Echoes of Destiny: Harry and Bellatrix's Second Chance

Albus Dumbledore absently stroked his long, white beard while scratching at a piece of parchment with a quill, awaiting various members of the Order in the kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. At such short notice and so near the holidays, he knew a huge turnout was both unlikely and unnecessary. Albus didn't need a big turnout for this particular meeting, since he could communicate the salient points discussed with everyone who had been unable to make it.

"Kreacher!" Sirius barked, sniffing the air in annoyance, "Kreacher!"

"Will you stop that noise?" Lily asked, rolling her bright green eyes as she removed a pot of tea from the stove.

"I want to talk to that little fetcher," Sirius grumbled with furrowed brows, holding out his teacup for Lily to fill.

"Obviously, he's not going to come," Remus Lupin told Sirius. Placing his old, threadbare cloak on the back on a kitchen chair, he continued, "Wait a while before you try again."

Soon, noise outside of the kitchen signified more arrivals. A moment later, Sirius' fair-haired better half, Cassie Black, escorted representatives from the Weasley clan in into the kitchen. Molly Weasley, round-faced and flushed, entered the kitchen, escorted by the two youngest members of her ginger-haired children, Ron and Ginny, along with Hermione Granger. Arthur Weasley, his thin frame and hair foreshadowed by Ron, brought up the rear. Sidra Potter wandered in shortly thereafter, green eyes alert and impatient, attracted by the voices of her friends.

"We realize that things are a little cramped," Mrs. Weasley said to Lily. "We just didn't want to leave Ron, Ginny, and Hermione home alone."

"All of my children are here," Lily said, nodding as Mrs. Weasley joined her in preparing some more refreshments for the anticipated meeting. "It's getting so that I'm nervous to be home alone, even."

"I know," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Potter," Ginny said. "Do you know where Rose might be?"

"Upstairs, I think," Lily said to the Weasley girl. "She and Leo were doing a little exploring."

"Thank you," Ginny said, exiting the kitchen.

"Don't touch anything that looks suspicious!" Mrs. Weasley called after her. The Weasley matriarch turned toward Lily. "Some of these houses that have belonged to dark families give me the chills."

"I haven't really had a chance to explore," Lily replied, placing a number of teacups on a tray and filling them. She carried the tray over to the table and set it in front of seats now occupied by Sid, Ron, and Hermione.

"Apparently, some mysterious intruder came to the house last night and had a little bit of a confrontation with Walburga Black," Sidra told Ron and Hermione. "The result is that Mrs. Black committed suicide not long after the intruder departed."

"You're sure that the intruder didn't actually kill her?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Moody's sure she was alive after the intruder left," Sid stated.

"She might have been placed under the Imperius curse," Hermione theorized, reflexively.

"We should look into that," Sid said distractedly.

Ron gulped down his tea, impatient to speak. "We actually need to ask one of two questions. Why would a visit from a mysterious intruder result in Mrs. Black deciding to commit suicide? Or, why would someone want to kill Mrs. Black?"

Discussion ceased when Alastor Moody appeared with Kingsley Shacklebolt and James Potter. Though retired, it was apparent that Moody had been consulting with the two active aurors over the corpse sitting still in one of the main rooms of the house.

"I believe we have enough people to get started," Professor Dumbledore announced, surveying everyone in the room. He glanced over toward Sidra, Hermione, and Ron. "Miss Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid that I need to close this meeting to everyone but bona fide members of the Order."

By the expression on her face, it was clear that Sidra was not pleased with this turn of events. However, it was Ron who spoke up. "We've been attending Order meetings regularly since September!"

"Yes," Professor Dumbledore agreed, "but you were never formally inducted into the Order. The events at Hogwarts surrounding the Chamber of Secrets required your presence as much for your own safety as for what valuable insight you could bring to the table."

"I see no reason to close meetings to them after they've attended them so often," Mrs. Weasley interjected. She looked over to Lily for support, but the Potter matriarch looked away uncomfortably.

Professor Dumbledore shrugged. "Perhaps we can consider the question at the end of the meeting and come to a more united conclusion. For now, I ask that you honor my request."

Rather huffily, Sidra stood and exited the room, followed by an outraged Ron and an apparently insulted Hermione.

As soon as the trio had gone, Moody began warding the room against eavesdroppers while Mrs. Weasley rounded on Professor Dumbledore. "Is this about the Chamber of Secrets incident?" she demanded.

"No, Molly. The Chamber of Secrets fiasco is merely a symptom of a larger issue that I feel we need to discuss. What happened in this house last night is also a symptom of that larger issue," Dumbledore declared quite calmly, looking at Molly over the rims of his spectacles.

Molly looked ready to retort, but Mr. Weasley interceded. "This sounds like it could be serious."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, nodding faintly to Moody, who had finished warding the room before taking a seat. Briefly, Dumbledore explained everything he had learned about the incidents leading up to Walburga Black's suicide. Once he laid down the facts for everyone present, he began analyzing the information and inviting the Order to help him draw conclusions.

"For years, we have assumed that the field of potential subjects of the prophecy was quite narrow. The requirements seemed very simple-our in-depth analysis of the prophecy strongly suggested that the one with the power to defeat Voldemort would have claim to the Lord Black title and that person would be tied to a 'Daughter of the Stars.' We have assumed that nobody living at the time the prophecy was delivered can possibly be Lord Black for a number of reasons. Standard, logical deduction led us to believe that the only two Lord Black candidates were Leo Black and Draco Malfoy. Fortunately, Mr. Malfoy's June birthday has put our fears about him inheriting the Black title to rest."

"Yes, we know, Albus," Moody said, rolling his eye. "And obviously, Leo Black couldn't help but fall in love with Sidra Potter, whose given name means 'of the stars.' In case you have not noticed, that is not going so well. For all her being overly willing to embrace her prophetic destiny, she has shown young Leo nothing but contempt. Leo hides behind Rose Potter's clairvoyant absurdities and does his level best to embrace a life of mediocrity."

