Chapter Text
Not to be one of those “I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when –” types of storytellers, but I was reading the newspaper on the 16 th of July, drinking Kreacher’s coffee, when I learned that Sirius Black was the first felon to have escaped Azkaban in the history of Wizardkind. I must be honest now, that I was not instantly impressed at this news – although nowadays I like to tell people that I was – but rather unpleased.
Breaking news – Azkaban breakout of notorious convict:
SIRIUS BLACK
“ In an unprecedented and deeply troubling development, Sirius Black, the wizard convicted of the brutal murders of thirteen Muggles and one wizard in 1981, has escaped from Azkaban yesterday, in the black of night. Black, known to have been a close ally of You-Know-Who,”
I scoffed. A close ally of the Dark Lord. That was simply untrue. He murdered fourteen people, but not on behalf of us, certainly not after he’d been disowned. Just on behalf of his own insanity I supposed.
“[...] is the first wizard ever to escape the high-security prison, a feat previously deemed impossible by Ministry officials.
The Ministry of Magic has launched a full-scale investigation into the circumstances surrounding Black’s escape, although details remain scarce. Sources close to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement report that Aurors have been dispatched to search—”
This was the only relevant article the Daily Prophet had published since the news that the Dark Lord’s son existed and had been going to Hogwarts for three years, being one of their most exceptional students and wrongly framed for the events with the Chamber of Secrets. Lucius had made sure that the article had the right tone, so the news would land softer. After the events in the Chamber, and with Potter learning the Dark Lord’s name: Tom Marvolo Riddle, the ends were quickly tied together, and everyone soon knew that Mattheo Riddle was related to Tom Riddle. Before anyone else could publish a story that would put this sensitive information in a bad light, Lucius himself had stepped towards the press and told this version of the story. The whole Wizarding World was in shock, but his alibi during the last attacks of the year had everyone convinced he shared nothing with his father except a name. You could say he had established a similar national reputation as The Boy Who Lived. I had to give it to him; Lucius did a nice job cleaning up that horrible mess. However, not everyone was as easily pampered as the mass; Charlie had written to me at the very beginning of summer break, probably immediately after the news about Ginny had reached him. I didn’t want to know what he’d write to me once he’d read the news about Azkaban’s escaped prisoner.
Thalia,
This must be the tenth time I try to compose a letter to you. I am writing from Egypt, where I am with my family. Mum insisted we go, even after what happened with Ginny. During the day, she doesn’t speak much, and during the nights she wakes screaming sometimes. During those nights, in my head, I turn over every moment I have known you. And still, I can’t decide whether I believe what everyone is saying. Truth is, I believe you’re creative and smart enough to come up with something like this. To let a diary possess my sister, taking away all suspicion off your cousin and that friend Riddle of yours. But I don’t want to believe that you’re cruel enough to do so. We may not have spent much time at school together, but I was certain I knew you well enough to trust you. Tell me I’m not wrong. Please.
Charlie
We hadn’t spoken since that terrible dinner at the Burrow last year.
Absorbed in my thoughts, I did not notice that Kreacher had come in until he ungently placed my breakfast in front of me with a loud clatter. The Daily Prophet slipped from my fingers, and I was confronted with Kreacher’s sour face on the other side of the table.
“Breakfast is served,” he said needlessly. “Filthy little witches who think they can stay in bed until all hours,” he muttered under his breath. He bowed low, his eyes gleaming spitefully. He was in the habit of saying things he wasn’t supposed to be saying, but luckily for him, I was in the habit of ignoring things I shouldn’t be ignoring.
I reached for the paper again, picking the blueberries from my oats and putting them in my mouth. “Thank you for the exceptional coffee, Kreacher. What would I be without you.”
Kreacher shuffled away.
“Probably still in bed,” I said in the same muttering tone, making sure he’d heard me before he left the dining room. I snapped my fingers as he rounded the corner. “Kreacher, you might want to hear something about the news before you go and sulk in your favourite spot.”
Kreacher turned unwillingly but dutifully. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Sirius Black escaped Azkaban last night. It would be naive to assume he would not come and pay our home a visit. That is why I want us to be prepared in case we have your mass-murdering master knocking on my door. Do you understand that the orders I will give you are of high importance?”
Kreacher possibly turned greyer than usual. “Y– yes, Mistress. What does Mistress demand we do?”
My gaze flickered from my House Elf to the window, where an owl pecked on the glass, a letter in its beak.
“Hang on.” I walked into the kitchen and opened the only window that was not overgrown with ivy to let in the owl. My name was written in a rush, but it was clearly my aunt’s handwriting.
Thalia,
Come to the heathlands. I’ll be there waiting with your friend.
