A/N: I couldn't really fit this into the next chapter, so it has become one on its own. Timeline may be a bit confusing, as it starts before even the Prologue, but it ends up in the present, about the time where we left Harry in the chapter prior. Speaking of which, there’s something I should clear up: the green dome had not really anything to do with a Killing Curse. It was simply wild magic/accidental magic/whatever you want to call it. I probably shouldn't have coloured it green, but oh well.
Big thanks to the folks at DLP; Voldemort became quite a bit better due to your help.
So anyway, chapter ahead – and if you don’t care for the short scene with Bella in front of the mirror, blame Happy the House-Elf, not me.
By That Last Candle’s Light – Interlude: In Magic, Blood and Death
What are the boundaries of magic?
Everyone knows, for example, the five principal exceptions in the field of Transfiguration, of which my dear predecessor Alanius Gamp reasoned in such an admirable and plausible way and acquired its theoretic founding. Another one commonly known is the vita-ex-morti, in its more in-depth form relating to the disequilibria of life; where the life force of one person can restore aspects of life of a second, as there are: health, youth or beauty; yet even used fully, resulting in the poor person’s demise, never to create or bring back a third. For obvious reasons, research has been outlawed for more than 400 years, however, for a man willing to risk the harshest of penalties and employ …
Adalbert Waffling, Mysteries of Magic Part I: The Last Border
The heavy curtains were closed, barring out the bright sun, that would have peaked into the spacious bedroom at this time in the morning. She stood in the semidarkness, with only the silken bedsheet around her, in front of the large mirror, and scowled. She couldn’t make out any details of her reflection, but there was no need. She knew how she looked, and so she stared disgusted at the mirror, showing this mockery of her, even if she couldn’t see it – it was an insult to the name of Black.
Roughly five months had passed since the Dark Lord had helped her escape from Azkaban, and some of her former beauty had returned, but not all. Why couldn’t she have it all back? It used to be so, that she and Narcissa were equals and opposites; fair to dark; calm, collected and most of all, boring, to, oh … yes, lively, outgoing and interesting; but they were both beautiful, of course. Now Narcissa was still a beauty, but she no longer; nothing but a pale shadow of her former self.
That simply wasn’t fair. She cocked her head, feeling tresses of her long black hair softly caressing her bare shoulder. Well, if that was so, it had to be remedied.
Pleased with her reasoning, she let her thoughts wander, to six names … the six names. Scrimgeour, Dawlish, Patterson, McDonald, Smith, and above all, the leader of the squad, Alastor Moody. Six names for almost fourteen years of Azkaban. Six names that had turned her into this. That was a lot of time to pay them back for, wasn’t it?
She nodded to herself.
Yes, of course it was, and she would get them, one after the other. Chasing them, hunting them, fighting them. Now that the Dark Lord had returned, it was simply a matter of time. He would declare his presence to the world soon, and the glorious days would be back once more, the fights, where nothing mattered but skill and power, crushing the weak, rewarding the powerful … power was might. She had power. And she would have her revenge.
She felt the thrill again, deep inside her … there was nothing like a fight. She thought of the curses she would use and shivered in anticipation. Stretching out her left hand, she called for her wand, and obediently, the Black Ash vanished from the small, forest green cushion at her bedside table, and appeared in her hand.
She pointed it at the mirror, imagining Moody on the ground, below her wand; and whispered almost lovingly: “Intus invers.”
The blue light streaked out from the dark tip, hitting the mirror; which began to bulge outside at once, more and more, until it burst into thousands of shards that flew across the room. Quite a few hit her, one cutting a long gash across her right cheek.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Just like that.”
A drop of blood ran down into the corner of her mouth, thick and sweet. Black blood. Magical blood. Pure blood. Blood and power, she tasted both, and it never failed to get her excited, causing her imagination to run wild.
