Chapter Text
Blending in was not something Petunia could manage well in a magical train station, she had to admit. The agreement with Lav, through several confusing letters, was that she would wait on the normal side, and Lav would cross through and find her after saying her goodbyes, and then they’d be able to return home, which was an agreement that worked perfectly in her mind. No simpering magic parents fussing over their children’s pet toads and pointed hats, no floating objects, no crowd of people she was sure to stand out amongst as the only one in even vaguely practical clothing. It would be a perfect system.
She waited between platforms nine and ten, at Lavinia’s instruction, remembering vividly the early September mornings of seeing Lily off. Her sister always seemed so alive on those mornings each year, Petunia herself dragged out of the house to make the drive, heavy cosmetics the only things keeping her looking alive and happy. It would not do to look too upset, of course, she remembered knowing even at the time. There could be no blaming her parents for paying mind to their bubbly, bouncing child, over some sullen pouting thing, and so she took great care each September right through her teenage years to curl her hair, set out a nice breakfast, smile wide and ask Lily about the upcoming year, whether or not she cared much about the answer.
But after twenty years, she could admit to a certain level of jealousy for that sort of excitement. Even her own departure to university hadn’t gotten her to dance on air the way Lily did when she got to leave home for Hogwarts each year. Oh, she’d been excited of course in her own right, but she supposed having magic allowed you to see the magic over the rationality in most things. University had mostly meant packing, purchasing, the general hassle of relocating. It meant finding a nice job near the flat she was to share with two other students she’d only met a handful of times, it meant a million things on her to-do list to make sure every single form had been filled and filed, her classes scheduled, her textbooks in usable condition.
Lily would be up at six on those days, rushing around the house grinning as she finished up packing and singing and thinking of nothing but her own joy, and it was something Petunia herself had never really felt. The whole world must have seemed so mundane to Lily, and it bled into every moment over holidays, when magic school was the only thing on her mind, and the realities of life never quite sunk in. The realities of life were magical enough to Petunia, though she knew Lily would only find the sentiment depressing, but it was true. Dream worlds would always fall apart when you woke up.
Today, however, she was not balancing her parents’ tunnel vision with an overwhelming ball of redheaded excitement, nor was she to drive back home with a car emptier than she had come. It had been too goddamn long since she’d seen her niece, Christmas and summer too far apart compared to her daily company and presence.
The train was set to arrive around six, as it left earlier from the school than it did when the students had to be released by their parents. By half past five, Petunia was starting to grow a bit impatient-- she knew, of course, she was far too early to be frustrated, but there was only so long one could go with nothing on their minds but a train that had not yet come. She finally set her book back into her bag and pulled out her phone, knowing that she had barely grasped anything of meaning from the thirty or so pages she’d flipped through. The news, she quickly found far too depressing, and there was no work to do on a Saturday, so she resorted to scrolling absently, hoping something would hold her attention.
Bits and pieces of life floated around her, one sided conversations on phone calls, mindless chatter between strangers, talk of the weather and the days activities, parents trying to keep children in line and the gossip of groups headed out together for the night.
“So these are the Muggles,” came an uncomfortable sort of tone that had her head shooting up. “A bit grey, isn’t it all?”
“They’re not all deaf, darling,” a woman replied with an affectionate sort of condescension, and Petunia had to cover her smile with her hand as she realised who she was hearing.
Gathering her things, she wove through the crowd to reach the barrier between platforms. It was likely not the ideal for a bunch of wizards to be running around the train station spewing what amounted to nonsense outside of their world.
They were still bickering when she reached them, entirely oblivious to the rest of the world, or perhaps just uncaring, so Petunia gave in and interrupted, clearing her throat.
“Petunia!” Narcissa exclaimed, leaning in to kiss her cheeks. “We were just looking for you, of course, at Draco’s request. Lavinia had mentioned that she’d be passing through to the Muggle world alone, and we simply cannot allow it, could we, darling?”
“Of course not, my dear,” Lucius agreed, more than a tad indulgently. “Have you been waiting long here on the Muggle side, Ms. Evans?”
