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TWENTY-ONE TAKE THOU THIS VIAL
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'REMEMBER, IF THE TIME SHOULD come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.'
The words swirl around in Holly's head. Right or easy, right or easy. During her little holiday in the sunshine, taking far too many photos and spending far too much money on more camera film, the words couldn't leave her mind. Because she knows, back at Durmstrang, that the easy choice was the one she reached for, because the right one involved her own torture...
Well. Both options included her own torture, but at least if she chose the easy option, it wasn't a physical pain, it wasn't the feeling of white-hot knives piercing every inch of her skin. It's more of the lingering thoughts, the things you think to yourself. It's grabbing her wand and having to think twice, because her first thought to stop a bully isn't a simple jinx, something that makes their legs into jelly for an hour, but rather, Crucio, or something that slices, that leaves a mark for more than a few hours. It's hearing others talk about he Unforgivable Curses as if they're these gruesome things, and Holly has to remind herself that they are, they are terrible, they're not the best ways to gain power like she was first taught.
She isn't sure what to do. She knows that the right option with her whole friendship situation would be to come clean, but is it the wisest of ideas to come clean to her friends, especially during the summer, where they're at one of their houses and they happen to have a parent downstairs, one she saw in the graveyard? She knows that the right option is to tell her friends that, surprise surprise, she has other friends, and just hope that they don't get angry about her befriending the one person they hate the most?
She knows that in the graveyard, she should have gone and stood up for Harry, and tried to defend him in some way or another, or reacted when she heard the cold hiss say, 'Kill the spare.' She should have told the truth instead of lying and letting her step-father move her to the side, because it kept her safe. But it didn't keep her friend safe, did it? It caused in him having the Cruciatus Curse being used on him, and her having to grit her teeth.
Right or easy, right or easy. Holly crosses her bedroom to grab her Walkman and headphones off of the dresser, and grumpily sits at the window-seat, the awkward thing that's big enough for her to sit with her legs crossed or tucked to her chest, but hardly anyone else is short enough to squeeze onto it. She blames the tiny and awful window that it's next to, which doesn't even look out into anything interesting, just a drizzly and grey scene.
This is the other thing: that thing her dad said, about there being some changes? Well. Holly was there, believing they'd have to go to the magical parts of London every once in a while, but no. Oh, no, what her dad was this — "It is unsafe for you to live at home, because if the Death Eaters try and come for you, because you were at the graveyard, or because your mother's who she is, so, you've got to move to the house the Order of the Phoenix is currently having all of their meetings in, along with all of the Weasleys."
Holly was not in a good mood that day, and has not been in a good mood since.
Because here is the thing. Holly likes the Weasleys. She thinks they're nice, they're friendly, whatever. But, they are very incredibly Gryffindor and after the first few days of spending every waking moment with them, she was close to pulling all of her hair out and calling it quits. Not to mention, every time her dad came around to see her or speak to the Order about muggle things or whatever, he'd say the same speech about how this is safe and how this will prevent her death and other silly things that ended up with Holly getting pissed off and retreating to her bedroom.
On the third day at Grimmauld Place — the house that belongs to Sirius, and the current residence of the Weasleys and Holly (kill her) — she shouted at them because she couldn't stand it, she felt like she was being slowly strangled by Godric Gryffindor himself, and she stormed up the stairs and didn't reappear for two days.
Well. She snuck down, in the middle of the night, and stole enough food to keep her going for a couple days, and she had an awkward conversation with Sirius, in which he apologised for her having to sleep in the bedroom in the attic, because he couldn't re-open the bedrooms on the fourth floor.
"It sounds silly, but I don't want to open them, there's too many bad memories," he had told her, and Holly had nodded, because she isn't quite sure how to react to this. Does she go, ah, yes, can't stand bad memories, those awful things, or is she supposed to just stand and let him speak? By the fact that it was late, and that Holly had explained how she was a tiny bit annoyed about her situation before he had nodded, and began to apologise. "I told you last time, but your mother was close with my younger brother. One of the rooms was his."