The grizzled man crawling on the ground, at her feet. His stomach bulging, his insides pressing against the abdominal wall, straining it to the burst … finally, it tore open, spilling coiled entrails out, yellow liquid leaked to the ground … The flesh of his belly curling back, opening the tear further to make room for his stomach that was pushing out, while his intestines were starting to wrap around his legs like grey snakes …
Her breathing had become heavy, she felt her fingers at her hot core, long since having sneaked under the sheet, down, further down, to where she felt the heat building. Tracing her outer lips, they closed in, inching towards her centre … she could feel her slick wetness, spreading rapidly. Panting, she plunged a finger deep inside while her thumb flicked over her clit, teasing it. As if of it’s own volition, her body arched against her hand, writhing, demanding more. A deep moan tore itself from her lips.
His spinal cord bending, further and further, his back arched up, sharply, until in a scream of agony erupted from his mouth that excited her to unknown heights … it finally snapped. His head twitched once, then lay still … and still his entrails were pushing … out, everything out, until the entire area was covered blood, gore, body fluids and nothing was left inside of his body, completely turned inside out … Yes!
She felt her body burn, a film of glistening sweat covering her exposed neck, her head thrown back. Another finger had joined the first, slowly starting to fill her, and she stuck in a third, moving back and forth, while she tasted more blood, more …
Pop!
“Mistress Lestrange, I is wanting to … oh, no! What’s happen?”
Her head jerked around, and she stared angrily at a House-Elf, which was busy waving its hands around, tidying up the shards, before it turned towards the mirror, running its fingers along the frame.
“What do you think you are doing?” she barked at the pathetic creature.
“I is … is… I…”
“Repairing the mirror. Did I tell you anything in that regard?”
The House-Elf was now cowering on the ground, pulling at its long ears.
“No,” it moaned horrified. “No, yous did not, Mistress. Happy did wrong. Oh, bad Happy. Bad, bad Happy. Happy will punish itself, oh yes, it will.”
She tried to calm herself. Mother had always told her not to damage the furnishing.
“I should hope so, you useless thing, but away from my eyes. Get out of my sight! I was having most pleasant thoughts, until you interrupted me.”
The House-Elf crawled away, but then seemed to remember something, and turned back around, glancing up at her fearfully.
“But Mistress, there was –”
She felt her temper rising. What was it with this stupid thing?
“Out!”
She flicked her wand, and banished it across the room, through the open door, against the opposite wall of the corridor. At the impact, something snapped with an audible, satisfying crack. The House-Elf was wailing loudly.
“Bad Happy. Happy deserved its arm broken, yes it did. It will break its other arm as well to punish –”
Bang.
Another wave, and the door shut; and finally, she was left alone. But the mood wouldn’t return. Annoyed, she let the sheet slide down to the ground, and headed for the second door that let into the adjacent bathroom. Thinking about what would happen was all well and good, but she wanted to do it. Now. She couldn’t wait for the next summoning of the Dark Lord, that would mark the begin of his return to the rest of the world. Maybe she could suggest her plans to him?
Until that time, though, she could read what she would need to become beautiful once more. She bit her lower lip, thinking. Where to start?
She entered the black marble-clad bathroom. Her bare feet padded over to the bath that was set into the floor. Idly tracing the white veins in the stone with her fingers, she got an idea.
“Happy!”
With a small pop, the House-Elf returned. Both of its arms were bent at odd angles, hanging uselessly at its side, and red blisters covered its hands.
“Mistress called?” it squeaked.
“Obviously,” she snapped. “I want to take a bath. Also, bring me the Recueil Noir, and spell it waterproof.”
Without another word, the House-Elf vanished, to return moments later with the old, black book floating in front of it. The book was placed on the small, wooden stool next to the bath tube; at which the House-Elf busied itself, while she tapped her feet impatiently. Finally, it closed the tab, using both hands.
“It is done, Mistress,” it said, its voice wavering, before it crumbled to the floor; but vanished before it hit the ground.
She lowered herself into the nice, hot bath, and picked up the book, starting to leaf through it.
~*~
Only a short time later, she was interrupted once again, this time by a shriek.
