liked to take his payment by practicing the new curses he'd learned on Ludo, but Ellis had learned quickly to operate in paper with the man. She'd never place a bet without a Gringotts slip exchanged between them and would go cash in whenever they had break. As such, Bagman very rarely approached her. He was also terribly frightened by the notion of Ellis mentioning his name to her parents, both of which worked at the Ministry with Ludo's father.
He must've been feeling particularly lucky that afternoon though.
"Made a bit off your brother, Selwyn. No one had any hopes in him, but me."
"Hmm."
Bagman took that as an invitation to sit with her much to her displeasure. Madge Farley, who was sitting nearby hoping to get a glimpse of the team with her friends, made a sympathetic sound.
"I've been thinking—"
"I didn't know you could think. Congratulations."
Bagman blinked and then laughed, knocking his shoulder with her own. Ellis scooted away. "See, that sense of humor is exactly what draws people in. What do you think about going to Hogsmeade with me?"
"Hogsmeade?"
"Best to start these things early." He leaned over with a grin, "Besides, we could get to know each other before then."
Her mouth curled back, disgust flitting across her face. "I already know everything I need to about you."
"I'm sure I can change your opinion."
"Then you've taken a few too many Bludgers to the head."
"I'm doing you a favor, Selwyn. Most guys are scared of you, so it'll be hard to find someone to ask you out. I've just volunteered."
She hexed him thoroughly for saying that and then took fifty-points from Hufflepuff and threw in a week's worth of detention as a bonus. She had no doubt that he'd tell the whole school something nasty about her, but Ellis didn't really care about people's opinions of her. He ran off, bats flying from his nose and into his hair while his hands and feet began to bubble up with boils.
Madge and her friends swooped in like birds pecking at freshly scattered seeds, the sound of their excited chatter filling her ears. It was clear they had overheard every mortifying moment with Bagman.
"I can't believe how rude that was!" Madge exclaimed, hair slipping out of her ponytail as she shook her head. "Even if they were scared of you, that's a stain against their character, not yours."
"We'll find you a date," added Ursula Flint, nodding fiercely. "Don't worry about it."
Ellis couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She wasn't worried. She found it a bit taxing to make room for a whole another person in her life. She was used to doing things on her own and often forgot to include other people in those calculations.
Eager to steer the conversation away from her personal life, Ellis asked the girls, "How has the term been so far? Have you started revising for your O.W.L.s yet?"
Her question drew immediate—and identical—wide-eyed stares from Madge, Ursula, and the other girls. They exchanged anxious glances, as though they were suddenly recalling a very important assignment left undone.
"Are we supposed to?" Madge ventured, uncertain.
"It's a good idea to start early," Ellis replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her thoughts drifted momentarily to the piles of notes she had back home. "I still have my outlines from last term—I'll write to my father tonight and have him send them along, so you can use them for review. If you have any questions before the exams, you can ask me."
They were friendly, and Ellis saw it as a lingering mark of Narcissa Black's influence that such an attitude had never been fostered among her and the other girls in her dorm. Ellis learned that Barty and Evan had been fighting in the bathroom between class and Barty got himself hexed badly; recounted by Alaric Rookwood. When asked why the fight began—Barty was the type to anger people, but Evan normally didn't let himself get worked up—no one had an answer. Apparently, Dolores Umbridge, an unfortunate girl in their house whose singular skill was uniting Ellis' dorm around a common enemy, had recently begun saying that her father was part of a pureblood family to get a position at the Ministry.
She watched the players on the pitch, half-listening as Madge and Ursula trotted out new rumors. Mulciber had supposedly been spotted in Knockturn Alley over the summer, Avery had boasted that his cousin was had assumed a high position in the Ministry, and on and on. Ellis offered a comment now and then.
Once practice was over, Ellis excused herself. "I've got to go," she said, tightening her hold on her robes. They uttered their goodbyes, still chattering amongst themselves.
She left them behind in the stands. The wind whipped her hair, dislodging a few strands from the tie she'd hastily fastened it with. Below, Helena swooped around, shouting instructions; Mulciber and Avery soared dangerously close to one another. Regulus hovered a bit off to the side, ignoring them, his posture aloof.
Ellis paused, eyes lingering a second longer than necessary on his lithe figure perched on a broom. Then, remembering herself, she turned and walked back toward the castle, stepping around a crate of Quidditch balls that had been left in the grass.
Up in her dorm, Ellis found it blissfully quiet. Ellis breathed out a long sigh and sagged onto her bed. At least for a moment, she had space. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye, letting the tension drain. Sometimes, she'd just like to hide here, behind her bed curtains, and let the world vanish.
Sometime later, Helena came trudging in, Quidditch robes draped over her arm and a sour expression on her face. "We're incompetent," she announced, dropping onto her own bed. "And hopeless. Dumbledore might as well take us out of the running now and spare us the humiliation."
