Chapter Text
We walk to a particularly beautiful room, where the top of the climbing tree spreads out beneath a stained-glass dome. The doors to the balcony are open, letting in a pleasant breeze and the sounds of birds chirping at the feeder outside. Cecilia and I lie down on large, circular leather couches ringing the tree, long enough for us basilisks to stretch to our full length.
"Before we start," Cecilia says, staring into the leaves of the climbing tree, "do you know what a clan secret is?"
"No," I say. "I assume I can't talk about them?"
"Not quite. You can talk about them – there's nothing stopping you. When all this is over, you could go back to the castle and tell Albus anything you want. I hope you don't, but you could." She lowers her head. "What you can't do is testify about it. Which is important, when we're talking about some of the stuff we're going to talk about."
I see. Any honest discussion about her past would involve her confessing to countless crimes, and so she wants to be sure I won't just go straight to the DMLE with it. I can't help but think this ought to be her problem, but I know she won't agree to talk without this, and it's... not so terrible a concession, that she'll only tell me these things if I don't send her to jail with them. Besides, I can still tell it all to the Owl if it's bad enough.
"I would like this discussion to be clan secret. Obviously, there are some things I can't say if it's not. Are you okay with that?"
"Yes. It's a clan secret."
"It's a clan secret," she affirms, and I can feel my link to the Clanstone pulsing in my head. Our agreement has been recorded. "Now..." She sighs. "I've been thinking for half an hour about how to start this, and I... I think it'd be better to ease into it."
She makes eye contact again. Her eyes are so large and red – there is definitely something unnerving about looking a basilisk in the eyes, even though I'm a basilisk too.
"Like I said before, I never had a family who were worth the name – or at least any family I knew about. My mother came from inbred feral Noshape near-Squibs, who lived in a shack with a dead snake nailed to the door, who hated me because my father is a Muggle. Said father, on the other hand, was rich and prosperous, but he abandoned me when I was still unborn because my mother had been dosing him with love potion for their entire marriage. I understand that – but I still can't forgive him, even now." She takes a deep breath. "I have... desperately wanted a real family, for as long as I can remember."
There's a sour taste in my mouth, like I'd swallowed my own venom. This is too familiar for comfort. Is she serious? Or is this just her intelligence reports talking? Surely she has people spying on me...
"And so when I treat you like a favorite niece, when I say that I want you here, that I want you to trust me, that I want us to be a family – every bit of that is absolutely genuine." Her voice is bitter, and so very sad that it's hard to believe it's not sincere. "And I hate that I may well have already thrown that chance away, because you're the Girl who Lived, and I am Lady Voldemort."
The frank admission passes through us like a thunderclap. I stare, fixed as rigidly in place as if she were paralyzing me.
"I am a Dark Lady. I have done things that are by any standard unforgivable. I have done those things to you, to your friends and family. To my own clanmates. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I didn't mean for things to happen as they did. In the beginning, my intentions weren't so awful, and... by the end, long before I did anything to you or your parents, I was not sane. And, Harriet – I am sorry."
She looks me right in the eyes as she says it, and I know she's an amazing liar, but it's still so hard to disbelieve in the drooping arch of her neck or in her timidly flattened hood. Even if it is just as hard to believe that Lady Voldemort is actually, honestly apologizing to me.
"I'm sorry I attacked you. I'm sorry I killed your parents. I am sorry for all the stupid run-ins we had over the years. Merlin, I'm sorry about the whole war. It was a stupid plan to begin with, and I... I never meant it to go as far as it did. I got so many witches and wizards killed, and for nothing. I wouldn't have let it happen, if only I'd been in my right mind."
I curl myself back, into what I only realize after I've done it is attack posture. There is some part of me that is relieved – and another part that is terrified that I'm believing any of this. "And you are in your right mind now?" I ask, the squeaking of my voice betraying my confusion. "You seem it – but I know you weren't three months ago. And if you were insane before, who's to say you won't be again?"
