The Innocents

Chapter Four

Nec tempora perde precando.

-- Ovid, 'Metamorphoseon libri'

Pansy woke up with a plan fully formed in her mind, an unusual occurrence for which she quietly thanked whatever deity was awake and listening at this ungodly time of morning. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pulled her pink silk dressing gown from the back of a nearby chair, and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Having washed, put on some light make-up and brushed her hair, she returned to her room. She walked to the fireplace and stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments, before muttering an "Incendio" and reaching for the silver box of Floo Powder. She tossed some in the flames and called, "Maximus Goodwand!"

The bald, handsome head of a middle-aged wizard appeared in the flames, eyes slightly unfocused, but otherwise looking awake. When he finally saw who had called him (which was difficult, as her pink-clad figure was blending into the background perfectly), his dark eyes lit up and an affectionate smile blossomed on his face. He looked younger by ten years. She smiled back at him.

"Pansy, how are you?"

"As fine as I can be, considering," she replied, her smile held firmly in place. His faltered almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, I meant to talk to you about that. You see, I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your friends."

"It's not the dead I'm worried about, but those who are still alive." She gave him a moment to ponder her words before continuing. "I have a favour to ask from you."

"Do tell."

"Could you keep your ears open at meetings? You probably heard about father's 'accident'. I'm worried that the Dark Lord will decide he no longer needs him, and kill the entire family. I could use a warning, so I can figure out a way to keep us alive."

"I'm worried about that too. It's not right for a girl your age to have to worry about things like this. It's too heavy a burden."

"I can take it. It's been going on for over a year now, remember? And besides, I would try to do this anyway, for Ivy."

Her words stirred faraway memories of his goddaughters as infants, Pansy so overprotective that he didn't have a chance to hug her adorable little sister until she turned three. He cared about them a great deal, and their father's inability to take care of them angered him endlessly. They were such good girls; perfect Slytherins, united, undoubtedly dedicated to the pureblood cause. For them to die would be a tragedy. However, he had to save his own neck first.

"I'll be careful for any information that could be useful, but I can't ask anyone."

She smiled. "I could never ask you to risk your own safety for us. That's someone else's duty." Yes, their father's, and he was doing a bloody good job risking his neck, although in ways that put his daughters in more danger instead of save them.

"Also, could you get me a few flasks of Draught of the Living Death? Three should be enough," she added.

One of his sandy eyebrows shot up. "Why do you need it?"

"I have a plan, but it's best not to tell you about it."

He nodded. If he slipped something and the Dark Lord or someone around him found out, the Parkinsons' demise would be fact rather than possibility.

"I'll give them to you right now. Elf!" he bellowed, turning around. She heard an elf asking something, and then her godfather's head disappeared completely from her view, allowing her to see a rather tacky, but nonetheless impressive solid golf chandelier dangling from the ceiling on the far end of the long, beige room. He must be cursing the elf, she thought, and a squeal confirmed it immediately.

Goodwand's head reappeared, and a hand holding three flasks emerged from the green flames. "Here you go."

She snickered a little. "You keep these potions around the house?"

"Yeah, you never know when you might need them. Actually, I give them to some woman or the other, so she can fool her husband or boyfriend she was sick when she... visited me."

Pansy's snicker turned into a mirthful laugh. "I'll remember that for when I'm married," she managed after a few seconds. He laughed as well, remembering how his trick had been discovered by a jealous husband ten years ago and how he had had to Obliviate the poor bugger.

"Ok, was that all you needed?" he said, not unkindly, after the laughter died out and was replaced by an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, it was. Thank you. You were as helpful as always, godfather dearest," Pansy declared, her voice full of affection. "I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing at this ungodly hour of morning." As on cue, a female voice echoed from somewhere on his left.

"Goodbye," he said, and with a bright smile he was gone, leaving Pansy alone in her room.

She extinguished the fire with a wave of her wand and remained on the floor, the feeling of happiness that lingered after her meeting with her godfather slowly fading. He was everything her father wasn't: strong, caring, and cautious. He had been the father figure of her childhood, not Mr Parkinson, who was always drunk in his room, rarely speaking to anyone. It was Goodwand and her grandmother who had been there constantly when she was a child, keeping the governesses at bay. When she was nine, her father had begun feeling better, and Goodwand had returned to his position as godfather.