“Not too,” she said, then cleared her throat again, unsure of how to put the next bit. “You may wish next time to limit your use of the word ‘muggle’ while you’re in our world, though. It’s not a word we have ourselves, and it may be drawing more attention than you were hoping.”
“I was just telling him the same,” Narcissa agreed with a sigh, leaning further against her husband’s arm. “But it was all I could do to convince him to glamour himself Muggle clothes.”
Petunia frowned. “Glamour?"
“Well, we’re wearing normal clothes under all this magic,” she explained, as though that was a normal thing to say, like claiming she had short sleeves under her sweater. “But it wouldn’t do to wander the Muggle world seemingly in costume. Shall we? It shouldn’t be too much longer until the train arrives. Now,” Narcissa added under her breath, a glimmer in her eye, “what I’m about to do isn’t exactly… looked kindly upon, legally speaking, using magic in the Muggle world, and so I must ask you keep to yourself with it.” She’d pulled a slim wand from inside her jacket and began murmuring under her breath.
Petunia looked away as she did, partly out of the general discomfort of seeing magic used in her own, normal world, and partly because it seemed like something she wasn’t supposed to watch, something strangely personal.
There was nothing that seemed more counterintuitive than running face-first into a brick wall, and it took several assurances from Narcissa that it was not, in fact, some sort of joke. She couldn’t help but steel herself for impact, trying to remain casual as Narcissa led her through the wall, her confident stride something Petunia couldn’t help but envy, just a bit.
And she was glad, she was , that she’d get to meet Lav right off the train, surprise her and meet her little friends and spend a half hour less without her niece back, and she was grateful that Narcissa had thought to come to the normal side of the station and apparently break a few laws to bring her across, but spending more time among wizards wasn’t something she had ever wished to make a habit of.
She stuck out in her perfectly normal blouse and skirt, stuck out with no magic twig strapped to her arm, stuck out without that sort of glow that they all seemed to have. Fortunately, it was only ten or so minutes later that they began to hear the sounds of a train in the distance, and Petunia could see the Malfoys’ relieved smiles mirroring her own. For two people so adept at showing absolutely no honest emotion, it all seemed to break when it came to their son.
“There’s no use running at it,” Narcissa told her, sounding a bit disappointed herself. “It’s always too swarmed to see anything as it is.”
“You’ve been on this side of it before?” Petunia asked in surprise. She certainly didn’t remember Narcissa mentioning any other children, but if anyone could keep such a thing secret, she was certainly a woman who could pull it off.
“Younger sister. I always wanted to catch her right as she got off the train, but it’s better to wait. They’ll find us."
Spotting two children among hundreds wasn’t exactly easy, but soon enough she could see the pair weaving through the crowd towards them excitedly, doing their best to wave while carrying their things. Lavinia tackled Petunia in a hug the moment she was close enough to reach, and a sort of tenseness that Petunia hadn’t realised she’d been carrying was released.
“Merry meet, Aunt Narcissa, Lord Malfoy,” Lavinia said, her voice slightly muffled by Petunia’s shoulder.
“Merry meet, dear. Draco, you’ve gotten so tall,” Narcissa exclaimed, pulling her son into a tight embrace.
“It’s only been since spring, Mum,” the boy tried to tell her, and Petunia almost wanted to tell him that it was a hopeless argument.
When Narcissa had finally released him, he turned to his beaming father and extended his hand, which was promptly accepted to shake. “We’re beyond glad to have you back home, Draco.”
Petunia huffed a laugh. “Give that man a hug,” she told her niece in a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because he’s dying to give one to someone.”
Lavinia glanced over at the family. “Draco just wants to feel grown up.”
“And Heaven knows I can’t blame him,” Petunia agreed gently, “but our Lord Malfoy looks ready to toss in the towel on that handshake.”
Lavinia reluctantly detached herself from her aunt. “Thank you for bringing Auntie through,” she told the couple with a grateful smile, leaning to kiss Narcissa on the cheek, and then turning to Lord Malfoy and giving him a sort of one-armed hug that he returned with both, and Petunia was doing so well at holding back her laugh until Narcissa met her eye with a knowing look. She shrugged.