– N.
I turned to Kreacher. “I have to go. Keep the door and windows shut at all times, leave no lights on, and please – please don’t kill him.”
Kreacher stood before me like a little child, brought to its first school day. “Mistress, please don’t leave Kreacher alone.”
I grabbed him by both arms. “You’ll be fine. Write to me if you need anything, yes? Anything.”
“Kreacher cannot write, Mistress.”
I sighed. “Send an owl with some ink on paper, I don’t care what it says, I’ll get myself kicked out of school and come to you, yeah? Just... inform me when Sirius Black, the Dark Lord or God shows up here, not when you’re out of toilet paper or something.”
Kreacher nodded.
“Take care of yourself.” I pointed at him with a stern finger. “That is an order. See you at Christmas.”
I went upstairs to pack my suitcase for the new schoolyear, knowing Narcissa would not let me return to Grimmauld Place as long as my father was on the loose. There was scarcely any time to think; at first, I was reading the newspaper, and now I was running from my own home. Or well, was I really running to Cissa or running from my father? His escape gave me a strange feeling in my gut, and I could not quite tell whether it was fear or excitement.
My father’s room was messier than it had ever been, as I had been living in it all summer while the rest of the house was being renovated by Kreacher and me, but hopefully around Christmas, Kreacher would have finished up on the attic where I planned to move into. We spent three weeks removing all the House Elf heads in bulbs that did not fit on the trophy above the stairs, and old muck, papers and paraphernalia that the old lady of the house had collected before she was a painting. The stabbed diary on my father’s desk would look very good with the collection of things that we dumped on the street by the muggle’s trash, which made for some strange looks of the rubbish collectors a few days later. But I could not distance myself from the diary, even though the Dark Lord’s soul certainly did not reside in it anymore. I closed my trunk and ruffled my fingers on its surface.
“Should I take the book?” I said out loud. Lucy screeched in answer, from her hanging position on the curtain rails above the window.
I looked at the bat and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” I snuck up the stairs, although I wasn’t sure why I was sneaking since I was Lady of the House of Black these days, but it just felt like the right thing to do.
Entering the library, I placed the diary of Riddle on the desk by the window, next to a dried pot of ink, as if someone left it there a decade ago, still planning to write in it. On one of the shelves, there was a book that I had not dared touch before, not even after I read the first few chapters of A Nightshade Guide to Necromancy, well beyond Slytherin’s Spellbook. What was most disturbing about the book, was that it was one of the few that was not nearly as dusty as most of the others. Someone alive not very long ago, too, had wanted to learn about Raising the Rudimentary Body – beyond the Art of Necromancy by Gellert Grindelwald. I knew a thing or two about the wizard, but not many people knew about the book he had anonymously written in the Nurmengard prison, where he was still held today. He smuggled his writings out, page by page, and it naturally found its way amongst Death Eaters of the highest ranks. I had imagined much too often what I would do if I were sent to Azkaban, and writing a secret book about the defiance of magical law – and I do not mean law from the Ministry, no: law of magic itself – whilst being in prison already, was definitely on top of my list. I loved Grindelwald.
“Thalia Lyra Black! Why in Merlin’s name haven’t you been answering my letters?”
I hauled my suitcase over the wet heath ground, slowly approaching Bella’s cottage and the raging woman in front of it. Lyra . If Narcissa called me by my full name, I really was in trouble. Especially my middle name, which my family used in spite, since my parents gave it to me in mocking of the family tradition of naming each other after stars and constellations. Lyra was the harp of the Orpheus constellation, which none of my relatives were referred to, and my first name wasn’t even a star at all. My father wanted everyone to know that the Black family traditions did not mean anything to him and that I was his daughter firstly, rather than a member of the Black family foremost. At least, that was what my aunts always told me. Only I was no one’s daughter because he had been in prison. Until now. I halted before my aunt.
“We expected you before dinner.”
I pointed at my suitcase. “I’m sorry, auntie, I had to pack. I came as quickly as I could.”
She looked at my suitcase as though she only just noticed it. “You have everything packed for school. Good. Because I won’t let you go anywhere until the moment you step on that train, do you understand?”
“Yes, aunt Cissa,” I complied. Merlin forbid I would stroll off when my serial killing father was on the loose somewhere. I kept from rolling my eyes. If she didn’t want me in any trouble, she should have reconsidered her sister teaching me torture curses and her husband placing me in front of a snake at age three, just to see whether my Astor blood carried Parseltongue talent. Suddenly, Narcissa embraced me tightly, much to the disliking of Lucy, who screeched in protest between us, hooked on my finger. It took a second before I melted into her arms, closing my eyes and taking in the scent of her hair. I hadn’t realised how much I missed someone meddling over me, after being the head of an empty house for so long. It had been a year since I’d been allowed to be child.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, smiling, and left my aunt in the now falling rain. She needed a moment.