“Bella? Are you –? Bella! Is that the Collection you have in your bath?”
The book was ripped from her grasp by two delicate hands, and she looked up to see their owner clutching the black book like a precious child against the front of her fine Dress-Robes, while staring at her horrified, blue eyes wide.
“What were you thinking, reading it here?”
The blonde stroked over the book, looking for wet patches.
Bellatrix pouted. “What do you have against me reading it, Cissy?”
Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, rolled her eyes. “In the bath, Bella. It is written in ink. You read a book in a library.”
Now Bellatrix rolled her eyes.
“You read books in a library. Just like you have it off with Lucius in your bed only, am I right?”
Narcissa wasn’t moved in the slightest. “There is a proper time and place for everything. You never learned that.”
Bellatrix smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind that time when I laid you with your back on the kitchentable and –”
“I was young.” The tone was the same, but the faintest trace of red had appeared on her cheeks.
A House-Elf had appeared, and began washing Bellatrix’s back with a sponge.
“Give it back,” she said to her older sister. “Obviously, I spelled it water-proof. And anyway, libraries are dusty and mouldy. Only you would like reading books there.”
Narcissa ran her wand over the book, examining the charm, before hading it over tentatively, and seating herself on the stool.
“What are you looking for, then?”
Bellatrix flicked a few pages, before beaming up at her.
“I’m going to become beautiful again, Cissy. As beautiful as I was, before they threw me into that cell.”
Her tone had become darker, and much colder at the end of the sentence, carrying, once more, an icy promise.
But then, she brightened again.
“We’re going to be complementary mirrors once more, just like it used to be. Here, look.” She trusted the book into the hands of her sister. “I only need to borrow the Ars Pulchritudinis for the potion. You still possess it?”
Narcissa was reading through the passage.
“Yes, of course I do, but …” She read the sentence again. “Bella! Where would you get a living human being?”
Bellatrix waved the concerns of her sister away.
“When the Dark Lord announces his return, there’ll be enough, Cissy. I can get one then.”
The other woman shook her head. “Apart from that, it might work. Of course, you’ll have to take care to follow exactly what –”
“Yes!” she said annoyed. “You know that I was always just as good at potions as you were!”
Suddenly, she remembered that she was in the bathroom with her sister.
“How come you are here, though, Cissy? I would have greeted you in the drawing room, had I known of your arrival beforehand.”
Getting a second thought, and eyeing her sister up and down, she added: “Of course, you could always shed those bulky robes of yours and join me in the bath? The water is lovely.”
Narcissa shook her head. “You are impossible. But you didn’t know? I told a House-Elf to announce me.”
Bellatrix shrugged, pushing some of the foam from her shoulders.
“Stupid thing forgot to mention it, then. Is it business about the Dark Lord? His plan for the day after tomorrow? Rodolphus is out.”
She sounded a bit frosty at that name, and her sister picked it up at once, while shaking her head at the question before.
“Is everything alright? Do you think he should be outside when they are still searching you?”
She shrugged once again, noticeably uninterested.
“He’ll be careful.”
“Then what?”
Bellatrix glowered at the dark tiles.
“Azkaban was hard on him, harder than on me. He just isn’t what he used to be. Can you believe I defeated him in duel in less than a minute the day before yesterday? He is … frail. Weak. The spirit, the fire … most of what I admired in the young man is gone. Poor Rudy.”
Narcissa tilted her head.
“But he never was your equal. Not really. No one ever was, apart from him.”
“That may be so, but it was … not like this.” She climbed out of the bath tube, wrapping herself in a soft towel, handed to her by the House-Elf, and changed the topic. “If not official business, then what brings you? Or were you simply bored?”
Narcissa sniffed, as they walked back into the bedroom, where the mirror was now completely disassembled, and the curtains open; lightening up the room furnished with mostly dark wood.
“I am never bored, as you well know. No, Draco is taking his Owls, and had the Potions exam yesterday. When Lucius was at the Ministry in the morning to arrange a clear path, he asked old Marchbanks. He’ll get a perfect Outstanding, can you believe it?”