"Ah… yes," Dumbledore said. "That about sums it up."

"There's nothing wrong with my son aspiring to mediocrity," Sirius declared.

"No one is saying otherwise," Remus said, smiling with faint amusement at his old friend.

"Yes, well, I wanted to bring up Rose's 'clairvoyant absurdities,'" Dumbledore announced. "Though she stubbornly maintains that she is a seer of the past, present, and future, she has traditionally limited her declarations of fact to minor, everyday things-for instance, correctly identifying people who steal from cookie jars."

"She's very logically minded," James Potter said, cutting in. "Deducing the truth behind small, everyday mysteries isn't difficult for her. I think she mostly maintains her clairvoyant persona to get under Sidra's skin and draw attention to herself."

Professor Dumbledore steepled his hands and shrugged. "I also believed the same thing about Rose. She is very clever and very logical. Growing up in Sidra's shadow has been very difficult, I am sure. It would be understandable for her to desire to compete or draw attention to herself. However, she did correctly reveal, as it were, that the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was dead and had been dead for many years. Had we listened to her, we might have focused our efforts more wisely and discovered Professor Pettigrew's treachery sooner."

There was a slightly oppressive silence, which Kingsley Shacklebolt broke. "What precisely does Rose Potter's accurate Chamber of Secrets prediction have to do with the current situation?"

A small sigh escaped from Professor Dumbledore's lips. He suddenly looked very tired. "During Rose Potter's first year at Hogwarts, she declared that neither Leo Black, nor Sidra Potter by extension, were subjects of the prophecy we have held dear to our hearts. Some of us viewed it as a jealous sister's attempt to steal the limelight from Sidra. Others believed it to be an attempt to console and comfort Leo Black who shuns the notoriety of being the one prophesied. The bottom line is that we have disregarded the possibility, as voiced by Rose, that Leo and Sidra are not subjects of the prophecy."

Kingsley looked around the room. The Potters and Blacks stared glumly at the table even as everyone else pointedly avoiding their eyes. "Err… so what you're going to say is that based on last night's events, you think Rose Potter might be correct about Leo not being the prophesied one?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying that we should disregard the possibility that Leo Black and Sidra Potter could be the prophesied ones, but I think we need to seriously reexamine our interpretation of the prophecy and look for other possible candidates."

"And perhaps someone should consult young Rose and see if she has any thoughts to share about the immediate situation," Moody commented quietly.

"I shall handle that personally," Professor Dumbledore told the group. "I think we have nearly covered everything. I just want to highlight a couple of things we need to do and make some assignments."

Bellatrix hissed angrily as she examined Harry's stomach wound. Rather than improving through the night, the wound from the hair ornament had worsened, becoming severely infected. His other wounds from the flying debris had not healed nearly as much as they should have, either. That, combined with the fact that Harry was not responding to Bellatrix's attempts to communicate was troubling. "Get me a bowl of hot water," she yelled, addressing Kreacher, who was in the living room cleaning. The house elf had not expected to be set to grueling work in exchange for fleeing the questions at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Muttering angrily under his breath, Kreacher fetched a bowl, filled it with water from the kitchen sink, and with a snap set it to a near-boiling state. He walked to the bedroom and found his mistress standing over his master's bed.

"It took you long enough," Bellatrix growled, taking the bowl of hot water and setting it on the bedside table as she prepared to clean Harry's wound.

Kreacher watched silently as Bellatrix tended to Harry's wounds. Although the young witch clearly knew the basic principles behind medical treatment, she had never put them to practice on such a severely wounded patient. Eventually, Bellatrix finished treating and bandaging the main wound. She briefly attended to Harry's other injuries before forcing another round of potions down his throat.

"Kreacher," Bellatrix said, "what is the state of things at St. Mungo's?"

"Kreacher doesn't understand mistress's question," Kreacher replied, suddenly feeling a bit of confidence. The mistress did not know everything. She had to rely on Kreacher. Kreacher was an important house elf.

"What I mean is, can I take Harry here to St. Mungo's and expect that he will be safe while they treat him?" Bellatrix said.

"Kreacher still does not know what Mistress Belly means," Kreacher said.

Subconsciously, Bellatrix flexed her hands, almost balling them into fists. "What I want to know is whether or not I can take my husband to the hospital and be assured that he will be safe from harm."

"Why would someone hurt a hospital patient, Mistress?" the house elf inquired.

Bellatrix's violet eyes flared dangerously. "Forget it."

"Does Mistress Belly want me to return to Grimmauld Place?" Kreacher asked.

Bellatrix stalked from the room and into the bathroom, where she took out her wand and began casting glamour charms on herself. Kreacher followed and caught up with her just as her hair flattened itself and transformed into a pale shade of brown. "No, Kreacher will stay here," Bellatrix declared, mimicking the house elf's third person speech as she used magic to change her eyes from violet to a an even paler brown. "Mistress Bellatrix will go to Diagon Alley. Kreacher will monitor Master Harry's condition and go fetch Mistress Bellatrix if Master Harry so much as moves a muscle or misses a breath. Kreacher will also continue cleaning the flat."

"As mistress commands," Kreacher said, watching as Bellatrix's face aged into that of a seemingly motherly woman.

Bellatrix enjoyed her visit to Gringotts far more than the goblins did. Although they had somehow concluded that Harry and Bellatrix had traveled through time, the goblins had still been hoping that they would never see the pair again-at least not for several more decades. Harry and Bellatrix were now billionaires thanks to the goblins' wise investment schemes, and the bank had enjoyed having the Black gold on hand, free of any worries that Harry or Bellatrix would withdraw, transfer, or otherwise invest the money on short notice.

After promising the goblins that she would spend the Black fortune anyway she wished, Bellatrix walked out of the bank, her purse filled with gold, bank drafts, Muggle credit cards, and numerous other tools by which she could move or use the Black money free of the need to ever set foot in Gringotts.