"Oh," said Holly.
"Yeah, they were in Slytherin together," said Sirius, and Holly inched closer, intrigued. Upon recent months the mention of her mother had caused her to step closer and listen carefully, trying to analyse every word said about her. "I didn't know her that well, she was two years below me. But she was the Quidditch team captain for Slytherin."
"She was?" asked Holly, her eyes twinkling a little. Following the disappointment of the century that was the Triwizard Tournament, she's got her eyes on new things to conquer — onwards and upwards, she's trying to remind herself. First it's get onto the Quidditch team. Second it's take over once Montague leaves school. "Was she any good?"
"Oh, yeah, if it wasn't for her, Gryffindor would've won far more matches," Sirius had said, and Holly didn't know whether or not to smile, because that her mother, beating Gryffindor, getting Slytherin's glory! "I remember when she first became captain halfway through her fifth year, she gave the whole team a run for their money. Everyone thought she was nice..."
"She would've joined the Death Eaters that summer," Holly said, quietly.
Sirius nodded. "Same time as my brother," he said, and he paused. Holly leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking around. The whole house was dead silent, except for them speaking. It was bizarre, to think a house with this many people staying inside could become this quiet. "I don't know if I was rude, or anything to you when we first met, but if I was, I apologise. You reminded me of your mother and I was worried the same thing would happen to Harry, what happened to Regulus."
"What happened to—?"
"I'll explain another day," said Sirius, and Holly grimaced at him, because of course. Her life is turning into I'll explain another day. Her dad says he'll tell her what happened at the Order meeting another day. Her friends say they'll explain what's going on with their families another day, Draco especially. The Weasleys and Hermione promise they'll let her know what's going on with Harry and why she shouldn't write to him, but another day, for now, she's just got to ignore his replies and moodily curl in the window-seat in her bedroom in the attic, glaring down at the people walking past on the street.
So now, she's mostly sitting upstairs in the bedroom, writing to her friends with such speed that she's getting through five at the least every day. On days where she's told the words I'll explain another day by her dad, but she's reassured that she's being kept and whatever, or the Weasleys think those strange Extendable Ears are a better way to eavesdrop than, oh, I don't know, a baby monitor, she puts her record player to use, and plays her Aerosmith so loud she can't even think the words right or easy.
She also isn't the biggest fan of going downstairs, or, at least, she has to brace herself before descending the stairs to the ground floor, because of the dastardly portrait hanging from the wall. Walburga Black, the mother of Sirius and Regulus, has made her permanent mark on Grimmaud Place, and now, screams at everyone because they're either muggleborns or blood-traitors or a muggle, or, in the case of Holly, who has been mistaken for her mother: "Are you happy with yourself, you wretched girl, you killed my son!"
Holly thinks that's a metaphor.
She hopes it's a metaphor?
But the letters. The letters. The amount of times she's had Harry's owl appear and hand her a letter, and for her to try and shoo it away, because she's been told countless times that she isn't allowed to reply to any of them. Ron and Hermione can, but Holly cannot. She was in the graveyard, and therefore, they're not allowed to talk — well, she's not allowed to respond to the letters, even though his owl Hedwig seems to glare at her every time she doesn't give a letter back, and his letters are getting more and more irritated.
The latest included the words: sorry if I'm annoying you, you're probably busy with your friends. And then he goes onto say how his aunt and uncle are wretched beings (Holly's words, not his, he just said that they weren't very nice, but really, if you're going to insult someone, it needs to sound as if you're also describing the monster from Frankenstein) and how his cousin's also terrible and he has this weird gang of friends that try and bully the little kids that hang out at the local playground.
(If Holly had been allowed to respond to that, she would've made a comment of, give me the word and I'll come and see you — how do you fancy watching a very small, very short girl scare them? Because she would. She would. She feels so angry with the Order, forcing Harry to stay with his aunt and uncle whilst there's a spare bed in Ron's bedroom, he could easily stay here — if their only reason for keeping him there is so that he doesn't know what's going on, surely he can stay at Grimmauld Place? None of them know what's going on.)
