Chapter Text
The distant screams of delight from trick or treaters were long gone, swallowed up into the black of night. Childhood joy had been transformed into roaring anger, the sky releasing buckets of sharp rain. Thunder shaking the ground, lightning piercing the sky. It was fitting, like a scene out of a thriller, which made Halloween even more ominous to the muggle children. Though Mother Nature proved too victorious an enemy, and soon the children filed back into their homes, dreams of candy long forgotten.
Isabella Serpentine watches, blue eyes narrowly taking in the street from the view of her drawing room window. A sigh escapes her, an unreadable expression taking form on her face as her eyes glance over to the grandfather clock. 1:45 it reads, tiringly late. It wasn’t like her husband to be out this late, not unless.. Not unless the Dark Lord summoned him.
Their marriage was rather crowded. Isabella and Fritz, but of course there was the Dark Lord and his overreaching grasp on her husband, as well as his friends. Fritz Serpentine, though he would never say such, was an owned man. Always striving to fulfill legacies set forth long before he was born, to please masters he enslaved himself to on his own accords, and friends who would likely sell his soul over to the devil. Perhaps that’s what they’ve all done after all, sold their souls to the devil. The Dark Lord fit the role quite well.
All they spoke of, dark arts and pure blood legacies, it was so foreign to her. Of course Isabella was familiar with the wizarding world, of course she had the purest of blood - but where she was from, there was no secret society committed to the murdering of innocents to keep the wizarding world pure. Growing up in Naples, Italy, she didn’t know much of England’s darkest wizard. There were whispers, of course, but she was quite ignorant to the cruelties his followers - her husband, had executed on his behalf.
She had been eighteen when Fritz came to Naples, trying to secure an artifact for his master. They had met and there was an instant connection. It wasn’t until they were married a year later that she understood the gravity of Fritz’s dedication to the Dark Lord. The late nights, the dangerous missions, it all put a strain on a young and fresh marriage. The frustration Isabella was feeling now was nothing new, and it had grown increasingly worse now that they had a child.
Amelia, her daughter, just barely two. Truthfully, Fritz didn’t want children, but it was necessary to secure the bloodline. Isabella, ever the dutiful wife, just went along with what her husband wished. It wasn’t until Amelia was born that she realized what she had signed her daughter up for. A lifetime of obligations she had to meet without ever getting the chance to agree. It was all so archaic, so old fashioned, but Amelia was already promised to another. Her infant child, promised to the son of Fritz’s oldest and dearest friend, Lucius Malfoy. They were to sign the papers soon and finalize the agreement. Her husband was thrilled, especially with the Dark Lord presiding over it as he watched two of the oldest wizarding families in England bound themselves to each other for another promised generation of pure blood and prosperity.
It still made no sense to her, this apparent obsession of blood purity. Families in this country were inbreeding to secure their purification. Yet, she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t question anything, she did as she was told. Her obedience to Fritz set her up quite nicely. Isabella loved society, loved being a member of it. The parties, the galas, presenting their family as a luxurious and perfect sort had been the highlight of her marriage. She loved her husband and he loved her, in their own special way they had crafted a happy life. The addition of a child hadn’t suited them, not like it had for their friends, the Malfoys. Motherhood was quite literally the only dress that didn’t fit Isabella perfectly.
As if her daughter could hear her own resentful thoughts, Amelia begins shrieking, clearly terrified by the newest clap of thunder. Isabella breathes a frustrated sigh, rubbing at her temple with a lack of patience. “Sagum!” She calls out, voice thick with coldness and an unmistakable accent.
A crack can be heard, a tiny house elf with a raggy pillowcase covering her appeared, bowing impossibly low to the ground. “Yes, Mistress. Sagum is here to serve, Mistress!” The elf rushes to spit out, knowing a command is sure to follow.
“Go hush the baby up.” Isabella drawls, body tensing as Amelia’s fits grow louder. “I have no patience for it tonight.” Though, the reality was she never had patience for it. There wasn’t a maternal bone in her body, as guilty as it made her feel. How could she be? She sold her daughter out, and the poor thing was merely a baby.
“Yes, Mistress. Sagum has been working to calm down Mistress Amelia. The thunder, mistress, frightens her so.” Sagum says, trying to explain the outburst, but Isabella has no regard for explanation. A sharp glare from icy eyes sends Sagum back up to the nursery with a crack, leaving the disgruntled matriarch pacing in the room.