Christmas shoppers swarmed quietly throughout Diagon Alley. Despite the holiday season, gloomy clouds seemed to cling to each shopper. Nobody made eye contact with anybody else, instead glaring suspiciously behind one another's backs. Idly, Bellatrix wondered if disguising herself had been a complete waste of time. Nobody would have noticed her or distinguished her from anyone else in the crowd.

Bellatrix dodged into the apothecary and purchased nearly a thousand galleons worth of medical potions and random potion ingredients. Though clearly surprised by the exorbitant purchase, the apothecary clerk maintained a neutral demeanor with regard to propriety of the transaction. However, it seemed that he recognized her purpose in making the purchases. Quietly, he advised Bellatrix of a former mediwitch who frequented the Leaky Cauldron and gave medical advice based on 'hypothetical situations.'

Upon locating the former mediwitch, Bellatrix nearly turned back, for Madame Madidus was clearly a habitual drunk. However, the realization that there were precious few options drove Bellatrix to sit down across from Madame Madidus in a booth. Empty mugs and classes littered the table coated in a sometimes sticky, sometimes greasy layer.

"I didn't drink all this," Madidus told Bellatrix, burping loudly as she gestured to the empty glasses.

"Of course not," Bellatrix said, masking her disgust. It was surprisingly easy to do so. The face Bellatrix had formed for her disguise seemed incapable of displaying any negative emotion.

"What can I do for you, dearie?" Madame Madidus asked, eying Bellatrix's purse greedily.

Bellatrix glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening or watching them too closely. "I have been informed that you are a former mediwitch and might be able to share some useful opinions."

"That I am," Madame Madidus said. "Tell me of a hypothetical situation, put some money on the table, and I will theorize about how one might medically proceed."

Briefly, Bellatrix hypothesized that someone may have been stabbed in the stomach by a dark artifact. She also hypothesized that said person was now in a coma, but had been given basic first aid. She then followed up her statement of the hypothetical situation by placing a handful of galleons on the table.

Madame Madidus grabbed the galleons and pocketed them quickly before leaning forward toward Bellatrix. "Now tell me, hypothetically, was this dark artifact designed as a weapon? I mean, is it supposed to stab people for the purpose of killing them?"

"No," Bellatrix said, "but it seems to use blood to do what it does."

"Hypothetically, dearie. I need plausible deniability in the event that someone comes looking for someone injured in a specific manner."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Yes, hypothetically, if this artifact existed it wouldn't be a weapon. Hypothetically, if it were to end up stabbing someone, it would be a freak accident," Bellatrix iterated.

"Right," said Madame Madidus. "The thing with that type of injury is that the dark artifact will have drawn energy from the victim's blood to perform the magic. That won't be helpful in the recovery process, especially if the artifact is prone to doing spells that require a lot of magic."

Bellatrix winced internally. It was a good thing that Harry seemed to be a very powerful wizard.

"The other thing is that dark magic artifacts can give people a dark magic infection of sorts," the drunk mediwitch informed Bellatrix.

"I've never heard of that," Bellatrix said disbelievingly.

Madam Madidus shrugged and signaled the barkeep for a mug of ale. "It is what it is. Someone injured in such a way as you have hypothetically described will suffer magical exhaustion for being drained to perform whatever magic the artifact attempted. They will probably get an infection from the physical injury. They will probably get a magical infection from the uncontrolled dark magic. Furthermore, the pure energy required to overcome the injury and resulting infections will also be draining. This person will probably get worse before they get better. In all honesty, even under the care of a professional hospital, the person has a fifty percent chance of dying."

Bellatrix felt the blood drain from her face. "I don't think I can take him to a hospital," she mumbled dejectedly.

"If he's a non-entity, taking him to a hospital can't hurt," Madame Madidus said sympathetically.

"He's not a non-entity," Bellatrix replied vaguely, wanting to know more about the stay-at-home option all while wondering whether she could risk taking Harry to the hospital. It was risky. Glamour charms would be useless, and all it took was for someone to observe within earshot of the wrong person that Harry looked like their old potions professor.

Madame Madidus nodded. "You'd better keep him away from St. Mungo's then. It's too easy for people of either persuasion to get in there and target their enemies. Here's what you do."

Madame Madidus then outlined a regimen for Bellatrix to follow in caring for the hypothetical patient. Bellatrix retrieved a small piece of parchment from her bag and took careful notes, grateful for the systematic directions given to her.

Madidus eventually finished. "You should probably stop at the bookstore and buy yourself some books," she advised. "Hypothetically, you could be sitting by this patient's bedside for a long while."

"Hypothetically speaking," Bellatrix observed, tucking away her notes.

Kreacher was sure that his mistress would be pleased with his cleaning work when she arrived home, but was disappointed when Bellatrix walked through the door carrying several shopping bags, upending all but one atop the living floor. From the upended bags poured Christmas decorations of all sorts along with several strands of Christmas lights-and last, but not least, a live Christmas tree desperately in need of watering, as evinced by all the dry pine needles that fell off the branches as the tree hit the floor.

"Try to make the place look festive," Bellatrix mumbled, walking toward Harry's bedroom with the other shopping bag.

Kreacher stared at the pile of decorations in astonishment. In the background, he heard the door to Master Harry's bedroom shut quietly. "Kreacher deck the halls," Kreacher cursed, grabbing a string of lights.

Near sundown, the house elf finally finished decorating. Kreacher then proceeded to the kitchen to prepare dinner for his mistress and then popped into Harry's bedroom to deliver the meal. Bellatrix lay drowsing on top of the bed cover, a thick tome resting on her chest. The scent of dinner woke her and she looked at Kreacher blearily.

"Thank you, Kreacher," she said.

"Mistress Belly is too kind, thanking her elf," Kreacher said without obvious sarcasm, setting down the dinner on a table next to several measured doses of healing potions. "Does Mistress have any other demands?"

"Go ahead and return to Grimmauld Place or to wherever Sirius is," Bellatrix yawned. "Feel free to do whatever they request, but don't give them information about me. If they try to press you on information, disappear and ignore them for a little while.

