"That door…"
"What about it?"'
Oleandra, who had just slipped out of the cloakroom and been inching away from the door, froze. She had been noticed— or rather, her opening of the door while invisible had— by two male Death Eaters rounding the corner of the corridor. She recognised their faces from their wanted posters: the Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan.
She could never quite remember which one was Bellatrix's husband.
"It just opened on its own, didn't it?"
Unlike many in You‑Know‑Who's motley crew of blood‑obsessed fanatics who fancied themselves Death Eaters, whose cruelty was rivalled only by their stupidity and cowardice, the Lestrange brothers possessed the skill to back up their savagery. Oleandra had never faced them in person, but in terms of threat level, she already ranked them alongside Nott and Rookwood, whose intellect and arcane knowledge had been recognised even by the Dark Lord himself. Those four were only a step below Bellatrix, whom Oleandra would very much rather not face in a fair one‑on‑one duel if she could help it.
That being the case, Oleandra had no doubt they would investigate; doors didn't simply open on their own, after all… unless they'd been enchanted to do so.
"Homenum Revelio!"
Rabastan waved his wand.
"Nothing," he said, frowning as he lowered his wand. "Must have been the wind."
Rodolphus clicked his tongue a few times, seemingly lost in thought… then, without warning, he whipped out his wand and unleashed tongues of purple flame that lashed down the corridor, scorching the wooden walls and setting the carpet and a few paintings ablaze.
"Maybe it really was just a draught," Rodolphus conceded, holstering his wand with a skilful flourish. The violet flames snuffed out at once, leaving blackened scorch marks crawling up the walls and spreading across the floor. "This place is falling apart."
Outside, thunder rumbled.
"Malfoy Manor isn't the only thing falling apart," Rabastan chuckled. "Trouble in the family, eh?"
"My wife never did care much for her brother-in-law, that power‑hungry rat," Rodolphus said matter-of-factly. "If it weren't for this crisis, I'd wager she'd have taken matters into her own hands and killed him herself, just to save face. She was already humiliated enough when she found out her niece had married a werewolf— of all the filth…"
The Lestrange brothers resumed their patrol.
If not for the flash of violet light from Rodolphus's spell, she was certain they'd have seen her ankles as she shot up to the ceiling to avoid the torrent of purple flames. Now, she could only float above their heads, curled into a tight ball beneath the Invisibility Cloak, knees drawn to her chest, hoping they wouldn't think to look up…
Oleandra twisted upside down in midair and yanked the hem of the Invisibility Cloak inwards, sealing off the open underside before the Lestrange brothers passed beneath her, but in her haste, her heel accidentally struck the ceiling with a loud thud. The Lestrange brothers looked up sharply, but Oleandra was already gone, floating away as fast as she could manage down the corridor.
"That was close!" Oleandra gasped, once she was out of earshot.
On her way to the basement stairs, Oleandra flew over a few Death Eaters, many of whom she didn't recognise. The atmosphere inside Malfoy Manor was heavy with unease; most kept silent, while others whispered amongst themselves about the future of their cause. Though none dared to voice their darkest doubts aloud, it was clear some were already questioning what it was they ought to do now, now that the Dark Lord was dead.
"We already have the bones, and Bellatrix has eagerly offered up her own flesh, so all we're missing now is the blood, really."
A familiar voice rang out around the next corner before the basement stairs, so Oleandra curiously peeked around the corner. Speak of the devil; there were Nott Sr and Rookwood, standing right before the stairs.
"Bones of the father, flesh from a servant, blood from an enemy… this feels more like ritual magic than potioneering, and I must admit, I'm not very familiar with the principles," Nott said, frowning. "Though the magic calls for brewing, I doubt Severus's potioneering expertise or my Alchemy speciality could be of much help— this is more in your line, Rookwood."
Rookwood sighed.
"I only wish for us to consider every possibility, should we be forced to perform the ritual without the blood of Harry Potter or Oleandra Greengrass," he said. "I know the Dark Lady and the Dark Lord expect nothing less than perfection, but the rumblings at the Ministry trouble me… we may soon have to proceed with the ritual, with or without optimal conditions…"
It had only been a day, but rumours of the Dark Lord's death were already spreading through the Ministry. To avoid giving those rumours credence, the Death Eaters within the government chose to do nothing about them— but their silence only lent weight to the whispers, leaving the Ministry workers with the impression that their overlords were beginning to lose control.
Rookwood cursed.
"If only Yaxley were still alive!" he cried. "Avery's doing his best to hold the fort, but he's no orator…"
They knew it was the Dark Lady's design to let the rumours spread, to draw out traitors to be culled when the Dark Lord inevitably returned, but this came at a cost: this strategy chipped away at the Dark Lord's aura of invulnerability. It was the illusion of his infallibility that had forced the nation to bend the knee, and if he did return a third time, he would crush the Wizarding World's spirit forever… but if he didn't, everything would collapse.
"What about the Dark Lady's blood?" Nott prompted. "She's Oleandra's twin— surely her blood ought to do the trick?"
"I doubt that would work," Rookwood said, sighing. "This isn't Alchemy, but perhaps…"
"It would not."
Hearing two sets of footsteps approaching from behind, Oleandra pivoted in midair. Her eyes widened in fear as she saw who had just arrived…
"Let's make this quick, shall we?" Professor Snape said coolly. "This is a school day. The Dark Lady has classes."
Oleandra held her breath and began inching away.
"What is this nonsense I'm hearing about reviving the Dark Lord?" Daphne said calmly, gazing at Nott and Rookwood in turn. "I believe I've made my stance on revival quite clear. Our Lord will accept nothing but the best."
The problem with obtaining Harry Potter's blood was that he had not been seen in months. As for Oleandra, she seemed to have vanished into the woodwork; she hadn't been seen since she had destroyed the Dark Lord's corporeal form.
"We've already secured your… her sister, her female friend, and her mother," Rookwood said politely. "The Daily Prophet is running their pictures as we speak. She'll have no choice but to come to us— we merely wish to be ready to perform the ritual the moment she does."
Daphne's eyes darted around, seemingly in search of something. The two Death Eaters looked around, puzzled, but there did not seem to be anything in particular to look at.
"Milady?" Nott said hesitantly. "Will that be all?"
"Have someone fetch Bellatrix— or one of the Lestrange brothers," Daphne said evenly. "And take me to the hostages."