Bellatrix threw her a look, and began to dress.
“Well, at least something he seems to have inherit from your side. He looks almost like a carbon copy of Lucius these days – only without being as competent as he is.”
“He is not that bad, Bella.”
“He is a whiny little brat,” noted Bellatrix. “He is hiding behind Lucius, and relies on him for the solutions of his own problems. Makes me happy that I never had children.”
Narcissa frowned.
“Well, if that really is your opinion, then how about you start teaching him a few things when he comes back home for the holidays? You were always better than I at Occlumency, for example; you could …”
~*~
As Bellatrix walked from the Dungeon, across the hall, her thoughts were fixed on the potion she’d just left. It had nearly taken a month, but now it was finished; it had finally turned pure white, just as it was supposed to.
Normally, she’d have gone to Cissy, but Cissy was still sulking about Lucius getting caught and shipped to Azkaban (as if he would be there for long), and about the task Draco had been assigned (as if it wasn’t an honour to be chosen for a task from the Dark Lord). So she felt not particularly inclined to share the news at this very moment; and the Dark Lord had called anyway.
Really, she thought huffing, even Draco had seemed pleased at the prospect. It looked like he’d finally started to grow a spine, now that Lucius wasn’t quite able to adhere to his every whim. So what was Cissy’s problem, then?
Her steps echoed through the empty hall which was semi-dark, with a few lit lamps; but the light was not able to drive away all the shadows that were clinging doggedly to the walls and obscuring the expensive elegance of the manor.
She reached the door and did what no other person would’ve dared; she simply threw it open.
The room wasn’t lit any brighter than the hall. The only source of light was a fire; the Dark Lord preferred it that way. He was sitting in a upholstered carved chair, sideways to the heath; one half bathed in a reddish glow, the other draped in deep shadows.
The fire flickered as the air moved, through the open door; the spidery shadows scurrying over walls, tapestries and a huge bookshelf, on the far side of the room.
“Well?”
The Dark Lord raised his voice, and for a moment, Bellatrix thought he had addressed her, when she noticed the small form across from him, sitting on a simple chair. He fidgeted nervously under the crimson gaze that never once left him.
“Y-yes, my Lord. As – as you requested, I –”
His small, fearful eyes flickered to her, and he seemed to shrink even more in his chair. Bellatrix looked at him in disgust. What business had the Dark Lord with the Rat?
She didn’t advance further, but remained in the doorway. The Dark Lord never gave any indication that he had noted her presence, but of course he knew. He always knew. Wormtail started up once again, coughing slightly.
“I have the list, here –”
She saw him pulling something out of his cloak, and handing it to the Dark Lord, who took it and didn’t look at it for more than a second, before he handed it back.
“Wormtail.” His voice was even, even pleasant, perhaps, but Bellatrix knew better. He loved playing these games.
“Would you mind reading it for me? It is your achievement, after all.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
He sounded much more confident now, seemingly reassured by the Dark Lord’s words, maybe even proud. Stupid little rat. He should have known better, really, he should. So sad … to see you go … A little grey rat on the ground, bursting on the side and spilling entrails, as the heel of a shiny black boot drills itself into it …
She started to breath a little faster, but Wormtail’s annoyingly whiny voice ripped her from her daydreams.
“Caption: Complete list of all persons ever on guard duty at Target Area, by Peter Pettigrew, also known as ‘Wormtail’.”
His eyes flickered to the Dark Lord, who sat in his chair motionless.
“Alastor Moody, Hestia Jones, Nymphadora Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Bill Weasley, Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance.”
“Fine, fine, Wormtail. What do you suppose I should do with that?”
If he had been proud before, he now nearly bursting with pride, having been asked for his opinion.
“Well, like you told me, my Lord – you want to visit –” his eyes flickered to Bellatrix “– the place, and needed a list to decide when the best time to do that would be. I had my unique abilities, spied on them, and now, as you have the list, you can go.”