“You’d better write me immediately,” Draco was telling Lavinia.
“Immediately? Heir Malfoy, what on Earth will I have to write about the drive back to my house?”
“Absolutely nothing, and I insist you tell me all about it, Heiress Potter.”
“Well, I suppose if you insist .”
“I do. And you’ll come visit this summer?”
“Of course, we can figure out the exact details in one of these hourly letters we’ll apparently be sending.”
“Precisely.”
She leaned in to speak to Narcissa. “Would you still like to meet up this summer?”
“Very much so. We’ll be in France for the beginning, but we’ll be back after Litha.” Petunia looked at her questioningly, and the other woman laughed. “June twenty-fourth. We could certainly meet that following week.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“I’ll see you then,” she agreed. She turned away to gather her son and his things, and Lavinia returned to her side, grinning.
“Carry Hera?”
“If I must.”
___________
“Did I mention that we tied , also?” Lavinia asked as it occurred to her, as she idly stirred the soup while Auntie prepared the ingredients. “For the House Cup.” She would be endlessly grateful for the infinite food that appeared on the Hogwarts tables, but there was nothing that actually could beat a home-cooked meal. She’d chattered on about school the entire drive home, of course, but it seemed like there was always another thing to say, something more she wanted Auntie to know.
She hadn’t told her yet about Tom, however, and she wasn’t certain if she would. Oh, she knew about the Cerberus, the Philosopher’s stone, the question of possession. She’d written about all of that as soon as she knew it, and with Agatha’s help, she’d charmed her letters to be unreadable to anyone other than the intended recipient. But actually telling her aunt that she’d undertaken an extremely dangerous ritual and intentionally accidentally revived the Dark Lord? She could barely make sense of that herself. It was better to stay on somewhat easier topics.
Auntie frowned. “Wasn’t your house some hundred points ahead last time you wrote?”
“ Yes . And we didn’t tie with Ravenclaw– they’d been next after us, remember– because I would have understood that, they’d gotten points around exams as it was, they certainly could have gotten more. We tied with Gryffindor. They were a hundred and sixty points behind us at the beginning of the feast and tied by the end.”
“Safe to assume it’s your brother’s doing?”
Lavinia nodded. “For outstanding bravery, or something. I think I should get points for my outstanding restraint in not having strangled him yet,” she declared, laughing and falling against her aunt, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I’m sure that would be a fantastic look for the school,” Auntie agreed. “Each year, every student who has managed to avoid assault and murder is awarded a hundred points.”
“Exactly. See, you understand me,” she lamented. “It’s been a true struggle.”
“Mm. Pass me the garlic, love?”
Lavinia complied. “I’ve got a Magical newspaper being sent to our house, just so you know. You’re free to read it, of course, though I doubt it would be of much interest to you.”
“Are we going to have owls at our house day in and day out?”
“It’s just once a week,” she assured her aunt. “But we get them for free at school, and I don’t want to be behind. And Hera knows to only deliver my letters at night.”
“I suppose an owl won’t be the strangest thing we’ve got in this house,” Auntie agreed with a roll of her eyes, tugging lightly on Lavinia’s braid.
“Hey!”
“Kidding, kidding.”
_________
The house felt empty once her friends had all been picked up, the soft morning light streaming into empty rooms and the last few birds singing just loud enough to hear. With Colleen, Lucy, and herself squeezed into her room and Devonte and Thomas in the room beside them, the wall thin enough that they could hear each other if they spoke clearly and listened closely, it felt a little like she was back in the dorms at school. She’d grown entirely unaccustomed to being alone, she found.
It was too quiet. She had to talk to someone, and there was no Daphne in the next room or Pansy sprawled on one of the sitting room couches or Draco in the room down the hall. She pulled a sheet of parchment from her desk.
Dear Tom , she began, her pen hovering above the parchment as she weighed what to say next. He wasn’t exactly a normal person, however rude that may sound. But could she really ask a Dark Lord such mundane questions as were standard? If he’d gone anywhere fun on holiday or read any interesting books? What would it even look like, some little girl in London writing to the deadliest man in all of Magical Britain to ask how his summer was going thus far? She hadn’t even written him since he’d left Hogwarts, ripping up her letters every time she tried to start a new one, and it certainly wasn’t as though he’d written her first.
