Lineage

It was good to return to the castle. It was the Lestrange ancestral home, hidden from the sight of muggles in the north of the country. There was a time, many centuries ago, when muggles had lived and worked in the castle alongside my ancestors. Then we were driven into hiding. Our home was shrouded with protective spells, muggles in the nearby village were Confunded and eventually everyone forgot that there had once been a castle where now it appeared there was only empty space.

I had inherited the castle upon my father’s death, and our property in London went to Rodolphus. The castle had fallen into an awful state of disrepair during my incarceration and even now, as I swept up the long path with my prize cradled to my chest, I winced at the mess that was my garden. Thorns snagged the bottom of my robe as I hurried by. I had an aged house elf, Tilly, but she could barely keep up with the daily round of cooking and cleaning. Thankfully the Ministry had provided me with three new servants, mudbloods who had presented themselves promptly before the Committee and hadn’t tried to forge family trees. They were grateful for their places here. The other wandless led strange half lives, prohibited from using magic but unable to return to the muggle world. As long as my servants remembered their places and completed their duties without complaint, I was a reasonable, perhaps even kind, master. Certainly preferable to a cell in Azkaban or becoming a chew toy for Greyback.

The great front doors opened before me. Rachel, one of my mudblood servants, happened to be dusting in the hall. She dropped the duster and bowed her head, letting her hands fall meekly to her sides. I was pleased to note that she didn’t flinch as I stopped in front of her. In her first few weeks at the castle she practically shrieked in fear every time I entered a room. While I demanded respect, her constant jumping and twitching made me feel like I was living with a small, nervous bird. Once I reassured her that I had no intention of torturing or ravishing her, as lesser Death Eaters did, she relaxed considerably.

“Rachel,” I greeted her.

“Master Lestrange,” she replied. It was clear that she was trying to hide the tremor in her voice, but my ears picked it up. “Do you require anything of me?”

“Indeed I do. You may have noticed that I have a guest.”

Curiosity overcame fear and Rachel raised her eyes to peek at the woman in my arms. There was clear concern in her eyes. My prize was still unconscious, her hair ruffled and a small trickle of blood running from a hidden cut that must have been opened by Greyback’s claws. I hadn’t noticed that before, and now let out a low hiss of outrage. The dog would pay for marking my prize. Rachel rocked back on her heels, eyes wide, and I realised she thought my anger was directed at her.

Ignoring a stab of annoyance, I continued, “Find a tape measure and then come to me in the Blue Bedroom. I will have a job for you.”

She hurried away and I continued up the stairs. The Blue Bedroom was the second best in the house, and usually reserved for Rodolphus and Bellatrix when they visited. Upon entering the eye was immediately drawn to the bed. Velvet drapes surrounded the four poster, and the mattress was sumptuously soft. Although the wooden floor boards were bare, the flames that usually flickered in the fireplace warmed the room in the coldest winters. Apart from those two magnificent features the room was fairly bare, but that wouldn’t be the case for long. If my prize required entertainment I would fill it with books and a wireless. If she required decoration I would fill it with beautiful trifles. I would give her perfumes and jewels and fill the oak wardrobe with clothes.

Entering the room, I placed her carefully on the bed. There was a chill in the room and so I pointed my wand at the fireplace, smiling in satisfaction as the flames sprang up. I took the opportunity to further study my prize. Her hair was undoubtedly her most magnificent feature: bronze, copper and brown wove together in the flickering light. Knowing that I would be denied the chance to do this for at least a few weeks, I trailed my fingers down her face. Across her brow, her nose, her lips. They were as soft as butter, and I had to fight the urge to bend down and taste them. I wanted that first kiss to be given freely, not stolen in the darkness.

She looked far younger, more vulnerable, in sleep. If her parents had sent her to Hogwarts then I would bet that she hadn’t long completed her seventh year. I didn’t allow her relaxed features to fool me; I would always remember her ferocity in fighting Greyback and standing her ground against the Dark Lord.