Inside, Mattheo was pouring coffee.
“Hey.”
He turned around. “Hey,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Come here.”
I walked to him and rested my head briefly against his chest, where his heart beat steadily. He then held me at arm’s length and studied my face.
“Your picture in the papers was sexy,” I said.
He grinned back. “I know. Lucius had a good one taken.”
“Hm. You and Lucius are getting along lately then?”
“Yes.” Mattheo handed me a cup. “He says there was a case at the Ministry about Potter blowing up his aunt.”
I raised my eyebrows over the brim of my cup. “Hmm.”
“Are you and your dad getting along lately as well?” Mattheo said.
I put my coffee down. “I haven’t seen him. And please don’t mention any of it. Cissa will have a nervous breakdown.”
Mattheo’s eyes slipped silently, but telling to the door, where Cissa had just come in, her pepper-salt hair wet and sticky to her face.
“I’ll just get unpacked,” I said.
Dinner was how I’d always imagined Christmas to be without any of the Malfoy prestige that usually went with it. The three of us ate asparagus soup, played a card game and exchanged stories at the robust table, next to the fire, which was there just for the fun of it. We put all windows open to let in the cool night air that relieved after this early evening’s rain. Summer on the heathlands was rough and endless.
After Cissa had gone to bed, Mattheo and I stayed outside for a while, sitting on the little fence where the goat used to be. We looked up at the sky in silence. There were no stars.
“Do you think he’s out there somewhere?” Mattheo said, his Adam’s apple going up and down as he lay his head in his neck.
I looked at Mattheo’s side profile, still gazing up at the pitch black. “My father?”
“No.”
I knew what he meant. Who he meant. I thought of the diary that I left in the library at home. What happened to a memory when the ink that preserved it was poisoned? I just had the feeling that the diary was not the only thing that held Tom Riddle’s memory. The Dark Lord was smarter than to sacrifice his queen at the beginning of a game.
“Yes. I believe so.”
He looked at me. Now that the diary was out of the young Tom Riddle’s hands, it allowed us to preserve Mattheo’s role as heir. I feared that this young, ruthless version of the Dark Lord would have seen his age-matching son as a rival, rather than an asset. As painful as the events in the Chamber had been, the destroyed diary would prevent a splintered legacy; ensuring Mattheo’s power whilst searching for a safer way to let the Dark Lord rise. Besides, in the long run, having the diary be gone could prevent any scrutiny towards the Death Eaters politically, eventually ensuring a smooth rise of the Dark Lord.
We walked back to the cottage. “Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet,” Mattheo said. We went inside, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I have been reading.”
“Me too,” I whispered back.
After brushing our teeth in the kitchen, we crept up the stairs, careful not to wake Cissa, who lay in Bellatrix’ bed. She looked very small when she was asleep. I searched in my bag for the copy of Grindelwald’s book, and as I turned to show it to Mattheo, he held the second draft of it in front of my nose. We looked at each other, and couldn’t help but giggle.
“Shh.” We heard from the bed.
With our books, we climbed the ladder to the mezzanine, crawling under the covers of the mattress on the wooden planks. We looked down on Cissa as we read the books together.
“Who do you think Grindelwald dedicated this book to?” Mattheo whispered.
“What do you mean, it’s about raising the dead.”
Mattheo lifted his eyebrows. “Exactly. He must’ve been madly in love.”
I lay on my back and stared at his softly illuminated face, reading, until my eyes got heavy.
We spent six whole weeks on the heated heather, watching the days go by, marked mainly by whether the sun was scorching or the rain pouring. There was something about summer that was so beautiful and heavy that I only wanted it to pass quickly, so that I wouldn’t want to cling onto it as it slipped away in time. Narcissa and I cooked a lot, studied French a lot, but did not speak much to one another. Mattheo and I went on walks and swims a lot, and at night, when Cissa had gone to bed, we would read Grindelwald and scribble notes by candle or moonlight, preparing a guide for the rite. What we wrote down was so disgusting and horrible, that I did not believe anyone would ever have the stomach to perform it. But who was going to perform this, and how or when, was not on our minds. We just wrote and wrote, and only when it was finished, were we allowed to step back and look at what we had created. I felt like Mary Shelley when she wrote Frankenstein in the year without summer, 1816. She had been overlooked in both the muggle and wizarding world, and burnt her very real theories that were behind her fictional story after she lost her first-born daughter. As though this loss triggered her to wake from her dreams of death and worse. I wondered what would be needed for me to be in such a state to burn my own life’s work.