She tried to remember what things were like before her mother died, when she was four, before her father started drinking, when her father was strong and caring. He always cared about his daughters, but before Ivy, he was sober. Pansy had blurry memories of sunny afternoons in the rose garden with her parents and grandmother, but she couldn't tell if they were real memories or dreams. In any case, it didn't matter, because then came Ivy, and as far as Pansy was concerned, her childhood had started with her sister's birth.

She considered the plan again, looking for flaws. She would be warned by Goodwand if there was an attack planned (in which case she would most definitely not start training, or marry Draco, as painful as the thought was), she and Ivy would cover themselves in blood, go to the cellar, take the draught in their mouths, hide the flasks, sprawl themselves on the floor and swallow. The Death Eater that found them would assume they had been killed by one of the others, and since they had very limited time before the Ministry arrived, they would leave. The Ministry would check for signs of life, revive them and take them to a safehouse. It was simple and, she hoped, efficient.

And more importantly, she could claim she had been taken against her will to the Ministry, in case she decided to come back to marry Draco. Because one never knew what twisted paths their minds would take in the future, it was wise to keep as many doors open as possible.

With a self-satisfied smirk, she got dressed and went to tell Ivy the plan.

*

It was certainly a relief. Privately, Ivy had started doubting her sister would find a good plan. She had even thought Pansy was being Hufflepuff, with all her loyalty to the family. Now Ivy rested assured it was not the case.

The plan was for both of them to swallow the draught at the same time, but Pansy could not make sure that happened. She wouldn't sacrifice her own safety to make sure Ivy was fine, and Ivy was grateful for it. She always felt younger when she was at home, with Pansy trying to protect her. As if she needed protection. There was no such thing as an innocent Slytherin. No matter whose sister Ivy was, or how many years younger she was, Ivy was a Slytherin first and foremost.

This is why the fact of them taking the draught in the dungeons nagged at her mind. Surely no Death Eater would take them all the way to the dungeons to kill them, nor would they have the time to get there, passing the entrance on their way. Why the dungeons, anyway? It would cut all their exit routes (one way in and out, and not a particularly clear way at that), so they wouldn't go there out of their own free will.

"The dungeons are the last place we should take the draught, Pansy. We should choose separate spots we might've reached while running away, like the back stairs or the rose garden. That way the first wave of Death Eaters won't find us."

Pansy thought about this for a while, before a slow smile blossomed on her face, which held a rueful expression. "I didn't think of it this way. You're right. How about this: I'll take the rose garden, and you'll take the servants' stairs to the kitchen."

"I guess it's fine, although that place gives me the creeps," Ivy added, shuddering a little.

"Yeah, Madame Clotilde was the last person to use them, wasn't she?"

"She died on those stairs." Ivy's perfect serenity unsettled Pansy. The least she could've done was smirk, cackle; show some glee over the hag's death.

"Ivy?" she asked tentatively. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

In a normal family, or at least what is usually defined as a normal family, that question would've caused some sort of scandal. Possibly even a rift between siblings. The Parkinson family was about as far from normal as it could get. So many years of marriages between cousins...

So Ivy simply shrugged, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. Pansy let it slide. Whatever had happened was Ivy's business. It was not a place where she wanted to delve, Ivy's dark side; she felt it was best not to know than uncover some of the things her younger sister had done, both before and after her Hogwarts years. Ignorance is bliss.

"How much time do you reckon we have from the warning until the attack?"

"About five minutes," Pansy replied, scratching her chin thoughtfully. "We should have just enough time to get to our spots, splash some blood on our clothes and take the draught."

"We'll need some cuts on the parts of skin that are exposed. A visible source for the blood."

"We can use a few Diffindos for the skin on our arms, but we have to be careful not to touch a vein or something. We might bleed to death before the Ministry wizards find us."

"And one on our face. And we should cast a mild drying charm for the first drops of blood, just to make sure it looks right."

"True. We should also get the blood we'll spatter on ourselves now. It has to be human. They have charms to figure it out."

"That's easy," Ivy said, trying not to roll her eyes. "We'll draw some of our blood, put it in a vial and cast a preserving charm on it. One for each." A pause and they nodded.