Holly sighs, and she turns the volume up.
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AROUND THE START OF August, on one rainy morning, where the skies were a pathetic grey and the rain hadn't stopped pouring since the early hours, Holly hops down the stairs, an overnight bag hanging over her shoulder. She walks past Walburga Black's portrait, and she hears the usual nonsense. "Oh, Miss Margo, are you proud of yourself? You killed my son—MUDBLOODS! YOU WRETCHED FIENDS!"
"Thanks," says Holly nodding at the twins, having heard the crack of someone — two people, in this case — Apparating.
One of them shrugs. "We're here to help."
"Yeah, especially after—"
Holly raises a finger to her lips, to make him shut up. The thing he's mentioning is the fact that she gave them her Triwizard earnings, and even though there's been multiple occasions where she's seen them for too long and stormed off, complaining about Gryffindors, they still seem to be friends. Which is nice.
"Say, where are you off to—?"
"Staying over at my friends' house for the night," says Holly, and she gives them a devilish grin. "You know, us Slytherins have got to meet up in the holidays, plot for our next reign of terror."
Walburga Black's portrait, from a couple metres away, snarls, "Get out of my house, Miss Margo, isn't it enough that you—"
"Killed your son?" snaps Holly, and she moves to storm towards the portrait, because this is how low Holly had reached, staying in this terrible house. She's trying to fight a portrait. She steps closer and one of the twins grabs a hold of her, and she glares at them. "Get off, I wasn't going to do anything. I know there's no point, the evil bitch—"
"You vulgar monster—!"
Holly turns on her heel. "Same goes for you, you slimy cun—!"
"Holly!" says Gus, walking out of the kitchen. Holly freezes. She can hear the twins laughing under their breaths, excusing themselves and walking back up the stairs to their bedroom. Holly smiles weakly. "Ignore the portrait, it's fine."
"She's saying that I killed someone."
"Because you did!" says the portrait.
Holly grimaces. "Do you think getting a knife and slashing at the canvas would do it?" she asks, ignoring how strange it is, how she's glaring daggers at a portrait. "It worked for Dorian Gray."
Gus frowns. "He—He sold his soul to the devil, Holly."
Holly raises an eyebrow. "He killed the portrait, didn't he?"
"Holly," says Gus, and Holly braces herself. Here comes another series of I'll explain later and this is for your safety. Already she looks at him, as if to say, here we go again. It's not as if she spoke to Voldemort. "Sirius said you can use the fireplace in the drawing room?"
Holly nods. "It's the Floo Network," she says. Her dad nods, and inches backwards, as if he wants to go back into the kitchen to continue discussing matters so important the one that saw and spoke to Voldemort himself cannot hear. She doubts half of these people have spoken to him, and yet, she's the one that isn't allowed to sit in. "I'll be back around lunch tomorrow. Pansy probably says hi."
Gus nods again, and moves to give her a hug before she goes, but she already starts to ascend the stairs, where the drawing room is situated. From the floor above she can hear Hermione and Ron talking about the letters to Harry, and Holly grits her teeth together, holding onto the strap of her bag and opening the door into the drawing room.
She walks towards the fireplace, passing the old leather sofas, and the bookshelf with vintage-looking books sitting on the shelves. They're the sort that are cheap in charity shops, being a little worse for wear, with pages falling out. Holly's reminded of the set of Famous Five books she has sitting upstairs — when she was told she was staying here for the summer, she packed everything in her bedroom, and dumped it upstairs, wanting to make that room feel as much like her bedroom as possible.