"Yes, I am now sane, and no, I shouldn't regress again. I... know why it happened, now. I performed some rather unwise rituals on myself that caused the degeneration. It was reversed because..."
She sighs, looking out toward the balcony, watching the birds.
"I was told that you had destroyed my old diary, a few years back?" I tilt my head – what could that have to do with it? – but nod. It's so strange now, looking back on it. I had admired the version of her in the diary back then, before I found out who she was. "It undid one of those rituals, and restored some of my sanity. That's why I was saner this summer than I was four years ago." Her eyes flicker to me for a moment, before flickering away again, to the tree overhead. "The other ritual, I undid myself, which is why I'm saner now than I was this summer."
She still isn't looking at me, but she is smiling.
"And as for why I don't expect to regress, I am obviously in no hurry to repeat that mistake." She finally locks eyes with me again, her expression turning toward more of a knowing smirk. "I've found I quite enjoy sanity."
"Okay," I say, leaning listlessly into the couch. How do I even process this? "That's... good. And you said you were sorry about the war. Does that mean you're not planning another one?"
"Yes, it does," she says, raising her head higher off the couch. She looks more confident than she had before. Less contrite. But does that mean it was all an act, or is she just relieved to have the worst of the conversation behind her? Or could it be both? "There will be no second war, at least not from me. My plans will remain firmly in the field of politics from now on. I... don't plan to disband the Death Eaters – better not to let them off the leash, I think, though I won't recruit more. But I will not start another war. Never again. And as far as the world outside is concerned, Lady Voldemort will stay dead and unmourned."
"Good," I say, my voice wobbling uncertainly on the word. I... have been so, so afraid of war. I've had nightmares about it most every night I didn't have visions. I've been mentally preparing myself for war ever since I got back from the graveyard. I watched Cedric die – and I thought I knew that he wouldn't be the last one. Hearing that there might really be no war – even knowing that Cecilia is a liar, that she has every reason to lie about this – it makes me feel hopeful, just a little bit.
"And whatever happens – I am genuinely worried that Dumbledore will start another war, striking at boggarts the way he has been – you don't have to be part of it any longer."
I draw a sharp breath.
"I won't hurt you again. I can't – you are my acknowledged clanmate. Magic is still angry enough with me after I attacked you and Lily, all those years ago. I remember what happened to Quirrell – if I so much as touch you with ill intent, I'm certain I'll die for good this time. That goes for the Death Eaters, too – I'll order them tonight to keep the hell away from you, and tell their children to do the same."
I'm almost numb. It's so strange to think that it could be over. And not just the yearly catastrophes – everything. If she really does get the Death Eaters to warn their children, I might even be done with Draco fucking Black picking fights every chance he gets.
"I don't think Dumbledore would try to hurt you to get at me, but if he does... know that I would gladly shelter you."
"I... er..." Not for the first time, I wonder how in Merlin's name I can respond to this. "Thank you?" I finally manage.
"You're welcome," she says, smiling almost as weakly. "Would you like to disown Voldemort?" she asks. "She certainly deserves it, for killing one daughter of the clan and attacking another. I won't make it official, for obvious reasons, but I can announce it."
I nod slowly. "Yeah," I say. "I think I'd like that. But why... if you really hate all this so much, why did you do it in the first place?"
She winces. "That... is a long, stupid story," she says. "I'm not sure how much you know about my background, but I was a politician before I was a Dark Lady. And I became a Dark Lady because of a problem I faced in my political career – Albus accursed Dumbledore, may Fiendfyre take him." She smiles dryly, her head tilting in the direction of the political building, where I can feel him nervously pacing the Floo lobby. "I'm sure you've noticed, but Albus Dumbledore hates my guts. That's... probably pretty well justified now, but he always has. From the very beginning. He was the Hogwarts professor who first introduced me to the wizarding world at age eleven – and he did it by setting my wardrobe, and with it all my worldly possessions, on fire." She laughs as I double-take. "No, really. You can ask him. Just be subtle about it, so he doesn't lie."