“Can I, Wormtail? Can I?”
In a fluid motion he had risen, and was now towering over the Rat, the until-now well concealed rage finally showing in his movements and his voice; which never rose, just turned into a menacing hiss.
“Tell me, how am I suppose to decide that, if you didn’t list the times of the shifts?”
Wormtail had finally realised that everything was, in fact, not alright. Not at all. Bellatrix watched gleefully as he cowered under the looming figure of her master. Insinuate that she wasn’t to know the details from his pathetic mission, would he? As if she wasn’t the Dark Lord’s most trusted! He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it.
“No answer, then, Peter? Again I ask: What do you suppose I should do with that?”
“I’m sorry Master – I – I didn’t think –”
“I don’t need you to tell me that! This paper is effectively useless.”
The Dark Lord flicked his hand, which suddenly held his wand, and the paper in Wormtail’s hand started to glow from the inside, before bursting into flames. He released it with a yelp. Small flakes of ash fell on the ground.
“This is what do with it! And now listen carefully, Wormtail, because you are rapidly approaching the same level of usefulness to me as this sheet of parchment.”
He pointed to the ashes. The Rat started to shake in his chair, not missing the obvious message. Bellatrix leaned forwards in eager anticipation.
“I gave you specific instructions, yet you failed me. You always wanted a reward for your help before, now you shall have what you asked for, though perhaps not in the way you –”
“Master, please!”
The wand twitched.
The Rat was now kneeling at his feet, shaking like a leaf, under the slim wand which was pointed at him.
“Maybe I can – I didn’t fail … completely? Just … halfway?”
The Dark Lord eyes seemed to drill holes into his head.
“Failing halfway, Wormtail? You mean to say, you cannot even fail properly?”
He flinched, but continued speaking hastily.
“If you want to visit it, the best time to do so would be on Mundungus Fletcher’s shift. He is not very observant, and –”
Bellatrix saw the magic explode from the Dark Lord. In a sudden burst of rage, Wormtail was flung back against the wall of the study where he remained stuck, unable to move. He made choking noises, and she realised delightedly that the magic was slowly, deliciously suffocating him, while the Dark Lord gave free rein to his fury.
“Do you think I allow myself to be mocked? By you? What use is that information to me if I don’t know when he is there, you brainless worm?”
The head of the Rat slammed repeatedly against the wall while he was clawing at his throat, desperately trying to dislodge the grip from the invisible hand of magic; trying to form words and failing. The Dark Lord wore a razor-thin smile as he inclined his head and stepped closer, now only inches away from the helpless man on the wall.
“If you want to say something, do try to speak up a bit, Wormtail. I don’t think I can hear you.”
The Rat gasped and spluttered, while the pressure on his throat started to leave purple bruises.
“Y-yes, but … he – there – right … now – !” he choked out. Even between all the other noises he made, his tone sounded clearly desperate.
The Dark Lord stared down at him for a tense minute, unrelenting, then turned away; his robe swishing behind him. Wormtail fell to the ground in a boneless heap, painfully gulping in huge amounts of air.
“Get out of my sight before I decide that you did, in fact, fail completely and not just halfway. Go to Snape and assist him with whatever he needs. Maybe that is something not above your abilities.”
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you for –“
Wormtail went flying again.
“Do I have to repeat myself?”
He crawled out of the room on all fours, as fast as possible, passing a very disappointed Bellatrix on his way out.
“Bella.”
His voice was light again, never indicating he had been enraged only moments before; a testament of his control over his emotions.
“You called for me?”
She thought, quickly. What could he want? He had been angry with her failure at the Ministry, but it seemed unlikely that this summon would have to do with that. Too much time had passed … put perhaps – she dared to hope it – he had forgiven her now?
The Dark Lord inclined his head.
“It would seem that way.”
His white, mask-like face showed a faint scowl, as he walked over to the heath, standing with his back to her.