"As mistress commands," Kreacher said.

"It doesn't really work that way, Headmaster," Rose Potter said diplomatically. She leaned forward as her hazel eyes peered earnestly into Professor Dumbledore's blue ones. Subconsciously, she reached back and smoothed her dark brown hair. "I need to know facts. I need to be invested emotionally. The pump must be primed."

"I see," Professor Dumbledore said, frowning faintly and breaking the unwelcome eye contact with the middle Potter child. "You have declared that Leo Black is not the subject of the prophecy. Did you not see who it was that was the true subject of the prophecy?"

"No, I did not," Rose said, leaning back into the cushions of an armchair located in James Potter's personal study. Professor Dumbledore had commandeered the room for the interview during a visit to the Potter residence.

"Would you mind telling me what precisely you saw?" Dumbledore asked.

Rose shrugged remorsefully. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel that it would be appropriate."

Dumbledore looked disapprovingly at Rose over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Would you care to explain why not?"

Rose met Professor Dumbledore's gaze directly. "What I saw was seen on behalf of Leo."

"Perhaps I could explain the situation and then you could offer me insight," Dumbledore suggested, beginning to feel a little bit frustrated.

"Of course," Rose said, spreading her hands to signify that she was open to helping the aged headmaster with his situation.

"My priority is to gain understanding of who the subjects of the prophecy are. My secondary objective is to gain knowledge about the person that confronted Walburga Black. It is my own personal opinion that there could be a connection between the prophecy subjects and the mysterious intruder," Dumbledore explained. "Especially if it turns out that your statement that Leo is not the prophecy subject is true."

"You do realize that I have never heard the prophecy in its entirety," Rose reminded Professor Dumbledore. "I think I would have to hear it before offering an authoritative opinion on it."

Dumbledore was beginning to feel that this interview with Rose had been a bad idea, but he was desperate for any advantage or supernaturally gained fact she might offer him. Reluctantly, Dumbledore told her the prophecy on condition that she shared it with no one else.

"The One with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall come… he who is marked the equal of the Dark Lord… he who is tied to the Daughter of the Stars and has altered her path in the heavens… from the seat of the Blacks he will haunt the Dark Lord's paths and have power the Dark Lord knows not… and One must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall come."

Professor Dumbledore studied Rose intently. "Are you feeling anything?"

Rose shrugged. "Why did you assume that it had to be Leo?"

Briefly, Dumbledore explained that circumstances had led him to conclude that the prophesied one was a Black heir that was not alive at the time of the prophecy.

"When did the previous Lord Black die?" Rose asked.

"Orion Black passed away approximately twenty years ago," Dumbledore explained.

"And who inherited?" Rose asked.

"Apparently, nobody."

"Who should have inherited?"

"Either Orion's wife or Sirius or possibly even Cygnus Black," Dumbledore replied, "but they did not. Gringotts claimed that there were associated difficulties with settling the Black estate and naming a new head of the house. Since then, the goblins have proven reticent about the situation and have managed to shield themselves from inquiry despite the best efforts of those concerned."

"I see," Rose said.

"You do realize that I have examined all the details of this situation. I have spent years examining all of the facts." Dumbledore told Rose. "I simply want to know if your seer talent can give me any special insights in addition to what I know."

"Very well," said Rose, closing her eyes. She was slightly miffed at the headmaster. She made a token effort to summon a vision of Lord Black, but as she expected, nothing came. Rose needed more details, more investment to launch a vision. Still, logic suggested possible answers to Dumbledore's queries. Rose opened her eyes and looked at her headmaster. "Have you considered that the prophecy does not preclude people who were alive when it was given? It could have referred to someone who was on holiday or otherwise away from the situation or outside of the Order."

"Is that a vision, or are you being logical?" Dumbledore asked, internally exasperated.

"Is there anything wrong with logic?" Rose retorted almost rhetorically.

"No," Dumbledore admitted. "However, I have already considered that option. I could find no candidates that lived before the prophecy was given that are feasible or not otherwise disqualified by death or legitimate disinheritance."

Rose sighed. "Well, I'm afraid that this summer has proved that Draco Malfoy isn't the Black heir. I can further certify that Leo is not the Black heir. Logic dictates that you must again look at the possible Black heirs from before the prophecy was given. The wording of the prophecy itself suggests that the prophesied one had already been marked an equal of the dark lord as of the date the prophecy was delivered."

"My examination of potential Black heirs was very thorough," Professor Dumbledore informed Rose dismissively. "Further, my study of the language and meaning of prophecies outstrips your own study. I'm afraid that logic dictates that I must disregard your claim that Leo is not the subject of the prophecy and leave open that possibility."

Rose stood up stiffly. "In that case, I must conclude that there is no further use to this interview." She strode across the room, opened the study door, exited the room, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Leo was lying on his bed and casually flipping through a Quidditch magazine when he heard his father shout the house elf's name.

"Kreacher!"

Assuming that the house elf had returned from one of his walkabouts, Leo set aside the magazine and made his way up to the ground floor of the Black residence in Godric's Hollow. He found his father, Sirius, confronting the house elf.

"What do you mean there is no reply?" Sirius demanded. "Did you even deliver the letter?"

"Kreacher delivered the letter directly," Kreacher declared, glaring at Sirius balefully.

"And was the letter read?" Sirius demanded.

"Kreacher does not know," Kreacher said. He raised his hand into the air.

"Stop!" Sirius said, pointing a warning finger at the elf. "I'm not asking questions about your mysterious master. I'm asking questions about the letter. Now, go and help Cassie in the kitchen."

Kreacher made his way toward the kitchen, muttering angrily to himself.

"What's up, Dad?" Leo asked.

Sirius threw up his hands and walked into the living room. Leo followed his father and sprawled onto the couch while Sirius grabbed the current issue of the Daily Prophet.

"The Order has been trying to communicate with the mysterious intruder through correspondence delivered by Kreacher," Sirius grouchily explained to his son. "We've sent several letters but have received no reply."