"Why on earth would he do that?" I can't say I'm happy with all Dumbledore's decisions – particularly not today – but that really doesn't sound like him. Why would he be so pointlessly cruel?
"I didn't get along with the Muggles in my orphanage. They hated that I was magical – that I talked to snakes or levitated toys or whatever other thing they found freakish about me that day. And I hated the way they treated me. The moment I was old enough to control my magic, I started using it on them. Just for protection at first, but... wouldn't you want revenge?"
I open my mouth to say I wouldn't, but then an image from a recurring fantasy flashes through my mind – Uncle Vernon, writhing at the point of my wand. I lower my head, and look away. Cecilia is polite enough not to smirk, but I know she must have caught it.
"Of course the great Albus Dumbledore would take the Muggles' side. Believed every word they told him." She scoffs. "And, worse, he never forgave me for it. I was a model student at Hogwarts, except for an... unfortunate incident in my fifth year."
I snort. You mean, that time you opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed someone? I almost stop her – push her, make her explain – but then my eyes flicker toward the fat afternoon sun, hanging low in the sky. I don't have all day – I've missed Charms for sure, and I might be late for Defense too. And, more pressingly, Dumbledore probably won't wait for us forever. I desperately want to know what her excuse is for that whole fiasco, but I want to hear the rest of her story more. No, I'll wait. For now. But she'll be explaining herself soon enough.
"I was the top of my year in every class except his, because he would find whatever petty excuses he could think of to take points from me, ignore my successes, or mark down my work."
"So the way Professor Prince treats me?" I ask.
She smirks, with one fang out. "Given how he talks about you? Yes, probably. But at least Prince won't follow you out of Hogwarts. Dumbledore did. He tried every possible insane, petty way to sideline me in the Wizengamot. And what's worse, he got away with it. He'd defeated Grindelwald barely a decade before. The whole wizarding world idolized him, and I... I couldn't do anything. I felt so helpless, and that put a ball of rage in my gut."
I remember that anger – usually, when Vernon managed to outwit me one time too many. I felt like I would do anything to get him back. Once or twice, I did.
"Dumbledore's strength was his reputation for killing a Dark Lord, as Britain's hero. So I figured – what happens if I give him a Dark Lady he can't defeat so easily?" She smiles wistfully, her fangs slipping out. "At first, it was just a passing fancy. But I'd always had a fascination with the Dark Arts, and I'd always been powerful and skilled. I looked at what Grindelwald had done, and how he was defeated, and I thought – I can do better." She rolls her eyes. "Let it never be said that I don't have an ego the size of a planet."
"So you wanted to start a war," I say.
"No. Not a war, exactly, not yet. More like civil unrest. If you check the history books, you'll see that's all we did at first. I don't think the first person died until four years later. We did vandalism, arson, riots, and targeted attacks that were never quite lethal. Something that scared people, something that got our name in the paper. The plan was, I would wrap the whole scheme up inside of two years – I'd have a few duels where I'd embarrass Dumbledore, and then a staged duel at the end where I'd 'defeat' myself and steal all his PR thunder."
I flare my hood, glaring at her. She recognizes that, and shrinks back.
"I know you don't like that. You shouldn't. It was... destructive. Underhanded. And almost comically naive. It was a mistake, even from the beginning. I don't expect you to approve – I don't really want you to. I just want to explain how it started. And... it wasn't all about Dumbledore. I had equal designs on a target you might even approve of."
I tilt my head. So far as I'm aware, the Death Eaters had always gone after Noshapes, and later Muggleborns. And she must know I wouldn't approve of attacking either of those.
"Unless you've been reading history books, you won't know much about the Dragoon Party. I consider that my proudest achievement."
I blink. No, I don't.