“Due to Wormtail’s blunder we have not the time I wished for …”
A pause stretched, the silence only disrupted by the soft cracking of the fire as the logs suddenly shifted. He seemed deep in thought, and Bellatrix took care not to disturb him. Finally, he spoke.
“I heard you are preparing a certain potion?”
She nodded, surprised; then remembered that he couldn’t see it in his back.
“Yes, my Lord. It is completed; the only thing left is to do the ritual and drink it.”
Of course, the question was not how he knew, it was simply why he was interested.
“Tell me more about it. You need a human sacrifice?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
He finally turned; his powerful red eyes fixating her. Bellatrix shivered, but not in fear.
“I have not yet forgiven you, Bella. Lucius was in charge, and for that he is now in Azkaban, learning his lesson. But you did not succeed, either. The prophecy is destroyed, so I now have to resort to … other means. It makes things more complicated than they needed to be, and that displeases me.”
She lowered her head, waiting for him to continue and to say whatever it was he had to say.
“Take it as a token of my generosity, then, as I grant you the favour of accompanying me on a mission; you, and only you. There, you will find your missing ingredient.”
A feeling of pleasant surprise raced through her. He had denied her the thrill of watching that bridge collapse and maybe have fun with a few of the surviving Muggles, and instead sent her to oversee the giants in Somerset every once in a while; a task that bored one to tears. Clearly, it had been because of her failure to retrieve the prophecy. But perhaps, this would be the change she had anticipated.
She had asked herself why the Dark Lord was not more active; just manoeuvring his supporters into better positions at the Ministry, by using scare tactics and killing a selected few that were in the way. It had almost seemed like he was planning or waiting for something, spending many hours secluded in his room.
Maybe this was it.
“Thank you, my Lord.”
He walked past her, in long strides.
“Follow me.”
~*~
Meanwhile, in an underground, hidden-from-ordinary-people building in central London, one of those strange chains of events had long since started; those that were proceeding invisibly until everything cumulated in a big bang. Everyone would see the effects, but no one would ever have thought to look at the primal cause at that time, seemingly so small and insignificant. Truly, it was funny how sometimes those little things could make such huge difference, like, for example, decide between life and death.
Everything had started with a spoilt piece of fish earlier that day. It had been used in one of the canteen-meals; and an otherwise not really important clerk had eaten it, which, while not making him sick in earnest, lead to him spending just as much time in the bathroom as at his writing desk in his little office.
That was the reason he was behind schedule with his task to put together the figures for the half-annual statistical analysis of underage magic, what, in turn, had caused the paper to be send out late that day, almost before finishing time at the ministry, which for the office for Improper Use of Magic Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was seven o’ clock.
The head of this office, Mafalda Hopkirk, besides being a very voluminous woman, was a very punctual person, she always had been, and despised nothing more than for someone or something to disrupt her precise schedule. She would start tidying up her desk at exactly 6:45, start packing her things together afterwards and lock the door to her office at 7 PM on the dot.
So naturally, she hadn’t been pleased as the flying memo she’d been waiting for all day, the one carrying the source-material for her report, had fluttered onto her desk at 6:44. One minute later, and she probably would have ignored it, and continued tidying up and everything would have happened in a different way. But since she hadn’t started yet, she’d sighed, sat down heavily in her office chair once more, and done something she’d done the last time over twenty years ago: she had deliberately decided to ignore her work schedule.
The report needed to be finished today, but she’d made a mental note to ensure that the loitering fool who’d made her come home late would never have a chance to rise higher in the ministry than the clerk position he held now. Luckily, that was well within her sphere of influence.
Well, luckily for her; she’d seen to it that, as soon as Rufus had become the new Minister, he knew exactly just what he had in her, as did Cornelius before him. Within the archive on the other side of the door behind her were files and data on almost every witch and wizard, and politicians always needed information.
Rufus had understood quickly that it was advantageous for him and the frictionless procedure of things if he had her favour. And that was all she wanted; it was widely known that she had no political ambitions whatsoever, so the Minister had been quick to assure her that she was indeed a very valuable staff member of the Ministry.