"This was it, huh?"

"What?"

"The last detail."

"Yes, it was. I have to congratulate you for a plan well plotted, despite its hitches. It might just keep us alive."

"Oh, yes," Pansy said dryly. "It just might."

They looked at each other for a long time, before Ivy finally got up from her bed, rummaged through her school trunk for two vials, held them up and asked, "Shall we?"

In response, Pansy took one of them, yanked the wand from its leather strap, muttered a Diffindo over her left wrist and gritted her teeth while the vial slowly filled with blood.

*

Pansy knocked evenly on her father's door and waited for a response. After fifteen seconds, she knocked again, then lost her patience and entered.

He was sitting in a deep leather armchair in the darkest area, balancing a Firewhiskey bottle on his right knee with agility only drunken people can achieve, and sipping from a glass. His unfocussed eyes turned up to see who had entered, and when his vision cleared a few seconds later, he saw his eldest daughter drawing the curtains back in a swift move.

Temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light from the setting sun, he poured himself another round of alcohol and drained it in one gulp. She casually strolled back to where he was sitting and took the armchair in front of him. It was quite comfortable, but stiff, so she leaned back in an attempt to find a snug position.

He cleared his throat. "Well, Pansy, why the interruption?"

"Oh, I didn't realise you were doing something important," she said in mock apology, eyeing the bottle doubtfully. Then she gave him a brief and understanding grin, and the dignified response died in his throat.

"I was thinking about my cousins. Do you think they could come and visit us this summer?" she said without preamble.

His eyebrow shot up and he suddenly wished very much indeed he was sober. "I'll ask Euphemia if Madeleine and Jacques can come," he offered.

"What about John?"

"I doubt your uncle would allow him to come, dear." His brother-in-law had broken off any contact with the Parkinsons when Mrs Parkinson died. His son John, however, sent his cousins cards and gifts for their birthdays and Christmas. Behind his father's back, of course.

"Let me talk to him."

"Do you think you can convince him?" he asked incredulously.

"If I tell him it'll be a reunion for all my cousins, I'm sure I will. I'll just tactfully leave out any mention of you or Ivy. He used to be quite fond of me, remember?"

"Yes, he was. Well, is that all?"

"It is, for now. When will you call them?"

"Next Tuesday. Madeleine and Jacques finish training on Sunday."

"Fine. Then I'll talk to my uncle about John on Wednesday."

"It's settled, then." She took this as a cue to make a hasty retreat. She didn't want to slip any information about the plan; her father, even in a drunken state, picked up subtleties very well.

*

She had a notable lack of success convincing her uncle to allow John to visit her. It appeared that her uncle had had a spat with Aunt Euphemia about Death Eater training, and had sworn never to allow his son to see any of his cousins.

When Pansy inquired why she was included in the persona non grata category, he shot her a superior look and said, "You'll see," in a low and menacing tone. She had decided to end the conversation.

So now it was June 29^th and she was sitting on a chair in the kitchen, biding her time before she got drunk and went to sleep. Her cousins finished their training today, and according to her father, they would come to visit her for a few days starting tomorrow.

Ivy was whining about her favourite hairband being shredded by the cat, but Pansy wasn't listening.

Ivy cleared her throat and looked at her pointedly. "Weren't you listening to me?"

"Yes, you were complaining about the cat. I don't see what I can do about it, seeing as I have already fixed the sodden hairband. You bought the cat under the condition that you'd kill it yourself, so my competence ends here."

Ivy glared at her, and then turned her glare on the cat. Pansy was overjoyed to hear her say, "I just might," but then the cat started purring and playing with a crumpled paper and Ivy's anger melted away.

"Oh, isn't it absolutely adorable when it does that?" Ivy cooed.

Pansy swore under her breath. "There should be no trash on the floor for your cat to play with in the first place." She could swear she saw the cat look at her triumphantly, but before she could throw something at it, two loud pops resonated through the house.

"The internal Portkey!" gasped Pansy. Ivy seemed on the verge of panic. "It can't be an attack, we would know, remember?"

Ivy nodded meekly, and craned her neck to look through the kitchen door into the hallway beyond. A smile appeared on her face almost immediately, and she jumped out of the chair, towards the door.