One night, we walked under a full moon to one of the lakes; the farther and bigger one. Something had been on Mattheo’s mind since dinner earlier that night, and I waited patiently for him to bring it up as I carefully placed my steps in the near-dark. The slopy hill was difficult to descend, and Mattheo helped me step down, occasionally gripping my hand. When we had made it down, Mattheo took off his shirt. A stupid grin drew itself across my face. “What are you doing?”
“Going for a swim.”
His back was exposed in the bright silver light of the moon, and it looked like a couple of thin lines were drawn across his skin. He unbuttoned his trousers with a devilish grin. “Come on, Black. Live a little.”
I fiddled with my shirt. My heart beat heavily in my throat. I didn’t want him to see me naked. He saw my hesitation and came to me whilst kicking off his shoes, which thudded on the grassy, wet bank of sand.
“Turn around.”
I did what he asked and helplessly lifted my arms as he pulled the shirt off me. I felt his eyes trail over my bare skin. I wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that this was strange, as I had never worn a bra in my life. But as I stood turned away in front of Mattheo, I was very aware of the fact that maybe I should, although I didn’t know why this was. I heard water splash behind me, and with shaking fingers I quickly took off my shoes, socks and trousers. I had no idea how naked Mattheo was exactly, and whether he had gone in and turned around already. Studying my back as I’d studied his. I turned with my arms across my chest, and walked into the water where Mattheo was looking at the moon. When I reached him, I was up to my chest in the water. It was really cold, but now that my naked skin was covered by it, I was trapped by it.
“Now imagine that when we walk out of this lake, we shall be transformed by the moon’s light.”
“You mean becoming a Werewolf?” I said, teeth chattering.
“No,” Mattheo laughed briskly. “Like how we described the massive potion of the Resurrection of the Rudimentary Form.”
Or how we liked to call it: Incorporeal Cure.
I shivered again. The cold of the night and the lake seemed to want to find its way into me, felt like it was prying at my skin with its million tiny spikes, injecting itself into me and changing the potion inside my veins. Would it feel good to let in the poison and surrender yourself into resurrection? Would it feel good once you were past the pain? Settling into that immortal corpse must feel pretty good. Or I hoped it did, because otherwise we would be doing all this for nothing.
Mattheo made a big stroke and swam away from me, closer to the centre of the lake where the water was deeper, darker and colder.
“Aren’t you scared there’ll be a fish nibbling on your feet down in the deep end?”
Mattheo turned around, floating in the middle of that cold good night. He laughed, and then submerged. I held my breath. Even though I knew he was playing, I wondered whether I would dive down there to find him if he wouldn’t come up, even though it was pitch black and we were both naked and numb. The ripples on the surfaces had already faded before he came back up again, shaking out his hair dramatically. He relaxed into the water again, only his face from his nose up left above the surface. His dark eyes cut over the rippling surface. He tilted his chin.
“No feet on the ground, Black. You have to let it grip you.”
“Are you going to drown me again?” I said, consciously not covering my submerged chest with my arms.
Mattheo swam closer. “No. Do you not trust me?”
I exhaled and made a stroke, pushing my feet off the ground and swimming towards him. It was hard to breathe normally in this type of cold, and I thought of all the things that could be underneath me, looking up at me, swimming underneath me or dragging me down.
“Shh, breathe,” Mattheo shushed, putting his hands on my waist as I water trampled before him, gripping him by the shoulders. After a while, my breath calmed, and we both trampled in silence.
Mattheo’s eyes burned with conviction, even in the cold light of the moon. “See, we hold each other up. Because we trust each other.”
“Trusting doesn’t seem like you.”
“Doesn’t seem like you, either,” he said. “Maybe that’s why it works.”
“Swear on it,” I said. It was an impulsive desire to want to tie promising meaning to his words. The black stone on my finger glinted in the faint starlight, as though the dark magic inside bore witness to this solemnity, like a signature.
When Mattheo left the water, I didn’t look. As he dried his hair with his shirt, I struggled quickly into mine. He turned around, eyes trailing from my clothed torso to my bare thighs.
“You have blood on your leg,” he pointed out.
The full moon was bright enough to show the red trail of my first period that ran down my thigh.
“Oh.”
September arrived with a sunlight that had not shone this brightly, even in the peak summer months, as if the sun had only just realised what it was supposed to be doing this whole time. After packing, securing Grindelwald’s and our own notes in our suitcases where no one could find them; we had our last breakfast at Bella’s cottage. Narcissa accompanied us to the King’s Cross Station, where we would meet Lucius and Draco.