“For the love of God, Fritz.” Isabella mutters, walking over to the bar. With a wand in her hand, she lazily pours herself a glass of whiskey to take the edge off of her nerves. He had done it this time, she thinks. This will be the time the ministry will catch him, hauling him off to Azkaban and she’d be left to face society on her own. The grip on her glass tightens at the thought, anger at her husband’s recklessness anchoring her. The baby’s crying hasn’t improved, Isabella ready to snap.
Another crack lingers out in the drawing room, Isabella turning on her heel, ready to unleash upon the poor house elf who had dared disturb her. It’s not one of the pathetic creatures, however, but instead her husband. She releases the breath she was unaware she was holding, grasp on her glass loosening up. “Fritz,” she breathes, fear and caution wrapped up in her tone.
“I know I’m late,” He begins, holding his hands up in an almost surrender. “I just left Lucius’ house.” Fritz walks over to the couch, collapsing on it. “There’s been… a situation.”
“A situation?” Isabella repeats, eyes narrowing slightly on her husband.
“The Dark Lord, Isabella… he’s dead.” The words leave him, an unmistakable weight to them. Fritz’s dark eyes find his wife’s light, complete opposites, though complimentary. His expression is twisted with anguish, fear, and something that borders on hopelessness.
“How?” She questions. Her husband’s feelings are complicated, and she cannot quite narrow down which to appeal to at this moment. Part of Isabella is relieved, as this keeps her family and reputation in good standing. Another part of her, however, is worried that this will completely destroy her husband. He had dedicated his life to this cause. For it to simply vanish over night… well that worries her.
“We haven’t been able to piece it all together yet. What we do know, well, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. There must be more.” Fritz is all frazzled, his words fragmented and his body short of breath. He looks like he sprinted across all of London. “The Potters.. Blood traitor, James Potter was. Married a mudblood, tainted his bloodline.” Fritz shakes his head, going off on a tangent. “Anyway, they joined the Order. The Dark Lord decided to pay them a visit tonight. Killed them both, but their son, probably Amelia’s age, when he went to make a clean sweep of it, well - the killing curse bounced off the baby. Killed him right there. No body left behind, nothing. He just.. Disappeared.”
“He tried to kill a baby?” Isabella asks, disgust present in her tone. She cannot even process that her husband’s master was gone, so fixated on the awful reality of what almost transpired. Her husband of all people endorsing it.
“That’s not the point, Bell.” Fritz looks up, though the realization does draw in. She sees it on his face, and he is suddenly aware of their own child. Amelia is still screaming, the thundering outside not subsiding. “Oh, bloody hell, shut that child up!” Fritz screams up at Sagum, knowing she’s tending to her in the nursery. The faint response of the elf can be heard, causing Fritz to walk over to the bar to make his own cocktail.
“What do we do now, Fritz? He’s not here to protect you.” Isabella asks, sipping at her own drink to try to wash down some anxieties.
“That’s why I was with Lucius. We’re to go to the ministry tomorrow and tell them we’ve awoken from the imperious curse.”
“You don’t possibly think they’d buy that?” Isabella counters.
“Plenty of people will be awoken from these curses tonight. It is extremely likely. We’ve been making good face with the ministry for years in case this happens. We need to get ahead of whatever scumbags decide to give names off to the ministry to lessen their own sentences. I don’t trust someone like Karkaroff won’t snitch.”
“We could flee, Fritz. Stay with my parents in Naples until this blows over.” Isabella says, trying to offer a better solution.
“Darling, this will not blow over. We have to get ahead of it. Besides, the Serpentine name means something here. We are a legacy, a powerhouse. We are not fleeing like … like fools.” Fritz responds, tone icy. He always got this way, when he felt his position in society was being questioned.
“Right. Well, you better get good at lying then.” She coldly replies, all worry evaporating at the edge in his tone. “I am not getting dragged down for this.”
“You won’t. It will all be handled. I swear it.” Fritz replies.
There’s a moment of silence between them, which gets quickly interrupted by their daughter once more crying out at the intense weather outside their manor.
“For the love of Merlin, Isabella, go calm that child down. It’s making me crazy, all that bloody crying.” Fritz snaps. “Be a mother, the elf clearly freaks her out. Not that I can blame her, I wouldn’t want a creature like that fussing at me.”
“Very well,” Isabella says, her tone even, despite internally raging. Be a mother? That’s rich, considering he hadn’t been a father at all. Yet, she went upstairs. Duty calls - it always will. Isabella Serpentine was good at playing the part, and someday, their daughter would be too.