A brown-haired girl with a tanned face and bright brown eyes met her halfway there and hugged her mightily. "Madeleine!" screamed Ivy. "I thought you were coming tomorrow!"

"We got out a day early," answered a tall, dark-haired boy, with a tan that matched his sister's. Pansy ran to him right away and he gathered her into a great hug. Then he did the same to Ivy, while Madeleine hugged Pansy.

When all the hugging and greeting was over, Pansy herded the others up the stairs and down a few candle-lit hallways, until she reached a dead end. On each side was a tall, narrow set of double doors.

"These are your bedrooms. Father's room is at the other end of the hallway," she said while pointing in that direction, "and you each have a bathroom." She opened the door on her right and waved her hand at a door on the opposite side of the room. "Over there." Madeleine walked past her and performed an Engorgio on her luggage, which consisted of two large trunks.

It was a nice room, with beige walls and a lush green carpet. In the centre stood a very large matching green four-poster bed. There was also a dresser and a small desk with a leather chair. On the wall on the left were huge windows with Slytherin green hangings and a door leading out to a balcony.

"That balcony connects your bedrooms. Also, if you shout loud enough, Ivy and I can hear you. Our balconies face this one, see?" She pointed over the garden, to the lavish balconies overlooking it on the other side. The garden stood inside the U-shaped bedroom wing of the house, and it was connected to the south gardens by a small pebbled path that ran along the wall on the side with Madeleine's window.

The bedrooms were in the back of the house, furthest away from any entrance. Even if they were in the garden beneath the windows, they still had to go all around the house, through the south gardens and half the ground floor before exiting the building.

"The garden is lovely," observed Madeleine.

"I assigned an elf to take care of it. The south garden is unattended, though," Pansy added with a faraway look.

Madeleine and Jacques exchanged a look and dropped the subject of gardening. They should've known better. Ivy decided to step in and change the topic.

"How was school this year?" she asked casually.

"Dreadfully boring," answered Jacques with a light accent, while his sister opened one of the trunks and placed her light summer robe inside. Ivy caught a glimpse of her left arm, but didn't see the Dark Mark.

Madeleine turned at that exact moment and said, "It's concealed," before resuming rummaging through the contents of the trunk.

"How about you? How was school this year?"

"As good as it can be expected," answered Pansy, who seemed to have redirected her attention to the room, "considering."

"Yes, we heard about that," said Madeleine, her face very red from bending over the trunk. "I assume Minerva McGonagall took his place, am I correct?"

"Yes. Now the entire school will belong to Gryffindors. She was their Head of House, after all," added Ivy resentfully.

"I remember what Fleur said when she returned from the TriWizard. She said Dumbledore was a fool and McGonagall a one-tracked do-gooder that kept getting her precious Gryffindors out of trouble."

"Not to mention stiff as a board and blind as a bat," added Jacques. "Couldn't see what was going on right under her nose, in her House."

"She's a hero-worshipper. I don't even want to imagine how pampered Potter will be this year," spat Pansy.

"Well, let's not talk about that," said Madeleine, taking a cigarette from a black leather box and lighting it with the tip of her wand. She took a long drag and added, "Gryffindors give me a headache."

Jacques extended an arm towards her and received a cigarette, then looked at his cousins questioningly. Ivy shook her head.

"I prefer alcohol at the moment," Pansy said with a grin. "Care for some?" Ivy nodded, and the others did the same.

"Follow me." When they were almost in Pansy's room, the tip of Jacques' cigarette touched his sister's cotton skirt, leaving a small hole.

Before the word "Merde," said with great feeling, was fully out of his mouth, his sister had already pressed the tip of her wand to his neck. He looked at her with something akin to fear, and she lowered it.

"Be careful what you do with your cigarette. Don't make me regret allowing you to smoke," she said in a low voice. He seemed offended by it.

"I'm not a child, Madeleine." He pronounced the name in French, making it sound almost like a pet-name. "I'm only one year younger than you, and I've been through the same."

"You're sixteen. I am of age. If I don't allow you to smoke, you can't. See, maman isn't aware you smoke. She would forbid you. But she couldn't forbid me. In other words, you'd better be careful what you do with your cigarettes, Jacques." She said 'cigarettes' with a thick accent, one she probably wasn't even aware of. She never said anything but 'maman' and names with an accent.