“There he is, the leech in silk,” I said to Mattheo as we approached the two Malfoys on the bridge above the tracks. Without answering, Mattheo left me behind as he strode towards my uncle and shook his hand firmly.
Narcissa came up beside me and made me turn to her. Her eyes looked worried but stern. “Be careful, Thalia. Listen well to me. Don’t seek out Sirius. I know you’re curious about him –”
“Aunt Cissa, I’m not –”
“Your father has done unspeakable things, Thalia.” She gripped my arm tightly. You were not supposed to refer to disowned ones in familial terms out loud. It hurt a bit. “He chose his friends over us, and eventually betrayed them as well. All that was left of his last friend, was a finger.”
I stared at my aunt’s face, from one eye to the other. What I saw was not the familiar seriousness when she was telling me what to do, but instead a deep worry. A finger.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. “I will be careful, auntie. I promise.”
With a hug and a kiss, I said goodbye to her and promised to write lots. She let me go at last, and I paced past Lucius and Draco, who were held up by Mattheo’s conversation. I felt the scarred burn on my shoulder sting as Lucius’ gaze followed me over that bridge until I was out of sight.
Some families on the platform were giving me strange looks as I walked past with my suitcase. No one said anything behind my back, but I knew they recognised me as my father’s daughter. Not everyone stared, but it made me kind of uneasy as I made my way to the train.
“Hey there.” Astoria tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned. “Hey!” I wanted to compliment her look, but the words left me when I saw how awful she looked. I mean, not awful, as Astoria always looked fucking beautiful, but ill.
“Hi,” I said again, “it’s so good to see you.” I embraced her shortly.
She straightened her blouse and looked around. “How was your summer?”
I also looked around. “We’ll talk about it on the train. Where is Adric?”
Rosier had won Astoria’s heart over the summer, and she had been writing to me about him a lot when I could still receive post.
“Oh, he won’t sit with us. Mattheo doesn’t want him at this meeting. He calls him ‘second circle’.”
I laughed harshly. Astoria rolled her eyes. “You’d do best to respect him some more, Thalia. He is of high importance to, you know.”
My face turned sour. I avoided Draco when getting on the train, because I did not want him to hear about the resurrection ritual that Mattheo and I were figuring out. I just did not want him to get involved. We found Lorenzo on in a compartment somewhere at the end of the train, and he seemed pleased to see us at first, until he noticed Astoria.
“Are you alright?” he said in earnest, folding his newspaper away.
Astoria rolled her eyes and we sat down.
“I’m alright, really enjoying all those articles about my father lately,” I said, as though Lorenzo was talking to me. He was smart enough to pick it up.
“He hasn’t reached out to you, has he?”
“No.” I sighed. “I mean, I wouldn’t know what to do if he did.”
“Right,” Lorenzo said.
“Well, I reckon it’s not too strange of a father not to reach out, I mean, look at good ol’ Frank Berkshire.”
Lorenzo smiled lightly, pained but appreciative of the harsh truth. We talked for hours about anything but my father or what happened last year, and as I looked at my two friends, I realised how much I had missed it being just the three of us. Without the Theo’s – however much I loved them – it just felt different. Astoria perching perfectly on the seat opposite, and Lorenzo and I both with our ankle crossed over our knee, arms over each other’s shoulders.
“Thalia, close your legs,” Astoria said idly, fiddling with a bracelet.
“What about Lorenzo?”
“Lorenzo is a boy, so he’s hopeless. You could actually be pretty if you tried, you know.”
“Not everyone can swan around like they just fell out of a fashion magazine, Astoria,” I said.
“You are infuriating.”
I grinned. “Poor thing.”
Lorenzo opened his paper, and I saw the picture of the Weasley’s on the front page. I remembered Charlie’s letter about them being in Egypt. I still hadn’t answered him.
“Reckon they all got sunburn,” I said, pointing at the front page. Lorenzo closed the paper. “Yeah, bet. Not like they’ve ever been able to afford a vacation before.”
I stared at Ron, holding his rat tightly to his chest. The chafing rat with a missing toe.
“Or new rats,” I said. Theodore stumbled in, toppling against Astoria when the train made a turn, much to her annoyance. “Hiya guys.”
“Your lipstick is a bit smudged,” Lorenzo noted. Theodore’s mouth was indeed smeared with red lipstick, if the glazy look in his eyes wasn’t telling enough as to why he was so late.
After we caught up with Theodore, Mattheo entered the compartment when we were already riding for several hours. “Fucking hell, couldn’t find you guys.” He closed the blinds and locked the compartment door. “Let’s just get straight down to business.”