So now it has posters covering the dark-wallpapered walls, her massive mirror from home resting against the wall, to hopefully make the room feel lighter than the wallpaper and dark carpet combined make it seem. Her records and her cassettes have their own special place in the corner of the room, albeit the records are still being stored in a box, but still, they have their little home. The dresser and the bed and the bedside table were there when she was handed the keys up to the attic, and after cleaning them (and frowning at a locket hidden in one drawer for a few minutes before shoving it in a cupboard downstairs) everything seems fine. It's the closest to her old bedroom as it can get, so she supposes she has to make do.
Holly takes hold of some of the Floo Powder, steps into the flames, and clearly says, "Malfoy Manor!"
Within seconds, she's standing in an equally dark room; another drawing room in another house, only here, there aren't cobwebs hiding in the corners. Holly steps out of the fireplace, and before she can probably look around, Pansy runs and almost tackles Holly, wrapping her arms around her.
"Hol!" she says, smiling at her. Holly smiles back, but she knows how it's only a weak smile. "How has you summer been?"
"Abysmal," says Holly.
Pansy sits down on one of the sofas, and Holly sits next to her. Daphne's talking to Blaise and Harlow at the other side of the room, sitting next to a grand piano, and she sees Draco with Crabbe and Goyle. Holly wonders if they saw her, before they got jinxed on the train by Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the twins. Hm. But, she notes how they're all talking quietly, not messing about and laughing and such like they would at school. Upon a couple mores glances around the room, she gets the feeling that her friends feel uneasy.
"I'll tell you in a minute but—" Holly remembers why she talked her dad into letting her come here, considering he and the rest of the Order thought it was unsafe and dangerous and you don't know what you're doing. Atticus must be somewhere, but... She turns to Draco, and she says to him, "Where's your bathroom?"
"Turn right, second door on the left," says Draco, and Holly nods, getting to her feet to walk towards the door leading into the corridor. She leaves her bag next to Pansy, and she feels as if her shoulder's happy about that, because it had been a nightmare to carry the heavy bag down all of those flights of stairs at Grimmauld Place. "Also — we're not allowed to go anywhere near the north wing."
"Your house has a north wing?"
"Um, yes?"
"OK, cool," says Holly, frowning. A north wing. What kind of home has a north wing? This isn't Beauty and the Beast.
Holly opens the door and steps out into the corridor, and then, she's stumped. How do you find a wizard who may not even be here? Part of her wants to see if he's the reason why they're not allowed to go to the north wing.
But then, a door creaks open. Her brows furrow.
Of course, she walks towards it. Holly, wishing she hadn't left her wand in her bag, approaches the room with caution, the door opening fully by the time she's walked up to it. The room's empty, and she frowns, before she sees the little sign hanging on the door.
Do not enter without the express permission of Margo Elizabeth Valen
Holly doesn't know whether the feeling in her stomach indicates nervousness, or excitement. But, she steps into the room, figuring it'll be fine, her friends are metres away, and no one's in the room — she checked, she opened the wardrobe and checked under the bed, the room's empty with the exception of herself.
The door closes behind her, and Holly smiles a little. This was her mum's room. Her mum's room! This is the closest she's ever been to her! Look! She's got a cute little record player, with jazz singers with witchy names like Cecilia. Her bedside tables have stacks of books and little trinkets, like a pretty set of tarot cards, held inside a white box. She opens up the box, and she sees a piece of parchment stuck to the inside of the box.
Holliday dearest.
Holly frowns. Was that meant to have a couple more paragraphs? Why would there just be a little piece of parchment, only saying Holliday dearest? That makes absolutely no sense.
She puts the tarot cards back where she found them, and she continues looking around. Holly picks up the jewellery box on the dresser, unclasping it's lock and opening it, watching a little ballerina twirl around. She looks at the mirror behind the ballerina, and she frowns again.
Like the box, there sits two words on the mirror, in what seems to be red lipstick.
Holliday dearest.
"What the fu—?"
And then, it gets even weirder.
The portrait hanging from the wall, enclosed within a light gold frame, blinks. Holly steps to the side, leaving the jewellery box on the dresser. The portrait seems to be a drawing, a few lines making up a woman's face, with her neck exposed and revealing the bones and blood and muscles underneath. The woman in the painting turns, and looks at Holly.