But for all she worried over the plain sorts of conversation, would it be in some way more suspicious if she ignored the basic platitudes? Would it imply that on some level she knew he wasn’t like everyone else, or even that she knew he was the Dark Lord? Did it protect her to be a silly little girl with silly little questions, because at least she would stay firmly on the side of Not A Threat? She sighed, grinding the tip of her pen too hard into the corner of her parchment and accidentally gouging a tiny black hole in the whole stack of papers.
She was just being silly, and she knew it. It wasn’t as though they were strangers, rather the opposite. Hours and hours together every week counted for something, and if they could share so much conversation, they would be able to share letters as well. Clearly he didn’t hate how she already spoke and acted around him, or else he never would have invited her to write, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Dear Tom,
I hope, wherever you are, you are finding yourself safe and comfortable. I am not sure what I can inquire past that, as I would not wish to pry, and I’m sure the answer is equal parts strange and secret, so I will simply fill in your answer myself. In my mind, you are staying in an abandoned castle in Transylvania, sipping on the blood of the innocent and enjoying yourself spectacularly. If this is not in fact the case, I insist you do not spoil my fun by denying it.
I’ve been back in the Muggle world for near two weeks now, and as happy as I am to be home and see everyone, I can’t help but miss Hogwarts more than anything. Was it the same for you over summers? Hogwarts has so quickly become my home, but there’s a magic here as well, I admit. I’m headed to Ireland in a week to stay for the next. A friend of mine has family there we visit most summers. I will have to leave even my wand behind, which will be the longest I’ve parted with it since it found me. Only yesterday I found myself waiting for a Muggle picture to move out of the frame, and immediately felt rather silly when it did not. I don’t know why I’m telling you these things, Tom, but I think you must understand somehow exactly what I mean, though I’m not sure why I’m so certain of it. There is endlessly that nagging feeling that something is missing while I’m here. I’ve been able to resume ballet along with my other lessons, which has been wonderful, though I’m somehow still out of practice despite my efforts. I’m student-teaching, as well, so I’ve gotten to review all of the beginning steps, which will certainly come in handy if you follow through on your promise to at least consider allowing me to teach you one day.
Little else is going on for me at the moment, so I’m running out of things to write about. The end of the year at Hogwarts after your departure was honestly quite boring. Your lessons were the most interesting thing I had on my schedule, and I must say, Quirrell- the real one, that is- was the most boring man I ever met. The books I read on the subject were unclear, but if you did in fact have to share a mind and a set of thoughts with him, I must offer my pity. It seems a miserable fate, and not one I would wish on anyone. I don’t believe I ever told you this, but there was a dragon at Hogwarts last year, though my friends and I found a way for it to be taken out of Hogwarts and to a reserve in Romania. If you are, as I imagine you must be, in Romania as well, you should certainly try to locate it. I’m sure you’re in need of companionship, as I’m certain the local villagers fear and avoid you, and I suppose it follows that dragons would be a wizard’s best friend if dogs are a man’s.
I am imagining that you find me wildly amusing, just so you know.
On a more academic note, I’ve lately been reading Milrin’s “Thoughts and Ethics on Vassalship in the Modern Magical World,” and I would much appreciate your opinions on it, should you have read it, and on the topic at large should you have not. I’d been aware of the sustained presence of the concept only in theory, but known little of the details, which led me to seek out the book. I try to keep an open mind about the differences between the Magical and Muggle worlds in terms of progress, as of course societies with different needs and abilities would progress at different speeds in different areas, but it still strikes me as a strange practice to uphold. I also wondered at the magical value of the contracts, and I suppose contracts as a whole. How have they changed over time if they are also magically enforced?
Respond soon, please. I’ve even enclosed a pen as I’ve got no proof that the villagers would allow you into a shop, and I’m offering you no excuse for not replying to me.