The door opened behind me and, without turning, I beckoned Rachel to the bed. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she arrived at my side, as if she wanted to say something but knew that it would result in punishment. I could guess what she wanted to say to me. She was worried about my prize, scared for what I had in store for her. But she had nothing to fear: she and the unconscious woman did not come from the same mould and so did not merit the same treatment. From what the Dark Lord had said, the woman’s blood was even purer than mine. If the Dark Lord was king of all wizards and I a nobleman, then she was most certainly a princess.

“Take her measurements and make a note of them,” I ordered. “Whatever would be needed to make a new robe.”

Leaving Rachel to her task, I strode to the desk and pulled parchment, ink and quill from the draw. I scribbled a quick note and then retrieved a pinch of Floo powder from the small sack I carried with me, throwing it into the flames. “Twilfitt and Tatting!” I cried, and threw the note into the green fire.

“Sir,” Rachel said tentatively. “The measurements.” She passed me the paper she had made her notes on, snatching her hand away the moment she was able to.

“Very good. I need to leave for an hour or so. Order Luke to prepare dinner for two ready for my return.” Rachel nodded and disappeared. The moment the door was shut I said, “Tilly.”

There was a loud crack and my wizened house elf appeared in front of me. She sank into a deep curtsey. “Master called for Tilly?” she squeaked.

“Yes. I have an important task for you, Tilly,” I said gravely. “You must watch over this woman.” I waved towards the bed. “Do not hurt her, but restrain her if she wakes and attempts to leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master! Tilly will do it!”

“Good.”

I threw another pinch of Floo powder into the fire and followed my note. The shop I emerged into was dark, the only light coming from a small candle set on the counter. The owner looked tired and nervous, unsurprising considering that one of the Dark Lord’s most powerful servants was paying him a night visit. “Master Lestrange!” he said sycophantically, hurrying forwards to greet me. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I have work for you.”

“At this hour?”

“I require it immediately,” I said icily.

“Of course! What can I do for you, sir?”

“I require twenty new robes for a witch. Ten for every day wear, ten dress. I also hear that you have a small stock of muggle clothing.”

“Yes,” he mumbled, regarding me nervously. “It’s not against the rules is it, Master Lestrange?”

“Not at all. I need all the muggle clothes you have in this size.” I passed him Rachel’s note. “The robes also need to be made to those measurements.”

“Right away, sir. My wife will serve you with refreshments while you wait.”

I hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room, but as the owner bustled away a small woman stepped forwards. She served me tea with a trembling hand, looking at me in wide eyed terror when she accidentally sloshed some of the amber liquid out of the cup. I made a half hearted attempt at conversation but told her that she could return to her bed when she proved incapable of answering in anything but small squeaks.

Almost an hour after I arrived, the owner emerged from the back room, floating a small box behind him.

“This is everything, sir,” he said wearily. “Twenty robes, twenty shirts, twelve pairs of trousers and nine dresses. I also included underwear and shoes.”

“Well done. I hadn’t thought of those.” I pulled an enchanted pouch from my pocket that contained two hundred galleons. I was probably overpaying him by far, and considering that I was a Death Eater I could probably get away with paying him nothing at all. But I preferred to maintain good relations, and I had a fortune to my name.

The owner’s eyes widened as he opened the pouch. “Thank you, Master Lestrange!” he gasped.

I waved away his thanks and took over the hover charm on the box. With the man’s thanks still ringing in my ears, I Flooed back to the Blue Bedroom.

I don’t know what I expected to find when I returned, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw. The woman, my prize, was awake and sitting up in bed, chatting warmly with Tilly. From the joyous look on my house elf’s face, I knew that Tilly already adored her. As the woman turned to me, however, her smile vanished and her eyes narrowed. “Lestrange,” she said icily.

“Mistress Thalia!” Tilly cried in horror. “You has to call him Master!”