"They were the party of the old-family, hyper-conservative, Muggle-hating, Muggleborn-hating, pureblood arseholes. Doxie-dung crazy, the lot of them. Worse than I was, even in the worst of the war. The kind who think Noshapes ought to be taken as house-elves." My mouth curls, a fang popping out. I know the type – and I definitely can't stand them. "In those days – before I went nuts – I was a fairly normal center-right politician. My defining policy was for separatism, for bringing the Muggle and wizarding worlds further apart. The Dragoons were the only other real Muggle-skeptical party in those days, with everyone else kowtowing at Dumbledore's feet – and the problem is, I wasn't reactionary enough for them. And whenever I did get their support on a bill, they would inevitably shoot their mouths off about it in public in a way that made me look bad. Scared people off."
"They do sound pretty bad, but... you attacked them?" I ask. "I've never even heard of that."
"No. Worse." She grins, fangs-out. "I recruited them."
"What?"
"Let me explain. The Dragoons were also the people who had wished for Grindelwald to win, who never quite got over his defeat. I figured that if I made a showing of myself as a proper Dark Lady, they'd flock to me. And they did!"
She laughs, and it's not exactly nice... but she is, at least, talking about deserving victims this time.
"And when all of those twits were kneeling before me in ridiculous robes, they naturally weren't voting Dragoon. I wrapped up the whole conservative vote, got some of the dumbest Dragoons arrested, and retrained the rest to bow to me – which I hoped would stick even after I wrapped my Dark Lady scheme up." She stretches out on the couch, looking relaxed. Proud. "And, on a personal note, there were more than a few Dragoons in Slytherin, who hated me for being Muggle-raised. They tormented me when I was younger, and I relished the chance to get back at them. The sight of Abraxas Malfoy kissing my boots will always be one of my most cherished memories."
I almost, almost objected to that – and then the image of Draco Malfoy kissing my boots flashes through my mind. Yeah... I'd enjoy that, too.
"So, there you have it. Bigots on one side, Albus Dumbledore on the other. It was a terrible plan, but still, it seemed like a win-win..." She sighs. "And then I went crazy, and lost myself in the role."
"Why?" I ask.
"I mentioned the ritual, right?" Yes. Not that you actually explained it. But that, too, is probably something to leave for another time. "I'd performed it many years before, seemingly without ill effect at the time, but... it left me far more susceptible to the mental effects of the Dark Arts I started using as a Dark Lady. I lost my mind, and it showed. I got more ruthless, more willing to use the Dark Arts that sent me further into insanity. I started to forget that this was a charade at all, started to actually act like a fucking Dragoon. I performed that ritual a second time, which made it even worse."
I've read stories about Dark Lords who drove themselves mad. It's strange to think that Voldemort is one of them, but... it's eerily plausible. All too common, even.
"And there was one other thing that made my degeneration go even faster – when I realized that I could actually win the war. When it turned out that Albus Dumbledore and all his men couldn't stop me – Merlin, they could barely even slow me down! It was so tantalizing. Why worry about winning votes and changing minds when I could just take over?" She shakes her head, glaring so bitterly at the floor that I imagine it'd be paralyzed if it were alive. "And that was when I heard a prophecy about an infant who had the power to defeat me. A prophecy about you."
I blink, pulling myself upright on the couch. "What prophecy?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"
"Wait, Dumbledore didn't tell you about the prophecy?"
"No!" I say, my fangs coming out and I scowl. "He knew about this prophecy, and he didn't tell me?"
"Of course he does, the prophecy was made to him! Why on earth— I suppose he might have been worried about someone using Legilimency to steal your recollection of it, but surely he could have told you the parts that I already know!" She takes a deep breath, then smiles slyly. "And here I thought Dumbledore only started to hate you after you became a Gaunt."
"Just tell me the accursed prophecy!" I say, voice low and hissing.
"Of course, Harriet," she says, bowing her head. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lady approaches, born to those who have thrice defied her, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lady will."
"The Dark Lady will what?"
"I don't know. That's all my spy heard. He thought there were a few more lines after that, but he couldn't make out the words." She makes eye contact, smiling weakly. "Not the clearest prophecy, is it?"