Your friend,
Lavinia Hyadette Evans
She folded the parchment carefully and fitted it into an envelope. Her set of wax and stamps was a more recent addition to the whole thing, something Auntie had ordered the summer before as somewhat of a joke, after the letter from Hogwarts arrived with a perfectly pressed crest in red. Pretentious , Auntie had called it with a scoff, but quickly corrected herself at Lavinia’s obvious disagreement. But romantic.
Lavinia waited for the wax to melt under the heat of the little handheld lighter. Hera was back from Malfoy Manor with Draco’s most recent letter, and would be dropping off her reply after she delivered the letter to Tom. Lavinia had no clue, really, what Draco would think of her writing Tom, not that he even knew the man’s name, if that even was his name. But a letter to some mystery man without so much as an address would be a cause for confusion as well, as she didn’t very well know anyone that he didn’t know as well. She’d spent very little time in the Magical world aside from Hogwarts and Gringotts, and certainly not enough to create some network of acquaintances which she could reasonably have gone the last year without bringing up even once.
She stroked Hera’s soft wings and tied the letters to her leg.
Lessons with Lady Miera had morphed into something closer to a weekly discussion of current events with a book club in between, as they’d covered most of what she needed to know on government structure at her age, and she had Astok and History of Magic for the actual history aspect. Lady Miera brought a new book each week, even a few Muggle titles slipped among the others, and she was starting to feel that she was barely lying to her friends as she continued to pass the lessons off as political philosophy.
They would pour over newspapers and projected memories from Wizengamot meetings, and Lavinia hammered out her positions on each issue that arose, even the most mundane sorts of regulations that made her wish for sleep over anything else. There was no room for neutrality in Lady Miera’s mind- no correct answer, no enforced dichotomy, but simply an expectation of strong and direct opinion in a clear and defined direction.
“What did this mean?” Lavinia asked her as they took tea in the living room, a copy of The Daily Prophet lying on the coffee table. She used the tip of her shoe to point to the headline, and she could feel Lady Miera’s fond disapproval without looking at her face. “About the trial of the Undersecretary, it’s more than corruption, right? I mean, it’s being named as corruption, I understand that, but there’s very little said in here about actual corruption or dishonesty or embezzlement or anything.”
“Certainly,” Lady Miera agreed. “But remember what we’ve spoken on before. Just because the initial conclusion is not strong enough to stand as a full explanation doesn’t mean it’s actually false.”
“Because that’s the best way to lie,” Lavinia finished for her. “Sacrifice a smaller truth.”
“A smaller truth indeed,” she said with a smile at her memory. “Corruption, of course, is closely linked to treason. The qualities that make someone corrupt rely on the system and attitude of a government. Think, an executive or official who accepts monetary encouragement is not corrupt under a government which runs on financial transactions. Throughout history, an official who killed off his competition would not be “corrupt”, because the state ran on a system in which the best fit is found through survival. A society which values kindness above order would not consider it corrupt to bend or break laws or lie to help others. In fact, it would be a sign of corruption to follow the way things are supposed to be done under that circumstance.”
“Are you saying he was Dark?” Lavinia asked, trying to connect her tutor’s speech to the question at hand.
“It’s certainly suspected, but I would not know myself. I never met the man.”
“Because if he was a supporter of the Dark Lord and he was being pinned for corruption as a way to remove him from office…” Lady Miera nodded her encouragement to continue. “In a government controlled by the Light, loyalty to the Dark is effectively treasonous, because the Light views itself as a country,” she rephrased, following a better argumentative pattern. “And thus concealing a Dark alignment would be considered corrupt, and no measures to remove him outside of the law would be considered corrupt, because they are acting against treason, and thus in the interest of the state.”
“He likely was corrupt as well,” Lady Miera reminded her. “It would be excessive to falsify records about such a small player on the board in the grander scheme. But that doesn’t eliminate the role of personal agendas, and I believe your point was very well argued.”
“He’ll be in Azkaban for years.”
“Which is probably just where he belongs; it’s an issue of who put him there and who belongs there beside him.”
“I suppose.”
“So, darling, the choice you flooed me about a handful of months ago,” Lady Miera brought up carefully after a moment. “How did that go exactly?”