Leo scratched his chin and grinned mischievously as he watched Sirius slump into a rocking chair. "What do you say in the letters? 'Come play with us or else we won't come play with you?'"

"Very funny," Sirius replied.

"Well," said Leo, "what is the enticement for the mysterious intruder and master of Kreacher to contact you?"

"If the person is opposed to Voldemort, you would think that he or she would want to team up," Sirius explained.

"Maybe," said Leo. He sat there watching his father for several moments before deciding to find something more interesting. "I'm going to Rose's house," he announced.

Sirius glanced up from the newspaper and looked outside at the early evening sky. "Hurry straight there," he reminded Leo. "Take the floo to get home."

"No need," Leo declared, pulling out his wand. "I just got my apparition license. Remember?"

Rose was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling when she heard a pop come from inside her clothes closet. Surprised, she raised her head to glance at the closet door as a knock sounded from inside of the closet. She grinned and set her head back down on the pillow. "I wasn't being serious when I suggested apparating into my closet," she called out.

The closet door opened to reveal Leo. "Yeah, well, I'm sick of having to stare down your father and dodge your mother," he said.

Rose smiled. "What happens if they discover you up here but don't remember you being invited into the house?"

Leo smirked. "We'll tell them that John let me in. He's always quick on the draw and good for corroboration in a tight spot. Besides, I'm keyed into the wards."

"It's probably just as well you came up here, anyway. The headmaster is downstairs talking with my parents," Rose said. She was silent for a little while as she continued to stare at the ceiling and ponder. Leo said nothing in reply, and finally, Rose opted to fill in the gaps. "He wanted me to have a vision and reveal the Black heir."

"Yeah, and it wasn't that easy, I know," Leo said, pulling out a chair from Rose's small desk. He set it next to the bed.

"Logically, the only solution I see is that whoever inherited from Orion must have inherited immediately after his death," Rose told Leo. "But that doesn't explain why they haven't come forward, been noticed, or been exposed since then."

"Whoever it was took out my grandmother," Leo offered.

"Yeah, but we don't necessarily know that the person who did that is the prophesied one," Rose rebutted. "Besides, Dumbledore still seems to think that you're the one. He doesn't believe my vision that you're not the Black heir, and I doubt he suspects you of offing your grannie."

"I heard that he and my father are trying to send letters to the mysterious master of Kreacher," Leo told Rose. "He must be keeping his options somewhat open."

"How's that going for the Order?"

"What? Sending the letters or keeping the options open?"

"Don't be dense," Rose sighed, sitting up and swinging her legs over so that she was sitting on her bed and facing Leo.

Leo grinned. "Kreacher delivers the letters, but no reply has been returned. It's driving my dad nuts. I asked him if they were actually giving this mysterious person good reason to reply, but he acted like I was being silly."

"Probably because he knows you're right," Rose mused, standing up and walking to the window and looking out onto the dusk-lit street below. "Your father has interesting ways of coping with failure and disappointment."

"Uh, right," said Leo, wrinkling his noise. "Anyway, maybe we could send a letter ourselves and offer a bribe."

Rose snickered. "'If you reply, we'll give you a Honeydukes gift certificate.'"

"'And a box of dungbombs,'" Leo finished, laughing heartily.

"No seriously, though," Rose said, suddenly becoming very sober.

"All right."

"If this person controls Kreacher, then he must be Lord Black," Rose theorized.

"Check."

"This person probably inherited the Black title and rights very soon after your grandfather died."

"Check."

"If opposed to Voldemort, this person could very well be the person who opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed the basilisk."

"Huh?" Leo grunted.

Rose quirked an eyebrow at Leo and walked over to the desk where she grabbed a piece of parchment. "Boiling down Dumbledore's statements about the Chamber, it's pretty clear that it was Lord Voldemort who opened the Chamber and killed Moaning Myrtle."

"Check," Leo nodded, even though he was not really following Rose's train of thought.

"The person not only had to know about the Chamber from prior knowledge, but he had to be equal in power to Voldemort in order to open the Chamber," Rose declared, getting somewhat excited as she found herself verbally working toward a solution.

"Uh, we opened the Chamber, too," Leo reminded Rose. "And where does being equal in power come in?"

"You're forgetting what Myrtle told us once we told her we already knew the basilisk was dead," Rose said. "She said this person opened it, but then later arranged for it to be easy to open without Slytherin's special powers." Then, remembering that Dumbledore had shared the complete prophecy with her in confidence, Rose added, "As for equal in power, forget I said it."

"All right," Leo said. "What does it matter?"

"The person might know about the diary," Rose said, opening a desk drawer and withdrawing a quill and bottle of ink. "If they had enough knowledge about the Chamber to seek it out, they could know about the diary."

Leo frowned. "That's a really long shot, Rose. If you're thinking about advertising to this person that we have the diary just for the reason of checking whether he was the one who also opened the Chamber and killed the basilisk, please remember that if Pettigrew or Voldemort or somebody else figures out that we have the diary, we're in deep trouble."

"That's why we'd have to be careful," Rose said lamely, suddenly realizing that her plan was flawed.

"Further," Leo reasoned, "the chances are that this mysterious person knows nothing about the Chamber. How will writing a letter to them about it be a bribe?"

Rose shook her head and paced around the room for a bit, looking rather unhappy. Abruptly, she stopped and her face brightened.

"You've got it figured out, haven't you?" Leo said resignedly.

"Yes," Rose said. "We can send an extremely cryptic letter. If they know about the diary, or are even wondering about the diary, they will probably pick it out of what we say."

"And if they know nothing about the diary or the letter is too cryptic?"

Rose grinned widely. "The cryptic nature of the letter will rouse their curiosity and draw them out from hiding!"

"Maybe," Leo said.

A sheen of sweat shined on Bellatrix's face as she leaned over a table in her library-laboratory loft and made a number of small notations on a sheet of parchment. She picked up her wand and proceeded to the center of the room. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before opening them again. She drew her wand in a flash of motion.