"No," I say. "Why did you even listen to it?"
"I don't know. I should have ignored it – there were so many reasons I should have ignored it. I knew I didn't have all of it. I knew that it only spoke of an infant with the power to defeat me – not someone who actually would. And I knew that it came from the mouth of Sybill Trelawney, whose few drops of genuine seer blood can hardly outweigh her reputation as a drunk and a charlatan."
"But... she is a real seer," I blurt out, just moments before realizing that I probably shouldn't say that.
"Huh. Truly?" Cecilia asks, her head tilting.
Yes, but I'm not about to tell her about the prophecy about Pettigrew. "I... guess I don't know. Dumbledore thinks she is."
She scoffs. "He's hardly a model of good judgement. But even if it was real, I also knew that not all real prophecies prove true, and that most true prophecies are in some part self-fulfilling. Certainly, I should have tried to avoid doing whatever the hell the prophecy says the Dark Lady will." She shakes her head. "Instead, I walked right into it. Like a fool. I... must have been pretty far gone, back then."
"And... you attacked me because of that," I say, still disbelieving, feeling... almost lightheaded with confusion, that this is how my life went so badly wrong, and that I'm hearing all this from Lady Voldemort's own mouth.
"Yes. You were the easiest target to hit – we'd already subverted Pettigrew by then – and you were the one I thought would be most like me. Partly, that was just because you're a woman, like me, but..." She sighs, then smiles wryly. "I couldn't see myself in Frank Longbottom or Alice Shacklebolt. They were rich, Pureblood, long-line Pureshapes. The sort of people who can recite their ancestry for generations. Of course, James Potter was rich, Pureblood, and Pureshape, too, but he'd gone through some hard times – Death Eaters burned his house down, when he was just a little boy. And there was always something about Lily Evans..." She smiles bitterly. "Guess I know what it was, now."
"You were looking for someone... like you?"
"Yes." She shakes her head. "I thought anyone who could be a threat to me had to be like me – which, well, there's that ego again. But I did think you would be more like me, and, well..." She just stares at my basilisk body. "Clearly, I was right. If only I knew."
"At least in some ways," I admit hollowly. I could never be as pointlessly cruel as Lady Voldemort, but... I'm starting to think there is something I could aspire to in this new, sane version of her. I still think she's cold and calculating – I'm not sure she's even trying to convince me otherwise – but she is also undeniably intelligent and effective. She spent this whole day playing Dumbledore like a fiddle, and I definitely haven't forgotten how crazy it is that I walked away with Lady Voldemort, alone and willingly.
"So, er, do you think..." She pauses, shifting in her seat, tongue flicking out slowly and nervously. "A lot has happened – I mean, it's been thirty years of international news, of course a lot has happened. I know things aren't okay between us, and that they won't be, and I don't really expect them to be any time soon. But... do you think you might be willing, someday, to accept me as family?"
I freeze in place on the couch. She'd alluded to this before. But hearing it so directly, from her, hearing her ask if I want us to be a family... it's just so bizarre. I don't know how to respond, just sitting there as Cecilia's expression gets darker and grimmer.
She admitted to being Lady Voldemort. She admitted to everything. By all rights, I should just scream at her and storm off. But, well... she is trying. She's really trying – it's hard to imagine the Dark Lady embarrassing herself like this, telling me so many damaging things I might well turn around and tell to Dumbledore, if she didn't mean it. It's not enough. It can't be enough. And it certainly doesn't mean I won't make her squirm for it. But...
"It's a start," I admit. "I... appreciate that you apologized. Can't say I ever expected that from Lady Voldemort. I'm glad I finally got a straight explanation for what you did. And if you say there will be no second war... well, I'm definitely hopeful. But... no. I am not satisfied. Not yet."
Cecilia seems to shrink in on herself, as I slither off of the couch, gliding up toward her.
