Under Your Spell

The Power of Dark Magic

When Harry woke, it felt like someone had wrapped him in ropes from head to foot. Every muscle was stiff and sore. He stretched, wincing, and blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings.

He was laying on the floor on a pile of cushions, his limbs arranged tidily by whoever had put him there. The first thing he noticed was the absence of a certain smooth bulk in his pocket. Indeed, his wand had disappeared. Harry pulled himself to his feet, and surveyed the room. It was regularly sized, furnished simply with wooden furniture and a hand-woven rug on the floor. The fire was lit, throwing tongues of light across the dimly lit room, and Harry noticed that the fireplace was decorated with silver-framed photos, that were curiously still. The figures stayed frozen in their positions. Harry was about to look closer, before he heard a creak behind him. Instinctively, he reached for his wand before realising that it was gone. Turning, he was greeted with Ethel's entrance into the room, her long hair rippling in waves as she placed her wand quite casually on the nearest chair. She then looked up, piercing Harry with her level gaze.

"Well well, Harry. My brother was right about you; you do look like your father, apart from..."

"My eyes, yes," Harry interjected impatiently. "I have my mother's eyes." Ethel nodded slowly. They stared at each other for a moment before Ethel spoke again.

"Why are you here, Harry? Do you know how much danger you're in?"

"Evidently not," snorted Harry, "since you had to paralyse me to get me here." To emphasize the point, he rubbed his stiff neck. Ethel smiled grimly.

"Mmm, yes. Sorry about that. I was worried you might have put up a fight. I've heard that you're quite the dab hand at Dark Arts spells." Harry ignored the complement.

"Where's my friends?" His eyes scanned the room, raking out the shadows. 

"In here," Ethel pointed through the doorframe behind her. "Your female friend was in a pretty bad state. I had to separate you both because she seemed determined to use you as a human climbing frame..." she trailed off, casting a disgusted look at the floor. "Anyway, I think I've sorted her out now. Seemed like a good dose of Amortentia to me." Harry remained silent. Instead, a picture caught his eye. He was determined to distract himself from the memory of Hermione and that kiss. 

"Who's that?" He pointed to the photo, a frozen one of a newborn baby with a thatch of dark hair, and a pale, sleepy face. Ethel strode over and picked it up like it was made of solid gold.

"This... this is Matilda, my daughter." Ethel said quietly, stroking the glass in the frame. "She... died." Harry's mind flashed back to the newpaper clipping.  "Ethel, who recently gave birth to her daughter, Matilda Black three weeks ago to an unconfirmed (but, as a source has informed us) pure-blood father, has not been seen for over a week." Harry placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry." Ethel shook her head.

"It's irrelevant."

"Did Sirius...?" 

"He never knew. He had vanished by the time I gave birth. He never knew his niece."

Harry gazed on the tiny face of Matilda Black, frozen in the photo. "Why do you keep muggle photos?" Asked Harry, trying to steer the conversation away from what appeared to be a dangerous territory. Ethel sighed softly, replacing the photo on the mantelpiece. 

"I thought it might be a deterrant when the death eaters came running," she explained. "I tried to get away from it all so that I would be in a safe environment for Matilda. It didn't work." She looked up slowly at Harry. "They came only two weeks after Voldemort vanished. They ripped up the house, terrorized me. I had hidden Matilda upstairs, trying to keep her away. I had put a muffliato charm on the bedroom door, but they could sense magical enchantments. The noise had disturbed her and she was crying. They lifted the charm, and went storming in. They used the cruciatus curse on her,  and then left. It was a warning to me; a warning of the consequences that follow from betraying and deserting the Dark Lord. I tried to stop her from crying but she was in so much pain. They had messed up her brain, and her mind was mangled with agony." She paused, looking straight at Harry. "I had to kill her, before the pain did."

Harry felt a strange tingle wriggle up his spine. This woman had killed her own daughter, what other surprises awaited inside the head of Sirius' sister? He was ripped from his thoughts, however, at the sound of someone running across floorboards. He turned to see Ron running towards him. 

"Oh thank Merlin, Harry!" Ron threw himself at Harry's feet, before noticing Ethel. "Oh you!" He cried, jumping to his feet. "This bloody psycho locked me up!" Ron was panting for breath, but appeared to be quite unharmed. 

"Where's Hermione?" Harry remembered suddenly, a stone dropping into his stomach. He saw Ron's eyes narrow slightly. Ethel smiled knowingly.

"She's through here," she pointed into a room further down the hall. "Be careful with her, she's fragile." Harry and Ron approached the door, and opened it cautiously. The room was furnished simply like all the other rooms, with a simple hand-woven rug and chairs spread at intervals. Hermione lay on the floor, wrapped up in blankets. She looked pale, but otherwise, she seemed to be unharmed. Her eyes flickered open as they approached. Harry felt his heart hurtle into a further two gears faster than usual. Calm yourself, Harry, he thought to himself. 

"Hermione, are you okay?" 

"Mmmm. I don't remember what happened. How did I get here?"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. 

"Well," Ron started flatly, "you kind of accidentally drank some of Snape's stash of Amortentia, then decided to snog Harry, then Ethel zapped us with a paralysis spell, and here we are!" The last syllable of the sentence was turned up, spearing a high note. There was an awkward silence, punctuated by Hermione's groan as she smacked her face into the blanket below her head. 

"Sorry to interrupt," said Ethel from the doorway, "but we need to go, right now. There's five Death Eaters waiting for you outside the door. Cornelius Fudge is dead, and Kingsley Shacklebolt's just been admitted into St. Mungo's for grave injuries inflicted by dark magic."

"Dark magic..? Whispered Ron. Ethel looked right at him.

"Sectumsempra," she said simply. Harry felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath him. 

"That's impossible," whispered Harry. "Snape invented that spell, and he's dead." They looked at each other.

"Nothing's impossible anymore," remarked Hermione.

There was an almighty crash from the other side of the house.

"Get behind me!" Screamed Ethel, brandishing her wand. Harry was reminded strongly of his own mother. They spilled behind her in a rough triangle, tensed, ready.

"Harry?" Cried a voice. Harry felt a brick drop into his stomach. It couldn't be. "Harry! Come out! It's Sirius!"

To be continued....