“It went perfectly,” Lavinia assured her. “Not even so much as a misstep in the process.” She sighed, leaning her head against her tutor’s shoulder. “I think I was worried over nothing,” she lied, seeing that her answer had done little to smooth the worry in the other woman’s brow. “Every decision seems so massive in the moment and so minor in retrospect.”
“Well, that’s the nature of choices,” she agreed, not quite convinced but clearly prepared to let the issue go. “When you make a major choice, you eliminate all but one of the paths ahead of you, but once you’ve moved forward, you look back and only see the the path that you chose and the little forks within it, not all of the forks in the other choices as well.”
“Exactly.” Lavinia drummed her fingers on her knee. “Did I tell you about the Philosopher’s Stone being kept at Hogwarts?”
“The Flamels’ project?”
“That’s the one. It was being hidden in Hogwarts and guarded by a Cerberus, and likely some other things as well,” she added, thinking back to how her brother and his friends had been awarded their points. “It may still be there. I’ve got no clue what it was there for, though.”
“Hogwarts is an extremely safe place,” Lady Miera filled in.
“It didn’t feel it,” she said with a frown. “Even just due to the Cerberus thing, and then the troll earlier in the year, it didn’t feel dangerous , but it certainly didn’t feel safe.”
“Safe as a stronghold,” she corrected. “I cannot speak on the safety of the students. But there are many places to store things, and magically speaking, any protections are unlikely to lose power but rather feed on the latent magic and grow stronger. Even the castle itself is said to protect its valuables, and that’s not even mentioning that most are deterred by the presence of Albus Dumbledore in the school’s walls.”
_________
Torture was usually something that Tom found quite calming. To assert yourself before the grovelling masses and find that you are under no obligation to offer mercy offered a high far better than any cauldron he could sniff, and the release of Dark magic made his own hum contentedly, contrasting sharply with the inevitable screaming of the sycophants. But that day, it simply wasn’t offering the satisfaction he had asked of it, his most loyal followers whom he had called back to his company disappointingly pathetic rather than enraging. The very most loyal, of course, remained in Azkaban, which he would have to handle eventually, but were not worth approaching in his current state, unprepared to return to the persona of Voldemort, unprepared to launch a proper attack.
He was uninterested in any of his followers that would be so comfortable with him so as to argue with his taking the political route; any of his original inner circle would know better than to get themselves sent to Azkaban, as they could be confident he wouldn’t kill them for it upon his return, and would be the same group who would question his choice of method, his choice of company, his choice of inaction.
Better to settle for the self serving devotees, too driven by their own self-protection to risk his wrath or care about his ways, just following without question and responding quite well to incentives, positive and negative alike. But there was little intrigue to be found in torturing such followers, and he’d quickly found himself so tired of their presence that he sent away the group mainly unscathed.
He itched to duel someone, but there were very few who were willing to duel him recreationally– the risk of punishment should they lose and disappoint, the certain death should they dare to outperform him. Honestly, duelling the Evans girl had been the most fun he’d had duelling in years. She continued to shock him with the aggression in her style each time they duelled, and he wondered if she would ever try an Unforgivable. Would she be opposed to the entire idea? Morbidly curious? Easily addicted? He wondered if he would ever be able to convince her to try torture.
It was all wishful thinking, of course. The blasted girl would probably insist on learning and perfecting each curse in turn for academic reasons and steadfastly refuse to ever use them in combat. And why was it wishful? When would he possibly have an opportunity to convince the daughter of the Light to torture his failures of followers?
Tom had trashed the first draft of his letter back to the Evans girl, realising belatedly that a letter that would only read as formal and standoffish would garner no pleasant response in someone with such delicate sensibilities. He pulled a new sheet and began again, hoping that it would bring him something that torture had not, and forced himself into a gentler sort of mindset more appropriate for writing a young girl who had placed a claim on his thoughts more than anyone had in a long time. She was powerful– and would only become more so with age and proper training– and it simply wouldn’t do not to behave accordingly.