I looked out the window at the sunny afternoon that I would have to waste in this train.
“What business,” Astoria said with a bored tone. After last year’s unexpected events in the Chamber of Secrets, she lacked motivation for our case. To her, we had lost too many times. But she had not seen the memory of Tom Riddle, looked him in the eye and spoke to him. She did not hear his scream as he was obliterated, and that was why I did not like that she looked bored or uninterested. Especially after I had already been annoyed with her before summer for not coming down to the Chamber with me.
“Black and I have spent the summer making big plans,” Mattheo said. “Very big. And don’t worry, we won’t need any monster or Boys Who Lived for this.”
Lorenzo looked at me, but I kept looking out the window, his reflection looking at mine. Everyone was quiet while Mattheo told them about what we had been working on, what we had been reading about. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at each of us fervidly. The rumble of the train wheels was the only thing to be heard when he finished the story.
“I do not mean to undermine your authority, Mattheo but may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Astoria, I always appreciate your sharp ideas.” His tone was challenging. He did not like being doubted, not even by Astoria, but he did like being provoked.
“Why are we bringing someone back to life who has been dead longer than any of us have been alive? And what would happen if he did come back? I do not want us to throw ourselves into another war.”
“Because your parents don’t want to spend their Galleons on another one?” I bit before Mattheo could respond to her. It came out harsher than I meant it to, but I could not bite my tongue. “A war is necessary, Astoria. Have you seen my father in the papers? My aunt Bella, my other aunt and her husband?”
Lorenzo put a stilling hand on my shaking leg. I kept speaking. “That is the Ministry destroying the pure-blooded class, until we are divided, weakened and trying to keep watch on our fortunes, not seeing them coming. I don’t want to have to guess which person I love is next to be put in Azkaban or investigated by the Ministry. I don’t want to open a paper and read about all the lies they are spreading about us.”
Astoria’s gaze held mine tensely, unreadable. Her fingers tapped in the rhythm of the train’s rumbles, as though she was petting a sleeping beast.
“How would you like yourself to be written into history, Astoria Greengrass?” Mattheo said, tucking a strand of Astoria’s hair behind her ear. “You could be the most powerful witch the world has ever seen; your legacy would be infallible.”
“So, we dig up some bones, chant in Latin until he pops out of a cauldron?” Lorenzo said. “The ritual is complex,” I said, looking at the sun starting to set behind thickening clouds. “Grindelwald’s archives are not complete, and he has never finished his theories on the magic we hope to use. We’ll have to invent the actual ritual ourselves, but it is brilliant.” I turned to the others. “If we do this right, we won’t just bring him back, we’ll make him recognise us.”
The compartment fell silent again. I sighed. “Look. You guys didn’t go down to the Chamber last term, you might not understand what’s at stake here. But this ambitious plan –” Mattheo scoffed. But that’s what it was. It was quite ambitious, reckless even. “is not just about him. It’s about us – our future. We can show him that we’re not just some kids with rich parents playing games. We are the next generation of great wizards.”
“Loyalty never deviates from your master’s plan,” Theodore whispered. He clenched his fist in his lap, his knuckles turning white. I remembered Tom Riddle saying that to him down in the Chamber of Secrets, when the memory of him tried to heal Theodore’s wounds. After which Theodore had seen him fade into oblivion without being able to do anything. As Potter drove that venomous tooth of Tom Riddle’s very own weapon repeatedly into the heart of our Lord. I noticed I was clenching my fists when Astoria’s eyes fell upon them, and I relaxed them.
“Loyalty may not deviate, but he may,” Lorenzo said cautiously. “I want a better world, but if we do this, there is no turning back.”
“You don’t have anything to fear,” Mattheo said. “Imagine what we could do with my father’s guidance, huh? We would be unstoppable; we could have anything we’d want. Bellatrix would be free, the Malfoy and Greengrass investigation would be rescinded, the Berkshires and Notts could reclaim their importance in society – no offense – and we, us five, would be the new Knights of Walpurgis. We would be celebrated for the rest of our lives. And more importantly, long afterwards.”
I rarely heard Mattheo mention Bellatrix. His eyes met mine when he said that, and I knew that even though my father was a blood-traitor, Mattheo would have made sure he was freed if I’d asked him to. I bit my inner lip at the thought of the news article I’d found about Mattheo’s mother years ago, and pressed the thought away until it stopped squirming. But it hadn’t died. I stared into the undisturbed lane of the last few sunrays that brushed the highlands, right before the rain started falling along with the darkness. We sped over what seemed nothing, deep underneath, high above, and far around us.