At this point, Pansy realised this was not about smoking. Something was wrong between her cousins, something that made them very tense around each other.

"Well, do you want that Firewhiskey or not?" she asked, after a full minute of unwavering eye-contact between them. They looked at her at the same time, nodded, and continued down the hall without a word.

*

At seven p.m. they were all smashed. They were sitting cross-legged in a circle next to Pansy's bed, passing a bottle around, giggling for no reason whatsoever. They had been drinking for five hours without pause, and they could hardly see each other anymore. Of course, that could've been because Madeleine and Jacques had been chain-smoking the entire time.

Ivy had managed to smoke an entire cigarette before coughing her lungs out, but Pansy recalled her smoking problem in fourth year and decided it was wise not to take a drag. Because that always led to another, and another, and another, until you woke up in the middle of the night coughing and choking and you couldn't breathe after you ran and...

She drowned the memory with a swig from the bottle. Her eyes were starting to water from the smoke, so she asked no-one in particular, "Could you banish the smoke?"

Jacques took out his wand and pointed it at Pansy's head through the smoke, then opened his mouth to say the spell. Madeleine slapped his hand just as a beam shot through the tip.

"Le baton!" she shrieked.

The beam left a hole in the curtains of Pansy's bed. They turned stared at it stupidly. Ivy decided this called for a new bottle.

Pansy beat her to it. "I'll go get another bottle."

If looks could kill, Jacques would've died. Madeleine pinned him in place with a withering glare. Words were not necessary, and Jacques was particularly grateful for it, because as far as he knew his sister, the only words going through her head right now were in Latin. And they left bleeding spots on his skin.

Or worse.

"Well, you are as incompetent as I always suspected you to be," she finally muttered.

"Mais... mais..." He was trying to tell her it wasn't his fault, it was the alcohol, but she placed her hand on his left arm, just under the elbow. He froze.

"J'espere... que tu... dans autres situations... que tu penses devant faire les choses que sont vraiment importantes. Tu sais que ta vie dépende de tes actions, n'est-ce pas? Pourquoi est-ce que tu n'es pas plus attentif?"

"I'm sorry," he said when Pansy returned, but his eyes were fixed on his sister's. "Je serais plus attentif, Madeleine. Beaucoup plus attentif. Je t'assure."

"J'espere," she whispered, and caressed his skin where the Dark Mark had been branded the previous day.

Pansy and Ivy stared at her hand without a word, and resumed their drinking without mentioning the incident. They didn't understand what they said, but they knew what it meant. Madeleine and Jacques weren't ready for training when they were called. But now they were ready to use what they had learned.

*

It was a wonderful, crisp, sunny Monday morning. They decided to take a stroll though the gardens; Madeleine was complaining incessantly that she couldn't stand being between four walls for another minute the previous day, and Pansy wanted the smoke from her cousins' cigarettes out of her room.

They had spent all Sunday there, drinking and telling stories from when they were small, and it took Madeleine three whole hours to bring her cousins up to date with her love life. It appeared she was a very... popular girl.

Jacques didn't say anything about his only girlfriend, so Madeleine told them they had broken up after a year of dating and changed the subject. She knew that the next step would've been asking Pansy about her boyfriend, and as far as they knew, he was in hiding, so it was not a particularly good thing to bring up.

Then they had spent two hours doing cosmetic charms to each other. Jacques was a hair expert, so he had brushed and trimmed their tresses fabulously. Ivy's hair had been shortened to shoulder-length, and Pansy's hair was just-below-the-ear with a side part. They looked at themselves in the mirror, awed at the treasure they had never known they had: the best hairdresser on the continent at their disposal!

The fact that they had to wash their hair just to get the tobacco out of it prompted Pansy to take them outside today.

They sat on a white marble bench tucked between some high hedges on the sides and a willow tree behind, with a very simple fountain in front of them. Jacques had put his feet on the side of the fountain, and Pansy had done the same after a little debate. It was quite comfortable, considering the bench had a back, and she was completely relaxed.

She turned her head a little and looked at her cousins. He was wearing a white polo shirt and grey trousers, and his brown-black hair was mostly on his face. He looked tanned in natural light. It suited him.