"Who are you?"
"Holly?" she says, and then she looks at the jewellery box. "Holliday?"
The portrait nods, and the frame swings off from the wall, revealing a hole in the wall. Behind, built into the wall, there's a couple of shelves, all of which covered in books, boxes, trinkets. Holly reaches for one big black box, and opens it, finding a silver crown of sorts, with a massive sapphire in the certain. She puts it back in its place, taking out a white heart-shaped box, one with letters, all from the same person, addressed to her mother. She puts it back, upon spotting a white diary, sitting at the top, next to coveted Billie Holiday records.
"So you found it."
Holly jumps, and almost glances to glare at Susannah, but then she remembers. Oh. She sees the door close behind Atticus, and she narrows her eyes at him.
"So I did," she says, and she moves towards him.
"I have some explaining to do," says Atticus.
"Really?" says Holly, crossing her arms. "I wouldn't have thought."
"This room's been charmed, by the way, no one can hear what we're saying — the door doesn't even appear, unless Margo would've let you in," says Atticus, and Holly nods, but this isn't exactly what she wants to be explained. She really doesn't care. "'Course, that leaves three people... Well, I suppose two, the other one's dead."
Holly frowns. "Why did you tell me to hide in the graveyard, and then say yes when he asked if I was there?"
"He would've known if I was lying," says Atticus. Holly scowls at him, because she's still not happy about any of this. She didn't win, she put in so much work and she didn't win because the game had been rigged. "You weren't supposed to be there, it was the safest thing for you to do. The only reason you were in the Tournament was because Crouch thought he'd be able to kill you, and get back at Margo."
Holly feels pissed off. There's no other way to describe her mood than that. Every day she's woken up and thought, I lost. Every day she's walked around and, bam, there's that thought again. I lost. And then, to sprinkle salt into the wound, there's the latest additions of it's safest and I'll tell you later and right or easy, right or easy. She was first but it wasn't just her — that isn't winning. That's her not having the heart to claim she was a couple seconds earlier to the cup, and have people look at her like typical Slytherin, he hasn't even been buried and you're already taking that away from him.
"How are you here, then?" says Holly. She's not spending anymore time on the tournament. She lost, that's the end of it. Next term she's moving onto Quidditch and she's going to win, and in the meantime, she has the opportunity to get some answers, so that's exactly what she's going to do. "Aren't you supposed to be, oh, I don't know, dead?"
"I heard," says Atticus, and he smirks. Holly does not return a smile. "But, before I explain—" Holly already wants to shout at him. "— I need to provide a little context." Oh. That's new. "I was best friends with your mum ever since first year, and we got married, thinking it would keep us together within the Death Eaters. She got into this mess and I couldn't let her go through it on her own, and that's why I joined... But, anyway — you got that letter from her, didn't you, on your eleventh birthday?"
Holly nods.
"Good," says Atticus. "You see, the thing was, Margo wanted to make sure that you were safe, even if it made things worse for her — she left behind that evidence tying Crouch, and many other Death Eaters, to certain crimes so that things would be safer for you. And, through my older brother, I was able to sneak out of Azkaban every so often — once a year, tops — and he'd take my place for the day using Polyjuice Potion. I mostly checked on you, and on the way back into Azkaban I'd let her know. But, when I went out earlier this spring, I saw that you were in the Tournament, and I snuck this old sleeping potion into Azkaban, to fake my death.
"You've heard of Romeo and Juliet? It's similar to the one Juliet uses at the end of that. Your mum's allergic to one of the ingredients, though, so it would kill her, so I faked my death instead. I went straight to where Wormtail, the idiot man, was hiding with him, because if I was there from the start, he'd know that we were still loyal, and therefore, they wouldn't touch you.