"Strike, strike, shield, step left, strike, strike, strike, step right, shield," she said tersely as she sped through the exercise, motioning with her wand as if actually casting spells and dueling another combatant.

Frowning, she returned to the table and examined her notes on the parchment. She made another set of notations and returned to the center of the room.

"Strike, strike, step left, strike, major strike, step right, strike, strike, strike, step right, strike," she intoned, moving quickly and smoothly enough to make it look as though she was dancing. She repeated the pattern again, inverting the steps. After that, she started from the beginning repeating the pattern and its inversion nearly a dozen times before stopping to take a breath.

Feeling rather satisfied with the pattern and inversion, Bellatrix returned to the parchment on her worktable and used a quill to circle the set of directions on the parchment. She folded the parchment in half and slipped it into her dueling manual between the pages that detailed drills for standing ground in a duel. The drills in the book were good and Bellatrix had already mastered them, but she had long ago concluded that she needed to introduce her own patterns or else run the risk of having an opponent recognize the strategies from the well-known book-at least the book that had been well-known over twenty years ago.

She had just flipped to the drills for forcing an opponent back and gaining ground when a popping noise announced the arrival of Kreacher. Bellatrix glanced at the house elf and quickly saw that he was holding a parchment envelope in his hands.

"Not twice in the same day," she growled.

"Kreacher received the letter from someone else," the house elf announced. "Not Master Sirius."

"That makes it so much better," Bellatrix said sarcastically, accepting the letter from the house elf. She performed a number of charms to ascertain that nothing was amiss with the parchment envelope before opening it.

Inside, Bellatrix found a number of clippings from the Daily Prophet. She pushed aside her dueling manual and laid the clippings on the table, organizing them chronologically as she read them, one by one. Ostensibly, the articles reported on a series of unfortunate events that had occurred at Hogwarts between the start of term and the beginning of the Christmas holiday. Howbeit, the articles were rather short on details about the events and rather heavy on political rhetoric, apparently engineered by Minister Prewitt. The first article did not even describe the crime that had supposedly taken place to ignite the outrage.

"We will take any steps necessary to get to the bottom of this matter," Minister Prewitt was quoted as saying. "Director Crouch and I shall personally lead the investigation. Truth serums will be administered to each and every student. Not only will we root out the culprit, but we will root out anyone who has sympathies toward the dark lord."

Another article went so far as to admit that students had been attacked by a person or creature unknown, but implied that Minister Prewitt and his trusty aurors had personally discovered the occurrence of the attacks through their dutiful actions-almost as if students and teachers would not have known the crimes had occurred without the Ministry discovering them.

Thanks to the diligence of the aurors, the article claimed, it appeared that no students had died, though someone purporting to be the Heir of Slytherin had terrorized the school, injured students, and committed acts of extreme vandalism.

By the fourth article, Bellatrix realized that the Chamber of Secrets had apparently been opened. She grinned slyly as she contemplated how Voldemort must have felt when he or whomever he sent had discovered that the basilisk was already dead.

Eventually, Bellatrix got to the final article. It was very short and briefly informed readers that Professor Dumbledore and his associates had resolved the situation. At the bottom of the stack of newspaper clippings was a short note.

Peter Pettigrew was exposed as being a Death Eater. He escaped, but he lost something in the process.

Bellatrix frowned thoughtfully, staring at the note. So what? Bellatrix mused.

Rose shook her head and reached back to tuck a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear as she waited with her siblings and Leo for her father and Sirius to finish getting ready to take them to Diagon Alley for a little Christmas Eve outing, though it wasn't quite "eve" as yet. Rose, Leo, Sidra, and John were standing in the hallway of the Black home while their respective fathers were saying goodbye to their wives and receiving last minute shopping requests for dinner.

"Go away, elf!" Sidra barked, addressing Kreacher.

Kreacher had been staring intently at Rose and Leo, but turned his attention to Sidra. Instead of going away, he merely leered at her.

"Maybe if you told him to go away, he'd go," Rose suggested quietly as John, with his messy black hair, laughed at the exchange between his older sister and the crazy house elf.

"It wouldn't do any good," Leo whispered, looking at Rose, but glancing at the elf from the corner of his eyes. "He's been doing it since he got back from delivering our letter. Trust me, it is worse when you know he is watching you but you cannot see him anywhere."

Rose gave the house elf an appraising look. "Good thing this mysterious person isn't hostile to any of us, or we would all be dead by now. Do you think Kreacher has been assigned to watch us?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Leo said.

"All right! Let's get going!" Sirius called. "I think we can double-apparate-to the Leaky Cauldron, I think."

"Come apparate with me, John," James said.

Rose grabbed Leo's arm before her father could assign someone else to double apparate with her. They were soon on their way and had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. James issued strict instructions that no one was to go anywhere without a buddy and that under no circumstances was anybody to step foot in Knockturn Alley.

Leo and Rose, already having anticipated these instructions scampered from the Leaky Cauldron and separated themselves from the rest of the group, losing anyone who might have wanted to go to the same stores with them. After a little bit, they doubled back to the Leaky Cauldron and sat down after Rose had ordered a hot cider and Leo had ordered a butterbeer from Tom.

"One of these days, I'll convert you to butterbeer," Leo declared, gazing at Rose with his warm, brown eyes.

"Probably not," Rose said, smiling broadly. "Where do you want to stop after this?"

"The quidditch shop, of course," Leo said. "You?"

"Used bookshop," Rose indicated. "I overheard my dad tell my mum that some of the families running out of money are selling their older books. I'd like to sort through and see if we can find anything that mentions the House of Black."

"Sounds thrilling," Leo commented drily.

"We can make it our last stop," Rose indicated. "Where else did you want to go?"

Before Leo could respond, they were interrupted by a girl who approached their table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "Rose!" the girl exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you here. How is your holiday going?"

"Who are you?" Leo demanded as the mysterious girl signaled the barkeep for a butterbeer.

"I'm a fellow Hogwarts student," the girl said innocently.