So besides putting a roadblock in said clerk’s career, she’d furthermore see to it that he was transferred from her office to somewhere else. She didn’t need to suffer dilly-dallying imbeciles, by Merlin not.
With this thoughts she had begun to compose the report in a routinely manner; she had done it many times before and knew what to do.
~*~
Now, three hours later, her magical windows were dark, reflecting the night that had fallen outside, many floors above. The only light in the office came from her magical desk lamp, providing a much more even and brighter light than flames of torches or candles would; ideal for writing.
She was almost finished, and took a breath, stretching her fleshy arms, while thinking about the result of her report. The count of underage magic had risen by three percent compared to the second half of the last year. Those nasty little creatures, doing magic when they weren’t supposed to.
She never liked children, which was the reason she’d never married and had her own; they were loud, obnoxious and rude. And while watching out for magic done by children was not the only task of her office, it was the one she liked the most; she felt a distinct pleasure, each time she signed one of those letters with a flourish. No child would get away with doing forbidden magic, not if she had to say something abou–
A red light flashed through the darkness.
In came from somewhere in the background, where the metallic instruments that received and recorded the occurrences of underage magic where gleaming in the darkness. Her head whipped around at an impressive speed. The light signalled that one or more devices were picking up something.
Once again with a speed that defied her mass, she was over at the long table where the units where seated. Her wand illuminated the scene. The recorder labelled ‘Harry Potter’, next to the ones labelled ‘Surrey/Rest’ and ‘London/South’ was scribbling away for the letter it produced like mad.
The quill jumped back and forth, as she exclaimed in her shrill voice: “Aha! Now I’ve got you, Harry Potter, oh yes.”
This happening made working over-time almost worth it. Almost.
“And this time, not even Albus Dumbledore or Merlin himself will be able to explain your blatant disregard for Law away or overturn the sentence or …”
She calmed herself, she had to be cautious. It wasn’t good for her heart if she got to upset, said the healers at St. Mungo’s. And thinking about the trial almost a year ago made her always very upset. There simply was no excuse for a child to do magic away from Hogwarts. Not a single one. None.
But now, she had the proof right here. She squinted her small eyes, trying to read what was already written.
“Let’s see what you will lose your wand for,” she murmured.
The letter had the standard beginning,
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that a
and here the quill was scribbling word after word. Mafalda Hopkirk’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Well, I never – that – never in my life – blatant disregard for Magical Law – I – You,” she sputtered to the recorder, incapable of forming coherent sentences.
It started with:
a silencing charm, a bludgeoning curse, a torturing curse (Class III/Unforgivable), a …
The list went on and on. She felt herself growing faint as she read the latest entries, just being written, still wet from ink.
… a blasting curse, a fire charm, a killing curse (Class III/Unforgivable), a killing –
She couldn’t comprehend what she was reading, her brain had seemingly stopped working; and so, the only thing she could do was standing there slack-jawed, her massive form bent over the little device still writing, faster and faster. Suddenly, it began to glow, an eerie green, and before she could do so much as blink, it exploded in a flash of turquoise fire into thousands of razor sharp metal-shrapnel, burning the list it was writing in the process.
Mafalda Hopkirk never had a chance. Her head was less than a yard away from the receiver, when its fine senses registered a huge amount of magic unleashed on its target area, much, much too much. The backlash of the device overloading caught her full in the face and ripped the complete left half off, leaving only a mess of blood and flesh behind. The shrapnel drilled themselves into whatever remained, shredding her skin, her eyes and going right through to her brain.
She was still able to feel excruciating pain, as the burning hot metal embedded in her eyes blinded her forever, before only moments later her brain stopped working and she died.
It would be not before the next morning, that the clerk would find her, lying next to the table in a puddle of her own blood, stemming from her terribly mutilated head, which was now just an unshapely piece of red matter, the face no longer recognisable as once having been Mafalda Hopkirk’s.
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