And it wasn’t only that one caught more flies with honey, but rather that without seeing each other as regularly as to which they had become accustomed, the desire and necessity for a certain level of charm reared its head and returned, should he wish to maintain the trust he had won at long last. He had been perfectly capable of being charming as a young man, and one did not lead a revolutionary movement without a certain sort of magnetism, and so one girl, even a surprisingly bright, stubborn girl, was nothing worth the trouble of concern.
There was a mountain of paperwork that counted down the ticking of the clock until he was finished. He summoned his copy of Milrin . Two could play at that game, and he could certainly draw out the letter a bit longer.
____________
Lavinia flipped absently through The Daily Prophet as she ate her breakfast, a massive bowl of strawberries and a mug of coffee that had since gotten a bit cold. Few things caught her interest, a new regulation on flying carpets that seemed barely different than the last one, a new treaty between Goblins and Mages in France– the treaty had been so old that parts were barely relevant and relevant parts were barely present, but apparently no one had wanted to suggest reopening the terms for fear of being misinterpreted as suggesting a war. It was a wise concern, of course, as the phrase “Let’s renegotiate our peace treaty” wasn’t one that sparked much comfort in others, but as she read the terms of the original she couldn’t help but giggle at the sheer irrelevancy of several main points.
Oliver Potter Talks Hogwarts! read one headline, and she let out a long-suffering sigh. What exactly was he going to talk about? The illegal dragon he didn’t get to raise? The Philosopher’s Stone that was in no danger once Tom had been returned to his own body and disappeared? The quidditch team he didn’t play on? She was being a bit unkind, she could admit that much, but honestly! Hopefully there would come a point when it was no longer quite so infuriating for him to get so much attention for doing absolutely nothing.
She didn’t even know how she would go about getting that sort of attention. She would have to speak to Lady Miera about it, of course, figure out a plan for getting herself further in the public eye as she got older. She didn’t get to have the automatic advantage of the public caring what classes she liked or what she ate for breakfast, which meant she would have to do things that people did care about, and do them soon enough that she wasn’t too far behind, and what could she even do at thirteen? Oliver certainly hadn’t done anything that mattered independently, aside of course from the obvious, which he was barely alive for.
She skimmed the article with a scowl and flipped to the next page.
Dark Party to Regain Majority in Wizengamot? Her eyebrows shot to her hairline.
What is known regarding the rumours stirring of a new Dark player? Sources unfortunately report: very little. Two weeks ago to the day, the Gaunt seat in the Wizengamot, which has sat empty for a century, lit up to show that its holder had taken their ascension and claimed the Headship and seat alike.
“The new Head of House Gaunt is prepared to enter the political world with strong ambitions and an open mind,” reported Lord Malfoy, confirming rumours of his personal relationship with Head Gaunt. “Gaunt holds a deep respect for magic and the magical world as a whole that is rarely seen, and we are honoured to help accommodate the new Head to the political sphere to which noble ancestry offers access.”
House Gaunt has, of course, historically been Dark, and assuming the new Head follows suit, the balance between Light and Dark in the Major House of the Wizengamot will come closer than it has been since before the War, though the Minor House, with seats shared between inherited seats of lesser nobility, elected officials, and appointed officials, is unlikely to lean Dark any time soon.
“It’s possible this is indicative of a pattern,” said Edward Holland, who has held an elected seat in the Minor House in the Committee of Peace for eight years. “There are new Ladies and Lords taking their seats now who remember little of the War outside of its aftermath, and may be more polarised than before. For the near thirteen years since the War ended and the Great Trials sent many a Head to Azkaban, the newly ascended have been wary of declaring a Dark loyalty.”
Holland refers to Lady Avery’s controversial ascension barely a year ago, when she broke her family’s historical Neutral standing to place herself among the Dark. The last Head to ascend and declare themselves Dark in the Wizengamot was Lady Selwyn in 2001, a move which remained in line with the centuries of Dark Heads in her ancestry. The return of the Gaunt line will likely add another seat to the Dark roster, leaving the Major House with its now 64 members divided as such: 29 Light, 9 Neutral, 26 Dark.