Squinting, Rose studied the girl intently. Her straight, blond hair was slightly longer than shoulder length, and her skin was well tanned. Blue eyes topped a rather ordinary oval face. "What year are you in?" Rose asked once she had ascertained that she did not recognize the girl at all.

The girl smirked as Tom the barkeep set another butterbeer down on the table. "Sixth year," she answered.

"We're sixth years!" Rose retorted. "I think I would remember you. What house are you in in?"

"Slytherin," the girl said, smiling rather oddly.

"You're lying!" Leo declared.

"Only sort of," the girl admitted.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Rose inquired.

The girl smiled. "Call me… Jane."

"All right, Jane," Leo said. "What do you want?"

"Actually," Jane replied, "the question has more to do with what you want." She pulled from inside her coat a parchment envelope, which she tossed on the table.

Slowly, Rose reached out and opened the familiar envelope. Inside it were the Daily Prophet clippings she had sent to the mysterious intruder via Kreacher. She looked across the table at Jane. "Before we speak, we need you to confirm that you're the one who entered the Chamber of Secrets and killed the monster inside," Rose said, sounding very business-like. Leo was impressed.

Jane studied Rose, her face impassionate. "All right," Jane said. "In a matter of speaking, I entered the Chamber and killed the basilisk."

"Prove it," Rose retorted.

"Why would I claim that I did it if I did not do it?" Jane asked, leaning back in her chair.

"Because you want what was stolen from Pettigrew," Leo interjected. "We don't deal unless you can prove you're the one who killed the monster by telling us the precise method by which you did the deed."

Jane looked rather smug. "You yourselves have no way of knowing how the basilisk was killed, seeing as I incinerated its corpse."

Rose and Leo looked at each other and nodded.

"Now, it's your turn," Jane said. "Tell me what it is you are trying to sell."

Rose glanced around the pub to make sure no one in particular was listening to the conversation. She leaned forward. "We have the diary that Pettigrew used to open the Chamber," she whispered. "Did you know of its existence?"

Jane looked rather surprised. "I have heard of its existence," she admitted, reaching for her butterbeer and taking a sip. "Are you here to sell it to me?"

"We're open to some sort of bargain," Rose told Jane. "Specifically, we're in the market for information. We need to know more about the House of Black and about Lord Black especially."

Jane's face became rather dispassionate, and she set down her butterbeer without taking another sip. "I would prefer to trade gold for the diary. Ten thousand galleons."

Leo's eyes bugged out, but Rose was not about to trade her leverage against the mysterious mistress of the Black house elf for gold. "Information," she said firmly, "is our price. And lots of it."

"Twenty-five thousand galleons," Jane countered.

Rose shook her head as Leo gaped, his jaw hanging open.

"Fifty thousand galleons, final offer," Jane said.

"The identity, information, and an introduction to Lord Black is our price, minimum," Rose replied.

This did not make Jane very happy, but she pressed on. "What makes you think I'm not Lord Black?"

Rose laughed. "You're no wizard. Besides, you've dodged the specific details of the basilisk killing rather nimbly. You were there when the basilisk died, and you incinerated its corpse, but you did not open the Chamber, and you did not kill it. Moaning Myrtle was very sure that a wizard was involved. I assume he was Lord Black."

Jane sighed, both impressed and annoyed by Rose's insight, then removed a small timepiece from her pocket and glanced it. "I'm afraid that it is time for me to depart," she announced. "Perhaps we will meet again." She stood and made to leave the table, but stopped and turned back to speak quietly some parting words. "Keep the diary safe. There is essentially nothing the dark lord would not do to recover it." With that, she departed the pub by way of the back entrance to Diagon Alley.

Severus Snape felt Narcissa Malfoy squeeze his arm while Lord Voldemort quietly paced back and forth in the upper assembly room of the reconstructed and heavily warded Malfoy Manor. Nearly a dozen Death Eaters stood in a loose circular formation around the room's perimeter. Each Death Eater wore the customary mask and hood.

The custom of disguising each Death Eater from another was as much for inspiring the mysterious aura that Voldemort desired among his followers as it was for protecting the identity of each Death Eater. Minister Prewitt's methods were extreme. The capture and interrogation of a single Death Eater could and had resulted in the violent decimation of Death Eater ranks and Death Eater families.

The Dark Lord's careful policy of keeping Death Eater identities secret had generally frustrated Snape's efforts on behalf of the Order. Particularly, Snape had neither been able to forewarn Professor Dumbledore that Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater, nor that Voldemort had given Pettigrew a special assignment to carry out at Hogwarts in the recent months.

Snape knew that Pettigrew had made a serious mistake and had not completed the primary objective of his assignment. In that instance, perhaps the Order had benefited from Snape being in the dark. Had Snape been informed, Pettigrew might have succeeded because Voldemort would have, at minimum, required Snape to pass reports of Pettigrew's progress to the Dark Lord. Miraculously, Voldemort had not realized, based on reports in the Daily Prophet about events at Hogwarts, that Pettigrew was failing miserably. Now that Pettigrew had been exposed as being a Death Eater and was missing, Voldemort was attempting to curtail the damage.

"I want Peter Pettigrew captured alive," Lord Voldemort told his assembled followers, pacing in their midst as if he was a predator stalking its prey-as if perhaps one of them actually knew Pettigrew's location but had not disclosed it. "There is no other priority that supersedes that of capturing Pettigrew and bringing him to me."

"Yes, milord," his various followers intoned, blatantly disguising their voices, speaking loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough not to attract the Dark Lord's attention.

Voldemort seemed to accept their responses and continued to pace. Suddenly, he whirled and faced one of the cloaked figures. "What does the Ministry know about the death of the Walburga Black?" Voldemort demanded.

"Little, milord," the Death Eater gasped. "An intruder confronted her in her home after burning the infamous Black family tapestry. Madame Black committed suicide shortly after the intruder left, milord."