"This is all for you, Holly. Everything your mother's done since leaving school has been to keep you safe. She loves you so much, and I cannot imagine how it must have been, to have not known about her until now, and to have grown up not knowing that you were a witch, but we didn't have any other choice. Your father's a muggle, we knew he was a good man, good enough to care for you, but we didn't know how well he'd receive this."
Holly eyes her step-father for a moment. She hesitates, before she frowns at him. "So you don't believe in this?"
"Pinky promise," he says.
"Dork," she mumbles, and he laughs. She smiles at him. "But, um — they keep on inviting my dad to meetings, saying he's important, being a pair of eyes in the muggle world."
Atticus raises an eyebrow. "You mean the Order?"
"Depends?" she says, raising an eyebrow, too.
Atticus smiles at her, and he starts pacing up and down the room. "That makes complete sense, though," he says. Holly frowns. How? "They want to keep an eye on you."
"Why?"
Atticus pauses, and he looks at her, in the same way she had done with him, trying to predict the reaction. He sits down at the foot of Margo's bed, and he lets out a sigh. "I suppose they don't trust you," he says. Holly's stomach sinks. "They don't know you as the bright girl you are, but rather, the daughter of Margo. And, admittedly, when she was younger, Margo was very well known around school for being manipulative, and for using every means possible to win — she had Skeeter wrapped around her little finger, the girl was convinced they were the best of friends, but in reality, Margo was using her, so that she could spy on the other teams."
"They don't trust me because of her?"
"Well, they're obviously not letting your father sit in the meetings because they thinks he's valuable," says Atticus. For a second, Holly gives him a nasty look, and he rolls his eyes. "I don't think that. But from the sounds of things, that's the case — they don't need eyes amongst the muggles, they need eyes in the Ministry, in Hogwarts. And since they see you as Margo Junior, they think you're going to screw them over if they don't keep an eye on you."
"That's bullshit," says Holly.
"I'm aware," says Atticus. "But you're close with Harry, aren't you?"
"I guess," says Holly. Her mind flashes back to when she kissed his cheek on the train, and to every time she snuck out to see him in the kitchens. Or now, how many letters she's been getting and how many she's had to ignore — how many she's now started putting in the fire, because what's the use in keeping them? She's been told she isn't allowed to reply, them sitting around just makes her feel worse.
"Then, my best bet is that they're worried you might turn around and hurt him, or give him over to him," says Atticus. Holly steps forwards, to protest otherwise, and Atticus shrugs. "Not me who thinks it. But I'm guessing, since they don't know you, they automatically think you're going to be like your mother, and through that, they think you might betray them."
Holly crosses her arms, and looks to the side, letting out a little huff. "I can't betray them," she says, and she catches herself in the mirror on the other side of the room. She realises how much she looks like the moody teenager from a John Hughes film. "I'm not with the Order. I'm not with the Death Eaters, either. No offence, I don't want your pal to win, but I'm not with the Order, am I? They don't tell me shit, they say we're too young to know. Obviously I'm not in their little club."
"I see," says Atticus. "Is Sirius nice to you?"
"Yeah," says Holly. "He said, at first, he wasn't sure what to think, because of whatever happened with Regulus and my mother, but, now he's fine. What—What did happen with them? Because Walburga Black's portrait mistakes me for my mother, and she always says that she killed Regulus..."
"What happened between Margo and Regulus wasn't a sole person's fault," says Atticus, sighing. Holly's eyes narrow in confusion. "When they started to go out—" Her eyes widen. They what? "—it was during a time in both of their lives where, I think, they wanted to prove something. Margo, that she could succeed at something." "Regulus, that he was worthy of his family. I don't know what was going on in their brains at the time, but they were teenagers that were stupid and encouraged the other and foolishly joined the Death Eaters at sixteen. Of course they regretted it by the time they were out of school! Would you stick by a decision you made two years ago?"
Holly's only thought is Durmstrang, is walking to those detentions and helping out, because what other choice did she have? She was scared, and if she didn't look out for herself, no one would. It wasn't the right choice but it was the one that saved her skin.