So now my prize had a name. Thalia. Thalia. I would love saying that, love hearing it roll off my tongue. I was slightly irritated that I hadn’t been the first to hear it, to coax that inch of trust out of my Thalia, but not enough to punish Tilly.

“No, Tilly, she doesn’t,” I said quietly, allowing the box to fall to the floor with a soft thump. “If anything I should call her Mistress.”

“You acknowledge my bloodline,” she said with a small smile of satisfaction. “Older than yours.”

“By centuries, it seems.”

“Indeed.” Her smug expression vanished as I stepped closer to the bed. She hissed, a sound that conveyed both reluctant sympathy and disgust. “What happened to your face, Lestrange?”

I had almost forgotten the exquisite work Rodolphus had done on my face. I recovered quickly, however, and feigned angry embarrassment, turning the damaged side of my face into the shadows. “It’s nothing. A slight altercation with the dog, Greyback. I assure you that he came off worse.”

Anger flared in Thalia’s eyes. Her voice was soft, almost musical, which made the seething hatred in it all the more disturbing. “That mutt,” she growled. “To think that he could ever best me, even when I was denied my wand.” She straightened and eyed me suspiciously. “Where is my wand?”

“Greyback would have been made to hand it over to the Dark Lord. It will be returned to you in time.”

Gone was the small amusement in her face. She wore a frozen mask of fury and imperiousness. “I want it now.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see, Greyback intended to claim you as a prize.” I ignored her snarl of outrage and continued, “Once the Dark Lord learned of your pure blood, your ancient family, he decided to recruit you into his cause.”

“I do not meddle in your affairs, Lestrange. My ancestors isolated our family from wizarding society centuries ago.”

“You have little choice, Th – Mistress Thalia.” I decided that I needed to treat this woman with respect if I had any hope of getting her to trust me.

She paused and I knew it wasn’t because she was lost for words. She was staring at me, taking in every feature and flaw. I was being assessed. Unconsciously I drew myself up straighter and, noticing, she smirked. “So what am I doing here, Lestrange, in what is presumably your house?” she asked softly. “Am I your prize?”

“No,” I lied. “You are my honoured guest. You will remain here until you decide to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord.”

She rose to her feet, Tilly fussing around her straightening her clothes. To my surprise she thanked the house elf. Most pure bloods treated them with little more than contempt.

“You will take me to your master,” she ordered.

“Impossible. He left the country tonight.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He intended to leave for the continent in the morning, continuing his search for the unnamed object or person that obsessed him. He was usually gone for days or even weeks at a time.

“When will he return?”

“It’s difficult to say. He doesn’t report to us. It could be a day, it could be a month.”

Groaning irritably, Thalia bit her bottom lip, deep in thought. “Fine,” she groaned. “I will stay here until your Lord returns.”

We both knew she had no say in the matter, but instead of pointing this out I thanked her humbly. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” I asked.

“Only if you can provide me with a change of clothes. I reek of dog.”

I grinned widely. “Of course. I took the liberty of purchasing you several sets of new clothes for your stay here.”

I gestured to the box, and Thalia peeked inside. She raised her eyebrows, a small smile curving her lips. “My, you are a good host.”

I thanked her for the compliment and politely left the room to allow her to dress. It was clear that I would have to rethink my strategy concerning Thalia. She wasn’t at all what I had expected. She had exhibited plenty of fire at Malfoy Manor, but I assumed that came from the struggle she was engaged in with Greyback. I had thought that once she’d had time to assess her situation, she would be scared. There was no trace of fear in her. She addressed me as she would a servant and spoke to the house elf like an old friend. Perhaps it was her isolation from wider wizarding society that had made her so strange. Whatever the cause, it was clear that I was not dealing with a frightened, vulnerable young woman. I was dealing with an equal.

The challenge just became ten times more complicated, and a hundred times more enticing.