Astoria relaxed under Mattheo’s arm. “All I want is stability and a powerful leader right next to me. If that means I have to kill some Mudbloods and chant in Latin, then I accept. Just don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ when it turns out the Dark Lord doesn’t solve our problems.”
Mattheo laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
Almost as though his laughter provoked it, the train came to a sudden jerky halt, making me almost butt heads with Astoria. It was now almost dark, but still light enough to distinguish a few shadows moving outside. We were stranded on a bridge in the streaming rain and darkness.
“What is this?”
“Surely the machinist will make an announcement any moment,” Lorenzo said.
As the light sunk, so did the temperature. Drastically. Astoria’s breath in front of me turned into a cloud, and when I looked back at the horizon where the sun had just dipped under, I noticed frost on the window of the train.
There was no sound to be heard from the speakers. The train driver would not be making an announcement because he was likely dead. I knew all too well what probably had stopped the train and frozen the window. And what the reason must be for their visit here, so far from their prison in the North Sea. My father.
I looked at Mattheo and he shook his head. “Don’t.”
But I was already on my feet. “Flipendo.” I threw the sliding door open, and squeezed through before it backlashed and shut. The train was quiet without its driving rumble, feigning that there was no one on board. But the Dementors knew better; they would know my father was hiding here. I just had to find him first.
Our compartment was the second last one at the very back of the train, there was only one direction I could go in. I started walking, past shut blinds and scared faces, towards the middle of the train. There was nothing in the luggage compartment. Or, I didn’t quite expect what I should be finding anyways. Surely, my father wasn’t stupid enough to step onto the Hogwarts Express, prison clothes, unshaven, bewildered. But I had to try; I couldn’t let him get taken from me a second time, even if I wouldn’t recognise him, and even if he was a mass murderer. Family was family, fuck disownment policy. I took a deep breath and opened the sliding door to the second half of the train. I held my breath. In the aisle, a few paces before me, lurked a dark creature with fluttering strips of cloak. It faced into one of the compartments, which was silent. One of its bony hands rested on the sliding door, keeping it open as it... kissed someone. I could feel the gravitational pull of what it was doing even from here, not being the centre of it. The cold stirred and formed a mist in my mind, and if I was brave enough to run, I would still not be able to move my legs being in the vicinity of this creature. My fingers around my wand were so loose I might drop it. Just might.
At the thud of my wand, the creature broke its deadly kiss from one of the children in the compartment, and turned towards me. In the gaze of it, I felt a pull from behind my navel, which I realised was fear, more intense than I’d ever had it before.
I had dreamt about this creature often as a child, imagining what my father went through every day in Azkaban. I had fantasised about killing them, defending him, but I had never learned – not even from Bella – how to defeat such evil. She claimed I would never encounter one in my life, as she would kill anyone that would put me in Azkaban, and I was not allowed to ask about it again. But I had suspected she simply did not know how to kill a Dementor, or was not capable of it. It required something that she could not teach me. And now, she was chained by them far, far away, and I stood in front of evil itself.
A bright, blue light shone suddenly from the compartment, crashing into the Dementor with force. It rippled fiercely, making the Dementor shrink into its cloak. When the creature flinched, it looked almost human; mortal and weak. It was sent aback, fleeing the train, and as the creature fled, leaving me untouched, I fell to the ground. I felt nauseous and cold. My wand had rolled just beyond my reach in front of the compartment.
“Are you alright?” A man stepped into my sight, and knelt with me. He came from the compartment where the light had come from.
“It’s alright, now, it’s gone. Here, have some.” He put my wand in the one, and a piece of chocolate in my other hand. “Eat, you’ll feel better.”
I looked up at friendly brown eyes and an equally friendly scarred face. The face turned from kind to shocked, and the man pulled his hand from mine as though I had burned him. The lights of the train switched back on and I scrambled to my feet.
“Excuse me.” I pushed past him and stumbled against the walls as the train rumbled into shocking motion. When I looked behind me, the man was walking in the same direction as me.
“I need to speak to the machinist,” he said. “Were you lost?”
“No,” I said. “I am looking for someone.”
“Ah, okay. If I could just quickly get past you.” He squeezed past me and paced through the small pathway without letting the train outbalance him, steady and calm. What an odd fellow. I watched him walk away, gathering the courage to continue my search. Had this strange chocolate-man chased away the Dementors before they had found what they were looking for? Or was Sirius Black not on this train at all? Maybe the Dementors had been looking for me, I thought.
“Are you alright?” Hermione Granger opened the compartment door I just passed. Behind her, Potter was sat with his elbows on his knees, piece of chocolate in hand. Ron eyed me, aloof. He was still convinced that I had something to do with what happened to Ginny last year. These were the last people I wanted to see right now.