Madeleine was sitting next to him, her legs crossed at the knee, her long, straight, brown hair hanging loosely from underneath a cute grey beret; she was wearing a striped black-and-white blouse and a knee-length red skirt. She had a cigarette in her hand, and Pansy thought she looked mature, and sophisticated, and very... well, French.

Madeleine's golden eyes turned towards her, and she smiled. "What are you looking for, Pansy? I'm not morphing, you know."

"I know. I was just admiring your clothes."

"They're muggle, actually. You see, in France, we only get cloaks and pointy hats made by wizards. The rest of the brands merged with muggle ones. My blouse is Dior and the skirt is Chanel, I think."

"I have a Versace dress, but I can't wear it. I bought it on impulse, and it's way too low-cut for any wizard to see me in it," Pansy sighed.

"In France, there's no such thing as too low-cut. Not until you're sixty, anyway. Britain is too stiff on witches," she added with great feeling, and took a drag from her cigarette.

"It is, isn't it?" Pansy said thoughtfully. "All this marriage talk, and the decency factor, and the boring parties..."

Madeleine looked at her intently. "Speaking of marriage, how's Draco?" Ivy and Jacques held their breath.

Pansy shrugged. "I only know he's alive, but I haven't talked to him since... well, you know. They would've told me if he died, so I could start looking for another fiancé. But as to what he's doing, I haven't the slightest clue."

Madeleine shook her head. "You know, if you'd start training, you'd probably be allowed to see him."

"I don't know... it's father's call, really, and he hasn't done much about it. I don't think he considers me Death Eater material."

"How do you mean?"

"Too much fashion, too little duelling."

"That's rather superficial of him."

Pansy sighed. "Well, if he'd be allowed to choose, he'd probably have me marry Draco, bear his children and never talk about anything other than fashion and charity work for the rest of my life."

"If you're called, there's nothing he can do about it. And even if you're not called, you could still go. You're of age," she pointed out.

"I'd rather allow him to decide. He knows a lot of things I don't. Father knows best." She had long since decided her cousins needed to be told something of the sort. They were Death Eaters, they had superiors, and they'd probably tell them what she had said. Talking of their childhood and doing their hair was one thing, but pledging her life to their Master was a completely different matter.

"I suppose," said Madeleine, and left it at that. She and her brother had been called, so she really hadn't had the time to consider if she really wanted to start training. She would've probably allowed her mother to make the choice, too.

"Can I see your Dark Mark?" asked Ivy suddenly. The others just stared at her. Wordlessly, Madeleine rolled up her left sleeve and muttered and incantation over the soft skin of her arm. It reminded Pansy of watching a snake reveal its fangs. She shuddered slightly. No, this was nothing of the sort. This was her cousin. They were all snakes, by blood and breeding. And they never turned against their own.

Her skin got darker and darker, and then the Mark appeared. Pansy stared at it in fascination. Ivy extended a hand towards it, stopped, and when she wasn't reprimanded, touched it.

"I have seen three Marks before," Pansy said, as in a trance. "My father's, my godfather's, and Draco's. But I was never allowed to touch it. When did you get it?"

"On Friday."

"Did it hurt?"

"More than you can imagine."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I deserved it." She meant it as in "I earned it," but it sounded more like receiving a punishment she deserved. She wasn't sure what she really felt. Maybe both, she mused, as she looked at it one final time before muttering another incantation and rolling her sleeve down.

Jacques trailed his fingers lightly over his left forearm. "Oh yes, sister, we earned them, but we didn't deserve them." He closed his eyes. "Nobody deserves to be branded with one."

"Shhh, tu ne sais pas ce que tu dis," she soothed. "Tout sera meilleur en avant."

"I take it you aren't exactly happy about it, huh?" asked Pansy.

"Oh well, it's a little too late for regrets," he said flatly. "Maybe you'd be ready. You're a Slytherin, your father is a Death Eater, you've watched your fiancé go through the whole process, but I wasn't. I wasn't ready. They made me tougher. They taught me a lot of things... endurance and ruthlessness, mainly. So I could use all those curses against another human being. And in order to graduate, I tortured a muggle. I hated every second of it, but I did it. And I'd do it again."