Atticus shakes his head. He steps towards the shelves behind the painting, and he seems to nod at the lady in the painting, as if he knows her. He draws out a small mirror, and shows it to Holly. All she sees is skulls and dark water.
"Regulus had the other one," says Atticus. "That's where he died."
"Where is it?" asks Holly, squinting.
Atticus frowns. "I don't know," he says, and he sighs. He returns the mirror to where he had picked it from, brushing the dust off onto his trousers. "But he's been dead for years... Look, go back to your friends, they must be worrying where you are, and find me in a little while. I promise you I'll tell you about Margo today, it's stupid that you don't anything about what's going on, and although I don't know what the Order's doing, at least I can tell you something. I'll see you in a while."
Holly nods, and she leaves the room, feeling a little giddy. She's going to know something! Though it's nothing about the Order, or what's going with Voldemort, but it's something! She'll finally know about her mother, she'll finally be able to understand what people mean when they make comments about her! She'll finally know!
Pansy stands up, as soon as Holly walks back into the drawing room. She frowns at her, starting to walk towards her. "Where have you been? We thought—"
"I saw Atticus," says Holly.
Draco glances over at her. "Did he tell you anything?"
"About You-Know-Who? No," says Holly, and she sees Crabbe and Goyle's shoulders go down, disappointed. None of them know anything, from the looks of the curious faces on their faces, and the defeated expressions as soon as she says no. All they know, she guesses, is what the Prophet is spitting out — and that's unreliable. "It was about my mother... He said to come back after telling you guys I'm not dead, or whatever, so I'll be back in a few minutes..."
Pansy nods, and smiles at Holly. "Go on, then!"
Holly grins at Pansy, and she sets back off into the hallway, towards Margo's room. She watches the door slowly appear out of nowhere, and the door opens for her, greeting her. Holly walks back inside, but Atticus has gone.
She frowns. She makes a note to come back here afterwards, to snoop around in the shelves behind the painting, but for now, she wants the full story, not just a love letter from some boy to her mother. She wants her mother's best friend to explain the tale, every single detail.
So, Holly walks back out of the room, and then, she's stumped. Again. Where even is the north wing? She doesn't want to accidentally stumble across it, and what if she walks into a scary Death Eater meeting, or something?
"Holly."
Holly turns around, and sees Lucius.
"Hello," says Holly.
Lucius is a strange man, Holly's decided. He looks like he's trying to be friendly and nice to her, because they're family and whatever, but then, Holly remembers what Harry said, about him giving Voldemort's diary to Ginny Weasley, for it to possess her. But she tries to smile to be polite, however it's weakly.
"Aren't your friends—?"
"Where's Atticus?"
"Downstairs, in the dining room," says Lucius. Holly nods, and she sets off towards where the stairs are — she'll find it, it's fine, she got through that maze just fine — and behind her, she hears him chuckle. "Would you like to know where it is?"
Holly nods. "That would be handy."
"When you go down the stairs, it's the first door on your left," he says. Holly nods, and she's about to turn back around, but she thinks he's going to continue talking. Which is lovely. This is turning into a new curse. Grown-ups keep on cornering her when she wants to leave and they just talk and talk. "You did well in the tournament."
"I know," she says.
"You should have won," says Lucius. "Properly. Not joint-first."
Holly sighs. "I know... No offence, but can I go and find Atticus?"
Lucius nods, and gestures for her to go. Holly smiles slightly, because this is strange. All of this is strange. He wasn't mean. He was a little strange and weird and Holly felt a little uneasy, but he wasn't that bad. She suspects is because of that whole we're family lunacy, and she knows he's not a nice man, he's a Death Eater.
She walks into the dining room, where Atticus is standing, leaning against one of the chairs. He looks up at her, and frowns. "That wasn't long."
"I've waited almost fifteen years for this," says Holly, and she pulls up a chair, sitting down opposite where he's standing. "Tell me about Margo Valen."
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