"This can't possibly be the whole story of a war that was more than a decade long, and there are a lot of other things I want to know about – that diary of yours, for instance, what its deal was. I have so many more questions – and we don't have time for them now, unless you want Dumbledore breaking in here because he thinks you've murdered me. But, most importantly – you need to prove to me that you mean this. Words are cheap, especially words you don't want me to repeat."
Cecilia looks worried as I get even closer. It's strange and warming to see it – to realize that, for once in my life, I have power over her. Besides. Isn't it a once-in-a-lifetime chance, to make demands of a Dark Lady?
"I want Pettigrew," I decide, smiling as my clanmate double-takes. "You know, the rat? I want him arrested, and my godfather exonerated."
"What? So – if I agree to this, you won't denounce me publicly? Or—"
"Cecilia, you misunderstand," I say. "This is not bargaining. This is not making a deal. This is restitution. This is you proving that all your pretty words meant something – or, that they did not."
She's lying flat on the couch now, looking unhappy, and I am standing over her with my hood flared. And I can't help but love the feeling. She's actually going along with this. She's actually going along with this. I know she won't attack me, but... she doesn't even seem angry!
"You had a lot to say about how you have no family aside from me. That's great – but, as it happens, I do have other family, and he's Britain's most wanted because of you. Get his freedom, and maybe we can bargain after that." I smirk, one fang out. "Besides, surely Pettigrew is of no actual use to you now that you're spending your time on politics – unless of course Nagini needs a snack."
She squirms in place, her tail tangling up with itself. "Loathsome as he is, Pettigrew did help bring me back to life. I... I would prefer not to betray him that way."
"Then perhaps he should have thought of that before he betrayed your clanmates."
"Fair enough," she says, bowing her head in apparent defeat. I... I can't believe this. I'm going farther than I ever would have before my change, to Lady Voldemort – and she's just taking it! "Certainly if anyone has the right to ask this, you do. It will take me a little while to make the arrangements. I can't have him expose me, nor do I want to mess this up and thereby fail to secure your godfather's exoneration. But I will try to have it done within a week or two."
"Thank you, Cecilia," I say, and she sits up. "I await the results. Though... You mentioned you'd like me to stay silent in public?"
"Yes," she says. "I know you've tried to expose me before, but... well, if you denounce me now that you're clanmates, it will probably make more of an impact. Especially if you claim that I confirmed it to you."
"I haven't tried to expose you, actually. I didn't say one thing about your return to the press. Haven't seen a reporter since before the Triwizard Tournament ended." I curl up against the edge of her couch, staring her right in the eyes. "That was all Dumbledore. Didn't stop the Prophet from going after me anyway. And speaking of which..." I smile again, my fangs popping out. "If you want me not to denounce you in the press, you'll have to return the favor. I do not appreciate the seven hundred and ninety-two lies they've published about me since the tournament, and you can't convince me you had nothing to do with that."
"That is fair," Cecilia says. "I would have put a stop to it anyway – I can't have a clanmate's name dragged through the mud the way yours has been. I'll be sure the apology is swift and appropriately groveling."
"See if you can get them to itemize it," I suggest with a grin. "I'd enjoy seeing a broadsheet page full of retractions."
"Will do," she says, smirking back at me. "However, since you mentioned returning the favor... If you do accuse me of being Voldemort, I will have to attack your credibility, as a simple matter of self-preservation. The sentence for Dark Lords is death or the stripping of my magic. I will not expose myself to that, not even for you. But... even if we fight, I won't have you portrayed as a liar again. I'll come up with something else – perhaps you're being tricked by Dumbledore."
I nod. "I'll give you a chance to prove yourself, at least," I say. "Before I say anything negative publicly."
"And, might I say..." Cecilia slithers off of the couch to stand side-by-side with me, our scales rubbing in a way that feels oddly like a handshake, like an acknowledgment of a bargain made. "That was very well played – as cunning as I can hope of a new clanmate. I see you're settling in well as a basilisk."
There can only be one answer to that. "Thank you, Cecilia," I say, smiling like only a basilisk can.