At the utterance of these tidbits concerning Walburga Black's death, Snape felt Narcissa stiffen. He was surprised at this because she would have already known about the death of her aunt and that the Ministry was classifying it as a suicide. Curious as he was, Snape could not afford to lose his focus on the matter at hand. Perhaps he could subtly probe Narcissa for information later.

"Has the Ministry no suspects?" Voldemort asked.

"None, milord."

Voldemort turned to face Snape. "Do you have any… insight?"

Snape knew that Voldemort was really asking whether the Order had made any discoveries but actually expected Snape to reply as if he also had information about the Ministry. The Dark Lord used this strategy to encourage his followers to be diligent lest they be found negligent in their efforts. The strategy also ensured that if the Ministry captured and interrogated anyone who had heard the report, the spy who had penetrated the more exclusive organization would not be exposed or even specifically identified.

"There is much confusion, milord," Snape said to Voldemort. "It has been theorized that Madame Black was slain by one of your followers." The second sentence was a risk. While Voldemort would appreciate knowing of the Order's theory, the other Death Eaters would not appreciate Severus for sowing yet another seed of distrust.

"That is interesting," Voldemort said, turning back to the original informant. "Could it have been a Death Eater who killed Mrs. Black?"

"I do not know, milord," the Death Eater replied, suddenly sounding very nervous.

Snape would have been scared if he were the informant. The Dark Lord had multiple Ministry spies. The Dark Lord could have already known that Severus would imply that a fellow Death Eater had killed Walburga Black. The Dark Lord could be intimating that the informant himself had killed Walburga.

Voldemort deigned to hold his audience in suspense for a few moments. Eventually, he moved on, causing those in the circle to let out quiet sighs of relief. "It so happens that Madame Black's death is very inconvenient," Voldemort informed his Death Eaters. He focused on the Ministry spy. "Inform me when the Ministry investigation moves away from the Grimmauld house."

"I will," the informant breathed.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Voldemort told the group. "You may all now depart, but you two will stay," he said, pointing to Snape and Narcissa.

Dread welled up from Snape's chest, but he shoved it down as he watched his fellow Death Eaters depart from Malfoy Manor, leaving him and Narcissa alone with Lord Voldemort. Aside from the usual double-agent situation, Snape had done nothing that would rouse Voldemort's ire, and it was unlikely that Snape had been exposed. Dumbledore was very careful about that. Perhaps the Dark Lord had observed Narcissa's shocked reaction to the details of her aunt's death. Eventually, save for any house elves, the Dark Lord, Snape, and Narcissa were the only living souls in the Manor.

"Unmask yourselves," Voldemort commanded.

Snape and Narcissa promptly removed their masks as Voldemort glided to an ornate chair. As he did so, the light in the room increased, causing Snape and Narcissa to wince as the increased light hit their eyes, which had acclimatized to the darkness in the room during the meeting.

Once their eyes had adjusted to the light, Snape and Narcissa were confronted with Voldemort's appearance. The Dark Lord's face was hideously scarred-a consequence of a battle once fought against him from within the very room in which he now sat so comfortably. Snape privately theorized that the Dark Lord's purpose in making Malfoy Manor his usual meeting location was to gloat in his victory. After the dust settled, Voldemort had been maimed, but Cygnus Black and Romulus Malfoy were dead. Even Ashworth had eventually been killed.

Though Minister Prewitt had vigorously pursued the effort against Voldemort, he had only truly been able to strike and bloody the Death Eaters themselves. Voldemort had not had reason to feel personally threatened, as the Blacks patriarchs had once made him feel, for a long while. Albus Dumbledore did not seem inclined to seek Voldemort out, and as years passed, the Dark Lord lost faith in the validity of the prophecy that in the vaguest terms suggested another Black might rise and take up the sword of Orion and Cygnus.

"Tell me, Narcissa, what news does your son send? Has any sign of Pettigrew been discovered?"

"N-no, milord," Narcissa replied, clearly on the verge of losing her composure.

Snape watched the exchange, a neutral expression on his face despite emotional turmoil deep inside. It was in fact Lucius Malfoy, accompanied by his son Draco, who Voldemort had sent in advance to trail Pettigrew. Voldemort knew that Narcissa had ceased caring for Lucius long ago, and so he inquired after Draco, reminding Narcissa that he held Draco's life in his hands. It also served to remind Snape that failures on his part would not bode well for Narcissa's beloved son.

Voldemort watched them in silence for several moments before eventually issuing a round of instructions to Snape and Narcissa. The instructions were not new. They were repeats of past directions. He then departed.

As soon as the Dark Lord was gone, Narcissa burst into tears. Quietly, Snape led her to a chair-not the one Voldemort had sat in. Snape watched her, not sure what to say. He moved toward a couch and sat down, leaning forward to signify that he was ready to listen to anything she wanted to say. He knew that Professor Dumbledore would want to know why she had stiffened when hearing the details of Madame Black's death. It could be important.

"You have been so kind, Severus," Narcissa said as her sobs subsided. "I'm sorry about all of this."

Snape nodded. "I am always prepared to help you wherever I can," he said.

"I know," Narcissa said, "and I am grateful. It is so hard to having him constantly hang my son's life on everything. I don't know how you can keep your emotions in check so well when he's around. I wish I was that strong."

Here, the road forked. Snape could ask what had upset her about her aunt's death or he could continue to console her. Loyalty to Dumbledore and the thought that Dumbledore's success would make a better world for Narcissa prompted Snape to question, rather than console her.

"What was it… I mean, you seemed especially surprised when that wizard talked about your aunt's death," Snape said.

"It was nothing," Narcissa said, beginning to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"It must have been something," Snape pressed.

A small smile showed on Narcissa's face. "It was just a memory, Severus. A specter from past summoned by the thought of the Black family tapestry burning."

"A ghost come to haunt you?"

"Not really, seeing as it's only a memory," Narcissa said absently. She thought about it a little more and then laughed softly. "That ghost would exhaust its malice on the Dark Lord before coming after me, I should think. It's nothing to worry about, Severus. Let's talk about something else."