“Thalia.” Lorenzo grabbed me by my arm before I could answer the mudblood. “Hi,” he said in brief notice to the others. He led me away, back to the rear. I was still unstable on my feet, wanting to search the rest of the train.
“He isn’t here,” Lorenzo said in my ear, squeezing my hand briefly. “You know that.”
Arriving at the station, it was unusually dark. We must have had a big delay, because it normally wasn’t this dark already when we arrived in Hogsmeade. The others had tried to sober me up from my brief encounter with the Dementor. Mattheo had taken over from Lorenzo when we entered the compartment, and had his arm around me the rest of the ride, still holding onto me as we exited the train. I had never seen him this worried before.
“He wasn’t on the train,” he kept saying. “He’s not here.” The station was gloomy, lit only by soft lanterns. On every single one of them, there was a poster. I shrugged Mattheo off and walked to the nearest one. The whispering of the crowd seemed suddenly loud as everyone looked from the posters to me.
“She’s one of those Slytherins, isn’t she? Figures. Bet she’s proud of what he’s done.”
I turned around, but there were so many people that I couldn’t see which one of them had said that.
“Pride runs in the family.” Behind me. I turned again.
“Guys, keep your fingers out of reach,” Katie Bell said, pushing past me. “You never know what will be left of you when Black is around.”
I reached for my wand, and the crowd drew a collective breath, hurrying back. But Katie stood, unmoved in front of me. She drew her wand as well, drawing an eyebrow as if to ask: yes, and? Violence wouldn’t scare her, cruelty might. I bared my teeth, but before I could strike, Mattheo stepped before me. Katie’s wand lowered just an inch.
“Can’t she speak up for herself, Theo?”
Theo. What, she suddenly had pet names for him? When I walked to the boats with her before we both got Sorted, I had never thought we would ever face each other in a fight. But then I also hadn’t been aware she was a mudblood.
“Save the duelling for the duelling club at school, Katie,” Mattheo said. “You wouldn’t want to get suspended before the Sorting Ceremony.” He guided me by the arm as if I was a prisoner. The crowd started buzzing again as Mattheo escorted me away.
“God, you must really want to move into your daddy’s old cell,” he hissed in my ear. “Using Crucio on her? In front of everyone? You’re out of your mind.”
“I didn’t do it,” I said through gritted teeth. Mattheo practically threw me into a carriage. He peeled another wanted poster off the window and threw it out. “You have to behave this year, Black. I mean it. With your face everywhere –”
“You mean with your face everywhere,” I mumbled, arms crossed.
Mattheo leaned his elbows on his knees and forced me to look him in the eye. “Yes, you reflect onto my reputation as well, but that’s not what I mean and you know it. People will scrutinise you for what your father’s done, and you are giving them a lot of comparison material. I mean, you can’t really rectify the situation with a good article in the Daily Prophet.”
“Did Lucius give you a media training this summer?”
Mattheo rolled his eyes. “You’re not still upset about the Malfoys, are you?”
“He burned me.” The rage in my chest spread across my body like flames, and I wanted to jump out of the carriage and run deep into the Forbidden Forest, where I would meet creatures that felt the same, or block the road and just kill everyone in my path.
Mattheo grabbed my hands. “Narcissa and Draco didn’t. And neither did I. Tuck away your pride, Black. Come back to us.”
I looked out the window for the rest of the ride. My face became painfully tired with my rageful expression, but I refused to let it soften.
During the ride, Mattheo kept holding my hands as lanterns with more posters of Sirius Black rolled past. I had not seen a picture of my father before, apart from the one in my locket and the old one in his room, where he looked like a happy and kind man, surrounded by the people who loved him. Seeing him everywhere around me, screaming with a bewildered, manic look in his eye, tired skin underneath, was painful to say the least. He was a completely different man from the memory preserved in my locket; yet undeniably recognisable. The image on the wanted-posters pried at the old one, bullying it into fading from my imagination and how I had pictured him as a loving man that I wished would one day become my father again. As much as I did not want to look at it, I couldn’t help staring at the details of the moving picture like with most things that are so horrible that you cannot look away from it.
Mattheo helped me out of the carriage and followed me up the stairs to the Great Hall. We were the first ones to arrive, and I could pretend we were the Lord and Lady of this ancient castle, arriving after a long war or something. Inadvertently, I thought of the reptilian corpse far below the castle that we entered. Mattheo had said that at least the Basilisk had gotten a magnificent grave – with the unsaid double meaning toward the way his father had come to an end just moments before his rebirth – but I disagreed. No matter how beautiful the room was where the monster died, it had been a cage nonetheless. Gods, I sounded like Charlie.