Ellis arched an eyebrow. "So, we're definitely going to lose the Cup?"
Helena let out a despairing groan. "Yes."
"Well," Ellis grimaced blandly. "Don't mind it if I support a winning side then."
Helena struck her with a pillow.
THE FAILED WAGER
The day after his humiliating run-in with Ellis Selwyn, Ludo Bagman slipped into the boys' bathroom on the third floor, carefully checking over his shoulder before pushing the door closed behind him. The smell of pine cleaner hung in the air. He paused at the sink, inspecting his reflection for any lingering signs of bat-bogey damage.
A trickle of water dripped from a cracked faucet into the basin beside him. He twisted the tap, rinsing his face. His cheeks still stung slightly where Ellis's spell had landed, but at least he'd managed to avoid any further ridicule since yesterday.
He heard a creak behind him—someone pushing open the heavy door. Ludo glanced up at the mirror. It was Regulus Black, lean and sharp-featured, dark hair parted neatly, wearing a perpetually bored look. Ludo instinctively tightened his grip on the sink's porcelain edge.
"You're jumpy," Regulus noted, stepping up to the cracked mirror at the far end to straighten his tie.
"Just cautious," Bagman muttered. He shook the water from his hands, trying to sound casual.
Regulus cast him a sidelong look. "Smart, aren't you?"
"Have to be." Bagman lifted his hands, smiling a bit. "Picking a fight with you lot usually ends badly."
Regulus gave a derisive snort and folded his arms, but he didn't leave. "Every move you make ends badly for you, Bagman."
Bagman wiped his hands on his robes, eyes darting once more to the bathroom door. Satisfied they were alone, he lowered his voice. "With some luck that might change. I've been thinking of starting up a new wager."
Regulus' lip curled. "Oh?"
"A bet on who can get Selwyn to agree to a date—dinner in Hogsmeade, stroll by the lake, whatever—as long as it's by the Yule Ball. If there's enough interested parties and they all throw in a few Galleons…" He let the sentence trail, tapping the bulge of coins in his inner robe pocket. "You can see how big the pot might get. Course, if no one manages it, I get to keep the earnings."
Silence hummed in the tiled bathroom. Regulus stared at Bagman, considering. The slow drip from the faucet kept time.
"And what if she catches wind?"
"Then whoever tries has got bigger problems than collecting Galleons," Bagman said, a mirthless grin creeping across his face. "I'll keep the bets quiet, under the table, so to speak. You just pass it on to a few safe people. Only those who can mind their tongues."
He let the proposal hang.
There was a profound stillness in the air, and Bagman swallowed hard. He forced a laugh that died quickly when Regulus's wand lifted an inch. "Look, it's no big deal—just a little harmless fun," Bagman babbled, flinching backward until he hit the sink.
"Harmless fun," Regulus repeated softly, taking one deliberate step forward. "Is that what you call it?"
Regulus flicked his wand tip toward Bagman in a slow, deliberate motion that made the other boy's blood go cold. "Did you not just offer her up as if she's some prize to be won?" he asked, the razor edge in his voice cutting deeper than any shout.
Bagman licked his lips, sweat beading at his brow. "It's— it's not like that."
Regulus stepped closer, invading Bagman's space until there was barely a hair's breadth between them. His eyes were dark and cool as he seized Bagman by the collar of his robes, forcing him to meet his gaze. "I don't believe you."
"Let's just—let's just forget I said anything then," Bagman pleaded. He cleared his throat, casting a desperate glance at the door. "You know how Selwyn is. Most of those blokes won't even try—"
"Watch your mouth," ordered Regulus, in a low hiss. Regulus's wand came up in a swift motion, pressing beneath Bagman's chin, forcing his head back. The tang of iron rose in the air, and Bagman felt his stomach twist with real fear.
"Look, I'm sorry—" Bagman began.
"Shut up."
Regulus tightened his grip on the wand. A white-hot spark flickered at the tip, scorching the tiny hairs under Bagman's jaw. The other boy let out a strangled yelp, pressing himself against the sink to get away.
"Utter her name again and I'll make sure you lose something very precious." His lips curved in an ugly, humorless smile. "Feel free to use your imagination."
Panic spiked in Bagman's eyes. He tried to nod but the slightest movement only drove Regulus's wand deeper. He sucked in a shuddering breath.
"Oscausi."
Bagman's entire mouth disappeared. He lurched, eyes bulging as his hands flew up to his face. Regulus released him with a shove. Bagman stumbled back against the sink, panic curling his fingers.
"There," Regulus said calmly, stowing his wand inside his robes. "Isn't that better?"
With one final contemptuous glance, he swept out the door, leaving Bagman alone, trembling and mute in the echoing silence.