"It's all you can do to get that feeling again, isn't it?" Pansy asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Many of my friends' older siblings have become Death Eaters. They told stories... gory stories, usually, but every one of them mentioned the feeling of power they got. They said it was addictive. And I knew it was true, because I know how well it feels to have others fear and obey you."

"You're not a Slytherin for nothing, cousin. Power is what you all seek."

"We're usually too lazy to seek it, we just take what we can." Jacques, Madeleine and Ivy chuckled, and Pansy smiled.

"I'm scared," she said bluntly, and the other lapsed into silence instantly and looked at her. She stared at the fountain. "I'm afraid that they won't want us, and they'll come and kill us instead, like they killed the Notts. How am I any better than Theodore?"

"Well, you're a lot prettier," joked Jacques, and then he turned serious again. "They have to take you. Just think about it; they already killed so many older students, that they can't afford not to take all the willing ones into their ranks. If they don't, they'll turn to the light." He sounded wistful. That path was closed for him now. After the Severus Snape fiasco, the light had a particular dislike for double agents.

"I know. I know this, but deep inside, there's this little doubt; what does one more matter? When they can have adult witches and wizards, why spend their resources on a teenager with no great skills? Just because of my blood? Theodore had pure blood, and look what happened to him."

"Theodore Nott was considering joining the light," said Madeleine harshly. "He had already contacted Dumbledore last year. He was a danger to our side, so he was eliminated for obvious strategic reasons." She took Pansy by the chin and turned her face so that she could look into her eyes. "He would've become a traitor later, Pansy. I'm sorry for your loss, he was your friend, but he was no better than the Weasleys."

"I guess I won't end up like him. Unless, of course, Draco gets killed or decides not to marry me, and father messes up, and we are no longer necessary."

"Take care of yourselves. We would've helped you if we knew anything about it, but we're not allowed to ask about our relatives. And Theodore Nott... well, he was an example given to us during training. And Severus Snape's case was exposed to us so we wouldn't even attempt to contact the light. It's all a chess game, Pansy. It's all about leverage. You have your blood and your fiancé. Use them well."

"I don't know about my fiancé... but my blood, that I can use."

Jacques looked at her too. "Do what's best for you. Do whatever it takes to end up on top. We're now compelled to climb up the ranks. That's our only way. But if you make it to school, if the school opens, build yourself a social persona, make sure you become well-known, study hard to get good grades, exercise your prefect duties with care, do anything it takes to become too valuable to be lost. By either side. Only then will you have a real choice."

"I'll have to."

"Yes, you will. And I know you'll do well. Because you have been warned, unlike us." He said that without rancour. It was a fact. Pansy remembered something.

"Jacques? What really happened to your girlfriend?"

His eyes glazed over. "She was two years older than me. Gorgeous, smart, funny, sweet, sophisticated, everything I ever wanted. But she was a half-blood. So when the time came for me to prove myself during the training, they did a little research, and found out. They kidnapped her, and I was ordered to put a Crucio on her. They made me hold it for almost an hour, until she went mad with pain, and I with grief. And then I had to kill her, and move on to a few muggles. You see, nothing could be worse than that, and they knew it."

"I'm sorry for what happened. So that's why you can now do anything they want? That's how they killed you?"

He looked at her, startled. "Yes, I suppose so. I never thought about it this way... but you're right. They killed me that day. I still love you and Ivy and my sister, and I still hate my mother, but that's it. All the petty fights, and schoolboy crushes, and minor irritations can't reach me anymore."

"They made you tough. And although you don't have any innocence left, you can still be happy."

He sighed mightily. "Nice words, little meaning. I'm content sometimes, like when I'm around you. But I'm never happy. Sometimes I'm amused, but I can't laugh anymore, just chuckle."

"Well, it'll have to make do. Innocence is overrated anyway. This is the way the world we were born into works. Maybe if we were born in America, we wouldn't be in such a sticky situation. I heard they started recruiting there, too, but they haven't killed anyone yet, just muggles."

"Wistful thinking is like slow-motion suicide. We can't have than now."

After some deliberation, Ivy decided to cut in. "We should go inside. It's getting too hot." She was right. The air was becoming too warm and moist, and all the dust that was swept up by the inefficient wind clung to their skin.

They got up and made their way inside silently, their minds full of what they had said.

*