“I believe we will be seeing more ascending Heads naming themselves Dark in the future,” Lady Avery agreed when The Daily Prophet contacted her. “There has been an implication since the beginning of the war that a loyalty to the Dark party politically directly correlated to a loyalty to You-Know-Who, which was only understandable under the circumstances. But we must move forward from this belief if we wish to move forward from the war itself. Progress and success rely on argument and opposition. Disagreement and unity can and must coexist.”
Four members of the Light party within the Major House have spoken openly about being prepared to pass the seat to their heirs within the next five years, as well as one member of the Neutral party, and several other Houses’ heirs will come of age soon, though no discussions of transferring Headship have been made public. If the predicted pattern holds weight, we may very well soon see a Major House that leans Dark.
Head Gaunt did not respond for questioning.
A highly misleading headline, in Lavinia’s opinion, but still interesting, and not something she’d considered a possibility. Even the majority of the Neutral families were really just Light families who didn’t want to get involved in anything, and many of the Dark families were inactive or voted neutrally for fear of retaliation. She would be declaring either Dark or Neutral herself, despite her family’s historical place among the Light, and current social standing as the figureheads for the party, and it was reassuring to see she wouldn’t be alone should she declare Dark, though she may still have the claim on the strongest shift of a single House.
She wondered idly if she could reach out to Lady Avery in some way, or perhaps suggest it to Lord and Lady Malfoy if she visited later that summer.
A tapping at the window pulled her attention away from the paper, and she folded it neatly so that she could let Hera in with her letters. She cooed at the bird as she flitted around Lavinia’s shoulders, barely sitting still long enough for Lavinia to take the parcels from her leg. A letter from Draco, which she would read later when she was ready to respond, a letter from Daphne, a letter from Fred and George, and a letter from Tom, which she quickly returned to the table to read, first opening the little container of owl treats for Hera. She broke open the seal with her nail, a deep emerald green with his initial pressed into the wax, and unfolded the sheet of sharp, angular script.
My dear Lavinia,
I do indeed find myself both safe and comfortable, and not in the least bit at a loss for a quill, though I appreciate your concern, and of course equally appreciate your taste in glittering pink ink. I will not spoil your fun, but I have no choice but to inform you that my castle cannot be abandoned if I have taken residence within it. Previously abandoned, perhaps.
It was exactly the same for me during my years at Hogwarts. Each time I left, it was as though a piece of my soul was left to reside in the castle while I awaited reunification from afar. The loss you feel, however, may not only be psychological, but in fact your magical sensitivity finding nothing to connect to. I recommend at least visiting the magical world every few weeks, or spending time with your familiar. You are highly sensitive to magic as am I, as you remember we discussed when we spoke of the ways to properly harness your magic and even see it, in the form of wards for example. Too long an absence from surrounding magic can be felt in the magical core by those with high sensitivities, and the effects can be noticed by most witches and wizards, as it typically causes fatigue and restlessness in equal measure.
I am not surprised in the least to hear you have progressed from student to teacher in your studies, but I must express my pride. You are an extremely impressive young woman, and your ambition is a boon to your House.
I am sorry, yet flattered, to hear that Hogwarts lacked greatly without my presence, and I admit I have missed our lessons as well. I do not believe I will be returning to Hogwarts to teach at any point, but perhaps we could arrange lessons at some point, though for now we will have to settle for writing. I was not aware of a dragon on the Hogwarts grounds, and I do wish that you had informed me at the time. It’s a rare opportunity to see a dragon in close range.
Furthermore, I recently came across a piece of experimental magic I worked on when I was only a couple of years older than you are now, and I’ve sent it with this letter. I have very little use for it, but I do believe you’ll find it interesting…
She tangled her fingers in the twine tied around the small parcel that accompanied the letter, skimming the rest of the letter as she went, knowing she could reread the continuance of an academic discussion when she was ready to fully consider it and formulate a reply.
The parcel was small and rectangular, weighing barely enough for Lavinia to believe there was something inside. She pulled loose the bow, carefully unfolding the thick paper beneath it to reveal a slim black leather journal.
It called to her somehow, certainly, begging her to flip the pages between her fingertips and hold the cover close to her chest, but nothing about the worn spine and faded paper seemed to hold any great secret. “What could be magic about this?” she muttered to herself.